The pilgrims, pursuing the way pointed out to them, had, without
difficulty, reached the limits of the province, where they were to see
so many singularities. At the very entrance they found themselves in a
district of extreme fertility,--in its soft knolls, favorable to crops;
in its higher hills, to sheep-husbandry; in its wide bottoms, to
grazing. Harvest was near at hand, and all was in the richest
luxuriance; yet what most surprised our travellers was, that they
observed neither men nor women, but, in all quarters, boys and youths
engaged in preparing for a happy harvest,--nay, already making
arrangements for a merry harvest-home. Our travellers saluted several of
them, and inquired for the chief, of whose abode, however, they could
gain no intelligence. The address of their letter was, “To the Chief, or
the Three.” Of this, also, the boys could make nothing: however, they
referred the strangers to an overseer, who was just about mounting his
horse to ride off. Our friends disclosed their object to this man: the
frank liveliness of Felix seemed to please him, and so they all rode
along together.
Wilhelm had already noticed, that, in the cut and color of the young
people’s clothes, a variety prevailed, which gave the whole tiny
population a peculiar aspect: he was just about to question his
attendant on this point, when a still stranger observation forced itself
upon him; all the children, how employed soever, laid down their work,
and turned, with singular, yet diverse, gestures, towards the party
riding past them, or rather, as it was easy to infer, towards the
overseer, who was in it. The youngest laid their arms crosswise over
their breasts, and looked cheerfully up to the sky; those of middle size
held their hands on their backs, and looked smiling on the ground; the
eldest stood with a frank and spirited air; their arms stretched down,
they turned their heads to the right, and formed themselves into a line;
whereas the others kept separate, each where he chanced to be.
The riders having stopped and dismounted here, as several children, in
their various modes, were standing forth to be inspected by the
overseer, Wilhelm asked the meaning of these gestures; but Felix struck
in, and cried gayly, “What posture am I to take, then?”
“Without doubt,” said the overseer, “the first posture,--the arms over
the breast, the face earnest and cheerful towards the sky.”
Felix obeyed, but soon cried, “This is not much to my taste; I see
nothing up there: does it last long? But yes!” exclaimed he joyfully:
“yonder are a pair of falcons flying from the west to the east; that is
a good sign too.”
“As thou takest it, as thou behavest,” said the other, “now mingle among
them as they mingle.” He gave a signal; and the children left their
postures, and again betook them to work or sport as before.
“Are you at liberty,” said Wilhelm then, “to explain this sight, which
surprises me? I easily perceive that these positions, these gestures,
are salutations directed to you.”
“Just so,” replied the overseer: “salutations which, at once, indicate
in what degree of culture each of these boys is standing.”
“But can you explain to me the meaning of this gradation?” inquired
Wilhelm; “for that there is one is clear enough.”
“This belongs to a higher quarter,” said the other: “so much, however, I
may tell you, that these ceremonies are not mere grimaces; that, on the
contrary, the import of them, not the highest, but still a directing,
intelligible import, is communicated to the children; while, at the same
time, each is enjoined to retain and consider for himself whatever
explanation it has been thought meet to give him: they are not allowed
to talk of these things, either to strangers or among themselves; and
thus their instruction is modified in many ways. Besides, secrecy itself
has many advantages; for when you tell a man at once, and
straightforward, the purpose of any object, he fancies there is nothing
in it. Certain secrets, even if known to every one, men find that they
must still reverence by concealment and silence; for this works on
modesty and good morals.”
“I understand you,” answered Wilhelm: “why should not the principle
which is so necessary in material things be applied to spiritual also?
But perhaps in another point you can satisfy my curiosity. The great
variety of shape and color in these children’s clothes attracts my
notice; and yet I do not see all sorts of colors, but a few in all their
shades, from the lightest to the deepest. At the same time I observe
that by this no designation of degrees in age or merit can be intended;
for the oldest and the youngest boys may be alike, both in cut and
color, while those of similar gestures are not similar in dress.”
“On this matter, also,” said the other, “silence is prescribed to me;
but I am much mistaken, or you will not leave us without receiving all
the information you desire.”
