sidered, lead to suicide; if it does so, wrongly considered, it is the proximate cause, and the author cannot easily shake off that weight of blame. Goethe, standing upon logic, might have said: 'If Plato instigated the suicide of Cleombrotus, certainly he averted that of Olympiodorus ; if I have been one of the causes which moved this girl towards that fatal act, I have also certainly been the cause of saving others, notably that young Frenchman who wrote to thank me.' He might have argued thus; but Conscience is tenderer than Logic; and if, in firing at a wild beast, I kill a brother hunter, my conscience will not leave me altogether in peace. The body was borne to the house of the Frau von Stein, which stood nearest the spot, and there he remained with it the whole day, exerting himself to console the wretched parents. He himself had need of some consolation. It affected him deeply, and led him to speculate on all cognate subjects, especially on melancholy. 'This inviting sadness,' he beautifully says, has a dangerous fascination, like water itself, and we are charmed by the reflex of the stars of heaven which shines through both.' He was soon, however, 'forced into theatrical levity' by the various rehearsals necessary for the piece to be performed on the birthday of the Duchess. This was the Triumph der Empfindsamkeit. The adventure with Plessing, and finally this tragedy of the Fräulein von Lassberg had given increased force to his antagonism against Wertherism and Sentimentality, which he now lashed with unsparing redicule. The hero of this extravaganza is a Prince, whose soul is only fit for moonlight ecstasies and sentimental rhapsodies. He adores Nature; not the rude, rough, imperfect Nature whose gigantic energy would alarm any truly sensitive mind; but the beautiful rose-pink Nature of books. He likes Nature as one sees it at the Opera. Rocks are picturesque, it is true; but they are often crowned with tiaras of snow, sparkling but apt to make one chilly; turbulent winds howl through their clefts and crannies in a style alarming to delicate nerves. The Prince is not fond of the winds. Sunrise and early morn are lovely — but damp; and the Prince is liable to rheumatism. To obviate all such inconveniences he has had a mechanical imitation of Nature executed for his use, and this accompanies him on his travels; so that at a moment's notice, in secure defiance of rheumatism, he can enjoy a moonlight scene, a sunny landscape, or a sombre grove. He is in love; but his mistress is as factitious as his landscapes. Woman is charming but capricious, fond but exacting; and therefore the Prince has a doll dressed in the same style as the woman he once loved. By the side of this doll he passes hours of rapture; for it he sighs; for it he rhapsodizes. - The real woman appears the original of that much treasured image. Is he enraptured? Not in the least. His heart does not palpitate in her presence; he does not recognize her; but throws himself once more into the arms of his doll, and thus sensibility triumphs. There are five acts of this exquisite fooling.' Origi nally it was much coarser and more personal than we now see it. Böttiger says that there scarcely remains a shadow. of its flashing humor and satiric caprice. The whip of Aristophanes was applied with powerful wrist to every fashionable folly, in dress, literature, or morals, and the spectators saw themselves as in a mirror of sarcasm. At the conclusion, the doll was ripped open, and out fell a multitude of books, such as were then the rage, upon which severe and ludicrous judgments were passed — and the severest upon Werther. The whole piece was inter spersed with ballets, music and comical changes of scene; so that what now appears a tiresome farce, was then an irresistible extravaganza. This extravaganza has the foolery of Aristophanes, and the physical fun' of that riotous wit, whom Goethe was then studying. But when German critics are in ecstasies with its wit and irony, I confess myself at a loss to conceive clearly what they mean. National wit, however, is perhaps scarcely amenable to criticism. What the German thinks exquisitely ludicrous, is to a Frenchman, or an Englishman, generally of a quite mediocre mirthfulness. Wit, which requires delicate handling, the Germans generally touch with gloved hands. Sarcasm is with them a sabre not a rapier, hacking the victim where a thrust would suffice. It is a noticeable fact that amid all the riches of their Literature they have nothing strictly speaking Comic of a high order. They have produced no Comedy. To them may be applied the couplet wherein the great original of Grotesque Seriousness sets forth his verdict: Κωμωδοδιδασκαλίαν είναι χαλεπωτατον έργον ἁπαντων, which I will venture to turn thus: Miss Comedy is a sad flirt, you may guess, From the number who court her, the few she doth bless! *Aristophanes, Equites, v. 516. CHAPTER VIII. THE REAL PHILANTHROPIST. A STRANGE phantasmagoria is the life he led at this epoch. His employments are manifold, yet his studies, his drawing, etching and rehearsing are carried on as if they alone were the occupation of the day. His immense activity, and power of varied employment, scatter the energies which might be consecrated to some great work; but in return, they give him the varied store of material of which he stood so much in need. At this time he is writing Wilhelm Meister and Egmont; Iphigenia is also taking shape in his mind. His office gives him much to do; and Gervinus, who must have known how great were the calls upon his time, should have paused ere he threw out the insinuation of diplomatic rudeness' when Goethe answered one of his brother-in-law's letters through his secretary. Surely with a brother-in-law one may take such latitude? * 6 This man, whose diplomatic coldness and artistocratic haughtiness have formed the theme of so many long tirades, was of all Germans the most sincerely democratic, until the Reign of Terror in France frightened him, as it *Since the above was written, the correspondence with the Frau v. Stein has appeared; and from it we learn that in Switzerland he even dictated some letters to her! did others, into more modified opinions. Not only was he always delighted to be with the people, and to share their homely ways, which his own simple tastes made consonant with theirs, but we find him in the confidence of intimacy expressing his sympathy with the people in the heartiest terms. When among the miners he writes to his beloved, 'How strong my love has returned upon me for these lower classes! which one calls the lower, but which in God's eyes are assuredly the highest! Here you meet all the virtues combined: Contentedness, Moderation, Truth, Straightforwardness, Joy in the slightest good, Harmlessness, Patience - Patience Constancy in - in... I will not lose myself in panegyric!' Again, he is writing Iphigenia, but the news of the misery and famine among the stocking-weavers of Apolda paralyzes him. The Drama will not advance a step: it is cursed; the King of Tauris must speak as if no stocking-weaver in Apolda felt the pangs of hunger!' 6 In striking contrast stands the expression of his contempt for what was called the great world,' as he watched it in his visits to the neighboring Courts. If affection bound him to Karl August, whom he was forming, and to Luise, for whom he had a tender chivalrous regard, his eyes were not blind to the nullity of other princes and their followers. 'Good society have I seen,' runs one of his epigrams; they call it the "good," although there is not in it the material for the smallest of poems.' Gute Gesellschaft hab' ich gesehen; man nennt sie die Gute Wenn sie zum kleinstein Gedicht keine Gelegenheit giebt. Notably was this the case in his journey with the Duke to Berlin, May 1778. He only remained a few days there ; saw much, and not without contempt. 'I have got quite close to old Fritz, having seen his way of life, |