In the morning I came home. 'Herr Doctor Goethe sent this at ten o'clock.' I saw the books and the note, and thought what this said to me - 'He is gone!' and was quite dejected. Soon after, Hans 1 came to ask me if he were really gone? The Geheime Räthin Langen had sent to say by a maid servant: 'It was very ill-mannered of Doctor Goethe to set off in this way, without taking leave.' Lottchen sent word in reply: Why had she not taught her nephew better?' Lottchen, in order to be certain, sent a box which she had of Goethe's to his house. He was no longer there. In the middle of the day the Geheime Räthin Langen sent word again: She would, however, let Doctor Goethe's mother know how he had conducted himself.' Every one of the children in the teutsche Haus was saying: Doctor Goethe is gone!' In the middle of the day I talked with Herr von Born, who had accompanied him, on horseback, as far as Brunnfells. Goethe had told him of our evening's conversation. Goethe had set out in very low spirits. In the afternoon I took Goethe's note to Lottchen. She was sorry about his departure; the tears came into her eyes while reading. Yet it was a satisfaction to her that he was gone, since she could not give him the affection he desired. We spoke only of him; indeed, I could think of nothing else, and defended the manner of his leaving, which was blamed by a silly person; I did it with much warmth. Afterward I wrote him word what had happened since his departure."

How graphically do these simple touches set the whole situation before us: the sorrow of the two lovers at the departure of their friend, and the consternation of the children on hearing that Doctor Goethe is gone! One needs such a picture to reassure us that the episode, with all its strange romance, and with all its danger, was not really a fit of morbid sentimen1 One of Lotte's brothers.

talism. Indeed, had Goethe been the sentimental Werther he has represented, he would never have had the strength of will to tear himself from such a position. He would have blown his brains out, as Werther did. On the other hand, note what a worthy figure is this of Kestner, compared with the cold Albert of the novel. A less generous nature would have rejoiced in the absence of a rival, and forgotten, in its joy, the loss of a friend. But Kestner, who knew that his friend was his rival, and such a rival that doubts crossed him whether this magnificent youth were not really more capable of rendering Lotte happy than he himself was, - grieved for the absence of his friend! Here is Goethe's letter, referred to in the passage just quoted from the Diary:

"He is gone, Kestner; when you get this note, he is gone! Give Lottchen the enclosed. I am quite composed, but your conversation has torn me to pieces. At this moment I can say nothing to you but farewell. If I had remained a moment longer with you I could not have restrained myself. Now I am alone, and to-morrow I go. Oh, my poor head!"

This was the enclosure, addressed to Lotte:

"I certainly hope to come again, but God knows when! Lotte, what did my heart feel while you were talking, knowing, as I did, that it was the last time I should see you? Not the last time, and yet to-morrow I go away. He is gone! What spirit led you to that conversation? When I was expected to say all I felt, alas! what I cared about was here below, was your hand, which I kissed for the last time. The room which I shall not enter again, and the dear father who saw me to the door for the last time. I am now alone, and may weep; I leave you happy, and shall remain in your heart. And shall see you again; but not to-morrow is never! Tell my boys, He is gone. I can say no more."

CHAPTER IV.

PREPARATIONS FOR WERTHER.

HAVING sent his luggage to the house of Frau von La Roche, where he was to meet Merck, he made the journey down the Lahn on foot. A delicious sadness subdued his thoughts as he wandered dreamily along the river banks; and the lovely scenes which met his eye solicited his pencil, awakening once more the ineffectual desire (which from time to time haunted him) of becoming a painter. He had really no faculty in this direction, yet the desire, often suppressed, now rose up in such a serious shape, that he resolved to settle for ever whether he should devote himself to the art or not. The test was curious. The river glided beneath, now flashing in the sunlight, now partially concealed by willows. Taking a knife from his pocket, he flung it with his left hand into the river, having previously resolved that if he saw it fall he was to become an artist; but if the sinking knife were concealed by the willows, he was to abandon the idea. No ancient oracle was ever more ambiguous than the answer now given him. The willows concealed the sinking knife, but the water splashed up like a fountain, and was distinctly visible. So indefinite an answer left him in doubt.1

