was well-made, lively, and rather impetuous; she everywhere showed
herself active, and lent a helping hand to her mother in all things. To
put Frederica in the place of Primrose's Sophia was not difficult; for
little is said of the latter, it is only taken for granted that she is
amiable; and this girl was amiable indeed. Now as the same occupation
and the same situation, wherever they may occur, produce similar, if
not the same effects, so here too many things were talked about, many
things happened, which had already taken place in the Wakefield family.
But when at last a younger son, long announced and impatiently expected
by the father, at last sprang into the room, and boldly sat himself
down by us, taking but little notice of the guests, I could scarcely
help exclaiming, "Moses, are you here too!"
The conversation at table extended my insight into this country and
family circle, since the discourse was about various droll incidents
which had happened now here, now there. Frederica, who sat by me,
thence took occasion to describe to me different localities which
it was worth while to visit. As one little story always calls forth
another, I was able to mingle so much the better in the conversation,
and to relate similar incidents, and as, besides this, a good country
wine was by no means spared, I stood in danger of slipping out of my
character, for which reason my more prudent friend took advantage of
the beautiful moonlight, and proposed a walk, which was approved at
once. He gave his arm to the elder, I to the younger, and thus we went
through the wide field, paying more attention to the heavens above us
than to the earth, which lost itself in extension around us. There
was, however, nothing of moonshine in Frederica's discourse; by the
clearness with which she spoke she turned night into day, and there
was nothing in it which would have indicated or excited any feeling,
except that her expressions related more than hitherto to me, since she
represented to me her own situation, as well as the neighbourhood and
her acquaintances, just as far as I should be acquainted with them; for
she hoped, she added, I would make no exception, and would visit them
again, as all strangers had willingly done who had once stopped with
them.
It was very pleasant to me to listen silently to the description which
she gave of the little world in which she moved, and of the persons
whom she particularly valued. She thereby imparted to me a clear, and,
at the same time, such an amiable idea of her situation, that it had
a very strange effect on me; for I felt at once a deep regret that I
had not lived with her sooner, and at the same time a truly painful
envious feeling towards all who had hitherto had the good fortune to
surround her. I at once watched closely, as if I had a right to do so,
all her descriptions of men, whether they appeared under the names of
neighbours, cousins, or gossips, and my conjectures inclined now this
way, now that; but how could I have discovered anything in my complete
ignorance of all the circumstances? She at last became more and more
talkative, and I more and more silent. It was so pleasant to listen to
her, and as I heard only her voice, while the form of her countenance,
as well as the rest of the world, floated dimly in the twilight, it
seemed to me as if I could see into her heart, which I could not but
find very pure, since it unbosomed itself to me in such unembarrassed
loquacity.
[Side-note: Comparison with the "Vicar of Wakefield."]
When my companion retired with me into the guest-chamber, which was
prepared for us, he at once, with self-complacency, broke out into
pleasant jesting, and took great credit to himself for having surprised
me so much with the similarity to the Primrose family. I chimed in
with him by showing myself thankful. "Truly," cried he, "the story is
quite complete. This family may very well be compared to that, and the
gentleman in disguise here may assume the honour of passing for Mr.
Burchell; moreover, since scoundrels are not so necessary in common
life as in novels, I will for this time undertake the _rôle_ of the
nephew, and behave myself better than he did." However, I immediately
changed this conversation, pleasant as it might be to me, and asked
him, before all things, on his conscience, if he had not really
betrayed me? He answered me, "No!" and I could believe him. They had
rather inquired, said he, after the merry table-companion who boarded
at the same house with him in Strasburg, and of whom they had been told
all sorts of preposterous stuff. I now went to other questions: Had she
ever been in love? Was she now in love? Was she engaged? He replied
to all in the negative. "In truth," replied I, "such a cheerfulness
by nature is inconceivable to me. Had she loved and lost, and again
recovered herself, or had she been betrothed,--in both these cases I
could account for it."
Thus we chatted together far into the night, and I was awake again at
the dawn. My desire to see her once more seemed unconquerable; but
while I dressed myself, I was horrified at the accursed wardrobe I had
so wantonly selected. The further I advanced in putting on my clothes,
the meaner I seemed in my own eyes; for everything had been calculated
for just this effect. My hair I might perchance have set to rights; but
when at last I forced myself into the borrowed, worn-out grey coat,
and the short sleeves gave me the most absurd appearance, I fell the
more decidedly into despair, as I could see myself only piecemeal, in a
little looking-glass since one part always looked more ridiculous than
the other.
