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WILHELM MEISTER'S
APPRENTICESHIP AND TRAVELS.
From the German of Goethe, Johann Wolfgang
ron
BY
THOMAS CARLYLE.
IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOLI.
A NEW EDITION, REVISED.

CN
AV
KSAS
7W
VY
FUNK
HIN
YAKO
M
1..
.
.
Hapa
BOSTON:
TICKNOR AND FIELDS.
1865.
TICK N ON SNOERELDS
UNIVERSITY PRESS:
WELCH, BIGELOW, AND COMPANY,
CAMBRIDGE.
lilt.
Tech. Barbour Besuect
6-22-29
2 vula
TO THE READER.
3-21-30. L'iti.
THESE two Translations, Meister's Apprenticeship and Meister's
I 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 Ger-
man Romance; and placed by the side of the Apprenticeship, its fore-
runner, 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 exe-
cuted 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 move-
ment 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 inter-
calations, 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 typi-
cally 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
iv
TO THE READER.
.
great mind, beaming in mildest mellow splendor, beaming if also trem-
bling, like a great sun on the verge of the horizon, near now to its
long farcwell, 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 has 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 re-
quire now to be apprised that these two Books, named Novels, come
not under the Minerva-Press category, nor the Ballantyne-Press cate-
gory, 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 irrationally, that sees not, and yet thinks he sees. A genuine
scer and speaker, under what conditions soever, shall be we come 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.
[EDINBURGH, 1824.]
W HETHER it be that the quantity of genius among ourselves
Vp 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 anything
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 alto-
gether 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 neg-
lected, or worse than neglected, and the Germans are yet utterly
unknown to us. Kotzebue still lives in our minds as the representa-
tive 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 Messias, in which a beautiful poem is dis-
torted into a theosophic rhapsody, and the brother of Virgil and Ra-
cine 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
TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE
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 krow him by the faint and garbled version of his
Werter, Goethe figures as a sort of poetic Heraclitus; some woebegone
hypochondriac, whose eyes are overflowing with perpetual tears, whose
long life has been spent in melting into ecstasy at the sight of water-
falls, 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 Werter, with all his faults, is a very dif-
ferent 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 saga-
cious translator has seen proper wholly to omit. Others again, who
have fallen in with Retsch's Outlines and the extracts from Faust, con-
sider 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 im-
port; 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 witchcraft and magic, in-
tended 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 igno-
rance; Faust continues to be called a monster; and Goethe is re-
garded 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.
TO THE FIRST EDITION.
vii
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 lim-
ited. 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 Cam-
byses' vein,” and open Meister with the thought of Werter 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 "mov-
ing 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
vili
TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE
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 prin-
ciple of religion, and the greatest of all arts, the art of life, — or is
nothing more than a bungled piece of patch-work, 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 everlast-
ing 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 cen-
sure; 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.”* Unhappily the most of us
hiave boxes; and some of them are very small !
Yet, independently of these its more recondite and dubious quali-
ties, 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
* Charakteristik des Meister.
TO THE FIRST EDITION.
penetrated to the limits of their own conceptions, and wrestled with
thoughts and feelings too high for them, it will be pleasing and profit-
able to see the horizon of their certainties widened, or at least sepa-
rated 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 Shake-
speare, appears insignificant to the unpractised eye; and not till after
long and patient and intense examination, dowwe begin to descry the
carnest 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 ver-
dict after he has clearly seized and appreciated them all. Or if a
more faint conviction will suffice, let him turn to the picture of Wil-
helin'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 atten-
tion, at length overpowers him with an emotion more deep and thrill-
ing than any poet since the days of Shakespeare 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 impas-
sioned and unspeakable, consuming the closely-shrouded, woe-struck,
TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE
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. Hor
little heart, so noble and so helpless, perishes before the smallest of its
many beauties is unfolded; and all its loves, and thoughts, and long-
ings, do but add another pang to death, and sink to silence utter and
eternal. It is as if the glooiny 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 ad-
dressed only to the head. Philosophy and cloquence 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 Shakespeare, 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 in-
structed 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 anything. 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 con-
stant 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
anything was not in my commission. The literary and moral persua-
sions 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 pre-
TO THE FIRST EDITION.
sent the work exactly as it stands in German. That my success bas
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.
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
BOOK I.
CHAPTER I.
THE play was late in breaking up: old Barbara went more
1 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 shė the less had been able to restrain her curi-
osity, 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 fash-
ion, for Mariana; with a quantity of calico, two or three neck-
erchiefs, 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
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
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 Bar-
bara. “For Heaven's sake, what is the matter ? Look here, my
pretty child! See what a present! And who could liave sent
it but thy kindest of friends ? Norberg has given thee the mus-
lin 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 memo-
rials 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 con-
siderations 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."
BOOK I. CHAP. II.
3
« 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 which 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.
VI HEN Wilhelm saluted his mother, next morning, she
W informed him that his father was very greatly discon-
tented 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 :
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
What is the use of it? How can any one waste his time
so ?”
and was it indispensad a large part of his his English fur-
“He has already told me this,” said Wilhelm ; " and perhaps
I answered him too hastily: but, for Heaven's sake, mother, is
nothing then of use but what immédiately 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 orna-
menting his chambers ? Are these silk carpets, this English fur-
niture, likewise of no use? Might re not content ourselves with
worse? For my own part, I conſess, 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 ihousand 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 dissipates 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.”
“O do not blame the poor puppets; do not repent of your
love and motherly care! It was the only happy hour I had en-
joyed 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 our-
selves before the door that leads to the other room. The door
opened; but not as formerly, to let us pass and repass; the en-
trance was occupied by an unexpected show. Within it rose a
porchi, concealed by a mysterious curtain. All of us were stand-
ing at a distance; our eagerness to see what glittering or jing-
BOOK I. CHAP. II.
ling article lay hid behind the half-transparent veil was mount-
ing 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 imperti-
nence 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 hop-
ping 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 pup-
pets? 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;
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
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 ſelt 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.
TF the first love is indeed, as I hear it everywhere maintained
I to be, the most delicious feeling which the heart of man, be-
fore it or after, can experience, — then our hero must be reck-
oned 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 for-
ever 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 the-
atric pomp, and his passion for the stage combined itself with his
earliest love for woman. His youth allowed him to enjoy rich
BOOK I. CHAP. III.
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 in-
quietude itself 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, everything 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, com-
monly 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, wrapt 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 en-
tered 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 Wil-
helm.
Great was the surprise of Mariana, great the scorn of Bar-
bara, 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 ex-
amined, and laughed at, in its turn. King Saul, with his golden
crown and his black velvet robe, Mariana did not like; he
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
his wire ; she hand, she refused torn commended that had been
looked, she said, too stiff and pedantic. She was far better
pleased with Jonathan, his sleek chin, his turban, his cloak of
l'ed 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 large ; she held by Jona-
than. She grew to manage him so featly, and at last to extend
her caresses from the puppet to its owner, that, on this occa-
sion, 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 piece 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.”
5 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 Wilhelin'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 inter-
rupted, just as the ballet was going to begin. We have now
BOOK I. CHAP. III.
the pleasure of a personal acquaintance with the honorable
company by whom those wonderful effects were brought
about."
“) 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 ; espe-
cially 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 my-
self, 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
1 *
10
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
had displayed itself. 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 much afraid of ever having a misfortune such as
this to strive with.
CH A PᎢ Ꭼ Ꭱ IᏤ .
6 N Y sole wish now," continued Wilhelm, “ was to witness a
11 second exhibition of the piece. For this purpose I had
recourse, by constant entreaties, to my mother; and she at-
tempted 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 ex-
pressly 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 him-
self 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,
aud the piece was again represented.
5 If I had formerly experienced the delights of surprise and
BOOK I. CHAP. IV.
11
astonishment, I enjoyed on this second occasion the pleasure of
examining and scrutinizing. How all this happened was my pres-.
ent 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 decep-
tion? These enigmas perplexed me the more, as I wished at
once to be among the enchanters and the enchanted, at once to
have a secret hand in the play, and to enjoy, as a looker-on, the
pleasure of illusion.
“ The piece being finished, preparations were making for the
farce ; the spectators had risen, and were all busy talking to-
gether. 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 no-
ticed 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 entertaiņ me. I sank into
deep meditation ; my discovery at once made me 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 con-
nection of the parts with each other was entirely unknown to me,
and everything depends on that.”
12
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
CHAPTER V.
66 TN well adjusted and regulated houses," continued Wilhelm,
1 “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.
5 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 store-room was, of course,
the one I watched most narrowly. Few of the joyful anticipa-
tions 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
anything, after which 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 un-
bolted 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
BOOK I. CHAP. V.
13
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, pro-
vided myself also with a few dried apples, and completed the for-
age with an orange-chip. I was quietly retreating with my plun-
der, 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 sleep-
ing 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 lay 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 allow-
ing 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 my-
self, while no one gave heed to me, except my father, who, fre-
quently observing some such detached exclamation, would in se-
cret praise the excellent memory of his boy, that had retained so
much from only two recitations.
.
14
MEISTER'S . APPRENTICESHIP.
“By this means, growing always bolder, I one evening re-
peated almost the entire piece before my mother, whilst I was
busied in fashioning some bits of wax into players. She ob-
served 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 forth with 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 specta-
tors 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 enjoy-
ments of the young, one should assume a serious air ; often in-
terrupting the course of their festivities, to prevent their satisfac-
tion from degenerating into excess and presumption.
CHAPTER VI. .
6 THE lieutenant now set up his theatre, and managed all the
I 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 under-
stood, 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
frame-work, 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
BOOK I. CHAP. VI.
15
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 again; an accident which sadly marred the illusion, produced
a peal of laughter, and vexed me unspeakably. My father, how-
ever, seemed to relish this misfortune not a little. Prudently
shrouding up the contentment he felt at the expertness of his
little boy, after the piece 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 played 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 com-
mended 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 stayed 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 piece, for
which my scenery and actors had been formed and decorated, till
it ceased to give me any pleasure. On the other hand, among
some books of my grandfather's, I had happened to fall in with
16
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
.
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 cere-
mony, proceeding to exhibit the piece. King Saul, with his black
velvet cloak, was therefore now obliged to personate Darius or
Cato, or some other pagan bero; in which cases, it may be ob-
served, 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 adven-
tures and vicissitudes, should attract me more than anything
beside. In these compositions I found stormy seas, gods de-
scending 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 store-room
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 to-
gether 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
BOOK I. CHAP. VI.
17
important piece, 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 em-
brace 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 pro-
viding 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 piece could no longer be exhibited. I surrendered
myself to my imagination ; I rehearsed and prepared forever;
built a thousand castles in the air, and saw not 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 sleepi-
ness. 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 our-
selves, 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 hap-
pened 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
18
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
.
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 everything to thee! If possible, we will de-
ceive 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 a mournful look upon her, which Wilhelm not
observing, proceeded with his narrative.
CHAPTER VII.
6 HE recreations of youth, as my companions began to in-
crease in number, interfered with this solitary, still enjoy-
ment. I was by turns a hunter, a soldier, a knight, as our games
required me; 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 pro-
vided; 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
BOOK I. CHAP. VII.
19
.
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, till 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 pieces of it which I learned by heart, and the images
expressed in these havered round me. Particularly 'was I capti-
vated with Clorinda, and all her deeds and bearing. The mas-
culine 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 be-
tween 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,
20
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
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 did my heart run 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 un-
wittingly to injure what he loved beyond all else!
“The recital took such hold of my imagination, that the pas-
sages I had read of the poem began dimly, in my mind, to con-
glomerate 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, only 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 expe-
dient. 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
25
BOOK I. CHAP. VII.
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 lieuten-
ant, giving him a copious description of all the glorious things
we meant to do. Little as he understood us, he was very help-
ful: he piled all the tables he could get in the house or neighbor-
hood, one above the other, in a little room; to these he fixed our
folding screens; and måde a back-view with green curtains, stick-
ing 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 spec-
tators under peals of laughter; a disaster which cut me to the
heart. Thus had our undertaking proved abortive; but the com-
pany 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 com-
panions 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 arrange-
ment to which, as contradicting the solemnity of the piece, I did
22
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
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
piece.”
CHAPTER VIII.
M ARIANA, overpowered with sleep, leaned upon her lover
11 who clasped her close to him, and proceeded in his nar-
rative, 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 repre-
senting each romance I read, each story that was told me, would
not yield before the most unmanageable materials. I felt con-
vinced that whatever gave delight in narrative must produce a
far deeper impression when exhibited : I wanted to have every-
thing before my eyes, everything 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, glan-
cing rapidly along the exposition and intrigue, hastened to the
interesting fifth act. Indeed, I actually began to write some
pieces 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, se-
BOOK I. CHAP. VIII.
23
duced 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 qui
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 played all the few pieces in
which only males are requisite; next we travestied some of our-
selves; 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 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 de-
claim, and with what attitudes and gestures. Yet generally he
earned small thanks for his toil: we conceived 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 ele-
ment: dignity of rank, elevation of character, we studied to
approach by stiffness and affectation, and imagined that we suc-
ceeded rarely: but our happiness was not complete, except we
might rave outright, might stamp with our feet, and cast our-
selves upon the ground, full of fury and despair.
“ 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 gener-
ally more than one sort of comedy is acted in the playhouse.
Behind the scenes, each happy pair pressed hands in the most
24
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
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; we acquired more dex-
terity 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 per-
sonified Commerce, were made to strive very bravely for my
most important self. The idea is common, and I recollect not
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
reign in it. How repulsively did I paint the old housewife, with
the distaff in her girdle, the bunch of keys by her side, the spec-
tacles 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 appa-
rition 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
BOOK I. CHAP. IX.
.
O
ICS of me. Nor Soddless.
away kuded: I turn I gave my called me
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 pro-
duced once more. The contention was keen; the speeches of
both were palpably enough contrasted, for at fourteen years of
wou were presented the local lines and the white potter
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; disin-
herited 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 and 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 con-
sciously enjoy it.”
The pressure of his arms, the emotion of his elevated voice,
awoke Mariana, who hastened by caresses to conceal her em-
barrassment; 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.
MTHUS Wilhelm passed his nights in the enjoyment of confid-
ing 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 be-
ginning to be another man: he was now united to her; the con-
tentment of his wishes had become a delicious habitude. His
VOL. 1.
26
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
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 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 degrad-
ing 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. Looking into herself and searching,
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 whom 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
BOOK I. CHAP. X.
27
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 thine! She has given herself away to thee! She, the loved,
the wished for, the adored, has given herself away to thee in
trust and faith ; she shall not find thee 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 ex-
panses, seeking fortune and contentment, was stimulated by his
love. His vocation to 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 most secret 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.
LTE was now in his chamber at home, ransacking his papers,
Il 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
28
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
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 played, 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 your 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 ? "
BOOK I. CHAP. X.
29
Werner laughed and continued: “I still recollect, with pleas-
ure, 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 inore 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 en-
deavor. 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."
6 Away with it, to the fire with it!” cried Werner. “The in-
vention 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 mis-
erable 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 inven-
tions 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 addi-
tions and balancings, forget what is the proper net result of
life.”
30
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
“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 impru-
dently, 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."
“O, 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 ap-
pointed courses through the world. Cast a look on the natural
and artificial productions of all the regions of the earth; con-
sider 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 circu-
lation. 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 sea-
ports, 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
BOOK. I. CHAP. X.
31
smallest piece of ware in its connection with the whole mercan-
tile concern; and for that very reason you will reckon nothing
paltry, because everything augments the circulation by which you
yourself are supported.”
Werner had formed his solid understanding in constant inter-
course 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 them-
selves; they live in the midst of splendor and superfluity. The
smallest nook of the land is already a possession, none may touch
it or meddle with it; offices and civil callings bring in little profit;
where, then, will you find more honest acquisitions, juster con-.
quests, 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 everything 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 op-
posed 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 com-
posure to his apostrophes. Besides, he had fairness enough to
be pleased at seeing each man think the best of his own peculiar
32
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
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 alone 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.
TT is now time that we should know something more of Wil-
1. helm'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 pecu-
liarly 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 fur-
nished his house in the newest style, and turned his other prop-
erty to profit in all possible ways. A considerable portion of it
he had embarked in trade, under the direction of the elder Wer-
ner, a man noted as an active merchant, whose speculations were
commonly favored by fortune. But nothing was so much de-
sired by Meister as to confer upon his son those qualities of
which himself was destitute, and to leave his children advantages
BOOK I. CHAP. XI.
33
which he reckoned it of the highest importance to possess.
Withal, he felt a peculiar inclination for magnificence; for what-
ever 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 everything 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 de-
spatch of some commercial affairs.
“Let him look about him in the world,” said old Meister,
6 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 capa-
bilities; he said this in the hope that his friend would contradict
him, and hold up to view the admirable gifts of the youth.
2*
34
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
Here, however, he deceived himself: old Werner, who, in prac-
tical 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 con-
nections are to be renewed, new ones to be made. He may like-
wise 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 HM, 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 sad-
dle-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 pur-
pose 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 circum-
stances 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.
.
35
BOOK I. CHAP. XII.
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 be-
loved, 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 negligèe; 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 con-
cealed 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.
N EXT morning, Mariana awoke only to new despondency;
I she felt herself very solitary, she wished not to see the
light of day, but stayed 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 look-
36
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
a duful mischen, shoulor dear." . Is it haar besta
ing 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 warn-
ing 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 muttering some unintelligible
sounds; I grew frightened, and awoke him. Ah! with what
love and tenderness and warmth did he clasp me! "O Mari-
ana!' 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 did you
look! But it had not lasted long, till I observed your image
sinking down, sinking, sinking; I stretched out my arms to
wards 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 mean-
ing 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 dissipate a frightful dream 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
BOOK I. CHAP. XII
37
bird-catchers, when they imitate with a whistle the tones of those
luckless creatures which 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 occa-
sions 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, miser-
able 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
comes, 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 pre-
tensions 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 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 follow."
“We have this advantage: we can humor the manager's ca-
price and pride about the morals of his troop. Both lovers are
38
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
accustomed already to go secretly and cunningly to work. For
hours and opportunity I will take thought; only henceforth you
must play 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 recol-
lection.
CHAPTER XIII.
TN the mean time, Wilhelm had completed the small prelimi-
Inary 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 till 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 stayed 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 tol-
erable 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 an account of the errand
BOOK I. CHAP. XIII.
39
to his wife; 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 assisted at a melancholy supper; wore out a restless
night; and hastened to get rid of these people, who, without
knowing it, had, by their narratives and condolences, been con-
stantly 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 lin-
gered near them, and entered into conversation with a young
man who came up on horseback. The history of the two run-
aways, which he already knew 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 learned also
that the military were come hither to take the loving couple into
custody, who had already been seized and detained in a neighbor-
ing village. After some time, accordingly, a cart was seen ad-
vancing 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
whom Wilhelm had been speaking to,) on the border of their
several districts, with great conscientiousness and wonderful
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.
40
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
But the chief attention of the lookers-on was directed to the
cart: they could not behold without compassion the poor mis-
guided creatures, who were sitting upon bundles of straw, look-
ing tenderly at one another, and scarcely seeming to observe the
bystanders. 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 capi-
tal sort, the rustic bailiffs had brought along so far 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 bystanders ; " but not .
so guilty as we seem. It is thus that savage 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 footpath 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 cir-
cumstantial detail of the whole proceedings, and then launching
out into a comprehensive eulogy of his own horse, which he had
got last night by barter, put a stop to every other sort of conver-
sation.
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 mor-
tify the crowd collected in front of the Ainthaus, by denying
them the satisfaction of looking at a. neighbor in disgrace.
BOOK I. CHAP. XI.
The Amtmann, who had no particular taste for such extraor-
dinary 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 both of
us 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 which was 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 con-
fusion. Sounds of the most gracious eulogies were already
humming through his brain ; and the girl's voluble speech had
Thement, it is not sanction suchains and handicunot me
42
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
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 embar-
rassment 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 owing to fear alone 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, answer-
ing 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 busi-
43
ness, all being clear as possible, and requiring no further inves-
tigation.
This was so far of service that the young woman was allowed
to retire; though, in her stead, the lover was brought in, his fet-
ters 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 gener-
osity, 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 mis-
tress, 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 pos-
sible, he would that very evening have brought back the young
lady to her parents. For he firmly determined to act as inter-
cessor in this case, and to forward a happy and lawful union
between the lovers.
with Melina, a request which was granted without difficulty.
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
CHAPTER XIV.
M HE conversation of these new acquaintances very soon
I 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 cir-
cumstances 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 astonish-
ment; 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 reappear
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 appro-
bation 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.”
.
BOOK I. CHAP. XIV.
45
“ It is easy to see that you have never been one," said the
other.
“Alas, sir,” answered Wilhelm, “how seldom is any man con-
tented 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
hiinself 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 dis-
contentment. 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 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.”
Aſter exchanging a few words more, Wilhelm went away with
the promise to visit the parents early in the morning, and see
46
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
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 im-
pediment 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 ob-
stacles, 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 schoolboy. 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, compre-
hend, 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 senti-
ments, 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;
BOOK I. CHAP. XIV.
47
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,
aidd 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 for-
saken 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 a resistless 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, how-
ever, 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 pro-
vision 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
48
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
hard, unwilling that a man whom he contemned should return
to the stage, and convinced that he deserved not such a happi-
ness, 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 per-
suade. 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.
TTAPPY season of youth! Happy times of the first wish
11 of love! A man is then like a child that can for hours
delight itself with an echo, can support alone the charges of con-
versation, 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 de-
lightful, 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
BOOK I. CHAP. XV.
49
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 denomi-
nated 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 element 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 fas-
tened 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 instinc-
tively, 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 inter-
ruption, 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.
VOL. I.
50
.
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP1
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 magnifi-
cent. Of a piece with this, thought Wilhelm, is also the play-
er's domestic life; a series of dignified transactions and employ-
ments, 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 ele-
ment, — 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
BOOK I. CHAP. XV.
51
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 atten-
tion 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 what-
ever 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 vex-
ations. Werner, his friend and future brother-in-law, was
waiting for him, to begin a serious, important, unexpected con-
versation.
Werner was one of those tried, sedate persons, with fixed
principles and habits, whom we usually denominate cold char-
52
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
acters, 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 com-
municating 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 think-
ing 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 aug
mented 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 un-
derstand 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 ere-
long 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
BOOK I. CHAP. XV.
in full readiness with all his preparations, when his friend re-
turned, 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 undis-
cussed ; 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 advan-
tage ; 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 unlinged ; 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 unfriend-
liness 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 win-
dow; 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 confi-
dence; 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 gar-
den of love are so full of pleasure, the first prospects so charm-
ing, that every one is willing to recall them to his memory.
Each party seeks a preference above the other ; each has loved
54
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
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, in-
spired 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 con-
quered, 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 rap-
idly 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
I 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
BOOK I. CHAP. XVI.
she had hitherto avoided speaking with him. The letter was as
follows:---
“Under the kind veil of night, which has often overshadowed
us together, I sit and think, and write to thee; all that I medi-
tate 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 un-
folded to him, and by means of him, and, while the holy ceremo-
nies are proceeding, transports himself in longing thought before
the mysterious curtains, from which the loveliness of love whis-
pers 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 rec-
ompense, 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 intoxicat-
ing 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 recog-
nize 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;
56
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
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 thought-
less fool: will do nothing rashly; my plan is laid, and I will exe-
cute 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 with-
out 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 be-
tween us; it will suffice for both; and before that is finished,
Heaven will send us more.
BOOK I. CHAP. XVI.
57
“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
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 re-
cesses 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.
6 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
3
*
58
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
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 con-
clude; my eyelids have more than once dropped together; it is
now deep in the night.”
CHAPTER XVII.
TT seemed as if the day would never end, while Wilhelm,
1 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
BOOK I. CHAP. XVII.
59
town; so that by the time they reached the door of the inn, they
had fallen into quite an interesting conversation. The stranger
compelled his guide to enter, and drink a glass of punch with
him. Erelong 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 so. 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 ?”
“O yes; 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, as we saw those objects vanish one
by one, which had amused us from our earliest years, and which
we considered equally unalterable with the house or the town
itself.”
“ If I mistake not, your father put the capital produced by the
60
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
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 to it
as your grandfather's cabinet was. 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.”
“ 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 man-
nerism."
“ 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 ;
BOOK I. CHAP. XVII.
61
0
which not even your criticism, greatly as I honor it, could ob-
literate, 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 them-
selves; and have learned to see in the performances of art some-
thing more than yourself and your individual inclinations.”
“ In truth, the sale of that cabinet grieved me very much åt
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 accus-
tomed to ascribe their own violent inclinations to the will of
higher natures.”
“Do you then believe in no 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
62
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
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 in-
duced 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 vir-
tue, no man could 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 for-
tune 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 clarionets, hunting-horns, and bassoons ; it swelled his
bosom with delightful feelings. It was some travelling show-
men 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
BOOK I. CHAPTER XVII.
63
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 exist-
ence 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 con-
ceive 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 en-
joy, the gods might determine to forsake the painless condition
of their pure blessedness! To recollect them! As if by mem-
ory 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
64
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
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 twi-
light; 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 him-
self 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 light-
ning, 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 like-
wise 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 be-
gan to stir, and drove him home.
BOOK I. CHAP. XVII.
65
On his way, he had almost effaced the unexpected delusion
from his mind by the most sufficient reasons, yet the fine harmo-
nious 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 necker-
chief 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 let-
ters always by the ancient sibyl; the Devil himself has selected
her as Iris.”
BOOK II.
CHAPTER I.
V HOEVER strives in our sight with vehement force to
W 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
the ill-fated Wilhelm was cast, when he saw his hopes so unex-
pectedly 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 fet matters necessary for
maintaining the connection of our narrative.
The pestilence, or a malignant fever, rages with more fierce-
ness, 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 compo-
sition 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 hap-
piness 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 deliver-
воок п. СНАР. І. ,
67
ance 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 re-
newed, 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 appoint-
ment, 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 des-
peration, 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 be-
comes truly sensible in times of distress and want, were so
many fresh occupations to his mind, and thus formed a kind of
68
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
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 extin-
guished 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 mem-
ory the scenes of his bygone 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 dis-
membering 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 which 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.
CCUSTOMED in this way to torment himself, he now
A 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
BOOK II. CHAP. II.
69
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 move-
ments, his mode of declamation, were severally taxed; he de-
cisively 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 for-)
ever 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 had lived for a time, assiduously busied,
and at last persuaded that his former hard trial had been or-
dained by fate for the best. He felt glad at having thus been
70
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
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, of poetical perform-
ance, 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 ex-
pected 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 splen-
dor 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
BOOK II. CHAP. II.
71
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 extrem-
ities,” 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 pro-
ducing 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 vagne desire to imitate whatever is presented to them;
and such desires do not prove at all that we possess the force
within us 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 instru-
72
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
ment. 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 reason-
able 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 hap-
piness 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 con-
junction of many things that will seldom exist together.
“What is it that keeps men in continual discontent and agita-
tion? 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 con-
воок п. СНАР. п,
73
flicting tumult of the passions ; sees families and kingdoms raging
in aimless commotion ; sees those inexplicable enigmas of mis-
understanding, 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 disap-
pointment; or, in the ebullience of joy, is going out to meet liis
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. How! 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
VOL. I.
74
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
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 propen-
sities, 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 thou not laugh
at me if I acknowledge, that these ideas pursue me constantly ;
that, let me fly 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 that 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
BOOK II. CHAP. II.
75
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 mounting 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 crooked-
ness 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
76
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
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 counsels and keen persuasion had long since mas-
tered and destroyed.
CHAPTER III.
A FTER such relapses, Wilhelm usually applied himself to
Al 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, exhila-
rated 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,
.
77
BOOK II. CHAP. III.
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 him-
self 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 moun-
tains, by steep footpaths, sometimes interrupted his thoughts
municative 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.”
“How !” 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 piece is to be played. 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.
78
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
When he gave his name, the old man cried in a glad surprise:
“Ay, 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 re-
ceived 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 extraor-
dinary 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 recog-
nized for such. The piece 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 guar-
dian, 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.
manufactond pretty way. One stage were yet
BOOK II. CHAP. II.
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 piece, 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, jump-
ing over the orchestra, joined their masters, who had taken up
the front seats in the pit.
For afterpiece an opera was given. A portrait, representing
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 for-
ward 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.
So ended the piece; 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 uncour-
teous, many lied. In conformity with his instructions, he had
some of them to sue at law; he was thus obliged to seek out
advocates, and give instructions to them, to appear before judges,
and to 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
80
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
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.
CH A PᎢ Ꭼ Ꭱ IV .
n N alighting at an inn, upon the market-place, he found
U matters going on very joyously, at least very stirringly.
A great 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, they
kept up a perpetual racket. They first quarrelled with the land-
lord; 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 up, and a handsome young lady looked out from it. Not-
withstanding 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 Wil-
helm; 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, which she returned with a friendly courtesy, and
then withdrew from the window.
BOOK II. CHAP. IV.
81
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 trowsers 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 aston-
ishment, 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 declar-
ing that it all depended upon practice; in fact, Wilhelm, inferior
as he was, had made it evident that he had got his first instruc-
tions 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 ad-
vanced 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
82
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
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 su-
perstitiously clean,) but which, 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 welcoine," 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
BOOK II. CHAP. IV.
83
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 mo-
tioned 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 con-
strained 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 liis 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.
84
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
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. Ob-
serving 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.
Erelong a peasant came from among the crowd, and by pan-
tomimic 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 hiin, 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
BOOK II. CHAP. IV.
85
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 states-
man 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 hap-
pens; 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 beauti-
fully, Philina cut short their conversation; and urged them to a
quick return homewards, that they might arrive in time for see-
ing 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 belong-
ing 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
86
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
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 sym-
pathy, 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 back-
wards 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 ad-
vantage; 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 in-
ferior 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 extended itself to the spectators
at the windows; the ladies looked incessantly at Narciss, the
gentlemen at Landrinette. The populace hurrahed, the more cul-
BOOK II. CHAP. IV.
87
tivated public could not keep from clapping of the hands; Pickle-
herring 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 Wil-
helm to Philina, who was leaning over the window beside him.
“I admire the ingenuity with which they have turned to advan-
tage 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, imme-
diately 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 thir-
teen years of age; her body was well formed, only her limbs
88
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
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, al-
though 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 dis-
cerned 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 fen-
cing 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 in-
consistency of such conduct, Laertes said: “I cannot reckon it
inconsistent so long as one keeps faithful to his character. If
this Philina plans you anything, or promises you anything, she
BOOK II. CHAP. IV.
89
does it under the tacit condition that it shall be quite convenient
for her to fulfil her plan, to keep her promise. She gives will-
ingly; but you must ever hold yourself in readiness to return
her gifts."
“That seems a singular character,” said Wilhelm.
“Anything but singular ; only she is not a hypocrite. I like
her on that account. Yes, I am her friend, because she repre-
sents 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 vehe-
mently 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 ion, 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 con-
fidant, at last helped me out; and so, by the image of a sumptuous
feast, we tortured them to such a degree that they fairly deter-
mined 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
90
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
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.glid-
ing 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.
“O that I might never hear more of nature, and scenes of
nature !” cried Philina, so soon as he was gone: “there is noth-
ing 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
BOOK II. CHAP. IV.
soon forget the awkwardness and meanness of paltry decorations ;
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 immedi-
ately 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 com-
menced their .operations. A multitude of people had again
92
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
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 unmerci-
fully 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 pur-
pose, 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.
So soon as all was still again, Wilhelm commenced a search
for Mignon, whom, however, he could nowhere find. Some said
BOOK II. CHAP. IV.
93
they had seen her on the street, others on the roofs of the ad-
joining 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 Wil-
helm 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 appro-
bation 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
be 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 mul-
titude. 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 pro-
ceeded 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 de-
clared 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
94
1
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
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 dissipate 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 ap-
probation 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, pro-
duced 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 un-
supported part of his body, and hammer a horse-shoe till it was
completely made by means of it.
The Hercules' Strength, as they called it, was a no less won-
derful 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 ter-
mination 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 im-
pression ? 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
BOOK II. CHAP. V.
35
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.
G H A PᎢ Ꭼ Ꭱ V.
TEXT morning, the rope-dancers, not without much parade
I and bustle, having gone away, Mignon immediately ap-
peared, 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
much?” she asked. “O 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 everything 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
wore the skin from her cheeks ; till Laertes, by dint of questions
96
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
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, endeavor-
ing 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 satisfac-
tion, that he one day observed Herr Melina and his wife alight
at the inn. After the first glad salution, 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 find-
ing 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 intro-
duced 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 stayed, and he very soon began a system of cheapening
and higgling. He would have better lodging, more sumptuous
BOOK II. CHAP. V.
97
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 anything, and paid instantly, that they might
avoid thinking longer of payment, Melina now insisted on regu-
lating every meal, and investigating its contents beforehand ;
à 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 per-
formances 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 dis-
agreeable 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 experiness where
another's weak side lay.
Anempfinderin (feeler-by, feeler-according-to) is the new, untranslatable
word poorly paraphrased so. A new German word, first used here; the like
of which might be useful in all languages, for it designates a class of persons
extant in all countries. -ED.
VOL. I.
98
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
CHAPTER VI.
N ELINA, in the mean time, had been making strict inquiry
I 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 feel-
ing, 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 fun-
damental 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 was
growing more attractive to him every day.' In her whole system
of proceedings there was something very singular. She never
BOOK II. CHAP. VI.
99
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 ser-
vice 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. Wil-
helm was moreover told, that she went every morning early to
hear mass. He followed her on one occasion, and saw her kneel-
ing 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 loug 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 bis adventures, in recounting which he had more than once
unintentionally swerved a little from the truth, when, to his ver-
ation 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.
100
DIEISTER'S APPRENTICESIIIP.
CHAPTER VII.
UR 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 infe-
rior 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 tivo 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 liſe, 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 fre-
quently, indeed, they yield to the spirit of contradiction, and fall
BOOK II. CHAP. VII.
101
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 4
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 com-
motion : he recollected how often he had seen this man on the
stage with his beloved Mariana: he sti}l 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 sepa-
rate. 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 cir-
cumstances, Wilhelm spent in thought. He longed to speak in
private with the old man; he wished and feared to hear of Ma-
riana, and felt himself in 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.”
102
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
Mignon came before Wilhelm, and asked in her laconic way:
“Shall I ? May I?” To which Wilhelm answered: “Do all
that the lady bids thee, child."
She accordingly took charge of everything, 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 in-
gratitude 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 hand-
kerchief 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? Con-
ceal 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 gaid-
BOOK II. CHAP. VIII.
103
ance 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 ques-
tioned her, but she evaded me. At last we set out on our jour-
ncy. 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 sple-
netic 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.
Por
.
"
ILHELM’S feelings, on returning home after this con-
V versation, 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 which 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
104
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
CD
her contained nothing that could lover her in Wilhelm's. estima-
tion; 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; wander-
ing, perhaps, with leis 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 that 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 anything this
kind creature wished. After a little while she again came in.
She carried a little carpet below her arm, which she then spread
out upon the floor. Wilhelm said she might proceed. She there-
upon 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
agoing, she began moving the same instant as the music, accom-
panying her beats and the notes of the tune with the strokes of
a pair of castanets.
Lightly, nimbly, quickly, and with hairsbreadth 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 im-
pulse to the dance, recommencing and again rushing off as at
BOOK II. CHAP. IX.
105
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 crer felt for Mignon. He longed to incorporate this for-
saken 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 un-
expectedly, 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 anything
further, and skipped out of the door.
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
A 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
106
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
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
trowsers, such as she had seen the boys of the town wearing, 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 circum-
stantially how a little company was now of itself collected, suf-
ficient 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.
Erelong Philina and the girls came in, racketting and laugh-
ing 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 wind-
ings 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 extem-
porize 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.”
BOOK II. CHAP. IX.
107
“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 Madame Melina, expressed iheir rapture at the land-
scape. 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 her-
self would act a Tyrolese ; leaving to the rest to choose charac-
ters 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 pas-
senger was wanting to complete the travelling party.”
A handsome man came on board; whom, by his dress and
his digniſied 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 play 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
108
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
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 mova-
ble 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 clergy-
man, 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 lead-
ing them, by a circuitous path, back into themselves again. It
should be a custom with every troop of players to practise 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 re-
hearsals.”
“One should not then,” replied our friend, “consider an ex-
tempore 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 ges-
tures, looks, exclamations, and everything 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
BOOK II. CHAP. IX.
109
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
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 anything
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 con-
nected with the subject.”
110
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
“ 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 ex-
pensive 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 termi-
nate in something paltry?"
6 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 ap-
pointed 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 noble-
ness, to freedom of soul? The more keenly he may in his youth
BOOK II. CHAP. X.
111
have seized on the impure, and tried in his own manner to en-
noble it, the more powerfully in the remainder of his life will it
be revenged on him; because, while he was endeavoring to con-
quer 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 en-
joyed 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 particu-
lar, had stepped aside at the very outset. Wilhelm and his com-
rade 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 de-
vices, 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.
W
HEN I 'About them for be found.
a displayed good
T HEN our friends began to think of going home, they
y 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 wel-
comed 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."
112
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
“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 can-
not understand me, never mind. In the end my words will be
found to require no commentary.”
Two coaches now drore up. All praised the attention of
Laertes, who had ordered them. Philina, with Madam Melina,
took her place opposite to Wilhelm; the rest bestowed them-
selves 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 forth with 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 be-
come a want with him. He went along once more, as if envi-
roned 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,
BOOK II. CHAP. X.
113
this wild girl must have been to him, is but too easy to con-
ceive.
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: Wil-
helm 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 approba-
tion. The reader did his utmost; and the audience gradually
mounted into rapture. Between the third and fourth act, 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 persone.
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, every actress how, with a
monstrous spreading ruff, she would present her Germanship be-
fore 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
114
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
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 win-
dow-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 thou-
sand 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 caril at the insufficient preparation of the punch, de-
claring 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 land-
- lord'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 un-
dressing; and nothing could exceed his disgust, when, opening
his eyes next morning, he looked out with dull sight upon the
devastations of the bygone day, and saw the uncleanness, and the
many bad effects, of which that ingenious, lively, and well-in-
tentioned poetical performance had been the cause.
BOOK II. CHAP. XI.
115
CHAPTER XI.
A FTER a short consideration he called the landlord, and
A bade him mark to his account both the damage and the
regular charge. At the same time he learned, not without vexa-
tion, that his horse had been so hard ridden by Laertes last night,
that, in all probability, it was foundered, as they term it, the far-
rier 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
forth with 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 ear-rings; but added likewise a hat and necker-
chief, and some other little articles, which he had seen her lav-
ishly throw from her on the first day of their acquaintance.
Madam Melina, happening to observe him as he was deliver-
ing 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 man-
ner 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 lively, 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 pleas-
ure in the music and the songs of this man: no one who hears
him can forbear to admire him and bestow something on him."
116
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
« Let him go about his business," said Melina; “I am any-
thing but in a trim for hearing fiddlers, and we have singers con-
stantly among ourselves disposed to gain a little by their talent.”
He accompanied these words with a sarcastic side-look at Phi-
lina: she understood his meaning; and immediately prepared to
punish him, by taking up the cause of the harper. Turning to-
wards 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 aston-
ishment; 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 varie-
gated 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 mo-
BOOK II. CHAP. XI.
117
courtesh, and jazrinity, andling fet
ment, 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.
On asking about the author of the song, the man gave no dis-
tinct reply; declaring only that he was rich in songs, and anxious
that they should pleasc. 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 ſet-
ters, 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: “Who-
ever 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 iſ thou wantest
anything."
The old man spoke not; he threw his fingers softly across the
strings; then struck more sharply, and sang:
"6What 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 fies;
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 siglit!
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.'
118
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
"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 thront 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 approba-
tion 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 shep-.
herd decked him for the dance ?"*
“O yes!” said he ; "if you will sing the words, I shall not fail
for my part of it.”
* Der Schafer putzte sich zum Tanz; a song of Goethe's. - ED.
BOOK II. CHAP. XI.
119
Philina then stood up, and held herself in readiness. The old
man commenced the tune; and she sang a song, which we can-
not impart to our readers, lest they might think it insipid, or per-
haps undignified.
Meanwhile the company were growing merrier and merrier ;
they had already emptied several flasks of wine, and were now
heginning 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 some-
thing 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 compo-
sition on the stage, with the same arch simplicity, the same pro-
priety 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 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 decla-
mation to invent, and am, perhaps, disturbed in it too by the
awkwardness of some partner in the dialogue."
120
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
“ Thus much I know," said Melina, “the man certainly may
put us to the blush in one point, and that a main one. 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 em-
ployment. 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 con-
tinue 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.
BOOK II. CHAP. XII.
121
CHAPTER XII.
A FTER a short time, which he passed sitting looking out
A 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 leant 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 very reason.
He tried in vain to satisfy her with denials; to make her un-
derstand 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 expres-
sion of fondness.
“ Are you mad, Philina ?” cried Wilhelm, endeavoring to dis-
engage himself; “ to make the open street the scene of such
caresses, which I nowise merit! Let me go; I cannot 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' stand-
ing; and husbands, who witness this touching scene, will com-
mend me to their wives as a pattern of childlike simple tender-
ness."
Some persons were just then going by; she caressed him in
the most graceful way; and he, to avoid giving scandal, was con-
strained 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.
6 You are a true clod!” said she, quitting him; “and I am but
VOL. I.
122
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
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 bat 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 some-
what too harsh expressions he had used in their late discussion.
“ You will not take it ill of me," continued he, “if I appear per-
haps 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 everything 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 pro-
hibited, 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 recog-
nized him for Friedrich.
“Here am I again ! ” cried he, looking with his large blue
BOOK II. CHAP. XII.
123
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 dili-
gence in writing everything she knew by heart, giving always to
her master and friend the papers to correct. She was indefati-
gable, and of good comprehension ; but still her letters were ir-
regular, 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 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 awhile to entertain the Prince von * * * in
their best style: he intends to fix his head-quarters in this neigh-
borhood for some time.”
“ It is pity,” said the landlord," that you cannot stop with us :
124
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
we have good company in the house." The ostler 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 conver-
sation, went away, and walked up and down the streets.
a locur frient an
CHAPTER XIII.
TN the restless vexation of his present humor, it came into his
I 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. Wil-
helm glided to the door; and, as the good old man was perform-
ing 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 in sorrow,
Who never spent the darksome hours,
Weeping and watching for the morrow,
He knows ye not, ye gloomy powers.
“To earth, this weary earth, ye bring us,
To guilt yo let us heedless go,
Then leave repentance fierce to wring us:
A moment's guilt, an age of woe!”
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
BOOK II. CHAP. XII.
125
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, le 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 hast thou not 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 some-
thing; 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 soli-
tude, 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 fied,
I still am not alone.
“ The lover glides with footstep light:
His love is she not waiting there?
126
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
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 which
our friend addressed to him, the old man, with the nicest accord-
ance, answered in some melody, which awakened all the cognate
emotions, and opened a wide field to the imagination.
Whoever has happened to assist at a meeting of certain de-
vout 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 meet-
ing 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 ani-
mated, 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.
BOOK II. CHAP. XIV.
127
CHAPTER XIV.
.
ACCORDINGLY, in walking back, he began to think with
A 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 land-
lord, 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,
128
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
instead of setting it upon the table, he had thrown the whole be-
tween 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. Hie,
the landlord, had himself helped to clean both of them, and cer-
tainly 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 ob-
ject 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 Stall-
meister 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.”
BOOK II. CHAP. XIV.
129
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 com-
plaisant 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 alofty 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 situa-
tion 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
6 *
130
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
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 mo-
ments ago, he had entered into money transactions with Melina ;
he had seen that mysterious old man, the enigma of whose his-
tory 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 se-
cret, and which at last comes forth in the hour of need, and re-
veals 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. “Mas-
ter!” she cried, “if thou art unhappy, what will become of Mig-
non?” “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 mo-
tionless for a considerable time. At last he felt a sort of palpi-
tating 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
BOOK II. CHAP. XIV.
131
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 mo-
ment! “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 be-
came 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, Wil-
helm 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 even-
ing offering to our friend, who, holding his child ever faster in
his arms, enjoyed the most pure and undescribable felicity.
BOOK III.
CHAPTER I.
“ Know'st thou the land where citron-apples bloom,
And oranges like gold in leafy gloom,
A gentle wind from deep-blue heaven blows,
The myrtle thick, and high the laurel grows ?
Know'st thou it then?
'Tis there! 'Tis there!
O my true loved one, thou with me must go!
“Know'st thou the house, its porch with pillars tall?
The rooms do glitter, glitters bright the hall,
And marble statues stand, and look each one:
What's this, poor child, to thee they've done?
Know'st thou it then?
'Tis there! 'Tis there!
O my protector, thou with me must go!
“Know'st thou the hill, the bridge that hangs on cloud:
The mules in mist grope o'er the torrent loud,
In caves lie coiled the dragon's ancient brood,
The crag leaps down, and over it the flood:
Know'st thou it then?
'Tis there! 'Tis there!
Our way runs; O my father, wilt thou go?".
EXT morning, on looking for Mignon about the house,
I 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 ex-
BOOK III. CHAP. I.
133
tremely, 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 pro-
cess of reducing its broken phraseology to uniformity, and com-
bining 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 Know'st thou it
then ? was uttered with a show of mystery and eager circum-
spectness; in the 'Tis there ! 'Tis there! lay a boundless long-
ing; and her With me must 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 pos-
sessing.
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
134
.
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP1
happy, he said, at now being able to afford employment to his
friends, who had hitherto lain idle and embarrassed; sorry, how-
ever, that at first he could not have it in his power to remunerate
the excellent actors whom fortune had offered him, in a style cor-
responding to their talents and capacities; being under the ne-
cessity, before all other things, of discharging his debt to so gen-
erous a friend as Wilhelm had proved himself to be.
"Į cannot describe," said he to Wilhelm, “ the friendliness
which you have shown, in helping me forward to the manage-
ment 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 man-
aged 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 establish-
ment: 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 set-
ting 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 frater-
nity of players were likewise moderately satisfied with the declara-
tions 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 re-
garded the present one, so unexpectedly placed within their
BOOK II. CHAP. I.'
135
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 cock-
ered them all, that they did not hesitate to strike a bargain with
him, without loss of time; scarcely thinking of this new engage-
ment, 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 Me-
lina 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 hu-
mility, 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 en-
tertained 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 anything as with a theatre; besides the Baron would assist
them."
So speaking they went up stairs ; and Melina presented him-
self 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."
136
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
Melina, with a low bow, hastened from the room, and soon
returned with his actors. They advanced in promiscuous suc-
cession ; 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 gracious-
ness and condescension; the Count, in the mean time, was mus-
tering 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 Ger-
mans 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 submis-
sive head.
This person, whom, from the last Book, we know already as
Philina's darling, had been wont 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 mem-
ber of the company, being moreover very serviceable and oblig-
ing. He approached the Count in his own 'peculiar way ; bent
himself before him, and answered every question with the gri-
maces and gestures he was used to on the stage. The Count
looked at him, for some time, with an air of attentive satisfac-
tion, and studious observation ; then turning to the Countess,
“ Child,” said he, “ consider this man well: I will engage for it,
BOOK III. CHAP. I.
137
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 anything 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 Ex-
cellency."
“ 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.”
6 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 per-
suaded him to come down. He followed her with some reluc-
tance; 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.
138
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
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 Eng-
lish hat, the articles easiest to come at, and give them to her new
favorite. The Countess herself then decked Philina, who con-
tinued 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 imagina-
tions; 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.
A FTER a few days, the Baron came; and it was not with-
A out 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
BOOK III. CHAP. II.
139
in a suitable manner. But the manager, as well as all the mem-
bers, 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 per-
sor, after many trials, gained the victory at last over all his ene-
mies; 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 dis-
cover the most pleasing prospects in the future. Such of them
as found in the play no parts adapted for their own acting, inter-
nally 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.
140
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
The commercial part of their affair was soon completed. Me-
lina made an advantageous bargain with the Baron, and con-
trived 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 little 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 pay-
ing off his debt, at least in part, by this engagement; and Wil-
helm, 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: -
BOOK II. CHAP. II.
141
.
“ 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 swim-
ming, 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 re-
gions; 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 com-
pliance 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
142
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
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; Madain 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, intro-
duced, 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 exam-
ination, 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 Me-
lina'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 anything 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.
BOOK III. CHAP. IIT
143
.
CHAPTER III.
T last the time arrived when the company had to prepare
A themselves 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 la-
bor, 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 be-
cause 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, with-
out caring how the landlord's bill was to be paid. The Count's
mansion rose like a palace of the fairies on their souls ; they
were the happiest and merriest mortals in the world. Each
throughout the journey, in his own peculiar mode, kept fasten-
ing 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.
144
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
On approaching nearer, they found all the windows in the
wings illuminated also. Each of the party thought within him-
self what chamber would be his; and most of them prudently
determined to be satisfied with a room in the attic story, 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 no-
ticed 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 driv-
ing 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 dis-
missal, 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 courtyard,
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 alight-
ed 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,
BOOK III. CHAP. III.
145
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 oc-
curred 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 ad-
vancing, 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 Phi-
lina. 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 everything,
assuring them that in a little while, the Castle should be opened,
and they lodged in the most comfortable manner. In a few mo-
VOL. I.
146
TD
I
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESIIIP.
ments, 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 re-
vived 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 foot-
man, 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 im-
mersed in thought. He was very sullen, and full of indignant
regret that he had not kept by his first determination, and re-
mained 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 huzzahing.
Unhappily, however, their hopes of warming and drying them-
selves by means of it were mocked in the most frightful manner.
The chimney, it appeared, was there for ornament alone, and was
BOOK III. CHAP. II.
147
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 draft sweeping
through the broken windows gave it a wavering direction. Ter-
rified 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 in-
duced 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 Wil-
helm, 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 prepara-
tions 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
148
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
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.
M HE disorders and mischievous tricks of some frolicksome
1 companions still further augmented the disquietudes and
distresses of the night; these gay people woke each other, each
played a thousand giddy pranks to plagne 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, bit-
terly 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 everything should be
arranged, in his presence, to the utmost possible convenience of
the guests. While this was going on, come 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.
BOOK III. CHAP. IV.
149
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 allow-
ing 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 be-
have 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 act-
resses; made game of the actors; and annihilated the whole
150
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
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 exas-
perated 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 everything 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 or-
der; and what was wanting was prepared by some skilful work-
men of the Count's. Wilhelm likewise put his hand to the busi-
ness; 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 particu-
larly how they should proceed in every case, displaying an un-
common 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 un-
dertaking, 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.
BOOK III. CHAP. V.
151
CHAPTER V.
M HE Baron had, for several days, been cheering Wilhelm
1 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 no-
tice ; 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 hap-
pened 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
art yet full of anxious doubts whether even thy present path is
the right one, and whether thy talent for the stage at all cor-
responds 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, oue morning, on being summoned to attend the
Countess.
