In this division of our work, the exculpatory “Word from the Editor”
might have been more requisite than even in the foregoing chapter; for
there, though we had not the paintings of the master and his fair
scholar, on which all depended, to exhibit before our readers, and could
neither make the perfection of the finished artist, nor the commencing
stintedness nor rapid development of the art-loving beauty, visible to
their eyes, yet still the description might not be altogether
inefficient, and many genial and thought-exalting matters remained to be
imparted. But here, where the business in hand is a great object, which
one could have wished to see treated in the most precise manner, there
is, unhappily, too little noted down; and we cannot hope that a complete
view will be attained from our communications.
Again, it is to be observed, that in the novel, as in universal history,
we have to struggle with uncertain computations of time, and cannot
always decisively fix what has happened sooner, and what later. We shall
hold, therefore, by the surest points.
That a year must have passed since Wilhelm left the pedagogic province
is rendered certain by the circumstance that we now meet him at the
festival to which he had been invited: but as our wandering renunciants
sometimes unexpectedly dive down and vanish from our sight, and then
again emerge into view at a place where they were not looked for, it
cannot be determined with certainty what track they have followed in the
interim.
Now, however, the traveller advances from the side of the plain country
into the pedagogic province: he comes over fields and pasturages;
skirts, on the dry lea, many a little freshet; sees bushy rather than
woody hills; a free prospect on all sides, over a surface but little
undulated. On such tracks, he did not long doubt that he was in the
horse-producing region; and accordingly he failed not here and there to
observe greater or smaller herds of mares and foals. But all at once the
horizon darkens with a fierce cloud of dust, which, rapidly swelling
nearer and nearer, covers all the breadth of the space, yet at last,
rent asunder by a sharp side wind, is forced to disclose its interior
tumult.
At full gallop rushes forward a vast multitude of these noble animals,
guided and held together by mounted keepers. The monstrous hurly-burly
whirls past the wanderer: a fair boy among the keepers looks at him with
surprise, pulls in, leaps down, and embraces his father.
Now commences a questioning and answering: the boy relates that an
agricultural life had not agreed with him; the harvest-home he had,
indeed, found delightful, but the subsequent arrangements, the ploughing
and digging, by no means so. This the superiors remark, and observe at
the same time that he likes to employ himself with animals: they direct
him to the useful and necessary domestic breeds, try him as a
sequestered herdsman and keeper, and at last promote him to the more
lively equestrian occupation, where accordingly he now, himself a young
foal, has to watch over foals, and to forward their good nourishment and
training under the oversight of skilful comrades.
Father and son, following the herd by various lone-lying spacious
farm-yards, reached the town, or hamlet, near which the great annual
market was held. Here rages an incredible confusion, in which it is hard
to determine whether merchants or wares raise more dust. From all
countries, purchasers assemble here to procure animals of noble blood
and careful training: all the languages of the earth, you would fancy,
meet your ear. Amid all this hubbub, too, rises the lively sound of
powerful wind instruments: every thing bespeaks motion, vigor, and life.
The wanderer meets his overseer of last year, who presents him to the
others: he is even introduced to one of the Three, and by him, though
only in passing, paternally and expressively saluted.
Wilhelm, here again observing an example of exclusive culture and
life-leading, expresses a desire to know in what else the pupils are
practised, by way of counterpoise, that so in this wild, and, to a
certain degree, savage occupation of feeding animals, the youth may not
himself roughen into an animal. And, in answer, he is gratified to
learn, that precisely with this violent and rugged-looking occupation
the softest in the world is united,--the learning and practising of
languages.
“To this,” it was said, “we have been induced by the circumstance, that
there are youths from all quarters of the world assembled here: now, to
prevent them from uniting, as usually happens when abroad, into national
knots, and forming exclusive parties, we endeavor by a free
communication of speech to approximate them.
“Indeed, a general acquaintance with languages is here in some degree
rendered necessary; since, in our yearly market festivals, every
foreigner wishes to converse in his own tones and idiom, and, in the
course of cheapening and purchasing, to proceed with all possible
convenience. That no Babylonish confusion of tongues, however, no
corruption of speech, may arise from this practice, we employ a
different language month by month, throughout the year; according to the
maxim, that, in learning any thing, its first principles alone should be
taught by constraint.
