A few days after his arrival he was admitted a student at the university. He was obliged to join some law classes, but he also heard lectures by Ernesti on Cicero’s “De Oratore,” and by Gellert on rhetoric4 and German literature. At first he attended his classes with exemplary diligence, but he soon made up his mind that they could not be of much service to him. The professors of law had little to say that he had not already learned at Frankfort, or that he could not readily master without{25} their aid. Gellert’s lectures seemed to him pedantic5 and commonplace, and even Ernesti, a scholar of high distinction, did not help him to penetrate7 to the spirit, or to feel more deeply the charm, of Latin literature. During the whole time of his residence at Leipsic he continued, of course, to attend the university, but his relation to it was more nominal8 than real, and exercised little influence on his intellectual development.
He was received in a friendly way by B?hme, the professor of history, whose wife, a cultivated and pleasant woman, liked to talk with him. She offended him a little, however, by laughing rather too freely at some of his Frankfort modes of expression, and by disparaging9 the writings of his favourite poets. Every day he dined at the house of one of the medical professors, where he met chiefly students of medicine and natural science. When the novelty of his position at Leipsic wore off, he began to miss the pleasures to which he had been accustomed at home, and, above all, he longed for some friend to whom he might confide10 his inmost thoughts and aspirations11. Gradually he fell into a dejected and forlorn state of mind, and so keenly did he suffer that in the spring of 1766 one of his Frankfort friends, Horn, who came to study law at Leipsic, could not find in him a trace of his old liveliness and good humour. The presence of Horn, who remained for some years one of his most intimate comrades, did much to revive Goethe; and soon afterwards the process was completed by another friend, Schlosser, who took Leipsic on his way from Frankfort to Treptow, where he was to act as private secretary to Duke Frederick Eugene of{26} Würtemberg. Schlosser, who ultimately married Goethe’s sister, was a man of vigorous and independent character, somewhat stern in manner, but essentially12 kind and sympathetic, and he quickly succeeded in restoring Goethe to all his former cheerfulness and self-confidence.
Schlosser put up at the house of a vintner called Sch?nkopf, who, his wife having come from Frankfort, always welcomed visitors from her native place. Goethe was so much pleased with the company at Sch?nkopf’s table that he determined13 to dine and sup there daily, and this resolution he acted upon during the remainder of his time at Leipsic. Sch?nkopf had a pretty, coquettish daughter, Anne Catharine, and, needless to say, she no sooner saw the susceptible14 Goethe than she made a conquest of him. Like Gretchen, she was his senior by two or three years, but that, he felt, only made her the more worthy15 to be loved. Annette, as he usually called her, accepted his devotion with pleasure, and was sincerely fond of him; but, having a shrewd suspicion that she could never be his wife, she gave him no marks of favour that she was not equally ready to give to other admirers. Many a time Goethe was thrown into a fever of jealousy16 by her kindness to his rivals, but she had only to smile on him to exalt17 him to a heaven of enchantment18 and delight. Upon the whole, his relation to Annette, which went on for years, seems to have brought him more misery19 than happiness. It was impossible for him to claim her love as exclusively his own, yet he could not bear to think of it as a treasure that might pass into the possession of some one else.
He had not the good fortune to meet at Sch?nkop{27}f’s any one who could be of vital intellectual service to him, but he enjoyed familiar intercourse there with many agreeable people—among others, Behrisch, a scholar who acted as tutor to a young Count. Goethe liked him as a loyal friend and intelligent critic. Gradually Goethe extended the circle of his acquaintance, until he had almost as many friends in Leipsic as in Frankfort. It was especially pleasant for him to visit at the house of Breitkopf, a printer, who had two sons about Goethe’s own age, one of them an admirable pianist and clever composer. Goethe was often present at musical parties in this hospitable21 house, and he himself took part in them, for he could not only sing, but play the flute22. Afterwards he acquired some skill as a player on the cello23.
By far the most eminent24 man with whom Goethe came into direct contact at Leipsic was Oeser, the director of the academy of drawing, painting, and architecture. Oeser was a native of Presburg, in Hungary, and had all the energy and enthusiasm so often possessed25 by his countrymen. His own artistic26 achievements were not of permanent importance, but he had an extraordinary power of exciting interest in art, and of stimulating27 to high effort all who came within the range of his influence. Long before this time, at Dresden, he had been intimate with Winckelmann, who had learned from him the doctrine28 that the qualities which give enduring charm to works of art are simplicity29 and calm. Goethe, who had a longing30 to master artistic methods, became his pupil, and he never forgot that he owed to this wise and genial31 teacher the germs of his most fertile ideas about art, and the first effective encouragement he had{28} ever received to do full justice to his own powers. At Oeser’s home in Leipsic, and at his house in the country, he was always a welcome guest. Oeser had two daughters, one of whom was married. The other, Frederika, about Goethe’s age, lived with her father. Handsome, sprightly32, and clever, she became one of Goethe’s best friends.
