rsation. Mention was made of a young beauty belonging to the Weimar
society, when one of the guests remarked that he was on the point of
falling in love with her, although her understanding could not exactly
be called brilliant.

"Pshaw," said Goethe, laughing, "as if love had anything to do with the
understanding. The things that we love in a young lady are something
very different from the understanding. We love in her beauty,
youthfulness, playfulness, trustingness, her character, her faults, her
caprices, and God knows what _'je ne sais quoi'_ besides; but we do not
_love_ her understanding. We respect her understanding when it is
brilliant, and by it the worth of a girl can be infinitely enhanced in
our eyes. Understanding may also serve to fix our affections when we
already love; but the understanding is not that which is capable of
firing our hearts, and awakening a passion."

We found much that was true and convincing in Goethe's words, and were
very willing to consider the subject in that light. After dinner, and
when the rest of the party had departed, I remained sitting with Goethe,
and conversed with him on various interesting topics.

We discoursed upon English literature, on the greatness of Shakespeare,
and on the unfavorable position held by all English dramatic authors who
had appeared after that poetical giant.

"A dramatic talent of any importance," said Goethe, "could not forbear
to notice Shakespeare's works, nay, could not forbear to study them.
Having studied them, he must be aware that Shakespeare has already
exhausted the whole of human nature in all its tendencies, in all its
heights and depths, and that, in fact, there remains for him, the
aftercomer, nothing more to do. And how could one get courage only to
put pen to paper, if one were conscious in an earnest, appreciating
spirit, that such unfathomable and unattainable excellences were
already in existence!

"It fared better with me fifty years ago in my own dear Germany. I could
soon come to an end with all that then existed; it could not long awe
me, or occupy my attention. I soon left behind me German literature, and
the study of it, and turned my thoughts to life and to production. So on
and on I went in my own natural development, and on and on I fashioned
the productions of epoch after epoch. And at every step of life and
development, my standard of excellence was not much higher than what at
such step I was able to attain. But h