"Guten Morgen, Wilhelm!" said I, as I entered the chamber of my fellow
student. "How are you this morning? You look better--your eyes are
brighter, and your cheek possesses more colour than usual."
"I am better, mein Freund," observed the youth, raising himself up
from the bed till his back rested upon the pillows. "But what have you
there?"
"A fresh supply of flowers for you, Wilhelm," I replied; "and I bought
them of the prettiest Mädchen I ever saw in the market place."
"Ich danke Ihnen für das Geschenk," murmured the grateful student.
"You know I love flowers better than any thing upon earth. They always
fill me with ideas of beauty and purity and splendour, above all
other earthly things; and I love them because they are so impartial
in bestowing their favours: they confer their fragrance and their
loveliness with equal liberality on all who venture within their
influence. Put them in the vase, mein freund, and let me again thank
you for so welcome a gift."
"And now let us converse, Wilhelm, if you feel strong enough;" I
exclaimed, as I took a seat by the bedside of the invalid. "Has the
physician been this morning? And what said he."
"He preceded you but a few minutes, mein freund," replied Wilhelm, "and
he said nothing. He shook his head, however, when he looked at me, which
I considered a bad sign."
"There's nothing in it, be assured," said I, earnestly.
"In the head, or in the sign?" inquired my fellow student, with a look
of mock gravity.
"In both," cried I, laughing; "in both, no doubt. But I am glad to see
you so cheerful. Your appearance this morning makes me entertain hopes
of your speedy recovery, and I can almost convince myself, that in a few
days we shall be together pursuing our studies and our ramblings, as we
have so often and so happily done."
"I have been entertaining a similar idea, mein freund," observed
Wilhelm; "I feel more cheerful than I have felt for a long time past;
and I was beginning to flatter myself into a belief, that the insidious
disease was about evacuating its territory. I shall roam among
the walls of old Göttingen again. I shall associate with my ancient
comrades--shall I not?"
"'Tis a consummation devoutly to be wished by others as well as myself,"
said I; "but how liked you the book I lent you?"
"'Tis a brilliant production," replied my friend; "and of that class of
works which affords me most pleasure. 'Give me the enjoyment of perusing
a succession of new works from the graceful pen of Crébillon, and
I shall have no other want,' said Gray. I exclaim, 'Give me the
gratification of reading the finest productions in the imaginative
literature of every civilised nation, and there will be little left for
me to wish for.' Nothing elevates and delights me so much as the best of
these works, especially if they be tinged with a tone of high romantic
feeling. What can be so charming as this mingling of the ideal and the
natural? What can take a firmer hold of the mind and of the heart?"
"They certainly do, when ably written, create very powerful
impressions;" I observed.
"I have read a considerable portion of the imaginative literature of
almost every European nation," said Wilhelm; "and an extraordinary power
of genius it evinces. The prose fictions of the present age produced
in Germany and England are wonderfully excellent and abundant. I think
the English exceed all others in the combination of judgment with
imagination, as seen in the best efforts of Scott, Bulwer, and Godwin.
After them come the Germans, and we can proudly boast of Göthe,
Lafontaine, Novalis, and Hoffmann. The French have much imagination and
very little judgment, as exhibited in the writings of Victor Hugo,
Mérimée, Paul de Kock, and Balzac, and are usually distinguished by
their sins against good taste. Of Italian imaginative literature, the
works I have met with that rise above mediocrity, are, 'I Promessi
Sposi,' of Manzoni, 'Ettore Fieramosca,' of Massino D'Azeglio, and
'Franco Allegri,' which do not soar very high. Of the modern fictions
of Spain, Portugal, and Holland, I know nothing; nor do I believe that
there is any thing to know; but I have seen one or two romantic novels
from Russia that possess considerable merit. What I object to in works
of this nature, written at the present time, is the too apparent
satisfaction of their authors in remaining in the beaten track. A vast
majority fill their volumes with characters that have been a thousand
times repeated, and with incidents and situations that are familiar to
every reader."
