“It is heavenly to be able to say that, and divine to perceive it,” cried Moritz, bursting into tears. “The miseries of life chain me to the dust, and do not permit me to mount to the heights which a hero like Goethe reaches victorious. It is indeed sublime to conquer one’s self, and be willing to resign the happiness which flees us. But see how weak I am--I cannot do it! I can never give up the one I love. It seems as if I could move heaven and earth to conquer at last, and that I must die if I do not succeed--die like Werther.” Goethe’s eyes flashed with anger, and with heightened color he exclaimed: “You all repeat the same litany--do not make me answerable for all your weaknesses, and blame poor Werther for the creations of your own imagination. I, who am the author of Werther, am free from this abominable sentimentality. Why cannot others be, who only read what I have conceived? But pardon my violence,” he continued, with a milder voice and gentler manner. “Never did an author create a work which brought him at the same time so great fame and bitter reproach as this work has brought to me. ‘The Sorrows of Young Werther’ have indeed been transformed into the sorrows of young Goethe, and I even fear that old Goethe will have to suffer for it. I have spoken to you as a friend to a friend: cherish my words, take them to heart, and arise from the dust; shake off the self-strewn ashes from your head. Enter again as a brave champion the combat of life--summon to your aid cunning, power, prudence, and audacity, to conquer your love. Whether you succeed or not, then you aim at the greatest of battles--that of mind over matter--then remember my farewell words. From the power which binds all men he frees himself who conquers himself.--Farewell! If ever you need the encouragement of a friend, if ever a sympathizing soul is necessary to you, come to Weimar; sympathy and appreciation shall never fail you there.” “Oh! I will surely go,” answered Moritz, deeply moved, and pressing heartily Goethe’s offered hand. “One thing more I have to say to you: Live much with Nature; accustom yourself to regard the sparrow, the flower, or the stone, as worthy of your attention as the wonderful phoenix or the monuments of the ancients with their illegible inscriptions. To walk with Nature is balsam for a weary soul; gently touched by her soft hands, the recovery is most rapid. I have experienced it, and do experience it daily. Now, once more, farewell; in the true sense of the word fare-thee-well! I wish that I could help you in other ways than by mere kind words. It pains me indeed that I can render you no other aid or hope. You alone can do what none other can do for you.--Farewell!”