Biographical Essays

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Goethe, in his Memoirs, (Book VI.,) commends his father for the
zeal with which he superintended the education of his children. But
apparently it was a zeal without knowledge. Many things were taught
imperfectly, but all casually, and as chance suggested them.
Italian was studied a little, because the elder Goethe had made an
Italian tour, and had collected some Italian books, and engravings
by Italian masters. Hebrew was studied a little, because Goethe the
son had a fancy for it, partly with a view to theology, and partly
because there was a Jewish quarter, gloomy and sequestrated, in the
city of Frankfort. French offered itself no doubt on many
suggestions, but originally on occasion of a French theatre,
supported by the staff of the French army when quartered in the
same city. Latin was gathered in a random way from a daily sense of
its necessity. English upon the temptation of a stranger's
advertisement, promising upon moderate terms to teach that language
in four weeks; a proof, by the way, that the system of bold
innovations in the art of tuition had already commenced. Riding and
fencing were also attempted under masters apparently not very highly
qualified, and in the same desultory style of application. Dancing
was taught to his family, strange as it may seem, by Mr. Goethe
himself. There is good reason to believe that not one of all these
accomplishments was possessed by Goethe, when ready to visit the
university, in a degree which made it practically of any use to
him. Drawing and music were pursued confessedly as amusements; and
it would be difficult to mention any attainment whatsoever which
Goethe had carried to a point of excellence in the years which he
spent under his father's care, unless it were his mastery over the
common artifices of metre and the common topics of rhetoric, which
fitted him for writing what are called occasional poems and
_impromptus_. This talent he possessed in a remarkable degree,
and at an early age; but he owed its cultivation entirely to
himself.

In a city so orderly as Frankfort, and in a station privileged from
all the common hardships of poverty, it can hardly be expected that
many incidents should arise, of much separate importance in
themselves, to break the monotony of life; and the mind of Goethe
was not contemplative enough to create a value for common
occurrences through any peculiar impressions which he had derived
from them. In the years 1763 and 1764, when he must have been from
fourteen to fifteen years old, Goethe witnessed the inauguration
and coronation of a king of the Romans, a solemn spectacle
connected by prescription with the city of Frankfort. He describes
it circumstantially, but with very little feeling, in his Memoirs.
Probably the prevailing sentiment, on looking back at least to this
transitory splendor of dress, processions, and ceremonial forms,
was one of cynical contempt. But this he could not express, as a
person closely connected with a German court, without giving much
and various offence. It is with some timidity even that he hazards
a criticism upon single parts of the costume adopted by some of the
actors in that gorgeous scene. White silk stockings, and pumps of
the common form, he objects to as out of harmony with the antique
and heraldic aspects of the general costume, and ventures to
suggest either boots or sandals as an improvement. Had Goethe felt
himself at liberty from all restraints of private consideration in
composing these Memoirs, can it be doubted that he would have taken
his retrospect of this Frankfort inauguration from a different
station; from the station of that stern revolution which, within
his own time, and partly under his own eyes, had shattered the
whole imperial system of thrones, in whose equipage this gay
pageant made so principal a figure, had humbled Caesar himself to
the dust, and left him an emperor without an empire? We at least,
for our parts, could not read without some emotion one little
incident of these gorgeous scenes recorded by Goethe, namely, that
when the emperor, on rejoining his wife for a few moments, held up
to her notice his own hands and arms arrayed in the antique
habiliments of Charlemagne, Maria Theresa--she whose children where
summoned to so sad a share in the coming changes--gave way to
sudden bursts of loud laughter, audible to the whole populace below
her. That laugh on surveying the departing pomps of Charlemagne,
must, in any contemplative ear, have rung with a sound of deep
significance, and with something of the same effect which belongs
to a figure of death introduced by a painter, as mixing in the
festal dances of a bridal assembly.

