Transcriber's note:
Text enclosed by equal signs is in bold face (=bold=).
Text enclosed by underscores is in italice (=italics=).
WILHELM MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP AND TRAVELS.
Translated from the German of GOETHE.
by Thomas Carlyle.
Complete in Two Volumes.
VOLUME I.
New York:
A. L. Burt, Publisher.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
BOOK I. 15
BOOK II. 74
BOOK III. 134
BOOK IV. 185
BOOK V. 254
BOOK VI. 320
BOOK VII. 372
TO THE READER.
These two translations, "Meister's Apprenticeship" and "Meister's
Travels," have long been out of print, but never altogether out of
demand; nay, it would seem, the originally somewhat moderate demand has
gone on increasing, and continues to increase. They are, therefore, here
republished; and the one being in some sort a sequel to the other,
though in rather unexpected sort, they are now printed together. The
English version of "Meister's Travels" has been extracted, or
extricated, from a compilation of very various quality named "German
Romance," and placed by the side of the "Apprenticeship," its
forerunner, which, in the translated as in the original state, appeared
hitherto as a separate work.
In the "Apprenticeship," the first of these translations, which was
executed some fifteen years ago, under questionable auspices, I have
made many little changes, but could not, unfortunately, change it into a
right translation; it hung, in many places, stiff and labored, too like
some unfortunate buckram cloak round the light, harmonious movement of
the original,--and, alas! still hangs so, here and there, and may now
hang. In the second translation, "Meister's Travels," two years later in
date, I have changed little or nothing. I might have added much; for the
original, since that time, was, as it were, taken to pieces by the
author himself in his last years, and constructed anew, and, in the
final edition of his works, appears with multifarious intercalations,
giving a great expansion, both of size and of scope. Not pedagogy only,
and husbandry and art and religion and human conduct in the nineteenth
century, but geology, astronomy, cotton-spinning, metallurgy,
anatomical lecturing, and much else, are typically shadowed forth in
this second form of the "Travels," which, however, continues a fragment
like the first, significantly pointing on all hands towards
infinitude,--not more complete than the first was, or indeed perhaps
less so. It will well reward the trustful student of Goethe to read this
new form of the "Travels," and see how in that great mind, beaming in
mildest mellow splendor, beaming if also trembling, like a great sun on
the verge of the horizon, near now to its long farewell, all these
things were illuminated and illustrated: but, for the mere English
reader, there are probably in our prior edition of the "Travels" already
novelties enough; for us, at all events, it seemed unadvisable to meddle
with it further at present.
Goethe's position towards the English public is greatly altered since
these translations first made their appearance. Criticisms near the
mark, or farther from the mark, or even altogether far and away from any
mark,--of these there have been enough. These pass on their road: the
man and his works remain what they are and were,--more and more
recognizable for what they are. Few English readers can require now to
be apprised that these two books, named novels, come not under the
Minerva-Press category, nor the Ballantyne-Press category, nor any such
category; that the author is one whose secret, by no means worn upon his
sleeve, will never, by any ingenuity, be got at in that way.
For a translator, in the present case, it is enough to reflect, that he
who imports into his own country any true delineation, a rationally
spoken word on any subject, has done well. Ours is a wide world,
peaceably admitting many different modes of speech. In our wide world,
there is but one altogether fatal personage,--the dunce,--he that speaks
_ir_rationally, that sees not, and yet thinks he sees. A genuine seer
and speaker, under what conditions soever, shall be welcome to us: has
he not _seen_ somewhat of great Nature our common mother's bringing
forth,--seen it, loved it, laid his heart open to it and to the mother
of it, so that he can now rationally speak it for us? He is our brother,
and a good, not a bad, man: his words are like gold, precious,
whether stamped in our mint, or in what mint soever stamped.
T. CARLYLE.
LONDON, November, 1839.
TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE
TO THE
FIRST EDITION OF MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
Whether it be that the quantity of genius among ourselves and the
French, and the number of works more lasting than brass produced by it,
have of late been so considerable as to make us independent of
additional supplies; or that, in our ancient aristocracy of intellect,
we disdain to be assisted by the Germans, whom, by a species of second
sight, we have discovered, before knowing any thing about them, to be a
tumid, dreaming, extravagant, insane race of mortals,--certain it is,
that hitherto our literary intercourse with that nation has been very
slight and precarious. After a brief period of not too judicious
cordiality, the acquaintance on our part was altogether dropped: nor, in
the few years since we partially resumed it, have our feelings of
affection or esteem been materially increased. Our translators are
unfortunate in their selection or execution, or the public is tasteless
and absurd in its demands; for, with scarcely more than one or two
exceptions, the best works of Germany have lain neglected, or worse than
neglected: and the Germans are yet utterly unknown to us. Kotzebue still
lives in our minds as the representative of a nation that despises him;
Schiller is chiefly known to us by the monstrous production of his
boyhood; and Klopstock by a hacked and mangled image of his "Messiah,"
in which a beautiful poem is distorted into a theosophic rhapsody, and
the brother of Virgil and Racine ranks little higher than the author of
"Meditations among the Tombs."
But of all these people there is none that has been more unjustly dealt
with than Johann Wolfgang von Goethe. For half a century the
admiration--we might almost say the idol--of his countrymen, to us he
is still a stranger. His name, long echoed and re-echoed through reviews
and magazines, has become familiar to our ears; but it is a sound and
nothing more: it excites no definite idea in almost any mind. To such as
know him by the faint and garbled version of his "Werther," Goethe
figures as a sort of poetic Heraclitus; some woe-begone hypochondriac,
whose eyes are overflowing with perpetual tears, whose long life has
been spent in melting into ecstasy at the sight of waterfalls and
clouds, and the moral sublime, or dissolving into hysterical wailings
over hapless love-stories, and the miseries of human life. They are not
aware that Goethe smiles at this performance of his youth, or that the
German Werther, with all his faults, is a very different person from his
English namesake; that his Sorrows are in the original recorded in a
tone of strength and sarcastic emphasis, of which the other offers no
vestige, and intermingled with touches of powerful thought, glimpses of
a philosophy deep as it is bitter, which our sagacious translator has
seen proper wholly to omit. Others, again, who have fallen in with
Retsch's "Outlines" and the extracts from "Faust," consider Goethe as a
wild mystic, a dealer in demonology and osteology, who draws attention
by the aid of skeletons and evil spirits, whose excellence it is to be
extravagant, whose chief aim it is to do what no one but himself has
tried. The tyro in German may tell us that the charm of "Faust" is
altogether unconnected with its preternatural import; that the work
delineates the fate of human enthusiasm struggling against doubts and
errors from within, against scepticism, contempt, and selfishness from
without; and that the witch-craft and magic, intended merely as a
shadowy frame for so complex and mysterious a picture of the moral world
and the human soul, are introduced for the purpose, not so much of being
trembled at as laughed at. The voice of the tyro is not listened to; our
indolence takes part with our ignorance; "Faust" continues to be called
a monster; and Goethe is regarded as a man of "some genius," which he
has perverted to produce all manner of misfashioned prodigies,--things
false, abortive, formless, Gorgons and hydras, and chimeras dire.
Now, it must no doubt be granted, that, so long as our invaluable
constitution is preserved in its pristine purity, the British nation may
exist in a state of comparative prosperity with very inadequate ideas of
Goethe; but, at the same time, the present arrangement is an evil in
its kind,--slight, it is true, and easy to be borne, yet still more easy
to be remedied, and which, therefore, ought to have been remedied ere
now. Minds like Goethe's are the common property of all nations; and,
for many reasons, all should have correct impressions of them.
It is partly with the view of doing something to supply this want, that
"Wilhelm Meister's Lehrjahre" is now presented to the English public.
Written in its author's forty-fifth year, embracing hints or
disquisitions on almost every leading point in life and literature, it
affords us a more distinct view of his matured genius, his manner of
thought, and favorite subjects, than any of his other works. Nor is it
Goethe alone whom it portrays: the prevailing taste of Germany is
likewise indicated by it. Since the year 1795, when it first appeared at
Berlin, numerous editions of "Meister" have been printed: critics of all
ranks, and some of them dissenting widely from its doctrines, have
loaded it with encomiums; its songs and poems are familiar to every
German ear; the people read it, and speak of it, with an admiration
approaching in many cases to enthusiasm.
That it will be equally successful in England, I am far indeed from
anticipating. Apart from the above considerations,--from the curiosity,
intelligent or idle, which it may awaken,--the number of admiring, or
even approving, judges it will find can scarcely fail of being very
limited. To the great mass of readers, who read to drive away the tedium
of mental vacancy, employing the crude phantasmagoria of a modern novel,
as their grandfathers employed tobacco and diluted brandy, "Wilhelm
Meister" will appear beyond endurance weary, flat, stale, and
unprofitable. Those, in particular, who take delight in "King Cambyses'
vein," and open "Meister" with the thought of "Werther" in their minds,
will soon pause in utter dismay; and their paroxysm of dismay will pass
by degrees into unspeakable contempt. Of romance interest there is next
to none in "Meister;" the characters are samples to judge of, rather
than persons to love or hate; the incidents are contrived for other
objects than moving or affrighting us; the hero is a milksop, whom, with
all his gifts, it takes an effort to avoid despising. The author
himself, far from "doing it in a passion," wears a face of the most
still indifference throughout the whole affair; often it is even
wrinkled by a slight sardonic grin. For the friends of the sublime,
then,--for those who cannot do without heroical sentiments, and "moving
accidents by flood and field,"--there is nothing here that can be of any
service.
Nor among readers of a far higher character, can it be expected that
many will take the praiseworthy pains of Germans, reverential of their
favorite author, and anxious to hunt out his most elusive charms. Few
among us will disturb themselves about the allegories and typical
allusions of the work; will stop to inquire whether it includes a remote
emblem of human culture, or includes no such matter; whether this is a
light, airy sketch of the development of man in all his endowments and
faculties, gradually proceeding from the first rude exhibitions of
puppets and mountebanks, through the perfection of poetic and dramatic
art, up to the unfolding of the principle of religion, and the greatest
of all arts,--the art of life,--or is nothing more than a bungled piece
of patchwork, presenting in the shape of a novel much that should have
been suppressed entirely, or at least given out by way of lecture.
Whether the characters do or do not represent distinct classes of men,
including various stages of human nature, from the gay, material
vivacity of Philina to the severe moral grandeur of the uncle and the
splendid accomplishment of Lothario, will to most of us be of small
importance; and the everlasting disquisitions about plays and players,
and politeness and activity, and art and nature, will weary many a mind
that knows not and heeds not whether they are true or false. Yet every
man's judgment is, in this free country, a lamp to himself: whoever is
displeased will censure; and many, it is to be feared, will insist on
judging "Meister" by the common rule, and, what is worse, condemning it,
let Schlegel bawl as loudly as he pleases. "To judge," says he, "of this
book,--new and peculiar as it is, and only to be understood and learned
from itself, by our common notion of the novel, a notion pieced together
and produced out of custom and belief, out of accidental and arbitrary
requisitions,--is as if a child should grasp at the moon and stars, and
insist on packing them into its toy-box."[1] Unhappily the most of us
have boxes, and some of them are very small.
Yet, independently of these its more recondite and dubious qualities,
there are beauties in "Meister" which cannot but secure it some degree
of favor at the hands of many. The philosophical discussions it
contains; its keen glances into life and art; the minute and skilful
delineation of men; the lively, genuine exhibition of the scenes they
move in; the occasional touches of eloquence and tenderness, and even of
poetry, the very essence of poetry; the quantity of thought and
knowledge embodied in a style so rich in general felicities, of which,
at least, the new and sometimes exquisitely happy metaphors have been
preserved,--cannot wholly escape an observing reader, even on the most
cursory perusal. To those who have formed for themselves a picture of
the world, who have drawn out, from the thousand variable circumstances
of their being, a philosophy of life, it will be interesting and
instructive to see how man and his concerns are represented in the first
of European minds: to those who have penetrated to the limits of their
own conceptions, and wrestled with thoughts and feelings too high for
them, it will be pleasing and profitable to see the horizon of their
certainties widened, or at least separated with a firmer line from the
impalpable obscure which surrounds it on every side. Such persons I can
fearlessly invite to study "Meister." Across the disfigurement of a
translation, they will not fail to discern indubitable traces of the
greatest genius in our times. And the longer they study, they are likely
to discern them the more distinctly. New charms will successively arise
to view; and of the many apparent blemishes, while a few superficial
ones may be confirmed, the greater and more important part will vanish,
or even change from dark to bright. For, if I mistake not, it is with
"Meister" as with every work of real and abiding excellence,--the first
glance is the least favorable. A picture of Raphael, a Greek statue, a
play of Sophocles or Shakspeare, appears insignificant to the
unpractised eye; and not till after long and patient and intense
examination, do we begin to descry the earnest features of that beauty,
which has its foundation in the deepest nature of man, and will continue
to be pleasing through all ages.
If this appear excessive praise, as applied in any sense to "Meister,"
the curious sceptic is desired to read and weigh the whole performance,
with all its references, relations, purposes, and to pronounce his
verdict after he has clearly seized and appreciated them all. Or, if a
more faint conviction will suffice, let him turn to the picture of
Wilhelm's states of mind in the end of the first book, and the beginning
of the second; the eulogies of commerce and poesy, which follow; the
description of Hamlet; the character of histrionic life in Serlo and
Aurelia; that of sedate and lofty manhood in the uncle and Lothario.
But, above all, let him turn to the history of Mignon. This mysterious
child, at first neglected by the reader, gradually forced on his
attention, at length overpowers him with an emotion more deep and
thrilling than any poet since the days of Shakspeare has succeeded in
producing. The daughter of enthusiasm, rapture, passion, and despair,
she is of the earth, but not earthly. When she glides before us through
the light mazes of her fairy dance, or twangs her cithern to the notes
of her homesick verses, or whirls her tambourine and hurries round us
like an antique Mænad, we could almost fancy her a spirit; so pure is
she, so full of fervor, so disengaged from the clay of this world. And
when all the fearful particulars of her story are at length laid
together, and we behold in connected order the image of her hapless
existence, there is, in those dim recollections,--those feelings so
simple, so impassioned and unspeakable, consuming the closely shrouded,
woe-struck, yet ethereal spirit of the poor creature,--something which
searches into the inmost recesses of the soul. It is not tears which her
fate calls forth, but a feeling far too deep for tears. The very fire of
heaven seems miserably quenched among the obstructions of this earth.
Her little heart, so noble and so helpless, perishes before the smallest
of its many beauties is unfolded; and all its loves and thoughts and
longings do but add another pang to death, and sink to silence utter and
eternal. It is as if the gloomy porch of Dis, and his pale kingdoms,
were realized and set before us, and we heard the ineffectual wail of
infants reverberating from within their prison-walls forever.
"Continuò auditæ voces, vagitus et ingens,
Infantumque animæ flentes in limine primo:
Quos dulcis vitæ exsortes, et ab ubere raptos,
Abstulit atra dies, et funere mersit acerbo."
The history of Mignon runs like a thread of gold through the tissue of
the narrative, connecting with the heart much that were else addressed
only to the head. Philosophy and eloquence might have done the rest, but
this is poetry in the highest meaning of the word. It must be for the
power of producing such creations and emotions, that Goethe is by many
of his countrymen ranked at the side of Homer and Shakspeare, as one of
the only three men of genius, that have ever lived.
But my business here is not to judge of "Meister" or its author, it is
only to prepare others for judging it; and for this purpose the most
that I had room to say is said. All I ask in the name of this
illustrious foreigner is, that the court which tries him be pure, and
the jury instructed in the cause; that the work be not condemned for
wanting what it was not meant to have, and by persons nowise called to
pass sentence on it.
Respecting my own humble share in the adventure, it is scarcely
necessary to say any thing. Fidelity is all the merit I have aimed at:
to convey the author's sentiments, as he himself expressed them; to
follow the original, in all the variations of its style,--has been my
constant endeavor. In many points, both literary and moral, I could have
wished devoutly that he had not written as he has done; but to alter any
thing was not in my commission. The literary and moral persuasions of a
man like Goethe are objects of a rational curiosity, and the duty of a
translator is simple and distinct. Accordingly, except a few phrases and
sentences, not in all amounting to a page, which I have dropped as
evidently unfit for the English taste, I have studied to present the
work exactly as it stands in German. That my success has been
indifferent, I already know too well. In rendering the ideas of Goethe,
often so subtle, so capriciously expressive, the meaning was not always
easy to seize, or to convey with adequate effect. There were thin tints
of style, shades of ridicule or tenderness or solemnity, resting over
large spaces, and so slight as almost to be evanescent: some of these I
may have failed to see; to many of them I could do no justice. Nor, even
in plainer matters, can I pride myself in having always imitated his
colloquial familiarity without falling into sentences bald and rugged,
into idioms harsh or foreign; or in having copied the flowing oratory of
other passages, without at times exaggerating or defacing the swelling
cadences and phrases of my original. But what work, from the translating
of a German novel to the writing of an epic, was ever as the workman
wished and meant it? This version of "Meister," with whatever faults it
may have, I honestly present to my countrymen: if, while it makes any
portion of them more familiar with the richest, most gifted of living
minds, it increase their knowledge, or even afford them a transient
amusement, they will excuse its errors, and I shall be far more than
paid for all my labor.
[Footnote 1: Charakteristik des Meister.]
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
BOOK I.
CHAPTER I.
The play was late in breaking up: old Barbara went more than once to the
window, and listened for the sound of carriages. She was waiting for
Mariana, her pretty mistress, who had that night, in the afterpiece,
been acting the part of a young officer, to the no small delight of the
public. Barbara's impatience was greater than it used to be, when she
had nothing but a frugal supper to present: on this occasion Mariana was
to be surprised with a packet, which Norberg, a young and wealthy
merchant, had sent by the post, to show that in absence he still thought
of his love.
As an old servant, as confidant, counsellor, manager, and housekeeper,
Barbara assumed the privilege of opening seals; and this evening she had
the less been able to restrain her curiosity, as the favor of the
open-handed gallant was more a matter of anxiety with herself than with
her mistress. On breaking up the packet, she had found, with unfeigned
satisfaction, that it held a piece of fine muslin and some ribbons of
the newest fashion, for Mariana; with a quantity of calico, two or three
neckerchiefs, and a moderate _rouleau_ of money, for herself. Her esteem
for the absent Norberg was of course unbounded: she meditated only how
she might best present him to the mind of Mariana, best bring to her
recollection what she owed him, and what he had a right to expect from
her fidelity and thankfulness.
The muslin, with the ribbons half unrolled, to set it off by their
colors, lay like a Christmas present on the small table; the position of
the lights increased the glitter of the gilt; all was in order, when the
old woman heard Mariana's step on the stairs, and hastened to meet her.
But what was her disappointment, when the little female officer, without
deigning to regard her caresses, rushed past her with unusual speed and
agitation, threw her hat and sword upon the table, and walked hastily up
and down, bestowing not a look on the lights, or any portion of the
apparatus.
"What ails thee, my darling?" exclaimed the astonished Barbara. "For
Heaven's sake, what is the matter? Look here, my pretty child! See what
a present! And who could have sent it but thy kindest of friends?
Norberg has given thee the muslin to make a night-gown of; he will soon
be here himself; he seems to be fonder and more generous than ever."
Barbara went to the table, that she might exhibit the memorials with
which Norberg had likewise honored _her_, when Mariana, turning away
from the presents, exclaimed with vehemence, "Off! off! Not a word of
all this to-night. I have yielded to thee; thou hast willed it; be it
so! When Norberg comes, I am his, am thine, am any one's; make of me
what thou pleasest; but till then I will be my own; and, if thou hadst a
thousand tongues, thou shouldst never talk me from my purpose. All, all
that _is_ my own will I give up to him who loves me, whom I love. No
sour faces! I will abandon myself to this affection, as if it were to
last forever."
The old damsel had abundance of objections and serious considerations to
allege: in the progress of the dialogue, she was growing bitter and
keen, when Mariana sprang at her, and seized her by the breast. The old
damsel laughed aloud. "I must have a care," she cried, "that you don't
get into pantaloons again, if I mean to be sure of my life. Come, doff
you! The girl will beg my pardon for the foolish things the boy is doing
to me. Off with the frock. Off with them all. The dress beseems you not;
it is dangerous for you, I observe; the epaulets make you too bold."
Thus speaking, she laid hands upon her mistress: Mariana pushed her off,
exclaiming, "Not so fast! I expect a visit to-night."
"Visit!" rejoined Barbara: "you surely do not look for Meister, the
young, soft-hearted, callow merchant's son?"
"Just for him," replied Mariana.
"Generosity appears to be growing your ruling passion," said the old
woman with a grin: "you connect yourself with minors and moneyless
people, as if they were the chosen of the earth. Doubtless it is
charming to be worshipped as a benefactress."
"Jeer as thou pleasest. I love him! I love him! With what rapture do I
now, for the first time, speak the word! _This_ is the passion I have
mimicked so often, when I knew not what it meant. Yes! I will throw
myself about his neck: I will clasp him as if I could hold him forever.
I will show him all my love, will enjoy all his in its whole extent."
"Moderate yourself," said the old dame coolly, "moderate yourself. A
single word will interrupt your rapture: Norberg is coming! Coming in a
fortnight! Here is the letter that arrived with the packet."
"And, though the morrow were to rob me of my friend, I would conceal it
from myself and him. A fortnight! An age! Within a fortnight, what may
not happen, what may not alter?"
Here Wilhelm entered. We need not say how fast she flew to meet him,
with what rapture he clasped the red uniform, and pressed the beautiful
wearer of it to his bosom. It is not for us to describe the blessedness
of two lovers. Old Barbara went grumbling away: we shall retire with
her, and leave the happy two alone.
CHAPTER II.
When Wilhelm saluted his mother next morning, she informed him that his
father was very greatly discontented with him, and meant to forbid him
these daily visits to the playhouse. "Though I myself often go with
pleasure to the theatre," she continued, "I could almost detest it
entirely, when I think that our fireside-peace is broken by your
excessive passion for that amusement. Your father is ever repeating,
'What is the use of it? How can any one waste his time so?'"
"He has told me this already," said Wilhelm, "and perhaps I answered him
too hastily; but, for Heaven's sake, mother, is nothing, then, of use
but what immediately puts money in our purse? but what procures us some
property that we can lay our hands on? Had we not, for instance, room
enough in the old house? and was it indispensable to build a new one?
Does not my father every year expend a large part of his profit in
ornamenting his chambers? Are these silk carpets, this English
furniture, likewise of no use? Might we not content ourselves with
worse? For my own part, I confess, these striped walls, these hundred
times repeated flowers and knots and baskets and figures, produce a
really disagreeable effect upon me. At best, they but remind me of the
front curtain of our theatre. But what a different thing it is to sit
and look at that! There, if you must wait for a while, you are always
sure that it will rise at last, and disclose to you a thousand curious
objects to entertain, to instruct, and to exalt you."
"But you go to excess with it," said the mother. "Your father wishes to
be entertained in the evenings as well as you: besides, he thinks it
diverts your attention; and, when he grows ill-humored on the subject,
it is I that must bear the blame. How often have I been upbraided with
that miserable puppet-show, which I was unlucky enough to provide for
you at Christmas, twelve years ago! It was the first thing that put
these plays into your head."
"Oh, do not blame the poor puppets! do not repent of your love and
motherly care! It was the only happy hour I had enjoyed in the new empty
house. I never can forget that hour; I see it still before me; I
recollect how surprised I was, when, after we had got our customary
presents, you made us seat ourselves before the door that leads to the
other room. The door opened, but not, as formerly, to let us pass and
repass: the entrance was occupied by an unexpected show. Within it rose
a porch, concealed by a mysterious curtain. All of us were standing at a
distance: our eagerness to see what glittering or jingling article lay
hid behind the half-transparent veil was mounting higher and higher,
when you bade us each sit down upon his stool, and wait with patience.
"At length all of us were seated and silent: a whistle gave the signal;
the curtain rolled aloft, and showed us the interior of the temple,
painted in deep-red colors. The high-priest Samuel appeared with
Jonathan, and their strange alternating voices seemed to me the most
striking thing on earth. Shortly after entered Saul, overwhelmed with
confusion at the impertinence of that heavy-limbed warrior, who had
defied him and all his people. But how glad was I when the little dapper
son of Jesse, with his crook and shepherd's pouch and sling, came
hopping forth, and said, 'Dread king and sovereign lord, let no one's
heart sink down because of this: if your Majesty will grant me leave, I
will go out to battle with this blustering giant!' Here ended the first
act, leaving the spectators more curious than ever to see what further
would happen; each praying that the music might soon be done. At last
the curtain rose again. David devoted the flesh of the monster to the
fowls of the air and the beasts of the field: the Philistine scorned and
bullied him, stamped mightily with both his feet, and at length fell
like a mass of clay, affording a splendid termination to the piece. And
then the virgins sang, 'Saul hath slain his thousands, but David his ten
thousands!' The giant's head was borne before his little victor, who
received the king's beautiful daughter to wife. Yet withal, I remember,
I was vexed at the dwarfish stature of this lucky prince; for the great
Goliath and the small David had both been formed, according to the
common notion, with a due regard to their figures and proportions. I
pray you, mother, tell me what has now become of those puppets? I
promised to show them to a friend, whom I was lately entertaining with a
history of all this child's work."
"I can easily conceive," said the mother, "how these things should stick
so firmly in your mind: I well remember what an interest you took in
them,--how you stole the little book from me, and learned the whole
piece by heart. I first noticed it one evening when you had made a
Goliath and a David of wax: you set them both to declaim against each
other, and at length gave a deadly stab to the giant, fixing his
shapeless head, stuck upon a large pin with a wax handle, in little
David's hand. I then felt such a motherly contentment at your fine
recitation and good memory, that I resolved to give you up the whole
wooden troop to your own disposal. I did not then foresee that it would
cause me so many heavy hours."
"Do not repent of it," said Wilhelm: "this little sport has often made
us happy." So saying, he got the keys, made haste to find the puppets,
and, for a moment, was transported back into those times when they
almost seemed to him alive, when he felt as if he himself could give
them life by the cunning of his voice and the movements of his hands.
He took them to his room, and locked them up with care.
CHAPTER III.
If the first love is indeed, as I hear it everywhere maintained to be,
the most delicious feeling which the heart of man, before it or after,
can experience, then our hero must be reckoned doubly happy, as
permitted to enjoy the pleasure of this chosen period in all its
fulness. Few men are so peculiarly favored: by far the greater part are
led by the feelings of their youth into nothing but a school of
hardship, where, after a stinted and checkered season of enjoyment, they
are at length constrained to renounce their dearest wishes, and to learn
forever to dispense with what once hovered before them as the highest
happiness of existence.
Wilhelm's passion for that charming girl now soared aloft on the wings
of imagination. After a short acquaintance, he had gained her
affections: he found himself in possession of a being, whom, with all
his heart, he not only loved, but honored; for she had first appeared
before him in the flattering light of theatric pomp, and his passion for
the stage combined itself with his earliest love for woman. His youth
allowed him to enjoy rich pleasures, which the activity of his fancy
exalted and maintained. The situation of his mistress, too, gave a turn
to her conduct which greatly enlivened his emotions. The fear lest her
lover might, before the time, detect the real state in which she stood,
diffused over all her conduct an interesting tinge of anxiety and
bashfulness; her attachment to the youth was deep; her very inquietude
appeared but to augment her tenderness; she was the loveliest of
creatures while beside him.
When the first tumult of joy had passed, and our friend began to look
back upon his life and its concerns, every thing appeared new to him:
his duties seemed holier, his inclinations keener, his knowledge
clearer, his talents stronger, his purposes more decided. Accordingly,
he soon fell upon a plan to avoid the reproaches of his father, to still
the cares of his mother, and, at the same time, to enjoy Mariana's love
without disturbance. Through the day he punctually transacted his
business, commonly forbore attending the theatre, strove to be
entertaining at table in the evening; and, when all were asleep, he
glided softly out into the garden, and hastened, wrapped up in his
mantle, with all the feelings of Leander in his bosom, to meet his
mistress without delay.
"What is this you bring?" inquired Mariana, as he entered one evening,
with a bundle, which Barbara, in hopes it might turn out to be some
valuable present, fixed her eyes upon with great attention. "You will
never guess," said Wilhelm.
Great was the surprise of Mariana, great the scorn of Barbara, when the
napkin, being loosened, gave to view a perplexed multitude of span-long
puppets. Mariana laughed aloud, as Wilhelm set himself to disentangle
the confusion of the wires, and show her each figure by itself. Barbara
glided sulkily out of the room.
A very little thing will entertain two lovers; and accordingly our
friends, this evening, were as happy as they wished to be. The little
troop was mustered: each figure was minutely examined, and laughed at,
in its turn. King Saul, with his golden crown and his black velvet robe,
Mariana did not like: he looked, she said, too stiff and pedantic. She
was far better pleased with Jonathan, his sleek chin, his turban, his
cloak of red and yellow. She soon got the art of turning him deftly on
his wire: she made him bow, and repeat declarations of love. On the
other hand, she refused to give the least attention to the prophet
Samuel; though Wilhelm commended the pontifical breastplate, and told
her that the taffeta of the cassock had been taken from a gown of his
own grandmother's. David she thought too small; Goliath was too big; she
held by Jonathan. She grew to manage him so featly, and at last to
extend her caresses from the puppet to its owner, that, on this
occasion, as on others, a silly sport became the introduction to happy
hours.
Their soft, sweet dreams were broken in upon by a noise which arose on
the street. Mariana called for the old dame, who, as usual, was occupied
in furbishing the changeful materials of the playhouse wardrobe for the
service of the play next to be acted. Barbara said the disturbance arose
from a set of jolly companions, who were just then sallying out of the
Italian tavern hard by, where they had been busy discussing fresh
oysters, a cargo of which had just arrived, and by no means sparing
their champagne.
"Pity," Mariana said, "that we did not think of it in time: we might
have had some entertainment to ourselves."
"It is not yet too late," said Wilhelm, giving Barbara a _louis-d'or_:
"get us what we want, then come and take a share with us."
The old dame made speedy work: erelong a trimly covered table, with a
neat collation, stood before the lovers. They made Barbara sit with
them: they ate and drank, and enjoyed themselves.
On such occasions, there is never want of enough to say. Mariana soon
took up little Jonathan again, and the old dame turned the conversation
upon Wilhelm's favorite topic. "You were once telling us," she said,
"about the first exhibition of a puppet-show on Christmas Eve: I
remember you were interrupted just as the ballet was going to begin. We
have now the pleasure of a personal acquaintance with the honorable
company by whom those wonderful effects were brought about."
"Oh, yes!" cried Mariana: "do tell us how it all went on, and how you
felt then."
"It is a fine emotion, Mariana," said the youth, "when we bethink
ourselves of old times, and old, harmless errors, especially if this is
at a period when we have happily gained some elevation, from which we
can look around us, and survey the path we have left behind. It is so
pleasant to think, with composure and satisfaction, of many obstacles,
which often with painful feelings we may have regarded as
invincible,--pleasant to compare what we now are with what we then were
struggling to become. But I am happy above others in this matter, that I
speak to you about the past, at a moment when I can also look forth into
the blooming country, which we are yet to wander through together, hand
in hand."
"But how was it with the ballet?" said Barbara. "I fear it did not quite
go off as it should have done."
"I assure you," said Wilhelm, "it went off quite well. And certainly the
strange caperings of these Moors and Mooresses, these shepherds and
shepherdesses, these dwarfs and dwarfesses, will never altogether leave
my recollection while I live. When the curtain dropped, and the door
closed, our little party skipped away, frolicking as if they had been
tipsy, to their beds. For myself, however, I remember that I could not
go to sleep: still wanting to have something told me on the subject, I
continued putting questions to every one, and would hardly let the maid
away who had brought me up to bed.
"Next morning, alas! the magic apparatus had altogether vanished; the
mysterious veil was carried off; the door permitted us again to go and
come through it without obstruction; the manifold adventures of the
evening had passed away, and left no trace behind. My brothers and
sisters were running up and down with their playthings; I alone kept
gliding to and fro: it seemed to me impossible that two bare door-posts
could be all that now remained, where the night before so much
enchantment had been displayed. Alas! the man that seeks a lost love can
hardly be unhappier than I then thought myself."
A rapturous look, which he cast on Mariana, convinced her that he was
not afraid of such ever being his case.
CHAPTER IV.
"My sole wish now," continued Wilhelm, "was to witness a second
exhibition of the play. For this purpose I had recourse, by constant
entreaties, to my mother; and she attempted in a favorable hour to
persuade my father. Her labor, however, was in vain. My father's
principle was, that none but enjoyments of rare occurrence were
adequately prized; that neither young nor old could set a proper value
on pleasures which they tasted every day.
"We might have waited long, perhaps till Christmas returned, had not the
contriver and secret director of the spectacle himself felt a pleasure
in repeating the display of it, partly incited, I suppose, by the wish
to produce a brand-new harlequin expressly prepared for the afterpiece.
"A young officer of the artillery, a person of great gifts in all sorts
of mechanical contrivance, had served my father in many essential
particulars during the building of the house; for which, having been
handsomely rewarded, he felt desirous of expressing his thankfulness to
the family of his patron, and so made us young ones a present of this
complete theatre, which, in hours of leisure, he had already carved and
painted, and strung together. It was this young man, who, with the help
of a servant, had himself managed the puppets, disguising his voice to
pronounce their various speeches. He had no great difficulty in
persuading my father, who granted, out of complaisance to a friend,
what he had denied from conviction to his children. In short, our
theatre was again set up, some little ones of the neighborhood were
invited, and the play was again represented.
"If I had formerly experienced the delights of surprise and
astonishment, I enjoyed on this second occasion the pleasure of
examining and scrutinizing. _How_ all this happened was my present
concern. That the puppets themselves did not speak, I had already
decided; that of themselves they did not move, I also conjectured; but,
then, how came it all to be so pretty, and to look just as if they both
spoke and moved of themselves? and where were the lights, and the people
that managed the deception? These enigmas perplexed me the more, as I
wished to be at the same time among the enchanters and the enchanted, at
the same time to have a secret hand in the play, and to enjoy, as a
looker-on, the pleasure of illusion.
"The play being finished, preparations were making for the farce: the
spectators had risen, and were all busy talking together. I squeezed
myself closer to the door, and heard, by the rattling within, that the
people were packing up some articles. I lifted the lowest screen, and
poked in my head between the posts. As our mother noticed it, she drew
me back: but I had seen well enough that here friends and foes, Saul and
Goliath, and whatever else their names might be, were lying quietly down
together in a drawer; and thus my half-contented curiosity received a
fresh excitement. To my great surprise, moreover, I had noticed the
lieutenant very diligently occupied in the interior of the shrine.
Henceforth, Jack-pudding, however he might clatter with his heels, could
not any longer entertain me. I sank into deep meditation: my discovery
made me both more satisfied, and less so, than before. After a little,
it first struck me that I yet comprehended nothing: and here I was
right; for the connection of the parts with each other was entirely
unknown to me, and every thing depends on that."
CHAPTER V.
"In well adjusted and regulated houses," continued Wilhelm, "children
have a feeling not unlike what I conceive rats and mice to have: they
keep a sharp eye on all crevices and holes, where they may come at any
forbidden dainty; they enjoy it also with a fearful, stolen
satisfaction, which forms no small part of the happiness of childhood.
"More than any other of the young ones, I was in the habit of looking
out attentively, to see if I could notice any cupboard left open, or key
standing in its lock. The more reverence I bore in my heart for those
closed doors, on the outside of which I had to pass by for weeks and
months, catching only a furtive glance when our mother now and then
opened the consecrated place to take something from it, the quicker was
I to make use of any opportunities which the forgetfulness of our
housekeepers at times afforded me.
"Among all the doors, that of the storeroom was, of course, the one I
watched most narrowly. Few of the joyful anticipations in life can equal
the feeling which I used to have when my mother happened to call me,
that I might help her to carry out something, whereupon I might pick up
a few dried plums, either with her kind permission, or by help of my own
dexterity. The accumulated treasures of this chamber took hold of my
imagination by their magnitude: the very fragrance exhaled by so
multifarious a collection of sweet-smelling spices produced such a
craving effect on me, that I never failed, when passing near, to linger
for a little, and regale myself at least on the unbolted atmosphere. At
length, one Sunday morning, my mother, being hurried by the ringing of
the church-bells, forgot to take this precious key with her on shutting
the door, and went away, leaving all the house in a deep Sabbath
stillness. No sooner had I marked this oversight than, gliding softly
once or twice to and from the place, I at last approached very gingerly,
opened the door, and felt myself, after a single step, in immediate
contact with these manifold and long-wished-for means of happiness. I
glanced over glasses, chests, and bags, and drawers and boxes, with a
quick and doubtful eye, considering what I ought to choose and take;
turned finally to my dear withered plums, provided myself also with a
few dried apples, and completed the forage with an orange-chip. I was
quietly retreating with my plunder, when some little chests, lying
piled over one another, caught my attention,--the more so as I noticed a
wire, with hooks at the end of it, sticking through the joint of the lid
in one of them. Full of eager hopes, I opened this singular package; and
judge of my emotions, when I found my glad world of heroes all sleeping
safe within! I meant to pick out the topmost, and, having examined them,
to pull up those below; but in this attempt the wires got very soon
entangled: and I fell into a fright and flutter, more particularly as
the cook just then began making some stir in the kitchen, which was
close by; so that I had nothing for it but to squeeze the whole together
the best way I could, and to shut the chest, having stolen from it
nothing but a little written book, which happened to be lying above, and
contained the whole drama of Goliath and David. With this booty I made
good my retreat into the garret.
"Henceforth all my stolen hours of solitude were devoted to perusing the
play, to learning it by heart, and picturing in thought how glorious it
would be, could I but get the figures, to make them move along with it.
In idea I myself became David and Goliath by turns. In every corner of
the court-yard, of the stables, of the garden, under all kinds of
circumstances, I labored to stamp the whole piece upon my mind; laid
hold of all the characters, and learned their speeches by heart, most
commonly, however, taking up the parts of the chief personages, and
allowing all the rest to move along with them, but as satellites, across
my memory. Thus day and night the heroic words of David, wherewith he
challenged the braggart giant, Goliath of Gath, kept their place in my
thoughts. I often muttered them to myself; while no one gave heed to me,
except my father, who, frequently observing some such detached
exclamation, would in secret praise the excellent memory of his boy,
that had retained so much from only two recitations.
"By this means growing bolder and bolder, I one evening repeated almost
the entire piece before my mother, whilst I was busied in fashioning
some bits of wax into players. She observed it, questioned me hard; and
I confessed.
"By good fortune, this detection happened at a time when the lieutenant
had himself been expressing a wish to initiate me in the mysteries of
the art. My mother forthwith gave him notice of these unexpected
talents; and he now contrived to make my parents offer him a couple of
chambers in the top story, which commonly stood empty, that he might
accommodate the spectators in the one, while the other held his actors,
the proscenium again filling up the opening of the door: my father had
allowed his friend to arrange all this; himself, in the mean time,
seeming only to look at the transaction, as it were, through his
fingers; for his maxim was, that children should not be allowed to see
the kindness which is felt towards them, lest their pretensions come to
extend too far. He was of opinion, that, in the enjoyments of the young,
one should assume a serious air; often interrupting the course of their
festivities, to prevent their satisfaction from degenerating into excess
and presumption."
CHAPTER VI.
"The lieutenant now set up his theatre, and managed all the rest. During
the week I readily observed that he often came into the house at unusual
hours, and I soon guessed the cause. My eagerness increased immensely;
for I well understood, that, till Sunday evening, I could have no share
in what was going on. At last the wished-for day arrived. At five in the
evening my conductor came, and took me up with him. Quivering with joy,
I entered, and descried, on both sides of the framework, the puppets all
hanging in order as they were to advance to view. I considered them
narrowly, and mounted on the steps, which raised them above the scene,
and allowed me to hover aloft over all that little world. Not without
reverence did I look down between the pieces of board, and recollect
what a glorious effect the whole would produce, and feel into what
mighty secrets I was now admitted. We made a trial, which succeeded
well.
"Next day a party of children were invited: we performed rarely; except
that once, in the fire of action, I let poor Jonathan fall, and was
obliged to reach down with my hand, and pick him up,--an accident which
sadly marred the illusion, produced a peal of laughter, and vexed me
unspeakably. My father, however, seemed to relish this misfortune not a
little. Prudently shrouding up the contentment he felt at the expertness
of his little boy, after the play was finished, he dwelt on the mistakes
we had committed, saying it would all have been very pretty had not
this or that gone wrong with us.
"I was vexed to the heart at these things, and sad for all the evening.
By next morning, however, I had quite slept off my sorrow, and was
blessed in the persuasion, that, but for this one fault, I had acted
delightfully. The spectators also flattered me with their unanimous
approval: they all maintained, that though the lieutenant, in regard to
the coarse and the fine voices, had done great things, yet his
declamation was in general too stiff and affected; whereas the new
aspirant spoke his Jonathan and David with exquisite grace. My mother in
particular commended the gallant tone in which I had challenged Goliath,
and acted the modest victor before the king.
"From this time, to my extreme delight, the theatre continued open; and
as the spring advanced, so that fires could be dispensed with, I passed
all my hours of recreation lying in the garret, and making the puppets
caper and play together. Often I invited up my comrades, or my brothers
and sisters; but, when they would not come, I staid by myself not the
less. My imagination brooded over that tiny world, which soon afterwards
acquired another form.
"Scarcely had I once or twice exhibited the first play, for which my
scenery and actors had been formed and decorated, when it ceased to give
me any pleasure. On the other hand, among some of my grandfather's
books, I had happened to fall in with 'The German Theatre,' and a few
translations of Italian operas; in which works I soon got very deeply
immersed, on each occasion first reckoning up the characters, and then,
without further ceremony, proceeding to exhibit the play. King Saul,
with his black velvet cloak, was therefore now obliged to personate
Darius or Cato, or some other pagan hero; in which cases, it may be
observed, the plays were never wholly represented,--for most part, only
the fifth acts, where the cutting and stabbing lay.
"It was natural that the operas, with their manifold adventures and
vicissitudes, should attract me more than any thing beside. In these
compositions I found stormy seas, gods descending in chariots of cloud,
and, what most of all delighted me, abundance of thunder and lightning.
I did my best with pasteboard, paint, and paper: I could make night very
prettily; my lightning was fearful to behold; only my thunder did not
always prosper, which, however, was of less importance. In operas,
moreover, I found frequent opportunities of introducing my David and
Goliath,--persons whom the regular drama would hardly admit. Daily I
felt more attachment for the hampered spot where I enjoyed so many
pleasures; and, I must confess, the fragrance which the puppets had
acquired from the storeroom added not a little to my satisfaction.
