Goethe’s Correspondence with a Child – English Translation – e-text edition

By Bettine von Arnim

 

[Bettine von Arnim is usually anglicized as Bettina von Arnim. Her maiden name was Bettina Brentano]

Originally published in German 1835, English translation (by Bettina von Arnim). 1837

The two volume edition used for this transcription is located in the library of the Literary and Philosophical Society of Newcastle upon Tyne, Westgate Road, Newcastle upon Tyne, England - www.litandphil.org.uk

 

This e-text web edition was prepared by Bruce G Charlton, University of Newcastle upon Tyne, UK - April 2004.

Transcribed by Karen Leitch, adapted for web publication by David Pearce.

 

 

Editorial Preface

 

 

GOËTHE’S

 

CORRESPONDENCE

 

WITH

 

A CHILD

 

________

 

IN TWO VOLUMES

________

 

VOL. I.

 

LONDON

 

LONGMAN, ORME, BROWN, GREEN, AND LONGMANS

 

1837

The original of this work was published in German, in aid of Funds for the erection of a Monument to the memory of Goethe, and many thousand copies were sold.

 

The present translation has been printed at Berlin, and sent to England to promote the same object.

 

Pasternoster-Row,

Sept. 1937

 

 

TO THE

 

PRINCE PUCKLER.

 

You once wrote me: “He who sees my park, sees into my heart” – It was last year in the midst of September, that I entered your park, early in the morning; the sun was spreading his beams, it was a great silence in all nature, clear paths led me between fresh green plots, on which the flower bushes seemed still asleep; busy hands soon came cherish them, the leaves shaken down by the morning breeze were gattered and the confused branches unwreathed; I went further on different days, at different houses; in every direction, as far as I came I found the same carefulness and peaceful grace, which was spread all around.  Thus does the loving develop and cherish sense and beauty of the beloved, as you here cherish an inheritance of nature you were trusted with.  I’ll fain believe this to be the mirror of your most profound heart, as it implies so many a beauty, I’ll fain believe that the simple trust in you will be no less cherished and protected, than each single plant of your park.  There I have read to you from the diary and my letters to Goethe, and you liked to listen; now I give them up to you, protect these pages like your plants, and so again leave unminded the prejudice of those, who before they are acquainted with the book, condemn it as not genuine, and thus deceive themselves of truth. 

 

Let us remain well minded to one another, what faults and errors may be imputed to us by others who don’t see us in the same light, we will not give up a confidence in a higher idealism which so far over-reaches all accidental offences and misunderstandings and all assumed and customary virtue.  We will not disown the manifold noble causes, intimations and interests of being understood and beloved; if others do not comprehend it, let it remain a problem to them.

 

August 1834

 

BETTINA ARNIM

 

Had they of thy many errors

Always much to say,

Had indeed to forge their saying

Trouble in ev’ry way;

Would they have the good of thine

Gently lik’d to say,

With a conscious faithful Hint

As’t were better nay –

Them trust me, should be the best

No concealed ray,

Which indeed not many a guest

Grants in cheering day. –

 

(Westeastern divan.  Book of contemplation)

 

It is no gift of chance or of whim, that is brought here to you.  By well reflected reasons and with joyful heart, I bid you to the best, I am able to offer as a token of my thanks for the confidence you trust me with.

 

All are not fit to sound truth, but only its appearance; to trace the secret ways of a profound nature, to solve the problems in it – is denied to them; they only may utter their delusions which produce stubborn prejudices against better conviction, and robs the mind of its authority to acknowledge what is deviating from the common; it was in such confusions that my views of you were also entangled, while moved by your own feelings, you declined every derogating judgement of me, kindly trusting, you would enrich heart and mind by me; how made this blush me.  The simpleness of your views, of your self-contemplating, self-forming nature, your subtle perception of other’s disposition of mind, your prompt organ of speech, in a melodious style symbolically displaying in various way’s inward contemplation and exterior objects, this natural art of your mind!  - all this has cleared my ideas of you, and made me acquainted with that higher spirit in you which ideally parodies so may of your utterances.

 

PREFACE

 

This Book is for the Good and not for the Bad.

 

Whilst I was preparing these papers for the press, I was in different ways advised to omit much or at least give my expressions another turn; to remove all possible chance of their being misunderstood.  But I soon perceived, that we follow good counsel only then, when it is not contrary to the tendency of our own inclinations.  Among many advisers there was but one whose counsel satisfied me; he said; “This book is for the Good and not for the Bad, who alone can misinterpret it; let every thing remain as it is: that gives the book its true value, and to you one can only be thankful, that you have confidence enough to believe, that what the good cannot misunderstand, will also not be misinterpreted”.  This advice inspired me; it was the suggestion of Mr. Klein, agent of the house of Trowitzsch and Son, the same who provided for type and paper, corrected the orthography, set commas and points, and by my little understanding in these matters evinced much patience.  This opinion of his thus expressed confirmed me therein, not to yield to ill boding prophets or the timorous conscience of my other counsellors.  Whatever may be the consequence of this advice, I rejoice in it, because it will undoubtedly be acknowledged as the most noble by the good, who will never allow, that the truth of a happy conscience should turn and fly before the interpretations of the bad. 

 

To the Chancellor Müller in Weimar my thanks are also due, for having troubled himself at my request, in spite of his manifold business, to discover my letters among the vast mass which Goethe had left.  It is now eighteen months since I recovered them, at that time he wrote to me: “Thus returns this untouched treasure of love and constancy to the rich source from whence it sprung! But one thing I would beg of your friendship, as a reward for my exact execution of your wish and will and for my self-restraint – give me any pages of this without doubt life-warm Correspondence; I will religiously preserve it, neither shew it, nor let it be copied, but sometimes in stillness, delight, edify or afflict myself according as the contents may be; I shall always possess it in a doubly dear memorial; as if it were a drop of your heart’s blood, which had flowed as a tribute to the greatest and best of men.”  I have not satisfied this request; for I was too jealous of these pages, in which Goethe had taken so extraordinary an interest; they are almost all corrected by his hand, both the orthography and here and there the construction; much is underlined with red ink, much with pencil, here parenthesis, there erasures.  As I once saw him after a long interval, he opened a drawer in which my letters lay and said “I read every day in them.”  These words raised in me at that time a slight emotion; and when I again read my letters, with these traces of his hand, I felt the same emotion again, and I could not easily have parted from even the most trifling pages.  Therefore I have passed over in silence the request of Chancellor Müller, but have not ungratefully forgotten it; may the use I have made of it, prove to him both my thanks and my justification.

 

CORRESPONDENCE

 

WITH

 

GOETHE’S MOTHER

­­­­­

DEAREST FRAU RATH*).

 

March 1^st 1807

 

I have already waited long for some particular opportunity of entering upon our correspondence.  Since I sailed forth from your Abraham’s bosom, the haven of silent expectation, the stormwind has never ceased to blow and my nay-yea sort of life has, like a slow fever, robbed me of the beautiful season.  How I regret the pleasant prospect which I enjoyed on the foot-stool at your feet! Not the top of St. Catharine’s tower nor the forge of the sooty Cyclops, who guard the “Golden Fountain”**)  no!  I mean the view of your speaking fiery glance, which expresses what the lips cannot utter.  True, I am here in the very emporium of adventure, but the splendid net with which your motherly inspiration has encompassed me makes me indifferent to all.  Next door to me lives the Adjutant of the king, he has red hair and large blue eyes; I know one who considers him irresistible and that one is himself.  The other night he waked me with his flute out of a dream, in which for my life I had fain continued; the next day I thanked him for having so piously played the evening hymn to me; he believed I was in earnest and said I was a devotee;   since that, all the Frenchman call me so and wonder that I am not vexed at it – yet I like the Frenchmen very well.

 

Yesterday I met with an adventure.  Coming from a walk, I found Rothschild before the door with a beautiful grey horse; he said it was like a lamb and whether I would try it?  I did not wait foe entreaty; scarcely had I mounted, when this lamb took the bit between his teeth and set off with me at full gallop up the Wilhelmshöher alley and came back in the same manner.  All came up to me deadly pale; the lamb stopped short and I jumped off; and now they all said how frightened they had been.  I asked, “What then was the matter?” “Why, the nag ran away with you!” “Indeed,” said I.  Rothschild wiped the sweat from the horse with his silk-handkerchief, laid his coat over its back that it might not take cold, and lead it home in his shirt-sleeves; he was afraid he should never have seen it again.  When I went into company in the evening, the French-men no more called me a devotee, but all cried unanimously: “ah l’heroine!”

 

From out my world of dreams I say to you “Fare well!” for something of its power has also been spread over me.  A very handsome – yes I must be blind if I did not see it – well! an elegant, slender, brown Frenchman, observes me from afar with piercing looks, he approaches modestly, he preserves the flowers which fall from my hands, he speaks to me of my loveliness; - Frau Rath, how does this please one?  It is true I am cold and incredulous to him, but nevertheless when any one near me says “le roi vient,” I am a little startled for that is the name of my amiable adorer. I wish you good night; write to me soon again. 

