The Autobiography of Goethe

I felt a similar if not an equal interest for the Indian fables, which I at first learned to know from Dapper's Travels, and likewise added with great pleasure to my store of tales. In subsequent repetitions I succeeded especially with the Altar of Ram; and notwithstanding the great number of persons in this tale, the ape Hannemann remained the favorite of my public. But even these unformed and over-formed monsters could not satisfy me in a true poetic sense; they lay too far from the truth, towards which my mind unceasingly strove.

Taste for Homer.

But against all these goblins, so repulsive to art, my sense for the beautiful was to be protected by the noblest power. Always fortunate is that epoch in a literature when the great works of the past again rise up as if thawed, and come into notice, because they then produce a perfectly fresh effect. Even the Homeric light rose again quite new to us, and indeed quite in the spirit of the time, which highly favoured such an appearance; for the constant reference to nature had at last the effect, that we learned to regard even the works of the ancients from this side. What several travellers had done for explanation of the Holy Scriptures, others had done for Homer. By Guys the matter was introduced; Wood gave it an impulse. A Göttingen review of the original work, which was at first very rare, made us acquainted with the design, and taught us how far it had been carried out. We now no longer saw in those poems a strained and inflated heroism, but the reflected truth of a primeval present, and sought to bring this as closely to us as possible. At the same time we could not give our assent, when it was maintained that in order rightly to understand the Homeric natures, one must make oneself acquainted with the wild races and their manners, as described by the travellers in new worlds; for it cannot be denied that both Europeans and Asiatics are represented in the Homeric poems as at a higher grade of culture, – perhaps higher than the time of the Trojan war could have enjoyed. But that maxim was nevertheless in harmony with the prevailing confession of nature, and so far we let it pass.

With all these occupations, which were related to the knowledge of mankind in the higher sense, as well as most nearly and dearly to poetry, I was nevertheless forced every day to experience that I was residing in Wetzlar. The conversation on the situation of the business of the "Visitation," and its ever-increasing obstacles, the discovery of new offences, was heard every hour. Here was the holy Roman Empire once more assembled, not for mere outward forms, but for an occupation which penetrated to the very depths. But even here that half-empty banqueting-hall on the coronation-day occurred to me, where the bidden guests remained without, because they were too proud. Here, indeed, they had come, but even worse symptoms were to be seen. The want of coherence in the whole, the mutual opposition of the parts, were continually apparent; and it remained no secret that princes had confidentially communicated to each other this notion, that they must see whether, on this occasion, something could not be gained from the supreme authority.

What a bad impression the petty detail of all the anecdotes of neglects and delays, of injustices and corruptions, must make upon a young man who desired what was good, and with this view cultivated his mind, every honest person will feel. Under such circumstances, where was a reverence for the law and the judge to arise? Even if the greatest confidence had been placed in the effects of the "Visitation," – if it could have been believed that it would fully accomplish its high purpose, – there was still no remedy to be found here for a joyous, inwardly-striving youth. The formalities of the proceeding all tended towards delay; if any one desired to do anything, and to be of any importance, he was obliged to serve the party in the wrong – always the accused – and to be skilled in the fencing-art of twisting and evading.

Æsthetic Speculations.

Since, amid this distraction, I could not succeed in any æsthetic labours, I again and again lost myself in æsthetic speculations, as indeed all theorising indicates a defect or stagnation of productive power. Before with Merk, now with Gotter, I endeavoured to find out the maxims according to which one might go to work in production. But neither with me nor with them would it succeed. Merk was a sceptic and eclectic; Gotter adhered to such examples as pleased him the most. The Sulzer theory was published more for the amateur than the artist. In this sphere moral effects are required above all things; and here at once arises a dissension between the class that produces and that which uses; for a good work of art can, and will indeed, have moral consequences; but to require moral ends of the artist, is to destroy his profession.

What the ancients had said on these important subjects I had read industriously for some years, by skips, at least, if not in regular order. Aristotle, Cicero, Quintilian, Longinus – none were unconsidered; but this did not help me in the least, for all these men presupposed an experience which I lacked. They led me into a world infinitely rich in works of art; they unfolded the merits of excellent poets and orators, of most of whom the names alone are left us, and convinced me but too well that a great abundance of objects must lie before us ere we can think upon them; that one must first accomplish something oneself, nay, fail in something, to learn to know one's own capacities, and those of others. My acquaintance with so much that was good in those old times, was only according to school and book, and by no means vital, since, even with the most celebrated, orators, it was striking that they had altogether formed themselves in life, and that one could never speak of the peculiarities of their character as artists, without at the same time mentioning the personal peculiarities of their disposition. With the poets this seemed less to be the case; and thus the result of all my thoughts and endeavours was the old resolution to investigate inner and outer nature, and to allow her to rule herself in loving imitation.