"What would you have them do?" I inquired.
"I would have them strike out a bolder class of subjects," replied the
student. "Instead of being satisfied with attempting illustrations of
historical periods, or of an existing state of society, suppose they
attempt to describe an imaginary time as well as imaginary characters.
If a man possess a powerful imagination, let him conceive the state
of the world a thousand years hence, or at any other time remote from
the present. I do not mean that he should merely delineate a state of
society, or of any section of society; I mean that he should take the
most important portions of the civilised world, and picture, as well
as he is able, the changes they may undergo, and the state of their
peoples, governments, religions, and philosophy."
"I am afraid that such a work would be considered too serious for the
novel reader;" I observed.
"Impossible, mein freund!" replied the student. "Always, in works of
imagination, the ideal and the matter of fact should be so blended as
to make an interesting and amusing whole; and it matters not whether
the time sought to be illustrated be of the past, of the present, or of
the future: each may be made equally laughable, equally pathetic, and
equally philosophical."
"But the idea is too comprehensive to be done well;" said I. "To draw
an imaginary state of the world in any thing like consonance with
probability, requires more than ordinary talent in the draughtsman; but
to add to it pictures of an imaginary state of its inhabitants, and
an imaginary state of their philosophy, presents difficulties which I
should think are not to be overcome."
"The imagination can conquer any difficulty;" exclaimed my companion.
"There is no power beneath heaven like imagination. It can dive into the
uttermost corners of the ocean, or ascend through the trackless fields
of air. It can fly where the eagle dare not move its wing, and amid
Alpine obstacles outclimb the chamois. It can pass the great desert at a
bound, and bear the four corners of the world in the hollow of its eye.
It seeth all things that nature showeth; and after disclosing these,
can show many things that nature never beheld. It pierces into the most
hidden things. It flingeth a shining light into the most utter darkness.
Locks, bolts, or bars, cannot keep it out--laws, walls and chains
cannot keep it in: it is the only thing belonging to human life that
is perfectly free. There is nothing imagination cannot do; no matter
whether it be good or evil, reasonable or absurd, to it all things are
alike easy. And as for wealth or power or dignity, or aught of which the
world thinks highly, where is the greatness, and where are the riches
that exceed those of the imagination? Mechanics are proud of their
engines, and think them wonderful: they are mere playthings compared
with the imagination. Cannot imagination make the sea dry land, and the
earth ocean? Archimedes boasted that he would move the world, could
he place it in a convenient situation. Let imagination put forth its
powers, and the world becomes obedient to its law, moves when required,
crumbles into dust, and is re-created with increased glory. Cannot it
break the rock like a reed, and snap the gnarled oak of many centuries
like a rotten thread? Cannot it build cities on the plain, and form
a garden in the wilderness? Cannot it people the solitude and confer
happiness on the desolate? Cannot it make the sands of the sea-shore
glittering with gold; and of the leaves of the forest create treasures
far outvaluing the riches of the earth and sea? And more than this, it
can make the dead live and the living die; it can raise the earthquake
and the pestilence; it can fight battles and win kingdoms; it can float
upon the whirlwind like a leaf upon the breeze; and pass through a
consuming fire unscathed by a single flame.
"These are the powers of the imagination; and what are its pleasures?
Let the most luxurious seeker after enjoyment take all the delights
reality will give him. Let him wrap himself up in roses; lie in baths of
milk; taste all that is delicious to the appetite; be loved by the most
lovely and the most loving of women; and pass not a minute in which
his soul is not lapped in ecstacy; and his enjoyments will bear no
comparison with those of the imagination. Imagination can concentrate in
a single moment the pleasures of a thousand years: it possesses all the
delights the world may produce, in addition to raptures more exquisite
of worlds of its own: it can create forms clothed with a beauty far
excelling the rarest of those who have glorified the earth with their
presence; its sunshine pales the light of heaven; its flowers alone can
bloom with a perpetual fragrance."