BETTINE.

 

*) The title by which Goethe’s mother was named in all Germany.

**) the name of Goethe’s house.

 

GOETHE’S MOTHER TO BETTINE.

March 14^th 1807

 

I have had my pen new pointed, and have filled my dried up inkstand to the very top, and since today is such horrible weather that one would not turn a dog out of doors, thou shalt immediately receive an answer.  Dear Bettine!  I miss thee much in the sad time of winter; how joyfully thou camest springing to me last year! when it snowed in every direction, then I knew it was just the right weather for thee; I had not to wait long, before thou camest.  Even now, from old habit I always peep at the corner of the Catharine gate, but thou comest not; and the very certainty of it grieves me.  I have visiters enough, but they are only such visiting people with whom I can chat about nothing.

 

I also like the French: it’s always quite another sort of life, when the French quartered here, receive their rations of bread and meat from that, when the Prussian or Hessian blocks are in garrison.

 

I did indeed enjoy the sight of Napoleon; he it is who has wrapped the whole world in an enchanted dream, and for this mankind should be grateful, for if they did not dream, they would have got nothing by it, and have slept like clods as they have hitherto done.

 

Amuse thyself and be merry, for he who laughs can commit no deadly sin.

Thy friend

ELIZABETH GOETHE

 

Thou makest no inquiries after Wolfgang – I always said to thee, wait only till another come and thou wilt soon cease to sigh for him.

 

FRAU RATH

March 20^th 1807

 

Get away with you reproaches! So much I say in answer to your Postscript and no more.  Now guess what the tailor is making for me.  An Adrian?  No! – A Paduasoy?  No! – A Boddire? No! – A Mantilla? No - A pair of poches? No! – A hoop-petticoat?  No! – A training gown?  No! – A pair of trousers?  Yes! – Hurrah!  (Other times are now coming) and a waistcoat and coat too.  To morrow everything will be tried on; it must set well, for I have ordered all to be made full and easy; and then I throw myself into a chaise and courier-like travel day and night through the entire armies, between friend and foe; all the fortresses unbar at my approach, and thus on to Berlin, where certain business will be transacted, in which I have no concern.  But then back again in all haste, and no halt till Weimar.  O! Frau Rath, how then will all there look? – my heart beats violently, although I must travel till the end of April before I can come there.  Will my heart have courage enough to resign itself to him?

 

I feel as if he stood just before the door! all the veins in my head beat; ah! if I were only with you! that alone could quiet me, to see you also beside yourself with joy; or if one would give me a sleeping potion that I might sleep till I awoke in his presence!  What shall I say to him? Ah! he is not haughty is he? – I will relate to him everything about you and that I know he will like to hear.  Adieu! farewell and wish me in your heart a happy journey.  I am quite giddy.

BETTINE.

 

But I must tell you how all this has come about.  My brother-in-law came to me and said if I could persuade his wife to make a long journey of business with him in male costume, he would take me with him, and on his return, to oblige me, would pass through Weimar.  Only think! Weimar always appeared to me as far away as it if were in another quarter of the world and now it lies before the door!

 

DEAR FRAU RATH

May 5^th 1807

 

A box containing a cup will be forwarded to you by the mail; it is the most ardent longing to see you again which induces me to send you so worthless a mark of my respect.  Do me the pleasure to drink your tea out of it every morning and therewith to thank on me.  “A rogue gives more than he has.”  At last I have seen Wolfgang: but alas! What matters it?  My heart is swelled like the full sail of a ship, which anchored on a foreign shore, would still so gladly steer for home.  Adieu my dear good Mother, do not forget me.

 

BETTINE BRENTANO

 

GOETHE’S MOTHER TO BETTINE

May 11^th 1807

 

Why do’st thou droop thy wings?  After so delightful a journey, to write so short a letter and tell me nothing of my son but that thou has seen him! And that I know already, for he wrote to me yesterday.  What have I to do with thy anchored bark?  It tells me exactly nothing – write of something which has happened.  Consider I have not seen him for eight years and may never see him again: if thou wilt relate nothing of him to me, who shall?  Haven’t I heard thy silly stories a hundred times which indeed I know by heart? And now when thou hast really seen and heard something new, something more than common – when thou knowest thou couldst give me the greatest pleasure, - thou tellst me – nothing!  Is anything the matter with thee then?  There is no Ocean betwixt thee and Weimar; though now knowest well, one can be there ere the Sun has twice risen.  Art thou sorrowful?  Dear dear child! my son shall be thy friend – thy brother, who surely loves thee; and for the future thou shalt call me mother all the remaining days my old age grants me – it is the only name which can give me joy.

Thy true friend

ELIZABETH GOETHE

Thanks for the cup.

 

TO GOETHE’S MOTHER

May 16^th 1807

 

Yesterday I wrote to your son; do you answer for it to him.  I would willingly too write you every thing, but I have now so much to think upon, it is almost impossible to tear myself away.  I am ever with him in mind, how shall I then relate what has been.  Have indulgence and patience: I will come next week to Frankfort and then you can ask me every thing.

Your child             

                                BETTINE

 

I lay some time in bed and now I get up to write to you all about our journey.  I told you already that we passed through the armies in male dresses.  Just before the gate, my brother-in-law made us get out; - he wanted to see how our clothes set.  Lullu looked very well, for she is splendidly formed and the clothes were admirably made: as for me, all was too loose and too long, as if I had bought them at Rag-Fair.  My brother-in-law laughed at me and said I looked like a Savoyard.  The postillion had driven us off the road through a wood, and coming to a cross-way, was quite at a loss: although only the commencement of our four-weeks journey, I was anxious lest we should miss our way and thus come too late to Weimar.  I clambered up the highest fir and soon saw where the mainroad lay.  -  I made the whole journey upon the box: I had a fox-skin cap, the brush hanging down behind.  When we arrived at a stage, I unharnessed the horses and helped to put the fresh ones to.  I spoke broken German with the postillions as if I had been a French-man.  – At first it was beautiful weather, as if spring were commencing, but soon became complete winter.  We passed through a wood of gigantic pines and firs, all the hoary, spotless – not a soul had been before us – it was perfectly white.  Besides, the moon shone on this desolate paradise of silver – a deathlike stillness! Only the wheels creaking from the frost.  I sat on the box, but was not at all cold: winter’s frost strikes sparks out of me! – As midnight approached we heard a whistling in the wood; my brother-in-law reached me a pistol out of the carriage and asked whether I had courage to fire if robbers came?  I said “Yes” “Only” said he, don’t fire too soon.”  Lullu was in great trouble, inside the carriage, but I in the open air with “pistol cocked and sabre girt,” numberless sparkling stars above, and glittering trees around, which threw their giant shadows across the moonlit way – all this made me bold on my exalted seat.  Then I thought on him – whether, if he had met me thus in his young days, it would not have made a poetical impression upon him, so that he would have written sonnets upon me and never have forgotten me?  He may now think otherwise – he will be elevated above a magical impression:  higher qualities – how shall I attain them – will maintain a right over him – if constancy – eternal, fixed on his threshold, do not at last make him mine!  Thus was I disposed in that clear, cold winternight, during which I found no opportunity of firing off my piece – when the day broke I first received permission.  The carriage stopped – I ran into the wood, and enthusiastically fired into the dense wilderness in honour of your son.  In the mean time the axle tree was broken.  We felled a tree with the hatchet which we had with us and bound it fast with ropes: my brother then found, that I was very handy, and praised me.  Thus we proceeded to Magdeburg.  At 7 o’clock precisely, the fortress is shut – we came a minute or two later and were obliged to wait till 7 the next morning!  It was not very cold and the two in the carriage fell asleep.  In the night it began to snow.  I threw my cloke over my head and remained quietly sitting on my exposed seat.  In the morning they peeped out of the chaise and there I was changed into a snow-hermit!  But before they had time to be thoroughly frightened, I threw off my cloke under cover of which I had sat quite warm.  – In Berlin I was as one blind among many men; I was also absent in mind; I could take part in nothing: I longed always for darkness, that undisturbed I might think on the future which now approached so near.  Ah! How often did the alarum beat! – Suddenly! Unawares! In the midst of tranquil stilness – how I know not – a sweet terror seized me.  Oh Mother!  Mother! Think on your son!  If you knew, that in a short time you should behold him – you would be as a Conductor; in which every thunder-cloud strikes.  – As we came within a few miles of Weimar, my brother remarked, he did not wish to go so far out of the way as through Weimar, and would take another road.  I was silent, but Lulla wouldn’t hear of it, she said: “it had been once promised me and he must keep his word.” Ah Mother! The sword hung over my head, suspended by a single hair, but fortune favoured me.

