! the abode of poetic art, but
not of poesy. You Babylon of wisdom and philosophy, I have seen you
with your painted cheeks and coquettish smile, your voluptuous form and
seductive charms. You shall never ensnare me with your deceitful beauty,
and suck the marrow from my bones, or the consciousness of pure humanity
from my soul. Beautiful may you be to enslaved intellects, but to the
free, they turn their backs to you and thrice strew ashes on your head.
Farewell, Berlin, may I never see you again!" [Goethe, in fact, never
visited Berlin again, though he was often invited there, particularly
when the new theatre was opened, with a poetic prologue written by
himself. They inaugurated the festivity with Goethe's "Iphigenia," the
first representation, and Prince Radzwill urgently invited the poet,
through Count Bruhl, to visit Berlin at this time, and reside in his
palace. But Goethe refused; he was seventy-two years old (1826), and
excused himself on account of his age.] Goethe stooped and threw a
handful of sand in the air.

The postilion, tired of standing in the burning sun, blew loudly the air
of the soldier's song: "Now, adieu, Louisa, wipe your face, every ball
does not hit." Mournfully the melody sounded in the stillness, like
accusing spirits who wept the insult of the prince and the poet.

"Now, on to our dear Weimar, Wolf!" The carriage rolled down the sandy
hill, and Berlin disappeared to the travellers, lost in dreamy thought.
Slowly they advanced, in spite of relays and fresh horses at every
station. Night spread out her starry mantle over the world, and the
sleepers who rested from the burdens and cares of the day. Goethe alone
was wakeful and vigilant. With his beautiful eyes, as brilliant as
fallen stars, uplifted to heaven, to God, his manly bosom heaving with
noble thoughts and glorious aspirations, he reviewed the past, and
recalled with joy that he had accomplished much and well. He peered into
the future, and promised himself to do more and better. "Yes, I will,"
whispered he softly, pointing to the stars; "so high as possible
shall the pyramid of my being rise. To that I will constantly bend my
thoughts, never forgetting it, for I dare not tarry; with the years
already on my head, fate may arrest my steps, and the tower of Babylon
remain unfinished. At least they must acknowledge the edifice was boldly
designed, and if I live, God willing, it shall rise."

BOOK III. STORM AND PRESSURE

CH