"Wilhelm, you must not excite yourself so;" said I, observing him fall
back exhausted against the pillow, from which he had raised himself, and
a violent fit of coughing follow.
"O du ewige Güte?" exclaimed the student, gasping for breath.
"Ah! I was afraid of this; you are too weak to allow yourself to be
carried away by the impetuosity of your feelings. Here! take some of
this drink. It will allay the irritation of the cough."
"I am better now--I am better, mein freund," murmured the grateful
Wilhelm; "and now let us resume our conversation."
"I am almost afraid, Wilhelm, for I see it excites you so much;" I
observed.
"It has passed away. It is nothing:" replied my companion.
"Supposing then, that the idea you mentioned was attempted to be worked
out to its full extent, how is it possible to convey any thing like a
natural picture of the state of existing nations at so remote a time?"
I inquired.
"By a reference to what is already known of the growth, maturity and
decay of nations," said the student. "Every thing has its age. The tree
cannot flourish beyond a certain time--nor can a country. Time passes
his scythe over the verdant world, and wherever it glides, the crop is
cut down; and after the field has been left wild a sufficient period,
the seed is again sown, the produce is again abundant, and the mower is
again at work. Thus it has been from the creation of the world; thus it
will be for everlasting. How long was the growth of Babylon, of Nineveh,
of Tyre and Sidon, of Thebes and Carthage? They had their season. Then
came Pompeii, Etruria, Athens, Rome, and Constantinople. How long did
they last? Then came Venice and Genoa, the Moorish kingdom of Grenada,
and the Arabian empire at Jerusalem; they had their day. After these
came the omnipotence of Popish Rome, the magnificence of Madrid, and the
splendour of Lisbon: they have departed. And now we have the glories
of London and Paris, and Berlin and Vienna, and these will exist their
period, and then gradually fall into decay. It must be evident to any
observer, that Spain and Portugal, once the two greatest nations in
Europe, in opulence, power, and intelligence, are descending to the
lowest degradation of poverty, insignificance, and ignorance. The Roman
empire in Italy, having passed into a number of independent states,
each of which has attained a considerable degree of greatness, lies
now prostrate at the foot of the great European powers. Greece, the
intellectual and the free, having for many centuries been plunged in
ignorance and slavery up to the lips, shews signs of a regeneration.
And the barbarians of the North are making rapid approaches towards
pre-eminence."
"But the superior civilisation we enjoy, must prevent our retrograding,"
said I. "Think of our steam-engines, our rail-roads, our wonderful
discoveries in science and mechanics, and our extraordinary advancement
in intelligence; we are rising, and we shall continue to rise."
"We cannot rise above the top, mein freund," observed my fellow student
with a smile; "and after that we must go down. There is a point beyond
which no nation advances, and to that point we are tending. As for our
superior civilisation, that remains to be proved. Boast as we may of our
machinery, we could neither raise such monuments as were frequent among
the Egyptians, or have we any tools that can make an impression upon
the stone out of which they were sculptured. The gunpowder upon the
discovery of which we pride ourselves, has not been so destructive as
the Greek fire, of the composition of which we know nothing. In art, we
are far from excelling the ancients, and in learning we are obliged to
acknowledge our obligations to them."
"But how far the intelligence of the multitude at the present day
exceeds that of any preceding time!" I observed.
"I am not convinced of that," replied Wilhelm. "With the exception of
Germany, particularly Prussia, the education of the people, has not
been attempted on a plan likely to confer on them much advantage, and
the only sure way of judging of a superiority of intelligence is by
comparing the state of the public morals in different countries. If it
can be proved that the Greeks or the Romans were a less moral people
than are the English or the French, then are the latter the most
intellectual; but if, taking the amount of population, it could be
ascertained that a less amount of crime was committed by the ancients,
then must the moderns be considered the least civilised."