Oeser was not his only instructor33 in art. Stock, the engraver34, lived with his wife and two young daughters (afterwards the wives of intimate friends of Schiller), at the top of the house in which was the home of the Breitkopfs. From him Goethe took lessons in etching, at which he worked with great enthusiasm and perseverance35. He also amused himself by carving37 boards for bookbinding. There seemed to be hardly any limit to Goethe’s activity. Even he could not hope to excel in all his many undertakings39, but in everything he tried he gained enough of insight to enable him to distinguish sharply between good products and bad, and to appreciate and enjoy those wrought41 on true and enduring principles.
All good pictures accessible at Leipsic he made himself familiar with, and in 1767 he took a short holiday for the purpose of studying the picture gallery at Dresden. He stayed at the house of a worthy, humorous shoemaker, with whom he had much friendly talk. At the gallery the pictures of all the great schools interested him, but those of the Dutch school, from their fidelity42 to fact, appealed to him most strongly. Day after day he resumed his study of the masterpieces he loved, and so deeply did they influence his mind that, when he{29} returned to the actual world, he could not help seeing things as if they formed part of a picture. His friend, the shoemaker, seemed to him like a figure that had stepped out of a canvas by Ostade.
Powerfully as Goethe was fascinated by art, literature remained the real mistress of his affections. The Latin classics he read with growing pleasure, but he also constantly felt around him for new impressions and impulses, and by a kind of happy instinct he was led to the writers who were best fitted to nourish his genius. At Frankfort he had read Wieland’s translation of Shakespeare, and now Dodd’s “Beauties of Shakespeare” came in his way. His study of this selection did not yet disclose to him Shakespeare’s real significance, but it prepared him for deeper comprehension at a later stage. Wieland, having left far behind him the Pietistic fervour with which he began his career, was now tricking out in all sorts of forms, both of verse and prose, his easy Epicurean philosophy. Goethe read eagerly every one of his later writings; and, so far as style was concerned, he learned much from Wieland, who, with all his faults, knew how to present his ideas, such as they were, with lightness, delicacy43, and grace. In 1766 Lessing’s “Laocoon” was published, and Goethe has described with what delight he and all the younger men of his day received this masterpiece of a great and serious spirit. As if by a flash of lightning, it revealed the broad lines of distinction that separate the arts from one another. It showed, too, that it is only by keeping strictly44 within its natural limits that each art can attain45 its highest objects, and that of all the arts poetry is necessarily the deepest, the{30} most far-reaching, and the grandest. All this was new to Goethe, and spurred him to think out for himself the fundamental problems of critical thought. Not less enthusiastically did he welcome Lessing’s “Minna von Barnhelm,” which still remains46 the most exquisitely47 finished play of its kind in the German language. It impressed Goethe, because Lessing, unlike other German dramatists, had selected his motives49 directly from the life of his own time, but had conceived them with an imaginative force and subtlety50 that made them perennially51 interesting. In the spring of 1768 Lessing spent a month at Leipsic, but unfortunately Goethe did not see him. About the same time Goethe was shocked by the tidings of the murder of Winckelmann, for whom he had the deepest reverence52, and whose writings on ancient art must be counted among the most potent53 of the influences that enriched and developed his intellectual life.
From the beginning of his residence at Leipsic Goethe was a constant attendant at the play, and he sometimes acted—always with considerable success in comic parts—in private theatricals54 at Sch?nkopf’s house. Thinking so much as he did about the drama, he could not but try his hand at dramatic composition; and in the winter of 1767-68 he produced two plays—“Die Laune des Verliebten” (“The Lover’s Humour”) and “Die Mitschuldigen” (“The Accomplices”). The former is essentially a presentation of his own experiences in his relation to Annette Sch?nkopf. The latter contains an unpleasant picture of facts akin40 to those which were forced on his attention at Frankfort in connection with the incident that led to his separation from Gretchen. Both{31} are written in rhymed alexandrines, and show that Goethe, like most of his contemporaries, still looked for his models to the French classic drama.
At Leipsic Goethe was known as a young poet much given to biting satire55. In his autobiography56 he gives an account of a visit he paid to Gottsched, who had at one time been in some sort the literary dictator of Germany; and from this amusing narrative57 we can see with what mocking humour he waited on the old pedant6, who found it so hard to realize that his day was past. Clodius, who prided himself on his dignified58 style, Goethe enraged59 by producing parodies60 of his pompous61 verses. At heart, however, Goethe was too generous to care a great deal about work of this sort; what he liked infinitely62 better was to give direct poetical63 expression to his own thoughts and feelings. This he did at Leipsic in a considerable number of lyrics65, some of which were set to music by the elder of the two brothers Breitkopf. These lyrics lack the perfect rhythm, the indefinable charm of his later work in this kind, but they have vigour66 and a certain grace, and show at least something of what ultimately became his astonishing mastery of apt and picturesque67 diction.