 

We arrived in Weimar at 12 o’clock and sate down to dinner, but I could not eat.  The two laid themselves on the sofa and slept; we had been up three nights.  “I advise you” said my brother, “to take some rest also.  Goethe won’t much care whether you come or not, and besides there is nothing so extraordinary to see in him.”  Can you believe this robbed me of all courage?  Alas!  I didn’t know what to do:  I was quite alone in a strange town.  I had changed my dress and stood at the window looking at the tower-clock! Just then it struck half post two.  I felt as if Goethe would not indeed care to see me – I remembered that people called him proud.  I pressed my heart hard to prevent its longings: - All at once it struck three and it was exactly as if he had called me.  I ran down stairs to the servants, there was no carriage to be had: would I take a sedan-chair?  “No,” said I, “it is an equipage for the Lazar-house.”  I went on foot.  The streets were a perfect chocolate-pool, I was obliged to be carried over the deepest morasses and in this manner I came to – Wieland’s, not to your son’s.  I had never seen Wieland, but I pretended to be an old acquaintance.  He tried every way to recal me to his mind and then said: “Yes, you are certainly a dear and well-known angel, but I cannot remember when and where I have seen you.!  I laughed at him and said: “Now I know that you dream about me, for elsewhere you cannot possibly have seen me.”  He gave me a note to your son – I took it afterwards with me, and have preserved it as a memorial.  I send you a copy: “Bettine Brentano, Sophia’s sister, Maximilian’s daughter, Sophia la Roche’s grand-daughter, wishes dear brother, to see you, says she fears you, and that this little note will be a talisman of courage to her.  Although I am tolerably certain, she makes game of me, yet I must do what she asks and shall wonder much, if you are not compelled to do the same.

 

April 23^rd 1807.

W.

 

With this billet I went forth.  The house lies opposite the fountain: how deafening did the water sound to me!  I ascended the simple staircase: in the wall stand statues which command silence: at least I could not be loud in his sacred hall.  All is friendly but solemn.  In the rooms simplicity is at home, ah! How inviting!  “Fear not,” said the modest walls, “he will come and will be – and more he will not wish to be – as though art, - and then the door opened and there he stood solemnly, grave and looked with fixed eyes upon me.  I stretched my hands towards him – I believe, I soon lost all consciousness.  – Goethe caught me quickly to his heart.  “Poor child have I frightened you?”  These were the first words with which his voice penetrated to my heart – he led me into his room and placed me on the sofa opposite to him.  There we were both mute; at last he broke the silence: “You have doubtless read in the papers that we suffered a few days ago a great loss by the death of the Duchess Amalia?”  “Ah!” said I, “I don’t read the papers.” – “Indeed? – I had believed that everything which happens in Weimar would have interested you.”  “No! nothing interests me but you alone, and I am far too impatient to pore over news-papers.” – “You are a kind child.” – A long pause – I, fixed to that tiresome sofa in such anxiety.  You know how impossible it is for me to sit still in such a well-bred manner.  Ah! Mother, is it possible so far to forget one’s self?  I suddenly said: “I can’t stay here upon the sofa” and sprang up.  “Well,” said he, “make yourself at home,” then I flew to his neck – he drew me on his knee and locked me to his heart.  Still! Quite still it was! Everything vanished.  I had not slept for so long: years had passed in sighing after him, - I fell asleep on his breast and when I awoke, I began a new life.  More I shall not write to you this time.

BETTINE

 

September 1807

Frau Rath! As often as I meet with anything comical I think of you, and what fun and what tales there would have been if you yourself had seen or heard it.  Here, in the vine-covered Mildeberg, I sit with my friend Mr. Schwab, who was formerly Secretary to my father and who has fed us children with his stores.  He can tell a story at least as well as you, but he swaggers and makes use of Jews and Pagans, the discovered and undiscovered world in decorating of his adventures; you however stick to the truth, but with such joyful notes of exclaimation that one wonders what is coming.  The squirrel which you gave me, I set free in the great oak-forest and it was high time.  During its five miles ride in the carriage, it perpetrated considerable mischief, and at the inn during the night ate up the Burgomaster’s slippers.  I don’t know how you managed, that it did not throw down all your glasses, gnaw all your furniture and dirty all your caps and turbans.  He bit me, but in remembrance of the pround, handsome French-man, who brought him on his helmet all the way from South France to your house in Frankfort, I forgave him. I set him on the ground in the wood: as I went away, he sprung again upon my shoulder and would not take advantage of his liberty and I would fain have taken him with me again, because he loved me better then the beautiful green oaks.  But as I got into the carriage, the others made such an outcry and so abused our dear parlour-companion, that I was obliged to carry him back to the wood.  I made them wait long enough for it: I sought out the finest oak in the whole wood and clambered up.  At the top I let him out of his bag – he sprang gaily from branch to branch, then busied himself with the acorns, during which I descended.  On arriving at the bottom, I had lost the direction of the carriage and although I heard myself called I could not in the least distinguish from whence the voices came.  I stood still, till they drove up to fetch me.  They both scolded me but I was silent, laid myself at the bottom of the carriage on three bottles of Selterwasser and had a delicious sleep, till by moonlight the carriage was over-turned, but so gently that no one was hurt.  Away flew a nut-brown chamber maid from the box and in romantic disorder lay fainting on the flat bank of the Maine directly in face of the moon; two band-boxes with lace and ribbands flew somewhat further, and swam cleverly enough down the river; I ran after them into the water, which from the great heat was very shallow and all called after me was I mad? – I could not hear them, and I believe I and the boxes should have swum back to Frankfort, if a boat which stood out into the stream, had not brought them to.  I pached them under either arm, and walked back again through the clear waves.  “Thoughtless girl” said my brother Frank and with his soft voice tried to scold: I put off my wet clothes was wrapt up in a soft cloke and packed into the closed carriage. 

 

In Aschaffenburg they put me forcibly into bed and made me some camomile tea.  Not to drink it, I pretended to be fast asleep.  There upon my merits were discussed, how I had too good a heart, was full of kindness and never thought of myself, how, I had swum after the band-boxes which, if I had not ffshed again to laud, it would have been impossible the next morning to have performed toilette, before dining with the royal Primate.  Ah! They didn’t know what I knew, - viz: that in that wilderness of false locks, gilt combs and lace, was hidden a treasure in a red velvet bag, for whose sake I would have thrown both  boxes into the water, with all which did, and did not belong to me, and that but for this I should have rejoiced for the return-voyage of the band boxes.  In this bag lay concealed a bunch of violets, which in a party at Wieland’s in Weimar, your son secretly threw to me as be went by.  My lady mother!  I was then jealous of Wolfgang and believed the violets had been given him by a female hand, but he said “Art thou not content, that I give them thee?” – I took his hand in secret and drew it to my heart; he drank out of his glass and placed it before me that I also might drink; I took it in the left hand and drank; then laughed at him, because I knew he had placed it there, that I might let go his hand, “It” said he “then has such cunning, though wilt know well, how to chain me for life.”  I beg you not to be puffed up, because I have trusted you with my inmost heart; -  I must have someone to whom I can impart.  They, who have handsome faces, wish to see them in the glass; you are the glass of my happiness, which now blooms in its greatest beauty, and must therefore often see itself reflected.  Pray, chatter to your son in your next letter (Which by the by you can write to morrow, without first waiting an opportunity) how in the cold moonlight I swam after the bunch of violets in the band-box for a quarter of an hour (so long it wasn’t though) and that the waves bore me like a water-nymph along (waves there were none, only shallow water which scarcely bore up the light boxes), and that my inflated clothes showed like a balloon.  What are all the frocks of his youthfull loves in comparison with my floating garments.  Do not say that your son is too good for me, when I run myself into such danger for a violet!  I attach myself to the epoch of sensitive romance, and come luckily on Werther, where by the bye I feel much inclined to turn Charlotte out of doors.  Your Son’s taste in that “white gown with pink ribbands” is bad.  I will never during my life wear a white gown, green-green-all my clothes are green!

 

Apropos, take one peep behind your fire-screen, at the pretty painted side which you always turn to the wall for fear the sun should fade it; you will there discover that the squirrel has committed great ravages on the fire-goddess; having white washed her whole face.  I wouldn’t say anything about it, because, against your orders I had fastened the squirrel on the screen and I feared you would be angry: therefore I tell it you by letter, that in my absence you may expend your anger.  To morrow we go to Aschaffenburg when I will write further.  Let Eliza beat my foot-stool to keep out the moths and let no one else sit upon it.  Adieu Frau Rath, I remain your obedient handmaid.

