May 23, 1889.
when Goethe was writing Werther he wrote to his friend Kestner, "I
am working out my own situation in art, for the consolation of gods
and men." That is a fine thing to have said, proceeding from so
sublime an egoism, so transcendent a pride, that it has hardly a
disfiguring touch of vanity about it. He did not add that he was
also working in the situation of his friend Kestner, and Kestner's
wife, Charlotte; though when they objected to having been thus used
as material, Goethe apologised profusely, and in the same breath
told them, somewhat royally, that they ought to be proud to have
been thus honoured. But that is the reason why one admires Goethe
so much and worships him so little. One admires him for the way in
which he strode ahead, turning corner after corner in the
untravelled road of art, with such insight, such certainty,
interpreting and giving form to the thought of the world; but one
does not worship him, because he had no tenderness or care for
humanity. He knew whither he was bound, but he did not trouble
himself about his companions. The great leaders of the world are
those who have said to others, "Come with me--let us find light and
peace together!"--but Goethe said, "Follow me if you can!" Some
one, writing of that age, said that it was a time when men had
immense and far-reaching desires, but feeble wills.
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