i«rmjttt-jlm?matt
I
WILHELM MEISTER'S
APPRENTICESHIP
•A NOVEL
FROM THE GERMAN OF
GOETHE
TRANSLATED BY
R. DILLON BOYLAN ESQ.
COMPLETE IN ONE VOLUME
LONDON: GEORGE BELL & SONS, YORK STREET
COVENT GARDEN
1886.
LONDON:
PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED.
STAMFORD STREET AND CHARING CROSS.
PREFACE
It has been observed, by a very profound German critic * that
the periods of Goethe's outward life are most intimately connected
with the eras of his literary career; and they are generally divided
into three principal periods, which have been designated as the
sentimental and intense, the ideal, and the elegant. In the former,
Goetz von Berlichingen and Werther are the chief illustrations
of his genius; and in those two works, Goethe found means to
gratify his strongest youthful propensities—the one, for German
things and manners; the other, for the delineation of joys and
sorrows, common to humanity, which agitated his bosom. The
character of his works, at this period, was national, full of that
German spirit, for which Lessing fought so manfully, and which
Goethe expressed with matchless felicity.
Between the first and second eras of his literary career, an
jiterval of twelve years elapsed, during which he produced nothing
very considerable, but it was, at this time, that he visited Italy.
If, as it has been said, his taste had previously inclined to the
Flemish school, it was after his visit to Italy that his eyes opened
to the full perception of high art. His rich and fertile spirit,
which embraced at once the Lofty, the Child-like, and the Lovely,
now turned to the Noble and the Elevated. In place of his former
principle of naturalness or reality, now arose that of Ideality—
that pure Ideality which transports nature into the regions of Idea
and pure Beauty. The three great works which fall within this
era, are William Meister, Faust, and Hermann and Dorothea.
What Goethe really intended by the first of these performances
must remain, to some degree, a mystery. Nevertheless, Wilhelm
Meister must ever be considered as one of the Author's most
* The writer of the article Goethe in the Conversations'Lex icon, elegantly
presented to the English publie by Mrs. Austin, in her 'CkaracA,eristic Ji
Goethe.'
PREFACE.
admirable works, for in that and Faust are combined all the
universality of his genius. If, with reference to Goethe himself,
we compare Werther with Wilhelm Meister, we shall see, that in
the former he is still wrestling- with life and destiny; in the
latter, that he has vanquished them, and has found the remedy
for evil, in the harmonious culture of his moral Being.
Those who read Wilhelm Meister for the mere attractions of
incident, character, or description, will probably be disappointed
in their expectations. But it will be found full of interest to him
who considers it as deciphering, according to the Authors
adopted conclusion, the riddle of human life, who loves to pursue
the workings of his mind, to track the strange, enigmatical,
tortuous wandering.s of his genius, or to engage in the ever-baffled,
yet attractive chase after Ids meaning, through the labyrinth of
his flowing style, and multifarious imagery. The appearance of
Wilhelm Meister gave rise to a species of novel, which had pre-
viously been unknown in Germany, but has since very generally |
prevailed, not only in that country, but in England and elsewhere.
The Author takes up a fictitious or historical personage, and in
the narrative of his life, in accordance with his own views and
maxims, gradually developes the peculiar art, to which his hero
has devoted himself. But Wilhelm Meister went somewhat
beyond the sphere of such imaginary portraits. It could not have
been the mere design of the Author, to describe the progress of a
youth in the dramatic art, although a large portion of the work
relates to the drama, for in the last four books that topic is
wholly dismissed, and another object is brought prominently
forward. We now acquire a faint perception of the Author's aim,
to describe the general growth and ripening of a youth of talent
into Man. His passion for the drama is only a transition state,
and brings no permanent satisfaction. His education for life, for
free and active exertion in a higher field, seems to be the true
end.
It follows from this indistinct enunciatiou of the Author's
meaning, that no book has been more generally misunderstood.
Some have rejected it, as an unintelligible treatise on metaphysics,
under the garb of an ill-arranged fiction, whilst others have
PREFACE.
praised it extravagantly, as displaying a wonderful knowledge
of the actual world, and delineating" a host of natural characters
and situations. The characters, however, may be considered
rather as personifications of distinct trains Jof thought, than as
real beings, such as we meet with in the world. On the whole,
it is a strange romance: it attracts us with an irresistible charm:
during the perusal, we seem to wander from one half-resolved
doubt to another, until, at the end of our pilgrimage, we begin tc
suspect that the writer has been intentionally misleading us into
the belief that there exists some deep mystery in his pages. Al-
ternately attracted and repelled, we at last take refuge in the
conviction that our Author is one of the Inspired, a true
and original Genius, notwithstanding our inability to penetrate
his views, or to comprehend why he is at times so obscure and
unintelligible, and at others so profound.
We cannot conclude without bearing testimony to the merits
of Mr. Carlyle's admirable version of the Lehrjahre, which is so
faithful and vigorous, and altogether so satisfactory, that had Mr.
Bonn been at liberty to introduce iz into his Standard Library,
there would have been no occasion for any other labourer in the
same field.
R. D. B.
7)
WILHELM MEISTEirS
APPEENTICESHIP.
CHAPTER I.
The performance lasted till a late hour. Old Earbara
went repeatedly to the window and listened for the rolling
of carriages. She was expecting Mariana, her pretty
mistress, who dressed in the character of a young officer,
had charmed the public in that evening's performance, and
her impatience became greater than was usual on occasions
when she had only a plain supper to prepare. Mariana
was now to be surprised by a package, which JN"orberg, a
_ rich young merchant, had forwarded by post, to afford
evidence that even in absence he thought of his love.
In the character of old servant, confidant, adviser,
manager and housekeeper, Barbara possessed the right of
breaking seals, and she was less able to resist her curiosity
this evening, as the favour of the generous lover wras a
subject of greater anxiety to herself, even than to
Mariana. To her extreme joy, she had found that the
package contained a fine piece of muslin and some ribbons
— of the latest pattern for Mariana, together with a roll of
cotton, some neckhandkerchiefs, and an enclosure of money
for herself. "With what tenderness and gratitude did she
not call to mind the absent Norberg, and thought only of
representing him to her mistress in the most favourable
light, of reminding her how deeply she was indebted to
him, and how much he was entitled to expect from her
constancy.
The muslin set off by the colours of the half unfolded
ribbons, lay like a Christmas present upon the little table,
E
WILLLELM MEISTEH'S
tlie position of the caudles enhanced their brilliancy, and
every tiling was ready, when the old woman recognising
Mariana's foot upon the stairs, hastened to meet her.
How great was her astonishment when the young female
officer, regardless of her caresses, hurried past her with
unusual speed and emotion, flung her hat and sword upon
the table, and paced restlessly up and down the room,
without condescending to bestow even a glance upon the
festive illuminations.
"What is the matter, dear?" exclaimed the old servant
with astonishment, "for Heaven's sake, what ails you,
child? Behold these presents! From whom can thev
come, but from your most affectionate of friends? Norberg
has sent you this piece of muslin for a night dress, he will
be here presently himself, he seems to become fonder and
more generous than ever."
Old Barbara turned round and was about to show the
presents with which she herself had been remembered,
when Mariana turning away from them exclaimed with
vehemence, "Away, away! I will hear nothing of all this
to*day. I have listened to you because you wished it to
be so! When ISTorberg returns, I am his, I am yours! Do
with me what you will, but until then, I am my own, and
if you had a thousand tongues you should never persuade
me from my purpose. I will give myself wholly to him
who loves me, and whom I love. 2s o grimaces! I will
abandon myself to this passion as if it were to last for
ever."
Barbara was not deficient in remonstrances and reasons,
but when in the course of the dispute, she became violent
and bitter, Mariana sprang at her and clasped her firmly.
The old servant laughing aloud, exclaimed, " I must take
care that she resumes her female attire, if I mean to be sure
of my life. Come, strip! I hope the girl will beg pardon
for what is inflicted on me by the wayward boy. Off then
with the coat—off with every thing instantly! It is an
unsuitable garb and dangerous for you, as I find to my cost.
These epaulets make you rash."
Barbara took hold of her. Mariana disengaged herself.
"Not go fast!" she exclaimed, "I expect a visit to-night."
"That is not proper," replied the servant, "you do
APPEEIS'TICESHIP.
not surely expect that tender fledgeling, the merchant's
son!" "Even that same," returned Mariana.
"It seems that generosity is to be your ruling passion/'
answered the old woman with malice. "You are. tailing
to minors and pennyless people, with great eagerness. It is
no doubt charming to be worshipped as a disinterested
benefactress."
"Sneer as you please," she interrupted, "I love him, I
love him! With what rapture do I now utter this word for
the first time. This is the passion, which I have acted so
often, but of which in reality I have had no conception
Yes! I will throw myself upon his neck, and embrace him
as if I were to hold him for ever. I will display all my
love and enjoy his in its full extent."
"Be temperate," said Barbara calmly, "be temperate : I
must interrupt your rapture with an observation. Norberg
is coming. He will be here in a fortnight. Here is his
letter which accompanied the presents."
"And even," said Mariana, "if to-morrow's dawn were
to deprive me of my friend, I would conceal it from my
myself. A fortnight! What an eternity! In a fortnight
what may not occur? What changes may happen!"
Wilhelm entered. She flew to meet him with anima-
tion, and with indescribable rapture he embraced the red
uniform and pressed the gentle wearer to his heart. But
who may venture to pourtray the happiness of two lovers?
In whom would it seem becoming to describe the scene?
Old Barbara went grumbling away. We shall retire with
her, and leave the happv pair alone.
CHAPTER 11.
WhEjN Wilhelm saluted his mother on the following
morning she informed him that his father was exceedingly
displeased, and intended to forbid in future his daily visit
to the theatre. "Although, I myself," she continued,
"frequently go thither with pleasure, I could often execrate
it, as my domestic happiness is destroyed by your immoderate
passion for that amusement. Your father constantly asks,
WILHELM MEISTEIt S
'of what use can it be? How can anv one so waste his
time?'"
"I have often been compelled to listen to him," replied
Wilhelm, "and have perhaps answered him too hastily.
But for heaven's sake, mother, is every thing useless which
does not put money in our purse, or fails to procure us some
desirable property? Had we not room enough, for example,
in our old house? And why was it necessary to build a
new one? Does not my father every year devote a con-
siderable portion of the profits of his business to the deco-
ration of his apartments? Are not these silken tapestries
and this English furniture likewise useless? Could we not
be content with humbler necessaries? At least 1 know
that these painted walls, these constantly recurring flowers,
garlands, baskets and figures produce a very disagreeable
effect upon me. They look to me exactly like our drop
scene at the theatre. But how different is the impression
when I sit before that! "Wait ever so long, we know at all
events that it must rise at last, and that we shall then be-
hold an infinite variety of objects to amuse, instruct and
elevate vis."
"Only act with moderation," continued his mother;
"your father himself enjoys evening amusements, but he
fancies that it distracts your attention, and in fine I have to
bear the blame, when he is angry. Often must I endure
his censure for that wretched puppet-show which I gave you
at Christmas, some twelve years ago, and which first gave
you a taste for theatricals."
"Do not blame the puppet-show," he replied, "do not
repent of your love and attention to me! Those were the
first happy moments which I enjoyed in the new uninha-
bited house. I have the whole scene before my eyes this
very instant. I feel how strange it appeared to me, when
after the customary distribution of the Christmas presents,
we were desired to take our seats before a door which led
into an adjoining room. It opened, but not that we might
promenade to and fro as formerly; the entrance was replete
with preparations for a festival. A high porch had been
erected which was concealed by a mysterious curtain. At
first we all stood at a distance, and as our curiosity increased
\o discover what shining clattering articles were hidden
APPRENTICESHIP.
!>
behind the half transparent covering, we were directed
each to take his seat and wait with patience.
"We all sat down and were silent, a whistle gave the
signal, the curtain rose aloft and discovered a view of the
Temple, painted deep red. The high priest Samuel appeared
with Jonathan, and their strangely alternating voices
astonished me in the highest degree. Saul entered soon
afterwards, greatly perplexed at the impertinence of the
huge warrior who had challenged him and his host. Ho^
overjoyed I felt when the diminutive son of Jesse stepped
forward with crook and shepherd's scrip and sling, ex-
claiming, ' Most mighty King and Sovereign Lord! let the
courage of no one be depressed on this account. If your
Majesty will permit me, I am ready to go forth and en-
counter this mighty giant.' The first act ended, and the
spectators were curious to know what farther would take
place, each one wishing that the music might soon cease.
At last the curtain rose again. David dedicated the carcase
of the monster to the birds of the air, and the beasts of the
field. The Philistine defied him, stamped vehemently with
both feet, and fell at last like a clod of earth, giving a fine
~' effect to the whole representation. How the virgins then
sang, 'Saul hath slain his thousands, but David his tens of
thousands!' The giant's head was carried before his little
conqueror and he received the King's daughter as his bride;
but I felt vexed amid all my joy, that the successful prince
was such a dwarf. For pursuant to the common idea of the
great Groliath, and the little David, they had both been care-
fully constructed of characteristic dimensions. Tell me, I
beg of you, what has become of those puppets? I have pro-
mised to shew them to a friend whom I have greatly de-
lighted lately by informing him of this child's sport."
"I am not surprised that you remember these things so
accurately, for you took the greatest interest in them at the
— time. I recollect how you purloined the little book and
learned the whole piece by heart. I discovered it first one
evening when you formed a Groliath and David of wax, you
made them declaim against each other, and at last gave the
giant a blow and then fixed his shapeless head in the hand of
the little David, stuck upon a large pin with a waxen handle.
I enjoyed at the time so much sincere maternal pleasure at
6
WILHELM MEISTEE'S
your good memory and pathetic recitation that 1 at once
determined to present you with the whole wooden troop. I
had no idea then that it would occasion me so many sorrow-
ful hours."
"Do not repent of it," said Wilhelm, "for this entertain-
ment has afforded us many happy moments." With this,
he obtained the keys, hastened and found the puppets and
was for a moment transported back to those times, when
they appeared to him to have life, and when he fancied he
could animate them by the impulse of his voice and the
motion of his hands. He took them to his room and put
them by carefully.
CHAPTEE III.
If first love be as I hear it generally asserted, the
most exquisite sensation which a heart can at any time
experience, then indeed we must account our hero trebly
happy that he was allowed to enjoy the rapture of this en-
chanting season in all its perfection. But few persons are
so peculiarly blest, since the greater number are led by - -
their earlier feelings through a school of rougb experience,
in which after a period of uncertain happiness they are
compelled to renounce their fondest wishes and to learn
for ever to endure the privation of what once appeared to
be their highest bliss.
"Wilhelm's love for this charming maiden soared high on
the wings of imagination; after a short acquaintance he
had secured her attachment, and found himself in possession
of a being, whom he loved devotedly, even adored, for she
had first appeared to him in the favourable light of thea-
trical enchantment, and his passion for the stage was con-
nected with his first love for the sex. His youth allowed
him to enjoy every pleasure which had been exalted and
maintained by the liveliness of his fancy. And the very
condition of his mistress imparted a peculiarity to her
conduct which increased his attachment exceedingly. The
apprehension lest her lover might inopportunely discover
her other connexions, imparted to her an amiable ap-
pearance of timidity and bashfulncss, her fondness for him
'pitauj mo o; ;oddnd aq; uiojj sassoiua aaq jajsuuj; o; uuSaq
aqs ;siq ;u pi; 'A^iodxa os uuq oi>'uuuui ppioo aq§ -uuq;uuo £
Aq ppq oqs t a.oJiq oo; qpq[0£> pun puras 004 suav piAEQ
*s jaq;ouipuiu.o siq jo tiAvoij pjo ire moaj uaqu; uaaq puq
'pasodmoa suav ssajp suq qoupvv jo upjpc; aq; Avoq pa;iqa.i
pun 'a;u[d;suajq ap|;q siq posnud uqaqp^ qSuoq;p? '[aiimug
;aqdoj.d aq; uodu uoi;ua;;u ;sua{ aq; AVo;saq ;ou pjuoav aqs
^r[I *°A0I jo suouuaupap aauuouoid puu Avoq uuq aquui o;
'so.uav siq 110 uuquau; 0; Apujpqs paiuua"[ noos aqg -uuqan;
puu aqoj AvoqaA puu pai 'uiqo q;oouis siq q;^AV \ia;;aq jaq
posuapl uuq;uuc£ oi;uupad puu jq;s 00; paqooj aq pius aq?
kqn ;u uuutjuj\; asuapl ;ou pip uiapiqp uappS puu uavoS
aaApA qaiqq siq ui pnu§ Sunq •uoissaoaus ui ;u paqSiuq puu
ApAi;ua;;u pauiuiuxa suav ajuSu qoua 'pappiiassu suav dooa;
a{i;q aqj, -SuraaAa siq; pa;qxiipp ApjSiq ajoja'jaq; aiaAV
spuauj jiio puu (SJ9A0"[ oav; asuuiu 0; ;uapruus si oppi; y
\moumq-pi ui pajiqai uauqaug; pjQ -auo[u eun&tj: qoua
Aiqdsip 0; puu sa.HAV pa^uuaua aq; ;siai;uii 0; paouoiu
-moo uqaqpjW uaqAv puop? paqSmq uuuuujat \oiicq uuds u
s;addud jo duaq pasujuoo u Apio paA'iqdsip uiqduii pappjuu
aq; uaqAv fpaA*oeiuu uauqjucj puu paqsiuo;su suav uuuiaujvr
•uipup^ pamoiaj c/ssau5 ;ouuuo uo_j_ „ ^uasajd
ajquaa.iSu nv ioiiiAiaoa^i jo sadoq ui 'ApAi;ua;;u paqo;uAv
t>\iuqjug; p|0 qoiqAi 'aSuqoud v. paoupojd aq uaqAv SmuaAa
auo uuuuvp^ paqsu (£(i uoA* q;pu Suuq uoA* op -T^q^
•;juaq siq ur japuuo'q puu
jopuirj jo sSuy[aaj aq^ pu q^iAi 9A0| siq 0% pauaqsuq puu cap^
-uuiu siq ui padxqaAua 'uspjuS aqq. qSnojqq cpo A'p^ua/5 ajoqs
'paq ui aaaAi pu uaqAv puu '.ouraaAa aqq ui jaddus qu Suisuiuu
suav 'ajquaqq aq; papiOAU ipuusu cA';up Apup siq jo a.ojuqo
-sip aq; ui pTi^ouud su,\i apj -uoi;dujja;ui ;uoq;iAv aAOj
scuuuuuj\[ iCoCua 0; pxre 'jaq;oui stq azqpubuuj; 0; 'jaq;uj
siq jo saqouojdaj aq; oduosa 0; uupi u ;dopu 0; ajqpjaq;
unq joj Asua sum ;j "papioap ajora suoi;ua;ui siq 'jaSuoj^s
s;ua"[u; siq Siaurtqd 9§pa];A\oi[i[ siq 'jaq^ui suoi;uuipui
siq 'jaqoq aiaAv sai;np sp{ ';q§q A\au is ui ran{ o; pajuaddu
Soiq; A*J9A8 £saouu;sicmoaio puu ajr[ siq uodu ^ouq paqooi
puu A'of jo uor;uaixo;ui ;sju aq; moaj aqoAvu aq uaq^V
• s LU JU
siq ni saan;uaJO jo ;saqaAcq aq; suav aqs puu fuoi;a9j;u J9i;
esuajo-^i 0; pajuaddu suoisuaqajddu A'j9a jaq fpa;quopuu suav
8
WILHELM MEISTER'S
and so again upon this occasion as heretofore a trifling
sport became the forerunner of happy hours.
They were awakened from the pleasures of their soft
dreams by a noise which arose in the street. Mariana
called to Barbara, who was busied as usual in preparing the
theatrical-wardrobe for the next performance. She stated
that a company of jovial companions were just then breaking
up from the Italian Tavern, close at hand, where over a
supper of fresh oysters, which had just arrived, the cham-
pagne had by no means been spared.
"What a pity!" said Mariana, "that it did not occur to
us sooner, we might have enjoyed ourselves."
u There is time enough yet," replied Wilhelm, as he gave
Barbara a louis d'or, "get us what we require, and you shall
share it with us."
The old lady stirred herself, and in a short time a neat
table with a handsome collation stood before the lovers.
They made Barbara sit down with them, and they eat,
drank, and enjoyed themselves.
On such occasions, amusement never flags. Mariana
took up Jonathan again, and the old servant directed the
conversation to Wilhelm's favourite topic. "You told us
once," she said, "about the first representation of a puppet —
show on Christmas eve : it was a pleasant story. You
were interrupted just as the ballet was about to commence.
"We now know the company which produced such wonderful ,
effects."
"0, yes !" said Mariana: "So tell us again how you were
amused."
"It is a delightful sensation, dear Mariana," said
"Wilhelm, "to remember by-gone times and old harmless
delusions, particularly when we have attained an elevatioD
from whence we can look around us, and survey the journey
we have travelled. It is so pleasant to call to mind with
satisfaction the many obstacles which with painful feelings
we may often have considered as insuperable, and to com-
pare ali that we now are, with what we were then endea-
vouring to become. But inexpressibly happy do I feel at
this moment, when I can speak to you of the past, and look
forward into those bright regions of the future, through
which we shall wander together hand in hand'"
APPRENTICESHIP.
9
"But what about the ballet?" interrupted Barbara. " I
fear it did not go off as well as it should have done."
"Oyes !" interrupted Wilhelm, "it succeeded admirably.
And certainly as long as I live, I shall never forget those
strange dances of Moors, shepherds and dwarfs of both
sexes. At the fall of the curtain, the door closed, and our
little party hastened away to bed, quite joyful with excite-
ment. I remember well that I was unable to close my eyes,
that I was anxious to be told a deal more in reply to my
numerous questions, and that I would scarcely allow the
maid to depart, who had taken us to bed.
"But on the following morning, alas! the magical appa-
ratus had all disappeared, the mysterious curtain was re-
moved, "we could once more pass unimpeded through, the
doorway, from one room to another, and our manifold ad-
ventures had left no trace behind. My brothers and sisters
ran about with their playthings, but I passed quietly
through the rooms, and thought it impossible that nothing
should remain but two door posts, of all the enchantment
which had existed yesterday. In truth, the man who has
lost his beloved, can scarcely be unhappier than I then was."
A look of rapture which he turned on Mariana at that
moment, testified how little he feared being reduced to such
an extremity.
CHAPTER IV.
"Mt sole object was now," continued "Wilhelm, "to
witness a second representation of the piece. I entreated
my mother, and she, at an opportune time, endeavoured to
persuade my father to comply. But her labour was vain.
He maintained that none but pleasures of rare occurrence
possess any value, that neither children nor old persons prize
those blessings which are of daily enjoyment.
""We might, perhaps, have been compelled to wait till the
return of Christmas, if the contriver and secret director of
the entertainment had not himself felt a desire to repeat
the performance, in order that he might produce in the
afterpiece a new harlequin, expressly prepared for the
occasion.
10
W1LHELM MEISTER'S
"A young artillery officer, of great talent, and skilled in
mechanical contrivances, bad during the building of our house,
rendered my father essential services, for which he was well
rewarded, and anxious to testify his gratitude to our little
family at Christmas, he had presented us with a fully
appointed theatre, which in the hours of leisure he had
constructed, carved and decorated. lie was the person, who
assisted by a servant, had arranged the puppets, and by dis-
guising his voice, had played the different characters. He
found no difficulty in overcoming the reluctance of my
father, who from complaisance yielded to a friend, what from
principle he had denied to his children. At length, the
theatre was again erected, the neighbouring families were
invited, and the piece was once more repeated.
"If upon the first representation I had experienced the
delight of surprise and astonishment, I now felt an extreme
pleasure in observing and inquiring. Hoiv it was all con-
trived was my great object to discover. I was sensible from
the beginning, that the puppets did not themselves speak.
I suspected, moreover, that they did not move of their own
accord; but how was all so well contrived, and how did they
appear to speak and move spontaneously ?—and where could
the lights and the people be r These difficulties distressed
me the more, as I wished, at the same time, to form one of
the enchanted and the enchanters, to take a secret part in the
play, and as a spectator to enjoy the pleasure of the illusion.
"The play being ended, preparations were made for the
afterpiece, while the company rose and entered into conversa-
tion together. I pressed closer to the door, and concluded
from the noise within, that some packing up was going on. I
raised the outside curtain, and peeped between the posts.
My mother observed it, and drew me back, but I had seen
enough to know that friends and foes, Saul and Groliath, and
all the others, whoever they might be, were packed together
in one box, and thus my half satisfied curiosity was stil],
further excited. I had, moreover, to my great astonishment
observed the Lieutenant extremely busy in the interior of
the temple. From this time forth, Harlequin, however
featly he might dance, possessed no charm for me. I was
lost in deep thought, and became at once satisfied and dis-
satisfied by my discovery. Upon acquiring a little knoYk-
APPRENTICESHIP.
11
ledge, I felt as if I had learnt nothing, and I was right, for I
could not understand the connection of the parts, and upon
that in truth everything depends."
CHAPTEE V.
"Children, in regular and well-appointed houses," "Wil-
helrn continued, "have an instinct, resembling that possessed
by rats and mice; they watch all crevices and holes, where
they think they may procure some forbidden dainty, and they
enjoy it with a species of secret, stolen pleasure, which in
fact forms the chief part of childhood's happiness.
(i I was more expert than my brothers, in discovering
any key which might have been left accidentally in its lock,
The greater the reverence of my heart for those well-
fastened doors, which I was obliged to pass by for weeks
and months, and into which I could do no more than cast
a furtive glance when our mother opened the sanctuary, to
take something therefrom,—the quicker was I to seize any
ppportunity which the carelessness of the housekeeper
ermitted.
"It is easy to suppose that the door of the store room was
t to which my attention was most actively directed. There
few of the fancied joys of life, which equalled my happi-
ss when my mother occasionally summoned me to assist
r in carrying anything out, upon which occasions, I might
iank her generosity or my own dexterity for the acquisition
f a few dried plums. The gathered treasures of the place
bewildered my imagination by their variety, and the charming
perfume exhaled from such a collection of spices, affected me
so sensibly, that I never missed an opportunity, when near,
of inhaling the dainty atmosphere. One Sunday morning,
when my mother's movements were hastened by the church
bells, the key of this precious room was left in the door, whilst
the whole house lay in a deep Sabbath stillness. As soon as I
made the discovery, I walked quietly backwards and forwards
several times, till at last approaching softly, I opened the
door, and at one step found myself in the presence of so
many long wished for sources of happiness. I surveyed
boxes, bags, chests, drawers and classes, with quick and

12
WILHELM MEISTEH'S
doubtful eye, uncertain what I should select and take, till
finally I helped myself to some of my dear dried plums, and
added a few preserved apples and some candied citron.
"With this booty I was about to retreat, when a couple of
boxes attracted my attention, from the half-closed lids of
which, some wires furnished with little hooks, protruded,
With joyous anticipations I seized my treasure, and with
supreme delight discovered within, all those heroes, who to
me were a very world of delight. I was about to take up
the topmost figure, to examine him, and then to draw out
the undermost, but I soon entangled the delicate wires,
grew frightened and alarmed, more especially as the cook at
the very moment made some noise in the adjoining kitchen, so
I packed them together as well as I could, shut up the box,
having taken nothing but a little book which lay at the top,
containing the Drama of David and Groliath. With this
booty I made my escape and took refuge in a garret.
"From this moment I devoted all my hours of solitude to
the perusal of the play, to learning it by heart, and to
imagining how splendid it would be, could I only accompany
mj recitation by imparting animation to the figures. I was
soon transformed in fancy into David and Groliath. In a1
corners of the house, in the attic, the stable, and the garde
under all circumstances, I studied the piece intently, assum
all the parts and learned them by heart, supporting myself -
chief characters, and permitting the others to occupy ,
memory as inferior satellites. For example, the courageo
speech of David, when he challenges the boasting gian
Goliath, was day and night in my memory. I murmured"
over perpetually, without attracting the attention of any on
but my father, who sometimes overhearing my sudden
declamation, would silently praise the admirable memory of
his son, who could retain so much, from so few recitations.
"This made me bolder, and one evening 1 recited the greater
part of the piece before my mother, having previously con-
verted some pieces of wax into actors. She suspected me,
questioned me closely, and I confessed.
"Fortunately this discovery wras made at a time when the
Lieutenant had expressed a wish to be allowed to initiate me
into the secret. My mother soon informed him of my
unexpected talents, and he then managed to persuade her to


APPRENTICESHIP.
13
rjw him the use of a couple of rooms in the upper story,
nich were generally empty, in one or which the spectators
night sit, and in the other the actors perform, whilst the
proscenium might again fill up the opening between the
doors. My father had allowed his friend to make all these
preparations, conniving at them in silence, in pursuance of
his maxim, that we should never allow children to know the
extent of our affection for them, lest their demands should
become inordinate. He thought that parents should be
reserved even in amusing their children, and should some-
times interrupt their pleasures, to prevent them from
becoming presumptuous and forward."
CHAPTER YI.
"The Lieutenant now set up his theatre and took charge of
everything. I remarked that during the week, he came to
the house at unusual hours, and I suspected his object. My
anxiety increased beyond measure, as I knew perfectly well
that before Sunday I should not be allowed to take part in
the preparations, The long wished for day at length arrived.
The Lieutenant came at five o'clock in the evening and took
me with him. I entered, quivering with delight, and saw on
both sides of the theatre the puppets suspended in order, as
they were to appear. r I marked them carefully, and ascended
the step which raised me above the stage, so that I now
surveyed the little world below. It was not without rever-
ence that I looked between the scenes, recollecting what a-
splendid effect the whole would produce; and sensible of
the great mysteries into which I was initiated. We made
one trial, which was successful.
"The next day a party of children being invited, we per-
formed capitally, with the exception that in the intensity of
my excitement, I let poor Jonathan fall, and was obliged to
stretch out my arm to take him up again, an accident which
completely destroyed the illusion, occasioned loud laughter,
and vexed me unspeakably. But this misfortune seemed to
gratify my father exceedingly. He prudently concealed his
extreme satisfaction at observing the great cleverness of nis
son, and at the conclusion of the piece, lie dwelt chiefly upor

WILHELM MEISTElt'S
the faults, and remarked that it would have been extre
pretty, only for a failure in this or that particular.
"All this grieved me. I was sad for the whole evening, bu
by the returning morning 1 had slept away all my sorrow,
and felt happy in the reflection, that but for a single mishap
my performance would have been faultless. Add to this, the
applause of the spectators, whose approval was unanimous.
They thought that the Lieutenant was successful in managing
the intonation of the voices, though his declamation was
stiff and affected, whilst the new debutant had given the
speeches of David and Jonathan admirably. My mother
especially applauded the independent tone with which I had
challenged Goliath, and presented the modest victor to the
king.
"To my great joy the theatre now continued open, and as
Spring was approaching and we could dispense with fires, I*
spent my holidays and play hours in my garret, making the
puppets go through their performances. I often invited my
brothers and my friends, and when they could not come, I
was content to be alone. My imagination brooded over that
little world, and soon assumed another form.
"Before I had many times performed the first piece, for
which my theatre and the actors had been arranged and
decorated, they ceased to afford me any pleasure. But
amongst some books of my grandfather, the German Theatre
and some translated Italian Operas having fallen into my
hands, I became at once immersed in them, and after reck-
oning up the number of the characters, without further
preparation, I proceeded to exhibit the piece. Under these
circumstances, King Saul enveloped in his black robe was
now forced to personate Cato or Darius, on which occasions,
it is proper to observe, that the entire piece was never per-
formed, seldom indeed, more than the fifth act, in which the
death-scene occurred.
"It was natural that Operas with their many vicissitudes
and adventures should possess the greatest attraction for me.
They furnished stormy seas, deities who descended in clouds,
and what afforded me supreme happiness—thunder and
lightning. I contrived everything with pasteboard, paiuJ;
and paper, produced night admirably, and made terrific
lightning. It sometimes happened that my thunder was a

APPRENTICESHIP.
15
failure, but ;hat was not of much importance. The Operas
afforded me frequent, Opportunities for introducing my David,
and Goliath, who/in the regular drama were hardly admis-
>S^l£l_-5lSS^r^J ^ grew more attached to the narrow spot
whereTenjoyed so many pleasures, and I must admit that
the fragrant odour which the puppets had contracted in the
store room contributed somewhat to produce this effect.
"The decorations of my theatre were now tolerably com-
plete, and the habit I had acquired in youth of drawing with
the compass, cutting out pasteboard and painting pictures,
served me now in hour of need. I was sadly grieved however
when, as often happened, my limited stock of actors proved
inadequate to the representation of grand performances.
"My sisters' amusement of dressing and undressing their
dolls, suggested to me the propriety of supplying my puppets
with an appropriate wardrobe. Accordingly I cut the
dresses for their bodies, sewed them together as well as I
was able, and from the savings of my pocket money I bought
some new ribbou and spangles, and by begging many a piece
of satin, I collected gradually a theatrical wardrobe, in which
hoop dresses for the ladies were particularly remembered.
"My actors were now really provided with dresses for the
most important piece, and a succession of performances
might now have been fairly expected, but it happened with
me as it generally does with children. They form mighty
plans, commence great preparations, make a few trials, an*d
then the entire project is abandoned. I committed this fault.
_InxenJjion, and the employment of my imagination furnished
me with the greatest delight. An occasional piece interested
me on account of a particular scene, and immediately I com-
menced preparing apparel for the occasion. Under these
circumstances the original wardrobe of my heroes soon fell
into disorder, or was no longer in existence, so that my first
great piece could not again be represented. I gave the reins
to my fancy, rehearsed and prepared everlastingly, built a
thousand castles in the air and forgot that I was thus
undermining my little edifice."
During this narrative Mariana had found it necessary to
summon up all her regard for Wilhelm, in order to conceal
her fatigue. Amusing as the matter might appear to one
party, it was too simple for her taste, and the accompanying
IG WILIIEI/M METSTEIl'S
comments were far too serious. .She softly pressed the
foot of her lover, to afford unequivocaKproofs of her atten-
tion and approval. She drank out of his glass, and "VVilhelia
felt convinced that no word he had uttereS>^hadbeen
After a short pause, he exclaimed, "It is jou^^S^ow^
Mariana, to relate to me what were your first childish joys.
Hitherto we have always been too busy with the present,
to trouble ourselves about our previous course of life. But
tell me—how were you brought up? What are the first
vivid impressions which you remember?"
These questions would have thrown Mariana into the
greatest embarrassment, if Barbara had not quickly come to
her assistance. "Do you think," said the clever old
woman, <c that we have paid so much attention to what hap-
pened long ago, that we can have any thing worth telling,
or even if we had, that we could convert it into an enter-
taining narrative?"
"As if that were necessary!" exclaimed Wilhelm. "2
love this dear, good, amiable creature so tenderly, that I
regret every moment of my life which I have spent without
her. Let me at least in fancy share your bygone life. Tell
me every thing, I will tell you every thing in return. Let
us, if possible, deceive ourselves, and endeavour to win back
those times which have been lost to love."
"If you are so bent upon this," said Barbara, "we can
satisfy you. But tell us first how your taste for theatrical
entertainments gradually grew, howT you practised and how
you improved so happily that you are now esteemed a first-
rate actor? Doubtless you have had no want of merry
adventures. It is not worth while retiring now to bed. I
have still a bottle in reserve, and who knows when we may
meet again in such happiness and content?"
Mariana glanced at her with a dissatisfied look which
Willi elm did not observe, and he proceeded with his narra-
tion
APPRENTICESHIP.
17
CHAPTER VII.
"The amusements of youth, as my acquaintances increased
in number, broke in upon my quiet, lonely enjoyments. I
was alternately hunter, soldier or knight, as our games
might render necessary, and I always possessed this trifling
advantage over my comrades, that I was able to furnish
them properly with all their necessary equipments. The
swords were always of my manufacture, I ornamented and
gilded the sledges, and I was impelled by a secret instinct
to dress our militia after the antique. Helmets were made
and ornamented with paper feathers. Shields and even
coats of armour were prepared, and in the performance of
these works, many a needle was broken by the sempstresses
and household assistants.
"One portion of my young companions were now fully
armed. The rest were gradually, but less effectively
equipped, and a respectable corps was collected together.
We marched about the court-yards and gardens, valiantly
struck each other's heads and shields, from which arose
many a misunderstanding which was quickly forgotten.
u This amusement, which afforded infinite entertainment to
the others, was repeated but a few times, when it ceased to
satisfy me. The sight of so many armed figures necessarily
awoke in me those ideas of chivalry, which for some time
had filled my head, since I had commenced the perusal of old
romances.
"The story of ' Jerusalem Delivered/ Koppen's transla-
tion of which had fallen into my hands, soon gave my
wavering thoughts a decided turn. True, I was unable to
read the whole poem, but there were passages which I knew
by heart, and the descriptions captivated me. Clorinda, above
all, fascinated me with her noble deeds and bearing. The
female heroism, the sustained perfection of her character,
more affected my mind, which was just then unfolding, than
the artificial charms of Armida, though her garden was by
no means an object to be despised.
"Bat a hundred and a hundred times, as I have walked
at evening upon the balcony which is erected between the
gables of the house, and surveyed the surrounding scenery
18
WILHELM MEISTEE'S
whilst tlie horizon was suffused with the gleaming splendour
of a setting sun, the stars burst forth twinkling, and night
came on from every corner and depth, and the cry of the
grasshopper resounded through the solemn silence,—then
have I a hundred times recited to myself the history of the
mournful combat between Tancrcd and Clorinda.
"However natural it might seem that I should advocate the
Christian enterprise, I felt a cordial interest in the Pagan
heroine, when she. undertook to fire the great tower of the
besiegers. And when Tancred afterwards meets the sup-
posed warrior by night, and the combat begins beneath a veil
of gloom and they fight with bravery, I never could recito
the words- -
'< Clorinda's course is now for ever past,
The hour approaches which must prove her last,"
without my eyes filling with tears, which flowed in torrents
when the unfortunate lover plunges his sword into her
bosom, unclasps the helmet of the dying heroine, and re-
cognizing her with a shudder, hastens to bring water for
her baptism.
"But how did my heart overflow when in the enchanted
forest, Tancred's sword strikes the tree, blood flows from
the wound, and a voice echoes in his ears that he has again
wounded Clorinda, and that he is destined by fate ever thus
unconsciously to destroy the object of his dearest love!
"The story filled my imagination so completely that what
I had read became henceforth faintly embodied in my mind,
and I grew so captivated with the idea that I determined to
perform it after some fashion. I undertook to enact the
parts of Tancred and Einaldo, and found two suits of armour
ready for the purpose, which I had some time previously
prepared. The one formed of dark grey paper and orna-
mented with scales would serve for the solemn Tancred, the
other bright with gold and silver might adorn the brilliant
Einaldo. In the excitement of my anticipations I related
the project to my companions. They were charmed witb
the design, but were at a loss to understand how all this
was to be represented, and above all, represented by them.
"I allayed their apprehensions without much difficulty.
I determined to avail myself of a couplo of rooms in the
APPRENTICESHIP.
19
Louse of a playfellow, without reflecting: that his old aunt
might refuse to give them up to us. "With equal rashness I
conceived the project of my theatre, of which I had formed
no other idea than that it was to he fixed in a framework,
that the sceneiy was to be constructed out of folding screens
and the floor to be covered with an ample cloth. Eut from
whence all the indispensable materials were to come, never
once occurred to me.
"We found an excellent expedient to provide the grove.
We earnestly entreated an old servant of one of the families,
who had lately become a woodman to furnish us with some
young birch and fir trees, and they were actually brought
to us more quickly than we could have expected. But we
found great difEculty in determining how to complete our
arrangements before the trees should wither. Good advice
would now have been invaluable. We had neither house,
theatre, nor curtains. The folding scenes were all our trea-
sure.
"In our perplexity we had recourse once more to the
Lieutenant, and gave him a long account of all the fine
things we intended. Ill as he understood us, he promised
every assistance, and for this purpose he heaped into a small
room all the tables he could find in the house and neighbour-
hood, fixed the folding screens to them, contrived a back
view of green curtains, and arranged our trees together in a
row.
"The long looked for evening came at last. The candles
were lighted, the maids and the children had taken their
places, the whole corps of heroes were equipped, and the
play was about to commence, when it occurred to us for the
first time that no one knew what he was to say. Engaged
in my inventions, and quite absorbed by my own pursuits,
I had forgotten that the actors should each learn an appro-
priate part, and in the excitement of the preparations tins
difficulty had never occurred to my companions. They
fancied they could represent the character of heroes, and
could act and speak with ease as should become the persons
into whose world I had transplanted them. But when the
moment arrived they all stood in astonishment enquiring,
'What was first to happen?' till I, who had previously given
my attention to the character of Tancred, entered alone
upon the stage, and commenced reciting some verses of the
20
WILHELM MEISTEE/3
Epic poem. But as the passage which 1 had selected soon
changed into narrative, whilst I. in my address, had to
represent a third party, and as Godfrey, whose turn it wa?
now to speak, refused to appear, I was at length compelled
to withdraw amid the loud laughter of the spectators; a
catastrophe which galled me to the very soul. Our under-
taking proved a complete failure. The spectators how-
ever retained their seats and were bent upon seeing some-
thing. We were all in full costume. I took courage and
resolved, hit or miss, to give them David and Groliath. Some
of the company had already assisted me with the puppet
show, and all had witnessed it repeatedly. We accordingly
apportioned the parts, each promised to exert himself to the
utmost, and one little droll fellow, painting a black beard
upon his chin, undertook if any obstacle should occur, to
enact some drollery as Harlequin, a proposal to which I very
reluctantly consented, as quite opposed to the solemnity
of the performance. I vowed however at the same time, that
once free from this perplexity, I never would undertake the
representation of any piece, without the most careful pre-
paration."
CHAPTEU VIII.
Mauiana, overcome by sleep, leaned upon her lover, who
pressed her closely to his side: ho then continued his narra-
tive, whilst old Barbara with proper precaution appropriated
the rest of the wine.
"The difficulty," he said, "in which I found myself in-
volved with my friends, by undertaking the performance of
a play which had no existence, was soon forgotten. My
passion for dramatising every romance that I read, every
history that I learnt, was not subdued by the stubborn
nature of my materials. I felt perfectly convinced that
every thing which pleased as a narrative, must produce a
much more powerful effect as a representation. I longed
to have brought every thing before my eyes and produced
upon the stage. When any historical event was related to
us at school, I took particular note of any remarkable case
of murder or of poisoning, when my imagination glancing
rapidly over the common incidents of exposition and denoue-
APPRENTICESHIP.
2L
menfc, hastened to reach the deep interest of the fifth act.
And under such influence I actually commenced the compo-
sition of some pieces beginning with the finale, although in
none of them did I ever succeed in arriving at the beginning.
"At the same time impelled partly by my own fancy, and
partly by the request of friends, who had acquired a taste
for theatrical performances, I read through a whole collec-
tion of plays as chance threw them in my way. I was then
at that happy period of life when every thing imparts
pleasure, and when mere number and variety offer abun-
dant materials for happiness. But unfortunately my taste
was corrupted by another circumstance. Those pieces in-
variably pleased me most, in the representation of which I
hoped personally to excel, and I read few of them without
indulging this agreeable illusion: and as I could identify
myself with every character, my active imagination soon de-
ceived me into the belief that I was capable of representing
them, and on this account in distributing the parts, I
usually selected those that were not at all adapted for me,
and when such a license could be permitted, it was my
custom even to appropriate two.
"The resources of children at play are infinite: a wand
becomes a gun, a piece of wood a sword; each bundle a
doll, and every corner a habitation. Upon this principle
was our theatre conducted. In perfect ignorance of our
powers we boldly undertook every thing, we observed no qui
pro quo, feeling convinced that every one would recognize
in us, the characters we represented. But it happens un-
fortunately that our whole proceedings were of so common
place and unvaried a nature, that I have not even a remark-
able absurdity to relate. We first acted those few pieces in
which male figures alone are introduced, subsequently we
dressed some of our party in female attire, and at length we
inducted our sisters into the company. In some families
our performances were considered as improving in their
tendency, and company was accordingly invited to witness
them. Our Lieutenant of artillery did not forsake us upon
such occasions. He instructed us to make our exits and our
entrances, to declaim and to gesticulate. But for the most part
he earned but little gratitude for his trouMe, as we though
that Ave understood theatrical science far better than he.
"Our first passion was for tragedy, as we had

22
Y/ILllELM ^LEISTER'S
heard and indeed believed that it was easier to writt and to
represent tragedy, than to excel in comedy. In addition,
upon our first tragical effort, we had felt ourselves completely
in our element. We sought to realise dignity of rank, and
excellence of character by stiffness and affectation, and
thought ourselves eminently successful: but we only felt
completely happy when allowed to rage furiously, to stamp
with our feet, and to fling ourselves upon the ground in
madness and despair.
"Maidens and youths did not long continue these per-
formances, before nature took her usual course, and the
company began to divide into various little societies of love;
since, oftentimes, it happens that a two-fold comedy is
enacted upon the stage. Behind the scenes, each happy
couple softly pressed hands in the most loving manner, and
were lost in rapturous delight when they appeared before
each other in ideal characters, adorned in theatrical attire;
whilst on the other hand, a few unhappy rivals fell a prey to
the pangs of jealousy, and occasioned all manner of con-
fusion, with their insolence and malice.
"Those performances, although undertaken without judg-
ment and enacted without discretion, were not without
advantage to us. They served to enable us to exercise our
memories and our physical powers, and attain more ease in
conversation and deportment, than persons at so early an
age can easily acquire. This period formed a remark-
able epoch in my history: my whole mind was now directed
to the theatre, and I found no other happiness, than in
reading, writing, and performing plays.
"The instruction of my tutors was, however, continued.
Being destined for a life of trade, I had been placed in the
counting house of a friend. But at this particular juncture,
my mind became diverted more forcibly than ever from a
pursuit which I deemed unworthy of me. I was anxious to
dedicate my whole powers to the stage, and to seek therein
my happiness and content.
"I still recollect a poem which will be found amongst my
papers, in which the tragic Muse, and another female cha-
racter, by which I intended to personify Trade, are made to
tend vigorously for the possession of my worthy self,
idea is not original, and I forget whether the verses
any merit, but you should see them—on account of

APPRENTICESHIP.
the apprehension and loathing, the love and passion, which
predominate therein. The old female is painfully described,
with her distaff in her girdle, her keys at her side, her spec-
tacles on her nose, ever active, restless, quarrelsome, stingy,
petty and annoying, and sorrowfully do I describe his con-
dition who must bow beneath her rod and earn his servile
wages in the sweat of his brow.
"But how differently did I make the other figure ad-
vance; what an apparition was she for the troubled heart!
In her form of glory, she seemed in being and deportment
to be a very daughter of freedom; the sense of her own
innate worth imparted to her a dignity devoid of pride. Her
attire was becoming; it enveloped each limb without con-
straint, and the rich folds of her dress like a thousand times
reiterated echo, repeated the graceful motions of the Goddess.
"What a contrast was there! it is easy to imagine which way
my heart inclined. Moreover, nothing was forgotten that
could render my Muse attractive. Crowns and daggers,
chains and masks, as they had been left by my predecessors,
were again bestowed upon her. The contest was keen. The
speeches of both parties contrasted admirably, as at fourteen
years of age one is accustomed to paint the lines of black
and white with sufficient distinctness. The old woman spoke
like one who could stoop to pick up a pin; the other like
one who could bestow kingdoms. The warning threats of
the former were despised. I turned my back upon her
promised wealth! naked and disinherited, I abandoned my-
self to the Muse, who flung her golden veil around me and
concealed my destitution.
"Could I have thought, oh, my love," "Wilhelm exclaimed,
as he pressed Mariana tenderly to his heart, "that another
and a more lovely goddess would soon appear, to strengthen
my resolutions and to guide me on my way, the poem would
have had a brighter turn, and a happier termination; and
yet it is no poem, but truth and life to find you in my arms;
let us revel in the consciousness of our sweet happiness."
The pressure of his arm, and the animation of his elevated
voice awakened Mariana, she sought to conceal her embar-
rassment in caresses, for she had not heard one word of the
latter part of his narrative, and it is to be wial ed that our
hero for the future may obtain more attentive listeners to
his charming tales.
24
WILHELM -tfEISTEB'S
CHAPTEE IX.
Thus did "Wilhelm pass liis nights in the enjoyment of
confiding love, and his days in the expectation of hours of
renewed happiness. Even at the time when desire and hope
first attracted him to Mariana, he became endowed with a new
being; he felt that he had commenced a new existence, and
now that he was united to her, the satisfaction of his desires
had grown to be a delicious habit. His heart now sought to
ennoble the object of his passion, and his spirit to exalt the
maiden of his love. Even in the shortest absence, her remem-
brance seized him. If she had been formerly a necessity,
she had now become indispensable to him, since she was
attached to him by every tie of nature. His pure soul felt
that she was the half and more than the half of his being;
his gratitude and devotion were boundless.
And even Mariana could deceive herself for a time; she
shared the feeling of his deep delight. Alas! if only the
cold hand of reproof did not sometimes fall upon her heart.
Even upon the bosom of "Wilhelm, and under the wings of
his love, she was not safe from its chill touch. And when
she was again alone, and when from those clouds to which
his passion had exalted her, she sank down to the conscious-
ness of her condition, she was indeed wretched. Thought-
lessness came to her as a friend, whilst she lived in a state of
mental confusion, and was either deluded as to her condition,
or did not comprehend it. The circumstances to which she
found herself exposed, appeared but isolated. Pleasure and
pain perpetually effaced each other's impress, humiliation
was compensated by vanity, and want often by momentary
superfluity. She could adduce necessity and custom in her
defence and justification, and thus from hour to hour, and
from day to day, she banished every corroding reflection.
But now the poor girl had felt herself transported for a
moment into a better world, had looked doAvn from a height
of light and joy upon the desert waste of her past life, and
felt what a wretched being a woman is, who whilst she
excites desire, ia powerless to awaken either love or respect,
and found herself neither externally nor internally improved.
She w as bereft of consolation When she looked enquir-

APPEENTICESHIP. 25
f
ingly within, all was void, and her heart found no support or
refuge. The more wretched she was. the more closely did
she cling to her beloved. Her passion increased the more,
as the dread of losing him every day grew stronger.
Wilhelm on the other hand floated aloft in more exalted
regions, a new world was opened to him also, rich in glorious
prospects. Scarcely had he yielded to the first excess of joy,
than that vision stood brightly before his soul, which had
formerly glided darkly through it. She is thine; she has-
given herself to thee! She, the beloved, the sought for, the
adored, has given herself to thee in confidence and truth, she
will not find thee ungrateful. Motionless or active he
discoursed with himself, his heart continually overflowed, and
in an eloquence of burning words, he uttered the most sublime
thoughts. He believed that he saw the clear beckoning of
Fate, who stretched out her hand to him through Mariana,,
to save him from the wearisome, stagnant citizen-life from
which he had so long sought deliverance. To quit his father's
house, to separate from his relations, appeared to him a
trivial matter; he was young and new in the world, and his
courage was exalted by love, to wander over its wastes in
search of happiness and contentment. His destiny for the
stage was now clear. The glorious goal which he saw dis-
played before him, seemed to approach nearer as he sought its
attainment hand in hand with Mariana, and with self-
contented satisfaction, he pictured to himself his success as-
an actor—the creator of a future national theatre, an object
for which many had so often \ ainly sighed. Every fancy which
had hitherto slumbered in the interior recesses of his soul,
was now awakened. From his multifarious ideas he painted a
picture in colours of love, upon a canvass of cloud, the figures of
which ran sadly into each other, but the whole only produced
on this account a more enchanting effect.
CHAPTER X.
He remained now at home, turning over his papers and
preparing for his departure. He neglected all that related to
his previous pursuits, wishing upon his journey through the
world, to be free from every unpleasant recollection. Only
WILIIELM MEISTEK 6
1
works of taste, the poets and the critics were admitted as
well-known friends amongst his selected books, and as lie
had formerly availed himself but slightly of critical authors,
his taste for information was -now renewed, when upon
glancing through his books he found that his collection of
theatrical essays were for the most part uncut. In full con-
viction of the utility of such works he had provided himself
with a large supply, although with the best intentions, he
never been able to advance far in the perusal.
On the other hand he had applied himself more diligently
to composition, and had even attempted every kind with
which he had become acquainted.
"Werner one day entered his apartment, and observing his
friend to be engaged with the well-known manuscripts, ex-
claimed, ""What, still busy with these papers? I will wager
that you have no intention of finishing any of them. You
are ever engaged in looking them through, but still bent upon
commencing some new performance."
"To finish is not the business of the scholar, it is sufficient
that he exercise himself."
"But still be finishes as well as he can."
"And 3ret the question might well be asked, whether one
should not entertain good hopes of a youth who ceases to
continue a pursuit when he finds he has undertaken something
inappropriate, and is unwilling to waste his efforts upon a
project which can have no value."
"I well know it was never your way to bring anything to
completion. You have always wearied before one half was
finished. "When you were director of our puppet show, how
often have new clothes been made for the dwarfish
company, and new decorations prepared. At one time this,
at another time that tragedy was to be represented, and you
generally ended by performing some fifth act, hi which every-
thing was admirably contused, and in which the characters
murdered each other."
<e If you will refer to those times, whose fault was it that*
we tore off the garments which fitted our puppets so well,
to incur the expense of a more extensive and useless ward
robe? Were not you the person who constantly had a new
piece of ribbon to bargain for, and who never failed ta
encourage mv whims and to profit by them."
APPEE^TICESmP.
27
Werner smiled, whilst he exclaimed, "I still remember
with pleasure how I profited by your theatrical campaigns as
a commissary does by war. When you were preparing your
; Jerusalem Delivered/ I gained enormously as the "Venetians
did formerly in similar circumstances. I know of nothing in
the world more sensible than to extract advantage from the
folly of others."
"I doubt if it be not a nobler pleasure to cure men of
their follies."
"And if I know mankind well, that might prove a yarn task,
though to be sure some progress is made, when any individual
wishes to become clever and rich; and this generally takes
place at the expense of others."
Wilhelm answered: "I lay my hand now most oppor-
tunely upon 'The Youth at the Cross Roads,'" as he drew
a manuscript from amongst his other papers; c{ it is at least
finished, be it in other respects what it may."
"Throw it away, cast it into the fire," replied Werner;
"the plot is not in the least praiseworthy, the composition
distressed me enough formerly, and drew your father's anger
upon you. The verses may be pretty, but the design is
wholly false. I still remember that wretched wrinkled-
looking sibyl, your personification of Trade. Tou must
have taken the picture from the shop of some miserable
huckster. "You could then have had no idea of commerce,
for I do not know any character whose mind is, was, and
requires to be, more enlarged than that of a real merchant.
What an improving sight is the order in which his business
is conducted, which allows us at any time to survey the
whole, without the necessity of entangling ourselves with
details. What an advantage for the merchant is the system
of book-keeping by double entry; it is one of the sublimest
inventions of human genius, and every good householder
should introduce it into his establishment."
"Pardon me," said Wilhelm, smiling, "you begin with
the form as if that were the substance, and with your addi-
tions and your balances you commonly forget the all-important
net product of life."
"But unfortunately, my fHend, you do not see that form
and substance are here the same, and that one cannot exist
without the other. System and order increase the wish to
28
WILHELM MEISTER'S
save and to acquire. A bad manager is contented to be
ignorant of his affairs, and is unwilling to count the entries
wherein he stands as debtor. On the other hand, nothing
can be more delightful to a good manager, than daily to
survey the amounts of his increasing happiness. Even a
mischance, when it unfortunately surprises, does not terrify
him, since he knows the well-earned profits which he can place
in the other scale. I am convinced, my dear friend, that if
you could but once experience the genuine pleasure of a life
of business, you would admit that many faculties of the mind
can find therein a free play."
u It is possible that the journey which I project may give
rise to another way of thinking."
"Oh yes! believe me, you only need a scene of great in-
dustry to make you one of us, and upon your return you will
willingly associate with those who seek to secure by every
species of undertaking and speculation, to enjoy a portion of
that wealth and happiness which takes its fated circuit through
the world. Cast a look upon the natural and artificial products
of every part of the globe,see how they have become alternately
indispensable! What a delightful and intellectual anxiety, to
know what is required at the precise moment, and yet either
wholly fails or is difficult to procure; to satisfy the wants of
all with ease and expedition, to lay in a provision with fore-
thought, and to enjoy the advantages of each moment in this
extensive circulation. This, it appears to me, is capable of
proving an inexhaustible delight to every man of understand-
ing."
Wilhelm. seemed to consent, and Werner continued:
"Only in the first place visit a few large commercial towns
or seaports, and without doubt you will be transported with
the sight. When you observe how many men are there
employed, and see whence so much has come and whither it is
goiug, you will doubtless experience delight that it should
pass through your hands. You behold the smallest articles
of trade in connection with the entire principles of commerce,
and you will then consider that nothing is little, because
every thing tends to increase the circulation from which your
life draws its support."
Werner who had improved his own correct understanding
by association with Wilhelm, had accustomed himself tu
APPRENTICESHIP.
29
reflect upon lii3 own pursuits, and upon his own bus 'ness with
elevation of soul, and ever considered that he performed this
task with greater justice than his otherwise sensible and valued
friend, who, it seemed to him, placed such excessive import-
ance, and threw the weight of his whole soul, upon the most
unreal objects in the world. He sometimes thought that he
must succeed in overcoming this false enthusiasm, and that
so good a man must eventually be led into the right way.
In this hope he continued, "The great men of the world
have appropriated the whole earth, they live in glory and
superfluity, even the smallest corner of the globe is already
in their possession, and that possession is secured. Offices
and other civic business produce but little ; where then can we
find more legitimate pursuits, or juster conquests than those
of commerce. The princes of this world have the rivers, the
roads and the havens in their power, and extract a consider-
able profit from everything in course of transit; should not
we then with joy embrace the opportunity of levying toll, by
our activity, upon those articles which either want or luxury
has rendered indispensable to man. And I can warn you, that
if you will only employ your poetical fanc}r, you will find
my goddess the invincible conqueror of your own. It is true
she bears the olive branch rather than the sword, daggers
and chains she knows not, she distributes crowns to her
favourites, which, be it said without offence, are formed of
brilliant gold, pure from the mine, and gleaming with pearls
sought in the depths of the ocean by the hands of her
trusty servants."
This sally vexed AYilhelm not a little, but he concealed
his emotion, for he remembered that Werner was accustomed
to hear his rhapsodies with resignation. In other respects
he was just enough to feel content that every one should
esteem his own pursuit the best, he only required that others
should allow him uncontestedly to enjoy that course to
which he was passionately devoted.
"And for you," cried "Werner, "who sympathize
cordially in human affairs, what a spectacle will it be to
behold the happiness which attends daring speculations be-
stowed on mankind. What is more gladdening than the
sight of a vessel arriving from a prosperous voyage, or
returning with a rich prize. Not only the relations the ac-
30
WILHELM MEISTER?3
quaintanccs, and the partners, but every observing stranger
is delighted at witnessing the joy with which the imprisoned
sailor leaps ashore even before his vessel touches land, feeling
that he is once more free, and can now confide to the
faithful earth all that he has rescued from the treacherous
waves. All our gain, my friend, does not depend on figures,
happiness is the goddess of living men, and in order really
to experience her favours we must exist and behold mankind,
whose exertions are earnest and whose enjoyments are
deep."
CHAPTER XL
It is now time for us to become better acquainted with
the parents of our two young friends. They were men of
very different dispositions, but they agreed in considering
commerce as the noblest of employments, and both were
extremely attentive to the smallest advantage which any
species of speculation could bring. Wilhelm's father on the
death of his own parent had converted into money a valuable
collection of paintings, drawings, engravings, and antiquities,
had completely rebuilt and' furnished his house in the newest
style, and had made the remainder of his property profitable
in every possible way. He had lent a great part of it to the
elder "Werner for purposes of trade, as the latter possessed
the character of an active man of business, whose specula-
tions were generally favoured by fortune. But old Meister
desired nothing so anxiously as to endow his son with
qualities which he did not himself possess, and to bequeath
to his children advantages, to the enjoyment of which he
attached the greatest advantage. But he himself entertained
a love for magnificence, for those things winch strike the
eye, and at the same time possess a real and lasting value.
He considered that everything in a house should be solid
and massive, the supply abundant, the plate heavy, the table
service costly. But then his guests were few, for every en-
tertainment was a festival, which did not admit of frequent
repetition, as well on account of the expense as of the in-
APPRENTICESHIP.
31
convenience. His household was conducted in an unpre-
tending and regular manner, and every attempt at animation
or novelty uniformly failed to afford satisfaction.
The elder Werner in his dark and gloomy habitation led
a life of a wholly different kind. When he had once trans-
acted his daily business at the old desk in his small counting-
house, he was accustomed to dine well, and if possible to
drink still better. But he was unable to enjoy his luxuries
in solitude. He took pleasure in beholding bis friends, and
indeed all strangers who were in any way connected with
him, seated at table in the society of his family. His chairs
were antiquated, but he invited some one to sit upon them
daily. His good fare attracted the attention of his guests,
and no one observed that it was served on common ware.
His cellar was incapable of holding much wine, but what
was drunk was usually replaced by a supply of a superior
kind.
Thus did these two parents pursue their career, often
meeting together to consult upon their common affairs, and
at the time of which we speak they had just determined to
send Wilkelm from home, to engage in some transactions of
business.
"He must see the world," observed old Meister, il and
at the same time execute our business in some distant places.
There can be no greater advantage for a young man than to
be initiated early into the business of life. Your son has
returned so prosperously from his journey, and has managed
so well, that I am curious to see how mine will sacceed.
I fear his knowledge must be purchased at a dearer rate than
your's."
Old Meister, who entertained a high opinion of his son's
capabilities, made this observation, with the hope that his
friend would contradict him, and extol the extraordinary
talents of the youth. Eut in this he was deceived. Old
Werner, who in practical matters confided hi no man whom
he had not proved, answered with composure, "We must
try every thing—we may send him on the same journey and
furnish him with written directions for his guidance; there
are many debts to collect, old connections to renew, and
fresh ones to form. He may also assist to forward the
speculation about which I have spoken to you lately, for
32
WILHELM MEISTEH?S
unless we procure precise information on the very spot we
shall make bnt little progress."
"He may get ready," said old Meister, "and set out as
soon as possible. But where shall we find a horse for him,
adapted for such a journey?"
"We need not search far for that. A shopkeeper in
H , who is a debtor of ours, though otherwise a very
worthy person, has offered us a horse in payment of our claim.
My son knows the animal and approves of it highly."
"Then he may fetch it himself. If he starts by the
coach he may return by the day after to-morrow. We can
in the mean time get ready his portmanteau and his letters,
and by this means he may set out in the beginning of the
approaching week."
Wilhelm was forthwith summoned and informed of the
plan. No one could have been more delighted than he was,
on perceiving within his power the means of executing his
project, and on finding so favourable an opportunity provided
without any trouble on his part. So strong was his affec-
tion, and so pure was his conviction thaC he was acting
honourably in escaping from the pressure of his previous
style of life, and in following anew and nobler career, that his
conscience did not in the least upbraid him ; he was troubled
by no anxiety, and in point of fact he even considered his
intended fraud as holy. He felt confident that his parents
and relations would eventually praise and bless him for his
determination, and he recognized in the concurrence of these
events the evidence of a conducting fate.
How long did the night appear to him until the arrival of
the hour when he should again behold his darling! He re-
tired to his chamber and thought over in his mind the plan
of his journey, as a conjuror or a dexterous thief in prison
withdraws his feet repeatedly from the chains with which he
is bound, to encourage the belief that his escape is possible,
and perhaps even nearer than his short-sighted gaolers
imagine.
The long-looked-for hour of night at length arrived. He
left his house, flung all his troubles to the winds, and
wandered through the silent streets. Having reached the
great square, he raised his hands to heaven, and felt himself
superior to every care as he had escaped from all anxiety.
APPRENTICESHIP.
33
At one moment he fancied that be was locked in the em-
brace * of his beloved Mariana; at another moment they
seemed to be enjoying together the brilliant enchantments of
the stage, and whilst he was thus soaring aloft, m the delu-
sions of fancy and lost, as it were, in the blissful regions of
hope, the watchman's cry reminded him, alas! that he was
still but a pilgrim on this earth.
His beloved met him on the stairs, and how beautiful she
looked! she was attired in her loose white "negligee," and
he thought she had never looked so charming. The gift of
the absent lover was dedicated to the entertainment of a
present rival, and with real passion she showered upon him
all the caresses which were suggested to her by nature, or in
which she had been instructed by art: it is necessary
to inquire whether he felt happy and blessed?
He explained all that had occurred, and in general terms
he unfolded to her his plans and his wishes. He would first
endeavour, he said, to establish himself in some residence,
after which he would return for her, and he hoped that she
would then consent to bless him with her hand. The poor girl
was silent, she made an effort to conceal her tears, and
pressed her friend to her bosom. Though he interpreted
her confusion favourably, he could have wished for a more
decisive answer, particularly when in the most modest and
endearing tones, he inquired whether he might not consider
himself a father. But to this question she only answered
with a sigh and with a kiss.
CHAPTEE XII.
On the following morning Mariana awoke to a feeling of
renewed sorrow,—she felt now that she was completely
alone—she shrank from encountering the face of day, and
therefore she remained in bed and wept. Old Barbara sat
down at her side, and endeavoured to persuade and console
her, but she found it impossible so soon to heal a wounded
heart. The moment was fast approaching to which the
poor girl had long looked forward as the end of her existence.
Could any human being have been placed in a more dis*
D
WILHELM MEISTEK S
tressing situation? her lover was absent— another and a less
welcome suitor was hourly expected, and the direst calamity
must necessarily ensue if the two individuals should meet.
—" Tranquillize yourself, my dear!" cried old Barbara, "do
not spoil those pretty eyes with tears? Is it then so great a
misfortune to have two lovers? and if you can only bestow
your tenderness npon one, surely it is possible for you to be
grateful to the other, and he, if we may judge from his
attention, deserves at least to be considered as your friend."
"My beloved," answered Mariana, bathed in tears, "had
a secret misgiving that a separation was at hand. A dream
discovered to bim all that we have sought so anxiously to
conceal. He was sleeping softly at my side. Suddenly I
heard him murmur some distressing but unintelligible words,
I became alarmed and awoke him. How can I describe the
love, the tenderness, the transport with which he embraced
me! 'Oh Mariana!' he exclaimed, 'from what anguish and
distress you have delivered me! How can I evince my
gratitude to you, for freeing me from such misery! I dreamt/
he continued, 'that I was in an unknown country, sepa-
rated from you: but your image floated before me: I beheld
you seated on a beautiful hill, the sun shone upon the spot,
and how lovely you appeared! But this did not last long —
presently I saw your image gliding—gliding gradually away
—I stretched out my arms towards you, but they could not
reach you in the distance. Tour image continued to dis-
appear gradually from me, until at length it approached a
wide sheet of water, which lay at the foot of a hill, and
resembled a marsh rather than a lake. Suddenly a stranger
offered you his hand, he wished, it seemed, to raise you
upwards, but he led you to one side, and drew you to him-
self. I shouted, for I was unable to reach you, but I wished
to give you warning. When I tried to stir, the ground
seemed to hold me fast, and if I could have succeeded in my
attempt to move, the water was still between us. Though my
anguish was extreme, my very cries were stifled within me.'—
Such was the account poor "Wilhelm gave, as he sought refuge
from his terror in my embrace, and felt happy in dispelling
his frightful delusion in the reality of bliss."
Old Barbara had recourse to all her prosaic powers to
dispel the poetry of her friend, and to reduce it within tho
APPRENTICESHIP.
35
limits of common life. For this purpose she adopted that ad-
mirable plan which so often succeeds with bird-catchers, when
they imitate with a whistle the notes of the poor creatures
who are destined to nutter shortly in the entanglement
of their nets. She spoke favourably of Wilhelru and passed
eloquent eulogiums upon his figure, upon the brightness
of his eyes, and upon the depth of his love. The poor
girl was delighted—she arose and permitted herself to be
dressed, and gradually became more tranquil. "My child,
my sweet love," said Barbara in a flattering tone, "I will not
distress or trouble you. I have no wish to destroy your
happiness. Conld you misunderstand my purpose, or have
you forgotten that I have ever consulted your comfort more
than my own. Only express your wishes and let us consider
how they may be fulfilled."
"What can I wish for!" answered Mariana, "I am
wretched, wretched for life. I love him, he loves me, I see
that I must separate from him, and I know not how I can
survive it. JNorberg is coming, to whom we are indebted for
our very existence, and whom we cannot afford to lose.
Wilhelm is in but indifferent circumstances, and he cannot
assist me."
"Yes, he is unfortunately one of those lovers who have
nothing but their hearts to offer, and such people invariably
make the greatest pretensions."
"Do not jest! the poor youth intends to leave home, to
go upon the stage, and then to offer me his hand."
"We have four empty hands already!"
"I have no power to choose," continued Mariana. "So do
you decide for me! Reject me as you may, but be assured of
one thing, it seems to me that I bear a pledge within,
which ought to bind us more closely to each other: consider
that, and decide whom I should forsake and whom I ought
to follow?"
After a brief silence Barbara lamented that it should
be the disposition of youth ever thus to fluctuate between
extremes !" It will be better," she said, "to adopt a course
which will ensure both 'pleasure and profit. Whilst you love
the one, you need not reject the generosity of the other. It
is essential however that we should prevent them from
meeting—
38 WILHEM MEISTEB'S
"Do as you please—I can suggest nothing, but am ready
to obey," was the reply.
"We enjoy this advantage," continued Earbara, "that we
can indulge the manager's humour, who is so proud of
the morals of his company. Both these lovers are already
accustomed to act with secrecy and caution. I will arrange
the time and opportunity, but you must act for the future
according to my direction: many chances may help us.
Suppose for instance, Norberg were to arrive now during
Wilhelm's absence. I wish you good fortune and a son to
enjoy it. He will have a rich father."
These suggestions brought but temporary consolation to
Mariana. She was unable to reconcile her situation with
her feelings or with her conscience, and she wished moreover
to forget the misery of her condition, but a thousand trivial
circumstances continually forced them back upon her
memory.
CHAPTER XIII.
Wilhelm in the mean time had completed his little
journey, and not having found his friend at home, he had
handed his letter of introduction to the wife of the absent
merchant. But she paid little attention to his enquiries, as
she was herself in a state of great trouble and embarrassment,
and the entire household was in confusion.
She soon informed Wilhelm, and indeed the information
could not long have been withheld, that her step-daughter
had lately eloped with an actor, who had a short time before
separated from a strolling company, and had remained
behind in the town for the purpose, as it were, of giving in-
structions in French. The father distracted with sorrow and
disappointment, had gone to the police office in order that
the fugitives might be pursued and arrested. She scolded
her daughter severely, and abused the lover, maintaining
that neither of them possessed a single good quality, and she
bitterly bewailed the disgrace they had entailed upon her
family. Wilhelm felt embarrassed and confounded, he felt
that the prophetic spirit of this sybil had as it were by
anticipation, condemned and punished his own design. But
APPRENTICESHIP.
37
he could not help feeling a stronger and more intense interest
in the grief of the father, who upon his return from the
police office, with settled sorrow and sobbing accents, related
to his wife the result of his visit. He could not conceal his
distraction and distress of mind. After reading the letter
which Wilhelm had presented, he gave directions that the
horse therein mentioned, should be delivered to him.
Wilhelm determined to mount his steed immediately, and
quit a house in which, under the circumstances we have
narrated, it was impossible for him to feel comfortable; but
the good host would not allow the son of a friend to whom
he was so much indebted, to take his leave without expe-
riencing a more cordial welcome, and without having passed
one night at least beneath his roof. He partook, however,
of but a melancholy supper, passed a restless night, and
at early dawn he was glad to leave a family who by their
observations and remarks had not failed, however uninten-
tionally, to wound his feelings most severely.
He rode slowly and thoughtfully along the road, when
suddenly he observed a crowd of armed men approaching
through the fields. He perceived at once by their attire, by
their long loose coats, their wide sleeves, their shapeless
hats, and heavy muskets, as well as by their lounging gait
and self-satisfied bearing, that they were a detachment of
the country militia. They halted presently beneath a large
oak tree, and laid down their muskets, taking their seats
comfortably upon the grass to smoke a pipe. "Wilhelm paused
near them, and entered into conversation with k young man,
who approached on horseback. He was now obliged to
listen again to the history of the two fugitives, with which
he was, alas! already too well acquainted, and the account
was interspersed with observations not very flattering to the
young couple, or to their parents. He learnt at the same
time that the police had arrived to take charge of the accused.
They had been overtaken in the neighbouring village, and
placed in confinement there. Shortly afterwards a vehicle
was seen approaching in the distance. It was surrounded
by the civic guard, whose appearance was far more ludicrous
than terrible. A strange-looking official now rode forward,
and having johied the young man with whom Wilhelm had
been conversing, they exchanged compliments together, at
38
"WTLHELM MEISTEB'S
the boundary of their respective districts. This was done
with great gravity and many strange grimaces, reminding
one of the ghost and conjuror, when they perform their fear-
ful midnight incantations, the one within, the other without
the limits of an enchanted circle.
The attention of the spectators was in the mean time
attracted to the vehicle, and not without sympathy did the}r
behold the poor unhappy culprits, sitting together upon
bundles of straw. They looked at each other tenderly, and
scarcely seemed to notice the crowd of bystanders. An
accident had occasioned them to be conducted from the last
village in that disagreeable manner, as the old coach which
had been procured for the lady having broken down, she had
thereupon begged that she might be permitted to sit beside
her friend, who, under the idea that he had been guilty of
some capital offence, had been loaded with fetters. His fet-
ters, however, served to enhance the interest which the loving
couple excited, especially as the demeanour of the youth
was both reserved and dignified, and he frequently kissed the
hand of his beloved with the most affectionate respect.
"It is true wre are most unfortunate," she exclaimed to
the bystanders, "but we are, however, not so guilty as we
appear. This is the way in which cruel men reward faithful
love, and parents who care but little for the welfare of their
children, tear them violently from that happiness and joy
which, after many a weary day, they have at length suc-
ceeded in attaining."
"Whilst the bystanders gave expression to their sympathy in
a variety of ways, the officers having completed their formali-
ties, the vehicle moved on, and Wilhelm, who was deeply
interested for the fate of the lady, hastened forward along the
footpath to introduce himself to the police authorities, before
the procession should arrive. But he had scarcely reached
the Court-house, which was already in a state of bustle and
confusion in consequence of the preparations made to re-
ceive the fugitives, before the young clerk overtook him, and
by a circumstantial account of the whole proceedings, and
afterwards by a particular eulogy upon his own horse, which
he had the day before received in barter from a Jew, ho
completely prevented any further conversation.
The misguided pair had in the mean time been cop ducted
APPRENTICESHIP.
through a garden which was connected by a private entrance
with the Court-house, and in this manner they were intro-
duced to the Court. The lawyer was most cordially com-
plimented by Wilhelm for this display of humanity, although
in truth his only motive was to disappoint the people who
were assembled round the Court-house, and to deny them
the pleasure of seeing a fellow-creature in distress.
The magistrate, who had no especial love for unusual cases
of this description, being in the habit of committing all sorts
of mistakes, and of being requited for his good intentions
with the stern censure of the government, proceeded with
much solemnity to his office, whither the clerk, Wilhelm, and
some of the more respectable citizens soon followed him.
The lady was first introduced. She came forward with an
air wholly devoid of boldness; she was calm and self-
possessed, and shewed both by her air and demeanour that
she entertained a high opinion of the respect to which she
deemed herself entitled. Without being questioned, she
commenced to complain with much emotion of the injustice
of the situation in which she found herself placed.
The clerk commanded her to be silent, and held his pen
over his folded paper. The magistrate assumed a grave look,
turned to his clerk, hemmed several times, and then asked
the poor girl what was her name and how old she was.
"Pardon me, sir," she replied, "but it does appear sin-
gular that you should enquire my name and age, when you.
know the former so well, and are aware that I am just as old
as your eldest son. Any thing that you really wish and re-
quire to learn I am ready to explain to you fully.
"Since my father's second marriage I have always felt
myself wretched at home. I might have formed several
advantageous matrimonial connections, but they were always
thwarted by my step-mother, on account of my marriage
portion. Having at length become acquainted with young
Melina, I felt compelled to love him, and as we foresaw the
obstacles which would prevent our union, we determined to
seek together in the wide world that happiness which seemed
unlikely to await us beneath the paternal roof. I carried
nothing away with me that was not my own. We did not
fly like thieves or robbers, and my beloved does not deserve
to be thus led about, loaded with chains and handcuffs. Tho
40
WILHELM MEISTER'S
Prince is a just man, and will never sanction such harshness.
If we are guilty, we are at least not so to this extent."
The embarrassment of the old magistrate was now more
than redoubled. He was about to express his sympathy;
and the eloquent address of the girl had quite deranged the
plan of his protocol. The mischief became greater, when,
notwithstanding repeated peremptory questions, she refused
to answer, and alluded with firmness to the statement she
had already made.
"I am no culprit," she said. "I have been disgraced by
being brought hither, seated upon straw; but there is a
higher tribunal that will restore us to honour."
The clerk had in the mean time written down her words,
and then whispered to the magistrate that he might proceed,
as a regular protocol could be prepared afterwards.
The old magistrate once more took courage and began in
the dryest manner, and with the aid of official formulas to
enquire into the sweet secrets of love.
The blood rushed into Wilhelm's face, and the cheeks of
the pretty culprit were likewise tinged with the charming
hues of modesty. She was silent and confused, until her
embarrassment at length seemed to invest her with courage,
"Depend upon it," she exclaimed, "I should confess the
truth, even were it to my own disadvantage; and should I
now hesitate to do so when it reflects honour upon me?
Yes, I have considered him as my husband from the first
moment when I became certain of his attachment and truth;
I have willingly conceded to him all that love demands, and
all that a devoted heart is unable to withhold. Do with me
what you will. If I hesitated for a moment to make this
admission, it was caused solely by a fear that it might prove
injurious to my beloved."
Wilhelm, upon hearing this confession, formed an exalted
idea of the maiden's sentiments, whilst her judge looked
upon her as a good for nothing outcast, and the citizens
who stood by, thanked God that such an occurrence had
never happened or at least been discovered within the circle
of their own families.
Wilhelm's imagination now pictured the possibility of
Mariana being brought to a court of justice, and he framed
in his mind an eloquent speech in her defence, rendering her
APPRENTICESHIP.
41
innocence even more affecting, and her confession even more
noble, than that to which he just listened. He was seized
with the most anxious wish to assist the two lovers. He
made no secret of his desire, and privately requested the
wavering magistrate to conclude the investigation, insisting
that every thing was as clear as possible and needed no
farther enquiry.
This suggestion was so far of use that the maiden was
permitted to depart; and the young man was now brought
forward, after his fetters had been removed at the door. He
seemed to consider his position in a more serious point of
view. His replies were more precise, and if he on the one
hand displayed less heroic generosity, he on the other created
a more favourable impression, by the decision and candour
of his statement.
"When this enquiry was also concluded and was found com-
pletely to agree with the preceding one, except that the lover,
in order to protect the maiden, obstinately denied what she
had already confessed, she was once more brought forward,
and thereupon a scene ensued between the parties which
completely won for both of them the heart of our friend.
Here in an humble Court of Justice he was actual
witness of an exhibition which seldom occurs except in
romances and in comedies, the struggle of mutual generosity
—the force of love in misfortune.
"Is it then really true," he asked himself, "that timid
affection which shrinks from the glare of daylight and of
mankind, and only dares to revel in retired solitude and in
the deepest secresy, when called forth by some disastrous
accident, can display more courage, strength and boldness
than the more noisy and ostentatious passions?"
Soon afterwards, to his great delight, the whole affair was
concluded. The accused, however, were both detained in
custody, but if it had been possible, Wilhelm would have
restored the young lady to her parents that same evening.
For he had determined to become her protector, and to pro-
mote a happy and prosperous marriage bet ween the two lovers.
He requested the magistrate's permission to speak with
Melina in private, a favour which was conceded to hiin with-
out diniculty.
42
WILIIELH MEISTEE'S
CHAPTEE XIY.
The intercourse of the new acquaintances soon became
intimate and cheerful. For when Wilhelm revealed to the
dejected youth his connection with the lady's parents,
offered to become his intercessor, and spoke of his own hopes
of success, he cheered and consoled the sad and anxious
spirit of the prisoner. The latter felt himself as it were
again at liberty, reconciled with his new relations, and only
anxious about his future pursuits and means of support.
"You cannot long remain, in trouble upon this point,"
observed Wilhelm, "since you seem to possess natural
qualifications to ensure success in the pursuit which you
have chosen. An agreeable figure, a sonorous voice, a
sensitive heart! Could any actor enjoy greater advan-
tages? If I can serve you with letters of recommendation,
it will give me the greatest satisfaction."
"I thank you, cordially," replied the other, "but I shall
scarcely be able to avail myself of them, for, if possible, it
is not my intention to resume the stage."
"Then you will do wrong," said Wilhelm after a pause, in
which he recovered from his surprise, for he concluded
certainly that the actor would return to the theatre as soon
as he and his young wife should be restored to liberty.
This course seemed to him as necessary and natural as that
frogs should love the water. He had not doubted this for
a moment, and he now learned the contrary with great
astonishment.
"No!" answered the actor, "I have no intention of reap-
pearing on the stage. I would rather adopt a citizen's life,
of whatever kind it may be, could I but succeed in obtaining
an employment."
"That is a strange determination of which I cannot
approve, for without special reasons it is never advisable to
change the course of life upon which a person has entered,
and besides I know no pursuit which offers so many attrac-
tions, and so many delightful prospects as the career of an
actor."
"It is easy to perceive that you have never been one,"
•remarked the other.
APPEEKTTCESHIP.
43
Wilhelm thereupon observed, "How rarely is any man
content with his condition! He pines to be engaged in the
pursuit of his neighbour, an occupation from which the
latter perhaps is anxious to be disentangled."
"But," replied Melina, "there will never cease to be a
difference between bad and worse. Experience not im-
patience influences my conduct. In the whole world, what
pittance is earned with more trouble, uncertainty and labour
than that of the actor? It were as well almost to beg from
door to door. What endless vexations must he not endure
from the jealousy of rivals, the prejudice of directors, and the
versatile humour of the public! He must needs in truth
wear a bear's skin, and submit to be led about with a chain,
and cudgelled, in the company of apes and dancing dogs, and
forced to play antics to the sound of a bagpipe, for the
amusement of children and a mob.'*
"Willielm hereupon indulged in a multitude of reflections to
which he would not give utterance in presence of his worthy
companion. He adverted to them delicately by a remote
and scarcely perceptible allusion. The actor was by this
means induced to explain himself more clearly and at greater
length. "Is not a manager obliged," he asked, "to sue hum-
bly before the Msljot of every obscure village, for permission
to make a little money circulate amongst the inhabitants,
for a month or two, between the season of the fairs? Often-
times have I pitied our own manager, for example, who in
some respects is a worthy man, though he has occasionally
given me cause for much dissatisfaction. Grood actors on the
one hand exhaust his funds, whilst on the other, he cannot
free himself from the encumbrance of bad ones, and should
he attempt to equalize his expenditure with his receipts,
the public becomes dissatisfied, the house is empty, and in
order to escape utter ruin he must continue his performances
subject to pecuniary loss and mental vexation. No, no, Sir!
since you profess yourself ready to assist me, I implore you
to speak earnestly to the parents of my wife. Let them
procure for me here, some little post of clerk or tax-gatherer,
and I will consider myself happy."
After a little further conversation, Wilhelm took his
leave, promising that he would apply to the parents of the
lady early on the following morning and see what could b<j
44
WILHELM MEISTER's
elf'ected. As soon as he found himself alone, he relieved his
mind by giving utterance to the following exclamations.
"Unfortunate Melina, it is not in thy profession, but in
thyself that the evil lies which thou can st not overcome.
"Whatbeing in the world but must find his existence miserable,
who without an inward vocation, adopts a trade, an art, or
any other pursuit in life! But the man who is born with
talents for his duties, finds in the execution his noblest
reward. There is nothing on the earth void of difficulty I
It needs an inward impulse, a desire, a love for duty, to
overcome obstacles, to remove restraints, to elevate us above
the limits of a narrow circle within which others fret out
their wretched existence. To your mind, the stage is
nothing but boards, and the characters you act are a school-
boy's task. You look upon the audience, as upon working
days they regard each other. You may be content therefore
to sit behind a desk, to pore over account books, calculat-
ing interest and striking balances. You are a stranger
to that all-embracing all-inspiring whole, which is only dis-
covered, understood and perfected by the soul; you do not
feel that in man there burns a noble fire, which if not
fanned and nourished, becomes buried beneath the ashes of
daily wants and indifference, but which can never be
wholly extinguished. You feel within you no strength to
fan this flame, and your heart has no resources with which
to feed the fire when once it is aroused. Hunger impels
you, distress wearies you, and you will not learn that every
condition in life is beset with foes who can only be subdued
by a cheerful and contented heart. You are right to be
content within the limits of a common sphere : for what post
could you fill which demanded either soul or courage!
Endow a soldier, a statesman or a divine with your thoughts
and he will complain as justly of the wretchedness of his
lot. Have there not in truth been men, so wholly destitute
of every feeling which ennobles life, that they have pronounced
the very being and nature of man to be a Nothing, a wretched
existence no worthier than the dust? If the forms of
earnest men were impressed in living characters upon your
soul, if the flame of sympathy burned within your breast, if
the voice which issues from within were diflused over your
whole being, if your tone and the words of your lips were
APPBEKTICESHIP.
45
pleasant to hear, you would feel then that you were sufficient
lor yourself and you would soon find place and opportunity
wherein to be appreciated by others."
Amid such words aud reflections, "Wilhelm undressed
himself, and retired to bed with sentiments of interior satis-
faction. A complete romance of his intentions, in place of
his worthless pursuits for the morrow, was unfolded in his /•
soul, delightful phantasies led him softly into the domains of
sleep, and then handed him over to the sisterhood of
dreams, who received him with open arms, and encompassed *
his reposing head with apparitions of heaven.
In the morning he awoke betimes, and thought over the
duty which he had undertaken. He returned to the house
of the forsaken parents, where he was received with some
astonishment. He suggested his proposal with modesty,
and soon found fewer difficulties than he had anticipated.
The deed was done, and though persons, particularly strict
and severe, sometimes resist the past and unchangeable, and
thereby increase an evil, yet a deed once done will produce
an irresistible impression on most minds, and an apparent
impossibility when once performed takes its place with
other matters of course. It was therefore easily arranged
that Melina should marry the daughter, but that on
account of her misconduct she should receive no fortune
and should undertake to leave the legacy of her aunt for a
few years longer in her father's hands at a low rate of
interest. The second point, relating to an appointment
for the husband, presented greater difficulties. It was not
desirable that the imprudent maiden should be constantly
near them, or that the connection of a strolling player with so
respectable a family, who counted a superintendent amongst
its numbers, should be continually recalled to their minds by
his presence, and they entertained very little hope that the
government would provide him with an appointment. Both
parents opposed such a course, and even Wilhelm who pleaded
very zealously in his behalf, because he objected that a man
whom he despised should return to the stage, and was sure
that he was unworthy of so great an honour, could not succeed
with all his arguments. If he had known the secret motives
of opposition, he would have avoided the ask of attempting
to influence the parents. For the father, who would joyfully
46
WILHELM MEISTEE'S
liave preserved the society of his daughter, hated the young
man, because his wife had taken a fancy to him, and she could
not endure the thought of witnessing in her step-daughter the
success of a fortunate rival. And for these reasons, against
his will, in the company of his young wife, who had already
evinced a great desire to see the world, and to be admired,
Melina was compelled to take his leave in a few days, and to
seek for an engagement with a company of actors.
CHAPTEE XV.
Happy years of youth! happy time of first and earliest
k>ve! Man is then like a boy, who for hours can be delighted
with an echo, who can sustain unaided the whole burden of
conversation, and is abundantly satisfied if the unseen spirit
with whom he converses repeats but the final sounds of the
words which he has uttered.
Such was Wilhelm's condition in the earlier, and more
especially in the later, period of his love for Mariana, he had
endowed her with the whole wealth of his own emotions, and
considered himself as a very pauper who subsisted on her
charity. And as a landscape derives its greatest or indeed
its entire charm from the brilliancy of the sunshine, so in his
eyes was everything beautified, and embellished by the rela-
tion which it bore to her.
How often in order to gaze on her, had he taken his post
behind the scenes of the theatre, a privilege for which he had
entreated the permission of the manager! Truly the magic
of perspective had then disappeared, but the more powerful
magic of love had already commenced its work. He would
stand for hours beside the dingy footlights, breathing the
vapour of the lamps, gazing upon his beloved; and when upon
her return, she looked kindly upon him, he became lost in
delight, and though surrounded by mere laths and scenic
frame-work, he 'thought himself in Paradise. The sorry
scenery, the wretched flocks and herds, the tin waterfalls,
the pasteboard rose-trees, and the one-sided thatched cabins
excited in his mind charming poetic visions of ancient-
pastoral times. Even the ballet dancers, who, upon closo
APPRENTICESHIP.
47
inspection, were ordinary mortals enough, were not repulsive
10 him when he beheld them on the same stage with the be-
loved of his soul. So certain is it that love which lends en-
chantment to rose bowers, myrtle groves and moonlight, can
also impart an appearance of animated nature to fragments of
wood, and to cuttings of paper. And thus a strong sea-
soning can lend a flavour to insipid and unpalateable fare.
A seasoning of this kind was in truth necessary that
"Wilhelm might tolerate the condition in which he usually
found both Mariana's apartment and herself.
Brought up in the house of a refined citizen, order and
cleanliness were essential elements of his existence, and
having inherited a share of his father's love of finery, he had
been accustomed from his earliest years, gorgeously to
furnish his own chamber, which he had always considered as
his little kingdom. The curtains of his bed were suspended
in thick folds, and fastened with tassels such as are used to
ornament thrones. A carpet adorned the centre of his
room and one of a finer quality was placed before his table,
and he had so arranged his books and various ornaments that
a Dutch painter might have taken good sketches therefrom
for drawings of still-life. His dress was a wdiite cap, which
stood erect like a turban upon his head, and he had caused
the arms of his dressing gown to be slashed in the oriental
fashion. In justification of this peculiarity, he asserted that
loDg wide sleeves were an impediment to writing. In the
evening when he was alone and no longer apprehended
interruption, he usually wore a silk scarf round his body,
and he is said to have frequently fixed in his girdle, a dagger
which he had taken from an old armoury, and thus to have
studied and rehearsed his tragic characters, and in the same
garb kneeling upon the carpet, to have repeated his prayers.
How happy in those days did he consider the actors
whom he beheld in the possession of such varied and costlv
wardrobes, accoutrements and arms, and skilled in the
unvarying practice of a stately bearing, whose spirit seemed
to present a mirror of all that was noble and glorious, accord-
ing to the opinions and passions of mankind And thus
did Wilhelm form his estimate of an actor's private life ; he
looked upon it as a succession of exalted pursuits and
employments of which the appearance on the boards was the
4-8
WILHELM MEISTEr's
culminating point, just as silver which has been long agitated
in the crucible, assumes at length a bright and beautiful
hue to the eye of the workman, proving that the metal has
been finally purified from all impure dross.
He was therefore amazed at first when he found himself
in the presence of his love, and looked down through the
cloud of bliss by which he was surrounded, upon the tables,
chairs and floor. The fragments of her temporary ornaments,
light and false, lay around, like the shining scales of a scraped
fish, mixed together in confusion and disorder. Articles
appropriated to personal cleanliness, combs, soap and towels
were no more concealed than the evidences of their use.
Music, play-books and shoes, washes and italian flowers,
needle cases, hair-pins, rouge-pots and ribbons, books and
straw-hats, in no wise ashamed of their proximity to each
other, were confounded in an element common alike to all,
powder and dust. But as "Wilhelm, in her company, thought
little of any other object, and as every thing which belonged
to her, or which she had touched, was hallowed in his eyes, he
found at length in this confused system of housekeeping, a
charm which he had never experienced in the neat arrange-
ments of his economy. "When at one time he put away her
boddice that he might approach the piano, and at another,
placed her gown upon the bed, that he might provide him-
self with a chair, and when upon other occasions objects
met his eye which are more usually concealed, he felt as
if in all this, he were every moment approaching nearer to
her, and as if the union between them were being cemented
by an invisible bond.
But he could not so easily reconcile with his earlier
impressions, the conduct of the other actors, whom he
sometimes met, when he first visited at her house. Busy
with idleness, they appeared to think but little of their
calling or profession. He never heard them discuss the
poetic merits of a play, or pronounce an opinion upon their
value or worthlessness; the only question was, " How much
would it bring? Is it a stock-piece? How long will it
last? How often may it be performed?" with other inquiries
and observations of the same nature. Then they commonly
discussed the character of the manager, commenting upon
his parsimony, the lowness of his salaries, and his injustice
APPRENTICESHIP.
49
towards particular individuals. They then turned to the
public, observing that the latter seldom rewarded the most
meritorious actor with their approbation, that the national
theatre was daily improving, that the professional actor was
gradually rising in public esteem according to his true
merits, and that he never could be esteemed and honoured
enough. They also discoursed much of coffee houses and
wine gardens, and of the occurrences there; bow much debt
one of their comrades had contracted, and what deduction
from his pay he must consequently endure; of the inequality
of their weekly salaries; and of the cabals of some rival
company; then, finally, they would again consider the great
and deserved attention of the public towards themselves, not
forgetting the influence which the theatre was calculated to
exercise upon the country and upon the world at large.
All these things which had formerly cost Wilhelm many
a weary hour, thronged again upon his memory, as his steed
bore him slowly homewards, and as he revolved in his mind
the various incidents which had occurred upon his journey.
He had himself actually witnessed the commotion which
the elopement of a young maiden can occasion, not only in
the family of a respectable citizen, but even in an entire
village. The scenes upon the high road, and at the police
office, the sentiments of Melina, and all the various circum-
stances which had happened, appeared again before him and
excited in his keen and anxious mind so much inquietude,
that he could bear it no longer, but giving spurs to his
horse, he hastened towards the city.
But by this course he only encountered new vexations.
Werner his friend and intended brother-in-law was waiting
for him, in order to commence a serious, important and
unexpected conversation.
Werner was one of those tried individuals of firm princi-
ples whom we usually designate cold beings, because they
are not quickly or visibly excited by the occurrences of life.
His intercourse with Wilhelm was one never-ending dispute,
which only served however to strengthen their affection, for
in spite of discordant dispositions, each derived advantage
from his intercourse with the other. Werner was satisfied
that he was able to restrain with bit and bridle the superior
but somewhat extravagant spirit of Wilhelm, and the latter
E
50
WILHELM HEISTEB/S
frequently won a splendid triumph when he succeeded in
carrying his companion with him in his moments of enthu-
siasm. Thus each found mental exercise in the company of the
other, they were accustomed to meet daily, and it might well
have been said that their anxiety to converse together was
heightened by their utter impossibility to comprehend each
other. But in reality as they were both worthy men, they
associated together because they had one common end in
view, and neither could ever understand why he could not
convert his friend to his own peculiar views.
Werner observed that Wilhelm's visits had for some time
back been less frequent, also, that in his favourite subjects
of conversation, he had become short and inattentive, and
that he had ceased to engage in vivid accounts of his own
peculiar impressions, things which afford an unmistakeable
evidence of a mind, finding repose and satisfaction in the
society of a friend. The precise and thoughtful "Werner
endeavoured first to examine his own conduct for the origin of
the fault which he had observed; but certain rumours soon
set him on the right track, rumours in fast which some
imprudences of Wilhelm soon reduced to certainty. He
had commenced an inquiry, and learned, that he had for
some time past openly visited an actress, that he had con-
versed with her upon the stage, and had actually accompanied
her to her house. He became inconsolable when he was
made aware of their nightly meetings, for he understood that
Mariana was a' seductive girl, who was in all probability
extracting money from his friend, whilst she herself was
supported b}^ another dissipated lover.
When his suspicions had almost attained certainty, he
determined to speak to Wilhelm upon the subject, and had
already arranged his plan for the purpose, when the latter
returned, disappointed and dejected from his journey.
Werner that same evening stated to him all that he had
learnt, first in a calm tone, and then with the serious earnest-
ness of well-intentioned friendship. He left no topic unex-
plained, and allowed his friend a full taste of all the bit-
terness which cold-hearted men can with virtuous malice so
abundantly dispense to persons in love. But he effected
little, as one may easily imagine. Wilhelm answered with
deep emotion, but with perfect self-composure,—" You do
APPEENTICESHIP.
5]
not know the girl. Appearances are, perhaps, against her,
bnt I am as confident of her faith and virtue as I am of my
own love."
"Werner adhered to his accusations, and proposed to adduce
proofs and witnesses. Wilhelm rejected them, and parted
from his friend in a spirit of discontent and sorrow, resem-
bling a man whose decayed but firmly fixed tooth has been
seized, and vainly pulled at by some unskilful dentist.
Wilhelm was beyond measure distressed that the image
of Mariana had been darkened, and almost defaced in his
imagination, first, by the fancies which he had indulged upon
his journey, and then by the unfriendliness of Werner. He
therefore adopted the most certain means of restoring it in
all its jDristine purity and beauty, for that very night he
hastened along the well-known pathway to find shelter in
Mariana's arms. She received him with transports of joy,
for as she had seen him pass her house on his way into
town, she expected him at nightfall, and we may easily
suppose, that every doubt was soon effaced from his heart.
In truth her tenderness unlocked all his confidence, and he
related to her how excessively, not only the public, but even
his friend had sinned against her.
Some cheerful conversation led them to advert to the first
season of their acquaintance, a recurrence to which topic never
fails to form one of the most delightful entertainments of two
lovers. The first steps which have introduced us to the
labyrinth of love are so pleasant, the first views so captivating,
that we always retain them in our memor}^ with delight.
Each claims an advantage over the other: each one first felt
the pangs of devoted love, and in this contest each would
rather appear to be the vanquished than the victor.
Wilhelm repeated to Mariana, once more what she had so
often heard on the stage, that she had soon succeeded in at-
tracting his attention from the performance to herself, that
her figure, her acting and her voice had so completely capti-
vated him, that at length he only attended those plays in which
she performed, that he had often gone behind the scenes, and
had stood near her unobserved: and then he spoke with delight
of that happy evening upon which he had found an opportunity
to render her a service, and to engage her in conversation.
But M ariana denied that she had left him so long un-
52
WILHELM MEISTEH S
noticed, she assured him she had often watched hirn on
the promenade, and in evidence thereof she described the dress
which he had worn upon those occasions; she assured him
that he had attracted her even then more than any other per-
son, and that she had long ardently desired his acquaintance.
How joyfully did "Wilhelm believe it all! How easily was
he persuaded, that when he approached she had felt herself
drawn towards him by an irresistible charm, that she had
joined him intentionally behind the scenes in order that she
might see him nearer and have an opportunity of makiug
his acquaintance, and that at length, when his reserve and
bashfulness could not be overcome, she had herself found an
opportunity, and compelled him to hand her a glass of
lemonade.
The hours passed rapidly away in this endearing contest, for
they pursued it through every little circumstance of their
romantic attachment, and "Wilhelm at length left his beloved,
with his tranquillity fully restored, and with the firm resolu-
tion of putting his plan in execution without delay.
CHAPTER XVI.
His father and mother had made the arrangements neces-
sary for his journey, but certain trifling preparations which
were still required for his outfit, delayed his departure for a
few days. "Wilhelm availed himself of this time to write a
letter to Mariana, with a view of bringing to a decision the
business upon which she had hitherto avoided communicating
with him. The letter was in these terms.
"In the sweet obscurity of night, which has so often
sheltered me in thine arms, I sit and think and write to
thee, and all my thoughts and feelings are wholly thine.
O, Mariana! I who am the happiest of mortals feel like a
bridegroom who stands within the festive chamber, contem-
plating the new world which will soon open before him, and
during the sacred ceremony imagines himself, in deep trans-
port, to stand before the mysterious curtain, from whence
the rapture of love whispers out to him.
"I have persuaded myself not to see thee for a few days,
APPRENTICESHIP.
53
and I have found satisfaction for this privation in the hope
of soon being for ever with thee, of remaining entirely thine.
Shall I repeat my wishes? Yes, I feel I must, for it seems
as if hitherto thou hadst never understood me.
"How often in that low voice of affection which, whilst it de-
sires to possess all, ventures to utter but little, have I searched
in thy heart to discover thy wish for a lasting union. Thou
hast certainly understood me. Eor the same desire must
have ripened in thine own heart, and thou must have
comprehended me in that kiss, in the balmy peacefulness
of that happy evening. I learnt then to value thy modesty,
and how did such a feeling increase my love! When another
woman would have acted with artifice, in order to ripen
by unnecessary sunshine the resolution of her lover's
heart, to induce a proposal and secure a promise, you
drew back, silenced the half expressed intentions of your
. lover, and sought by an apparent indifference to conceal your
real feelings! "What a being must I have been had I failed
to recognize in such tokens, that pure and disinterested
^affection, which cares only for its object. Trust to me and be
calm! We belong to each other, and by living for each
other, we shall neither of us forsake or lose any thing.
"Accept then this hand. With solemnity I offer this un-
necessary pledge. We have already experienced all the
delights of love, but there is new bliss in the thought of
duration. Do not make inquiries—cast aside care—fortune
protects love; and the more certainly, as love is easily con-
tented.
"My heart has long since abandoned my paternal dwelling.
It belougs to thee as truly as my spirit lives upon the
stage. Fate allows no other man so to attain his every
wish. Sleep abandons my eyes, and like the glow of an ever
new Aurora, thy love and thy happiness rise up perpetually
before me.
"Scarcely can I prevent myself from rushing to thy side,
and constraining thy consent to our union, and commencing
on the morrow's dawn my career in the world. But no, I
will restrain myself. I will not adopt an ill-advised rash
and foolish course, my measures are taken and I will execute
them calmly.
"I am acquainted with the manager Serlo. The journey
64
WILHELM MEISTEB'S
I contemplate will lead me directly to him. For a wbolo
year he has wished that his company of actors possessed
some portion of my animation and enthusiasm for the stage.
Doubtless he will receive me well. More reasons than one
forbid that I should join thy company, and Serlo's theatre
is so far from hence, that I shall be able at first to conceal
my project. I shall thus find sufficient to support me at
once. I shall make general inquiries, become acquainted
with the actors, and return for thee.
"Thou seest, Mariana, what I compel myself to do, in order,
certainly, to obtain thee. Since it can afford me no pleasure
to be so long separated from thee, and to know that thou
art alone. But when I once more recal thy love, which to
me is every thing, if thou wilt concede my prayer before we
part, and give me thy hand in the eye of heaven, I can go in
peace. Between us it can be but a form, but then a form
so sweet—the blessing of heaven joined to the blessing of
earth! It can be celebrated sweetly and expeditiously in
the Prince's neighbouring chapel.
"I have money sufficient to begin with. Let us divide it.
It will suffice for both; before it is expended heaven will
assist us further.
"Dearest love, I have no apprehension. So joyful a com-
mencement must end happily. I have never doubted that
any man who is earnest can succeed in the world; and I
feel confidence enough to win a sufficient maintenance for
two persons, or for more if necessary. It is often said that
the world is ungrateful—for my part I have never yet
known it to be thankless when one has discovered the proper
mode of rendering it a service. My whole soul is fired at
the thought that I shall at last be able to address the hearts
of men in a strain which they have long been anxious to
hear. A thousand times have I been utterly distressed in
my inmost soul, keenly sensitive as I am for the honour of
the stage, when I have witnessed the performance of some de-
luded being, who has fancied himself competent to stir the
hearts of men with words of power. The very tone of a pipe
is more musical and nobler to the ear. It is incredible what
profanity men in their utter ignorance can commit.
"The theatre has often warred with the pulpit. They
should not, I think, be at strife. How ardently I wish, that
APPRENTICESHIP.
in both, the honour of nature and of G od were celebrated by
none but noble men. These are not dreams, my love. As
thy heart tells me that thou dost love.—I seize the brilliant
thought, and I affirm— no, I do not affirm, but I hope and
trust, that we shall appear to mankind as a pair of noble
spirits, to open their hearts, to move their natures, to present
them with heavenly enjoyments, as sure as those joys were
heavenly which I have experienced when reclining upon thy
bosom, because they withdrew us from ourselves, and exalted
us above ourselves.
"I cannot conclude. I have already said too much, and yet
I know not whether I have as yet exhausted all that concerns
you, for no words can express the tumult which rages in my
bosom.
"But accept this letter, my love, I have read and re-read
it, and find that I ought to have begun it differently—and
yet it contains all that is needful for thee to know, what
must be my course before I can return to thy bosom in the
rapture of delicious love. I feel like a prisoner who is
secretly engaged in filing off his chains within his dungeon.
To my unconscious sleeping parents, I bid good night.
Pare well, dearest, farewell! At length I conclude. My
eyes have closed repeatedly—it is already far in the night."
CHAPTER XVII.
The day seemed long, while Wilhelm, with his letter
carefully folded in his pocket, felt consumed with anxiety to
visit Mariana, and it was scarcely dark when, contrary to
his custom, he proceeded stealthily to her dwelling. He
had intended to announce himself for the night, and then to
leave her for a short time, but he had resolved before his de-
parture, to place his letter in her hand, and upon his return at
midnight, either to obtain her answer and her consent, or to
force it from her by the warmth of his caresses. He ilew to
her arms, and as he pressed himself to her bosom, could
scarcely contain himself for joy. The ardour of his own
emotions concealed from him at first that she did not receive
56
WILIIELM METSTEIt's
him with her accustomed cheerfulness, b\it as she could not
long hide her painful embarrassment, so she pleaded a slight
indisposition in excuse. She complained of headache, and
would not consent to his proposal to return again at midnight.
He suspected no evil, and ceased to insist, but he felt
that this was not the moment to deliver his letter. He kept
it, therefore, and as her repeated uneasiness, and remarks
politely suggested the propriety of his departure, in the
tumult of insatiable love he seized one of her handker-
chiefs, thrust it into his pocket, and reluctantly quitted her
embraces and her house. He returned home, but was unable
to remain there long, whereupon he dressed himself, and
once more went into the air.
After wandering up and down several streets, a stranger
accosted him, who inquired the way to a certain hotel.
Wilhelm offered to show him the house. The stranger asked
the name of the street, and the names of the persons who
occupied several large mansions which they passed, and
criticised the nature of certain police regulations of the
town. They thus became engaged in a highly interesting
conversation, when they finally reached the door of the
hotel. The stranger compelled his guide to enter to drink
a glass of punch; he then communicated his own name, and
the name of his native town; he also stated the nature of the
business which had brought him hither, and requested a
similar mark of confidence from Wilhelm. The latter at
once mentioned his name, and his p'iaee of abode.
"Are you then a relation of that Meister who once pos-
sessed a splendid collection of works of art?" inquired the
stranger.
"Yes, I am," replied the other. "I was ten years old at
the decease of my grandfather, audit grieved me exceedingly
to be obliged to witness the sale of so many beautiful
objects."
"But your father realized a large sum of money by them."
"You know all about it then?"
"O yes; I visited those treasures whilst they were yet in
vour house. Your grandfather was not only a collector,
but a person well acquainted with art. In his earlier happier
years he had been in Italy, and had brought back many
treasures with him from that country, which money cannot
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68
WILHELM MEISTEB'S
picture of yours in the collection, from which you would
scarcely permit me to look away."
"Quite right, it represented the story of the king's son,
who pined fox love of his father's wife."
"It was not by any means the best picture either in com-
position, in tone of colour, or in treatment."
"Of those qualities I am no judge. I do not understand
them. It is the subject which charms me in a picture, not
the painter's art."
"Tour grandfather was of a different opinion in such
matters, for the greater part of his collection consisted of
admirable pieces in which one could not help admiring the
execution of the artist, let the subjects have been what they
might. This identical picture hung in the outermost
chamber, a sign that he placed but little value upon it."
"Yes, it was in that spot where we children were always
permitted to play, and where this picture made an indelible
impression upon me, w^hich not even your criticism, highly
as I respect it, would be able to efface, if we only now stood
before it. How I pity a youth who is compelled to bury in
his bosom the sweet impulse, the blessed inheritance which
nature has imparted to him, and who must conceal within
himself that fire which should warm and animate others, so
that he consumes away under unspeakable pain! How I
pity the unfortunate maiden who is compelled to devote
herself to another, when her heart has already found an
object worthy of her true and pure affection!"
"But in truth these feelings are very unlike the emotions
by which a lover of art is accustomed to investigate the works
of great painters, and probably had the cabinet continued to
be the property of your family, a taste for such performances
would have sprung up within you, and you would have learnt
to consider some other object than yourself and your indi-
vidual fancies, in estimating works of art."
"Indeed the sale of that cabinet afflicted me exceedingly,
and I have often missed it since, in my more mature years,
but when I recollect that the loss was indispensable to the
unfolding of a talent within me, which will affect my career
more strongly than those inanimate pictures could have done,.
I feel contented and reverence fate, who knows so well how
to accomplish what is good for me and for others."
APPRENTICESHIP.
59
** It grieves me again to hear that word fate uttered by a
youth who is now at the very age when men usually ascribe
their ungovernable propensities to the determination of the
higher powers."
"Then do you not believe in fate? Is there no power
which rules over us and converts every thing to our good?"
"The question here is not of my faith, nor is this the
place to unfold how I have sought to form an idea of things
which are incomprehensible to us all—the question here is
only how we may consider them to our greatest advantage?
The web of life is woven of necessity and chance.
Man's reason stands between them and governs both,
treating necessity as the foundation of its being and at the
same time guiding the operation of chance to its own
advantage, for man only deserves to be called a god of this
earth, as long as in the exercise of his reason he stands firm
and immoveable. "Woe then to him who has been accus-
tomed from j^outh to confound necessity with arbitrary will,
and to ascribe to chance a sort of reason, which it seems
a kind of religious duty to obey! What is this but to
renounce our own judgment and to allow unopposed sway
to our inclinations. We deceive ourselves with the belief
that it is an act of piety to pursue our course without
reflection, to submit to the guidance of agreeable accidents,
and finally to dignify the result of such a fluctuating life
with the appellation of a heavenly guidance."
"Have you never been in a position where some trifling
occurrence has caused you to adopt a certain line of
conduct, where some accident has happened to you, and a
train of unlooked-for events has finall}7 led to a result
which you yourself could scarcely have foreseen? Should
not this inspire a confidence in fate, a trust in some such
destiny?"
""With such opinions as these no maiden could preserve
her virtue, and no man could keep his money in his purse,
since there are opportunities enough for getting rid of both.
That mortal alone is worthy of esteem, who knows what is
advantageous to himself and to others, and who labours to
conquer his own self-will. Every man is master of his own
happiness, as the artist is of the raw material which he would
mould into a certain form. But the art of attaining hap-
WILHELM MEISTER'S
piness resembles all other arts, the capacity aloi e is born
within us,—it needs to be cultivated, and practised with the
greatest care."
These and other subjects were discussed between them
till at length they separated, without appearing to have pre-
cisely convinced each other, but they appointed a place of
meeting for the following day.
"Wilhelm continued to pursue his course through several
streets. At length he heard the sweet echoes of clarionets,
of horns, and of bassoons, and his heart beat joyously within
him. The sounds proceeded from some travelling musicians,
who were playing several delicious airs with admirable taste.
He addressed them, and for a small sum of money they
agreed to accompany him to Mariana's house. A clump of
tall trees ornamented the open space before her dwelling, and
under these he placed his serenaders. He himself reclined
upon a seat at some distance, and abandoned himself to the
influence of the soothing melody, which filled the air in the
cool and balmy night. Stretched at length beneath the lovely
stars, his whole existence resembled a golden dream. "And
she listens to these sweet sounds," he said within his heart,
a and she knows whose remembrance of her, whose love, it is
that makes the night thus musical, even in absence we are
united by these sweet strains, as in every separation we are
joined together by the delicious concord of love. Two loving-
hearts resemble two magnetic needles, the same influence
which sways the one directs the other also, for it is only one
power which works in both, one feeling that actuates them:
clasped in her embrace then can I conceive the possibility of
ever being disunited from her? and jet I must leave her, to
seek a sanctuary for our love wrhere she may be for ever mine.
How often has it happened to me during our absence, when
my thoughts have been fixed upon her, that I have touched
a book, a dress, or some other object, of hers, it seemed as
if I had touched her hand, so completely have I been lost in
the apprehension of her presence. And to remember those
moments of rapture which have recoiled alike from the light
of day, and from the eye of the cold spectator, for the joyful
remembrance of which the gods themselves would be content
to abandon their happy state of pure felicity, as if the
recollection could renew ths delight of that cup of joy,
APPEENTICESHTP.
Gl
which carries our senses beyond this earth, and wraps our souls
in the purest bliss of heaven. And her form—" He became
lost in contemplation, his peace was converted into longing
—he leaned against a tree, and cooled his warm cheek against
the bark, whilst the eager night wind wafted away the breath
which issued in sighs from the depths of his pure bosom. He
sought for the handkerchief which he had taken from her—
his search was in vain—he had forgotten it. His lips were
parched, and his whole frame trembled with desire.
The music ceased; and it seemed as if he had suddenly
descended from the lofty regions to which his emotion had
exalted him. His agitation increased as the feelings of his
heart were no longer supported and refreshed by the sounds of
soothing melody. He took his seat upon the threshold, and
became once more tranquil. He kissed the brass knocker
of the door, he kissed the entrance over which her feet passed
daily, and he warmed it with the pressure of his bosom.
Then he sat silent once more for a short time, and his fancy
pictured her behind her curtains, attired in the white night-
dress with the rose-coloured ribbon encircling her head, and
he imagined himself so near to her, that he thought she must
be dreaming of him. His thoughts were lovely like the spirits
of the evening, peace and desire arose alternately within him,
love ran its tremulous hand in a thousand varying moods
over all the chords of his soul, and it seemed as if the music of
the spheres remained silent above himr to listen to the soft
melody of his heart.
If he had had his master-key about him, with which he was
accustomed to open Mariana's door, he could not have
restrained himself, but would have entered the temple of
love. But he retired slowly, and with dreamy steps he
turned in among the trees, his object was to proceed
homewards and yet he paused and looked round repeatedly.
At length having summoned up resolution, he proceeded for-
wards, but on reaching the corner of the street, he turned
round once more, when it appeared to him as if Mariana's
door opened and a dark figure issued from the house. He was
too far off to see distinctly, and before he had time to collect
him self and to observe accurately ,the figure disappeared in the
darkness, but le thought he saw it once more passing before
a white house, He stood still and looked eagerly, but befora
62
WILHELM MEISTEP.'e
lie could determine to pursue the phantom, it had vanished.
Through what street had the man gone, if he were a man?
As a person whose path has been suddenly illuminated
by a flash of lightning, immediately afterwards seeks in vain
with dazzled eyes to find in the succeeding darkness those
forms which had accompanied him and the connection of the
road—so all seemed obscure to the vision and to the heart
of Wilhelm. And as a midnight spirit which at first creates
unspeakable alarm, in the calm moments which succeed, is
considered only as the child of fear, and the wild apparition
creates endless doubt within the soul, in the same manner
was "Wilhelm overpowered with agitation and suspense as
leaning against a pillar he paid but little heed to the dawning
of the morning or the crowing of the cocks, until the early
tradespeople began to stir-and dismissed him home.
On his way he succeeded in effacing from his imagination
his strange illusion by the most satisfactory reasons, but
that sweet harmonious stillness of the night, to which he
now looked back as to an unreal vision, had also fled. To
ease his heart and to impress a seal upon his returning faith
in Mariana, he now drew her handkerchief from the pocket
of his coat. The rustling of a note which fell, caused him
to withdraw the handkerchief from his lips—he opened the
note and read:
"By the love I feel for thee, little simpleton, what was
the matter last night? I will come to thee this evening.
I can well suppose thou art sorry to leave this place, but
have patience, I will come for thee before the fair. But
listen, do not wear that dark coloured dress any more, it
makes thee look like the witch of Endor. Did I not send
thee the charming white night gown, that I might enfold a
snowy lambkin in my arms? Always send your notes by
the old Svbil. The devil himself has chosen her for our
Iris."
Ar?SE]NrTICESHIl\
63
BOOK II.
CHAPTEK I.
The man who struggles earnestly for the success of any
enterprise in which he may have embarked, be its object
good or evil, cannot fail to enlist our warmest sympathies
in his favour, but when the end is once attained, our interest
in the matter wholly ceases—the finished and the complete
can no longer fix our attention, and this will more especially
be the case, if we ourselves should ever have foretold an
evil issue to the undertaking.
"We shall not therefore entertain our readers with a
detailed narrative of the grief and distress which our
unhappy friend, endured upon the unexpected frustration
of all his fondest hopes and wishes. Indeed we may pass
over several subsequent years of his life, and resume cur
narrative upon beholding him once more happily employed.
But we must first advert to a few incidents indispensable
for the connexion of our story.
A pestilence or malignant fever ever rages with great
violence in a healthy and vigorous frame, and for this reason
when Wilhelm was unexpectedly overtaken by deep misfor-
tune, all his energies were completely prostrated. As when by
accident a collection of fireworks ignites in the preparation,
and the tubes which, loaded and filled with powder, would
if discharged in the manner intended by the artist, have
presented a beautiful succession of brilliant devices, but
now hiss and explode, spreading tumult and danger around,
so in Wilhelm's bosom did happiness and hope, delight
and joy, realities and delusion all mingle together in ruinous
confusion. In such moments of desolation, the friend who
has hastened to bring relief becomes actually paralyzed^ and
the sufferer himself may consider it a blessing if his senses
forsake him.
64)
WTLHELil MEISTER's
Days of unmingled agony succeeded, days of agony still
returning and intentionally renewed; for sorrow such as we
are describing is ever hailed as a boon from the hand of
nature. Wilhelm at such times felt as if he had not wholly
lost his beloved; his grief was now one incessant struggle
to retain possession of that happiness which was fast
departing from his soul, and he found rapture in the belief
that its retention was still possible, in the hope that he
might yet secure a brief restoration of those joys which were
about to abandon him for ever. And thus a body cannot
be considered wholly dead, so long as the work of decay is
still proceeding, so long as those powers, which seek vainly
to execute their original functions, exhaust themselves in
destroying the frame which they once animated, and not
until all has become mouldered down, and the whole is
mingled together in a mass of indifferent dust, does the
sad and vacant feeling of death arise within us, a conscious-
ness of life extinct, which can only be restored by the breath
of Him who lives for ever.
And in a disposition so fresh, so uncorrupted, and so genial
as Wilhelm's, there was no lack of materials upon which
destruction, ruin and death might expend themselves, and
the quickly healing power of youth lent additional food and
strength to the influence of grief. The blow had struck to
the very roots of his existence. But Werner, who was
now necessarily his confidant, attacked the monster passion
of his friend with all his vigour, and sought to pierce into
its inmost life. The opportunity was favourable; evidence
of the past could easily be procured, and histories and
examples of a similar kind were abundant enough. He
pursued his course, step by step, with such cool determi-
nation, that he did not leave his friend the comfort of the
slightest momentary delusion. He destroyed every retreat
in which he might have found refuge from despair, so that
in the end nature, unwilling to see her favourite wholly
perish, visited him with illness, and thus afforded him a
species of relief.
A violent attack of fever with its usual accompaniments,
medicines, excitement and weariness, together with tho
untiring attentions of his friends and the Jove of his own
family, a blessing which we first learn properly to value in
APPRENTICESHIP.
65
moments of affliction and want afforded him new materials
for thought and provided him with a species of melancholy
entertainment; but not until his health had improved, that
is, not until his strength was exhausted, did Wilhelm look
with dismay into the dark abyss of bis direful misery, as
one looks down into the gloomy crater of an extinct volcano.
He did not cease to reproach himself bitterly that he was
able after so sad a loss to enjoy a single tranquil or in-
different moment. He despised his own heart and louged
for the consolation of grief and tears.
In order therefore to awaken these feelings again, be
reverted in memory to all the scenes of his by-gone happi-
ness. He painted a picture of his past bliss in glowing
colours, upon which he feasted his imagination, and when
he had attained the highest pitch to which his fancy
could soar, when the sunlight of former days seemed to
animate his limbs and to warm his bosom, he would look
back into the terrible abyss which was before him, he
would feast his eyes with a view of the appalling chasm,
plunge into its depths and wring from nature the most
bitter sufferings. Thus did he torment himself with unceas-
ing cruelty. And youth which is so ricb in latent powers
knows not what it wastes, when to the anguish of a single loss,
it adds so many woes of its own creation, as if it sought now
for the first time to give a real value to joys which can never
be restored. And "Wilhelm felt so convinced that his loss
was the first, the last, the greatest he could ever experience,
that he spurned all consolation which promised that hie
sorrow could ever be assuaged.
CHAPTEE II.
Accustomed thus to torment himself, he now subjected
to the most relentless criticism those pursuits which next to
love and in conjunction with it, had ever afforded him the
sweetest consolation and hope, viz. his talents as a poet and
an actor. But he could henceforth detect in his compositions
nothing better than a spiritless imitation of antiquated
copies; devoid of real merrt he considered them as mcro
> F
66
WTLHELM MEISTEIt's
pedantic boyish exercises, utterly destitute of every spark of
natural feeling, of truth and inspiration. In his poems ho
saw only a monotonous succession of words in which the
most common-place thoughts and emotions were joined
together by wretched rhymes; and thus he destroyed every
hope, every prospect of finding happiness in such pursuits.
His skill as an actor was next criticised and condemned
with similar severity. He blamed himself for not having
earlier discovered the complete vanity of his pretensions.
His figure, his gait, his actions, and his declamation were
all in turn reviewed, and he abandoned unequivocally every
claim to excellence or to merit which might have distin-
guished him from ordinary actors, and by this means
added immeasurably to his own silent despair. If it be a
difficult task to renounce a woman's love, it is no less
bitter to forsake the society of the muses, to acknowledge
ourselves for ever unworthy of their company, and to forfeit
that sweetest and most delicious approbation, which is pub-
licly bestowed upon the appearance, the action, and decla-
mation of a performer.
Thus did Wilhelm commence to learn the practice of resig-
nation, and from that moment he dedicated his abilities
with the greatest zeal to the pursuits of trade. To the
astonishment of his friend, and to the supreme satisfaction
of his father, no person could now be more attentive than
Wilhelm at the office, or to the transaction of business upon
change, or in the warehouse, and he manifested the most
exemplary diligence and punctuality in his care of the
correspondence and accounts. It is true that his course
was not marked by that cheerful activity which to the
industrious man ever brings its own reward, when he pursues
with regularity and perseverance the occupation to which
he has been born; his career was followed in silent obedience
to the voice of duty, founded it is true upon the best
principles, supported by conviction and rewarded by self
approbation, a result however, which even when conscience
crowns our exertions with approval, is frequently attained
at a cost of a stifled sigh. In this manner did Wilhelm
for a time persist in active life, supported by the conviction
that his severe trial had been appointed by fate for his
benefit. He was glad to have received a timely though
APPRENTICESHIP.
07
somewhat severe lesson on the advantage of embarking
early in a proper course, knowing that many others have
to expiate with late and bitter repentance the mistakes of
youthful inexperience. For men usually delay a3 long as
possible, to renounce the follies which they worship, as well
as to confess any capital error they may have committed,
and are slow to acknowledge a truth which may lead them
to despair.
But resolved as lie was to abandon all his beloved pursuits,
some time was still necessary to convince him fully of his
misfortune. At length, however, by irresistible arguments,
lie so completely annihilated every prospect of indulging
dreams of future love, of poetical composition and theatrical
representation, that he determined to destroy every trace
of his former folly and what ever could in any way restore
it to his recollection. For this purpose one evening he
lighted a fire in his apartment, and brought forth a little
box of relics in which a thousand trifles had been preserved,
which in eventful moments, he had either received or stolen
from Mariana. Every withered flower which met his eye,
reminded him of the happy time when it bloomed fresh and
bright within her hair, every note recalled once more the
happy meeting to which he had been invited, and each
ribbon brought back the memony of that sweet resting-
place, where his head had so often tranquilly reposed—her
beautiful bosom. How could he help feeling all those blissful
emotions, which he had long ago considered dead, revive
again within his breast? Was it not inevitable that the
passion which in the absence of his mistress he had subdued,
should burst into new life in the presence of these records
of affection? We first remember the dreary gloom of a
dark and cloudy day, when some solitary sunbeam pierces
through and enlivens us with the joyous brightness of a
cheerful hour.
Not wTholly without emotion did Wilhelm witness these
treasures which he had so long considered sacred, successively
disappear in smoke and flame. More than once indeed he
felt a shudder of remorse at his work of destruction, and a
pearl necklace and an embroidered handkerchief still re-
mained uninjured when he suddenly determined to feed the
decaying fire with the poetical inspirations of his yout