During this toilette my friend awoke, and with the satisfaction of a
good conscience, and in the feeling of pleasurable hope for the day,
looked out at me from the quilted silk coverlet. I had for a long time
already envied him his fine clothes, as they hung over the chair, and
had he been of my size, I would have carried them off before his eyes,
changed my dress outside, and hurrying into the garden, left my cursed
husk for him; he would have had good-humour enough to put himself into
my clothes, and the tale would have found a merry ending early in the
morning. But that was not now to be thought of, no more was any other
feasible accommodation. To appear again before Frederica in the figure
in which my friend could give me out as a laborious and accomplished
but poor student of theology,--before Frederica, who the evening before
had spoken so friendly to my disguised self,--that was altogether
impossible. There I stood, vexed and thoughtful, and summoned all my
power of invention; but it deserted me! But now when he, comfortably
stretched out, after fixing his eyes upon me for a while, all at once
burst out into a loud laugh, and exclaimed, "No! it is true, you do
look most cursedly!" I replied impetuously, "And I know what I will do.
Good bye, and make my excuses!" "Are you mad?" cried he, springing**
out of bed and trying to detain me. But I was already out of the door,
down the stairs, out of the house and yard, off to the tavern; in an
instant my horse was saddled, and I hurried away in mad vexation,
galloping towards Drusenheim, then through that place, and still
further on.
As I now thought myself in safety, I rode more slowly, and now first
felt how infinitely against my will I was going away. But I resigned
myself to my fate, made present to my mind the promenade of yesterday
evening with the greatest calmness, and cherished the secret hope of
seeing her soon again. But this quiet feeling soon changed itself again
into impatience, and I now determined to ride rapidly into the city,
change my dress, take a good, fresh horse, since then, as my passion
made me believe, I could at all events return before dinner, or, as
was more probable, to the dessert, or towards evening, and beg my
forgiveness.
[Side-note: The Exchange of Clothes.]
I was just about to put spurs to my horse to execute this plan, when
another, and, as seemed to me, a very happy thought, passed through
my mind. In the tavern at Drusenheim, the day before, I had noticed
a son of the landlord very nicely dressed, who, early this morning,
being busied about his rural arrangements, had saluted me from his
court-yard. He was of my figure, and had for the moment reminded me of
myself. No sooner thought than done! My horse was hardly turned round,
when I found myself in Drusenheim; I brought him into the stable, and
in a few words made the fellow my proposal, namely, that he should lend
me his clothes, as I had something merry on foot at Sesenheim. I had no
need to talk long; he agreed to the proposition with joy, and praised
me for wishing to make some sport for the _Mamsells_; they were, he
said, such capital people, especially Mamselle Riekchen,[3] and the
parents, too, liked to see everything go on merrily and pleasantly.
He considered me attentively, and as from my appearance he might have
taken me for a poor starveling, he said, "If you wish to insinuate
yourself, this is the right way." In the meanwhile we had already
proceeded far in our toilette, and properly speaking he should not
have trusted me with his holiday clothes on the strength of mine; but
he was honest-hearted, and, moreover, had my horse in his stable. I
soon stood there smart enough, gave myself a consequential air, and my
friend seemed to regard his counterpart with complacency. "Topp,[4] Mr.
Brother!" said he, giving me his hand, which I grasped heartily, "don't
come too near my girl; she might make a mistake!"
My hair, which had now its full growth again, I could part at top,
much like his, and as I looked at him repeatedly, I found it comical
moderately to imitate his thicker eyebrows with a burnt cork, and
bring mine nearer together in the middle, so that with my enigmatical
intentions, I might make myself an external riddle likewise. "Now have
you not," said I, as he handed me his be-ribboned hat, "something or
other to be done at the parsonage, that I might announce myself there
in a natural manner?" "Good!" replied he, "but then you must wait two
hours yet. There is a woman confined at our house; I will offer to take
the cake to the parson's wife,[5] and you may carry it over. Pride must
pay its penalty, and so must a joke." I resolved to wait, but these
two hours were infinitely long, and I was dying of impatience when
the third hour passed before the cake came out of the oven. At last I
got it quite hot, and hastened away with my credentials in the most
beautiful sunshine, accompanied for a distance by my counterpart, who
promised to come after me in the evening and bring me my clothes. This,
however, I briskly declined, and stipulated that I should deliver up to
him his own.
[Side-note: Goethe's Disguise.]
