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! He is gone. I can say no more.' Tell my boys, 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 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. introduced in Werther; but she is even still more interesting to us as the future mother of Bettina. They seem to have looked into each other's eyes, flirted and sentimentalized, 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 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 humor which are curious as products of the Werther period, although of no absolute worth; and we follow him down 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, sketching as if life were a leisure summer day. He returned to Frankfurt, and busied himself with law, literature and painting. Wandering Italians, then rare, brought casts of antique statues to Frankfurt; 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 art-studies 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 you, this one was? - a copy of a tortoiseshell knife-handle inlaid with silver! He has Götz von Berlichingen in his portfolio, and delights in copying 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 honorable 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 Frankfurt Journal gave him constant opportunities for expressing himself on poetry, theology and even politics. Very significant is the following passage from one of these articles in reply to the complaint that the Germans had no Fatherland, no Patriotism : 'When we have a place in the world where we can repose with our property, a field to nourish us, and a house to cover us, have we not there our Fatherland? and have not thousands upon thousands in every city got this? and do they not live happy in their limited sphere? Wherefore, then, this vain striving for a sentiment we neither have nor can have, a sentiment which only in certain nations, and in certain periods, is the result of many concurrent circumstances? Roman patriotism! God defend us from it, as from a giant! we could not find the stool upon which to sit, nor the bed on which to lie in such patriotism?' Through life he seems to have been misled by this sophism. It is noticed here as a detail of his mind at this period; a period, be it observed, when, if ever, he may be supposed ardent in patriotism, since he was then re-writing Gōtz von Berlichingen. He found, on re-reading the manuscript, that, besides the unities of time and place, he had sinned against the higher unity of composition. He says,— In abandoning myself to my imagination, I had not deviated much in the beginning, and the first acts were pretty much as had been intended. In the following acts, however, and especially towards the end, I was uncon |