These pageants of 1763-64 occupy a considerable space in Goethe's
Memoirs, and with some _logical_ propriety at least, in
consideration of their being exclusively attached to Frankfort, and
connected by manifold links of person and office with the
privileged character of the city. Perhaps he might feel a sort of
narrow local patriotism in recalling these scenes to public notice
by description, at a time when they had been irretrievably
extinguished as realities. But, after making every allowance for
their local value to a Frankfort family, and for their memorable
splendor, we may venture to suppose that by far the most impressive
remembrances which had gathered about the boyhood of Goethe, were
those which pointed to Frederick of Prussia. This singular man, so
imbecile as a pretender to philosophy and new lights, so truly
heroic under misfortunes, was the first German who created a German
interest, and gave a transient unity to the German name, under all
its multiplied divisions. Were it only for this conquest of
difficulties so peculiar, he would deserve his German designation
of Fred. the Unique, (_Fritz der einzige_.) He had been
partially tried and known previously; but it was the Seven Years'
War which made him the popular idol. This began in 1756; and to
Frankfort, in a very peculiar way, that war brought dissensions and
heart-burnings in its train. The imperial connections of the city
with many public and private interests, pledged it to the
anti-Prussian cause. It happened also that the truly German
character of the reigning imperial family, the domestic habits of
the empress and her young daughters, and other circumstances, were
of a nature to endear the ties of policy; self-interest and
affection pointed in the same direction. And yet were all these
considerations allowed to melt away before the brilliant qualities
of one man, and the romantic enthusiasm kindled by his victories.
Frankfort was divided within herself; the young and the generous
were all dedicated to Frederick. A smaller party, more cautious and
prudent, were for the imperialists. Families were divided upon this
question against families, and often against themselves; feuds,
begun in private, issued often into public violence; and, according
to Goethe's own illustration, the streets were vexed by daily
brawls, as hot and as personal as of old between the Capulets and
Montagues.

These dissensions, however, were pursued with not much personal
risk to any of the Goethes, until a French army passed the Rhine as
allies of the imperialists. One corps of this force took up their
quarters in Frankfort; and the Comte Thorane, who held a high
appointment on the staff, settled himself for a long period of time
in the spacious mansion of Goethe's father. This officer, whom his
place made responsible for the discipline of the army in relation
to the citizens, was naturally by temper disposed to moderation and
forbearance. He was indeed a favorable specimen of French military
officers under the old system; well bred, not arrogant, well
informed, and a friend of the fine arts. For painting, in
particular, he professed great regard and some knowledge. The
Goethes were able to forward his views amongst German artists;
whilst, on the other hand, they were pleased to have thus an
opportunity of directing his patronage towards some of their own
needy connections. In this exchange of good offices, the two
parties were for some time able to maintain a fair appearance of
reciprocal good-will. This on the comte's side, if not particularly
warm, was probably sincere; but in Goethe the father it was a
masque for inveterate dislike. A natural ground of this existed in
the original relations between them. Under whatever disguise or
pretext, the Frenchman was in fact a military intruder. He occupied
the best suite of rooms in the house, used the furniture as his
own; and, though upon private motives he abstained from doing all
the injury which his situation authorized, (so as in particular to
have spread his fine military maps upon the floor, rather than
disfigure the decorated walls by nails,) still he claimed credit,
if not services of requital, for all such instances of forbearance.
Here were grievances enough; but, in addition to these, the comte's
official appointments drew upon him a weight of daily business,
which kept the house in a continual uproar. Farewell to the quiet
of a literary amateur, and the orderliness of a German household.
Finally, the comte was a Frenchman. These were too many assaults
upon one man's patience. It Will be readily understood, therefore,
how it happened, that, whilst Goethe's gentle minded mother, with
her flock of children, continued to be on the best terms with Comte
Thorane, the master of the house kept moodily aloof, and retreated
from all intercourse.

