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WILHELM MEISTER -- VOLUME 2

BOOK 8

CHAPTER 1

FELIX skipped into the garden; Wilhelm followed him with
rapture: a lovely morning was displaying everything with
fresh charms; our friend enjoyed the most delightful moment.
Felix was new in the free and lordly world; nor did his father
know much more than he about the objects, concerning which
the little creature was repeatedly and unweariedly inquiring.
At last they joined the gardener, who had to tell them the
names and uses of a multitude of plants. Wilhelm looked on
Nature as with unsealed eyes; the child's new-fangled curiosity
first made him sensible how weak an interest he himself had
taken in external things, how small his actual knowledge was.
Not till this day, the happiest of his life, did his own cultivation seem to have commenced: he felt the necessity of
learning, being called upon to teach.
Jarno and the Abbe did not show themselves again till
evening, when they brought a guest along with them. Wilhelm
viewed the stranger with amazement; he could scarce believe
his eyes: it was Werner; who, likewise, for a moment,
hesitated in his recognition. They embraced each other
tenderly; neither of them could conceal that he thought the
other greatly altered. Werner declared that his friend was
taller, stronger, straighter; that he had become more polished
in his looks and carriage. "Something of his old trueheartedness, I miss, however," added he. "That too will
soon appear again," said Wilhelm, "when we have recovered
from our first astonishment."
The impression Werner made upon his friend was by no
means so favourable. The honest man seemed rather to have
retrograded than advanced. He was much leaner than of
old; his peaked face appeared to have grown sharper, his
nose longer; brow and crown had lost their hair; the voice,
clear, eager, shrill, the hollow breast and stooping shoulders,
the sallow cheeks, announced indubitably that a melancholic
drudge was there.
Wilhelm was discreet enough to speak but sparingly of
these great changes; while the other, on the contrary, gave
free course to his friendly joy. "In truth," cried he, "if thou
hast spent thy time badly, and, as I suppose, gained nothing,
it must be owned thou art grown a piece of manhood such as
cannot fail to turn to somewhat. Do not waste and squander
me this too again; with such a figure thou shalt buy some
rich and beautiful heiress." "I see," said Wilhelm, smiling,
"thou wilt not belie thy character. Scarcely hast thou
found thy brother after long absence, when thou lookest
on him as a piece of goods, a thing to speculate on, and
make profit by."
Jarno and the Abbe did not seem at all astonished at this
recognition; they allowed the two to expatiate on the past
and present as they pleased. Werner walked round and round
his friend; turned him to this side and to that; so as almost
to embarrass him. "No!" cried he, "such a thing as this I
never met with, and yet I know that I am not mistaken. Thy
eyes are deeper, thy brow is broader; thy nose has grown
finer, thy mouth more lovely. Do but look at him, how he
stands; how it all suits and fits together ! Well, idling is the
way to grow. But for me, poor devil," said he, looking at
himself in the glass, " if I had not all this while been making
store of money, it were over with me altogether."
'Werner had got Wilhelm's last letter; the distant trading
nouse, in common with which Lothario meant to purchase
the estates, was theirs. On that business Werner had come
hither, not dreaming that he should meet with Wilhelm on
the way. The Baron's lawyer came; the papers were produced; Werner reckoned the conditions reasonable. "If you
mean well," said he, "as you seem to do, with this young man,
you will of yourselves take care that our part be not abridged:
it shall be at my friend's option whether he will take the
land, and layout a portion of his fortune on it." Jarno and
the Abbe protested that they did not need this admonition.
Scarcely had the business been discussed in general terms,
when Werner signified a longing for a game at ombre; to
which, in consequence, Jarno and the Abbe set themselves
along with him. He was now grown so accustomed to it, that
he could not pass the evening without cards.
The two friends, after supper, being left alone, began to
talk, and question one another very keenly, touching everything
they wished to have communicated. Wilhelm spoke in
high terms of his situation, of his happiness in being received
among such men. Werner shook his head and said: " Well,
I see, we should believe nothing that we do not see with our
eyes. More than one obliging friend assured me thou wert
living with a wild young nobleman, wert supplying him with
actresses, hel ping him to waste his money; that, by thy means,
he had quarrelled with everyone of his relations." "For my
own sake, and the sake of these worthy gentlemen, I should
be vexed at this," said Wilhelm, "had not my theatrical
experience made me tolerant to every sort of calumny. How
can men judge rightly of our actions, which appear but singly
or in fragments to them; of which they see the smallest
portion; while good and bad takes place in secret, and for
most part nothing comes to light but an indifferent show?
Are not the actors and actresses in a play set up on boards
before them; lamps are lit on every side; the whole transaction
is comprised within three hours; yet scarcely one of them
knows rightly what to make of it."
Our friend proceeded to inquire about his family, his young
comrades, his native town. Werner told, with great haste,
of changes that had taken place, of changes that were still in
progress. "The women in our house," said he, "are satisfied
and happy; we are never short of money. One half of their
time they spend in dressing; the other in showing themselves
when dressed. They are as domestic as a reasonable man
could wish. My boys are growing up to prudent youths. I
already, as in vision, see them sitting, writing, reckoning,
running, trading, trucking: each of them, as soon as possible,
shall have a business of his own. As to what concerns our
fortune, thou wilt be contented with the state of it. When
we have got these lands in order, thou must come directly
home with me; for it now appears as if thou too couldst
mingle with some skill in worldly undertakings. Thanks to
thy new friends, who have set thee on the proper path. I am
certainly a fool: I never knew till now how well I liked thee,
now when I cannot gape and gaze at thee enough, so well and
handsome thou lookest. That is in truth another form than
the portrait which was sent thy sister; which occasioned such
disputes at home. Both mother and daughter thought young
master very handsome indeed, with his slack collar, half-open
breast, large ruff, sleek pendent hair, round hat, short waistcoat,
and wide pantaloons; while I, on the other hand,
maintained that the costume was scarce two finger-breadths
from that of Harlequin. But now thou lookest like a man;
only the queue is wanting, in which I beg of thee to bind thy
hair; else some time or other, they will seize thee as a Jew,
and demand toll and tribute of thee."
Felix in the mean time had come into the room; and as
they did not mind him, he had laid himself upon the sofa, and
was fallen asleep. "What urchin is this?" said Werner.
Wilhelm at that moment had not the heart to tell the truth;
nor did he wish to lay a still ambiguous narrative before a
man, who was by nature anything but credulous.
The whole party now proceeded to the lands, to view them,
and conclude the bargain. Wilhelm would not part with
Felix from his side; for the boy's sake, he rejoiced exceedingly
in the intended purchase. The longing of the child for
cherries and berries, the season for which was at hand, brought
to his mind the days of his own youth, and the manifold
duties of a father, to prepare, to procure, and to maintain
for his family a constant series of enjoyments. With what
interest he viewed the nurseries and the buildings! How
zealously he contemplated repairing what had been neglected,
restoring what had fallen! He no longer looked upon the
world with the eyes of a bird of passage: an edifice he did
not now consider as a grove that is hastily put together, and
that withers ere one leaves it. Everything that he proposed
commencing was to be completed for his boy; everything that
he erected was to last for several generations. In this sense,
his apprenticeship was ended: with the feeling of a father, he
had acquired all the virtues of a citizen. He felt this, and
nothing could exceed his joy. "O needless strictness of
morality," exclaimed he, "while Nature in her own kindly
manner trains us to all that we require to be! O strange
demands of civil society, which first perplexes and misleads us,
then asks of us more than Nature herself ! Woe to every sort
of culture which destroys the most effectual means of all true
culture, and directs us to the end, instead of rendering us
happy on the way! "
Much as he had already seen in his life, it seemed as if the
observation of the child afforded him his first clear view of
human nature. The theatre, the world had appeared before
him, only as a multitude of thrown dice, everyone of which
upon its upper surface indicates a greater or a smaller value;
and which, when reckoned up together, make a sum. But
here in the person of the boy, as we might say, a single die
was laid before him, on the many sides of which the worth
and worthlessness of man's nature were legibly engraved.
The child's desire to have distinctions made in his ideas
grew stronger every day. Having learned that things had
names, he wished to hear the name of everything: supposing
that there could be nothing which his father did not know, he
often teased him with his questions, and caused him to inquire
concerning objects, which but for this he would have passed
without notice. Our innate tendency to pry into the origin
and end of things was likewise soon developed in the boy.
When he asked whence came the wind, and whither went the
flame, his father for the first time truly felt the limitation of
his own powers; and wished to understand how far man may
venture with his thoughts, and what things he may hope ever
to give account of to himself or others. The anger of the child,
when he saw injustice done to any living thing, was extremely
grateful to the father, as the symptom of a generous heart.
Felix once struck fiercely at the cook for cutting up some
pigeons. The fine impression this produced on Wilhelm was,
indeed, ere long disturbed, when he found the boy unmercifully
tearing sparrows in pieces, and beating frogs to death. This
trait reminded him of many men, who appear so scrupulously
lust when without passion, and witnessing the proceedings of
other men.
The pleasant feeling, that the boy was producing so fine
and wholesome an influence on his being, was in a short time
troubled for a moment, when our friend observed that in truth
the boy was educating him more than he the boy. The child's
conduct he was not qualified to correct: its mind he could not
guide in any path but a spontaneous one. The evil habits
which Aurelia had so violently striven against, had all, as it
seemed, on her death, assumed their ancient privileges. Felix
still never shut the door behind him, he still would not eat
from a plate; and no greater pleasure could befall him than
when he happened to be overlooked, and could take his bit
immediately from the dish, or let the full glass stand, and
drink out of the bottle. He delighted also very much when
he could set himself in a corner with a book, and say with a
serious air: "I must study this scholar stuff!" though he
neither knew his letters nor would learn them.
Thus, when Wilhelm thought how little he had done for
Felix, how little he was capable of doing, there arose at times
a restlessness within him, which appeared to counterbalance
all his happiness. " Are we men, then," said he, "so selfishly
formed that we cannot possibly take proper charge of anyone
without us? Am I not acting with the boy exactly as I did
with Mignon? I drew the dear child towards me; her presence
gave me pleasure; yet I cruelly neglected her. What did I
do for her education, which she longed for with such earnestness?
Nothing! I left her to herself, and to all the accidents
to which in a society of coarse people she could be exposed.
And now for this boy, who seemed so interesting before he
could be precious to thee, has thy heart ever bid thee do
the smallest service to him? It is time that thou shouldst
cease to waste thy own years and those of others: awake,
and think what thou shouldst do for thyself, and for this
good being, whom love and nature have so firmly bound to thee."
This soliloquy was but an introduction to admit that he
had .already thought, and cared, and tried, and chosen: he
could delay no longer to confess it. After sorrow, often and
in vain repeated, for the loss of Mariana, he distinctly felt
that he must seek a mother for the boy; and also that he
could not find one equal to Theresa. With this gifted lady
he was thoroughly acquainted. Such a spouse and helpmate
seemed the only one to trust oneself to, in such circumstances.
Her generous affection for Lothario did not make him
hesitate. By a singular destiny, they two had been forever
parted; Theresa looked upon herself as free; she had talked
of marrying, with indifference indeed, but as of a matter understood.
After long deliberation, he determined on communicating
to her everything he knew about himself. She was to be
made acquainted with him, as he already was with her. He
accordingly began to take a survey of his history: but it
seemed to him so empty of events, and in general so little to
his credit, that he more than once was on the point of giving
up his purpose. At last, however, he resolved on asking Jarno
for the Roll of his Apprenticeship, which he had noticed lying
in the Tower: Jarno said it was the very time for that, and
Wilhelm consequently got it.
It is a feeling of awe and fear, which seizes on a man of
noble mind, when conscious that his character is just about to
be exhibited before him. Every transition is a crisis; and a
crisis presupposes sickness. With what reluctance do we look
into the glass after rising from a sick-bed! The recovery we
feel: the effects of the past disease are all we see. Wilhelm
had, however, been sufficiently prepared; events had already
spoken loudly to him, and his friends had not spared him. If
he opened the roll of parchment with some hurry, he grew
calmer and calmer the farther he read. He found his life
delineated with large sharp strokes; neither unconnected
incidents, nor narrow sentiments perplexed his view; the most
bland and general reflections taught without shaming him.
For the first time, his own figure was presented to him; not
indeed, as in a mirror, a second self; but as in a portrait,
another self: we do not, it is true, recognise ourselves in every
feature; but we are delighted that a thinking spirit has so
understood us, that such gifts have been employed in representing
us, that an image of what we were exists, and may endure
when we ourselves are gone.
Wilhelm next employed himself in setting forth the history
of his life, for the perusal of Theresa; all the circumstances of
it were recalled to memory by what he had been reading; he
almost felt ashamed that, to her great virtues, he had nothing
to oppose which indicated a judicious activity. He had been
minute in his written narrative; he was brief in the letter
which he sent along with it. He solicited her friendship, her
love, if it were possible; he offered her his hand, and entreated
for a quick decision.
After some internal contest whether it was proper to impart
this weighty business to his friends, to Jarno and the Abbe,
he determined not to do so. His resolution was so firm, the
business was of such importance, that he could not have submitted
it to the decision of the wisest and best of men. He
was even cautious enough to carry his letter with his own hand
to the nearest post. From his parchment roll it appeared with
certainty enough that, in very many actions of his life, in
which he had conceived himself to be proceeding freely and in
secret, he had been observed, nay, guided; and perhaps the
thought of this had given him an unpleasant feeling; and he
wished at least in speaking-to Theresa's heart, to speak purely
from the heart; to owe his fate to her decision and determination
only. Hence in this solemn point he scrupled not to give
his overseers the slip.

CHAPTER 2

SCARCELY was the letter gone, when Lothario returned.
Everyone was gladdened at the prospect of so speedily concluding
the important business which they had in hand:
Wilhelm waited with anxiety to see how all these many
threads were to be loosed, or tied anew, and how his own
future state was to be settled. Lothario gave a kindly salutation
to them all: he was quite recovered and serene; he had
the air of one who knows what he should do, and who finds no
hindrance in the way of doing it.
His cordial greeting Wilhelm could scarcely repay. "This,"
he had to own within himself," is the friend, the lover, bridegroom
of Theresa; in his stead thou art presuming to intrude.
Dost thou think it possible for thee to banish, to obliterate
an impression such as this?" Had the letter not been sent
away, perhaps he would not have ventured sending it at all.
But happily the die was cast: it might be, Theresa had
already taken up her resolution, and only distance shrouded
with its veil a happy termination. The winning or the losing
must soon be decided. By such considerations, he endeavoured
to compose himself; and yet the movements of his heart were
almost feverish. He could give but little attention to the
weighty business, on which in some degree the fate of his
whole property depended. In passionate moments, how trivial
do we reckon all that is about us, all that belongs to us !
Happily for him, Lothario treated the affair with magnanimity,
and Werner with an air of ease. The latter, in his
violent desire of gain, experienced a lively pleasure in
contemplating the fine estate which was to be his friend's.
Lothario, for his part, seemed to be revolving very different
thoughts. "I cannot take such pleasure in the acquirement
of property," said he, "as in the justness of it."
"And, in the name of Heaven," cried Werner, "is not this
of ours acquired justly?"
"Not altogether," said Lothario.
" Are we not giving hard cash for it?"
"Doubtless," replied Lothario; "and most probably you
will consider what I am now hinting at as nothing but a whim.
No property appears to me quite just, quite free of flaw,
except it contribute to the state its due proportion."
"How!" said Werner: " You would rather that our
lands, which we have purchased free from burden, had been
taxable ?"
"Yes," replied Lothario, "in a suitable degree. It is only
by this equality with every other kind of property, that our
possession of it can be made secure. In these new times,
when so many old ideas are tottering, what is the grand
reason why the peasant reckons the possession of the noble
less equitable than his own? Simply that the noble is not
burdened, and lay a burden on him."
"But how would the interest of our capital agree with
that?" said Werner.
"Perfectly well," returned the other: "if the state, for a
regular and fair contribution, would relieve us from the feudal
hocus-pocus; would allow us to proceed with our lands according
to our pleasure: so that we were not compelled to retain
such masses of them undivided, so that we might part them
more equally among our children, whom we might thus introduce
to vigorous and free activity; instead of leaving
them the poor inheritance of these our limited and limiting
privileges, to enjoy which we must ever be invoking the ghosts
of our forefathers. How much happier were men and women
in our rank of life, if they might with unforbidden eyes look
round them, and elevate by their selection, here a worthy
maiden, there a worthy youth, regarding nothing farther than
their own ideas of happiness in marriage! The state would
have more, perhaps better citizens, and would not so often be
distressed for want of heads and hands."
"I can assure you honestly," said Werner, "I never in my
life thought about the state: my taxes, tolls and tributes I
have paid because it was the custom."
"Still, however," said Lothario, "I hope to make a worthy
patriot of you. As he alone is a good father, who at table
serves his children first, so is he alone a good citizen, who,
before all other outlays, discharges what he owes the state."
By such general reflections their special business was
accelerated rather than retarded. It was nearly over, when
Lothario said to Wilhelm: "I must send you to a place
where you are needed more than here. My sister bids me beg
of you to go to her as soon as possible. Poor Mignon seems
to be decaying more and more: and it is thought your
presence might allay the malady. "Besides telling me in
person, my sister has despatched this note after me: so that
you perceive she reckons it a pressing case." Lothario handed
him a billet. Wilhelm, who had listened in extreme perplexity,
at once discovered in these hasty pencil-strokes the
hand of the Countess, and knew not what to answer.
"Take Felix with you," said Lothario: "the little ones
will cheer each other. You must be upon the road tomorrow
morning early; my sister's coach, in which my people travelled
hither, is still here: I will give you horses half the way; the
rest you post. A prosperous journey to you! Make many
compliments from me, when you arrive; tell my sister I shall
soon be back, and that she must prepare for guests. Om·
granduncle's friend, the Marchese Cipriani, is on his way to
visit us: he hoped to find the old man still in life; they
meant to entertain each other with their common love of art,
and the recollection of their early intimacy. The Marchese,
much younger than my uncle, owed to him the greater part of
his accomplishments. We must exert all our endeavours to
fill up in some measure the void which is awaiting him; and a
larger party is the readiest means."
Lothario went with the Abbe to his chamber; Jarno had
ridden off before; Wilhelm hastened to his room. There was
none to whom he could unbosom his distress; none by whose
assistance he could turn aside the project, which he viewed
with so much fear. The little servant came, requesting him
to pack: they were to put the luggage on tonight, meaning
to set out by daybreak. Wilhelm knew not what to do; at
length he cried: "Well, I shall leave this house at any rate;
on the road I may consider what is to be done; at all events I
will halt in the middle of my journey; I can send a message
hither, I can write what I recoil from saying; then let come of
it what will." In spite of this resolution, he spent a sleepless
night: a look on Felix resting so serenely was the only thing
that gave him any solace. "O! who knows," cried he, "what
trials are before me; who knows how sharply bygone errors
will yet punish me; how often good and reasonable projects
for the future shall miscarry! But this treasure, which I call
my own, continue it to me, thou exorable or inexorable Fate!
Were it possible that this best part of myself were taken from
me, that this heart could be torn from my heart, then farewell
sense and understanding; farewell all care and foresight;
vanish thou tendency to perseverance! All that distinguishes
us from the beasts, pass away! And if it is not lawful for a
man to end his heavy days by the act of his own hand, may
speedy madness banish consciousness, before Death, which
destroys it forever, shall bring on his own long night."
He seized the boy in his arms, kissed him, clasped him and
wetted him with plenteous tears.
The child awoke: his clear eye, his friendly look, touched
his father to the inmost heart. "What a scene awaits me,"
cried he, " when I shall present thee to the beautiful unhappy
Countess, when she shall press thee to her bosom, which thy
father has so deeply injured! Ought I not to fear that she
will push thee from her with a cry, when the touch of thee
renews her real or fancied pain!" The coachman did not
leave him time for farther thought or hesitation; but forced
him into the carriage before day. Wilhelm wrapped his Felix
well; the morning was cold but clear; the child, for the first
time in his life, saw the sun rise. His astonishment at the first
fiery glance of the luminary, at the growing power of the
light; his pleasure and his strange remarks rejoiced the father,
and afforded him a glimpse into the heart of the boy, before
which, as over a clear and silent sea, the sun was mounting and
hovering.
In a little town the coachman halted; unyoked his horses,
and rode back. Wilhelm took possession of a room, and
asked himself seriously whether he would stay or proceed.
Thus irresolute he ventured to take out the little note, which
hitherto he had never had the heart to look on: it contained
the following words: "Send thy young friend very soon;
Mignon for the last two days has been growing rather worse.
Sad as the occasion is, I shall be happy to get acquainted with
him."
The concluding words Wilhelm, at the first glance, had not
seen. He was terrified on reading them, and instantly
determined not to go. " How?" cried he, " Lothario, knowing
what occurred between us, has not told her who I am?
She is not, with a settled mind, expecting an acquaintance,
whom she would rather not see: she expects a stranger; and
I enter! I see her shudder and start back, I see her blush!
No, it is impossible for me to encounter such a scene!" Just
then his horses were led out and yoked: Wilhelm was
determined to take off his luggage and remain. He felt
extremely agitated. Hearing the maid running up-stairs to
tell him, as he thought, that all was ready, he began on the
spur of the instant to devise some pretext for continuing; his
eyes were fixed, without attention, on the letter which he still
held in his hand. "In the name of Heaven!" cried he, "what
is this? It is not the hand of the Countess, it is the hand of
the Amazon!"
The maid came in; requested him to walk down, and took
Felix with her. "Is it possible," exclaimed he, "is it true?
What shall I do? Remain, and wait, and certify myself? Or
hasten, hasten and rush into an explanation? Thou art on
the way to her, and thou canst loiter? This night thou
mayest see her, and thou wilt voluntarily lock thyself in
prison? It is her hand; yes, it is hers! This hand calls thee;
her coach is yoked to lead thee to her! Now the riddle is
explained: Lothario has two sisters; my relation to the one
he knows; how much I owe to the other is unknown to him.
Nor is she aware that the wounded stroller, who stands indebted
to her for his health, if not his life, has been received with
such unmerited attention in her brother's house."
Felix, who was swinging to and fro in the coach, cried up
to him: "Father! Come, O come! Look at the pretty
clouds, the pretty colours!" "Yes, I come," cried Wilhelm,
springing down-stairs; "and all the glories of the sky, which
thou, good creature, so admirest, are as nothing to the moment
which I look for."
Sitting in the coach, he recalled all the circumstances of
the matter to his memory. "So this is the Natalia, then,
Theresa's friend! What a discovery; what hopes, what
prospects! How strange that the fear of speaking about
the one sister should have altogether concealed from me the
existence of the other!" With what joy he looked on
Felix! He anticipated for the child, as for himself, the best
reception.
Evening at last came on; the sun had set; the road was not
the best; the postillion drove slowly; Felix had fallen asleep,
and new cares and doubts arose in the bosom of our friend.
"What delusion, what fantasies are these that rule thee!"
said he to himself: "An uncertain similarity of handwriting
has at once assured thee, and given thee matter for the
strangest castles in the air." He again brought out the
paper; in the departing light he again imagined that he
recognised the hand of the Countess: his eyes could no longer
find in the parts what his heart had at once shown him in the
whole. " These horses, then, are running with thee to a scene
of terror! Who knows but in a few hours they may have to
bring thee back again? And if thou shouldst meet with her
alone! But perhaps her husband will be there; perhaps the
Baroness? How altered will she be! Shall I not fail, and
sink to the earth, at sight of her?"
Yet a faint hope that it might be his Amazon, would often
gleam through these gloomy thoughts. It was now night: the
carriage rolled into a courtyard, and halted; a servant with a
link stept out of a stately portal, and came down the broad
steps to the carriage-door. " You have been long looked for,"
said he, opening it. Wilhelm dismounted; took the sleeping
Felix in his arms: the first servant called to a second, who
was standing in the door with a light: "Show the gentleman
up to the Baroness."
Quick as lightning, it went through Wilhelm's soul: "What
a happiness! Be it by accident or of purpose, the Baroness
is here! I shall see her first; apparently the Countess has
retired to rest. Ye good spirits, grant that the moment of
deepest perplexity may pass tolerably over!"
He entered the house: he found himself in the most earnest,
and, as he almost felt, the holiest place that he had ever trod.
A pendent dazzling lustre threw its light upon a broad and
softly rising flight of stairs, which lay before him, and which
parted into two divisions at a turn above. Marble statues
and busts were standing upon pedestals and arranged in
niches: some of them seemed known to him. The impressions
of our childhood abide with us, even in their minutest
traces. He recognised a Muse, which had formerly belonged
to his grandfather; not indeed by its form or worth, but by
an arm which had been restored, and some new-inserted pieces
of the robe. He felt as if a fairy tale had turned out to be
true. The child was heavy in his arms; he lingered on the
stairs, and knelt down, as if to place him more conveniently.
His real want, however, was to get a moment's breathing-time.
He could scarcely raise himself again. The servant, who wa
carrying the light, offered to take Felix; but Wilhelm could
not part with him. He had now mounted to an antechamber;
in which, to his still greater astonishment, he observed the
well-known picture of the sick king's son hanging on the wall.
He had scarcely time to cast a look on it; the servant hurried
him along through two rooms into a cabinet. Here, behind a
light-screen, which threw a shadow on her, sat a young lady
reading. "O that it were she!" said he within himself at this
decisive moment. He set down the boy, who seemed to be
awakening; he meant to approach the lady; but the child
sank together drunk with sleep; the lady rose, and came to
him. It was the Amazon! Unable to restrain himself, he
fell upon his knee, and cried: "It is she!" He seized her
hand, and kissed it with unbounded rapture. The child was
lying on the carpet between them, sleeping softly.
Felix was carried to the sofa: Natalia sat down beside
him; she directed Wilhelm to the chair which was standing
nearest them. She proposed to order some refreshments;
these our friend declined; he was altogether occupied convincing
himself that it was she, closely examining her features,
shaded by the screen, and accurately recognising them. She
told him of Mignon's sickness, in general terms; that the poor
child was gradually consuming under the influence of a few
deep feelings; that, with her extreme excitability, and her
endeavouring to hide it, her little heart often suffered violent
and dangerous pains; that on any unexpected agitation of her
mind, this primary organ of life would suddenly stop, and no
trace of the vital movement could be felt in the good child's
bosom. That when such an agonising cramp was past, the
force of nature would again express itself in strong pulses, and
now torment the child by its excess, as she had before suffered
by its defect.
Wilhelm recollected one spasmodic scene of that description,
and Natalia referred him to the doctor, who would speak with
him at large on the affair, and explain more circumstantially
why he, the friend and benefactor of the child, had been at
present sent for. "One curious change," Natalia added, "you
will find in her: she now wears women's clothes, to which she
had once such an aversion."
"How did you succeed in this? " said Wilhelm.
"If it was indeed a thing to be desired," said she, " we owe
it all to chance. Hear how it happened. Perhaps you are
aware that I have constantly about me a number of little
girls, whose opening minds I endeavour, as they grow in
strength, to train to what is good and right. From my
mouth they learn nothing but what I myself regard as true:
yet I cannot and would not hinder them from gathering,
among other people, many fragments of the common prejudices
and errors which are current in the world. If they inquire of
me about them, I attempt, as far as possible, to join these
alien and intrusive notions to some just one, and thus to
render them, if not useful, at least harmless. Some time ago,
my girls had heard among the peasants' children many tales of
angels, of Knecht Rupert and such shadowy characters, who,
they understood, appeared at certain times in person, to give
presents to good children, and to punish naughty ones. They
had an idea that these strange visitants were people in disguise:
in this I confirmed them; and without entering into
explanations, I determined on the first opportunity, to let them
see a spectacle of that sort. It chanced that the birthday of
two twin-sisters, whose behaviour had been always very good,
was near; I promised that, on this occasion, the little present
they had so well deserved should be delivered to them by an
angel. They were on the stretch of curiosity regarding this
phenomenon. I had chosen Mignon for the part; and accordingly,
at the appointed day, I had her suitably equipt in a
long light snow-white dress. She was, of course, provided with
a golden girdle round her waist, and a golden fillet on her
hair. I at first proposed to omit the wings; but the young
ladies who were decking her, insisted on a pair of large golden
pinions, in preparing which they meant to show their highest
art. Thus did the strange apparition, with a lily in the one
hand, and a little basket in the other, glide in among the
girls: she surprised even me. 'There comes the angel! ' said
I. The children all shrank back; at last they cried: 'It is
Mignon!' yet they durst not venture to approach the
wondrous figure. .
'Here are your gift!!,' said she, putting down the basket.
They gathered around her, they viewed, they felt, they questioned
her.
'Art thou an angel?' aske~ one of them.
'I wish I were,' said Mignon.
'Why dost thou bear a lily?'
'So pure and so open should my heart be; then were I
happy.'
'What wings are these? Let us see them! '
'They represent far finer ones, which are not yet unfolded.'
"And thus significantly did she answer all their other
childlike, innocent inquiries. The little party having satisfied
their curiosity, and the impression of the show beginning to
abate, we were for proceeding to undress the little angel. This,
however, she resisted: she took her cithern; she seated herself
here, on this high writing-table, and sang a little song with
touching grace:
Such let me seem till such I be;
Take not my snow-white dress away!
Soon from this dusk of earth I flee
Up to the glittering lands of day.
There first a little space I rest,
Then wake so glad, to scene so kind;
In earthly robes no longer drest,
This band, this girdle left behind.
And those calm shining sons of morn
They ask not who is maid or boy;
No robes, no garments there are worn,
Our body pure from sin's alloy.
Through little life not much I toil'd,
Yet anguish long this heart has wrung,
Untimely woe my blossom spoil'd;
Make me again forever young!
"I immediately determined upon leaving her the dress,"
proceeded Natalia; "and procuring her some others of a
similar kind. These she now wears; and in them, I think,
her form has quite a different expression."
As it was already late, Natalia let the stranger go: he
parted from her not without anxiety. "Is she married or
not?" asked he within himself. He had been afraid, at every
rustling, that the door would open, and her husband enter.
The serving-man, who showed him to his room, went off,
before our friend had mustered resolution to inquire regarding
this. His unrest held him long awake; he kept comparing
the figure of the Amazon with the figure of his new acquaintance.
The two would not combine: the former he had, as it
were, himself fashioned; the latter seemed as if it would almost
new-fashion him.