For these operations, which rested in me neither day nor night, lay before me two great, nay, monstrous materials, the wealth of which I had only to prize, in order to produce something of importance. There was the older epoch, into which falls the life of Götz von Berlichingen, and the modern one, the unhappy bloom of which is depicted in Werther. Of the historical preparation to that first work I have already spoken; the ethical occasions of the second shall now be introduced.

The resolution to preserve my internal nature according to its peculiarities, and to let external nature influence me according to its qualities, impelled me to the strange element in which Werther is designed and written. I sought to free myself internally from all that was foreign to me, to regard the external with love, and to allow all beings, from man downwards, as low as they were comprehensible, to act upon me, each after its own kind. Thus arose a wonderful affinity with the single objects of nature, and a hearty concord, a harmony with the whole, so that every change, whether of place and region, or of the times of the day and year, or whatever else could happen, affected me in the deepest manner. The glance of the painter associated itself to that of the poet, the beautiful rural landscape, animated by the pleasant river, increased my love of solitude, and favoured my silent observations as they extended on all sides.

But since I had left the family circle in Sesenheim, and again my family circle at Frankfort and Darmstadt, a vacuum had remained in my bosom which I was not able to fill up; I therefore found myself in a situation where the inclinations, if they appear in any degree veiled, gradually steal upon us, and can render abortive all our good resolutions.

And now, when the author has attained this step of his undertaking, he for the first time feels light-hearted in his labour, since from henceforward this book first becomes what it properly ought to be. It has not been announced as an independent work; it is much more designed to fill up the gaps of an author's life, to complete much that is fragmentary, and to preserve the memory of lost and forgotten ventures. But what is already done neither should nor can be repeated, and the poet would now vainly call upon those darkened powers of the soul, vainly ask of them to render present again those charming circumstances, which rendered the period in Lahnthal so agreeable to him. Fortunately the genius had already provided for that, and had impelled him, in the vigorous period of youth, to hold fast, describe, and with sufficient boldness and at the favourable hour publicly to exhibit that winch had immediately gone by. That the little book Werther is here meant, requires no further indication, but something is to be gradually revealed, both of the persons introduced in it and the views which it exhibits.

Origin of "Werther".

Among the young men, who, attached to the embassy, had to prepare themselves for their future career of office, was one whom we were accustomed to call only the "Bridegroom." He distinguished himself by a calm, agreeable deportment, clearness of views, definiteness both in speaking and in acting. His cheerful activity, his persevering industry so much recommended him to his superiors, that an appointment at an early period was promised him. Being justified by this, he ventured to betroth himself to a lady, who fully corresponded to his tone of mind and his wishes. After the death of her mother, she had shown herself extremely active as the head of a numerous young family, and had alone sustained her father in his widowhood, so that a future husband might hope the same for himself and his posterity, and expect a decided domestic felicity. Every one confessed, without having these selfish ends immediately in view, that she was a desirable lady. She belonged to those who, if they do not inspire ardent passion, are nevertheless formed to create a general feeling of pleasure. A figure lightly built and neatly formed, a pure healthy temperament, with a glad activity of life resulting from it, an unembarrassed management of the necessities of the day – all these were given her together. I always felt happy in the contemplation of such qualities, and I readily associated myself to those who possessed them; and if I did not always find opportunity to render them real service, I rather shared with them than with others the enjoyment of those innocent pleasures which youth can always find at hand, and seize without any great cost or effort. Moreover, since it is now settled that ladies decorate themselves only for each other, and are unwearied among each other to heighten the effect of their adornments, those were always the most agreeable to me, who, with simple purity, give their friend, their bridegroom, the silent assurance that all is really done for him alone, and that a whole life could be so carried on without much circumstance and outlay.

Such persons are not too much occupied with themselves; they have time to consider the external world, and patience enough to direct themselves according to it, and to adapt themselves to it; they become shrewd and sensible without exertion, and require but few books for their cultivation. Such was the bride.57 The bridegroom, with his thoroughly upright and confiding turn of mind, soon made many whom he esteemed acquainted with her; and as he had to pass the greatest part of his day in a zealous attention to business, was pleased when his betrothed, after the domestic toils were ended, amused herself otherwise, and took social recreation in walks and rural parties with friends of both sexes. Lottie – for so we shall call her – was unpretending in two senses; first, by her nature, which was rather directed to a general kindly feeling than to particular inclinations; and then she had set her mind upon a man who, being worthy of her, declared himself ready to attach his fate to hers for life. The most cheerful atmosphere seemed to surround her; nay, if it be a pleasing sight to see parents bestow an uninterrupted care upon their children, there is something still more beautiful when brothers and sisters do the same for each other. In the former case we think we can perceive more of natural impulse and social tradition; in the latter, more of choice and of a free exercise of feeling.