G8
W1LIIELM MEISTEH'B
Until that hour he had from the earliest development of
his mind carefully preserved every production of his pen.
His writings still lay packed together at the bottom of the
chest in which they had been placed, when he had projected
his elopement. How different were the feelings with which
he now viewed these records of bygone days, from the sensa-
tions he had experienced when he gathered them together.
When after the lanse of a considerable time we chance
to open a letter, winch under certain circumstances may
have been written and sealed, but not reaching the friend
to whom it was addressed, ha3 been returned to us again,
we experience a. strange sensation upon breaking our own
seal and holding communion with our altered self as with a
third person. Such a feeling strongly seized our friend as
he opened the first packet which came to his hands and
llung their scattered sheets into the flames. They were
brightly blazing at the moment when Werner suddenly
entered. He expressed his surprise at Wilhelm's employ-
ment, and asked what had occurred.
"I am affording a proof," said Wilhelm, " of my earnest-
ness in abandoning a pursuit for which I was not born,"
and so saying he consigned a second packet to the flames.
Werner endeavoured to prevent him, but it was too late.
"I do not understand why you proceed to this extremity,"
observed Werner. "Whjr should these performances be
destroyed, even if they are not excellent?"
"Because a poem should either be excellent, or should
not exist," replied the other; "because every man who is
incompetent to produce the best, should wholly abstain
from art, and carefully avoid all its temptations. There
exists in every man a certain unaccountable desire to
imitate the objects which he sees, but this desire is far from
proving that he possesses the capacity for succeeding in
what he may undertake. Observe the conduct of boys,
for example, 'after a company of rope dancers has visited a
town, how they amuse themselves in walking backwards and
forward, and balancing on every plank and beam that ccmes
in their way, until some new attraction arises and leads*
them to another folly. Have your never observed this even
-'•thin the circle of your own acquaintance? When we have
delighted with the performance of an amateur, do \\o

APPRENTICESHIP.
G9
not find many psrsons anxious to learn the instrument
upon which he has excelled? "What countless mistakes are
thus committed! Happy the man who early learns the
immeasurable distance between his wishes and his powers!"
Werner was of a different opinion: the contest now grew
warm, and Wilhelm could not but experience a strange sen-
sation in employing against his friend the very same argu-
ments with which he had so often vexed himself. "Werner
maintained that it was unreasonable wholly to abandon a
pursuit for which a man possessed some taste and talent, on
the ground that he could not attain to full perfection
therein. There were many idle hours, he observed, which
could be thus profitably employed, and by and by a result
might be obtained not wholly profitless to one's self anG
others.
Wilhelm, who entertained a different opinion, interrupted
Werner, and observed with much warmth:
"How completely you mistake in supposing that any work
whose first presentation is intended to fill the whole soul, can
be executed in broken hours, or in fragments of time snatched
from other pursuits. No, the poet must live wholly within
himself, wholly absorbed in his own beloved employment.
He, whose mind is enriched by heaven with precious trea-
sures, who carries in his bosom a wealth perpetually in-
creasing, must abide with his riches, insensible to every
outward influence, and pass his existence in the joy of that
calm blessedness which the affluent cannot purchase with all
their accumulated stores. Behold mankind! How eager
are they in the chase after happiness and pleasure! Their
wishes, their content, their gold are all sacrificed in the
pursuit. And what is their aim? The attainment of an
end, which the poet has inherited from nature, the enjoyment
of the world, a sympathy with others, an harmonious con-
junction of many things which are seldom found in unison.
"And whence arises the universal discontent of mankind
but from their inability to make the actual correspond with
their ideal, from learning that happiness still evades their
grasp, from finding that the wished-for comes too late, and
that objects fondly desired, fail, when attained, to gladden
heart as distant hope had promised. Fate has exalted
the poet above all these ills, as if he were a god. Caiml j
tn p[*iom 9c(^ {jtqcitjqona 'omgqq. Lioao i\%ia\ Ajqiuudosui sg.qos
-UTv~H(4 p9[UAV.)U0 TpiqAl SJOqilinil STlOipOjaiU Dili? S91104 499A\S TTT
piiiijiiuiu 04 sao'uuii snouojS puu sq.qSnoq'4 qoiq SiniJBdmi jo
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joj popQoad Aqnjtjugjj *GAq 0; 9nui.)uoo J9A9 Agq4 pjnoqs
puu 'paanouoq Ap|.oiq ojoiu stjan. A'^qiqon 9nja naqAi „
fiupt|p^\_ pomyiqoxo tt'p[o jo souir} ui as p9Aq OADq S490J „
((-U0SU8S oi|4 jo A^TJOAOS
944 pioAu pin; c'4uuav jo spA9 oqa 0duoso 'suoiSoj ^UttJSip 0:}
S0A|9sai9q'| 0>{u;9q pjnoD Aoq4 J94111av jo qouojcldu 9i|4 Jt
pnu '.moqiq jo A''jiss9D9it 9ipi ^noi|.)iAv '4U9iuAofu9 pmm4uoo
m Aup pijaoaqo Jioq4 ssud pjnoo pnu 'spjiq 9qq pgtiuoj A4110
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t((j Suppiuq siq Aq pjuAuuBj v ^ooaoad
04 niTjqo u q'jiAV pgjnoos OGimpjacI 'Sop u 0i[q pgssiiiuuq oq
04 ^uuqns cqSno[d oq^ 41? xo uv. o^q jnoqtq 9q qsntu £sj9A\oij
pnc sjuuj uo p99j 04 'qSnoq 04 qSnoq iuojj SU144TIJ A'j^qSq
pun 'sjimrans 4S014JO]; oqq. uo 9{jS9ti 04. 'ppiOAi 9i}4 QAoqu
juos 04 po.o9[TAud g[ pjiq 40 saoiuid oq4 uodn qjcqu ouaoq
oi[AV 9jq (J ^insjnd SmpujSgp 91110s Avoqoj 04. uoi4ua9}9 siq
iuojj pu9osop uuq 8Auq no A pjno^ "ngui pur? spo£ jo puouj
gqj put? 'j9qdoad -b 'jaqougij tj 90110 si 49od otpi sni[4 pny
\9jn4nj 9i[4 jo pau ^si?d oqq jo uoi^iod -e uuq oj S9Ui099q 4119A9
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qoiqAi csrai!9ap A'Bp-piiu ut "qims 9at? spjjoin J9qq.o ^spqAV
pnu 'mopsiAv jo JOAVop: sno9q.nii9q 9qj dn sSnuds ^9q siq
jo sq^cbp 4SOUU11 oqj xuoj^ -ooai jo aoC jo snrea^s q^vliq^ig
04 djuq siq S9un-j 9q Apop9iu qjos q^XAi ^spqAY f,jqSq o^ni
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9q^ jo jiios pajydsni pnu G^qi^dsosns 9qq. (9^j Addtjq siq 499111
oj qdiunu'; pujS m SapnuApi; si jo cjn9ui9Ai79J9q (4B9jS 9mos
joj Apqou'cpui ss9|4sq ui sA\3p su{ Sut^sbav si ppoAi 91(4 jo
iwm 9q4 4spqA\ put? 'Aq^dmls 4S91U139 W3 S|99j9q Supq n^ranq
AJ9A9 jo Ani4sgp snoAof pui? pi?s 9q4. nj • uoisnjnoo pm? ssgj^sip
G]qtJ>[B9dsnn noisuooo 04 p9Avoqi? ojt? ^gA pnx? 'uitqdxG ppoAv
9LqnqAsoaoui v qoi [av 'Sdipnujsjgpnnsiai jo suragrag 9];qu9qd
-X9ui osoqj s^JBia inoT4U4Loii ssg^uuj ui pgsso4 9JU qopqA\
SiuopSaiq puu sgqimtq: jo 94bj 9q4_ sg^iqd 111941109 'snoissud
9T[4 jo 4pnum4 SmSiu 9i[j sAgAjns 9q g.ingnpno siq uiojj
appheis ticeship.
71
days of old, and served the poet for a rich inheritance. In
the palaces of kings, at the banquets of the rich, before
the threshold of the lover, the bard was ever welcome when
ear and soul were closed to all beside, and men heard their
songs in silent rapture as we stand enchanted with delight at
the delicious strain of the nightingale, which resounds with
overpowering sweetness from the traversed glen. Every
dwelling offered them a home, and they felt exalted by the
very humbleness of their lot. The hero thrilled at their
lay, and the victor of the world paid homage to the poet, for
he felt that without the poet's aid, his own vast existence
would pass by like the whirlwind, and leave no trace behind.
The lover sighed to feel his own anxieties and joys as
varied and harmonious, as they were painted by the inspired
lips of the bard, and even the rich failed to see in their
dearest treasures, that value which they borrowed from the
glowing splendour of the poet's imagination which felt and
ennobled all their worth. Who but poets, in fine, created
gods, exalted us to them, and brought them down to us?"
"My friend," replied Werner, after a little reflection, "I
have often lamented that you should seek to divest yourself
so completely of those feelings of enthusiasm which are
natural to you. If I am not much mistaken, it would be better
for you to indulge your inclinations than to harass yourself
by wholly renouncing the enjoyment of them, and to allow
yourself one innocent gratification even at the expense of
every other pleasure."
"Dare I acknowledge it," answered the other, cc and will
you not think me ridiculous if I confess that let me fly
whither I may, these fantasies ever pursue me, and that
when I examine my heart, I find all my youthful aspirations
rooted there, even more firmly than before? What remains
then for me, unfortunate? Who could have foretold that the
arms of my spirit with which I had hoped to seize something-
great, and perhaps to grasp infinity, would so soon be shat-
tered ? whoever should have foretold such a result would have
driven me to despair. And even when judgment has been
passed upon me—when I have for ever lost her, who like a
divinity was to have conducted me to the attainment of every
wish, what remains for me but to abandon myself to the most
desolating sorrow? O, my brother," he continued, ''I wil
"VYILHEL^I AIElSTtiL S
not conceal it from you, in my secret designs, she was the
support to which the ladder of my hopes was fixed. Behold!
with daring intent the adventurer hovers in the air, but the
support fails, the iron breaks, and he himself lies shattered
with his wishes in the dust. I will not," he exclaimed as
he sprang from his seat, "leave one of the wretched papers
in existence." He then seized another package, tore it to
pieces, and flung it into the flames. Werner sought to
prevent him, but in vain. "Leave me !" he cried, "of what
use can they be—these miserable papers? To me they are
destitute of comfort and of happy remembrances. Shall they
remain to afflict me to the end of my existence? Shall they
survive to provoke one day the derision of mankind, in place of
exciting their sympathy and awe? Alas for me and for my
destiny! Now at length I can understand the complaints of
poets—of the wretched whom grief has rendered wise. How
long have I considered myself irresistible, invulnerable, and
now, alas! I see to my cost that a deep and early sorrow can
never be assuaged, can never be healed. I feel that it must
go with me to the grave. Upon no day of my life shall this
sorrow be unfelt, till at length it bring me to my end—and
he?' image shall remain with me —shall live and die with me—
the memory of the worthless one—and yet, my friend, if I
dare utter the sentiments of my heart—she was not wholly
worthless. Her situation and her fate have a thousand
times excused her in my eyes. I have been too harsh. You
have schooled me in your own heartlessness. You have
restrained my wavering intentions, and prevented me from
performing what was due to us both. Who knows to what
condition I may have reduced her? and my conscience now
perpetually upbraids me, with having abandoned her to des-
titution and despair. Might she not have justified herself?
Is it not possible? How many mistakes have deluded the
world, how many extenuating circumstances may excuse even
the greatest fault? How often does my fancy picture her,
sitting in silence, leaning on her arm, and exclaiming 'This
is fidelity—this is the love he swore to me! "With such a
jTiiel stroke, to end the sweet existence which made us one
lie burst into a flood of grief, leaned his face against the
table, and saturated the papers which remained with bitter
APPRENTICESHIP.
73
Werner stood by in the greatest perplexity. He had not
expected this sudden out-burst of grief. He tried several
times to engage his friend in conversation, to direct his
thoughts to other topics, but in vain. He could not resist
the current. And here did well-tried friendship once more
resume her office. He permitted the first violent shock of
grief to pass away, whilst he by his silent presence afforded
proof of his own pure and honest sympathy, and so they
passed the evening together. Wilhelm absorbed in the
silent remembrance of by-gone sorrow, and Werner aston-
ished at this new out-burst of a passion which he believed
that his own good advice and zealous expostulations had
long since mastered and subdued.
CHAPTER III.
Afteb relapses of this nature Wilhelm was accustomed to
pursue his business, and to resume his life of activity with
greater zeal, and he found this habit the best means of
escaping the labyrinth which threatened to entangle him.
His gracious manner of receiving strangers, and his facility
for corresponding in all living languages, increased the hopes
of his father, and of his friends for his commercial success,
and consoled them during his sickness, as they were wholly
unacquainted with the cause of his illness, by which their
projects had been interrupted. They soon determined that
Wilhelm should undertake a second journey, and accordingly
we now find him once more on horseback, with his saddle
bags behind him, exhilarated by the motion and fresh air,
and approaching a mountainous district where he had some
commissions to execute.
With a sensation of the greatest delight he pursued his
way over hill and dale. Impending rocks and rushing
streams, moss-covered ruins and deep precipices now met his
eye for the first time, and yet his earliest youthful dreams
had often carried him to scenes like these. He felt the da\"3
of his former years return, every sorrow which he had
74
WILHELM MEISTER' 6
endured vanished from his soul, and with real delight he
recited aloud passages from different poems, particularly from
the " Pastor Fido," which, in these solitary places crowded
upon his memory. He also called to mind many passages
of his own composition, which he repeated with especial
satisfaction. He peopled the world which lay before him
with all the forms of the past, and every advance into the
future seemed to him full of promise, both of important
transactions, and of remarkable events.
A crowd of people who followed greeted him successively
as they passed, and hastily pursued their journey along a
steep footpath which led across the mountain. Though they
interrupted his silent musings, they did not attract his atten-
tion very forcibly, until at length a talkative companion joined
him, and related the cause of this unusual cavalcade.
"In Hochdorf," he observed, "there is a comedy to be
performed this evening, at which the whole neighbourhood
will be present."
"How," exclaimed "Wilhclm, "has the muse of comedy
found a way to build herself a temple in these solitary
mountains, in these impassable woods? Then I must also
make a pilgrimage to her festival."
<cTou will be still more surprised," added the stranger,
"when you learn by whom the piece will be performed.
There is a large manufactory in the place which affords
employment to many people. The proprietor who lives, so
to speak, at a distance from all human society, knows no
better way of amusing his workmen in winter, than by
inducing them to act plays. He forbids all gambling
amongst them, and wishes to wean them from coarse habits.
They therefore pass the long evenings in this manner, and
as this is the birth-day of the proprietor, they are about to
give a special entertainment in his honour." Wilhelm pro-
ceeded to Hochdorf, where he had intended to pass the night,
and dismounted at the factory, the proprietor of which by
the way appeared as a debtor upon his list.
Upon mentioning his name, the old man exclaimed with
astonishment, "Ha! sir, are you the son of that worthy
man to whom I owe so many thanks, and am even indebted
in a sum of money? Tour father has had great patience
with me, and I should indeed be a knave were I not ta
AtfPBENTICESH IP.
discharge my debt quickly and cheerfully. You come at a
proper time to test my sincerity."
He called his wife, who was in like manner delighted
to see the youth. She assured him that he resembled his
father, and regretted that the arrival of so many strangers
would prevent her from offering him a bed.
The account was simple, and soon settled. "Wilhelm put
the gold mto his pocket, and wished that the rest of his
business might be as easily transacted.
The hour fixed for the performance now arrived. They only
waited the appearance of the Head Forester, who at length
came, accompanied by several sportsmen, and was received
with the greatest respect.
The company was conducted to the theatre which had
been constructed in a barn situated near the garden.
The body of the theatre as well as the stage had been
prettily and neatly arranged, but without any great display
of taste. A painter who worked at the manufactory had
formerly been assistant at the Prince's theatre, and had in a
somewhat bold, though rude style produced a representation
of woods, streets, and apartments. They had borrowed the
plot of the piece from a strolling company, and had arranged
it after a style of their own. As far as it went it was amusing.
The intrigue of two lovers to carry off a girl from her
guardian, and afterwards from each other afforded room for
several interesting situations. It was the first piece which
Wilhelm had for a long time witnessed, and it caused him to
indulge in many reflections. It was full of action, but with-
out any touch of true character. But it gave pleasure and
delight. Such are the beginnings of all theatrical art. The
mere man is content if he only sees something represented,
the educated man requires to feel, but the refined spectator
derives the greatest pleasure from reflection.
"Wilhelm felt now and then as if he would willingly have
assisted the actors, and indeed a trifling suggestion or two
would have produced a great improvement.
But the tobacco smoke, which gradually became more and
more dense, disturbed his silent cogitations. The Head
forester had lighted his pipe soon after the commencement
<it' the piece, and some others of the audience soon took
similar liberty. The large dogs of the above mentioned
70
WILHELM MEISTEIt's
gentleman, moreover, played a disagreeable part. They bad
been locked-up at the commencement of tbe performance,
out they soon found their way to the back entrance, ran
upon the stag;e, jumped amongst the actors, and finally by a
ieap over the orchestra succeeded in joining their master who
had taken his place in the front row of the parterre.
The afterpiece consisted of an operatic performance. A
portrait which represented the old proprietor in his bridal
costume stood upon an altar decorated with flowers. All the
actors in turn saluted him with respectful reverence as they
passed. The youngest child then stepped forward, attired
in white, and recited a poetical composition, at which the
whole family, and even the Head Forester, who thought of
his own children, melted into tears. The play being now
onded, "Wilhelm could not resist venturing upon the stage,
in order to take a nearer view of the actresses, to praise their
performances, and to offer then a little advice for the future.
The remainder of our friend's business which he had to
transact in the other larger and smaller mountain villages
was not so happily and agreeably executed. Many debtors
requested further credit, some were rude, and others denied
"Wilh elm's claim. According to his instructions he was
obliged to sue some of them, and he was therefore com-
pelled to seek out an advocate, to furnish him with in-
structions, to appear in a court of justice, and to discharge
several other similar unpleasant duties.
He was equally unfortunate in other particulars. Some
persons seemed disposed to pay him a little attention, but he
found few who were capable of giving him any useful in-
formation, and still fewer with whom he could hope to carry
on a profitable business. In addition to this, unfortunately
the rainy weather now set in, and a journey on horseback
in those districts was for this reason attended with insu-
perable difficulties. He thanked heaven, therefore, when he
once more came to the level country, and found himself at
the foot of the mountains, in a beautiful and productive
plain, where a sweet little country town lay in the sunshine
on the banks of a softly murmuring river. Here without
any business to execute, he resolved to pass a couple of days
-n order to refresh both himself and his horse, which had
suffered considerably from the badness of the roads.
APPRENTICESHIP.
7*
CHAPTEE IV.
Upon entering an hotel in the market place, he found the
w hole establishment very merry, or at least very cheerfui.
A large company of rope dancers, vaulters and tumblers, ac-
companied by a giant, had just arrived with their wives and
children, and their preparations for a public exhibition had
created a general confusion. At one moment th^
quarrelling with their host, and at the next with each other,
and if their contention was intolerable, their expressions of
satisfaction were far more so. Undetermined whether he
should go or remain, Wilhelm stood before the door, and
observed some workmen, who were busily engaged in the
task of erecting a stage in the public square.
A girl who was carrying a quantity of roses and other
flowers offered him her basket, whereupon he purchased a
beautiful nosegay which he surveyed with pleasure, and
then commenced to arrange after his own fashion. Sud-
denly he heard a window open in an hotel on the opposite
side of the square, at which a handsome young lady pre-
sented herself. Notwithstanding the distance between them
he could perceive that a pleasant expression of cheerfulness
animated her countenance. Her fine hair fell carelessly over
her shoulders, and she seemed to be engaged in surveying
him attentively. Presently a boy dressed in a white jacket,
and wearing a hair-dresser's apron, issued from the door of
the house, and when he came up to Wilhelm saluted him,
and informed him, "the lady at the window wishes to ask
whether he would share his beautiful bouquet with her."
*' The whole of it is at her service," replied AVilhelm, handing
the flowers at the same time to the little messenger, and
bowing to the lady, who returned the civility with a gracious
salute, and immediately retired from the window.
With thoughts bent upon this strange adventure, he was
ascending the stairs to his room, when a young creature
brushed hastily past him, and attracted his attention. The
child was prettily attired in a short silk waistcoat with slashed
78 WILHELM MEISTER'S
Spanish sleeves, and long tight trowsers ornamented with
puffs. His long black hair was arranged in curls, and secured
with bands about his head. Wilhelm beheld the figure with
astonishment, and was unable to say whether it were a boy or
a girl. Deciding finally upon ths latter, he took her up in
his arms as she passed close to him, bade her good day, and
inquired to whom she belonged, although he knew that she
must be a member of the singing and dancing company.
She surveyed him with a sharp dark side-glance, and
making her escape she rushed into the kitchen, without
making any reply to his inquiry.
Upon reaching the top of the stairs he found the large
apartment occupied by two men who were practising fencing,
or endeavouring rather to prove their skill upon each-other.
One of them evidently belonged to the company then in the
house, but the other had a less common appearance. Wil-
helm looked on, and found reason to admire them both, and
when shortly afterwards the dark-haired muscular combat-
ant retired, the other with much politeness offered Wilhelm
a foil.
"If you wish to receive a pupil for instruction, I am
willing," observed the latter, "to venture a few passes."
They thereupon fenced together. The stranger was far
superior to his antagonist, but he was polite enough to keep
observing, that 'c everything depended upon practice." Wil-
helm however afforded substantial proof that he had been
formerly instructed by a good and practical Grerman fencing-
master.
Their amusement was interrupted by the uproar which
the motley company made as they issued from the hotel, to
notify to the town the nature of their intended performance,
and to excite their curiosity with regard to the spectacle
itself. A drummer took the lead, he was followed by the
manager on horseback, behind him rode one of the dancing-
girls on a similar steed, holding a child before her, who was
attractively arrayed in ribbons and spangles. Next came
the rest of the company on foot, some bearing children upon
their shoulders in fantastic postures, yet gracefully and easily
balanced, and amongst them was the young, black-haired
dark complexioned figure which had previously attracted
Wilhelm's attention.
AP^TIENTICESIII*.
70
The clown now ran merrily about among the crowding mul-
titude, and distributed his hand-bills with very intelligible
jokes, at one time kissiDg a maiden, then playfully striking
one of the boys, and awakening in the minds of the by-
standers an unconquerable wish to see him nearer.
Upon the printed play-bills the multifarious accomplish-
ments of the company were conspicuously emblazoned, but
particularly those of one Monsieur Narcisse and Made-
moiselle Landrinette, both of whom being principal charac-
ters had the prudence not to appear in the procession, in
order thus to win more respect, and to excite a greater
degree of curiosity.
Wilhelm's fair companion had appeared again at the
window during the procession, and he had not neglected to
make inquiries about her from his new companion. This
latter personage, whom for the present we shall call Laertes,
offered to introduce Wilhelm to her. "I and the young-
lady," he remarked with a smile, "are two wrecks of a
company of players, that broke up here a short time ago.
The charm of the spot has tempted us to pass some days
in it, that we may spend in peace our small store of money,
whilst another of our party has set forth to find employment
for himself and us."
Laertes therefore accompanied his new acquaintance to
the door of Philina's apartment, where he allowed Wilhelm
to remain for a few moments whilst he himself ran to a
neighbouring shop to procure some sweetmeats. "I know
you will thank me," he observed on his return, "for pro-
curing you this pleasant acquaintance.''
The lady now advanced from her apartment to receive
them, wearing a pair of light small slippers with high heels.
She had thrown a black mantilla over a white "negligee,"
and though the latter was not of the most dazzling whiteness,
it gave her a more easy and familiar air, whilst her short
petticoats displayed the prettiest little foot in the world.
"Toil, are welcome," she exclaimed, addressing Wilhelm,
"and I beg you will accept my thanks for your beautiful
flowers." With one hand she conducted him into her
apartment, whilst with the other she pressed the bouquet to
her bosom. When they were seated and engaged in a train
of indifferent conversation, to which she knew how to impart
80
^ ILUELM MEIS'Jt'EE S
an attractive charm, Laertes flung a handful of burnt ainionds
into her lap, which she immediately began to eat. "Sir,
what a child this young man is," she cried, "he would wish
to persuade you that I am fond of sweetmeats, while it is he
himself who cannot live without such things."
"Let us admit," replied Laertes, "that in this point, as
well as in many others, we perfectly agree. For instance,"
he continued, "this is a delightful day, I think we migh
take an excursion into the councry, and dine together at the
mill." "Willingly," replied Fhilina; t£ we must provide a
little entertainment for our new acquaintance." Laertes
rushed from the apartment, few* he never walked quietly, and
Wilhelm expressed a desire to return home for a short time,
in order to arrange his hair, which had been disordered by
the journey. "You can do that here," observed Philina,
and calling her attendant, she induced "Wilhelm in the most-
persuasive manner to lay aside his coat, to put on her dress-
ing gown, and to permit his hair to be curled in her presence.
u We must not lose time," she said ; "who knows how long
we shall be together."
The servant, more sulky and unwilling than unskilful,
paid but little attention to his task; he hurt Wilhelm and
committed many blunders. Philina rebuked him several
times for his conduct, and at length pushing him away im-
patiently, she turned him out of doors. She now undertook
to perform the duty herself, and commenced curling the hair
of our friend with great skill and dexterity, though she did
not seem to be in any great hurry to bring her task to a
conclusion, finding more than once that several matters re-
quired to be re-arranged. Now and then as it were by mis-
take she touched his knee with hers, and brought her nosegay
and her bosom so near to his lips that he was strongly
tempted more than once to imprint a kiss upon them.
When Wilhelm had arranged his forehead with the little
powder knife, she desired him to put it in his pocket as a
token of remembrance. It was a pretty trifle. The handle
formed of inlaid steel was engraved with these words,Think
of me." Wilhelm put it away, thanked her, and requested
permission to offer her a little present in return.
Everything was now ready. Laertes had driven round in
the carriage, and they set out upon a very delightful excursion,
APPRENTICESHIP,
81
Philina distributed alms to every beggar who asked her. and
always accompanied her gift with some friendly and cheerful
observation.
They had scarcely arrived at the mill and ordered dinner,
when they heard a strain of music. It proceeded from a
band of miners wL~> were singing some sweet ballads, and
accompanying their iappy, shrill voices with a triangle and a
harp. This did not continue long before a crowd of people
collected round them, and the company at the windows ex-
pressed their approbation of the performance. The players
acknowledged this attention by enlarging their circle, and
preparing to play their best piece. After a short pause a
miner appeared carrying a spade, and whilst his companions
performed a solemn air, he began to represent in pantomime
the action of digging, f
Before long another peasant stepped out from the crowd,
and by his gestures gave the former to understand that he
must retire. The company were surprised at this interference,
and did not understand that this peasant was a miner in
disguise, until he opened his mouth a*nd in a species of reci-
tative scolded the other for daring to meddle with his field.
The miner, however, was not alarmed, but set about inform-
ing the peasant that he had a right to dig there, and gave
him some elementary ideas of mineralogy. The peasant,
who did not understand the technical language of his in-
structor, asked all manner of ridiculous questions, at which
the spectators who were better informed laughed heartily.
The miner sought still to instruct the inquirer, and to explain
the advantage which would eventually arise to him by ex-
ploring the subterraneous treasures of the earth. The
peasant who at first had threatened him with blows became
gradually tranquillized, and they parted good friends, but
the miner came out of the contest with the greater
honour.
AVilhelm remarked, when they were all seated at table,
"We have in this little dialogue the most convincing proof
how useful the theatre might be made to all classes, how
great an advantage the state might derive from it if the
actions, pursuits and employments of mankind were repre-
sented in a good and praiseworthy point of view, shewing
that they are worthy of honour and protection from the state.
Q
82
WILHELM MEISTEE^
At present we only portray mankind in a ridiculous aspect
—the comic poet resembles a malicious taxgatherer, who con-
tinually keeps a watchful eye upon the faults of his fellow
citizens, and seems delighted when he can convict them.
"Would it not be a pleasing and worthy employment for a
statesman to mark the natural and reciprocal influence of all
classes of society upon each other, and to assist a poet who
should possess talent enough for the performance of his task.
I am convinced that in this manner many interesting and at
the same time useful and entertaining pieces might be pro-
duced."
"So far as I have been able to observe," said Laertes, "in
places where I have travelled, the general rule seems to be
to hinder, to forbid, and to pervert, but seldom to invite, to
induce and to reward. Every thing is allowed to proceed in
the world until it becomes injurious, then for the first time
angry and coercive measures are introduced."
"Let us cease to speak of the state and statesmen," said
Philina ; "I can only think of the latter dressed in peruques;
and peruques, whoever wears them, always affect my fingers
with a spasmodic feeling. I could tear them from the heads
of the venerable gentlemen, dance round the room, and laugh
at the bald, pates."
Philina cut short her remarks with a merry air which she
^ang prettily, and gave directions that they should drive
speedily homeward in order not to miss the performances of
the rope dancers in the evening. Whimsical even to ex-
travagance, she continued her generosity to the poor on her
way back, and when she had at length expended her own
money and that of her travelling companions, she bestowed
her straw hat upon a young girl, and gave away her neck-
kerchief to an old woman in charity.
Philina invited both her companions into her apartment,
because she said they could see the entertainment better
from her windows than from the hotel.
Upon their arrival they found the stage erected, and the
background ornamented with suspended tapestry. The
swings were already prepared, the slack rope was fastened
to the posts, and the tight rope was drawn over the trestles.
The square was well filled with people, and the windows w. th
spectators of the better class.
APPRENTICESHIP.
83
The clown in the first place prepared the people for atten-
tion and good humour by the display of some drollery, at
which the spectators are accustomed to laugh. Some chil-
dren whose bodies were distorted into various shapes, excited
pity and surprise, and Wilhelm could not restrain his feel-
ings of deep commiseration, on beholding the child whose
first appearance bad awakened his interest, go through her
astonishing performance with some difficulty. But the
activity of the tumblers soon delighted the spectators, when
first singly and then in rows, and subsequently all together,
they pitched their sommersaults backwards and forwards in
the air. A loud clapping of hands and general applause re-
sounded through the whole assembly.
But their attention was soon directed to another object.
The children in succession ascended the rope, beginning
with the pupils, that their practising might lengthen the
performance and display the difficulties of the art. Some
men and some young women also next shewed considerable
skill, but Monsieur Narcisse and Mademoiselle Landri-
nettc had not yet made their appearance. At length the}"
came forth from a kind of tent formed of red expanded cur-
tains, and by their agreeable figures and glittering dress,
they quickly raised and satisfied the hopes of the spectators.
He was a smiling youth of middle size, with black eyes and
curly hair; she was a person of not less attractive form,
whilst as they appeared in turn upon the rope, and displayed
their easy active motions, they surprised the spectators with
their strange but graceful attitudes. Her activity and his
fearlessness, together with the precision which both exhibited
in executing their performances, increased the general de-
light at each successive leap and spring which they made.
Their assumed dignity, and the apparent respect paid to
them by the rest of the company, gave them the air of king
and queen of the performance, and in the eyes of all they
seemed fully worthy of the honour.
The enthusiasm of the crowd soon reached the spectators
who were assembled at the windows. The ladies looked
intently at Narcisse, whilst the gentlemen admired Landri-
nette. The lower orders cheered loudly, and even the more
polite spectators could not refrain from clapping their hands,
but no one condescended to bestow even a passing smile
84
WltiHELM iIEISTEB'3
upon the clown. It was observed that many of the by-
standers slunk stealthily away when some of the actors
pressed through the crowd with their tin plates to gather
contributions.
"They seem to have succeeded," observed Wilhelm to
Philina, who was leaning beside him at the window; "I
admire the judgment with which they have managed their
humble performances, and the skill with which, from the in-
experience of the children, and the talents of the other
actors, they have produced a whole which has not only fixed
our attention, but afforded us most agreeable entertain-
ment."
The crowd had now gradually dispersed, and the square
uad become once more empty, while Philina and Laertes
continued to criticise the forms and skill of JNTarcisse and
Landrinette, and to jest and contradict each other alternately.
Wilhelm. in the mean time having observed the clever little
child standing near some children who were playing in the
street, pointed her out to Philina, who instantly callet.
and beckoned to her in her usual lively manner, but without
effect, whereupon she ran down stairs humming a song, and
brought her up.
"Here is your little wonder," she exclaimed, as she led
the little thing into the room. But the child stood still, as
if she wished to make her escape, then placing her right
hand upon her breast, and her left upon her forehead,
she bowed deeply. "Do not fear, my little love," said
Wilhelm advancing towards her. She surveyed him with
•an uncertain look, and then approached a few steps nearer.
"What is your name?" he asked. "They call me Mig-
«ion," was the reply. "How old are you?" "No one has
ever counted my years." "Who was your father?" "The
great devil is dead."
"That is parsing strange 1" exclaimed Philina. He made
some further inquiries. The child answered in a sort of
broken German, and with a solemn tone, always placing her
hand upon her breast and forehead and at the same time
bowing deeply.
"Wilhelm could not withdraw his eyes from her. His eyes
and his heart were irresistibly attracted by the mysterious
fate of this being. She seemed to be about twelve or
APPEEXTICESHI^.
85
1
thirteen, years of age, her figure was good, though her limbs
promised to be large, or perhaps foretold a somewhat stunted
growth. Her face was not regular, but impressive, her
brow was mysterious, her nose extremely beautiful, anc
the shape of her mouth, indicated much good nature
was very charming, though perhaps too closely
for her age, and moreover, the child
distort her lips, in a disagreeable mannej
to discern the hue of her complexion^
upon her cheeks. Her whole appe
impression upon "Wilhelm. He fixt"
her, became silently absorbed in
to forget the present in the
Pliilina, however, soon roused hiy
the remainder of the swt
that she might go. The little;
done at the commencement aj
the room.
The moment now appro
to separate for the evenirj
another excursion for thej
however, to van' the seen J
hunting lodge in the ncif
evening expressed many
which Laertes replied in;
On the following mornil
they visited Philina's hojT
observed the carriage wj
excursion taking its
AVilhelm's astonish
carriage and Pliilina
learned that she hj|
by two strangers k
they had all se
himself great en
vexation. Bi
humour. It
lodge—she mq|
intended excn
Wilhelm ,
conduct, bi-

8G
WILHELM ME I STEP. S
inconsistent who remains true to his character. When shs
proposes or promises any thing, it is always under the
implied condition that it must be convenient to herself to
execute her intention or to keep her promise. She is
^erous, it is true, but one must always be prepared to
presents."
^strange character," said "Wilhelm.
he replied, "and she is no hypocrite.
I love her because she is so true a
^ryhich I have so much reason to hate.
original mother of womankind,
y will not all confess it."
of this description, in which
jessed his aversion to the sex,
reason for the feeling, they
the forest. Wilhelm was
kause the remarks of Laertes
Section all the circumstances
Beneath some lofty old
;. table near a clear fountain
I She was sinking a merry
for her companions, she
|hem in finely and have
they deserved. On the
[y to the test, and finding
I determined to punish
1, they inquired of the
uner? He with charac-
vas in the house and
^their confusion ; they
^inquired the price.
\ed, 'the table is
forthwith ordered
things for which
feg"er to the town,
vo, I had made
itortured them
short they
from which
turn. I have
land I sball

APPRENTICESHIP.
87
never cease to do so when I think of their looks of amaze-
ment." During dinner Laertes recounted several anecdotes
of a similar kind, and all told merry stories of practicj
jokes and laughable impositions.
A youth of their acquaintance from the
approached them through the wood with
He took his seat near them and began to i
beauty of the scenery. He spoke of 1
of the waving boughs, of the varied
of the melody of the birds. Philhj
song about the cuckoo of which the
quite to approve, and he forthv
"I never wish to hear anotln
her beauties," cried Philina,
disappeared, " nothing is mc
arithmetical account of the
walk when it is fine, as wj
But why should we think <
It is the dancer that inte^
of light blue eyes will
black ones. But what do
and old decayed linden
"Wilhelm who was sitting!
which he could not resis
"You are right," hear
is the most interesting
nothing else perhaps shj
that surrounds us, is ■
or the instrument
consider these i
with them, the wea
and our feeling: fof

88
WILKELM MEISTEB'S

collecting for her quantities of flowers. She formed them
into a wreath and placed it on her head—she looked un-
speakably lovely. There were sufficient flowers for another
ath, so she wove a second whilst the youths remained
k^side her. As soon as it was finished amid repeated
-unent she presssd it upon Wilhelm's head
arming grace, and then altered its position
L< length it seemed properly adjusted.
>ars, must go away empty/* observed
'lina answered, u you shall have no
ing which she took her own wreath
^ Laertes with it.
Aie latter, " it might now be a
more highly favoured."
indeed," she answered, and
words, she offered him her
ming towards Wilhelm, she
and kissed him tenderly,
•quired archly,
.t seems as if nothing had
lilina, " as any other gift
If conceit. But I should
hen we must return home
3 more."
finding music provided,
'ancer entertained her ,
askilful, but he failed
APPRENTICESHIP.
89
house by the hair of her head, and cruelly beating her with
the handle of a whip.
He rushed like lightning upon the man and seized him
by the throat. "Leave the child," he exclaimed with a voice
of fury, "or one of us shall never quit this spot." He
grasped his antagonist at the same time with a force which
rage alone can give. The fellow half choked released the
child and prepared to defend himself against his new foe.
Some of the by-standers who had pitied the child, without
daring to enter into a contest on her account, seized the
rope-dancer's arms, deprived him of the whip, and loaded
him with abuse. The latter, who was now reduced to the
defensive weapon of his tongue, threatened and cursed fear-
fully: " The idle worthless creature," he exclaimed, "refused
to do her duty—she refused to perform the egg-dance, which
he had promised to the public,—he would beat her to death
and no person should prevent him." He tried to escape, in
order to seek the child who had crept away amongst the
crowd. Wilhelm held him back, exclaiming, "You shall
neither touch nor see the child till you have confessed from
whom, you have stolen her. I will follow you to the utmost
extremity—you shall not escape me." This threat which
Wilhelm uttered in the mere heat of passion, without
thought or design, perhaps from inspiration, brought the
furious fellow instantly to his senses. He replied, "What
do I want with the worthless thiug? pay me what her
clothes have cost, and you may keep her willingly—we can
conclude the bargain this very evening." Pie then departed
to finish his interrupted performances, and to appease the
dissatisfaction of the multitude, by some astonishing display
of his powers.
Wilhelm, as soon as all was quiet, endeavoured to find
the child, hut in vain. Some said she was concealed in a
garret, or on the roof of some of the neighbouring houses,
but after a diligent search, they were forced to rest content,
and wait until she should come back of her own accord.
Narcisse had meanwhile returned, and Wilhelm questioned
him about the circumstances and previous history of the child.
He however knew but little, as he had not been long with
the company, but he related his own adventures with much
garrulous levity. When Wilhelm extolled the great success
WILHELM MEi^TEE'D
of bis performances he expressed the utmost indifference
upon that subject. "We are accustomed to be laughed at,"
he observed, " and to hear praises of our feats of skill, but
we are never any thing the better for all this mighty appro-
bation. The manager has to pay us, let his funds come from
where they may." He then bade him farewell and was about
to take his leave instantly.
In reply to the inquiry, "whither he was hastening so
speedily?" the fellow smiled, and confessed that his figure
and talents had gained him a more solid recompense than
the approbation of the public. He had received an invitation
from some young ladies who were very anxious for his
acquaintance, and he feared he would not be able to complete
his numerous visits before midnight. He continued to
recount his adventures with much candour, and would have
mentioned not only the streets and residences, but the very
names of the ladies, if Wilhelm had not admonished him of
such indiscretion and politely dismissed him.
Laertes had in the mean time been engaged in enter-
taining Landrinette and assuring her that she was quite
worthy to be and to remain a woman.
The bargain between Wilhelm and the rope-dancer for
the child was now concluded. She was sold to the former
for thirty thalers, and for that sum the dark complexioned
hot-blooded Italian renounced all his claims to her, but of
her previous history he would give no account, except that
he had taken care of her since the death of his brother, who
on account of his extraordinary talents and dexterity had
been named "the great devil."
A general search was made for the child, on the following
morning. But in vain was every corner of the house and
of the neighbourhood explored. She had disappeared, and
it was feared on all sides, that she had either drowned herself
or that some other misfortune had happened to her.
The charms of Philina were insufficient to appease the
inquietude of our friend. He spent a thoughtful, melan-
choly day, and even in the evening though the tumblers
and rope-dancers exerted all their powers to enchant the
public, they could not enliven his depressed spirits, or
dissipate his sadness.
The crowd of spectators had greatly increased by the
vinsa[OixK[jna:a?f
16
$uaq ijSmraaas pnu ';q§ui aq; ui .moq o;iq u or, s;aaias aq;
Suioud 'sauoaq; 9;ijuoauj siq osaq; q;iA\ 9uopjp»?tiuq paure;
-ja;na aq 'uor;ismbsrp u qans ui aSu£ua o; posockip pauiaas
sa;jauq; joh EHipqj ^q;!^1 ;nq 'puouj jiio aqods snqj,
<tj a';iai;ou pamua;sajun 'amd 'aajj o;ui sSuiaq ;ut;u£u;8
Jiaq; asnoa puu spnos ;soraui Jiaq; oouannui puu oaolu ppioo
9AV 'ApOJ piTU U0SU9J JO 'aOUUJOllSl ptlU UIOpSl.VV JO 'AJ9SIIU
pnu ssautdduq jo sam^ oq; Suipimodxo Aq ji 'uuumq 3uiq;
Ajoao joj Aq;udiuAs u apn;i;puu aq; o; ;judiui pjnoo o.u ji
fA:iija;xap A'ppoq Jiaq; jo Axqdsip u Aq a.msua"[d 9Ai§ iiuo aploaci
asaq; su Apnjssaaons su 'ssauidduq o; spuusnoq; ti9>[iuvu
—'ajdoad u ut sSunaaj A'pium puu snoaauaS 'a[qou 'ipoqs
qij;09{9 uu Aq jx su 'arioso ppioo oan. jt sjtio oq ppiOAi iiorausuas
snoioqap u '^t-qAV 6 notssajdrai uu ]ujaua5 os aoupojd
ppioo aq p99p snou;snpi 9mos jo qaaads ajqou u jo sucaui
Aq ji 'uoi;iqmu siq jo ;iuiums A\ioa aq; pauiu;;u puq aq ;uq;
^uiq; ;ou ppiOAi uuui ;uqAi Aun '.io;9U ;uqAi 'joq;nu ^qjVV??
•Uvin^aj
hi 3[OOj u A*q pamouoq 9q o; pnu raaq; ppqaq o; ssautclduq
u ;q§noq; suai ;p •Apiuap maq; oas o; pjUAuioj passajd
pu pnu £maq; nodn pa.iaA\oqs 0joav sjaupiajipuuq ipis put:
sj9A\on fsnoqqu Csjapuu;s-Aq aq; jo suot;uunqoau n?iauaS aq;
ppnu s;aaj;s judionud aq; qSnojq; saaq;o aq; jo saappioqs aq;
no uorssaoojd ui pauiua naq; ajaAi. a;;auijpuurj pnu assioau^r
•jpoo-jaq;uaA\ u .10 puq tj ajqiuasaj 0; os paseajp pnu cpuaq
:;i no .o'uipnu;s ppqo u A'q pa;namunjo Smaq ;mod aq; 'pauuoj
suav ptniujA'd SniAq u q;Sna"[ ;u p;nn 'najppqo pnu uamOAi
jo a\oj v pa;joddns n.m; jiaq; 111 ja;;u; asaq; pnu saappioqs
Jiaq; nodn jaoj jaq;onu ajoq uaui jo a\oj y *s;jud a^aq;
ui pa;tqiqxa naaq jaAan puq qoiqAi ./sapoaa^ jo q;.onoj;g
aqjj 'papuo ;uaj u q;iA\ papn|ouoo aonurajqjjad aq jj
•aduqs o;m aoqs-asaoq v ;uaq o; pnu ;saqo siq
no pAnu nu aoujd 0; q;(ins Apjn;s v paAvopu oq cjat[;o qoua
niojj oonu;sip apiAi u ;u papua;xa a.iaAv qoiqAv 's.nuqo oav;
nodn Sui;s9J ;aaj pnu puaq stq q;iAi naqAV *aA\u puu ;naui
-qsino;su jusjaAinn jo Suqaaj u pana^UAiu 00; ;nuiS aq j; nor;
-usuas pijjapuoA\. u pa;ioxa 'jadud q;iAV pajaAOO aaaA\ qoiq.vv jo
sSninado aq; sifsuo qSnojq; jo 'spjOAis papna;xa jaAO padua|
ejo;ou oq; qoiqA) q;tAV ssanssa|juaj aqx "Qzts snonuiona
nu 0; popaAvs uoiquqoaddu luaanaS aq; 'puqAvone u ai[ij puu
^ooq.moqq^ian aq; uiojj jaq;a£o; pa>pon ;uq; sjaqiunn
02
"WTLHELM MEISTER'S
upon devoting all the force and freedom of his emancipated
spirit to the realization of his long cherished desire, viz. to
embody for the stage all that is good and great and noble
in life.
CHAPTER Y.
Oit the following day when the rope dancers had taken
their departure amid great display and parade, Mignon
once more made her appearance and entered the apartment
where Wilhelm and Laertes were engaged in fencing.
"Where have you been concealed?" inquired the former in
a kind tone, "you have occasioned us much anxiety." The
child made no answer but fixed her eyes upon him. "You
belong to us now," said Laertes, "we have bought you."
"How much have you paid for me?" asked the child with
great composure. "One hundred crowns," replied Laertes,
when you repay them, you shall have your freedom." "Is
it much?" inquired the child. "0 yes! but you must
now behave yourself well.'1 "I will be your servant," she
replied.
From that instant she paid particular attention to the
duties which the waiter had to perform for her two friends,
and on the following day she would not allow him to enter
the apartment any more. She insisted upon doing every
thing herself, and though she was neither quick nor skilful,
she was accurate and careful in all that she performed.
Placing herself frequently before a bason of water, she
was accustomed to wash her face with so much violence as
to rub the skin from her cheeks. In reply to Laertes'
questions, she stated that she was anxious to wash off the
rouge, and that in her wish to succeed, she had mistaken
the redness which the rubbing had occasioned for the most
obstinate dye. She was informed of her error and did it
no more, and after a little time she acquired the natural
complexion of a beautiful brunette enlivened with a rosy
tint.
Engaged in this society, excited no less by the dangerous
charms d: Philina than by the mysterious presence of this
APPRENTICESHIP.
child, Willielm's mind was for many days more stronglv
agitated than he himself would venture to confess. He
endeavoured, however, to stifle the reproaches of his con-
science by engaging actively in the exercises of fencing and
dancing, accomplishments for which he might not perhaps
easily find so convenient an opportunity.
He was not a little surprised and gratified
Herr Melina and his wile arrived at
exchanged the first cheerful salutations,
the lady who had undertaken the d
as about the rest of the company,
dismay that the former had Ions
that the company had almost bro^
After their marriage, a step
Wilhelm had contributed hisj
many places in search of
success, and had at length be,
as some persons, whom the
them that there was a
Philina
they cai|
Laertes I
to give j
was
assured
peopleJ
To
was aff|
their
same
of barj
more
•itteni
the \|
his tf
nevey
paid I
took!
nizef
with

94
WILHELM MEISTEE'S
Eut Madame Melina was ar object of special dislike to
the merry, thoughtless Philina. She was a woman possess-
ing a certain amount of education, but was sadly deficient
in spirit and in soul. Her talent for declamation was con-
siderable, and sh* was always deelaming, bat you could
gee that her performance was a mere recitation of
though she was efFe^.ive in some passages, she
^ " r the full force and passion of the character
But she was notwithstanding a general
■ with the men. Indeed her intimate
> possess a fine understanding, and I
'hat she was a general sympathizer in
^ She well knew how to flatter
shed to obtain, she could agree
far as possible, and when
:s of her horizon, she never
£he appearance of such new
2;hly understood the proper
billing silence, and though
^ould detect

about
Rations
irades-
fceived
lale of
lis to
[ him,
Iwere
: elm
belf.
land
[the
I wis
APPBT^TTCESIIIP.
95
for monks, Jews and enchanters, he could not help feeling
that those were the very happiest moments of his life which
he had spent amid similar frippery. If Melina could have
known the secret emotions which were working at his heart,
he would have pressed him more earnestly to expend a sum
of money in purchasing this collection of scattered fragments,
in arranging them anew, and of framing them into a beauti-
ful whole. "What a happy mortal," exclaimed Melina,
"should I esteem myself, if I possessed but two hundred
dollars and could obtain these essentials for the commence-
ment of a theatrical speculation. I should soon be able to
open a little theatre in this very town and neighbourhood,
quite sufficient to supply all our wants." Wilhelm was
silent—and both buried in thought, left the treasures to be
once more placed under lock and key.
Erom this time Melina's whole conversation consisted of
projects and plans for the establishment of a theatre and
turning it to a profitable account. He endeavoured to
interest Philina and Laertes in his scheme, and proposed
that Wilhelm should advance a sum of money for the
purpose on security. It now occurred to him for the first
time that he had too long delayed his departure from th:s
place, but he found convenient excuses for his procrastina-
tion, and determined to make preparations for the oon-
tinuan ce of h i a j o urney.
In the mean tini3 Mignon's personal appearance and
disposition were becoming more and m ;re attractive to him,
although he* whole conduct was singular and mysterious.
In ascending or descending the stairs, she never walked,
but always bounded along. She would spring forward by
the banisters, reach the landing place before you could
be aware of her intention, and then quietly take her seat.
Wilhelm moreover remarked that she adopted a different
kind of salute towards every individual. When saluting
him of late she always crossed her arms upon her breast.
She frequently remained quite silent for an entire day,
sometimes however she answered more readily, but in so
strange a way as if to leave it doubtful whether her pecu-
liarity arose from shrewdness or from ignorance of the lan-
guage, as she generally expressed herself in broken'
intermingled with French and Italian. In hr

06
to Wilhelrn she was unwearied, rising at the first dawn of
day, but she retired early in the evening, sleeping in a little
room upon the bare floor, and she could not be persuaded to
use either a bed or a straw mattress. He often found her
washing herself. In her attire she was cleanly, and her
clothes were quilted in double and treble folds. He was
informed that she was accustomed to attend mass every
morning at an early hour. More than once he followed her
thither and watched her as she retired to a corner of the
church, whilst with her rosary in her hand she sank down
upon her knees and prayed devoutly. She had never
noticed him, and upon his return home he became lost in
thought about this strange apparition, but was unable to
arrive at any certain- conclusion about her.
A new application from Melina for a sum of money to pur-
chase the theatrical wardrobe, which formed the never-ending
subject of his conversation, determined Wilhelm once more1
to think of his departure. He resolved, therefore, to write
to his friends by the next post, as they had not heard from
him for a long time. In fact he had commenced a letter
to Werner, and had proceeded to narrate his adventures, in
the course of which he had somewhat unintentionally wan-
dered a little from the truth, wrhen to his mortification lie
found that one side of his letter was already filled with some
verses which he had copied from his album for Madame
Melina. In his vexation he tore up the letter, and postponed
the repetition of his adventures till the following day.
CHAPTEE VII.
Our party was once more assembled together, when Philim
who attentively watched every horse and carriage that passed
before the house, exclaimed in a state of great excitement,
« Pedant! here comes our darling Pedant! Who can
with him?" She called to him, and nodded from the
d the carriage immediately drew up.