CHAPTER 3

NEXT morning, while all was yet quiet, he went about
viewing the house. It was the purest, finest, stateliest piece
of architecture he had ever seen. "True art," cried he," is
like good company: it constrains us in the most delightful
way to recognise the measure by which, and up to which, our
inward nature has been shaped by culture." The impression
which the busts and statues of his grandfather made upon him
was exceedingly agreeable. With a longing mind, he hastened
to the picture of the sick king's son; and he still felt it to be
charming and affecting. The servant opened to him various
other chambers: he found a library, a museum, a cabinet
of philosophical instruments. In much of this he could not
help perceiving his extreme ignorance. Meanwhile Felix had
awakened, and come running after him. The thought of how
and when he might receive Theresa's letter gave him pain; he
dreaded seeing Mignon, and in some degree Natalia. How
unlike his present state was his state at the moment when he
sealed the letter to Theresa, and with a glad heart wholly
gave himself to that noble being!
Natalia sent for him to breakfast. He proceeded to a
room, where several tidy little girls, all apparently below ten
years, were occupied in furnishing a table, while another of
the same appearance brought in various sorts of beverage.
Wilhelm cast his eye upon a picture, hung above the sofa;
he could not but recognise in it the portrait of Natalia, little
as the execution satisfied him. Natalia entered, and the likeness
seemed entirely to vanish. To his comfort, it was painted
with the cross of a religious order on its breast; and he now
saw another such upon Natalia's.
"I have just been looking at the portrait here," said he;
"and it seems surprising that a painter could have been at
once so true and so false. The picture resembles you in
general extremely well, and yet it neither has your features
nor your character."
"It is rather matter of surprise," replied Natalia, "that
the likeness is so good. It is not my picture; but the picture
of an aunt, whom I resembled even in childhood, though she
was then advanced in years. It was painted when her age
was just about what mine is: at the first glance everyone
imagines it is meant for me. You should have been acquainted
with that excellent lady. I owe her much. A very weak
state of health, perhaps too much employment with her own
thoughts, and withal a moral and religious scrupulosity, prevented
her from being to the world what, in other circumstances,
she might have become. She was a light that shone
but on a few friends, and on me especially."
"Can it be possible," said Wilhelm, after thinking for a
moment, while so many circumstances seemed to correspond
so well, "can it be possible that the fair and noble Saint, whose
meek Confessions I had liberty to study, was your aunt?"
"You read the manuscript?" inquired Natalia.
"Yes," said Wilhelm, "with the greatest sympathy, and
not without effect upon my life. What most impressed me
in this paper was, if I may term it so, the purity of being,
not only of the writer herself, but of all that lay round her;
that self-dependence of nature, that impossibility of admitting
anything into her soul which would not harmonise with its
own noble lovely tone."
"You are more tolerant to this fine spirit," said Natalia,
"nay, I will say more just, than many other men, to whom
the narrative has been imparted. Every cultivated person
knows how he has had to strive against a certain rudeness
both in himself and others; how much his culture costs him;
how apt he is, after all, in certain cases, to recollect himself
alone, forgetting what he owes to others. How often has a
worthy person to reproach himself for having failed to act
with proper delicacy! And when a fair nature too delicately,
too conscientiously cultivates, nay, if you will, overcultivates
itself, there seems to be no toleration, no indulgence for
it in the world. Yet such persons are, without us, what
the ideal of perfection is within us: models not for being
imitated, but for being aimed at. We laugh at the cleanliness
of the Dutch: but would our friend Theresa be what she
is, if some such notion were not always present to her in her
housekeeping? "
"I see before me then," cried Wilhelm, "in Theresa's
friend, the same Natalia whom her amiable relative was so
attached to; the Natalia, who from her youth was so affectionate,
so sympathising and helpful! It was only out of such
a line that such a being could proceed. What a prospect
opens before me, while I at once survey your ancestors, and
all the circle you belong to ! "
"Yes," replied Natalia, "in a certain sense, the story of
my aunt would give you the faithfulest picture of us. Her
love to me, indeed, has made her praise the little girl too
much: in speaking of a child, we never speak of what is
present, but of what we hope for."
Wilhelm, in the mean time, was rapidly reflecting that
Lothario's parentage and early youth were now likewise known
to him. The fair Countess, too, appeared before him in her
childhood, with the aunt's pearls about her neck: he himself
had been near those pearls, when her soft lovely lips bent
down to meet his own. These beautiful remembrances he
sought to drive away by other thoughts. He ran through the
characters to whom that manuscript had introduced him. "I
am here then," cried he, " in your worthy uncle's house! It
is no house, it is a temple, and you are the priestess, nay, the
Genius of it: I shall recollect for life my impression yesternight,
when I entered, and the old figures of my earliest days
were again before me. I thought of the compassionate marble
statues in Mignon's song: but these figures had not to lament
about me; they looked upon me with a lofty earnestness, they
brought my first years into immediate contact with the present
moment. That ancient treasure of our family, the joy of my
grandfather, I find here placed among so many other noble
works of art; and myself, whom nature made the darling of
the good old man, my unworthy self I find here also, Heavens!
in what society, in what connexions!"
The girls had by degrees gone out to mind their little
occupations. Natalia, left alone with Wilhelm, asked some
farther explanation of his last remark. The discovery, that
a number of her finest paintings and statues had at one time
been the property of Wilhelm's grandfather, did not fail to
give a cheerful stimulus to their discourse. As by that manuscript
he had got acquainted with Natalia's house, so now he
found himself too, as it were, in his inheritance. At length
he asked for Mignon. His friend desired him to have patience
till the Doctor, who had been called out into the neighbourhood, returned. It is easy to suppose that the Doctor was the
same little active man, whom we already know, and who was
spoken of in the Confessions of a Fair Saint.
"Since I am now," said Wilhelm," in the middle of your
family circle, I presume the Abbe, whom that paper mentions,
is the strange inexplicable person, whom, after the most
singular series of events, I met with in your brother's house?
Perhaps you can give some more accurate conception of
him?"
"Of the Abbe there might much be said," replied Natalia:
"what I know best about him is the influence which he
exerted on our education. He was, for a time at least, convinced
that education ought in every case to be adapted to
the inclinations: his present views of it I know not. He
maintained that with man the first and last consideration
was activity, and that we could not act on anything, without
the proper gifts for it, without an instinct impelling us to it.
'You admit,' he used to say, 'that poets must be born such;
you admit this with regard to all professors of the fine arts;
because you must admit it, because those workings of human
nature cannot very plausibly be aped. But if we consider
well, we shall find that every capability, however slight, is
born with us: that there is no vague general capability in
men. It is our ambiguous dissipating education that makes
men uncertain: it awakens wishes, when it should be animating
tendencies; instead of forwarding our real capacities, it
turns our efforts towards objects which are frequently discordant
with the mind that aims at them. I augur better of
a child, a youth who is wandering astray on a path of his
own, than of many who are walking aright upon paths which
are not theirs. If the former, either by themselves, or by the
guidance of others, ever find the right path, that is to say,
the path which suits their nature, they will never leave it;
while the latter are in danger every moment of shaking off a
foreign yoke, and abandoning themselves to unrestricted
licence.'"
"It is strange," said 1Vilhelm, "that this same extraordinary
man should likewise have taken charge of me;
should, as it seems, have, in his own fashion, if not led, at
least confirmed me in my errors, for a time. How he will
answer to the charge of having joined with others, as it were,
to make game of me, I wait patiently to see."
"Of this whim, if it is one," said Natalia, "I have little
reason to complain: of all the family I answered best with
it. Indeed I see not how Lothario could have got a finer
breeding: but for my sister, the Countess, some other treatment
might have suited better; perhaps they should have
studied to infuse more earnestness and strength into her
nature. As to brother Friedrich, what is to become of him
cannot be conjectured: he will fall a sacrifice, I fear, to this
experiment in pedagogy."
"You have another brother, then?" cried Wilhelm.
" Yes," replied Natalia; "and a light merry youth he is;
and as they have not hindered him from roaming up and
down the world, I know not what the wild dissipated boy
will turn to. It is a great while since I saw him. The only
thing which calms my fears is, that the Abbe, and the whole
society about my brother, are receiving constant notice where
he is and what he does."
Wilhelm was about to ask Natalia her opinion more precisely
on the Abbe's paradoxes, as well as to solicit information
about that mysterious society; but the Physician entering
changed their conversation. After the first compliments of
welcome, he began to speak of Mignon.
Natalia then took Felix by the hand, saying she would
lead the child to Mignon, and prepare her for the entrance
of her friend.
The Doctor, now alone with Wilhelm, thus proceeded: "I
have wondrous things to tell you; such as you are not anticipating.
Natalia has retired, that we might speak with
greater liberty of certain matters, which, although I first
learned them by her means, her presence would prevent us
from discussing freely. The strange temper of the child
seems to consist almost exclusively of deep longing; the
desire of revisiting her native land, and the desire for you,
my friend, are, I might almost say, the only earthly things
about her. Both these feelings do but grasp towards an
immeasurable distance, both objects lie before her unattainable.
The neighbourhood of Milan seems to be her home:
in very early childhood she was kidnapped from her parents
by a company of rope-dancers. A more distinct account we
cannot get from her, partly because she was then too young
to recollect the names of men and places; but especially
because she has made an oath to tell no living mortal her
abode and parentage. :For the strolling party, who came up
with her when she had lost her way, and to whom she so
accurately described her dwelling, with such piercing entreaties
to conduct her home, but carried her along with them the
faster; and at night in their quarters, when they thought
the child was sleeping, joked about their precious capture,
declaring she would never find the way home again. On this,
a horrid desperation fell upon the miserable creature; but at
last the Holy Virgin rose before her eyes, and promised that
she would assist her. The child then swore within herself a
sacred oath, that she would henceforth trust no human
creature, would disclose her history to no one, but live and
die in hope of immediate aid from Heaven. Even this,
which I am telling you, Natalia did not learn expressly from
her; but gathered it from detached expressions, songs and
childlike inadvertencies, betraying what they meant to hide."
Wilhelm called to memory many a song and word of this
dear child, which he could now explain. He earnestly
requested the Physician to keep from him none of the confessions
or mysterious poetry of this peculiar being.
"Prepare yourself," said the Physician, "for a strange
confession; for a story with which you, without remembering
it, have much to do; and which, as I greatly fear, has been
decisive for the death and life of this good creature."
In the name of Heaven,
Tell me, pray."
"Let me hear," said Wilhelm; "my impatience is unbounded."
"Do you recollect a secret nightly visit from a female,"
said the Doctor," after your appearance in the character of
Hamlet?"
"Yes, I recollect it well," cried Wilhelm, blushing, "but
I did not look to be reminded of it at the present moment."
"Do you know who it was? "
"I do not ! You frighten me!
not Mignon surely? Who was it?
"I know it not myself."
"Not Mignon, then?"
" No, certainly not Mignon: but Mignon was intending at
the time to glide in to you: and saw, with horror, from a
corner where she lay concealed, a rival get before her."
"A rival!" cried our friend: "Speak on, you more and
more confound me."
"Be thankful," said the Doctor, "that you can arrive at
the result so soon through means of me. Natalia and I, with
but a distant interest in the matter, had distress enough to
undergo, before we could thus far discover the perplexed
condition of the poor dear creature, whom we wished to help.
By some wanton speeches of Philina and the other girls, by
a certain song which she had heard Philina sing, the child's
attention had been roused; she longed to pass a night beside
the man she loved, without conceiving anything to be implied
in this beyond a happy and confiding rest. A love for you,
my friend, was already keen and powerful in her little heart;
in y6ur arms, the child had found repose from many a sorrow;
she now desired this happiness in all its fulness. At one time
she proposed to ask you for it in a friendly manner; but a
secret horror always held her back. At last, that merry night
and the excitement of abundant wine inspired her with the
courage to attempt the adventure, and glide in to you on
that occasion. Accordingly she ran before, to hide herself in
your apartment, which was standing open; but just when
she had reached the top of the stairs, having heard a rustling,
she concealed herself, and saw a female in a white dress slip
into your chamber. You yourself arrived soon after, and she
heard you push the large bolt.
"Mignon's agony was now unutterable: all the violent
feelings of a passionate jealousy mingled themselves with the
unacknowledged longing of obscure desire, and seized her
half-developed nature with tremendous force. Her heart,
which hitherto had beaten violently with eagerness and expectation,
now at once began to falter and stop; it pressed
her bosom like a heap of lead; she could not draw her breath,
she knew not what to do; she heard the sound of the old
man's harp, hastened to the garret where he was, and passed
the night at his feet in horrible convulsions."
The Physician paused a moment; then, as Wilhelm still
kept silence, he proceeded: "Natalia told me, nothing in her
life had so alarmed and touched her as the state of Mignon
while relating this: indeed, our noble friend accused herself
of cruelty in having, by her questions and management, drawn
this confession from her, and renewed by recollection the
violent sorrows of the poor little girl.
"'The dear creature,' said Natalia, 'had scarcely come
so far with her recital, or rather with her answers to my
questions, when she sank all at once before me on the ground,
and with her hand on her bosom piteously moaned that the
pain of that excruciating night was come back. She twisted
herself like a worm upon the floor; and I had to summon all
my composure, that I might remember and apply such means
of remedy for mind and body as were known to me.'''
"It is a painful predicament you put me in," cried Wilhelm,
"by impressing me so vividly with the feeling of my manifold
injustice towards this unhappy and beloved being, at the very
moment when I am again to meet her. If she is to see me,
why do you deprive me of the courage to appear with freedom?
And shall I confess it to you? Since her mind is so
affected, I perceive not how my presence can be advantageous
to her. If you, as a Physician, are persuaded that this double
longing has so undermined her being as to threaten death,
why should I renew her sorrows by my presence, and perhaps
accelerate her end?"
"My friend," replied the Doctor, "where we cannot cure,
it is our duty to alleviate; and how much the presence of a
loved object tends to take from the imagination its destructive
power, how it changes an impetuous longing to a peaceful
looking, I could prove by the most convincing instances.
Everything in measure and with purpose! For, in other cases,
this same presence may rekindle an affection nigh extinguished.
But do you go and see the child; behave to her with kindness,
and let us wait the consequence."
Natalia, at this moment coming back, bade Wilhelm follow
her to Mignon. "She appears to feel quite happy with the
boy," observed Natalia, "and I hope she will receive our
friend with mildness." Wilhelm followed, not without reluctance:
he was deeply moved by what he had been hearing;
he feared a stormy scene of passion. It was altogether the
reverse that happened on his entrance.
Mignon, dressed in long white women's-clothes, with her
brown copious hair partly knotted, partly clustering out in
locks, was sitting with the boy Felix on her lap, and pressing
him against her heart. She looked like a departed spirit, he
like life itself: it seemed as if Heaven and Earth were clasping
one another. She held out her hand to Wilhelm with a
smile, and said: "I thank thee for bringing back the child to
me: they had taken him away, I know not how, and since
then I could not live. So long as my heart needs anything on
earth, thy Felix shall fill up the void."
The quietness, which Mignon had displayed on meeting
with her friend, produced no little satisfaction in the party.
The Doctor signified that Wilhelm should go frequently and
see her; that in body as in mind she should be kept as
equable as possible. He himself departed, promising to
return soon.
Wilhelm could now observe Natalia in her own circle: one
would have desired nothing better than to live beside her.
Her presence had the purest influence on the girls, and young
ladies of various ages, who resided with her in the house, or
came to pay her visits from the neighbourhood.
"The progress of your life," said Wilhelm once to her,
"must always have been very even; your aunt's delineation of
you in your childhood seems, if I mistake not, still to fit. It
is easy to see, that you never were entangled in your path.
You have never been compelled to retrograde."
"This I owe to my uncle and the Abbe," said Natalia,
"who so well discriminated my prevailing turn of mind.
From my youth upwards, I can recollect no livelier feeling
than that I was constantly observing people's wants, and had
an irresistible desire to make them up. The child that had
not learned to stand on its feet, the old man that could no
longer stand on his; the longing of a rich family for children,
the inability of a poor one to maintain their children; each
silent wish for some particular species of employment, the
impulse towards any talent, the natural gifts for many little
necessary arts of life, were sure to strike me: my eye seemed
formed by nature for detecting them. I saw such things,
where no one had directed my attention; I seemed born for
seeing them alone. The charms of inanimate nature, to which
so many persons are exceedingly susceptible, had no effect
upon me; the charms of art, if possible, had less. My most
delightful occupation was and is, when a deficiency, a want
appeared before me anywhere, to set about devising a supply,
a remedy, a help for it.
"If I saw a poor creature in rags, the superfluous clothes
I had noticed hanging in the wardrobes of my friends immediately
occurred to me; if I saw children wasting for want
of care, I was sure to recollect some lady I had found
oppressed with tedium amid riches and conveniences: if I saw
too many persons crammed into a narrow space, I thought
they should be lodged in the spacious chambers of palaces and
vacant houses. This mode of viewing things was altogether
natural, without the least reflection; so that in my childhood
I often made the strangest work of it, and more than once
embarrassed people by my singular proposals. Another of my
peculiarities was this, I did not learn till late, and after many
efforts, to consider money as a means of satisfying wants: my
benefits were all distributed in kind, and my simplicity, I know,
was frequently the cause of laughter. None but the Abbe
seemed to understand me; he met me everywhere; he made
me acquainted with myself, with these wishes, these tendencies,
and taught me how to satisfy them suitably."
"Do you then," said Wilhelm, "in the education of your
little female world employ the method of these extraordinary
men? Do you too leave every mind to form itself? Do you
too leave your girls to search and wander, to pursue delusions,
happily to reach the goal, or miserably lose themselves in
error? "
" No !" replied Natalia: "such treatment as that would
altogether contradict my notions. To my mind, he who does
not help us at the needful moment, never helps; he who does
not counsel at the needful moment, never counsels. I also
reckon it essential that we lay down and continually impress
on children certain laws, to operate as a kind of hold in life.
Nay, I could almost venture to assert that it is better to
be wrong by rule, than to be wrong with nothing but the
fitful caprices of our disposition to impel us hither and thither:
and in my way of viewing men, there always seems to be a
void in their nature, which cannot be filled up, except by some
decisive and distinctly settled law."
"Your manner of proceeding, then," said Wilhelm, "is
entirely different from the manner of our friends?"
"Yes," replied Natalia: "and you may see the unexampled
tolerance of these men, from the fact, that they nowisedisturb
me in my practice; but leave me on my own path, simply
because it is my own, and even assist me in everything that I
require of them."
A more minute description of Natalia's plans in managing
her children we reserve for some other opportunity.
Mignon often asked to be of their society; and this they
granted her with greater readiness, as she appeared to be again
accustoming herself to Wilhelm, to be opening her heart to
him, and in general to have become more cheerful and contented
with existence. In walking, being easily fatigued, she
liked to hang upon his arm. "Mignon," she would say, ,. now
climbs and bounds no more; yet she still longs to mount the
summit of the hills, to skip from house to house, from tree to
tree. How enviable are the birds; and then so prettily and
socially they build their nests too! "
Ere long it became habitual for her to invite her friend,
more than once every day, into the garden. When Wilhelm
was engaged or absent, Felix had to take his place; and if
poor Mignon seemed at times quite loosened from the earth,
there were other moments when she would again hold fast to
father and son, and seem to dread a separation from them
more than anything beside.
Natalia wore a thoughtful look. "We meant," said she,
"to open her tender little heart, by sending for you hither. I
know not whether we did prudently." She stopped, and
seemed expecting Wilhelm to say something. To him also it
occurred that by his marriage with Theresa, Mignon, in the
present circumstances, would be fearfully offended: but in his
uncertainty, he did not venture mentioning his project; he
had no suspicion that Natalia knew of it.
As little could he talk with freedom, when his noble friend
began to speak about her sister; to praise her good qualities,
and to lament her hapless situation. He felt exceedingly
embarrassed when Natalia told him he would shortly see the
Countess here. "Her husband," said she, "has now no
object but replacing Zinzendorf in the Community; and by
insight and activity supporting and extending that establishment.
He is coming with his wife, to take a sort of leave;
he then purposes visiting the various spots where the Community have settled. They appear to treat him as he wishes:
and I should not wonder if, in order to be altogether like his
predecessor, he ventured, with my sister, on a voyage to
America; for being already well-nigh convinced that a little
more would make a saint of him, the wish to superadd the
dignity of martyrdom has probably enough often flitted
through his mind."