Goethe, in his own Memoir, enters into large details upon this
subject; and from him we shall borrow the _denouement_ of the
tale. A crisis had for some time been lowering over the French
affairs in Frankfort; things seemed ripening for a battle; and at
last it came. Flight, siege, bombardment, possibly a storm, all
danced before the eyes of the terrified citizens. Fortunately,
however, the battle took place at the distance of four or five
miles from Frankfort. Monsieur le Comte was absent, of course, on
the field of battle. His unwilling host thought that on such an
occasion he also might go out in quality of spectator; and with
this purpose he connected another, worthy of a Parson Adams. It is
his son who tells the story, whose filial duty was not proof
against his sense of the ludicrous. The old gentleman's hatred of
the French had by this time brought him over to his son's
admiration of the Prussian hero. Not doubting for an instant that
victory would follow that standard, he resolved on this day to
offer in person his congratulations to the Prussian army, whom he
already viewed as his liberator from a domestic nuisance. So
purposing, he made his way cautiously to the suburbs; from the
suburbs, still listening at each advance, he went forward to the
country; totally forgetting, as his son insists, that, however
completely beaten, the French army must still occupy some situation
or other between himself and his German deliverer. Coming, however,
at length to a heath, he found some of those marauders usually to
be met with in the rear of armies, prowling about, and at intervals
amusing themselves with shooting at a mark. For want of a better,
it seemed not improbable that a large German head might answer
their purpose. Certain signs admonished him of this, and the old
gentleman crept back to Frankfort. Not many hours after came back
also the comte, by no means creeping, however; on the contrary,
crowing with all his might for a victory which he averred himself
to have won. There had in fact been an affair, but on no very great
scale, and with no distinguished results. Some prisoners, however,
he brought, together with some wounded; and naturally he expected
all well disposed persons to make their compliments of
congratulation upon this triumph. Of this duty poor Mrs. Goethe and
her children cheerfully acquitted themselves that same night; and
Monsieur le Comte was so well pleased with the sound opinions of
the little Goethes, that he sent them in return a collection of
sweetmeats and fruits. All promised to go well; intentions, after
all, are not acts; and there certainly is not, nor ever was, any
treason in taking a morning's walk. But, as ill luck would have it,
just as Mr. Goethe was passing the comte's door, out came the comte
in person, purely by accident, as we are told; but we suspect that
the surly old German, either under his morning hopes or his evening
disappointments, had talked with more frankness than prudence.
"Good evening to you, Herr Goethe," said the comte; "you are come,
I see, to pay your tribute of congratulation. Somewhat of the
latest, to be sure; but no matter." "By no means," replied the
German;" by no means; _mit nichten_. Heartily I wished, the
whole day long, that you and your cursed gang might all go to the
devil together. "Here was plain speaking, at least. The Comte
Thorane could no longer complain of dissimulation. His first
movement was to order an arrest; and the official interpreter of
the French army took to himself the whole credit that he did not
carry it into effect. Goethe takes the trouble to report a
dialogue, of length and dulness absolutely incredible, between this
interpreter and the comte. No such dialogue, we may be assured,
ever took place. Goethe may, however, be right in supposing that,
amongst a foreign soldiery, irritated by the pointed contrasts
between the Frankfort treatment of their own wounded, and of their
prisoners who happened to be in the same circumstances, and under a
military council not held to any rigorous responsibility, his
father might have found no very favorable consideration of his
case. It is well, therefore, that after some struggle the comte's
better nature triumphed. He suffered Mrs. Goethe's merits to
outweigh her husband's delinquency; countermanded the order for
arrest, and, during the remainder of their connection, kept at such
a distance from his moody host as was equally desirable for both.
Fortunately that remainder was not very long. Comte Thorane was
soon displaced; and the whole army was soon afterwards withdrawn
from Frankfort.

In his fifteenth year Goethe was entangled in some connection with
young people of inferior rank, amongst whom was Margaret, a young
girl about two years older than himself, and the object of his
first love. The whole affair, as told by Goethe, is somewhat
mysterious. What might be the final views of the elder parties it
is difficult to say; but Goethe assures us that they used his
services only in writing an occasional epithalamium, the pecuniary
acknowledgment for which was spent jovially in a general banquet.
The magistrates, however, interfered, and endeavored to extort a
confession from Goethe. He, as the son of a respectable family, was
to be pardoned; the others to be punished. No confession, however,
could be extorted; and for his own part he declares that, beyond
the offence of forming a clandestine connection, he had nothing to
confess. The affair terminated, as regarded himself, in a severe
illness. Of the others we hear no more.

The next event of importance in Goethe's life was his removal to
college. His own wishes pointed to Goettingen, but his father
preferred Leipsic. Thither accordingly he went, but he carried his
obedience no farther. Declining the study of jurisprudence, he
attached himself to general literature. Subsequently he removed to
the university of Strasburg; but in neither place could it be said
that he pursued any regular course of study. His health suffered at
times during this period of his life; at first from an affection of
the chest, caused by an accident on his first journey to Leipsic;
the carriage had stuck fast in the muddy roads, and Goethe exerted
himself too much in assisting to extricate the wheels. A second
illness connected with the digestive organs brought him into
considerable danger.