“We look upon our scholars,” said the overseer, “as so many swimmers,
who, in the element which threatened to swallow them, feel with
astonishment that they are lighter, that it bears and carries them
forward; and so it is with every thing that man undertakes.
“However, if any one of our young men show a special inclination for
this or the other language, we neglect not, in the midst of this
tumultuous-looking life, which nevertheless offers very many quiet, idly
solitary, nay, tedious hours, to provide for his true and substantial
instruction. Our riding grammarians, among whom there are even some
pedagogues you would be surprised to discover among these bearded and
beardless centaurs. Your Felix has turned himself to Italian; and, in
the monotonous solitude of his herdsman life, you shall hear him send
forth many a dainty song with proper feeling and taste. Practical
activity and expertness are far more compatible with sufficient
intellectual culture than is generally supposed.”
Each of these districts was celebrating its peculiar festival, so the
guest was now conducted to the instrumental music department. This
tract, skirted by the level country, began from its very border to
exhibit kind and beautifully changing valleys; little trim woods; soft
brooks, by the side of which, among the sward, here and there a mossy
crag modestly stood forth. Scattered, bush-encircled dwellings you might
see on the hillsides: in soft hollows, the houses clustered nearer
together. Those gracefully separated cottages lay so far apart, that
neither tones nor mistones could be heard from one to the other.
They now approached a wide space, begirt with buildings and shady trees,
where crowded, man on man, all seemed on the stretch of expectation and
attention. Just as the stranger entered, there was sent forth from all
the instruments a grand symphony, the full, rich power and tenderness of
which he could not but admire. Opposite the spacious main orchestra was
a smaller one, which failed not to attract his notice: here stood
various younger and elder scholars; each held his instrument in
readiness without playing: these were they who as yet could not, or
durst not, join in with the whole. It was interesting to observe how
they stood, as it were, on the start; and our friend was informed that
such a festival seldom passed over without some one or other of them
suddenly developing his talent.
As, among the instrumental music, singing was now introduced, no doubt
could remain that this also was favored. To the question, What other
sort of culture was here blended in kind union with the chief
employment, our wanderer learned, in reply, that it was poetry, and of
the lyrical kind. In this matter it appeared their main concern was,
that both arts should be developed, each for itself and from itself, but
then also in contrast and combination with each other. The scholars were
first instructed in each according to its own limitations, then taught
how the two reciprocally limit, and again reciprocally free each other.
To poetical rhythm the musical artist opposes measure of tone, and
movement of tone. But here the mastery of Music over Poesy soon shows
itself; for if the latter, as is fit and necessary, keep her quantities
never so steadily in view, still for the musician few syllables are
decidedly short or long: at his pleasure he can overset the most
conscientious procedure of the rhythmer,--nay, change prose itself into
song; from which, in truth, the richest possibilities present
themselves: and the poet would soon feel himself annihilated if he could
not, on his own side, by lyrical tenderness and boldness, inspire the
musician with reverence, and, now in the softest sequence, now by the
most abrupt transitions, awaken new feelings in the mind.
The singers to be met with here are mostly poets themselves. Dancing
also is taught in its fundamental principles, that so all these
accomplishments may regularly spread themselves into every district.
The guest, on being led across the next boundary, at once perceived an
altogether different mode of building. The houses were no longer
scattered into separation, no longer in the shape of cottages: they
stood regularly united, beautiful in their exterior, spacious,
convenient, and elegant within; you here saw an unconfined, well-built,
stately town, corresponding to the scene it stood in. Here the plastic
arts, and the trades akin to them have their home; and a peculiar
silence reigns over these spaces.
The plastic artist, it is true, must still figure himself as standing in
relation to all that lives and moves among men; but his occupation is
solitary: and yet, by the strangest contradiction, there is, perhaps, no
other that so decidedly requires a living accompaniment and society.
Now, here, in that circle, is each in silence forming shapes that are
forever to engage the eyes of men: a holiday stillness reigns over the
whole scene; and did you not here and there catch the picking of
stone-hewers, and the measured stroke of carpenters, who are now busily
employed in finishing a lordly edifice, the air were unmoved by any
sound.
