Buenco. Wilt thou awake her, to murder her again ? Clavigo. Poor mocker!-Maria! Maria! (He falls down before the coffin.)

SCENE IV.-BEAUMARCHAIS comes up the street. The former. Beaumarchais. Buenco has left me. They say she is dead. I must see her; spite of hell, I must see her. Ha! torches! a funeral. (He runs hastily up to it, gazes on the coffin and falls down speechless. They raise him up; he is deprived of sense; Gilbert holds him.) Clavigo (who is standing on the other side of the coffin). Maria! Maria!

Beaumarchais (springing up). That is his voice. Who calls Maria? At the sound of that voice what burning rage starts into my veins!

Clavigo. It is I.

Beaumarchais (staring wildly around and grasping his sword. Gilbert holds him.)

Clavigo. I fear not thy blazing eyes, nor the point of thy sword. Oh! look here, here, on these closed eyes - these clasped hands.

Beaumarchais. Dost thou show me that sight? (He tears himself loose, runs upon Clavigo, who instantly draws; they fight; Beaumarchais pierces him through the breast.)

Clavigo. I thank thee, brother; thou marriest us. (He falls upon the coffin.)

Beaumarchais (tearing him away). Hence from this saint, thou

fiend!

Clavigo. Alas! (The bearers raise up his body and support him.) Beaumarchais. His blood! Look up, Maria, look upon thy bridal ornaments, and then close thine eyes forever. See! how I have consecrated thy place of rest with the blood of thy murderer! Charming! glorious!

SCENE

SOPHIA from the house. The former.

Sophia. My brother? O, my God! what is the matter? Beaumarchais. Draw near, my love, and see! I hoped to have strewn her bridal bed with roses; see the roses with which I adorn her on her way to heaven.

Sophia. We are lost!

Clavigo. Save yourself, inconsiderate young man! save yourself,

ere the dawn of day. May God, who sent you for an avenger, conduct you! Sophia, forgive me. Brothers, friends, forgive me.

Beaumarchais. How the sight of his gushing blood extinguishes all the burning vengeance within me! how with his departing life vanishes all my rage! (Going up to him.) Die, I forgive thee. Clavigo. Your hand! and your's, Sophia — and your's ! (Buenco hesitates.)

Sophia. Give it him, Buenco.

Clavigo. I thank you; you are still as good as ever; I thank you. And thou, O spirit of my beloved, if thou still hoverest around this place, look down, see these heavenly kindnesses, bestow thy blessing, and do thou too forgive me. I come! I come! - Save yourself, my brother. Tell me, did she forgive me? How did she die ? Sophia. Her last word was thy unhappy name. without taking leave of us.

She departed

Clavigo. I will follow her, and bear your farewells to her.

SCENE VI. — CARLOS, a Servant. The former.

Carlos. Clavigo! murder!

Clavigo. Hear me, Carlos! Thou seest here the victim of thy prudence; and now I conjure thee, for the sake of that blood, in which my life irrevocably flows away save my brother.

Carlos. O, my friend? (to the servant) are you standing there? Fly for a surgeon. [Servant exit. Clavigo. It is in vain; save, save my unhappy brother; thy hand in assurance of it. They have forgiven me, and so I forgive thee. Accompany him to the frontiers, and -oh!

Carlos (stamping with his feet). Clavigo! Clavigo!

Clavigo (Drawing nearer to the coffin, upon which they lay him down). Maria ! Thy hand! (He uncloses her hands, and grasps her right hand.)

Sophia (to Beaumarchais). Hence, unhappy one, away.

Clavigo. I have her hand, her cold dead hand. Thou art mine. Yet this last bridegroom's kiss.

Sophia. He is dying. Save thyself, brother.

(Beaumarchais falls on Sophia's neck. She returns the embrace, and makes a sign for him to withdraw.)

Powerful as this scene is in theatrical effect, one cannot

but admit that æsthetically it is poor and almost commonplace. The clumsiness by which the meeting is contrived has been noticed by Rosenkranz.* Clavigo is seeking Carlos; he orders the servant who lights the way not to pass through the street where the Beaumarchais family resides, yet the servant actually leads him there, because it is the shorter route. The whole tone of this fifth act is not in harmony with what precedes. The act is grafted on it does not grow out of the subject. —

6

As a stage play the interest is great: the situations are effective; the dramatic collision perfect; the plot is clearly and rapidly evolved; the language vigorous, passionate and pointed. But it must not be tried by any high standard. Merck, anxious about his friend's reputation, would not consent to judge the play according to the theatrestandard, but exclaimed, Such trash as this you must not write again; others can do that!' Goethe says, that in this Merck was wrong, and for the first time did him an injury. 'We should not in all things transcend the notions which men have already formed; it is right that much should be done in accordance with the common way of thinking. Had I written a dozen such pieces (and it would have been easy to do so with a little stimulus), three or four of them would perhaps have kept their place upon the stage.'

6

This can scarcely be accepted as conclusive reasoning. Merck might have replied, Perhaps so; but you have genius fit for higher things than stage-plays.' Nevertheless, as before hinted, I think Goethe was right in his course, although the reasons he alleges are unsatisfactory. Clavigo, like the other trifles he composed at this period, must be regarded as the sketches with which an artist fills

VOL. I.

* Goethe und Seine Werke, p. 185.

24

his portfolio, not the works which are to brighten galleries. The impulse to create was imperious; if trifles were demanded, he created trifles. His immense activity was forced to expend itself on minor works, because he dimly felt himself unripe for greater works.

CHAPTER VIII.

THE LITERARY LION.

ANNA SYBILLA MÜNCH was not a little flattered by the homage of Clavigo, and smiled more tenderly on her admirer. Hopes of a marriage rose not only in her breast, but in the breasts of his parents, who, having lost by marriage their daughter, Cornelia, greatly wished to see a daughter-in-law in their house. They talked over the matter; seem to have alluded to it also to Anna her

self; and frequently joked their son at table on the expected event. It was thought that he might first make his long-talked-of journey to Italy, and marry on his return. At no time prone to marriage, he had not in this instance the impulse of passion. He admired Anna, but he felt no passion for her; and even Italy, so long desired, was now less attractive to him than Germany, where he was beginning to feel himself a man of consequence, and where the notable men of the day eagerly sought his acquaintance.

Among these men we must note Klopstock, Lavater, Basedow, Jacobi and the Stolbergs. Correspondence led to personal intercourse. Klopstock arrived in Frankfurt in this October 1774, just before Werther appeared. Goethe saw him, read the fragments of Faust to him, and discussed skating with him. But the great religious poet was too far removed from the strivings of his young