understand of the magic of art, and of those invisible spirits which
are attracted and embodied by means of colour and design? These are
very mysteries for the profane. Dost believe then that a man only
paints to make a picture, and that the pallet, the pencil and the good
purpose are sufficient? O my dear simpleton, there must concur besides
strange conjunctures, astral influxes, and the favour of a variety of
spirits, in order to bring about a work as it should be! Did it never
fall within thy experience, that an artist of fine perceptions and
great depth of thought has spread his canvas, and dipped his pencil
into the best colours, to lure and entice the most lovely ideal into
his net? He has proposed to himself in the simplicity of his heart to
paint an Apollo, he draws and touches, and rubs and brushes, and smiles
enamoured and with the sweetest complacency at the creature which is to
issue from the void and mist; and now when it is finished, behold all
his skilfully-laid nets have caught a mere 'lob of spirits,' that grins
and mows at us out of the Arcadian landscape! Now come the ignoramuses,
and bawl and rave: 'The painter fellow has no talent, he has not
properly understood the antique, he has produced a daub instead of an
ideal,' and more such crude judgments. So is justice refused to the
susceptible heart of the artist, because an absolute devil, an imp of
darkness has fallen into the snare of his art, instead of an angel of
light. For these spirits also range about, and only watch for an
opportunity to embody themselves. Works of former painters, which have
somehow been lost, often wander about a long while distressed in empty
space, till a kind and able man again affords them an opportunity of
descending in a visible shape. It has cost me labour enough to recover
that composition of the excellent Roman artist; it requires more study
than thou didst spend in thy boyhood to kidnap thy neighbour's pigeons.
If thou art of opinion that, to paint a sacred history, a man is not
obliged to bring all his devotion to bear upon the subject, thou art
under a great error, from which our talented young friend Dietrich
would be best able to relieve thee."
Dietrich, who had just entered, and heard only the last sentiment, took
occasion directly to enlarge on this theme. In the meanwhile, Eulenböck
had the cloth laid, and arranged the wines in the order according to
which they were to be tasted; after this he addressed himself to Edward
with the question: "And what dost thou think of setting about now for
the future?"
"In the first instance not much," answered he: "in the meanwhile I mean
to resume and carry on my neglected studies, and in particular to apply
myself to history and the modern languages. I shall retrench, let the
other parts of my house, which now stand empty without being of use to
me, and retain only this little saloon and the adjoining rooms. In this
way I hope, with a prudent style of living, to make shift easily for
the first years, and in the meanwhile to render myself fit for some
place or other."
"Here then will be thy study?" said Eulenböck, shaking his head. "This
place does not at all please me, for I do not think these walls are
adapted to lucubration; they have not the proper repercussion; the room
itself has not the right quadrature; the thoughts rebound too violently
and make a clatter; and if ever you want to continue them in a fugue,
they will be sure all to clash in a hubbub together. It was another
whim of your poor papa to spoil as he did this fine saloon in his
latter years by his caprice. Formerly one looked upon the street on the
one side, and here, on the other, over the garden and the park, away to
the hills and distant mountains. He not only blocked up this fine view,
but even covered the window niches to a great depth with boards and
wainscotting, and so destroyed the symmetry of the room. If I were in
thy place, I would tear all that stuff, tapestry, and wainscotting open
again, and if any of the windows are to be lost, block up those which
look on the street."
"It was not caprice," said Edward; "it was done, this being his
favourite room, on account of his health; the east wind hurt him, and
caused him twinges of the gout. The verdant prospect he could enjoy in
the other rooms."
"If old Walther was not a fool," proceeded Eulenböck, "you were easily
relieved. He might give you the girl, who must at all events be
settled, and all would be right again."
"Silence!" cried Edward, with the greatest vehemence: "only to-day let
me forget what I hoped and dreamt. I would cease to think of her, since
to my horror I have begun to feel that I love her. I will not remind
myself how stupidly and foolishly I behaved to her father; not a
thought shall cross me to-day, not even her incomprehensible behaviour.
No, a glorious lot was prepared for me, I have become aware of it too
late; the punishment of my heedlessness is that I must renounce it for
ever! But how I can live without her, the future must teach me."