CHAPTER 4

THEY had often spoken of Theresa, often mentioned her in
passing; and Wilhelm almost every time was minded to confess
that he had offered her his heart and hand. A certain
feeling, which he was not able to explain, restrained him; he
paused and wavered, till at length Natalia, with the heavenly
modest cheerful smile she often wore, said to him: "It seems,
then, I at last must break silence, and force myself into your
confidence! Why, my friend, do you keep secret from me an
affair of such importance to yourself, and so closely touching
my concerns? You have made my friend the offer of your
hand: I do not mix uncalled in the transaction: here are my
credentials; here is the letter which she writes to you, which
she sends you through my hands."
"A letter from Theresa! " cried he.
"Yes, mein herr! Your destiny is settled; you are happy.
Let me congratulate my friend and you on your good fortune."
Wilhelm spoke not, but gazed out before him. Natalia
looked at him; she saw that he was pale. "Your joy is
strong," continued she; "it takes the form of terror, it deprives
you of the power to speak. My participation is not
the less cordial that I show it you in words. I hope you
will be grateful: for I may say, my influence on the decision
of your bride has not been small: she asked me for advice;
and as it happened, by a singular coincidence, that you were
here just then, I was enabled to destroy the few scruples she
still entertained. Our messages went swiftly to and fro: here
is her determination; here is the conclusion of the treaty!
And now you shall read her other letters, you shall have a free
clear look into the fair heart of your Theresa."
Wilhelm opened the letter, which she handed him unsealed.
It contained these friendly words:
"I am yours, as I am and as you know me. I call you
mine, as you are and as I know you. What in ourselves, what
in our connexion wedlock changes, we shall study to adjust, by
reason, cheerfulness and mutual goodwill. As it is no passion,
but trust and inclination for each other that is leading us
together, we run less risk than thousands of others. You will
forgive me, will you not, if I still think often and kindly of
my former friend; in return, I will press your Felix to my
heart, as if I were his mother. If you choose to share my little
mansion straightway, we are lord and master there, and in the
meanwhile the purchase of your land might be concluded. I
could wish that no new arrangements were made in it without
me. I could wish at once to prove that I deserve the confidence
which you repose in me. Adieu, dear, dear Friend! Beloved
Bridegroom, honoured Husband! Theresa clasps you to her
breast with hope and joy. My friend will tell you more, will
tell you all."
Wilhelm, to whose mind this sheet recalled the image of
Theresa with the liveliest distinctness, had now recovered his
composure. While reading, thoughts had rapidly alternated
within his soul. With terror, he discovered in his heart the
mOlit vivid traces of an inclination to Natalia: he blamed himself,
declaring every thought of that description to be madness;
he represented to himself Theresa in her whole perfection; he
again perused the letter, he grew cheerful, or rather he so far
regained his self-possession that he could appear cheerful.
Natalia handed him the letters which had passed between
Theresa and herself: out of Theresa's we propose extracting
one or two passages.
After delineating her bridegroom in her own peculiar way,
Theresa thus proceeded:
"Such is the notion I have formed of the man who now
offers me his hand. What he thinks of himself thou shalt see
by and by, in the papers he has sent me, where he altogether
candidly draws his own portrait; I feel persuaded that I shall
be happy with him."
"As to rank, thou knowest my ideas on this point long ago.
Some people look on disagreement of external circumstances as
a fearful thing, and cannot remedy it. I wish not to persuade
anyone, I wish to act according to my own persuasion. I
mean not to set others an example, nor do I act without
example. It is interior disagreements only that frighten me:
a frame that does not fit what it is meant to hold; much
pomp and little real enjoyment; wealth and avarice, nobility
and rudeness, youth and pedantry, poverty and ceremonies,-
these are the things which would annihilate me, however it
may please the world to stamp and rate them."
"If I hope that we shall suit each other, the hope is chiefly
founded upon this, that he resembles thee, my dear Natalia,
thee, whom I so highly prize and reverence. Yes, he has thy
noble searching and striving for the Better, whereby we of
ourselves produce the Good which we suppose we find. How
often have I blamed thee, not in silence, for treating this or
that person, for acting in this or that case, otherwise than I
should have done! and yet in general the issue showed that
thou wert right. 'When we take people,' thou wouldst say,
'merely as they are, we make them worse; when we treat
them as if they were what they should be, we improve them as
far as they can be improved.' To see or to act thus, I know
full well is not for me. Skill, order, discipline, direction, that
is my affair. I always recollect what Jarno said: 'Theresa
trains her pupils, Natalia forms them. Nay, once he went so
far as to assert that of the three fair qualities, faith, love and
hope, I was entirely destitute. 'Instead of faith,' said he,
'she has penetration, instead of love she has steadfastness,
instead of hope she has trust.' Indeed I will confess that till
I knew thee, I knew nothing higher in the world than clearness
and prudence: it was thy presence only that persuaded,
animated, conquered me; to thy fair lofty soul I willingly
give place. My friend too I honour on the same principle;
the description of his life is a perpetual seeking without finding;
not empty seeking, but wondrous generous seeking; he
fancies others may give him what can proceed from himself
alone. So, love, the clearness of my vision has not injured me,
on this occasion, more than others: I know my husband
better than he knows himself, and I value him the more. I
see him, yet I see not over him; all my skill will not enable
me to judge of what he can accomplish. When I think of
him, his image always blends itself with thine: I know not
how I have deserved to belong to two such persons. But I will
deserve it, by endeavouring to do my duty, by fulfilling what
is looked for from me."
"If I recollect Lothario? Vividly and daily. I'll the company
which in thought surrounds me, I cannot want him for a
moment. 0, what a pity for this noble character, related by
an error of his youth to me, that nature has related him to
thee! A being such as thou, in truth, were worthier of him
than I. To thee I could, I would surrender him. Let us be
to him all we can, till he find a proper wife; and then too let
us be, let us abide together."
"But what shall we say to our friends?" began Natalia.-
"Your brother does not know of it ?"-" Not a hint; your
people know as little: we women have, on this occasion,
managed the affair ourselves. Lydia had put some whims into
Theresa's head concerning Jarno and the Abbe. There are
certain plans and secret combinations, with the general scheme
of which I am acquainted, and into which I never thought of
penetrating farther. With regard to these, Theresa has,
through Lydia, taken up some shadow of suspicion: so in this
decisive step she would not suffer anyone but me to influence
her. With my brother it had been already settled, that they
should merely announce their marriages to one another, not
giving or asking counsel on the subject."
Natalia wrote a letter to her brother; she invited Wilhelm
to subjoin a word or two, Theresa having so desired it. They
were just about to seal, when Jarno unexpectedly sent up his
name. His reception was of course as kind as possible: he
wore a sportful merry air; he could not long forbear to tell
his errand. " I am come," said he, "to give you very curious
and very pleasing tidings: they concern Theresa. You have
often blamed us, fair Natalia, for troubling our heads about so
many things; but now you see how good it is to have one's
spies in every place. Guess, and let us see your skill for once! "
The self-complacency with which he spoke these words, the
roguish mien with which he looked at Wilhelm and Natalia,
persuaded both of them that he had found their secret. Natalia
answered smiling: " We are far more skilful than you think:
before we even heard your riddle, we had put the answer to it
down in black and white."
With these words, she handed him the letter to Lothario;
satisfied at having met, in this way, the little triumph and
surprise he had meant for them. Jarno took the sheet with
some astonishment: ran it quickly over; started; let it drop
from his hands, and' stared at both his friends with an expression
of amazement, nay, of fright, which on his countenance was
rare. He spoke no word.
Wilhelm and Natalia were not a little struck; Jarno stept
up and down the room. "What shall I say?" cried he: "Or
shall I say it at all? But it must come out; the perplexity
is not to be avoided. So secret for secret; surprise against
surprise! Theresa is not the daughter of her reputed mother!
The hinderance is removed: I came to ask you to prepare her
for a marriage with Lothario."
Jarno saw the shock which he had given his friends; they
cast their eyes upon the ground. "The present case," said he,
"is one of those which are worse to bear in company. What
each has to consider in it, he considers best in solitude: I at
least require an hour of leave." He hastened to the garden;
Wilhelm followed him mechanically, yet without approaching
near.
At the end of an hour, they were again assembled. Wilhelm
opened the conversation: "Formerly," said he, "while I
was living without plan or object, in a state of carelessness, or
I may say of levity, friendship, love, affection, trust came
towards me with open arms, they pressed themselves upon me;
but now when I am serious, destiny appears to take another
course with me. This resolution, of soliciting Theresa's hand,
is probably the first that has proceeded altogether from myself.
I laid my plan considerately; my reason fully joined in it; by
the consent of that noble maiden all my hopes were crowned.
But now the strangest fate puts back my outstretched hand;
Theresa reaches hers to me, but from afar, as in a dream; I
cannot grasp it; and the lovely image leaves me forever. So
fare thee well, thou lovely image! and all ye images of richest
happiness that gathered round it! '
He was silent for a moment, looking out before him: Jarno
was about to speak. "Let me have another word," cried
Wilhelm," for the lot is drawing which is to decide the destiny
of all my life. At this moment I am aided and confirmed by
the impression which Lothario's presence made upon me at
the first glance, and which has ever since continued with me.
That man well merits every sort of friendship and affection;
and without sacrifices friendship cannot be imagined. For his
sake, it was easy for me to delude a hapless girl; for his sake
it shall be possible for me to give away the worthiest bride.
Return, relate the strange occurrence to him, and tell him
what I am prepared for."
"In emergencies like this," said Jarno, "I hold that everything
is done, if one do nothing rashly. Let us take no step
till Lothario has agreed to it. I will go to him: wait
patiently for my return, or for his letter."
He rode away; and left his friends in great disquiet. They
had time to reconsider these events, to think of them maturely.
It now first occurred to them, that they had taken Jarno's
statement simply by itself, and without inquiring into any
of the circumstances. Wilhelm was not altogether free from
doubts: but next day, their astonishment, nay, their bewilderment,
arose still higher, when a messenger arriving from
Theresa, brought the following letter to Natalia.
"Strange as it may seem, after all the letters 1 have sent,
I am obliged to send another, begging that thou wouldst
despatch my bridegroom to me instantly. He shall be my
husband, what plans soever they may lay to rob me of him.
Give him the enclosed letter; only not before witnesses,
whoever they may be!"
The enclosed letter was as follows: " What opinion will you
form of your Theresa, when you see her all at once insisting
passionately on a union which calm reason alone appeared to
have appointed? Let nothing hinder you from setting out,
the moment you have read this letter. Come, my dear, dear
friend; now three times dearer, since they are attempting to
deprive me of you."
"What is to be done?" cried Wilhelm, after he had read
the letter.
"In no case that I remember," said Natalia, after some
reflection, "have my heart and judgment been so dumb as in
the present one: what to do or to advise I know not."
"Can it be," cried Wilhelm vehemently, "that Lothario
does not know of it; or if he does, that he is but like us, the
sport of hidden plans? Has Jarno, when he saw our letter,
devised that fable on the spot? Would he have told us something
different, if we had not been so precipitate? What can
they mean? What intentions can they have? What plan
can Theresa mean ? Yes, it must be owned, Lothario is begirt
with secret influences and combinations: I myself have found
that they are active, that they take a certain charge of the
proceedings, of the destiny of several people, and contrive to
guide them. The ulterior objects of these mysteries I know
not; but their nearest purpose, that of snatching my Theresa
from me, I perceive but too distinctly. On the one hand, this
prospect of Lothario's happiness which they exhibit to me may
be but a hollow show; on the other hand, I see my dear, my
honoured bride inviting me to her affection. What shall I do?
What shall I forbear?"
"A little patience!" said Natalia; "a little time for
thought! In these singular perplexities, I know but this, that
what can never be recalled should not be done in haste. To a
fable, to an artful plan we have steadfastness and prudence to
oppose: whether Jarno has been speaking true or false must
soon appear. If my brother has actually hopes of a connexion
with Theresa, it were hard to cut him off forever from that
prospect, at the moment when it seems so kindly inviting him.
Let us wait at least till we discover whether he himself knows
anything of it, whether he believes and hopes."
These prudent counsels were confirmed by a letter from
Lothario. "I do not send Jarno," he wrote: "a line from
my hand is more to thee than the minutest narrative in the
mouth of a messenger. I am certain, Theresa is not the
daughter of her reputed mother: and I cannot renounce hope
of being hers, till she too is persuaded, and can then decide
between my friend and me with calm consideration. Let him
not leave thee, I entreat it! The happiness, the life of a
brother is at stake. I promise thee, this uncertainty shall not
be long."
"You see how the matter stands," said she to Wilhelm with
a friendly air; "give me your word of honour that you will
not leave the house!"
"I give it! " cried he, stretching out his hand; "I will not
leave this house against your will. I thank Heaven, and
my better Genius, that on this occasion I am led, and led by
you."
Natalia wrote Theresa an account of everything; declaring
that she would not let her friend away. She sent Lothario's
letter also.
Theresa answered: "I wonder not a little that Lothario is
himself convinced: to his sister he would not feign to this
extent. I am vexed, greatly vexed. It is better that I say no
more. But I will come to thee, so soon as I have got poor
Lydia settled: they are treating her cruelly. I fear we are all
betrayed, and shall be so betrayed that we shall never reach
the truth. If my friend were of my opinion, he would give
thee the slip after all, and throw himself into the arms of his
Theresa, whom none shall take away from him. But I, as I
dread, shall lose him, and not regain Lothario. From the
latter they are taking Lydia, by showing him afar off the
prospect of obtaining me. I will say no more: the entanglement
will grow still deeper. Whether, in the mean time, these
beautiful relations to each other may not be so pushed aside,
so undermined and broken down, that when the darkness passes
off', the mischief shall no longer admit of remedy, time will
show. If my friend do not tear himself away, in a few days I
myself will come and seek him out beside thee, and hold him
fast. Thou marvelest how this passion can have gained the
mastery of thy Theresa. It is no passion, but conviction; it is
a belief that since Lothario can never be mine, this new friend
will make me happy. Tell him so in the name of the little
boy that sat with him underneath the oak, and thanked him
for his sympathy. Tell it him in the name of Theresa, who
met his offers with a hearty openness. My first dream of living
with Lothario has wandered far away from my soul; the dream
of living with my other friend is yet wholly present to me.
Do they hold me so light, as to think that it were easy to
exchange the former with the latter?"
"I depend on you," said Natalia to Wilhelm, handing him
the letter: "you will not leave me. Consider that the comfort
of my life is in your hands. My being is so intimately bound
and interwoven with my brother's, that he feels no sorrow
which I do not feel, no joy which does not likewise gladden
me. Nay, I may truly say, through him alone I have experienced
that the heart can be affected and exalted; that in the
world there may be joy, love and an emotion which contents
the soul beyond its utmost want."
She stopped; Wilhelm took her hand, and cried: "O continue!
This is the time for a true mutual disclosure of our
thoughts: it never was more necessary for us to be well
acquainted with each other."
"Yes, my friend!" said she, smiling, with her quiet, soft,
indescribable dignity; "perhaps it is not out of season, if I
tell you that the whole of what so many books, of what the
world holds up to us and names love, has always seemed to me
a fable."
"You have never loved?" cried Wilhelm.
"Never, or always!" said Natalia.

