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susceptible audience." What could he say? He is silent, struggling with his own bitter thoughts—it is only when the rhodomontade Laertes, "whose grief bears such an emphasis," leaps into the grave, and calls the world to assemble at his grief, that Hamlet rouses himself, and forbids this sacrilege. But, as before stated, it may also be an exclamation of his wandering spirit, not conscious of the ties which bound Ophelia to him.

But we must conclude; and, in recommending Dr. Ulrici's work to our readers, we feel that we are introducing them to an instructive acquaintance. To those whose German library is not very extensive, his book must prove highly valuable, and, though the critical reader may not find any thing approaching the deep and beautiful criticisms of Schlegel, Tieck, Horn, &c. he will at least meet with food for reflection and occasional depth of thought; in short, a work which he will read with pleasure and profit.

LITERARY CONTEMPORARIES AT WEIMAR.

Literarische Zustände und Zeitgenossen. (Literary Circumstances and Contemporaries.) Selected from the posthumous Manuscripts of K. A. Böttiger. 2 vols. Leipzig, 1838. Historisches Taschenbuch. (Historical Pocket-Book.) Edited by Friedrich von Raumer. Vol. 10. Leipzig, 1839. Urania. Taschenbuch auf das Jahr 1839. (Urania, an Annual, for the year 1839.) Leipzig.

Resuming our sketches of the eminent literary contemporaries who flourished at Weimar towards the conclusion of the eighteenth century, we proceed to some characteristics of Göthe, selected partly from new particulars furnished by the posthumous work of Böttiger, and partly from a series of letters communicated in the Urania for 1839. This annual, which used to be distinguished for its excellence, contains this year, with the exception of those letters, absolutely nothing that could interest our readers; we shall therefore turn at once to them.

This little collection begins with a letter, dated January 26, 1775, written by Göthe, in reply to one addressed to him anonymously by a young lady. This was Augusta, Countess of Stolberg, born in 1753, and then twenty-two years old, who, in a letter, expressed her extraordinary admiration of his talents in such a manner that Göthe was induced at once to treat her like an old acquaintance or a beloved sister. He learned soon afterwards who was the writer, without suffering on that account any etiquette to stand in his way. There was something in him that could not but sound purely human to all that felt humanly, whence his elevation above all the relations and barriers of society was so readily forgiven; he was no longer

an individual since he had written Werther; the feelings of the whole generation of the young had found themselves expressed in his book, and he now appeared as a symbol in which each saw his inmost soul depicted. For us, who live in a free country, and at the present day, and who are acquainted with Werther perhaps only from a tame translation, it must appear surprising how it could effect a complete revolution in such a sensible people as the Germans. But, if we consider that virtuous and intelligent youths feel happy no where but in that country where a polished education is combined with social regulations; where liberal sentiments in the state awaken the like in the young mind; where the public characters come up to the ideal figures of a Plutarch and a Livy; and where, finally, a theatre is presented on which the youthful energies can vie with all that is greatest and most noble; and if we compare with this the state of Germany about the year 1770, much that would otherwise be surprising appears perfectly clear and intelligible. An iron despotism then oppressed the middle classes. Princes despised their country and their subjects, and were ashamed of their very language; the nobility had long forgotten the greatest deeds of their ancestors, and crept fawningly, with Italian singers and French dancing-masters, around the courts of kings; life offered, for the exercise of talent, nothing but the dark chambers of secret tribunals, and the stiff forms of the military service; literature was poor, but erudition on the contrary great, and the spirit of the people uncorrupted. How important must the appearance of a Göthe then have been, and what a phenomenon his book, which set all these defects of the age before the mind of the reader, with the warmth of a Rousseau, the eloquence of a Massillon, and the originality of a Byron! Hence too we shall have no difficulty in conceiving how a young lady of twenty-two, of profound sensibility and highly accomplished mind, could address Göthe, and express her acknowledgment in the warmest terms. The first letter which she wrote to him must have been long, and full of thought and feeling. Göthe replied like a man, concerning whom every thing is known-the tendency of his mind, the uprightness of his sentiments-and who has nothing to do, to satisfy so amiable a correspondent, but to give a few outward tokens of his individual affection, some signs of his way of thinking and acting. Such it is that we find in these disjointed fragments-for there is, really, no logical connexion in them-of Göthe's answers. He concentrated the energies of his mind to express his general moods, thoughts, feelings, in poems; whereas, in such letters he threw together at random detached sentiments and occurrences. Whoever is acquainted with the history of German literature will be moved by these fragments much in the same manner as one who hears snatches of a tune that formerly gave him the greatest delight. The language in these letters, though incoherent, is so

strong, so expressive, so clear, that they bear the impress of a master hand; they are separate lines, which a Raphael has traced upon a piece of canvass, in hours of the deepest emotion of mind and of too highly excited imagination.