Here the young man, who till now had played the part of Edward's
librarian, came in. "Here is the catalogue you ordered," said he,
presenting a few leaves to the youth, who received them with shame.
"How!" he exclaimed, "not more than about six hundred volumes remaining
of that fine collection, and among these only the most ordinary works?"
The librarian shrugged his shoulders. "As from the beginning," he
replied, "you paid me my salary in books, I was forced to take those
which found the readiest purchasers; nor am I a sufficient judge of
curiosities, and probably did not set a sufficient value on these;
besides books, particularly rarities, vary in their value at different
times; and if the seller is hard prest to raise a sum, he must take
almost whatever is offered to him."
"At this rate then," said Edward, half in sadness, half with laughter,
"I should certainly have done better to engage no librarian at all, or
have sold the collection at first; I should then have had money in lieu
of it, or have kept the books. And what a collection! With what
affection my father cherished It! What a joy it was to him, when he
obtained the rare Petrarch, the first edition of Dante and Boccacio.
How could I forget that in most of these books there are notes from his
hand! How would I prize these works, if I still possessed them!
However, as I have no longer a library, you will suppose, as indeed I
lately gave you notice, that I have no farther occasion for a
librarian. In the mean while, we will spend one more merry day
together."
Now came in the man who had often taken part in these wild bouts, and
whom, on account of his turn of character, they never called by any
other name but that of the Puritan. This name they had given him,
because he never chimed in with the cheerful mirth or frolicsome
extravagance of the rest, but amidst mutterings and moral reflections
consumed his share of the feast. "Now we only want the Crocodile,"
cried Eulenböck, "and we are all met." This was a little hypochondriac
bookseller, pale and shrivelled, but one of the hardest drinkers. They
had given him this singular name, because as soon as the slightest
fumes of the liquor mounted into his brain he burst into tears, and
continued to shed them in the greater abundance, the longer the carouse
lasted, and the more extravagant the gaiety of the rest. The door
opened, and the rueful figure completed the odd circle of the guests.
The table was covered with Perigord pies, oysters, and other savory
viands; the company took their seats, and Eulenböck, whose purple face
between the tapers cast a reverend sheen, thus solemnly began: "My
assembled friends, a stranger who should suddenly step into this room
might be induced, by these arrangements, which have the appearance of a
feast, if he was not intimately acquainted with the members of the
company, to conceive the opinion, that preparations had here been made
for guzzling, drinking, riot and extravagant jollity, such as befits
only the rude multitude. Even a young artist named Dietrich, who is now
for the first time sitting among us at this table, darts wondering
glances at the multitude of these bottles and dishes, at these
goose-liver pies, at these oysters and muscles and at the whole
apparatus of a solemnity, which to him seems to promise an excess of
sensual enjoyment, and he too will be surprized when he learns in how
entirely different and directly opposite a sense all this is meant.
Gentlemen, I beg you to give me your attention and not to let my words
drop too lightly on your ears. If countries solemnize the birth of a
prince, if in Arabia a whole tribe hails with festive rejoicings the
epoch, when a poet makes his appearance and distinguishes himself; if
the installation of a Lord Mayor is celebrated with a banquet; if even
the birth of horses of generous breed is with good cause signalized in
an impressive manner: it surely concerns us still more closely (not to
end with an anti-climax) to look up, to feel an emotion and to touch
glasses a little, when the immortal spirit discovers itself to us, when
virtue deigns to appear before us in corporeal shape. Yes, my friends,
with affected heart I announce it to you, a young candidate for virtue
is among us, who this very evening, like an emergent butterfly, will
burst his case, and unfold his wings in a new state of being. It is no
other person than our generous host, who has given us so many a feast,
and so often filled our glasses. But an ardent purpose, not to mention
that he is himself on the shallows, that impetus of inspiration, of
which the ancients sang, now tears him from us aloft into fields of
light, and we, from this table and these bottles and dishes, his
earthly burial-place, gaze after him in dizzy amazement, to see to what
unknown regions he will now steer his flight. I tell you, my dearest
friends, he is revolving innumerable and excellent resolutions in his
bosom: and what cannot man, even the weakest and most inconsiderable,
resolve? Did you ever consider, (but in your levity you think not of
such things), that in a miserable map, if it contain only about a
hundred places marked on it, a tract of a thousand miles may be
concealed, and that yet it occupies itself no more room than a moderate
folio? For there perspective lies by the side of perspective, and hill
and dale and stream and wide, immeasurable prospects. So with purposes.