CHAPTER 5

DURING this conversation, they kept walking up and down
the garden, and Natalia gathered various flowers of singular
forms, entirely unknown to Wilhelm, who began to ask their
names, and occupy himself about them.
"You know not," said Natalia, "for whom I have been
plucking these? I intend them for my uncle, whom we are to
visit. The sun is shining even now so bright on the Hall of
the Past, I must lead you in, this moment; and I never go to
it, without a few of the flowers which my uncle liked particularly,
in my hand. He was a peculiar man, susceptible of very
strange impressions. For certain plants and animals, for
certain neighbourhoods and persons, nay, for certain sorts of
minerals, he had an especial love, which he was rarely able to
explain. 'Had I not,' he would often say, , from youth, withstood
myself, and striven to form my judgment upon wide and
general principles, I had been the narrowest and most intolerable
person living. For nothing can be more intolerable than
circumscribed peculiarity, in one from whom a pure and suitable
activity might be required.' And yet he was obliged to confess,
that life and breath would almost leave him, if he did not
now and then indulge himself, not from time to time allow
himself a brief and passionate enjoyment of what he could
not always praise and justify. 'It is not my fault,' said he,
'if I have not brought my inclinations and my reason into
perfect harmony.' On such occasions he would joke with me,
and say: 'Natalia may be looked upon as happy while she
lives: her nature asks nothing which the world does not wish
and use.'"
So speaking, they arrived again at the house. Natalia led
him through a spacious passage, to a door, before which lay
two granite Sphinxes. The door itself was in the Egyptian
fashion, somewhat narrower above than below; and its brazen
leaves prepared one for a serious or even a gloomy feeling.
Wilhelm was in consequence agreeably surprised, when his
expectation issued in a sentiment of pure cheerful serenity, as
he entered a hall, where art and life took away all recollection
of death and the grave. In the walls all round, a series
of proportionable arches had been hollowed out, and large
sarcophaguses stood in them: among the pillars in the intervals
between them, smaller openings might be seen, adorned with
urns and similar vessels. The remaining spaces of the walls
and vaulted roof were regularly divided; and between bright
and variegated borders, within garlands and other ornaments,
a multitude of cheerful and significant figures had been painted,
upon grounds of different sizes. The body of the edifice was
covered with that fine yellow marble, which passes into
reddish; clear blue stripes of a chemical substance happily
imitating lapis-lazuli, while they satisfied the eye with contrast,
gave unity and combination to the whole. All this pomp and
decoration showed itself in the chastest architectural forms:
and thus everyone who entered felt as if exalted above himself, while the cooperating products of art, for the first time,
taught him what man is and what he may become.
Opposite the door, on a stately sarcophagus, lay a marble
figure of a noble-looking man, reclined upon a pillow. He
held a roll before him; and seemed to look at it with still
attention. It was placed so that you could read with ease the
words which stood there: Think if living.
Natalia took away a withered bunch of flowers, and laid
the fresh one down before the figure of her uncle. For it was
her uncle whom the marble represented: Wilhelm thought he
recognised the features of the venerable gentleman, whom he
had seen, when lying wounded in the green of the forest.
"Here he and I passed many an hour," said Natalia, "while
the hall was getting ready. In his latter years, he had
gathered several skilful artists round him; and his chief delight
was to invent or superintend the drawings and cartoons for
these pictures."
Wilhelm could not satisfy himself with looking at the
objects which surrounded him. " What a life," exclaimed he,
"in this Hall of the Past! One might with equal justice
name it Hall of the Present and the Future. Such all were,
such all will be. There is nothing transitory but the individual
who looks at and enjoys it. Here, this figure of the mother
pressing her infant to her bosom will survive many generations of
happy mothers. Centuries hence, perhaps some father will take
pleasure in contemplating this bearded man, who has laid aside
his seriousness, and is playing with his son. Thus shamefaced
will the bride sit for ages, and amid her silent wishes, need that
she be comforted, that she be spoken to; thus impatient will
the bridegroom listen on the threshold whether he may enter."
The figures Wilhelm was surveying with such rapture were
of almost boundless number and variety. From the first
jocund impulse of the child, merely to employ its every limb
in sport, up to the peaceful sequestered earnestness of the sage,
you might, in fair and living order, see delineated how man
possesses no capacity or tendency without employing and
enjoying it. From the first soft conscious feeling, when the
maiden lingers in pulling up her pitcher, and looks with satisfaction
at her image in the clear fountain, to those high
solemnities when kings and nations invoke the Gods at the
altar to witness their alliances, all was depicted, all was forcible
and full of meaning.
It was a world, it was a heaven, that in this abode surrounded
the spectator; and beside the thoughts which those
polished forms suggested, beside the feelings they awoke, there
still seemed something farther to be present, something by
which the whole man felt himself laid hold of. Wilhelm too
observed this, though unable to account for it. "What is
this," exclaimed he, "which, independently of all signification,
without any sympathy that human incidents and fortunes may
inspire us with, acts on me so strongly and so gracefully? It
speaks to me from the whole, it speaks from every part;
though I have not fully understood the former, though I do
not specially apply the latter to myself! What enchantment
breathes from these surfaces, these lines, these heights and
breadths, these masses and colours! What is it that makes
these figures so delightful, even when slightly viewed, and
merely in the light of decorations? Yes, I feel it: one might
tarry here, might rest, might view the whole, and be happy;
and yet feel and think something altogether different from
aught that stood before his eyes."
And certainly if we were able to describe how happily the
whole was subdivided, how everything determined by its place,
by combination or by contrast, by uniformity or by variety,
appeared exactly as it should have done, producing an effect as
perfect as distinct, we should transport the reader to a scene,
from which he would not be in haste to stir.
Four large marble candelabra rose in the corners of the
hall; four smaller ones were in the midst of it, around a very
beautifully worked sarcophagus, which, judging from its size,
might once have held a young person of middle stature.
Natalia paused beside this monument; she laid her hand
upon it as she said: "My worthy uncle had a great attachment
to this fine antique. 'It is not,' he would often say, 'the
first blossoms alone that drop; such you can keep above in
these little spaces; but fruits also, which, hanging on their
twigs, long give us the fairest hope, whilst a secret worm is
preparing their too early ripeness and their quick decay.' I
fear," continued she, "his words have been prophetic of that
dear little girl, who seems withdrawing gradually from our
cares, and bending to this peaceful dwelling."
As they were about to go, Natalia stopped and said:
"There is something still which merits your attention.
Observe these half-round openings aloft on both sides. Here
the choir can stand concealed while singing; these iron ornaments
below the cornice serve for fastening-on the tapestry,
which, by order of my uncle, must be hung round at every
burial. Music, particularly song, was a pleasure he could not
live without: and it was one of his peculiarities that he wished
the singer not to be in view. 'In this respect,' he would say,
'they spoil us at the theatre; the music there is, as it were,
subservient to the eye; it accompanies movements, not
emotions. In oratorios and concerts, the form of the musician
constantly disturbs us: true music is intended for the ear
alone; a fine voice is the most universal thing that can be
figured; and while the narrow individual that uses it presents
himself before the eye, he cannot fail to trouble the effect
of that pure universality. The person whom I am to speak
with, I must see, because it is a solitary man, whose form and
character gives worth or worthlessness to what he says: but,
on the other hand, whoever sings to me must be invisible; his
form must not confuse me, or corrupt my judgment. Here, it
is but one human organ speaking to another; it is not spirit
speaking to spirit, not a thousandfold world to the eye, not a
heaven to the man.' On the same principles, in respect of
instrumental music, he required that the orchestra should as
much as possible be hid; because by the mechanical exertions,
by the mean and awkward gestures of the performers, our feeling are so much dispersed and perplexed. Accordingly he
always used to shut his eyes while hearing music; thereby to
concentrate his whole being on the single pure enjoyment of
the ear."
They were about to leave the Hall, when they heard the
children running hastily along the passage, and Felix crying:
"No, I! No, I !"
Mignon rushed in at the open door: she was foremost,
but out of breath, and could not speak a word. Felix, still
at some distance, shouted out: "Mamma Theresa is come!"
The children had run a race, as it seemed, to bring the
news. Mignon was Ivin~ in Natalia's arms, her heart was
beating fiercely.
"Naughty child," said Natalia; "art not thou forbidden
violent motions? See how thy heart is beating!"
"Let it break?" said Mignon with a deep sigh: "it has
beat too long."
They had scarcely composed themselves from this surprise,
this sort of consternation, when Theresa entered. She flew
to Natalia; clasped her and Mignon in her arms. Then
turning round to Wilhelm, she looked at him with her clear
eyes, and said: " Well, my friend, how is it with you? You
have not let them cheat you?" He made a step towards her;
she sprang to him, and hung upon his neck. "O my Theresa!"
cried he.
"My friend, my love, my husband! Yes, forever thine!"
cried she, amid the warmest kisses.
Felix pulled her by the gown, and cried: "Mamma Theresa,
I am here too!" Natalia stood, and looked before her: Mignon
on a sudden clapped her left hand on her heart; and stretching
out the right arm violently, fell with a shriek at Natalia's
feet, as dead.
The fright was great: no motion of the heart or pulse was
to be traced. Wilhelm took her on his arm, and hastily
carried her away; the body hung lax over his shoulders. The
presence of the Doctor was of small avail: he and the young
The dear
1M MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP
Surgeon, whom we know already, strove in vain.
little creature could not be recalled to life.
Natalia beckoned to Theresa: the latter took her friend by
the hand and led him from the room. He was dumb, not
uttering a word; he durst not meet her eyes. He sat down
with her upon the sofa, where he had first found Natalia. He
thought with great rapidity along a series of fateful incidents,
or rather he did not think, but let his soul be worked on by
the thoughts which would not leave it. There are moments
in life, when past events, like winged shuttles, dart to and fro
before us, and by their incessant movements weave a web,
which we ourselves, in a greater or less degree, have spun and
put upon the loom. "My friend, my love!" said Theresa,
breaking silence, as she took him by the hand: "Let us stand
together firmly in this hour, as we perhaps shall often have
to do in similar hours. These are occurrences, which it takes
two united hearts to suffer. Think, my friend, feel that thou
art not alone; show that thou lovest thy Theresa by imparting
thy sorrows to her! " She embraced him, and drew him softly
to her bosom: he clasped her in his arms and pressed her
strongly towards him. "The poor child," cried he, "used
in mournful moments to seek shelter and protection in my
unstable bosom: let the stability of thine assist me in this
heavy hour." They held each other fast; he felt her heart
beat against his breast; but in his spirit all was desolate and
void; only the figures of Mignon and Natalia flitted like
shadows across the waste of his imagination.
Natalia entered. "Give us thy blessing!" cried Theresa:
"Let us, in this melancholy moment, be united before thee!"
Wilhelm had hid his face upon Theresa's neck: he was so
far relieved that he could weep. He did not hear Natalia
come; he did not see her; but at the sound of her voice his
tears redoubled. "What God has joined I will not part,"
she answered, smiling; "but to unite you is not in my power;
nor am I gratified to see that sorrow and sympathy seem
altogether to have banished from your hearts the recollection of my brother." At these words, Wilhelm started from
Theresa's arms. "Whither are you going?" cried the ladies.
"Let me see the child," said he, "whom I have killed! Misfortune
when we look upon it with our eyes is smaller than
when our imagination sinks the evil down into the recesses
of the soul. Let us view the departed angel! Her serene
countenance will say to us that it is well with her." As his
friends could not restrain the agitated youth, they followed
him; but the worthy Doctor with the Surgeon met them, and
prevented them from coming near the dead. "Keep away
from this mournful object," said he; "and allow me, so far as
I am able, to give some continuance to these remains. On this
dear and singular being I will now display the beautiful art
not only of embalming bodies, but of retaining in them a look
of life. As I foresaw her death, the preparations are already
made; with these helps I shall undoubtedly succeed. Give
me but a few days, and ask not to see the child again till I
have brought her to the Hall of the Past."
The young Surgeon had in his hands that well-known case
of instruments. "From whom can he have got it?" Wilhelm
asked the Doctor. "I know it very well," replied Natalia:
"he has it from his father, who dressed your wounds when we
found you in the forest."
"Then I have not been mistaken! I recognised the band
at once!" cried Wilhelm. "O get it for me! It was this
that first gave me any hint of my unknown benefactress.
What weal and woe will such a thing survive! Beside how
many sorrows has this band already been, and its threads still
hold together! How many men's last moments has it witnessed,
and its colours are not yet faded! It was near me
in one of the fairest hours of my existence, when I lay
wounded on the ground, and your helpful form appeared
before me, and the child whom we are now lamenting sat
with its bloody hair, busied with the tenderest care to save
my life!"
It was not long that our friends could converse about this
sad occurrence; that Theresa could inquire about the child,
and the probable cause of its unexpected death: for strangers
were announced; who, on making their appearance, proved
to be well-known strangers. Lothario, Jarno, and the Abbe
entered. Natalia met her brother: among the rest, there was
a momentary silence. Theresa, smiling on Lothario, said:
"You scarcely expected to find me here; of course, it would
not have been advisable that we should visit one another at
the present time: however, after such an absence, take my
cordial welcome."
Lothario took her hand, and answered: "If we are to
suffer and renounce, it may as well take place in the presence
of the object whom we love and wish for. I desire no influence
on your determination; my confidence in your heart,
in your understanding and clear sense, is still so great, that
I willingly commit to your disposal my fate and that of my
friend."
The conversation turned immediately to general, nay, we
may say, to trivial topics. The company soon separated
into single pairs, for walking. Natalia was with her brother;
Theresa with the Abbe; our friend was left with Jarno in the
Castle.
The appearance of the guests at the moment when a heavy
sorrow was oppressing Wilhelm, had, instead of dissipating
his attention, irritated him and made him worse: he was
fretful and suspicious, and unable or uncareful to conceal it,
when Jarno questioned him about his sulky silence. " What
is the use of saying more?" cried Wilhelm. "Lothario with
his helpers is come: and it were strange if those mysterious
watchmen of the tower, who are constantly so busy, did not
now exert their influence on us, to effect I know not what
strange purpose. So far as I have known these saintly gentlemen,
it seems to be in every case their laudable endeavour to
separate the united, and to unite the separated. What sort
of web their weaving will produce, may probably to unholy
eyes be forever a riddle."
cross and bitter," said the other; "that is as
Would you get into a proper passion, it were
"You are
it should be.
still better."
"That too might come about," said Wilhelm: "I fear much
some of you are in the mind to load my patience, natural and
acquired, beyond what it will bear."
"In the mean time," said the other, "till we see what is to
be the issue of the matter, I could like to tell you somewhat of
the tower, which you appear to view with such mistrust."
"It stands with you," said Wilhelm, " whether you will risk
your eloquence on an attention so distracted. My mind is so
engaged at present, that I know not whether I can take a
proper interest in these very dignified adventures."
" Yom pleasing humour shall not hinder me," said Jarno,
"from explaining this affair to you. You reckon me a clever
fellow; I want to make you reckon me an honest one; and
what is more, on this occasion I am bidden speak."-" I could
wish," said Wilhelm, "that you did it of yourself, and with
an honest purpose to inform me; but as I cannot hear without
suspicion, wherefore should I hear at all? "-" If I have nothing
better to do," said Jarno, " than tell you stories, you too have
time to listen to me; and to this you may perhaps feel more
inclined, when I assure you, that all you saw in that tower was
but the relics of a youthful undertaking, in regard to which
the greater part gf the initiated were once in deep earnest,
though all of them now view it with a smile."
"So, with these pompous signs and words, you do but
mock?" cried Wilhelm. With a solemn air, you lead us
to a place inspiring reverence by its aspect; you make the
strangest visions pass before us; you give us rolls full of
glorious mystic apophthegms, of which in truth we understand
but little; you disclose to us, that hitherto we have been
pupils; you solemnly pronounce us free; and we are just as
wise as we were."-" Have you not the parchment by you?"
said the other. "It contains a deal of sense: those general
apophthegms were not picked up at random; though they
seem obscure and empty to a man without experiences to
recollect while reading them. But give me the Indenture as
we call it, if it is at hand."-" Quite at hand," cried Wilhelm;
"such an amulet well merits being worn upon one's breast."
"Well," said Jarno, smiling, "who knows whether the
contents of it may not one day find place in your head and
heart? "
He opened the Roll, and glanced over the first half of it.
"This," said he, "regards the cultivation of our gifts for
art and science; of which let others speak: the second treats
of life; here I am more at home."
He then began to read passages, speaking between-whiles,
and connecting them with his remarks and narrative. "The
taste of youth for secrecy, for ceremonies, for imposing words,
is extraordinary; and frequently bespeaks a certain depth of
character. In those years, we wish to feel our whole nature
seized and moved, even though it be but vaguely and darkly.
The youth who happens to have lofty aspirations and forecastings,
thinks that secrets yield him much, that he must
depend much on secrets, and effect much by means of them.
It was with such views that the Abbe favoured a certain
Society of young men; partly according to his principle of
aiding every tendency of nature, partly out of habit and
inclination; for in former times he had himself been joined
to an association, which appears to have accomplished many
things in secret. For this business I was least of all adapted.
I was older than the rest; from youth I had thought clearly;
I wished in all things nothing more than clearness; I felt no
interest in men, but to know them as they were. With the
same taste I gradually infected all the best of our associates;
and this circumstance had almost given a false direction to
our plan of culture. For we now began to look at nothing
but the errors and the narrowness of others, and to think
ourselves a set of highly-gifted personages. Here the Abbe
came to our assistance: he taught us, that we never should
inspect the conduct of men, unless we at the same time took
an interest in improving it; and that through action only
could we ever be in a condition to inspect and watch ourselves.
He advised us, however, to retain the primary forms
of the Society: hence there was still a sort of law in our
proceedings; the first mystic impressions might be traced in
the constitution of the whole. At length, as by a practical
similitude, it took the form of a corporate trade, whose
business was the arts. Hence came the names of Apprentices,
Assistants, and Masters. We wished to see with our own
eyes, and to form for ourselves a special record of our own
experience in the world. Hence those numerous confessions,
which in part we ourselves wrote, in part made others write;
and out of which the several Apprenticeships were afterwards
compiled. The formation of his character is not the chief
concern with every man. Many merely wish to find a sort of
recipe for comfort, directions for acquiring riches, or whatever
good they aim at. All such, when they would not be instructed
in their proper duties, we were wont to mystify, to
treat with juggleries and every sort of hocus-pocus, and at
length to shove aside. We advanced none to the rank of
Masters, but such as clearly felt and recognised the purpose
they were born for, and had got enough of practice to proceed
along their way with a certain cheerfulness and ease."
"In my case, then," cried Wilhelm, "your ceremony has
been very premature; for since the day when you pronounced
me free, what I can, will, or shall do, has been more unknown
to me than ever."-" We are not to blame for this perplexity;
perhaps good fortune will deliver us. In the mean time
listen: "He in whom there is much to be developed will be
later in acquiring true perceptions of himself and of the
world. There are few who at once have Thought and the
capacity of Action. Thought expands, but lames; Action
animates, but narrows.'''
"I beg of you," cried Wilhelm, "not to read me any more
of that surprising stuff'. These phrases have sufficiently confused
me before."-" I will stick by my story, then," said
Jarno, half rolling up the parchment, into which, however,
he kept casting frequent glances. "I myself have been of less
service to the cause of our Society and of my fellow-men than
any other member. I am but a bad schoolmaster; I cannot
bear to look on people making awkward trials; when I see a
person wandering from his path, I feel constrained to call to
him, although it were a night-walker going straight to break
his neck. On this point, I had a continual struggle with the
Abbe, who maintains that error can never be cured except by
erring. About you, too, we often argued. He had taken an
especial liking to you; and it is saying something to have
caught so much of his attention. For me, you must admit,
that every time we met, I told you just the naked truth."-
"Certainly, you spared me very little," said the other, "and
I think you still continue faithful to your principles."-
"What is the use of sparing," answered Jarno, "when a
young man of many good endowments is taking a quite false
direction? "-" Pardon me," said Wilhelm, "you have rigorously
enough denied me any talent for the stage; I confess
to you, that though I have entirely renounced the art, I
cannot think myself entirely incapable."-" And with me,"
said Jarno, "it is well enough decided, that a person who
can only play himself is no player. Whoever cannot change
himself, in temper and in form, into many forms, does not
deserve the name. Thus you, for example, acted Hamlet and
some other characters extremely well; because in these, your
form, your disposition and the temper of the moment suited.
For an amateur theatre, for anyone who saw no other way
before him, this would perhaps have answered well enough.
But," continued Jarno, looking on the roll, '" we should guard
against a talent which we cannot hope to practise in perfection.
Improve it as we may, we shall always in the end, when the
merit of the master has become apparent to us, painfully
lament the loss of time and strength devoted to such
botching.' "
"Do not read!" cried Wilhelm: "I entreat you earnestly;
speak on, tell, inform me! So the Abbe aided me in Hamlet:
he provided me a ghost? "-" Yes; for he asserted that it was
the only way of curing you, if you were curable."-" And on
this account he left the veil, and bade me fly? "-" Yes, he
hoped that having fairly acted Hamlet, your desire of acting
would be satiated. He maintained that you would never go
upon the stage again: I believed the contrary, and I was
right. We argued on the subject, that very evening when
the play was over."-"You saw me act, then?"-"I did
indeed."-" And who was it that played the Ghost? "-" That
I cannot tell you; either the Abbe or his twin brother; but
I think the latter, for he is a little taller."-"You have
secrets from each other, then? "-" Friends may and must have
secrets from each other; but they are not secrets to each
other."
"The very thought of that perplexity perplexes me. Let
me understand the man, to whom I owe so many thanks as
well as such reproaches."
"What gives him such a value in our estimation," answered
Jarno, "what in some degree secures him the dominion over
all of us, is the free sharp eye that nature has bestowed on
him for all the powers which dwell in man, and are susceptible
of cultivation, each according to its kind. Most men, even
the most accomplished, are but limited: each prizes certain
properties in others and himself; these alone he favours, these
alone will he have cultivated. Directly the reverse is the
procedure of our Abbe: for every gift he has a feeling; every
gift he delights to recognise and forward. But I must look
into my roll again! ' It is all men that make up mankind;
all powers taken together that make up the world. These
are frequently at variance: and as they endeavour to destroy
each other, Nature holds them together, and again produces
them. From the first animal tendency to handicraft attempts,
up to the highest practising of intellectual art; from the
inarticulate crowings of the happy infant, up to the polished
utterance of the orator and singer; from the first bickerings
of boys up to the vast equipments by which countries are
conquered and retained; from the slightest kindliness and
the most transitory love, up to the fiercest passion and the
most earnest covenant; from the merest perception of sensible
presence up to the faintest presentiments and hopes of the
remotest spiritual future; all this and much more also lies in
man, and must be cultivated: yet not in one, but in many.
Every gift is valuable, and ought to be unfolded. '¥hen one
encourages the beautiful alone, and another encourages the
useful alone, it takes them both to form a man. The useful
encourages itself; for the multitude produce it, and no one
can dispense with it: the beautiful must be encouraged; for
few can set it forth, and many need it."
"Hold! hold!" cried Wilhelm: "I have read it all."-
"Yet a line or two!" said Jarno: "Here is our worthy Abbe
to a hairsbreadth: 'One power rules another; none can
cultivate another: in each endowment, and not elsewhere,
lies the force which must complete it; this many people do
not understand, who yet attempt to teach and influence.'''-
"I too do not understand it," answered Wilhelm.-" You will
often hear the Abbe preach on this text; and, therefore, 'Let
us merely keep a clear and steady eye on what is in ourselves;
on what endowments of our own we mean to cultivate; let us
be just to others; for we ourselves are only to be valued in so
far as we can value.' "-" For Heaven's sake, no more of these
wise saws! I feel them to be but a sorry balsam for a wounded
heart. Tell me rather, with your cruel settled ness, what you
expect of me, how and in what manner you intend to sacrifice
me."-" For every such suspicion, I assure you, you will
afterwards beg our pardon. It is your affair to try and
choose; it is ours to aid you. A man is never happy till his
vague striving has itself marked out its proper limitation. It
is not to me that you must look, but to the Abbe: it is not of
yourself that you must think, but of what surrounds you.
Thus, for instance, learn to understand Lothario's superiority;
how his quick and comprehensive vision is inseparably united
with activity; how he constantly advances; how he expands
his influence, and carries everyone along with him. Wherever
he may be, he bears a world about with him: his presence
animates and kindles. Observe our good Physician, on the
other hand! His nature seems to be directly the reverse. If
the former only works upon the general whole, and at a
distance, the latter turns his piercing eye upon the things that
are beside him; he rather furnishes the means for being active,
than himself displays or stimulates activity. His conduct is
exactly like the conduct of a good domestic manager; he is
busied silently, while he provides for each in his peculiar sphere;
his knowledge is a constant gathering and expending, a taking
in and giving out on the small scale. Perhaps Lothario in a
single day might overturn what the other had for years been
employed in building up: but perhaps Lothario also might
impart to others, in a moment, strength sufficient to restore
a hundredfold what he had overturned."-" It is but a sad
employment," answered Wilhelm, "to contemplate the sublime
advantages of others, at a moment when we are at
variance with ourselves. Such contemplations suit the man
at ease; not him whom passion and uncertainty are agitating."
"Peacefully and reasonably to contemplate is at no time
hurtful," answered Jarno: "and while we use ourselves to
think of the advantages of others, our own mind comes insensibly
to imitate them; and every false activity, to which
our fancy was alluring us, is then willingly abandoned. Free
your mind, if you can, from all suspicion and anxiety. Here
comes the Abbe: be courteous towards him, till you have
learned still farther what you owe him. The rogue! There
he goes between Natalia and Theresa; I could bet he is conniving something. As in general he likes to act the part of
Destiny a little; so he does not fail to show a taste for making
matches, when he finds an opportunity."
Wilhelm, whose angry and fretful humour all the placid
prudent words of Jarno had not bettered, thought his friend
exceedingly indelicate for mentioning marriage at a moment
like the present; he answered with a smile indeed, but a rather
bitter one: "I thought the taste for making matches had
been left to those that had a taste for one another."