The new comer, perfectly free from all ties, and careless in the presence of a girl who, already engaged to another, could not interpret the most obliging services as acts of courtship, and could take the more pleasure in them accordingly, quietly went his way, but was soon so drawn in and rivetted, that he no longer knew himself. Indolent and dreamy, because nothing present satisfied him, he found what he had lacked in a female friend, who, while she lived for the whole year, seemed only to live for the moment. She liked him much as her companion; he soon could not bear her absence, as she formed for him the connecting link with the every-day world; and during extensive household occupations, they were inseparable companions in the fields and in the meadows, in the vegetable-ground and in the garden. If business permitted, the bridegroom was also of the party; they had all three accustomed themselves to each other without intention, and did not know how they had become so mutually indispensable. During the splendid summer they lived through a real German idyl, to which the fertile land gave the form and a pure affection the poetry. Wandering through ripe corn-fields, they took delight in the dewy morning; the song of the lark, the cry of the quail, were pleasant tones; sultry hours followed, monstrous storms came on, – they grew more and more attached to each other, and by this continuous love many a little domestic annoyance was easily extinguished. And thus one ordinary day followed another, and all seemed to be holidays, – the whole calendar should have been printed red. He will understand me who recollects what was predicted by the happily unhappy friend of the "New Heloise: " "And sitting at the feet of his beloved, he will break hemp, and he will wish to break hemp to-day, to-morrow, and the day after, nay, for his whole life."

Young Jerusalem.

I can say but little, though just as much as may be necessary, respecting a young man, whose name was afterwards but too often mentioned. This was Jerusalem, the son of the freely and tenderly thinking theologian. He also had an appointment with an embassy; his form was pleasing, of a middle height, and well built; his face was rather round than long; his features were soft and calm, and he had the other appurtenances of a handsome blond youth, with blue eyes, rather attractive than speaking. His dress was that introduced in Lower Germany in imitation of the English, – a blue frock, waistcoat and breeches of yellow leather, and boots with brown tops. The author never visited him, nor saw him at his own residence, but often met him among his friends. The expressions of this young man were moderate but kindly. He took interest in productions of the most different kinds, and especially loved those designs and sketches in which the the tranquil character of solitary spots is caught. On such occasions he showed Gesner's etchings, and encouraged the amateurs to study them. In all that mummery and knighthood he took no part, but lived for himself and his own sentiments. It was said he had a decided passion for the wife of one of as friends. In public they were never seen together. In general very little could be said of him, except that he occupied himself with English literature. As the son of an opulent man, he had no occasion either painfully to devote himself to business, or to make pressing applications for an early appointment.

Those etchings by Gesner increased the pleasure and interest in rural objects, and a little poem, which we passionately received into our circle, allowed us from henceforward to think of nothing else. Goldsmith's Deserted Village necessarily delighted every one at that grade of cultivation, in that sphere of thought. Not as living and active, but as a departed, vanished existence was described, all that one so readily looked upon, that one loved, prized, sought passionately in the present, to take part in it with the cheerfulness of youth. Highdays and holidays in the country, church consecrations and fairs, the solemn assemblage of the elders under the village linden-tree, supplanted in its turn by the lively delight of youth in dancing, while the more educated classes show their sympathy. How seemly did these pleasures appear, moderated as they were by an excellent country pastor, who understood how to smooth down and remove all that went too far, – that gave occasion to quarrel and dispute. Here again we found an honest Wakefield, in his well-known circle, yet no longer in his living bodily form, but as a shadow recalled by the soft mournful tones of the elegiac poet. The very thought of this picture is one of the happiest possible, when once the design is formed to evoke once more an innocent past with a graceful melancholy. And in this kindly endeavour, how well has the Englishman succeeded in every sense of the word! I shared the enthusiasm for this charming poem with Gotter, who was more felicitous than myself with the translation undertaken by us both; for I had too painfully tried to imitate in our language the delicate significance of the original, and thus had well agreed with single passages, but not with the whole.

If now, as they say, the greatest happiness rests on a sense of longing (sehnsucht), and if the genuine longing can only be directed to something unattainable, everything had fallen together to render the youth whom we now accompany on his wanderings the happiest of mortals. An affection for one betrothed to another, the effort to acquire the masterpieces of foreign literature for our own, the endeavour to imitate natural objects, not only with words, but also with style and pencil, without any proper technical knowledge, – each of these particulars would singly have sufficed to me melt the heart and oppress the bosom. But, that the sweetly suffering youth might be torn out of this state, and that new circumstances might be prepared for new disquiet, the following events occurred: —

Höpfner.