In 1767 Goethe introduced to the Sch?nkopfs a friend of his, Kanne, a Saxon advocate. Kanne was charmed with Annette, and Goethe was thrown into the depths of despair by seeing that she was not disinclined to respond to his advances. In vain he tried to still his agitation68 by flying to nature for consolation69, and by writing satirical verses on the untrustworthiness of young maidens70. He became thoroughly71 wretched, and his unhappiness, associated with various other causes, among which he himself{32} afterwards included some irregularities in his mode of living, made him seriously ill. At last, one night in July, 1768, he had a severe attack of hemorrhage, and a doctor had to be hastily summoned. For some time it was feared that he might be suffering from disease of the lungs. During his illness he was tenderly cared for by his friends, and when convalescent he was cheered by the bright, wholesome72 talk of his friend Frederika Oeser, who, when he visited her in the country, laughed at the ridiculous notion of a young fellow thinking of dying of consumption. The process of recovery, however, was slow, and finally he decided73 to return to Frankfort, and to set off on his birthday, a day which he regarded as a lucky one for the beginning of important undertakings. On the 26th of August he called at the Sch?nkopfs, and bade adieu to Annette, who agreed to let him write to her once a month. It filled him with sadness to think that this might be their last parting, and on the following evening—he was to leave next day—he could not resist the impulse to go once more to her home. He saw the lamps burning, and hovered74 about the door-steps, but had not courage to enter.
At Frankfort the invalid75 was received with infinite sympathy by his mother and sister; and his father, seeing him pale and thin, concealed76 the bitterness he felt at the disappointment of the hopes that had been so warmly cherished. Goethe was happy to be at home again, amused himself by drawing and etching, sent little gifts to Annette, and wrote in good spirits to Oeser and some of his other Leipsic friends. But before the end of the year he was again prostrated77, suffering this time{33} from a different malady78. His agonies were frightful79, and his mother, driven to despair, took the Bible, and resolved to be guided by the first words on which her eyes should happen to light. Fortunately she came upon the words of Jeremiah, “Thou shalt yet plant vines upon the mountains of Samaria.” She was at once relieved, and ever afterwards this was her favourite “promise.” Goethe quickly recovered, but early in 1769 he had another illness, by which he was confined to his room for a month. It became evident that his constitution had been rudely shaken, and that only time and vigilance could restore him to full strength.
Among his mother’s most intimate friends was a certain Fr?ulein von Klettenberg, who belonged to the church of the Moravian Brethren. With a noble purity and dignity of character she combined a deep mystic piety80. During Goethe’s illness Fr?ulein von Klettenberg, who showed him great kindness, gained a strong influence over his mind; and there are many indications that at this time he thought often and most earnestly on the profoundest questions relating to human life and destiny. He even worked out for himself an elaborate theological system, in which a place was found for the Trinity, Lucifer, the Elohim, Man, and for the Fall and Redemption. These speculations81 were connected with the study of alchemy, to which he was led by his doctor, who, like Fr?ulein von Klettenberg, was one of the Moravian Brethren. Goethe not only made many experiments in accordance with the rules of alchemy, but read all the old books on this subject on which he could lay his hands.
In the autumn of 1769 he received from Leipsic a{34} volume consisting of some of his lyrics, with the melodies to which they had been set by Breitkopf. The volume gave him little pleasure, for he was now occupied with other interests. He was more deeply stirred by a glimpse he had of General Paoli, who passed through Frankfort on his way to England. Paoli’s noble and romantic career had kindled82 Goethe’s enthusiasm, as it had kindled that of Boswell, and, mainly through Boswell, that of Johnson and all the other members of the brilliant literary set with whom the Corsican hero was soon to be on pleasant terms in London.
Meanwhile, Goethe had learned that Annette had been betrothed83 to his friend Kanne. He was struck with dismay by this intelligence, and could not help hoping that something might at the last moment prevent their union, and that he himself might be able to take his friend’s place. Annette, however, did not share his wishes, and by and by both the joy and the torment84 that had so often been evoked85 by his love for her were for ever dispelled86 by her marriage.
Goethe’s father was most anxious that his study of law should as soon as possible be resumed. Accordingly, in April, 1770, having spent about a year and a half at home, he started for Strasburg, where, for various reasons, it had been decided that he should take his degree. He was now in his twenty-first year. He had not been restored to perfect health, but he was strong enough for the work that lay before him, and he had no longer any fear that he had been stricken by a mortal malady.
Alsace, although a province of the French monarchy,{35} was still essentially German. Not until the time of the Revolution did the people cease to think of themselves as Germans, and begin to be proud of their connection with France. In entering Strasburg, therefore, Goethe had no feeling that he had come to a foreign town. It contained, indeed, a strong French element, but the mass of the inhabitants spoke87 his own language, and retained the manners and customs of their Teutonic forefathers88. As in Frankfort, so in Strasburg, there were many survivals of former ages, and these at once attracted Goethe’s attention. He was of course especially impressed by the minster, by far the most splendid building he had yet seen. He studied it closely within and without, and became an enthusiastic admirer of Gothic architecture, which he had always heard decried89. Often, especially at sunset, he mounted the tower to enjoy the wide and varied90 prospect91 visible from the top.
