chop house, or hotel, goes there simply to get his dinner, Of the other diners he and perhaps look at the Times. knows nothing, cares little. It is rare that a word is interchanged between him and his neighbor. Quite otherwise in Germany. There the same society is generally to be found at the same table. The table d'hôte is composed of a circle of habitués, varied by occasional visitors, who in time become, perhaps, members of the circle. Even with strangers conversation is freely interchanged; and in a little while friendships are formed over these dinner tables, according as natural tastes and likings assimilate, which, extending beyond the mere hour of dinner, are carried into the current of life. Germans do not rise so hastily from the table as we; for time with them is not so precious; life is not so crowded; time can be found for quiet after-dinner talk. The cigars and coffee, which appear before the cloth is removed, keep the company together; and in that state of suffused comfort which quiet digestion creates, they hear without anger the opinions of antagonists. In such a society must we imagine Goethe in the Schönkopf establishment, among students and men of letters, all eager in advancing their own opinions, and combating the false taste' which was not their own. To complete this picture, and to separate it still more from our English customs, you must imagine host and hostess dining at the table, while their charming daughter, who had cooked or helped to cook the dinner, brought them the wine. This daughter was the Anna Katharina, by intimates called Käthchen, and by Goethe, in the Autobiography, designated as Annchen and Annette. Her portrait, still extant, is very pleasing. She was then nineteen, lively, and loving; how could she be insensible to the love of this glorious youth, in all the fervor of genius, and with all the attractions of beauty? They saw each other daily, not only at dinner, but in the evenings, when he accompanied the piano of her brother by a feeble performance on the flute. They also got up private theatricals, in which Goethe and Käthchen played the lovers. Minna von Barnhelm, then a novelty, was among the pieces. performed. That these performances were of a strictly amateur order, may be gathered from the fact that in one of them the part of a nightingale, which is important, was represented by a handkerchief, rolled up into such ornithological resemblance as art could reach. Two letters, quite recently discovered, have fallen into my hands; they give us a curious glimpse of him at this time, such as one may look for in vain in his own account of himself, or in the accounts of any other writer. They are from his friend Horn, whose arrival he mentioned in the letter previously quoted, and who was one of his daily companions in Frankfurt. The first is dated 12th of August, 1766, and is addressed to one Moors, a Frankfurt companion. • To speak of our Goethe! He is still the same proud, fantastic personage as when I came hither. If you only saw him you would either be mad with anger, or you would burst with laughter. I cannot at all understand how a man can so quickly transform himself. His manners and his whole bearing, at present, are as different as possible from his former behavior. Over and above his pride, he is a dandy; and all his clothes, handsome as they are, are in so odd a taste, that they make him conspicuous among all the students. But this is indifferent to him; one may remonstrate with him for his folly as much as one likes Man mag Amphion seyn und Feld und Wald bezwingen, All his thought and effort is only to please himself and his lady-love. In every circle he makes himself more ridiculous than agreeable. Merely because the lady admires it, he has put on tricks and gestures that one cannot possibly refrain from laughing at. He has adopted a walk which is quite insufferable. If you only saw it! Il marche à pas comptés, Comme un Recteur suivi des quatre Facultés.' His society is every day more intolerable to me, and he, too, tries to avoid me whenever he can. I am too plain a man for him to walk across the street with me. What would the 'king of Holland' say if he saw him in this guise? Do write again to him soon and tell him your opinion; else he and his lady-love will remain as silly as ever. Heaven only preserve me, as long as I am here, from any sweetheart, for the women here are the very devil. Goethe is not the first who has made a fool of himself to please his Dulcinea. I only wish you could see her just for once; she is the most absurd creature in the world. Her mine coquette avec un air hautain is all with which she has bewitched Goethe. Dear friend! How glad should I be if Goethe were still what he was in Frankfurt! Good friends as we were formerly, we can now scarcely endure each other for a quarter of an hour. Yet with time I still hope to convert him, though it is a hard matter to make a coxcomb wise. But I will venture everything for the sake of it. * One may be Amphion and coerce the trees and rocks, but not bring Goethe to his senses. Ach! fruchtete dies mein Bemühn! Ach! konnt' ich meinen Zweck erreichen ! Noch einem der Bekehrer weichen.* I I care neither for his I cannot write to him again what I have here told you. For, after all, he is not easily offended with me; even when we have quarrelled he sends for me the next day. So much of him; more another time. Live and forget not thy • HORN.' Moors followed Horn's advice, and expressed to Goethe, apparently in very plain terms, his astonishment and dissatisfaction at the disadvantageous change. In October of the same year, he received from Horn the following explanation: 'But dear Moors! How glad you will be to learn that we have lost no friend in our Goethe, as we falsely supposed. He had so travestied himself as to deceive not only me but a great many others, and we should never have discovered the real truth of the matter, if your letter had not threatened him with the loss of a friend. I must tell you the whole story as he himself told it to me, for he has commissioned me to do so in order to save him the trouble. He is in love, it is true he has confessed it to me, and will confess it to you; but his love, though its circumstances are sad, is not culpable, as I formerly supposed. He loves. But not that young lady whom I suspected him of loving. He loves a girl beneath him in rank, but a girl whom I think I do not say too much you would love yourself if you saw her. I am no lover, *Ah, if my attempt succeed, I should not envy Luther, Calvin, nor any other Converter. so I shall write entirely without passion. Imagine to yourself a woman well-grown, though not very tall; a round, agreeable, though not extraordinarily beautiful face; open, gentle, engaging manners; a very pretty understanding, without having had any great education. He loves her very tenderly, with the perfect, honest intentions of a virtuous man, though he knows that she can never be his. Whether she loves him in return I know not. You know, dear Moors, that is a point about which one cannot well ask; but this much I can say to you, that they seem to be born for each other. Now observe his cunning! That no one may suspect him of such an attachment, he undertakes to persuade the world of precisely the opposite, and hitherto he has been extraordinarily successful. He makes a great parade, and seems to be paying court to a certain young lady of whom I have told you before. He can see his beloved and converse with her at certain times without giving occasion for the slightest suspicion, and I often accompany him to her. If Goethe were not my friend I should fall in love with her myself. Meanwhile he is supposed to be in love with the Fräulein (but what do you care about her name?) and people are fond of teasing him about her. Perhaps she herself believes that he loves her, but the good lady deceives herself. Since that time he has admitted me to closer confidence, has made me acquainted with his affairs, and shown me that his expenditure is not so great as might be supposed. He is more of a philosopher and moralist than ever; and innocent as his love is, he nevertheless disapproves it. We often dispute about this, but let him take what side he will, he is sure to win; for you know what weight he can give to only apparent reasons. I pity him and his good heart, which really must be in a very melancholy condition, since he loves the most virtuous and perfect of girls |