"The decorations of my theatre were now in a tolerable state of
completeness. I had always had the knack of drawing with compasses, and
clipping pasteboard, and coloring figures; and here it served me in good
stead. But the more sorry was I, on the other hand, when, as frequently
happened, my stock of actors would not suffice for representing great
affairs.
"My sisters, dressing and undressing their dolls, awoke in me the
project of furnishing my heroes by and by with garments which might also
be put off and on. Accordingly, I slit the scraps of cloth from off
their bodies, tacked the fragments together as well as possible, saved a
particle of money to buy new ribbons and lace, begged many a rag of
taffeta, and so formed, by degrees, a full theatrical wardrobe, in which
hoop-petticoats for the ladies were especially remembered.
"My troop was now fairly provided with dresses for the most important
play, and you might have expected that henceforth one exhibition would
follow close upon the heels of another; but it happened with me, as it
often happens with children,--they embrace wide plans, make mighty
preparations, then a few trials, and the whole undertaking is abandoned.
I was guilty of this fault. My greatest pleasure lay in the inventive
part, and the employment of my fancy. This or that piece inspired me
with interest for a few scenes of it, and immediately I set about
providing new apparel suitable for the occasion. In such fluctuating
operations, many parts of the primary dresses of my heroes had fallen
into disorder, or totally gone out of sight; so that now the first great
play could no longer be exhibited. I surrendered myself to my
imagination; I rehearsed and prepared forever; built a thousand castles
in the air, and failed to see that I was at the same time undermining
the foundations of these little edifices."
* * * * *
During this recital, Mariana had called up and put in action all her
courtesy for Wilhelm, that she might conceal her sleepiness. Diverting
as the matter seemed on one side, it was too simple for her taste, and
her lover's view of it too serious. She softly pressed her foot on his,
however, and gave him all visible signs of attention and approval. She
drank out of his glass: Wilhelm was convinced that no word of his
history had fallen to the ground. After a short pause, he said, "It is
now your turn, Mariana, to tell me what were your first childish joys.
Till now we have always been too busy with the present to trouble
ourselves, on either side, about our previous way of life. Let me hear,
Mariana, under what circumstances you were reared: what are the first
lively impressions which you still remember?"
These questions would have very much embarrassed Mariana, had not
Barbara made haste to help her. "Think you," said the cunning old woman,
"we have been so mindful of what happened to us long ago, that we have
merry things like these to talk about, and, though we had, that we could
give them such an air in talking of them?"
"As if they needed it!" cried Wilhelm. "I love this soft, good, amiable
creature so much, that I regret every instant of my life which has not
been spent beside her. Allow me, at least in fancy, to have a share in
thy by-gone life; tell me every thing; I will tell every thing to thee!
If possible, we will deceive ourselves, and win back those days that
have been lost to love."
"If you require it so eagerly," replied the old dame, "we can easily
content you. Only, in the first place, let us hear how your taste for
the theatre gradually reached a head; how you practised, how you
improved so happily, that now you can pass for a superior actor. No
doubt you must have met with droll adventures in your progress. It is
not worth while to go to bed now: I have still one flask in reserve; and
who knows whether we shall soon all sit together so quiet and cheery
again?"
Mariana cast upon her a mournful look, not noticed by Wilhelm, who
proceeded with his narrative.
CHAPTER VII.
"The recreations of youth, as my companions began to increase in number,
interfered with this solitary, still enjoyment. I was by turns a hunter,
a soldier, a knight, as our games required; and constantly I had this
small advantage above the rest, that I was qualified to furnish them
suitably with the necessary equipments. The swords, for example, were
generally of my manufacture; I gilded and decorated the scabbards; and a
secret instinct allowed me not to stop till our militia was accoutred
according to the antique model. Helmets, with plumes of paper, were got
ready; shields, even coats of mail, were provided; undertakings in which
such of the servants as had aught of the tailor in them, and the
seamstresses of the house, broke many a needle.
"A part of my comrades I had now got well equipped; by degrees, the rest
were likewise furbished up, though on a thriftier plan; and so a very
seemly corps at length was mustered. We marched about the court-yards
and gardens, smote fearfully upon each other's shields and heads: many
flaws of discord rose among us, but none that lasted.
"This diversion greatly entertained my fellows; but scarcely had it been
twice or thrice repeated, when it ceased to content me. The aspect of so
many harnessed figures naturally stimulated in my mind those ideas of
chivalry, which for some time, since I had commenced the reading of old
romances, were filling my imagination.
"Koppen's translation of 'Jerusalem Delivered' at length fell into my
hands, and gave these wandering thoughts a settled direction. The whole
poem, it is true, I could not read; but there were passages which I
learned by heart, and the images expressed in these hovered round me.
Particularly was I captivated with Clorinda, and all her deeds and
bearing. The masculine womanhood, the peaceful completeness of her
being, had a greater influence upon my mind, just beginning to unfold
itself, than the factitious charms of Armida; though the garden of that
enchantress was by no means an object of my contempt.
"But a hundred and a hundred times, while walking in the evenings on the
balcony which stretches along the front of the house, and looking over
the neighborhood, as the quivering splendor streamed up at the horizon
from the departed sun, and the stars came forth, and night pressed
forward from every cleft and hollow, and the small, shrill tone of the
cricket tinkled through the solemn stillness,--a hundred and a hundred
times have I repeated to myself the history of the mournful duel between
Tancred and Clorinda.
"However strongly I inclined by nature to the party of the Christians, I
could not help declaring for the Paynim heroine with all my heart when
she engaged to set on fire the great tower of the besiegers. And when
Tancred in the darkness met the supposed knight, and the strife began
between them under that veil of gloom, and the two battled fiercely, I
could never pronounce the words,--
"'But now the sure and fated hour is nigh:
Clorinda's course is ended,--she must die;'--
without tears rushing into my eyes, which flowed plentifully when the
hapless lover, plunging his sword into her breast, opened the departing
warrior's helmet, recognized the lady of his heart, and, shuddering,
brought water to baptize her.
"How my heart ran over when Tancred struck with his sword that tree in
the enchanted wood; when blood flowed from the gash, and a voice sounded
in his ears, that now again he was wounding Clorinda; that Destiny had
marked him out ever unwittingly to injure what he loved beyond all else.
"The recital took such hold of my imagination, that what I had read of
the poem began dimly, in my mind, to conglomerate into a whole;
wherewith I was so taken that I could not but propose to have it some
way represented. I meant to have Tancred and Rinaldo acted; and, for
this purpose, two coats of mail, which I had before manufactured, seemed
expressly suitable. The one, formed of dark-gray paper with scales, was
to serve for the solemn Tancred; the other, of silver and gilt paper,
for the magnificent Rinaldo. In the vivacity of my anticipations, I told
the whole project to my comrades, who felt quite charmed with it, except
that they could not well comprehend how so glorious a thing could be
exhibited, and, above all, exhibited by them.
"Such scruples I easily set aside. Without hesitation, I took upon me,
in idea, the management of two rooms in the house of a neighboring
playmate; not calculating that his venerable aunt would never give them
up, or considering how a theatre could be made of them, whereof I had
no settled notion, except that it was to be fixed on beams, to have
side-scenes made of parted folding-screens, and on the floor a large
piece of cloth. From what quarter these materials and furnishings were
to come, I had not determined.
"So far as concerned the forest, we fell upon a good expedient. We
betook ourselves to an old servant of one of our families, who had now
become a woodman, with many entreaties that he would get us a few young
firs and birches; which actually arrived more speedily than we had
reason to expect. But, in the next place, great was our embarrassment as
to how the piece should be got up before the trees were withered. Now
was the time for prudent counsel. We had no house, no scenery, no
curtain: the folding-screens were all we had.
"In this forlorn condition we again applied to the lieutenant, giving
him a copious description of all the glorious things we meant to do.
Little as he understood us, he was very helpful: he piled all the tables
he could get in the house or neighborhood, one above the other, in a
little room: to these he fixed our folding-screens, and made a back-view
with green curtains, sticking up our trees along with it.
"At length the appointed evening came: the candles were lit, the maids
and children were sitting in their places, the piece was to go forward,
the whole corps of heroes was equipped and dressed,--when each for the
first time discovered that he knew not what he was to say. In the heat
of invention, being quite immersed in present difficulties, I had
forgotten the necessity of each understanding what and where he was to
speak; nor, in the midst of our bustling preparations, had it once
occurred to the rest; each believing he could easily enact a hero,
easily so speak and bear himself, as became the personage into whose
world I had transplanted him. They all stood wonder-struck, asking, What
was to come first? I alone, having previously got ready Tancred's part,
entered _solus_ on the scene, and began reciting some verses of the
epic. But as the passage soon changed into narrative, and I, while
speaking, was at once transformed into a third party, and the bold
Godfredo, when his turn came, would not venture forth, I was at last
obliged to take leave of my spectators under peals of laughter,--a
disaster which cut me to the heart. Thus had our undertaking proved
abortive; but the company still kept their places, still wishing to see
something. All of us were dressed: I screwed my courage up, and
determined, foul or fair, to give them David and Goliath. Some of my
companions had before this helped me to exhibit the puppet-play; all of
them had often seen it; we shared the characters among us; each promised
to do his best; and one small, grinning urchin painted a black beard
upon his chin, and undertook, if any _lacuna_ should occur, to fill it
with drollery as harlequin,--an arrangement to which, as contradicting
the solemnity of the piece, I did not consent without extreme
reluctance; and I vowed within myself, that, if once delivered out of
this perplexity, I would think long and well before risking the
exhibition of another play."
CHAPTER VIII.
Mariana, overpowered with sleep, leaned upon her lover, who clasped her
close to him, and proceeded in his narrative; while the old damsel
prudently sipped up the remainder of the wine.
"The embarrassment," he said, "into which, along with my companions, I
had fallen, by attempting to act a play that did not anywhere exist, was
soon forgotten. My passion for representing each romance I read, each
story that was told me, would not yield before the most unmanageable
materials. I felt convinced that whatever gave delight in narrative must
produce a far deeper impression when exhibited: I wanted to have every
thing before my eyes, every thing brought forth upon the stage. At
school, when the elements of general history were related to us, I
carefully marked the passages where any person had been slain or
poisoned in a singular way; and my imagination, glancing rapidly along
the exposition and intrigue, hastened to the interesting fifth act.
Indeed, I actually began to write some plays from the end backwards,
without, however, in any of them reaching the beginning.
"At the same time, partly by inclination, partly by the counsel of my
good friends, who had caught the fancy of acting plays, I read a whole
wilderness of theatrical productions, as chance put them into my hands.
I was still in those happy years when all things please us, when number
and variety yield us abundant satisfaction. Unfortunately, too, my taste
was corrupted by another circumstance. Any piece delighted me
especially, in which I could hope to give delight; there were few which
I did not peruse in this agreeable delusion: and my lively conceptive
power enabling me to transfer myself into all the characters, seduced me
to believe that I might likewise represent them all. Hence, in the
distribution of the parts, I commonly selected such as did not fit me,
and always more than one part, if I could by any means accomplish more.
"In their games, children can make all things out of any: a staff
becomes a musket, a splinter of wood a sword, any bunch of cloth a
puppet, any crevice a chamber. Upon this principle was our private
theatre got up. Totally unacquainted with the measure of our strength,
we undertook all: we stuck at no _quid pro quo_, and felt convinced that
every one would take us for what we gave ourselves out to be. Now,
however, our affairs went on so soberly and smoothly, that I have not
even a curious insipidity to tell you of. We first acted all the few
plays in which only males are requisite, next we travestied some of
ourselves, and at last took our sisters into the concern along with us.
In one or two houses, our amusement was looked upon as profitable; and
company was invited to see it. Nor did our lieutenant of artillery now
turn his back upon us. He showed us how we ought to make our exits and
our entrances; how we should declaim, and with what attitudes and
gestures. Yet generally he earned small thanks for his toil, we
conceiving ourselves to be much deeper in the secrets of theatrical art
than he himself was.
"We very soon began to grow tired of tragedy; for all of us believed, as
we had often heard, that it was easier to write or represent a tragedy
than to attain proficiency in comedy. In our first attempts,
accordingly, we had felt as if exactly in our element: dignity of rank,
elevation of character, we studied to approach by stiffness and
affectation, and imagined that we succeeded rarely; but our happiness
was not complete, except we might rave outright, might stamp with our
feet, and, full of fury and despair, cast ourselves upon the ground.
"Boys and girls had not long carried on these amusements in concert,
till Nature began to take her course; and our society branched itself
off into sundry little love-associations, as generally more than one
sort of comedy is acted in the playhouse. Behind the scenes, each happy
pair pressed hands in the most tender style; they floated in
blessedness, appearing to one another quite ideal persons, when so
transformed and decorated; whilst, on the other hand, unlucky rivals
consumed themselves with envy, and out of malice and spite worked every
species of mischief.
"Our amusements, though undertaken without judgment, and carried on
without instruction, were not without their use to us. We trained our
memories and persons, and acquired more dexterity in speech and gesture
than is usually met with at so early an age. But, for me in particular,
this time was in truth an epoch: my mind turned all its faculties
exclusively to the theatre; and my highest happiness was in reading, in
writing, or in acting, plays.
"Meanwhile the labors of my regular teachers continued: I had been set
apart for the mercantile life, and placed under the guidance of our
neighbor in the counting-house; yet my spirit at this very time recoiled
more forcibly than ever from all that was to bind me to a low
profession. It was to the stage that I aimed at consecrating all my
powers,--on the stage that I meant to seek all my happiness and
satisfaction.
"I recollect a poem, which must be among my papers, where the Muse of
tragic art and another female form, by which I personified Commerce,
were made to strive very bravely for my most important self. The idea is
common, nor do I recollect that the verses were of any worth; but you
shall see it, for the sake of the fear, the abhorrence, the love and
passion, which are prominent in it. How repulsively did I paint the old
housewife, with the distaff in her girdle, the bunch of keys by her
side, the spectacles on her nose, ever toiling, ever restless,
quarrelsome, and penurious, pitiful and dissatisfied! How feelingly did
I describe the condition of that poor man who has to cringe beneath her
rod, and earn his slavish day's wages by the sweat of his brow!
"And how differently advanced the other! What an apparition for the
overclouded mind! Formed as a queen, in her thoughts and looks she
announced herself the child of freedom. The feeling of her own worth
gave her dignity without pride: her apparel became her, it veiled her
form without constraining it; and the rich folds repeated, like a
thousand-voiced echo, the graceful movements of the goddess. What a
contrast! How easy for me to decide! Nor had I forgotten the more
peculiar characteristics of my Muse. Crowns and daggers, chains and
masks, as my predecessors had delivered them, were here produced once
more. The contention was keen: the speeches of both were palpably
enough contrasted, for at fourteen years of age one usually paints the
black lines and the white pretty near each other. The old lady spoke as
beseemed a person that would pick up a pin from her path; the other,
like one that could give away kingdoms. The warning threats of the
housewife were disregarded; I turned my back upon her promised riches:
disinherited and naked, I gave myself up to the Muse; she threw her
golden veil over me, and called me hers.
"Could I have thought, my dearest," he exclaimed, pressing Mariana close
to him, "that another, a more lovely goddess would come to encourage me
in my purpose, to travel with me on my journey, the poem might have had
a finer turn, a far more interesting end. Yet it is no poetry, it is
truth and life that I feel in thy arms: let us prize the sweet
happiness, and consciously enjoy it."
The pressure of his arms, the emotion of his elevated voice, awoke
Mariana, who hastened by caresses to conceal her embarrassment; for no
word of the last part of his story had reached her. It is to be wished,
that in future, our hero, when recounting his favorite histories, may
find more attentive hearers.
CHAPTER IX.
Thus Wilhelm passed his nights in the enjoyment of confiding love, his
days in the expectation of new happy hours. When desire and hope had
first attracted him to Mariana, he already felt as if inspired with new
life; felt as if he were beginning to be another man: he was now united
to her; the contentment of his wishes had become a delicious habitude.
His heart strove to ennoble the object of his passion; his spirit, to
exalt with it the young creature whom he loved. In the shortest absence,
thoughts of her arose within him. If she had once been necessary to him,
she was now grown indispensable, now that he was bound to her by all the
ties of nature. His pure soul felt that she was the half, more than the
half, of himself. He was grateful and devoted without limit.
Mariana, too, succeeded in deceiving herself for a season: she shared
with him the feeling of his liveliest blessedness. Alas! if but the
cold hand of self-reproach had not often come across her heart! She was
not secure from it, even in Wilhelm's bosom, even under the wings of his
love. And when she was again left alone, again left to sink from the
clouds, to which passion had exalted her, into the consciousness of her
real condition, then she was indeed to be pitied. So long as she had
lived among degrading perplexities, disguising from herself her real
situation, or rather never thinking of it, frivolity had helped her
through; the incidents she was exposed to had come upon her each by
itself; satisfaction and vexation had cancelled one another; humiliation
had been compensated by vanity; want by frequent, though momentary,
superfluity; she could plead necessity and custom as a law or an excuse;
and hitherto all painful emotions from hour to hour, and from day to
day, had by these means been shaken off. But now, for some instants, the
poor girl had felt herself transported to a better world; aloft, as it
were, in the midst of light and joy, she had looked down upon the abject
desert of her life, had felt what a miserable creature is the woman,
who, inspiring desire, does not also inspire reverence and love: she
regretted and repented, but found herself outwardly or inwardly no
better for regret. She had nothing that she could accomplish or resolve
upon. When she looked into and searched herself, all was waste and void
within her soul: her heart had no place of strength or refuge. But the
more sorrowful her state was, the more vehemently did her feelings cling
to the man she loved: her passion for him even waxed stronger daily, as
the danger of losing him came daily nearer.
Wilhelm, on the other hand, soared serenely happy in higher regions: to
him also a new world had been disclosed, but a world rich in the most
glorious prospects. Scarcely had the first excess of joy subsided, when
all that had long been gliding dimly through his soul stood up in bright
distinctness before it. She is mine! She has given herself up to me!
She, the loved, the wished for, the adored, has given herself up to me
in trust and faith: she shall not find me ungrateful for the gift.
Standing or walking, he talked to himself; his heart constantly
overflowed; with a copiousness of splendid words, he uttered to himself
the loftiest emotions. He imagined that he understood the visible
beckoning of Fate, reaching out its hand by Mariana to save him from the
stagnant, weary, drudging life, out of which he had so often wished for
deliverance. To leave his father's house and people, now appeared a
light matter. He was young, and had not tried the world: his eagerness
to range over its expanses, seeking fortune and contentment, was
stimulated by his love. His vocation for the theatre was now clear to
him: the high goal, which he saw raised before him, seemed nearer whilst
he was advancing to it with Mariana's hand in his; and, in his
comfortable prudence, he beheld in himself the embryo of a great
actor,--the future founder of that national theatre, for which he heard
so much and various sighing on every side. All that till now had
slumbered in the innermost corners of his soul, at length awoke. He
painted for himself a picture of his manifold ideas, in the colors of
love, upon a canvas of cloud: the figures of it, indeed, ran sadly into
one another; yet the whole had an air but the more brilliant on that
account.
CHAPTER X.
He was now in his chamber at home, ransacking his papers, making ready
for departure. Whatever savored of his previous employment he threw
aside, meaning at his entrance upon life to be free, even from
recollections that could pain him. Works of taste alone, poets and
critics, were, as acknowledged friends, placed among the chosen few.
Heretofore he had given little heed to the critical authors: his desire
for instruction now revived, when, again looking through his books, he
found the theoretical part of them lying generally still uncut. In the
full persuasion that such works were absolutely necessary, he had bought
a number of them; but, with the best disposition in the world, he had
not reached midway in any.
The more steadfastly, on the other hand, he had dwelt upon examples,
and, in every kind that was known to him, had made attempts himself.
Werner entered the room; and, seeing his friend busied with the
well-known sheets, he exclaimed, "Again among your papers? And without
intending, I dare swear, to finish any one of them! You look them
through and through once or twice, then throw them by, and begin
something new."
"To finish is not the scholar's care: it is enough if he improves
himself by practice."
"But also completes according to his best ability."
"And still the question might be asked, 'Is there not good hope of a
youth, who, on commencing some unsuitable affair, soon discovers its
unsuitableness, and discontinues his exertions, not choosing to spend
toil and time on what never can be of any value?'"
"I know well enough it was never your concern to bring aught to a
conclusion: you have always sickened on it before it came half way. When
you were the director of our puppet-show, for instance, how many times
were fresh clothes got ready for the dwarfish troop, fresh decorations
furbished up? Now this tragedy was to be acted, now that; and at the
very best you gave us some fifth act, where all was going topsy-turvy,
and people cutting one another's throats."
"If you talk of those times, whose blame really was it that we ripped
off from our puppets the clothes that fitted them, and were fast
stitched to their bodies, and laid out money for a large and useless
wardrobe? Was it not yours, my good friend, who had always some fragment
of ribbon to traffic with; and skill, at the same time, to stimulate my
taste, and turn it to your profit?"
Werner laughed, and continued, "I still recollect, with pleasure, how I
used to extract gain from your theatrical campaigns, as army contractors
do from war. When you mustered for the 'Deliverance of Jerusalem,' I,
for my part, made a pretty thing of profit, like the Venetians in the
corresponding case. I know of nothing in the world more rational than to
turn the folly of others to our own advantage."
"Perhaps it were a nobler satisfaction to cure men of their follies."
"From the little I know of men, this might seem a vain endeavor. But
something towards it is always done, when any individual man grows wise
and rich; and generally this happens at the cost of others."
"Well, here is 'The Youth at the Parting of the Ways;' it has just come
into my hand," said Wilhelm, drawing out a bunch of papers from the
rest; "this at least is finished, whatever else it may be."
"Away with it! to the fire with it!" cried Werner. "The invention does
not deserve the smallest praise: that affair has plagued me enough
already, and drawn upon yourself your father's wrath. The verses may
be altogether beautiful, but the meaning of them is fundamentally
false. I still recollect your Commerce personified: a shrivelled,
wretched-looking sibyl she was. I suppose you picked up the image of her
from some miserable huckster's shop. At that time you had no true idea
at all of trade; whilst I could not think of any man whose spirit was,
or needed to be, more enlarged than the spirit of a genuine merchant.
What a thing is it to see the order which prevails throughout his
business! By means of this he can at any time survey the general whole,
without needing to perplex himself in the details. What advantages does
he derive from the system of book-keeping by double entry! It is among
the finest inventions of the human mind: every prudent master of a house
should introduce it into his economy."
"Pardon me," said Wilhelm, smiling; "you begin by the form, as if it
were the matter: you traders commonly, in your additions and balancings,
forget what is the proper net result of life."
"My good friend, you do not see how form and matter are in this case
one, how neither can exist without the other. Order and arrangement
increase the desire to save and get. A man embarrassed in his
circumstances, and conducting them imprudently, likes best to continue
in the dark: he will not gladly reckon up the debtor entries he is
charged with. But, on the other hand, there is nothing to a prudent
manager more pleasant than daily to set before himself the sums of his
growing fortune. Even a mischance, if it surprise and vex, will not
affright, him; for he knows at once what gains he has acquired to cast
into the other scale. I am convinced, my friend, that, if you once had a
proper taste for our employments, you would grant that many faculties of
the mind are called into full and vigorous play by them."
"Possibly this journey I am thinking of may bring me to other thoughts."
"Oh, certainly! Believe me, you want but to look upon some great scene
of activity to make you ours forever; and, when you come back, you will
joyfully enroll yourself among that class of men whose art it is to draw
towards themselves a portion of the money, and materials of enjoyment,
which circulate in their appointed courses through the world. Cast a
look on the natural and artificial productions of all the regions of the
earth; consider how they have become, one here, another there, articles
of necessity for men. How pleasant and how intellectual a task is it to
calculate, at any moment, what is most required, and yet is wanting, or
hard to find; to procure for each easily and soon what he demands; to
lay in your stock prudently beforehand, and then to enjoy the profit of
every pulse in that mighty circulation. This, it appears to me, is what
no man that has a head can attend to without pleasure."
Wilhelm seemed to acquiesce, and Werner continued.
"Do but visit one or two great trading-towns, one or two seaports, and
see if you can withstand the impression. When you observe how many men
are busied, whence so many things have come, and whither they are going,
you will feel as if you, too, could gladly mingle in the business. You
will then see the smallest piece of ware in its connection with the
whole mercantile concern; and for that very reason you will reckon
nothing paltry, because every thing augments the circulation by which
you yourself are supported."
Werner had formed his solid understanding in constant intercourse with
Wilhelm; he was thus accustomed to think also of _his_ profession, of
_his_ employments, with elevation of soul; and he firmly believed that
he did so with more justice than his otherwise more gifted and valued
friend, who, as it seemed to him, had placed his dearest hopes, and
directed all the force of his mind, upon the most imaginary objects in
the world. Many a time he thought his false enthusiasm would infallibly
be got the better of, and so excellent a soul be brought back to the
right path. So hoping in the present instance, he continued, "The great
ones of the world have taken this earth of ours to themselves; they live
in the midst of splendor and superfluity. The smallest nook of the land
is already a possession which none may touch or meddle with: offices and
civil callings bring in little profit. Where, then, will you find more
honest acquisitions, juster conquests, than those of trade? If the
princes of this world hold the rivers, the highways, the havens, in
their power, and take a heavy tribute from every thing that passes
through them, may not we embrace with joy the opportunity of levying tax
and toll, by _our_ activity, on those commodities which the real or
imaginary wants of men have rendered indispensable? I can promise you,
if you would rightly apply your poetic view, my goddess might be
represented as an invincible, victorious queen, and boldly opposed to
yours. It is true, she bears the olive rather than the sword: dagger or
chain she knows not. But she, too, gives crowns to her favorites; which,
without offence to yours be it said, are of true gold from the furnace
and the mine, and glance with genuine pearls, which she brings up from
the depths of the ocean by the hands of her unwearied servants."
This sally somewhat nettled Wilhelm; but he concealed his sentiments,
remembering that Werner used to listen with composure to _his_
apostrophes. Besides, he had fairness enough to be pleased at seeing
each man think the best of his own peculiar craft, provided only _his_,
of which he was so passionately fond, were likewise left in peace.
"And for you," exclaimed Werner, "who take so warm an interest in human
concerns, what a sight will it be to behold the fortune, which
accompanies bold undertakings, distributed to men before your eyes! What
is more spirit-stirring than the aspect of a ship arriving from a lucky
voyage, or soon returning with a rich capture? Not only the relatives,
the acquaintances, and those that share with the adventurers, but every
unconcerned spectator also, is excited, when he sees the joy with which
the long-imprisoned shipman springs on land before his keel has wholly
reached it, feeling that he is free once more, and now can trust what he
has rescued from the false sea to the firm and faithful earth. It is
not, my friend, in figures of arithmetic alone that gain presents itself
before us. Fortune is the goddess of breathing men: to feel her favors
truly, we must live and be men who toil with their living minds and
bodies, and enjoy with them also."
CHAPTER XI.
It is now time that we should know something more of Wilhelm's father
and of Werner's,--two men of very different modes of thinking, but whose
opinions so far coincided, that both regarded commerce as the noblest
calling; and both were peculiarly attentive to every advantage which any
kind of speculation might produce to them. Old Meister, when his father
died, had turned into money a valuable collection of pictures, drawings,
copper-plates, and antiquities: he had entirely rebuilt and furnished
his house in the newest style, and turned his other property to profit
in all possible ways. A considerable portion of it he had embarked in
trade, under the direction of the elder Werner,--a man noted as an
active merchant, whose speculations were commonly favored by fortune.
But nothing was so much desired by Meister as to confer upon his son
those qualities of which himself was destitute, and to leave his
children advantages which he reckoned it of the highest importance to
possess. Withal, he felt a peculiar inclination for magnificence,--for
whatever catches the eye, and possesses at the same time real worth and
durability. In his house he would have all things solid and massive; his
stores must be copious and rich, all his plate must be heavy, the
furniture of his table must be costly. On the other hand, his guests
were seldom invited; for every dinner was a festival, which, both for
its expense and for its inconvenience, could not often be repeated. The
economy of his house went on at a settled, uniform rate; and every thing
that moved or had place in it was just what yielded no one any real
enjoyment.
The elder Werner, in his dark and hampered house, led quite another sort
of life. The business of the day, in his narrow counting-house, at his
ancient desk, once done, Werner liked to eat well, and, if possible, to
drink better. Nor could he fully enjoy good things in solitude; with his
family he must always see at table his friends, and any stranger that
had the slightest connection with his house. His chairs were of unknown
age and antic fashion, but he daily invited some to sit on them. The
dainty victuals arrested the attention of his guests, and none remarked
that they were served up in common ware. His cellar held no great stock
of wine, but the emptied niches were usually filled by more of a
superior sort.
So lived these two fathers, often meeting to take counsel about their
common concerns. On the day we are speaking of, it had been determined
to send Wilhelm out from home, for the despatch of some commercial
affairs.
"Let him look about him in the world," said old Meister, "and at the
same time carry on our business in distant parts. One cannot do a young
man any greater kindness than initiate him early in the future business
of his life. Your son returned so happily from his first expedition, and
transacted his affairs so cleverly, that I am very curious to see how
mine will do: _his_ experience, I fear, will cost him dearer."
Old Meister had a high notion of his son's faculties and capabilities:
he said this in the hope that his friend would contradict him, and hold
up to view the admirable gifts of the youth. Here, however, he deceived
himself. Old Werner, who, in practical concerns, would trust no man but
such as he had proved, answered placidly, "One must try all things. We
can send him on the same journey: we shall give him a paper of
directions to conduct him. There are sundry debts to be gathered in, old
connections are to be renewed, new ones to be made. He may likewise help
the speculation I was lately talking of; for, without punctual
intelligence gathered on the spot, there is little to be done in it."
"He must prepare," said Meister, "and set forth as soon as possible.
Where shall we get a horse for him to suit this business?"
"We shall not seek far. The shopkeeper in H----, who owes us somewhat,
but is withal a good man, has offered me a horse instead of payment. My
son knows it, and tells me it is a serviceable beast."
"He may fetch it himself. Let him go with the diligence; the day after
to-morrow he is back again betimes; we have his saddle-bags and letters
made ready in the mean time; he can set out on Monday morning."
Wilhelm was sent for, and informed of their determination. Who so glad
as he, now seeing the means of executing his purpose put into his hands,
the opportunity made ready for him, without co-operation of his own! So
intense was his love, so full was his conviction of the perfect
rectitude of his intention to escape from the pressure of his actual
mode of life, and follow a new and nobler career, that his conscience
did not in the least rebel; no anxiety arose within him; he even
reckoned the deception he was meditating holy. He felt certain, that, in
the long-run, parents and relations would praise and bless him for this
resolution: he acknowledged in these concurring circumstances the signal
of a guiding fate.
How slowly the time passed with him till night, till the hour when he
should again see his Mariana! He sat in his chamber, and revolved the
plan of his journey; as a conjurer, or a cunning thief in durance, often
draws out his feet from the fast-locked irons, to cherish in himself the
conviction that his deliverance is possible, nay, nearer than
short-sighted turnkeys believe.
At last the appointed hour struck: he went out, shook off all anxiety,
and hastened through the silent streets. In the middle of the great
square he raised his hands to the sky, feeling as if all was behind him
and below him: he had freed himself from all. One moment he figured
himself as in the arms of his beloved, the next as glancing with her in
the splendors of the stage: he soared aloft in a world of hopes, only
now and then the call of some watchman brought to his recollection that
he was still wandering on the vulgar earth.
Mariana came to the stairs to meet him,--and how beautiful, how lovely!
She received him in the new white _negligée_: he thought he had never
seen her so charming. Thus did she handsel the gift of her absent lover
in the arms of a present one; with true passion she lavished on her
darling the whole treasure of those caresses which nature suggested, or
art had taught: need we ask if he was happy, if he was blessed?
He disclosed to her what had passed, and showed her, in general terms,
his plan and his wishes. He would try, he said, to find a residence,
then come back for her: he hoped she would not refuse him her hand. The
poor girl was silent: she concealed her tears, and pressed her friend
against her bosom. Wilhelm, though interpreting her silence in the most
favorable manner, could have wished for a distinct reply; and still
more, when at last he inquired of her in the tenderest and most delicate
terms, if he might not think himself a father. But to this she answered
only with a sigh, with a kiss.
CHAPTER XII.
Next morning Mariana awoke only to new despondency; she felt herself
very solitary; she wished not to see the light of day, but staid in bed,
and wept. Old Barbara sat down by her, and tried to persuade and console
her; but it was not in her power so soon to heal the wounded heart. The
moment was now at hand to which the poor girl had been looking forward
as to the last of her life. Who could be placed in a more painful
situation? The man she loved was departing; a disagreeable lover was
threatening to come; and the most fearful mischiefs were to be
anticipated, if the two, as might easily happen, should meet together.
"Calm yourself, my dear," said the old woman: "do not spoil your pretty
eyes with crying. Is it, then, so terrible a thing to have two lovers?
And though you can bestow your love but on the one, yet be thankful to
the other, who, caring for you as he does, certainly deserves to be
named your friend."
"My poor Wilhelm," said the other, all in tears, "had warning that a
separation was at hand. A dream discovered to him what we strove so much
to hide. He was sleeping calmly at my side; on a sudden I heard him
mutter some unintelligible sounds: I grew frightened, and awoke him. Ah!
with what love and tenderness and warmth did he clasp me! 'O Mariana!'
cried he, 'what a horrid fate have you freed me from! How shall I thank
you for deliverance from such torment? I dreamed that I was far from you
in an unknown country, but your figure hovered before me; I saw you on a
beautiful hill, the sunshine was glancing over it all; how charming you
looked! But it had not lasted long, before I observed your image sinking
down, sinking, sinking: I stretched out my arms towards you; they could
not reach you through the distance. Your image still kept gliding down:
it approached a great sea that lay far extended at the foot of the
hill,--a marsh rather than a sea. All at once a man gave you his hand,
and seemed meaning to conduct you upwards; but he led you sidewards, and
appeared to draw you after him. I cried out: as I could not reach you, I
hoped to warn you. If I tried to walk, the ground seemed to hold me
fast; if I could walk, the water hindered me; and even my cries were
smothered in my breast.' So said the poor youth, while recovering from
his terror, and reckoning himself happy to see a frightful dream thrust
aside by the most delicious reality."
Barbara made every effort to reduce, by her prose, the poetry of her
friend to the domain of common life; employing, in the present case, the
ingenious craft which so often succeeds with bird-catchers, when they
imitate with a whistle the tones of those luckless creatures they soon
hope to see by dozens safely lodged in their nets. She praised Wilhelm:
she expatiated on his figure, his eyes, his love. The poor girl heard
her with a gratified heart, then arose, let herself be dressed, and
appeared calmer. "My child, my darling," continued the old woman, in a
cozening tone, "I will not trouble you or injure you: I cannot think of
tearing from you your dearest happiness. Could you mistake my
intention? Have you forgotten that on all occasions I have cared for
you more than for myself? Tell me only what you wish: we shall soon see
how it may be brought about."
"What can I wish?" said Mariana; "I am miserable, miserable for life: I
love him, and he loves me; yet I see that I must part with him, and know
not how I shall survive it. Norberg is coming, to whom we owe our whole
subsistence, whom we cannot live without. Wilhelm is straitened in his
fortune: he can do nothing for me."
"Yes, unfortunately, he is of those lovers who bring nothing but their
hearts; and these people, too, have the highest pretensions of any."
"No jesting! The unhappy youth thinks of leaving his home, of going upon
the stage, of offering me his hand."
"Of empty hands we have already four."
"I have no choice," continued Mariana; "do you decide for me. Cast me
away to this side or to that: mark only one thing,--I think I carry in
my bosom a pledge that ought to unite me with him still more closely.
Consider and determine: whom shall I forsake? whom shall I follow?"
After a short silence, Barbara exclaimed. "Strange, that youth should
always be for extremes! To my view, nothing would be easier than for us
to combine both the profit and the enjoyment. Do you love the one, let
the other pay for it: all we have to mind, is being sharp enough to keep
the two from meeting."
"Do as you please: I can imagine nothing, but I will obey."
"We have this advantage: we can humor the manager's caprice and pride
about the morals of his troop. Both lovers are accustomed already to go
secretly and cautiously to work. For hours and opportunity I will take
thought: only henceforth you must act the part that I prescribe to you.
Who knows what circumstances may arise to help us? If Norberg would
arrive even now, when Wilhelm is away! Who can hinder you from thinking
of the one in the arms of the other? I wish you a son, and good fortune
with him: he will have a rich father."
These projects lightened Mariana's despondency only for a very short
time. She could not bring her situation into harmony with her feelings,
with her convictions: she would fain have forgotten the painful
relations in which she stood, and a thousand little circumstances forced
them back every moment to her recollection.
CHAPTER XIII.
In the mean time, Wilhelm had completed the short preliminary journey.
His merchant being from home, he delivered the letter of introduction to
the mistress of the house. But neither did this lady give him much
furtherance in his purposes: she was in a violent passion, and her whole
economy was in confusion.
He had not waited long when she disclosed to him, what in truth could
not be kept a secret, that her step-daughter had run off with a
player,--a person who had parted lately from a small strolling company,
and had staid in the place, and commenced teaching French. The father,
distracted with grief and vexation, had run to the _Amt_ to have the
fugitives pursued. She blamed her daughter bitterly, and vilified the
lover, till she left no tolerable quality with either: she deplored at
great length the shame thus brought upon the family; embarrassing our
hero not a little, who here felt his own private scheme beforehand
judged and punished, in the spirit of prophecy as it were, by this
frenzied sibyl. Still stronger and deeper was the interest he took in
the sorrows of the father, who now returned from the _Amt_, and with
fixed sorrow, in broken sentences, gave his wife an account of the
errand, and strove to hide the embarrassment and distraction of his
mind; while, after looking at the letter, he directed that the horse it
spoke of should be given to Wilhelm.
Our friend thought it best to mount his steed immediately, and quit a
house where, in its present state, he could not possibly be comfortable;
but the honest man would not allow the son of one to whom he had so many
obligations to depart without tasting of his hospitality, without
remaining at least a night beneath his roof.
Wilhelm had partaken of a melancholy supper, worn out a restless night,
and hastened, early in the morning, to get rid of these people, who,
without knowing it, had, by their narratives and utterances, been
constantly wounding him to the quick.
In a musing mood, he was riding slowly along, when all at once he
observed a number of armed men coming through the fields. By their long,
loose coats, with enormous cuffs; by their shapeless hats, clumsy
muskets; by their unpretending gait, and contented bearing of the
body,--he recognized in these people a detachment of provincial
militia. They halted beneath an old oak, set down their fire-arms, and
placed themselves at their ease upon the sward, to smoke a pipe of
tobacco. Wilhelm lingered near them, and entered into conversation with
a young man who came up on horseback. The history of the two runaways,
which he knew but too well, was again detailed to him, and that with
comments not particularly flattering, either to the young pair
themselves, or to the parents. He also learned that the military had
come hither to take into custody the loving couple, who had already been
seized and detained in a neighboring village. After some time,
accordingly, a cart was seen advancing to the place, encircled with a
city guard more ludicrous than appalling. An amorphous town-clerk rode
forth, and made his compliments to the _Actuarius_ (for such was the
young man Wilhelm had been speaking to), on the border of their several
districts, with great conscientiousness and queer grimaces; as perhaps
the ghost and the conjurer do, when they meet, the one within the circle
and the other out of it, in their dismal midnight operations.
But the chief attention of the lookers-on was directed to the cart: they
could not behold, without compassion, the poor, misguided creatures, who
were sitting upon bundles of straw, looking tenderly at one another, and
scarcely seeming to observe the by-standers. Accident had forced their
conductors to bring them from the last village in that unseemly style;
the old chaise, which had previously transported the lady, having there
broken down. On that occurrence she had begged for permission to sit
beside her friend; whom, in the conviction that his crime was of a
capital sort, the rustic bailiffs had so far brought along in irons.
These irons certainly contributed to give the tender group a more
interesting appearance, particularly as the young man moved and bore
himself with great dignity, while he kissed more than once the hands of
his fair companion.
"We are unfortunate," she cried to the by-standers, "but not so guilty
as we seem. It is thus that cruel men reward true love; and parents, who
entirely neglect the happiness of their children, tear them with fury
from the arms of joy, when it has found them after many weary days."
The spectators were expressing their sympathy in various ways, when, the
officers of law having finished their ceremonial, the cart went on; and
Wilhelm, who took a deep interest in the fate of the lovers, hastened
forward by a foot path to get some acquaintance with the _Amtmann_
before the procession should arrive. But scarcely had he reached the
_Amthaus_, where all was in motion, and ready to receive the fugitives,
when his new friend, the _Actuarius_, laid hold of him; and giving him a
circumstantial detail of the whole proceedings, and then launching out
into a comprehensive eulogy of his own horse, which he had got by barter
the night before, put a stop to every other sort of conversation.
The luckless pair, in the mean time, had been set down behind, at the
garden, which communicated by a little door with the _Amthaus_, and thus
brought in unobserved. The _Actuarius_, for this mild and handsome
treatment, accepted of a just encomium from Wilhelm; though in truth his
sole object had been to mortify the crowd collected in front of the
_Amthaus_, by denying them the satisfaction of looking at a neighbor in
disgrace.
The _Amtmann_, who had no particular taste for such extraordinary
occurrences, being wont on these occasions to commit frequent errors,
and, with the best intentions, to be often paid with sour admonitions
from the higher powers, went with heavy steps into his office-room; the
_Actuarius_ with Wilhelm and a few respectable citizens following him.
The lady was first produced; she advanced without pertness, calm and
self-possessed. The manner of her dress, the way in which she bore
herself, showed that she was a person not without value in her own eyes.
She accordingly began, without any questions being put, to speak, not
unskilfully, about her situation.
The _Actuarius_ bade her be silent, and held his pen over the folded
sheet. The _Amtmann_ gathered up his resolution, looked at his
assistant, cleared his throat by two or three hems, and asked the poor
girl what was her name, and how old she was.
"I beg your pardon, sir," said she, "but it seems very strange to me
that you ask my name and age, seeing you know very well what my name is,
and that I am just of the age of your oldest son. What you do want to
know of me, and need to know, I will tell freely without circumlocution.