1 This mode of interrogating fate recalls that strange passage in Rousseau's "Confessions" (Livre vi.) where he throws a stone at a tree if he hits, it is a sign of salvation; if he misses, of damnation ! Fortunately he hits: "Ce qui, véritablement, n'était pas difficile, car j'avais eu le soin de le choisir fort gros et fort

He wandered pleasantly on the banks till he reached Ems, and then journeyed down the river in a boat. The old Rhine opened upon him; and he mentions with peculiar delight the magnificent situation of Oberlahnstein, and, above all, the majesty of the castle of Ehrenbreitstein. On arriving at the house of Geheimrath von La Roche, where he had been announced by Merck, he was most kindly received by this excellent family. His literary tendencies bound him to the mother; his joyousness and strong sense, to the father; his youth and poetry, to the daughters. The Frau von La Roche, Wieland's earliest love, had written a novel in the Richardson style, "Die Geschichte des Fräulein von Sternheim ;" and Schäfer remarks that she probably gathered Merck, Goethe, and others into her house with a view to favourable criticisms of this novel. If this were her design, she succeeded with Goethe, who reviewed her book in the Frankfurter Gelehrten Anzeigen. Whether this compliance was extorted by herself, or by the charms of her daughter Maximiliane, history saith not: certain it is that the dark eyes of the daughter made an impression on the heart of the young reviewer. She is the Mlle. B. introduced in "Werther;" but she is even still more interesting to us as the future mother of Bettina. They seemed to have looked into each other's eyes, flirted and sentimentalised, as if no Lotte had been left in Wetzlar. Nor will this surprise those who have considered the mobile nature of our poet. He is miserable at moments, but the fulness of abounding life, the strength of victorious will, and the sensibility to new impressions, keep his ever-active nature from

près; depuis lors je n'ai plus douté de mon salut." Had Goethe read this passage? The "Confessions" appeared in 1768, that is, four years before this journey down the Lahn. Yet from a passage in one of his letters to the Frau von Stein, it seems as if he then, 1782, first read the "Confessions."

the despondency which killed Werther. He is not always drooping because Charlotte is another's. He is open to every new impression, serious or gay. Thus, among other indications, we find him throwing off in "Pater Brey " and " Satyros," sarcasm and humour which are curious as products of the "Werther" period, although of no absolute worth; and we follow him up the Rhine, in company with Merck, and his family, leisurely enjoying Rheinfels, St. Goar, Bacharach, Bingen, Elfeld, and Biberich,

"The blending of all beauties; streams and dells,

Fruit, foliage, crag, wood, corn-field, mountain, vine,
And chiefless castles, breathing stern farewells

From gray but leafy walls where Ruin greenly dwells".

sketching as if life were a leisure summer day.

He returned to Frankfort, and busied himself with law, literature, and painting. Wandering Italians, then rare, brought casts of antique statues to Frankfort; and with delighted eagerness he purchased a complete set, thus to revive as much as possible the grand impression he received at Mannheim. Among his artstudies must be noted the attention bestowed on the

Dutch painters. He began to copy some still-life pictures; one of these he mentions with pride; and what, think this one was? you, a copy of a tortoiseshell knife-handle inlaid with silver! He has "Götz von Berlichingen " in his portfolio, and delights in copying the copy of a knife-handle!

To law he devoted himself with greater assiduity than ever. His father, delighted at going through the papers with him, was peculiarly gratified at this honourable diligence, and in his delight was willing to overlook the other occupations of this "singular creature," as he rightly named him. Goethe's literary plans were numerous, and the Frankfort Journal gave him constant opportunities for expressing himself on poetry,