152
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
The Baron had assured him that there would be no one pres-
ent but the lady herself and a worthy female friend of hers. On
entering the chamber, the Baroness von advanced with
great friendliness to meet him ; expressed her happiness at gain-
ing his acquaintance ; and introduced him to the Countess, who
was then under the hands of her hair-dresser. The Countess re-
ceived 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 rel-
ished 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 re-
tiring, some officers sent to ask permission of the Countess to pay
their respects to her, as they had to leave the Castle before din-
ner. The footman having come to his post at the door, she per-
mitted him to usher in the gentlemen.
The Baroness amid these interruptions gave herself some 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
band-boxes; pressing all his various wares upon the ladies, with
an importunity peculiar to that species of creature.
BOOK III. CHAP. VI.
153
The company increased. The Baroness cast a look at Wil-
helm, and then whispered with the Countess; he noticed this, but
did not understand the purpose of it. The whole, however, be-
came 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.
M HIS mingled feeling of vexation and gratitude spoiled the
1 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 pro-
duced, 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.
5 How !” 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 piece, or make it be composed, I can have nothing to ob-
han
154
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
ject against it; only I desire to have no part or lot in the
Batter."
Melina excused himself; alleging this to be only a casual hint
of liis Lordship the Count, who for the rest had left the arrange-
ment 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 pleas-
ant 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 under-
taking. 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
vice 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 re-
mote 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 mas-
BOOK III. CHAP. VI.
155
terly 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 suf-
fice 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 indis-
position, 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 ear-
nestly 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 piece 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 should enter,
and, by the curiosity which they excited, gather several country-
156
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
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
The men stand on the defensive, and are overcome; the girls fly,
and are taken. 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
arms; violence and lawless disorder are now to be restrained.
A universal festival is held in honor of the noble-minded Cap-
tain.
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 his
plan was the one proposed by himself, with a few alterations; at
the same time expressly stipulating that, without fail, at the con-
clusion 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 interest-
ing 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 distribut-
BOOK II. CHAP. VII.
157
ing 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 re-
ceiving 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
1 her friend expressed and felt so warmly, quickened Wil-
helm's faculties and zeal: the plan of his piece, which the pro-
cess 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 pre-
text 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.”
158
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
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 even 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 par-
ticularly, 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 war-
rior, 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, has-
tily 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
BOOK III. CHAP. VII.
159
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 wit-
nessed 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, hay-
ing great skill in dancing, prepared the ballet; so that every-
thing proceeded as it ought.
Yet one unexpected obstacle occurred, which threatened to oc-
casion 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
160
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
prelude. And being of a light, imitative nature, she quickly
marked in the procedure of the ladies whatever would befit her-
self: 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 im-
pertinent, 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 coin-
cide 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
BOOK III. CHAP. VIII.
161
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 employ-
ment 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 satis-
fied. 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 intelli-
gence of the Prince's approach was confirmed; the people rode
out more than once to see his vanguard encamping in the neigh-
borhood; the house was full of noise and tumult; and our actors,
not always served in the. handsomest manner by unwilling ser-
vants, 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.
A T length the Prince arrived, with all his generals, staff-offi-
A cers, and suite accompanying him. These, and the multi-
tude 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 con-
162
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
descension; 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. Accord-
ingly, 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. Everything 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 ap-
plause 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 Wil-
helm's mind for several days; he knew.not how to explain it, or
wllat 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 mov-
ing and revolving.
Wilhelm alone discovered, to his sorrow, that directly the re-
verse was true. For although the Prince had waited out the first
exhibitions, sitting on his chair, with the greatest conscientious-
ness, yet by degrees he grew remiss in his attendance, and seized
every plausible occasion of withdrawing. And those very people
BOOK III. CHAP. VIII.
163
whom Wilhelm, in conversation, had found to be the best in-
formed 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 antechamber, 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 which the little training
he had yet received would allow.
At the same time, the unwearied interest which 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 no-
ticed and admired, their persons on the other hand grew not en-
tirely 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 offi-
cers; 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 re-
cite 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.
164
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
As two hostile outposts will sometimes peacefully and pleas-
antly 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 emo-
tions.
The Baroness, in the mean time, had selected Laertes, who,
being a aspirited and lively young man, pleased her very much;
and who, woman-bater as he was, felt unwilling to refuse a pass-
ing 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 mis-
taken; 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
BOOK III. CHAP. VIII.
165
Baroness ; kept by the Stallmeister, with whom he diligently
fenced and hunted; conducting himself at rehearsals and repre-
sentations 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 toilette. 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 ar-
tists regarded as the most flattering in the world; not observing,
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 step-
ping 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,
the most distinguished persons, and penetrating into the secrets
166
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
of human nature, as it works concealed behind the gorgeous tap-
estry of palaces. When I study his Britannicus, his Berenice,
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 im-
possible 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
Shakespeare'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 that I have heard of these plays
has excited little wish to become acquainted with such extraordi-
nary monsters, which appear to set probability and dignity alike
at defiance."
“I would advise you," said the other, “ to make a trial, not-
withstanding : it can do one no harm to look at what is extraor-
dinary 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
BOOK III. CHAP. VIII.
167
of you to waste your hours in dressing out these apes to look
more human, and teaching dogs to dance. One thing only I re-
quire; 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 that 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 weary circuit before
reaching his appointed object.
Wilhelm now began to have an inkling that things went for-
ward 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.
108
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
CHAPTER IX.
M HE connection between the Baron and the actors had suf-
1 fered 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 say
one of those pieces, 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 Wil-
helm 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 de-
grees 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, he 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 singu-
larly 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
BOOK III. CHAP. IX.
169
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:-
"I poor devil, Lord Baron,
Must envy you your crest of arms,
The coach you ride in, coat you've on,
Your copses, ponds, and rack-rent faims,
Your father's polished ashlar house,
And all his hounds and hares and grouse.
“Ne poor devil, Lord Baron,
You envy my small shred of wit ;
Because it seems, as things have gone,
Old Nature had a hand in it;
She made me light of heart and gay,
With long-necked purse, not brain of clay.
“Look you now, dear Lord Baron,
What if we both should cease to fret,
You being his Lordship's eldest son,
And I being mother Nature's brat?
We live in peace, all envy chase,
And heed not which o' th' two surpasses;
I in the Herald's Books no place,
You having none about Parnassus."
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, reck-
oning 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
VOL. I.
170
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
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 acute-
ness, 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 repu-
tation 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 bat-.
BOOK III. CHAP. IX.
171
tered 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 be-
daubed 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, be knew absolutely nothing, and had not the most re-
mote 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 sat-
isfaction 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 grep
louder ; and the efforts of our friend to still them, more and
more abortive.
Meanwhile, excepting in rehearsals and hours of acting, Wil-
172
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
helm 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 Shakespearian world, feeling or know-
ing nothing but the movements of his own mind.
We have heard of some Enchanter summoning, by magic for-
mulas, a vast multitude of spiritual shapes into his cell. The
conjurations are so powerful that the whole space of the apart-
ment 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 counter-word, 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 for-
merly had neither notion nor anticipation. Nothing could allure
him from this state ; he was vexed and restless if any one pre-
sumed 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 ren-
counter with the Stallmeister, had vanished from the company,
and not again been heard of.
BOOK NI. CHAP. IX.
173
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 difi-
culty in succeeding, notwithstanding all his statements; at length,
however, he did get permission to speak with the culprit in pri-
vate. 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 inti-
mate 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.
174
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
CHAPTER X.
DHILINA now succeeded in insinuating further every day
1 into the favor of the ladies. Whenever they were by them-
selves, 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 no-
bleness 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 Count-
ess 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
BOOK II. CHAP. X.
175
for s'me 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, she left Phi-
lina to receive him and prepare him.
He arrived, and found to his surprise, not the honorable lady,
but the giddy actress 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 io 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 un-
stable and incapable of all improvement, frequently accuse them-
selves 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
inexorablya to the graceful sinner ; he entered into conversation,
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 mo-
meut, left him not an instant for reflection ; she hurried him
avray with her, declaring it was just the proper hour.
It was now grown dark. She took him to the Count's ward-
night-gown; and put the cap with red trimmings on his head.
She then led him forward to the cabinet; and bidding him sit
176
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
down upon the large chair, and take a book, she lit the Argand's
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 ex-
ecution 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 mo-
ment was in truth extreme. The fear of displeasing the Count-
ess, 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 re-
tired as if belind the veil of distance, when he figured to him-
self 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
BOOK III. CHAP. X.
177
doubt what he should do, whether he should sit still or rise,
should fly, 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 Count-
ess, 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 Wil-
helm, 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.
8
178
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
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.
TITILHELM had scarcely read one or two of Shakespeare's
V plays, till their effect on him became so strong that he
could go no further. His whole soul was in commotion. He
sought an opportunity to speak with Jarno; to whom, on meet-
ing with him, he expressed his boundless gratitude for such de-
licious 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 im-
portant effects on me, as the precious works to which by your
kindness I have been directed. They seem as if they were per-
formances of some celestial genius, descending among men, to
make them, by the mildest instructions, acquainted with them-
selves. 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 further.”
“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
BOOK NI. CHAP. XI.
179
me from youth upwards, often unobserved by myself, I find de-
veloped and fulfilled in Shakespeare'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 myste-
rious and complex productions of creation, here act before us as
if they were watches, whose dial-plates and cases were of crys-
tal, which pointed out, according to their use, the course of the
the combination of wheels and springs that turned them. The
than anything 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 be-
hold 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
what you shall conſide 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 im-
part 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
180
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
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 anything to do with such a class of
people. I have often thought, with vexation and spleen, how, in
order to gain a paltry living, you must fix your heart on a wan-
dering 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; wliile Wil-
helm, 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 reflec-
tions.
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 curi-
osity 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 con-
ceivest, dead-hearted worldling, that thou canst be a friend! All
that thou hast power to offer nie is not worth the sentiment
BOOK II. CHAP. XI.
181
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, sey-
eral 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 symp-
tom of a most corrupted heart; for what could be more depraved
than to treat a guiltless person, whose griefs one's self had occa-
sioned, with jeering and mockery, instead of trying to satisfy
or to indennify 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 hap-
pened 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 pan-
taloons, without stripping; thus very expeditiously restoring the
spotlessness of their apparel. On witnessing this piece of inge-
nuity, our friend was at once struck with the recollection of the
poor Pedant's whited and bedusted coat: his suspicions gathered
182
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
strength when he learned that some relations of the Baron's
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 multi-
tude 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 de-
scribed 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 reputa-
ble, 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.
M EANWHILE the Baroness had spent several days dis-
W quieted 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 imperious-
BOOK III. CHAP. XII.
183
ness was now to be discerned in him ; he was silent and thought-
ful; yet withal he seemed composed and placid ; in short, he was
quite another man. In chovsing the books, which now and
then he caused to be read to him, those of a serious, often a re-
ligious cast, were pitched upon; and the Baroness lived in per-
petual 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 determincd, 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 be-
lieves 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 con-
summation 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 pro-
duced 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
184
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
habits by a bugbear, but who, they admitted, still deserved some
praise for expecting dire calamity, or death itself, with such com-
posure.
“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 re-
warded : and the two contrived fresh projects for frightening the
Count still further; and still further exciting and confirming the
affection of the Countess for Wilhelın.
With this intention, the whole story was related to the Count-
ess. 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 head-quarters. 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.
BOOK III. CHAP. XII.
185
The Prince being shortly to depart, a great entertainment had
been appointed in honor of him. Many ladies of the neighbor-
hood were invited ; and the Countess had dressed herself 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 en-
trance 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 dis-
missed 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 positive 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 spon-
taneously meets us here? Yes, naturally I will say! As Mi-
nerva sprang in complete armor from the head of Jove, so does
186 ,
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
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 reci-
tation.
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 panto-
mime 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
BOOK III. CHAP. XII.'
187
medallion, which the Countess wore on her left side, by a par-
ticular 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, spring-
ing 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 sur-
prise, 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. Fare-
well! 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 ou the freshly poured cup of love.
Her head lay on his shoulder ; the disordered ringlets and
188
.
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIPWT
rufiles were forgotten. She had thrown her arm round him ; he
clasped her with vivacity; and pressed her again and again to
his breast. O 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 coun-
tenance; and added, in the most tender and affecting voice :
Wilhelm was out of the chamber, and again in his room, be-
fore he knew what he was doing.
Unhappy creatures! What singular warning of chance or of
destiny tore them asunder ?
BOOK IV.
CHAPTER I.
T AERTES was standing at the window in a thoughtful mood,
I resting on his arm, and looking out into the fields. Phi-
lina came gliding towards him, across the large hall; she leant
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 inclosure! 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 gal-
lant 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 over-
take 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 situ-
ation ! ” 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.”
190
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
“ 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, add-
ing a fer 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 Mig-
non. 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 which he owed
his people, to send them some tidings of himself.
With the farewell compliments of the family, the Baron de-
livered him an assurance from the Count, that his Lordship had
been exceedingly obliged by his acting, his poetical labors, and
his 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 re-
ward 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
everything 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 kuit 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
BOOK IV. CHAP. I.
191
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 ten-
derly 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 ex-
pended money of your own. With what face shall I appear be-
fore 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 mo-
ment when it brings me into one perplexity, it frees me from
another, into which I have lately fallen with regard to my rela-
tions, 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 confi-
dence, 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 pecu-
liarities, 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 preju-
dices. We must not root them out, lest in doing so we tear up
192
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
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 think with pleasure on the story of that
ingenious poet, which I dare say you liave heard of. He had
written several plays for the court-theatre, which were honored
by the warmest approbation of the monarch. “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 Em-
peror 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 imme-
diately 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 him 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
wliat liad 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 im-
provement 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
BOOK IV. CHAP. I.
193
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 Shakespeare 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 faror
VOL. I.
M
194
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
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,
taok leare 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 everything, unless you dismiss me : but ask me no ques-
tions; 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 thou art now in, I certainly will 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 1 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
BOOK IV. CHAP. II.
195
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 ob-
served 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 ate hand. He turned
everything 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.
CHAPTER II.
MTELINA was in hopes to get established with his company,
W in a small but thriving town at some distance. They had
already reached the place where the Count's horses were to
turn; and now they looked about for other carriages and cattle
to transport them onward. Melina had engaged to provide
them a conveyance : he showed himself but niggardly, according
to his custom. Wilhelm, on the contrary, had the shining ducats
of the Countess in. his pocket, and thought he had the fullest
right to spend them merrily ; forgetting very soon how ostenta-
tiously he had produced them in the stately balance transmitted
to his father.
196
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
His friend Shakespeare, whom with the greatest joy he ac-
knowledged as his godfather, and rejoiced the more that his
name was Wilhelm, had introduced him to a prince, who frolicked
for a time among mean, nay, vicious companions, and who, not-
withstanding his nobleness of nature, found pleasure in the rude-
ness, indecency, and coarse intemperance of these altogether
sensual knaves. This ideal likeness, which he figured as the
type and the excuse of his own actual condition, was most wel-
come to our friend ; and the process of self-deception, to which
already he displayed an almost invincible tendency, was thereby
very much facilitated.
He now began to think about his dress. It struck him that a
waistcoat, over which, in case of need, one could throw a little
short mantle, was a very fit thing for a traveller. Long knit
pantaloons, and a pair of lacing boots, seemed the true garb of a
pedestrian. He next procured a fine silk sash, which he tied
about him, under the pretence at first of securing warmth for
his person. On the other hand, he freed his neck from the
tyranny of stocks; and got a few stripes of muslin sewed upon
his shirt; making the pieces of considerable breadth, so that they
presented the complete appearence of an ancient ruff. The beau-
tiful silk neckerchief, the memorial of Mariana, which had once
been saved from burning, now lay slackly tied beneath this
muslin collar. A round hat, with a particolored band, and a
large feather, perfected the mask.
The women all asserted that this garb became him very well.
Philina in particular appeared enchanted with it. She solicited
his hair for herself; beautiful locks, which, the closer to approach
the natural ideal, he had unmercifully clipped. By so doing she
recommended herself not amiss to his favor; and our friend, who,
by his open-handedness, had acquired the right of treating his
companions somewhat in Prince Harry's manner, erelong fell
into the humor of himself contriving a few wild tricks, and pre-
siding in the execution of them. The people fenced, they danced,
they devised all kinds of sports; and in their gayety of heart,
partook of what tolerable wine they could fall in with, in copious
proportions; while, amid the disorder of this tumultuous life,
T
.
BOOK IV. CHAP. II.
197
.
Philina lay in wait for the coy hero; over whom let his better
Genius keep watch !
One chief diversion, which yielded the company a frequent
and very pleasing entertainment, consisted in producing an ex-
tempore play, in which their late benefactors and patrons were
mimicked and turned into ridicule. Some of our actors had
seized very neatly whatever was peculiar in the outward manner
of several distinguished people in the Count's establishment;
their imitation of these was received by the rest of the party with
the greatest approbation; and when Philina produced, from the
secret archives of her experience, certain peculiar declarations
of love that had been made to her, the audience were like to die
with laughing and malicious joy.
Wilhelm censured their ingratitude ; but they told him in re-
ply, that these gentry well deserved what they were getting,
their general conduct toward such deserving people, as our
friends believed themselves, not having been by any means the
best imaginable. The little consideration, the neglect they had
experienced, were now described with many aggravations. The
jesting, bantering, and mimicry proceeded as before ; our party
were growing bitterer and more unjust every minute.
“I wish,” observed Wilhelm, “there were no envy or selfish-
ness lurking under what you say, but that you would regard
those persons and their station in the proper point of view. It
is a peculiar thing to be placed, by one's very birth, in an ele-
vated situation in society. The man for whom inherited wealth
has secured a perfect freedom of existence ; who finds himself
from his youth upwards abundantly encompassed with all the
secondary essentials, so to speak, of human life, — will generally
become accustomed to consider these qualifications as the first
and greatest of all; while the worth of that mode of human
life, which nature from her own stores equips and furnishes, will
strike him much more faintly. The behavior of noblemen to
their inferiors, and likewise to each other, is regulated by ex-
ternal preferences : they give each credit for his title, his rank,
his clothes, and equipage, but his individual merits come not into
play.”
198
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
This speech was honored with the company's unbounded ap-
plause. They declared it to be shameful, that men of merit
should constantly be pushed into the background; and that in
the great world there should not be a trace of natural and
hearty intercourse. On this latter point particularly they over-
shot all bounds.
“ Blame them not for it,” said Wilhelm, “rather pity them!
They have seldom an exalted feeling of that happiness, which
we admit to be the highest that can flow from the inward abun-
dance of nature. Only to us poor creatures is it granted to en-
joy the happiness of friendship, in its richest fulness. Those
dear to us we cannot elevate by our countenance, or advance by
our favor, or make happy by our presents. We have nothing
but ourselves. This whole self we must give away; and if it is
to be of any value, we must make our friend secure of it forever.
What an enjoyment, what a happiness, for giver and receiver !
With what blessedness does truth of affection invest our situ-
ation! It gives to the transitory life of man a heavenly cer-
tainty ; it forms the crown and capital of all that we possess."
While he spoke thus, Mignon had come near him; she threw
her little arms round him, and stood with her cheek resting on
his breast. He laid his hand on the child's head, and proceeded :
make our hearts his own. A mild and pleasant manner, a man-
ner only not inhuman, will of itself do wonders : and how many
means does he possess of holding fast the affections he has once
conquered! To us, all this occurs less frequently; to us it is all
more difficult; and we naturally therefore put a greater value on
whatever, in the way of mutual kindness, we acquire and accom-
plish. What touching examples of faithful servants giving them-
selves up to danger and death for their masters! How finely
has Shakespeare painted out such things to us! Fidelity, in this
with one exalted above it. By steadfast attachment and love,
the servant is made equal to his lord, who but for this is justified
in looking on him as a hired slave. Yes, these virtues belong to
the lower class of men alone; that class cannot do without them,
BOOK IV. CHAP. II.
199
and with them it has a beauty of its own. Whoever is enabled
to requite all favors easily, will likewise easily be tempted to raise
himself above the habit of acknowledgment. Nay, in this sense,
I am of opinion it might almost be maintained that a great man
may possess friends, but cannot be one."
Mignon pressed still closer towards him.
“ It may be so," replied one of the party: “We do not need
their friendship, and do not ask it. But it were well if they un-
derstood a little more about the arts, which they affect to patron-
ize. When we played in the best style, there was none to mind
us: it was all sheer partiality. Any one they chose to favor,
pleased; and they did not choose to favor those that merited to
please. It was intolerable to observe how often silliness and
mere stupidity attracted notice and applause."
“When I abate from this,” said Wilhelm, “what seemed to
spring from irony and malice, I think we may nearly say, that
one fares in art as he does in love. And after all, how shall a
fashionable man of the world, with his dissipated häbits, eittain
that intimate presence with a special object, which an artist must
long continue in, if he would produce anything approaching to
perfection; a state of feeling without which it is impossible for
any one to take such an interest, as the artist hopes and wishes,
in his work.
“ Believe me, my friends, it is with talents as with virtue; one
must love them for their own sake, or entirely renounce them.
And neither of them is acknowledged and rewarded, except when
their possessor can practise them unseen, like a dangerous se-
cret."
“Meanwhile, until some proper judge discovers us, we may all
die of hunger,” cried a fellow in the corner.
“ Not quite inevitably," answered Wilhelm. “I have observed
that so long as one stirs and lives, one always finds food and rai-
ment, though they be not of the richest sort. And why should
we repine? Were we not, altogether unexpectedly, and when
our prospects were the very worst, taken kindly by the hand and
substantially entertained ? And now, when we are in want of
nothing, does it once occur to us to attempt anything for our im-
200
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
provement; or to strive, though never so faintly, towards ad-
vancement in our art? We are busied about indifferent matters;
and, like schoolboys, we are casting all aside that might bring
our lesson to our thoughts."
“In sad truth,” said Philina, “it is even so! Let us choose a
play; we will go through it on the spot. Each of us must do
his best, as if he stood before the largest audience.”
They did not long deliberate; a play was fixed on. It was
one of those which at that time were meeting great applause in
Germany, and have now passed away. Some of the party
whistled a symphony; each speedily bethought him of his part;
they commenced; and played all the piece with the greatest at-
tention, and really well beyond expectation. Mutual applauses
circulated; our friends had seldom been so pleasantly diverted.
On finishing, they all felt exceedingly contented, partly on ac-
count of their time being spent so well, partly because each of
them experienced some degree of satisfaction with his own per-
formance. Wilhelm expressed himself copiously in their praise ;
the conversation grew cheerful and merry.
“You would see,” cried our friend, “what advances we should
make, if we continued this sort of training, and ceased to confine
our attention to mere learning by heart, rehearsing, and playing
mechanically, as if it were a barren duty, or some handicraft
employment. How different a character do our musical profes-
sors merit! What interest they take in their art; how correct
are they in the practisings they undertake in common! What
pains they are at in tuning their instruments; how exactly they
observe time; how delicately they express the strength and the
weakness of their tones! No one there thinks of gaining credit
to himself by a loud accompaniment of the solo of another.
Each tries to play in the spirit of the composer, each to express
well whatever is committed to him, be it much or little.
“Should not we too go as strictly and as ingeniously to work,
seeing we practise an art far more delicate than that of music;
seeing we are called on to express the commonest and the
strangest emotions of human nature, with elegance and so as to
delight? Can anything be more shocking than to slur over our
BOOK IV. CHAP. II.
201
rehearsal, and in our acting to depend on good luck, or the ca-
pricious choice of the moment? We ought to place our highest
happiness and satisfaction in mutually desiring to gain each
other's approbation; we should even value the applauses of the
public only in so far as we have previously sanctioned them
among ourselves. Why is the master of the band more secure
about his music than the manager about his play? Because, in
the orchestra, each individual would feel ashamed of his mis-
takes, which offend the outward ear: but how seldom have I
found an actor disposed to acknowledge or feel ashamed of mis-
takes, pardonable or the contrary, by which the inward ear is so
outrageously offended! I could wish, for my part, that our the-
atre were as narrow as the wire of a rope-dancer, that so no
iuept fellow might dare to venture on it; instead of being as it
is, a place where every one discovers in himself capacity enough
to flourish and parade.”
The company gave this apostrophe a kind reception ; each
being convinced that the censure conveyed in it could not apply
to him, after acting a little while ago so excellently with the rest.
On the other hand, it was agreed that during this journey, and
for the future, if they remained together, they would regularly
proceed with their training in the manner just adopted. Only
it was thought, that as this was a thing of good humor and free
will, no formal manager must be allowed to have a hand in it.
Taking it for an established fact, that among good men, the re-
publican form of government is the best, they declared that the
post of manager should go round among them; he must be
chosen by universal suffrage, and every time have a sort of little
senate joined in authority along with him. So delighted did
they feel with this idea, that they longed to put it instantly in
practice.
“I have no objection," said Melina, " if you indian making
such an experiment while we are travelling; I shall willingly
suspend my own directorship until we reach some settled place."
He was in hopes of saving cash by this arrangement, and of cast-
ing many small expenses on the shoulders of the little senate or
of the interim manager. This fixed, they went very easiestly to
9*
202
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
·
counsel, how the form of the new commonwealth might best be
adjusted.
6 'Tis an itinerating kingdom,” said Laertes ; “we shall at
least have no quarrels about frontiers."
They directly proceeded to the business, and elected Wilhelm
as their first manager. The senate also was appointed, the
women having seat and vote in it; laws were propounded, were
rejected, were agreed to. In such playing, the time passed on
unnoticed ; and as our friends had spent it pleasantly, they also
conceived that they had really been effecting something useful ;
and by their new constitution had been opening a new prospect
for the stage of their native country.
CHAPTER III.
GYEEING the company so favorably disposed, Wilhelm now
D hoped he might further have it in his power to converse
with them on the poetic merit of the pieces which might come
before them. “It is not enough," said he next day, when they
were all again assembled," for the actor merely to glance over a
dramatic work, to judge of it by his first impression, and thus,
without investigation, to declare his satisfaction or dissatisfaction
with it. Such things may be allowed in a spectator, whose pur-
pose it is rather to be entertained and moved than formally to
criticise. But the actor, on the other hand, should be prepared
to give a reason for his praise or censure : and how shall he do
this, if he have not taught himself to penetrate the sense, the
views, and feelings of his author ? A common error is, to form a
judgment of a drama from a single part in it; and to look upon
this part itself in an isolated point of view, not in its connection
with the whole. I have noticed this within a few days, so clearly
in my own conduct, that I will give you the account as an ex-
ample, if you please to hear me patiently.
“ You all know Shakespeare's incomparable Hamlet: our
public reading of it at the Castle yielded every one of us the
BOOK IV. CHAP. III.
203
.
greatest satisfaction. On that occasion, we proposed to act the
piece; and I, not knowing what I undertook, engaged to play
the Prince's part. This I conceived that I was studying, while
I began to get by heart the strongest passages, the soliloquies,
and those scenes in which force of soul, vehemence and elevation
of feeling, have the freest scope ; where the agitated heart is
allowed to display itself with touching expressiveness.
“I further conceived that I was penetrating quite into the
spirit of the character, while I endeavored as it were to take
upon myself the load of deep melancholy under which my proto-
type was laboring, and in this humor to pursue him through the
strange labyrinths of his caprices and his singularities. Thus
learning, thus practising, I doubted not but I should by and by
become one person with my hero.
“But the farther I advanced, the more difficult did it become
for me to form any image of the whole, in its general bearings ;
till at last it seemed as if impossible. I next went through the
entire piece, without interruption ; but here too I found much
that I could not away with. At one time the characters, at an-
other time the manner of displaying them, seemed inconsistent;
and I almost despaired of finding any general tint, in which I
might present my whole part with all its shadings and varia-
tions. In such devious paths I toiled, and wandered long in
vain ; till at length a hope arose that I might reach my aim in
quite a new way.
“I set about investigating every trace of Hamlet's character,
as it had shown itself before his father's death : I endeavored to
distinguish what in it was independent of this mournful event;
independent of the terrible events that followed; and what most
probably the young man would have been, had no such thing
occurred.
“ Soft, and from a noble stem, this royal flower had sprung up
under the immediate influences of majesty : the idea of moral
rectitude with that of princely elevation, the fceling of the good
and dignified with the consciousness of high birth, had in him
been unfolded simultaneously. He was a prince, by birth a
prince : and he wished to reign, only that good men might be
204
UN
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
good without obstruction. Pleasing in form, polished by nature,
courteous from the heart, he was meant to be the pattern of
youth and the joy of the world.
“ Without any prominent passion, his love for Ophelia was a
still presentiment of sweet wants. His zeal in knightly accom-
plishments was not entirely his own; it needed to be quickened
and inflamed by praise bestowed on others for excelling in them.
Pure in sentiment, he knew the honorable-minded, and could
prize the rest which an upright spirit tastes on the bosom of a
friend. To a certain degree, he had learned to discern and
value the good and the beautiful in arts and sciences; the mean,
the vulgar was offensive to him; and if hatred could take root
in his tender soul, it was only so far as to make him properly
despise the false and changeful insects of a court, and play with
them in easy scorn. He was calm in his temper, artless in his
conduct, neither pleased with idleness, nor too violently eager for
employment. The routine of a university he seemed to con-
tinue when at court. He possessed more mirth of humor than
of heart; he was a good companion, pliant, courteous, discreet,
and able to forget and forgive an injury; yet never able to unite
himself with those who overstept the limits of the right, the
good, and the becoming.
“When we read the piece again, you shall judge whether I
am yet on the proper track. I hope at least to bring forward
passages, that shall support my opinion in its main points."
This delineation was received with warm approval ; the com-
pany imagined they foresaw that Hamlet's manner of proceeding
might now be very satisfactorily explained ; they applauded this
method of penetrating into the spirit of a writer. Each of them
proposed to himself to take up some piece, and study it on these
principles, and so unfold the author's meaning.
BOOK IV. CHAP. IV.
205
CHAPTER IV.
UR friends had to continue in the place for a day or, two ;
and it was not long till sundry of them got engaged in ad-
ventures of a rather pleasant kind. Laertes in particular was
challenged by a lady of the neighborhood, a person of some
property ; but he received her blandishments with extreme, nay
unhandsome coldness; and had in consequence to undergo a
multitude of jibes from Philina. She took this opportunity of
detailing to our friend the hapless love-story which had made the
youth so bitter a foe to womankind. “Who can take it ill of
him,” she cried, “ that he hates a sex which has played him so
foul, and given him to swallow, in one stoutly concentrated po-
tion, all the miseries that man can fear from woman? Do but
conceive it ; within four and twenty hours, he was lover, bride-
groom, husband, cuckold, patient, and widower! I wot not how
you could use a man worse."
Laertes hastened from the room half-vexed, half-laughing; and
Philina in her sprightliest style began to relate the story: how
Laertes, a young man of eighteen, on joining a company of
actors, found in it a girl of fourteen on the point of departing
with her father, who had quarrelled with the manager. How,
on the instant, he had fallen mortally in love ; had conjured the
father by all possible considerations to remain, promising at
length to marry the young woman. How, after a few pleasing
hours of groomship, he had accordingly been wedded, and been
happy as he ought; whereupon, next day, while he was occupied
at the rehearsal, his wife, according to professional rule, had hon-
ored him with a pair of horns; and how as he, out of excessive
tenderness, hastening home far too soon, had, alas ! found a former
lover in his place, he had struck into the affair with thoughtless
indignation, had called out both father and lover, and sustained
a grievous wound in the duel. How father and daughter had
thereupon set off by night, leaving him behind to labor with a
double hurt. How the leech he applied to was unhappily the
worst in nature; and the poor fellow had got out of the adven-
206
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
ture with blackened teeth and watering eyes. That he was
greatly to be pitied, being otherwise the bravest young man on
the surface of the earth. “Especially,” said she, “it grieves me
that the poor soul now hates women ; for, hating women, how
can one keep living ?”
Melina interrupted them with news, that all things being now
ready for the journey, they would set out to-morrow morning.
He handed them a plan, arranging how they were to travel.
“If any good friend take me on his lap," said Philina, "I shall
be content, though we sit crammed together never so close and
sorrily: 't is all one to me."
" It does not signify," observed Laertes, who now entered.
“ It is pitiful,” said Wilhelm, hastening away. By the aid of
money he secured another very comfortable coach, though Melina
had pretended that there were no more. A new distribution then
took place; and our friends were rejoicing in the thought that
they should now travel pleasantly, when intelligence arrived that
a party of military volunteers had been seen upon the road, from
whom little good could be expected.
In the town, these tidings were received with great attention,
though they were but variable and ambiguous. As the contend-
ing armies were at that time placed, it seemed impossible that
any hostile corps could have advanced, or any friendly one hung
arear, so far. Yet every man was eager to exhibit to our travel-
lers the danger that awaited them as truly dangerous ; every man
was eager to suggest that some other route might be adopted.
By these means, most of our friends had been seized with
anxiety and fear; and when, according to the new republican
constitution, the whole members of the state had been called
together to take counsel on this extraordinary case, they were
almost unanimously of opinion that it would be proper either to
keep back the mischief by abiding where they were, or to evade
it by choosing another road.
Wilhelm alone, not participating in the panic, regarded it as
mean to abandon, for the sake of mere rumors, a plan which
they had not entered on without much thought. He endeavored
to put heart into them; his reasons were manly and convincing.
BOOK IV. CHAP. IV.
207
“ It is but a rumor," he observed; "and how many such arise
in time of war! Well-informed people say that the occurrence
is exceedingly improbable, nay, almost impossible. Shall we, in
so important a matter, allow a vague report to determine our
proceedings ? The route pointed out to us by the Count, and to
which our passport was adapted, is the shortest and in the best
condition. It leads us to the town, where you see acquaintances,
friends before you, and may hope for a good reception. The
other way will also bring us thither ; but by what a circuit, and
along what miserable roads! Have we any right to hope, that,
in this late season of the year, we shall get on at all ? and what
time and money shall we squander in the mean while !" He
added many more considerations, presenting the matter on so
many advantageous sides, that their fear began to dissipate, and
their courage to increase. He talked to them so much about the
discipline of regular troops, he painted the marauders and wan-
dering rabble so contemptuously, and represented the danger
itself as so pleasant and inspiring, that the spirits of the party
were altogether cheered.
Laertes from the first had been of his opinion ; he now de-
clared that he would not flinch or fail. Old Boisterous found a
consenting phrase or two to utter, in his own vein ; Philina
laughed at them all; and Madam Melina, who, notwithstanding
her advanced state of pregnancy, had lost nothing of her natural
stout-heartedness, regarded the proposal as heroic. Herr Melina,
moved by this harmonious feeling, hoping also to save somewhat
by travelling the short road which had been first contemplated,
did not withstand the general consent; and the project was
agreed to with universal alacrity.
They next began to make some preparations for defence at all
hazards. They bought large hangers, and slung them in well-
quilted straps over their shoulders. Wilhelm, further, stuck a
pair of pistols in his girdle. Laertes, independently of this
occurrence, had a good gun. They all took the road in the
highest glee.
On the second day of their journey, the drivers, who knew
the country well, proposed to take their noon's rest in a certain
208
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
woody spot of the hills; since the town was far off, and in good
weather the hill road was generally preferred.
The day being beautiful, all easily agreed to the proposal.
Wilhelm on foot, went on before them through the hills ; making
every one that met him stare with astonishment at his singular
figure. He hastened with quick and contented steps across the
forest; Laertes walked whistling after him ; none but the wo-
men continued to be dragged along in the carriages. Mignon
too ran forward by his side, proud of the hanger, which, when
the party were all arming, she would not go without. Around
her hat she had bound the pearl necklace, one of Mariana's
relics, which Wilhelm still possessed. Friedrich, the fair-
haired boy, carried Laertes's gun. The harper had the most
pacific look; his long cloak was tucked up within his girdle, to
let him walk more freely; he leaned upon a knotty staff; his
harp had been left behind him in the carriage.
Immediately on reaching the summit of the height, a task not
without its difficulties, our party recognized the appointed spot,
by the fine beech-trees which encircled and screened it. A
spacious green, sloping softly in the middle of the forest, invited
one to tarry; a trimly bordered well offered the most grateful
refreshment; and on the farther side, through chasms in the
mountains, and over the tops of the woods, appeared a land-
scape distant, lovely, full of hope. Hamlets and mills were
lying in the bottoms, villages upon the plain ; and a new chain
of mountains, visible in the distance, made the prospect still
more significant of hope, for they entered only like a soft limi-
tation.
The first comers took possession of the place; rested awhile in
the shade, lighted a fire, and so awaited, singing as they worked,
the remainder of the party; who by degrees arrived, and with
one accord saluted the place, the lovely weather, and the still
lovelier scene.
BOOK IV. CHAP. V.
209
CHAPTER V.
omy of my places : bople whom the in vied hun
my of a bances : but, above their calling cons, char-
TF our friends had frequently enjoyed a good and merry hour
1 together while within four walls, they were naturally much
gayer here, where the freedom of the sky and the beauty of the
place seemed as it were to purify the feelings of every one. All
felt nearer to each other; all wished that they might pass their
whole lives in so pleasant an abode. They envied hunters, char-
coal-men, and wood-cutters ; people whom their calling constantly
retains in such happy places : but, above all, they prized the de-
licious economy of a band of gypsies. They envied these won-
derful companions, entitled to enjoy in blissful idleness all the
adventurous charms of nature; they rejoiced at being in some
degree like them.
Meanwhile the women had begun to boil potatoes, and to un-
wrap and get ready the victuals brought along with them.
Some pots were standing by the fire. The party had placed
themselves in groups, under the trees and bushes. Their singular
apparel, their various weapons, gave them a foreign aspect. The
horses were eating their provender at a side. Could one have
concealed the coaches, the look of this little horde would have
been romantic, even to complete illusion.
Wilhelm enjoyed a pleasure he had never felt before. He
could now imagine his present company to be a wandering
colony, and himself the leader of it. In this character he talked
with those around him, and figured out the fantasy of the mo-
ment as poetically as he could. The feelings of the party rose
in cheerfulness: they ate and drank and made merry; and
repeatedly declared, that they had never passed more pleasant
moments.
Their contentment had not long gone on increasing, till ac-
tivity awoke among the younger part of them. Wilhelm and
Laertes seized their rapiers, and began to practise on this occa-
sion with theatrical intentions. They undertook to represent
the duel, in which Hamlet and his adversary find so tragical an
end. Both were persuaded that, in this powerful scene, it was not
210
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
of thet all at one; and
enough merely to keep pushing awkardly hither and thither, as it
is generally exhibited in theatres : they were in hopes to show, by
example, how, in presenting it, a worthy spectacle might also be
afforded to the critic in the art of fencing. The rest made a cir-
cle round them. Both fought with skill and ardor. The interest
of the spectators rose higher every pass.
But all at once, in the nearest bush, a shot went off; and im-
mediately another; and the party flew asunder in terror. Next
moment, armed men were to be seen pressing forward to the
spot where the horses were eating their fodder, not far from the
coaches that were packed with luggage.
A universal scream proceeded from the females : our heroes
threw away their rapiers, seized their pistols, and ran towards
the robbers ; demanding, with violent threats, the meaning of
such conduct.
This question being answered laconically, with a couple of
musket-shots, Wilhelm fired his pistol at a crisp-headed knave,
who had got upon the top of the coach, and was cutting the cords
of the package. Rightly hit, this artist instantly came tumbling
down ; Laertes also had not missed. Both of them, encouraged
by success, drew their side-arms; when a number of the plunder-
ing party rushed out upon them, with curses and loud bellowing;
fired a few shots at them, and fronted their impetuosity with
glittering sabres. Our young heroes made a bold resistance.
They called upon their other comrades, and endeavored to ex-
cite them to a general resistance. But erelong, Wilhelm lost
the sight of day, and the consciousness of what was passing.
Stupefied by a shot that wounded him between the breast and
the left arm, by a stroke that split his hat in two, and almost
penetrated to his brain, he sank down, and only by the narra-
tives of others came afterwards to understand the luckless end
of this adventure.
On again opening his eyes, he found himself in the strangest
posture. The first thing that pierced the dimness, which yet
swam before his vision, was Philina's face bent down over his.
He felt himself weak; and making a movement to rise, he dis-
covered that he was in Philina's lap; into which, indeed, he again
BOOK IV. CHAP. V.
211
sank down. She was sitting on the sward. She had softly
pressed towards her the head of the fallen young man; and made
for him an easy couch, as far as in her power. Mignon was
kneeling with dishevelled and bloody hair at his feet, which she
embraced with many tears.
On noticing his bloody clothes, Wilhelm asked, in a broken
voice, where he was, and what had happened to himself and the
all in safety, and none but he and Laertes wounded. Further
she would tell him nothing ;. but earnestly entreated him to
keep still, as his wounds had been but slightly and hastily
bound. He stretched out his hand to Mignon, and inquired
about the bloody locks of the child, who he supposed was also
wounded.
For the sake of quietness, Philina let him know that this true-
hearted creature, seeing her friend wounded, and in the hurry
of the instant being able to think of nothing which would stanch
the blood, had taken her own hair that was flowing round her
head, and tried to stop the wounds with it; but had soon been
obliged to give up the vain attempt; that afterwards they had
bound him with moss and dry mushrooms, Philina herself giving
up her neckerchief for that purpose.
Wilhelm noticed that Philina was sitting with her back against
her own trunk, which still looked firmly locked and quite unin-
jured. He inquired if the rest also had been so lucky as to save
their goods. She answered with a shrug of the shoulders, and a
look over the green, where broken chests, and coffers beaten into
fragments, and knapsacks ripped up, and a multitude of little
wares, lay scattered all round. No person now was to be seen
upon the place : this strange group formed the only living object
in the solitude.
Inquiring further, our friend learned more and more particu-
lars. The rest of the men, it appeared, who, at all events, might
still have made resistance, were struck with terror, and soon
overpowered. Some fled, some looked with horror at the acci-
dent. The drivers, for the sake of their cattle, had held out
more obstinately; but they too were at last thrown down and
212
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
tied; after which, in a few minutes, everything was thoroughly
ransacked, and the booty carried off. The hapless travellers,
their fear of death being over, had begun to mourn their loss ;
had hastened with the greatest speed to the neighboring village,
taking with them Laertes, whose wounds were slight, and carry-
ing off but a very few fragments of their property. The harper
having placed his damaged instrument against a tree, had pro-
ceeded in their company to the place, to seek a surgeon, and re-
turn with his utmost rapidity to help his benefactor, whom he
had left apparently upon the brink of death.
CHAPTER VI.
M EANWHILE our three adventurers continued yet a space
M1 in their strange position, no one returning to their aid.
Evening was advancing; the darkness threatened to come on.
Philina's indifference was changing to anxiety; Mignon ran to
and fro, her impatience increasing every moment; and at last,
when their prayer was granted, and human creatures did ap-
proach, a new alarm fell upon them. They distinctly heard a
troop of horses coming up the road, which they had lately trav-
elled; they dreaded lest a second time some company of unbid-
den guests might be purposing to visit this scene of battle, and
gather up the gleanings.
The more agreeable was their surprise, when, after a few mo-
ments, a young lady issued from the thickets, riding on a gray
courser, and accompanied by an elderly gentleman and some cav-
aliers. Grooms, servants, and a troop of hussars, closed up the
rear.
Philina started at this phenomenon, and was about to call, and
entreat the fair Amazon for help, when the latter turned her
astonished eyes on the group, instantly checked her horse, rode
up to them, and halted. She inquired eagerly about the wound-
ed man, whose posture in the lap of this light-minded Samaritan
seemed to strike her as peculiarly strange.
BOOK IV. CHAP. VI.
213
“Is it your husband ?" she inquired of Philina. “Only a good
friend,” replied the other, with a tone that Wilhelm liked ex-
tremely ill. He had fixed his eyes upon the soft, elevated, calm,
sympathizing features of the stranger: he thought he had never
seen aught nobler or more lovely. Her shape he could not see:
it was hid by a man's white great coat, which she seemed to have
borrowed from some of her attendants, to screen her from the
chill evening air.
By this, the horsemen also had come near. Some of them
dismounted; the lady did so likewise. She asked, with humane
sympathy, concerning every circumstance of the mishap which
had befallen the travellers; but especially concerning the wounds
of the poor youth who lay before her. Thereupon she turned
quickly round, and went aside with the old gentleman to some
carriages, which were slowly coming up the hill, and which at
length stopped upon the scene of action.
The young lady having stood with her conductor a short time
at the door of one of the coaches, and talked with the people in
it, a man of a spuat figure stepped out, and came along with
them to our wounded hero. By the little box which he held in
his hand, and the leathern pouch with instruments in it, you soon
recognized him for a surgeon. His manners were rude rather
than attractive; but his hand was light, and his help was wel-
come.
Having examined strictly, he declared that none of the wounds
were dangerous. He would dress them, he said, on the spot;
after which the patient might be carried to the nearest village.
The anxious attentions of the young lady seemed to augment.
“ Do but look,” she said, after going to and fro once or twice,
and again bringing the old gentleman to the place; “ look how
they have treated him! And is it not on our account that he is
suffering ?” Wilhelm heard these words, but did not understand
them. She went restlessly up and down: it seemed as if she
could not tear herself away from the presence of the wounded
man, while at the same time she feared to violate decorum by
remaining, when they had begun, though not without difficulty,
to remove some part of his apparel. The surgeon was just cut
214
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
ting off the left sleeve of his patient's coat, when the old gentle-
man came near, and represented to the lady, in a serious tone,
the necessity of proceeding on their journey. Wilhelm kept his
eyes bent on her; and was so enchanted with her looks, that he
scarcely felt what he was suffering or doing.
Philina, in the mean time, had risen up to kiss the hand of this
kind young lady. While they stood beside each other, Wilhelm
thought he had never seen such a contrast. Philina had never
till now appeared in so unfavorable a light. She had no right,
as it seemed to him, to come near that noble creature, still less to
touch her.
The lady asked Philina various things, but in an under tone.
At length she turned to the old gentleman, and said, “ Dear
uncle, may I be generous at your expense ?” She took off the
great coat, with the visible intention to give it to the stripped
and wounded youth.
Wilhelm, whom the healing look of her eyes had hitherto held
fixed, was now, as the surtout fell away, astonished at her lovely
figure. She came near, and softly laid the coat above him. At
this moment, as he tried to open his mouth, and stammer out
some words of gratitude, the lively impression of her presence
worked so strongly on his senses, already caught and bewildered,
that all at once it appeared to him as if her head were encircled
with rays; and a glancing light seemed by degrees to spread
itself over all her form. At this moment the surgeon, making
preparations to extract the ball from his wound, gave him a
sharper twinge; the angel faded away from the eyes of the faint-
ing patient; he lost all consciousness; and on returning to him
self, the horsemen and coaches, the fair one with her attendants,
had vanished like a dream.
BOOK IV. CHAP. VII.
215
CHAPTER VII.
V ILHELM’S wounds once dressed, and his clothes put on,
V the surgeon hastened off, just as the harper with a num-
ber of peasants arrived. Out of some cut boughs, which they
speedily wattled with twigs, a kind of litter was constructed ;
upon which they placed the wounded youth, and under the con-
duct of a mounted huntsman, whom the noble company had left
behind them, carried him softly down the mountain. The .
harper, silent and shrouded in his own thoughts, bore with him
his broken instrument. Some men brought on Philina's box,
herself following with a bundle. Mignon skipped along through
copse and thicket, now before the party, now beside them, and
looked up with longing eyes at her hurt protector.
He, meanwhile, wrapt in his warm surtout, was lying peace-
fully upon the litter. An electric warmth seemed to flow from
the fine wool into his body; in short he felt himself in the most
delightful frame of mind. The lovely being, whom this garment
lately covered, had affected him to the very heart. He still saw
the coat falling down from her shoulders ; saw that noble form,
begirt with radiancė, stand beside him; and his soul hied over
rocks and forests on the footsteps of his vanished benefactress.
It was nightfall when the party reached the village, and halted
at the door of the inn where the rest of the company, in the
gloom of despondency, were bewailing their irreparable loss.
The one little chamber of the house was crammed with people.
Some of them were lying upon straw; some were occupying
benches ; some had squeezed themselves behind the stove.
Frau Melina, in a neighboring room, was painfully expecting her
delivery. Fright had accelerated this event. With the sole
assistance of the landlady, a young, inexperienced woman, noth-
ing good could be expected.
As the party just arrived required admission, there arose a
universal murmur. All now maintained, that by Wilhelm's
advice alone, and under his especial guidance, they had entered
on this dangerous road, and exposed themselves to such misfor-
216
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
tunes. They threw the blame of the disaster wholly on him ;
they stuck themselves in the door to oppose his entrance, declar-
ing that he must go elsewhere and seek quarters. Philina they
received with still greater indignation : nor did Mignon and the
harper escape their share.
The huntsman, to whom the care of the forsaken party had
been earnestly and strictly recommended by his beautiful mis-
tress, soon grew tired of this discussion : he rushed upon the
company with oaths and menaces ; commanding them to fall to
the right and left, and make way for this new arrival. They
now began to pacify themselves. He made a place for Wilhelm
on a table, which he shoved into a corner; Philina had her box
put there, and then sat down upon it. All packed themselves
as they best could ; and the huntsman went away to see if he
could not find for “the young couple” a more convenient
lodging
Scarcely was he gone, when spite again grew noisy, and one
reproach began to follow close upon another. Each described
and magnified his loss; censuring the foolhardiness they had so
keenly smarted for. They did not even hide the malicious satis-
faction they felt at Wilhelm's wounds: they jeered Philina, and
imputed to her as a crime the means by which she had saved her
trunk. From a multitude of jibes and bitter innuendoes you
were required to conclude, that during the plundering and dis-
comfiture, she had endeavored to work herself into favor with
the captain of the band, and had persuaded him, Heaven knew
by what arts and complaisance, to give her back the chest un-
hurt. To all this she answered nothing; only clanked with the
large padlocks of her box, to impress her censurers completely
with its presence, and by her own good fortune to augment their
desperation.
BOOK IV. CHAP. VIII.
217
CHAPTER VIII.
THOUGH our friend was weak from loss of blood, and though
I ever since the appearance of that helpful angel his feelings
had been soft and mild, yet at last he could not help getting
vexed at the harshi and unjust speeches which, as he continued
sileut, the discontented company went on uttering against him.
Feeling himself strong enough to sit up, and expostulate on the
annoyance they were causing to their friend and leader, he raised
his bandaged head, and propping himself with some difficulty,
and leaning against the wall, he began to speak as follows:
“ Considering the pain which your losses occasion, I forgive
you for assailing me with injuries at a moment when you should
condole with me; for opposing me and casting me from you, the
first time I have needed to look to you for help. The services I
did you, the complaisance I showed you, I regarded as sufficiently
repaid by your thanks, by your friendly conduct: do not warp
my thoughts, do not force my heart to go back and calculate
what I have done for you; the calculation would be painful to
me. Chance brought me near you, circumstances and a secret
inclination kept me with you. I participated in your labors and
your pleasures; my slender abilities were ever at your service.
If you now blame me with bitterness for the mishap that has be-
fallen us, you do not recollect that the first project of taking this
road came to us from stranger people, was tried by all of you,
and sanctioned by every one as well as me.