He had pleasant rooms in the old Fish-market, and dined at a table where he met many students whom he liked. At the head of this table sat Salzmann, a middle-aged92 actuary, a man of fine taste and cultivated intellect. He took to Goethe at once, discussed philosophy with him, and was able to give him useful hints as to the studies for his degree. Among the men whose acquaintance Goethe made at this table was Jung Stilling, who, at the age of thirty, trusting in Providence93 for the means of living, came to Strasburg to study medicine. Stilling always retained a vivid recollection of the first occasion on which he saw Goethe. He and his friend, Herr Troost, took their seats at the table before any one else had arrived. By and by the guests came in, and among{36} them one who entered briskly, a young man “with large bright eyes, splendid forehead, and handsome figure.” This was Goethe. “That must be an excellent man,” whispered Stilling’s companion. Stilling was of the same opinion, but thought he might give them some trouble, as he seemed “a wild young fellow”—an impression which was afterwards found to be mistaken. On a later occasion one of the guests tried to raise a laugh at Stilling’s expense. He was sternly rebuked94 by Goethe, who now sought Stilling’s friendship, and became warmly attached to him.
Introduced by Salzmann, Goethe was welcomed at many houses in Strasburg. He was still to some extent under the influence of the mystical ideas which had taken so strong a hold of him during his illness, but they did not prevent him from enjoying to the full the social pleasures within his reach. Of dancing he never could have enough, for it had all the charm of novelty, dancing-parties being at that time unknown in Frankfort and Leipsic.
He had the pleasure of seeing the young princess, Marie Antoinette, as she passed through Strasburg on her way to Paris; and in June he enjoyed with a fellow-student, Weyland, a ride across the Vosges mountains to Saarbrück. On the way back, at Niederbronn, he was surprised and delighted to find fragments of ancient pillars, sculptured altars with inscriptions95, and other Roman remains. These objects, lying about in farmyards, called up before his active imagination a vivid picture of the widespread civilization of Rome.
Goethe had not forgotten that he had come to Strasburg to take a degree, and soon after his twenty-first birthday, having attended the proper courses of lectures{37} at the university, he passed the necessary examinations. He then began to prepare his dissertation96, choosing as his subject the doctrine that it is the duty of the State to establish a form of religion to which all citizens shall be obliged to conform. During the remainder of his stay he gave attention at the university chiefly to chemistry anatomy97, and other sciences. He also devoted98 a good deal of time to the study of the antiquities99 of Alsace, his interest in which had been thoroughly aroused by the treasures at Niederbronn.
One day in September, 1770, Goethe accidentally met a young clergyman on the steps at the entrance to the inn, “Zum Geist.” He knew that Herder had just arrived at Strasburg, and could not doubt that this was he. Goethe greeted him respectfully, and Herder, attracted, like every one else, by the young student’s manly100 bearing and frank expression, responded pleasantly, and entered into conversation with him. This led to an intimate friendship, and the consequences were of the highest importance for Goethe. Herder was at this time only twenty-six years of age—that is, five years older than Goethe—but his character had been matured by hard discipline, and he had already made a good reputation as the author of two collections of essays full of energy and fresh thought. He was not one of the great creative spirits of the world, but he had an intellect of restless activity, endowed with an extraordinary faculty101 for the apprehension102 of far-reaching ideas. He had enthusiasm, too, and a noble, inspiring conception of the part that properly belongs to the individual mind in its relations to the world at large.{38}
Having given up his work as preacher and schoolmaster at Riga, he had spent some time in France; and he had lately accepted the office of tutor to the young Prince of Holstein-Eutin, whom he had accompanied to Strasburg. This appointment he now resigned, having received a promise (which was soon fulfilled) of the chief pastorate at Bückeburg, where he proposed to marry Caroline Flachsland, to whom he had become engaged at Darmstadt. He remained, however, rather more than six months at Strasburg, mainly that he might be cured of an affection of the eyes, by which he was much troubled. A painful operation was performed, and recovery was less rapid than he expected. Goethe was one of his most constant visitors, and missed no opportunity of serving him. Even when his health was good, it was rather difficult for Herder’s friends to hit it off with him, for with all his excellent qualities he was irritable104, and apt to be somewhat arrogant105; and his temper was not improved by his sufferings. But Goethe, who recognized the essential greatness of his character, was not discouraged by his occasional rudeness, and was well rewarded for the fidelity with which he waited upon his new friend.
At this time the serious thought of Europe was passing through one of the most momentous106 revolutions the world has ever seen. Beyond all question the foremost figure in the movement was Rousseau. As a man of letters Rousseau was far inferior to Voltaire, and his knowledge was neither so wide nor so exact as that of Diderot. But his ideas corresponded to the deepest needs of the age, and he had the enthusiasm, the pro{39}phetic ardour that commanded for them the attention of mankind. The civilization of France he had shaken to its centre, and in Germany the impression he had produced had been hardly less profound. Everywhere generous minds were filled with discontent with the world as it actually existed. Everywhere they were revolting against forms and conventions, and crying out for a return to “nature,” for the free growth and expression of the innate107 qualities of humanity—qualities which, when not corrupted108 by unjust institutions, were, according to Rousseau, always pure and noble.