"Since my father's second marriage, my situation in his house has not
been of the most enviable sort. Oftener than once I have had it in my
power to make a suitable marriage, had not my step-mother, dreading the
expense of my portion, taken care to thwart all such proposals. At
length I grew acquainted with the young Melina; I felt constrained to
love him; and, as we both foresaw the obstacles that stood in the way of
our regular union, we determined to go forth together, and seek in the
wide world the happiness denied us at home. I took nothing with me that
was not my own: we did not run away like thieves and robbers; and my
lover does not merit to be hauled about in this way, with chains and
handcuffs. The prince is just, and will not sanction such severity. If
we are liable to punishment, it is not punishment of this kind."
The old _Amtmann_ hereupon fell into double and treble confusion. Sounds
of the most gracious eulogies were already humming through his brain,
and the girl's voluble speech had entirely confounded the plan of his
protocol. The mischief increased, when to repeated official questions
she refused giving any answer, but constantly referred to what she had
already said.
"I am no criminal," she said. "They have brought me hither on bundles of
straw to put me to shame, but there is a higher court that will bring us
back to honor."
The _Actuarius_, in the mean time, had kept writing down her words: he
whispered the _Amtmann_, "just to go on,--a formal protocol might be
made out by and by."
The senior then again took heart, and began, with his heavy words, in
dry prescribed formulas, to seek information about the sweet secrets of
love.
The red mounted into Wilhelm's cheeks, and those of the pretty criminal
likewise glowed with the charming tinge of modesty. She was silent, she
stammered, till at last her embarrassment itself seemed to exalt her
courage.
"Be assured," she cried, "that I should have strength enough to confess
the truth, though it made against myself; and shall I now hesitate and
stammer, when it does me honor? Yes: from the moment when I first felt
certain of his love and faith, I looked upon him as my husband; I freely
gave him all that love requires,--that a heart once convinced cannot
long refuse. Now do with me what you please. If I hesitated for a moment
to confess, it was solely owing to fear lest the admission might prove
hurtful to my lover."
On hearing this confession, Wilhelm formed a high opinion of the young
woman's feelings, while her judges marked her as an impudent strumpet;
and the townsfolk present thanked God that in their families no such
scandal had occurred, or at least been brought to light.
Wilhelm transported his Mariana into this conjuncture, answering at the
bar: he put still finer words in her mouth, making her uprightness yet
more affecting, her confession still nobler. The most violent desire to
help the two lovers took possession of him. Nor did he conceal this
feeling, but signified in private to the wavering _Amtmann_, that it
were better to end the business; all being clear as possible, and
requiring no further investigation.
This was so far of service that the young woman was allowed to retire;
though, in her stead, the lover was brought in, his fetters having
previously been taken off him at the door. This person seemed a little
more concerned about his fate. His answers were more careful; and, if he
showed less heroic generosity, he recommended himself by the precision
and distinctness of his expressions.
When this audience also was finished, and found to agree in all points
with the former, except that, from regard for his mistress, Melina
stubbornly denied what had already been confessed by herself, the young
woman was again brought forward; and a scene took place between the two,
which made the heart of our friend entirely their own.
What usually occurs nowhere but in romances and plays, he saw here in a
paltry court-room before his eyes,--the contest of reciprocal
magnanimity, the strength of love in misfortune.
"Is it, then, true," said he internally, "that timorous affection, which
conceals itself from the eye of the sun and of men, not daring to taste
of enjoyment save in remote solitude and deep secrecy, yet, if torn
rudely by some cruel chance into light, will show itself more
courageous, strong, and resolute than any of our loud and ostentatious
passions?"
To his comfort, the business now soon came to a conclusion. The lovers
were detained in tolerable quarters: had it been possible, he would that
very evening have brought back the young lady to her parents. For he
firmly determined to act as intercessor in this case, and to forward a
happy and lawful union between the lovers.
He begged permission of the _Amtmann_ to speak in private with Melina, a
request which was granted without difficulty.
CHAPTER XIV.
The conversation of these new acquaintances very soon grew confidential
and lively. When Wilhelm told the downcast youth of his connection with
the lady's parents, and offered to mediate in the affair, showing at the
same time the strongest expectation of success, a light was shed across
the dreary and anxious mind of the prisoner: he felt himself already
free, already reconciled with the parents of his bride, and now began to
speak about his future occupation and support.
"On this point," said our friend, "you cannot long be in difficulty; for
you seem to me directed, not more by your circumstances than by nature,
to make your fortune in the noble profession you have chosen. A pleasing
figure, a sonorous voice, a feeling heart! Could an actor be better
furnished? If I can serve you with a few introductions, it will give me
the greatest pleasure."
"I thank you with all my heart," replied the other, "but I shall hardly
be able to make use of them; for it is my purpose, if possible, not to
return to the stage."
"Here you are certainly to blame," said Wilhelm, after a pause, during
which he had partly recovered out of his astonishment; for it had never
once entered his head, but that the player, the moment his young wife
and he were out of durance, would repair to some theatre. It seemed to
him as natural and as necessary as for the frog to seek pools of water.
He had not doubted of it for a moment, and he now heard the contrary
with boundless surprise.
"Yes," replied Melina, "I have it in view not to re-appear upon the
stage, but rather to take up some civil calling, be it what it will, so
that I can but obtain one."
"This is a strange resolution, which I cannot give my approbation to.
Without especial reasons, it can never be advisable to change the mode
of life we have begun with; and, besides, I know of no condition that
presents so much allurement, so many charming prospects, as the
condition of an actor."
"It is easy to see that you have never been one," said the other.
"Alas, sir," answered Wilhelm, "how seldom is any man contented with the
station where he happens to be placed! He is ever coveting that of his
neighbor, from which the neighbor in his turn is longing to be free."
"Yet still there is a difference," said Melina, "between bad and worse.
Experience, not impatience, makes me determine as you see. Is there in
the world any creature whose morsel of bread is attended with such
vexation, uncertainty, and toil? It were almost as good to take the
staff and wallet, and beg from door to door. What things to be endured
from the envy of rivals, from the partiality of managers, from the
ever-altering caprices of the public! In truth, one would need to have a
hide like a bear's, that is led about in a chain along with apes, and
dogs of knowledge, and cudgelled into dancing at the sound of a bagpipe
before the populace and children."
Wilhelm thought a thousand things, which he would not vex the worthy man
by uttering. He merely, therefore, led the conversation round them at a
distance. His friend explained himself the more candidly and
circumstantially on that account. "Is not the manager obliged," said he,
"to fall down at the feet of every little _Stadtrath_, that he may get
permission, for a month between the fairs, to cause another _groschen_
or two to circulate in the place? Ours, on the whole, a worthy man, I
have often pitied; though at other times he gave me cause enough for
discontentment. A good actor drains him by extortion; of the bad he
cannot rid himself; and, should he try to make his income at all equal
to his outlay, the public immediately takes umbrage, the house stands
empty; and, not to go to wreck entirely, he must continue acting in the
midst of sorrow and vexation. No, no, sir! Since you are so good as to
undertake to help me, have the kindness, I entreat you, to plead with
the parents of my bride: let them get me a little post of clerk or
collector, and I shall think myself well dealt with."
After exchanging a few words more, Wilhelm went away with the promise to
visit the parents early in the morning, and see what could be done.
Scarcely was he by himself, when he gave utterance to his thoughts in
these exclamations: "Unhappy Melina! not in thy condition, but in
thyself, lies the mean impediment over which thou canst not gain the
mastery. What mortal in the world, if without inward calling he take up
a trade, an art, or any mode of life, will not feel his situation
miserable? But he who is born with capacities for any undertaking, finds
in executing this the fairest portion of his being. Nothing upon earth
without its difficulties! It is the secret impulse within, it is the
love and the delight we feel, that help us to conquer obstacles, to
clear out new paths, and to overleap the bounds of that narrow circle in
which others poorly toil. For _thee_ the stage is but a few boards: the
parts assigned thee are but what a task is to a school-boy. The
spectators thou regardest as on work-days they regard each other. For
thee, then, it may be well to wish thyself behind a desk, over ruled
ledgers, collecting tolls, and picking out reversions. Thou feelest not
the co-operating, co-inspiring whole, which the mind alone can invent,
comprehend, and complete: thou feelest not that in man there lives a
spark of purer fire, which, when it is not fed, when it is not fanned,
gets covered by the ashes of indifference and daily wants, yet not till
late, perhaps never, can be altogether quenched. Thou feelest in thy
soul no strength to fan this spark into a flame, no riches in thy heart
to feed it when aroused. Hunger drives thee on, inconveniences withstand
thee; and it is hidden from thee, that, in every human condition, foes
lie in wait for us, invincible except by cheerfulness and equanimity.
Thou dost well to wish thyself within the limits of a common station,
for what station that required soul and resolution couldst thou rightly
fill? Give a soldier, a statesman, a divine, thy sentiments, and as
justly will he fret himself about the miseries of _his_ condition. Nay,
have there not been men so totally forsaken by all feeling of existence,
that they have held the life and nature of mortals as a nothing, a
painful, short, and tarnished gleam of being? Did the forms of active
men rise up living in thy soul; were thy breast warmed by a sympathetic
fire; did the vocation which proceeds from within diffuse itself over
all thy frame; were the tones of thy voice, the words of thy mouth,
delightful to hear; didst thou feel thy own being sufficient for
thyself,--then wouldst thou doubtless seek place and opportunity
likewise to feel it in others."
Amid such words and thoughts, our friend undressed himself, and went to
bed, with feelings of the deepest satisfaction. A whole romance of what
he now hoped to do, instead of the worthless occupations which should
have filled the approaching day, arose within his mind: pleasant
fantasies softly conducted him into the kingdom of sleep, and then gave
him up to their sisters, sweet dreams, who received him with open arms,
and encircled his reposing head with the images of heaven.
Early in the morning he was awake again, and thinking of the business
that lay before him. He revisited the house of the forsaken family,
where his presence caused no small surprise. He introduced his proposal
in the most prudent manner, and soon found both more and fewer
difficulties than he had anticipated. For one thing, the evil was
already _done_: and though people of a singularly strict and harsh
temper are wont to set themselves forcibly against the past, and thus to
increase the evil that cannot now be remedied; yet, on the other hand,
what is actually done exerts an irresistible effect upon most minds: an
event which lately appeared impossible takes its place, so soon as it
has really occurred, with what occurs daily. It was accordingly soon
settled, that Herr Melina was to wed the daughter; who, however, in
return, because of her misconduct, was to take no marriage-portion with
her, and to promise that she would leave her aunt's legacy, for a few
years more, at an easy interest, in her father's hands. But the second
point, touching a civil provision for Melina, was attended with greater
difficulties. They liked not to have the luckless pair continually
living in their sight: they would not have a present object ever calling
to their minds the connection of a mean vagabond with so respectable a
family,--a family which could number even a superintendent among its
relatives; nay, it was not to be looked for, that the government would
trust him with a charge. Both parents were alike inflexible in this
matter; and Wilhelm, who pleaded very hard, unwilling that a man whom he
contemned should return to the stage, and convinced that he deserved not
such a happiness, could not, with all his rhetoric, produce the
slenderest impression. Had he known the secret springs of the business,
he would have spared himself the labor of attempting to persuade. The
father would gladly have kept his daughter near him; but he hated the
young man, because his wife herself had cast an eye upon him: while the
latter could not bear to have, in her step-daughter, a happy rival
constantly before her eyes. So Melina with his young wife, who already
manifested no dislike to go and see the world, and be seen of it, was
obliged, against his will, to set forth in a few days, and seek some
place in any acting company where he could find one.
CHAPTER XV.
Happy season of youth! Happy times of the first wish of love! A man is
then like a child that can for hours delight itself with an echo, can
support alone the charges of conversation, and be well contented with
its entertainment if the unseen interlocutor will but repeat the
concluding syllables of the words addressed to it.
So was it with Wilhelm in the earlier and still more in the later period
of his passion for Mariana; he transferred the whole wealth of his own
emotions to her, and looked upon himself as a beggar that lived upon her
alms: and as a landscape is more delightful, nay, is delightful only,
when it is enlightened by the sun; so likewise in his eyes were all
things beautified and glorified which lay round her or related to her.
Often would he stand in the theatre behind the scenes, to which he had
obtained the freedom of access from the manager. In such cases, it is
true, the perspective magic was away; but the far mightier sorcery of
love then first began to act. For hours he could stand by the sooty
light-frame, inhaling the vapor of tallow lamps, looking out at his
mistress; and when she returned, and cast a kindly glance upon him, he
could feel himself lost in ecstasy: and, though close upon laths and
bare spars, he seemed transported into paradise. The stuffed bunches of
wool denominated lambs, the waterfalls of tin, the paper roses, and the
one-sided huts of straw, awoke in him fair poetic visions of an old
pastoral world. Nay, the very dancing-girls, ugly as they were when seen
at hand, did not always inspire him with disgust: they trod the same
floor with Mariana. So true is it, that love, which alone can give their
full charm to rose-bowers, myrtle-groves, and moonshine, can also
communicate, even to shavings of wood, and paper-clippings, the aspect
of animated nature. It is so strong a spice, that tasteless or even
nauseous soups are by it rendered palatable.
So potent a spice was certainly required to render tolerable, nay, at
last agreeable, the state in which he usually found her chamber, not to
say herself.
Brought up in a substantial burgher's house, cleanliness and order were
the elements in which he breathed; and, inheriting as he did a portion
of his father's taste for finery, it had always been his care, in
boyhood, to furbish up his chamber, which he regarded as his little
kingdom, in the stateliest fashion. His bed-curtains were drawn together
in large, massy folds, and fastened with tassels, as they are usually
seen in thrones; he had got himself a carpet for the middle of his
chamber, and a finer one for his table; his books and apparatus he had,
almost instinctively, arranged in such a manner, that a Dutch painter
might have imitated them for groups in his still-life scenes. He had a
white cap, which he wore straight up like a turban; and the sleeves of
his night-gown he had caused to be cut short, in the mode of the
Orientals. By way of reason for this, he pretended that long, wide
sleeves encumbered him in writing. When, at night, the boy was quite
alone, and no longer dreaded any interruption, he usually wore a silk
sash tied round his body; and often, it is said, he would fix in his
girdle a sword, which he had appropriated from an old armory, and thus
repeat and declaim his tragic parts; nay, in the same trim he would
kneel down and say his evening prayer.
In those times, how happy did he think the players, whom he saw
possessed of so many splendid garments, trappings, and arms; and in the
constant practice of a lofty demeanor, the spirit of which seemed to
hold up a mirror of whatever, in the opinions, relations, and passions
of men, was stateliest and most magnificent. Of a piece with this,
thought Wilhelm, is also the player's domestic life,--a series of
dignified transactions and employments, whereof their appearance on the
stage is but the outmost portion; like as a mass of silver, long
simmering about in the purifying furnace, at length gleams with a bright
and beautiful tinge in the eye of the refiner, and shows him, at the
same time, that the metal now is cleansed of all foreign mixture.
Great, accordingly, was his surprise at first, when he found himself
beside his mistress, and looked down, through the cloud that environed
him, on tables, stools, and floor. The wrecks of a transient, light,
and false decoration lay, like the glittering coat of a skinned
fish, dispersed in wild disorder. The implements of personal
cleanliness,--combs, soap, towels,--with the traces of their use, were
not concealed. Music, portions of plays and pairs of shoes, washes and
Italian flowers, pin-cushions, hair-skewers, rouge-pots, and ribbons,
books and straw hats,--no article despised the neighborhood of another:
all were united by a common element,--powder and dust. Yet as Wilhelm
scarcely noticed in her presence aught except herself; nay, as all that
had belonged to her, that she had touched, was dear to him,--he came at
last to feel, in this chaotic housekeeping, a charm which the proud pomp
of his own habitation never had communicated. When, on this hand, he
lifted aside her bodice, to get at the harpsichord; on that, threw her
gown upon the bed, that he might find a seat; when she herself, with
careless freedom, did not seek to hide from him many a natural office,
which, out of respect for the presence of a second person, is usually
concealed,--he felt as if by all this he was coming nearer to her every
moment, as if the communion betwixt them was fastening by invisible
ties.
It was not so easy to reconcile with his previous ideas the behavior of
the other players, whom, on his first visits, he often met with in her
house. Ever busied in being idle, they seemed to think least of all on
their employment and object: the poetic worth of a piece they were never
heard to speak of, or to judge of, right or wrong; their continual
question was simply, How much will it _bring_? Is it a stock-piece? How
long will it run? How often think you it may be played? and other
inquiries and observations of the same description. Then commonly they
broke out against the manager, that he was stinted with his salaries,
and especially unjust to this one or to that; then against the public,
how seldom it recompensed the right man with its approval, how the
German theatre was daily improving, how the player was ever growing more
honored, and never could be honored enough. Then they would descant
largely about wine-gardens and coffee-houses; how much debt one of their
comrades had contracted, and must suffer a deduction from his wages on
account of; about the disproportion of their weekly salaries; about the
cabals of some rival company: on which occasions, they would pass again
to the great and merited attention which the public now bestowed upon
them; not forgetting the importance of the theatre to the improvement of
the nation and the world.
All this, which had already given Wilhelm many a restless hour, came
again into his memory, as he walked his horse slowly homewards, and
contemplated the various occurrences in which he had so lately been
engaged. The commotion produced by a girl's elopement, not only in a
decent family, but in a whole town, he had seen with his own eyes; the
scenes upon the highway and in the _Amthaus_, the views entertained by
Melina, and whatever else he had witnessed, again arose before him, and
brought his keen, forecasting mind into a sort of anxious disquietude;
which no longer to endure, he struck the spurs into his horse, and
hastened towards home.
By this expedient, however, he but ran to meet new vexations. Werner,
his friend and future brother-in-law, was waiting for him, to begin a
serious, important, unexpected conversation.
Werner was one of those tried, sedate persons, with fixed principles and
habits, whom we usually denominate cold characters, because on
emergencies they do not burst forth quickly or very visibly.
Accordingly, his intercourse with Wilhelm was a perpetual contest;
which, however, only served to knit their mutual affection the more
firmly; for, notwithstanding their very opposite modes of thinking, each
found his account in communicating with the other. Werner was very well
contented with himself, that he could now and then lay a bridle on the
exalted but commonly extravagant spirit of his friend; and Wilhelm often
felt a glorious triumph, when the staid and thinking Werner could be
hurried on with him in warm ebullience. Thus each exercised himself upon
the other; they had been accustomed to see each other daily; and you
would have said, their eagerness to meet and talk together had even been
augmented by the inability of each to understand the other. At bottom,
however, being both good-hearted men, they were both travelling together
towards one goal; and they could never understand how it was that
neither of the two could bring the other over to his own persuasion.
For some time Werner had observed that Wilhelm's visits had been rarer;
that in his favorite discussions he was brief and absent-minded; that he
no longer abandoned himself to the vivid depicting of singular
conceptions,--tokens by which, in truth, a mind getting rest and
contentment in the presence of a friend is most clearly indicated. The
considerate and punctual Werner first sought for the root of the evil in
his own conduct; till some rumors of the neighborhood set him on the
proper trace, and some unguarded proceedings on the part of Wilhelm
brought him nearer to the certainty. He began his investigation, and
erelong discovered, that for some time Wilhelm had been openly visiting
an actress, had often spoken with her at the theatre, and accompanied
her home. On discovering the nightly visits of his friend, Werner's
anxiety increased to a painful extent: for he heard that Mariana was a
most seductive girl, who probably was draining the youth of his money;
while, at the same time, she herself was supported by another and a
very worthless lover.
Having pushed his suspicions as near certainty as possible, he had
resolved to make a sharp attack on Wilhelm: he was now in full readiness
with all his preparations, when his friend returned, discontented and
unsettled, from his journey.
That very evening Werner laid the whole of what he knew before him,
first calmly, then with the emphatic earnestness of a well-meaning
friendship. He left no point of the subject undiscussed, and made
Wilhelm taste abundance of those bitter things which men at ease are
accustomed, with virtuous spite, to dispense so liberally to men in
love. Yet, as might have been expected, he accomplished little. Wilhelm
answered with interior commotion, though with great confidence, "You
know not the girl! Appearances, perhaps, are not to her advantage; but I
am certain of her faithfulness and virtue, as of my love."
Werner maintained his accusations, and offered to bring proofs and
witnesses. Wilhelm waived these offers, and parted with his friend out
of humor and unhinged, like a man in whose jaw some unskilful dentist
has been seizing a diseased, yet fast-rooted, tooth, and tugging at it
harshly to no purpose.
It exceedingly dissatisfied Wilhelm to see the fair image of Mariana
overclouded and almost deformed in his soul, first by the capricious
fancies of his journey, and then by the unfriendliness of Werner. He
adopted the surest means of restoring it to complete brilliancy and
beauty, by setting out at night, and hastening to his wonted
destination. She received him with extreme joy: on entering the town, he
had ridden past her window; she had been expecting his company; and it
is easy to conceive that all scruples were soon driven from his heart.
Nay, her tenderness again opened up the whole stores of his confidence;
and he told her how deeply the public, how deeply his friend, had sinned
against her.
Much lively talking led them at length to speak about the earliest
period of their acquaintance, the recollection of which forms always one
of the most delightful topics between two lovers. The first steps that
introduce us to the enchanted garden of love are so full of pleasure,
the first prospects so charming, that every one is willing to recall
them to his memory. Each party seeks a preference above the other; each
has loved sooner, more devotedly; and each, in this contest, would
rather be conquered than conquer.
Wilhelm repeated to his mistress, what he had so often told her before,
how she soon abstracted his attention from the play, and fixed it on
herself; how her form, her acting, her voice, inspired him; how at last
he went only on the nights when _she_ was to appear; how, in fine,
having ventured behind the scenes, he had often stood by her unheeded;
and he spoke with rapture of the happy evening when he found an
opportunity to do her some civility, and lead her into conversation.
Mariana, on the other hand, would not allow that she had failed so long
to notice him: she declared that she had seen him in the public walk,
and for proof she described the clothes which he wore on that occasion;
she affirmed that even then he pleased her before all others, and made
her long for his acquaintance.
How gladly did Wilhelm credit all this! How gladly did he catch at the
persuasion, that, when he used to approach her, she had felt herself
drawn towards him by some resistless influence; that she had gone with
him between the side-scenes on purpose to see him more closely, and get
acquainted with him; and that, in fine, when his backwardness and
modesty were not to be conquered, she had herself afforded him an
opportunity, and, as it were, compelled him to hand her a glass of
lemonade.
In this affectionate contest, which they pursued through all the little
circumstances of their brief romance, the hours passed rapidly away; and
Wilhelm left his mistress with his heart at peace, and firmly determined
on proceeding forthwith to the execution of his project.
CHAPTER XVI.
The necessary preparations for his journey his father and mother had
attended to: some little matters, that were yet wanting to his equipage,
delayed his departure for a few days. Wilhelm took advantage of this
opportunity to write to Mariana, meaning thus to bring to a decision the
proposal, about which she had hitherto avoided speaking with him. The
letter was as follows:--
"Under the kind veil of night, which has often over-shadowed us
together, I sit and think, and write to thee: all that I meditate and do
is solely on thy account. O Mariana! with me, the happiest of men, it is
as with a bridegroom who stands in the festive chamber, dreaming of the
new universe that is to be unfolded to him, and by means of him, and,
while the holy ceremonies are proceeding, transports himself in longing
thought before the mysterious curtains, from which the loveliness of
love whispers out to him.
"I have constrained myself not to see thee for a few days: the sacrifice
was easy, when united with the hope of such a recompense, of being
always with thee, of remaining ever thine! Need I repeat what I desire?
I must! for it seems as if yet thou hadst never understood me.
"How often, in the low tones of true love, which, though wishing to gain
all, dares speak but little, have I sought in thy heart for the desire
of a perpetual union. Thou hast understood me, doubtless; for in thy own
heart the same wish must have arisen: thou _didst_ comprehend me, in
that kiss, in the intoxicating peace of that happy evening. Thy silence
testified to me thy modest honor; and how did it increase my love!
Another woman would have had recourse to artifice, that she might ripen
by superfluous sunshine the purpose of her lover's heart, might elicit a
proposal, and secure a firm promise. Mariana, on the contrary, drew
back: she repelled the half-opened confidence of him she loved, and
sought to conceal her approving feelings by apparent indifference. But I
have understood thee! What a miserable creature must I be, if I did not
by these tokens recognize the pure and generous love that cares not for
itself, but for its object! Confide in me, and fear nothing. We belong
to one another; and neither of us leaves aught or forsakes aught, if we
live for one another.
"Take it, then, this hand! Solemnly I offer this unnecessary pledge! All
the joys of love we have already felt, but there is a new blessedness in
the firm thought of duration. Ask not how,--care not. Fate takes care of
love, and the more certainly as love is easy to provide for.
"My heart has long ago forsaken my paternal home: it is with thee, as my
spirit hovers on the stage. O my darling! to what other man has it been
given to unite all his wishes, as it is to me? No sleep falls upon my
eyes: like the redness of an everlasting dawn, thy love and thy
happiness still glow around me.
"Scarcely can I hold myself from springing up, from rushing forth to
thee, and forcing thy consent, and, with the first light of to-morrow,
pressing forward into the world for the mark I aim at. But, no! I will
restrain myself; I will not act like a thoughtless fool, will do nothing
rashly: my plan is laid, and I will execute it calmly.
"I am acquainted with the manager Serlo: my journey leads me directly to
the place where he is. For above a year he has frequently been wishing
that his people had a touch of my vivacity, and my delight in theatrical
affairs: I shall doubtless be very kindly received. Into your company I
cannot enter, for more than one reason. Serlo's theatre, moreover, is at
such a distance from this, that I may there begin my undertaking without
any apprehension of discovery. With him I shall thus at once find a
tolerable maintenance: I shall look about me in the public, get
acquainted with the company, and then come back for thee.
"Mariana, thou seest what I can force myself to do, that I may certainly
obtain thee. For such a period not to see thee; for such a period to
know thee in the wide world! I dare not view it closely. But yet if I
recall to memory thy love, which assures me of all; if thou shalt not
disdain my prayer, and give me, ere we part, thy hand, before the
priest,--I may then depart in peace. It is but a form between us, yet a
form so touching,--the blessing of Heaven to the blessing of the earth.
Close by thy house, in the Ritterschaftliche Chapel, the ceremony will
be soon and secretly performed.
"For the beginning I have gold enough; we will share it between us; it
will suffice for both; and, before that is finished, Heaven will send us
more.
"No, my darling, I am not downcast about the issue. What is begun with
so much cheerfulness must reach a happy end. I have never doubted that a
man may force his way through the world, if he really is in earnest
about it; and I feel strength enough within me to provide a liberal
support for two, and many more. The world, we are often told, is
unthankful: I have never yet discovered that it was unthankful, if one
knew how, in the proper way, to do it service. My whole soul burns at
the idea, that _I_ shall at length step forth, and speak to the hearts
of men something they have long been yearning to hear. How many thousand
times has a feeling of disgust passed through me, alive as I am to the
nobleness of the stage, when I have seen the poorest creatures fancying
they could speak a word of power to the hearts of the people! The tone
of a man's voice singing treble sounds far pleasanter and purer to my
ear: it is incredible how these blockheads, in their coarse ineptitude,
deform things beautiful and venerable.
"The theatre has often been at variance with the pulpit: they ought not,
I think, to quarrel. How much is it to be wished, that in both the
celebration of nature and of God were intrusted to none but men of noble
minds! These are no dreams, my darling! As I have felt in thy heart that
thou couldst love, I seize the dazzling thought, and say,--no, I will
not say, but I will hope and trust,--that we two shall yet appear to men
as a pair of chosen spirits, to unlock their hearts, to touch the
recesses of their nature, and prepare for them celestial joys, as surely
as the joys I have tasted with thee deserved to be named celestial,
since they drew us from ourselves, and exalted us above ourselves.
"I cannot end. I have already said too much, and know not whether I have
yet said all, all that concerns _thy_ interests; for to express the
agitations of the vortex that whirls round within myself, is beyond the
power of words.
"Yet take this sheet, my love! I have again read it over: I observe it
ought to have begun more cautiously; but it contains in it all that thou
hast need to know,--enough to prepare thee for the hour when I shall
return with the lightness of love to thy bosom. I seem to myself like a
prisoner that is secretly filing his irons asunder. I bid good-night to
my soundly sleeping parents. Farewell, my beloved, farewell! For this
time I conclude; my eyelids have more than once dropped together; it is
now deep in the night."
CHAPTER XVII.
It seemed as if the day would never end, while Wilhelm, with the letter
beautifully folded in his pocket, longed to meet with Mariana. The
darkness had scarcely come on, when, contrary to custom, he glided forth
to her house. His plan was, to announce himself for the night; then to
quit his mistress for a short time, leaving the letter with her ere he
went away; and, returning at a late hour, to obtain her reply, her
consent, or to force it from her by the power of his caresses. He flew
into her arms, and pressed her in rapture to his bosom. The vehemence of
his emotions prevented him at first from noticing, that, on this
occasion, she did not receive him with her wonted heartiness; yet she
could not long conceal her painful situation, but imputed it to slight
indisposition. She complained of a headache, and would not by any means
consent to his proposal of coming back that night. Suspecting nothing
wrong, he ceased to urge her, but felt that this was not the moment for
delivering his letter. He retained it, therefore; and, as several of her
movements and observations courteously compelled him to take his leave,
in the tumult of unsatiable love he snatched up one of her neckerchiefs,
squeezed it into his pocket, and forced himself away from her lips and
her door. He returned home, but could not rest there: he again dressed
himself, and went out into the open air.
After walking up and down several streets, he was accosted by a stranger
inquiring for a certain inn. Wilhelm offered to conduct him to the
house. In the way, his new acquaintance asked about the names of the
streets, the owners of various extensive edifices, then about some
police regulations of the town; so that, by the time they reached the
door of the inn, they had fallen into quite an interesting conversation.
The stranger politely compelled his guide to enter, and drink a glass of
punch with him. Ere long he had told his name and place of abode, as
well as the business that had brought him hither; and he seemed to
expect a like confidence from Wilhelm. Our friend, without any
hesitation, mentioned his name, and the place where he lived.
"Are you not a grandson of the old Meister, who possessed that beautiful
collection of pictures and statues?" inquired the stranger.
"Yes, I am. I was ten years old when my grandfather died, and it grieved
me very much to see these fine things sold."
"Your father got a fine sum of money for them."
"You know of it, then?"
"Yes, indeed: I saw that treasure ere it left your house. Your
grandfather was not merely a collector, he had a thorough knowledge of
art. In his younger happy years he had been in Italy, and had brought
back with him such treasures as could not now be got for any price. He
possessed some exquisite pictures by the best masters. When you looked
through his drawings, you would scarcely have believed your eyes. Among
his marbles were some invaluable fragments; his series of bronzes was
instructive and well chosen; he had also collected medals, in
considerable quantity, relating to history and art; his few gems
deserved the greatest praise. In addition to all which, the whole was
tastefully arranged; although the rooms and hall of the old house had
not been symmetrically built."
"You may conceive," said Wilhelm, "what we young ones lost, when all
these articles were taken down and sent away. It was the first mournful
period of my life. I cannot tell you how empty the chambers looked when
we saw those objects vanish one by one, which had amused us from our
earliest years, and which we considered as unalterable as the house, or
the town itself."
"If I mistake not, your father put the capital produced by the sale into
some neighbor's stock, with whom he commenced a sort of partnership in
trade."
"Quite right; and their joint speculations have prospered in their
hands. Within the last twelve years, they have greatly increased their
fortunes, and are now the more vehemently bent on gaining. Old Werner
also has a son, who suits that sort of occupation much better than I."
"I am sorry the place should have lost such an ornament as your
grandfather's cabinet was to it. I saw it but a short time prior to the
sale; and I may say, I was myself the cause of its being then disposed
of. A rich nobleman, a great amateur, but one who, in such important
transactions, does not trust to his own solitary judgment, had sent me
hither, and requested my advice. For six days I examined the collection:
on the seventh, I advised my friend to pay down the required sum without
delay. You were then a lively boy, often running about me: you explained
to me the subjects of the pictures, and in general, I recollect, could
give a very good account of the whole cabinet."
"I remember such a person, but I should not have recognized him in you."
"It is a good while ago, and we all change more or less. You had, if I
mistake not, a favorite piece among them, to which you were ever calling
my attention."
"Oh, yes! it represented the history of that king's son dying of a
secret love for his father's bride."
"It was not, certainly, the best picture,--badly grouped, of no
superiority in coloring, and executed altogether with great mannerism."
"This I did not understand, and do not yet: it is the subject that
charms me in a picture, not the art."
"Your grandfather seemed to have thought otherwise. The greater part of
his collection consisted of excellent pieces; in which, represent what
they might, one constantly admired the talent of the master. This
picture of yours had accordingly been hung in the outermost room,--a
proof that he valued it slightly."
"It was in that room where we young ones used to play, and where the
piece you mention made on me a deep impression; which not even your
criticism, greatly as I honor it, could obliterate, if we stood before
the picture at this moment. What a melancholy object is a youth that
must shut up within himself the sweet impulse, the fairest inheritance
which nature has given us, and conceal in his own bosom the fire which
should warm and animate himself and others, so that his vitals are
wasted away by unutterable pains! I feel a pity for the ill-fated man
that would consecrate himself to another, when the heart of that other
has already found a worthy object of true and pure affection."
"Such feelings are, however, very foreign to the principles by which a
lover of art examines the works of great painters; and most probably
you, too, had the cabinet continued in your family, would have by and by
acquired a relish for the works themselves, and have learned to see in
the performances of art something more than yourself and your individual
inclinations."
"In truth, the sale of that cabinet grieved me very much at the time;
and often since I have thought of it with regret: but when I consider
that it was a necessary means of awakening a taste in me, of developing
a talent, which will operate far more powerfully on my history than ever
those lifeless pictures could have done, I easily content myself, and
honor destiny, which knows how to bring about what is best for me, and
what is best for every one."
"It gives me pain to hear this word destiny in the mouth of a young
person, just at the age when men are commonly accustomed to ascribe
their own violent inclinations to the will of higher natures."
"You, then, do not believe in destiny? No power that rules over us and
directs all for our ultimate advantage?"
"The question is not now of my belief, nor is this the place to explain
how I may have attempted to form for myself some not impossible
conception of things which are incomprehensible to all of us: the
question here is, What mode of viewing them will profit us the most? The
fabric of our life is formed of necessity and chance: the reason of man
takes its station between them, and may rule them both; it treats the
necessary as the groundwork of its being; the accidental it can direct
and guide, and employ for its own purposes: and only while this
principle of reason stands firm and inexpugnable, does man deserve to be
named the god of this lower world. But woe to him who, from his youth,
has used himself to search in necessity for something of arbitrary will;
to ascribe to chance a sort of reason, which it is a matter of religion
to obey. Is conduct like this aught else than to renounce one's
understanding, and give unrestricted scope to one's inclinations? We
think it is a kind of piety to move along without consideration; to let
accidents that please us determine our conduct; and, finally, to bestow
on the result of such a vacillating life the name of providential
guidance."
"Was it never your case that some little circumstance induced you to
strike into a certain path, where some accidental occurrence erelong met
you, and a series of unexpected incidents at length brought you to some
point which you yourself had scarcely once contemplated? Should not
lessons of this kind teach us obedience to destiny, confidence in some
such guide?"
"With opinions like these, no woman could maintain her virtue, no man
keep the money in his purse; for occasions enough are occurring to get
rid of both. He alone is worthy of respect, who knows what is of use to
himself and others, and who labors to control his self-will. Each man
has his own fortune in his hands; as the artist has a piece of rude
matter, which he is to fashion to a certain shape. But the art of living
rightly is like all arts: the capacity alone is born with us; it must be
learned, and practised with incessant care."
These discussions our two speculators carried on between them to
considerable length: at last they parted without seeming to have wrought
any special conviction in each other, but engaging to meet at an
appointed place next day.
Wilhelm walked up and down the streets for a time: he heard a sound of
clarinets, hunting-horns, and bassoons; it swelled his bosom with
delightful feelings. It was some travelling showmen that produced this
pleasant music. He spoke with them: for a piece of coin they followed
him to Mariana's house. The space in front of the door was adorned with
lofty trees; under them he placed his artists; and, himself resting on a
bench at some distance, he surrendered his mind without restraint to the
hovering tones which floated round him in the cool mellow night.
Stretched out beneath the kind stars, he felt his existence like a
golden dream. "She, too, hears these flutes," said he within his heart:
"she feels whose remembrance, whose love of her, it is that makes the
night full of music. In distance, even, we are united by these melodies,
as in every separation, by the ethereal accordance of love. Ah! two
hearts that love each other are as two magnetic needles: whatever moves
the one must move the other with it; for it is one power that works in
both, one principle that pervades them. Can I in her arms conceive the
possibility of parting from her? And yet I am soon to be far from her,
to seek out a sanctuary for our love, and then to have her ever with me.
"How often, when absent from her, and lost in thoughts about her,
happening to touch a book, a piece of dress or aught else, have I
thought I felt her hand, so entirely was I invested with her presence!
And to recollect those moments which shunned the light of day and the
eye of the cold spectator; which, to enjoy, the gods might determine to
forsake the painless condition of their pure blessedness! To recollect
them! As if by memory we could renew the tumultuous thrilling of that
cup of joy, which encircles our senses with celestial bonds, and lifts
them beyond all earthly hinderances. And her form"--He lost himself in
thoughts of her; his rest passed away into longing; he leaned against a
tree, and cooled his warm cheek on its bark; and the winds of the night
wafted speedily aside the breath, which proceeded in sighs from his pure
and impassioned bosom. He groped for the neckerchief he had taken from
her; but it was forgotten, it lay in his other clothes. His frame
quivered with emotion.
The music ceased, and he felt as if fallen from the element in which his
thoughts had hitherto been soaring. His restlessness increased, as his
feelings were no longer nourished and assuaged by the melody. He sat
down upon her threshold, and felt more peace. He kissed the brass
knocker of her door: he kissed the threshold over which her feet went
out and in, and warmed it by the fire of his breast. He again sat still
for a moment, and figured her behind her curtains in the white
night-gown, with the red ribbon round her head, in sweet repose: he
almost fancied that he was himself so near her, she must needs be
dreaming of him. His thoughts were beautiful, like the spirits of the
twilight; rest and desire alternated within him; love ran with a
quivering hand, in a thousand moods, over all the chords of his soul; it
was as if the spheres stood mute above him, suspending their eternal
song to watch the low melodies of his heart.
Had he then had about him the master-key with which he used to open
Mariana's door, he could not have restrained himself from penetrating
into the sanctuary of love. Yet he went away slowly; he slanted,
half-dreaming, in beneath the trees, set himself for home, and
constantly turned round again; at last, with an effort, he constrained
himself, and actually departed. At the corner of the street, looking
back yet once, he imagined that he saw Mariana's door open, and a dark
figure issue from it. He was too distant for seeing clearly; and, before
he could exert himself and look sharply, the appearance was already lost
in the night; yet afar off he thought he saw it again gliding past a
white house. He stood, and strained his eyes; but, ere he could arouse
himself and follow the phantom, it had vanished. Whither should he
pursue it? What street had the man taken, if it were a man?
A nightly traveller, when at some turn of his path he has seen the
country for an instant illuminated by a flash of lightning, will, with
dazzled eyes, next moment, seek in vain for the preceding forms and the
connection of his road; so was it in the eyes and the heart of Wilhelm.
And as a spirit of midnight, which awakens unutterable terror, is, in
the succeeding moments of composure, regarded as a child of imagination,
and the fearful vision leaves doubts without end behind it in the soul;
so likewise was Wilhelm in extreme disquietude, as, leaning on the
corner-stone of the street, he heeded not the clear gray of the morning,
and the crowing of the cocks; till the early trades began to stir, and
drove him home.
On his way, he had almost effaced the unexpected delusion from his mind
by the most sufficient reasons; yet the fine harmonious feelings of the
night, on which he now looked back as if they too had been a vision,
were also gone. To soothe his heart, and put the last seal on his
returning belief, he took the neckerchief from the pocket of the dress
he had been last wearing. The rustling of a letter which fell out of it
took the kerchief away from his lips: he lifted and read,--
"As I love thee, little fool, what ailed thee last night? This evening I
will come again. I can easily suppose that thou art sick of staying here
so long: but have patience; at the fair I will return for thee. And
observe, never more put me on that abominable black-green-brown jacket:
thou lookest in it like the witch of Endor. Did I not send the white
night-gown, that I might have a snowy little lambkin in my arms? Send
thy letters always by the ancient sibyl: the Devil himself has selected
her as Iris."
BOOK II.
CHAPTER I.
Whoever strives in our sight with vehement force to reach an object, be
it one that we praise or that we blame, may count on exciting an
interest in our minds; but, when once the matter is decided, we turn our
eyes away from him: whatever once lies finished and done, can no longer
at all fix our attention, especially if we at first prophesied an evil
issue to the undertaking.
Therefore we shall not try to entertain our readers with any
circumstantial account of the grief and desperation into which our
ill-fated friend was cast, when he saw his hopes so unexpectedly and
instantaneously ruined. On the contrary, we shall even pass over several
years, and again take up our friend, where we hope to find him in some
sort of activity and comfort. First, however, we must shortly set forth
a few matters necessary for maintaining the connection of our narrative.
The pestilence, or a malignant fever, rages with more fierceness, and
speedier effect, if the frame which it attacks was before healthy and
full of vigor; and in like manner, when a luckless, unlooked-for fate
overtook the wretched Wilhelm, his whole being in a moment was laid
waste. As when by chance, in the preparation of some artificial
firework, any part of the composition kindles before its time; and the
skilfully bored and loaded barrels, which, arranged, and burning after a
settled plan, would have painted in the air a magnificently varying
series of flaming images, now hissing and roaring, promiscuously explode
with a confused and dangerous crash,--so, in our hero's case, did
happiness and hope, pleasure and joys, realities and dreams, clash
together with destructive tumult, all at once in his bosom. In such
desolate moments, the friend that has hastened to deliverance stands
fixed in astonishment; and for him who suffers, it is a benefit that
sense forsakes him.
Days of pain, unmixed, ever-returning, and purposely renewed, succeeded
next: still, even these are to be regarded as a grace from nature. In
such hours Wilhelm had not yet quite lost his mistress: his pains were
indefatigable struggles, still to hold fast the happiness that was
gliding from his soul; again to luxuriate in thought on the possibility
of it; to procure a brief after-life for his joys that had departed
forever. Thus one may look upon a body as not utterly dead while the
putrefaction lasts; while the forces that in vain seek to work by their
old appointment, still labor in dissevering the particles of that frame
which they once animated; and not till all is disunited and inert, till
we see the whole mouldered down into indifferent dust,--not till then
does there rise in us the mournful, vacant sentiment of death,--death,
not to be recalled, save by the breath of Him that lives forever.