CHAPTER 6

THE company had met again; the conversation of our
friends was necessarily interrupted. Ere long a courier was
announced, as wishing to deliver with his own hand a letter
to Lothario. The man was introduced: he had a vigorous
sufficient look; his livery was rich and handsome. Wilhelm
thought he knew him: nor was he mistaken; for it was the
man whom he had sent to seek Philina and the fancied
Mariana, and who never came back. Our friend was about to
address him, when Lothario, who had read the letter, asked
the courier with a serious, almost angry tone: "What is your
master's name?"
"Of all questions," said the other with a prudent air, "this
is the one which I am least prepared to answer. I hope the
letter will communicate the necessary information: verbally I
have been charged with nothing."
"Be it as it will," replied Lothario with a smile; "since
your master puts such trust in me as to indite a letter so
exceedingly facetious, he shall be welcome to us."-" He will
not keep you long waiting for him," said the courier with a
bow, and withdrew.
" Do but hear the distracted stupid message," said Lothario.
'" As of all guests, Good Humour is believed to be the most
agreeable wherever he appears, and as I always keep that
gentleman beside me by way of travelling companion, I feel
persuaded that the visit I intend to pay your noble Lordship
will not be taken ill; on the contrary, I hope the whole of
your illustrious family will witness my arrival with complete
satisfaction; and in due time also my departure; being always,
et cetera, Count of Snailfoot,'"
"'Tis a new family," said the Abbe.
" A vicariat count, perhaps," said Jarno.
"The secret is easy to unriddle," said Natalia: "I wager it
is none but brother Friedrich, who has threatened us with a
visit ever since my uncle's death."
" Right! fair and skilful sister!" cried a voice from the
nearest thicket; and immediately a pleasant, cheerful youth
stept forward. Wilhelm could scarcely restrain' a cry of
wonder. " How?" exclaimed he: "Does our fair-haired
knave, too, meet me here?" Friedrich looked attentively,
and recognising Wilhelm, cried: "In truth it would not have
astonished me so much to have beheld the famous Pyramids,
which still stand fast in Egypt, or the grave of King
Mausolus, which, as I am told, does not exist, here placed
before me in my uncle's garden, as to find you in it, my old
friend, and frequent benefactor. Accept my best and heartiest
service! "
After he had kissed and complimented the whole circle, he
again sprang towards Wilhelm, crying: "Use him well, this
hero, this leader of armies, and dramatical philosopher!
When we became acquainted first, I dressed his hair indifferently,
I may say execrably; yet he afterwards saved me
from a pretty load of blows. He is magnanimous as Scipio,
munificent as Alexander; at times he is in love, yet he never
hates his rivals. Far from heaping coals of fire on the heads
of his enemies,-a piece of service, I am told, which we can do
for any one,-he rather, when his friends have carried off' his
love, despatches good and trusty servants after them, that they
may not strike their feet against a stone."
In the same style, he ran along with a volubility which
baffled all attempts to restrain it; and as no one could reply
to him in that vein, he had the conversation mostly to himself.
"Do not wonder," cried he, "that I am so profoundly versed
in sacred and profane writers: you shall hear by and by how I
attained my learning." They wished to know how matters
stood with him, where he had been; but crowds of proverbs
and old stories choked his explanation.
Natalia whispered to Theresa: "His gaiety afflicts me; I
am sure at heart he is not merry."
As, except a few jokes which Jamo answered, Friedrich's
merriment was met by no response from those about him, he
was obliged at last to say: " Well, there is nothing left for
me, but among so many grave faces to be grave myself. And
as in such a solemn scene, the burden of my sins falls heavy
on my soul, I must honestly resolve upon a general confession;
for which, however, you, my worthy gentlemen and ladies,
shall not be a jot the wiser. This honourable friend already
knows a little of my walk and conversation; he alone shall
know the rest; and this the rather, as he alone has any cause
to ask about it. Are not you," continued he to Wilhelm,
"curious about the how and where, the when and wherefore?
And how it stands with the conjugation of the Greek verb
1>tA,EW, 1>tA,W, and the derivatives of that very amiable part of
speech ?"
He then took Wilhelm by the arm, and led him off,
pressing him and skipping round him with the liveliest air of
kindness.
Scarcely had they entered Wilhelm's room, when Friedrich
noticed, in the window, a powder-knife, with the inscription
Think of me. " You keep your valuables well laid up !" said
he; "This is the powder-knife Philina gave you, when I pulled
your locks for you. I hope, in looking at it, you have diligently
thought of that fair damsel: I assure you, she has
not forgotten you; if I had not long ago obliterated every
trace of jealousy from my heart, I could not look on you.
without envy."
"Talk no more of that creature," answered Wilhelm. "I
confess, it was a while before I could get rid of the impression,
which her looks and manner made on me; but that was all."
"Fy! fy!" cried Friedrich: "would anyone deny his
deary? You loved her as completely as a man could wish.
No clay passed without your giving her some present; and
when a German gives, you may be sure he loves. No alternative remained for me but whisking her away from you; and
in this the little red officer at last succeeded."
" How ! You were the officer whom we discovered with
her, whom she travelled off with?"
"Yes," said Friedrich, "whom you took for Mariana. We
had sport enough at the mistake."
"What cruelty," cried Wilhelm, "to leave me in such
suspense! "
"And besides to take the courier, whom you sent to catch
us, into pay!" said Friedrich. "He is a very active fellow;
we have kept him by us ever since. And the girl herself I
love as desperately as ever. She has managed me in some
peculiar style: I am almost in a mythologic case; every day I
tremble at the thought of being metamorphosed."
"But tell me, pray," said Wilhelm, "where have you acquired
this stock of erudition? It surprises me to hear the
strange way you have assumed of speaking always with a reference
to ancient histories and fables."
"It was by a pleasant plan," said Friedrich, "that I got
my learning. Philina lives with me at present: we have got a
lease of an old knightly castle from the farmer in whose ground
it is: and there we live, with the hobgoblins of the place, as
merrily as possible. In one of the rooms, we found a small
but choice library, consisting of a folio Bible, Gottfried's
Chronicle, two volumes of the Theatrum E1t1"Opceum, an
Acerra Philologica, Gryphius' Writings, and some other less
important works. As we now and then, when tired of romping,
felt the time hang heavy on our hands, we proposed to
read some books; and before we were aware, the time hung
heavier than ever. At last, Philina hit upon the royal plan of
laying all the tomes, opened at once, upon a large table: we
sat down opposite to one another: we read to one another;
al ways in detached passages, first from this book, then from
that. Here was a proper pleasure! We felt now as if we
were in good society, where it is reckoned unbecoming to
dwell on any subject, or search it to the bottom; we thought
ourselves in witty gay society, where none will let his neighbour
speak. We regularly treat ourselves with this diversion
every day; and the erudition we obtain from it is quite surprising.
Already there is nothing new for us under the sun;
on everything we see or hear, our learning offers us a hint.
This method of instruction we diversify in many ways. Frequently
we read by an old spoiled sand-glass, which runs in
a minute or two. The moment it is down the silent party
turns it round like lightning, and commences reading from his
book; and no sooner is it down again, than the other cuts him
short, and starts the former topic. Thus we study in a truly
academic manner: only our hours are shorter, and our studies
are extremely varied."
"This rioting is quite conceivable," said Wilhelm," when
a pair like you two are together: but how a pair so full of
frolic stay together, does not seem so easily conceivable."
"It is our good fortune," answered Friedrich, "and our
bad. Philina dare not let herself be seen, she cannot bear to
see herself, she is in the family way. Nothing ever was so
ludicrous and shapeless in the world. A little while before I
came away, she chanced to cast an eye upon the looking-glass
in passing. 'Faugh! ' cried she, and turned away her face:
'the living picture of the Frau Melina! Shocking figure!
One looks entirely deplorable!'"
"I confess," said Wilhelm with a smile, "it must be rather
farcical to see a father and a mother such as you and she
together."
"'Tis a foolish business," answered Friedrich, "that I must,
at last, be raised to the paternal dignity. But she asserts, and
the time agrees. At first that cursed visit which she paid you
after Hamlet gave me qualms."
" What visit? "
" I suppose you have not quite slept off the memory of it
yet? The pretty, flesh-and-blood spirit of that night, if you
do not know it, was Philina. The story was in truth a hard
dower for me; but if we cannot be content with such things,
we should not be in love. Fatherhood at any rate depends
entirely upon conviction: I am convinced, and so I am a
father. There, you see, I can employ my logic in the proper
season too. And if the brat do not laugh itself to death so
soon as it is born, it may prove, if not a useful, at least a
pleasant citizen of this world."
Whilst our friends were talking thus of mirthful subjects,
the rest of the party had begun a serious conversation.
Scarcely were Friedrich and Wilhelm gone, when the Abbe
led his friends, as if by chance, into a garden-house; and
having got them seated, thus addressed them:
"We have in general terms asserted that Fraulein Theresa
was not the daughter of her reputed mother: it is fit that we
should now explain ourselves on this matter, in detail. I shall
relate the story to you, which I undertake to prove and to
elucidate in every point.
"Frau von * * * spent the first years of her wedlock in the
utmost concord with her husband; only they had this misfortune,
that the children she brought him came into the world
dead; and on occasion of the third, the mother was declared
by the Physicians to be on the verge of death, and to be sure
of death if she should ever have another. The parties were
obliged to take their resolution: they would not break the
marriage; it was too suitable to both, in a civil point of view.
Frau von * * * sought in the culture of her mind, in a certain
habit of display, in the joys of vanity, a compensation for the
happiness of motherhood which was refused her. She cheerfully
indulged her husband, when she noticed in him an
attachment to a young lady, who had sole charge of their
domestic economy; a person of beautiful exterior, and very
solid character. Frau von * * * herself, ere long, assisted in
procuring an arrangement by which the lady yielded to
the wishes of Theresa's father; continuing to discharge
her household duties, and testifying to the mistress of the
family, if possible, a more submissive zeal to serve her than
before.
"After a while, she declared herself with child: and both
the father and his wife, on this occasion, though from very
different causes, fell upon the same idea. Herr von * * ..•
wished to have the offspring of his mistress educated in the
house as his lawful child; and Frau von * * ., angry that the
indiscretion of her Doctor had allowed some whisper of her
condition to go abroad, proposed by a supposititious child to
counteract this; and likewise to retain, by such compliance,
the superiority in her household, which otherwise she was like
to lose. However, she was more backward than her husband:
she observed his purpose; and contrived, without any formal
question, to facilitate his explanation. She made her own
terms; obtaining almost everything that she required; and
hence the will, in which so little care was taken of the child.
The old Doctor was dead: they applied to a young, active and
discreet successor; he was well rewarded; he looked forward
to the credit of exposing and remedying the unskilfulness and
premature decision of his deceased colleague. The true
mother, not unwillingly, consented; they managed the deception
very well; Theresa came into the world, and was surrendered
to a stepmother, while her mother fell a victim to
the plot; having died by venturing out too early, and left the
father inconsolable.
"Frau von -:t< * * had thus attained her object; in the eyes
of the world she had a lovely child, which she paraded with
excessive vanity; and she had also been delivered from a rival,
whose fortune she envied, and whose influence, at least in
prospect, she beheld with apprehension. The infant she loaded
with her tenderness ; and by affecting, in trustful hours, a lively
feeling for her husband's loss, she gained mastery of his heart;
so that in a manner he surrendered all to her; laid his own
happiness and that of his child in her hands; nor was it till
a short while prior to his death, and in some degree by the
exertions of his grown-up daughter, that he again assumed the
rule in his own house. This, fair Theresa, was in all probability
the secret, which your father, in his last sickness, so
struggled to communicate; this is what I wish to lay circumstantially
before you, at a moment when our young friend,
who by a strange concurrence has become your bridegroom,
happens to be absent. Here are the papers, which will prove
in the most rigorous manner everything that I have stated.
You will also see from them how long I have been following
the trace of this discovery, though till now I could never
attain certainty respecting it. I did not risk imparting to
my friend the possibility of such a happiness; it would have
wounded him too deeply, had this hope a second time deceived
him. You will understand poor Lydia's suspicions: I readily
confess, I nowise favoured the attachment of our friend to her,
whenever I began to look for a connexion with Theresa."
To this recital no one replied. The ladies, some days
afterwards, returned the papers, not making any further
mention of them.
There were other matters in abundance to engage the party
when they were together; and the scenery around was so
delightful, that our friends, singly or in company, on horseback,
in carriages, or on foot, delighted to explore it. On
one of these excursions, Jarno took an opportunity of opening
the affair to Wilhelm: he delivered him the papers; not however
seeming to require from him any resolution in regard to
them.
"In the singular position I am placed in," said our friend,
"I need only repeat to you what I said at first, in presence of
Natalia, and with the clear intention to fulfil it. Lothario
and his friends may require of me every sort of self-denial: I
here abandon in their favour all pretensions to Theresa; do
you procure me, in return, a formal discharge. There requires
no great reflection to decide. For some days, I have noticed
that Theresa has to make an effort in retaining any show of
the vivacity with which she welcomed me at first. Her affection
is gone from me, or rather I have never had it."
"Such affairs are more conveniently explained," said Jarno,
"by a gradual process, in silence and expectation, than by
many words, which always cause a sort of fermentation and
embarrassment."
"I rather think," said Wilhelm, "that precisely this affair
admits of the most clear and calm decision on the spot. I
have often been reproached with hesitation and uncertainty:
why will you now, when I do not hesitate, commit against
myself the fault you have often blamed in me? Do our neighbours
take such trouble with our training, only to let us feel
that they themselves are untrained? Yes, grant me soon the
cheerful thought that I am out of a mistaken project, into
which I entered with the purest feelings in the world."
Notwithstanding this request, some days elapsed without his
hearing any more of the affair, or observing any further alteration
in his friends. The conversation, on the contrary, was
general and of indifferent matters.