Höpfner, professor of law, was at Giessen. He was acknowledged and highly esteemed by Merck and Schlosser as clever in his office, and as a thinking and excellent man. I had long ago desired his acquaintance, and now, when these two friends thought to pay him a visit, to negotiate about some literary matters, it was agreed that I should likewise go to Giessen on this opportunity. Because, however – as generally happens with the wilfulness of glad and peaceful times – we could not easily do anything in the direct way, but, like genuine children, sought to get a jest even out of what was necessary, I was now, as an unknown person, to appear in a strange form, and once more satisfy my desire to appear disguised. One cheerful morning, before sunrise, I went from Wetzlar along the Lahne, up the charming valley; such ramblings again constituted my greatest felicity. I invented, connected, elaborated, and was quietly happy and cheerful with myself; I set right what the ever-contradictory world had clumsily and confusedly forced upon me. Arrived at the end of my journey, I looked out for Höpfner's residence, and knocked at his study. When he had cried out, "Come in!" I modestly appeared before him as a student who was going home from the universities, and wished on his way to become acquainted with the most worthy men. For his questions as to my more intimate circumstances, I was prepared; I made up a plausible, prosaic tale, with which he seemed satisfied, and as I gave myself out for a jurist, I did not come off badly; for I well knew his merits in this department, and also that he was occupied with natural law. Conversation, however, sometimes came to a stand, and it seemed as if he were looking for a Stammbuch58 or for me to take my leave. Nevertheless, I managed to delay my departure, as I expected with certainty the arrival of Schlosser, whose punctuality was well known to me. He came in reality, and after a side glance, took little notice of me. Höpfner, however, drew me into conversation, and showed himself throughout as a humane and kindly man. I at last took my leave, and hastened to the inn, where I exchanged a few hurried words with Merck, and awaited further proceedings.

The friends had resolved to ask Höpfner to dinner, and also that Christian Heinrich Schmidt who had played a part, though a very subordinate one, in German literature. For him the affair was really designed, and he was to be punished in a mirthful manner. When the guests had assembled in the dining-room, I asked, through the waiter, whether the gentlemen would allow me to dine with them. Schlosser, whom a certain earnestness well became, opposed this proposition, because they did not wish their conversation interrupted by a third party. But, on the pressing demand of the waiter and the advocacy of Höpfner, who assured the other that I was a very tolerable person, I was admitted, and at the commencement of the meal behaved as if modest and abashed. Schlosser and Merck put no restraint upon themselves, and went on about many subjects as freely as if no stranger were present. I now showed myself somewhat bolder, and did not allow myself to be disturbed when Schlosser threw out at me much that was in earnest, and Merck something sarcastic; but I directed against Schmidt all my darts, which fell sharply and surely on the uncovered places which I well knew.

I had been moderate over my pint of table-wine, but the gentlemen ordered better wine to be brought, and did not fail to give me some. After many affairs of the day had been talked over, conversation went into general matters, and the question was discussed, which will be repeated as long as there are authors in the world, – the question, namely, whether literature was rising or declining, progressing or retrograding? This question, about which old and young, those commencing and those retiring, seldom agree, was discussed with cheerfulness, though without any exact design of coming decidedly to terms about it. At last I took up the discourse, and said, "The different literatures, as it seems to me, have seasons, which alternating with each other, as in nature, bring forth certain phenomena, and assert themselves in due order. Hence I do not believe that any epoch of a literature can be praised or blamed on the whole; especially it displeases me when certain talents, which are brought out by their time, are raised and vaunted so highly, while others are censured and depreciated. The throat of the nightingale is excited by the spring, but at the same time also that of the cuckoo. The butterflies, which are so agreeable to the eye, and the gnats, which are so painful to the feelings, are called into being by the same heat of the sun. If this were duly considered, we should not hear the same complaints renewed every ten years, and the vain trouble which is taken to root out this or that offensive thing, would not so often be wasted." The party looked at me, wondering whence I had got so much wisdom and tolerance. I, however, continued quite calmly to compare literary phenomena with natural productions, and (I know not how) came to the molluscæ, of which I contrived to set forth all sorts of strange things. I said that there were creatures to whom a sort of body, nay, a certain figure, could not be denied; but that, since they had no bones, one never knew how to set about rightly with them, and they were nothing better than living slime; nevertheless, the sea must have such inhabitants. Since I carried the simile beyond its due limits to designate Schmidt, who was present, and that class of characterless littérateurs, I was reminded that a simile carried too far at last becomes nothing. "Well, then, I will return to the earth," I replied, "and speak of the ivy. As these creatures have no bones, so this has no trunk; but wherever it attaches itself, it likes to play the chief part. It belongs to old walls, in which there is nothing more to destroy; but from new buildings it is properly removed. It sucks up the goodness of the trees; and is most insupportable to me when it clambers up a post, and assures me that this is a living trunk, because it has covered it with leaves."