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Title: Life of Johann Wolfgang Goethe
Author: Sime, James
Language: English
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*** Start of this Doctrine Publishing Corporation Digital Book "Life of Johann Wolfgang Goethe" ***

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                           “Great Writers.”

                               EDITED BY

                   PROFESSOR ERIC S. ROBERTSON, M.A.

                           _LIFE OF GOETHE._



                        JOHANN WOLFGANG GOETHE


                              JAMES SIME

                     WALTER SCOTT, 24 WARWICK LANE

                      NEW YORK: THOMAS WHITTAKER

                       TORONTO: W. J. GAGE & CO.


                       (_All rights reserved._)




Goethe born, August 28, 1749; his grandfather and grandmother; his
father, Johann Kaspar Goethe; his mother; his sister Cornelia; a
child of an imaginative temperament; his grandmother’s last Christmas
gift; his father’s house rebuilt; his knowledge of Frankfort; the
Council-house; education; Klopstock’s “Messiah”; folk-books; the Seven
Years’ War; Count Thorane and Goethe; lessons interrupted and renewed;
early religious ideas; his first love; in 1765 leaves Frankfort to
study at the university of Leipsic                                    11


Goethe at Leipsic; nominal studies at the university; dejection, and
recovery of his usual good spirits; his love for Annette Schönkopf;
forms many friendships; takes lessons in art from Oeser and Stock; goes
to Dresden to study the picture gallery; reads Dodd’s “Beauties of
Shakespeare”; influenced by Wieland, Lessing, and Winckelmann; writes
“Die Laune des Verliebten” and “Die Mitschuldigen”; early lyrics;
illness; partial recovery; returns to Frankfort in August, 1768;
renewed illness; influenced by Fräulein von Klettenberg; sees General
Paoli; Annette Schönkopf married; in April, 1770, goes to Strasburg
to attend the university; feels at home in Strasburg; Salzmann;
Jung Stilling; sees Marie Antoinette; impressed by antiquities at
Neiderbronn; meets Herder; Herder’s character; the movement of thought
in Europe; Herder’s influence on Goethe; Goethe and Frederika Brion;
returns to Frankfort in August, 1771; his poetic genius awakened by
love                                                                  24


Goethe takes the oath as an advocate and citizen of Frankfort;
holds a Shakespeare festival; reads the autobiography of Goetz
von Berlichingen; writes the drama, “Geschichte Gottfriedens von
Berlichingen”; his friendship with Merck; writes criticism for the
“Frankfurter Gelehrten Anzeigen”; the “Wanderers Sturmlied” and the
“Wanderer”; in May, 1772, goes to practise at the imperial chamber at
Wetzlar; his love for Charlotte Buff; saves himself by flight from
Wetzlar; visits Frau von Laroche; returns to Frankfort in September,
1772; recasts his drama about Goetz von Berlichingen; defects and
great qualities of “Goetz”; “Goetz” published in summer of 1773;
enthusiastically received; Goethe’s depression, and its causes;
Maximiliane Brentano; origin of “Die Leiden des jungen Werthers”; the
story of “Werther”; its relation to the dominant mood of the age, and
to Goethe’s own experience; character of Lotte and Albert; style of
“Werther”; descriptions of nature; profound impression produced by
the book; its effect on the mind of Lotte’s husband; Nicolai’s parody
of “Werther,” and Goethe’s response; “Clavigo”; “Stella”; “Erwin und
Elmire,” and “Claudine von Villa Bella”; “Götter, Helden, and Wieland”;
poetic fragments                                                      47


Goethe begins to write “Faust”; the work in its earliest form; the
character of Faust; the story of Gretchen; Mephistopheles; Goethe
expresses in the original “Faust” his own mood and one of the moods of
his age; his study of Spinoza’s “Ethics”; Lavater; Basedow; Johanna
Fahlmer; his friendship with Frederick Jacobi; the Counts Stolberg;
Goethe’s engagement with Lili Schönemann; the engagement broken off;
poems occasioned by his love for Lili; meets the Hereditary Prince of
Weimar; the Prince becomes Duke; Goethe invited to Weimar; arrives
there on November 7, 1775; a new home                                 72


Weimar; Goethe’s relations to the Duke, the Duchess, and the Duchess
Dowager; Wieland; Herder settles at Weimar; the Duke proposes that
Goethe shall enter the public service; opposition of Goethe’s father;
Goethe becomes a member of the Privy Council; his friendship with Frau
von Stein; Corona Schröter; his self-discipline; his public duties;
the earnestness with which he discharges them; change of manner as
well as of character; visits Switzerland, and sees Frederika Brion and
Lili on the way; death of his father in 1782; is made “Geheimerath”
and President of the Chamber of Finance; ennobled; visits the Harz
Mountains; devotes himself to the study of science; discovers the
intermaxillary bone in the human jaw; his doctrine of types in organic
nature; “Iphigenie” in prose; change in the methods of his art as a
dramatist; “Wilhelm Meister” begun; “Torquato Tasso”; minor plays and
poems; the literary movement in Germany; longing for Italy; starts for
Italy in September, 1786; edition of his collected writings           86


Delight in Italy; the “Italienische Reise”; journey to Rome; arrives in
Rome, October 29, 1786; attempts to think himself back into the Rome
of ancient times; his study of ancient art; the art of the Renascence;
St. Peter’s; friends in Rome; thinks of becoming an artist; re-writes
“Iphigenie” in verse; visits Naples; Sicily; second residence in Rome;
completes “Egmont”; works at “Faust”; leaves Rome on April 21, 1788,
and arrives at Weimar on June 18th                                   106


Benefit derived from his sojourn in Italy; relieved of most of his
ministerial duties; change in his relations to Frau von Stein; his
informal marriage with Christiane Vulpius; character of Christiane;
relations with Frau von Stein broken off; “Römische Elegien”; his new
ideal in dramatic art; “Egmont”; “Iphigenie”; “Torquato Tasso”; “Faust:
A Fragment,” published in 1790; his discovery of the metamorphosis
of plants; visits Venice in 1790; his son August; his discovery of
the true constitution of the skull; his opposition to Newton’s theory
of colours; becomes director of the Weimar Court Theatre; receives
from the Duke the house in which he spends the rest of his life; the
outbreak of the French Revolution; Goethe’s position with regard to
it; “Gross-Cophta”; “Die Aufgeregten”; accompanies the Duke during the
campaign in Champagne; “Reineke Fuchs”; joins the Duke before Mainz;
returns to Weimar                                                    116


Schiller arrives at Weimar in 1787; his character; meets Goethe for
the first time; settles as a professor at Jena; his marriage; Goethe
calls upon him in 1790, and they talk about Kant’s philosophy; Schiller
goes to Würtemberg; on his return asks Goethe to write for the _Horen_;
Schiller spends a fortnight in Goethe’s house; their friendship; what
it did for Schiller; and for Goethe; the “Xenien”; “Wilhelm Meisters
Lehrjahre”; “Hermann und Dorothea”; “Alexis und Doris”; ballads;
Goethe as a lyrical poet; “Die Propyläen”; “Winckelmann und sein
Jahrhundert”; autobiography of Benvenuto Cellini; “Rameaus Neffe”;
Schiller’s “Wallenstein” represented at Weimar; Schiller settles at
Weimar; great period in history of Weimar; Goethe and the philosophical
movement of the age; Goethe and the Romantic School; Madame de Staël;
“Die Natürliche Tochter”; works at “Faust”; Death of Schiller; Goethe’s
grief                                                                134


The battle of Jena; Weimar plundered by the French; Goethe’s life
saved through Christiane’s presence of mind; his helpfulness in a
time of public trial; his formal marriage with Christiane; his son
August; Johanna Schopenhauer; Bettina von Arnim; death of his mother in
1808; his interviews with Napoleon; new edition of Goethe’s writings;
First Part of “Faust” published in 1808; change in his conception of
the work as a whole; reception of the First Part by the public; “Die
Wahlverwandtschaften”; “Aus Meinem Leben”; “West-Oestlicher Divan”; the
War of Liberation; Goethe’s feeling about it; the Duke of Weimar is
made a Grand Duke, and Goethe becomes First Minister of State in 1815;
death of his wife on June 6, 1816                                    156


Marriage of August Goethe with Ottilie von Pogwisch; Goethe gives up
the directorate of the Weimar Theatre; Wilhelmine Herzlieb; Marianne
von Willemer; Ulrica von Levezow; celebration of the fiftieth
anniversary of the Grand Duke’s accession; and of the fiftieth
anniversary of Goethe’s arrival at Weimar; death of the Grand Duke,
1828; of the Grand Duchess, 1830; of Goethe’s son August, 1830;
Eckermann; his “Conversations with Goethe”; Heine visits Goethe; gift
from English admirers; Goethe’s feeling as to social problems; “Wilhelm
Meisters Wanderjahre”; “Kunst und Alterthum”; his letters, and the
character they reveal; the Second Part of “Faust”; his death, March 22,
1832; general view of his work.                                      170

INDEX                                                                189


The best sources of information about Goethe are his own works and
letters. It would be ungrateful, however, not to acknowledge the service
which has been rendered to students of his character and genius by
various German scholars. Among the writers whose researches I myself
have found helpful, I may name Heinrich Düntzer, Herman Grimm, Karl
Biedermann, and Erich Schmidt.

                                                                  J. S.



Johann Wolfgang Goethe was born at Frankfort-on-the-Main on the 28th of
August, 1749.

His grandfather, Frederick George Goethe, who sprang from a family
belonging to the working class, and was himself a tailor, made his way,
in the latter part of the seventeenth century, from Artern on the
Unstrut to Frankfort. Here he settled, and, early in the eighteenth
century, took as his second wife a handsome widow of thirty-seven,
Cornelia Schelhorn, the owner of the inn, “Zum Weidenhof.” Frederick
George is said to have been a man of pleasant manners and a skilful
musician. His second wife was in every way worthy of him, an energetic
and kindly woman, with all the gracious qualities evoked in generous
natures by prosperous circumstances. They had three children, of whom
Johann Kaspar, Goethe’s father, born on the 27th of July, 1710, was the

Johann Kaspar Goethe was sent to school at Coburg, where he heard of the
death of his father and only brother. Afterwards he studied law at the
Universities of Leipsic and Giessen, and took the degree of Doctor of
Jurisprudence. He practised for some time at the imperial chamber at
Wetzlar, and then travelled in Italy. Finally he returned for life to
Frankfort, where he lived with his mother in a house she had bought in a
street called the Hirschgraben. His mother’s fortune made it unnecessary
for him to accept any fixed appointment, and during the reign of the
Emperor Charles VII. he attained a position of considerable dignity by
securing the title of an imperial councillor (Rath). He was somewhat
pedantic, capable of vehement outbursts of anger, but honest to the
core; and he combined with a sound knowledge of law, a real love for art
and literature. He had given much attention to Italian, and was an
ardent student of Tasso, his favourite author.

On the 20th of July, 1748, when he had reached the mature age of
thirty-eight, he married Catharine Elizabeth, the daughter of Johann
Wolfgang Textor, the chief magistrate of Frankfort, grandson of an
eminent jurist of the same name who received the office of first syndic
of Frankfort in 1690. Catharine Elizabeth was only seventeen years old
at the time of her marriage. She was bright and pretty, fond of music
and poetry, and remarkable for her power of inventing the kind of tales
that fascinate children. Her new home was in the house of her
mother-in-law, with whom she was able to live on the most friendly
terms. Her husband loved her warmly, and, although she made no
profession of romantic attachment to him, she responded to his feeling
with sincere affection and respect.

Goethe was their first-born child, and after him came his sister
Cornelia, who was fifteen months younger than he. There were several
other children, but none of them lived long enough to influence Goethe.
To his sister he was devoted, and, as years passed on, there were few
things in the world so precious to him as her love and sympathy. She was
of a thoughtful temper, loyal and affectionate, and in her brother’s
youth no one had half so much control over his restless and fiery

Like his mother, Goethe had brown hair and dark, lustrous eyes, the
penetrating glance of which, from childhood to old age, never failed to
impress those who met him. He was a vigorous and active child, and at an
early age gave evidence of a highly imaginative temperament. His
grandmother’s house consisted of two old houses joined in one, and the
thought of its dark passages and corners often filled him with dismay in
the night-time, and made sleep impossible. From a room in the back part
of the house, where the children were allowed to play in the summer,
there was a charming view, with wide gardens in the foreground, and,
beyond the city walls, a fertile valley stretching towards Höchst.
Goethe himself has described how he used to sit at the window of this
room and watch thunderstorms and sunsets, and how the spectacle of
nature, combined with the sight of children playing in the gardens and
the sound of balls rolling and ninepins falling, often filled him with a
feeling of solitude and a vague sense of longing.

The children spent much time with their old grandmother, who loved them
dearly. On the Christmas before her death she delighted them by
providing a puppet-show setting forth the story of David and Goliath.
This puppet-show made a great impression on Goethe, and afterwards he
was permitted to find out the secret of its working and to dress up the
figures for new representations.

When Goethe was in his sixth year, his grandmother died; and soon
afterwards his father carried out a plan he had long cherished, that of
rebuilding the house to suit the wants of his family. The work was
carefully superintended by the elder Goethe himself, and the house was
transformed to a handsome, convenient dwelling, with well-lighted rooms
tastefully decorated. He had an excellent collection of books, and they
were now properly arranged in his study. His pictures, most of which
were by Frankfort artists, were also brought together in a room fitted
up for their reception, and the walls of the passages were adorned with
maps and engravings. He had brought back with him from Italy many fine
specimens of Venetian glass, bronzes, ancient weapons, and other
artistic objects. In the new house these treasures were put in cabinets,
and no pains were spared to secure that they should be effectively
displayed. A room on the top floor, looking out upon the street, was set
apart for Goethe.

During the latter part of the time when the house was being rebuilt,
Goethe and his sister were sent to live with relatives, and it was
during this period that he began to have some knowledge of his native
place. As the town in which the Emperors were elected and crowned,
Frankfort held a position of high honour among the free imperial cities
of Germany. Within its old walls and gates it still retained, in its
architecture and customs, many traces of the troubled, picturesque life
of the Middle Ages. Even in childhood Goethe delighted to walk about its
quaint streets, and afterwards he made himself familiar with every link
that was known to connect the town with the events of past times. He
liked to see the gilt weathercock on the bridge of the Main gleam in the
sunshine, and to watch the arrival of boats laden with goods for the
market. On market-days there was always a bustling, lively crowd on the
space around St. Bartholomew’s church, and Goethe found it a source of
endless amusement to push his way among the throng and to note the odd
humours of buyers and sellers. In later years he had an especially vivid
recollection of the spring and autumn fairs, when the town was full of
visitors, and serious business was associated with all sorts of noisy
popular entertainments.

The council-house, then, as now, called the Römer, had a strong
fascination for Goethe. He never forgot his first visit to the imperial
hall in this famous building, where the emperors dined on the occasion
of the coronation festival. Here he saw half-length portraits of many of
the old emperors, and what he heard about them set his imagination at
work to call up graphic pictures of the great events of Germany’s
stirring, splendid history. He examined with keen interest the Golden
Bull of Charles IV., and this naturally led to his visiting the grave of
Günther of Schwarzburg, Charles’s rival, in St. Bartholomew’s church.
Growing up amid such scenes and associations, Goethe naturally acquired
a decided taste for the study of history and antiquities.

Much thought and care were devoted by the elder Goethe to the education
of his children. He himself took the work in hand, but for special
subjects he called in the aid of private tutors, from whom Goethe and
his sister received lessons in association with the children of some
neighbouring families. Goethe’s father and tutors were astonished at the
ease and rapidity with which he mastered the most difficult tasks.
Nothing seemed to be too hard for him. It was often, however, in
childhood, a relief to escape from his father’s rigid discipline, and to
enjoy a little talk with his mother, who was always ready to feed his
imagination with tales of adventure in fairyland. He contrived, too, to
read a good many books--among others, German translations of “Robinson
Crusoe,” and Lord Anson’s “Voyage Round the World.” Among his father’s
books were the works of Fleming, Canitz, Haller, Hagedorn, Gellert, and
other German poets, and he found much in them to awaken and foster his
love of poetry. Klopstock’s “Messiah,” the first three cantos of which
had been published the year before Goethe’s birth, was not thought to be
good enough for a place in a select library, for Goethe’s father, like
many another critic of the eighteenth century, held that rhyme was
essential to poetry. Goethe and his sister were delighted to receive
secretly the loan of a copy from an old friend of the family who
regularly read it, as a pious exercise, once a year in Passion Week.
They learned by heart some of the most striking passages, which they
often recited to one another. One Saturday evening, when their father
was being shaved, they sat behind the stove, and repeated in whispers a
wild dialogue between Satan and Adramelech. Cornelia became more and
more excited as the dialogue went on, and at last, forgetting her
father’s presence, she uttered in a loud voice the words, “How am I
crushed!” The barber was so startled that the contents of the
lather-basin were dashed on the Herr Rath’s breast. Strict inquiry was
made, and Klopstock’s epic was at once ignominiously banished from the

Of greater influence on Goethe than any of the more formal works he read
at this early stage, were the badly-printed folk-books, which he bought
in great numbers. They suggested to him many a strange and romantic
tale, and it may have been one of them that introduced him for the first
time to the story of Faust.

About the time of his seventh birthday, the civilized world was stirred
to its depths by the outbreak of the Seven Years’ War. Goethe’s maternal
grandfather, Textor, sided with the Austrians. His father, on the
contrary, was an enthusiastic adherent of Frederick the Great, and would
not listen to a word against his hero. This difference of opinion led to
serious family quarrels, and Goethe, who, of course, took his father’s
view, was astonished to hear the language used about the great Prussian
king by his grandfather, for whose sayings he had always had unbounded
reverence. Rather more than two years after the beginning of the
struggle, the people of Frankfort were made to realize with painful
vividness some of the more disagreeable aspects of war, for by an act of
treachery on the part of the civic authorities, the French, the allies
of Austria, were allowed to station a body of troops in the city. To
the horror of Goethe’s father, he was told that he would have to receive
into his house a French officer called Thorane, for whom it was
necessary to provide good quarters. In vain the indignant councillor
protested against this arrangement. The decision was final, and he had
nothing for it but to give up to the intruder the rooms on his first
floor, which he had decorated and furnished at so great a cost, and with
so much care. Count Thorane was a cultivated gentleman, with all the
courtesy of his class; and he was anxious to cause as little annoyance
as possible to his host. He could not, however, prevent the coming and
going of many persons who had to see him on military business, and the
result was that the most orderly household in Frankfort was thrown into
dire confusion. This was aggravated by the fact that Thorane, who was
much pleased with some of Dr. Goethe’s pictures, invited various artists
to the house to execute a large number of commissions for him, and
Goethe’s room had to be given up to them as a studio. Frau Goethe, whose
cheerfulness was not easily quenched, made the best of unpleasant
circumstances, and tried to mitigate some of the inconveniences of her
position by learning French; but her husband was irreconcilable, and
became more and more embittered against the French in general, and
against Count Thorane in particular.

Goethe, although sorry for his father, was delighted on his own account
by the new turn of affairs. The monotony of life was broken by a great
excitement, and every day brought with it some fresh and unexpected
pleasure. His frankness, brightness, and geniality won Thorane’s heart,
and they became excellent friends. Goethe was especially interested in
the proceedings of the artists who had taken possession of his room, and
with their aid he began with zeal to practise drawing, in which he
acquired considerable skill. He learned to speak French fluently, and
was charmed to have an opportunity of hearing French plays, many of
which were now acted in Frankfort. Thus, at a most impressionable age,
he passed under a wholly new and stimulating set of influences, and it
was the recollection of these influences that made it impossible for
him, long afterwards, to join the majority of his countrymen in vague
and indiscriminate abuse of the great French people, to whose
civilization he owed some of the best impulses of his life.

In 1761, after more than two years of almost constant irritation,
Goethe’s father got rid of his troublesome guest, but the French did not
quit Frankfort until the end of the following year, when the Seven
Years’ War was about to close. Goethe’s father celebrated the conclusion
of the Treaty of Hubertusburg by presenting his wife with a gold
snuff-box, on the lid of which, set with diamonds, was an allegorical
picture of Peace. Goethe had often to go to the goldsmith to urge him to
make progress with this piece of work, and he took full advantage of the
chance of having long talks with a craftsman who had much to tell him
that was full of interest. This was thoroughly characteristic of Goethe,
who found almost any subject attractive when he could get information
about it from some one practically familiar with its details.

Lessons had been sadly interrupted during Thorane’s stay in the house.
After his departure they were resumed with double vigour. Goethe had
already a good knowledge of Latin, Italian, and French, and some
knowledge of Greek. To these languages he now added English, and he also
made considerable progress in Hebrew. For the exercises he had to write
for his father he often chose the form of dialogue; and one elaborate
exercise he designed as a series of letters, the various correspondents
writing from different parts of the world and in different languages. It
was in connection with these letters that he began the study of Hebrew,
as one of the correspondents wrote in Jew-German, for a thorough mastery
of which a knowledge of Hebrew seemed to be necessary.

In his twelfth year Goethe was confirmed. Even before this time he had
had, in a childlike way, many a serious reflection about the supreme
subjects of human thought and interest. The earthquake at Lisbon in 1755
had led him, child as he was, to ask how such disasters were to be
reconciled with God’s infinite love. Shortly afterwards he took to his
room a red lacquered music-stand, which he used as an altar, piling on
it various objects representative of nature, and placing on the top a
fine porcelain dish, in which were some pastiles that emitted, in
burning, a sweet fragrance. These pastiles he lighted by means of a
burning-glass which caught the rays of the rising sun; and so he sought
to express reverence for aspects of the Divine essence which, he
thought, were not sufficiently recognized in the ordinary religious
services. He was a great reader of the Bible, and was especially
attracted by the early chapters of the Book of Genesis, which
transported him into an ideal world full of grave and strangely
picturesque figures. The tales of this part of the Bible acquired for
him, of course, fresh significance and beauty, when he was able to read
them in the original Hebrew.

In 1764, when Joseph II. was elected and crowned King of the Romans,
Goethe had an opportunity of seeing, at Frankfort, some of the splendid
ceremonies connected with a coronation. He was then in his fifteenth
year, and already he was passing through an experience which had opened
a new world of joy and longing. He had fallen violently in love with a
pretty girl called Gretchen, who was two or three years older than
himself, and did not belong to his own class of society. On the evening
of coronation-day, when the town was brilliantly illuminated, they
strolled through the streets together, and on parting from him at the
door of her mother’s house she honoured him for the first and last time
by kissing his forehead.

Goethe had made the acquaintance of Gretchen through some comrades of
his, with whom he would certainly not have been allowed to consort had
his father known of his association with them. One of them, with
Goethe’s aid, secured employment in a public office; and in this
position he was guilty of some offence which exposed him to severe
penalties. When the affair came to be investigated, Goethe’s name was
mentioned in connection with it, and to his dismay, on the morning after
the coronation, he had to make a clean breast of all that had been going
on, including the story of his love for Gretchen. This put an end to
his first romance, and for days he remained in his room, overwhelmed
with grief and shame.

His, however, was too elastic a spirit to be long incapable of rebound.
A friend in whom he had confidence came to his help, and with this wise
counsellor he turned from thoughts of love to the study of ancient
philosophy. The two together took long walks in the surrounding country,
where Goethe drew sketches of scenery, which had the good fortune to
please his father. And so his wounded pride and affection were quickly
healed, although the incident had made so deep an impression upon him
that half a century afterwards, when he wrote his autobiography, he
could not recall it without a certain bitterness.

By this time Goethe’s father had decided that he was to enter the legal
profession, and had begun to prepare him for future work by reading with
him various law books. Goethe offered no objection, but he was already
dimly conscious of some of the impulses which were to bring him to the
front rank among the great names of the world; and he resolved that
during his university career his energies should be devoted not to law,
but to literature. In 1765, shortly after his sixteenth birthday, he
said farewell to his family, and started for Leipsic, where he was to

He was now a handsome and vigorous youth, with comparatively wide
intellectual interests; and his good looks, high spirits, and lively
talk made him a universal favourite. His childhood and boyhood had been
as happy as those of any great poet have ever been, and all the
circumstances of his life had been favourable to natural mental growth.
He had given ample evidence of quick perception, eager curiosity, and a
remarkable power of penetrating to the secrets of subjects that
interested him; and his great creative faculty had at least made
preliminary efforts to reveal itself. Even in early boyhood he had so
large a share of his mother’s gift of story-telling that groups of
companions delighted to gather around him to hear his entrancing tales.
He had also written many verses, the themes chosen for two of his more
ambitious productions being Christ’s descent into hell and the story of
Joseph and his brethren. Just before he quitted Frankfort he almost
completed “Belshazzar,” a tragedy written in imitation of Klopstock’s
“Solomon.” In composing this tragedy he was stimulated by a wish for the
approval of some unknown beauty, whose sway over him had succeeded that
of Gretchen. Never, perhaps, was there a poet more susceptible than
Goethe to feminine influence, and the thorough comprehension of this
deeply significant fact is essential to any true appreciation of his
genius and character.


At Leipsic Goethe settled in two pleasant rooms in a house near the
university, overlooking a court through which people were constantly
passing to and fro. He happened to arrive at the time of the autumn
fair, and he had an opportunity of seeing many foreigners whose
appearance interested him. Leipsic, which, as the centre of the book
trade, was relatively more important then than it is now, made a most
agreeable impression on him, and he looked forward with delight to the
years he was to spend there. He was especially charmed with the free and
pleasant manners of the people, which presented a striking contrast to
the somewhat formal and rigid rules of social intercourse at Frankfort.

A few days after his arrival he was admitted a student at the
university. He was obliged to join some law classes, but he also heard
lectures by Ernesti on Cicero’s “De Oratore,” and by Gellert on rhetoric
and German literature. At first he attended his classes with exemplary
diligence, but he soon made up his mind that they could not be of much
service to him. The professors of law had little to say that he had not
already learned at Frankfort, or that he could not readily master
without their aid. Gellert’s lectures seemed to him pedantic and
commonplace, and even Ernesti, a scholar of high distinction, did not
help him to penetrate to the spirit, or to feel more deeply the charm,
of Latin literature. During the whole time of his residence at Leipsic
he continued, of course, to attend the university, but his relation to
it was more nominal than real, and exercised little influence on his
intellectual development.

He was received in a friendly way by Böhme, the professor of history,
whose wife, a cultivated and pleasant woman, liked to talk with him. She
offended him a little, however, by laughing rather too freely at some of
his Frankfort modes of expression, and by disparaging the writings of
his favourite poets. Every day he dined at the house of one of the
medical professors, where he met chiefly students of medicine and
natural science. When the novelty of his position at Leipsic wore off,
he began to miss the pleasures to which he had been accustomed at home,
and, above all, he longed for some friend to whom he might confide his
inmost thoughts and aspirations. Gradually he fell into a dejected and
forlorn state of mind, and so keenly did he suffer that in the spring of
1766 one of his Frankfort friends, Horn, who came to study law at
Leipsic, could not find in him a trace of his old liveliness and good
humour. The presence of Horn, who remained for some years one of his
most intimate comrades, did much to revive Goethe; and soon afterwards
the process was completed by another friend, Schlosser, who took Leipsic
on his way from Frankfort to Treptow, where he was to act as private
secretary to Duke Frederick Eugene of Würtemberg. Schlosser, who
ultimately married Goethe’s sister, was a man of vigorous and
independent character, somewhat stern in manner, but essentially kind
and sympathetic, and he quickly succeeded in restoring Goethe to all his
former cheerfulness and self-confidence.

Schlosser put up at the house of a vintner called Schönkopf, who, his
wife having come from Frankfort, always welcomed visitors from her
native place. Goethe was so much pleased with the company at Schönkopf’s
table that he determined to dine and sup there daily, and this
resolution he acted upon during the remainder of his time at Leipsic.
Schönkopf had a pretty, coquettish daughter, Anne Catharine, and,
needless to say, she no sooner saw the susceptible Goethe than she made
a conquest of him. Like Gretchen, she was his senior by two or three
years, but that, he felt, only made her the more worthy to be loved.
Annette, as he usually called her, accepted his devotion with pleasure,
and was sincerely fond of him; but, having a shrewd suspicion that she
could never be his wife, she gave him no marks of favour that she was
not equally ready to give to other admirers. Many a time Goethe was
thrown into a fever of jealousy by her kindness to his rivals, but she
had only to smile on him to exalt him to a heaven of enchantment and
delight. Upon the whole, his relation to Annette, which went on for
years, seems to have brought him more misery than happiness. It was
impossible for him to claim her love as exclusively his own, yet he
could not bear to think of it as a treasure that might pass into the
possession of some one else.

He had not the good fortune to meet at Schönkopf’s any one who could be
of vital intellectual service to him, but he enjoyed familiar
intercourse there with many agreeable people--among others, Behrisch, a
scholar who acted as tutor to a young Count. Goethe liked him as a loyal
friend and intelligent critic. Gradually Goethe extended the circle of
his acquaintance, until he had almost as many friends in Leipsic as in
Frankfort. It was especially pleasant for him to visit at the house of
Breitkopf, a printer, who had two sons about Goethe’s own age, one of
them an admirable pianist and clever composer. Goethe was often present
at musical parties in this hospitable house, and he himself took part in
them, for he could not only sing, but play the flute. Afterwards he
acquired some skill as a player on the cello.

By far the most eminent man with whom Goethe came into direct contact at
Leipsic was Oeser, the director of the academy of drawing, painting, and
architecture. Oeser was a native of Presburg, in Hungary, and had all
the energy and enthusiasm so often possessed by his countrymen. His own
artistic achievements were not of permanent importance, but he had an
extraordinary power of exciting interest in art, and of stimulating to
high effort all who came within the range of his influence. Long before
this time, at Dresden, he had been intimate with Winckelmann, who had
learned from him the doctrine that the qualities which give enduring
charm to works of art are simplicity and calm. Goethe, who had a longing
to master artistic methods, became his pupil, and he never forgot that
he owed to this wise and genial teacher the germs of his most fertile
ideas about art, and the first effective encouragement he had ever
received to do full justice to his own powers. At Oeser’s home in
Leipsic, and at his house in the country, he was always a welcome guest.
Oeser had two daughters, one of whom was married. The other, Frederika,
about Goethe’s age, lived with her father. Handsome, sprightly, and
clever, she became one of Goethe’s best friends.

Oeser was not his only instructor in art. Stock, the engraver, lived
with his wife and two young daughters (afterwards the wives of intimate
friends of Schiller), at the top of the house in which was the home of
the Breitkopfs. From him Goethe took lessons in etching, at which he
worked with great enthusiasm and perseverance. He also amused himself by
carving boards for bookbinding. There seemed to be hardly any limit to
Goethe’s activity. Even he could not hope to excel in all his many
undertakings, but in everything he tried he gained enough of insight to
enable him to distinguish sharply between good products and bad, and to
appreciate and enjoy those wrought on true and enduring principles.

All good pictures accessible at Leipsic he made himself familiar with,
and in 1767 he took a short holiday for the purpose of studying the
picture gallery at Dresden. He stayed at the house of a worthy, humorous
shoemaker, with whom he had much friendly talk. At the gallery the
pictures of all the great schools interested him, but those of the Dutch
school, from their fidelity to fact, appealed to him most strongly. Day
after day he resumed his study of the masterpieces he loved, and so
deeply did they influence his mind that, when he returned to the actual
world, he could not help seeing things as if they formed part of a
picture. His friend, the shoemaker, seemed to him like a figure that had
stepped out of a canvas by Ostade.

Powerfully as Goethe was fascinated by art, literature remained the real
mistress of his affections. The Latin classics he read with growing
pleasure, but he also constantly felt around him for new impressions and
impulses, and by a kind of happy instinct he was led to the writers who
were best fitted to nourish his genius. At Frankfort he had read
Wieland’s translation of Shakespeare, and now Dodd’s “Beauties of
Shakespeare” came in his way. His study of this selection did not yet
disclose to him Shakespeare’s real significance, but it prepared him for
deeper comprehension at a later stage. Wieland, having left far behind
him the Pietistic fervour with which he began his career, was now
tricking out in all sorts of forms, both of verse and prose, his easy
Epicurean philosophy. Goethe read eagerly every one of his later
writings; and, so far as style was concerned, he learned much from
Wieland, who, with all his faults, knew how to present his ideas, such
as they were, with lightness, delicacy, and grace. In 1766 Lessing’s
“Laocoon” was published, and Goethe has described with what delight he
and all the younger men of his day received this masterpiece of a great
and serious spirit. As if by a flash of lightning, it revealed the broad
lines of distinction that separate the arts from one another. It showed,
too, that it is only by keeping strictly within its natural limits that
each art can attain its highest objects, and that of all the arts poetry
is necessarily the deepest, the most far-reaching, and the grandest.
All this was new to Goethe, and spurred him to think out for himself the
fundamental problems of critical thought. Not less enthusiastically did
he welcome Lessing’s “Minna von Barnhelm,” which still remains the most
exquisitely finished play of its kind in the German language. It
impressed Goethe, because Lessing, unlike other German dramatists, had
selected his motives directly from the life of his own time, but had
conceived them with an imaginative force and subtlety that made them
perennially interesting. In the spring of 1768 Lessing spent a month at
Leipsic, but unfortunately Goethe did not see him. About the same time
Goethe was shocked by the tidings of the murder of Winckelmann, for whom
he had the deepest reverence, and whose writings on ancient art must be
counted among the most potent of the influences that enriched and
developed his intellectual life.

From the beginning of his residence at Leipsic Goethe was a constant
attendant at the play, and he sometimes acted--always with considerable
success in comic parts--in private theatricals at Schönkopf’s house.
Thinking so much as he did about the drama, he could not but try his
hand at dramatic composition; and in the winter of 1767-68 he produced
two plays--“Die Laune des Verliebten” (“The Lover’s Humour”) and “Die
Mitschuldigen” (“The Accomplices”). The former is essentially a
presentation of his own experiences in his relation to Annette
Schönkopf. The latter contains an unpleasant picture of facts akin to
those which were forced on his attention at Frankfort in connection with
the incident that led to his separation from Gretchen. Both are written
in rhymed alexandrines, and show that Goethe, like most of his
contemporaries, still looked for his models to the French classic drama.

At Leipsic Goethe was known as a young poet much given to biting satire.
In his autobiography he gives an account of a visit he paid to
Gottsched, who had at one time been in some sort the literary dictator
of Germany; and from this amusing narrative we can see with what mocking
humour he waited on the old pedant, who found it so hard to realize that
his day was past. Clodius, who prided himself on his dignified style,
Goethe enraged by producing parodies of his pompous verses. At heart,
however, Goethe was too generous to care a great deal about work of this
sort; what he liked infinitely better was to give direct poetical
expression to his own thoughts and feelings. This he did at Leipsic in a
considerable number of lyrics, some of which were set to music by the
elder of the two brothers Breitkopf. These lyrics lack the perfect
rhythm, the indefinable charm of his later work in this kind, but they
have vigour and a certain grace, and show at least something of what
ultimately became his astonishing mastery of apt and picturesque

In 1767 Goethe introduced to the Schönkopfs a friend of his, Kanne, a
Saxon advocate. Kanne was charmed with Annette, and Goethe was thrown
into the depths of despair by seeing that she was not disinclined to
respond to his advances. In vain he tried to still his agitation by
flying to nature for consolation, and by writing satirical verses on the
untrustworthiness of young maidens. He became thoroughly wretched, and
his unhappiness, associated with various other causes, among which he
himself afterwards included some irregularities in his mode of living,
made him seriously ill. At last, one night in July, 1768, he had a
severe attack of hemorrhage, and a doctor had to be hastily summoned.
For some time it was feared that he might be suffering from disease of
the lungs. During his illness he was tenderly cared for by his friends,
and when convalescent he was cheered by the bright, wholesome talk of
his friend Frederika Oeser, who, when he visited her in the country,
laughed at the ridiculous notion of a young fellow thinking of dying of
consumption. The process of recovery, however, was slow, and finally he
decided to return to Frankfort, and to set off on his birthday, a day
which he regarded as a lucky one for the beginning of important
undertakings. On the 26th of August he called at the Schönkopfs, and
bade adieu to Annette, who agreed to let him write to her once a month.
It filled him with sadness to think that this might be their last
parting, and on the following evening--he was to leave next day--he
could not resist the impulse to go once more to her home. He saw the
lamps burning, and hovered about the door-steps, but had not courage to

At Frankfort the invalid was received with infinite sympathy by his
mother and sister; and his father, seeing him pale and thin, concealed
the bitterness he felt at the disappointment of the hopes that had been
so warmly cherished. Goethe was happy to be at home again, amused
himself by drawing and etching, sent little gifts to Annette, and wrote
in good spirits to Oeser and some of his other Leipsic friends. But
before the end of the year he was again prostrated, suffering this time
from a different malady. His agonies were frightful, and his mother,
driven to despair, took the Bible, and resolved to be guided by the
first words on which her eyes should happen to light. Fortunately she
came upon the words of Jeremiah, “Thou shalt yet plant vines upon the
mountains of Samaria.” She was at once relieved, and ever afterwards
this was her favourite “promise.” Goethe quickly recovered, but early in
1769 he had another illness, by which he was confined to his room for a
month. It became evident that his constitution had been rudely shaken,
and that only time and vigilance could restore him to full strength.

Among his mother’s most intimate friends was a certain Fräulein von
Klettenberg, who belonged to the church of the Moravian Brethren. With a
noble purity and dignity of character she combined a deep mystic piety.
During Goethe’s illness Fräulein von Klettenberg, who showed him great
kindness, gained a strong influence over his mind; and there are many
indications that at this time he thought often and most earnestly on the
profoundest questions relating to human life and destiny. He even worked
out for himself an elaborate theological system, in which a place was
found for the Trinity, Lucifer, the Elohim, Man, and for the Fall and
Redemption. These speculations were connected with the study of alchemy,
to which he was led by his doctor, who, like Fräulein von Klettenberg,
was one of the Moravian Brethren. Goethe not only made many experiments
in accordance with the rules of alchemy, but read all the old books on
this subject on which he could lay his hands.

In the autumn of 1769 he received from Leipsic a volume consisting of
some of his lyrics, with the melodies to which they had been set by
Breitkopf. The volume gave him little pleasure, for he was now occupied
with other interests. He was more deeply stirred by a glimpse he had of
General Paoli, who passed through Frankfort on his way to England.
Paoli’s noble and romantic career had kindled Goethe’s enthusiasm, as it
had kindled that of Boswell, and, mainly through Boswell, that of
Johnson and all the other members of the brilliant literary set with
whom the Corsican hero was soon to be on pleasant terms in London.

Meanwhile, Goethe had learned that Annette had been betrothed to his
friend Kanne. He was struck with dismay by this intelligence, and could
not help hoping that something might at the last moment prevent their
union, and that he himself might be able to take his friend’s place.
Annette, however, did not share his wishes, and by and by both the joy
and the torment that had so often been evoked by his love for her were
for ever dispelled by her marriage.

Goethe’s father was most anxious that his study of law should as soon as
possible be resumed. Accordingly, in April, 1770, having spent about a
year and a half at home, he started for Strasburg, where, for various
reasons, it had been decided that he should take his degree. He was now
in his twenty-first year. He had not been restored to perfect health,
but he was strong enough for the work that lay before him, and he had no
longer any fear that he had been stricken by a mortal malady.

Alsace, although a province of the French monarchy, was still
essentially German. Not until the time of the Revolution did the people
cease to think of themselves as Germans, and begin to be proud of their
connection with France. In entering Strasburg, therefore, Goethe had no
feeling that he had come to a foreign town. It contained, indeed, a
strong French element, but the mass of the inhabitants spoke his own
language, and retained the manners and customs of their Teutonic
forefathers. As in Frankfort, so in Strasburg, there were many survivals
of former ages, and these at once attracted Goethe’s attention. He was
of course especially impressed by the minster, by far the most splendid
building he had yet seen. He studied it closely within and without, and
became an enthusiastic admirer of Gothic architecture, which he had
always heard decried. Often, especially at sunset, he mounted the tower
to enjoy the wide and varied prospect visible from the top.

He had pleasant rooms in the old Fish-market, and dined at a table where
he met many students whom he liked. At the head of this table sat
Salzmann, a middle-aged actuary, a man of fine taste and cultivated
intellect. He took to Goethe at once, discussed philosophy with him, and
was able to give him useful hints as to the studies for his degree.
Among the men whose acquaintance Goethe made at this table was Jung
Stilling, who, at the age of thirty, trusting in Providence for the
means of living, came to Strasburg to study medicine. Stilling always
retained a vivid recollection of the first occasion on which he saw
Goethe. He and his friend, Herr Troost, took their seats at the table
before any one else had arrived. By and by the guests came in, and
among them one who entered briskly, a young man “with large bright
eyes, splendid forehead, and handsome figure.” This was Goethe. “That
must be an excellent man,” whispered Stilling’s companion. Stilling was
of the same opinion, but thought he might give them some trouble, as he
seemed “a wild young fellow”--an impression which was afterwards found
to be mistaken. On a later occasion one of the guests tried to raise a
laugh at Stilling’s expense. He was sternly rebuked by Goethe, who now
sought Stilling’s friendship, and became warmly attached to him.

Introduced by Salzmann, Goethe was welcomed at many houses in Strasburg.
He was still to some extent under the influence of the mystical ideas
which had taken so strong a hold of him during his illness, but they did
not prevent him from enjoying to the full the social pleasures within
his reach. Of dancing he never could have enough, for it had all the
charm of novelty, dancing-parties being at that time unknown in
Frankfort and Leipsic.

He had the pleasure of seeing the young princess, Marie Antoinette, as
she passed through Strasburg on her way to Paris; and in June he enjoyed
with a fellow-student, Weyland, a ride across the Vosges mountains to
Saarbrück. On the way back, at Niederbronn, he was surprised and
delighted to find fragments of ancient pillars, sculptured altars with
inscriptions, and other Roman remains. These objects, lying about in
farmyards, called up before his active imagination a vivid picture of
the widespread civilization of Rome.

Goethe had not forgotten that he had come to Strasburg to take a degree,
and soon after his twenty-first birthday, having attended the proper
courses of lectures at the university, he passed the necessary
examinations. He then began to prepare his dissertation, choosing as his
subject the doctrine that it is the duty of the State to establish a
form of religion to which all citizens shall be obliged to conform.
During the remainder of his stay he gave attention at the university
chiefly to chemistry anatomy, and other sciences. He also devoted a good
deal of time to the study of the antiquities of Alsace, his interest in
which had been thoroughly aroused by the treasures at Niederbronn.

One day in September, 1770, Goethe accidentally met a young clergyman on
the steps at the entrance to the inn, “Zum Geist.” He knew that Herder
had just arrived at Strasburg, and could not doubt that this was he.
Goethe greeted him respectfully, and Herder, attracted, like every one
else, by the young student’s manly bearing and frank expression,
responded pleasantly, and entered into conversation with him. This led
to an intimate friendship, and the consequences were of the highest
importance for Goethe. Herder was at this time only twenty-six years of
age--that is, five years older than Goethe--but his character had been
matured by hard discipline, and he had already made a good reputation as
the author of two collections of essays full of energy and fresh
thought. He was not one of the great creative spirits of the world, but
he had an intellect of restless activity, endowed with an extraordinary
faculty for the apprehension of far-reaching ideas. He had enthusiasm,
too, and a noble, inspiring conception of the part that properly belongs
to the individual mind in its relations to the world at large.

Having given up his work as preacher and schoolmaster at Riga, he had
spent some time in France; and he had lately accepted the office of
tutor to the young Prince of Holstein-Eutin, whom he had accompanied to
Strasburg. This appointment he now resigned, having received a promise
(which was soon fulfilled) of the chief pastorate at Bückeburg, where he
proposed to marry Caroline Flachsland, to whom he had become engaged at
Darmstadt. He remained, however, rather more than six months at
Strasburg, mainly that he might be cured of an affection of the eyes, by
which he was much troubled. A painful operation was performed, and
recovery was less rapid than he expected. Goethe was one of his most
constant visitors, and missed no opportunity of serving him. Even when
his health was good, it was rather difficult for Herder’s friends to hit
it off with him, for with all his excellent qualities he was irritable,
and apt to be somewhat arrogant; and his temper was not improved by his
sufferings. But Goethe, who recognized the essential greatness of his
character, was not discouraged by his occasional rudeness, and was well
rewarded for the fidelity with which he waited upon his new friend.

At this time the serious thought of Europe was passing through one of
the most momentous revolutions the world has ever seen. Beyond all
question the foremost figure in the movement was Rousseau. As a man of
letters Rousseau was far inferior to Voltaire, and his knowledge was
neither so wide nor so exact as that of Diderot. But his ideas
corresponded to the deepest needs of the age, and he had the enthusiasm,
the prophetic ardour that commanded for them the attention of mankind.
The civilization of France he had shaken to its centre, and in Germany
the impression he had produced had been hardly less profound. Everywhere
generous minds were filled with discontent with the world as it actually
existed. Everywhere they were revolting against forms and conventions,
and crying out for a return to “nature,” for the free growth and
expression of the innate qualities of humanity--qualities which, when
not corrupted by unjust institutions, were, according to Rousseau,
always pure and noble.

Herder, who had studied Rousseau closely, had appropriated all that was
most vital in his teaching, and had applied his doctrines, not only in
the criticism of life, but in his judgments of literature; and now he
made Goethe a sharer of the intellectual wealth he had himself acquired.
Goethe had already been a reader of Rousseau, but from this time, as we
know from the characteristics of his early writings, his mind was deeply
penetrated by the spirit of “La Nouvelle Héloïse” and “Émile.” Of still
greater importance was the help he obtained in the comprehension of the
full splendour of Shakespeare’s genius. Of all poets, Shakespeare, as
Herder taught, was the one in whom nature had found her truest
interpreter; and, returning in earnest to the study of his dramas,
Goethe was impressed, as he had never been impressed before, by their
power and beauty, and felt more and more strongly that it would be
impossible for him ever to exhaust their meaning. Herder had also much
to say about Swift, Richardson, Fielding, Sterne, and Goldsmith; and to
a circle of friends, of whom Goethe was one, he read “The Vicar of
Wakefield,” the humour, pathos, and idyllic charm of which filled them
with delight. Through Herder’s influence Goethe began the serious study
of Homer; and even from “Hamlet” he did not receive a deeper inspiration
than from the “Iliad” and the “Odyssey.” Macpherson’s rendering of
Ossian had touched the imagination of Herder, and he communicated his
enthusiasm for it to Goethe, who perceived in “Fingal” and “The Songs of
Selma” many a trace of a great and entrancing primitive literature. From
Herder, too, who was familiar with Percy’s “Reliques,” Goethe first
learned that some of the finest manifestations of the poetic impulse are
to be found in popular songs and ballads. This revelation gave him
exquisite pleasure, and it led to his collecting folk-songs, the
directness, freshness, and simplicity of which, but with a new and
subtle delicacy, were reproduced in his own lyrics.

Thanks to the influences under which he was brought by Herder, Goethe,
during his residence at Strasburg, experienced a great intellectual
awakening. He did not accept any body of doctrines as a complete and
final expression of truth. On the contrary, the supreme service done to
him by Herder was that in regard to things of the mind he was delivered
from subservience to external authority. He now began to look out upon
the world with his own eyes, and to test opinions by the free exercise
of his own judgment. He had met Herder at the very moment when he
needed, and was capable of responding to, the stimulus of an original
mind at a stage of development more advanced than his own. When he
parted from his teacher, it was no longer necessary for him to sit at
the feet of a master. He had learned that great achievements were
possible only if, like the poets into whose secrets he was penetrating,
he brought himself into direct contact with the facts of the world, and
trusted absolutely to the inherent impulses and laws of his own
intellectual and imaginative powers.

During the period in which he was deriving fresh ideal impulses from
Herder, Goethe was drinking deep draughts of the sweetest joys of the
actual world. In the autumn of 1770 he rode with his friend Weyland to
the pretty Alsatian village, Sesenheim, where Weyland wished to visit
Pastor Brion, whose wife was related by marriage to one of his
half-sisters. As they approached the quaint old parsonage, standing with
its quiet garden in a well-wooded country, Goethe’s restless spirit
could not but feel the soothing influence of a scene at once so
beautiful and so peaceful. Pastor Brion, a most amiable and hospitable
clergyman, had four daughters, one of whom was married, while three
lived with their parents. There was also a son about eight years old. A
simpler, happier family did not exist, and we cannot wonder that Goethe
(not, as he afterwards thought, on his first visit, for he then knew
nothing of Goldsmith) sometimes compared it to the family of the Vicar
of Wakefield. Some whim made him present himself in disguise, but he
soon appeared in his real character; and as he was pleasantly received,
he at once felt at home. The youngest daughter was not old enough to
interest Goethe. The others were Salomea, who was about his own age,
and Frederika, who was in her nineteenth or twentieth year. Frederika
had a slender, graceful figure, with rich masses of fair hair, dark-blue
eyes, and finely modelled features. She was rather delicate, but had a
fresh appearance, due to the sweet, wholesome air of the country. Behind
her coy and maidenly manner were hidden possibilities of deep and
passionate devotion, and her charm was made all the more alluring by the
contrast she presented to her robust and outspoken elder sister.

