please himself he was still more diligent in literature: Morhof's Polyhistor, Gessner's Isagoge, and Bayle's Dictionary, filled him with a new ambition to become an University Professor! Herein, as indeed throughout his career, we see the strange impressionability of his nature, which, like the fabled chameleon, takes its color from every tree it lies under.

The melancholy fit did not last long. A circle of lively friends, among them Horn, of whom we shall hear more anon, drew him into gayety again. Their opinion of his talents appears to have been enormous; their love for him and interest in all he did, was like that which followed him through life. No matter what his mood - in the wildest student-period, in the startling genius-period, and in the diplomatic-period; whatever offence his manner created was soon forgotten in the irresistible fascination of his nature. The secret of that fascination was his own overflowing lovingness, and his genuine interest in every individuality, however opposite to his own.

With these imperfect glances at his early career we close this Book, on his departure from home for the University of Leipsic. Before finally quitting this period, we may take a survey of the characteristics it exhibits, as some guide in our future inquiries.

CHAPTER V.

THE CHILD IS FATHER TO THE MAN.

As in the soft round lineaments of childhood we trace features which after years will develope into decisive forms, so in the moral lineaments of the Child may be traced the characteristics of the Man. But I have often thought that an apparent solution of continuity' takes place in the transition period, so that the youth is in many respects unlike what he has been in childhood, and what he will be in maturity. In youth, when the passions begin to stir, the character is made to swerve from the orbit previously traced. Passion, more than Character, rules the hour. Thus we often see the prudent child turn out an extravagant youth; but he crystallizes once more into prudence, as he hardens into age.

This was certainly the case with Goethe, who, if he had died young, like Shelley or Keats, would have left a name among the most genial, not to say enthusiastic, of poets; but who, living to the age of eighty-two, had fifty years of crystallization to form a character which perplexes critics. In his childhood, scanty as the details are which enable us to reconstruct it, we see the main features of the man. Let us glance rapidly at them.

And first of his manysidedness. Seldom has a boy exhibited such completeness of human faculties. The multiplied activity of his life is prefigured in the varied

tendencies of his childhood. We see him as an orderly, somewhat formal, inquisitive, reasoning, deliberative child, a precocious learner, an omnivorous reader, and a vigorous logician who thinks for himself - so independent that at six years of age he doubts the beneficence of the Creator; at seven, doubts the competence and justice of the world's judgment. He is inventive, poetical, proud, loving, volatile, with a mind open to all influences, swayed by every gust, and yet, while thus swayed as to the direction of his activity, master over himself. The most diverse characters, the most antagonistic opinions interest him. He is very studious, no bookworm more so: alternately busy with languages, mythology, antiquities, law, philosophy, poetry and religion; yet he joins in all festive scenes, gets familiar with Life in various forms, and stays out late o'nights. He is also troubled by a melancholy, dreamy mood, forcing him ever and anon into solitude.

Among the dominant characteristics, however, are seriousness, formality, rationality. He is by no means a naughty boy. He gives his parents no tremulous anxiety as to what will become of him.' He seems very much master of himself. It is this which in later years perplexed his judges, who could not reconcile this appearance of self-mastery, this absence of enthusiasm, with their conceptions of a poet. Assuredly he had enthusiasm, if ever man had it: at least, if enthusiasm (being' full of the God') means being filled with a divine idea, and by its light working steadily. He had little of the other kind of enthusiasm the insurrection of the Feelings carrying away upon their triumphant shoulders the Reason which has no longer power to guide them; for his intellect did not derive its main momentum from his feelings. And hence it is that whereas the quality which first strikes us in most poets is sensibility, with its caprices, infirmities,

is

and generous errors, the first quality which strikes us in Goethe the Child and Man, but not the Youth intellect, with its clearness, calmness, and provoking immunity from error. I say provoking, for we all gladly overlook the errors of enthusiasm; some, because these errors appeal to our compassion, and some, because these errors establish a community of impulse between the sinner and ourselves, forming, as it were, broken edges which show us where to look for supportscars which tell of wounds we have escaped. Whereas, we are pitiless to the successes of reason, the cold prudences which shame our weakness and ask no alms from our charity. Why do we all preach Prudence and dislike it? Perhaps, because we dimly feel that life without its generous errors might want its lasting enjoyments; and thus the very mistakes which arise from an imprudent, unreflecting career, are absolved by that instinct which suggests other aims for existence beyond prudential aims. This is one reason why the erring lives of Genius command such deathless sympathy.

Having indicated so much, I may now ask those who are distressed by the calm, self-sustaining superiority of Goethe in old age, whether, on deeper reflection, they cannot reconcile it with their conceptions of the poet's nature ? We preach Reason, but we sympathize with Sensibility. Our dislike of the one arises from its supposed incompatibility with the other. But if a man unites the mastery of Will and Intellect to the profoundest sensibility of Emotion, shall we not say of him that he has in living synthesis vindicated both what we preach and what we love? That Goethe united these will be abundantly shown in this Biography. In the chapters about to follow we shall see him wild, restless, aimless, erring, and extravagant enough to satisfy the most ardent admirer of the

vagabond period of genius: the Child and the Man are at times scarcely traceable in the Youth.

One trait must not be passed over, namely, his impatient susceptibility, which, while it prevented his ever thoroughly mastering the technic of any one subject, lay at the bottom of his multiplied activity in directions so opposed to each other. He was excessively impressionable, caught the impulse from every surrounding influence, and was thus never constant to one thing, because this susceptibility was connected with an impatience which soon made him weary. There are men who learn many languages, and never thoroughly master the grammar of one. Of these was Goethe. Easily excited to throw his energy in a new direction, he had not the patience which begins at the beginning, and rises gradually, slowly into assured mastery. Like an eagle he swooped down upon his prey; he could not watch for it, with cat-like patience. It is to this impatience we must attribute the fact of so many works being left fragments, so many composed by snatches during long intervals. Prometheus, Mahomet, Die Natürliche Tochter, Elpenor, Achilleis, Nausikaa, etc., remain fragments. Faust, Egmont, Tasso, Iphigenia, Meister, etc., were long years in hand. Whatever could be done in a few days while the impulse lasted was done; longer works were spread over a series of years.