or not
taking up arms at that great period, or at least cooperating as a poet."

"Let us leave that point alone, my good friend," returned Goethe. "It is
an absurd world, which does not know what it wants, and which one must
allow to have its own way. How could I take up arms without hatred, and
how could I hate without youth? If such an emergency had befallen me
when twenty years old, I should certainly not have been the last; but it
found me as one who had already passed the first sixties.

"Besides, we cannot all serve our country in the same way, but each does
his best, according as God has endowed him. I have toiled hard enough
during half a century. I can say, that in those things which nature has
appointed for my daily work, I have permitted myself no repose or
relaxation night or day, but have always striven, investigated, and done
as much, and that as well, as I could. If every one can say the same of
himself, it will prove well with all."

"The fact is," said I, by way of conciliation, "that you should not be
vexed at that reproach, but should rather feel flattered at it. For what
does it show but that the opinion of the world concerning you is so
great that it desires that he who has done more for the culture of his
nation than any other should at last do everything!"

"I will not say what I think," returned Goethe. "There is more ill-will
towards me hidden beneath that remark than you are aware of. I feel
therein a new form of the old hatred with which people have persecuted
me, and endeavored quietly to wound me for years. I know very well that
I am an eyesore to many; that they would all willingly get rid of me;
and that, since they cannot touch my talent, they aim at my character.
Now, it is said, I am proud; now, egotistical; now, full of envy towards
young men of genius; now, immersed in sensuality; now, without
Christianity; and now, without love for my native country, and my own
dear Germans. You have now known me sufficiently for years, and you feel
what all that talk is worth. But if you would learn what I have
suffered, read my '_Xenien_', and it will be clear to you, from my
retorts, how people have from time to time sought to embitter my life.

"A German author is a German martyr! Yes, my friend, you will not find
it otherwise! And I myself can scarcely complain; none of the others has
fared better--most have fared worse; and in England and France it is
quite the same as with us. What did not