in reading _Wallenstein_. I cannot but
think that Schiller's turn for philosophy injured his poetry, because
this led him to consider the idea far higher than all nature; indeed,
thus to annihilate nature. What he could conceive must happen, whether
it were in conformity with nature or not."

"It was sad," said Goethe, "to see how so highly gifted a man tormented
himself with philosophical disquisitions which could in no way profit
him. Humboldt has shown me letters which Schiller wrote to him in those
unblest days of speculation. There we see how he plagued himself with
the design of perfectly separating sentimental from _naive_ poetry. For
the former he could find no proper soil, and this brought him into
unspeakable perplexity."

"As if," continued he, smiling, "sentimental poetry could exist at all
without the _naive_ ground in which, as it were, it has its root."

"It was not Schiller's plan," continued Goethe, "to go to work with a
certain unconsciousness, and as it were instinctively; he was forced, on
the contrary, to reflect on all he did. Hence it was that he never could
leave off talking about his poetical projects, and thus he discussed
with me all his late pieces, scene after scene.

"On the other hand, it was contrary to my nature to talk over my poetic
plans with anybody--even with Schiller. I carried everything about with
me in silence, and usually nothing was known to any one till the whole
was completed. When I showed Schiller my _Hermann and Dorothea_
finished, he was astonished, for I had said not a syllable to him of any
such plan.

"But I am curious to hear what you will say of _Wallenstein_ tomorrow.
You will see noble forms, and the piece will make an impression on you
such as you probably do not dream of."

_Saturday, November_ 15.--In the evening I was in the theatre, where I
for the first time saw _Wallenstein_. Goethe had not said too much; the
impression was great, and stirred my inmost soul. The actors, who had
almost all belonged to the time when they were under the personal
influence of Schiller and Goethe, gave an ensemble of significant
personages, such as on a mere reading were not presented to my
imagination with all their individuality. On this account the piece had
an extraordinary effect upon me, and I could not get it out of my head
the whole night.

_Sunday, November 16_.--In the evening at Goethe's; he was still sitting
in his elbow-chair, and seemed rather weak. His fir