After his return to Frankfort, Goethe commenced his career as an
author. In 1773, and the following year, he made his maiden essay
in _Goetz of Berlichingen_, a drama, (the translation of
which, remarkably enough, was destined to be the literary _coup
d'essai_ of Sir Walter Scott,) and in the far-famed
_Werther_. The first of these was pirated; and in consequence
the author found some difficulty in paying for the paper of the
genuine edition, which part of the expense, by his contract with
the publisher, fell upon himself. The general and early popularity
of the second work is well known. Yet, except in so far as it might
spread his name abroad, it cannot be supposed to have had much
influence in attracting that potent patronage which now began to
determine the course of his future life. So much we collect from
the account which Goethe himself has left us of this affair in its
earliest stages.

"I was sitting alone in my room," says he, "at my father's house in
Frankfort, when a gentleman entered, whom at first I took for
Frederick Jacobi, but soon discovered by the dubious light to be a
stranger. He had a military air; and announcing himself by the name
of Von Knebel, gave me to understand in a short explanation, that
being in the Prussian service, he had connected himself, during a
long residence at Berlin and Potsdam, with the literati of those
places; but that at present he held the appointment from the court
of Weimar of travelling tutor to the Prince Constantine. This I
heard with pleasure; for many of our friends had brought us the
most interesting accounts from Weimar, in particular that the
Duchess Amelia, mother of the young grand duke and his brother,
summoned to her assistance in educating her sons the most
distinguished men in Germany; and that the university of Jena
cooperated powerfully in all her liberal plans. I was aware also
that Wieland was in high favor; and that the German Mercury (a
literary journal of eminence) was itself highly creditable to the
city of Jena, from which it issued. A beautiful and well-conducted
theatre had besides, as I knew, been lately established at Weimar.
This, it was true, had been destroyed; but that event, under common
circumstances so likely to be fatal as respected the present, had
served only to call forth the general expression of confidence in
the young prince as a restorer and upholder of all great interests,
and true to his purposes under any calamity." Thinking thus, and
thus prepossessed in favor of Weimar, it was natural that Goethe
should be eager to see the prince. Nothing was easier. It happened
that he and his brother Constantine were at this moment in
Frankfort, and Von Knebel willingly offered to present Goethe. No
sooner said than done; they repaired to the hotel, where they found
the illustrious travellers, with Count Goertz, the tutor of the
elder.

Upon this occasion an accident, rather than any previous reputation
of Goethe, was probably the determining occasion which led to his
favor with the future sovereign of Weimar. A new book lay upon the
table; that none of the strangers had read it, Goethe inferred from
observing that the leaves were as yet uncut. It was a work of
Moser, (_Patriotische Phantasien_;) and, being political
rather than literary in its topics, it presented to Goethe,
previously acquainted with its outline, an opportunity for
conversing with the prince upon subjects nearest to his heart, and
of showing that he was not himself a mere studious recluse. The
opportunity was not lost; the prince and his tutor were much
interested, and perhaps a little surprised. Such subjects have the
further advantage, according to Goethe's own illustration, that,
like the Arabian thousand and one nights, as conducted by Sultana
Scheherezade, "never ending, still beginning," they rarely come to
any absolute close, but so interweave one into another, as still to
leave behind a large arrear of interest In order to pursue the
conversation, Goethe was invited to meet them soon after at Mentz.
He kept the appointment punctually; made himself even more
agreeable; and finally received a formal invitation to enter the
service of this excellent prince, who was now beginning to collect
around him all those persons who have since made Weimar so
distinguished a name in connection with the German literature. With
some opposition from his father, who held up the rupture between
Voltaire and Frederick of Prussia as a precedent applying to all
possible connections of princes and literati, Goethe accepted the
invitation; and hence forwards, for upwards of fifty-five years, his
fortunes were bound up with those of the ducal house of Weimar.

