It was not without deep interest that he became acquainted with the
history of Serlo's career. Piecemeal he learned it; for it was not the
fashion of that extraordinary man to be confidential, or to speak of any
thing connectively. He had been, one may say, born and suckled in the
theatre. While yet literally an infant, he had been produced upon the
stage to move spectators, merely by his presence; for authors even then
were acquainted with this natural and very guiltless mode of doing so.
Thus his first "Father!" or "Mother!" in favorite pieces, procured him
approbation, before he understood what was meant by that clapping of the
hands. In the character of Cupid, he more than once descended, with
terror, in his flying-gear; as harlequin, he used to issue from the egg;
and, as a little chimney-sweep, to play the sharpest tricks.
Unhappily, the plaudits of these glancing nights were too bitterly
repaid by sufferings in the intervening seasons. His father was
persuaded that the minds of children could be kept awake and steadfast
by no other means than blows: hence, in the studying of any part, he
used to thrash him at stated periods, not because the boy was awkward,
but that he might become more certainly and constantly expert. It was
thus that in former times, while putting down a landmark, people were
accustomed to bestow a hearty drubbing on the children who had followed
them: and these, it was supposed, would recollect the place exactly to
the latest day of their lives. Serlo waxed in stature, and showed the
finest capabilities of spirit and of body,--in particular, an admirable
pliancy at once in his thoughts, looks, movements, and gestures. His
gift of imitation was beyond belief. When still a boy, he could mimic
persons, so that you would think you saw them; though in form, age, and
disposition, they might be entirely unlike him, and unlike each other.
Nor with all this, did he want the knack of suiting himself to his
circumstances, and picking out his way in life. Accordingly, so soon as
he had grown in some degree acquainted with his strength, he very
naturally eloped from his father, who, as the boy's understanding and
dexterity increased, still thought it needful to forward their
perfection by the harshest treatment.
Happy was the wild boy, now roaming free about the world, where his
feats of waggery never failed to secure him a good reception. His lucky
star first led him in the Christmas season to a cloister, where the
friar, whose business it had been to arrange processions, and to
entertain the Christian community by spiritual masquerades, having just
died, Serlo was welcomed as a helping angel. On the instant he took up
the part of Gabriel in the Annunciation, and did not by any means
displease the pretty girl, who, acting the Virgin, very gracefully
received his most obliging kiss, with external humility and inward
pride. In their Mysteries, he continued to perform the most important
parts, and thought himself no slender personage, when at last, in the
character of Martyr, he was mocked of the world, and beaten, and fixed
upon the cross.
Some pagan soldiers had, on this occasion, played their parts a little
_too_ naturally. To be avenged on these heathen in the proper style, he
took care at the Day of Judgment to have them decked out in gaudy
clothes as emperors and kings; and at that moment when they, exceedingly
contented with their situation, were about to take precedence of the
rest in heaven, as they had done on earth, he, on a sudden, rushed upon
them in the shape of the Devil; and to the cordial edification of all
the beggars and spectators, having thoroughly curried them with his
oven-fork, he pushed them without mercy back into the chasm, where, in
the midst of waving flame, they met with the sorriest welcome.
He was acute enough, however, to perceive that these crowned heads might
feel offended at such bold procedure, and perhaps forget the reverence
due to his privileged office of Accuser and Turnkey. So in all silence,
before the Millennium commenced, he withdrew, and betook him to a
neighboring town. Here a society of persons, denominated Children of
Joy, received him with open arms. They were a set of clever,
strong-headed, lively geniuses, who saw well enough that the sum of our
existence, divided by reason, never gives an integer number, but that a
surprising fraction is always left behind. At stated times, to get rid
of this fraction, which impedes, and, if it is diffused over all the
mass of our conduct, endangers us, was the object of the Children of
Joy. For one day a week each of them in succession was a fool on
purpose; and, during this, he in his turn exhibited to ridicule, in
allegorical representations, whatever folly he had noticed in himself,
or the rest, throughout the other six. This practice might be somewhat
ruder than that constant training, in the course of which a man of
ordinary morals is accustomed to observe, to warn, to punish, himself
daily; but it was also merrier and surer. For as no Child of Joy
concealed his bosom-folly, so he and those about him held it for simply
what it was; whereas, on the other plan, by the help of self-deception,
this same bosom-folly often gains the head authority within, and binds
down reason to a secret servitude, at the very time when reason fondly
hopes that she has long since chased it out of doors. The mask of folly
circulated round in this society; and each member was allowed, in his
particular day, to decorate and characterize it with his own attributes
or those of others. At the time of Carnival, they assumed the greatest
freedom, vying with the clergy in attempts to instruct and entertain the
multitude. Their solemn figurative processions of Virtues and Vices,
Arts and Sciences, Quarters of the World, and Seasons of the Year,
bodied forth a number of conceptions, and gave images of many distant
objects to the people, and hence were not without their use; while, on
the other hand, the mummeries of the priesthood tended but to strengthen
a tasteless superstition, already strong enough.
