place his handkerchief. Against the wall, on the right, is a long pear-tree table, with book-shelves, on which stand lexicons and manuals. Here hangs a pincushion, venerable in dust, with the visiting cards, and other trifles which death has made sacred. Here, also, a medallion of Napoleon, with this circumscription: "Scilicet immenso superest ex nomine multum." On the side wall, again, a book-case with some works of poets. On the wall to the left is a long desk of soft wood, at which he was wont to write. On it lie the original manuscripts of Götz and the Elegies, and a bust of Napoleon, in milk-white glass, which in the light shimmers with blue and flame colour; hence prized as an illustration of the Farbenlehre. A sheet of paper with notes of contemporary history is fastened near the door, and behind this door schematic tables of music and geology. The same door leads into a bedroom, if bedroom it can be called, which no maid-of-all-work in England would accept without a murmur. It is a closet with a window. A simple bed, an arm-chair by its side, and a tiny washing-table with a small white basin on it and a sponge, is all the furniture. To enter this room with any feeling for the greatness and goodness of him who slept here, and who here slept his last sleep, brings tears into the eyes and makes the breathing deep. From the other side of the study we enter the library; which should rather be called a lumber-room of books. Rough deal shelves hold the books, with bits of paper on which are written "philosophy", "history", "poetry", etc., to mark the classification. It was very interesting to look over this collection, and the English reader will imagine the feelings with which I took down a volume of Taylor's Historic Survey of German Poetry, sent by Carlyle, and found, in the piece of paper which marked the place, a bit of Carlyle's own handwriting. Such was Goethe's House, during the many years of his occupation. At the time of which we now write, it was of course somewhat different. The pleasure of reconstructing it, and the happiness of being once more at home with Christiane and his boy, able to pursue his studies in peace, were agreeable contrasts with his life in the camp. Meyer had returned from Meyer's historical know Italy, and came to live with him. ledge and true friendship made him very valuable. Optical studies alternated with discussions upon Art. In this year, 1793, much was studied, but little produced. The comedy of the Bürgergeneral was written, that of the Aufgeregten was commenced, and the Unterhaltungen der Ausgewanderten planned. More important was the version of Reinecke Fuchs. All these are products of the French Revolution. The Bürgergeneral is really an amusing little piece, setting forth the absurdity of loud-mouthed patriotism; but it has greatly incensed all those who are angry with Goethe for not having espoused the cause of the Revolution. It is admitted that there was much in the Revolution which was hollow, foolish, and wicked; but the Revolution was too serious a thing to be treated only with ridicule. I quite agree with this opinion. But when I consider his sentiments and position, it seems to me quite natural that he who neither sympathized with the Revolution, nor absolved the Royalists; who could therefore neither write dithyrambs of freedom nor cries of indignation; who did not fully appreciate the historical importance of the event, and only saw its temporal and personal aspect, should have taken to Comedy, and to Comedy alone. He did not write invectives; he did not write satires. He saw the comic aspect, and he smiled. As events deepened the shadows of the picture, he, too, became more serious. The Aufgeregten, which was never completed, would have given a complete expression to his political views. Reinecke Fuchs was commenced as a relief; it was turned to as an "unholy World-bible", wherein the human race exhibited its unadorned and unfeigned animal nature with marvellous humour, in contrast to the bloody exhibition which the Reign of Terror then offered as a spectacle to the world. He was now, May 1794, once more to join the army which was besieging Mainz. The narrative, which is also to be found in Mr. Farie's translation, presents him in no new aspect, and may therefore be passed over with this allusion. The city capitulated on the 24th of July, and on the 28th of Augusthis forty-fifth birth-day-he re-entered Weimar; to finish Reinecke Fuchs, and to pursue his scientific researches. "I go home," he wrote to Jacobi, "where I can draw a circle round me, in which nothing can enter, save Love and Friendship, Science and Art. I will not complain of the past, for I have learnt much that was valuable." Experience is the only schoolmaster; although, as Jean Paul says, "the school-fees are somewhat heavy". Goethe was always willing to pay the fees, if he could but get the instruction. BOOK THE SIXTH. FRIENDSHIP WITH SCHILLER. 1794 to 1805. "Für mich war es ein neuer Frühling, in welchem alles froh neben einander keimte, und aus aufgeschlossenen Samen und Zweigen hervorging." Denn Er war unser! Mag das stoltze Wort Er mochte sich bei uns, im sichern Port Nach wildem Sturm zum Dauernden gewöhnen. GOETHE, OF SCHILLER. |