This correspondence ceases in the year 1782. The Countess was then married to Count Andreas von Bernstorff. Long afterwards, in 1822, this correspondence was renewed by the widowed Augusta. She died in 1832, at the age of eighty-two, after a widowhood of forty-two years. In that letter of 1822, which is given in the collection, there is a peculiar charm. We must figure to ourselves an aged lady, whose heart still beats with youthful ardour; she once more reads through Göthe's answers after they have been laid by for many years, and is led back by them to that period of her youth when she adored the writer with the utmost purity of mind; for never did she set eyes on Göthe. This platonic attachment, combined with the genuine piety of her spirit, caused her, in her old age, to wish for nothing more sincerely than to convert Göthe, who was himself indifferent towards religion. The sincerity of a matron, the tenderness of a virgin, bitter experiences in life and entire confidence in God, high respect and light censure, are strangely intermingled in the letter which she then wrote to Göthe, and had assuredly upon the person addressed the effect of transporting him back in imagination to the stormy period of twenty-six. His answer is dignified and touching; this befitting the aged man, that reminding us of the lover-poet. The language is harmony itself, and pregnant with important meaning. We translate a few passages as specimens.

To live long is the same thing as to survive many; we survive ourselves. With this transitory state of things we are contented; if only that which is everlasting remains continually present with us, we are not annoyed by the flight of time. I have meant honestly my whole life both with myself and others, and in all earthly matters have always fixed my eyes on that which is the highest. . . . . Let us then continue incessantly to work thus, while it is yet day for us; a sun will shine for others also; they will exert themselves in its rays; and a brighter light will meanwhile be shed upon us. . . . . And thus we remain unconcerned about the future. In our Father's kingdom there are many mansions, and, as he prepares for us so pleasant an abode here, he will certainly provide for us both yonder; perhaps we may then be allowed the privilege, which has thus far been denied us here, to meet face to face, and to love each other the more dearly.

Göthe did not send off these lines, because he was afraid lest by his frankness he should excite the displeasure of his old friend, and grieve her against his will. When, however, he soon afterwards fell sick, no sooner had he risen from his bed than he despatched them with these words:

Now that I am again returning to life from an all but mortal disease, the letter shall go to you, to inform you directly that the Ruler of all things grants me still to behold the beautiful light of his sun. May he shine genially

upon you also, and may you think of me with kindness and affection, as I never cease to remember those times, when that operated conjointly which was afterwards parted! May all meet again in the arms of the all-loving Your truly attached,

Father!

Weimar, April 17, 1823.

GÖTHE.

We now return to the year 1775. How strongly Werther excited the youth of Germany we have already remarked: but it was productive, for the poet himself, of a result which we cannot but heartily deplore. He was invited, namely, to the court of Weimar, and though the reigning family was then the noblest in Germany, yet it lamed the genius of the poet by numerous diversions, and drew him away from his vocation by great political labours, so that all the defects of Göthe's later muse are to be placed to the account of this circumstance. For the space of eleven years, from 1775 to 1786, his genius lay in a profound. slumber; it required the sight of the glories of Italy to awaken and bring it to itself, and to produce an Iphigenia; as it required a Schillerian excitement, and a friendly rivalry, for the completion of Tasso and Faust, and for the composition, besides many ballads, of the epic of Herrmann and Dorothea. To the intimacy of the two poets we are indebted also for the best German novel, Wilhelm Meister. But we shall draw upon Böttiger for some particulars of the first years of Göthe's residence at Weimar.