“ Had our journey ended happily, each would have taken
credit to himself for the happy thought of suggesting this plan
and preferring it to others; each would joyfully have put us in
mind of our deliberations and of the vote he gave: but now you
make me alone responsible; you force a piece of blame upon me,
which I would willingly submit to, if my conscience, with a clear
voice, did not pronounce me innocent, nay, if I might not:appeal
with safety even to yourselves. If you have aught to say against
me, bring it forward in order, and I shall defend myself; if you
VOL. I.
10
218
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
have nothing reasonable to allege, then be silent, and do not tor-
ment me now, when I have such pressing need of rest.”
By way of answer, the girls once more began whimpering and
whining, and describing their losses circumstantially. Melina
was quite beside himself; for he had suffered more in purse than
any of them ; more, indeed, than we can rightly estimate. He
stamped like a madman up and down the little room, he knocked
his head against the wall, he swore and scolded in the most un-
seemly manner; and the landlady entering at this very time with
news that his wife had been delivered of a dead child, he yielded
to the most furious ebullitions, while in accordance with him all
howled and shrieked, and bellowed, and uproared with double
vigor.
Wilhelm, touched to the heart at once with sympathy in their
sorrows, and with vexation at their mean way of thinking, felt
all the vigor of his soul awakened, notwithstanding the weakness
of his body. “Deplorable as your case may be," exclaimed he,
“I shall almost be compelled to despise you. No misfortune
gives us right to load an innocent man with reproaches. If I
had share in this false step, am not I suffering my share? I lie
wounded here ; and if the company has come to loss, I myself
have come to most. The wardrobe of which we have been
robbed, the decorations that are gone, were mine; for you, Herr
Melina, have not yet paid me, and I here fully acquit you of all
obligation in that matter."
“It is well to give what none of us will ever see again,” re-
plied Melina. “Your money was lying in my wife's coffer, and
it is your own blame that you have lost it. But ah! if that were
all!” And thereupon he began anew to stamp, and scold, and
squeal. Every one recalled to memory the superb clothes from
the Count's wardrobe; the buckles, watches, snuff-boxes, hats,
for which Melina had so happily transacted with the head valet.
Each, then, thought also of his own, though far inferior treasures.
They looked with spleen at Philina's box; and gave Wilhelm to
understand that he had indeed done wisely to connect himself
with that fair personage, and to save his own goods also, under
the shadow of her fortune.
this false if the comparobe of
BOOK IV. CHAP. VIIITY
219
.
i
“ Do you think,” he exclaimed at last, " that I shall, keep any-
thing apart while you are starving? And is this the first time
I have honestly shared with you in a season of need? Open
the trunk; all that is mine shall go to supply the common
wants."
“It is my trunk,” observed Philina, " and I will not open it
till I please. Your rag or two of clothes, which I have saved
for you, could amount to little, though they were sold to the most
conscientious of Jews. Think of yourself; what your cure will
cost, what may befall you in a strange country.”
“You, Philina," answered Wilhelm, “will keep back from me
nothing that is mine; and that little will help us out of the first
perplexity. But a man possesses many things besides coined
money to assist his friends with. All that is in me shall be de-
voted to these hapless persons; who, doubtless, on returning to
their senses, will repent their present conduct. Yes," continued
he, “I feel that you have need of help, and what is mine to do,
I will perform. Give me your confidence again ; compose your-
selves for a moment, and accept of what I promise! Who will
receive the engagement of me in the name of all ?”
Here he stretched out his hand and cried: “I promise not to
flinch from you, never to forsake you till each shall see his losses
doubly and trebly repaired; till the situation you are fallen into,
by whose blame soever, shall be totally forgotten by all of you,
and changed with a better."
He kept his hand still stretched out; but no one would take
hold of it. “I promise it again,” cried he, sinking back upon
his pillow. All continued silent; they felt ashamed, but nothing
comforted; and Philina, sitting on her chest, kept cracking nuts,
a stock of which she had discovered in her pocket.
220
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
CHAPTER IX.
T HE huntsman now came back with several people, and made
I preparations for carrying away the wounded youth. He
had persuaded the parson of the place to receive the “young
couple” into his house; Philina's trunk was taken out; she fol-
lowed with a natural air of dignity. Mignon ran before; and
when the patient reached the parsonage, a wide couch, which had
long been standing ready as guests bed and bed of honor, was
assigned him. Here it was first discovered that his wound had
opened and bled profusely. A new bandage was required for it.
He fell into a feverish state; Philina waited on him faithfully,
and when fatigue overpowered her, she was relieved by the
harper. Mignon, with the firmest purpose to watch, had fallen
asleep in a corner.
Next morning, Wilhelm, who felt himself in some degree re-
freshed, learned, by inquiring of the huntsman, that the honor-
able persons who last night assisted him so nobly, had shortly
before left their estates, in order to avoid the movements of the
contending armies, and remain till the time of peace, in some
more quiet district. He named the elderly nobleman, as well
as his niece; mentioned the place they were first going to; and
told how the young lady had charged him to take care of Wil-
helm.
The entrance of the surgeon interrupted the warm expressions
of gratitude in which our friend was pouring out his feelings.
He made a circumstantial description of the wounds; and certi-
fied that they would soon heal, if the patient took care of them,
and kept himself at peace.
When the huntsman was gone, Philina signified that he had
left with her a purse of twenty louis-d'or ; that he had given the
parson a remuneration for their lodging, and left with him money
to defray the surgeon's bill when the cure should be completed.
She added, that she herself passed everywhere for Wilhelm's
wife : that she now begged leave to introduce herself once for
all to him in this capacity, and would not allow him to look out
for any other sick-nurse.
BOOK IV. CHAP. IX.
221
“ Philina,” said Wilhelm, “in this disaster that has overtaken
us, I am already deeply in your debt, for kindness shown me;
and I should not wish to see my obligations increased. I am
restless so long as you are near me: for I know of nothing by
which I can repay your labor. Give me my things which you
have saved in your trunk; unite yourself to the rest of the com-
pany; seek another lodging, take my thanks, and the gold watch
as a small acknowledgment: only leave me; your presence dis-
turbs me more than you can fancy."
She laughed in his face when he had ended. “Thou art a
fool," she said ; “ thou wilt not gather wisdom. I know better
what is good for thee; I will stay, I will not budge from the
spot. I have never counted on the gratitude of men, and there-
fore not on thine; and if I have a touch of kindness for thee,
what hast thou to do with it?”
She stayed accordingly; and soon wormed herself into favor
with the parson and his household; being always cheerful, hav-
ing the knack of giving little presents, and of talking to each in
his own vein; at the same time always contriving to do exactly
what she pleased. Wilhelm's state was not uncomfortable: the
surgeon, an ignorant but no unskilful man, let nature play her
part; and the patient was not long till he felt himself recover-
ing. For such a consummation, being eager to pursue his plans
and wishes, he vehemently longed.
Incessantly he kept recalling that event, which had made an
ineffaceable impression on his heart. He saw the beautiful Ama-
zon again come riding out of the thickets; she approached him,
dismounted, went to and fro, and strove to serve him. He saw
the garment she was wrapped in fall down from her shoulders ;
he saw her countenance, her figure vanish in their radiance. All
the dreams of his youth now fastened on this image. Here he
conceived he had at length beheld the noble, the heroic Clorinda
with his own eyes : and again he bethought him of that royal
youth, to whose sick-bed the lovely, sympathizing princess came
in her modest meekness.
“May it not be," said he often to himself in secret, “ that in
youth as in sleep, the images of coming things hover round us,
222
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
and mysteriously become visible to our unobstructed eyes ? May
not the seeds of what is to betide us be already-scattered by the
hand of Fate; may not a foretaste of the fruits we yet hope to
gather possibly be given us ?”
His sick-bed gave him leisure to repeat those scenes in every
mood. A thousand tinies he called back the tone of that sweet
voice; a thousand times he envied Philina, who had kissed that
helpful hand. Often the whole incident appeared before him as
a dream ; and he would have reckoned it a fiction, if the white
surtout had not been left behind to convince him that the vision
had a real existence.
With the greatest care for this piece of apparel, he combined
the greatest wish to wear it. The first time he arose he put it
on; and was kept in fear all day, lest it might be hurt by some
stain or other injury.
CHAPTER X.
.
T AERTES visited his friend. He had not assisted in that
I lively scene at the inn, being then confined to bed in an
upper chamber. For his loss he was already in a great degree
consoled; he helped himself with his customary, “ Wliat does it
signify?" He detailed various laughable particulars about the
company; particularly charging Frau Melina with lamenting the
loss of her still-born daughter, solely because she herself could
not on that account enjoy the Old-German satisfaction of having
a Mechthilde christened. As for her husband, it now appeared
that he had been possessed of abundant cash; and even at first
had by no means needed the advances which he had cajoled from
Wilhelm. Melina's present plan was to set off by the next post-
wagen ; and he meant to require of Wilhelm an introductory
letter to his friend, the Manager Serlo, in whose company, the
present undertaking having gone to wreck, he now wished to
establish himself.
For some days Mignon had been singularly quiet ; wlien
pressed with questions, she at length admitted that her right
S
BOOK IV. CHAP. X.
223
arm was out of joint. “Thou hast thy own folly to thank for
that,” observed Philina, and then told how the child had drawn
her sword in the battle ; and seeing her friend in peril, had
struck fiercely at the freebooters; one of whom had at length
seized her by the arm, and pitched her to a side. They chid her
for not sooner speaking of her ailment; but they easily saw that
she was apprehensive of the surgeon, who had hitherto looked
on her as a boy. With a view to remove the mischief, she was
made to keep her arm in a sling; which arrangement, too, dis-
pleased her ; for now she was obliged to surrender most part of
her share in the management and nursing of our friend to Phi-
lina. That pleasing sinner but showed herself the more active
and attentive on this account.
One morning, on awakening, Wilhelm found himself in a
strange neighborhood with her. In the movements of sleep, he
had hitched himself quite to the back of his spacious bed. Phi-
lina was lying across from the front part of it; she seemed to
have fallen asleep while sitting on the bed and reading. A book
had dropped from her hand; she had sunk back, and her head
was lying near his breast, over which her fair and now loosened
hair was spread in streams. The disorder of sleep enlivened her
charms more than art or purpose could have done ; a childlike
smiling rest hovered on her countenance. He looked at her for
a time ; and seemed to blame himself for the pleasure which this
gave him. He had viewed her attentively for some moments,
when she began to awake. He softly closed his eyes; but could
not help glimmering at her through his eyelashes, as she trimmed
herself again, and went away to consult about breakfast.
All the actors had at length successively announced themselves
to Wilhelm; asking introductory letters, requiring money for
their journey with more or less impatience and ill-breeding; and
constantly receiving it against Philina's will. It was in vain for
her to tell our friend that the huntsman had already left a hand-
some sum with these people, and that accordingly they did but
cozen him. To these remonstrances he gave no heed; on the
contrary, the two had a sharp quarrel on the subject; which
ended by Wilhelm signifying, once for all, that Philina must
224
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
now join the rest of the company, and seek her fortune with
Serlo.
For an instant or two she lost temper; but speedily recover-
ing her composure, she cried : “ If I had but my fair-haired boy
again, I should not care a fig for any of you.” She meant Fried-
rich, who had vanished from the scene of battle, and never since
appeared.
Next morning Mignon brought news to the bedside, that Phi-
lina had gone off by night, leaving all that belonged to Wilhelm
very neatly laid out in the next room. He felt her absence; he
had lost in her a faithful nurse, a cheerful companion; he was no
longer used to be alone. But Mignon soon filled up the blank.
Ever since that light-minded beauty had been near the patient
with her friendly cares, the little creature had by degrees drawn
back, and remained silent and secluded in herself; but the field
being clear once more, she again came forth with her attentions
and her love; again was eager in serving, and lively in enter-
taining him.
CHAPTER XI.
TILHELM was rapidly approaching complete recovery:
he now hoped to be upon his journey in a few days.
He proposed no more to lead an aimless routine of existence :
the steps of his career were henceforth to be calculated for an
end. In the first place, he purposed to seek out that beneficent
lady, and express the gratitude he felt to her; then to proceed
without delay to his friend the Manager, that he might do his
utmost to assist the luckless company; intending, at the same
time, to visit the commercial friends whom he had letters for,
and to transact the business which had been intrusted to him.
He was not without hope that fortune, as formerly, would favor
him ; and give him opportunity, by some lucky speculation, to
repair his losses, and fill up the vacuity of his coffer.
The desire of again beholding his beautiful deliverer aug-
mented every day. To settle his route, he took counsel with the
BOOK IV. CHAP. XI.
225
clergyman, a person well skilled in statistics and geography, and
possessing a fine collection of charts and books on those subjects.
They two searched for the place which this noble farnily had
chosen as their residence while the war continued; they searched
for information respecting the family itself. But their place was
to be found in no geography or map; and the heraldic manuals
made no mention of their name.
Wilhelm became restless; and having mentioned the cause of
his uneasiness, the harper told him he had reason to believe that
the huntsman, for whatever reason, had concealed the real desig-
nations.
Conceiving himself now to be in the immediate neighborhood
of his lovely benefactress, Wilhelm hoped he might obtain some
tidings of her if he sent out the harper; but in this, too, he was
deceived. Diligently as the old man kept inquiring, he could
find no trace of her. Of late days, a number of quick move-
ments and unforeseen marches had taken place in that quarter;
no one bad particularly noticed the travelling party; and the an-
cient messenger, to avoid being taken for a Jewish spy, was
obliged to return, and appear without any olive-leaf before his
master and friend. He gave a strict account of his conduct in
this commission ; striving to keep far from him all suspicions of
remissness. He endeavored by every means to mitigate the
trouble of our friend; bethought him of everything that he had
learned from the huntsman, and advanced a number of conjec-
tures ; out of all which, one circumstance at length came to light,
whereby Wilhelm could explain some enigmatic words of his
vanished benefactress.
The freebooters, it appeared, had lain in wait, not for the wan-
dering troop, but for that noble company, whom they rightly
guessed to be provided with store of gold and valuables, and
of whose movements they must have had precise intelligence.
Whether the attack should be imputed to some free corps, to
marauders, or to robbers, was uncertain. It was clear, however,
that by good fortune for the high and rich company, the poor
and low had first arrived upon the place, and undergone the fate
which was provided for the others. It was to this that the lady's
10 *
226
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
words referred, which Wilhelm yet well recollected. If he might
now be happy and contented, that a prescient Genius had se-
lected him for the sacrifice, which saved a perfect mortal, he was,
on the other hand, nigh desperate, when he thought that all hope
of finding her and seeing her again was, at least for the present,
completely gone.
What increased this singular emotion still further, was the
likeness which he thought he had observed between the Countess
and the beautiful unknown. They resembled one another as
two sisters may, of whom neither can be called the younger or
the elder, for they seem to be twins.
The recollection of the amiable Countess was to Wilhelm in-
finitely sweet. He recalled her image but too willingly into his
memory. But anon the figure of the noble Amazon would step
between ; one vision melted and changed into the other, and the
form of neither would abide with him.
A new resemblance, - the similarity of their handwritings, —
naturally struck him with still greater wonder. He had a charm-
ing song in the Countess's hand laid up in his portfolio; and in
the surtout he had found a little note, inquiring with much tender
care about the health of an uncle.
Wilhelm was convinced that his benefactress must have penned
this billet; that it must have been sent from one chamber to
another, at some inn during their journey, and put into the coat-
pocket by the uncle. He held both papers together; and if the
regular and graceful letters of the Countess had already pleased
him much, he found in the similar but freer lines of the stranger
a flowing harmony which could not be described. The note con-
tained nothing; yet the strokes of it seemed to affect him, as the
presence of their fancied writer once had done.
He fell into a dreamy longing; and well accordant with his
feelings was the song which at that instant Mignon and the
harper began to sing, with a touching expression, in the forin
of an irregular duet :
“You never longed and loved,
You know not grief like mine:
Alone and far removed
From joys or hopes, I pina:
BOOK IV. CHAP. XII.
227
A foreign sky above,
And a foreign earth below me,
To the south I look all day;
For the hearts that love and kuow me
Are far, are far away
I burn, I faint, I languish,
My heart is waste, and sick, and sore;
Who has not longed in baffled anguish,
Cannot know what I deplore."
CHAPTER XII.
THE soft allurements of his dear presiding angel, far from
I leading our friend to any one determined path, did but
nourish and increase the unrest which he had previously expe-
rienced. A secret fire was gliding through his veins ; objects
distinct and indistinct alternated within his soul, and awoke un-
speakable desire. At one time he wished for a horse, at another
for wings; and not till it seemed impossible that he could stay,
did he look round him to discover whither he was wanting
to go.
The threads of his destiny had become so strangely entangled,
he wished to see its curious knots unravelled or cut in two.
Often, when he heard the tramp of a horse, or the rolling of a
carriage, he would run to the window and look out, in hopes it
might be some one seeking him ; some one, even though it were
by chance, bringing him intelligence and certainty and joy. He
told stories to himself, how his friend Werner might visit these
parts and come upon him; how perhaps Mariana might appear.
The sound of every post's horn threw him into agitation. It
would be Melina sending news to him of his adventures ; above
all, it would be the huntsman coming back to carry him to the
beauty whom he worshipped.
Of all these possibilities, unhappily no one occurred: he was
forced at last to return to the company of himself; and in again
looking through the past, there was one circumstance, which the
more he viewed and weighed it, grew the more offensive and
228
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
intolerable to him. It was his unprosperous generalship; of
which he never thought without vexation. For although, on
the evening of that luckless day, he had produced a pretty fair
defence of his conduct when accused by the company, yet he
could not hide from himself that he was guilty. On the con-
trary, in hypochondriac moments he took the blame of the whole
misfortune.
Self-love exaggerates our faults as well as our virtues. Wil-
helm thought he had awakened confidence in him, had guided
the will of the rest ; that, led by inexperience and rashness,
they had ventured on, till a danger seized them, for which they
were not match. Loud as well as silent reproaches had then
assailed him: and if in their sorrowful condition, he had prom-
ised to the company, misguided by him, never to forsake them
till their loss had been repaid with usury; this was but another
folly for which he had to blame himself, — the folly of presuming
to take upon his single shoulders a misfortune that was spread
over many. One instant he accused himself of uttering this
promise, under the excitement and the pressure of the moment;
the next, he again felt that this generous presentation of his
hand, which no one deigned to accept, was but a light formality
compared with the vow which his heart had taken. He medi-
tated means of being kind and useful to them; he found every
cause conspire to quicken his visit to Serlo. Accordingly he
packed his things together ; and without waiting his complete
recovery, without listening to the counsel of the parson or the
surgeon, he hastened, in the strange society of Mignon and the
harper, to escape the inactivity in which his fate had once more
too long detained him.
BOOK IV. CHAP. XIII.
229
CHAPTER XIII.
CERLO received him with open arms, crying as he met him :
D “Is it you? Do I see you again ? You have scarcely
changed at all. Is your love for that noblest of arts still as
lively and strong ? I myself am so glad at your arrival, I even
feel no longer the mistrust which your last letters had excited
in me.”
Wilhelm asked with surprise for a clearer explanation.
“You have treated me,” said Serlo, “not like an old friend,
but as if I were a great lord, to whom with a safe conscience
you might recommend useless people. Our destiny depends ou
the opinion of the public; and I fear Herr Melina and his suite
can hardly be received among us.”
Wilhelm tried to say something in their favor; but Serlo
began to draw so merciless a picture of them, that our friend
was happy when a lady came into the room, and put a stop to
the discussion. She was introduced to him as Aurelia, the sister
of his friend ; she received him with extreme kindness; and her
conversation was so pleasing, that he did not once remark a shade
of sorrow visible on her expressive countenance, to which it lent
peculiar interest.
For the first time during many months, Wilhelm felt himself
in his proper element once more. Of late in talking, he had
merely found submissive listeners, and even these not always;
but now he had the happiness to speak with critics and artists,
who not only fully understood him, but repaid his observations
by others equally instructive. With wonderful vivacity they
judged them. The decisions of the public they could try and
estimate : they speedily threw light on each other's thoughts.
Loving Shakespeare as our friend did, he failed not to lead
round the conversation to the merits of that dramatist. Ex-
pressing, as he entertained, the liveliest hopes of the new epoch
which these exquisite productions must form in Germany, he
erelong introduced his Hamlet, who had busied him so much
of late.
230
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
Serlo declared that he would long ago have played the piece,
had this been possible, and that he himself would willingly en-
gage to act Polonius. IIe added, with a smile, “An Ophelia,
too, will certainly turn up, if we had but a Prince.”
Wilhelm did not notice that Aurelia seemed a little hurt at
her brother's sarcasm. Our friend was in his proper vein, be-
coming copious and didactic, expounding how he would have
Hamlet played. He circumstantially delivered to his hearers
the opinions we before saw him busied with ; taking all the
trouble possible to make his notion of the matter acceptable,
skeptical as Serlo showed himself regarding it. “Well then,”
said the latter, finally, “suppose we grant you all this, what will
you explain by it?"
“Much, everything," said Wilhelm. “Conceive a prince such
as I have painted him, and that his father suddenly dies. Am-
bition and the love of rule are not the passions that inspire him.
As a king's son, he would have been contented; but now he is
first constrained to consider the difference which separates a sov-
ereign from a subject. The crown was not hereditary; yet a
longer possession of it by his father would have strengthened the
pretensions of an only son, and secured his hopes of the succes-
sion. In place of this, he now beholds himself excluded by his
uncle, in spite of specious promises, most probably forever. He
is now poor in goods and favor, and a stranger in the scene which
from youth he had looked upon as his inheritance. His temper
here assumes its first mournful tinge. He feels that now he is
not more, that he is less, than a private nobleman; he offers him-
self as the servant of every one; he is not courteous and conde-
scending, he is needy and degraded.
“ His past condition he remembers as a vanished dream. It is
in vain that his uncle strives to cheer him, to present his situation
in another point of view. The feeling of his nothingness will
not leave him.
“The second stroke that came upon him wounded deeper,
bowed still more. It was the marriage of his mother. The
faithful tender son had yet a mother, when his father passed
away. He hoped, in the company of his surviving noble-minded
BOOK IV. CHAP. XII.
231
parent, to reverence the heroic form of the departed; but his
mother too he loses, and it is something worse than death that
robs him of her. The trustful image, which a good child loves
to form of its parents, is gone. With the dead there is no help;
on the living no hold. She also is a woman, and her name is
Frailty, like that of all her sex.
“Now first does he feel himself completely bent and orphaned ;
and no happiness of life can repay what he has lost. Not re-
flective or sorrowful by nature, reflection and sorrow have be-
come for him a heavy obligation. It is thus that we see him first
enter on the scene. I do not think that I have mixed aught
foreign with the piece, or overcharged a single feature of it.”
Serlo looked at his sister, and said, “ Did I give thee a false
picture of our friend? He begins well; he has still many things
to tell us, many to persuade.us of.” Wilhelm asseverated loudly,
that he meant not to persuade, but to convince; he begged for
another moment's patience.
“Figure to yourselves this youth,” cried he, “this son of
princes; conceive him vividly, bring his state before your eyes,
and then observe him when he learns that his father's spirit
walks; stand by him in the terrors of the night, when the ven-
erable ghost itself appears before him. A horrid shudder passes
over him; he speaks to the mysterious form; he sees it beckon
bim; he follows it, and hears. The fearful accusation of his
uncle rings in his ears; the summons to revenge, and the piercing
oft-repeated prayer, Remember me !
“And when the ghost has vanished, who is it that stands be-
fore us? A young hero panting for vengeance ? A prince by
birth, rejoicing to be called to punish the usurper of his crown?
No! trouble and astonishment take hold of the solitary young
man: he grows bitter against smiling villains, swears that he will
not forget the spirit, and concludes with the significant ejacula-
tion:-
"The time is out of joint: O cursed spite,
That ever I was born to set it right!'
“ In these words, I imagine, will be found the key to Hamlet's
whole procedure. To me it is clear that Shakespeare meant, in
232
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
the present case, to represent the effects of a great action laid
upon a soul unfit for the performance of it. In this view the
whole piece seems to me to be composed. There is an oak-tree
planted in a costly jar, which should have borne only pleasant
flowers in its bosom; the roots expand, the jar is shivered.
“A lovely, pure, noble, and most moral nature, without the
strength of nerve which forms a hero, sinks beneath a burden
which it cannot bear and must not cast away. All duties are
holy for him; the present is too hard. Impossibilities have been
required of him; not in themselves impossibilities, but such for
him. He winds, and turns, and torments himself; he advances
and recoils; is ever put in mind, ever puts himself in mind; at
last does all but lose his purpose from his thoughts; yet still
without recovering his peace of mind."
CHAPTER XIV.
CEVERAL people entering interrupted the discussion. They
w were musical dilettanti, who commonly assembled at Serlo's
once a week, and formed a little concert. Serlo himself loved
music much: he used to maintain, that a player without taste for
it never could attain a distinct conception and feeling of the
scenic art. “As a man performs," he would observe, “ with far
more ease and dignity, when his gestures are accompanied and
guided by a tune; so the player ought, in idea as it were, to set
to music even his prose parts, that he may not monotonously
slight them over in his individual style, but treat them in suitable
alternation by time and measure.”
Aurelia seemed to give but little heed to what was passing;
at last, she conducted Wilhelm to another room, and going to the
window, and looking out at the starry sky, she said to him:
“You have still much to tell us about Hamlet; I will not hurry
you; my brother must hear it as well as I; but let me beg to
know your thoughts about Ophelia.”
“Of her there cannot much be said," he answered; " for a few
BOOK IV. CHAP. XIV,
233
master-strokes complete her character. The whole being of
Ophelia floats in sweet and ripe sensation. Kindness for the
Prince, to whose hand she may aspire, flows so spontaneously, her
tender heart obeys its impulses so unresistingly, that both father
and brother are afraid ; both give her warning harshly and di-
rectly. Decorum, like the thin lawn upon her bosom, cannot
hide the soft, still movements of her heart; it on the contrary
betrays them. Her fancy is smit; her silent modesty breathes
amiable desire; and if the friendly goddess Opportunity should
shake the tree, its fruit would fall.”
· “ And then,” said Aurelia, “when she beholds herself forsaken,
cast away, despised; when all is inverted in the soul of her
crazed lover, and the highest changes to the lowest, and instead
of the sweet cup of love he offers her the bitter cup of woe —”
“Her heart breaks,” cried Wilhelm; "the whole structure of
her being is loosened from its joinings; her father's death strikes
fiercely against it; and the fair edifice altogether crumbles into
fragments.”
Our friend had not observed with what expressiveness Aurelia
pronounced those words. Looking only at this work of art, at
its connection and completeness, he dreamed not that his audi-
tress was feeling quite a different influence; that a deep sorrow
of her own was vividly awakened in her breast by these dra-
matic shadows.
Aurelia's head was still resting on her arms; and her eyes,
now full of tears, were directed to the sky. At last, no longer
able to conceal her secret grief, she seized both hands of her
friend, and exclaimed, while he stood surprised before her: "For-
give, forgive a heavy heart! I am girt and pressed together by
these people; from my hard-hearted brother I must seek to hide
myself; your presence has untied these bonds. My friend !”
continued she, “it is but a few minutes since we saw each other
first, and already you are going to become my confidant.” She
could scarcely end the words, and sank upon his shoulder.
“ Think not worse of me,” she said, with sobs, “ that I disclose
myself to you so hastily, that I am so weak before you. Be my
friend, remain my friend; I shall deserve it.” He spoke to her
234
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
in his kindest manner: but in vain ; her tears still flowed, and
choked her words.
At this moment Serlo entered, most unwelcomely; and most
unexpectedly, Phiina with her hand in his. “Here is your
friend,” said he to her; "he will be glad to make his compli-
ments to you."
“How !” cried Wilhelm in astonishment; “are you here!”
With a modest, settled mien, she went up to him; bade him wel-
come; praised Serlo's goodness, who, she said, without merit on
her part, but purely in the hope of her improvement, had agreed
to admit her into his accomplished troop. She behaved, all the
while, in a friendly manner towards Wilhelm, yet with a digni-
fied distance.
But this dissimulation lasted only till the other two were gone.
Aurelia having left them, that she might conceal her trouble, and
Serlo being called away, Philina first looked very sharply at the
doors, to see that both were really out; then began skipping to
and fro about the room, as if she had been mad; at last dropped
down upon the floor, like to die of giggling and laughing. She
then sprang up, patted and flattered our friend ; rejoicing above
measure that she had been clever enough to go before, and spy
the land and get herself nestled in.
“Pretty things are going on here,” she said ; “just of the sort
I like. Aurelia has had a hapless love-affair with some noble-
man, who seems to be a very stately person, one whom I myself
could like to see some day. He has left her a memorial, or I
much mistake. There is a boy running about the house, of three
years old or so; the papa must be a very pretty fellow. Com-
monly I cannot suffer children, but this brat quite delights me.
I have calculated Aurelia's business. The death of her husband,
the new acquaintance, the child's age, all things agree.
“But now her spark has gone his ways; for a year she has
not seen a glimpse of him. She is beside herself and inconsola-
ble on this account. The more fool she! Her brother has a
dancing-girl in his troop with whom he stands on pretty terms;
an actress to whom he is betrothed; in the town, some other
women whom he courts; I too am on his list. The more fool
BOOK IV. CHAP. XV.
235
he! Of the rest thou shalt hear to-morrow. And now one word
about Philina, whom thou knowest: the arch-fool is fallen in
love with thee.” She swore that it was true, and a proper joke.
She earnestly requested Wilhelm to fall in love with Aurelia ;
for then the chase would be worth beholding. “She pursues her
faithless swain, thou her, I thee, her brother me. If that will
not divert us for a quarter of a year, I engage to die at the first
episode which occurs in this four times complicated tale.” She
begged of him not to spoil her trade, and to show her such re-
spect as her external conduct should deserve.
CHAPTER XV.
TEXT morning Wilhelm went to visit Frau Melina ; but
I found her not at home. On inquiring here for the other
members of the wandering community, he learned that Philina
had invited them to breakfast. Out of curiosity, he hastened
thither; and found them all cleared up and not a little comforted.
The cunning creature had collected them, was treating them with
chocolate, and giving them to understand that some prospects
still remained for them; that, by her influence, she hoped to con-
vince the manager how advantageous it would be for him to in-
troduce so many clever hands among his company. They listened
to her with attention ; swallowed cup after cup of her chocolate ;
thought the girl was not so bad after all, and went away pro-
posing to themselves to speak whatever good of her they could.
“Do you think then,” said our friend, who stayed behind,
" that Serlo will determine to retain our comrades?” “Not at
all,” replied Philina; “nor do I care a fig for it. The sooner
they are gone the better! Laertes alone I could wish to keep;
the rest we shall by and by pack off.”
Next she signified to Wilhelm her firm persuasion that he
should no longer bide his talent; but, under the direction of a
Serlo, go upon the boards. She was lavish in her praises of the
order, the taste, the spirit, which prevailed in this establishment:
236
.
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
-she spoke so flatteringly to Wilhelm; with such admiration of
his gifts, that his heart and his imagination were advancing to-
wards this proposal, as fast as his understanding and his reason
were retreating from it. He concealed his inclination from him-
self and from Philina; and passed a restless day, unable to re-
solve on visiting his trading correspondents, to receive the letters
which might there be lying for him. The anxieties of his people
during all this time he easily conceived ; yet he shrank from the
precise account of them; particularly at the present time, as he
promised to himself a great and pure enjoyment from the ex-
hibition of a new piece that evening.
Serlo had refused to let him witness the rehearsal. “You
must see us on the best side,” he observed, “before we can allow
you to look into our cards."
The acting of the piece, however, where our friend did not
fail to be present, yielded him a high satisfaction. It was the
first time he had ever seen a theatre in such perfection. The
actors were evidently all possessed of excellent gifts, of superior
capacities, and a high, clear notion of their art; they were not
equal; but they mutually restrained and supported one another;
each breathed ardor into those around him ; throughout all their
acting, they showed themselves decided and correct. You soon
felt that Serlo was the soul of the whole; as an individual he
appeared to much advantage. A merry humor, a measured vi-
vacity, a settled feeling of propriety, combined with a great gift
of imitation, were to be observed in him the moment he appeared
upon the stage. The inward contentment of his being seemed
to spread itself over all that looked on him ; and the intellectual
style, in which he could so easily and gracefully express the finest
shadings of his part, excited more delight, as he could conceal
the art which, by long-continued practice, he had made his own.
Aurelia, his sister, was not inferior; she obtained still greater
approbation, for she touched the souls of the audience, which it
was his to exhilarate and amuse.
After a few days had passed pleasantly enough, Aurelia sent
to inquire for our friend. He hastened to her: she was lying on
a sofa ; she seemed to be suffering from headache; her whole
S
BOOK IV. CHAP. XV.
237
frame had visibly a feverish movement. Her eye lighted up as
she noticed Wilhelm. “Pardon me!" she cried, as he entered ;
“the trust you have inspired me with has made me weak. Till
now I have contrived to bear up against my woes in secret; nay,
they gave me strength and consolation : but now, I know not
how it is, you have loosened the bands of silence; you must,
against your will, take part in the battle I am fighting with
myself.”
Wilhelm answered her in friendly and obliging terms. He
declared that her image and her sorrows had not ceased to hover
in his thoughts; that he longed for her confidence, and devoted
himself to be her friend.
While he spoke, his eyes were attracted to the boy, who sat
before her on the floor, and was busy rattling a multitude of
playthings. This child, as Philina had observed, might be about
three years of age ; and Wilhelm now conceived how that giddy
creature, seldom elevated in her phraseology, had likened it to
the sun. For its cheerful eyes and full countenance were shaded
by the finest golden locks, which flowed round in copious curls :
dark, slender, softly-bending eyebrows, showed themselves upon
a brow of dazzling whiteness; and the living tinge of health
was glancing on its cheeks. “Sit by me,” said Aurelia : “you
are looking at the happy child with admiration ; in truth, I took
it into my arms with joy; I keep it carefully: yet by it too I
can measure the extent of my sufferings; for they seldom let me
feel the worth of such a gift.
“ Allow me,” she continued, “ to speak to you about myself
and my destiny; for I have it much at heart that you should not
misunderstand me. I thought I should have a few calm instants,
and accordingly I sent for you; you are now here, and the
thread of my narrative is lost. . .
“One more forsaken woman in the world !' you will say.
You are a man ; you are thinking, What a noise she makes,
the fool, about a necessary evil; which, certainly as death, awaits
a woman, when such is the fidelity of men! O my friend ! if
my fate were common, I would gladly undergo a common evil ;
but it is so singular : why cannot I present it to you in a mirror,
238
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
why not command some one to tell it you? O, had I, had I
been seduced, surprised, and afterwards forsaken, there would
then still be comfort in despair : but I am far more miserable : I
have been my own deceiver ; I have wittingly betrayed myself ;
and this, this is what shall never be forgiven me."
“With noble feelings, such as yours,” said Wilhelm, “ you can
never be entirely unhappy."
“And do you know to what I am indebted for my feelings?”
asked Aurelia. “To the worst education that ever threatened
to contaminate a girl ; to the vilest examples for misleading the
senses and the inclinations. .
“My mother dying early, the fairest years of my youth were
spent with an aunt, whose principle it was to despise the laws of
decency. She resigned herself headlong to every impulse; care-
less whether the object of it proved her tyrant or ber slave, so
she might forget herself in wild enjoyment.
“ By children, with the pure clear vision of innocence, what
ideas of men were necessarily formed in such a scene! How
stolid, brutally bold, importunate, unmannerly, was every one
whom she allured! How sated, empty, insolent, and tasteless,
when he left her! I have seen this woman live, for years, hum-
bled under the control of the meanest creatures. What incidents
she had to undergo! With what a front she contrived to accom-
modate herself to her destiny; nay, with how much skill, to wear
these shameful fetters !
“It was thus, my friend, that I became acquainted with your
sex: and deeply did I hate it, when, as I imagined, I observed
that even tolerable men, in their conduct to ours, appeared to
renounce every honest feeling, of which Nature might otherwise
have made them capable.
“Unhappily, moreover, on such occasions, a multitude of pain-
ful discoveries about my own sex were forced upon me: and in
truth I was then wiser, as a girl of sixteen, than I now am, now
that I scarcely understand myself. Why are we so wise when
young; so wise, and ever growing less so ?”
The boy began to make a noise; Aurelia became impatient,
and rung. An old woman came to take him out. “ Hast thou
BOOK IV. CHAP. XV.
239
toothache still ? ” said Aurelia to the crone, whose face was
wrapped in cloth. “Unsufferable," said the other, with a muf-
fled voice ; then lifted the boy, who seemed to like going with
her, and carried him away..
Scarcely was he gone, when Aurelia began bitterly to weep.
“I am good for nothing," cried she, “ but lamenting and com-
plaining; and I feel ashamed to lie before you like a miserable
worm. My recollection is already fled ; I can relate no more.”
She faltered, and was silent. Her friend, unwilling to reply with
à commonplace, and unable to reply with anything particularly
applicable, pressed her hand, and looked at her for some time
without speaking. Thus embarrassed, he at length took up a
book, which he noticed lying on the table before him : it was
Shakespeare's works, and open at Hamlet.
Serlo, at this moment entering, inquired about his sister; and
looking in the book which our friend had hold of, cried : “So
you are again at Hamlet ? Very good! Many doubts have
arisen in me, which seem not a little to impair the canonical
aspect of the piece as you would have it viewed. The English
themselves have admitted that its chief interest concludes with
the third act; the last two lagging sorrily on, and scarcely unit-
ing with the rest : and certainly about the end it seems to stand
stock-still.”
“It is very possible," said Wilhelm, “that some individuals of
a nation, which has so many masterpieces to feel proud of, may
be led by prejudice and narrowness of mind to form false judg-
ments : but this cannot hinder us from looking with our own
eyes, and doing justice where we see it due. I am very far
from censuring the plan of Hamlet; on the other hand, I be-
lieve there never was a grander one invented ; nay, it is not
invented, it is real.”
“How do you demonstrate that?" inquired Serlo.
“I will not demonstrate anything,” said Wilhelm ; “I will
merely show you what my own conceptions of it are.”
Aurelia rose up from her cusliion ; leaned upon her hand, and
looked at Wilhelm : who, with the firmest assurance that he was
in the right, went on as follows: “It pleases us, it flatters us to
240
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
see a hero acting on his own strength ; loving and hating as his
heart directs him ; undertaking and completing ; casting every
obstacle aside; and at length attaining some great object which
he aimed at. Poets and historians would willingly persuade us
that so proud a lot may fall to man. In Hamlet we are taught
another lesson: the hero is without a plan, but the piece is full
of plan. Here we have no villain punished on some self-con-
ceived and rigidly-accomplished scheme of vengeance : a horrid
deed occurs ; it rolls itself along with all its consequences, drag-
ging guiltless persons also in its course; the perpetrator seems
as if he would evade the abyss which is made ready for him;
yet he plunges in, at the very point by which he thinks he shall
escape and happily complete his course.
“ For it is the property of crime to extend its mischief over
innocence, as it is of virtue to extend its blessings over many
that deserve them not; while frequently the author of the one
or of the other is not punished or rewarded at all. Here in this
play of ours, how strange! The Pit of darkness sends its spirit
and demands revenge; in vain! All circumstances tend one
way, and hurry. to revenge; in vain! Neither earthly nor infer-
nal thing may bring about what is reserved for Fate alone. The
hour of judgment comes : the wicked falls with the good: one
race is mowed away, that another may spring up."
After a pause, in which they looked at one another, Serlo said:
“ You pay no great compliment to Providence, in thus exalting
Shakespeare; and besides, it appears to me, that for the honor
of your poet, as others for the honor of Providence, you ascribe
to him an object and a plan which he himself had never thought
of."
CHAPTER XVI.
66 T ET me also put a question,” said Aurelia. “I have looked
V at Ophelia's part again ; I am contented with it, and con-
ceive that under certain circumstances I could play it. But tell
me, should not the poet have furnished the insane maiden with
BOOK IV. CHAP. XVI.
241
another sort of songs ? Could not one select some fragments
out of melancholy ballads for this purpose? What have double
meanings and lascivious insipidities to do in the mouth of such a
noble-minded person?”
“ Dear friend,” said Wilhelm, “even here I cannot yield you
one iota. In these singularities, in this apparent impropriety, a
deep sense is hid. Do we not understand from the very first
what the mind of the good soft-hearted girl was busied with ?
Silently she lived within herself, yet she scarce concealed her
wishes, her longing; the tones of desire were in secret ringing
through her soul; and how often may she have attempted, like
an unskilful nurse, to lull her senses to repose with songs which
only kept them more awake? But at last, when her self-com-
mand is altogether gone, when the secrets of her heart are hov-
ering on her tongue, that tongue betrays her, and in the inno-
cence of insanity she solaces herself, unmindful of king or queen,
with the echo of her loose and well-beloved songs: To-morrow
is Saint Valentine's day; and By Gis and by Saint Charity."
He had not finished speaking, when all at once an extraordi-
nary scene took place before him, which he could not in any way
explain.
Serlo had walked once or twice up and down the room, with-
out evincing any special object. On a sudden, he stepped for-
ward to Aurelia's dressing-table, caught hastily at something that
was lying there, and hastened to the door with his booty. No
sooner did Aurelia notice tlzis, than springing up, she threw her-
self in his way, laid hold of him with boundless vehemence, and
had dexterity enough to clutch an end of the article which he
was carrying off. They struggled and wrestled with great obsti-
nacy; twisted and threw each other sharply round: he laughed;
she exerted all her strength: and as Wilhelm hastened towards
them, to separate and soothe them, Aurelia sprang aside with a
naked dagger in her liaud, while Serlo cast the scabbard, which
had stayed with him, angrily upon the floor. Wilhelm started
back astonished; and his dumb wonder seemed to ask the cause
why so violent a strife, about so strange an implement, had taken
place between them.
VOL. I.
11
242
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
“You shall judge betwixt us," said the brother. “What has
she to do with sharp steel? Do but look at it. That dagger is
not fit for any actress : point like a needle's, edge like a razor's !
What good is it? Passionate as she is, she will one day chance
to do herself a mischief. I have a heart's hatred at such singu-
larities : a serious thought of that sort is insane, and so danger-
ous a plaything is not in taste."
“I have it back !” exclaimed Aurelia, and held the polished
blade aloft: “I will now keep my faithful friend more carefully.
Pardon me," she cried, and kissed the steel, “ that I have so neg-
lected thee.”
Serlo was like to grow seriously angry. “Take it as thou
wilt, brother," she continued: “how knowest thou but, under
this form, a precious talisman may have been given me; so that,
in extreme need, I may find help and counsel in it? Must all
be hurtful that looks dangerous ?”
“Such talk without a meaning might drive one mad,” said
Serlo, and left the room with suppressed indignation. Aurelia
put the dagger carefully into its sheath, and placed it in her
bosom. “Let us now resume the conversation which our foolish
brother has disturbed,” said she, as Wilhelm was beginning to
put questions on the subject of this quarrel.
“I must admit your picture of Ophelia to be just," continued
she; “I cannot now misunderstand the object of the poet: I
must pity, though, as you paint her, I shall rather pity her than
sympathize with her. But allow me here to offer a remark,
which in these few days you have frequently suggested to me.
I observe with admiration the correct, keen, penetrating glance
with which you judge of poetry, especially dramatic poetry; the
deepest abysses of invention are not hidden from you, the finest
touches of representation cannot escape you. Without ever hav-
ing viewed the objects in nature, you recognize the truth of their
images: there seems, as it were, a presentiment of all the uni-
verse to lie in you, which by the harmonious touch of poetry is
awakened and unfolded. For in truth,” continued she, "from
without, you receive not much: I have scarcely seen a person
that so little knew, so totally misknew the people he lived with,
BOOK IV. CHAP. XVI.
213
as you do. Allow me to say it: in hearing you expound the
mysteries of Shakespeare, one would think you had just de-
scended from a synod of the gods, and had listened there while
they were taking counsel how to form men ; in seeing you trans-
act with your fellows, I could imagine you to be the first large-
born child of the Creation, standing agape, and gazing with
strange wonderment and edifying good-nature at lions and apes,
and sheep and elephants, and true-heartedly addressing them as
your equals, simply because they were there, and in motion like
yourself.”
“ The feeling of my ignorance in this respect," said Wilhelm,
“often gives me pain ; and I should thank you, worthy friend,
if you would help me to get a little better insight into life.
From youth, I have been accustomed to direct the eyes of my
spirit inwards rather than outwards; and hence it is very natural
that to a certain extent I should be acquainted with man, while
of men I have not the smallest knowledge.”
“In truth,” said Aurelia, “I at first suspected that, in giving
such accounts of the people whom you sent to my brother, you
meant to make sport of us; when I compared your letters with
the merits of these persons, it seemed very strange.”
Aurelia's remarks, well-founded as they might be, and willing
as our friend was to confess himself deficient in this matter, car-
ried with them something painful, nay, offensive to him; so that
he grew silent, and retired within himself, partly to avoid show-
ing any irritated feeling, partly to search his mind for the truth
or error of the charge.
“ Let not this alarm you," said Aurelia : “the light of the
understanding it is always in our power to reach ; but this ful-
ness of the heart no one can give us. If you are destined for
an artist, you cannot long enough retain the dim-sightedness and
innocence of which I speak; it is the beautiful hull upon the
young bud; woe to us if we are forced too soon to burst it!
Surely it were well, if we never knew what the people are for
whom we work and study.
“Oh! I too was in that happy case, when I first betrod the
stage, with the loftiest opinion of myself and of my nation.
244
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
What a people, in my fancy, were the Germans; what a people
might they yet become! I addressed this people ; raised above
them by a little joinery, separated from them by a row of lamps,
whose glancing and vapor threw an indistinctness over every-
thing before me. How welcome was the tumult of applause,
which sounded to me from the crowd; how gratefully did I
accept the present offered me unanimously by so many hands !
For a time I rocked myself in these ideas ; I affected the multi-
tude, and was again affected by them. With my public I was
on the fairest footing; I imagined that I felt a perfect harmony
betwixt us, and that on each occasion I belield before me the
best and noblest of the land. .
“ Unhappily it was not the actress alone that inspired these
friends of the stage with interest; they likewise made preten-
sions to the young and lively girl. They gave me to understand,
in terms distinct enough, that my duty was not only to excite
emotion in them, but to share it with them personally. This
unluckily was not my business: I wished to elevate their minds;
but to what they called their hearts I had not the slightest claim.
Yet now men of all ranks, ages, and characters, by turns afflicted
me with their addresses ; and it did seem hard that I could not,
like an honest young woman, shut my door, and spare myself
such a quantity of labor.
5 The men appeared, for most part, much the same as I had
been accustomed to about my aunt; and here again I should
have felt disgusted with them, had not their peculiarities and
insipidities amused me. As I was compelled to see them, in the
theatre, in open places, in my house, I formed the project of spy-
ing out their follies, and my brother helped me with alacrity to
execute it. And if you reflect that, up from the whisking shop-
man and the conceited merchant's son, to the polished calculating
man of the world, the bold soldier, and the impetuous prince, all
in succession passed in review before me, each in his way en-
deavoring to found his small romance, you will pardon me if I
conceived that I had gained some acquaintance with my nation.
“ The fantastically dizened student; the awkward, humbly-
proud man of letters ; the sleek-fed, gouty canon ; the solemn,
245
heedful man of office; the heavy country-baron; the smirking,
vapid courtier ; the young erring parson; the cool, as well as the
quick and sharply-speculating merchant; all these I have seen
in motion ; and I swear to you that there were few among them
fitted to inspire me even with a sentiment of toleration : on the
contrary, I felt it altogether irksome to collect, with tedium and
annoyance, the suffrages of fools ; to pocket those applauses in
detail, which in their accumulated state had so delighted me,
which in the gross I had appropriated with such pleasure.
“If I expected a rational compliment upon my acting; if I
hoped that they would praise an author whom I valued, they
were sure to make one empty observation on the back of another,
and to name some tasteless piece' in which they wished to see me
play. If I listened in their company, to hear if some noble, brill-
iant, witty thought had met with a response among them, and
would reappear from some of them in proper season, it was rare
that I could catch an echo of it. An error that had happened, a
mispronunciation, a provincialism of some actor ; such were the
weighty points by which they held fast, beyond which they could
not pass. I knew not, in the end, to what hand I should turn :
themselves they thought too clever to be entertained; and me
they imagined they were well entertaining, if they romped and
made noise enough about me. I began very cordially to despise
them all; I felt as if the whole nation had, on purpose, deputed
these people to debase it in my eyes. They appeared to me so
clownish, so ill-bred, so wretchedly instructed, so void of pleasing
qualities, so tasteless : I frequently exclaimed, No German can
buckle his shoes, till he has learned to do it of some foreign
nation!
and the longer it lasted, my spleen increased. I might hare
killed myself with these things : but I fell into the contrary
extreme; I married, or rather let myself be married. My
brother, who had undertaken to conduct the theatre, wished
much to have a helper. His choice lighted on a young man,
who was not offensive to me; who wanted all that my brother
had, genius, vivacity, spirit, and impetuosity of mind; but who
246
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
also in return had all that my brother wanted, love of order, dili-
gence, and precious gifts in house-keeping and the management
of money.
“He became my husband, I know not how; we lived together,
I do not well know why. Enough, our affairs went prosperously
forward. We drew a large income; of this my brother's activity
was the cause. We lived with a moderate expenditure; and
that was the merit of my husband. I thought no more about
world or nation. With the world I had nothing to participate :
my idea of the nation had faded away. When I entered on tho
scene, I did so that I might subsist; I opened my lips because
I durst not continue silent, because I had come out to speak.
“Yet let me do the matter justice. I had altogether given
myself up to the disposal of my brother. His objects were ap-
plause and money; for, between ourselves, he has no dislike to
hear his own praises, and his outlay is always great. I no longer
played according to my own feeling, to my own conviction, but
as he directed me: and if I did it to his satisfaction, I was con-
tent. He steered entirely by the caprices of the public. Money
flowed upon us; he could live according to his humor, and so we
had good times with him.
“ Thus had I fallen into a dull, handicraft routine. I spun out
my days without joy or sympathy. My marriage was childless,
and not of long continuance. My husband grew sick ; his
strength was visibly decaying; anxiety for him interrupted my
general indifference. It was at this time that I formed an ac-
quaintance, which opened a new life for me; a new and quicker
one, for it will soon be done.”
She kept silence for a time, and then continued : “All at once
my prattling humor falters; I have not the courage to go on.
Let me rest a little. You shall not go, till you have learned the
whole extent of my misfortune. Meanwhile, call in Mignon, and
ask her what she wants.”
.
The child had more than once been in the room, while Aurelia
and our friend were talking. As they spoke lower on her en-
trance, she had glided out again, and was now sitting quietly in
the hall, and waiting. Being bid return, she brought a book with
BOOK IV. CHAP. XVI.
247
her, which its form and binding showed to be a small geographical
atlas. She had seen some maps, for the first time at the parson's
house, with great astonishment; had asked him many questions,
and informed herself so far as possible about them. Her desire
to learn seemed much excited by this new branch of knowledge.