The noble part which that house played in the great modern drama of
German politics is well known, and would have been better known had
its power been greater. But the moral value of its sacrifices and
its risks is not the less. Had greater potentates shown equal
firmness, Germany would not have been laid at the feet of Napoleon.
In 1806 the grand duke was aware of the peril which awaited the
allies of Prussia; but neither his heart nor his conscience would
allow of his deserting a friend in whose army he held a principal
command. The decisive battle took place in his own territory, and
not far from his own palace and city of Weimar. Personally he was
with the Prussian army; but his excellent consort stayed in the
palace to encourage her subjects, and as far as possible to
conciliate the enemy by her presence. The fortune of that great
day, the 14th of October, 1806, was decided early; and the awful
event was announced by a hot retreat and a murderous pursuit
through the streets of the town. In the evening Napoleon arrived in
person; and now came the trying moment. "The duchess," says an
Englishman well acquainted with Weimar and its court, "placed
herself on the top of the staircase to greet him with the formality
of a courtly reception. Napoleon started when he beheld her, _Qui
etes vous_? he exclaimed with characteristic abruptness. _Je
suis la Duchesse de Weimar. Je vous plains_, he retorted
fiercely, J'ecraserai votre mari; he then added, 'I shall dine in
my apartment,' and rushed by her. The night was spent on the part
of the soldiery in all the horrid excesses of rapine. In the
morning the duchess sent to inquire concerning the health of his
majesty the emperor, and to solicit an audience. He, who had now
benefited by his dreams, or by his reflections, returned a gracious
answer, and invited himself to breakfast with her in her
apartment." In the conversation which ensued, Napoleon asked her if
her husband were mad, upon which she justified the duke by
appealing to his own magnanimity, asking in her turn if his majesty
would have approved of his deserting the king of Prussia at the
moment when he was attacked by so potent a monarch as himself. The
rest of the conversation was in the same spirit, uniting with a
sufficient concession to the circumstances of the moment a
dignified vindication of a high-minded policy. Napoleon was deeply
impressed with respect for her, and loudly expressed it. For her
sake, indeed, he even affected to pardon her husband, thus making a
merit with her of the necessity which he felt, from other motives,
for showing forbearance towards a family so nearly allied to that
of St. Petersburg. In 1813 the grand duke was found at his post in
that great gathering of the nations which took place on the
stupendous fields of Leipsic, and was complimented by the allied
sovereigns as one of the most faithful amongst the faithful to the
great cause, yet undecided, of national independence.

With respect to Goethe, as a councillor so near the duke's person,
it may be supposed that his presence was never wanting where it
promised to be useful. In the earlier campaigns of the duke, Goethe
was his companion; but in the final contest with Napoleon be was
unequal to the fatigues of such a post. In all the functions of
peace, however, he continued to be a useful servant to the last,
though long released from all official duties. Each had indeed most
honorably earned the gratitude of the other. Goethe had surrendered
the flower of his years and the best energies of his mind to the
service of his serene master. On the other hand, that master had to
him been at once his Augustus and his Maecenas; such is his own
expression. Under him he had founded a family, raised an estate,
obtained titles and decorations from various courts; and in the
very vigor of his life he had been allowed to retire, with all the
honors of long service, to the sanctuary of his own study, and to
the cultivation of his leisure, as the very highest mode in which
he could further the public interest.

The life of Goethe was so quiet and so uniform after the year 1775,
when he may first be said to have entered into active life, by
taking service with the Duke of Weimar, that a biographer will
find hardly any event to notice, except two journeys to Italy, and
one campaign in 1792, until he draws near the close of his long
career. It cannot interest an English reader to see the dates of
his successive appointments. It is enough to know that they soon
raised him to as high a station as was consistent with literary
leisure; and that he had from the beginning enjoyed the unlimited
confidence of his sovereign. Nothing remained, in fact, for the
subject to desire which the prince had not previously volunteered.
In 1825, they were able to look back upon a course of uninterrupted
friendship, maintained through good and evil fortunes, unexampled
in their agitation and interest for fifty years. The duke
commemorated this remarkable event by a jubilee, and by a medal in
honor of Goethe. Full of years and honor, this eminent man might
now begin to think of his departure. However, his serenity
continued unbroken nearly for two years more, when his illustrious
patron died. That shock was the first which put his fortitude to
trial. In 1830 others followed; the duchess, who had won so much
admiration from Napoleon, died; then followed his own son; and
there remained little now to connect his wishes with the earth. The
family of his patron he had lived to see flourishing in his
descendants to the fourth generation. His own grandchildren were
prosperous and happy. His intellectual labors were now
accomplished. All that remained to wish for was a gentle
dismission. This he found in the spring of 1832. After a six days'
illness, which caused him no apparent suffering, on the morning of
the 22d of March he breathed away as if into a gentle sleep,
surrounded by his daughter-in-law and her children. Never was a
death more in harmony with the life it closed; both had the same
character of deep and absolute serenity.

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