1880. 

 GOETHES < FARBENLEHRE.' 1 



IN the days of my youth, when life was strong and 

 aspiration high, I found myself standing one fine 

 summer evening beside a statue of Goethe in a German 

 city. Following the current of thought and feeling 

 started by the associations of the place, I eventually 

 came to the conclusion that, judging even from a 

 purely utilitarian point of view, a truly noble work of 

 art was the most suitable memorial for a great man. 

 Such a work appeared to me capable of exciting a 

 motive force within the mind which no purely material 

 influence could generate. There was then labour 

 before me of the most arduous kind. There were 

 formidable practical difficulties to be overcome, and 

 very small means wherewith to overcome them, and 

 yet I felt that no material means could, as regards 

 the task I had undertaken, plant within me a resolve 

 comparable with that which the contemplation of this 

 statue of Goethe was able to arouse. 



My reverence for the poet had been awakened by 

 the writings of Mr. Carlyle, and it was afterwards con- 

 firmed and consolidated by the writings of Goethe him- 

 self. There was, however, one of the poet's works which, 

 though it lay directly in the line of my own studies, re- 

 mained for a long time only imperfectly known to me. 

 My opinion of that work was not formed on hearsay. I 



1 A Friday evening discourse in the Royal Institution. 