She now earnestly requested Wilhelm to purchase her the book;
saying she had pawned her large silver buckle with the print-
seller for it, and wished to have back the pledge to-morrow morn-
ing, as this evening it was late. Her request was granted; and
she then began repeating several things she had already learned ;
at the same time, in her own way, making many very strange in-
quiries. Here again one might observe, that, with a mighty
effort, she could comprehend but little and laboriously. So like-
wise was it with her writing, at which she still kept busied.
She yet spoke very broken German: it was only when she
opened her mouth to sing, when she touched her cithern, that
she seemed to be employing an organ by which, in some degree,
the workings of her mind could be disclosed and communicated.
Since we are at present on the subject, we may also mention
the perplexity which Wilhelm had of late experienced from cer-
tain parts of her procedure. When she came or went, wished
him good morning or good night, she clasped him so firmly in
her arms, and kissed him with such ardor, that often the violence
of this expanding nature gave him serious fears. The spasmodic
vivacity of her demeanor seemed daily to increase ; her whole
being moved in a restless stillness. She would never be without
some piece of packthread to twist in her hands; some napkin to
tie in knots; some paper or wood to chew. All her sports
seemed but the channels which drained off some inward violent
commotion. The only thing that seemed to cause her any cheer-
fulness was being near the boy Felix, with whom she could go
on in a very dainty manner.
Aurelia, after a little rest, being now ready to explain to her
friend a matter which lay very near her heart, grew impatient at
the little girl's delay, and signified that she must go; a hint, how-
ever, which the latter did not take; and at last, when nothing
else would do, they sent her off expressly and against her will.
248
MEISTER’S APPRENTICESHIP.
“Now or never,” said Aurelia, “must I tell you the remainder
of my story. Were my tenderly beloved and unjust friend but
a few miles distant, I would say to you: “Mount on horseback,
seek by some means to get acquainted with him; on returning,
you will certainly forgive me, and pity me with all your heart.'
As it is, I can only tell you with words how amiable he was, and
how much I loved him.
" It was at the critical season, when care for the illness of my
husband had depressed my spirits, that I first became acquainted
with this stranger. He had just returned from America, where,
in company with some Frenchmen, he had served with much
distinction under the colors of the United States.
“He addressed me with an easy dignity, a frank kindliness;
he spoke about myself, my state, my acting, like an old acquaint-
ance, so affectionately and distinctly, that now for the first time
I enjoyed the pleasure of perceiving my existence reflected in
the being of another. His judgments were just, though not se-
vere; penetrating, yet not void of love. He showed no harsh-
ness; his pleasantry was courteous, with all his humor. He
seemed accustomed to success with women; this excited my at-
tention : he was never in the least importunate or flattering; this
put me off my guard.
“In the town, he had intercourse with few; he was often on
horseback, visiting his many friends in the neighborhood, and
managing the business of his house. On returning, he would
frequently alight at my apartments; he treated my ever-ailing
husband with warm attention; he procured him mitigation of his
sickness by a good physician. And taking part in all that inter-
ested me, he allowed me to take part in all that interested him.
He told me the history of his campaigns; he spoke of his invin-
cible attachment to military life, of lus family relations, of his
present business. He kept no secret from me; he displayed to
me his inmost thoughts, allowed me to behold the most secret
coruers of his soul: I became acquainted with his passions and
his capabilities. It was the first time in my life that I enjoyed a
cordial, intellectual intercourse with any living creature. I was
attracted by bim, borne along by him, before I thought about in-
quiring how it stood with me.
BOOK IV. CHAP. XVI.
219
“ Meanwhile I lost my husband, nearly just as I had taken
him. The burden of theatrical affairs now fell entirely on me.
My brother, not to be surpassed upon the stage, was never good
for anything in economical concerns: I took the charge of all ;
at the same time studying my parts with greater diligence than
ever. I again played as of old; nay, with new life, with quite
another force. It was by reason of my friend, it was on his ac-
count that I did so; yet my success was not always best when I
knew him to be present. Ouce or twice he listened to me unob-
served; and how pleasantly his unexpected applauses surprised
me you may conceive.
“ Certainly I am a strange creature. In every part I played,
it seemed as if I had been speaking it in praise of him; for that
was the temper of my heart, the words might be anything they
pleased. Did I understand him to be present in the audience, I
not press my love or praise on him to his face : was he absent, I
had then free scope; I did my best, with a certain peacefulness,
with a contentment not to be described. Applause once more
delighted me; and when I charmed the people, I longed to call
down among them: “This you owe to him!'
“Yes, my relation to the public, to the nation, had been altered
by a wonder. On a sudden they again appeared to me in the
most favorable light; I felt astonished at my former blindness.
“How foolish, said I often to myself, was it to revile a nation;
foolish, simply because it was a nation. Is it necessary, is it
possible, that individual men should generally interest us much?
Not at all! The only question is, whether in the great mass
there exists a sufficient quantity of talent, force, and capability,
which lucky circumstances may develop, which men of lofty
minds may direct upon a common object. I now rejoiced in dis-
covering so little prominent originality among my countrymen ;
I rejoiced that they disdained not to accept of guidance from
without; I rejoiced that they had found a leader.
“Lothario, — allow me to designate my friend by this, his first
name, which I loved, — Lothario had always presented the Ger-
mans to my mind on the side of valor; and shown me, that when
11
250
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
well commanded, there was no braver nation on the face of the
earth ;. and I felt ashamed that I had never thought of this, the
first quality of a people. History was known to him; he was
in connection and correspondence with the most distinguished
persons of the age. Young as he was, his eye was open to the
budding youthhood of his native country; to the silent labors of
active and busy men in so many provinces of art. He afforded
me a glimpse of Germany; what it was and what it might be;
and I blushed at having formed my judgment of a nation from
the motley crowd that press themselves into the wardrobe of a
theatre. He made me look upon it as a duty that I too, in my
own department, should be true, spirited, enlivening. I now felt
as if inspired, every time I stepped upon the boards. Mediocre
passages grew golden in my mouth ; had any poet been at hand
to support me adequately, I might have produced the most aston-
ishing effects.
“So lived the young widow for a series of months. He could
not want me: and I felt exceedingly unhappy when he stayed
away. He showed me the letters he received from his relations,
from his amiable sister. He took an interest in the smallest cir-
cumstance that concerned me; more complete, more intimate, no
union ever was than ours. The name of love was not mentioned.
He went and came, came and went. And now, my friend, it is
high time that you too should go."
CHAPTER XVII.
W
I LHELM could put off no longer the visiting of his
VV commercial friends. He proceeded to their place with
some anxiety; knowing he should there find letters from his
people. He dreaded the reproofs which these would of course
contain ; it seemed likely also that notice had been given to his
trading correspondents, concerning the perplexities and fears
which his late silence had occasioned. After such a series of
knightly adventures, he recoiled from the school-boy aspect in
BOOK IV. CHAP. XVII.
· 251
which he must appear: he proposed within his mind to act with
an air of sternness and defiance, and thus hide his embarrass-
ment.
To his great wonder and contentment, however, all went off
very easily and well. In the vast, stirring, busy counting-room,
the men had scarcely time to seek him out his packet; his delay
was but alluded to in passing. And on opening the letters of
his father and his friend Werner, he found them all of very inno-
cent contents. His father, in hopes of an extensive journal, the
keeping of which he had strongly recommended to his son at
parting, giving him also a tabulary scheme for that purpose,
seemed pretty well pacified about the silence of the first period;
complaining only of a certain enigmatical obscurity in the last
and only letter despatched, as we have seen, from the Castle of
the Count. Werner joked in his way; told merry anecdotes,
facetious burgh-news; and requested intelligence of friends and
acquaintances, whom Wilhelm, in the large trading city, would
now meet with in great numbers. Our friend, extremely pleased
at getting off so well, answered without loss of a moment, in
some very cheerful letters : promising his father a copious journal
of his travels, with all the required geographical, statistical, and
mercantile remarks. He had seen much on his journey, he said ;
and hoped to make a tolerably large manuscript out of these ma-
terials. He did not observe that he was almost in the same case
as he had once experienced before, when he assembled an audi-
ence and lit his lamps to represent a play which was not written,
still less got by heart. Accordingly, so soon as he commenced
the actual work of composition, he became aware that he had
much to say about emotions and thoughts, and many experiences
of the heart and spirit; but not a word concerning outward ob-
jects, on which, as he now discovered, he had not bestowed the
least attention.
In this embarrassment, the acquisitions of his friend Laertes
came very seasonably to his aid. Custom had united these young
people, unlike one another as they were; and Laertes, with all
his failings and singularities, was actually an interesting man.
Endowed with warm and pleasurable senses, he might have
252
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
reached old age without reflecting for a moment on his situation.
But his ill-fortune and his sickness had robbed him of the pure
feelings of youth; and opened for him instead of it a view into
the transitoriness, the discontinuity of man's existence. Hence
had arisen a humorous, flighty, rhapsodical way of thinking
about all things, or rather of uttering the immediate impressions
they produced on him. He did not like to be alone; he strolled
about all the coffee-houses and tables-d'hôte; and when he did
stay at home, books of travels were his favorite, nay, his only
kind of reading. Having lately found a large circulating library,
he had been enabled to content his taste in this respect to tho
full; and erelong half the world was figuring in his faithful
memory.
It was easy for him, therefore, to speak comfort to his friend,
when the latter had disclosed his utter lack of matter for the
narrative so solemnly promised by him. “Now is the time for a
stroke of art,” said Laertes, “ that shall have no fellow !”
“Has not Germany been travelled over, cruised over, walked,
crept, and flown over, repeatedly from end to end? And has
not every German traveller the royal privilege of drawing from
the public a repayment of the great or small expenses he may
have incurred while travelling? Give me your route previous
to our meeting; the rest I know already. I will find you helps
and sources of information : of miles that were never measured,
populations that were never counted, we shall give them plenty.
The revenues of provinces we will take from almanacs and
tables, which, as all men know, are the most authentic documents.
On these we will ground our political discussions; we shall not
fail in side-glances at the ruling powers. One or two princes we
will paint as true fathers of their country, that we may gain more
ready credence in our allegations against others. If we do not
travel through the residence of any noted man, we shall take
care to meet such persons at the inn, and make them utter the
most foolish stuff to us. Particularly, let us not forget to insert,
with all its graces and sentiments, some love-story with a pastoral
bar-maid. I tell you it shall be a composition which will not
only fill father and mother with delight, but which booksellers
themselves shall gladly pay you current money for.”
BOOK IV. CHAP. XVIII.
253
They went accordingly to work, and both of them found
pleasure in their labor. Wilhelm, in the mean time, frequenting
the play at night, and conversing with Serlo and Aurelia by day,
experienced the greatest satisfaction; and was daily more and
more expanding his ideas, which had been too long revolving in
the same narrow circle.
CHAPTER XVIII.
TT was not without deep interest that he became acquainted
I with the history of Serlo's career. Piecemeal he learned it ;
for it was not the fashion of that extraordinary man to be confi-
dential, or to speak of anything 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 specta-
tors, merely by his presence; for authors even then were ac-
quainted with this natural and very guiltless mode of doing so.
Thus his first “ Father ! ” or “Mother!” in favorite pieces, pro-
cured 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 harle-
quin, 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 bit-
terly repaid by sufferings in the intervening seasons. His father
was persuaded that the minds of children could be kept awake
and steadfast by po other means than blows; hence, in the study-
ing 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 recoilect 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 par-
254
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
ticular an admirable pliancy at once in his thoughts, looks, move-
ments, 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 circum-
stances, 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 under-
standing and dexterity increased, still thought it needful to for-
ward 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 ar-
range processions, and to entertain the Christian community by
spiritual masquerades, having just dicd, 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, ard 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
BOOK IV. CHAP. XVIII.
255
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 succes-
sion was a fool on purpose ; and during this, he in his turn ex-
hibited 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 train-
ing, in the course of which a man of ordinary morals is accus-
tomed 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 th:ut 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 multi-
tude. 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 priest-
hood tended but to strengthen a tasteless superstition, already
strong enough.
Here again young Serlo was altogether in his element. In-
256
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
vention 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 giſt 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 instruc-
tion awaited him. He came into the polished, but also barren
part of Germany, where, in worshipping the good and the beau-
tiful, 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 dis-
tinctive properties both of the pieces and the players. The
monotony which then reigned on the German theatre, the mawk-
ish 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 compre-
lending; or in seizing, at the same time, what little there was
that moved and pleased.
Not only single parts in the current pieces, hut the pieces
themselves, remained easily and wholly in his memory: and
along with them, the special toue of any player who had repre-
sented 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 no-
blemen'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 tender-
BOOK IV. CHAP. XVIII.
257
: ness. 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 over-
flowed 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 re-
peating 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 ar-
rived 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 recommend-
atory 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
258
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
longer could do otherwise than flatter and deceive. And thus
did his disposition, his talent, and his way of life, work recipro-
cally 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 discern-
ment 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 con-
strained.
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 discus-
sion. 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 everything from ab-
stract ideas which he had arrived at; he wanted to have art
viewed in all its connections as a whole. He wanted to promul-
gate and fix down universal laws; to settle what was right, beau-
tiful, 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 audi-
ence while he made them merry.
BOOK IV. CHAP. XIX.
259
CHAPTER XIX.
VIHILE our friend was in this way living very happily,
y Melina and the rest were in quite a different case. Wil-
helm they haunted like evil spirits; and not only by their pres-
ence, but frequently by rueful faces and bitter words, they caused
him many a sorry moment. Serlo had not admitted them to the
most trifling part, far less held out to them any hope of a perma-
nent engagement; and yet he had contrived, by degrees, to get
acquainted with the capabilities of every one of them. When-
ever any actors were assembled in leisure hours about him, he
was wont to make them read, and frequently to read along with
them. On such occasions, he took plays which were by and by
to be acted, which for a long time had remained unacted; and
generally by portions. In like manner, after any first represen-
tation, he caused such passages to be repeated as he had anything
to say upon ; by which means he sharpened the discernment of
his actors, and strengthened their certainty of hitting the proper
point. And as a person of slender but correct understanding
may produce more agreeable effect on others than a perplexed
and unpurified genius, he would frequently exalt men of medi-
ocre talents, by the clear views which he imperceptibly afforded
them, to a wonderful extent of power. Nor was it an unimpor-
tant item in his scheme, that he likewise had poems read before
him in their meetings; for by these he nourished in his people
the feeling of that charm which a well-pronounced rhythm is
calculated to awaken in the soul; whereas in other companies,
those prose compositions were already getting introduced, for
which any tyro was adequate.
On occasions such as these, he had contrived to make himself
acquainted with the new-come players : he had decided what they
were, and what they might be; and silently made up his mind to
take advantage of their talents, in a revolution which was now
threatening his own company. For a while he let the matter
rest; declined every one of Wilhelm's intercessions for his com-
rades, with a shrug of the shoulders ; till at last he saw his time,
260
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
and altogether unexpectedly made the proposal to our friend,
“ that he himself should come upon the stage; that on this con-
dition, the others too might be admitted.”
“ These people must not be so useless as you formerly de-
scribed them," answered Wilhelm, “if they can now be all re-
ceived at once; and I suppose their talents would remain the
same without me as with me.”
Under seal of secrecy, Serlo hereupon explained his situation :
how his first actor was giving hints about a rise of salary at the
renewal of their contract; how he himself did not incline con-
ceding this, the rather as the individual in question was no longer
in such favor with the public; how, if he dismissed him, a whole
train would follow; whereby, it was true, his company would
lose some good, but likewise some indifferent actors. He then
showed Wilhelm what he hoped to gain in him, in Laertes, Old
Boisterous, and even Frau Melina. Nay, he promised to pro-
cure for the silly Pedant himself, in the character of Jew, min-
ister, but chiefly of villain, a decided approbation.
Wilhelm faltered; the proposal fluttered him; he knew not
what to say. That he might say something, he rejoined, with a
deep-ulrawn breath: “You speak very graciously about the good
you find and hope to find in us; but how is it with our weak
points, which certainly have not escaped your penetration ? "
“ These," said Serlo, “by diligence, practice, and reflection, we
shall soon make strong points. Though you are yet but fresh-
men and bunglers, there is not one among you that does not
warrant expectation more or less : for, so far as I can judge, no
stick, properly so called, is to be met with in the company; and
your stick is the only person that can never be improved, never
bent or guided, whether it be self-conceit, stupidity, or hypochon-
dria, that renders him unpliant."
The Manager next stated, in a few words, the terms he meant
to offer ; requested Wilhelm to determine soon, and left him in
10 small perplexity.
In the marvellous composition of those travels, which he had
at first engaged with as it were in jest, and was not carrying on
in conjunction with Laertes, his mind had by degrees grown more
BOOK IV. CHAP. XIX.
261
attentive to the circumstances and the every-day life of the
actual world, than it was wont. He now first understood the
object of his father in so earnestly recommending him to keep a
journal. He now, for the first time, felt how pleasant and how
useful it might be to become participator in so many trades and
requisitions, and to take a hand in diffusing activity and life into
the deepest nooks of the mountains and forests of Europe. The
busy trading town in which he was; the unrest of Laertes, who
dragged him about to examine everything, afforded him the most
impressive image of a mighty centre, from which everything was
flowing out, to which everything was coming back; and it was
the first time that his spirit, in contemplating this species of ac-
tivity, had really felt delight. At such a juncture Serlo's offer
· had been made him; had again awakened his desires, his ten-
dencies, his faith in a natural talent, and again brought into mind
his solemn obligation to his helpless comrades.
“Here standest thou once more," said he within himself," at
the Parting of the Ways, between the two women who appeared
then; nor does the other look so glorious. To obey the one, or
to obey the other, thou art not without a kind of inward calling;
outward reasons are on both sides strong enough; and to decide
appears to thee impossible. Thou wishest some preponderancy
well, it is external circumstances only that inspire thee with a
wish to trade, to gatlier, to possess; whilst it is thy inmost want
that has created, that has nourished the desire still further to un-
fold and perfect what endowments soever for the beautiful and
good, be they mental or bodily, may lie within thee. And ought
I not to honor Fate, which, without furtherance of mine, has led
old times, meditated and forecast, now happened accidentally, and
without my co-operation ? Singular enough! We seem to be
so intimate with nothing as we are with our own wishes and
hopes, which have long been kept and cherished in our hearts;
yet when they meet us, when they as it were press forward to
us, then we know them not, then we recoil from them. All that,
262
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
since the hapless night which severed me from Mariana, I have
but allowed myself to dream, now stands before me, entreating
my acceptance. Hither I intended to escape by flight; hither I
am softly guided: with Serlo I meant to seek a place; he now
seeks me, and offers me conditions which, as a beginner, I could
not have looked for. Was it then mere love to Mariana that
bound me to the stage? Or love to art that bound me to her?
Was that prospect, that outlet, which the theatre presented me,
nothing but the project of a restless, disorderly, and disobedient
boy, wishing to lead a life which the customs of the civic world
would not admit of ? Or was all this different, worthier, purer?
If so, what moved thee to alter the persuasions of that period ?
Hast thou not hitherto, even without knowing it, pursued thy
plan? Is not the concluding step still further to be justified,
now that no side purposes combine with it; now that in making
it thou mayest fulfil a solemn promise, and nobly free thyself
from a heavy debt?"
All that could affect his heart and his imagination was now
moving, and conflicting in the liveliest strife within him. The
thought that he might retain Mignon, that he should not need to
put away the Harper, was not an in considerable item in the bal-
ance; which, however, had not ceased to waver to the one and
to the other side, when he went, as he was wont, to see his friend
Aurelia.
CHAPTER XX.
THE was lying on the sofa; she seemed quiet. “Do you
u think you will be fit to act to-morrow?” he inquired. “O
yes!” cried she with vivacity, "you know there is nothing to
prevent me. If I but knew a way," continued she, "to rid my-
self of those applauses ! The people mean it well, but they will
kill me. Last night I thought my very heart would break !
Once, when I used to please myself, I could endure this gladly:
when I had studied long, and well prepared myself, it gave me
joy to hear the sound, 'It has succeeded !' pealing back to me
BOOK IV. CHAP. XX.
263
from every corner. But now I speak not what I like, nor as I
like; I am swept along, I get confused, I scarce know what I
do; and the impression I make is far deeper. The applause
grows louder, and I think, Did you but know what charms you!
These dark, vague, vehement tones of passion move you, force
you to admire: and you feel not that they are the cries of agony,
wrung from the miserable being whom you praise.
“I learned my part this morning ; just now I have been
repeating it and trying it. I am tired, broken down; and to-
morrow I must do the same. To-morrow evening is the play.
Thus do I drag myself to and fro: it is wearisome to rise, it is
wearisome to go to bed. All moves within me in an everlasting
circle. Then come their dreary consolations, and present them-
selves before me ; and I cast them out, and execrate them. I
will not surrender, not surrender to necessity : why should that
be necessary, which crushes me to the dust? Might it not be
otherwise ? I am paying the penalty of being born a German;
it is the nature of the Germans, that they bear heavily on every-
thing, that everything bears heavily on them.”
“O my friend,” cried Wilhelm, “could you cease to whet the
dagger wherewith you are ever wounding me! Does nothing
then remain for you? Are your youth, your form, your health,
your talents nothing ? Having lost one blessing, without blame
of yours, must you throw all the others after it? Is that also
necessary?”
She was silent for a few moments, and then burst forth : “I
know well, it is a waste of time, nothing but a waste of time,
this love! What might not, should not I have done! And now
it is all vanished into air. I am a poor, wretched, lovelorn creat-
ure; lovelorn, that is all! O, have compassion on me : God
knows I am poor and wretched !”
She sank in thought; then, after a brief pause, she exclaimed
with violence : “You are accustomed to have all things fly into
your arms. No, you cannot feel ; no man is qualified to feel the
worth of a woman that can reverence herself. By all the holy
angels, by all the images of blessedness, which a pure and kindly
heart creates, there is not anything more heavenly than the soul
of a woman giving herself to the man she loves !
264
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
“We are cold, proud, high, clear-sighted, wise, while we de-
serve the name of women; and all these qualities we lay down
at your feet, the instant that we love, that we hope to excite a
return of love. O, how have I cast away my whole existence
wittingly and willingly! But now will I despair, purposely de-
spair. There is no drop of blood within me but shall suffer, no
fibre that I will not punish. Smile, I pray you ; laugh at this
theatrical display of passion.”
Wilhelm was far enough from any tendency to laugh. This
horrible, half-natural, half-factitious condition of his friend, af-
flicted him but too deeply. He sympathized in the tortures of
that racking misery: his thoughts were wandering in painful per-
plexities, his blood was in a feverish tumult.
She had risen, and was walking up and down the room. “I
see before me," she exclaimed, “all manner of reasons why I
should not love him. I know he is not worthy of it: I turn my
mind aside, this way and that; I seize upon whatever business I
can find. At one time I take up a part, though I have not to
play it; at another, I begin to practise old ones, though I know
them through and through ; I practise them more diligently,
more minutely, I toil and toil at them. My friend, my confidant,
what a horrid task is it to tear away one's thoughts from one's self !
My reason suffers, my brain is racked and strained : to save my-
self from madness I again admit the feeling that I love him.
Yes, I love him, I love him!” cried she, with a shower of tears ;
“I love him, I shall die loving him!”
He took her by the hand, and entreated her in the most ear-
nest manner not to waste herself in such self-torments. “O, it
seems hard,” said he," that not only so much that is impossible
should be denied us, but so much also that is possible. It was
not your lot to meet with a faithful heart that would have formed
your perfect happiness. It was mine to fix the welfare of my
liſe upon a hapless creature, whom, by the weight of my fidelity,
I drew to the bottom like a reed, perhaps even broke in pieces!”
He had told Aurelia of his intercourse with Mariana, and
could therefore now refer to it. She looked him intently in the
face, and asked : “ Can you say that you never yet betrayed a
BOOK IV. CHAP. XX.
265
woman, that you never tried with thoughtless gallantry, with
false asseverations, with cajoling oaths, to wheedle favor from
her ?”
“I can,” said Wilhelm, “and indeed without much vanity; my
life has been so simple and sequestered, I have had but few en-
ticements to attempt such things. And what a warning, my
beautiful, my noble friend, is this melancholy state in which I
see you! Accept of me a row, which is suited to my heart;
which, under the emotion you have caused me, has settled into
words and shape, and will be hallowed by the hour in which I
utter it. Each transitory inclination I will study to withstand ;
and even the most earnest I will keep within my bosom; no
woman shall receive an acknowledgment of love from my lips
to whom I cannot consecrate my life!”
She looked at him with a wild indifference, and drew back
some steps as he offered her his hand. “'T is of no moment!”
cried she: “so many women's tears more or fewer; the ocean
will not swell by reason of them. And yet," continued she,
“among thousands one woman saved ; that still is something:
among thousands one honest man discovered ; this is not to be
refused. Do you know, then, what you promise ?”
“I know it,” answered Wilhelm with a smile, and holding out
his hand.
“I accept it, then," said she, and made a movement with her
right hand, as if meaning to take hold of his : but instantly she
darted it into her pocket, pulled out her dagger quick as light-
ning, and scored with the edge and point of it across his hand.
He hastily drew it back, but the blood was already running
down.
you take heed,” cried she with a wild mirth, which soon passed
his hand with it to stanch the fast-flowing blood. “ Forgive a
half-crazed being," cried she, “and regret not these few drops of
blood. I am appeased, I am again myself. On my knees will I
crave your pardon : leave me the comfort of healing you.”
She ran to her. drawer ; brought lint, with other apparatus ;
VOL. I.
12
266
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
stanched the blood, and viewed the wound attentively. It went
across the palm, close under the thumb, dividing the life-lines,
and running towards the little finger. She bound it up in si-
lence, with a significant, reflective look. He asked once or twice,
“ Aurelia, how could you hurt your friend ?”
“Hush!” replied she, laying her finger on her mouth: “ Hush!”
BOOK V.
CHAPTER I.
M HUS Wilhelm, to his pair of former wounds, which were
1 yet scarcely healed, had now got the accession of a third,
which was fresh and not a little disagreeable. Aurelia would
not suffer him to call a surgeon; she dressed the hand with all
manner of strange speeches, saws, and ceremonies; and'so placed
him in a very painful situation. Yet not he alone, but all persons
wlio came near her, suffered by her restlessness and singularity :
and no one more than little Felix. This stirring child was ex-
ceedingly impatient under such oppression, and showed himself
still naughtier, the more she censured and instructed him.
He delighted in some practices which commonly are thought
bad habits, and in which she would not by any means indulge
him. He would drink, for example, rather from the bottle than
the glass; and his food seemed visibly to have a better relish
when eaten from the bowl than from the plate. Such ill-breeding
was not overlooked: if he left the door standing open, or slammed
it to; if when bid do anything, he stood stock-still, or ran off
violently, he was sure to have a long lecture inflicted on him for
the fault. Yet he showed no symptoms of improvement from
this training: on the other hand, his affection for Aurelia seemed
daily to diminish ; there was nothing tender in his tone when he
called her Mother ; whereas he passionately clung to the old
nurse, who let him have his will in everything.
But she likewise had of late become so sick, that they had at
last been obliged to take her from the house into a quiet lodging;
and Felix would have been entirely alone, if Mignon had not,
like a kindly guardian-spirit, come to help him. The two chil-
dren talked together, and amused each other in the prettiest
style. She taught him little songs; and he, having an excellent
memory, frequently recited them, to the surprise of those about
268
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
him. She attempted also to explain her maps to him. With
these she was still very busy, though she did not seem to take
the fittest method. For, in studying countries, she appeared to
care little about any other point than whether they were cold or
warm. Or the north and south poles, of the horrid ice which
reigns there, and of the increasing heat the farther one retires
from them, she could give a very clear account. When any one
was travelling, she merely asked whether he was going north-
ward or southward ; and strove to find his route in her little
charts. Especially when Wilhelm spoke of travelling, she was
all attention, and seemed vexed when anything occurred to
change the subject. Though she could not be prevailed upon to
undertake a part, or even to enter the theatre when any play
was acting, yet she willingly and zealously committed many odes
and songs to memory; and by unexpectedly, and as it were on
the spur of the moment, reciting some such poem, generally of
the earnest and solemn kind, she would often cause astonishment
in every one.
Serlo, accustomed to regard with favor every trace of opening
talent, encouraged her in such performances : but what pleased
him most in Mignon was her sprightly, various, and often even
mirthful singing. By means of a similar giſt, the Harper like-
wise had acquired his favor.
Without himself possessing genius for music, or playing on
any instrument, Serlo could rightly prize the value of the art:
he failed not, as often as he could, to enjoy this pleasure, which
cannot be compared with any other. He held a concert once
a week; and now, with Mignon, the Harper, and Laertes, who
was not unskilful on the violin, he had fornied a very curious
domestic band.
He was wont to say: "Men are so inclined to content them-
selves with what is commonest; the spirit and the senses so
easily grow dead to the impressions of the beautiful and perfect,
that every one should study, by all methods, to nourish in his
mind the faculty of feeling these things. For no man can bear
to be entirely deprived of such enjoyments : it is only because
they are not used to taste of what is excellent, that the generality
BOOK V. CHAP. I.
269
(O
of people take delight in silly and insipid things, providled they
be new. For this reason," he would add, “one ought, every day
at least, to hear a little song, read a good poem, see a fine picture,
and, if it were possible, to speak a few reasonable words.” With
such a turn of thought in Serlo, which in some degree was natu-
ral to him, the persons who frequented his society could scarcely
be in want of pleasant conversation.
It was in the midst of these instructive entertainments, that
Wilhelm one day received a letter sealed in black. Werner's
hand betokened mournful news; and our friend was not a little
shocked when, opening the sheet, he found it to contain the
tidings of his father's death, conveyed in a very few words.
After a short and sudden illness, he had parted from the world,
leaving his domestic affairs in the best possible order.
This unlooked for intelligence struck Wilhelm to the heart.
He deeply felt how careless and negligent we often are of friends
and relations, while they inhabit with us this terrestrial sojourn ;
and how we first repent of our insensibility, when the fair union,
at least for this side of time, is finally cut asunder. His grief
for the early death of this honest parent was mitigated only by
the feeling, that he had loved but little in the world, and the
conviction that he had enjoyed but little.
Wilhelm's thoughts soon turned to his own predicament; and
he felt himself extremely discomposed. A person can scarcely
be put into a more dangerous position, than when external cir-
cumstances bare produced some striking change in his condition,
without his manner of feeling and of thinking laring undergone
any preparation for it. There is, then, an cpoch without epoch;
and the contradiction which arises is the greater the less the
person feels that he is not trained for this new manner of ex-
istence.
Wilhelm saw himself in freedom, at a moment when he could
not yet be at one with himself. His thoughts were noble, his
motives pure, his purposes were not to be despised. All this he
could, with some degree of confidence, acknowledge to himself:
but he had of late been frequently enough compelled to notice,
that experience was sadly wanting to him ; and hence, on the
270
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
experience of others, and on the results which they deduced from
it, he put a value far beyond its real one; and thus led himself
still deeper into error. What he wanted, he conceived he might
most readily acquire, if he undertook to collect and retain what-
ever memorable thought he should meet with, in reading or in
conversation. He accordingly recorded his own or other men's
opinions, nay, wrote whole dialogues, when they chanced to in-
terest him. But unhappily by this means he held fast the false
no less firmly than the true; he dwelt far too long on one idea,
particularly when it was of an aphoristic shape; and thus he left
his natural mode of thought and action, and frequently took for-
eign lights for his loadstars. Aurelia's bitterness, and Laertes's
cold contempt for men, warped his judgment oftener than they
should have done: but no one, in his present case, would have
been so dangerous as Jarno, a man whose clear intellect could
form a just and rigorous decision about present things; but who
erred, withal, in enunciating these particular decisions, with a
kind of universal application ; whereas, in truth, the judgments
of the understanding are properly of force but once, and that in
the strictest cases, and become inaccurate in some degree when
applied to any other.
Thus Wilhelm, striving to become consistent with himself, was
deviating farther and farther from wholesome consistency; and
this confusion made it easier for his passions to employ their
whole artillery against him, and thus still farther to perplex his
views of duty.
Serlo did not fail to take advantage of the late tidings: and in
truth he daily had more reason to be anxious about some fresh
arrangement of his people. Either he must soon renew his old
contracts; a measure he was not specially fond of, for several of
his actors, who reckoned themselves indispensable, were growing
more and more arrogant; or else. he must entirely new-model
and re-form his company; which plan he looked upon as pref-
erable.
Though he did not personally importune our friend, he set
Aurelia and Philina on him: and the other wanderers, longing
for some kind of settlement, on their side, gave Wilhelm not a
BOOK V. CHAP. II.
271
moment's rest; so that he stood hesitating in his choice, in no
slight embarrassment, till he should decide. Who would have
thought that a letter of Werner's, written with quite different
views, should have forced him on resolving? We shall omit the
introduction, and give the rest of it with little alteration.
CHAPTER II.
66 TT was, therefore, and it always must be, right for every one,
I on any opportunity, to follow his vocation, and exhibit his
activity. Scarcely had the good old man been gone a quarter of
an hour, when everything in the house began moving by a differ-
ent plan than his. Friends, acquaintances, relations, crowded
forward ; especially all sorts of people, who, on such occasions,
use to gain anything. They fetched and carried, they counted,
wrote, and reckoned ; some brought wine and meat, others ate
and drank; and none seemed busier than the women getting out
the mournings.
“ Such being the case, thou wilt not blame me that, in this
emergency, I likewise thought of my advantage. I made myself
as active, and as helpful to thy sister as I could ; and so soon as
it was any way decorous, signified to her that it had now become
our business to accelerate a union which our parents, in their
too great circumspection, had hitherto postponed.
“Do not suppose, however, that it came into our heads to take
possession of that monstrous empty house. We are more modest,
and more rational. Thou shalt hear our plan : thy sister, so soon
as we are married, comes to our house ; and thy mother comes
along with her. “How can that be?' thou wilt say; "you have
scarcely room for yourselves in that hampered nest. There lies
the art of it, my friend! Good packing renders all things pos-
sible ; thou wouldst not believe what space one finds, when one
desires to occupy but little. The large house we shall sell; an
opportunity occurs for this ; and the money we shall draw for it
will produce a hundred-fold.
272
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
“I hope this meets thy views: I hope also thou hast not in-
herited the smallest particle of those unprofitable tastes for which
thy father and thy grandfather were noted. The latter placed
his greatest happiness in having about him a multitude of dull-
looking works of art, which no one, I may well say no one, could
enjoy with him ; the former lived in a stately pomp, which he
suffered no one to enjoy with him. We mean to manage other-
wise, and we expect thy, approbation.
" It is true, I myself in all the house have no place whatever
but the stool before my writing-desk ; and I see not clearly
where they will be able to put a cradle down : but in return,
the room we shall have out of doors will be the more abundant.
Coffee-houses and clubs for the husband; walks and drives for
the wife ; and pleasant country jaunts for both. But the chief
advantage in our plan is, that the round table being now com-
pletely filled, our father cannot ask his friends to dinner, who, the
more he strove to entertain them, used to laugh at him the more.
“ Now no superfluity for us! Not too much furniture and
apparatus ; no coach, no horses! Nothing but money; and the
liberty, day after day, to do what you like in reason. No ward-
robe; still the best and newest: on your back: the man may
wear his coat till it is done : the wife may truck her gown, the
moment it is going out of fashion. There is nothing so unsuffer-
able to me as an old huckster's shop of property. If you would
offer me a jewel, on condition of my wearing it daily on my
finger, I would not accept it; for how can one conceive any
pleasure in a dead capital ? This then is my confession of faith :
To transact your business, to make money, to be merry with
your household; and about the rest of the earth to trouble
yourself no further than where you can be of service to it.
“But ere now thou art saying: “And pray what is to be done
with me in this sage plan of yours ? Where shall I find shelter,
when you have sold my own house, and not the smallest room
remains in yours?'
“This is in truth the main point, brother; and in this too I
shall have it in my power to serve thee. But first I must pre-
sent the just tribute of my praise for time so spent as thine
has been.
BOOK V. CHAP. II.
273
6 Tell me, how hast thou within a few weeks become so skilled
in every useful, interesting object ? Higlily as I thought of thy
powers, I did not reckon such attention and such diligence among
the number. Thy journal shows us with what profit thou art
travelling. The description of the iron and the copper forges is
exquisite ; it evinces a complete knowledge of the subject. I
myself was once there ; but my relation, compared with this, has
but a very bungled look. The whole letter on the linen trade is
full of information ; the l'emarks on commercial competition are
at once just and striking. In one or two places there are errors
in addition, which indeed are very pardonable.
“But what most delights my father and myself, is thy thor-
ough knowledge of husbandry, and the improvement of landed
property. We have thoughts of purchasing a large estate, at
present under sequestration, in a very fruitful district. For pay-
ing it, we mean to use the money realized by the sale of the
house ; another portion we shall borrow; a portion may remain
unpaid. And we count on thee for going thither, and superin-
tending the improvement of it; by which means, before many
years are passed, the land, to speak in moderation, will have
risen above a third in value. We shall then bring it to the
market again; scek out a larger piece; improve and trade as
formerly. For all this, thou art the man. Our pens, meanwhile,
will not lie idle here; and so by and by we shall rise to be en-
viable people.
“For the present, fare thee well! Enjoy life on thy journey,
and turn thy face wherever thou canst find contentment and ad-
vantage. For the next half-year we shall not need thee; thou
canst look about thee in the world as thou pleasest ; a judicious
person finds his best instruction in his travels. Farewell! I re-
joice at being connected with thee so closely by relation, and
now united with thee in the spirit of activity."
Well as this letter might be penned, and full of cconomical
truths as it was, Wilhelm felt displeased with it for more than
one reason. The praise bestowed on him for his pretended sta-
tistical, technological, and rural knowlerlge was a silent repri-
12
274
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
mand. The ideal of the happiness of civic life, which his worthy
brother sketched, by no means charmed him ; on the contrary, a
secret spirit of contradiction dragged him forcibly the other way.
He convinced himself that, except on the stage, he could nowhere
find that mental culture which he longed to give himself: he
seemed to grow the more decided in his resolution, the more
strongly Werner, without knowing it, opposed him. Thus as-
sailed, he collected all his arguments together, and buttressed his
opinions in his mind the more carefully, the more desirable he
reckoned it to show them in a favorable light to Werner; and in
this manner he produced an answer, which also we insert.
CHAPTER III.
66 THY letter is so well written, and so prudently and wisely
1 conceived, that no objection can be made to it. Only
thou must pardon me, when I declare that one may think, main-
tain, and do directly the reverse, and yet be in the right as well
as thou. Thy mode of being and imagining appears to turn on
boundless acquisition, and a light, mirthful manner of enjoyment:
I need scarcely tell thee, that in all this I find little that can
charm me.
“ First, however, I am sorry to aclmit, that my journal is none
of mine! Under the pressure of necessity, and to satisfy my
father, it was patched together by a friend's help, out of many
books: and though in words I know the objects it relates to, and
more of the like sort, I by no means understand them, or can
occupy myself about them. What good were it for me to manu-
facture perfect iron, while my own breast is full of dross? What
would it stead me to put properties of land in order, while I am
at variance with myself?
“ To speak it in a word ; the cultivation of my individual self,
here as I am, has from my youth upwards been constantly though
dimly my wish and my purpose. The same intention I still
cherish, but the means of realizing it are now grown somewhat
BOOK V. CHAP. IN.
275
clearer. I have seen more of life than thou believest, and prof-
ited more by it also. Give some attention then to what I say,
though it should not altogether tally with thy own opinions.
“Had I been a nobleman, our dispute would soon have been
decided ; but being a simple burgher, I must take a path of my
own; and I fear it may be difficult to make thee understand me.
I know not how it is in foreign countries, but in Germany, a uni-
versal, and if I may say so, personal cultivation is beyond the
reach of any one except a nobleman. A burgher may acquire
merit; by excessive efforts he may even educate his mind; but
his personal qualities are lost, or worse than lost, let him strug-
gle as he will. Since the nobleman, frequenting the society of
the most polished, is compelled to give himself a polished man-
ner; since this manner, neither door nor gate being shut against
him, grows at last an unconstrained one; since, in court or camp,
his figure, his person, are a part of his possessions, and it may
be, the most necessary part, — he has reason enough to put some
value on them, and to show that he puts some. A certain stately
grace in common things, a sort of gay elegance in earnest and
important ones, becomes him well; for it shows him to be every-
where in equilibrium. He is a public person, and the more cul-
tivated his movements, the more sonorous his voice, the more
staid and measured his whole being is, the more perfect is he.
If to high and low, to friends and relations, he continues still the
same, then nothing can be said against him, none may wish him.
otherwise. His coldness must be reckoned clearness of head,
his dissimulation prudence. If he can rule himself externally at
every moment of his life, no man has aught more to demand of
him ; and whatever else there may be in him or about him, ca-
pacities, talents, wealth, all seem gifts of supererogation.
“Now imagine any burgher offering ever to pretend to these
advantages, he will utterly fail ; and the more completely, the
greater inclination and the more endowments nature may have
given him for that mode of being.
“Since, in common life, the nobleman is hampered by no
limits; since kings, or kinglike figures, do not differ from him,
he can everywhere advance with a silent consciousness, as if
276
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
before his equals, everywhere he is entitled to press forward ;
whereas nothing more beseems the burgher than the quiet feeling
of the limits that are drawn round him. The burgher may not
ask himself, 'What art thou?' He can only ask, “What hast
thou? What discernment, knowledge, talent, wealth?' If the
nobleman, merely by his personal carriage, offers all that can be
asked of him, the burgher by his personal carriage offers nothing,
and can offer nothing. The former has a right to seem; the
latter is compelled to be, and what he aims at seeming becomes
ludicrous and tasteless. The former does and makes, the latter
but effects and procures; he must cultivate some single gifts in
order to be useful, and it is beforehand settled, that in his manner
of existence there is no harmony, and can be none, since he is
bound to make himself of use in one department, and so has to
relinquish all the others.
“Perhaps the reason of this difference is not the usurpation
of the nobles, and the submission of the burghers, but the con-
stitution of society itself. Whether it will ever alter, and how,
is to me of small importance: my present business is to meet my
own case, as matters actually stand ; to consider by what means
I may save myself, and reach the object which I cannot live in
peace without.
“Now this harmonious cultivation of my nature, which has
been denied me by birth, is exactly what I most long for. Since
leaving thee, I have gained much by voluntary practice : I have
laid aside much of my wonted embarrassment, and can bear my-
self in very tolerable style. My speech and voice I have like-
wise been attending to; and I may say, without much vanity,
that in society I do not cause displeasure. But I will not con-
ceal from thee, that my inclination to become a public person,
and to please and influence in a larger circle, is daily growing
more insuperable. With this, there is combined my love for
poetry and all that is related to it; and the necessity I feel to
cultivate my mental faculties and tastes, that so, in this enjoy-
ment henceforth indispensable, I may esteem as good the good
alone, as beautiful the beautiful alone. Thou scest well, that for
me all this is nowhere to be met with except upon the stage;
BOOK V. CHAP. III.
277
that in this element alone can I effect and cultivate myself ac-
cording to my wishes. On the boards, a polished man appears
in his splendor with personal accomplishments, just as he does so
in the upper classes of society; body and spirit must advance
with equal steps in all his studies ; and there I shall have it in
my power at once to be and seem as well as anywhere. If I
further long for solid occupations, we have there mechanical vex-
ations in abundance ; I may give my patience daily exercise.
“ Dispute not with me on this subject: for ere thou writest,
the step is taken. In compliance with the ruling prejudices, I
will change my name, as indeed that of Meister or Master does
not suit me. Farewell! Our fortune is in good hands : on that
subject I shall not disturb myself. What I need I will, as occa-
sion calls, require from thee: it will not be much ; for I hope
my art will be sufficient to maintain me.”
Scarcely was the letter sent away, when our friend made good
his words. To the great surprise of. Serlo and the rest, he at
once declared that he was ready to become an actor, and bind
himself by a contract on reasonable terms. With regard to these
they were soon agreed : for Serlo had before made offers, with
which Wilhelm and his comrades had good reason to be satisfied.
The whole of that unlucky company, wherewith we have had so
long to occupy ourselves, was now at once received ; and except
perhaps Laertes, not a member of it showed the smallest thank-
fulness to Wilhelm. As they had entreated without confidence,
so they accepted without gratitude. Most of them preferred
ascribing their appointment to the influence of Philina, and di-
rected their thanks to her. Meanwhile the contracts had been
written out, and were now a-signing. At the moment when our
friend was subscribing his assumed designation, by some inex-
plicable concatenation of ideas, there arose before bis mind's eye
the image of that green in the forest, where he lay wounded in
Philina's lap. The lovely Amazon came riding on her gray
palfrey from the bushes of the wood; she approached him, and
dismounted. Her humane anxiety made her come and go; at
length she stood before him. The white surtout fell down from
her shoulders ; her countenance, her form, began to glance in
278
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
radiance, and she vanished from his sight. He wrote his name
mechanically only, not knowing what he did ; and felt not, till
after he had signed, that Miguon was standing at his side, was
holding by his arm, and had softly tried to stop him and pull
back his hand.
CHAPTER IV.
NE of the conditions, under which our friend had gono
upon the stage was not acceded to by Serlo without some
limitations. Wilhelm had required that Hamlet should be played
entire and unmutilated; the other had agreed to this strange
stipulation, in so far as it was possible. On this point they had
many a contest; for as to what was possible or not possible, and
what parts of the piece could be omitted without mutilating it,
the two were of very different opinions.
Wilhelm was still in that happy season, when one cannot un-
derstand how, in the woman one loves, in the writer one honors,
there should be anything defective. The feeling they excite in
us is so entire, so accordant with itself, that we cannot help at-
tributing the same perfect harmony to the objects themselves.
Serlo again was willing to discriminate, perhaps too willing: his
acute understanding could usually discern in any work of art
nothing but a more or less imperfect whole. He thought, that
as pieces usually stood, there was little reason to be chary about
meddling with them; that of course Shakespeare, and particu-
larly Hamlet, would need to suffer much curtailment.
But when Serlo talked of separating the wheat from the chaff,
Wilhelm would not hear of it. “ It is not chaff and wheat to-
gether," said he: “it is a trunk with boughs, twigs, leaves, buds,
blossoms, and fruit. - Is not the one there with the others, and
by means of them?” To which Serlo would reply, that people
did not bring a whole tree upon the table; that the artist was
required to present his guests with silver apples in platters of
silver. They exhausted their invention in similitudes; and their
opinions seemed still farther to diverge.
BOOK V. CHAP. İV.
279
Our friend was on the borders of despair, when, on one occa-
sion, after mạch debating, Serlo counselled him to take the simple
plan; to make a brief resolution, to grasp his pen, to peruse the
tragedy; dashing out whatever would not answer, compressing
sereral personages into one: and if he was not skilled in such
proceedings, or had not heart enough for going through with
them, he might leave the task to him, the Manager, who would
engage to make short work with it.
“ That is not our bargain," answered Wilhelm. “How can
you, with all your taste, show so much levity ?”
“My friend,” cried Serlo, “you yourself will erelong feel it
and show it. I know too well how shocking such a mode of
treating works is; perhaps it never was allowed on any theatre
till now. But where indeed was ever one so slighted as ours ?
Authors force us on this wretched clipping system, and the public
tolerates it. How many pieces have we, pray, which do not
overstep the measure of our numbers, of our decorations and the-
atrical machinery, of the proper time, of the fit alternation of
dialogue, and the physical strength of the actor? And yet we
are to play, and play, and constantly give novelties. Ought we
not to profit by our privilege, then, since we accomplish just as
much by mutilated works as by entire ones? It is the public
itself that grants the privilege. Few Germans, perhaps few
men of any modern nation, have a proper sense of an æsthetic
whole: they praise and blame by passages; they are charmed
by passages; and who has greater reason to rejoice at this than
actors, since the stage is ever but a patched and piece-work
matter?”
“Is !” cried Wilhelm ; “but must it ever be so ? Must every
thing that is continue ? Convince me not that you are right:
for no power on earth should force me to abide by any contract
which I had concluded with the grossest misconceptions.”
Serlo gave a merry turn to the business; and persuaded Wil-
helm to review once more the many conversations they had had
together about Hamlet ; and himself to invent some means of
properly reforming the piece.
After a few days, which he had spent alone, our friend re-
280
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
turned with a cheerful look. “I am much mistaken,” cried he,
“if I have not nov discovered how the whole is to be managed :
nay, I am convinced that Shakespeare himself would have ar-
ranged it so, bad not his mind been too exclusively directed to
the ruling interest, and perhaps misled by the novels, which fur-
nished him with his materials.”
“Let us hear," said Serlo, placing himself with an air of
solemnity upon the sofa; “I will listen calmly, but judge with
rigor."
"I am not afraid of you,” said Wilhelm ; “only hear me. In
the composition of this play, after the most accurate investigation
and the most mature reflection, I distinguish two classes of ob-
jects. The first are the grand internal relations of the persons
and events, the powerful effects which arise from the characters
and proceedings of the main figures : these, I hold, are individ-
ually excellent; and the order in which they are presented can-
not be improved. No kind of interference must be suffered to
destroy them, or even essentially to change their form. These
are the things which stamp themselves deep into the soul; which
all men long to see, which no one dares to meddle with. Ac-
cordingly, I understand, they have almost wholly been retained
in all our German theatres. But our countrymen have erred, in
my opinion, with regard to the second class of objects, which may
be observed in this tragedy; I allude to the external relations of
the persons, whereby they are brought from place to place, or
combined in various ways by certain accidental incidents. These
they have looked upon as very unimportant; have spoken of
them only in passing, or left them out altogether. Now, indeed,
it must be owued, these threads are slack and slender; yet they
run through the entire piece, and bind together much that would
otherwise fall asunder, and does actually fall asunder, when you
cut them off, and imagine you have done enough and more, if
you have left the ends hanging.
“ Among these external relations I include the disturbances in
Norway, the war with young Fortinbras, the embassy to his un-
cle, the settling of that feud, the march of young Fortinbras to
Poland, and his coming back at the end ; of the same sort are
BOOK V. CHAP. IV.
281
Horatio's return from Wittenberg, Hamlet's wish to go thither,
the journey of Laertes to France, his return, the despatch of
Hamlet into England, his capture by pirates, the death of the
two courtiers by the letter which they carried. All these cir-
cumstances and events would be very fit for expanding and
lengthening a novel; but here they injure exceedingly the unity
of the piece, particularly as the hero has no plan, and are in con-
sequence entirely out of place.”
“For once in the right!” cried Serlo..
“Do not interrupt me," answered Wilhelm ; “perhaps you
will not always think me right. These errors are like tempo-
rary props of an edifice; they must not be removed till we have
built a firm wall in their stead. My project therefore is, not at
all to change those first-mentioned grand situations, or at least
as much as possible to spare them, both collectively and individ-
ually; but with respect to these external, single, dissipated, and
dissipating motives, to cast them all at once away, and substitute
a solitary one instead of them.”
: “And this?” inquired Serlo, springing up from his recumbent
posture.