In a temper so new, so entire, so full of love, there was much to tear
asunder, to desolate, to kill; and even the healing force of youth gave
nourishment and violence to the power of sorrow. The stroke had extended
to the roots of his whole existence. Werner, by necessity his confidant,
attacked the hated passion itself with fire and sword, resolutely
zealous to search into the monster's inmost life. The opportunity was
lucky, the evidence at hand, and many were the histories and narratives
with which he backed it out. With such unrelenting vehemence did he make
his advances, leaving his friend not even the respite of the smallest
momentary self-deception, but treading down every lurking-place in which
he might have saved himself from desperation, that Nature, not inclined
to let her darling perish utterly, visited him with sickness, to make an
outlet for him on the other side.
A violent fever, with its train of consequences, medicines,
overstraining, and exhaustion, besides the unwearied attentions of his
family, the love of his brothers and sisters, which first becomes truly
sensible in times of distress and want, were so many fresh occupations
to his mind, and thus formed a kind of painful entertainment. It was not
till he grew better, in other words, till his strength was exhausted,
that Wilhelm first looked down with horror into the gloomy abyss of a
barren misery, as one looks down into the hollow crater of an
extinguished volcano.
He now bitterly reproached himself, that, after so great a loss, he
could yet enjoy one painless, restful, indifferent moment. He despised
his own heart, and longed for the balm of tears and lamentation.
To awaken these again within him, he would recall to memory the scenes
of his by-gone happiness. He would paint them to his fancy in the
liveliest colors, transport himself again into the days when they were
real; and when standing on the highest elevation he could reach, when
the sunshine of past times again seemed to animate his limbs and heave
his bosom, he would look back into the fearful chasm, would feast his
eye on its dismembering depth, then plunge down into its horrors, and
thus force from nature the bitterest pains. With such repeated cruelty
did he tear himself in pieces; for youth, which is so rich in
undeveloped force, knows not what it squanders when, to the anguish
which a loss occasions, it adds so many sorrows of its own production,
as if it meant then first to give the right value to what is gone
forever. He likewise felt so convinced that his present loss was the
sole, the first, the last, he ever could experience in life, that he
turned away from every consolation which aimed at showing that his
sorrows might be less than endless.
CHAPTER II.
Accustomed in this way to torment himself, he now also attacked what
still remained to him; what next to love, and along with it, had given
him the highest joys and hopes,--his talent as a poet and actor, with
spiteful criticisms on every side. In his labors he could see nothing
but a shallow imitation of prescribed forms, without intrinsic worth: he
looked on them as stiff school-exercises, destitute of any spark of
nature, truth, or inspiration. His poems now appeared nothing more than
a monotonous arrangement of syllables, in which the most trite emotions
and thoughts were dragged along and kept together by a miserable rhyme.
And thus did he also deprive himself of every expectation, every
pleasure, which on this quarter at least might have aided the recovery
of his peace.
With his theatric talent it fared no better. He blamed himself for not
having sooner detected the vanity on which alone this pretension had
been founded. His figure, his gait, his movements, his mode of
declamation, were severally taxed: he decisively renounced every species
of advantage or merit that might have raised him above the common run of
men, and so doing he increased his mute despair to the highest pitch.
For, if it is hard to give up a woman's love, no less painful is the
task to part from the fellowship of the Muses, to declare ourselves
forever undeserving to be of their community, and to forego the fairest
and most immediate kind of approbation, what is openly bestowed on our
person, our voice, and our demeanor.
Thus, then, our friend had long ago entirely resigned himself, and set
about devoting his powers with the greatest zeal to the business of
trade. To the surprise of friends, and to the great contentment of his
father, no one was now more diligent than Wilhelm, on the exchange or in
the counting-house, in the sale-room or the warehouses: correspondence
and calculations, all that was intrusted to his charge, he attended to
and managed with the greatest diligence and zeal. Not, in truth, with
that warm diligence which to the busy man is its own reward, when he
follows with constancy and order the employment he was born for, but
with the silent diligence of duty, which has the best principle for its
foundation; which is nourished by conviction, and rewarded by
conscience; yet which oft, even when the clearest testimony of our minds
is crowning it with approbation, can scarcely repress a struggling sigh.
In this manner he lived for a time, assiduously busied, and at last
persuaded that his former hard trial had been ordained by fate for the
best. He felt glad at having thus been timefully, though somewhat
harshly, warned about the proper path of life; while many are
constrained to expiate more heavily, and at a later age, the
misconceptions into which their youthful inexperience has betrayed them.
For each man commonly defends himself as long as possible from casting
out the idols which he worships in his soul, from acknowledging a master
error, and admitting any truth which brings him to despair.
Determined as he was to abandon his dearest projects, some time was
still necessary to convince him fully of his misfortune. At last,
however, he had so completely succeeded, by irrefragable reasons, in
annihilating every hope of love, or poetical performance, or stage
representation, that he took courage to obliterate entirely all the
traces of his folly,--all that could in any way remind him of it. For
this purpose he had lit a fire in his chamber, one cool evening, and
brought out a little chest of relics, among which were multitudes of
small articles, that, in memorable moments, he had begged or stolen from
Mariana. Each withered flower brought to his mind the time when it
bloomed fresh among her hair; each little note the happy hour to which
it had invited him; each ribbon-knot the lovely resting-place of his
head,--her beautiful bosom. So occupied, was it not to be expected that
each emotion which he thought long since quite dead, should again begin
to move? Was it not to be expected that the passion over which, when
separated from his mistress, he had gained the victory, should, in the
presence of these memorials, again gather strength? We first observe how
dreary and disagreeable an overclouded day is when a single sunbeam
pierces through, and offers to us the exhilarating splendor of a serene
hour.
Accordingly, it was not without disturbance that he saw these relics,
long preserved as sacred, fade away from before him in smoke and flame.
Sometimes he shuddered and hesitated in his task: he had still a pearl
necklace and a flowered neckerchief in his hands, when he resolved to
quicken the decaying fire with the poetical attempts of his youth.
Till now he had carefully laid up whatever had proceeded from his pen,
since the earliest unfolding of his mind. His papers yet lay tied up in
a bundle at the bottom of the chest, where he had packed them; purposing
to take them with him in his elopement. How altogether different were
his feelings now in opening them, and his feelings then in tying them
together!
If we happen, under certain circumstances, to have written and sealed
and despatched a letter to a friend, which, however, does not find him,
but is brought back to us, and we open it at the distance of some
considerable time, a singular emotion is produced in us, on breaking up
our own seal, and conversing with our altered self as with a third
person. A similar and deep feeling seized our friend, as he now opened
this packet, and threw the scattered leaves into the fire; which was
flaming fiercely with its offerings, when Werner entered, expressed his
wonder at the blaze, and asked what was the matter.
"I am now giving proof," said Wilhelm, "that I am serious in abandoning
a trade for which I was not born." And, with these words, he cast the
second packet likewise into the fire. Werner made a motion to prevent
him, but the business was already done.
"I cannot see how thou shouldst bring thyself to such extremities," said
Werner. "Why must these labors, because they are not excellent, be
annihilated?"
"Because either a poem is excellent, or it should not be allowed to
exist. Because each man who has no gift for producing first-rate works,
should entirely abstain from the pursuit of art, and seriously guard
himself against every deception on that subject. For it must be owned,
that in all men there is a certain vague desire to imitate whatever is
presented to them; and such desires do not prove at all that we possess
within us the force necessary for succeeding in these enterprises. Look
at boys, how, whenever any rope-dancers have been visiting the town,
they go scrambling up and down, and balancing on all the planks and
beams within their reach, till some other charm calls them off to other
sports, for which perhaps they are as little suited. Hast thou never
marked it in the circle of our friends? No sooner does a _dilettante_
introduce himself to notice, than numbers of them set themselves to
learn playing on his instrument. How many wander back and forward on
this bootless way! Happy they who soon detect the chasm that lies
between their wishes and their powers!"
Werner contradicted this opinion: their discussion became lively, and
Wilhelm could not without emotion employ against his friend the
arguments with which he had already so frequently tormented himself.
Werner maintained that it was not reasonable wholly to relinquish a
pursuit for which a man had some propensity and talent, merely because
he never could succeed in it to full perfection. There were many vacant
hours, he said, which might be filled up by it; and then by and by some
result might be produced which would yield a certain satisfaction to
himself and others.
Wilhelm, who in this matter was of quite a different opinion, here
interrupted him, and said with great vivacity,--
"How immensely, dear friend, do you err in believing that a work, the
first presentation of which is to fill the whole soul, can be produced
in broken hours scraped together from other extraneous employment. No:
the poet must live wholly for himself, wholly in the objects that
delight him. Heaven has furnished him internally with precious gifts; he
carries in his bosom a treasure that is ever of itself increasing; he
must also live with this treasure, undisturbed from without, in that
still blessedness which the rich seek in vain to purchase with their
accumulated stores. Look at men, how they struggle after happiness and
satisfaction! Their wishes, their toil, their gold, are ever hunting
restlessly,--and after what? After that which the poet has received from
nature,--the right enjoyment of the world, the feeling of himself in
others, the harmonious conjunction of many things that will seldom exist
together.
"What is it that keeps men in continual discontent and agitation? It is,
that they cannot make realities correspond with their conceptions, that
enjoyment steals away from among their hands, that the wished-for comes
too late, and nothing reached and acquired produces on the heart the
effect which their longing for it at a distance led them to anticipate.
Now, fate has exalted the poet above all this, as if he were a god. He
views the conflicting tumult of the passions; sees families and kingdoms
raging in aimless commotion; sees those inexplicable enigmas of
misunderstanding, which frequently a single monosyllable would suffice
to explain, occasioning convulsions unutterably baleful. He has a
fellow-feeling of the mournful and the joyful in the fate of all human
beings. When the man of the world is devoting his days to wasting
melancholy, for some deep disappointment, or, in the ebullience of joy,
is going out to meet his happy destiny, the lightly moved and
all-conceiving spirit of the poet steps forth, like the sun from night
to day, and with soft transitions tunes his harp to joy or woe. From his
heart, its native soil, springs up the lovely flower of wisdom; and if
others, while waking, dream, and are pained with fantastic delusions
from their every sense, he passes the dream of life like one awake; and
the strangest of incidents is to him a part both of the past and of the
future. And thus the poet is at once a teacher, a prophet, a friend of
gods and men. What! thou wouldst have him descend from his height to
some paltry occupation! He who is fashioned like the bird to hover round
the world, to nestle on the lofty summits, to feed on buds and fruits,
exchanging gayly one bough for another, _he_ ought also to work at the
plough like an ox; like a dog to train himself to the harness and
draught; or perhaps, tied up in a chain, to guard a farmyard by his
barking!"
Werner, it may well be supposed, had listened with the greatest
surprise. "All true," he rejoined, "if men were but made like birds,
and, though they neither spun nor weaved, could yet spend peaceful days
in perpetual enjoyment; if, at the approach of winter, they could as
easily betake themselves to distant regions, could retire before
scarcity, and fortify themselves against frost."
"Poets have lived so," exclaimed Wilhelm, "in times when true nobleness
was better reverenced; and so should they ever live! Sufficiently,
provided for within, they had need of little from without: the gift of
communicating lofty emotions and glorious images to men, in melodies and
words that charmed the ear, and fixed themselves inseparably on whatever
objects they referred to, of old enraptured the world, and served the
gifted as a rich inheritance. At the courts of kings, at the tables of
the great, beneath the windows of the fair, the sound of them was heard;
while the ear and the soul were shut for all beside: and men felt as we
do when delight comes over us, and we stop with rapture if, among the
dingles we are crossing, the voice of the nightingale starts out
touching and strong. They found a home in every habitation of the world,
and the lowliness of their condition but exalted them the more. The hero
listened to their songs, and the conqueror of the earth did reverence to
a poet; for he felt, that, without poets, his own wild and vast
existence would pass away like a whirlwind, and be forgotten forever.
The lover wished that he could feel his longings and his joys so
variedly and so harmoniously as the poet's inspired lips had skill to
show them forth; and even the rich man could not of himself discern such
costliness in his idol grandeurs, as when they were presented to him
shining in the splendor of the poet's spirit, sensible to all worth, and
exalting all. Nay, if thou wilt have it, who but the poet was it that
first formed gods for us, that exalted us to them, and brought them down
to us?"
"My friend," said Werner, after some reflection, "it has often grieved
me that thou shouldst strive by force to banish from thy soul what thou
feelest so vividly. I am greatly mistaken, if it were not better for
thee in some degree to yield to these propensities, than to waste
thyself by the contradictions of so hard a piece of self-denial, and
with the enjoyment of this one guiltless pleasure to renounce the
enjoyment of all others."
"Shall I confess it," said the other, "and wilt not thou laugh at me if
I acknowledge, that these ideas pursue me constantly; that, let me flee
from them as I will, when I explore my heart, I find all my early wishes
yet rooted there, firmly,--nay, more firmly than ever? Yet what now
remains for me, wretched as I am? Ah! whoever should have told me that
the arms of my spirit, with which I was grasping at infinity, and hoping
with certainty to clasp something great and glorious, would so soon be
crushed and smote in pieces,--whoever should have told me this, would
have brought me to despair. And yet now, when judgment has been passed
against me; now, when _she_, that was to be as my divinity to guide me
to my wishes, is gone forever,--what remains but that I yield up my soul
to the bitterest woes? O my brother! I will not deceive you: in my
secret purposes, she was as the hook on which the ladder of my hopes was
fixed. See! With daring aim the mountain adventurer hovers in the air:
the iron breaks, and he lies broken and dismembered on the earth. No,
there is no hope, no comfort for me more! I will not," he cried out,
springing to his feet, "leave a single fragment of these wretched papers
from the flames." He then seized one or two packets of them, tore them
up, and threw them into the fire. Werner endeavored to restrain him, but
in vain. "Let me alone!" cried Wilhelm: "what should these miserable
leaves do here? To me they give neither pleasant recollections nor
pleasant hopes. Shall they remain behind to vex me to the end of my
life? Shall they perhaps one day serve the world for a jest, instead of
awakening sympathy and horror? Woe to me! my doom is woe! Now I
comprehend the wailings of the poets, of the wretched whom necessity has
rendered wise. How long did I look upon myself as invulnerable and
invincible; and, alas! I am now made to see that a deep and early sorrow
can never heal, can never pass away: I feel that I shall take it with me
to my grave. No! not a day of my life shall escape this anguish, which
at last must crush me down; and _her_ image too shall stay with me,
shall live and die with me, the image of the worthless,--O my friend! if
I must speak the feeling of my heart,--the perhaps not altogether
worthless! Her situation, the crookedness of her destiny, have a
thousand times excused her in my mind. I have been too cruel; you
steeled me in your own cold unrelenting harshness; you held my wavering
senses captive, and hindered me from doing for myself and her what I
owed to both. Who knows to what a state I may have brought her! my
conscience by degrees presents to me, in all its heaviness, in what
helplessness, in what despair, I may have left her. Was it not possible
that she might clear herself? Was it not possible? How many
misconceptions throw the world into perplexity! how many circumstances
may extort forgiveness for the greatest fault! Often do I figure her as
sitting by herself in silence, leaning on her elbows. 'This,' she says,
'is the faith, the love, he swore to me! With this hard stroke to end
the delicious life which made us one!'" He broke out into a stream of
tears; while he threw himself down with his face upon the table, and
wetted the remaining papers with his weeping.
Werner stood beside him in the deepest perplexity. He had not
anticipated this fierce ebullition of feeling. More than once he had
tried to interrupt his friend, more than once to lead the conversation
elsewhere, but in vain: the current was too strong for him. It remained
that long-suffering friendship should again take up her office. Werner
allowed the first shock of sorrow to pass over, while by his silent
presence he testified a pure and honest sympathy. And thus they both
remained that evening,--Wilhelm sunk in the dull feeling of old sorrows;
and the other terrified at this new outbreaking of a passion which he
thought his prudent councils and keen persuasion had long since mastered
and destroyed.
CHAPTER III.
After such relapses, Wilhelm usually applied himself to business and
activity with augmented ardor; and he found it the best means to escape
the labyrinth into which he had again been tempted to enter. His
attractive way of treating strangers, the ease with which he carried on
a correspondence in any living language, more and more increased the
hopes of his father and his trading-friends, and comforted them in their
sorrow for his sickness,--the origin of which had not been known,--and
for the pause which had thus interrupted their plan. They determined a
second time on Wilhelm's setting out to travel; and we now find him on
horseback, with his saddle-bags behind him, exhilarated by the motion
and the free air, approaching the mountains, where he had some affairs
to settle.
He winded slowly on his path, through dales and over hills, with a
feeling of the greatest satisfaction. Overhanging cliffs, roaring
brooks, moss-grown rocky walls, deep precipices, he here saw for the
first time; yet his earliest dreams of youth had wandered among such
regions. In these scenes he felt his age renewed; all the sorrows he had
undergone were obliterated from his soul; with unbroken cheerfulness he
repeated to himself passages of various poems, particularly of the
"Pastor Fido," which, in these solitary places, flocked in crowds into
his mind. He also recollected many pieces of his own songs, and recited
them with a peculiar contentment. He peopled the world which lay before
him with all the forms of the past, and each step into the future was to
him full of augury of important operations and remarkable events.
Several men, who came behind him in succession, and saluted him as they
passed by to continue their hasty way into the mountains, by steep
footpaths, sometimes interrupted his thoughts without attracting his
attention to themselves. At last a communicative traveller joined him,
and explained the reason of this general pilgrimage.
"At Hochdorf," he said, "there is a play to be acted to-night; and the
whole neighborhood is gathering to see it."
"What!" cried Wilhelm. "In these solitary hills, among these
impenetrable forests, has theatric art sought out a place, and built
herself a temple? And I am journeying to her festivities!"
"You will wonder more," said the other, "when you learn by whom the play
is to be acted. There is in the place a large manufactory, which employs
many people. The proprietor, who lives, so to speak, remote from all
human society, can find no better means of entertaining his workmen
during winter, than allowing them to act plays. He suffers no cards
among them, and wishes also to withdraw them from all coarse rustic
practices. Thus they pass the long evenings; and to-day, being the old
gentleman's birthday, they are giving a particular festival in honor of
him."
Wilhelm came to Hochdorf, where he was to pass the night, and alighted
at the manufactory, the proprietor of which stood as a debtor in his
list.
When he gave his name, the old man cried in a glad surprise, "Aye, sir,
are you the son of that worthy man to whom I owe so many thanks,--so
long have owed money? Your good father has had so much patience with me,
I should be a knave if I did not pay you speedily and cheerfully. You
come at the proper time to see that I am fully in earnest about it."
He then called out his wife, who seemed no less delighted than himself
to see the youth: she declared that he was very like his father, and
lamented, that, having such a multitude of guests already in the house,
she could not lodge him for the night.
The account was clear, and quickly settled: Wilhelm put the roll of gold
into his pocket, and wished that all his other business might go on so
smoothly. At last the play-hour came: they now waited nothing but the
coming of the head forester, who at length also arrived, entered with a
few hunters, and was received with the greatest reverence.
The company was then led into the playhouse, formed out of a barn that
lay close upon the garden. Without any extraordinary taste, both seats
and stage were yet decked out in a cheerful and pretty way. One of the
painters employed in the manufactory had formerly worked as an
understrapper at the prince's theatre: he had now represented woods and
streets and chambers, somewhat rudely, it is true, yet so as to be
recognized for such. The play itself they had borrowed from a strolling
company, and shaped it aright, according to their own ideas. As it was,
it did not fail to yield some entertainment. The plot of two lovers
wishing to carry off a girl from her guardian, and mutually from one
another, produced a great variety of interesting situations. Being the
first play our friend had witnessed for so long a time, it suggested
several reflections to him. It was full of action, but without any true
delineation of character. It pleased and delighted. Such are always the
beginnings of the scenic art. The rude man is contented if he see but
something going on; the man of more refinement must be made to feel; the
man entirely refined, desires to reflect.
The players he would willingly have helped here and there, for a very
little would have made them greatly better.
His silent meditations were somewhat broken in upon by the
tobacco-smoke, which now began to rise in great and greater copiousness.
Soon after the commencement of the play, the head forester had lit his
pipe: by and by others took the same liberty. The large dogs, too, which
followed these gentlemen, introduced themselves in no pleasant style. At
first they had been bolted out; but, soon finding the back-door passage,
they entered on the stage, ran against the actors, and at last, jumping
over the orchestra, joined their masters, who had taken up the front
seats in the pit.
For afterpiece an oblation was represented. A portrait of the old
gentleman in his bridegroom dress stood upon an altar, hung with
garlands. All the players paid their reverence to it in the most
submissive postures. The youngest child came forward dressed in white,
and made a speech in verse; by which the whole family, and even the head
forester himself, whom it brought in mind of his own children, were
melted into tears. Thus ended the play; and Wilhelm could not help
stepping on the stage, to have a closer view of the actresses, to praise
them for their good performance, and give them a little counsel for the
future.
The remaining business, which our friend in the following days had to
transact in various quarters of the hill-country, was not all so
pleasant, or so easy to conclude with satisfaction. Many of his debtors
entreated for delay, many were uncourteous, many lied. In conformity
with his instructions, he had to sue some of them at law; he was thus
obliged to seek out advocates, and give instructions to them, to appear
before judges, and go through many other sorry duties of the same sort.
His case was hardly bettered when people chanced to incline showing some
attention to him. He found very few that could any way instruct him, few
with whom he could hope to establish a useful commercial correspondence.
Unhappily, moreover, the weather now grew rainy; and travelling on
horseback in this district came to be attended with insufferable
difficulties. He therefore thanked his stars on again getting near the
level country; and at the foot of the mountains, looking out into a
fertile and beautiful plain, intersected by a smooth-flowing river, and
seeing a cheerful little town lying on its banks, all glittering in the
sunshine, he resolved, though without any special business in the place,
to pass a day or two there, that he might refresh both himself and his
horse, which the bad roads had considerably injured.
CHAPTER IV.
On alighting at an inn, upon the market-place, he found matters going on
very joyously,--at least very stirringly. A large company of
rope-dancers, leapers, and jugglers, having a strong man along with
them, had just arrived with their wives and children, and, while
preparing for a grand exhibition, kept up a perpetual racket. They first
quarrelled with the landlord, then with one another; and, if their
contention was intolerable, the expressions of their satisfaction were
infinitely more so. Undetermined whether he should go or stay, he was
standing in the door looking at some workmen, who had just begun to
erect a stage in the middle of the square.
A girl with roses and other flowers for sale, coming by, held out her
basket to him, and he purchased a beautiful nosegay; which, like one
that had a taste for these things, he tied up in a different fashion,
and was looking at it with a satisfied air, when the window of another
inn on the opposite side of the square flew open, and a handsome woman
looked out from it. Notwithstanding the distance, he observed that her
face was animated by a pleasant cheerfulness; her fair hair fell
carelessly streaming about her neck; she seemed to be looking at the
stranger. In a short time afterwards, a boy with a white jacket, and a
barber's apron on, came out from the door of her house towards Wilhelm,
saluted him, and said, "The lady at the window bids me ask if you will
not favor her with a share of your beautiful flowers."--"They are all at
her service," answered Wilhelm, giving the nosegay to this nimble
messenger, and making a bow to the fair one, who returned it with a
friendly courtesy, and then withdrew from the window.
Amused with this small adventure, he was going up-stairs to his chamber,
when a young creature sprang against him, and attracted his attention. A
short silk waistcoat with slashed Spanish sleeves, tight trousers with
puffs, looked very pretty on the child. Its long black hair was curled,
and wound in locks and plaits about the head. He looked at the figure
with astonishment, and could not determine whether to take it for a boy
or a girl. However, he decided for the latter: and, as the child ran by,
he took her up in his arms, bade her good-day, and asked her to whom she
belonged; though he easily perceived that she must be a member of the
vaulting and dancing company lately arrived. She viewed him with a dark,
sharp side-look, as she pushed herself out of his arms, and ran into the
kitchen without making any answer.
On coming up-stairs, he found in the large parlor two men practising the
small sword, or seeming rather to make trial which was the better
fencer. One of them plainly enough belonged to the vaulting company: the
other had a somewhat less savage aspect. Wilhelm looked at them, and had
reason to admire them both; and as the black-bearded, sturdy contender
soon afterwards forsook the place of action, the other with extreme
complaisance offered Wilhelm the rapier.
"If you want to take a scholar under your inspection," said our friend,
"I am well content to risk a few passes with you."
Accordingly they fought together; and, although the stranger greatly
overmatched his new competitor, he politely kept declaring that it all
depended upon practice; in fact, Wilhelm, inferior as he was, had made
it evident that he had got his first instructions from a good, solid,
thorough-paced German fencing-master.
Their entertainment was disturbed by the uproar with which the
party-colored brotherhood issued from the inn, to make proclamation of
the show, and awaken a desire to see their art, throughout the town.
Preceded by a drum, the manager advanced on horseback: he was followed
by a female dancer mounted on a corresponding hack, and holding a child
before her, all bedizened with ribbons and spangles. Next came the
remainder of the troop on foot, some of them carrying children on their
shoulders in dangerous postures, yet smoothly and lightly: among these
the young, dark, black-haired figure again attracted Wilhelm's notice.
Pickleherring ran gayly up and down the crowded multitude, distributing
his handbills with much practical fun,--here smacking the lips of a
girl, there breeching a boy, and awakening generally among the people an
invincible desire to know more of him.
On the painted flags, the manifold science of the company was visibly
delineated, particularly of the Monsieur Narciss and the Demoiselle
Landrinette: both of whom, being main characters, had prudently kept
back from the procession, thereby to acquire a more dignified
consideration, and excite a greater curiosity.
During the procession, Wilhelm's fair neighbor had again appeared at the
window; and he did not fail to inquire about her of his new companion.
This person, whom for the present we shall call Laertes, offered to take
Wilhelm over and introduce him. "I and the lady," said he laughing, "are
two fragments of an acting company that made shipwreck here a short
while ago. The pleasantness of the place has induced us to stay in it,
and consume our little stock of cash in peace; while one of our friends
is out seeking some situation for himself and us."
Laertes immediately accompanied his new acquaintance to Philina's door;
where he left him for a moment, and ran to a shop hard by for a few
sweetmeats. "I am sure you will thank me," said he, on returning, "for
procuring you so pleasant an acquaintance."
The lady came out from her room, in a pair of tight little slippers with
high heels, to give them welcome. She had thrown a black mantle over
her, above a white _negligée_, not indeed superstitiously clean; which,
however, for that very reason, gave her a more frank and domestic air.
Her short dress did not hide a pair of the prettiest feet and ankles in
the world.
"You are welcome," she cried to Wilhelm, "and I thank you for your
charming flowers." She led him into her chamber with the one hand,
pressing the nosegay to her breast with the other. Being all seated, and
got into a pleasant train of general talk, to which she had the art of
giving a delightful turn, Laertes threw a handful of gingerbread-nuts
into her lap; and she immediately began to eat them.
"Look what a child this young gallant is!" she said: "he wants to
persuade you that I am fond of such confectionery, and it is himself
that cannot live without licking his lips over something of the kind."
"Let us confess," replied Laertes, "that in this point, as in others,
you and I go hand in hand. For example," he continued, "the weather is
delightful to-day: what if we should take a drive into the country, and
eat our dinner at the Mill?"
"With all my heart," said Philina: "we must give our new acquaintance
some diversion."
Laertes sprang out, for he never walked: and Wilhelm motioned to return
for a minute to his lodgings, to have his hair put in order; for at
present it was all dishevelled with riding. "You can do it here," she
said, then called her little servant, and constrained Wilhelm in the
politest manner to lay off his coat, to throw her powder-mantle over
him, and to have his head dressed in her presence. "We must lose no
time," said she: "who knows how short a while we may all be together?"
The boy, out of sulkiness and ill nature more than want of skill, went
on but indifferently with his task: he pulled the hair with his
implements, and seemed as if he would not soon be done. Philina more
than once reproved him for his blunders, and at last sharply packed him
off, and chased him to the door. She then undertook the business
herself, and frizzled Wilhelm's locks with great dexterity and grace;
though she, too, appeared to be in no exceeding haste, but found always
this and that to improve and put to rights; while at the same time she
could not help touching his knees with hers, and holding her nosegay and
bosom so near his lips, that he was strongly tempted more than once to
imprint a kiss on it.
When Wilhelm had cleaned his brow with a little powder-knife, she said
to him, "Put it in your pocket, and think of me when you see it." It was
a pretty knife: the haft, of inlaid steel, had these friendly words
wrought on it, "Think of me." Wilhelm put it up, and thanked her,
begging permission at the same time to make her a little present in
return.
At last they were in readiness. Laertes had brought round the coach, and
they commenced a very gay excursion. To every beggar, Philina threw out
money from the window; giving along with it a merry and friendly word.
Scarcely had they reached the Mill, and ordered dinner, when a strain of
music struck up before the house. It was some miners singing various
pretty songs, and accompanying their clear and shrill voices with a
cithern and triangle. In a short while the gathering crowd had formed a
ring about them, and our company nodded approbation to them from the
windows. Observing this attention, they expanded their circle, and
seemed making preparation for their grandest piece. After some pause, a
miner stepped forward with a mattock in his hand; and, while the others
played a serious tune, he set himself to represent the action of
digging.
Ere long a peasant came from among the crowd, and, by pantomimic
threats, let the former know that he must cease and remove. Our company
were greatly surprised at this: they did not discover that the peasant
was a miner in disguise, till he opened his mouth, and, in a sort of
recitative, rebuked the other for daring to meddle with his field. The
latter did not lose his composure of mind, but began to inform the
husbandman about his right to break ground there; giving him withal some
primary conceptions of mineralogy. The peasant, not being master of his
foreign terminology, asked all manner of silly questions; whereat the
spectators, as themselves more knowing, set up many a hearty laugh. The
miner endeavored to instruct him, and showed him the advantage, which,
in the long-run, would reach even him, if the deep-lying treasures of
the land were dug out from their secret beds. The peasant, who at first
had threatened his instructor with blows, was gradually pacified; and
they parted good friends at last, though it was the miner chiefly that
got out of this contention with honor.
"In this little dialogue," said Wilhelm, when seated at the table, "we
have a lively proof how useful the theatre might be to all ranks; what
advantage even the state might procure from it, if the occupations,
trades, and undertakings of men were brought upon the stage, and
presented on their praiseworthy side, in that point of view in which the
state itself should honor and protect them. As matters stand, we exhibit
only the ridiculous side of men: the comic poet is, as it were, but a
spiteful tax-gatherer, who keeps a watchful eye over the errors of his
fellow-subjects, and seems gratified when he can fix any charge upon
them. Might it not be a worthy and pleasing task for a statesman to
survey the natural and reciprocal influence of all classes on each
other, and to guide some poet, gifted with sufficient humor, in such
labors as these? In this way, I am persuaded, many very entertaining,
both agreeable and useful, pieces, might be executed."
"So far," said Laertes, "as I, in wandering about the world, have been
able to observe, statesmen are accustomed merely to forbid, to hinder,
to refuse, but very rarely to invite, to further, to reward. They let
all things go along, till some mischief happens: then they get into a
rage, and lay about them."
"A truce with state and statesmen!" said Philina: "I cannot form a
notion of statesmen except in periwigs; and a periwig, wear it who will,
always gives my fingers a spasmodic motion: I could like to pluck it off
the venerable gentleman, to skip up and down the room with it, and laugh
at the bald head."
So, with a few lively songs, which she could sing very beautifully,
Philina cut short their conversation, and urged them to a quick return
homewards, that they might arrive in time for seeing the performance of
the rope-dancers in the evening. On the road back she continued her
lavish generosity, in a style of gayety reaching to extravagance; for at
last, every coin belonging to herself or her companions being spent,
she threw her straw hat from the window to a girl, and her neckerchief
to an old woman, who asked her for alms.
Philina invited both of her attendants to her own apartments, because,
she said, the spectacle could be seen more conveniently from her windows
than from theirs.
On arriving, they found the stage set up, and the background decked with
suspended carpets. The swing-boards were already fastened, the
slack-rope fixed to posts, the tight-rope bound over trestles. The
square was moderately filled with people, and the windows with
spectators of some quality.
Pickleherring, with a few insipidities, at which the lookers-on are
generally kind enough to laugh, first prepared the meeting to attention
and good-humor. Some children, whose bodies were made to exhibit the
strangest contortions, awakened astonishment or horror; and Wilhelm
could not, without the deepest sympathy, see the child he had at the
first glance felt an interest in, go through her fantastic positions
with considerable difficulty. But the merry tumblers soon changed the
feeling into that of lively satisfaction, when they first singly, then
in rows, and at last all together, vaulted up into the air, making
somersets backwards and forwards. A loud clapping of hands and a strong
huzza echoed from the whole assembly.
The general attention was next directed to quite a different object. The
children in succession had to mount the rope,--the learners first, that
by practising they might prolong the spectacle, and show the
difficulties of the art more clearly. Some men and full-grown women
likewise exhibited their skill to moderate advantage; but still there
was no Monsieur Narciss, no Demoiselle Landrinette.
At last this worthy pair came forth: they issued from a kind of tent
with red spread curtains, and, by their agreeable forms and glittering
decorations, fulfilled the hitherto increasing hopes of the spectators.
He, a hearty knave, of middle stature, with black eyes and a strong head
of hair; she, formed with not inferior symmetry,--exhibited themselves
successively upon the rope, with delicate movements, leaping, and
singular postures. Her airy lightness, his audacity; the exactitude with
which they both performed their feats of art,--raised the universal
satisfaction higher at every step and spring. The stateliness with which
they bore themselves, the seeming attentions of the rest to them, gave
them the appearance of king and queen of the whole troop; and all held
them worthy of the rank.
The animation of the people spread to the spectators at the windows: the
ladies looked incessantly at Narciss, the gentlemen at Landrinette. The
populace hurrahed, the more cultivated public could not keep from
clapping of the hands: Pickleherring now could scarcely raise a laugh. A
few, however, slunk away when some members of the troop began to press
through the crowd with their tin plates to collect money.
"They have made their purpose good, I imagine," said Wilhelm to Philina,
who was leaning over the window beside him. "I admire the ingenuity with
which they have turned to advantage even the meanest parts of their
performance: out of the unskilfulness of their children, and
exquisiteness of their chief actors, they have made up a whole which at
first excited our attention, and then gave us very fine entertainment."
The people by degrees dispersed; and the square was again become empty,
while Philina and Laertes were disputing about the forms and the skill
of Narciss and Landrinette, and rallying each other on the subject at
great length. Wilhelm noticed the wonderful child standing on the street
near some other children at play: he showed her to Philina, who, in her
lively way, immediately called and beckoned to the little one, and, this
not succeeding, tripped singing down stairs, and led her up by the hand.
"Here is the enigma," said she, as she brought her to the door. The
child stood upon the threshold, as if she meant again to run off; laid
her right hand on her breast, the left on her brow, and bowed deeply.
"Fear nothing, my little dear," said Wilhelm, rising, and going towards
her. She viewed him with a doubting look, and came a few steps nearer.
"What is thy name?" he asked. "They call me Mignon."--"How old art
thou?"--"No one has counted."--"Who was thy father?"--"The Great Devil
is dead."
"Well! this is singular enough," said Philina. They asked her a few more
questions: she gave her answers in a kind of broken German, and with a
strangely solemn manner; every time laying her hands on her breast and
brow, and bowing deeply.
Wilhelm could not satisfy himself with looking at her. His eyes and his
heart were irresistibly attracted by the mysterious condition of this
being. He reckoned her about twelve or thirteen years of age: her body
was well formed, only her limbs gave promise of a stronger growth, or
else announced a stunted one. Her countenance was not regular, but
striking; her brow full of mystery; her nose extremely beautiful; her
mouth, although it seemed too closely shut for one of her age, and
though she often threw it to a side, had yet an air of frankness, and
was very lovely. Her brownish complexion could scarcely be discerned
through the paint. This form stamped itself deeply in Wilhelm's soul: he
kept looking at her earnestly, and forgot the present scene in the
multitude of his reflections. Philina waked him from his half-dream, by
holding out the remainder of her sweetmeats to the child, and giving her
a sign to go away. She made her little bow as formerly, and darted like
lightning through the door.
As the time drew on when our new friends had to part for the evening,
they planned a fresh excursion for the morrow. They purposed now to have
their dinner at a neighboring _Jägerhaus_. Before taking leave of
Laertes, Wilhelm said many things in Philina's praise, to which the
other made only brief and careless answers.
Next morning, having once more exercised themselves in fencing for an
hour, they went over to Philina's lodging, towards which they had seen
their expected coach passing by. But how surprised was Wilhelm, when the
coach seemed altogether to have vanished; and how much more so, when
Philina was not to be found at home! She had placed herself in the
carriage, they were told, with a couple of strangers who had come that
morning, and was gone with them. Wilhelm had been promising himself some
pleasant entertainment from her company, and could not hide his
irritation. Laertes, on the other hand, but laughed at it, and cried, "I
love her for this: it looks so like herself! Let us, however, go
directly to the _Jägerhaus_: be Philina where she pleases, we will not
lose our promenade on her account."
As Wilhelm, while they walked, continued censuring the inconsistency of
such conduct, Laertes said, "I cannot reckon it inconsistent so long as
one keeps faithful to his character. If this Philina plans you any
thing, or promises you any thing, she does it under the tacit condition
that it shall be quite convenient for her to fulfil her plan, to keep
her promise. She gives willingly, but you must ever hold yourself in
readiness to return her gifts."
"That seems a singular character," said Wilhelm.
"Any thing but singular: only she is not a hypocrite. I like her on that
account. Yes: I am her friend, because she represents the sex so truly,
which I have so much cause to hate. To me she is another genuine Eve,
the great mother of womankind: so are they all, only they will not all
confess it."
With abundance of such talk, in which Laertes very vehemently exhibited
his spleen against the fair sex, without, however, giving any cause for
it, they arrived at the forest; into which Wilhelm entered in no joyful
mood, the speeches of Laertes having again revived in him the memory of
his relation to Mariana. Not far from a shady well, among some old and
noble trees, they found Philina sitting by herself at a stone table.
Seeing them, she struck up a merry song; and, when Laertes asked for her
companions, she cried out, "I have already cozened them: I have already
had my laugh at them, and sent them a-travelling, as they deserved. By
the way hither I had put to proof their liberality; and, finding that
they were a couple of your close-fisted gentry, I immediately determined
to have amends of them. On arriving at the inn, they asked the waiter
what was to be had. He, with his customary glibness of tongue, reckoned
over all that could be found in the house, and more than could be found.
I noticed their perplexity: they looked at one another, stammered, and
inquired about the cost. "What is the use of all this studying?" said I.
"The table is the lady's business: allow me to manage it." I immediately
began ordering a most unconscionable dinner, for which many necessary
articles would require to be sent for from the neighborhood. The waiter,
of whom, by a wry mouth or two, I had made a confidant, at last helped
me out; and so, by the image of a sumptuous feast, we tortured them to
such a degree that they fairly determined on having a walk in the
forest, from which I imagine we shall look with clear eyes if we see
them come again. I have laughed a quarter of an hour for my own behoof;
I shall laugh forever when I think of the looks they had." At table,
Laertes told of similar adventures: they got into the track of
recounting ludicrous stories, mistakes, and dexterous cheats.
A young man of their acquaintance, from the town, came gliding through
the wood with a book in his hand: he sat down by them, and began
praising the beauty of the place. He directed their attention to the
murmuring of the brook, to the waving of the boughs, to the checkered
lights and shadows, and the music of the birds. Philina commenced a
little song of the cuckoo, which did not seem at all to exhilarate the
man of taste: he very soon made his compliments, and went on.
"Oh that I might never hear more of nature, and scenes of nature!" cried
Philina, so soon as he was gone: "there is nothing in the world more
intolerable than to hear people reckon up the pleasures you enjoy. When
the day is bright you go to walk, as to dance when you hear a tune
played. But who would think a moment on the music or the weather? It is
the dancer that interests us, not the violin; and to look upon a pair of
bright black eyes is the life of a pair of blue ones. But what on earth
have we to do with wells and brooks, and old rotten lindens?" She was
sitting opposite to Wilhelm; and, while speaking so, she looked into his
eyes with a glance which he could not hinder from piercing at least to
the very door of his heart.
"You are right," replied he, not without embarrassment: "man is ever the
most interesting object to man, and perhaps should be the only one that
interests. Whatever else surrounds us is but the element in which we
live, or else the instrument which we employ. The more we devote
ourselves to such things, the more we attend to and feel concern in
them, the weaker will our sense of our own dignity become, the weaker
our feelings for society. Men who put a great value on gardens,
buildings, clothes, ornaments, or any other sort of property, grow less
social and pleasant: they lose sight of their brethren, whom very few
can succeed in collecting about them and entertaining. Have you not
observed it on the stage? A good actor makes us very soon forget the
awkwardness and meanness of paltry decorations, but a splendid theatre
is the very thing which first makes us truly feel the want of proper
actors."
After dinner Philina sat down among the long, overshaded grass, and
commanded both her friends to fetch her flowers in great quantities. She
wreathed a complete garland, and put it round her head: it made her look
extremely charming. The flowers were still sufficient for another: this,
too, she plaited, while both the young men sat beside her. When, at
last, amid infinite mirth and sportfulness, it was completed, she
pressed it on Wilhelm's head with the greatest dignity, and shifted the
posture of it more than once, till it seemed to her properly adjusted.
"And I, it appears, must go empty," said Laertes.
"Not by any means: you shall not have reason to complain," replied
Philina, taking off the garland from her own head, and putting it on
his.
"If we were rivals," said Laertes, "we might now dispute very warmly
which of us stood higher in thy favor."
"And the more fools you," said she, while she bent herself towards him,
and offered him her lips to kiss; and then immediately turned round,
threw her arm about Wilhelm, and bestowed a kind salute on him also.
"Which of them tastes best?" said she archly.
"Surprisingly!" exclaimed Laertes: "it seems as if nothing else had ever
such a tang of wormwood in it."
"As little wormwood," she replied, "as any gift that a man may enjoy
without envy and without conceit. But now," cried she, "I should like to
have an hour's dancing; and after that we must look to our vaulters."
Accordingly, they went into the house, and there found music in
readiness. Philina was a beautiful dancer: she animated both her
companions. Nor was Wilhelm without skill; but he wanted careful
practice, a defect which his two friends voluntarily took charge of
remedying.