Here again young Serlo was altogether in his element. Invention in its
strictest sense, it is true, he had not; but, on the other hand, he had
the most consummate skill in employing what he found before him, in
ordering it, and shadowing it forth. His roguish turns, his gift of
mimicry; his biting wit, which at least one day weekly he might use with
entire freedom, even against his benefactors,--made him precious, or
rather indispensable, to the whole society.
Yet his restless mind soon drove him from this favorable scene to other
quarters of his country, where other means of instruction awaited him.
He came into the polished, but also barren, part of Germany, where, in
worshipping the good and the beautiful, there is indeed no want of
truth, but frequently a grievous want of spirit. His masks would here do
nothing for him: he had now to aim at working on the heart and mind. For
short periods, he attached himself to small or to extensive companies of
actors, and marked, on these occasions, what were the distinctive
properties, both of the pieces and the players. The monotony which then
reigned on the German theatre, the mawkish sound and cadence of their
Alexandrines, the flat and yet distorted dialogue, the shallowness and
commonness of these undisguised preachers of morality, he was not long
in comprehending, or in seizing, at the same time, what little there was
that moved and pleased.
Not only single parts in the current pieces, but the pieces themselves,
remained easily and wholly in his memory, and, along with them, the
special tone of any player who had represented them with approbation. At
length, in the course of his rambles, his money being altogether done,
the project struck him of acting entire pieces by himself, especially in
villages and noblemen's houses, and thus in all places making sure at
least of entertainment and lodging. In any tavern, any room, or any
garden, he would accordingly at once set up his theatre: with a roguish
seriousness and a show of enthusiasm, he would contrive to gain the
imaginations of his audience, to deceive their senses, and before their
eyes to make an old press into a tower, or a fan into a dagger. His
youthful warmth supplied the place of deep feeling: his vehemence seemed
strength, and his flattery tenderness. Such of the spectators as already
knew a theatre, he put in mind of all that they had seen and heard: in
the rest he awakened a presentiment of something wonderful, and a wish
to be more acquainted with it. What produced an effect in one place he
did not fail to repeat in others; and his mind overflowed with a wicked
pleasure when, by the same means, on the spur of the moment, he could
make gulls of all the world.
His spirit was lively, brisk, and unimpeded: by frequently repeating
parts and pieces, he improved very fast. Erelong he could recite and
play with more conformity to the sense than the models whom he had at
first imitated. Proceeding thus, he arrived by degrees at playing
naturally; though he did not cease to feign. He seemed transported, yet
he lay in wait for the effect; and his greatest pride was in moving, by
successive touches, the passions of men. The mad trade he drove did
itself soon force him to proceed with a certain moderation; and thus,
partly by constraint, partly by instinct, he learned the art of which so
few players seemed to have a notion,--the art of being frugal in the use
of voice and gestures.
Thus did he contrive to tame, and to inspire with interest for him, even
rude and unfriendly men. Being always contented with food and shelter;
thankfully accepting presents of any kind as readily as money, which
latter, when he reckoned that he had enough of it, he frequently
declined,--he became a general favorite, was sent about from one to
another with recommendatory letters; and thus he wandered many a day
from castle to castle, exciting much festivity, enjoying much, and
meeting in his travels with the most agreeable and curious adventures.
With such inward coldness of temper, he could not properly be said to
love any one; with such clearness of vision, he could respect no one; in
fact, he never looked beyond the external peculiarities of men; and he
merely carried their characters in his mimical collection. Yet withal,
his selfishness was keenly wounded if he did not please every one and
call forth universal applause. How this might be attained, he had
studied in the course of time so accurately, and so sharpened his sense
of the matter, that not only on the stage, but also in common life, he
no longer could do otherwise than flatter and deceive. And thus did his
disposition, his talent, and his way of life, work reciprocally on each
other, till by this means he had imperceptibly been formed into a
perfect actor. Nay, by a mode of action and re-action, which is quite
natural, though it seems paradoxical, his recitation, declamation, and
gesture improved, by critical discernment and practice, to a high degree
of truth, ease, and frankness; while, in his life and intercourse with
men, he seemed to grow continually more secret, artful, or even
hypocritical and constrained.
Of his fortunes and adventures we perhaps shall speak in another place:
it is enough to remark at present, that in later times, when he had
become a man of circumstance, in possession of a distinct reputation,
and of a very good, though not entirely secure, employment and rank, he
was wont, in conversation, partly in the way of irony, partly of
mockery, in a delicate style, to act the sophist, and thus to destroy
almost all serious discussion. This kind of speech he seemed peculiarly
fond of using towards Wilhelm, particularly when the latter took a
fancy, as often happened, for introducing any of his general and
theoretical disquisitions. Yet still they liked well to be together:
with such different modes of thinking, the conversation could not fail
to be lively. Wilhelm always wished to deduce every thing from abstract
ideas which he had arrived at: he wanted to have art viewed in all its
connections as a whole. He wanted to promulgate and fix down universal
laws; to settle what was right, beautiful, and good: in short, he
treated all things in a serious manner. Serlo, on the other hand, took
up the matter very lightly: never answering directly to any question, he
would contrive, by some anecdote or laughable turn, to give the finest
and most satisfactory illustrations, and thus to instruct his audience
while he made them merry.