Weakly as our Puritan or our friend Dietrich look, they still can
carry, in good resolutions, more than ten elephants or twenty camels.
How weak I am myself in this virtue, I know better than any one, and
hence my reverence for those in whom I perceive such powers.
"Now, as we are not all susceptible of this inspiration, we sit here at
this table as at a crossway, whence several roads branch off in various
and opposite directions. At leading points of this sort, it is usual
for the distances of towns towards all the four quarters of the world
to be inscribed on a pyramidal post. The same may be said, under a not
unjoyous image, to be the case here. These oysters, taken in excess,
lead to sickness; this Burgundy, after a few stages, to red noses;
these truffles, with the appurtenances, to dropsy, cardialgy and
similar complaints. Our Edward however disdaining all this moves on
towards virtue. Fare thee well then on thy lonesome path, and we that
are not so much afraid of carbuncled faces, pot-bellies and short
breath, proceed along our road. But I too shall shortly leave you, my
dearest companions. A generous stranger, whose name I may not yet
mention, will animate my genius to the highest performances. He will in
distant regions dispose me to receive the unction of idealism, and, if
I may so speak, etherialize me. Our pious, warm-hearted Dietrich, with
whom we have scarcely become acquainted, pursues his course along
painted aisles and decorates his country's altars. What shall I say of
thee, librarian, thou who standest before the empty bookcases, and hast
not merely read, but literally swallowed, the works? O thou cormorant
of erudition, thou of the sect of the Mussulman Omar, canker-worm of
libraries, ravager of literature, thou that couldst destroy a new
Alexandrian collection, simply by the excellent new device of drawing
thy salary, not intellectually, but really, from its books. All the
booksellers of the Roman empire ought to send thee round to reduce
collections to atoms by thy destructive power, and create a demand for
new works. Thou, more than reviewer and worse than Saturn, who only
devoured what he had himself begotten: where are they, thy wards, thy
pupils, that with their gilt backs and edges so sweetly smiled on thee?
To silver hast thou turned them all, and allowed a short interval
between their golden and silver age. Farewell thou too, Puritan, most
ingenuous of mortals, thou hater of all poetry and lies. Reach me thy
hand at parting, poor Crocodile, that already art swimming in tears. In
the morass of a tavern must thou howl in future. In a better life we
shall all see one another again."
As Edward was pensive, and Dietrich still a stranger in the company,
and the librarian and Puritan made no grimaces, there prevailed, during
and after this harangue, a profound silence, rendered the more solemn
by the sobs and moanings of the bookseller, who had by this time
emptied several glasses. "This is Twelfth night," said Edward, "and as
it is the custom in many parts to make presents on this day, so I wish
my old companions and friends to pass another convivial night with me."
"On this evening," proceeded Eulenböck, "there is no impropriety in
deviating for once in a way from the usual routine of life. Hence games
of chance were formerly customary at this season, though at other times
they were forbidden. And how happy would it be for thee, friend Edward,
if to-day thy lucky star were to rise again, and the impoverished
spendthrift were favoured with a new fortune. One hears strange tales
how young men, reduced by poverty to despair, have determined to hang
themselves in their family mansion, and behold, down falls the nail
with the beam of the ceiling, and with them at the same time many
thousand gold pieces, which the prudent father had secreted there.
Closely examined, a silly story. Was it possible then for the father to
know that his son would have a particular partiality for hanging? Could
he calculate, that the body of the desperate youth would retain
substance enough to discover and pull down by its weight the hidden
treasure? Might not the prodigal son before have wanted to fix a
chandelier there, and so found the money? In short, a thousand solid
objections may be made by rational criticism to this ill-contrived
tale."
