expected it. But that I was, notwithstanding, unprepared

felt deep in my soul. In the morn"Herr Dr. Goethe sent this at ten

He

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* 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 Dr. 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. was no longer there. In the middle of the day the Geheime Räthin Langen sent word again: "She would, however, let Dr. Goethe's mother know how he had conducted himself." Every one of the children in the teutsche Haus was saying: "Dr. Goethe is gone!" In the middle of the day I talked with Herr von Born, who had accompanied him, on horseback, as far as Brunnfels. 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. Afterwards 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

* One of Lotte's brothers.

departure of their friend, and the consternation of the children on hearing that Dr. Goethe is gone! One needs such a picture to re-assure us that the episode, with all its strange romance, and with all its danger, was not really a fit of morbid sentimentalism. 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 not only knew 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 was 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. O my poor head!'

This was the enclosure, addressed to Lott:

'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 Laroche, where he was to meet Merck, he made the journey down the Lahu, on foot. The banks of that river. charmed his eye, and helped to relieve the sadness which he felt at thus bidding adieu to his romance. The vineclad heights, the misty valleys, and the towering castles, solicited his pencil. The old desire of becoming a painter, which haunted him through life, now rose within him. There is a psychological curiosity in noting this long persistence of a desire in one so destitute of the faculty which usually awakens the desire. In spite of this absence of faculty, the desire tormented him during many years, and now rose up in such a serious shape, that he resolved to settle forever 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.*

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, wherein he was soon considered as a member. 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 Laroche, Wieland's earliest love, had written a novel in the Richardson style, Die Geschichte des Fräuleins von Sternheim; and Schäfer remarks that she probably gathered Merck, Goethe, and others into her house with a view to favorable criticisms of this novel. If this were her ́ design, she succeeded with Goethe, who reviewed her book in the Frankfurter Gelehrten Anzeigen. Whether this complaisance 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.

*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 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.