APPRENTICESHIP.
97
A poor, woe-begone looking genius, who from his shabby
thread-bare coat and ill-conditioned lower garments, seemed
like one of those unthriving tutors who moulder at our
Universities, stepped from the carriage, and took off his
hat to salute Philina, displaying an ill-powdered stiff periwig,
while she in return for the compliment kissed her hand to
him a hundred times.
Her chief happiness seemed to consist in loving one set
of men, and in engaging their affection, but she allowed
herself at the same time another species of enjoyment, and
that lay in ridiculing those whom she might at such moment
happen not to love, a pastime in which she particularly excelled.
In the tumult with which she welcomed this old friend
of hers, the other persons who accompanied him were
completely forgotten. Tet "Wilhelm thought he remem-
bered the faces of the two girls, and of the old man who
had arrived together with him. It appeared that he had
frequently seen them before in the company of actors,
who, some years ago, had been accustomed to perform in
his native town. The ladies had grown considerably since
that period, but the old man had not altered perceptibly.
He generally played those good-humoured, noisy old cha-
racters, which are always found in a German play, and winch
one sometimes meets in common life. For it is the character
of our fellow countrymen not only to do good themselves,
but to promote it in others without any display of ostentation
or parade: and they seldom consider the charm of com-
bining uprightness with a dignified and graceful manner, and
so frequently from a very spirit of contradiction they commit
the grievous mistake of deforming the loveliest virtues by
their ungracious demeanour.
Our actor played characters of this nature with great
skill, and indeed so successfully and so exclusively did he
devote himself to such parts, that hi common life his manners
resembled his performances.
"Wilhelm was overpowered with emotion upon recognizing
this person. He remembered how often he had seen him on
the stage in company with his beloved Mariana. He fancied
he could still hear him scolding her, that he could still hear
her soft soothing voice—that tender voice with which in
many characters it was necessary for her to remonstrate
against his angry temper. n
98
WILHELM MEISTEH'
To the first inquiry made of the stranger, whether they
might entertain any hope of effecting a theatrical engagement,
a negative answer was unfortunately returned, accompanied
moreover by the information, that all the companies in the
neighbouring towns were not only provided with actors, but
entertained some apprehensions that the approaching war
might compel them to dissolve their several establishments.
The old actor, whom we have mentioned,1 had from a whim
and from a love of change abandoned a very advantageous
engagement which he had made for himself and his daughters,
and meeting with the Pedant on his journey, they had hired
a carriage together, and had come on to this place where, as
they found, good advice was difficult to procure.
Whilst the rest of the company were busily engaged in
discussing their several projects, Wilhelm sat alone buried
in thought. He wished to speak in private with the old man,
he was anxious to hear some news of Mariana, and yet he
dreaded to make any inquiry, and was seized with the
greatest disquietude.
Even the personal charms of the young ladies who had lately
arrived, could not arouse him from his lethargy, but an angry
altercation which took place quickly engaged his attention.
It was occasioned by Frederick the fair-haired youth, who
was accustomed to wait upon Philina, and who now refused
in the most positive manner to lay the table and bring up
the dinner. "I have been engaged," he said, " to wait upon
you, but not to be the servant of all these people." Hence
arose a violent dispute. Philina insisted that he should do
his duty, and as he obstinately refused to obey, she told him
without ceremony that he might go about his business.
"Tou think, perhaps, that I cannot leave you," he said,
saucily, and hastening away, he proceeded to pack up his
things, and left the house.
"Gro, Mignon," said Philina, " and get us what we require;
—call the waiter, and assist him to attend us."
Mignon ran to Wilhelm, and inquired in her laconic way
whether she might comply? and he desired her to do what-
ever the lady should command her.
She accordingly took charge of everything, and waited on
the guests during the whole evening with the greatest as
eiduity. After dinner Wilhelm proposed to take a walk with
APPRENTICESHIP.
99
the old man alone. Having obtained Lis wish, lie hazarded
many inquiries relative to his previous course of life till the
conversation turned upon the former company, and Wilhelm
ventured at length to ask a question touching Mariana.
"0, do not mention the wicked creature !" exclaimed the
old man, "I have made a vow never to think of her again."
Wilhelm was astonished at this speech, and soon found
himself in still greater embarrassment when the old man
proceeded to accuse her of the most shameless levity and
misconduct. "Wilhelm would gladly have broken off the
conversation, but he was compelled to listen to the noisy
effusions of the garrulous old man.
"I feel quite ashamed," he said, "that I was once so
warmly attached to her. But if you had known her better
you would have excused me. She was so pretty, so natural,
and so good, in every way so amiable. In fact I could never
have imagined it possible that impudence and ingratitude
could form the chief ingredients of her character/'
"Wilhelm had already made up his mind to hear the worst,
when suddenly he observed with astonishment, that the tone
of the old man became gradually milder, his voice faltered,
and at length he took out his handkerchief to dry the tears
which interrupted his observations.
"What is the matter ?" exclaimed Wilhelm. "What are
these conflicting emotions which so suddenly affect you?
Conceal nothing from me, I am more deeply interested in
the fate of this girl than you perhaps imagine,—only tell me
everything."
"I have but little to communicate," continued the old
man, relapsing once more into his former earnest and com-
plaining tone. "I can never forget the sufferings she has
occasioned me to endure. She always reposed confidence in
me, and I loved her as my own daughter, and as my wife
was still alive, I had determined to invite her to my house,
and rescue her from the hands of that old feiiow, from whose
guidance I augured no advantage. But my wife died, and I
abandoned my project.
"About three years ago, towards the conclusion of oui
residence in your native town, observing the state of deep
melancholy into which she had fallen, I inquired into the
cause, but she persisted in evading my questions. At length
100 WJLIIELM MEISTER'S
we set out upon our journey. She travelled in the same
carriage with nie, and I then observed that she was about to
become a mother, and she suffered the greatest terror lest the
manager should dismiss her from his employment. He dis-
covered the circumstance soon after, and immediately can-
celled her engagement which had yet six weeks to run, he
paid her arrears, and in spite of all remonstrances left her
behind in a wretched inn, in an obscure country village.
"I have no pity for these wanton jades," continued the old
man in a tone of vexation, "more particularly for a creature
like this, who has embittered so many hours of my existence.
"Why should I tell you how I took charge of her, toiled for
her, opened my purse, and in absence provided for her? It
were better to throw my money into the ditch, and spend
my time in any profitless pursuit, than bestow the smallest
care on such a worthless creature. At first I received a few
letters of thanks, informing me of her place of residence.
At length her communications ceased, and she did not even
evince gratitude for the money I had expended upon her
during her confinement. But the treachery and frivolity of
women suffice to secure a subsistence for themselves, whilst
they occasion weary and anxious hours to many a noble heart."
CHAPTEE VIII.
It would not be difficult to conjecture the nature of Wil-
li elm's feelings as he returned home after this conversation.
All his old wounds had been opened afresh, and the convic-
tion that his beloved Mariana was not wholly unworthy of
his affection had been once more renewed within his mind.
In the interest which the old man had displayed in her
behalf, and in the reluctant praises in which he had in-
dulged, Wilhelm saw clearly the whole power of her attrac-
tions, and even the severity of his censure was unable to
lower her in his estimation. Her accuser had indeed ad-
mitted that he was himself a partner in all her faults, and
her very silence at length appeared excusable, or at least
only served to awaken mournful feelings in his mind. His
imagination pictured her as she wandered destitute through
APiMlEffTICESHIP. 101
the world, a weak and helpless mother, bending under the
burdei/L of a child that was perhaps his own, and the thought
awakened in bis bosom feelings of the most intense anguish.
Mignon bad been expecting bis arrival, and accompanied
him on bis way up stairs. When she had put down the
light, /she requested that she might be allowed to perform
before him that evening for his amusement. He would
rather have declined, particularly as he was ignorant of the
natures of the intended exhibition, but he could not refuse
any request which the kind creature might make. She dis-
appeared for a short time, but soon returned carrying a
small carpet beneath her arm, which she spread upon the
floors Wilkelm allowed her 10 proceed. She then brought
four candles and placed one upon each corner of the carpet.
A basket of eggs which she now produced displayed the
nature of her intention more clearly. With carefully measured
steps she proceeded to walk backwards and forwards upon
the carpet, laying down the eggs at certain intervals, after
which she called to a man who was in waiting for her
summons and who could play upon the violin. He retired
into one corner of the room with his instrument, whereupon
she tied a handkerchief before her eyes, gave the sign, and
instantly like a piece of machinery set suddenly in motion,
she commenced a series of graceful gestures, keeping time
accurately with the music, and marking the notes with the
sound of her castanets.
Nimbly, lightly, and with quick precision she carried on
the dance. Her step was so sure and so true between the
eggs and beside them, that it seemed impossible to avoid
treading upon some or disturbing others in the rapidity of
her movements. But no! she touched none, though she
passed through the labyrinth with every variety of step
wide and narrow, at one time dancing, and then gracefully
bending till she almost touched the ground with her knees.
Continuous as the motion of a clock she pursued her
course, and the strange music as it was repeated, even lent
a new impulse to the dance, which again commenced afresh,
and so continuing, was brought at length to a conclusion.
This singular spectacle completely captivated Wilhelm.
All at once he forgot the weight of his own cares and fol-
lowed every movement of the lovely creature who sported
102
WILHELM MEISTER S
before him, and he began to observe with surprise l\o\v
markably the dance tended to unfold her character.
In her movements she was exact, precise, and re; served,
but vehement, and in situations where tenderness ^vas to
be displayed, she was more formal than attractive. Wil-
helm once more felt all his fondness for her to [revive.
He longed to take this forsaken child to his heart, t<p hold
her in his embrace, and with the fulness of a father's love to
awaken within her bosom all the joys of existence.
The dance was now concluded. Softly with key foot
Mignon rolled the eggs together into a little heap, neither
forgetting nor injuring any of them, then taking her 'place
beside them, she removed the bandage from her eyes, and
finished her performance with a graceful bow.
"Wilhelm thanked her for having so cleverly, as well as so
unexpectedly, performed a dance which he had long desired
to witness. He patted her and expressed his regret that
she had undergone so much fatigue. He promised however
that she should have a new frock, to which she answered
with great eagerness, "Then it must be one of your own
colour!" He promised that it should be so, without how-
ever very clearly understanding what she meant. She then
collected her eggs, took her carpet beneath her arm, inquired
whether Wilhelm wanted any thing more, and bounded from
the apartment.
He was informed by the musician that for some time past
she had taken considerable trouble to instruct him in the
music of the dance which she had performed. It was the
well-known fandango, and for this purpose she had sung over
the tune to him repeatedly. She had also wished to pay him
for his trouble, but he had persisted in refusing the money
which she offered.
CHAPTEE IX.
"Wilkelm passed an anxious night, either wholly awake,
or else tossing restlessly in troubled dreams. At one time
he beheld Mariana arrayed in all her beauty—at another
\
APPRENTICESHIP.
103
time he saw her sunk in deep distress—and presently she
appeared to be carrying a child in her arms, of which she was
soon afterwards bereaved. The morning had scarcely dawned
before Mignon made her appearance—she was accompanied
by a tailor. She had in her hands some grey cloth and blue
taffeta, and declared in her own artless way, that she wanted
a new jacket and sailor's trousers, ornamented with blue cuffs
and ribbons, as she had seen them worn by the boys in the
street.
Wilhelm, since his separation from Mariana, had dis-
continued the use of all gay colours. He had adopted grey,
the colour of the shades, and his sober apparel was enlivened
by nothing more cheerful than a trimming of sky blue, or
perhaps a collar of the same. Mignon, who was anxious to
assume the colour which he liked, urged the tailor to be ex-
peditious, and he promised that his work should soon be
completed.
The fencing and dancing lessons which Wilhelm took on
this day from Laertes, were attended with but little ad-
vantage. They were interrupted by the appearance of
Melina, who had come to explain circumstantially how a
little company of actors had now been got together, sufficient,
as he said, to perform plays of every description. He then re ■
newed his proposal to Wilhelm, that the latter should advance
funds for a theatrical undertaking; to which, however, he
resolutely refused to accede.
Soon afterwards, Philina and the girls came in, making
their usual clatter, and bursting into fits of merry laughter.
They had, it appeared, arranged another excursion; for
change of place, and variety of every land, were schemes
which incessantly occupied their thoughts. Their highest
delight consisted in dining every day in a different place,
and upon the present occasion they contemplated the enjoy-
ment of a trip by water.
A boat for the purpose, in which they intended to explore
the windings of the romantic river, had already been engaged
by the Pedant. Philina encouraged the proposal, all parties
seemed perfectly willing, and the company was soon on
board.
"How shall we amuse ourselves in the first instance?"
inquired Philina, as soon as they had taken their seats.
104
"The easiest thing to do," replied Laertes, " would he to
extemporize a play. Let each of us assume a character best
suited to his talents, and we shall soon see how the scheme
will prosper/'
"Capital!" said Wilhelm. "And yet," he continued,
"in a company where no disguise is practised, where every
one without restraint follows his own inclination, there can-
not be much elegance or satisfaction, and this will also be
the case where too much disguise is assumed. "We had
better, therefore, begin with a show of disguise, and then
from behind our masks we may be as candid as we please."
I "Yes!'' observed Laertes, "it is for this reason that the
society of women is always so charming; they never shew7
themselves in their natural characters."
"In other words," observed Madame Melina, "they have
less vanity than men, who always fancy they are attractive
enough, just as nature has made them.")
In the meantime, the course of the river had carried them
through a country diversified with charming undulations
and woods, with gardens and vineyards, and the young
ladies, but particularly Madame Melina, expressed their
great delight at the beauty of the landscape. The latter,
indeed, burst into the recital of a sweet poem of the descrip-
tive kind, upon a similar beautiful prospect, but she was
interrupted by Philina, who proposed an agreement that
no one should venture to speak of anything inanimate,
and she urged the adoption of the previous proposal to
extemporize a play. '* The old man," she said, "could be
a half-pay officer; Laertes might be a fencing-master un-
employed ; the Pedant, a jew, whilst she herself would act
t he part of a Tyrolese peasant, and the rest of the company
might choose whatever characters they pleased. They might
fancy they were total strangers to each other, and that they
had met for the first time on board a ship."
She commenced at once to perform her part by entering
i'i.to conversation with the jew, and a general cheerfulness
was soon diffused around.
They had not long continued their course upon the river
vhen the boatman requested permission to take in a stranger,
who was standing on the bank, and had beckoned to him.
"k That is just what we want," cried Philina, " a chance
APPRENTICESHIP.
10J
passenger is the very thing required to make our travelling
party perfect."
A gentlemanly looking man now stepped into the
boat. From his dress and digmhed appearance he might
have been taken for a country clergyman. He saluted the
company, who thanked him in their several ways and informed
him of the nature of the pastime in which they were engaged.
He immediately assumed the character of a country clergy-
man, and played his part to their general satisfaction, in the
most perfect manner, at one moment offering wholesome
advice, at another relating lively anecdotes, and observing
upon sundry little weaknesses and defects of character which
he had observed, but never forfeiting the respect of his com-
panions.
In the meantime every one who had committed am\
even the slightest mistake, had paid a forfeit. Philina
had made a collection of them with praiseworthy industry
and had already threatened the clergyman with tire in-
fliction of countless kisses when the forfeits should be
released, although in point of fact he had not made a
single mistake. Melina, however, had been fairly plundered,
studs, buckles and all his personal ornaments had fallen into
Philina's hands. Pie had undertaken to personate an English
tourist, a character in which he found himself completely at
fault.
The time thus passed away in the most agreeable
manner possible. Each one of the party had found abun-
dant opportunity for exercising his fancy and his wit, and
they had all seasoned their respective parts with pleasant and
entertaining jokes. At length they reached the spot where
they intended to pass the day, and Wilhelm soon found him-
self engaged in a walk and in a most agreeable conversation
with the clergyman, for so we shall now call him, in con-
formity with his appearance and the character which he had
lately assumed.
"I think," observed the stranger, "that this sort of
practice must be very useful for actors, when it is carried on
in the company of their friends and acquaintances. It seems
to me the best mode that could be adopted for drawing men
out of themselves, as it were, and for causing them by a
106
WILHELM MEISTEE*S
circuitous route, to return again to themselves. It should
be a rule in every company of actors to practise in this
manner, and the public would be the gainers, if every month
an unwritten play were performed in which the actors should
have prepared themselves by several previous rehearsals."
"But," answered Wilhelm, "we ought not to require that
every extemporized piece should be wholly composed at
the very moment, but should feel satisfied if the plan,
the treatment and division of the scenes were previously
arranged, and the completion merely left to the talents of
the actor."
"Quite right," replied the stranger, il and with regard to
this completion, as you term it, a play of such a kind would
gain in many particulars after the actors should have had the
advantage of a little training. I do not mean, however, in
respect to the composition, for verbal ornaments are the pro-
vince of the studious author, but in respect to action, looks,
gestures and things of that nature, in short, to all that
silent by-play which seems to be gradually forsaking tin*
stage. I admit there are some performers in Germany,
whose acting does represent their thoughts and their feelings,
who by means of pauses, silence and looks as well as by
light and graceful movements prepare their audience for a
speech, and by a charming sort of a pantomime, unite the
breaks in the dialogue with the whole entertainment; but
a practice of this kind which should assist a happy natural
talent, and help it elucidate the author, is less common than,
for the gratification of the public, we could desire."
"But," said Wilhelm, "will not that happy natural talent,
as the first and last essential, enable not only an actor, but
every artist, and every other man to attain the very highest
object of his ambition?"
(i The first and last essential it may be—the beginning and
the end—but in the middle, the artist will find himself defi-
cient in many requisites if education, and early education too,
have not previously moulded him into that form which he is
to retain, and perhaps on this point, the man commonly styled
a genius, labours under greater disadvantages than he who
possesses only ordinary talents, as the one can be more easily
misinstructed and driven more irretrievably into a wrong
direction than the other/'
APPEENTICESHIP.
107
"But will not genius save itself?" asked "Wilhelm, l( is
she not competent to heal her self-inflicted wounds r"
"By no means," answered his companion, uor only to a
very trifling extent, and even then with extreme difficulty.
For no one should flatter himself that he can overcome the
impressions of his early youth. If he has been educated in
happy freedom, surrounded by beautiful and noble objects,
in constant intercourse with worthy men, if his instructors
have taught him what it was necessary for him first to learn,
in order that his subsequent education might be more easily
completed, if he has never learned what must afterwards be
unlearnt, if his earliest conduct has been so regulated, that
without renouncing any of his habits, he is capable after-
wards of producing what is excellent, such a man will lead
a purer, more perfect, and a happier life than another who
has consumed his youthful energies in struggles and in error.
Much is said and written about education, but I find very
few indeed who are capable of understanding and adopting
the simple and comprehensive idea of education, which in-
cludes every thing within itself."
"That may well be the case," said Wilhelm, "for most
men are narrow-minded enough to wish that all others should
be educated after their own model. Happy those whom fate
protects and educates according to his talents."
"Fate," said the other, with a smile, Ctis in truth an excellent
but a dear instructor. I should rather rely upon the under-
standing of a human teacher. Fate, whose wisdom I
supremely respect, sometimes finds in chance through which
it works, an unaccommodating instrument. For the opera-
tions of the latter are seldom in complete or perfect accord-
ance with the decisions of the former."
"Tou appear to me to express a very extraordinary
opinion," rejoined Wilhelm.
"Not at all. The experience of the world will on the
whole, justify my opinion. Are not many things very
mighty in their beginnings, which after all, terminate verv
absurdly?"
"You jest,"
"By no means," continued the other. "And is not this
precisely the case with individuals? Suppose fate had destined
a man to become a good actor—and why should fate not pro-
108
WILHELM MEISlEE's
vide us with good actors?—and that chance shoidd un-
fortunately lead the youth to a puppet-show—might he not
there acquire an early love for what is tasteless and degrading,
tolerate the veriest insipidities, and eventually witness them
with interest and pleasure, thus corrupting his early impres-
sions which it is impossible afterwards ever to efface, and
from whose influence one can never become wholly detached."
"But why speak of puppet-shows?" asked Wilhelm, in-
terrupting his companion "with some amazement.
a An accidental illustration," replied the other, "but if it
does not please you, let us take another. Suppose fate had des-
tined a man to become agreatpainter,andithad pleased chance
that his youth should be spent in dark huts, and amongst
barns and stables, do you think that such a man could ever
succeed in attaining a proper nobleness, purity and elevation
of soul? The more strongly he may have become connected
in his youth with the impure, which he may have sought,
with his utmost talents, to ennoble, the more rigorously will
it wreak vengeance upon him during the remainder of his
life, because during his efforts to conquer its influence,
it has become entwined with his very being. Whoever
spends his youth in the society of low and ignoble com-
panions, will never fail in after life, even with better society
at his command, to regret the loss of those associates who
have left an impression upon his mind, blended with a
memory of youthful joys which never can return."
We may readily suppose that during this conversation, the
remainder of the company had gradually retired to a distance.
Indeed, Philina had taken her'departure at the very com-
mencement, but the whole party met once more at a cross
avenue. Philina now produced the forfeits which were in
various ways to be redeemed. During the entire proceeding,
the stranger won the good will of the whole party, and more
particularly of the ladies by his happy suggestions, and by his
unrestrained participation in the general mirth, and thus the
hours of the day passed over in merriment, in singing, in
kissing, and all kinds of pastime.
APPRENTICESHIP.
109
CHAPTEB X,
As the party was now about to return home, they looked
about for their clergyman, but he had disappeared and was
nowhere to be found.
"It is not quite correct for one, who in other respects has
acted politely enough/'' said Madame Melina, "to desert a
company who had received him so hospitably, without even
bidding them farewell."
"It has occurred to me more than once/' observed Laertes,
"that I have met this singular person somewhere or other
before. It was my intention to question him on the subject
before we separated."
"I have thought the same thing," said Wilhelm, £k and I
should certainly not have allowed mm to depart without
learning something of his circumstances. I sadly mistake
if I have not spoken to him before."
"And yet you may be very grossly mistaken npon this
point," said Philina, "he seems to you to have the air of
an acquaintance, because he looks like a man, an individual
character, and does not resemble Jack or Ned."
u "What do you mean?" inquired Laertes, "do we not
also look like men?"
"I know what I have said," replied Philina, "and if you
do not understand me, it is not ol much consequence. I
shall after all have no occasion to explain my meaning."
Two carriages now drew up, and the whole party praised
the attention of Laertes, by whom they had been ordered.
Philina took her seat next to Madame Melina, and opposite
to Wilhelm. The rest of the company arranged themselves
as best they could. Laertes rode home on Wilhelm's horse
which had been brought out upon the occasion.
Philina had scarcely taken her seat in the carriage before
she commenced singing some pretty songs, and gradually
turned the conversation to some stories, from which, she said,
a series of dramas might very readily be constructed. By
this clever contrivance, she at once put Wilhelm into the
best possible humour, and forthwith, from the wealth of his
vivid imagination, he composed an entire play, complete in
every respect, plot, scenes, acts, and characters. It was
110
WILIIELM MEISTER's
considered an improvement to introduce some airs and songs.
They were composed instantly, and Philina, who entered
cordially into the amusement, adapted the words to some
well-known tunes, and sang them extempore.
She was in one of her most agreeable humours to-day;
she succeeded in amusing Wilhelm with all manner of di-
verting trifles, and he himself had not for a long time enjoyed
so much happiness.
Ever since he had made that appalling discovery which
had torn him from Mariana's arms, he had continued firm
to the vow which he then made to resist in future the en-
snaring charms of woman; to avoid the faithless sex,
and to restrain within his own bosom the soft pains and
sweet delights of love. The conscientious firmness with
which lie had hitherto kept this resolution, had imparted
new vigour to his nature; and as his heart was unable to
exist without sympathy, he pined now for the sweet inter-
change of reciprocal affection. Thus he once more became
environed with dim visions of his youthful joys; his eye
rested with gladness on every object which possessed a
charm, and he had never felt more disposed than at present
to pass a favourable judgment upon a lovely form. In such a
disposition of mind, we may conceive how dangerous to him
must have been the influence of the wild and giddy being
with whom he had now become acquainted.
On reaching home, they found that "Wilhelm*s apartment
had been set in order, and prepared for their reception.
The chairs had been arranged as for the reading of a lecture.
The table stood in the middle of the room, ready to receive
the punch-bowl, which was destined subsequently to take its
place thereupon.
The German chivalry-plays were at that time new, and
had just begun to excite the attention and interest of the
public. The old actor had brought one of these with him,
and they had unanimously agreed that it should now be read
aloud. "The company accordingly sat down, and Wilhelm
having taken possession of the book, began to read.
The description of the armed knights, the ancient castles,
the true-heartedriess, sincerity, and honesty of the characters
portrayed, were received with universal approbation. The
reader exerted his powers to the utmost, and the audience
,vrrn:^TT ice snip.
Ill
became enraptured with delight. Between the third and
fourth acts, the punch was introduced in an ample bowl, and
as the piece itself was replete with scenes of drinking and
fighting, it seemed hut natural that on every such occasion
the audience should take the place of the heroes during the
imaginary combats, and drink to the prosperity of the heroes
whose deeds had won their admiration.
Each individual of the party became inflamed with the
glorious spirit of national enthusiasm. And they found in-
expressible delight in the reflection that a German company
was entertained in this poetic manner, upon their own soil,
and so thoroughly in conformity with their own character.
The vaults and cellars, the ruined castles, the moss-covered
towers, and the hollow trees, but, above all, the midnight
gipsy scenes, and the secret tribunals, produced an indes-
cribable effect. Every actor now understood how, clad in
helmet and cuirass, and accompanied by his partner, orna-
mented with expanded ruff, it would become them to repre-
sent the national character to the public. Each one insisted
on instantly assuming a name taken from the piece, and
Madame Melina vowed that the son or daughter with which
she hoped soon to be blest, should on no account be
christened by any other name than Albert or Matilda.
Towards the fifth act, the applause became louder and
more boisterous, until finally, when the hero proved victorious
over his oppressor, and the tyrant met with deserved
punishment, the delight of all became so intense that they
vowed they had never known such blissful moments.
Melina, inspired by his copious libations, was the loudest in
his exclamations of rapture, and when the second punch-bowl
bad been drained, and the midnight hour approached, Laertes
swore vehemently that no human being was worthy again to
touch the glasses with his lips; and with this exclamation,
he flung his own through the window into the street. His
companions followed his example, and in spite of the pro-
testations of the host, who had hastened to the scene 01
revelry, the punch-bowl itself, to avoid the possibility ot
pollution from unholy liquor at a similar feast, was dashed
into a thousand pieces. Philina's state of excitement was
less observable than that of her companions, who had flung
themselves upon the sofa in no very elegant postures, whilst
WILHELM M2ISTEH'S
she maliciously encouraged the general tumult. Madams
Molina commenced the recitation of some heroic verses,
whilst her husband, who was never very amiable in his cups,
found fault with the preparation of the punch, asserting that
he could arrange a party of a far superior kind, until, be-
coming ruder and noisier as Laertes commanded silence, the
latter inconsiderately increased the general confusion by fling-
ing the fragments of the bruken punch-bowl at his head.
The town patrol had arrived in the meantime, and insisted
on admission into the house. "Wilhelm, who had drunk but
little, though he was much excited by his reading, found
some difficulty, even with the assistance of the host, to ap-
pease them by money and fair promises, and to dismiss the
different members of the company to their respective hom^s,
in consequence of their helpless condition. Discontented
<md overcome by sleep, upon his return he flung himself
down upon his bed without undressing, and nothing could
•equal his dissatisfaction when he awoke on the following
morning, and dimly recalled the boisterous scenes of the
previous day, and thought over the folly and general bad
•results which had flowed from their attempts to give effect to
a talented and inspired poetical performance.
CHAPTER XI.
Afteh a brief reflection, "Wilhelm summoned the host,
and desired him to place to his account, not only the proper
charges, but likewise all the damages which had been com-
mitted. He learned at the same time, to his great vexation,
that his horse had been so much injured by Laertes during
the excursion of the previous day, that it was rendered com-
pletely useless, and the farrier gave very little hope of its
ultimate recovery.
A salute from Philina, with which she greeted him from
the window, soon restored him to his former cheerfulness,
and he went at once into the nearest shop to purchase a
little present, which by owed her in return for the powder
knife already mentioned, and we must admit that he did not
confine himself within the strict limits of equivalent valuo.
He bought not only a pair of very handsome ear-rings, but
APPRENTICESHIP.
113
also a bonnet and a shawl, and some other trifles, similar to
those of which she had been so lavish upon the first day of
their acquaintance.
Madame Melina, who chanced to observe him in the act
of delivering his presents, found an opportunity before
dinner to remonstrate with him seriously about his partiality
for this girl; but he was much surprised at her interference,
believing there was nothing which he deserved less than
a reproach upon such a subject. He protested vehemently
that lie had never even entertained the idea of an attach-
ment for a person with whose conduct he was so well ac-
quainted, and he offered general excuses for his friendly
and polite conduct towards her, without, however, satisfying
Madame Melina. On the contrary, the vexation of that lady
became greater, as she observed that the course of flattery
by which she had herself won the partiality of Wilhelin, was
insufficient to secure her conquest from the attacks of a
younger, more talented, and more animated rival.
Her husband, also, upon sitting down to table, showed
signs of vexation and discontent, and he was beginning to
display his ill-temper in many trifling ways, when the host
entered, and introduced a player upon the harp. "I know/'
he said, "that you will be charmed with the performance, as
well as with the singing, of this man. No person who hears
him can refrain from admiring his skill, and relieving his
wants."
"Let him leave us," answered Melina, "I am in no
humour now to listen to a wandering minstrel, and besides,
we are well enough provided with singers of our own, who
have no objection to earn a trifle." In saying this, he cast
a look of malice at Philina. She understood him without
difficulty, and to his great mortification she instantly under-
took the defence of the harper, and turning towards Wil-
helm, she inquired, "Shall we not hear the man? Can
we do nothing to relieve ourselves from this dreadful ennui Vy
Melina was about to reply; and an angry contest would
doubtless have ensued, if Wilhelm had not in a friendly
manner welcomed the harper, who entered the room at that
• very moment, and was invited to approach.
The remarkable appearance of their guest astonished the
whole company, and he had already taken possession of a
i
WILHELM MEISTEli'B
chair, before any one found courage enough to asn: hira a
single question, or to offer a remark. A few grej hairs en-
circled his bald head, and his large blue eyes beamed bene-
volently from beneath his long white eyebrows. His nose
was beautifully shaped. His beard was hoary and flowing,
but did not entirely conceal the form of his sweetly smiling
lips; whilst a long dark-brown tunic wrapped his slender
body from the neck to his very feet. He now began to
play a prelude upon his harp, which he had brought towards
him.
The delicious sounds which he drew from the instrument
entranced his whole audience.
"Do you not sing as well as play, my kind old man?"
inquired Philina.
"Give us something,'' said Wilhelm, "that will enchant
our hearts and souls as well as our senses. Instruments should
only serve as accompaniments to the voice; for melodies and
tunes without words and meaning, appear to me like butter-
flies or beautiful humming birds, which hover round us in
the air, and which we cou]d wish to catch and make our own,
whilst song, on the other hand, like a genius, aspires to
heaven, and entices that better self which dwells within
us to bear him company/'
The old man looked at Wilhelm; then raising his eyes,
and striking a few notes upon his harp, he commenced
to sing. His subject was the eulogy of minstrelsy; he-
praised the happiness of bards, and admonished men to pay
them honour. He sang with so much animation and truth
that it seemed as if he had composed it for that very oc-
casion. With difficulty Wilhelin refrained from embracing
him; but the fear of occasioning a laugh at his own ex-
pense, confined him to his seat, whilst the rest of the
company employed themselves in making some foolish ob-
servations upon the harper, and discussing whether he were
a Papist or a Jew.
Wilhelm inquired who was the author of the song, but
could obtain no positive information; he was told that the
author was a person rich in songs, and only anxious that they
should please. The company now became for the most part
merry and cheerful, and even Melina shewed a sort of
frankness, after his own peculiar fashion. Whilst they ail
APPEEFTICESHIP.
11S
chatted and joked together, the old man began in the most
animated style to sing a euJogium upon the delights of social
intercourse. "With winning tones, he celebrated the charms
of harmony and courtesy. Suddenly the style of his music
bAame cold, harsh, and discordant. In mournful strains,
he^iow sang the evils of detested selfishness, of short-sighted
enmity, and of baleful discord ; but the hearts of his audience
soon felt relieved from these oppressive restraints, while
soaring aloft on the pinions of delicious melody, he poured
forth a tribute in honour of peace-makers, and sang the
rapture of souls who forget the pangs of separation in the
joys of restored love.
*He had scarcely ended, when Wilhelm exclaimed, <c Who-
ever you are, who, like a guardian angel visit us, whose
sweet voice brings to us a blessing and a consolation, accept
my homage and my thanks! Know that we all admire
you, and trust in us if ever you should find yourself in
need."
The old harper remained silent; his fingers wandered
carelessly among the chords of his instrument; finally, he
struck them more boldly, and sang as follows :—
What sounds are those which rrom the wall,
ADd o'er the bridge I hear?
Those strains should echo through this hall,
And greet a monarch's ear.
So spake the King—the page retires—
His answer brought, the King desires
The Minstrel to appear.
Hail, Sire! and hail each gallant knight!
Fair dames, I greet ye well!
Like Heaven, this hall with stars is bright,,
But who your names may tell?
What matchless glories round me shine!
But 'tis not now lor eyes like mine
On scenes like these to dwell. *
The Minstrel raised his eyes inspired,
And struck a thrilling strain,
Each hero's heart is quickly fired,
Each lair one thrills with pain:
The King, enchanted with tl: j Bard^
His magic talent to reward,
Presents his golden chain.
WILHELM MEISTERP
0! deck me with no chain of gold,
Such gift becomes the knight,
Before whose warrior eyes so bold,
The rushing- squadrons fight,
Or let the glittering bauble rest.
Upon your Chancellor's honoured breast—- d
Hell deem the burden light. M
1 sing but as the young bird sings,
That carols in the tree,
The rapture of the music brings
Its own reward to me.
Yet would I utter one request—
That of your wine—one cup —the best,
Be given to-day by thee.
The cup is brought—the Minstrel quaffed ,
He thrills with joy divine—
Thrice happy home, where such a draught
Js given—and none repine!
When fortune smiles, then think of me,
* nd thank kind Heaven, as I thank thee,
For such a cup of wine.
When the- harper, at the conclusion of his song, seized a
goblet of wine that stood before him, and turning towards
his benefactors, quaffed it oft' with a look of thankfulness, a
shout of joy arose from the whole assembly. They expressed
their wishes amid a general clapping of hands, that the wine
which he had drunk might restore his strength, and refresh
his aged limbs. He then sang several other ballads, and
still further excited the hilarity of the company.
"Old man," inquired Philina, "do you know the song
styled, ' The Shepherd adorned himself for the dance?'"
"O yes!" he answered, "if you will sing it, I will gladly
accompany you."
Philina stood up, and prepared to perform her part. The
harper commenced the air, and she sang the words. Wc
shall not trouble our readers by repeating them, as they
might consider the ballad uninteresting, or composed in bad
taste. In the meantime, the company were growing a little
noisy. They had drunk several flasks of wine, and were
becoming somewhat excited. But as the evil results of their
late convivial entertainment were fresh in the memory of
APPRENTICESHIP.
117
our friend, lie felt anxious to break up the party, and there-
fore, paying the old harper liberally for his trouble, to which
the others likewise contributed, the latter was allowed to
retire, the company promising themselves new delight from a
repetition of his performance in the evening.
As soon as he was gone, Wilhelm observed to Philina,
"I am unable to see any merit, either poetical or moral, in
this favourite song of yours, but if you were to introduce
some worthy composition upon the stage, with, your own
peculiar grace, simplicity, and elegance, it could not fail to
win a warm and general approbation."
i; Yes," answered Philina, " it would indeed be a delightful
sensation to warm one's self at ice."
"But, in truth," said Wilhelm, u this man might make
many an actor feel ashamed. Did you mark how correct was
the dramatic expression of his ballads? There was, in fact,
a more animated force of representation in his songs than
you will find in more than one pedantic actor on our boards.
It would, indeed, be easy to mistake the acting of some
pieces for a mere narrative, and we might clothe these
musical narratives with a living embodiment."'
"You are not quite just," answered Laertes, " I claim no
great merit, either as a singer or as an actor, but of this I
feel convinced, that when music guides the motions of the
body, imparting to them an animation which is governed by
prescribed rules of time; when declamation and expression
are provided for me by the composer, my sensations are
wholly different from those which I experience in the prosaic
drama, where I must invent both action and declamation f >r
myself, and where I may be disturbed by the ignorance <a a
fellow-actor."
"If I may venture an opinion," said Melina, "this man
may put us to the blush in one respect, and that too in a
material point. The strength of his talent is proved by the
profit which he can derive from it. He compels us, who
perhaps find it difficult to provide food for ourselves, to
share our meal with him. He possesses skill enough to
extract from our pockets by the magic of his song, the mcney
which we may yet need to provide employment for ourselves.
80 happy do we feel in squandering the means upon which
depends the very subsistence of ourselves and others."
118
WILHELM MEISTER'S
This remark gave a disagreeable turn to the conversation.
"Wilhelm, who felt reproved, answered with some degree of
warmth; and Melina, who never weighed his expressions
very carefully, gave vent to his complaints in not very cour-
teous observations. "It is now," he said, "just a fortnight
since we examined the theatre and its wardrobe, which are
in pledge in this place, and the whole might have been re-
deemed for a trifling sum of money. Tou allowed me to
entertain hopes that you would lend me the necessary
amount, but I am not yet aware that you have thought more
of the matter, or are now nearer to a determination. Had
you then decided, we should have made some progress
before this time. Tou have not yet fulfilled your intention
to set out upon your travels, and it does not appear to me
that you have in the meanwhile saved much money, at least
there are persons who have found means to make it dis-
appear."
This reproach, not wholly undeserved, wounded Wilhelm
keenly. He made a sharp and angry reply, and when the
company rose to depart, he seized the handle of the door,
and gave unequivocal evidence that it was not his intention
to continue much longer in such rude and ungrateful com-
pany. Quite out of humour, he descended the stairs, and
seating himself on a stone bench which stood before the door
of his hotel, he did not discover that, half out of mirth, and
half out of discontent, he had drunk more wine than was his
custom.
CHAPTEE XII.
Aetee "Wilhelm had spent some time thus sitting in
solitude, gazing on vacancy, and a prey to numberless dis-
tressing reflections,Philina came tripping and singing through
the doorway, and seated herself clown beside him. Indeed>
it might be almost said that she sat in his lap, so closely did
she press to him. She leaned upon his shoulder, played
with his curls, patted his cheeks, and addressed him n the
kindest terms. She implored that he would remain with
them, and not leave her alone with the company, or she
APPRENTICESHIP.
119
must die of ennui. She had found it impossible to live under
the same roof with Melina, and had therefore taken up her
quarters in the other hotel.
, In vain did he resist her entreaties, and seek to make her
Comprehend how he dared not, under any circumstances,
postpone his departure. She persisted in her entreaties, and
suddenly throwing her arms round his neck, she kissed hhn
in the fondest and most affectionate manner imaginable.
"Are you mad?" cried Wilhelm, endeavouring to escape
from her embrace, "to make the public street the scene of
your caresses, to which, moreover, I can have no possible
claim? Let me go; I neither can nor will remain."
"And I will hold you fast," she answered, c< and will con-
tinue to kiss you here in the public street, till you have
promised what I want. I shall die of laughing," she con-
tinued. "This display of affection will persuade the good
people here that I am a newly-married wile, and all the hus-
bands who witness the tender scene will point me out to
their spouses as a pattern of innocent and simple affection."
Some persons passed by at that very moment, and she
began to caress him in the most loving manner, and in order
to avoid giving scandal, he felt himself compelled to play the
part of a submissive husband. She then made faces at the
people when their backs were turned, and full of wildness
she continued to commit all sorts of improprieties, until ?A
last he was obliged to promise that he would not go to-day, nor
to-morrow, nor the next day.
u iou are a regular simpleton!" she then said, as she
rose to leave him, " and I am a fool to lavish so much kindness
upon you." After going a short distance she turned round
with a smile and added, "I believe that is the reason whv I
am so crazy about you, but I must go and fetch my knitting
that I may not be idle. Do you remain here, that on my
I return I may find the stone man still seated on the stone
bench."
In this instance however she did him injustice, for not-
withstanding that he had sought to restrain her vehemence, it
is not improbable that had he at that very time found himself
alone with her in a solitary bower, he might have returned
her caresses with interest.
Throwing a hasty glance after him she hastened into the
120
WILHELM MEISTEE S
house. He bad no reason to follow her, indeed her conduct,
had rather excited his disgust, and yet he rose from his seat
without exactly knowing why, and went after her into the
house.
He was in the act of crossing the threshold when Melina
passed, and addressing him respectfully, begged his pardon
for some hasty expressions which he had used during their
last conversation. "You will excuse me," he said, " if I have
bu>en rendered irritable by the condition in which I find my
self placed. The anxiety of providing for a wife and perhaps
soon for a child forbids that I should feel the same daily
quiet enjoyment of life which you experience. Beflect upon
the subject again, and if it be possible, procure the theatrical
apparatus for me. I shall not be your debtor long, though I
shall owe you gratitude for ever."
Wilhelm found himself stopped thus unexpectedly at the
threshold over which an irresistible attraction urged him to
pursue Philina, and he answered with a sudden absence of
mind, mid the hasty impulse of good nature. "If I can
secure your happiness I will not dwell upon the matter
any longer, (to and make all necessary arrangements. I
shall be prepared to pay down the money either this evening
or to-morrow morning,"—and so saying he gave his hand to
Melina, in confirmation of his promise, and felt delighted
when he saw the latter hastening away along the street.
Unfortunately his entrance to the house was now retarded
by a second occurrence of a more disagreeable nature than
the former.
A young man carrying a bundle upon his back came
rapidly along the street and approached "Wilhelm, who re-
cognised him instantly as Eriedrich.
"Here I am once more!" he cried, looking joyously
around with his large blue eyes, and surveying all the
windows of the house. "Where is Mademoiselle? I find it
impossible to wander through the world any longer without
seeing her."
The host who had.just appeared, answered that she was
up stairs. With a few bounds Eriedrich disappeared, and
Wilhelm remained alone as if rooted to the spot. At first
he had felt tempted to drag the youth back by the hair, but
soon the keen pang of a powerful jealousy stopped the flow
APPRENTICESHIP.
121
0 his spirits and the course of his ideas, and when by degrees
e had recovered from his astonishment, he was seized with a
isquiet and a restlessness such as he had never in Lis life
sperienced.
He retired to his apartment where he found Mignon busily
m ployed in writing. She had for some time laboured hard
1 copying out every tiling which she knew by heart, and
le always handed her exercise to her friend and master to
orrect. She was an industrious child and possessed an
xcellent understanding, but her letters were always unevenly
'ritten and her lines were invariably crooked. Even here
be body seemed to contradict the mind. The application
f the child was a source of great delight to Wilhelm,
idien he was undisturbed by other troubles, but nowr he paid
»ut little attention to her. She felt distressed at his in-
iincrenec, and was vexed the more because she thought that
ipon this occasion, she had been quite successful in the
)erformance of her task.
"Wilhelm's restlessness now drove him to wander through
lie different passages of the house, and at length he once
nore approached the door. He observed a horseman
galloping by. He was a man of respectable appearance, of
niddle age, and possessing a cheerful and contented look.
The host hastened towards him, extending his hand as to an
)ld friend, and said, "Ah, Herr Stallmeister, do we see you
)nce more amongst us?"
"I must pause to feed my horse here," answered the
stranger, " I am on my way to the estate to have everything
put in order as quickly as possible. The Count is expected
to-morrow with his lady, they will remain here for some time
to entertain the Prince of -— in the best style. The
latter will probably establish his head quarters in the
neighbourhood."
I "It is a pity that you cannot stay with us," replied the
host, "we have good company here at present." The servant
'now appeared and took the horse from the Stallmeister, who
thereupon entered into friendly conversation with the host,
and the former turned round from time to time to take a
look at "Willielm.
Our friend observing that he was the subject of conversa-
tion, retired and pursued his solitary way along the street.
122
WTLTIELM MEISTEB's
CHAPTEE XIII.
Ik his present restless state of anxiety, he determined no^
to go and pay a visit to the old harper, with the expectatio
that his music would allay the evil spirit that tormente
him. Upon inquiring for the man, "Wilhelm was directe
to a poor public house in a distant corner of the towr
where having ascended the stairs to the very garret, h
heard the sweet sounds of the harp issuing from a smal
chamber. They were heart-moving, melancholy sounds, an<
served as the accompaniment to a sad and mournful song
"Wilhelm crept softly to the door, and as the good old mai
was performing a sort of fantasia, of which he many time:
repeated several of the stanzas, partly in recitation anc
partly in singing, he succeeded after paying close attentior
for a short time, in collecting the following words:
Whose bread hath ne'er been steeped in tours,
Whose tranquil nig-hts are free from woe,
Untaught by grief and dismal fears
The power of Fate can never know.
To Fate the wretched owe their birth,
And all the g-uilt they feel within,
Avenged and punished on this earth
By deep remorse that follows sin.
The soul-sick, melancholy strain, pierced deep into the
heart of Wilhelm. He thought he could perceive more than
once that the song of the old man was interrupted by his
tears; for sometimes the harp-strings sounded alone, till,
after a short time, they were once more accompanied by a
voice, in low and broken tones. Wilhelm continued ini
silence listening at the door, his soul was deeply moved; the
sorrow of this stranger had again opened all his heart, he
gave vent to the full tide of his sympathy, and was both
unwilling and unable to restrain the torrent of tears which
the sad strain of the old man called forth. He now felt the
full force of every sorrow which had oppressed his soul, and
ae abandoned himself without reserve to their united in*
APPRENTICESHIP.
12S
fluencc. At length he pushed open the door of the chambery
and stood before the harper. He was seated upon a
miserable bed, the only piece of furniture with which bis-
humble dwelling was supplied.
"What emotions have you not awakened within me, good
old man," he cried, "your song has thawed the frozen cur-
rent of my heart. Let me not interrupt you, but continue
your efforts to assuage your own sorrows, and thus to render
your friend happy." The harper wished to rise from his
seat and speak, but "Wilhelm prevented him; for he had
observed before that the old man did not like conversing, so
he sat down beside him on the straw bed.
The old man dried his tears, and asked with a cheerful
smile, "How came you hither? I intended to visit you
again this evening."
""We shall be more private here," answered Wilhelm.
"But sing for me again—whatever you please, whatever
accords best with your own feelings; and forget, if possible,
that I am here. I think you cannot fail to-day. You must
be very happy in being able thus to find pleasure and em-
ployment in solitude; and though you are everywhere a
stranger, always to find in your own heart the most delight-
ful society."
The old man looked down upon his harp, and when he had
finished a soft prelude, he thus commenced:
The man "who pines for solitude
His wish may soon obtain;
For friends will pass in various mood,
And leave him to his pain.
Then leave me to my woe!
And when no friend is near,
I shall have nought to fear,
Nor solitude shall know.
The lover soft with footstep light,
Alone would meet his dear,
And thus to me, by day and night,
- 'Urief comes when none arc near—
.—Grief comes when I'm alone,
But soon I shall cease to moan,
And in my silent grave
Rest I shall gladly crave*
Tbei» T shall be alone.
124
WILHELM MEISTEE'S
"We might indulge in much prolixity, and yet fail to express
the delight which Wilhelm derived from his strange inter-
view with this romantic stranger. The old man replied to
every observation by melodies, which awoke every kindred
feeling within his soul, and opened a wide field to his ima-
gination.
Whoever has been present at a meeting of pious persons,
who imagine that by separating from the Church, they can
succeed in edifying each other in a purer, more cordial, and
more spiritual manner, may form some idea of the present
scene. He will remember how the leader has sought to
adapt his words to the verse of some hymn, thus exalt-
ing the souls of his hearers to the point at which he has
wished that they should take flight—how another of the
congregation has in another tune introduced the verse of
another hymn, and how even a third has acted in like manner,
and thus, whilst the ideas of the appropriate hymns were
suggested, each passage has by its new adaptation, become
new and distinct, as if it were composed for that very
occasion, by which means it has happened that from a familiar
circle of ideas, as well as from familiar tunes and words, that
particular society has enjoyed an original whole, by whose in-
fluence it has been at once charmed, strengthened, and re-
freshed. Thus did the old harper edify his guest. By means
of new and strange songs and passages, he aroused in
Wilhelm's bosom a train of feelings, new and old, and of
impressions, which, whether sleeping or slumbering, pleasant
or painful, excited the best hopes for the happiness of our
friend.
CHAPTER XIV.
Uroi* his return he began to reflect more seriously than
ever upon his situation, and he had reached home with th<.
resolution of effecting his own rescue, when our host im*
parted to him in confidence that Mademoiselle Philiha hat'
.achieved a conquest over the Stallmeister, and that the latter,
ufter he had arranged his business at the estate, had returneV
APPRENTICESHIP.
125
m great haste, and was now enjoying a good supper with her
in her chamber.
Just at this instant Melina arrived, accompanied by tho
notary. They proceeded together to Wiihelm's apartment,
where the latter, though with some reluctance, performed
his promise, and paid down three hundred dollars to Melina
who, handing them to the notary, received in return a docn-,
ment confirming the sale of the whole theatrical apparatus,
wmich was to be delivered to him on the following day.
Scarcely had they separated, when Wilhelm heard a cry
of distress proceeding from the house. It was the voice of
a youth, threatening and raging, interrupted, however, by
violent weeping and lamentation. The noise came from
above, penetrated to his apartment, and re-echoed from the
court-yard.
Cnriosity having induced our friend to follow the directiou
of the sound, he soon found Friedrich in a state bordering
upon madness. He wept, gnashed his teeth, stamped,
threatened with clenched fists, and seemed to have lost his
reason from fury and vexation. Mignon was standing opposite
to him, and looking on with surprise, while the host sought
to explain the transaction.
The boy, it seemed, upon his return, had been well re-
ceived by Philina. He was contented, merry, and cheer-
ful, and had sung and skipped about until the time when
the Stallmeister had become acquainted with her. The youth
then commenced to shew his discontent, by slamming the
doors violently, and by running about in a state of the greatest
excitement. Philina had ordered him to wait at table that
evening, whereupon lie had become surly and impertinent,
and finally, having to serve up a ragout, instead of placing it
upon the table, he had overthrown it between Mademoiselle
and her guest, as they were seated rather close together.
The Stallmeister thereupon had boxed his ears soundly, and
turned him out of doors. The host, in the meantime, had
assisted to cleanse and arrange the dresses of the sufferers,
which hadJoee-H--seriously"'injured by the accident.
When;'the youth learned that his revenge had proved sj
far successful, he burst into loud laughter, although the
te^tfs at the same time were coursing plenteously down
his cheeks. He seemed for some time to be cordially de«
126
WILUELM MEISTEll'S
lighted, until a recollection of the insult lie had suffered
from his stranger antagonist, occurred to him again,
whereupon he once more vented his fury in shouts and
threatenings.
Wilhelm surveyed this scene with inward shame. It
represented his own condition though in coarse and ex-
aggerated characters. He knew that he was himself
a prey to feelings of the most insatiable jealousy, and if a
sense of decorum had not restrained him, he would willingly
have displayed his rage, "by assailing with spiteful malice
the object of his affections, and challenging his hated
rival to single combat. Indeed he could have crushed the
whole crowd of spectators who seemed to have collected
together for his vexation.
Laertes who had just come up and heard the story,
wickedly encouraged the angry youth, as the latter
vehemently insisted that the Stallmeister should give him
satisfaction, and declared that as he himself had never borne
an insult with impunity, if his antagonist should refuse to
accept his challenge he would find some other means to be
revenged.
Laertes was now quite in his element. He proceeded up
stairs with the greatest seriousness to challenge the Stall-
meister in the name of the youth.
"That is excellent," replied the former. "I could not have-
anticipated such a joke this evening." They went down stairs
together, and Philina followed them. (i My son," said the
Stallmeister addressing Friedrich, "you are a brave young
man and I shall not decline your challenge. But as there is
so much disparity between us both in years and strength,
and the affair may therefore prove a little dangerous, I
propose that in place of other weapons, we take a pair of
foils, we can rub the buttons with chalk, and whoever marks
the other first, or makes the greater number of successful
thrusts, shall be considered the conqueror and be treated by
his antagonist with the best wine which the town can furnish."
Laertes decided that this proposal might be accepted, and
Friedrich obeyed him as his teacher. The foils were pro-
duced, whereupon Philina took a seat and proceeded with
her knitting, surveying the two combatants with the greatest
composure.
APPRENTICESHIP.
127
The Stallmeister, who Avas a good fencer, was considerate
'uough to spare his antagonist, and allowed certain marks
of chalk to appear upon his coat, ay hereupon they both em-
braced each other, and the wine was introduced. The
Stallmeister inquired into Priedrich's parentage and history,
and the latter related a story which he vras accustomed to
repeat, and with which we may perhaps at some other time
make our readers acquainted.
This duel completed the picture which Wilhelm had
drawn of his own condition. He felt that he would gladly
have used not only a foil but a sword against the Stall-
meister, although he knew that the latter was far his
superior in the use of such a weapon. Tet he did not
bestow a look upon Philina, he made no sign which could
betray his feelings, and after he had quaffed a few glasses to
the health of the combatants, he hastened to his apart-
ment, where he became a prey to a thousand distressing
reflections.
He thought of the time when his soul sustained by hope
and earnest energy was borne aloft and rioted in the
keenest enjoyments of every description as in its oayti
proper element. It had become clear to him that he was
now AYandering in a tangled path, where in scanty mea-
sure he but tasted those delights which formerly he had
quaffed in copious draughts. But he could not comprehend
the nature of that engrossing want which had become
the law of his existence, or Iioav this want had been left
unsatisfied, and had rather increased and been misdirected by
the events of his life.
It can surprise no person therefore to leam that when
Wilhelm thought over his condition with a view of extricating
himself from the labyrinth in which he found himself, he
fell into the greatest perplexity. He found no consola-
tion in the reflection that his friendship for Laertes, his
attachment to Philina, and his love for Mignon had too
long detained him in one spot, and in one company, where
he might indulge 'his favourite inclinations, gratify his secret
^ ishes, and free from the entanglement of every earnest
pursuit, dream away his very existence. He thought he
possessed resolution enough to burst those ties and to
depart at once if it were necessary. But ho recollected
128
W1LHELM MEIS'IER'S
that lie had only a short time before entered into a
pecuniary transaction with Melina, and had become ac-
quainted with that strange old harper, the mystery of
whose existence he felt an insatiable desire to unravel.
After many conflicting thoughts, he determined at length or
fancied he had determined that even these circumstances
shoiua not restrain him. "I must go," he cried, "I must
go." He flung himself into a chair and felt greatly moved.
Mignon now entered, and asked if she should assist him to
undress? She approached in silence, for she was deeply
grieved at having been already so abruptly dismissed.
Nothing is more affecting than the first discovery of a love
which has long been nourished in silence, the first sign of a
fidelity which has been nurtured in secret, and in the hour
of need becomes revealed to him who was previously unaware
of its existence. The bud whose leaves had been so long
firmly closed, had ripened at length, and Wilhelm's heart
was never more open than now to the influence of tender-
ness and affection.
Mignon stood before him and observed his agitation.
tl Master!" she exclaimed, "if you are unhappy, what is to
become of Mignon?" "Dear creature," he said, taking her
hand, "you are also one of the sources of my sorrow; 1
must be gone." She looked into his eyes, which were glis-
tening with restrained tears, and threw herself on her knees
passionately before him. He continued to hold her hand,
and she placed her head upon his knees, and remained quite
silent. He played with her hair, and his heart glowed with
tenderness towards her. For a long time she continued
motionless. At length he perceived that she trembled, at
first almost imperceptibly, and then with a violence which
shook her whole frame. "What is the matter, Mignon ?,T
he exclaimed. She raised her head and looked at him at-
tentively; she then pointed to her heart, with a countenance
which expressed a deep but secret pain. He raised her up;
she fell upon his breast. He clasped her to his bosom, and
kissed hej*. But she acknowledged his kindness by no soft
pressure of the hand, or by any other token of -affection.
She held her own hand firmly to her heart, when sirddenly
she uttered a piercing shriek, and her whole frame shook
with a violent and spasmodic action. She rose upon hcHJ
\
APPHENTICESHIP. 129
feet, aud then fell down suddenly, as if she had all at once
iost the power of her limbs. It was a fearful spectacle.
"My child !" he exclaimed, as he raised her from the ground,
and embraced her tenderly, " my child ! what is the matter?"
The trembling continued; it seemed to commence at her
heart and to extend from thence to all her limbs, which were
powerless and paralyzed, and she hung like a lifeless weight
within his arms. He pressed her to his bosom, and bathed
her with his tears. Suddenly she became rigid, like one who
suffers from the most intense physical pain; but soon her
frame seemed inspired with new energ3r, and she threw her
arms wildly round "Wilhelm's neck, and held him firmly, as
it were in the pressure of a strong spring which has closed,
whilst at the same moment a full tide of grief opened within
her soul, and her tears flowed in copious torrents from her
closed eyes into his bosom. He held her firmly. She con-
tinued to weep, and no tongue can express the silent
eloquence of her tears. Her long hair had escaped from its
restraint, and hung loosely around her, and it seemed as if
she were about to dissolve in a ceaseless flood of tears. At
length her limbs became again relaxed; she seemed to pour
forth her very inmost soul, and in the confusion of the
moment Wilhelm feared that she would disappear like an
unearthly vision from his embrace. He held her, therefore,
in a firmer grasp. "My child," he exclaimed again, u my
child! you are mine, if that word can bring you any comfort.
Yes, you are mine, I will be faitliful to you, and never for<
sake you!" Her tears continued to flow. At length she
was able to rise. Her face beamed with the light of a faint
cheerfulness. "My father!" she cried, "you will not for-
sake me; you will continue to be a father to me, and I will
be your child!"
The soft sound of the harp at this instant began to echo
from the apartment. As the shades of evening closed around,
the old man brought his sweetest songs as an offering to
our friend, and still, dating the dear child tenderly in his
arms, he enjo^ea^the delight of the purest and most indo-
bribable happiness.
/
/
130
BOOK III.
CHAPTER I.
Know'st thou the land where the lemon tree blov«—
Where deep in the bower the gold orange grows?
Where zephyrs from Heaven die softly away,
And the laurel and myrtle tree never decay'?
Know'st thou it? Thither, oh! thither with thee,
My dearest, my fondest! with thee would I flee.
Know'st thou the hall with its pillared arcades,
Its chambers so vast and its long colonnades?
Where the statues of marble with features so mild
Ask, " Why have they used thee so harshly, my child V
Know'st thou it? Thither, oh! thither with thee,
My guide, my protector! with thee would I tee.
Know'st thou the Alp which the vapour enshrouds,
Where the bold muleteer seeks his way thro' the clouds?
In the cleft of the mountain the dragon abides,
And the rush of the stream tears the rock from its sides;
Know'st thou it? Thither, oh! thither with thee,
Leads our way, father—then come, let us flee.
"WhejST Wilkclm, on the following morning, searched for
Mignon through the house, he was uuable to find her; he
was informed that she had already gone out with Medina,
the latter having risen at an early hour to take possession
of the wardrobe and of the other apparatus belonging to
the theatre-
After the lapse of a few hours, Wilheim heard the sound
of music before bis door. lie fancied at first that the
harper had returned, but be presently" distinguished the
notes of a cithern, accompanied by a voice which,-as soon as
the singing commenced, he recognised to be that of'Mignon.
Wilheim opened the door, whereupon the child entered,, and
tang the song which we have given above.
\
APPBEtfTICESHIP.
131
The melody and expression delighted our friend extremely,
although he was not able precisely to understand the words.
He caused her to repeat and to explain the stanzas—upon
which he wrote them down and translated them into Ger-
man. But he could only faintly imitate the original turn of
the various ideas. The pure simplicity of the thoughts
disappeared as the broken phraseology in which they were
expressed was rendered uniform, and as the connection of
the various parts was thus restored. Moreover, it was im-
possible to convey any idea of the exquisite nature of the
melody.
She commenced each verse in a solemn measured tone,
as if she had intended to direct attention to something
wonderful, and had some important secret to communicate.
At the third line, her voice became lower and fainter —
the words, "Know'st thou it?" were pronounced with a
mysterious thoughtful expression, and the "Thither, oh,
thither!" was uttered with an irresistible feeling of longing,
and at every repetition of the words "Let us flee!" she
changed her intonation. At one lime she seemed to entreat
and to implore, and at the next to become earnest and per-
suasive. After having sung the song a second time, she
paused for a moment, and attentively surveying "Wilhelm,
she; asked him, "Know'st thou the land?" "It must be
Italy!" he replied, "but where did you learn the sweet little
song?" "Italy!" observed Mignon thoughtfully, "if you
are going thither, take me with you, I am too cold here."
"Have you ever been there, darling ?" asked Wilhelm—but
Mignon made no reply, and could not be induced to converse
further.
Molina, who now entered, observing the cithern, seemed
pleased that it had been so quickly repaired. The instru-
ment had been found amongst the theatrical property, but
Mignon had entreated that she might be allowed to keep it,
and had carried it to the old harper. She now displayed a
degree of,skill in its use, for which no one had previously
given her credit.
Melina had already taken possession of the theatrical
wardrobe, with all its appendages, and some members of the
Town Council had promised to obtain permission for him to
commence his performances without much loss of time. He
i
/
132
WILHELM MEISTEIi'B
-accordingly returned to his companions with a glad heart
and cheerful countenance. He appeared to have been
changed into a new personage—he had grown mild and
polite, and Avas even engaging and attractive. He said he
considered himself happy in being able to provide continuous
occupation for his friends, who had hitherto been unem-
ployed, and in embarrassed circumstances ; but he felt sorry
that he was not yet able to reward the excellent actors with
whom fortune had provided him, according to their merits
and talents, as he felt it was indispensable that he should in
the first place discharge the debt which he owed to his
generous friend, Wilhelm.
"I cannot express to you," said Melina to "Wilhelm,
"how deeply I appreciate the value of your friendship which
has enabled me to undertake the direction of a theatre.
When I first met you I was indeed in a strange predica-
ment. Tou will, doubtless, remember how strongly I then
expressed my aversion to the theatre, and yet, after my mar-
riage, a love for my wife compelled me to seek for an en-
gagement, as she expected to derive both pleasure and ap-
plause from such an occupation. I was, however, unsuccess-
ful—that is, I could procure no constant employment—but
by good fortune I came in contact with some men of
business who needed the occasional assistance of persons
skilful with the pen, conversant with the French language,
and having some knowledge of accounts. Thus I supported
myself for a time, and being adequately remunerated, I was
enabled to procure many necessary articles of which I stood
in need, and had no reason to feel ashamed of my position.
But in a short time my patrons no longer required my ser-
vices, they could give me no permanent employment; and
my wife therefore became more and more anxious that I
should resume my connection with the stage, though at
present her condition is not the most favourable for her own
personal display in public. But I trust that the under-
taking, which you have enabled me to commence, will form
a good beginning for myself and for my family, though
whatever be the result, I feel that I shall be indebted to you
alone for my future happiness."
Wilhelm heard these observations with pleasure, and ths
vhole company of performers were sufficiently satisfied with
\
\
\
aFPEENTICESHIP
133
the promises of their manager; they were secretly overjoyed
at their unexpected engagement, and were satisfied at lirst
with a small salary, especially as most of them considered
the event itself as a piece of extreme good fortune, which
they could hardly have expected to occur. Melina lost no
time in availing himself of the temper of his actors—he
sounded each of them in private, and changed his tone ac
cording to each person's disposition, until, at last, they all
agreed to enter into an agreement, without reflecting much
upon the nature of the conditions; calculating that they
might, under any circumstances, dissolve their contract at
the expiration of a month.
The terms were now about to be reduced to writing, and
"Willielm was engaged in reflecting upon the performance
with which he should first attract the public, when a courier
suddenly arrived and announced to the Stallmeister that his
lord and his suite were immediately expected—whereupon
the horses were ordered out without delay.
A travelling carriage well packed with luggage soon drove
up to the hotel, and two servants sprang nimbly from the
box. Philina, according to her custom, was the first to make
her appearance, and had taken her post at the door.
u Who are you ?" inquired the Countess, as she entered
the hotel.
"An actress, your Excellency!" was the reply, whilst the
artful girl with a modest look and humble countenance,
bowed obsequiously and kissed the lady's gown.
The Count, who observed some other persons standing
near, and having learned that they were actors, made some
inquiries about the strength of the company, their last place
of residence, and the name of the manager. "Had they
been a French company," he remarked to his wife, "we
might have surprised the Prince with an unexpected plea-
sure, and provided him with his favourite entertainment."
"But it might, perhaps, be as well," observed the Countess,
"to engage these people, though unfortunately they are only
Germans, to perform at the castle, whilst the Prince remains
with us. They cannot be wholly devoid of talent. A
theatrical performance is the best possible amusement for a
large company, and the Baron will not fail to support them."
So saying sj^iacendeil,_tho- stairs, and Melina soon ap*
r
/
7
1?A WILHELM MEISTEU B
peared before them as the manager. "Assemble your com-
pany of actors," said the Count, a place them before me,
that I may see what is in them. Furnish me, moreover, with
a list of the pieces they perform."
With a profound bow, Melina hastened from the apart-
ment, and speedily returned with his company of actors.
They advanced in confusion and disorder. Some of them
were awkward from their great desire to please, and others
were no better, from their air of assu oed carelessness.
Philina paid great respect to the Countess, who evinced the
utmost possible condescension and kindness. The Count,
meanwhile, wTaa busily engaged in examining the whole body.
He questioned each of them about his peculiar qualities,
admonished Melina, that he should be particular in confin-
ing every one to his own department; a piece of advice which,
the manager received with the greatest deference.
The Count then explained to each of the actors the precise
point which he ought particularly to study, how he should
seek to improve his action and his attitude^ showing clearly
in what points the Germans wero usually deli ient, and
exhibiting such profound kno.ded^.e of arl; ^hat ihcy all
stood around in deep humility, anl scarcely iltL/xl. .0 bieathe
in the presence of do brilliant u critic aud iioi.ourable a
patron.
""Who is that man in the corner?" inquired the Ci-mt,
looking at a person who had not yet been presented to him.
A lean figure approached, attired in a garb which had seen
better days—his coat was patched at the elbows, and a sorry
wig covered the head of the humble subject of inquiry.
This man, in whom from the last book of our story, we may
recognise the favourite of Philina, was accustomed to act
the character of pedants, of schoolmasters and poets, and
usually to take those parts where a beating or a ducking
was to be endured in the course of the entertainment. It
was always his habit to bow in a certain obsequious, ridicu-
lous and timid manner, and his faltering mode of speech was
in complete unison with the characters he performed, and
jiever failed to excite laughter. He was considered a useful
member of the company, being upon all occasions active and
ready to oblige. He approached the Count in his own pe-
culiar style, saluted him, aud.Answered_ev£ry inquiry just
APPRENTICESHIP.
135
as lie would Lave done upon the stage. The Count surveyed
him for some time with attention and with pleasure, and
then addressing the Countess, he exclaimed, "My child,
observe this man particularly—I could lay a wager that he
is an eminent actor at present, or at least that he is capable
of becoming one." The man, hereupon, in the excess of
his delight made a ridiculous sort of bow, at which the
Count could not refrain from laughing, and observed, "He
acts his part to perfection—this man can, doubtless, perform
any character he pleases, and it is a pity that he has not
hitherto been better employed."
An encomium so unusual was distressing to the other
actors. Melina, however did not share the general feeling,
but rather coincided with the Count. He said with a
respectful look, "It is indeed too true, and both he and
many of us have long needed the proper appreciation of so
excellent a judge as we perceive your Excellency to be."
"Is the whole company present ?M inquired the Count.
"Several members are absent," replied the artful Melina,
:c but if we could calculate upon receiving support we should
soon be able to complete our compan}^ without going far."
During this time Philina remarked to the Countess,
"There is a very handsome young man up stairs, who will
doubtless soon become a first-rate amateur."
"Why does he not shew himself?" inquired the Countess.
"I will call him," answered Philina, and she immediately
disappeared.
She found Wilhelm still engaged with Mignon, and she
persuaded him to descend. He accompanied her with
some reluctance, but curiosity induced him to comply, for
having heard that some persons of rank had arrived, he was
anxious to know something further about them. When he
entered the apartment, his eyes at once encountered the
look of the Countess, which was fixed upon him. Philina
presented him to the lady whilst the Count in the mean-
time was engaged with the rest of the company. Wilhelm
bowed respectfully, but it was not without embarrassment
that he answered the various inquiries of the charming
Countess. Her beauty and youth, her grace and elegance,
as well as her accomplished manners, produced the most de-
lightful impression upon hiir, especially as her conversation
136
WILHELM MEISTEE'S
and her .ooks were somewhat timid and embarrassed.
Wiihelm was presented to the Count likewise, but the latter
bestowed less attention upon him, but turning to the
window where his lady was standing, he appeared to make
some inquiries of her. It was easy to perceive that they
agreed perfectly in opinion, and that she sought by her
earnest entreaties to confirm him in his intentions, whatever
they might be.
He turned soon afterwards to the company and said, c£ I
cannot stay any longer at the present moment, but I will
send a friend to you, and if you are moderate in your
demands and will exert yourselves to the utmost, I have no
objection that you should perform at the castle."
The whole company testified their joy at this announce-
ment, and in particular Philina, who thereupon kissed the
hand of the Countess with the greatest emotion. "See,
little one!" said the Countess, at the same time patting the
cheek of the light-hearted girl, "See, child, you must visit
me again, I will keep my promise to you, but in the mean-
time you must dress yourself better." Philina observed by
way of excuse, that she had not much money to spend upon
her wardrobe, whereupon the Countess ordered her maid to
give her an English bonnet and a silk handkerchief, articles
which could be unpacked without difficulty. The Countess
herself arranged them on Philina, who continued very
cleverly both by her conduct and demeanour to support her
claims to a saint-like sinless character.
The Count took his lady's hand and conducted her down
stairs. As she passed the company she saluted them all in
the most gracious manner, and turning to "Wilhelm, she said
to him in the kindest way, "We shall soon meet again."
The company felt cheered by these happy prospects, and
each one allowed free scope to his hopes, to his wishes, and
his fancies, suggested the character which he would like to
perform, and spoke of the applause which he expected to
receive. Melina in the meantime was considering whether he
could not manage by means of a few hasty performances to
extract a little money from the inhabitants of the town, and
so to afford his company an opportunity for practising their
parts. Some of the others in the meantime made their way
to the kitchen, where they ordered a better dinner than they
had lately been accustomed to enjoy.
JL1 ?E3^TICESHIP.
137
CHAPTER II.
After a few clays the Baron arrived, and Melina received
him with some little trepidation. The Count had announced
him as a critic, and the whole company apprehended that he
might soon discover their inefficiency, and perceive that they
were not a regular company of actors, as in point of fact
they were scarcely able to perform a single play properly;
but the fears of the manager and of the others were soon
allayed upon finding that the Baron patronized the stage of
his native land, and always gave a cordial welcome to every
member of the profession. He saluted them with dignity,
and expressed the happiness he felt in meeting so unex-
pectedly with a German company, in becoming connected
with them, and in introducing the native Muses to the castle
of his relative. He then drew a manuscript from his pocket,
whereupon Melina fancied he was about to read the terms of
the contract, but it turned out to be something of a wholly
different nature. The Baron requested that they would
listen attentively whilst he read to them a play of his own
composing, which he was anxious they should perform.
They at once formed a circle round him and seemed delighted
at the prospect of so easily securing the friendship of so
important a patron, but they could not help feeling a simul-
taneous shudder at the thickness of the manuscript. They
had good reason for their apprehensions, for the play con-
sisted of five acts, and every act seemed interminable.
The hero of the piece was distinguished for his virtue and
generosity, but was a misunderstood and persecuted man,
finally, however, he proved victorious over his enemies,
from whom the strictest poetical justice would have been
exacted if he had not pardoned them upon the spot.
During the rehearsal of this piece, each of the audience
found occasion to reflect upon his own particular circum-
stances, to recover from his previous depression of spirits,
and to experience a sensation of the happiest self-eontent-
ancnt at the pleasant prospects which were opening in the
future. Those who found no characters in the piece adapted
for themselves, silently condemned the composition, and con-
sidered the Baron as an unsuccessful author, whilst on the
other hand, those who discovered an occasional passage
138
WILKELM MEISTEE'S
which they thought would elicit the applause of an audience,
praised it in the most extravagant manner, and thus abund-
antly satisfied the vanity of the author.
The business was soon completed. Melina succeeded in
concluding a most profitable engagement with the Baron,
which he carefully concealed from the other members of the
company.
In the course of conversation Melina mentioned Wilhelm's
name to the Baron, described him as possessing qualities for
dramatic composition and talents for succeeding as an actor.
The Baron immediately sought Wilhelm's acquaintance as a
colleague, and Wilhelm thereupon produced some small
pieces of his own composition which with a few other trifles
had escaped on that day when he had committed the greater
part of his writings to the flames. The Baron praised not
only the pieces, but Wilhelm's recitation of them, and lie
took it for granted that the latter would join the others in
their visit to the castle, promising upon his departure that
they should all experience the greatest hospitality, enjoy
comfortable quarters, good fare, and receive an abundance oi
applause and of presents, to which Melina added the promise
of a small pecuniary donation as pocket money.
We may conjecture how the spirits of the company were
revived by this visit. All parties were relieved from the ap-
prehension of poverty and misfortune, and they were restored
to the hope of honour and enjoyment. They lost no time in
practically realizing their expectations, and they all from
that moment considered it discreditable to keep a single
farthing in their purse.
Wilhelm was in the meantime considering with himselt
whether he ought not to accompany the others to the castle,
and for more than one reason he determined to do so.
Melina hoped that this advantageous engagement would
enable him to pay off a part of his debt, and Wilhelm wdiose
great object was to study mankind, felt unwilling to lose
such an opportunity of becoming acquainted with the great
world where he trusted to acquire so much experience of
life in general, as well as of himself and of dramatic art.
He was unwilling to admit his extreme desire to find him-
self once more in company with the beautiful Countess.
He wished rather to impress upon himself the great value of
APPRENTICESHIP.
139
becoming acquainted with persons in an exalted sphere of
life. His mind was filled with visions of the Count, the
Countess, and the Baron, he thought of the ease, the grace,
and the propriety of their manners, and when he found him-
self alone, he exclaimed with enthusiasm, "Happy, thrice
happy they who are raised hy their birth above the lower
ranks of mankind, who never even in a transient manner ex-
perience those difficulties which oppress many good men
during the whole course of their lives. "From their exalted
position their view is extensive and commanding, and each
step of their progress in life is easy. From the moment of
their birth they embark as it were in a ship, and in the
voyage of life which wre all have to make, they profit by the
favourable breeze, and overcome the adverse gale, more for-
tunate than others, who are condemned to waste their
strength in swimming, deriving no advantage from the
prosperous wind, and who when the storm arises become ex-
hausted, and miserably perish. "What ease, what a natural
grace is theirs, who are born to hereditary fortune! How
secure is mercantile enterprise when established on the basis
of a solid capital, when the failure of some chance specula-
tions cannot reduce the whole to ruin. Who can better un-
derstand the value and the worthlessness of earthly things
than he who has enjoyed them from his youth,—who can
earlier train his spirit to the pursuit of the useful, the neces-
sary, and the true, than he who is able to correct his errors at
an age when his strength is fresh to commence a new career."
In such terms did Wilhelm congratulate the denizens of
the higher regions, and not them only, but all who were pri-
vileged to approach their circle and to draw comfort from
their fountain of refreshment. And he thanked his destiny
for the prospect he sawr before him of ascending to those
spheres.
In the meantime Melina had taken much trouble to
arrange the company according to the talents of each actor,
that each might produce his proper effect. But when in
pursuance of his ow^n views and of the Count's commands,
he had made many exertions for this purpose, lie was obliged
to feel satisfied when he came to execute his plans, with per-
mitting the actors to take those parts for which they deemed
themselves best adapted. In general therefore Laertes
140
\7ILHELAI MElSTEft'g
played the lover, Philina the attendant, whilst the two
young ladies divided between them the characters of artless
tender maidens—but the boisterous old man played his part
the best. Melina considered himself competent to act the
cavalier, whilst his wife to her great disappointment was
forced to content herself with the character of a young wife
or an affectionate mother, and as the modern plays rarely
introduce the poet or the pedant in a ridiculous point of view,
the Count's favourite usually personated a president or a
minister of state, and they were generally represented as
knaves and severely handled in the fifth act. Melina also
as chamberlain or chamberlain's assistant took pleasure in
repeating the absurdities which some worthy German authors
introduce into certain plays—he was partial to these charac-
ters, because they afforded him an opportunity for assuming
a fashionable dress, and practising the airs of a courtier,
which he fancied he could play with great perfection.
The company was soon joined by some other actors who
arrived from different parts of the neighbourhood, and who
were engaged without uudergoiug a very strict examination,
and without having to submit to very burdensome conditions.
Wilhelm who had been more than once vainly entreated by
Melina to perform as an amateur, evinced the greatest interest
for the success of the enterprise, without however receiving
the slightest recognition of his services from the new
director. The latter indeed seemed to imagine that the as-
sumption of his new office, imparted to him the necessary
qualities for filling it properly. The task of abbreviating the
performances seemed one of his most agreeable pursuits, and
his skill herein enabled him to reduce any piece to the regular
measure of time, without regarding any other consideration.
He was warmly supported, the public seemed delighted,
and the most refined classes in the town maintained that
even the court theatre was not so well managed as theirs.
CHAPTER III.
The time arrived at length when it became necessary to
prepare for their journey, and to expect the coaches and
APPRENTICESHIP.
Ill
carriages which were to convey then) to the castle of the
Count. Great were the difficulties which arose in arranging
how they were to sit, and how the company should be
divided. At length, after some trouble,, the arranging and
dividing was proposed and concluded, but alas, without
effect! At the appointed hour fewer carriages came than
had been expected, and they "were forced to accommodate
themselves as circumstances permitted. The Baron, who
followed shortly afterwards on horseback, apologized for the
inconvenience, by stating that the whole castle was in con-
fusion, as the Prince was to arrive some days before the ap-
pointed time, and more guests had already come than had been
expected, on this account therefore they might not perhaps
be so well lodged as he had intended, a circumstance which
overwhelmed him with grief.
They disposed themselves as well as they could in the
carriages, and as the weather was favourable, and the castle
only a few leagues distant, the most active of the company
determined to set out on foot rather than await the return
of the vehicles. The cavalcade started with a loud cheer,
and for the first time in their lives they had no occasion to
tremble for the landlord's bill. The Count's castle arose in
their imagination like a fairy palace. They were in their
own opinion the happiest beings in the world, and each in-
dividual fancied that this lucky day wras the commencement
of a long aera of happiness, prosperity, and honour.
A deluge of rain which fell most unexpectedly wras un-
able to dissipate these blissful contemplations, but when the
storm became still more violent, and seemed likely to con-
tinue, many of the company exhibited some symptoms of
dissatisfaction. The night was coming on, and no object
could be more welcome to them than the Count's palace,
which beamed upon them from the summit of a hill at some
distance, brilliantly illuminated in every story, so that all
the windows could readily be counted.
Upon approaching nearer, they found that the side build-
ings were illuminated also, and each individual began to con-
sider which chamber might possibly be destined for himself,
but most of them were modestly contented with the prospect
cf occupying an apartment in the garrets or in one of the
wings of the mansion.
142
WILHELM MEISTER 6
They now drove through the visage and passed the hotel.
Here Wilhelm ordered the carriage to stop, as he wished to
descend, but the landlord assured him that he could not
afford the smallest accommodation. He said that the unex-
pected arrival of a large number of guests had obliged the
Count to engage the entire hotel, and the doors of the apart-
ments had been already inscribed in chalk with the names of
the intended occupants. "Wilhelm was therefore compelled
reluctantly to proceed to the castle with the rest of the
company.
Arrived there, they beheld a number of cooks busily en-
gaged round a kitchen fire in one of the side buildings, and
the sight revived their drooping spirits. A troop of servants
carrying lights now appeared upon the steps of the main
building, and the hearts of our worthy travellers glowed
with satisfaction at the cheerful prospect. But who can
describe their disappointment at finding themselves received
with the rudest imprecations! The servants scolded the
drivers for having come to this entrance. The latter were then
directed to return and drive to the old castle, as there was
no room there for such guests. The unkindness of this un-
expected reception was increased by the jeering and derision
of the servants, but the actors them selves smiled at their
folly at having set out in the rain on so fruitless an expedi-
tion. It still poured in torrents. !N"o star appeared in the
heavens, and the company was now driven along a rough un-
even road, between two high walls, to the old castle, which
was situated at some distance behind the new one, and had
remained uninhabited since the decease of the Count's
father, by whom the latter had been built. The carriages
drew up partly in the court-yard and partly under a long
arched gateway, and the drivers who had been engaged in
the neighbouring village, unharnessed their horses and rode
away.
As no one appeared to welcome the travellers, they
alighted and called out and searched about, but in vain.
All was darkness and silence around. The wind blew in
gusts through the high gate, and the old towers and courts
looked grey and desolate, and were dimly distinguished hi
the surrounding gloom. The actors shivered with cold,
the women trembled with fear, the children cried, and the
APPEENTICESHIP.
impatience of all parties momently increased, for this sudden
ana unexpected revolution in their happiness had completely
disconcerted them.
In the constant expectation that some person would make
his appearance to liberate them, and continually mistaking
the sound of the rain and the howling of the storm for the
approaching footstep of the castle steward, they remained
for a considerable time anxious and inactive, for the idea
never occurred to any of them to proceed to the new castle
and implore assistance from compassionate souls. They were
moreover unable to imagine what had become of their friend
the Baron, and they were for all these reasons reduced to a
most pitiable condition.
At length some individuals actually arrived and they
were recognized by their voices as the pedestrians of the
party who had lingered behind upon the road. They
brought the information that the Baron had fallen from his
horse and had hurt his foot severely, and stated that they
themselves upon making inquiries at the castle had been
rudely directed to their present quarters.
The whole party was soon in a state of the greatest per-
plexity, they consulted together as to the best course of pro-
ceeding, but they could decide upon nothing. At length
they caught the glimmer of a lantern at a distance, which
revived their spirits, but all hopes of effecting a speedy
deliverance quickly vanished when the light approached them
nearer. The lantern was borne by a servant who acted as
guide to their friend the Stallmeister, and this latter per-
sonage, as soon as he had joined the party, inquired anxiously
for Mademoiselle Philina. She immediately stepped out from
amongst the others, and the Stallmeister thereupon begged
urgently that he might conduct her to the new castle where
comfortable accommodation had been prepared for her with
the servants of the Countess. She did not waste much time
in reflection, but accepted the offer gladly, seized his arm,
and giving her trunk in charge to her companions, she was
in the act of departing, when the others placed themselves
in the way, begging, imploring, and beseeching the Stall-
meister so urgently, that he in order to make his escape with
Philina, promised everything they asked, and assured them
that in a short time the castle should be thrown open, and
WIL1IELM MEISTER'S
they should all be provided with comfortable quarters. Soon
afterwards they saw the lantern disappear, and for a long
time they looked in vain for another light, but it came at
last after much delay and grumbling on their parts, and it
inspired them with fresh hope and comfort.
An old servant opened the gate of the castle, and they
all rushed forward with impatience. They now became
anxious for the safety of their luggage, each being eager to
have his own trunks uncorded and placed beside him. The
greater part of it was like their own persons, thoroughly
saturated with rain. As they had only one candle, their
proceedings were necessarily tedious. They pushed against
each other, they stumbled, and they fell. They begged for
more light and that a fire might be provided. The servant
listened in silence, and after much hesitation placing down
his own lantern he disappeared and returned no more.
They now proceeded to examine the house, every door of
which was wide open. Huge fire places, hangings of tapestry,
and inlaid floors afforded evidence of former grandeur, but
there were no remains of other furniture to be found, neither
table nor chairs, nor looking-glass, only immense empty
bedsteads from which everything useful and ornamental had
been removed. The wet trunks and travelling bags were now
converted into seats, some of the weary Avayfarers contented
themselves with lying on the floor, but Wilhelm had seated
himself upon the stairs, and Mignon reclined upon his
knees. The child was restless, and in reply to Wilhelm's
questions, answered, "lam hungry." He had nothing with
which to appease the wants of the child, his companions
had consumed all their provisions, and he was obliged to
leave the little creature without food. During the whole
adventure he had remained silently buried in thought. He
felt dissatisfied with himself, and sorry that he had not ad-
hered to his first determination to alight at the hotel, even
if he had been obliged to put up with the veriest garret.
All the others acted as they felt inclined. Some of them
heaped together a quantity of old wood m one of the
enormous chimneys, and they set fire to it amid cheering
and loud huzzas. But they were sadly disappointed in their
hopes of drying and warming themselves in this manner, for
as the fireplace had been built for mere ornament, it was
APPRENTICESHIP. li^
closed at the top, and therefore the smoke rushed quickly
back and filled the entire room. The dry wood crackled
and burst into flames, but the flames were driven back,
and as the draught of wind through the broken window
gave them an unsteady direction, all parties trembled for
the safety of the castle, and they were therefore obliged
to disperse the burning faggots, and to quench them with
their feet. The smoke by this means increased intolerably,
and the situation of our friends was rendered well nigh
desperate.
"VVilhelm had taken refuge from the smoke in a room at
some distance, whither Mignon soon followed him, accom-
panied by a well-dressed servant, who carried in his hand a
large, brilliant double-lighted lantern. He turned to Wil-
helm and respectfully offered him a tempting supply of fruit
and confectionery upon a plate of the most beautiful por-
celain. "The young lady sends you this/' he said, "and
requests that ycu will join her party. She is very comfort-
able," added the domestic with a Icq owing look, "and she
wishes to share her enjoyment with her friends."
Wilhelm could not have anticipated such a mark of atten-
tion, for ever since the adventure on the stone seat, he had
treated Philina with marked contempt, and he had so firmly
made up his mind to hold no intercourse with her for the
future, that he was in the act of refusing her dainty presents,
when an imploring look from Mignon induced him to accept
them. He therefore thanked her for them in the name of
the child—but at the same time he utterly declined the invi-
tation. He requested the servant to have some consideration
for the wants of the company, and he made some inquiries
for the Baron. The latter it seems was confined to his bed,
but he had given orders, as the servant had been' informed,
that the wants of the company should be attended to.
The servant then took his departure, leaving one of his
lights behind for Wilhelm's accommodation. In the absence
of a candlestick, he was obliged to fasten it to the window-
stool, and thus in his contemplations he could see at least
that the four walls of his apartment were illuminated. In a
short time preparations were completed for leading our
travellers to repose. By degrees candles were brought,
|hough without snuffers, then a few chairs, and after the
il
"WILHELK MEISTEH'S
interval of about an hour some bed clothes arrived, and
then the pillows, but everything was thoroughly drenched
with rain. Finally, when it was long past midnight, the
straw beds and mattresses appeared, which if they had been
produced at an earlier hour, would have been cordially
welcomed,
During these preparations, something to eat and to drink
had also been provided. It was despatched without much
criticism, though it w-as only a collection of disorderly frag-
ments, and afforded no very strong proof of the respect which
was entertained for our guests.
CHAPTEE IV.
The distress and inconvenience of the night were much
increased by the frolics and mischievous tricks of some mem-
bers of the company. They woke and annoyed each other,
and indulged in all kinds of practical jokes. On the follow-
ing morning they uttered loud complaints against their
friend the Baron for having imposed upon them, and for
having so completely misrepresented the order, and
comfort which they were to enjoy. But at an early hour
to their great astonishment and delight the Count himself
arrived, attended by a few servants, and made inquiries into
their circumstances. He was much distressed upon learning
how indifferently they had fared, and the Baron who limped
along with the assistance of a servant, blamed the house-
steward for disobeying his commands, and declared that the
latter had merited the most exemplary punishment.
The Count at once commanded that everything should be
instantly arranged for the utmost convenience of his guests.
In the meantime some young officers arrived, who sought the
acquaintance of the actresses, and the Count calling the
whole company before him, addressed each of them by name,
and as he introduced some jokes into his conversation, all
parties seemed delighted with the condescension of their
gracious Lord. At length "Wilhelm appeared in his proper
turn, holding Mignon by the hand. Ho apologized for Jus
freedom in appearing before the Count, but the latter as*
eured him that his visit was exnected. *
APPRENTICESHIP.
117
A gentleman, who stood near the Count, and who was
said to be an officer, although he wore no uniform, entered
into close conversation with Wilhelm, and attracted general
attention. His large blue eyes shone with great clearness
from beneath his noble brows, his light brown hair was
thrown carelessly back, his middle stature and whole ap-
pearance gave indication of a bold, firm, and decisive cha-
racter. His questions were earnest, and he seemed perfectly
to understand the subject of his inquiries.
Wilhelm asked the Baron who he was, but the latter wat
not able to say much in his favour. He held the rank of
Major, was a special favourite with the Prince, managed all
his private affairs, and was regarded as his right hand ; indeed
there was reason to believe that he was the Prince's natural
son. He had filled the post of ambassador in England,
France, and Italy, where he had always been distinguished,
and had thus become conceited. He believed himself to be
thoroughly acquainted with German literature, and was
accustomed to indulge in all sorts of jests upon it. The
Baron, avoided his society, and he advised Wilhelm to do the
same, as he never failed to prove a disagreeable acquaintance.
He was called Jarno, though nobody well understood what
was meant by such a name.
Wilhelm knew not what to reply to all this, for notwith-
standing that there was something cold and disagreeable in
the manner of the stranger, he felt a sort of secret liking
for him.
The company was now accommodated in the castle, and
Melina gave strict orders that they should conduct them-
selves with decorum, that the women should reside in sepa-
rate apartments, and that they should all devote their indi-
vidual attention to the drama, and to the study of their par-
ticular characters. He drew up a list of orders and regu-
lations, arranged under different heads, which he fastened
upon all the doors. The precise amount of every fine was
settled, and every transgressor was ordered to pay the same
into a common fund.
But these regulations were but little regarded. Young-
officers came in and went out, joking rudely with the
actresses, deriding the actors, and destroying the whole
system of police before it had time to take root. The people
WIUIELM MEISTEtt
chased each other through the apartments, changed clothes,
and dressed in various disguises. Melina, who was stern at
first towards some of the offenders, became exasperated at
their incessant insolence, and when the Count sent for him to
survey the place where he wished the theatre to be erected,
the confusion increased tenfold. The young men practised
all sorts of coarse buffoonery, which was made worse by the
suggestions of the actors, and the old castle looked in fact as
if it had been abandoned to the rioting of an infuriate mob,
and the scandal did not cease till the hour of dinner arrived.
The Count had conducted Melina into a large apartment,
■which though it formed part of the old castle, was connected
\y a gallery with the new building, and seemed well adapted
for the construction of a small theatre. Here the clever pro-
prietor of the mansion explained the manner in which he
wished everything to be arranged.
The work now commenced with the greatest vigour. The
Kstage was erected and ornamented with such decorations as
the company had brought along with them, and the whole
was completed by some skilful workmen of the Count's.
"Willielm took part in the preparations, assisted in the ar-
rangement of the perspective, sketched the scenery, and was
extremely anxious that everything should be correctly done.
The Count who was frequently present, expressed great satis-
faction with all the arrangements, occasionally directing the
operations in person, and affording proofs of his intimate ac-
quaintance with every branch of the art.
A zealous practice of the rehearsals was now commenced,
and for this undertaking they would have found space and
leisure enough, if they had not been interrupted by the con-
stant interference of strangers. Eor new visitors arrived
at the castle daily, and they were all anxious in turn to in-
spect the preparations of the company.
CHAPTEK V.
Ton some days past, the Baron had amused Wilhelm with
«he prospect of receiving a regular introduction to the
Countess. "I have already," he said, "told this charming
APPREN XICESHIP.
141)
lady so much about your talented and sentimental composi-
tions, that she is quite anxious to see you, and to hear some
of them recited. Hold yourself in readiness therefore to
wait upon her at the shortest notice, as you may depend
upon receiving an invitation the first morning the Countess
shall find herself disengaged." He thereupon selected an
afterpiece which he recommended him to read over, in order
that he might completely win her favour. The lady, he as-
sured him, regretted extremely that he had arrived at so in-
convenient a time, and that he had been compelled to share
with the rest of the company, the many inconveniences of the
old castle.
Wilhelm thereupon carefully prepared the piece with
which he was to make his entrance into the great world.
"Hitherto," he observed, "you have laboured in silence for
yourself, satisfied with the approbation of a few chosen
friends. You have long despaired of your own talents, and
are not yet free from doubt whether you have chosen a
proper career, and whether your ability equals your passion
for the stage. In the presence of such correct judges, in
the closet where no illusion enters, the attempt must be
more hazardous than elsewhere, and yet I would not willingly
shrink from the effort to enjoy this triumph also, and to
enlarge the prospect of my hopes for the future."
He thereupon examined several pieces carefully, perused
them with attention, corrected them here and there, recited
them aloud, in order to perfect himself in the proper mode
of delivery and expression, and then selecting the play which
pleased him best, and from which he hoped to derive the
greatest honour, he put it into his pocket one morning, upon
receiving an invitation to appear before the Countess.
The Baron had assured him that no one would be
present save one female companion. When he entered the
apartment, the Baroness von C received him with quiet
suavity, expressed her gratification at making his acquaint-
ance, and introduced him to the Countess, who was at that
moment in the hands of the hairdresser. The Countess
herself received him with friendly words and gracious looks,
but Wilhelm was mortified to observe Philina kneeling at
her side and practising all sorts of follies. "The sweet
child" said the Baroness, "has been singing for us. Finish
150
"WTLI1ELAI MEISTEIi'S
the ballad," she continued, turning to Philina, "which you
had commenced, Ave should not like to lose it."
"Wilhelm listened to the conclusion of the song with the
greatest patience, whilst he wished sincerely that the hair-
dresser should depart before the commencement of his reci-
tation. He was invited to take a cup of chocolate, and the
Baroness herself handed him a biscuit. But he could not
c-njoy his repast. He felt too anxious to commence his reci-
tations to the beautiful Countess, in hopes that he might
interest her and give her pleasure. Moreover, he found
Philina in his way—as she had not unfrequently proved a
troublesome attendant at his recitals. He watched the pro-
gress of the hairdresser with impatience, hoping that every
moment would witness the completion of his task.
The Count now entered, and gave an account of the guests
whose arrival was to-day expected, talked over the arrange-
ments which had been made for the day's amusement and of
various other household matters. Upon taking his departure
several officers, who were about to leave the castle at an early
hour, requested permission to pay their respects to the
Countess. The chamberlain having made his appearance,
the gentlemen were admitted.
The Baroness, meanwhile, exerted herself to entertain
our friend and paid him much attention, he accepted the
proffered civilities with great respect, though not without
betraying considerable absence of mind. More than once
he felt in his pocket for his manuscript, and hoped that every
moment would terminate his suspense. He was on the
point of losing all patience, when a man-milliner was an-
nounced, who commenced opening his bags and band-boxes,
without mercy, and pressing his various goods upon the com-
pany with an earnestness peculiar to that race of beings.
The company now increased. The Baroness looked at
Wilhelm, and addressed the Countess in an undertone. He
noticed the circumstance, though he could not understand
its meaning. But the mystery was explained, when after an
hour of painful profitless delay, he reached his home, and
round in his pocket a handsome portfolio of foreign manu-
facture. It had been secretly placed there by the Baroness,
and soon afterwards the Countess's little black servant ar<
rived and delivered a parcel containing an embroidered waist-
coat, but did not say distinctly by whom it had been sent.
JlPPEEKTICESHIP. 151
CHAPTEB VI.
Mingled feelings of gratitude and vexation destroyed the
remainder of the day, but towards evening, Wilhelm once
more found employment, as Melina informed hirn that the
Count had spoken of a little play which he wished to have
acted in honour of the Prince upon the day of his arrival.
It was his wish, that the high qualities of so noble a hero,
and so great a friend to mankind, should be personified and
introduced into a Drama. It was his wish, that all these
Virtues should appear together, should recite the praises of
their patron, and finally crown his bust with a garland of
flowers and laurels, whilst at the same time, a transparency
should exhibit his illuminated name, in conjunction with the
princely hat. The Count had commissioned Melina to
superintend the versification, as well as the general arrange-
ment of the piece, and the latter had expressed a hope, that
Wilhelni, to whom such matters were easy, would contribute
his assistance.
"How!" exclaimed "Wilhelm, with emotion, "can we
produce nothing better than portraits, illuminated names and
allegorical figures, in honour of a Prince, who, in my opinion,
is entitled to a much higher tribute of distinction? How
can it possibly gratify a sensible man to see himself set up
in effigy, and to behold his name shining through a sheet of
oiled paper? I fear much, that in the present state of our
wardrobe our allegories may give rise to sundry equivocal
jests. I can have no objection that you should compose a
play, or order one to be prepared, but I beg that I may not
be asked to interfere in the matter."
Melina excused himself by observing, that the Count had
mentioned the subject quite casually, and that he would
doubtless leave the arrangements of the piece entirely to
themselves. "With all my heart then," replied Wilhelm,
"I will contribute my assistance for the gratification of so
illustrious a family, and my Muse has never had a more
delightful task than to celebrate, however inadequately, the
praises of a Prince, who is entitled to the highest honour. I
will think the matter over, and, perhaps, I may be able so to
manage our little company as to produce some decided
effect."
152 WILIIELM MEISTER's
I
Prom this moment "Wilhelm set zealously to work. Before
he closed his eyes he had arranged every thing in proper
order. Early on the following morning his plan was ready,
the scenes were sketched out, and even some of the principal
passages and songs were actually composed and reduced to
writing.
Wilhelm then hastened to the Baron, in order to lay his
plan before him, and to consult him upon* certain points.
The Baron was delighted> but nevertheless evinced no little
surprise, for he had heard the Count on the previous evening
allude to a piece of a wholly different nature, which he had
ordered to be prepared and versified.
"It is not probable, I think," said "Wilhelm, "that the
Count intended that the piece should be prepared precisely
as he proposed it to Melina. I can scarcely be wrong in
presuming, that he merely wished to indicate to us the
direction we should follow. Amateurs and critics just shew
the artist what they desire, and then commit to him the
execution of the work."
"JNot at all," replied the Baron, t( the Count insists, that
the piece shall be composed precisely as he has directed.
Your play, it is true, corresponds in some slight degree with
his idea, but if we mean to succeed, in diverting the Count
from his own project, we must have recourse to the ladies for
that purpose. The Baroness is especially skilful in such
matters. The point to consider is this, whether she likes
the plan so well as to undertake the task, for if so she will
infallibly succeed."
"But under any circumstance," observed Wilhelm, "wo
shall require the assistance of the ladies, for neither our
company nor our wardrobe are sufficient without them. I
can procure the attendance of some pretty children, who
frequent the house, and who belong to the families of the
servants."
He now requested the Baron to acquaint the ladies with
his plan. The Baron soon returned, and stated, that the
ladies wished to speak with Wilhelm personally. It was
accordingly arranged that, in the evening, when the gentle-
men should be engaged at play, which it was expected, would
be deeper than usual, on account of the arrival of a certain
General, the ladies should feign indisposition, and retire tc
APPRENTICESHIP.
153
their private apartments, and that Wilhelin should then be
introduced by a secret staircase, and unfold the nature of
his plan. This air of mystery would clothe the adventure
with an unspeakable charm, and the Baroness felt as happy
as a child, at the prospect of a rendezvous, especially as it
was all arranged in secret, and undertaken in opposition to
the wishes of the Count.
Towards evening, at the appointed hour, Wilhelm was
sent for, and cautiously introduced. The manner in which
the Baroness permitted him to enjoy this private interview
in her little cabinet, reminded him for a moment of former
happy moments, and of bygone scenes. She led him to the
chamber of the Countess, and they commenced to ask ques-
tions, and to seek for information. "Wilhelm unfolded his
plan with great warmth and eagerness, the ladies were quite
enchanted with it, and our readers will therefore permit us
to make them acquainted briefly with its outline.
The play was to commence with a dance of some children,
in a country scene. Each dancer had to wheel round in turn,,
and to take the place of his predecessor. The dancing was
to be varied with other amusements, till finally the whole
party dancing together in a circle, were to join in a merry
song. At this moment the harper was to appear with
Mignon, and thus the public curiosity becoming excited, the
country people should collect together. The old harper was
thereupon to sing various songs in honour of peace, repose
and joy, and Mignon was then to wind up the whole enter*
taininent with the egg-dance.
These harmless delights were now to be interrupted by
sounds of martial music, and the company were to be sur-
prised by a troop of soldiers. The men, thereupon, defend
themselves and are overcome, the women fly, but are over-
taken and brought back. A general tumult ensues, and
the whole scene is in disorder, when a stranger enters
(about whose person and precise qualities the poet has not
yet made up his mind) and conveying the intelligence that
the General is at hand, succeeds in restoring order. The
character of the Hero is now painted in the brightest colours,
security is established amid the din of arms, and violence
and tumult are restrained. A public festival is proclaimed
in honour of their generous deliverer.
154
WILHELAT MEISTEIt's
Tlie ladies were quite pleased with the plan, but they con«
sidered the introduction of some allegorical scene to be
indispensable to satisfy the Count. The Baron suggested,
that the leader of the soldiers should be represented as the
Genius of Discord and Violence, and that Minerva should
be introduced to bind him in fetters, to announce the arrival
of the Hero, and to celebrate his praise. The Baroness
undertook the task of assuring the Count, that the piece was
the very same which he had proposed, with some few altera-
tions, but she positively insisted, that at the conclusion of
the performance, the bust, the illuminated name, and. the
princely hat should be introduced, as otherwise her inter-
ference would be in vain.
Wilhelru, who had already conceived in fancy how glo-
riously he would celebrate the praises of his Hero by the
mouth of Minerva, after long resistance yielded up the point:
but he felt that he had been delightfully subdued. The
beautiful eyes of the Countess, and her captivating manners
would easily have constrained him to abandon his duty as a
poet, to lose sight of the neatest and most interesting plot,
to forget the very unity of his composition, and all the most
indispensable details. But as a member of society, his con-
science had to sustain a still harder trial, when, upon the
distribution of the characters, the ladies insisted positively
that he should take a part.
To Laertes had been assigned the character of the violent
God of war. "Wilhelm was to be the leader of the country
people, and he had to recite some very pithy sentimental
verses. After having resisted for a time, he felt compelled
at length to yield, indeed he was left wholly without excuse,
for the Baroness assured him, that their theatre at the castle
was of a strictly private nature, and that she herself would
willingly perform, if a suitable occasion should offer. The
ladies now took leave of Wilhelm in the kindest manner.
The Baroness assured him that he was an incomparable
youth, and accompanying him to the private staircase, she
wished him good night with a soft pressure of the hand.
ArPIlEKlICESHIP.
155
CHAPTEE VII.
Encoueaged by the lively interest which the ladies took
in the proceedings, the play now assumed a distinct form, as
the mere act of describing its plan had rendered "Wilhelm's
own conception of it clearer. He passed the greater part of
the night and of the following morning in carefully arranging
the versification of the dialogue and songs.
He had already made some progress when he received
an invitation to proceed to the new castle, and was in-
formed, that the family, who were at breakfast, wished to
speak with him. Upon entering the apartment the Baroness
advanced towards him, and pretending to bid him good
morning, she whispered to him privately, " Say nothing of
your play, unless you are questioned about it."
"I understand," exclaimed the Count, addressing him,
"that you are most industrious, and that you are engaged
in composing my play, which is to be represented in honour
of the Prince. I quite approve of your introducing the cha-
racter of Minerva, and I was just now considering how the
Goddess should be clothed, in order that we may not offend
against the proprieties of costume. I have, therefore, com-
manded all the books to be brought from my library, in
which her figure is represented."
At this very moment some servants entered the apart-
ment, carrying several huge baskets filled with books of
every description.
Montfaucon, collections of antique statues, gems and coins,
and every species of mythological writing, were all examined
in turn, and the engravings compared. But even this was
not enough. The accurate memory of the Count recalled
every picture of a Minerva which was to be found in a title
page, a vignette, or in any other place. Book after book
was now brought in succession from the library, till the
Count saw himself at length enthroned amid a countless
collection of volumes, and finding that he could recollect no
other figure of Minerva, he exclaimed with a smile, " I would
lay a wager now that there is not a Minerva left in the whole
library, and I suppose it is the first time that a collection of
books has been deprived of the protection of their Patron-
goddess/'
15(3
WILHELM MEISTEH'S
The whole company smiled at the idea, and Jarno, who
had all along been inciting the Count to send for more
books, laughed quite immoderately.
"And now," said the Count, addressing "Wilhelm, "it is
of some importance to know which Groddess you really mean,
Minerva or Pallas? The Groddess of "War, or the 'Patroness
of the Arts?"
"Might it not be more prudent, your Excellency," an-
swered Wilhelm, " if we were not clearly to express our-
selves upon this point, and as the Goddess plays a double
part in mythology, to exhibit her here in a two-fold cha-
racter. She introduces a warrior, but only for the purpose
of appeasing the people; she honours a hero by exalting his
humanity, she subdues violence, and restores peace and hap-
piness to a nation."
The Baroness, who trembled lest Wilhelm might betray him-
self, now pushed forward the Countess's milliner, to explain
the best mode of arranging a costume after the manner of the
antique. This person, who was skilful in making masquerade
dresses, at once settled the question, and as Madame Melina,
notwithstanding her advanced pregnancy was to assume the
character of the celestial virgin, the milliner was ordered to
take her measure, and the Countess, somewhat reluctantly,
specified to her servants the precise garments which were to
be taken from her wardrobe, and cut up for the purpose.
At this juncture the Baroness contrived cleverly to call
Wilhelm aside, when she assured him, that she had provided
every thing else that was requisite. She had sent the
musician to him, who had the direction of the Count's band,
that he might either compose the necessary pieces, or select
appropriate melodies from the general stock. Everything
was now proceeding prosperously, the Count ceased to
inquire about the piece, and employed himself chiefly with
the transparency, with which he was determined to astonish
the spectators at the conclusion of the performance. His
own power of invention, and the skill of his constructor,
succeeded in producing a very effective design. During his
travels he 3:ad witnessed the very best exhibitions of the
kind, he had, moreover, examined a host of engravings and
drawings, and ho possessed considerable taste in all such
otters.

APPRENTICESHIP.
157
"Wilhelm in the mean time concluded his play, distri-
buted the various parts, and made a selection of his own,
and the musician., who was versed in dancing, undertook the
preparation of a ballet, and all the arrangements promised
to prove successful.
Bat an unexpected obstacle arose which threatened to
prove fatal to the intended performance. Wilhelm had
expected that Mignon's egg-dance would produce a striking
effect, and he was much astonished therefore, when the
child, with her accustomed dignity of manner, refused to
perform, assuring him that she had resolved never to appear
again upon the stage. He sought to influence her by every
species of expostulation, and only ceased, when, with bitter
tears, the child flung herself at his feet exclaiming, "Dearest
father! abstain also from the stage yourself." But he
paid no attention to the remark, and employed himself in
studying by what other contrivance he could render the
performance interesting.
Philina who had been chosen to act as one of the peasant
girls, as well as to sing a solo, and to lead the chorus, felt
quite delighted with the arrangement. In every respect
her wishes were fully gratified. She had an apartment to
herself, she was constantly in the society of the Countess,
whom she amused with her frivolities, and from whom she
was perpetually receiving presents.
A new dress had been expressly made for her to wear in
the play, aud as she was of a light and imitative nature, hor
late introduction to ladies' society had enabled her to ob-
serve such traits in their conduct as it would become her to
adopt, and her manners had therefore lately assumed an air
of refinement.
The attentions of her friend the Stallmeister increased rather
than diminished, and as her society was coveted by the offi-
cers, and she was now breathing a new atmosphere, she deter-
mined henceforth to play the part of a prude, and to conduct
herself with some attention to the rules of discretion and
propriety. Cool and penetrating as she was, in the course
of a week she understood the weaknesses of all around her,
and if she could have acted with any firmness of purpose,
she might have made her fortune. But in this instance, as
in every other, she employed her advantages for her mere
158
WILHELM MEISTEE'S
amusement, to earn a happy day, and to practise her im.
pertinences whenever she found that she could do so with
impunity.
The several parts having been learnt, a rehearsal of the
play was now ordered, at which the Count was expected to
be present, and the Countess began to feel much anxiety for
its success. The Baroness summoned Willi elm to her pri-
vately, and the nearer the hour approached the greater was
the embarrassment of all parties, for of the Count's original
conception scarcely one solitary fragment had been retained.
Jarno, who now arrived, was informed of the dilemma. He
laughed heartily at the general perplexity, but promised to
help the ladies by every means in his power. "It will be
unfortunate/' he observed, "if you cannot escape from this
embarrassment, but at all events I will be on the watch to
render you assistance." The Baroness informed him that
she had already recited the entire play to the Count, but in
detached and separate portions, she thought therefore he
would be prepared for each individual passage, though he
would undoubtedly expect that the whole should correspond
with his original idea: "But," she added, "I will sit near
him at the rehearsal this evening, and endeavour to distract
his attention. I have ordered the constructor to make the
decorations with which the piece is to conclude, as splendid
as possible, but they are not quite ready."
"In a certain Court, that I am acquainted with," ob-
served Jarno, " we want a few zealous and prudent friends like
you. However if your plans do not succeed this evening, give
me a signal, and I will take out the Count and not allow him
to return before the entrance of Minerva, and then the illumi-
nations will soon come to our relief. For some days past, I
have had something important to communicate to bim, rela-
tive to his cousin, which for good reasons, I have hitherto
postponed. This I know will distract his attention, in a
manner not the most agreeable."
Some engagements of business prevented the Count from
being present at the commencement of the rehearsal, the
Baroness amused him subsequently, and Jarno's assistance
was not needed. For as the Count was fully employed in
making remarks as well as in suggesting alterations and
improvements, his mind was thus completely employed, and
APPEENTICESHIP
159
as Madame Melina entered soon afterwards, and spoke in a
way that pleased him, and as moreover the transparency
succeeded admirably, he was perfectly content. But when
all was over and the card-playing was about to commence,
the difference appeared to strike him, and he began to in-
quire whether the piece was really his own invention. A
hint from the Baroness soon brought Jarno to the rescue,
the evening passed over pleasantly, the news of the Prince's
arrival was confirmed; some of the people rode out to see
his body-guard encamp in the neighbourhood; the house-
became full of noise and confusion, and our actors, who had
never been very diligently attended by the unwilling servants,,
resumed their former quarters in the old castle, where without
attracting any particular attention, they passed their time
in expectations and in practising their parts.
CHAPTEE Till.
At length the Prince arrived. The Generals with their
staff officers and numerous suite, who came at the same time,,
and the crowds of people who were attracted by business or
pleasure, made the castle resemble a bee-hive which is about
to swarm. Every one pressed forward to obtain a sight of
so distinguished a Prince; every one admired bis kindness
and condescension, and every one expressed his admiration
at observing that he who was the greatest hero and general
of the day, should be at the same time, the most refined and
accomplished courtier.
All the inhabitants of the castle were directed by the
Count to be in their places upon the arrival of the Prince.
No actor was allowed to shew himself, for it had been deter-
mined that the Prince should be surprised by the spectacle
prepared for his reception, and therefore, when at evening he
entered the large hall, which had been brilliantly illuminated
and decorated with tapestry of the preceding century, ho
was not at all prepared for a theatrical entertainment, still
less for a drama in honour of himself. Every thing went oir
admirably, and at the end of the performance, the actors
were presented to the Prince , who, in the most friendly
160
WILHELM MEISTEK'S
manner, managed to put some question or to make some kind
observation to each. Wilhelm, as the author, received par-
ticular attention, and upon him a full portion of applause was
generously bestowed.
After the play was concluded, no one made any further
inquiry about it. In a few days it seemed as if it had never
been performed, save that Jarno in his occasional conversa-
tions with Wilhelm, praised it warmly, but always added,
"It is a pity that you should play with hollow nuts, to win
a stake of hollow nuts."—For several days these words made
an impression upon Wilhelm's mind; he was at a loss to ex-
plain them, or to know what to infer from them.
In the mean time the company continued to act every
night, and exerted their best abilities to win the favour of
the spectators. They were encouraged by applauses which
they did not deserve, and in their old castle they verily be-
lieved that they were the real attraction of the crowd, that
their performances had drawn together the multitude of
strangers; and in short, that the}r were the central point
around which every thing moved and revolved.
But to his great vexation, Wilhelm thought the very re-
verse of all this. For though the Prince had most conscien-
tious^ sat out the first representation from the beginning
to the end, yet he gradually found that he could dispense
with such amusements. And all those persons whose con-
versation Wilhelm had ever found to be most instructive,
with Jarno at their head, now spent but a few moments in
the theatre, passing the rest of their time in the ante-room,
apparently engaged in play, or in business conversations.
It distressed Wilhelm grievously that his persevering
exertions should fail to win their deserved and wished for
reward. In selecting the plays, in copying the parts, in
attending rehearsals, and in other numerous details, he zea-
lously assisted Melina, who being secretly aware of his own
incompetence, allowed Wilhelm to take the management.
The latter committed his own parts accurately to memory,
and performed them with earnestness and feeling and with
as much propriety as his limited training and practice allowed
The unceasing interest which the Baron took in their per-
formances was perfectly satisfactory to the rest of the com-
pany. He assured them that their acting was most elective,
APPRENTICESHIP.
161
particularly when they performed a play of his composition.
He only lamented that the Prince should display so strong
a partiality for the French theatre, while on the other hand, a
part of his people, amongst whom Jarno was the principal,
passionately preferred the monstrosities of the English
stage.
But if our actors failed to he adequately appreciated for
their artistic qualities, the audience of both sexes were not
wholly indifferent to the charms of their persons. We have
already observed, that from the very commencement the
actresses had attracted the attentions of the young officers,
but in process of time they were even more fortunate, and
succeeded in making far more important conquests. But we
shall be silent on such subjects, only observing, that Wilhelm
daily became more and more interesting to the Countess, and
that a secret partiality for her began gradually to spring up
within his bosom. She was unable to take her eyes from
him during his performances, and he seemed to act, and to
recite with all his thoughts intently fixed on her. Merely to
behold each other afforded them unutterable delight, a feeling
to which they yielded up their guileless souls, without en-
couraging a bolder wish, or reflecting upon any ulterior
consequence.
As across the river which divides them, two hostile out-
posts will converse together pleasantly and happily, without
reflecting upon the war in which their countries are engaged,
so across the wide chasm of birth and station did the
Countess exchange expressive looks with "Wilhelm, and botli
believed that they might innocently indulge such emotions.
The Baroness meanwhile had made acquaintance witu
Laertes, who, being a lively, jovial youth, amused her
extremely, and much as he disliked woman's society, had no
disinclination for a passing adventure, and, in truth, in this
instance he would have been ensnared in spite of his resolu-
tion, by the courtesy and attraction of the Baroness, if the
Baron by chance had not rendered him a lucky or unlucky
service, by making him somewhat better acquainted with the
disposition of the lady.
Upon one occasion when Laertes praised her loudly, and
professed that he preferred her beyond all others of her sex,
the Baron answered with a smile, "I see plainly bow it is,
M
162
WILHJiLil MJEISTEIt'8
our fair friend lias now another victim ready for her stall."
This unfortunate figure which hore too distinct a reference to
the dangerous endearments of Circe pained Laertes beyond
measure, and it was not without vexation that lie heard the
"Baron continue to express himself with severity.
"Every stranger thinks he is the first who* has won her
flattering attentions, but he sadly mistakes, for we have all
travelled the same road once. Man, youth, or boy, whoever
he may be, must, for a time, become devoted to her, depend
upon her favours, and pine for her affection."
The happy being who has been admitted into the garden of
an enchantress, and revels in the enjoyment of all the delights
of an artificial spring season, can experience nothing more
repulsive than to hear the grunt of one of his transformed
predecessors at the very moment when his ear is enraptured
with the sweet song of the nightingale.
Laertes blushed deeply upon making this discovery, that
his vanity should have again induced him to entertain a
favourable opinion of any woman whatsoever. He there-
fore abandoned her society, and attached himself to the
Stallmeister, with whom he now perpetually fenced and
hunted, frequenting the rehearsals and representations, as if
they were matters of no importance.
The Count and Countess would occasionally invite some
of the company to their apartments, and upon such occasions
the latter never failed to envy the unmerited good fortune of
Philina. The Count, too, would sometimes detain his fa-
vourite, the Pedant, for hours together at his toilette. He
had become, by degrees, a well-dressed individual, and was
at length completely equipped and provided even to a watsk
and snuff-box.
Sometimes, especially after dinner, the company were
summoned into the presence of their distinguished patrons.
They were proud of so high an honour, but failed to observe,
that upon the same occasious the dogs were brought in
by the huntsmen, and the horses were led out for display
in the courtyard of the castle.
Wilhelm had been advised warmly to praise the Prince's
favourite author Eacine, in order thereby to win a good
opinion for himself. He accordingly availed himself of an
opportunity for this purpose, when, upon a certain afternoon
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os snq oqAA c)ood n ozr.id )suai uoT)n)s A)jo{ pan >[ui?.t q^iq jo
suosjod Avoq „ fp9uui)ii09 9q (/9ui.oniTu A'fisn9 uno p „ "9ui9n^
jo s)U9pa) 9|qnandtno9ut 9q) 0) oopsnC J9pu9J 0) popnj J9A9ir
ss9uqS[^[ siq )nq) 9.uisn9[d p?9J q)iA\ pai?9r[ pnq pan—)q%9P
■)S9UijnAV 9q) q)iAV 8J9)snui yvajjl 9q) jo s}[joay oq) pnoa
puq oq )nq) pan c9J)U9q) qoaojj 9q) aoj ui09.)S9 )S9qSp) 9q)
pnq oq )nq) oout.tj 9q) pganssn pun £aoi)ao)Ui su{) p9)U9A9ad
't.uu{ SuT)dnjJ9)U[' uq9q[T^ ^T1S[ 'uosjod J9q)0 oaios ssoappn
o) AnAvn Ap3)nq)9Uiuu p9uan) 'A[d9J siq aoj i>ai)p?A\ )Uoq)fAv
'oouijj oq^ c^nq) OAJ9sqo )0U pip opj •OAi^'BLn.iujn 9q) ui
pgpuodsoj A'pi99n9 aqgqyi^ qop)Av O) 's.)8T)nuinjp qou9Jj )n9aJ3
oqj jo SJ[JOAV oq) poipri^s ApDjgano pnq oq J9q)9qA\ p9JUibai
oouiJ^[ 9qjp *8J9q)0 oaios q)iAV uoi)n)TAiu un poAi9D9jpnq 9T^
801

164
WILHELM MEISTEE?S
had read his favourite author with no less profit thai:
delight.
u Have you never read one of Shakspeare's plays?" in-
quired Jarno, leading him aside.
"INTo," answered Wilhelm, "since the time when they
became popular in Germany, I have been little connected
with the stage, and I know not whether I ought to con-
gratulate myself now that my former taste and occupation
has been renewed. But from what I have heard of those
productions, I have no desire to become acquainted with
such extraordinary exaggerations, which are in utter defiance
of all probability and propriety."
c£ I should advise you, however, to make a trial of them, it
cannot injure you to see even what is wonderful with your
own eyes. I will lend you a volume or two, and you cannot
employ your time better than by giving up every other
pursuit, and in the solitude of your own chamber looking
into the magic lantern of that unknown world. It is a pity
for you to waste your time in dressing out these human
apes, and teaching dogs to dance. I make but one condition,
that you do not condemn the form of the plays, the rest I
leave to your own good judgment and feeling."
The horses were at the door, and Jarno mounted with
some cavaliers, to enjoy the delights of hunting. Wilhelm
surveyed him with sadness. He would have gladly entered
into farther conversation with this man, who had already,
although in a somewhat harsh manner, opened to him a store
of new ideas, ideas too of which he had stood in need.
It often happens, that when the powers, or talents, or
ideas of a man are being developed, he finds himself in a
perplexity, from which a sensible friend might easily deliver
him. He is like a traveller who falls into the water, when
close to the inn at which he means to rest: should any one
then seize him, and draw him out, all is right, at the cost
perhaps of a good wetting, but if on the other hand, he is
left to himself, and he should escape at all, it will probably
be at the wrong side of the river, and he has then to make a
wide and weary circuit to reach his destination.
Wilhelm began now to suspect, that things in the world
went differently from what he had imagined. He witnessed
daily the earnest and imposing life of great and distinguished
Tsons and felt astonished at the ease and grace which they

APPRENTICESHIP.
165
imparted to it. An army upon the march, a princely hero
*t its head, a host of united warriors, and a multitude of
thronging worshippers inspired and filled his imagination.
In this state of mind he received the promised volumes, and
in a short time, as we may readily imagine, the torrent of
that mighty genius carried him along, and bore him to a
boundless ocean when he soon lost and forgot himself.
CHAPTER IX.
The Baron's connexion with the actors had undergone
many changes during their residence in the castle. At first
there had been wonderful unanimity upon both sides, for
when the Baron for the first time saw one of his own com-
positions with which he had sometimes honoured a private
theatre, in the hands of real actors, and properly repre-
sented, he became highly delighted, purchased many little
trifles for the actresses, and presented the actors with sundry
bottles of champagne. They in return exerted themselves
in the performance of his pieces, and "Wilhelm spared no
pains in committing accurately to memory the splendid
speeches of the magnanimous hero, whose part it was his
invariable lot to perform.
But, notwithstanding all this, many misunderstandings
gradually arose. The Baron's partiality to certain actors
became daily more remarkable, and this circumstance natu-
rally annoyed the rest of the company. He gave exclusive
promotion to his favourites, and by this means introduced
a general spirit of jealousy and disunion. Melina, who had
never been very famous at contending with difficulties, found
himself now in the greatest perplexity. The favourites ac-
cepted the Baron's praises without evincing the slightest
gratitude, whilst those who were neglected shewed their
vexation in a thousand ways, and contrived to render the
situation of that patron whom they had formerly so much
admired, most disagreeable to himself. Their malicious
delight was very much gratified by a certain poem from an
anonymous author which was about this time circulated
through the castle. Much good-humoured merriment had
been occasioned even previously to this, by the connexioo of
ih2 Baron with the company. Little anecdotes had been cir-
1GG
WILHELM MEISTEIT3
culated about him, certain occurrences had received material
additions, and had been narrated in a more attractive and
ridiculous form. At length a rumour went abroad that a
species of professional rivalry existed between him and some
of the actors who aspired to the honour of authorship, and
this rumour originated the poem of which we have spoken,
fvnd which we here subjoin.
My Lord, poor devil though I be,
I envy you your happy lot,
Your fine estates, your high degree,
Your castle and all else you've got.
Your father's house, your place at Court,
Your wealth, your game, and right to sport.
And a poor luckless devi1 like me,
My Lord, I see you envy too,
Because dame Nature, kind and free,
Has proved my friend so good and true,
Has made me light of heart and head
And poor — though not with brains of lead.
Suppose then, good, my Lord, that we
Preserve our separate honours yet,
That you your father's offspring be,
And I my mother's favoured pet,
Neither of hate or grief the sport,
Content and glad if each one chooses,
I claiming no reward at Court,
And you no place among the Muses.
Opinions were much divided upon the merits of this poem,
of which copies in almost illegible handwriting were in
general circulation. No person entertained even a suspicion
of the author, but when "Wilhelm observed the malicious
delight which many of the company felt at the occurrence,
he expressed his sentiments very warmly.
""We Germans," he observed, "deserve that our Muses
should suffer in the contempt they have so long sustained,
since we are unwilling to appreciate men of rank when from
various motives they dedicate themselves to literature.
Foreign nations*: have taught us that birth, rank, and fortune
are quite consistent with genius and taste, for the names of
many noblemeii are on the list of their most distinguished
authors. In ©ermany it has been a wonder hitherto that
a man of birth should' devote himself to literature, and few
celebrated naijpes have sought to become more renowned by
their love of hpt and science, but many nevertheless have
APPHEKTICESHIP.
16?
risen out of darkness and have shone like unknown stars
in the horizon. But it will not always happen so, and if I
am not greatly mistaken, at the present moment the first
classes in the nation are commencing to devote their talents
to the task of contending for the fairest garlands of literature.
Nothing therefore can be more distressing to me than to
see the citizen sneer at the nobleman who loves the society
of the Muses, and even men of rank with thoughtless levity
deterring their own equals from a career where honour and
happiness are the portion of all."
The concluding remark seemed to be intended for the
Count, as Wilhelm had understood that he had expressed
approbation of the poem. In fact the Count was fond of
jesting with the Baron, in his own peculiar way, and was
glad to avail himself of such an opportunity of annoying
him. Each one entertained his own suspicions about the
author of the poem, and the Count, whom no one could excel
in acuteness, entertained a suspicion, to the correctness of
which he was soon ready to swear. The poem he thought
must be the production of his Pedant, who was a shrewd
fellow enough, and in whom he had for some time noticed
the existence of a certain poetical talent. In order to enjoy
a rare entertainment, therefore, he summoned the Pedant
one morning into his presence, and obliged him to recite the
poem in his own peculiar style before the Countess, the
Baroness and Jarno, for which he earned their praise and
applause as well as a present, and he cleverly managed to
evade the inquiries of the Count, whether be did not also
possess some other poems of an earlier date. By this means
the Pedant obtained the reputation of an author and a wit, and
in the eyes of the Baron's friends of a satirist and ill-natured
man. But from that moment the Count applauded him
most zealously, no matter how badly he might act, till at
length the creature grew perfectly conceited and silly, and
began to think that he also might be promoted to a private
apartment in the castle, like Philina.
If he had accomplished this plan without delay he would
have avoided a great misfortune.- Por soon afterwards as he
was returning one evening at a late hour to the old castle,
feeling his way along the narrow lane, he was suddenly way-
laid and seized, by some unknown persons, whilst some others
set upon him and beat him so unmercifully, that they left
168
WILKELM MEISTER'S
him half dead, and he could with difficulty crawl home to
his companions. The latter, though they professed to be
very angry, felt secretly rejoiced at the occurrence and could
scarcely restrain their open laughter at seeing him so well
chastised, and his new brown coat bedaubed and dusty and
as white as if he had been working for a whole day in a flour
mill.
The Count when he was informed of the occurrence burst
into a violent rage. He considered it as a most heinous
offence, called it a breach of the Burgfried or Castle Peace,
and required that the most strict investigation should be set
on foot by his own judge. It was considered that the
sufferer's white and dusty coat would afford the most con-
vincing evidence upon the inquiry, and accordingly every
individual in the castle in any way concerned with flour or
meal or dust of any kind was brought up for examination,
but in vain.
The Baron protested upon his honour that jokes of such
a kind displeased him exceedingly, and declared that although
ihe conduct of the Count had been most unfriendly, yet he
/iad forgotten it, and that he had not the smallest share in
the misfortune which had happened to the poet or satirist,
or whatever they might please to call him.
But the bustle of the strangers and the general commotion
of the house soon caused the whole affair to be forgotten,
and the unfortunate Pedant had to pay a dear penalty for
the pleasure he had enjoyed of strutting for a short time in
sorrowed plumage.
The company of actors who now played regularly every
evening, and on the whole were well received, had com-
menced, in proportion as they were well treated, to grow
more and more exorbitant in their demands. They com-
plained that their fare, no less than their attendance and
their apartments, was quite insufficient, and they entreated
their patron the Baron to see that they were more abun-
dantly provided with all the accommodations and enjoyments
he had promised them. By degrees their complaints grew
louder and the exertions of their friend to satisfy them more
and more ineffectual.
Wilhelm now appeared seldom in public, except during
rehearsals and performances. Secluded in one of the most
private apartments, where Mignon and the harper were
APPRENTICESHIP.
169
alone permitted to see him, lie lived and moved in his
Shaksperean world, without sympathy or feeling for any
thing beyond it.
Stories are told of enchanters who by their magical
incantations have summoned a countless multitude of
unearthly forms into their chamber. Their conjurations are
so powerful that a crowd of spirits quickly fill their dwelling,
and thronging within the limits of their narrow circle, they
soar above their master's head, ever increasing, and revolving
in perpetual transformation. Every corner is full and every
crevice occupied. Little embryo imps expand and giant
monsters dwindle into nothing. Unfortunately the magician
has forgotten the word by which the crowd rf spirits may be
dispersed.
Tims sat "Wiihelm in his solitude, and with uncomprehended
power a thousand emotions and feelings were stirred to life
within him, of which previously he could have formed no idea
or conception. Nothing could seduce him from his happi-
ness, and he was sorely distressed if any one approached to
trouble him with news of what was happening in the world.
He scarcely heeded the information which was brought to
him one day, that a punishment was about to be inflicted in
the courtyard of the castle—that a boy was to be flogged, upon
suspicion of having committed a burglary, and who because
he was dressed in the coat of a wig-maker it was thought
might possibly have taken part in the late attack upon the
Baron's favourite. The youth denied the charge vehemently,
and it was impossible therefore to punish him expressly for
that offence, but they had determined to chastise him as a
vagabond and let him go, for he had been found lurking in
the neighbourhood for several days, had passed his nights in
the mills, and had lately planted a ladder against the garden
wall by which he had descended to the other side.
Wiihelm considered the whole affair as very unimportant,
until Mignon entering his apartment hastily informed him
that the prisoner was no other than Frederich, who since
the occurrence with the Stallmeister had disappeared and
had not been heard of by the company.
Being much interested in the boy's behalf, Wiihelm rose
without delay, and found that preparations for the punish-
ment were already proceeding in the courtyard of the castle.
For the Count liked solemnity even in such matters. The
170
WILHELM MEISTER'S
boy was brought forward. "Willielm advanced and begged
for delay as he was acquainted with the prisoner, and might
perhaps adduce something in his favour. He found some
difficulty in procuring attention to his representations, but
at length he was permitted to speak with the youth in
private. Erederich protested that he was completely
ignorant of the ill-treatment which the Pedant had received
—that he had certainly been lurking about the castle, and
had stolen in by night in order to visit Philina, whose
apartment he had discovered, and to which he would
undoubtedly have obtained entrance, if he had not been
detected in the attempt.
Wilhelm, who for the credit of the company, was anxious
to conceal this statement, hastened to the Stallmeister, and
implored him to employ his knowledge of the world and of
mankind, to arrange the whole affair and to protect the boy.
This inventive genius, with Willielm's assistance, con-
trived a little story to the effect that the boy had been a
member of the company, that he had ran away, but was
anxious to return and to be received again amongst them.
He had therefore determined to visit some of his former
friends in the night time that he might entreat their assist-
ance. Evidence was offered of his good conduct in other
respects, the ladies interfered in his behalf, and he was
pardoned.
Willielm received him, and Erederich thus became the
third member of the extraordinary family which our friend
had lately adopted as his own. The old Harper and Mignon
received the returning prodigal kindly, and all three deter-
mined from that moment to serve their friend and patron
with zeal and devotion, and to contribute in every possible
way to his happiness.
CHAPTER X.
Philina succeeded now in ingratiating herself more and
more with the ladies. When they were alone, she directed
her conversation to the men who frequented the Prince's
residence, and Wilhelm was not by any means the last or
the most in significant person who engaged their attention,
APPRENTICESHIP.
171
It had not escaped the observation of the cunning girl that
he had made a deep impression upon the heart of the Count-
ess, she therefore frequently made him the subject of conver-
sation, relating what she knew or did not know concerning
him, but she was careful never to mention any thing which
could be interpreted to his disadvantage. On the contrary,
she praised his nobleness of mind, his generosity, and above
all his gallantry and deferential conduct towards the ladies.
She was, moreover, cautious in answering any inquiries
about him, and when the Baroness observed the increasing
partiality of her beautiful friend for him, she evinced great
satisfaction at the discovery. Her own intrigues with several
men, and particularly of late with Jarno, had not escaped
the notice of the Countess, whose pure soul could not re-
gard such levities without censure and silent disapprobation.
Thus the Baroness, no less than Philina, became deeply
interested in cementing the intimacy between Wilhelrn and
the Countess, and Philina hoped that she might yet be able
to turn things to her own advantage, and succeed in regain-
ing the favour of the youth, whose affections she had lost.
One day when the Count had joined the rest of the party
in a hunting excursion, and their return was not expected till
the following day, the Baroness resolved upon playing a
frolic which was completely in her style. She was fond of
assuming disguises and of surprising her companions in the
dress sometimes of a peasant girl, and at others in the
garb of a page or a huntsman. In fact she resembled a
fairy, who was present every where, and appeared at the very
time when she was least expected. Her joy was extreme
when she could succeed in waiting upon the company, or
otherwise join in their amusements without being detected,
and great was her delight in eventually disclosing herself.
Towards evening she sent for Wilhelm, and invited him to
her chamber, but when the appointed hour arrived she
found herself otherwise engaged, and accordingly she de-
puted Philina to receive hira.
Great was Wilhelm's astonishment upon making his
appearance, to find the apartment occupied not by the honour-
able Baroness but by the giddy Philina. She received him
with respectful dignity, an accomplishment which she had
.ately practised, and in this manner she compelled him to b
courteous in return

172
WILHELM MEISTEB'S
She commenced by rallying him in general terms upon
the good fortune which invariably attended him, and which
she could not avoid remarking, had now brought him hither.
Then she adverted in a delicate manner to his conduct to-
wards her which had so deeply afflicted her, but she chiefly
blamed and accused herself and confessed, that she had to a
great degree merited bis neglect; she then with much appa-
rent candour entered into a detail of what she termed her
previous situation, and added, that she would despise herself
if she were incapable of improvement, or if she could not
render herself worthy of his friendship.
"Wilhelm was astonished at her words. His experience of
the world was too limited to perceive that the most frivolous
and good-for-nothing persons most frequently accuse them-
selves in bitter terms, acknowledging and lamenting their
faults with candour, even when they are wholly destitute of
resolution to turn from the evil courses which their irresis-
tible nature has compelled them to pursue. He found it
impossible, therefore, to be severe towards the pretty
sinner; so they entered into conversation together, and he
soon heard from her the plan of the strange disguise with
which the Baroness intended to surprise her friend the
Countess.
Wilhelm however could not approve of the project, and
did not conceal his sentiments from Philina, but the entrance
of the Baroness herself at the very moment, left him no
time for reflection, and she forced him to accompany her,
assuring him that the proper moment had arrived.
It was now dark. She led him into the Count's dressing
apartment, where she made him change his own coat for the
Count's silk morning gown and put on his cap with the red
tassel, she then took him into the Cabinet, seated him in the
large arm chair, gave him a book, lighted the argand lamp,
told him how he was to act, and instructed him in the part
he was to play.
She said the Countess should now be informed that her
husband had unexpectedly arrived and was in an extremely
bad humour. She would of course come without delay,
pace several times up and down the apartment, and at length
seating herself upon the arm of the chair, would place her
arm upon his shoulder, and address a few words to him.
e was to play the husband's part as long and as Avell as lie

iLPPRENTICESHIP.
173
was able, and if at length lie should be compelled to dis-
cover himself, he was to be polite, complimentary, and
gallant.
Attired in this strange disguise, Wilhelin became a little
restless. The mere proposal bad surprised him, the sudden
execution of the project afforded him no time for deliberation.
Scarcely, however, had the Baroness retired from the apart-
ment, than he at once perceived the danger of the part
which he had undertaken to fill. He did not deny that the
beauty, as well as the youth and grace of the Countess had
made an impression upon him, but as he was averse by
nature to empty gallantry and his principles forbade all
thoughts of a more serious enterprise, he was reduced at
the moment to a state of no small perplexity. The fear of
displeasing the Countess or of pleasing her too much made
him equally uneasy.
Every female charm which had ever produced an impres-
sion upon him now rose once more before his imagination.
Mariana appeared in her white morning gown and solicited
his remembrance. The charms of Philina, her beautiful
hair and her insinuating endearments had once more
been rendered attractive by her late presence. But
all this was as nothing and retreated as it were behind i
distant veil, w'hen he thought of the noble, blooming Coun
tess, whose arm he was in a few minutes to feel upon his
neck, and whose innocent caresses he would be invited to
return.
He certainly could not foresee what strange accident
"was to free him from this perplexity. We may therefore con-
jecture his astonishment or rather his terror when the door
opened behind him, and at the first stolen look in the glass,
he saw the Count distinctly enter with a light in Ins hand.
He continued but for a very short time in doubt as to the
course he should pursue, whether he should sit still or rise,
fly, confess, deny, or ask forgiveness. The Count was stand-
ing motionless in the doorway, but he soon retired and
closed the door gently after him. At the same moment the
Baroness entered the apartment by a side door, extinguished
the lamp, dragged Wilhelm from his chair and led him with
her into the Cabinet. He took off his dressing gown with-
out delay and restored it to its former place. The Baroness
174
WILHELM MEISTEK'S
took Wilhelm's own coat beneath her arm and hurried him
through various chambers, passages and corridors until at
length when she had recovered her breath she stated, that
having hastened to the Countess to communicate the fictitious
information of her husband's arrival, she replied, "I
know it already, and I wonder what can have happened,
I saw him this instant riding in at the side gate." Upon
hearing this the Baroness had rushed to the Count's
apartment in the utmost alarm to communicate with
Wilhelm.
"Unfortunately," exclaimed the latter, "you have arrived
too late. The Count has already been in the apartment
and beheld me sitting there."
"Did he recognize you?"
"I do not know. He looked at me in the glass, as I
looked at him, but before I could decide whether it was an
apparition or the Count himself, he retired and closed the
door behind him."
The perplexity of the Baroness increased when a servant
came to call her, and stated that the Count was at that
moment with his lady. "With anxious heart she went and
found that though the Count was silent and reserved, he
was kinder and more gentle than usual. She knew not what
to think. The conversation turned upon the incidents of
the chase and of the accident which had occasioned his un-
expected return. The topic was soon exhausted. The
Count became silent, and the Baroness was greatly astonished
when he inquired for Wilhelm, and expressed a wish that he
should be sent for, in order that he might read something.
Wilhelm who by this time had resumed his own apparel,
and had recovered himself in the apartment of the Baroness,
obeyed the summons with some trepidation. The Count
handed him a book, from which with much hesitation he
read a rather romantic tale. His voice, however, was un-
certain and trembling, but this well corresponded with the
nature of the story. Several times the Count gave friendly
tokens of his approbation, praised the excellence of the read*
ing, and finally signified that Wilhelm might retire.
AFPftEKTICESLLlP.
175
CHAPTEB XL
Wilhelm had scarcely finished a few of Shakspeare's
plays, before he became so much affected by them that
he could not continue their perusal. His whole soul
was in a state of excitement. He thereupon sought an
opportunity to speak with Jarno, and he could not adequately
express his gratitude for the pleasure to which he had in-
troduced him.
"I foresaw plainly," observed Jarno, "that you could not
remain indifferent to the excellence of the most extraordinary
and wonderful of all writers."
"Yes," exclaimed "Wilkehn, "I do not think that any
book, any man, or any occurrence of life has ever produced
so strong an effect upon me, as the precious works to which
by your kindness I have been introduced. They appear to
be the productions of a heavenly genius who has descended
to the abodes of men, to render them, by the gentlest les-
sons, acquainted with themselves. They are not mere
poems. One might think during their perusal that he stood
before the opened, solemn books of destiny, through which
the whirlwind of impassioned life is breathing, whdst the
leaves are agitated to and fro. I have been so astonished and
overcome by the strength and tenderness, the power and
repose of these works, that I long for the time when I shall
be able to continue their perusal."
"Bravo," said Jarno, holding out his hand to "Wilhelm,
and pressing his in return, "I knew it would be so, and the
results which I anticipate are sure to follow."
"I wish," observed Wilhelm, "that I could explain to
you all my present sensations. Every dream which I have
ever indulged respecting man and his destiny, every idea 1
have ever entertained upon such subjects within my own
secret soul, I find unfolded and complete in the compositions
of Shakspeare. It appears as if he had unravelled to us the
mystery of all our enigmas, even though we cannot explain
wherein lies the actual word of solution. His men seem to
be human beings, and yet they are not so. These wonderful
and complicated creations of nature act like watches that
ore enclosed in crystal dial plates and oases, which whilst
176
WILHELM MEISTER S
they indicate the course of the hours, display the machinery
and wheels by which they are set in motion. The few
glances which I have cast into the world of Shakspeare
impel me irresistibly to march forward with hasty strides
into the world of active life, to mingle in the flood of destiny
which courses through it, and finally, to fill a few goblets
from the deep tide of true nature, and distribute them
from the stage to the thirsty inhabitants of my native
land."
"I rejoice at the disposition of mind in which I now be-
hold you," said Jarno, placing his hand at the same time
upon the shoulder of the excited youth. "Do not abandon
your resolution of commencing an active life, and lose no
time in taking advantage of the good years which are still
yours. If I can serve you I will do so with all my heart. I
have not yet inquired how you have found your way into a
company for which you are unfitted both by birth and edu-
cation. But I both hope and perceive that you are anxious
to leave it. I am alike ignorant of your family and of your
domestic circumstances, and therefore take heed of the con-
fidence you may repose in me. But I may say this much.
The times of war in which we live may occasion rapid
changes of fortune, and if you feel disposed to dedicate your
strength and talents to our service, not shrinking from labour
and inevitable danger, I can find an opportunity to establish
you in a position which you will never subsequently repent
having filled." "Wilhelm found it impossible to express his
thanks adequately, and felt disposed to make his friend and
benefactor acquainted with the history of his whole life.
During this conversation they had penetrated far into the
park, and had reached the road which traversed it. Jarno
paused for a moment, and then observed, "Consider my
proposal, make up your mind, let me have an answer in a
few days, and place confidence in me. I assure you, I can-
not comprehend how you can induce yourself to associate
with such people. I have often felt both pained and
annoyed that for the sake of earning a sorry subsistence you
should have become attached to this company of wandering
mountebanks."
He had not finished speaking when an officer rode up
hastily, followed by a groom leading a spare horse. Jarno
APPKENTICESHIP.
177
saluted him in a loud and familiar tone. The officer leaped
from his saddle, and they both embraced and conversed
together, whilst Wilhelm, somewhat amazed at the con-
eluding words of his warlike friend, stood by in silence.
Jarno examined some papers which the stranger had
handed to him, whilst the latter going up to Wilhelm,
offered him his hand, and exclaimed with emphasis, "I find
you in honourable company, follow the counsel of a friend,
and at the same time fulfil the wish of one who though a
stranger, is deeply interested in your welfare." So saying,
he embraced Wilhelm and pressed him cordially to his
heart. Jarno approached at the same instant, and observed
to the stranger, "It will be better that I should accompany
you, you can then receive the necessary instructions, and
ride forward before nightfall." Upon this they both leapt
into their saddles and left our astonished friend to his own
silent contemplations.
The last words of Jarno were still echoing in Wilhelm's
ears. He could not bear to hear the two beings who had
so undesignedly won his sympathies so ill spoken of by a
man whom he so highly honoured. The strange embrace of
the officer, with whom he was unacquainted, made but a
slight impression upon him, though it had engaged his
attention for a moment, but Jarno's words had smote him
to the heart. He felt deeply wounded, and now, as he re-
turned homewards, he reproached himself keenly for having
mistaken or forgotten the unfeeling cold-heartedness of
Jarno, which was so evidently pourtrayed in his conduct
and in his very looks. "jSTo," he exclaimed, " thou heartless
man of the world, fancy not that thou canst prove a friend!
All that thou canst offer me is not worth the feeling of
affection which binds me to these destitute creatures. How
l*appy am I to have discovered thus early what is to be ex-
pected from thee."
He clasped Mignon in his arms as she ran to meet him,
^claiming, " No ! nothing shall ever separate us, my beloved
r btle darling! The specious prudence of the world shall
never induce me to forsake thee, or to forget how much I
owe thee."
The child, whose cordial embraces he was accustomed
avoid, was enraptured at this unexpected exhibition of ten-
N
178
WILHELM MEISTEK'S
deroess, and clung so firmly to him, that he could hardly
disengage himself from her.
From this time he watched Jarno more narrowly, and
his conduct did not appear to him to be wholly praiseworthy;
indeed many things occurred of which he altogether dis-
approved. Eor instance, he began to entertain a strong
suspicion that the satire upon the Baron for which the poor
pedant had so severely suffered, was Jarno's composition.
And as the latter had joked over the circumstance in "Wil-
helm's presence, our friend thought he could recognize in
such conduct unequivocal signs of a bad heart, since nothing
in his opinion could be more wicked than to ridicule an
innocent being, whose woes one had occasioned, instead of
comforting and consoling him. Grladly would Wilhelm
himself have obtained satisfaction for the pedant, and by a
very remarkable accident it seemed that he had lately found
a clue to the perpetrators of the outrage.
It had been hitherto carefully concealed from Wilhelm
that several young officers were accustomed to spend entire
nights in the lower apartments of the old castle, in riotous
company with some of the actors and actresses. One morn-
ing having risen early according to his custom, he entered
one of those chambers by chance, and found the young
gentlemen above mentioned employed in making their
toilettes after a somewhat remarkable fashion. They had
mixed a quantity of chalk and water in a bowl, and were
engaged in daubing their waistcoats and pantaloons with
the paste, without undressing, and by this means they very
expeditiously restored the purity of their apparel. Our
friend, who was astonished at this strange proceeding, in-
stantly remembered the dusty and white powdered coat of
the poor pedant, and his suspicions were strengthened when
he learned that there were some relations of the Baron
among the party.
In order better to satisfy his suspicions, he determined fr>
invite the young gentlemen to breakfast. They were all i.^
high spirits, and related many lively anecdotes. One of
them, who had been for some time engaged in the recruiting
service, was loud in extolling the cunning and activity of bis
captain, who possessed the art of ensnaring all descriptions
cf persons, and of imposing upon them by every kind of
APPEEKTX CE S HI P.
179
device. He related in precise terms, how many young men
of good family and of liberal education, had been deceived
by promises of honour and promotion, and he laughed
heartily at the deluded youths, who at first had considered
it a high honour, to be esteemed and introduced by so re-
spectable, brave, prudent, and generous an officer.
How did Wilhelm bless his good genius for having pointed
out to him the abyss, to the very brink of which he had so
incautiously approached. Henceforth he could see nothing
in Jarno but the recruiting sergeant, and the embrace of the
strange officer no longer seemed a mystery to him. He felt
disgusted with such men, and from that moment he avoided
all contact with every individual who wore a uniform. In-
deed, the news which soon arrived that the army was about
to march from its present quarters, would have been par-
ticularly welcome, if he had not feared that he might thus
lose the society of his lovely friend for ever.
CHAPTEE XII.
Ik the meantime the Baroness had spent some days in
the agonies of apprehension and unsatisfied curiosity. For
since the adventure which we have related, the conduct of
the Count had become an inexplicable enigma. His manner
was completely altered, he had ceased to indulge in any of
his customary jokes. He was more considerate in his de-
mands upon the company and upon the rest of the attendants.
He exhibited but little pedantry or display of authority; on
the contrary, he had grown silent and reserved, and yet he
seemed to be cheerful and to have become quite another
man. For the public reading, which he sometimes attended,
he now made choice of certaiD serious and religious books,
and the Baroness herself lived in a constant state of fear, lest
beneath his apparent quiet demeanour, he might conceal a
feeliDg of malice, and harbour a secret intention of avenging
the offence, which he had accidentally discovered. She resolved
therefore to admit Jarno into her confidence, and she took
J
180
VVTL1IELM ilElSTEU'S
this step the more freely, because she already occupied a posi-
tion with regard to him, where secrets are not accustomed to
revaiL Jarno had lately become her most attached friend,
ut they were clever enough to conceal their attachment and
their pleasures from the talkative persons by whom they were
surrounded. But this new romance had not escaped the
eyes of the Countess, and most probably the Baroness sought
to engage her friend in a similar enterprise, in order that
she herself might thus escape the silent reproaches, which
she frequently had to endure from that noble-minded
woman.
Scarcely had the Baroness related the adventure to her
friend, than he exclaimed with a burst of laughter, <( The
old man doubtless believes that he has seen his ghost! he
fears that the apparition bodes some misfortune, or perhaps,
his death, and he has now become quite subdued, as is
always the case with cowards when they think of that final
consummation which no mortal can escape. But softly! I
have no fear but he will yet live long enough; however, the
event will enable us to manage him in such a way, that he
shall never again prove troublesome either to his wife or to
his household."
Accordingly whenever any opportunity offered, and the
Count happened to be present, they introduced the subject
of ghosts, visions, warnings, and such topics of conversation.
Jarno played the sceptic, as did the Baroness also, and they
expressed their doubts so strongly, that at length the Count
taking Jarno aside, would reprove him for his free-thinking,
and endeavour to convince him by what he himself had seen
of the possibility and reality of supernatural appearances.
Jarno then pretended to be surprised, to doubt and finally
to be convinced, but in private with his friend he ridiculed
the weak-minded worldling who had been turned from his
evil ways by a phantom, but who nevertheless merited some
degree of praise, for having awaited the approach of a dire
misfortune, perhaps of death itself, with so much composure.
"Perhaps he might not have been so well satisfied with
the most natural result of this strange appearance," exclaimed
the Baroness, with her wonted cheerfulness, which she had
once more resumed, as soon as all fear had been dispelled
from her heart. Jarno was now richly rewarded, and new
APPRENTICESHIP.
181
plans were contrived for still further alarming the Count,
and for increasing and confirming the affection of the
Countess towards Wilhelm.
"With this view, they related the entire story to the
Countess, who at first listened with displeasure, but subse-
quently became more thoughtful, and in her moments of
solitude employed herself in conjecturing, in pursuing, and
in painting the scenes which had been prepared for her.
The measures which were now adopted on all sides,
allowed no doubt to be entertained that the armies were
soon to move forward, and that the Prince would change
his head quarters. It was even reported that the Prince
would leave the castle and return to the city. Our actors
were enabled therefore to calculate what might happen, but
Melina alone adopted any decided course; the others, from
this time, thought of nothing but the enjoyment of the
present.
Wilhelin, however, was engaged in the execution of an
important task. The Countess had asked him for a copy
of his compositions, and he considered this request to be the
highest reward that he could receive for his labours.
A young author, who has never appeared in print, invariably
devotes infinite pains to furnish a clear and faultless copy
of his works. Such a moment appears to liim to be the
golden age of authorship. He is transported back to those
times when the press had not yet inundated the world
with useless writings, when only the noblest productions
of genius were copied and preserved by the worthiest men,
and hence he readily indulged the error that a carefully
copied manuscript like his, must necessarily be a work of
genius, worthy to be valued and esteemed' by a critic and
patron of literature.
Preparations were now made for a great festival in honour
of the Prince, who was shortly to take his departure. Many
ladies from the neighbourhood had received invitations, and
the Countess was dressed and in readiness to receive them
at an early hour. Her toilette was more sumptuous than
usual. Her head-dress and ornaments were in the best
taste, and she wore her most costly jewels. The Baroness
also had spared no pains to display the utmost elegance and
splendour. Philina, who observed that both ladies telt
182
"WILHELM MElSTEIl'S
rather weary in expecting the arrival of their guests, pro-
posed to send for Wilhelm, who was anxious to present his
manuscript which he had now completed, and to read aloud
some of its contents. He arrived, and felt completely as-
tonished at the figure and at the charras of the Countess,
which her present attire displayed to great advantage. He
commenced reading in obedience to the wish of the ladies,
but with so much hesitation and absence of mind, that if his
audience had not been very complaisant, they would at once
have dismissed him.
"When he looked at the Countess it seemed as if electric
flames were sparkling before his eyes. Suddenly he became
breathless, and was forced to discontinue his reading. He
had always admired the beauty of the Countess, but now he
thought he had never beheld so perfect a creature, and a
thousand thoughts crowded upon his mind, of which the
following may be considered the substance.
lt What an error do poets and sentimental persons com-
mit, in condemning ornament and decoration ; and requiring
that women of every rank should be attired in a dress of the
simplest kind and most conformable to nature. They find
fault with ornament, without reflecting that when they see
an ugly or merely ordinary person richly and sumptuously
i dressed, it is not the decoration, but the individual which
displeases them. And I would now ask the best judges in
the world, whether they would be satisfied to see a single
one of those folds, ribbons or laces, braids, curls or jewels
removed? Would they incur the risk of disturbing the
delightful impression which seems so spontaneous and so
natural? Yes, s.o natural I repeat. For as Minerva sprang
in complete armour from the head of Jupiter, this goddess
appears to have stepped with light foot fully attired and
decorated from the bosom of some beautiful flower."
During his reading he fixed his eyes upon her frequently,
in order to imprint her image indelibly upon his memory.
He made frequent mistakes, but his mind nevertheless
did not become confused, although upon other occasions
he had held that a trivial fault in a word, or even in a letter,
was a heinous offence which destroyed the effect of an entire
recitation.
A false alarm that the expected guests had arrived, nov»
APPRENTICESHIP.
183
brought the reading to an end. The Baroness thereupon
took her departure, and the Countess, in the act of closing
her writing desk, took out her jewel case and put some
additional rings upon her finger. "We must soon separate,"
she observed, at the same time looking at the jewel case
attentively. "receive, therefore, the memorial of a kind
friend, who has no more earnest wish than for your happiness."
She then selected a ring, which enclosed beneath the
crystal, a beautiful lock of woven hair set round with
precious stones. She handed it to Wilhelm, who upon re-
ceiving it, knew not what to say or to do, but remained mo-
tionless as if he had been rooted to the ground. The Countess
closed her desk, and took her seat upon the sofa.
"And must I go without receiving any thing?" said
Philina, as she sank upon her knee and extended her hand
to the Countess. "See the poor simpleton!" she continued,
"who is so ready to speak whe^L he should be silent, and is
now wholly incapable even of stammering out his gratitude.
Come, sir, testify your thanks at least by some expressive
action, and if to-day you can invent nothing, at least take
example by me."
Philina seized the Countess's right hand and kissed it
with fervour. Wilhelm thereupon fell upon his knee,
took her left hand, and pressed it to his lips. The Countess
seemed confused but not displeased.
"Ah!" cried Philina, "I have never witnessed such
splendid attire, and have never seen a lady so fit to wear it.
What bracelets! and what a hand! what a necklace, and
what a bosom!"
"Peace! flatterer," said the Countess.
"Is this a miniature of the Count?" inquired Philina,
pointing to a rich medallion which the Countess wore at her
left side, suspended by a gold chain.
"He is painted in his wedding dress," replied the
Countess.
"Was he then so young?" asked Philina. "I know you
have been only a few years married."
"Por the appearance of youth the artist is responsible;*
answered the Countess.
"He is very handsome" added Philina. "But," she
continued, at the same time laying her hand upon the
WTLHELM MEISTEr's
Countess's heart, "has no other image ever found an en^
trance within this secret retreat?"
"Tou are a naughty child, Philina," said the Countess.
"I have spoiled you. Never let me hear that speech
again."
"If you are angry, I shall he wretched," cried Philina,
springing to her feet and rushing from the apartment.
Wilhelm still held that beautiful hand within his own.
The bracelet of the Countess caught his eye, which to his
great astonishment bore the initial letters of his name, in-
scribed in precious stones.
"Do I posses your hair within this precious ring ?" he in-
quired, in a modest tone.
"You do," replied the Countess softly. She then be-
came more collected in her manner, and pressing his hand,
she said to him, "Rise—and farewell."
"Here/' he exclaimed, "by the strangest coincidence,
are the initials of my name." He pointed to the bracelet.
<f Indeed!" replied the Countess; "it is the cypher of a
female friend."
il My name !" he added; "my initials! But do not forget
me. Your image is indelibly engraven upon my heart.
Farewell—I must fly."
He kissed her hand and tried to rise. As in dreams,
strange things are connected with still stranger, and we are
overwhelmed with astonishment at what ensues, so, without
comprehending how it occurred, he held the Countess in his
arms, her lips rested upon his, and she returned his warm
kisses of affection, which imparted to them both, a bliss
known only to those who imbibe the first draught of joy
from the foaming goblet of love.
Her head rested upon his shoulder, and she took no heed
of her disordered ringlets or her dress. Her arm embraced
him. He too embraced her with fervour, and pressed her
repeatedly to his heart. Oh, that such a moment could
have endured for ever, and alas! for envious fortune which
interrupted our friend's enjoyment of that brief delight!
But how was Wilbelm terrified, and with what astonish-
ment did he awake from his blessed dream, when the
Countess suddenly placed her hand upon her heart and
rushed from him with a shriek.
APPRENTICE SHIP.
185
He stood amazed before her. She held her othei hand
before her eyes, and after a pause exclaimed, <c Be gone—
without delay."
He still remained.
"Leave me/' she continued, and taking her hand from
her eyes, she gazed upon him with an indescribable look, and
then added with a voice of the utmost tenderness, "ny in-
stantly, if you love me."
"Wiihelm had left the house and gained his own apart-
ment before he well knew what had occurred.
Unhappy lovers! What strange warning of chance or
destiny was it, which thus tore you from each other!
18G
WILHELM MEISTE&7S
BOOK IV.
CHAPTEE I.
Wilhelm was standing at the window in a contemplative
mood—he leaned upon his arm and looked out into the
fields. Philina approached quietly across the large apart-
ment, she took his arm and commenced ridiculing his serious
deportment.
<£ Do not laugh," he said, uis it not dreadful to think
how time passes, and how every thing changes and comes to
an end? See here, for instance. But a short time ago, a
splendid camp stood close to us, and how beautiful the tents
looked! what activity reigned within them! how care-
fully did they guard the surrounding enclosure! and now all
this has disappeared. For a short time longer those heaps
of trampled straw and remnants of suttlers' iires will remain,
but soon the surface of the ground will be ploughed and
reaped as before, and the presence of so many thousand
brave warriors in this neighbourhood will exist but in the
recollection of a few old men."
Philina commenced a song, and drew "Wilhelm along with
her to join the dancing in the hall. "Since wre cannot
overtake time," she exclaimed, " when it has once fled, let us
at least pay honour to its fleeting course by mirth and
cheerfulness."
She had scarcely taken a few turns through the hall, wlieii
Madame Melina joined them. Philina was wicked enough t<i
propose that she should join in the dance, thus reminding her
friend of her increasing and ungraceful looking figure.
"I wash," said Philina, when her back was turned, " that
I may never behold another woman in an interesting
situation."
"Do not say so," observed Laertes.
"It becomes her so ill. Have you not observed the
awkward motion of her shortened petticoats as she walks
APPRENTICESHIP.
187
along? She has not the least degree of tact, and has
ao notion of arranging herself so as to conceal her condition."
"Never mind," said Laertes, "time will soon come to her
relief."
"How pleasant it would be," remarked Philina, "if
children were like fruit, and could be gathered from the
trees."
The Baron now entered, and addressed them in a
friendly tone, offering a few presents from the Count and
Countess, who had taken their departure at an early hour.
He then went to Wilhelm, who was engaged with Mignon
in an adjoining apartment. The child had lately evinced
much affection for him, and had shewed an increased interest
in his affairs, having made enquiries about his parents, his
friends and relations, reminding him thus of his duty to
communicate to them some information about himself.
In delivering the farewell greeting of the family, the
Baron assured Wilhelm that the Count had been exceed-
ingly delighted with his poetical talents, as well as with his
theatrical labours. In proof of this assertion, the Baron
produced a purse, through whose beautiful apertures the
sparkling brightness of some new gold coins shone tempt-
ingly. Wilhelm drew back, and refused to accept the present.
"You must consider this present," said the Baron, "as a
remuneration for your time, a compensation for your trouble,
not as payment for your talents. If our mental qualifications
can secure us a fair reputation and the friendship of mankind,
it is only fair that our diligence and attention should secure
for us the means of existence, as we are not quite ethereal
beings. Had we been in town, where every thing is easily
procured, we should have converted this trifling sum of
money into a watch, a ring, or some similar article; but we
must be satisfied now to place the wand of enchantment in
your own hands and request you to procure for yourself some
token of remembrance which you may consider most useful,
and most in accordance with your taste, and to keep it for
our sakes. But at the same time you must hold the purse
in honour. It was knit for you by the ladies, and they in-
tended that their labour should impart an additional charm
to the contents/'
"Pardon my embarrassment," said Wilhelm, "and ex-
188
wilhelm meistes's
cuse my reluctance to accept this present. It robs my services
of their value and destroys all the free play of pleasant recollec-
tions. Money is an admirable thing to cancel obligations
and efface their memory, but I own I should not like to be
forgotten by your family."
"That can never be the case," replied the Baron ; "but
with your delicate feelings, you can scarcely wish that the
Count should remain your debtor, knowing that he is a
man who always feels a pride in being punctual and just.
He is aware of the great labour you have undergone, and of
the anxiety with which you have sought to execute his
wishes; and he knows, moreover, that in order to expedite
his plans, you made no scruple to expend your own money.
How then can I return to him without bearing the assur-
ance that his gratitude has afforded you sincere plea-
sure?"
"If I thought only of myself and followed my own private
inclinations," replied "Wilhelm, "I should, in spite of all your
reasons, persist in refusing this handsome and honourable
gift, but I cannot deny that whilst it occasions one per-
plexity, it frees me from another with respect to my relations,
the thought of whom has occasioned me much inward un-
easiness. I have not made the most advantageous disposal
either of my money or my time, and I am answerable for
both, and now through the generosity of the Count, I shall
be able to console my family with an account of the good
fortune to which this unexpected incident has led me. I
abandon therefore those feelings of delicacy, which like the
warnings of a tender conscience, should lead us upon such
occasions to a higher duty, and in order that I may appear
with courage before my father, I shall submit to seem
ashamed before you."
"How strange it is/' observed the Baron, "that men
should feel so much reluctance to accept money from
their friends and patrons, when they would take any other
present from them with joy and gratitude. And there are
some other subjects upon which men manifest scruples of a
similar kind."
"Is it not the same with every thing that concerns our
honour?" inquired Wilhelm.
"Certainly/' replied the Baron, "and with some other
APPRENTICESHIP.
189
prejudices also. And we must take care not to eradicate
them, lest we should tear up some other noble plants at the
same time. But I am always glad when, as occasion requires,
men shew themselves superior to such prejudices ; and I feel
pleased when I remember the story of the celebrated poet,
who having composed several plays for the court theatre, found
them honoured with the approbation of the prince. e He
must have a splendid recompense,' said the generous monarch,
£ ask him whether he will select a jewel, as he might scorn
to accept a sum of money.' The author answered the courtier
in his own humourous way, 'I am deeply thankful for the
gracious suggestion, but as the King accepts money from us
every day, I see no reason why I should feel ashamed to
accept the same from him.'"
The Baron had scarcely left the room, when "Wilhelm
commenced eagerly to count over the contents of the purse,
which had come to him in so unexpected, and as he thought in
so undeserved a manner. It seemed as if the value and dignity
of gold, a feeling which we well understand in later years,
now presented their attractions to him for the first time, as
the handsome glittering pieces rolled out from the beautiful
purse. He counted them, and found that, as Melina had
promised to repay the loan immediately, his stock of cash
was now as large as it had been on the day when Philina
had first solicited his nosegay. He thought of his talents,
therefore, with a certain degree of secret satisfaction, and
felt elated at the recollection of the good fortune which had
attended them. He seized his pen without further delay,
and commenced a letter, to relieve his family from their
apprehended anxiety, and to represent his own conduct in
the most advantageous light. He avoided, however, entering
into any circumstantial details, and only allowed his friends
to conjecture what had happened to him, by his significant
and mysterious expressions. The flourishing state of his
exchequer, the success which he owed to his talents, the
favour of the great, the partiality of the ladies, his extended
acquaintance, the improvement of his bodily and mental
powers, and finally his hopes for the future, were described
so as to form a picture of wonderful enchantment. Indeed
the Fata Morgana could scarcely have surpassed it-
Such was his happy enthusiasm, that he continued long
190
WILHELM MEISTEB 8
after he liad finished his task, to hold a conversation with
himself, in which he recapitulated the contents of his letter,
and promised himself an active and glorious career for the
future. The example set by so many noble warriors had
aroused him, the poetry of Shakspeare had introduced him
to a new world, and his whole being had become animated
with fresh warmth by the lips of the beautiful Countess.
Tt was impossible that all these things should be lost upon
him.
The Stallmeister now came to inquire whether they
had completed their packing. Unfortunately, no one
but Melina had bestowed a thought upon the subject,
although the time had nearly arrived for their departure.
The Count had promised to provide conveyances for the
party, for a portion of the journey; and, as the horses were
now in readiness, it would not do to detain them. Wilhelm
asked for his trunk; Madame Melina had appropriated it
to herself. He inquired about his money. Melina had
l^acked it away carefully, and it lay at the very bottom of
of his trunk. But Philina suggesting that she had some room
to spare in her's, she accordingly took Wilhelm's clothes, and
requested Mignon to collect his other things. It was not
without much reluctance that Wilhelm found himself
compelled to consent to this arrangement.
Whilst they were packing and preparing, Melina observed,
"I regret that we should have to travel in this manner,
like rope dancers and mountebanks; I wish that Mignon
would dress herself in female apparel, and that the harper
would consent to cut off his beard." Mignon upon this
clung closely to Wilhelm, and exclaimed with great warmth,
"I am a boy, and will not be taken for a girl I" The old
man was silent, and Philina made some merry observations
on the peculiarities of her friend the Count. "If the harper
allows his beard to be cut off, he can sew it carefully upon
a ribbon and preserve it, that he may assume it again, when-
ever he meets the Count in any other part of the world, for
it is to his beard alone that he is indebted for the favour of
lordship."
Upon being pressed to explain this singular speech, she
stated that the Count always considered that it contributed
v?ry much to complete the illusion, when actors continued
APPRENTICESHIP.
191
fco play their parts and sustain their characters in common
life. On this account it was that he had been so partial to
4;he pedant; and he had warmly approved of the harper's
custom of wearing his false beard, not only in the evening
upon the stage, but constantly in the daytime, and he had
expressed himself as highly delighted with the natural
appearance of that masquerading appendage.
"Whilst the rest of the company were amusing themselves
at this mistake, and at other singular opinions of the Count,
the harper took "Wilhelin aside, bade him farewell, and
implored with tears that he would allow him to depart.
"Wilhelm comforted him, assuring him that he would defend
him against every foe, promising that no one should injure
a hair of his head, much less dismiss him against his consent.
The old man was deeply moved, and a strange fire glowed
within bis eyes, " I am not leaving you on that account," he
said, " but I have often felt an inward reproof for having
remained with you so long. I ought not to linger any where,
for misfortune pursues me and injures those who attach
themselves to me. Tou will have every thing to fear, if you
do not let me go; but ask no questions, I do not belong to
myself and I cannot stay."
"To whom then do you belong? "Who can exert such
influence over you?"
"0, Sir! let me preserve my dreadful secret, and allow
me to depart. The vengeance which pursues me, is not that
of an earthly judge. I belong to an unpitying destiny.
I cannot, and I dare not stay/5
"In your present condition I cannot let you go."
"It would be high treason against you, my benefactor,
were I to delay. I am safe whilst I remain with you; but you
are in danger. Tou know not whom you have near you. And
yet I am rather unfortunate than guilty. My presence
scares all happiness away, and good actions possess no virtue
when performed by me. I must be a fugitive, and restless
that I may escape my evil genius. He pursues me with
slow steps, and only shews himself when I would lay down
my "eary head to take repose. I cannot evince my grati-
tuch more s^mgly than by bidding you farewell."
"Strang^Peing! you can neither destroy my confidence
in you, noj^y hopes that I shall see you happy. I do not