In his autobiography Goethe gives a matchless description of his
relation to this lovely girl. It is impossible to trust the details of
the picture, some of which are known to be inaccurate; but there is no
reason to doubt that in its main outlines it reproduces faithfully what
actually happened. At any rate it is certain that he loved Frederika
with all his heart; not as he had loved Gretchen and Annette, for their
influence had never gone far below the surface; but with a love full of
romance, with a passion that glowed and flamed with ever-increasing
intensity. And Frederika--how was it possible for her to resist the
young poet’s wooing? He had come to her suddenly, like some radiant
being out of an unknown world, and in response to his fervour her heart
throbbed with love, and pride, and joy.

Immediately after his first visit he wrote to her to say that never had
Strasburg seemed to him so empty. Many other letters followed, but
unfortunately they were afterwards burned by Frederika’s sister. He
repeatedly visited Sesenheim, and shortly after Easter, 1771, Frederika
came to Strasburg with her mother and sister. While she remained, Goethe
and she had some happy hours together; yet somehow she did not seem
quite herself in a town; he felt that they were in perfect sympathy only
in the country, where they could be all in all to one another, with
nature around them reflecting their happiness.

At Whitsuntide he went again to her home, intending to return to his
studies after a short visit. But she was not very well, and day after
day, week after week passed, and he was still at Sesenheim. During this
visit he made himself highly popular in the village, and occupied
himself in all sorts of ways, learning how to make basket work, painting
the pastor’s carriage, and planning the reconstruction of the parsonage.
He went on, too, with his study of Homer, and read to Frederika a
translation he had made of “The Songs of Selma.” And all the time the
passion of the lovers grew and struck its roots deeper in their hearts.

At last, when June was far advanced, he was forced to drag himself away,
for it was time that he should proceed to his degree, the taking of
which had been too long delayed. The university authorities were
scandalized by some of the opinions advanced in his dissertation, but
admitted his ability, and directed him to take part in a public
disputation. The order was obeyed, and he afterwards received a
licentiate’s degree.

In company with some friends, Goethe now enjoyed a short tour in Upper
Alsace. On his return he paid a farewell visit to Sesenheim, and in
August he was once more at home in Frankfort.

In the last interview with Frederika nothing was said to indicate that
the parting was final. Nevertheless, Goethe knew that it was so; and
eight years passed before they saw one another again, and then they met
simply as old friends. Frederika had never doubted that he proposed to
make her his wife, and this had also been assumed by her family. At
first the idea of marriage did not occur to Goethe. He thought only of
the rapture he felt in her presence, of her sweetness, her grace, and
her beauty. When at last he could not avoid reflecting on the
consequences of having won a maiden’s affections, a prolonged and bitter
struggle went on in his mind. That Frederika, if he had been prepared to
marry, would have made him truly happy, he loved her too well to
question; and he can hardly have supposed that it would have been very
difficult to induce his father to welcome her as a daughter-in-law. But
the thought of marriage was repugnant to him. What! bind himself for
life at the very time when he was becoming conscious of his
destiny--when it was essential to the unfolding of his genius that his
individuality should have free play! Deeply as he loved Frederika,
strongly as he felt the duty he owed her, this consideration gained the
day. He must have freedom, let it cost what it might.

Goethe never sought to justify his treatment of Frederika. For many a
day he suffered the pang of a wounded conscience. His ultimate decision
was right, for he had not reached a stage at which a happy marriage
would have been possible; but he well knew that in a matter of such vast
importance he ought not to have created an expectation that, from the
nature of the case, was doomed to be disappointed. It can only be said
that to a poet of his ardent temperament the power which had cast its
spell over him was all but irresistible. Frederika herself, although she
seemed to lose all in losing her lover, did not permanently resent the
severance of the bond that connected them. She seems to have felt that
deep causes had led to their separation. All her life she had a vivid
remembrance of the beautiful romantic world in which they had for a
while wandered together; and when attempts were made by new wooers to
win her hand, her answer is said to have been, “The heart that Goethe
has loved cannot belong to another.”

His love for Frederika exercised as powerful an influence over him in
one direction as contact with Herder had exercised in another. In his
meeting with her, and in his parting from her, he had sounded some of
the profoundest depths of joy and suffering; and he had passed through a
conflict in which his strongest feelings had been arrayed against one
another. And in response to the touch of love his genius had sprung into
free activity. He had written various lyrics giving utterance to his
passion, and to this period also belongs “Heidenröslein,” in which he
presented in a new form an old popular song. These perfect lyrics,
slight as they are, are the earliest of his achievements in which we
find the really characteristic qualities of his poetry. They do not,
like his first efforts, bear the stamp of traditional rules, but are the
direct expression of his own inward life. For five centuries--from the
time when, at mediæval courts, Walther von der Vogelweide had sung his
splendid verses--no poetic note of such mingled power and sweetness had
been struck in Germany. In these early poems we feel the stirring of the
forces of a new spring-time. They are full of a passionate delight in
the beauty of the earth and the sky; in every line breathing of love
they have the accent of sincerity; and they produce the impression of
having flowed without effort from a mind which found the most natural
outlet for its feelings in stanzas of noble and flawless melody.


On his twenty-second birthday (August 28, 1771), the day after his
arrival at home, Goethe applied to be admitted as one of the advocates
of Frankfort. A few days afterwards he took the oath as an advocate and
citizen; and he soon received his first case--an extraordinary one, in
which he had to defend a son against a father. Judgment was given in
favour of Goethe’s client, but both he and the advocate on the other
side were rebuked for the bitterness with which they had presented their
arguments. In the course of the winter Goethe had only one other case.
Law had little interest for him, and he accepted professional work
merely to please his father, who was bent on seeing him an eminent

Of all the studies carried on at this time the one that moved him most
profoundly was the study of Shakespeare, and at last he felt that he
must find some means of expressing the thoughts and feelings kindled
within him by the poet whom he adored. Accordingly he decided that on
the 14th of October a Shakespeare festival should be held in his
father’s house; and it was arranged that there should be a like festival
at the same time in Strasburg. The plan was carried out, and Goethe, in
language of glowing enthusiasm, poured forth his admiration of the
dramas in which, as he said, “the history of the world sweeps on before
our eyes on the invisible thread of time.”

At Strasburg he had lighted upon the autobiography of Goetz von
Berlichingen, the knight with the iron hand, who had played so great a
part in the Peasants’ War in the sixteenth century. Goetz (born in 1480)
was one of the manliest of the warriors who, in the age which formed the
border-line between the mediæval and the modern world, fought valiantly
for the causes they conceived to be those of justice and freedom. His
autobiography is a frank and simple record of his adventures, written
with a view to prevent his descendants from misunderstanding him. As
Goethe read it, it seems to have flashed upon him that, notwithstanding
external differences, there was much inward resemblance between the
influences with which Goetz contended and those which in his own day
choked up the springs of thought and natural feeling. Goetz had not
allowed his spirit to be broken by the tyrannical forces of his period;
he had asserted his individuality, and had been loyal to his own
loftiest aims. Here, then, was a figure which might be made the medium
for the expression of Goethe’s own aspirations; and he forthwith decided
that Goetz should be the hero of his first drama.

The execution of the scheme was somewhat delayed; but, stimulated by his
sister Cornelia, to whom all his thoughts and wishes were confided, he
set to work early in the winter of 1771, and before the end of the year
the drama in its original form was completed. Its title in this form
was “Geschichte Gottfriedens von Berlichingen mit der eisernen Hand,
dramatisirt” (“History of Gottfried of Berlichingen with the iron hand,
dramatised”). While it was being written, he read in the evening to his
sister the work done during the day, and he was greatly encouraged by
her warm sympathy. Copies of the play, in manuscript, were despatched to
Salzmann and Herder. Salzmann lost no time in congratulating his friend,
but Herder’s response, to which Goethe looked forward anxiously, was
long postponed.

About this time Goethe made the acquaintance of a man by whose
friendship he laid great store. This was Merck, paymaster of the forces
of Darmstadt, who was about eight years older than Goethe. He was a
tall, meagre, rather awkward-looking man, somewhat cynical, but an
ardent student of literature, and thoroughly loyal to his friends.
Towards the close of 1771, a bookseller at Frankfort, asked Merck to
edit the “Frankfurter Gelehrten Anzeigen” (“The Frankfort Learned
Notices,” or “The Frankfort Review,” as we might say), a new literary
periodical which was to appear at the beginning of 1772. Merck accepted
the offer, and went to Frankfort to make arrangements with contributors.
During this visit Goethe met him, and they at once became friends.
Goethe joined the staff of the “Gelehrten Anzeigen,” and during the next
two years wrote for it a good many reviews of all kinds of books. The
opinions expressed in these reviews give evidence of a free and vigorous
judgment, and they are set forth in a fresh, incisive, and picturesque
style. It may be safely said that all great poets are great critics,
and in his first efforts at criticism Goethe gave sufficiently clear
indications that in the maturity of his powers he would be no exception
to the general rule.

He visited Merck several times at Darmstadt, where he became an intimate
friend of Herder’s betrothed, who often wrote about him to her lover at
Bückeburg. On one occasion, when walking to Darmstadt from Frankfort, he
was overtaken by a tempest, and had to take refuge in a hut. Here he
recited aloud, exactly as the words occurred to him, the “Wanderers
Sturmlied” (the “Wanderer’s Storm-song”), a series of wild, irregular
verses, in which he celebrates the power of Jupiter Pluvius, and
apostrophises the Genius that makes the poet’s spirit independent of the
accidents of time and place. To this period, also, belongs “The
Wanderer,” a fine poem--suggested, no doubt, by his experiences at
Niederbronn--in which a poet converses with a simple young mother in a
hut built of stones taken from the ruins of an ancient temple.

It had always been intended that Goethe, as his father had done before
him, and as it was the custom of many young advocates still to do,
should perfect himself in his profession by practising for some time in
connection with the imperial chamber at Wetzlar. Accordingly, he took
rooms at Wetzlar, in May, 1772. The work of each advocate at the
imperial chamber was exactly what the advocate himself chose to make it,
and Goethe chose to make his a mere form. Wetzlar, a little town on the
left bank of the Lahn, is situated in a charming country, and he did not
feel disposed to burrow among musty law-books when, in bright summer
weather, he had a chance of wandering in secluded valleys, and filling
his sketch-book with studies of landscape. He also spent a good deal of
time in reading Greek poets, taking especial delight in Pindar.

But even the pleasure he found in Pindar and in nature was by and by
thrust into the background by a more absorbing passion. The thought of
Frederika had often troubled him, but he had so far recovered from the
shock of his separation from her that it had become possible for him to
be subdued by a new fascination. And the possibility was soon
transformed into reality. He had relatives at Wetzlar, and having
started with some of them one evening for a ball which was to come off
at a neighbouring village, he stopped the carriage to take up a friend
of theirs who was to accompany them. This friend was Charlotte Buff, the
daughter of a public official at Wetzlar. She was the second of a family
of twelve children, and on her, after the recent death of her mother,
had devolved the principal duties of the household. She was nineteen
years of age, a beautiful girl with fair hair and blue eyes, remarkable
for quick intelligence, and always bright and cheerful in the
performance of the most troublesome tasks. Goethe loved her at once,
and, with his usual impetuosity, could not help showing how passionately
he was devoted to her. Every day he visited her in the afternoon, and
delighted to lie at her feet on the grass while the children played
around them; and in the evening he was often at the house again, drawn
thither by an attraction he was powerless to resist. Charlotte--or
Lotte, as she was called--was, of course, interested in a man who was
so different from all the men she had ever met, and she gave him as warm
and true an affection as a woman can give to one who is no more than a
friend. Love she could not give him, nor did he ask for it, for she had
already virtually pledged her troth. Her lover was Kestner, the
secretary of the Brunswick Legation. Kestner, who was about eight years
older than Goethe, was a man of solid qualities, able and steadfast,
devoted to his professional duties, but with a keen and intelligent
interest in literature. Goethe, before his first meeting with Lotte, had
known him slightly, and soon became sincerely attached to him,
thoroughly appreciating his manly and generous character. Kestner saw,
of course, the tumult that had been excited in Goethe’s breast, but
never either by word or by look gave the faintest sign of jealousy or of
a wish to hamper Lotte’s freedom.

The relation was a most difficult one, and made Goethe restless and
unhappy. At last the strain became intolerable, and he resolved to save
himself by flight. On the 10th of September, having dined with Kestner
in a public garden, Goethe spent the evening with the lovers in Lotte’s
home; and, as it happened, the talk became unusually sombre, Lotte
herself giving it a serious turn by a reference to the invisible world.
On returning to his rooms he wrote farewell letters, adding next morning
a line for Lotte alone. “Be ever of cheerful mood, dear Lotte,” he
wrote,--“you are happier than a hundred--only not indifferent! And I,
dear Lotte, am happy that I read in your eyes that you believe I shall
never change. Adieu, a thousand times adieu!”

On the same morning he quitted Wetzlar, haunted by the thought of her,
but with the feeling that he was escaping from a grave and imminent
peril. At Darmstadt Goethe had met Frau von Laroche, who had made some
reputation as the author of a recently-published romance, “Die
Geschichte des Fräulein von Sternheim.” She was the wife of a high
official at the Electoral Court of Trier, and her home was on the
outskirts of a beautiful village that nestled at the foot of
Ehrenbreitstein. In response, no doubt, to an invitation to visit her,
Goethe now made his way slowly down the Lahn towards the Rhine, finding
in communion with nature some relief from the depression that had
succeeded the excitement of the previous weeks.

During his stay at the house of Frau von Laroche several guests
arrived--among them, Merck with his wife and little boy. Goethe
thoroughly enjoyed his visit, opening his heart and imagination to all
the impressions produced on him by free, joyous intercourse with
friends, and by the lovely scenery of the Rhine country. Frau von
Laroche, by whom he had not been strongly attracted at Darmstadt, won
his confidence and affection; and he had many a pleasant talk with the
eldest of her two daughters, Maximiliane, a girl of about seventeen,
whose fine dark eyes and frank, pretty ways might have created for him a
new danger but for the power that had so completely subdued him at

Before the end of September he was back at Frankfort, and in the course
of a few weeks he was again engaged in professional business, to which
he continued to give some attention during the whole of the remaining
time spent in his father’s house. But he was firmly resolved that his
real work should be literature, and now so much had happened to deepen
his feeling and quicken his imagination that the difficulty was, not how
to find something to say, but how to give expression to even a small
proportion of the thoughts that pressed upon him for utterance.

At Wetzlar Goethe had received Herder’s anxiously expected reply with
regard to the “Geschichte Gottfriedens von Berlichingen.” It was
anything but flattering to the young writer’s vanity. Herder had hardly
a good word to say for the play, and expressed the opinion that it had
been spoiled by his slavish adherence to the manner of Shakespeare. In
his answer Goethe acknowledged the justice of the strictures of his
extremely candid friend, and announced his intention of completely
recasting the work. At Wetzlar, however, he was in no mood to undertake
so strenuous a labour, and after his return to Frankfort he was for some
time too much occupied otherwise to think of carrying out his purpose.
But Merck, who heartily admired the play, urged him to give it its final
form; and early in 1773 Goethe at last took the task in hand. Shutting
himself up in his room at the top of the house, he worked at it day
after day, becoming more and more absorbed in it as he went on; and
before the winter was fairly over, he finished it. In its new shape the
play received the title, “Goetz von Berlichingen mit der eisernen Hand.
Ein Schauspiel.” (“Goetz von Berlichingen with the Iron Hand. A drama.”)
It is impossible to compare it with the work as originally written
without admiring the high conception of art by which Goethe was
controlled in transforming what he had done. In the minutest details he
sought for perfection, and entire scenes, in themselves powerful and
interesting, were struck out because they did not seem to accord with
the scheme as a whole. Long afterwards he taught that it is in
“limitation” (_Beschränkung_) that the master reveals himself; and
already he had some perception of the vital importance of this great

In working out his conception Goethe did not consider it necessary to
adhere strictly to the facts of history. He makes Goetz die immediately
after the Peasants’ War, whereas in reality he lived nearly forty years
afterwards, and distinguished himself in Charles V.’s wars with the
French and the Turks. This, however, need not disturb any one in the
enjoyment of the play, which is to be judged as a work of art without
reference to the actual events which it in part reproduces.

“Goetz” is as far as possible from being a faultless play. Goethe tried
to conceive it in the spirit of Shakespeare’s historical dramas, but at
this early period he had not sufficient mastery of his intellectual
resources to be able to give, as Shakespeare gives, unity of design to
the representation of a complicated series of incidents. The forces
called into exercise have in some instances only an accidental
connection with one another; they are not combined so as to produce the
impression of a complete and harmonious process of development.
Nevertheless, the work is unmistakably a creation of genius. It brings
before us in grandly sweeping outlines, and in bold, vivid colours all
the leading elements of the national life of Germany in the early part
of the sixteenth century. The characters live and breathe, and their
language--fresh, vigorous, and animated--is that which we should expect
to hear from them in real life. Goetz himself is an admirable type of a
just and fearless warrior. He has not, indeed, any large conception of
the issues towards which his age is moving, but in the midst of debasing
influences he knows how to maintain the purity of his own impulses, and
how to strike boldly and strongly in defence of ideas of which he makes
himself a champion. Rough in manner, and a lover of plain speech, he is
at heart tender and humane; and in the most difficult circumstances,
when a character less simple and direct might be liable to gross
misconstruction, there can be no doubt as to the honesty and dignity of
his motives. Men of this noble mould--frank, unconventional, and
true--were never more needed than in Goethe’s own day, and one of the
objects of the play was to suggest that if they were possible in the
sixteenth, they could not be impossible in the eighteenth century.

A love-story is interwoven with the presentation of Goetz’s activity;
and from the point of view of art this is perhaps the best part of the
drama. Weislingen, a young and brilliant statesman at the corrupt court
of the Bishop of Bamberg, is taken prisoner by Goetz. He falls in love
with the knight’s sister, Maria, and his love is returned. When,
however, he goes back to the Bishop’s court, pledged to support no
undertaking against Goetz or his friends, he is overcome by the wiles of
Adelheid, a subtle, cruel, and fascinating woman, who understands
thoroughly the essential weakness of his character. She professes to
love him, and becomes his wife, and in the end he is poisoned by his
servant, who acts as her agent. Weislingen and Adelheid are genuinely
dramatic figures, and the character of Maria, simple, affectionate, and
loyal, is not less finely conceived. It was Frederika Brion he was
thinking of when he depicted Weislingen’s love for, and desertion of,
Maria. When the play was published, he sent a copy to Salzmann, with a
request that it should be forwarded to Sesenheim. “Poor Frederika,” he
wrote, “will be to some extent consoled when the unfaithful one is

The play was printed by Merck, who had started a printing establishment
of his own; and in the summer of 1773 it was published. The enthusiasm
it awakened far surpassed Goethe’s anticipations. Hitherto the unities
of the French classic drama had been rigidly respected in the drama of
Germany. Lessing had fought hard to show that they are not essential to
a great work of art, but in his own plays he had not cared to violate
them. The author of “Goetz” had wholly ignored them, daring to think
rather of the vitality of his characters than of the conditions of a
well-rounded scheme. To some critics of the older generation the play
seemed almost grotesquely extravagant, but the younger men hailed it as
a glorious symptom of the uprising of a new and adventurous spirit of
liberty. A man of genius, putting aside conventions and artificialities,
had gone straight to reality for inspiration, and had uttered a word
that delivered them, as they thought, from the necessity of submitting
not only to the unities, but to any kind of artistic law. A school of
writers was formed, all of whom looked to Goethe as their chief.
Prominent among them was Klinger, a native of Frankfort, the title of
one of whose plays, “Sturm und Drang,” was afterwards accepted as the
name of the period in which it was produced. Lenz, whom Goethe had known
at Strasburg, and who, after Goethe’s departure, had tried to win the
affections of Frederika Brion, was another member of the group. These
young writers had plenty of ambition and vigour, but they mistook
eccentricity for originality, sentimentalism for passion, noisy
declamation for poetry, and not a shred of interest now attaches to
their productions, except as documents which throw light on a curious
phase of literary history.

After the publication of his play, Goethe became one of the “lions” of
Frankfort, and had to endure the visits of innumerable strangers who
wished to make his acquaintance. He acquired confidence in his own
genius, and did not doubt that he would be able to justify the highest
expectations formed as to his future work. He was universally liked, for
he had all the good qualities with which he had endowed Goetz, and his
friends found that there was always something exhilarating in his frank
and brilliant talk. Yet at this time he was passing through a period of
deep depression. It was not connected with any particular misfortune,
nor was it due to love for Lotte, for Kestner and she were now husband
and wife, and Goethe thought of her only as a friend. His unhappiness
sprang wholly from spiritual causes. He had longings which the actual
world seemed to be incapable of satisfying, and the more he reflected on
life, and sought to comprehend its meaning, the more he was oppressed
by the old, old mysteries that have baffled and saddened so many a noble
mind. Sometimes the idea of suicide suggested itself, and in his
autobiography he has described how he laid a dagger by his bed-side, and
before putting out the light tried whether he could not pierce his

In the autumn of 1773, the marriage of Cornelia and Schlosser took
place, and they quitted Frankfort, ultimately settling in Emmendingen.
This was a severe blow to Goethe, for communion with his sister had been
to him a constant source of consolation, and in her absence he was
driven in, more than ever, upon himself. A little later in the year he
heard with pleasure that he would soon have frequent opportunities of
seeing Maximiliane Laroche, who, although still only a young girl, was
about to be married to a Frankfort merchant, an Italian called Brentano.
The marriage was not a happy one, and proved to be for Goethe a new
cause of trouble. Feeling for Maximiliane, both for her own sake and for
her mother’s (whom he always addressed as “Mamma”), a sincere brotherly
affection, he often called upon her, and did what he could to make her
life in Frankfort tolerable. Brentano was of a furiously jealous
disposition, and, misunderstanding these visits, one day grossly
insulted Goethe. Violently agitated, Goethe declined to enter the house
again, and, for a long time, saw Maximiliane only when he met her at the
play or elsewhere accidentally.

It was always Goethe’s habit, when burdened by any feeling, to liberate
himself by means of some imaginative effort; and now he felt that the
time had come for this mode of relief. He had not to choose a subject,
for the plan of a romance had already taken firm possession of his mind.
Towards the end of 1772 he had heard of the suicide of Jerusalem, a
young secretary of legation at Wetzlar, with whom he had had a slight
acquaintance both there and at Leipsic. Jerusalem had loved a married
woman, and in a moment of despair had shot himself with a pistol
borrowed from Kestner. Goethe, after the first shock of the tidings was
past, decided to give an imaginative presentation of the tale, but in
the early part to substitute for Jerusalem’s experiences, about which he
had only general information, the story of his own love for Lotte. From
time to time the execution of the scheme was put off, but when driven by
an imperious impulse to give form to the conceptions by which he was
haunted, he accomplished his task with almost feverish haste. The work
was ended about the beginning of March, 1774, and the greater part of it
was written during the preceding month. The figures of the romance stood
out before him in sharply-cut outlines, and their story flowed freely
from his pen, because in reality it was the story of his own inmost
life. He called it “Die Leiden des jungen Werthers” (“The Sufferings of
Young Werther”).

The work consists of a series of letters written by Werther, and some
explanatory statements made by the editor. In his conception of the
tale, and in his choice of form, Goethe was deeply indebted both to
Richardson and to Rousseau, but especially to Rousseau, the spirit of
whose “La Nouvelle Héloïse” breathes in every line of “Werther.” “La
Nouvelle Héloïse,” however, is a book of the past, interesting only to
students of literature and of the history of ideas, whereas “Werther” is
still alive, and can never wholly lose its freshness.

Werther has many qualities that excite interest and sympathy. He has a
deep vein of poetry; Nature appeals to him strongly; he is an enthusiast
for the best literature; and he is always generous to the poor and the
distressed. But he is incapable of manly decision, and on the slightest
provocation he sheds floods of tears, secretly proud of his sensibility
as a mark of a superior type of character. When the story opens, he is
in a little provincial town, whither he has gone to see about a legacy
left to his mother. He is not discontented, for in Homer and Ossian he
has the kind of companionship he loves, and in the surrounding country
there are exquisite views which he is never tired of admiring and
sketching. Suddenly he meets Lotte, and his whole being is transformed.
In her are realized all the dreams he has ever had of womanly loveliness
and charm. She does not glide into his affections; the moment he sees
her--with the children, for whom she cuts the “Abendbrod,” clamouring
around her--she becomes the supreme object of his devotion. To be in her
presence is ecstasy. It is of her that all things in Nature speak to
him, and he has no thought, no wish but to serve her. She is already
betrothed, but her lover is from home, and as long as he is absent
Werther thinks little about him, and lives in a world all glowing with
the light reflected from his own happiness.

By and by Albert, the accepted lover, returns, and now for the first
time Werther realizes that Lotte is beyond his reach. He suffers
unspeakable tortures, and knows not where to turn for relief. Deep in
his heart, before he ever saw Lotte, the seeds of morbid growths had
been implanted, and in his wretchedness they spring up in rank
luxuriance. All life becomes hateful to him. Nowhere can he find
anything that does not seem to bear the mark of some primæval curse.
Even Nature, in communion with which he has so often felt bounding
delight, takes on the aspect of a devouring monster. Her forces are
pitiless; and he himself, full of tender compassion, cannot move without
crushing some helpless creature under his feet. Against the very essence
of things he rises in revolt. Thinking of what life may mean, he feels
that he is standing on the edge of an abyss, and he looks with horror
into its black depths.

At last, yielding to the entreaties of the friend to whom his letters
are addressed, he flies from the scene of his misery, and, accepting a
diplomatic appointment at a German court, hopes to regain peace of mind
by taking part in the world’s work. But he is slighted in an assembly of
people with whom, as a man of the middle class, he is not thought fit to
associate; and the insult so rankles in his mind that he sends in his
resignation, and after some months of brooding he cannot resist the
temptation to go back to Lotte. By this time she is married;
nevertheless, his passion burns more fiercely than ever, and anguish
rends his heart when he sees her in Albert’s possession. She has always
had a warm regard for Werther. Now his sufferings arouse her pity, and
in the end she cannot conceal from herself that she loves him. But she
expostulates with him, and begs him to leave her, to marry some one who
can honourably give herself to him, and to return as a friend. Albert
becomes jealous and watchful, and utter shipwreck seems to be the
destiny of the newly-formed household. Werther, sick at heart, loathing
existence, resolves to bring his agony to a violent end, and after a
wild scene, in which Lotte almost loses control of herself, the tragedy
closes with his death. The pistol with which he shoots himself he
borrows from Albert on the plea that he is about to start on a journey.
Lotte takes it from its place, and, having wiped the dust from it, hands
it to the messenger with a sad foreboding that some terrible disaster is
at hand.

“Werther” is a story of a “mind diseased”; and, judged from this point
of view, it stands supreme among the prose writings of the eighteenth
century. Goethe himself never wrote, in prose, anything more powerful.
Werther’s malady was not the malady of an individual only, but of an
age. Thoughtful men had outlived their beliefs, their institutions,
their customs; all around them was a world touched by the finger of
decay. They sought to shake themselves free from the intolerable yoke of
the past, but as yet nothing had appeared that could take the place of
the old ideas; there was no influence to awaken disinterested
enthusiasm, to lead to combined and settled effort for worthy ends. So
even the best minds--and perhaps they more than others--felt themselves
isolated, and, in the absence of nobler interests, were forced to think
much about their own moods, about the ebb and flow of the tides of
purely personal feeling. Hence a morbid sensitiveness, an extravagant
sentimentalism; hence, too, a disposition to read the facts of
existence in the light of individual experience--a tendency to conclude
that, because the hungry “I” was unhappy, therefore the universe was a
gigantic blunder and imposture. In “Werther” Goethe probes this disease
to its roots. It is a profound error to suppose that he intended the
hero of the tale to be taken as a complete representation of his own
character. Werther wholly lacked many of the qualities that made Goethe
great--his original impulse, his creative energy, his strength of will.
But Werther’s mood had for a while been Goethe’s mood, and it is for
this reason that as we read the solitary sentimentalist’s letters he
seems to start into life, and we learn to know him, back into the inmost
recesses of his spirit, more intimately than if he stood before us in
actual flesh and blood. It was a phase--a passing but most striking
phase--of his own many-sided nature that Goethe was disclosing, and he
could not but write of it in words of searching power. And yet all was
not put down exactly as it came into his mind. With fine, instinctive
art he selected those elements of the tale, and those only, that were
fitted to reveal his essential purpose, and to prepare the way for the
ultimate issue. When we close the book, and look back, we feel that no
other issue was possible. Were Werther a man of good sense and resolute
will, he could easily, no doubt, disentangle himself, but with his
character, and in his circumstances, ruin is inevitable.

Lotte, as she is presented in the first part of “Werther,” is one of the
most exquisite of Goethe’s creations. Her youth and beauty, the
frankness of her manner, the joyous spirit in which she devotes herself
to others, and the warm poetic feeling combined in her nature with a
sound and ready judgment, are brought out with so delicate a grace, yet
in such clear outlines, that we do not wonder at the influence she
exerts over all who know her, and especially over a sensitive mind like
Werther’s. It is hard to realize that the Lotte of the second part is
also the Lotte of the first, and it may be that here there is a flaw in
Goethe’s idea of the character. The maelstrom of passion within whose
sweep she is caught is so powerfully depicted that at the moment of
reading we are not permitted to raise any question as to the consistency
of the conception; but when all is over, we cannot help suspecting that
we have been introduced to two Lottes rather than to one. The Lotte who
afterwards lives in the imagination is certainly the Lotte of the first
part, a sane and wholesome figure, contrasting strongly with the shrill
and despairing Werther. Albert stands out less prominently than Werther
and Lotte, but he also has living qualities, and if anything could make
the final scenes, so far as Lotte is concerned, intelligible, it would
be his pompous self-esteem and exasperating respectability.

One of the secrets of the charm of “Werther” lies in its style. It is a
style peculiar to Goethe himself, yet without a trace of eccentricity.
Strong, lucid, and picturesque, it adapts itself with perfect suppleness
to every mood the writer wishes to express; and it is so absolutely
unaffected that, as we read, we think of what is said rather than of the
artist’s way of saying it. “Werther” is also remarkable as the first
modern German book in which we find descriptions of nature that are
still full of charm. It was Rousseau who had opened men’s eyes to the
splendour and loveliness of the outward world. Goethe had learned all
that Rousseau could teach as to the art of suggesting natural scenery to
the imagination through written speech, and in “Werther” he went far
beyond the highest achievements of his instructor. His descriptions are
often merely rapid sketches, but they are sketches drawn with so sure a
touch that they never fail to call up a vision having all the freshness
of reality. And they intensify interest in the tale, for nature is
brought in less for its own sake than for the sake of its relation to
feeling. It is with Werther’s eyes that we see the scenes he reproduces,
and he finds in them always a power that responds to his own happiness
or gloom.

Few books have ever produced so strong a sensation. Almost everywhere in
Germany “Werther” was received with mingled astonishment and delight. It
had come straight from the writer’s heart, and went as straight to the
hearts of those who read it. They found in the tale a voice that gave
utterance to much that they themselves had been feeling, and many of
them not only shed hot tears for Werther’s fate, but affected his modes
of expression, and even dressed as he had dressed--in blue coat, yellow
vest, yellow hose, and top-boots. By and by the book was translated into
almost every European language, and in far Cathay Werther and Lotte were
painted on glass by native artists.

At first there was one discordant note in the general chorus of praise.
Kestner was gravely offended by what he took to be a misrepresentation
of the relations between Goethe, Lotte, and himself. In reality there
was no misrepresentation, for Goethe had dealt freely with the
experiences through which he had passed, using only those of them that
were adapted to his scheme, and adding scenes in which there was no
element of fact. The Lotte of the first part, notwithstanding her black
eyes, is Charlotte Buff, perhaps slightly idealized; but in the second
part she is wholly a figure of the imagination. As for Albert, Goethe,
if he thought of any one in particular in conceiving the character,
thought of Brentano, not of Kestner. In the end Kestner had a better
understanding of what had been intended, and was not a little proud of
the part his wife had unconsciously played in the creation of so famous
a romance.

Goethe himself says that when he finished “Werther” he felt as one feels
after a general confession. The load that had weighed so heavily on his
spirit was for the moment removed, and, once more free and happy, he
looked forward hopefully to new activity. By and by he could even jest
about the characters whose woes had moved him so deeply. Nicolai, the
Berlin bookseller and man of letters, who had done better work in his
time, wrote a parody of the book, showing how in reality Werther and
Lotte became husband and wife, and lived happily ever after; the pistol
with which Werther had tried to shoot himself having been loaded with
chicken’s blood. Some verses written by Goethe show that he took offence
at this indignity; but afterwards he wrote an amusing little dialogue,
in which Werther and Lotte complain of Nicolai’s misconceptions. The
chicken’s blood has blinded Werther, and Lotte, while pitying him, is
anything but enchanted by the change this has made in his appearance.
His eyebrows, she says, will never be so beautiful as they were before.
In “Dichtung und Wahrheit” Goethe speaks of this dialogue with some
pride, and it certainly shows how completely, at the time when he wrote
it, he felt himself emancipated from the influences from which “Werther”
had sprung.

He had not yet, however, brought his powers under strict control. Many
conflicting ideas struggled in his mind for mastery, and his moods
varied from day to day, one giving way to another without any apparent
reason and with startling rapidity. Goethe’s nature was too complicated,
touched to too many fine issues, to attain suddenly, or soon, to inward

Two complete prose dramas were written in Frankfort after he finished
“Werther”--“Clavigo” and “Stella.” “Clavigo” is a dramatic rendering of
incidents recorded in the “Memoirs” of Beaumarchais. These “Memoirs”
appeared in Paris in the spring of 1774, and in the summer of the same
year Goethe’s play was published. In imaginative energy, and in range
and depth of feeling, “Clavigo” is far inferior to “Goetz,” but it
displays a striking advance in the power of construction. The formerly
despised unities are here observed, and the interest, such as it is,
steadily grows until it culminates in the catastrophe. The chief defect
of the play is that Clavigo, on whose action everything depends, is too
feeble a character to excite much interest. His cynical friend, Don
Carlos, has, however, marked individuality, and the part played by him
is still found by German actors to repay careful study. Maria, the
heroine, dies of a broken heart, and in describing Clavigo’s desertion
of her, as in describing Weislingen’s desertion of the Maria of
“Goetz,” Goethe did a kind of penance for his treatment of Frederika

“Stella,” which was written in 1775, seems to have been suggested by
Swift’s relations to Stella and Vanessa. In this play also Goethe
respects the unities, and much technical skill is shown in the
development of the story. The play in its original form, however, could
not now be acted without exciting ridicule. The hero, Ferdinand, having
married Cecilia, whom he loves, feels after a while that his freedom is
unduly limited by a wife and daughter; and accordingly he leaves them.
Then he falls in love with Stella, but her also he ultimately deserts.
When the play opens, he has returned in the hope of being re-united to
Stella. He finds her, but at the same time finds his wife and daughter,
the latter having become Stella’s companion. There is now a vehement
conflict of motives. Which of the two women shall he select? Cecilia
suggests that it may be possible for him to live with both, and this
solution, with Stella’s hearty consent, he joyfully accepts. Such was
the passion for “nature” at the time that the public do not seem to have
been in any way offended or perplexed by this strange conclusion; but
thirty years afterwards Goethe changed the last act, bringing the play
to an end with the suicide of Ferdinand and Stella. A tragic issue,
however, could not be made to appear the natural result of conditions
which were in the first instance planned for a wholly different scheme.

To this period belong two short plays with songs--“Erwin and Elmire,”
and “Claudine von Villa Bella.” Both are brightly written, but--except
in the charm of their songs--they have no qualities that mark them off
sharply from work of a like kind done by other dramatists of the time.
The idea of the first of these two plays is the idea of Goldsmith’s
ballad, “Edwin and Angelina.”

At this time Goethe sometimes amused himself by writing humorous and
satirical sketches, in all of which there is a free and lively play of
fancy. The most famous of them is “Götter, Helden, und Wieland” (“Gods,
Heroes, and Wieland”), which Goethe (with a bottle of Burgundy on the
table) dashed off one Sunday afternoon. Lenz, to whom it was sent,
printed it without having received Goethe’s permission. In this prose
“farce” Goethe very wittily makes fun of Wieland’s misrepresentations of
Greek mythology.

So many ideas crowded into Goethe’s mind that it was impossible for him
to realize all his plans. For some time he thought of taking the career
of Mahomet as the subject of a poetical drama, and if we may judge from
the beginning he actually made, the theme as he conceived it would have
given full scope to his highest creative faculties. He also intended to
write a poem on the Wandering Jew, bringing out the contrast between the
loftiest idealism, as represented in Christ, and vulgar worldly
intelligence, as represented in Ahasuerus, who was to have expostulated
with Christ for uselessly exposing Himself to danger by the proclamation
of unpopular truths. Of this poem he completed only a few passages,
written in couplets like those of Hans Sachs--a poet whom Goethe warmly
admired. Another of his poetical fragments is “Prometheus,” one of the
finest of his early writings. The Moravian Brethren, with whom he still
occasionally associated, impressed upon him that man, of himself, can do
nothing well, and that his aim should be to wait passively for
supernatural influences. This doctrine was ill fitted for a young poet
who by a law of his nature was impelled to ceaseless effort; and in
“Prometheus” he proposed to develop an exalted conception of the power
of the free individual mind. The defiant address of Prometheus to Zeus,
with which the fragment closes, ranks among the most splendid of his
shorter poems.


Yet another great conception stirred Goethe’s imagination at
Frankfort--the conception of “Faust.” With the Faust legend he had long
been familiar, and in “Die Mitschuldigen” he had made one of the
characters compare himself with Dr. Faust. During his residence at
Leipsic, however, he was too inexperienced to have even a faint
conception of the deep meanings that lay hid beneath the surface of the
story. It was at Strasburg that he began to realize the vast
possibilities of the subject. There he thought of it often and
profoundly, and it continued to fascinate him after his return to
Frankfort. In 1774--or perhaps 1773--he began to write the drama with
which, of all his works, his name is most intimately associated. He
worked at it, at intervals, until he quitted Frankfort; he made several
references to it in his letters; and to some of his friends he read
passages in which he thought they might be interested.

The original “Faust”--the “Faust” written at Frankfort--contains all
that is most essential in the First Part as ultimately published.[1] The
Faust legend served only as a suggestion for Goethe’s drama. From being
little more than a tale of magical wonders, it became, in passing
through the alembic of his imagination, a conception pregnant with
thought and passion--a conception in which were embodied all the most
vital elements of the intellectual life of his century. Faust, as Goethe
presents him, is a man of magnificent intellect, endowed originally with
the purest and loftiest aspirations of humanity. When the drama opens,
he has devoted many a year to study; but, sitting alone in his Gothic
chamber at midnight, he feels sadly and bitterly that his labour has
been in vain. Dry, abstract knowledge he has in abundance, but it does
not satisfy him; it seems to him but a mockery of the knowledge for
which he has always yearned. He pants for something infinitely grander
than his books can tell him of. A Titan of the spirit, he would mount
the very heavens, and snatch from the universe its inmost secrets. And
so, despairing of finding truth by ordinary means, he has recourse to
supernatural methods. Opening his book of magic, he sees the symbol of
the Macrocosmos; and at once the scales fall from his eyes; he is
confronted directly by the secret forces of nature working together in
glorious harmony. At last, for a moment, joy wells up in his heart; he
asks himself whether he has not become a god. But suddenly it flashes
upon him that he is but a spectator, and he longs for so much more than
can come to him by mere vision! To drink at the infinite sources of
existence, to feel his soul quickened by contact with the very essence
of life--nothing short of this can give him a rapture corresponding to
his needs. Looking again into his book, he finds the symbol of the
earth-spirit; and through all his being thrills a consciousness of
energy and courage. There is no achievement of which he does not feel
himself capable; he has an impulse to go out into the world, to
experience all its delights and woes, and even in the crash of shipwreck
to exult in his strength and freedom. The earth-spirit itself he must
see, and it responds to his summons. But it scoffs at his claim of
equality, and, as it disappears, leaves him once more in despair.

Baffled in his ideal aspirations, Faust gives himself up to the
enjoyment of such pleasures as may be accessible through the senses.
After the first monologue, and before the introduction of Gretchen, we
find in the original “Faust” only Faust’s first dialogue with Wagner;
the scene, afterwards considerably modified, in which Mephistopheles
mystifies the ingenuous student; a draft, chiefly in prose, of the scene
in Auerbach’s cellar; and a few lines, ultimately struck out, indicating
the perplexity of Mephistopheles as he passes a cross by the wayside.
Goethe was apparently in haste to reach the tale of love and sorrow, in
which the destiny of Faust was to be interwoven with that of Gretchen,
and the full meaning of his repudiation of the law of his spiritual
being was to be disclosed in its tragic consequences.

After the accidental meeting of Faust and Gretchen in the street--when,
struck by her beauty, he offers her his arm, and she escapes from
him--there are wanting “Wald und Höble” and “Walpurgisnacht;” the part
to be played by Gretchen’s brother, Valentin, is only indicated;
immediately before “Trüber Tag” there is a dialogue between Faust and
Mephistopheles which was afterwards omitted; and the last scene of all,
the scene in the prison, is in prose. In other respects this part of the
drama received at Frankfort what was essentially its final form. When
the work was to be published, some lines and expressions were altered;
but these changes did not vitally affect the conception as it had
originally taken shape in Goethe’s mind.

Of all the products of Goethe’s genius, his presentation of the story of
Gretchen is the finest; and, if we exclude Shakespeare, it would be hard
to find anywhere in modern dramatic literature an equally noble
achievement. The original of Gretchen, as a fresh, simple, happy maiden,
with a heart overflowing with love and confidence, was Frederika Brion;
and it may be that in depicting the early scenes in which she talks with
Faust Goethe was recalling what had actually happened at Sesenheim.
Frederika, for instance, must often have been astonished and rather
dismayed by strange opinions expressed by her lover, and it is likely
enough that she questioned him about religion, and that his answer was
in spirit akin to the matchless lines in which Faust makes confession of
his faith. But Goethe never seeks in his poetry simply to reproduce his
personal experience. He transports us into an ideal world in which all
that he has to show us stands out clearly, stripped of the accidental
qualities which in actual life so often obscure our vision and disturb
our judgment. Gretchen is not merely Frederika; she is the living
representative of an enduring type of character and feeling.

Unlike Frederika, Gretchen is tempted to stain the purity of her spirit,
and is brought within the sweep of forces that work her destruction; but
she is never allowed to pass beyond the range of our sympathies, and in
the end we are made to feel that in a deeper sense than that of
theological dogmas she is “saved.” The last scene, as afterwards
rendered in verse, has a more ideal character than it possesses in the
original prose, yet in the process of transformation it lost some
elements of tragic depth and force. In this great scene Goethe
concentrates, with absolute truth to nature, all that is saddest and
most terrible in human destiny.

Faust, as Goethe conceives the character, retains our interest through
all the phases of his development; for we are often reminded that his
was originally a noble nature, and that at the bottom of his heart there
are still many survivals of humane and generous impulse. He is never a
merely vulgar sensualist; he is an idealist who, having demanded of the
universe more than it is capable of yielding, has given way to a mood of
bitter and reckless spiritual despair. Mephistopheles is a creation not
less remarkable in his own way than Faust, and upon the stage he is by
far the more effective of the two, the outlines of his character being
more distinct than those of his restless, wavering, unhappy comrade. In
the Second Part, written long afterwards, his name is little more than a
symbol for an abstract principle; but in the First Part, and especially
in the scenes conceived at Frankfort, Mephistopheles has all the
freshness and vigour of thorough individuality. It would be impossible
to imagine a more striking contrast to the struggle incessantly going on
in Faust’s mind than the settled purpose, the frank cynicism, and the
grim humour of Mephistopheles. The character was suggested to Goethe by
some qualities of his friend Merck. Merck, although honourable and good,
had moods in which he took anything but an amiable or cheerful view of
life; and his scoffs and sneers (as we may see from the description of
him in “Dichtung und Wahrheit”) produced a more lasting impression on
Goethe than his better characteristics. Although suggested by Merck’s
cynical outbursts, Mephistopheles is not the less, of course, to be
regarded as in the main a free creation of the imagination.

In “Faust” Goethe’s art reached the highest level it was capable of
attaining during the early part of his career; and from a biographical
point of view it is even more deeply interesting than “Goetz von
Berlichingen” and “Die Leiden des jungen Werthers.” Goetz and Werther
each represented a particular phase of his character in the course of
its development. Faust represented his character as a whole just as it
was about to enter upon a new stage of its growth. Goethe had not,
indeed, allowed his will to be subdued by passion; but he had all the
vehement cravings, all the restless aspirations, the disappointment of
which is the secret cause of Faust’s gnawing misery. Goethe at this time
enjoyed many a hearty laugh with his friends, and wrote many a bright
and genial letter; but beneath the surface he suffered from a profound
agitation of spirit, often longing for he knew not what, and feeling
that there was no anodyne for the pain of a yearning that the world, as
he conceived it, could not still. In this respect also Goethe may be
taken as a representative of his period. For the men of the “Sturm und
Drang” nothing in the actual universe seemed to be good enough. Not
institutions, not social conventions only, but the very conditions of
life itself appeared to them to be unjust and injurious limitations of
free individuality; and with all their might they kicked against the
pricks, and cried out angrily against the tyrannous order that would not
bend or break at their bidding. It was inevitable that Goethe should
feel the full power of the dominant influences of his epoch, and to the
fact that he felt it, was due, in the springtime of his life, the
splendid efflorescence of his genius.

It so happened that at the time when Goethe was striving to relieve his
overburdened spirit in “Werther” and “Faust,” the “Ethics” of Spinoza
came into his hands. This was an event of great importance in his life,
for Spinoza introduced him to a higher order of thought than he had yet
known. He never accepted Spinoza’s system of doctrine as a whole, yet
the “Ethics” exercised a powerful influence over him, and for many years
he returned to it again and again, always finding in it something that
came home to him, and that he could make his own. Indeed, Spinoza was
the only purely philosophical writer by whose teaching he ever largely
and permanently benefited.

Apart altogether from the particular truths he learned from Spinoza, it
was almost inevitable that in his restless and unhappy mood the “Ethics”
should have for him a strong fascination. He, whose poetic temperament
led him always to think with feeling and through the imagination, could
not but be impressed by the calm and stately progress of an argument
presented in passionless, abstract terms, and by means of an unswerving
logical method. Again, it consoled Goethe to find that the philosopher
who, of all others, had most completely stripped his mind of prejudice,
could look at life steadily, and yet think of it, not in a spirit of
resignation merely, but with hope, cheerfulness, and courage. Most
earnestly, too, did he respond to the idea that while the ultimate
powers of the universe reveal themselves in a vast and inexorable order,
the individual mind can bring itself into harmony with that order only
by remaining for ever true to the laws of its own being. The noble
generosity of Spinoza’s temper also, as Goethe himself explains, was one
of the sources of his charm. “Whoso rightly loves God must not ask that
God shall love him in return.” That was a saying after Goethe’s own
heart. Did not he himself afterwards write, “If I love you, how does
that concern you?”

During his residence at Frankfort Goethe did not attain, or nearly
attain, to a position at which he could say that he was reconciled to
himself and to the world. But Spinoza’s teaching was to him like cool
water to parched lips. Communion with this serene and lofty spirit put
him on the track that was to lead to inward self-control and to the
harmonious development of his powers.