"Without thy returning constantly to this taunt," said Edward, nettled,
"my own conscience upbraids my levity and foolish dissipation. Were it
not for the unruliness of the passions, which take a pride in setting
reason at defiance, the preachers of morality would have light work of
it. It is quite intelligible, that we poor mortals should believe
ourselves possessed by evil spirits. For how is it to be explained,
that one follows the bad at the same time that one perceives the
better, nay, that often, even in our wildest hours, we feel more
impelled towards good than towards evil, and even before the commission
of the deed are tormented by our consciences? There must be a
deeply-rooted corruption in human nature, and one that will never be
perfectly trained to a generous growth, nor changed by grafts of
virtue."
"So it is," said the Puritan: "man is in himself good for nothing, he
miscarried at his very creation. He can only be patched, and the
botches always remain visible in the old rotten cloth."
"Ay, truly," sighed the Crocodile, "it is to be deplored, and again and
again to be deplored." The tears flowed fast from his glowing eyes.
"When you took me for the first time into that tavern," proceeded
Edward, addressing himself to the old painter, "did it then give me
pleasure to see myself in that circle of coarse and irksome men? I was
ashamed when the landlord accosted me with a respect, as though I had
been a Deity that had descended from Olympus. Such an honour had never
befallen his house before. People soon grew familiar with the presence
of my dignity, and still I was attracted, against my will, within the
fumes of the parlour, and the clamorous conversation, to my old side,
by a kind of talisman, which did not even break as the faces of the
host and his people grew colder and even surly, when attention was no
longer paid to my call, and meaner guests were treated with more
ceremony; for by my negligence I had fallen into a considerable debt,
for which I was dunned with coarse importunity. Still worse it fared
with a poor tattered wretch, a daily guest, who was scarcely even
listened to, who often got spoilt vinegar, and yet durst not complain;
he was the butt of the witty menials, the object of the insult and pity
of the other strangers, as well as of his own timid contempt. And, ill
as he was treated, he was still forced to pay dearer than any, and was
imposed upon without venturing to complain, while his business was
neglected, and his wife and children were pining at home. In this
mirror I saw my own misery, and when once a plain mechanic, of
unblemished life, happened to step in, and was greeted by all with
respect as a rare phenomenon, I roused at last from my impotent
lethargy, paid what my indolence only had neglected, and endeavoured to
save that wretch too from sinking into utter ruin. But so it is, that
even they who grow rich by the thoughtless profligate, despise him, and
cannot withhold their respect from the worthy man who avoids them. In
this unworthy manner have I flung away my time and fortune, to purchase
contempt."
"Be calm, my son," cried Eulenböck, "thou hast also done good to many a
poor family."
"Let nothing be said of that," answered Edward, despondingly; "that too
was done without judgment, as it was without judgment I spent, without
judgment travelled, played and drank, and knew not how to secure a
cheerful hour for myself or others."
"That indeed is bad," said the old man, "and, as far as the precious
wine is concerned, a sin. But cheer up and drink, ye brave mates, and
rouse our host to the mood which becomes him."
There was however no need of this exhortation, for the company was
indefatigable. Even young Dietrich drank stoutly, and Eulenböck
arranged the order in which the wines were to follow one another.
"To-day is the trial!" he cried: "the battle must be won, and the
conqueror shews no mercy to the conquered. Look on my martial
countenance, ye young heroes, here have I hung out the threatening
blood-red banner, as a sign that no mercy is to be found. Nothing in
the world, my friends, is so misunderstood as the apparently simple act
which men superficially call drinking, and there is no boon to which
less justice is done, which is so little prized, as wine. If I could
wish ever to become useful to the world, I would induce an enlightened
government to erect a peculiar chair, from which I might instruct our
ignorant species in the admirable properties of wine. Who does not like
to drink? There are but few unfortunate persons, who can with truth
assert this of themselves. But it is a misery to see how they drink,
without the least gusto, without style, light and shade, so that one
hardly finds the vestige of a school; at the utmost colouring, which
the insolent puppies presently fasten on their noses, and hang out as a
trophy in the sight of the world."