In these amusements the time passed on insensibly. It was already late
when they returned. The rope-dancers had commenced their operations. A
multitude of people had again assembled in the square; and our friends,
on alighting, were struck by the appearance of a tumult in the crowd,
occasioned by a throng of men rushing towards the door of the inn, which
Wilhelm had now turned his face to. He sprang forward to see what it
was; and, pressing through the people, he was struck with horror to
observe the master of the rope-dancing company dragging poor Mignon by
the hair out of the house, and unmercifully beating her little body with
the handle of a whip.
Wilhelm darted on the man like lightning, and seized him by the collar.
"Quit the child!" he cried, in a furious tone, "or one of us shall never
leave this spot!" and, so speaking, he grasped the fellow by the throat
with a force which only rage could have lent him. The showman, on the
point of choking, let go the child, and endeavored to defend himself
against his new assailant. But some people, who had felt compassion for
Mignon, yet had not dared to begin a quarrel for her, now laid hold of
the rope-dancer, wrenched his whip away, and threatened him with great
fierceness and abuse. Being now reduced to the weapons of his mouth, he
began bullying, and cursing horribly. The lazy, worthless urchin, he
said, would not do her duty; refused to perform the egg-dance, which he
had promised to the public; he would beat her to death, and no one
should hinder him. He tried to get loose, and seek the child, who had
crept away among the crowd. Wilhelm held him back, and said sternly,
"You shall neither see nor touch her, till you have explained before a
magistrate where you stole her. I will pursue you to every extremity.
You shall not escape me." These words, which Wilhelm uttered in heat,
without thought or purpose, out of some vague feeling, or, if you will,
out of inspiration, soon brought the raging showman to composure. "What
have I to do with the useless brat?" cried he. "Pay me what her clothes
cost, and make of her what you please. We shall settle it to-night."
And, being liberated, he made haste to resume his interrupted
operations, and to calm the irritation of the public by some striking
displays of his craft.
As soon as all was still again, Wilhelm commenced a search for Mignon,
whom, however, he could nowhere find. Some said they had seen her on the
street, others on the roofs of the adjoining houses; but, after seeking
unsuccessfully in all quarters, he was forced to content himself, and
wait to see if she would not again turn up of herself.
In the mean time, Narciss had come into the house; and Wilhelm set to
question him about the birthplace and history of the child. Monsieur
Narciss knew nothing about these things, for he had not long been in the
company; but in return he recited, with much volubility and levity,
various particulars of his own fortune. Upon Wilhelm's wishing him joy
of the great approbation he had gained, Narciss expressed himself as if
exceedingly indifferent on that point. "People laugh at us," he said,
"and admire our feats of skill; but their admiration does nothing for
us. The master has to pay us, and may raise the funds where he pleases."
He then took his leave, and was setting off in great haste.
At the question, whither he was bent so fast, the dog gave a smile, and
admitted that his figure and talents had acquired for him a more solid
species of favor than the huzzaing of the multitude. He had been invited
by some young ladies, who desired much to become acquainted with him;
and he was afraid it would be midnight before he could get all his
visits over. He proceeded with the greatest candor to detail his
adventures. He would have given the names of his patronesses, their
streets and houses, had not Wilhelm waived such indiscretion, and
politely dismissed him.
Laertes had meanwhile been entertaining Landrinette: he declared that
she was fully worthy to be and to remain a woman.
Our friend next proceeded to his bargain with the showman for Mignon.
Thirty crowns was the price set upon her; and for this sum the
black-bearded, hot Italian entirely surrendered all his claims: but of
her history or parentage he would discover nothing, only that she had
fallen into his hands at the death of his brother, who, by reason of his
admirable skill, had usually been named the "Great Devil."
Next morning was chiefly spent in searching for the child. It was in
vain that they rummaged every hole and corner of the house and
neighborhood: the child had vanished; and Wilhelm was afraid she might
have leaped into some pool of water, or destroyed herself in some other
way.
Philina's charms could not divert his inquietude. He passed a dreary,
thoughtful day. Nor at evening could the utmost efforts of the tumblers
and dancers, exerting all their powers to gratify the public, divert the
current of his thoughts, or clear away the clouds from his mind.
By the concourse of people flocking from all places round, the numbers
had greatly increased on this occasion: the general approbation was like
a snowball rolling itself into a monstrous size. The feat of leaping
over swords, and through the cask with paper ends, made a great
sensation.
The strong man, too, produced a universal feeling of mingled
astonishment and horror, when he laid his head and feet on a couple of
separate stools, and then allowed some sturdy smiths to place a stithy
on the unsupported part of his body, and hammer a horseshoe till it was
completely made by means of it.
The Hercules' Strength, as they called it, was a no less wonderful
affair. A row of men stood up; then another row, upon their shoulders;
then women and young lads, supported in like manner on the second row;
so that finally a living pyramid was formed; the peak being ornamented
by a child, placed on its head, and dressed out in the shape of a ball
and weather-vane. Such a sight, never witnessed in those parts before,
gave a worthy termination to the whole performance. Narciss and
Landrinette were then borne in litters, on the shoulders of the rest,
along the chief streets of the town, amid the triumphant shouts of the
people. Ribbons, nosegays, silks, were thrown upon them: all pressed to
get a sight of them. Each thought himself happy if he could behold them,
and be honored with a look of theirs.
"What actor, what author, nay, what man of any class, would not regard
himself as on the summit of his wishes, could he, by a noble saying or a
worthy action, produce so universal an impression? What a precious
emotion would it give, if one could disseminate generous, exalted, manly
feelings with electric force and speed, and rouse assembled thousands
into such rapture, as these people, by their bodily alertness, have
done! If one could communicate to thronging multitudes a fellow-feeling
in all that belongs to man, by the portraying of happiness and misery,
of wisdom and folly, nay, of absurdity and silliness; could kindle and
thrill their inmost souls, and set their stagnant nature into movement,
free, vehement, and pure!" So said our friend; and, as neither Laertes
nor Philina showed any disposition to take part in such a strain, he
entertained himself with these darling speculations, walking up and down
the streets till late at night, and again pursuing, with all the force
and vivacity of a liberated imagination, his old desire to have all that
was good and noble and great embodied and shown forth by the theatric
art.
CHAPTER V.
Next morning, the rope-dancers, not without much parade and bustle,
having gone away, Mignon immediately appeared, and came into the parlor
as Wilhelm and Laertes were busy fencing. "Where hast thou been hid?"
said Wilhelm, in a friendly tone. "Thou hast given us a great deal of
anxiety." The child looked at him, and answered nothing. "Thou art ours
now," cried Laertes: "we have bought thee."--"For how much?" inquired
the child quite coolly. "For a hundred ducats," said the other: "pay
them again, and thou art free."--"Is that very much?" she asked. "Oh,
yes! thou must now be a good child."--"I will try," she said.
From that moment she observed strictly what services the waiter had to
do for both her friends; and, after next day, she would not any more let
him enter the room. She persisted in doing every thing herself, and
accordingly went through her duties, slowly, indeed, and sometimes
awkwardly, yet completely, and with the greatest care.
She was frequently observed going to a basin of water, and washing her
face with such diligence and violence, that she almost wore the skin
from her cheeks; till Laertes, by dint of questions and reproofs,
learned that she was striving by all means to get the paint from her
skin, and that, in her zealous endeavors towards this object, she had
mistaken the redness produced by rubbing for the most obdurate dye. They
set her right on this point, and she ceased her efforts; after which,
having come again to her natural state, she exhibited a fine brown
complexion, beautiful, though sparingly intermingled with red.
The siren charms of Philina, the mysterious presence of the child,
produced more impression on our friend than he liked to confess:
he passed several days in that strange society, endeavoring to
elude self-reproaches by a diligent practice of fencing and
dancing,--accomplishments which he believed might not again be put
within his reach so conveniently.
It was with great surprise, and not without a certain satisfaction, that
he one day observed Herr Melina and his wife alight at the inn. After
the first glad salutation, they inquired about "the lady-manager and the
other actors," and learned, with astonishment and terror, that the
lady-manager had long since gone away, and her actors, to a very few,
dispersed themselves about the country.
This couple, subsequently to their marriage, in which, as we know, our
friend did his best to serve them, had been travelling about in various
quarters, seeking an engagement, without finding any, and had at last
been directed to this little town by some persons who met them on their
journey, and said there was a good theatre in the place.
Melina by no means pleased the lively Laertes, when introduced to him,
any more than his wife did Philina. Both heartily wished to be rid of
these new-comers; and Wilhelm could inspire them with no favorable
feelings on the subject, though he more than once assured them that the
Melinas were very worthy people.
Indeed, the previous merry life of our three adventurers was interfered
with by this extension of their society, in more ways than one. Melina
had taken up his quarters in the inn where Philina staid, and he very
soon began a system of cheapening and higgling. He would have better
lodging, more sumptuous diet, and readier attendance, for a smaller
charge. In a short while, the landlord and waiter showed very rueful
looks; for whereas the others, to get pleasantly along, had expressed no
discontent with any thing, and paid instantly, that they might avoid
thinking longer of payment, Melina now insisted on regulating every
meal, and investigating its contents beforehand,--a species of service
for which Philina named him, without scruple, a ruminating animal.
Yet more did the merry girl hate Melina's wife. Frau Melina was a young
woman not without culture, but wofully defective in soul and spirit. She
could declaim not badly, and kept declaiming constantly; but it was easy
to observe that her performances were little more than recitations of
words. She labored a few detached passages, but never could express the
feeling of the whole. Withal, however, she was seldom disagreeable to
any one, especially to men. On the contrary, people who enjoyed her
acquaintance commonly ascribed to her a fine understanding; for she was
what might be called a kind of _spiritual chameleon_, or _taker-on_. Any
friend whose favor she had need of she could flatter with peculiar
adroitness, could give in to his ideas so long as she could understand
them, and, when they went beyond her own horizon, could hail with
ecstasy such new and brilliant visions. She understood well when to
speak and when to keep silence; and, though her disposition was not
spiteful, she could spy out with great expertness where another's weak
side lay.
CHAPTER VI.
Melina, in the mean time, had been making strict inquiry about the
wrecks of the late theatrical establishment. The wardrobe, as well as
decorations, had been pawned with some traders; and a notary had been
empowered, under certain conditions, to dispose of them by sale, should
purchasers occur. Melina wished to see this ware, and he took Wilhelm
with him. No sooner was the room opened, than our friend felt towards
its contents a kind of inclination, which he would not confess to
himself. Sad as was the state of the blotched and tarnished decorations;
little showy as the Turkish and pagan garments, the old farce-coats for
men and women, the cowls for enchanters, priests, and Jews, might
be,--he was not able to exclude the feeling, that the happiest moments
of his life had been spent in a similar magazine of frippery. Could
Melina have seen into his heart, he would have urged him more pressingly
to lay out a sum of money in liberating these scattered fragments, in
furbishing them up, and again combining them into a beautiful whole.
"What a happy man could I be," cried Melina, "had I but two hundred
crowns, to get into my hands, for a beginning, these fundamental
necessaries of a theatre! How soon should I get up a little playhouse,
that would draw contributions from the town and neighborhood, and
maintain us all!" Wilhelm was silent. They left these treasures of the
stage to be again locked up, and both went away in a reflective mood.
Thenceforth Melina talked of nothing else but projects and plans for
setting up a theatre, and gaining profit by it. He tried to interest
Philina and Laertes in his schemes; and proposals were made to Wilhelm
about advancing money, and taking them as his security. On this
occasion, Wilhelm first clearly perceived that he was lingering too long
here: he excused himself, and set about making preparations for
departure.
In the mean time, Mignon's form, and manner of existence, were growing
more attractive to him every day. In her whole system of proceedings
there was something very singular. She never walked up or down the
stairs, but jumped. She would spring along by the railing, and before
you were aware would be sitting quietly above upon the landing. Wilhelm
had observed, also, that she had a different sort of salutation for each
individual. For himself, it had of late been with her arms crossed upon
her breast. Often for the whole day she was mute. At times she answered
various questions more freely, yet always strangely: so that you could
not determine whether it was caused by shrewd sense, or ignorance of the
language; for she spoke in broken German interlaced with French and
Italian. In Wilhelm's service she was indefatigable, and up before the
sun. On the other hand, she vanished early in the evening, went to
sleep in a little room upon the bare floor, and could not by any means
be induced to take a bed or even a _paillasse_. He often found her
washing herself. Her clothes, too, were kept scrupulously clean; though
nearly all about her was quilted two or three plies thick. Wilhelm was
moreover told, that she went every morning early to hear mass. He
followed her on one occasion, and saw her kneeling down with a rosary in
a corner of the church, and praying devoutly. She did not observe him;
and he returned home, forming many a conjecture about this appearance,
yet unable to arrive at any probable conclusion.
A new application from Melina for a sum of money to redeem the
often-mentioned stage apparatus caused Wilhelm to think more seriously
than ever about setting off. He proposed writing to his people, who for
a long time had heard no tidings of him, by the very earliest post. He
accordingly commenced a letter to Werner, and had advanced a
considerable way with the history of his adventures, in recounting which
he had more than once unintentionally swerved a little from the truth,
when, to his vexation and surprise, he observed, upon the back of his
sheet, some verses which he had been copying from his album for Madam
Melina. Out of humor at this mistake, he tore the paper in pieces, and
put off repeating his confession till the next post-day.
CHAPTER VII.
Our party was now again collected; and Philina, who always kept a sharp
lookout on every horse or carriage that passed by, exclaimed with great
eagerness, "Our Pedant! Here comes our dearest Pedant! Who the deuce is
it he has with him?" Speaking thus, she beckoned at the window; and the
vehicle drew up.
A woful-looking genius, whom by his shabby coat of grayish brown, and
his ill-conditioned lower garments, you must have taken for some
unprosperous preceptor, of the sort that moulder in our universities,
now descended from the carriage, and, taking off his hat to salute
Philina, discovered an ill-powdered, but yet very stiff, periwig; while
Philina threw a hundred kisses of the hand towards him.
As Philina's chief enjoyment lay in loving one class of men, and being
loved by them; so there was a second and hardly inferior satisfaction,
wherewith she entertained herself as frequently as possible; and this
consisted in hoodwinking and passing jokes upon the other class, whom at
such moments she happened not to love,--all which she could accomplish
in a very sprightly style.
Amid the flourish which she made in receiving this old friend, no
attention was bestowed upon the rest who followed him. Yet among the
party were an oldish man and two young girls, whom Wilhelm thought he
knew. Accordingly it turned out, that he had often seen them all, some
years ago, in a company then playing in his native town. The daughters
had grown since that period: the old man was a little altered. He
commonly enacted those good-hearted, boisterous old gentlemen, whom the
German theatre is never without, and whom, in common life, one also
frequently enough falls in with. For as it is the character of our
countrymen to do good, and cause it, without pomp or circumstance; so
they seldom consider that there is likewise a mode of doing what is
right with grace and dignity: more frequently, indeed, they yield to the
spirit of contradiction, and fall into the error of deforming their
dearest virtue by a surly mode of putting it in practice.
Such parts our actor could play very well; and he played them so often
and exclusively, that he had himself taken up the same turn of
proceeding in his ordinary life.
On recognizing him, Wilhelm was seized with a strong commotion; for he
recollected how often he had seen this man on the stage with his beloved
Mariana: he still heard him scolding, still heard the small, soothing
voice, with which in many characters she had to meet his rugged temper.
The first anxious question put to the strangers,--Whether they had heard
of any situation in their travels?--was answered, alas, with No! and, to
complete the information, it was further added, that all the companies
they had fallen in with were not only supplied with actors, but many of
them were afraid lest, on account of the approaching war, they should be
forced to separate. Old Boisterous, with his daughters, moved by spleen
and love of change, had given up an advantageous engagement: then,
meeting with the Pedant by the way, they had hired a carriage to come
hither; where, as they found, good counsel was still dear, needful to
have, and difficult to get.
The time while the rest were talking very keenly of their circumstances,
Wilhelm spent in thought. He longed to speak in private with the old
man: he wished and feared to hear of Mariana, and felt the greatest
disquietude.
The pretty looks of the stranger damsels could not call him from his
dream; but a war of words, which now arose, awakened his attention. It
was Friedrich, the fair-haired boy who used to attend Philina,
stubbornly refusing, on this occasion, to cover the table and bring up
dinner. "I engaged to serve you," he cried, "but not to wait on
everybody." They fell into a hot contest. Philina insisted that he
should do his duty; and, as he obstinately refused, she told him plainly
he might go about his business.
"You think, perhaps, I cannot leave you!" cried he sturdily, then went
to pack up his bundle, and soon hastily quitted the house.
"Go, Mignon," said Philina, "and get us what we want; tell the waiter,
and help him to attend us."
Mignon came before Wilhelm, and asked in her laconic way, "Shall I? May
I?" To which Wilhelm answered, "Do all the lady bids thee, child."
She accordingly took charge of every thing, and waited on the guests the
whole evening, with the utmost carefulness. After dinner, Wilhelm
proposed to have a walk with the old man alone. Succeeding in this,
after many questions about his late wanderings, the conversation turned
upon the former company; and Wilhelm hazarded a question touching
Mariana.
"Do not speak to me of that despicable creature!" cried the old man: "I
have sworn to think of her no more." Terrified at this speech, Wilhelm
felt still more embarrassed, as the old man proceeded to vituperate her
fickleness and wantonness. Most gladly would our friend have broken off
the conversation, but now it was impossible: he was obliged to undergo
the whole tumultuous effusions of this strange old gentleman.
"I am ashamed," continued he, "that I felt such a friendship for her.
Yet, had you known the girl better, you would excuse me. She was so
pretty, so natural and good, so pleasing, in every sense so tolerable, I
could never have supposed that ingratitude and impudence were to prove
the chief features of her character."
Wilhelm had nerved himself to hear the worst of her; when all at once he
observed, with astonishment, that the old man's tones grew milder, his
voice faltered, and he took out his handkerchief to dry the tears, which
at last began to trickle down his cheeks.
"What is the matter with you?" cried Wilhelm. "What is it that suddenly
so changes the current of your feelings? Conceal it not from me. I take
a deeper interest in the fate of this girl than you suppose. Only tell
me all."
"I have not much to say," replied the old man, again taking up his
earnest, angry tone. "I have suffered more from her than I shall ever
forgive. She had always a kind of trust in me. I loved her as my own
daughter; indeed, while my wife lived, I had formed a resolution to take
the creature to my own house, and save her from the hands of that old
crone, from whose guidance I boded no good. But my wife died, and the
project went to nothing.
"About the end of our stay in your native town,--it is not quite three
years ago,--I noticed a visible sadness about her. I questioned her,
but she evaded me. At last we set out on our journey. She travelled in
the same coach with me; and I soon observed, what she herself did not
long deny, that she was with child, and suffering the greatest terror
lest our manager might turn her off. In fact, in a short while he did
make the discovery; immediately threw up her contract, which at any rate
was only for six weeks; paid off her arrears; and, in spite of all
entreaties, left her behind, in the miserable inn of a little village.
"Devil take all wanton jilts!" cried the old man, with a splenetic tone,
"and especially this one, that has spoiled me so many hours of my life!
Why should I keep talking how I myself took charge of her, what I did
for her, what I spent on her, how in absence I provided for her? I would
rather throw my purse into the ditch, and spend my time in nursing mangy
whelps, than ever more bestow the smallest care on such a thing. Pshaw!
At first I got letters of thanks, notice of places she was staying at;
and, finally, no word at all,--not even an acknowledgment for the money
I had sent to pay the expenses of her lying-in. Oh! the treachery and
the fickleness of women are rightly matched, to get a comfortable living
for themselves, and to give an honest fellow many heavy hours."
CHAPTER VIII.
Wilhelm's feelings, on returning home after this conversation, may be
easily conceived. All his old wounds had been torn up afresh, and the
sentiment that Mariana was not wholly unworthy of his love had again
been brought to life. The interest the old man had shown about her fate,
the praises he gave her against his will, displayed her again in all her
attractiveness. Nay, even the bitter accusations brought against her
contained nothing that could lower her in Wilhelm's estimation; for he,
as well as she, was guilty in all her aberrations. Nor did even her
final silence seem greatly blamable: it rather inspired him with
mournful thoughts. He saw her as a frail, ill-succored mother, wandering
helplessly about the world,--wandering, perhaps, with his own child.
What he knew, and what he knew not, awoke in him the painfullest
emotions.
Mignon had been waiting for him: she lighted him up stairs. On setting
down the light, she begged he would allow her, that evening, to
compliment him with a piece of her art. He would rather have declined
this, particularly as he knew not what it was; but he had not the heart
to refuse any thing this kind creature wished. After a little while she
again came in. She carried below her arm a little carpet, which she then
spread out upon the floor. Wilhelm said she might proceed. She thereupon
brought four candles, and placed one upon each corner of the carpet. A
little basket of eggs, which she next carried in, made her purpose
clearer. Carefully measuring her steps, she then walked to and fro on
the carpet, spreading out the eggs in certain figures and positions;
which done, she called in a man that was waiting in the house, and could
play on the violin. He retired with his instrument into a corner: she
tied a band about her eyes, gave a signal; and, like a piece of
wheel-work set a-going, she began moving the same instant as the music,
accompanying her beats and the notes of the tune with the strokes of a
pair of castanets.
Lightly, nimbly, quickly, and with hair's-breadth accuracy, she carried
on the dance. She skipped so sharply and surely along between the eggs,
and trod so closely down beside them, that you would have thought every
instant she must trample one of them in pieces, or kick the rest away in
her rapid turns. By no means! She touched no one of them, though
winding herself through their mazes with all kinds of steps, wide and
narrow, nay, even with leaps, and at last half kneeling.
Constant as the movement of a clock, she ran her course; and the strange
music, at each repetition of the tune, gave a new impulse to the dance,
recommencing and again rushing off as at first. Wilhelm was quite led
away by this singular spectacle; he forgot his cares; he followed every
movement of the dear little creature, and felt surprised to see how
finely her character unfolded itself as she proceeded in the dance.
Rigid, sharp, cold, vehement, and in soft postures, stately rather than
attractive,--such was the light in which it showed her. At this moment
he experienced at once all the emotions he had ever felt for Mignon. He
longed to incorporate this forsaken being with his own heart, to take
her in his arms, and with a father's love to awaken in her the joy of
existence.
The dance being ended, she rolled the eggs together softly with her foot
into a little heap, left none behind, harmed none; then placed herself
beside it, taking the bandage from her eyes, and concluding her
performance with a little bow.
Wilhelm thanked her for having executed, so prettily and unexpectedly, a
dance he had long wished to see. He patted her; was sorry she had tired
herself so much. He promised her a new suit of clothes; to which she
vehemently replied, "Thy color!" This, too, he promised her, though not
well knowing what she meant by it. She then lifted up the eggs, took the
carpet under her arm, asked if he wanted any thing further, and skipped
out of the room.
The musician, being questioned, said, that for some time she had taken
much trouble in often singing over the tune of this dance, the
well-known fandango, to him, and training him till he could play it
accurately. For his labor she had likewise offered him some money;
which, however, he would not accept.
CHAPTER IX.
After a restless night, which our friend spent, sometimes waking,
sometimes oppressed with unpleasant dreams, seeing Mariana now in all
her beauty, now in woful case, at one time with a child on her arm,
then soon bereaved of it, the morning had scarcely dawned, when Mignon
entered with a tailor. She brought some gray cloth and blue taffeta;
signifying in her own way that she wished to have a new jacket and
sailor's trousers, such as she had seen the boys of the town wear, with
blue cuffs and tiers.
Since the loss of Mariana, Wilhelm had laid aside all gay colors. He had
used himself to gray,--the garment of the shades; and only perhaps a
sky-blue lining, or little collar of that dye, in some degree enlivened
his sober garb. Mignon, eager to wear his colors, hurried on the tailor,
who engaged to have his work soon ready.
The exercise in dancing and fencing, which our friend took this day with
Laertes, did not prosper in their hands. Indeed, it was soon interrupted
by Melina, who came to show them circumstantially how a little company
was now of itself collected, sufficient to exhibit plays in abundance.
He renewed the proposal that Wilhelm should advance a little money for
setting them in motion; which, however, Wilhelm still declined.
Ere long Philina and the girls came in, racketing and laughing as usual.
They had now devised a fresh excursion, for change of place and objects
was a pleasure after which they always longed. To eat daily in a
different spot was their highest wish. On this occasion they proposed a
sail.
The boat in which they were to fall down the pleasant windings of the
river had already been engaged by the Pedant. Philina urged them on: the
party did not linger, and were soon on board.
"What shall we take to now?" said Philina, when all had placed
themselves upon the benches.
"The readiest thing," replied Laertes, "were for us to extemporize a
play. Let each take a part that suits his character, and we shall see
how we get along."
"Excellent!" said Wilhelm. "In a society where there is no
dissimulation, but where each without disguise pursues the bent of his
own humor, elegance and satisfaction cannot long continue; and, where
dissimulation always reigns, they do not enter at all. It will not be
amiss, then, that we take up dissimulation to begin with, and then,
behind our masks, be as candid as we please."
"Yes," said Laertes: "it is on this account that one goes on so
pleasantly with women; they never show themselves in their natural
form."
"That is to say," replied Madam Melina, "they are not so vain as men,
who conceive themselves to be always amiable enough, just as nature has
produced them."
In the mean time the river led them between pleasant groves and hills,
between gardens and vineyards; and the young women, especially Madam
Melina, expressed their rapture at the landscape. The latter even began
to recite, in solemn style, a pretty poem of the descriptive sort, upon
a similar scene of nature; but Philina interrupted her with the proposal
of a law, that no one should presume to speak of any inanimate object.
On the other hand, she zealously urged on their project of an extempore
play. Old Boisterous was to be a half-pay officer; Laertes a
fencing-master, taking his vacation; the Pedant, a Jew; she herself
would act a Tyrolese; leaving to the rest to choose characters according
to their several pleasures. They would suppose themselves to be a party
of total strangers to each other, who had just met on board a
merchant-ship.
She immediately began to play her part with the Jew, and a universal
cheerfulness diffused itself among them.
They had not sailed far, when the skipper stopped in his course, asking
permission of the company to take in a person standing on the shore, who
had made a sign to him.
"That is just what we needed," cried Philina: "a chance passenger was
wanting to complete the travelling-party."
A handsome man came on board; whom, by his dress and his dignified mien,
you might have taken for a clergyman. He saluted the party, who thanked
him in their own way, and soon made known to him the nature of their
game. The stranger immediately engaged to act the part of a country
parson; which, in fact, he accomplished in the adroitest manner, to the
admiration of all,--now admonishing, now telling stories, showing some
weak points, yet never losing their respect.
In the mean time, every one who had made a false step in his part, or
swerved from his character, had been obliged to forfeit a pledge:
Philina had gathered them with the greatest care, and especially
threatened the reverend gentleman with many kisses; though he himself
had never been at fault. Melina, on the other hand, was completely
fleeced: shirt-buttons, buckles, every movable about his person, was in
Philina's hands. He was trying to enact an English traveller, and could
not by any means get into the spirit of his part.
Meanwhile the time had passed away very pleasantly. Each had strained
his fancy and his wit to the utmost, and each had garnished his part
with agreeable and entertaining jests. Thus comfortably occupied, they
reached the place where they meant to pass the day; and Wilhelm, going
out to walk with the clergyman, as both from his appearance and late
character he persisted in naming him, soon fell into an interesting
conversation.
"I think this practice," said the stranger, "very useful among actors,
and even in the company of friends and acquaintances. It is the best
mode of drawing men out of themselves, and leading them, by a circuitous
path, back into themselves again. It should be a custom with every troop
of players to practice in this manner: and the public would assuredly be
no loser if every month an unwritten piece were brought forward; in
which, of course, the players had prepared themselves by several
rehearsals."
"One should not, then," replied our friend, "consider an extempore piece
as, strictly speaking, composed on the spur of the moment, but as a
piece, of which the plan, action, and division of the scenes were given;
the filling up of all this being left to the player."
"Quite right," said the stranger; "and, in regard to this very filling
up, such a piece, were the players once trained to these performances,
would profit greatly. Not in regard to the mere words, it is true; for,
by a careful selection of these, the studious writer may certainly adorn
his work; but in regard to the gestures, looks, exclamations, and every
thing of that nature; in short, to the mute and half-mute play of the
dialogue, which seems by degrees fading away among us altogether. There
are indeed some players in Germany whose bodies figure what they think
and feel; who by their silence, their delays, their looks, their slight,
graceful movements, can prepare the audience for a speech, and, by a
pleasant sort of pantomime, combine the pauses of the dialogue with the
general whole; but such a practice as this, co-operating with a happy
natural turn, and training it to compete with the author, is far from
being so habitual as, for the comfort of play-going people, were to be
desired."
"But will not a happy natural turn," said Wilhelm, "as the first and
last requisite, of itself conduct the player, like every other
artist,--nay, perhaps every other man,--to the lofty mark he aims at?"
"The first and the last, the beginning and the end, it may well be; but,
in the middle, many things will still be wanting to an artist, if
instruction, and early instruction too, have not previously made that of
him which he was meant to be: and perhaps for the man of genius it is
worse in this respect than for the man possessed of only common
capabilities; the one may much more easily be misinstructed, and be
driven far more violently into false courses, than the other."
"But," said Wilhelm, "will not genius save itself, not heal the wounds
which itself has inflicted?"
"Only to a very small extent, and with great difficulty," said the
other, "or perhaps not at all. Let no one think that he can conquer the
first impressions of his youth. If he has grown up in enviable freedom,
surrounded with beautiful and noble objects, in constant intercourse
with worthy men; if his masters have taught him what he needed first to
know, for comprehending more easily what followed; if he has never
learned any thing which he requires to unlearn; if his first operations
have been so guided, that, without altering any of his habits, he can
more easily produce what is excellent in future,--then such a one will
lead a purer, more perfect and happier, life, than another man who has
wasted the force of his youth in opposition and error. A great deal is
said and written about education; yet I meet with very few who can
comprehend, and transfer to practice, this simple yet vast idea, which
includes within itself all others connected with the subject."
"That may well be true," said Wilhelm; "for the generality of men are
limited enough in their conceptions to suppose that every other should
be fashioned by education, according to the pattern of themselves.
Happy, then, are those whom Fate takes charge of, and educates according
to their several natures!"
"Fate," said the other, smiling, "is an excellent but most expensive
schoolmaster. In all cases, I would rather trust to the reason of a
human tutor. Fate, for whose wisdom I entertain all imaginable
reverence, often finds in Chance, by which it works, an instrument not
over manageable. At least the latter very seldom seems to execute
precisely and accurately what the former had determined."
"You seem to express a very singular opinion," said Wilhelm.
"Not at all," replied the other. "Most of what happens in the world
confirms my opinion. Do not many incidents at their commencement show
some mighty purport, and generally terminate in something paltry?"
"You mean to jest."
"And as to what concerns the individual man," pursued the other, "is it
not so with this likewise? Suppose Fate had appointed one to be a good
player; and why should it not provide us with good players as well as
other good things? Chance would perhaps conduct the youth into some
puppet-show, where, at such an early age, he could not help taking
interest in what was tasteless and despicable, reckoning insipidities
endurable or even pleasing, and thus corrupting and misdirecting his
primary impressions,--impressions which can never be effaced, and whose
influence, in spite of all our efforts, cling to us in some degree to
the very last."
"What makes you think of puppet-shows?" said Wilhelm, not without some
consternation.
"It was an accidental instance: if it does not please you, we shall take
another. Suppose Fate had appointed any one to be a great painter, and
it pleased Chance that he should pass his youth in sooty huts, in barns
and stables: do you think that such a man would ever be enabled to exalt
himself to purity, to nobleness, to freedom of soul? The more keenly he
may in his youth have seized on the impure, and tried in his own manner
to ennoble it, the more powerfully in the remainder of his life will it
be revenged on him; because, while he was endeavoring to conquer it, his
whole being has become inseparably combined with it. Whoever spends his
early years in mean and pitiful society, though at an after period he
may have the choice of better, will yet constantly look back with
longing towards that which he enjoyed of old, and which has left its
impression blended with the memory of all his young and unreturning
pleasures."
From conversation of this sort, it is easy to imagine, the rest of the
company had gradually withdrawn. Philina, in particular, had stepped
aside at the very outset. Wilhelm and his comrade now rejoined them by a
cross-path. Philina brought out her forfeits, and they had to be
redeemed in many different ways. During which business, the stranger, by
the most ingenious devices, and by his frank participation in their
sports, recommended himself much to all the party, and particularly to
the ladies; and thus, amid joking, singing, kissing, and railleries of
all sorts, the hours passed away in the most pleasant manner.
CHAPTER X.
When our friends began to think of going home, they looked about them
for their clergyman; but he had vanished, and was nowhere to be found.
"It is not polite in the man, who otherwise displayed good breeding,"
said Madam Melina, "to desert a company that welcomed him so kindly,
without taking leave."
"I have all the time been thinking," said Laertes, "where I can have
seen this singular man before. I fully intended to ask him about it at
parting."
"I, too, had the same feeling," said Wilhelm; "and certainly I should
not have let him go, till he had told us something more about his
circumstances. I am much mistaken if I have not ere now spoken with him
somewhere."
"And you may in truth," said Philina, "be mistaken there. This person
seems to have the air of an acquaintance, because he looks like a _man_,
and not like Jack or Kit."
"What is this?" said Laertes. "Do not we, too, look like men?"
"I know what I am saying," cried Philina; "and, if you cannot understand
me, never mind. In the end my words will be found to require no
commentary."
Two coaches now drove up. All praised the attention of Laertes, who had
ordered them. Philina, with Madam Melina, took her place opposite to
Wilhelm: the rest bestowed themselves as they best could. Laertes rode
back on Wilhelm's horse, which had likewise been brought out.
Philina was scarcely seated in the coach, when she began to sing some
pretty songs, and gradually led the conversation to some stories, which
she said might be successfully treated in the form of dramas. By this
cunning turn, she very soon put her young friend into his finest humor:
from the wealth of his living imaginative store, he forthwith
constructed a complete play, with all its acts, scenes, characters, and
plots. It was thought proper to insert a few catches and songs; they
composed them; and Philina, who entered into every part of it,
immediately fitted them with well-known tunes, and sang them on the
spot.
It was one of her beautiful, most beautiful, days: she had skill to
enliven our friend with all manner of diverting wiles; he felt in
spirits such as he had not for many a month enjoyed.
Since that shocking discovery had torn him from the side of Mariana, he
had continued true to his vow to be on his guard against the encircling
arms of woman; to avoid the faithless sex; to lock up his inclinations,
his sweet wishes, in his own bosom. The conscientiousness with which he
had observed this vow gave his whole nature a secret nourishment; and,
as his heart could not remain without affection, some loving sympathy
had now become a want with him. He went along once more, as if environed
by the first cloudy glories of youth; his eye fixed joyfully on every
charming object, and never had his judgment of a lovely form been more
favorable. How dangerous, in such a situation, this wild girl must have
been to him, is but too easy to conceive.
Arrived at home, they found Wilhelm's chamber all ready to receive them;
the chairs set right for a public reading; in midst of them the table,
on which the punch-bowl was in due time to take its place.
The German chivalry-plays were new at this period, and had just excited
the attention and the inclination of the public. Old Boisterous had
brought one of this sort with him: the reading of it had already been
determined on. They all sat down; Wilhelm took possession of the
pamphlet, and began to read.
The harnessed knights, the ancient keeps, the true-heartedness, honesty,
and downrightness, but especially the independence of the acting
characters, were received with the greatest approbation. The reader did
his utmost, and the audience gradually mounted into rapture. Between the
third and fourth acts, the punch arrived in an ample bowl; and, there
being much fighting and drinking in the piece itself, nothing was more
natural than that, on every such occurrence, the company should
transport themselves into the situation of the heroes, should flourish
and strike along with them, and drink long life to their favorites among
the _dramatis personæ_.
Each individual of the party was inflamed with the noblest fire of
national spirit. How it gratified this German company to be poetically
entertained, according to their own character, on stuff of their own
manufacture! In particular, the vaults and caverns, the ruined castles,
the moss and hollow trees, but above all the nocturnal gypsy scenes, and
the Secret Tribunal, produced a quite incredible effect. Every actor now
figured to himself how, erelong, in helm and harness, he; every actress
how, with a monstrous spreading ruff, she,--would present their
Germanship before the public. Each would appropriate to himself without
delay some name taken from the piece or from German history; and Madam
Melina declared that the son or daughter she was then expecting should
not be christened otherwise than by the name of Adelbert or of Mathilde.
Towards the fifth act, the approbation became more impetuous and louder;
and at last, when the hero actually trampled down his oppressor, and the
tyrant met his doom, the ecstasy increased to such a height, that all
averred they had never passed such happy moments. Melina, whom the
liquor had inspired, was the noisiest: and when the second bowl was
emptied, and midnight near, Laertes swore through thick and thin, that
no living mortal was worthy ever more to put these glasses to his lips;
and, so swearing, he pitched his own right over his head, through a
window-pane, out into the street. The rest followed his example; and
notwithstanding the protestations of the landlord, who came running in
at the noise, the punch-bowl itself, never after this festivity to be
polluted by unholy drink, was dashed into a thousand shreds. Philina,
whose exhilaration was the least noticed,--the other two girls by that
time having laid themselves upon the sofa in no very elegant
positions,--maliciously encouraged her companions in their tumult. Madam
Melina recited some spirit-stirring poems; and her husband, not too
amiable in the uproar, began to cavil at the insufficient preparation of
the punch, declaring that he could arrange an entertainment altogether
in a different style, and at last becoming sulkier and louder as Laertes
commanded silence, till the latter, without much consideration, threw
the fragments of the punch-bowl about his head, and thereby not a little
deepened the confusion.
Meanwhile the town-guard had arrived, and were demanding admission to
the house. Wilhelm, much heated by his reading, though he had drunk but
little, had enough to do, with the landlord's help, to content these
people by money and good words, and afterwards to get the various
members of his party sent home in that unseemly case. On coming back,
overpowered with sleep and full of chagrin, he threw himself upon his
bed without undressing; and nothing could exceed his disgust, when,
opening his eyes next morning, he looked out with dull sight upon the
devastations of the by-gone day, and saw the uncleanness, and the many
bad effects, of which that ingenious, lively, and well-intentioned
poetical performance had been the cause.
CHAPTER XI.
After a short consideration, he called the landlord, and bade him mark
to his account both the damage and the regular charge. At the same time
he learned, not without vexation, that his horse had been so hard ridden
by Laertes last night, that, in all probability, it was foundered, as
they term it; the farrier having little hope of its recovering.
A salute from Philina, which she threw him from her window, restored him
in some degree to a more cheerful humor: he went forthwith into the
nearest shop to buy her a little present, which, in return for the
powder-knife, he still owed her; and it must be owned, that, in
selecting his gift, he did not keep himself within the limits of
proportional value. He not only purchased her a pair of earrings, but
added likewise a hat and neckerchief, and some other little articles,
which he had seen her lavishly throw from her on the first day of their
acquaintance.
Madam Melina, happening to observe him as he was delivering his
presents, took an opportunity before breakfast to rate him very
earnestly about his inclination for this girl; at which he felt the more
astonished, the less he thought it merited. He swore solemnly, that he
had never once entertained the slightest notion of attaching himself to
such a person, whose whole manner of proceeding was well known to him.
He excused himself as well as possible for his friendly and polite
conduct towards her, yet did not by any means content Madam Melina,
whose spite grew ever more determined, as she could not but observe that
the flatteries, by which she had acquired for herself a sort of partial
regard from our friend, were not sufficient to defend this conquest from
the attacks of a livery, younger, and more gifted rival.
As they sat down to table, her husband joined them, likewise in a very
fretful humor; which he was beginning to display on many little things,
when the landlord entered to announce a player on the harp. "You will
certainly," he said, "find pleasure in the music and the songs of this
man: no one who hears him can forbear to admire him, and bestow
something on him."
"Let him go about his business," said Melina: "I am any thing but in a
trim for hearing fiddlers, and we have singers constantly among
ourselves disposed to gain a little by their talent." He accompanied
these words with a sarcastic side-look at Philina: she understood his
meaning, and immediately prepared to punish him, by taking up the cause
of the harper. Turning towards Wilhelm, "Shall we not hear the man?"
said she: "shall we do nothing to save ourselves from this miserable
_ennui_?"
Melina was going to reply, and the strife would have grown keener, had
not the person it related to at that moment entered. Wilhelm saluted
him, and beckoned him to come near.
The figure of this singular guest set the whole party in astonishment:
he had found a chair before any one took heart to ask him a question, or
make any observation. His bald crown was encircled by a few gray hairs,
and a pair of large blue eyes looked out softly from beneath his long
white eyebrows. To a nose of beautiful proportions was subjoined a
flowing, hoary beard, which did not hide the fine shape and position of
his lips; and a long dark-brown garment wrapped his thin body from the
neck to the feet. He began to prelude on the harp, which he had placed
before him.
The sweet tones which he drew from his instrument very soon inspirited
the company.
"You can sing, too, my good old man," said Philina.
"Give us something that shall entertain the spirit and the heart as well
as the senses," said Wilhelm. "The instrument should but accompany the
voice; for tunes and melodies without words and meaning seem to me like
butterflies or finely variegated birds, which hover round us in the air,
which we could wish to catch and make our own: whereas song is like a
blessed genius that exalts us towards heaven, and allures the better
self in us to attend him."
The old man looked at Wilhelm, then aloft, then gave some trills
upon his harp, and began his song. It contained a eulogy on
minstrelsy,--described the happiness of minstrels, and reminded men to
honor them. He produced his song with so much life and truth, that it
seemed as if he had composed it at the moment, for this special
occasion. Wilhelm could scarcely refrain from clasping him in his arms:
but the fear of awakening a peal of laughter detained him in his chair;
for the rest were already in half-whispers making sundry very shallow
observations, and debating if the harper was a Papist or a Jew.
When asked about the author of the song, the man gave no distinct reply;
declaring only that he was rich in songs, and anxious that they should
please. Most of the party were now merry and joyful; even Melina was
grown frank in his way; and, whilst they talked and joked together, the
old man began to sing the praise of social life in the most sprightly
style. He described the loveliness of unity and courtesy, in soft,
soothing tones. Suddenly his music became cold, harsh, and jarring, as
he turned to deplore repulsive selfishness, short-sighted enmity, and
baleful division; and every heart willingly threw off those galling
fetters, while, borne on the wings of a piercing melody, he launched
forth in praise of peacemakers, and sang the happiness of souls, that,
having parted, meet again in love.
Scarcely had he ended, when Wilhelm cried to him, "Whoever thou art,
that as a helping spirit comest to us with a voice which blesses and
revives, accept my reverence and my thanks! Feel that we all admire
thee, and confide in us if thou wantest any thing."