Our wanderer was struck, moreover, by the earnestness, the singular
rigor, with which beginners, as well as more advanced pupils, were
treated: it seemed as if no one, by his own power and judgment,
accomplished any thing, but as if a secret spirit, striving towards one
single great aim, pervaded and vivified them all. Nowhere did you
observe a scheme or sketch: every stroke was drawn with forethought. As
the wanderer inquired of his guide the reason of this peculiar
procedure, he was told, “That imagination was, in itself, a vague,
unstable power, which the whole merit of the plastic artist consisted in
more and more determining, fixing, nay, at last exalting to visible
presence.”
The necessity for sure principles in other arts was mentioned. “Would
the musician,” it was said, “permit his scholar to dash wildly over the
strings,--nay, to invent bars and intervals for himself at his own good
pleasure? Here it is palpable that nothing can be left to the caprice of
the learner: the element he is to work in is irrevocably given; the
implement he is to wield is put into his hands; nay, the very way and
manner of his using it, I mean the changing of the fingers, he finds
prescribed to him; so ordered that the one part of his hand shall give
place to the other, and each prepare the proper path for its follower:
by such determinate co-operation only can the impossible at last become
possible.
“But what chiefly vindicates the practice of strict requisitions, of
decided laws, is that genius, that native talent, is precisely the
readiest to seize them, and yield them willing obedience. It is only the
half-gifted that would wish to put his own contracted singularity in the
place of the unconditional whole, and justify his false attempts under
cover of an unconstrainable originality and independence. To this we
grant no currency: we guard our scholars from all such misconceptions,
whereby a large portion of life, nay, often the whole of life, is apt to
be perplexed and disjointed.
“With genius we love most to be concerned, for this is animated just by
that good spirit of quickly recognizing what is profitable for it.
Genius understands that Art is called Art, because it is _not_ Nature.
Genius bends itself to respect even towards what may be named
conventional; for what is this but agreeing, as the most distinguished
men have agreed, to regard the unalterable, the indispensable, as the
best? And does not such submission always turn to good account?
“Here, too, as in all our departments, to the great assistance of the
teachers, our three reverences and their signs, with some changes
suitable to the nature of the main employment, have been introduced and
inculcated.”
The wanderer, in his further survey, was surprised to observe that the
town seemed still extending; street unfolding itself from street, and so
offering the most varied prospects. The exterior of the edifices
corresponded to their destination: they were dignified and stately, not
so much magnificent as beautiful. To the nobler and more earnest
buildings in the centre of the town the more cheerful were harmoniously
appended; till, farther out, gay, decorated suburbs, in graceful style,
stretched forth into the country, and at last separated into
garden-houses.
The stranger could not fail to remark that the dwellings of the
musicians in the preceding district were by no means to be compared, in
beauty or size, with the present, which painters, statuaries, and
architects inhabited. He was told that this arose from the nature of the
thing. The musician, ever shrouded in himself, must cultivate his inmost
being, that so he may turn it outwards. The sense of the eye he may not
flatter. The eye easily corrupts the judgment of the ear, and allures
the spirit from the inward to the outward. Inversely, again, the plastic
artist has to live in the external world, and to manifest his inward
being, as it were, unconsciously, in and upon what is outward. Plastic
artists should dwell like kings and gods: how else are they to build and
decorate for kings and gods? They must at last so raise themselves above
the common that the whole mass of a people may feel itself ennobled in
and by their works.
Our friend then begged an explanation of another paradox. Why, at this
time, so festive, so enlivening, so tumultuously excited, in the other
regions, the greatest stillness prevailed here, and all labors were
continued?
“A plastic artist,” it was answered, “needs no festival. When he has
accomplished something excellent it stands, as it has long done before
his own eye, now at last before the eye of the world. In his task he
needed no repetition, no new effort, no fresh success; whereas the
musician constantly afflicts himself with all this: and to him,
therefore, the most splendid festival, in the most numerous assemblage,
should not be refused.”
“Yet, at such a season,” replied Wilhelm, “something like an exhibition
might be desirable, in which it would be pleasant to inspect and judge
the triennial progress of your best pupils.”
“In other places,” it was answered, “an exhibition may be necessary:
with us it is not. Our whole being and nature is exhibition. Look round
you at these buildings of every sort, all erected by our pupils, and
this not without plans, a hundred times talked of and meditated; for the
builder must not grope and experiment: what is to continue standing must
stand rightly, and satisfy, if not forever, yet at least for a long
space of time. If we cannot help _committing_ errors, we must _build_
none.