While Goethe was working with inexhaustible energy, he did not neglect
his friends, and he had many opportunities of adding to their number.
Lavater, who was making active preparations for his much-talked-of book
on Physiognomy, wrote to Goethe from Zürich, and in 1774 spent a week as
a guest in his father’s house. Years afterwards, Lavater, although
always one of the most popular clergymen of his time, repelled many of
those who had known him intimately by mingled fanaticism and vanity; but
now Goethe was strongly attracted by his enthusiasm, and took an
extraordinary interest in his notions as to the possibility of
understanding the mind through its expression in the body, and
especially in the face. With Lavater’s friend Basedow, the ardent
upholder of Rousseau’s ideas on education, Goethe was also on friendly
terms. He was often, however, irritated by Basedow’s boorish talk; for,
notwithstanding his zeal for “nature” in social intercourse, Goethe
detested rude and arrogant assumption. He himself was the brightest and
pleasantest of companions, with a manner made all the more attractive by
a touch of lively Bohemianism. It may be worth noting that there was no
trace of Bohemianism in his appearance. He dressed well--so well,
indeed, that it was often hard for him (his father being by no means
generous) to pay his tailor’s bills.

Another of his intimate friends was Johanna Fahlmer, the aunt of the
brothers Jacobi, both of whom were beginning to make a mark in
literature. She settled at Frankfort with her mother in 1772, and
Goethe, who made her acquaintance soon after his return from Wetzlar,
valued few of his friends so highly as the young, genial, and clever
“Aunt Fahlmer.” She was anxious that he should enter into close
relations with her nephews, but their writings did not quite please him,
and for a long time he made no attempt to approach them. In 1774,
however, he felt that it might be pleasant for him to know them, and in
the summer, having spent some weeks with Lavater and Basedow at Ems, he
made his way with these friends up the Rhine to Cologne--“a prophet to
the right, a prophet to the left, the child of the world in the midst,”
as he wrote in a humorous little poem describing their dinner at
Coblenz. At Cologne the party broke up, and Goethe went on to
Düsseldorf, where the Jacobis lived. As it happened, they were at
Elberfeld, and thither Goethe followed them. The younger of the two
brothers, Frederick Jacobi, who was Goethe’s senior by about six years,
made a most agreeable impression on him, and at Pempelfort, Jacobi’s
country house near Düsseldorf, they became fast friends. They visited
Cologne together, and had so happy a day there that at night, when each
had retired to his room in the inn, Goethe could not resist the impulse
to renew their talk. So he went to Jacobi’s room, and sitting at the
open window, looking out on the moonlit Rhine, they enjoyed an hour of
unalloyed happiness in the free communion of mind with mind and heart
with heart. Goethe had never before given to a friend so deep a love,
and the attraction was mutual. Jacobi, who was a man of high
intellectual power and fine character, knew well the real nature of the
treasure he had won in winning Goethe’s friendship. One of the most
absorbing subjects of discussion between them was the philosophy of
Spinoza, with which Jacobi also had been making himself familiar. Their
opinions on the subject did not agree, but that in no way lessened the
cordiality or the pleasure of their intercourse.

In 1775 Goethe had pleasant intercourse with the Counts Stolberg, who
afterwards achieved distinction in literature. They were about his own
age. During their stay at Frankfort they often dined with Goethe, whom
they intensely admired; and one day, when the wine had circulated, there
was much poetic talk about an unquenchable thirst for tyrants’ blood.
Goethe’s father shook his head and smiled, but Frau Aja, as they called
his mother, knew nothing of tyrants, and was dismayed by the ferocious
outcries of the young poets. Going to her wine-cellar, she brought up a
bottle of her oldest and best wine. “There!” she said, “that is the true
tyrants’ blood. Delight yourselves with that, and let there be an end of
murderous thoughts.”

In the history of Goethe’s last year at Frankfort, 1775, the central
name is that of Lili Schönemann. Lili (Anna Elizabeth) and her two
brothers lived with their mother, the widow of a wealthy banker. They
belonged to what was considered the highest rank of Frankfort society,
and every evening kept open house for their friends. Early in the year,
probably in the evening of New Year’s Day, Goethe was present at one of
their parties, and saw Lili for the first time. She was then in her
seventeenth year, a beautiful fair-haired girl with blue eyes, graceful
in all her movements, and with the ease and self-possession that came of
constant association with people of her own class. She was as different
as possible from Frederika Brion and Charlotte Buff, but Goethe was
fascinated by her beauty, and she in her turn could not resist the
handsome young poet, whose work had made his name familiar to all
educated Germans. After some misunderstandings they became engaged, and
Lili gave Goethe a little golden heart which was fastened round his neck
with a ribbon.

Notwithstanding his love for Lili, the engagement brought with it no
happiness to Goethe. Her relatives, whom he disliked, thought he was not
socially her equal, and he, to whom free expression was so essential,
could not bear the restraints imposed upon him at Frau Schönemann’s
fashionable parties. It embittered him, too, to see the readiness with
which Lili responded to the courtesies of men who would gladly have
supplanted him. He had a suspicion that she could never belong to him
absolutely, and that if they became husband and wife her ideas would go
on diverging more and more widely from his own.

Torn by conflicting motives, Goethe felt at last that he must shake
himself free for a while from the circumstances that caused him so much
perplexity; and in the middle of May he started with the Counts Stolberg
for Strasburg--all three, by the way, dressed in Werther’s style. From
Strasburg he visited his sister at Emmendingen, who urged him to break
off an engagement that seemed to her wholly unsuitable. He then
travelled to Zürich, where he was cordially welcomed by Lavater; and
afterwards he went southwards, thinking that he might perhaps go on to
Italy. But, now that he was far away from Lili, she became dearer to him
than ever. On her seventeenth birthday he was at the Pass of St.
Gotthard, and, as he kissed the golden heart she had given him, he was
seized by so ardent a longing to be with her again that he immediately
turned back and began his homeward journey.

On his return all the old difficulties presented themselves, and in the
end, to the relief of Lili’s mother and Goethe’s parents, and not much
apparently to the regret of the lovers themselves, the engagement was
allowed to lapse. His relation to Lili had not moved him as he had been
moved by his relation to Frederika and Lotte; nor did it become a source
of inspiration in his later work. But to his love for her we owe two
exquisite lyrics, “Neue Liebe, Neues Leben” (“New Love, New Life”), and
“An Belinden” (“To Belinda”), and the finely humorous poem, “Lili’s

The time had now almost come when Frankfort, on which Goethe had shed so
much lustre, was to lose him, and he was to surround himself with an
entirely new set of conditions. Towards the end of 1774 he was presented
at Frankfort to the Hereditary Prince of Weimar, who was then seventeen
years of age, and to his younger brother, Prince Constantine. The
meeting gave the Hereditary Prince so much pleasure that Goethe had to
visit him at Mainz--a visit made memorable by the fact that during
Goethe’s absence from Frankfort, Fräulein von Klettenberg, for whom he
had all his old affection and reverence, died. In the autumn of 1775 the
Hereditary Prince became Duke of Weimar; and shortly afterwards, on his
way to Stuttgart, where he was to be married, he begged that when he
returned with his bride Goethe would visit them at Weimar. Goethe gladly
accepted the invitation, and in October, when the young Duke and
Duchess came to Frankfort, it was arranged that within a few days he
should follow them.

Geheimerath Kalb, the official with whom he was to travel, had been left
behind at Stuttgart, and his coming was so long delayed that Goethe
finally became impatient, gave up the idea of visiting Weimar, and set
off for Italy. At Heidelberg he was aroused during the night by a
messenger, who arrived with a letter announcing that Kalb was awaiting
him at Frankfort. He hurried back, and on November 7, 1775, entered
Weimar. He thought he was merely about to pay a short visit to a
friendly prince; in reality he had come to a new home, and had formed
relations which were to alter the whole complexion of his life.


Weimar, pleasantly situated in the valley of the Ilm, is now known by
name to all the world, thanks mainly to Goethe’s association with it. At
the time when he arrived there, it was an obscure little place, about
which most people even in Germany had only the vaguest information. It
was still a walled town, but had few picturesque or otherwise
interesting buildings. The old Schloss had been burned down in 1774, and
the Court was established in a temporary residence which was not well
adapted for the purpose.

Goethe was received with enthusiasm by the young Duke, and all sorts of
entertainments were got up for his benefit. These entertainments gave
rise to much gossip, and soon it was whispered in many places in Germany
that Goethe was leading a shamefully dissolute life at Weimar, and
exercising on the Duke a most deplorable influence. By and by Klopstock,
hearing a rumour of what was supposed to be going on, took it upon
himself to write to his fellow poet a letter of reproof and
expostulation. Goethe had the highest respect for Klopstock, and, when
he had passed through Frankfort, had taken occasion to show him due
honour. But now it was necessary to prove that there were limits beyond
which even the author of “The Messiah,” in his intercourse with younger
men, had no right to pass. Accordingly Klopstock received a cool little
letter in which it was indirectly and delicately intimated that he had
interfered in matters which did not concern him, and about which he was
inadequately instructed.

The worst that could be said about the lively proceedings that went on
at Weimar after Goethe’s arrival was that they took up a great deal of
time, and wasted much good energy. As for the notion that the Duke was
in any way misled by Goethe, nothing could be further from the truth.
The Duke had in his blood the fiery impulses of many a wild ancestor,
and even now it was Goethe’s aim to restrain rather than to stimulate
his passion for pleasure and excitement. Goethe knew him too well to
think of troubling him with formal advice, but none the less he sought
to suggest to the young prince that as a ruler he had obligations which
honour required him to take seriously. Afterwards Goethe kept this
object steadily before himself, and the result was that, notwithstanding
occasional outbreaks of irregular passion, the Duke became one of the
best of the minor German sovereigns, for, of all men, Goethe had the
strongest hold over his imagination and feelings.

At first Goethe found some difficulty in arriving at a satisfactory
relation with the young Duchess. For a time she also was disposed to
think that he led her husband astray. She was, however, too frank and
sincere not to see things in the end as they really were. She became
Goethe’s true friend; and he often had opportunities of showing how
worthy he was of her confidence by acting as a mediator for the removal
of domestic misunderstandings. With the Duchess Dowager Amalia he never
had the slightest trouble. Although the mother of a reigning prince, she
was only thirty-six years of age at the time of Goethe’s arrival in
Weimar. She was a woman of masculine intelligence, and during her son’s
minority had discharged firmly and discreetly her duties as regent.
Handsome, amiable, endowed with delicate tact, and taking a sincere
interest in art and literature, she could not but attract Goethe; and he
in his turn at once gained her good opinion. She saw clearly how wisely
he was likely to guide the Duke, and was most eager that he should, if
possible, be persuaded to settle in Weimar.

Among the residents of the little capital a high place was by universal
consent conceded to Wieland, who had accepted, in 1772, an invitation
sent to him by the Duchess Amalia, to come to Weimar as the tutor of her
sons. Wieland was now forty-two years of age, and one of the most
prominent writers in Germany. He had been grievously offended by the
“Farce” written at his expense, but Goethe had by letter made some
amends for the injury done to him, which, after all, was not very
serious; and Wieland had magnanimously let the matter slip from his
mind. Now, when he met Goethe, he thought he had never seen any one who
was more to his liking. He wrote to a friend that he was “as full of
Goethe as a dewdrop of the morning sun.” And the two poets continued to
be on pleasant terms with one another. When Wieland wrote “Oberon,”
incomparably the finest of his poems, he was enchanted by Goethe’s warm
appreciation of its merits. It was natural for Goethe to praise lavishly
anything that pleased him. There was no room in his generous spirit for
even a touch of petty jealousy.

While living at Frankfort, he had for some time had much reason to
complain of the conduct of Herder, who for no good cause had conceived a
violent prejudice against him. Happily, this had been dispelled; and at
Weimar Goethe was able to be of splendid service to his friend. The
office of Court preacher and general superintendent of matters
ecclesiastical was vacant, and the Duke asked Goethe whether he knew of
any one to whom it might be offered. He at once suggested Herder, who
was thoroughly tired of his position at Bückeburg, and thinking of
accepting a professorship at Göttingen. The majority of the clergy of
the duchy were by no means delighted with the proposal, for Herder had
the reputation of being a heretic; but Goethe never grudged labour
undertaken for a friend, and worked so hard, and with so much tact, in
Herder’s interest, that all difficulties were overcome. Herder came to
Weimar in 1776, and soon made a great mark, not only as a preacher, but
as an earnest promoter of every scheme for the public welfare. At Weimar
he wrote his “Ideen zur Philosophie der Geschichte der Menschheit”
(“Ideas towards the Philosophy of the History of Humanity”), which,
although only a fragment, displays so wide a knowledge, so firm a grasp
of great principles, and so deep an appreciation of all that makes for
the highest ideals, that it can never lose its place as one of the
treasures of German literature. For many years Goethe and Herder had
much pleasant intercourse in Weimar, and encouraged each other in work
by mutual sympathy.

The Duke became so attached to Goethe that he was resolved they should
never part, and accordingly he expressed to the high officials of his
Government his wish that his friend should be admitted into the public
service. The proposal met with vehement opposition, for grave old
councillors found it impossible to believe that a poet could be capable
of attending to business. The Duke, however, warmly supported by his
mother, insisted on having his own way.

The elder Goethe strongly disliked the idea of his son entering the
service of a prince. Brought up in a free imperial city, he had a
decidedly Republican feeling, subject, of course, to loyalty to the
Emperor, which was rather a nominal that a real obligation. Moreover, he
had always hoped that his son would become an eminent Frankfort lawyer,
and that he himself and his wife would have the pleasure of welcoming to
their home a daughter-in-law whom they could love. Goethe, however, felt
that it would be impossible for him to go back to Frankfort. He had not
been happy there; he still disliked the work of an advocate; he longed
to be independent; and he knew that he would receive every consideration
from the Duke, the Duchess, and the Duchess Dowager, for all of whom he
had a sincere regard. On the other hand, he did not wish to bind himself
absolutely to remain in Weimar. It was necessary that he should be at
liberty to leave it at any time when he might desire to go. This he
stated to the Duke, and so the matter was arranged.

In the spring of 1776, Goethe was formally appointed a member of the
Privy Council, with the title of “Geheimer Legationsrath,” Privy
Councillor of Legation. His salary, which was gradually increased, was
at first 1,200 thalers (£180). The Duke, as a special mark of favour,
provided for him a house overlooking the Ilm, and surrounded by a
pleasant garden. It was in the Park beyond the town, so that Goethe was
able to have perfect quiet, and to enjoy to his heart’s content solitary
strolls along the banks of the stream flowing past his dwelling. Here he
lived for some years, his household consisting of his valet Seidel, whom
he had brought with him from Frankfort; a man servant; and an elderly
woman who acted as cook. Afterwards he took a house in Weimar, and spent
only the summer months in his garden-house.

By the time he definitely took up his abode in Weimar, he had formed a
relation which was to exercise a powerful influence over him during the
following ten years--his relation to Charlotte von Stein. In Frankfort
he had seen her silhouette, which was to appear in Lavater’s book on
Physiognomy. Under it he wrote, “It would be splendid to see how the
world reflects itself in this soul. She sees the world as it is, yet
through the medium of love. Mildness is, therefore, the general
impression.” So vividly did the face appear before him that it kept him
awake during three successive nights. On the other hand, Frau von Stein
was familiar with, and strongly admired, Goethe’s writings. They were
thus prepared to think well of one another.

When Goethe arrived in Weimar, she was at her estate, Kochberg; but she
soon returned, and he was introduced to her at court by the Duke. She
was six years older than Goethe, had been married eleven years, and was
the mother of seven children; and she had no very remarkable
intellectual gifts. She had, however, delicate grace and beauty, fine
tact, and warm sympathy with all that seemed to her best and greatest in
life and literature; and these qualities drew Goethe towards her with an
irresistible attraction. At first his expressions of regard and
admiration--after the fashion of the time--were so ardent that she was
rather alarmed, and took care that he should not see her too often; but
by and by he showed the most tender respect for her wishes, and so there
grew up between them a true, pure, and noble friendship. There were few
days when they did not meet. When either was from home, he sent her long
letters telling her everything that happened; and even when both were in
Weimar, little notes containing kindly greetings constantly passed
between them. Goethe confided to her all his cares and anxieties, and
she never failed to strengthen him, and give him fresh courage, by her
sympathy. His thoughts, studies, and plans of work he also spoke of, and
she sought not only to understand them and to share the pleasure they
gave him, but to encourage him in all his high undertakings. If
sometimes there were misunderstandings, they soon vanished, and Goethe
could write to her that the torment due to such experiences was “the
sunlit rain (Sonnen-Regen) of love.”

With Frau von Stein’s husband, who held the office of master of the
horse, Goethe was on the best of terms. He was a sensible, practical
person, who did not interfere with his wife’s friendships; and the idea
that there was any reason why he should be jealous of Goethe seems never
to have entered his mind. Goethe’s letters to her were often enclosed in
letters to her husband. Her children always welcomed Goethe with cries
of delight. In this respect they were not different from other children;
it was one of his characteristics that young people invariably felt, by
a kind of instinct, that he was their friend.

While attending the University of Leipsic, he had been much impressed by
the singing of a young public singer called Corona Schröter, and during
a short visit to Leipsic in 1776, all his old enthusiasm for her was
revived. The result was that she was asked to come to Weimar as a singer
in the chamber concerts of the Duchess Dowager. She accepted the
invitation, and spent at Weimar the greater part of the rest of her
life. She was very handsome, and not only a good singer, but an
admirable actress. Goethe was thrown much into her society, and liked
her so well that she necessarily has a place in his biography. She was
not, however, one of the women who left their mark deeply on his inward
life and on his poetry.

A profound change passed over Goethe’s character during the early years
of his residence at Weimar. This change was partly a natural evolution,
partly the result of deliberate and long-continued effort. He became
painfully conscious of the fact that in the past he had allowed himself
to be swayed too much by momentary impulses, that he had cherished wild
desires which had no real relation to the facts of existence, that his
happiness had been at the mercy of passing moods, some of the darkest of
which had sprung from too intense a concentration of thought on his own
feelings. It became his fixed purpose that all this should come to an
end, that he should acquire firm control over himself, and that his
powers should be disciplined to work steadily for lofty but
clearly-defined and attainable ends. “A calm glance back on my past
life,” he wrote in his diary on the 7th of August, 1779, “on the
confusion, restlessness, lust after knowledge, of youth, how it roams
about everywhere to find something satisfying. How, especially, I found
delight in mysteries--in dark, imaginary relations. How, when occupied
with anything scientific, I only half attacked it, and soon let it pass;
how a sort of humble self-complacency goes through all I then wrote.
With how little insight I moved round and round in human and divine
things. How there was as little of action as of thought and poetry
directed to an aim; how many days were wasted in time-destroying
sentiment and shadow-passions; how little good came to me therefrom; and
how, now that the half of life is past, there is no way back, but I
simply stand here as one who has saved himself from the water, and whom
the sun begins beneficently to dry. The time I have spent in the rush of
the world, since October, ’75, I do not yet trust myself to review. God
help further and give lights, so that we may not stand so much in our
own way; cause us to do from morning to night what is fitting; and give
us clear ideas of the consequences of things, so that one may not be
like men who complain all day of headache and dose themselves for
headache, and every evening take too much wine! May the idea of purity,
extending itself even to the morsel I take into my mouth, become ever
more luminous in me!” On the 13th of May, 1780, he wrote: “In my present
surroundings, I have little, hardly any, hindrance outside of myself. In
myself there is still much. Human frailties are thorough tapeworms; one
tears away a piece, but the stock remains where it was. I will yet,
however, be master. No one save he who wholly renounces self is worthy
to rule, or can rule.”

How sternly he disciplined himself, and with what magnificent success,
we may see from the manner in which he discharged his duties at Weimar.
It must have been hard for a poet of quick sensibilities to grapple with
the difficulties of business, yet he shrank from no obligation, however
severe the demands it might make on his temper and patience. The
sittings of the Privy Council he attended with strict regularity, and he
made a point of mastering every important document submitted to it, so
that his judgment might be of real service to the State. He devoted
especial attention to questions connected with finance, and so wisely
did he deal with them, seeking to secure at once economy and efficiency,
that he excited the astonishment and admiration of those who had doubted
the fitness of a poet for the practical work of life.

It was not only in the Council that Goethe had to do difficult service.
He was intrusted by the Duke with many special duties, all of which he
fulfilled with scrupulous care. He had frequently, for instance, to
carry on negotiations with the Estates of the two duchies, Weimar and
Eisenach, both of which were subject to the Duke; and in the exercise of
this delicate function he displayed unfailing firmness and tact. It was
the Duke’s desire that the disused mines of Ilmenau should be reopened,
and in connection with this scheme Goethe worked earnestly, studying the
principles of mining, consulting with men who had a right to an opinion
on the subject, and finally seeing that the undertaking was organized in
accordance with the most advanced methods. He was made responsible for
public works, and in this position had much to say as to the plans for
the new Schloss and for the laying out of the Park in which his
garden-house was situated. The University of Jena, which was the common
property of the Saxon Duchies, he missed no opportunity of benefiting;
and he did what he could for popular education in Weimar. The small
military force of the duchy, consisting of six hundred men, was put
under his care, so far as administration was concerned; and he not only
brought it to a high state of efficiency, but made it less burdensome to
the people by reforming the system according to which the troops were
levied. He insisted that the soldiers should be treated by their
officers with more consideration than was in those days thought to be
safe or proper, and for soldiers’ daughters he established a school of
spinning and embroidery, which he placed under the charge of Seidel,
whom he knew he could trust. As he had to ride about a great deal in
attending to military matters, it was considered that no one could so
well manage everything connected with public highways; and this duty
also he readily undertook. It became his business, too, to look after
the demesne lands, and here one is glad to think he had the aid of a
thoroughly competent Englishman, George Batty, for whose energy, skill,
and good sense Goethe had profound respect. This part of his work was
congenial to his tastes, but we find him on one occasion complaining
bitterly that those in high places consumed in a day more than could be
produced in the same time by the labours of all the toilers on the
estates under his charge.

In discharging the various duties imposed upon him, Goethe became the
soul of the entire administrative system, and diffused through all its
branches much of his own vigour and thoroughness. As he did his own work
honestly, he would take no dishonest work from others; and this came to
be well understood by every one who had to carry out his orders. For a
long time he was not unhappy in his labours. “The pressure of affairs,”
he wrote in 1779, “is very good for the mind; when it has disburdened
itself, it plays more freely and enjoys life. There is nothing more
miserable than a comfortable man without work.” Again: “Many a time I
feel as if I ought, like Polycrates, to throw my most precious jewel
into the water. In everything I undertake I have luck.”

During these years Goethe disciplined the body not less strictly than
the mind. He slept on a straw mattrass, and drank only half the quantity
of wine to which he had formerly accustomed himself. Riding, walking,
fencing, and other forms of physical exercise he delighted in; and--what
must then have been thought an extraordinary eccentricity--he took cold
baths regularly in winter as well as in summer. The result of all this
was that he enjoyed better health than at any previous period of his

His manner necessarily changed to some extent in accordance with the
change in his character. He was still occasionally capable of the frank
and genial outbursts of feeling that had so often delighted his comrades
in the days of “Sturm und Drang,” but, upon the whole, he became more
calm, sedate, and reserved. This did not mean that there was any
diminution of the kindly impulses of his character. Every one who knew
him well was aware that the fine spirit of humanity that had welled up
so freely in his nature in the early part of his life never, as years
went on, lost its original depth and freshness. In the winter of 1777 he
went to the Harz mountains, and one of his objects in undertaking the
journey was to see whether he could not help a young man who, although a
perfect stranger to him, had ventured to tell him, by letter, of
troubles that made life intolerable. An unfortunate man who, although
also a stranger, appealed to Goethe, received an appointment at Ilmenau,
where Goethe not only gave him material aid, but with constant kindness
and sympathy encouraged him to maintain his own self-respect by doing
valuable work. “Goethe,” wrote Merck, while visiting his old friend,
“directs everything, and every one is pleased with him, for he serves
many and hurts none. Who can resist the unselfishness of the man?”

In 1778 Goethe spent some days with the Duke in Berlin, and in the
autumn of the following year they went together to Switzerland. On the
way to Switzerland Goethe rode out from Strasburg to Sesenheim, and
spent a night in the parsonage. He was touched by the frank and kindly
way in which Frederika Brion received him, and, as he said good-bye,
felt with relief that in future he might think of her with an easier
mind. In Strasburg he visited Frau von Türckheim, who was no other than
Lili, now the wife of a rich banker, and a mother. At Emmendingen he
stood by the grave of his sister, who, to his great sorrow, had died in
1777. “Aunt Fahlmer” had become Schlosser’s wife, and it made a strange
impression on Goethe to see her in his sister’s place. At Frankfort the
party were hospitably received by his mother. His father, now an old
man, was less genial, for he had never quite recovered from the
disappointment caused by Goethe’s choice of a career at Weimar. Goethe
did not again see his father, who died in 1782.

A few days before he started for Switzerland Goethe had been made a
“Geheimerath,” and in 1782 he became President of the Chamber of
Finance. In the same year he received a patent of nobility, so that he
was from this time Johann Wolfgang von Goethe. Any pleasure he may have
derived from this honour was due to the fact that it did away with some
inconveniences arising from the etiquette of the petty German Courts.

In 1783, being jaded by overwork, he restored himself to fresh vigour by
a second visit to the Harz mountains. This tour was made doubly pleasant
by the fact that he had with him Frau von Stein’s son Fritz, a clever
boy for whom he had a warm affection. With Frau von Stein’s sanction,
Goethe had taken Fritz to live with him, and it was a constant delight
to him to have the boy’s companionship, to direct his education, and to
watch the gradual unfolding of his mind and character.

During this period Goethe entered upon the scientific investigations
which were to occupy many of the best hours of his life. Almost from
boyhood he had had a strong inclination for the study of science. At
Leipsic he attended lectures on physics and medicine, and at Strasburg,
as we have seen, he gave some attention to various branches of biology.
Now he devoted himself to science with an enthusiasm not less fervent
than that with which he had devoted himself to literature. He began with
mineralogy, to which he was led by his labours in connection with the
Ilmenau mines, and mineralogy soon made it necessary for him to turn his
thoughts to geology. Afterwards he occupied himself chiefly with
osteology and botany. For his investigations in all these subjects he
had considerable advantages. The collections at the University of Jena
were of course at his disposal, and the scientific professors were only
too glad to have a chance of giving him what aid they could. In botany
he was able to carry on long series of researches in his garden, and in
the forests of the duchy, which he had frequently to visit as an
administrator. He took up the study of science in a serious spirit, and,
as the results proved, he had a high capacity for it. He was a careful
and most exact observer, and his imagination, so far from standing in
his way, was the power to which he owed the greatest and most fertile of
his ideas.

It was in osteology that he made his first important discovery. In the
study of this branch of anatomy he was interested mainly in the points
of comparison between the human skeleton and the skeletons of other
vertebrates. It was generally held that the intermaxillary bone, which
is found in the upper jaw of some animals, is wanting in man, and this
was regarded as a proof of the doctrine that the physical nature of man
is vitally distinguished from that of other living creatures. On March
27, 1784, while examining various bones with his friend Professor Loder,
of the University of Jena, Goethe was greatly surprised to discover what
he believed to be the intermaxillary bone in a human jaw. He lost no
time in comparing it with the various forms assumed by the bone in
different species of animals, and the more widely the comparison was
extended the more sure he became that he was right. The results of his
researches he set forth in an essay, illustrated by drawings. This
essay, which is a model of lucid statement, was translated into Latin,
and submitted to several men of science. It was not, however, published
until about thirty years afterwards.

Goethe’s discovery of the intermaxillary bone in a human jaw finally
disposed of the notion that it is possible to draw a sharp line of
distinction between the physical nature of man and that of other
vertebrates. And it led Goethe to the theory that all organic beings of
the same class are formed in accordance with ideal types or patterns,
which Nature modifies indefinitely to suit varying conditions. This
conception marked an epoch in the history of scientific thought, for by
fastening attention on the fact that organic beings of the same class,
however widely their organs may seem to differ from one another, have a
fundamental agreement in structure, it directly prepared the way for the
discovery of the law of evolution, in which this fact is taken up and

It was impossible for Goethe, while occupied so much with science and
public affairs, to devote his best energies to imaginative creation. He
did not, however, wholly neglect literature. In 1776 he planned a great
prose drama, “Iphigenie,” and in 1779 it was written to his dictation.
The play was represented with brilliant success at the Weimar Court,
Corona Schröter taking the part of the heroine, and Goethe himself that
of Orestes. It is wholly different, both in conception and execution,
from his earlier dramas. It contains no violent outbursts of passionate
feeling; the diction is measured and dignified; and the utmost pains are
taken to secure that the various parts shall each have the place that
properly belongs to them in the general scheme. It has often been said
that the change in Goethe’s method, from the frank, glowing style of the
works by which he established his fame, to the consciously artistic
style of his mature writings, was wholly due to the impressions derived
during his visit to Italy. In reality, as the prose “Iphigenie” shows,
it began long before he went to Italy; and no doubt we must to some
extent associate it with the change which passed over his character as a
whole. Goethe’s aim was, above all things, to master himself, to have
every element of his nature under control; and it was inevitable that
the strenuous efforts he made to attain this object should leave their
mark on his art as well as on his practical life.

In 1777 Goethe began “Wilhelm Meister;” and, stimulated by Frau von
Stein, whom the work greatly interested, he returned to it again and
again during the following eight years. He also wrote a part of a prose
play, “Torquato Tasso,” and various minor prose dramatic pieces,
intended for the amusement of the Court, before which they were
represented. To this period, too, belong various powerful poems, one of
the most remarkable of which is the “Harzreise im Winter” (“The Harz
Journey in Winter”), presenting his thoughts and feelings on the day
when he climbed to the top of the Brocken in the winter of 1777. In
another poem of this time, “Ilmenau,” written in 1783 as a birthday-gift
for the Duke, Goethe showed how high and sacred, as he conceived them,
were the duties owed by a ruler to his subjects. A third poem, “Die
Geheimnisse” (“The Secrets”), begun in 1784, is unfortunately only a
splendid fragment. If completed, it would have given form to all that
Goethe had thought about the relations of the great religious movements
of the world to man’s deepest spiritual needs.

While he was slowly working out a new ideal, both in his character and
in his art, the intellectual movement in Germany, of which he had been
considered the chief representative, retained all its original
characteristics. In 1781 Schiller began his career with his wild play,
“The Robbers;” and other young writers, with little of his power, found
it easy to imitate his extravagance. To Goethe the prevailing tone of
the literature of the time--although he himself was in some degree
responsible for it--became deeply repugnant, and he turned from it with
more and more dislike, finding refuge in the calmer realms of philosophy
and science. Even his friend Jacobi contrived to displease him. Jacobi’s
“Woldemar” appeared in 1779, and its sentimentalism--reproducing the
sentimentalism of “Werther”--seemed to Goethe so ridiculous that one
day, in the Park at the Duchess Dowager’s residence at Ettersburg, he
climbed a tree and nailed the book to a branch as a warning to literary
evil-doers. Unfortunately Jacobi heard of this mad prank, and took
serious offence. After some time, however, Goethe wrote to him in a tone
of such sincere, although indirect, apology that Jacobi understood at
once that less had been intended than he had thought. In 1784 he came to
see Goethe at Weimar, and their friendship was never again interrupted.

When Goethe had been about ten years at Weimar, he began to feel that
some change of life was absolutely essential. He had worked hard,
steadily, and loyally in the fulfilment of difficult duties, and longed
for a time of relief, during which his mind might expand freely and be
enriched by fresh impressions. From early boyhood he had often wished to
visit Italy, and this yearning was now revived with almost painful
intensity. At last he decided that, at whatever cost, his desire should
be gratified. Late in July, 1786, he went, as he had repeatedly gone in
previous summers, to Carlsbad, where he met Frau von Stein, Herder and
his wife, and the Duke; and a little more than a month afterwards he
started on his travels. He had accompanied Frau von Stein a part of the
way back to Weimar, but even to her he had said nothing about his
approaching journey. Nor, in writing to the Duke for leave of absence,
did he speak of his destination. He had a kind of superstitious feeling
that if the secret were let out his scheme might be thwarted.

Simultaneously with the return of his desire for Italy Goethe was
conscious of a reawakening of his poetic genius. He began to think
seriously of his unfinished plans, and to dream of new achievements.
Finally he arranged with Göschen, a Leipsic bookseller (the grandfather
of Mr. Göschen, the English statesmen), for the publication of a
collected edition of his writings in eight volumes. The contents of four
of these volumes he prepared for the press before quitting Carlsbad.


Hardly had Goethe set foot on Italian ground when he began to feel
something of the joy and elasticity of temper for which he had been
longing. He was absolutely his own master again, and all around him was
the sunny land which he greeted as, in some sense, the true home of his
spirit. The people, too, with their natural grace and courtesy,
delighted him, and their speech fell softly and pleasantly on his ears.
He had never had keener pleasure than he felt in looking forward to the
happy days and weeks that were before him.

During his visit to Italy he wrote a large number of letters, most of
which were addressed to Frau von Stein. Long afterwards he issued some
of them, carefully edited, as one of the supplements of his
autobiography, giving them the general title, “Italienische Reise”
(“Italian Journey”). These letters have all the freshness of immediate
impressions, yet we find in them only so much detail as is necessary to
give brightness and animation to his pictures of the central elements of
interest that meet him on his way. In every letter we feel the
influence of a deep enthusiasm, but it is an enthusiasm that never
distorts his vision or injures the noble simplicity and purity of his

He entered Italy from the Tyrol, and the first important town at which
he stopped was Verona. From Verona he went to Vicenza, and so, through
Padua, to Venice. At Venice he remained three weeks, allowing its
splendours to impress themselves deeply on his imagination. He then went
to Bologna, which he ever afterwards associated with the charm of
Raphael’s St. Agatha. In his thoughts about Italy it had always been
Rome of which he had chiefly dreamed, and now his longing to be there
became so overwhelming that he hurried over what remained of the
journey, staying only three hours at Florence. In view of the joy that
was to come he was scarcely conscious of the inconveniences of travel.
“If I am dragged to Rome on Ixion’s wheel,” he wrote, “I will not

On October 29, 1786, he drove into Rome through the Porta del Popolo.
“Yes,” he wrote a day or two afterwards, “I have at last arrived at the
capital of the world!... All the dreams of my youth are now realized.
The first engravings I remember--my father had hung the views of Rome in
an entrance-hall--I see now in reality, and all the things I have long
known from paintings and drawings, from copper-plates and wood-cuts,
from plaster casts and cork models, stand together before me. Wherever I
go, I find an acquaintance in a new world; it is all as I had conceived
it, and all new. The like I may say of my observations, of my ideas. I
have had no new thoughts, have found nothing quite strange, but the old
thoughts have been so defined, they have become so thoroughly alive,
they have been brought into such harmonious relation to one another,
that they may pass for new. When Pygmalion’s Elise, whom he had formed
absolutely in accordance with his wishes, and to whom he had given as
much truth and reality as were within the scope of art, at last came to
him, and said, ‘It is I,’ how different was the living woman from the
sculptured stone!”

While at Rome, Goethe realized with new vividness all that the mighty
city had been to the world in the remote ages when on her had been
imposed the task of guiding it to higher destinies. And he worked hard
to think himself back into the Rome of ancient times. This, he confesses
in one of his letters, was no easy task. “It is a sour and sad
undertaking,” he writes, “to pick out the old Rome from the new.... One
comes upon traces of a splendour and of a destruction, both of which go
beyond our conceptions. What the barbarians allowed to stand, the
architects of modern Rome have laid waste.” Gradually, however, a living
idea of the ancient city was formed in his mind. “Roman antiquities,” he
wrote about two months after his arrival, “begin to delight me. History,
inscriptions, medals, of which I might otherwise have known nothing, all
crowd in on me. As it happened to me in natural history, so it happens
here; for in this place the entire history of the world centres, and I
count as a second birthday, the day of a real new birth, that on which I
entered Rome.” With regard to the significance of the remains of ancient
art in Rome, Winckelmann had introduced a wholly new order of ideas, and
Goethe owed much to him in the appreciation of the Apollo Belvedere and
all the other masterpieces of sculpture he had now an opportunity of
studying. He was astonished to find how little he had learned from
plaster casts. The breath of life, it seemed to him, was to be felt only
in the original marble figures. The fascination exerted by ancient
statues led him to renew, but in a higher way, the studies of the human
body which he had formerly carried on through anatomy. “In our
medico-surgical anatomy,” he says, “all that is aimed at is a knowledge
of the part, and for this a wretched muscle is enough. But in Rome the
parts are worth nothing if they do not at the same time present a noble,
beautiful form.”

The art of the Renascence, as represented in Rome, stirred in Goethe an
interest not less profound than that awakened by ancient sculpture. Long
before, when as a young student he visited Dresden, the pictures which
had appealed to him most strongly were those of the Dutch school. Now he
felt the power of the ideal art of Italy in her great period. He was
fascinated by the Loggie of Raphael, at the Vatican, but even they
seemed of slight importance in comparison with the masterpieces of
Michael Angelo in the Sixtine Chapel. “I could,” he says, writing of
these sublime conceptions, “only gaze and stand amazed. The inward
sureness and manliness of the master, his greatness, go beyond all

He did not fail, of course, to make pilgrimages to the great churches,
and in one of his letters he describes how, after a visit to the Sixtine
Chapel, he went with his friend Tischbein to St. Peter’s, “which
received the most beautiful light from the cheerful sky, and appeared in
all its parts bright and clear.” “As men who had come to enjoy what we
were to see, we delighted in its greatness and splendour, without
allowing ourselves, this time, to be misled by a taste too fastidious
and intelligent. We suppressed every unfavourable judgment, and
delighted in what was delightful.”

Anxious that nothing should stand in the way of his full enjoyment of
“the capital of the world,” Goethe avoided as far as possible all
association with “the great.” He had, however, several friends with whom
he had pleasant intercourse. The most intimate of them was Tischbein, a
good German artist, whom he had known for several years. Goethe occupied
two rooms in Tischbein’s house, and obtained from him much help in the
study both of ancient and of modern art. Another of his friends at Rome
was Meyer, a Swiss artist, who delighted him as much by the charm of his
personal character as by his artistic skill and knowledge. Goethe was
also greatly attracted by Moritz, a writer who had made some reputation
as the author of a book of travels in England, and was now collecting
materials for a like book on Italy. Angelica Kaufmann, who had settled
in Rome after her departure from London, welcomed Goethe cordially to
her home, and he soon held her in high esteem. With these and other
friends he spent many happy hours, and his delight in the new world
opened to him in Rome was, if possible, deepened and intensified by
their sympathy.

From the time when Goethe had taken lessons in drawing from Oeser at
Leipsic he had never lost the wish to become a skilful artist; and at
Weimar he had displayed considerable aptitude for portraiture. Now,
when he had so many opportunities of indulging his taste, he took great
pains to improve himself in drawing, painting, and modelling. For some
time he even debated with himself whether he ought not to become an
artist by profession. He did not long, however, remain in doubt.
Although, with Tischbein’s help, he made good progress, he was obliged
to admit that nature had denied to him the capacity of achieving, in
art, work that in any way corresponded to his lofty ideal of what such
work should be.

He had brought with him from Weimar many writings which he proposed
either to complete or to re-cast for the new edition of his works. The
first task undertaken was the transformation of “Iphigenie” from a prose
to a poetical drama, and he had worked at it more or less steadily at
all the places at which he had stopped before reaching Rome. It had also
frequently occupied his thoughts while he travelled from one point of
his journey to another. At Bologna, while he stood before Raphael’s St
Agatha, his conception of the character of Iphigenie assumed a new and
higher form. “I remarked the figure well,” he afterwards wrote; “in mind
I shall read my ‘Iphigenie’ to her, and my heroine shall say nothing
that the saint might not utter.” In Rome the writing of “Iphigenie”
formed from day to day, until the work was completed, the central
interest around which all his other occupations grouped themselves. On
the 12th of December the drama received its last touches, and it was
soon afterwards read to a group of his friends. They had expected that
the play would resemble “Goetz von Berlichingen,” and Goethe saw only
too plainly that it disappointed them. Angelica Kaufmann alone had
something like an adequate idea of its importance.

About this time Goethe received a friendly letter from the Duke of
Weimar extending his leave of absence indefinitely. He resolved to
profit to the utmost by the opportunity thus provided for him, and on
the 22nd of February, 1787, he started with Tischbein for Naples. As
they approached the city, he was powerfully impressed by the view of
Vesuvius, from which great masses of smoke were issuing. The liveliness
and good humour of the people of Naples enchanted him, and he found
inexhaustible sources of delight in the beauty of the town itself, in
the bright southern sky, and in all the splendours of nature that
constantly presented themselves in new aspects both on land and sea.
Twice he climbed Vesuvius, and on both occasions he described his
experiences in letters that bring the scene before us almost with the
vividness of reality. As in Rome, so in Naples he made himself familiar
with every treasure of ancient and modern art that was accessible to
him, and his conception of the old Roman world was at once enlarged and
made more definite by visits to Pompeii, Herculaneum, and Pæstum. “I
have seen much and thought still more,” he wrote on the 17th of March;
“the world opens itself more and more; even the things I have long known
become now for the first time my own.” In the same letter, however, he
says: “Many a time I think of Rousseau and his hypochondriacal misery,
and yet it becomes intelligible to me how so fine an organization might
be thrown off its balance. Did I not take such an interest in natural
things, and did I not see that in the apparent confusion a hundred
observations are capable of being compared and classified, as a land
surveyor corrects many single measurements by one line drawn through
them, I should often consider myself mad.”

On the 29th of March, 1787, accompanied by Kniep, a German artist
settled at Naples, Goethe embarked for Sicily. Sixteen days he remained
at Palermo, where art and nature combined to give him a happiness that
seems to have been absolutely unalloyed. He then made for Alcamo and
Segesta, visited Girgenti and Catania, climbed a part of Mount Etna, and
finally arrived at Messina, whence he returned by sea to Naples. His
letters, written for Frau von Stein, in the form of a diary, reproduce
with astonishing power, yet with perfect simplicity, the impressions
produced upon him during his visit to Sicily. He studied closely the
remains of Greek architecture, and at the same time carried on his
scientific investigations, which had occupied him at every favourable
opportunity from the day of his arrival in Italy. These investigations
had become more attractive to him than ever, for he had now a clear
conception of the main outlines of his great discovery of the
metamorphosis of plants.

On the 6th of June he was once more in Rome. It was his intention to
return to Weimar soon, but Rome exercised so irresistible a power over
him that nearly a year passed before he could bring himself to leave it.
All that he had seen before his departure for Naples he studied again
and again, and almost daily he found objects of interest that had been
overlooked. During this time his idea of Rome and of its greatest
possessions became so full, accurate, and vivid that it was never in the
faintest degree blurred by the events of his later life.

He looked forward with the deepest interest to the great ceremonies of
the Roman Church during Passion Week, and they seem to have given him a
wholly new conception of the service art may be made to render to
religion. Writing of a Mass in the Sixtine Chapel, attended by the Pope
and the Cardinals, he says he does not wonder that strangers are often
unable to contain themselves in the presence of a spectacle at once so
great and so simple. The ceremonies in the Sixtine Chapel on the morning
of Easter Day filled him with admiration, and appeared to him a striking
proof of the fact that at Rome the Church had penetrated deeply into the
spirit of “the Christian traditions.”

In his literary work his progress was less rapid than he had expected.
He was able, however, to achieve some important results. Among his
papers was an unfinished prose drama, “Egmont,” which dated from about
the time when he had written “Stella.” He had often thought of
completing it at Weimar, but had never accomplished his purpose. Now he
gave the play its final form, partly re-casting it; but re-writing it,
as originally planned, in prose. He also improved the less important
works, “Erwin and Elmire” and “Claudine von Villa Bella.”

Another of his papers, frayed at the edges and grey with age, was
“Faust,” in the form in which he had taken it from Frankfort to Weimar.
It was hard for him, after so long an interval, to take up this work at
the point at which he had left it. On the 1st of March, 1788, however,
he wrote that he had “found the thread again,” and that “the plan for
‘Faust’ was made.” At Rome he wrote “Die Hexenküche” (“The Witches’
Kitchen”), one of the most striking scenes in “Faust,” a scene at which,
no doubt, his imagination worked all the more freely from the strange
contrast it presented to the actual world in the midst of which it was
conceived. In this scene there is one slight indication of the
difficulty he must have experienced in carrying on the work in the
spirit in which it had been begun. Faust in the first monologue says he
has had pupils for ten years. This means that he cannot be much more
than thirty years old. In the “Hexenküche” he is presented as a man over
fifty, for he speaks of the possibility of his youth being renewed by
thirty years being struck out of his life. Goethe never detected this
curious contradiction.

At last it became necessary for him to drag himself away from the city
he now knew and loved so well. On the evening of the 21st of April,
1788, he strolled with some friends along the Corso in the moonlight,
and visited for the last time the Capitol and the Colosseum. Next day he
was travelling towards the North. On the way he spent some time at
Florence and Milan, and on the 18th of June he re-entered Weimar.


Goethe was in his thirty-ninth year when he returned to the little
capital from which he was never again to be so long absent. His visit to
Italy had done for him all, and more than all, he had hoped for. It had
stilled a great longing; it had enriched his mental life by bringing him
into contact with nature in some of her most alluring aspects and with
many of the loftiest creations of human genius; it had renewed his
consciousness of strength as a poet, and filled him with an ardent
desire to exercise it in the achievement of higher results than any to
which he had yet attained.

He knew well that if he allowed himself again to be absorbed by business
he would necessarily be turned aside from his true destiny. This he had,
in effect, communicated to the Duke in letters from Italy; and as the
Duke not only had a sincere love for Goethe, but felt that he himself
was now fitted to undertake, in reality as well as in name, the supreme
control of affairs, he was willing to assent to any arrangement his
friend might propose. It was therefore decided that Goethe should be
relieved of most of the duties he had discharged before going to Italy.
He retained, however, the position of a Minister of State, and continued
for some years to take an active part in the direction of the Ilmenau
mines, a work in which he was genuinely interested. To him was also
intrusted the authority which belonged to the Duchy of Weimar in the
government of the University of Jena.

Goethe had returned with the full intention of maintaining his
friendship with Frau von Stein. It was, however, impossible that their
old relations should be renewed. Her sympathy could not now be to him
what it had been, for during nearly two years he had accustomed himself
to live without the relief that had formerly come from confidential talk
with her about his inmost thoughts and cares. Moreover, while he had
come back with a world of new ideas in his mind, she had no interests
with which he had not long been familiar; and as she was now a delicate
woman of forty-four, it was improbable that she would be accessible to
fresh influences. With a woman’s instinct, Frau von Stein at once
detected the change in Goethe, of which he himself was only half
conscious; and she could not help showing that she resented it. He, on
the other hand, was repelled by her coldness. Thus misunderstandings at
once sprang up, and both knew that they could never be wholly removed.

A few weeks after his arrival at Weimar, Goethe was walking one day in
the Park when he was approached by a girl of about twenty-three, of a
humble position in life. Her name was Christiane Vulpius. She had
brought with her a petition from her brother, who, after studying at
Jena, had betaken himself to literature, and thought that Goethe might
be willing to help him. Goethe read the paper, but was far more
interested in the messenger than in the message. Christiane, although
not tall, had a good figure and a fresh pretty face, with an honest,
frank, lively expression in her fine blue eyes. Goethe was charmed with
her, and the result was that she became his wife. At this stage their
hands were not formally joined in a church, but from the beginning he
never thought of their union as other than a true marriage. Much idle
gossip has been printed to Christiane’s disadvantage--for the most part
an echo of the tittle-tattle of the Weimar Court, the ladies of which
could not bear to think of Goethe as the husband of a woman who did not
belong to their own class. In reality she was a good and most loyal
wife, and retained to the last the warm love of her husband, who was
never happier than in her presence. When he was from home he sent her
long letters, all of which she kept as her most sacred possessions. He
talked to her freely about his great botanical discovery, and did not
find that the subject was beyond her intelligence; and when he intrusted
her with important private business, she displayed, in attending to it,
decision, good sense, and good feeling. She ruled his household, too, as
he liked it to be ruled, firmly, yet with kindness and discretion. His
mother received Christiane cordially as her “dear daughter.”

For some time Goethe and Christiane lived in seclusion in his house in
the Park, but their union could not long be kept secret. When it became
known, Frau von Stein was furious. She was about to visit the Rhenish
baths, and before starting she addressed to him a letter so bitter in
its tone that he could not answer it for some weeks. For the time the
break between them was complete. Afterwards they became good friends
again, but never, of course, on the old intimate terms. Frau von Stein
had the sympathy of all the Court ladies, with, however, one notable
exception, the Duchess, who understood Goethe too well to speak of him
harshly or uncharitably.