102
WILHELM MEISTEIl's
wish to penetrate the secret of your superstition , but while
you live amid wondrous forebodings and entanglements of
fate, let me tell you for your consolation and comfort, that
you shall share my happy fortune ; and we shall soon see which
is more powerful, your dark destiny, or my bright genius."
Wilhelm seized the opportunity to comfort him with
many soothing speeches, for he had lately begun to suspect
that his strange companion had been led by chance or
fate, to the commission of some dreadful crime, by the
remembrance of which his mind was continually haunted.
Only a few days ago "Wilhelm had overheard one of his songs,
and he had been forcibly impressed by the following lines :—
To him the morning's radiant glow
With angry flames is red,
And Nature's brightness here below
Appals his guilty head.
The old man, however, might use whatever arguments he
pleased, Wilhelm was never without an appropriate reply.
He knew how to represent every thing in the most favour-
able light; and he always spoke so bravely, so heartily and so
consolingly, that the old man felt himself once more re-
vived, and* abandoned all his whims.
CHAPTER II.
Melina entertained some hopes of being able to establish
himself and his company in some small thriving town. They
had already reached the spot to which the Count's horses
vvere to convey them; and they began therefore to look
about for some other conveyances to continue their journey.
Melina had undertaken this task; and, as usual, he afforded
proofs of his niggardly disposition. Wilhelm, however, had
in his purse the shining ducats of the Countess; and, as he
considered himself entitled to spend them freely, he forgot
how favourably he had made them figure in the stately balance
which he had transmitted to his relations.
His friend Shakspeare, whom he pronounlfci to be his
godfather with feelings of the greatest delight, ^■oicing that
Vis name was Wilhelm, had introduced him to^^rince -yiio

APPRENTICESHIP.
193
for a considerable time had been enchanted with the society
of dissipated companions; and who, in spite of his own noble
disposition, had enjoyed the rudeness, indecency, and
wickedness of their sensual pursuits. He felt charmed with
the ideal resemblance to his own actual condition; and
the self-deception to which he so easily fell a prey, was by
this means sensibly increased.
His thoughts were now turned to his style of dress. He
considered that a wraistcoat over which at times he might
fling a short cloak would not be an inappropriate attire for
a traveller. Long woven pantaloons and laced boots seemed
to him the proper garb for a pedestrian. He procured in the
next place, a handsome silk scarf, which he wore upon the
plea that it would keep him warm. He then freed his neck
from the tyranny of a cravat, and caused a few pieces of
mushn to be sewed to his shirt, which as they were made
rather broad, assumed the appearance of an antique ruff.
CLie beautiful silk neck-kerchief, which he had received from
Mariana, and which had been formerly saved from the
flames, was tied in an easy knot beneath his muslin collar.
A round hat with a party-coloured ribbon and a waving
plume completed the masquerade of his attire.
The women protested that this dress was extremely
becoming to him. Philina seemed enchanted with it, and
since to make a nearer approach to the picture of his own
_deal, he had caused his hair to be mercilessly clipped, she
had solicited that his beautiful curls might be given to her.
Wilhelm was not displeased with the request, as since his
generosity had given him the right of assuming Prince Hal's
manner towards his companions, he very soon acquired the
habit of indulging in the practice of some silly fooleries.
He fenced, and danced, and played all manner of tricks with
his friends. In their gaiety of heart they drank rather
copitoisly of the miserable wine which they were able to
proAre, and in the disorder of this irregular life, Philina
wtm^ed every motion of owr coy hero, whom we therefore
coPfmendto the protection of the fates.
One principal amusement which the company especially
enjoyed, consisted in performing an extempore play, in whick
their late patrons and benefactors were ridiculed and mi-
micked. Some of the actors had attentively observed the
o
WILHELM MEISTEE'S
peculiarities of manner which belonged to their superiors,
and the imitation of these was received by the company
with tumults of applause; and when Philina produced from
the secret records of her own experience, certain avowals of
love which she had received, their joy and malicious laughter
knew no bounds.
Wilhelm disapproved of their ingratitude, but they replied
that their former patrons had deserved what they were
receiving, inasmuch as their conduct towards such deserving
people as themselves had not been the best imaginable: the
neglect and disrespect, with which they had been treated,
were now exaggerated, and as the jesting, derision and
mimicry proceeded, the conduct of the whole party increased
4n injustice and severity.
"I could wTish," observed "Wilhelm, "that your observa-
tions were free from envy and selfishness, and that you would
consent to see those persons and their circumstances in a
proper point of view. It is a peculiar privilege to be ele-
vated by high birth to an exalted station among mankind.
The man whose existence is rendered easy by the wealth
which he inherits, and who finds himself provided for from
his very youth, with all the secondary advantages of life,,
will generally prize such qualifications above all others, and
an existence which is furnished" only with the rich en-
dowments of nature, will not appear to him to possess any
value. The conduct of the great towards their inferiors,
and towards persons of their own class, is regulated by
their possession of material advantages. Each one is
valued in proportion to his title, his rank, his apparel,
and his equipage; but his natural merits are inadequately
esteemed."
The company received this speech with unbounded ap-
plause. They considered it too bad that merit should be so
invariably neglected, and that in the great world .there
should be so little natural and cordial intercourse, fcpon
this subject they all became inconceivably eloquent. raj
"But we must not blame them on this account,"'maid
Wilhelm, "we should rather pity them! For they seldom
have a right appreciation of that happiness which we recog-
nize as the highest enjoyment that can How from the inward
wealth of nature. Poor creatures like ourselves can alone
APPRENTICESHIP.
195
enjoy the delights of friendship in their richest fulness
We cannot elevate our friends by favour, advance them by
interest, or render them happy by means of presents. We
possess nothing but ourselves. This whole self we must
therefore bestow, and if it is intended to have any value,
we must assure it to our friend for ever. "What an enjoy-
ment, what a happiness for both giver and receiver! In
what a blessed situation are we placed by truth! It invests
the transitory life of man with a heavenly certainty, it com-
pletes and perfects ail our wealth.'5
Mignon had approached him as he was pronouncing these
words; she embraced him with her little arms, and stood
with her face resting against his bosom. He placed his hand
upon her head, and continued thus. ci How easy it is for a
great man to win our hearts, and to make them his own. An
agreeable, mild, and natural manner does wonders, and such
a person possesses a thousand resources for retaining the
attachments which he has once formed. All this is more
rare and difficult to us, and therefore we naturally place
a greater value upon whatever we require and accomplish.
How affecting are the instances of attached servants, who
sacrifice themselves for their masters! How admirably has
Shakspeare depicted such characters! In such instances
fidelity consists in the struggle of a noble soul to resemble
its superior. By enduring attachment and love the servant
becomes equal to his master, who would otherwise feel justi-
fied in regarding him as his hired slave. Yes, such virtues
belong only to the inferior classes of mankind, they cannot ■
dispense with them, and they invest the lower orders with a
peculiar eharm. Whoever can easily repay obligations, will
be easily tempted to forget acknowledgments. In this
sense I think I may assert, that though a great man may
possess a friend, he cannot easily become one."
Mignon pressed still closer to him.
"Well," said one of the company, "we do not need the
friendship of such people, and wTe have never sought it.
But they ought better to understand the arts which they
pretend to patronize. We were never appreciated when we
acted in our best manner; everything went by complete
partiality. Whoever enjoyed their favour, was sure to
please; but they never bestowed their applause uuou tho
106
WILHELM MEISTEll'S
most deserving. It was strange how often mere folly and
stupidity was received with satisfaction and approbation."
""When I make allowance," said Wilhelm, "for irony and
malice, it seems to me that art in many things resembles
love. And how can the man of the world with his habits ol
dissipation feel that thorough devotion to his pursuits, in
which an artist must persist who would bring any thing to
perfection, a feeling which must be shared by every one who
would take that interest in his occupation which an artist
would approve."
"Take my word for it, my friends, talents no less than
virtues must be loved for their own sake, or utterly re*
nounced. And yet neither the one nor the other are acknow^
ledged or rewarded, unless they are practised, like a dan*
gerous secret, iu utter privacy/'
"And in the meantime," exclaimed a voice from the
corner, "we may all die of starvation, unless a proper judge
discover our merits."
"Not exactly," answered Wilhelm, "I have invariably
found that as long as a man lives and exerts himself, he can
always procure a stibsistence, even though it be not of the
very choicest description. And of what can you complain?
Have you not been unexpectedly favoured and befriended at
a moment when our prospects seemed desperate? And
now when we want nothing, does it ever occur to us
that we ought to exert ourselves for our improvement, and
to make progress in our art? "We waste our time in
trifling, and like school-boys we drive away every though t-
that may remind us of our lessons."
"In very truth," observed Philhia, " that is undeniable.
So let us select a play and act it this very moment. Each
of us must do his best, as if he were in the presence of a
large audience."
They wasted no time in thinking. The piece was selected
— one of those plays which at that time were in high favour
in Germany, but which are now absolutely forgotten. Some
of the company whistled a symphony: the rest thought
over their parts, and they forthwith commenced the per-
formance, acting with the greatest attention, and succeeding
beyond all expectation. They applauded each other in turn—
they felt that they had seldom found such genuine enjoyment.
XPPEENTICE3HIJP.
197
At the conclusion, they all felt happy, partly because their
time had been well spent, partly because they experienced a
feeling of self-satisfaction. Wilhelm was extravagant in his
praises, and the conversation grew merry and agreeable.
"You would soon find," cried Wilhelm, " what progress
we should make, if we continued to practise our art in this
manner, and no longer confined our attention to mere learn-
ing by heart, to practising, and mechanical rehearsals, as if
we were discharging a duty or pursuing some handicraft em-
ployment. How differently musicians act! with what de-
light and precision do they exert themselves together! what
pains they take in the mere tuning of their instruments!
how exact are they in keeping time,—and with what delicacy
they express the strength and sweetness of their notes!
None of their body would dream of endeavouring to excel
by playing a loud accompaniment to the solo of another.
Each one seeks to enter into the spirit and intention of the
composer and to play his own part well, whether it be great
or unimportant.
£C Should we not also exert ourselves with the same par-
ticularity, in the practice of an art which is far more delicate
than music, as our task consists in expressing the commonest
and rarest emotions of mankind with taste and elegance.
Nothing can be more reprehensible than to neglect our re-v
hearsals, and to depend for the success of our performance
upon the humour or accident of the moment. Our greatest
pleasure and happiness should be found in seeking mutually
to delight each other, and we should eveii prize the approba-
tion of the public, only in proportion a^ we had previously
sanctioned it amongst ourselves. Whyi is the leader of the
orchestra more certain of his performance than the director
of the stage? Because, in the former, each individual would
blush for a mistake that could offend the outward ear. But
how rarely do you find an actor ashamed of any mistake,
whether pardonable or otherwise, which grossly offends the
inward ear. I wish heartily that the stage were as narrow
as the wire of a rope-dancer, that no unskilful person might
venture thereupon, instead of being a place where every
blunderer fancies himself qualified to make an exhibition."
The company approved of this speech, as each of them felt
certain that the rebuke which it contained was not intended
198
WILHELM MEISTE£*S
for himself, as they had all but a short time previously per-
formed so well. It was especially agreed that if they should
remain together, they would continue the joint performances
which they had already commenced. But they resolved that
as their acting was voluntary and little else than a species of
recreation, no director should have anything to do with it.
Considering it as decided, that amongst good men the repub-
lican form of government is the best, they resolved that the
office of manager should be filled by each of them in turn,
that that functionary should be elected by the others, and
that he should be assisted in his duties by a sort of little
senate. They were so pleased with the suggestion, that they
resolved to adopt it without delay.
"I have no objection," observed Melina, "if you wish to
make a trial of your plan during our journey, I will cheer-
fully resign my own direction, until we arrive at some ap-
pointed place." He thought to economize by this means, and
to throw a portion of the daily small expenses upon the little
republic and the temporary manager. They accordingly
consulted together how they might best settle the form of
their intended government.
"As our kingdom will be perpetually travelling," said
Laertes, " we shall have no dispute about boundaries."
They now proceeded to business and elected Wilhelm as
their first manager. The senate was appointed and the
women were allowed to have seats, and to vote—rules were
proposed, rejected and adopted. In such amusements the
time passed unheededly away, and as it had been spent
pleasantly, they all considered that they had done something
useful, and had by their new plan introduced more hopeful
prospects for the improvement of the national stage.
CHAPTEB III.
Wilhelm observing the good dispositions of the com-
pany, now began to entertain hopes that he might be able to
converse with them upon the poetic merits of the pieces they
APPRENTICESHIP.
199
performed. And, accordingly, when they met together on
the following day, he reminded them that it was not suffi-
cient that actors should take a mere cursory view of their
parts, and form their opinions from first impressions, and
declare that they afforded pleasure or dissatisfaction without
inquiry.
"Spectators," he said, "may act in this way, as their
ohject is rather to be moved and entertained, than to criticise
accurately. But actors should be able to assign a reason for
their censure or approbation—and how can they do this
if they have not learned thoroughly to understand the sense
and views of their author. I have lately detected in myself
a disposition to judge of a piece from a single character, and
not from its connection with the whole, and I should like to
explain my meaning by an example, if you will kindly give
me a patient hearing.
"You are acquainted with Shakspeare's incomparable
Hamlet, from our reading it at the castle, an amusement
which afforded us all so much delight. We contemplated at
the time, performing the piece, and I intended, without well
knowing what I was about, to act the part of the Prince. I
conceived that I was studying the character, whilst I was
committing to memory the strongest passages, the soliloquies
and those scenes in which force of soul, elevation of spirit
and vehemence chiefly predominate, in fine where the agita-
tion of the mind displays itself with affecting expressiveness.
l( I thought, moreover, that I was completely entering into
the spirit of the part, when I took upon myself the load of
deep melancholy, under which my prototype was labouring,
and I followed him through the strange labyrinth of his
many humours and singularities. In this way I learned and
practised, until I thought that I should at length gradually
identify myself with my hero. But as I proceeded, I. found
the representation of the character becoming more difficult,
and I thought it almost impossible to take a complete view
of the poet's conception. I now went through the piece
uninterruptedly, but even in this way I found much that I
could not comprehend. At one time the characters, and at
another their delineation seemed contradictory, and I almost
despaired of finding a proper hue in which I could pourtray
200
WILHELM MEISTEK'S
my whole part with all its varieties and shadows. 1 struggled
long with these misconceptions, until at length I thought I
might attain my object by a different method.
"I commenced accordingly to examine every indication of
Hamlet's character which he had exhibited previous to his
father's death. I noted every point which seemed indepen-
dent of that sad event, unconnected with the appalling circum-
stances that followed, I reflected upon what this interesting
youth had now become, and what he might have been, if no
v such events had taken place.
\ "At once delicate and noble, this royal flower Lad
bloonned under the immediate influence of majesty. His
perceptions of virtue and of princely worth, together with
an appreciation of whatever was good and dignified, united
with a consciousness of his high birth, were developed in
him simultaneously. He was a prince, an hereditary prince,
and he was ambitious to reign only that good men miolit con-
tinue to be good without hindrance. Agreeable in form,
polished by nature, affable from the heart, he was intended
to be a model for youth and the joy of the world.
"His love for Ophelia was not the result of warm passion,
but the silent expression of his sweet wants. His taste for
knightly pursuits was not quite natural to him, but required
to be excited and kept alive by the praises bestowed upon a
rival. Of pure thoughts himself, he appreciated what was
honourable in others, and he could prize the repose which an
upright spirit enjoj^s in the confidence of a friend. Up to a
certain point, he could value what was good and excellent in
the arts and sciences. Vulgarity was offensive to him, and
if hatred could find a place in his tender soul, it was only
that he might despise the whole tribe of false and hypocritical
courtiers, and convert them into subjects of derision. He was
open in his conduct, simple in his manners, neither satisfied
with idleness nor too anxious for occupation. Pie carried his
academical habits to the court. He possessed more mirth of
humour than of heart, lie was a good companion, pliant, dis-
creet and punctilious, and was able to forgive and to forget
an injury, but he could not tolerate those who overstepped
the boundaries of honesty, propriety and virtue.
(i When we read the play together again, you will be able
APPRENTICESHIP. 201
to judge if I am now on the right track. I hope, at all
events, that I shall be able to strengthen my opinion by il-
lustrations from the author^^
This hastj sketch was received with general applause.
Plis audience were of opinion that Hamlet's conduct could
now be explained satisfactorily, and they approved this mode
of penetrating into the spirit of an author. Each of them
proposed to study a play upon this plan, in order properly to
unfold the meaning of the writer.
CHAPTEE IV.
The company were compelled to remain in their present
abode for some days, and in the meantime some of them
were amused with certain agreeable adventures. Laertes,
for instance, became the especial favourite of a lady who
possessed some property in the neighbourhood, but he be-
haved towards her in a cold and heartless manner, and thus
drew upon himself the malicious satire of Philina. She
seized this opportunity of relating to "Wilhelm the unhappy
adventure which had rendered Laertes so great an enemy to
the sex. "And who can blame him,5'she exclaimed, " for
hating a sex which has used him so badly, and obliged him to
drink in one concentrated potion, all the evils which men can
apprehend from women? Only imagine — within the short
space of four-and-twenty hours he has been lover, bridegroom,
husband, cuckold, invalid, and widower. I do not see how
a man's fate could be worse."
Laertes ran out of the room, half laughing and half angry,
and Philina commenced in her jocose manner to relate the
story; telling how Laertes, a youth of eighteen, as soon as
he had joined the company of actors, had found amongst
them a pretty girl of fourteen, who was on the point of
leliving them with her father, as the latter had had a mis-
understanding with the manager. He fell mortally in love
at first sight, used every exertion to induce the father to
stay, and finally promised to marry his daughter. Alter a
202
WILHELM MEISTEB'S
few pleasant hours of courtship he was married, had passed
ii happy hridal night, in return for which she on the follow-
ing morning, whilst he w>as engaged at the rehearsal, had
honoured him with a pair of horns. He had hastened home
in the excess of his tenderness, and found a former lover in
his place. This had caused him to behave like a demon, he
challenged both the lover and the father, and himself sus-
tained a grievous wound. Both father and daughter there-
upon made their escape the same night, and Laertes
remained behind to mourn over his double wound. Ill luck
induced him to apply to the worst of doctors, and the poor
wretch had got out of the scrape with blackened teeth and
weeping eyes. He wras deserving of pity, as in other respects
he really was the best creature in the world. But I am sorry
above all things that the poor simpleton hates the whole sex
—for how can any man hate them and live?"
Melina interrupted her with the announcement that every
thing had been prepared for the journey, and that on the
following morning they were to depart. He handed her a
plan of the mode in which they were to travel.
"If some kind friend will only take me in his lap," said
Philina, "I am content; no matter how much we may be
squeezed; I can put up with it."
"It is of no consequence/' observed Laertes, who now
entered.
a It is too bad!" exclaimed "Wilhelm, as he hastened
away. His money enabled him to hire a very comfortable
carriage which Melina had declined to engage. A new
arrangement of the party now took place, and they were
congratulating themselves upon the prospect of a pleasant
journey, when the alarming news arrived that a party of
military volunteers had been seen upon the road, from whom
nothing good could be expected.
The news created some sensation in the town, though it
was in its nature uncertain and ambiguous. According to
the position which the armies occupied, it seemed impossible
that a hostile corps could have marched forward, or that any
friendly one could have remained behind so far. Every one
seemed anxious to represent the danger as truly appalling,
and advised the party to take another road.
Most of the latter were for this reason exceedingly
APPRENTICESHIP. 203
alarmed, and when in conformity with their new republican
constitution, the members of the society were convened to
consider this extraordinary case, they were almost unani-
mously of opinion that it would be better to shun the
danger by remaining where they were, or avoid it by taking
some other road.
But "Wilhelm, who felt no alarm himself, considered it-
shameful to abandon a plan which they had adopted after so
much consideration, upon a mere rumour of peril. He
endeavoured to encourage the rest, and his reasons were
manly and convincing.
"The whole thing is a mere report," he observed, "and
how many such reports must be circulated during a
war! All sensible persons say that danger is extremely
improbable, and almost impossible. And ought we in a,
matter of so much importance to be swayed by a mere
doubtful rumour p The route which the Count selected for
us, and for which our passports are made out, is the shortest
and also the best. It leads to the town where we shall see
our acquaintances and friends and hope to meet a favourable
reception. The other route will also take us thither, but
what a circuit must we make, and over what bad roads
must we travel! We can scarcely indulge hopes of pro-
secuting our journey at all at this late season, and how much
time and money shall we in the meanwhile squander!" He
said so much and presented the subject in so man}^ advan-
tageous points of view, that their apprehensions began to
diminish and their courage to increase. He persuaded
them so strongly of the discipline of regular soldiers, and
described the marauders and itinerant rabble in such con-
temptible colours, representing the danger itself as so ex-
citing and pleasant, that the spirits of the whole party were
cheered and encouraged.
Laertes had agreed with him from the beginning, and he
promised that nothing should induce him to change his sen-
timents. The other actors expressed their views in their
own manner. Philina laughed at them all, and Madame
Melina who, notwithstanding her advanced pregnancy, still
retained her high courage,, considered the proposition as
heroic. For this reason Melina himself who thought it
possible that he might save something by taking the shorter
204
WILHELM MEISTEIl'S
road as he had originally intended, did not oppose the
general voice, and the plan was accordingly adopted.
• They now began to prepare for defending themselves
against every accident. Huge knives were purchased which
were suspended by straps across their shoulders. Wilhelm
in addition had a pair of pistols in his girdle ; Laertes carried
a gun, and thus equipped they set out merrily upon their
journey.
The drivers of the carriages proposed on the second day
that they should rest for awhile, at the hour of noon, at a
certain woody spot upon the hills. The town was at no
great distance, and this road was generally taken in favour-
able weather.
The day was fine, and all parties agreed to the proposal.
Wilhelm hastened on foot across the hill, and every one
who met him wondered at his singular appearance. He
proceeded through the wood with quick and contented steps;
Laertes followed him, and whistled as he went, while the
ladies retained their seats in the carriage. Mignon, however,
ran along at his side wearing the knife of which she was
proud, as she refused to lay it aside when the company were
arming themselves. She had ornamented her hat with a
pearl necklace, one of Mariana's relics which Wilhelm still
retained. Young Friedrich carried Laertes' gun. The
harper had the most peaceable look of the whole party. His
long garment was gathered up and,fastened to his girdle,
that he might walk with less restraint. He leaned upon a
knotty staff, his harp having been left in the carriage.
When they had with some little difficulty ascended the
hill, they recognised the appointed place by the splendid
beech trees with which it was at once environed and shaded.
An open meadow softly slopiug invited them to repose,
whilst a secluded well offered the most delicious refreshment,
and in the distance, through openings in the mountains, and
across the woods, they beheld a lovely landscape. Villages
and mills adorned the plain, and far away in the perspective
a chain of gradually ascending hills awakened feelings of
hope within the mind, as they softly closed around the
landscape.
Those who arrived first took possession of the place, they
lay down in the shade, lighted a fire, and amusing themselves?
APPEEKTICESHI}?.
20b
with singing, they awaited the appearance of the rest of the
party. They arrived gradually and seemed delighted with
che place, the beautiful weather, and the lovely scene.
CHAPTEB Y.
"Within doors they had often enjoyed many a happy and
convivial hour, but they all felt a keener pleasure now, the
freedom of the open air and the beauty of the spot tending
^o elevate and purify their feelings. They were at once
more friendly towards each other, and they all wished that it
were possible to spend their wThole lives in so charming an
abode. They envied the whole tribe of hunters, charcoal-
burners, and wood-cutters who are compelled by their pur-
suits in life to reside amid such happy scenery, but beyond
all things they were enchanted with the idea of a gipsey life.
They envied those mysterious beings who in a state of bliss-
ful idleness were privileged to enjoy all the wonderful
charms of nature, and they felt a pleasure in resembling
them to some extent.
The women had in the meantime commenced to boil
potatoes and to unpack and lay out their store of provisions.
Some pots were standing by the fire, and the different mem-
bers of the company lay in groups beneath the tree* and
beeches. Their peculiar attire and their various weapons
gave them a wild appearance. The horses were grazing
near them, and if the vehicles could have been concealed,
the appearance of the whole party would have been romantic
even to illusion.
"Wilhelm thrilled with a novel feeling of rapture. He
imagined that they were a wandering colony, of whom he
was the leader. And with this idea he addressed each per-
son and clothed this fancy of the hour in as poetical a
garb as possible. The pleasure of the party increased
momently, they ate, drank, and made merry, and declared
incessantly that they had never enjoyed greater hap-
piness.
The younger members of the society now proposed some
206
WILHELM MEISTEIl's
active amusement. "Wilhelm and Laertes accordingly took
their swords and began to practise as if engaged at a thea-
trical rehearsal. They went through the duel in which
Hamlet and his antagonist come to so tragical an end. They
both thought that in this important scene they ought not to
thrust at random, as actors generally do upon the stage •
they wished to shew in the representation how they might
give the critic a proper lesson in the art of fencing. A
circle was made—they fought with skill and ardour, and
the interest of the spectators was every moment on the
increase.
Suddenly a shot was heard in the neighbouring thicket,
it was succeeded by another; the company dispersed in
alarm. Next moment a body of armed men rushed forward
to the place where the horses were grazing at no great
distance from the heavily laden carriages.
The women screamed, our heroes threw away their swords,
seized their pistols, and hastened towards the robbers with
loud threats, demanding satisfaction for their daring conduct.
As the answer was the sharp reply of a couple of shots,
"Wilhelm fired his pistol at a curly-headed youth who had
mounted the carriage and was cutting the ropes which se-
cured the luggage. He fell down wounded. Neither did
Laertes miss his man, and thus encouraged they both drew
their swords, when several of the robbers rushed upon them
with curses and imprecations, discharged their pistols at
them, and attacked them with their weapons. They de-
fended themselves bravely, calling to the rest of their com-
panions, and inciting them to make a bold resistance.
Suddenly Wilhelm lost the sight of day and all recollection
of what had taken place. He fell senseless from a shot
which struck him between the breast and the left arm,
receiving at the same moment a blow from a sword which
cut through his hat and almost penetrated to his skull. He
was afterwards informed by others of the sad termination of
the adventure.
"When he opened his eyes he found himself in a strange
condition. The first object which he perceived through the
obscurity which still overspread his eyes, was Philina's face
bent closely over his. He felt weak, and making an exer-
tion to rise he fell into Philina's lap. She was sitting on
APPRENTICESHIP.
207
the grass. She had pressed the head of the surviving youth
softly to her bosom, and had made au easy couch for him
within her arms. Mignon was kneeling at his feet with
bloody and dishevelled hair, and she embraced him with a
flood of tears.
When Wilhelm observed his blood-staitied clothes, he
inquired in broken accents where he was, and what had
occurred to them all? Philina entreated him to remain
quiet. "All the others," she said, "are safe, and no one is
wounded but you and Laertes." She refused to give him.
any further information, requesting earnestly that he would
continue quiet, as his wounds had been but hastily and
slightly dressed. He stretched out his hand to Mignon and
inquired why the locks of the child were stained with blood,
fancying that she also had been wounded.
To tranquillize him, Philina related how this grateful little
creature when she had seen her friend wounded, could think
in the confusion of nothing else witli which to stop the
rushing of the blood, but of her own hair. It was flowing
loosely over her shoulders, and with this she sought to
staunch the wound, but was soon obliged to desist from the
vain attempt. When subsequently they bound up the gash
with lint and moss, Philina kindty lent her own handkerchief
for the purpose,
Wilhelm observed that Philina was seated with her back
against her own trunk, which was well secured and locked,
and appeared to be still uninjured. Pie inquired if the rest
of the party had been equally fortunate in saving their pro-
perty? She answered with a shrug of the shoulders and a
look across the meadow, where a medley of broken boxes,
fragments of trunks, ripped up carpet bags, and a multitude
of other articles lay in promiscuous confusion. There was
no other person in the place, and the strange group I have
described remained alone in the solitude.
Wilhelm soon learned more than he was pleased to hear.
Such of the party as were capable of making any resistance
had been quickly terrified and overpowered. Some of them,
had fled and others had looked on in terror. The drivers, who
had forght hard to save their horses, were thrown down and
tied, and in a short time everything was rifled and carried
off. The luckless travellers as soon as thev were relieved
:203
V/TLHELM MEISTER'S
from the fear of death, began to mourn for the loss they had
sustained, and hastened with all possible speed to the nearest
village, taking Laertes, who had been but slightly wounded,
with them, and carrying away but few fragments of their
property. The harper had placed his injured harp against a
tree, and had accompanied them to the village, that he might
fetch a surgeon and return as quickly as possible to the
relief of his benefactor, whom he had left at the point of
death.
CHAPTEE VI.
in the meantime our three unhappy adventurers remained
in their state of perplexity and distress, as no one returned
to their assistance. Evening approached and darkness was
coming rapidly on. The indifference of Philina began to
change to anxiety; Mignon ran restlessly about, and the
impatience of the child increased every instant. At length
when pursuant to their wishes a body of men ap-
proached, the circumstance occasioned new alarm. The}"
distinctly heard the sound of a troop of horses coming
by the road which they had lately travelled over, and they
dreaded now lest a fresh company of uninvited guests should
visit the scene of action and possess themselves of all that
remained.
They were, however, most agreeably surprised to see a
young lady issue from the thicket, riding on a grey charger,
accompanied by an elderly gentleman and some younger
cavaliers, and followed by several grooms, servants, and a
troop of hussars.
Philina, who stared at this unexpected appearance, was
about to cry out, and entreat the fair Amazon to come to
their assistance, when the latter, looking with astonishment
at the extraordinary group, checked the speed of her horse,
rode slowly up to them, and finally halted. She inquired
eagerly after the wounded youth, whose position, as he re-
posed in the lap of this thoughtless Samaritan, appeared to
her more than usually strange.
"Ts he your husband?" inquired she of Philina. "Nothing
APPRENTICESHIP.
more than a kind friend," answered the latter, in a tone by no
means agreeable to Wilhelin. He had fixed his eyes upon
the soft, noble, calm, sympathizing features of the stranger,
and he thought that he had never seen any thing more
dignified or lovely. He^ figure was concealed by the ample
folds of a man's cloak, which she appeared to have borrowed
from one of her attendants to protect her from the chill
evening air.
Her companions had by this time joined her. Some of
them alighted, the lady did the same, and she inquired with
kind interest into all the circumstances of the accident
Avhich had befallen the travellers, asking particularly about
the wounds of the youth, who was reclining so helplessly
before her. She then turned quickly round, and accom-
panied by the old gentleman before-mentioned, she went
towards some carriages which were slowly ascending the hill,
until at length they drew up at the scene of action.
The young lady having stood at the door of one of the
carriages for a short time conversing with the inmates, a
gentleman of short stature stepped out, and was conducted
by her to our wounded hero. A small box and a leathern
case of instruments, which he carried in his hand, evidently
shewed that he was a surgeon. His manners were coarse
rather than polished, but his hand was light and his assist-
ance welcome.
He made a close examination of the sufferer, and having
pronounced that his wounds were not dangerous, he pro-
posed to dress them upon the spot, and recommended that
the youth should then be taken to the next village.
The anxiety of the young lady seemed to increase. £< Sec,'1
she exclaimed, after she had paced backwards and forwards
several times; "see how they have ill-used him! And he
is suffering for our sakes!" "Wilhelm overheard these words,
but could not comprehend their meaning. She still walked
restlessly about; she seemed unable to leave the wounded
man, and yet she feared to violate decorum by remaining
any longer, as they had now commenced, with some diffi-
culty, to undress him. The surgeon bad already cut open
his right sleeve, when the old gentleman approached, and in a
serious tone urged the necessity of continuing their journey.
Wilhelm. kept his eyes fixed upon the ladv, and was so cap-
p
210
WILHELM MINISTER'S
tivated with her iook, that lie scarcely felt what had happened
to him.
Philina, in the meantime, had risen from the ground to
kiss the hand of the gracious lady. As they stood together,
our friend thought he had never seen so great a contrast,
Philiriahad never appeared to him in so unfavourable alight.
It seemed to him that she ought not to approach so near to
that noble creature, much less to touch her.
The lady made many inquiries of Philina, but in a low
tone of voice. At length she returned to the old gentleman,
who was standing by unmoved, and said, "My clear uncle,
may I be generous at your expense?" Saying tin's, she
divested herself of the cloak, with the evident intention of
bestowing it upon the stripped and wounded youth.
"Wilhelm, who had been hitherto spell bound by the kind
influence of her looks, was now astonished at the charm of
her lovely figure. She drew near and softly spread the
cloak over him. Pie made an effort to open his lips and to
stammer forth his thanks, when the strong impression of
her presence produced such an effect upon his mind, that
suddenly it seemed as if her head was encircled with rays,
and a brilliant light spread itself over her whole form. The
surgeon at this moment caused him to feel a keen sensation
of pain, by his endeavours to extract the bullet from his
wound. Prom the eyes of the fainting youth his angel
gradually disappeared, he lost all consciousness, and on
coming to his senses, the whole train of horsemen and car-
nages, as well as the beautiful lady and her attendants, had
completely disappeared.
CHAPTEB VII.
Wilhelm's wounds being dressed, the surgeon took his
departure just as the old harper was seen approaching, ac-
companied by a crowd of peasants. They soon constructed
a species of litter from the boughs of some trees which they
cut down, and interwoven with twigs, and under the guidance
of a mounted huntsman, whom the noble party had left be-
hind them, they carried him softly down the mountain. The
APPEEOTICESHIP.
211
harper, siknt and buried in thought, carried his broken
harp along with him, some of the attendants took charge of
Philina's trunk, while she herself followed with her bundle.
Mignon meanwhile ran on through bush and thicket, at one
moment preceding, and at another accompanying the party,
and ever casting a look of longing anxiety upon her wounded
protector.
Enveloped in the warm cloak, Wilhelm lay peacefully
upon the litter. An electric glow appeared to flow from
the fine wool of the garment, and to penetrate his whole
system; in short, he experienced the most delightful sensa-
tions. The lovely owner of the cloak had worked upon his
feelings with extraordinary power. He once more saw the
garment falling from her shoulders, and her beautiful form
enveloped in radiance seemed standing before him, and his
soul pursued her departing footsteps as she disappeared
amidst the surrounding rocks and forests.
Night was closing in when the party at length reached
the village and drew up at the door of the hotel where the
rest of the company had already arrived, and where, sunk in
despondency and gloom, they were bemoaning the grievous
losses which they had sustained. The solitary little apart-
ment which they occupied, was quite filled with people.
Some were lying upon straw, others had taken possession of
the benches or squeezed themselves behind the stove, whilst
in a neighbouring chamber, Madame Melina was painfully
expecting her accouchement. Fright had hastened the ca-
tastrophe, and with nothing more than the assistance of the
hostess, a young and inexperienced woman, no very favour-
able result could be expected.
There was a general expression of discontent when the
persons who had just arrived inquired if they could be ad-
mitted. Every one clamorously asserted that it was by
"Wilhelm's advice alone, and under his especial guidance, they
had undertaken this dangerous journey and exposed them-
selves to such a disaster. The fault of the whole misadven-
ture was laid upon him; they therefore cro wded round the
door to oppose his entrance, exclaiming that he must go
elsewhere &r shelter. Philina met with a still harsher re-
ception, and the harper and Mignon had to endure their
^iare of the general discontent.
212
WlLllELM: MEISTEfi's
The huntsman did not long bear this contention with
patience. The care of the forsaken party had been entrusted
to him by his beautiful mistress. He poured out a torrent
of oaths and threats upon the whole company, commanding
them to retire and to make way for the reception of the
others. They were at length gradually pacified. He pre-
pared a sort of bed for "Wilhelm upon a table which he had
pushed into a corner. Philina placed her trunk near to it
and took her seat there. Each one arranged himself as com-
fortably as he could, and the huntsman retired to see if he
could not find more comfortable quarters for the young
married couple.
He had scarcely left the house before the discontent again
broke out, and a scene of general altercation eusued. They
all, in turn, related and exaggerated the losses they had sus-
tained, and blamed their own rashness for their severe mis-
fortunes. They made no secret of their malicious joy at
Wilhelm's wounds, they sneered also at Philina, and adverted
to the criminal means by which she had succeeded in saving
her trunk. One might infer from a multitude of sarcasms
and ill-natured inuendoes, that during the contest and the
plundering which had taken place, she had insinuated herself
into the good graces of the Captain of the band, and had
induced him by certain arts and contrivances, to procure the
restoration of her trunk whole and intact. They insinuated
i hat she had been missing for a considerable time. To all
these ill-natured observations she made no reply. She merely
i-lanked the huge padlocks of her trunk, to convince her
:iccusers more forcibly of its presence, and to increase their
desperation by a displa}7" of her own good fortune.
CHAPTEE VIII.
Although "Wilhelm had been weakened by the loss of
Mood, and had been tranquillised in mind by the visit of that
guardian angel, he was however unable to bear the harsh and
unjust observations which his continued silence had en-
APPRENTICESHIP.
21C
cxmraged the discontented party to utter against him. At
length, he felt strong enough to sit up and to remonstrate
against their harsh conduct towards him, who had been their
friend and leader. He raised up his bandaged head, and
supporting himself with some difficulty by leaning against
the wall, he spoke his sentiments as follows.
"On account of the pain, which you suffer from your
losses, I forgive you for accusing me at a time when I rather
merit your compassion, and for opposing and resisting me
upon the first occasion that I have looked to you for help.
Eor the services and kindnesses which I have hitherto ren-
dered you, I have found a sufficient reward in your gratitude
and in your friendly demeanour towards myself—but do not
constrain my thoughts, do not oblige me to retrace in
memory, all that I have done for you—the remembrance
would be too painful. Accident led me to you, circumstances
and a secret inclination have kept me with you. I have
shared in all your labours and your pleasures, and my slight
abilities have always been at your command. If you now
censure me with severity for the accident which has befallen
us, do you not remember that the first proposal to take the
road we followed was made by strangers, that the project was
considered by all parties, and was approved by each of you
as heartily as by myself. If our journey had terminated
successfully, each of you would have praised the happy sug-
gestion which had advised this road in preference to any
other, he would have felt proud of reminding us of our de-
liberations and of the vote which he gave, but now you would
hold me alone responsible and compel me to endure a censure,
to which I should willingly submit, if my own clear con-
science did not pronounce me innocent, and if indeed I
might not boldly appeal to yourselves. If you have anv
accusation to prefer against me, make it distinctly, and I
shall be able to defend myself, but if you have no well-
grounded charge to allege, maintain a proper silence, and do
not pain me at a moment when I have so much need of
rest."
In place of returning an answer, the maidens all began to
weep and to recount their losses circumstantially. Melina
was in a state of the greatest excitement, for his losses in
truth had been the most severe, greater indeed than we may
214
WILHELM: MEISTER'b
venture to describe in detail. He paced the apartment liko
a madman, knocked his head against the wall, and swore and
scolded in the most unseemly manner, and when the landlady-
came from an adjoining apartment at this particular moment,
bearing the information that his wife had been delivered of
a still-born child, he broke out into the most violent fury,
and in conjunction with him, the whole household simul-
taneously howled, screamed, roared and bellowed.
Wilhelm, who was wounded to the very soul with a feeling
of sympathy for their sufferings and pity for their debased
sentiments, felt the whole vigour of his mind aroused, not-
withstanding the weakness of his body. "However much I
may pity you," he exclaimed, " I fear I shall be compelled to
despise you,—no calamity can justify us in loading a guiltless
man with reproaches. If I have participated in the error of
this step, I have also shared in the consequent suffering. I
lie here bleeding from my wounds. And if the company has
sustained a loss, mine has been far greater than theirs. All
the wardrobe and the decorations of which we have been
plundered belonged to me, for you have not }^et paid me for
them, Herr Melina, and I here fully acquit you from the
debt."
"It is easy," replied Melina, "to bestow what none of us
will ever see again. Your money lay at the bottom of my
wife's trunk, and if you have lost it, you alone are to blame
I wish, indeed, that that were the extent of our calamity!"
Hereupon he commenced to stamp, to scold, and to scream
anew. They all recalled to memory the gay clothes which
they had received from the wardrobe of the Count, and
mourned the loss of the buckles, the watches, the snuff-boxes,
and the hats, for which Melina had bargained so successfully
with the chief valet. Each one of them also remembered
his own private, but not less valuable treasures. They ali
looked with rage at Philina's trunk, and gave Wilhelm io
understand that it was in truth no bad stroke of policy to
have connected himself with that fair personage, and saved
liis goods by means of her good fortune.
"Do you suppose then," he exclaimed at length, u that I
shall retain any thing exclusively to myself so long as you
are in want? And is this the first time that I shall have
honestly shared with you in time of need? Open the trunk,
GAiooej o) poptmejoa uooq puq Oxfiqju oqq. jo ui?uiA.ojop oqj7
•q^noA popxmoAv oq; oaouioj ot a\ou poavdojcl Aoq; pin? 'ojdoocl
juiOAgs Aq pouiuduiODOt? poujii'ioj uoos muiis^nnq anx
'XI ITMdYHO
•qo>pod joq ui punoj ptu.[ oqs qoiqAv jo ojo:js v (^nn Siiotoujo
m jpsjoq poAojdiuo 'ijunj} joq uodn pojuos 'i-nqiqj pni:—
'poiaojmoo aon 0.I9AV ^nq—pouwqsi? qpj Aoqj, '^uops ponni^
-uoo \[v. Aoqj; -A\0|jTd siq uodn pQ^sircqxo spuq >pms put?
'poumqoxo oq ct' osuuojd j 'uitiSi? oouq „ o^pjj ppiOAi
moq^ jo ouou ^nq '^no poqopa^s Tjiq.s ptiuq etq ppi| ojj
«<1°I o^qxjtAtLO ojoui u joj poSumpxo jo uo^o£joj Aqnj oq
jprqs uojp?j OAiiq noA qoiqAV o-;ni uoi^ipuoo 0[qi?!iiiounq oq^ jjifa
'pounrisns strq oq qoujAv ssoj oq^ pojiudoj A'jqoaq. pun Ajqnop
oaih[ jjtiqs tioA* jo qouo tj^uu 'rroA uopuuqu 01 qou 'noA o>p?Rjoj
o:) '.)on osuuoad j „ 'pouuxqoxo pun puuq siq cpio pjoq 0[j
«<? IF J°
oun;ii oq:i in ^uoiuoSnSuo A in qdooou put? Autxhuoo ojoqAv oq^
jo OA]iir.inosojdoa oqj oq tjtay no A jo q;m[/\\ osuuojd j 'jcqAv
iidooon pirn ^uouiom t? joj soApDsanoA osocliuoo '. ojoui ooiio oat
tit opqnoQ -oomtj^sissu noA jopuoj tjiav j cop:[i: uiu j su jt?j si;
puu ':jut?a\ in gat? tioA cn;q^ |00j j „ 'pomuquoo oq t/soj^ *pnp
-uoo ^uosojd jroqj jo ^nodo.i ^snui 'joouoj Aoq^ iioipw A*jpojns
-su oqAV 'suosjod ssoyduq osoqq. jo qoiajos oqa o% pocfOAop oq
Tpqe seoesod j sjoavocI oqi qy -Aououi njnqevc sopisoq 'spuoLii
siq ^sissu Aum oq qoiqAV qqiAV sSniqj A"ntJiu sossossod uura c^n^[
•sorapioqnp SuissojcI ojoui juo uiojj sn o^tjotjjxo o^ ooujns
{[iav ci|iio(is noA qoiqAV jo o\%^\ oq^ put? (om oy s3uo{oq ^uqa
Sniq^ocf iiTupj isnm uoA „ 'uqaqji^w poJOAvsut? (C't?nqiqj „
^•Aj^nnoo oSutjj^s u hi tioA uodduq Av.iu qoiqAV s^uopioou
oq^ ][u jo put? fnoA ^soo Axiiu ojuo jttoA ^tiqAV jo cj|osjnoA jo
T[IIIlkL jo ^souoq jsoiu oq^ oj p[os jt 0[jaq c^nq ozqtJ.u
P|ttoav put? fon{t?A \\vim jo ^nq ojtj fnoA joj poAtis OAt?q j qoupvi
pnu noA oj Suoyoq qoiqAV f>'oniJj oqx *osuo{d j ||t^ qi uodo
qou \\\\\ j put? „ ^Tjqiqj pouut?poxo {/otuui si 3|ima^ oqx
►TOM pjonoS oq^ joj dn oatS |{[av j out o^ sSaojoq fuq^ \[c pun
21'3 WILHELM MEISTETI'S
I
the young couple into his house. Philina's trunk was there-
fore* brought out, and she followed with a natural air of
dignity. Mignon ran on before, and upon Wilhelm's ar-
rival at the clergyman's house, a large bed which had long
been devoted to receiving guests and persons of distinction
was assigned to him. It was now discovered that his wound
had opened afresh, and was bleeding profusely. It was
necessary to prepare a new bandage. The patient soon fell
into a state of fever; Philina attended him devotedly, and
when she was overcome by fatigue, her place was taken by
the harper, whilst Mignon took up her quarters in a corner of
the apartment, with the firm resolution of watching him un-
weariedly.
On the following morning, when Wilhelm was somewhat
refreshed, he learned from the huntsman that the persons
who had assisted them yesterday, had left their country seat
a short time previously, to avoid the movements of the hostile
armies, with the intention of retiring to some quiet spot,
until peace should be restored. He communicated the name
of the old gentleman and also that of his niece, and informed
him of the place to which, in the first instance, they were
going, and he stated moreover, that the young lady had
specially enjoined him to take care of the destitute Wilhelm.
The arrival of the surgeon interrupted the warm declara-
tions of gratitude in which our friend was giving expression
to his feelings. He made a particular examination of his
patient's wounds, and assured him that they would heal
rapidly if "Wilhelm would only abstain from all excitement.
The huntsman having now departed, Philina stated that
he had given her a purse containing twenty louis d'ors, that
he had also remunerated the clergyman for his lodging, and
had left money to defray the surgeon's bill. As she was
looked upon as Wilhelm's wife, she requested permission
once for all to act in that capacity, and she would under no
circumstances permit another nurse to be engaged.
"Philina," said Wilhelm, "I am beyond measure indebted
to you for the kindness which you have evinced towards me
in the disaster that has befallen us, but I am unwilling that
the weight of my obligations should be increased. I am
unhappy so long as you are near me, for I know not how I
can repay you for your trouble. Give me my things which
APPRENTICESHIP.
217
you have saved for me in your trunk—join the rest of the
company—find out another apartment—accept my thanks
and my gold watch as an inadequate testimony of my grati-
tude, and leave me—your presence is more distressing to me
than you can easily believe."
When he had ended, she burst into a loud fit of laughter.
"You are a silly mortal/' she cried, "and will never have
sense. I know better than you what is good for you. I
.shall remain, and I do not intend to stir from this spot. I
have never counted much upon the gratitude of mankind,
and I do not therefore expect much from you —but if I feel
a kindness for you, why should you complain?"
She accordingly remained, and soon grew into favour with
the clergyman and his family ; her disposition was ever cheer-
ful, she was perpetually making little presents, she could
humour every one according to his fancy, and yet she
always contrived to have her own way. Wilhelm, under all
circumstances, found him self comfortable. The surgeon, an ig-
norant but not an unskilful man, allowed nature to take its
own course, and the patient was soon in a fair way of recovery.
Anxiously did he desire this consummation, that he might
be at liberty to pursue his plans and to gratify his wishes.
Incessantly he thought of that event which had made an
indelible impression upon his mind. Again he saw the
beautiful amazon riding from the thicket, approaching to-
wards him, alighting from her horse, walking to and fro, and
endeavouring to serve him. He saw the garment in which
she was enveloped fall from her shoulders, and her coun-
tenance and her figure beaming with a bright radiance. All
his dreams of youth were concentrated upon this image.
He fancied that at length he was permitted to behold with
his own eyes the heroic Clorinda, and he once more dwelt in
imagination on that royal youth, whose sick bed the beautiful
sympathizing Princess had watched with so much silent
modesty.
'•'In youth and in sleep," he would often say to himself,
kC nay not the images of coming destiny hover round us, and
become mysteriously visible to our unimpeded sight? May
not the seeds of future events be already scattered by the
hand of fate, and may it not be possible for us to enjoy a
foretaste of the fruits which we hope one day to gather?"
His sick couch afforded him an opportunity of renewing
218
WILHELM MEISTEb's
those visions a thousand times. Often would he recall the
tones of that sweet voice, and envy Philina, who had kissed
that helping hand. Often did the whole incident appear to
him as a dream, and he would have considered it a very fiction
if the cloak had not remained with him as evidence of the
reality of the vision.
He bestowed the greatest possible care upon this garment,
and yet he felt an indescribable anxiety to wear it. As soon
as he arose, therefore, he put it on, but trembled during the
entire day, lest it might in any manner receive the slightest
stain or injury.
CHAPTEE X.
Laertes visited his friend—he had not been present at that
animated scene in the hotel, having been confined to bed at the
time in an upper chamber. He was altogether indifferent
about the loss which he had sustained, and he found relief in
his customary exclamation of <£ What does it signify?" He
related many droll stories of the whole company, and. accused
Madame Melina of lamenting the loss of her daughter, solely
because she could not now enjoy the pleasure of having a
Mathilda christened. As for her husband, it now appeared
that he had all along possessed a large supply of money, and
had byno means needed the advance of which he had defrauded
Wilhelm. It was Melina's intention to set out by the first
public conveyance, and to ask Wilhelm for a letter of intro-
duction to the manager Serlo, in whose company, since the
present undertaking had proved a failure, he was anxious to
secure an engagement.
Mignon had been very quiet for some days, and when she
was questioned upon the subject, she confessed with reluc-
tance that her right arm was dislocated. "You have to
thank your own rashness for it," cried Philina, and she then
narrated how the child, when she saw her friend in danger,
had drawn her sword and attacked the robbers fiercely. At
length one of them had seized her by the arm and forced her
away. She was scolded for not having spoken of her injury
before, but it was easily seen that she had beer, afraid of the
!
/
\
!
APPRENTICESHIP. 210
Burgeon, whcj had hitherto always taken her for a boy. They
applied immediate remedies for her relief, and she was com-
pelled to place her arm in a sling. She was dissatisfied, how-
ever, with this arrangement, as she was compelled to abandon
to Philina the; greater part of the nursing of "Wilhelm, an
alternative foir which that pretty sinner was both thankful
and attentive-/
One morn/in £ when Wilhelm awoke, he found himself in
strange proximity to her. In his restless sleep he had
changed his jposition, m& was lying at the foot of his large
bed. Philima vpis reclining across the upper part of it—she
seemed to l(avtj3 fallen isleep while she was sitting upon the
bed and reading. A book had fallen from her hand, she was
leaning bacjk and her head was resting close to his breast,
over whicli her fair arrd dishevelled hair was flowing in
streams. The disorder of sleep had enlivened her charms
more than art or design could have done, and an innocent
smile of rejpose had spread over her soft countenance. He
looked at hler for a considerable time, and seemed to censure
himself for! the pleasure with which he surveyed her. He
was engaged thus for some time, when she began to awake.
He closed his eyes softly, but he could not help still looking
towards her as she rose from the bed, and commenced to
arrange her person and retired to make preparations for the
breakfast.
The whole company of actors had in turn paid their visits
to AVilhelm, and had asked for money and letters of recom-
mendation with more or less impatience or rudeness. All
their requests had been complied with, notwithstanding the
remonstrances of Philina, who vainly assured our friend that
the huntsman had left a considerable sum for these people,
and that they were only imposing on his kindness. An
angry altercation now arose between them, and "Wilhelm
signified once for all, that she must now join the rest of the
company and seek her fortune with Serlo.
She lost her temper for a few minutes, but quickly re-
covering herself, she replied, "If I only had my fair-haired
favourite again, I should not care much for any of you."
She alluded to Friedrich, who had disappeared on the field of
battle, and had not since been heard of.
On the following morning, Mignon informed Wilhelm
220 WILHELM MEISTEIl's j
!
before lie rose, that Philinahad gone away durijng the night,
having previously left all that belonged to our friend very
neatly laid out in the adjoining chamber. He was distressed
at her absence, for in her he was deprived of a faithful atten-
dant and a cheerful companion, and he had now lost the habit
of living alone. Mignon, however, soon filled\up the blank.
As long as the frivolous Philina had continued to attend
the patient with assiduous care, little Mignon had gradually
withdrawn herself, remaining silent and absorbeld in her own
thoughts; but now when the field wis agaiih clear, she was
once more zealous in her attentions and h^r love, and was
both anxious to serve and eager to entertain ^Villhelm.
\
i
CHAPTEE XI. 1
"Wilhelm's improvement was rapid, and he helped that he
would be able in a few days to set out upon his intended
journey. He was determined no longer to lead an aimless
indecisive life, and resolved that his future career should have
some precise object in view. But, in the first place, he was
anxious to seek out the party of travellers from whom he had
received such timely assistance, in order that he might give
expression to his gratitude, and then he would hasten to his
friend the manager, that he might provide for the luckless
company, and at the same time he would visit the commercial
friends, to whom he had letters of introduction, and transact
the business which had been entrusted to him. He hoped
that fortune would continue to smile upon him as before, and
afford him an opportunity, by some favourable speculation, to
repair his losses and supply his empty treasury.
His anxiety once more to behold his beautiful deliverer
increased daily. Accordingly he took counsel with the
clergyman about his intended route. The latter was skilled
in geographical and statistical knowledge, and had a respect-
able collection of books and maps. They looked for the place
where the noble family intended to reside during the con-
tinuance of the war, and they sought for some information
concerning the family itself, but the place was not marked in
APPRENTICESHIP.
221
imy geography or map, and the books of heraldry made no
mention of their name.
"Wilhelm grew impatient, and having mentioned the cause
of his uneasiness, the harper stated that he had reason to
believe that the huntsman had been actuated by some secret
motive for concealing all authentic information.
Wilhelm, however, who now thought that he was really
hi the neighbourhood of his lovely benefactress, hoped to
obtain some news of her, from the harper, if the latter
were commissioned to make inquiries. But in this expec-
tation he was disappointed. In spite of all his diligence, the
old man could obtain no information. A variety of rapid
movements and unexpected marches had lately taken place
in the neighbourhood, no one had paid any attention to a
particular travelling party, and the aged messenger, fearing to
be taken for a Jewish spy, was obliged to return without the
olive branch, to the abode of his lord and master. He gave
an accurate account of his commission, from aa anxiety to
dispel all suspicion of neglect or indifference. He sought by
every means to assuage the grief of our friend, thought of all
that the huntsman had communicated to him, and offered
many suggestions of his own, thereby clearly establishing one
fact, which enabled "Wilhelm to explain certain mysterious
expressions of his beautiful benefactress.
It appeared that the band of robbers had intended to
attack, not the wandering comedians, but the party of noble
travellers, with whom they had naturally expected to find a
large supply of gold and treasures, and of whose movements
they must have received accurate information. It appeared
doubtful, however, whether the attack should be ascribed to
a party of soldiers or to mere freebooters and robbers.
But a lucky accident, which saved the rich and respectable
party, had brought the poor actors first to the scene of action,
and they suffered the fate which had been intended for
the others. It was to this circumstance that the expression
of the young lady referred, which Wilhelm still accurately
remembered. And if he now felt happy and contented that a
benevolent genius had destined him for sacrifice, in order to
preserve so perfect a being, he was nevertheless reduced to
despair by the thought, that all hope of seeing her again
had for ever vanished.
222
WILIIBLM MEIBTEr's
His straDge emotion was still farther increased, by the
•resemblance which he thought he had discovered between
the Countess and his beautiful unknown. They resembled
each other as sisters may do, of whom it is impossible to say
which is the elder and which is the younger, for they appear
to be twins.
His remembrance of the amiable Countess was indescrib-
ably sweet. With delight he recalled her image to his
memory. But the figure of the noble Amazon quickly inter-
vened, one vision disappearing and changing into the other,
without permitting him to retain firmly the impress of either.
How astonishing then must the resemblance between their
handwriting have appeared to him! He had preserved in his
portfolio a charming song, which had been written for him
by the Countess, and in the pocket of the cloak, he had found
a little note, containing kind inquiries about the health of an
uncle.
"Wilhelm felt convinced that his preserver had written this
note upon her journey, and had transmitted it from one
apartment of their hotel to another, and that it had been
placed in the pocket of the cloak by her uncle. He compared
the two handwritings together, and if the neat and regular
letters of the Countess had already pleased him extremely,
he found in the similar but yet bolder character of the un-
known, a flow of inexpressible harmony. The note contained
nothing, and yet the letters seemed to affect him as strongly
as the presence of his beautiful friend had formerly done.
He fell into a dreamy state of longing, and just at that
moment Mignon and the harper commenced to sing an ir-
regular duet, which was completely in accordance with -is
feelings.
He only who has loved,
Knows grief like mine,
From hope and joy removed,
Alone, I pine!
Around with longing: eyes
I look all day,
"While he, whose heart I prize,
Is far away!
From every joy removed,
I faint—I pine—
He only who has loved
Knows grief like mine.
A^IEENTICJCSHIP.
223
CHAPTER XII.
The soft ailurernents of his sweet guardian angel, in p'jaco
of leading our friend along any certain path, only increased
the restlessness which he had before experienced. A secret
fire glowed within his veins, determined and undetermined
objects appeared alternately before his mind, and awoke
endless longings within his inmost soul. At one moment he
wished that he possessed a horse, and at another that he
were furnished with wings, and when at length he felt it
wholly impossible that he could remain, he began to inquire
for the first time to what place he should betake himself.
The thread of his destiny had become so mysteriously en-
tangled, that he wished to see its strange knots untied or cut
asunder. Frequently upon hearing the footsteps of a horse,
or the wheels of a carriage, he would hasten to the window,
hoping that some visitor had arrived, who might by chance
bring him happy news, to make him joyful and contented.
He would amuse himself with fancying that perhaps his friend
"Werner might visit the neighbourhood, or that even Mariana
might appear. He was agitated by the sound of every post-
horn. It might perchance bring intelligence of Melina's ad-
ventures, or it might be the huntsman returning to invite
him to an interview with his beautiful adored.
But all these fancies ended in nothing, and he was soon
compelled to content himself once more with solitude. As
he now pondered over the past, there was one circumstance,
which the more he viewed and considered it, the more it
troubled and oppressed him, and that was his display of un-
successful generalship, a, circumstance upon which he could
not think without vexation. For notwithstanding that he
had defended himself skilfully when he had been accused by
the company on the evening of that unfortunate day, he
could not deny his guilt; and in some moments of melan-
choly, he rather attributed to himself the entire misfortune
which had happened.
Self-love pourtrays our virtues and our vices in exaggerated
forms. "Wilhelm thought he had inspired the company with
confidence in himself, and that he had directed their actions,
224
WILHELM MEISTEIl'G
till under the influence of rashness and inexperience, a panic
had seized them, against which they were unable to contend.
Loud and silent reproaches had then pursued him, and when
be had promised the misguided company that he would never
abandon them till their lossea had been amply repaid, he had
to regret another folly in taking upon himself the sole re-
sponsibility of a calamity which was general. At one time he
blamed himself for making this promise under the excitement
of the moment, and then he felt that his extended hand,
which no one had deigned to accept, was but an empty cere-
mony compared with the vow which his heart had sworn.
He formed plans for rendering himself kind and useful to
them, and everything suggested that he should pay an imme-
diate visit to Serlo. He forthwith packed up his things, and
without waiting for his perfect recovery, and regardless of the
advice of the clergyman and the surgeon, accompanied by
Mignon and the old harper, he determined to fly from a life
of inactivity, in which his destiny had again too long con-
fined him.
CHAPTER XIIL
Serlo received him with open arms, exclaiming, " Do I
behold you and recognize you once again? You are but
little altered. Is your love for our noble art as strong and
lively as ever? I am rejoiced at your arrival, because I can
now no longer feel the mistrust with which your last letter
inspired me."
"Wilhelm, much surprised, asked for a clearer explanation.
"You have acted towards me," said Serlo, " like an old
friend. You have treated me like a great lord, to who:r.
one may venture to recommend useless people, with a safe
conscience. Our fate depends upon the judgment of the
public, and I am afraid Melina and his company can scarcely
be admitted amongst us."
Wilhelm was about to say something in their favour, but
Serlo commenced to give so merciless a description of them,
that our friend was pleased when the entrance of a young
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-jdaoau suoinido siq aapnaj 0:} surcd qonra q.u suai put! 'pafqns
oqq. uodn snoiqoauga: siq jo qnsaj gqq. puqgp m pg^uq.s ajj
•parajojaad ppuujq 9AT?q pjnoAv 9q Aioq uiiqdxg oq. pgqsiAv
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u pauiaas uqgjny qtq^ 9AJ9sqo ^on pip uqeqp^
•90111JJ u q^iAV pgptAoad uaaq A[uo 9av puq 'tqpqdQ tic pun. oq.
ajqu uaaq 9At?q pjnoqs oay—auras u q^uv pgppu 9q ugqq. pay
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•auq jo paidnooo qonui U99q puq aq qoiqjA
q^iAv 'pKUUjj jo jaq.oua'oqo aqq. paonpoj^ui uoos 9q pnu 'suoiq
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•suoimdo pn;niu Jiaqq. panre^dxa i[q)99ds
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pnu S999id ^S9;uj gq^ jp jo gqods igq^ A^ipidua jaSua qcq^V
•nan^9J ni gAiqorujsni suai noijusjaAnoo asoqAi ^nq fiuiq
papnaqaadmoo £]jnj Ajuo ^on oqAi cs;si;ju pnr? soiqijo qqiAv
5ni3['cads jo ssamdduq aqq. puq aq Avon ^nq 'uoispdmoa iq
9Ai^najqu aaaAi oqAi asoq^ A'q pgng^sq naaq puq hot^sj9a
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pimoj xnpqp^Y 'pouad Suo\ t? aonis 'aun^ qsaq aq^ ao^
•gonuna^
-HTioa gAissgjdxa Jaq 0^ qsaja^m auqnoad v paqJuduiT qaiqAv
aiojjos jo apuqs mujjao v aAiogjad aano 4011 pip aq ^uqq.
9[quaajSi? os suai noi^usjaAnoo jaq pirc 'johuuiii ^sapmq aq^ iri
unq paApaaj aq§ %qpany jaqsis siq su 'pnoijj siq iq miq oq
paonpoj^m si?a\. oqs puu 'ttoiqusjaAuoa gqj pg^dnjjg^ni i'piq
9ZZ
226
W1LHELM MEISTER'S
satisfied with knowing that lie was the offspring of a kin£.
But now he is compelled for the first time to notice the
difference between a monarch and a subject. His right to
the throne wras not hereditary, yet his father's longer life
would have strengthened the claims of his only son, and
secured his hopes of the crown. But he now sees himself
excluded by his uncle perhaps for ever, in spite of all his
specious promises. Destitute of all things and of favour, he
is a stranger in the very place which from his youth he had
considered as his own possession. At this point his dis-
position takes the first tinge of melanckolv. He feels that
now he is not more, but rather less, than a private nobleman.
He becomes the servant of every one, and yet he is not
courteous nor condescending, but degraded and needy.
"His past condition appears to him like a vanished dream.
In vain does his uncle seek to console him, and to display
his prospects in another light. The consciousness of his
nothingness will not abandon him.
"The second blow that struck him, inflicted a deeper wound
and bowed him to the earth. It was the marriage of his
mother. After the death of his father, the true and tender
son had yet a mother left, and he hoped that in the company
of this noble parent, he might honour the heroic form of his
deceased father, but he lost her also, and that by a more cruel
fate than if he had been deprived of her by death. The
hopeful picture which an affectionate child loves to form of
his parents has for ever vanished. The dead can afford
him no assistance and in the living he finds no constancy.
She too is a woman and owns the frailty which belongs to
all her sex.
"He feels for the first time that he is forsaken, that he is
an orphan, and that no worldly happiness can restore to him
what he has lost; Naturally, neither sorrowful nor reflective,
sorrow and reflection now become to him a grievous burden.
Thus it is that he appears before us. I do not think I have
introduced into the character any thing that does not
belong to it, or that I have exaggerated it in any respect/''
Serlo looked at his sister and observed: "Have I given
you a false account of our friend? He has begun well, and
ae will continue to inform and to persuade tuj.,>
Wilhelm declared loudly that he did not wish to per*
APPBENTICESHIP.
227
suade, but to convince; and he asked for another moment's
patience.
"Think of this youth," he exclaimed, "think of this
prince vividly—reflect upon his condition and then observe
him, when he learns that his father's spirit has appeared.
Accompany him during that fearful night when the venerable
ghost addresses him. A shuddering horror seizes him—he
speaks to the mysterious form—it beckons to him, he follows
and listens. The dreadful accusation of his uncle echoes in
his ears, the injunction to revenge, and the imploring sup-
plication again and again repeated, c remember me!'
'' And when the ghost has vanished, whom do we see stand-
ing before us? a young hero panting for revenge? a prince
by birth who feels proud that he is enjoined to punish the
usurper of his crown? No, astonishment and perplexity
confound the solitary youth—he vents the bitterness of his
soul against smiling villains—swears never to forget his
father's departed spirit, and concludes with the expression of
deep regret that
1 The time is out of joint—0 cursed spite,
That ever I vas bom to set it right!'
"It seems to me that in these words will be found the key
to Hamlet's whole course of conduct, and it is evident that
Shakspeare meant to describe a great duty imposed upon a
soul unable to perform it. And in this sense I find that
the whole play is conceived and worked out. An oak-tree
is planted in a costly vase, which should only have borne
beautiful flowers in its bosom,—the roots expand and the
vase is shattered. ^
"A lovely, pure, noble and highly moral being, without the
strength of mind which forms a hero, sinks beneath a load
which it cannot bear and must not renounce. He views
every duty as holy, but this one is too much for him. He is
called upon to do what is impossible, not impossible m itself,
but impossible to him. And as he turns and winds and
torments himself, still advancing and retreating, ever re-
minded and remembering his purpose, he almost loses sight
of it completely, without ever recovering his happiness."
228
WILHELM MEISTER's
CHAPTEE XXV.
Several people now entered who interrupted the con-
versation. They were amateurs who were accustomed to
attend a small concert once a week at Serlo's house. He
was partial to music and frequently asserted that an actor
without a love of music could not possibly have a clear con-
ception or proper feeling for his art. "As a man acts," he
would say, *' with more ease and dignity, when his motions
are accompanied and influenced by music, so should he
arrange his prose parts in his own mind, that he may not
slur them over monotonously in a manner of his own, but
may deliver them with proper alternation of time and
measure."
Aurelia appeared to take but little interest in what was
going on, but at length she led Wilhelm into another apart-
ment, and when she had taken him to the window and looked
out upon the starry heaven, she exclaimed, "You owe us the
conclusion of Hamlet. I do not wish to press you, for I am
anxious that my brother should hear you as well as myself,
but pray let me hear your thoughts about Ophelia."
"There is not much to be said about her," replied
Wilhelm, "for her character is drawn by a few master-strokes.
Her whole existence flows in sweet and ripe sensation. Her
attachment to the Prince, to whose hand she may aspire,
flows so spontaneously, her affectionate heart yields so com-
pletely to its impulse, that both her father and brother
are afraid, and both give her plain and direct warning of her
danger. Decorum, like the thin crape upon her bosom,
cannot conceal the motions of her heart, but on the contrary
it betrays them. Her imagination is engaged, her silent
modesty breathes a sweet desire, and if the convenient
goddess Opportunity should shake the tree, the fruit would
quickly fall."
"And then," said Aurelia, "when she sees herself forsaken,
rejected and despised, when everything is overturned in the
soul of her distracted lover, and he offers her the bitter
goblet of sorrow in place of the sweet cup of affection—"
"Her heart breaks,"—cried Wilhelm, "the entire edifice of
her being is loosened from its hold, the death of her father
APPRENTICESHIP.
22k
knocks fearfully against it and the whole structure is over..
turned.1'
"Wilhelm had not perceived with what an expression
Aurelia pronounced these last words. His r.vnd was wholly
absorbed in the work of art, whose connexion and completeness
filled his thoughts, he never suspected that his fair friend
felt quite another influence, and that his dramatic sketches
had awakened a deep sorrow within her bosom.
Aurelia's head was still resting upon her arm, and her
eyes filled with tears were directed to the heavens.. At
length she could restrain her grief no longer, she seized our
friend by both his hands, and exclaimed as he stood astonished
before her, "Forgive, forgive an anguished heart! This
company confines and restrains me. I must endeavour to
conceal myself from my unfeeling brother, your presence has
burst my bonds. My friend," she continued, "our acquain-
tance has but this moment commenced, and already you
are my confidant." She had scarcely pronounced these
words, when she sank upon his shoulder. "Do not judge
harshly of me," she continued with a sobbing voice, "because
I explain myself so quickly and you have been a witness of
my weakness. Be my friend, continue so—I shall deserve
it from you." He consoled her in the kindest manner, but
in vain, her tears flowed and choked her utterance.
Serlo entered at this moment and was most unwelcome.
He was accompanied unexpectedly by Philina, whom he held
by the hand. "Behold your friend," he said, "he will wel-
come you gladly."
"What!" exclaimed Wilhelm with astonishment, "do I
see you here?" She approached him with a modest and
composed look, bade him welcome and praised Serlo's kind-
ness, who in the hope that she would improve, although she
possessed no merits of her own, had received her into his
accomplished company of actors. She was friendly towards
Wilhelm, but conducted herself with dignified reserve.
Her dissimulation however only continued so long as the
others were present. Aurelia soon retired to conceal her
sorrow, and Serlo in a short time was also summoned away,
whereupon Philina looked closely towards the door, to make
sure that they had both really departed, and then commenced
dancing about the room like a wild thing, till at length she
WILHELM MEISTEIt's
thretf herself upon the floor, and went almost into fits with
laughter. She then rose and commenced coaxing Wilheim,
expressing the most unbounded joy that she had been wise
enough to precede him to explore the country, and to
establish herself in snug quarters.
"Things go on charmingly here/' she cried, "just in the
way I like—Aurelia has had an unfortunate love affair with
a nobleman, who must be a splendid fellow and whom I
must manage to see. If I am not much mistaken, he has
left her a memorial. There is a little fellow here about three
years old, as bright as the sun—the papa must be uncom-
monly handsome ; I seldom care for children, but this little
fellow quite enchants me. I have found her out. The death
of her husband, the new acquaintance, the age of the child,
every thing agrees.
"But her friend.is gone now. He has not seen her for a
year. She is in despair and inconsolable. The fool I Her
brother has a dancing girl among his actors with whom he
is on intimate terms, and an actress in addition, to whom he
is engaged, there are some ladies also in the town whom he
visits, and now I am on his list. The fool! Tou shall hear
of the others to-morrow. And now one little word about
Philina, whom you know. The arch-simpleton is in' love
with you." She swore it was true and called it a rare joke,
and pressed "Wilheim earnestly to fall in love with Aurelia,
as then the chase would be rich in the extreme. "She will
pursue her inconstant swain, you her, I you, and her brother
me. If that does not afford sport for six months I will
consent to die at the first episode in this four-fold compli-
cated tale." She implored him not to ruin her prospects,
and to pay her as much respect as her conduct in public
should deserve.
CHAPTEE XV.
On the following morning "Wilheim visited Madame
Melina, but she was not at home, and upon making inquiries
APPRENTICESHIP.
231
for the other members of the wandering company, he learned
that Philina had invited them to a breakfast. He joined
the party from motives of curiosity, and found them all
happy and in good spirits. The cunning girl had assembled
them together and was feasting them with chocolate. She
informed them at the same time, that there were good hopes
in store for them, as sir expected, by means of her influence,
to persuade the mana, er that it would be greatly to his
advantage to have suv,h clever performers in his company.
They listened to her with attention, drank one cup of
chocolate after another, decided that the girl was not so bad
a creature after all, and determined to speak well of her in
future.
"Do you suppose then," said T\rilheim wrho remained
behind with Philina, "that Serlo will engage all our com-
panions?" "By no means," replied Philina, "nor does that
thought trouble me in the least, the sooner they go the
better. I only wisli for Laertes—the rest we can easity
dispense with."
She endeavoured then to persuade Y^ilhelm no longer to
bury his talents in obscurity, but to appear upon the stage
under the direction of Serlo. She praised the order, the
taste and the spirit which were then.* displayed, and spoke
so flatteringly to our friend of his abilities, that his heart
and imagination were captivated by her proposal, although
his reason and understanding condemned it. But he hid
his wishes from himself, and from Philina, and passed a
restless day. He could not even resolve to visit his business
correspondents and to receive the letters which might be
waiting for him. And though he could easily conjecture
the anxiety of his friends about him all this time, he avoided
seeking for precise information respecting them, especially
as he expected a great enjoyment in the evening from the
performance of a new piece.
Serlo had declined to admit him to the rehearsals. "Tou
must become acquainted with us on the best side," he
observed, "before we allow you to look over our cards."
On the following evening, however, Wilhelm attended
the performance with the greatest delight. It was the first
time that he had seen a theatre in such perfection. It was
generally allowed that the actors possessed considerable
232
WILHELM MEISTER's
talents, many happy qualities and a clear and exalted idea
of their art, but they were not equal, though they mutually
maintained, supported and encouraged each other, and in
the entire of their acting they were steady and correct. It
was soon evident that Serb was the soul of the whole, and
he generally appeared to much advantage. A cheerful dis-
position, a moderate vivacity, a correct feeling of propriety,
accompanied by considerable imitative powers, were evident
as soon as he entered upon the stage and commenced to
speak. His internal satisfaction with himself seemed to
extend itself to all his hearers, and the talented manner with
which he so easily and pleasantly expressed the most delicate
shadowings of the characters he played, awakened the
greater delight, as he knew how to conceal the art, in which
through long practice, he excelled.
His sister Aurelia was by no means his inferior, and
indeed she received a larger share of approbation than Serlo
himself, for she succeeded in moving the hearts of the spec-
tators, while it was his aim merely to gratify and amuse.
After spending a few pleasant days, Aurelia inquired for
Wilhelm. He hastened to her, and found her reclining upon
a sofa. She seemed to be suffering from headache, and her
whole appearance manifested a tendency to fever. Her
eyes sparkled at the sight of Wilhelm. "Pardon me," she
exclaimed, "the confidence with which you have inspired
me, has made me weak. Till now I could bear my
sorrows in silence, and could even find strength and comfort
in them, but now, I know not how it has occurred, }rou have
caused me to confide in you, and you must, however re-
luctantly, take part in the battle which I am fighting against
myself."
Wilhelm replied in a friendhv and obliging tone. He
assured her that he was perpetually haunted by her image
and her woes, he implored her confidence and promised to
devote himself to her friendship.
His eyes, whilst he spoke, were attracted by a child that
nras seated on the ground before him, engaged in playing
tvith all sorts of toys. He might be, as Philina had already
said, about three years old, and Wilhelm now understood
why the thoughtless girl, whose expressions were so seldom
elevated, had likened him to the sun. His clear eyes and
APPRENTICESHIP.
233
open countenance were shaded by the most beautiful golden
locks, and his dark delicate and softly bending eyebrows
adorned a forehead of glittering whiteness, while the ruddy
hues of health glowed upon his cheeks. "Sit down beside
me," said Aurelia. "You contemplate the happy child
with astonishment, with joy. I take him in my arms and
watch him with care, he alone is the measure of my suffer-
ings, for they seldom allow me to estimate the value of such
a gift."
"Allow me," she continued, "to converse with you about
myself and my fate. Eor I am above all things anxious
that you should not misunderstand me. I hoped to enjoy a
few calm moments and therefore I have invited you hither,
but now that you are come, I have lost the thread of my
discourse. 'Another forsaken creature in the world!' I
think I hear you say. You are a man and doubtless you
think in this wise. 'How she distresses herself about
a necessary evil—the infidelity of men,—which awaits a
woman as certainly as death. The fool!' But, my friend,
if mine were a common fate, I would bear my calamity
without a murmur. But it is so singular, why cannot I shew
it to you in a mirror, why cannot I commission another to
explain it! Had I been seduced, surprised and then forsaken,
I should find consolation in despair, but my calamity is more
grievous still—I have deceived myself, unknowingly I have
proved my own betrayer and that is what I never can
forgive."
""With feelings so noble as yours," observed "Wilhelm,
"you can never be wholly unhappy."
<f And are you aware to what I am indebted for my
feelings?" inquired Aurelia. "To the most vicious educa-
tion that could contaminate an innocent maiden —to the
worst example that could be given for the seduction of the
senses and inclinations.
"After the early death of my mother, the best years of
my youth were spent with an aunt, who made it a rule to
despise the laws of decency. Blindly she abandoned herself
to every inclination, careless whether she commanded or
obeyed its object, provided she could forget herself in the
wildest enjoyments.
"Conceive what ideas of men, we children must have
234
WILHELM MEISTER S
formed, with our pure, clear notions of innocence! How
rude, bold and unmannerly was every one whom she attracted
to her! How sated, insolent and disgusted were they when
dismissed! for years I have beheld this woman a slave to
the most degraded of men. What sufferings has she not
endured! and with how much boldness has she not reconciled
herself to her fate and worn her fetters!
"Thus did I become acquainted with your sex, my friend,
and my hatred for it was intense, when I found that even
good men in their conduct towards us, abandoned every
noble feeling which they might inherit from nature.
"Unfortunately also I was enabled, in such circumstances,
to discover many painful things in relation to my own sex;
and in truth I was wiser as a girl of sixteen years, than I am
now, when I can scarcely understand myself. Why are Ave so
wise in youth—so wise, and why are we ever growing less so."
The child began to cry. Aurelia grew impatient and
rang the bell. An old woman came to carry him away.
"Do you still suffer from the tooth-ache?" inquired Aurelia
of the nurse, whose face was enveloped in a handkerchief.
"Almost beyond endurance/' answered the other in a faint
voice, as she took up the child. He liked goiug with her
and she carried him away.
Scarcely had the child disappeared, when Aurelia began to
cry bitterly. "I can do nothing but complain and lament,"
she exclaimed, "and I am ashamed of my contemptible
conduct. My memory is gone and I cannot continue my
narrative." She sobbed and said no more. Wilhelm un-
willing to make a mere general observation, and unable to
say any thing appropriate, pressed her hand and looked at
her in silence. At length in his embarrassment, he took up
a book which lay open upon the table. It was a volume of
Shakspeare and open at the play of Hamlet.
Serlo who now appeared at the door, after inquiring for
his sister, peeped into the book which our friend had in his
hand, and then exclaimed. "What! still busy with Hamlet!
But you are right, though many doubts have occurred to
me, which are calculated to injure the canonical view with
which you would have the play regarded. Do not the
English themselves admit that its chief interest closes with
the third act, and that the two concluding acts only encumbus
APPRENTICESHIP.
235
the o.iiers—and indeed it is true that the play becomes
heavy towards the end."
"It is very possible," answered Wilhelm, "that some
individuals of a nation which boasts of so many master-
pieces, may be misled by prejudice or ignorance, but that
should not prevent us from using our own eyes and forming
a sound judgment. I am far from condemning the plan
of this play—indeed in my opinion a grander one has never
been invented—nay, it is not invented, it is very nature."
"How can you explain that?" inquired Serlo.
"I will explain nothing," answered Wilhelm, "I will
only state my own impressions."
Aurelia rose from her cushion, leaned upon her hand and
gazed intently on Wilhelm, who, in the full conviction that
his opinions were well founded, proceeded as follows. "It
pleases and natters us to see a hero relying upon his own
resources, loving and hating as his heart impels him, under-
taking and completing, overcoming every obstacle and finally
attaining his desired end. Historians and poets would
fain persuade us that this may be the proud lot of
man. But here we are taught another lesson. The hero is_
without a plan, but the piece is not so. We do not here
behold a villain punished in pursuance of a strict and
deliberate design —no, a dreadful crime has been perpetrated,
and it carries every thing with it, even the guiltless is borne
along in its course. The criminal would avoid the gulf
which yawns before him, yet he plunges headlong in, at the
very moment when he thinks he has found a happy way to
escape. Por it is the property of crime to spread mischief
over innocence, as it is of virtue to extend blessings to the
undeserving, whilst the author of the evil or of the good
remains unpunished or unrewarded. How wonderful is this_
play of ours! Prom the names of another world comes
forth a spirit and demands revenge—in vain. Every thing
conspires to invoke revenge, in vain. Neither earthly nor
unearthly influences can execute what is reserved for fate
alone. The hour of judgment comes. The wicked falls
together with the good. A whole race is mowed down,
that another may appear."
After a pause, during which they looked at one another
in silence, Serlo said, "In exalting the poet you render
236
WILHELM MEISTEE S
no compliment to Providence, and it seems to me that in
order to honour your favourite Bard, you would impute to
him an object and a design of which he himself has never
dreamed;"
CHAPTEE XVI.
"Peemit me to ask you a question,** said Aurelia. "I
have again examined Ophelia's part and I am" pleased with
it, and feel sure that upon certain conditions I should be able
act it. But tell me, is it not your opinion that the poet
ought to have written songs of a different kind for the insane
maiden? And might we not for this purpose even select a
few fragments from some of our own melancholy ballads?
Expressions of double meaning and indelicate allusions do
not become the pure lips of a noble-minded girl."
"My good friend," said Wilhelm, "even upon this point,
I cannot coincide with you. A deep meaning is concealed
in these peculiarities and in this seeming impropriety. Have
we not an intimation from the very beginning of the play of
the subject with which the thoughts of the maiden are en-
gaged? She pursues her course in silent secresy, but
without being able wholly to conceal her wishes and her
longing. The voice of desire has echoed within her soul, and
she has often tried like an unskilful nurse to lul] her senses
to repose with ballads, which have only kept her more awake.
But at length when all self-control is at an end, and the
secrets of her heart appear upon her tongue, that tongue
betrays her, and in the innocence of her madness, even in
the presence of royalty she takes delight in the echo of her
loose but dearly-loved songs of ' The maiden whose heart was
won,' 'The maid who stole to meet the youth,' and so forth."
He had scarcely finished speaking, when Wilhelni suddenly
witnessed an extraordinary scene, the meaning of which he
was wholly unable to comprehend.
Serlo had paced several times up and down the apartment
without betraying any apparent design. Suddenly he ap-
proached Aurelia's dressing table, and seizing hold of some-
APPEENTICESHIP.
237
thing that was lying upon it, he ran towards the door with
his prize. Aurelia observing this action of her brother,
sprang up and threw herself in his way; she caught hold of
him firmly and was quick enough to seize one end of the
article which he had in his hand. They struggled and con-
tended together with great obstinacy, wrestled and turned
each other round, whilst he laughed and she exerted herself
to the utmost of her strength. At length Wilhelni hastened
forward to separate and to appease them. He was, however,
astonished to see Aurelia turn aside, holding a naked dagger
in her hand, whilst Serlo flung the scabbard, which he had
retained, angrily upon the ground. Wilhelm started back
with surprise, and his silent astonishment appeared to ask
why so angry a contest had taken place about so strange an
instrument?
"You shall judge between us!" cried Serlo. "What
does she want with a dagger? Let me show it to you: it is
not fit for an actress. The point is like a needle and the
edge is as keen as a razor. What is it for? passionate as
she is, she may perhaps do herself some injury. I have a
settled aversion for such singularities, and though any serious
thoughts of danger may be foolish, yet so dangerous a play-
thing ought to be laid aside."
"I have it once more," cried Aurelia, as she held up the
naked blade, "and in future I will take better care of my
trusty friend. Pardon me," she exclaimed, as she kissed the
dagger, "for having so much neglected you."
It seemed that Serlo was now becoming really angry.
"Just as you please, brother," she continued, " but how can
you tell whether some precious talisman may not be con-
cealed beneath this appearance? or whether it may not be to
me a source of help and counsel, in times of danger? Must
everything be evil that looks perilous?"
"Such senseless speeches as these are enough to make me
furious," answered Serlo, and with ill-concealed anger he left
the apartment. Aurelia replaced the dagger carefully in a
sheath. We may now resume the discourse which my
brother has interrupted," she calmly observed, as Wilhelni
was preparing to inquire into the cause of the strange
quarrel.
"I must acknowledge that your view of Ophelia's character
238
WILHELM MEISTEH's
is correct/' she continued, "you clearly comprehend the
object of the poet, but I think she is rather an object of pity
than of sympathy. Allow me however to make one observa-
tion, which has lately occurred to me frequently with respect
to yourself. I have observed with admiration, the penetrating
and correct glance with which you view poetry, especially
poetry of a dramatic nature. The deep stores of invention
are not hidden from you, and you can detect all the finest
strokes of representation. "Without having become ac-
quainted with the objects themselves in nature, you perceive
the truth of the picture, a foretaste of the whole world seems
to lie concealed within you, which the harmonious touches of
poetry awaken and unfold. For in truth," she continued,
"you do not appear to have acquired much from outward
influences. I have seldom met with a person who has so
little understood, or rather, who has so wholly misunderstood,
the beings amongst whom he has lived. Permit me to say
it. "When we hear you expounding Shakspeare you appear
to have come amongst us from the council chamber of the
gods, where you have attended their deliberations about the
formation of mankind. But when we see your conduct with
your fellow-creatures, I could suppose you to be the very
earliest child of creation gazing with strange astonishment
and edifying good humour upon the lions and the asses, the
sheep and the elephants around you, and addressing them
confidingly as your equals, merely because they were present
and were moving like yourself."
"The consciousness of my puerile innocence in this re-
spect," he replied, " often afflicts me, and I would thank you
to give me a clearer insight into the conduct of the world.
I have been accustomed from my youth to direct the eyes of
my soul rather to interior than to exterior objects, and it
seems therefore but natural that I should, up to a certain
point, have become acquainted with men, without however
knowing much about mankind at large."
"Reallysaid Aurelia, " I had an idea that you meant it
as a good joke, when you spoke so favourably of those people
whom you sent to my brother, and when I compared their
real acquirements with your account of their merits, 1 own
I was much surprised."
Although Aurelia's observations were perfectly true, and
f
APPRENTICESHIP.
233
Wilhelm was conscious of the defects to which she had al-
luded, he felt nevertheless that they were painful and offen-
sive; he therefore remained silent and reserved, partly that
he might not betray his irritation, and partly that he might
examine his own bosom respecting the justice of the rebuke.
lc You must not be displeased at what I have said," added
Aurelia, Cfthe light of the understanding is easily attained,
but no one can enrich us with the fulness of the heart. If
you are destined to become an artist, 3-ou cannot too long
preserve the innocence of which I have spoken; it is the
beautiful hull which encloses the young bud—woe to us if
we burst it too soon! Happy are we not to know too well
those for whom it is our lot to labour!
"In truth, I was also in this happy state, when I first trod
the boards, and I entertained the most exalted ideas of my-
self and of my country. What a noble people did I not
esteem the Germans, and what did I not think them compe-
tent to achieve! Such were the people whom I was accus-
tomed to address, raised above them by the elevation of a
small stage, and separated from them only by a row of lamps,
the glare and vapour of which prevented me from clearly
discerning the objects before me. And how welcome to me
was the voice of approbation which issued from the crowd!
how gratefully did I accept the applause which was presented
to me unanimously by so many hands. For a long time I
was delighted with these ideas—I possessed the power of
moving the feelings of crowds, and they affected me in
return—T was on the best terms with my audience—I ima-
gined that a perfect harmony existed between us, and that I
always had before me an assembly of the worthiest and the
noblest beings in the land.
"Unfortunately, however, it was not the actress alone whose
natural and artistic excellence so much interested these
patrons of the theatre, they were attracted also by the charms
of the young and lively maiden. They made me clearly un-
derstand that it was my duty, to share with them personally,
those emotions which I had awakened within them. And
this was no part of my business. I wished to elevate their
minds, but to that thing which they called the heart, I
could not lay the slightest claim. Prom that time, I was
addressed by men of all ranks, ages and characters, and
240
WTLHELM MEISTEK'S
nothing troubled me more than my inability to shut myself
up in my room, like other honest maidens, and save myself
in this manner from a world of trouble.
"The men, for the most part, resembled those whom I had
been accustomed to meet at my aunt's, and they must have
excited my disgust if I had not been amused with their
peculiarities and follies. As I could not avoid seeing them
either upon the stage, or in public places, or at home, I de-
termined to study their characters, and in this amusement I
was zealously assisted by my brother. And when you re-
member that from the active shopkeeper, and the conceited
merchant's son, down to the experienced cautious man of,the
world, the gallant soldier, and the daring prince, all in turn
passed in review before me, and each thought that he could
in his own way succeed in accomplishing his romantic specu-
lation—you will pardon me for believing that I possessed
some experience of my nation.
"The fantastically apparelled student, the humble-proud
embarrassed man of letters, the sleek contented canon, the
stiff attentive man of office, the rough country baron, the
smooth and polite courtier, the young and erring clergyman,
the cool, but quick and actively calculating merchant—all
these I have seen in turn before me, and in truth there were
few of them who inspired me with the smallest degree of
interest, on the contrary, it was with pain that I received the
praises of fools, and I found it both distressing and annoying
to gather those applauses in detail, which in their collected
form, had given me so much pleasure.
"When I expected to hear a sensible compliment upon my
acting, when I hoped that they would praise an author whom
I highly valued, they made some foolish observation and
spoke of some wretched piece in which they wished to see
me perform. "When I listened to hear amongst them some
noble, brilliant, witty thought, I was invariably disappointed.
A fault, a mispronunciation or some provincialism, these were
the important subjects upon which they fastened, and which
they never permitted to escape. At length I was at a loss
what course to take—they deemed themselves far too clever
to be entertained, and they conceived that their romping and
noise afforded me wonderful amusement. I began to despise
them from my inmost heart, and it seemed to me as if the
APPRENTICESHIP.
241
whole nation had sought to debase itself in my eyes by means
of these, its deputies. Tbey were so rude, so ill-bred, so
badly educated, so wholly destitute of pleasing manners, so
devoid of taste. Often did I exclaim,6 No Grerman can even
fasten the buckle of his shoe, till he has been instructed in
the art by some foreign nation.'
"You see how blinded and how sadly unjust I was, and
the longer this continued the more my prejudices increased.
All this might have proved my ruin—but I fell into another
extreme. I married, or rather I allowed myself to be mar-
ried. My brother, who had undertaken the management
of a theatre, felt anxious for an assistant. His choice fell
upon a young man who was not displeasing to me, but who
was deficient in every quality that my brother possessed:
genius, animation, spirit and daring—but in return he had
every thing that my brother wanted, love of order, industry,
and those precious gifts of housekeeping and the proper
management of money.
"He became my husband, I know not how—and we lived
together, I know not why. But enough! our affairs pros-
pered, our receipts were large, the result of my brother's
activity, and we practised economy—a merit which belonged
to my husband. I thought no longer of the world or of the
nation. I had nothing to share with the world, and of the
nation I had lost every distinct idea. When I appeared
upon the stage, I did it to obtain my livelihood, and I opened
my lips, because I dared not maintain silence since I had
come out to speak,
"Bat I must not represent matters too unfavourably. I
had entered fully into the views of my brother—and these
were to earn applause and money—for between ourselves, he
loves praise and spends freely. But my acting was no longei
dictated by my own feelings or conviction, but by his wishes,
and I was contented when I earned his approbation.
"He was guided wholly by public caprice. The money
flowed in, he could live as he wished, and with him we en-
joyed prosperous times.
"But I had fallen into a mere handicraft routine of life.
1 passed my days without joy or sympathy. My marriage
was childless and of short duration. My husband fell into
ill health, hh strength decayed visibly, and my care for him
n
242
tf/ILHELM MEISTEE'S
interrupted my general indifference. About this time I
formed an acquaintance which was to me the beginning of a
new existence, a new and more rapid life, for it will soon
come to an end."
She remained silent for a time, and then continued,—
"Suddenly my talkative humour falters, and I scarcely have
courage to continue. Allow me to rest a little. You must
not go until you have been made acquainted with all my
misfortunes in detail; but in the mean time call in Mignon,
and hear what she has to say."
During Aurelia's narrative the child had entered the
apartment more than once, but as they had spoken in a lower
tone during her stay, she had retired quietly and was now
sitting in the antechamber. When she was invited to return,
she brought a book back with her, which, from its shape and
binding, was at once perceived to be an atlas. During her
stay at the house of the Clergyman, she had seen some maps
for the first time; they had excited her astonishment, and
had caused her to make many inquiries respecting them, from
which she had obtained a fund of information. Her anxiety
to receive instruction was increased by her acquaintance
with this branch of knowledge. She earnestly besought
"Wilhelm to purchase the book for her, informing him that
she had left her large silver buckle as security with the
printseller for it, and that she was anxious to receive it to-
morrow morning, as this evening it was too late for the pur-
pose. He consented, and she now commenced to repeat
something she had already learned, and according to her
usual custom, proceeded to ask the strangest questions.
It was easy to perceive that, notwithstanding her great wish
to learn, her progress was slow and laborious. It was the
same with her writing, a task at which she toiled exceedingly.
She spoke very broken Grerman, and it was only when she
sang and touched her guitar, that she appeared to possess an
organ which opened and displayed the emotions of her soul
As she is now our topic, we may allude to the embarrass-
ment which Wilhelm had lately experienced on her account.
When she met him or bade him farewell, in the morning or at
night, she was accustomed to embrace him so affectionately,
and to kiss him with so much ardour, that the force of her
ripening nature often rendered him anxious and fearful. The
APPRENTICESHIP.
243
warmth of her disposition seemed to increase daily, and her
whole being seemed agitated with a silent restlessness. She
appeared unable to exist without twisting a piece of thread
between her fingers, or tieing a handkerchief in knots, or
biting a paper, or a piece of wood. All her occupations
seemed designed to appease her inward violent agitation.
The only thing that made her cheerful, was the presence of
little Felix, and with him she could enjoy herself very happily.
After a little rest, Aurelia washing to explain to her friend
a matter which lay near her heart, became impatient at the
child's delay, and gave her to understand, therefore, that she
must go. At length when there was no alternative, they
were obliged to dismiss her peremptorily and against her
will. "Now or never," said Aurelia, "I must relate the
sequel of my story. If my affectionate, well-beloved, unjust
friend were only a few miles distant, I should ask you to
mount your horse and endeavour to make his acquaintance
by some means or other, and I know that upon your return,
you would pardon and pity me from your heart. As it is, I
can only describe in words how amiable he was and how I
loved him.
"I became acquainted with him at that critical time when
I was a prey to sorrow from the illness of my husband. lie
had just returned from America, where, in company with
some Erench officers, he had served wTith distinction under
the flag of the United States.
"He received me with an air of unembarrassed dig-
nity and open kindness ; he spoke of myself, of my condition,
and of my acting, with so much sympathy and candour,
that for the first time, I felt delighted at seeing my existence
clearly reflected in the being of another. His judgments
were correct without being harsh, precise but not unkind.
He evinced no severity of manner, and his pleasantries were
inoffensive. He seemed accustomed to be successful with
the sex; this won my attention, and he was far from being
flattering or importunate, which rendered me incautious.
"In this town he had but few acquaintances, he was gene-
rally on horseback visiting his numerous friends in the neigh-
bourhood or attending to the business of his firm. Upon
his return, he usually alighted at my house, evinced much
anxiety for my invalid husband, and alleviated his sufferings.
WILHELM MEISTER'S
by recommending us a good physician, and as he interested
himself in all that concerned me, he allowed me in return to
feel an interest in his welfare. He related to me the history
of his campaigns, his unconquerable attachment to a soldier's
life, all his family circumstances, and his present occupation.
He kept no secret from me, he unfolded his inmost thoughts,
he allowed me to penetrate into the secret recesses of his
soul. I became acquainted with his capabilities and his
passions. For the first time in my life I enjoyed a cordial
intellectual attachment. I was attracted and borne along
by him before I was able to reflect upon my condition.
"It was at this very time that I lost my husband. The
whole burden of the theatrical business now devolved upon
me. My brother, without a rival upon the stage, was wholly
useless in matters of domestic economy. I therefore under-
took every thing, and studied more diligently than ever. I
played once more as I had been accustomed to do, with new
life and fresh energy, all for him and on his account; but I
did not always succeed when I knew that my noble friend wras
present. He witnessed my performance several times, and you
may judge how delighted I felt at his unexpected applause.
"In truth I am a strange being. In every character that I
played, it seemed to m„ as if I were praising him or speaking
of his honour; for such was the disposition of my heart, and
the words I uttered might carry whatever meaning they
pleased. "When I knew that he was amongst the audience, I
did not dare to act with all my power : and in the same manner
I did not press my love or praise upon him openly, but when
he was absent, I had free liberty, and I then exerted myself
withasafe conscience and indescribable satisfaction. Applause
delighted me once more, and when I gratified the public I
longed to exclaim that ' they were indebted for it all to him.'
"The relation in which I stood towards the public and the
nation, had undergone a miraculous change. Again they ap-
peared to me in the most advantageous light, and I felt per-
fectly astonished at my previous blindness.
"' How unreasonable,' I would exclaim to myself, £ was it
^o censure a nation, only because it is a nation! Is it pos-
sible/ I inquired, 1 for individual men to possess for us an
equal interest? by no means. The only question is, whether
amongst the large mass of mankind, there is a distributio/j
APPBEXTICESHIP.
215
of talents, powers, and capabilities, which, under favourable
circumstances, are capable of being developed and directed
by one common object.' I now felt charmed that there was
so small a share of originality amongst my countrymen; I
felt delighted that they did not require guidance, and that
they had found a leader.
"Lothario, for you muofc allow me to call my friend by his
dear Christian name, had constantly extolled the courageous
qualities of the Germans, and maintained that no braver nation
existed in the world when they were properly led, and I felt
ashamed at never having thought of this primary virtue of the
people. He was well read in history, and was intimate with
many of the most meritorious men of his age. Although he was
young, his eye could mark the hopeful budding youth of his
fatherland, and appreciate the silent labours of busy and active
men in their various employments. Through him I caught
a view of Germany; I could see what it was and all that it
would become, and I felt ashamed at having formed my
opinion of a nation from the motley crowd, with which I had
become acquainted behind the scenes of a theatre. He made
me sensible of the duty of becoming true, intelligent, and
enlivening, within the limits of my own sphere. Henceforth,
when I trod the stage, I considered myself inspired. The
most common-place passages possessed a sterling value as I
spoke them, and if I had then nad the assistance of a poet,
I could have produced the most wonderful effects.
"The young widow lived in this manner for many months.
He could not exist without me, and I was wretched when he
was absent. He shewed me the correspondence of his rela-
tives and of his excellent sister; he took an interest in my
most trifling affairs, and no union could have been more in-
timate or more complete than ours. The name of love was
never mentioned. He went and came—he came and went—
and now my friend it is high time that you also should go."
CHAPTER XYII.
Wilhelm was unable any longer to postpone his visit to his
commercial friends; but it was not without anxiety that he
executed his intention, as he knew that he should then receive
WILHELM MEISTER'S
letters from his relatives. He feared the censure which he
foresaw they must contain, and he deemed it probable that
his house of business might have received information of the
uneasiness he had occasioned. And after his own career of
knightly adventures, he dreaded the schoolboy aspect in
which he must now appear; he determined therefore to put
a bold face upon the matter and conceal his real embarrass-
ment.
But to his great surprise and satisfaction, every thing went
off admirably. In the large busy counting house, time had
been scarcely found for opening his correspondence, and a very
cursory allusion had been made to his protracted delay. The
letters of his father and of his friend Werner were most satis-
factory. The former was in hopes of receiving a complete
journal, which at his departure he had recommended his son
to keep, and for which he had himself furnished the plan, and
he was not uneasy at the first period of his son's silence,
though he felt much perplexed at the only letter which had
reached him, and which had been written from the castle of
the Count. Werner jested in his old fashion, related merry
stories of the town, and requested an account of the new
friends, with whom he expected that Wilhelm would become
acquainted in the large trading cities which he visited. Wil-
helm was highly pleased at escaping so easily, and wrote
some very cheerful letters in reply, in which he promised his
father a full detail of his travels, which should embody every
species of geographical, statistical, and mercantile informa-
tion. He stated that he had seen a great deal during his
journey from which he hoped to compose a readable volume.
But he failed to perceive that he was again in the same di-
lemma in which he had found himself once before, when he
had lighted his lamps and collected his audience to witness
a play that had not even been composed. And even when
he really commenced his work, he found that though he
could converse freely about thoughts and emotions, and
impart much experience with relation to the heart and spirit,
he was utWly ignorant of all outward objects, to which, as
he now perceived, he had never paid the least attention.
In this difficulty, the knowledge of his friend Laertes
came opportunely to his relief. Little as these young peo-
ple resembled each other, custom had united them together,
APPRENTICESHIP.
247
and Laertes, in spite of all his faults and peculiarities, was an
interesting personage. With his cheerful happy disposition
he might have grown old, without even bestowing a thought
upon his situation. But ill-health rind misfortune had at
length robbed him of the pure feelings of youth, and had
opened his eyes to the fugitive, transitory nature of existence.
Thence he had acquired a humourous, rhapsodical way of
thinking, or rather of communicating his impressions. He
disliked solitude, frequented hotels and coffee houses, and
when he remained within doors, books of travels formed hi3
favourite, or indeed, his only amusement. With these he
could amply gratify his taste from the resources of a circu-
lating library, and half the world was soon inscribed upon
his faithful memory.
He found no difficulty, therefore, in assisting his friend,
when the latter complained of his total want of materials
to supply the narrative which he had so solemnly promised.
"We will now frame a work of art," exclaimed Laertes,
"which it will be difficult to excel.
"Has not Germany, from one end to the other, been
repeatedly travelled over, crossed over, walked over, crept
over, and flown over? And does not every German traveller
invariably avail himself of the noble privilege of making the
public defray his expenses, whether they be great or small?
Only give me a sketch of your route before your arrival
amongst us, and I can supply all the rest. I will provide
you with every source of information and furnish you with
all kinds of assistance. We shall speak of miles that were
never measured, and of populations which were never counted.
We shall take the revenues of states from pocket books and
statistical tables, which, after all, are the most authentic
documents. These shall form the basis of our political
discussions, and we shall not fail to indulge in some passing
observations upon the ruling powers. We may describe one
or two princes as the fathers of their country, that our re-
flections upon the others may obtain more ready credence.
If in the course of our journey, we fail to visit the residence
of some celebrated persons, we shall be sure to meet them
at the hotel, where, in their confidential communications to
ourselves, they will utter the greatest absurdities. We
must especially remember to weave a love adventure into our
248
TVTLHELM MEISTEE'S
narrative, and we shall produce a work with which every-
father and mother will feel delighted, and for which the very
publisher will pay without grumbling."
They went to work forthwith, and both friends found
much pleasure in their occupation; Wilhelm frequenting the
theatre at night, and enjoying the company of Serlo and
Aurelia by day. His ideas now began to expand more fully,
as they had hitherto been confined within bounds of too
limited a nature.
CHAPTEE XVIII.
"Wilhelm listened to Serb's account of himself with the
greatest interest. It was told to him in fragments, for it
was not the custom of this peculiar being to be very confi-
dential or to express himself at any time in a connected
manner. It may be said that he was born and nursed upon
the stage. Before he could speak he had enlisted the sym-
pathy of the spectators, for authors very early understood
his natural and innocent mode of exciting pity, and his first
exclamation of "Father" or " Mother" won for him the
greatest applause in favourite pieces, long before he could
understand what was meant by the audience clapping their
hands. Sometimes ornamented with wings he came fiutter-
ing upon the stage in the character of Cupid, at other times
he would issue as a Harlequin from an egg, or in the cha-
racter of a little sweep would play the drollest tricks.
Unfortunately during the intervals of his representations,
he had to pay dearly for the applauses which he received.
His father, believing that the attention of children was best
excited and retained by chastisement, was accustomed to
beat him severely at stated periods during his study of a
part, not because the boy was dull, but in order that his
cleverness by this means might be rendered more certain and
confirmed. Upon the same principle formerly, whilst set-
ting up landmarks, the children who looked on, invariably
APPEENTICESHIP.
received a sound beating, and tbe eldest of tnem ever after-
wards retained a vivid recollection of the exact spot where it
had been inflicted. As Serlo grew up, he displayed more
than ordinary capabilities both of mind and body, combined
with a great pliancy in his movements and gestures, which
much improved his style of acting. His powers of imitation
surpassed belief. Even when a child he could mimic
other persons with such accuracy as to bring them before
you, although in figure, in age, and in manner, they might
not only be wholly unlike him, but unlike one another.
Neither was he deficient in the power of making his own
way in the world, and, for this reason, as soon as he became
conscious of his strength, nothing could be more natural
than that he should elope from his father, particularly as
the latter considered that as his son's understanding increased
and his talents developed, it was proper to bring them to
perfection by the very harshest treatment.
Happy therefore did he now feel himself—a free boy
in a free world, where his powers of drollery invariably
secured for him a favourable reception. Grood fortune first
led him during the festivities of the Carnival to a convent,,
where, as the monk had just died who had been accustomed
to superintend the processions and to edify the Christian
community by spiritual masquerades, he appeared as an
assistant guardian angel.
During the performances which now ensued, some pagan
soldiers playing their parts somewhat too naturally upon
one occasion, put him to severe bodily pain. In order,
therefore, that he might take proper revenge upon them,
when they subsequently enacted the mystery of the Last
Judgment, he dressed them out in the gaudy robes of Kings
and Emperors, and at the proper time when quite contented
with their parts, they were on the point of taking precedence
of all other persons, he came upon them suddenly in the shape
of the Devil, and to the manifest delight of all the spectators
and beggars present, after he had well punished them with
his huge fork, he drove them mercilessly into the bottomless
pit, where surrounded by raging flames they met with the
most dreadful reception.
But he was sufficiently clever to perceive that these royal
personages might not be too well satisfied with this harslr
<25G
WILHELM lUEISTEIt's
treatment, and fearing lest they might perhaps forget the
respect due to his privileged office, he silently retreated
from the convent before the commencement of the millen-
nium, and was received with open arms by a company,
known as the Children of Delignt, who had taken up their
residence in a neighbouring town. These were a body of
sensible, intellectual, and active-mmded men, who were fully
aware that the sum of our existence divided by reason always
leaves a surprising fraction behind. They sought at ap-
pointed times to get rid of this fraction, which they found
to be a perpetual impediment and even dangerous when it
mingled with our general conduct. During one day in
the week they played in turn the part of fools, when by
means of allegorical representations they ridiculed any folly
which they might have observed in themselves or others.
And even if this practice were less refined than that uninter-
rupted education, which a well regulated mind daily
observes and with which it warns and restrains its conduct,
it had the advantage of being more cheerful and certain.
Por as no man could deny that he had some favourite
folly, they treated it for what it really was; whereas in the
other alternative, self delusion always allows this favourite
folly the mastery, and compels reason to a secret servitude,
in the belief that it has long since chased it away. The
mask of folly thus went round in the society, and every one
was permitted on his particular day to decorate it in a charac-
teristic manner with his own or with a stranger's attributes.
During the carnival season they took the greatest freedom,
and they emulated the clergy in their endeavours to amuse
and to instruct the multitude. The solemn allegorical
processions of virtues and vices, arts and sciences, climates
and seasons, explained a number of ideas to the people, and
communicated to them notions of distant objects which
rendered such games of much utility, while on the other hand
the priestly mummeries only tended to confirm a tasteless
superstition.
Here young Serlo was once more in his proper element.
He was not possessed of any great inventive powers, but
he had remarkable skill in turning to account all that he
found already made, in arranging it, and rendering it useful.
His good humour, his power of mimicry, his caustic wit, ot
APPBENTTCESRTP
251
which he was allowed to make free use on at least one day
m the week, even against his benefactors, rendered him
useful and even indispensable to the whole company.
But his restlessness soon induced him to leave this advan-
tageous locality that he might visit other parts of the country,
where he had to enter a new school of instruction. He was
now introduced to the polished, but unromantic part of
Germany, where in paying honour to the good and beautiful
a deficiency of spirit, if not of truth, is experienced. He
could now accomplish nothing with his masks, he had to
produce an effect upon the heart and upon the mind. He
attached himself, therefore, for a short time to different
theatrical companies, and observed upon those occasions the
various peculiarities of pieces and performers. The mono-
tony which then ruled upon the German stage, the disagree-
able sound and drawl of the Alexandrine verse, the stiff
dialogue, the dry common-places uttered by those preachers
of morality, all these things he quickly comprehended, and
at the same time he was alive to whatever moved and
pleased.
His memory easily retained not only single scenes from
popular pieces, but even entire plays, and at the same time
he could assume the peculiar tone of the actors who had
successfully performed them. At length, when his money
was completely exhausted, the thought occurred to him of
acting entire pieces at noblemen's houses and in the villages,
with a view of providing himself with entertainment and
comfortable quarters. It was his habit, therefore, to open
his theatre in any tavern, garden, or apartment, where he
might chance to be, when by an artful affectation of earnest-
ness and an appearance of enthusiasm, he succeeded in
winning the imaginations of his audience and deceiving their
senses, by converting an old press into a tower, or chang-
ing a fan into a dagger. The warmth of youth supplied
his want of deep feeling, his ardour passed for strength, and
his flattery for tenderness. He reminded every spectator
who was acquainted with a theatre, of all that he had already
seen and heard, and in all other persons he raised an ex-
pectation of something wonderful, and a desire to understand
im better. Whatever succeeded in one place was invariably
repeated at another, and he experienced the most cordial
£52
WILHELM MEISTER'S
delight, when he was able, on the spur of the moment, to
practise the same deception upon all the world.
His active free spirit, which nothing could restrain, was
the source of his improvement, and he repeated his charac-
ters and performance with rapidity. He could soon declaim
and act more in conformity with the spirit of the author,
than the models whom he had previously imitated. By this
means he gradually acquired the art of acting naturally. He
appeared to be carried away, yet he was all the time watching
the effect which he produced, and his greatest delight con-
sisted in gradually moving the hearts of his audience. His
mad pursuit compelled him before long to practise a degree
of moderation, and thus partly by necessity and partly by
mstinct, he soon acquired the art which few players appre-
ciate of economising the use of his voice and gestures.
Thus did he succeed in winning the attachment and the
sympathy of many rude unfriendly men. At all times
satisfied with food and shelter, he was grateful for every
present which was offered to him, and he frequently refused
money, when in his own opinion, he had received enough.
He was sent from friend to friend provided with letters of
recommendation, and for a long time he travelled from one
nobleman's castle to another, occasioning every where general
delight, and enjoying much pleasure and meeting with a
succession of agreeable adventures.
The coldness of his disposition, rendered him a total
stranger to love, and the clearness of his penetration dis-
qualified him from feeling respect for others, for he never
looked beyond the outer qualities of men, and these he never
failed to transfer to his mimical collection. Nevertheless
his vanity was hurt when he failed in giving pleasure, or in
exciting universal applause. He had paid such strict attention
to the arts by which this object was to be attained, and his
feelings were so acutely alive upon the subject, that he could
not help practising his deceits in common life as well as in
his representations. And in this manner his disposition, his
talents, and his mode of existence acting reciprocally upon
each other, imperceptibly rendered him an accomplished
performer. Thus, by a system of action and reaction, which
though hardly apparent, is however wholly natural, his
recitation, decimation and gesture attained by study and
ArPEENTICESHIP.
253
practice, a high degree of truth, freedom, and ease, while in
his life and conduct to others lie became more reserved,
artful, deceitful and constrained.
Of his fortunes and adventures we may perhaps speak in
another place, and we shall only here observe that subse-
quently when he had become a person of some importance,
possessing a certain renown, and in favourable though not
settled circumstances, he was accustomed, either through
irony or mockery, to act the sophist and by this means to
prevent all serious conversation. In particular, he acted in
this way towards Wilhelm, whenever, as frequently happened,
the latter sought to engage him in general theoretical discus-
sions. Yet they were pleased to be together, and from
their opposite modes of thinking their conversation was
generally animated. It was "Wilhelm's habit to deduce
every thing from general ideas, and always to view art in its
effects as a whole. He sought to establish and to settle
certain fixed rules for recognizing all that was beautiful
and good, and for acknowledging whatever merited applause;
m fine, he treated all things in a serious manner. Serlo on
the other hand viewed every subject lightly, he never gave a
direct answer to any question, but hj means of an appro-
priate story or a jest, he introduced the neatest and most
happy illustrations, and thus he instructed his companions
at the same time that he amused them.
CHAPTER XIX.
While Wilhelm was thus leading a happy life, Melina
and the other members of the company were in very diffe-
rent circumstances. They seemed to haunt our friend like
evil spirits and occasioned him many a sorrowful moment,
not only by their distressed looks, but by their bitter obser-
vations. Serlo had never admitted them to take any part
in his performances, nor had he given them any hopes of
forming an engagement, but he had nevertheless made him-
self acquainted Dy degrees with their several capabilities.
254
TVILHELM .AIEISTER'S
It was his custom, whenever the actors were assembled
around him, to make them read aloud, an amusement in
which he himself not unfrequently took part. He selected
pieces which were intended for representation, but which
had hitherto only been presented to the public in fragments.
And after their first performance, he caused them to repeat
such passages as afforded any opportunity for criticism, and
thus he improved the judgment of his actors, and rendered
them certain of hitting the right point. And as a weak but
sound understanding may affect others more- agreeably than
a confused genius can possibly do, he was able frequently to
improve men of moderate talents, by the clear views which
he imperceptibly opened to them. His custom of causing
poems to be read at their meetings contributed in no slight
degree to this effect; by such a course he enabled the actors
to appreciate the charm which well measured versification
ever awakens in the soul; while in other companies the
performance of those prose compositions had already com-
menced, in which the veriest stripling might excel.
Availing himself of opportunities like these, he had become
acquainted with all the new actors, he knew what they were
and what they might be made, and he had secretly resolved to
avail himself of their talents in a revolution with which his
own company was threatened. Eor some time he permitted
the subject to rest, receiving all "Wilhelm's intercessions for
his companions with a shrug of the shoulders, until at length
he saw his opportunity and unexpectedly proposed that Wil-
helm should appear upon the stage, and that upon this con-
dition the rest of the company should likewise be engaged.
"These people then cannot be so wholly useless, as you
have been accustomed to represent them," answered Wil-
helm, " if you are willing to receive them now; and it seems
to me that their talents will be the same, whether I join
them or not."
Serlo thereupon explained to him his situation, under a
promise of secresy, informing him that his chief actor had
lately shown a disposition, upon the renewal of their con-
tract, to demand an increase of salary, a proposal to which lie
was not willing to accede, particularly as he had lately lost
favour with the public—that in his departure he would bo
followed by sundry others, whereby the company would be
APPKENTICESHIP.
25;)
deprived of some good and of several indifferent actors, He
then explained what he expected to gain from the adhesion of
Laertes, the old man, and Madame Melina. He even
promised that in the characters of Jew, minister or stage
villain, the poor Pedant himself would achieve the most
decided success.
"Wilhelm hesitated: he heard the proposal with surprise,
but in order that he might not remain wholly silent, he
answered with a deep drawn sigh, "You speak in flattering
terms of the merit we possess, or which you hope to lind in
us; but what do you think of our many deficiencies which
cannot have escaped your penetration r"
11 By diligence, practice, and attention," answered Serlo,
"we shall soon be able to correct them. Although you are
but novices and bunglers, there is none of you of whom I
need despair, for there is no blockhead amongst you, and
blockheads alone are incapable of improvement, whether it
be conceit, stupidity, or hypochondria that renders them
rigid and unmanageable."
Serlo then stated briefly the terms he intended to propose,
and requesting the favour of Wilhelm's prompt decision, he
left him in a slight degree of embarrassment.
In the strange composition of those fictitious travels,
which he had undertaken in jest, and which he was now pro-
secuting with Laertes, his attention was more forcibly
directed than it had ever been before, to the circumstances
and daily life of the actual world. Pie now felt for the first
time how pleasant and useful it must be to take part in so
many trades and occupations, and to assist in disseminating
life and activity amid the mountains and forests of his native
land. The busy commercial towns which he visited, and the
restlessness of Laertes who took him everywhere, impressed
his mind strongly with the idea of a vast central depot,
from which everything flows out, and into which every thing
returns,, and it was the first time that his mind had ever
received pleasure from the contemplation of this species of
activity It was at such a moment that Serlo had made his
proposal to him, awakening his desires, his wishes, his faith
in his own natural talents, and reminding him of the duties
which he owed to his helpless companions.
"Here I stand once more," he said within himself, "at
256
WILHELM METSTER'g
the Parting of the "Ways, between the two women who
appeared to me m my youth. The one looks no longer so
miserable as she then appeared, nor is the other so glorious.
The inclination to follow either, springs from an inward
impulse, and the inducements from both sides are sufficiently
strong. It seems impossible to make a decision. We
desire a preponderance from without to determine our
choice, but upon rightly examining, we shall find that they
are outward circumstances alone which incline us to the
pursuits of trade, of labour, and of gathering, but that our
inward wants create and foster the desire to unfold and per-
fect those talents, whether corporal or mental, which lie
within us for realizing the beautiful and the good. And
should I not honour Fate, which without any effort of mine,
has conducted me hither to accomplish all my wishes? Has
not every thing which I had previously contemplated or plan-
ned accidentally occurred without my co-operation? 'Tis
passing strange! Man seems to be intimate with nothing
so much as with his own hopes and wishes which he has
long preserved and cherished in his heart, and yet when they
are realized, when they advance to meet him, we scarcely
recognize them, and recoil before them. All the dreams
which I have indulged since that unhappy night which
severed me from Mariana stand now accomplished before
me. To this spot it was my intention to escape, —to this
spot I am softly guided.—I wished to find an engagement
with Serlo,—he seeks me out, and offers me terms which as
a novice I could have no reason to expect. "Was it then
nothing else than my love for Mariana which attracted me
to the theatre? or was it the love of art which bound me
to the maiden? Was that prospect—that escape upon the
stage, only welcome to a restless and disorderly youth, oecause
he wished to pursue a career which the rules of civil life
did not permit? or was all this of another nature, purer—
worthier? What then induced me to change my former
intentions? or have I not rather unconscious^ pursued
my own plan hitherto? And can I not justify this
final step, which is influenced by no concurrent motives now,
when it affords me an opportunity of keeping my word so
solemnly pledged, and of nobly discharging a heavy debt?"
Every thought which could affect his heart or move his
APPRENTICESHIP. 257
imagination, agitated him now in the most sensible manner*
The reflection that he might still retain Mignon, and would
not be compelled to dismiss the old harper, added no small
weight to the balance, which continued to waver as he pro-
ceeded to pay his customary visit to his friend Aurelia.
CHAPTER XX.
He found her reposing on the bed. She appeared calm.
"Do you think you will be able to act to-morrow?" he
enquired. "0, yes!" she answered,Ci you know that nothing
can prevent me. If I only knew some plan for preventing
the applauses of the parterre. They are well meant, and
yet they will kill me. Yesterday I thought my heart must
surely break. Formerly I could endure it, when I had but
myself to please. After long study and careful preparation,
I rejoiced when the welcome sounds of applause echoed from
every side. But now I speak no more what I wish nor as I
would. I am swept along, I grow contused, and my acting
produces a stronger impression. The applause increases,
and then I ask, 'Are you aware what it is that enchants
you? These dark, passionate, vague emotions affect you,
compel your admiration, but you do not feel that they are
the pangs of an unhappy being, upon which you bestow
your applause.'
"This morning I learned my part, and I have just repeated
and rehearsed it. I am weary—exhausted, and to-morrow
I must do the same. In the evening the performance will
take place. But I am indifferent to every thing. It is
wearisome to rise, and fatiguing to return to bed. Every
thing seems to revolve in a perpetual circle. Then come
those painful consolations which I reject and execrate. I
will never yield to necessity. Why should that be neces-
sary which works my destruction? Could it not possibly
be otherwise? I am paying the penalty for being a German.
ft
I
258
WILHELM MEISTEK'S
It is the character of our nation to bear heavily upon ever}'
thing, and that everything should bear heavily upon them."
"O, my dear friend!" interrupted Wilhelm, "could you
but cease to sharpen the dagger with which you so perpetu-
ally wound yourself! Have you no comfort left? Aro
your youth, your form, your health, your talents nothing?
If you lose one blessing undeservedly, must you throw all
others after it? Can such a course be necessary?"
She remained silent for a few minutes, and then continued,
"I know that love is loss of time, nothing but loss of time.
What should I not have done? "What could I not have
done? Eut now all is vanished. I am a wretched, love-
lorn creature—nothing better. Have compassion on me, I
am poor and wretched/'
She remained absorbed in thought, and after a short pause,
suddenly exclaimed, "You are accustomed to have every thing
fly into your arms. But you do not understand, no man
can understand the worth of a woman who knows how to
reverence herself. By all the images of blessedness which
a pure and kindly heart can create, there is nothing more
divine than the soul of a woman who gives herself to the
man she loves! As long as we deserve the name of woman,
we are cold, proud, high, clear-minded, and wise, but all
these advantages we lay at your feet as soon as we love, — as
soon as we hope to win a return of love. O! how designedly
have I flung away my whole existence! And now for
despair—deliberate despair! There flows no drop of blood
within my veins that shall escape unpunished—-no nerve
that shall not suffer. Smile, ay! smile, if you will, at this
theatrical display of passion."
But far distant from Wilhelm was every tendency to mirth.
The painful condition of his friend, half natural and half
excited, afflicted him too deeply. He shared the racking
tortures of her distress. His brain whirled, and his blood
was in a state of feverish agitation.
She had risen from her seat and was walking up and down
the room. "I will know," she said, " why I should not love
him. I know that he is not worthy of my love. I turn my
attention to other things, and I keep myself employed,—do
matter what occurs. Sometimes, I study a theatrical
character, even though I do not require to act it, and I'
APPRENTICESHIP.
259
rehearse all the parts with which lam thoroughly acquainted,
and I practise them more diligently, more carefully; I rehearse
them over and over again. O my friend, my trusting friend!
who can tell what a painful task it is to tear ourselves from
our own contemplations? My reason suffers, my brain
whirls, and to save myself from madness, I again consent to
think that I love him. Yes, I love, I love him!" she
exclaimed, as she shed a torrent of tears, " I love him, and
with this confession I am content to die."
He seized her hand, and, with a supplicating voice, he
implored her not to abandon herself to such distress. "It
is strange/' he said, " that so much which seems both possible
and impossible should be denied to men. It was not your
destiny to meet with a faithful heart that should constitute
your whole happiness. But it was mine to fix the whole
joy of my life upon an unhappy being, who bent like a reed,
and finally broke down beneaththe weight of my constancy."
He had already confided bis adventures with Mariana
to Aurelia, and he might therefore make this allusion to
them. She fixed her eyes upon him, and asked with a solemn
voice, " Can you then assert that you have never betrayed a
woman, that you have never sought to win her favour by
thoughtless gallantry, by false protestations, or by deceitful
oaths?"
"I can assert as much," said Wilhelin, "and that without
much vanity. Por my way of life has been so simple that
I have seldom been exposed to the dangers of attempting
seduction. And what a warning is your fate to me, my
beautiful, my noble friend! Accept an appropriate vow
which I pledge to you now, a vow which receives shape and
form from the emotion which you have occasioned within me,
and which is consecrated by the hour in which I pronounce
it:—Henceforth I will subdue every transitory feeling of pas-
sion and bury it all within my bosom—no woman shall ever
hear an avowal of love from my lips, to whom I cannot dedi-
cate my life!"
She gazed at him with a look of wild indifference and
retreated some steps, whilst at the same time she extended
her hand to him. "5Tis of little consequence!" she cried,
"a few woman's tears, more or less, matter not—they will
not swell the ocean. And yet, that one should be saved
2(J0 WILHELM MEISTER'S
am<&g££ a thousand is something—that one honourable man
should be found amongst a thousand, that too is something I
Do you know what you have sworn V
"I know it well," answered "Wilhelm with a smile, and
extending his hand.
"I take it," she exclaimed, and at the same time she made
a movement with her right hand which gave him the impres-
sion that she was about to clasp it, but quickly, with the
speed of lightning, she took a dagger from her bosom and
drew the point and edge across his hand. He instantly
withdrew his arm, but the blood was already flowing from
the wound.
"We must mark you men distinctly when we mean to
beware of you/' she cried, with a sort of wild glee, which
was soon converted into anxious attention. With her hand-
kerchief she bound up his hand to stop the flow of blood.
"Pardon me," she cried, with a manner half insane, "and
do not regret these few drops of blood. I am appeased, I
am now myself again. I crave your pardon on my knees. Let
me enjoy the consolation of healing you."
She went to her press, brought forth a supply of linen
and other things, staunched the blood, and watched the
wound carefully. The cut went through the ball of the hand
close to the thumb, dividing the lines of life, and extended
to the little finger. She bound it up in silence with a signi-
ficant and thoughtful look. He inquired more than once,
"How could you, dearest! so severely wound your friend P1'
ie Silence I" she replied, as she laid her finger on her lips,
14 silence!"
APL'BENTICESHIP.
2(31
V
BOOK V.
CHAPTER I.
"Wilhelm had thus, to his former wounds, which were as
yet scarcely healed, added another, which threatened to
prove extremely troublesome. Aurelia would not permit
him to send for a surgeon. She herself attended him, but
her strange speeches and ceremonies embarrassed him beyond
measure. And her restlessness and singular conduct dis-
tressed not only him but every one whom she approached,
and more especially the little Felix. This quick child bore
the grievance with evident impatience, and the more she
censured and corrected him, the more intractable he became.
He had acquired some habits wliich are usually condemned,
and which she never consented to encourage. For example,
he was accustomed to drink out of the decanter in place of
using a glass, and he generally preferred eating from the
dish rather than from a plate. Such ill conduct did not
pass unnoticed, and for his other faults, of slamming the
door violently, or of leaving it open, of remaining motionless
or running away when he received directions to do any
thing, it was frequently his fate to hear a long lecture, which
seldom produced the slightest effect. He seemed daily to
become less partial to Aurelia, he called her "mother!"
without any tenderness of tone, but was warmly attached to
his old nurse, who allowed him in all things to have his own
way.
But she had lately become so indisposed, that she was re-
moved from her house into a quiet lodging, and Felix would
therefore have been left quite alone, if Mignon had not
appeared to him in the form of a guardian angel. The two
children amused each other in the most innocent manner.
She taught him a number of little songs, which his excellent
memory soon enabled him to recite to the great-astonish-
262 WILHELM MEISTEE'S
ment of th3se who heard him. She endeavoured also to
explain to him the difficulties of her maps, to which she was
still extremely devoted, but her method of instruction was
not good. The chief interest which she felt about other
countries seemed to consist in inquiring whether their cli-
mates were cold or warm. Of the North and South Poles,
of the fearful ice which reigns there, and of the warmth
which prevails at a distance from those regions she could
give an interesting account. Upon hearing that any one
had undertaken a journey, she would merely inquire whether
he intended to travel towards the North or towards the
South, and she would endeavour then to trace his route
upon her little maps. When "Wilhelm spoke of travelling,
she invariably paid particular attention to him, and was ex-
tremely distressed when any thing interrupted his conversa-
tion. She could never be induced to take a part in any
play, or even to enter the theatre during a performance, yet
she took great pleasure in learning a few odes and poems by
heart, which were usually of a serious, solemn character,
and she never failed to astonish her hearers when she
favoured them with one of her sudden and impromptu recita-
tions.
Serlo, who was accustomed to mark every appearance of
opening talent, offered her great encouragement. But he
was most delighted with her sweet singing, which though
varied, was generally of a cheerful nature, and by displaying
a similar kind of talent the harper also had succeeded in
winning his favour.
Although he himself possessed no skill in music, and had
not even learned to play upon an instrument, he indulged in
the incomparable delights of music upon every possible oppor-
tunity. He held a concert every w^eek, and now with the
assistance of Mignon, the harper and Laertes, who played
upon the violin with some degree of skill, he had formed a
very creditable band.
lie was accustomed to say, "that men were so easily con-
tented with common pursuits that their spirit and their senses
were rendered callous to impressions of the Beautiful and the
Perfect, and that it was our duty to promote a taste for those
things by every possible means. Por none can endure a total
deprivation of such enjoyments, and it is only our want of
APPEENTICESHIP.
familiarity with the Excellent, which enables us to feel the
smallest .satisfaction in silly and tasteless novelties. Ana
therefore/ he would add, "we should form the habit of
hearing a little song, reading a good poem, seeing an excel-
lent painting, or uttering a sensible observation every da3r."
This train of thought, which was almost natural to Serlo,
could not fail to supply his companions with a fund of
agreeable conversation, and it was in the midst of in-
structive amusements of this nature that a letter bearing a
black seal, one day arrived for Wilhelm. Werner's crest
betokened some melancholy news, and Wilhelru was shocked
to find that the letter conveyed a brief annoivncement of his
father's death. He had died after a short and sudden
illness, leaving his domestic affairs in a highly satisfactory
state.
This unexpected intelligence grievously afflicted Wilhelm.
He deeply felt how true it is that we often neglect our
relatives and friends as long as we pursue our earthly career
together, and only then repent of our indifference when the
bonds of union have been untimely severed. But his grief
for the death of his revered parent was in some measure
assuaged by the consciousness, that during his life he had
experienced in a very small degree the delights of love or
happiness.
Wilhelm's thoughts were soon directed to his own situa-
tion, and the train of his reflections discomposed him not a
little. Nothing can be more embarrassing for a man than
to experience a great change in his external circumstances,
without a corresponding alteration having taken place in his
thoughts and feelings. The great crisis which has occurred
is not perceived, and the contradiction becomes greater in
proportion as the sufferer is less prepared to enter upon his
new course of existence.
Wilhelm found himself in the enjoyment of freedom, at a
time when he was far from being at ease with himself. His
thoughts were noble, his intentions were pure, and his
purpose was honest. All this he could proudly acknowledge
to himself, but the past convinced, him that he was sadly
deficient in experience, and for this reason he was accus-
tomed to attach undue importance to the advice of others,
and thus he was led still deeper into error. He conceived
264
W1LLLELM MEISTEll's
that he could most advantageously correct his deficiencies by
noting and collecting the most remarkable things which
occurred to him in his course of reading and conversation.
Accordingly, he wrote down his own remarks and the obser-
vations of other persons when they appeared to him interest-
ing, but unfortunately by this course he retained the false as
firmly as the true, he became too much attached to one
idea or to one principle, and thus he wandered from his
natural mode of thought and action, and often followed
strange lights for guiding stars. Aurelia's bitterness, and
Laertes* cold contempt for mankind improperly misled his
judgment, but no one had proved more dangerous to him than
Jarno. The clear intellect of that man could justly and
correctly appreciate present things, but he erred in the uni-
versality with which he exercised his opinions, as the judg-
ments of the understanding should be directed with precision
to each individual case, and they are usually inaccurate when
applied to any other.
Thus Wilhelm was wandering further from the paths of
wholesome consistency, in proportion as he sought to be at
peace with himself, and in this confusion it became easy for
his passions to direct all their force against himself, and to
perplex him still more in his views of duty.
The sad news to which we have alluded was converted by
Serlo into a matter of personal advantage. He found
stronger reasons daily for thinking of re-arranging his-
company. He felt that he must either renew his old
contract, a step to which he was not at all inclined, as
several of the actors who thought themselves indispensable
were daily becoming more troublesome, or he must entirely
remodel the entire body, and this was a measure which he
felt far more disposed to adopt.
He did not personally importune Wilhelm, but he em-
ployed Aurelia and Philina for that purpose; and as his
other companions who were anxious to procure an engage-
ment for themselves allowed him to enjoy no rest, he found
himself much perplexed in coming to a decision.
Who could have supposed that a letter from Werner,
written with the very opposite intention, would have com-
pelled him to form a resolution? Omitting the introductory
part, we subjoin the rest of it without much alteration.
APPRENTICESHIP.
205
CHAPTEE II.
"It was; and must always be right, that a man
should upon every occasion follow his vocation, and display
his activity. The good old man had scarcely breathed his
last, before the survivors found that nothing in the house
was regulated according to his wish. Friends, acquaintances
and relations came in throngs, particularly those who ex-
pected to serve themselves upon the occasion. They vied
with each other in fetching, in carrying, in counting, in
writing and reckoning. Whilst some brought wine and
cakes, others ate and drank, and no one appeared more
earnestly busy than the women, who were employed in pre-
paring the mourning.
"You will not blame me, therefore, my dear friend, ic
under such circumstances, I began to think of my own
interests. I became as active and as serviceable as possible
to your sister, and I stated to her as soon as it was right to
do so, that it was now indispensable for us to hasten a
marriage, which our parents in their extreme circumspection
had hitherto delayed.
"You must not suppose, however, that we thought for a
moment of occupying that large empty house. "We were
less pretentious and more rational. But you shall hear our
plan. After the wedding your sister and your mother will
reside with us.
"'How is that possible V you will probably inquire,
£ since the house wall scarcely furnish accommodation for
yourselves.' But therein consists our art, my friend! Skil-
ful arrangement will do winders, and you can scarcely
believe how much room they can find, who are content with
scanty accommodation. "We shall sell the large house, as we
have found a good opportunity for the purpose, and we can
invest the purchase money at a hundred per cent.
"I hope you will approve of our plan, and that you have
not inherited any of those worthless tastes which belonged
to your father and grandfather. The one only thought him-
self happy when surrounded by countless works of art, of
which I will venture to say, no one ever shared the enjoy-
ment with him. The other lived amid a display of expensive
2G6
WILHELM MEISTEH'S
pomp, iii which he permitted no one to be happy. Wo
intend to manage differently, and shall doubtless win your
approbation.
"It is true that in the whole honse I possess no place of
my own, but the little spot before my writing desk, and I
cannot conjecture where in the course of futurity they mean
to deposit the cradle, but then, on the other hand, there is
plenty of room out of doors. There are coffee houses and
clubs in abundance for the husband, walks and drives for
the wife, and places of public amusement for both. But our
great advantage consists in this, that as the round table will
be completely filled, it will be impossible for our lather to
invite a set of friends to dinner, who will only turn him-into
i^'dicule, in proportion as he endeavours to provide them
with entertainment.
"There will be no superfluities in our house! no excess of
furniture or apparatus! no carriages, no horses! Nothing
but money, and the liberty of doing every-day whatever we
please in reason. No wardrobes, always the best and newest
on the back, the husband may wear his coat threadbare, and
the wife may vary her gown the moment the fashion
changes. Nothing in my mind is more insupportable than
a whole shop full of trumpery. If I were offered the most
valuable jewel on condition that I should wear it every day,
I would refuse the present, for who can eujoy the smallest
pleasure in the contemplation of unproductive • -capital?
This then is my confession of faith. To do one's business—
to make money—to be happy with one's family, and as for
the rest of the world only to consider how far we may
employ them to our advantage.
"But I hear you inquire—what provision do you- make
for me in this wise arrangement? Where shall I find
shelter when you have sold my father's house, and not the
smallest room remains for me in yours?
"This, my dear brother, is a material point, and herein I
think I can render you a service. But you must first con-
descend to accept my congratulations upon the admirable
manner in which you have lately spent your time.
"But tell me how you have contrived, in the course of a
few weeks, to become so conversant with every tiling that
is useful and interesting. Notwithstanding my high opinion
APPRENTICESHIP.
2G7
of your powers, I did not give you credit for so much dili-
gence and attention. Tour journal proves with what profit
you are travelling. Tour account of the iron and copper
mines is excellent, and evinces your knowledge of the sub-
ject. I visited them once myself, but my description is very-
incomplete when compared with yours. Tour whole letter
on the linen trade is replete with information, and your
observations on commercial competition are peculiarly
striking. Here and there I find some trifling errors in your
arithmetic, but they are, however, very excusable.
"But what chiefly delights myself and my father, is your
thorough acquaintance with husbandry and the improve-
ments of landed property. We have* some thoughts of
purchasing a large estate which is now under sequestration,
in a very promising neighbourhood. We shall pay for it
with the money arising from the sale of the family house,
and partly by money which we shall borrow for the purpose,
—a portion may remain unpaid. "We intend that you shall
proceed thither, to take charge of the improvements, and
thus in a few years the land will have increased one-third in
value, without any exaggeration. We can then sell it again,
purchase a larger estate, and so continue to improve and
traffic as before. For all this you are our man.
"In the mean time our pens at home shall not be idle, and
before long we shall be in a very enviable condition.
a JN"ow, farewell! Enjoy yourself upon your journey, go
wherever you can find contentment and profit. We shall
not require your services for the next six months; in the
mean time you can enjoy yourself in the world, since a wise
man can find the greatest of all advantages in travelling.
Farewell! I rejoice at being so nearly related to you, and
that we are moreover united by a similar spirit of activity."
Although this letter was admirably written, and contained
a store of economical truths, it was for more than one reason
displeasing to Wilhelm. The eulogiums passed upon his
alleged statistical, technological, and rural information,
operated upon him like a silent censure. The ideal picture
which his brother-in-law drew of the happiness of civic life,
was by no means pleasing to him; on the contrary, a secret
spirit of contradiction inspired him strongly with the very
opposite notions. He felt convinced that upon the stage
2G8 -vriLHELM: leister's
alone "ho could perfect the education which he sought to give
himself, and in this opinion he became the more confirmed, in
proportion as Werner unintentionally opposed it. He there-
fore collected all his arguments together, and strengthened
his own opinion of their truth, conceiving it right to repre-
sent them in a favourable point of view to Werner, and in
this humour he composed an answer, which we shall proceed
to transcribe.
CHAPTEE 111.
"Youb letter is so well written, and its thoughts are so
wise and prudent, that they cannot be surpassed. And yet
you will pardon me for saying, that a man's opinions, reso-
lutions, and actions may be right, though they should be the
very opposite of yours. The object of your thoughts and
wishes seems to be boundless acquisition, and an easy con-
tented mode of enjoyment. I need scarcely observe that I
can find nothing in all this to charm me.
"But first I must confess with grief that under the pres-
sure of necessity, and with the assistance of a friend, my
journal was compiled from various books, with the intention
of pleasing my father, and though I know something of the
subjects therein mentioned, yet I am far from understanding
them, nor can I occupy myself with their study. What
can it avail me to manufacture good iron whilst my own
breast is full of dross? Or to what purpose were it to un-
derstand the art of reducing landed estates to order, when
my own thoughts are not in harmony?
"To explain myself in a word. The education of my own
1 mind has been my constant though secret purpose, from my
earliest youth. I still entertain this desire, and the means
of attaining it are daily becoming clearer to me. I have
seen more of the world than you suppose, and I have profited
more by my experience than you would believe. Pay some
attention therefore to what I am about to say, though it
should not be wholly in accordance with your opinions.
"Were 1 a nobleman, our dispute would soon be settled,
APPRENTICESHIP. 269
)
but as I am a simple citizen, I must take rny own course,
and I wish you may be able to understand me. I know not
how it is in other countries, but in Germany no person
except a nobleman can possibly acquire a liberal and per-
sonal education. A citizen may gain distinction, and by an
extreme effort may educate his mind, but his personal qualities
must be lost to him, in spite of all his exertions. As the
uobleman who associates with persons of distinguished
rank must necessarily acquire the most elegant manners,
which, as no house is ever closed to him, become at
length natural and unconstrained, and since in court or in
camp his figure and his person are considered valuable pos-
sessions, he has reason enough to show that he is conscious
of their worth. A certain stately gracefulness in common
things, and a species of light elegance in earnest and
important matters becomes him well, because he thus proves
that he is always at ease. He is a public character, and the
more refined his movements, the more sonorous his voice, the
more collected and reserved his whole deportment, the more
perfect he becomes. If he always acts in the same manner
towards high and low, towards friends and relatives,
none can ever censure him, and none can wish that his
habits should change. He may be considered cold and
cautious, but he will always be thought sensible and prudent.
If he can rale himself outwardly in every moment of his life,
no one can make any further demands upon him, and every
thing else which he possesses, capabilities, talents or riches,
all appear so many unnecessary gifts.
"IN'ow only fancy a citizen laying claim to any of these
advantages, lie would utterly fail, and his failure Avould be
the more complete, in proportion as his talents and natural
endowments were the more distinguished.
"Since in ordinary life the nobleman is fettered by no
restraint, and from his stock kings and kingly figures
emanate, he can always appear before his equals with a
silent consciousness of his own dignity, and can ever press
onward in his course, while nothing more becomes the
citizen than a tacit consciousness of the limits within which
he is restrained. The question with him is not £ what are
you?' but 4 what have you got P what discernment, know-
ledge, talent or riches?' The nobleman gives all that he has
270
WILTIELM MEISTER'S
in the display of Ins personal qualities, but to these the
citizen can lay no claim. The former is justified in seeming?
the latter is compelled to be, and all mere pretensions on
his part are ridiculous and absurd. The former must do and
act, the latter only contributes and procures, he must
cultivate some individual talent, in order to be useful, and
it is well understood that in his existence there can be no
harmony, because in order to render one talent useful, he
must abandon the exercise of every other.
''The cause of this difference may perhaps exist less in
the assumption of the noble classes and the submission of
the citizen, than in the very constitution of society, and it
does not concern me much whether or in what respects any
alteration may be effected, it is quite enough for me as affairs
go, to think of myself and endeavour to save myself and
attain an object which I find indispensable.
"I must confess that I feel an irresistible impulse to
pursue this harmonious cultivation of my nature, which has
been denied to me by my birth, and since our separation,
practice has enabled me to accomplish much. I have got
rid of much of my accustomed embarrassment, and can
conduct myself with considerable ease. I have also improved
in my speech and in my voice, and I may say without
vanity that I make a very tolerable appearance in society.
I shall not conceal that my wish to become a public charac-
ter, and to widen my sphere of attraction and influence, is
every day becoming stronger. To this is joined my taste
for poetry, and every thing connected therewith, and the
necessity of cultivatiug my mind in order that, in my
indispensable enjoyments, I may esteem nothing but what
is really good and beautiful. You will at once perceive that
the stage alone can supply what I require, and that in no
other element can I educate myself according to my wishes.
Upon the stage the man of cultivated mind may display his
personal accomplishments as effectively as in the upper
classes of society, his bodily and mental endowments must
improve in equal proportion, and there better than in any
other place, I can assume the twofold character of seeming
and of actually being. If I wish for any other employment,
I can find artificial troubles in abundance, and with them 1
may daily exercise my patience.
APPEENTICESHIP. 271
"Do not seek to argue this point with me, as before you
write I shall have taken the first step. In obedience to
overpowering prejudices, I shall change roy name, as I own
I should blush at appearing as 'Meister' upon the stage.
Farewell. My fortune is in such good keeping, that I need
not trouble myself about it. I shall obtain all I want from
you, it will not be much, for I trust that my art will prove
sufficient for my support."
The letter was scarcely dispatched before TVilhelm acted
pursuant to its contents, and to the great astonishment of
Serlo and the rest of the company, declared that he had re-
solved to become an actor, and to sign a contract to that
effect upon reasonable terms. An agreement was quickly
made, for Serlo had long since proposed terms, with which
"Wilhelm and. the others were abundantly content. The
whole of that unhappy company, with whom we have been
so long entertained, were therefore at once engaged, although
with tbe exception of Laertes, not one of them evinced the
slightest gratitude to "Wilhelm. They had appealed to him
without confidence, and they accepted his services without
thanks. The greater part of them were rather disposed to
ascribe their success to the influence of Phil in a, and they
accordingly expressed their gratitude to her. In the mean-
time the contracts were prepared for signature, and by an
inexplicable association of ideas, at the very moment when
Wilhelm was writing his assumed name, there arose before
his mind the appearance of that retired spot in the forest,,
where he had lain wounded in Philina's lap. He saw
the lovely amazon riding through the wood, mounted on
her grey charger—she approached him—she dismounted.
Her friendly sympathy caused her alternately to advance
and to retire. At length she stood before him. The cloak
fell from her shoulders, her countenance, her form shone
with inexpressible beauty, and then -she disappeared. He
m subscribed his name mechanically without well knowing
what he did, and then for the first time perceived that Mig-
non was standing at his side, and was making a gentle effort
to bold back his arm and to restrain his hand.
272
WILHELM MEISTER'S
CHAPTEE IV.
O^e of the xmdifions which Wilhelm liad exacted, before
he went upon the stage, was not acceded to without some
hesitation on the part of Serlo. He had required that the
play of Hamlet should be acted in its entire state, and with-
out mutilation, to which extraordinary request the latter had
acceded, so far as it might be possible. But upon this
point they had frequent disputes, as their opinions differed
on the subject of what might or might not be possible, and
also with respect to how much might be omitted, without
amounting to a mutilation.
Wilhelm was in that happy season when a man cannot
understand how a defect can exist in a maiden whom he
loves, or in an author whom he reveres. Our sympathy
with them is so complete, so wholly in accord, that we feel
as if a perfect harmony existed between us. Serlo, however,
made too many nice distinctions. His clear understanding
would only acknowledge that a work of art was a more or
less imperfect whole. He thought that as plays usually
went, there was not much reason to be scrupulous about
them, and therefore he conceived that Shakspeare, and more
especially Hamlet, might advantageously suffer some curtail-
ment.
But Wilhelm refused to listen to him, when he spoke of
separating the wheat from the chaff. "It is not a question
of wheat and chaff," he exclaimed; "here is a tree, with
boughs, branches, leaves, blossoms and fruit. Is not the
one inseparable from the others, and does it not exist by
bheir means?" Serlo replied, (C that no one ever brought
an entire tree upon the table—that the artist presented his
guests with golden apples upon dishes of silver." They ex-
hausted their store of similitudes, but they disagreed still
more in their opinions.
Wilhelm was almost reduced to despair, when Serlo ad-
vised him to adopt the simple plan of coming to a resolution,
of seizing his pen and striking out from the tragedy any
passage which might present a difficulty, in fine of compres-
sing several characters into one, and he advised him if he
did not understand such a proceeding or had not the heart
APPRENTICESHIP.
273
to execute it, to leave the task to him and he would soon
dispatch it.
"That is not according to our agreement," observed Wil-
li elm; "how can vou, with all your taste, evince so much
levity?"
"My friend," replied Serlo, "you will act as I am doing,
before we have been long together. I know the great ob-
jection to treating authors thus, it has probably not been
practised upon any theatre in the world. But what theatre
has ever been so completely neglected as ours? Authors
compel us to resort to this sad mutilating system, and the
public encourages it. How manj' pieces are there which are
quite unadapted to our numbers, to our scenery, to our
theatrical machinery, to the time, the talents, and the physi-
cal strength of the actors, and yet we are expected to con-
tinue performing them, and also to introduce new pieces.
Are we not therefore entitled to avail ourselves of this free-
dom, since we derive as much profit from mutilated works as
from entire productions? The public itself concedes the
privilege to us. Few G-ermans, and perhaps few persons of
any modern nation can appreciate an sesthetical whole, they
blame and praise according to isolated passages, and for whom
is this a greater happiness than for the actors themselves,
since the stage itself is little else than a patched and muti-
lated affair."
"Is?" answered Wilhelm, "but must it remain so?
I)o not persuade me that you are right, as no power on earth
shall ever prevail upon me to perform a contract into which
I shall have entered under the strangest misapprehension."
Serlo turned the subject with a jest, and then persuaded
Wilhelm to reflect upon their repeated conversations re-
specting Hamlet, and to contrive some happy alteration of
the play.
After a few days spent in solitude, Wilhelm returned
with a look of satisfaction. "I most sadly mistake," he
exclaimed, "if I have not at last discovered how the whole
affair may be managed, indeed I am persuaded that Shak-
speare himself would have contrived it so, if his genius had
L.ot beer, wholly occupied about the catastrophe, or perhaps
misled by the novels which supplied him with the incidents."
"Let us hear!" said Serlo. as he took his seat with
274
WILHELM MEISTElt's
gravity, upon the sofa j f< I will listen quietly, but 1 will judge
with rigour."
"Wilhelm proceeded: C(I am not afraid. Only listen. I
make two divisions in the composition of this play, after tho
strictest investigation and most mature reflection. The first
consists of the principal internal relations of the persons
and incidents, the powerful effects which proceed from the
characters and actions of the chief figures, these are supremely
excellent, and the order in which they are arranged is in-
capable of improvement. They must not be injured by any
interference, nor must they even be changed in form. These
are the excellencies which every one longs to see, which no
one should presume to touch, and wrhich make a deep im-
pression on the soul. Accordingly, I have been informed
that they are all introduced upon the German theatre. But
our countrymen have failed in my opinion with respect to
the second class of objects for which this play is remarkable.
I allude to the external incidents whereby the persons are
brought from place to place, or become united in different
ways, by certain accidental circumstances. These they have
wholly omitted, or have considered as unimportant. It is true
that these threads are somewhat slack and delicate, though
they certainly run through the entire piece, connecting what
would otherwise be wholly disunited, and which in truth
does actually become so, when you have severed them, and
fancy that you have achieved something by leaving the ends
remaining.
"By external. incidents I mean the disturbances in Nor-
way, the wrar with young Portinbras, the embassy to his
aged uncle, the arranged feud, the departure of young Por-
tinbras for Poland, and his eventual return; likewise the
return of Horatio from Wittenberg, Hamlet's desire to
proceed thither; the journey of Laertes to Prance, his return;
the despatch of Hamlet to England, his capture by pirates,
and the death of the two courtiers through the medium of
the letter. All these incidents might serve very properly to
swell the dimensions of a novel, but they injure the unity of
a piece, in which the hero acts without any settled plan, and
are in every way objectionable.',
"Now I listen to you with pleasure!" exclaimed Serlo.
"Do not interrupt me," said "Wilhelm; f: in all probability
APritENTICESHIP.
275
you will not continue to praise me. Those mistakes re-
semble the temporary supports of a building, which you dare
not remove, without having previously built a firm wall as a
substitute. My plan, therefore, would not alter those grand
situations, or at least would interfere with them collectively
and individually as little as possible, but would not hesitate
to reject at once all those external and distracting motives,
and substitute a single one in their place.'5
"And what may that be?" asked Serlo, rising from his
seat.
"It will be found already in the play," answered Wilhelm;
"I should only require to make a proper use of it. I allude
to the disturbances in Norway. But I will endeavour to
explain my plan.
"After the death of the elder Hamlet, the lately sub-
jugated Norwegians become discontented. The ruler of the
country sends his son Horatio to Denmark. He had been a
former schoolfellow of Hamlet, and had excelled all his
cotemporaries in prudence and bravery. It was intended
that he should expedite the preparation of the fleet, which
had made but slow progress under the administration of the
new luxurious monarch. Horatio had been acquainted with
the former king, having fought in his battles and having
been counted among his favourites—events which could
by no means impair the effect of the first ghost scene. The
new monarch receives Horatio, and sends Laertes to Norway
with news that the fleet will soon arrive, whilst Horatio
is ordered to hasten the preparations. Hamlet's mother
however will not consent that her son shall proceed to sea
with Horatio, pursuant to his wish."
"Thank Heaven!" cried Serlo, "we shall thus escape
Wittenberg and the College, with which I have always felt
annoyed. I approve of your plan highly, for with the excep-
tion of those two distant objects, Norway and the fleet, the
audience need not exercise their imaginations, they will see
every thing, all will take place before their eyes , whereas,
according to the other plan, the imagination is busied in
every part of the world/'
"You may perceive without difficulty," said Wilhelm,
u how I intend to preserve the connection of the rest. When
Hamlet informs Horatio of his stepfather's crime, the latter
TVILHELM MEISTEIl's
advises him to proceed to Norway, to ingratiate himself with
the army, and to return at their head. Hamlet is now be-
coming dangerous to the King and Queen, and they can
find no better means of disposing of him than to send him
to the fleet, accompanied by Hosencrantz and Guildenstern
as spies upon his actions. But Laertes returning in the
mean time, they resolve that that youth who is exasperated
even to a determination to commit murder, shall be sent
after him. The fleet is detained by adverse winds. Hamlet
once more returns, his wandering in the churchyard may be
contrived by some opportune circumstance, and his en-
countering Laertes at the grave of Ophelia is a grand and
indispensable event. The King now conceives it more-
advisable that Hamlet should be got rid of at once; the
ceremony of his departure and his apparent reconciliation
with Laertes are joyously celebrated. Knightly sports are
accordingly held, and the combat ensues between Hamlet
and Laertes. Without the four corpses the piece could not
be ended. It would not do that a single one of the parties
should survive. A popular election ensues for the choice of
a king, and Hamlet's dying voice supports Horatio."
"Sit down instantly," cried Serlo, "and finish the piece.
Your conception has my entire approbation. You must not
allow your zeal to cool."
CHAPTEE V.
Wilhelm had been for some time engaged in the trans-
lation of Hamlet, and had used "Wieland's spirited edition
u£ that author, through whom indeed he had first become
acquainted with Shakespeare. He now added whatever had
been omitted in the original, and was in possession of a
complete copy of the play at the very time when he had
come to an agreement with Serlo about the mode in which
it should be treated. In pursuance of his plan, he now
commenced to erase, to insert, to separate, to unite, to alter,
^nd again to restore, but however satisfied he might be with
iiis own ideas, it still seemed to him, that in the execution lie
waaonly spoiling the original.
APPRENTICESHIP.
As soon as he had completed his task, he read it over to
Serlo and the other members of the company. They ex-
pressed themselves delighted, and Serlo indulged in many
complimentary observations.
"You have very properly decided," he said, amongst other
things, " that certain external circumstances are essential to
this piece, but they should be more simple in their nature
than the great poet has represented them. All that takes
place outside the theatre, which the audience cannot actually
see, and must therefore imagine for themselves, serves as a
species of background before which the acting figures move.
Your large and simple view of the fleet and Norway will
improve the piece considerably. If they were removed
nothing would remain but a mere family scene, and the noble
idea of a royal house perishing, by the effect of internal
vice and crime would not be pourtrayed with becoming
dignity. But the original background is so varied, so uncer-
tain and confused, that it would injure the effect of the
characters.5'
"Wilhelm once more defended Shakespeare, maintaining
that his work had been writen for islanders, for Englishmen,
who are accustomed to ships, and voyages to the coasts of
Erance, and to privateers, and that what seemed quite natural
to them, proved perplexing and distracting to others.
Serlo assented, and both agreed that as the play was to be
produced upon the German stage, the former scenes ana
more simple background would answer better for the repre-
sentation.
The characters had been already distributed. Serlo
undertook Polonius, Aurelia played Ophelia, Laertes the
part designated by his name, a stout cheerful youth, who
had lately arrived, assumed the character of Horatio,
but the King and Ghost occasioned some difficulty. The
old man, it is true, was ready for either, and Serlo pro-
posed that the Pedant should play the King, against which
Wilhelm uttered the loudest protests. They could not come
to any decision.
"Wilhelm had retained the two characters of Rosenerantz
and Guildenstern in his adaptation. i( Why have yea not
joined those two characters together?" inquired Serlo, "the
abbreviation could be very easily made."
278
W1LHELM MEISTEB S
"I can permit no such curtailment," answered "Wilhelm,
"it would injure both the sense and the effect. The spirit
of these two characters cannot possibly be represented by a
single person. It is in trifles of this nature that Shakespeare
exhibits his greatness. How could one man express the
varied emotions of these two individuals, their soft ap-
proaches, their flatteries, their bowings, their assentings,
their obsequiousness, their failings, their yieldings, their
\vheedlings, their assumption, their emptiness, their knavery,
and their ineptitude? They wo aid require a dozen characters
at least, if they could be found. It is only in society that
they could be effectual,—in fact, they are society, and Shake-
speare proved his sagacity and wisdom in contriving two
such characters. I require them, moreover, as contrasts to
the simple, noble, and excellent Horatio."
"I understand you," said Serlo, "and we can manage it
easily, by giving one of the characters to Elmira. It will be
all right if they only look well, and I will dress and arrange
them so that it will be a pleasure to behold them."
Philina felt delighted that she was to act the Duchess in
the by-play. "I will show it to be quite natural that a wo-
man should marry a second husband instantly, notwithstand-
ing her intense love for her first. I expect I shall receive
the loudest applause, and that every one shall wish he were
the third."
Aurelia looked displeased at this observation. IIer dislike
of Philina seemed to increase daily.
"It is a pity we cannot have a ballet," remarked Serlo,
"we might then introduce a pas de deux between you and
your two first husbands, the old harper might be lulled to
sleep by the music, and your pretty little feet and ancles
would look so charming upon the side stage."
"You know very little about my ancles," answered Philina
pettishly, "and as for my feet," she continued, reaching
down under the table and taking off her slippers, which she
he]d up before Serlo, "here are their cases, and I defy you
to find a prettier pair."
u Well I own it would be difficult," said he, looking at the
diminutive slippers, "one does not often see anything half
so charming."
They were of Paris workmanship; Philina had received
APPRENTICES!!!!*.
279
them as a present from the Countess, whose foot was remark-
able for its beauty.
"It is a sweet sight!" said Serlo, "my heart beats at the
^ very prospect."
"How it throbs!" replied Philina.
( "There is nothing more delightful than a pair of slippers
of first-rate workmanship," continued Serlo, "and yet their
Bound is more charming even than their beauty." He took
them and let them fall several times alternately upon the table.
""What do you mean ?" said Philina, "give them back to
me."
Philina took them from him, exclaiming, "You have
squeezed them till they are quite spoiled; you have made
them too large." ^he began to play with them, rubbing the
soles together. "How warm they are!" she cried, as she
held one of them'to her cheek ; then rubbing it once more
and holding it out to Serlo, he was complaisant enough to
feel, when she cried, "Clip, clap!" and at the same time
gave him a smart knock on the knuckles with the heel, which
made him scream and draw back his hand. "I will teach
you how to joke '.about my slippers," said Philina, with a
smile.
"And I will tefech you how to treat old people like chil-
dren/' cried Serlo Hn reply, leaping up and seizing her, and
kissing her repeatfedly, in spite of her pretended efforts to
resist him. During the struggle, her long hair had fallen
down and streamed around the group, the chair had been
upset, and Aurelia," inwardly vexed at such unseemly conduct,
arose in a state of indignation.
CHAPTEE VI.
Although in recasting the play of Hamlet, many cha-
racters were omitted, a sufficient number remained; so many,
in fact, that the company was scarcely sufficient for its per-
formance.
Under these circumstances/' observed Serlo, "the
2S0
WILHELM MEISTEE'S
prompter must issue from his retreat, become one of us, and
turn actor."
"He has often won my admiration in the post which he
nils," observed Wilhelm.
"I do not think that there can be a more perfect assistant
than he is," added Serlo. "Whilst no spectator can hear \
him, we actors can catch every syllable he utters, lie.
seems to have formed his voice expressly for his art, and is
like our good genius who whispers to us intelligibly in time
of necessity. He thoroughly comprehends that portion of
the actor's part in which he is perfect, and knows from a
distance where his memory is likely to fail. More than once,
when I have scarcely read over my part, he has repeated it
to me word for word, and I have got through successfully.
He has, however, some peculiarities which would render
another person wholly useless. He takes such a cordial
interest in some pieces, that, though he does not declaim
them he recites them with too much pathos, and he has more
than once quite put me out by this objectionable habit."
"And another of his peculiarities," observed Aurelia,
"caused me upon one occasion absolutely to break down in
my part."
"How could that happen with so attentive a person r"
inquired Wilhelm.
"He becomes so deeply moved at certain passages,"
answered Aurelia, "that he actually sheds tears and quite
loses himself, and they are not exactly the most pathetic
parts which produce this effect. They are, to express my
meaning clearly, those beautiful passages, from which the
pure spirit of the poet looks forth with bright beaming eyes;
passages at which some rejoice deeply, but which many thou-
sands entirely overlook."
"And possessing such tender feelings, why does he not
appear on the stage?"
"A hoarse voice and a formal carriage exclude him from
it, and his melancholy nature shuts him out from society,"
answered Serlo. "How have I laboured in vain to make him
intimate with me? He reads admirably, as indeed I have never
heard another read, and nobody better understands the deli-
cate boundary between declamatory and pathetic recitation."
APPRENTICESHIP.
281
"We have found the man we want," cried Wilhelm.
"What a fortunate discovery! He is the very man to recite
the /passage of 'The rugged Pyrrhus.'"
J" It requires your talent," said Serlo, "to turn every
ojbject to its proper use."
/ ^ Indeed, I was sadly afraid," said Wilhelm, "that we
/ should have been obliged to omit that passage, and it would
/ have injured the whole periormance."
"I cannot precisely see that," answered Aurelia.
"But 1 hope you will soon agree with me," said Wilhelm.
"Shakespeare has introduced the travelling players with a
douhle object. In the first place, the man who recites the
death of Priam with so much pathos, produces a deep
impression on the Prince himself; he awakens the conscience
of the doubting youth, and thus the scene becomes the pre-
lude to that act in which the little play exerts such a
powerful effect upon the King. Hamlet feels himself re-
buked by the actor, who can become so warmly interested
in fictitious woes, and the thought of testing the conscience
of his stepfather is thus suggested to him. What a glorious
soliloquy is that which concludes the second act! How
delighted I shall feel when I recite it!
"* 0! what a rogue and peasant slave am I!
Is it not monstrous that this player here,
But in a fiction—in a dream of passion,
Could force his soul so to his own conceit,
That from her working- all his visage waned:
Tears in his eyes,—distraction in his aspect,
A broken voice, and his whole function suiting
With forms to his conceit! And all for nothing \
For Hecuba! What's Hecuba to him,
Or he to Hecuba, that he should weep for her V"
"If we could bufr bring our hero upon the stage!" said
Aurelia.
"We must accomplish the plan gradually," replied Serlo.
"He may read the passage at our rehearsal, and we can
say that it is intended for an actor whom we expect, and
thus we may by degrees approach our object."
When they had agreed upon this point, the conversation
turned upon the character of the Ghost. Wilhelm would
not consent to give the part of the living King to the Pe-
282
WILHELM MEISTEB'S
dant, that so the old man might play the Ghost: he proposed
that they should rather wait a little, as some ther actors
were expected, and amongst them they might pe haps find a
more suitable person. \
We may therefore conjecture "Wilhelm's astonishmerit,
when upon his return home that evening, he found the fol-\
lowing note lying upon his table, sealed with a Btrange \
cypher, and addressed to him in his theatrical name:—
"We know, O singular youth! that thou art in a state of
great perplexity. Thou canst scarcely find actors for Ham-
let, to say nothing of the Ghost. But thy zeal deserves a
miracle. We cannot work miracles, and yet something
miraculous shall happen. Ouly have faith and the Ghost
shall appear at the proper time! Courage! be collected!
No reply is necessary, we shall know thy decision."
He hastened to Serlo with this extraordinary note, who
read and re-read it, and at length said with a grave air that
it was a matter of some importance, and they should consi-
der whether they might risk it. They turned the subject in
a thousand lights; Aurelia in the mean time remained
silent, smiling occasionally, and when she adverted to the
topic a few days afterwards, she expressed her firm opinion
that it was a joke of Serlo's. She desired Wilhelm to cease
his anxiety, and to expect the Ghost with patience.
Serlo was in the best of humours. The actors who were
on the point of leaving the company exerted themselves to
the utmost in order that their absence might be missed, and
from the zeal of the new performers the most favourable
results were anticipated.
Wilhelm's society had produced a decided influence upon
Serlo. He now conversed more about art; but he was a
German, and these people seldom give much account of
themselves. Wilhelm took notes of many of their conver-
sations, but as we cannot so frequently interrupt our narra-
tive, we must communicate the substance of them to our
readers upon some other occasion.
One evening, Serlo was very merry in his remarks about
the character of Polonius, and the manner in which it
should be performed. *' I shall endeavour," he said, " to
represent a very worthy man in a favourable light. I shaL
exert myself to pourtray his various characteristics in a
.APPEESTICESHXP.
2S3
becoming manner, bis repose and confidence, his emptiness
and self-importance, his pliancy and meanness, his candour
and sycophancy, his sincere roguery and deceptive truth.
I will paint this grey-headed, time-serving, and patient old
rogue in the most courtly colours, and the occasionally bold
/^trokes of our author's pencil will prove of - some service to
/ my task. I will speak like a book where I am prepared, and
like a simpleton when I am in good spirits. I shall be
absurd enough to coincide with every one, and clever enough
never to notice when I am turned into ridicule. I have not
often found a part which affords me so much malicious
satisfaction."
"I wish I could hope as much from mine/' observed Au-
relia. "I am.neither young nor sufficiently tender-hearted
to like my character. Of one thing, however, I am unfor-
tunately conscious. I srall not be deficient in the feeling
which turns Ophelia's brain."
"We must not look at the character so strirly," naid
Wilhelm, "for I am satisfied that my anxiety to play Ham-
let has caused me to commit many errors in my study of
the part. The more I consider the performance, the more
plainly I perceive that I jossess no single trait of feature
or of form such as Shakespeare has intended for his hero;
and when I consider how intimately every part is connected,
J despair of producing a proper effect."
"You are commencing your new course of life with a
becoming feeling of conscientiousness," observed Serlo.
"The actor adapts himself to his character as well as he
can, the part must suit itself to him. But how has Shake-
speare pourtrayed his Hamlet? Is it so completely unlike
you?"
"In the first place, Hamlet is a lair-haired vouth,"
answered Wilhelm.
"That is a far-fetched idea," said Aurelia. ""Where do
you find it?"
"He is a Dane—a Northman, and of course fair-haired.
and blue-eyed by descent."
"Do you suppose the thought occurred to Shakespeare r'1
"I do not mean to say that it is actually expressed, but in
connection with other passages it seems to me undeniable.
The fencing wearies him, he becomes easily heated by the
WILHELAI MEISTEJl'3
exercise, and the Queen remarks, 'He is f&t and scant; oi
breath.' Can you suppose that he is otherwise than fair and
well-conditioned? Dark haired people in their youth are
of a very different constitution. And does not his melan-
choly and inactivity, his soft sorrow, and his perpetual inde-
cision agree better with such a figure than with that of a\
slender, dark haired youth? From the latter, you would \
expect more determination and resolution."
"You are destroying my ideal of the character," cried
Aurelia. "Do not talk of a fat Hamlet! Do not think of
him as a stout prince. Give us rather a character that will
move and delight us. The intention of the author is of less
consequence than our pleasure, and we require a charm suited
to our ideas."
CHAPTEE VII.
One evening the company was engaged in discussing the
question whether the novel or the drama was better entitled
to the favour of the public: Serlo, maintained that an argu-
ment upon such a question could be productive of no result,
as both kinds of composition might be excellent in their
way, although each should be restrained within its own
proper limits.
"I am not quite certain about that," said "Wilhelm.
""Who can be so ?" replied Serlo, "and yet it were perhaps
worth while to examine the subject more closely."
After a long conversation the following may be considered
as the result of their discussion.
Human nature and human action are pourtrayed equally
in the drama and in the novel. And the difference which
exists between these two kinds of fiction, does not merely
consist in their outward form, that is to say, in the fact that
in one case the hero speaks, whilst in the other, his adven-
tures are only narrated. It happens, unfortunately, that
many dramas are but novels, which are carried on by means
of dialogue; and it would be quite easy to compose a drama
in the epistolary form.
APPRENTICESHIP.
2s5
In the novel, however, sentiments and events are specially
delineated—in the drama, characters and deeds. The course
of the novel is necessarily slow. The sentiments of the-
principal character must by some contrivance impede the
too/rapid development of the plot. Bat the drama should
fasten forward, and the character of the hero should unfold
^itself quickly and require an artificial restraint. The hero
/ of the novel should be passive, or at least he should not be
active in a high degree, but in the drama we look for action and
deeds. Grandison, Clarissa, Pamela, the Vicar of Wakefield,
and Tom Jones himself, are if not passive, at least retarding
characters; and all the incidents are formed upon the model
of their sentiments. But the hero of the drama models
nothing for himself, all the events oppose him, and he either
clears and removes every obstacle from his path, or else he
becomes their victim.
Every one agreed that in the novel something might be
left to the operation of chance; subject, however, to the
constant control and guidance of the sentiments expressed
by the several characters; whilst, on the other hand, that
fate which impels men forward in spite of themselves to an
unexpected catastrophe by the instrumentality of outward
independent circumstances, can only be admitted in the
drama; they were moreover of opinion that chance might
occasion pathetic, but never tragic situations; that fate on
the other hand should always be terrible, and become in the
highest degree tragic, when it confounds the guilty and
guiltless in one common ruin.
These reflections led them back to the consideration of
- the wonderful character of Hamlet, and the peculiarities of
that tragedy. They admitted that the hero was a creature
of sentiment rather than of action, that events alone impel
him forward, and therefore that the play possessed somewhat
the characteristics of a novel. But inasmuch as the plan is
sketched by the hand of Fate, commencing with a fearful
deed, and the hero is ever urged on to the accomplishment of
a deed of terror, the play becomes in the highest degree
tragic, and can have no other than a tragic termination.
They resolved now to commence their reading rehear-
sals, an employment to which Willi elm had looked
forward with the greatest delight. He had long since
286
WILHEM MEISTEIi 3
■ collated the different parts of the play, so that his task
was rendered comparatively easy. All the actors were
familiar with the piece, and it was therefore only necessary
to convince them of the importance of these reading
rehearsals before they took them in hand. As it is expected
that every musician should, to some extent, be competent >r,o
play at sight, so every actor and indeed every educated man/,
should possess the art of reading from the book, and of seizing
the spirit of a play, a poem, or a narrative, and he should be
able to read them aloud with ease and elegance. It will
answer no end to learn a piece by heart, if the actor cannot
penetrate into the sense and meaning of his author—the
mere letter will avail nothing.
Serlo promised to excuse the attendance of the performers
at all the acting rehearsals, even at the dress-rehearsal, if
they would only endeavour to do justice to these reading
exercises, "for usually," he said, u nothing can be more
ludicrous than to hear actors speak of study, it is as if free-
masons were to talk about building."
The rehearsals succeeded admirably, and it may be said
truly, that the subsequent success and favourable reception
of the company were founded upon these few well employed
hours.
"Tou were right," observed Serlo, when they found them-
selves again alone, "to address our fellow labourers in an
earnest tone, though I doubt whether they will completely
fulfil your wishes."
l< Why so ?" inquired Wilhelm.
"I have often found," replied Serlo, "that though it may
be an easy task to move the imaginations of men, and though
they may listen eagerly to works of fiction, yet we seldom
find that they are gifted with any great productive powers
of fancy. This is more especially the case with actors. Each
of them is quite pleased to accept a beautiful and brilliant
Dart, but he seldom does more than complacently assume his
hero's place, without once considering whether he is com-
petent to fill it. But to seize with spirit the exact conception
of the author, to know how completely you should forget
yourself in order to do justice to a character, to feel deeply
that you are another individual, to carry conviction home to
the bosom of the spectator, and by the inward force of imagi-
ArPEESTICESKI?.
287
aation to convert the stage into a temple, and the scenes
into reality, this is a talent which belongs to few. That
inward strength of soul, by means of which deception is pro-
duced, that lying truth by which alone the height of illusion
is attained, these are qualities of which few persons can ever
fbrin even a distant conception.
"But let us not insist too strongly upon the necessity of
spirit and of feeling. Our safest course will be, first, patiently
to instruct our actors in the sense and meaning of their
parts, and so teach their understanding. Such of them
as possess the adequate talent, will afterwards readily acquire
a forcible and pathetic expression, and the others will b
saved from the danger of acting or declaiming altoget
falsely. But we should remember that actors cannot c
a greater error than to think they can understand
of their parts, so long as they are not complete
the sense and letter of their author."