BETTINE

 

TO FRAU RATH GOETHE

 

Frau Rath, you have a most villainous hand, a thorough cat’s paw, I do not mean the hand, which in the Theatre applauds Werdi the Actor, when like a Miller’s ass, he tramps about the stage and essays to play tragical Tragedy!  But the written hand which is abominable and illegible.  You can to be sure write as unreadably as you will, that I am a “silly thing”, I can still read it, even in the ffrst “s” – for what else can it mean?  You have told me so, often enough: but when you write to your son about me, busy yourself a little I beg, to make yourself legible.   The “Mild-berger Grapes” I did at last decipher, though written in Chaldaic and Hebrew characters: I will send you a whole box full, which indeed I had done, notwithstanding.  Moreover Mr. Schlosser has written nothing particular in your letter.  Again, I can’t bear that you should spend your time with him and I not there; and I command you not to let him sit upon my ottoman, for he is one who “imagines he can play the lute” and believes he can assume my seat: and you too, if you see him so often will imagine he is better than I: you did believe so once, nay! That he was a complete Apollo of beauty, till I opened your eyes: moreover Mrs. Schlosser said, that as a new born child, he was laid out on a green billiard-table and that he contrasted so well and looked like a bright Angel!  Is contrast then so great a beauty?  Adieu, I am sitting to write in a manger, out of which the cow is eating her clover: but don’t write this to your son, it might appear a little too crazy: for I myself, when I think of finding my lover sitting and inditing tender letters to me, in a cow-stall, hardly know how I should behave myself.  But I am sitting here above, in pure despair, because I want to conceal myself, and be alone that I may think upon him.  Adieu Frau Rath. We dined yesterday at the Primate’s, it was a holiday; we had curious dishes representing meat but which after all were none.  When we were introduced to him, he chucked me under the chin and called me “little angel” and “lovely child”.  I asked him, how old he thought I might be – “Well, twelve certainly”, “thirteen” said I.  “Indeed!” said he, “that is somewhat old, you must soon commence your reign.

                BETTINE

(The answer is wanting)

 

Winckel

 

Dear Frau Rath!  All that I have written down I will read to you: you may convince yourself, that I have added nothing and written only that which my eyes have drunk in from your lips, only I cannot conceive, how it sounds so well from your lips and flows again so stupidly from my pen.  That I am not very wise, I give many proofs: wherefore I can very well allow you to say to the people, that you wish they were all as foolish as I: - but never say now that I am clever, or you compromise yourself, and the Landlord at Cassel on the great Rhine bridge can afford a proof to the contrary.  It was so wearisome, waiting till our entire luggage was examined, that I took the fly-flapper and pursued some guats, till they settled on the window-panes: I struck at them – the pane flew out, and with it the guats to “olden liberty” into the broad, proud Rhine below; the landlord said, it was stupid and I was much ashamed.

 

Ah! Frau Mother, what a curious sort of life is it here in Langewinkel, Nature should here show lovely and it is so without doubt, only I have not the art to see it.  Before my eyes can wander to the Johannisberg, they are arrested by certain dirty alleys and a long field of caterpillared plum and pear-trees.  Out of every dormer-window hang pearl-strings of snips and slices: the tanner opposite pervades with his vapours every perfume of the air, and all the five senses are necessary, to perceive anything in its beauty; and indeed if the whole scene were ever so charming and the scent brought no proof with it, the process would nevertheless be lost.

 

The organ in the Church too, sounds quite out of tune here – one must travel from Frankfort to Winckel, if one will hear such harsh discords performed to the honour of God.

Good bye

BETTINE

 

Our coachman will bring you a box of peaches, but don’t spoil your stomach, for it is not of “nature godlike” and is easily seduced.

 

We went last Thursday with the two Schlossers to Lorch.  It was resolved to go by water.  Christian Schlosser thought he could not bear the water and went on foot.  I went with him to keep him company, but repented it.  For the first time I spoke of Wolfgang with another besides you, and that was a sin.  I can bear to hear every-thing of him, but no praise, no love.  You love your son, for you bore him – that is no sin and I have nothing to object to it – but no more; only others shall make no further pretensions to him.  You ask me if I have engrossed him for myself?  Yes! Frau Rath, to that I can answer!  I believe, that there is a way and manner of possessing another, which none can dispute, and this way I take with Wolfgang; none before me have understood it, that I know, spite of all his amours which you relate to me.  Before his face I am indeed very humble but behind his back I hold him fast and he must struggle hard to get loose.

 

Frau Rath!  I know Princess and Princesses only in the magic world of fairy-tales, and by your descriptions, which are much the same, only that in the former, the most beautiful Princesses are turned into cats and generally, set free and married, by some tailor.  – Consider of this, when you next invent a tale and afford this circumstance a moral explanation.

                BETTINE

(The Answer is wanting)

 

It is true, I have received a letter from Wolfgang her in Rheingau; he writes: “Keep my mother warm, and hold me dear.”  These sweet lines have sunk into me like the first Spring-rain; I am very happy that he desires me to love him; I know well that he embraces the whole world; I know that all men wish to see and speak with him, that all Germany says “Our Goethe”.  But I can tell you, that up to this day the general inspiration of his greatness and his name has not yet arisen within me.  My love to him is confined to that little white-walled room, where I first saw him, where the vine, trained by his own hand creeps up the window, where he sits on the straw-hassock and holds me in his arms – there he lets in no stranger, and knows of nothing, but me alone.  Frau Rath! You are his mother and to you I will tell it: when I saw him for the first time and returned home, I found that a hair from his head, had fallen upon my shoulder.  I burnt it at the candle and my heart was so touched, that it also flamed, but merrily, and joyfully as flames in the blue sunlit air, of which one is scarcely aware and which consume their sacrifice without smoke.  So will it be with me; I shall flutter joyfully my life long in the air and no one will know whence the joy comes; it is only, because I know, that when I come to him, he will be alone with me and forget his laurels.

 

Farewell and write to him of me.

                BETTINE

 

GOETHE’S MOTHER TO BETTINE.

Frankfort, May 12^th 1806

 

Dear Bettine.  Thy letters give me joy, and Miss Betty who recognizes them on the address, says: “Frau Rath, the postman brings you a pleasure.”  Don’t however be too mad about my son, everything must be done in order.  The brown room is new-papered with the pattern which you chose; the colour blends peculiarly well with the morning-twilight which breaks over the Catharine-tower and enters into my room.  Yesterday our town looked quite holiday-like, in the spotless light of the Alba.

 

Except this, everything remains at it was.  Be in no trouble about thy foot-stool, for Betty suffers no one to sit upon it.

 

Write much, even if it were every day.

 

Thy affectionate friend

ELIZABETH GOETHE

 

FRAU RATH!

Schlangenbad

 

We rode yesterday upon millers’ donkies far into the country, away over Rauenthal. The way leads through rocky paths covered with woods; to the left you look into the deep ravine, and to the right on the woody, rising wall of rock.   “Then and there” the strawberries so seduced me, that I almost came from my post; for my donkey was the leader.  By continually halting to pluck the strawberries, the whole party pressed upon me from the rear and I was obliged to leave thousands of crimson berries unplucked upon the path.  A week has now passed, but I still languish after then; those which are eaten are forgotten, the unplucked still burn in my recollection.  Thus I should for ever burn, if I neglected that which I have a right to enjoy and herein you need not fear that I should overturn “order!”.  I do not hang upon my beloved like lead, I am like the moon which shines into his parlour: when well-dressed people throng it, and many lamps are lighted, it is little noticed; but when they are gone and the noise is past, then, the soul has so much the stronger desire to drink in its light.  Thus will he also turn to me, and think of me, when he is alone.  -  I feel angry with all who have to do with him, yet I fear none; but with this you have no concern.  Shall I fear the mother, if I love the son?

BETTINE

 

TO BETTINE

Frankfort, May 25^th

 

Hey! Child, though art bewitched! What fancies hast though taken into thy head?  Why! Who is thy “beloved” who is to think of thee by night, and in moonshine too?  Dost thou think he has nothing better to do?  -  Ha! Your humble servant.

 

I tell thee again; every thing in order, and write connected letters in which there is something to read.  Stuff! To write to Weimar indeed! Write of all that happens, orderly one thing after another.  First who is there, how you like them and how they are dressed: whether the sun shines of whether it rains; for that is also to the purpose.

 

My son has begged me again, to tell thee to write to him.  But pray in an orderly fashion or thou wilt run the whole affair. 

 

I was at a Concert on Friday, where the Violoncello was played and I thought of thee, for its tones sounded exactly like thy hazel eyes.  Adieu child! thou art in every way missed by thy.

FRAU RATH

 

FRAU RATH!

 

I will with pleasure do you the kindness and for once write a long, legible letter of my entire manner of life at Winckel.