“With statuaries we proceed more laxly, most so of all with painters: to
both we give liberty to try this and that, each in his own way. It
stands in their power to select, in the interior or exterior
compartments of edifices in public places, some space which they may
incline to decorate. They give forth their ideas; and, if these are in
some degree to be approved of, the completion of them is permitted, and
this in two ways: either with liberty, sooner or later, to remove the
work, should it come to displease the artist; or with the condition that
what is once set up shall remain unalterable in its place. Most part
choose the first of these offers, retaining in their own hands this
power of removal; and in the performance they constantly avail
themselves of the best advice. The second case occurs seldomer; and we
then observe that the artist trusts less to himself, holds long
conferences with companions and critics, and by this means produces
works really estimable, and deserving to endure.”
After all this our traveller neglected not to ask, What other species of
instruction was combined with the main one here? and received for
answer, that it was poetry, and of the epic sort.
This to our friend must have seemed a little singular, when he heard
further that the pupils were not allowed to read or hear any finished
poems by ancient or modern poets. “We merely impart to them,” it was
said, “a series of mythuses, traditions, and legends, in the most
laconic form. And now, from the pictorial or poetic execution of these
subjects, we at once discover the peculiar productive gift of the genius
devoted to the one or the other art. Both poet and painter thus labor at
the same fountain; and each endeavors to draw off the water to his own
side to his own advantage, and attain his own required objects with it;
in which he succeeds much better than if he attempted again to fashion
something that has been fashioned already.”
The traveller himself had an opportunity of seeing how this was
accomplished: several painters were busy in a room; a gay young friend
was relating with great minuteness a very simple story; so that he
employed almost as many words as the others did pencil-strokes, to
complete the same exhibition, and round it fully off.
He was told, that, in working together, the friends were wont to carry
on much pleasant conversation; and that in this way several
improvisatori had unfolded their gifts, and succeeded in exciting great
enthusiasm for this twofold mode of representation.
Our friend now reverted his inquiries to the subject of plastic art.
“You have no exhibition,” said he, “and therefore, I suppose, give no
prize either?”
“No,” said the other, “we do not; but here, close by, we can show you
something which we reckon more useful.”
They entered a large hall, appropriately lighted from above: a wide
circle of busy artists first attracted the eye; and from the midst of
these rose a colossal group of figures, elevated with pleasing effect in
the centre of the place. Male and female forms, of gigantic power, in
violent postures, reminded one of that lordly fight between heroic
youths and Amazons, wherein hate and enmity at last issue in mutually
regretful alliance. This strikingly intertwisted piece of art presented
an equally favorable aspect from every point of its circuit. In a wide
ring round it were many artists sitting and standing, each occupied in
his own way,--the painter at his easel, the drawer at his sketch-board:
some were modelling it in full, others in bas-relief: there were even
architects engaged in planning the pedestal, on which a similar group,
when wrought in marble, was to be erected. Each individual was
proceeding by his own method in this task; painters and drawers were
bringing out the group to a plain surface, careful, however, not to
destroy its figures, but to retain as much of it as possible. In the
same manner were works in bas-relief going forward. One man only had
repeated the whole group in a miniature scale, and in certain movements
and arrangements of limbs he really seemed to have surpassed his model.
And now it came out that this man was the maker of the model; who,
before working it in marble, had here submitted his performance, not to
a critical, but to a practical trial, and by accurately observing
whatever any of his fellow-artists in his special department and way of
thought might notice, retain, or alter in the group, was purposing, in
subsequent consideration, to turn all this to his own profit: so that,
when at length the grand work stood finished in marble, though
undertaken, planned, and executed by one, it might seem to belong to
all.
The greatest silence reigned throughout this apartment also; but the
superior raised his voice, and cried, “Is there any of you, then, who,
in presence of this stationary work, can, with gifted words, so awaken
our imagination, that all we here see concreted shall again become
fluid, without losing its character, and so convince us that what our
artist has here laid hold of was indeed the worthiest?”
Called forth on all sides by name, a fair youth laid down his work, and,
as he stepped forward, began a quiet speech, seemingly intended merely
to describe the present group of figures; but erelong he cast himself
into the region of poetry, plunged into the middle of the action, and
ruled this element like a master: by degrees his representation so
swelled and mounted by lordly words and gestures, that the rigid group
seemed actually to move about its axis, and the number of its figures to
be doubled and trebled. Wilhelm stood enraptured, and at last exclaimed,
“Can we now forbear passing over into song itself, into rhythmic
melody?”
