does with all those in which his genius delights itself. Truly did Hazlitt remark, that the charm of the character of Hamlet lies neither in dramatic power, nor in external resemblance to Nature, but in the strange manner in which its every working corresponds with our own,—' It is we who are Hamlet.' How thoroughly this saying is applicable to Göthe, every day's additional study of his works will reveal to his admirer. None of his best remembered impersonations have the force of will, the power of action, which are commonly exhibited by dramatic artists in their leading characters. They are capricious, dreamy, and for the most part even unimpassioned creatures,―acted upon, rather than acting, meditating on life rather than taking part in it. But they are ourselves. It is the reader who is Faust, who is (or was, alas!) Werter-who is the real Wilhelm Meister. And it is impossible not to feel that the reason why the poet succeeds in so wonderful a manner in thus delineating us to ourselves, is because the features are in reality drawn less from observation than from self-inspection; that he has brought forth the secrets of his own heart in order to elicit those of ours, and to make us conscious of a thousand hidden tendencies and feelings in ourselves of which we had only a dim perception, until they were thus evoked by the representation of their shadows.* This main characteristic of Göthe's genius is obvious. enough. It is not so easy to detect (but the examination. well repays itself) the singular manner in which it mingles with, and gives completeness and strength to, the other * Mr. Lewes though he adopts to the full the common language of criticism about Göthe's 'objectivity-goes still farther, and tells us that in the Wahlverwandtschaften, the poet'has represented himself under the two different masks of the impulsive Edward, and the reasonable strong-willed Captain. These characters are drawn from the life-drawn from himself." If so, where is the 'objectivity'? powers which he so largely possessed. No one denies him the faculty of observation, both of human nature and also of the external world. And yet, even with respect to the latter, and much more the former, his observation is comparatively cold-his description inanimate-unless he can, in a manner, project himself into them, and insinuate his own heart and mind into his analysis of those of others-his own way of perceiving Nature into his portraits of Nature herself. According to his own confession, and the researches of his admirers, there is scarcely one of his stories of life which is not founded on real incident. Those inserted in Wilhelm Meister are said to be all examples. Power of inventing a plot he seems to have had little or none. His way was either to take one from books, or, still more commonly, from actual occurrences. Characters which struck him, and adventures of which he was cognisant personally or from hearsay, make up the staple of his narratives. And yet he rarely appears to be painting character simply, and as external to himself. Take certain circumstances of life, certain qualities of mind and heart, to form an imaginary person-how would the individual Göthe think and feel, were he that person? This seems to be the invariable problem which he sets himself to solve. Nay, we must apply the same test even to his descriptions of outward nature and events, if we wish to appreciate them thoroughly. The forests of the Harz, the gorgeous cloud-land of the high Alps in winter, the lakes of Lombardy, the bay of Naples, the march of an invading army, the vicissitudes of a siege-few have represented these in word-painting with greater skill and fidelity. But the pictures lose the greater part of their charm unless the reader has made himself familiar with the mind of the author, and can see them with the eyes of Göthe himself, and partake in his sensations. Wieland saw this thoroughly, when the herd of German critics were praising Göthe's supposed objectivity' and 'realism.' 'The specialty' (says he, speaking of the Swiss Travels') 'which here, as in almost all his works, distinguishes him from Homer and Shakspeare, is that the "I," the "Ille Ego," glimmers through everywhere, although without ostentation and with consummate delicacy.' Göthe himself was, at the bottom, no less aware of it. It was (no doubt) a real perception of this leading peculiarity of his own genius, though he often affected to disguise it from himself and others, which made him sometimes recognise that the bulk of his writings were in truth addressed to particular classes only. 