 

In the first place we are a houseful of women, not a single man, no not so much as a serving man amongst us.  All the shutters in the house are closed, that the Sun may not treat us like unripe vines, or quite roast us.  The storey in which we live consists of one great saloon in which are a number of little closets, looking out on the Rhine, each one of which, is inhabited by a couple of our party.  Dear Maria, with the auburn hair is our house-keeper and sees to “the baked and the boiled.”  In the morning we come out of our little rooms and meet all together in the saloon.   It is a peculiar pleasure to see one after the other making her appearance in Grecian drapery.  The day passes in humorous gossip, interspersed with song and guitar arpeggios.  In the evening we saunter along the banks of the Rhine, and ten encamp in the timberyard.  I read Homer aloud: the peasants draw around and listen, the moon rises between the hills and gives light, instead of the sun.  In the distance lies the dark ship, where a fire burns, and on whose deck the watch dog bays from time to time.  When we close the book, a regular political discussion takes place: the Gods themselves pass for neither more non less than other statesmen, and opinions are so hotly defended, that one might believe all had taken place yesterday, and that much might still be altered.  I have one advantage, viz: if I had not read Homer to the peasants, I should not to this day have known the contents, their questions and remarks have brought me to it.  -  When we return home, we go, (when tired) one after the other to bed.  I then set myself to the Piano, and melodies come upon me, to which I sing before Heaven, the songs I love best.  “How good, how friendly Nature is.”  In bed, I send  y thoughts there, where I best love, and thus I fall asleep.  Will life continue always thus? Surely not?

 

On Saturday my brothers were here and stayed till Monday, during which time, we passed the nights on the Rhine.  George with his flute, to which we sung; thus we passed from village to village, till the breaking day drove us home.  -  Lady Mother! To glide upon the splendid mirror of the Rhine by moonlight, and sing forth the boundings of the heart, to encounter in friendly company all sorts of merry adventures, to rise without care, and to lay down without harm, this is a life in the midst of which I stand.  Why do I suffer myself to be pleased with it? Do I not know better? And is not the World great? And are there not various things in it, - tarrying only for the spirit of man to become alive in him? And shall all this leave me untouched?  Oh God! The prosaic world is a hard nut, not easy to crack, and many a kernel dries up beneath the thick shell.  Yes, man has a conscience: it exhorts him to fear nothing, and neglect nothing which the heart asks of him. Passion is the only key to the world, by which the spirit learns to know and feel every thing, or how else should it enter into the world? And thus I feel, that only through my love to him, I am born in the spirit, and through him the world unlocks itself to me, where the sun shines to me and the day divides from night.  What I do not learn through this love, I shall never understand.  Would that I sat a beggar-child before his door, and took a piece of bread from his hand, and that he knew by my glance, of what spirit I am the child: then, would he draw me nigh to him and cover me with his cloak, that I might be warm.  I know he would never bid me go again; I should for ever wander in the house, and thus years would pass and no one should know who I was, and no one should know whence I came: and thus years would pass, and life, and in his features the whole world should be reflected to me, and I should not need to learn anything morel.  Why then do I not do so?  It depends only upon whether I can take heart, and so come into the haven of my happiness.

 

Do you still remember how in winter-time I came springing through snow and rain and you asked, “how doest thou run over the street?” and I said, “If I should care more for the old town of Frankfort, than for a poultry-yard, I should not come far in the world,” and you answered that you believed no water was too deep, and no mountain too steep for me; and even then I thought to myself: If Weimar were the deepest water and the steepest mountain.  I can now better tell you that my heart is heavy and will remain so, as long as I am not with him; and that you may find “in order” or not as you please.  Adieu!  I shall soon come to you, full tilt.

BETTINE

 

TO GOETHE’S MOTHER

Winckel, June 12^th

 

A letter from you always makes a great bustle among the people here; they would fain know what we have to say to one another, because I seem to them such a silly girl.  You may depend upon it never shall be wise.  How shall I attain to wisdom? My lonely life does not lead to it.  What have I seen and heard this year?  In winter I was sick: then I made a magic-lantern of pasteboard, where the cat and the knight had the principal parts; I studied the pat of the cat for nearly six weeks, but she was no philosopher, or I might have profited something.  In spring the orange-tree blossomed in my chamber: I had a table and a seat made around it, and there in its sweet-scented shade, I wrote to my friend: that was a joy for which no wisdom could have recompensed me.  In the mirror opposite I saw the tree reflected and the sunbeams streaming through its foliage; there I saw her, the presumptuous brunette, sitting to write to the greatest Poet – to the exalted above all men.  In April I went out early upon the rampart and sought the first violet and botanized: in May I learned to drive a pair of horses: in the morning I drove by sun-rise to Oberrad, walked in the potatoe-fields and helped the gardener to plant “by line and level”: with the milk-woman I laid out a carnation-bed – the deep-red carnations are my favourite flowers.  In such a way of life, what can I learn, or how become wise? What I write to your son pleases him; he always desires more and that makes me blessed; for I revel in an abundance of thoughts which refreshingly express to him, my love, my happiness.  What then are talent and wisdom, since I the most blest, do not want them?

 

It was last year in the beginning of May that I saw him for the first time.  He broke off a young leaf from the vine, which grew around his window, and laid it on my cheek, saying: “this leaf and thy cheek are both downy”; I sat upon the stool at his feet and leaned upon him, while the time passed in silence.  – Now what of wisdom could we have spoken to one another, which would not have detracted from this unrevealed bliss? What words of genius could have repaid that quiet peace which bloomed within us?  Oh! How often have I thought on that leaf, and how he stroked my forehead and face, and how he passed his fingers through my hair and said: “I am not wise, I am easily deceived, and thou wilt gain no great honour, if thou imposest on me with “Thy love”.  Then I feel upon his neck.  -  All this was not “Genius” and yet I have lived it over a thousand times in thought, and shall my life long drink from that fountain even as the eye drinks in, the light; - it was not “Genius” and yet to me it outshone all the wisdom of the world.  What could recompence me for his kind trifling with me? – what supply the fine penetrating ray of his glance, which streams into my eye?  I care nothing for wisdom:  I have learned happiness under another form; that too which gives others pain, hurts not me, and my pain no one can understand.

 

How bright is this night!  The hills with their vines clothed in splendour lie there, and sleepily suck in the nourishing moonlight.  – Write soon:

 

I have no one in whom I so willingly confide, because I know you are not united to, nor reserve yourself for, any one more than me, and that you never talk about me to another.  – If you only knew how far in the night it is!  The moon is setting: that grieves me.  Write to me very soon.

BETTINE

 

FRAU RATH

Winckel, June 25^th

 

I went with Frank to an iron-foundry and must remain two days in the narrow ravine, where it rained or rather wetted continually.  “To this” said the people, “we are used, we live like fish, always wet; and if by chance we have a few dry days, our skins itch so, that we wish to be wet again”.  I must reflect, how I may describe this singular earth-hole, where, from beneath dark and mighty oaks breaks forth a fiery glow, where, solitary huts hang from the faces of the hills, over which gleam the single lights at dusk, and where the long evening, by a distant pipe which always plays the same tunes, proclaims, that here, Loneliness is at home, uninterrupted by any society.  Why should the sound of a solitary flute blowing away by itself, be so tediously melancholy, tat the heart is ready to burst with vexation, so that one knows not which way to turn? Ah! How fain would one then strip off these earthly garments and fly aloft far into the air – yes! Like a swallow in the sky, which cuts the aether with her wings as with a sharp bow, soaring above the slavish chains of thought, far into boundless space, which thought cannot reach.  –

 

We were put into monstrously large beds, I and brother Frank: I joked and chattered a good deal with him for he is my dearest brother.  In the morning he said to me very mysteriously: “Just look! The Master of the mines has a gallows in his ear”.  I could not guess what he meant; but as soon as I had an opportunity of looking into the ear, I saw the joke.  A spider had spun its web there, a fly was made prisoner and half eaten, while the remains hung in the still unbroken web.  Herein Frank clearly recognized an emblem of the petrified tedious life here; but I had already recognized it in the inkstand, which was quite furred and containing but little fluid.  This however is only the half of this hole of loneliness.  One would not think it, but by going slowly round, one comes to a defile.  In the morning, just as the sun had risen, I observed it, and going through it, found myself suddenly on the steep, loftiest verge of a yet deeper and wider cauldron, whose velvet bottom snugs softly to the hill-sides which surround it, and which are thickly sowed with sheep and lambs: in the middle stands the shepherd’s cot and near to this the mill, turned by a stream which foams through the middle.  The buildings are hidden behind primeval, cloud-greeting lindens, just now in blossom, whose fragrance ascended up to me, and between whose thick foliage the smoke from the chimneys found its way.  The Clear blue sky, the golden sunshine, filled the whole vale.  Oh God! If I sat here, tending the sheep and knew that at evening, one who thinks on me, would come; if I waited all day and the sunlight hours rolled by, and the hour of shade with the silver-crescent moon and the stars, should bring the friend, he would find me on the mountain-verge, running to his open arms, so that he should suddenly feel me warm with love at his heart! – what else would then be worth living for!  Greet your son from me, and tell him that my life is certainly a peaceful one, and enlightened by the sunshine, but that I care not for this golden time, because I am always longing for the future, when I expect the friend.  Farewell! With you, midnight is the spirit’s hour, in which you deem it a sin to have the eyes open, lest you should see them: but I have just been walking alone in the garden, through the long vine-walks, where grape upon grape, glitter in the moon-shine, and I leaned over the wall, and looked down upon the Rhine: there all was still.  But white foam-ripples whispered, and there was a continual dabbling on the shore, and the waves lisped like infants.  When one stands thus alone, at night, amidst unfettered Nature, it seems as though she were a Spirit praying to man for release! And should Man set Nature free?  I must at some time reflect upon this: but I have already very often had this sensation, as if wailing Nature plaintively begged something of me; and it cut me to the heart, not to be able to understand what she would have.  I must soon consider seriously of this: perhaps I may discover something which shall raise us above this earthly life.  Adieu Frau Rath, and if you don’t understand me, think only what an impression even in your present days, the distant sound of the postman’s horn makes upon you: - about the same do I feel to day.