Herder, who had studied Rousseau closely, had appropriated all that was most vital in his teaching, and had applied109 his doctrines110, not only in the criticism of life, but in his judgments112 of literature; and now he made Goethe a sharer of the intellectual wealth he had himself acquired. Goethe had already been a reader of Rousseau, but from this time, as we know from the characteristics of his early writings, his mind was deeply penetrated113 by the spirit of “La Nouvelle Hélo?se” and “émile.” Of still greater importance was the help he obtained in the comprehension of the full splendour of Shakespeare’s genius. Of all poets, Shakespeare, as Herder taught, was the one in whom nature had found her truest interpreter; and, returning in earnest to the study of his dramas, Goethe was impressed, as he had never been impressed before, by their power and beauty, and felt more and more strongly that it would be impossible for him ever to exhaust their meaning. Herder had also much to say about Swift, Richardson, Fielding, Sterne, and Goldsmith; and to a circle of friends, of{40} whom Goethe was one, he read “The Vicar of Wakefield,” the humour, pathos114, and idyllic115 charm of which filled them with delight. Through Herder’s influence Goethe began the serious study of Homer; and even from “Hamlet” he did not receive a deeper inspiration than from the “Iliad” and the “Odyssey.” Macpherson’s rendering116 of Ossian had touched the imagination of Herder, and he communicated his enthusiasm for it to Goethe, who perceived in “Fingal” and “The Songs of Selma” many a trace of a great and entrancing primitive117 literature. From Herder, too, who was familiar with Percy’s “Reliques,” Goethe first learned that some of the finest manifestations118 of the poetic64 impulse are to be found in popular songs and ballads119. This revelation gave him exquisite48 pleasure, and it led to his collecting folk-songs, the directness, freshness, and simplicity of which, but with a new and subtle delicacy, were reproduced in his own lyrics.
Thanks to the influences under which he was brought by Herder, Goethe, during his residence at Strasburg, experienced a great intellectual awakening120. He did not accept any body of doctrines as a complete and final expression of truth. On the contrary, the supreme121 service done to him by Herder was that in regard to things of the mind he was delivered from subservience122 to external authority. He now began to look out upon the world with his own eyes, and to test opinions by the free exercise of his own judgment111. He had met Herder at the very moment when he needed, and was capable of responding to, the stimulus123 of an original mind at a stage of development more advanced than his own.{41} When he parted from his teacher, it was no longer necessary for him to sit at the feet of a master. He had learned that great achievements were possible only if, like the poets into whose secrets he was penetrating124, he brought himself into direct contact with the facts of the world, and trusted absolutely to the inherent impulses and laws of his own intellectual and imaginative powers.
During the period in which he was deriving125 fresh ideal impulses from Herder, Goethe was drinking deep draughts126 of the sweetest joys of the actual world. In the autumn of 1770 he rode with his friend Weyland to the pretty Alsatian village, Sesenheim, where Weyland wished to visit Pastor103 Brion, whose wife was related by marriage to one of his half-sisters. As they approached the quaint20 old parsonage, standing127 with its quiet garden in a well-wooded country, Goethe’s restless spirit could not but feel the soothing128 influence of a scene at once so beautiful and so peaceful. Pastor Brion, a most amiable129 and hospitable clergyman, had four daughters, one of whom was married, while three lived with their parents. There was also a son about eight years old. A simpler, happier family did not exist, and we cannot wonder that Goethe (not, as he afterwards thought, on his first visit, for he then knew nothing of Goldsmith) sometimes compared it to the family of the Vicar of Wakefield. Some whim130 made him present himself in disguise, but he soon appeared in his real character; and as he was pleasantly received, he at once felt at home. The youngest daughter was not old enough to interest Goethe. The others were Salomea, who was about his own age, and{42} Frederika, who was in her nineteenth or twentieth year. Frederika had a slender, graceful131 figure, with rich masses of fair hair, dark-blue eyes, and finely modelled features. She was rather delicate, but had a fresh appearance, due to the sweet, wholesome air of the country. Behind her coy and maidenly132 manner were hidden possibilities of deep and passionate133 devotion, and her charm was made all the more alluring134 by the contrast she presented to her robust135 and outspoken136 elder sister.
In his autobiography Goethe gives a matchless description of his relation to this lovely girl. It is impossible to trust the details of the picture, some of which are known to be inaccurate137; but there is no reason to doubt that in its main outlines it reproduces faithfully what actually happened. At any rate it is certain that he loved Frederika with all his heart; not as he had loved Gretchen and Annette, for their influence had never gone far below the surface; but with a love full of romance, with a passion that glowed and flamed with ever-increasing intensity138. And Frederika—how was it possible for her to resist the young poet’s wooing? He had come to her suddenly, like some radiant being out of an unknown world, and in response to his fervour her heart throbbed139 with love, and pride, and joy.
Immediately after his first visit he wrote to her to say that never had Strasburg seemed to him so empty. Many other letters followed, but unfortunately they were afterwards burned by Frederika’s sister. He repeatedly visited Sesenheim, and shortly after Easter, 1771, Frederika came to Strasburg with her mother and sister. While she remained, Goethe and she had some happy{43} hours together; yet somehow she did not seem quite herself in a town; he felt that they were in perfect sympathy only in the country, where they could be all in all to one another, with nature around them reflecting their happiness.