288
WIXIIELM MEISTEU S
Wilhelrn was roused from his reflections by the arrival
of the other actors. They were accompanied by two friends
who were patrons of the drama, and were accustomed to go
upon the stage. They saluted Wilhelrn with much cordiality.
One of them was a warm admirer of Madame Melina, the
other was entirely devoted to theatrical art, and both were
general favourites with the company. It was not easy toV
say whether their acquaintance with the stage, or their at- x
tachment to it was the greater. But they loved it too well
to*know it thoroughly, and they knew it sufficiently well to
choose the good and' to reject the bad. Mediocrity was to
fceni intolerable and the cordial enjoyment with which they
^^shed the anticipation and the recollection of excellence
^expressible. The mechanical part of the profession
^hem pleasure, the intellectual gave them delight,
^e for the stage, was so strong that even an inter-
nal was to them a species of illusion. Defects
geared in thedistance, success touched them
jne they were amateurs of whom every
^ost favourite walk was from
^parterre to the stage,
their most active
L acting, the recita-
ls om they alwayo
i?t conversation
^ced, and they
^rs attentive,
fcvice, or to
extrava-
_?ht of
fcmances.
in all
tied to
^part
heir
.of

APPRENTICESHIP.
289
and attitudes should at such times be in entire conformity
with the passages which they recited, in order that by habit
the whole might be united mechanically together. No
ordinary movement of the hands should be allowed during
the/ rehearsal of a tragedy—they trembled for a tragedian
wno took snuff upon such occasions, fearing lest upon
/the recurrence of the passage in the actual performance
/ the actor might possibly miss his pinch. They also objected
to boots being worn at a rehearsal, when the character
required that the part should be performed in shoes. But
nothing distressed them more than when the actresses in
rehearsing buried their hands in the folds of their dresses.
In addition to all this, the persuasions of these amateurs
produced another very good effect—all the actors were
instructed in the drilling exercise. Eor where military
characters are so constantly introduced, they felt that
nothing could be more painful than to see men in captains'
and majors' uniforms, strutting about the stage, without the
least regard to discipline.
"Wilhelm and Laertes were the first who submitted to the
instructions of a subaltern officer, and they availed themselves
of the opportunity, zealously to resume their practice of
fencing.
In this manner did these patrons of the stage exert
themselves for the improvement of the actors, who had by
chance been brought together. And while strangers were
amused at the peculiarity of their taste, they were neverthe-
ess labouring for the future amusement of the public. And
people little knew how much they had to be thankful for,
particularly for the zeal with which they impressed upon the
actors, the important duty of never failing to speak in a loud
and intelligible tone. TJpon this point they encountered a
greater degree of hostility and opposition than they could
have believed possible. Most of the actors wished to be
heard in their natural voices, and few of them would take the
trouble to speak so that they could be understood. Some laid
the blame upon the building, others maintained that it was
wrong to shout when their parts required that they should
speak in a quiet, natural, or tender tone.
Our two amateurs, who possessed an inexhaustible store
of patience, exerted themselves to correct this mistake, to
u
290
WILHELM HEISTERS
subdue this determined obstinacy. They spared neither
arguments nor flatteries for the purpose. They triumphed at
length, and were mainly indebted for their success to the
kind offices of Wilhelm. In pursuance of his invitation they
took their seats, during the rehearsal, in the farthest corner
of the theatre, and he requested that whenever he was not
distinctly heard, they should knock upon the bench wit\
a key. Accordingly he spoke out plainly and deliberately, 1 v
raising his voice gradually, and never over exerting himself,
even in the most excited passages. As the rehearsals pro-
ceeded, the sound of the key became less frequently heard.
The other actors soon consented to undergo the same tuition,
and the company at last had reason to hope that the play
would be heard without difficulty in every part of the
house,
We may see from this example, how anxious men always
are to effect their object in their own way, how necessary
it often becomes to convince them of truths, which are even
self-evident, and how difficult it frequently is to persuade
men who have a definite purpose in view, of the primary
conditions under which alone their design can succeed.
CHAPTEE IX,
They continued to make the necessary preparations for
the scenery and dresses and for whatever else was necessary,
Wilhelm had certain fancies of his own respecting some of
the scenes and passages of the play, which Serlo generally
indulged, partly in consequence of his agreement, and partly
because he thought they were correct, and because he hoped
by these concessions to make a friend of Wilhelm, and recon-
cile him more easily to his own plans.
The Xing and Queen, for example, were to appear at the
opening scene, seated upon their thrones, surrounded by
their courtiers, whilst Hamlet stood undistinguished amongst
them. "Hamlet," he said, "must remain quiet, his mourn-
ing dress will render him sufficiently distinct. He should
APPRENTICESHIP.
291
rather avoid than seek observation; and not until the
audience has terminated, and the King addresses him as a
son, should he advance, when the scene may proceed in its
course*"
But a great difficulty was presented by the two pictures,
to which Hamlet refers in the passionate scene with his
mother. <£ It seems to me," said Wilhelm, "that they
ought both to be displayed at full length in the back ground
(rf the chamber, near the principal entrance. The elder King
should be painted in full armour like the Grhost, and should
hang at the side where the latter makes his appearance. I
could wish that the figure assumed a commanding attitude,
with the right hand extended, the face a little turned away,
with a look directed over the shoulder, that it may perfectly
resemble the Grhost at the very instant when the latter dis-
appears through the door. It would produce a great effect
if Hamlet at that moment should fix his eyes upon the
Grhost, and the Queen should look upon the picture. The
stepfather may appear in royal costume, but not in very
rich attire."
Many other topics of this nature were discussed, of which
we may, perhaps, find another opportunity to speak.
"Are you inexorable that Hamlet should die at the con-
clusion of the play ?" inquired Serlo.
"How can I keep him alive," asked Wilhelm in reply,
"when every thing requires that the piece should finish with
his death? But we have already fully discussed this point."
"But the public wishes him to live."
"I will gladly gratify the public on any other point, but
upon this it is impossible. Tou know we often wish that
some brave and useful man, who is dying of a chronic
disease, might live a little longer. The family weeps and
supplicates' the physician, but the latter cannot save him;
and as he is unable to resist a necessity of nature, we can-
not overcome an acknowledged necessity of art. It is a
false compliance with the wishes of the multitude to waken
the emotions which they wish to indulge, in place of those
which they ought to feel."
"But whoever pays his money can require the goods to be
according to his fancy."
"Unquestionably. But a great public is entitled to our
202
WILHELM MEISTEU'd
respect, and should not be treated like children from whom
one wishes merely to extract money. By accustoming them
to what is good, we may lead them gradually to feel and to
appreciate the excellent, and they will pay their money with
double satisfaction when their reason and understanding
approve the outlay. "We may natter the public as we
do a favourite child, for its improvement and instruction,
but not to perpetuate an error from which we expect an
advantage."
Thus were many things discussed in relation to the in-
quiry how far they might still venture to alter the play, and
what portions they might leave wholly untouched. We
shall leave this subject for the present, and possibly upon
some future occasion we may submit the new reading of
Hamlet to such of our readers as feel any interest in the
matter.
CHAPTER X
The first rehearsal had taken place, and lasted much
longer than had been expected. Serlo and Wilheim
still found many things to perplex them, for notwithstand-
ing the long time they had devoted to the preparations,
many important matters had been postponed to the last
moment.
For instance, the pictures of the two Kings were not yet
ready, and the scene between Hamlet and his mother, from
which so powerful an effect was anticipated, seemed very
incomplete, inasmuch as neither the Ghost nor his painted
resemblance were forthcoming. Serlo joked at the disap-
pointment, saying, "We shall be rather badly used if the
Grhost refuses to appear: the guards in that case will be
obliged to fight with the air, and the prompter must supply
the Grhost's speeches from the side scenes." cc We ought not
to scare away our mysterious friend by our incredulity,''
observed Wilheim, Cf he will doubtless come at the proper
time, and surprise us no less than the spectators."
Al^rEENTICESUIP
293
"Well! at all events, I shall be glad," cried Serlo,
u when the piece has been acted. It has given us mucli
more trouble than I had expected"
"jSTo person in the world will rejoice more than I shall,
when it is over," added Philina, "notwithstanding that my
part has not given me much trouble. For to hear only one
topic for ever spoken of, from which, after all, nothing can
be expected but a representation, which will soon be for-
gotten, like its predecessors,—I have not patience for
that. Do not, I beseech you, suggest so many diflicui-
ties. Guests, when they rise from table, have always
something to object against the entertainment, and if you
could only hear their observations, you would not wonder
that they complained of the severe inflictions they had en-
dured."
"Allow me, Philina!" said Wilhelm, "to employ your
illustration for my own purpose. Think how much must
be accomplished by nature and art, by traders and men of
business, before an entertainment can be given. How many
years the stag must rove in the forest, the fish swim in the
river or the sea, before they are worthy to grace the festive
board! And then consider how much the housekeeper, the
cook, and her assistants have to effect! And mark the
indifference with which your friends consume the products
of the distant vintage, the rarities which seamen and
merchants have provided, regarding them as things of
course.^ And can you expect that these men should abandon
their labour, their toil, and their preparations, or that the
careful householder should cease from providing and collect-
ing, because, forsooth, the enjoyment of such delicacies
affords but a transitory pleasure. In effect, however, no
enjoyment is transitory, the impression which it leaves
behind is lasting, and whatever is accomplished with dili-
gence and toil imparts a secret force to the spectator, of
which it is impossible to overestimate the effect/'
<c I am indifferent to all this," interrupted Philina, "T
need only repeat my remark that men are a perpetual contra-
diction to themselves. For with all your conscientious dis-
inclination to mutilate Shakespeare, you have omitted the
most beautiful passage in the whole play."
"The most beautiful passage?" exclaimed Wilhelm.
29*
WILHELM 3iELSTEE'S
<{ Undoubtedly," said Philina, "and one which afforded
the most extreme delight to Hamlet himself."
''"What do you allude to ?" enquired Serlo.
"If you wore a wig," replied she, "I would pluck it
from your head, for you require to have your wits sharpened."
The rest of the company were lost in thought, and a
pause ensued in the conversation. They rose from their
seats—it was growing late, and they seemed disposed to
separate. Whilst they were standing together in a state of
indecision, Philina commenced a song which was set to a
very sweet and agreeable air.
Sing1 no more in strains of sadness
Of the loneliness of night!
Darksome hours were made for gladness,
Social joy, and love's delight.
Gift to man from bounteous heaven
Comes that precious boon—his wife;
So is night to mortals given,
As their better part of life.
How can noon-day hours elate us,
Checking joy's impetuous tide i
Daylight hours may recreate us.
But are good for nought beside.
But at midnight softly glowing,
When the stars shine pale above.,
And from lip to lip are flowing
Joy and all the charms of love-
When the youth so wild and daring
Yields to Beauty's magic power,
Captive to her charms ensnaring,
Lingering in her roseate bower—
When the nightingale is wringing
Lover's bosoms with her strain,
To the sad and weary singing
Piteous notes so full of pain—
Then with hearts so joyous beating,
Hearken to the distant bell,
Midnight's solemn hours repeating,
Which of peace and transport UlU
APPRENTICESHIP,
295
Therefore when of daylight weary,
Tender youths, forget not this!
That though day be long" and dreary,
Midnight hours are fall of bliss.
She made a slight curtsey upon coming to the end,
whereupon Serlo greeted her with loud applause. She then
ran to the door, and rushed from the room with a burst of
laughter. They heard her singiug and laughing as she
tripped lightly down stairs.
Serlo retired to an adjoining apartment, and Aurelia
remained alone with Wilhelm. He wished her good night,
but she looked at him attentively for some minutes, and
then said,
"How I loathe that girl! I loathe her from my very heart!
even to the very least of her qualities. Her dark eyelashes
which, my brother finds so charming, I cannot endure, and
the scar upon her forehead is so repulsive, so vulgar, that I
shudder whenever I see her. She told us a few days
ago, as a joke, that when she was a child, her father
flung a plate at her head, of which she now bears the
mark. It is well that she can be so easily recognized by
her eyes and forehead, that those about her may be-
ware!"
Wilhelm returned no answer, and Aurelia continued in a
tone of still greater anger.
"I find it impossible to address her in a polite and friendly
manner, so intensely do I hate her, notwithstanding all her
artifices. I wish we could get rid of her. And you, my
friend, always treat her with a certain degree of kindness,
which grieves me to the very soul, you show her an attention
which looks like respect, and of which she is by no means
worthy!"
"Whatever she may be," replied Wilhelm, " I owe her a
debt of gratitude, and though her conduct is blameable, I
must be just to her natural character."
Ci Her character!" exclaimed Aurelia, " and do you think
that such a creature can have a character? O! you
men, how well I understand you, you are worthy of such
women."
"And can yon entertain a suspicion of me, my kind
296
WILHELM MEISTER'S
friend?" enquired Wilhelm. "I can account for ererj?
minute which I hare ever spent in her company."
"Well, never mind," added Aurelia, "it is growing late,
and we must not quarrel. But they are all alike. Good
night, my friend! Good night, my brilliant Bird of Paradise."
Wilhelm asked how he had become entitled to that honour-
able designation.
"Some other time," cried she, " some other time. They
say it has no feet, but is always on the wing, and lives on
ether. But that is a fable," she continued, "a mere poetic
fiction, Good night, may your dreams be pleasant, if you
are happy."
She proceeded to her apartment and left him alone. He
immediately retired to his.
He walked discontentedly up and down the chamber.
The jocular but decided tone of Aurelia had annoyed him.
He felt keenly how unjust she had been. It was impossible
that he could be unkind or illnatured to Philina. She had
not injured him, and he felt so wholly indifferent to her,
that he could proudly congratulate his conscience upon the
subject.
He was about to draw his curtains that he might retire to
bed, when to his great astonishment, he saw a pair of lady's
slippers lying on the ground. They were Philina's, he re-
cognized them instantly. He fancied also that he could
observe a certain degree of disorder about the appearance of
the bed curtains—it seemed indeed as if they moved. He
stood and stared with fixed eyes.
An emotion, like anger, deprived him of his breath, but
recovering himself after a short pause, he exclaimed in a firm
voice—
"Kise, Philina I What can this conduct mean? Where is
your prudence, your modesty. To-morrow morning we shall
be the conversation of the whole house."
Nothing stirred.
"I am not jesting," he continued, "and T do not like
rJiese tricks."
No sound! no motion!
Angry and determined, he at length went towards the
bed and tore the curtains asunder. <£ Get up," he said, " cr
I will leave my chamber to you for the night."
ArriiETTTICESHIP.
297
"With the greatest astonishment he found the bed empty,
and the pillow and counterpane quite undisturbed. He
looked about, searched everywhere, hunted in every corner,
but could find no trace of the rogue. Behind the bed, be-
hind the stove, in the presses, there was nothing to be seen,
though he searched with the greatest diligence. A malicious
spectator might have supposed that he was seeking with a
wish to find.
Sleep had now quite forsaken him. He placed the slippers
upon the table, walked hastily up and down the room;
he then stood still—and a wicked spirit who observed him,
maintains that "Wilhelm spent the greater part of the night
playing with those pretty slippers, that he regarded them
with deep interest, took them in his hands, toyed with them,,
until towards morning he threw himself upon the bed in his
clothes, and fell asleep amid the strangest fancies.
In fact he was still asleep, when Serlo entered his apart-
ment, exclaiming, ""What! still in bed, impossible! I have
been looking for you at the theatre, where so much still re~
mains to be done."
CHAPTEE XL
The morning and the afternoon passed rapidly away—
The theatre was already crowded, and Wilhelm hastened to
dress for the performance. But he did not now feel the joy
which he had experienced when for the first time he had as-
sumed the character—he dressed for no other purpose than
that he might be ready in time. Upon joining the actresses-
in the green room, they exclaimed unanimously that no part
of his attire became him—that his beautiful feather was
awry—the buckle of his hat did not fit : and they accordingly
commenced to rip, to sew and to remodel his dress. The
music began—Philina had some objection to make against his
collar, Aurelia found fault with his mantle. "Leave me, my
kind friends," he at length exclaimed, "this appearance of
negligence will make me more resemble Hamlet." But the
ladies would not consent to leave him; they continued their
29S
WILUEKU 3AEJSTERTS
attentions. The music had now ceased, and the piece com-
menced. He looked at himself in the glass, pressed his ha'c
upon his brow and retouched his cheek with rouge.
At this moment a person rushed in with a cry of <c the
Ghost, the Ghost!"
Wilhelin had not found time all day to think of the im-
portant question whether the ghost would appear or not. But
his fears were now removed, and he waited for the appearance
of some strange assistant. The manager came in frequently,
asking various questions, but Wilhelm had no time to enquire
about the Ghost; and he proceeded to appear before the
throne where the King and Queen shone in full splendour,
surrounded by their brilliant court; he just caught the last
words of Horatio's address, who was speaking in a confused
manner of the Ghost's appearance, and seemed to have al-
most forgotten his part.
The curtain rose. He saw a crowded house before him.
After Horatio had delivered his address and had been dis-
missed by the king, he hastened to meet Hamlet, and as if for
the purpose of introducing him to the Prince, he exclaimed,
"the Devil stands there clad in armour, and has fearfully
idarnied us all."
Two men attired in white mantles and hoods, were in the
mean time observed standing in the side scenes. In the
embarrassment, hurry and distraction of the moment,
Wilhelm had failed in his first soliloquy, but loud applause
had nevertheless accompanied his exit, yet it was with a cer-
tain uncomfortable feeling of dissatisfaction, that he com-
menced the scene in which he describes the nipping air of
the cold wintry night. But he took courage and gave the
appropriate passage respecting the feasting and drinking
of the Danes with proper composure, forgetting, like the
rest of the spectators, the appearance of the Ghost, till he
shrunk back hi alarm when Horatio exclaimed, "Look, my
lord, it comes!" He turned round suddenly, and the tali,
noble figure, which advanced with slow and inaudible step,
the noiseless movement notwithstanding the heavy armour,
all impressed him so powerfully, that he stood petrified and
could only say in a half audible voice, "Angels and
ministers of grace defend me!" He stared at the apparition,
gasped for breath, and pronounced his address to the Ghost
APPEEKTICESHIP.
290
in a style so confused, so interrupted and so constrained,
that the greatest art could not have succeeded half so well.
His own translation of the passage now rendered him good
service. He had kept close to the original, as the very order
of the words seemed to him to express a mind surprised,
alarmed, and seized with horror.
"Be thou a spirit of health, or goblin damned,
Bring- with thee airs from heaven, or blasts from hei.
Be thy intents wicked or charitable,
Thou com'st in such a questionable shape
That I will speak to thee—I'll call thee Hamlet,
King-—father—royal Dane—0, answer me!"
The audience was deeply affected. The Gliost beckoned,
and the Prince followed him amid the loudest applause.
The scene changed, and when they had both reached a
distant spot, the Ghost suddenly paused and turned round,
when Hamlet was brought into close proximity to him.
"VVilhelm peered with anxious curiosity between the bars of the
lowered helmet, but could only discern two deeply seated eyes
and a well formed nose. Timidly he surveyed the Spirit, but
at the first sounds which came from the helmet, when a deep
toned and sonorous voice uttered the words, "I am thy
father's spirit!" "Wilhelm started back several paces in
dismay, and the spectators shared his terror. Jt seemed as
if everybody recognized the voice, and Wilhelm thought he
could detect a resemblance to that of his father. These ex-
traordinary sensations and recollections, the curiosity he felt
to discover his mysterious friend, and his unwillingness to
offend him, and even the error into which he had fallen of
approaching him too nearly, affected Wilhelm with conflicting
emotions. He changed his place so often during the long-
address of the G-host, his air was so confused and^perplexed,
he seemed so attentive, yet so absent, that his acting excited
universal admiration, whilst the Ghost inspired the spectators
with a general horror. The latter spoke witu a voice of
subdued anger rather than of sorrow, but his anger was
spiritual, calm and enduring. It was the disappointment
of a noble soul, separated from all earthly caret- and yet
Buccumbing to eternal woe. At length lie disappeared
in a remarkable manner. A light grey transparent gauze
I
300
WILHELM MEISTEtt's
arose like vapour from the chasm, seemed to envelop him
and sank down with him to the shades below.
Hamlet's friends now entered, and took their oath upon
the sword. And the spirit was then so busy under ground,
that wherever they stood, the cry of "Swear!" always seemed
to come from beneath their very feet, whilst they hastened
from place to place, as if the ground under them was on
fire. A little flame, which, upon these occasions, shot up
from below, seemed to increase the effect, and produced a
deep impression upon the spectators.
The play now proceeded uninterruptedly, without any
tendency to failure. Its success was complete. The audience
testified their satisfaction; and the pleasure and the courage
of the actors increased with every scene.
CHAPTEE XII.
The curtain fell; and tumults of applause resounded from
all parts of the house. The four royal corpses sprang up,
and joyfully embraced each other. Polonius and Ophelia
came out of their graves, and listened with the greatest
satisfaction, as Horatio, who announced the repetition of
the play, was received with the loudest marks of approbation.
The audience would not permit any other play to be spoken
of, but loudly required the present piece to be repeated.
i( We have succeeded at last," cried Serlo, "and so we must
not utter another sensible word this evening! Everything
depends upon the first; impression. No one can blame an
actor for being provident and self-willed upon his first
debut."
The box-keeper now made his appearance, and handed
Serlo a large sum of money. "We have made a capital
beginning," he exclaimed, " and the favourable opinion of
the public v.ill now assist us. But where is our promised
supper? We must enjoy it this evening/'
They had arranged that the whole company should as-
semble in their acting dresses, and have a feast. Wilhelm
APPRENTICESHIP.
301
had made the arrangements, and Madame Melina had laid
out the entertainment.
An apartment, which, upon other occasions was used as
a painting room, had been properly prepared, and adorned
with all sorts of decorations, and looked partly like a garden,
and partly like a colonnade. The company upon entering
were dazzled with the brilliancy of the lights, which shed
a radiance over a highly ornamented and well-furnished
table, from which a vapour of the most fragrant odours
ascended. The preparations were universally praised, and
the guests took their places with an assumed air of dignity.
It seemed as if some royal family had assembled together in
the kingdom of the shades. Wilhelm was seated between
Aurelia and Madame Melina, Serlo between Philina and
Elmira. No one was dissatisfied, either with himself or
with his place.
Our two theatrical patrons, who were also present, added
to the happiness of the company. During the representa-
tion, they had several times appeared upon the stage, and
could not sufficiently express their own delight or the satis-
faction which animated the public. They condescended now
to enter into details, and the exertions of the whole company
were loudly extolled.
The services of all the actors, and the beauty of ever}r
passage were in turn commended in the most hearty manner.
Even the prompter, who had modestly taken his place at the
end of the table, was warmly praised for the passage of " the
rugged Pyrrhus." The fencing-scene between Hamlet and
Laertes was highly admired. Ophelia's sorrow had been
inexpressibly beautiful and exalted. Of Polonius, one could
scarcely say too much, and in fine every individual present
received an appropriate tribute.
Even the absent Ghost received his share of applause. He
had pronounced his speeches with a most impressive voice,
and with a lofty conception of his character; but it excited
general surprise that he had seemed so well informed
about the affairs of the company. He resembled the por-
trait as closely as if he had sat to the artist for his picture,
and the two amateurs, highly approved the effect which hacl
been produced by the spirit when he entered, near the
picture, and crossed over the stage before his own
5502
WJLHELM MEISTEIl's
image. Truth and error had been strangely mingled, and
every one felt convinced that the Queen had not observed
the mysterious form. Madame Melina also received her
share of applause for having fixed her eyes wildly upon
the picture, at the time when Hamlet stood pointing to the
Ghost.
They now enquired by what means the spirit had obtained
admission to the theatre, and they learned from the manager,
that a side door, which was generally blocked up by deco-
rations, had been left open that evening, as the Gothic hall
had been required; and they were informed that two tall
figures, wrapped in white mantles and hoods, who could
scarcely be distinguished from each other, had gained ad-
mittance by that entrance, and had probably disappeared in
the same manner, at the end of the third act.
Serlo praised the Ghost particularly for not having whined
like a tailor; and for having, at the conclusion, introduced
a passage which was worthy of a hero, in order to encourage
his son. "Wilhelm still retained it in his memory, and
promised to add it to his manuscript.
In the excitement of the feast, it had escaped observation,
that the children and the Harper were not present. But
they soon made their appearance, dressed in romantic attire.
Felix was playing upon the triangle, and Mignon carried a
tamborine. The old Harper had his harp suspended from his
neck, upon which he played as he went along. They made
a little procession round the table, and sang a multitude of
songs. They were richly feasted, and the guests conceived
that they rendered the children a great favour, by giving
them as much sweet wine as they could drink. Indeed, the
company themselves had not spared the bottles, which the
two amateurs had contributed as a present upon the occasion.
The children danced and sang without interruption, but
Mignon was more lively than she had ever been before. She
played upon the tamborine with great skill and grace, at
one time with her finger pressed against the parchment,
she hummed quickly across it to and fro, then she struck it
with her knuckles or with the back of her hand, and then
changing the time, she struck it upon her head or against
her knee, or shaking the little bells, she allowed them to
ring by themselves, and in this manner from the most simple
APPRENTICESHIP,
303
of instruments, she elicited a great variety of sounds.
After the children had amused themselves for a considerable
time, they sat down in an arm-chair, which was standing
empty at the table exactly opposite to "Wilhelm.
"Keep away from the chair!" cried Serlo, "it is intended
for the Grhost; and should he appear, he may treat you ill."
"I do not fear him," answeredMignon, "if he comes, we
can rise. He is my uncle, and will not injure me." This
speech was an enigma to all those who did not know that
her reputed father had been called "The great devil."
The actors looked at each other; and their suspicions
were strengthened that Serlo knew something about the
appearance of the Grhost. They chatted and drank together,
and the girls from time to time looked with fearful glances
towards the door.
The children, who were seated in the large arm-chair,
their heads scarcely reaching higher than the edge of the
table, resembled the puppets in Punchinello, and they soon
commenced to give an imitation of that entertainment.
Mignon imitated the nasal tone of the figures admirably,
and they knocked their heads together against the edge of
the table, in a way that only wooden images could endure.
Mignon was in the highest state of excitement, and the
company, who had laughed heartily at the beginning of the
performance, were at length obliged to interfere. But en-
treaties were vain, for she sprang up and raved, running
round the table with the tamborine in her hand. Her hair
was streaming over her shoulders, and with her head held
back, and her limbs fLung wildly in the air she resembled
a figure of the ancient Mcenades, whose strange and almost
impossible attitudes upon antique monuments fill us with
astonishment.
Excited by the noise and talents of the children, the other
guests contributed also to the general amusement. The
young ladies sang several duets, Laertes imitated the
singing of the nightingale, and the pedant played a concert
pianissimo upon theJew's harp. The rest of the company
amused themselves with various sorts of games, and their
hands coming continually into close contact they indulged
in many an affectionate pressure, which gave evidence of well*
intoiitioned kindness. Madame Melina did not fail to evince
304 WILHELiI meisteh's
her warm partiality for Wilhelm. It was now growing late,
and Aurelia, the only person who seemed to preserve her
self-composure, rising from her seat, reminded the others
that it was time to retire.
Serlo closed the entertainment with fireworks, giving
with his mouth an inconceivably clever imitation of the
explosion of rockets, crackers, and Catherine-wheels. It
was only necessary to close your eyes to render the illu-
sion complete. At length they all rose to depart, and the
gentlemen offered their arms to the ladies, to conduct them
to their homes. "Wilhelm followed the others, accompanied
by Aurelia. The manager of the theatre met them on the
stairs, and said, "Here is the veil in which the ghost dis-
appeared. He left it behind him at the place where he
vanished; and we have only this moment found it." "An
interesting relic!" exclaimed Wilhelm, as he took possession
of it.
He was seized at the same instant by the left arm, and he
felt considerable pain, Mignon had rushed from her hiding
place, where she had been concealed, and bit his arm. She
passed him quickly on the stairs, and disappeared.
Upon coming into the open air the company at once per-
ceived that they had enjoyed themselves too freely. They
separated without taking leave of each other.
Wilhelm undressed himself immediately upon gaining
his apartment, and having extinguished his candle hastened
into bed. He was about to fall asleep, when his attention
was attracted .by a noise which seemed to issue from behind
the stove. Just then the figure of a king in full armour
appeared to his imagination, he rose up in his bed to address
the Grhost, when he felt himself suddenly locked in the
embrace of two tender arms, his mouth was closed with a
shower of the most passionate kisses, and he felt a bosom
pressed against his own, from which he had not resolution
to disengage himself.
4 PPRENTICESHIP.
305
CHA.PTER XIII..
Otf the following morning, Wilhelm started up with a
feeling of discontent and found his bed unoccupied. His
mind was still confused with the tumult of the preceding
night, from which he had not fully recovered, and the recol-
lection of his mysterious nocturnal visitant rendered him
uneasy. His first suspicion fell upon Philina, and yet she
was not the person whom he had held in his arms. He
sprang to his feet, and whilst dressing, he observed that his
door, which he usually locked was unfastened, though he
could not remember whether he had secured it on the
previous night.
He was above all things astonished at the sight of the
ghost's veil, which was found on his bed. But as he had
brought it with him, he had probably thrown it there him-
self. It was of grey gauze, and upon the border a sentence
was worked in black letters. He unfolded it and read the
words, " Tor the first and last time—fly, youth, fly!" He
was surprised and knew not what to say.
Mignon entered just at this moment with his breakfast.
"Wilhelm was astonished, nay alarmed at the appearance of
the child. She appeared to have grown taller during the
night, she approached him with a proud, noble look, and
surveyed him so anxiously that he could not meet her eye.
She did not touch him, though she had always been accus-
tomed in the morning, to press his hand, or to kiss his
cheek, his lips, his arm, or his shoulder, and after she had
arranged his things, she withdrew in silence.
The time which had been appointed for a rehearsal having
now arrived, our friends all assembled, though they had not
recovered from the effects of the previous day's entertain-
ment. Wilhelm exerted himself to his utmost, that he
might not be the first to violate those principles of regularity
which he had so lately broached. The facility which he had
acquired from long practice helped him through, for in every
art, habit and practice will always supply the deficiencies
which genius and temper so often leave unfilled.
Our friends had good reason to observe, in the present
x
306
WILIIELM MEISTEIt's
instance, the trutli of the observation, that a pursuit which
is intended to be followed for a continuance, such as a busi-
ness or a profession, ought never to be commenced with a
festivity. Festivals are proper when an enterprise has been
successful, but ceremonies at the commencement only
waste the zeal and strength which should be husbanded to
encourage us during our struggle, and to support us in a
laborious career. But of all festivals, marriage feasts seem
most inappropriate: calmness, humility, and quiet hope
would seem especially becoming at such a season.
Thus did the day pass over, and to Wilhelm it had proved
particularly insipid and interesting. When evening arrived,
instead of indulging in their usual conversation, the com-
pany began to yawn. The interest which they had hitherto
taken in the play of Hamlet, seemed to be exhausted, and
they were all disappointed that the play was to be repeated
on the following evening. Wilhelm produced the ghost's
veil in evidence that the unknown performer of that charac-
ter had no intention of appearing again. Serlo was likewise
of this opinion; he seemed to have been admitted into the
confidence of the ghost, but then, on the other hand, the
words, "fly, youth, fly!" were upon this supposition not
easily explained. How could Serlo have conspired with any
one to deprive the company of their most accomplished
actor.
It now became essential to provide a substitute for the
character of the ghost, and they resolved to make the
Pedant play the King. Both parts had been already
thoroughly studied, and it was not surprising after so many
rehearsals, and so ample a discussion of the play that all the
actors had become perfectly familiar with it, so that each
might readily have exchanged his part with that of his neigh-
bour. They proceeded nevertheless with the rehearsal,
but they went through it hastily, and when they were on
the point of separating, Philina approached Wilhelm and
whispered to him softly as she passed, "I must have my
slippers back again, and you must not bolt the door." The
words perplexed "Wilhelm beyond measure, as he reflected
upon them in his chamber. The suspicion that the ghost of
the preceding night had been Philina, was thereby consider-
ably strengthened; and we must ourselves coincide in this
APPEESTICESHIP.
307
idea, particularly as we are prevented from explaining the
reasons which awakened in our friend's mind, another
suspicion of a similar nature. He continued to pace his
room in a restless state of mind, and he had not yet bolted
his door, when Mignon rushed suddenly into the apartment
exclaiming wildly, "Save the house! it is on fire.5 5 Wilhelm
ran to the door and he became instantly enveloped in a dense
smoke which issued from the upper story. A cry of fire
had been raised in the street, and the harper appeared upon
the stairs breathless from the smoke, carrying his instrument
in his hand. Aurelia ran from her chamber, having thrown
the little Felix into "Wilhelm's arms.
"Only save the child!" she exclaimed,€c and we will see
after every thing else."
"Wilbelm who did not consider that there was any great
danger, wished to find out where the fire had originated,
that he might extinguish it at once. He accordingly com-
mitted the child to the care of the Harper, desiring him to
descend the stone stairs which led through a little vault
into the garden, and to wait with the children in the open
air. Mignon carried a light to shew the way, and "Wilhelm
begged Aurelia to deposit her things in the same place. He
himself endeavoured to force his way through the smoke, but
in vain did he boldly encounter every danger. The flames
seemed toproceed from a neighbouring house, they had already
communicated to the woodwork of the floor, and the small
flight of stairs, and some other persons who had hastened
to his assistance, were suffering like himself from the effects
of the vapour and the flames. !N"evertheless he continued to
encourage tli^m, calling loudly for water, imploring the
bystanders to redouble their exertions and promising to
stand by them to the last. At this moment Mignon came
running towards him, exclaiming, " 0, master! save little
Felix, the old Harper is mad, he is killing him." Without
taking a moment to reflect, Wilhelm rushed down the stairs
and Mignon followed close behind him.
He was petrified with horror upon reaching the foot of
the stairs which communicated with the garden. Some
heaps of straw and firewood which had been collected on
the spot, were burning with a fierce flame. Felix lay
crying upon the ground; the Harper with his head sunk

