From “Letters Auxiliary to the History of Modern Polite Literature in Germany.” Translation of G. W. Haven.

IN some future article I shall speak of the new poets who flourished under the imperial reign of Goethe. They resemble a young forest, whose trees first show their own magnitude, after the oak of a hundred years, whose branches had towered above and overshadowed them, has fallen. There was not wanting, as already stated, an opposition that strove with embittered zeal against Goethe, this majestic tree. Men of the most warring opinions united themselves for the contest. The adherents of the old faith, the orthodox, were vexed that in the trunk of the vast tree no niche with its holy image was to be found; nay, that even the naked Dryads of paganism were permitted there to play their witchery; and gladly, with consecrated ax, would they have imitated the holy Boniface, and leveled the enchanted oak with the ground. The partisans of the new faith, the apostles of liberalism, were vexed, on the other hand, that this tree could not serve as the tree of liberty, or, at any rate, as a barricade. In fact, the tree was too high, no one could plant the red cap upon its summit, or dance the Carmagnole beneath its branches. The many, however, venerated this tree, for the very reason that it reared itself with such independent grandeur, and so graciously filled the world with its odor, while its branches, streaming magnificently toward heaven, made it appear as if stars were only the golden fruit of its wondrous limbs.

  In truth, that accordance of personal appearance with genius, which we ever desire to see in distinguished men, was found in perfection in Goethe. His outward appearance was just as imposing as the word that lives in his writings. Even his form was symmetrical, expressive of joy, nobly proportioned, and one might study the Grecian art upon it as well as upon an antique.

  His eyes were calm as those of a god. It is the peculiar characteristic of the gods, that their gaze is ever steady, and their eyes roll not to and fro in uncertainty. Therefore, when Agni, Varuna, Yama, and Indra assume the form of Nala, at the marriage of Damayantis, she discovers her beloved by the twinkle of his eye; for, as I have said, the eyes of the gods are ever motionless. The eyes of Napoleon had this peculiarity; therefore I am persuaded that he was a god. The eye of Goethe remained, in his latest age, just as divine as in his youth. Time, indeed, had covered his head with snow, but could never bow it. To the last he bore it proudly and loftily; and when he spoke he became still more majestic, and when he stretched forth his hand it was as if his finger were to prescribe to the stars their courses in the heavens. Around his mouth some profess to have seen a trait of egotism, but even this is peculiar to the immortal gods, and especially to the father of the gods, the mighty Jupiter, to whom Goethe has already been compared. Verily, when I visited him at Weimar, and stood in his presence, I involuntarily turned my eyes one side, to see if the eagle, with the thunderbolts in his beak, were not attendant upon him. I was just on the point of addressing him in Greek; but, when I perceived that he spoke German, I told him in that language, “That the plums upon the road between Jena and Weimar had an excellent relish.” Many a long winter night had I thought with myself how much that was lofty and profound I should say to Goethe, if ever I should see him; and when at last I saw him, I told him that the Saxon plums were excellent! And Goethe smiled. He smiled with those very lips with which he once had kissed the beauteous Leda, Europa, Danæ, Semele, and so many other princesses or common nymphs.