I had not skipped far with my present, which I carried in a neat
tied-up napkin, when, in the distance, I saw my friend coming towards
me with the two ladies. My heart was uneasy, which was certainly
unsuitable under this jacket. I stood still, took breath, and tried to
consider how I should begin; and now I first remarked that the nature
of the ground was very much in my favour; for they were walking on the
other side of the brook, which, together with the strips of meadow
through which it ran, kept the two footpaths pretty far apart. When
they were just opposite to me, Frederica, who had already perceived
me long before, cried, "George, what are you bringing there?" I was
clever enough to cover my face with my hat, which I took off, while I
held up the loaded napkin high in the air. "A christening cake!" cried
she at that; "how is your sister?" "Well,"[6] said I, for I tried to
talk in a strange dialect, if not exactly in the Alsatian. "Carry it
to the house!" said the elder, "and if you do not find my mother, give
it to the maid; but wait for us, we shall soon be back.--do you hear?"
I hastened along my path in the joyous feeling of the best hope that,
as the beginning was so lucky, all would go off well, and I had soon
reached the parsonage. I found nobody either in the house or in the
kitchen; I did not wish to disturb the old gentleman, whom I might
suppose busy in the study; I therefore sat down on the bench before the
door, with the cake beside me, and pressed my hat upon my face.
I cannot easily recall a pleasanter sensation. To sit again on this
threshold, over which, a short time before, I had blundered out in
despair; to have seen her already again, to have already heard again
her dear voice, so soon after my chagrin had pictured to me a long
separation, every moment to be expecting herself and a discovery, at
which my heart throbbed, and yet, in this ambiguous case, a discovery
without shame; for at the very beginning it was a merrier prank than
any of those they had laughed at so much yesterday. Love and necessity
are the best masters; they both acted together here, and their pupil
was not unworthy of them.
[Side-note: "Frederica's Repose."]
But the maid came stepping out of the barn. "Now! did the cakes turn
out well?" cried she to me; "how is your sister?" "All right," said
I, and pointed to the cake without looking up. She took up the napkin
and muttered, "Now, what's the matter with you to-day again? Has
Barbchen[7] been looking again at somebody else? Don't let us suffer
for that! You will make a happy couple if you carry on so!" As she
spoke pretty loud, the pastor came to the window and asked what was
the matter. She showed him to me; I stood up and turned myself towards
him; but still kept the hat over my face. When he had spoken somewhat
friendly to me, and had asked me to remain, I went towards the garden,
and was just going in, when the pastor's wife, who was entering the
courtyard gate, called to me. As the sun shone right in my face, I one
more availed myself of the advantage which my hat afforded me, and
greeted her by scraping a leg; but she went into the house after she
had bidden me not to go away without eating something. I now walked up
and down in the garden; everything had hitherto had the best success,
yet I breathed hard when I reflected that the young people now would
soon return. But the mother unexpectedly stepped up to me, and was
just going to ask me a question, when she looked me in the face, so
that I could not conceal myself any longer, and the words stuck in
her throat. "I am looking for George," said she, after a pause, "and
whom do I find? Is it you, young sir? How many forms have you, then?"
"In earnest only one," replied I; "in sport as many as you like."
"Which sport I will not spoil," smiled she; "go out behind the garden
into the meadow until it strikes twelve, then come back, and I shall
already have contrived the joke." I did so; but when I was beyond
the hedges of the village gardens, and was going along the meadows,
towards me some country people came by the footpath, and put me in
some embarrassment. I therefore turned aside into a little wood, which
crowned an elevation quite near, in order to conceal myself there till
the appointed time. Yet how strangely did I feel when I entered it; for
there appeared before me a neat place, with benches, from every one
of which was a pretty view of the country. Here was the village and
the steeple, here Drusenheim, and behind it the woody islands of the
Rhine; in the opposite direction was the Vosgian mountain range, and at
last the minster of Strasburg. These different heaven-bright pictures
were set in bushy frames, so that one could see nothing more joyous
and pleasing. I sat down upon one of the benches, and noticed on the
largest tree an oblong little board with the inscription, "Frederica's
Repose." It never occurred to me that I might have come to disturb this
repose; for a budding passion has this beauty about it, that, as it is
unconscious of its origin, neither can it have any thought of an end,
nor, while it feels itself glad and cheerful, have any presentiment
that it may also create mischief.
I had scarcely had time to look about me and was losing myself in sweet
reveries, when I heard somebody coming; it was Frederica herself.