308
wilhelm: meisteiTs
apon his bosom, stood leaning against the wall. "W hat are
you doing, wretched man!" cried "Wilhelm. The Harper
was silent, Mignon raised Felix and carried him with diffi-
culty through the garden, whilst "Wilhelm exerted himself
to disperse the faggots and to extinguish the flames. At
length he was compelled with burnt hair and singed eye-
lashes to make his escape into the garden, dragging the old
man with htm through the flames who, with his beard all
consumed, reluctantly accompanied him.
Wilhelm without loss of time sought for the children.
He found them at the entrance of a summer house at some
distance, and Mignon was exerting herself to quiet her little
companion. Wilhelm took the boy in his lap, asked him
some questions, examined him to ascertain if he had sustained
any injury, but could gain no satisfactory information from
either of the children.
The fire had now communicated to several houses, and
illuminated the whole neighbourhood. Wilhelm examined
the child in the bright glare of the flames, but he could not
observe no blood, no wound, no injury of any kind. He
pressed little Felix with his hand, but the latter gave no
sign of pain. By degrees he became tranquil, seemed
to wonder at the fire, and to evince delight at the sight of
ihe blazing rafters and frames which were burning with the
regularity of an illumination.
Wilhelm did not bestow a thought upon his own losses.
He only felt how dear to him were the two creatures whom
he had succeeded in saving from so sad a fate. He kissed
the little Felix with fresh rapture, and was about to embrace
Mignon also, but she gently disengaged herself from him,
and seizing him by the hand, held it firmly in hers.
"Master," she said—before that evening, she had
scarcely even addressed him by such a title,—at first she
used to call him, Sir, and subsequently Father,—" Master!
we have escaped a fearful danger; little Felix was at the
point of death."
Wilhelm learned, upon making inquiry, that the Harper
having descended into the' vault, had snatched the light
from Mignon's hand, and had set fire to the straw. He had
then placed the little Felix down, and having made some
grange gestures, had laid his hands on the head of the child,

APPRENTICESHIP.
309
and drew forth, a knife as if he had intended to sacrifice him.
Mignon rushed forward and snatched the knife from him,
and alarmed at her loud screams, some person had rushed from
the house to her assistance, but had retired again in the
confusion, leaving the Harper and the child alone.
Two or three houses were now in flames. In consequence
of the conflagration in the vault, no one had taken refuge in
the garden. Wilhelm was uneasy about his friends, and
also, though in a minor degree, about his own property, and
as he did not dare to leave the children, he was obliged to look
on in silence and to watch the increase of the misfortnne.
He spent some hours in this painful situation. Felix had
fallen asleep in his lap. Mignon was lying at his side, and
still held his hand clasped in hers. The exertions of the
bystanders finally extinguished the flames. The burning
houses were in ruins, the morning dawned, the children felt
the cold intensely, and even Wilhelm who was clad in light
attire, suffered from the extreme chilliness of the falling dew.
He led the children to the ruins and they warmed themselves
amongst the ashes and the embers of the fallen buildings.
The early morning brought together by degrees the various
friends and acquaintances of the party. They had all escaped,
and no one had sustained the slightest loss.
Wilhelm's trunk had been once more saved. When it
approached ten o'clock, Serlo summoned them to a rehearsal
of Hamlet, at least of those scenes in which new players
were to act. But some objections to the intended
entertainment were offered by the police authorities. The
Clergy, moreover, expressed a wish that after such a judg-
ment of Providence, the theatre should remain closed, but
Serlo maintained, on the contrary, that in order to repair
his own losses, and to cheer the depressed spirits of the
people, the performance of some interesting play was essen-
tial. This opinion prevailed, and the house was full. The
actors displayed unusual energy and performed with more
than their accustomed success. The spectators were more
disposed to relish something out of the ordinary routine, as
their feelings had been roused by the terrors of the preced-
ing night, and then1 desire for entertainment had been excited
by the tedium of an anxious and unprofitable day. The
greater part of the spectators were new, and had beeD
310
WlLHELM MEISTEE S
brought together by the reputation of the piece, and they
could not institute any comparison between the present and
the past evening. The new actor played the Ghost's part
and the Pedant successfully imitated the character of his
predecessor, finding his own woe-begone condition of especial
service to him, and notwithstanding his purple cloak and
ermine collar, it was impossible to deny that Hamlet was
right in styling him " a king of shreds and patches."
A more singular path had never conducted a monarch to
the throne, and although the other actors, and especially
Philina jested about his promotion, he himself asserted that
the Count, who was an excellent judge, had from the very
first made this prediction about him. On the other hand
Philina recommended him to practise humility, saying that
she would powder the sleeve of his coat, to remind him of
the luckless night which he had passed in the castle, in order
that he might wear his crown with becoming modesty.
CHAPTER XIV.
The company had been obliged to provide themselves
nastily with new apartments, and they were in consequence
widely separated from each other. Wilhem took a fancy to
the garden house, where he had taken refuge on the night of
the fire. He according procured the key without much diffi-
culty, and established himself in those quarters, and as
Aurelia's new abode was small and inconvenient he kept
possession of Felix, and it was impossible to induce Mignon
to separate from the little boy.
The children had been placed in a nice little apartment on
the first floor, whilst "Willielm resided in the lower room.
The children soon fell asleep, but he sought repose in vain.
Close to the lovely garden, which the rising moon had
just illuminated, stood the melancholy ruins, from which the
smoke was still ascending. The air was pleasant and the
night was extremely beautiful. Upon leaving the theatre,
Philina had touched him with her elbow, and whispered
something in his ear, which he did not exactly understand.
APPRENTICESHIP.
311
He felt puzzled and perplexed, and scarcely knew what he
ought to do, or what he should anticipate. Philina had
avoided him of late, although she had to-night given him a
second signal. Unfortunately the doors were wholly con-
sumed, which he had "been cautioned not to bolt, and the
perplexing pair of slippers had been reduced to ashes. He
was at a loss to conjecture by what means she intended to
procure admission to the garden, if such was her design.
He felt no wish to see her, and yet he would very willingly
have heard any explanation which she might desire to offer.
But he felt most of all perplexed about the fate of the Har-
per, who had not been seen since the fire. Wilhelm was
afraid that in removing the rubbish, his body might be found
among the ruins, and he had very carefully concealed the
suspicion which he entertained, that the old man had been
the author of the fire. He had first seen him as he rushed
from the conflagration and smoke of the house, and the
fearful adventure in the vault, seemed to be the result of
that desperate deed. And yet from the examination which
the police had instituted, it seemed probabi': that the fire
had not commenced in the house where Wilhelin nad resided,
but in the third dwelling from that, and had been com-
municated from the adjoining roofs.
"Wilhelm was seated alone in a bower in the garden, re-
flecting upon the accident which had occurred, when he
heard a low footstep in an adjoining walk. He at once
recognized the old Harper, by the melancholy strain which
met his ear. The song which he could easily comprehend,
had for its subject the consolation of a wretched being, con-
scious that he was about to fall into insanity. Unfortunately
Wilhelm could only remember the concluding stanza.
"When to the "mansions of the good
The Minstrel's footsteps meekly stray,
Some pious hands shall bring- him food,
And he will then pursue his way.
Whene'er his pilgrim form appears,
Each friendly heart with joy shall glow,
And every eye be filled with tears,
Though he their cause may never know.
Having finished his song, he proceeded to the garden
door, which communicated vrih the neighbouring street.
812
WILHELM MEISTER's
but finding it locked, lie endeavoured to climb over the
railings. Wilhelm however held him hack, and addressed
him in a friendly voice. The old man implored him to
unlock the gate, as he was determined not to he kept a
prisoner. But Wilhelm represented to him that though he
might succeed in escaping from the garden, he could not
possibly do so from the town, and he explained moreover
the suspicious light in which his conduct would thus appear.
But all in vain—the old man seemed resolved. But "Wil-
helm would not yield, and leading him half by force into the
garden house, he locked the door upon the Harper and
himself. They now entered into a strange conversation
together, but that we may not distress our readers with a
detail of so many unconnected subjects, and disagreeable
amotions, we had rather omit them than relate them at
length.
CHAPTER XV.
On that same morning, the advice of Laertes relieved
Wilhelm from the perplexity in which he found himself, as
to the course which he ought to take with this unhappy
man, who shewed undoubted signs of madness. Laertes
when roaming through the town as usual, happened to meet
with a stranger in a coffee house, who for some time, had
suffered extremely from violent attacks of melancholy. He
had been placed under the care of a country clergyman, who
made it his especial business to take charge of persons so
afflicted. He had proved successful in the case to which we
allude, he was now in the town and the friends of his patient
were paying him the greatest honour.
Wilhelm hastened to find out the clergyman; he related
the case and they soon agreed about the terms. It was
determined that the Harper, by some means or other, should
be committed to his charge. The separation which ensued
pained Wilhelm deeply, and nothing but the hope of soon
seeing him once more restored to his reason, could afford
APPEENTICE S HIP.
813
him any relief, so accustomed had he become to the society
of the old man, and to the delight of his inspired and sooth-
ing strains. His harp had been burnt in the fire, but they
had procured another for him, and had presented it to him
• upon his departure.
Mignon's little wardrobe had also been consumed, and
when they were about to provide her with new apparel,
Aurelia proposed that they should dress her as a girl.
"No, no !" she cried, and insisted so obstinately, that
they where compelled to let her have her own way.
The company had not much time for reflection, the per-
formances proceeded without interruption.
"Wilhelm was diligent in ascertaining the general opinions
of the public upon the performance of Hamlet, but criticisms
were seldom offered which he found it agreeable to hear, and
he was compelled much more frequently to listen to remarks
which filled him with vexation and annoyance. For instance
after the first performance, a young man related that he had
been highly amused, that evening, at the threatre. Wilhelm
listened attentively, and heard the youth describe how he had
obstinately kept his hat on during the entire entertainment,
to the great annoyance of those who were behind him, and
he now looked back upon his heroic conduct with feelings of
the highest satisfaction.
Another person remarked that Wilhelm had played the
character of Laertes with great judgment, but that no one
could possibly approve of the manner in which the part of
Hamlet had been performed. This mistake, however, was
not wholly unnatural, as Wilhelin and Laertes resembled
each other in a slight degree.
A third critic warmly praised his performance, especially
in the scene with his mother, only regretting that in one of
the most exciting passages a white strap should have
appeared beneath Hamlet's waistcoat, by which the illusior:
was wholly destroyed.
Many changes were taking place, in the mean time,
amongst the other members of the company. Since the
evening subsequent to the fire, Philina had not paid Wilhelm
the least attention. She had hired an apartment situated
at a distance from his, formed an intimacy with Elmira,
and visited Serlo very seldom, a course of conduct, ^diieu
WILHELM MEISTEIt's
seemed to be particularly gratifying to Aurelia. Serlo
who was still partial to her, went to see her frequently,
especially when he hoped to meet Elmira in her company.
One evening he took "Wilhelm with him. They were both
very much astonished, upon entering the house, to see
Philina in an inner apartment, locked in the embraces of a
young officer, who, they could observe, was dressed in a
scarlet uniform and wore white pantaloons, but his face was
turned away in such a manner that they could not distin-
guish his features. Philina advanced to meet her visitors as
they entered the anteroom, at the same time shutting the
door of the apartment which she had just left.
"You have caught me," she exclaimed, "in the very
middle of a strange adventure!"
"Wot so strange after all!" observed Serlo. "But let us
see this pretty young enviable friend of yours," he con-
tinued, "you have us all in a state of such complete con-
trol, that there is no fear of our proving jealous."
"I must leave you to your own conjectures for the pre-
sent," said Philina in a tone of raillery, "I assure you,
however, that my visitor is a lady, who wishes to remain in
concealment for a few days. You shall hear her whole his-
tory at the proper time—perhaps you may even be introduced
to my interesting friend herself, and then I may require
to exercise all my prudence and discretion, for I am not
without some apprehensions that the gentlemen may forget
me in this new acquaintance."
Wilhelm stood as if petrified. At the very first glance
the scarlet uniform had reminded him of Mariana, the figure
and the fair hair which he had seen were hers, though per-
haps the officer might have been a little taller.
"For heaven's sake!" exclaimed "Wilhelm, " give us fur-
ther information of your friend. Let us see this disguised
lady. We have been entrusted with your secret, we will
promise, or will swear not to divulge it—only let us see the
lady."
"How excited he is !" said Philina, £f but be calm and have
a little patience, you shall learn nothing from me to-day."
"Only tell us her name!" cried Wilhelm.
"Then it would be a precious secret, indeed!" answered
Philina
APPRENTICESHIP.
315
"Well, her Christian name at least."
"You may guess it, if you like. You shall have three
guesses, no more, otherwise you might lead me through
the whole calendar."
«¥ell!" said Wilhelm, « Cecilia!"
« ]STo!"
"Henrietta!"
"Not at all! Take care, or your curiosityr will remain
unsatisfied."
Wilhelm paused and trembled. He tried to speak, but
could not. "Mariana!" he stammered out at length,
"Mariana!"
"Bravo!" cried Philina, "Tou have guessed it," and she
whirled round on her heel according to her usual custom.
Wilhelm was dumb—and Serlo, who did not observe his
emotion, entreated Philina to open the door of the apart-
ment.
To the astonishment of both of them, Wilhelm suddenly
put i, stop to their raillery, by throwing himself at Philina's
feet, begging and imploring her with the most earnest sup-
plications to let him see the lady. "She is mine!" he ex-
claimed, " she is my Mariana! She for whom I have been so
long pining, she who is dearer to me than all the women
in the world! Go to her, and tell her that I am here—I
who devoted to her all my earliest feelings of love and the
unsullied happiness of my youth. Say he will explain
satisfactorily why he left her unkindly—he will implore her
forgiveness, he will pardon her, forgive her all her offences,
and withdraw all his pretensions, if she will only let me see
her—if I may convince myself that she is alive and happy."
Philina shook her head, and replied, "My friend, whisper
low, do not betray us! If the lady is really your friend,
you must spare her feelings, for she has no idea that you are
here. Par different business has brought her hither, and
you know right well that there are times, when one would
rather encounter a ghost, than a former lover. I will speak
to her and prepare her, we can then consider what is best to
be done. I will write you a note to-morrow, naming an
hour for an interview, or saying whether she will meet you
i\z ail. Obey me punctually, for I vowT that no person shall
•;ee the lady without her own and my permission. I shall
31G
WILHELM MEISTER'S
lock iny doors securely, and you will scarcely venture to
burst them open."
"Wilhelin entreated, Serlo implored—but all in vain. They
were compelled to yield, and they left the apartment and the
house.
"We may easily conceive that Wilhelm spent a sleepless
night, and that the hours passed drearily away whilst he lay
in expectation of a note fn?m Philina. Unhappily he was
obliged to act that evening, and never had he endured more
intense agony. As soon as he had finished his part, he has-
tened to Philina's residence, without inquiring whether he
had received an invitation. He found the doors fastened,
and the servants stated that she had started off at an early
hour in the morning, accompanied by a young officer; that
she had said something about returning in a few days, but
that they did not believe her, as she had paid all her accounts
in the neighbourhood, and had taken her things with her.
"Wilhelm was distracted at this information. He went at
once to Laertes, entreating that he would pursue hc-r and
employ every means, and run every risk, to obtain information
about her companion. Laertes rebuked Wilhelm for his
sudden passion aad for his easy credulity. "I would wager
a trifle/5 he said, "that it is only Friedrich. I know per-
fectly well that he is of good family, and that he is des-
perately in love with Philina, and probably he may have
succeeded in obtaining a sum of money from his friends, and
this will enable them once more to live together for a time."
Wilhelm half believed these statements, although they
were not sufficient to convince his reason. But Laertes
sought to persuade him of the great improbability of the
tale with which Philina had endeavoured to amuse them all,
reminding him how closely the officer resembled Friedrich
both in his figure and in the colour of his hair, assuring him
that with the twelve hours start which the fugitives had ob-
tained, they could not easily be overtaken, and that above all
things, Serlo could not possibly dispense with their presence
at the theatre.
These arguments finally persuaded Wilhelm to abandon
his intention. Laertes, that same evening, procured an
active messenger to whom the task of pursuing Philina was
entrusted. He was a steady person, who had frequently
APPRENTICESHIP.
817
acted as a guide and courier to travellers, and he was at that
moment without employment. They supplied him with
funds and gave him all necessary instructions, desiring him
to find out the fugitives, to keep his eye upon them, and
instantly to inform "Wilhelm where and how he might over-
take them. He started on horseback that very hour in pur-
suit of Philina and her companion, and by these means
"Wilhelm partly succeeded in recovering his usual composure
CHAPTER XYI.
Philina's absence did not produce any extraordinary
sensation either within the walls of the theatre or in the
public mind. Her character was wholly devoid of earnest-
ness, her fellow-actresses thoroughly disliked her, and the
men relished her company far more during a tete-a-tete, than
upon the boards. Por these several reasons her talents for
theatrical display were not sufficiently appreciated. The
different members of the company now exerted themselves
to the utmost to supply her place, and Madame Melina's zeal
and diligence in this respect were very remarkable. She was
a follower of "Wilhelm's principles, was thoroughly guided
by his theories and example, and her conduct had lately
undergone a most favourable change. Her acting had
become correct, her tone of conversation was now natural, and
in her delineation of lively motion she was much improved.
Moreover, she humoured Serlo in all his particular fancies,
she exerted herself to please him with her singing, and she
succeeded so far as to render herself a most agreeable com-
panion.
The company was soon strengthened by the arrival of
some new performers, and whilst Wilhelm and Serlo were
busy in their several departments, the former insisting on
the general spirit and expression of the whole, the latter,
upon the faithful representation of the various parts, a
praiseworthy zeal animated the performers, and the public
took a lively interest in their success.
318
WILHELM MEISTEll'3
"We are now in the right path," observed Serlo upon one
occasion, " let us continue our course and the public will
soon join us. It is an easy matter to mislead them by wild
and extravagant displays, but they are zealous admirers of
whatever is rational and refined.
"The principal defect in our theatre, and which affects
both the actor and the spectator, consists in the variety of
its objects, and in the want of a proper support to sustain
our judgment. It does not seem to me to be any advantage
that we have enlarged our theatre, till it has become a bound-
less arena for the display of nature, and yet neither manager
nor actor ought to limit its range until the taste of the nation
shall indicate the proper boundaries. Every good society
exists under certain restraints, and this must be the case with
every good theatre. Particular manners and forms of ex-
pression, certain objects and courses of conduct must be
unequivocally abandoned. No one becomes poorer by con-
tracting his household expenses."
Our friends agreed or differed more or less upon these
subjects. Wilhelm, and the majority of the actors, advo-
cated the English system. Serlo, and some others, defended
the French theatrical arrangements.
They had determined, during some of their leisure hours,
of which an actor unfortunately has too many, to peruse
together the most celebrated plays in the French and English
languages, and to mark particularly those passages which
seemed to be most excellent and most worthy of imitation.
They accordingly commenced with some French productions,
but Aurelia invariably disappeared when the reading com
menced. At first it was thought that she was unwell, bir
"Wilhelm upon one occasion questioned her upon the sub-
ject.
"I will not consent to be present at those readings," she
observed, " for how could I pay attention and exercise my
judgment when my heart is broken? I hate the French
language beyond measure."
"How can you dislike a language," inquired Wilhelm
"to which we owe the greater part of our accomplishments,
and to which we must become e\7en still more indebted before
our nature is rendered perfect?"
4i I am not prejudiced," continued Aurelia, "but a sad
APPRENTICESHIP.
impression, a detested recollection of my faithless friend, has
destroyed all my powers of enjoying this beautiful and refined
language. I hate it from the bottom of my heart! During
the existence of our affectionate intercourse, he always cor-
responded with me in Grerman, in cordial, sincere, and vigor-
ous Grerman,butwhen he wished to abandon me,then he began
to write in French, as he had done several times previously
for amusement. I felt, I understood what he meant. All that
lie would have blushed to say in his native tongue, he could
uoav write with a. safe conscience. It is a language well
adapted for reservations, equivocations, and lies; it is a per-
fidious language! Thank Heaven, 1 can find no German
word to express the meaning of i per fide'' in all its force.
Our poor expression ' treulos* is an innocent babe in compari-
son with it. 'Peifide* is 'treulos' with delight, with insolence,
and malice. Well may we envy the refinement of a nation
which can express so many shades of meaning with a single
word. French is, indeed the language of the world, worthy
of becoming the universal language, that we may learn how
to cheat and to betray each other! It is true his French
letters always read pleasantly enough! To the fancy they
sounded warmly and even passionately, but when closely
examined they were nothing but phrases, unmeaning phrases.
He has spoiled all my taste for the language, for the whole
rauge of French literature, even for the most choice and
beautiful sentiments of the noblest souls when uttered in
that tongue. I shudder when I hear a French word."
Thus would she for whole hours continue to express her
vexation, and interrupt every other species of conversation.
Serlo generally silenced her peevish complaints by some
bitter observation, but the amusement of the evening was
by this means generally disturbed.
It seldom happens that objects which are to be accom-
plished by the united exertions of men and circumstances
combined, long continue perfect. This applies as fully to a
theatre, as to a kingdom, and you may generally find in a
circle of friends, as well as in an army, that there is a pre-
cise moment, when all tilings may be said to have attained the
highest degree of perfection, harmony, and activity. Bu*
before long, individuals change, new persons appear upon the
ocene, some no longer suit existing circumstances, or existing
320
WILHELM MEISTEIt'S
circumstances no longer suit them, a general alteration
ensues, and the previous union becomes dissolved. Thus, a
short time ago, it might have been truly said that Serb's
company was as complete as a Grerman company could possi-
bly be. The majority of the actors filled their proper
places, all were fully occupied, and they all entered zealously
into their respective duties. Their personal circumstances
were prosperous, their profession held out prospects of
success, for they all played with energy and animation. But
it soon appeared that some of them were automatons, who
could only succeed in parts where feeling was not required.
Moreover those personal antipathies soon appeared amongst
them, which so frequently ruin every arrangement, and
destroy that harmony which reasonable men are so anxious
to see preserved.
Philina's departure was of more importance than was at
first apprehended. She had always displayed a great degree
of cleverness in amusing Serlo, and in entertainiug the rest
of her companions. She had borne Aurelia's violence
patiently, but her most favourite employment was to flatter
"Wilhelin. Thus she had been the means of keeping the
whole company united, and her loss was therefore sensibly
felt.
Serlo could not live without carrying on some little
love intrigue. Elmira's person had improved considerably of
late: she was now considered beautiful. She had long since
attracted Serb's attention, and Philina had been clever
enough to encourage his passion, as soon as she had observed
its existence. Serlo and Elmira soon became acquainted
with each other, and after Philina's departure a close
intimacy commenced between them, and the little romance
in which they soon engaged, proved the more interesting, as
they found it necessary to conceal it carefully from the girl's
father, who would not have endured conduct of a suspicious
nature. Elmira's sister had been entrusted with the secret,
and Serb was on this account obliged to overlook many
irregularities in both of them. One of her greatest faults
was an immoderate indulgence in eating, which indeed
amounted to actual gluttony, and in this respect, she differed
altogether from Philina, who had possessed a peculiar charm
from her appearing to subsist on air. She ate but sparingly .
APPRENTICESHIP.
321
and seldom drank more than the foaming cream of a glass
of champagne, which she sipped with the most exquisite
grace imaginable.
Now, however, in order to please his favourites, Serlo
was obliged to connect the breakfast with the dinner, to
which, moreover, the supper was united by means of a late
luncheon. He had moreover formed a plan, the accomplish-
ment of which gave him the greatest trouble. He thought he
had discovered a sort of attachment to exist between Wil-
helm and Aurelia, and he was above all things anxious that
it should assume a serious form. He hoped by this means
to throw the entire burden of his theatrical establishment
upon "Wilhelm, expecting to find in him, as in his former
^brother-in-law, an honest and industrious coadjutor. He
had already by degrees engaged Ifim in all the cares of the
management; Aurelia took care of the money, and Serlo
once more led a free and easy life, as he had done in former
times. Yet there was one circumstance, which gave both
him and his sister much secret annoyance.
The public has a peculiar mode of acting towards men of
acknowledged talent. It generally treats them with indif-
ference, and favours persons of less merit and of more
moderate endowments. It makes excessive demands upon
the former, and is content with almost anything from the
latter.
Serlo and Aurelia had sufficient cause to make their own
reflections upon this peculiarity. The new actors, especially
those who were young and handsome, gained all the atten-
tion of the public, and the others, notwithstanding their
utmost exertions, were generally obliged to retire without
receiving a welcome tribute of applause. This, however,
arose from certain especial causes. Aurelia's pride was
manifest, and her contempt for the public was generally
known. It is true that Serlo flattered every one in turn,
but his satirical observations were frequently circulated and
repeated. The new actors, on the other band, were either
strangers and wholly unknown to the public, or were young,
amiable, and in want of assistance, and for those reasons
they found abundance of patrons.
Ere long, feelings of discontent and dissatisfaction were
observable amongst the company, and they no sooner saw
Y
322
WILHELM MEISTEIt's
that "Wilhelm had undertaken the task of manager, than most
of the actors grew inattentive and remiss, notwithstanding
that he strove earnestly to introduce order and economy
amongst them, and particularly insisted that all mechanical
duties should be performed with punctuality and precision.
In a short time, the whole establishment, which seemed
lately to have attained an ideal perfection, became as tho-
roughly vulgar as the most ordinary strolling company, and
unfortunately when Wilhelm, by his diligence, attention,
and exertions, had completely comprehended the demands of
his profession, and had perfectly trained his person and his
habits in conformity therewith, he began to think, in moments
of sadness, that this branch of the art did not deserve so
large an expenditure of his time and talents as he had
devoted to it. His duties were irksome and his remunera-
tion was insufficient. He would have preferred some other
pursuit in which, after his toils were ended, he might enjoy
repose of mind, to an employment in which, after the most
excessive mechanical labour, his end could not be attained
without the most strenuous efforts both of thought and
feeling. Moreover, he had to. endure the complaints of
Aurelia with respect to her brother's extravagance, and to
misunderstand, as it were, the artifices of Serlo in his
attempts to bring about a marriage between himself and his
sister. He had also to conceal the sorrow which so deeply
afflicted him, at the continued absence of the messenger,
whom he had sent in quest of the ambiguous officer, and
from whom no tidings had arrived. "Wilhelm was filled
with apprehension lest he might lose his Mariana for the
second time.
Just at this time a public mourning was announced, which
caused the theatre to be closed for several weeks. Wilhelm
availed himself of this opportunity for visiting the clergyman,
who had taken charge of the old Harper. He resided in a
pleasant neighbourhood: and the first object which met
Wilhelm's eye, upon his arrival, was his aged friend, em-
ployed in giving lessons to a boy upon his instrument. The
Harper evinced great joy at seeing Wilhelm ; he rose from
his seat, and holding out his hand, observed, " You see that
I can even still be of some use in the world, but allow me
to continue my labours, for my whole time is engaged."
i
APPRENTICESHIP.
32b
The clergyman received "Wilhelm cordially, informing him
that his patient was progressing very favourably, and gave
hopes of a complete recovery.
The conversation turned naturally upon the different
methods employed for the cure of insane persons.
"I find the means of restoring the insane to reason
very simple," said the clergyman, "except in those cases
where physical causes place insuperable difficulties in the
way, upon which occasions I always have recourse to the
advice of an experienced physician. They are precisely the
means by which a sane person is prevented from becoming
deranged. Excite their personal activity, accustom them to
order, shew them that their own existence and fate is the
common lot of millions of their fellow creatures, that extraor-
dinary talents, the greatest prosperity and the deepest misery
are but slight variations from the general lot of man, and then
no mental derangement will make its appearance, or if it
should, will gradually disappear. I have apportioned out
the old man's time, he instructs a few children upon the
harp, he assists the workmen in the garden, he has already
become much more cheerful. He likes to taste the vegeta-
bles which he has himself planted, and as he has bequeathed
his harp to my son after his own decease, he is anxious to
instruct him carefully, in order that the youth may be able
to enjoy his legacy. I have not interfered in my character
of clergyman with his mysterious scruples, but a life of
occupation occasions so many incidents, that he will soon
feel how quickly every kind of doubt will give way to
activity. I go quietly to work—and if I can only
induce him to get rid of his beard and his hood, I shall
have achieved wonders. Nothing more disposes us to mad-
ness than affecting singularity, and nothing assists more to
preserve our common sense, than a life spent in the ordinary
manner, amidst general society. But, in truth, there are
many things in our system of education, and in our civic
institutions, to predispose us and our children to mental
derangement."
Wilhelm spent several clays in the society of this intelli-
gent man, and learned some interesting particulars, not only
of men who are actually deranged, but of others who are
324,
wilhelm meister's
considered, riot merely rational, but wise men, and yet are
possessed of peculiarities which closely resemble insanity.
Upon the entrance of the doctor, the conversation became,
trebly interesting. He was in the habit frequently of
visiting his friend, the clergyman, and of aiding him in his
humane exertions. He was somewhat advanced in years,
infirm in health, and had passed a great portion of his life in
the exercise of the noblest virtues. He was an ardent lover
of a country life, and could hardly exist except in the open
air; at the same time he was active, and fond of society,
and he had for many years evinced an anxiety to form an inti-
macy with all the country clergymen who would receive his
visits. He endeavoured to assist all those who were engaged
in any useful occupation, and to encourage a taste for active
pursuits, in those who were unemployed. His acquaintance
was considerable with the nobility, the judges, and the public
officials; and he had, during a period of twenty years,
secretly encouraged many branches of agriculture, and had
done much to improve the breed of animals, and the educa-
tion of men, thus promoting the public good in the very
truest sense. He was accustomed to say, that the greatest
misfortune which could happen to man, was his becoming
the victim of some idea, which rendered him inactive, and
withdrew him from the pursuits of a busy life. "I have, at
this very time," he said, " a case before me, and hitherto my
treatment has not proved successful. Your advice, my
worthy Pastor, may prove of service, and your young com-
panion here will not mention the circumstance again.
"During the absence of a distinguished personage, some
persons, in a frolic of which we cannot approve, dressed up
a young man in the clothes of the master of the house. The
object was to impose upon his wife, and though the circum-
stance has been told to me as a jest, I fear that it was done
with the intention of leading the noble and amiable lady
astray. Her husband returned unexpectedly, proceeded to
his own apartment, and conceiving that he had witnessed
his own apparition, fell into a state of melancholy, under the
conviction that his deatli was near. He now gives himself
up to the society of men, who encourage his religious
feelings; and I fear, that both he and his wife will join the
APPRENTICESHIP.
325
Herrnliuters, and deprive their children and relations of
the greater part of their fortune.'*
*' His wife!" exclaimed Wilhelm in the greatest excite-
ment, as he had been more than a little alarmed at the story.
"And, alas!" continued the physician, who mistook
"Wilhelm's exclamation for a mere expression of humane
sympathy, "the lady is herself the victim of a deeper sorrow,
which makes her wish to retire from the world. The young
man, whom I have mentioned, was bidding her farewell, and
she was not sufficiently prudent to conceal an incipient
affection which she entertained for him. He grew bold,
clasped her in his arms, and pressed a large portrait of her
husband, which was set in diamonds, forcibly against her
bosom. She felt a pain at the time, which, however, soon
disappeared; a little redness was at first perceptible in the
spot, but finally no mark whatever remained. I am con-
vinced, as a man, that she has no cause for reproach; and I
am certain, as a physician, that the slight wound can have
no evil effect; but it is impossible to persuade her, that a
hardening of the part will not ensue; and if you try to
convince her of her error by appealing to her sensations, she
will answer that she is only free from temporary pain, and
is certain that the disease will end in cancer, and so her
youth and personal charms are entirely lost both to herself
and others."
"Unfortunate being that I am!" cried Wilhelm, striking
his forehead, and suddenly rushing from the company. Ho
never felt himself in such a desperate condition.
The clergyman and the physician were astonished beyond
measure at this strange discovery; and they had much
trouble with him when he returned in the evening, and cir-
cumstantially confessing the whole occurrence, accused
himself in the most unequivocal manner. His friends felt the
warmest interest in his sufferings, particularly as his de-
pressed state of mind caused him to paint the circumstance
in the darkest colours.
On the following day the physician did not need much
persuasion to accompany him to the town, both for the sake
of his society, and that he might, if possible, assist Aurelia,
whom our friend had left in a somewhat serious condition.
Thy found her rather worse than they had expected. Sha
32(3
WILHELM MEISTER'tS
suffered from an attack of intermittent fever, which wag
more difficult to treat, as she herself intentionally encouraged
and stimulated its attacks. The stranger was not announced
as a physician, and he displayed much courtesy and prudence.
They conversed together about the state of her mind and
body, and the stranger related many anecdotes of persons,
who, in spite of similar attacks, had attained a good old age,
but he observed that nothing was more injurious in such
cases than an intentional renewal of passionate excitement.
In particular he considered it very fortunate, when, in
diseases which were not easily cured, the patient entertained
genuine feelings of religion. He stated this in an indifferent
manner, as it were incidentally, and promised his new friend
the perusal of an interesting manuscript, which he had
lately received from the hands of an excellent lady, who was
since deceased. "It is to me of inestimable value," he re-
marked, "but I will entrust you with the original. The
title alone is written by me. I have named it The Con-
fessions of a beautiful Soul."
With regard to the medical treatment of the unhappy and
excited Aurelia, the physician gave Wilhelm the best advice,
promised to write to him, and, if possible, to return. In
the mean time, during Wilhelm's absence, a very unexpected
change had taken place. During his management of the
theatre, he had conducted the establishment with great
freedom and liberality, considering chiefly the ultimate result,
and he had always provided the dresses, the decorations, and
every other material, in the most plentiful and abundant
manner, and for the purpose of winning the good-will of the
actors, he had always flattered their self-interests, as they
could not be influenced by any nobler motives. He was the
more justified in this course, because Serlo himself made no
pretensions to being a good economist; he was more anxious
about the brilliancy of his theatre, and was quite satisfied
if Aurelia, who conducted the whole establishment, assured
him that she was free from debt, and could spare what was
necessary to defray the expenses which Serlo incurred by his
extraordinary liberality to his favorites.
Molina, who had undertaken the management of the ward-
robe, had thought over all these things in silence in his own
cold and selfish spirit, and upon Wilhelm's departure and
APPRENTICESHIP.
327
daring the increasing illness of Aurelia, he suggested t#
Serlo, that it was possible to save more, and to spend less,
and consequently to lay by something, or else to lead a life
of still greater dissipation. Serlo listened with pleasure,
and MeKna proceeded to unfold his plans.
"I do not mean to say," he observed, "that any of the
actors are at present too extravagantly paid. They are
meritorious people, and would be well received any where;
but, nevertheless they are paid too much, considering our
receipts. My advice would be to establish an opera, and as
for the theatre, I must say that you are the very man to
carry out such an undertaking without assistance. Do you
not observe how your merits are at present neglected? And
it is not because your fellow-actors are excellent, but only
good, that you do not receive full justice. Appear upon the
boards alone, as you used to do formerly, engage middling,
or even inferior actors at small salaries, amuse the public, as
you are so competent to do, with mechanical exhibitions,
devote yourself to the opera, and you will find that with the
same labour and expense you will give greater satisfaction,
and obtain infinitely more money than you have hitherto
done."
Serlo was too highly flattered not to feel the full force of
these arguments. He acknowledged to Melina that his love
for music had for a long time made him anxious for such an
arrangement, but he thought that the public taste would
thus become seriously vitiated, and that with a theatre of
the proposed description, which would neither be an opera
nor a playhouse, any remains of proper feeling for regular
and perfect works of art would quickly disappear.
Melina ridiculed, in rather coarse terms, Wilhelm's pedan-
tic ideas upon this subject, as well as his expectations of
leading the public taste, in place of being guided by it, and
both he and Serlo at length agreed that their sole object
should be to make money, to become rich, and to enjoy a
luxurious life, and they made no secret of their wish to get
rid of every person who seemed likely to oppose their plan.
Melina affected to lament the delicate state of Aurelia's
health, which, he said, threatened a fatal termination, though
he really thought the contrary. Serlo regretted that Wik
helm was not a singer, thus intimating that his engagement
32S
WILHELM MEISTEU'S
with the company was not absolutely indispensable. Melius
now produced a long list of intended savings, and Serlo
beheld in him a vision of his brother-in-law three times
restored. They both felt the necessity of keeping their
intentions quite secret, but this obligation only served to
unite them more closely together—they, therefore, conversed
in private upon everything that occurred, found fault with
all the projects of Aurelia and "Wilhelm, and proceeded in
their endeavors to bring their own plans to perfection.
But though they were silent with respect to their views,
and never allowed their words to betray them, they were
not always polite enough in their conduct, wholly to conceal
their intentions. Melina, for instance, frequently opposed
Wilhelm, in matters which lay especially within the province
of the latter, and Serlo, who had never been very kind
towards his sister, became now more harsh in his conduct, in
proportion as her illness increased, and as her uncertain and
excitable disposition seemed to require his indulgence.
Just at this time they gave a representation of Emilia
Galotti. The characters were very well distributed, and
within the confined circle of this tragedy, the whole company
could display their various powers of acting. Serlo was
at home in the part of Marinelli, Madame Melina played
the mother with great judgment, Elmira received much
applause as Emilia, Laertes was a dignified Appiani, and
Wilhelm had devoted several months to the study of the
Prince's character. Upon this occasion, he often discussed
the following point, not only with himself, but with Serlo
and Aurelia, " What is the difference between a noble and a
avell-bred manner, and how far must the former necessarily
be included in the latter, though the latter need not be in-
cluded in the former?"
Serlo, who, in the part of Marinelli, had to perform the
perfect courtier wholly free from caricature, expressed him-
self very happily upon this subject. "A well-bred manner,"
ho said, "is difficult to imitate, because its qualities are
negative, and it requires a long continued training. It is
not necessary, for instance, that your conduct should display
a show of dignity, for then haughtiness of deportment and
formality will probably be the consequence, but you must
avoid all that is undignified and vulgar. You must never
APPRENTICESHIP.
329
forget yourself, you must pay strict attention to yourself
and others, overlook no fault in your own conduct, and
exact from others neither too much nor too little. Nothing
must be allowed to agitate or to disturb you, nothing to
surprise you. You must keep yourself perfectly collected,
and preserve an outward calm, whatever storms may rage
within. A person of noble character may sometimes yield
to his emotions—the well-bred man can never do so. The
latter resembles a person attired in the neatest apparel—he
may not lean against any support, or allow another to touch
him. Though he separates himself from others, he may not
standalone, and it happens in this art as in every other, that
the greatest difficulties are at length accomplished with ease.
The well-bred man, in spite of his real isolation, always
appears to form one of the society around him; he is never
stiff but always complaisant; he should always be recog-
nized as the first, yet never insist upon the recognition of
his claims.
"It is evident, therefore, that in order to seem well-
bred, one must really be so. And we may clearly see why
it is that women can generally assume the airs of high
breeding more successfully than men, and why courtiers and
officers can so easily attain to that distinction."
Wilhelm now almost despaired of his capabilities to per-
form the part, but Serlo proved of great assistance to him,
making the wisest observations on particular passages, and
instructing him so fully, that upon the performance of the
play, ho passed for a highly respectable prince in the opinion
of the public.
Serlo had promised, that after the play was ended, he
would offer such observations upon it as might suggest
themselves to him, but an unfortunate disagreement between
himself and his sister prevented the communication of his
criticisms. Amelia had acted the character of Orsina in a
very unusual style. She was well acquainted with the part;
and had, therefore,been negligent at the rehearsals, but during
the performance she displayed all the deep sources of her
personal sorrow, and thus produced a representation such as
no poet in the earliest glow of inspiration could have anti-
cipated. The rapturous applause of the public rewarded
her painful exertions, but at the conclusion of the piece, sh

330
WILHELM MEISTEE'S
was obliged to seek repose upon a sofa in a half-insensible
state.
Serlo had already expressed his dissatisfaction at her
exaggerated acting, as he termed it, and at her display of
the secret feelings of her heart, as the public were more or
less acquainted with her unfortunate history. He had dis-
played his anger according to his usual custom, by frowning
and stamping with his feet.
"Let her have her own way," he exclaimed, when he saw
her reclining upon the sofa, surrounded by the other actors,
"before long she will go upon the stage perfectly naked,
and then the applause will be unbounded.''
On the following morning she enjoyed a quiet hour. She
sent for Wilhelm and handed him a letter.
"This sheet," she said, "has long been prepared for the
present moment. I feel that the end of my life is approach-
ing, promise, then, that you will keep this paper, and that
by a few words you will avenge my death upon the faithless
object of my attachment. He is not devoid of feeling, and
my death will afflict him for a time."
Wilhelm took the letter, endeavouring at the same time
to comfort her, and to lead her mind from dwelling upon the
thoughts of death.
"JNTo!" she said, i( do not deprive me of my dearest hope,
I have long waited for his appearance, and I will embrace
him gladly when he comes.'5
Shortly after this, the manuscript arrived, which had been
promised to her by the doctor. She sent for "Wilhelm, that
he might read it to her, and the effect which it produced
will be better understood, when the reader has perused the
next book of our narrative. The wayward and violent
temper of Aurelia was at once softened by the perusal. She
took back her letter, and wrote another in a milder tone,
and she begged Wilhelm to console her friend, if he should
be afflicted at the news of her death, to assure him that she
had forgiven everything, and that she wished him the most
perfect happiness.
Prom this time, she became more quiet; her attention
being absorbed by a few ideas, which she sought to appro-
priate to herself from the manuscript, which Wilhelm con-
'nued to read occasionally for her amusement. The decay

APPEEKTICESniP.
331
of lier bcrengca was imperceptible; and, one morning when
"Wilhelm went to visit her, he found her unexpectedly
dead.
The respect which he had entertained for her, and his
long-habitual enjoyment of her society, caused him to feel
her loss very sensibly. She was the only person who really
cared for him, and he bitterly felt the coldness which Serlo
had for some time exhibited towards him. He exerted
himself, therefore, to discharge the commission with which
she had entrusted him, and he was anxious to absent him-
self for a time. The journey which he contemplated was
highly gratifying to Melina. The latter had, in the course
of his extensive correspondence, lately engaged two opera
singers, and he intended that their performance at interludes,
should prepare the public for his future opera.
The loss of Aurelia and the absence of Wilhelrn were to
be supplied by this means; and Wilhelm was satisfied with
any arrangement that should facilitate his absence for
several weeks.
He entertained a singular idea of the great importance
of his duty. The death of Aurelia had affected him deeply,
and as he had seen her depart so early from this transitory
scene, he could not help feeling exasperated against a man,
who had not only shortened her life, but had embittered
the brief term of her existence.
In spite of the last kind and forgiving words of the
dying Aurelia, he determined upon delivering his letter, to
pronounce a severe judgment on her faithless friend, and, as
he did not wish to depend upon the accidental impressions
of the moment, he prepared a speech which during its com-
position became highly pathetic in its tone. When he was
quite satisfied with the style of his essay, and during the
time that he was committing it to memory, he made prepara-
tions for his departure. Mignon was present at the packing
up of his wardrobe, and she inquired whether he was about
to travel towards the south or towards the north, and when
he answered in the latter direction, she replied, that, in that
case, she would rather wait till he should return. She begged
that he would give her the pearl necklace, which had be-
longed to Mariana, a request which he could not refuse. He
had already given her the neckhandkerchief. She, on her
WILHELM MEISTER's
side, placed the veil of the ghost in his travelling-bag,
although he assured her that it would be wholly useles?
to him.
Melina now undertook the directorship; his wife pro-
mised to watch the children with a mothers eye, and
Wilhelm bade her adieu with great sorrow. Felix was in
good spirits at the moment of his departure, and when he
was asked what present he wished that Wilhelm should
bring him upon his return, he cried, "Listen, bring me a
papa." Mignon seized Wilhelm's hand, and standing
upon her tip-toes, she pressed it to her lips, with a warm
and cordial kiss, in which, however, there was no touch of
tenderness, exclaiming, at the same time, " Master! do not
forget us, and return soon."
And now, leaving "Wilhelm to pursue his journey, amid a
thousand conflicting thoughts and emotions, we will here
subjoin, by way of conclusion, a little poem which Mignon
had several times recited with great feeling, and to which
the pressure of so many extraordinary events has hithert3
prevented us from directing the attention of our readers.
0, do not bid me speak, I pray,
For silence is my duty now;
I could my inmost soul display,
But fate may not such deed allow.
The morning" sunbeams rise in strength,
Their gladdening- rays o'er night to fling —
And hardest rocks reveal at length
To earth some sweet refreshing spring*.
In friendship's arms while some repose,
AvA all their sorrows freely speak,
A *olpron oath my lips doth cloae,
Waich God alone can bidiiif bro&V*.
APPRENTICESHIP.
833
BOOK \TL
Confessions of a beautiful Soul.--
Until I had reached my eighth year, I was a healthy
child, but I can remember no more of the intervening period
than of the day of my birth. At the commencement of my
eighth year, I suffered from a serious illness, and from that
time all the powers of my soul became absorbed in feeling
and in memory. The most trifling circumstances connected
with that event, are now before my eyes as vividly as if
they had happened only yesterday.
During the nine months of my tedious confinement to
bed, (a misfortune which I endured with great patience), the
foundation of my whole tone of thought was laid, for my
mind then found the first opportunity of developing itself.
I suffered and I loved—this was the peculiar property of
my heart. During the most violent fits of coughing and of
wasting fever, I lay as still as a snail would do within its
shell, but the instant that I obtained relief, I panted for
some enjoyment, and as every other gratification was for-
bidden, I sought innocently to entertain my ears and my
eyes. I was plentifully supplied with dolls and pictures,
and whoever came to my bed side was obliged to amuse me
with an anecdote.
I was charmed with my mother's relation of the Bible his-
tories, and my father entertained me with a display of natural
curiosities. He possessed a very choice museum, from which
he exhibited to me the several compartments in succession,
pointing out the various contents and explaining their dif-
ferent properties. Dried plants, insects, and anatomical
preparations of human skin, bones, mummies, and so forth,
were in turn laid out upon the bed of the little invalid, and
Che birds and animals which had been obtained in field
334 T^rLHELM meistse's
«
sports, were always shown to me before they were taken to
the kitchen. And in order that the prince of the world
might not be wholly excluded, my aunt frequently amused
me with a relation of love stories and fairy tales. Every-
thing was received by me and took root in my imagination.
There were hours in which I held intimate communication
with the unseen Being. I still remember some verses which
my mother wrote down at the time, from my dictation.
I frequently recapitulated to my father the information
which I had acquired from him. I seldom took a medicinal
preparation, without asking where the several materials had
grown, of which it was composed, and without inquiring into
their various properties, and asking their names. It was soon
evident that the anecdotes recounted by my aunt had not
fallen upon dry ground. I sometimes fancied myself attired
in fine clothes, and hastening to meet the most handsome
princes, who were unable to find either rest or repose till
they had ascertained who the unknown beauty was. A
similar adventure with a charming little angel, who courted
me, attired in a white dress and golden wings, took such
firm hold of my imagination, that his form was almost visible.
At the expiration of a year, I was nearly.restored to
health, but I had lost all the giddiness of youth. Dolls no
longer afforded me any pleasure,I panted for some living thing
which should be capable of returning my love. Dogs, cats,
and birds, of which my father had a large collection, afforded
me extreme delight, but what would i not now have given,
to possess one of those creatures wk>h used to play so im-
portant a part in the stories of my aunt? I mean a lamb,
which had been found by a peasant girl and nourished in
a wood, but -under the appearance of this innocent animal
an enchanted prince had lain concealed, until at length he
assumed his real shape and rewarded his benefactress with
his hand. How would I have been delighted with the
possession of such a lamb!
But no such happiness was in store for me, and as the
whole course of events seemed quite natural and common-
place, I gradually abandoned all hope of meeting such a
precious treasure. In the mean time, however, I found
comfort in books which contained an account of the most
wonderful adventures. My favourite work was the " Chris*
APPRENTICESHIP.
335
tian German Hercules" that pious love story was quite
after my heart. The hero of the tale, when any thing
happened to his Valiska (and dreadful events were constantly
occurring), was always accustomed to pray, before he
hastened to her assistance, and the prayers were given at full
length in the book. How highly did that delight me! My
love for the Invisible which I had always felt in a mysterious
manner, was by this means increased, for God was hence-
forth always to be my confidant.
My reading became more desultory as I grew older, but
I valued the "Roman Octavia" beyond every other work.
The persecutions of the first Christians, which were related
in the style of a romance, excited the warmest interest in my
mind.
My mother at length began to complain of my continual
reading, and my father, in order to gratify her wishes,
deprived me of my books, but never failed to restore them
to me on the following day. My mother was clever enough
to perceive that she could not thus attain the object which
she had in view, and therefore she sought to impress upon
me, the necessity of reading my Bible, with the same atten-
tion which I bestowed upon other works. I needed no
compulsion to obey, and I perused the holy Scriptures with
the greatest interest. My mother was at all times careful
that no bad books should fall into my hands, immoral
writings I should instantly have rejected of my own accord,
for my princes and princesses were all remarkable for their
love of virtue.
I had to thank my mother, as well as my own love of
learning, for my acquaintance with the art of cookery, with-
out applying to books for information. Much was to be
learnt from observation. I took great delight in cutting up
a fowl or any other animal. I would then show the different
parts to my father, who discoursed to me about them, as he
would have done with a young student of anatomy, and
with real but silent joy, he would call me his strangely dis-
positioned child.
I was now in my thirteenth year. I had learnt French,
dancing and drawing, and had received the customary in-
struction in religion. This latter study awakened my feel-
ings and my thoughts, but I found nothing in it which
336
WILHELM ilElSTK'li'S
properly affected my own condition. I was pleased to hear
God spoken of, and I was proud that I could converse about
him better than my equals. I read many books which enabled
me to talk about religion, but it never occurred to me to
reflect upon my own situation, to ask whether my soul was
trained according to the required standard, whether it
resembled a mirror which reflected back the rays of tht
eternal Sun—all this I had taken for granted.
I learnt French with much eagerness. My master was a
clever man. He was no thoughtless empiric, no dry gram-
marian, he possessed much knowledge and had seen the
world. Whilst teaching me the language, he satisfied my
anxiety for information in a thousand ways. I loved him
so much, that I always expected his arrival with a palpitating
heart. I did not find drawing difficult, and I should have
made much more decided progress therein, if my master had
possessed a head and more science, as it was, he possessed
only hands and practice.
Dancing at first afforded me the smallest amount of amuse-
ment. My constitution was too delicate, and I took lessons
only in the society of my sister. But our master soon
adopted the plan of inviting his pupils of both sexes to a
ball, and the pleasures of dancing were by this means won-
derfully increased.
Amongst the crowd of youths and maidens who were
present, two sons of the Marshal of the Court were parti-
cularly remarkable. The younger was of my own age, and
the other was two years my senior, they were both of sur-
passing beauty, and it was universally admitted that no one
had ever seen their equals. Scarcely had I observed them,
than I ceased to notice any other person, from that moment
I paid attention to my steps, and became anxious to dance
well. How did it happen that, on their parts, these two
youths also distinguished me from all my companions? But
enough—in an hour we had become the very best friends,
and before the little entertainment had concluded, we had
arranged where and when our next interview was to take
place. Imagine my delight! But I was positively en-
raptured, when on the following day, they both inquired for
rne in a polite note, accompanied by a bouquet. I hav&
never since felt the sensations which I then experienced-
APPEENTICE SKIP.
337
Compliments were then mutually paid, and a constant
interchange of letters took place. The church and the
public promenades were henceforth converted into places of
rendezvous, and all our young friends invited us together
upon every occasion, though we were prudent enough
to conceal our attachment so carefully, that our parents
observed no more of it than we judged advisable.
I had now won two lovers, although I had as yet formed
no decision in favour of either, in point of fact they botli
pleased me, and we were on the best of terms together.
Suddenly the elder brother became unwell, and as I myself
had frequently been ill, I had acquired some experience of
the dainties which were suited to an invalid, and I was thus
enabled to contribute to his comfort. His parents were
grateful for my attention, and they soon acceded to the
request of their dear son, and invited me and my sister to
visit him, when he had risen from his bed. The affection
with which he received me, was not the feeling of a child,
and from that day I decided in his favour. At the same
time he warned me to hide our secret from his brother, but
our love could not be concealed, and the jealousy of the
younger one rendered our romance complete. He played
us a thousand tricks, he strove to ruin our happiness, and
by that means only increased those feelings of love which he
sought to annihilate.
I had now at length found my long wished for lamb, and
the passion which I indulged affected me like an illness,
rendering me calm and withdrawing me from all noisy plea-
sures. I loved solitude—I felt deeply agitated and thoughts
of God again took possession of my mind. He was once
more my confidant, and well do I remember the tears witli
which I used to pray for the dear youth, whose recovery was
not yet complete.
The thorough innocence of this proceeding contributed
extremely to the formation of my heart. In compliance with
the directions of our French master, we now exchanged our
customary translations, for letters of our own composition.
I gave an account of my love adventure, under the convenient
names of Phyllis and Damon. The old man saw through the
disguise, and in order to render me communicative, ho
highly praised the execution of my task. I became bolder,
z
338
WILHELM MEISTElt's
spoke out more freely, and actually carried some truth into
my details. I do not now remember the passage, which caused
him upon one occasion to observe, "How pretty, how
natural all this is! But the good Phyllis must beware, or
it may become serious!"
I felt distressed that he did not consider the affair as
serious already, and I asked him in a tone of dissatisfaction,
what he meant by serious? It was not necessary to repeat
my inquiry, for he at once explained himself so clearly, that
I was unable to conceal my alarm. But a feeling of anger
soon succeeded, and I was indignant that he should entertain
such thoughts, but willing to defend my imaginary maiden,
I answered, with blushing cheeks, "But, my good Sir!
Phyllis is an honorable girl!"
He was wicked enough to jest with me about my honorable
heroine, and as our conversation was carried on in French,
he played upon the meaning of the word "honn&te" and
pursued the honour of Phyllis through all its significations.
I felt the absurdity of this, and was beyond measure per-
plexed. But he, unwilling to alarm me too much, broke off
for a time, though, he returned to the subject upon many
subsequent occasions. Plays and little romances, which I
read and translated for him, afforded him frequent oppor-
tunities of demonstrating how weak is the protection of our
boasted virtue against the solicitations of love. I ceased to
contradict him, though I was secretly offended and I felt
his observations to be distressing.
But my communications with Damon were soon brought
to a close. The chicanery of the younger brother had
destroyed our intercourse, and a short time afterwards these
promising youths died. I was sorry for a time, but both of
them were soon forgotten.
Phyllis now grew rapidly—she was in the bloom of youth
and health, and anxious to see the world. The hereditary
Prince married about this time, and soon afterwards, upon
the decease of his father, he commenced his reign. The
court and town were alive with excitement, and my feelings
of curiosity were gratified to the fullest extent. There was
an abundance of plays and balls with their usual accompani-
ments, and though my parents were anxious for retirement,
they were obliged to appear at court, where my introduction
APPRENTICESHIP.
339
accordingly took place. Strangers flocked to the palace in
crowds, entertainments were given in ever}r house, many
dashing cavaliers were introduced and recommended to me;
and at my uncle's house, I may say that there was an actual
congregation of nations.
My trustworthy Mentor continued his warnings in a
delicate but decided tone, and in my secret heart I was not
displeased at his interference. But I was by no means
convinced of the truth of his assertion, "that women are
under all circumstances weak he might have been right
or wrong in his opinion, but his tone became so earnest that
I grew alarmed and observed to him upon one occasion,
in a tone of seriousness, u if the danger is so great, and the
human heart so weak, I will implore of Grod to preserve
me."
This simple observation appeared to please him, he praised
my resolution, though I had then no actual intention of ful-
filling it. They were but empty words—for in point of fact
every feeling of reverence for the Invisible was at that time
well nigh extinguished within me. The scenes of dissipation
in which I was perpetually engaged perplexed and confounded
me, and bore me along in an irresistible torrent. This was the
most unprofitable portion of my existence. For whole days
I abstained from instructive conversation, I avoided all useful
thoughts and devoted myself to the merest dissipation.
Never for a moment did I think of my beloved books. The
people by whom I was surrounded had not the slightest
acquaintance with literature. They were a class of German
courtiers, and at that period such people were destitute of
ever}^ species of mental culture.
One would have thought that society of this kind must
have led me to the brink of ruin. I passed an existence
of mere corporal cheerfulness; I never examined myself, I
never prayed, I never even thought of my own condition, or
of Grod. Yet I must thank Heaven that I was not capti-
vated by any of the handsome, rich, and well dressed men
by whom I was surrounded; they were dissipated in their
conduct, and made no secret of their vices, this terrified
me. Their conversation was obscene and painful, on which
account I became reserved m my intercourse with them—
31-0
Vv ILHELM ME I STEIl" 3
occasionally their improprieties surpassed belief, and then 1
could not avoid behaving rudely to them.
In addition, my experienced adviser had upon one occasion
informed me in confidence, that with the greater part of the
gentry, not only virtue but health itself was in danger. I
became afraid of them from that moment, and I trembled if
one of them approached me. I avoided henceforth all the
glasses and drinking cups, and even the very chairs which
they had touched. Thus, both in a moral and physical sense,
I became wholly separated from them, and I satisfied myself
with haughtily receiving as my right, all the compliments-
which they bestowed upon me.
Among the strangers who at this time resided with us, one
young man was particularly distinguished, whom, in jest, we
named Narcissus. He had acquired some fame in the diplo-
matic circles, and amongst the many changes which were
then occurring at court, he hoped to obtain some lucrative em-
ployment. He soon became acquainted with my father, and
his acquirements and elegant manner immediately ensured
his admission to the most select and accomplished circles.
My father was constant in his praises, and his handsome
figure would have produced a still greater impression, if he
had not been so thoroughly imbued with conceit. I had
already seen him and he had won my good opinion, but we
had never conversed together.
We met upon one occasion at a large ball, where we
danced a minuet together, but our acquaintance did not
thereby become more intimate. I was accustomed to avoid the
more violent dances, in deference to my father's wishes, as
lie felt so much anxiety about my health, and during one
of these, I had retired to an adjoining apartment, where I
found amusement in conversing with some of my older com-
panions, who were engaged at cards.
Narcissus being fatigued with dancing, entered the apart-
ment to recover himself a little, and he soon fell into
general conversation with me. Before half an hour had
elapsed, wre were so agreeably entertained, that we could
not think of returning to the ball room, and though our
friends jested with us upon the circumstance, we were not
turned from our agreeable occupation. On the following
APPHETfTICESIIIP.
evening we met again, and our pleasant conversation wa3
resumed.
A perfect acquaintance was now established between us.
Narcissus paid constant visits to me, and to rny sisters, and
from that time I began to inquire into the extent of my
knowledge, to examine into my feelings and sensations, and
to improve my powers of conversation. My new friend,
who had always moved in the best society, in addition to his
historical and political acquirements, which were perfect,
possessed very extensive literary knowledge, and he was
a stranger to nothing that issued from the press, especially
in France. It was his habit to bring or send me many a
delightful book, but this we kept as profound a secret as we
should have done forbidden love. Learned women were at
that time considered ridiculous, and even well instructed
ladies were scarcely tolerated, probably because it was
deemed impolite to put so many ignorant men to xhe blush.
Even my father, who was quite delighted with this new oppor-
tunity of cultivating my mind, expressly insisted that our
literary intercourse should not be divulged.
Our intimacy had now lasted for a whole year, and I
cannot say that Narcissus had ever even indirectly expressed
the least love or tenderness for me. His conduct was inva-
riably kind and complaisant, but wholly devoid of affection;
indeed he seemed to be rather attracted by the charms of ray
younger sister, who was then extremely beautiful. In jest he
gave her many friendly foreign names, for he spake several
languages fluently, and he frequently introduced foreign ex-
pressions into his conversation. She did not return his
civilities with any cordiality, as her thoughts were otherwise
engaged, and as she was of rather a wayward disposition and
he was particularly sensitive, they were constantly quarrel-
ling about trifles. He agreed very well with my mother and
aunts, and thus he gradually became a member of the family.
Who can say hosv long we might have continued to
live in this manner, if a singular accident had not all
at once occurred. In company with my sisters I had
received an invitation from a certain family, which I was
very reluctant to accept. The society was not select, and
the house was often frequented by rude and uneducated
persons. On the present occasion, Narcissus was invited
342
WILIIELM MEISTEE'S
to accompany us, and I was inclined to go on his account,
as I could then make sure of finding somebody with whom
I cuiild be entertained in my own way. Even during dinner
many things occurred, of which we had reason to complain,
/or some of the guests had drunk to excess, and subsequently
they insisted on playing a game of forfeits. A general noise
and tumult ensued. Narcissus had lost a forfeit, and he
was directed to redeem it by whispering something agreeable
in the ear of every individual in the company. He lingered
too long, as it appears, with a lady who was sitting near me,
the wife of a military officer: whereupon the latter struck
him so violent a blow upon the ear, that the powder flew
from his hair in all directions. When I had recovered a
little from my alarm, I observed that they had both drawn
their swords. Narcissus was bleeding, and the other, ex-
cited by wine, anger, and jealousy, could scarcely be restrained
by the whole company from doing some further act of
violence. I seized Narcissus by the arm, and led him from
the apartment. I conducted him to a room up-stairs, and
as I did not deem that my friend even here was safe from
his enraged enemy, I bolted the door.
We did not think the injury a serious one, for we per-
ceived only a slight cut across the hand; but we were soon
alarmed by the sight of blood which was flowing down his
back, and which issued from a deep wound in his head. I
felt alarmed. I ran to the stairs to procure assistance, but
1 could see no one, for the whole party had remained below
to assist in quieting the infuriated captain. At length one
of the daughters of our hostess appeared, and her air of
mirth distressed me, as she could not help laughing heartily
at the extraordinary scene which had occurred. I implored
her to send for a surgeon, whereupon she rushed down stairs
for the purpose.
I returned to my wounded friend, and tied my handker-
chief about his hand, and bound his head with a napkin
which hung against the door. Streams of blood still flowed
from the wound. He turned pale, and appeared about to
faint. There was no one near to render any assistance, so
I took him without farther ceremony in my arms, and sought
to cheer his spirits by patting his cheek, and speaking kindly
APPRENTICESHIP.
343
to him. The good effect was immediate, he continued to
retain his senses, but he was still deadly pale.
At length our hostess entered, and she evinced the
greatest alarm at seeing my friend in such a condition, lying
in my arms, whilst we were both covered with blood. No
one had informed her that Narcissus had been wounded, all
imagined that I had taken him away in safety.
Wine, scent-bottles, and every thing else that could refresh
and stimulate him, were now produced in abundance. The
surgeon also arrived, and it seemed high time for me to
leave; but Narcissus held me firmly by the hand, though
indeed I should have remained without any such compulsion.
"Whilst they bound his wounds I continued to supply him
with wine, and I was wholly indifferent to the presence of
the rest of the company. When the surgeon had completed
his task, my friend took a silent but affectionate leave of me,
and he was then carried home.
Our hostess now conducted me to her bed-room, she
insisted on undressing me, and whilst they washed the
blood from my person, I could perceive with pleasure
for the first time, in a mirror, that I might be considered
beautiful without the aid of clothing. I could not resume
any part of my own apparel, and as my friends were all
either taller or shorter than myself, I returned home to the
astonishment of my family, dressed in the strangest possible
disguise. The latter were indignant at the fright which I
had sustained, as well as at the wound of my friend, at the
folly of the captain, and, indeed, at the whole occurrence.
My father was on the very point of avenging his friend, by
challenging the captain on the spot. He censured the gen-
tlemen who had been present, for not having instantly
punished the murderous attack; for it was too clear that the
captain, after he had struck Narcissus the first blow, had
drawn his sword, and wounded him from behind: the cut
upon the hand had not been given, until Narcissus was in
the act of drawing his sword. I was affected and distressed
beyond measure. I know not how to describe my sensa-
tions, The emotions which had lain asleep within my heart
were aroused at once, like flames when they receive the
air. And if a state of happiness and joy are well adapted
for the first production, and the secret nourishment of lo

344
W1L1IELM MEISTEIl's
this feeling, which is impetuous by nature, is most easily
impelled by terror to a declaration and decision. I was re-
commended to retire to bed; and my father, on the following
morning, visited our wounded friend, and found him suffering
from an attack of fever.
My father communicated to me but little of the conversa-
tion which ensued; but lie sought to tranquillise my mind
as to the probable results of the event which had occurred.
It was doubtful whether they should accept an apology, or
whether the affair should be brought before a Court of
Justice. I knew my father too well to suppose that he
would be satisfied at seeing the matter end without a duel;
but I remained silent, having long since learnt from him,-
that it was wrong for our sex to interfere with things of this
description. It did not seem that any other circumstanoe
had happened between them, in which my interests were
much concerned; but before long nry father communicated
in confidence the purport of his further conversation to my
mother. He stated, that Narcissus appeared to be much
affectrd at the assistance which I had rendered him, that he
had embraced my father, and declared that he was my
everlasting debtor, and that he desired no happiness which
he could not share with me; and begged that he might be
permitted to consider my father as his own. My mother re-
peated all this to me, adding the prudent reflection, "that
as these expressions of my wounded friend had escaped from
him in the first agitation of his mind, no great importance
ought, perhaps, to be attributed to them." "You are quite
right," I replied, with affected indifference, though Heaven
alone can tell the nature of my feelings at the moment.
Narcissus remained ill for two months, and the wound in
his right hand prevented him from writing; but in the mean
time he evinced his attachment for me by the most obliging
attentions. "Uniting all these unusual civilities with the
account which I had received from my mother, my mind
became filled with all sorts of fancies. The whole city talked
of the circumstance. I was myself addressed by my friends
in a tone of seriousness, and they drew inferences from the
occurrence which affected me deeply, notwithstanding all
my efforts to avoid them. All that before had seemed but
e result of habit and trifling, assumed now the form of a

APPRENTICESHIP
345
serious attachment, and my continued anxiety became the
Wronger, the morel sought to hide it from my acquaintance,
i was terrified at the apprehension of losing him, and the
possibility of forming a nearer connection made me tremble.
The very thought of marriage is alarming to the mind of a
mere girl.
These ceaseless agitations compelled me once more to re-
collect myself. The bright picture of a thoughtless life,
which had ever been before my eyes, now completely
vanished. My soul awoke; but my long interrupted in-
timacy with my Invisible friend was not so easily renewed.
~We still continued widely separated —something of my old
feeling towards him returned; but I could observe a strange
difference.
A duel had taken place without my knowledge, :u which
the captain was severely wounded, and the public opinion
was expressed loudly in favour of my friend, who appeared
once more upon the scene. He had already visited us with
a wounded head and hand, and violent were the beatings of
my heart upon the occasion. The whole family was present,
and nothing more occurred on either side, than mere expres-
sions of thanks and formal displays of politeness; but he
found an opportunity to afford me some private evidences of
his affection, which once more rendered me restless. Upon
his complete recovery Narcissus resumed his visits, and
during the entire winter he continued on the same intimate
footing as formerly; but notwithstanding all his secret tokens
of attachment and love, the whole affair remained undecided.
Thus was I kept in a constant state of excitement. But
I could not entrust any one with my secret, and I was too
far removed from God to enjoy happiness. For four long
years I had quite forgotten him: and now, when I thought
of him once more, m)r feelings had grown cold, and my visits
to him were those of mere ceremony; and, as upon those
occasions, I always dressed myself in my very best attire,
and never failed to make a display of my virtue, honour, and
superior excellence, he failed to recognise me in my finery.
A courtier would have been much disappointed if a Prince,
from whom he expected promotion, had acted towards him
in this manner, but it did not, in the least, affect me. I
had everything that I needed, health and the ordinary
346
WILHELM MEISTEIt'S
comforts of life. I was content if it should please God to
think of me, and if he should not, I flattered myself that I
had at least discharged my duty.
This, however, was not my opinion at that period, but it
is the true description of my state of mind. But prepara-
tions were already in progress which were to change and
purify my thoughts.
The season of spring arrived. One day Narcissus visited
me unannounced, when I was quite alone. He declared
himself to be my lover, and asked me whether I would enrich
him with my heart, and bless him with my hand as soon
as he should succeed in obtaining some honourable and lucra-
tive appointment.
He had already been taken into the service of the state;
but he had been kept back, and his promotion had been
impeded by misapprehensions of his ambitious character;
and as he was possessed of a small private fortune, the salary
which he received was inconsiderable.
Notwithstanding my affection for him, I knew, that he
was not a person towards whom one could act with perfect
frankness. I determined therefore to refer him to my
father; and though Narcissus did not apprehend his refusal,
he was anxious first to obtain my own consent. At length
I accepted him, but made the approbation of my parents
an indispensable condition of our engagement. He spoke
formally to them both; and they expressed their satisfaction
and agreed to his proposal, upon the prospect of his ap-
proaching promotion, which was anxiously looked for. Sisters
and aunts were informed of the arrangement; but a promise
of secresy was exacted from them.
My lover was now converted into a bridegroom. The
difference between these characters soon shewed itself to be
considerable. If the lovers of all honorable maidens could
be converted into bridegrooms, it would confer a great benefit
upon the whole sex, even though marriage should not always
be the result. The love of affianced persons undergoes no
change: but it becomes more reasonable. Countless little
follies, coquetteries and humours instantly vanish. Should
the bridegroom say that we look better in a morning cap
than in the most* elaborate head-dress, no prudent young
lady will henceforth trouble herself about the latter; and
APPRENTICESHIP.
347
«
nothing is more natural, than that a husband should think
of solid advantages, and should rather prefer to form a
careful housewife for himself than to decorate a doll for
others. And it is the same in every other affair of life.
If a young lady so circumstanced has the good fortune to
possess a bridegroom of talents and education, she learns
more from his instruction, than she could do from univer-
sities or foreign travel. She not only receives his informa-
tion gladly, but she exerts herself strenuously to improve
herself. Love renders impossibilities themselves possible.
Before long that obedience begins, which is so necessary and
so becoming in the female sex, but the bridegroom does not
exercise authority like the husband; he merely asks, and
his intended partner tries to anticipate his wishes, and to
fulfil them before he can solicit their performance.
In this way did I learn from experience lessons which I
would not, on any account, have missed. And I now felt as
happy as any woman in the world could feel for a time.
A summer passed away amid these quiet joys. Narcissus
never gave me the smallest reason to complain. He grew
dearer to me every day. My whole soul was his—that lie-
well knew, and he knew how to prize his knowledge. In
the meantime something arose from the veriest trifles,,
which threatened, by degrees, to prove injurious to our
union.
Narcissus conducted himself respectfully towards me as-
his affianced bride, and never dared to solicit the concession
of any unlawful freedom. But our opinions differed as to
the proper boundaries of modesty and virtue. It was my
wish to walk securely, and to permit nothing which the
whole world might not have observed. But he had been
otherwise brought up, and did not approve of such strict-
ness—constant disputes thus arose between us, but he
never failed to praise my modesty though he sought to
undermine my resolution.
And now the serious observations of my old French
teacher occurred to me, as well as the measures of protec-
tion which I had spoken of at the same time.
I had once more resumed my intercourse with heaven.
God had provided me with a dearly loved bridegroom, and
I felt grateful for the favour. My earthly love had concen-
PAS
WILHELM MEJSTEK's
trated my whole soul and awakened all its energies, and these
were not opposed to my intercourse with heaven. I poured
out my complaints to God about everything that alarmed
me, without observing that I was all the time seeking to
possess the very object which occasioned my apprehensions.
With full confidence in my own powers I did not pray,
"Lead me not into temptation for, with regard to temp-
tation, I had neither a thought nor a fear, attired in this
flimsy tinsel work of virtue, I presented myself before God:
He did not reject me. The slightest advance which I made
towards Him left the softest impression upon my soul, and
this feeling induced me again to seek his presence.
In the whole world no other being lived for me except
Narcissus, and no other object possessed the smallest
charm. My love for dress had no other end than to please
him, for if I had been certain that I was not to meet his
eye, I should have neglected it altogether. I loved dancing,
but when he was not near, the amusement was hateful to
me. To appear at a brilliant entertainment to which he
was not invited, I would neither purchase new dresses nor
arrange old ones according to the prevailing fashion. I
was, in that case, indifferent to everything, or, rather, one
thing was equally distasteful to me as another. I thought
my evenings well spent Avhen I could assist at a card party,
although formerly I disliked amusements of that description,
mid when some kind old friend rallied me upon the change,
I would smile, perhaps, for the first time during the whole
evening. It was the same with promenades and every
other social entertainment—
I had chosen him for my otfii—
I seemed to live for him alone,
I longed for nothing but his Jove.
Thus, even m the midst of society, I was often alone, and
perfect solitude was my greatest delight. But my busy
mind could neither sleep nor dream. I felt, and thought,
and wished for power to describe my feelings and my inter-
course with God. Certain other emotions soon became un-
folded in my mind, which were not discordant with those I
have described. My love towards Narcissus was in perfect
harmony with the great plan of nature, and was in no
respect opposed to my duties. They did not contradict
APPHENTIUU3ELII1.
310
each oilier, and yet they were essentially different in
character, Narcissus was the only being who filled my
mind and engaged all my affections, but the other feeling of
which I have spoken, bore relation to nothing which existed,
though it was unspeakably pleasant. But I possess it no
longer now, and am incapable of imparting it to another.
My lover, who was acquainted with almost all my secrets,
knew nothing of this. I soon found that we did not wholly
coincide in thought, as he occasionally lent me books which,
with frivolous or serious arguments, controverted the idea of
a connection with the Invisible. I perused the books-
because they came from him, but I never remembered a
single word that they contained.
His conduct with regard to my studies of the sciences,,
and of the other branches of knowledge, was 110 les&
incomprehensible. After the fashion of men, he laughed at
the idea of learned women, and yet he never ceased to
instruct me. With the exception of law, he was accustomed
to converse with me upon all subjects, and whilst he pro-
vided me with books of every description, he always re-
peated the doubtful maxim, "that a woman ought to
conceal her knowledge more closely than a Calvinist his
faith in Catholic countries." And whilst I, therefore, en-
deavoured not to display my learning, more than I had
formerly been accustomed to do, he could not resist the
vanity of perpetually boasting of me and of my acquire-
ments.
A person of much celebrity, and who was also highly
esteemed for his talents and influence, was at this time
residing at the court, and was received everywhere with great
applause. He had selected Narcissus for his companion,,
and kept him constantly in his society. An argument arose
between them upon one occasion about female virtue.
Narcissus related the conversation to me at length, and 1
oifered my own remarks upon the subject, in consequence or
which, he requested that I would reduce my opinions
to writing. I could correspond easily in French, as I had
been well grounded in that language by the instructions of
my teacher. I had also frequently written to Narcissus in
French; and, at that period, the higher branches of instruc-
tion could only be derived from French books. The CounL
350
WILHELM MEISTER'S
was pleased with my essay, and I was requested to furnish
him with some little songs which I had formerly composed.
In short, Narcissus took the greatest pleasure in making a
display of the talents of his beloved. The whole affair
ended, to his unfeigned delight, with a poetical epistle in
French, which the Count forwarded to him upon his de-
parture. It alluded to the friendly argument which they
had formerly had together, and my friend was cordially
congratulated upon being destined, after so many doubts
and errors, to learn what virtue was, in the arms of a virtuous
and loving wife.
This poem was shewn to me in the first place, and then to
almost all our friends, every one forming his own opinion
upon its merits. He acted generally in this manner, and
almost every stranger whom he valued, became intimate at
our house.
A family of rank was passing some time in the place, to
secure the attendance of a certain eminent physician. Nar-
cissus was regarded by them as a son, and having introduced
me, we both experienced, in the society of these worthy
persons, the most delightful recreation both for mind and
heart, and even the ordinary amusements of society appeared
in this house to be less insipid than elsewhere. The relation
in which we stood towards each other was well known, we
were treated as circumstances allowed, and the most impor-
tant feature in our case was never alluded to. I mention
this acquaintance because subsequently it exerted an impor-
tant influence upon my life.
"We had now been engaged for a year, and the spring was
drawing to a close. The summer came, and brought its heat
and dry discomfort.
Some state appointments had become vacant, to which
Narcissus might have laid claim. The moment was now
approaching which was to decide my fate; and whilst
Narcissus and his friends were exerting themselves earnestly
to remove some unfavourable impressions which existed
against him at court, in order to secure the vacant situation,
I addressed my appeal to the Invisible. I was received so
kindly that I returned. I candidly expressed my anxiety
that Narcissus might obtain the place, but my prayer was
not importunate, and I did not beg that success might be
the result of my petition.
APPRENTICESHIP.
351
The place was obtained by a rival of far inferior preten-
sions. I was terrified at the news, and hastened to my
chamber, the door of which I locked securely behind me.
The first shock of grief disappeared in a flood of tears; my
next reflection was " it has not happened by chance," and
then followed a determination, on my part, to be resigned
and satisfied, as this apparent evil might be intended for
my true advantage. The softest emotions now succeeded—
the dark clouds of sorrow were dispersed—and I felt that
with such support, I was capable of bearing whatever might
happen. To the great astonishment of my companions, I
descended cheerfully to dinner.
Narcissus had less firmness than I possessed, and I
was obliged, therefore, to comfort him. He had many
difficulties to contend with in his own family, and as a
perfect confidence existed between us, he had confided them
all to me. His negociations for entering into foreign service
were not more fortunate; I felt his disappointment keenly,
both on his account and on my own, and, in the end, I
carried all our difficulties to that place where my prayers
had already been so favourably received.
The consolations which I derived from them, were so
sweet, that I was eager to renew my experience of them,
and I expected that they would always be found where
they had so often appeared. But comfort did not continue
to visit me. I resembled a man who wishes to bask in the
sun's rays, but cannot succeed on account of some obstacle
which perpetually casts a shadow. ""Whar can the matter be?"
was a question which I often asked myself. Upon instituting
a strict inquiry, I found that it all came from the condition
of my soul, and observed that if it were not turned wholly
towards Grod, I remained cold and received no answer to my
supplications. I then asked a second question, <c Whence
arises the obstacle?" and this inquiry opened to me a wide
field, until I found myself entangled in an investigation
which continued even during the second year of my engage-
ment. I might have ended the inquiry sooner, for, before
long, I found a clue to the mystery, but I was unwilling to
acknowledge it, and I had recourse to a thousand stibterfugeg
to deceive myself.
I soon, perceived that the proper inclinations of my soul
352
WILHELM MKISTER'S
were impeded by senseless dissipations and unworthy pur-
suits—the How and the "Where seemed evident enough,
jet I was at a loss to know by what means 1 could disen-
tangle myself from the claims of a world, in which every-
thing was marked by indifference or extravagance. I would
willingly have allowed matters to remain as they were, and
have passed a quiet life, like other people who appeared quite
happy, but I dared not, my conscience was averse to such
a course—for, even if I had wished to forsake society and
change my mode of life, I could not do so—I was confined
within the limits of a circle, I could not detach myself
from certain influences; and, upon the question which
so deeply concerned me, the obligations of life oppressed
me more and more. Oftentimes did I retire weeping to my
bed, and, after a sleepless night, I rose again in tears. I
required some strong support, but God would not grant it
to me, so long as 1 continued to wear the cap of folly.
I proceeded now to consider attentively what had been
my course of life. My love for dancing and for play formed
the first subjects of inquiry. I examined every objection
which had ever been conceived, spoken, or written against
these amusements; I weighed and considered them all,
aggravating and plaguing myself upon the subject. If I
were willing to give them up, I felt certain that Narcissus
would be offended, as he had always trembled at the ridicule
with which the world never fails to visit conscientious per-
sons; and, on the other hand, it was to me beyond measure
distressing to pursue my present career of folly, not from
any taste of my own, but for his sole gratification. It would
be impossible for me, without having recourse to disagreeable
prolixities and repetitions, to explain the trouble which I
took to disengage myself from those pursuits which dis-
turbed my peace of mind, in order that I might open my
heart to the influences of the Invisible; but I perceived with
pain that I could not attain my object by this means, for
the garment of folly had been to me more than a mask—its
effects had pierced me through and through.
May I here wander a little from this historical narrative,
to reflect for a moment upon what was going on within my
mind? How did it happen that, in my twenty-second yeary
my habits of thought were so changed that I had lost all
APPEENTICESHIP.
353
taste for those pleasures in which so many young persons
And an innocent delight? Why did I consider them to bo
no longer innocent? I reply, because, for me, they were
not innocent; because, I was not now, like so many of my
equals, ignorant of the state of my soul. ]N"o; I knew
from experience which had come to me unsought, that there
are higher emotions, which afford us a more genuine satis-
faction than can be found in the pleasures of the world, and
that these higher joys contain a secret treasure for support-
ing the spirit in misfortune.
But social pleasures and the dissipations of youth must
have possessed a peculiar charm for me, since I found it
impossible to feel indifferent to them. How many things
could I now do with perfect indifference which, at a former
period, would have led me astray or obtained the mastery
over me. There could be no middle course here, the charms
of pleasure or the active and salutary emotions of my soul
must be abandoned.
But the contest had been already decided in my own mind,
and that without my knowledge. Even if I had still re-
tained a wish to pursue earthly indulgences, I was no longer
able to relish them. The greatest lover of wine would lose
kali appetite for drinking if he were placed in a well-filled
cellar, where the foul air threatened to suffocate him. Pure
air is more valuable than wine. This I felt too sensibly,
and with me it would have needed but little reflection to
prefer the good to the agreeable, if I had not been checked
by the fear of losing the favour of Narcissus. But at length,
after many an inward struggle, and much quiet reflection,
and many a look cast upon the bonds which united me to
him, I perceived that they were after all but weak, and that I
could easily rend them asunder. I perceived that it was but
a bell of glass which enclosed me within its airless space, and
that if I had strength enough to break it in pieces, I should
become free!
I thought, and I resolved. I laid the mask aside, and
acted thenceforth pursuant to the dictates of my heart. I still
loved Narcissus dearly, but the thermometer of my affections,
which had stood previously in warm water, was now exposed
I' o the natural air, and would not rise higher than the heat
>f the surrounding atmosphere.
2 A
854 WILHELM MF-ISTEtt's
Unfortunately, the latter cooled exceedingly. Narcissus]
drew back, and assumed an air of coldness. He was atl
liberty to do so, but my thermometer fell in proportion to'
his reserve. My family observed the change: they ques-
tioned me, and expressed their astonishment. I declared
with firm determination that I had already made sacrifices
enough, that I was ready to share all his embarrassments
with him, even to the end of his life, but that I required
perfect freedom for my own actions, and that my conduct,
whether active or passive, must be regulated by my own
convictions; that I would never obstinately insist on my
opinion, as I was always willing to be convinced, but since
my happiness was in question, I was entitled to decide
without being subject to any species of compulsion. The
arguments of the greatest physician could never force me
to take a single article of food, which, however agreeable it
might be to many, experience should prove to be injurious
to myself,—coffee, for example,—and so, I should never
allow a course of conduct, which might mislead myself, to be
recommended as morally profitable.
After a long course of silent reflections, I found discussions
of this kind to be rather pleasant than otherwise. I breathed ■
freely once more, and found the full value of my determination, f
I refused to make the least concession, and the arguments of
all those to whom I owed a filial duty were quickly disposed of.
At home I very soon had my owrn way. The views which I
entertained had been my mother's from her very youth, though
in her case they had never been matured, for she had been
subject to no necessity, nor had her resolution ever been put
to the test. She was pleased now to see me fulfil the wishes
which she had indulged in silence. My younger sister was
wholly on my side. My second sister was attentive, but said
nothing. We had the greatest difficulty with our aunt. Her
arguments appeared to be unanswerable, but they were alto-
gether common-place. At length, I was compelled to insist
that she should have no voice in the matter, and after this
we could not easily learn whether she persisted in her senti-
ments. She was* the only person who viewed the affair
without being more or less affected. "Without calumny, I
may say that she had no character, and that her ideas wercgw
of the most limited nature.
My father acted upon his own convictions. He spoke
APPRENTICESHIP.
355
f T
little, bat frequently, with me upon the matter, but his argu-
ments were sound, and being his, they could not be opposed.
Indeed, nothing but the fullest consciousness of my own
right gave me courage to dispute with him. But the scene
soon changed. I was compelled to appeal to his heart.
Overcome by his reasonings, I had recourse to the most
pathetic pleadings. I gave full scope to my tongue, and to
my tears. I proved to him how much I loved Narcissus. I
showed him what I had suffered for the last two years, how
convinced I was of being in the right, which I was ready to
prove by giving up my beloved bridegroom and every hope
of happiness, and if it were necessary, by the loss of every
thing that I possessed, assuring him that I would rather
forsake my native land and all my relatives and friends, and
toil for my daily bread amongst strangers, than act in oppo-
sition to my convictions. He concealed his emotion, remained
silent for some time, and at length declared himself openly
in my favour.
Narcissus had for some time discontinued to visit us, and
my father soon ceased to attend the club which the former
was accustomed to frequent. The whole affair was canvassed
publicly at court and in the town. But I was sufficiently
well acquainted with the world to know that our conduct
is often censured by the very persons who would have acted
in a similar way themselves, and, moreover, I was sufficiently
composed to be wholly indifferent tc^"
tior.s.-
I did not, however, seek to
cissus. Though I saw hiu
changed in the least towa
as it were anew, and
he were only satisfie
ings, then I
have rejected
thouq"

356
WILKELM: MEISTEE S
couched in a vague style, and full of unmeaning phrases.
He said that until he had obtained his promotion he could
not offer me his hand, that I was aware of all the vexations
he had hitherto endured, that he feared our continued inti-
macy might prove injurious to my reputation, and he hoped,
therefore, that I would consent to his absence for a time,
assuring me, however, that as soon as he should find himself
in a condition to render me happy, he would redeem the
pledges he had given to me.
I replied to him upon the spot, that as our engagement was
known to all the world it was somewhat late to think of
saving my reputation, and that for this, my own conscience
and my own innocence were the surest guarantees, but that
I unhesitatingly released him from his engagement and
trusted he would find happiness. I received a short answer,
which echoed the sentiments contained in his first letter.
He continued to state that upon obtaining an appoint-
ment, he woidd share his good fortune with me.
This was equivalent to saying nothing. I thereupon in-
formed my friends and relations that the matter was at an
end, as in very truth it was. Nine months afterwards he
obtained the wished-for appointment, when he once more
offered me his hand, with the stipulation, that as the head
of his household, I should consent to alter the opinions
which I iiad expressed. I thanked him politely, and then
transaction as a man does when he
he curtain has fallen. And as a
med a rich and advantageous
perfectly happy in his own
tely restored.
al times before he had
received more than