“This I should wish to deprecate,” said the overseer; “for, if our
excellent statuary will be candid, he will confess to us that our poet
scarcely pleases him; and this because their arts lie in the most
opposite regions: on the other hand, I durst bet, that here and there a
painter has not failed to appropriate some living touches from the
speech.
“A soft, kindly song, however, I could wish our friend to hear: there is
one, for instance, which you sing to an air so lovely and earnest; it
turns on art in general, and I myself never listen to it without
pleasure.”
After a pause, in which they beckoned to each other, and settled their
arrangements by signs, the following heart and spirit stirring song
resounded in stately melody from all sides:--
“While inventing and effecting,
Artist by thyself continue long:
The result art thou expecting,
Haste and see it in the throng.
Here in others look, discover
What thy own life’s course has been;
And thy deeds of years past over,
In thy fellow-man be seen.
The devising, the uniting,
What and how the forms shall be,
One thing will the other lighten,
And at last comes joy to thee!
Wise and true what thou impartest,
Fairly shaped, and softly done:
Thus of old the cunning artist
Artist-like his glory won.
As all Nature’s thousand changes
But one changeless God proclaim;
So in Art’s wide kingdoms ranges
One sole meaning still the same:
This is Truth, eternal Reason,
Which from Beauty takes its dress,
And, serene through time and season,
Stands for aye in loveliness.
While the orator, the singer,
Pour their hearts in rhyme and prose,
’Neath the painter’s busy finger
Shall bloom forth Life’s cheerful rose,
Girt with sisters, in the middle,
And with Autumn’s fruitage blent;
That of life’s mysterious riddle
Some short glimpses may be hent.
Thousand-fold and graceful, show thou
Form from forms evolving fair;
And of man’s bright image know thou
That a God once tarried there:
And, whate’er your tasks or prizes,
Stand as brethren one and all;
While, like song, sweet incense rises
From the altar at your call.”
All this Wilhelm could not but let pass, though it must have seemed
paradoxical enough, and, had he not seen it with his eyes, might even
have appeared impossible. But now, when it was explained and pointed out
to him, openly and freely, and in fair sequence, he scarcely needed to
put any further question on the subject. However, he at last addressed
his conductor as follows: “I see here a most prudent provision made for
much that is desirable in life; but tell me further, which of your
regions exhibits a similar attention to dramatic poetry, and where could
I instruct myself in that matter? I have looked round over all your
edifices, and observed none that seemed destined for such an object.”
“In reply to this question, we must not hide from you, that, in our
whole province, there is no such edifice to be seen. The drama
presupposes the existence of an idle multitude, perhaps even of a
populace; and no such class finds harbor with us: for birds of that
feather, when they do not in spleen forsake us of their own accord, we
soon take care to conduct over the marches. Doubt not, however, that in
our Institution, so universal in its character, this point was carefully
meditated; but no region could be found for the purpose, everywhere some
important scruple came in the way. Indeed, who among our pupils could
readily determine, with pretended mirth or hypocritical sorrow, to
excite in the rest a feeling untrue in itself, and alien to the moment,
for the sake of calling forth an always dubious satisfaction? Such
juggleries we reckoned in all cases dangerous, and could not reconcile
with our earnest objects.”
“It is said, however,” answered Wilhelm, “that this far-stretching art
promotes all the rest of whatever sort.”
“Nowise,” answered the other: “it employs the rest, but spoils them. I
do not blame a player for uniting himself with a painter; but the
painter, in such society, is lost. Without any conscience, the player
will lay hold of whatever art or life presents him, and use it for his
fugitive objects, indeed, with no small profit: the painter, again, who
could wish in return to extract advantage from the theatre, will
constantly find himself a loser by it; and so also in the like case will
the musician. The combined arts appear to me like a family of sisters,
of whom the greater part were inclined to good economy, but one was
light-headed, and desirous to appropriate and squander the whole goods
and chattels of the household. The theatre is this wasteful sister: it
has an ambiguous origin, which in no case, whether as art or trade or
amusement, it can wholly conceal.”