The old man spoke not: he threw his fingers softly across the strings,
then struck more sharply, and sang,--
"'What notes are those without the wall,
Across the portal sounding?
Let's have the music in our hall,
Back from its roof rebounding.'
So spoke the king, the henchman flies:
His answer heard, the monarch cries,
'Bring in that ancient minstrel.'
'Hail, gracious king! each noble knight,
Each lovely dame, I greet you!
What glittering stars salute my sight!
What heart unmoved may meet you!
Such lordly pomp is not for me,
Far other scenes my eyes must see:
Yet deign to list my harping.'
The singer turns him to his art,
A thrilling strain he raises:
Each warrior hears with glowing heart,
And on his loved one gazes.
The king, who liked his playing well,
Commands, for such a kindly spell,
A golden chain be given him.
'The golden chain give not to me;
Thy boldest knight may wear it,
Who, 'cross the battle's purple sea,
On lion breast may bear it:
Or let it be thy chancellor's prize,
Amid his heaps to feast his eyes;
Its yellow glance will please him.'
'I sing but as the linnet sings,
That on the green bough dwelleth;
A rich reward his music brings,
As from his throat it swelleth:
Yet might I ask, I'd ask of thine
One sparkling draught of purest wine,
To drink it here before you.'
He viewed the wine: he quaffed it up.
'O draught of sweetest savor!
O happy house, where such a cup
Is thought a little favor!
If well you fare, remember me,
And thank kind Heaven, from envy free,
As now for this I thank you.'"
When the harper, on finishing his song, took up a glass of wine that
stood poured out for him, and, turning with a friendly mien to his
entertainers, drank it off, a buzz of joyful approbation rose from all
the party. They clapped hands, and wished him health from that glass,
and strength to his aged limbs. He sang a few other ballads, exciting
more and more hilarity among the company.
"Old man," said Philina, "dost thou know the tune, 'The shepherd decked
him for the dance'?"[2]
"Oh, yes!" said he: "if you will sing the words, I shall not fail for my
part of it."
Philina then stood up, and held herself in readiness. The old man
commenced the tune; and she sang a song, which we cannot impart to our
readers, lest they might think it insipid, or perhaps undignified.
Meanwhile the company were growing merrier and merrier: they had already
emptied several flasks of wine, and were now beginning to get very loud.
But our friend, having fresh in his remembrance the bad consequences of
their late exhilaration, determined to break up the sitting; he slipped
into the old man's hand a liberal remuneration for his trouble, the rest
did something likewise; they gave him leave to go and take repose,
promising themselves another entertainment from his skill in the
evening.
When he had retired, our friend said to Philina, "In this favorite song
of yours I certainly find no merit, either moral or poetical; yet if you
were to bring forward any proper composition on the stage, with the same
arch simplicity, the same propriety and gracefulness, I should engage
that strong and universal approbation would be the result."
"Yes," said Philina: "it would be a charming thing indeed to warm one's
self at ice."
"After all," said Wilhelm, "this old man might put many a player to the
blush. Did you notice how correctly the dramatic part of his ballads was
expressed? I maintain there was more living true representation in his
singing than in many of our starched characters upon the stage. You
would take the acting of many plays for a narrative, and you might
ascribe to these musical narratives a sensible presence."
"You are hardly just," replied Laertes. "I pretend to no great skill,
either as a player or as a singer; yet I know well enough, that when
music guides the movements of the body, at once affording to them
animation and a scale to measure it; when declamation and expression are
furnished me by the composer,--I feel quite a different man from what I
do when, in prose dramas, I have all this to create for myself,--have
both gesture and declamation to invent, and am, perhaps, disturbed in
it, too, by the awkwardness of some partner in the dialogue."
"Thus much I know," said Melina: "the man certainly puts us to the blush
in one point, and that a main point. The strength of his talent is shown
by the profit he derives from it. Even us, who perhaps erelong shall be
embarrassed where to get a meal, he persuades to share our pittance with
him. He has skill enough to wile the money from our pockets with an old
song,--the money that we should have used to find ourselves employment.
So pleasant an affair is it to squander the means which might procure
subsistence to one's self and others."
This remark gave the conversation not the most delightful turn. Wilhelm,
for whom the reproach was peculiarly intended, replied with some heat;
and Melina, at no time over studious of delicacy and politeness,
explained his grievances at last in words more plain than courteous. "It
is now a fortnight," said he, "since we looked at the theatrical
machinery and wardrobe which is lying pawned here: the whole might be
redeemed for a very tolerable sum. You then gave me hopes that you would
lend me so much; and hitherto I do not see that you have thought more of
the matter, or come any nearer a determination. Had you then consented,
we should ere now have been under way. Nor has your intention to leave
the place been executed, nor has your money in the mean time been
spared: at least there are people who have always skill to create
opportunities for scattering it faster and faster away."
Such upbraidings, not altogether undeserved, touched Wilhelm to the
quick. He replied with keenness, nay, with anger; and, as the company
rose to part, he took hold of the door, and gave them not obscurely to
understand that he would no longer continue with such unfriendly and
ungrateful people. He hastened down, in no kindly humor, and seated
himself upon the stone bench without the door of his inn; not observing,
that, first out of mirth, then out of spleen, he had drunk more wine
than usual.
[Footnote 2: Der Schafer putzte sich zum Tanz,--a song of
Goethe's.--ED.]
CHAPTER XII.
After a short time, which he passed sitting looking out before him,
disquieted by many thoughts, Philina came singing and skipping along
through the front door. She sat down by him, nay, we might almost say,
on him, so close did she press herself towards him: she leaned upon his
shoulders, began playing with his hair, patted him, and gave him the
best words in the world. She begged of him to stay with them, and not
leave her alone in that company, or she must die of tedium: she could
not live any longer in the same house with Melina, and had come over to
lodge in the other inn for that reason.
He tried in vain to satisfy her with denials,--to make her understand
that he neither could nor would remain any longer. She did not cease
with her entreaties; nay, suddenly she threw her arm round his neck, and
kissed him with the liveliest expression of fondness.
"Are you mad, Philina?" cried Wilhelm, endeavoring to disengage himself;
"to make the open street the scene of such caresses, which I nowise
merit! Let me go! I can not and I will not stay."
"And I will hold thee fast," said she, "and kiss thee here on the open
street, and kiss thee till thou promise what I want. I shall die of
laughing," she continued: "by this familiarity the good people here must
take me for thy wife of four weeks' standing; and husbands, who witness
this touching scene, will commend me to their wives as a pattern of
childlike, simple tenderness."
Some persons were just then going by: she caressed him in the most
graceful way; and he, to avoid giving scandal, was constrained to play
the part of the patient husband. Then she made faces at the people, when
their backs were turned, and, in the wildest humor, continued to commit
all sorts of improprieties, till at last he was obliged to promise that
he would not go that day, or the morrow, or the next day.
"You are a true clod!" said she, quitting him; "and I am but a fool to
spend so much kindness on you." She arose with some vexation, and walked
a few steps, then turned round laughing, and cried, "I believe it is
just that, after all, that makes me so crazy about thee. I will but go
and seek my knitting-needles and my stocking, that I may have something
to do. Stay there, and let me find the stone man still upon the stone
bench when I come back."
She cast a sparkling glance on him, and went into the house. He had no
call to follow her; on the contrary, her conduct had excited fresh
aversion in him; yet he rose from the bench to go after her, not well
knowing why.
He was just entering the door, when Melina passed by, and spoke to him
in a respectful tone, asking his pardon for the somewhat too harsh
expressions he had used in their late discussion. "You will not take it
ill of me," continued he, "if I appear perhaps too fretful in my present
circumstances. The charge of providing for a wife, perhaps soon for a
child, forbids me from day to day to live at peace, or spend my time as
you may do, in the enjoyment of pleasant feelings. Consider, I pray you,
and, if possible, do put me in possession of that stage machinery that
is lying here. I shall not be your debtor long, and I shall be obliged
to you while I live."
Our friend, unwilling to be kept upon the threshold, over which an
irresistible impulse was drawing him at that moment to Philina,
answered, with an absent mind, eager to be gone, and surprised into a
transient feeling of good will, "If I can make you happy and contented
by doing this, I will hesitate no longer. Go you and put every thing to
rights. I shall be prepared this evening, or to-morrow morning, to pay
the money." He then gave his hand to Melina in confirmation of his
promise, and was very glad to see him hastily proceed along the street;
but, alas! his entrance, which he now thought sure, was a second time
prohibited, and more disagreeably than at first.
A young man, with a bundle on his back, came walking fast along the
street, and advanced to Wilhelm, who at once recognized him for
Friedrich.
"Here am I again!" cried he, looking with his large blue eyes joyfully
up and down, over all the windows of the house. "Where is Mamsell? Devil
take me, if I can stroll about the world any longer without seeing her!"
The landlord, joining them at this instant, replied that she was above;
Friedrich, with a few bounds, was up stairs; and Wilhelm continued
standing, as if rooted to the threshold. At the first instant he was
tempted to pluck the younker back, and drag him down by the hair; then
all at once the spasm of a sharp jealousy stopped the current of his
spirits and ideas; and, as he gradually recovered from this
stupefaction, there came over him a splenetic fit of restlessness, a
general discomfort, such as he had never felt in his life before.
He went up to his room, and found Mignon busy writing. For some time the
creature had been laboring with great diligence in writing every thing
she knew by heart, giving always to her master and friend the papers to
correct. She was indefatigable, and of good comprehension; but still,
her letters were irregular, and her lines crooked. Here, too, the body
seemed to contradict the mind. In his usual moods, Wilhelm took no small
pleasure in the child's attention; but, at the present moment, he
regarded little what she showed him,--a piece of neglect which she felt
the more acutely, as on this occasion she conceived her work had been
accomplished with peculiar success.
Wilhelm's unrest drove him up and down the passages of the house, and
finally again to the street-door. A rider was just prancing towards
it,--a man of good appearance, of middle age, and a brisk, contented
look. The landlord ran to meet him, holding out his hand as to an old
acquaintance. "Ay, Herr Stallmeister," cried he, "have we the pleasure
to see you again?"
"I am only just going to bait with you," replied the stranger, "and then
along to the estate, to get matters put in order as soon as possible.
The count is coming over to-morrow with his lady; they mean to stay a
while to entertain the Prince von----in their best style: he intends
to fix his headquarters in this neighborhood for some time."
"It is pity," said the landlord, "that you cannot stop with us: we have
good company in the house." The hostler came running out, and took the
horse from the _Stallmeister_, who continued talking in the door with
the landlord, and now and then giving a look at Wilhelm.
Our friend, observing that he formed the topic of their conversation,
went away, and walked up and down the streets.
CHAPTER XIII.
In the restless vexation of his present humor, it came into his head to
go and see the old harper; hoping by his music to scare away the evil
spirits that tormented him. On asking for the man, he was directed to a
mean public house, in a remote corner of the little town; and, having
mounted up-stairs there to the very garret, his ear caught the fine
twanging of the harp coming from a little room before him. They were
heart-moving, mournful tones, accompanied by a sad and dreary singing.
Wilhelm glided to the door: and as the good old man was performing a
sort of voluntary, the few stanzas of which, sometimes chanted,
sometimes in recitative, were repeated more than once, our friend
succeeded, after listening for a while, in gathering nearly this:--
"Who never ate his bread with tears,
Through nights of grief who, weeping, never
Sat on his bed, midst pangs and fears,
Can, heavenly powers, not know you ever.
Ye lead us forth into this life,
Where comfort soon by guilt is banished,
Abandon us to tortures, strife;
For on this earth all guilt is punished."
--_Editor's Version._
The heart-sick, plaintive sound of this lament pierced deep into the
soul of the hearer. It seemed to him as if the old man were often
stopped from proceeding by his tears: his harp would alone be heard for
a time, till his voice again joined it in low, broken tones. Wilhelm
stood by the door; he was much moved; the mourning of this stranger had
again opened the avenues of his heart; he could not resist the claim of
sympathy, or restrain the tears which this woe-begone complaint at last
called forth. All the pains that pressed upon his soul seemed now at
once to loosen from their hold: he abandoned himself without reserve to
the feelings of the moment. Pushing up the door, he stood before the
harper. The old man was sitting on a mean bed, the only seat, or article
of furniture, which his miserable room afforded.
"What feelings thou hast awakened in me, good old man!" exclaimed he.
"All that was lying frozen at my heart thou hast melted, and put in
motion. Let me not disturb thee, but continue, in solacing thy own
sorrows, to confer happiness upon a friend." The harper was about to
rise, and say something; but Wilhelm hindered him, for he had noticed in
the morning that the old man did not like to speak. He sat down by him
on the straw bed.
The old man wiped his eyes, and asked, with a friendly smile, "How came
you hither? I meant to wait upon you in the evening again."
"We are more quiet here," said Wilhelm. "Sing to me what thou pleasest,
what accords with thy own mood of mind, only proceed as if I were not
by. It seems to me, that to-day thou canst not fail to suit me. I think
thee very happy, that, in solitude, thou canst employ and entertain
thyself so pleasantly; that, being everywhere a stranger, thou findest
in thy own heart the most agreeable society."
The old man looked upon his strings; and after touching them softly, by
way of prelude, he commenced and sang,--
"Who longs in solitude to live,
Ah! soon his wish will gain:
Men hope and love, men get and give,
And leave him to his pain.
Yes, leave me to my moan!
When from my bed
You all are fled,
I still am not alone.
The lover glides with footstep light:
His love, is she not waiting there?
So glides to meet me, day and night,
In solitude my care,
In solitude my woe:
True solitude I then shall know
When lying in my grave,
When lying in my grave,
And grief has let me go."
We might describe with great prolixity, and yet fail to express the
charms of, the singular conversation which Wilhelm carried on with this
wayfaring stranger. To every observation our friend addressed to him,
the old man, with the nicest accordance, answered in some melody, which
awakened all the cognate emotions, and opened a wide field to the
imagination.
Whoever has happened to be present at a meeting of certain devout
people, who conceive, that, in a state of separation from the Church,
they can edify each other in a purer, more affecting, and more spiritual
manner, may form to himself some conception of the present scene. He
will recollect how the leader of the meeting would append to his words
some verse of a song, that raised the soul till, as he wished, she took
wing; how another of the flock would erelong subjoin, in a different
tune, some verse of a different song; and to this again a third would
link some verse of a third song,--by which means the kindred ideas of
the songs to which the verses belonged were indeed suggested, yet each
passage by its new combination became new and individualized, as if it
had been first composed that moment; and thus from a well-known circle
of ideas, from well-known songs and sayings, there was formed for that
particular society, in that particular time, an original whole, by means
of which their minds were animated, strengthened, and refreshed. So,
likewise, did the old man edify his guest: by known and unknown songs
and passages, he brought feelings near and distant, emotions sleeping
and awake, pleasant and painful, into a circulation, from which, in
Wilhelm's actual state, the best effects might be anticipated.
CHAPTER XIV.
Accordingly, in walking back, he began to think with greater earnestness
than ever on his present situation: he had reached home with the firm
purpose of altering it, when the landlord disclosed to him, by way of
secret, that Mademoiselle Philina had made a conquest of the count's
_Stallmeister_, who, after executing his commission at his master's
estate, had returned in the greatest haste, and was even now partaking
of a good supper with her up in her chamber.
At this very moment Melina came in with a notary: they went into
Wilhelm's chamber together, where the latter, though with some
hesitation, made his promise good; gave a draft of three hundred crowns
to Melina, who, handing it to the lawyer, received in return a note
acknowledging the sale of the whole theatrical apparatus, and engaging
to deliver it next morning.
Scarcely had they parted, when Wilhelm heard a cry of horror rising from
some quarter of the house. He caught the sound of a young voice,
uttering menacing and furious tones, which were ever and anon choked by
immoderate weeping and howling. He observed this frantic noise move
hastily from above, go past his door, and down to the lower part of the
house.
Curiosity enticing our friend to follow it, he found Friedrich in a
species of delirium. The boy was weeping, grinding his teeth, stamping
with his feet, threatening with clenched fists: he appeared beside
himself from fury and vexation. Mignon was standing opposite him,
looking on with astonishment. The landlord, in some degree, explained
this phenomenon.
The boy, he said, being well received at his return by Philina, seemed
quite merry and contented: he had kept singing and jumping about, till
the time when Philina grew acquainted with the _Stallmeister_. Then,
however, this half-grown younker had begun to show his indignation, to
slam the doors, and run up and down in the highest dudgeon. Philina had
ordered him to wait at table that evening, upon which he had grown still
sulkier and more indignant; till at last, carrying up a plate with a
ragout, instead of setting it upon the table, he had thrown the whole
between Mademoiselle and her guest, who were sitting moderately close
together at the time: and the _Stallmeister_, after two or three hearty
cuffs, had then kicked him out of the room. He, the landlord, had
himself helped to clean both of them; and certainly their clothes had
suffered much.
On hearing of the good effect of his revenge, the boy began to laugh
aloud, whilst the tears were still running down his cheeks. He heartily
rejoiced for a time, till the disgrace which he had suffered from the
stronger party once more came into his head, and he began afresh to howl
and threaten.
Wilhelm stood meditating, and ashamed at this spectacle. It reflected
back to him his own feelings, in coarser and exaggerated features: he,
too, was inflamed with a fierce jealousy; and, had not decency
restrained him, he would willingly have satisfied his wild humor; with
malicious spleen would have abused the object of his passion, and
called out his rival; he could have crushed in pieces all the people
round him; they seemed as if standing there but to vex him.
Laertes also had come in, and heard the story: he roguishly spurred on
the irritated boy, who was now asserting with oaths that he would make
the _Stallmeister_ give him satisfaction; that he had never yet let any
injury abide with him; that, should the man refuse, there were other
ways of taking vengeance.
This was the very business for Laertes. He went up stairs, with a solemn
countenance, to call out the _Stallmeister_ in the boy's name.
"This is a pleasant thing," said the _Stallmeister_: "such a joke as
this I had scarcely promised myself to-night." They went down, and
Philina followed them. "My son," said the _Stallmeister_ to Friedrich,
"thou art a brave lad, and I do not hesitate to fight thee. Only, as our
years and strength are unequal, and the attempt a little dangerous on
that account, I propose a pair of foils in preference to other weapons.
We can rub the buttons of them with a piece of chalk; and whoever marks
upon the other's coat the first or the most thrusts, shall be held the
victor, and be treated by the other with the best wine that can be had
in town."
Laertes decided that the proposition might be listened to: Friedrich
obeyed him, as his tutor. The foils were produced: Philina took a seat,
went on with her knitting, and looked at the contending parties with the
greatest peace of mind.
The _Stallmeister_, who could fence very prettily, was complaisant
enough to spare his adversary, and to let a few chalk scores be marked
upon his coat; after which the two embraced, and wine was ordered. The
_Stallmeister_ took the liberty of asking Friedrich's parentage and
history; and Friedrich told him a long story, which had often been
repeated already, and which, at some other opportunity, we purpose
communicating to our readers.
To Wilhelm, in the mean time, this contest completed the representation
of his own state of mind. He could not but perceive that he would
willingly have taken up a foil against the _Stallmeister_,--a sword
still more willingly, though evidently much his inferior in the science
of defence. Yet he deigned not to cast one look on Philina; he was on
his guard against any word or movement that could possibly betray his
feelings: and, after having once or twice done justice to the health of
the duellists, he hastened to his own room, where a thousand painful
thoughts came pressing round him.
He called to memory the time when his spirit, rich in hope, and full of
boundless aims, was raised aloft, and encircled with the liveliest
enjoyments of every kind as with its proper element. He now clearly saw,
that of late he had fallen into a broken, wandering path, where, if he
tasted, it was but in drops what he once quaffed in unrestricted
measure. But he could not clearly see what insatiable want it was that
nature had made the law of his being, and how this want had been only
set on edge, half satisfied, and misdirected by the circumstances of his
life.
It will not surprise us, therefore, that, in considering his situation,
and laboring to extricate himself, he fell into the greatest perplexity.
It was not enough, that by his friendship for Laertes, his attachment to
Philina, his concern for Mignon, he had been detained longer than was
proper in a place and a society where he could cherish his darling
inclination, content his wishes as it were by stealth, and, without
proposing any object, again pursue his early dreams. These ties he
believed himself possessed of force enough to break asunder: had there
been nothing more to hold him, he could have gone at once. But, only a
few moments ago, he had entered into money transactions with Melina: he
had seen that mysterious old man, the enigma of whose history he longed
with unspeakable desire to clear. Yet of this too, after much balancing
of reasons, he at length determined, or thought he had determined, that
it should not keep him back. "I must go." He threw himself into a chair:
he felt greatly moved. Mignon came in, and asked whether she might help
to undress him. Her manner was still and shy: it had grieved her to the
quick to be so abruptly dismissed by him before.
Nothing is more touching than the first disclosure of a love which has
been nursed in silence, of a faith grown strong in secret, and which at
last comes forth in the hour of need, and reveals itself to him who
formerly has reckoned it of small account. The bud, which had been
closed so long and firmly, was now ripe to burst its swathings; and
Wilhelm's heart could never have been readier to welcome the impressions
of affection.
She stood before him, and noticed his disquietude. "Master!" she cried,
"if thou art unhappy, what will become of Mignon?"--"Dear little
creature," said he, taking her hands, "thou, too, art part of my
anxieties. I must go hence." She looked at his eyes, glistening with
restrained tears, and knelt down with vehemence before him. He kept her
hands: she laid her head upon his knees, and remained quite still. He
played with her hair, patted her, and spoke kindly to her. She continued
motionless for a considerable time. At last he felt a sort of
palpitating movement in her, which began very softly, and then by
degrees, with increasing violence, diffused itself over all her frame.
"What ails thee, Mignon?" cried he: "What ails thee?" She raised her
little head, looked at him, and all at once laid her hand upon her
heart, with the countenance of one repressing the utterance of pain. He
raised her up, and she fell upon his breast: he pressed her towards him,
and kissed her. She replied not by any pressure of the hand, by any
motion whatever. She held firmly against her heart, and all at once gave
a cry, which was accompanied by spasmodic movements of the body. She
started up, and immediately fell down before him, as if broken in every
joint. It was an excruciating moment. "My child!" cried he, raising her
up, and clasping her fast, "my child, what ails thee?" The palpitations
continued, spreading from the heart over all the lax and powerless
limbs: she was merely hanging in his arms. All at once she again became
quite stiff, like one enduring the sharpest corporeal agony; and soon
with a new vehemence all her frame once more became alive; and she threw
herself about his neck, like a bent spring that is closing; while in her
soul, as it were, a strong rent took place, and at the same moment a
stream of tears flowed from her shut eyes into his bosom. He held her
fast. She wept, and no tongue can express the force of these tears. Her
long hair had loosened, and was hanging down before her: it seemed as if
her whole being was melting incessantly into a brook of tears. Her rigid
limbs were again become relaxed; her inmost soul was pouring itself
forth; in the wild confusion of the moment Wilhelm was afraid she would
dissolve in his arms, and leave nothing there for him to grasp. He held
her faster and faster. "My child!" cried he, "my child! thou art indeed
mine, if that word can comfort thee. Thou art mine! I will keep thee, I
will never forsake thee!" Her tears continued flowing. At last she
raised herself: a faint gladness shone upon her face. "My father!" cried
she, "thou wilt not forsake me? Wilt be my father? I am thy child!"
Softly, at this moment, the harp began to sound before the door: the old
man brought his most affecting songs as an evening offering to our
friend, who, holding his child ever faster in his arms, enjoyed the most
pure and undescribable felicity.
BOOK III.
CHAPTER I.
"Dost know the land where citrons, lemons, grow,
Gold oranges 'neath dusky foliage glow,
From azure sky are blowing breezes soft,
The myrtles still, the laurel stands aloft?
'Tis there! 'tis there!
I would with thee, O my beloved one, go!
Dost know the house, its roofs do columns bear,
The hall with splendor bright, the chambers glare?
Therein stand marble forms, and look at me:
What is't, poor child, that they have done to thee?
Dost know that house?
'Tis there! 'tis there!
I would with thee, O my protector, go!
Dost know the mount, whose path with clouds is fraught,
Where by the mule through mist the way is sought,
Where dwell in caves the dragon's ancient brood,
Where falls the rock, and over it the flood,--
Dost know that mount?
'Tis there! 'tis there!
Does lead our road: O father, let us go!"
--_Editor's Version._
Next morning, on looking for Mignon about the house, Wilhelm did not
find her, but was informed that she had gone out early with Melina, who
had risen betimes to receive the wardrobe and other apparatus of his
theatre.
After the space of some hours, Wilhelm heard the sound of music before
his door. At first he thought it was the harper come again to visit him;
but he soon distinguished the tones of a cithern, and the voice which
began to sing was Mignon's. Wilhelm opened the door: the child came in,
and sang him the song we have just given above.
The music and general expression of it pleased our friend extremely,
though he could not understand all the words. He made her once more
repeat the stanzas, and explain them: he wrote them down, and translated
them into his native language. But the originality of its turns he
could imitate only from afar: its childlike innocence of expression
vanished from it in the process of reducing its broken phraseology to
uniformity, and combining its disjointed parts. The charm of the tune,
moreover, was entirely incomparable.
She began every verse in a stately and solemn manner, as if she wished
to draw attention towards something wonderful, as if she had something
weighty to communicate. In the third line, her tones became deeper and
gloomier; the words, "_Dost know?_" were uttered with a show of mystery
and eager circumspectness; in "'_Tis there! 'tis there!_" lay an
irresistible longing; and her "_Let us go!_" she modified at each
repetition, so that now it appeared to entreat and implore, now to impel
and persuade.
On finishing her song for the second time, she stood silent for a
moment, looked keenly at Wilhelm, and asked him, "_Know'st_ thou the
land?"--"It must mean Italy," said Wilhelm: "where didst thou get the
little song?"--"Italy!" said Mignon, with an earnest air. "If thou go to
Italy, take me along with thee; for I am too cold here."--"Hast thou
been there already, little dear?" said Wilhelm. But the child was
silent, and nothing more could be got out of her.
Melina entered now: he looked at the cithern,--was glad that she had
rigged it up again so prettily. The instrument had been among Melina's
stage-gear: Mignon had begged it of him in the morning, and then gone to
the old harper. On this occasion she had shown a talent she was not
before suspected of possessing.
Melina had already got possession of his wardrobe, with all that
pertained to it: some members of the town magistracy had promised him
permission to act, for a time, in the place. He was now returning with a
merry heart and a cheerful look. His nature seemed altogether changed:
he was soft, courteous to every one,--nay, fond of obliging, and almost
attractive. He was happy, he said, at now being able to afford
employment to his friends, who had hitherto lain idle and embarrassed;
sorry, however, that at first he could not have it in his power to
remunerate the excellent actors whom fortune had offered him, in a style
corresponding to their talents and capacities; being under the
necessity, before all other things, of discharging his debt to so
generous a friend as Wilhelm had proved himself to be.
"I cannot describe," said he to Wilhelm, "the friendliness which you
have shown, in helping me forward to the management of a theatre. When I
found you here, I was in a very curious predicament. You recollect how
strongly I displayed to you, on our first acquaintance, my aversion to
the stage; and yet, on being married, I was forced to look about for a
place in some theatre, out of love to my wife, who promised to herself
much joy and great applause if so engaged. I could find none, at least
no constant one; but in return I luckily fell in with some commercial
men, who, in extraordinary cases, were enabled to employ a person that
could handle his pen, that understood French, and was not without a
little skill in ciphering. I managed pretty well in this way for a time;
I was tolerably paid; got about me many things which I had need of, and
did not feel ashamed of my work. But these commissions of my patrons
came to an end; they could afford me no permanent establishment: and,
ever since, my wife has continued urging me still more to go upon the
stage again; though, at present, alas! her own situation is none of the
favorablest for exhibiting herself with honor in the eyes of the public.
But now, I hope, the establishment which by your kind help I have the
means of setting up, will prove a good beginning for me and mine: you I
shall thank for all my future happiness, let matters turn out as they
will."
Wilhelm listened to him with contentment: the whole fraternity of
players were likewise moderately satisfied with the declarations of the
new manager; they secretly rejoiced that an offer of employment had
occurred so soon, and were disposed to put up at first with a smaller
salary, the rather, that most of them regarded the present one, so
unexpectedly placed within their reach, as a kind of supplement, on
which a short while ago they could not count. Melina made haste to
profit by this favorable temper: he endeavored in a sly way to get a
little talk with each in private, and erelong had, by various methods,
so cockered them all, that they did not hesitate to strike a bargain
with him without loss of time; scarcely thinking of this new engagement,
or reckoning themselves secure at worst of getting free again after
six-weeks' warning.
The terms were now to be reduced to proper form; and Melina was
considering with what pieces he would first entice the public, when a
courier riding up informed the _Stallmeister_ that his lord and lady
were at hand; on which the latter ordered out his horses.
In a short time after this, the coach with its masses of luggage rolled
in; two servants sprang down from the coach-box before the inn; and
Philina, according to her custom, foremost in the way of novelties,
placed herself within the door.
"Who are you?" said the countess, entering the house.
"An actress, at your Excellency's service," was the answer; while the
cheat, with a most innocent air, and looks of great humility,
courtesied, and kissed the lady's gown.
The count, on seeing some other persons standing round, who also
signified that they were players, inquired about the strength of their
company, their last place of residence, their manager. "Had they but
been Frenchmen," said he to his lady, "we might have treated the prince
with an unexpected enjoyment, and entertained him with his favorite
pastime at our house."
"And could we not," said the countess, "get these people, though
unluckily they are but Germans, to exhibit with us at the castle while
the prince stays there? Without doubt they have some degree of skill. A
large party can never be so well amused with any thing as with a
theatre: besides, the baron would assist them."
So speaking, they went up-stairs; and Melina presented himself above, as
manager. "Call your folk together," said the count, "and place them
before me, that I may see what is in them. I must also have the list of
pieces you profess to act."
Melina, with a low bow, hastened from the room, and soon returned with
his actors. They advanced in promiscuous succession: some, out of too
great anxiety to please, introduced themselves in a rather sorry style;
the others, not much better, by assuming an air of unconcern. Philina
showed the deepest reverence to the countess, who behaved with extreme
graciousness and condescension: the count, in the mean time, was
mustering the rest. He questioned each about his special province of
acting, and signified to Melina that he must rigorously keep them to
their several provinces,--a precept which the manager received with the
greatest devotion.
The count then stated to each in particular what he ought especially to
study, what about his figure or his postures ought to be amended; showed
them luminously in what points the Germans always fail; and displayed
such extraordinary knowledge, that all stood in the deepest humility,
scarcely daring to draw their breath before so enlightened a critic and
so right honorable a patron.
"What fellow is that in the corner?" said the count, looking at a
subject who had not yet been presented to him, and who now
approached,--a lean, shambling figure, with a rusty coat, patched at the
elbows, and a woful periwig covering his submissive head.
This person, whom, from the last Book, we know already as Philina's
darling, had been want to enact pedants, tutors, and poets,--generally
undertaking parts in which any cudgelling or ducking was to be endured.
He had trained himself to certain crouching, ludicrous, timid bows; and
his faltering, stammering speech befitted the characters he played, and
created laughter in the audience; so that he was always looked on as a
useful member of the company, being moreover very serviceable and
obliging. He approached the count in his own peculiar way, bent himself
before him, and answered every question with the grimaces and gestures
he was used to on the stage. The count looked at him for some time with
an air of attentive satisfaction and studious observation; then, turning
to the countess, "Child," said he, "consider this man well: I will
engage for it he is a great actor, or may become so." The creature here,
in the fulness of his heart, made an idiotic bow: the count burst into
laughing, and exclaimed, "He does it excellently well! I bet this fellow
can act any thing he likes: it is pity that he has not been already used
to something better."
So singular a prepossession was extremely galling to the rest: Melina
alone felt no vexation, but completely coincided with the count, and
answered, with a prostrate look, "Alas! it is too true: both he and
others of us have long stood in need of such encouragement, and such a
judge, as we now find in your Excellency."
"Is this the whole company?" inquired the count.
"Some of them are absent," said the crafty Melina; "and at any rate, if
we should meet with support, we could soon collect abundant numbers from
the neighborhood."
Philina in the mean while was saying to the countess, "There is a very
pretty young man above, who without doubt would shortly become a
first-rate amateur."
"Why does he not appear?" said the countess.
"I will bring him," cried Philina, hastening to the door.
She found our friend still occupied with Mignon: she persuaded him to
come down. He followed her with some reluctance: yet curiosity impelled
him; for, hearing that the family were people of rank, he longed much to
know more of them. On entering the room, his eyes met those of the
countess, which were directed towards him. Philina led him to the lady,
while the count was busied with the rest. Wilhelm made his bow, and
replied to several questions from the fair dame, not without confusion
of mind. Her beauty and youth, her graceful dignity and refined manner,
made the most delightful impression on him; and the more so, as her
words and looks were accompanied with a certain bashfulness, one might
almost say embarrassment. He was likewise introduced to the count, who,
however, took no special notice of him, but went to the window with his
lady, and seemed to ask her about something. It was easy to observe that
her opinion accorded strongly with his own; that she even tried to
persuade him, and strengthen him in his intentions.
In a short while he turned round to the company, and said, "I must not
stay at present, but I will send a friend to you; and if you make
reasonable proposals, and will take very great pains, I am not
disinclined to let you play at the castle."
All testified their joy at this: Philina in particular kissed the hands
of the countess with the greatest vivacity.
"Look you, little thing," said the lady, patting the cheeks of the
light-minded girl, "look you, child, you shall come to me again: I will
keep my promise; only you must dress better." Philina stated in excuse
that she had little to lay out upon her wardrobe; and the countess
immediately ordered her waiting-maids to bring from the carriage a silk
neckerchief and an English hat, the articles easiest to come at, and
give them to her new favorite. The countess herself then decked Philina,
who continued very neatly to support, by her looks and conduct, that
saintlike, guiltless character she had assumed at first.
The count took his lady's hand, and led her down. She bowed to the whole
company with a friendly air, in passing by them: she turned round again
towards Wilhelm, and said to him, with the most gracious mien, "We shall
soon meet again."
These happy prospects enlivened the whole party: every one of them gave
free course to his hopes, his wishes, his imaginations; spoke of the
parts he would play, and the applause he would acquire. Melina was
considering how he might still, by a few speedy exhibitions, gain a
little money from the people of the town before he left it; while others
went into the kitchen, to order a better dinner than of late they had
been used to.
CHAPTER II.
After a few days the baron came, and it was not without fear that Melina
received him. The count had spoken of him as a critic: and it might be
dreaded, he would speedily detect the weakness of the little party, and
see that it formed no efficient troop; there being scarcely a play which
they could act in a suitable manner. But the manager, as well as all the
members, were soon delivered from their cares, on finding that the baron
was a man who viewed the German stage with a most patriotic enthusiasm,
to whom every player, and every company of players, was welcome and
agreeable. He saluted them all with great solemnity; was happy to come
upon a German theatre so unexpectedly, to get connected with it, and to
introduce their native Muses to the mansion of his relative. He then
pulled out from his pocket a bundle of stitched papers, in which Melina
hoped to find the terms of their contract specified; but it proved
something very different. It was a drama, which the baron himself had
composed, and wished to have played by them: he requested their
attention while he read it. Willingly they formed a circle round him,
charmed at being able with so little trouble to secure the favor of a
man so important; though, judging by the thickness of the manuscript, it
was clear that a very long rehearsal might be dreaded. Their
apprehensions were not groundless: the piece was written in five acts,
and that sort of acts which never have an end.
The hero was an excellent, virtuous, magnanimous, and at the same time
misunderstood and persecuted, man: this worthy person, after many
trials, gained the victory at last over all his enemies; on whom, in
consequence, the most rigorous poetic justice would have been exercised,
had he not pardoned them on the spot.
While this piece was rehearsing, each of the auditors had leisure
enough to think of himself, and to mount up quite softly from the humble
prostration of mind, to which, a little while ago, he had felt disposed,
into a comfortable state of contentment with his own gifts and
advantages, and, from this elevation, to discover the most pleasing
prospects in the future. Such of them as found in the play no parts
adapted for their own acting, internally pronounced it bad, and viewed
the baron as a miserable author; while the others, every time they
noticed any passage which they hoped might procure them a little
clapping of the hands, exalted it with the greatest praise, to the
immeasurable satisfaction of the author.
The commercial part of their affair was soon completed. Melina made an
advantageous bargain with the baron, and contrived to keep it secret
from the rest.
Of our friend, Melina took occasion to declare in passing, that he
seemed to be successfully qualifying himself for becoming a dramatic
poet, and even to have some capacities for being an actor. The baron
introduced himself to Wilhelm as a colleague; and the latter by and by
produced some short pieces, which, with a few other relics, had escaped
by chance, on the day when he threw the greater part of his works into
the flames. The baron lauded both his pieces and delivery: he spoke of
it as a settled thing, that Wilhelm should come over to the castle with
the rest. For all, at his departure, he engaged to find the best
reception, comfortable quarters, a good table, applauses, and presents;
and Melina further gave the promise of a certain modicum of pocket-money
to each.
It is easy to conceive how this visit raised the spirits of the party:
instead of a low and harassing situation, they now at once saw honors
and enjoyment before them. On the score of these great hopes they
already made merry, and each thought it needless and stingy to retain a
single _groschen_ of money in his purse.
Meanwhile our friend was taking counsel with himself about accompanying
the troop to the castle; and he found it, in more than one sense,
advisable to do so. Melina was in hopes of paying off his debt, at least
in part, by this engagement; and Wilhelm, who had come from home to
study men, was unwilling to let slip this opportunity of examining the
great world, where he expected to obtain much insight into life, into
himself, and the dramatic art. With all this, he durst not confess how
greatly he wished again to be near the beautiful countess. He rather
sought to persuade himself in general of the mighty advantages which a
more intimate acquaintance with the world of rank and wealth would
procure for him. He pursued his reflections on the count, the countess,
the baron; on the security, the grace, and propriety of their demeanor:
he exclaimed with rapture when alone,--
"Thrice happy are they to be esteemed, whom their birth of itself exalts
above the lower stages of mankind; who do not need to traverse those
perplexities, not even to skirt them, in which many worthy men so
painfully consume the whole period of life. Far-extending and unerring
must their vision be, on that higher station; easy each step of their
progress in the world. From their very birth, they are placed, as it
were, in a ship, which, in this voyage we have all to make, enables them
to profit by the favorable winds, and to ride out the cross ones; while
others, bare of help, must wear their strength away in swimming, can
derive little profit from the favorable breeze, and in the storm must
soon become exhausted, and sink to the bottom. What convenience, what
ease of movement, does a fortune we are born to confer upon us! How
securely does a traffic flourish, which is founded on a solid capital,
where the failure of one or of many enterprises does not of necessity
reduce us to inaction! Who can better know the worth and worthlessness
of earthly things, than he that has had within his choice the enjoyment
of them from youth upwards? and who can earlier guide his mind to the
useful, the necessary, the true, than he that may convince himself of so
many errors in an age when his strength is yet fresh to begin a new
career?"
Thus did our friend cry joy to all inhabitants of the upper regions,
and, not to them only, but to all that were permitted to approach their
circle, and draw water from their wells. So he thanked his own happy
stars, that seemed preparing to grant this mighty blessing to himself.
Melina, in the mean time, was torturing his brains to get the company
arranged according to their several provinces, and each of them
appointed to produce his own peculiar effect. In compliance with the
count's injunctions and his own persuasions, he made many efforts; but
at last, when it came to the point of execution, he was forced to be
content, if, in so small a troop, he found his people willing to adjust
themselves to this or that part as they best were able. When matters
would admit of it, Laertes played the lover; Philina the lady's maid;
the two young girls took up between them the characters of the artless
and tender loved ones; the boisterous old gentleman of the piece was
sure to be the best acted. Melina himself thought he might come forth as
chevalier; Madam Melina, to her no small sorrow, was obliged to satisfy
herself with personating young wives, or even affectionate mothers; and
as in the newer plays, a poet or pedant is rarely introduced, and still
more rarely for the purpose of being laughed at, the well-known favorite
of the count was now usually transformed into president or
minister,--these being commonly set forth as knaves, and severely
handled in the fifth act. Melina, too, in the part of chamberlain or the
like, introduced, with great satisfaction, the ineptitudes put into his
hands by various honest Germans, according to use and wont, in many
well-accepted plays: he delighted in these characters, because he had an
opportunity of decking himself out in a fashionable style, and was
called upon to assume the airs of a courtier, which he conceived himself
to possess in great perfection.
It was not long till they were joined by several actors from different
quarters; who, being received without very strict examination, were also
retained without very burdensome conditions.
Wilhelm had been more than once assailed with persuasions from Melina to
undertake an amateur part. This he declined; yet he interested and
occupied himself about the general cause with great alacrity, without
our new manager's acknowledging his labors in the smallest. On the
contrary, it seemed to be Melina's opinion, that with his office he had
at the same time picked up all the necessary skill for carrying it on.
In particular, the task of curtailment formed one of his most pleasing
occupations: he would succeed in reducing any given piece down to the
regular measure of time, without the slightest respect to proprieties or
proportions, or any thing whatever, but his watch. He met with great
encouragement; the public was very much delighted; the most knowing
inhabitants of the burgh maintained, that the prince's theatre itself
was not so well conducted as theirs.
CHAPTER III.
At last the time arrived when the company had to prepare for travelling,
and to expect the coaches and other vehicles that were to carry them to
the count's mansion. Much altercation now took place about the mode of
travelling, and who should sit with whom. The ordering and distribution
of the whole was at length settled and concluded, with great labor, and,
alas! without effect. At the appointed hour, fewer coaches came than
were expected: they had to accommodate themselves as the case would
admit. The baron, who followed shortly afterwards on horseback,
assigned, as the reason, that all was in motion at the castle, not only
because the prince was to arrive a few days earlier than had been looked
for, but also because an unexpected party of visitors were already come:
the place, he said, was in great confusion; on this account perhaps they
would not lodge so comfortably as had been intended,--a change which
grieved him very much.
Our travellers packed themselves into the carriages the best way they
could; and the weather being tolerable, and the castle but a few leagues
distant, the heartiest of the troop preferred setting out on foot to
waiting the return of the coaches. The caravan got under way with great
jubilee, for the first time without caring how the landlord's bill was
to be paid. The count's mansion rose on their souls like a palace of the
fairies: they were the happiest and merriest mortals in the world. Each
throughout the journey, in his own peculiar mode, kept fastening a
continued chain of fortune, honor, and prosperity to that auspicious
day.