CHAPTER 7

JARNO and Wilhelm were sitting one day by Natalia. "You
are thoughtful, Jarno," said the lady; "I have seen it in your
looks for some time."
"I am so," answered Jarno: "a weighty business is before
me, which we have for years been meditating, and must now
begin to execute. You already know the outline of it: I may
speak of it before our friend; for it will depend on himself,
whether he too shall not share in it. You are going to get rid
of me, before long: I mean to take a voyage to America."
"To America?" said Wilhelm, smiling: "Such an adventure
I did not anticipate from you; still less that you would
have selected me for a companion."
"When you rightly understand our plan," said Jarno, "you
will give it a more honourable name; and perhaps yourself be
tempted to embark in it. Listen to me. It requires but a
slight acquaintance with the business of the world to see that
mighty changes are at hand, that property is almost nowhere
quite secure."
"Of the business of the world I have no clear notion," interrupted
Wilhelm; "and it is but of late that I ever thought
about my property. Perhaps I had done well to drive it out
of my head still longer ; the care of securing it, appears to give
us hypochondria."
"Hear me out," said Jarno: "Care beseems ripe age, that
youth may live for a time free from care: in the conduct of
poor mortals, equilibrium cannot be restored except by contraries.
As matters go, it is anything but prudent to have
property in only one place, to commit your money to a single
spot; and it is difficult again to guide it well in many. We
have therefore thought of something else. From our old tower
there is a society to issue, which must spread itself through
every quarter of the world, and to which members from every
quarter of the world shall be admissible. We shall ensure a
competent subsistence to each other, in the single case of a
revolution happening, which might drive any part of us entirely
from their possessions. I am now proceeding to America, to
profit by the good connexions which our friend established
while he stayed there. The Abbe means to go to Russia: if
you like to join us, you shall have the choice of continuing in
Germany to help Lothario, or of accompanying me. I conjecture
you will choose the latter: to take a distant journey is
extremely serviceable to a young man."
Wilhelm thought a moment, and replied: "The offer well
deserves consideration; for ere long the word with me must
be, The farther off the better. You will let me know your
plan, I hope, more perfectly. It is perhaps my ignorance of
life that makes me think so; but such a combination seems to
me to be attended with insuperable difficulties."
"The most of which, till now, have been avoided," answered
Jarno, "by the circumstance, that we have been but few in
number, honourable, discreet, determined people, animated by
a certain general feeling, out of which alone the feeling proper
for societies can spring."-" And if you speak me fair," said
Friedrich, who hitherto had only listened, "I too will go along
with you." Jarno shook his head.
" Well, what objections can you make?" cried Friedrich.
"In a new colony, young colonists will be required; these I
bring with me: merry colonists will also be required; of these
I make you certain. Besides, I recollect a certain damsel, who
is out of place on this side of the water, the fair, soft-hearted
Lydia. What is the poor thing to do with her sorrow and
mourning, unless she get an opportunity to throw it to the
bottom of the sea, unless some brave fellow take her by the
hand ? You, my benefactor," said he, turning towards Wilhelm,
"you have a taste for comforting forsaken persons: what
withholds you now? Each of us might take his girl under his
arm, and trudge with Jarno."
This proposal struck Wilhelm offensively. He answered
with affected calmness: "I know not whether she is unengaged;
and as in general I seem to be unfortunate in courtship,
I shall hardly think of making the attempt."
"Brother Friedrich," said Natalia, "though thy own conduct
is so full of levity, it does not follow that such sentiments
will answer others. Our friend deserves a heart that shall
belong to him alone, that shall not at his side be moved by
foreign recollections. It was only with a character as pure
and reasonable as Theresa's, that such a venture could be
risked."
"Risk!" cried Friedrich: "In love it is all risk. In the
grove or at the altar, with a clasp of the arms or a golden
ring, by the chirping of the cricket or the sound of trumpets
and kettledrums, it is all but a risk; chance does it all."
"I have often noticed," said Natalia, "that our principles
are just a supplement to our peculiar manner of existence.
"We delight to clothe our errors in the garb of universal laws;
to attribute them to irresistibly-appointed causes. Do but
think, by what a path thy dear will lead thee, now that she
has drawn thee towards her, and holds thee fast there."
"She herself is on a very pretty path," said Friedrich," on
the path to saintship. A by-path, it is true, and somewhat
roundabout; but the pleasanter and surer for that. Maria of
Magdala travelled it, and who can say how many more? But
on the whole, sister, when the point in hand is love, thou
shouldst not mingle in it. In my opinion, thou wilt never
marry, till a bride is lacking somewhere; in that case, thou
wilt give thyself, with thy habitual charity, to be the supplement
of some peculiar manner of existence; not otherwise.
So let us strike a bargain with this soul-broker, and agree
about our travelling company."
"You come too late with your proposals," answered Jarno;
"Lydia is disposed of."
"And how?" cried Friedrich.
"I myself have offered her my hand," said Jarno.
"Old gentleman," said Friedrich, "you have done a feat
to which, if we regard it as a substantive, various adjectives
might be appended; various predicates, if we regard it as a
subject."
"I must honestly confess," replied Natalia, "it appears a
dangerous experiment to make a helpmate of a woman, at the
very moment when her love for another man is like to drive
her to despair."
"I have ventured," answered Jarno; "under a certain stipulation,
she is to be mine. And, believe me, there is nothing
in the world more precious than a heart susceptible of love
and passion. Whether it has loved, whether it still loves, are
points which I regard not. The love of which another is the
object, charms me almost more than that which is directed to
myself. I see the strength, the force of a tender soul, and my
self-love does not trouble the delightful vision."
"Have you talked with Lydia, then, of late?" inquired
Natalia.
Jarno smiled and nodded: Natalia shook her head, and said
as he rose: "I really know not what to make of you; but me
you shall not mystify, I promise you."
She was about retiring, when the Abbe entered with a letter
in his hand. "Stay, if you please," said he to her: "I have a
proposal here, respecting which your counsel will be welcome.
The Marchese, your late uncle's friend, whom for some time
we have been expecting, will be here in a day or two. He
writes to me, that German is not so familiar to him as he had
supposed; that he needs a person who possesses this and other
languages to travel with him; that as he wishes to connect
himself with scientific rather than political society, he cannot
do without some such interpreter. I can think of no one better
suited for the post than our young friend here. He knows the
language; is acquainted with many things beside; and for
himself, it cannot but be advantageous to travel over Germany
in such society and such circumstances. Till we have seen
our native country, we have no scale to judge of other
countries by. What say you, my friend? ·What say you,
Natalia?"
Nobody objected to the scheme: Jarno seemed to think his
Transatlantic project would not be a hindrance, as he did not
mean to sail directly. Natalia did not speak; and Friedrich
uttered various saws about the uses of travel.
This new project so provoked our friend, that he could
hardly conceal his irritation. He saw, in this proposal, a
concerted plan for getting rid of him as soon as possible;
and what was worse, they went so openly to work, and seemed
so utterly regardless of his feelings. The suspicions Lydia
had excited in him, all that he himself had witnessed, rose
again upon his mind; the simple manner in which everything
had been explained by Jarno, now appeared to him another
piece of artifice.
He constrained himself, and answered: "At all events, the
offer will require mature deliberation."
"A quick decision may perhaps be necessary," said the
Abbe.
"For that I am not prepared," answered Wilhelm. "We
can wait till the Marchese comes, and then observe if we agree
147
man," said the Abbe, with a certain
"is always called upon to form con-
CHAP. VI!.] MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP
together. One condition must, however be conceded first of
all: that I take Felix with me."
"This is a condition," said the Abbe, " which will scarcely
be conceded."
"And I do not see," cried Wilhelm, "why I should let
any man prescribe conditions to me; or why, if I choose
to view my native country, I must go in company with an
Italian."
"Because a young
imposing earnestness,
nexions."
Wilhelm, feeling that he could not 10llg retain his self-command,
as it was Natalia's presence only which in some
degree assuaged his indignation, hastily made answer: "Give
me a little while to think. I imagine it will not be very hard
to settle whether I am called upon to form additional connexions;
or ordered irresistibly, by heart and head, to free
myself from such a multiplicity of bonds, which seem to
threaten me with a perpetual, miserable thraldom."
Thus he spoke, with a deeply-agitated mind. A glance at
Natalia somewhat calmed him: her form and dignity, in this
impassioned moment, stamped themselves more deeply on his
mind than ever.
"Yes," said he, so soon as he was by himself, "confess it,
thou lovest her; thou once more feelest what it means to love
with thy whole soul. Thus did I love Mariana, and deceive
myself so dreadfully; I loved Philina, and could not help
despising her. Aurelia I respected, and could not love:
Theresa I reverenced, and paternal tenderness assumed the
form of an affection for her. And now when all the feelings
that can make a mortal happy meet within my heart, now
am I compelled to fly! Ah! why should these feelings and
convictions be combined with an insuperable longing? Why,
without the hope of its fulfilment, should they utterly subvert
all other happiness? Shall the sun and the world, society
or any other gift of fortune, ever henceforth yield me pleasure?
Shalt thou not for ever say: Natalia is not here! And yet,
alas, Natalia will be always present to thee! If thou closest
thy eyes, she will appear to thee; if thou openest them, her
form will flit before all outward things, like the image which
a dazzling object leaves behind it in the eye. Did not the
swiftly-passing figure of the Amazon dwell continually in thy
imagination? And yet thou hadst but seen her, thou didst
not know her. Now, when thou knowest her, when thou hast
been so long beside her, when she has shown such care about
thee; now are her qualities impressed as deeply upon thy
soul, as her form was then upon thy fancy. It is painful
to be always seeking; but far more painful to have found,
and to be forced to leave. What now shall I ask for farther
in the world? What now shall I look for farther? Is there
a country, a city that contains a treasure such as this? And
I must travel on, and ever find inferiority? Is life, then, like
a race-course, where a man must rapidly return, when he has
reached the utmost end? Does the good, the excellent stand
before us like a firm unmoving goal, from which with fleet
horses we are forced away, the instant we appeared to have
attained it? Happier are they who strive for earthly wares!
They find what they are seeking in its proper climate, or they
buy it in the fair.
"Come, my own boy!" cried he to Felix, who now ran
frisking towards him· "be thou, and remain thou, all to me !
Thou wert given me as a compensation for thy loved mother;
thou wert to replace the second mother whom I meant for
thee; and now thou hast a loss still greater to make good.
Occupy my heart, occupy my spirit with thy beauty, thy
loveliness, thy capabilities, and thy desire to use them!"
The boy was busied with a new plaything; his father tried
to put it in a better state for him; just as he succeeded,
Felix had lost all pleasure in it. "Thou art a true son of
Adam!" cried Wilhelm: "Come, my child! Come, my
brother! let us wander, playing without object, through the
world, as we best may."
His resolution to remove, to take the boy along with him,
and recreate his mind by looking at the world, had now
assumed a settled form. He wrote to Werner for the necessary
cash and letters of credit; sending Friedrich's courier on
the message, with the strictest charges to return immediately.
Much as the conduct of his other friends had grieved him, his
relation to Natalia remained serene and clear as ever.
He confided to her his intention: she took it as a settled
thing that he would go; and if this seeming carelessness in
her chagrined him, her kindly manner and her presence made
him calm. She counselled him to visit various towns, that
he might get acquainted with certain of her friends. The
courier returned, and brought the letter which our friend
required, though Werner did not seem content with this new
whim. "My hope that thou wert growing reasonable," so the
letter ran, "is now again deferred. Where are you all gadding?
And where lingers the lady, who, thou saidst, was
to assist us in arranging these affairs? Thy other friends also
are absent: they have thrown the whole concern upon the
shoulders of the Lawyer and myself. Happy that he is as
expert a jurist, as I am a financier; and that both of us are
used to business. Fare thee well! Thy aberrations shall be
pardoned thee; since but for them, our situation here could
not have been so favourable."
So far as outward matters were concerned, Wilhelm might
now have entered on his journey; but there were still, for his
heart, two hindrances that held him fast. In the first place,
they flatly refused to show him Mignon's body, till the funeral
the Abbe meant to celebrate; and for this solemnity, the
preparations were not ready. There had also been a curious
letter from the country Clergyman, in consequence of which
the Doctor had gone off. It related to the Harper; of whose
fate Wilhelm wanted to have farther information.
In these circumstances, day or night he found no rest for
mind or body. When all were asleep, he wandered up and
down the house. The presence of the pictures and statues,
which he knew so well of old, alternately attracted and
repelled him. Nothing that surrounded him could he lay
hold of or let go; all things reminded him of all; the whole
ring of his existence lay before him; but it was broken into
fragments, and seemed as if it would never unite again. These
works of art, which his father had sold, appeared to him an
omen that he himself was destined never to obtain a lasting
calm possession of anything desirable in life, or always to be
robbed of it so soon as gained, by his own or other people's
blame. He waded so deep in these strange and dreary meditations,
that often he almost thought himself a disembodied
spirit; and even when he felt and handled things without
him, he could scarcely keep himself from doubting whether he
was really there and alive.
Nothing but the piercing grief, which often seized him, but
the tears he shed at being forced, by causes frivolous as they
were irresistible, to leave the good which he had found, and
found after having lost it,-restored him to the feeling of his
earthly life. It was in vain to call before his mind his happy
state in other respects. "All is nothing, then," exclaimed he,
"if the one blessing, which appears to us worth all the rest, is
wanting! "
The Abbe told the company that the Marchese was arrived.
"You have determined, it appears," said he to 1Vilhelm, "to
set out upon your travels with your boy alone. Get acquainted
with this nobleman, however; he will be useful to you, if you
meet him by the way." The Marchese entered: he was a
person not yet very far advanced in years; a fine, handsome,
pleasing Lombard figure. In his youth, while in the army
and afterwards in public business, he had known Lothario's
uncle; they had subsequently travelled through the greater
part of Italy together; and many of the works of art, which
the Marchese now again fell in with, had been purchased in his
presence, and under various happy circumstances, which he still
distinctly recollected.
The Italians have in general a deeper feeling for the
high dignity of art than any other nation. In Italy, whoever
follows the employment, tries to pass at once for artist, master
and professor: by which pretensions, he acknowledges at least
that it is not sufficient merely to lay hold of some transmitted
excellency, or to acquire by practice some dexterity; but that
a man who aims at art, should have the power to think of
what he does, to lay down principles, and make apparent to
himself and others how and wherefore he proceeds in this way
or in that.
The stranger was affected at again beholding these productions,
when the owner of them was no more; and cheered to
see the spirit of his friend surviving in the gifted persons left
behind him. They discussed a series of works; they found
a lively satisfaction in the harmony of their ideas. The
Marchese and the Abbe were the speakers; Natalia felt herself
again transported to the presence of her uncle, and could enter
without difficulty into their opinions and criticisms; Wilhelm
could not understand them, except as he translated their
technology into dramatic language. Friedrich's facetious vein
was sometimes rather difficult to keep in check. Jarno was
seldom there.
It being observed that excellent works of art were very rare
in latter times, it was remarked by the Marchese: "We can
hardly think or estimate how many circumstances must combine
in favour of the artist: with the greatest genius, with the
most decisive talent, the demands which he must make upon
himself are infinite, the diligence required in cultivating his
endowments is unspeakable. Now, if circumstances are not in
his favour; if he observed that the world is very easy to be
satisfied, requiring but a slight, pleasing, transitory show; it
were matter of surprise, if indolence and selfishness did not
keep him fixed at mediocrity; it were strange if he did not
rather think of bartering modish wares for gold and praises,
than of entering on the proper path, which could not fail in
some degree to lead him to a sort of painful martyrdom.
Accordingly, the artists of our time are always offering and
never giving. They always aim at charming, and they never
satisfy: everything is merely indicated; you can nowhere
find foundation or completion. Those for whom they labour,
it is true, are little better. If you wait a while in any gallery
of pictures, and observe what works attract the many, what
are praised and what neglected, you have little pleasure in the
present, little hope in the future."
"Yes," replied the Abbe; "and thus it is that artists and
their judges mutually form each other. The latter ask for
nothing but a general vague enjoyment, a work of art is to
delight them almost as a work of nature; they imagine that
the organs for enjoying works of art may be cultivated altogether
of themselves, like the tongue and the palate; they try
a picture or a poem as they do an article of food. They do
not understand how very different a species of culture it
requires to raise one to the true enjoyment of art. The
hardest part of it, in my opinion, is that sort of separation,
which a man that aims at perfect culture must accomplish in
himself. It is on this account that we observe so many people
partially cultivated; and yet everyone of them attempting to
pronounce upon the general whole."
"Your last remark is not quite clear to me," said Jarno,
who came in just then.
"It would be difficult," replied the Abbe, "to explain it
fully without a long detail. Thus much I may say: When
any man pretends to mix in manifold activity or manifold
enjoyment, he must also be enabled as it were to make his
organs manifold and independent of each other. Whoever
aims at doing or enjoying all and everything with his entire
nature; whoever tries to link together all that is without him
by such a species of enjoyment, will only lose his time in
efforts that can never be successful. How difficult, though it
seems so easy, is it to contemplate a noble disposition, a fine
picture simply in and for itself; to watch the music for the
music's sake; to admire the actor in the actor; to take
pleasure in a building for its own peculiar harmony and durability ! Most men are wont to treat a work of art, though
fixed and done, as if it were a piece of soft clay. The hard
and polished marble is again to mould itself, the firm-walled
edifice is to contract or to expand itself, according as their
inclinations, sentiments and whims may dictate; the picture
is to be instructive, the play to make us better, everything
is to do all. The reason is, that most men are themselves
unformed, they cannot give themselves and their being any
certain shape: and thus they strive to take from other things
their proper shape, that all they have to do with may be loose
and wavering like themselves. Everything is, in the long-run,
reduced by them to what they call effect; everything is relative,
say they; and so indeed it is; everything with them grows
relative, except absurdity and platitude, which truly are
absolute enough,'"
"I understand you," answered Jarno; "or rather I perceive
how what you have been saying follows from the principles
you hold so fast by. Yet with men, poor devils, we should
not go to quest so strictly. I know now of them in truth,
who, beside the greatest works of art and nature, forthwith
recollect their own most paltry insufficiency; who take their
conscience and their morals with them to the opera; who
bethink them of their loves and hatreds in contemplating a
colonnade. The best and greatest that can be presented to
them from without, they must first, as far as possible, diminish
in their way of representing it, that they may in any measure
be enabled to combine it with their own sorry nature."

CHAPTER 8

THE Abbe called them, in the evening, to attend the
obsequies of Mignon. The company proceeded to the Hall of
the Past; they found it magnificently ornamented and illuminated.
The walls were hung with azure tapestry almost from
. ceiling to floor, so that nothing but the friezes and socles,
above and below, were visible. On the four candelabra in the
corners, large wax-lights were burning; smaller lights were in
the four smaller candelabra placed by the sarcophagus in the
middle. Near this stood four Boys, dressed in azure with
silver; they had broad fans of ostrich feathers, which they
waved above a figure that was resting upon the sarcophagus.
The company sat down: two invisible Choruses began in a soft
musical recitative to ask: "Whom bring ye us to the still
dwelling?" The four Boys replied with lovely voices: "'Tis
a tired playmate whom we bring you; let her rest in your still
dwelling, till the songs of her heavenly sisters once more
awaken her."
CHORUS
Firstling of youth in our circle, we welcome thee! With
sadness welcome thee! May no boy, no maiden follow! Let
age only, willing and composed, approach the silent Hall, and
in the solemn company, repose this one dear child!
BOYS
Ah, reluctantly we brought her hither!
remain here! Let us too remain; let us
upon her bier!
CHORUS
Ah, and she is to
weep, let us weep
Yet look at the strong wings; look at the light clear robe!
How glitters the golden band upon her head! Look at the
beautiful, the noble repose!
BOYS
Ah! the wings do not raise her; in the frolic game, her
robe flutters to and fro no more; when we bound her head
with roses, her looks on us were kind and friendly.
CHORUS
Cast forward the eye of the spirit! Awake in your souls
the imaginative power, which carries forth, what is fairest,
what is highest, Life, away beyond the stars.
BOYS
But ah! we find her not here; in the garden she wanders
not; the flowers of the meadow she plucks no longer. Let us
weep, we are leaving her here! Let us weep and remain with
her!
CHORUS
Children, turn back into life! Your tearii let the fresh air
dry, which plays upon the rushing water. Fly from Night!
Day and Pleasure and Continuance are the lot of the living.
BOYS
Up! Turn back into life! Let the day give us labour
and pleasure, till the evening brings us rest, and the nightly
sleep refreshes us.
CHORUS
Children! Hasten into life! In the pure garments of
beauty, may Love meet you with heavenly looks and with the
wreath of immortality!
The Boys had retired; the Abbe rose from his seat, and
went behind the bier. "It is the appointment," said he, " of
the Man who prepared this silent abode, that each new tenant
of it shall be introduced with a solemnity. After him, the
builder of this mansion, the founder of this establishment, we
have next brought a young stranger hither: and thus already
does this little space contain two altogether different victims
of the rigorous, arbitrary, and inexorable Death-goddess. By
appointed laws we enter into life; the days are numbered
which make us ripe to see the light; but for the duration of
our life there is no law. The weakest thread will spin itself
to unexpected length; and the strongest is cut suddenly
asunder by the scissors of the Fates, delighting, as it seems, in
contradictions. Of the child, whom we have here committed
to her final rest, we can say but little. It is still uncertain
whence she came; her parents we know not; the years of her
life we can only conjecture. Her deep and closely-shrouded
soul allowed us scarce to guess at its interior movements:
there was nothing clear in her, nothing open but her affection
for the man, who had snatched her from the hands of a
barbarian. This impassioned tenderness, this vivid gratitude,
appeared to be the flame which consumed the oil of her life:
the skill of the physician could not save that fair life, the most
anxious friendship could not lengthen it. But if art could
not stay the departing spirit, it has done its utmost to preserve
the body, and withdraw it from decay. A balsamic substance
has been forced through all the veins, and now tinges, in place
of blood, these cheeks too early faded. Come near, my friends,
and view this wonder of art and care! "
He raised the veil: the child was lying in her angel's-dress,
as if asleep, in the most soft and graceful posture. They
approached, and admired this show of life. Wilhelm alone
continued sitting in his place: he was not able to compose
himself: what he felt, he durst not think; and every thought
seemed ready to destroy his feeling.
For the sake of the Marchese, the speech had been pronounced
in French. That nobleman came forward with the
rest, and viewed the figure with attention. The Abbe thus
proceeded: "With a holy confidence, this kind heart, shut
up to men, was continually turned to its God. Humility,
nay, an inclination to abase herself externally, seemed natural
to her. She clave with zeal to the Catholic religion, in which
she had been born and educated. Often she expressed a still
wish to sleep on consecrated ground: and according to the
usage of the church, we have therefore consecrated this
marble coffin, and the little earth which is hidden in the
cushion that supports her head. With what ardour did she
in her last moments kiss the image of the Crucified, which
stood beautifully figured on her tender arm, with many
hundred points!" So saying, he stripped up her right
sleeve; and a crucifix, with marks and letters round it,
showed itself in blue upon the white skin.
The Marchese looked at this with eagerness, stooping down
to view it more intensely. "O God!" cried he, as he stood
upright, and raised his hands to Heaven: "Poor child!
Unhappy niece! Do I meet thee here! What a painful
joy to find thee, whom we had long lost hope of; to find
this dear frame, which we had long believed the prey of
fishes in the ocean, here preserved, though lifeless! I assist
at thy funeral, splendid in its external circumstances, still
more splendid from the noble persons who attend thee to thy
place of rest. And to these," added he with a faltering
voice, "so soon as I can speak, I will express my thanks."
Tears hindered him from saying more. By the pressure of
a spring, the Abbe sank the body into the cavity of the
marble. Four Youths, dressed as the Boys had been, came
out from behind the tapestry; and lifting the heavy, beautifully
ornamented lid upon the coffin, thus began their song:
THE YOUTHS
Well is the treasure now laid up; the fair image of the
Past! Here sleeps it in the marble, undecaying; in your
hearts too it lives, it works. Travel, travel, back into life!
Take along with you this holy Earnestness;-for Earnestness
alone makes life eternity.
The invisible Chorus joined in with the last words: but no
one heard the strengthening sentiment; all were too much
busied with themselves, and the emotions which these wonderful
disclosures had excited. The Abbe and Natalia conducted
the Marchese out; Theresa and Lothario walked by Wilhelm.
It was not till the music had altogether died away, that their
sorrows, thoughts, meditations, curiosity again fpll on them
with all their force, and made them long to be transported
back into that exalting scene.