Our party continued following the trace of the chief, which they
believed themselves to be upon. But now the strangers could not fail to
notice, with new surprise, that, the farther they advanced into the
district, a vocal melody more and more frequently sounded towards them
from the fields. Whatever the boys might be engaged with, whatever labor
they were carrying on, they accompanied it with singing; and it seemed
as if the songs were specially adapted to their various sorts of
occupation, and in similar cases everywhere the same. If there chanced
to be several children in company, they sang together in alternating
parts. Towards evening appeared dancers likewise, whose steps were
enlivened and directed by choruses. Felix struck in with them, not
altogether unsuccessfully, from horseback, as he passed; and Wilhelm
felt gratified in this amusement, which gave new life to the scene.
“Apparently,” he said to his companion, “you devote considerable care to
this branch of instruction: the accomplishment, otherwise, could not be
so widely diffused and so completely practised.”
“We do,” replied the other: “on our plan, song is the first step in
education; all the rest are connected with it, and attained by means of
it. The simplest enjoyment, as well as the simplest instruction, we
enliven and impress by song; nay, even what religious and moral
principles we lay before our children are communicated in the way of
song. Other advantages for the excitement of activity spontaneously
arise from this practice: for, in accustoming the children to write the
tones they are to utter in musical characters, and, as occasion serves,
again to seek these characters in the utterance of their own voice; and,
besides this, to subjoin the text below the notes,--they are forced to
practise hand, ear, and eye at once, whereby they acquire the art of
penmanship sooner than you would expect; and as all this, in the
long-run, is to be effected by copying precise measurements and
accurately settled numbers, they come to conceive the high value of
mensuration and arithmetic much sooner than in any other way. Among all
imaginable things, accordingly, we have selected music as the element of
our teaching; for level roads run out from music towards every side.”
Wilhelm endeavored to obtain still further information, and expressed
his surprise at hearing no instrumental music. “This is, by no means,
neglected here,” said the other, “but practised in a peculiar district,
one of the most pleasant valleys among the mountains; and there again we
have arranged it so that the different instruments shall be taught in
separate places. The discords of beginners, in particular, are banished
into certain solitudes, where they can drive no one to despair; for you
will confess, that in well-regulated civil society there is scarcely a
more melancholy suffering to be undergone than what is forced on us by
the neighborhood of an incipient player on the flute or violin.
“Our learners, out of a laudable desire to be troublesome to no one, go
forth of their own accord, for a longer or a shorter time, into the
wastes, and strive in their seclusion to attain the merit which shall
again admit them into the inhabited world. Each of them, from time to
time, is allowed to venture an attempt for admission: and the trial
seldom fails of success; for bashfulness and modesty in this, as in all
other parts of our system, we strongly endeavor to maintain and cherish.
That your son has a good voice I am glad to observe: all the rest is
managed with so much the greater ease.”
They had now reached a place where Felix was to stop and make trial of
its arrangements, till a formal reception should be granted him. From a
distance they had been saluted by a jocund sound of music: it was a game
in which the boys were, for the present, amusing themselves in their
hour of play. A general chorus mounted up; each individual of a wide
circle striking in at his time with a joyful, clear, firm tone, as the
sign was given him by the overseer. The latter more than once took the
singers by surprise, when, at a signal, he suspended the choral song,
and called on any single boy, touching him with his rod, to catch by
himself the expiring tone, and adapt to it a suitable song, fitted also
to the spirit of what had preceded. Most part showed great dexterity: a
few who failed in this feat willingly gave in their pledges without
altogether being laughed at for their ill success. Felix was child
enough to mix among them instantly, and in his new task he acquitted
himself tolerably well. The first salutation was then enjoined on him:
he directly laid his hands on his breast, looked upwards, and truly with
so roguish a countenance that it was easy to observe no secret meaning
had yet, in his mind, attached itself to this posture.
The delightful spot, his kind reception, the merry playmates, all
pleased the boy so well that he felt no very deep sorrow as his father
moved away; the departure of the pony was, perhaps, a heavier matter;
but he yielded here also, on learning that in this circle it could not
possibly be kept; and the overseer promised him, in compensation, that
he should find another horse as smart and well broken at a time when he
was not expecting it.
As the chief, it appeared, was not to be come at, the overseer turned to
Wilhelm, and said, “I must now leave you, to pursue my occupations; but
first I will bring you to the Three, who preside over our sacred things.
