ighty Goethe. It was shortly after this
that he sat in a niche of Goethe's library, musing, sad and solitary,
while a gay throng chattered by. Some young women, seeing him there,
laughed, and one asked, "Is it alive?" And Goethe, overhearing the
pleasantry, rebuked it by saying, "Do not smile at that youth--he will
yet eclipse us all."

At Weimar there was no greeting for Schopenhauer from his mother--she
welcomed all but her son. Unfortunately for her, she put herself on
record by writing him letters. Scathing letters are all right, but they
should be directed and stamped, then burned just before they are trusted
to the mails. To record unkindness is tragedy, for the unkind word lives
long after the event that caused it is forgotten. Here is one letter
written by Madame Schopenhauer that this methodical son saved for
posterity:

_My Dear Son:_

I have always told you it is difficult to live with you. The more I
get to know you, the more I feel this difficulty increase. I will
not hide it from you: as long as you are what you are, I would
rather bring any sacrifice than consent to be near you. I do not
undervalue your good points, and that which repels me does not lie
in your heart; it is in your outer, not your inner being; in your
ideas, your judgment, your habits; in a word, there is nothing
concerning the outer world in which we agree. Your ill-humor, your
complaints of things inevitable, your sullen looks, the
extraordinary opinions you utter, like oracles, none may presume to
contradict; all this depresses me and troubles me, without helping
you. Your eternal quibbles, your laments over the stupid world and
human misery, give me bad nights and unpleasant dreams....

Your Dear Mother, etc.,
_Johanna Schopenhauer_

* * * * *

The young man took lodgings at Weimar, at a goodly distance from his
mother. Goethe held out a friendly hand, as he did to Mendelssohn, and
all bright young men. They talked much, and Goethe read to Arthur his
essay on the theory of colors (for Wolfgang Goethe was human and dearly
loved the sound of his own voice). The reasoning so impressed the youth
that he devised a chromatic theory of his own--almost as peculiar.
Theories are for the theorizer, so all theories are useful.

At the earnest