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which surround her. The Bear of the menagerie is a portrait of himself.

Turning to Art for consolation, he began the tragedy of Egmont, which he completed, many years afterwards, in Italy. It was a work which demanded more repose than could be found in his present condition. That condition was unhealthy; and I hasten to the dénouement of an episode, which, amid fluctuations of feeling, steadily advanced to an end which must have been foreseen. The betrothal was cancelled. He was once more free. Free, but not happy. His heart still yearned for her, because there lay in his nature a need of loving, rather than because she was the woman fitted to share his life. He lingered about the house o' nights, wrapped in his mantle, satisfied if he could catch a glimpse of her shadow on the blind, as she moved about the room. her singing at the piano. His pulses tinguished his own song:

One night he heard
throbbed, as he dis-

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the song he had written in the morning of their happiness! Her voice ceased. She rose, and walked up and down the room, little dreaming that her lover was beneath her window, torn by terrible emotions.

To give decision to his wavering feelings there came, most opportunely, a visitor to Frankfurt. This was in September. Karl August, with his bride, on his way to Weimar, once more pressed him to spend a few weeks at his court. The rapid inclination which had sprung up between the Prince and the Poetthe desire to see something of the great world- the desire, moreover, to quit Frankfurt, all combined to make him eagerly accept the invitation. His father, indeed, tried to dissuade him;

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partly because he liked not the intercourse of plain citizens with princes, partly because the recent experience of Voltaire with Frederick the Great seemed to point to an inevitable termination in disgrace, if not evaded by servility. His consent was extorted at last, however, and Goethe quitted forever the paternal roof.

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BOOK THE FOURTH.

THE GENIALISCH-PERIOD IN WEIMAR.

1775 to 1779.

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Quis novus hic nostris successit sedibus hospes ?
Quem sese ore ferens! quam forti pectore et armis !
Credo equidem, nec vana fides, genus esse Deorum.'

Virgil.

Tolle Zeiten hab' ich erlebt und hab' nicht ermangelt, Selbst auch thöricht zu sein wie es die Zeit mir gebot.'

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