But he had not the strength of character to remain temperate, and soon after his decision, he had fits of bleeding at the nose, which he attributed to “having taken some glasses of wine.”[195] To his last day, he took wine regularly, and sometimes to excess. J. H. Wolff, who dined with him at Weimar, when he was in his eightieth year, was surprised by his appetite and by the quantity of wine he drank. “In addition to other food, he ate an enormous portion of roast goose, and drank a bottle of red wine.”[196] In Eckermann’s interesting narrative of the last ten years of Goethe’s life (1822-1832) there is repeated mention of wine. Goethe seized every occasion to drink it. Sometimes it was the visit of a stranger, sometimes a present of some famous vintage. It was said that he drank from one to two bottles of wine daily (Moebius). None the less, he was convinced that wine was not good for intellectual work. He had remarked that when his friend Schiller had drunk more than usual, to increase his strength and stimulate his literary activity, the result was deplorable. He said to Eckermann (March 11, 1828), “He will ruin his health and will spoil his work. That is why he has made the faults the critics have pointed out.” In another conversation (March 11, 1828) he stated that what was written under the influence of wine was abnormal and forced, and ought to be deleted.
Love was the great stimulus of Goethe’s genius. The love affairs, the histories of which fill his biography, are well known. Many have been shocked by them; others have tried to justify them. It has been suggested that his disposition made it necessary for him to impart his ideas and obtain sympathy for them, and that his love for women was the expression of a purely artistic feeling and had nothing in common with the ordinary passion.
The truth is that artistic genius and perhaps all kinds of genius are closely associated with sexual activity. I agree with the proposition formulated by Dr. Moebius[197] that “artistic proclivities are probably to be regarded as secondary sexual characters.” Just as the beard and some other male characters are developed as means of attracting the female sex, so also bodily strength, strong voice and many of the talents must be regarded as due to the need to fulfil the sexual relations. In primitive conditions woman worked more than man; man’s superior force served him principally in fighting with other males, the object of the combats usually being possession of a woman. Just as a victorious combatant covets the presence of a woman as witness of his prowess, so an orator speaks better in the presence of a woman to whom he is devoted. Singers and poets are stimulated in their arts by the love they awaken. Poetic genius is intimately associated with sexual power and castration inhibits it. Just as castrated animals retain their physical strength, but become changed in character, losing in particular their combative nature, so a man of genius loses much of his quality with the sexual function. Amongst the eunuchs on record, Abelard is the only poet, but Abelard was forty years old when he ceased to be a man, and at the same time he ceased to be a poet. Many singers have been eunuchs, but they have been merely executants, and have taken no part in musical creation. Some musical composers have been eunuchs, but these were of mediocre ability and their names have been forgotten. When castration has taken place at an early age, it has a much more powerful influence in modifying the secondary sexual characters.
From the point of view of a naturalist, I cannot agree with the moralists who have blamed Goethe for his sexuality, nor do I share the views of those defenders of him who have wished to deny the facts or to explain them away by the suggestion that they did not relate to sexual love.
Extracts from the Roman Elegies show quite clearly what was the nature of Goethe’s love affairs. His feelings towards the Baroness von Stein have been taken as revealing merely idealistic love. But some of his letters to her are clear evidence that their relations were erotic (Moebius, Goethe, vol. ii, p. 89). The love which he bore for Minna Herzlieb, the girl who inspired him to write Elective Affinities (Wahlverwandschaften), has been described by Goethe himself in a poem so crudely erotic that it has been impossible to publish it (Lewes, vol. ii, p. 314).
A fact to which I specially desire to call attention is that Goethe’s amorous temperament survived until the end of his life, and all the world has been astonished by the vigour of his poetic genius in extreme old age.
Goethe has been the subject of derision because at the age of seventy-four years he fell deeply in love with Ulrique de Lewetzow, who was quite a young girl. This incident, however, merits close attention as it is a typical case of senile love in a man of genius.
Whilst he was at Carlsbad, Goethe became acquainted with a pretty girl seventeen years old, with beautiful blue eyes, brown hair, and of an ardent, good-humoured and happy disposition. In the first two seasons nothing in particular happened. But in the third summer, at Marienbad, Goethe became passionately enamoured of Ulrique, who was then nineteen years old and in the full bloom of her young womanhood. His love made him young again; he passed long hours with her and took to dancing with her. “I am quite certain,” he wrote to his son, “that it is many years since I have enjoyed such health of body and mind” (Aug. 30, 1823). His passion became so serious that the Grand Duke of Saxe-Weimar, on behalf of his friend, made a formal proposal of marriage for Mademoiselle de Lewetzow. The mother gave an evasive answer, and the matter rested in suspense for long, and ended in a refusal. Goethe withdrew to his family, but encountered there strong opposition to his project of marriage.
This misadventure troubled the old poet so seriously that he fell ill. He suffered from pain in the region of the heart and from profound mental disturbance. He complained to Eckermann “that he could do nothing, that he could get to work on nothing, and that his mind had lost its power.” “I can no longer work,” he said. “I cannot even read, and it is only in rare and fortunate moments that I can think, feeling myself partially soothed” (Eckermann, Nov. 16, 1823). Eckermann makes the following reflection on the state of mind of the great old man. “His trouble seems to be not merely physical. The passionate desire which he acquired for a young lady at Marienbad this summer, and against which he is still struggling, must be regarded as the chief cause of his illness” (Nov. 17, 1823).