“It lies in the piece itself,” answered Wilhelm, “ only I em-
ploy it rightly. There are disturbances in Norway. You shall
hear my plan and try it.”
“ After the death of Hamlet the father, the Norwegians, lately
conquered, grow unruly. The viceroy of that country sends his
son, Horatio, an old school-friend of Hamlets, and distinguished
above every other for his bravery and prudence, to Denmark, to
press forward the equipment of the fleet, which, under the new
luxurious King, proceeds but slowly. Horatio has known the
former king, having fought in his battles, having even stood in
favor with him: a circumstance by which the first ghost-scene
will be nothing injured. The new sovereign gives Horatio au-
dience, and sends Laertes into Norway with intelligence that the
fleet will soon arrive, whilst Horatio is commissioned to accel-
erate the preparation of it; and the Queen, on the other hand,
will not consent that Hamlet, as he wishes, should go to sea along
with him."
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
“ Heaven be praised !” cried Serlo; "we shall now get rid of
Wittenberg and the university, which was always a sorry piece
of business. I think your idea extremely good : for, except
these two distant objects, Norway and the fleet, the spectator will
not be required to fancy anything; the rest he will see; the rest
takes place before him ; whereas, his imagination, on the other
plan, was hunted over all the world.”
“You easily perceive,” said Wilhelm, “how I shall contrive to
keep the other parts together. When Hamlet tells Horatio of
his uncle's crime, Horatio counsels him to go to Norway in his
company, to secure the affections of the army, and return in war-
like force. Hamlet also is becoming dangerous to the King and
Queen ; they find no readier method of deliverance, than to send
him in the fleet, with Rosencrantz and Guildenstern to be spies
upon him; and as Laertes in the mean time comes from France,
they determine that this youth, exasperated even to murder,
returns: for his wandering through the churchyard perhaps
some lucky motive may be thought of; his meeting with Laertes
in Ophelia's grave is a grand moment, which we must not part
with. After this, the King resolves that it is better to get quit
of Hamlet on the spot: the festival of his departure, the pre-
tended reconcilement with Laertes, are now solemnized ; on
which occasion, kuightly sports are held, and Laertes fights with
Hamlet. Without the four corpses, I cannot end the piece; not.
now again comes in force, and Hamlet gives his dying voice for
Horatio."
« Quick ! quick !” said Serlo, "sit down and work the piece:
your plan has my entire approbation ; only do not let your zeal
for it evaporate."
BOOK V. CHAP. V.
283
CH ᎪᏢᎢ Ꭼ Ꭱ V.
TITILHELM had already been for some time busied with
translating Hamlet; making use, as he labored, of Wie-
land's spirited performance, by means of which he had first
become acquainted with Shakespeare. What in Wieland's work
had been omitted he replaced ; and he had at length procured
himself a complete version, at the very time when Serlo and he
finally agreed about the way of treating it. He now began, ac-
cording to his plan, to cut out and insert, to separate and unite,
to alter, and often to restore ; for, satisfied as he was with his
own conception, it still appeared to him as if, in executing it, he
were but spoiling the original.
So soon as all was finished, he read his work to Serlo and the
rest. They declared themselves exceedingly contented with it;
Serlo, in particular, made many flattering observations.
“ You have felt very justly,” said he, among other things,
“that some external circumstances must accompany this piece;
but that they must be simpler than those which the great poet
has employed. What takes place without the theatre, what the
spectator does not see, but must imagine for himself, is like a
background, in front of which the acting figures move. Your
large and simple prospect of the fleet and Norway will very
much improve the piece; if this were altogether taken from it, -
we should have but a family scene remaining; and the great
idea, that here a kingly house, by internal crimes and incongru-
ities, goes down to ruin, would not be presented with its proper
dignity. But if the former background were left standing, so
manifold, so fluctuating and confused, it would hurt the impres-
sion of the figures."
Wilhelm again took Shakespeare's part; alleging that he wrote
for islanders, for Englishmen, who generally, in the distance,
were accustomed to see little else than ships and voyages, the
coast of France and privateers; and thus what perplexed and
distracted others was to them quite natural.
Serlo assented; and both of them were of opinion, that as the
284
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
piece was now to be produced upon the German stage, this
more serious and simple background was the best adapted for
the German mind.
The parts had been distributed before : Serlo undertook Polo-
nius; Aurelia undertook: Ophelia ; Laertes was already desig-
nated by his name ; a young, thick-set, jolly new-comer was to
be Horatio : the King and the Ghost alone occasioned some per-
plexity. For both of these was no one but Old Boisterous re-
maining. Serlo proposed to make the Pedant King; but against
this our friend protested in the strongest terms. They could re-
solve on nothing.
Wilhelm also had allowed both Rosencrantz and Guildenstern
to continue in his piece. “Why not compress them into one?”
said Serlo. “This abbreviation will not cost you much."
“Heaven keep me from all such curtailments !” answered
Wilhelm, “ they destroy at once the sense and the effect. What
these two persons are and do it is impossible to represent
by one. In such small matters we discover Shakespeare's great-
ness. These soft approaches, this smirking and bowing, this as-
senting, wheedling, flattering, this whisking agility, this wagging
of the tail; this allness and emptiness, this legal knavery, this
ineptitude and insipidity, — how can they be expressed by a
single man? There ought to be at least a dozen of these people,
if they could be had: for it is only in society that they are any-
thing; they are society itself; and Shakespeare showed no little
wisdom and discernment in bringing in a pair of them. Besides,
I need them as a couple that may be contrasted with the single,
noble, excellent Horatio.”
“I understand you," answered Serlo, “and we can arrange it.
One of them we shall hand over to Elmira, Old Boisterous's eldest
daughter: it will all be right, if they look well enough, and I will
deck and trim the puppets so that it shall be pleasure to behold
them.”
Philina was rejoicing not a little, that she had to act the Duch-
ess, in the small subordinate play. “I will show it so natural,”
cried she, “how you wed a second, without loss of time, when
you have loved the first immensely. I hope to gain the loudest
plaudits, and every man shall wish he were the third.”
BOOK V. CHAP. V.
285
Aurelia gave a frown: her spleen against Philina was increas-
ing every day. .
6 'Tis a pity, I declare,” said Serlo, “that we have no ballet;
else you should dance me a pas de deux with your first, and then
another with your second husband, --- and the first might dance
himself to sleep by the measure; and your bits of feet and ankles
would look so pretty, tripping to and fro upon the side stage."
“Of my ankles you do not kuow much,” replied she, snappishly;
“and as to my bits of feet,” cried she, hastily reaching below the
table, pulling off her slippers, and holding them together out to
Serlo; "here are the cases of them, and I give you leave to find
me nicer ones.”
“It were a serious task,” said he looking at the elegant half-
shoes. “In truth, one does not often meet with anything so
dainty."
They were of Parisian workmanship; Philina had obtained
them as a present from the Countess, a lady whose foot was cele-
brated for its beauty.
“A charming thing !” cried Serlo ; “my heart leaps at the
sight of them."
. “What gallant throbs !” replied Philina.
“There is nothing in the world beyond a pair of slippers," said
he; “ of such pretty manufacture, in their proper time and place,
when—"
Philina took her slippers from his hands, crying, “ You have
squeezed them all! They are far too wide for me!” She played
with them, and rubbed the soles of them together. “How hot
it is !” cried she, clapping the sole upon her cheek, then again
rubbing, and holding it to Serlo. He was innocent enough to
stretch out his hand to feel the warmth. “ Clip! clap!” cried
she, giving him a smart rap over the knuckles with the heel, so
that he screamed and drew back his hand; “I will teach you to
use my slippers better."
“ And I will teach you to use old folk like children,” cried the
other ; then sprang up, seized her, and plundered many a kiss,
every one of which she artfully contested with a show of serious
reluctance. In this romping, her long hair got loose, and floated
286
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
round the group; the chair overset; and Aurelia, inwardly in-.
dignant at such rioting, arose in great vexation.
CHAPTER VI.
THOUGH in this remoulding of Hamlet many characters had
been cut off, a sufficient number of them still remained ;
a number which the company was scarcely adequate to meet.
“If this is the way of it," said Serlo, “our prompter himself
must issue from his den, and mount the stage, and become a per-
sonage like one of us.”
“In his own station,” answered Wilhelm, “I have frequently
admired him."
“I do not think,” said Serlo, “ that there is in the world a more
perfect artist of his kind. No spectator ever hears him; we upon
the stage catch every syllable. He has formed in himself, as it
were, a peculiar set of vocal organs for this purpose ; he is like
a Genius that whispers intelligibly to us in the hour of need. He
feels, as if by instinct, what portion of his task an actor is com-
pletely master of; and anticipates from afar where his memory
will fail him. I have known cases, in which I myself had
scarcely read my part; he said it over to me word for word,
and I played happily. Yet he has some peculiarities, which
would make another in his place quite useless. For example, he
takes such an interest in the pieces, that in giving any mov-
ing passage, he does not indeed declaim it, but he reads it with
all pomp and pathos. By this ill habit, he has nonplussed me
on more than one occasion."
“ As with another of his singularities," observed Aurelia, “he
once left me sticking fast in a very dangerous passage.”
“How could this happen, with the man's attentiveness ?” said
Wilhelm.
“He is so affected,” said Aurelia, “by certain passages, that he
weeps warm tears, and for a few moments loses all reflection ;
and it is not properly passages such as we should call affecting
BOOK V. CHAP. VI.
287
that produce this impression on him; but, if I express myself
clearly, the beautiful passages, those out of which the pure spirit
of the poet looks forth, as it were, through open sparkling eyes ;
passages which others at most rejoice over, and which many
thousands altogether overlook."
“And with a soul so tender, why does he never venture on
the stage ?"
“A hoarse voice,” said Serlo, “and a stiff carriage, exclude
him from it; as his melancholic temper excludes him from soci-
ety. What trouble have I taken, and in vain, to make myself
familiar with him! But he is a charming reader; such another
I have never heard ; no one can observe like him the narrow
limit between declamation and graceful recital.”
“ The very man !” exclaimed our friend, “the very man !
What a fortunate discovery! We have now the proper hand
for delivering the passage of The rugged Pyrrhus.”
“One requires your eagerness,” said Serlo, " before one can
employ every object, in the use it was meant for.”
“In truth,” said Wilhelm, “I was very much afraid we should
be obliged to leave this passage out; the omission would have
lamed the whole.play.”
“Well! That is what I cannot understand," observed Aurelia.
“I hope you will erelong be of my opinion," answered Wil-
helm. “Shakespeare has introduced these travelling players with
a double purpose. The person who recites the death of Priam
with such feeling, in the first place, makes a deep impression on
the Prince himself; he sharpens the conscience of the wavering
youth: and, accordingly, this scene becomes a prelude to that
other, where, in the second place, the little play produces such
effect upon the King. Hamlet sees himself reproved and put to
shame by the player, who feels so deep a sympathy in foreign
and fictitious woes : and the thought of making an experiment
upon the conscience of his stepfather is in consequence suggested
to him. What a royal monologue is that, which ends the second
act! How charming it will be to speak it!
O what a rogue and peasant slave am I!
Is it not monstrous that this player hero,
288
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP,
But in a fiction, in a dream of passion,
Could force his soul so to his own conceit,
Tears in his eyes, distraction in his aspect,
A broken voice, and his whole function suiting
With forms to his conceit? And all for nothing!
For Hecuba! What's Hecuba to him,
Or he to Hecuba, that he should weep for her ?""
“If we can but persuade our man to come upon the stage,”
observed Aurelia.
“ We must lead him to it by degrees,” said Şerlo. “At the
rehearsal, he may read the passage ; we shall tell him that an
actor whom we are expecting is to play it; and so, by and by,
we shall lead him nearer to the point.”
Having agreed on this affair, the conversation next turned
upon the Ghost. Wilhelm could not bring himself to give the
part of the living King to the Pedant, that so Old Boisterous
might play the Ghost: he was of opinion that they ought to wait
awhile; because some other actors had announced themselves,
and among these it was probable they would find a fitter man..
We can easily conceive, then, how astonished Wilhelm must
have been when returning home that evening, 'he found a billet
lying on his table, sealed with singular figures, and containing
what follows:
“Strange youth! we know thou art in great perplexity. For
thy Hamlet thou canst hardly find men enough, not to speak of
ghosts. Thy zeal deserves a miracle: miracles we cannot work;
but somewhat marvellous shall happen. If thou have faith, the
Ghost shall arise at the proper hour! Be of courage and keep
firm! This needs no answer: thy determination will be known
to us."
With this curious sheet he hastened back to Serlo, who read
it and re-read it, and at last declared with a thoughtful look,
that it seemed a matter of some moment; that they must con-
sider well and seriously whether they could risk it. They talked
the subject over at some length ; Aurelia was silent, only smiling
now and then; and a few days after, when speaking of the inci-
dent again, she gave our friend, not obscurely, to understand,
BOOK V. CHAP. VI.
289
that she held it all for a joke of Serlo's. She desired him to cast
away anxiety, and to expect the Ghost with patience.
Serlo, for most part, was. in excellent humor: the actors that
were going to leave him took all possible pains to play well, that
their absence might be properly regretted ; and this, combined
with the new-fangled zeal of the others, gave promise of the best
results.
His intercourse with Wilhelm had not failed to exert some in-
fluence on him. He began to speak more about art: for, after
all, he was a German; and Germans like to give themselves
account ºf what they do. Wilhelm wrote down many of their
conversations; which, as our narrative must not be so often in-
terrupted here, we shall communicate to such of our readers as
feel an interest in dramaturgic matters, by some other oppor-
tunity.
In particular, one evening, the manager was very merry in
speaking of the part of Polonius, and how he meant to take it
up. “I engage,” said he, “ on this occasion, to present a very
meritorious person in his best aspect. The repose and security
of this old gentleman, his emptiness and his significance, his
exterior gracefulness and interior meanness, his frankness and
sycophancy, his sincere roguery and deceitful truth, I will intro-
duce with all due elegance in their fit proportions. This respect-
able, gray-haired, enduring, time-serving, half-knave, I will rep-
resent in the most courtly style; the occasional roughness and
coarseness of our author's strokes will further me here. I will
speak like a book, when I am prepared beforehand; and like an
ass, when I utter the overflowings of my heart. I will be insipid
and absurd enough to chime in with every one; and acute enough
never to observe when people make a mock of me. I have sel-
dom taken up a part with so much zeal and roguishness."
“Could I but hope as much from mine!” exclaimed Aurelia.
“I have neither youth nor softness enough to be at home in this
character. One thing alone I am too sure of: the feeling that
turns Ophelia's brain, I shall not want.”
“We must not take the matter up so strictly,” said our friend.
“For my share, I am certain, that the wish to act the charac-
VOL. I.
13
290
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
ter of Hamlet has led me exceedingly astray, throughout my
study of the piece. And now the more I look into the part, the
more clearly do I see, that in my whole form and physiognomy,
there is not one feature such as Shakespeare meant for Hamlet.
When I consider with what nicety the various circumstances are
adapted to each other, I can scarcely hope to produce even a
tolerable effect.”
“You are entering on your new career with becoming consci-
entiousness,” said Serlo. “The actor fits himself to his part as
he can, and the part to him as it must. But how has Shakespeare
drawn his Hamlet? Is he then so utterly unlike you?”
“ In the first place," answered Wilhelm," he is fair-haired."
“ That I call far-fetched,” observed Aurelia. “ How do you
infer that ? ”
“As a Dane, as a Northman, he is fair-haired and blue-eyed
by descent.”
“ And you think Shakespeare had this in view ?”
“I do not find it specially expressed ; but, by comparison of
passages, I think it incontestable. The fencing tires him; the
sweat is running from his brow; and the Queen remarks, He's
fat and scant of breath. Can you conceive him to be otherwise
than plump and fair-haired ? Brown complexioned people, in
their youth, are seldom plump. And does not his wavering mel-
ancholy, his soft lamenting, his irresolute activity, accord with
such a figure ? From a dark-haired young man, you would look
for more decision and impetuosity.”
“You are spoiling my imagination,” cried Aurelia : “ away
with your fat Hamlets ? Do not set your well-fed Prince before
us! Give us rather any succedaneum that will move us, will de-
light us. The intention of the author is of less importance to us
than our own enjoyment, and we need a charm that is adapted
for us."
BOOK V. CHAP. VII.
291
CHAPTER VII.
NE evening a dispute arose among our friends about the
novel and the drama, and which of them deserved the
preference. Serlo said it was a fruitless and misunderstood
debate; both might be superior in their kinds, only each must
keep within the limits proper to it.
“ About their limits and their kinds," said Wilhelm, “I confess
myself not altogether clear."
“Who is so ? " said the other ; "and yet perhaps it were worth
while to come a little closer to the business.”
They conversed together long upon the matter; and in fine,
the following was nearly the result of their discussion.
“In the novel as well as in the drama, it is human nature and
human action that we see. The difference between these sorts of
fiction lies not merely in their outward form; not merely in
the circumstance that the personages of the one are made to
speak, while those of the other have commonly their history
narrated. Unfortunately many dramas are but novels, which pro-
ceed by dialogue; and it would not be impossible to write a
drama in the shape of letters.
“But in the novel, it is chiefly sentiments and events that are
exhibited; in the drama, it is characters and deeds. The novel
must go slowly forward; and the sentiments of the hero, by some
means or another, must restrain the tendency of the whole
to unfold itself and to conclude. The drama, on the other hand,
must hasten, and the character of the hero must press forward to
the end; it does not restrain, but is restrained. The novel-hero
must be suffering, at least he must not in a high degree be active;
in the dramatic one, we look for activity and deeds. Grandison,
Clarissa, Pamela, The Vicar of Wakefield, Tom Jones himself,
are, if not suffering, at least retarding personages ; and the inci-
dents are all in some sort modelled by their sentiments. In the
drama the hero models nothing by himself; all things withstand
him, and he clears and casts away the hinderances from off his
path, or else sinks under them.”
292
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
Our friends were also of opinion, that in the novel, some de-
gree of scope may be allowed to Chance; but that it must al-
ways be led and guided by the sentiments of the personages; on
the other hand, that Fate, which, by means of outward uncon-
nected circumstances, carries forward men, without their own con-
currence, to an unforeseen catastrophe, can have place only in
the drama ; that Chance may produce pathetic situations, but
never tragic ones; Fate, on the other hand, ought always to be
terrible; and is, in the highest sense, tragic, when it brings into
a ruinous concatenation the guilty man, and the guiltless that was
unconcerned with him. .
These considerations led them back to the play of Hamlet, and
the peculiarities of its composition. The hero in this case, it was
observed, is endowed more properly with sentiments than with
a character; it is events alone that push him on; and according-
ly the piece has in some measure the expansion of a novel. But
as it is Fate that draws the plan, as the story issues from a deed
of terror, and the hero is continually driven forward to a deed of
terror, the work is tragic in the highest sense, and admits of
no other than a tragic end.
They were now to study and peruse the piece in common; to
commence what are called the book rehearsals. These Wilhelm
had looked forward to as to a festival. Having formerly collated
all the parts, no obstacle on this side could oppose him. The
whole of the actors were acquainted with the piece; he endeav-
ored to impress their minds with the importance of these book
rehearsals. “As you require,” said he, “ of every musical per-
former, that he shall, in some degree, be able to play from the
book; so every actor, every educated man, should train himself
to recite from the book, to catch immediately the character of
any drama, any poem, any tale he may be reading, and exhibit it
with grace and readiness. No committing of the piece to mem-
ory will be of service, if the actor have not, in the first place, pen-
etrated into the sense and spirit of his author; the mere letter
will avail him nothing."
Serlo declared, that he would overlook all subsequent re-
hearsals, the last rehearsal itself, if justice were but done to these
• BOOK V. CHAP. VII.
293
Vedl.
rehearsals from the book. “For commonly,” said he, “there is
nothing more amusing than to hear an actor speak of study: it
is as if freemasons were to talk of building.”
The rehearsal passed according to their wishes ; and we may
assert, that the fame and favor which our company acquired after-
wards, had their foundation in these few but well-spent hours.
“ You did right, my friend,” said Serlo, when they were alone,
“in speaking to our fellow-laborers so earnestly; and yet I am
afraid they will scarcely fulfil your wishes.”
“ How so?” asked Wilhelm.
“I have noticed,” answered Serlo, “ that as easily as you may
set in motion the imaginations of men, gladly as they listen to
your tales and fictions, it is yet very seldom that you find among
them any touch of an imagination you can call productive. In
actors this remark is strikingly exemplified. Any one of them
is well content to undertake a beautiful, praiseworthy, brilliant
part: and seldom will any one of them do more than self-com-
placently transport himself into his hero's place, without in the
smallest troubling his head whether other people view him so or
not. But to seize with vivacity what the author's feeling was in
writing; what portion of your individual qualities you must cast
off, in order to do justice to a part; how by your own conviction
that you are become another man, you may carry with you the
convictions of the audience; how by the inward truth of your
conceptive power, you can change these boards into a temple, this
pasteboard into woods; to seize and execute all this is given to
very few. That internal strength of soul, by which alone de-
ception can be brought about ; that lying truth, without which
nothing will affect us rightly, have, by most men, never even
been imagined
“ Let us not then press too hard for spirit and feeling in our
friends! The surest way is first coolly to instruct them in the
sense and letter of the piece ; if possible, to open their under-
standings. Whoever has the talent will then, of his own accord,
eagerly adopt the spirited feeling and manner of expression; and
those who have it not, will at least be prevented from acting or
reciting altogether falsely. And among actors, as indeed in all
294
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
cases, there is no worse arrangement than for any one to make
pretensions to the spirit of a thing, while the sense and letter of
it are not ready and clear to him.”
CHAPTER VIII
MYOMING to the first stage rehearsal very early, Wilhelm
U found himself alone upon the boards. The appearance
of the place surprised him, and awoke the strangest recollections.
A forest and village scene stood exactly represented as he once
had seen it in the theatre of his native town. On that occasion
also, a rehearsal was proceeding; and it was the morning when
Mariana first confessed her love to him, and promised him a
happy interview. The peasants' cottages resembled one another
on the two stages, as they did in nature; the true morning sun,
beaming through a half-closed window-shutter, fell upon a part
of a bench ill joined to a cottage door ; but unhappily it did not
now enlighten Mariana's waist and bosom. He sat down, reflect-
ing on this strange coincidence: he almost thought that perhaps
on this very spot he would soon see her again. And alas ! the
truth was nothing more, than that an afterpiece, to which this
scene belonged, was at that time very often played upon the
German stage.
Out of these meditations he was roused by the other actors ;
along with whom two amateurs, frequenters of the wardrobe and
the stage, came in, and saluted Wilhelm with a show of great
enthusiasm. One of these was in some degree attached to Frau
Melina : but the other was entirely a pure friend of art; and
both were of the kind which a good company should always wish
to have about it. It was difficult to say whether their love for
the stage, or their knowledge of it, was the greater. They loved
it too much to know it perfectly; they knew it well enough to
prize the good, and to discard the bad. But their inclination
being so powerful, they could tolerate the mediocre; and the
glorious joy which they experienced from the foretaste and the
BOOK V. CHAP. VIII.
295
aftertaste of excellence, surpassed expression. The mechanical
department gave them pleasure, the intellectual charmed them;
and so strong was their susceptibility, that even a discontinuous
rehearsal afforded them a species of illusion. Deficiencies ap-
peared in their eyes to fade away in distance; the successful
touched them like an object near at hand. In a word, they were
judges such as every artist wishes in his own department. Their
favorite movement was from the side-scenes to the pit, and from
the pit to the side-scenes; their happiest place was in the ward-
robe; their busiest employment was in trying to improve the
dress, position, recitation, gesture, of the actor ; their liveliest
conversation was on the effect produced by him; their most con-
stant effort was to keep him accurate, active, and attentive, to do
him service or kindness, and, without squandering, to procure for
the company a series of enjoyments. The two had obtained the
exclusive privilege of being present on the stage, at rehearsals,
as well as exhibitions. In regard to Hamlet, they had not in all
points agreed with Wilhelm ; here and there he had yielded ;
but for most part he had stood by his opinion ; and, upon the
whole, these discussions had been very useful in the forming of
his taste. He showed both gentlemen how much hè valued
them; and they again predicted nothing less, from these com-
bined endeavors, than a new epoch for the German theatre.
The presence of these persons was of great service during the
rehearsals. In particular, they labored to convince our players
that, throughout the whole of their preparations, the posture and
action, as they were intended ultimately to appear, should always
be combined with the words, and thus the whole be mechanically
united by habit. In rehearsing a tragedy especially, they said,
no common movement with the hands should be allowed ; a
tragic actor that took snuff in the rehearsal always frightened
them; for, in all probability, on coming to the same passage in
the exhibition he would miss his pinch. Nay, on the same prin-
ciples, they maintained that no one should rehearse in boots, if
his part were to be played in shoes. But nothing, they declared,
afflicted them so much as when the women, in rehearsing, stuck
their hands into the folds of their gowns.
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
By the persuasion of our friends, another very good effect was
brought about; the actors all began to learn the use of arms.
Since military parts occur so frequently, said they, can anything
look more absurd than men without the smallest particle of dis-
cipline, trolling about the stage in captains' and majors’ uniforms ?
Wilhelm and Laertes were the first that took lessons of a sub-
altern: they continued their practising of fence with the greatest
zeal.
Such pains did our two amateurs give themselves for perfect-
ing a company, which had so fortunately come together. They
were thus providing for the future satisfaction of the public,
while the public was usually laughing at their taste. People
did not know what gratitude they owed our friends; particularly
for performing one service, the service of frequently impressing
on the actor the fundamental point, that it was his duty to speak
so loud as to be heard. In this simple matter, they experienced
more opposition and repugnance than could have been expected.
Most part maintained that they were heard well enough already;
some laid the blame upon the building; others said, one could
not yell and bellow, when one had to speak naturally, secretly,
or tenderly.
Our two friends having an immeasurable stock of patience,
tried every means of undoing this delusion, of getting round this
obstinate self-will. They spared neither arguments nor flatteries ;
and at last they reached their object, being aided not a little by
the good example of Wilhelm. By him they were requested to
sit down in the remotest corners of the house; and every time
they did not hear him perfectly, to rap on the bench with a key.
He articulated well, spoke out in a measured manner, raised his
tones gradually, and did not overcry himself in the most vehe-
every new rehearsal : by and by the rest submitted to the same
operation; and at last it seemed rational to hope, that the piece
would be heard by every one in all the nooks of the house.
From this example, we may see how desirous people are to
reach their object in their own way; what need there often is of
enforcing on them truths which are self-evident; and how diffi-
BOOK V. CHAP. IX.
297
cult it may be to reduce the man, who aims at effecting some-
thing, to admit the primary conditions under which alone his en-
terprise is possible.
CHAPTER IX.
THE necessary preparations for scenery and dresses, and
I whatever else was requisite, were now proceeding. In re- .
gard to certain scenes and passages, our friend had whims of
his own, which Serlo humored, partly in consideration of their
bargain, partly from conviction, and because he hoped by these
civilities to gain Wilhelm, and to lead him according to his owu
Thus, for example, the King and Queen were at the first
audience, to appear sitting on the throne, with the courtiers at
the sides, and Hamlet standing undistinguished in the crowd.
“ Hamlet,” said he, “must keep himself quiet; his sable dress will
sufficiently point him out. He should rather shun remark than
seek it. Not till the audience is ended, and the King speaks
with him as with a son, should he advance, and allow the scene
to take its course."
A formidable obstacle still remained, in regard to the two
pictures, which Hamlet so passionately refers to in the scene with
visible, at full length, in the bottom of the chamber, near the main
door; and the former King must be clad in armor, like the
Ghost, and hang at the side where it enters. I could wish that
the figure held its right hand in a commanding attitude; were
somewhat turned away; and as it were looked over its shoulder,
that so it might perfectly resemble the Ghost at the moment
when he issues from the door. It will produce a great effect,
when at this instant Hamlet looks upon the Ghost, and the
ornaments, but not so striking.”
There were several other points of this sort, about which we
shall perhaps elsewhere have opportunity to speak.
13 *
298
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
“ Are you, then, inexorably bent on Hamlet's dying at the
end?” inquired Serlo.
“How can I keep him alive," said Wilhelm, “when the whole
piece is pressing him to death? We have already talked at-
large on that matter.”
“ But the public wishes him to live.”
“I will show the public any other complaisance ; but as to this,
I cannot. We often wish that some gallant useful man, who is
dying of a chronical disease, might yet live longer. The family
weep, and conjure the physician, but he cannot stay him: and no
more than this physician can withstand the necessity of nature,
can we give law to an acknowledged necessity of art. It is a
false compliance with the multitude, to raise in them emotions
which they wish, when these are not emotions which they ought to
feel.”
“Whoever pays the cash,” said Serlo, “ may require the ware
according to his liking.”
“Doubtless, in some degree,” replied our friend; "but a great
public should be reverenced, not used as children are, when
pedlers wish to hook the money from them. By presenting
excellence to the people, you should gradually excite in them
a taste and feeling for the excellent; and they will pay their
money with double satisfaction, when reason itself has nothing to
object against this outlay. The public you may flatter, as you do
a well-beloved child, to better, to enlighten it; not as you do a
pampered child of quality, to perpetuate the error you profit
from."
In this manner, various other topics were discussed relating to
the question: What might still be changed in the piece, and what
must of necessity remain untouched? We shall not enter further
on those points at present; but, perhaps, at some future time, we
may submit this altered Hamlet itself to such of our readers as
feel any interest in the subject.
BOOK V. CHAP. X.
299
CHAPTER X.
M HE main rehearsal was at length concluded; it had lasted
1 very long. Serlo and Wilhelm still found much to care
for: notwithstanding all the time which had already been con-
sumed in preparation, some highly necessary matters had been
left to the very last moment.
Thus, the pictures of the kings, for instance, were not ready;
and the scene between Hamlet and his mother, from which so
powerful an effect was looked for, had a very helpless aspect, as
the business stood; for neither Ghost nor painted image of him
was at present forthcoming. Serlo made a jest of this perplex-
ity: “We should be in a pretty scrape,” said he, “if the Ghost
were to decline appearing, and the guard had nothing to fight
with but the air, and our prompter were obliged to speak the
spirit's part from the side-scenes."
“We will not scare away our strange friend by unbelief,” said
Wilhelm : “doubtless at the proper season he will come, and as-
tonish us as much as the spectators.”
“Well, certainly,” said Serlo, “I shall be a happy man to-mor-
row night, when once this piece is fairly acted. It costs us more
arrangement than I dreamed of.”
“But none of you,” exclaimed Philina, “will be happier than
I, little as my part disturbs me. Really, to hear a single sub-
ject talked of forever and forever, when after all there is noth-
ing to come of it, beyond an exhibition which will be forgotten
like so many hundred others, this is what I have not patience
for. In Heaven's name, not so many pros and cons! The
guests you entertain have always something to object against the
dinner ; nay, if you could hear them talk of it at home, they
cannot understand how it was possible to undergo so sad a busi-
ness.”
“Let me turn your illustration, pretty one, to my own advan-
tage," answered Wilhelm. “ Consider how much must be done
by art and nature, by traffickers and tradesmen, before an en-
tertainment can be given. How many years the stag must wan-
300
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
der in the forest, the fish in the river or the sea, before they can
deserve to grace our table! And what cares and consultations
with her cooks and servants has the lady of the house submitted
to! Observe with what indifference the people swallow the pro-
duction of the distant vintager, the seaman and the vintner, as if
it were a thing of course. And ought these men to cease from
laboring, providing, and preparing; ought the master of the
house to cease from purchasing and laying up the fruit of their
But no enjoyment can be transitory; the impression which it
leaves is permanent; and what is done with diligence and effort
communicates to the spectator a hidden force, of which we can-
not say how far its influence may reach.”
“'Tis all one to me," replied Philina ; "only here again I
must observe that you men are constantly at variance with
yourselves. With all this conscientious horror at curtailing
Shakespeare, you have missed the finest thought there was in
Hamlet!”
“ Certainly the finest," said Philina ; “ the Prince himself
takes pleasure in it.”
“ And it is?” inquired Serlo.
“If you wore a wig,” replied Philina, " I would pluck it very
coolly off you; for I think you need to have your understanding
opened."
The rest began to think what she could mean; the conversa-
tion paused. The party arose ; it was now grown late ; they
seemed about to separate. While they were standing in this un-
determined mood, Philina all at once struck up a song, with a
very graceful, pleasing tune: -
Sing me not with such emotion
How the night so lonesome is;
Pretty maids, I've got a notion
It is the reverse of this..
For as wife and man are plighted,
And the better half the wife;
So is night to day united,
Night's the better half of life.
BOOK V. CHAP. X.
301
Can you joy in bustling daytime,
Day when none can get his will ?
It is good for work, for haytime,
For much other it is ill.
But when, in the nightly glooming,
Social lamp on table glows,
Face for faces dear illuming,
And such jest and joyance goes;
When the fiery pert young fellow,
Wont by day to run or ride,
Whispering now some tale would tell 0,-
All so gentle by your side;
When the nightingale to lovers
Lovingly her songlet sings,
Which for exiles and sad rovers
Like mere woe and wailing rings;
With a heart how lightsome feeling
Do ye count the kindly clock,
Which, twelve times deliberate pealing,
Tells you none to-night shall knock!
Therefore, on all fit occasions,
Mark it, maidens, what I sing:
Every day its own vexations,
And the night its joys will bring.
She made a little courtesy on concluding, and Serlo gave a
loud, " Bravo!” She scuttled off, and left the room with a tee-
hee of laughter. They heard her singing and skipping as she
went down stairs.
Serlo passed into another room; Wilhelm bade Aurelia good-
night; but she continued looking at him for a few moments, and
said:
“How I dislike that woman! Dislike her from my heart, and
to her very slightest qualities ! Those brown eyelashes, with
her fair hair, which our brother thinks so charming, I cannot
bear to look at; and that scar upon her brow has something in
it so repulsive, so low and base, that I could recoil ten paces ev-
ery time I meet her. She was lately telling as a joke, that her
father, when she was a child, threw a plate at her head, of which
302
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
this is the mark. It is well that she is marked in the eyes and
brow, that those about her may be on their guard.”
Wilhelm made no answer, and Aurelia went on, apparently
with greater spleen:
“ It is next to impossible to speak a friendly or civil word to
her, so deeply do I hate her, with all her wheedling. Would
that we were rid of her! And you too, my friend, have a cer-
tain complaisance for the creature, a way of acting towards her,
that grieves me to the soul; an attention which borders on re-
spect; which, by Heaven! she does not merit.”
“ Whatever she may be,” replied our friend, “I owe her
thanks. Her upbringing is to blame: to her natural character I
would do justice.”
“Character !” exclaimed Aurelia ; " and do you think such a
creature has a character? O you men! It is so like you! These
are the women you deserve !”
“My friend, can you suspect me?” answered Wilhelm. “I
will give account of every minute I have spent beside her.”
" Come, come,” replied Aurelia ; "it is late, we will not quar-
rel. All like each, and each like all! Good night, my friend !
Good night, my sparkling bird of Paradise !"
Wilhelm asked how he had earned this title.
“ Another time,” cried she; "another time. They say it has
no feet, but hovers in the air, and lives on ether. That, how-
ever, is a story, a poetic fiction. Good night! Dream sweetly,
if you are in luck !”
She proceeded to her room ; and he, being left alone, made
haste to his.
Half angrily he walked along his chamber to and fro. The
jesting but decided tone of Aurelia had hurt him: he felt deeply
how unjust she was. Could he treat Philina with unkindness or
ill nature? She had done no evil to him: but for any love to
her, he could proudly and confidently take his conscience to wit-
ness that it was not so.
On the point of beginning to undress, he was going forward to
his bed to draw aside the curtains, when, not without extreme
astonishment, he saw a pair of women's slippers lying on the
BOOK V. CHAP. X.
303
floor before it. One of them was resting on its sole, the other
on its edge. They were Philina's slippers, he recognized them
but too well. He thought he noticed some disorder in the cur-
tains; nay it seemed as if they moved. He stood, and looked
with unaverted eyes.
A new impulse, which he took for anger, cut his breath: after
a short pause, he recovered, and cried in a firm tone:
« Come out, Philina ? What do you mean by this? Where
is your sense, your modesty ? Are we to be the speech of the
house to-morrow?”
Nothing stirred.
“I do not jest,” continued he: “these pranks are little to my
taste."
No sound! No motion!
Irritated and determined, he at last went forward to the bed,
and tore the curtains asunder. “ Arise," said he, “if I am not
to give you up my room to-night.”
With great surprise, he found his bed unoccupied; the sheets
and pillows in the sleekest rest. He looked around; he searched,
and searched, but found no traces of the rogue. Behind the bed,
the stove, the drawers, there was nothing to be seen: he sought
with great and greater diligence; a spiteful looker-on might have
believed that he was seeking in the hope of finding.
All thought of sleep was gone. He put the slippers on his
table; went past it up and down ; often paused before it; and
a wicked sprite that watched him has asserted, that our friend
employed himself for several hours about these dainty little
shoes ; that he viewed them with a certain interest; that he han-
dled them and played with them; and it was not till towards
morning that he threw himself on bed, without undressing, where
he fell asleep amidst a world of curious fantasies.
He was still slumbering, when Serlo entered hastily. “Where
are you?” cried he: “still in bed ? Impossible! I want you
in the theatre; we have a thousand things to do.”
304
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
CHAPTER XI.
·
HE forenoon and the afternoon fled rapidly away. The
I playhouse was already full ; our friend hastened to dress.
It was not with the joy which it had given him when he first es-
sayed it, that he now put on the garb of Hamlet: he only dressed
himself, that he might be in readiness. On joining the women
in the stage-room, they unanimously cried that nothing sat upon
him right; the fine feather stood awry; the buckle of his belt
did not fit: they began to slit, to sew, and piece together. The
music started : Philina still objected somewhat to his ruff; Au-
relia had much to say against his mantle. “Leave me alone,
good people,” cried he, “this negligence will make me liker
Hamlet.” The women would not let him go, but continued
trimming him. The music ceased; the acting was begun. He
looked at himself in the glass; pressed his hat closer down upon
his face, and retouched the painting of his cheeks.
At this instant, somebody came rushing in and cried : “ The
Ghost! the Ghost !”
Wilhelm had not once had time all day to think of the Ghost,
and whether it would come or not. His anxiety on that head
was at length removed, and now some strange assistant was to
be expected. The stage manager came in, inquiring after vari-
ous matters; Wilhelm had not time to ask about the Ghost; he
hastened to present himself before the throne, where King and
Queen, surrounded with their court, were already glancing in all
the splendors of royalty, and waiting till the scene in front of
them should be concluded. He caught the last words of Hora-
tio, who was speaking of the Ghost, in extreme confusion, and
seemed to have almost forgotten his part.
The intermediate curtain went aloft, and Hamlet saw the
crowded house before him. Horatio having spoken his address,
and been dismissed by the King, pressed through to Hamlet;
and, as if presenting himself to the Prince, he said: “ The Devil
is in harness; he has put us all in fright.”
In the mean while two men of large stature, in white cloaks
BOOK V. CHAP. XI.
305
and capouches, were observed standing in the side-scenes. Our
friend, in the distraction, embarrassment, and hurry of the mo-
ment, had failed in the first soliloquy; at least such was his own
opinion, though loud plaudits had attended his exit. Accord-
ingly he made his next entrance in no pleasant mood, with the
dreary wintry feeling of dramatic condemnation. Yet he girded
up his mind; and spoke that appropriate passage on the “rouse
and wassel,” the “heavy-headed revel" of the Danes, with suit-
able indifference; he had, like the audience, in thinking of it,
quite forgotten the Ghost; and he started in real terror, when
Horatio cried out, “ Look, my lord, it comes !” He whirled vio-
lently round; and the tall, noble figure, the low inaudible tread,
the light movement in the heavy-looking armor, made such an
impression on him, that he stood as if transformed to stone, and
could utter only in a half-voice his, “Angels and ministers of
grace defend us !” He glared at the form; drew a deep breath-
ing once or twice, and pronounced his address to the Ghost, in a
manner so confused, so broken, so constrained, that the highest
art could not have hit the mark so well.
His translation of this passage now stood him in good stead.
He had kept very close to the original; in which the arrange-
ment of the words appeared to him expressive of a mind con-
founded, terrified, and seized with horror:
“Be thou a spirit of health, or goblin damned,
Bring with thee airs from Heaven or blasts from Hell,
Be thy intents wicked or charitable,
Thou com'st in such a questionable shape,
That I will speak to thee; I'll call thee Hamlet,
King, father, royal Dane: O answer me!”.
A deep effect was visible in the audience. The Ghost beckoned,
the Prince followed him amid the loudest plaudits.
The scene changed ; and when the two had reappeared, the
Ghost, on a sudden, stopped, and turned round; by which means
Hamlet came to be a little too close upon it. With a-longing
curiosity, he looked in at the lowered vizor, but except two deep-
lying eyes, and a well-formed nose, he could discern nothing.
Gazing timidly, he stood before the Ghost; but when the first
306
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
tones issued from the helmet, and a somewhat hoarse, yet deep
and penetrating voice pronounced the words, “I am thy father's
spirit,” Wilhelm, shuddering, started back some paces, and the
audience shuddered with him. Each imagined that he knew the
voice; Wilhelm thought he noticed in it some resemblance to
his father's. These strange emotions and remembrances; the
curiosity he felt about discovering his secret friend, the anxiety
about offending him, even the theatric impropriety of coming too
near him in the present situation, all this affected Wilhelm with
powerful and conflicting impulses. During the long speech of
the Ghost, he changed his place so frequently; he seemed so un-
settled and perplexed, so attentive and so absent-minded, that his
acting caused a universal admiration, as the Spirit caused a uni-
versal horror. The latter spoke with a feeling of melancholy
anger, rather than of sorrow; but of an anger spiritual, slow, and
inexhaustible. It was the mistemper of a noble soul, that is ser-
ered from all earthly things, and yet devoted to unbounded woe.
At last he vanished; but in a curious manner; for a thin, gray,
transparent gauze arose from the place of descent, like a vapor,
spread itself over him, and sank along with him.
Hamlet's friends now entered, and swore upon the sword. Old
Truepenny, in the mean time, was so busy under ground, that
wherever they might take their station, he was sure to call out
right beneath them: “Swear!” and they started, as if the soil
had taken fire below them, and hastened to another spot. On
each of these occasions, too, a little flame pierced through at the
place where they were standing. The whole produced on the
spectators a profound impression
After this, the piece proceeded calmly on its course : nothing
failed, all prospered; the audience manifested their contentment,
and the actors seemed to rise in heart and spirits every scene.
BOOK V. OHAP. XII.
307
.CHAPTER XII.
M HE curtain fell; and rapturous applauses sounded out of
1 every corner of the house. The four princely corpses
sprang aloft, and embraced each other. Polonius and Ophelia
likewise issued from their graves, and listened with extreme
satisfaction, as Horatio, who had stepped before the curtain to
announce the following piece, was welcomed with the most thun-
dering plaudits. The people would not hear of any other play,
but violently required the repetition of the present.
“We have won," cried Serlo, “and so not another reasonable
word this night! Everything depends on the first impression :
we should never take it ill of any actor that, on occasion of his
first appearance, he is provident and even self-willed.”
The box-keeper came and delivered him a heavy sum. “We
dice itself will now be on our side. But where is the supper
that you promised us ? To-night we may be allowed to relish it
a little.”
It had been agreed that all the party were to stay together in
their stage-dresses, and enjoy a little feast among themselves.
Wilhelm had engaged to have the place in readiness, and Frau
Melina to provide the victuals.
A room, which commonly was occupied by scene-painters, had
accordingly been polished up as well as possible; our friends
had hung it round with little decorations; and so decked and
trimmed it, that it looked half like a garden, half like a colon-
nade. On entering it, the company were dazzled with the glit-
ter of a multitude of lights, which, across the vapors of the
over a well-decorated and well-furnished table. These prepara-
tions were hailed with joyful interjections by the party : all took
their places with a certain genuine dignity: it seemed as if some
royal family had met together in the Kingdom of the Shades.
Wilhelm sat between Aurelia and the Frau Melina ; Serlo be-
tween Philina and Elmira ; nobody was discontented with him-
self or with his place.
308
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
Our two theatric amateurs, who had from the first been pres-
ent, now increased the pleasure of the meeting. While the ex-
hibition was proceeding, they had several times stepped round,
and come upon the stage, expressing, in the warmest terms, the
delight which they and the àudience felt. They now descended
to particulars; and each was richly rewarded for his efforts.
With boundless animation, the company extolled man after
man and passage after passage. To the prompter, who had
modestly sat down at the bottom of the table, they gave a liberal
commendation for his rugged Pyrrhus; the fencing of Hamlet
and Laertes was beyond all praise ; Ophelia's mourning had
been inexpressibly exalted and affecting; of Polonius they would
not trust themselves to speak.
Every individual present heard himself commended through
the rest and by them ; nor was the absent Ghost defrauded of
his share of praise and admiration. He had played the part, it
was asserted, with a very happy voice, and in a lofty style ; but
what surprised them most was the information which he seemed
to have about their own affairs. He entirely resembled the
painted figure, as if he had sat to the painter of it; and the two
amateurs described, in glowing language, how awful it had looked
when the spirit entered near the picture, and stepped across before
his own image. Truth and error, they declared, had been com-
mingled in the strangest manner; they had felt as if the Queen
really did not see the Ghost. And Frau Melina was especially
commended, because on this occasion she had gazed upwards
at the picture, while Hamlet was pointing downwards at the
Spectre.
Inquiry was now made how the apparition could have entered.
The stage-manager reported that a back-door, usually blocked
up by decorations, had that evening, as the Gothic hall was occu-
pied, been opened ; that two large figures in white cloaks and
hoods, one of whom was not to be distinguished from the other,
had entered by this passage ; and by the same, it was likely, they
had issued when the third act was over.
Serlo praised the Ghost for one merit: that he had not whined
and lamented like a tailor; nay, to animate his son, had even
BOOK V. CHAP. XII.
309
introduced a passage at the end, which more beseemed such a
hero. Wilhelm had kept it in memory; he promised to insert
it in his manuscript.
Amid the pleasures of the entertainment, it had not been no-
ticed that the children and the Harper were absent. Erelong
they made their entrance, and were blithely welcomed by the
company. They came in together, very strangely decked; Felix
was beating a triangle, Mignon a tambourine; the old man had
his large harp hung round his neck, and was playing on it whilst
he carried it before him. They marched round and round the
table, and sang a multitude of songs. Eatables were handed them;
and the guests seemed to think they could not do a greater kind-
ness to the children, than by giving them as much sweet wine as
they chose to have. For the company themselves had not by
any means neglected a stock of savory flasks, presented by the
two amateurs, which had arrived that evening in baskets. The
children tripped about, and sang; Mignon, in particular, was
frolicsome beyond all wont. She beat the tambourine with the
greatest liveliness and grace : now, with her finger pressed against
the parchment, she hummed across it swiftly to and fro; now
rattled on it with her knuckles, now with the back of her hand ;
nay, sometimes, with alternating rhythm, she struck it first against
her knee and then against her head; and anon twirling it in her
hand, she made the shells jingle by themselves ; and thus, from
the simplest instrument, elicited a great variety of tones. After
she and Felix had long rioted about, they sat down upon an
elbow-chair which was standing empty at the table, exactly oppo-
site to Wilhelm.
“ Keep out of the chair !” cried Serlo, “it is waiting for the
Ghost, I think; and when he comes, it will be worse for you.”
“I do not fear him," answered Mignon : “ if he come, we can
rise. He is my uncle, and will not harm me.” To those who
did not know that her reputed father had been named the Great
Devil, this speech was unintelligible.
The party looked at one another; they were more and more
confirmed in their suspicion that the Manager was in the secret
of the Ghost. They talked and tippled, and the girls from time
to time cast timid glances towards the door.
310
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
The children, who, sitting in the great chair, looked from orer
the table but like puppets in their box, did actually at length start
a little drama in the style of Punch. The screeching tone of these
people Mignon imitated very well ; and Felix and she began to
knock their heads together, and against the edges of the table, in
such a way as only wooden puppets could endure. Mignon, in
particular, grew frantic with gayety ; the company, much as they
had laughed at her at first, were in fine obliged to curb her. But
persuasion was of small avail ; for she now sprang up, and raved
and shook her tambourine, and capered round the table. With
her hair flying out behind her, with her head thrown back, and
her limbs as it were cast into the air, she seemed like one of those
antique Menads, whose wild and all but impossible positions still,
on classic monuments, often strike us with amazement.
Incited by the talents and the uproar of the children, each
endeavored to contribute something to the entertainment of the
night. The girls sung several canons ; Laertes whistled in the
manner of a nightingale ; and the Pedant gave a symphony pia-
nissimo upon the Jew's-harp. Meanwhile the youths and dan-
sels, who sat near each other, had begun a great variety of games;
in which, as the hands often crossed and met, some pairs were
favored with a transient squeeze, the emblem of a hopeful kind-
ness. Madam Melina in particular seemed scarcely to conceal a
decided tenderness for Wilhelm. It was late ; and Aurelia, per-
haps the only one retaining self-possession in the party, now stood
up, and signified that it was time to go.
By way of termination, Serlo gave a firework, or what resem-
bled one ; for he could imitate the sound of crackers, rockets, and
firewheels, with his mouth, in a style of nearly inconceivable cor-
rectness. You had only to shut your eyes, and the deception was
complete. In the mean time, they had all risen; the men gave
their arms to the women to escort them home. Wilhelm was
walking last with Aurelia. The stage-manager met him on the
stairs, and said to him: “Here is the veil our Ghost vanished in:
it was hanging fixed to the place where he sank: we found it
this moment.” “A curious relic!” said our friend, and took
it with him.
BOOK V. CHAP. XIII.
311
At this instant his left arm was laid hold of, and he felt a smart
twinge of pain in it. Mignon had hid herself in the place; she
had seized him, and bit his arm. She rushed past him, down
stairs, and disappeared.
On reaching the open air, almost all of them discovered that
they had drunk too liberally. They glided asunder without tak-
ing leave.
The instant Wilhelm gained his room, he stripped, and extin-
guishing his candle, hastened into bed. Sleep was overpowering
him without delay, when a noise, that seemed to issue from be-
hind the stove, aroused him. In the eye of his heated fancy, the
image of the harnessed King was hovering there : he sat up that
he might address the Spectre ; but he felt himself encircled with
soft arms, and his mouth was shut with kisses, which he had not
force to push away.
CHAPTER XIII.
MTEXT morning, Wilhelm started up with an unpleasant feel-
I ing, and found himself alone. His head was still dim with
the tumult, which he had not yet entirely slept off ; and the rec-
ollection of his nightly visitant disquieted his mind. His first
suspicion lighted on Philina ; but, on second thoughts, he con-
ceived that it could not have been she. He sprang out of bed,
and, while putting on his clothes, he noticed that the door, which
commonly he used to bolt, was now ajar; though whether he had
shut it on the previous night or not he could not recollect.