BETTINE

 

TO BETTINE

Frankfort, July 28^th

 

Yesterday a fire took place at the chief guardhouse directly opposite to me.  It burned like a posy from the lattice which looks on the Catharine gate.  My greatest pleasure was to see the boys with their skeps on back, who wanted to help to save everything; but the possessor of the house wouldn’t let anything be saved, for the fire was soon out, and then they wanted a douceur which he wouldn’t give, and so they danced till they were chaced away by the police. – I have had much company, who came to know, how I found myself after the fright; and I was continually obliged to begin the tale anew.  The people have visited me for three days together, to see if I am not become black with the smoke.  Thy friend Meline was also here and brought me a letter from thee: it was written so small that I was obliged to have it read to me – guess by whom?

 

Meline is really pretty: I said, the town ought to have her portrait taken, and hang it up in the town-hall, and then the Emperors could see what beauties their good town possesses.  Thy brothers are also so handsome.  I never in my life saw so handsome a  mean as George, who looks like the Duke of Mailand; and all others must be ashamed to stand near him with their chit-faces.  Adieu and greet thy sisters from they friend.

ELIZABETH GOETHE

 

TO BETTINE

 

There comes Fritz Schlosser from Rheingau and brings me nothing but three mended pens from thee, and says, he has sword to let me have no quiet, till I tell thee who it was that read thy letter to me.  – Where is the great necessity? Who should it be? In Weimar all is still and just as it was.  The journals relate beforehand, long before it is the truth, whenever my Son prepares for a journey – he can’t come unawares upon me.   One can see clearly that thy heart deceives thy head.  “Heart! What dost though want”?

-                      This is a proverb and when it has said what it will have, it enters as it were into a mean Inn, where there is everything to have except – fresh eggs, just the very thing you want.  Adieu.  I have written this by my chamber-lamp.

Thy affectionate

ELIZABETH GOETHE

 

I had almost forgotten to write who it was that read thy letter to me: - it was Parson Hufnagel who also came, to see how I did after my fright from the fire.  I said: “Pray Mr. Parson, is the Catharine-tower just so high, that it should fall upon my nose when it comes down?” There he sat with his full stomach, in sable gown and round white double bands, bob-wig and buckled shoe, upon thy foot-stool and read the letter; had my son seen it, he would have laughed.

CATHARINE GOETHE

 

My dear mother, I thank you for the two letters one after the other: they were ploughed through a heavy soil, one sees the clods lying on the side; surely it was Lieschen’s fingers which drew those furrows – they are quite awry.  What I wonder at is, that I am so fond of writing to you as never to miss an opportunity; and all that happens to me I consider whether it would not amuse you to hear of it; this is because I cannot write every thing and continually to Wolfgang; I said to him at Weimar, that if I lived there, I would come to see him only sun-days and holy-days and not every day.  This pleased  him; and so I think I ought not to write to him every day, although he has said to me, “write to me every day, even if it were foliantos, it will not be too much for me.”  I also am not every day in the humour to write.  I often think so quickly, that I cannot possibly write; and then the thoughts are so sweet, that I cannot release them and prevail upon myself to break off writing: besides, I like to make straight lines and pretty letters, and that refrains musing; also I have much to say to him, which it is difficult to express, and much to impact what never can be expressed.  There I often sit for hours, and look into myself, and cannot say what I see; but because in thought I feel myself with him, I like to remain thinking; it seems to me as if I were like a sun-dial which can only point the hour, as long as the sun shines upon it: when my sun smiles upon me no more, one will not mark the time o my any longer; should one say I live, when he does not love me any longer.  – The life which I now lead, no one has an idea of it.  By the hand leads me the spirit through lonely ways, he sites down with me on the river’s brink, there he reposes with me, then he leads me to the high mountain: there it is night, there we look down into the misty dale, then one can scarcely see the path before one’s feet – I go with him, I feel that he is there even when he vanishes from my earthly eye, and where I go and stand, I trace his secret wandering around me: and in the night he is the blanket in which I wrap myself and by morning it is he, before whom I veil myself when I dress.  Never more am I alone!  -  In my solitary room I feel myself known and understood.  I cannot join in laughing, I cannot take part in plays, I let art and knowledge go their way.  Half a year ago I began to study history and geography – it was folly.  If the time in which we live, were quite filled with history, so that one had both hands full, only to comply with its demands, there were be no time to ask after mouldering Kings, - even so is it with me: I have no time, I must employ each moment in love.  With respect to geography, I have drawn a line with red ink upon the map from where I now am, to where I should like to go, this is the right way and all others are wrong or lead astray.  The whole firmament with sun, moon and stars, belongs only to the view of my home.  There is the fruitful soil in which my heart, bursts the hard rind and blossoms into light.

 

They say to me: Why art thou mournful? Should I be merry? – what should I be that it could comply with my inward life?  Every behavior has its cause; the stream would not flow dancing and singing along if its bed were not formed thereto.  So shall I not laugh, unless an inward joyousness moves me to it: yes, I have joy within my heart, but this joy is so high, so mighty, that it cannot agree with laughing.  When it calls me before day-break from my bed, between the sleeping plants I wander up the mountain; when the dew washes my feet and I humbly consider, that it is the Lord of the worlds who washes my fee, because he would have my heart pure, even as he purifies my feet from the dust; when then come to the top of the mountain and over look at the lands in the first beam of the sun, - then I feel this mighty desire expanding within my breast, then, I heave a sigh and breathe to the sun my thanks, that he paints to me the riches, the ornament of my life, for all that I see and understand, is but the echo of my happiness. –

 

Adieu, will you let the parson read this letter too?  I have written it with tolerably large letters.  Did you find by my last letter, that I was as thirsty as he, or lunatic, or my thing of that sort? How could you then let him read it? Why! You’ll turn his pulpit out of his head! Bettine has had head-ache for three days and to day she lies in bed and kisses the hand of her dear Frau Rath.

 

TO BETTINE

 

Don’t get ill girl!  “Rise! Take up thy bed and walk”.  So said the Lord Jesus to the sick, and so say I to thee.  Thy bed is thy love in which thou liest sick, take it up, do not spread it before Evening, and then rest in it when thou hast endured the burden and heat of the day.  Here are a few lines, written by my son: I make thee a present of them, for according to the contents they belong to thee.

 

The parson rumbling out thy letter to me, like a bad post-chaise on a stony road, which jumbles all the passengers’ luggage together: besides thou has packed thy thoughts so badly, without comma or stop, that if it really were luggage, no one could find out his own, - I have a cold and am out of humour: wert thou not so dear to me I had not written.  Take care of thy health.

 

I always say, when people ask about thee, that “thou takest fancies” and this thou dost very easily.  Now, it is some night-bird, fluttering past thy nose; then, at midnight, when all honest folk are asleep, thou hast something to think upon, and marchest through the garden on the Rhine, in the cold, damp night-air: - thou hast a constitution like iron and an imagination, like a shy-rocket, which touched by a spark, goes off.  Take care, to get home as soon as possible, I am not, now-a-days as I once was; I am often anxious about thee, and on Wolfgang I must think for hours together; how, when he was a little child, he played before my feet and then, how prettily he played with his brother Jacob and made stores for him.  I must have some one, to whom to tell all this; and there is none who listens to me like thee, - I could well wish, that the time were past, and that thou wert here again. –

 

Adieu! manage to come.  All is as clear before me, as if it had happened yesterday; I can now tell you the nicest stores about Wolfgang and I believe though hast infected me, for I think that, no good day, on which I have no spoken of him.