No longer harassed by incessant business, and enjoying to the full his
life with Christiane, Goethe had resumed his literary work with
enthusiasm. Its first-fruits were his “Römische Elegien” (“Roman
Elegies”), in which he gave utterance to the delight he had experienced
at Rome. Side by side with the poet stands a beautiful girl, his love
for whom is intimately connected with all the other influences under
which his heart expands in the great city. In sketching this figure,
Goethe was no doubt thinking chiefly of Christiane, whom in imagination
he transported to the land where life had seemed to him so full of
glory. In these poems there is an occasional warmth of expression that
has sometimes given offence, but, judged simply as works of art, they
are as near perfection as anything Goethe ever wrote. The passion
expressed in them is deep and ardent, yet the forms and scenes with
which it is associated stand out as clearly as a landscape under the
bright Italian sky. The “Elegies” would have taken an enduring place in
literature if they had had nothing to commend them but the splendour of
their diction and melody.

While working at the “Elegies,” Goethe strove to complete his drama,
“Torquato Tasso,” a part of which had been written long before in prose.
In Italy he had hoped to be able, before returning to Weimar, to clothe
the conception of this play in fitting verse. The task, however, was too
hard to be accomplished quickly, and even at Weimar he did not bring it
to an end until the summer of 1789. “Tasso” was the last of the series
of plays either wholly or in part transformed in Italy.

We have seen that even before Goethe went to Italy his conception of the
true aim and method of dramatic art had begun to undergo a profound
change. In Italy this process of development was completed, partly by
the influence of classical literature, but mainly by that of ancient
sculpture. Here, following the track marked out by Winckelmann, he had
found that the supreme aim of ancient artists was ideal beauty, and that
they had sought to attain it by the harmonious combination of parts in a
whole, so that the figures created by them should convey in action an
impression of noble simplicity, dignity, and calm. This was the ideal he
kept steadily before himself in most of the work begun or completed in

In “Egmont” this new conception could not find full expression, for the
outlines of the scheme had been drawn at a time when Goethe worked under
wholly different influences. Even in “Egmont,” however, in the form in
which he gave it to the world, his new method predominates. Goethe’s
Egmont, who differs in many particulars from the Egmont of history, is a
man of most genial temper. He is sincerely devoted to the cause of
freedom, and makes troops of friends by his frankness, his courage, his
inexhaustible generosity. But he lacks the power to read the signs of
hostile intention in others, and this defect, which necessarily springs
from some of his best qualities, exposes him to deadly peril, and leads
ultimately to his ruin. Interwoven with the history of his relations to
the public movements of his age is the story of his love for Clärchen.
Such a love at such a time would seem wholly unnatural if Egmont were a
prudent statesman, conscious of the actual circumstances in which he and
his country are placed; but he has no doubt as to the triumph of his
cause, for he trusts absolutely the King of Spain and his counsellors,
believing their objects to be as honourable as his own. There is no
incongruity, therefore, between Egmont’s patriotism and his love, and in
such a nature as his, were the conditions favourable, each feeling would
purify and ennoble the other. Clärchen is in every respect worthy of
him. She is one of the finest of the many fine feminine characters
conceived by Goethe. She is capable of heroic action as well as of the
tenderest love, and she obeys an irresistible impulse when, having heard
of Egmont’s imprisonment, she appeals with passionate fervour to the
people for his deliverance. The concluding scene, in which Freedom in
the form of Clärchen appears to Egmont in a dream as he lies in prison
awaiting execution, produces exactly the impression that Goethe meant it
to produce. It softens the effect of the tragic conflicts which have led
to Clärchen’s death, and are about to lead to her lover’s, and we are
reminded that there are in the world forces for good, the victory of
which may be delayed, but cannot in the end be prevented, by individual
defeat and sorrow.

Although less interesting than the two central figures, the other
characters in this great drama are most vividly presented. William of
Orange, the resolute patriot who never allows himself to be diverted
from his path by mistaking appearance for reality, contrasts strongly
with the heedless Egmont; and Alva, cold, cruel, and treacherous, is a
fitting representative of a crushing and inhuman tyranny. The crowds
which from time to time give voice to popular feeling play an essential
part in the evolution of the tragedy, and are brought before us with
extraordinary animation and truth to nature.

In composing the poetical drama, “Iphigenie,” Goethe did not depart very
widely from the substance of the original prose version. He gave to the
entire conception, however, new dignity and beauty. The central interest
attaches to the heroine, than whom there is not in all modern literature
a nobler type of womanhood. Hers is a spirit of spotless purity,
associated with a high serenity springing from the inward harmony of all
the elements of her character. She has infinite tenderness and humanity,
with an inflexible will, and a passion for truth and honour. Those who
come into contact with her are overcome by a mingled feeling of love and
reverence, and all that is best in their spiritual life is evoked by her
presence. Iphigenie is only nominally a Greek priestess; in reality, she
would have been impossible in a society in which women were supposed to
be subordinate to men. In her aims, sympathies, aspirations, she is
wholly modern, and it may be that some features of her character were
reproduced from the character of Frau von Stein, as it revealed itself
to Goethe in the happiest moments of their friendship. Orestes, Pylades,
Thoas, are not less dominated by essentially modern motives. It is a
striking proof of the power and subtlety of Goethe’s art that there is
no conflict between the modern substance and the antique form of this
splendid drama. He rigidly excludes every thought and feeling that might
conflict with his chosen method. There is no austerity of sentiment, but
all is measured and stately, and capable, therefore, of being brought
within the scope of a severely restricted scheme.

The development of the tale is not less admirable than the truth of the
characters. As in the ancient statues which Goethe so warmly admired,
each of the individual parts is in its proper place, and contributes
what is demanded of it, and no more, to the idea as a whole. The diction
and metre of the drama, always noble and harmonious, accord perfectly
with its predominant spirit, and they may be said to have revealed for
the first time the high capabilities of the German language as an
instrument of dramatic expression. We cannot wonder that “Iphigenie”
disappointed readers who expected to find in it volcanic explosions like
those of his early writings. It belongs to a different period of
Goethe’s development, and must be estimated by altogether different

Goethe found it hard to complete “Torquato Tasso,” and the explanation
probably is that the subject did not lend itself so readily as the
subject of “Iphigenie” to classic treatment. Here he had to present a
strange, abnormal type of character, with agitated feelings, the
expression of which continually tended to press beyond the limits within
which Goethe’s scheme required him to retain it. Tasso, as Goethe
presents the character, is a kind of Werther, of a highly excitable
temperament, and morbidly sensitive to praise and blame. He reminds us,
too, of Rousseau, and it is possible that in working out the conception
Goethe may have taken some hints from Rousseau’s “Confessions,” for, as
we have seen, he often thought, while in Italy, of “Rousseau and his
hypochondriacal misery.” When the play opens, Tasso is living as an
honoured guest of the Duke of Ferrara, at the Castle of Belriguardo. He
has just finished “La Gerusalemme Liberata,” and in the garden of the
castle presents the poem to the duke in the presence of the duke’s
sister, the Princess Leonore, and of her foster-sister, Leonore, the
Countess of Scandiano. The gift is received with many expressions of
delight, and, at a sign from the duke, the princess takes a wreath from
a bust of Virgil and crowns the poet with it. He is enchanted, and
cannot find words strong enough to utter his gratitude. The conversation
is interrupted by the arrival of the duke’s chief minister, Antonio, who
has returned from an important mission. He is held in great respect, and
is cordially received. After some talk about the work he has
accomplished, reference is made to Tasso’s wreath, and Antonio, who is
not given to vehement applause, addresses Tasso rather coldly, but takes
an opportunity of praising Ariosto. Something in Antonio’s character
jars on Tasso’s feeling, and he is bitterly jealous of the high place
occupied by the wise and successful statesman. In conversation with the
princess, for whom he cherishes a secret passion, he pours forth his
discontent. She strives to pacify him, and her efforts are seconded by
the duke and Leonore. Tasso, trying to master himself, seeks out
Antonio, and offers to become his friend. The offer being received in an
ungenial spirit, Tasso feels insulted, speaks to Antonio angrily, and
finally draws his sword, demanding that their quarrel shall at once be
fought out. At this point the duke comes; and Tasso, who has exposed
himself to severe penalties, is ordered, but not harshly, to confine
himself to his room. Antonio feels that he has not acted with sufficient
consideration, and is eager to do what he can to make amends. The duke,
too, and the princess, and Leonore, are all most anxious that Tasso
shall be reconciled to Antonio and to himself. Now, however, the young
poet is violently excited; he becomes bitterly suspicious, feels sure
that he is surrounded by enemies, and that every one is plotting against
him. All that is done to restore him to good humour he resents,
attributing it to a wish to injure him. In the princess alone he has
confidence, and her he shocks, when she is encouraging him to collect
himself, by suddenly throwing his arms around her and pressing her to
his breast. In the final scene, while the duke, the princess, and
Leonore drive away from the castle, Antonio, who now fully realizes that
the poet is a man of morbid temper who needs to be tenderly and
patiently dealt with, comes to him and addresses him kindly. Tasso
indulges in a furious outburst against all the world, by which he is
misunderstood, but at the last moment takes Antonio’s hand, and clings
to him as a shipwrecked sailor to a rock.

In none of Goethe’s plays does he display finer or more penetrating
observation of character. The Tasso of the drama is in some respects
very unlike the real Tasso, but that does not prevent him from being a
most striking representative of minds which, making self the centre of
their thoughts, are thereby led to have a wholly distorted conception of
life, and to poison what might be, and ought to be, perennial sources of
happiness. The prince, the princess, Leonore, and Antonio resemble one
another in being healthy natures, and in acting with an air of
distinction; but otherwise each is marked off from the rest by special
characteristics, indicated clearly, but with infinite delicacy. As usual
in his plays, it is to the feminine characters that Goethe attributes
the highest qualities. The princess is one of his greatest creations,
combining, as she does, deep feeling with exquisite tact and a noble
appreciation of the conditions of inward growth and peace.

The tale in itself is not one of absorbing interest, and the conclusion
is hardly satisfactory, since no difficulty is really solved by it. But
the scheme is developed with such perfect art that it exercises a strong
fascination, which increases from scene to scene. The theme, even when
Tasso becomes most vehement, is not once allowed to pass beyond control.
With a light but sure touch Goethe moulds every part, securing that
there shall not be even a minute detail without an organic relation to
the whole. The scene of the action is not forced on our attention, but
incidental allusions constantly remind us that all around the castle of
Belriguardo are lovely sunny landscapes. The grace and purity of the
style are unmatched in German dramatic literature, yet so easily do the
lines flow into one another that we are almost tempted to think of them
as utterances of nature herself; and in almost every scene there are
individual lines or groups of lines concentrating the essence of
Goethe’s thought about life. In no other work by Goethe are there so
many pregnant sayings fitted at once to guide and console those who are
accessible to his influence.

The edition of his works in which these dramas were printed includes
also “Faust: A Fragment.” It appeared in the seventh volume, which was
published in 1790. This “Fragment” did not contain all the scenes that
Goethe had written at Frankfort; it concluded with the scene in the
cathedral, where Gretchen is overcome with grief and remorse. On the
other hand, it took in a part of Faust’s second dialogue with
Mephistopheles (beginning with the line, “Und was der ganzen Menschheit
zugetheilt ist”), the short monologue in which Mephistopheles speaks of
the inevitable ruin of a mind which despises reason and science, the
“Hexenküche” (written in Rome), and “Wald und Höhle.” The dialogue
between Mephistopheles and the scholar was much altered, and the whole
of the scene in Auerbach’s cellar was presented in verse. The work,
therefore, without being vitally changed, was considerably developed,
and in the new passages as well as in those re-written there is ample
evidence of the advance Goethe had made in the mastery of poetic forms.
Moreover, Faust’s dialogue with Mephistopheles, and the monologue of
Mephistopheles, show that Goethe had now a deeper appreciation of all
that was involved in the conception of Faust turning from his high ideal
aims to seek for satisfaction in the pleasures of the senses.

Another, and very different, work was published in this edition--“Die
Metamorphose der Pflanzen” (“The Metamorphosis of Plants”). In this
famous essay Goethe expounds the theory that the foliar organs of
flowering plants are all to be regarded as various forms of the leaf. To
this discovery he had been led by prolonged and delicate observation.
The idea seems to have dawned upon him before he went to Italy, but it
was in Italy, where he had many opportunities of studying plants he had
not formerly known, that he became conscious of its full significance.
The doctrine has long been accepted by botanists, and it acquired fresh
importance when it came to be associated, as it is now associated, with
the general law of evolution. Goethe delighted in the conception, not
only for its own sake, but because it seemed to him a most striking
illustration of the principle that in organic nature all things are
created in accordance with enduring types. The doctrine of the
metamorphosis of plants had been set forth, thirty years before Goethe’s
treatise was written, by K. F. Wolff. Goethe afterwards learned this,
and was in no way disturbed by the fact that he had been anticipated.
That the theory had suggested itself to two minds working independently
gave him hearty pleasure as welcome evidence of its truth.

Early in 1790 Goethe was summoned to Venice to meet the Duchess Dowager,
who, having travelled for some time in Italy, was now about to return to
Weimar. Her coming was long delayed, and, being restless and impatient,
he occupied himself in writing a series of rather bitter epigrams. After
six weeks’ absence he was delighted to find himself again in Weimar, for
now his home was doubly dear to him, a son having been born on Christmas
Day of the previous year. The child was baptized by Herder, and received
the name Julius August Walther. Afterwards three children were born
dead, and a fourth died in infancy. On each of these occasions Goethe
suffered poignant grief, and wholly lost his self-control.

His second visit to Venice was made memorable by an important scientific
discovery. He was standing with his valet Seidel in the Jews’ cemetery,
when Seidel lifted a piece of a sheep’s skull, and handed it to Goethe,
pretending that it was the skull of a Jew. As Goethe looked at it, it
suddenly occurred to him that the bones of which the skull is composed
are not essentially different from vertebræ, but are, in fact, vertebræ
transformed. The idea corresponds exactly with his conception of the
foliar organs of flowering plants as transformed leaves. Goethe did not
mean that in the course of long ages vertebræ had been developed into
the bones of the skull, but simply that Nature, in creating these bones,
modifies vertebræ to suit special needs. Like his earlier discoveries,
however, this theory--which is only another application of his general
doctrine of types--becomes thoroughly intelligible only when the facts
to which it relates are explained by the law of evolution. It is the
supreme merit of Goethe’s contributions to biology that they all pointed
in the direction of evolution, and were among the influences that made
the recognition of it, sooner or later, inevitable.

About this time Goethe interested himself in the study of Newton’s
theory of colours, and, that he might understand it more fully, borrowed
some prisms. When the owner asked that they should be returned, he
thought he would like to try one of them again before sending them back.
The result was that he began to suspect that Newton’s doctrine was not
true, and in this suspicion he was confirmed by further research. This
subject had an extraordinary fascination for Goethe, and almost to the
end of his life he worked at it at intervals, firmly convinced, not only
that Newton was wrong, but that he himself had discovered the true
scientific significance of colours; and he attributed vast importance to
his own doctrine. In old age he even told Eckermann one day that he did
not at all pride himself on his poetry, but that his theory of colours
did seem to him something to be proud of. Unfortunately, Goethe here
dealt with problems for the solution of which he had not been adequately
prepared. The subject appeared to him less complicated than it really
is, and his conclusions have been unanimously rejected by men of
science. His writings about it, however, have a certain interest, not
merely because of their lucid style, but because he brings together much
curious information relating to the history of opinion on the question,
and also because it is hardly less instructive to understand the
intellectual influences by which a great man is misled than to
understand those by which he is guided to truth.

In 1791 the Duke established a Court Theatre in Weimar, and asked Goethe
to undertake the direction of it. Goethe consented, and for many years
this was one of the duties to which he devoted most attention. His aim
was to provide representations that should appeal to, and delight, a
really cultivated taste, and he was almost as anxious that the acting
should be maintained at a high level as that the dramas acted should be
good. He took immense pains to realize his ideal, and under his control
the Weimar Theatre ultimately became famous. All over Germany it was
recognized as the theatre in which most was done for the development of
a great school of dramatic art.

The Duke, anxious to find some fitting way of expressing to Goethe his
gratitude for the services he had rendered, presented him, in 1792, with
the house in which he spent the rest of his life. Goethe changed it to
suit his own ideas, and made it the handsomest and pleasantest private
dwelling in Weimar. In altering it he received much help from his friend
Meyer, the Swiss artist whose acquaintance he had made in Rome. Meyer
had come to Weimar at Goethe’s urgent request, and for several years
lived as a guest in his house. He painted for Goethe a portrait of
Christiane with her little boy in her arms in the position of the
“Madonna della sedia.” This portrait was always kept under a curtain,
and Goethe counted it among the most precious of his treasures.

We must think of Goethe at this time as often directing his attention
gravely and anxiously to the progress of events in France, where the
movement of thought by which he had been so profoundly influenced in
youth had at last led to its logical issues in action. Some of the best
of Goethe’s contemporaries in Germany hailed the French Revolution as
the beginning of a new and glorious era for humanity. Their rejoicings
were not shared by Goethe. He knew well, indeed, the sufferings of the
oppressed population, not only of France, but of other countries, his
own included; and he was eager that their condition should be improved
by just and wise government. But he found it impossible to believe that
the end could be attained by violence, and he had no doubt that the
tendency of the Revolution would be to check for many a day every great
and noble movement in art, literature, and science. He fully recognized,
however, that the events he deplored were in the last resort due, not to
self-seeking agitators, but to the abuses of a thoroughly corrupt
society. Long afterwards he said to Eckermann that if he detested
revolutionists, he detested not less strongly the people who made
revolutions inevitable; and that this was his feeling from the beginning
is distinctly indicated by several of his writings. “Gross-Cophta,” a
prose play written in 1791, deals with the story of the diamond
necklace, with which the impostor Cagliostro was intimately connected.
The play is not artistically important, but it shows how dark a view
Goethe took of some elements of the social life of France in the period
immediately preceding the Revolution. In “Die Aufgeregten,” an
unfinished prose play belonging to the same time, he represents the
peasantry of a French estate as rising in revolt against the countess
to whom they owe allegiance. The countess, being a woman of enlightened
opinions, does not dispute that they have solid grievances, and readily
meets them half way. The moral evidently is that if the French nobles as
a class had possessed her elevation of character, the peril of violent
change might without difficulty have been averted.

In 1792 began the long series of revolutionary wars. The Duke of Weimar
served as a general in the Prussian army, and at his request Goethe
accompanied him during the campaign in Champagne. Here Goethe realized
for the first time the terrible nature of the forces which the
Revolution had let loose on the world. During the cannonade of Valmy,
anxious to know what the “cannon-fever” was really like, he rode to a
spot exposed to the enemy’s fire. On the evening of this memorable day,
when the French gained their first success, Goethe wrote in his tent:
“From this place, and to-day, begins a new epoch in the history of the
world, and you may say that you were there.”

On his return, after an absence of four months, he wrote in hexameters,
as a satire on the political follies of the day, his admirable version
of the old Low Dutch tale, “Reineke Fuchs.” Next year, 1793, he was
again with the Duke, this time before Mainz, which the Prussians were
trying to recapture from the French. When the town was given up, Goethe
felt that he had had enough, and more than enough, of war, and went back
with relief to his home and his studies at Weimar.


During the next period of Goethe’s life, extending from 1794 to
1805--that is, from his forty-fifth to his fifty-sixth year--the central
facts are those relating to his friendship with Schiller.

Schiller, who was ten years younger than Goethe, came to Weimar from
Dresden in 1787, when Goethe was in Italy. He was then twenty-eight
years of age, and was known chiefly as the author of “The Robbers” and
“Don Carlos.” He had passed through many a harsh and stern experience,
but retained in all their freshness the high, ideal impulses of his
early youth. Of the many striking figures who arose in Germany during
the second half of the eighteenth century, Schiller, not as a writer
only but as a man, was one of the noblest. It was his destiny to have to
endure much physical pain, but his sufferings were never allowed to
embitter his spirit or to depress his courage. He marched steadily
forward on his chosen path, keeping always before himself the loftiest
aims, and kindling in other minds something of his own generous passion
for truth, humanity, and freedom.

Dramatic work having been anything but profitable in a material sense,
Schiller began, soon after his arrival at Weimar, to write his book on
the revolt of the Netherlands, hoping that as an historian he might
secure the independence that was necessary to enable him to do justice
to his powers as a poet. He had the warmest admiration for Goethe’s
genius, and looked forward eagerly to his return.

The two poets met for the first time in the summer of 1788, at
Rudolstadt, in the house of Frau von Lengefeld, whose daughter Charlotte
afterwards became Schiller’s wife. Goethe, who had no means of knowing
that Schiller’s ideas had been in some respects gradually approaching
his own, thought of him simply as one of the vehement “Sturm und Drang”
writers. On this occasion, therefore, their talk did not pass beyond the
limits of ordinary politeness, and Schiller obtained the impression that
they were so different from one another that friendship between them
would be impossible. Nevertheless, he thought much about Goethe, and
sometimes could not help rather enviously contrasting Goethe’s
prosperity with his own crushing difficulties.

In 1789 Schiller settled in Jena as a professor of history, having
obtained this appointment through Goethe’s influence. Early in the
following year he married Charlotte von Lengefeld, his union with whom
may have brought him repeatedly into contact with Goethe, who was an old
friend of Charlotte’s family. We know of one meeting between them in the
autumn of 1790, when Goethe called at Schiller’s house. They talked of
the philosophy of Kant; and Schiller, in writing about the conversation
to his friend Körner, spoke of Goethe as being, in his opinion, too much
occupied with the laws of the outward world. He recognized, however,
Goethe’s great way of thinking, and his effort to detect the meaning of
individual facts by combining them in a whole.

Broken in health, Schiller went with his wife, in 1793, to Würtemberg,
in the hope that he might benefit by his native air. While staying at
Stuttgart, he made arrangements with the publisher Cotta for the issue
of a literary periodical, the _Horen_ (“The Hours”); and after his
return to Jena, in 1794, he wrote to Goethe, asking him to become a
contributor. Goethe cordially undertook to give what help he could.
Shortly afterwards they both happened to attend a meeting of a
scientific society at Jena, and as they walked together towards
Schiller’s house they had an interesting discussion about the true
method of science. In the course of this conversation Goethe was for the
first time attracted by Schiller; and he was drawn towards him still
more strongly by a later talk, in which he found that they did not
essentially differ from one another in their ideas about art.

In September of the same year Goethe invited Schiller to visit him, that
they might come to an understanding about the nature of the work to be
done for the _Horen_. Schiller gladly promised to spend a fortnight in
Goethe’s house, and it was during this visit that the deep and solid
bases of their friendship were laid. Each gave his heart to the other
without reserve, and to the end of Schiller’s life nothing was permitted
to stand in the way of their mutual love and confidence. Goethe often
went to Jena, where he had rooms in the old Schloss, and Schiller was
never happier than when he had an opportunity of spending some time at
Weimar. On every occasion when they met, each seemed to find some new
quality to intensify his admiration for the other’s thought and

Goethe and Schiller took the purest delight in one another’s
achievements, and neither of them was ever tired of stimulating the
other to bring forth the noblest fruits of his genius. The tendency of
Schiller, who was hardly less a philosopher than a poet, was to give his
ideas, even in poetry, an abstract expression. Through contact with
Goethe he was led, almost unconsciously, to present his conceptions in
more imaginative forms. His style became more direct, lucid, and
animated, and deeper appreciation of the real world around him imparted
fresh life and colour to his pictures of purely ideal realms. Goethe,
whose genius was of an incomparably higher order, and responded to a
wider range of influences, had nothing, so far as art was concerned, to
learn from Schiller. Nevertheless, he owed to Schiller, as he himself
was always eager to acknowledge, a deep debt of gratitude. From the time
when he had finished “Tasso” and the “Roman Elegies,” he had produced
nothing that was worthy to rank with his best work. He had occupied
himself chiefly with ministerial business and physical science, and
seemed almost to have lost the impulse to visit the imaginative world in
which he had for a while moved so freely and so happily. His power of
poetic creation was, however, only slumbering; and by his intercourse
with Schiller it was awakened to splendid activity. Schiller’s
enthusiasm called forth in him what Goethe himself called “a second
youth,” “a new spring.”

The _Horen_, which began to appear in 1795, excited much antagonism, and
Schiller was excessively annoyed by the attacks directed against it.
Goethe did not let himself be disturbed by hostile judgments, but
towards the end of the year he proposed that they should amuse
themselves by making their opponents the subjects of a series of
epigrams, each epigram consisting of a distich. This suggestion
delighted Schiller, and they lost no time in giving effect to it. The
scheme widened as they went on, being made to include not only writers
who had directly assailed them, but others whose methods and tendencies
they disliked. They also seized the opportunity to do honour to various
great writers, such as Lessing and Kant. A vast collection of epigrams
soon accumulated, some by Goethe, some by Schiller, and some the work of
both poets. They were called “Xenien” (“Xenia,” hospitable gifts: a
title borrowed from Martial), and published in the “Musenalmanach,” a
yearly volume of poems, edited by Schiller. These epigrams, many of
which are bright and keen, fluttered the dovecots of criticism, and
caused Goethe and Schiller, whose names were always henceforth closely
associated, to be held in wholesome dread by pedants and literary

The first important work completed by Goethe after the beginning of his
friendship with Schiller was “Wilhelm Meisters Lehrjahre” (“Wilhelm
Meister’s Apprenticeship”). In 1793 he had taken in hand the task of
revising the part he had written before his sojourn in Italy, but it is
doubtful whether he would have gone on with it but for Schiller’s
influence. Schiller was intensely interested in the book, and often
talked about it with Goethe, who sought his advice as to the best way of
rounding it off. Encouraged by his friend’s enthusiasm, Goethe carried
on his labours steadily until it was finished in 1796.

In “Werther,” Goethe’s first romance, he deals only with one great
crisis in the history of his hero. “Wilhelm Meister,” on the contrary,
is a picture of the entire course of a young man’s life. Meister is the
son of a merchant, and at the point where the tale begins he is
associated with his father in business. He has a touch of poetry, and
longs for a freer, more exciting, more interesting career, in which he
may find scope for the development of his individuality. He is
profoundly interested in the drama, and this feeling is deepened by his
relation with Marianne, a beautiful actress whom he passionately loves.
At last he decides to escape with Marianne from his commonplace
surroundings, and to become an actor; and all his arrangements are made,
when he is led, by some incidents which he misinterprets, to believe
that the girl to whom he has been devoted is unfaithful to him. Shocked
by this supposed discovery, he abandons her, and in a dejected mood
continues to go through his ordinary duties. But by and by, when
travelling to execute some business commissions, he meets several actors
and actresses, and his old love for the stage is revived. A theatrical
company is formed; the director receives from Meister enough money for
the necessary expenses; and the players are invited by a count to give
performances at his country house. Here Meister becomes acquainted with
the works of Shakespeare, and his ideas about the drama are transformed.
He is excited, too, by a romantic relation with the young and beautiful
countess. When the players, after the fulfilment of their engagement,
are leaving the castle, he is attacked by bandits, and, as he lies
wounded and apparently dying, help is brought to him by “the Amazon,” a
woman who makes a deep impression upon him. She suddenly appears, and as
suddenly disappears, and he hardly knows, when he thinks of her, whether
she is real or only a figure in a dream.

He forms a connection with a regular theatre, and, when acting the part
of Hamlet, is so startled by the Ghost (the mystery of whose appearance
is explained in the course of the story) that he produces a powerful
effect by the truth of his representation. He has not, however, the
capacity of becoming a great player, the reason being--as one of the
characters tells him--that, no matter what part he assumes, it is always
his own personality that he represents. He does not possess the faculty
of giving living form to the thoughts and feelings of a type of mind
different from his own. One of the actresses of the company, Aurelia,
excites his sympathy by her settled melancholy, which is due to the fact
that she has been deserted by Lothario, a lover, of high station, whom
she is unable to forget. Before her death she intrusts a letter to
Meister, asking him to place it, when all is over, in Lothario’s hands.

In fulfilment of this mission, Meister quits the stage; and by Lothario,
who has many great qualities, he is introduced to a circle widely
different from anything he has yet seen. He finds that there is a secret
society by which, unknown to himself, he has been closely watched and in
some measure guided. This society, of which Lothario is one of the
leading members, has been formed for the cultivation of all that is
highest and noblest in humanity; and Meister, his “Lehrjahre” over, is
admitted into it with much pomp and ceremony. He learns the truth about
his first love, Marianne, and at the same time hears that she is dead.
He then wins the affections of a woman who appeals rather to his
intellect than to his feeling; but he is afterwards brought into contact
with “The Amazon,” who had passed before him so strangely and
beneficently, and the tale ends with the description of the somewhat
complicated circumstances which lead to their betrothal.

Meister does not convey the impression of having profited very largely
by his “Lehrjahre.” About this, Goethe appears to have given himself
little trouble. His object was to present a series of striking pictures
of life, and this purpose he accomplished with brilliant power. The
execution is, however, very unequal. The last part lacks the life,
vigour, and movement of the earlier scenes, and all that relates to the
secret society is strained and unnatural. In this part Goethe appears to
have been misled by Schiller, who insisted that the problems suggested
in the course of the narrative should be worked out and solved. The
elements of the original conception were not knit together closely
enough for this rigorous treatment.

In the books dealing with Meister’s connection with the drama Goethe
displays to perfection his matchless power of giving charm, through
sheer force of style, even to scenes and incidents that are not in
themselves very impressive. The characters, too, have astonishing
vitality. We are told little about them, and their motives are never
elaborately analysed. They are simply made to act before us, and we thus
learn to know them, each in his and her own clearly marked
individuality, as if we had met them in real life. Meister himself, with
his wavering impulses and vague strivings after an ideal existence, is
revealed with absolute truth to nature, and, although he never wins (nor
is intended to win) our full respect, we are compelled, almost in spite
of ourselves, to follow him with interest from stage to stage of his
career. The most important character, however, is not Meister, but
Mignon, one of the strangest, most pathetic figures in the world’s
literature. Transported in childhood from “the land where the citrons
blossom” to the cold North, she is never at home in the scenes in which
we find her. Calm, gentle, self-possessed, she conceals a burning
passion that in the end consumes her life; yet she is of so ethereal a
nature that she seems to glide through the world as one who in no way
belongs to it. A more truly poetic conception never took form in a
romance; and Mignon alone, even if “Wilhelm Meister” had contained no
other element of interest, would have sufficed to make the book
immortal. In relation to her the hero is seen at his best, and it is she
who gives the work such unity as it possesses--a unity of spirit rather
than of form. The songs sung by Mignon and by the Harper (another highly
poetic figure, marked out from the beginning, like Mignon, for a tragic
doom) are among Goethe’s lyrical masterpieces, remarkable equally for
the depth of their meaning and the purity, sweetness, and grace of their
expression. In almost startling contrast to Mignon is the gay, bright,
coquettish Philline--the type of feminine Bohemianism; a character
thoroughly self-consistent and full of bounding life until we hear about
her in the unfortunate concluding scenes, when things are told of her
that tend to make her utterly unintelligible.

In “Wilhelm Meister” Goethe gives us much dramatic criticism. It has, of
course, no vital relation to the story, but it is penetrating and
suggestive, and the famous criticism of “Hamlet” marked an era in the
modern appreciation of Shakespeare’s methods. “The Confessions of a Fair
Soul,” of which the sixth book consists, have no connection whatever
with the romance except that Meister is described as reading them. Yet
who would wish that this exquisite study had been excluded? The original
of the “Schöne Seele” was Goethe’s friend Fräulein von Klettenberg. In
presenting the history of her inward life, he penetrates to the very
depths of a spirit purified, calmed, and ennobled by mystic
contemplation of the invisible world.

The next great work completed during this period was “Hermann und
Dorothea,” an idyllic poem in hexameters. The idea of using classic
forms in the treatment of a domestic theme was suggested to Goethe by
Voss’s “Luise,” an idyll in hexameters, which he had read again and
again with warm interest. “Hermann und Dorothea” consists of nine
cantos, each of which is headed with the name of one of the Muses. The
first five cantos (originally four) were written in nine days in the
autumn of 1796, when Goethe spent some weeks at Jena. The work was
resumed from time to time, and finished in the following year.

Nothing could be simpler than the tale told in this poem. Hermann is the
son of an innkeeper in a Rhenish town. A band of emigrants, driven from
their homes by stress of war in the period of the French Revolution,
happen to come to the neighbourhood in the course of their wanderings,
and Hermann’s good mother sends him to them with a supply of clothing
and provisions. Among them he sees Dorothea, who at once wins his heart.
On his return he finds his father and mother in conversation with the
pastor and the druggist; and the pastor, a man of insight, perceives at
a glance, from Hermann’s heightened colour and sparkling eyes, that
something has happened to excite and gladden him. He relates what has
happened, and his father suspects that he loves Dorothea. The old man
has always wished that his son should marry a maiden of a prosperous
family, and angrily declares that he will never receive as a daughter a
common peasant girl. Hermann sorrowfully leaves the room, and is soon
followed by his mother, who finds him seated in deep dejection under a
pear-tree which, crowning vine-clad slopes behind the inn, serves as a
landmark far over the country. He opens his heart to her, and she
consoles him, and gives him hope that his father’s resistance may be
overcome. It is finally arranged that the pastor and the druggist shall
go and see Dorothea, and form an opinion of her fitness to be Hermann’s
wife, and that Hermann shall drive with them to the place where the
emigrants have for the time taken up their abode. The pastor and the
druggist are captivated by Dorothea, and return to the inn to
communicate their impressions. Hermann remains behind to woo the maiden
he loves. He is, however, deterred by seeing that she wears an
engagement ring, and simply asks whether she will come with him and help
his mother in her housewifely duties. She supposes that he wishes to
engage her as a servant, and, on this understanding, frankly accepts his
offer. Then they walk back together, and by the time they reach the
pear-tree the landscape is lighted by the full moon, while heavy masses
of clouds, betokening the approach of a storm, gather over the sky. They
enter the house together, and after an animated scene, during which
Dorothea--while thunder is heard to crash--tells her history, all is
brought to a satisfactory end by the happy union of the lovers.

The substance of this story is contained in an old pamphlet describing
the adventures of a group of Protestant exiles who were expelled from
the archbishopric of Salzburg in 1731. The tale, however, owes its
charm, not to the bare facts of which it consists, but to the life
breathed into them by Goethe’s art. In old age he said that “Hermann und
Dorothea” was the only one of his greater poems which he could still
read with pleasure, and it is certainly as near perfection as any of his
creations. The central figure is Dorothea, and we readily understand her
sway over Hermann, for she combines strength with tenderness, and acts
nobly, not from a sense of duty merely, but because she is impelled by
the instincts of a true and generous spirit. There is a striking
fitness between her vigorous, handsome form and her frank and wholesome
character; and we feel that of such stuff the women are made who keep a
nation’s life sound and pure. Hermann, who has not, like Dorothea, been
disciplined by hard experience, is less independent, but he has
qualities which, when he is fully matured, will give his character the
firmness of outline possessed by that of the wife he has won. Already he
has courage to be true to his own choice, and he awakens our sympathy by
the depth and ardour of his love. His mother’s gentleness is finely
contrasted with the rough, worldly, but not essentially unkind
disposition of his father; and the wise, good pastor, and the gossiping,
self-important druggist help to bring out one another’s peculiarities by
the differences of their modes of thought and feeling. Goethe never
pauses to call our attention to this or that element of the tale; all is
stir and movement, and the imagination is excited to form for itself a
series of graphic pictures and to combine them into a living whole. The
story advances so simply and naturally that it carries us on with
growing interest to the end, and its significance is deepened by the
vast world-movement of which we are continually reminded by the presence
of the emigrants. The antique form of the poem is in perfect keeping
with the theme as Goethe conceives it. His hexameters flow lightly and
freely, and aid rather than hamper the harmonious development of his

In 1796 Goethe wrote “Alexis und Dora,” which serves as a splendid
pendant to the “Roman Elegies;” and in the summer of the following year,
while he was staying at Jena, he began, in friendly rivalry with
Schiller, to compose a series of ballads. Goethe generously yielded the
palm as a ballad-writer to Schiller; and it is true that Schiller’s
ballads, which are among the finest of his works, have a dramatic force
that makes them more akin than Goethe’s to the old popular poems of this
class. But such ballads as “Der Erlkönig” (“The King of the Erls or
Elves”), “Die Braut von Corinth” (“The Bride of Corinth”), and “Der Gott
und Die Bajadere” (“The God and the Bayadere”) have a subtle charm of
expression that was far beyond Schiller’s range.

Goethe’s lyrical poems, too, many of which were written during this
period, have a freshness and a lightness of touch which Schiller himself
felt to be unapproachable. Whatever may be thought of Goethe as a
dramatist or a writer of romance, there never has been, and never can
be, any dispute as to his greatness as a lyrical poet. The secret of the
unfading charm of his lyrics lies chiefly in their truth and
spontaneity. Goethe never sought to express in writings of this kind
what he himself did not feel; but if a strong feeling took possession of
his mind, he could not rest until it found lyrical utterance. And in
passing into form in verse, his feeling lost all that was accidental or
of merely passing interest; its expression became the reflection, not of
one man’s experience only, but of the ever-recurring experience of
humanity. There are few elements of the inward life that Goethe does not
touch in his lyrics, and all that he approaches is within the scope of
his art. The German language, often so harsh and obscure, has in these
perfect products of his genius an exquisite softness, richness, and
transparency. Goethe, who knew well the difficulties it presented,
found in it an organ equally fitted for the lightest play of fancy and
the loftiest flights of the imagination.

In 1797 Goethe visited Switzerland for the third time, and enjoyed
heartily a long holiday with his friend Meyer, who had been in Italy
collecting materials for a work which they thought of writing in common.
This work, in which they proposed to show the relation of Italian art to
the physical features of the country and to its social and political
development, was never begun; but Goethe’s studies for it gave a fresh
impetus to his enthusiasm for art, and for years one of the objects he
had most at heart was to communicate his enthusiasm to an ever widening
circle among the educated classes of Germany. In 1798 he started an art
journal called “Die Propyläen” (the German form of [Greek: ta
propylaia], The Gateway); but the public had little interest in the
questions with which it dealt, and after the appearance of four numbers
the enterprise had to be abandoned. Another result of Goethe’s labours
in connection with art was his masterly book on “Winckelmann und sein
Jahrhundert” (“Winckelmann and his Century”), published in 1805. In this
work, to which contributions were made by Meyer and the great Homeric
scholar Wolf, Goethe offered a magnificent tribute to the memory of the
writer who, by his insight and learning, had opened the way to a true
appreciation of the artistic achievements of the ancient world.

Among other prose writings of this period may be mentioned Goethe’s
translation of the autobiography of Benvenuto Cellini, a task undertaken
for the _Horen_; and “Rameaus Neffe” (“Rameau’s Nephew”), a translation
of what is, on the whole, the most powerful of Diderot’s works. “Le
Neveu de Rameau” had not yet been printed, and Goethe’s rendering was
made from a manuscript which had come into Schiller’s hands. A more
searching study of the baser possibilities of human nature has never,
perhaps, been written, and Goethe faithfully reproduced it with all its
original force and vividness.

Schiller occupied himself for several years, at intervals, with his
great drama “Wallenstein.” The mass of his materials made it hard for
him to see his way to an adequate treatment of the subject; but in 1798,
having discussed his scheme thoroughly with Goethe, he was able to
arrive at a final decision as to its form. The Prelude, “Wallensteins
Lager” (“Wallenstein’s Camp”), in the extraordinary vividness of which
there are unmistakable marks of Goethe’s influence, was represented for
the first time at the Weimar Theatre in October, 1798. “The Piccolomini”
was given early in 1799; and soon afterwards the entire work, including
“Wallenstein’s Death,” was performed, a night being devoted to each of
its three parts. Goethe, as the director of the theatre, worked hard to
secure that full justice should be done to his friend’s masterpiece, and
his disinterested efforts were crowned with what was then considered
unparalleled success.

The effect of this triumph was that Schiller resolved not only to devote
himself almost exclusively to dramatic work, but to transfer his
residence from Jena to Weimar, where he would have the advantage of
being near the theatre, and possess unlimited opportunities of
intercourse with Goethe. Before the end of 1799 this plan was carried
out, and all the benefits Schiller hoped to derive from it were
realized. Goethe and he became, if possible, more intimate friends than
ever, and never tired in their efforts to make the Weimar Theatre a
great centre for the creation of a truly national stage. They were
virtually joint directors, but Goethe retained, of course, supreme

This was the most brilliant period in the history of Weimar, for it was
now the home of four famous writers, Goethe, Schiller, Herder, and
Wieland. Herder died in 1803, and during his last years he became bitter
and morose, so that, to Goethe’s intense regret, he brought to an end
the relations which had formerly been a source of so much happiness to
both. With Wieland, who survived Herder ten years, Goethe remained on
friendly terms to the last.

The great philosophical movement of Germany was now in full progress. It
began with the publication, in 1781, of Kant’s “Critique of Pure
Reason,” and was continued in different directions, first by Fichte,
then by Schelling, and afterwards by Hegel and Schopenhauer. Goethe was
not so fascinated as Schiller by the suggestions which were being
offered by so many fine minds for the solution of the highest problems;
but he was too keenly alive to every kind of intellectual influence to
allow any deep current of contemporary thought to escape his notice. He
read with profound interest the second of Kant’s great works, “The
Critique of Judgment,” and thoroughly mastered Fichte’s system of ideas
as expounded in the “Wissenschaftslehre” (“Theory of Knowledge”). He
was still more strongly attracted by Schilling, in whose philosophy he
found much that accorded with his own conceptions of Nature. Fichte and
Schelling were for several years professors at Jena, and Goethe, to whom
they owed their appointments, had many opportunities of discussing with
them the questions to the study of which they had devoted their lives.

Another important movement, closely connected with the philosophical
ideas of Fichte and Schelling, began at this time to arrest attention.
It was the movement which led to the formation of the Romantic School.
The critical leaders of this school, August and Frederick Schlegel, were
both for a while lecturers at the University of Jena, where they
exercised a powerful influence through their literary journal, _The
Athenæum_. With them, and with Tieck and Novalis, Goethe, always anxious
to encourage young writers who seemed to give indications of genius,
sought to maintain the most friendly relations. He even caused to be
represented on the Weimar stage two rather crude plays, “Ion” and
“Alarcos,” the former by August Schlegel, the latter by Frederick
Schlegel. The writers of the Romantic school ultimately diverged widely
from Goethe’s methods, but all that was really vital in their teaching
had already been embodied in his works, and it was chiefly from him that
they originally derived the best and most fruitful of their impulses.

In the winter of 1803-4 Madame de Staël paid her famous visit to Weimar.
Goethe did not fail to do due honour to so distinguished a guest, but,
like Schiller, he was soon fatigued by her restless curiosity and
endless talk. He interested her the more deeply because she could not
but see that the air of patronage with which she had been disposed to
meet him was wholly out of place. For no other German writer did she
conceive so strong a respect.

Meanwhile, Schiller, quickened by Goethe’s unfailing sympathy, had been
producing in rapid succession the great plays of his last years--“Mary
Stuart,” “The Maid of Orleans,” “The Bride of Messina,” and “William
Tell.” Goethe had at this period, so far as the drama was concerned, no
corresponding period of activity. In 1800 and 1801 he produced only
translations of Voltaire’s “Mahomet” and “Tancred.” He was working,
however, at an important poetical drama, “Die Natürliche Tochter” (“The
Natural Daughter”). This drama was intended to be the first member of a
trilogy dealing with the ideas on which the French Revolution had been
compelling all the world to reflect. The trilogy was to represent the
overthrow and re-establishment of an ancient monarchy, its overthrow
being due to corrupt government, its re-establishment to the frank
recognition of popular rights. The only part of the scheme he succeeded
in working out was “Die Natürliche Tochter,” in which we are permitted
to see some of the abuses that were to have led to revolution. The facts
on which the idea of the play was based Goethe found in the “Mémoires
historiques de Stéphanie Louise de Bourbon Conti,” published at Paris in
1797. Eugenie, the heroine, is the natural daughter of a duke, the uncle
of the king; and the question on which the interest depends is whether
she shall allow herself to be publicly acknowledged as one in whose
veins there is royal blood, or whether she shall remain, as she has been
educated, in seclusion. Fascinated by the charm of a lofty social
position, she decides to claim the rights which the king, at her
father’s intercession, is willing to confer upon her. Then she becomes a
victim of treachery and violence. Of all Goethe’s plays this is the one
in which he allows the idea of necessity to exercise the most rigid
control over the development of the action. The circumstances being such
as are described, there is no way of escape from the consequences of
Eugenie’s decision; all is ordered in accordance with an inevitable law.
The characters, therefore, have no very distinct individuality. They are
so completely subordinated to the general scheme that only the heroine
receives a special name. The other characters appear simply as the King,
the Duke, the Secretary, and so forth. The play, if we estimate it from
the point of view selected by Goethe, is one of great power; but had he
devoted himself to works of this kind he could never have shown the true
character of his genius. His strength lay in the development, not of
plot, but of character.

From time to time Goethe worked at a scheme very different from “Die
Natürliche Tochter.” Schiller had been greatly impressed by the fragment
of “Faust” published in 1790, and in season and out of season urged and
entreated him to complete it. Goethe himself had a secret consciousness
that this was to be the highest of his achievements, and took advantage
of every favourable mood to return to it. He was in no hurry, however,
to bring the work to an end. All the deepest elements of his life were
being expressed in it, and he could afford to let the harvest ripen

Early in 1801 Goethe had a serious illness, and for a good many years
afterwards he was liable to attacks of a painful malady. Schiller also
suffered from bad health, and it was too certain that his life would not
be greatly prolonged. The crisis came in the spring of 1805. Schiller
and Goethe had both been ill, but on the 29th of April Goethe felt well
enough to visit his friend. Schiller was about to go to the play, and
Goethe would not hear of his changing his plan. So they parted, never to
see one another again. While in his place in the theatre Schiller caught
a severe chill, and on the 9th of May he died.

Goethe, who was confined to his room, suspected, when he heard of
Schiller’s condition, that the result would be fatal. “Destiny is
inexorable,” he said, sadly; “man of little moment.” When the tidings of
death were brought to his house, Meyer, who was spending the evening
with him, was called out of the room. He had not courage to give so
dreadful a message, and went away without taking leave. Something in the
manner of the members of his household made Goethe uneasy, but he would
not put his doubts at rest by asking any direct question. “I observe,”
he said to Christiane, “that Schiller must be very ill.” During the
night he was heard to sob loudly. Next morning, again addressing
Christiane, he said, “It is true, is it not, that Schiller was _very_
ill yesterday?” Christiane burst into tears. “He is dead?” asked Goethe,
in a firm voice. Christiane, still crying, at last told him the bitter
truth. “He is dead!” Goethe repeated, and covered his eyes with his
hand. He had never lived through a sadder moment, and for several days
no one dared to mention Schiller’s name in his presence.


At the time of Schiller’s death, days of terrible public disaster were
swiftly approaching. In the summer of 1806 the Confederation of the
Rhine was formed, and the rickety Holy Roman Empire fell to pieces.
Shortly afterwards came the war in which Prussia, as an independent
kingdom, was all but annihilated. The decisive battle was fought near
Jena on October 14, 1806, and in the morning, standing with his family
in the garden behind his house, Goethe heard the distant boom of cannon.
Later in the day a skirmish was fought near the garden between some
French and Prussian troops. When all was over, the French broke into the
town, and plundered the inhabitants to their hearts’ content, for, as
the Duke of Weimar was an ally of the King of Prussia, his capital was
held by the victors to be fair game. Two wild French soldiers burst into
Goethe’s house, and his life would probably have been lost but for the
presence of mind of Christiane, who was able to secure help in time to
avert a calamity.

On the day after the battle Napoleon himself entered the town, and on
the 16th he ordered that the harrying should be brought to an end. He
would probably have deprived the Duke of his territory but for the
influence of the Duchess, for whom the French Emperor had high respect.
The Duke was allowed to retain sovereign power on condition that he
should at once withdraw from the Prussian army. Soon afterwards he was
compelled to join the Confederation of the Rhine, and he had also to pay
a huge indemnity.

Much energy had to be expended before the desolation due to these
fearful days could be made good. The people, however, set to work with a
will, and in the well-tried Minister, Goethe, they found the guidance
and support they needed. He was full of resource and courage, saw
exactly what had to be done, and the means of doing it, and stimulated
every one by the example of his own zeal and activity. At this great
testing-time, when Goethe’s character shone forth in all its radiance,
the inhabitants of the Duchy would have been much astonished if they had
heard what afterwards became the foolish parrot-cry about his being an
“egoist,” a “Pagan,” a man indifferent to the welfare of his neighbours,
and caring only for his own culture. They would have felt that, if the
cry was true, Goethe’s “egoism” had a strange resemblance to other
people’s unselfishness.

