n force, is lost. Through the bad, chiefly negative, aesthetical and
critical tone of the journals, a sort of half culture finds its way into
the masses; but to productive talent it is a noxious mist, a dropping
poison, which destroys the tree of creative power, from the ornamental
green leaves, to the deepest pith and the most hidden fibres.

"And then how tame and weak has life itself become during the last two
shabby centuries. Where do we now meet an original nature? and where is
the man who has the strength to be true, and to show himself as he is?
This, however, affects the poet, who must find all within himself, while
he is left in the lurch by all without."

The conversation now turned on _Werthe_. "That," said Goethe, "is a
creation which I, like the pelican, fed with the blood of my own heart.
It contains so much from the innermost recesses of my breast--so much
feeling and thought, that it might easily be spread into a novel of ten
such volumes. Besides, as I have often said, I have only read the book
once since its appearance, and have taken good care not to read it
again. It is a mass of congreve-rockets. I am uncomfortable when I look
at it; and I dread lest I should once more experience the peculiar
mental state from which it was produced."

I reminded him of his conversation with Napoleon, of which I knew by the
sketch amongst his unpublished papers, which I had repeatedly urged him
to give more in detail. "Napoleon," said I, "pointed out to you a
passage in _Werther_, which, it appeared to him, would not stand a
strict examination; and this you allowed. I should much like to know
what passage he meant."

"Guess!" said Goethe, with a mysterious smile.

"Now," said I, "I almost think it is where Charlotte sends the pistols
to Werther, without saying a word to Albert, and without imparting to
him her misgivings and apprehensions. You have given yourself great
trouble to find a motive for this silence, but it does not appear to
hold good against the urgent necessity where the life of the friend was
at stake."

"Your remark," returned Goethe, "is really not bad; but I do not think
it right to reveal whether Napoleon meant this passage or another.
However, be that as it may, your observation is quite as correct as
his."

I asked the question, whether the great effect produced by the
appearance of _Werther_ was really to be attributed to the period. "I
cannot," said I, "reconcile to myself this view, t