But what surprised him most, was the Spirit's veil, which he
found lying on his bed. Having brought it up with him, he had
most probably thrown it there himself. It was a gray gauze ; on
the lem of it he noticed an inscription broidered in dark letters.
He unfolded it, and read the words : “FOR THE FIRST AND THE
LAST TIME! FLY, YOUTH! FLY!” He was struck with it, and
knew not what to think or say.
At this moment Mignon entered with his breakfast. The as-
pect of the child astonished Wilhelm, we may almost say fright-
312
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
ened him. She appeared to have grown taller over night: she
entered with a stately, noble air; and looked him in the face so
earnestly, that he could not endure her glances. She did not
would press his hand, or kiss his cheek, his lips, his arm, or shoul-
der: but having put his things in order, she retired in silence.
The appointed time of a first rehearsal now arrived : our
friends assembled, all of them entirely out of tune from yester-
night's debauch. Wilhelm roused himself as much as possible,
that he might not at the very outset violate the principles of dili-
gence, which he had preached so lately with such emphasis. His
practice in the matter helped him through: for practice and
habit must, in every art, fill up the voids which genius and tem- ,
per in their fluctuations will so often leave.
But in the present case, our friends had especial reason to
admit the truth of the remark, that no one should begin with a
festivity any situation that is meant to last, particularly that is
meant to be a trade, a mode of living. Festivities are fit for
what is happily concluded: at the commencement, they but waste
the force and zeal which should inspire us in the struggle, and
support us through a long-continued labor. Of all festivities, the
marriage-festival appears the most unsuitable: calmness, humil-
ity, and silent hope befit no ceremony more than this.
So passed the day, which to Wilhelm seemed the most insipid
he had ever spent. Instead of their accustomed conversation in
the evening, the company began to yawn: the interest of Hamlet
was exhausted; they rather felt it disagreeable than otherwise
that the piece was to be given again next night. Wilhelm showed
the veil which the Royal Dane had left; it was to be inferred
from this, that he would not come again. Serlo was of that
opinion; he appeared to be deep in the secrets of the Ghost :
but, on the other hand, the inscription, “Fly, youth! Fly!?!
seemed inconsistent with the rest. How could Serlo be in league
with any one whose aim it was to take away the finest actor of
his troop?
It had now become a matter of necessity to confer on Boister-
ous the Ghost's part, and on the Pedant that of the King. Both
BOOK V. CHAP. XIII.
313
declared that they had studied these sufficiently: nor was it won-
derful; for, in such a number of rehearsals, and so copious a
treatment of the subject, all of them had grown familiar with it;
each could have exchanged his part with any other. Yet they
rehearsed a little here and there, and prepared the new adven-
turers as fully as the hurry would admit. When the company
was breaking up at a pretty late hour, Philina softly whispered
Wilhelm as she passed : “I must have my slippers back: thou
wilt not bolt the door?” These words excited some perplexity
in Wilhelm, when he reached his chamber: they strengthened
the suspicion that Philina was the secret visitant: and we our-
selves are forced to coincide with this idea ; particularly as the
causes, which awakened in our friend another and a stranger
supposition, cannot be disclosed. He kept walking up and down
his chamber, in no quiet frame : his door was actually not yet
bolted.
On a sudden, Mignon rushed into the room; laid hold of him,
and cried; “Master! save the house! It is on fire !” Wilhelm
sprang through the door; and a strong smoke came rushing down
upon him from the upper story. On the street he heard the cry
of fire ; and the Harper, with his instrument in his hand, came
down stairs breathless through the smoke. Aurelia hurried out
of her chamber, and threw little Felix into Wilhelm's arms.
“Save the child !” cried she; “and we will mind the rest.”
Wilhelm did not look upon the danger as so great; his first
thought was to penetrate to the source of the fire, and try to stifle
it before it reached a head. He gave Felix to the Harper; com-
manding him to hasten down the stone stairs, which led across a
little garden vault out into the garden, and to wait with the
children in the open air. Mignon took a light to show the way.
He begged Aurelia to secure her things there also. He himself
pierced upwards through the smoke; but it was in vain that he
exposed himself to such danger. The flame appeared to issue
from a neighboring house; it had already caught the wooden
floor and staircase : some others, who had hastened to his help,
were suffering like himself from fire and vapor. Yet he kept
inciting them; he called for water; he conjured them to dispute
VOL. I.
14
314
MEISTER:S APPRENTICESHIP.
every inch with the flame; and promised to abide by them to
the last. At this instant, Mignon came springing up, and cried :
“Master! save thy Felix! The old man is mad! He is killing
him.” Scarcely knowing what he did, Wilhelm darted down
stairs, and Mignon followed close behind him.
On the last steps, which led into the garden vault,, he paused
with horror. Some heaps of fire-wood branches, and large masses
of straw, which had been stowed in the place, were burning with
a clear flame ; Felix was lying on the ground and screaming ;
the Harper stood aside holding down his head, and leaned against
the wall. “Unhappy creature! what is this?” said Wilhelm.
The old man spoke not; Mignon lifted Felix, and carried him
with difficulty to the garden ; while Wilhelm strove to pull the
fire asunder and extinguish it; but only by his efforts made the
flame more violent. At last he too was forced to fly into the
garden, with his hair and his eyelashes burnt; tearing the
Harper with him through the conflagration, who, with singed
beard, unwillingly accompanied him.
Wilhelm hastened instantly to seek the children. He found
them on the threshold of a summer-house at some distance:
Mignon was trying every effort to pacify her comrade. Wilhelm
took him on his knee: he questioned him, felt him ; but could
obtain no satisfactory account from either him or Mignon.
Meanwhile, the fire had fiercely seized on several houses ; it
was now enlightening all the neighborhood. Wilhelm looked
at the child in the red glare of the flames; he could find no
wound, no blood, no hurt of any kind. He groped over all the
little creature's body ; but it gave no sign of pain ; on the con-
trary, it by degrees grew calm, and began to wonder at the blaż-
ing houses, and express its pleasure at the spectacle of beams and
rafters burning, all in order, like a grand illumination, so beauti-
fully there.
Wilhelm thought not of the clothes or goods he might have
lost; he felt deeply how inestimable to him was this pair of hu-
man beings, who had just escaped so great a danger. He pressed
little Felix to his heart with a new emotion; Mignon too he was
about to clasp with joyful tenderness, but she softly avoided this :
she took him by the hand and held it fast.
BOOK V. CHAP. XIII.
315
“Master,said she, -- (till the present evening she had hardly
ever named him master; at first she used to name him sir, and
afterwards to call him father), _"Master! we have escaped an
awful danger; thy Felix was on the point of death."
By many inquiries, Wilhelm learned from her at last, that
when they came into the vault, the Harper tore the light from
her hand, and set on fire the straw. That he then put Felix
down ; laid his hands with strange gestures on the head of the
child, and drew a knife as if he meant to sacrifice him. That
she sprang forward, and snatched it from him ; that she screamed,
and some one from the house, who was carrying something down
into the garden, came to her help, but must have gone away again
in the confusion, and left the old man and the child alone.
Two or even three houses were now flaming in a general blaze.
Owing to the conflagration in the vault, no person had been able
to take shelter in the garden. Wilhelm was distressed about his
friends, and in a less degree about his property. Not venturing
to quit the children, he was forced to sit, and see the mischief
spreading more and more.
In this anxious state, he passed some hours. Felix had fallen
asleep on his bosom; Mignon was lying at his side, and holding
fast his hand. The efforts of the people finally subdued the fire.
The burnt houses sank, with successive crashes, into heaps ; the ...
morning was advancing; the children awoke, and complained of
bitter cold; even Wilhelm, in his light dress, could scarcely
brook the chillness of the falling dew. He took the young ones
to the rubbish of the prostrate building; where, among the ashes
and the embers, they found a very grateful warmth.
The opening day collected, by degrees, the various individuals
of the party. All of them had got away unhurt, no one had lost
much. Wilhelm's trunk was saved among the rest.
Towards ten o'clock, Serlo called them to rehearse their Ham-
let, at least some scenes of the piece, in which fresh players were
to act. He had some debates to manage, on this point, with the
municipal authorities. The clergy required, that after such a
visitation of Providence, the playhouse should be shut for some
time; and Serlo, on the other hand, maintained that, both for
316
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
the purpose of repairing the damage he had suffered, and of ex-
hilarating the depressed and terrified spirits of the people, nothing
could be more in place, than the exhibition of some interesting
piece. His opinion in the end prevailed ; and the house was
full. The actors played with singular fire, with more of a pas-
sionate freedom than at first. The feelings of the audience had
been heightened by the horrors of the previous night, and their
appetite for entertainment had been sharpened by the tedium of
a wasted and dissipated day; every one had more than usual
susceptibility for what was strange and moving. Most of them
were new spectators, invited by the fame of the piece; they could
not compare the present with the preceding evening. Boisterous
played altogether in the style of the unknown Ghost; the Ped-
ant too had accurately seized the manner of his predecessor ;
nor was his own woful aspect without its use to him ; for it
seemed as if, in spite of his purple cloak and his ermine collar,
Hamlet were fully justified in calling him a “king of shreds and
patches."
Few have ever reached the throne by a path more singular
than his had been. But although the rest, and especially Phi-
lina, made sport of his preferment, he himself signified that the
Count, a consummate judge, had at the first glance predicted
this and much more of him. Philina, on the other hand, recom-
mended lowliness of mind to him ; saying, she would now and
then powder the sleeves of his coat, that he might remember that
unhappy night in the Castle, and wear his crown with meekness.
CHAPTER XIV.
O ur friends had sought out other lodgings, on the spur of
the moment, and were by this means much dispersed. Wil-
helm had conceived a liking for the garden-house, where he had
spent the night of the conflagration : he easily obtained the key,
and settled himself there. But Aurelia being greatly hampered
in her new abode, he was obliged to retain little Felix with him.
Mignon, indeed, would not part with the boy.
BOOK V. CHAP. XIV.
317
He had placed the children in a neat chamber on the upper
floor : he himself was in the lower parlor. The young ones
were asleep at this time: Wilhelm could not sleep.
Adjoining the lovely garden, which the full moon had just risen
to illuminate, the black ruins of the fire were visible, and here
and there a streak of vapor was still mounting from them. The
air was soft, the night extremely beautiful. Philina, in issuing
from the theatre, had jogged him with her elbow, and whispered
something to him, which he did not understand. He felt per-
do. For a day or two, Philina had avoided him: it was not till
to-night that she had given him any second signal. Unhappily
the doors, that he was not to bolt, were now consumed ; the slip-
pers had evaporated into smoke. How the girl would gain ad-
mission to the garden, if her aim was such, he knew not. He
wished she might not come ; and yet he longed to have some
explanation with her.
But what lay heavier at his heart than this, was the fate of the
Harper, whom, since the fire, no one had seen. Wilhelm was
afraid that, in clearing off the rubbish, they would find him bur-
ied under it. Our friend had carefully concealed the suspicion
which he entertained, that it was the Harper who had fired the
house. The old man had been first seen, as he rushed from the
burning and smoking floor; and his desperation in the vault ap-
peared a natural consequence of such a deed. Yet, from the
inquiry which the magistrates had instituted touching the affair,
it seemed likely that the fire had not originated in the house
where Wilhelm lived, but had accidentally been kindled in the
third from that, and had crept along, beneath the roofs, before it
burst into activity.
Seated in a grove, our friend was meditating all these things,
when he heard a low footfall in a neighboring walk. By the
melancholy song which arose along with it he recognized the
turned on the consolations of a miserable man, conscious of being
on the borders of insanity. Unhappily our friend forgot the
whole of it except the last verse :
318
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
Wheresoe'er my steps may lead me,
Neekly at the door I'll stay;
Pious hands will come to feed me,
And I'll wander on my way.
Each will feel a touch of gladness
When my aged form appears;
Each will shed a tear of sadness,
Though I reck not of his tears."
So singing, he had reached the garden-door, which led into an
unfrequented street. Finding it bolted, he was making an at-
tempt to climb the railing, when Wilhelm held him back, and
addressed some kindly words to him. The old man begged to
have the door unlocked, declaring that he would and must escape.
Wilhelm represented to him that he might indeed escape from
the garden, but could not from the town; showing, at the same
time, what suspicions he must needs incur by such a step. But
it was in vain ; the old man held by his opinion. Our friend,
however, would not yield; and at last he brought him, half by
force, into the garden-house, in which he locked himself along
with him. The two carried on a strange conversation ; which,
however, not to afflict our readers with repeating unconnected
thoughts and dolorous emotions, we had rather pass in silence
than detail at large.
CHAPTER XV.
TNDETERMINED what to do with this unhappy man, who
displayed such indubitable symptoms of madness, Wilhelm
would have been in great perplexity, had not Laertes come that
very morning, and delivered him from his uncertainty. Laertes,
as usual, rambling everywhere about the town, had happened, in
some coffee-house, to meet with a man who, a short time ago, had
suffered under violent attacks of melancholy. This person, it
appeared, had been intrusted to the care of some country clergy-.
man, who made it his peculiar business to attend to people in
such situations. In the present instance, as in many others, his
BOOK V. CHAP. XV.
319
treatment had succeeded : he was still in town ; and the friends
of the patient were showing him the greatest honor.
Wilhelm hastened to find out this person : he disclosed the
case to him, and agreed with him about the terms. The Harper
was to be brought over to him, under certain pretexts. The sep-
aration deeply pained our friend : so used was he to see the man
beside him, and to hear his spirited and touching strains. The
hope of soon beholding him recovered served, in some degree, to
moderate this feeling. The old man's harp had been destroyed
in the burning of the house : they purchased him another, and
gave it him when he departed.
Mignon's little wardrobe had in like manner been consumed.
As Wilhelm was about providing her with new apparel, Aurelia
proposed that now at last they should dress lier as a girl.
“No! no! not at all !” cried Mignon; and insisted on it with
such earnestness, that they let her have her way.
The company had not much leisure for reflection: the exlıibi-
tions followed close on one another.
Wilhelm often mingled with the audience, to ascertain their
feelings ; but he seldom heard a criticism of the kind he wished :
more frequently the observations, which he listened to, distressed
or angered him. Thus, for instance, shortly after Hamlet had
been acted for the first time, a youth was telling, with considera-
ble animation, how happy he had been that evening in the play-
house. Wilhelm hearkened ; and was scandalized to learn that
his neighbor had, on that occasion, in contempt of those behind
him, kept his hat on, stubbornly refusing to remove it till the
piece was done ; to which heroical transaction he still looked
back with great contentment.
Another gentleman declared that Wilhelm played Laertes very
well ; but that the actor who had undertaken Hamlet did not
seem too happy in his part. This permutation was not quite :
unnatural; for Wilhelm and Laertes did resemble one another,
though in a very distant manner.
A third critic warmly praised his acting, particularly in the
scene with his mother; only he regretted much, that in this fiery
inoment a white strap had peered out from below the Prince's
waistcoat, whereby the illusion had been greatly marred.
320
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
Meanwhile, in the interior of the company, a multitude of al-
terations were occurring. Philina, since the evening subsequent
closer intimacy. She had, as it seemed on purpose, hired a re-
mote lodging ; she aşsociated with Elmira, and came seldomer to
Serlo, an arrangement very gratifying to Aurelia. Serlo continued
still to like her; and often visited her quarters, particularly when
he hoped to find Elmira there. One evening he took Wilhelm
with him. At their entrance, both of them were much surprised.
to see Philina, in the inner room, sitting in close contact with a
young officer. He wore a red uniform with white pantaloons ;
but his face being turned away, they could not see it. Philina
came into the outer room to meet her visitors, and shut the door
behind her. “You surprise me in the middle of a very strange
adventure,” cried she.
“ It does not appear so strange,” said Serlo: “but let us see
this handsome, young, enviable gallant. You have us in such
training, that we dare not show any jealousy, however it may be.”
“I must leave you to suspicion for a time,” replied Philina, in
a jesting tone ; " yet I can assure you, the gallant is a lady of
my friends, who wishes to remain a few days undiscovered. You
shall know her history in due season; nay, perhaps you shall
even behold the beautiful spinster in person; and then most
probably I shall have need of all my prudence and discretion,
for it seems too likely that your new acquaintance will drive
your old friend out of favor."
Wilhelm stood as if transformed to stone. At the first glance,
the red uniform had reminded him of Mariana ; the figure too
was hers, the fair hair was hers; only the present individual
seemed to be a little taller.
“For Heaven's sake,” cried he, “let us know something more
about your friend ; let us see this lady in disguise! We are now
partakers of your secret: we will promise, we will swear; only
let us see the lady!”
“What a fire he is in!” cried Philina: “but be cool, be calm;
for to-day there will nothing come of it.”
“ Let us only know her name!” cried Wilhelm.
· BOOK V. CHAP. XV.
321
« It were a fine secret, then," replied Philina.
" At least her first name !"
“ If you can guess it, be it so. Three guesses I will give you ;
not a fourth. You might lead me through the whole calendar.'
6 Well!” said Wilhelm, “ Cecilia then?”
“ None of your Cecilias !”
“ Henrietta ?”
“ Not at all! Have a care, I pray you ; guess better, or your
curiosity will have to sleep unsatisfied.”
Wilhelm paused and shivered ; he tried to speak, but the
sound died away within him. “ Mariana ?” stammered he at
last, “ Mariana!”
- Bravo!” cried Philina. - “ Hit to a hair's-breadth !” said
she, whirling round upon her heel, as she was wont on such
occasions.
Wilhelm could not utter a word ; and Serlo, not observing his
emotion, urged Philina more and more to let them in.
Conceive the astonishment of both, when Wilhelm, suddenly
and vehemently interrupting their raillery, threw himself at Phi-
lina's feet, and with an air and tone of the deepest passion begged
and conjured her: “Let me see the stranger,” cried he; "she is
mine; she is my Mariana! She, for whom I have longed all the
days of my life ; she, who is still more to me than all the women
in this world! Go in to her at least, and tell her that I am
here; that the man is here who linked to her his earliest love,
and all the happiness of his youth. Say that he will justify him-
self, though he left her so unkindly; he will pray for pardon of
her; and will grant her pardon, whatsoever she may have done
to him; he will even make no pretensions further, if he may but
see her, if he may but see that she is living, and in happiness.”
· Philina shook her head, and said : “Speak low! Do not be-
tray us! If the lady is indeed your friend, her feelings must be
spared ; for she does not in the least suspect that you are here.
Quite a different sort of business brings her hither ; and you
know well enough, one had rather see a spectre than a former
lover, at an inconvenient time. I will ask her, and prepare her;
we will then consider what is further to be done. To-morrow I
322
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
shall write you a note, saying when you are to come, or whether
you may come at all. Obey me punctually; for I protest that,
without her own and my consent, no eye shall see this lovely
creature. I shall keep my doors better bolted ; and with axe
and crow you surely will not visit me."
Our friend conjured her, Serlo begged of her; but all in vain :
they were obliged to yield, and leave the chamber and the house.
With what feelings Wilhelm passed the night is easy to con-
ceive. How slowly the hours of the day flowed on, while he sat
expecting a message from Philina, may also be imagined. Un-
happily he had to play that evening: such mental pain he had
never endured. The moment his part was done, he hastened to
Philina's house, without inquiring whether he had got her leave
or not. He found her doors bolted: and the people of the house
informed him that Mademoiselle had set out early in the morn-
ing, in company with a young officer; that she had talked about
returning shortly; but they had not believed her, she having
paid her debts, and taken everything along with her.
This intelligence drove Wilhelm almost frantic. He hastened
to Laertes, that he might take measures for pursuing her, and,
cost what it would, for attaining certainty regarding her attend-
ant. Laertes, however, represented to him the imprudence of
such passion and credulity. “I dare wager, after all,” said he,
“ that it is no one else but Friedrich. The boy is of a high
family, I know; he is madly in love with Philina; it is likely he
has cozened from his friends a fresh supply of money, so that he
can once more live with her in peace for a while." .
These considerations, though they did not quite convince our
friend, sufficed to make him waver. Laertes showed him how
improbable the story was with which Philina had amused them;
reminded him how well the stranger's hair and figure answered
Friedrich ; that with the start of him by twelve hours, they
could not easily be overtaken ; and, what was more than all,
that Serlo could not do without him at the theatre.
By so many reasons, Wilhelm was at last persuaded to post-
pone the execution of his project. That night Laertes got an
active man, to whom they gave the charge of following the run-
udence of
Friedrich. ager, after
BOOK V. CHAP. XVI.
323
aways. It was a steady person, who had often officiated as
courier and guide to travelling parties, and was at present with-
out employment. They gave him money, they informed him of
the whole affair; instructing him to seek and overtake the fugi-
tives, to keep them in his eye, and instantly to send intelligence
to Wilhelm where and how he found them. That very hour he
mounted horse, pursuing this ambiguous pair; by which exer-
tions Wilhelm was, in some degree at least, composed.
CHAPTER XVI.
THE departure of Philina did not make a deep sensation,
1 either in the theatre or in the public. She never was in
earnest with anything : the women universally detested her; the
men rather wished to see her selves-two than on the boards.
Thus her fine, and for the stage even happy talents were of no
avail to her. The other members of the company took greater
labor on them to supply her place : the Frau Melina, in particu-
lar, was much distinguished by her diligence and zeal. She
noted down, ás formerly, the principles of Wilhelm ; she guided
herself according to his theory and his example; there was of...
late a something in her nature that rendered her more interest-
ing. She soon acquired an accurate mode of playing; she at-
tained the natural tone of conversation altogether, that of keen
emotion she attained in some degree. She contrived, moreover,
to adapt herself to Serlo's humors ; she took pains in singing for
his pleasure, and succeeded in that matter moderately well.
By the accession of some other players, the company was
rendered more complete : and while Wilhelm and Serlo were
busied each in his degree, the former insisting on the general
tone and spirit of the whole, the latter faithfully elaborating the
separate passages, a laudable ardor likewise inspired the actors,
and the public took a lively interest in their concerns. ,
• We are on the right path,” said Serlo once ; “ if we can con-
tinue thus, the public too will soon be on it. Men are easily
324
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
astonished and misled by wild and barbarous exhibitions; yet
lay before them anything rational and polished, in an interesting
manner, and doubt not they will catch at it.
“What forms the chief defect of our German theatre, what
prevents both actor and spectator from obtaining proper views, is
the vague and variegated nature of the objects it contains. You
nowhere find a barrier on which to prop your judgment. In my
opinion, it is far from an advantage to us that we have expanded
our stage into, as it were, a boundless arena for the whole of
nature; yet neither manager nor actor need attempt contracting
it, until the taste of the nation shall itself mark out the proper
circle. Every good society submits to certain conditions and
restrictions ; so also must every good theatre. Certain manners,
certain modes of speech, certain objects and fashions of proceed-
ing, must altogether be excluded. You do not grow poorer by
limiting your household expenditure.”
On these points our friends were more or less accordant or at
variance. The majority, with Wilhelm at their head, were for
the English theatre ; Serlo and a few others for the French.
It was also settled, that in vacant hours, of which unhappily
an actor has too many, they should in company peruse the finest
plays in both these languages; examining what parts of them
seemed best and worthiest of imitation. They accordingly com-
menced with some French pieces. On these occasions it was
soon observed Aurelia went away whenever they began to read.
At first they supposed she had been sick : Wilhelm once ques-
tioned her about it.
"I would not assist at such a leading," said she: “ for how
could I hear and judge, when my heart was torn in pieces ? I
hate the French language from the bottom of my soul.”
“How can you be hostile to a language," cried our friend,
“ to which we Germans are indebted for the greater part of our
accomplishments; to which we must become indebted still more,
if our natural qualities are ever to assume their proper form ?”
“It is po prejudice !” replied Aurelia: “a painful impression, a
hated recollection of my faithless friend, has robbed me of all en-
joyment in that beautiful and cultivated tongue. How I hate it
.
BOOK V. CHAP. XVI.
325
now, with my whole strength and heart! During the period of
our kindliest connection, he wrote in German, and what genuine,
powerful, cordial German! It was not till he wanted to get quit
of me, that he began seriously to write in French. I marked, I
felt what he meant. What he would have blushed to utter in
his mother tongue, he could by this means write with a quiet
conscience. It is the language of reservations, equivocations, and
lies: it is a perfidious language. Heaven be praised! I cannot
find another word to express this perfide of theirs in all its com-
pass. Our poor treulos, the faithless of the English, are innocent
as babes beside it. Perfide means faithless with pleasure, with in-
solence and malice. How enviable is the culture of a nation that
can figure out so many shades of meaning by a single word !
French is exactly the language of the world; worthy to become
the universal language, that all may have it in their power to
cheat, and cozen, and betray each other! His French letters were
always smooth and pleasant, while you read them. If you chose
to believe it, they sounded warmly, even passionately : but if you
examined narrowly, they were but phrases, accursed phrases !
He has spoiled my feeling to the whole language, to French lit-
erature, even to the beautiful delicious expressions of noble souls
which may be found in it. I shudder when a French word is
spoken in my hearing."
In such terms, she could for hours continue to give utterance
to her chagrin, interrupting or disturbing every other kind of
conversation. Sooner or later, Serlo used to put an end to such
peevish lamentations, by some bitter sally ; but, by this means,
commonly the talk for the evening was destroyed.
In all provinces of life, it is unhappily the case, that whatever
is to be accomplished by a number of co-operating men and cir-
cumstances, cannot long continue perfect. Of an acting company
as well as of a kingdom, of a circle of friends as well as of an
army, you may commonly select the moment when it may be
said that all was standing on the highest pinnacle of harmony,
perfection, contentment, and activity. But alterations will ere-
long occur : the individuals that compose the body often change;
new members are added ; the persons are no longer suited to the
326
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
circumstances, or the circumstances to the persons; what was
formerly united quickly falls asunder. Thus it was with Serlo's
company. For a time, you might have called it as complete as
any German company could ever boast of being. Most of the
actors were occupying their proper places; all had enough to do,
and all did it willingly. Their private personal condition was
not bad; and each appeared to promise great things in his art,
for each commenced with animation and alacrity. But it soon
became apparent that a part of them were mere automatons, who
could not reach beyond what was attainable without the aid of
feeling. Nor was it long till grudgings and envyings arose among
them, such as commonly obstruct every good arrangement, and
easily distort and tear in pieces everything that reasonable and
thinking men would wish to keep united.
The departure of Philina was not quite so insignificant as it
had at first appeared. She had always skilfully contrived to
entertain the Manager, and keep the others in good humor. She
had endured Aurelia's violence with amazing patience, and her
dearest task had been to flatter Wilhelm. Thus she was, in
some respects, a bond of union for the whole: the loss of her was
quickly felt.
Serlo could not live without some little passion of the love
sort. Elmira was of late grown up, we might almost say grown
beautiful : for some time she had been attracting his attention,
and Philina, with her usual dexterity, had favored this attach-
ment so soon as she observed it. “We should train ourselves in
time,” she would say, “ to the business of procuress; nothing else
remains for us when we are old.” Serlo and Elmira had by this
means so approximated to each other, that, shortly after the de-
parture of Philina, both were of a mind; and their small romance
was rendered doubly interesting, as they had to hide it sedulously
from the father ; Old Boisterous not understanding jokes of that
description. Elmira's sister had been admitted to the secret; and
Serlo was in consequence obliged to overlook a multitude of
things in both of them. One of their worst habits was an ex-
cessive love of junketting, nay, if you will, an intolerable glut-
tony. In this respect they altogether differed from Philina, to
BOOK V. CHAP. XVI.
327
whom it gave a new tint of loveliness, that she seemed as it were
to live on air ; eating very little ; and for drink, merely skimming
off, with all imaginable grace, the foam from a glass of cham-
pagne.
Now, however, Serlo, if he meant to please his doxies, was
obliged to join breakfast with dinner; and with this, by a sub-
stantial bever, to connect the supper. But amid gormandizing,
Serlo entertained another plan, which he longed to have fulfilled.
He imagined that he saw a kind of inclination between Wilhelm
and Aurelia ; and he anxiously wished that it might assume a
serious shape. He hoped to cast the whole mechanical depart-
ment of his theatrical economy on Wilhelm's shoulders; to find
in him, as in the former brother, a faithful and industrious tool.
Already he had, by degrees, shifted over to him most of the cares
of management : Aurelia kept the strong box; and Serlo once
mor. Yet there was a circumstance which vexed him in secret,
as it did his sister likewise.
The world has a particular way of acting towards public per-
sons of acknowledged merit; it gradually begins to be indifferent
to them, and to favor talents which are new, though far inferior ;
it makes excessive requisitions of the former, and accepts of any.
thing with approbation from the latter.
Serlo and Aurelia had opportunity enough to meditate on this
peculiarity. The strangers, especially the young and handsome
ones, had drawn the whole attention and applause upon them-
selves; and Serlo and his sister, in spite of the most zealous
efforts, had in general to make their exits without the welcome
sound of clapping hands. It is true, some special causes were at
work on this occasion. Aurelia's pride was palpable, and her
contempt for the public was known to many. Serlo, indeed,
flattered every individual; but his cutting jibes against the whole,
were not only strangers, unknown and wanting help, but some
of them were likewise young and amiable; thus all of them
found patrons.
Erelong, too, there arose internal discontents, and many bick-
328
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
erings among the actors. Scarcely had they noticed thảt our
the more remiss, the more he strove to introduce a better order,
greater accuracy, and chiefly to insist that everything mechan-
ical should be performed in the most strict and regular manner.
Thus, by and by, the whole concern, which actually for a time
had nearly looked ideal, grew as vulgar in its åttributes as any
mere itinerating theatre. And unhappily, just as Wilhelm, by
his labor, diligence, and vigorous efforts, had made himself ac-
quainted with the requisitions of the art, and trained completely
both his person and his habits to comply with them, he began to
feel, in melancholy hours, that this craft deserved the necessary
outlay of time and talents, less than any other. The task was
burdensome, the recompense was small. He would rather have
engaged with any occupation in which, when the period of exer-
tion is passed, one can enjoy repose of mind, than with this,
wherein, after undergoing much mechanical drudgery, the aim
of one's activity cannot still be attained but by the strongest
effort of thought and emotion. Besides, he had to listen to Au-
relia's complaints about her brother's wastefulness; he had to
misconceive the winks and nods of Serlo, trying from afar to lead
him to a marriage with Aurelia. He had, withal, to hide his
own secret sorrow, which pressed heavy on his heart, because of
that ambiguous officer, whom he had sent in quest of. The mes-
senger returned not, sent no tidings; and Wilhelm feared that
his Mariana was lost to him a second time.
About this period, there occurred a public mourning, which
obliged our friends to shut their theatre for several weeks. Wil-
helm seized this opportunity to pay a visit to the clergyman,
with whom the Harper had been placed to board. He found
him in a pleasant district: and the first thing that he noticed in
the parsonage, was the old man teaching a boy to play upon his
instrument. The Harper showed no little joy at sight of Wil-
helm; he rose, held out his hand, and said: “You see, I am still
good for something in the world : permit me to continue; for
my hours are all distributed, and full of business."
The clergyman saluted Wilhelmn. very kindly; and told him
BOOK V. CHAP. XVI.
329
that the Harper promised well, already giving hopes of a com-
plete recovery.
Their conversation naturally turned upon the various modes
of treating the insane.
“ Except physical derangements," observed the clergyman,
"which often place insuperable difficulties in the way, and in re-
gard to which I follow the prescriptions of a wise physician, the
means of curing madness seem to me extremely simple. They
are the very means by which you hinder sane persons from be-
coming mad. Awaken their activity ; accustom them to order;
bring them to perceive that they hold their being and their fate
in common with many millions; that extraordinary talents, the
highest happiness, the deepest misery, are but slight variations
from the general lot: in this way, no insanity will enter; or, if
it has entered, will gradually disappear. I have portioned out
the old man's hours ; he gives lessons to some children on the
harp; he works in the garden; he is already much more cheer-
ful. He wishes to enjoy the cabbages he plants ; my son, to
whom in case of death he has bequeathed his harp, he is ardent
to instruct, that the boy may be able to make use of his inher-
itance. I have said but little to him, as a clergyman, about his
wild mysterious scruples ; but a busy life brings on so many in-
cidents, that erelong he must feel how true it is, that doubt of
any kind can be removed by nothing but activity. I go softly
to work; yet if I could get his beard and hood removed, I should
reckon it a weighty point; for nothing more exposes us to mad-
ness than distinguishing ourselves from others, and nothing more
contributes to maintain our common sense than living in the
universal way with multitudes of men. Alas! how much there
is in education, in our social institutions, to prepare us and our
children for insanity!”
Wilhelm stayed some days with this intelligent divine; heard
from him many curious narratives, not of the insane alone, but
of persons such as commonly are reckoned wise and rational,
though they may have peculiarities which border on insanity.
The conversation became doubly animated, on the entrance of
the Doctor, with whom it was a custom to pay frequent visits to
330
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
his friend the clergyman, and to assist him in his labors of hu-
manity. The physician was an oldish man, who, though in weak
health, had spent many years in the practice of the noblest vir-
tues. He was a strong advocate for country life, being himself
scarcely able to exist except in the open air. Withal, he was
extremely active and companionable. For several years, he had
shown a special inclination to make friends with all the country
clergymen within his reach. Such of these as were employed in
any useful occupation he strove by every means to help; into
others, who were still unsettled in their aims, he endeavored to
infuse a taste for some profitable species of exertion. Being at
the same time in connection with a multitude of noblemen, mag-
istrates, judges, he had in the space of twenty years, in secret,
accomplished much towards the advancement of many branches
of husbandry; he had done his best to put in motion every pro-
ject that seemed capable of benefiting agriculture, animals, or men:
and had thus forwarded improvement in its truest sense. “For
man," he used to say, “ there is but one misfortune; when some
idea lays hold of him, which exerts no influence upon active life,
or still more, which withdraws him from it. At the present
time,” continued he, on this occasion, “I have such a case before
me; it concerns a rich and noble couple ; and hitherto has baf-
fled all my skill. The affair belongs in part to your department,
worthy Pastor, and your friend here will forbear to mention it
again.
"In the absence of a certain nobleman, some persons of the
house, in a frolic not entirely commendable, disguised a young
man in the master's clothes. The lady was to be imposed upon
by this deception ; and although it was described to me as nothing
but a joke, I am much afraid the purpose of it was to lead this
noble and most amiable lady from the path of honor. Her hus-
band, however, unexpectedly returns ; enters his chamber; thinks
he sees his spirit; and from that time falls into a melancholy
temper, firmly believing that his death is near.
“He has now abandoned himself to men who pamper him
with religious ideas; and I see not how he is to be prevented
from going among the Herruluthers with his lady; and as he
BOOK V. CHAP. XVI.
331
has no children, from depriving his relations of the chief part of
his fortune."
“With his lady ?” cried our friend, in great agitation ; for this
story had frightened him extremely.
“ And alas !” replied the Doctor, who regarded Wilhelm's
exclamation only as the voice of common sympathy; "this lady
is herself possessed with a deeper sorrow, which renders a re-
moval from the world desirable to her also. The same young
man was taking leave of her : she was not circumspect enough
to hide a nascent inclination towards him; the youth grew bolder,
clasped her in his arms, and pressed a large portrait of her hus-
band, which was set with diamonds, forcibly against her breast.
She felt a sharp pain, which gradually went off, leaving first a
little redness, then no trace at all. As a man, I am convinced
that she has nothing further to reproach herself with, in this
affair; as a physician, I am certain that this pressure could not
have the smallest ill effect. Yet she will not be persuaded that
an induration is not taking place in the part; and if you try
to overcome her notion by the evidence of feeling, she main-
tains, that though the evil is away this moment, it will return
the next. She conceives that the disease will end in cancer;
and thus her youth and loveliness be altogether lost to others
and herself.”
“ Wretch that I am !” cried Wilhelm, striking his brow, and
rushing from the company into the fields. He had never felt
himself in such a miserable case.
The clergymen and the physician were of course exceedingly
astonished at this singular discovery. In the evening all their
skill was called for, when our friend returned, and, with a circum-
stantial disclosure of the whole occurrence, uttered the most vio-
lent accusations of himself. Both took interest in him; both felt
a real concern about his general condition, particularly as he
painted it in the gloomy colors which arose from the humor of
the moment.
Next day the physician, without much entreaty, was prevailed
upon to accompany him in his return; both that he might bear
him company, and that he might, if possible, do something for
332
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
Aurelia, whom our friend had left in rather dangerous circum-
stances.
In fact, they found her worse than they expected. She was
afflicted with a sort of intermittent fever, which could the less be
mastered, as she purposely maintained and aggravated the at-
tacks of it. The stranger was not introduced as a physician : he
behaved with great courteousness and prudence. They conversed
about her situation bodily and mental: her new friend related
many anecdotes of persons who, in spite of lingering disorders,
had attained a good old age; adding, that in such cases, nothing
could be more injurious than the intentional recalling of passion-
ate and disagreeable emotions. In particular he stated, that for
persons laboring under chronical and partly incurable distempers,
he had always found it a very happy circumstance when they
chanced to entertain, and cherish in their minds, true feelings of
religion. This he signified in the most unobtrusive manner, as it
were historically; promising Aurelia at the same time the read-
ing of a very interesting manuscript, which he said he had re-
ceived from the hands of an excellent lady of his friends, who
was now deceased. “To me,” he said, “it is of uncommon value;
and I shall trust you even with the original. Nothing but the
title is in my handwriting : I have called it, Confessions of a
Fair Saint.”.
Touching the medical and dietetic treatment of the racked and
hapless patient, he also left his best advice with Wilhelm. He
then departed; promising to write ; and, if possible, to come
again in person.
Meanwhile, in Wilhelm's absence, there had changes been
preparing such as he was not aware of. During his director-
ship, our friend had managed all things with a certain liberality
and freedom ; looking chiefly at the main result. Whatever was
required for dresses, decorations, and the like, he had usually
provided in a plentiful and handsome style ; and for securing
the co-operation of his people, he had flattered their self-inter-
est, since he could not reach them by nobler motives. In this
he felt his conduct justified the more, as Serlo for his own part
pever aimed at being a strict economist; but liked to hear the
BOOK V. CHAP. XVI.
333
X
beauty of his theatre commended; and was contented, if Aurelia,
who conducted the domestic matters, on defraying all expenses,
signified that she was free from debt, and could besides afford
the necessary sums for clearing off such. scores as Serlo in the
interim, by lavish kindness to his mistresses or otherwise, might
have incurred.
Melina, who was charged with managing the wardrobe, had
all the while been silently considering these things, with the cold
spiteful temper peculiar to him. On occasion of our friend's de-
parture, and Aurelia's increasing sickness, he contrived to signify
to Serlo, that more money might be raised and less expended ;
and consequently something be laid up, or at least a merrier life
be led. Serlo hearkened gladly to such allegations, and Melina
risked the exhibition of his plan.
“I will not say," continued he, “ that any of your actors has
at present too much salary; they are meritorious people, they
would find a welcome anywhere; but for the income which they
bring us in, they have too much. My project would be to set up
an opera: and as to what concerns the playhouse, I may be allowed
to say it, you are the person for maintaining that establislıment
upon your single strength. Observe how at present your merits
are neglected ; and justice is refused you, not because your fellow-
actors are excellent, but merely good.
“Come out alone, as used to be the case; endeavor to attract
around you middling, I will even say inferior people, for a slen-
der salary; regale the public with mechanical displays, as you
can so cleverly do; apply your remaining means to the opera,
which I am talking of; and you will quickly see, that, with the
same labor and expense, you will give greater satisfaction, while
you draw incomparably more money than at present.”
These observations were so flattering to Serlo, that they could
not fail of making some impression on him. He readily admitted,
that, loving music as he did, he had long wished for some arrange-
ment such as this : though he could not but perceive that the
public taste would thus be still more widely led astray; and that
with such a mongrel theatre, not properly an opera, not properly
a playhouse, any residue of true feeling for regular and perfect
works of art must shortly disappear.
334
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
Melina ridiculed, in terms more plain than delicate, our friend's
pedantic notions in this matter, and his vain attempts to form the
public mind, instead of being formed by it: Serlo and he at last
agreed, with full conviction, that the sole concern was, how to
gather money, and grow rich, or live a joyous life; and they
scarcely concealed their wish to be delivered from those persons
who at present hindered them. Melina took occasion to lament
Aurelia's weak health, and the speedy end which it threatened ;
thinking all the while directly the reverse. Serlo affected to
regret that Wilhelm could not sing ; thus signifying that his
presence was by no means indispensable. Melina then came
forward with a whole catalogue of savings, which, he said, might
be effected ; and Serlo saw in him his brother-in-law replaced
threefold. Both of them felt well that secrecy was necessary in
the matter ; but this mutual obligation only joined them closer
in their interests. They failed not to converse together pri-
vately on everything that happened ; to blame whatever Wil-
helm or Aurelia undertook, and to elaborate their own project,
and prepare it more and more for execution.
Silent as they both might be about their plan, little as their
words betrayed them, in their conduct they were not so politic
as constantly to hide their purposes. Melina now opposed our
friend in many points that lay within the province of the latter;
and Serlo, who had never acted smoothly to his sister, seemed to
grow more bitter the more her sickness deepened, the more her
passionate and variable humors would have needed toleration.
About this period they took up the Emilie Galotti of Lessing.
The parts were very happily distributed and filled ; within the
narrow circle of this tragedy, the company found room for show-
ing all the complex riches of their acting. Serlo in the character
of Marinelli was altogether in his place; Odoardo was very well
exhibited; Madam Melina played the Mother with considerable
skill; Elmira gained distinction as Emilie ; Laertes made a
stately Appiani; and Wilhelm had bestowed the study of some
months upon the Prince's part. On this occasion, both inter-
nally and with Aurelia and Serlo, he had often come upon this
question: What is the distinction between a noble and a well-bred
BOOK V. CHAP. XVI.
335 -
manner; and how far must the former be included in the latter,
though the latter is not in the former ?
Serlo, who himself in Marinelli had to act the courtier accu-
rately, without caricature, afforded him some valuable thoughts
on this. “A well-bred carriage,” he would say, “is difficult to
imitate; for in strictness it is negative; and it implies a long-
continued previous training. You are not required to exhibit in
your manner anything that specially betokens dignity; for, by
this means, you are like to run into formality and haughtiness ;
you are rather to avoid whatever is undignified and vulgar. You
are never to forget yourself; are to keep a constant watch upon
yourself and others : to forgive nothing that is faulty in your own
conduct, in that of others neither to forgive too little nor too
much. Nothing must appear to touch you, nothing to agitate:
you must never overhaste yourself, must ever keep yourself com-
posed, retaining still an outward calmness, whatever storms may
rage within. The noble character at certain moments may resign
himself to his emotions; the well-bred never. The latter is like
a man dressed out in fair and spotless clothes : he will not lean
on anything; every person will beware of rubbing on him. He
distinguishes himself from others, yet he may not stand apart;
for as in all arts, so in this, the hardest must at length be done
with ease: the well-bred man of rank, in spite of every separa-
tion, always seems united with the people round him; he is never
to be stiff, or uncomplying; he is always to appear the first, and
never to insist on so appearing.
“ It is clear, then, that to seem well-bred, a man must actually
be so. It is also clear why women generally are more expert at
taking up the air of breeding than the other sex; why courtiers
and soldiers catch it more easily than other men.”
Wilhelm now despaired of doing justice to his part; but Serlo
aided and encouraged him; communicated the acutest observa-
tions on detached points; and furnished him so well, that, on the
exhibition of the piece, the public reckoned him a very proper
Prince.
Serlo had engaged to give him, when the play was over, such
remarks as might occur upon his acting; a disagreeable conten-
.
336
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
tion with Aurelia prevented any conversation of that kind. Au-
relia had acted the character of Orsina, in such a style as few
have ever done. She was well acquainted with the part; and
during the rehearsals she had treated it indifferently; but in the
exhibition of the piece, she had opened as it were all the sluices
of her personal sorrow; and the character was represented, so
as never poet in the first glow of invention could have figured it.
A boundless applause rewarded her painful efforts ; but her
friends, on visiting her when the play was finished, found her
half fainting in her chair.
Serlo had already signified his anger at her overcharged acting,
as he called it; at this disclosure of her inmost heart before the
public, to many individuals of which the history of her fatal pas-
sion was more or less completely known. He had spoken bit-
terly and fiercely; grinding with his teeth and stamping with
his feet, as was his custom when enraged. “Never mind her,"
cried he, when he saw her in the chair, surrounded by the rest ;
"she will go upon the stage stark-naked one of these days; and
then the approbation will be perfect.” .
“Ungrateful, inhuman man!” exclaimed she; “soon shall I
be carried naked to the place where approbation or disapproba-
tion can no longer reach our ears !” With these words she
started up, and hastened to the door. The maid had not yet
brought her mantle; the sedan was not in waiting; it had been
raining lately; a cold, raw wind was blowing through the streets.
They endeavored to persuade her to remain, for she was very
warm. But in vain : she purposely walked slow ; she praised
the coolness, seemed to inhale it with peculiar eagerness. No
sooner was she home, than she became so hoarse that she could
hardly speak a word: she did not mention that there was a total
stiffness in her neck and along her back. Shortly afterwards, a
sort of palsy in the tongue came on, so that she pronounced one
word instead of another. They put her to bed; by numerous and
copious remedies, the evil changed its form, but was not mas-
tered. The fever gathered strength; her case was dangerous.
Next morning she enjoyed a quiet hour. She sent for Wil-
helm, and delivered him a letter. “This sheet," said she, “ has
BOOK V. CHAP. XVI.
337
long been waiting for the present moment. I feel that my end
is drawing nigh: promise me that you yourself will take this
paper; that, by a word or two, you will avenge my sorrows on
the faithless man. He is not void of feeling; my death will pain
him for a moment."
Wilhelm took the letter; still endeavoring to console her, and
to drive away the thought of death.
“No,” said she, “ do not deprive me of my nearest hope. I
have waited for him long; I will joyfully clasp him when he
comes."
Shortly after this, the manuscript arrived, which the physician
had engaged to send her. She called for Wilhelm; made him
read it to her. The effect, which it produced upon her, the reader
will be better able to appreciate after looking at the following
Book. The violent and stubborn temper of our poor Aurelia
was mollified by hearing it. She took back the letter, and wrote
another as it seemed in a meeker tone; charging Wilhelm at the
same time to console her friend, if he should be distressed about
her death; to assure him that she had forgiven him, and wished
him every kind of happiness..
From this time, she was very quiet; and appeared to occupy
herself with but a few ideas, which she endeavored to extract
and appropriate from the manuscript, out of which she frequently
made Wilhelm read to her. The decay of her strength was not
perceptible: nor had Wilhelm been anticipating the event, when
one morning as he went to visit her, he found that she was dead.
Entertaining such respect for her as he had done, and accus-.
tomed as he was to live in her society, the loss of her affected
him with no common sorrow. She was the only person that had
truly wished him well; the coldness of Serlo he had felt of late
but too keenly. He hastened, therefore, to perform the service
she had intrusted to him; he wished to be absent for a time.
On the other hand, this journey was exceedingly convenient
for Melina; in the course of his extensive correspondence, he had
lately entered upon terms with a male and a female singer, who,
it was intended, should, by their performances in interludes, pre-
pare the public for his future opera. The loss of Aurelia, and
VOL. I.
15
338
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
Wilhelm's absence, were to be supplied in this manner; and our
friend was satisfied with anything that could facilitate his setting
out.
He had formed, within himself, a singular idea of the impor-
tance of his errand. The death of his unhappy friend had moved
him deeply; and having seen her pass so early from the scene,
he could not but be hostilely inclined against the man who had
abridged her life, and made that shortened term so full of woe.
Notwithstanding the last mild words of the dying woman, he
resolved that, on delivering his letter, he would pass a strict sen-
tence on her faithless friend : and not wishing to depend upon
the temper of the moment, he studied an address, which in the
course of preparation became more pathetic than just. Having
fully convinced himself of the good composition of his essay, he
began committing it to memory, and at the same time making
ready for departure. Mignon was present as he packed his arti-
cles ; she asked him whether he intended travelling south or
north ; and learning that it was the latter, she replied, “ Then I
will wait here for thee.” She begged of him the pearl necklace
which had once been Mariana's. He could not refuse to gratify
the dear little creature, and he gave it her ; the neckerchief she
had already. On the other hand, she put the veil of Hamlet's
Ghost into his travelling bag, though he told her it could not be
of any service to him.
Melina took upon him the directorship; his wife engaged to
keep a mother's eye upon the children, whom Wilhelm parted
with unwillingly. Felix was very merry at the setting out, and
when asked what pretty thing he wished to have brought back
for him, he said, “Hark you ! bring me a papa!” Mignon
seized the traveller's land ; then, standing on her tiptoes, she
pressed a warm and cordial, though not a tender kiss, upon his
lips, and cried, “Master! forget us not, and come soon back.”
And so we leave our friend, entering on his journey, amid a
thousand different thoughts and feelings ; and here subjoin, by
way of close, a little poem, which Mignon had recited once or
twice with great expressiveness, and which the hurry of so many
singular occurrences prevented us from inserting sooner :-
w
.
BOOK V. CHAP. XVI.
339
"O, ask me not to speak, I pray thce!
It must not be revealed, but bid;
How gladly would my tongue obey thee,
Did not the voice of l'ate forbid !
" At his appointed time revolving,
The sun these shades of night dispels;
The lock, its rugged breast dissolving,
Gives up to Earth its hidden wells.
" In Friendship's arms each heart reposes;
There soul to soul pours out its woe:
My lips an oath forever closes,
My sorrows God alone can know."
BOOK VI. i'llness
CONFESSIONS OF A FAIR SAINT.
E
XOV
TILL my eighth year, I was always a healthy child; but of
I that period I can recollect no more than of the day when I
was born. About the beginning of my eighth year, I was seized
with a hemorrhage; and from that moment my soul became all
feeling, all memory: The smallest circumstances of that acci
dent are yet before my eyes as if they had occurred but yes-
terday.
During the nine months which I then spent patiently upon a
sick-bed it appears to me the groundwork of my whole turn of
thought was laid; as the first means were then afforded my mind
of developing itself in its own manner. Homens
I suffered and I loved ; this was the peculiar form of my heart.
In the most violent fits of coughing, in the depressing pains of
fever, I lay quiet, like a snail drawn back within its house; the
moment I obtained a respite, I wanted to enjoy something pleas-
ant; and as every other pleasure was denied me, I endeavored
to amuse myself with the innocent delights of eye and ear. The
people brought me dolls and picture-books; and whoever would
sit by my bed was obliged to tell me something.
From my mother I rejoiced to hear the Bible histories : and
my father entertained me with natural curiosities. He had a
very pretty cabinet; from which he brought me first one drawer
and then another, as occasion served ; showing me the articles,
and pointing out their properties. Dried plants and insects,
with many kinds of anatomical preparations, such as human skin,
bones, mummies, and the like, were in succession laid upon the
sick-bed of the little one; the birds and animals he killed in
hunting were shown to me, before they passed into the kitchen ;
and that the Prince of the World might also have a voice in this
assembly, my aunt related to me love adventures out of fairy-

Bible
. Тау де Рел -".
