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. They lost
themselves in the melancholy of Hamlet, and luxuriated in their own
sorrows. That was not the case with Goethe himself; there never was
an artist who was less irresolute.

One of the reasons, I think, why we are weak in art, at the present
time, is because we refer everything to conventional ethical
standards. We are always arraigning people at the bar of morality,
and what we judge them mainly by is their strength or weakness of
will. Blake thought differently. He always maintained that men
would be judged for their intellectual and artistic perception, by
their good or bad taste.