"And how is one properly to begin?" asked Dietrich.
"In the first place," rejoined the old man, "the foundation must be
laid, as in all arts, by quiet humility and simple faith. Only no
premature criticism, no inquisitive, impertinent snuffling, but a
generous, confident self-devotion. When the scholar has made some
progress, he may now begin to discriminate; and if the wine does but
meet with a desire of learning and simplicity of character, its spirit
communicates instruction through the heart to the head, and with
enthusiasm awakens at the same time judgment. Only practice, the main
requisite, must not be neglected; no empty idealism; for only action
makes the master."
"Oh! how true!" sighed the bookseller, letting his tears flow without
restraint. "Words," said the Puritan, "which the common herd would call
golden."
"Were not drinking," proceeded Eulenböck, "an art and a science, there
would only need to be a single beverage on earth, as the innocent
element, water, already plays that part. But the spirit of nature,
shifting and sporting with a lovely grace, infuses itself here and
there into the vine, and amidst wondrous struggles lets itself be
strained and refined, in order to descend along the magic channel of
the palate into our inmost recesses, and there to rouse all our noblest
energies out of the torpor and lethargy of their primitive chaos. 'See,
there goes the sot!' Oh! my friends, such too were the railings and
jeers of those who had not been initiated in the Eleusinian mysteries.
With this golden and purple tide there rolls and spreads within us a
sea of harmony, and the rising dawn draws a melody from the old statue
of Memnon, which till then had stood voiceless in the gloom of night.
Through blood and brain courses and speeds exultingly the gentle call:
'the spring is come!' Then all the little spirits feel the sweet waves,
and creep with laughing eyes out of their dark corners; they stretch
their delicate little crystal limbs, and plunge to bathe in the
wine-flood, and plash and shoot, and rise quivering out again, and
shake their sparkling spirits' wings, that, as they rustle, the clear
drops fall from the little plumes. They run about and meet each other,
and kiss a joyous life one from the other's lips. Still closer, still
brighter grows the throng, more and more melodious their lispings; then
with garlands and solemn triumph they lead the Genius along, who with
his dark eyes can hardly peep through his luxuriant flower-wreaths. Now
the man is conscious of infinity, immortality; he sees and feels the
myriads of spirits within him, and takes pleasure in their frolics.
What is one to say then of the vulgar souls, who cry after a man:
'look, the fellow is drunk.' What thinkest thou, honest Crocodile?"
The pale man of tears stretched forth his hand to him, and said; "Ah!
my dear friend, the folks are right, and you are right, and the whole
world is right. What you have rolled along in such a prophetic strain
surpasses my comprehension, but I am blest in my deep emotion. When
people go to the play, to weep for their money, it seems to me quite
absurd; let others feel elevated by lofty sentiments and actions, I do
not understand it; yet, when such good wine goes into me, it operates
wonderfully, so that every thing, every thing, let men say what they
will, keep silence or laugh, resolves itself with me into the sweetest
emotion. My heart, see you, is ready to break with pleasure; I could
fold all things, were it even your lame poodle, in my arms. But my eyes
suffer under it, and the doctor wanted on that account to forbid me
drinking. But this very thought is the most affecting of all ideas to
me; I could weep over it for days together: and so he was obliged to
recall this direction."
"The more I drink," said the Puritan, "the more I hate the stuff which
you have been palavering there, Eulenböck, and the more senseless it
appears to me. Lies and tricks! It is almost as silly as to sing over
one's liquor the songs that are made for the purpose. Every word in
them is a falsehood. When a man begins to compare one object with
another, he lies directly. 'The dawn strews roses.' Can there be any
thing more silly? 'The sun sinks into the sea.' Stuff! 'The wine glows
with purple hue.' Foolery! 'The morning wakes.' There is no morning,
how can it sleep? It is nothing but the hour when the sun rises.
Plague! The sun does not rise, that too is nonsense and poetry. Oh! if
I had but my will with language, and might properly scour and sweep it!
O damnation! Sweep! In this lying world, one cannot help talking
nonsense!"