Meanwhile, a great event had happened in Goethe’s life. Christiane had
become his wife, not only in reality, but in name. Many a time he had
felt bitterly that he had committed a terrible mistake in defying, in
this matter, the ordinary customs of society. He had paid a heavy
penalty for the assertion of his independence; for the presence of
Christiane in his house in a position which--although perfectly
honourable, so far as his own feeling was concerned--was misunderstood
by the rest of the world, had been an occasion of much wretchedness both
to her and to him. Moreover, his ideas about the respect due from the
individual to great social rules had undergone a complete change. He
himself needed no ceremony to bind his conscience, but he felt, as he
had not felt eighteen years earlier, that a ceremony might be essential
in the interests of the community at large. So, anxious that in a time
of public confusion her true position should be put beyond doubt, he
wrote to the Court preacher of Weimar, saying that a purpose which had
often been in his mind had come to maturity--and might the formal union
be concluded on the following Sunday or earlier? On Sunday, October 19,
1806, Goethe and Christiane became, in the face of the world, what they
had all along been in their own esteem, husband and wife. The only
persons present were their son August and Goethe’s secretary, Riemer.

August was now a youth of seventeen, and had already been legitimated.
He was a handsome young fellow, with dark hair and dark eyes, and
endowed with good abilities. He was idolized by his father, and no one
could please Goethe better than by showing kindness to his boy. About
two years after the marriage August went to Heidelberg to study law, and
it was with a heavy heart that Goethe let him go.

About this time Weimar became the home of Johanna Schopenhauer, the
novelist, the mother of one of the most illustrious philosophers of the
modern world. She was very bright and clever, and had an intense
admiration for Goethe. “He is,” she wrote, “the most perfect being I
know, even in appearance. A tall, fine figure, which holds itself erect,
very carefully clad, always in black or quite dark blue, the hair
tastefully dressed and powdered, as becomes his age, and a splendid face
with two lustrous brown eyes, which are at once mild and penetrating.”
Goethe was grateful to Frau Schopenhauer for receiving his wife with the
respect that was her due. Not every woman of her standing was equally

A few years after Goethe’s death a strange book took the world by
surprise--Bettina von Arnim’s “Goethes Briefwechsel mit einem Kinde”
(“Goethe’s Correspondence with a Child”). Bettina was the daughter of
Goethe’s old friend Maximiliane Brentano. While still a very young girl
she fancied that there was some resemblance between herself and Mignon;
and, as Mignon loved Wilhelm Meister, so she loved Goethe. In 1807, when
she was about twenty-two, she came to Weimar, and soon gave evidence of
her remarkable passion, which was, of course, an affair rather of the
fancy than of the heart. Goethe talked with her kindly, but took care
that her enthusiasm should be kept within reasonable bounds. Some years
afterwards (in 1811) Bettina married the poet Arnim. She had the bad
taste to insult Christiane, who very properly responded by forbidding
her to enter Goethe’s house again. To Bettina’s surprise, he
energetically supported his wife’s decision. There was nothing about
which he was so sensitive as the treatment accorded to his wife, and
Bettina had to reconcile herself to the discovery that in her relation
to Goethe she was, in comparison with the woman whom she had held in
such low esteem, of very little importance. The letters published after
his death, and attributed to him, are in reality as much Bettina’s work
as Goethe’s.

In 1808 he had to pass through a sorrow which he felt most keenly. Ever
since his father’s death his mother had continued to live at Frankfort.
She was a woman of a genial and expansive nature, with a deep vein of
poetry; and her real character was fully recognized only when she had to
confront the world, alone. Every one loved her, and she was adored by
young girls, whom she delighted to gather around her. To her great joy,
Goethe repeatedly visited her, and she was also able to welcome to her
home his wife and son. She was so generous that, after Schlosser’s
death, the trustees for his children by his first wife, Cornelia,
Goethe’s sister, wished to put some legal limit to her expenditure; and
Goethe was asked to sanction their proposal. Goethe, however, who had
inherited much of his mother’s disposition, replied that she had a right
to spend her fortune as she pleased, and so the good Frau Rath went on
living the life that best suited her kindly, happy temper. She
corresponded regularly with Goethe, and it would be impossible to
conceive a more beautiful relation than that which existed between
mother and son. She died on September 13, 1808, at the age of
seventy-seven, and Goethe mourned for her with a grief that cut deeply
into his inward life.

He sent his wife to Frankfort to make the necessary arrangements with
regard to the inheritance that was to be divided between him and his
sister’s children. Christiane showed on this occasion not only a
thorough faculty for business, but a liberal spirit that won golden
opinions from all whom the matter concerned.

In the autumn of 1808 took place the famous meeting of Napoleon and Czar
Alexander at Erfurt. Napoleon had read a French translation of
“Werther,” and expressed a wish to see the author. Accordingly, on the
morning of October 2nd, Goethe was presented. As the poet entered, the
Emperor looked searchingly at him, and, turning round, exclaimed, “Voilà
un homme!” Napoleon talked of “Werther,” and had also much to say about
the French drama, frequently stopping to ask, “Qu’en dit M. Göt?” A few
days afterwards Napoleon and his “pitful of kings” were present at a
representation of Voltaire’s “La mort de César” at the Weimar Theatre.
After the play there was a ball, in the course of which Napoleon
repeatedly took occasion to converse with Goethe. He condemned
Voltaire’s drama, and suggested that Goethe should write a better one on
the subject, showing how Cæsar, if he had been allowed to live, would
have done great things for Rome. The Emperor formed so high an opinion
of Goethe that he begged him to come to Paris, assuring him of a fitting

Goethe had arranged with Cotta, in 1805, for the publication of a new
edition of his collected works. The appearance of this edition is
memorable, because one of the volumes, issued in 1808, contained the
First Part of “Faust,” as we now possess it.

There is no sound reason for supposing that when Goethe first thought
of making the Faust legend the subject of a drama he conceived the work
as a whole, including the Second Part. On the contrary, there is ample
evidence that the dominant idea of the Second Part was a later
development.[2] The Frankfort “Faust” contains not a line or a
suggestion which indicates that he intended the work to end otherwise
than as a tragedy. The whole scheme of the drama implies that the
conclusion is to be tragical.

Long before the First Part was completed, however, the conception had
taken another form. It was one of Goethe’s vital characteristics that
his mind often reverted, by an inward necessity, to the consideration of
the vast problems with which, at the earliest dawn of independent
thought, man finds himself confronted. He was especially fascinated by
the terrible problem of evil. What is its real nature? Is it an
essential element of the universe, and will it therefore abide for ever?
Or is it an appearance merely, a negation, which the human spirit may by
some means shake off, and so recover its true freedom? Goethe wrestled
with these questions long and earnestly, and at last he felt himself
able to answer them decisively.

No one who knows anything of Goethe will suppose that he was a thinker
of a light, optimistic temper. He realized as few can realize--for few
have his capacity for piercing intuition--how deep are the roots of evil
in man’s nature, and how profound the sources of his misery. It is
worthy of note that there is not one of Goethe’s works in which he tries
to present a flawless male character. Schiller loved to roam in an
imaginative world where men have no impulses except such as are high,
pure, and heroic. Goethe, on the contrary, held fast by reality. Both in
his dramas and his romances most of his leading male figures have some
radical defect that either leads, or might conceivably lead, to
disaster. Even in “Goetz,” the hero of which, if not perfect, is
thoroughly sound and good, he gives us Weislingen, whose weakness brings
him to a tragic doom. Kindred weaknesses appear in the heroes of
“Werther,” “Clavigo,” “Stella,” “Tasso,” “Wilhelm Meister.” This is not
an accident, it is an essential element of Goethe’s art, and it in part
explains why his work is so much more potent than Schiller’s. For, after
all, however pleasant it may be to dream of characters who float in an
ideal realm far above us, it is by characters in whom we find ourselves
reflected that we are most closely touched and most deeply moved. Some
of Goethe’s feminine characters are conceived in a different spirit. We
cannot imagine his Iphigenie, for instance, diverging from the straight
path. But he also presented Adelheid; and Lotte and Gretchen, warmly as
he loved them, are not prevented from making experience of evil--the
former by hovering on its verge, the latter by plunging into the abyss.

Goethe, then, was under no illusions as to the darker aspects of the
world. He knew and felt that an awful conflict goes on between two
mighty powers, the one fair and beneficent, the other hideous and
malign. But he convinced himself--or, perhaps, it would be truer to say,
the conviction grew in his mind--that this struggle is not necessarily
eternal; that in spirits which, in spite of failure and suffering, have
always an inward longing for light and freedom, the good power
ultimately triumphs, and crushes evil for ever under its feet.

To have a great conviction was in Goethe’s case to be conscious of an
urgent demand for its expression. Some time or other, therefore (perhaps
in 1788, when, at Rome, he wrote of “the plan” having been “made”), it
must have occurred to him that “Faust” provided him with precisely such
a medium of expression as he needed. Faust has turned from all the
highest influences to which his spirit in its inmost depths responds. In
a mood of despair he has abandoned his ideals, and is seeking through
the world for some rapture that will satisfy his cravings. So far, he is
a type of humanity in one aspect of its life. But--Goethe seems to have
asked himself--why should not Faust be a type of humanity in a larger,
greater sense? If it is the destiny of evil to be conquered and to pass
away, might not Faust become the representative of this sublime
world-process? In his deep, imaginative spirit might we not see the
entire course of the struggle, from the moment when evil seems to attain
supremacy until that in which it will have to give way to the ultimate
and absolute sway of good?

Nothing short of this was Goethe’s aim in his final conception of
“Faust.” The poem was to embody all that his thought and his experience
of life had taught him as to the spiritual history and the spiritual
destiny of man.

Hence, in the completed First Part, the work no longer begins, as it
began in its earliest form, with Faust’s monologue. The Prologue in
Heaven introduces us to a scene in which it is symbolically brought home
to us that Faust, whatever may be his errors or crimes, will not always
remain under their power, but will in the end recognize his true nature,
yield his will to its laws, and so attain to liberty and peace. And, in
accordance with this symbolic assurance, Goethe, in the body of the
poem, brings into clearer prominence those qualities of Faust’s
character which show that at heart he is a man capable of fine impulse
and generous aspiration. Every one knows how, after the second
monologue, when he is about to end his unhappiness by death, he is
affected by the chorus of angels and women on the morning of Easter Day.
We obtain the conviction that, however deeply a man who can be so
touched may fall, he can never place himself beyond hope of recovery.
This is suggested, too, by the form of his pact with Mephistopheles. He
is to yield himself wholly to Mephistopheles only if a moment shall come
when he will be disposed to say, “Oh, stay! thou art so fair!” We know
that to a man of Faust’s nature no such moment can ever come through
evil agency.

In other respects the poem is not vitally changed; it is merely extended
and developed in the sense in which it was originally conceived. The
working-out of the idea of Faust’s deliverance Goethe reserved for the
Second Part.

The “Fragment” published in 1790 had passed almost unnoticed. The
completed First Part, on the contrary, was received with general
astonishment and admiration. Most people had begun to think of Goethe as
one who had practically closed his literary career. He was now on the
border-land between middle life and old age, and it had been supposed
that no further work of importance was to be expected from him. Yet here
was a poem of a depth and range that surpassed anything he had yet
produced. For the first time his countrymen began to realize the true
extent of his power, and, during the rest of his life, all who were
capable of sound critical judgment regarded him as incomparably the
greatest figure in the literature of Germany.

Two years after the publication of “Faust” he issued the third of his
prose romances, “Die Wahlverwandtschaften” (“Elective Affinities”). The
idea of this book had been for a long time in his mind. He originally
intended to make it the subject only of a short study, but he ultimately
felt that its full significance could be brought out only in an
elaborate tale. The work displays high imaginative energy, and must be
classed among the finest of Goethe’s prose writings. Its most striking
characteristic is the power with which he convinces us that the
relations he calls “elective affinities,” although they lead in the
story to no outward wrong-doing, must necessarily, in such
circumstances as he presents, have a deeply tragic meaning.

Another work belonging chiefly to this period is “Aus Meinem Leben.
Dichtung und Wahrheit” (“From My Life. Poetry and Truth”), the first two
parts of which appeared in 1811, the third in 1814. The fourth he did
not finish until 1831. The narrative brings the story of Goethe’s life
down to the time when he quitted Frankfort for Weimar. His object was to
describe the influences under which his character both as a man and as a
writer was formed. Hence the stress he lays on his relations to
Gretchen, Annette, Frederika, and Lili. To have omitted these figures
from his picture, or to have sketched them only slightly, would have
been to convey a wholly wrong impression of the conditions under which
his peculiar powers were developed. The style in which the story is told
is light, pliant, and graceful, and it has an especially delicate charm
in the passages relating to the maidens whom he has loved. Some details
of the narrative are incorrect, but that his reminiscences are
substantially accurate we know from the fact that they accord in the
main with his early works and letters. Goethe’s intellectual relations
even in youth were so far-reaching that “Dichtung und Wahrheit” is much
more than a record of his personal experience. It contains a full and
most vivid account of all the great currents of thought and feeling in
Germany during an important transitional period in the history of her

During the time when he was writing his autobiography, Goethe studied
with much interest Von Hammer’s translation of the Persian poet Hafiz.
This led to the production of the “West-Oestlicher Divan”
(“West-Eastern Divan”). The work was not published until 1819, but the
greater part of it was written in 1815. It consists of several series of
short poems, and is remarkable chiefly for the deep practical wisdom of
many of its verses, for the variety and perfection of its metres, and
for the splendour of its diction. The “West-Oestlicher Divan” became a
source of inspiration to several poets of the new generation--among
others, to Rückert, Platen, and Bodenstedt.

Meanwhile, Germany had been passing through a great and stirring period
of her history, and Goethe, like other people, had been anxiously
watching the progress of events. It cannot, however, be said that he was
one of those who in any way aided the national cause. This was not due
to lack of patriotism, for although he could not share the hatred with
which most of his countrymen at this time regarded France, he realized
fully of what vital importance it was for Germany that French supremacy
should be brought to an end. But it did not seem to him, when the War of
Liberation began, that the time had come for a final struggle for
national independence. Napoleon, notwithstanding his disasters in
Russia, still had vast resources at his disposal, and Goethe was
convinced that his military genius made him all but invincible. On the
other hand, the German sovereigns, as he had known them, had generally
been self-seeking and untrustworthy, and it appeared incredible to
Goethe that they would be able to act harmoniously for a high common
object. Happily, his forebodings proved to be without foundation, and he
was heartily pleased when he had to admit that he had been mistaken.

One small result of the great national uprising was that the Duke of
Weimar became a Grand Duke and received an accession of territory. As he
proposed to establish a constitutional system of government, it was
necessary that the method of administration should be considerably
modified; and Goethe, who was not consulted about the measures which
were about to be taken, supposed that there might be some change in his
own position. The Grand Duke, however, knew too well what he owed to his
old and loyal friend to do anything to his disadvantage. Early in the
winter of 1815, Goethe was informed that he had been appointed the First
Minister of State.

A few months afterwards, he had to mourn the loss of his wife. She died
on the 6th of June, 1816. This was a bitter grief to Goethe, who had
never loved her more warmly than during the last years of her life.


After his wife’s death Goethe became anxious that arrangements should be
made for the marriage of his son August, who had for some time had an
official appointment at Weimar. Goethe’s choice fell upon Ottilie von
Pogwisch, a handsome, clever girl, the granddaughter of a lady for whom
he had much regard. August was of opinion that a better wife could not
have been selected for him, and so they were married on the 17th of
June, 1817. Goethe laughingly warned Ottilie that she was never to
contradict her husband, and that if she ever wanted to have the rapture
of a quarrel, she must come and have it out with _him_. They occupied
the top floor of Goethe’s house, the rooms of which had been carefully
prepared and furnished for them; and by and by they received as a
permanent inmate of their home Ottilie’s sister Ulrica. Two children
were born of the marriage, and his grandsons were to Goethe an
inexhaustible source of delight.

Much as Goethe had done for the Weimar Theatre, the business connected
with it had often been an occasion of trouble and annoyance, due chiefly
to the intrigues of the actress Fräulein Jagemann, who had great
influence over the Grand Duke. Early in 1817 it was decided, in
opposition to Goethe’s wishes, that the birthday of the Grand Duchess
should be celebrated by the representation of one of Kotzebue’s plays.
The performance was a failure, and Goethe handed in his resignation of
the directorship. He was persuaded to withdraw it, but later in the
year, when, in deference to Fräulein Jagemann, the Grand Duke sanctioned
the representation of a play in which a leading part was to be taken by
a dressed-up poodle, Goethe felt that it was impossible for him to
retain a position in which his authority was disregarded. From this time
he confined himself exclusively, in his official duties, to the control
of institutions for the promotion of science and art. He devoted
attention especially to the University of Jena, the prosperity of which
he had missed no opportunity of furthering ever since his settlement at

Goethe, who seemed to have the secret of eternal youth, carried with him
into middle life and old age much of the fresh vivacity of his early
years. He was especially remarkable for his sensitiveness to feminine
influence. While writing the “Wahlverwandtschaften” he had been strongly
attracted by the beauty, thoughtfulness, and amiability of Wilhelmine
Herzlieb, the foster-daughter of the wife of Herr Frommann, a bookseller
at Jena, at whose house he was a frequent and welcome guest. Some of
Wilhelmine’s qualities were reproduced in Ottilie, the lovely and
pathetic figure who is overtaken by so sad a fate in the
“Wahlverwandtschaften.” At the time when most of the poems in the
“West-Oestlicher Divan” were written, he had a still more cordial
relation with Marianne, the fascinating wife of his friend Geheimerath
von Willemer, of Frankfort. In 1814 and 1815 he had much pleasant talk
with Marianne in her home, and in 1815 she and her husband spent some
happy days with him at Heidelberg. Marianne was not only a handsome
woman, of a sound and affectionate character, but had a touch of poetic
genius. She followed with warm interest and sympathy Goethe’s progress
in the composition of the poems of the “Divan.” Some of them were
addressed to her, and she responded with original verses, of which
Goethe thought so highly that he interwove them with his own work.

Goethe’s relations to Wilhelmine Herzlieb and Marianne Willemer were
much the same as Dr. Johnson’s relations to Frances Burney and Mrs.
Thrale. Both women interested him, appealed to his imagination, and
liked him as heartily as he liked them; and, as a poet and a German, he
could give warm expression to his regard for them without running the
slightest risk of being misunderstood by either. When he sent to Frau
Willemer the exquisite little lyric, “Nicht Gelegenheit macht Diebe,”
and she, as Suleika, replied with the equally beautiful poem,
“Hochbeglückt in deiner Liebe,” they would have been astonished and
dismayed had any one been stupid enough to suppose that, so far as their
relations to one another were concerned, either set of verses
represented more than a light and delicate play of fancy.

Afterwards, however, Goethe passed through a deeper experience. This was
his love for Ulrica von Levezow, whom he met with her mother, an old
friend of his, at Marienbad in 1822, when he was in his seventy-third
year. Goethe was charmed by the beautiful maiden, and loved her as
ardently as if he had been fifty years younger. In the following year he
met her again with her mother at the same place, and the fascination she
exerted over him was so obvious that gossips began to talk of an
approaching betrothal. When Ulrica left Marienbad, Goethe felt sadly
depressed. He found relief, however, while listening to the playing of
the Polish pianist, Madame de Szymanowska, and then he was able to give
in the fine poem “Aussöhnung” (“Reconciliation”) full expression to his
sense of what seemed for the moment his recovered freedom. It cost
Goethe a hard struggle to overcome this late-flowering passion. He was
determined that it should be mastered, and in the end succeeded in
suppressing it.

On the 3rd of September, 1825, the fiftieth anniversary of the Grand
Duke’s accession was celebrated. Goethe was deeply moved by the memories
which crowded in upon him on this occasion. It was arranged that early
in the morning a cantata should be sung in front of the Roman House, in
the Park, where the Grand Duke was staying; and, while this was being
done, Goethe entered, anxious to be the first to congratulate the
sovereign he had served so well. The Grand Duke took Goethe’s hands in
his own, and said, “To the last breath together!” About two months
afterwards the fiftieth anniversary of Goethe’s arrival at Weimar was
also celebrated. The Grand Duke presented him with a gold medal struck
for the occasion, and expressed in a letter all that he felt about the
magnificent services Goethe had for half a century rendered to himself
and his people. By the Grand Duke’s order, a copy of this letter was
posted on a wall opposite Goethe’s house. Seeing a crowd, Goethe sent a
friend to find what was interesting them. “That is he!” cried Goethe,
when he learned what had been done. In the evening “Iphigenie” was
represented, and the town was brilliantly illuminated.

Goethe was saddened, almost beyond the power of expression, by the death
of the Grand Duke in 1828, and that of the Grand Duchess in 1830. He had
been associated with them so long, and had loved them, and been loved by
them, so truly, that their death, in the first moments of grief, seemed
like the breaking-up of all that had made life valuable. Happily, he had
every reason to be satisfied with his relations with the young Grand
Duke and Grand Duchess. They looked up to him with reverence, and
delighted to do him honour.

In his home Goethe had much wearing anxiety and distress. His son
August, although endowed with many good qualities, was of a wayward and
uncertain temper, and at last took to hard drinking. He loved his father
deeply, but even Goethe’s influence was not strong enough to deliver him
from this hideous tyranny. In 1830 he went to Italy, and he died at Rome
on the 27th of October. It was found that he had been suffering from
malformation of the brain.

In 1821 a student at Göttingen, Johann Peter Eckermann, submitted a copy
of his poems to Goethe, with a sketch of his life; and Goethe, as was
his wont on such occasions, sent a friendly answer. Two years afterwards
Eckermann, encouraged by this reply, despatched a manuscript to Goethe,
begging that he would forward it to Cotta. On the 10th of June, 1823, an
interview took place, and Eckermann made so good an impression that
Goethe gave him some work to do, and ultimately made him his secretary.
The result was that many years afterwards the world received Eckermann’s
“Conversations with Goethe.” Eckermann was not, like Boswell, a great
artist, and Goethe does not live in his book as Johnson lives in
Boswell’s. Nevertheless, these “Conversations” present a most striking
picture of Goethe in old age, and it is impossible to read them without
feeling that they bring us into contact with an intellect and character
of superb quality. Almost every subject interests Goethe, as he is here
revealed; and on all matters, from the humblest to the most lofty, about
which he expresses an opinion, he has something to say that indicates a
mind fresh, vigorous, and richly stored with the fruits of a life of
thought, action, and study. Above all, the reader is impressed by the
noble feeling of humanity that pervades his utterances. Goethe has seen
as much of the world as it is given to men to see; yet in his judgments
there is no trace of a bitter or querulous temper. He is mild, serene,
and helpful.

Weimar had now become a place of pilgrimage for young poets, who looked
to Goethe as the supreme master of their craft. Among those who came to
him was the poet who was destined to take, after Goethe’s death, the
first place in the imaginative literature of Germany--Heinrich Heine.
Heine visited Weimar when he was twenty-five years of age, and had
already taken rank among the most powerful writers of his day. Long
afterwards, in “Ueber Deutschland,” he said that in talking with Goethe
he involuntarily looked at his side for the eagle of Zeus. “I was
nearly,” he says, “addressing him in Greek.” Many a time, when he had
thought of visiting Goethe, he had reflected on all sorts of sublime
things he would like to say. When he found himself actually in the great
man’s presence, he remarked that the plums by the wayside between Jena
and Weimar were uncommonly good! So, at least, we are assured by Heine,
whose reminiscences were seldom intended to be taken quite seriously.
Goethe appreciated Heine’s rare gifts, but said to Eckermann that with
all his brilliance one thing was wanting to him--love. He predicted,
however, that Heine would be greatly feared.

From abroad, as well as from all parts of Germany, testimonies of
admiration were from time to time sent to Goethe. On his last birthday
he received from fifteen (or perhaps nineteen) Englishmen, among whom
were Sir Walter Scott, Wordsworth, Southey, and Carlyle, a seal bearing
the motto from one of his poems, “Ohne Hast, aber ohne Rast” (“Without
haste, but without rest”). The suggestion that this tribute of respect
and gratitude should be offered to Goethe had been made by Carlyle, with
whose translation of “Wilhelm Meister” he had been greatly delighted.
Goethe, although he never saw Carlyle, recognized his genius, and
foretold his future greatness.

During his last years Goethe took little interest in the public affairs
of Europe. Least of all did he interest himself in the proceedings of
Liberal politicians. On the day when the tidings of the French
Revolution of 1830 reached Weimar, his friend Soret went to see him.
When Soret entered his room Goethe was in a state of intense excitement,
and began to talk of the mighty volcanic eruption at Paris. Soret
replied that nothing else was to be expected from such a Ministry.
Goethe looked at him in astonishment. What had the Ministry to do with
the matter? He had not been speaking of “those people,” but of the
contest in the French Academy between Cuvier and Geoffrey St.
Hilaire!--a contest in which St. Hilaire had supported Goethe’s ideas as
to the true way of conceiving organic Nature.

The essential aim of the Liberal party all over Europe in those days was
to secure a political system in which the functions of the Government
should be restricted within the narrowest possible limits. Every
interest of life was to be submitted to the operation of the principle
of free competition. Goethe could have no sympathy with a movement of
which this was the ultimate object, for it was one of his deepest
convictions that strong government is an enduring necessity of society,
and that the path of free competition is a path that leads to ruin. And
have events proved that in this opinion he was utterly mistaken? So far
as industry and trade are concerned, the Western world has had ample
experience of free competition, and can we take much pride in such of
its results as are seen in the foul and pestilent dens in which, in
every great city, multitudes of men, women, and children are compelled
to lead degraded and unhappy lives? Goethe did not mean by strong
government a system which should crush thought and true individuality.
On the contrary, to him thought and true individuality seemed the vital
conditions of human progress. But he wished, too, that the weak should
be protected against the tyranny of the strong; that the State should be
the supreme organ of practical reason for the establishment and
maintenance of wholesome relations between man and man, and for the
execution of measures designed to promote the free development, not of
this class or of that only, but of the community as a whole.

Many Liberal politicians were never tired of talking of Goethe as one
who cared nothing for the practical interests of the world. They mistook
indifference to their party for indifference to humanity. The truth is,
he was in one sense far ahead of those who virulently assailed him as a
reactionary. As we know from many passages in “Wilhelm Meisters
Wanderjahre,” he saw that the real problems of the future were not
merely political but social; that communities could never hope to solve
these problems by simply giving free scope to the forces contending for
mastery; and that for the new conditions of the world new forms of
co-operative industrial organization would become inevitable. He devoted
much earnest attention to the principles expounded during this period by
St. Simon, and his ideas about social progress have a close affinity to
some of those with which the English-speaking world has been made
familiar by the most illustrious of its modern spiritual teachers,
Carlyle and Ruskin.

Even in old age Goethe never paused in his labours as a man of letters.
One of the works now issued by him was “Wilhelm Meisters Wanderjahre”
(“Wilhelm Meister’s Years of Travel”). It was published in its earliest
form in 1821, but afterwards it was recast, the work as we now have it
being finished in 1829. This book has little real connection with the
“Lehrjahre,” and ought not to be read as a complete work of art, for
Goethe hardly even attempts to give unity to the various elements of
which it is made up. Much of it is rather tiresome, but it also contains
tales and passages as remarkable for nobility of style as for depth of
thought. Especially valuable are those parts of the book in which he
develops his mature convictions with regard to education, and the
conditions of the high and enduring welfare of industrial societies.
Here he anticipates much of what is most deeply characteristic of the
thought of our own day.

In all directions Goethe continued to exercise his widely varied powers.
He edited a periodical called for some time “Kunst und Alterthum in den
Rhein und Maingegenden” (“Art and Antiquity in the districts of the
Rhine and the Main”). Afterwards he called it simply “Kunst und
Alterthum,” and included in it, besides papers on art and archæology,
some of his poems and essays in literary criticism. He also published,
between 1817 and 1824, a scientific periodical, in which he printed his
treatise on the intermaxillary bone, and communicated his discovery as
to the constitution of the bones of the skull. This discovery had in the
interval been independently made by Oken, but to Goethe the question of
priority appeared to be one of absolutely no importance.

During this time, too, he went on writing lyrical and other poems, as he
had done during all the earlier periods of his career; and he devoted
great attention to the preparation of a complete edition of his works,
the first volume of which was published in 1827. He also found time to
write or dictate an extraordinary number of letters. Goethe had always
been a model correspondent, and the various collections of his letters
are of inestimable value for the light they throw upon his character. He
himself issued, in 1828-29, his correspondence with Schiller; and he
prepared for publication his correspondence with Zelter, the genial and
eccentric Berlin musical composer, to whom he was warmly attached. We
now possess a vast series of Goethe’s letters, some dating from early
youth, others written immediately before his death. They reflect
accurately many different moods, corresponding to the different stages
of his development; but in the letters of all the periods of his life
the mind which unconsciously discloses itself is one dominated by a
passion for truth, by a lofty sense of honour, and by manly, humane, and
generous impulses.

The most important work of his old age is the Second Part of “Faust.”
Some portions of it had been written even before the appearance of the
First Part; but the work belongs in the main to his latest period. He
finished it before his last birthday, and told Eckermann that, this task
being done, he would regard the rest of his life as “a pure gift.”

“Faust,” therefore, had accompanied him during the entire course of his
literary career. In it he had represented all the various phases of
evolution through which his thought and character had passed.

As a work of art, the Second Part is far inferior to the First. It lacks
the unity which is to some extent given to the First Part by Faust’s
relation to Gretchen; and it contains a multitude of symbolical ideas,
the meaning of which it is hard to unravel. We miss, too, the fire and
glow of the scenes conceived in Goethe’s early days, when “Faust” served
as the direct imaginative expression of his own tumultuous thoughts and
longings. Nevertheless, there are individual passages, especially in the
scenes relating to Helen of Troy, full of splendid power; and the idea
in which all is summed up is in every way worthy even of the grandest of
the original elements of Goethe’s scheme. Before dying, Faust feels that
a moment might come to which, with all his heart, he could say, “Oh,
stay! thou art so fair!” But it is a moment which Mephistopheles, the
representative of the evil in his nature, could never have secured for
him. It is a moment of pure delight springing from the contemplation of
the results of disinterested labour in the service of humanity.

This was Goethe’s last word to the world; the expression of his deepest
and most settled conviction. To make selfish joy, as Faust had done, the
supreme object of existence--that way lie perpetual evil and misery; to
sacrifice self, to bring the will into harmony with ideal law, in all
things to think and act in a spirit of love and brotherhood, as Faust,
after fierce struggle, learns to do--in that, and in that alone, can man
find a life truly fitted to his nature and capable of satisfying his
deepest, inmost wants. The idea with which Goethe seeks to solve the
problem of “Faust” is the old, yet ever new, doctrine--“He that loseth
his life for my sake shall find it.”

For many years Goethe enjoyed excellent health, and from day to day his
work went on without serious interruption. The end--described simply and
graphically in Düntzer’s “Goethes Leben”--came somewhat suddenly, when
he was in his eighty-third year. On Thursday, March 15, 1832, when the
young Grand Duchess paid him her usual weekly visit, he had much to say
about a drawing which a friend had sent him from Pompeii. It was a
sketch of an ancient design in mosaics, representing a scene in the life
of Alexander the Great. The Grand Duchess saw in her friend no sign of
an approaching illness, nor was Goethe, when he retired to his room in
the evening, conscious of any physical change. During the night,
however, he could not sleep, and next morning it was obvious that he had
lost much of his usual vigour. Between the 19th and the 20th of March,
about midnight, he had severe pains in the chest and suffered from an
attack of breathlessness. Even these symptoms did not alarm him, and on
the 20th he had strength enough to sign an official paper securing that
aid should be granted to a lady whose talents as an artist had excited
his admiration. But life was gradually ebbing away. On the morning of
the 22nd of March, he sat in his armchair, holding the hand of his
daughter-in-law, Ottilie, in his own, and conversing with her brightly.
As he talked, his words came with increasing difficulty, and at last he
wholly lost the power of speech. He made signs in the air, and, when his
arm dropped, moved his fingers as if writing on his knee. Shortly before
midday, leaning back in a corner of his chair, he softly passed away.

If we look back upon the course of Goethe’s long life, it is impossible
not to be struck with admiration when we think of the extraordinary
range of his activity. There are few departments of intellectual life
into which he did not penetrate, and in everything which, as a thinker
and writer, he undertook, he displayed the highest order of mental
power. As a man of science, he ranks among the foremost investigators of
his age. He had no sooner begun to reflect seriously on scientific
problems than he placed himself in what proved to be the central current
of modern thought. The supreme idea of the nineteenth century is the
idea of evolution, and the position of those inquirers who immediately
preceded Darwin is necessarily determined by the answer which must be
given to the questions--Were they, in their observations and
speculations, guided by aims which in the main accord with Darwin’s
principle? Were they among the forerunners who prepared the way for the
doctrine in which all that was best and most vital in pre-Darwinian
scientific thought is summed up? In regard to Goethe, these questions
must be answered emphatically in the affirmative. His discoveries,
resulting almost equally from the exercise of his perceptive and
imaginative faculties, were on the lines which led directly to the
theory of evolution. It is only, indeed, since the law of evolution was
detected, that the world has recognized the full meaning and importance
of his contributions to scientific progress.

As a writer on art, Goethe was less original than as a man of science.
But here also he was on the track that has been followed by the greatest
of his successors. Greek architecture and sculpture Winckelmann had
made in part intelligible; and, having absorbed his teaching, Goethe, as
the result of his own observations in Italy, had many a luminous
suggestion to offer as to masterpieces of ancient art, and as to the
general processes of development with which they were related. In his
study of modern art it was to the painters and sculptors whose technical
skill was used in the service of high imaginative ideas that he
instinctively turned; and no writer of his day sought more earnestly to
show how little can be achieved in art if it is divorced from serious
and noble thought. He felt, too, as only a few of the world’s
intellectual guides have yet felt, how great is the place which properly
belongs to art as one of the influences capable of giving dignity and
refinement both to individual and to social life.

Great, however, as were Goethe’s achievements in the criticism of art
and in science, they are of almost slight importance in comparison with
his work as an imaginative writer. As a writer of romance, as a
dramatist, as a lyrical poet, he towers high above all other men of
letters whom Germany has produced. In the literature of his country he
takes the rank which in that of Greece belongs to Homer, in that of
Italy to Dante, in that of England to Shakespeare. Almost every element
of human life is touched in his creations, yet he has told us that his
writings are to be regarded as parts of one great “confession.” However
remote they may seem to be from his own experience, they are directly or
indirectly rooted in the facts of his personal history. To this is due
one of the most distinctive qualities of his work both in verse and in
prose--the extraordinary vitality of his ideas; the vividness with which
all that he depicts is made to pass before us, as if it were a part of
the outward and visible world. He cannot, however, be truly described as
a realist, if by a realist is meant one who seeks to do no more than
represent exactly what he himself has seen or felt. In taking reality as
the basis of ideal structures, Goethe severed from it associations which
were only of temporary or accidental interest. He brought it into new
relations, touched it with the transforming power of the imagination,
and gave to individual facts universal significance. Hence the greatest
of his works are as fresh to-day as when he wrote them; and they could
lose their living power only if human nature itself were radically

As a critic of literature, he had the sanity of judgment and the
intuitive insight which mark all poets of the highest genius. He has
never, perhaps, been surpassed in his power of detecting the signs of a
genuinely creative capacity; and this power, remarkable even in his
youth, did not desert him in old age. He was constantly on the outlook
for new intellectual forces, and, when they appeared, seldom failed to
divine the direction in which they were moving, and the nature of the
results they were likely to accomplish. Byron, Scott, Manzoni, Victor
Hugo, Carlyle--all were hailed by Goethe as, in different ways, potent
representatives of the later periods of the era to which he himself
belonged. It did not occur to him to think of them as rivals. He thought
only of his good fortune in having lived to see them carry on the
movement of European literature.

When a writer achieves world-wide fame, we cannot resist the impulse to
ask what he has to tell us as to the great, enduring spiritual problems
of existence. We have seen how deeply Goethe, in youth, was influenced
by Spinoza; and during the whole of his mature life his conception of
the universe in some respects closely resembled that of the teacher whom
he had so profoundly revered. Atheism was not only repugnant to his
feeling, but seemed to him the last development of human folly. To him
the world was but the manifestation of Divine energy; he thought of it
as “the living garment of the Deity.” So far, his idea of the ultimate
nature of things was simply Spinoza’s idea; but, when he had fought his
way to an independent conviction, he differed widely from Spinoza in his
mode of conceiving the Reality which reveals itself in the phenomenal
order. The God in whom Goethe believed was not simply “Substance.” The
enduring types or patterns to which, in his interpretation of Nature, he
attributed such vast importance, imply the existence of something more
and deeper than abstract force. They are Divine ideas, and would be
unintelligible apart from Mind or Reason. That the word Reason, when
applied to the creative energy of the universe, expresses absolute
truth, Goethe nowhere says; but he held that man cannot but form far
himself some representation of the Unknowable Power, and that to
represent it as Reason is the least inadequate way in which we can catch
some glimpse of its unutterable splendour.

The notion that the world was formed for man seemed to Goethe the
offspring of extravagant self-conceit. Yet he had no mean estimate of
the greatness of the human spirit. He recognized in it powers capable of
indefinite growth and expansion, and did not doubt that there is an
invisible realm in which, after it has fulfilled its mission in the
present world, it passes to new and higher destinies. It appeared to
him, however, strange and most unreasonable that men should miss what is
great and worthy in this life by dreaming vaguely about a life to come.
He conceived that the truest preparation for whatever may be in store
for us in other states of existence must be the wise cultivation of the
faculties with which we are endowed; and among these faculties he gave
the highest place to the impulses which bring men into intimate and
helpful association with their fellows.

The conduct of life he made a subject of profound reflection, and no
modern writer illuminates it with a light at once so clear and so
steady. It is for this reason that a quite peculiar relation springs up
between Goethe and those who feel the power and the charm of his genius.
They go back again and again to his works, his letters, his
“Conversations,” and never fail to find in them some fruitful word that
brings with it fresh hope and courage. His wise and noble sayings are
the more inspiring because they almost invariably suggest deeper
meanings than they directly utter. The mind, in appropriating them, is
placed in contact, not with abstract dogmas, but with life itself, and
is stimulated to the free exercise of its own energies.

Goethe had an almost unequalled opportunity of developing his powers,
and apprehended vividly the full extent of the obligation it imposed.
His life, therefore, has the note of greatness which distinguishes his
writings. It was a life of lofty aim and strenuous endeavour, and left a
mark, wide, deep, and abiding, on the thought and aspiration of mankind.




“Alexis und Dora,” 146

Anson, Lord, his “Voyage Round the World,” 16

Arnim, Bettina von, 159

“Aufgeregten, Die,” 132


Ballads, by Goethe, 147;
  by Schiller, 147

Basedow, 80

Beaumarchais, Memoirs of, 68

“Belinden, An,” 84

Behrisch, 27

Böhme, Professor, 25

Bologna, 107, 111

Boswell, 34, 175

Breitkopf, 27, 34

Brentano, Maximiliane, 59

Brion, Frederika, Goethe’s love for, 41;
  his parting from, 43;
  her influence on Goethe, 45;
  her relation to Maria in “Goetz,” 57;
  to Maria in “Clavigo,” 69;
  to Gretchen in “Faust,” 75;
  Goethe visits, in 1779, 99;
  in “Dichtung und Wahrheit,” 42, 167

Buff, Charlotte, 51, 58, 60, 66


Carlyle, 176, 178, 185

Cellini, Benvenuto, 148

“Claudine von Villa Bella,” 69, 114

“Clavigo,” 68

Clodius, 31

Cuvier, 177


“Dichtung und Wahrheit,” 167

Dresden, Goethe studies the picture gallery at, 28


Eckermann, 130, 174, 175, 176, 180

“Egmont,” 114, 120

Emmendingen, 59, 83, 99

Ernesti, 24

“Erwin und Elmire,” 69, 114


Fahlmer, Johanna, 80, 99

“Faust,” in its earliest form, 72-78;
  Goethe works at, in Rome, 114;
  “Faust: A Fragment,” published in 1790, 127;
  continued, 153;
  the First Part, published in 1808, 161-166;
  the Second Part, 180

Fichte, 150

Frankfort, Goethe’s knowledge of, 14

“Frankfurter Gelehrten Anzeigen,” the, 49


“Geheimnisse, Die,” 103

Gellert, 24

Goethe, Catharine Elizabeth, Goethe’s mother, 12, 16, 18, 33, 160

Goethe, Christiane, Goethe’s wife, 117, 131, 154, 156, 157, 160, 169

Goethe, Cornelia, Goethe’s sister, 13, 17, 32, 48, 59, 83, 99

Goethe, Frederick George, Goethe’s grandfather, 11

Goethe, Johann Kaspar, Goethe’s father, 12, 14, 17, 19, 22, 90, 99

Goethe, Johann Wolfgang, his birth, 11;
  childhood and boyhood, 11-23;
  at Leipsic, 24-32;
  returns, as an invalid, from Leipsic to Frankfort, 32;
  spends a year and a half at Frankfort, 32-34;
  at Strasburg, 34-46;
  influenced by Herder, 37;
  his love for Frederika Brion, 41;
  becomes an advocate at Frankfort, 47;
  gives dramatic form to the history of Goetz von Berlichingen, 48, 54;
  goes to Wetzlar, 50;
  his love for Charlotte Buff, 51-52;
  returns to Frankfort from Wetzlar, 53;
  “Die Leiden des jungen Werthers,” 60;
  “Clavigo,” 68;
  “Stella,” 69;
  poetic fragments, 70;
  “Faust” in its earliest form, 72;
  studies Spinoza, 78;
  his friendship with Lavater, Basedow, Johanna Fahlmer,
      Frederick Jacobi, and the Counts Stolberg, 80-82;
  his love for Lili Schönemann, 82-84;
  quits Frankfort for Weimar, 85;
  the first eleven years of his life at Weimar, 86-105;
  his friendship with Charlotte von Stein, 91;
  development of his character at Weimar, 93;
  his official duties, 95-97;
  his scientific discoveries, 100, 101, 128, 129, 183;
  his visit to Italy, 106-115;
  informal marriage, 118;
  “Egmont,” 120;
  “Iphigenie,” 122;
  “Torquato Tasso,” 123;
  “Faust: A Fragment,” 127;
  becomes director of the Weimar Theatre, 131;
  his feeling about the French Revolution, 132;
  at Valmy, 133;
  his friendship with Schiller, 134-155;
  the “Xenien,” 138;
  “Wilhelm Meisters Lehrjahre,” 138;
  “Hermann und Dorothea,” 143;
  ballads, 147;
  lyrics, 147;
  “Winckelmann und sein Jahrhundert,” 148;
  “Die Natürliche Tochter,” 152;
  his formal marriage, 157;
  his relation to Bettina von Arnim, 159;
  his mother’s death, 160;
  his interviews with Napoleon, 161;
  the First Part of “Faust,” 161;
  “Die Wahlverwandtschaften,” 166;
  “Dichtung und Wahrheit,” 167;
  the “West-Oestlicher Divan,” 168;
  his feeling about the War of Liberation, 168;
  becomes First Minister of State, 169;
  death of his wife, 169;
  marriage of his son August, 170;
  his relation to Wilhelmine Herzlieb and Marianne von Willemer, 171, 172;
  his love for Ulrica von Levezow, 172;
  the fiftieth anniversary of his arrival at Weimar, 173;
  death of the Grand Duke and Grand Duchess of Weimar,
      and of Goethe’s son, 174;
  Eckermann’s “Conversations with Goethe,” 175;
  visited by Heine, 175;
  gift from his English admirers, 176;
  ideas about the State and society, 176-178;
  “Wilhelm Meisters Wanderjahre,” 178;
  “Kunst und Alterthum,” 179;
  his letters, 180;
  the Second Part of “Faust,” 180;
  his death, 182;
  general view of his work, 183

Goethe, Julius August Walther, Goethe’s son, 129, 158, 170, 174

Goetz von Berlichingen, his autobiography, 48;
  his history dramatized, 49;
  the drama in its second form, 54;
  reception of the play, 57

Goldsmith, his “Vicar of Wakefield,” 40, 41

“Götter, Helden, and Wieland,” 70

Gottsched, 31

Gretchen, Goethe’s first love, 21, 42, 167

Gretchen, in “Faust,” 75, 163

“Gross-Cophta,” 132

Göschen, 105


“Harzreise im Winter,” 103

Heine, Heinrich, 175

Herder, Goethe meets, 37;
  his character, 37;
  his influence on Goethe, 39;
  his criticism of the “Geschichte Gottfriedens von Berlichingen,” 54;
  settles at Weimar, 89;
  Goethe’s relations with, 90, 150

“Hermann und Dorothea,” 143-146

Herzlieb, Wilhelmine, 171, 172

“Hexenküche, Die,” written at Rome, 115

Homer, 40, 43, 184

Horn, Goethe’s friend, 25

Hubertusburg, Treaty of, 19


Ilmenau, mines at, 96, 100, 117

“Ilmenau,” poem, 103

Intermaxilliary bone, Goethe’s discovery of, in human jaw, 101

“Iphigenie,” in its prose form, 102;
  transformed to a poetical drama, 111;
  criticism of, 122

“Italienische Reise,” the, 106

Italy, Goethe’s visit to, 106-115


Jacobi, Frederick, 81, 104

Jena, Battle of, 156

Jerusalem, suicide of, 60

Joseph II., his coronation, 21


Kanne, 31, 34

Kant, 135, 138, 150

Kestner, 52, 58, 66

Klettenberg, Fräulein von, her influence on Goethe, 33;
  her death, 84;
  the original of the “fair soul” in “Wilhelm Meister,” 143

Klopstock, his “Messiah,” 16;
  writes to Goethe, 86

“Kunst und Alterthum,” 179


Laroche, Frau von, 53, 59;
  Maximiliane, 53

“Laune des Verliebten, Die,” 30

Lavater, 80

Leipsic, Goethe goes to, 22;
  his life at, 24-32

Lessing, 29, 30, 138

Letters, Goethe’s, 180

Levezow, Ulrica von, 172

Liberation, War of, 168

“Lili’s Park,” 84

Loder, Professor, 101

Lyrics, Goethe’s, 147


“Mahomet,” fragment of original drama, 70;
  Voltaire’s, translated, 152

Mainz, 84, 133

Marie Antoinette, 36

Mephistopheles, in the original “Faust,” 76

Merck, 49, 53, 54, 57, 98

Metamorphosis of Plants, 128

Meyer, 110, 131, 154

Michael Angelo, 109

Mignon, 142

Mineralogy, Goethe’s study of, 100

“Mitschuldigen, Die,” 30


Naples, 112

Napoleon, Goethe’s interviews with, 161

“Natürliche Tochter, Die,” 152

“Neue Liebe, Neues Leben,” 84

Newton, Goethe’s rejection of his theory of colours, 130

Nicolai, 67

Niederbronn, 36, 37, 50


Oeser, influence of, on Goethe, 27;
  Frederika, 28, 32

Ossian, 40, 43

Osteology, Goethe’s discoveries in 100, 101, 129, 179

Ottilie, Goethe’s daughter-in-law, 170, 182


Paoli, General, 34

Percy’s “Reliques,” 40

Pindar, 51

“Prometheus,” 70

“Propyläen, Die,” 148


“Rameaus Neffe,” 149

Raphael, 107, 109, 111

“Reineke Fuchs,” 133

Revolution, the French, 132

Robinson Crusoe, 16

Romantic School, the, 151

Rome, Goethe in, 107-112; 113-115

Römer, the, 15

“Römische Elegien,” 119

Rousseau, 38, 39, 60, 66, 112, 124

Ruskin, 178


Salzmann, 35, 49

Schelling, 151

Schiller, publication of the “Robbers,” 103;
  goes to Weimar, 134;
  his first meeting with Goethe, 135,
  settles at Jena, 135;
  his marriage, 135;
  asks Goethe to write for the _Horen_, 136;
  his friendship with Goethe, 136;
  unites with Goethe in writing the “Xenien,” 138;
  his ballads, 147;
  “Wallenstein,” 149;
  settles at Weimar, 149;
  his later plays, 152;
  his death, 154

Schlegel, the brothers, 151

Schlosser, 25, 59, 99, 160

Schönemann, Lili, 82-84, 99, 167

Schönkopf, Annette, 26, 31, 34, 42, 167

Schröter, Corona, 93, 102

Scott, Sir Walter, 176

Sculpture, Goethe’s study of ancient, 109, 120

Shakespeare, 29, 39, 47, 55, 184

Sicily, Goethe in, 113

Sixtine Chapel, the, 109, 114

Soret, 177

Southey, 176

Spinoza, 78, 186

St. Gotthard, 83

St. Hilaire, Geoffrey, 177

St. Peter’s, 109

Staël, Madame de, 151

Stein, Charlotte von, 91, 99, 104, 106, 113, 117, 119

“Stella,” 69

Stilling, Jung, 35

Stock, 28

Stolberg, the Counts, 82, 83

Strasburg, Goethe’s life at, 34-46;
  later visits to, 83, 99

Switzerland, Goethe’s first visit to, 83;
  his second, 98;
  his third, 148


Textor, Johann Wolfgang, 12, 17

Tischbein, 110, 112

Thorane, Count, 18

“Torquato Tasso,” prose fragment, 103;
  poetical drama, 124

Types, doctrine of, 101, 128, 129, 186


Valmy, 133

Venice, 107, 129

Vesuvius, 112

Voss, his “Luise,” 143


“Wahlverwandtschaften, Die,” 166

“Wanderer, The,” 50

“Wanderers Sturmlied,” 50

Wandering Jew, the, 70

Weimar, state of, when Goethe arrived there, 86;
  the great period in history of, 150;
  plundered, 156

Weimar, Duke of, invites Goethe to visit him, 84;
  Goethe’s relations with, 86, 87;
  Goethe becomes a member of his Privy Council, 91;
  gives Goethe a house in the Park, 91;
  Goethe goes with him to Berlin and Switzerland, 98;
  relieves Goethe of many official duties, 116;
  gives Goethe a house in Weimar, 131;
  Goethe accompanies him in Champagne, 133;
  he is made a Grand Duke, 169;
  influenced by Fräulein Jagemann, 171;
  the fiftieth anniversary of his accession, 173;
  his death, 174

Weimar, Duchess of, 87, 119, 157, 174;
  Duchess Dowager of, 88, 129

“Werther, Die Leiden des jungen,” origin of, 60;
  the tale, 61;
  characteristics of, 63;
  reception of, 66

“West-Oestlicher Divan,” 168

Wetzlar, Goethe goes to, 50;
  leaves, 53

Wieland, his influence on Goethe, 29;
  Goethe writes a farce on, 70;
  Goethe’s relations with, at Weimar, 88, 150

Willemer, Marianne von, 172

“Wilhelm Meister,” “Lehrjahre,” begun, 103;
  “Lehrjahre,” completed, 138;
  “Wanderjahre,” 178

Winckelmann, his death, 30;
  at Rome Goethe is helped by his writings, 108, 120, 184;
  Goethe’s book about, 148

Wordsworth, 176


“Xenien,” 138




(_British Museum_).