CHAPTER 9

THE Marchese avoided speaking of the matter; but had
long secret conversations with the Abbe. When the Company
was met, he often asked for music; a request to which they
willingly assented, as each was glad to be delivered from the
charge of talking. Thus they lived for some time, till it was
observed that he was making preparations for departure. One
day he said to Wilhelm: "I wish not to disturb the remains
of this beloved child; let her rest in the place where she loved
and suffered: but her friends must promise to visit me in her
native country; in the scene where she was born and bred;
they must see the pillars and statues, of which a dim idea
remained with her. I will lead you to the bays, where she
liked so well to roam and gather pebbles. You, at least,
young friend, shall not escape the gratitude of a family that
stands so deeply indebted to you. Tomorrow I set out on
my journey. The Abbe is acquainted with the whole history
of this matter: he will tell it you again. He could pardon
me when grief interrupted my recital; as a third party he
will be enabled to narrate the incidents with more connexion.
If, as the Abbe had proposed, you like to follow me in
travelling over Germany, you shall be heartily welcome.
Leave not your boy behind: at every little inconvenience
which he causes us, we will again remember your attentive
care of my poor niece."
The same evening, our party was surprised by the arrival
of the Countess. Wilhelm trembled in every joint as she
entered: she herself, though forewarned, kept close by her
sister, who speedily reached her a chair. How singularly
simple was her attire, how altered was her form! Wilhelm
scarcely dared to look at her: she saluted him with a kindly
air; a few general words addressed to him did not conceal
her sentiments and feelings. The Marchese had retired betimes;
and as the company were not disposed to part so
early, the Abbe now produced a manuscript. "The singular
narrative which was intrusted to me," said he, "I forthwith
put on paper. The case where pen and ink should least of
all be spared, is in recording the particular circumstances of
remarkable events." They informed the Countess of the
matter; and the Abbe read as follows, in the name of the
Marchese:
"Many men as I have seen, I still regard my father as a
very extraordinary person. His character was noble and
upright; his ideas were enlarged, I may even say great; to
himself he was severe; in all his plans there was a rigid order,
in all his operations an unbroken perseverance. In one sense,
therefore, it was easy to transact and live with him: yet
owing to the very qualities which made it so, be never could
accommodate himself to life; for he required from the state,
from his neighbours, from his children and his servants, the
observance of all the laws which he had laid upon himself.
His most moderate demands became exorbitant by his rigour:
and he never could attain to enjoyment, for nothing ever was
completed as he had forecast it. At the moment when he
was erecting a palace, laying out a garden, or acquiring a
large estate in the highest cultivation, I have seen him
inwardly convinced, with the sternest ire, that Fate had
doomed him to do nothing but abstain and suffer. In his
exterior, he maintained the greatest dignity; if he jested, it
was but displaying the preponderancy of his understanding.
Censure was intolerable to him; the only time I ever saw him
quite transported with rage, was once when he heard that one
of his establishments was spoken of as something ludicrous.
In the same spirit, he had settled the disposal of his children
and his fortune. My eldest brother was educated as a person
that had large estates to look for. I was to embrace the
clerical profession; the youngest was to be a soldier. I was
of a lively temper; fiery, active, quick, apt for corporeal
exercises: the youngest rather seemed inclined to an enthusiastic
quietism; devoted to the sciences, to music and poetry.
It was not till after the hardest struggle, the maturest
conviction of the impossibility of his project, that our father,
still reluctantly, agreed to let us change vocations; and
although he saw us both contented, he could never suit
himself to this arrangement, but declared that nothing good
would come of it. The older he grew, the more isolated did
he feel himself from all society. At last he came to live
almost entirely alone. One old friend, who had served in
the German armies, who had lost his wife in the campaign,
and brought a daughter of about ten years of age along with
him, remained his only visitor. This person bought a fine
little property beside us: he used to come and see my father
on stated days of the week, and at stated hours; his little
daughter often came along with him. He was never heard
to contradict my father; who at length grew perfectly
habituated to him, and endured him as the only tolerable
company he had. After our father's death, we easily observed
that this old gentleman had not been visiting for naught, that
his compliances had been rewarded by an ample settlement.
He enlarged his estates; his daughter might expect a handsome
portion. The girl grew up, and was extremely beautiful:
my elder brother often joked with me about her, saying
I should go and court her.
"Meanwhile brother Augustin, in the seclusion of his
cloister, had been spending his years in the strangest state
of mind. He abandoned himself wholly to the feeling of a
holy enthusiasm, to those half-spiritual, half-physical emotions,
which, as they for a time exalted him to the third
heaven, ere long sank him down to an abyss of powerlessness
and vacant misery. 'While my father lived, no change could
be contemplated: what indeed could we have asked for or
proposed? After the old man's death, our brother visited us
frequently: his situation, which at first afflicted us, in time
became much more tolerable: for his reason had at length
prevailed. But the more confidently reason promised him
complete recovery and contentment on the pure part of
nature, the more vehemently did he require of us to free him
from his vows. His thoughts, he let us know, were turned
upon Sperata, our fair neighbour.
"My elder brother had experienced too much suffering from
the harshness of our father, to look on the condition of the
youngest without sympathy. \Ye spoke with the family confessor,
a worthy old man; we signified to him the double
purpose of our brother, and requested him to introduce and
expedite the business. Contrary to custom, he delayed: and
at last, when Augustin pressed us, and we recommended the
affair more keenly to the clergyman, he had nothing left but
to impart the strange secret to us.
"Sperata was our sister, and that by both her parents. Our
mother had declared herself with child at a time when both
she and our father were advanced in years; a similar occurrence
had shortly before been made the subject of some
merriment in our neighbourhood; and our father, to avoid
such ridicule, determined to conceal this late lawful fruit of
love as carefully as people use to conceal its earlier accidental
fruits. Our mother was delivered secretly; the child was
carried to the country; and the old friend of the family, who,
with the confessor, had alone been trusted with the secret,
easily engaged to give her out for his daughter. The confessor
had reserved the right of disclosing the secret in case of
extremity. The supposed father was now dead; Sperata was
living with an old lady; we were aware that a love of song
and music had already led our brother to her; and on his
again requiring us to undo his former bond, that he might
engage himself by a new one, it was necessary that we should,
as soon as possible, apprise him of the danger he stood in.
"He viewed us with a wild contemptuous look. 'Spare
your idle tales,' cried he, 'for children and credulous fools;
from me, from my heart, they shall not tear Sperata; she is
mine. Recall, I pray you, instantly, your frightful spectre,
which would but harass me in vain. Sperata is not my sister;
she is my wife! ' He described to us, in rapturous terms, how
this heavenly girl had drawn him out of his unnatural state of
separation from his fellow-creatures into true life; how their
spirits accorded like their voices; how he blessed his sufferings
and errors, since they had kept clear of women, till the moment
when he wholly and forever gave himself to this most amiable
being. We were shocked at the discovery, we deplored his
situation, but we knew not how to help ourselves, for he
declared with violence, that Sperata had a child by him within
her bosom. Our confessor did whatever duty could suggest to
him, but by this means he only made the evil worse. The
relations of nature and religion, moral rights and civil laws,
were vehemently attacked and spurned at by our brother.
He considered nothing holy but his relation to Sperata;
nothing dignified but the names of father and wife. ' These
alone,' cried he, , are suitable to nature; all else is caprice and
opinion. Were there not noble nations which admitted marriage
with a sister? Name not your gods! You never name
them but when you wish to befool us, to lead us from the
paths of nature, and, by scandalous constraint, to transform
the noblest inclinations into crimes. Unspeakable are the
perplexities, abominable the abuses, into which you force the
victims whom you bury alive.
"'I may speak, for I have suffered like no other; from the
highest, sweetest feeling of enthusiasm, to the frightful deserts
of utter powerlessness, vacancy, annihilation and despair;
from the loftiest aspirations of preternatural existence, to the
most entire unbelief, unbelief in myself. All these horrid
grounds of the cup, so flattering at the brim, I have drained;
and my whole being was poisoned to its core. And now,
when kind Nature, by her greatest gift, by love, has healed
me; now, when in the arms of a heavenly creature, I again
feel that I am, that she is, that out of this living union a
third shall arise and smile in our faces; now ye open up the
flames of your Hell, of your Purgatory, which can only singe
a sick imagination; ye oppose them to the vivid, true, indestructible
enjoyment of pure love! Meet us under these
cypresses, which turn their solemn tops to heaven; visit us
among those espaliers where the citrons and pomegranates
bloom beside us, where the graceful myrtle stretches out its
tender flowers to us; and then venture to disturb us with your
dreary, paltry nets which men have spun!'
"Thus for a long time he persisted in a stubborn disbelief
of our story; and when we assured him of its truth, when the
confessor himself asseverated it, he did not let it drive him
from his point. 'Ask not the echoes of your cloisters, not
your mouldering parchments, not your narrow whims and
ordinances! Ask Nature and your heart; she will teach you
what you should recoil from; she will point out to you with
the strictest finger, over what she has pronounced her everlasting
curse. Look at the lilies: do not husband and wife
shoot forth on the same stalk? Does not the flower, which
bore them, hold them both? And is not the lily the type of
innocence; is not their sisterly union fruitful? When Nature
abhors, she speaks it aloud; the creature that shall not be is
not produced; the creature that lives with a false life is soon
destroyed. Unfruitfulness, painful existence, early destruction,
these are her curses, the marks of her displeasure. It is only
by immediate consequences that she punishes. Look around
you; and what is prohibited, what is accursed, will force itself
upon your notice. In the silence of the convent, in the tumult
of the world, a thousand practices are consecrated and revered,
while her curse rests on them. On stagnant idleness as on
overstrained toil, on caprice and superfluity as on constraint
and want, she looks down with mournful eyes: lIeI' call is to
moderation; true are all her commandments, peaceful all her
influences. The man who has suffered as I have done has a
right to be free. Sperata is mine; death alone shall take her
from me. How I shall retain her, how I may be happy, these
are your cares! This instant I go to her, and part from her
no more.'
"He was for proceeding to the boat, and crossing over to
her: we restrained him, entreating that he would not take a
step, which might produce the most tremendous consequences.
He should recollect, we told him, that he was not living in the
free world of his own thoughts and ideas; but in a constitution
of affairs, whose ordinances and relations had become inflexible
as laws of nature. The confessor made us promise not
to let him leave our sight, still less our house: after this he
went away, engaging to return ere long. What we had foreseen
took place: reason had made our brother strong, but his
heart was weak; the earlier impressions of religion rose on
him, and dreadful doubts along with them. He passed two
fearful nights and days: the confessor came again to his
assistance, but in vain! His enfranchised understanding
acquitted him: his feelings, religion, all his usual ideas
declared him guilty.
"One morning, we found his chamber empty: on the table
lay a note, in which he signified that, as we kept him prisoner
by force, he felt himself entitled to provide for his freedom;
that he meant to go directly to Sperata; he expected to escape
with her, and was prepared for the most terrible extremities,
should any separation be attempted.
"The news of course affrighted us exceedingly; but the
confessor bade us be at rest. Our poor brother had been
narrowly enough observed: the boatman, in place of taking
him across, proceeded with him to his cloister. Fatigued with
watching for the space of four-and-twenty hours, he fell
asleep, as the skiff began to rock him in the moonshine; and
he did not awake, till he saw himself in the hands of his
spiritual brethren; he did not recover from his amazement,
till he heard the doors of the convent bolting behind him.
"Sharply touched at the fate of our brother, we reproached
the confessor for his cruelty; but he soon silenced or convinced
us by the surgeon's reason, that our pity was destructive
to the patient. He let us know that he was not acting on
his own authority, but by order of the bishop and his chaptce;
that by this proceeding, they intended to avoid all public
scandal, and to shroud the sad occurrence under the veil of a
secret course of discipline prescribed by the Church. Our
sister they would spare; she was not to be told that her lover
was her brother. The charge of her was given to a priest, to
whom she had before disclosed her situation. They contrived
to hide her pregnancy and her delivery. As a mother she felt
altogether happy in her little one. Like most of our women,
she could neither write, nor read writing: she gave the priest
many verbal messages to carry to her lover. The latter,
thinking that he owed this pious fraud to a suckling mother,
often brought pretended tidings from our brother, whom he
never saw; recommending her, in his name, to be at peace;
begging of her to be careful of herself and of her child; and
for the rest to trust in God.
"Sperata was inclined by nature to religious feelings. Her
situation, her solitude increased this tendency; the clergyman
encouraged it, in order to prepare her by degrees for an
eternal separation. Scarcely was her child weaned, scarcely
did he think her body strong enough for suffering agony of
mind, when he began to paint her fault to her in most terrific
colours, to treat the crime of being connected with a priest as
a sort of sin against nature, as a sort of incest. For he had
taken up the strange thought of making her repentance equal
in intensity to what it would have been, had she known the
true circumstances of her error. He thereby produced so
much anxiety and sorrow in her mind; he so exalted the idea
of the Church and of its head before her; showed her the
awful consequences, for the weal of all men's souls, should
indulgence in a case like this he granted, and the guilty pair
rewarded by a lawful union ; signifying too how wholesome it
was to expiate such sins in time, and thereby gain the crown
of immortality,-that at last, like a poor criminal, she willingly
held out her neck to the axe, and earnestly entreated that she
might forever be divided from our brother. Having gained so
much, the clergy left her the liberty (reserving to themselves a
certain distant oversight) to live at one time in a convent, at
another in her house, according as she afterwards thought good.
"Her little girl meanwhile was growing: from her earliest
years, she had displayed an extraordinary disposition. When
still very young, she could run, and move with wonderful
dexterity; she sang beautifully, and learned to play upon the
cithern almost of herself. With words, however, she could
not express herself; and the impediment seemed rather to
proceed from her mode of thought, than from her organs of
speech. The feelings of the poor mother to her, in the mean
time, were of the most painful kind: the expostulations of the
priest had so perplexed her mind, that though she was not
quite deranged, her state was far from being sane. She daily
thought her crime more terrible and punishable; the clergyman's
comparison of incest, frequently repeated, had impressed
itself so deeply, that her horror was not less than if the actual
circumstances had been known to her. The priest took no
small credit for his ingenuity, with which he had contrived
to tear asunder a luckless creature's heart. It was miserable
to behold maternal love, ready to expand itself in joy at the
existence of her child, contending with the horrid feeling, that
this child should not be there. The two emotions strove
together in her soul; love was often weaker than aversion.
"The child had long ago been taken from her, and committed
to a worthy family residing on the sea-shore. In the
greater freedom, which the little creature enjoyed here, she
soon displayed her singular delight in climbing. To mount
the highest peaks, to run along the edges of the ships, to
imitate in all their strangest feats the rope-dancers, whom she
often saw in the place, seemed a natural tendency in her.
"To practise these things with the greater ease, she liked to
change clothes with boys: and though her foster parents
thought this highly blameable and unbecoming, we bade them
indulge her as much as possible. Her wild walks and leapings
often led her to a distance; she would lose her way, and be
long from home, but she always came back. In general, as
she returned, she used to set herself beneath the columns in
the portal of a country house in the neighbourhood: her
people now had ceased to look for her; they waited for her.
She would there lie resting on the steps; then run up and
down the large hall, looking at the statues; after which, if
nothing specially detained her, she used to hasten home.
"But at last our confidence was balked, and our indulgence
punished. The child went out, and did not come again: her
little hat was found swimming on the water, near the spot
where a torrent rushes down into the sea. It was conjectured
that, in clambering among the rocks, her foot had slipped; all
our searching could not find the body.
"The thoughtless tattle of her house-mates soon communicated
the occurrence to Sperata; she seemed calm and cheerful
when she heard it; hinting not obscenely at her satisfaction
that God had pleased to take her poor child to himself, and
thus preserved it from suffering or causing some more dreadful
misery.
"On this occasion, all the fables which are told about our
waters came to be the common talk. The sea, it was said,
required every year an innocent child: yet it would endure no
corpse, but sooner or later throw it to the shore; nay, the last
joint, though sunk to the lowest bottom, must again come
forth. They told the story of a mother, inconsolable because
her child had perished in the sea, who prayed to God and his
fmints to grant her at least the bones for burial. The first
storm threw ashore the skull, the next the spine; and after all
was gathered, she wrapped the bones in a cloth, and took them
to the church: but a! miraculous to tell! as she crossed the
threshold of the temple, the packet grew heavier and heavier,
and at last, when she laid it on the steps of the altar, the
child began to cry, and issued living from the cloth. One
joint of the right-hand little finger was alone wanting: this
too the mother anxiously sought and found; and in memory of
the event it was preserved among the other relics of the church.
"On poor Sperata these recitals made a deep impression,
her imagination took a new flight, and favoured the emotion
of her heart. She supposed that now the child had expiated:
by its death, both its own sins, and the sins of its parents:
that the curse and penalty, which hitherto had overhung them
all, was at length wholly removed; that nothing more was
necessary, could she only find the child's bones, that she might
carry them to Rome, where upon the steps of the great altar
in St. Peter's, her little girl, again covered with its fair fresh
skin, would stand up alive before the people. With its own
eyes it would once more look on father and mother; and the
Pope, convinced that God and his saints commanded it, would,
amid the acclamations of the people, remit the parents their
sins, acquit them of their oaths, and join their hands in wedlock.
"Her looks and her anxiety were henceforth constantly
directed to the sea and the beach. When, at night in the
moonshine, the waves were tossing to and fro, she thought
every glittering sheet of foam was bringing out her child;
and some one about her had to run oit', as if to take it up
when it should reach the shore.
"By day she walked unweariedly along the places where the
pebbly beach shelved slowly to the water: she gathered, in a
little basket, all the bones which she could find. None durst
tell her that they were the bones of animals: the larger ones
she buried, the little ones she took along with her. In this
employment she incessantly persisted. The clergyman, who,
by so unremittingly discharging what he thought his duty,
had reduced her to this condition, now stood up for her with
all his might. By his influence, the people in the neighbourhood
were made to look upon her not as a distracted person,
but as one entranced: they stood in reverent attitudes as she
walked by, and the children ran to kiss her hand.
"To the old woman, her attendant and faithful friend, the
secret of Sperata's guilt was at length imparted by the priest,
on her solemnly engaging to watch over the unhappy creature
with untiring care, through all her life. And she kept this
engagement to the last, with admirable conscientiousness and
patience.
"Meanwhile we had always had an eye upon our brother.
Neither the physicians nor the clergy of his convent would
allow us to be seen by him: but, in order to convince us of
his being well in some sort, we had leave to look at him as
often as we liked, in the garden, the passages, or even through
a window in the roof of his apartment.
"After many terrible and singular changes, which I shall
omit, he had passed into a strange state of mental rest and
bodily unrest. He never sat but when he took his harp and
played upon it, and then he usually accompanied it with singing.
At other times, he kept continually in motion; and in all
things he was grown extremely guidable and pliant, for all his
passions seemed to have resolved themselves into the single
fear of death. You could persuade him to do anything, by
threatening him with dangerous sickness or with death.
"Besides this singularity of walking constantly about the
cloister, a practice which he hinted it were better to exchange
for wandering over hill and dale, he talked about an Apparition
which perpetually tormented him. He declared, that on
awakening, at whatever hour of the night, he saw a beautiful
boy standing at the foot of his bed, with a bare knife, and
threatening to destroy him. They shifted him to various
other chambers of the convent; but he still asserted that the
boy pursued him. His wandering to and fro become more
unrestful: the people afterwards remembered too, that at this
time they had often seen him standing at the window looking
out upon the sea.
"Our poor sister, on the other hand, seemed gradually
wasting under the consuming influence of her single thought,
of her narrow occupation. It was at last proposed by the
physician, that among the bones which she had gathered, the
fragments of a child's skeleton should by degrees be introduced;
and so the hapless mother's hopes kept up. The
experiment was dubious; but this at least seemed likely to be
gained by it, that when all the parts were got together, she
would cease her weary search, and might be entertained with
hopes of going to Rome.
"It was accordingly resolved on: her attendant changed,
by imperceptible degrees, the small remains committed to her
with the bones Sperata found. An inconceivable delight arose
in the poor sick woman's heart, when the parts began to fit
each other, and the shape of those still wanting could be
marked. She had fastened every fragment in its proper place
with threads and ribbons; filling up the vacant spaces with
embroidery and silk, as is usually done with the relics of saints.
"In this way nearly all the bones had been collected; none
but a few of the extremities were wanting. One morning,
while she was asleep, the physician having come to ask for her,
the old attendant, with a view to show him how his patient
occupied herself, took away these dear remains from the little
chest where they lay in poor Sperata's bedroom. A few
minutes afterwards, they heard her spring upon the floor.; she
lifted up the cloth and found the chest empty. She threw
herself upon her knees; they came and listened to her joyful
ardent prayer. 'Yes!' exclaimed she, 'it is true; it was no
dream, it is real! Rejoice with me, my friends! I have seen
my own beautiful good little girl again alive. She arose and
threw the veil from off her; her splendour enlightened all the
room; her beauty was transfigured to celestial loveliness; she
could not tread the ground, although she wished it. Lightly
was she borne aloft; she had not even time to stretch her hand
to me. There! cried she to me, and pointed to the road
where I am soon to go. Yes, I will follow her, soon follow
her; my heart is light to think of it. My sorrows are already
vanished; the sight of my risen little one has given me a
foretaste of the heavenly joys.'
"From that time her soul was wholly occupied with prospects
of the brightest kind: she gave no farther heed to any
earthly object; she took but little food; her spirit by degrees
cast off the fetters of the body. At last this imperceptible
gradation reached its head unexpectedly: her attendants' found
her pale and motionless; she opened not her eyes; she was
what we call dead.
"The report of her vision quickly spread abroad among
the people; and the reverential feeling, which she had excited
in her lifetime, soon changed, at her death, to the thought
that she should be regarded as in bliss, nay, as in sanctity.
"When we were bearing her to be interred, a crowd of
persons pressed with boundless violence about the bier; they
would touch her hand; they would touch her garment. In
this impassioned elevation, various sick persons ceased to feel
the pains by which at other times they were tormented: they
looked upon themselves as healed; they declared it, they
praised God and his new saint. The clergy were obliged to
lay the body in a neighbouring chapel; the people called for
opportunity to offer their devotion. The concourse was incredible;
the mountaineers, at all times prone to lively and
religious feelings, crowded forward from their valleys; the
reverence, the wonder, the adoration daily spread and gathered
strength. The ordinances of the bishop, which were meant
to limit, and in time abolish this new worship, could not be
put in execution: every show of opposition raised the people
into tumults; every unbeliever they were ready to assail with
personal violence. 'Did not Saint Borroml£us,' cried they,
'dwell among our forefathers? Did not his mother live to
taste the joy of his canonisation? 'Was not that great figure
on the rocks at Arona meant to represent to us, by a sensible
symbol, his spiritual greatness? Do not the descendants of
his kindred live among us to this hour? And has not God
promised ever to renew his miracles among a people that
believe?'
"As the body, after several days, exhibited no marks of
putrefaction, but grew whiter, and as it were translucent, the
general faith rose higher and higher. Among the multitude
were several cures, which even the sceptical observer was
unable to account for, or ascribe entirely to fraud. The whole
country was in motion; those who did not go to see it, heard
at least no other topic talked of.
"The convent, where my brother lived, resounded, like the
land at large, with the noise of these wonders; and the people
felt the less restraint in speaking of them in his presence, as
in general he seemed to pay no heed to anything, and his
connexion with the circumstance was known to none of them.
But on this occasion, it appeared, he had listened with
attention. He conducted his escape with such dexterity and
cunning, that the manner of it still remains a mystery. We
learned afterwards, that he had crossed the water with a
number of travellers; and charged the boatmen, who observed
no other singularity about him, above all to have a care lest
their vessel overset. Late in the night, he reached the chapel,
where his hapless loved one was resting from her woes. Only
a few devotees were kneeling in the corners of the place; her
old friend was sitting at the head of the corpse; he walked
up to her, saluted her, and asked how her mistress was. ' You
see it,' answered she with some embarrassment. He looked at
the corpse with a sidelong glance. After some delay he took
its hand. Frightened by its coldness, he in the instant let it
go: he looked unrestfully around him; then turning to the
old attendant: 'I cannot stay with her at present,' said he;
'I have a long, long way to travel; but at the proper time I
shall be back: tell her so when she awakens.'
"With this he went away. It was a while before we got
intelligence of these occurrences: we searched; but all our
efforts to discover him were vain. How he worked his way
across the mountains, none can say. A long time after he was
gone, we came upon a trace of him among the Grisons; but
we were too late; it quickly vanished. We supposed that he
was gone to Germany; but his weak foot-prints had been
speedily obliterated by the war."