On his first appearance at the ducal court, he won all hearts by his personal demeanour, and gained general admiration by his social talent. Gleim, the poet, author of the "Kriegslieder," related an anecdote of him, which we introduce from Falk's work, (Göthe aus näherm persönlichen Umgange dargestellt, Leipzig, 1832,) because it conveys the best idea of the spirit and vivacity of Göthe in his younger days.

Shortly after Göthe had written his Werther, I went to Weimar, and was desirous to make his acquaintance. I was invited to a party at the Duchess Amelia's, to which, it was said, Göthe would come in the course of the evening. As a literary novelty, I had brought with me the latest Göttingen Musenalmanach, out of which I read two or three pieces to the company. While I was still reading, a young man, whom I had scarcely noticed, with boots and spurs, and in a short green hunting-coat, had mixed with the other auditors. He sat opposite to me, and listened very attentively. Besides a pair of bright dark Italian eyes in his head, there was nothing about him that particularly struck me. But care had been taken that I should get better acquainted with him. During a brief pause, in which some ladies and gentlemen expressed their opinions on this or the other piece, some praising, others censuring, that elegant sportsman-for such I took him to be-rose from his chair, and, bowing gracefully to me, offered, if I pleased, to relieve me now and then in reading, lest it should tire me. I could do no other than accept this polite offer, and immediately handed him the book. But, Apollo, and the Nine Muses, and the three Graces to boot, what was I destined to hear! At first all went on tolerably well. "The zephyr's breeze.... whispering trees .... the glorious sun-had his joyful race begun." The somewhat more spirited productions of Voss, Leopold Stolberg, and Bürger, were recited in such a manner

that there was no reason to complain. But all at once it seemed as though the reader had seized the very devil of wantonness by the tail; and I fancied that I saw the wild huntsman himself in bodily shape before me. He recited poems that were not in the volume, and in every possible variety of tones and metres -hexameters, iambics, doggrel, just what happened to come uppermost, pellmell, as though shaken out of a sack. Among others there came forth such magnificent ideas, though but hastily thrown together, that the authors to whom he gave the credit of them would have had good reason to thank God on their knees had they occurred to them when at their writing-desks. As soon as the joke was perceived, general mirth pervaded the room. My Mæ cenasship too, which I had always shown to young literary men and artists, did not escape a witty lash, as I had so often been deceived in the objects. “That is either Göthe or the devil!" I exclaimed to Wieland, who sat opposite to me at the table. "Both," he replied; "the devil himself is in him again to-night; and there he is like a wild colt kicking out before and behind, so that one does wisely not to go too near him."

At that time, this vivacity of mind accompanied him continually, so that he filled every one with fresh courage who wished to learn something from him, and could enter into the train of thought of the greatest men of the time. When we read his letters of this period, we are astonished sometimes by the fecundity of his conceptions when he was writing to scholars, at others by his religious spirit whenever he hoped to meet with a harmonizing chord in his correspondent, but always by the warmth of the language in which he expressed himself. There was not then in all Europe any intellectual tendency in which he did not interest himself. What was doing in England in the literary department he learned from Herder and Knebel; the enterprises of the new French school were communicated to him by Wieland; while he was made acquainted with the various pursuits of Germany by those who took the lead in them, such as Lavater, Klopstock, Basedow, Zimmermann, Stolberg, and Jacobi, or by their friends. Thus he knew what Lessing in Berlin, Kant and Hamann in Königsberg, Gleim in Halberstadt, Voss and Hölty in Göttingen, thought and were doing. Such an intellectual being must have made a powerful impression upon those who saw him for the first time. Thus Heinse, with whom Göthe became acquainted in Düsseldorf, writes in 1774:

Göthe has been here -a handsome lad of twenty-five, all genius, and energy, and strength, from head to foot; with a heart full of feeling, a miud full of fire, with eagle's wings, qui ruit immensus ore profundo. I know no man, in the whole history of literature, who, at so early an age, was so full of innate genius.

We could multiply the testimonies drawn by Göthe's extraordinary talents from his contemporaries, and especially the opinions of a Jacobi and a Lavater. But we shall content ourselves here with referring our readers to the sources, merely quoting one passage which we find in a letter written by Wieland to Meusel in 1775, and on which we lay particular stress, because it proceeds from a discreet man, a poet, who had reason to look