   I. WORKS.








        Biography, Criticism, etc.
        Songs, etc., set to Music.
        Magazine Articles.


     [_The Compiler has found it impracticable to give more than the
     first edition of the separate works in the original. All the
     English translations known to him have, however, been included._]


     D. Goethens Schriften. Mit Kupfern, 4 Th. Berlin, 1775-79, 8vo.

     J. W. Göthens Schriften. 4 Bd. Carlsruhe, 1778-80, 8vo.

     Goethe’s Schriften. [With engravings.] 8 Bd. Leipzig, 1787-90, 8vo.

     Goethe’s Schriften. 4 Bd. Leipzig, 1787-91, 8vo.

     Goethe’s Schriften. 8 Bd. Wien und Leipzig, 1790, 8vo.

     Göthe’s Neue Schriften. 7 Bd. Berlin, 1792-1800, 8vo.

     Goethes Werke. 13 Bd. Tübingen, 1806-10, 8vo.

     Goethe’s Werke. 20 Bd. Stuttgart und Tübingen, 1815-19, 8vo.

     Original-Ausgabe. 26 Bd. Wien und Stuttgart, 1816-1821, 12mo.

     Vollständige Ausgabe letzter Hand. (Goethe’s nachgelassene Werke.
     Inhalts-und-Namen - Verzeichnisse über sämmtliche Goethe’sche Werke,
     Ausgabe 1827-1834, Verfertigt von C. T. Musculus unter Mitwirkung
     des Hofraths Dr. Riemer.) 61 Bd. Stuttgart und Tübingen, 1827-42,

     Göthe’s sämmtliche Werke. Mit Bildnisse und Facsimile. 5 Bd. Paris,
     1836, 8vo.

     Goethe’s poetische und prosaische Werke. 3 Bd. Stuttgart und
     Tübingen, 1836-47, 4to.

     Vollständige, neugeordnete Ausgabe. 40 Bd. Stuttgart, 1840, 16mo.

     Goethe’s poetische und prosaische Werke. Mit Stahlstichen. Zweite
     Auflage. [Edited by F. W. Riemer and J. P. Eckermann.] 2 Bd.
     Stuttgart und Tübingen, 1845-46, 8vo.

     Goethe’s sämmtliche Werke, etc. 30 Bd. Stuttgart, 1850-51, 8vo.

     Goethe’s sämmtliche Werke. Vollständige, neugeordnete Ausgabe. 30
     Bd. Stuttgart, 1857-58, 8vo.

     Vollständige Ausgabe. 6 Bd. Stuttgart, 1860, 8vo.

     Vollständige neu durchgesehene Ausgabe. 3 Bd. Stuttgart, 1869, 8vo.

     Goethe’s sämmtliche Werke. Mit Einleitungen von K. Goedeke. 15 Bd.
     Stuttgart, 1872-75, 8vo.

     Der Junge Göthe. Seine Briefe und Dichtungen von 1764-1776. Mit
     einer Einleitung von M. Bernays. 3 Bd. Leipzig, 1875, 8vo.

     Goethe’s Werke, Revidirte Ausgabe. (Thl. 1-3, 5-10, 11; Abtheil 2,
     14-16, 25, 26, 28, 30-32; herausgegeben mit Anmerkungen von F.
     Strehlke. Nebst der Biographie des Dichters [Thl. 1.] von F.
     Förster, Thl. 4, 11, Abtheil 1, 12, 13, 19-23 herausgegeben von G.
     von Loeper. Thl. 17, 18, 24 herausgegeben von W. Frh. v.
     Biedermann. Thl. 33-36 herausgegeben von S. Kalischer.) 36 Thl.
     Berlin, Leipzig [printed, 1868-79], 8vo.

     Goethe’s Werke. Erste illustrirte Ausgabe, mit erläuternden
     Einleitungen [by Wendt and others]. Neunte verbesserte Auflage. 20
     Bd. Berlin, Leipzig [printed] 1880, 8vo.

     Goethe’s sämmtliche Werke. Vollständige Ausgabe. Mit Einleitungen
     von K. Goedeke, 15 Bd. Stuttgart, 1881, 8vo.

     Goethe’s Werke. [Edited by K. G.--_i.e._, K. Goedeke.] 36 Bd.
     Stuttgart, 1882-67-81, 8vo.

     Goethe’s Werke. Herausgegeben von H. Düntzer. Berlin, Leipzig
     [printed, 1882, etc.], 8vo.

     Forming part of the “Deutsche National Litteratur, herausgegeben
     von J. Kürschner.

Goethes Werke, illustrirt von den ersten deutschen Künstlern. (Eine
ausgewählte Sammlung.) Herausgeber H. Düntzer. 5 Bd. Stuttgart [printed]
und Leipzig, [1883-85,] 8vo.

Goethe’s Werke. Herausgegeben im Auftrage der Grossherzogin Sophie von
Sachsen. Weimar, 1887, etc., 8vo.

     This edition, now being issued, is divided into four parts:--I.
     Abtheilung: Goethe’s Werke, 50 Bände; II. Abtheilung: Goethe’s
     Naturwissenschaftliche Schriften, about 10 Bände; III. Abtheilung:
     Goethe’s Tagebücher; IV. Abtheilung: Goethe’s Briefe.


     Nachträge zu Goethe’s sämmtliche Werken. Gesammelt und
     herausgegeben von E. Boas. 3 Thl. Leipzig, 1841, 16mo.

     Neue Ausgabe, etc. 3 Thl. Leipzig, 1846, 8vo.

     Göthe’s Singspiele Claudine v. Villa Bella und Erwin und Elmire. In
     ihren ursprünglichen Gestalt herausgegeben von Dr. H. Döring.
     Arnstadt, 1843, 8vo.

     Clavigo. Ein Trauerspiel in fünf Akten. Die Geschwister. Schauspiel
     in einem Akt. 2 pts. Stuttgart, 1868, 8vo.

     Forming No. 28 of a series entitled, “Classische Theater-Bibliothek
     aller Nationen.”

Goethe’s Italiänische Reise; Aufsätze und Aussprüche über bildende
Kunst. Mit Einleitung und Bericht über dessen Kunststudien und
Kunstübungen. Herausgegeben von C. Schuchardt. 2 Bd. Stuttgart, 1862-63,

The Autobiography of Goethe. Truth and Poetry: From my own Life.
Translated from the German, by J. Oxenford. Thirteen books.--Vol. 2. The
Autobiography, etc. The concluding books [14-20]. Also letters from
Switzerland and Travels in Italy. Translated by A. J. W. Morrison.
(_Bohn’s Standard Library_). 2 vols. London, 1848-9, 8vo.

Dramatic Works of Goethe: comprising Faust, Iphigenie in Tauris,
Torquato Tasso, Egmont, translated by Anna Swanwick, and Goetz von
Berlichingen, translated by Sir Walter Scott. (_Bohn’s Standard
Library_). London, 1850, 8vo.

The Dramatic Works of J. W. Goethe. Translated from the German by Sir W.
Scott, E. A. Bowring, A. Swanwick, and others. (_Bohn’s Standard
Library._) London, 1879, 8vo.

Essays on Art. Translated by S. G. Ward. Boston [Mass.], 1845, 16mo.

Miscellaneous Travels of J. W. Goethe; comprising Letters from
Switzerland (translated by A. J. W. Morrison); the Campaign in France,
1792 (translated by R. Farie); the Siege of Mainz; and a Tour on the
Rhine, Maine, and Neckar, 1814-1815. Edited by L. Dora Schmitz. (_Bohn’s
Standard Library._) London, 1882, 8vo.

Novels and Tales by Goethe. Elective Affinities; The Sorrows of Werther;
German Emigrants; The Good Women; and a Nouvelette, translated chiefly
by R. D. Boylan. (_Bohn’s Standard Library._) London, 1854, 8vo.


     Aus meinem Leben, Dichtung und Wahrheit. Abth. 1; and Th. 1-2 of
     Abth. 2. [6 Th.] Tübingen und Stuttgart, 1811-22, 8vo.

   ---- Memoirs of Goethe: written by himself. (Biographical notices
     [by the translator] of the principal persons mentioned in these
     memoirs.) 2 vols. London, 1824, 8vo.

   ---- Goethe’s Boyhood, 1749-1764. Being the first five books
     forming part 1 of Goethe’s Autobiography. Translated by J.
     Oxenford. (_Bohn’s Shilling Library._) London, 1888, 8vo.

   ---- ---- Die Idylle von Sesenheim. Aus Göthe’s “Dichtung und
     Wahrheit,” etc. Berlin, Leipzig [printed], 1872, 32mo.

   ---- ---- The New Paris. A child’s tale. [An extract from “Aus
     meinem Leben.”] (_Tales from the German, by John Oxenford and C. A.
     Feiling._) London, 1844, 8vo.

     Beiträge zur Optik. 2 Stücke. Weimar, 1791-2, 8vo.

     Der Bürgergeneral. Ein Lustspiel in einem Aufzuge [and in prose].
     Berlin, 1793, 8vo.

     Campaign in France, in the year 1792. Translated by R. Farie.
     London, 1849, 12mo.

     Claudine von Villa Bella. Ein Schauspiel [in prose] mit Gesang.
     Berlin, 1776, 12mo.

   ---- ---- Arien und Gesänge des Singspiels Claudine von Villa Bella,
     etc. Berlin, 1818, 8vo.

     Clavigo. Ein Trauerspiel [in five acts and in prose]. Leipzig,
     1774, 8vo.

     Egmont. Ein Trauerspiel in fünf Aufzügen. Ächte Ausgabe. Leipzig,
     1788, 8vo.

   ---- Another edition, with English notes, etc. London, 1864, 8vo.

     Forming part of “Thimm’s Classical German Drama.”

---- Another edition. Annotated by E. A. Oppen. (_German Classics_,
etc.) London, 1868, 12mo.

---- Another edition. With explanatory notes and vocabulary by H. Apel.
London, 1868, 8vo.

---- Another edition. German Classics. Edited, with English notes, by C.
A. Buchheim. Vol. i. Egmont, a tragedy by Goethe. (_Clarendon Press
Series._) Oxford, 1869, 8vo.

---- Egmont. Translated from the German. Boston [Mass.], 1841, 12mo.

---- Egmont. Translated from the German. London, 1848, 16mo.

---- Egmont. Translated (with entr’ actes and songs by Beethoven, newly
arranged from the full score, and Schubert’s song “Freudvoll und
Leidvoll”) by A. D. Coleridge. With an illustration by J. E. Millais.
London, 1868, 8vo.

Des Epimenides Erwachen. Ein Festspiel [in one act and in verse. With a
preface signed K. L.] Berlin, 1815, 8vo.

Erwin und Elmire: ein Schauspiel mit Gesang. Frankfurt, 1775, 8vo.

Faust. Ein Fragment. Ächte Ausgabe. Leipzig, 1790, 8vo.

Faust. Eine Tragödie. Tübingen, 1808, 8vo.

Faust. Eine Tragödie. Zweyter Theil in fünf Acten. Stuttgart und
Tübingen, 1833, 8vo.

Faust in ursprünglicher Gestalt nach der Göchhausenschen Abschrift
herausgegeben von E. Schmidt. Weimar, 1887, 8vo.

---- Retsch’s Series of twenty-six outlines, illustrative of Goethe’s
tragedy of Faust, engraved from the originals by Henry Moses. London,
1820, 4to.

----Faustus: from the German of Goethe. [The greater part of Thl. 1.,
translated in verse, and connected by a prose narrative. With 27
illustrations in outline by Moritz Retzsch]. London, 1821, 4to.

---- Metrical version of the Walpurgisnacht, entitled, “May-Day Night,”
by Percy Bysshe Shelley. (_The Liberal. Verse and prose from the South_,
vol. i, pp. 121-137). London, 1822, 8vo.

     Re-published in Shelley’s “Posthumous Poems,” 1824.

----Faust [Part the First]: a drama by Goethe; and Schiller’s Song of
the Bell. Translated by Lord F. L. Gower. London, 1823, 8vo.

----Faustus, from the German of Goethe, with Retzsch’s illustrations,
re-engraved by H. Moses. London, 1824, 4to.

----Faust, a Drama by Goethe, and Schiller’s Partition of the Earth, and
Song of the Bell, translated by Lord Francis Leveson Gower. New edition.
2 vols. London, 1825, 8vo.

----Faust. By Goethe. From the German. By John Anster. London, 1828,

----Faust, a dramatic poem, translated into English prose, with remarks
on former translations, and notes, by the translator of Savigny’s “Of
the vocation of our age for legislation and jurisprudence”. [A.
Hayward]. London, 1833, 8vo.

----Faust; a dramatic poem translated into English prose, with remarks
on former translations, notes [and an appendix], by A. Hayward. Second
edition. London, 1834, 8vo.

----Faust [Part 1], a tragedy. Translated into English verse, with notes
and preliminary remarks, by J. S. Blackie. Edinburgh, 1834, 8vo.

----Faust [Part 1]; a tragedy; translated from the German by D. Syme.
Edinburgh, 1834, 12mo.

----Faustus [Part 1]; a tragedy. Translated from the German of Goethe.
London, 1834, 12mo.

---- Goethe’s Faust [Part 1], illustrated with outlines by M. Retzsch,
engraved by H. Moses. London, 1834, obl. 4to.

----Faustus [Part 1]; The Bride of Corinth; The First Walpurgis Night.
Translated from the German by J. Anster. London, 1835, 8vo.

---- The Faust [Part 1] of Goethe attempted in English rhyme, by R.
Talbot. London, 1835, 8vo.

---- Original Poems. Translations of Demetrius and three Scenes from
Faust. By C. Hodges. Munich, 1836, 12mo.

---- Goethe’s Faust [Part II], illustrated with fourteen outline
illustrations, by Moritz Retzsch. London, 1836, obl. 4to.

----Faust: a Tragedy, by Goethe; German text with English notes. London,
1836, 12mo.

----Faust, a tragedy in two parts, rendered into English verse. 2 vols.
London, 1838, 12mo.

     Only 50 copies printed.

----Faust: a Tragedy. Part II, as completed in 1831, translated into
English verse (by John Macdonald Bell). Dumfries, 1838, 8vo.

----Faust: a Tragedy; translated into English verse by J. Birch;
embellished with engravings on steel (by J. Brain) after Moritz Retzsch.
2 pts. London, 1839-43, 8vo.

---- Goethe’s Faust. Mit gegenüberstehender englischer Uebersetzung und
erklärenden Noten versehen vom Honorable Robert Talbot. Erster Theil.
The Faust of Goethe. Part 1. Translated into English rhyme, by the Hon.
Robert Talbot. Second edition, revised and much corrected, with the
German text on alternate pages and additional notes. London, 1839, 8vo.

---- Goethe’s Faust. Parts I and II, translated into English from the
German, partly in the metres of the original, and partly in prose. By
Leopold J. Bernays. London, 1839, 8vo.

----Faust; Part II, translated from the German, partly in the metres of
the original, and partly in prose; with other poems, original and
translated, by Leopold J. Bernays. London, 1839, 8vo.

---- Ceracchi, a drama, and other poems. (Passages translated from the
Faust of Goethe.) By Samuel Naylor. Maidenhead [1839], 8vo.

     Privately printed.

----Faust, by Goethe. Translated into English prose, with remarks on
former translations, and notes, by A. Hayward. Third edition. London,
1840, 8vo.

----Faust; a tragedy, translated into English verse by J. Hills. London,
1840, 16mo.

----Faust. Parts I and II. With other poems, original and translated, by
J. L. Bernays. Carlsruhe, 1840, 8vo.

----Faustus: a Dramatic Mystery; The Bride of Corinth; The First
Walpurgis Night. Translated from the German of Goethe by John Anster.
Frankfort a. M., 1841, 16mo.

----Faust [Part 1.], a Tragedy by Goethe. Translated by L. Filmore.
London, 1841, 8vo.

     Forming part of the collection entitled, “Smith’s Standard

----Faust [Part 1], translated into English verse by Sir George Lefevre.
London [1841], 12mo.

----Faust, a Tragedy. Part II. Rendered from the German by Archer
Gurney. London, 1842, 8vo.

----Faust: a Dramatic Poem. Translated into English prose by A. Hayward.
Reprinted from the third English edition, corrected and revised. Erfurt
and Leipzig, 1842, 16mo.

----Faust, a tragedy. Part II, as completed in 1831. Translated into
English verse [by John Macdonald Bell]. Second edition. London, 1842,

---- Goethe’s Faust [Part 1], translated into English verse. By Sir G.
Lefevre. Second edition. Frankfort a. M[ain], 1843, 16mo.

---- Retzsch’s Twenty-six Outlines to Goethe’s Tragedy of Faust.
Engraved from the originals by Henry Moses, with an illustrative
analysis of the Tragedy. London, 1843, 4to.

---- Goethe’s Faust, complete. The forty outlines by M. Retzsch,
engraved on steel for J. Birch’s translation of Faust, by J. Brain.
London [1843], obl. 4to.

---- Goethe’s Faust (being the “preface” or opening to that poem, and
the “Prologue in Heaven.” The literal translation by G. F. Duckett,
etc.). [London? 1845?], 4to.

----Faust, a tragedy by Goethe. Translated into English verse by Lewis
Filmore. New edition. London, 1847, 12mo.

----Faust, a dramatic poem, by Goethe. Translated into English prose,
with notes, by A. Hayward. Fourth edition. London, 1847, 8vo.

----Faust, a tragedy. Translated by Captain Knox. London, 1847, 8vo.

----Faust, a tragedy by Goethe; and Selections from Schiller, translated
by Anna Swanwick. London, 1849, 8vo.

---- Dramatic Works of Goethe: comprising:--Faust, Iphigenia in Tauris,
etc. Translated by Anna Swanwick. (_Bohn’s Standard Library_, Goethe’s
Works, vol. iii.) London, 1850, 8vo.

----Faust, a drama, with glossary and notes. By Dr. Tiarks. London,
1850, 12mo.

----Faust, by Goethe. Translated into English prose, with notes, by A.
Hayward. Fifth edition. London, 1851, 12mo.

----Faust [Part 1]: a Tragedy. With copious notes, grammatical,
philological and exegetical, by Falck Lebahn. _Germ._ London, 1853, 8vo.

----Faust, translated by L. Filmore. (_Universal Library, Poetry_, vol.
i.) London, 1853, 8vo.

----Faust, by Goethe. Translated into English prose, with notes, by A.
Hayward. Boston [Mass.], 1854, 16mo.

---- Goethe’s Faust: the First Part, with an analytical translation, and
etymological and grammatical notes. By L. E. Peithmann. _Germ._ London
[1854], 16mo.

----Faust: a dramatic poem. Translated into English prose, with notes.
By A. Hayward. Sixth edition. London, 1855, 8vo.

---- Goethe’s Faust: the first part, with an analytical translation [or
rather vocabulary] and etymological and grammatical notes. By L. E.
Peithmann. Second edition, etc. _Germ._ London, 1856, 12mo.

----Faust, a tragedy. Translated into English prose from the German of
Goethe, with notes, by Charles T. Brooks. Boston [Mass.], 1856, 8vo.

----Faust, a tragedy, translated, with notes, by C. T. Brooks. Second
edition. Boston [Mass.], 1857, 8vo.

---- Goethe’s Faust [Part 1], with critical and explanatory notes by G.
G. Zerffi. _Germ._ London, 1859, 8vo.

----Faust: a tragedy. Translated into English verse from the German of
Goethe. By J. Galvan. Dublin, 1860, 12mo.

----Faust, by Goethe. Translated into English prose, with notes, by A.
Hayward. Seventh edition. London, 1860, 8vo.

----Faust, by Goethe. Translated into English verse by Lewis Filmore.
New edition. London, 1861, 8vo.

----Faust, translated from the German by v. Beresford. Cassel, 1862,

---- Goethe’s Faust. Translated into English verse, by J. Cartwright.
London, 1862, 12mo.

----Faust. Part 1. With critical and explanatory notes, by G. G. Zerffi.
Second edition. London, 1862, 8vo.

---- Poems; original and translated. [From Goethe’s Faust, etc.] By
Theodore Martin. London, 1863, 8vo.

     Printed for private circulation.

----Faustus. Part 1. From the German of Goethe. By John Anster. New
edition. London, 1864, 8vo.

----Faustus: the Second Part. From the German of Goethe. By John Anster.
London, 1864, 8vo.

----Faust. Translated by A. Hayward. Eighth edition. London, 1864, 8vo.

---- Translation of Goethe’s Faust. By W. B. Clarke. Freiburg, 1865,

     First and Second Parts.

----Faust [Part 1]: a dramatic poem. Translated into English verse by
Theodore Martin. Edinburgh, 1865, 8vo.

----Faust [Part 1], translated by L. Filmore. (_Masterpieces of Foreign
Literature._) London, 1866, 8vo.

----Faust [Part 1]: a dramatic poem. Translated into English verse by
Theodore Martin. Second edition. Edinburgh, 1866, 8vo.

----Faust, von Goethe. Der Tragödie, erster Thiel. With English notes.
New York, 1866, 12mo.

----Faust. From the German, by J. Anster. (_Tauchnitz Collection of
German Authors_, vol. v.) Leipzig, 1867, 12mo.

----Faust, a dramatic poem, translated by J. W. Grant. London, 1867,

---- Historical Pictures [in verse] from the Campagna of Rome. With
lyrics from “Faust.” By J. W. Grant. London, 1867, 8vo.

----Faust, a dramatic poem. Translated into English verse by Theodore
Martin. Third edition. Edinburgh [printed] and London, 1870, 8vo.

----Faust: a tragedy. Translated in the original metres by Bayard
Taylor. 2 vols. London, 1871, 8vo.

----Faust. The first part. Translated, in the original metres, by Bayard
Taylor. Boston [Mass.], 1871, 8vo.

----Faust, a tragedy. Part 1. Translated in the original metres by
Bayard Taylor. Leipzig, 1872, 8vo.

----Faust. Translated, in the original metres, by Bayard Taylor. Boston
[Mass.], 1873, 8vo.

---- Goethe’s Faust. With copious notes, grammatical, philological, and
exegetical. By Falck Lebahn. New edition. _Germ._ London, 1872, 8vo.

----Faust, a tragedy. Translated in rime by C. K. Paul. London, 1873,

----Faust. Translated into English prose, by A. Hayward. Ninth edition.
London 1874. 12mo.

---- Outlines to Goethe’s Faust. Twenty-six etchings by Moritz Retzsch.
[With illustrative text in English.] London, 1875, obl. 4to.

----Faust, a tragedy. Part II. Translated in the original metres by
Bayard Taylor. Leipzig, 1876, 8vo.

----Faust, by Goethe. Translated by Bayard Taylor. Illustrated by E.
Seibertz, A. Liezen-Mayer, and L. Hofmann. New York, 1876, fol.

----Faust von Goethe. Der Tragödie, erster Theil. With English notes.
New edition. New York, 1876, 12mo.

----Faust, a tragedy. The first part. Translated, in the original
metres, by T. J. Arnold. With 50 illustrations after original designs by
A. L. Mayer, and with vignettes, ornamental borderings, etc., by R.
Seitz. Munich, London [1877], fol.

----Faust; a tragedy. Translated by T. Martin. Illustrated by A. von
Kreling. London, 1877, fol.

----Faust. [Part 1.] Translated into English verse by C. K. Bowen.
London, 1878, 8vo.

---- The Faust of Goethe. In English verse. By W. H. Colquhoun. Part 1.
London, 1878, etc., 8vo.

     No more published.

----Faust. A tragedy. Translated into English verse by W. D. Scoones.
London, 1879, 16 mo.

---- Goethe’s Faust. In two parts. Translated by Anna Swanwick. (_Bohn’s
Standard Library._) London, 1879, 8vo.

---- Goethe’s Faust. [Part 1.] Translated by A. Swanwick. With
illustrations after the designs of M. Retzsch. London, 1879 [1878], 8vo.

----Faust [Part 1.], a tragedy, by Goethe. Translated in the original
metres by Bayard Taylor. New edition. Boston, 1879, 12mo.

----Faust [Part 1.], a tragedy. Translated, chiefly in blank verse, with
introduction and notes, by J. A. Birds. London, 1880, 8vo.

----Faust: a tragedy. [Part the First.] Translated into English verse,
with notes and remarks, by J. S. Blackie. Second edition, largely
rewritten. London, 1880, 8vo.

---- Goethe’s Faust, Part 1. The German Text, with English notes, and
introductory remarks, by A. M. Selss. London, 1880, 8vo.

---- Goethe’s Faust: a Tragedy. Translated by Theodore Martin.
Illustrated by A. v. Kreling. London, 1880, fol.

----Faust [the First Part], from the German of Goethe, by T. E. Webb.
(_Dublin University Press Series._) Dublin, 1880, 8vo.

----Faust, a tragedy. Part 1. Translated in the original metres by
Bayard Taylor. Second edition. Leipzig, 1881, 8vo.

----Faust: a tragedy. Part 1., edited and annotated by F. H. Hedge,
metrical versions by Miss Swanwick. Part II., translated by Miss
Swanwick. New York, 1882, 8vo.

---- Goethe’s Faust. [Part 1.] The text, with English notes and verse
translations, by E. J. Turner and E. D. A. Morshead. _Germ._ London,
1882, 8vo.

---- Marlowe’s Faustus. Goethe’s Faust from the German, by John Anster.
With an introduction by Henry Morley. London, 1883, 8vo.

---- Goethe’s Faust, translated by Anna Swanwick. New York, 1883, 16mo.

----Faust: a tragedy. Translated by Bayard Taylor. With explanatory
notes. (_Chandos Classics._) London [1886], 8vo.

---- Goethe’s Faust. Translated from the German by J. Anster.
(_Routledge’s World Library._) London, 1886, 12mo.

----Faust, a dramatic poem by Goethe. Translated into English verse by
Sir Theodore Martin. Part 1. Eighth edition. Edinburgh, 1886, 12mo.

----Faust, a dramatic poem by Goethe. Translated by Sir Theodore Martin.
Edinburgh, 1886, 12mo.

---- The Tragedy of Faust, translated into English verse by F. Claudy.
Washington, 1886, 8vo.

----Faust. [Part I.] A Tragedy. Translated in the original metres by
Bayard Taylor. London [1886], 8vo.

     Ward, Lock, & Co.’s “Popular Library of Literary Treasures.”

----Faust, with an introduction and notes by Jane Lee. Part I followed
by an appendix on part II. (_Macmillan’s Series of Foreign School
Classics._) London, 1886, 8vo.

---- 1. Marlowe’s Faustus. 2. Goethe’s Faust, the first and second parts
complete, from the German by J. Anster. With an introduction by H.
Morley. London, 1887 [1886], 8vo.

     One of the “Excelsior Series.”

----Faust. Translated in the original metres, by Bayard Taylor.
Authorised edition. London [1887], 8vo.

     Part of “The People’s Standard Library.”

Der Feier des fünfzigsten Dienstjahrs Herrn C. G. von Voigt gewidmet von
den Grossherzoglichen Bibliotheken zu Weimar und Jena. [Verses by
Goethe.] Weimar, 1816, 4to.

Zur Feier des zweyten Februars. [Verses by Goethe.] Weimar, 1823, 4to.

Die Fischerinn, ein Singspiel. [Weimar], 1782, 8vo.

Bei Allerhöchster Anwesenheit Ihro Majestät Maria Feodorowna in Weimar.
Als Festspiel Charade, etc. [In verse.] [Weimar?], 1818, 4to.

Bei Anwesenheit Ihro Majestät Maria Feodorowna in Weimar. Als Festspiel
Gemälde. Darstellung in zwei Abtheilungen [and in verse.] [Weimar?],
1818, 4to.

Die Geschwister. Ein Schauspiel [in one act and in prose]. Ächte
Ausgabe. Leipzig, 1787, 8vo.

---- The Sister, a drama, etc. (_Dramatic Pieces from the German, etc._)
Edinburgh, 1792, 8vo.

Götter, Helden, und Wieland. Eine Farce. Leipzig, 1774, 8vo.

Götz von Berlichingen mit der eisernen Hand. Ein Schauspiel [in five
acts, and in prose. First edition]. [Frankfurt-on-the-Main], 1773, 8vo.

---- Another edition. [Hamburg], 1773, 8vo.

     The Museum copy contains a MS. Note by L. Tieck.

---- Goethe’s Götz von Berlichingen. Edited by H. A. Bull. (_Macmillan’s
Series of Foreign School Classics._) London, 1883, 8vo.

---- Goetz of Berlichingen with the Iron Hand: a Tragedy translated from
the German of Goethe by Walter Scott. London, 1799, 8vo.

---- Gortz of Berlingen [Goetz von Berlichingen] with the iron hand. An
historical drama of the fifteenth century [in five acts and in prose].
Translated from the German of Goethe [by Rose Lawrence, with a preface
by J. Currie]. Liverpool [1799], 8vo.

Der Gross-Cophta. Ein Lustspiel in fünf Aufzügen. Berlin, 1792, 8vo.

Hermann und Dorothea. Berlin, 1798, 8vo.

---- Zweite verbesserte Auflage. [With illustrations.] Brunswick, 1799,

---- Goethe’s Hermann und Dorothea. With corresponding English
Hexameters on opposite pages, by F. B. Watkins. _Germ. and Eng._ London,
1875 [1874], 8vo.

---- Herman and Dorothea. A poem, from the German by T. Holcroft. [With
illustrations.] London, 1801, 8vo.

---- Herman and Dorothea, translated from the Hexameters of Goethe [by
W. Whewell]. [London? 1840?], 8vo.

---- Herman and Dorothea. Translated into English hexameters, from the
German hexameters of Goethe. With an introductory essay. [By Charles
Tomlinson.] London, 1849, 8vo.

---- A new edition, revised. London, 1887, 8vo.

---- A translation of the Hermann and Dorothea of Goethe in the old
English measure of Chapman’s Homer. By M. Winter. With notes. Dublin,
1850, 12mo.

---- Herman and Dorothea. From the German of Goethe, by J. Cochrane.
Oxford [1853], 8vo.

---- Hermann and Dorothea. Translated by T. C. Porter. New York, 1854,

---- Goethe’s Hermann and Dorothea. Translated by H. Dale. Dresden,
1859, 8vo.

---- Goethe’s Hermann and Dorothea: translated into English verse [by J.
Cartwright]. London, 1862, 8vo.

---- Goethe’s Hermann and Dorothea. Translated [in verse] by E.
Frothingham. With illustrations. Boston [Mass.], 1870, 8vo.

---- Goethe’s Hermann and Dorothea. Translated by H. Dale. With
illustrations by W. Kaulbach and L. Hofmann. Munich [1874], 4to.

---- Goethe’s Hermann and Dorothea, translated into English hexameter
verse by M. J. Teesdale. London, 1874, 8vo.

---- Second edition. London, 1875, 8vo.

Jery und Bätely. Ein Singspiel. Ächte Ausgabe. Leipzig, 1790, 8vo.

Erste Nachricht von dem Fortgang des neuen Bergbaues zu Ilmenau, etc.
(Signed J. W. Goethe and C. G. Voigt.) Weimar, 1785, 8vo.

Iphigenie auf Tauris. Ein Schauspiel [in five acts, and in verse]. Ächte
Ausgabe. Leipzig, 1787, 8vo.

---- Goethe’s Iphigenie auf Tauris. With notes, vocabulary, and
interlinear translation of the first scenes. By M. Behr. London, 1850,

---- Iphigenie auf Tauris. Annotated by E. A. Oppen. (_German
Classics._) London, 1868, 8vo.

---- Iphigenia in Tauris. Edited with notes in English by Henry Attwell.
_Germ._ London, 1885, 8vo.

---- Iphigenia in Tauris: a tragedy. [Translated by William Taylor.]
London, 1793, 8vo.

---- Iphigenia in Tauris. From the German by G. L. Hartwig. Berlin,
1841, 8vo.

---- Iphigenia in Tauris, a drama in five acts. Translated from the
German by G. J. Adler. New York, 1850, 12mo.

---- Iphigenia in Tauris, from the German of Goethe. With (translations
from the Italian and) original poems. Liverpool, 1851, 12mo.

     Privately printed.

---- Iphigenia in Tauris. Translated from the German into English blank
verse by P. M. E. [_i.e._, Phillis Marion Ellis]. London, 1883, 8vo.

     Only 50 copies; privately printed.

Die Leiden des jungen Werther’s. 2 Thle. Leipzig, 1774, 8vo.

---- The Sorrows of Werter; a German story. 2 vols. London, 1779, 12mo.

---- Second edition. 2 vols. London, 1780, 8vo.

---- Third edition. 2 vols. London, 1782, 16mo.

---- A new edition. London, 1785, 16mo.

---- The Sorrows of Werter; a German story. Translated from the French
edition of M. Aubry [or rather of Count F. W. K. Schmettau?] by J.
Gifford. 2 vols. London, 1789, 8vo.

---- The Sorrows of Werter; translated from the German of Goethe, by W.
Render. (Appendix containing an account of a conversation which the
translator had with Werter, a few days preceding his death). London,
1801, 12mo.

---- The Sorrows of Werter; translated by F. Gotzberg. London, 1802,

---- The Sorrows of Werter. Translated from the German. By Dr. Pratt.
The second edition. London [1813], 8vo.

---- The Sorrows of Werter. London [1815?], 12mo.

---- The Sorrows of Werter. [Translated by S. J. Pratt.] Chiswick, 1823,

---- The Sorrows of Werter. A new edition. Belfast, 1844, 12mo.

---- The Sorrows of Werter. (_Illustrated Literature of all Nations_,
No. 14.) London [1852], 4to.

---- Classic Tales: comprising the most esteemed Works of Imagination.
Rasselas, Vicar of Wakefield ... Sorrows of Werter, etc. London, 1852,

---- The Sorrows of Werther, from the German of Goethe [translated by F.
Gotzberg]. (_Cassell’s National Library_, vol. xxxvi.) London, 1886,

---- ---- Essay on Novels, a poetical epistle. With six sonnets from
Werter. By Alexander Thomson. Edinburgh, 1793, 4to.

Bey Allerhöchster Anwesenheit Ihro Majestät der Kaiserin Mutter Maria
Feodorowna in Weimar. Maskenzug. Stuttgard, 1819, 8vo.

Maskenzug zum 30sten Januar 1809. [In verse.]--[1809], 8vo.

J. W. von Goethe.... Versuch die Metamorphose der Pflanzen zu erklären.
Gotha, 1790, 8vo.

Die Mitschuldigen. Ein Lustspiel [in three acts and in verse]. Ächte
Ausgabe. Leipzig, 1787, 8vo.

Nachricht von dem ilmenauischen Bergwesen. (_Goethe und die lustige Zeit
in Weimar, von A. Diezmann._) Leipzig, 1857, 8vo.

Die Natürliche Tochter. Trauerspiel [in five acts and in verse].
Tübingen, 1804, 16mo.

Neueröffnetes moralisch-politisches Puppenspiel. Leipzig und Frankfurt,
1774, 8vo.

Goethe’s Novel. Translated from the German. London, 1837, 12mo.

Paläophron und Neoterpe. Ein Festspiel zur Feier 24 Octobers 1800. An
die Herzogin Amalia. Nach einer kleinen theatralischen Vorstellung
gesprochen. (_Kleine Schriften_, Bdch. 1.) Weimar, 1801, 12mo.

---- Paläophron and Neoterpe; a Masque. From the German of Goethe, by
the translator of Herman and Dorothea, etc. [J. C. Mellish?]. Weimar,
1801, 4to.

Pandora. Ein Taschenbuch für das Jahr 1810. Wien und Triest [1810],

Pflanzen und Gebirgsarten von Marienbad gesammelt und beschrieben von
seiner königlichen Hoheit, dem Prinzen Friedrich, und von J. W. von
Goethe, etc. Prag, 1837, 8vo.

Philipp Hackert. Biographische Skizze, meist nach dessen eigenen
Aufsätzen entworfen von Goethe. Tübingen, 1811, 8vo.

Göthe’s Reinecke Fuchs. Ein Gedicht in zwölf Gesängen. Berlin [1794],

---- Reynard the Fox; after the German version of Goethe. By T. J.
Arnold. With illustrations from the designs of W. v. Kaulbach. London,
1860 [1859], 4to.

---- Reynard the Fox, after the German version of Goethe, with
illustrations by J. Wolf. London, 1853[-55], 8vo.

---- Reynard the Fox. After the German version of Goethe, by A. D.
Ainslie. London, 1886, 8vo.

---- Reynard the Fox after the version of Goethe, by T. J. Arnold. With
sixty illustrations from the designs of W. von Kaulbach, and twelve
engravings by J. Wolf. London, 1887 [1886], 8vo.

Goethe’s Roman Elegies, translated into English verse, in the original
metre. By L. Noa. Boston [1876], 8vo.

Sammlung zur Kenntniss der Gebirge von und um Karlsbad. Angezeigt und
erläutert von Goethe. Karlsbad, 1807, 8vo.

Scherz, List und Rache. Ein Singspiel. Ächte Ausgabe. Leipzig, 1790,

Stella. Ein Schauspiel für Liebende in fünf Akten. Berlin, 1776, 8vo.

---- Stella, translated from the German [by Benjamin Thompson]. London,
1798, 8vo.

The Tale. Translated by T. Carlyle. [With preface signed O. Y.--_i.e._,
Oliver York.] Boston, 1877, 16mo.

Torquato Tasso. Ein Schauspiel [in five acts and in verse]. Leipzig,
1790, 8vo.

---- Torquato Tasso; a dramatic poem, from the German of Goethe, with
other German poetry. Translated by C. Des Voeux. London, 1827, 8vo.

---- Second edition. Weimar, 1833, 8vo.

---- Torquato Tasso, from the German of Goethe and other poems,
translated and original. By M. A. H. London, 1856, 8vo.

---- Goethe’s Torquato Tasso. Translated into English verse [by
C.--_i.e._, J. Cartwright]. London, 1861, 8vo.

Der Triumph der Empfindsamkeit. Eine dramatische Grille [in six acts and
in prose]. Leipzig, 1787, 8vo.

Ueber Kunst und Alterthum. 6 Bde. Stuttgard, 1816-32, 8vo.

     Each Bd. is in 3 pts. separately paged, excepting Bd. 6, which has
     a continuous pagination throughout.

Die Wahlverwandtschaften. Ein Roman. 2 Thle. Tübingen, 1809, 8vo.

Was wir bringen. Vorspiel bey Eröffnung des neuen Schauspielhauses zu
Lauchstädt. Tübingen, 1802, 8vo.

West-oestlicher Divan. Stuttgard, 1819, 8vo.

---- Goethe’s West-Easterly Divan. Translated, with introduction and
notes, by J. Weiss. Boston, 1877, 16mo.

Wilhelm Meisters Lehrjahre. Ein Roman. 4 Bde. Berlin, 1795-96, 16mo.

---- Wilhelm Meister’s Apprenticeship. A novel. From the German of
Goethe. [Translated by Thomas Carlyle.] 3 vols. Edinburgh, 1824, 8vo.

---- Wilhelm Meister’s Apprenticeship and Travels. [Translated by Thomas
Carlyle.] A new edition, revised. London, 1842, 12mo.

---- Wilhelm Meister’s Apprenticeship. A novel from the German of Goethe
translated by R. D. Boylan. (_Bohn’s Standard Library._) London, 1855,

---- Wilhelm Meister’s Apprenticeship. From the German by Eleanor Grove.
(_Tauchnitz Collection of British Authors_, vols. xxv., xxvi.) 2 vols.
Leipzig, 1873, 12mo.

Wilhelm Meisters Wanderjahre oder die Entsagenden. Ein Roman. Th. 1.
Stuttgard und Tübingen, 1821, 8vo.

     This novel was finished in 1829, and appeared in 3 vols. in the
     “Werke,” 1830, Bde. 21-23.

---- Wilhelm Meister’s Travels. (_German Romance_, vol iv.) Edinburgh,
1827, 8vo.

---- Wilhelm Meister’s Travels. Translated [by A. H. Gunlogson] from the
enlarged edition of the German, and edited by E. Bell. (_Bohn’s Standard
Library._) London, 1882, 8vo.

Winkelmann und sein Jahrhundert. In Briefen und Aufsätzen herausgegeben
von Goethe. Tübingen, 1805, 8vo.

Aus Goethe’s Knabenzeit, 1757-59. Mittheilungen aus einem
Original-Manuscript der Frankfurter Stadt-bibliothek. Erläutert und
herausgegeben von H. Weismann. Frankfurt a. M., 1846, 16mo.

Zur Farbenlehre. Nebst einem Hefte mit sechzehn Kupfertafeln. 2 Bd.
Tübingen, 1810, 8vo.

---- Theory of Colours; translated from the German, with notes, by C. L.
Eastlake. London, 1840, 8vo.

Zur Naturwissenschaft überhaupt, besonders zur Morphologie. 2 Bde.
Stuttgard und Tübingen, 1817-1823, 8vo.


     Göthe’s neueste Gedichte. Mit Kupfern. Berlin, 1800, 8vo.

     Goethe’s Gedichte. Tübingen, 1812, 8vo.

     Goethe’s Gedichte. 2 Thl. Stuttgart und Tübingen, 1815, 12mo.

     Goethe’s Gedichte. Neue Auflage. 2 Thl. Stuttgart und Tübingen,
     1821, 8vo.

     Goethe’s Gedichte. 2 Thl. Stuttgart, 1829, 8vo.

     Goethe’s ältestes Liederbuch. Herausgegeben von L. Tieck. Berlin,
     1844, 8vo.

     Goethe’s Gedichte, erläutert und auf ihre Veranlassungen, Quellen
     und Vorbilder zurückgeführt, nebst Variantensammlung und Nachlese,
     von H. Viehoff. 3 Thl. Düsseldorf und Utrecht, 1846-53, 16mo.

     Goethe’s sämmtliche Gedichte. Kritische Textrevision von H. Kurz. 2
     Bd. Hildburghausen, 1869, 8vo.

     Goethe’s Gedichte, erläutert von H. Viehoff. Zweite Auflage. 2 Bd.
     Stuttgart, 1869-70, 16mo.

     Goethe’s Gedichte. Mit einem bisher noch nicht gedruckten Sonett
     und Epigramme. Für deutsche Frauen ausgewählte von A. Lutze.
     Coethen, 1870, fol.

     Goethe’s Gedichte. Diamant-Ausgabe mit Illustrationen. Zweite
     Auflage. Berlin, 1870, 16mo.

     Gedichte. Mit Zeichnungen von L. Pietsch, F. Piloty, etc. Berlin,
     1871, 8vo.

     Goethe’s Minor Poems. Selected, annotated, and rearranged by A. M.
     Selse. _Germ._ London, 1875, 8vo.

     Select Poems of Goethe, edited by E. A. Sonnenschein and A.
     Pogatscher. _Germ._ (_Annotated German Classics._) London, 1883,

     Specimens of the German Lyric Poets; consisting of translations in
     verse from the works of Bürger, Goethe, etc. Second edition.
     London, 1823, 8vo.

     Employment. [Poems translated from the German of Schiller and
     Goethe.] Bath, 1828, 8vo.

     The Song of the Bell, and other poems from the German of Goethe,
     Schiller, Bürger, etc. Translated by J. J. Campbell. Edinburgh,
     1836, 8vo.

     Select Minor Poems, from the German of Goethe and Schiller.
     (_Specimens of Foreign Standard Literature, ed. by George Ripley_,
     vol. iii.) Boston, 1839, 12mo.

     The Drama of a Life. [In 10 scenes. In verse. Followed by poems,
     and translations from Goethe.] By John Edmund Reade. [Bath], 1840,

     Designs and Border Illustrations to Poems of Göthe, Schiller,
     Uhland, etc. With translations. London, 1841, fol.

     German Ballads, Songs, etc. Comprising translations from Schiller,
     Uhland, Bürger, Goethe, etc. London [1845], 12mo.

     English Hexameter Translations from Schiller, Göthe, Homer, etc.
     London, 1847, 8vo.

     Metrical translations from the German of Goethe, Schiller, Uhland,
     Heine, and others, by a German lady. Hamburg, 1852, 8vo.

     The Poems of Goethe translated in the original metres, with a
     sketch of Goethe’s life. By E. A. Bowring. London, 1853, 8vo.

     The Minor Poetry of Goethe. A selection from his songs, ballads,
     and other lesser poems. Translated by W. G. Thomas. Philadelphia,
     1859, 4to.

     Poems and Ballads. Translated by W. E. Aytoun and Theodore Martin.
     Edinburgh, 1859, 8vo.

   ---- Second edition. Edinburgh, 1860, 8vo.

     Goethe’s Minor Poems. Translated by E. Chawner, etc. London [1866],

     The Poems of Goethe: translated in the original metres, by E. A.
     Bowring. Second edition, etc. (_Bohn’s Standard Library._) London,
     1874, 8vo.

     Favourite Poems. Translated by W. E. Aytoun and Theodore Martin.
     Illustrated. Boston 1877, 16mo.

     Goethe’s Poems translated in the original metres by P. Dyrsen. New
     York, 1878, 8vo.

     The Poems of Goethe, consisting of his ballads and songs, and
     miscellaneous selections, done into English verse, by W. Gibson.
     London, 1883, 8vo.


     Benvenuto Cellini. Eine Geschichte des xvi Jahrhunderts. (Nach dem
     Italien’schen. Von J. W. von Göthe.) 3 Bde. Braunschweig, 1798,

   ---- Another edition. Leben des Benvenuto Cellini, etc. 2 Thl.
     Tübingen, 1803, 8vo.

     Mahomet. Trauerspiel in fünf Aufzügen, nach Voltaire. Tübingen,
     1802, 8vo.