 

Thy friend

ELIZABETH GOETHE

 

DEAR FRAU RATH

 

I was at Köln, where I bought this pretty vase.  Give it to your son as from yourself, and that will please you more, than if I presented it to you.  For myself, I would not give him anything, I would only receive from him. Köln is a strange place, on hears every minute different bells tolling, which sound high and low, dull and clear, from every side at once.  There, Franciscans, Minorites, Capuchins, Dominicans and Benedictines pass one another, some singing, others grumbling a Litany, saluting one another with their flags and holy relics and then vanishing into their cloisters.  At sun-set I was in the Cathedral, where the sun painted the coloured windows upon the floor; I clambered every where about the building and balanced myself within the fretted arches.

 

To you Frau Rath it would have looked dangerous, if you had seen me from the Rhine sitting in those gothic roses, and it was no joke either.  Sometimes giddiness was about to lay hold on me, but I thought “shall it dare to be stronger than I?” and then I purposely ventured still further.  As twilight came, I saw at Deutz, a Church with painted windows lighted from within.  The sound of the tolling bells rolled over, and the moon with single stars came forth.  There I was alone: around me, the swallows twittering in their nests (of which there are thousands in the cornices, and on the water I saw some solitary sails swelling in the wind.  Meanwhile the others had examined  the whole building and had been shewn all monuments and relics.  In the same time I enjoyed a still moment in which my soul was lost in contemplation of nature, which melted all that human hand had made – and me too – in the solemn harmony of a heaven, glowing in the evenings purple; - understand this or understand it not, it is the same to me.  I must indeed tire you with my oversight fancies, for to whom else can I impart them?

 

There is another thing at Cologne; the beds, which are so high, that one must take a run before he can jump in: one can make two or three assaults before one succeeds, and once there, how may one get out again? But I thought, it is good to be here, for I was tired and had pleased myself the whole day with thinking what my dreams would bring me; and a boat borne on a golden stream, laden and adorned with flowers, came to me out of Paradise, bearing an apple which my beloved one had sent me, and which I eagerly consumed.

 

On Sunday we visited many lumber-rooms, antiquities and depositaries of art, and I saw all with great interest.  There is a beautiful bowl, out of which the Elector used to carouse, with four handles on which sit nymphs, who bathe their feet in wine, with golden crowns upon their heads set with precious stones; a dragon with four heads, forming the four feet upon which the whole stands, winds round the bottom; the heads have open throats which are gilt within, on the cover is a Bacchus, carried by two Satyrs; he is of gold, the satyrs of silver – the nymphs too have enamelled garments.  The drinking goblet is of ruby-glass, and the fret-work which winds between the figures is very beautiful being of silver and gold braided together.  There are many of these sort of things; I would only describe this because it was so splendid, and I know you are pleased with splendour.

 

Adieu Frau Rath! We came here by water and shall return to Bonn by land.

BETTINE.

 

FRAU RATH

Winckel.

 

I will not lie, if you were not the mother you are, I would not learn letter-writing of you.  He has said that I shall supply his place with you and show you all that love which he cannot; and must be to you as if you had shown to me all that love which he can never forget.  When I was with him I was so silly as to ask if he loved you? Then he took me in his arms and held me on his heart and said: “Touch a string, and it will vibrate even if it should long have yielded no tone.”  Then we were still and spoke no further of this, but now I have seven letters from him, and in all he reminds me of you.  In one he writes: “Thou art ever with my mother, it makes me glad; it is as if a sharp breeze had blown on me from yonder, and now I feel myself warm and secure, when I think of thee and my mother.”  In reply I told him that I had cut the table-cloth with a pair of scissors, and that you had given me a clap upon my hand and said: “Exactly like my son! – all sorts of mischief hast thou learned of him.”

 

Of Bonn I can relate nothing.  There it was again so that one perceives all without reflecting on it; if I remember right, we were in the botanical Garden, just as the sun set: all the plants were sleepy: the seven mountains were breathed on by the evening-purple.  It was cool: - wrapped in my cloak, I sate down upon the wall, and my face was gilded by the last sun-beam.  Think, I would not, or it had made me mournful in the midst of mighty silent Nature.  Then I feel asleep, and when I awoke (a great beetle had waked me) it was night and very cold.  The next day we returned there.

 

Adieu Frau Rath.  It is very late and I can not sleep at all.

BETTINE

 

TO BETTINE

September 21^st

I cannot suffer thee to write me the nights through, and not to sleep.  This makes thee melancholy and sentimental; would I have answered, till my letter came the wind has shifted.  My son has said: “What vexes one that one must labour off,” and when he had a grief he made a poem of it.  I have already advised thee, to write down the story of Günderode, and do sent it to Weimar; my son would like to have it, - he will preserve it then it will trouble thee no more.

 

Man is buried in consecrated earth: - even thus should we bury great and rare occurrences in a beautiful tomb of remembrance, to which each one may approach and celebrate the memory thereof.  This Wolfgang said, when he had written Werther; write then the story for love of him.

 

I will with pleasure write as much as lies in the power of my poor pen, for I owe thee many thanks: a woman of my age, and a young and sprightly girl, who would be always with me, and asks for nothing else! Yes! That is indeed worthy of thanks; I have written this to Weimar.  When I write to him about thee, he answers me directly.  He says, it is a comfort to him, that thou perseverest with me. – Adieu, don’t stay long at the Rheingau; the black rocks from which the sun rebounds, and the old walls, make thee melancholy.

Thy friend

E. GOETHE

 

Maurice Bethmann has told me, that Mad. de Staël will pay me a visit: she has been in Weimar; I wish thou wert here, for I must polish up my French.

 

TO GOETHE’S MOTHER

 

You have not dealt well with me this time, Frau Rath: why did you not send me Goethe’s letter?  Since the 13^th August I have had nothing from him, and it is now the end of September. Mad. de Staël has perhaps made the time appear short to him, and he has not thought on me.  A renowned woman is a curious thing, no other can be compared with her; she is like spirit with which the grain it is made from also cannot be compared.  Spirit bites the tongue and mounts to the head – so does a celebrated woman too: but I better like the pure wheat, which the sower sows in the loosened soil: the kind sun and the fruitful showers woo it forth again, and then it greens the whole field, bears golden ears and at last gives a merry harvest-home.  I would rather be a simple grain of wheat than a celebrated woman, and rather, he should break me for his daily bread, than post like a dram through his head.  Now I will just tell you, that I supped with de Stael yesterday at Mainz. No lady would undertake to sit next her, so I sat myself beside her and uncomfortable enough it was.  The Gentlemen stoad round the table and planted themselves all behind us, pressing one upon the other, only to speak with or look at her: they leaned quite over me and I said in French” Your adorers quite suffocate me” at which she laughed.  -  She said that Goethe had spoken to her of me, and I remained sitting for I would fain have heard, what he said: and yet I was vexed, for I would rather he should speak to no one of me; nor do I believe he did, - she only said so.  There came at last so many who all wanted to speak with her across and over me, that I could endure it no longer and said “Your laurels press too heavily upon my shoulders.” upon which I got up and made my may through her admirers.  Then Sismondi her companion, came and kissed my hand, and said I had much talent: this he told over to the rest, and they repeated it at least twenty times, as if I had been a Prince, from whom everything sounds clever, be it never so common place.  -  I afterwards listened to her, while she was speaking of Goethe: she said that she had expected to see a second Werther, but was mistaken for neither his manners nor person answered the character, and she lamented much, that there was nothing of Werther about him.  Frau Rath! I was angry at such talk, (you will say it was needless) and turned to Schlegel and said to him in German “Madame de Stael has fallen into a twofold error first in her expectation and then in her opinion. – We Germans, expect that Goethe can shake out of his sleeve, twenty such heroes, equally imposing for the French, but think that he himself is quite another sort of hero”.  Schlegel was wrong, not to bring her to a better understanding on the subject.  She threw the laurel-leaf with which she had been playing, upon the floor; I trod upon it, then kicked it away and left her.  This is the history of the “celebrated woman.”  Be under no uneasiness about your French; converse with her in the finger-language, and make commentaries with your large eyes – that will astonish her.  Mad. de Staël has a whole ant-hill of thoughts in her head, and what can one have to say to her?  I shall soon come to Frankfort, and there we can talk about it more at large.

 

It is here very full of Rhine-visiters.  When I see in the morning a boat coming out of the thick mist, I run to the shore and beckon with my handkerchief, for they are always either friends or acquaintances.  A few days ago we were in Nothgottes date: there was a great pilgrimage, the whole Rhine was covered with boats and on landing, each disembarked a procession and they wandered about together, each party singing their own song – such a confusion!  I was afraid it would be too much for God, and so it proved, for He opposed a storm and thundered tolerably loud: but they would have drowned the thunder, had not a smart shower set the dear pilgrims, who lay carousing in the grass by thousands, scampering.  I will not say, I have a very sensitive respect for nature, but I cannot bear to see her so soiled with paper, uneaten bits and broken plates and bottles, as was the case here upon the fine green plain, where a cross is erected between the Linden-trees and where the way-farer overtaken by night, gladly reposes, believing himself protected by the consecrated spot:  I can tell you I was quite uncomfortable and am to-day still in low spirits.  I love better to see the lambs feeding in the church-yard, than the people in the church; better the lilies in the field, which though they spin not are nourished by the dew, than long processions tramping over them and treading them in their loveliest bloom.  -  I say good night, but have written this by day-light.