Wilhelm cast his eyes on the ground with a deep sigh: for all that he
had enjoyed or suffered on the stage rose at once before his mind; and
he blessed the good men who were wise enough to spare their pupils such
pain, and, out of principle and conviction, to banish such errors from
their sphere.
His attendant, however, did not leave him long in these meditations, but
continued, “As it is our highest and holiest principle, that no talent,
no capacity, be misdirected, we cannot hide from ourselves, that, among
so large a number, here and there a mimical gift will sometimes
decidedly come to light; exhibiting itself in an irresistible desire to
ape the characters, forms, movements, speech, of others. This we
certainly do not encourage: but we observe our pupil strictly; and, if
he continue faithful to his nature, then we have already established an
intercourse with the great theatres of all nations; and so thither we
send any youth of tried capability, that, as the duck on the pond, so he
on the boards, may be forthwith conducted, full speed, to the future
quack-quacking, and gibble-gabbling, of his life.”
Wilhelm heard this with patience, but only with half conviction, perhaps
with some spleen: for so strangely is man tempered, that he may be
persuaded of the worthlessness of any darling object, may turn away from
it, nay, even execrate it, but yet will not see it treated in this way
by others; and perhaps the spirit of Contradiction, which dwells in all
men, never rouses itself more vehemently and stoutly than in such cases.
And the editor of these sheets may himself confess that he lets not this
strange passage through his hands without some touch of anger. Has not
he, too, in many senses, expended more life and faculty than was right
on the theatre? And would these men convince him that this has been an
unpardonable error, a fruitless toil?
But we have no time for appending, in splenetic mood, such remembrances
and after-feelings to the narrative; for our friend now finds himself
agreeably surprised, as one of the Three, and this a particularly
prepossessing one, again comes before his eyes. Kind, open meekness,
announcing the purest peace of soul, came in its refreshing effluences
along with him. Trustfully the wanderer could approach, and feel his
trust returned.
Here he now learned that the chief was at present in the sanctuary,
instructing, teaching, blessing; while the Three had separated to visit
all the regions, and everywhere, after most thorough information
obtained, and conferences with the subordinate overseers, to forward
what was in progress, to found what was newly planned, and thereby
faithfully discharge their high duty.
This same excellent person now gave him a more comprehensive view of
their internal situation and external connections; explained to him the
mutual influences of one region on another; and also by what steps,
after a longer or a shorter date, a pupil could be transferred from the
one to the other. All this harmonized completely with what he already
knew. At the same time he was much gratified by the description given of
his son, and their further plan of education met with his entire
approval.
He was now, by the assistants and overseer, invited to a miners’
festival, which was forthwith to be celebrated. The ascent of the
mountains was difficult; and Wilhelm fancied he observed that his guide
walked even slower towards evening, as if the darkness had not been
likely to obstruct their path still more. But, when deep night came
round them, this enigma was solved: our wanderer observed little flames
come glimmering and wavering forth from many dells and chasms, gradually
stretch themselves into lines, and roll over the summits of the
mountains. Much kindlier than when a volcano opens, and its belching
roar threatens whole countries with destruction, did this fair light
appear; and yet, by degrees, it glowed with new brightness; grew
stronger, broader, more continuous; glittered like a stream of stars,
soft and lovely indeed, yet spreading boldly over all the scene.
After the attendant had a little while enjoyed the surprise of his
guest,--for they could clearly enough observe each other, their faces
and forms, as well as their path, being illuminated by the light from
the distance,--he began, “You see here, in truth, a curious spectacle:
these lights which, day and night, the whole year over, gleam and work
under ground, forwarding the acquisition of concealed and scarcely
attainable treasures, these now mount and well forth from their abysses,
and gladden the upper night. Scarcely could one anywhere enjoy so brave
a review as here, where this most useful occupation, which, in its
subterranean concealment, is dispersed and hidden from the eye, rises
before us in its full completeness, and bespeaks a great secret
combination.”
Amid such speeches and thoughts they had reached the spot where these
fire-brooks poured themselves into a sea of flame surrounding a
well-lighted insular space. The wanderer placed himself in the dazzling
circle, within which glittering lights by thousands formed an imposing
contrast with the miners, ranked round it like a dark wall. Forthwith
arose the gayest music as accompaniment to becoming songs. Hollow masses
of rock came forward on machinery, and opened a resplendent interior to
the eye of the delighted spectator. Mimetic exhibitions, and whatever
else at such a moment can gratify the multitude, combined with all this
at once to excite and to satisfy a cheerful attention.