At Whitsuntide he went again to her home, intending to return to his studies after a short visit. But she was not very well, and day after day, week after week passed, and he was still at Sesenheim. During this visit he made himself highly popular in the village, and occupied himself in all sorts of ways, learning how to make basket work, painting the pastor’s carriage, and planning the reconstruction140 of the parsonage. He went on, too, with his study of Homer, and read to Frederika a translation he had made of “The Songs of Selma.” And all the time the passion of the lovers grew and struck its roots deeper in their hearts.
At last, when June was far advanced, he was forced to drag himself away, for it was time that he should proceed to his degree, the taking of which had been too long delayed. The university authorities were scandalized by some of the opinions advanced in his dissertation, but admitted his ability, and directed him to take part in a public disputation. The order was obeyed, and he afterwards received a licentiate’s degree.
In company with some friends, Goethe now enjoyed a short tour in Upper Alsace. On his return he paid a farewell visit to Sesenheim, and in August he was once more at home in Frankfort.
In the last interview with Frederika nothing was said to indicate that the parting was final. Nevertheless,{44} Goethe knew that it was so; and eight years passed before they saw one another again, and then they met simply as old friends. Frederika had never doubted that he proposed to make her his wife, and this had also been assumed by her family. At first the idea of marriage did not occur to Goethe. He thought only of the rapture141 he felt in her presence, of her sweetness, her grace, and her beauty. When at last he could not avoid reflecting on the consequences of having won a maiden’s affections, a prolonged and bitter struggle went on in his mind. That Frederika, if he had been prepared to marry, would have made him truly happy, he loved her too well to question; and he can hardly have supposed that it would have been very difficult to induce his father to welcome her as a daughter-in-law. But the thought of marriage was repugnant to him. What! bind38 himself for life at the very time when he was becoming conscious of his destiny—when it was essential to the unfolding of his genius that his individuality should have free play! Deeply as he loved Frederika, strongly as he felt the duty he owed her, this consideration gained the day. He must have freedom, let it cost what it might.
Goethe never sought to justify142 his treatment of Frederika. For many a day he suffered the pang143 of a wounded conscience. His ultimate decision was right, for he had not reached a stage at which a happy marriage would have been possible; but he well knew that in a matter of such vast importance he ought not to have created an expectation that, from the nature of the case, was doomed144 to be disappointed. It can only be said that to a poet of his ardent145 temperament146 the power which had{45} cast its spell over him was all but irresistible147. Frederika herself, although she seemed to lose all in losing her lover, did not permanently148 resent the severance36 of the bond that connected them. She seems to have felt that deep causes had led to their separation. All her life she had a vivid remembrance of the beautiful romantic world in which they had for a while wandered together; and when attempts were made by new wooers to win her hand, her answer is said to have been, “The heart that Goethe has loved cannot belong to another.”
His love for Frederika exercised as powerful an influence over him in one direction as contact with Herder had exercised in another. In his meeting with her, and in his parting from her, he had sounded some of the profoundest depths of joy and suffering; and he had passed through a conflict in which his strongest feelings had been arrayed against one another. And in response to the touch of love his genius had sprung into free activity. He had written various lyrics giving utterance149 to his passion, and to this period also belongs “Heidenr?slein,” in which he presented in a new form an old popular song. These perfect lyrics, slight as they are, are the earliest of his achievements in which we find the really characteristic qualities of his poetry. They do not, like his first efforts, bear the stamp of traditional rules, but are the direct expression of his own inward life. For five centuries—from the time when, at medi?val courts, Walther von der Vogelweide had sung his splendid verses—no poetic note of such mingled150 power and sweetness had been struck in Germany. In these early poems we feel the stirring of the forces of a new spring-time.{46} They are full of a passionate delight in the beauty of the earth and the sky; in every line breathing of love they have the accent of sincerity151; and they produce the impression of having flowed without effort from a mind which found the most natural outlet152 for its feelings in stanzas153 of noble and flawless melody.