APPBE^TICESillP.
357
before, when I had thought society and dissipation necessary
to dispel the tedium of existence. And now, as I was not
ashamed of my religious feelings, I took courage to avow
my love for the arts and sciences. I drew, I painted, I read;
and I found numbers of persons ready to support me. In
place of the great world which I had left, or rather which
had abandoned me, I formed a smaller society around me,
which was much richer and far more interesting. I had a
love for social life, and I shall not deny that when I forsook
my former acquaintances, I trembled at the very thought of
solitude. But I was now abundantly recompensed. My
circle of friends soon became numerous, not only in my own
neighbourhood, amongst persons whose tastes were similar to
my own, but even amongst strangers. My story had been
very generally spoken of, and men were curious to see the
maiden, who had prized her God more than her lover.
Moreover, at that time a certain religious tone was observ-
able in Germany. In many noble families an anxiety about
spiritual things had been aroused, and even amongst the lower
classes, thoughts of the same nature very generally pre-
vailed.
The noble family of whom I have already spoken sought
my closer intimacy. Their number had lately increased, as
many of their relatives had joined them in the town. These
estimable persons sought my society as anxiously as I did
theirs. Their connections were amongst the highest circles,
and in their family I became acquainted with most of the
princes, nobles, and grandees of the realm. My habits of
thought were a secret to no one, and whether my new friends
respected them or not, I obtained my object and escaped all
controversy.
But a new course of events soon led me back into the
world. About this time, a step-brother of my father, who
had formerly only visited us occasionally, took up his abode
at our house. He had left the service of his court, because
the business there was not conducted according to his wish,
although he enjoyed universal honour and respect. His
understanding was just, and his character was firm. He
resembled my father in these respects, but the latter had a
certain degree of softness, which rendered him more liable
to yield in matters of business, and to permit, if not to
i
S
WII/R F, Ol MEIS TE It* S
perform, certain things against his own conviction, to which
he would reconcile himself in silence, or in confidential
intercourse with his family. My uncle was many years his
junior, and his mental independence was not a little strength-
ened by his worldly circumstances. His mother had been
very rich, and his expectations were considerable from her
near and distant relatives; he therefore needed no stranger's
assistance, whilst my father's very moderate fortune bound
him to his place by the consideration of his salary.
Domestic unhappiness had soured my uncle's temper.
He had early lost a beloved wife, and a promising son;
and from the time of their death he had sought to dis-
engage himself from all unnecessary connection with other
people.
It was rumoured with some degree of satisfaction in our
family, that in all probability he would not marry again;
and that we children might therefore calculate on inheriting
his property. I paid no attention to this; but the con-
duct of the others was influenced in no slight degree by
their expectations. His decision of character prevented him
from ever contradicting any one in conversation; on the
contrary, he was accustomed to listen kindly to the opinions
of others, which he would seek to support and defend by
his own reasons and arguments. Strangers alwaj^s supposed
that be adopted their sentiments, for his intellect was strong,
and he couldalways fall into another person's style of thinking.
He did not succeed so happily with me; for as the emotions
of the mind generally formed the subject of our discourse,
and he had not the smallest idea of their nature, it mattered
little that he spoke with sympathy and toleration of my
sentiments, since it was clear that he could not in the least
comprehend the motives of my conduct.
In spite of his reserve, we soon learned the secret of his
protracted residence amongst us. "We discovered in the
sequel that he had taken a fancy to my youngest sister,
and that he wished to have her married and made happy
according to a plan of bis own; and her mental and personal
accomplishments were such, that coupled with the prospect
of a handsome fortune, she might aspire to forming the
highest connection. Before long he displayed the opinion
which he entertained of me, by procuring for me an appoint-
APPRENTICESHIP.
359
merit of Canoness, the income of which I soon commenced tc
receive.
My sister had less reason to be satisfied with his patronage.
She now disclosed to me a little secret of her affections, which
she had hitherto prudently concealed, fearing that I might use
my influence with her, to oppose a match of which I could not
but disapprove. I exerted myself and succeeded. My uncle's
intentions were too evident and too important, and the
prospects of my sister, with her worldly ideas, possessed
stronger allurements for her, than a passion of which her
judgment disapproved.
As soon as she had yielded to the gentle guidance of my
uncle, the foundation of his plan was speedily laid. She
was appointed Maid of Honour at a neighbouring court,
where she was committed to tbe superintendence and in-
structions of a lady, who filled the situation of governess
with great applause. I accompanied her to her new resi-
dence, and we were proud of the reception which we then
received; and frequently I was unable to restrain a smile at
the part which as Canoness, as a young and pious Canoness,
I was henceforth to play in the world.
Formerly the character, which I was now called upon to fill,
would have been enough to confound me, nay, would probably
have turned my head; but, now, I was quite calin, amid
all the excitement by which I was surrounded. For a
couple of hours I allowed myself to be curled and dressed,
and thought no more of the matter, than that I was required
by my situation to assume a gay attire. I addressed every
one whom I met in the well-fitted rooms of the palace,
although no individual produced the least impression upon
me. XJpon my return home I had no recollection than that
of extreme fatigue. Nevertheless I learned much from the
crowds with whom I came in contact. I also became ac-
quainted with many ladies, who excelled in every virtue, and
whose conduct was noble and irreproachable. Amongst
them was the governess by whom the character and manners
of my sister were to be matured.
I found, upon my return home, that the result of this
journey was not favourable to my health. Notwithstanding
my extreme temperance and the strictest attention to diet,
I was mistress neither of my time nor of my strength. My
WILHELM MEISTEIt'S
food and exercise, my hours for rising and retiring, for
dressing and visiting, did not depend, as at home, upon ruy
own will and inclination. In the circle of society one dares
not pause without an infringement of decorum, and I dis-
charged every necessary duty, from a conscientious motive,
because that I knew that it would be soon over; and because
I felt myself in perfect health. But nevertheless my new
and restless mode of life must have affected me in an un-
usual manner, for scarcely had I reached home, and gratified
my parents with a satisfactory account of my doings, than
I was seized with illness, which, though not of a dangerous
nature, reduced me to a state of deplorable weakness.
And now I had a new lesson to learn. I learnt it wil-
lingly. I felt no attachment to the world, as I was con-
vinced that no real good was to be found there, and this
conviction rendered me tranquil and happy. Nevertheless I
was retained in existence, although I had long since aban-
doned every wish to survive.
But a further trial was in store for me. My mother was
attacked by a painful sickness, which she had to endure for
five long years, before she paid the debt of nature. During
this time our sufferings were severe. Frequently when she
became alarmed, she would summon us all to her bed-side in
the night-time, in order that she might be comforted, and
encouraged by our presence.
At length the load became oppressive, and, in truth, intoler-
able, when my father also began to suffer. From his earliest
youth he had been subject to the most violent headaches,
which, however, had never continued longer than six-and-
thirty hours. But now they were incessant; and when they
became excessive, his sufferings rent my very heart asunder.
During these hours of trial, I was most sensible of my
bodily infirmity, because it forbad the fulfilment of the
holiest, the dearest duties, or rendered their discharge in the
highest degree difficult.
I had now the full means of ascertaining, whether the
path of life, which I had selected, was the way of phantasy
or of truth; whether the object of my faith possessed a
reality; and to my great support I always felt encouraged to
persevere. The entire devotion of my heart to Gk>d—my com-
panionship with his beloved saints—rendered every difficulty
APPRENTICESHIP.
361
light and supportable. As a traveller in the dark, when I
felt the violence of outward pressure, I flew to the place of
refuge, and never returned without experiencing relief.
Certain champions of religion, who possess more zeal than
experience of its influence, have sometimes required the
faithful to furnish a distinct proof, that earthly prayers have-
been actually heard in Heaven, wishing no doubt to be pro-
vided with seal and signature that they might institute legal
and diplomatic proceedings. But how unacquainted must
these persons be with the genuine feelings of religion! ... How
worthless their experience of its effects!
I may safely say, that whenever I have sought the aid of
Heaven in moments of distress and sorrow, I have never
failed to find relief. This is much to say, and I dare not
add more. For though my experience of the divine mercy
has been of infinite importance to myself at the time of its
occurrence, the detail would be insipid, and perhaps dis-
believed, were I to specify individual cases. I felt happy,
that a thousand trifling circumstances combined, proved to
me as clearly as my own breathing established my existence3
that I was not without Grod in the world. He was at my
side—I was in his presence. This much I can assert, even
though I em ploy no technical theological terms for the purpose*
How sincerely do I wish that I had been at that time free
from the restraints of system. But which of us can easily
attain the happiness of being conscious of his own particular
individuality, unmingled with extraneous forms? I was in
earnest about my happiness. I consulted the opinions of
others with reluctance, and I adopted finally the Hallean
principle of conversion, though my natural feelings were not
wholly in harmony with it.
According to this plan, a change of heart must begin with
a deep alarm at our past sinful life; the heart in its tribula-
tion must be fully conscious of the punishment which it has
deserved, thus acquiring a foretaste of the pains of hell,
which embitters all the alluring charms of sin. At length
we become conscious of a positive assurance of forgiveness,
though this impression may subsequently fade away, and
must be renewed again by earnest prayer.
But this was not my case. "When 1 sought God sincerely,
he condescended to visit me, and did not reproach ;ne for
•302 WILITELM MEISTEll7S
my past life. And, though upon taking a retrospect of
bygone days, I felt conscious of my own deep continued
unworthiness; yet I could confess my sins without being
overcome by terror. I did not tremble at the fear of hell,
nor did my thoughts dwell upon the idea of an evil spirit,
or upon a place of punishment and torment after death. It
seemed to me that those men who lived without God in the
world, who closed their hearts against all love, and trust in the
Invisible, were already so unhappy, that a hell and sensible
pains would rather alleviate, than increase their misery.
And when I observed those persons, who nourish revengeful
feelings within their bosoms, who harden their hearts against
every species of good, and subject themselves and others to
the influence of evil, who close their ej^es in the open day-
light, that they may be able to deny the brilliancy of the
sun, how utterly wretched did the}*- appear to me! What
hell could render their condition worse?
I continued in this state of mind for a period of ten j^ears.
It endured through many trials, and even survived the painful
death-bed of my beloved mother. I was unreserved enough
upon that occasion, to afford evidence of my happy mental
condition in the presence of certain pious and orthodox
people; and I had, on that account, to suffer nmny a
friendly reproof. They seized the opportunity to remind
me with what earnestness we ought to lay a good foundation
whilst our health continues.
And I was resolutely determined to succeed. I yielded
to their views for the moment; and I would gladly have
passed my life in tears and terror. But, to my surprise, 1
found that this was impossible. "When I turned my thoughts
to Grod, I at once became cheerful and happy; and even the
remembrance of my dear mother's painful death did not
make me shudder at the thought of dissolution. But in
those solemn hours I learned many other things, to which
my gratuitous instructors were themselves strangers.
By degrees I began to doubt the correctness of the re-
ligious views adopted by these celebrated people; and I
maintained my own sentiments in silence. A certain lady,
co whom I had already disclosed too much, interfered per-
petually with me, until I was compelled to rid myself of her.
I was obliged, upon one occasion, to tell her in a decisive tone,
a pp re is t i c e s n rp.
tliat she must spare her unnecessary labour, as I did nor
stand in need of her advice, that I trusted in Grod, and would
have no guide but Him. She was highly incensed; and I
believe has never forgiven me to this day.
This resolution to dispense with the advice and assistance
of my friends in spiritual affairs, encouraged me to follow
my own guidance in temporal matters. But I could not
have been successful without the aid of my Invisible Gruide,
and T cannot conceal my astonishment at the wise and
fortunate inspirations with which I was favoured. No
person knew how I was circumstanced, I myself was scarcely-
conscious of my own condition.
That thing, that evil and inexplicable thing, which separates
us from the Being to whom wre are indebted for our exis-
tence, from that Being who supports within us all that
merits the name of life, that evii which we call Sin was
wholly unknown to me.
My intercourse with the Invisible secured to me the
sweetest enjoyments of all my mental and bodily powers.
My anxiety to render this happiness perpetual became
so great that I willingly abandoned every thing by which
it might be impaired, and here experience proved my most
unerring instructor. But I resembled an invalid, who for
want of medicine, endeavours to find relief in diet. Some-
thing is effected but not enough. I was unable to live in
perpetual solitude, although I found in such a state the
best security against the dissipation of my thoughts. But
when I returned to active life, I felt the strong impression
which had been produced upon me by the change. It was a
great advantage to me that my love for quiet was so over-
powering, and I always turned insensibly to that mode of
existence. I had a dim twilight perception of my misery
and weakness, and I sought to save myself by avoiding
unnecessary exposure.
For seven years I obeyed the dictates of my own sugges-
tions. In my own estimation I was not wicked, and I even
thought my condition enviable. But for some peculiar circum-
stances, I should have continued to be of this opinion; a
remarkable occurrence however induced me to follow a new
course of conduct. Contrary to the advice of all my friends,
I formed another connection, and though their objections
3(54
WILHELM MEI3TER?S
caused me to hesitate at first, I sought advice from mv In-
risible Guide, and as lie offered no objection, I advanced
without apprehension.
An intellectual, kind and talented personage had purchased
some property in our neighbourhood. He and his family
became intimate with my friends, and as in our manners,
habits and domestic arrangements, we closely resembled
each other, the acquaintance which we formed soon ripened
into friendship.
Philo, for by that name I shall designate him, was of
mature age, and in the transaction of certain matters of
business, he had already proved of great assistance to my
father, whose strength was now decaying visibly. He soon
became intimate with our family, and as he frequently stated
that he found in me, a person free alike from the extravagance
and insipidity of the great world, and from the closeness and
illiberality which is occasioned by a life of retirement, he
sought my intimacy, and before long he succeeded in winning
my confidence. I found him an agreeable and useful friend.
Although I had not the least talent or taste for general
business, nor any wish to mingle in its concerns, I liked to
hear of public occurrences, and to know what happened far
and near. I was anxious to possess a clear though calm
perception of worldly things, whilst I reserved my feelings,
my sympathies, and attachments for my God, my family and
my friends.
I must admit that the latter were jealous of the new
acquaintance which I had formed, and for more reasons than
one they were right in warning me against it. I suffered
much in private, for I could not consider their apprehension
as altogether groundless or selfish. I had always been
accustomed to examine and to justify my conduct, but in
this case I could not conquer my convictions, I prayed to
God that he would warn, restrain and guide me, and as I
had the approval of my own heart, I pursued my course with
comfort.
Upon the whole, there was some distant resemblance
between Philo and Narcissus, but the pious education of tho
former rendered his feelings more active and concentrated.
He possessed less vanity and more character than the latter,
and if Narcissus in worldly matters was precise, exact, per-
APPRENTICESHIP.
365
severing., and unwearied, Philo on the other hand was clear,
prompt, quick, and able to work with incredible ease.
Erom him I learned the private history of almost every
distinguished person with whom I had become acquainted
in society, and I took pleasure in observing the course of
their career from my watch tower from afar. He could
conceal nothing from me. By degrees he confided to me
all his inward emotions, and informed me of his outward
circumstances. I trembled on his account, as I foresaw
certain conditions and entanglements that must ensue, and
the evil came sooner than I had reason to expect. He had
always withheld certain confessions from me, and even at last
he only unfolded sufficient of them to enable me to guess
the worst.
What an effect this produced upon my heart? I acquired
experience which was wholly new to me. "With indescrib-
able grief I saw before me an A.gathon who had been brought
up within the groves of Delphi, but who still owed his edu-
cation fee, a debt which he was now discharging with heavy
interest; and this Agathon was my firmly attached friend.
My sympathy was warm and complete. I suffered with
him, and we both found ourselves strangely circumstanced.
Having employed myself long in reflecting upon the
qualities of his mind, I at length turned to the consideration
of my own. The reflection that I was really no better than
he, rose like a little cloud before me, and gradually expanded
until it enveloped my whole soul in darkness.
My apprehension upon this point soon amounted to
conviction, and my feelings became so painfal that I should
not like again to experience them. And this was no passing
impression. For more than a year I felt that if some invisi-
ble hand had not withheld me, I might have become a
Cartouche, a Grirard, a Damiens, or any other monster. 1
saw the inclination for crime too plainly within my heart,
and the discovery made me tremble.
If experience had never previously convinced me of the
fact that sin really existed within my breast, its possibility
now became fearfully apparent. It is true that I was not
acquainted with evil, I only feared it—I felt that guilt was
possible for me, although there was in reality nothing of
which I could be accused.
368
WILHELM MUSTERS
Although my conviction was deep that in such a condition
of my soul I could never become fitted for that union with the
Eternal which I hoped to'enjoy after death, I had no appre-
hension of a final separation from Him. I loved Him, not-
withstanding all the evil which I had discovered within myself,
but I hated what I felt, and wished to hate it still more strong-
ly; my whole wish was to be freed from this infirmity—this
tendency to evil, and I knew that the great Physician would
not withhold his assistance.
The only question now was what remedy would cure the
malady? The practice of virtue. Of this I could not for a
moment be persuaded, since for ten long years I had been
unwearied in the practice of something more than virtue, and
during all that period the horrors which I now observed had
lain concealed within my soul. Might they not suddenly
have burst forth as occurred with David when he saw Bath-
sheba—and was not he also a friend of Grod, and did I not
feel thoroughly convinced that Grod was my friend?
Is sin then to be considered as an unavoidable weakness
of human nature? Must we satisfy ourselves with feeling
and acknowledging the predominance of our passions, and in
spite of our best resolutions have we no alternative than to
detect the crime which we have committed, and repeat it
again when a similar temptation occurs?
The teachings of morality afforded me no consolation.
Neither their severe rules which seek to subdue our passions,
nor their mild regulations which would enlist our inclina-
tions on the side of virtue, could content me. The principles
which I had learned from the intercourse with my Invisible
Guide possessed for me a far more sterling value.
"When, upon one occasion, I was engaged in studying tho
Psalms which David composed after his dreadful fall, it
seemed to me that he had perceived the evil which dwelt
writhin him to exist in the very substance out of which his
nature was formed, and yet he wished to be freed from this
slavery of sin, and earnestly prayed for purity of heart.
Put how was this to be obtained? I was well aware of
the answers which the Scriptures afford, and it was for me a
Bible truth that "the blood of Jesus cleanseth from all
sin." But I soon perceived that as yet I had never under-
stood this oft repeated saying. The question "What does
APPBE2fTI.CE SHIP,
36?
that mean? how is it to happen?" agitated me day and
night. At length, I thought I perceived, as by a glimmer-
ing light, that the object of my search was to be discovered
in the incarnation of the Eternal Word, by whom we and
every thing had been created. That the everlasting Grod
descended into the depths which we inhabit, and dwelt
amongst us, that he sees and understands all things, that he
passed through every alternation of our condition, from his
conception and birth, to the grave, and that by this wonder-
ful course he ascended once more to those blessed heights,
which we also must attain, in order to be happy, — all this
was revealed to me, though in a dim and indistinct manner.
But why, in order to understand such things, must we
employ figures which can only express exterior situations?
What object can be either high or deep, dark or bright in
His eyes? We alone possess an under and an above, a day
and a night, and therefore was it that He became like unto
us, because otherwise we could have no part in Him.
But how can we participate in this invaluable benefit?
"By faith," the holy Scripture replies. And what is faith?
To believe the relation of an event as true. How can
that assist me? I must become imbued with its effects,
its consequences; and this appropriating faith must be a
peculiar condition of the mind, to which the natural man is
unaccustomed.
"And now, Almighty! grant me faith!" I prayed in the
deepest anguish of my heart. I bent my head down upon
a small table before which I sat, and I buried my tear-
stained face within my hands. I was now in that condition
in which every man must be, if he expects that God will
listen to his prayers, a condition in which, alas! we seldom
find ourselves.
0 that I could but describe my feelings at that moment,
A sudden attraction brought my soul to the foot of the
cross upon which Jesus died; it was an inward constraint,
I cannot describe it by any other expression, it resembled
that impulse which attracts our soul to an absent lover, by
an invisible contact which is perhaps more true and real than
we suppose. Thus was my soul brought near to the Son
of Man, who died upon the cross, and in the same moment.
I recognized what faith really was.
3G8
WILIIEKM MEISTER'S
"This is faith," I exclaimed, and I sprang half terrified
to my feet. I sought to assure myself of my feelings, of my
senses, and I now became convinced that my spirit had
acquired a capability of soaring to heaven, which it had
never possessed before.
"Words cannot describe my sensations. I could distinguish
them wholly from every resemblance to imagination. They
had no connection with fancy or with figure. They
brought before me the actuality of some object, which the
mind sees when it paints the features of an absent lover.
When the first feeling of delight had subsided, I saw that
I had at other times experienced this condition of the soul,
but I had never felt it so forcibly as at present. I had
never retained it, nor made it my own. I believe that every
man has experienced this at one time or another. Doubt-
less, it is this sensation which teaches us that there is a
God.
I had previously been satisfied with my occasional expe-
riences of this influence, and if an unexpected sorrow had
not unhappily afflicted me for a year, beyond my ability and
strength to bear, I might, perhaps, have been for ever con-
tent to remain in this condition.
But now, since that exalted moment, I had, as it were,
acquired wings. I could soar aloft, above all obstacles, as a
bird can fly singing, and with ease, across the swiftest stream,
which a dog, with all its barking, is unable to pass.
• My joy was unspeakable, and though I explained the
circumstances to no one, my friends observed an unwonted
cheerfulness in my demeanour, for which they could not
account. If I had only remained silent and sought to
preserve the pure feelings of my soul,—if I had not per-
mitted myself to be betrayed by circumstances to reveal
my secret I should have escaped an infinity of pain.
During the previous ten years of my Christian career, my
soul had not possessed its necessary powers, and I resembled
the greater part of other worthy people. I had been accus-
tomed to store my fancy with images which bore some refe-
rence to God, and in truth this course was not wholly un-
productive of benefit to me. They seemed to exclude all
injurious impressions, as well as evil effects, and fre-
quently my soul, seizing one or other of these spiritual
APPRENTICESHIP.
360
Images, soared aloft like a young bird fluttering from bough
to bough. And, therefore, in default of better advantages,
this practice should not be hastily condemned.
The institutions of the Church provide us with an abun-
dance of ideas and impressions, which direct the soul to
God, such as organs, bells, hymns, and, above all, the ser-
mons of our pastors. To all these things, I was especially-
devoted. jNo unfavourable weather, no bodily indisposition
could prevent my attendance at church, and whenever I was
confined to bed by illness, the sound of the church bells was
the only thing that rendered me impatient. I always
attended the instructions of the Court chaplain with the
greatest delight, was pleased with his assistants, and I
could select the golden apples of Grod's word from the com-
mon fruit with which it was often mingled. Private devo-
tions of various kinds were combined with the public prayers,
and these nourished my spiritual fancies and improved my
finer sensibilities. I soon became so accustomed to these
pursuits and felt so high a degree of reverence for them,
that even now I can conceive no idea more exalted. For
my soul has no eyes—it is all sensibility—it feels, but does
not see. 0, that it could acquire the power of sight, and
would dare to look forward!
I continued to attend sermons with a mind full of desire
and anxiety, but, alas! they had ceased to furnish me with
the same exalted pleasure as formerly. The preachers
seemed to be engaged with the shell of the fruit, whilst I
was enjoying the kernel. I soon became weary of them.
They could offer me nothing, which I could not find with-
out their assistance. I required food for my imagination.
I wanted impressions from without, and thought that the
craving which I felt was of the purest spiritual nature.
Philo's relations had been connected with the Herrn-
buthers, and his library contained several works which had
been written by the Count who had founded the society.
He had frequently conversed with me upon the subject, in the
most unreserved manner, and had invited me to look through
some of those treatises, if it were only as a psychological
study, as I am far from considering the Count and his ad-
herents to be orthodox, and therefore I had not read the
Ebersdorf hymn book which my friend had pressed upon me.
2 B
370
WILHELM MEISTEK S
But in my absolute want of all outward sources of ex ■
citement, I accidentally took up that hymn book, and, to my
surprise, I found that it contained some compositions,
which, under a strange form, appeared to furnish all that I
desired. I was attracted by the originality and simplicity
of their style. Peculiar emotions were expressed in an
unusual manner, and there were no technical expressions to
suggest formal or common-place ideas. I was convinced
that these people felt as I did, and I found extreme delight
in learning some of their hymns by heart and repeating
them for several days in succession.
Chree months had passed away in this manner from the
moment when I had received the gift of truth. At length I
formed the resolution of imparting every thing to my friend
Philo, and of asking him to lend me those writings whicli I
had now become extremely curious to read—and I did so,
notwithstanding the secret reluctance of my heart.
I told him my whole story in detail, and, as he was one
of the chief persons who figured in my narrative, which
conveyed a sort of rebuke to himself, he was in the highest
degree excited and affected. He burst into tears. I felt
delighted, and believed that he had undergone a total change
of mind.
lie gave me all the writings that I could require, and my
imagination was now provided with an excess of nourish-
ment. I made rapid progress in the Zinzendorf style of
thinking and of speaking. But it must not be supposed
that I do not properly appreciate the merits of the Count.
I am anxious to do him justice. He is no empty dreamer.
He announces mighty truths in the boldest figurative style,
and those by whom he is condemned, can neither value nor
distinguish his high acquirements.
My attachment for him became extreme. Had I been
independent, I should have abandoned my country and my
friends in order to join him. "We should, undoubtedly,
have understood each other, though probably we should not
aave continued long together.
I felt grateful to my good genius that my time was so
completely absorbed in household occupations. I considered
that I made a long journey when I visited the garden. The
care of my aged and infirm parent provided me with em-
APPRENTICESHIP.
371
pioyment enough, and I could always find amusement in
the resources of my own imagination. Philo was the only
being whom I saw, my father valued him highly, but his
attachment for me had suffered a little from our late expla-
nation. It had not produced a very deep impression upon
him, and as he was not successful in some efforts which he
made to converse in my dialect, he avoided repeating the
attempt, particularly as his extensive acquirements always
provided him with sufficient topics of conversation.
Thus I had voluntarily become a member of the Society of
Herrnhuthers, but I found it necessary to conceal from my
clergyman this new inclination of my mind. I esteemed
him highly as my confessor, and even his strong aversion to
the Herrnhuthers could not impair my opinion of his merits.
Unfortunately this worthy man had to endure many troubles
on my account and on that of others.
Several years previously he had become acquainted with
a gentleman of piety and learning, and he had entered into
a correspondence with him, as with a person who was in
earnest search of Grod. It would be difficult to describe
the pain which he suffered when this gentleman subsequently
joined the community to which I allude, or to express his
delight, when, at length, a misunderstanding ensued which
caused him to forsake the brethren and to take up his
abode in our neighbourhood. He seemed once more to
abandon himself completely to the guidance of his former
friend.
The stranger was now triumphantly introduced to all the
dear lambs of the pastor's flock. He was not, however,
presented to us, as my father had given up entertaining
company, but in every other quarter he was received with
approbation. He united the refinement of the Count with
the attractive manners of the society which he had left, and
as he possessed many fine natural qualities, he soon became
the favourite saint of all w^ho knew him—a result which
highly pleased the clergyman. But, unfortunately, this
gentleman only differed from the Herrnhuthers in external
matters, in heart and soul he was altogether one of the
community. He felt a deep interest in the reality of the
system, and yet the ceremonials which had been introduced
by the Count were quite in accordance with his taste. He
372
WILHELM MEISTEE'S
had become accustomed to their style of thinking and of
speaking, and if he concealed all this carefully from his
former friend, he found it the more necessary, whenever he
met with a collection of his trusty associates, to introduce his
hymns, his litanies, and little figures, in all of which, as we
may easily suppose, he met with the greatest applause.
I was ignorant of the whole affair, and pursued my own
separate course. For a considerable time we were unknown
to each other.
Once during a leisure hour I paid a visit to an invalid
friend. I found several acquaintances with her, and as I soon
observed that I had interrupted their conversation, I affected
to pay no attention to what had occurred, and, before long,
to my great surprise, I saw some favourite pictures of
the Herrnhuthers hanging from the wall in elegant frames.
I quickly understood what had taken place previous to my
arrival, and I expressed my pleasure by repeating some
appropriate verses.
Judge of the astonishment of my friends. "We mutually
explained ourselves and were admitted into each other's
confidence.
Henceforth I sought occasion to absent myself from home
more frequently. But, unfortunately, this could only happen
once in three or four weeks, and yet, during this time, I be-
came well acquainted with the new apostle and with the whole
community. I attended their meetings upon every oppor-
tunity, and my social disposition made it quite delightful to
communicate with others, and to hear them express senti-
ments which, up to this period, I had only ventured to
entertain in secret. But I was not so wholly absorbed
with my friends as not to perceive that few of them really
felt the sense of those affecting words and emblems, and
that they derived as little advantage from them, as they had
formerly done from the symbolical language of the Church.
Notwithstanding this, I continued my intercourse with
them without allowing myself to be disturbed. I felt that
it was not my mission to search and examine their hearts.
Our intercourse was not without profit to me, and in con-
versing with them I dwelt with much force upon the sense
and spirit of everything which, in matters of so much
delicacy, mere words serve rather to disguise than to ox-
APPRENTICESHIP.
373
plain, and, in all other respects, I allowed every one to act
in conformity with his own silent convictions.
These quiet periods of social pleasure were succeeded by
a stormy season of public disputes and open contradictions.
Great commotion ensued in the town and in the court, and
I may even say, that great scandal was thereby occasioned.
And now came the moment when our clergyman—that un-
compromising opponent of the Herrnhuther Society—
discovered to his deep, but, I must say, edifying humiliation,
that the best and most exemplary portion of his congrega-
tion had been attracted by the novel doctrines. He was,
at first, distressed beyond measure, forgot all moderation,
and behaved in such a way that, had he afterwards desired
it, he could not possibly retract. Angry discussion ensued,
in which, fortunately, my name was never mentioned,
inasmuch as I had only accidentally become a member of
the community, and our zealous leader could not dispense
with the assistance of my father and my friend in the per-
formance of certain civic duties. To my secret delight, I
therefore maintained my neutrality with my friends. It
was painful to converse about certain feelings and objects
of which they could not understand the hidden meaning,
but it seemed to me altogether useless and even pernicious
to contend with opponents about matters which could, with
difficulty, be made intelligible even to our friends; for I soon
saw that many amiable men who, hi the present state of
things, could not close their hearts to hatreds and ill will
soon became absolutely unjust, and abandoned their practical
duties for the maintenance and preservation of mere out-
ward forms.
Although the worthy clergyman might be wrong in the
present instance, and, notwithstanding the efforts of my
friends to provoke me against him, I could not refuse him
my sincere respect. I knew him well, and I could easily
understand his mode of viewing such things. All men
possess certain infirmities of disposition, but these weak-
nesses are more perceptible in persons of exalted station.
"We could wish that men who are so highly privileged should
be free from the necessity of paying taxes and tributes. I
honoured him as an excellent man, and hoped by the in-
fluence of silent neutrality, to effect a peace, or, at all events,
WlLHELil MEISTEP-'S
a truce. Perhaps my exertions might have proved finally
successful, but Grod removed the difficulty by taking the
clergyman to Himself, and all those persons shed tears over
his grave who had lately contended with him about mere
words. No one had ever doubted his justice or his fear of
God.
I determined about this time to abandon this religious
trifling, as the animosities which had lately arisen caused me
to see things in a different point of view. Our uncle's plans in
relation to my sister had been silently completed. He intro-
duced to her a youth of rank and fortune as her future hus-
band, and the rich dower which he proposed to settle upon her,
afforded some evidence of the sincerity of his attachment.
My father gladly gave his consent. My sister was free and
not wholly inexperienced, and, as she evinced no reluctance
to change her condition, the ceremony was appointed to take
place- at my uncle's castle; the family and friends were all
invited, and they attended in the highest spirits.
For the first time in my life my entrance into a house
excited my astonishment. It is true that I had often heard
the highest encomiums passed upon my uncle's taste, as
well as upon his Italian architect, his costly museum and
extensive library, but as I had only compared these things
with what I had already seen, the impression in my mind
was but vague and indistinct. I was surprised, therefore,
at the solemn and harmonious effect which was produced
upon me as I entered my uncle's house, and which was
deepened by the appearance of every room and corridor.
In other places pomp and decoration had only distracted my
attention, but here I felt that all my mental faculties were
collected and concentrated together. And so all these
preparations for festivals and ceremonials awakened within
me a secret pleasure, from the dignity and splendour by
which I was surrounded, and it seemed to me as incompre-
hensible that one individual could have invented and ar-
ranged all this, as that a number of persons could have
combined to work together in so exalted a spirit. And yet
the host and his family and dependents were perfectly
natural in their conduct, there was no trace of stiffness or
of empty ceremonv to be observed.
The rnarrracre was conducted in a delightful manner. ~W e
APPRENTICESHIP.
375
were at first charmed and surprised by some exquisite and
unexpected singing, and the clergyman performed the
ceremony with all the earnestness of truth. I was standing
close to Philo, but instead of congratulating me, he whispered
to me with a deep sigh, " When I saw your sister give away
her hand I felt as if I had been scalded with boiling water."
« "Why so ?" I inquired. "I always experience this sensa-
tion," he replied, "upon witnessing a marriage ceremony."
I smiled, but I have had occasion since to recollect his
words.
The mirth of the company, amongst whom were many
young people, was the more remarkable as in other respects
rhe entertainment was serious and dignified. The furniture,
the china, the plate, and ornaments were all in perfect
harmony, and if the provider and the architect seemed to
have emanated from the same school, it would appear in the
present instance that the butler had derived some advantage
from their instructions.
As we did not separate for several days, our intelligent
iiost had provided, in various ways, for the entertainment of
his guests. I did not irpon the present occasion renew
my experience of the wretched manner in which mixed com-
pany is generally entertained when they are thrown npon
their own resources, or of the common and vapid amusements
to which upon such occasions they have recourse, as if the
dull guests were to be amused at the expense of theintelligent.
My uncle's arrangements were upon a different plan. He
had appointed two or three stewards, if I may use the
expression, to whom was entrusted the charge of providing
amusement for the young people. They superintended the
dances, the excursions, and the small games; and as the
guests seemed partial to the open air, and did not fear the
cold, the garden and the large hall had been allotted to them,
in which some pavilions and galleries had been erected in a
temporary manner, but in such noble and elegant proportions
that they seemed to be constructed of stone and marble.
How rarely does a fete occur in which the host feels that it
is incumbent upon him to provide his guests with every species
of accommodation and entertainment. In the present instance
the amusements had ail been previously arranged. Hun ting
and card parties had been projected, agreeable promenades
376
V/ILHELAI MEISTEll's
laid out, and opportunities provided for confidential inter-
course amongst the elder guests. And those who were
accustomed to retire at an earty hour to rest found their
quarters situated at a distance from all noise and disturbance.
By this fortunate management our habitation quite
resembled a little world, and yet the castle was but small,
and nothing but a perfect knowledge of its capabilities,
coupled with the intelligent spirit of the owner, could have
enabled him to furnish such admirable accommodation for
so many guests.
If the appearance of a graceful person affords pleasure, so
also does the aspect of a well conducted establishment, where
the presence of a rational and intelligent mind is plainly
perceptible. We experience a feeling of joy upon entering
a cleanly house, even though in its structure and decorations
there may be a total absence of taste, because it proves that
a person is present whose mind, in at least one sense, is
cultivated. But our pleasure is doubled when from a human
dwelling we are addressed by the spirit of a higher culture,
even though it be of a sensual nature.
I became strongly sensible of all this upon visiting my
uncle's castle. I had become acquainted with art, both by
reading and conversation. Philo moreover was fond of
pictures, of which he had a large collection, and I had myself
frequently practised drawing, but I had been too deeply
engaged with my own emotions, to feel any great relish for
pursuits which bore no relation to the one thing needful,
and all things which I now beheld appeared to me in the
light of worldly matters, calculated to distract my thoughts.
But now, for the first time, I was led by the contemplation
of outward objects, to cast a look upon my own condition,
and to my great astonishment I learned to understand the
difference between the natural melody of the nightingale's
song, and the effect of an hallelujah composed for four voices,
and chanted by the expressive organs of men.
I did not conceal my satisfaction from my uncle, upon making
this discovery, as he was accustomed, when the rest of the
company were fully engaged, to enter into conversation with
me. He evinced great modesty in speaking of whatever he
possessed or had produced, but he spoke with decision of the
judgment with which the various objects had been selected
APPRENTICESHIP.
37?
and arranged. I could not help observing that he addressed
nie with forbearance, seeming, according to his usual custom,
to value his own merits far below their deserts.
"If we could only believe it possible," he said to me upon
one occasion, "that the Creator of the world once assumed
the nature of his creature, and in that form passed some
time upon this earth, that creature must appear to us of
infinite perfection, with whom our Maker could become so
intimately united. Hence our idea of man cannot be incon-
sistent with our idea of Grod, and if we sometimes feel a
want of this resemblance and a separation from Him, we are
bound still more for this reason to investigate all the perfec-
tions of our nature, by which our resemblance with the
Godhead may be confirmed, and we should not like allies of
the wicked Spirit keep our eyes constantly fixed upon our
nakedness and deficiencies, but rather seek out those
perfections which establish our relationship with the
Divinity."
I smiled, and observed in reply, "Do not make me blush,
dear uncle, at your kindness in expressing your thoughts in
my language. Your views upon this subject are to me of
such importance, that I would prefer to hear them in your
own language, and then, whatever 1 cannot appropriate to
myself, I shall endeavour to translate."
He answered as follows : £f I will continue to address you
in my own style, without in the least degree altering my
tone. The greatest merit of man consists in his ability to
control events, and in preventing himself from being con-
trolled by them. The whole world lies before us like a huge
quarry before an architect, and he only deserves the name
of man, who out of this accidental mass, can fashion with the
greatest economy, ingenuity and durability, some form, the
conception of which has arisen in his own mind. Every
thing without us, and I might also say within us, is but
elementary, but deep within us lies a creative power, which
can fashion all that is destined to exist, and allows us neither
to sleep nor to rest, until without us or within us this end
has by some means been attained. You, my dear niece,
have doubtless chosen the better part, you have sought to
bring your moral being, your deep and lovely nature, into ac-
cordance with yourself and with the Highest, but nevertheless
378
Y/ILHELM MEISi'EE/s
we are not to be condemned fop seeking to understand the
whole race of reasonable men and to bring their powers into
active harmony."
By conversations of this nature, we became gradually
familiar with each other, and I entreated that he would
in future address me without any kind of reserve. "Do not
think," said my uncle to me, "that I natter you, when I
admire your style of thinking and of acting. I honour the
man who has a distinct idea of his intentions, whose progress
towards their attainment is unwearied, and who knows how
to seize and to use the proper means for securing his end.
It is a matter of minor importance how far that end is
noble or contemptible, or how far it is deserving of praise
or censure. Believe me, my love, that the greater part of
misfortune and of all that we call evil in this world, arises
from the indifference of men to their own real interests, and
from their ignorance of the method by which they can be
secured. In my opinion they resemble people, who have
determined to erect a tower, but spend no more time or
labour upon the foundation than would suffice to build a
hut. If you, my dear friend, whose highest aim it has been
to perfect your moral nature, instead of making the- great
sacrifices which have been required at your hands, had
yielded to the allurements of your family, of a bridegroom or
even of a husband, you would have lived in perpetual con-
tradiction with yourself, and would never have enjoyed a
peaceful moment."
I replied, "You have used the word sacrifice, and I
have often inquired, whether in offering, up a thing of small
value in honour of an exalted purpose, as of a divinity, our
heart has been thoroughly concerned therein, as it would be
with those who willingly and cheerfully lead a beloved lamb
to the altar to secure the health of a revered parent."
""Whether it be reason or feeling," he answered, "which
induces us to surrender one thing for another, decision and
perseverance are in my opinion the most valuable qualities
of man. -You cannot possess your goods and your money
together, and he who wishes for the goods without having
the heart to spend his money in their purchase, is as much
to be pitied as the man who repents the purchase when the
goods are in his hands. But I cannot blame men on this-
APPRENTICESHIP.
379
account, they do not deserve our censure—they find them-
selves in a difficult and entangled situation from which they
cannot easily escape. For this reason, in general, you will
find fewer bad managers in the country than in towns, and
fewer still in small towns than in large ones. How does
this happen? Because man is born to fill a limited situa-
tion, he can understand objects which are simple, near and
determinate, and he becomes accustomed to avail himself
of every resource which he finds at hand, but let him depart
from his usual course, and he is at once perplexed and con-
fused, and this happens whether he is distracted by the
multitude of objects or confounded by their magnitude and
dignity. And he cannot fail to be unhappy when his exertions
are directed towards an object to which he cannot attach
himself by a regular devotion of his powers.
"It is certain," he continued, "that without earnestness
nothing can be accomplished in the world, and yet even
amongst men whom we consider cultivated, how little
earnestness is to be found! They engage in works, and
business, and pursue the arts and even pleasures, as it were,
in self-defence; they live as they would read a collec-
tion of newspapers in order to get through them, and they
remind me of the young Englishman at Home, who one
evening in company, related, with a feeling of self-satisfaction,
that he had that day despatched six churches and two galle-
ries. They are ambitious of learning and of knowing much,
and they devote themselves chiefly to those things which
are, to them, of the least importance, forgetting that hunger
can never be appeased by snapping at the air. "When I am
first introduced to a man, I invariably inquire what is his
employment—and with what perseverance he engages in it.
Upon the answer, de-Dends the interest which I take in him
for life."
"My dear uncle," I replied, "you are too severe, and
perhaps frequently withdraw your helping hand from many
a good man, to whom you might be of service."
"Can I be blamed with any reason," he answered, "who
have toiled so long in their behalf in vain? How great have
been our sufferings in youth from men, who believe that
they invite us to a delightful entertainment, when they intro-
duce us into the company of the Danaids and Sysiphus?
3S0
WILHELiI MEISTEIt'fc
Thank Heaven I have got rid of such people, and if unfor-
tunately I meet one of them now, I take leave of him in the
politest manner possible; as it is precisely from such indi-
viduals that we always hear the bitterest complaints about
the entangled course of affairs in this world, the dryness of
science, the levity of artists, the emptiness of poets, and other
evils of that nature. They forget that neither they, nor per-
sons of their way of thinking, would ever read a book, were
it written upon their plan, that they are utter strangers to
true poetry, and that even an excellent work of art could only
obtain their approbation by means of prejudice. But let
us leave this subject, as this is not a time to censure or
to complain/'
He directed my attention to the different paintings which
ornamented the apartment. My attention was attracted by
those of which the appearance was beautiful or the subject
interesting. He watched me in silence for a short time and
then observed, 61 Bestow a little attention upon the genius
which has executed these works. Pious minds first delight in
"tracing the finger of God in the works of Nature, why should
we not bestow some degree of attention upon the hand of
his imitator?" He then pointed out to me some pictures of
less pretension, took pains to explain that the history of art
alone could render us capable of comprehending the value
and dignity of works of art, that we should know the weary
paths of mechanism and labour, along which the man of
industry has toiled for centuries, before we can understand
how it is possible for genius to move with airy freedom on
the lofty pinnacle whose mere aspect is sufficient to render
us giddy.
"With this view he had formed a collection of beautiful
works of art, and whilst he directed my attention to them,
I could not avoid believing that I saw before me a correct
type of moral culture. Upon expressing this thought to
him, he observed, " You are quite right, and we may conclude
from thence that it is not just exclusively to pursue our
moral cultivation. For he whose mind is engaged in this
study should, at the same time, endeavour to improve
his finer sensibilities, that he may not incur the risk of
falling from his moral height, enticed by the allurements
of an ill-regulated fancy, or degrade his more noble na-
APPEEK"TICESHIP.
381
ture by feeling pleasure in tasteless trifles, or in something
worse.''
I had no idea that his allusions were intended for me, and
yet I felt their justice when I remembered the worthlessness
of many of the songs which had formerly afforded me
delight, and recollected that many of the emblems which so
! completely suited my religious notions, would have found
but little favour in my uncle's eyes.
During all this time, Philo had been employing himself
in the library, to which he now introduced me. We admired
the selection as well as the number of the books. They
had been arranged upon a certain plan, and either furnished
us with correct knowledge, or taught us right arrangement y
providing us with proper materials for thought, or satisfying
the wants of the mind.
My course of reading had been extensive. In certain
departments of literature there was scarcely a book with
which I was unacquainted, and on this account I felt great
pleasure in taking a general survey of the state of learning,
and of observing deficiencies where formerly I had only
perceived perplexity and confusion.
At the same time, we made the acquaintance of a very
interesting but unobtrusive personage. He was a physician
and a naturalist, and appeared rather to be one of the
Penates, than an inhabitant of the house. He pointed out
the natural curiosities which, like the books, were enclosed
in glass cases, ornamenting and ennobling the apartment,
which they did not overcrowd. Here, I thought with
pleasure upon the days of my youth, and reminded my
lather of several specimens which he had formerly brought
to the bed-side of his sick child, when he had scarcely
expected that I should survive. At the same time, the
physician declared, in the course of a conversation to which
we shall hereafter allude, that he very nearly agreed with
me upon religious subjects. He highly praised my uncle
for his toleration, and for his esteem of every thing that could
promote the worth and unity of human nature, only requir-
ing a s.milar concession from other men, and condemning
nothing so thoroughly as individual ignorance or prejudice
of mind.
Prom the day of my sister's nuptials, joy had sparkled in
382
WTLIIELM MEISTER'S
my uncle's eyes, and he frequently conversed with me of his
intentions towards her and her children. He possessed a
handsome estate which he superintended himself, and which
he hoped to bequeath to his nephew in the most favourable
condition. He seemed to have some special views with
respect to tne small property upon which we resided. "I
intecd to bequeath it," he would say, "to some person who
can understand how to appreciate and enjoy what it contains,
and who can feel that a man of wealth and position, parti-
cularly in Germany, is required to shew a worthy example
to others."
The greater part of the guests had by this time taken
their departure. We were preparing to follow their exam-
ple, and thought we had already witnessed the last scenes of
our festivities, when we were surprised by a new attempt on
my uncle's part to afford us entertainment. We had not
been able to conceal from him the delight with which, upon
the marriage of my sister, we had heard the chorus of
men's voices without an instrumental accompaniment. We
had frequently hinted that a repetition of this pleasure
would be extremely agreeable, but he affected to pay no
attention to our suggestions. Judge of our astonishment,
therefore, when he said one evening, u The music of the
dance is over, our young friends have taken their departure,
and even the wedded pair themselves have assumed a more
serious look than they bore some days ago. To separate,
therefore, at such a moment, when, perhaps, we may never
meet again, at least without some changes having occurred,
imparts to our minds a feeling of solenmit}r, to which I
cannot pay a deeper respect than by a repetition of that
delicious music, which you have so frequently desired to
hear."
He had in the interim increased the strength of his chorus,
which had become more perfect by secret practice, and they
now enchanted us with a succession of songs, arranged for
four and eight voices, which, I might almost say, gave us a
foretaste of heavenly bliss. I had previously been acquainted
only with those sacred canticles which very devout persons are
accustomed to sing with rather hoarse voices, when, like the
wild birds, they fancy that they honour Grod when they a e
only pleasing themselves; or at times, I had listened to the
^PPEEKTICESHIP.
383
vain music of concerts, in which we are rather led to admire
the talents of the singers, than to experience even a transient
feeling of delight. JSTow, I was made sensible of the power of
music, which, springing from the deepest sources of accom-
plished nature, is made to express the best and loftiest senti-
ments of man, by means of suitable and well-practised
organs, which are combined in harmonious -unison, and
impress us with a sense of our resemblance to the Deity.
The music consisted of sacred songs, written in the Latin
language, and they shone like diamonds in the golden ring
of polished worldly intercourse, and without pretending to
afford edification, they elevated my feelings, and rendered
me spiritually happy.
At our departure, we all received the most costly gifts.
He presented me with the cross of my order, worked and
ornamented in the most beautiful and artistic manner, and
enamelled in an antique fashion. It was suspended from a
large brilliant, by which it was attached to the chain, and
which challenged comparison with the noblest jewel in a
rich cabinet.
My sister accompanied her husband to their country seat,
the remainder of the party returned to their abodes, and we
felt, as far as our outward circumstances were concerned, as
if we had 'resumed a very common-place existence. We
had descended to the dull earth from an aerial fairy palace,
and we found ourselves once more thrown npon our own
resources.
The strange experiences which I had gained in that new
circle of acquaintance left a pleasing impression upon mv
mind, but it did not long continue, notwithstanding the
efforts of my uncle to encourage it, by sending me from time
to time some of the most valuable specimens of his works
of art, which, when I had sufficiently enjoyed, were exchanged
for others.
I had been so long engaged with my own thoughts and in
regulating the emotions of my heart and of my spirit, as
well as in conversing upon such topics with persons of mv
own disposition, that I could not stud)" a work of art for anv
length of time, without feeling its effect upon myself. I
read a picture, or a copper-plate, as I could have done the
letters of a book. Beautiful printing affords pleasure, but
WILHELM MEISTEB'S
who cou_d read a book merely for the sake of the printing r
so I wished that every pictured representation should
instruct, affect, and improve me, and notwithstanding my
uncle's letters in which he explained all his works of art,
my style of thinking remained unaltered.
But the changes which soon took place in my own family,
and various other circumstances, operated far more than my
own natural disposition, in diverting my mind from such re-
ilections, and even from considering my own condition. I
had to suffer and to work far more severely than my infirm
powers seemed able to endure.
My unmarried sister had been until now my chief support.
Healthy, strong, and indescribably kind, she had undertaken
the sole charge of the housekeeping, whilst upon me de-
volved the care of my father. A severe cold brought
on an affection of the chest, and in three weeks she was
lying in her coffin. Her death inflicted upon me a severe
wound, the scar of which I cannot even yet bear to look
upon.
I was confined to bed by sickness before her funeral took
place. The old weakness of my chest returned, my cough
increased alarmingly, and I lost my voice to such a degree
that I could scarcely speak above a whisper.
The alarm and trouble of my married sister occasioned
her premature confinement. My father feared that he was
about to lose his children, together with all hopes of posterity,
and the tears which he shed on this account increased my
sorrow. I prayed to Grod that he would restore me to health,
I implored Him to prolong my life, if only until my father's
decease. I recovered to some extent, as I was able to dis-
charge my duties, although the effort cost me considerable
exertion.
My sister was once more in a condition to become a
mother, and many cares fell to my lot which should naturally
have devolved upon her. She was not perfectly happy with
her husband, and it was considered desirable that this cir-
cumstance should be concealed from my father. I was occa-
sionally called in to reconcile their differences, and the task
was easy, as I possessed the confidence of my brother-in-law,
and both he and my sister were really worthy persons, but
instead of humouring, they sought to convince each other.
APPRENTICESHIP.
385
and from an extreme anxiety to live in perfect harmony, they
never could agree.
My sister gave birth to a son, and my father's indisposi-
tion did not prevent him from paying her a visit. The sight
of the infant rendered him cheerful and happy, and at the
christening he seemed to be perfectly enraptured, and I may
almost say that he resembled a genius with two faces: On
the one side, he looked joyfully towards those regions, which
were opening before him, and on the other, he viewed that
new and hopeful career, which was to be pursued by his
infant descendant. As we returned home, he never ceased
to talk of the child, of its appearance, of its health, and of
his own anxiety that the talents of this new citizen of the
world should be properly cultivated. And even after our
arrival at home, his thoughts upon this subject were conti-
nued. Some days after, he was attacked with fever, which
manifested its symptoms by fits of shivering, accompanied
by a languid heat, which commenced after he had taken his
meals. But he held up, notwithstanding, drove out in the
morning, and continued to discharge the duties of his office,
until a serious and confirmed attack of illness at length con-
fined him to his bed.
I shall never forget the composure of mind, the clearness
and precision, with which he regulated his household affairs,
and gave directions for his funeral, as if such things had
merely concerned some other person.
His cheerfulness even assumed the appearance of actual
joy, and he would ask me, "Where is all that apprehension
of death, which formerly made me tremble? "Why should I
fear to die? I have a merciful G-od—the grave awakens no
terrors—I shall enjoy eternal life.*'
It forms one of the most pleasing delights of my lonely
hours, to recall the circumstances of his death, which ensued
soon after, and I never can be persuaded, that the operation
of a higher power was not at that time plainly discernible.
The decease of my beloved father altogether changed my
course of life. I now enjoyed the most perfect freedom,
though I had previously been accustomed to the strictest
obedience and the most severe restraints. It seemed like
the partaking of food after a long abstinence. Previously,
I had seldom been absent from home for two hours together,
386
"WTLHELM MEISTEB'S
now I rarelj spent a day in the house. My friends, whom I
had permitted to visit me at intervals, wished to enjoy my
uninterrupted society, and the desire was reciprocal. I
received many invitations to dinner, and I was never absent
from a promenade or party of pleasure. But when I had
fairly pursued the whole round of entertainments, I learned
that .the unspeakable value of freedom consisted not
in doing what we please, or all that circumstances allow,
but in the power of doing at once and without restraint,
whatever we consider right; and I was old enough
now to learn this valuable lesson without paying for my ex-
perience.
I could not now deny myself the pleasure of renewing,
and strengthening, my acquaintance, with the Society of
Herrnhuthers, and I took the first opportunity to pay a visit
to their establishment, which was in our neighbourhood.
But I was disappointed in my anticipations. I was candid
enough to acknowledge this, whereupon the fraternity sought
to account for it, by explaining that the present small es-
tablishment must not be compared to a fully organised
community. I was obliged to admit this excuse, though
it seemed to me that the true spirit of the institution
would show itself, as easily, in a small as in a large com-
munity.
One of their bishops, who was present, a favourite disciple
of the founder himself, took considerable trouble with me.
He spoke English perfectly, and as I understood that lan-
guage slightly, he considered it to be a bond of union be-
tween us. But I was of a wholly different opinion, and his
conversation did not interest me in the slightest degree.
He had been a cutler, and was a native of Moravia, and his
style of thinking betrayed his artizan origin. I was on far
better terms with the Herr von L——-, who had been a
major in the French army. But I never could imitate the
obedience which he showed to his superiors, and I felt
perfectly humiliated when I saw the Major's wife and
other distinguished ladies kiss the Bishop's hand. Soon
after this a journey to Holland was proposed, and it
was, doubtless, for my advantage that the project was
abandoned.
My sister now gave birth to a daughter; when it was the
APPRENTICESHIP.
387
ladies* turn to rejoice, and to consider how the little creature
should be educated. But my brother-in-law was not
altogether satisfied when, in the following year, another
daughter was born, as he would have preferred a family of
boys, who might be able to assist him in the management
of his estate.
My health was delicate, but, as I remained very quiet, I
was wholly indifferent to whatever might occur. I did not
fear death—I even wished to die—but I felt, during my
hours of reflection, that Grod was granting me time for
examining my soul, and drawing nearer to him. During
many a sleepless night I experienced sensations, which I feel
it impossible to describe.
It seemed to me, as if my soul had possessed the faculty
of thinking independently of my body, and as if she looked
upon the latter as a foreign substance, as we esteem a gar-
ment. She dwelt vividly upon times and circumstances
which had long passed away, and from them she would
endeavour to anticipate the future. Those days are fled,
the future too will pass away, the body will decay like a
vesture, but I—the well-known I—will remain.
Although this reflection is sublime and full of consolation,
a worthy friend who had studied my disposition forbade me
to encourage it. This was the physician whom I had met
at my uncle's house, and who now perfectly understood my
physical and moral organization. He taught me that such
feelings, when they are entertained independently of out-
ward objects, weaken and undermine the whole foundation
of our being. "Activity," he would say, "is the destiny of
man, and every interval of time in which he is obliged to
take repose, should be dedicated to gaining a clearer know-
ledge of outward things, which may afterwards stimulate
his industry."
This friend understood my propensity to regard the body
as a mere external object, knew that I was well acquainted
with my own constitution, as well as with the nature of my
infirmity, and the proper remedies for its cure, and that by
continually attending upon other people, I had become a sort
of half physician; he, therefore, directed my attention from
the human body, and its ailments and specifics, to other ob-
jects of creation. He introduced me into a species of
388
wilhelm: meistee's
paradise, and if I may venture to pursue tlie allegory, be
allowed me to enjoy a distant view of the Creator Himself,
walking in the garden in the cool of the evening.
How gladly now did I see God in nature, when I carried
Him so certainly in my heart, how full of interest were all
the works of His hands, and how thankful did I feel that He
had quickened me with the breath of His mouth.
We had still hopes that my sister would give birth to a
son, an event which my brother-in-law anxiously desired,
but which he did not live to see. The worthy man wras
killed by a fall from his horse, and my sister followed him
soon after her confinement of a lovely boy. I could never
behold her orphan child without being oppressed with grief.
Many healthy people had been called away before me,
though I had long been an invalid. Was I, perhaps, des-
tined to see these hopeful blossoms blighted? I knew the
world well enough to understand the many dangers, which
surround an infant of high birth, and it appeared as if they
had increased since the period of my youth. I felt that niv
own weak health incapacitated me from doing much for the
improvement of the children, and I rejoiced, therefore, that
my uncle had resolved, as might, indeed, have been expected,
to attend zealously to the education of these amiable crea-
tures, and, to say the truth, they were in every re-
spect worthy of his care. They were well formed and
handsome, and notwithstanding that they were unlike one
another, they gave reasonable hopes of doing credit to their
parents.
Erom the time that my kind friend the physician had
directed my attention to the subject, I felt a pleasure in
tracing family resemblances amongst the children and their
relatives. My father had carefully preserved the portraits of
his ancestors, and had caused the likenesses of himself and of
his children, to be executed by very tolerable artists, nor had
my mother, and her side of the house, been forgotten. We
were accurately acquainted with the characters of the whole
family, and as we frequently compared them together, we
sought to detect in the children the same physical and moral
resemblances. My sister's eldest son seemed to resemble
his paternal grandfather, and a good representation of him
was preserved in the collection of my uncle. The child.
APPRENTICESHIP.
389
like his ancestor, who had distinguished himself as a brave
officer, delighted in military weapons, with which, whenever
lie paid me a visit, he was sure to be occupied. My father
had a very complete armoury, and the youngster would not
rest until I had provided him with a pair of pistols and a
gun. In other respects his conduct and deportment had no
trace of rudeness, on the contrary, he was rather mild and
obliging.
The eldest daughter had won my entire love. This might
have arisen from her close resemblance to myself, and
because she was more attached to me, than any of her sisters.
But I must acknowledge, that the more closely I observed
her, the more she made me feel my deficiencies, and I could
scarcely even look upon her, without a feeling of admiration,
which nearly amounted to reverence. I had seldom known a
nobler form, a more tranquil mind, or an industry so equable
and uniform. During her existence, she was never for a single
moment unemployed, and every pursuit in which she engaged,
wore an air of dignity. Every thing seemed alike to her
—provided she could do it in the proper place and at the
proper time; and she could even remain unemployed with-
out impatience, when there was no actual duty to fulfil. Such
activity, without the necessity for occupation, I had never
witnessed. Her conduct towards the suffering and the
indigent was, from her earliest years, inimitable. I confess
that I had never possessed the talent to make a business of
charity, and though I was never niggardly towards the poor,
but was rather too generous in proportion to my circum-
stances, thus purchasing my immunity as it were, yet I
required to feel an attachment for a person before I could
bestow my care upon him; but the conduct which I ad-
mired in my niece was directly the reverse. I never saw
her distribute money to the poor, and whatever I gave to her
for that purpose, she laid out in the purchase of some article
of necessity. Never did she appear more amiable in my
eyes, than when she was employed in examining my clothes
and presses, she was sure to find something which I no
longer required, and her greatest delight consisted in cutting
up such articles as she could find, and preparing them for
some poor ragged child.
390
WILHELM MEISTEIi's
The disposition of her sister was altogether different.
She was more like her mother, promising from a very early
age, to be elegant and beautiful, and bidding fair to realize
such expectations. She was wholly occupied with her
person, and she soon learned the art of dressing with taste,
and of carrying herself with grace and elegance. I well recol-
lect with what rapture she once surveyed herself in the glass,
when she had persuaded me to adorn her hair with some
beautiful pearls, which had once belonged to her mother, and
which she had found amongst my ornaments.
In reflecting upon these different dispositions, it gave me
pleasure to think how my property, upon my death, would
be divided amongst the members of the family, and once
more called into action. I saw, in fancy, the fowling piece
of my father once more traversing the fields upon the
shoulder of my nephew, and the game once more faUing
from his sporting bag; I saw my entire wardrobe upon the
persons of neat little girls, as they came from church after
the Easter confirmation, and my best garments applied to
the decoration of some virtuous burgher maiden upon her
bridal day. Nathalia took great delight in providing for
children of this description, and for poor well-behaved girls,
although, I should observe, she never evinced the least love,
or necessity for dependence upon any visible or invisible
Being, as 1 had done so strongly during my youth. And
when I reflected, that upon the same day, my youngest
niece would wear my jewels and my pearls at court, I could
contemplate with peace, that my possessions, as well as my
body, would be restored to the elements.
The children grew up, and to my great joy they are now
handsome and talented creatures. I am quite content that
my uncle should keep them separated from me, and I seldom
see them either in the neighbourhood or in the town.
A man of somewhat singular character, who passes for a
Trench clergyman, though no one seems to be accurately
acquainted with his history, has taken them under his charge.
They have been brought up in different places and their
abode is often changed.
At first I could not comprehend the object of this system
of education, until my friend the physician at length in-
APPRENTICESHIP.
391
formed me, that my uncle had been convinced by the Abbe
that, to render education effectual, the wishes and the dis-
position of the pupil should be studied—that when these
are understood, measures should be taken by which such
wishes may be gratified, in order that if a mistake in the
selection have been made, the error may be in time retrieved,
and that when the pupil has discovered the pursuit for which
he is adapted, he may follow it with earnestness, with a view
to his own improvement. I heartily wish that this unusual
plan may prosper; with good dispositions it may possibly
succeed.
But there is one thing in this system of which I cannot
approve. They endeavour to withdraw the children from a
study of themselves, and from intercourse with their In-
visible, but only true, friend. I am often distressed that my
uncle should consider my society as dangerous to the
children. Thus, in practice, no man is tolerant; for even
those who assert most loudly, that they permit every one to
act as he pleases, carefully exclude the interference of those
who do not agree with them in opinion.
This effort, to keep me separated from the children, troubles
me the more in proportion as I am convinced of the sin-
cerity of my faith. For why should not its origin be divine,
its object real, when in practice it is so effectual? For, as
practical things alone convince us of our existence, why
should we not be satisfied with the same proof, to demon-
strate the influence of that Being whose hand dispenses
every blessing.
That my progress is ever in advance, and that I never
retrograde—that my conduct becomes daily more conform-
able to the ideas which I have formed of perfection—that
in spite of my bodily infirmities, which exclude me from so
many opportunities of doing good—I feel a growing inclina-
tion to discharge my duty—can all this be explained by
the principles of mere human nature whose corruption I
have so clearly seen? In my opinion, decidedly not.
I can scarcely remember a command—I have never known
a law—an impulse leads me and always conducts me right—
I freely pursue my own disposition, and I am a stranger
alike to restraint and to remorse. Thank Grod! I know to
802
WJLIIELM MEISTEtt's
whom I am indebted for this happiness, and that I can con-
template my advantages with humility. I shall never incur
the danger of being too proud of my own power and ability,
for I well know, that but for the restraining hand of a higher
Dower, what a hideous monster would be bom and nourished
in every human bosom.
APPEENTTCESHIP.
390
BOOK VII.
CHAPTER I.
The spring had already commenced in all its beauty; a.
storm which had been threatening all day, broke furiously
over the hills, the rain deluged the country at a distauce
from us, and finally the sun shone forth in full brilliancy,
and the dark horizon was illuminated by a glorious rainbow.
"Wilhelm was riding in the direction of the spot in which it
appeared, and the sight depressed his spirits. "Alas!" he
thought within himself, <; and are the fairest hues of life
only to be seen upon a dark background? And must rain
fall in order that we may feel enchanted? It matters not
whether the day be bright or gloomy, if our feelings are
unmoved, and what can move us more than the silent hope
that the innate wishes of our heart shall not for ever remaiii
without an object? We are moved by the recital of a famous
action, or by the sight of a noble deed, we feel then as if
Ave were not wholly in a foreign land, we believe that Ave
are nearer to that home, towards which all our best and
fondest wishes are so earnestly bent."
In the mean time a pedestrian had overtaken him, and
walking rapidly, kept pace with Wilhelm's horse. After a
few ordinary observations, he said, "If I mistake not, we
have met before."
<£ I remember you perfectly," replied Willielm, u did we
not once enjoy a pleasant sail together?"
"Quite right," observed the stranger.
"Wilhelm looked at him attentively and after a short pause
observed,C£ I do not well understand the change which has
taken place in you, but formerly you seemed to me to be a
Lutheran clergyman, now I should take you for a Catholic
priest."
394
WILHELM MEISTEB*S
"You are not wrong," replied the stranger, as be took off
Lis hat, and showed his tonsure. "But what has become of
your companions? Did you continue long together?"
"Longer than was right, and when I reflect upon the
time which I spent in their society, it seems as if I were
gazing into an unfathomable void, no trace of it remains."
"You mistake," observed the stranger, " every thing that
happens to us leaves some memorial behind, which it is
dangerous for us to examine too closely. We either grow
proud and negligent, or else become dispirited and depressed,
and both these conditions of mind are injurious. The safest
mode of acting is to employ ourselves with our nearest
duty, and at present," he added, with a smile, "that consists
in hastening to our quarters."
Wilhelm inquired how far Lothario's house was distant
from them? His companion informed him that it lay behind
the hill. "Perhaps we may meet there," he continued, "as
I have some business to transact in the neighbourhood.
"Farewell!" and with these words he ascended a sheep foot
path, which seemed to lead by a shorter way across the
mountain.
"Truly, he is right," said Wilhelm, as he proceeded, " we
should employ ourselves with our nearest duty, and for the
present there is nothing nearer to me, than the sad commis-
sion which I have to execute. Let me see whether I quite
•recollect the speech, which I have composed, to confound
Aurelia's cruel friend."
He commenced to repeat his oration, he did not miss a
syllable, and the faithfulness of his memory served to augment
his passion and his courage. Aurelia's sufferings, and the
circumstances attending her death, were vividly present to
his soul.
uSpirit of my friend P he exclaimed, " hover round me now,
and if possible, convey to me some intimation that thou art
satisfied and appeased!" Amid thse soliloquies and reflec-
tions, he had gained the summit of the hill, and he saw at the
bottom of the descent, upon the other side, a remarkable-
looking house, which he at once concluded was Lothario's
abode. An old irregular castle, ornamented with tur-
rets and gabled roofs, seemed to have formed the original
building. It was increased by some new and irregular
APPRENTICESHIP.
395
additions which had been made to the old structure, or were
connected with it, by means of galleries and covered pas-
sages. Outward symmetry and architectural beauty had
been wholly sacrificed to the claims of convenience. There
was no trace of wall or trench, and no appearance of avenue
or artificial pleasure grounds. A fruit and vegetable garden
had been formed close to the buildings, and some small plots
of land had been dedicated to similar uses in the intervening
space. A busy village lay at a little distance, and gardens
and fields in the highest state of cultivation were every where
visible.
Buried in his own deep thoughts, Wilhelm rode forward,
little thinking of the sights around him ; and leaving his
horse at an inn, it was not without emotion that he hastened
to the castle.
An old servant received him at the entrance, who informed
him respectfully, that he could scarcely expect to be admitted
to an interview with his Lordship, as the latter had many
letters to write, and had already denied himself to several
visitors. But upon Wilhelui's insisting, the servant con-
sented to announce him. He returned, and introduced
"Wilhelminto a large and antiquated hall, where he requested
him to wait, as his master might perhaps be detained for a
considerable time. Wilhelm walked restlessly up and down
the apartment, and amused himself with examining the por-
traits of the knights and ladies, which adorned the walls.
He commenced his speech once more, and it seemed to
be quite in place amongst the antique dresses and suits
of armour which he saw around him. Upon hearing the
slightest noise, he placed himself in an attitude to meet his
antagonist with dignity, intending first to deliver his letter,
and then to encounter him with the weapons of reproach.
Several times he was disappointed, and he was becoming
angry and impatient, when at len^ch a handsome man, in
boots and wearing a fashionably made coat, entered the
apartment by a side door. "What good news do you bring?"
he inquired of "Wilhelm in a friendly tone: "Pardon me
for having made you wait."
Whilst he was speaking, he continued folding up a paper,
which he held in his hand. With some embarrassment,
Wrilhelm gave him Aurelia's letter, saying, "I bring you
396
WILHELM MEISTEH'S
here the last words of a friend, which you cannot read with-
out emotion."
Lothario took the letter and returned to his apartment,
and Wilhelm could observe, through the open door, that he
sealed and directed some other letters before he opened
Aurelia's. He seemed to peruse it several times, and though
Wilhelm thought that his pathetic speech would but ill
accord with his cool reception, he summoned up courage
and advanced to the door-way a and was on the point of com-
mencing his oration, when a tapestry door of the cabinet
opened, and the clergyman made Ins appearance.
"I have received the most extraordinary communication
in the world," observed Lothario. "Pardon me," he conti-
nued, as he turned towards Wilhelm, "if I am not able for
the moment to prolong our interview. But you must remain
here to-night, and, A_bbe, you will take care that our guest
wants for nothing."
So saying, he bowed to "Wilhelm. The clergyman took
Wilhelm by the hand, who followed him reluctantly.
Silently they took their course together, along some
curious passages, till at length they reached a handsome
chamber, to which the clergyman introduced him, and then
retired without further apology. Presently a cheerful youth
made his appearance, who announced himself to Wilhelm as
his servant. He brought up the supper, and during his
attendance, he had much to say about the regulations of the
house, the breakfasts, the dinners, the work, and the
amusements, mingling the whole with the warmest praises
of Lothario.
But, notwithstanding the entertainment which the boy
afforded, Wilhelm was anxious for his departure. He wished
to be alone, as in the situation in which he found himself, he-
was perplexed and ll1 at ease. He upbraided himself for
having so imperfectly fuelled his intentions, and for having
only half performed his commission. He determined there-
fore to supply the deficiency upon the following morning,
but he soon perceived that Lothario's presence would be
sure to effect an alteration in his feelings. The whole houso
appeared to him so mysterious that he could not understand
it. He resolved, therefore, to retire for the night, and ac-
cordingly he opened his travelling bag to prepare his things.
APPRENTICESHIP.
39?
In taking out his night dress, he found the Ghost's veil, which
Mignon had packed up, together with his clothes. The sight of
this increased his sadness. "Fly! youth, fly!" he exclaimed,
il "What can those mysterious word's mean? "Why should I
fly, and whither? Far better had the Gbost commanded me
to reflect upon my condition.'' He examined the pictures
which were hanging about the chamber, he surveyed most
of them with indifference, but at length his attention was
attracted by the engraving of a shipwreck. A father and
his beautiful daughters were struggling for life with the over-
whelming waves. One of these ladies resembled his favour-
ite Amazon, an inexpressible feeling of compassion seized
"Wilhelm, he could not resist the emotions of his heart, tears
streamed from his eyes, and he did not resume his compo-
sure until he was overcome by sleep.
Strange dreams visited him towards morning. He thought
he was wandering in a garden, to which he had often resorted
in youth, and that he once more saw with delight, the walks,
parterres, and beds of flowers, with which he had been so
familiar. Mariana met him, and he spoke to her with
a voice full of love and without recalling any of their
by-gone troubles. His father joined them soon afterwards,
he wore his morning dress, and in a confidential tone,
wholly unlike his usual manner, he requested Wilhelm to
bring two chairs into the garden, and taking Mariana by
the hand, he led her to a summer house.
Wilhelm hastened to obey, but found the garden-house
quite empty, but he saw Aurelia standing at an opposite
window. He approached to address her, but she remained
immoveable, and though he placed himself beside her, he
could not see her face. He looked out of the window into
a strange garden, where he saw a number of persons col-
lected together, some of whom he immediately recognized.
Madame Melina was sitting under a tree, playing with a
rose which she held in her hand. Laertes was standing
at her side, counting money from one hand into the
other. Mignon and Felix were lying on the grass, the
former turned upon her back, the latter prostrate on his
face. Philina now appeared, and clapped her hands over
the children. Mignon took no notice, but Felix leaped
up and ran away from Philina. At first he laughed as
398
TVILHELM HEISTEIt'S
Philina pursued him, but soon afterwards he uttered
a piercing scream, when he saw the old Harper fol-
lowing him slowly with huge strides. The child was
running towards a pond. "Wilhelm endeavoured to over-
take him, but too late, the child had fallen into the
water! Wilhelm stood as if he had been rooted to
the earth. And now he beheld the beautiful Amazon
standing on the other side of the pond. She stretched
her right hand to little Felix, and went towards the bank.
The child floated through the water in the direction of
her finger, and following her as she changed her course,
she at length extended her hand to him and drew him out.
Upon Wilhelm's approach, the boy appeared to be in flames,
and drops of fire were falling from him in all directions.
Wilhelm was alarmed, but the Amazon took a white veil
from her head, and enveloped him with it. The fire was at
once extinguished, but upon withdrawing the veil, two
children sprang from under it, and commenced sporting
about, while "Wilhelm, hand in hand with the Amazon,
sauntered through the garden. At a distance he saw Mari-
ana and his father walking under an alley of trees which
seemed to surround the whole garden. He turned towards
them with his beautiful companion, when, suddenly the
fair-haired Friedrich crossed their path, and detained them
Avith his laughter and a thousand droll tricks. But when
they insisted on proceeding, Friedrich left them, and ran
towards the distant pair. They seemed to fly, but Wilhelm
hastened his pursuit until at length he saw them wholly
disappear at the bottom of the alley. The voice of nature
and of affection appealed to him to hasten to their assistance,
but the hand of the Amazon held him back. How willingly
did he submit to the restraint! With these mixed and con-
fused sensations he awoke, and found his chamber illuminated
by the beams of the morning sun.
APPRENTICESHIP.
399
CHAPTER II.
Wilhelm was summoned to breakfast by his attendant; he
found the Abbe already in the apartment; Lothario, it was
said, was gone out on horseback. The Abbe spoke but little,
and seemed to be absorbed in thought: he asked some ques-
tions about Aurelia's death, and listened with much sympa-
thy to Wilhehn's narrative. "Alas !" he exclaimed, a the man
who thoroughly understands the endless operations of nature
and art, which are required to form a cultivated human being,
or who takes a deep interest in the education of his fellow-
men, may well despair when he sees how madly people pur-
sue their own ruin, or expose themselves to thoughtless or
intentional danger. When I reflect upon this, life appears
to me a gift of such uncertain value, that I could almost
praise the man who holds it in but small esteem."
He had scarcely said this, when the door was burst vio-
lently open, and a young lady rushed into the apartment,
pushing back the old servant who endeavoured to impede her.
She ran towards the Abbe, and as he held her arm, her sobs
and tears scarcely allowed her to utter a few exclamations.
"Where is he? What have you done with him? It is a
shameful piece of treachery. Confess it. I know it all.
I will follow him. I know where he is."
"Compose yourself, my child," said the Abbe, with
assumed calmness of manner. "Return to your chamber.
You shall hear every thing, but you must be in a state to
listen to the account I have to tell." He offered her his
hand as if he would lead her away, but she exclaimed,
"]STo! I will not return to my room. I hate the apart-
ment where you have kept me so long a prisoner! But
I know what has happened. The Colonel has challenged
him. He is gone to meet his antagonist, and, perhaps,
before this time 1 thought once or twice that I
heard the sound of shots. Order the carriage, and come
with me, or I will alarm the whole house, and even the
village, with my screams."
She rushed to the window, bathed in a flood of tears,
whilst the Abbe sought to restrain her, and to calm her
agitation.
400
WTLIIELM METSTES'S
He heard the approach of a carriage, and threw up tbo
window. "He is dead," she cried, " they are carrying him
in." "He is descending from the carriage," replied the
Abbe, "you perceive he lives." "He is wounded," she
added wildly, " otherwise he would have returned on horse-
back! They are carrying him in,—the wound is dangerous."'
She ran to the door, and down the stairs. The Abbe
hastened after her, and Wilhelm joined in the pursuit. He
saw the lady meet her lover as he entered the house.
Lothario leaned upon his companion, in whom Wilhelm
now recognized his old friend Jarno. He then addressed
the afflicted maiden in kind and consoling terms, and plac-
ing his hand upon her shoulder, he slowly ascended the
stairs, and saluting Wilhelm, he was conducted to his own
apartment.
Jarno returned in a few minutes, and going up to Wilhelm,
said, "It seems that you are destined to meet with a theatre
and actors every where. We are, at this ver}r moment,engaged
in a drama, which is not of the pleasantest description."
"I am glad to meet with you," answered Wilhelm, "at
this strange moment; I am astonished and terrified, and
your presence restores my peace and composure—I am
already tranquil. But tell me,—is there any real danger? Is
the Baron severely wounded?"
"I believe not," replied Jarno.
In a short time a young surgeon came from Lothario's
apartment.
"Well, what is your report?" inquired Jarno.
"It is a serious business," answered the other, as he re-
placed several surgical instruments in his leathern case.
Wilhelm was struck by the appearance of the ribbon
which was attached to the surgical case—he thought he had
seen it before. The colours were bright, and formed a lively
contrast, and the gold and silver threads, in which certain
figures were embroidered, rendered it easy to distinguish*
this ribbon from any other. Wilhelm felt certain that it-
was the surgical case of the professional man who had at-
tended him in the wood, and the hope of once more finding
some trace of his lovely Amazon, struck like a flame into his
inmost soul.
"Where does that surgical case come from ?" he inquired,
APPRENTICESHIP.
40J
u who was its previous owner, I implore of you to tell me'?"
"I purchased it at an auction," answered the stranger,
"and it did not concern rne to inquire about its previous
owner." So saying, he went away, whereupon Jarno added,
tf the surgeon has not spoken one word of truth." "Then
he did not purchase that case," said Wilhelm. "Not at
all," replied Jarno, "neither should we be apprehensive
about Lothario."
Wilhelm was lost in a thousand reflections. Jarno asked
what he had been doing lately; whereupon the former gave
him an outline of his proceedings, and when, at length he ad-
verted to Aurelia's death, Jarno exclaimed, "Wonderful,
indeed, most wonderful."
The Abbe now came from Lothario's apartment, and
having desired Jarno to take his place, he addressed himself
to Wilhelm. "The Baron," he said, " desires me to request
that you will remain here for a few days, to share his hospi-
tality, and to contribute to his comfort, under present circum-
stances. If you require to acquaint your friends with your
intention, your letter shall be forwarded without dela}r, and,
in the meantime, that you may understand the circumstance
which has occurred, and of which you have been partly an
eye-witness, I must inform you of something, which is not
altogether a secret. The Baron has had a passing adventure
with a lady, which has attracted unusual attention, as
the latter, having succeeded in carrying him off from a
rival, became too vain of her triumph. But he soon
wearied of her society and forsook her; but, as she was a
person of violent temper, she did not submit patiently to her
disappointment. At length they came to an open rupture
at a ball. She asserted that she had been grievously in-
sulted, and thirsted tor revenge. But she could procure no
knight to espouse her cause ; until, at length, her husband,
from whom she has long been separated, heard of the affair
•and challenged the Baron. He has this day wounded him;
but, I have been informed, that the Colonel himself has sus-
tained a serious injury."
From this time, Wilhelm was treated as if he had belonged
to the family.
2 D
102
WILHELM MEISTER's
CHAPTER III.
They entertained the wounded Lothario by reading to
him, and Wilhelin gladly assisted in the performance of this
little service. Lydia never left his bed-side, her care for him
absorbed her whole attention, but, as his mind appeared to
be engaged to-day, he requested that they would read no
farther.
"I feel to-day most sensibly," he observed, "in wrhat a
foolish manner we lose our time. How many things have I
undertaken and intended, which I have never completed.
How culpably have I delayed the execution of my best pur-
poses. I have been just reading over the plan which I had
formed for the improvement of my estates, and I must con-
fess, that I am on this account especially glad that the bullet
did not take a deadlier path."
Lydia looked at him tenderly, with her eyes suffused with
tears, as if she would have inquired whether she herself and
his other friends could not lay claim to any interest in his
desire to live. Jarno observed, "Alterations, such as you
design, require to be minutely examined, before they are
finally adopted."
"Tedious reflections," said Lothario, "generally prove
that we do not accurately see the point, which requires our
decision—hasty proceedings, for the most part, shew that
we do not properly understand it. I perceive, for example,
very clearly that, in many respects, I cannot dispense with
the services of my dependants, in the management of my
estates, and that 1 must rigidly exact the performance of
certain duties, but I observe, at the same time, that there
are other things, which, though advantageous to me, are not
indispensable, iu which favourable alterations might be made.
We do not always lose an advantage when we dispense with
it. Do I not derive more benefit from my property than
my father did? And ought I alone to enjoy this increasing
advantage? Should I deny to those who labour for me
some share in the profit, which I derive from expanded
knowledge and improving times?"
"It is the same with all men," cried Jarno, "and I never
blame myself, when I detect a selfish spirit in my conduct

APPTCESfTICxSnn.'.
403
Every man loves to see himself surrounded by abundance—
in which he may riot at pleasure—and he seldom thinks his
money properly employed, when he does not spend it with
his own hands."
"0, yes," replied "Wilhelm, "we could save much of our
capital, if we laid out our interest more prudently."
"The only observation which I wish to make," said Jarno,
"the only advice which I have to offer, in opposition to those
improvements which you contemplate, and which for a time,
at least, must be unprofitable to you, is that you are in debt,
and that the payment presses. I, therefore, recommend you
to postpone your plan, till you are fully free."
"And, in the interim, a bullet or an accidental tile may
annihilate for ever the result of a whole life's activity. O!
my friend," continued Lothario, "it is the capital fault of all
cultivated men, that they devote their whole energies to the
carrying out of a mere idea, and seldom or never, to the rea-
lisation of some practical good. "Why have I incurred
debts? "Why have I quarrelled with my uncle, and left my
sisters so long dependent upon themselves? For the grati-
fication of a mere idea. I fancied that I should lead an
active life in America—that, across the seas, my existence
might become necessary and useful. Unless the task which
I had to accomplish were surrounded by danger, I considered
it trivial and unimportant. But how different do all things
now appear to me, when I recognize the duty which is imme-
diate, as that alone which possesses any worth or value."
"I well remember the letter," said* Jarno, "which you
transmitted to us across the ocean. You wrote as follows:
—c I will return, and in my own house, upon my own.
property, among my own people, I will say, Here or no-
where is America.'"
"Yes, my friend, and I repeat the same expression, and
T censure myself that I am not as industrious here as I was
there. For a certain uniform and continuous mode of life,
nothing more than judgment is required, and we need seek
for nothing more. We then cease to observe the extraor-
dinary actions which each unimportant day requires from us,
or when we do observe them, we find a thousand excuses for
their non-performance. A man of understanding is valuable
to his own interests, but of little value to general welfare."
404
WILHELM ME1STEB*S
"We must not bear too hard upon judgment and under-
standing/' answered Jarno, " and we must admit that extra-
ordinary actions are generally foolish."
4< I agree with you, and for this reason—that extraordinary
things are seldom done in conformity with a proper plan.
My brother-in-law, intends, as far as he is able, to devote
his whole fortune to the Society of Herrnhuthers, and he
fancies that he will thereby save his soul—had he sacrificed
only a small portion of his fortune, he would have rendered
many individuals happy, and have secured for himself a
heaven upon earth. The sacrifices which we make are
seldom active—we abandon what we give away—we renounce
our property from motives of despair, and not from resolu-
tion. I must confess that to-day, the image of the Co)_nt
is perpetually before my eyes, and I have resolved to lo,
from motives of conviction, what a morbid delusion is
exacting from him. I will not wait for the moment of
recovery from sickness. Here are the necessary papers,
they require only to be copied out fairly. Take a lawyer
with you—our guest will also contribute his assistance.
You know my intentions fully; and now, whether I recover
or die, I shall adhere to my resolution, and exclaim, i Here,
or nowhere, is the Community of Herrnhuthers!'"
When Lydia heard her friend speak of dying, she flung
herself down before the bed, seized his arm, and wept
bitterly. The surgeon now entered, upon which Jarno
handed the papers to Wilhelm, and motioned to Lydia to
retire.
"Eor heaven's sake," cried Wilhelm, as soon as they were
alone, "what do you say about the Count? What is
the name of the Count who, you say, speaks of joining the
Society of Herrnhuthers?"
"One vvhom you are well acquainted with," answered
Jarno: "You are the apparition that has driven him to
seek refuge in a life of piety. You are the culprit who has
reduced his pretty wife to such a state, that she is resolved
to accompany him."
"And she is Lothario's sister!" cried Wilhelm.
"No other"
"And Lothario knows"
"Everything."
APPRENTICESHIP. 405
"0! let me begone," cried Wilhelm. "How can I no\7
appear before him? What will he say V9
"That no man should ever cast a stone at his neigh-
bour; that when one composes long speeches to make
another person blush, he should recite them before a look-
ing glass."
"Then you know the whole transaction."
"And much besides," replied Jarno, with a smile. "But
upon this occasion," he continued, <c I shall not let you off
so easily as before, and now you have nothing to fear from
my recruiting money. I have ceased to be a soldier, though
even as a member of that profession, your opinion of mc
might have been more charitable. Many changes have
occurred since we met each other last. In consequence of
the death of my Prince, my only friend and benefactor, I
have retired from the world, and from all earthly affairs. It
was always my delight to promote what was reasonable, to
express my opinion freely about despicable things, and the
world had never much to fear from my restless head or from my
unlicensed tongue. The common herd dread a sound under-
standing, whereas they ought to tremble at stupidity, if they
could but know what is really fearful, but the former is in-
convenient and must be thrust aside, the latter is pernicious
and therefore may remain. But be it so. I must live, and
you shall hear my plans presently. You shall share in them
if you please. But tell me first, how have you fared? I
can see and feel that you are much changed. AVhat has
become of your old fancy to produce something beautiful
and good in a society of gipsies?"
"I have been punished sufficiently," replied Wilhelm.
*' Do not inquire whence I come or whither I am going?
Persons talk about the stage, but only those who have trod
the boards, can form any proper idea of its evils. It is im-
possible to describe how completely actors are ignorant of
themselves, how boundless are their pretensions, and how
thoughtlessly they pursue their avocations. Each would
not only be the first, but the sole hero, he endeavours to
exclude all competitors, and does not see that even with
their assistance, he can hardly accomplish anything impor-
tant. Each one fancies that he is original, and in spite of
406 WILHELM MEISTEH's
his appetite for novelty, he can scarcely quit the old and
well-remembered beaten track. "With what untiring zeal do
they oppose each other; and they are often kept together
by the narrowest views of interest—by the most contemp-
tible feeling of self-love. They never dream of rendering
mutual favours; and secret calumny and shameful slander
keep incessant jealousy alive amongst them. They are
either dissipated or foolish in their habits. They all claim
the most exalted respect, and they are keenly apprehensive
of the slightest censure. <A11 that he knew before!' he
will tell you. And why then has he followed the very
opposite course? Ever in want and ever unconnding, it
would seem that they never feared anything so much as
reason and good taste, and never sought for anything so
earnestly as to preserve the majesty of their own self-will."
"Wilhelm paused, for a moment, to draw breath, intending
to continue his observations, but an immoderate fit of
laughter from Jarno made him pause. "Poor actors!" ex-
claimed the latter, as he threw himself into a chair, and
continued to laugh heartily, "the poor kind souls! do you
know, my friend, that, in describing the stage, you have
drawn a veritable picture of the world, and that every con-
dition of life will supply you with characters and actors
enough to suit your severe pencil. Pardon me! but I
cannot refrain from laughing that you should suppose all
those amiable qualities to be confined to the stage alone."
"Wilhelm said nothing, but Jarno's loud and inopportune
laughter had really offended him. "Tou must avow your
hatred of mankind," he continued, "when you assert that
the failings which you have described are general, and it
proves your ignorance of the world, that you attach such
importance to those theatrical infirmities. I am always
ready to excuse an actor for those faults, which spring from
self-deception and a desire to please, for he must fail if he
does not appear to be something in his own estimation and
in the eyes of others. The whole object of his life is to
seem, and he ought to prize his momentary applause at a
high rate as he never receives any other reward. He must
endeavour to attract notice, as that is the end of his
existence.''
APPRENTICESHIP.
407
€i You must permit me," said Wilhelm, <£at least to smile
at your observations. I could never have supposed you
capable of so much mercy and toleration."
"I repeat that I have expressed my perfect and deliberate
conviction. In the actor, I can pardon every human fault,
but I cannot excuse mankind when they commit an actor's
errors. Do not ask my opinion of mankind. My strain of
woe would probably be more pitiful than yours."
The surgeon now made his appearance, and to the inquiry,
"How his patient felt?" he replied, with an air of easy
cheerfulness, "he is going on very well, and I have reason
to hope that he will soon be quite restored." He hastened
away speedily, without waiting for Wilhelm's farther ques-
tions, as the latter was on the point of making some pressing
and earnest inquiries about the surgical case. His anxiety
to learn something more about his Amazon, caused him now
to confide in Jarno, he made him acquainted with all the
facts and implored his assistance. "You already know so
much," he said, " that you ought not to remain ignorant of
this."
Jarno reflected for an instant, and then turning to "Wil-
li elm, observed, "Be calm, say nothing of this affair, and
I doubt not we shall come upon the track of your fair
friend. At the present moment I am troubled about
Lothario's state—it is a dangerous business, and I am con-
vinced of this, by the friendly manner and consoling words
of the surgeon. I should like to send Lydia away, for she
can render no assistance here, but I do not well know how
to effect my object. I expect to have an interview with an
old physician this evening, and we shall discuss the matter
together."
CHAPTEE IY.
The physician came. He was the good, old, little doctor
whose acquaintance we have already made, and to whom
we are indebted for the perusal of the interesting ma
nuscript. His first step was to visit the wounded man,
and he appeared by no means satisfied with his condition.
£08
WILHELM MEISTEIt'S
lie afterwards held a long conference with .Tarno, but they
mentioned nothing of its nature, when they sat down to
supper in the evening.
Wilhelm welcomed him in the kindest manner, and made
inquiries about the Harper. "We still entertain some
hopes of restoring the poor creature to his reason," replied
the physician. "He must have formed a sad episode in
your strange life," observed Jarno. "What is the matter
with him? I should like to know his story."
After he had satisfied Jarno's curiosity, the physician
continued, "I have never seen a person in so strange a
state. For many years he has not taken the smallest
interest in external things, or paid the least attention to
them. Wrapped up in his own contemplations, he has
thought of nothing but his own hollow empty self, into
which he has looked as into a profound abyss. How affect-
ing has it been, when he has spoken to us of his melancholy
condition. 'I see nothing before me, and nothing behind
me,' he would say, 'but endless night, where I am wrapt in
the most dreary solitude ; I have no feeling but the con-
sciousness of guilt, which never ceases to appear before me
like a distant, shapeless spirit, and yet I behold no height,
no depth, no forwards, no backwards. 0! no words can
express my dreary changeless state. Often in the anguish
of this perpetual monotony, I exclaim, "For ever! for
ever!" and these wonderful and incomprehensible words
become plain and clear to the darkness of my understand-
ing. No ray of a Deity illumines my mental night. I pour
all my tears to myself and for myself. Nothing is more
hateful to me than friendship and love, for nothing else
awakens within me a wish that these apparitions may be
real. But both these spirits have risen from the abyss to
torment me, and to rob me of the precious consciousness of
my terrible existence.'"
"You should hear him speak," continued the physician,
"when, in confidential moments, he endeavours thus to
alleviate his heart. I have often listened to him with the
deepest emotion. When any sorrow compels him to confess
for an instant—that time flies—he seems lost in astonish-
ment, and attributes the change to the things by which he
is surrounded, considering it as an appearance of appearances
APPRENTICESHIP.
409
One night he sang a song about his own grey hairs and we
all sat round him and wept."
"Procure it for me!" cried Wilhelm. "Have you never
thought of tracing the origin of what he calls his crime,
and of thus accounting for his strange dress, and his singular
conduct at the fire, as well as his behaviour towards the
child?"
"We can do no more than form conjectures upon this
subject; to make direct inquiries about such a matter
would be in violation of our principles. Conceiving him to
be a Catholic, we thought he might obtain some relief from
confession, but he shudders whenever we attempt to intro-
duce a priest to him. But, that your desire to learn some-
thing about him, may not remain wholly unsatisfied, I may
inform you of our suspicions. "We are of opinion that in
his youth he was a priest, and hence, perhaps, arises his fancy
for dressing in a long cloak and for wearing a beard. He ap-
pears to have been for many years a stranger to the joys of
love. We think that subsequently a liaison, formed with
«orae near relation, and her consequent death, after she had
become a mother, may have turned his brain.
"His greatest delusion consists in believing that he causes
misfortune every where, and that his death will be occasioned
by some innocent boy. He was afraid of Mignon, when he
first became acquainted with her, in ignorance that she was
ti girl; then Felix terrified him, and as, in spite of his un-
happiness he dearly loves his life, this may have occasioned
his dislike to the child."
A" Have you any hopes of his recovery?" asked Wilhelm.
y" He makes but slow progress," replied the physician,
^jbut he does not, at all events, become worse. He pursues
hfs wonted amusements, and we have accustomed him of late
to read the newspapers, and he looks for them with the
greatest anxiety."
"lam curious to know something of his songs," observed
Jarno.
"I can undertake to procure several of them for you,"
replied the physician. "The eldest sen of our clergyman,
who frequently copies out his father's sermons, has, without
th° Harper's knowledge, written down several stanzas of
410
WILIEELM MEfSTER's
his songs, and we have, from time to time, arranged them in
some sort of order."
On the following morning, Jarno met Wilhelm, and said,
"You must do us a favour. It becomes necessary that
Lydia should be removed. Her strong affection for the
Earon, which, I may say, amounts to unreasonable love and
passion, impedes his recovery. He requires rest and tran-
quillity, and with his healthy constitution, his wound cannot
of itself be considered dangerous. But you have seen how
Lydia distresses him with her anxieties, her terrors, and her
incessant tears; and, moreover—But enough of this," he
added with a smile, after a moment's pause, "our physician
insists that she must leave him for a time. We have per-
suaded her that a lady, one of her most intimate friends,
wishes to see her, and expects a visit from her. She has just
consented to take a drive to her lawyer's, who lives about
two leagues distant from us. He is prepared to see her : he
will express his regret that Fraulein Theresa should have
just left his house, but will seem to think that she may be
overtaken. Lydia will thereupon set out after- her, and if
fortune favours us, she will be driven from place to place.
Should she insist at length upon returning, she must not be
opposed, but the night will soon prove our friend. The coach-
man is a clever fellow, and we must furnish him with proper
instructions. You, "Wilhelm, must consent to accompany
her upon this journey, during which, you can entertain her,
and direct the entire proceedings."
"This is a strange and somewhat hazardous commission
for me to undertake," replied Wilhelm, "I know how pail-
ful is the sight of injured love, and am I to be employed j)r
the purpose? It will be the first time that I have deceived
any person in this manner, and I have always thought tftlt
if we begin deceiving, even for good and beneficial purposes,
we may very easily go too far."
"But can we educate children in any other manner ?'*
inquired Jarno.
"It may be a proper course to follow with children,"
replied Wilhelm, " which our affection for them may excuse;
but it may be dangerous to practise it with our equals, as
our hearts may not then teach us proper forbearance. But
do not suppose," he added, after a short pause, "that I in-
APPRENTICE SHIP. 411
7
tend, on this account, to decline the task. The honour I
entertain for your judgment, my feelings of attachment for
your noble friend, and my anxiety to contribute to his reco-
very, by every means in my power, may easily render me
forgetful of myself. It is not enough to risk our life for a
friend, in the hour of trial, we should also surrender our
opinions for his service. It is our duty to sacrifice our
dearest passions, and our fondest wishes, for his benefit. 1
undertake the task, although I can anticipate the anguish
which I shall endure from the tears and despair of Lydia."
"And in return for this, you will be richly rewarded,"
answered Jarno. <c Eraulein Theresa is a lady whose attrac-
tions it would be difficult to equal. She puts many a man
to shame. I may term her a real Amazon, though it is true
others may assume the title."
The new, near hope of once more beholding that loved and
honoured form, awoke in Wilhelm's bosom a thousand strange
emotions. He considered the task which had been entrusted
to him, as a special intervention of Providence, and the
thought that he was employed to carry off a poor maiden,
from the object of her strong and virtuous attachment, dwelt
but for a moment in his mind, as the shadow of a bird hits
across the sun-illumined earth.
The carriage drew np before the door, and Lydia hesitated
for a moment to take her seat. "Salute your master once
more for me," she said to the old servant who attended her,
"and assure him that I shall return before evening." The
tears stood in her eyes, as she looked round again, before the
departure of the carriage. She turned to Wilhelm with an
effort to compose herself, and observed, " Tou will find the
Fraiilein Theresa a very interesting person. I wonder what
can induce her to visit this neighbourhood, for you must
know that she was once deeply attached to the Baron. Not-
withstanding the distance at which she resides, Lothario
visited her frequently. I was at that period very much in
her society, and I thought they could have died for each
other. Suddenly, however, their love was shattered to pieces,
and no one could ever discern the cause. Lothario had seen
me, and I must admit that I envied Theresa's happiness, that
I did not seek to conceal my affection from him, and when he-
evinced a wish that I should fill Theresa's place, J did not
412
WILIIELM MEISTElt'S
reject him. Her conduct towards me was kind in the ex*
treme, though I could not deny that I had robbed her of her
fond lover. But how bitterly have I expiated that love with
a thousand pains and tears! At first, we met privately at
an appointed place, but I could not long endure that mode
of life, as it was only in his presence that I could feel myself
perfectly happy. When separated from him my pulse beat
wildly, and m}' eye was never dry. Upon one occasion, he
absented himself for several days, and I was reduced to a
state bordering upon despair, but I followed him and sur-
prised him here. He received me affectionately, and but for
this unfortunate quarrel, my existence with him would have
been a perfect paradise. But I cannot describe my suffer-
ings since he has been in pain and danger, and at this mo-
ment, I am bitterly reproaching myself for being able to
leave him for a single day."
"Wilhelm was proceeding to make further inquiries about
Theresa, when they reached their destination. The lawyer
came out to meet them, and expressed his cordial regret
that Fraiilein Theresa had already left his house. He invited
them to breakfast, assuring them that they might evertake
the lady's carriage in the next village. They determined,
however, toproceedat once, and the coachman made no delay.
Before long, they had passed through several villages, but as
yet they had met with no one. Lydia requested to be driven
back, but the coachman affected not to understand her and
pursued his course. But when she insisted resolutely,
Wilhelm called to him, and gave the concerted sign. The
coachman replied that they could return by a different road,
as he knew one which was nearer and more convenient. He
then drove them through a wood and over an extensive com-
mon. At length, when they found themselves in a strange
country, he confessed that he had lost his way, but that he
could soon find it again, as he perceived a village at a short
distance before him. The night now came on, and the coach-
man managed so cleverly, that he made a multitude of inqui-
ries, but never waited to receive an answer. He drove
along all night. Lydia, meanwhile, never closed her eyes,
in the moon-light she saw resemblances every where, but
they quickly disappeared. But in the morning she once
more recognized surrounding objects, but they appeared
-APPPE2H. ICE SHIP.
415
more strange to her on that account. At length the car-
riage drew up before a small and pretty country house. A
young lady made her appearance and opened the carriage
door. Lydia stared at her, looked round, surveyed her
again, and then swooned away in Wilhelm's arms.
CHAPTER V.
Wilhelm was taken to an upper chamber. The house
was new and very small, but as clean and orderly as possible.
But Theresa, who had met him and Lydia at the door, was
not his Amazon. She was, indeed, a very different descrip-
tion of person. Well-formed but slender, she moved about
with great activity, and the candid expression of her clear
blue eyes shewed that she was alive to every thing that
occurred.
Upon entering Wilh elm's apartment, she inquired whether
he wanted any thing? "Pardon me," she said, "for having
given you an apartment which is disagreeable from the smell
of paint, but my little mansion has only just been finished,
and you are the first person to occupy this room, which I
have appointed for my guests. I wish that your business
were of a more pleasant nature. We shall not have much
comfort with poor Lydia, and you will find many things to
exquse in our arrangements. My cook, for instance, has
just left me at a most inconvenient moment, and my man-
servant has lately injured his hand. It may be necessary,
therefore, that I should manage every thing myself, and if
so, we must be content. There can be no greater plague
than servants. They will attend to no one, not even to them-
selves."
She said a great deal more about many other things^
and seemed to have a taste for chattering. Wilhelm in-
quired for Lydia, and asked whether the kind-hearted
maiden would consent to see him that he might offer his
excuses?
414
WILHELM MEISTEb's
<; You must not expect to succeed in that way just at
present," answered Theresa. "Time will excuse you, as it
-comforts her. Eor such purposes, words are but" of little
avail. Lydia will not receive you. 'Let him not shew
himself/ she cried, as I left her apartment,' I shall henceforth
despair of human nature. So noble a countenance, so much
frankness in his deportment, and yet this secret guile!'
Lothario is quite forgiven; he has written to her, saying,
(My friends persuaded me—my friends compelled me!' and
amongst the number, Lydia reckons you, and condemns you
with the rest."
"She honours me too highly by censuring me," was Wil-
helm's reply. "I can lay no claim to the friendship of that
distinguished man. I am only a guiltless instrument in
his hands. But I do not seek to defend my conduct—it is
sufficient to have acted thus. I was influenced by my regard
for the health, the life of a person, whom 1 value more
than I have ever prized a human being. 0, what a man
he is, Fraiilein, and by what men he is surrounded! In
their society, I may truly say, I have first learned the value
of conversation. For the first time, I have heard the inmost
sense of my words re-echoed by the rich, full, and compre-
hensive observations of another. My own indistinct ideas
have been rendered clear to me, and I have been taught to
understand my own thoughts. Unfortunately, this delight
was at first interrupted by cares and anxieties, and at
length, by this distressing adventure. I undertook it with
reluctance, but I considered it a duty, even at the cost of
my own feelings, to oblige this distinguished circle of men."
"Theresa had, in the mean time, been regarding him in a
very friendly maimer. "0, how sweet it is," she said, cc to
have our own convictions expressed by the lips of another
person! We only then become ourselves, when another
understands us thoroughly. My opinion of Lothario agrees
precisely with yours. He is not appreciated by everybody,
but all those \vbo know him well, are enthusiastic in his
praises, and the deep feeling of pain with which I dwell
upon his memory, cannot prevent me from thinking of him
daily." Her bosom heaved with sorrow as she spoke thus,
and her eye was dimmed with a lovely tear. "Do not sup-
pose," she continued. "that I am so weak as to be easily
APPRENTICESHIP. 415
moved. It is but my eye that weeps. I have suffered from
weakness of sight, and the slightest cause occasions a tear
to rise." She pointed to her eye. He looked closely, but he
could detect no appearance of weakness. But he saw into
her eye: it was as clear as crystal: he almost thought he
could see into the very depths of her soul.
"A friendship is now established between us," she ob-
t\erved, "let us become thoroughly intimate as soon as pos-
sible. The character of every man is known by his history.
I will relate to you all that has happened to me; impart to
me a little of your confidence in return, and let us for the
future be united, even when distance separates us. The
world is, indeed, a waste, when we see nothing in it but
mountains, rivers, and towns, but when we know that it con-
tains friends whose sentiments accord with our own, and
with whom we live in secret and silent intercourse, this
earthly ball is converted into a peopled garden."
She took a hasty leave of him, promising, however, to
accompany him before long in afriendly walk. He had found
her presence very agreeable, and he was anxious to know the
nature of her connection with Lothario. He was soon
called, and she came from her apartment to meet him.
They were obliged to descend the narrow staircase sepa-
rately, whereupon she observed, "This house might have
been upon a larger and more expensive scale, if I had only
acceded to the request of your generous friend, but in
order to secure his good esteem, I should preserve those
qualities which made me valuable to him. Where is the
steward ?'5 she then inquired, adding, however, immedi-
ately, "Tou must not suppose that I am so rich as to
keep a steward. I am able myself to superintend the few
acres of land which I possess. The steward belongs to
my neighbour, who has purchased the adjoining property.
I am well acquainted with it. The kind old man is ill
with the gout, his people are near to this place, and I
give them the benefit of my advice."
They walked through the fields and meadows, and pur-
sued their course through the orchards. Theresa instructed
the steward in every thing. She could render an account
of every detail, and "Willielm was astonished at her know-
ledge and decision, as well as at the readiness with which
416
WILIIELM MEISTER'S
in every extremity, she could provide expedients. She never
hesitated, always applied herself to the chief points, and
thus dispatched the business which she had in hand.
"Salute your master for me,5' she said, as she dismissed the
steward, "I intend to pay him a visit as soon as possible,
that I may wish him a complete recovery. There," she
added with a smile, as soon as he had disappeared, " I might
soon become rich and prosperous. I know that my kind
neighbour is not disinclined to offer me his hand."
""What! the old man with the gout!" exclaimed "Wil-
helm, "I could scarcely suppose that, at your years, you
could entertain such an idea." "I have not been tempted
as yet," answered Theresa, "every man possesses a compe-
tence who has sufficient for his duties ; riches entail burdens
upon those who do not understand them."
Wilhelm expressed his surprise at her knowledge of hus-
bandry. "Strong inclination, early opportunity, outward
impulse and uninterrupted employment in a useful pursuit,
render many difficult things easily practicable in life," ob-
served Theresa, " and if you only knew what first impelled
me to my present course, you would not feel astonished at
the talent which you consider so remarkable."
TJpon their return to the house, she introduced him to
her little garden, in which he could scarcely turn, the walks
were so narrow, and the planting was so thick and abundant.
He could not avoid smiling, as he walked across the yard.
The fire-wood was so accurately sawed, and split and piled,
that it seemed to form a part of the building, and looked as
if it was intended to remain there for ever. The clean vessels
were all standing in order in their places, and the house
itself was painted in white and red colours, and was pretty
to behold. All those things which shorten labour, and whose
value consists less in their beauty, than in their durability
and convenience, were united together in one place.
Wilhelm's dinner was brought to him in his apartment,
and he had time enough to indulge in meditation. It seemed
to him extraordinary, that he should have become acquainted
with another person of so interesting a character, who had
been so intimate a friend of Lothario. "But it is only
natural," he observed to himself, " that so distinguished a
APPRENTICESHIP.
417
person should attract to himself the society of distinguished
women. How far the influence of manliness and dignitj
extends . O that some persons were not so deficient in
these qualities! Yes, confess thy fear. "When thou meetest
thine Amazon once again, that incomparable woman, thou
wilt find in spite of all thy hopes and dreams, that to thy
shame and humiliation, she is—his bride."
CHAPTEB VI.
Wilhelm had spent a restless and wearisome afternoon,
when towards evening a handsome youth, dressed in a hunt-
ing attire, entered his apartment and bowed to him with a
smile. "Shall we take a walk ?" he inquired, when Wilhelm
instantly recognised Theresa's beautiful eyes.
"You must excuse this appearance of masquerade," she
continued, "for unfortunately every thing is now but mas-
querade! And as I am about to tell you of the times when
I was happy in this world, it is my wish to recall those days
by every means in my power. Come, then! even the place
where we have so often rested from our hunting and our
promenades shall contribute its assistance."
They proceeded on their way, whilst Theresa thus ad-
dressed her companion: "It is not right that you should let
me have all the conversation to myself, you know sufficient
of me already, whilst I have learned nothing whatsoever of
you. Tell me, therefore, something about yourself, that I
may acquire courage to communicate my history to you."
"Alas!" said Wilhelm, I should have nothing to relate but
errors and mistakes, heaped one upon another, and I know
not from whom I ought rather to conceal the embarrassments
into which I have fallen than from you. Your look, and
everything about you, your whole deportment and your con-
duct, convince me that you have enjoyed your past existence,
that your fair and pure course of life has been one of unin-
terrupted progress, that you have not uselessly squandered
your time, and that you have no self-reproaches to endure."
Theresa smilingly replied, " We shall see if your opinion
2e
418
WILHEL3I MEISTEI&'S
will contini:3 the same, when yon have heard my history."
They continued their walk, and Theresa asked him, among
other things, "Are yon disengaged?" "I believe I am,"
he answered, "though I could wish it were otherwise."
"Grood!" she said, "that indicates a complicated romance,
and whispers that you have something to relate."
So saying, they ascended a steep hill, and laid themselves
down beneath a large oak tree, which spread 'its shadow far
.and wide in every direction. "Here, then," said Theresa,
1' beneath this German tree I will recount to you the history
of a G-erman maiden—only hear me with patience.
"My father was an affluent nobleman of this province, a
cheerful, clear, active and intelligent man, a tender parent,
an attached friend, and an excellent economist, in whom I
could only recognize one fault — that he was too compliant
towards my mother, who did not know his value. Unfor-
tunately, 1 must confess this much of my mother. She was
sudden, inconstant, and without any affection for her house
or for me, her only child; extravagant, but beautiful, intelli-
gent, full of talent, and the charm of the circle which she
had attracted round her. Her companions were not
numerous, nor did she retain them long. For they consisted
chiefly of men, as no woman ever felt comfortable in her
society, and she could never endure the appearance of the
smallest merit in any of her sex. I resembled my father in
my outward form, as well as in my disposition. As the
young duck runs to the water instantly upon its birth, my
earliest attachment was to the kitchen, the store-room, the
granaries and the provision cellars. The order and cleanli-
ness of the house, even during my hours of play, seemed to
be my principal attraction and my only instinct. This de-
lighted my father, and he gradually gave every encourage-
ment to my early propensitiss. My mother, on the contrary,
did not love me, and made no secret of ner aversion.
u As I grew up my own active qualities and my father's
love increased. When we were alone, or when we walked
through the fields, or when I helped him to examine his
accounts, I could perceive his happiness. When I looked
into his eyes, I felt as if I were gazing upon myself, for it
was in the eyes that our chief resemblance was observable.
"But he lest his cheerfulness of expression in the presence of
APPRENTICESHIP.
410
my mother—lie defended me gently when she treated me
with injustice and violence, and he would take my part, not
as though it were his intention to protect me, but as if he
would excuse my good qualities. He offered no opposition
to any of her fancies. When, upon one occasion, she was
seized with a passion for the stage, a private theatre was im-
mediately erected, and though she easily found men, of all
ages and conditions, to take part with her in the performances,
there was generally a great deficiency of actresses. Lydia, at
that time a pretty girl, who had been brought up with me, and
who from her earliest years had promised to be extremely
beautiful, was induced to take the secondary parts—an old
chamber-maid played the mothers and aunts, whilst my
mother reserved for herself all the principal heroines, the
lovers and the shepherdesses of every kind. I cannot describe
the strange effect which was produced upon me to see the per-
formers, whom I knew so intimately, disguised and standing
on the stage, and passing for something else than what they
really were. I could recognize in them no other persons
than Lydia or my mother, this baron or that secretary,
whether they appeared in the disguise of princes, counts or
peasants, and I could never conceive how they could expect
me to believe that they were sad or happy, in love or in
despair, liberal or parsimonious, when I so often knew the
very contrary to be the case. On this account, I seldom
formed one of the spectators. I employed myself, however,
in snuffing the candles, that I might not be wholly un-
occupied. I prepared the supper, and in the morning, whilst
the actors were still asleep, I arranged their dresses—which
I generally found that they had left in confusion and dis-
order.
"Though my mother approved of my activity, I could not
win her love. She despised me, and I heard her more than
once exclaim with bitterness,' If the mother were not better
known than the father, this girl would scarcely be taken for
my daughter.' I must acknowledge that her treatment of
me gradually estranged my affections—I regarded her actions
as I would have done those of a stranger; and as I was ac-
customed to watch our servants like a hawk (and let me
observe, that herein lies the essence of all housekeeping) 1
naturally paid particular attention to the motions of my
420
WTLHELM MISTER S
mother and her friends. It was quite evident that she did
not regard all men with indifferent eyes. I watched more
closely, and soon observed that Lydiawas her confidant, and
that she had thus been made more intimately acquainted
with a passion, which, from her earliest years, she had so often
represented. I was acquainted with all her assignations,
but I concealed them from my father, as I was afraid of being
the occasion to him of severe distress, but at length I was
compelled to speak out. Some of their plans could not be
accomplished, without bribes previously distributed amongst
the servants. The latter, therefore, soon became disrespect-
ful, they neglected my father's orders, and refused to obey
my commands, and as the confusion which ensued was in-
supportable, I discovered everything to my father.
"He listened to me patiently. 1 My good child !' he said
at length, with a smile, 'I know it all. But be calm—have
patience—since it is only for your sake that I endure it.'
"I was not calm, I was not patient—I condemned my father
in my own mind, for I thought that nothing should have in-
duced him to submit to such conduct. I insisted that order
should be maintained in the household, and I was deter-
mined that the present state of things should not continue.
"My mother had a large private fortune, but she was more
extravagant than she ought to have been ; and I had observed
that this circumstance had occasioned some disagreements
between my parents. These lasted for a considerable time,
until at length the passions of my mother brought the evil
to a climax.
"Her first lover was glaringly untrue, whereupon shebecame
disgusted with her house, as well as with the entire neigh-
bourhood, and with her own condition. She wished to retire to
a different residence—there she was too lonely—she removed
to town—there she did not think herself sufficient^ appre-
ciated. I know not what occurred afterwards between her
and my father; but, suffice it to say, that it was at length
determined, under certain conditions, with which I am unac-
quainted, that she should take a journey to the south of
Prance.
"We were now free, and lived as if we were denizens of
Paradise; and I do not think my father would have been a
loser, even if he had purchased her absence with a consider-
APPRENTICESHIP.
421
able sum. Oar useless servants were dismissed, fortune
seemed to smile upon our efforts; we had several good years
in succession, and all things prospered according to our
wishes. But, unfortunately, this happiness was but of short
duration; my father was suddenly seized with palsy, which
attacked his right side, and deprived him of the power of
speech. We were obliged to guess at every thing he wanted,
for he could never express the words which he intended to
utter. Oftentimes this was to me fearfully distressing, par-
ticularly upon occasions when he insisted upon being left
alone with me.—he would signify, by violent gestures, that
every other person should retire; but when we were left
together, he found himself unable to express his thoughts.
His impatience then became extreme, and his distress was
deeply afflicting. This much seemed certain—that there was
something which he was anxious to confide to me of the
utmost importance to myself. I cannot express the anxiety
which I felt to know it. Formerly I could see his wishes in
his eyes—but this was no longer the case. His eyes no
longer spoke. And yet he needed nothing—he wanted
nothing —but he was anxious to acquaint me with something
which I could not understand. His infirmity gradually in-
creased; and in a short time he became wholly inactive and
insensible; and shortly afterwards he died.
"I know not how it happened, but I became convinced that
my father had concealed a valuable treasure somewhere,
which he had been anxious to bequeath to me rather than to
my mother. I made active search for it during his life-time,
but I found nothing; and after his death every thing was put
under seal. I wrote to my mother, and offered to remain in
the house as her agent, but she rejected my offer, and I was
obliged to take my departure. My father's will was now
produced, by which my mother succeeded to the possession
and enjoyment of every thing, and I was left dependent upon
her during her life. And now, for the first time, I thought
that I could understand my father's object. I pitied his
weakness, in allowing himself to act so unjustly towards me.
Some of my friends wished me to contest the will, saying,
that it was little better than if he had disinherited me; but
I was unwilling to take this step. I respected my father's
memory too highly—I confided in my destiny—I confided ill
myself.
422
WILHELM. MTCISTEH'S
"I had, for a long time, enjoyed an intimacy with a lady
who possessed a large property in our neighbourhood. She
received me gladly, and I soon acquired sufficient experience
to take the superintendence of her Household. She lived a very
regular life, and was a strict lover of order; and I assisted
her scrupulously in many a contest with her steward and her
domestics. My disposition is neither close nor parsimo-
nious; but we, women, understand better than men the art
of preventing extravagance. We detest embezzlement, and
we always wish that every one should have what he is en-
titled to enjoy.
"And now I found myself once more in my own proper
element, and in silence I mourned my father's decease. My
protectress was quite satisfied with me, and there was only
one circumstance which disturbed my peace of mind. Lydia
returned; my mother had been cruel enough to dismiss her,
after having altogether spoiled her. She had learned, during
her residence with my parent, to consider the encouragement
of her passions as her proper occupation; and she had never
been taught to practise self-restraint. When she arrived so
unexpectedly, my benefactress received her, and though Lydia
was anxious to assist me in my duties, she could apply herself
to nothing.
"About this time the relations and future heir to the pro-
perty visited us,to enjoy the amusement of hunting. Lothario
frequently joined the party, and I soon observed how superior
he was to his companions, although without the smallest refer-
ence to myself, he was polite to all; but Lydia, before long,
engaged his whole attention. I was constantly engaged, and
seldom joined the company; in his presence I was more silent
than usual, for I will not deny, that agreeable conversation has
always been the greatest charm of my life. I had always
conversed with my father upon every thing that occurred,
and we seldom think accurately upon subjects which we do
not discuss. I have never listened to any one with greater
pleasure than to Lothario, wbsn he gave us an account of
his travels, and his campaigns. The world seemed to lie as
clear and as plain before him, as the neighbourhood in which
he was residing. He never engaged our attention with won-
derful adventures, the improbable exaggerations of a narrow-
minded traveller, who describes himself, instead of the country
of which he is giving an account—he dealt in no long narra-
APPEE^TICESHIP.
423
tives, but he led us to the very place itself—and I have
seldom enjoyed a higher pleasure than in listening to Mm.
"I experienced an inexpressible pleasure one evening when
I heard him offer his opinion about women. The subject
had been accidentally introduced; some neighbouring ladies
had paid us a visit, and they made the usual observations
about female education. They maintained that our sex was
unfairly treated, that the men retained all the higher kinds
of education for themselves, excluding us from the study of
science, and requiring that we should be nothing more than
pretty dolls or mere housekeepers. Lothario did not offer
any reply to these remarks, but when the company had broken
up, he expressed his sentiments more fully. 'It is strange,'
he said, 'that men should be censured for placing women in
the highest position which they are capable of occupying; for
what station can be higher than the government of a house-
hold? whilst man is perpetually worried with outward af-
fairs, engaged in collecting and securing his income; or if he
is concerned in state affairs, depending upon the course of
events, believing that he governs, while, in fact, he governs
nothing, politic by compulsion when he would willingly be
reasonable, insincere when he would be candid, and false when
he would be honourable, abandoning for the sake of an object
which he can never attain,—that highest of all objects, his own
peace of mind,—a prudent housewife is, in the mean time,
ruling within the circle of her own family, and providing for
the happiness and content of all around her. What greater
bliss can mortals enjoy, than to do what they consider right
and good, and to possess the actual means of attaining such
an end? And where should our first and dearest object
be but in our own household? "Where should we look
for all those indispensable and perpetual supplies, which are
to furnish the cellar, the store-room, and the kitchen, but
in that dwelling, where we rise, and where we retire to
repose? What a regular course of activity is required
to keep this ever-returning series in uninterrupted ac-
tivity and order? How few men can enjoy the privilege
of filling their posts by day and night with the regularity
of a star! forming their own household instruments, planting,
reaping, gaining, and distributing, and ever appearing in
their own circle with unvaried peace tranquillity, and love.
W1LIIELM MEISTETl's
"When a woman has attained this inward mastery, she makea
the husband, whom she loves, a real master; her attention
ensures knowledge of which her activity can profit. De-
pendent upon no one, she brings her husband a genuine in-
dependence—interior and domestic—his goods are secure,
and his earnings well employed, and he is therefore free to
devote his mind to high pursuits; and, if he prove fortunate,
he can act towards the state the part which his wife performs
at home.'
"He then described the kind of wife that he would choose.
I blushed as I heard him describe me as I lived and moved.
I enjoyed my triumph in secret, particularly as I knew from
all the attendant circumstances that he had not alluded to
me personally, as, in point of fact, he was not even acquainted
with me. I do not recollect, in my whole life, ever to have
experienced a more delightful sensation than to feel
that a man whom I esteemed so highly, preferred me, not
for my personal attractions, but for my inmost nature.
"What a reward—what an encouragement did I not con-
sider it.
""When they had taken their departure, my kind friend
said to me with a smile, 'What a pity it is that men should
so frequently think and talk of projects which they have not
the least idea of executing! otherwise what an excellent
match I should have found for my dear Theresa.' I laughed
at her observation, and added, that men's judgments pre-
ferred household wives, but that their hearts and imagina-
tions longed for other qualities, and that we homely maidens
could not enter into competition with beautiful and attrac-
tive women. I said this in the hearing of Lydia, for she
did not conceal that Lothario had made a deep impression on
her, and he, at each new visit, seemed to pay her additional
attention. She was poor, she was not of high birth, she
could not think of entering into a matrimonial engagement
with him, but she could not resist the pleasure of charming
and of being charmed. For my part, I had never been in
love, nor did I love at that time, and, although it was inex-
pressibly, pleasant to know how highly I was valued and
esteemed by so distinguished a man, I will confess that I
was not altogether satisfied. I wished him to know me, and
to feel a personal interest in my welfare. I entertained this
ATPREKTICESniP.
±25
wish without forming any definite idea of the conse-
quences.
"The greatest service which I rendered to my benefactress
consisted in the efforts which I made to improve the condi-
tion of her extensive forests. This valuable property—the
worth of which was ever increasing with time and circum-
stances—was still managed in the old negligent manner,
without any plan or order, and there was no end to the
pilfering and stealing that occurred. Many mountains re-
mained wholly unplanted, and in few places was there an
equal growth of timber. I made my rounds attended by an
experienced forester, I caused the woods to be measured,
felled, trimmed, and planted, and, in a short time, every
thing was established upon a new principle. In order that
I might more conveniently ride on horseback, and also that
I might walk about with less difficulty, I procured a suit of
man's apparel, and in that attire I went every where, and
was every where feared.
"Hearing that a party of young men, who were assembled
at the house of my benefactress, had made arrangements
for a day's shooting, it occurred to me, for the first time in
my life, to assume a disguise, or not to do m}7self an injus-
tice, to pass with Lothario for what I really was. I accord-
ingly equipped myself in man's attire, took my gun upon my
shoulder, and accompanied the general body of sportsmen
to await the company at the place of meeting. They c&mfl
—Lothario did not recognise me immediately—one of ths
nephews of my benefactress introduced me to him as an
experienced forester, he joked about my youth, and praised
me so warmly, that, at length, Lothario discovered who I
was. The nephew assisted my plan, as if we had framed it
together, and he narrated, in detail, and in terms of gratitude,
all that I had done for the property of his aunt and for
himself.
"Lothario hearditallattentively, entered into conversation
with me, and made many inquiries about the estates and the
neighbourhood. I was delighted at such an opportunity
for displaying my knowledge. I passed favourably through
my examination, and suggested various projects of improve-
ment, he adopted them, adduced parallel examples, and
strengthened my principles by the connection which he
426
WILHELM METSTER'S
gave tliem. My satisfaction increased every moment. But
fortunately my only object was to be known—not to be
loved; although, when we returned home, I observed more
evidently than before, that the attention, which he was
paying to Lydia, betrayed a secret partiality for her. I
had gained my object, and yet I was not happy. Erom that
day he manifested a real respect for me, he confided in
me, he usually addressed me in company, and consulted
my opinion in household matters as if my knowledge
had been universal. His sympathy encouraged me, and
when the conversation turned upon topics of agriculture
and finances, he inquired my sentiments, and I sought,
therefore, to improve my knowledge, not only of our pro-
vince, but of the entire country. This task was easy, as I
only repeated in general terms, what I had previously learnt
accurately in detail.
"Prom this period his visits to me became more frequent.
I may say that we discussed every thing together, but, in
general, our conversation turned upon subjects of economy,
if only in an indirect way. He spoke much of the great
effects which a man may produce by the diligent devotion
of his powers, his time, his money, and even of apparently
trivial means, to the accomplishment of any design.
"I offered no resistance to the inclination which he
evinced for me; and, alas! I felt, before long, the depth, the
cordiality, the sincerity of my love, as I could perceive
daily that Lydia, and not myself, was the object of his fre-
quent visits. She, at least, was fully convinced of this, for
she chose me as her confidant, and I felt herein some small *
degree of consolation. But T saw no reason to encourage
the favourable views which she entertained; I saw no
prospect of a serious, lasting union, and, for this very reason,
I could the more clearly discern that it was her wish to be
his at any sacrifice.
"In this state of things my surprise may be conceived,
when my benefactress one day made an unexpected com-
munication to me. * Lothario,' she said, 'proposes to
offer you his hand, and wishes that you may consent to be
his for life.' She then expatiated upon my good qualities,
and added what I was so delighted to v«ear, 'that Lothario
felt convinced that he had found in me the being whom he
had so long wished to possess/
V
APPRENTICESHIP.
42;
* 1 had iiow attained the very summit of happiness. I had
been sought in marriage by a man whom I highly prized, at
whos-e side and in whose society I might freely, fully, and
profitably employ my natural talents. The sum of my ex-
istence seemed infinitely extended. I gave my consent
—he then came to me himself, he spoke with me alone, he
gave me his hand, he looked into my eyes, he embraced me,
he imprinted a kiss upon my lips. It was the first and the
last. He spoke to me in confidence of all his circumstances,
told me how much his American campaign had cost him,
what debts were charged upon his estate, and the reason why
he had quarrelled with his grand-uncle, a good man who had
loved him after his own peculiar fashion. He had intended
to provide him with a rich wife, although a homely partner
woidd have been better adapted for a prudent man. He
had hoped, however, that his sister would be able to win
him over to his views. He acquainted me with the condi-
tion of his fortune, and the nature of his plans and projects,
and begged my co-operation. But he wished that our en-
gagement should remain a secret until he had obtained the
consent of his uncle.
"He had scarcely taken leave of me, when Lydia inquired
whether he had spoken about her. I answered that he had
not, land wearied her with a detail of economical affairs. She
becatuie restless and dissatisfied, and his conduct, when he
returned, did not improve her prospects.
"But I see the sun is about to set. Tou are fortunate,
my /friend—otherwise you would have been compelled to
listen to the circumstantial detail of a story which it always
affords me so much pleasure to narrate. Let me bring it to
an eiid—an epoch is approaching, upon which it is better not
*o df ell.
"-Lothario introduced me to his sister, and she soon found
an opportunity to present me to ber uncle. I pleased the
old s-entleman, he acceded to our wishes, and I returned with
good news to the house of my benefactress. As the affair
was now no secret in the house, Lydia soon became ac-
quainted with it—but she thought it impossible. But when,
at length, there was no room for doubt, she disappeared
suddenly, and no one knew what afterwards became of her.
"j The day of our marriage approached. I had often asked
428
WILHELM MEISTER S
him for his portrait, and, as he was one day on the point of
leaving ine, I reminded him of his promise to grant my
request. 4 You have forgotten/ he said, 'to give me the
case in which you wish it to be placed.' This was the fact.
I had formerly received a present from a friend, which I
valued highly. Her name had been woven, in her own
hak, beneath the outward glass, and there was a blank piece
of ivory within, upon which her portrait was to have been
painted, when, unhappily, she was snatched from me by the
hand of death. Lothario's attachment had consoled me at
the time when I most keenly felt her loss, and I was anxious
to fill the void which had been left in her present with the
picture of my friend.
"I hastened to my chamber, fetched my jewel case, and
opened it in his presence. He had scarcely glanced into it,
when he saw a medallion containing the portrait of a lady.
He took it in his hand, contemplated it attentively, and
hastily inquired, £ Whom does this portrait represent?'
c My mother,' I answered. £ I could have felt certain/
he exclaimed, f that it was the picture of a Madame \ St.
Alban, whom I saw some years ago in Switzerland.' 'Itij is
the same person/I replied, with a smile, 'and you have
thus become acquainted with your step-mother, without
knowing it. St. Alban is a romantic and assumed nhme,
under which my mother travels, and she is at this prejsent
moment in France, under that very designation.'
"' I am the most unfortunate of men/ he exclaimed, ajs he
threw back the portrait into my jewel case, and covering
his eyes with his hands, he hastily quitted the apartment.
He leaped upon his horse. I hastened to the balcony and
called after him, he turned round and wared his hand, I but
he rode rapidly away, and I have never seen him since."!
The sun set. Theresa watched the glow of the hea/vens
with unaverted gaze, and her beautiful eyes filled frith.
tears. j
She was silent. She placed her hand upon the hana of
Wilhelm—he kissed it affectionately—she rose. "Le$ us
return/' she said, f< and inquire for our friends." ^
The conversation, in the meanwhile, was not animated.
They entered by the garden gate. Lydia was sitting u(pon
a bench, she rose, retired at'their approach, and went iflito
APPEEKTICESH1P.
the house. She held a paper in her hand, and two little
girls were standing at her side. "I see/' said Theresa,
"that she still retains Lothario's letter, which is her only
consolation. He promises that he will return, and continue
with her, as soon as he is recovered, and he begs that she
will, in the meantime, remain with me. She dwells per-
petually upon these words, and they form her only consola-
tion, hut she is not well disposed towards his friends."
The two children now approached, and, saluting Theresa,
they gave her an account of all that had occurred in the
house during her absence. te You may observe," she said,
"how I am partly occupied. In company with Lothario's
excellent sister, I have engaged to educate a certain number
of children, I take charge of those who promise to be active
and serviceable housekeepers, whilst she superintends the
others, who evince a finer and more quiet talent. It is right
that they should be instructed in housekeeping, and learn
the art of rendering their future husbands happy. When
you become acquainted with my noble friend, you will have
entered upon a new existence, her beauty and her goodness
render her worthy of the world's adoration." "Wilhelm did
not inform her that he was unfortunately acquainted with
the beautiful Countess already, and that his transient con-
nection with her must be to him a source of endless grief.
He was gratified to find that Theresa did not pursue the
conversation, and her duties soon compelled her to return to
the house. He was now alone, and the information which he
had received, that the young and beautiful Countess had
been driven to repair the loss of her own happiness by a
course of active benevolence, made him unspeakably
wretched. Pie felt that she was driven, by the strong ne-
cessity of self-oblivion, to the alternative of forgetting the
change which had taken place in her own joyous existence, by
relieving the misfortunes of others. He deemed Theresa
happy, as even the sad and unexpected alteration which
had occurred in her prospects, did not require that any
change should take place in her disposition. "Happy is the
man/' he exclaimed, "who is not compelled to reconcile
himself with late, by altering the whole course of his pre-
ceding life."
Theresa came to his apartment, and begged pardon for
430
WILHELM MEISTEE'S
disturbing him. "My whole library," she said,6t is contained
in this press, and they are rather books which I have not
altogether thrown away, than those which I usually read.
Lydia wants a religious book, and there are few of that
description amongst my collection. Persons who spend the
whole year profanely, think, that in the hour of trial, they
oughttobecome devout—they regard moral and religious pur-
suits as medicine, which is to be taken reluctantly in times
of illness, and they consider clergymen or teachers of morals
as physicians, with whom they ought to dispense as soon as
possible. But, for my part, I regard religion as a pursuit
which should form my rule of life, and of which, during the
whole year, I should never lose sight."
Searching amongst her books, she found some of that des-
cription which are usually termed edifying. "It was from my
mother," said Theresa, "that Lydia learned the habit of read-
ing books like these. Plays and novels were her delight as long
as her lover continued true, his abandonment of her once more
restored the credit of the former works. I cannot under-
stand," she continued, "how any one can believe that God
speaks to us through books and histories. If the universe
does not immediately explain our connection with Him, if
our own heart does not explain our obligations to ourselves
and others, we can scarcely expect to derive that knowledge
from books, which seldom do more than give names to our
errors."
She left "Wilhelm alone, and he spent his evening in ex-
amining the little library. He found that it had, in truth,
been collected by chance.
Theresa's manner continued quite unchanged during the
few days which "Wilhelm spent in her society. She related
to him very minutely, at different times, the result of
the events, to which we have already alluded. Her
memory faithfully recalled every incident of clay and hour,
of place and name, and we shall compress the whole into a
small compass for the benefit of our readers.
The cause of Lothario's sudden departure may be easily
explained. He had met Theresa's mother upon her journey,
her charms had attracted him, and she had given him en-
couragement, and this hasty and inconsiderate adventure
had interrupted his union with a lady whom nature seemed
APPEEIiTICESniP.
431
to have intended for him. Theresa now continued in the
pure circle of her duties and her occupation. It this said
that Lydia had been living in the neighbourhood in conceal-
ment. She was glad when the marriage was broken off by
some unknown cause, and she, thereupon, sought to renew
her acquaintance with Lothario. He had gratified her
wishes rather, as it seemed, from despair than from love,
from sudden impulse rather than with deliberation, and more
from very weariness than fixed design. Theresa, under
these circumstances, remained perfectly tranquil, she had
no further claims upon him, and even if he had been her hus-
band, she would probably have had courage enough to bear this
grievance, if it had not disturbed her household economy;
at least, she had often said, that a wife who manages her
household properly, should not censure every little fancy of
her husband, but should always depend upon his return.
The property of Theresa's mother had become embarrassed,
and Theresa herself suffered in consequence, but, the old
lady, who had been her benefactress, had upon her death,
bequeathed her a small estate and a considerable sum o!
money. Theresa became reconciled to her altered circum-
stances, and when Lothario proposed to settle upon her a
property of greater value, and Jarno undertook to negotiate
the matter, she absolutely rejected the proposal. "I will
convince him by my conduct in this trifling transaction,"
she said, " that I am worthy to be his partner in greater
things, but, should accident embarrass me, either through
my own fault or that of others, I shall not hesitate to have
recourse to my generous friend."
Nothing is less likely to remain concealed and unem-
ployed than a talent for activity. Theresa had hardly taken
possession of her little properly, than her neighbours culti-
vated her acquaintance, and sought ., her advice, and the
new purchaser of the adjoining estate gave her a plain inti-
mation that she might, if she pleased, accept his hand and
succeed to half his fortune. She had communicated this
circumstance to "Wilhelm, and she had often jested with him
about suitable and unsuitable marriages.
Eew subjects afford more food for conversation than
marriages which men consider to be unsuitable, and yet
such unions are more common than marriages of an opposite
432
WILHSLM MEISTEH'S
kind. Unfortunately, in most cases, marriages, after a
very short time, assume a very sorry aspect. The confusion
of ranks, by marriage, should be deemed unsuitable only in
cases where one of the parties finds it impossible to adopt the
manner of living which is natural, habitual, and even indis-
pensable to the other. The different classes of society have
different modes of living—which they can neither change
nor share with each other—and for this reason it were
better to avoid marriages of this nature, but still exceptions,
and frequently of a very happy kind, are possible. Thus,
the union of a young maiden with an elderly person may
be termed unsuitable, and yet I have known instances where
such marriages have proved extremely happy. Por my own
part, I only know one species of unsuitable marriage—that
which I should myself be required to manage and direct, and
rather than do which, I would cheerfully bestow my hand
upon any honest farmers son in the neighbourhood.
Wilhelm now thought of preparing for his return, and he i
implored his new friend to procure for him a parting word
with Lydia. The impassioned girl suffered herself to be
persuaded. Wilhelm spoke to her in a friendly tone, she
replied thus: "1 have subdued my first burst of anguish,
Lothario will always remain true to me, but I know his
friends, and am sorry that he is surrounded by such ad-
visers. The Abbe, to gratify one of his own whims, would
not hesitate to leave his friends in the greatest necessity.
The Doctor would reduce every thing to rule and system.
Jarno has no spirit; and you—at least do strength of cha-
racter. But, continue your course, be still the tool of these
three persons, they will give you many a task to execute.
I know that my presence has been for a long time hateful
to them, for, though I have not discovered the nature of
their secret, I have known that they possessed one. If not,
why these bolted chambers—these mysterious passages ?—
why can no one person ever enter into the large tower ?—
why have they, upon every possible occasion, confined me
to my own apartment? I will confess that jealousy first
caused me to make this discovery. I feared that some
fortunate rival was kept in concealment. But I no longer
think .so. I am convinced that Lothario loves me, that his
intentions are honourable, but, am as firmly convinced that
APPRENTICESHIP.
433
he will be deceived by bis false and cunning friends. If
you wish to render bini a service, if you would deserve
pardon for the injury which you have done to me, rescue
him from the hands of these men by whom he is surrounded.
But what have I to expect? Give him, at least, this letter,
read its contents to him, tell him that I love him, without
change, and that I rely upon his word. Ah!" she ex-
claimed, as she rose from her seat and wept upon Theresa's
neck, "he is surrounded by my enemies, they will endea-
vour to persuade him that I have made no sacrifice for
him. 0! my best of friends may feel certain that he is
worthy of any sacrifice on my part, and that I do not need
his gratitude."
Wiluelm parted from Theresa more cheerfully—she hoped
to see him soon again. "You understand me thoroughly,"
she observed; "you have allowed me to carry on the whole
conversation—next time we meet it will be your duty to
return my confidence."
He had time enough, upon his way home, to reflect calmly
upon all that had occurred. "With what confidence had she
not inspired him? He thought of Miguon and Pelix—how
happy those dear children would be under her protection—
then he thought of himself, and he felt the intense delight
of living coutinually in presence of this serene and tranquil
beiug. As he approached the castle, he thought more than
ever of the tower, with its many passages and corridors, and
he determined, upon the very next opportunity, to question
Jarno, or the Abbe, upon the subject.
CHAPTER VII.
When Wilhelm returned to the castle, he found his friend
Lothario wonderfully improved. The physician and the
Abbe were absent, and Jarno alone was in attendance upon
him. Before long, the iuvalid was able to take occasional
excursions on horseback, sometimes alone, at other times
accompanied by some of his xViends. His conversation was
invariably earnest and enter ..ing, instructive and cheerful,
434
WILH.SLM ME1STEE*S
and he frequently afforded evidence of a tender sensibility ^
which it was his constant endeavour to hide, and which he
generally condemned, when it wa?s suffered involuntarily to
appear.
In this mood he was one evening sitting at the table, ab-
sorbed in thought, and yet his look was cheerful.
"So you have had an agreeable adventure to-day," ob-
served Jarno.
"How well you seem to know me!" answered Lothario.
"Tes, I have had a most charming adventure. At any other
time perhaps, I should not have enjoyed it so much, but
to-day it has been perfectly delightful. Towards evening I
rode out across the river to the village, by a way which I
had taken in years gone by. My illness must have rendered
me weaker than I had supposed: I felt exhausted^ at
first, but when my strength returned, I became qui^e
reanimated. All things around me wore the same appear--
ance as formerly, and looked even more charming and lovely
than they had ever done before. I knew that this was the
effect of my own weakness, but I enjoyed it thoroughly, and
rode forward quietly, feeling that I could now partly under-
stand how men can come to love bodily indispositions which
awaken such sweet emotions within them. You are doubt-
less aware of the cause which induced me formerly to take
that road so frequently."
"If I remember rightly," answered Jarno, "it was a little
love adventure with a farmer's daughter."
"You would be nearer the mark if you had termed it a great
adventure/' replied Lothario, "for we loved each other ten-
derly and earnestly, and our attachment was of long dura-
tion. By chance, every thing that happened recalled vividly
that earliest season of our love. The boys were again em-
ployed in shaking fruit from the trees, and the bower where
we used to sit had not increased in size since th6 days when
I beheld her first. It was a long time since I had seen
Margaret, as she is married at a great distance from here,
but I had heard accidentally that she had come with her
children to visit her father for a few weeks."
"Your ride then, it seems, was not so purely accidental!"
"I shall not deny," said Lothario, " that I was anxious to
meet her. As I approached the dwelling-house I saw her
APPEEXTICESHIP.
435
fatliei sitting before the door, whilst a little child of about
four years old was standing at his side. As I came nearer,
I observed a woman give a hasty look from an upper window,
and when I had reached the door I heard the sound of foot-
steps descending the stairs. I certainly thought that it was
she, and I own I felt flattered at being recognised, and that
she was coming to meet me. But how great was my disap-
pointment to see her rush from the door at the approach of
my horse, seize the child and carry it into the bouse! It
gave me a feeling of sadness, but my vanity was a little I
consoled upon observing that her neck and uncovered*face
bore an evident tinge of redness.
"I stopped and addressed the father, looking up at the
windows, in the mean time, to watch if she would again make
her appearance, but as I could observe no trace of her, and
I- was unwilling to make any direct inquiries, I rode away.
, My disappointment was however mingled with surprise, for
/'' though I had scarcely seen her face, she seemed to me to be
very little changed—and ten years are a considerable time!
she seemed to be actually younger than ever, as slender and
as light of foot, her neck, if possible, lovelier than before,
and her cheek as easily disposed to blush—and yet she was
the mother of six children, or perhaps more. This appear-
ance agreed so well with the other enchantments which sur-
rounded me, that I rode forward with refreshed feelings,
and did not turn until I had reached the neighbouring
forest just as the sun was setting. And though the falling-
dew, and the physician's advice, reminded me that it would
be prudent to return directly home, I bent my course once
more in the direction of the farm-house. I now saw a female
figure in the garden, which was only separated from me by a
slight hedge. I rode along the footpath, and found myself
not far from the person whom 1 was seeking.
"Though the setting sun was shining full in my face, I
could perceive that she was busied with the hedge, which
only partially concealed her. I thought I could once more
recognize the object of my former affections. I stopped
upon coming near to her, not without a palpitation of the
heart. Some high branches of wild roses, which a light wind
blew to and fro, rendered her figure indistinctly visible. I
addrpHflft/l her, and inquired how she was? She answered
436 "U'XLIIELM MEISTEH'S
in a low voice ' quite well!' I observed, at the same time,
that a child was employed in plucking flowers from the
pledge, and I took the opportunity to ask where her other
children were ?' That is not my child,' she replied, f it
were somewhat soon.' At that moment, it happened that I
rould discern her features, through the rose bushes, and I
Knew not what to think. It was my beloved, and it was not.
She was younger and more beautiful than she had looked ten
years previously. 'Are you not the farmer's daughter?' I
inquired, half perplexed. 'No,' she answered, 'I am her
cousin.'
"Tou are very like one another, I observed.
"6 So everybody says, who knew her ten years ago,' she
replied.
"I continued to ask her many questions, and I found that
the mistake which I had made was pleasant, even after I had,
discovered it. I could not tear myself from the living image
of my former happiness, which stood before me. The child
had gone away in the meantime to search for flowers near
the pond, and she left me to look after it.
"I had learned, however, that Margaret was actually in
her father's house, and during my ride I busied myself with
wondering, whether it could have been herself or her cousin,
who had snatched the child from the road at the approach of
my horse. I thought the whole incident over and over in
my mind, and I do not remember that I have ever enjoyed
more delicious reflections. But I feel that I am still unwell,
and I must have recourse to the doctor, for relief from the
effects of this excitement."
The confidential communication of love adventures re-
sembles, in some particulars, the relation of ghost stories.
The first is generally followed by a succession of others.
In their recollections of former times, our little party
could furnish many incidents of this nature. Lothario had
the most to tell. Jarno's stories were all of the same cha-
racter, and we know already what "Williehn had to impart.
But he trembled lest some one should mention his adventure
with the Countess, but it was not alluded to, even in an
indirect manner.
"It is quite true," observed Lothario, "that no sensation
in life can be more agreeable,, than when our heart after a
APPEENT1CESHIP.
437
pause of indifference, opens once more upon a new object
of affection; and yet I could cheerfully renounce this hap-
piness, if fate had been willing to unite me to Theresa. We
are not always young, we should not always continue children.
The man of the world, who knows his duties and his hopes,
cau find nothing more desirable of attainment than a wife,
who will be ever ready to smoothen his path of life, and to
assist him with all her energies; one whose activity will be
employed to gather what he must leave, and whose diligence
will extend on every side, whilst he must pursue his own
unvaried uniform career. What a paradise had I not dreamed
of enjoying in Theresa! not the paradise of sensual delight,
but the heaven of a contented life upon this earth, with
whom I should possess moderation in prosperity, courage in
misfortune, care for the smallest things, and a soul capable
of comprehending and managing great things. Yes, she
possessed those qualities which we admire in women of
historic celebrit}^ who are more famous even than men—that
clearness of apprehension, expertness in difficulties, certainty
about details, by which a prosperous consummation is so
readily attained. You will doubtless pardon me," he con-
tinued, as he turned towards Wilhelm, "for abandoning
Aurelia for Theresa; with the latter, I might have hoped to
enjoy a life of perpetual bliss, while, with the former, I could
never expect to pass a single happy hour."
"I must admit," said "Wilhelm, "that when I first came
hither, my heart was highly incensed against you, and I had
intended to call you to account for your conduct towards
Aurelia."
"I deserve your censure," continued Lothario, "I ought
not to have converted my friendship for her into a feeling of
love; I should not have substituted, for the respect which
she deserved, an attachment which she was neither calculated
to inspire nor to return. She could never excite the passion
which she felt, and that is the greatest misfortune which can
befal a woman."
u Well, that is all over," answered Wilhelm, "we cannot
always avoid error—our thoughts and our actions will some-
times strangely turn from their naturally virtuous course.
And yet there are certain duties of which we should never
lose sight. But peace be to the ashes of our friend! With-
43S
WILHELM MEISTEE'S
out blaming ourselves or censuring her, we will strew
flowers upon her grave. And by the side of that grave, in
which the unhappy mother rests, let me inquire why you do
not protect her child. He is a boy of whom any one might
well be proud, and yet you entirely neglect him. "With
your pure and affectionate feelings, how can you so wholly
forget the instinct of a father's heart? During the entire
of our conversation, you have not uttered one syllable about
that precious creature, of whose sweet disposition you might
have said so much."
u Of whom are you speaking?" inquired Lothario. "I
do not understand you."
"Of no other than your son, Aurelia's son, a hopeful
child, whose good fortune fails in nothing, but that he should
be taken to a father's heart."
"You mistake egregiously, my friend. Aurelianever had
a son of whom I could have been the parent. I am not
aware of any child of hers, or I would gladly acknowledge
it. But even in the present case, I will cheerfully take the
boy as a memorial of her, and I will provide for his educa-
tion. But tell me, has she ever given you to understand
that the boy was hers or mine?"
"I do not remember to have heard her utter a word ex-
pressly on the subject, but we have always taken it for
granted, and I have never had the smallest doubt about it."
"I can give you some useful information," interrupted
Jarno. "An old woman, whom you must frequently have
seen, brought the child to Aurelia, and she received it
gladly, as she hoped that its companionship would bring
some relief to her sorrows, and in truth it has afforded her
many a happy moment."
Wilhelm was much distressed at this discovery. His
thoughts wandered to his kind-hearted Mignon and the
beautiful Felix, and he expressed his anxiety to remove both
the children from their present situation.
"We can dispose of that matter easily," observed Lo-
thario. "Suffer Theresa to take charge of that wonderful
little girl of whom you speak. She could not possibly fall
into better hands, and as for the boy, I have been thinking
that you may keep him yourself, for the associations of chil-
APPEENTICESHIP.
439
dren will supply the defects which we ourselves suffer from
the want of female education."
"But above all things," interrupted Jarno, "youmust
consent to renounce the theatre for ever, as you possess n<r
talent for such a pursuit/'
Wilhelin was astonished, but he was obliged to restrain
himself, for Jarno's harsh opinion had severely wounded his
self-love. "If you can only convince me of the fact," he
added, with a forced smile, "you will do me a favour,
though, after all, it is but a sorry service which you render
a man when you waken him from a happy, though delusive
dream.5'
"Without discussing the subject any farther," saidJarno,
"I wish we could ir luce you to bring the children hither.
The matter would then be soon arranged."
"I am quite ready to do so," answered Wilhelm. "I
am restless and curious to know, whether I cannot learn
something further of the boy, and I am anxious once more
to see the girl who has evinced so strong an attachment for
me."
It was agreed that he should set out immediately. On
the following day, all the necessary preparations were com-
pleted, the horse was saddled, and Wilhelin only waited to
take leave of Lothario. "When the hour of dinner arrived,
they all sat down to table as usual, without waiting for the
master of the-housed He did not come till late, when he
took his seat amongst them.
"I will lay a wager," said Jarno, "that you have been
trying another experiment with your heart to-day. You
have not been able to resist your inclination once more to
visit your former love."
"You are right," answered Lothario.
"Tell us all about it, then," continued Jarno, y " I am
curious to hear what happened." /
"I must confess," said Lothario, "that I felt more anxious
about the matter than I ought to have been. JH determined,
therefore, to ride to the place again, an£f t0 see the person
whose juvenile form had made so pleasai^t an impression upon
me. 1 dismounted at some distanc^from the house, and led
my horse by the bridle, that I mi^ht not disturb the children
who were playing before the docpfc I entered the house, and
440
WILHELM MEISXEB S
she came to meet me, for it was herself, and I recognized her,
notwithstanding the alteration which had occurred. She had
grown stouter, her form seemed somewhat fuller, her beauty
was chequered by an appearance of care, and her former
sprightliness had passed into a look of gravity. Her head
which she once held so free and erect, now stooped a little,
and slight lines were observable upon her brow.
"She drooped her eyes when she recognized me, but no
blush announced the slightest emotion of her heart. I held
out my hand; she gave me hers. I inquired for her hus-
band; he was absent. I asked for her children; she called
them to her, whereupon they all came and assembled round
me. Nothing can be more charming than to behold a mother
with an infant in her arms—nothing more honourable than
to see a mother surrounded by her children. I inquired the
name of the youngest, as an excuse for saying something;
whereupon she invited me to come in, and wait for her
father. I consented, and she conducted me into the apart-
ment, where I saw all the old familiar objects still in their old
places, and, strange to say, her beautiful cousin, who was
her very image, was seated upon a stool behind the spinning
wheel, where I had so often seen my own love sitting in the
very same posture. A little girl, the exact picture of her
mother, had followed us, and thus I found myself in the
strangest position between the future and the past, as it
were in an orange grove, where, in a small compass, blossoms
and fruit appear in close proximity. Her cousin went to
bring us some refreshment. I held out my hand to the dear
creature whom I had formerly so deeply loved, saying at the
"same time, 'It gives me the most exquisite joy to see you
ortf?^ again.' 6 You are very good to say so,' she replied,
'ancfS!^ also feel inexpressible delight. How often have I
wished that I might see you once again during my life.
I have ever! wished this in moments which I deemed might
prove my lasV ^ne sa^ ^n*s *n a ca^m t°ne> without emotion,
with that naNto'al air which used to please me so much for-
merly. Her cousin returned accompanied by her father,
And I must leave yok.t^ conjecture the feelings with which
1 bade her farewell."