Your letter is addressed to them likewise, and they together represent
the chief.” Wilhelm could have wished to gain some previous knowledge of
these sacred things; but his companion answered, “The Three will,
doubtless, in return for the confidence you show in leaving us your son,
disclose to you, in their wisdom and fairness, what is most needful for
you to learn. The visible objects of reverence, which I named sacred
things, are collected in this separate circle; are mixed with nothing,
interfered with by nothing; at certain seasons of the year only are our
pupils admitted here, to be taught in their various degrees of culture
by historical and sensible means; and in these short intervals they
carry off a deep enough impression to suffice them for a time, during
the performance of their other duties.”
Wilhelm had now reached the gate of a wooded vale, surrounded with high
walls: on a certain sign the little door opened, and a man of earnest
and imposing look received our traveller. The latter found himself in a
large, beautifully umbrageous space, decked with the richest foliage,
shaded with trees and bushes of all sorts; while stately walls and
magnificent buildings were discerned only in glimpses through this
thick, natural boscage. A friendly reception from the Three, who by and
by appeared, at last turned into a general conversation, the substance
of which we now present in an abbreviated shape.
“Since you intrust your son to us,” said they, “it is fair that we admit
you to a closer view of our procedure. Of what is external you have seen
much that does not bear its meaning on its front. What part of this do
you chiefly wish to have explained?”
“Dignified yet singular gestures of salutation I have noticed, the
import of which I would gladly learn: with you, doubtless, the exterior
has a reference to the interior, and inversely; let me know what this
reference is.”
“Well-formed, healthy children,” replied the Three, “bring much into the
world along with them: Nature has given to each whatever he requires for
time and duration; to unfold this is our duty; often it unfolds itself
better of its own accord. One thing there is, however, which no child
brings into the world with him; and yet it is on this one thing that all
depends for making man in every point a man. If you can discover it
yourself, speak it out.” Wilhelm thought a little while, then shook his
head.
The Three, after a suitable pause, exclaimed, “_Reverence_!” Wilhelm
seemed to hesitate. “Reverence!” cried they a second time. “All want it,
perhaps you yourself.
“Three kinds of gestures you have seen; and we inculcate a threefold
reverence, which, when commingled and formed into one whole, attains its
highest force and effect. The first is, reverence for what is above us.
That posture, the arms crossed over the breast, the look turned joyfully
towards heaven, that is what we have enjoined on young children;
requiring from them thereby a testimony that there is a God above, who
images and reveals himself in parents, teachers, superiors. Then comes
the second, reverence for what is under us. Those hands folded over the
back, and, as it were, tied together; that down-turned, smiling
look,--announce that we are to regard the earth with attention and
cheerfulness: from the bounty of the earth we are nourished; the earth
affords unutterable joys, but disproportionate sorrows she also brings
us. Should one of our children do himself external hurt, blamably or
blamelessly; should others hurt him accidentally or purposely; should
dead, involuntary matter do him hurt,--then let him well consider it;
for such dangers will attend him all his days. But from this posture we
delay not to free our pupil the instant we become convinced that the
instruction connected with it has produced sufficient influence on him.
Then, on the contrary, we bid him gather courage, and, turning to his
comrades, range himself along with them. Now, at last, he stands forth,
frank and bold, not selfishly isolated: only in combination with his
equals does he front the world. Further we have nothing to add.”
“I quite understand it,” said Wilhelm. “Are not the mass of men so
marred and stinted because they take pleasure only in the element of
evil-wishing and evil-speaking? Whoever gives himself to this, soon
comes to be indifferent towards God, contemptuous towards the world,
spiteful towards his equals; and the true, genuine, indispensable
sentiment of self-estimation corrupts into self-conceit and presumption.
Allow me, however,” continued he, “to state one difficulty. You say that
reverence is not natural to man: now, has not the reverence or fear of
barbarous nations for violent convulsions of Nature, or other
inexplicable, mysteriously foreboding occurrences, been heretofore
regarded as the germ out of which a higher feeling, a purer sentiment,
was by degrees to be developed?”
“Fear does accord with Nature,” replied they, “but reverence does not.
