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the orchard exist almost unchanged. There, too, are still the two historic bowers and the overarching jessamine (a scion of that planted by Frederika's hands) of which visitors generally pluck a branch. Nightingale Grove, the wooded hillock called in the Autobiography "Frederika's Repose," has undergone great changes. The wood has disappeared. The hillock from which Goethe was able to discern the spire of Strasburg Cathedral has been almost levelled to the plain. A gentle ascent still, however, marks the interesting spot, but—start not, romantic reader!—it is a potato field.

And now there only remains for us to discuss the question so warmly debated by the biographers and critics of Goethe—did he under all the circumstances do well to break away from Frederika? The motives which led him to take this resolve were perhaps set forth in the letter of adieu which he sent to Frederika after his return to his native city, but this letter was one of those destroyed by Sophie. The following passage, put into the mouth of Carlos in the play of "Clavigo" is generally regarded as throwing light on his conduct on this occasion;—"Marry! marry! just at the time when life first truly comes into action! To settle down domestically, to tie oneself down before one has completed half one's travels, or made half one's conquests!" Goethe's conduct must be viewed in connection with the current of ideas and emotions in the midst of which he lived. The revolt against traditional belief and established laws and customs, which in France broke out in a social convulsion some eighteen years later than the period we are writing of, took place earlier in Germany, but in the narrower circle of men of letters and the students. This intellectual movement gave birth to what is called the "genius" period. Young men of talents set themselves up as "Geniuses" and lived according to the doctrine that Genius was a law unto itself. One might be false to everybody else provided one was true to his Genius. On its good side the agitation of the German "geniuses" was a healthy outburst of individualism which ultimately gave birth to a noble national literature, and which was in itself an aspiration towards a more heroic and free life; but on its bad side it was revolting egotism, unbridled, unscrupulous disregard of the feelings of others. Goethe's defenders say that a betrothal to, and subsequent marriage with, the young Alsatian would have crippled the flight of his genius. But if this were true, was he the only person to be considered? Might not the man be expected to give up a little of his freedom and convenience in order to render the existence of his beloved blissful? Was it not better to make a slight sacrifice (for a marriage with Frederika would certainly not have been a very crushing calamity) than to blast the budding life of a young girl of the highest grace and promise? Is not the loss of all one's honour greater than the loss of a portion of one's liberty? Is woman's love to be deemed merely as a yoke which man may shuffle off his neck when he pleases?

But we cannot assent to the assumption that Goethe's genius would have suffered by fidelity to Miss Brion. The flight of that genius might, it is true, have taken a different direction. The Sorrows of young Werther (that sensation novel once so much admired and now so nearly forgotten) would never have been written; the "Roman Elegies," those erotic effusions of his middle life, would have never seen the light. Germany must have looked elsewhere for her Propertius. The sensual element in Goethe's character would not have attained the development it actually did attain. But in compensation for these and other losses of kindred nature, who shall say what other noble and enduring fruits Goethe's genius would have produced in their stead? Would so many of his works have been left in a fragmentary condition? Would not his relative productivity have equalled, or even surpassed, that of Schiller, whereas, in point of fact, it fell far below it? We cannot believe that it is advantageous for a young genius to commence life with a guilty conscience, such as stung Goethe to the creation of the character of Weisslingen in his first published work. This frame of mind doubtless favours the growth of a morbid, Byronic, Wertherish, self-torturing literature, but this remorseful mood is surely a poor substitute for that sunny sense of contentedness with oneself and one's fellow creatures, that philosophic composure which contributes as much to enduring literary eminence as to individual and social happiness. We believe that far from suffering from a union with such a creature as Frederika, his genius and his life, wonderful as both are, would have possessed charms in which they are wanting, and have lacked blemishes which diminish their value to humanity. He would have been a happier and better man and not a whit less the Genius. Had he married her, we say in Mr. Lewes' words, "his experience of woman might have been less extensive, but it would assuredly have gained an element it wanted. It would have been deepened. He had experienced and he could paint (no one better) the exquisite devotion of Woman to Man, but he had scarcely ever felt the peculiar tenderness of Man for Woman when that tenderness takes the form of vigilant, protecting fondness."