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| adv.比较...地，相对地 | |
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2
rigid
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| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
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3
intercourse
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| n.性交；交流，交往，交际 | |
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4
rhetoric
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| n.修辞学，浮夸之言语 | |
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5
pedantic
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| adj.卖弄学问的；迂腐的 | |
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6
pedant
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| n.迂儒；卖弄学问的人 | |
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7
penetrate
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| v.透(渗)入；刺入，刺穿；洞察，了解 | |
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8
nominal
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| adj.名义上的；(金额、租金)微不足道的 | |
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9
disparaging
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| adj.轻蔑的，毁谤的v.轻视( disparage的现在分词 )；贬低；批评；非难 | |
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10
confide
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| v.向某人吐露秘密 | |
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11
aspirations
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| 强烈的愿望( aspiration的名词复数 )； 志向； 发送气音； 发 h 音 | |
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12
essentially
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| adv.本质上，实质上，基本上 | |
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13
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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14
susceptible
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| adj.过敏的，敏感的；易动感情的，易受感动的 | |
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15
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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16
jealousy
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| n.妒忌，嫉妒，猜忌 | |
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17
exalt
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| v.赞扬，歌颂，晋升，提升 | |
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18
enchantment
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| n.迷惑，妖术，魅力 | |
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19
misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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20
quaint
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| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
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21
hospitable
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| adj.好客的；宽容的；有利的，适宜的 | |
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22
flute
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| n.长笛；v.吹笛 | |
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23
cello
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| n.大提琴 | |
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24
eminent
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| adj.显赫的，杰出的，有名的，优良的 | |
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25
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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26
artistic
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| adj.艺术(家)的，美术(家)的；善于艺术创作的 | |
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27
stimulating
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| adj.有启发性的，能激发人思考的 | |
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28
doctrine
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| n.教义；主义；学说 | |
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29
simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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30
longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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31
genial
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| adj.亲切的，和蔼的，愉快的，脾气好的 | |
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32
sprightly
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| adj.愉快的，活泼的 | |
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33
instructor
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| n.指导者，教员，教练 | |
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34
engraver
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| n.雕刻师，雕工 | |
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35
perseverance
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| n.坚持不懈，不屈不挠 | |
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36
severance
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| n.离职金；切断 | |
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37
carving
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| n.雕刻品，雕花 | |
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38
bind
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| vt.捆，包扎；装订；约束；使凝固；vi.变硬 | |
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39
undertakings
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| 企业( undertaking的名词复数 )； 保证； 殡仪业； 任务 | |
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40
akin
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| adj.同族的，类似的 | |
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41
wrought
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| v.引起；以…原料制作；运转；adj.制造的 | |
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42
fidelity
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| n.忠诚，忠实；精确 | |
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43
delicacy
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| n.精致，细微，微妙，精良；美味，佳肴 | |
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44
strictly
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| adv.严厉地，严格地；严密地 | |
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45
attain
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| vt.达到，获得，完成 | |
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46
remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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47
exquisitely
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| adv.精致地；强烈地；剧烈地；异常地 | |
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48
exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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49
motives
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| n.动机，目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
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50
subtlety
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| n.微妙，敏锐，精巧；微妙之处，细微的区别 | |
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51
perennially
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| adv.经常出现地；长期地；持久地；永久地 | |
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52
reverence
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| n.敬畏，尊敬，尊严；Reverence:对某些基督教神职人员的尊称；v.尊敬，敬畏，崇敬 | |
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53
potent
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| adj.强有力的，有权势的；有效力的 | |
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54
theatricals
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| n.（业余性的）戏剧演出，舞台表演艺术；职业演员；戏剧的( theatrical的名词复数 )；剧场的；炫耀的；戏剧性的 | |
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55
satire
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| n.讽刺，讽刺文学，讽刺作品 | |
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56
autobiography
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| n.自传 | |
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57
narrative
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| n.叙述，故事；adj.叙事的，故事体的 | |
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58
dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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59
enraged
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| 使暴怒( enrage的过去式和过去分词 )； 歜； 激愤 | |
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60
parodies
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| n.拙劣的模仿( parody的名词复数 )；恶搞；滑稽的模仿诗文；表面上模仿得笨拙但充满了机智用来嘲弄别人作品的作品v.滑稽地模仿，拙劣地模仿( parody的第三人称单数 ) | |
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61
pompous
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|
| adj.傲慢的，自大的；夸大的；豪华的 | |
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62
infinitely
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| adv.无限地，无穷地 | |
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63
poetical
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| adj.似诗人的；诗一般的；韵文的；富有诗意的 | |
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64
poetic
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| adj.富有诗意的，有诗人气质的，善于抒情的 | |
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65
lyrics
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| n.歌词 | |
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66
vigour
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| （=vigor）n.智力，体力，精力 | |
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67
picturesque
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| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
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68
agitation
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| n.搅动；搅拌；鼓动，煽动 | |
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69
consolation
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| n.安慰，慰问 | |
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70
maidens
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| 处女( maiden的名词复数 )； 少女； 未婚女子； （板球运动）未得分的一轮投球 | |
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71
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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72
wholesome
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| adj.适合；卫生的；有益健康的；显示身心健康的 | |
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73
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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74
hovered
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| 鸟( hover的过去式和过去分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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75
invalid
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| n.病人，伤残人；adj.有病的，伤残的；无效的 | |
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76
concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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77
prostrated
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| v.使俯伏，使拜倒( prostrate的过去式和过去分词 )；（指疾病、天气等）使某人无能为力 | |
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78
malady