Men fear a known or unknown powerful being: the strong seeks to conquer
it, the weak to avoid it; both endeavor to get quit of it, and feel
happy when, for a short season, they have put it aside, and their nature
has, in some degree, regained freedom and independence. The natural man
repeats this operation millions of times in the course of his life; from
fear he struggles to freedom; from freedom he is driven back to fear,
and so makes no advancement. To fear is easy, but grievous; to reverence
is difficult, but satisfactory. Man does not willingly submit himself to
reverence; or, rather, he never so submits himself: it is a higher
sense, which must be communicated to his nature; which only, in some
peculiarly favored individuals, unfolds itself spontaneously, who on
this account, too, have of old been looked upon as saints and gods. Here
lies the worth, here lies the business, of all true religions; whereof
there are, likewise, only three, according to the objects towards which
they direct our devotion.”
The men paused: Wilhelm reflected for a time in silence; but, feeling in
himself no pretension to unfold the meaning of these strange words, he
requested the sages to proceed with their exposition. They immediately
complied. “No religion that grounds itself on fear,” said they, “is
regarded among us. With the reverence to which a man should give
dominion in his mind, he can, in paying honor, keep his own honor: he is
not disunited with himself, as in the former case. The religion which
depends on reverence for what is above us we denominate the ethnic; it
is the religion of the nations, and the first happy deliverance from a
degrading fear: all heathen religions, as we call them, are of this
sort, whatsoever names they may bear. The second religion, which founds
itself on reverence for what is around us, we denominate the
philosophical; for the philosopher stations himself in the middle, and
must draw down to him all that is higher, and up to him all that is
lower: and only in this medium condition does he merit the title of
Wise. Here, as he surveys with clear sight his relation to his equals,
and therefore to the whole human race, his relations likewise to all
other earthly circumstances and arrangements, necessary or accidental,
he alone, in a cosmic sense, lives in truth. But now we have to speak of
the third religion, grounded on reverence for what is beneath us; this
we name the Christian, as in the Christian religion such a temper is
with most distinctness manifested: it is a last step to which mankind
were fitted and destined to attain. But what a task was it, not only to
be patient with the earth, and let it lie beneath us, we appealing to a
higher birthplace, but also to recognize humility and poverty, mockery
and despite, disgrace and wretchedness, suffering and death,--to
recognize these things as divine,--nay, even on sin and crime to look,
not as hinderances, but to honor and love them as furtherances of what
is holy. Of this, indeed, we find some traces in all ages: but the trace
is not the goal; and, this being now attained, the human species cannot
retrograde: and we may say, that the Christian religion, having once
appeared, cannot again vanish; having once assumed its divine shape, can
be subject to no dissolution.”
“To which of these religions do you specially adhere?” inquired Wilhelm.
“To all the three,” replied they; “for in their union they produce what
may properly be called the true religion. Out of those three reverences
springs the highest reverence,--reverence for one’s self; and those
again unfold themselves from this: so that man attains the highest
elevation of which he is capable, that of being justified in reckoning
himself the best that God and Nature have produced,--nay, of being able
to continue on this lofty eminence, without being again, by self-conceit
and presumption, drawn down from it into the vulgar level.”
“Such a confession of faith, developed in this manner, does not repulse
me,” answered Wilhelm: “it agrees with much that one hears now and then
in the course of life; only you unite what others separate.”
To this they replied, “Our confession has already been adopted, though
unconsciously, by a great part of the world.”
“How, then, and where?” said Wilhelm.
“In the creed!” exclaimed they; “for the first article is ethnic, and
belongs to all nations; the second, Christian, for those struggling with
affliction and glorified in affliction; the third, in fine, teaches an
inspired communion of saints, that is, of men in the highest degree good
and wise. And should not, therefore, the Three Divine Persons, under the
similitudes and names of which these threefold doctrines and commands
are promulgated, justly be considered as in the highest sense One?”
“I thank you,” said Wilhelm, “for having pleased to lay all this before
me in such clearness and combination, as before a grown-up person, to
whom your three modes of feeling are not altogether foreign. And now,
when I reflect that you communicate this high doctrine to your children,
in the first place as a sensible sign, then with some symbolical
accompaniment attached to it, and at last unfold to them its deepest
meaning, I cannot but warmly approve of your method.”
“Right,” answered they; “but now we must show you more, and so convince
you the better that your son is in no bad hands. This, however, may
remain for the morrow: rest and refresh yourself, that you may attend us
in the morning, as a man satisfied and unimpeded, into the interior of
our sanctuary.”
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