     Rameau’s Neffe. Ein Dialog von Diderot. Übersetzt von Goethe.
     Leipzig, 1805, 8vo.

     Tancred. Trauerspiel in fünf Aufzügen, nach Voltaire, von Goethe.
     Tübingen, 1802, 8vo.

     Thomas Carlyle Leben Schillers. Aus dem Englischen. Eingleitet
     durch Goethe. Frankfurt am Main, 1830, 8vo.

     Die Vögel. Nach dem Aristophanes. Ächte Ausgabe. Leipzig, 1787,


     Als Nicolai die Freuden des junger Werthers geschrieben hatte.
     [Satirical Verses on C. F. Nicolai.] Berlin, 1837, s. sh., 12mo.

     Herr Nicolai auf Werther’s Grabe. [A satire against C. F. Nicolai
     as the author of a parody of “Die Leiden des jungen Werthers.”
     Signed by J. W. G.] [_i.e._ Goethe.] [Berlin, 1837], s. sh. fol.

     Apotheose des Hochverdienstes am 27 September 1816, von dem
     Secretariat bei Grossherzoglicher Kammer. [Verses on the
     anniversary of the 50th year of service of C. G. von Voigt, by J.
     W. von Goethe.] Weimar, 1816, 4to.

     Der deutsche Gilblas, eingeführt von Goethe. Stuttgart und
     Tübingen, 1822, 8vo.

     Von deutscher Baukunst. [In _Von deutscher Art und Kunst_.]
     Hamburg, 1773, 8vo.

     Der junge Feldjäger in französischen und englischen Diensten
     während des Spanisch-Portugiesischen Kriegs von 1806-1816, (Des
     jungen Feldjägers Kriegskamerad, etc. Des jungen Feldjägers
     Landsmann, etc. Des jungen Feldjägers Zeitgenosse, etc.(Eingeführt
     durch J. W. von Göthe. 6 Bdchen. Leipzig, 1826-31, 12mo.

   ---- The Young Rifleman’s Comrade: a narrative, etc. [Translated
     from the German of “Des jungen Feldjägers Kriegskamerad,” etc.]
     London, 1826, 12mo.

     Observations on Leonardo Da Vinci, a picture of the Last Supper.
     Translated from the German, with an introduction and notes by G. H.
     Noehden, J. Booth, etc. London, 1821, 4to.

     Positiones juris quas ... publice defendet J. W. Goethe.
     Argentorati, 1771, 4to.

     Prolog von Goethe, gesprochen im Königl. Schauspielhause vor
     Darstellung des dramatischen Gedichts Hans Sachs, von
     Deinhardstein. Berlin, 1828, 8vo.

     Rede bey Eröffnung des neuen Bergbaues zu Ilmenau. [Weimar? 1784],

     Das Römische Denkmal in Igel und seine Bildwerke ... mit einem
     Vorworte von Goethe. Weimar, 1829, 4to.

     Das Tagebuch, 1810. Wien, 1879, 8vo.

     The authorship of this work is doubtful.

     Taschenbuch auf das Jahr 1804. Herausgegeben von Wieland und
     Goethe. Tübingen [1804], 8vo.

     A tribute to the memory of Ulrich of Hutten. Translated from the
     German of Goethe, by A. Aufrere, illustrated with remarks by the
     translator, etc. London, 1789, 8vo.

     Wieland’s Andenken in der Loge Amalia zu Weimar gefeyert den 18
     Februar 1813. [Weimar, 1813], 4to.

     Willkommen! [Poems, edited by J. W. von Goethe.] Weimar, 1814, 8vo.


     Goethe’s Briefe in den Jahren 1768 bis 1832. Herausgegeben von Dr.
     H. Döring. Ein Supplementband zu des Dichters sämmtlichen Werken.
     Leipzig, 1837, 8vo.

     Göthe’s Briefe, worunter viele bisher ungedruckte. Mit
     geschichtlichen Einleitungen und Erläuterungen. Berlin, 1856, 16mo.

     Briefwechsel zwischen Schiller und Goethe in den Jahren 1794 bis
     1805. 6 Thle. Stuttgart, 1828-9, 8vo.

     Kurzer Briefwechsel zwischen Klopstock und Goethe im Jahre, 1776.
     Leipzig, 1833, 12mo.

     Briefe von Goethe an Lavater. Aus dem Jahren 1774-1783.
     Herausgegeben von H. Hirzel. Nebst einem Anhange (einem Briefe an
     den Buchändler Reich) und zwei Facsimile. Leipzig, 1833, 8vo.

     Briefwechsel zwischen Goethe und Zelter in den Jahren 1796 bis
     1832. Herausgegeben von Dr. F. W. Riemer. 6 Th. Berlin, 1833-34,

     Eine Correspondenz Goethe’s mit Madame Karschin. (_Schriften in
     bunter Reihe, etc., Herausgegeben von T. Mundt._) Berlin, 1834,

     Schauspiele von Franz v. Elsholtz. Zweite Vermehrte und mit
     Goethe’s Briefen über “Die Hofdame” versehene Ausgabe. 3 Thle.
     Leipzig, 1835, 8vo.

     Goethe’s Briefwechsel mit einem Kinde [_i.e._, Elisabeth Brentano,
     afterwards Frau Von Arnim]. Seinem Denkmal. 3 Thle. Berlin, 1835,

   ---- Goethe’s Correspondence with a Child. 3 vols. London; Berlin
     [printed], 1837-39, 8vo.

     Theater-Briefe von Goethe und freundschaftliche Briefe von Jean
     Paul. Nebst einer Schilderung Weimar’s in seiner Blüthezeit.
     Berlin, 1835, 8vo.

     Briefwechsel zwischen Goethe und Schultz. Bonn, 1836, 8vo.

     Goethe’s Briefe an die Gräfin Auguste zu Stolberg. [Edited by A.
     von Binzer.] Leipzig, 1839, 8vo.

     Ungedruckte Briefe von Schiller, Goethe und Wieland. Breslau, 1845,

     Briefe Schillers und Goethes an A. W. Schlegel, aus den Jahren 1795
     bis 1801 und 1797 bis 1824, nebst einem Briefe Schlegels an
     Schiller. Leipzig, 1846, 8vo.

     Briefe und Aufsätze von Göthe aus den Jahren 1766 bis 1786. Zum
     erstenmal herausgegeben durch A. Schöll. Weimar, 1846, 8vo.

     Briefe von und an Göthe. Desgleichen Aphorismen und Brocardica.
     Herausgegeben von F. W. Riemer. Leipzig, 1846, 8vo.

     Briefe von Goethe und dessen Mutter an Friedrich Freiherrn von
     Stein. Nebst einigen Beilagen. Herausgegeben von J. J. H. Ebers und
     A. Kahlert. Leipzig, 1846, 12mo.

     Briefwechsel zwischen Göthe und F. H. Jacob herausgegeben von M.
     Jacob. Leipzig, 1846, 12mo.

     Briefe aus dem Freundeskreise von Goethe, Herder, Höpfner und
     Merck. Eine selbständige Folge der beiden in den Jahren 1835 und
     1838 erschienenen Merckischen Briefsammlungen. Aus den
     Handschriften herausgegeben von Dr. K. Wagner. Leipzig, 1847, 8vo.

     Goethe’s Briefe an Frau von Stein aus den Jahren 1776 bis 1826.
     Zum erstenmal herausgegeben durch A. Schöll. [With a biographical
     sketch of Frau von Stein.] 3 Bd. Weimar, 1848-51, 8vo.

     Goethe’s Briefe an Leipziger Freunde. Herausgegeben von Otto Jahn.
     Leipzig, 1849, 12mo.

     Briefwechsel zwischen Goethe und Reinhard in den Jahren 1807 bis
     1832 [with a preface by C. von Reinhard]. Stuttgart, 1850, 8vo.

     Briefwechsel zwischen Goethe und Knebel (1774-1832). [Edited by G.
     E. Guhrauer.] 2 Thle. Leipzig, 1851, 8vo.

     Briefwechsel und mündlicher Verkehr zwischen Göthe und dem Rathe
     Grüner. Leipzig, 1853, 8vo.

     Briefwechsel zwischen Goethe und Staatsrath Schultz. Herausgegeben
     und eingeleitet von H. Düntzer. Leipzig, 1853, 8vo.

     Der Aktuar Salzmann, Goethe’s Freund.... Eine Lebens-Skizze, nebst
     Briefen von Goethe, Lenz, L. Wagner, etc. Herausgegeben von A.
     Stöber. Mülhausen, 1855, 8vo.

     Aus Weimars Glanzzeit. Ungedruckte Briefe von und über Goethe und
     Schiller, nebst einer Auswahl ungedruckter vertraulicher Schreiben
     von Goethe’s Collegen, Geh. Rath von Voigt. Zum fünfzigsten
     Jahrestage des Todes Schillers herausgegeben von A. Diezmann.
     Leipzig, 1855, 8vo.

     Goethe und Werther. Briefe Goethes, meistens aus seiner Jugendzeit,
     mit erläuternden Documenten. Herausgegeben von A. Kestner. Zweite
     Auflage. Stuttgart, 1855, 8vo.

     Briefe an Herder. (_Aus Herders Nachlass_, Bd. i.) Frankfurt a.
     Main, 1856, 8vo.

     Briefe des Grossherzogs Carl August und Göthes an Döbereiner.
     Herausgegeben von O. Schade. Weimar, 1856, 8vo.

     Freundschaftliche Briefe von Goethe und seiner Frau an N. Meyer.
     Aus den Jahren, 1800 bis 1831. Leipzig, 1856, 8vo.

     Vier Briefe von Goethe an die Marquise Branconi. Herausgegeben von
     A. Cohn. [Berlin], 1860, 8vo.

     Briefwechsel des Grossherzogs Carl August von
     Sachsen-Weimar-Eisenbach mit Goethe in den Jahren von 1775 bis
     1823. 2 Bde. Weimar, 1863, 8vo.

     Briefwechsel zwischen Goethe und Kaspar Graf von Sternberg
     (1820-1832). Herausgegeben von F. T. Bratranek. Wien, 1866, 8vo.

     Goethe’s Verkehr mit Gliedern des Hauses der Freiherrn und Grafen
     von Fritsch [containing several letters from Goethe]. Von W.
     Freiherr v. Biedermann. Leipzig, 1868, 8vo.

     Goethe’s Briefe an C. G. von Voigt. Herausgegeben von O. Jahn.
     Leipzig, 1868, 8vo.

     Goethe’s Briefe an F. A. Wolf. Herausgegeben von M. Bernays.
     Berlin, 1868, 8vo.

     Goethe’s Briefe an Eichstädt. Mit Erläuterungen herausgegeben von
     W. Freiherrn von Biedermann. Berlin, 1872, 8vo.

     Neue Mittheilungen aus J. W. von Goethe’s handschriftlichen
     Nachlasse. 3 Thl. Leipzig, 1874-76, 8vo.

     Thl. 1 and 2 contain “Naturwissenschaftliche Correspondenz;” Thl.
     3, “Briefwechsel mit den Gebrüdern von Humboldt.”

     Briefe von Goethe, Schiller, etc., an Karl Morgenstern,
     herausgegeben von F. Sintenis. Dorpat, 1875, 8vo.

     Briefe von Goethe an Johanna Fahlmer. Herausgegeben von L. Urlichs.
     Leipzig, 1875, 8vo.

     Briefwechsel zwischen Goethe und Marianne von Willemer (Suleika).
     Herausgegeben mit Lebensnachrichten und Erläuterungen von T.
     Creizenach. Stuttgart, 1877, 8vo.

     Goethe Briefe aus F. Schlosser’s Nachlass. Herausgegeben von J.
     Frese, etc. Stuttgart, 1877, 8vo.

     Goethe’s Briefe an Soret. Herausgegeben von H. Uhde. Stuttgart,
     1877, 8vo.

     Ungedrucktes. Zum Druck befördert von A. Cohn. [A collection of the
     letters of Schiller, Goethe, etc.] Berlin, 1878, 8vo.

     Goethe und der Komponist P. C. Kayser. Von C. A. H. Burkhardt.
     [Contains 24 letters from Goethe to Kayser.] Leipzig, 1879, 8vo.

     Briefe Goethe’s an Sophie von La Roche und Bettina Brentano, nebst
     dichterischen Beilagen herausgegeben von G. von Loeper. Berlin,
     1879, 8vo.

     Briefwechsel zwischen Goethe und K. Göttling in den Jahren
     1824-1831. Herausgegeben und mit einem Vorwort begleitet von K.
     Fischer. München, 1880, 8vo.

     Jugendbriefe Goethes. Ausgewählt und erläutert von Dr. W. Fielitz.
     Berlin, 1880, 8vo.

     Goethe und Gräfin O’Donell. Ungedruckte Briefe nebst dichterischen
     Beilagen herausgegeben von Dr. R. M. Werner. Berlin, 1884, 8vo.

     Goethes Liebesbriefe an Frau von Stein, 1776 bis 1789.
     Herausgegeben mit Uebersichten und Anmerkungen von H. Duentzer.
     Leipzig, 1886, 8vo.

     Correspondence between Schiller and Goethe, from 1794 to 1805,
     translated by G. H. Calvert. Vol. 1. New York, 1845, 12mo.

     Correspondence between Schiller and Goethe, from 1794 to 1805.
     Translated from the third edition of the German, with notes. By L.
     D. Schmitz. (_Bohn’s Standard Library._) 2 vols. London, 1877-9,

     Goethe’s Letters to Leipzig Friends. Edited by O. Jahn. Translated
     by R. Slater, Jun. London, 1866, 8vo.

     Goethe’s Mother. Correspondence of C. E. Goethe with Goethe, etc.
     Translated from the German by Alfred S. Gibbs. New York [1880],

     Early and Miscellaneous Letters of J. W. Goethe, including Letters
     to his Mother. With notes and a short biography by Edward Bell.
     (_Bohn’s Standard Library._) London, 1884, 8vo.

     Correspondence between Goethe and Carlyle. Edited by C. E. Norton.
     London, 1887, 8vo.

     Goethe’s Letters to Zelter, with extracts from those of Zelter to
     Goethe, selected, translated, and annotated by A. D. Coleridge.
     (_Bohn’s Standard Library._) London, 1887, 8vo.


     Gedankenharmonie aus Goethe und Schiller. Lebens-und
     Weisheitssprüche aus Goethe’s und Schiller’s Werken. Gesammelt und
     herausgegeben von R. Gottschall. Hamburg, 1862, 16mo.

     Geistesworte aus Goethe’s Briefen und Gesprächen. Fortsetzung der
     Geistesworte aus Goethe’s Werken. Herausgegeben von L. von
     Lancizolle. Berlin, 1853, 16mo.

     Goethe-Buch. Goethe’sche Lebens- und Weisheitssprüche zur Einführung
     in des Dichters Denk- und Sinnesweise nach den Tagen des Jahres
     zusammengestellt und mit Commentar, etc. Leipzig, 1881, 8vo.

     Goethe’s Erzählungen Gewachsnen Mädchen zu eigen gemacht von F.
     Siegfried, etc. Leipzig, 1874, 8vo.

     Goethe Gedenk-Buch. [Quotations for every day in the year.] Achern,
     [1880], 8vo.

     Göthe’s Genius. [Selections in prose and verse.]
     (_Miniatur-Bibliothek der Deutschen Classiker_, vol. iv.) 3 Bdchen.
     Hildburghausen, 1829, 16mo.

     Goethe in Briefen und Gesprächen. Sammlung der brieflichen und
     mündlichen Bemerkungen und Betrachtungen Goethe’s über Welt und
     Menschen, Wissenschaft, Literatur und Kunst, etc. Berlin, 1852,

     Goethe’s Opinions on the World, Mankind, Literature, Science, and
     Art. Translated by O. Wenckstern. London, 1853, 8vo.

     Goethe’s Philosophie. Eine vollständige, systematisch geordnete
     Zusammen-stellung seiner Ideen über Leben, Liebe, Ehe, Kunst und
     Natur aus seinen Werken. Herausgegeben von F. K. J. Schütz. 7 Bde.
     Hamburg, 1825, 26, 8vo.

     Goethe’s Prosa. Auswahl für Schule und Haus. Herausgegeben von Dr.
     J. W. Schaefer. 2 Bde. Stuttgart und Augsburg, 1859, 8vo.

     Göthe über Art und Unart, Freud und Leid der Jugend und ihrer
     Erzieher [selections from his works], mit Illustrationen von J. F.
     E. Meyer. Cutin, 1851, 8vo.

     Göthe- und Schiller-Sprüche, etc. Breslau, 1843, 8vo.

     Goethe’s vaterländische Gedanken und politisches
     Glaubensbekenntniss. Frankfort a. M., 1853, 12mo.

     Lieder und Worte von Goethe, etc. Altenburg, 1870, 8vo.

     Law’s New German Series. Buchheim’s Deutsche Prosa. Goethe’s Prosa,
     consisting of selections from G.’s Prose Works, etc. By C. A.
     Buchheim. London, 1876, 8vo.

     Many colored threads from the writings of Goethe. Selected by C. A.
     Cooke. With an introduction by A. McKenzie. Boston [Mass., 1885],

     The Roman Martyr: a youthful essay in dramatic verse by Nominis
     Umbra. With translations (from Goethe) by the editor. London, 1859,

     Selections from the dramas of Goethe and Schiller, translated, with
     introductory remarks, by A. Swanwick. London, 1843, 8vo.

     Sprachbilder, aus Goethe’s Werken gesammelt, etc. Wien [1886], 8vo.

     Vom Morgen zum Abend; Worte von Goethe, Rückert, Uhland und Andern,
     etc. Berlin [1865], 4to.

     The Wisdom of Goethe. By J. S. Blackie. [Translated from the
     German.] Edinburgh, 1883, 8vo.

     Worte der Liebe. Aus unseren Dichtern Schiller, Goethe gesammelt,
     etc. Von E. von Beckendorff und E. Leistner. Leipzig [1874], 16mo.



     [_The Foreign Literature upon Goethe and his Works being very
     extensive, it has been only possible to include English works in
     the following list._]

     Arnold, Matthew.--Mixed Essays. London, 1879, 8vo.

     A French Critic on Goethe, pp. 274-314.

Bancroft, G.--Literary and Historical Miscellanies. New York, 1855, 8vo.

     The Age of Schiller and Goethe, p. 167, etc.

Bell, James.--Letters from Wetzlar, written in 1817, developing the
authentic particulars on which the Sorrows of Werter are founded, etc.
London, 1821, 8vo.

Blackie, John Stuart.--The Wisdom of Goethe. [With an estimate of the
character of Goethe, by J. S. B.] Edinburgh, 1883, 8vo.

Boyesen, Hjalmar H.--Goethe and Schiller: their lives and works;
including a commentary on Goethe’s Faust. New York, 1879, 8vo.

Buchanan, Robert.--A Look Round Literature. London, 1887, 8vo.

     The Character of Goethe, pp. 54-95.

Calvert, George H.--First Years in Europe. Boston, 1866, 8vo.

     Weimar, pp. 165-198.

---- Goethe. His Life and Works. An Essay. Boston, 1872, 8vo.

---- Brief Essays and Brevities. Boston, 1874, 8vo.

     Goethe’s Faust, pp. 123-128.

---- Coleridge, Shelley, Goethe. Biographic Aesthetic Studies. Boston
[1880], 8vo.

Carlyle, Thomas.--The Life of Friedrich Schiller, etc. London, 1825,

     References to Goethe.

---- Goethe. Boston, 1877, 12mo.

     Reprinted from the “Critical and Miscellaneous Essays.”

---- Essays on Goethe. New York [1881], 4to.

     Reprinted from the “Critical and Miscellaneous Essays.”

Dawson, George.--Shakespeare and other lectures. London, 1888, 8vo.

     Faustus, Faust, and Festus, pp. 342-392.

De Quincey, Thomas.--Works. Edinburgh, 1863, 8vo.

     Goethe’s Wilhelm Meister, vol. xii., pp. 191-229; Goethe, vol. xv.,
     pp. 143-179.

Düntzer, Heinrich.--Goethe’s Leben. Mit authentischen Illustrationen.
Leipzig, 1880, 8vo.

Düntzer, Heinrich.--Life of Goethe. Translated by T. W. Lyster. With
authentic illustrations and facsimiles. 2 vols. London, 1883, 8vo.

Eckermann, Johann P.--Gespräche mit Goethe in den letzten Jahren seines
Lehens, 1823-1832. 2Thle. Leipzig, 1836-48, 8vo.

---- Conversations with Goethe from the German of Eckermann (_Specimens
of Foreign Standard Literature, ed. by George Ripley_, vol. iv). Boston,
1839, 12mo.

---- Conversations with Goethe and Soret. Translated from the German by
John Oxenford. 2 vols. London, 1850, 8vo.

---- Conversations of Goethe with Eckermann and Soret. Translated from
the German by J. Oxenford. (_Bohn’s Standard Library._) London, 1874,

Eliot, George.--Essays and Leaves from a Note-Book. Edinburgh, 1884,

     Three Months in Weimar, pp. 290-321.

Emerson, Ralph Waldo.--The Works of R. W. Emerson. London, 1883, 8vo.

     Goethe; or, The Writer, vol. iv., pp. 453-476. Appeared originally
     in Emerson’s “Representative Men,” 1850.

Encyclopædia Britannica. Encyclopædia Britannica. Ninth edition.
Edinburgh, 1879, 4to.

     Goethe, by Oscar Browning, vol. x.

Falk, Johannes D.--Goethe aus nähern persönlichen Umgange dargestellt.
Leipzig, 1832, 8vo.

---- Characteristics of Goethe. From the German of Falk, Von Müller,
etc., by Sarah Austin. 3 vols. London, 1833, 8vo.

Fuller, Margaret.--Life without and life within; or, reviews,
narratives, etc. Boston, 1874, 8vo.

     Goethe, pp. 23-60.

Goethe, J. W.--Goethe-Jahrbuch. 7 Bde. Frankfort a. Main, 1880-6, 8vo.

---- Schriften der Goethe-Gesellschaft. 2 Bde. Weimar, 1885-6, 8vo.

---- Publications of the English Goethe Society. 2 pts. London, 1886,

Godwin, Parke.--Out of the Past, etc. New York, 1870, 8vo.

     Goethe, p. 341, etc.

Gostwick, Joseph.--German Culture and Christianity, etc. London, 1882,

     Goethe, pp. 267-317.

Gostwick, Joseph, and Harrison, Robert.--Outlines of German Literature.
Second edition. London, 1883, 8vo.

     Goethe, pp. 225, 226, 241, 242, 266-303, 439-443.

Grimm, Herman.--The Life and Times of Goethe. Translated by S. H. Adams.
Boston, 1880, 8vo.

Griswold, Hattie Tyng.--Home Life of Great Authors. Chicago, 1887, 8vo.

     Goethe, pp. 9-23.

Haeckel, E. H. P. A.--Natürliche Schöpfungsgeschichte.
Gemeinverständliche wissenschaftliche Vorträge über die
Entwickelungslehre im Allgemeinen und diejenige von Darwin, Goethe und
Lamarck, etc. Berlin, 1868, 8vo.

---- The History of Creation; or, the development of the earth and its
inhabitants by the action of natural causes. The translation revised by
E. R. Lankester. 2 vols. London, 1876, 8vo.

Hayward, A.--Goethe, by A. Hayward. (_Foreign Classics for English
Readers, ed. by Mrs. Oliphant._) Edinburgh, 1878, 8vo.

Hedge, Frederic H.--Prose Writers of Germany. New edition. Philadelphia
[1871], 8vo.

     Goethe, pp. 264-364.

Hedge, F. H.--Hours with German Classics. Boston, 1886, 8vo.

     Goethe, pp. 254-343.

Helmholtz, H.--Populäre Wissenschaftliche Vorträge. Braunschweig, 1865,

     Über Goethe’s naturwissenschaftliche Arbeiten, Hft. i., pp. 33-53.

---- Popular Lectures on Scientific Subjects. Translated by E. Atkinson.
London, 1873, 8vo.

     On Goethe’s Scientific Researches. Translated by H. W. Eve, pp.

Hillard, George Stillman.--Six Months in Italy. 2 vols. London, 1853,

     Goethe, vol, ii., pp. 302-310.

Holloway, Laura C.--The Mothers of Great Men and Women, etc. New York,
1884, 8vo.

     The Mother of Goethe, pp. 266-283.

Hosmer, James K.--Short History of German Literature. St. Louis, 1879,

     Goethe, pp. 330-414.

Hutton, Richard Holt.--Essays, theological and literary. 2 vols. London,
1871, 8vo.

     Goethe and his Influence, vol. ii., pp. 3-100.

---- Second edition. 2 vols. London, 1877, 8vo.

     Goethe and his Influence, vol. ii., pp. 1-79.

Japp, Alexander Hay.--German Life and Literature, in a series of
biographical studies. London [1880], 8vo.

     Goethe, pp. 269-379.

Jeffrey, Francis.--Contributions to the _Edinburgh Review_. London,
1853, 8vo.

     “Wilhelm Meister’s Apprenticeship,” Aug. 1825, pp. 120-142.

Lazarus, Emma.--Alide: an episode of Goethe’s Life. Philadelphia, 1874,

Lewes, George Henry.--The life and works of Goethe: with sketches of his
Age and Contemporaries from published and unpublished sources. 2 vols.
London, 1855, 8vo.

---- Second edition. Partly rewritten. London, 1864 [1863], 8vo.

---- Third edition, revised according to the latest documents. London,
1875, 8vo.

---- Third edition. Copyright edition. 2 vols. Leipzig, 1882, 8vo.

---- ---- The Story of Goethe’s Life. Abridged from his “Life and Works
of Goethe.” London, 1873, 8vo.

----Female Characters of Goethe. From the original drawings of W.
Kaulbach. With explanatory text by G. H. Lewes. London [1874], fol.

Lindau, W. A.--Heliodora, or the Grecian Minstrel. Translated from the
German of Baron Goethe [or rather of W. A. Lindau]. 3 vols. London,
1804, 12mo.

Longfellow, Henry Wadsworth.--The Poets and Poetry of Europe. London,
1855, 8vo.

     Goethe, pp. 281-296.

McCarthy, Justin.--“Con Amore;” or critical chapters. London, 1868, 8vo.

     Goethe’s Poems and Ballads, pp. 35-76.

Masson, David.--Essays, biographical and critical, chiefly on English
Poets. Cambridge, 1856, 8vo.

     Shakespeare and Goethe, pp. 1-36; reprinted from the _British
     Quarterly Review_, Nov. 1852. The Three Devils: Luther’s, Milton’s,
     and Goethe’s, pp. 53-87; reprinted from Fraser’s Magazine, Dec.

---- The Three Devils, Luther’s, Milton’s, and Goethe’s; with other
essays. London, 1874, 8vo.

Mazzini, Joseph.--Life and Writings of J. Mazzini. London, 1870, 8vo.

     Byron and Goethe, vol. vi., pp. 61-97.

Mendelssohn-Bartholdy, Carl.--Goethe und F. Mendelssohn-Bartholdy.
Leipzig, 1871, 8vo.

---- Goethe and Mendelssohn (1821-1831). Translated, with additions from
the German of Dr. E. Mendelssohn-Bartholdy by M. E. von Glehn. With
portraits and facsimile, etc. London, 1872, 8vo.

Menzel, Wolfgang.--German Literature. Translated from the German, with
notes by Thomas Gordon. 4 vols. Oxford, 1840, 8vo.

     Goethe, vol. iii., pp. 298-355.

Merivale, Herman.--Historical Studies. London, 1865, 8vo.

     Voltaire, Rousseau, and Göthe, pp. 130-185.

Metcalfe, Rev. Frederick.--History of German Literature, based on the
German work of Vilmar. London, 1858, 8vo.

     Goethe, pp. 431-486.

Monro, Rev. Edward.--Parochial Lectures on English Poetry, etc. London,
1856, 8vo.

     Dante, Goethe, and Shakspere, pp. 142-173.

Moschzisker, F. A.--A Guide to German Literature, etc. 2 vols. London,
1850, 8vo.

     Goethe, vol. ii., pp. 95-170.

Nevinson, Henry.--A Sketch of Herder and his times. London, 1884, 8vo.

     Numerous references to Goethe.

Notes and Queries.--General Index to Notes and Queries, Five series.
London, 1856-1880, 4to.

     Numerous references to Goethe.

Oppler, Adolph.--Three Lectures on Education, with another Lecture,
entitled Some of Goethe’s Educational Views. Fourth edition. London,
1875, 8vo.

Pagel, L.--Doctor Faustus of the popular legend, Marlowe, the
Puppet-Play, Goethe, and Lenau, treated historically and critically. A
parallel between Goethe and Schiller, etc. 2pts. [Liverpool, 1883], 8vo.

Phelps, Almira L.--Reviews and Essays. Philadelphia, 1873, 8vo.

     Goethe, p. 180, etc.

Pickering, Amelia.--The Sorrows of Werther; a poem [founded on Goethe’s
novel]. London, 1788, 4to.

Robinson, Henry Crabb.--Diary, Reminiscences, and Correspondence of H.
C. E., etc. 3 vols. London, 1869, 8vo.

     Numerous references to Goethe.

Rudloff, F. W.--Shakespeare, Schiller, and Goethe relatively considered.
An essay. Brighton, 1848, 12mo.

Sanborn, Frank B.--The life and genius of Goethe. Lectures. Edited by F.
B. S. Boston, 1886, 8vo.

Scherer, Wilhelm.--Geschichte der deutschen Litteratur. Berlin, 1883,

Scherer, William.--A History of German Literature, by W. Scherer.
Translated by Mr. F. C. Conybeare. Edited by F. Max Müller. 2 vols.
London, 1886, 8vo.

     Herder and Goethe, vol. ii., pp. 82-114; Weimar, pp. 142-144;
     Goethe, pp. 145-170; Schiller and Goethe, pp. 170-199, etc.

Sime, James.--Lessing. (_English and Foreign Philosophical Library,
Extra Series._) 2 vols. London, 1877, 8vo.

     Shows the literary connection between Goethe and Lessing.

Solling, Gustav.--Diutiska, an historical and critical survey of the
literature of Germany, etc. London, 1863, 8vo.

     Goethe, pp. 210-288.

Staël, Madame de.--L’Allemagne. 3 vols. Paris, 1810, 12mo.

---- Germany; translated from the French. 3 vols. London, 1813, 8vo.

     Goethe, vol. i., pp. 265-273, and vol. ii., pp. 138-226.

Steffens, Heinrich.--The Story of my Career, as Student at Freiburg and
Jena, with personal reminiscences of Goethe, etc. Translated by W. L.
Gage. Boston [Mass.], 1863, 8vo.

Stevens, A.--Madame de Staël; a study of her life and times. 2 vols.
London, 1881, 8vo.

     Numerous references to Goethe.

Taylor, Bayard.--Studies in German Literature. London, 1879, 8vo.

     Goethe, pp. 304-336; Goethe’s “Faust,” pp. 337-387.

Taylor, W., _of Norwich_.--Historic Survey of German Poetry, etc. 3
vols. London, 1828, 8vo.

     Review of Goethe’s Works, with a translation of Iphigenia, etc.,
     vol. iii., pp. 242-379.

Thackeray, William Makepeace.--The Works of W. M. T. Miscellaneous
Essays, etc. London, 1886, 8vo.

     Goethe in his old age, vol. xxiii., pp. 402-405. This letter was
     written by Mr. Thackeray in answer to a request from G. H. Lewes
     for some account of his recollections of Goethe. It will be found
     in Lewes’s “Life of Goethe,” p. 560.

Thomas, Calvin.--Goethe and the Conduct of Life. (_Philosophical Papers.
First Series._ No. 2. _University of Michigan._) Ann Arbor, 1886, 8vo.

Ticknor, George.--Life, Letters, and Journals of G. T. 2 vols. London,
1876, 8vo.

     Numerous references to Goethe.

Ulrici, Hermann.--Ueber Shakspeare’s dramatische Kunst, etc. Halle,
1839, 8vo.

---- Shakspeare’s Dramatic Art: and his relation to Calderon and Goethe.
Translated from the German. London, 1846, 8vo.

     Goethe in relation to Shakspeare, pp. 512-554.

Vaughan, Rev. Robert Alfred.--Essays and Remains of the Rev. R. A.
Vaughan. 2 vols. London, 1858, 8vo.

     Lewes’s Life and Works of Goethe, vol. ii., pp. 114-163.

W., E.--A letter to a friend, with a poem called the Ghost of Werter. By
Lady E. W. [_i.e._, Lady Wallace]. London, 1787, 4to.

Werther.--Werter to Charlotte. A poem [founded on Goethe’s novel “Die
Leiden des jungen Werther’s.” By E. Taylor]. London, 1784, 4to.

---- Charlotte and Werter. At Mrs. Salmon’s Royal Historical Wax-Work,
No. 189 Fleet Street. [A handbill, June 3, 1785.] [London, 1785], s.
sh, 4to.

Werther.--The Letters of Charlotte, during her connexion with Werter.
[In allusion to “Die Leiden des jungen Werthers.”] 2 vols. New York,
1797, 12mo.

---- Another edition, London, 1813, 12mo.

---- Werter and Charlotte. A German story, [founded on Goethe’s novel
“Die Leiden des jungen Werther’s,” etc.] London [1800], 8vo.

Wilson, H. S.--Count Egmont; as depicted in painting, poetry, and
history, by Gallait, Goethe, and Schiller. London, 1863, 8vo.


     Berlioz, Hector.--“Faust,” a dramatic legend in four parts, by
     Berlioz [or rather abridged from Goethe, by H. B. Gérard and
     Gandonnière]. English translation by Miss M. Hallé. Manchester
     [1880], 4to.

     Bernard, Bayle.--Faust; or, the fate of Margaret. A romantic play,
     in four acts. Adapted from the poem of Goethe. (_Lacy’s Acting
     Edition of Plays_, vol. lxxxiii.) London [1869], 12mo.

     Boileau, D.--A few remarks on Mr. Hayward’s English prose
     translation of Goethe’s Faust, etc. London, 1834, 8vo.

     Burnand, F. C.--Faust and Marguerite. An entirely new original
     travestie in one act. By F. C. Burnand. (_Lacy’s Acting Edition of
     Plays_, etc., vol. lxiii.) London [1864], 12mo.

     Burnand, F. C.--Faust and Loose, written by F. C. Burnand. London
     [1886], 8vo.

     Coupland, William C.--The Spirit of Goethe’s Faust. London, 1885,

     Crowquill, Alfred, _i.e._, Alfred Forrester.--Faust, a serio-comic
     poem, with twelve outline illustrations by A. Crowquill [_i.e._,
     Alfred Forrester. A travesty of Goethe’s Faust]. London, 1834, 8vo.

     Edwards, H. Sutherland.--The Faust Legend: its origin and
     development: from the living Faustus of the first century to the
     Faust of Goethe. London, 1886, 8vo.

     Faust: a drama in six acts. By Goethe. As represented at the St.
     James’s Theatre, London, under the direction of Mr. Mitchell, Jan.
     22, 1852. London, 1852.

     Gounod, Charles F.--The Opera Libretto. Gounod’s grand opera of
     Faust [in five acts. The words by P. J. Barbier and M. Carré,
     founded on Goethe’s poem, and translated into English]. Melbourne
     [1865], 12mo.

     Grattan, H. P.--Faust; or the demon of the Drachenfels. A romantic
     drama, in two acts. By H. P. Grattan. First produced at Sadler’s
     Wells, September 5, 1842. London [1886], 8vo.

     One of “Dick’s Standard Plays.”

Halford, J.--Faust and Marguerite; or, the Devil’s Draught. A grand
operatic extravaganza. A free and easy adaptation of Göthe’s “Faust.”
(_Lacy’s Acting Edition of Plays_, etc., vol. lxxiii.) London [1867],

Hatton, Joseph.--The Lyceum “Faust.” [A critique of the performance of
Goethe’s play “Faust” at the Lyceum Theatre.] With illustrations. London
[1886], obl. 8vo.

Hittell, Theodore H.--Goethe’s Faust. San Francisco [1872], 8vo.

Koller, W. H.--Faust Papers, containing remarks on Faust and its
translations, with some observations upon Goethe. London, 1835, 8vo.

Konewka, P.--Illustrations to Goethe’s Faust. By Paul Konewka. The
English text from Bayard Taylor’s Translation. London, 1871, 4to.

Kyle, William.--I. An Exposition of the symbolic terms of the second
part of Faust. II. How this part thus proves itself to be a dramatic
treatment of the modern history of Germany worthy of the genius of
Goethe, etc. Nuremberg, 1870, 8vo.

Phillips, Alfred R.--Faust: a weird story. Based on Goethe’s famous
play. New York [1886], 8vo.

Reichlin-Meldegg, C. A. von.--Faust: an exposition of Goethe’s Faust,
from the German of C. A. von Reichlin-Meldegg, by R. H. Chittenden. New
York, 1864, 8vo.

Robertson, William.--Faust and Marguerite. A romantic drama, in three
acts. Translated from the French of Michel Carré, by William Robertson.
(_Lacy’s Acting Edition of Plays_, etc., vol. xv.) London [1854], 12mo.

Snider, Denton J.--Goethe’s Faust. First (second) part. A commentary on
the literary Bibles of the Occident. 2 pts. By Denton J. Snider. Boston,
1886, 8vo.

Soane, George.--Faustus; a romantic drama, in three acts, by George
Soane. (_Cumberland’s British Theatre_, vol. xxx.) London [1825], 12mo.

Wills, W. G.--Faust, in a prologue, and five acts. Adapted and arranged
for the Lyceum Theatre, by W. G. Wills, from the first part of Goethe’s
Tragedy. London [1886], 8vo.

Wysard, Alexander.--The intellectual and moral problem of Goethe’s
Faust, parts I. and II. London, 1883, 8vo.


     Music zu Goethe’s Werken. By J. F. Reichardt, 1780.

     Erwin und Elmire. Ein Singspiel in zwey Acten, 1793.

     Goethe’s Lieder, Oden, Balladen und Romanzen, mit Musik, etc. By J.
     F. Reichardt, 1809.

     Sechs deutsche Lieder von Goethe, etc. By C. F. Rungenhagen, 1810.

     Rastlose Liebe. Gedichte von Goethe, in Musik gesetzt. By F.
     Schubert, 1810.

     Drei deutsche Lieder. By G. B. Bierey, 1820.

     Zwölf Lieder von Goethe. By G. E. Fischer, 1820.

     Sechs Lieder von Goethe. By F. W. Grund, 1820.

     Lieder von Goethe. By G. Weber, 1820.

     Wilhelm Meister’s Lehrjahre. By F. A. Weppen (_Sieben Lieder aus
     Wilhelm Meister’s Lehrjahren_), 1820.

     Vier Gedichte von Goethe, etc. By B. Klein, 1825.

     Zwölf Lieder von Goethe. By W. von Schwertzell, 1825.

     Vier Lieder von Goethe, etc. By F. A. Weppen, 1825.

     V. Gedichte von Goethe. By C. F. Curschmann, 1830.

     VI. Gedichte von Goethe, etc. By R. von Hertzberg, 1830.

     VIII. Gedichte von Goethe, etc. By B. Klein, 1830.

     Neun Gesänge zu Goethe’s Faust. By J. A. Lecerf, 1830.

     Sechs Lieder von Goethe, etc. By F. Reis, 1830.

     Gedichte von Goethe, etc. Heft 6, 7, 8. By W. J. Tomaschek, 1830.

     Drey Gesänge von Goethe, etc. By L. van Beethoven, 1835.

     Vier Gesänge. By L. van Beethoven, 1835.

     Drei Balladen. By J. C. G. Loewe, 1835.

     Compositionen zu Goethe’s Faust. By Prince Radziwill, 1835.

     Faustus. A musical romance. By Sir H. R. Bishop, 1840.

     Sechs Gedichte von Goethe. By C. F. Curschmann, 1840.

     Gesänge und Lieder aus der Tragödie (Faust). By L. Lenz, 1840.

     Deutsche Lieder von Goethe, etc. By C. G. Reissiger, 1840.

     Tafelgesäng. Sechs Gedichte von Goethe. By X. Schnyder von
     Wartensee, 1840.

     Gesäng der Geister über den Wassern. Cantata. By F. Hiller, 1850.

     La Damnation de Faust. Légende dramatique en quatre parties. By
     Hector Berlioz, 1854.

     Fünf Terzette über Worte von Goethe, Klopstock, etc. By C.
     Geissler, 1854.

     Scherz, List und Rache. Komische Oper. By M. Bruch, 1855.

     Musik zu Goethe’s Faust. By H. H. Pierson, 1856.

     Faust. Opera en cinq actes. By C. F. Gounod, 1859.

     Claudine, Opera. By J. H. Franz, 1865.

     Scenen aus Göthe’s Faust für Solostimmen. By R. Schumann, 1865.

     Rinaldo, Cantate. By J. Brahms, 1869.

     Rinaldo, Gedicht von Goethe. By G. Hermann, 1870.

     Drei Gedichte von Goethe, etc. By P. Ruefer, 1870.

     Die Gedichte aus “Wilhelm Meister’s Lehrjahre,” etc. By A.
     Rubenstein, 1873.

     Gesellige Lieder von Göthe. By L. Grill, 1874.

     Zwei Terzette. Gedichte von Goethe. By K. J. Bischoff, 1875.

     Sechs Lieder, Op. 14 (Nos. 2-5 written by Goethe). By H. von Sahr,

     Drei Gesänge, Op. 72 (Nos. 2, 3 written by Goethe). By R. Wuerst,

     10 Goethe’sche Dichtungen, etc. By L. Schlottmann, 1878.

     Fünf Lieder. Op. 44 (Nos. 3, 4 written by Goethe). By B. Scholz,

     Sechs Lieder, etc. Op. 60 (Nos. 2, 5 written by Goethe). By F.
     Siebmann, 1880.

     Vier Gesänge, etc. (Nos. 1, 2, 4 written by Goethe). By J. Holter,

     Mahomet’s Gesang. By E. Fluegel, 1882.

     Sechs Duette, etc. (Nos. 2, 4 written by Goethe). By A. Glück,

     Mignon’s Requiem, Cantata. By R. Schumann, 1882.

     Pandora. By H. Huber, 1883.

     Sechs Lieder von Goethe. By K. Hübner, 1883.

     Neun Lieder, etc. (Nos. 5, 6 written by Goethe). By S. Jadassohn,

     Idylle von Goethe, für Soli, Chor und Orchester. By F. Kiel, 1883.

     Vier Gedichte von Goethe, etc. By T. Kerchner, 1883.

     Sechs Gedichte, etc. By S. Bagge, 1885.

     Musik zu Goethe’s Festspiel Pandora. By E. Lassen, 1886.

     Faust. Musikdrama nach Goethe’s Faust, I. Theil. By H. Zoellner,

            *       *       *       *       *

     “Ach neige du Schmerzensreiche.”--_Marguerite._ By C. Huener, 1877.

     “Ach, um deine feuchten Schwingen.” By Mendelssohn, 1852.

     “Ach! wer bringt die schönen Tage.” By H. Bellermann (_Sechs
     Lieder_ No. 2), 1860; E. Drobisch (_Sechs Lieder_, No. 4), 1870; J.
     Krall, 1840; H. Krigar (_Vier Gesänge_, No. 3), 1860; H. Panopka,
     1830; F. Stockhausen, 1835; C. F. Zelter (_Zelter’s Sämmtliche
     Lieder_, Heft 4), 1820.

     “All my peace is gone.” (_Gretchen am Spinnrade. Marguerite._) By
     F. Schubert, 1861.

     “Aller Berge Gipfel ruh’n in dunkler Nacht.” By A. Rubinstein
     (_Song and Duets_, No. 10), 1869.

     “An dem reinsten Fruhlingmorgen.” By L. Heritte-Viardot (_Sechs
     Lieder._ Op. 8, No. 6), 1884.

     “And is it true that I have lost thee?”--_Absence._ By C. A. Dance,

     “And shall I then regain thee never?”--_Absence._ By Sir J.
     Benedict, 1864.

     “And wilt thou then no more be mine.” By C. A. Lidgey, 1887.

     “Aussöhnung.” By H. Hüber, 1879.

     “Ein Blick von deinem Augen,” By J. Brahms (_Lieder_, Op. 47, No.
     5,) 1869; A. Bungert (_Junge Lieder_, Op. 2, No. 6), 1872.

     “Ein Blumenglöckchen vom Boden hervor.” By J. Kniese (_Acht
     Duette_, Op. 6, No. 2), 1884.

     “A boy a little rose espied.” By M. W. Balfe, 1860.

     “A boy espied in morning light.”--_The Wild Rose-bud._ By J.
     Williams, 1870.

     “Die Braut von Korinth.” By J. F. Christman, 1800; B. Klein, 1835;
     J. C. G. Loewe, 1835.

     “Brightly was the sunset glowing.” By J. Thomas, 1876.

     “Una calma profonda.” By L. Mancinelli, 1878.

     “Chi mi rende i di felici.” By L. Mancinelli, 1878.

     “Colma, ein Gesang Ossians.” By J. R. Zumsteeg, 1825.

     “Da droben an jenem Berge.” By C. Fink (_Fünf Lieder_, Op. 3, No.
     3), 1857; E. H. Goerner, 1864; A. Levinsohn (_Drei Lieder_, Op. 1,
     No. 1), 1886; E. Naumann (_6 Lieder_, Op. 2, No. 2), 1866; W. J.
     Tomaschek, 1851.

     “Dämm’rung senkte sich von oben.” By J. Brahms (_Lieder und
     Gesänge_, Op. 59, No. 1), 1874; J. O. Grimm (_Sechs Lieder_, Op.
     18, No. 3), 1873.

     “Darthula’s Grabgesang.” By B. Hopffer, 1878.

     “Der du von dem Himmel bist.” By F. E. Bache, 1859; H. Bellermann
     (_Sechs Lieder_, Op. 10, No. 3), 1860; H. Goertz (_Sechs Lieder_,
     Op. 19, No. 16), 1879; A. Von Goldschmidt, 1880; C.
     Heymann-Rheineck (_Fünf Lieder_, Op. 4, No. 2), 1883; G. King
     (_Vier Gesänge_, No. 3), 1886; H. Krigar (_Fünf Lieder_, Op. 1, No.
     2), 1860; B. Scholz (_Vier Gesänge_,) No. 3, 1879; A. Winterberger
     (_12 Gesänge_, Op. 12, No. 3), 1865; C. F. Zelter (_Zelter’s_
     Sämmtliche _Lieder_, Heft. 4), 1820.

     “Du Bächlein silber-hell und klar.” By O. Sondermann, 1882.

     “Durch Feld und Wald zu schweifen.” By C. F. Zelter (_Zelter’s
     Sämmtliche Lieder_, Heft, 4), 1820.

     “Einst ging ich meinem Mädchen nach.” By A. Von Goldschmidt (_2
     Lieder_, No. 2), 1880.

     “Die erste Walpurgisnacht.” By Mendelssohn, 1843.

     “Es fürchte die Götter das Menschengeschlecht.” By F. Hiller, 1881.

     “Es ist ein Schnee gefallen.”--By G. Hasse (_Acht Gesänge_, Op. 26,
     No. 8), 1877; J. Kniese (_Acht Duette_, Op. 6, No. 5), 1884.

     “Es klingt in den gewohnten Ohren.” 1861.

     “Es war ein Kind.” By R. Schumann, 1873.

     “Es war ein König in Thule.”--By E. Duerer (_Drei Lieder_, Op. 11,
     No. 2), 1871; F. H. Himmel, 1810; M. V. White, 1878.

     “Es war ein Ratt’ im Kellernest,” 1840.

     “Es ist doch meine Nachbarin ein allerliebstes Mädchen.”--By H. von
     Herzogenberg (_Gesänge_, Op. 44, No. 1), 1885.

     “Füllest wieder, Busch und Thal.” By A. Amadei (_Fünf Gesänge_, Op.
     8, No. 5), 1885; F. Hiller (_Sechs Lieder_, Op. 204, No. 1), 1885;
     A. Hoffmann (_Zehn Lieder_, Op. 5, No. 1), 1884; G. King (_Vier
     Gesänge_, No. 4), 1886; J. Mathieux (_Sechs Lieder_, No. 5), 1840;
     C. Reinthaler (_Fünf Gedichte_, Op. 3, No. 3), 1860; L.
     Schlottmann, 1867; W. J. Tomaschek, 1851.

     “Für Männer uns zu plagen.” By B. Klein (_Fünf Lieder_, Op. 46, No.
     5), 1850.

     “Gesäng der Parzen.” By J. Brahms, 1883.