'My works,' he said to Eckermann, 'never can be popular: they are not written for the multitude, but only for individual men whose pursuits and aims are like my own.' A curious exemplification of this leading peculiarity will be found in the history of the composition of the 'Sorrows of Werter,' about which many stories have been told; but the latest and most authentic seems to be given by Herr Dünzer in his Studies on the works of Göthe.' After Göthe's disappointment of the heart in the matter of his fair Alsatian, Friederike, he fell into one of those states of tender melancholy, in which a youth of twentythree generally resorts to the society of the first fair sympathiser whom he can find, purely for friendly consolation. Such a comforter he soon found in a somewhat bourgeoise young lady, whose paternal appellation now appears to have been Miss Charlotte Buff. To her he confided his sorrows, and from her he exacted sympathy and advice, at such unwarrantable length, that poor Charlotte, who had no objection to a bit of romance, provided it ended in the orthodox form of a proposal, M grew tired, and entered into a prosaic engagement with a very matter-of-fact friend of both parties, Christian Kestner. The discovery of this treason made Göthe quite certain that he was actually in love with the lady to whom he had never chosen to communicate his feelings, and threw him into all the despair of rejected and betrayed attachment. Just at this crisis of his history happened the tragic adventure of young Jerusalem-him of the buff waistcoat and yellow breeches-whose fatal passion is recounted in the Dichtung und Wahrheit.' The two events combined-his own disappointment and Jerusalem's -engendered the Sorrows of Werter.' Werter is Jerusalem and Göthe at once; he wears the costume, he undergoes the sufferings, he talks in many instances the very language (borrowed from his posthumous papers) of that too fascinating foreign-office clerk; but he is throughout what Göthe would have been, had he been Jerusalem; the imaginary transposition of the poet into the perplexities and distresses of his acquaintance. And thus a work which, let critics speak of it as they may, has excited the fancy and controlled the hearts of numbers of mankind, is spun out of the brain of a poet from materials which consist simply of his own heart and imagination, placed in circumstances of idealised truth; for Jerusalem' seems, after all, to have been only a young attaché of considerable solemnity and self-respect, -his flame, the real Charlotte-according to the testimony of the Prince de Ligne,-was not worth knowing; and her double, Charlotte Kestner, née Buff, must have been little better, judging from the cold manner in which Göthe speaks of her, whom he occasionally met in after life.* *See Dünzer, p. 89, &c. It seems that Herr Kestner was not particularly pleased with the part of the philosophic husband assigned to him in But if the real tendency of Göthe's genius was thus thoroughly subjective or egotistical, so much the less was he a dramatist in the peculiar sense of the word. Portraiture of character, independent of self, he has really 'Werter,' and that Göthe was forced to retouch the character considerably in the second edition, without succeeding in thoroughly pacifying him; but Göthe was by this time deep in his new passion for the fashionable Frankfort belle, Miss Schönmann, and 'Werter' had become weariness and vexation to him. It must have been with some malicious pleasure in mystifying his admirers, that Göthe emerged from the gloom of 'Werter' into the graceful pleasantry of his various poems to 'Lili:' such as those exquisite lines in which he complains of her tyranny in drawing him from the dreamy voluptuousness of a poet's study into her favourite evening parties: Warum ziehst du mich unwiderstehlich, Ach! in jene Pracht? War ich guter Junge nicht so selig Heimlich in mein Zimmerchen verschlossen Lag im Mondenschein, Ganz von seinem Schauerlicht durchflossen, Und ich dammert' ein.. Bin ich's noch, den du bei so viel Lichtern An den Spieltisch hältst ? Oft so unerträglichen Gesichtern Gegenüber stellst ? &c. &c. For the benefit of the unlearned reader Mr. Lewes's translation is added: a tolerable attempt at an impossible task. Wherefore so resistlessly dost draw me Into scenes so bright? Had I not enough to soothe and charm me Homely in my little room secluded, While the moon's bright beams In a shimmering light fell softly on me Can it be, I sit at yonder table Gay with cards and lights, Forced to meet intolerable people Because 'tis she invites ? This is the song which Göthe heard poor Lili singing, the last time he wandered up and down under her window after their parting. |