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|
| n.病，疾病(通常做比喻) | |
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79
frightful
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| adj.可怕的；讨厌的 | |
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80
piety
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| n.虔诚，虔敬 | |
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81
speculations
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| n.投机买卖( speculation的名词复数 )；思考；投机活动；推断 | |
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82
kindled
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| （使某物）燃烧，着火( kindle的过去式和过去分词 )； 激起（感情等）； 发亮，放光 | |
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83
betrothed
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| n. 已订婚者 动词betroth的过去式和过去分词 | |
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84
torment
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|
| n.折磨；令人痛苦的东西(人)；vt.折磨；纠缠 | |
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85
evoked
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| [医]诱发的 | |
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86
dispelled
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| v.驱散，赶跑( dispel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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87
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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88
forefathers
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| n.祖先，先人；祖先，祖宗( forefather的名词复数 )；列祖列宗；前人 | |
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89
decried
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| v.公开反对，谴责( decry的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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90
varied
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| adj.多样的，多变化的 | |
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91
prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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92
middle-aged
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| adj.中年的 | |
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93
providence
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| n.深谋远虑，天道，天意；远见；节约；上帝 | |
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94
rebuked
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| 责难或指责( rebuke的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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95
inscriptions
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| （作者）题词( inscription的名词复数 )； 献词； 碑文； 证劵持有人的登记 | |
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96
dissertation
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| n.（博士学位）论文，学术演讲，专题论文 | |
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97
anatomy
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| n.解剖学，解剖；功能，结构，组织 | |
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98
devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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99
antiquities
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| n.古老( antiquity的名词复数 )；古迹；古人们；古代的风俗习惯 | |
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100
manly
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| adj.有男子气概的；adv.男子般地，果断地 | |
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101
faculty
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| n.才能；学院，系；(学院或系的)全体教学人员 | |
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102
apprehension
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| n.理解，领悟；逮捕，拘捕；忧虑 | |
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103
pastor
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| n.牧师，牧人 | |
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104
irritable
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| adj.急躁的；过敏的；易怒的 | |
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105
arrogant
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| adj.傲慢的，自大的 | |
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106
momentous
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| adj.重要的，重大的 | |
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107
innate
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| adj.天生的，固有的，天赋的 | |
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108
corrupted
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| （使）败坏( corrupt的过去式和过去分词 )； （使）腐化； 引起（计算机文件等的）错误； 破坏 | |
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109
applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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110
doctrines
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| n.教条( doctrine的名词复数 )；教义；学说；（政府政策的）正式声明 | |
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111
judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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112
judgments
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| 判断( judgment的名词复数 )； 鉴定； 评价； 审判 | |
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113
penetrated
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| adj. 击穿的，鞭辟入里的 动词penetrate的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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114
pathos
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| n.哀婉，悲怆 | |
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115
idyllic
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| adj.质朴宜人的，田园风光的 | |
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116
rendering
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| n.表现，描写 | |
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117
primitive
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| adj.原始的；简单的；n.原(始)人，原始事物 | |
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118
manifestations
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| n.表示，显示（manifestation的复数形式） | |
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119
ballads
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| 民歌，民谣，特别指叙述故事的歌( ballad的名词复数 )； 讴 | |
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120
awakening
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| n.觉醒，醒悟 adj.觉醒中的；唤醒的 | |
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121
supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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122
subservience
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| n.有利，有益；从属（地位），附属性；屈从，恭顺；媚态 | |
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123
stimulus
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| n.刺激，刺激物，促进因素，引起兴奋的事物 | |
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124
penetrating
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| adj.（声音）响亮的，尖锐的adj.（气味）刺激的adj.（思想）敏锐的，有洞察力的 | |
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125
deriving
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| v.得到( derive的现在分词 )；（从…中）得到获得；源于；（从…中）提取 | |
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126
draughts
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| n. <英>国际跳棋 | |
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127
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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128
soothing
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| adj.慰藉的；使人宽心的；镇静的 | |
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129
amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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130
whim
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| n.一时的兴致，突然的念头；奇想，幻想 | |
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131
graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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132
maidenly
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| adj. 像处女的, 谨慎的, 稳静的 | |
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133
passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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134
alluring
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| adj.吸引人的，迷人的 | |
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135
robust
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| adj.强壮的，强健的，粗野的，需要体力的，浓的 | |
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136
outspoken
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| adj.直言无讳的，坦率的，坦白无隐的 | |
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137
inaccurate
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| adj.错误的，不正确的，不准确的 | |
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138
intensity
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| n.强烈，剧烈；强度；烈度 | |
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139
throbbed
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| 抽痛( throb的过去式和过去分词 )； （心脏、脉搏等）跳动 | |
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140
reconstruction
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| n.重建，再现，复原 | |
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141
rapture
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| n.狂喜；全神贯注；着迷；v.使狂喜 | |
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142
justify
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| vt.证明…正当(或有理)，为…辩护 | |
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143
pang
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| n.剧痛，悲痛，苦闷 | |
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144
doomed
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| 命定的 | |
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ardent
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，强烈的，烈性的 | |
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146
temperament
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| n.气质，性格，性情 | |
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147
irresistible
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| adj.非常诱人的，无法拒绝的，无法抗拒的 | |
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148
permanently
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| adv.永恒地，永久地，固定不变地 | |
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149
utterance
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| n.用言语表达，话语，言语 | |
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150
mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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151
sincerity
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| n.真诚，诚意；真实 | |
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152
outlet
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| n.出口/路；销路；批发商店；通风口；发泄 | |
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153
stanzas
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| 节，段( stanza的名词复数 ) | |
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