He offered friendship in vain; he had wounded the self-love of a vain woman. There is a relentless venom in many minds which, when the self-love is wounded, poisons friendship and destroys all gratitude. It was not enough for the Frau von Stein that he had loved her so many years with a rare devotion; it was not enough that he had been more to her child than its own father was; it was not enough that now the inevitable change had come, he still felt tenderness and affection. for her, grateful for what she had been to him; the one fact, that he had ceased to love her, expunged the whole past. A nature with any nobleness never forgets that once it loved, and once was happy in that love the generous heart is grateful in its memories. The heart of the Frau von Stein had no memory but for its wounds. She spoke with petty malice of the "low person" who had usurped her place; rejected Goethe's friendship; affected to pity him; and circulated gossip about his beloved. They were forced to meet; but they met no longer as before. To the last he thought and spoke of her tenderly; and I know on unexceptionable authority that when there was anything appetising brought to table, which he thought would please her, he often said, "Send some of this to the Frau von Stein."

There is a letter of hers extant which shows what was the state of her feelings after a lapse of twelve years. It may find a place here as a conclusive document with which to wind up the strange episode of their history. It is addressed to her son. Three passages are italicised by way of emphasis, to call attention to the spirit animating the writer.

WEIMAR, January 12th, 1801. "I did not know that our former friend Goethe was still so dear to me, that a severe illness, from which he has been suffering for nine days, would so deeply

affect me. It is a convulsive cough accompanied with erysipelas; he can lie in no bed, and is obliged always to be kept in a standing posture, otherwise he would be choked. His neck, as well as his face, is swollen and full of internal blisters, his left eye stands out like a great nut, and discharges blood and matter; he is often delirious; inflammation of the brain was feared, so he was bled and had mustard foot-baths, which made his feet swell, and seemed to do him some good: but last night the convulsive cough returned, I fear from his having been shaved yesterday; my letter will tell you either of his being better or of his death I shall not send it before. The Schillers and I have already shed many tears over him in the last few days; I deeply regret now that when he wished to visit me on New Year's Day, I, alas! because I lay ill with headache, excused myself, and now I shall perhaps never see him again.

"14th. Goethe is better, but the twenty-first day must be got over; between this and then something else might happen to him, because the inflammation has injured something in his head and his diaphragm. Yesterday he ate with great appetite some soup which I had sent him; his eye, too, is better, but he is very melancholy, and they say he wept for three hours; especially he weeps when he sees August, who has in the meantime taken refuge with me; I am sorry for the poor boy; he was dreadfully distressed, but he is already accustomed to drink away his troubles; he lately in a club belonging to his mother's class, drank seventeen glasses of champagne, and I had the greatest difficulty in keeping him from wine when he was with me.

“15th. Goethe sent to me to-day, thanked me for my sympathy, and hoped he should soon be better; the doctors consider him out of danger, but his recovery will take a long time yet."

Who could believe that this was written by one passionately loved for ten years, and written of one who was thought to be dying? Even here her hatred to Christiane cannot restrain itself.

CHAPTER IX.

THE POET AS A MAN OF SCIENCE.

To the immense variety of his studies in Art and Science must now be added a fragmentary acquaintance with the philosophy of Kant. He had neither the patience nor the delight in metaphysical abstractions requisite to enable him to master the Critique of Pure Reason but he read here and there in it, as he read in Spinoza; and was especially interested in the æsthetical portions of the "Kritik der Urtheilskraft." This was a means of bringing him nearer to Schiller, who still felt the difference between them to be profound; as we see in what he wrote to Körner: "His philosophy draws too much of its material from the world of the senses, where I only draw from the soul. His mode of presentation is altogether too sensuous for me. But his spirit works and seeks in every direction, striving to create a whole, and that makes him in my eyes a great man."

Remarkable indeed is the variety of his strivings. After completing "Tasso," we find him writing on the Roman Carnival, and on Imitation of Nature, and studying with strange ardour the mysteries of botany and optics. In poetry it is only necessary to name the Roman Elegies," to show what productivity in that direction he was capable of; although, in truth, his poetical activity was then in subordination to his activity in science. He was, socially, in an unpleasant condition and, as he subsequently confessed, would never have been able to hold out, had it not been for

his studies in Art and Nature. In all times these were his refuge and consolation.

On Art, the world listened to him attentively. On Science, the world would not listen; but turned away in silence, sometimes in derision. In both he was

only an amateur. He had no executive ability in Painting or Sculpture to give authority to his opinions, yet his word was listened to with respect, often with enthusiasm. But while artists and the public admitted that a man of genius might speak with some authority, although an amateur, men of science were not willing that a man of genius should speak on their topics, until he had passed college examinations and received his diploma. The veriest blockhead who had received a diploma considered himself entitled to sneer at the poet who "dabbled in comparative anatomy." Nevertheless, that poet made discoveries and enunciated laws, the importance of which many a professional sneerer could not even appreciate, so far did they transcend his knowledge.

Professional men have a right to be suspicious of the amateur, for they know how arduous a training is required by Science. But while it is just that they should be suspicious, it is absurd for them to shut their eyes. When the amateur brings forward crudities, which he announces to be discoveries, their scorn may be legitimate enough; but when he happens to bring forward a discovery, and they treat it as crudity, their scorn becomes self-stultification. If their professional training gives them superiority, that superiority should give them greater readiness of apprehension. The truth is, however, that ordinary professional training gives them nothing of the sort. The mass of men receive with difficulty every new idea, unless it lies

1 Rauch, the sculptor, told me that among the influences of his life, he reckons the enthusiasm which Goethe's remarks on Art excited in him. Many others would doubtless say the same.