BETTINE

 

“Costly splendour and works of art, seen in Cöln and during the journey, described particularly for my dearest Frau Rath.”

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Pay attention that you may understand; for I have tried twice in vain to make an orderly representation of it.

 

First, a large table ornament, which has haunted me continually and which I think I saw in the great banquetting hall of the Elector’s Palace: it consists of an oval, crystal dish from four to five feet long, representing a sea, softly cut into waves, which rise more and more towards the middle and at last mount very high as they surround a silver rock, with a throne upon which Venus sits.  Her foot it placed upon the back of a Triton, who balances a little Cupid upon his hand: silver foam sprays around, and on the highest waves mettlesome Nymphs are riding, who hold oars in their hands to whip the billows; their garments are enamelled, mostly pale-blue or sea-green, but also yellow: they appear to be engaged in a wanton and joyous water-dance.  Somewhat deeper, are seen silver sea-horses, reined and partly ridden by Tritons – everything is of chased silver or gold with enamelled ornaments.  When wine is poured into the hollow rock, it sponts from small pipes, in five, regular rays round about Venus and flows into a basin, concealed under the rock; this is the great middle group.  Nearer to the brim, amidst the waves are variegated shells and enamelled waterlilies, from the calices of which, little Loves with drawn bows, rise and shoot at one another: between these, flee mermaids with fishes’ tails, pursued by mermen with pointed beards, some seized by their weedy garlands, others caught by a net.  On the other side are seanymphs, who have taken a flying Cupid prisoner, and want to pull him beneath the waves; he defends himself, and has placed his little foot on one mermaid’s breast, which another holds him fast by his variegated wings: this is a delightful and most joyous group; Cupid is of ambergris and the nymphs of gold, with enamelled garlands.  The groups are disposed in either half-oval; all is enamelled with blue, green, red, yellow and every bright colour.  Many sea-monsters, with open gorge, peep forth from the crystal waves, and snap at the fleeing nymphs; and thus a gay complication of joyous, glittering splendour is spread over the whole, from the midst of which rises the rock with Venus.  At one end of the dish (where the handle generally is) – opposed to the spectator, sits – the Cyclops Polyphemus, holding Galatea prisoner in his arms; he has one large eye in his forehead; she is looking timidly down upon a flock of sheep, dispersed on either side, by which means the group forms a slight curve, terminated by two lambs lying asleep, the one at either end.  At the other side, sits Orpheus (also opposed to the spectator) playing on his lyre; and behind him, a laurel, on whose golden spread branches birds are perched: some nymphs, with oars in their hands have stolen near, to hearken; and then there are all sorts of sea-animals, with two dolphins one on either side, terminating this group like the other, by forming a slight curve.  Particularly pretty is a little monkey which having made a parasol from a leaf, sits listening at the feet of Orpheus.  This is, as you may easily suppose, a wonderful piece of magnificence – a very costly but yet an elevated composition; and I could spend another half hour over the beauty of individual figures.  Gold and silver impress me with the idea of something holy: I know not whether it be, that I always washed the gold and silver Mass-service and chalices in the Nunnery, cleaned the censer, and cleared the Altar-candlesticks from the melted way, touching all with a degree of reverence; I can only tell you that the sight of this rich specimen of art, inspired me with a holy feeling.

 

Now I will describe something else, also beautiful, and which pleases me still better in the recollection – and connoisseurs say that it has more Style.  There by the bye is a word of which when I ask the significance one answers “Don’t you know what Style is? And with this I must be contented.  -  I have however found it out.  Everything great and exalted, must have a ground for being so: now, when this ground, cleaned from prejudice and the huddling together of extraneous matter and views, forms the basis of the work; - there is pure style.  Works of art must exactly express that only, which elevates, and nobly delights the soul, and nothing more.  The feeling of the artist must be directed to this end alone, - everything else is false.  In Wolfgang’s smaller poems the sentiment is of one mould, and what he there expresses, richly fills each soul with the same refined feeling.  This is the case with all his poems, but I will only quote the briefest, which I have so often, in the lonely woods, when returning from my walks, sung with high enjoyment.

 

Oh thou! Who of Heaven born

Every pain and sorrow stillest,

And all those who doubly mourn

With thy doubled presence fillest;

Ah! Weary me! Let goading, cease!

Why sorrow-pained, why joy-carest?

Lovely Peace!

Come, ah come into my breast

 

In the convent I heard a good deal of preaching, about the “worldly spirit” and the “vanity of all things” and I myself have read legends to the Nuns, year in, year out; and neither devil nor saint made the slightest impression on me:- I believe they were not of “pure style”: but one such song fills my soul with the most delightful feeling: no exhortation, no lesson of wisdom, could impart so much of good to me: it frees me from all selfishness; I can give all to others and wish them the best good-fortune, without asking anything for myself: - this comes from the pure and noble style.  There are many other songs which I could quote, that elevate me beyond everything, and give me a delight which makes me rich in myself.  That song “The beautiful night” I have sung this year at least a hundred times, when returning late home:

 

Fair Luna breaks through oak and copse

Zephyr ushers on, her way,

And courteous birch with bending tops

To her their sweetest incense pay

 

How happy and delighted was I this spring, as the birch-trees around me, during my song, actually strewed their perfumed incense before the hastening Luna.  No one shall convince me that pure delight is not prayer.  But in the Church I never could succeed: - there I groaned for very weariness, for the sermon was like lead on my eye-lids.  Oh me! How light I felt, when I could spring out of the Convent-church into the pretty garden! There the smallest sun-beam was to me a better exposition, than the whole Church-History.

 

The second work of art, I have to describe, is a Dolphin made from a large elephant-tusk.  His jaws are open and two little Cupids are fixing the bit: a third who sits upon the Dolphin’s neck, gathers up the bridle from either side: on the middle of the back is a golden saddle, with a seat of complex workmanship representing an arbour of vines, in the midst of which stands an ivory Bacchus, a handsome, soft and slender youth with golden hair and wearing a Phrygian cap; one hand is placed in his side and in the other he holds a golden vine, which rising from under the saddle, shadows him with its fine and beautiful foliage.  On both sides of the saddle are two muscles, used as grape-baskets, in each of which sit two ivory nymphs, blowing conchs.  The broad tins, as well as the tail of the fish, are of chased gold and silver: immediately behind the saddle, the body of the fish winds upwards as if it were lashing the air with its tail: on the top of the bend, sits an elegant little nymph, clapping her hands; she is raised somewhat higher, and overlooks the Bacchus-group; the tail-fins form an elegant shade over the nymph.  The fish’s throat is lined with gold: it can also be filled with wine, which then spouts up in two streams from the nostrils.  At great festivals it is placed in a golden basin, on the sideboard.  This now is a work of lofty style, and I can also say, that it quite filled me with a silent and holy reverence.   There are many things of this sort, all bearing reference to the Rhine.  Among others is a Ship of cedar, finely made, with beautiful arabesques: a bas-relief surrounds the upper part of the hull, and on the deck, the three Electors of Cöln, Mainz and Trier sit carousing.  This did not give me so much pleasure, although there is much of what is beautiful about it, particularly the Goddess of fortune, forming the head of the vessel.

 

I will further describe a goblet, representing a wine-press, which is indeed a master piece.  In the middle is a high cask, this forms the proper goblet.  Up the sides, with tubs full of grapes, clamber boys in graceful attitudes, from the shoulders of men, to reach the brim and there pour out the fruit.  In the middle, forming the knot of the over, which sets deep into the cup, stands a Bacchus, upon whom two tigers are springing: he is about to press with his feet the heaped up grapes, which interspersed with single tendrils, form the lid.  The boys who reach over from every side, to empty their tubs, form a most beautiful brim: the strong men at the foot of the press, who raise the boys on their shoulders and in various ways assist to ascent, are splendid beyond measure, naked except here and there one, wearing a tiger-skin on his shoulders, else quite at their ease.  On one side of the goblet are the Mainz arms, on the other those of Cöln.

 

The whole goblet rests upon a stand, formed like a rising hill; here nymphs are lying and sitting in a circle; some playing on tambourines, cymbals and triangles, others striving with leopards which spring over their heads; it is really most elegant. – I have now described it to you, but if you had seen it first, you would have cried out loud, for very astonishment.  What strikes one when one sees such works from the hand of man?  My head was in a whirl, and in the full inspiration of the moment, I thought I should have no rest, till I could also invent and form such beautiful t