"I am afraid the philosophical character of such a work would not be
appreciated by the general reader, who takes up a book merely for
amusement," said I.
"You are mistaken, mein freund," replied the student; "there is
nothing which may be made so amusing as philosophy. Every good book is
philosophical; and the idle reader is continually being made familiar
with philosophy without knowing it, just as the worthy gentleman in
Molière's comedy talked prose all his life, in perfect ignorance of
having done so."
"Well, I can only say, I should like exceedingly to read such a book,"
I observed.
"You see that ebony chest there, upon that pile of books;" said Wilhelm,
pointing in the direction to which he had alluded. "Take it. In it you
will find a MS. It is a work such as I have described to you, and I
wrote it at intervals, whenever I could find time for the employment."
"_You_ write such a work, Wilhelm!" exclaimed I with surprise. "I am
aware how much you have devoted yourself to study. I know that you have
completely ruined your health by your severe application in the pursuit
of knowledge; but I had no conception of your attempting a production of
such a character, upon a subject beset by so many difficulties."
"I have been ambitious," replied my companion. "I was desirous of
attempting something out of the common path--I yearned for literary
distinction. Take and read it, mein freund, and let me know if you think
it worthy of publication. I have endeavoured to make the story full of a
deep and pleasing interest. The characters introduced I have sought to
create in a sufficient variety, and of various shades, from the humblest
in intelligence to the most exalted. The incidents I have strived to
make striking and powerful, and vividly drawn; and the opinions you will
there find expressed, while I wished to make them natural and true, I
have been anxious that they should possess a claim to originality. It
has been my aim to combine wit, humour, pathos, and philosophy in such
a manner as I hope cannot fail of being thought at once amusing and
instructive, and if I live to see realised the aspirations I have
entertained, if I can but behold the work I have laboured to produce, in
popular estimation, I do not care how soon this feeble frame dissolves
into its parent dust. I must live to see that! mein freund; I _must_
live to see that!"
"I have not a doubt but what you will, Wilhelm;" I replied. "The genius
I know you to possess has only to exhibit itself fairly before the
public, to be considered a public property, and become an object of
general estimation. The learning you have laboured so diligently to
obtain, will then stand you in good service; and the liberality of your
sentiments, your deep love of virtuous principle, and your earnest
desire for the diffusion of truth, then cannot long remain without
exciting the admiration you covet."
He made no reply.
"Look!" I exclaimed. "There are Gerhard Kramer, and Hugo Messingen,
smoking their meerschaums out of the opposite window."
He did not move.
"Are you asleep, Wilhelm?" said I, advancing from the window to the
bedside, and gazing in the face of my now silent companion. His head was
sunk in the pillow, with his light hair falling in waving curls around
it. There lay the calm blue eyes, the fair smooth cheek, the delicate
moustache, and the mouth so exquisitely small, half open, giving a
glimpse of the white teeth within it.
"Are you asleep, Wilhelm?" I repeated, taking the hand that rested
outside the bed clothes.
He _was_ asleep: and from that sleep he never awoke. He now lies in the
left hand corner of Göttingen churchyard--a familiar place to me; for
while he was the most studious, he was the most amiable of all my fellow
students. He had become a martyr to his love of study, and the world
closed upon him just as he exhibited those signs of extraordinary
merit, which in time would have made him one of its most distinguished
ornaments. That his death was quite unexpected by himself was evident,
but in the progress of his illness he had drawn up a will, in which he
had made me his executor, and in it expressed his desire that I should
prepare his manuscript for the press. I have done so, and the result is
before the reader. I have left the first chapter as I found it, giving
notes to illustrate a few phrases that required explanation; but
imagining that these phrases, though perfectly characteristic, might
perplex the reader in his progress with the story, I made such
alterations in the rest of the MS. as I thought would bring the work
nearer to the taste of the time.