     “Gestern liebt’ ich.” By C. F. Rungenhagen (_Sechs deutsche
     Lieder_, No. 5), 1810.

     “Gottes ist der Orient.” By J. Stern. (_Deutsche Gesänge_, etc.,
     Op. 13, No. 4), 1865.

     “Der Gott und die Bajadere.” By B. Klein, 1830.

     “Die Grenzen der Menschheit.” By A. Wallnoefer, 1879.

     “Hab’ ich tausendmal geschworen.” By J. Brahms.

     (_Lieder_, etc., Op. 72, No. 5), 1876.

     “Harzreise im Winter.” By J. Brahms, 1876.

     “Heart, my heart, what means this feeling?”--_New Love, New Life._
     By D. Hume, 1881.

     “Herz, Mein Herz, was soll das geben?” By F. Ries (_Drei
     Zweistimmige_ Gesänge, Op. 14, No. 2), 1869; C. F. Zelter
     (_Zelter’s Sämmtliche Lieder_, Heft 4), 1820.

     “Hier sind wir versammelt.” By A. Neithardt (_Sechs Lieder_, Op.
     126, No. 3), 1850.

     “Hoch auf dem alten Thurme steht.” By E. Naumann (_Sechs Lieder_,
     Op. 6, No. 6), 1860; M. Renner (_Vier Gesänge_, No. 4), 1883.

     “Ich bin der wohlbekannte Sänger.” By E. Naumann (_Sechs Lieder_,
     Op. 6, No. 5), 1860; L. Schlottmann, 1880.

     “Ich dacht’ ich habe keinen Schmerz.” By H. von Herzogenberg
     (_Deutte, etc._, Op. 38, No. 2), 1883.

     “Ich denke Dein.” By A. G. Barham, 1874; J. Milchert (_Drei
     Lieder_, Op. 27, No. 1), 1855; E. Denner (_Drei Lieder_, Op. 11,
     No. 3), 1862; H. Fielding (_Six Songs_, No. 3), 1860; W. H.
     Gratton, 1847; J. Hine, 1848; T. Kirchner, 1883; E. Lassen (_Sechs
     Lieder_, Op. 62, No. 1), 1878; C. Macleane, 1861; C. Ritter (_Zwölf
     Lieder_, Op. 4, No. 3), 1857; R. Schumann (_4 Duos_, etc., Op. 78,
     No. 3), 1869; D. F. E. Wilsing (_Fünf Lieder_, Op. 5, No. 1), 1850.

     “Ich ging im Walde so für mich hin.” By J. J. Haakman (_Zwölf
     Lieder_, Op. 1, No. 2), 1885; F. J. von der Heijden, (_Fünf
     Lieder_, No. 1), 1883; T. Leschetizky (_Sechs Gesänge_, Op. 26, No.
     2), 1861; A. Lewinsohn (_Drei Lieder_, Op. 2, No. 1), 1886; C. F.
     Rungenhagen (_Sechs deutsche Lieder_), 1810.

     “Ich hab’ ihn gesehen.” By O. Nicolai, 1835.

     “Ich hab’ mein Sach auf Nichts gestellt.” By F. Huenten (_Sechs
     Lieder_, No. 6), 1840.

     “Ihr verblühet süsse Rosen.” By W. Fink (_Vier Lieder_, Op. 4, No.
     3), 1865; H. von Herzogenberg (_Sieben Lieder_, Op. 41, No. 5),
     1883; B. Hopffer (_Zwölf Lieder_, Op. 5, No. 5), 1870; L.
     Schlottmann, 1880.

     “Im Felde schleich’ ich still und wild.” By L. Heritte-Viardot
     (_Sechs Lieder_, Op. 8, No. 2), 1884; F. H. Himmel, 1810; H.
     Michelis (_Sechs Lieder_, No. 3), 1880; C. Reinthaler (_Sechs
     Gesänge_, Op. 17, No. 5), 1866.

     “In allen guten Stunden erhört.” By L. van Beethoven, 1830.

     “In the blush of evening mute.”--_The Convent._ By R. Taylor, 1880.

     “I think of thee.”--_Thy name shall bloom_. By C. Guynemer, 1840;
     R. H. Waithman, 1870.

     “Kam’ der liebe Wohlbekannte.” By P. Unlauf (_Fünf Lieder_, Op. 26,
     No. 3), 1886.

     “Kannst du nicht besänftigt werden?” By F. Gladstanes, 1835.

     “Kennst du das Land?”--_Mignon’s Song._ By L. van Beethoven, 1843;
     C. Blum, 1840; E. Clare, 1845; E. Deurer (_Drei_ _Lieder_, Op. 11,
     No. 1), 1871; E. Haensler, 1810; U. K. Hartree (_Three Songs_, No.
     3); 1881; Hauptmann, 1848; A. Klughardt (_Zwei Gesänge_, Op. 14,
     No. 1), 1870; H. Monpon, 1850; J. F. Reichardt, 1820; H. Riese,
     1820; A. Romberg, 1820; F. Schubert, 1858; L. G. P. Spontini, 1830;
     C. F. Zelter, 1830.

     “A King of ancient Thule.” By W. Hay, 1875.

     “Kleine Blumen, kleine Blätter.” By F. Gernsheim (_6 Lieder_, Op.
     29, No. 3), 1874.

     “Know’st thou the land?” By Adrian, 1862; L. van Beethoven, 1856.

     “Lass mein Aug ’den Abschied sagen.” By F. W. Grund, 1845.

     “Lasset euch im edlen Kreis.” By W. Schreiber, 1820.

     “Die Leidenschaft bringt Leiden.” By F. Hegar (_Drei Gesänge_, Op.
     10, No. 1), 1878; W. Sturm, 1883.

     “Let mine eye the farewell make thee.”--_The Parting._ By B. Smith,

     “Liebchen, kommen diese Lieder.” By H. Wichmann (_10 Liederschen_,
     No. 10), 1850.

     “Liebliches Kind, kannst du mir sagen.” By J. Brahms (_Lieder_, Op.
     70, No. 3), 1876; M. Bruch, (_Lieder_, Op. 49, No. 1), 1882.

     “Eine Lilie möcht’ich pflück en. By G. Gutkind, 1860.

     “Meeresstille und glückliche Fahrt.” By L. van Beethoven, 1820 and

     “Meine Ruh’ist hin.” By F. Schubert; L. Spohr (_Sechs deutsche
     Lieder_, No. 3), 1815; C. Weitzmann, 1835.

     “Des Menschen Seele gleicht dem Wasser.” By F. Hiller, 1847 and
     1860; B. Klein, 1840; J. C. G. Loewe, 1850.

     “Mit vollem Athemzügen sang ich Natur aus dir.” By H. Verazi
     (_Mannheimer Monatschrift_, iii. Jahrgang) 1780.

     “My rest is gone.”--_Margaret’s song in Faust._ By F. Steers, 1837.

     “Nun verlass ich diese Hütte.” By K. Danysz (_Zwei Lieder_, No. 1),

     “Nur wer die Sehnsucht kennt.” By L. van Beethoven, 1825 and 1835;
     B. Dersen (_Sechs Lieder_, Op. 2, No. 1), 1884. E. Jonas (_Zwei
     Lieder_, Op. 29, No. 2), 1879; W. Speier, 1835; P. Tschaikowsky,
     1881; D. F. E. Wilsing (_Fünf Lieder_, Op. 5, No. 5), 1850.

     “O’er the meadows.” By B. Smith, 1863.

     “O gieb vom weichen Pfühle.” By M. Blummer (_Sechs Lieder_, Op. 10,
     No. 1), 1860; A. Levinsohn (_Drei Lieder_, Op. 6, No. 3), 1886; J.
     Mathieux (_Drei Duetten_, etc., No. 3), 1850; C. Reinecke (_Sechs
     Lieder_, Op. 178, No. 3); C. Reinthaler (_Fünf Gedichte_, Op. 3,
     No. 1), 1860; G. Rheinberger (_7 Lieder_, etc., Op. 3, No. 7),

     “O’ Mädchen, Mädchen.” By E. Philp, 1868.

     “On the brow of yonder mountain”--_The Shepherd’s Lament._ By H.
     Smart, 1872.

     “O schönes Mädchen du.” By M. P. Viardot (_Vier Lieder_, No. 1),

     “Quella terra conosci”--_Canzone di Mignon._ By P. M. Costa, 1881.

     “Der Ruf des Herrn, des Vaters tönt.” By A. Blomberg, 1875.

     “Sah ein Knab’ ein Röslein stehen.” By A. Compton, 1874; M.
     Ernemann (_Sechs Lieder_, Op. 13, No. 4), 1850; N. W. Gade (_Eight
     duettinos_, Op. 9, No. 5), 1849; A. Hollaender (_Sechs Lieder_, Op.
     28, No. 1), 1882; S. Jadassohn (_Sechs Chor Lieder_, Op. 67, No.
     2), 1882; A. Kleffel (_Zehn Zweistimmige Lieder_, No. 6), 1875; J.
     Milder, 1830; R. Philipp (_Sechs Lieder_, No. 3), 1880; B. Ramann
     (_Drei Lieder_, Op. 50, No. 1), 1878; W. F. Scherer, 1876.

     “Dem Schnee, dem Regen, dem Wind entgegen.”--_Rastlose Liebe._ By
     B. Hopffer (_Zwölf Lieder_, Op. 9, No. 1), 1870; B. Klein (_Fünf
     Lieder_, Op. 46, No. 4), 1850; J. Kniese (_Acht Duette_, etc., Op.
     6, No. 8), 1884; C. Kreutzer, 1830; E. Naumann (_Sechs Lieder_, Op.
     6 No. 4), 1860; O. Nicolai, 1840; G. Weber (_Fünf Zweistimmige
     Lieder_, No. 5), 1878; C. F. Zelter (_Zelter’s Sämmtliche Lieder_,
     Heft 4), 1820.

     “Seht der Felsenquell freudehell.” By J. C. G. Loewe, 1850.

     “So hab ich wirklich dich verloren?” By W. H. Callcott (_Vocal Gems
     of Germany_, vol. iii.), 1844.

     “The soul of man is like the waters.” By F. Schubert, 1880.

     “Der Strauss den ich gepflücket.” By C. J. Curschmann, 1840, 1848,
     1851; J. J. Haakman (_Zwölf Lieder_, Op. 1, No. 4), 1885; A.
     Levinsohn (_Drei Lieder_, Op. 1, No. 2), 1886; H. Wichmann (_Sechs
     Lieder_, Op. 3, No. 5), 1845.

     “Tage der Wonne kommt ihr so bald.” By L. Dahmen, 1868; H. von
     Herzogenberg, Op. 41, No. 4, 1883.

     “There was a King in Thule.” By F. Hueffer (_Seven Songs_, No. 7),
     1873; S. B. Mason, 1873.

     “Through the turf, through pebbles flowing.” _From Faust._ J. Hine,

     “Der Thürmer der schaut zu Mitten der Nacht.” By W. H. Veit, 1840.

     “Tiefe Stille herrscht im Wasser.” By C. J. Brambach (_2 Chöre_,
     No. 1), 1881; C. Gollmick, 1840; M. Roeder (_Sechs Lieder_, No. 5),
     1878; E. H. Seyffardt (_Vier Lieder_, Op. 5, No. 3), 1883.

     “‘Tis I am the Gipsy King.” By E. Ransford, 1861; W. West, 1862.

     “Trocknet nicht Thränen der ewige Liebe”--“Der du von dem Himmel
     bist”--“Ueber allen Gipfeln ist Ruh?” By A. J. Becher (_Acht
     Gedichte_, No. 2, 4, 5), 1840.

     “Trocknet nicht, trocknet nicht Thränen der ewige Liebe.” By L.
     Hoffmann, 1840; S. Warteresiewicz (_Sechs Gesänge_, No. 2), 1874.

     “Ueber allen Gipfeln ist Ruh.” By L. Ehlert (_Fünf Lieder_, No. 5),
     1860; A. Hollaender (_Sechs Lieder_, No. 6), 1878; F. Kempe (_Drei
     deutsche Lieder_, No. 3), 1863; E. Naumann (Sechsvierstimmige
     Lieder, Op. 7, No. 5), 1850; E. Naumann (_Loschwitzer Liederbuch_,
     No. 2), 1868; V. E. Nessler (_Sechs Lieder_, Op. 76, No. 5), 1875;
     R. Radecke (_Vier Terzette_, Op. 27, No. 2), 1850; B. Ramann
     (_Dreistimmige Lieder_, Op. 58, No. 1), 1882; F. Ries (_Sechs
     Lieder_, Op. 8, No. 5), 1869; C. Stoer (_Lieder_, No. 10), 1883; D.
     F. E. Wilsing (_Fünf Lieder_, Op. 5, No. 3), 1850.

     “Über Thal und Fluss getragen.” By A. Levinsohn (_Drei Lieder_, Op.
     1, No. 3), 1886.

     “Uf’m Bergli bin i gesässe.” By L. Gill (_Neun Lieder_, No. 9),
     1874; A. Jensen (_Sechs Lieder_, Op. 57, No. 6), 1877.

     “Und frische Nahrung, neues Blut.” By R. Emmerich (_Sechs Gesänge_,
     Op. 45, No. 6), 1875; W. Taubert, 1882.

     “Unter allen Gipfeln ist Ruh’.” By F. Reichel (_Vier Terzetten_,
     Op. 6, No. 1), 1874.

     “Up yonder on the Mountains.” By C. M. Hewke, 1870.

     “Ein Veilchen auf der Wiese stand.” By A. H. Dendy, 1856; J. C. W.
     A. Mozart, 1850; A. Staeger (_Sechs Lieder_, No. 4), 1884; D. F. E.
     Wilsing (_Fünf Lieder_, Op. 5, No. 4), 1850.

     “Verfliesset, vielgeliebte Lieder.” By B. Hopffer, (_Zwölf Lieder_,
     Op. 6, No. 12), 1870.

     “Viele Gäste wünsch ich heut.” By C. F. Zelter, 1832.

     “A violet on the mead.” By H. Glover, 1861.

     “Von dem Berge zu den Flügeln.” By C. Reinthaler (_Fünf Gedichte_,
     Op. 3, No. 5), 1860.

     “Die Walpurgisnacht.” By J. C. G. Loewe, 1830.

     “Warum doch erschallen.” By J. Brahms (_Quartette_, Op. 92, No. 4),
     1884; A. von Goldschmidt, 1881.

     “Was hilft euch Schönheit junges Blut.” By W. S. Rockstro (_Lyra
     Anglo-Germanica_, No. 9), 1852.

     “Das Wasser rauscht.” By C. F. Curschmann, 1845; E. Degele, 1873;
     H. W. Ernst, 1852; L. Steinmann, 1840; F. H. Fruhn, 1840.

     “Wenn zu der Regenwand.” By J. Brahms (_Duette_, Op. 61, No. 3),

     “Wer nie sein Brod mit Thränen ass.” By A. Diabelli, 1830; F.
     Vanderstucken (_Drei Gesänge_, No. 2), 1879.

     “Wer reitet so spät”--_Erlkönig_. By L. Berger, 1830; S. Mendheim,
     1830; C. G. Reissiger, 1840; W. S. Rockstro (_Lyra
     Anglo-Germanica_, No. 16), 1853; C. H. Zoellner, 1825.

     “West-oestlicher Divan.”--By C. Eberwein, (_Lieder_, etc.), 1836.

     “Where the Rose is fresh and blooming.” By H. G. Deacon, 1865.

     “Who longs in solitude to live.” _The Harper’s Song_ (_Wilhelm
     Meister_). By H. P. Greenwood, 1884.

     “Wie Feld und Au.” By A. von Goldschmidt (_22 Lieren_, No. 22),
     1883; F. Hegar (_Vier Lieder_, Op. 7, No. 3), 1875.

     “Wie herrlich leuchtet mir die Natur.” By E. F. C. Albert (_Zehn
     Lieder_, Op. 3, No. 5), 1886; L. van Beethoven (VIII. _Lieder_, Op.
     52, No. 4), 1835; G. Huberti, 1886; W. Jacoby (_Ein-und
     Zweistimmige Lieder_, No. 2), 1882; E. Lassen (_Sechs Lieder_, Op.
     85, No. 6), 1886; E. Naumann (_Sechs vierstimmige Lieder_, Op. 7,
     No. 6), 1850.

     “Wie kommt’s dass du so traurig bist.” By J. Brahms, (_Lieder_, Op.
     48, No. 5), 1869; O. Tiehsen (_Sieben Gedichte_, Op. 6, No. 5),
     1860; H. Wichmann (10, _Liederchen_ No. 6), 1850.

     “Wie mit innigem Behagen.”--_Suleika._ By G. Meyerbeer, 1840.

     “Wie stehet von schönen Blumen.” By F. von Holstein (_Acht Lieder_,
     Op. 48, No. 1), 1882.

     “Wir singen und sagen von Grafen so gern.” C. Schneider, 1875.

     “Zwischen Weizen und Korn.” By A. Bungert, 1884; C. P. L. Delibes,
     1883; B. Hopffer, (_Zwölf Lieder_, Op. 9, No. 2), 1870; B. Klein
     (_Fünf Lieder_, Op. 46, No. 1), 1850.


     Goethe, J. W. von.--Edinburgh Review, vol. 26, 1816, pp. 304-337;
     vol. 28, pp. 83-103.--North American Review, by E. Everett, vol. 4,
     1817, pp. 217-262.--Blackwood’s Edinburgh Magazine, vol. 16, 1824,
     pp. 369-385; vol. 46, 1839, pp. 476-493, 597-613; vol. 47, 1840,
     pp. 31-45, 607-620; vol. 56, 1844, pp. 54-68, 417-432; vol. 57,
     1845, pp. 165-180.--Westminster Review, vol. 1, 1824, pp.
     370-383.--North American Review, by G. Bancroft, vol. 19, 1824, pp.
     303-325.--United States Literary Gazette, vol. 2, 1825, pp.
     81-90.--Foreign Review, vol. 2, 1828, pp. 80-127.--Christian
     Examiner, by C. C. Felton, vol. 8, 1830, pp. 187-200.--Fraser’s
     Magazine, by Thomas Carlyle, vol. 5, 1832, p. 206.--Foreign
     Quarterly Review, by Thomas Carlyle, vol. 10, 1832, pp. 1-44; vol.
     12, pp. 81-109; vol. 14, pp. 131-162; vol. 16, pp. 328-360.--Tait’s
     Edinburgh Magazine, vol. 1, 1832, pp. 314-320.--Dial, by Margaret
     Fuller, vol. 2, 1841, pp. 1-41.--Democratic Review, vol. 10, N.S.
     1842, pp. 581-594; vol. 19, pp. 443-446; vol. 20, pp. 14-21; vol.
     24, pp. 66-69.--British and Foreign Review, vol. 14, 1843, pp.
     78-135.--Southern Quarterly Review, vol. 11, 1847, p. 441,
     etc.--Eclectic Review, vol. 12 N.S. 1856, pp. 447-472.--Edinburgh
     Review, vol. 106, 1857, pp. 194-226; same article, Littell’s Living
     Age, vol. 54, pp. 769-787.--Littell’s Living Age, vol. 61, 1859,
     pp. 181-187.--Radical, by A. E. Kroeger, vol. 2, 1867, pp. 273,
     etc., 332, etc.--Blackwood’s Edinburgh Magazine, vol. 112, 1872,
     pp. 675-697; same article, Littell’s Living Age, vol. 116, pp.
     3-19; and Eclectic Magazine, vol. 17 N.S., pp. 172-188.--Every
     Saturday, vol. 1, 1872, p. 1, etc.--Le Correspondant, by Léo
     Quesnel, tom. 109, 1877, pp. 492-520.--Contemporary Review, by
     Prof. J. R. Seeley, vol. 46, 1884, pp. 161-177, 488-506,
     653-672.--Catholic World, by Rev. J. Gmeiner, vol. 45, 1887, pp.

   ---- _and Bettina_. National Quarterly Review, by C. White, vol.
     41, 1879, p. 74, etc.

   ---- ---- _Few Words for Bettina._ Blackwood’s Edinburgh Magazine,
     vol. 58, 1845, pp. 357-365.

   ---- _and Carlyle._ Contemporary Review, by Prof. Max Müller, vol.
     49, 1886, pp. 772-793.--Atlantic Monthly, June, 1887, pp. 849-852.

   ---- _and Dumas._ Nation, by H. James, Jun., vol. 17, 1873, pp.

   ---- _and Eckermann._ Dublin University Magazine, vol. 37, 1851,
     pp. 732-749.--Canadian Monthly, by A. M. Machar, vol. 3, 1879, pp.
     230-241 and 386-395.

   ---- _and Frederika Brion._ Once a Week, vol. 11, 1864, pp.

   ---- _and the Germans._ Blackwood’s Edinburgh Magazine, vol. 45,
     1839, pp. 247-256.

   ---- _and German Fiction._ Journal of Speculative Philosophy, by F.
     G. Fairfield, vol. 9, 1875, pp. 303-311.

   ---- _and the Grand Duke of Weimar._ Revue Contemporaine, by A.
     Buchner, tom. 41, 1864, pp. 699-734.

   ---- _and his Contemporaries._ Westminster Review, vol. 24, 1836,
     pp. 197-231.--Dublin University Magazine, vol. 8, 1836, pp.

   ---- _and his Critics._ Fraser’s Magazine, vol. 36, 1847, pp.

   ---- _and his Works._ Monthly Repository, by H. Crabb Robinson,
     vol. 6, N.S., 1832, pp. 289-308, 361-371, 460-469, 505-520,
     595-603, 681-689, 742-756.

   ---- _and Mendelssohn._ Bentley’s Miscellany, vol. 49, 1861, pp.
     68-71.--Every Saturday, vol. 9, 1870, p. 247, etc.; vol. 17, 1874,
     p. 365, etc.--Temple Bar, vol. 42, 1874, pp. 165-176.

   ---- _and Mill; a Contrast._ Westminster Review, vol. 46, N.S.,
     1874, pp. 38-70.

   ---- _and Minna Herzlieb._ Contemporary Review, by A. Hamilton,
     vol. 27, 1876, pp. 199-221; same article, Littell’s Living Age,
     vol. 128, pp. 554-567.

   ---- _and Music._ Le Correspondant, by C. Pautrier, tom. 122, 1881,
     pp. 1117-1129.

   ---- _and Religion._ Theological Review, by J. F. Smith, vol. 6,
     1869, pp. 76-98.

   ---- _and Schiller, Characteristics of._ Dublin University
     Magazine, vol. 87, 1876, pp. 684-688.

   ---- ---- _Dwight’s Versions from Goethe and Schiller._ North
     American Review, by G. S. Hillard, vol. 48, 1839, pp.
     505-514.--Christian Examiner, by G. Bancroft, vol. 26, 1839, pp.
     360-378.--Boston Quarterly Review, vol. 2, 1839, pp. 187-205.

   ---- ---- _Friendship of Goethe and Schiller._ New Englander, by W.
     H. Wynn, vol. 32, 1873, pp. 718-737.

   ---- ---- _Weimar under Schiller and Goethe._ Contemporary Review,
     by H. Schütz Wilson, vol. 29, 1877, pp. 271-288; same article,
     Littell’s Living Age, vol. 132, pp. 550-560.

   ---- _and Shakespeare._ British Quarterly Review, by David Masson,
     vol. 16, 1852, pp. 512-543; same article, Littell’s Living Age,
     vol. 36, pp. 605-617.

   ---- ---- _Female Characters of Goethe and Shakespeare._ North
     British Review, vol. 8, 1848, pp. 265-296; same article, Eclectic
     Magazine, vol. 14, pp. 1-18.

   ---- _and Suleika._ Western, by L. F. Soldau, vol. 1, 1875, pp.

   ---- _and Washington._ Christian Examiner, by C. A. Bartol, vol.
     60, 1856, pp. 317-326.

   ---- _and Werther._ Littell’s Living Age, vol. 43, 1854, pp.
     334-336.--National Review, vol. 1, 1855, pp. 197-209.--Revue
     Contemporaine, by A. Baschet, tom. 16, 1854, pp. 441-464.--Revue
     Contemporaine, by Sainte-Beuve, tom. 20, 1855, pp. 148-165.

   ---- _Aphorisms of._ American Monthly Magazine, vol. 1, N.S., 1836,
     pp. 448-452.

   ---- _as a Man of Science._ Westminster Review, by G. H. Lewes,
     vol. 2, N.S., 1852, pp. 479-506; same article, Eclectic Magazine,
     vol. 27, pp. 460-475.

   ---- _as a Naturalist._ Revue Contemporaine, by Ernest Faivre, tom.
     4, 1858, pp. 837-856; tom. 5, pp. 326-343, 681-698; vol. 7, pp.
     39-68; vol. 8, pp. 263-278; vol. 9, pp. 464-480.--La Critique
     Française, by M. Hemerdinger, 1862, pp. 125-131.

   ---- _Autobiographical Sketches._ London Magazine, vol. 7, 1823,
     pp. 68-73.

   ---- _Character and Moral Influence of._ Edinburgh Review, vol.
     106, 1857, pp. 194-226.

   ---- _Characteristics of._ National Review, vol. 2, 1856, pp.
     241-296; same article, Littell’s Living Age, vol. 50, pp. 1-31.

   ---- ---- _Mrs. Austin’s Characteristics of._ Edinburgh Review, vol.
     57, 1833, pp. 371-403.--Monthly Review, vol. 2, N.S., 1833, pp.
     307-317.--Littell’s Museum of Foreign Literature, vol. 23, p. 500,

   ---- _Carus on._ Foreign Quarterly Review, vol. 32, 1844, pp.

   ---- _Conversations of._ New Monthly Magazine, vol. 91, 1851, pp.

   ---- _Conversations with._ Foreign Quarterly Review, vol. 18, 1837,
     pp. 1-30.--Boston Quarterly Review, vol. 3, 1840, pp.
     20-57.--Westminster Review, vol. 50, 1849, pp. 555-568; same
     article, Eclectic Magazine, vol. 16, pp. 460-468.--Dublin
     University Magazine, vol. 37, 1851, pp. 732-749.

   ---- _Cornelia, the Sister of._ Victoria Magazine, by P. P. André,
     vol. 6, 1866, pp. 97-105.

   ---- _Correspondence with a Child._ Monthly Review, vol. 3, N.S.,
     1837, pp. 386-392.--Dial, vol. 2, 1842, pp. 313-356.--Tait’s
     Edinburgh Magazine, vol. 9, N.S., 1842, pp. 157-167.

   ---- _Correspondence with the Duke of Saxe Weimar._ National
     Review, vol. 18, 1864, pp. 1-19.

   ---- _Das Märchen_ (from _The German Emigrants_). Journal of
     Speculative Philosophy, by Gertrude Garrigues, Oct. 1883, pp.

   ---- _Death of._ New Monthly Magazine, vol. 34, 1832, pp. 508-512.

   ---- ---- _Poem on Death of._ Dublin University Magazine, by T.
     Irwin, vol. 50, 1857, pp. 333-337.

   ---- _Edinburgh Review on._ Blackwood’s Edinburgh Magazine, vol. 4,
     1818, pp. 211-213.

   ---- _Egmont._ American Review, by D. P. Noyes, vol. 1, 1845, pp.

   ---- _Elective Affinities._ American Review, vol. 3, 1812, pp.

   ---- _Falk’s Character of._ New Monthly Magazine, vol. 38, 1833,
     pp. 302-304.

   ---- _Faust._ London Magazine, vol. 2, 1820, pp.
     125-142.--Blackwood’s Edinburgh Magazine, by R. P. Gillies, vol. 7,
     1820, pp. 236-258.--New Edinburgh Review, by Thomas Carlyle, vol.
     2,. 1822, pp. 316-334.--Quarterly Review, vol. 34, 1826, pp.
     136-153.--Dublin University Magazine, vol. 2, 1833, pp.
     361-385.--Westminster Review, vol. 25, 1836, pp. 366-390.--Foreign
     Quarterly Review, vol. 25, 1840, pp. 90-113.--Dublin University
     Magazine, vol. 64, 1864, pp. 537-542; same article, Eclectic
     Magazine, vol. 1, N.S., pp. 97-102.--Baptist Quarterly, by J. L.
     Lincoln, vol. 3, 1869, pp. 278-309.--Old and New, vol. 4, 1871, pp.
     471-480.--Journal of Speculative Philosophy, by Anna C. Brackett
     (from the German of Rosenkranz), vol. 9, 1875, pp. 48-61, 225-239,
     401-406.--Canadian Monthly, vol. 9, 1876, pp. 123-129.

   ---- ---- _And Marlowe’s Faust._ Contemporary Review, by Chas.
     Grant, vol. 40, 1881, pp. 1-24.

   ---- ---- _Anster’s Translation of Faust._ Edinburgh Review, vol.
     62, 1835, pp. 36-45.--Dublin University Magazine, vol. 6, 1835, pp.

   ---- ---- _Blackie’s Translation of Faust._ St. James’s Magazine,
     vol. 9, 4th Series, 1881, pp. 98-103.

   ---- ---- ---- _Blackie and Syme’s Translations of Faust._ Fraser’s
     Magazine, vol. 10, 1834, pp. 88-96.

   ---- ---- _Brooks’s Translation of Faust._ New Englander, by Mrs. C.
     R. Corson, vol. 22, 1863, pp. 1-21.--Christian Examiner, by F. H.
     Hedge, vol. 63, 1857, pp. 1-18.

   ---- ---- _Decline and Fall of Dr. Faustus._ Contemporary Review, by
     Elizabeth R. Pennell, vol. 51, 1887, pp. 394-407.

   ---- ---- _English Translations of Faust._ Cornhill Magazine, vol.
     26, 1872, pp. 279-294.--Littell’s Living Age, vol. 115, 1872, pp.

   ---- ---- _Facts and Fancies about Faust._ Modern Review, by H. S.
     Wilson, vol. 1, 1880, pp. 771-791; vol. 2, pp. 148-171.

   ---- ---- _Faust and the Devil._ Fraser’s Magazine, vol. 23, 1841,
     pp. 269-283, 464-477.

   ---- ---- _Faust and its English Critics._ London Quarterly Review,
     vol. 55, 1880, pp. 118-148.

   ---- ---- _Faust and Margaret._ Journal of Speculative Philosophy,
     by Anna C. Brackett (from the German of K. Rosenkranz), vol. 10,
     1876, pp. 37-43.

   ---- ---- _Faust and Minor Poems._ Dublin University Magazine, vol.
     7, 1836, pp. 278-302.

   ---- ---- _Faust for English Readers._ St. Paul’s Magazine, by E. J.
     Hasell, vol. 11, 1872, pp. 694-714; vol. 12, pp. 403-429.

   ---- ---- _Faust in the German Puppet Shows._ Eraser’s Magazine,
     vol. 37, 1848, pp. 32-40.

   ---- ---- _Faust set to Music._ All the Year Round, vol. 9, 1863,
     pp. 439-443.--Contemporary Review, by Frank Sewall, vol. 52, 1887,
     pp. 370-380.

   ---- ---- _Gower’s Faust._ London Magazine, vol. 6, N.S., 1826, pp.

   ---- ---- _Hayward’s Translation of Faust._ Eraser’s Magazine, vol.
     7, 1833, pp. 532-554.--Edinburgh Review, vol. 57, 1833, pp.

   ---- ---- _Klingemann’s Faust._ Blackwood’s Edinburgh Magazine, by
     R. P. Gillies, vol. 13, 1823, pp. 649-660.

   ---- ---- _Letters on Faust._ Journal of Speculative Philosophy, by
     H. C. Brockmeyer, vol. 1, 1867, pp. 178-187; vol. 2, pp. 114-120.

   ---- ---- _Martin’s Translation of Faust._ North British Review,
     vol. 44, 1866, pp. 95-123.

   ---- ---- _Poetical Translations of Faust._ Blackwood’s Edinburgh
     Magazine, vol. 47, 1840, pp. 223-240.

   ---- ---- _Sacred Poetry of Faust._ Dublin Review, vol. 9, 1840, pp.

   ---- ---- _Second Part of Faust._ Dublin University Magazine, vol.
     2, 1833, pp. 361-385; vol. 64, 1864, pp. 537-542.--Foreign
     Quarterly Review, vol. 12, 1833, pp. 81-109.--Fraser’s Magazine,
     vol. 68, 1863, pp. 497-512.--Journal of Speculative Philosophy, by
     K. Rosenkrantz, vol. 1, 1867, pp. 65-79; vol. 11, pp.
     113-122.--Lippincott’s Magazine, by W. H. Goodyear, vol. 19, 1877,
     pp. 223-229.--Westminster Review, vol. 69, N.S., 1886, pp. 313-354.

   ---- ---- _Taylor’s Translation of Faust._ Nation, by J. R. Dennett,
     vol. 12, 1871, pp. 201-203.--Broadway, vol. 4, 3rd Series, 1872,
     pp. 159-166.

   ---- ---- _Translations of Faust._ Westminster Review, vol. 25,
     1863, pp. 366-390.

   ---- _Female Characters of._ North British Review, vol. 8, 1848,
     pp. 265-296.

   ---- _French Critic on_ (_Scherer._). Quarterly Review, by M.
     Arnold, vol. 145, 1878, pp. 143-163; same article, Littell’s Living
     Age, vol. 136, pp. 451-461.

   ---- _Funeral of; a Poem translated from the German of Harring._
     Democratic Review, by A. H. Everett, vol. 2, 1842, pp. 471-474.

   ---- _Genius and Influence of._ Edinburgh Review, by H. Merivale,
     vol. 92, 1850, pp. 188-220; same article, Eclectic Magazine, vol.
     21, 1856, pp. 98-115, and Littell’s Living Age, vol. 26, pp.

   ---- _Genius, Theories, and Works._ Dublin University Magazine,
     vol. 60, 1862, pp. 671-681; same article, Eclectic Magazine, vol.
     58, 1863, pp. 295-304.

   ---- _Goetz von Berlichingen._ Blackwood’s Edinburgh Magazine, vol.
     16, 1824, pp. 369-385.

   ---- _Gossip about, in Frankfort._ Littell’s Living Age (from the
     Spectator), vol. 143, 1879, pp. 440-443; and Eclectic Magazine,
     vol. 31, N.S., 1880, pp. 190-193.

   ---- _Grimm on._ Nation, by J. M. Hart, vol. 25, 1877, p. 199.

   ---- _Helena._ Foreign Review, by Thomas Carlyle, vol. 1, 1828, pp.

   ---- ---- _Helena translated by Theodore Martin._ Fraser’s Magazine,
     vol. 57, 1858, pp. 63-93.

   ---- _Hermann and Dorothea translated._ Democratic Review, vol. 13,
     N.S., 1848, pp. 261, etc., 356-364, 450-460, 542-553.--Fraser’s
     Magazine, vol. 41, 1850, pp. 33-40.

   ---- _House of, at Frankfort._ Scribner’s Monthly, by A. S. Gibbs,
     vol. 11, 1875, pp. 113-122.

   ---- _in his Old Age._ New Quarterly Magazine, by E. B. de
     Fonblanque, vol. 7, 1877, pp. 435-459; same article, Littell’s
     Living Age, vol. 132, pp. 482-494.

   ---- _Iphigenia translated._ Dublin University Magazine, vol. 23,
     1844, pp. 303-314.--Democratic Review, vol. 24, 1849, pp. 460-468;
     vol. 25, pp. 68-76, 358-363.

   ---- _Lewes’s Life and Works of._ Fraser’s Magazine, vol. 52, 1855,
     pp. 639-645; same article, Littell’s Living Age, vol. 48, pp.
     148-153, and Eclectic Magazine, vol. 37, pp. 200-206.--Westminster
     Review, vol. 9, N.S., 1856, pp. 273-278.--New Quarterly Review,
     vol. 5, 1857, pp. 11-16.--Bentley’s Miscellany, vol. 39, 1856, pp.
     96-110.--British Quarterly Review, vol. 23, 1856, pp.
     468-505.--Democratic Review, vol. 6, N.S., 1856, pp.
     157-160.--Christian Review, vol. 21, 1856, pp. 412-424.--Littell’s
     Living Age, vol. 48, 1856, pp. 91-95.--Putnam’s Monthly Magazine,
     vol. 7, 1856, pp. 192-203.--Christian Observer, vol. 74, 1874, pp.

   ---- _Maxims and Reflections from._ Eraser’s Magazine, vol. 13,
     N.S., 1876, pp. 338-348; same article, Eclectic Magazine, vol. 23,
     N.S., pp. 745-754, and Littell’s Living Age, vol. 129, pp. 117-125.

   ---- _Memoirs of._ New Monthly Magazine, vol. 5, 1822, pp. 521-527;
     vol. 10, pp. 473-478.

   ---- _Menzel’s View of._ Dial, vol. 1, 1841, pp. 340-347.

   ---- _Mother of._ Appleton’s Journal of Literature, vol. 7, 1872,
     pp. 692, 693.--Fraser’s Magazine, by J. W. Scherer, vol. 10, N.S.,
     1874, pp. 399-406.--Lippincott’s Magazine of Literature, by A. S.
     Gibbs, vol. 24, 1879, pp. 547-556.

   ---- _Native Place of._ United States Review, Feb. 1855, pp.

   ---- _on Art and Antiquity._ London Magazine, vol. 1, 1820, pp.

   ---- _on Hamlet._ London Society, by H. S. Wilson, vol. 28, 1875,
     pp. 308-316.

   ---- _Philosophy of_ (_Caro’s_). Contemporary Review, by E. Dowden,
     vol. 6, 1867, pp. 49-61; same article, Eclectic Magazine, vol. 6,
     N.S., pp. 693-701.--Eclectic Magazine (from the _Saturday Review_),
     vol. 5, N.S., 1867, pp. 712-717.

   ---- _Poems and Ballads of._ Blackwood’s Edinburgh Magazine, vol.
     56, 1844, p. 54-68, 417-432.--Fraser’s Magazine, by A. H. Clough,
     vol. 59, 1859, pp. 710-717; same article, Eclectic Magazine, vol.
     49, 1860, pp. 53-59.--Bentley’s Miscellany, vol. 45, 1859, pp.
     401-405.--London Magazine, vol. 12, 1859, pp. 121-145.--Littell’s
     Living Age, vol. 61, 1859, pp. 181-187.

   ---- _Posthumous Works._ Dublin University Magazine, vol. 2, 1833,
     pp. 361-385.

   ---- _Prometheus._ Dublin University Magazine, vol. 36, 1850, pp.

   ---- _Recent Works on._ Nation, by T. W. Higginson, vol. 32, 1881,
     pp. 408-410.

   ---- _Relation of, to Christianity._ National Magazine, vol. 1, p.
     468, etc.

   ---- _Religion of._ Macmillan’s Magazine, by A. Schwartz, vol. 29,
     1873, pp. 128-137.

   ---- _Scherer on._ Quarterly Review, by Matthew Arnold, vol. 145,
     1878, pp. 143-163; reprinted in _Mixed Essays_, 1879.

   ---- _Scientific Biography of_ (_Faivre’s_). North British Review,
     by Sir D. Brewster, vol. 38, 1863, pp. 107-133.

   ---- _Social Romances._ Journal of Speculative Philosophy, by C.
     Rosenkrantz, vol. 2, 1868, pp. 120-128, 215-225; vol. 4, pp.
     145-152, 268-273.

   ---- _Sorrows of Werter._ Western, vol. 5, N.S., 1879, pp. 345-352.

   ---- ---- _French Criticism on the Sorrows of Werter._ London
     Magazine, vol. 1, 1820, pp. 49-52.

   ---- ---- _Originals of Werther._ Temple Bar, by C. E. Meetkerke,
     vol. 47, 1876, pp. 244-250; same article, Littell’s Living Age,
     vol. 130, pp. 172-176.

   ---- _Story of the Snake._ Journal of Speculative Philosophy, by
     Anna C. Brackett (from the German of C. Rosenkrantz), vol. 5, 1871,
     pp. 219-226.

   ---- _The Tale; translated._ Fraser’s Magazine, by Thomas Carlyle,
     vol. 6, 1832, pp. 257-278.

   ---- _Torquato Tasso._ Monthly Review, vol. 6, N.S., 1827, pp.
     182-197.--Fraser’s Magazine, vol. 13, 1836, pp.
     526-539.--Blackwood’s Edinburgh Magazine, vol. 58, 1845, pp.
     87-95.--Chambers’s Edinburgh Journal, vol. 16, 1852, pp. 87, 88.

   ---- ---- _Scenes and Passages from the Tasso._ New Monthly
     Magazine, vol. 40, 1834, pp. 1-8.

   ---- _Theory of Colours._ Quarterly Review, vol. 10, 1814, pp.
     427-441.--Edinburgh Review, vol. 72, 1840, pp. 99-131.--Fortnightly
     Review, by John Tyndall, vol. 27, N.S., 1880, pp. 471-490; the same
     appeared also in the Popular Science Monthly, vol. 17, 1830, pp.
     215-224, 312-321.

   ---- _Visit to, in Weimar._ Hours at Home, vol. 1, 1865, pp.

   ---- _Visit to the Home of._ New Monthly Magazine, vol. 104, 1855,
     pp. 203-206; same article, Littell’s Living Age, vol. 46, pp.

   ---- _Weimar under Schiller and Goethe._ Contemporary Review, by H.
     S. Wilson, vol. 29, 1877, pp. 271-288.

   ---- _West-Eastern Divan._ Blackwood’s Edinburgh Magazine, vol.
     132, pp. 742-756.

   ---- _Wilhelm Meister._ Blackwood’s Edinburgh Magazine, vol. 15,
     1824, pp. 619-632.--London Magazine, vol. 10, 1824, pp. 189-197,
     291-307.--Edinburgh Review, by F. Jeffrey, vol. 42, 1825, pp.
     409-449.--Southern Review, vol. 3, 1829, pp. 353-385.--Southern
     Literary Messenger, vol. 17, 1851, pp. 431-443.--North American
     Review, by Henry James, Jun., vol. 101, 1865, pp.
     281-285.--Atlantic Monthly, by D. A. Wasson, vol. 16, 1865, pp.
     273-282, 448-457.

   ---- _Wisdom of._ Temple Bar, vol. 70, 1884, pp. 262-272.

   ---- _Words of Wisdom from._ Blackwood’s Edinburgh Magazine, vol.
     130, 1881, pp. 785-792.

   ---- _Works._ Le Correspondant, by V. de Laprade, tom. 71, 1867,
     pp. 122-140.

   ---- _Works of, explained by his Life._ Le Correspondant, by A.
     Mézières, tom. 81, 1870, pp. 629-653; 1011-1040; tom. 82, pp.
     599-626; tom. 83, pp. 35-62.

   ---- _Youth of._ Sharpe’s London Magazine, vol. 8, 1849, pp.
     155-162, 237-240.--Western, by Ellen M. Mitchell, vol. 2, 1876, pp.


Von deutscher Baukunst                                              1773

Götz von Berlichingen                                               1773

Die Leiden des jungen Werthers                                      1774

Clavigo                                                             1774

Götter, Helden und Wieland                                          1774

Neueröffnetes moralisch-politisches
Puppenspiel                                                         1774

Erwin und Elmire                                                    1775

Stella                                                              1776

Claudine von Villa Bella                                            1776

Die Fischerin                                                       1782

Rede bey Eröffnung des neuen
Bergbaues zu Ilmenau                                                1784

Die Vögel                                                           1787

Der Triumph der Empfindsamkeit                                      1787

Die Mitschuldigen                                                   1787

Iphigenie auf Tauris                                                1787

Die Geschwister                                                     1787

Egmont                                                              1788

Faust. Ein Fragment                                                 1790

Torquato Tasso                                                      1790

Scherz, List und Rache                                              1790

Versuch die Metamorphose
der Pflanzen zu erkläre                                             1790

Jery und Bätely                                                     1790

Beiträge zur Optik                                                  1791-2

Der Gross-Cophta                                                    1792

Der Bürgergeneral                                                   1792

Reinecke Fuchs                                                      1794

Wilhelm Meisters Lehrjahre                                          1795-6

Benvenuto Cellini                                                   1798

Hermann und Dorothea                                                1798

Neueste Gedichte                                                    1800

Was wir bringen                                                     1802

Tancred                                                             1802

Mahomet                                                             1802

Die natürliche Tochter                                              1804

Taschenbuch auf das Jahr 1804                                       1804

Rameau’s Neffe                                                      1805

Winkelmann und sein Jahrhundert                                     1805

Faust [Theil I.]                                                    1808

Die Wahlverwandtschaften                                            1809

Pandora                                                             1810

Zur Farbenlehre                                                     1810

Aus meinem Leben, Dichtung
und Wahrheit                                                        1811-22

Philipp Hackert. Biographische
Skizze                                                              1811

Gedichte                                                            1812

Willkommen!                                                         1814

Des Epimenides Erwachen                                             1815

Italiänische Reise (_Aus
meinem Leben_)                                                      1816-17

Ueber Kunst und Alterthum                                           1816-32

Zur Natur-Wissenschaft
überhaupt, besonders
zur Morphologie                                                     1817-23

West-Oestlicher Divan                                               1819

Wilhelm Meisters Wanderjahre, Th. 1                                 1821
(_Completed and published in 1830._)

Die Campagne in Frankreich.
(_Aus meinem Leben._)                                               1822

Wilhelm Meisters Wanderjahre                                        1830
(_Vol. 1 originally appeared in 1821._)

       *       *       *       *       *

Faust [Theil II.]                                                   1833

Das Tagebuch, 1810                                                  1879

       *       *       *       *       *

Briefwechsel zwischen
Schiller und Goethe                                                 1828-9

Kurzer Briefwechsel zwischen
Klopstock und
Goethe                                                              1833

Briefe von Goethe an Lavater                                        1833

Briefwechsel zwischen
Goethe und Zelter                                                   1833-4

Briefwechsel mit einem
Kinde                                                               1835

Briefwechsel zwischen
Goethe und Schultz                                                  1836

Goethe’s Briefe in den Jahren
1768-1832                                                           1837

Briefe an die Gräfin Auguste
zu Stolberg                                                         1839

Briefe Schillers und Goethes
an A. W. Schlegel                                                   1846

Briefe von Goethe und dessen
Mutter an Friedrich
Freiherrn von Stein                                                 1846

Briefe von Goethe, 1766-1786                                        1846

Briefwechsel zwischen
Goethe und F. H.
Jacob                                                               1846

Goethes Briefe an Leipziger
Freunde                                                             1849

Briefwechsel zwischen
Goethe und Reinhard                                                 1850

Briefwechsel zwischen
Goethe und Knebel                                                   1851

Briefwechsel zwischen
Goethe und Grüner                                                   1853

Briefe des Grossherzogs
Carl August und
Goethe an Döbereiner                                                1856

Briefe an Herder                                                    1856

Briefe von Goethe und
seiner Frau an N. Meyer                                             1856

Briefwechsel des Grossherzogs
Carl August von
mit Goethe                                                          1863

Briefwechsel zwischen
Goethe und Kasper
Graf von Sternberg                                                  1866

Briefe an F. A. Wolf                                                1868

Briefe an C. G. von Voigt                                           1868

Briefe an Eichstädt                                                 1872

Briefe an Johanna Fahlmer                                           1875

Briefe an Soret                                                     1877

Briefwechsel zwischen
Goethe und Marianne
von Willemer (Suleika)                                              1877

Briefwechsel zwischen
Goethe und K. Göttling                                              1880

Correspondence between
Goethe and Carlyle                                                  1887

_Printed by_ WALTER SCOTT, _Felling, Newcastle-on-Tyne._


[1] A lady at the court of Weimar--Fräulein von Göchhausen--wrote for
her own use a copy of the original “Faust.” This copy was recovered
in 1887, and is printed in the edition of Goethe’s works now being
published by order of the Grand Duchess Sophia of Saxony. It has also
been printed separately--“Goethes Faust, in ursprünglicher Gestalt,
nach der Göchhausenschen Abschrift, herausgegeben von Erich Schmidt
(Weimar: Hermann Bohlau, 1887).”

[2] This question has given rise to much discussion among students
of Goethe’s writings. Herman Grimm is one of those who emphatically
maintain that the First and Second Parts were from the beginning in
Goethe’s mind. See his “Goethe,” Zweiter Band, 273. A full and clear
statement of the opposite view will be found in Karl Biedermann’s
“Deutschland im Achtzehnten Jahrhundert,” Zweiter Band, 1034. Herman
Grimm and those who agree with him rely mainly upon some expressions
used by Goethe a few days before his death, in a letter written to
William von Humboldt (one of the dearest and most highly esteemed of
his friends). Biedermann, however, shows conclusively that this letter
has been misunderstood.

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