A heavy rain, which fell unexpectedly, did not banish these delightful
contemplations; though, as it incessantly continued with more and more
violence, many of the party began to show traces of uneasiness. The
night came on; and no sight could be more welcome than the palace of the
count, which shone upon them from a hill at some distance, glancing with
light in all its stories, so that they could reckon every window.
On approaching nearer, they found all the windows in the wings
illuminated also. Each of the party thought within himself what chamber
would be his; and most of them prudently determined to be satisfied with
a room in the attic, or some of the side buildings.
They were now proceeding through the village, past the inn. Wilhelm
stopped the coach, in the mind to alight there; but the landlord
protested that it was not in his power to afford the least
accommodation: his lordship the count, he said, being visited by some
unexpected guests, had immediately engaged the whole inn; every chamber
in the house had been marked with chalk last night, specifying who was
to lodge there. Our friend was accordingly obliged, against his will, to
travel forward to the castle with the rest of the company.
In one of the side buildings, round the kitchen fire, they noticed
several cooks running busily about,--a sight which refreshed them not a
little. Servants came jumping hastily with lights to the staircase of
the main door, and the hearts of the worthy pilgrims overflowed at the
aspect of such honors. But how great was their surprise, when this
cordial reception changed into a storm of curses. The servants scouted
the coachman for driving in hither; they must wheel out again, it was
bawled, and take their loading round to the old castle; there was no
room here for such guests! To this unfriendly and unexpected dismissal,
they joined all manner of jeering, and laughed aloud at each other for
leaping out in the rain on so false an errand. It was still pouring; no
star was visible in the sky; while our company were dragged along a
rough, jolting road, between two walls, into the old mansion, which
stood behind, inhabited by none since the present count's father had
built the new residence in front of it. The carriages drew up, partly in
the court-yard, partly in a long, arched gateway; and the postilions,
people hired from the village, unyoked their horses, and rode off.
As nobody came forward to receive the travellers, they alighted from
their places, they shouted, and searched. In vain! All continued dark
and still. The wind swept through the lofty gate: the court and the old
towers were lying gray and dreary, and so dim that their forms could
scarcely be distinguished in the gloom. The people were all shuddering
and freezing; the women were becoming frightened; the children began to
cry; the general impatience was increasing every minute; so quick a
revolution of fortune, for which no one of them had been at all
prepared, entirely destroyed their equanimity.
Expecting every minute that some person would appear and unbolt the
doors, mistaking at one time the pattering of rain, at another the
rocking of the wind, for the much-desired footstep of the castle
bailiff, they continued downcast and inactive: it occurred to none of
them to go into the new mansion, and there solicit help from charitable
souls. They could not understand where their friend the baron was
lingering: they were in the most disconsolate condition.
At last some people actually arrived: by their voices, they were
recognized as the pedestrians who had fallen behind the others on the
journey. They intimated that the baron had tumbled with his horse, and
hurt his leg severely: and that, on calling at the castle, they, too,
had been roughly directed hither.
The whole company were in extreme perplexity: they guessed and
speculated as to what should now be done, but they could fix on nothing.
At length they noticed from afar a lantern advancing, and took fresh
breath at sight of it; but their hopes of quick deliverance again
evaporated, when the object approached, and came to be distinctly seen.
A groom was lighting the well-known _Stallmeister_ of the castle towards
them: this gentleman, on coming nearer, very anxiously inquired for
Mademoiselle Philina. No sooner had she stepped forth from the crowd,
than he very pressingly offered to conduct her to the new mansion, where
a little place had been provided for her with the countess's maids. She
did not hesitate long about accepting his proposal; she caught his arm,
and, recommending her trunk to the care of the rest, was going to hasten
off with him directly: but the others intercepted them, asking,
entreating, conjuring the _Stallmeister_; till at last, to get away with
his fair one, he promised every thing, assuring them, that, in a little
while, the castle should be opened, and they lodged in the most
comfortable manner. In a few moments they saw the glimmer of his lantern
vanish: they long looked in vain for another gleam of light. At last,
after much watching, scolding, and reviling, it actually appeared, and
revived them with a touch of hope and consolation.
An ancient footman opened the door of the old edifice, into which they
rushed with violence. Each of them now strove to have his trunk
unfastened, and brought in beside him. Most of this luggage, like the
persons of its owners, was thoroughly wetted. Having but a single light,
the process of unpacking went on very slowly. In the dark passages they
pushed against each other, they stumbled, they fell. They begged to have
more lights, they begged to have some fuel. The monosyllabic footman,
with much ado, consented to put down his own lantern; then went his
way, and came not again.
They now began to investigate the edifice. The doors of all the rooms
were open: large stoves, tapestry hangings, inlaid floors, yet bore
witness to its former pomp; but of other house-gear there was none to be
seen,--no table, chair, or mirror, nothing but a few monstrous, empty
bedsteads, stripped of every ornament and every necessary. The wet
trunks and knapsacks were adopted as seats: a part of the tired
wanderers placed themselves upon the floor. Wilhelm had sat down upon
some steps: Mignon lay upon his knees. The child was restless; and, when
he asked what ailed her, she answered, "I am hungry." He himself had
nothing that could still the craving of the child: the rest of the party
had consumed their whole provision, so he was obliged to leave the
little traveller without refreshment. Through the whole adventure he had
been inactive, silently immersed in thought. He was very sullen, and
full of indignant regret that he had not kept by his first
determination, and remained at the inn, though he should have slept in
the garret.
The rest demeaned themselves in various ways. Some of them had got a
heap of old wood collected within a vast, gaping chimney in the hall:
they set fire to the pile with great huzzaing. Unhappily, however, their
hopes of warming and drying themselves by means of it were mocked in the
most frightful manner. The chimney, it appeared, was there for ornament
alone, and was walled up above; so the smoke rushed quickly back, and at
once filled the whole chamber. The dry wood rose crackling into flames;
the flame was also driven back; the draught sweeping through the broken
windows gave it a wavering direction. Terrified lest the castle should
catch fire, the unhappy guests had to tear the burning sticks asunder,
to smother and trample them under their feet; the smoke increased; their
case was rendered more intolerable than before; they were driven to the
brink of desperation.
Wilhelm had retreated from the smoke into a distant chamber, to which
Mignon soon followed him, leading in a well-dressed servant, with a
high, clear, double-lighted lantern in his hand. He turned to Wilhelm,
and, holding out to him some fruits and confectionery on a beautiful
porcelain plate, "The young lady up-stairs," said he, "sends you this,
with the request that you would join her party: she bids me tell you,"
added the lackey, with a sort of grin, "that she is very well off
yonder, and wishes to divide her enjoyments with her friends."
Wilhelm had not at all expected such a message; for, ever since the
adventure on the stone bench, he had treated Philina with the most
decided contempt. He was still so resolute to have no more concern with
her that he thought of sending back her dainty gifts untasted, when a
supplicating look of Mignon's induced him to accept them. He returned
his thanks in the name of the child. The invitation he entirely
rejected. He desired the servant to exert himself a little for the
stranger company, and made inquiry for the baron. The latter, he was
told, had gone to bed, but had already, as the lackey understood, given
orders to some other person to take charge of these unfortunate and
ill-lodged gentlemen.
The servant went away, leaving one of his lights, which Wilhelm, in the
absence of a candlestick, contrived to fix upon the window-casement; and
now, at least in his meditations, he could see the four walls of his
chamber. Nor was it long till preparations were commenced for conducting
our travellers to rest. Candles arrived by degrees, though without
snuffers; then a few chairs; an hour afterwards came bed-clothes; then
pillows, all well steeped in rain. It was far past midnight when straw
beds and mattresses were produced, which, if sent at first, would have
been extremely welcome.
In the interim, also, somewhat to eat and drink had been brought in: it
was enjoyed without much criticism; though it looked like a most
disorderly collection of remains, and offered no very singular proof of
the esteem in which our guests were held.
CHAPTER IV.
The disorders and mischievous tricks of some frolicsome companions still
further augmented the disquietudes and distresses of the night: these
gay people woke each other; each played a thousand giddy pranks to
plague his fellow. The next morning dawned amid loud complaints against
their friend the baron, for having so deceived them, for having given so
very false a notion of the order and comfort that awaited their
arrival. However, to their great surprise and consolation, at an early
hour the count himself, attended by a few servants, made his entrance,
and inquired about their circumstances. He appeared much vexed on
discovering how badly they had fared; and the baron, who came limping
along, supported on the arm of a servant, bitterly accused the steward
for neglecting his commands on this occasion,--showing great anxiety to
have that person punished for his disobedience.
The count gave immediate orders that every thing should be arranged, in
his presence, to the utmost possible convenience of the guests. While
this was going on, some officers arrived, who forthwith scraped
acquaintance with the actresses. The count assembled all the company
before him, spoke to each by name, introduced a few jokes among his
observations; so that every one was charmed at the gracious
condescension of his lordship. At last it came to Wilhelm's turn. He
appeared with Mignon holding by his hand. Our friend excused himself, in
the best terms he could, for the freedom he had taken. The count, on the
other hand, spoke as if the visit had been looked for.
A gentleman, who stood beside the count, and who, although he wore no
uniform, appeared to be an officer, conversed with Wilhelm: he was
evidently not a common man. His large, keen blue eyes, looking out from
beneath a high brow; his light-colored hair, thrown carelessly back; his
middle stature; every thing about him,--showed an active, firm, and
decisive mode of being. His questions were lively. He seemed to be at
home in all that he inquired about.
Wilhelm asked the baron what this person was, but found that he had
little good to say of him. "He held the rank of major, was the special
favorite of the prince; managed his most secret affairs; was, in short,
regarded as his right arm,--nay, there was reason to believe him the
prince's natural son. He had been on embassies in France, England,
Italy. In all those places he had greatly distinguished himself, by
which means he was grown conceited; imagining, among other pretensions,
that he thoroughly understood the literature of Germany, and allowing
himself to vent all kinds of sorry jests upon it. He, the baron, was in
the habit of avoiding all intercourse with him; and Wilhelm would do
well to imitate that conduct, for it somehow happened that no one could
be near him without being punished for it. He was called Jarno, though
nobody knew rightly what to make of such a name."
Wilhelm had nothing to urge against all this: he had felt a sort of
inclination for the stranger, though he noticed in him something cold
and repulsive.
The company being arranged and distributed throughout the castle, Melina
issued the strictest orders that they should behave themselves with
decency, the women live in a separate quarter, and each direct his whole
attention to the study of dramatic art, and of the characters he had to
play. He posted up written ordinances, consisting of many articles, upon
all the doors. He settled the amount of fine which should be levied upon
each transgressor, and put into a common box.
This edict was but little heeded. Young officers went out and in; they
jested, not in the most modest fashion, with the actresses; made game of
the actors, and annihilated the whole system of police before it had the
smallest time to take root in the community. The people ran chasing one
another through the rooms; they changed clothes; they disguised
themselves. Melina, attempting to be rigorous with a few at first, was
exasperated by every sort of insolence; and, when the count soon after
sent for him to come and view the place where his theatre was to be
erected, matters grew worse and worse. The young gentry devised a
thousand broad jokes: by the help of some actors, they became yet
coarser. It seemed as if the old castle had been altogether given up to
an infuriate host, and the racket did not end till dinner.
Meanwhile, the count had led Melina over to a large hall, which, though
belonging to the old castle, communicated by a gallery with the new one:
it seemed very well adapted for being changed into a little theatre.
Here the sagacious lord of the mansion pointed out in person how he
wanted every thing to be.
The labor now commenced in the greatest haste; the stage apparatus was
erected and furbished up; what decorations they had brought along with
them and could employ were set in order, and what was wanting was
prepared by some skilful workmen of the count's. Wilhelm likewise put
his hand to the business; he assisted in settling the perspective, in
laying off the outlines of the scenery: he was very anxious that nothing
should be executed clumsily. The count, who frequently came in to
inspect their progress, was highly satisfied: he showed particularly how
they should proceed in every case, displaying an uncommon knowledge of
all the arts they were concerned with.
Next began the business of rehearsing, in good earnest; and there would
have been enough of space and leisure for this undertaking, had the
actors not continually been interrupted by the presence of visitors.
Some new guests were daily arriving, and each insisted on viewing the
operations of the company.
CHAPTER V.
The baron had, for several days, been cheering Wilhelm with the hope of
being formally presented to the countess. "I have told this excellent
lady," said he, "so much about the talent and fine sentiment displayed
in your compositions, that she feels quite impatient to see you, and
hear one or two of them read. Be prepared, therefore, to come over at a
moment's notice; for, the first morning she is at leisure, you will
certainly be called on." He then pointed out to him the afterpiece it
would be proper to produce on that occasion; adding, that doubtless it
would recommend him to no usual degree of favor. The lady, he declared,
was extremely sorry that a guest like him had happened to arrive at a
time of such confusion, when they could not entertain him in a style
more suitable to his merits and their own wishes.
In consequence of this information, Wilhelm, with the most sedulous
attention, set about preparing the piece, which was to usher him into
the great world. "Hitherto," said he, "thou hast labored in silence for
thyself, applauded only by a small circle of friends. Thou hast for a
time despaired of thy abilities, and are yet full of anxious doubts
whether even thy present path is the right one, and whether thy talent
for the stage at all corresponds with thy inclination for it. In the
hearing of such practised judges, in the closet where no illusion can
take place, the attempt is far more hazardous than elsewhere; and yet I
would not willingly recoil from the experiment: I could wish to add this
pleasure to my former enjoyments, and, if it might be, to give extension
and stability to my hopes from the future."
He accordingly went through some pieces; read them with the keenest
critical eye; made corrections here and there; recited them aloud, that
he might be perfect in his tones and expression: and finally selected
the work which he was best acquainted with, and hoped to gain most honor
by. He put it in his pocket, one morning, on being summoned to attend
the countess.
The baron had assured him that there would be no one present but the
lady herself and a worthy female friend of hers. On entering the
chamber, the Baroness von C---- advanced with great friendliness to meet
him, expressed her happiness at gaining his acquaintance, and introduced
him to the countess, who was then under the hands of her hair-dresser.
The countess received him with kind words and looks. But it vexed him to
see Philina kneeling at her chair, and playing a thousand fooleries.
"The poor child," said the baroness, "has just been singing to us.
Finish the song you were in the midst of: we should not like to lose
it."
Wilhelm listened to her quavering with great patience, being anxious for
the _friseur's_ departure before he should begin to read. They offered
him a cup of chocolate, the baroness herself handing him the biscuit.
Yet, in spite of these civilities, he relished not his breakfast: he was
longing too eagerly to lay before the lovely countess some performance
that might interest and gratify her. Philina, too, stood somewhat in his
way: on former occasions, while listening to him, she had more than once
been troublesome. He looked at the _friseur_ with a painful feeling,
hoping every moment that the tower of curls would be complete.
Meanwhile the count came in, and began to talk of the fresh visitors he
was expecting, of the day's occupations or amusements, and of various
domestic matters that were started. On his retiring, some officers sent
to ask permission of the countess to pay their respects to her, as they
had to leave the castle before dinner. The footman having come to his
post at the door, she permitted him to usher in the gentlemen.
The baroness, amid these interruptions, took pains to entertain our
friend, and showed him much consideration; all which he accepted with
becoming reverence, though not without a little absence of mind. He
often felt for the manuscript in his pocket, and hoped for his
deliverance every instant. He was almost losing patience, when a
man-milliner was introduced, and immediately began without mercy to open
his papers, bags, and bandboxes; pressing all his various wares upon
the ladies, with an importunity peculiar to that species of creature.
The company increased. The baroness cast a look at Wilhelm, and then
whispered with the countess: he noticed this, but did not understand the
purpose of it. The whole, however, became clear enough, when, after an
hour of painful and fruitless endurance, he went away. He then found a
beautiful pocket-book, of English manufacture, in his pocket. The
baroness had dexterously put it there without his notice; and soon
afterwards the countess's little black came out, and handed him an
elegantly flowered waistcoat, without very clearly saying whence it
came.
CHAPTER VI.
This mingled feeling of vexation and gratitude spoiled the remainder of
his day; till, towards evening, he once more found employment. Melina
informed him that the count had been speaking of a little prelude, which
he wished to have produced in honor of the prince, on the day of his
Highness's arrival. He meant to have the great qualities of this noble
hero and philanthropist personified in the piece. These Virtues were to
advance together, to recite his praises, and finally to encircle his
bust with garlands of flowers and laurels; behind which a transparency
might be inserted, representing the princely Hat, and his name
illuminated on it. The count, Melina said, had ordered him to take
charge of getting ready the verses and other arrangements; and Wilhelm,
he hoped, to whom it must be an easy matter, would stand by him on this
occasion.
"What!" exclaimed our friend, in a splenetic tone, "have we nothing but
portraits, illuminated names, and allegorical figures, to show in honor
of a prince, who, in my opinion, merits quite a different eulogy? How
can it flatter any reasonable man to see himself set up in effigy, and
his name glimmering on oiled paper? I am very much afraid that your
allegories, particularly in the present state of the wardrobe, will
furnish occasion for many ambiguities and jestings. If you mean,
however, to compose the play, or have it composed, I can have nothing to
object; only I desire to have no part or lot in the matter."
Melina excused himself; alleging this to be only a casual hint of his
lordship the count, who for the rest had left the arrangement of the
piece entirely in their own hands. "With all my heart," replied our
friend, "will I contribute something to the pleasure of this noble
family: my Muse has never had so pleasant an employment as to sing,
though in broken numbers, the praises of a prince who merits so much
veneration. I will think of the matter: perhaps I may be able to
contrive some way of bringing out our little troop, so as at least to
produce some effect."
From this moment Wilhelm eagerly reflected on his undertaking. Before
going to sleep he had got it all reduced to some degree of order; early
next morning his plan was ready, the scenes laid out; a few of the most
striking passages and songs were even versified and written down.
As soon as he was dressed, our friend made haste to wait upon the baron,
to submit the plan to his inspection, and take his advice upon certain
points connected with it. The baron testified his approbation of it, but
not without considerable surprise. For, on the previous evening, he had
heard his lordship talk of having ordered some quite different piece to
be prepared and versified.
"To me it seems improbable," replied our friend, "that it could be his
lordship's wish to have the piece got ready, exactly as he gave it to
Melina. If I am not mistaken, he intended merely to point out to us from
a distance the path we were to follow. The amateur and critic shows the
artist what is wanted, and then leaves to him the care of producing it
by his own means."
"Not at all," replied the baron: "his lordship understands that the
piece shall be composed according to that and no other plan which he has
himself prescribed. Yours has, indeed, a remote similarity with his
idea; but if we mean to accomplish our purpose, and get the count
diverted from his first thought, we shall need to employ the ladies in
the matter. The baroness especially contrives to execute such operations
in the most masterly manner: the question is now, whether your plan
shall so please her, that she will undertake the business; in that case
it will certainly succeed."
"We need the assistance of the ladies," said our friend, "at any rate;
for neither our company nor our wardrobe would suffice without them. I
have counted on some pretty children, that are running up and down the
house, and belong to certain of the servants."
He then desired the baron to communicate his plan to the ladies. The
baron soon returned with intelligence that they wished to speak with
Wilhelm personally. That same evening, when the gentlemen sat down to
play, which, owing to the arrival of a certain general, was expected to
be deeper and keener than usual, the countess and her friend, under
pretext of some indisposition, would retire to their chamber, where
Wilhelm, being introduced by a secret staircase, might submit his
project without interruption. This sort of mystery, the baron said,
would give the adventure a peculiar charm; in particular the baroness
was rejoicing like a child in the prospect of their rendezvous, and the
more so, because it was to be accomplished secretly, and against the
inclination of the count.
Towards evening, at the appointed time, Wilhelm was sent for, and led in
with caution. As the baroness advanced to meet him in a small cabinet,
the manner of their interview brought former happy scenes for a moment
to his mind. She conducted him along to the countess's chamber, and they
now proceeded earnestly to question and investigate. He exhibited his
plan with the utmost warmth and vivacity, so that his fair audience were
quite decided in its favor. Our readers also will permit us to present a
brief sketch of it here.
The play was to open with a dance of children in some rural
scene,--their dance representing that particular game wherein each has
to wheel round, and gain the other's place. This was to be followed by
several variations of their play; till at last, in performing a dance of
the repeating kind, they were all to sing a merry song.
Here the old harper with Mignon was to enter, and, by the curiosity
which they excited, gather several country-people round them; the harper
would sing various songs in praise of peace, repose, and joy; and Mignon
would then dance the egg-dance.
In these innocent delights, they are disturbed by the sound of martial
music; and the party are surprised by a troop of soldiers. The men stand
on the defensive, and are overcome: the girls flee, and are overtaken.
In the tumult all seems going to destruction, when a person (about whose
form and qualities the poet was not yet determined) enters, and, by
signifying that the general is near, restores composure. Whereupon the
hero's character is painted in the finest colors; security is promised
in the midst of arms; violence and lawless disorder are now to be
restrained. A universal festival is held in honor of the noble-minded
captain.
The countess and her friend expressed great satisfaction with the plan;
only they maintained that there must of necessity be something of
allegory introduced, to make it palatable to his lordship. The baron
proposed that the leader of the soldiers should be represented as the
Genius of Dissension and Violence; that Minerva should then advance to
bind fetters on him, to give notice of the hero's approach, and
celebrate his praise. The baroness undertook the task of persuading the
count that this plan was the one proposed by himself, with a few
alterations; at the same time expressly stipulating, that without fail,
at the conclusion of the piece, the bust, the illuminated name, and the
princely Hat should be exhibited in due order; since otherwise, her
attempt was vain.
Wilhelm had already figured in his mind how delicately and how nobly he
would have the praises of his hero celebrated in the mouth of Minerva,
and it was not without a long struggle that he yielded in this point.
Yet he felt himself delightfully constrained to yield. The beautiful
eyes of the countess, and her lovely demeanor, would easily have moved
him to sin against his conscience as a poet; to abandon the finest and
most interesting invention, the keenly wished-for unity of his
composition, and all its most suitable details. His conscience as a
burgher had a trial no less hard to undergo, when the ladies, in
distributing the characters, pointedly insisted that he must undertake
one himself.
Laertes had received for his allotment the part of that violent war-god;
Wilhelm was to represent the leader of the peasants, who had some very
pretty and tender verses to recite. After long resistance he was forced
to comply: he could find no excuse, when the baroness protested that
their stage was in all respects to be regarded as a private one, and
that she herself would very gladly play on it, if they could find her a
fit occasion. On receiving his consent, they parted with our friend on
the kindest terms. The baroness assured him that he was an incomparable
man: she accompanied him to the little stairs, and wished him good-night
with a squeeze of the hand.
CHAPTER VII.
The interest in his undertakings, which the countess and her friend
expressed and felt so warmly, quickened Wilhelm's faculties and zeal:
the plan of his piece, which the process of describing it had rendered
more distinct, was now present in the most brilliant vividness before
his mind. He spent the greater part of that night, and the whole of next
morning, in the sedulous versification of the dialogue and songs.
He had proceeded a considerable way, when a message came, requiring his
attendance in the castle: the noble company, who were then at breakfast,
wished to speak with him. As he entered the parlor, the baroness
advanced to meet him, and, under pretext of wishing him good-morning,
whispered cunningly, "Say nothing of your piece but what you shall be
asked."
"I hear," cried the count to him, "that you are very busy working at my
prelude, which I mean to present in honor of the prince. I consent that
you introduce a Minerva into it; and we are just thinking beforehand how
the goddess shall be dressed, that we may not blunder in costume. For
this purpose I am causing them to fetch from the library all the books
that contain any figures of her."
At the same instant, one or two servants entered the parlor, with a huge
basket full of books of every shape and appearance.
Montfaucon, the collections of antique statues, gems, and coins, all
sorts of mythological writings, were turned up, and their plates
compared. But this was not enough. The count's faithful memory recalled
to him all the Minervas to be found in frontispieces, vignettes, or
anywhere else; and book after book was, in consequence, carried from the
library, till finally the count was sitting in a chaos of volumes.
Unable at last to recollect any other figure of Minerva, he observed
with a smile, "I durst bet, that now there is not a single Minerva in
all the library; and perhaps it is the first time that a collection of
books has been so totally deprived of the presence of its patron
goddess."
The whole company were merry at this thought: Jarno particularly, who
had all along been spurring on the count to call for more and more
books, laughed quite immoderately.
"Now," said the count, turning to Wilhelm, "one chief point is,--which
goddess do you mean? Minerva, or Pallas? The goddess of war, or of the
arts?"
"Would it not be best, your Excellency," said Wilhelm, "if we were not
clearly to express ourselves on this head; if, since the goddess plays a
double part in the ancient mythology, we also exhibited her here in a
double quality? She announces a warrior, but only to calm the tumults of
the people; she celebrates a hero by exalting his humanity; she conquers
violence, and restores peace and security."
The baroness, afraid lest Wilhelm might betray himself, hastily pushed
forward the countess's tailor, to give his opinion how such an antique
robe could best be got ready. This man, being frequently employed in
making masquerade dresses, very easily contrived the business: and as
Madam Melina, notwithstanding her advanced state of pregnancy, had
undertaken to enact the celestial virgin, the tailor was directed to
take her measure; and the countess, though with some reluctance,
selected from the wardrobe the clothes he was to cut up for that
purpose.
The baroness, in her dexterous way, again contrived to lead Wilhelm
aside, and let him know that she had been providing all the other
necessaries. Shortly afterwards she sent him the musician, who had
charge of the count's private band; and this professor set about
composing what airs were wanted, or choosing from his actual stock such
tunes as appeared suitable. From this time all went on according to the
wishes of our friend: the count made no more inquiries about the piece;
being altogether occupied with the transparent decoration, destined to
surprise the spectators at the conclusion of the play. His inventive
genius, aided by the skill of his confectioner, produced, in fact, a
very pretty article. In the course of his travels, the count had
witnessed the most splendid exhibitions of this sort: he had also
brought home with him a number of copper-plates and drawings, and could
sketch such things with considerable taste.
Meanwhile Wilhelm finished the play, gave every one his part, and began
the study of his own. The musician also, having great skill in dancing,
prepared the ballet; so that every thing proceeded as it ought.
Yet one unexpected obstacle occurred, which threatened to occasion an
unpleasant gap in the performance. He had promised to himself a striking
effect from Mignon's egg-dance, and was much surprised when the child,
with her customary dryness of manner, refused to dance; saying she was
now his, and would no more go upon the stage. He sought to move her by
every sort of persuasion, and did not discontinue his attempt till she
began weeping bitterly, fell at his feet, and cried out, "Dearest
father! stay thou from the boards thyself!" Little heeding this caution,
he studied how to give the scene some other turn that might be equally
interesting.
Philina, whose appointment was to act one of the peasant girls, and in
the concluding dance to give the single-voice part of the song, and lead
the chorus, felt exceedingly delighted that it had been so ordered. In
other respects, too, her present life was altogether to her mind: she
had her separate chamber; was constantly beside the countess,
entertaining her with fooleries, and daily received some present for her
pains. Among other things, a dress had been expressly made for her
wearing in this prelude. And being of a light, imitative nature, she
quickly marked in the procedure of the ladies whatever would befit
herself: she had of late grown all politeness and decorum. The
attentions of the _Stallmeister_ augmented rather than diminished; and
as the officers also paid zealous court to her, living in so genial an
element, it came into her head for once in her life to play the prude,
and, in a quiet, gradual way, to take upon herself a certain dignity of
manner to which she had not before aspired. Cool and sharp-sighted as
she was, eight days had not elapsed till she knew the weak side of every
person in the house; so that, had she possessed the power of acting from
any constant motive, she might very easily have made her fortune. But on
this occasion, as on all others, she employed her advantages merely to
divert herself,--to procure a bright to-day, and be impertinent,
wherever she observed that impertinence was not attended with danger.
The parts were now committed to memory: a rehearsal of the piece was
ordered; the count purposed to be present at it, and his lady began to
feel anxious how he might receive it. The baroness called Wilhelm to her
privately. The nearer the hour approached, they all displayed the more
perplexity; for the truth was, that, of the count's original idea,
nothing whatever had been introduced. Jarno, who joined them while
consulting together, was admitted to the secret. He felt amused at the
contrivance, and was heartily disposed to offer the ladies his good
services in carrying it through. "It will go hard," said he, "if you
cannot extricate yourselves without help from this affair; but, at all
events, I will wait, as a body of reserve." The baroness then told them
how she had on various occasions recited the whole piece to the count,
but only in fragments and without order; that consequently he was
prepared for each individual passage, yet certainly possessed with the
idea that the whole would coincide with his original conception. "I will
sit by him," said she, "to-night at the rehearsal, and study to divert
his attention. The confectioner I have engaged already to make the
decoration as beautiful as possible, but as yet he has not quite
completed it."
"I know of a court," said Jarno, "where I wish we had a few such active
and prudent friends as you. If your skill to-night will not suffice,
give me a signal: I will take out the count, and not let him in again
till Minerva enter; and you have speedy aid to expect from the
illumination. For a day or two I have had something to report to him
about his cousin, which for various reasons I have hitherto postponed.
It will give his thoughts another turn, and that none of the
pleasantest."
Business hindered the count from being present when the play began; the
baroness amused him after his arrival: Jarno's help was not required.
For as the count had abundance of employment in pointing out
improvements, rectifying and arranging the detached parts, he entirely
forgot the purport of the whole; and, as at last Madam Melina advanced,
and spoke according to his heart, and the transparency did well, he
seemed completely satisfied. It was not till the whole was finished, and
his guests were sitting down to cards, that the difference appeared to
strike him; and he began to think whether after all this piece was
actually of his invention. At a signal from the baroness, Jarno then
came forward into action; the evening passed away; the intelligence of
the prince's approach was confirmed; the people rode out more than once
to see his vanguard encamping in the neighborhood; the house was full of
noise and tumult; and our actors, not always served in the handsomest
manner by unwilling servants, had to pass their time in practisings and
expectations at their quarters in the old mansion, without any one
particularly taking thought about them.
CHAPTER VIII.
At length the prince arrived, with all his generals, staff-officers, and
suite accompanying him. These, and the multitude of people coming to
visit or do business with him, made the castle like a beehive on the
point of swarming. All pressed forward to behold a man no less
distinguished by his rank than by his great qualities, and all admired
his urbanity and condescension: all were astonished at finding the hero
and the leader of armies also the most accomplished and attractive
courtier.
By the count's orders, the inmates of the castle were required to be all
at their posts when the prince arrived: not a player was allowed to show
himself, that his Highness might have no anticipation of the spectacle
prepared to welcome him. Accordingly, when at evening he was led into
the lofty hall, glowing with light, and adorned with tapestries of the
previous century, he seemed not at all prepared to expect a play, and
still less a prelude in honor of himself. Every thing went off as it
should have done: at the conclusion of the show, the whole troop were
called and presented individually to the prince, who contrived, with the
most pleasing and friendly air, to put some question, or make some
remark, to every one of them. Wilhelm, as author of the piece, was
particularly noticed, and had his tribute of applause liberally paid
him.
The prelude being fairly over, no one asked another word about it: in a
few days, it was as if it never had existed; except that occasionally
Jarno spoke of it to Wilhelm, judiciously praised it, adding, however,
"It is pity you should play with hollow nuts, for a stake of hollow
nuts." This expression stuck in Wilhelm's mind for several days: he knew
not how to explain it, or what to infer from it.
Meanwhile the company kept acting every night, as well as their
capacities permitted; each doing his utmost to attract the attention of
spectators. Undeserved applauses cheered them on: in their old castle
they fully believed, that the great assemblage was crowding thither
solely on their account; that the multitude of strangers was allured by
their exhibitions; that _they_ were the centre round which, and by means
of which, the whole was moving and revolving.
Wilhelm alone discovered, to his sorrow, that directly the reverse was
true. For although the prince had waited out the first exhibitions,
sitting on his chair, with the greatest conscientiousness, yet by
degrees he grew remiss in his attendance, and seized every plausible
occasion of withdrawing. And those very people whom Wilhelm, in
conversation, had found to be the best informed and most sensible, with
Jarno at their head, were wont to spend but a few transitory moments in
the hall of the theatre; sitting for the rest of their time in the
ante-chamber, gaming, or seeming to employ themselves in business.
Amid all his persevering efforts, to want the wished and hoped for
approbation grieved Wilhelm very deeply. In the choice of plays, in
transcribing the parts, in numerous rehearsals, and whatever further
could be done, he zealously co-operated with Melina, who, being in
secret conscious of his own insufficiency, at length acknowledged and
pursued these counsels. His own parts, Wilhelm diligently studied, and
executed with vivacity and feeling, and with all the propriety the
little training he had yet received would allow.
At the same time, the unwearied interest the baron took in their
performances obliterated every doubt from the minds of the rest of the
company: he assured them that their exhibitions were producing the
deepest effect, especially while one of his own pieces had been
representing; only he was grieved to say, the prince showed an exclusive
inclination for the French theatre; while a part of his people, among
whom Jarno was especially distinguished, gave a passionate preference to
the monstrous productions of the English stage.
If in this way the art of our players was not adequately noticed and
admired, their persons on the other hand grew not entirely indifferent
to all the gentlemen and all the ladies of the audience. We observed
above, that, from the very first, our actresses had drawn upon them the
attention of the young officers: in the sequel they were luckier, and
made more important conquests. But, omitting these, we shall merely
observe, that Wilhelm every day appeared more interesting to the
countess; while in him, too, a silent inclination towards her was
beginning to take root. Whenever he was on the stage, she could not turn
her eyes from him; and, erelong, he seemed to play and to recite with
his face towards her alone. To look upon each other, was to them the
sweetest satisfaction; to which their harmless souls yielded without
reserve, without cherishing a bolder wish, or thinking about any
consequence.
As two hostile outposts will sometimes peacefully and pleasantly
converse together across the river which divides them, not thinking of
the war in which both their countries are engaged: so did the countess
exchange looks full of meaning with our friend, across the vast chasm of
birth and rank; both believing for themselves that they might safely
cherish their several emotions.
The baroness, in the mean time, had selected Laertes, who, being a
spirited and lively young man, pleased her very much; and who,
woman-hater as he was, felt unwilling to refuse a passing adventure. He
would actually on this occasion have been fettered, against his will, by
the courteous and attractive nature of the baroness, had not the baron
done him accidentally a piece of good, or, if you will, of bad, service,
by instructing him a little in the habits and temper of this lady.
Laertes, happening once to celebrate her praises, and give her the
preference to every other of her sex, the baron, with a grin, replied,
"I see how matters stand: our fair friend has got a fresh inmate for her
stalls." This luckless comparison, which pointed too clearly to the
dangerous caresses of the Circe, grieved poor Laertes to the heart: he
could not listen to the baron without spite and anger, as the latter
continued without mercy,--
"Every stranger thinks he is the first whom this delightful manner of
proceeding has concerned, but he is grievously mistaken; for we have
all, at one time or another, been trotted round this course. Man, youth,
or boy, be who he like, each must devote himself to her service for a
season, must hang about her, and toil and long to gain her favor."
To the happy man just entering the garden of an enchantress, and
welcomed by all the pleasures of an artificial spring, nothing can form
a more unpleasant surprise, than if, while his ear is watching and
drinking in the music of the nightingales, some transformed predecessor
on a sudden grunts at his feet.
After this discovery, Laertes felt heartily ashamed that vanity should
have again misled him to think well, even in the smallest degree, of any
woman whatsoever. He now entirely forsook the baroness; kept by the
_Stallmeister_, with whom he diligently fenced and hunted; conducting
himself at rehearsals and representations as if these were but secondary
matters.
The count and his lady would often in the mornings send for some of the
company to attend them, and all had continual cause to envy the
undeserved good fortune of Philina. The count kept his favorite, the
Pedant, frequently for hours together, at his toilet. This genius had
been dressed out by degrees: he was now equipped and furnished, even to
watch and snuff-box.
Many times, too, particularly after dinner, the whole company were
called out before the noble guests,--an honor which the artists regarded
as the most flattering in the world; not observing, that on these very
occasions the servants and huntsmen were ordered to bring in a multitude
of hounds, and to lead strings of horses about the court of the castle.
Wilhelm had been counselled to praise Racine, the prince's favorite, and
thereby to attract some portion of his Highness's favor to himself. On
one of these afternoons, being summoned with the rest, he found an
opportunity to introduce this topic. The prince asked him if he
diligently read the great French dramatic writers, to which Wilhelm
answered with a very eager "Yes." He did not observe that his Highness,
without waiting for the answer, was already on the point of turning
round to some one else: he fixed upon him, on the contrary, almost
stepping in his way, and proceeded to declare that he valued the French
theatre very highly, and read the works of their great masters with
delight; particularly he had learned with true joy that his Highness did
complete justice to the great talents of Racine. "I can easily
conceive," continued he, "how people of high breeding and exalted rank
must value a poet who has painted so excellently and so truly the
circumstances of their lofty station. Corneille, if I may say so, has
delineated great men; Racine, men of eminent rank. In reading his plays,
I can always figure to myself the poet as living at a splendid court,
with a great king before his eyes, in constant intercourse with the most
distinguished persons, and penetrating into the secrets of human nature,
as it works concealed behind the gorgeous tapestry of palaces. When I
study his "Britannicus," his "Bérénice," it seems as if I were
transported in person to the court, were initiated into the great and
the little, in the habitations of these earthly gods: through the fine
and delicate organs of my author, I see kings whom a nation adores,
courtiers whom thousands envy, in their natural forms, with their
failings and their pains. The anecdote of Racine's dying of a broken
heart, because Louis Fourteenth would no longer attend to him, and had
shown him his dissatisfaction, is to me the key to all his works. It was
impossible that a poet of his talents, whose life and death depended on
the looks of a king, should not write such works as a king and a prince
might applaud."
Jarno had stepped near, and was listening with astonishment. The prince,
who had made no answer, and had only shown his approbation by an
assenting look, now turned aside; though Wilhelm, who did not know that
it was contrary to etiquette to continue a discussion under such
circumstances, and exhaust a subject, would gladly have spoken more, and
convinced the prince that he had not read his favorite poet without
sensibility and profit.
"Have you never," said Jarno, taking him aside, "read one of
Shakspeare's plays?"
"No," replied Wilhelm: "since the time when they became more known in
Germany, I have myself grown unacquainted with the theatre; and I know
not whether I should now rejoice that an old taste, and occupation of my
youth, has been by chance renewed. In the mean time, all I have heard of
these plays has excited no wish to become acquainted with such
extraordinary monsters, which appear to set probability and dignity
alike at defiance."
"I would advise you," said the other, "to make a trial, notwithstanding:
it can do one no harm to look at what is extraordinary with one's own
eyes. I will lend you a volume or two; and you cannot better spend your
time, than by casting every thing aside, and retiring to the solitude of
your old habitation, to look into the magic-lantern of that unknown
world. It is sinful of you to waste your hours in dressing out these
apes to look more human, and teaching dogs to dance. One thing only I
require,--you must not cavil at the form: the rest I can leave to your
own good sense and feeling."
The horses were standing at the door; and Jarno mounted with some other
cavaliers, to go and hunt. Wilhelm looked after him with sadness. He
would fain have spoken much with this man, who, though in a harsh,
unfriendly way, gave him new ideas,--ideas he had need of.
Oftentimes a man, when approaching some development of his powers,
capacities, and conceptions, gets into a perplexity, from which a
prudent friend might easily deliver him. He resembles a traveller who,
at but a short distance from the inn he is to rest at, falls into the
water: were any one to catch him then, and pull him to the bank, with
one good wetting it were over; whereas, though he struggles out himself,
it is often at the side where he tumbled in; and he has to make a wide
and dreary circuit before reaching his appointed object.
Wilhelm now began to have an inkling that things went forward in the
world differently from what he had supposed. He now viewed close at hand
the solemn and imposing life of the great and distinguished, and
wondered at the easy dignity which they contrived to give it. An army on
its march, a princely hero at the head of it, such a multitude of
co-operating warriors, such a multitude of crowding worshippers, exalted
his imagination. In this mood he received the promised books; and
erelong, as may be easily supposed, the stream of that mighty genius
laid hold of him, and led him down to a shoreless ocean, where he soon
completely forgot and lost himself.
CHAPTER IX.
The connection between the baron and the actors had suffered various
changes since the arrival of the latter. At the commencement it had been
productive of great satisfaction to both parties. As the baron for the
first time in his life now saw one of those plays, with which he had
already graced a private theatre, put into the hands of real actors, and
in the fair way for a decent exhibition, he showed the benignest humor
in the world. He was liberal in gifts: he bought little presents for the
actresses from every millinery hawker, and contrived to send over many
an odd bottle of champagne to the actors. In return for all this, our
company took every sort of trouble with his play; and Wilhelm spared no
diligence in learning, with extreme correctness, the sublime speeches of
that very eminent hero, whose part had fallen to his share.
But, in spite of all these kind reciprocities, some clouds by degrees
arose between the players and their patron. The baron's preference for
certain actors became daily more observable: this of necessity chagrined
the rest. He exalted his favorites quite exclusively, and thus, of
course, introduced disunion and jealousy among the company. Melina,
without skill to help himself in dubious junctures, felt his situation
very vexing. The persons eulogized accepted of their praise, without
being singularly thankful for it; while the neglected gentlemen showed
traces of their spleen by a thousand methods, and constantly found means
to make it very disagreeable for their once much-honored patron to
appear among them. Their spite received no little nourishment from a
certain poem, by an unknown author, which made a great sensation in the
castle. Previously to this the baron's intercourse with the company had
given rise to many little strokes of merriment; several stories had been
raised about him; certain little incidents, adorned with suitable
additions, and presented in the proper light, had been talked of, and
made the subject of much bantering and laughter. At last it began to be
said that a certain rivalry of trade was arising between him and some of
the actors, who also looked upon themselves as writers. The poem we
spoke of was founded upon this report: it ran as follows:--
"Lord Baron, I, poor devil, own
With envy, you your rank and state;
Your station, too, so near the throne;
Of heirs your possessions great;
Your father's seat, with walls and mounds,
His game-preserves, and hunting-grounds.
While me, poor devil, it appears,
Lord Baron, you with envy view,
Since Nature, from my early years,
Has held me like a mother true,
With heart and head both light, I poor,
But no poor wight _grew_, to be sure.
My dear Lord Baron, now to me
It seems, we well alone should let,
That you your father's son still be,
And I remain my mother's pet:
Let's free from envy live, and hate;
Nor let's desire each other's title:
No place you on Parnassus great,
No noble rank I in requital."
--_Editor's Version._
Upon this poem, which various persons were possessed of, in copies
scarcely legible, opinions were exceedingly divided. But who the author
was, no one could guess; and, as some began to draw a spiteful mirth
from it, our friend expressed himself against it very keenly.