"George, what are you doing here?" she cried from a distance. "Not
George!" cried I, running towards her, "but one who craves forgiveness
of you a thousand rimes." She looked at me with astonishment, but soon
collected herself, and said, after fetching her breath more deeply,
"You abominable man, how you frighten me!" "The first disguise has
led me into the second," exclaimed I; "the former would have been
unpardonable if I had only known in any degree to whom I was going;
but this one you will certainly forgive, for it is the shape of
persons whom you treat so kindly." Her pale cheeks had coloured up
with the most beautiful rose-red. "You shall not be worse off than
George, at any rate! But let us sit down! I confess the fright has
gone into my limbs." I sat down beside her, exceedingly agitated.
"We know everything already, up to this morning, from your friend,"
said she, "now do you tell me the rest." I did not let her say that
twice, but described to her my horror at my yesterday's figure, and my
rushing out of the house, so comically, that she laughed heartily and
graciously; then I went on to what followed, with all modesty, indeed,
yet passionately enough, so that it might have passed for a declaration
of love in historical form. At last I solemnized my pleasure at finding
her again, by a kiss upon her hand, which she suffered to remain in
mine. If she had taken upon herself the expense of the conversation
during yesterday evening's moonlight walk, I now, on my part, richly
repaid the debt. The pleasure of seeing her again, and being able to
say to her everything that I had yesterday kept back, was so great
that, in my eloquence, I did not remark how meditative and silent she
was. Once more she deeply fetched her breath, and over and over again I
begged her forgiveness for the fright which I had caused her. How long
we may have sat I know not; but at once we heard some one call. It was
the voice of her sister. "That will be a pretty story," said the dear
girl, restored to her perfect cheerfulness; "she is coming hither on
my side," she added, bending so as half to conceal me; "turn yourself
away, so that you may not be recognised at once." The sister entered
the place, but not alone; Weyland was with her, and both, when they saw
us, stood still, as if petrified.
If we should all at once see a flame burst out violently from a quiet
roof, or should meet a monster whose deformity was at the same time
revolting and fearful, we should not be struck with such a fierce
horror as that which seizes us when, unexpectedly, we see with our own
eyes what we have believed morally impossible. "What is this?" cried
the elder, with the rapidity of one who is frightened; "what is this?
you with George, hand-in-hand! How am I to understand this?" "Dear
sister," replied Frederica, very doubtfully, "the poor fellow,--he
is begging something of me; he has something to beg of you, too,
but you must forgive him beforehand." "I do not understand--I do
not comprehend--" said her sister, shaking her head and looking at
Weyland, who, in his quiet way, stood by in perfect tranquillity, and
contemplated the scene without any kind of expression. Frederica arose
and drew me after her. "No hesitating!" cried she; "pardon begged and
granted!" "Now do!" said I, stepping pretty near the elder; "I have
need of pardon!" She drew back, gave a loud shriek, and was covered
with blushes; she then threw herself down on the grass, laughed
immoderately, and seemed as if she would never have done. Weyland
smiled as if pleased, and cried, "You are a rare youth!" Then he shook
my hand in his. He was not usually liberal with his caresses, but his
shake of the hand had something hearty and enlivening about it; yet he
was sparing of this also.
After somewhat recovering and collecting ourselves, we set out on our
return to the village. On the way I learned how this singular meeting
had been occasioned. Frederica had at last parted from the promenaders
to rest herself in her little nook for a moment before dinner, and when
the other two came back to the house, the mother had sent them to call
Frederica with as great haste as possible, because dinner was ready.
The elder sister manifested the most extravagant delight, and when
she learned that the mother had already discovered the secret, she
exclaimed, "Now we have still to deceive my father, my brother, the
servant-man and the maid." When we were at the garden-hedge, Frederica
insisted upon going first into the house with my friend. The maid was
busy in the kitchen-garden, and Olivia (so let the elder sister be
named here) called out to her, "Stop; I have something to tell you!"
She left me standing by the hedge, and went to the maid. I saw that
they were speaking very earnestly. Olivia represented to her that
George had quarrelled with Barbara, and seemed desirous of marrying
her. The lass was not displeased at this; I was now called, and was
to confirm what had been said. The pretty, stout girl cast down her
eyes, and remained so until I stood quite near before her. But when,
all at once, she perceived the strange face, she too gave a loud scream
and ran away. Olivia bade me run after her and hold her fast, so that
she should not get into the house and make a noise; while she herself
wished to go and see how it was with her father. On the way Olivia
met the servant-boy, who was in love with the maid; I had in the mean
time hurried after the maid, and held her fast. "Only think! what good
luck!" cried Olivia; "it's all over with Barbara, and George marries
Liese." "That I have thought for a long while," said the good fellow,
and remained standing in an ill-humour.
[Side-note: Goethe's Disguise.]