But with what astonishment was Wilhelm filled when, on being introduced
to the superiors, he observed friend Jarno in solemn, stately robes
among the number. “Not in vain,” cried Jarno, “have I changed my former
name with the more expressive title of Montan: thou findest me here
initiated in mountain and cave; and now, if questioned, I could disclose
and explain to thee much that a year ago was still a riddle to myself.”
At this point our manuscripts forsake us: of the conversation of these
friends there is nothing specified; as little can we discover the
connection of what follows next,--an incident of which in the same
bundle, in the same paper, we find brief notice: That a meeting had
taken place between our wanderer and Lothario and the abbé. Unhappily,
in this, as in so many other leaves, the date has been neglected.
Some passages, introduced rather in the way of exclamation than of
narrative, point to the high meaning of renunciation, by which alone the
first real entrance into life is conceivable. Then we come upon a map,
marked with several arrows pointing towards one another; and along with
this we find, in a certain sequence, several days of the month written
down: so that we might fancy ourselves again walking in the real world,
and moderately certain as to the next part of our friend’s route, were
it not that here also various marks and ciphers, appended in different
ways, awoke some fear that a secret meaning at the bottom of it would
forever lie hid from us.
But what drives us out of all historical composure is the strange
circumstance, that, immediately on all this, there comes in the most
improbable narration, of a sort like those tales whereby you long keep
the hearer’s curiosity on the stretch with a series of wonders, and at
last explain, That you were talking of a dream. However, we shall
communicate without change what lies before us:--
“If hitherto we had continued in the metalliferous part of the
mountains, which, externally, is soft, and by no means of a wild aspect,
I was now conducted through precipitous and scarcely passable rocks and
chasms: at last I gained the topmost summit,--a cliff, the peak of which
afforded room only for a single person, who, if he looked down from it
into the horrid depth, might see furious mountain torrents foaming
through black abysses. In the present case I looked down without
giddiness or terror, for I was light of heart; but now my attention
fixed itself on some huge crags rising opposite me, precipitous like my
own, yet offering on their summits a larger space of level. Though
parted by a monstrous chasm, the jutting masses came so near together
that I could distinctly enough, with the naked eye, observe several
persons assembled on the summit. They were, for most part, ladies, one
of whom, coming forward to the very verge, awakened in me double and
treble anxiety; as I became completely convinced that it was Natalia
herself. The danger of such an unexpected interview increased every
moment; but it grew boundless when a perspective came before my eyes,
and brought me over to her, and her over to me. There is something
magical at all times in perspectives. Were we not accustomed from youth
to look through them, we should shudder and tremble every time we put
them to our eyes. It is we who are looking, and it is not we: a being it
is whose organs are raised to a higher pitch, whose limitations are done
away, who has become entitled to stretch forth into infinitude.
“When, for example, we observe far-distant persons, by means of such an
instrument, and see them in unsuspicious thoughtlessness following their
business as if they were solitary and unwatched, we could almost feel
afraid lest they might discover us, and indignantly upbraid us for our
treacherous curiosity.
“And so likewise did I, hemmed in by a strange feeling, waver between
proximity and distance, and from instant to instant alternate between
the two.
“Those others in their turn had observed us, as a signal with a white
handkerchief put beyond a doubt. For a moment I delayed in my answer to
it, finding myself thus close beside the being whom I adored. This is
her pure, benign form: these are her taper arms, which once so helpfully
appeared before me, after unblessed sorrows and perplexities, and at
last, too, though but for moments, sympathizingly embraced me.
“I saw distinctly enough that she, too, had a perspective, and was
looking over to me; and I failed not, by such tokens as stood at my
command, to express the profession of a true and heartfelt attachment.
“And as experience teaches that remote objects, which we have once
clearly recognized through a perspective, afterwards appear, even to the
naked eye, as if standing shaped in distinct nearness, be it that more
accurate knowledge sharpens the sense, or that imagination supplies what
is wanting; so now did I see this beloved being as accurately and
distinctly as if I could have touched her, though her company continued
still irrecognizable. And as I was trampling round my narrow station,
struggling towards her the more, the abyss was like to swallow me, had
not a helpful hand laid hold of mine, and snatched me at once from my
danger and my fairest happiness.”
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