BOOK VI.
341
V
tales. All was accepted, all took root. There were hours in
which I viridly conversed with the Invisible Power. I can still:
repeat some verses, which I then dictated, and my mother wrote
down.
Often I would tell my father back again, what I had learned
from him. Rarely did I take any physic without asking where
the simples it was made of grew, what look they had, what names
they bore. Nor had the stories of my aunt lighted on stony
ground. I figured myself out in pretty clothes ; and met the
most delightful princes, who could find no peace or rest, till they
discovered who the unknown beauty was. One adventure of this
kind, with a charming little angel, dressed in white, with golden.
wings, who warmly courted me, I dwelt upon so long, that my
imagination painted out his form almost to visibility. R$75 me
After a year, I was pretty well/restored to health, but nothing
of the giddiness of childhood remained with me. I could not helt
play with dolls; I longed for beings able to return my love.
Dogs, cats, and birds, of which my father kept a great variety,
afforded me delight: but what would I have given for such a
creature as my aunt once told me of! It was a lamb, which a
peasant-girl took up and nourished in a wood: but in the guise
of this pretty beast an enchanted prince was hid; who at length
appeared in his native shape, a lovely youth, and rewarded his
benefactress by his hand. Such a lamb I would have given the
world for. .
But there was none to be had ; and as everything about me
went on in such a quite natural manner, I by degrees all but
abandoned nearly all hopes of such a treasure. Meanwhile I
comforted myself by reading books, in which the strangest in-
cidents were set forth. Among them all, my favorite was the
Christian German Hercules ; that devout love history was alto-
gether in my way. Whenever anything befell his dear Valiska,
and cruel things befell her, he always prayed before hastening
to her aid, and the prayers stood there verbatim. My longing
after the Invisible, which I had always dimly felt, was strength-
ened by such means : for, in short, it was ordained that God
should also be my confidant.
1. Christian German Heerlen
4
Auth:
3:
Vony longinan att be invisible Goal my
perustettiin! ...
heintiems
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
342
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um
...
As I grew older I continued reading, Heaven knows what, in
chaotic order. The Roman Octavia was the book I liked be-
yond all others. The persecutions of the first Christians, deco-
rated with the charms of a romance, awoke the deepest interest
in me.
But my mother now began to murmur at my constant read-
- ing; and to humor her, my father took away my books to-day,
but gave them back to-morrow. She was wise enough to see
that nothing could be done in this way; she next insisted merely
W $.
that my Bible should be read with equal diligence. To this I
she was not disinclined ; and I accordingly perused the sacred vol-
ume with a lively interest. Withal my mother was extremely
careful that no books of a corruptive tendency should come into
Wanime my hands ; immodest writings I would, of my own accord, have
Party Line
cast away; for my princes and my princesses were all extremely
bell?pirtuous.
To my mother, and my zeal for knowledge, it was owing that
with all my love of books I also learned to cook; for much was
to be seen in cookery. To cut up a hen, a pig, was quite a feast
for me. I used to bring the entrails to my father, and he talked
with me about them, as if I had been a student of anatomy.
With suppressed joy, he would often call me his misfashioned
LE!
My twelfth year was now behind me. I learned French,
dancing, and drawing : I received the usual instructions in relig-
ion. In the latter, many thoughts and feelings were awakened;
but nothing properly: relating to my own condition. I liked to
hear the people speak of God; I was proud that I could speak
Be spil
on these points better than my equals. I zealously read many
Speelt books which put me in a condition to talk about religion ; but it
never once struck me to think how matters stood with me, whether
my soul was formed according to these holy precepts, whether
it was like a glass from which the everlasting sun could be re-
flected in its glancing. From the first, I had presupposed all
this.
My French I learned with eagerness. My teacher was a
clever man. He was not a vain empiric, not a dry grammarian;
.
son.
To of us hi abort miqic
weis :
holiday!cl conte]
* ** * 1987
BOOK VI.
343
he had learning, he had seen the world. Instructing me in lan-
guage, he satisfied my zeal for knowledge in a thousand ways.
I loved him so much, that I used to wait his coming with a pal-
pitating heart. Drawing was not hard for me: I should have
made greater progress had my teacher possessed head and sci-
ence; he had only hands and practice.
Dancing was, at first, one of my smallest amusements: my
body was too sensitive for it; I learned it only in the company
of my sisters. But our dancing-master took a thought of gath-
ering all his scholars, male and female, and giving them a ball.
This event gave dancing quite another charm for me.
Amid a throng of boys and girls, the most remarkable were
two sons of the Marshal of the Court. The youngest was of my
age, the other two years older; they were children of such beauty
that, according to the universal voice, no one had seen their like.
For my part, scarcely had I noticed them, when I lost sight of
all the other crowd. From that moment I began to dance with
care, and to wish that I could dance with grace. How came it,
on the other hand, that these two boys distinguished me from all
the rest ? No matter ; before an hour had passed, we had. be-
come the warmest friends; and our little entertainment did not
end, till we had fixed upon the time and place where we were
next to meet. What a joy for me! And how charmed was I
next morning when both of them inquired for my health, each in
a gallant note, accompanied with a nosegay! I have never since
felt as I then did. Compliment was met by compliment; letter
answered letter. The church and the public walks were grown
a rendezvous ; our young acquaintances, in all their little parties,
now invited us together ; while, at the same time, we were sly
enough to veil the business from our parents, so that they saw
no more of it than we thought good.
Thus had I at nce got a pair of lovers. I had yet decided
upon neither; they both pleased me, and we did extremely well
together. All at once, the eldest of the two fell very sick. I
myself had often been sick; and thus I was enabled, by render-
ing him many little dainties and delicacies suited for a sick person,
to afford some solace to the sufferer. His parents thankfully ac-
344
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
knowledged my attention: in compliance with the prayer of their
beloved son, they invited me, with all my sisters, to their house,
so soon as he had risen from his sick-bed. The tenderness which
he displayed on meeting me was not the feeling of a child ; from
that day I gave the preference to him. He warned me to keep
our secret from his brother ; but the flame could no longer be
concealed; and the jealousy of the younger completed our ro-
mauce. He played us a thousand tricks; eager to annihilate
our joys, he but increased the passion he was seeking to de-
stroy.
At last, then, I had actually found the wished-for lamb; and
this attachment acted on me like my sickness ; it made me calm,
andhi and drew me back from noisy pleasures. I was solitary, I was
promoved; and thoughts of God again occurred to me. He was
again my confidant, and I well remember with what tears I often
prayed for this poor boy, who still continued sickly.
The more childishness there was in this adventure, the more
did it contribute to the forming of my heart. Our French teacher
had now turned us from translating into daily writing him some
letter of our own invention. I brought my little history to mar-
ket, shrouded in the names of Phyllis and Damon. The old man
soon saw through it; and to render me communicative, praised
my labor very much. I still waxed bolder ; came openly out
with the affair, adhering even in the minute details to truth. I
do not now remember what the passage was at which he took
occasion to remark : “ How pretty, how natural it is! But the
good Phyllis had better have a care; the thing may soon grow
serious."
It vexed me that he did not look upon the matter as already
serious ; and I asked him, with an air of pique, what he meant
by serious. I had not to repeat the question ; he explained him-
self so clearly, that I could scarcely hide my terror. Yet, as
anger came along with it, as I took it ill that he should entertain
such thoughts, I kept myself composed; I tried to justify my
nymph; and said with glowing cheeks, “ But, sir, Phyllis is an
honorable girl.”
He was rogue enough to banter me about my honorable hero-
*****.*.*
act of weitina pa
BOOK VI.
345
ine. While we were speaking French, he played upon the word
honnête, and hunted the honorableness of Phyllis over all its
meanings. I felt the ridicule of this, and extremely puzzled.
He, not to frighten me, broke off; but afterwards often led the
conversation to such topics. Plays, and little histories, such as I
was reading and translating with him, gave him frequent oppor-
tunity to show how feeble a security against the calls of inclina-
tion our boasted virtue was. I no longer contradicted him ; but
I was in secret scandalized ; and his remarks became a burden
to me.
With my worthy Damon, too, I by degrees fell out of all con-
nection. The chicanery of the younger boy destroyed our inter-
course. Soon after, both these blooming creatures died. I la-
mented sore ; however, in a short time I forgot.
But Phyllis rapidly increased in stature ; was altogether
healthy, and began to see the world. The hereditary Prince
now married ; and a short time after, on his father's death, began
his rule. Court and town were in the liveliest motion : my curi-
osity had copious nourishment. There were plays and balls, with
all their usual accompaniments; and though my parents kept re-
tired as much possible, they were obliged to show themselves' at
court, where I was of course introduced. Strangers were pour-
ing in from every side ; high company was in every house;.
even to us some cavaliers were recommended, others introduced ;
and at my uncle's, men of every nation might be met with.
My honest Mentor still continued, in a modest and yet striking
way to warn me; and I in secret to take it ill of him. With re-
gard to his assertion, that women under every circumstance were
weak, I did not feel at all convinced : and here perhaps I was in
the right, and my Mentor in the wrong; but he spoke so earnestly,
that once I grew afraid he might be right, and said to him, with
much vivacity : “Since the danger is so great, and the human
heart so weak, I will pray to God that He may keep me.”
This simple answer seemed to please him, for he praised my
purpose ; but on my side, it was anything but seriously meant.
It was, in truth, but an empty word; for my feelings towards the
Invisible were almost totally extinguished. The hurry and the
15 *Vanem
feeling donored
.
lentadores contingen
nog po!!
L.Com. I can
lized Outdoo
346
MEISTER'S 'APPRENTICESHIP.
crowd I lived in, dissipated my attention, and carried me along
as in a rapid stream. (These were the emptiest years of my life. )
All day long, to speak of nothing, to have no solid thought ; never
to do anything but revel : such was my employment. On my
beloved books I never once bestowed a thought. The people 1
lived among had not the slightest tinge of literature or science :
SY
gether destitute of culture.
Such society, it may be thought, must naturally have led me
to the brink of ruin. I lived away in mere corporeal cheerful-
ness ; I never took myself to task, I never prayed, I never thought
about myself or God. Yet I look upon it as a providential guid-
ance, that none of these many handsome, rich, and well-dressed
men could take my fancy. They were rakes, and did not conceal
it; this scared me back: they adorned their speech with double
meanings ; this offended me, made me act with coldness towards
them. Many times their improprieties exceeded belief; and I.
did not restrain myself from being rude.
trived to tell me, that with the greater part of these lewd fellows
health as well as virtue was in danger. I now shuddered at the
sight of them ; I was afraid if one of them in any way approached
too near me. I would not touch their cups or glasses, even the
chairs they had been sitting on. Thus morally and physically
I remained apart from them ; all the compliments they paid me
I haughtily accepted, as incense that was due.
Among the strangers then resident among us was one young,
man peculiarly distinguished, whom we used in sport to call Nar-
ciss. He had gained a reputation in the diplomatic line ; and,
among the various changes now occurring at court, he was in
hopes of meeting with some advantageous place. He soon be-
came acquainted with my father : his acquirements and manners
opened for him the way to a select society of most accomplished
men. My father often spoke in praise of him: his figure, which
was very handsome, would have made a still better impression,
had it not been for something of self-complacency which breathed
from the whole carriage of the man. I had seen him ; I thought
well of him ; but we had never spoken.
BOOK VI..
347
At a great ball, where we chanced to be in company, I danced
a minuet with him ; but this too passed without results. The
more violent dances, in compliance with my father, who felt anx-
ious about my health, I was accustomed to avoid: in the present
case, when these came on, I retired to an adjoining room, and
began to talk with certain of my friends, elderly ladies, who had
set themselves to cards.
Narciss, who had jigged it for a while, at last came into the
room where I was ; and having got the better of a bleeding at
the nose, which had overtaken him in dancing, he began speaking
with me about a multitude of things. In half an hour, the talk
had grown so interesting, that neither of us could think of dan-
cing any more. We were rallied by our friends; but we did
not let their bantering disturb us. Next evening, we recom-
menced our conversation, and were very careful not to hurt our
health.
The acquaintance, then, was made. Narciss was often with
my sisters and myself; and I now once more began to reckon
over and consider what I knew, what I thought of, what I had
felt, and what I could express myself about in conversation. My
new friend had mingled in the best society ; besides the depart-
ment of history and politics, with every part of which he was
familiar, he had gained extensive literary knowledge ; there was
nothing new that issued from the press, especially in France,
that he was unacquainted with. He brought or sent me many a
pleasant book; but this we had to keep as secret as forbidden
love. Learned women had been made ridiculuus, nor were well-
informed women tolerated, — apparently, because it would have
been uncivil to put so many ill-informed men to shame. Even
my father, much as he delighted in this new opportunity of cul-
tivating my mind, expressly stipulated that our literary commerce
should remain secret.
Thus our intercourse continued for almost-year and day; and
still I could not say that, in any wise, Narciss had ever shown
me aught of love or tenderness. He was always complaisant and
kind ; but manifested nothing like attachment: on the contrary,
he eren seemed to be in some degree affected by the charms of
348
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
my youngest sister, who was then extremely beautiful. In sport,
he gave her many little friendly names, out of foreign tongues ;
for he could speak two or three of these extremely well, and lovec)
to mix their idiomatic phrases with his German. Such compli-
ments she did not answer very liberally; she was entangled in a
different noose; and being very sharp, while he was very sensitive,
the two were often quarrelling about trifles. , With my mother
and my aunt, he kept on very pleasant terms ; and thus by grad-
ual advances, he was grown to be a member of the family.
Who knows how long we might have lived in this way, had
not a curious accident altered our relations all at once ? My
sisters and I were invited to a certain house, to which we did not
like to go. The company was too mixed; and persons of the
stupidest, if not the rudest, stamp were often to be met there.
Narciss, on this occasion, was invited also; and on his account I
felt inclined to go, for I was sure of finding one, at least, whom
I could converse with as I desired. Even at table, we had many
things to suffer; for several of the gentlemen had drunk too
much: then, in the drawing-room, they insisted on a game at
forfeits. It went on, with great vivacity and tumult. Narciss
had lost a forfeit: they ordered him, by way of penalty, to
whisper something pleasant in the ear of every member of the
company. It seems, he stayed too long beside my next neigh-
bor, the lady of a captain. The latter on a sudden struck him
such a box with his fist, that the powder flew about me, into my
eyes. When I had got my eyes cleared, and in some degree
recovered from my terror, I saw that both gentlemen had drawn :
their swords. Narciss was bleeding; and the other, mad with
wine and rage and jealousy, could scarcely be held back by all
the company. I seized Narciss, led him by the arm up stairs ;
and as I did not think my friend safe even here from his frantic
enemy, I shut the door and bolted it.
Neither of us considered the wound serious ; for a slight cut
across the hand was all we saw. Soon, however, I discovered
that there was a stream of blood running down his back, that
there was a deep wound on the head. I now began to be afraid.
I hastened to the lobby, to get help; but I could see no person ;
BOOK VI.
349
every one had stayed below to calm the raving captain. At last
a daughter of the family came skipping 1p; her mirth annoyed
me; she was like to die with laughing at the bedlam spectacle.
I conjured her for the sake of Heaven to get a surgeon; and
she, in her wild way, sprang down stairs to fetch me one herself.
Returning to my wounded friend, I bound my handkerchief
about his hand; and a neckerchief, that was hanging on the door,
about his head. He was still bleeding copiously: he now grew
pale, and seemed as if he were about to faint. There was none
at hand to aid me: I very freely put my arm round him; patted
his cheek, and tried to cheer him by little flatteries. It seemned
to act on him like a spiritual remedy; he kept his senses, but sat
as pale as death.
At last the active housewife arrived: it is easy to conceive her
terror when she saw my friend in this predicament, lying in my
arms, and both of us bestreamed with blood. No one had sup-
posed he was wounded ; all imagined I had carried him away in
safety.
Now smelling-bottles, wine, and everything that could support
and stimulate, were copiously produced. The surgeon also came;
and I might easily have been dispensed with. Narciss, however,
held me firmly by the hand; I would have stayed without hold-
ing. During the dressing of his wounds, I continued wetting
his lips with wine; I minded not though all the company were
now about us. The surgeon having finished, his patient took a
mute but tender leave of me, and was conducted home. WAI!Wolf
The mistress of the house now led me to her bedroom: she love
had to strip me altogether; and I must confess, while they?
washed the blood from me, I saw with pleasure, for the first time, **
in a mirror, that I might be reckoned beautiful without help of the
dress. No portion of my clothes could be put on again; and as
the people of the house were all either less or larger than myself,
I was taken home in a strange disguise. My parents were, of
course, astonished. They felt exceedingly indignant at my fright,
at the wounds of their frierd, at the captain's madness, at the
whole occurrence. A very little would have made my father
send the captain a challenge, that he might avenge his friend
350
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
without delay. He blamed the gentlemen that had been there,
because they had not punished on the spot such a murderous
attempt; for it was but too clear, that the captain, instantly
on striking, had drawn his sword, and wounded the other from
behind. The cut across the hand had been given, just when
Narciss himself was grasping at his sword. I felt unspeakably
affected, altered; or, how shall I express it? The passion which
was sleeping at the deepest bottom of my heart had at once
· broken loose, like a flame getting air. And if joy and pleasure
are well suited for the first producing and the silent nourishing
of love, yet this passion, bold by nature, is most easily impelled
by terror to decide and to declare itself. My mother gave her
little furried daughter some medicine, and made her go to bed.
With the earliest morrow, my father hastened to Narciss, whom
he found lying very sick of a wound-fever.
He told me little of what passed between them; but tried to
quiet me about the probable results of this event. They were
now considering whether an apology should be accepted, whether
the affair should go before a court of justice, and many other
points of that description. I knew my father too well to doubt
that he would be averse to see the matter end without a duel:
but I held my peace; for I had learned from him before, that
women should not meddle in such things. For the rest, it did
not strike me as if anything had passed between the friends, in
which my interests were specially concerned: but my father soon
communicated to my mother the purport of their further conver-
sation. Narciss, he said, appeared to be exceedingly affected at
the help afforded by me; had embraced him, declared himself
my debtor forever; signified that he desired no happiness except
what he could share with me, and concluded by entreating that
he might presume to ask my hand. All this mamma repeated to
me, but subjoined the safe reflection, that was for what was said
in the first agitation of mind in such a case, there was little trust
to be placed in it.” “Of course, none," I answered with affected
coldness; though all the while I was feeling, Heaven knows
what.
Narciss continued sick for two months ; owing to the wound
.... BOOK VI.
351
::
in his right hand, he could not even write. Yet, in the mean.
time, he showed me his regard by the most obliging courtesies.
had disclosed to me; and constantly my head was full of fancies.
The whole city talked of the occurrence. With me they spoke
of it in a peculiar tone; they drew inferences which, greatly as
I struggled to avoid them, touched me very close. What hal
formerly been habitude and trifling, was now grown seriousness
and inclination. The anxiety in which I lived was the more vio-
lent, the more carefully I studied to conceal it from every one.
The idea of losing him frightened me; the possibility of any
closer union made me tremble. For a half-prudent girl, there is
really something awful in the thought of marriage. som fore!
By such incessant agitations, I was once more led to recollectie
myself. The gaudy imagery of a thoughtless life, which used to
hover day and night before my eyes, was at once blown away.
My soul again began to awaken: but the greatly interrupted guiditet
intimacy with my Invisible Friend was not so easy to renew.
We still continued at a frigid distance: it was again something:
but little to the times of old.
w my invisiblemente
A duel had been fought, and the captain severely wounded, fica per
before I ever heard of it. The public feeling was, in all senses,
strong on the side of my lover, who at length again appeared
upon the scene. But first of all, he came, with his head tied up
and his arm in a sling, to visit us. How my heart beat while he
was there! The whole family was present; general thanks and
compliments were all that passed on either side; Narciss, how-
ever, found an opportunity to show some secret tokens of his
love to me, by which means my inquietude was but increased.
After his recovery, he visited us throughout the winter on the
former footing; and in spite of all the soft private marks of ten-
derness, which he contrived to give me, the whole affair remained
unsettled, undiscussed.
In this manner was I kept in constant practice. I could trust
.
.
Him I had quite forgotten, those four wild years: I now again
began to think of him occasionally ; but our acquaintance had
:** O *
352
siguro
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
grown cool; they were visits of mere ceremony these ; and as,
moreover, in waiting on him, I used to dress in fine apparel, to
set before him self-complacently my virtue, honor, and superior-
ities to others, he did not seem to notice me, or know me in that
finery.
A courtier would have been exceedingly distressed, if the
prince who held his fortune in his hands had treated him in this
way; but for me, I did not sorrow at it. I had what I required,
health and conveniences : if God should please to think of me,
well : if not, I reckoned I had done my duty.
This, in truth, I did not think at that period : yet it was the
true figure of my soul. But, to change and purify my feelings,
preparations were already made.
The spring came on : Narciss once visited me, ưnannounced,
and at a time when I happened to be quite alone. He now ap-
peared in the character of lover; and asked me if I could bestow
on hirn my heart, and so soon as he should obtain some lucrative
and honorable place, my hand along with it.
He had been received into our service: but at first they kept
him back, and would not rapidly promote him, because they
dreaded his ambition. Having some little fortune of his own, he
was left with a slender salary.
Notwithstanding my regard for him, I knew that he was not a
man to treat with altogether frankly. I drew up, therefore, and
referred him to my father. About my father he did not seem
to doubt; but wished first to be at one with me, now and here.
I at last said, Yes; but stipulated as an indispensable condition
that my parents should concur. He then spoke formally with
both of them; they signified their satisfaction : mutual promises
were given, on the faith of his advancement, which it was ex-
pected would be speedy. Sisters and aunts were informed of
this arrangement, and the strictest secrecy enjoined on them.
Thus from a lover I had got a bridegroom. The difference
between the two soon showed itself to be considerable. If one
could change the lovers of all honorable maidens into bride-
grooms, it would be a kindness to our sex, even though marriage
should not follow the connection. The love between two persons
BOOK VI.
853
does not lessen by the change, but it becomes more reasonable.
Innumerable little follies, all coquetries and caprices, disappear.
If the bridegroom tells us, that we please him better in a morn-
ing cap than in the finest head-dress, no discreet young woman
will disturb herself about her hair-dressing; and nothing is more
natural than that he too should think solidly, and rather wish to
form a housewife for himself, than a gaudy doll for others. And
thus it is in every province of the business.
Should a young woman of this kind be fortunate enough to
have a bridegroom who possesses understanding and acquire-
ments, she learns from him more than universities and foreign
lands can teach. She not only willingly receives instruction,
when he offers it, but she endeavors to elicit more and more from
him. Love makes much that was impossible possible. By de-
grees, too, that subjection, so necessary and so graceful for the
female sex, begins : the bridegroom does not govern like the
husband; he only asks : but his mistress seeks to discover what
he wants, and to offer it before he asks it.
So did experience teach me what I would not for much have
missed. I was happy; truly happy, as woman could be in the
world; that is to say, for a while. Lion
Amid these quiet joys, a summer passed away. Narciss gave
not the slightest reason to complain of him; he daily became
more dear to me; my whole soul was his ; this he well knew,
and knew also how to prize it. Meanwhile, from seeming trifles,
something rose, which by and by grew hurtful to our union.
Narciss behared to me as to a bride, and never dared to ask
of me such favors as were yet forbidden us. But about the
boundaries of virtue and decorum we were of very different
opinions. I meant to walk securely; and so never granted him
the smallest freedom which the whole world might not have wit-
nessed. He, used to dainties, thought this diet very strict. On
this point there was continual variance: he praised my modesty,
and sought to undermine my resolution.
The Serious of my old French teacher now occurred to me;
as well as the defence which I had once suggested in regard to it.
With God I had again become a little more acquainted. He
.
W
- Meaning of
354
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
-
had given me a bridegroom whom I loved; and for this I felt
some thankfulness. Earthly love itself concentrated my soul,
and put its powers in motion ; nor did it contradict my inter-
course with God. I naturally complained to him of what alarmed
me; but T did not perceive that I myself was wishing and desir-
ing it. In my own eyes, I was strong ; I did not pray, “ Lead
us not into temptation !” My thoughts were far beyond temp-
tation. In this flimsy tinsel-work of virtue I came to God; he
did not drive me back. On the smallest movement towards him,
he left a soft impression in my soul; and this impression caused
me always to return.
Except Narciss, the world was altogether dead to me; except-
ing him, there was nothing in it that had any charm. Even my
love for dress was but the wish to please him; if I knew that he
was not to see me, I could spend no care upon it. I liked to
dance; but if he was not beside me, it seemed as if I could not
bear the motion. At a brilliant festival, if he was not invited,
I could neither take the trouble of providing new things, nor of
putting on the old according to the mode. To me they were
alike agreeable, or rather, I might say, alike burdensome. I
used to reckon such an evening very fairly spent, when I could
join myself to any ancient card-party, though formerly I had not
the smallest taste for such things; and if some old acquaintance
came and rallied me about it, I would smile, perhaps for the first
time all that night. So likewise it was with promenades, and
every social entertainment that can be imagined :-
Him had I chosen from all others,
His would I be, and not another's;
To me his love was all in all.
Thus was I often solitary in the midst of company; and real
solitude was generally acceptable to me. But my busy soul
could neither sleep nor dream; I felt and thought; and acquired,
by degrees, some faculty to speak about my feelings and my
thoughts with God. Then were feelings of another sort un-
folded; but these did not contradict the former feelings: my
affection to Narciss accorded with the universal scheme of na-
...
355
BOOK VI.
..
-
ture: it nowhere hindered the performance of a duty. They did
not contradict each other, yet they were immensely different.
Narciss was the only living form which hovered in my mind, and
to which my love was all directed; but the other feeling was not
directed towards any form, and yet it was unspeakably agreeable.
I no longer have it, I no longer can impart it. dle Sounds..
My lover, whom I used to trust with all my secrets, did not c ities
know of this. I soon discovered that he thought far otherwise: i !
he often gave me writings which opposed, with light and heavy **
weapons, all that can be called connection with the Invisible. I eo
used to read the books, because they came from him; but at the
end, I knew no word of all that had been argued in them.
Nor, in regard to sciences and knowledge, was there want of
contradiction in our conduct. He did as all men do, he mocked
at learned women ; and yet he kept continually instructing me.
He used to speak with me on all subjects, law excepted ; and
while constantly procuring books of every kind for me, he fre-
quently repeated the uncertain precept, “That a lady ought to
keep the knowledge she might have more secret than the Cal-
vinist his creed in Catholic countries.” And while I, by natural
consequence, endeavored not to show myself more wise or learned
than formerly before the world, Narciss himself was commonly
the first who yielded to the vanity of speaking about me and my
superiorities.
A nobleman of high repute, and at that time valued for his
influence, his talents, and accomplishments, was living at our
Court with great applause. He bestowed especial notice on
Narciss, whom he kept continually about him. They once had
an argument about the virtue of women. Narciss repeated to
me what had passed between them; I was not wanting with my
observations; and my friend required of me a written essay on
the subject. I could write French fluently enough ; I had laid
a good foundation with my teacher. My correspondence with
Narciss was likewise carried on in French: except in French
books, there was then no elegant instruction to be had. My
essay pleased the Count; I was obliged to let him have some
little songs, which I had lately been composing. In short, Nar-

356
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
ciss appeared to revel without stint in the renown of his beloved :
and the story, to his great contentment, ended with a French
epistle in heroic verse, which the Count transmitted to him 0.1
departing ; in which their argument was mentioned, and my
friend reminded of his happiness in being destined, after all his
doubts and errors, to learn most certainly what virtue was, in tho
arms of a virtuous and charming wife.
He showed this poem first of all to me, and then to almost
every one; each thinking of the matter what he pleased. Thus
did he act in several cases; every stranger, whom he valued,
must be made acquainted in our house.
A noble family was staying for a season in the place, to profit
by the skill of our physician. In this house, too, Narciss was
looked on as a son: he introduced me there: we found among
these worthy persons the most pleasant entertainment for mind
and heart. Even the common pastimes of society appeared less
empty here than elsewhere. All knew how matters stood with
us: they treated us as circumstances would allow, and left the
main relation unalluded to. I mention this one family ; be-
cause, in the after-period of my life, it had a powerful influence
upon ine.
Almost a year of our connection had elapsed; and along with
it, our spring was over. The summer came, and all grew drier
and more earnest.
By several unexpected deaths, some offices fell vacant, which
Narciss might wake pretensions to. The instant was at hand
when my whole destiny must be decided; and while Narciss,
and all our friends, were making every effort to efface some im-
pressions which obstructed him at Court, and to obtain for him
the wished-for situation, I turned with my request to my Invisible
Friend. I was received so kindly, that I gladly came again. I
confessed, without disguise, my wish that Narciss might obtain
the place: but my prayer was not importunate; and I did not
require that it should happen for the sake of my petition.
The place was obtained by a far inferior competitor. I was
dreadfully troubled at this news; I hastened to my room, the
door of which I locked behind me. The first fit of grief went
BOOK VI.
357
off in a shower of tears: the next thought was, “Yet it was not
by chance that it happened”; and instantly I formed the resolız-
tion to be well content with it, seeing even this apparent evil
would be for my true advantage. The softest emotions theo
pressed in upon me, and divided all the clouds of sorrow. I
felt that, with help like this, there was nothing one might not
endure. At dinner 1 appeared quite cheerful, to the great aston-
ishment of all the house.
Narciss had less internal force than I, and I was called upon
to comfort him. In his family, too, he had many crosses to en-
counter, some of which afflicted him considerably; and, such true
confidence subsisting between us, he intrusted me with all. His
nate; all this I felt deeply on his account and mine; all" this too
I ultimately carried to the place where my petitions had already
been so well received.
The softer these experiences were, the oftener did I endeavor
to renew them; I hoped continually to meet with comfort where
I had so often met with it. Yet I did not always meet with it;
I was as one that goes to warm him in the sunshine, while there
is something standing in the way that makes a shadow. “What
is this?” I asked myself. I traced the matter zealously, and
soon perceived that it all depended on the situation of my soul:
if this was not turned in the straightest direction towards God, I I
still continued cold; I did not feel his counter-influence; I could
obtain no answer. The second question was, “What hinders this
direction ?" Here I was in a wide field ; I perplexed myself in
an inquiry which lasted nearly all the second year of my attach-
ment to Narciss. I might have ended the investigation sooner;
for it was not long till I had got upon the proper trace; but I
amato
I very soon discovered that the straight direction of my soul
was marred by foolish dissipations, and employment with unwor-
thy things. The how and the where were clear enough to me.
Yet by what means could I help myself, or extricate my mind
from the calls of a world where everything was either cold indif-
ference or hot insanity ? Gladly would I have left things stand-
358
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
ing as they were, and lived from day to day, floating down with
the stream, like other people whom I saw quite happy; but I
durst not; my inmost feelings contradicted me too. often. Yet
if I determined to renounce society, and alter my relations to
others, it was not in my power. I was hemmed in as by a ring
drawn round me; certain connections I could not dissolve; and,
in the matter which lay nearest to my heart, fatalities accumulated
and oppressed me more and more. I often went to bed with
tears; and, after a sleepless night, arose again with tears: I re-
quired some strong support; and God would not vouchsafe it me,
while I was running with the cap and bells.
I proceeded now to estimate my doings, all and each; dancing
and play were first put upon their trial. Never was there any-
thing spoken, thought, or written, for or against these practices,
which I did not examine, talk of, read, weigh, reject, aggravate,
and plague myself about. If I gave up these habits, I was cer-
tain that Narciss would be offended ; for he dreaded exceedingly
the ridicule which any look of straitlaced conscientiousness gives
one in the eyes of the world. And doing what I now looked
upon as folly, noxious folly, out of no taste of my own, but merely
to gratify him, it all grew wọfully irksome to me.
Without disagreeable prolixities and repetitions, it is not in my
power to represent what pains I took, in trying so to counteract
those occupations which distracted my attention and disturbed
my peace of mind, that my heart, in spite of them, might still be
open to the influences of the Invisible Being. But at last, with
pain, I was compelled to admit, that in this way the quarrel could
not be composed. For no sooner had I clothed myself in the
garment of folly, than it came to be something more than a mask,
than the foolishness pierced and penetrated me through and
through.
May I here overstep the province of a mere historical detail,
and offer one or two remarks on what was then taking place
within me? What could it be which so changed my tastes and
feelings, that, in my twenty-second year, nay, earlier, I lost all
relish for the recreations with which people of that age are harm-
lessly delighted"? Why were they not harmless for me? I may
SAT was felice
? :17
erite se
OOK VI"
.
!
35
359
answer, Just because they were not harmless ; because I was not,
like others of my years, unacquainted with my soul. No! I
knew, from experiences which had reached me unsought, that
there are loftier emotions, which afford us a coutentment such as
it is vain to seek in the amusements of the world; and that, in
these higher joys, there is also kept a secret treasure for strength-
ening the spirit in misfortune.
But the pleasures of society, the dissipations of youth, must
needs have had a powerful charm for me, since it was not in my
power to engage in them without participation, to act among them
as if they were not there. How many things could I now do, if
I liked, with entire coldness, which then dazzled and confounded
me, nay, threatened to obtain the mastery over me! Here there
could no medium be observed : either those delicious amusements,
or my nourishing and quickening internal emotions, must be given
up.
But in my soul, the strife had, without my own consciousness,
already been decided. Even if there still was anything within
me that longed for earthly pleasures, I had now became unfitted for
enjoying them. Much as a man might hanker after wine, all de-
sire of drinking would forsake him, if he should be placed among
full barrels in a cellar, where the foul air was like to suffocate
him. Free air is more than wine : this I felt but too keenly ;
and from the first, it would have cost me little studying to prefer
the good to the delightful, if the fear of losing the affection of
Narciss had not restrained me. But at last, when after many
thousand struggles, and thoughts continually renewed, I began to
cast a steady eye upon the bond which held me to him, I discov-.
ered that it was but weak, that it might be torn asunder. I at
once perceived it to be only as a glass bell, which shut me up in
the exhausted airless space : one bold stroke to break the bell in
pieces, and thou art delivered !
No sooner thought than tried. I drew off the mask, and on all
occasions acted as my heart directed. Narciss I still cordially
loved : but the thermometer, which formerly had stood in hot
water, was now hanging in the natural air ; it could rise no higher
than the warmth of the atmosphere directed.
360
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
Unhappily it cooled very much. Narciss drew back, and began
to assume a distant air: this was at his option ; but my thermom-
eter descended as he drew back. Our family observed this;
questioned me, and seemed to be surprised. I explained to them
with stout defiance, that heretofore I had made abundant sacri-
fices ; that I was ready, still further and to the end of my life, to
share all crosses that befell him ; but that I required full freedom
in my conduct, that my doings and avoidings must depend upon
my own conviction ; that indeed I would never bigotedly cleave
to my own opinion, but on the other hand would willingly be
reasoned with; yet, as it concerned my own happiness, the de-
cision must proceed from myself, and be liable to no manner of
constraint. The greatest physician could not move me by his
reasonings to take an article of food, which perhaps was alto-
gether wholesome and agreeable to many, so soon as my expe-
rience had shown that on all occasions it was noxious to me; as
I might produce coffee for an instance; and just as little, nay,
still less, would I have any sort of conduct which misled me,
preached up and demonstrated upon me as morally profitable.
Having so long prepared myself in silence, these debates were
rather pleasant than vexatious to me. I gave vent to my soul; I
felt the whole worth of my determination. I yielded not a hair's-
breadth ; and those to whom I owed no filial respect were sharply
handled and despatched. In the family I soon prevailed. My
mother from her youth had entertained these sentiments, though
in her they had never reached maturity; for no necessity had
pressed upon her, and exalted her courage to achieve her purpose.
She rejoiced in beholding her silent wishes fulfilled through me.
My younger sisters seemed to join themselves with me; the sec-
ond was attentive and quiet. Our aunt had the most to object.
The arguments which she employed appeared to her irrefragable,
and they were irrefragable, being altogether commonplace. At
last I was obliged to show her, that she had no voice in the affair
: in any sense ; and after this, she seldom signified that she per-
sisted in her views. She was indeed the only person that ob-
serred this transaction close at hand, without in some degree ex-
periencing its influence. I do not calumniate her, when I say
that she had no character and the most limited ideas.
BOOK VI. :
361
My father had acted altogether in his own way. He spoke
not much, but often, with me on the matter : his arguments were
rational ; and being his arguments, they could not be impugned.
It was only the deep feeling of my right that gave me strength
to dispute against him. But the scenes soon changed; I was
forced to make appeal to his heart. Straitened by his under-
standing, I came out with the most pathetic pleadings. I gave:
free course to my tongue and to my tears. I showed him how
much I loved Narciss; how much constraint I had for two years
been enduring; how certain I was of being in the right; that I
9.
00.
ir.Y
Y
.-:
::
bridegroom and prospective happiness; nay, if it were necessary,
by the loss of all that I possessed on earth ; that I would rather.
leave my native country, my parents, and my friends, and beg
my bread in foreign lands, than act against these dictates of
my conscience. He concealed his emotion; he said nothing
on the subject for a while, and at last he openly declared in
my favor.
During all this time Narciss forbore to visit us; and my father
now gave up the weekly club, where he was used to meet him.
The business made a noise at court, and in the town. People
talked about it, as is common in such cases, which the public
takes a vehement interest in, because its sentence has usurped
an influence on the resolutions of weak minds. I knew enough
about the world to understand, that one's conduct is often cen-
consulted them: and independently of this, with my internal
composure, I should have looked on all such transitory specula-
tions just as if they had not been.
On the other hand, I hindered not myself from yielding to my
inclination for Narciss. To me he had become invisible, and to
him my feelings had not altered. I loved him tenderly; as it
were anew, and much more steadfastly than before. If he chose
to leave my conscience undisturbed, then I was his : wanting this
condition, I would have refused a kingdom with him. For sev-
eral months, I bore these feelings and these thoughts about with
me; and finding, at last, that I was calm and strong enough to
VOL. I.
16
362
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
go peacefully and firmly to work, I wrote him a polite but not a
tender note, inquiring why he never came to see me.
As I knew his manner of avoiding to explain himself in little
matters, but of silently doing what seemed good to him, I pur-
posely urged him in the present instance. I got a long, and as
it seemed to me, pitiful reply, in vague style and unmeaning
phrases, stating, that without a better place, he could not fix
himself, and offer me his hand; that I best knew how hard it
had fared with him hitherto ; that as he was afraid lest a fruit-
less intercourse, so long continued, might prove hurtful to my
reputation, I would give him leave to continue at his present dis-
tance; so soon as it was in his power to make me happy, he
would look upon the word which he had given me as sacred.
I answered him on the spot, that as our intercourse was known
to all the world, it might perhaps be rather late to spare my rep-
utation ; for which, at any rate, my conscience and my innocence
were the surest pledges; however, that I hereby freely gave him
back his word, and hoped the change would prove a happy one
for him. The same hour I received a short reply, which was, in
all essential particulars, entirely synonymous with the first. He
adhered to his former statement, that, so soon as he obtained a
situation, he would ask me, if I pleased, to share his fortune with
him.
This I interpreted as meaning simply nothing. I signified to
my relations and acquaintances, that the affair was altogether
settled ; and it was so in fact. Having, nine months afterwards,
obtained the much desired preferment, he offered me his hand;
but under the condition, that as the wife of a man who must keep
house like other people, I should alter my opinions. I returned
him many thanks: and hastened with my heart and mind away
from this transaction, as one hastens from the playhouse when
the curtain falls. And as he, a short time afterwards, had found
a rich and advantageous match, a thing now easy for him; and
as I now knew him to be happy in the way he liked, my own
tranquillity was quite complete..
I must not pass in silence the fact, that several times before he
got a place, and after it, there were respectable proposals made
BOOK VI.
363
to me; which, however, I declined without the smallest hesita-
tion, much as my father and my mother could have wished for
more compliance on my part.
At length, after a stormy March and April, the loveliest May
weather seemed to be allotted me. With good health, I enjoyed
an indescribable composure of mind: look around me as I pleased,
my.loss appeared a gain to me. Young and full of sensibility,
I thought the universe a thousand times more beautiful than for-
merly, when I required to have society and play, that in the fair
garden tedium might not overtake me. And now, as I did not
conceal my piety, I likewise took heart to own my love for the
sciences and arts. I drew, painted, read; and found enow of
people to support me : instead of the great world, which I had
left, or rather which had left me, a smaller one formed itself
about me, which was infinitely richer and more entertaining. I
had a turn for social life ; and I do not deny that, on giving up
my old acquaintances, I trembled at the thought of solitude. I
now found myself abundantly, perhaps excessively, indemnified.
My acquaintances erelong were very numerous ; not at home
only, but likewise among people at a distance. My story had
been noised abroad; and many persons felt a curiosity to see the
woman who had valued God above her bridegroom. There was
a certain pious tone to be observed, at that time, generally over
Germany. In the families of several counts and princes, a care
for the welfare of the soul had been awakened. Nor were there
wanting noblemen who showed a like attention ; while in the in-
ferior classes, sentiments of this kind were diffused on every side.
The noble family, whom I mentioned above, now drew me
nearer to them. They had, in the mean while, gathered strength;
several of their relations having settled in the town. These esti-
mable persons courted my familiarity, as I did theirs. They had
high connections; I became acquainted, in their house, with a
great part of the princes, counts, and lords of the Empire. My
sentiments were not concealed from any one; they might be
honored or be tolerated; I obtained my object, none attacked me.
There was yet another way by which I was again led back
into the world. About this period, a step-brother of my father,
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.TV2
:
364
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
who till now had never visited the house except in passing, stayed
with us for a considerable time. He had left the service of his
court, where he enjoyed great influence and honor, simply be-
cause all matters were not managed quite according to his mind.
His intellect was just, his character was rigid. In these points
he was very like my father; only the latter had withal a certain
touch of softness, which enabled him with greater ease to yield a
little in affairs, and though not to do, yet to permit, some things
against his own conviction; and then to evaporate his anger at
them, either in silence by himself, or in confidence amid his fam-
ily. My uncle was a great deal younger; and his independence
of spirit had been favored by his outward circumstances. His
mother had been very rich ; and he still had large possessions
to expect from her near and distant relatives : so he needed no
foreign increase; whereas my father, with his moderate fortune,
was bound to his place by the consideration of his salary.
My uncle had become still more unbending from domestic suf-
ferings. He had early lost an amiable wife and a hopeful son;
and from that time, he appeared to wish to push away from him
everything that did not hang upon his individual will.
In our family, it was whispered now and then with some com-
placency, that probably he would not wed again, and so we chil-
dren might anticipate inheriting his fortune. I paid small regard
to this : but the demeanor of the rest was not a little modified by
their hopes. In his own imperturbable firmness of character, my
uncle had grown into the habit of never contradicting any one in
conversation. On the other hand, he listened with a friendly air
to every one's opinion; and would himself elucidate and strengthen
it by instances and reasons of his own. All who did not know
him fancied that he thought as they did : for he was possessed of
a preponderating intellect; and could transport himself into the
mental state of any man, and imitate his manner of conceiving.
With me he did not prosper quite so well: for here the question
was about emotions, of which he had not any glimpse ; and with
whatever tolerance and sympathy and rationality he spoke about
my sentiments, it was palpable to me that he had not the slightest
notion of what formed the ground of all my conduct.
365
ZA O
SS --
With all his secrecy, we by and by found out the aim of his.
unusual stay with us. He had, as we at length discovered, cast
his eyes upon our youngest sister, with the view of giving her in
marriage, and rendering her happy as he pleased : and certainly,
considering her personal and mental attractions, particularly when
a handsome fortune was laid into the scale along with them, she
might pretend to the first matches. His feelings towards me he
_
iv
.
Canoness, the income of which I very soon began to draw.
My sister was not so contented with his care as I. She now
disclosed to me a tender secret, which hitherto she had very
wisely kept back; fearing, as in truth it happened, that I would
by all means counsel her against connection with a man who was
not suited to her. I did my utmost, and succeeded. The pur-
pose of my uncle was too serious and too distinct; the prospect
for my sister, with her worldly views, was too delightful to be
thwarted by a passion which her own understanding disapproved :
she mustered force to give it up.
On her ceasing to resist the gentle guidance of my uncle, the
foundation of his plan was quickly laid. She was appointed
Maid of Honor at a neighboring court, where he could commit
her to the oversight and the instructions of a lady, his friend, who
presided there as Governess, with great applause. I accompanied
her to the place of her new abode. Both of us had reason to
be satisfied with the reception we met with : and frequently I
could not help, in secret, smiling at the character, which now as
Canoness, as young and pious Canoness, I was enacting in the
world.
In earlier times, a situation such as this would have confused
me dreadfully; perhaps have turned my head : but now, in the
midst of all the splendors that surrounded me, I felt extremely
cool. With great quietness, I let them frizzle me, and deck me
out for hours ; and thought no more of it than that my place re-
quired me to wear that gala livery. In the thronged saloons, I
spoke with all and each, though no shape or character among
them made any impression on me. On returning to my house.
nearly all the feeling I brought back with me was that of tired
366
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
limbs. Yet my understanding drew advantage from the multi-
tude of persons whom I saw; and I became acquainted with
some ladies, patterns of every virtue, of a noble and good demea-
nor; particularly with the Governess, under whom my sister was
to have the happiness of being formed.
At my return, however, the consequences of this journey, in
regard to health, were found to be less favorable. With the
greatest temperance, the strictest diet, I had not been, as I used
to be, completely mistress of my time and strength. Food, mo-
tion, rising and going to sleep, dressing and visiting, had not de-
pended, as at home, on my own conveniency and will. In the
circle of social life, you cannot stop without a breach of courtesy :
all that was needful I had willingly performed ; because I looked
upon it as my duty, because I knew that it would soon be over,
and because I felt myself completely healthy. Yet this unusual
restless life must have had more effect upon me than I was aware
of. Scarcely had I reached home, and cheered my parents with
a comfortable narrative, when I was attacked by a hemorrhage,
which, although it did not prove dangerous or lasting, yet left a
weakness after it, perceptible for many a day.
Here, then, I had another lesson to repeat. I did it joyfully.
Nothing bound me to the world ; and I was convinced that here
the true good was never to be found: so I waited in the cheer-
fullest and meekest state ; and after having abdicated life, I was
retained in it.
A new trial was awaiting me: my mother took a painful and
oppressive ailment, which she had to bear five years, before she
paid the debt of nature. All this time we were sharply proved.
Often when her terror grew too strong, she would have us all .
summoned, in the night, to her bed, that so at least she might be
busied, if not bettered by our presence. The load grew heavier,
nay, scarcely to be borne, when my father, too, became unwell.
From his youth, he had frequently had violent headaches; which,
however, at longest never used to last beyond six-and-thirty
hours. But now they were continual; and when they mounted
to a high degree of pain, his moanings tore my very heart. It
was in these tempestuous seasons that I chiefly felt my bodily
- The Straight
directing
BOOK VI.
367 of
weakness ; because it kept me from my holiest and dearest du- '
ties, or rendered the performartce of them Þard to an extreme
degree.
It was now that I could try whether the path which I had
chosen was the path of fantasy or truth ; whether I had merely
thought as others showed me, or the object of my trust had a
reality. To my unspeakable support, I always found the latter.
The straight direction of my heart to God, the fellowship of the
“ Beloved Ones " * I had sought and found ; and this was what
made all things light to me. As a traveller in the dark, my soul,
when all was pressing on me from without, hastened to the place
of refuge, and never did it return empty.
In later times, some champions of religion, who seem to be
animated more by zeal than feeling for it, have required of their
brethren to produce examples of prayers actually heard ; appar-
ently as wishing to have seal and signature, that so they might
proceed juridically in the matter. How unknown must the true
feeling be to these persons ; how few real experiences can they
themselves have made !
I can say that I never returned empty, whán' in straits and
oppression I called on God. This is saying infinitely much ; more
I must not and cannot say. Important as each experience was
at the critical moment for myself, the recital of them would be
flat, improbable, and insignificant, were I to specify the separate
cases. Happy was I, that a thousand little incidents in combina-
tion proved, as clearly as the drawing of my breath proved me to
be living, that I was not without God in the world. He was
(near to me, I was before him. This is what, with a diligent
avoidance of all theological systematic terms, I can with the
greatest truth declare.
Much do I wish that, in those times too, I had been entirely
without system. But which of us arrives early at the happiness
of being conscious of his individual self, in its own pure com-
bination, without extraneous forms? I was in earnest with re-
ligion I timidly trusted in the judgments of others; I entirely


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gave in to the Hallean system of conversion ; but my nature
would by no means tally with it.
According to this scheme of doctrine, the alteration of the
heart must begin with a deep terror on account of sin ; the heart
in this agony must recognize, in a less or greater degree, the
punishment which it has merited, must get a foretaste of Hell,
and so embitter the delight of sin. At last it feels a very pal-
pable assurance of grace; which, however, in its progress often
fades away, and must again be sought with earnest prayer
Of all this no jot or tittle happened with me. When I sought
God sincerely, he let himself be found of me, and did not re-
proach me about bygone things. On looking back, I saw well
enough where I had been unworthy, where I still was so: but
the confession of my faults was altogether without terror. Not
for a moment did the fear of Hell occur to me: nay, the very
notion of a wicked Spirit, and a place of punishment and torment
after death, could nowise gain admission into the circle of my
thoughts. I considered the men who lived without God, whoses
hearts were shut against the trust in and the love of the Invisible,
as already so unhappy, that a Hell and external pains appeared
to promise rather an aileviation than an increase of their misery.
I had but to look upon the persons, in this world, who in their
breasts gave scope to hateful feelings; who hardened their hearts
against the Good of whatever kind, and strove to force the Evil
on themselves and others; who shut their eyes by day, that
so they might deny the shining of the sun. How unutterably
wretched did these persons seem to me! Who could have formed
a Hell to make their situation worse ?
This mood of mind continued in me, without change, for half
a score of years. It maintained itself through many trials;
even at the moving death-bed of my beloved mother. I was
frank enough, on this occasion, not to hide my comfortable frame
of mind from certain pious but rigorously orthodox people; and
I had to suffer many a friendly admonition on that score. They
reckoned they were just in season, for explaining with what
earnestness one should be diligent to lay a right foundation in
the days of health and youth.
...wil.
BOOK VI.
369
A
new ng Good
>
In earnestness I too determined not to fail. For the moment,
for life, distressed and full of fears. But what was my surprise
on finding that I absolutely could not. When I thought of God,
I was cheerful and contented : even at the painful end of my
A
GUAY
Derson
I learned many and far other things than my uncalled teachers
thought of, in these solemn hours.
By degrees, I grew to doubt the dictates of so many famous :
people, and retained my own sentiments, in silence. A certain
lady of my friends, to whom I had at first disclosed too much,
insisted always on interfering with my business. Of her too I
was obliged to rid myself; I at last firmly told her, that she
might spare herself this labor, as I did not need her counsel ;
that I knew my God, and would have no guide but him. She
was greatly offended; I believe she never quite forgave me.
Such determination, to withdraw from the advices and the
influence of my friends, in (spiritual matters, produced the con-
sequence, that also in my temporal affairs 'I gained sufficient
of my faithful invisible Leader, I could not have prospered here.