CHAPTER 10

THE Abbe ceased to read: no one had listened without
tears. The Countess scarcely ever took her handkerchief from
her eyes; at last she rose, and, with Natalia, left the room.
The rest were silent, till the Abbe thus began; "The question
now arises, whether we shall let the good Marchese leave us
without telling him our secret. For who can doubt a moment,
that our Harper and his brother Augustin are one? Let us
consider what is to be done; both for the sake of that unhappy
man himself, and of his family. My advice is, not to
hurry, but to wait till we had heard what news the Doctor,
who is gone to see him, brings us back."
All were of the same opinion; and the Abbe thus proceeded:
"Another question, which perhaps may be disposed
of sooner, still remains. The Marchese is affected to the
bottom of his heart, at the kindness which his poor niece
experienced here, particularly from our young friend. He
made me tell him, and repeat to him every circumstance connected
with her; and he showed the liveliest gratitude on
hearing it. 'Her young benefactor,' he said, 'refused to
travel with me, while he knew not the connexion that subsists
between us. I am not now a stranger, of whose manner of
existence, of whose humours he might be uncertain. I am his
associate, his relation; and as his unwillingness to leave his
boy behind was the impediment which kept him from accompanying
me, let this child now become a fairer bond to join
us still more closely. Besides the services which I already
owe him, let him be of service to me on my present journey:
let him then return along with me; my elder brother will
receive him as he ought. And let him not despise the
heritage of his unhappy foster-child: for by a secret stipulation
of our father with his military friend, the fortune which
he gave Sperata has returned to us: and certainly we will not
cheat our niece's benefactor of the recompense which he has
merited so well.'"
Theresa, taking Wilhelm by the hand, now said to him:
"We have here another beautiful example that disinterested
well-doing yields the highest and best return. Follow the call,
which so strangely comes to you: and while you lay a double
load of gratitude on the Marchese, hasten to a fair land,
which has already often drawn your heart and your imagination
towards it."
"I leave myself entirely to the guidance of my friends and
you," said Wilhelm: "it is vain to think, in this world, of
adhering to our individual will. What I purposed to hold
fast, I must let go; and benefits which I have not deserved,
descend upon me of their own accord."
With a gentle pressure of Theresa's hand, Wilhelm took
his own away. "I give you full permission," said he to the
Abbe, "to decide about me as you please. Since I shall not
need to leave my Felix, I am ready to go anywhither, and to
undertake whatever you think good."
Thus authorised, the Abbe forthwith sketched out his plan.
The Marchese, he proposed, should be allowed to depart;
Wilhelm was to wait for tidings from the Doctor; he might
then, when they had settled what was to be done, set off with
Felix. Accordingly, under the pretence that Wilhelm's preparations
for his journey would detain him, he advised the
stranger to employ the mean while in examining the curiosities
of the city, which he meant to visit. The Marchese did in
consequence depart; and not without renewed and strong
expressions of his gratitude; of which indeed the presents left
by him, including jewels, precious stones, embroidered stuffs,
afforded a sufficient proof.
Wilhelm too was at length in readiness for travelling; and
his friends began to be distressed that the Doctor sent them
no news. They feared some mischief had befallen the poor old
Harper, at the very moment when they were in hopes of radically improving his condition. They sent the courier off; but
he was scarcely gone, when the Doctor in the evening entered
with a stranger, whose form and aspect were expressive, earnest,
striking, and whom no one knew. Both stood silent for a
space; the stranger at length went up to Wilhelm, and holding
out his hand said: "Do you not know your old friend,
then? " It was the Harper's voice; but of his form there
seemed to remain no vestige. He was in the common garb
of a traveller, cleanly and genteelly equipt; his beard had
vanished; his hair was dressed with some attention to the
mode; and what particularly made him quite irrecognisable
was, that in his countenance the look of age was no longer
visible. Wilhelm embraced him with the liveliest joy; he was
presented to the rest; and behaved himself with great propriety,
not knowing that the party had a little while before
become so well acquainted with him. "You will have patience
with a man," continued he with great composure, "who, grown
up as he appears, is entering on the world, after long sorrows,
inexperienced as a child. To this skilful gentleman I stand
indebted for the privilege of again appearing in the company
of my fellow-men."
They bade him welcome: the Doctor motioned for a walk,
to interrupt the conversation, and lead it to indifferent topics.
In private, the Doctor gave the following explanation: "It
was by the strangest chance that we succeeded in the cure of
this man. We had long treated him, morally and physically,
as our best consideration dictated: in some degree the plan
was efficacious; but the fear of death continued powerful in
him, and he would not lay aside his beard and cloak. For the
rest, however, he appeared to take more interest in external
things than formerly; and both his songs and his conceptions
seemed to be approaching nearer life. A strange letter from
the clergyman, as you already know, called me from you. I
arrived: I found om patient altogether changed; he had
voluntarily given up his beard; he had let his locks be cut
into a customary form; he asked for common clothes; he
seemed to have at once become another man. Though curious
to penetrate the reason of this sudden alteration, we did not
risk inquiring of himself: at last we accidentally discovered it.
A glass of laudanum was missing from the Parson's private
laboratory: we thought it right to institute a strict inquiry
on the subject; everyone endeavoured to ward off suspicion;
and the sharpest quarrels arose among the inmates of the
house. At last, this man appeared before us, and admitted
that he had the laudanum: we asked if he had swallowed
any of it. ' No !' said he: 'but it is to this that I owe the
recovery of my reason. It is at your choice to take the vial
from me; and to drive me back inevitably to my former state.
The feeling that it was desirable to see the pains of life terminated
by death, first put me on the way of cure; before long
the thought of terminating them by voluntary death arose in
me; and with this intention, I took the glass of poison. The
possibility of casting off my load of griefs forever gave me
strength to bear them: and thus have I, ever since this talisman
came into my possession, pressed myself back into life, by
a contiguity with death. Be not anxious lest I use the drug;
but resolve, as men acquainted with the human heart, by
granting me an independence of life, to make me properly and
wholesomely dependent on it.' After mature consideration of
the matter, we determined not to meddle farther with him:
and he now carries with him, in a firm little ground-glass vial,
this poison, of which he has so strangely made an antidote."
The Doctor was informed of all that had transpired since
his departure; towards Augustin, it was determined that they
should observe the deepest silence in regard to it. The Abbe
undertook to keep beside him, and to lead him forward on the
healthful path he had entered.
Meanwhile Wilhelm was to set about his journey over Germany
with the Marchese. If it should appear that Augustin
could be again excited to affection for his native country, the
circumstances were to be communicated to his friends, and
Wilhelm might conduct him thither.
Wilhelm had at last made every preparation for his journey.
At first the Abbe thought it strange that Augustin rejoiced in
hearing of his friend and benefactor's purpose to depart; but
he soon discovered the foundation of this curious movement.
Augustin could not subdue his fear of Felix; and he longed as
soon as possible to see the boy removed.
By degrees so many people had assembled, that the Castle
and adjoining buildings could scarcely accommodate them all;
and the less, as such a multitude of guests had not originally
been anticipated. They breakfasted, they dined together;
each endeavoured to persuade himself that they were living
in a comfortable harmony, but each in secret longed in some
degree to be away. Theresa frequently rode out attended by
Lothario, and oftener alone; she had already got acquainted
with all the landladies and landlords in the district; for she
held it as a principle of her economy, in which perhaps she was
not far mistaken, that it is essential to be in good acceptance
with one's neighbours male and female, and to maintain with
them a constant interchange of civilities. Of an intended
marriage with Lothario she appeared to have no thought.
Natalia and the Countess often talked with one another; the
Abbe seemed to covet the society of Augustin; Jarno had
frequent conversations with the Doctor; Friedrich held by
Wilhelm; Felix ran about, wherever he could meet with most
amusement. It was thus too that in general they paired
themselves in walking, when the company broke up: when it
was obliged to be together, recourse was quickly had to music,
to unite them all by giving each back to himself.
Unexpectedly the Count increased the party; intending to
remove his lady, and, as it appeared, to take a solemn farewell
of his worldly friends. Jarno hastened to the coach to meet
him: the Count inquired what guests they had; to which the
other answered, in a fit of wild humour that would often seize
him: "We have all the nobility in Nature; Marcheses, Marquises,
Milords and Barons: we wanted nothing but a Count."
They came upstairs. Wilhelm was the first who met them
in the ante-chamber. "Milord," said the Count to him in
French, after looking at him for a moment, "I rejoice very
much in the unexpected pleasure of renewing my acquaintance
with your Lordship: I am very much mistaken if I did not
see you at my Castle in the Prince's suite." "I had the
happiness of waiting on your Excellency at that time,"
answered Wilhelm; "but you do me too much honour when
you take me for an Englishman, and that of the first quality.
I am a German, and "--" A very brave young fellow," interrupted
Jarno. The Count looked at Wilhelm with a smile,
and was about to make some reply, when the rest of the party
entered, and saluted him with many a friendly welcome.
They excused themselves for being unable at the moment to
show him to a proper chamber; promising without delay to
make the necessary room for him.
"Ay, ay !" said he, smiling: "we have left Chance, I see,
to act as our purveyor. Yet with prudence and arrangement,
how much is possible! For the present, I entreat you not
to stir a slipper from its place; the disorder, I perceive,
would otherwise be great. Everyone would be uncomfortably
lodged; and this no one shall be on my account, if possible,
not even for an hour. You can testify," said he to Jarno,
"and you too, Meister," turning to "Wilhelm," how many
people I commodiously stowed, that time, in my Castle. Let
me have the list of persons and servants; let me see how they
are lodged at present: I will make a plan of dislocation, such
that, with the very smallest inconvenience, everyone shall find
a suitable apartment, and there shall be room enough to hold
another guest if one should accidentally arrive."
Jarno volunteered to be the Count's assistant; procured him
all the necessary information; taking great delight, as usual, if
he could now and then contrive to lead him astray, and leave
him in awkward difficulties. The old gentleman at last,
however, gained a signal triumph. The arrangement was
completed; he caused the names to be written on their several
doors, himself attending; and it could not be denied that, by
a very few changes and substitutions, the object had been fully
gained. Jarno, among other things, had also managed that
the persons, who at present took an interest in each other,
should be lodged together.
"'Will you help me," said the Count to Jarno, after everything
was settled, "to clear up my recollections of the young
man there, whom you call Meister, and who, you tell me, is a
German?" Jarno was silent; for he knew very well that the
Count was one of those people who, in asking questions, merely
wish to show their knowledge. The Count accordingly continued,
without waiting for an answer: " You, I recollect,
presented him to me; and warmly recommended him in the
Prince's name. If his mother was a German woman, I'll be
bound for it his father is an Englishman, and one of rank too:
who can calculate the English blood that has been flowing,
these last thirty years, in German veins! I do not wish to
pump you: I know you have always family secrets of that
kind; but in such cases it is in vain to think of cheating me."
He then proceeded to detail a great variety of things as having
taken place with Wilhelm at the Castle; to the whole of
which Jarno, as before, kept silence; though the Count was
altogether in the wrong, confounding Wilhelm more than once
with a young Englishman of the Prince's suite. The truth
was, the good old gentleman had in former years possessed a
very excellent memory; and was still proud of being able to
remember the minutest circumstances of his youth: but in
regard to late occurrences, he used to settle in his mind as
true, and utter with the greatest certainty, whatever fables
and fantastic combinations in the growing weakness of his
powers, imagination might present to him. For the rest, he
was become extremely mild and courteous; his presence had a
very favourable influence upon the company. He would call
on them to read some useful book together; nay, he often
gave them little games, which, without participating in them,
he directed with the greatest care. If they wondered at his
condescension, he would reply, that it became a man, who
differed from the world in weighty matters, to conform to it
the more anxiously in matters of indifference.
In these games, our friend had, more than once, an angry
and unquiet feeling to endure. Friedrich, with his usual
levity, took frequent opportunity of giving hints that Wilhelm
entertained a secret passion for Natalia. How could be have
found it out? "What entitled him to say so? And would
not his friends think that, as they two were often together,
Wilhelm must have made a disclosure to him, so thoughtless
and unlucky a disclosure?
One day, while they were merrier than common at some
such joke, Augustin, dashing open the door, rushed in with a
frightful look; his countenance was pale, his eyes were wild;
he seemed about to speak, but his tongue refused its office.
The party were astounded; Lothario and Jarno, supposing
that his madness had returned, sprang up and seized him.
With a choked and faltering voice, then loudly and violently,
he spoke and cried: "Not me! Haste! Help! Save the
child! Felix is poisoned! "
They let him go; he hastened through the door: all
followed him in consternation. They called the Doctor:
Augustin made for the Abbe's chamber; they found the
child; who seemed amazed and frightened, when they called
to him from a distance: "'What hast thou been doing?"
"Dear papa!" cried Felix, "I did not drink from the
bottle, I drank from the glass: I was very thirsty."
Augustin struck his hands together: "He is lost!" cried
he; then pressed through the bystanders, and hastened away.
They found a glass of almond-milk upon the table, with a
bottle near it more than half empty. The Doctor came; was
told what they had seen and heard: with horror he observed
the well-known laudanum-vial lying empty on the table. He
called for vinegar, he summoned all his art to his assistance.
Natalia had the little patient taken to a room, she busied
herself with painful care about him. The Abbe had run out
to seek Augustin, and draw some explanation from him. The
unhappy father had been out upon the same endeavour, but
in vain: he returned, to find anxiety and fear on every face.
The Doctor, in the mean time, had been examining the almond-milk
in the glass; he found it to contain a powerful mixture
of opium: the child was lying on the sofa, seeming very sick;
he begged his father "not to let them pour more stuff into
him, not to let them plague him any more." Lothario had
sent his people, and had ridden off himself, endeavouring to
find some trace of Augustin. Natalia sat beside the child;
he took refuge in her bosom, and entreated earnestly for her
protection; earnestly for a little piece of sugar: the vinegar,
he said, was biting sour. The Doctor granted his request;
the child was in a frightful agitation; they were obliged to
let him have a moment's rest. The Doctor said that every
means had been adopted; he would continue to do his
utmost. The Count came near, with an air of displeasure:
his look was earnest, even solemn: he laid his hands upon the
child; turned his eyes to Heaven, and remained some moments
in that attitude. Wilhelm, who was lying inconsolable on a
seat, sprang up, and casting a despairing look at Natalia, left
the room. Shortly afterwards the Count too left it.
"I cannot understand," said the Doctor, having paused a
little, " how it comes that there is not the smallest trace of
danger visible about the child. At a single gulp, he must
have swallowed an immense dose of opium; yet I find no
movement in his pulse but what may be ascribed to our
remedies, and to the tenor we have put him into."
In a few minutes Jarno entered, with intelligence that
Augustin had been discovered in the upper story, lying in his
blood; a razor had been found beside him; to all appearance
he had cut his throat. The Doctor hastened out: he met
the people carrying down the body. The unhappy man was
laid upon a bed, and accurately examined: the cut had gone
across the windpipe; copious loss of blood had been succeeded
by a swoon; yet it was easy to observe that life, that hope
was still there. The Doctor put the body in a proper posture;
joined the edges of the wound, and bandaged it. The night
passed sleepless and full of care to all. Felix· would not
quit Natalia: Wilhelm sat before her on a stool; he had the
boy's feet upon his lap; the head and breast were lying upon
hers. Thus did they divide the pleasing burden and the
painful anxiety; and continue, till the day broke, in their
uncomfortable sad position. Natalia had given her hand to
Wilhelm; they did not speak a word; they looked at the
child and then at one another. Lothario and Jarno were
sitting at the other end of the room, and carrying on a most
important conversation; which, did not the pressure of events
forbid us, we would gladly lay before our readers. The boy
slept softly; he awoke quite cheerful, early in the morning,
and demanded a piece of bread and butter.
So soon as Augustin had in some degree recovered, they
endeavoured to obtain some explanation from him. They
learned with difficulty, and by slow degrees, that having, by
the Count's unlucky shifting, been appointed to the same
chamber with the Abbe, he had found the manuscript in
which his story was recorded. Struck with horror on perusing
it, he felt that it was now impossible for him to live; on
which he had recourse as usual to the laudanum: this he
poured into a glass of almond-milk, and raised it to his
mouth; but he shuddered when it reached his lips; he set it
down untasted; went out to walk once more across the
garden, and behold the face of nature; and on his return, he
found the child employed in filling up the glass out of which
it had been drinking.
They entreated the unhappy creature to be calm; he seized
Wilhelm by the hand with a spasmodic grasp, and cried:
"Ah! why did I not leave thee long ago? I knew well that
I should kill the boy, and he me." "The boy lives!" said
Wilhelm. The Doctor, who had listened with attention, now
inquired of Augustin if all the drink was poisoned. "No,"
replied he, "nothing but the glass." "By the luckiest
chance, then," cried the Doctor, "the boy has drunk from the
bottle! A benignant Genius has guided his hand, that he
did not catch at death, which stood so near and ready for
him." "No! no!" cried Wilhelm with a groan, and clapping
both his hands upon his eyes: "How dreadful are the words!
Felix said expressly that he drank not from the bottle but the
glass. His health is but a show; he will die among our
hands." Wilhelm hastened out; the Doctor went below,
and taking Felix up, with much caressing, asked: "Now
did not you, my pretty boy ? You drank from the bottle,
not the glass?" The child began to cry. The Doctor
secretly informed Natalia how the matter stood: she also
strove in vain to get the truth from Felix, who but cried the
more; cried till he fell asleep.
Wilhelm watched by him; the night went peacefully away.
Next morning Augustin was found lying dead in bed; he had
cheated his attendants by a seeming rest; had silently
loosened the bandages, and bled to death. Natalia went to
walk with Felix; he was sportful as in his happiest days.
"You are al ways good to me," said Felix; "you never scold,
you never beat me; I will tell you the truth, I did drink
from the bottle. Mamma Aurelia used to rap me over the
fingers every time I touched the bottle; father looked so
sour, I thought he would beat me."
With winged steps Natalia hastened to the Castle; Wilhelm
came, still overwhelmed with care, to meet her. " Happy
father! ,; cried she, lifting up the child, and throwing it into
his arms: "there is thy son again! He drank from the
bottle: his naughtiness has saved him."
They told the Count the happy issue; but he listened with
a smiling, silent, modest air of knowingness, like one tolerating
the error of worthy men. Jarno, attentive to all, could not
explain this lofty self-complacency; till after many windings,
he at last discovered it to be his Lordship's firm belief that
the child had really taken poison, and that he himself, by
prayer and the laying-on of hands, had miraculously counteracted
the effects of it. After such a feat, his Lordship now
determined on departing. Everything, as usual with him,
was made ready in a moment; the fair Countess, when about
to go, took Wilhelm's hand before parting with her sister's;
she then pressed both their hands between her own, tumed
quickly round, and stept into the carriage.
So many terrible and strange events, crowding one upon
the back of another, inducing an unusual mode of life, and
putting everything into disorder and perplexity, had brought
a sort of feverish movement into all departments of the
house. The hours of sleep and waking, of eating, drinking
and social conversation were inverted. Except Theresa, none
of them had kept in their accustomed course. The men
endeavoured, by increased potations, to recover their good
humour; and thus communicating to themselves an artificial
vivacity, they drove away that natural vivacity, which alone
imparts to us true cheerfulness and strength for action.
Wilhelm, in particular, was moved and agitated by the
keenest feelings. Those unexpected, frightful incidents had
thrown him out of all condition to resist a passion which had
so forcibly seized his heart. Felix was restored to him; yet
still it seemed that he had nothing: Werner's letters, the
directions for his journey were in readiness; there was nothing
wanting but the resolution to remove. Everything conspired
to hasten him. He could not but conjecture that Lothario
and Theresa were awaiting his departure, that they might be
wedded. Jarno was unusually silent; you would have said
that he had lost a portion of his customary cheerfulness.
Happily the Doctor helped our friend, in some degree, from
this embarrassment: he declared him sick, and set about
administering medicine to him.
The company assembled always in the evening: Friedrich,
the wild madcap, who had often drunk more wine than suited
him, in general took possession of the talk; and by a thousand
frolicsome citations, fantasies and waggish allusions, often kept
the party laughing; often also threw them into awkward
difficulties, by the liberty he took to think aloud.
In the sickness of his friend he seemed to have little faith.
Once when they were all together, "Pray, Doctor," cried he,
"how is it you call the malady our friend is labouring under?
'Will none of the three thousand names, with which you
decorate your ignorance, apply to it? The disease at least is
not without examples. There is one such case," continued he
with an emphatic tone, "in the Egyptian or Babylonian
history."
The company looked at one another, and smiled.
" What call you the king-?" cried he, and stopped short
a moment. "Well, if you will not help me, I must help
myself." He threw open the folding-doors, and pointed to the
large picture in the antechamber. "What call you the goatbeard
there, with the crown on, who is standing at the foot of
the bed, making such a rueful face about his sick son? How
call you the beauty, who enters, and in her modest roguish
eyes at once brings poison and antidote? How call you the
quack of a doctor, who at this moment catches a glimpse of
the reality, and for the first time in his life takes occasion to
prescribe a reasonable recipe, to give a drug which cures to the
very heart, and is at once salutiferous and savoury?"
In this manner he continued babbling. The company took
it with as good a face as might be; hiding their embarrassment
behind a forced laugh. A slight blush overspread Natalia's
cheeks, and betrayed the movements of her heart. By good
fortune, she was walking up and down with Jarno: on coming
to the door, with a cunning motion she slipped out, walked
once or twice across the antechamber, and retired to her room.
The company were silent: Friedrich began to dance and
sing:
"O ye shall wonders see!
'What has been is not to be;
What is said is not to say,
Before the break of day
Ye shall wonders see! "
Theresa had gone out to find Natalia; Friedrich pulled the
Doctor forward to the picture; pronounced a ridiculous
eulogium on medicine, and glided from the room.
Lothario had been standing all the while in the recess of a
window; he was looking, without motion, down into the
garden. Wilhelm was in the most dreadful state. Left alone
with his friends, he still kept silence for a time: he ran with a
hurried glance over all his history, and at last, with shuddering,
surveyed his present situation; he started up and cried: "If
I am to blame for what is happening, for what you and I
are suffering, punish me. In addition to my other miseries,
deprive me of your friendship, and let me wander, without
comfort, forth into the wide world, in which I should have
mingled, and withdrawn myself from notice long ago. But if
you see in me the victim of a cruel entanglement of chance,
out of which I could not thread my way, then give me the
assurance of your love, of your friendship, on a journey which
I dare not now postpone. A time will come, when I may tell
you what has passed of late within me. Perhaps this is but
a punishment, which I am suffering, because I did not soon
enough disclose myself to you, because I hesitated to display
myself entirely as I was: you would have assisted me, you
would have helped me out in proper season. Again and
again have my eyes been opened to my conduct; but it was
ever too late, it was ever in vain! How richly do I merit
Jarno's censure! I imagined I had seized it; how firmly did
I purpose to employ it, to commence another life! Could I,
might I have done so? It avails not for mortals to complain
of Fate or of themselves! We are wretched, and appointed
for wretchedness; and what does it matter whether blame of
ours, higher influence or chance, virtue or vice, wisdom or folly
plunge us into ruin? Farewell! I will not stay another
moment in a house, where I have so fearfully violated the
rights of hospitality. Your brother's indiscretion is unpardonable;
it aggravates my suffering to the highest pitch,
it drives me to despair."
"And what," replied Lothario, taking Wilhelm by the
hand, "what if your alliance with my sister were the secret
article on which depended my alliance with Theresa? This
amends that noble maiden has appointed for you; she has
vowed that these two pairs should appear together at the altar.
'His reason has made choice of me; said she; 'his heart
demands Natalia: my reason shall assist his heart.' We
agreed to keep our eyes upon Natalia and yourself; we told
the Abbe of our plan, who made us promise not to intermeddle
with this union, or attempt to forward it, but to suffer everything
to take its course. We have done so, Nature has
performed her part; our mad brother only shook the ripe
fruit from the branch. And now, since we have come together
so unusually, let us lead no common life; let us work together
in a noble manner, and for noble purposes! It is inconceivable
how much a man of true culture can accomplish for himself
and others, if, without attempting to rule, he can be the
guardian over many; can induce them to do that in season,
which they are at any rate disposed enough to do; can guide
them to their objects, which in general they see with due distinctness,
though they miss the road to them. Let us make a
league for this: it is no enthusiasm; but an idea which may
be fully executed, which indeed is often executed, only with
imperfect consciousness, by people of benevolence and worth.
Natalia is a living instance of it. No other need attempt to
rival the plan of conduct which has been prescribed by nature
for that pure and noble soul."
He had more to say, but Friedrich with a shout came jumping
in. "What a garland have I earned!" cried he: "how
will you reward me ? Myrtle, laurel, ivy, leaves of oak, the
freshest you can find, come twist them: I have merits far
beyond them all. Natalia is thine! I am the conjuror who
raised this treasure for thee."
"He raves," said Wilhelm; "I must go."
"Art thou empowered to speak?" inquired Lothario, holding
Wilhelm from retiring.
"By my own authority," said Friedrich, "and the grace of
God. It was thus I was the wooer; thus I am the messenger:
I listened at the door; she told the Abbe everything."
"Barefaced rogue! who bade thee listen?" said Lothario.
"Who bade her bolt the door?" cried Friedrich. " I heard
it all: she was in a wondrous pucker. In the night when
Felix seemed so ill, and was lying half upon her knees, and
thou wert sitting comfortless before her, sharing the beloved
load, she made a vow, that if the child died, she would confess
her love to thee, and offer thee her hand. And now when the
child lives, why should she change her mind? What we
promise under such conditions, we keep under any. Nothing
wanting but the parson! He will come, and marvel what
strange news he brings."
The Abbe entered. "We know it all," cried Friedrich:
"be as brief as possible; it is mere formality you come for;
they never send for you or me on any other score."
"He has listened," said the Baron.-" Scandalous!" exclaimed
the Abbe.
"Now, quick!" said Friedrich. "How stands it with the
ceremonies? These we can reckon on our fingers. You must
travel; the Marchese's invitation answers to a hairsbreadth.
If we had you once beyond the Alps, it will all be right: the
people are obliged to you for undertaking anything surprising;
you procure them an amusement which they are not called to
pay for. It is as if you gave a free ball; all ranks partake
in it."
"In such popular festivities," replied the Abbe, "you have
done the public much service in your time; but today, it
seems, you will not let me speak at all."
"If it is not just as I have told it," answered Friedrich,
"let us have it better. Come round, come round; we must
see them both together."
Lothario embraced his friend, and led him to Natalia, who
with Theresa came to meet them. All were silent.
"No loitering!" cried Friedrich. "In two days you may
be ready for your travels. Now, think you, friend," continued
he, addressing Wilhelm, "when we first scraped acquaintance,
and I asked you for the pretty nosegay, who could have supposed
you were ever to receive a flower like this from me?"
"Do not, at the moment of my highest happiness, remind
me of those times! "
"Of which you need not be ashamed, any more than one
need be ashamed of his descent. The times were very good
times: only I cannot but laugh to look at thee; to my mind,
thou resemblest Saul the son of Kish, who went out to seek
his father's asses, and found a kingdom."
"I know not the worth of a kingdom," answered Wilhelm;
"but I know I have attained a happiness which I have not
deserved, and which I would not change with anything in life."

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