"We Germans," he exclaimed, "deserve to have our Muses still continue in
the low contempt wherein they have languished so long; since we cannot
value men of rank who take a share in our literature, no matter how!
Birth, rank, and fortune are no wise incompatible with genius and taste;
as foreign nations, reckoning among their best minds a great number of
noblemen, can fully testify. Hitherto, indeed, it has been rare in
Germany for men of high station to devote themselves to science;
hitherto few famous names have become more famous by their love of art
and learning; while many, on the other hand, have mounted out of
darkness to distinction, and risen like unknown stars on the horizon.
Yet such will not always be the case; and I greatly err, if the first
classes of the nation are not even now in the way of also employing
their advantages to earn the fairest laurels of the Muses, at no distant
date. Nothing, therefore, grieves me more than to see the burgher
jeering at the noble who can value literature; nay, even men of rank
themselves, with inconsiderate caprice, maliciously scaring off their
equal from a path where honor and contentment wait on all."
Apparently this latter observation pointed at the count, of whom Wilhelm
had heard that he liked the poem very much. In truth, this nobleman,
accustomed to rally the baron in his own peculiar way, was extremely
glad of such an opportunity to plague his kinsman more effectually. As
to who the writer of the squib might be, each formed his own hypothesis;
and the count, never willing that another should surpass him in
acuteness, fell upon a thought, which, in a short time, he would have
sworn to the truth of. The verses could be written, he believed, by no
one but his Pedant, who was a very shrewd knave, and in whom, for a long
while, he had noticed some touches of poetic genius. By way of proper
treat, he therefore caused the Pedant one morning to be sent for, and
made him read the poem, in his own manner, in presence of the countess,
the baroness, and Jarno,--a service he was paid for by applauses,
praises, and a present; and, on the count's inquiring if he had not
still some other poems of an earlier time, he cunningly contrived to
evade the question. Thus did the Pedant get invested with the reputation
of a poet and a wit, and, in the eyes of the baron's friends, of a
pasquinader and a bad-hearted man. From that period, play as he might,
the count applauded him with greater zeal than ever; so that the poor
wight grew at last inflated till he nearly lost his senses, and began to
meditate having a chamber in the castle, like Philina.
Had this project been fulfilled at once, a great mishap might have been
spared him. As he was returning late one evening from the castle,
groping about in the dark, narrow way, he was suddenly laid hold of, and
kept on the spot by some persons, while some others rained a shower of
blows upon him, and battered him so stoutly, that in a few seconds he
was lying almost dead upon the place, and could not without difficulty
crawl in to his companions. These, indignant as they seemed to be at
such an outrage, felt their secret joy in the adventure: they could
hardly keep from laughing, at seeing him so thoroughly curried, and his
new brown coat bedusted through and through, and bedaubed with white, as
if he had had to do with millers.
The count, who soon got notice of the business, broke into a boundless
rage. He treated this act as the most heinous crime, called it an
infringement of the _Burgfried_, or peace of the castle, and caused his
judge to make the strictest inquisition touching it. The whited coat, it
was imagined, would afford a leading proof. Every creature that possibly
could have the smallest trade with flour or powder in the castle was
submitted to investigation, but in vain.
The baron solemnly protested on his honor, that although this sort of
jesting had considerably displeased him, and the conduct of his lordship
the count had not been the friendliest, yet he had got over the affair;
and with respect to the misfortune which had come upon the poet, or
pasquinader, or whatsoever his title might be, he knew absolutely
nothing, and had not the most remote concern in it.
The operations of the strangers, and the general commotion of the house,
soon effaced all recollection of the matter; and so, without redress,
the unlucky favorite had to pay dear for the satisfaction of pluming
himself, a short while, in feathers not his own.
Our troop, regularly acting every night, and on the whole very decently
treated, now began to make more clamorous demands, the better they were
dealt with. Erelong their victuals, drink, attendance, lodging, grew
inadequate; and they called upon the baron, their protector, to provide
more liberally for them, and at last make good those promises of
comfortable entertainment, which he had been giving them so long. Their
complaints grew louder, and the efforts of our friend to still them more
and more abortive.
Meanwhile, excepting in rehearsals and hours of acting, Wilhelm scarcely
ever came abroad. Shut up in one of the remotest chambers, to which
Mignon and the harper alone had free access, he lived and moved in the
Shakspearian world, feeling or knowing nothing but the movements of his
own mind.
We have heard of some enchanter summoning, by magic formulas, a vast
multitude of spiritual shapes into his cell. The conjurations are so
powerful that the whole space of the apartment is quickly full; and the
spirits, crowding on to the verge of the little circle which they must
not pass, around this, and above the master's head, keep increasing in
number, and ever whirling in perpetual transformation. Every corner is
crammed, every crevice is possessed. Embryos expand themselves, and
giant-forms contract into the size of nuts. Unhappily the black-artist
has forgot the counterword, with which he might command this flood of
sprites again to ebb.
So sat Wilhelm in his privacy: with unknown movements, a thousand
feelings and capacities awoke in him, of which he formerly had neither
notion nor anticipation. Nothing could allure him from this state: he
was vexed and restless if any one presumed to come to him, and talk of
news or what was passing in the world.
Accordingly, he scarce took notice of the circumstance, when told that a
judicial sentence was about being executed in the castle-yard,--the
flogging of a boy, who had incurred suspicions of nocturnal
housebreaking, and who, as he wore a peruke-maker's coat, had most
probably been one of the assaulters of the Pedant. The boy indeed, it
seemed, denied most obstinately; so that they could not inflict a formal
punishment, but meant to give him a slight memorial as a vagabond, and
send him about his business; he having prowled about the neighborhood
for several days, lain at night in the mills, and at last clapped a
ladder to the garden-wall, and mounted over by it.
Our friend saw nothing very strange in the transaction, and was
dismissing it altogether, when Mignon came running in, and assured him
that the criminal was Friedrich, who, since the rencounter with the
_Stallmeister_, had vanished from the company, and not again been heard
of.
Feeling an interest in the boy, Wilhelm hastily arose: he found, in the
court-yard of the castle, the preparations almost finished. The count
loved solemnity on these occasions. The boy being now led out, our
friend stepped forward, and entreated for delay, as he knew the boy, and
had various things to say which might, perhaps, throw light on the
affair. He had difficulty in succeeding, notwithstanding all his
statements: at length, however, he did get permission to speak with the
culprit in private. Friedrich averred, that, concerning the assault in
which the Pedant had been used so harshly, he knew nothing whatever. He
had merely been lurking about, and had come in at night to see Philina,
whose room he had discovered, and would certainly have reached, had he
not been taken by the way.
For the credit of the company, Wilhelm felt desirous not to have the
truth of his adventure published. He hastened to the _Stallmeister_: he
begged him to show favor, and, with his intimate knowledge of men and
things about the castle, to find some means of quashing the affair, and
dismissing the boy.
This whimsical gentleman, by Wilhelm's help, invented a little
story,--how the boy had belonged to the troop, had run away from it, but
soon wished to get back, and be received again into his place; how he
had accordingly been trying in the night to come at certain of his
well-wishers, and solicit their assistance. It was testified by others
that his former behavior had been good: the ladies put their hands to
the work, and Friedrich was let go.
Wilhelm took him in,--a third person in that strange family, which for
some time he had looked on as his own. The old man and little Mignon
received the returning wanderer kindly; and all the three combined to
serve their friend and guardian with attention, and procure him all the
pleasure in their power.
CHAPTER X.
Philina now succeeded in insinuating farther every day into the favor of
the ladies. Whenever they were by themselves, she was wont to lead the
conversation on the men whom they saw about the castle; and our friend
was not the last or least important that engaged them. The cunning girl
was well aware that he had made a deep impression on the countess: she
therefore talked about him often, telling much that she knew or did not
know, only taking care to speak of nothing that might be interpreted
against him; eulogizing, on the contrary, his nobleness of mind, his
generosity, and, more than all, his modest and respectful conduct to
the fair sex. To all inquiries made about him she replied with equal
prudence; and the baroness, when she observed the growing inclination of
her amiable friend, was likewise very glad at the discovery. Her own
intrigues with several men, especially of late with Jarno, had not
remained hidden from the countess, whose pure soul could not look upon
such levities without disapprobation, and meek, though earnest,
censures.
In this way both Philina and the baroness were personally interested in
establishing a closer intercourse between the countess and our friend.
Philina hoped, moreover, that there would occur some opportunity when
she might once more labor for herself, and, if possible, get back the
favor of the young man she had lost.
One day his lordship, with his guests, had ridden out to hunt; and their
return was not expected till the morrow. On this the baroness devised a
frolic, which was altogether in her way, for she loved disguises, and,
in order to surprise her friends, would suddenly appear among them as a
peasant-girl at one time, at another as a page, at another as a hunter's
boy. By which means she almost gave herself the air of a little fairy,
that is present everywhere, and exactly in the place where it is least
expected. Nothing could exceed this lady's joy, if, without being
recognized, she could contrive to wait upon the company for some time as
a servant, or mix among them anyhow, and then at last in some sportful
way disclose herself.
Towards night she sent for Wilhelm to her chamber, and, happening to
have something else to do just then, left Philina to receive and prepare
him.
He arrived, and found to his surprise, not the honorable lady, but the
giddy girl, in the room. She received him with a certain dignified
openness of manner, which she had of late been practising, and so
constrained him likewise to be courteous.
At first she rallied him in general on the good fortune which pursued
him everywhere, and which, as she could not but see, had led him hither
in the present case. Then she delicately set before him the treatment
with which of late he had afflicted her; she blamed and upbraided
herself; confessed that she had but too well deserved such punishment;
described with the greatest candor what she called her _former_
situation; adding, that she would despise herself, if she were not
capable of altering, and making herself worthy of his friendship.
Wilhelm was struck with this oration. He had too little knowledge of the
world to understand that persons quite unstable, and incapable of all
improvement, frequently accuse themselves in the bitterest manner,
confessing and deploring their faults with extreme ingenuousness, though
they possess not the smallest power within them to retire from that
course, along which the irresistible tendency of their nature is
dragging them forward. Accordingly, he could not find in his heart to
behave inexorably to the graceful sinner: he entered into conversation,
and learned from her the project of a singular disguisement, wherewith
it was intended to surprise the countess.
He found some room for hesitation here, nor did he hide his scruples
from Philina: but the baroness, entering at this moment, left him not an
instant for reflection; she hurried him away with her, declaring it was
just the proper hour.
It was now grown dark. She took him to the count's wardrobe, made him
change his own coat with his lordship's silk night-gown, and put the cap
with red trimmings on his head. She then led him forward to the cabinet;
and bidding him sit down upon the large chair, and take a book, she lit
the Argand lamp which stood before him, and showed him what he was to
do, and what kind of part he had to play.
They would inform the countess, she said, of her husband's unexpected
arrival, and that he was in very bad humor. The countess would come in,
walk up and down the room once or twice, then place herself beside the
back of his chair, lay her arm upon his shoulder, and speak a few words.
He was to play the cross husband as long and as well as possible; and,
when obliged to disclose himself, he must behave politely, handsomely,
and gallantly.
Wilhelm was left sitting, restlessly enough, in this singular mask. The
proposal had come upon him by surprise: the execution of it got the
start of the deliberation. The baroness had vanished from the room,
before he saw how dangerous the post was which he had engaged to fill.
He could not deny that the beauty, the youth, the gracefulness, of the
countess had made some impression on him: but his nature was entirely
averse to all empty gallantry, and his principles forbade any thought of
more serious enterprises; so that his perplexity at this moment was in
truth extreme. The fear of displeasing the countess, and that of
pleasing her too well, were equally busy in his mind.
Every female charm that had ever acted on him, now showed itself again
to his imagination. Mariana rose before him in her white morning-gown,
and entreated his remembrance. Philina's loveliness, her beautiful hair,
her insinuating blandishments, had again become attractive by her late
presence. Yet all this retired as if behind the veil of distance, when
he figured to himself the noble, blooming countess, whose arm in a few
minutes he would feel upon his neck, whose innocent caresses he was
there to answer.
The strange mode in which he was to be delivered out of this perplexity
he certainly did not anticipate. We may judge of his astonishment, nay,
his terror, when the door opened behind him; and, at the first stolen
look in the mirror, he quite clearly discerned the count coming in with
a light in his hand. His doubt what he should do, whether he should sit
still or rise, should flee, confess, deny, or beg forgiveness, lasted
but a few instants. The count, who had remained motionless standing in
the door, retired, and shut it softly. At the same moment, the baroness
sprang forward by the side-door, extinguished the lamp, tore Wilhelm
from his chair, and hurried him with her into the closet. Instantly he
threw off the night-gown, and put it in its former place. The baroness
took his coat under her arm, and hastened with him through several
rooms, passages, and partitions into her chamber, where Wilhelm, so soon
as she recovered breath, was informed, that on her going to the
countess, and delivering the fictitious intelligence about her husband's
arrival, the countess had answered, "I know it already: what can have
happened? I saw him riding in, at the postern, even now." On which the
baroness, in an excessive panic, had run to the count's chamber to give
warning.
"Unhappily you came too late!" said Wilhelm. "The count was in the room
before you, and saw me sitting."
"And recognized you?"
"That I know not. He was looking at me in the glass, as I at him; and,
before I could well determine whether it was he or a spirit, he drew
back, and closed the door behind him."
The anxiety of the baroness increased, when a servant came to call her,
signifying that the count was with his lady. She went with no light
heart, and found the count silent and thoughtful, indeed, but milder and
kinder in his words than usual. She knew not what to think of it. They
spoke about the incidents of the chase, and the causes of his quick
return. The conversation soon ran out. The count became taciturn; and it
struck the baroness particularly, when he asked for Wilhelm, and
expressed a wish that he were sent for, to come and read something.
Wilhelm, who had now dressed himself in the baroness's chamber, and in
some degree recovered his composure, obeyed the order, not without
anxiety. The count gave him a book, out of which he read an adventurous
tale, very little at his ease. His voice had a certain inconstancy and
quivering in it, which fortunately corresponded with the import of the
story. The count more than once gave kindly tokens of approval, and at
last dismissed our friend, with praises of his exquisite manner of
reading.
CHAPTER XI.
Wilhelm had scarcely read one or two of Shakspeare's plays, till their
effect on him became so strong that he could go no farther. His whole
soul was in commotion. He sought an opportunity to speak with Jarno; to
whom, on meeting with him, he expressed his boundless gratitude for such
delicious entertainment.
"I clearly enough foresaw," said Jarno, "that you would not remain
insensible to the charms of the most extraordinary and most admirable of
all writers."
"Yes!" exclaimed our friend: "I cannot recollect that any book, any man,
any incident of my life, has produced such important effects on me, as
the precious works to which by your kindness I have been directed. They
seem as if they were performances of some celestial genius, descending
among men, to make them, by the mildest instructions, acquainted with
themselves. They are no fictions! You would think, while reading them,
you stood before the unclosed awful Books of Fate, while the whirlwind
of most impassioned life was howling through the leaves, and tossing
them fiercely to and fro. The strength and tenderness, the power and
peacefulness, of this man, have so astonished and transported me, that I
long vehemently for the time when I shall have it in my power to read
farther."
"Bravo!" said Jarno, holding out his hand, and squeezing our friend's.
"This is as it should be! And the consequences, which I hope for, will
likewise surely follow."
"I wish," said Wilhelm, "I could but disclose to you all that is going
on within me even now. All the anticipations I have ever had regarding
man and his destiny, which have accompanied me from youth upwards, often
unobserved by myself, I find developed and fulfilled in Shakspeare's
writings. It seems as if he cleared up every one of our enigmas to us,
though we cannot say, here or there is the word of solution. His men
appear like natural men, and yet they are not. These, the most
mysterious and complex productions of creation, here act before us as if
they were watches, whose dial-plates and cases were of crystal, which
pointed out, according to their use, the course of the hours and
minutes; while, at the same time, you could discern the combination of
wheels and springs that turned them. The few glances I have cast over
Shakspeare's world incite me, more than any thing beside, to quicken my
footsteps forward into the actual world, to mingle in the flood of
destinies that is suspended over it, and at length, if I shall prosper,
to draw a few cups from the great ocean of true nature, and to
distribute them from off the stage among the thirsting people of my
native land."
"I feel delighted with the temper of mind in which I now behold you,"
answered Jarno, laying his hand upon the shoulder of the excited youth:
"renounce not the purpose of embarking in active life. Make haste to
employ with alacrity the years that are granted you. If I can serve you,
I will with all my heart. As yet I have not asked you how you came into
this troop, for which you certainly were neither born nor bred. So much
I hope and see,--you long to be out of it. I know nothing of your
parentage, of your domestic circumstances: consider what you shall
confide to me. Thus much only I can say: the times of war we live in may
produce quick turns of fortune; did you incline devoting your strength
and talents to our service, not fearing labor, and, if need were,
danger, I might even now have an opportunity to put you in a situation,
which you would not afterwards be sorry to have filled for a time."
Wilhelm could not sufficiently express his gratitude: he was ready to
impart to his friend and patron the whole history of his life.
In the course of this conversation, they had wandered far into the
park, and at last came upon the highway that crossed it. Jarno stood
silent for a moment, and then said, "Deliberate on my proposal,
determine, give me your answer in a few days, and then let me have the
narrative you mean to trust me with. I assure you, it has all along to
me seemed quite incomprehensible how you ever could have any thing to do
with such a class of people. I have often thought with spleen and
disgust, how, in order to gain a paltry living, you must fix your heart
on a wandering ballad-monger, and a silly mongrel, neither male nor
female."
He had not yet concluded, when an officer on horseback came hastily
along; a groom following him with a led horse. Jarno shouted a warm
salutation to him. The officer sprang from his horse; Jarno and he
embraced and talked together; while Wilhelm, confounded at the last
expressions of his warlike friend, stood thoughtfully at a side. Jarno
turned over some papers which the stranger had delivered to him; while
the latter came to Wilhelm, held out his hand, and said with emphasis,
"I find you in worthy company: follow the counsel of your friend, and,
by doing so, accomplish likewise the desire of an unknown man, who takes
a genuine interest in you." So saying, he embraced Wilhelm, and pressed
him cordially to his breast. At the same instant Jarno advanced, and
said to the stranger, "It is best that I ride on with you: by this means
you may get the necessary orders, and set out again before night." Both
then leaped into their saddles, and left our astonished friend to his
own reflections.
Jarno's last words were still ringing in his ears. It galled him to see
the two human beings that had most innocently won his affections so
grievously disparaged by a man whom he honored so much. The strange
embracing of the officer, whom he knew not, made but a slight impression
on him; it occupied his curiosity and his imagination for a moment: but
Jarno's speech had cut him to the heart; he was deeply hurt by it: and
now, in his way homewards, he broke out into reproaches against himself,
that he should for a single instant have mistaken or forgotten the
unfeeling coldness of Jarno, which looked out from his very eyes, and
spoke in all his gestures. "No!" exclaimed he, "thou conceivest,
dead-hearted worldling, that thou canst be a friend! All that thou hast
power to offer me is not worth the sentiment which binds me to these
forlorn beings. How fortunate that I have discovered in time what I had
to expect from thee!"
Mignon came to meet him as he entered: he clasped her in his arms,
exclaiming, "Nothing, nothing, shall part us, thou good little creature!
The seeming prudence of the world shall never cause me to forsake thee,
or forget what I owe thee!"
The child, whose warm caresses he had been accustomed to avoid, rejoiced
with all her heart at this unlooked-for show of tenderness, and clung so
fast to him that he had some difficulty to get loose from her.
From this period he kept a stricter eye on Jarno's conduct: many parts
of it he did not think quite praiseworthy; nay, several things came out
which totally displeased him. He had strong suspicions, for example,
that the verses on the baron, which the poor Pedant had so dearly paid
for, were composed by Jarno. And as the latter, in Wilhelm's presence,
had made sport of the adventure, our friend thought here was certainly a
symptom of a most corrupted heart; for what could be more depraved than
to treat a guiltless person, whose griefs one's self had occasioned,
with jeering and mockery, instead of trying to satisfy or to indemnify
him? In this matter Wilhelm would himself willingly have brought about
reparation; and erelong a very curious accident led him to obtain some
traces of the persons concerned in that nocturnal outrage.
Hitherto his friends had contrived to keep him unacquainted with the
fact, that some of the young officers were in the habit of passing whole
nights in merriment and jollity, with certain actors and actresses, in
the lower hall of the old castle. One morning, having risen early,
according to his custom, he happened to visit this chamber, and found
the gallant gentlemen just in the act of performing rather a singular
operation. They had mixed a bowl of water with a quantity of chalk, and
were plastering this gruel with a brush upon their waistcoats and
pantaloons, without stripping; thus very expeditiously restoring the
spotlessness of their apparel. On witnessing this piece of ingenuity,
our friend was at once struck with the recollection of the poor Pedant's
whited and bedusted coat: his suspicions gathered strength when he
learned that some relations of the baron were among the party.
To throw some light on his doubts, he engaged the youths to breakfast
with him. They were very lively, and told a multitude of pleasant
stories. One of them especially, who for a time had been on the
recruiting-service, was loud in praising the craft and activity of his
captain; who, it appeared, understood the art of alluring men of all
kinds towards him, and overreaching every one by the deception proper
for him. He circumstantially described how several young people of good
families and careful education had been cozened, by playing off to them
a thousand promises of honor and preferment; and he heartily laughed at
the simpletons, who felt so gratified, when first enlisted, at the
thought of being esteemed and introduced to notice by so reputable,
prudent, bold, and munificent an officer.
Wilhelm blessed his better genius for having drawn him back in time from
the abyss to whose brink he had approached so near. Jarno he now looked
upon as nothing better than a crimp: the embrace of the stranger officer
was easily explained. He viewed the feelings and opinions of these men
with contempt and disgust; from that moment he carefully avoided coming
into contact with any one that wore a uniform; and, when he heard that
the army was about to move its quarters, the news would have been
extremely welcome to him, if he had not feared, that, immediately on its
departure, he himself must be banished from the neighborhood of his
lovely friend, perhaps forever.
CHAPTER XII.
Meanwhile the baroness had spent several days disquieted by anxious
fears and unsatisfied curiosity. Since the late adventure, the count's
demeanor had been altogether an enigma to her. His manner was changed:
none of his customary jokes were to be heard. His demands on the company
and the servants had very much abated. Little pedantry or imperiousness
was now to be discerned in him; he was silent and thoughtful, yet withal
he seemed composed and placid; in short, he was quite another man. In
choosing the books, which now and then he caused to be read to him,
those of a serious, often a religious, cast, were pitched upon; and the
baroness lived in perpetual fright lest, beneath this apparent serenity,
a secret rancor might be lurking,--a silent purpose to revenge the
offence he had so accidentally discovered. She determined, therefore, to
make Jarno her confidant; and this the more freely, as that gentleman
and she already stood in a relation to each other where it is not usual
to be very cautious in keeping secrets. For some time Jarno had been her
dearest friend, yet they had been dexterous enough to conceal their
attachment and joys from the noisy world in which they moved. To the
countess alone this new romance had not remained unknown; and very
possibly the baroness might wish to get her fair friend occupied with
some similar engagement, and thus to escape the silent reproaches she
had often to endure from that noble-minded woman.
Scarcely had the baroness related the occurrence to her lover, when he
cried out laughing, "To a certainty the old fool believes that he has
seen his ghost! He dreads that the vision may betoken some misfortune,
perhaps death, to him; and so he is become quite tame, as all half-men
do, in thinking of that consummation which no one has escaped or will
escape. Softly a little! As I hope he will live long enough, we may now
train him at least, so that he shall not again give disturbance to his
wife and household."
They accordingly, as soon as any opportunity occurred, began talking, in
the presence of the count, about warnings, visions, apparitions, and the
like. Jarno played the sceptic, the baroness likewise; and they carried
it so far, that his lordship at last took Jarno aside, reproved him for
his free-thinking, and produced his own experience to prove the
possibility, nay, actual occurrence, of such preternatural events. Jarno
affected to be struck, to be in doubt, and finally to be convinced; but,
in private with his friend, he made himself so much the merrier at the
credulous weakling, who had thus been cured of his evil habits by a
bugbear, but who, they admitted, still deserved some praise for
expecting dire calamity, or death itself, with such composure.
"The natural result which the present apparition might have had, would
possibly have ruffled him!" exclaimed the baroness, with her wonted
vivacity; to which, when anxiety was taken from her heart, she had
instantly returned. Jarno was richly rewarded; and the two contrived
fresh projects for frightening the count still further, and still
further exciting and confirming the affection of the countess for
Wilhelm.
With this intention, the whole story was related to the countess. She,
indeed, expressed her displeasure at such conduct; but from that time
she became more thoughtful, and in peaceful moments seemed to be
considering, pursuing, and painting out that scene which had been
prepared for her.
The preparations now going forward on every side left no room for doubt
that the armies were soon to move in advance, and the prince at the same
time to change his headquarters. It was even said that the count
intended leaving his castle, and returning to the city. Our players
could therefore, without difficulty, calculate the aspect of their
stars; yet none of them, except Melina, took any measures in
consequence: the rest strove only to catch as much enjoyment as they
could from the moment that was passing over them.
Wilhelm, in the mean time, was engaged with a peculiar task. The
countess had required from him a copy of his writings, and he looked on
this request as the noblest recompense for his labors.
A young author, who has not yet seen himself in print, will, in such a
case, apply no ordinary care to provide a clear and beautiful transcript
of his works. It is like the golden age of authorship: he feels
transported into those centuries when the press had not inundated the
world with so many useless writings, when none but excellent
performances were copied, and kept by the noblest men; and he easily
admits the illusion, that his own accurately ruled and measured
manuscript may itself prove an excellent performance, worthy to be kept
and valued by some future critic.
The prince being shortly to depart, a great entertainment had been
appointed in honor of him. Many ladies of the neighborhood were invited,
and the countess had dressed betimes. On this occasion she had taken a
costlier suit than usual. Her head-dress, and the decorations of her
hair, were more exquisite and studied: she wore all her jewels. The
baroness, too, had done her utmost to appear with becoming taste and
splendor.
Philina, observing that both ladies, in expectation of their guests,
felt the time rather tedious, proposed to send for Wilhelm, who was
wishing to present his manuscript, now completed, and to read them some
other little pieces. He came, and on his entrance was astonished at the
form and the graces of the countess, which her decorations had but made
more visible and striking. Being ordered by the ladies, he began to
read; but with so much absence of mind, and so badly, that, had not his
audience been excessively indulgent, they would very soon have dismissed
him.
Every time he looked at the countess, it seemed to him as if a spark of
electric fire were glancing before his eyes. In the end he knew not
where to find the breath he wanted for his reading. The countess had
always pleased him, but now it appeared as if he never had beheld a
being so perfect and so lovely. A thousand thoughts flitted up and down
his soul: what follows might be nearly their substance.
"How foolish is it in so many poets, and men of sentiment as they are
called, to make war on pomp and decoration; requiring that women of all
ranks should wear no dress but what is simple, and conformable to
nature! They rail at decoration, without once considering, that, when we
see a plain or positively ugly person clothed in a costly and gorgeous
fashion, it is not the poor decoration that displeases us. I would
assemble all the judges in the world, and ask them here if they wished
to see one of these folds, of these ribbons and laces, these braids,
ringlets, and glancing stones, removed? Would they not dread disturbing
the delightful impression that so naturally and spontaneously meets us
here? Yes, naturally I will say! As Minerva sprang in complete armor
from the head of Jove; so does this goddess seem to have stepped forth
with a light foot, in all her ornaments, from the bosom of some flower."
While reading, he turned his eyes upon her frequently, as if he wished
to stamp this image on his soul forever: he more than once read wrong,
yet without falling into confusion of mind; though, at other times, he
used to feel the mistaking of a word or a letter as a painful deformity,
which spoiled a whole recitation.
A false alarm of the arrival of the guests put an end to the reading;
the baroness went out; and the countess, while about to shut her
writing-desk, which was standing open, took up her casket, and put some
other rings upon her finger. "We are soon to part," said she, keeping
her eyes upon the casket: "accept a memorial of a true friend, who
wishes nothing more earnestly than that you may always prosper." She
then took out a ring, which, underneath a crystal, bore a little plait
of woven hair beautifully set with diamonds. She held it out to Wilhelm,
who, on taking it, knew neither what to say nor do, but stood as if
rooted to the ground. The countess shut her desk, and sat down upon the
sofa.
"And I must go empty?" said Philina, kneeling down at the countess's
right hand. "Do but look at the man: he carries such a store of words in
his mouth, when no one wants to hear them; and now he cannot stammer
out the poorest syllable of thanks. Quick, sir! Express your services by
way of pantomime at least; and if to-day you can invent nothing, then,
for Heaven's sake, be my imitator."
Philina seized the right hand of the countess, and kissed it warmly.
Wilhelm sank upon his knee, laid hold of the left, and pressed it to his
lips. The countess seemed embarrassed, yet without displeasure.
"Ah!" cried Philina, "so much splendor of attire, I may have seen
before, but never one so fit to wear it. What bracelets, but also what a
hand! What a neckdress, but also what a bosom."
"Peace, little cozener!" said the countess.
"Is this his lordship, then?" said Philina, pointing to a rich
medallion, which the countess wore on her left side, by a particular
chain.
"He is painted in his bridegroom-dress," replied the countess.
"Was he, then, so young?" inquired Philina: "I know it is but a year or
two since you were married."
"His youth must be placed to the artist's account," replied the lady.
"He is a handsome man," observed Philina. "But was there never," she
continued, placing her hand on the countess's heart, "never any other
image that found its way in secret hither?"
"Thou art very bold, Philina," cried she: "I have spoiled thee. Let me
never hear the like again."
"If you are angry, then am I unhappy," said Philina, springing up, and
hastening from the room.
Wilhelm still held that lovely hand in both of his. His eyes were fixed
on the bracelet-clasp: he noticed, with extreme surprise, that his
initials were traced on it, in lines of brilliants.
"Have I, then," he modestly inquired, "your own hair in this precious
ring?"
"Yes," replied she in a faint voice; then, suddenly collecting herself,
she said, and pressed his hand, "Arise, and fare you well!"
"Here is my name," cried he, "by the most curious chance!" He pointed to
the bracelet-clasp.
"How?" cried the countess: "it is the cipher of a female friend!"
"They are the initials of my name. Forget me not. Your image is
engraven on my heart, and will never be effaced. Farewell! I must be
gone."
He kissed her hand, and meant to rise; but, as in dreams, some strange
thing fades and changes into something stranger, and the succeeding
wonder takes us by surprise; so, without knowing how it happened, he
found the countess in his arms: her lips were resting upon his, and
their warm mutual kisses were yielding them that blessedness which
mortals sip from the topmost sparkling foam on the freshly poured cup of
love.
Her head lay on his shoulder: the disordered ringlets and ruffles were
forgotten. She had thrown her arm round him: he clasped her with
vivacity, and pressed her again and again to his breast. Oh that such a
moment could but last forever! And woe to envious Fate that shortened
even this brief moment to our friends!
How terrified was Wilhelm, how astounded did he start from his happy
dream, when the countess, with a shriek, on a sudden tore herself away,
and hastily pressed her hand against her heart.
He stood confounded before her: she held the other hand upon her eyes,
and, after a moment's pause, exclaimed, "Away! leave me! delay not!"
He continued standing.
"Leave me!" she cried; and, taking off her hand from her eyes, she
looked at him with an indescribable expression of countenance, and
added, in the most tender and affecting voice, "Flee, if you love me."
Wilhelm was out of the chamber, and again in his room, before he knew
what he was doing.
Unhappy creatures! What singular warning of chance or of destiny tore
them asunder?
BOOK IV.
CHAPTER I.
Laertes was standing at the window in a thoughtful mood, resting on his
arm, and looking out into the fields. Philina came gliding towards him,
across the large hall: she leaned upon him, and began to mock him for
his serious looks.
"Do not laugh," replied he: "it is frightful to think how time goes on,
how all things change and have an end. See here! A little while ago
there was a stately camp: how pleasantly the tents looked! what restless
life and motion was within them! how carefully they watched the whole
enclosure! And, behold, it is all vanished in a day! For a short while,
that trampled straw, those holes which the cooks have dug, will show a
trace of what was here; and soon the whole will be ploughed and reaped
as formerly, and the presence of so many thousand gallant fellows in
this quarter will but glimmer in the memories of one or two old men."
Philina began to sing, and dragged forth her friend to dance with her in
the hall. "Since Time is not a person we can overtake when he is past,"
cried she, "let us honor him with mirth and cheerfulness of heart while
he is passing."
They had scarcely made a step or two, when Frau Melina came walking
through the hall. Philina was wicked enough to invite her to join them
in the dance, and thus to bring her in mind of the shape to which her
pregnancy had reduced her.
"That I might never more see a woman _in an interesting situation_!"
said Philina, when her back was turned.
"Yet she feels an _interest_ in it," said Laertes.
"But she manages so shockingly. Didst thou notice that wabbling fold of
her shortened petticoat, which always travels out before her when she
moves? She has not the smallest knack or skill to trim herself a little,
and conceal her state."
"Let her be," said Laertes. "Time will soon come to her aid."
"It were prettier, however," cried Philina, "if we could shake children
from the trees."
The baron entered, and spoke some kind words to them, adding a few
presents, in the name of the count and the countess, who had left the
place very early in the morning. He then went to Wilhelm, who was busy
in the side-chamber with Mignon. She had been extremely affectionate and
taking; had asked minutely about Wilhelm's parents, brothers, sisters,
and relations; and so brought to his mind the duty he owed his people,
to send them some tidings of himself.
With the farewell compliments of the family, the baron delivered him an
assurance from the count, that his lordship had been exceedingly obliged
by his acting, his poetical labors, and theatrical exertions. For proof
of this statement, the baron then drew forth a purse, through whose
beautiful texture the bright glance of new gold coin was sparkling out.
Wilhelm drew back, refusing to accept of it.
"Look upon this gift," said the baron, "as a compensation for your time,
as an acknowledgment of your trouble, not as the reward of your talents.
If genius procures us a good name and good will from men, it is fair
likewise, that, by our diligence and efforts, we should earn the means
to satisfy our wants; since, after all, we are not wholly spirit. Had we
been in town, where every thing is to be got, we should have changed
this little sum into a watch, a ring, or something of that sort; but, as
it is, I must place the magic rod in your own hands; procure a trinket
with it, such as may please you best and be of greatest use, and keep it
for our sakes. At the same time, you must not forget to hold the purse
in honor. It was knit by the fingers of our ladies: they meant that the
cover should give to its contents the most pleasing form."
"Forgive my embarrassment," said Wilhelm, "and my doubts about accepting
this present. It, as it were, annihilates the little I have done, and
hinders the free play of happy recollection. Money is a fine thing, when
any matter is to be completely settled and abolished: I feel unwilling
to be so entirely abolished from the recollection of your house."
"That is not the case," replied the baron; "but, feeling so tenderly
yourself, you could not wish that the count should be obliged to
consider himself wholly your debtor, especially when I assure you that
his lordship's highest ambition has always consisted in being punctual
and just. He is not uninformed of the labor you have undergone, or of
the zeal with which you have devoted all your time to execute his views;
nay, he is aware, that, to quicken certain operations, you have even
expended money of your own. With what face shall I appear before him,
then, if I cannot say that his acknowledgment has given you
satisfaction?"
"If I thought only of myself," said Wilhelm, "if I might follow merely
the dictates of my own feelings, I should certainly, in spite of all
these reasons, steadfastly refuse this gift, generous and honorable as
it is; but I will not deny, that, at the very moment when it brings me
into one perplexity, it frees me from another, into which I have lately
fallen with regard to my relations, and which has in secret caused me
much uneasiness. My management, not only of the time, but also of the
money, for which I have to give account, has not been the best; and now,
by the kindness of his lordship, I shall be enabled, with confidence, to
give my people news of the good fortune to which this curious by-path
has led me. I therefore sacrifice those feelings of delicacy, which,
like a tender conscience, admonish us on such occasions, to a higher
duty; and, that I may appear courageously before my father, I must
consent to stand ashamed before you."
"It is singular," replied the baron, "to see what a world of hesitation
people feel about accepting money from their friends and patrons, though
ready to receive any other gift with joy and thankfulness. Human nature
manifests some other such peculiarities, by which many scruples of a
similar kind are produced and carefully cherished."
"Is it not the same with all points of honor?" said our friend.
"It is so," replied the baron, "and with several other prejudices. We
must not root them out, lest in doing so we tear up noble plants along
with them. Yet I am always glad when I meet with men that feel superior
to such objections, when the case requires it; and I recall with
pleasure the story of that ingenious poet who had written several plays
for the court-theatre, which met with the monarch's warmest approbation.
'I must give him a distinguished recompense,' said the generous prince:
'ask him whether he would choose to have some jewel given him, or if he
would disdain to accept a sum of money.' In his humorous way, the poet
answered the inquiring courtier, 'I am thankful, with all my heart, for
these gracious purposes; and, as the emperor is daily taking money from
us, I see not wherefore I should feel ashamed of taking some from him.'"
Scarcely had the baron left the room, when Wilhelm eagerly began to
count the cash, which had come to him so unexpectedly, and, as he
thought, so undeservedly. It seemed as if the worth and dignity of gold,
not usually felt till later years, had now, by anticipation, twinkled in
his eyes for the first time, as the fine, glancing coins rolled out from
the beautiful purse. He reckoned up, and found, that, particularly as
Melina had engaged immediately to pay the loan, he had now as much or
more on the right side of his account as on that day when Philina first
asked him for the nosegay. With a little secret satisfaction, he looked
upon his talents; with a little pride, upon the fortune which had led
and attended him. He now seized the pen, with an assured mind, to write
a letter which might free his family from their anxieties, and set his
late proceedings in the most favorable light. He abstained from any
special narrative, and only by significant and mysterious hints left
them room for guessing at what had befallen him. The good condition of
his cash-book, the advantage he had earned by his talents, the favor of
the great and of the fair, acquaintance with a wider circle, the
improvement of his bodily and mental gifts, his hopes from the future,
altogether formed such a fair cloud-picture, that Fata Morgana itself
could scarcely have thrown together a stranger or a better.
In this happy exaltation, the letter being folded up, he went on to
maintain a conversation with himself, recapitulating what he had been
writing, and pointing out for himself an active and glorious future. The
example of so many gallant warriors had fired him; the poetry of
Shakspeare had opened a new world to him; from the lips of the beautiful
countess he had inhaled an inexpressible inspiration. All this could not
and would not be without effect.
The _Stallmeister_ came to inquire whether they were ready with their
packing. Alas! with the single exception of Melina, no one of them had
thought of it. Now, however, they were speedily to be in motion. The
count had engaged to have the whole party conveyed forward a few days'
journey on their way: the horses were now in readiness, and could not
long be wanted. Wilhelm asked for his trunk: Frau Melina had taken it to
put her own things in. He asked for money: Herr Melina had stowed it
all far down at the bottom of his box. Philina said she had still some
room in hers: she took Wilhelm's clothes, and bade Mignon bring the
rest. Wilhelm, not without reluctance, was obliged to let it be so.
While they were loading, and getting all things ready, Melina said, "I
am sorry we should travel like mountebanks and rope-dancers. I could
wish that Mignon would put on girl's clothes, and that the harper would
let his beard be shorn." Mignon clung firmly to Wilhelm, and cried, with
great vivacity, "I am a boy--I will be no girl!" The old man held his
peace; and Philina, on this suggestion, made some merry observations on
the singularity of their protector, the count. "If the harper should cut
off his beard," said she, "let him sew it carefully upon a ribbon, and
keep it by him, that he may put it on again whenever his lordship the
count falls in with him in any quarter of the world. It was this beard
alone that procured him the favor of his lordship."
On being pressed to give an explanation of this singular speech, Philina
said to them, "The count thinks it contributes very much to the
completeness of theatrical illusion if the actor continues to play his
part, and to sustain his character, even in common life. It was for this
reason that he showed such favor to the Pedant: and he judged it, in
like manner, very fitting that the harper not only wore his false beard
at nights on the stage, but also constantly by day; and he used to be
delighted at the natural appearance of the mask."
While the rest were laughing at this error, and the other strange
opinions of the count, the harper led our friend aside, took leave of
him, and begged, with tears, that he would even now let him go. Wilhelm
spoke to him, declaring that he would protect him against all the world;
that no one should touch a hair of his head, much less send him off
against his will.
The old man seemed affected deeply: an unwonted fire was glowing in his
eyes. "It is not that," cried he, "which drives me away. I have long
been reproaching myself in secret for staying with you. I ought to
linger nowhere; for misfortune flies to overtake me, and injures all
that are connected with me. Dread every thing, unless you dismiss me;
but ask me no questions. I belong not to myself. I cannot stay."
"To whom dost thou belong? Who can exert such a power on thee?"
"Leave me my horrid secret, and let me go! The vengeance which pursues
me is not of the earthly judge. I belong to an inexorable destiny. I
cannot stay, and I dare not."
"In the situation I see thee in, I shall certainly not let thee go."
"It were high treason against you, my benefactor, if I should delay. I
am secure while with you, but you are in peril. You know not whom you
keep beside you. I am guilty, but more wretched than guilty. My presence
scares happiness away, and good deeds grow powerless when I become
concerned in them. Fugitive, unresting I should be, that my evil genius
might not seize me, which pursues but at a distance, and only appears
when I have found a place, and am laying down my head to seek repose.
More grateful I cannot show myself than by forsaking you."
"Strange man! Thou canst neither take away the confidence I place in
thee, nor the hope I feel to see thee happy. I wish not to penetrate the
secrets of thy superstition; but if thou livest in belief of wonderful
forebodings, and entanglements of fate, then, to cheer and hearten thee,
I say, unite thyself to my good fortune, and let us see which genius is
the stronger, thy dark or my bright one."
Wilhelm seized this opportunity of suggesting to him many other
comfortable things; for of late our friend had begun to imagine that
this singular attendant of his must be a man, who, by chance or destiny,
had been led into some weighty crime, the remembrance of which he was
ever bearing on his conscience.
A few days ago Wilhelm, listening to his singing, had observed
attentively the following lines:--
"For him the light of ruddy morn
But paints the horizon red with flame;
And voices, from the depths of nature borne,
Woe! woe! upon his guilty head proclaim."
But, let the old man urge what arguments he pleased, our friend had
constantly a stronger argument at hand. He turned every thing on its
fairest side; spoke so bravely, heartily, and cheerily, that even the
old man seemed again to gather spirits, and to throw aside his whims.