I am still gratefully astonished at his wise and happy guidance.
No one knew how matters stood with me; even I myself did
not know.
with my invisible Trad.
The thing, the wicked and inexplicable thing, which separates
us from the Being to whom we owe our life, and in whom all
that deserves the name of life must find its nourishment; the
thing which we call Sin, I yet knew nothing of.
In my intercourse with my invisible Friend, I felt the sweetest
enjoyment of all my powers. My desire of constantly enjoying
this felicity was so predominant, that I abandoned without hesi-
tation whatever marred our intercourse ; and here experience
was my best teacher. But it was with me as with sick persons,
who have no medicine, and try to help themselves by diet.
Something is accomplished, but far from enough.
I could not always live in solitude; though in it I found the
best preservative against the dissipation of my thoughts. On
16 *
370
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
returning to the tumult, the impression it produced upon me
was the deeper for my previous loneliness. My most peculiar
advantage lay in this, that love for quiet was my ruling passion,
and that in the end I still drew back to it. I perceived, as in a
kind of twilight, my weakness and my misery; and tried to save
myself by avoiding danger and exposure. 4
For seven years, I had used my dietetic scheme. I held my-
self not wicked, and I thought my state desirable. But for some
peculiar circumstances and occurrences I had remained in this
position : it was by a curious path that I got farther. Contrary
to the advice of all my friends, I entered on a new connection.
Their objections, at first, made me pause. I turned to my invisible
Leader, and, as he permitted me, I went forward without fear.
A man of spirit, heart, and talents had bought a property be-
side us. Among the strangers whom I grew acquainted with,
were this person and his family. In our manners, domestic econ-
omy, and habits we accorded well; and thus we soon approxi- .
mated to each other.
Philo, as I propose to call him, was already middle-aged: in
certain matters he was highly serviceable to my father, whose
strength was now decaying. He soon became the friend of the
family; and finding in me, as he was pleased to say, a person
free alike from the extravagance and emptiness of the great
world, and from the narrowness and aridness of the still world
in the country, he courted intimacy with me, and erelong we
were in one another's confidence. To me he was very pleasing
and useful.
Though I did not feel the smallest inclination or capacity for
mingling in public business, or seeking any influence on it, yet I
liked to hear about such matters, liked to know whatever hap-
pened far and near. Of worldly things, I loved to get a clear
though unconcerned perception : feeling, sympathy, affection, I
reserved for God, for my people, and my friends.
The latter were, if I may say so, jealous of Philo, in my new
counection with him. In more than one sense, they were right
in warning me about it. I suffered much in secret; for even I
could not consider their remonstrances as altogether empty or
BOOK VI.
371
selfish. I had been accustomed, from of old, to give a reason for
my views and conduct; but in this case my conviction would not
follow. I prayed to God that here as elsewhere he would warn,
restrain, and guide me; and as my heart on this did not dissuade
me, I went forward on my way with comfort.
Philo, on the whole, had a remote resemblance to Narciss ;
only a pious education had more enlivened and concentrated his
feelings. He had less vanity, more character; and, in business,
if Narciss was delicate, exact, persevering, indefatigable, the other
was clear, sharp, quick, and capable of working with incredible
ease. By means of him, I learned the secret history of almost
every noble personage with whose exterior I had got acquainted
in society. It was pleasant for me to behold the tumult, off my
watch-tower, from afar. Philo could now bide nothing from me:
he confided to me, by degrees, his own concerns both inward and
outward. I was in fear because of him ; for I foresaw certain
circumstances and entanglements; and the mischief came more
speedily than I had looked for. There were some confessions
he had still kept back; and even at last he told me only what
enabled me to guess the worst.
What an effect had this upon my heart! I attained experi-
ences which to me were altogether new. With inlinite sorrow,
I beheld an Agathon, who, educated in the groves of Delphi, still
owed his school fees, which he was now obliged to pay with their
accumulated interest; and this Agathon was my especial friend.
My sympathy was lively and complete ; I suffered with him ;
both of us were in the strangest state.
After having long occupied myself with the temper of his mind,
I at last turned round to contemplate my own. The thought,
“ Thou art no better than he," rose like a little cloud before me,
and gradually expanded till it darkened all my soul.
I now not only thought myself no better than he; I felt this,
and felt it as I should not wish to do again. Nor was it any
transitory mood. For more than a year, I was compelled to feel
that, had not an unseen hand restrained me, I might have become
a Girard, a Cartouche, a Damiens, or any wretch you can imag-
ine. The tendencies to this I traced too clearly in my heart
Heavens, what a discovery!
tendencies traseift
".
they go to build
)
§ 372
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
inju davlt med str
- Waldis Las llo
anden en om
If hitherto I had never been able, in the faintest degree, to rec-
ognize in myself the reality of sin by experience, its possibility
was now become apparent to me by anticipation, in the fright-
fullest manner. And yet I knew not evil; I but feared it: I felt
that I might be guilty, and could not accuse myself of being so.
Deeply as I was convinced that such a temperament of soul,
as I now saw mine to be, could never be adapted for that union
§ with the invisible Being, which I hoped for after death ; I did
not, in the smallest, fear that I should finally be separated from
him. With all the wickedness which I discovered in my heart,
I still loved Him; I hated what I felt, nay, wished to hate it still
more earnestly; my whole desire was to be delivered from this
sickness, and this tendency to sickness; and I was persuaded that
the great Physician would at length vouchsafe his help.
The sole question was: What medicine will cure this malady?
The practice of virtue? This I could not for a moment think.
M.For ten years, I had already practised more than mere virtue ;
and the horrors now first discovered had, all the while, lain hid-
den at the bottom of my soul. Might they not have broken out
with me, as they did with David when he looked on Bathsheba ?
Yet was not he a friend of God; and was not I assured in my
Sinmost heart that God was my friend?
Was it then an unavoidable infirmity of human nature ? Must
we just content ourselves in feeling and acknowledging the sov-
ereignty of inclination ? And, with the best will, is there noth-
ing left for us but to abhor the fault we have committed, and on
the like occasion to commit it again?
From systems of morality I could obtain no comfort. Neither
their severity, by which they try to bend our inclinations, nor
their attractiveness, by which they try to place our inclinations
on the side of virtue, gave me any satisfaction. The fundamental
notions, which I had imbibed from intercourse with my invisible
Friend, were of far higher value to me.
Once, while I was studying the songs composed by David after
that tremendous fall, it struck me very much that he traced his
indwelling corruption even in the substance out of which he had
been shaped; yet that he wished to be freed from sin, and that
he earnestly entreated for a pure heart.
i
buvo
.
a
freed
from
sina
answe from
Scriptwea
BOOK VI.
373
TY
But how was this to be attained ? The answer from Scripture
I was well aware of: “ that the blood of Jesus cleanseth us from
all sin," was a Bible truth which I had long known. But now,
for the first time, I observed that as yet I had never understood
this oft-repeated saying. The questions: What does it mean?
How is it to be? were day and night working out their answers
in me. At last I thought I saw, as by a gleam of light, that
what I sought was to be found in the incarnation of the everlast-
ing Word, by whom all things, even we ourselves, were made.
That the Eternal descended as an inhabitant to the depths in
which we dwell, which he surveys and comprehends ; that he
passed through our lot from stage to stage, from conception and
birth to the grave; that by this marvellous circuit he again
mounted to those shining Heights, whither we too must rise in
order to be happy: all this was revealed to me, as in a dawning
remoteness.
Oh! why must we, in speaking of such things, make use of
figures which can only indicate external situations! Where is
there in his eyes aught high or deep, aught dark or clear? It is
we only that have an Under and Upper, a night and day. And
even for this did he become like us, since otherwise we could
have had no part in him.
But how shall we obtain a share in this priceless benefit ?
“ By faith," the Scripture says. And what is faith? To con-
sider the account of an event as true, what help can this afford
me? I must be enabled to appropriate its effects, its conse-
quences. This appropriating faith must be a state of mind pecu-
liar, and to the natural man unknown.
“Now, gracious Father, grant me faith!” so prayed I once, in
the deepest heaviness of heart. I was leaning on a little table,
where I sat; my tear-stained countenance was hidden in my
hands. I was now in the condition in which we seldom are, but
in which we are required to be, if God is to regard our prayers.
O, that I could but paint what I felt then! A sudden force
drew my soul to the cross where Jesus once expired: it was a
sudden force, a pull, I cannot name it otherwise, such as leads
our soul to an absent loved one; an approximation, which per-
dict 1174
Sant le
live
de serpihan
374
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.

to
fail
(haps is far more real and true than we imagine. So did my soul
(approach the Son of Man, who died upon the cross ; and that
instant did I know what faith was.
This is faith?" said T; and started up as if half frightened.
I now endeavored to get certain of my feeling, of my view ; and
shortly I became convinced that my soul had acquired a power
of soaring upwards which was altogether new to it.
Words fail us in describing such emotions. I could most dis-
tinctly separate them from all fantasy: they were entirely with-
words
i
7. it pa
o
.
S
HAR
-
---
Yo
of their referring to some object as our imagination gives us when
* it paints the features of an absent lover.
wiringist www amazon
w When the first rapture was over, I observed that my present
condition of mind had formerly been known to me; only I had
never felt it in such strength; I had never held it fast, never
made it mine. I believe, indeed, every human soul at intervals
feels something of it. Doubtless it is this which teaches every
mortal that there is a God. v
With such faculty, wont from of old to visit me now and then,
I had hitherto been well content; and had not, by a singular ar-
rangement of events, that unexpected sorrow weighed upon me
for a twelvemonth; had not my own ability and strength, on that
occasion, altogether lost credit with me; I perhaps might have
remained content with such a state of matters all my days.
But now, since that great moment, I had.as it were got wings.
I could mount aloft above what used to threaten me; as the bird
can fly singing and with ease across the fiercest stream, while the
little dog stands anxiously baying on the bank.
My joy was indescribable; and though I did not mention it to
any one, my people soon observed an unaccustomed cheerfulness
in me, and could not understand the reason of my joy. Had I
but forever held my peace, and tried to nourish this serene tem-
per in my soul! Had I not allowed myself to be misled by cir-
cumstances, so as to reveal my secret! I might then have been
saved once more a long and tedious circuit.
As in the previous ten years of my Christian course, this ne-
cessary force had not existed in my soul, I had just been in the
'
N
BOOK VI.
. 375
gome
ne ference to Grocka
:.*
.37
.
..
:
case of other worthy people; had helped myself by keeping my
fancy always full of images, which had some reference to God: a
practice so far truly useful; for noxious images and their baneful
consequences are by that means kept away. Often, too, our spirit
seizes one or other of these spiritual images, and mounts with it
a little way upwards, like a young bird fluttering from twig to
twig.
vers of inlat: 4
-timers ca
see
Images and impressions pointing towards God are presented to
us by the institutions of the Church, by organs, bells, singing, and
particularly by the preaching of our pastors. Of these I used to
be unspeakably desirous ; no weather, no bodily weakness, could
keep me from church ; the sound of the Sunday bells was the
only thing that rendered me impatient on a sick-bed. Our head
Court-chaplain, a gifted man, I heard with great pleasure: his
colleagues, too, I liked ; and I could pick the golden apple of the
word from the common fruit, with which on earthen platters it
was mingled. With public ordinances, all sorts of private exer-
cises were combined ; and these, too, only nourished fancy and a
finer kind of sense. I was so accustomed to this track, I rever-
enced it so much, that even now no higher one occurred to me.
For my soul has only feelers, and not eyes; it gropes, but does
not see. Ah! that it could get eyes and look! .
Now again, therefore, I went with a longing mind to sermon:
but alas, what happened! I no longer found what I was wont to
find. These preachers were blunting their teeth on the shell, while
I enjoyed the kernel. I soon grew weary of them; and I had
already been so spoiled that I could not be content with them
little they afforded me. I required images, I wanted impres-
sions from without; and reckoned it a pure spiritual desire that
I felt.
Philo's parents had been in connection with the Herrnhuther
Community : in his library were many writings of Count Zinzen-
dorf's. He had spoken with me, more than once, very candidly
and clearly on the subject ; inviting me to turn over one or two
of these treatises, if it were but for the sake of studying a psy-
chological phenomenon. I looked upon the Count, and those
that followed him, as very heterodox : and so the Ebersdorf
AS
376
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
Hymn-book, which my friend had pressed upon me, lay un-
read.
However, in this total destitution of external excitements for
my soul, I opened the Hymn-book, as it were by chance, and
found in it, to my astonishment, some songs which actually, though..
under a fantastic form, appeared to shadow what I felt. The
originality and simplicity of their expression drew me on. It
seemed to be peculiar emotions expressed in a peculiar way; no
school technology suggested any notion of formality or common-
place. I was persuaded that these people felt as I did : I was
very bappy to lay hold of here and there a stanza in their songs,
to fix it in my memory, and carry it about with me for days.
Since the moment when the truth had been revealed to me,
some three months had in this way passed on. At last I came
to the resolution of disclosing everything to Philo, and asking
him to let me have those writings, about which I had now be-
come immoderately curious. Accordingly I did so, notwithstand-
ing there was something in my heart which earnestly dissuaded
me.
I circumstantially related to him all the story; and, as he was
himself a leading person in it, and my narrative conveyed the
sharpest reprimand on him, he felt surprised and moved to an
extreme degree. He melted into tears. I rejoiced ; believing
that, in his mind also, a full and fundamental change had taken
place.
He provided me with all the writings I could require ; and
now I had excess of nourishment for my imagination. I made
rapid progress in the Zinzendorfic mode of thought and speech.
And be it not supposed that I am yet incapable of prizing the
peculiar turn and manner of the Count. I willingly do him jus-
tice; he is no empty fantast; he speaks of mighty truths, and
mostly in a bold figurative style; the people who despise him
know not either how to value or discriminate his qualities.
At that time, I became exceedingly attached to him. Had I
been mistress of myself, I would certainly have left my friends
and country, and gone to join him. We should infallibly have
understood each other, and should hardly have agreed together
long.
BOOK VI.
377
A
.
Thanks to my better genius that now kept me so confined by
my domestic duties! I reckoned it a distant journey if I visited
the garden. The charge of my aged weakly father afforded me
employment enough, and in hours of recreation, I had Fancy to
procure me pastime. The only mortal whom I saw was Philo ;
he was highly valued by my father ; but with me, his intimacy
had been cooled a little by the late explanation. Its influence
on him had not penetrated deep; and as some attempts to talk
in my dialect had not succeeded with him, he avoided touching
on this subject; and the rather, as his extensive knowledge put
it always in his power to introduce new topics in his conversa-
tion.
I was thus a Herrnhuth sister on my own footing. I had es-
pecially to hide this new turn of my temper and my inclinations
from the head Court-chaplain ; whom, as my father confessor, I
had much cause to honor; and whose high merits his extreme
äversion to the Herrnhuth Community did not diminish, in my
eyes, even then. Unhappily this worthy person had to suffer
many troubles on account of me and others.
Several years ago, he had become acquainted with an upright
pious gentleman, residing in a distant quarter; and had long con-
tinued in unbroken correspondence with him, as with one who
truly sought God. How painful was it to the spiritual leader,
when this gentleman subsequently joined himself to the Commu-
nity of Herrnhuth, where he lived for a long while! How de-
lightful, on the other band, when at length he quarrelled with .
the Brethren ; determined to settle in our neighborhood; and
seemed once more to yield himself completely to the guidance of
his ancient friend!
Thé stranger was presented, as in triumph, by the upper Pas-
tor to all the chosen lambs of his fold. To our house alone he
was not introduced, because my father did not now see company.
The gentleman obtained no little approbation : he combined the
polish of the court with the winning manner of the Brethren;
and having also many fine qualities by nature, he soon became
the favorite saint with all who knew him; a result at which tho
chaplain was exceedingly contented. But, alas! it was merely
378
DIEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
in externals that the gentleman had split with the Community;
in his heart he was yet entirely a Herrnhuther. He was, in
truth, concerned for the reality of the matter : but yet the gim-
cracks which the Count had stuck round it were, at the same
time, quite adapted to his taste. Besides he had now become
accustomed to this mode of speaking and conceiving; and if he
had to hide it carefully from his old friend, the gladder was he,
in any knot of trusty persons, to come forth with his couplets,
litanies, and little figures; in which, as might have been supposed,
he met with greät applause.
I knew nothing of the whole affair, and wandered quietly along
in my separate path. For a good while we continued mutually
unknown.
Once, in a leisure hour, I happened to visit a lady who was
sick. I found several acquaintances with her; and soon per-
ceived that my appearance had cut short their conversation. I
affected not to notice anything; but saw erelong, with great sur-
prise, some Herrnhuth figures stuck upon the wall in elegant
frames. Quickly comprehending what had passed before my
entrance, I expressed my pleasure at the sight, in a few suitable
verses.
Conceive the wonder of my friends! We explained ourselves ;
instantly we were agreed, and in each other's confidence.
I often henceforth sought opportunities of going out. Unhap-
pily I found such only once in the three or four weeks; yet I
grew acquainted with our gentleman apostle, and by degrees with
all the body. I visited their meetings, when I could: with my
social disposition, it was quite delightful for me to communicate
to others, and to hear from them the feelings which, till now, I
had conceived and harbored by myself.
But I was not so completely taken with my friends, as not to
see that few of them could really feel the sense of those affecting
words and emblems; and that from these they drew as little ben-
efit, as formerly they did from the symbolic language of the
Church. Yet, notwithstanding, I went on with them, not letting
this disturb me. I thought I was not called to search and try
the hearts of others. Had not I too, by long-continued innocent
BOOK VI.
379
exercisings of that sort, been prepared for something better? I
had my share of profit from our meetings : in speaking, I insisted
on attending to the sense and spirit, which, in things so delicate,
is rather apt to be disguised by words than indicated by them;
and for the rest I left, with silent tolerance, each to act according
to his own conviction.
These quiet times of secret social joy were shortly followed by
storms of open bickering and contradiction ; contentions which
excited great commotion, I might almost say occasioned not a
little scandal, in court and town. The period was now arrived
when our Chaplain, that stout gainsayer of the Herrnhuth Breth-
ren, must discover, to his deep, but I trust, sanctified humiliation,
that his best and once most zealous hearers were now all leaning
to the side of thạt Community. He was excessively provoked:
in the first moments, he forgot all moderation; and could not,
even if he had inclined it, retract afterwards. Violent debates
took place ; in which happily I was not mentioned; both as
being an accidental member of those hated meetings; and then
because, in respect of certain civic matters, our zealous preacher
could not safely disoblige either my father or my friend. With
silent satisfaction, I continued neutral. It was irksome to me
to converse about such feelings and objects, even with well-
affected people, when they could not penetrate the deepest sense,
and lingered merely on the surface. But to strive with adversa-
ries, about things on which even friends could scarcely under-
For I soon perceived that many amiable noblemen, who on this
occurrence could not shut their hearts to enmity and hatred, had
rapidly passed over to injustice; and in order to defend an out-
ward form, had almost sacrificed their most substantial duties.
Far as the worthy clergyman might, in the present case, be
wrong; much as others tried to irritate me at him, I could never
hesitate to give him my sincere respect. I knew him well: I
matters. I have never seen a man without his weaknesses ;
only, in distinguished men they strike us more. We wish, and
will at all rates have it, that persons privileged as they are should
380
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
at the same time pay. no tribute, no tax whatever. I honored
him as a superior man; and hoped to use the influence of my
calm neutrality to bring about, if not a peace, at least a truce. I
know not what my efforts might have done: but God concluded
the affair more briefly, and took the Chaplain to Himself. On
his coffin all wept, who had lately been striving with him about
words. His uprightness, his fear of God, no one had ever
doubted.
I too was, erelong, forced to lay aside this Herrnhuth doll-
work, which, by means of these contentions, now appeared before
me in a rather different light. Our uncle had, in silence, exe-
cuted his intentions with my sister. He offered her a young
man of rank and fortune as a bridegroom; and showed, by a rich
dowry, what might be expected of himself. My father joyfully
consented; my sister was free and forewarned, she did not hes-
itate to change her state. The bridal was appointed at my un-
cle's castle: family and friends were all invited ; and we came
together in the cheerfullest mood.
For the first time in my life, the aspect of a house excited ad-
miration in me. I had often heard of my uncle's taste, of his
Italian architect, of his collections and his library; but, compar-
ing this with what I had already seen, I had formed a very vague
and fluctuating picture of it in my thoughts. Great, accordingly,
was my surprise at the earnest and harmonious impression which
I felt on entering the house, and which every hall and chamber
deepened. If elsewhere pomp and decoration had but dissipated
my attention, I felt here concentrated and drawn back upon my-
self. In like manner, the preparatives for these solemnities and
festivals produced a silent pleasure, by their air of dignity and
splendor; and to me it seemed as inconceivable that one man
could have invented and arranged all this, as that more than one
could have worked together in so high a spirit. Yet withal, the
landlord and his people were entirely natural; not a trace of
stiffness or of empty form was to be seen.
The wedding itself was managed in a striking way: an exqui-
site strain of vocal music came upon us by surprise; and the
clergyman went through the ceremony with a singular solemnity.
BOOK VI.
381
I was standing by Philo at the time; and instead of a congratu-
(lation, he whispered in my ear, “When I saw your sister give
away her hand, I felt as if'a stream of boiling water had been
poured over me.” “Why so?” I inquired. * It is always the
way with me," said he, “when I see two people joined.” I
laughed at him; but I have often since had cause to récollect
his words.
The revel of the party, among whom were many young people,
looked particularly glittering and airy, as everything around us
was dignified and serious. The furniture, plate, table ware, and
table ornaments accorded with the general whole; and if in other
houses you would say the architect was of the school of the con-
fectioner, it here appeared as if even our confectioner and butler
had taken lessons from the architect.
We stayed together several days; and our intelligent and gifted
landlord had variedly provided for the entertainment of his guests.
I did not in the present case repeat the melancholy proof, which
has so often in my life been forced upon me, how unhappily a
large mixed company are situated, when, altogether left to them-
selves, they have to select the most general and vapid pastimes,
that the fools of the party may not want amusement, however it
may fare with those that are not such.
My uncle had arranged it altogether differently. Two or three
marshals, if I may call them so, had been appointed by hin: one
of them had charge of providing entertainment for the young.
Dances, excursions, little games, were of his invention, and under
his direction; and as young people take delight in being out of
doors, and do not fear the influences of the air, the garden and
garden hall had been assigned to them; while some additional
pavilions and galleries had been erected and appended to the
latter, formed of boards and canvas merely, but in such propor-
tions, so elegant and noble, they reminded one of nothing but
stone and marble.
How rare is a festivity in which the person who invites the
guests feels also that it is his duty to provide for their conven-
iences and wants of every kind !
Hunting and card parties, short promenades, opportunities for
382
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
trustful private conversations, were afforded the elder persons :
and whoever wished to go earliest to bed was sure to be lodged
the farthest from noise.
By this happy order, the space we lived in appeared to be a
little world; and yet, considered narrowly, the castle was not
large; without an accurate knowledge of it, and without the
spirit of its owner, it would have been impossible to entertain so
many people here, and quarter each according to his humor.
As the aspect of a well-formed person pleases us, so also does
a fair establishment, by means of which the presence of a rational
intelligent mind is manifested. We feel a joy in entering even a
cleanly house, though it may be tasteless in its structure and its
decorations ; because it shows us the presence of a person culti-
vated in at least one sense. Doubly pleasing is it, therefore,
when, from a human dwelling, the spirit of a higher though
merely sensual culture speaks to us.
All this was vividly impressed on my observation at my uncle's
castle. I had heard and read much of art; Philo, too, was a
lover of pictures, and had a fine collection ; I myself had often
practised drawing: but I had been too deeply occupied with my
emotions striving exclusively after the one thing needful, which
alone I was bent on carrying to perfection; and then such objects
of art as I had hitherto seen appeared, like all other worldly
objects, to distract my thoughts. But now, for the first time,
outward things had led me back upon myself: I now first per-
ceived the difference between the natural charm of the nightin.
gale's song, and that of a four-voice anthem pealed from the
expressive organs of men.
My joy over this discovery I did not hide from my uncle ;
who, when all the rest were settled at their posts, was wont to
come and talk with me in private. He spoke with great mod-
esty of what he possessed and had produced here; with great
decision of the views in which it had been gathered and ar-
ranged: and I could easily observe that he spoke with a forbear-
ance towards me; seeming, in his usual way, to rate the excel-
lence which he himself possessed below that other excellence
which, in my way of thinking, was the best and properest.
BOOK VI.
383
The
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.
Bo
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.
TE
“If we can conceive it possible,” he once observed, “ that the
Creator of the world himself assumed the form of his creature,
and lived in that manner for a time upon earth, this creature
(must appear to us of infinite perfection, because susceptible of
such a combination with its Maker. Hence, in our idea of man
there can be no inconsistency with our idea of God: and if we
often feel a certain disagreement with Him and remoteness from
Him, it is but the more on that account our duty, not like advo-
cates of the wicked Spirit, to keep our eyes continually upon the
nakedness and weakness of our nature; but rather to seek out about
every property and beauty by which our pretension to a simi- . .
larity with the Divinity may be made good.”
I smiled and answered: “Do not make me blush, dear uncle,
by your complaisance in talking in my language! What you
have to say is of such importance to me, that I wish to hear it in
your own most peculiar style; and then what parts of it I can-
not quite appropriate I will endeavor to translate."
“I may continue,” he replied, “in my own most peculiar way,
without any alteration of my tone. Man's highest merit always
is, as much as possible to rule external circumstances, and as **
little as possible to let himself be ruled by them. E'Life lies
before us, as a huge quarry lies before the architect; he deserves
not the name of architect, except when, out of this fortuitous
mass, he can combine, with the greatest economy, and fitness,
and durability, some form, the pattern of which originated in his
spirit. All things without us, nay, I may add, all things on us,
are mere elements : but deep within us lies the creative force,
which out of these can produce what they were meant to be:
and which leaves us neither sleep nor rest, till in one way or
another, without us or on us, that same have been produced.
--You, my dear niece, have, it may be, chosen the better part;
you have striven to bring your moral being, your earnest lovely
nature into accordance with itself and with the Highest : but
neither ought we to be blamed, when we strive to get acquainted
with the sentient man in all his comprehensiveness, and to bring
about an active harmony among his powers.”
By such discoursing, we in time grew more, familiar; and I
til
V.IN
750
+
(Secula
(Ticine?
384
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
begged of him to speak with me as with himself, omitting every
sort of condescension. “Do not think," replied my uncle, " that
I flatter you when I commend your mode of thinking and acting.
I reverence the individual who understands distinctly what it is
he wishes; who unweariedly advances, who knows the means
conducive to his object, and can seize and use them. How far
his object may be great or little, may merit praise or censure, is
the next consideration with me. Believe me, love, most part of
all the misery and mischief, of all that is denominated evil in the
world, arises from the fact that men are too remiss to get a proper
knowledge of their aims, and when they do know them, to work
intensely in attaining them. They seem to me like people who
have taken up a notion, that they must and will erect a tower,
and who yet expend on the foundation not more stones and labor
than would be sufficient for a hut. If you, my friend, whose
highest want it was to perfect and unfold your moral nature, had,
instead of those bold and noble sacrifices, merely trimmed be-
tween your duties to yourself and to your family, your bride-
groom, or perhaps your husband, you must have lived in constant
contradiction with your feelings, and never could have had a peace-
ful moment."
“You employ the word sacrifice,” I answered here ; " and I
have often thought that to a higher purpose, as to a divinity, we
offer up, by way of sacrifice, a thing of smaller value ; feeling,
like persons who should willingly and gladly bring a favorite
lamb to the altar, for the health of a beloved father.”
5 Whatever it may be,” said he, reason or feeling, that com-
mands us to give up the one thing for the other, to choose the
one before the other, decision and perseverance are, in my opin-
ion, the noblest qualities of man. You cannot have the ware
and the money both at once : and he who always hankers for the
ware without having heart to give the money for it, is no better
off than he who repents him of the purchase when the ware is in
his hands. But I am far from blaming men on this account: it
is not they that are to blame ; it is the difficult entangled situa-
tion they are in ; they know not how to guide themselves in its
perplexities. Thus, for instance, you will on the average find
BOOK VI.
385
fewer bad economists in the country than in towns, and fewer
again in small towns than in great; and why ? Man is intended
for a limited condition ; objects that are simple, near, determi-
nate, he comprehends, and he becomes accustomed to employ
such means as are at hand: but on entering a wider field, he
now knows neither what he would nor what he should ; and it
amounts to quite the same, whether his attention is distracted by
the multitude of objects, or is overpowered by their magnitude
and dignity. It is always a misfortune for him when he is in-
duced to struggle after anything with which he cannot connect
himself by some regular exertion of his powers.
“ Certainly,” pursued he, “without earnestness there is nothing
to be done in life : yet among the people whom we name culti-
vated men, little earnestness is to be found : in labors and em-
ployments, in arts, nay, even in recreations, they proceed, if I may
say so, with a sort of self-defence; they live, as they read a heap
of newspapers, only to have done with it; they remind one of
that young Englishman at Rome, who said, with a contented air,
one evening in some company, that to-day he had despatched six,
churches and two galleries. They wish to know and learn a
multitude of things, and precisely those they have the least con-
cern with ; and they never see that hunger is not stilled by snap-
ping at the air. When I become acquainted with a man, my
first inquiry is: With what does he employ himself and how, and
with what degree of perseverance? The answer regulates the
interest I shall take in him for life.”
“ My dear uncle," I replied, “ you are perhaps too rigorous ;
you perhaps withdraw your helping hand from here and there a
worthy man to whom you might be useful.”
“Can it be imputed as a fault,” said he, "to one who has so
long and vainly labored on them and about them? How much
we have to suffer, in our youth, from men who think they are
inviting us to a delightful pleasure-party, when they undertake
to introduce us to the Danaides or Sisyphus! Heaven be praised !
I have rid myself of these people: if one of them unfortunately
comes within my sphere I forthwith, in the politest manner, com-
pliment him out again. It is from such persons that you hear
17
VOL. I.
386
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
2
the bitterest complaints about the miserable course of things, the
aridity of science, the levity of artists, the emptiness of poets, and
much more of that sort. They do not recollect that they, and the
many like them, are the very persons who would never read a
book which had been written just as they require it; that true
poetry is alien to them; that even an excellent work of art can
never gain their approbation except by means of prejudice. But
let us now break off; for this is not the time to rail or to com-
plain."
He directed my attention to the different pictures hanging on
the wall : my eye dwelt on those whose look was beautiful or
subject striking. This he perniitted for a while: at last he said,
“ Bestow a little notice on the spirit manifested in these other
works. Good minds delight to trace the finger of the Deity in
nature: why not likewise pay some small regard to the hand of
his imitator ?” He then led my observation to some unobtrusive
figures; endeavoring to make me understand that it was the his-
tory of art alone which could give us an idea of the worth and
dignity of any work of art; that we should know the weary steps
of mere handicraft and mechanism, over which the man of talents
has struggled in the course of centuries, before we can conceive .
how it is possible for the man of genius to move with airy free-
dom, on the pinnacle whose very aspect makes us giddy.
With this view he had formed a beautiful series of works;
and whilst he explained it, I could not help conceiving that I saw
before me a similitude of moral culture. When I expressed my
thought to him, he answered : “You are altogether right; and
we see from this, that those do not act well who, in a solitary
exclusive manner, follow moral cultivation by itself. On the
contrary, it will be found that he whose spirit strives for a de-
velopment of that kind, has likewise every reason, at the same
time, to improve his finer sentient powers ; that so he may not
run the risk of sinking from his moral height, by giving way to
the enticements of a lawless fancy, and degrading his moral na-
ture by allowing it to take delight in tasteless baubles, if not in
something worse."
I did not suspect him of levelling at me; but I felt myself
Kind, has
in the improve
BOOK VI.
387
struck, when I reflected how many insipidities there might be in
the songs that used to edify me; and how little favor the figures
which had joined themselves to my religious ideas would have
found in the eyes of my uncle.
Philo, in the mean time, had frequently been busied in the
library : he now took me along with him. We admired the se-
lection, as well as the multitude of books. They had been col-
lected on my uncle's general principle; there were none to be
found among them but such as either lead to correct knowledge
or teach right arrangement; such as either give us fit materials
or further the concordance of our spirit.
In the course of my life, I had read very largely ; in certain
branches, there was almost no work unknown to me: the more
pleasant was it here, to speak about the general survey of the
whole; to mark deficiencies, and not, as elsewhere, see nothing
but a hampered confusion or a boundless expansion.
Here, too, we became acquainted with a very interesting, quiet
man. He was a physician and a naturalist; he seemed rather
one of the Penates than of the inmates. He showed us the mu-
seum, which like the library, was fixed in glass cases to the walls
of the chambers; adorning and ennobling the space, which it did
not crowd. On this occasion, I recalled with joy the days of my
youth; and showed my father many of the things he had been
wont to lay upon the sick-bed of his little child, just opening its
Iittle-eves to look into the world then. At the same time, the
(Physician, in our present and following conversations, did not
scruple to avow how near he approximated to me in respect of
my religious sentiments : he warmly praised my uncle for his
tolerance, and his esteem of all that testified or forwarded the
worth and unity of human nature; admitting also, that he called
for a similar return from others, and would shun and condemn
nothing else so heartily as individual pretension and narrow ex-
clusiveness.
Since the nuptials of my sister, joy had sparkled in the eyes
of our uncle: he often spoke with me of what he meant to do for
her and for her children. He had several fine estates; he man-
aged them himself, and hoped to leave them in the best condition

388
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
to his nephews. Regarding the small estate, where we at pres-
ent were, he appeared to entertain peculiar thoughts. “I will
leave it to none,” said he, “but to a person who can understand
and value and enjoy what it contains, and who feels how loudly
every man of wealth and rank, especially in Germany, is called
on to exhibit something like a model to others.”
Most of his guests were now gone; we too were making ready
for departure, thinking we had seen the final scene of this solem-
nity; when his attention in affording us some dignified enjoyment
produced a new surprise. We had mentioned to him the delight
which the chorus of voices, suddenly commencing without accom-
paniment of any instrument, had given us, at my sister's mar-
riage. We hinted, at the same time, how pleasant it would be
were such a thing repeated ; but he seemed to pay no heed to us.
The livelier was our surprise, when he said one evening : “ The
music of the dance has died away; our transitory, youthful friends
have left us; the happy pair themselves have a more serious look
than they had some days ago : to part at such a time, when per-
haps we shall never meet again, certainly never without changes,
exalts us to a solemn mood, which I know not how to entertain
more nobly than by the music you were lately signifying a desire
to have repeated.”
The chorus, which had in the mean while gathered strength,
and by secret practice more expertness, was accordingly made to
sing to us a series of four and of eight-voiced melodies, which, if
I may say so, gave a real foretaste of bliss. Till then, I had
only known the pious mode of singing, as good souls practise it,
frequently with hoarse pipes, imagining, like wild birds, that they
are praising God, while they procure a pleasant feeling to them-
selves. Or perhaps I had listened to the vain niusic of concerts,
in which you are at best invited to admire the talent of the singer,
and very seldom have even a transient enjoyment. Now, how-
ever, I was listening to music, which, as it originated in the
deepest feeling of the most accomplished human beings, was, by
suitable and practised organs in harmonious unity, made again
to address the deepest and best feelings of man, and to impress
him at that moment with a lively sense of his likeness to the
BOOK VI.
389
Deity. They were all devotional songs, in the Latin language:
they sat like jewels in the golden ring of a polished intellectual
conversation ; and without pretending to edify, they elevated me
and made me happy in the most spiritual manner.
At our departure, he presented all of us with handsome gifts.
To me he gave the cross of my order, more beautifully and art-
fully worked and enamelled than I had ever seen it before. It
was hung upon a large brilliant, by which also it was fastened to
the chain : this he gave me, he said, “as the noblest stone in the
cabinet of a collector."
My sister with her husband went to their estates: the rest of
us to our abodes; appearing to ourselves, so far as outward cir-
cumstances were concerned, to have returned to quite an every-
day existence. We had been, as it were, dropped from a palace
of the fairies down upon the common earth ; and were again
obliged to help ourselves as we best could.
The singular experiences which this new circle had afforded
left a fine impression on my mind. This, however, did not long
continue in its first vivacity; though my uncle tried to nourish
and renew it, by sending me certain of his best and most pleasing
works of art; changing them, from time to time, with others
which I had not seen.
I had been so much accustomed to be busied with myself, in
regulating the concerns of my heart and temper, and conversing
on these matters with persons of a like mind, that I could not
long study any work of art attentively without being turned by
it back upon myself. I was used to look at a picture or copper-
plate merely as at the letters of a book. Fine printing pleases
well: but who would read a book for the beauty of the printing ?
In like manner, I required of each pictorial form that it should
tell me something, should instruct, affect, improve me; and after
all my uncle's letters to expound his works of art, say what he
would, I continued in my former humor.
Yet not only my peculiar disposition, but external incidents
and changes in our family, still farther drew me back from con-
templations of that nature, nay, for some time even from myself.
I had to suffer and to do more than my slender strength seemed
fit for.
390
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
My maiden sister had till now been as a right arm to me.
Healthy, strong, unspeakably good-natured, she had managed all
the housekeeping, I myself being busied with the personal nurs-
ing of our aged father. She was seized with a catarrh, which
changed to a disorder of the lungs : in three weeks she was lying
in her coffin. Her death inflicted wounds on me, the scars of
which I am not yet willing to examine.
I was lying sick before they buried her: the old ailment in my
breast appeared to be awakening; I coughed with violence, and
was so hoarse, I could not speak beyond a whisper.
My married sister, out of fright and grief, was brought to bed
before her time. Our old father thought he was about to lose at
once his children and the hope of their posterity: his natural
tears increased my sorrow; I prayed to God that he would give
me back a sufferable state of health. I asked him but to spare
my life till my father should die. I recovered ; I was what I
reckoned well ; being able to discharge my duties, though with
pain.
My sister was again with child. Many cares, which in such
cases are committed to the mother, in the present instance fell to
me. She was not altogether happy with her husband; this was
to be hidden from our father: I was often made judge of their
disputes ; in which I could decide with the greater safety, as my
brother trusted in me, and the two were really worthy persons,
only each of them, instead of humoring, endeavored to convince
the other; and out of eagerness to live in constant harmony,
never could agree. I now learned to mingle seriously in worldly
matters, and to practise what of old I had but sung.
My sister bore a son: the frailty of my father did not hinder
him from travelling to her. The sight of the child exceedingly
enlivened and cheered him ; at the christening, contrary to his
custom, he seemed as if inspired; nay, I might say like a Genius
with two faces. With the one, he looked joyfully forward to
those regions which he soon hoped to enter ; with the other, to
the new, hopeful, earthly life which had arisen in the boy de-
scended from him. On our journey home, he never wearied
talking to me of the child, its form, its health, and his wish that
BOOK VI.
391
the gifts of this new denizen of earth might be rightly cultivated.
His reflections on the subject lasted when we had arrived at
home: it was not till some days afterwards, that I observed a
kind of fever in him; which displayed itself, without shivering,
in a sort of languid heat commencing after dinner. He did not
yield, however; he went out as usual in the mornings, faithfully
attending to the duties of his office, till at last continuous serious
symptoms kept him within doors.
I never shall forget with what distinctness, clearness, and re-
pose of mind he settled in the greatest order the concerns of his
house, nay, the arrangements of his funeral, as he would have
done a business of some other person.
With a cheerfulness, which he never used to show, and which
now mounted to a lively joy, he said to me: “Where is the fear
of death which I once felt? Shall I shrink at departing? I
have a gracious God; the grave awakens no terror in me; I have
an eternal life.”
To recall the circumstances of his death, which shortly fol-
lowed, forms one of the most pleasing entertainments of my sol-
itude: the visible workings of a higher Power in that solemn
time, no one shall ever argue from me.***
* The death of my beloved father altogether changed my mode
of life. From the strictest obedience, the narrowest confinement,
I passed at once into the greatest freedom; I enjoyed it like a
sort of food from which one has long abstained. Formerly I
very seldom spent two hours from home; now I very seldom lived
a day there. My friends, whom I had been allowed to visit only
by hurried snatches, wished now to have my company without
interruption, as I did to have theirs. I was often asked to din-
ner ; at walks and pleasure jaunts I never failed. But when
once the circle had been fairly run, I saw that the invaluable
happiness of liberty consisted, not in doing what one pleases and
what circumstances may invite to, but in being able, without hin-
derance or restraint, to do in the direct way what one regards as
right and proper; and, in this instance, I was old enough to reach
a valuable truth, without smarting for my ignorance.
One pleasure I could not deny myself: it was, as soon as might
rozericilik
392
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
wash Zorica
be, to renew and strengthen my connection with the Herrnhuth
Brethren. I hastened, accordingly, to visit one of their estab-
lishments at no great distance : but here I by no means found
what I had been anticipating. I was frank enough to signify my
disappointment, which they tried to soften by alleging that the
present settlement was nothing to a full and fitly organized
Community. This I did not take upon me to deny; yet in my
thought, the genuine spirit of the matter might have displayed
itself in a small body as well as in a great one.
One of their Bishops who was present, a personal disciple of
the Count, took considerable pains with me. He spoke English
perfectly, and as I too understood a little of it, he reckoned this
a token that we both belonged to one class. I, however, reck-
oned nothing of the kind; his conversation did not in the least
satisfy me. He had been a cutler : was a native of Moravia:
his mode of thought still savored of the artisan. With Herr
Von I , who had been a Major in the French service, I got
upon a better footing: yet I could never bring myself to the sub-
missiveness he showed to his superiors ; nay, I felt as if you had
given me a box on the ear, when I saw the Major's wife, and
other women more or less like ladies, take the Bishop's hand and
kiss it. Meanwhile a journey into Holland was proposed ;
which, however, doubtless for my good, did not take place.
About this time, my sister was delivered of a daughter; and
now it was the turn of us women to exult, and consider how the
little creature should be bred like one of us. The husband, on
the other hand, was not so satisfied, when in the following year
another daughter saw the light: with his large estates, he wanted
to have boys about him, who in future might assist him in his
management.
My health was feeble; I kept myself in peace, and by a quiet
mode of life, in tolerable equilibrium. I was not afraid of death;
nay, I wished to die; yet I secretly perceived that God was
granting time for me to prove my soul, and to advance still nearer
to himself. In my many sleepless nights, especially, I have at
times felt something which I cannot undertake to describe.
It was as if my soul were thinking separately from the body;.
BOOK VI.
393
she looked upon the body as a foreign substance, as we look upon
a garment. She pictured with extreme vivacity events and
times long past, and felt by means of this events that were to
follow. Those times are all gone by; what follows likewise will
go by; the body too will fall to pieces like a vesture; but I, the
well-known I, I am.
The thought is great, exalted, and consoling; yet an excellent
friend, with whom I every day became more intimate, instructed
me to dwell on it as little as I could. This was the Physician
whom I met in my uncle's house, and who had since accurately
informed himself about the temper of my body and my spirit.
He showed me how much these feelings, when we cherish them
within us independently of outward objects, tend as it were to
excavate us, and to undermine the whole foundation of our being.
“.To be active,” he would say, “is the primary vocation of man;
all the intervals in which he is obliged to rest, he should employ
in gaining clearer knowledge of external things, for this will in
its turn facilitate activity."
This friend was acquainted with my custom of looking on my
·body as an outward object; he knew also that I pretty well un-
derstood my constitution, my disorder, and the medicines of use
for it; nay, that by continual sufferings of my own or other peo-
ple's I had really grown a kind of half doctor: he now carried
forward my attention from the human body, and the drugs which
act upon it, to the kindred objects of creation : he led me up and
down as in the Paradise of the First Man ; only, if I may continue
my comparison, allowing me to trace, in dim remoteness, the
Creator walking in the Garden in the cool of the evening.
How gladly did I now see God in nature, when I bore him
with such certainty within my heart! How. interesting to me
was his handiwork; how thankful did I feel that he had pleased
to quicken me with the breath of his mouth!
We again had hopes that my sister would present us with a
boy; her husband waited anxiously for that event, but did not
live to see it. He died in consequence of an unlucky fall from
horseback ; and my sister followed him, soon after she had
brought into the world a lovely boy. The four orphans they
VOL. I.
0
18
394
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.
-
-
,-
:
:
:*
had left I could not look at but with sadness. So many healthy
people had been called away before poor sickly me; might I not
also have blights to witness among these fair and hopeful blos-
soms? I knew the world sufficiently to understand what dangers
threaten the precarious breeding of a child, especially a child of
quality ; and it seemed as if, since the period of my youth, these
dangers had increased. I felt that, weakly as I was, I could not
be of much, perhaps of any service to the little ones; and I re-
joiced the more on finding that my uncle, as indeed might have
been looked for, had determined to devote his whole attention to
the education of these amiable creatures. And this they doubt-
less merited in every sense; they were handsome, and with great
diversities, all promised to be well-conditioned, reasonable persons.
Since my worthy doctor had suggested it, I loved to trace out
family likenesses among our relatives and children. My father
had carefully preserved the portraits of his ancestors, and got his
own and those of his descendants drawn by tolerable masters;
nor had my mother and her people been forgotten. We accu-
rately knew the characters of all the family: and as we had fre-
quently compared them with each other, we now endeavored to
discover in the children the same peculiarities outward or inward.
My sister's eldest son, we thought, resembled his paternal grand-
father, of whom there was a fine youthful picture in my uncle's
collection ; he had been a brave soldier ; and in this point too the
boy took after him, liking arms above all things, and busying
himself with them whenever he paid me a visit. For my father
had left a very pretty armory; and the boy got no rest till I
had given him a pair of pistols and a fowling-piece, and he had
learned the proper way of using them. At the same time, in his
conduct or bearing, there was nothing like rudeness : far from
that, he was always meek and sensible.
The eldest daughter had attracted my especial love; of which
perhaps the reason was that she resembled me, and of all the
four seemed to like me best. But I may well admit that the
more closely I observed her as she grew, the more she shamed
me: I could not look on her without a sentiment of admiration,
nay, I may almost say, of reverence. You would scarcely have
BOOK VI.
395
seen a nobler form, a more peaceful spirit, an activity so equable
and universal. No moment of her life was she unoccupied; and
every occupation in her hands became dignified. All seemed
indifferent to her, so that she could but accomplish what was
proper in the place and time; and in the same manner, she could
patiently continue unemployed, when there was nothing to be
done. This activity without need of occupation I have never
elsewhere met with. In particular, her conduct to the suffering
and destitute was, from her earliest youth, inimitable. For my
part, I freely confess I never had the gift to make a business of
beneficence; I was not niggardly to the poor: nay, I often gave
too largely for my means; yet this was little more than buying
myself off; and a person needed to be made for me, if I was to
bestow attention on him. Directly the reverse was the conduct
of my niece. I never saw her give a poor man money; whatever
she obtained from me for this purpose, she failed not in the first
place to change for some necessary article. Never did she seem
more lovely in my eyes, than when rummaging my clothes-presses:
she was always sure to light on something which I did not wear
and did not need ; to sew these old cast articles together, and
put them on some ragged child, she thought her highest happi-
ness.
Her sister's turn of mind appeared already different: she had
much of her mother; she promised to become very elegant and
beautiful, and she now bids fair to keep her promise. She is
greatly taken up with her exterior; from her earliest years she
could decorate and carry herself in a way that struck you. I
still remember with what ecstasy, when quite a little creature,
she saw herself in a mirror, decked in certain precious pearls,
once my mother's, which she had by chance discovered, and made
me try upon her.
Reflecting on these diverse inclinations, it was pleasant for me
to consider how my property would, after my decease, be shared
among them, and again called into use. I saw the fowling-pieces
of my father once more travelling round the fields on my neph-
ew's shoulder, and birds once more falling from his hunting-
pouch : I saw my whole wardrobe issuing from the church, at
396
MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.

7
V
aryWOR-
• Seenior education
- Gool is one luded
Easter Confirmation, on the persons of tidy little girls ; while
the best pieces of it were employed to decorate some virtuous
burgher maiden on her marriage-day. In furnishing such chil-
dren and poor little girls, Natalia had a singular delight; though,
as I must here remark, she showed not the smallest love, or, if I
may say it, smallest need, of a dependence upon any visible or
invisible Being, such as I had in my youth so strongly manifested.
Wlien I also thought that the younger sister, on that same
day, would wear my jewels and pearls at court, I could see with
peace my possessions, like my body, given back to the elements.
The children waxed apace : to my comfort, they are healthy,
handsome, clever creatures. That my uncle keeps them from
me, I endure without repining: when staying in the neighbor-
hood, or even in town, they seldom see me.
A singular personage, regarded as a French clergyman, though
no one rightly knows his history, has been intrusted with the
oversight of all these children. He has them taught in various
places; they are put to board now here, now there.
At first I could perceive no plan whatever in this mode of
education; till at last our doctor told me the Abbé had convinced
my uncle, that in order to accomplish anything by education, we
must first become acquainted with the pupil's tendencies and
wishes; that, these once ascertained, he ought to be transported
to a situation where he may, as speedily as possible, content the
former and attain the latter ; and so if he have been mistaken,
may still in time perceive his error; and at last having found
what suits him, may hold the faster by it, may the more diligently
fashion himself according to it. I wish this strange experiment
may prosper; with such excellent natures it is perhaps possible.
But there is one peculiarity in these instructors, which I never
shall approve of: they study to seclude the children from what-
ever might awaken them to an acquaintance with themselves and
with the invisible, sple, faithful Friend. I often take it ill of my
uncle that, on this account, he considers me dangerous for the
little ones. Thus' in practice there is no man tolerant! Many
assure us that they willingly leave each to take his own way:
yet all endleavor to exclude from action every one that does not
think as they do. Contudo desta ja teinet

X
"
BOOK VI.
397
•
This removal of the children troubles me the more, the more
I am convinced of the reality of my belief. How can it fail to
have a heavenly origin, an actual object, when in practice it is so
effectual? Is it not by practice alone that we prove our own
existence? Why then may we not, by a like mode, prove to
ourselves the influence of that Power who gives us all good
things ?
That I am still advancing, never retrograding; that my con-
duct is approximating more and more to the image I have formed
of perfection; that I every day feel more facility in doing what
I reckon proper, even while the weakness of my body so ob-
structs me: can all this be accounted for upon the principles of
human nature, whose corruption I have so clearly seen into ?
For me, at least, it cannot.
I scarcely remember a commandment; to me there is nothing
that assumes the aspect of law; it is an impulse that leads me,
and guides me always aright. I freely follow my emotions, and
know as little of constraint as of repentance. God be praised
that I know to whom I am indebted for such happiness, and that
I cannot think of it without humility! There is no danger I
should ever become proud of what I myself can do or can for-
bear to do; I have seen too well what a monster might be
formed and nursed in every human bosom, did not higher In-
fluence restrain us.
a
lph
معیشتعلمه دست ميت
END OF VOL. I.
VU
Cambridge : Stereotyped and Printed by Welch, Bigelow, & Co.

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