APPBEtfTICESHIP.
CHAPTEE VIII.
Wilhelm, during his journey to town, employed himself
in recalling to mind the various lovely women with whom he
had ever been acquainted, or of whom he had heard, and as
he thought over their various fortunes, which seemed to be
so far removed from happiness, his heart was filled with pain.
"Alas !" he exclaimed, "poor Mariana! what ma}^ I not even
yet be doomed to hear of thee? And thou, noble Amazon!
protecting guardian-spirit, whom I expect to meet every
where, but whom I never see, in what a sad condition may I
not perhaps find thee, if it be our fate to meet again!"
"When lie reached the town none of his acquaintances were
at home. He hastened at once to the theatre, expecting to
find them engaged at a rehearsal, but here all was still. The
house was empty, but he saw one entrance open. He made
his way to the stage, and there he found Aurelia's old ser-
vant, employed with her needle, in the preparation of some
new decorations. There was just sufficient light to allow
her to continue her work. Felix and Mignon were sitting
near her upon the ground. They both held a book in their
hands, and whilst Mignon read aloud, Felix repeated all the
words after her, as though he knew his letters, and were
able to read.
The children leaped up and welcomed Wilhelm. He em-
braced them affectionately, and led them close to the woman.
"Who are you?" he inquired, in a tone of earnestness,
"who gave this child to Aurelia?" She raised her eyes from
her work, and turned her face towards him,—he saw her in
the full light, and started back with astonishment. It was
old Barbara.
t( Where is Mariana?" he exclaimed.
"Par from this place," replied the old woman.
"And Felix . . ."
u Is the son of that unhappy, but affectionate and loving
girl. May you never know what you have occasioned us to
suffer! May the treasure, which I now deliver to you, render
ypu as happy as it has made us miserable P
She rose to retire. Wilhelrn detained her. "I am not
442
WILHELM MEISTEB'S
going to leave you," she said; "but I wish to fetch a paper
which will at once delight and distress you." She retired,
and Wilhelm gazed upon the child with a sorrowful pleasure.
He dared not acknowledge the boy as his own. "He is
thine !" cried Mignon, " he is thine own " and she pressed the
boy to Wilhelm5s knee.
The old woman returned and handed him a letter. u Here
are Mariana's last words/' she observed.
"Is she dead?" he exclaimed.
<c She is dead!" replied Barbara. "I would that I could
spare you all reproaches."
Astonished and perplexed, "Wilhelm tore open the letter,
but, upon seeing the first word, he felt bitterly distressed,
he dropped the sheet, threw himself upon a seat, and
for some time continued silent. Mignon approached and en-
deavoured to console him. In the meantime Felix had taken
up the letter, and teazed. Mignon until she knelt down and
read it to him. Felix repeated all the words, and Wilhelm
was thus compelled to hear them twice. "If this letter
should ever reach thee, shed a tear for thy unhappy Mariana.
Thy love has caused her death. The child, whose birth I
can survive but for a few days, is thine. I die true to thee,
though appearances may condemn me. With thee I have
lost every thing which could attach me to life. I die con-
tent, as I am assured that the infant is strong, and will sur-
vive. Listen to old Barbara—forgive her—farewell—and
forget me not."
What a painful and yet consoling and enigmatic letter!
The contents afflicted him keenly, as the children repeated
each word with stammering and hesitating voice.
"Now you know the whole truth," cried Barbara, without
waiting till he had, in some measure, recovered his composure.
"Thank Heaven," she said, " that after the loss of so affec-
tionate a friend, this darling child remains to you. You
will be beyond measure grieved when you learn that the
clear girl remained constant to you to the last, notwithstand-
ing her misery and all her sacrifices for you."
u Let me drain the cup of sorrow and of joy at the same
time," cried Wilhelm. "Convince me, only convince me
that she was honest, that she was worthy of my esteem and
love, and then let me deplore her irreparable loss."
APPRENTICESHIP.
"This is not a proper time for that purpose," replied
Barbara. "I have much to do at present, and I do not
wish that we should be found together. Keep it secret that
Eelix is your son. The deceit, which I have hitherto
practised, would subject me to many reproaches from the
company. Mignon will not betray me, she is good and
trustworthy.''
"I have known the fact for a long time, and yet I have
said nothing," observed Mignon. u How is it possible?"
cried Barbara. ""When did you learn it ?" asked Wilhelm.
"The spirit told me."
"Where—where?"
"In the vault where the old man drew the knife. He
exclaimed: * Call his father/ and the thought struck me that
he meant thee."
"Who exclaimed thus?"
"I know not—my heart and my mind felt so distressed:
I trembled and I prayed, and when it called to me, I under-
stood."
Wilhelm pressed her to his heart, commended Felix to
her care, and then retired. He observed now that she was
much paler and thinner than before. The first of his friends
whom he met was Madame Melina. She saluted him in the
kindest manner. "I hope," she said, "that you may find
every thing amongst us correspond with your expectations."
"I doubt it," replied Wilhelm, "I do not anticipate so
much. But will you not admit candidly that all the neces-
sary arrangements have been made to dispense with my
services."
"Why did you leave us ?" inquired his friend.
"We canuot too soon make the discovery," replied Wil-
helm, "how easily we may be dispensed with in the world.
What important personages do we not esteem ourselves?
We think that we alone animate the circle in which we live,
and we fancy that, in our absence, life, breath, and activity
woidd almost cease, but the gap which we leave is scarcely
noticed, it is soon filled up again by something better, or,
at least, by something more agreeable."
"But should we not feel for the sorrows of our friends?"
<c Our friends act wisely," he replied, tc when they resume
their wonted composure, when each of them says to himself,
WILHELM MEISTEB'S
4 Within thy own sphere accomplish what thou canst, bo
active and cheerful, and find thy happiness in pursuing the
present.'"
Upon further inquiries, Wilhelm found, as he had long
anticipated, that the opera had been established and had
won the whole attention of the public. His own parts had
been distributed to Laertes and Horatio, who succeeded in
gaining from the public a larger share of applause than had
ever fallen to his lot.
Laertes now entered, when Madame Melina exclaimed:
<c Here comes one of the most fortunate of men! He will
soon be a capitalist or something better!'' Wilhelm embraced
him, and observed that his coat was of the finest cloth, and
though the rest of his apparel was simple, it was all made of
the very best material.
"Explain this enigma," cried Wilhelm.
"You have still time enough," said Laertes, "to learn
how my wanderings through the world are about to be
repaid. A partner in a large house of business is profiting
largely by my travels, my information, and my connections,
and he remunerates me accordingly. I would give much,
however, if I could recover my confidence in the sex, for
there is a pretty niece in the house, and I see plainly, that
if I chose, I could soon be a settled man."
"Perhaps you are not aware," said Madame Melina, " that
a wedding has lately taken place amongst us. Serlo has
been actually married to the fair Elmira, as her father would
no longer permit their secret attachment."
Thus they talked over many incidents which had occurred
during his absence, and Wilhelm could very easily perceive
that, in the estimation and opinion of the company, he had
long since been virtually dismissed. *
He awaited, with much impatience, the promised visit of
old Barbara, who had agreed to come to him at a late hour
in the night. She was to visit him when every one was sunk
in sleep, and she had made the most careful and minute pre-
parations to escape detection. In the meantime, he read over
Mariana's letter a hundred times with inexpressible delight,
he dwelt upon the word faithful, which was written by her
own dear hand, and with deep sorrow he observed the allu-
sion to her death, of which she did not seem in the slightest
degree to apprehend the approach.
APPRENTICESHIP.
445
The hour of midnight had passed, when he heard a rust-
ling at the half open door of his apartment, and old Barbara
entered, carrying a small basket upon her arm. "I must
now," she began, " relate to you the story of our woes,
though I know you will listen to me without emotion, as
you are only anxious to satisfy your own curiosity, and you
will soon find shelter within your own selfishness, whilst our
hearts are breaking. But, behold! Do you remember that
happy eveniug when I produced the bottle of champagne,
and when I placed three glasses upon the table, and you
began to deceive us and to lull us with your easy childish
tales, in the same manner that I must now waken and arouse
you with my melancholy truths."
TVilhelm knew not what to say, when old Barbara actually
made the cork fly, and filled three glasses with the contents
of her bottle.
"Drink!" she cried, when she had emptied her spark-
ling glass, "drink before its virtue evaporates, this third
glass shall foam untasted to the memory of my hapless
friend. How rosy were her lips when she, upon that
evening, drank to your happiness —Alas! how eternally cold
and livid are they now!"
tc Sibyl! Fury!" cried "Willi elni, as he leaped up and
struck the table with his hand, <c what evil spirit possesses
and impels you? Of what can you suppose that I am made,
if you think the simplest statement of Mariana's sufferings
and death, will not sufficiently distress me, without these
hellish efforts to increase my torments. If your appetite
is so insatiable that you must riot at the very funeral table—
drink and speak! You have ever been the object of my
aversion, and I can scarcely believe that Mariana herself was
guiltless, when I remember that she was your companion."
"Softly, Sir!" interrupted old Barbara. "You will not
succeed in provoking me. You owe us much, and we
ought not to feel irritated at the anger of a debtor.
But you are right. My simplest narrative ought to prove
to you a sufficient punishment. Listen then to the account
of Mariana's combat and victory, that you may be able to
endure your fate."
si My fate !" cried Willie! ai, lc what story are you about to
tell r"*
440
WILHELM MEISTEIt's
"Donoj interrupt me," she continued, ((listen, and then
believe me as you please—it is all the same to me. Did
you not, on the last evening, that you spent with us, find a
note in Mariana's chamber, and carry it away?"
"I found a note, it is true, after I had accidentally
carried it away. It was folded up in the neckhandkerchief,
which I had taken up, upon the sudden impulse of love, and
which I concealed within my bosom."
"What did that note contain?"
"The hopes expressed by a disappointed lover, that he
would meet with a more favourable reception on the follow-
ing evening. And I need no assurance that his expectations
were fulfilled, for I saw him, with my own eyes, leave your
house at an early hour in the morning."
"You may have seen him, but you have yet to learn
how we spent that night, how sad a night it was to both
Mariana and myself. I will be candid with you, and will
neither deny that I persuaded Mariana to receive the
addresses of Norberg, nor shall I defend my conduct in so
doing; she listened and obeyed my suggestions with the
utmost reluctance. He was rich, he seemed in love, and 1
hoped that he would prove constant. Shortly afterwards he was
compelled to set out upon a journey, and Mariana became
acquainted with you. What had I not from that moment
to resist, to oppose and to endure, 'Oh!' she would fre-
quently exclaim, 'if you had only spared my youth and
my innocence for a short time longer, I should have found
an object worthy of my love, one of whom I might myself
have proved worthy—and I might have surrendered with
a safe conscience what I have now sold against my will.'
She was wholly devoted to you, and I need not ask if you
were happy. I possessed an unbounded power over he*
mind, for I understood the means of satisfying her most
trifling wants, but I had no power over her heart, without
the approbation of which, she would never sanction either
my conduct or my suggestions—she only yielded to uncon-
querable necessity, and necessity soon visited us in the
most pressing form. In her early youth she had never
known what it was to want, her family, however, by a com-
plication of calamities at length lost all their property—
the poor girl had been accustomed to all the comforts of life,
APPRENTICESHIP.
447
anci her gentle spirit bad been influenced by sound princi-
ples, which rendered . ber unbapp j without contributing to
her relief. Sbe was wholly without experience in worldly
matters—and she was innocent in the strictest sense of the
word. She had not the slightest idea that one could
purchase without money, and in ber mind there was no terror
more appalling than debt. She always gave more willingly
than she received, and nothing but such a state of affairs-
could have compelled her to give herself away, in order that
she might be able to liquidate a host of small debts with
which she was encumbered."
"And could you not have saved her?" inquired Wilhelm.
"Oh yes!" answered Barbara, "at the expense of hunger
and want, sorrow and privation, but for such sufferings I
was by no means prepared."
"Base and abominable wretch, to sacrifice the unhappy
innocent for the gratification of j^our insatiable appetite!"
"You had better calm your anger and restrain your
abuse," replied Barbara, "or if you will chide, visit the
noblest houses, and observe the mothers there, who are
anxious for the welfare of their lovely, heavenly girls,
sacrificing them to the most odious husbands for the sake of
wealth. See how the poor innocents shudder and tremble-
at their fate, finding no consolation, save in the counsel of
some experienced female friend, who informs them that
marriage alone will confer upon them the power of dis-
posing of their hearts and persons as they please."
"Hush!" said Wilhelm, "do you think then that one
crime can be excused by the commission of another? Pro-
ceed with your narration without any further observations."
"Then hear me, and withhold your censure. Mariana
became your's against her will. I do not deserve blame
for that. Norberg returned, and proceeded without delay
to visit Mariana. She received him with coldness, and
denied him even the privilege of a kiss. I tried all my arts
to excuse her conduct. 1 told him that her confessor had
awakened her scruples, and that they deserved to be
respected as long as they continued. I succeeded in
inducing him to withdraw, promising to use my best influ-
ence in his favour. He was rich and headstrong, but ho
was kind-hearted and loved Mariana beyond expression.
"^ILHELM MEISTEB?S
He promised to be patient, and therefore I exerted myself
the more earnestly that he should not be too severely tried.
But I had a more difficult task to perform with Mariana,
but at length I induced her, indeed I may say that I com-
pelled her, by threatening to leave her service, to write to
JSTorberg and invite him to resume his visits. You came
at this juncture, and accidentally carried away his answer, in
the neckhandkerchief of which you have spoken. Tour un-
expected arrival interrupted the course of my proceedings.
You had scarcely gone away when she recommenced her
wailings; she vowed that she would never be unfaithful to
you, and she became so passionate and so excited, that
I pitied her sincerely. At length, I promised her that for
this night I would pacify Norberg, and induce him by some
means or other to defer his visit. I entreated her to retire
to bed, but she would not trust me, and refused to comply
with my request. At length, exhausted with weeping and
violent agitation, she fell asleep without undressing.
"Norberg arrived, and I persuaded him to remain, but I
told him fully of her conscientious scruples and remorse.
He expressed a wish to see her, and I went to her room to
prepare her for his visit. He followed, and we both ap-
proached the bed together. She awoke, sprang up wildly
and tore herself from our arms. She implored and begged,
wept, threatened, and vowed she would not yield. She was
imprudent enough, in some expressions which she used, to
advert to the true state of her feelings, but I induced Nor-
berg to interpret these in a spiritual sense. But at length
he retired and she locked the door. I detained him for some
time, and conversed with him about her state, informing him
that she was in the family way, and that she ought, therefore,
to be indulged. He felt so proud at the announcement that
he consented to every thing she asked, and determined to
Bet out upon his travels for a time, rather than displease her
by his presence, and perhaps injure her by occasioning those
mental irritations. So resolved, he took leave at an early
hour, and if, as you confess, you watched our house as a
sentry, you would have required nothing for the perfection
of your happiness than to have searched the bosom of your
rival, whom you considered so fortunate and so favoured,
and whose presence made you so desperate."
APPEEJTTICESHIP.
u Are you speaking truly?" asked Wilhelm.
"As truly," answered Barbara, " as 1 hope to drive you to
despair. And you could not but despair, if I were able cor-
rectly to describe the scene which occurred on the following
morning. How cheerfully did she awake, and call me to her
—how sincerely did she thank me, and how affectionately
did she press me to her heart!' Now,' she said, as she
approached her looking glass with a smile, 'now I may once
more feel proud of my looks and of my form, since I once
more belong to myself, and to my dearly loved friend. How
delightful it is to conquer! How grateful do I feel for your
care of me, and for having turned your prudence and your
understanding to my advantage. Do not abandon me, and
you can contrive the means of rendering me happy/ I
assented, as I was unwilling to irritate her. I nattered
her hopes, and she caressed me tenderly. If she were ab-
sent from the window but for an instant, I was compelled to
keep watch, for you would surely pass by, and she wished at
least to see you. And thus we spent an anxious day. At
night, when the accustomed hour arrived, we expected you
without fail. I took my post upon the stairs, but the time
passed drearily away, and I returned to Mariana, To my
astonishment, I found her dressed in her officer's uniform,
and she looked unspeakably charming. 'Do I not deserve/
she asked, 'to appear in man's apparel? Have I not acted
bravely? My beloved shall see me to-day, once more, as he
first saw me, and I will press him to my heart as tenderly
and with more freedom than ever, for I am now entirely his,
and my noble resolution has rendered me completely free.
But,' she added, after a short pause, 'I have not even yet
quite succeeded. I must make another attempt to prove that I
am worthy of him, and that I may possess him entirely. I
must disclose every thing, discover to him my whole condi-
tion, and leave it to himself to retain or to reject me. I
must prepare this scene for myself, and for my friend,
and if his feelings are capable of rejecting me, T shall then be-
long entirely to myself. I shall find consolation in my punish-
ment, and cheerfully submit to the dispensations of fate/
"With these intentions, and with these hopes, the ~<ovely
girl awaited your arrival. Tou came not. O! how shall I
describe her anxietv and her suspense? I see her stiL before
2 G
460
WILHELaaf MEISTEE'S
me, and I hear once more the expressions of love and
ardent affection with which she spoke of the man of whose
cruelty she was not yet aware."
"Good, kind Barbara!" cried Wilhelin, as he sprung to
his feet and seized the old woman by the hand, "we have
had enough of artifice and preparation. Your calm, indif-
ferent, and contented tone betrays you. Restore my Mari-
ana to me! She lives—she is at hand. It was not for
nothing that you chose this late, this solitary hour, for your
visit—not for nothing that you have prepared me with this
charming tale. Where is she? "Where have you concealed
hee? 1 believe all—I will promise to believe all, if you will
only show her to me, and you restore her to these arms. I
have beheld her image already, let me once more clasp her in
my arms. I will fall upon my knees and implore her pardon.
I will congratulate her upon the victory she has achieved
over herself, and I will take my Felix to her. Come, where
have you concealed her? Keep me and her no longer in
uncertainty! Tour object is attained. Where have you
hidden her? Come, let me light you with this candle, that I
may once more behold her sweet face!"
He had dragged old Barbara from her chair. She stared
at him, whilst the tears started from her eyes, and she was
seized with violent grief. "What unfortunate error," she
exclaimed, "allows you still to indulge a moment's hope?
Yes, I have hidden her, but ifc is beneath the earth, where
neither the light of the sun nor any friendly taper shall
ever illumine her sweet face. Lead your affectionate Felix
to her grave, and tell him that there lies his mother, whom
his father condemned without a hearing. Her kind heart
throbs no more with impatience to behold you, nor is she
waiting in an adjoining chamber for the conclusion of my
story, or my fairy tale, but the dark chamber has received
her, whither no bridegroom will ever follow her, and from
whence none have ever yet returned to receive a lover's affec-
tionate embrace."
She flung herself upon the ground and wept bitterly.
Wilhelm now, for the first time, felt convinced that Mariana
was dead. He was in despair. Barbara arose, and exclaim-
ing, "I have nothing more to add," she threw down a
packet upon the table. "There are some letters," sho
APPBENTICESELIP.
451
added, " which will make you blush for your cruelty. Peruse
them without a tear, if it be possible." She then retired
quietly, and Wilhelm had not courage that night to open
the packet. The pocket book had been a present from him-
self to Mariana, in which, as he well knew, she had been
accustomed carefully to preserve every letter that she
received from him. On the following morning, he took
courage, and untied the ribbon, when a multitude of little
notes met his eye, which had been written in pencil with her
own hand, and they reminded him of every incident which
had occurred, from the first day of their delightful acquaint-
ance, to the last of their sad separation. It was not, there-
fore, without feelings of the keenest anguish that he read the
notes which had been addressed to him, and which, as he
gathered from their tenor, had been returned to her by
Werner.
"None of my letters have as yet been able to reach you
—my prayers and my entreaties havebeeninvain. Did you
yourself give these cruel orders? And shall I never see you
more? Once again, I will make an effort. I implore you
to come,—0 come! I will not ask to detain you, if I may
but once more press you to my heart."
""When I formerly sat beside you, and held your hands,
and looked into your e}res, and said, with a heart full of con-
fidence, '0! dear, dear, kind Wilhelm !' you used to hear me
with such pleasure that I was obliged to repeat the same
words frequently. Once more I repeat them, *0, dear, dear,
kind Wilhelm ! be still kind as you were wont to be!' Come,
and leave me not to perish in my misery!"
"You deem me guilty, and I am so, but not to the extent
you think. Come, that I may enjoy the delight of being
wholly known to you. Let my fate afterwards be what it may."
"Not for my sake only, but for your own, I implore of you
to come to me. I feel the insupportable agony which you
endure, whilst you fly from me. Come, then! that our se-
paration may be less cruel. I was, perhaps, never worthy
of you, till this very moment, when you drive me to bouui
Tess misery."
WILKELM MEISTER'S
"I call to you \y every thing that is sacred, by all that
can touch a human heart! My life,—my soul is iu peril;
two lives, of whom one, at least, must be for ever dear to
you. Your suspicious heart will not believe me, and yet I
will proclaim it in the hour of death. The infant, which I
carry beneath my heart, is thine. Since the moment when
I first loved you, no other person has ever pressed my hand.
O, that your love, that your virtue, had been the companions
of my youth I"
"You will not hear me! Then I must at length be silent,
but these letters shall not perish. Perhaps they may speak
to you even yet, when the shroud has enveloped my lips, and
the voice of your repentance can no longer reach my ears.
During my sad life, till the last moment of my existence, this
will be my only consolation, that to you I have been guiltless,
though I cannot say I have been wholly free from blame."
Wilhelm could read no more. He abandoned himself
entirely to his sorrow. But he felt oppressed writh grief
when Laertes made his appearance, and he sought to hide
his affliction from him. The latter drew out a purse full of
money, which he counted over and over, assuring Wilhelm
at the same time that there was nothing more delightful in
the world than to feel one's self upon the road to wealth, as
nothing then could disturb or restrain the freedom of our
actions. Wilhelm thought of his dream and smiled, but at
the same time he remembered with a shudder that in that
dream, Mariana had left him to follow his deceased father,
and that, at last, they had both hovered about the garden in
the form of spirits.
Laertes interrupted his reflections, and led him to a coffee
house, where a multitude of persons assembled round him,
who had formerly known him upon the stage. They ex-
pressed their joy at meeting him once more, but lamented
to hear that he intended to abandon the stage, and they
expressed such decided and reasonable opinions of his acting
and of his talents, and of their own hopes, that Wilhelm ex-
claimed at length, not without emotion, " 0, how precious to
me would have been your sympathy but a few months ago!
How instructive, how encouraging I should have found it1
APPRENTICESHIP
453
Never should I have so completely turned my mind from stage
affairs, or have gone so far as to despair of the public."
""We should never go to that extent," observed an elderly
man, who now stepped forward: "the public is a large body,
and correct judgment, and right feeling, are not such rare
qualities as one would suppose. But an artist never should
expect unconditional applause. Unconditional applause is
worth but little, and you, gentlemen, are not satisfied with
t hat which is conditional. 1 am aware that in life, as well as
in art, a man must consider well, before he accomplishes or
produces any thing, but when once his work is executed and
completed, he must hear with patient attention the opinions
<ff the multitude, and from them, with a little practice, he may
be able to form a sound judgment; but those persons, who
could easily save us all this trouble, generally remain silent."
"They should not act thus," said Wilhelm. "But I have
often heard that men who never express an opinion with
regard to works of merit, are the loudest to complain of the
silence of others."
"Then we must speak out to-day," cried a young man.
"You must dine with us to-day, and we will pay off a debt
which we have long owed to you, and to the good Aurelia."
Wilhelm declined the invitation, and proceeded to the
house of Madame Melina, wishing to confer with her about
the children, as he thought of removing them from her.
Old Barbara's secret was not too faithfully kept by
Wilhelm. No sooner did he see little Felix, than he be-
trayed himself. "0, my child, my darling child," he ex-
claimed, as he took him in his arms, and pressed him to his
heart. "What have you brought for me, father P" cried the
child. Mignon looked at both of them, as if she would have
commanded them not to divulge the secret.
"What new miracle is this?" inquired
The children were taken away, and
conceive that he owed the strictestj
detailed the whole occurrence to hig
looked at him with a smile,
she exclaimed, " how easy is i
that is pleasant, but upon
neither to the right nor to i'
which has not previous!

454
WILHEXM MEISTEE'G
trary passion." She could not repress a sigh, and if Wilhelin
had not been completely blind, he could have detected in her
conduct a regard for him which had never been wholly sub-
dued. He now conversed with her about the children) as he
thought of keeping Eelix himself, and of sending Mignon into
the country. Madame Melina, though unwilling to part with
either of them, approved of his design, and even considered
it necessary. Felix was becoming quite wild as long as he
remained with her, and Mignon seemed to require fresh air
and a change in her pursuits. The dear child was delicate,
and showed no symptoms of improvement.
"You are not to suppose," added Madame Melina, "that
I have thoughtlessly expressed my doubts about the child's
being really yours. The old woman is scarcely to be believed,
and if she can tell untruths f<r~ her own advantage, she
may speak truth when it is profitable. She has already per-
suaded Aurelia that the boy is a child of Lothario's, and it is
the disposition of women cordially to like the children of
their lovers, even when they do not know their mothers, or
cordially detest them." Eelixnow came running into the room,
and Melina pressed him to her heart with unusual affection.
"Wilhelm returned home, and sent for Barbara, but she
woidd not engage to meet him before the evening. He
received her angrily, and said, "There can be nothing more
disgraceful than to tell lies for your own private advantage.
You have already done much mischief, and now, when your
words can decide the happiness of my life, I stand in doubt,
and dare not take that child in my arms, though to receive
him with full confidence would render me the happiest of
beings. Thou shameful creature, I cannot behold thee
without hatred aud contempt."
jonduct," replied the old woman, "if I must
to me quite intolerable. Eor even if
the dearest and loveliest child in
be glad to purchase at any
pleasure of his company. Is
? And do I not deserve a
^ in consideration of my care,
^had with him? 0, you men,
talk with ease of truth
who cannot provide tor

APPRENTICESHIP,
455
tli© smallest necessity, who in the hour of distress is wholly
destitute of friends, of advice and assistance, how she is to
overcome the selfishness of the world, or to starve in silence?
—this is a subject upon which I might say much, if you had
time or patience to hear me. Have you perused Mariana's
letters—those which she wrote in the hour of her direst
distress? In vain did I endeavour to find you, that I might
give them into your own hands. Tour cruel brother-in-law
had so contrived, that he defeated all my plans, and at length
when he threatened me and Mariana with imprisonment, I
was compelled to abandon every hope. But does not every
event that has occurred agree with what I have said?
And does not jNorberg's letter place the whole statement
beyond the possibility ot doubt?"
"What letter?" asked Wilhelm.
"Have you not found it in the pocket book?" inquired
Barbara.
"I have not read them all:" answered "Wilhelm.
"Then give me the pocket book," continued she, " for upon
that letter every thing depends. Norberg's unfortunate
note occasioned the whole calamity, a subsequent one from
his hand, may, perhaps, unravel the knot so far as any thing
may depend on our success." She took a letter from the
pocket book. Wilhelm recognised the hated writing, but
restraining his feelings, he read:
"Explain to me, girl! how you possess such influence
over me. I should never have thought that a Goddess
herself could have converted me into a sighing lover. In
place of receiving me with open arms, you avoid me, and I
could almost believe that your conduct arose from personal
dislike. How could you allow me to pass the whole night
with old Barbara, seated upon a trunk? and all the time
my darling Mariana was but a few paces distant I It is
really too bad! But I have promised to allow you some
time for reflection, and not to force myself upon you, and J
Ahall regret every quarter of an hour which I thereby lose.
Have I not been as generous to you as I could? Do you
doubt my love? What do you require? tell me—you shall
want for nothing. I pray that every evil may light upon the
clergyman who put such scruples into your head! Why
did you visit such a person? There are plenty of others
1-50
WILHELM MEISTEU'S
who would Lave made allowances for youth. But e-njugh—
J tell you that your conduct must change. In a day or
two I expect your answer, or I shall soon leave you again,
and if you do not become kind and friendly to me, you shall
see me no more."
The letter proceeded in this style to a considerable length,
and to Wilhelm's painful satisfaction, it always dwelt upon
the same point, which afforded evidence oi" truth of the
account that he had heard from Barbara.
A second letter proved beyond doubt that Mariana had
never acceded to his proposals, and from this and several
other papers, it was not without the deepest anguish that
Wilhelm made himself acquainted with the history of the un-
happy girl, even to the hour of her death.
Barbara had afterwards gradually subdued the harshness
of JSTorberg, by informing him of Mariana's death, and by
allowing him to suppose that Felix was his son. He had
accordingly remitted money to her upon several occasions,
which however she had always retained for herself, as she
had persuaded Aurelia to take charge of the child. But
unfortunatel}r this secret mode of obtaining a livelihood did
not long continue. Norberg, by a life of dissipation, soon
squandered the greater part of his fortune, and repeated
love adventures hardened his heart against the child whom
he believed to be his own.
But although the whole of this statement appeared so
probable, and all the circumstances concurred admirably
together, Wilhelm wras slow to abandon himself to joy, as he
seemed to dread receiving even a present from the hand of
so evil a genius.
"Time alone can cure your jealousy," said Barbara, who
guessed what was the condition of his mind. "Consider
the child, therefore, as a perfect stranger, and on that account
be more attentive to it. Observe its talents, its disposition,
its capabilities, and if you do not gradually discover the
perfect resemblance which it bears to yourself, you can
have but little discernment. I assure you, that if I were a
man, no one should ever succeed in forcing a child upon me,
but it is fortunate for women that men are not always so
quick-sighted."
After this, "Wilhelm and Barbara separated. He wished
0
APPRENTICESHIP.
to take charge of Felix himself, that Mignon should be
taken to Theresa, and that Barbara should spend her days
wherever she pleased, supported by a little pension which
he proposed to settle upon her.
He accordingly sent for Mignon, that he might prepare
her for the proposed change. "Master!" she said, "keep
me with yourself—it will be for my advantage and for my
sorrow."
He represented to her that she was now grown up, and
that something should be done for her further education. "I
am sufficiently educated," she answered, "to love and to
grieve."
He reminded her that her health required attention, and
that she stood in need of incessant care, and of the directions
of a skilful physician. "Why should any one care for me," she
replied, "when there are so many other things to care for?"
After he had taken infinite trouble to convince her of the
impossibility of her remaining with him at present, and had
assured her that he would commit her to the care of some
friends, where she might frequently see him, she appeared
as if she had not heard a word that he had spoken. "Then
you will not allow me to remain with you!" she said.
"Perhaps it is better then to send me to the old Harper,
the poor man is so solitary."
Wilhelni endeavoured to explain to her that the old man
was now in comfortable circumstances. "I long for his
companv every hour," replied the child.
ft I never observed that you were so much attached to
him, whilst he lived with us," said Wilhelni.
<fI was afraid of him," replied Mignon, "when he was
awake—I could not bear to see his eyes-—but when he slept,.
I liked to sit beside him, and to keep the flies from him,
and then I never tired of looking at him. O, he has been
a comfort to me in fearful moments! No one knows how
deeply I am indebted to him. If I had only known the
way, I should long since have fled to him."
Wilhelm now explained his intentions fully, saying that
Mignon had always been a reasonable child, and that she
might, upon this occasion, do as she pleased. f£ O, reason is
cruel," she replied, "the heart is better! But I will go
wherever you wish, only leave little Eelix with me."
458
WILHELM MEISTEIt S
After much discussion, she persisted in her request, and
Wilhelm was obliged to consent that both children should
be entrusted to old Barbara, who was to send them together
to Theresa. He came to this decision the more easily, as he
still feared to acknowledge the beautiful Felix as his own
child. But he took him in his arms, and carried him about.
The child loved to be held before the looking-glass, and
Wilhelm felt a secret delight in holding him there, and in
tracing a likeness between them. When he thought he had
discovered a momentary resemblance, he pressed the child
to his bosom, but suddenly alarmed at the thought that he
might have been deceived, he would set him down and let
him run away. "Alas !" he would then explain, "if I could
only be certain that this priceless treasure were mine, and
were it then to be taken from me, I should be the most
wretched of men!"
The children were now removed, and Wilhelm deter-
mined to take a formal leave of the stage, but he felt that
this had been already done, and that it only remained for
him now to take his departure. Mariana was dead, his
two guardian angels had gone away, and his thoughts
followed them. The lovely Felix still floated like a charming
but uncertain vision before his fancy, he saw him at Theresa's
side, running through the fields and woods, and receiving
his education in the free air, from a free and cheerful
protectress; and Theresa became dearer to him than
ever, as his mind dwelt upon her, in connection with his
little Felix. Even as a spectator in the theatre he thought
cf her with smiles, and he felt that he was almost in her
own condition, as theatrical representations no longer pro-
duced an illusion in his mind.
Serlo and Melina treated him with extreme politeness as
soon as they observed that he made no further pretensions
to resuming his former place. A portion of the public were
desirous that he should appear before them again, but this was
an impossibility, and of the company themselves none seemed
to wish it, with the exception perhaps of Madame Melina.
Of this latter friend he now took final leave, his heart was
moved, and he could not avoid exclaiming, "0, that men
should ever presume to promise themselves any thing which
depends upon the future! Even upon the veriest trifle they
APPRENTICESHIP.
459
can place no reliance—to say nothing of those thinga
which are of importance. How do I blush to think of the
promise which I made to you upon that unfortunate night
when we all lay robbed, ill and wounded in that miserable
tavern. How did misfortune then elevate my courage, and
what resources did I not expect to find in my good inten-
tions! but alas! they have produced nothing. I leave you
as your debtor, and it is my happiness to find that none of
you valued my promises beyond their worth, and that I have
never since been reminded of them."
"Do not be so unjust towards yourself," said Madame
Melina, "if no other person will acknowledge what you
have done for us, I at least shall never forget it; for our
whole condition would have been different, if we had not
possessed the advantage of your presence. It is with our
intentions as with our wishes. They no longer wear the
same appearance when they have been accomplished—when
once fulfilled, we consider that we have obtained nothing."
"Your kind explanation," answered Wilhelm, :' will
scarcely suffice to tranquillize my conscience, and I shall
always consider myself to be your debtor."
"It is quite possible," answered Madame Melina, C£ that
you may really be so, but not in the precise way that you
suppose. We consider it disgraceful not to perform a verbal
promise which we have engaged to fulfil. 0, my friend, the
very presence of a good man promises much. The confidence
which he elicits, the attachment which he creates, the hopes
which he awakens, are unbounded; he becomes our debtor
and will continue so, though he be not aware of the obliga-
tion. Earewell! if our outward circumstances have been
fortunately restored through your assistance, your absence
will create a void in my bosom which I shall find it difficult
to fill."
Before his departure from the town, "Wilhelm addressed a
long letter to Werner. They had already exchanged several
letters, but as they had differed about several matters, their
correspondence had been interrupted. But now, they
were approaching nearer to each other, Wilhelm was on the
point of complying with the earnest wishes of his friend—
he could now say, "I am about to abandon the stage, and to
associate with men whose connection will, in all respects, lead
160
WILHELM MEISTER'S
me to commence a pure and active life. He made some in-
quiries about his property, and it seemed to him strange that
tor so long a time he should have troubled himself so little
about his affairs. He knew not that it was the habit of
men, who are wholly engaged in the cultivation of their
minds, absolutely to neglect their outward affairs. Wilhelin
had found himself in this condition, but he now began, for
the first time, to recollect that in order to work effectively,
lie required the assistance of outward means. He pursued
11is journey therefore in a different temper than formerly—
the prospects which he saw before him were encouraging,
and he hoped to meet with happiness upon his way.
CHAPTER IX.
Week he arrived at Lothario*s castle, he found that a
great change had taken place there. Jarno came to meet
him with the news that Lothario's uncle had died, and that
he himself had set out to take possession of his estates.
"You are come," he continued, " at a fit time to render as-
sistance to the Abbe, and to me. Lothario has commissioned
me to purchase some valuable estates in the neighbourhood.
The whole matter has been well considered, and we are
provided with both money and credit at a most favourable
moment. One circumstance, however, has occasioned some
delay. A house of business, established at some distance
from here, has contemplated making the same purchase, and
we have resolved to enter into an agreement together, as.
otherwise we might perhaps outbid each other without reason
or necessity. It appears that we have to deal with a clever
man. We are at present engaged in making our estimates
and calculations, and we must consider particularly how the
lands are to be divided, so that each of us may possess a
valuable estate. All the papers were accordingly submitted
to Wilhelm—they contained an account of the fields, the
meadows and the castles, and though Jarno and the Abbe
appeared to be well acquainted with business, Wilhelm could
APPRENTICES HIP.
not help wishing thafc Theresa had been called in to their
assistance.
They were engaged for many days in these labours, and
"Wilhclm could scarcely find time to acquaint his friends with
his late adventure, or with his doubtful paternity, but they
treated the circumstance with the utmost indifference and
levity, although it was to him an event of the greatest im-
portance.
He had frequently remarked their habit of suddenly pausing
at table, or during their walks, when they entered into confi-
dential communications together, and gave a private mean-
ing to their words—thus shewing that they were engaged in
some pursuits with which he was unacquainted. He now
remembered what Lydia had formerly told him, and he gave
credit to it all with the more confidence as one side of the
castle had always been inaccessible to him. It contained
some long corridors and galleries, and there was one old tower
in particular, with whose exterior he was well acquainted,
but to which he had long sought to obtain entrance in vain.
One evening Jarno said to him, " We now look upon you
as our friend, and it would be unjust not to admit you to a
fuller participation in our secrets. It is proper for a man,
upon his first entrance into life, to think highly of himself,
and endeavour to attain distinction, as well as conceive that
all things are possible, but when his education has reached a
certain point, then it is more advantageous that he should
lose himself in the great mass of mankind, that he
should learn to live for others, and forget himself in a course
of conscientious duty. He then becomes acquainted with
himself for the first time, for it is by our conduct that we
are enabled to compare ourselves with others. You shall
soon know what a little world there is in your immediate
neighbourhood, and how intimately you are known within its
limits. To-morrow morning, before sunrise, be dressed and
ready."
Jarno came at the appointed hour, and conducted him
through various apartments of the castle, and then passing
along 9 Dine narrow galleries, they arrived at length at an old
and massive door, which was strongly incased with iron.
Jarno knocked, the door opened a little, so that a man couhf
just force his way in. Jarno pushed "Wilhelm. through the
462
WILHELM MEISTEIt's
narrow aperture, but did not follow him. Wilhelm uov;
found himself in an obscure and confined chamber, and when
he endeavoured to advance, he felt his progress obstructed.
A voice, with which he was not wholly unacquainted, desired
him to enter; and he now perceived that the sides of the
chamber were hung with curtains, through which a feeble
light was just visible. "Come in!" exclaimed the voice
again, and raising up the curtain, he entered.
The room in which he now found himself appeared to have
been formerly a chapel, but the altar had been removed and
replaced with a large table, which stood upon steps, and was
covered with a green cloth. Some tapestry was seen above
it, which appeared to conceal a picture. The sides of the
apartment were ornamented with some elaborately worked
presses, enclosed with a fine netting of wire, as we are ac-
customed to see them in libraries; but in place of books,
they were filled with rolls of parchment. There was no
creature in the room, and the rising sun shone upon Wilhelm,
as it beamed through the painted windows, and kindly greeted
him.
"Sit down!" cried a voice, which seemed to come from the
altar. "Wilhelm took possession of a small arm-chair, which
stood before the entrance of the apartment. There was no
other seat in the room, and "Wilhelm was therefore forced to
occupy it, although the morning sun dazzled him. The seat
was immoveable, and he had no resource but to shade his eyes
with his hand.
In the mean time the curtain over the altar opened with
a rustling noise, and shewed a dark empty space within a
picture frame. A man now stepped forward, clothed in or-
dinary apparel, who bowed to him, saying, " Do you not
recognize me once more—do you not desire to know, among
other things, what is become of the collection of natural
curiosities which once belonged to your grandfather? Have
you forgotten the picture which you formerly thought so
charming? Where do you suppose that the ting's son is
now pining away?" Wilhelm at once recognized the
stranger, who had conversed with him at the inn, upon that
important night. "Perhaps," continued he, "we shall
now a#ree better upon the subjects of Destiny and Cha-
racter."
APPRENTICESHIP.
4G3
Wilhelm was about to make a reply, but the curtain sud-
denly closed. "Strange!" he whispered to himself, "is it
possible that accidental occurrences can have this connection
—and can what we term Destiny be nothing more than
Chance? "Where can my grandfather's collection be at
present? and why am I reminded of it at 'this solemn mo-
ment?"
He had scarcely time for furthei reflection before the
curtain again opened, and a man appeared, whom he recog-
nized as the country clergyman who had joined him and his
happy party in their sail upon the river; he resembled the
Abbe, and yet he seemed to be a different person. With a
cheerful countenance and dignified expression he com-
menced. "It is not the duty of the tutor to guard his pupil
from error, but to guide the erring steps of his youth, and
it is even wise in the instructor to allow him to satiate his
appetite with folly. He who only tastes his error will daily
with it long, and enjoy it as a rare delight, but he who ex-
hausts it completely, will learn its worthlessness, if he be
not wholly senseless." The curtain closed once more,
and Wilhelm again had time for reflection. "To what error
can the man allude?" he thought, " but that which has pur-
sued me through my whole life, and has induced me to seek
for instruction where it was not to be found—to fancy that
I possessed a talent, to which I had not the smallest pre-
tensions."
The curtain opened more swiftly than before. An officer
appeared, and said, as he passed by rapidly, "Learn to know
the men in whom you may confide!" The curtain closed,
and Wilhelm did not require much reflection to perceive
that this was the officer who had embraced him in the
Count's park, and had caused him to believe that Jarao
was a recruiting officer. But who this person really
was, or how he had found his way hither, was a mystery
which he could not explain. "If so many persons," he
thought, "feel interested for you, and know your way of
life, and how it should have been pursued, why have they
not guided }rou with a firmer and a stricter hand? Why
have they rather encouraged than forbade your folly?"
"Argue not with us," cried a voice, " you are saved, and
on the road to happiness. Tou will never repent nor repeat
464
WILHELM MEISTEE'S
your follies—and this is the happiest destiny which can be
allotted to man." The curtain opened once again, and the
old King of Denmark stood within the picture frame. "I
am thy father's spirit!" said the figure, "and now I depart
in comfort, since my wishes for thee are accomplished more
fully than I myself could have anticipated. Steep ascents
must be approached by winding paths, once upon the sum-
mit straight roads conduct from place to place. Farewell,
remember me—when thou enjoyest what I have provided for
thee!"
Wilhelm was astonished. He thought he heard his father
speak, and yet the voice was unlike his. He was perplexed
between the occurrences of the present and the remem-
brances of the past.
He had not reflected long before the Abbe came forward
and placed himself behind the green table. "Come hither I1'
he cried to his astonished friend. Wilhelm advanced and
ascended the steps. A small roll of parchment lay before
him—" Here are your indentures!" said the Abbe. "Take
them to your heart —they are of deep importance." Wilhelm
took them in his hand, opened them, and read.
"Indenture.
"Art is long, life is short; judgment is difficult, oppor-
tunity fleeting. To act is easy—to think is difficult, and to
act pursuant to our thoughts is troublesome. Every begin-
ning is pleasant. The threshold is the place of expectation.
The boy wonders, the impression strikes, he learns as a pas-
time; seriousness takes him by surprise. Imitation is bom
with us, but what we should imitate is not easily discerned,
and more rarely valued. The summit charms us, not the
ascent—with the height before our eyes, we love to linger in
the plain. Only a portion of art can be taught, but the
artist needs the whole. He who is only half instructed,
ever errs and talks much. He who knows it all, is content
with performing, and speaks little or late. The former has
no secrets and no force—his teaching is like baked bread,
pleasant and sufficient for a day, but flour cannot be sown,
and seed corn should not be ground. Words are good, but
there is something better. The best cannot be explained by
words. The spirit in which we act is the chief matte;:.
APPRENTICESHIP.
465
Action can only be only understood and represented by the
spirit. No man knows what he is doing whilst he acts well,
but of doing ill we are always conscious. He who only works
with symbols is a pedant, a hypocrite, or a bungler. They are
a numerous class, and associate well together. Their cant
impedes the scholar, and their unvarying mediocrity afflicts
the best. The instruction of the genuine artist opens the
mind—for where words fail, his performance speaks. The
genuine scholar learns from the known to develop the un-
known, and so he gradually becomes a master."
"Enough!" cried the Abbe, "the rest at its proper time.
Now turn your eyes upon these presses."
Wilhelm advanced and read the inscriptions upon the
parchment rolls. He observed with astonishment, Lothario's
apprenticeship, Jarno's apprenticeship, and his own appren-
ticeship recorded there, with many others, to whose names
he was a stranger.
"May I ever hope to examine these rolls?"
"In this chamber there is nothing now to be concealed
from you."
"May I ask one question?"
"Without doubt, and you may expect a decisive answer
if it relates to any subject which lies nearest to your heart ,
and ought properly to be there."
"I am content. Tell me, ye mysterious sages, whose look
can penetrate so man}- secrets—tell me, if you can, whether
Felix is really rny son?"
*' A blessing attend you for that question!" cried the
Abbe, clasping his hands together for joy. "Felix is your
son! I swear to you by all that is most sacred, and which
lies hidden from us, that he is your son! and in our estima-
tion, his mother, who is dead, was not unworthy of you.
Receive the dear child from our hands, look round and dare-
to be happy."
Wilhelm heard a rustling noise behind him. He turned
about, and beheld a child's face peeping playfully through the
curtain at the door of the apartment—it was Felix. The
boy hid himself as soon as he was observed. "Come for-
ward," cried the Abbe. He ran forward. His lather rushed
to meet him, took him in his arms, and pressed him to his
2 H
m
VHLHELM MEISTEE/S
bosoin. "Yes! I feel it," he exclaimed, "thou art mine!
Eor what a precious gift of Heaven am I not indebted to my
friends! Erom whence dost thou come, my child, at this
important moment?"
44 Do not inquirer'replied the Abhe\ "Hail to thee,
young man! Thv apprenticeship is finished—nature has set
thee tree."
\
APPIiEN TICE SHIP.
BOOK VIIL
CHAPTER I.
Felix sprang into the garden. "Wilhelm followed him with
rapture. A beautiful morning had clad every object with
new charms, and "Wilhelm felt indescribably happy. Eelix
was a stranger in the new and glorious world, and his father
was not much better acquainted with the various objects
about which the boy made such repeated and incessant in-
quiries. At length they joined the gardener, who informed
them of the names and of the uses of a multitude of plants.
Wilhelm beheld nature in a new aspect, and the inquisitive
curiosity of the child occasioned him now to feel how slight
an interest he had hitherto taken in external things, and
how limited was his real knowledge. Upon this day, the
very happiest of his life, it appeared as if his education was
actually beginning, and he felt the necessity of instructing
his own mind, now that he was called upon to teach.
Jarno and the Abbe did not return till evening, when
they were accompanied by a stranger. Wilhelm received
him with astonishment, and scarcely believed his eyes when
he saw Werner, who for a moment was equally surprised at
recognizing him. They embraced each other affectionately,
and each expressed his opinion that he thought the other
considerably altered. Werner declared that his friend was
taller, stouter, more erect, more polished in his bearing, and
more pleasing in his manner. "And yet I miss something
of your old true-heartedness," he added. "It will appear
again," replied Wilhelm, "wrhen we have recovered a little
from our first astonishment."
Werner, however, had not made so favourable an impres-
sion upon Wilhelm. The former appeared rather to havo
WILHELM MEISTElt's
retrograded than advanced. He was thinner than formerly*,
his sharp features appeared to have grown finer, his nose was
longer, his head had hecorne bald, his voice was clear, loud,
and shrill, and his hollow breast, his drooping shoulders, and
pale cheeks, placed it beyond doubt that he had become a
melancholy man of business.
Wilhelm was prudent enough to say little about the
change which he observed, whilst "Werner, on the contrary,
was loud in the expression of his friendly joy. "Really,"
he exclaimed, "if, as I suspect, you have spent your time
unprofitably, and have not grown rich, you have, at least,
become a man who must surely win a fortune. Do
not spend and waste this capability at all events. With
your figure, you cannot fail of winning a rich and beautiful
heiress.'* "Ah!'' cried Wilhelm smilingly, <c I see you do
not belie your former character. Scarcely do you see your
friend after his long absence, than you look upon him as a
bale of goods, a matter of speculation, something of which
money ma^y be made."
Jarno and the Abbe did not appear astonished at this
recognition, and they allowed both friends to discourse freely
upon past and present events. Werner walked round and
round Wilhelm, and turned him about on all sides, so as
completely to embarrass him. "No," he cried, at length,
"I have never seen any thing like it, and yet I know that I
am not mistaken. Tour eyes are deeper, your forehead
wider, your nose is finer, and your mouth handsomer than
before. And only look how he stands! How every thing
seems to suit and to agree! There is nothing like idleness!
As for a poor fellow like me," he continued, as he surveyed
his figure in the glass, "if I had not been making money
all this time, I should have been absolutely ruined."
Werner had not received Wilhelm's last letter. His was
the house of business with which Lothario had intended to
enter into an agreement for the purchase of the estate. It
was this business which had brought Werner hither, and he
had not the slightest notion of meeting Wilhelm on his
way. The lawyer came, the papers were produced, and
"Werner found the terms reasonable. "If your intentions
are kind," he observed, "as they appear to be towards this
young man, take care that our share of the estate is sufli-
APPRENTICESHIP.
400
eient, and he shall have the option of investing part of his
fortune in its purchase." Jarno and the Abbe assured him
that thej did not stand in need of this suggestion. Scarcely
had they discussed the business in general terms, than "Wer-
ner expressed a wish for a game at ombre, in which he was
immediately joined by Jarno and the Abbe. He had now
grown so accustomed to play, that be could not pass an
evening without such amusement.
When the two friends were seated together at table, they
conversed familiarly about every thing that had occurred.
"Wilhelm boasted of his present mode of life, and of his
good fortune in having been admitted into such high society.
Werner, however, only shook his head, and said, " For the
future, 1 shall believe nothing but what I see with my own
eyes. More than one officious friend assured me that you
were living with a dissipated young nobleman, and supplying
him with actresses, while you helped him to spend his money,
and to quarrel with his relations." 'f I should be sony,"
answered Wilhelm, "both for my own sake and that of my
kind friends, at having been so much calumniated, if my
theatrical career had not rendered me tolerant of evil
tongues. How seldom can men form an opinion of our con-
duct, which they see only in parts and fragments, while vice
and virtue are pursued in secret, and little more than indif-
ferent actions are done in public. Actors and actresses
appear upon the open stage, lights burn brightly on every
side, and yet the whole performance is over in a few hours,
and few persons know what to make of it."
Wilhelm proceeded to inquire about his family, his young
friends, and the occurrences of his native town. Werner
informed him rapidly of the changes which had taken place,
and of the present condition of things. "The women at home,"
he said, "are happy and content, for they stand in no need of
money. They spend one half of their time in dressing, and
the other half in showing themselves when dressed. They
attend tolerably well to housekeeping. My boys are becom-
ing clever youths. I already see them in spirit sitting at
their desks, and writing, reckoning, trafficking, and trading.
They shall all have a pursuit of their own, as soon as possi-
ble, and as for our fortune, you will be quite pleased with
its present condition. When we have arranged about our
470
WIL1IELM MEISTER'S
purchase of the estate, you must return home with us, for it
seems to me that you could now transact business with
some skill. Your new friends deserve great praise for having
directed your steps into the proper way of life. I have been
a sad simpleton, and have only now discovered how much I
love you, as I am never tired of admiring your handsome
appearance. But you are very different from the portrait
which you sent to your sister, and which occasioned such an
altercation in our family. Tour mother and sister were quite
delighted to see you with your loose collar, open breast, long
pendant hair, round hat, short vest, and long wide panta-
loons, while I, on the other hand, maintained that such a
costume made you resemble a harlequin. But now you look
more like a reasonable being; you only want a cue, in
which I entreat that you will bind your hair, otherwise you
will be taken for a Jew, and be compelled to pay tax and
tribute."
Felix, in the mean time, had come into the apartment, and
as no notice had been taken of him, had laid himself down on
the sofa, and fallen asleep. "What child is that?" in-
quired Werner. Wilhelm, at the moment, had not courage
to tell the truth, and he was unwilling to relate an ambi-
guous tale to a person who was not over credulous.
The whole party now proceeded to the lands, in order to
examine them and conclude the bargain. Wilhelm did not
allow Felix to leave his side, and, for the child's sake, he
rejoiced at the intended purchase. The eagerness of little
Felix in pursuit of the fruits and berries which were be-
coming ripe, reminded him of his own youth, and of the
manifold duties of a parent to procure and maintain a suc-
cession of enjoyments for his children. With how much
interest did he not survey the nurseries and the surrounding
building! How clearly did he not see the necessity of
repairing what was neglected, and of restoring what was
decayed! He no longer looked upon the world with the
eye of a bird of passage, nor did he now consider a building
—which we are to inhabit—as a hastily constructed bower,
which is destined soon to wither. He determined that
every thing which he now began for his child should be
completed, and that whatever he constructed should last for
eeveral generations. In this sense, his apprenticeship was
APPEEtfTICESIIIP.
471
now ended, and, with the feelings of a father, he had now
acquired all the virtues of a citizen. He felt this, and his
joy was extreme. fi O! the needless severity of morals/"
he would exclaim; "since nature alone, by her own kind
courses, will lead us to every thing that we require. O!
strange demands of civil society! which, in the first place,
perplex and mislead, and then exact more from us than ever
nature demands! "Woe to every kind of education which
destroys the means of obtaining true culture, and points
our attention to the end, instead of securing our happiness
on the way."
Notwithstanding his experience of life, it seemed as if his
observation of this child, was giving him his first clear in-
sight into human nature. Both the theatre and the world
now appeared to him as a multitude of thrown dice, upon
wrhose upper surface a higher or a lower number was marked,
and which, when added together, make up a certain sum.
Eut here, in this child, one single die was placed before him,
upon whose several sides the value and the worthlessness
of human nature was plainly indicated.
The boy's thirst for information increased every day.
Having once learned that things had names, he became
anxious to know the name of every thing. Eelieving that
his father could be ignorant of nothing, he teazed him with
a multitude of questions, and compelled him to inquire into
many objects to which he would otherwise have given no
attention. He soon showed that he possessed an innate
disposition to investigate the origin and end of all things.
When he inquired whence came the wind, or whither went
the flame, his father first became aware of his own limited
capacity, and wished to learn how far man might venture
with his thoughts, and upon what things he might hope to
enlighten himself1 or others. The boy's anger, when he
beheld any living thing unjustly suffering, pleased Wilhelm
exceedingly, as it afforded evidence of his generous disposi-
tion. Upon one occasion he struck the cook violently for
having cut up some pigeons; but the favourable impression
which this produced upon Wilhelm, was soon afterwards
destroyed, when he saw him mercilessly killing frogs or tear-
ing butterflies to pieces. These little occurrences re-
minded him of the habits of mankind, who are extremely
472
WILHELM MEISTER'a
virtuous, as loug as they are free from temptation, or are
only engaged in criticising the conduct of their neighbours.
The delightful feeling that the boy was producing so
wholesome and beneficial an influence upon his own mind, was
however disturbed for a moment, when Wilhelni observed that
Felix was rather educating him than he Felix. He was
unable to correct the child's habits, and he could give his
mind no direction which was not quite spontaneous: as even
those faults with which Aurelia had so resolutely striven,
were resumed again, after the death of that kind instructress.
Felix would still leave the door open behind him, would
refuse to eat from his plate, and enjoyed no greater pleasure
than to find that he was not watched, when he could help
himself from the dish, or drink out of the decanter. He
was also highly delighted when he could sit down in the
corner with his book, and say, with a serious look, "I must
study this learned stuff!" though he was ignorant of his
letters, and refused to learn them.
When Wilhelm considered how little he had hitherto
done for Felix, and how little he was capable of accomplish-
ing, he became so restless that his whole happiness was dis-
turbed. "Are we then so selfish by nature," he would
whisper to himself, "that we are incapable of caring for any
being but ourselves? Is my conduct towards Felix difle-
rent from what it was towards Mignon? I engaged the
child's affections, her presence delighted me, and 1 afterwards
cruelly neglected her. "What have I done for her education,
p.bout which I evinced such anxiety? Nothing. I left
her to herself, or exposed her to all the accidents which
could befal her in the coarse society of uneducated men.
And now for this boy, who was so interesting to me before
I knew his value, has my heart ever required me to render
"him the smallest service? It is now too late to waste my
own time, or that of others—I must take courage and think
how I should labour for myself, and for the kind creature, to
whom I am so warmly attached by the ties of nature and
affection."
This soliloquy was but an introduction to the admission
that he had already reflected deeply, that he had experienced
much anxiety, and that he had sought and made his
choice. He could no longer hesitate to confess it. After
APPRENTICESHIP.
478
intense and vain anguish at the loss of Mariana, lie bad
felt too clearly that he must seek a mother for his child,
and that it would be impossible to find one superior to
Theresa. He was thoroughly acquainted with that incom-
parable woman. She seemed to be precisely the companion
to whom he ought to entrust his dearest interests. Her
honourable attachment to Lothario gave him no uneasiness.
A strange destiny had separated them for ever. Theresa
deemed herself free, and she had already spoken of marriage
with the utmost indifference, though she seemed to consider
it as an event which was perfectly understood.
After long consideration he determined to acquaint her
with his whole history, so far as it was comprehended by
himself. He wished that she should know him as thoroughly
as he was known to himself, and accordingly he began to re-
flect upon his past life, but it seemed so barren of events,
or, at least, so little to his credit, that he was more than
once on the point of abandoning his intention. At length
he resolved to apply to Jarno for the roll of his apprentice-
ship, which he had seen in the tower. The latter answered
that he had applied for it at the proper moment, and Wil-
helm accordingly received it from him.
It cannot be without a feeling of awe, that a noble mind
should hear a full and candid revelation of his whole past
history. Every period of transition is a crisis, and there
can be no crisis without a disease. How unwillingly do we
survey ourselves in the glass, after having suffered from a
long sickness! We feel that our health is restored, but we
see only the effects of the past illness. Wilhelm, however,
was sufficiently prepared—events had already spoken to him
loudly—his friends had never spared him, and even if he now
unrolled the parchment with unseemly haste, his mind be-
came more and more tranquil the farther he perused. He
saw the various scenes of his past life delineated with a few
bold sharp strokes, and neither trivial events nor narrow
thoughts perplexed his view, but the most generous reflec-
tions instructed him, without rendering him ashamed. He
now beheld his picture for the first time—not, indeed, his
second self—as in a mirror, but his other self, as in a portrait,
and though such likenesses may not resemble us in every
feature, we rejoice at having been so well understood and
474
WILHELM MEISTER'S
represented by genius and talent, that an image of ourselves
exists, and may endure when we ourselves have passed
away.
As the manuscript recalled all past events to Wilhelm's
memory, he now employed himself in writing out a sketch of
his life for Theresa's perusal, and he felt ashamed that in
comparison with the great talents which she possessed, he
had nothing to show, and was even deficient in the common
virtue of a useful activity. Although the account which he
gave of himself was circumstantial, the letter which accom-
panied it was brief. He sought her friendship, and, if
possible, her love ; he offered her his hand, and implored her
speedy decision.
After an inward struggle whether he should communicate
this important event to his friends, Jarno and the Abbe, he
determined to remain silent. He felt that the business was
of too much importance to him to be submitted to the judg-
ment even of the most prudent or the best of men, and,
therefore, he took the precaution of committing his letter to
the nearest post with his own hands. Perhaps the know-
ledge that he had been observed, and even guided, in many
actions of his life, which, according to his own belief, he had
performed spontaneously or in secret—a fact which was
made apparent by the roll which he had perused— had pro-
duced an unpleasant feeling in his mind, and he now felt
anxious, in addressing Theresa's heart, to speak purely from
his own heart, and to leave his fate to her decision and de-
termination—and, therefore, he did not hesitate to conceal
this important matter from his watchful overseers.
CHAPTEE II.
"Wiliielm had scarcely dispatched his letter, when Lo-
thario returned. Every one seemed glad that the important
business in which they were engaged, would soon be con-
cluded, and Wilhelm awaited with anxiety the disentangle-
ment of the complicated thread upon which his future
happiness depended. Lothario saluted them cordially: ho
APPRENTICESHIP.
475
was perfectly recovered, and had resumed his usual cheerful-
ness. He had the appearance of a man, who knows the
duties which he has to discharge, and understands the way in
which they should be performed.
Wilhelm was unable to return his friendship with equal cor-
diality. "This man," he repeated to himself, "is the friend^
the lover, the bridegroom of Theresa, into whose place
I am endeavouring to insinuate myself. Do you think you
can ever extinguish or efface the impression which has been
made ?"—If his letter had not already been dispatched,
perhaps he might not have dared to send it. Fortunately,
however, the die had been cast. Perhaps Theresa had already
made her decision, and distance alone had flung her veil over
the happy consummation. Success or failure must soon be
made apparent. He tried to find repose amid all these re-
flections, for the emotions of his heart had rendered him
feverish and anxious. He could devote but little attention
to the important business, upon which depended, in some
measure, the fate of his entire fortune. But alas! in mo-
ments of passion how trivial does everything else appear in
which we are engaged.
To Wilhelm's great comfort, Lothario acted with gene-
rosity in the matter, and Werner behaved with indifference.
Notwithstanding his strong anxiety for gain, the latter
manifested great delight at the fine estate, which he, or rather
his friend, was about to possess. But Lothario, on the other
hand, seemed engrossed with very different thoughts. "I
cannot feel so much pleasure in the possession of an estate,
as in the justice of the means by which it has been acquired."
"And have we not acquired ours justly?" demanded
Werner.
"Not altogether," replied Lothario.
"Do we not purchase it with ready money?"
"That is true," observed Lothario, "and perhaps you may
consider my ideas to be nothing but unmeaning scruples.
But I cannot consider a property to be fairly acquired, which,
does not pay its contribution to the state."
"What !" said Werner, "and do you wish that our lands,
which have been purchased free from taxation, should be
subject to an impost r"
"Yes V answered Lothario, " to a certain degree. And it
is only this general equality that can render our possesions
476
WILHELM MEISTEBV8
secure. "Why does the peasant, in these times of change,
when so many old ideas are becoming obsolete, consider that
the possessions of the nobleman are less secure than his
own? Because they are exempt from burdens to which he
is subject."
(i But how would these notions agree with the interest of
our capital?" inquired Werner.
"Quite well," replied Lothario; "if, in return for a just
and regular taxation, the state should exempt us from feudal
obligations, allowing us to act as we please with our lands,
and permitting us to divide them, if we think fit. We might
then dispose of them amongst our children, whom Ave could
establish in a free and active life, instead of leaving them an
inheritance of contracted and contracting privileges, for the
-enjoyment of which, we must for ever invoke the spirits of
our ancestors. How much greater would be the happiness of
men and women, if they might look freely around them, and
elevate by their choice a worthy maiden or a deserving youth,
without any other prospect than that of happiness. The
state would, in that case, be better supplied with citizens, and
would seldom find a deficiency of either heads or hands."
"I assure you," said Werner, "that in the whole course of
my life, I have never troubled myself about the state. But
I have always paid my share of taxes, dues and imposts, in
compliance with custom."
"Well," answered Lothario, "I have some hopes yet of
making a good citizen of you. For, as he only deserves to
be called a good father, who at table helps his children first,
so none others are good citizens save those who, before every
■other outlay, discharge the imposts laid upon them by the
state."
By such general considerations as these, their business
was rather expedited than retarded. When it was nearly
concluded, Lothario said to Wilhelm, " I must now send
you to a place, where you will be more useful than you can
be here. My sister begs, that you will visit her as soon as
possible. Poor Mignon is very ill, and it is thought that
your presence may, perhaps, be of service to her. My sister
sent this note after me, and you may perceive what import-
ance she attaches to it." Lothario handed him the letter.
Wilhelm, who had listened with the greatest embarrassment,
recognised in the note, which had been hastily written in
APPRENTICE SHIP.
477
pencil, the band of the Countess, and knew not what to
answer.
"Take Felix along with you," said Lothario, "the children
will amuse each other. You must set out to-morrow
morning at an early hour. The carriage of my sister, in
which my friends arrived, is still here. I will provide you
with horses for half the journey. After that, you can travel
by the post. Farewell. Remember me in the kindest
manner to them all. Tell my sister that I shall see her
before long, and that she must prepare for the entertainment
of some guests. The friend of our grand-uncle, the Marquis
Cipriani, is on his way to visit us. He had hoped to find
the old man still alive. They would have entertained each
other with the remembrance of their former intimacy, and
with their common love of art, The Marquis was younger
than my uncle, and was indebted to him for man}- of his
accomplishments. We must exert ourselves to supply the
void which he will find, and we shall attain that object best,
by amusing him with society."
Lothario now retired with the Abbe to his chamber, and
Wilhelm hastened to his own apartment. He knew no one
in whom he might confide, no one, who could assist him, to
avoid the step which he so much feared to take. The ser-
vant came, and begged that he would commence his packing,
that they might be ready to set out at break of day. "Wil-
helm. felt uncertain how to act; but, at length, he exclaimed,
'f I must leave this house at all events, and I maw reflect
afterwards upon the course I ought to take. I can stop in
the middle of my journey, send a messenger back hither,
and write what I am afraid to speak ; and then I care
not what may happen." In spite of this resolution, he
spent a sleepless night, and was only comforted by casting
a look on Felix, who was sleeping so tranquilly. ic Alas!"
he cried, (i who knows what trials I may yet have to endure,
how much I am yet to suffer from my past errors, how often
my happy projects in future, are doomed to miscarry—but
0, thou merciful and unmerciful fate! preserve for me this
treasure which I still possess. Were it possible that th'
best part of my existence should be destroyed, that this h
should be torn violently from my own—then farew
my reason and understanding, farewell all regard for
prudence, farewell every impulse to perse? eranc

47S
WILIIELM MEISTEB'S
well in fine to everything which distinguishes us from meiti
animals! And if we are not allowed voluntarily to end our own
dreary existence, may speedy madness banish all conscious-
ness before Death, which destroys it for ever, shall envelope
me in endless night!"
He took Eelix in his arms, kissed him, pressed him to his
bosom, and shed over him a copious flood of tears. The child
awoke—his bright eyes, his cheerful look, touched the father
to the inmost heart. ""What a scene shall I have to wit-
ness," he exclaimed, "when I present thee to the unfortunate,
but beautiful Countess; and when she shall press thee to a
heart which thy father has injured so deeply! Have I not
reason to fear, that she will reject thee with a cry of anguish,
when a touch of thine shall renew her real or her fancied
pain!"
The coachman allowed him no further time for thought or
hesitation. He compelled Wilhelm to take his place m the
carriage. He accordingly wrapped Eelix up warmly, as the
morning was cold, but bright, and the child, for the first
time in its life, witnessed the rising of the sun. His as-
tonishment at the first glow of dawn, and at the increasing
splendor of the light, his joy and expressions of surprise, re-
joiced his father, and gave him a glimpse into the child's
heart, before which the sun ascended and shone, as over a
pure and silent sea.
"When they reached a small village, the coachman unhar-
nessed his horses, and rode back again. Wilhelm took
possession of an apartment, and began seriously to consider,
whether he should pause or proceed upon his journey. In
this state of indecision, he took out the little note, which,
as yet, he had not dared to read. It contained the following
words. "Send your young friend as quickly as possible.
Mignon, during the last few days, has become worse. And
though the occasion is sad, I shall be glad to make his ac-
quaintance."
Wilhelm, at the first glance, had not observed these con-
cluding words. He was now terrified, and determined not to
oceed. " How!" he exclaimed, " is it possible that Lothario,
knows all that has occurred between us, has not informed
ho I am? She is not calmly awaiting an acc uaintance,
lie would rather not see, but expects an utten

APPRENTICESHIP.
479
stranger! 1 enter—I see her start back with a shudder!
I see her blush! No, it is impossible that I can encounter
such a scene 1" At this moment the horses were brought out,
and harnessed to the carriage. Wilhelm, however, resol red
to unpack his luggage, and remain. His agitation was
extreme—when the servant came to tell him that everything
was ready. He sought to find some excuse for farther delay,
whilst his eyes were fixed carelessly upon the note which he
held in his hand. "Can it be possible?" he suddenly ex-
claimed. "What do I see? This is not the Avriting of the
Countess, but of the Amazon!"
The maid appeared and asked him to descend, taking
Felix with her. "Is it possible?" he cried, "can it be true?
What shall I do 1 Remain here and collect my thoughts,
or hasten forward and rush into an explanation? I am on
the road to her, and can I pause? I may see her this evening,
and shall I willingly remain in prison 1 Yes! this is her
handwriting—she calls me—the carriage is ready which is to
take me to her, and now the enigma is solved. Lothario has
two sisters. He knows of my acquaintance with the one,
but is ignorant how much 1 owe the other. Even she
cannot know that the wounded wayfarer, who is indebted
to her for his health, perhaps for his life, has been received
with such undeserved kindness in her brother's house."
Felix who was amusing himself in the carriage, now cried
to him, "Father, come—0, come! look at those beautiful
clouds, those lovely colours!" '' Yet! I am coining,"
answered Wilhelm, as he hastened down stairs, "all the
glories of Heaven, with which you, my sweet child, are so
much delighted, are as nothing compared with the happiness
which I expect!"
"When he had taken his seat in the carriage, he revolved in
his mind all the circumstances that had occurred. This then
can be no other thon Natalia, Theresa's friend! What a
discovery! what hopes and what anticipations! How strange
that the fear of hearing one sister spoken of, should have
wholly concealed from me the existence of the other I With
what joy did he not now look on Felix, he hoped that he
would meet with the kindest reception!
Night was coming on: the sun had set, the road was rough,
the postillion drove slowly. Felix had fallen asleep, and new
-180
WILUELlt MEISTEIt'-S
cares and doubts agitated the bosom of our friend. "What
delusion/' he thought, (l what error has now seized me? Ad
uncertain resemblance in the handwriting has hastily con-
vinced me, and occasioned me to indulge the strangest
fancies!" He examined the note again by the light of "the
setting sun, he thought that he beheld the handwriting
of the Countess. His eyes refused to recognize in the
details what his heart had acknowledged in the whole.
*£ These horses then are carrying you to a scene of terror!
Who knows whether in a few hours they may not bring you
back again? And if you should meet her alone! But
perhaps her husband or the Baron may be present! How
changed may I not find her? Shall I have courage to
address her?"
But a faint hope, that she might be his Amazon, would
gleam occasionally through his troubled thoughts. It was
now night: the carriage rolled into a court yard and drew
up at the doorway: a servant bearing a torch descended the
broad wide steps, and advanced to receive him. "You have
been long expected!" he said, as he opened the door.
Wiihelm descended, and took the sleeping Felix in his arms,
and the first servant called to a second, who was standing
before the door with a light, "Conduct the gentleman to the
Baroness.5' Like lightning, the thought instantly occurred
to Wiihelm. "What happiness—be it by accident or by de-
sign, the Baroness is here! I shall see her first! perhaps
the Countess will have retired to rest! Assist me, ye good
spirits, that I may have strength to bear this moment of
deep perplexity?"
He entered the house, and found himself in the most
solemn, and according to his own feelings, in the holiest
place which he had ever visited. A dazzling lustre, which
hung from the ceiling, shed its light over a broad night of
stairs of gentle acclivity which stood before him, and parted
at the turning into two divisions. Marble statues and busts
stood around upon pedestals, or were arranged in niches
—with some of which he seemed familiar. The impressions
of youth are never wholly extinguished, even in their smallest
details. He recognized a Muse, which had formerly belonged
to his grandfather, not indeed by its form or by its value,
but by an arm which had been restored, and by a piece of
APPEEXTICESHIP.
481
the robe which had been replaced. He felt as if he were
under the influence of enchantment. But the weight ol
little Felix fatigued his arms, he paused upon the stairs and
knelt down, as if he would arrange him more conveniently.
But, in fact, he needed a moment's rest, and he found it dif-
ficult to rise again. The servant offered to carry the child,
but Wilhelin would not consent. Upon arriving at the
antechamber, to his great astonishment, he recognized the
picture of the sick King's son, which hung upon the wall.
But he had scarcely time to notice it, as the servant without
pausing, passed through two rooms into a cabinet. Here
behind a shaded lamp, which softened the light that it flung
around, sat a young lady engaged in reading. "0, that it
were she!" thought Wilhelm in that decisive moment. He
placed little Felix down, who seemed as if he were about to
awake, and he thought of approaching the lady, but the
child sunk down oppressed with sleep, whereupon the lady
rose, and advanced to meet him. She was his Amazon! He
could not restrain himself. He fell upon his knee and
kissed her hand with indescribable rapture. The child lay
upon the carpet, in soft repose.
Felix was earned to the sofa. Natalia seated herself
beside him, and invited Wilhelm to take the chair which was
standing near. She offered him some refreshment, which he
declined, as he was employed in assuring himself that she
was the same person, and in closely scrutinising her features.
She spoke to him in general terms of Mignon's sickness,
stating that the child was pining away under the influence
of some deep mental affliction, that under extreme excite-
ment, which it endeavoured to conceal, its little heart suffered
painful and violent attacks, and that upon any sudden
agitation, it would suddenly cease to beat and leave no
no sign of life in the bosom' of the innocent sufferer. That
when the painful spasms had passed away, the force of nature
once more expressed itself by strong pulsations, whose
violence was now as painful to the child, as their apparent
cessation had formerly proved.
Wilhelm remembered having witnessed one of these at-
tacks, and Natalia referred him for further information to
the physician, who, she said, would explain to him the reason
why they had desired the presence of the child's friend and
£ r
482
WILHELM MEISTEIt'S
benefactor. "You will find her wonderfully altered," con-
tinued Natalia, "she has even taken a fancy to wearing
female apparel, to which she formerly entertained so strong
an aversion."
"How have you succeeded in this?" inquired Wilhelm.
"However desirable it may long have been," she replied,
"we have only succeeded by the merest accident. But you
must hear how it occurred. You are doubtless aware that
I always have a number of }roung maidens about me, whose
growing dispositions for every thing that is good and right
I endeavour to cultivate. Erom my lips they never hear
anything but what I myself believe to be true, although I
cannot prevent them from hearing many things from other
persons, which are tinged with error, and with worldly pre-
judice. In answering their inquiries upon such subjects, I
endeavour, as far as possible, to correct their strange
and incorrect ideas with some admitted truth, and thus to
render them useful, or at least harmless. Some time
ago my girls had heard from the peasant children certain
wonderful tales of angels, of the Knecht Rupert and of other
visionary forms that had appeared, at certain times, to
reward good children, and to punish those who were dis-
obedient. They had an idea that they were human beings in
disguise. I encouraged this notion, and without convincing
them by proofs, I determined upon the first favourable
opportunity to amuse them with a spectacle of the kind.
The birth-day of two twin sisters, whose conduct had always
been irreproachable, was drawing near, and I promised them
that an angel should upon that occasion distribute the pre-
sents which they had so well deserved, They were impatient
for the expected day. I had engaged Mignon to perform
the part, and when the time arrived, she was appropriately
dressed in a light flowing drapery of white. Nothing was
deficient, even the golden girdle round her waist, and a
similar diadem upon her head. At first I felt disposed to
omit the wings, but the ladies who dressed her, insisted on
providing a pair of large golden pinions, upon which they
seemed determined to display their taste. Thus adorned,
carrying a lily in one hand, and a basket in the other, this
strange apparition suddenly became visible amongst the
children, and excited in their minds, no kss than in my own,
APPEi;^TICES"B.lP.
488
feelings of the utmost astonishment. "Behold the Angel!"
I exclaimed. The children started back at first, but at
length they cried, "It is Mignon!" and jet they feared to
approach the wonderful figure.
"Here are your presents!" she said, presenting the
basket to them. They gathered round her, gazed, felt, and
at length inquired—
"Art thou an angel?"
"I would I were," replied Mignon.
""Why dost thou bear a lily?"
"If my heart were as pure and open—then I should be
happy.''
"What wings are those? Let us see them/'
"They represent others, which are not yet unfolded."
Thus did she reply significantly to each light and innocent
inquiry. When the curiosity of the little party had been
satisfied, and the impression of the angel's visit had abated,
they proceeded to undress Mignon. But she resisted, and
Caking her cithern, she seated herself upon this high writing
table, and commenced the following ballad, which she sang
with incredible sweetness.
Thus let me seem—till thus I be,
These snow-white garments ne'er deny,
From this bright world I soon shall flee
To an enduring- home on high.
A little while I there shall rest,
With vision pure and open mind,
In robes of white no longer drest
My wreath and garland left behind.
In heavenly realms, the angel choir
Seek not to know of youth or maid,
Freed from this lowly earth's attire,
Their limbs in robes of light array'd.
My lot hath been devoid of care,
Yet is my bosom rent with pain,
Untimely grief hath been my share,
Then, 0! restore my youth again.
251 determined,'* continued Natalia, "to permit her to
484
WILIIELM MEISTEIt?S
retain the dress, and to procure some others for her of the
same kind. She wears them nowP and they seem to give her
quite a different expression."
As it was growing late, Natalia allowed Wilhelm to de-
part, but it was not without some apprehension that he
separated from her. <c Is she married or not ?" he asked
himself. He had been afraid, at every sound, that some
door would open and her husband appear. The servant who
conducted him to his apartment, retired before he could
summon courage to make inquiries on this subject. His
agitation kept him awake for a considerable time, and he
employed himself in comparing the figure of his Amazon
with the appearance of his new acquaintance. But he could
not make them thoroughly agree. The former he had at
once fashioned—but the latter seemed as if it would fashion
him.
CHAPTEE III.
On the following morning when all was silent and quiet,
he proceeded to examine the house. It was the cleanest,
the noblest and most beautiful building he had ever seen.
"True art," he exclaimed, " resembles good company, it com-
pels us, in the most delightful manner, to admit the extent
to which our inward faculties have been cultivated. The
impression, which the statues and busts of his grandfather
produced upon his mind, was most agreeable. It was with
real delight that he surveyed the picture of the sick King's
son, he still found it charming and affecting. The servant
admitted him into various other apartments, amongst which
were a library, a museum and a cabinet of natural curiosities.
"With many of the objects he was wholly unacquainted.
Felix, in the mean time, had awoke, and was searching for
him. He felt grieved at the thought of how, and when, he
might receive Theresa's letter, he dreaded the prospect of
meeting Mignon, or even of seeing Natalia. How different
APPRENTICESHIP.
485
was his present state of mind from what it had been, when
he had dispatched his letter to Theresa, and had devoted
himself with so much gladness to that noble being.
Natalia invited him to breakfast. He was ushered into
an apartment, where several neatly attired maidens, all as it
appeared under ten years of age, were engaged in laying out
a little table, whilst another similar person was carrying m
various descriptions of beverage.
"Wilhelm attentively examined a picture which was hang-
ing over the sofa. He could not help recognizing it as the
portrait of Natalia, though he was dissatisfied with it as a
work of art. But upon the appearance of Natalia herself,
the resemblance wholly vanished. He was glad however to
perceive a religious cross upon its breast, and Natalia herself
wore a similar ornament.
"I have examined that picture," he observed to her, " and
I have felt surprised how a painter could be so true and yet
so false at the same time. The portrait bears a general re-
semblance to you, but it expresses neither your features nor
your character."
"Iam only astonished," replied Natalia, "that it bears
so great a resemblance to me. For it is not my portrait,
but that of an aunt, whom I resembled when I was a child.
It was painted when she was about my present age, and at
first sight every one thinks that it was intended for me. I
wish you had known that excellent lady. I feel so deeply
indebted to her. A very delicate state of health, too much
solitary contemplation, and her moral and religious anxiety,
prevented her from exhibiting to the world those qualities
which she might otherwise have displayed. She was a light
which shone only upon a few friends, but especially upon
me."
1 Is it possible?" said Wilhelm, after brief reflection,
during which he perceived that many things accurately cor-
responded; "is it possible that that fair and noble Saint,
whose gentle confessions have been communicated to me,
could have been your aunt?"
"Have you perused that manuscript?" inquired Natalia.
<( Yes !" replied Wilhelm, "with the deepest sympathy
and not without an effect upon my life. "What I most ad-
mired in those confessions was the purity of being, not only
WILHELM MEISTElt'S
of herself, but of everything that surrounded her, the inde-
pendence of her nature, and the impossibility that she
could receive any impression which was not in complete
harmony with her noble, lovely mind."
"You are more just towards this inimitable being than
many others who have read her manuscript. Every refined
person knows how many natural defects he has had to
struggle against, both in himself and others, what exertions
his own education has cost him, and how disposed he has
been in general to think of himself alone, and wholly to
forget the claims of others. How frequently does a good
man upbraid himself for having proved deficient in kindness,
and when a fair nature cultivates itself too tenderly, too
conscientiously, or if I may use the expression, over-culti-
vates itself, it can find no patience, no toleration in the
world. Such beings are to us externally, what the Ideal is
to us internally—examples not so much to imitate, as to
call forth the exertion of our powers. We smile at the
order and cleanliness of the Dutch, but how could our friend
Theresa have become what she is, if the example of their
household arrangements had not been ever present to her
mind."
"Then I find in Theresa's friend," cried "Willielm, u the
same Natalia, to whom her kind relation was so much at-
tached, the same Natalia who has been from her earliest
youth so sympathizing, so affectionate and so tender-hearted.
A nature like hers could only descend from such a race!
What a prospect opens before me, when in the same moment
I take a view of your ancestors, and of the whole circle to
which you belong!"
"Yes P replied Natalia, "and you could not procure a
more correct idea of us anywhere than what the story of
my aunt will furnish. It is true that her attachment for
me has always caused her to praise me too highly. But in
expressing our opinion of a child, we do not speak so much
of the object before us, as give expression to our hopes."
Wilhelm had, in the mean time, hastily recollected that
he had become acquainted with the circumstances of Lo-
thario's youth and early education. The beautiful Countess
too appeared to him as a child with the pearls of her aunt
about her neck, and he had been once in close proximity
Al'PEEKTICESHIP.
487
to those pearls, when her sweet and lovely lips had bent
down to meet his own—he sought to banish these remem-
brances by having recourse to other thoughts. He then
turned to the friend with whom that manuscript had made
him acquainted. "And do I find myself at this moment,"
lie exclaimed, "in the house of your worthy uncle? But
it is not so much a house as a temple, of which you are the
Priestess—nay, the very Genius. Never shall I forget the
impression which yesterday evening produced upon my
mind, when I entered and saw all those well-remembered
works of art again before me. I thought of the marble
statues in Mignon's song, but they did not mourn over me,
they beheld me with a look of deep earnestness, and con-
nected the days of my earliest youth with that identical
moment. Among so many other noble works, I see here
that ancient family treasure, that delight of my grandfather,
and I find myself here also, my unworthy self, whom nature
had made the dearest favourite of that good old man, but
alas! with what associations and in what society!"'
Natalia's young pupils had in the meanwhile retired from
the apartment to pursue their several employments. Wil-
li elm, who had been left alone with Natalia, was invited to
explain his last observations more clearly. His statement
that the most valuable portion of her works of art had once
belonged to his grandfather imparted a cheerful intimacy to
their conversation. He had not only become acquainted with
her family through the manuscript, but he found himself at
the present moment in the midst of his own inheritance.
He now expressed a wish to see Mignon. Natalia begged
him to wait until the physician should return, as ho had
been summoned to attend a patient in the neighbourhood.
"We may readily conjecture that he was the same active little
man with whom we are already acquainted, and who had
been adverted to in the Confessions of a fair Saint.
"As I now find myself," said Wilhelm, "in the midst of
this family circle, I presume the Abbe who is mentioned in
that manuscript is the same mysterious inexplicable person-
age, whom after so many strange adventures I once more
met in your brother's house. Perhaps you can give me
some further information about him."
Natalia replied that much might be said of the At be.
488
WILHELM MEISTEB'S
"I know him best," she continued, "from the influence
which he has exerted upon our education. He was convinced,
at least for a time, that all education should be adapted to
the disposition. I cannot say whether he has altered his
opinions. He was accustomed to maintain, that the prin-
cipal duty of man consisted of activity, and that we could
achieve nothing, unless a peculiar talent and instinct im-
pelled us to the performance of our tasks. 'It is admitted/
he would say, 'that men must be born poets, and the same
necessity is allowed with respect to all who excel in works
of art, as the perfections of nature cannot be success-
fully assumed. But upon close examination we shall
find that even our slightest talents must come to us from
nature, as man possesses no vague capabilities. Nothing
renders our lives unsuccessful but the ambiguous and un-
certain system of our education, which awakens wishes
instead of directing impulses, and in place of forwarding
real talent, leads our exertions to objects with which our
minds are generally in discord. A child, a youth who goes
astray in a path which he has chosen for himself, is more
likely to succeed, than many who never deviate from a course
which has been chosen for them by others. For if the
former, either by their own guidance, or through the instru-
mentality of strangers, find the path which is congenial
to their nature, they will pursue it consistently, whilst
the latter are in incessant danger of throwing off' a foreign
yoke, and abandoning themselves to their own freedom.'"
"It is somewhat singular," said Wilhelm, "that I should
have had some dealings with this extraordinary man, and
that he should, in his own way, have guided me for a time,
or at least confirmed me in my errors. I must wait with
patience, to see how he will explain his conduct, in having in
conjunction with others, made me an object of perfect ridi-
cule."
"I have no reason," said Natalia, "to complain of his
peculiar fancies, for they have succeeded better with me,
than with the other members of our family. Though I do
not see how my brother Lothario could have been more ad-
vantageously educated. Perhaps my sister, the Countess,
ought to have been managed differently, as it would have
been better to have infusea more strength and earnestness
^PPKEffTICESHIP.
489
mto her character. But as for our brother Friedrich, T
dare not think of what may be his fate—he will doubtless-
have become the victim of the delusive educational system."
"Have you then another brother?" inquired Wilhelm.
"Truly I have," replied Natalia; " a merry, light-heartea
youth, who has never been restrained in his wish to wander
through the world, and I know not what may be the con-
sequence of his wildness and dissipation, I have not seen
him for a long time. But it comforts me to know that the
Abbe, and all my brother's friends, frequently receive news
of him and his occupations."
Wilhelm wished to question Natalia further about her
brother and his companions, with a view of ascertaining her
own sentiments, when the physician arrived, and after an
interchange of compliments, began to discourse of Mignon's
condition.
Natalia, taking Felix by the hand, said she would conduct
him to Mignon, and prepare her for a visit from her friend.
"When the physician found himself alone with Wilhelm,
he thus began. u I have some strange things to tell you,,
of which indeed you can have but little idea. Natalia has
left us, in order that we may be able more unreservedly to
speak of various matters, which, although they have been
communicated by herself, cannot in her presence be so freely
discussed. The whole nature of the child seems exhausted
by a feeling of the most intense longing. Her only earthly
wishes are once more to see her native land and to
possess you. Both these feeliugs appear to lie at an im-
measurable distance before her, and to be almost unattain-
able. Her home is probably in the neighbourhood of Milan,
from whence, in very early youth, she was decoyed away by a
company of rope dancers. She can communicate no further
information about herself, partly because she was then too
young to remember the names either of persons or places,
and especially because she has taken an oath never to
inform any living mortal of her parentage or abode. For
the persons by whom she was found wandering, and to
whom she accurately described her dwelling, and with pierc-
ing cries implored them to conduct her home, carried her off
the more rapidly on that account, and at night, in their
Quarters, they spoke of their valuable prize, and declared it
4.90
WILHEL^I MINISTER'S
to be impossible that she could ever find her way back. The
little innocent then fell into a state of the most dreadful
despair, in which the Holy Virgin appeared to her and
assured her that she would protect her. She thereupon swore
a solemn oath to herself, that for the future she would place
confidence in no one, that she would impart her history to
no human being, and that she would live and die in the hope
of obtaining direct assistance from heaven. And even this
information she did not expressly communicate to Natalia,
but the latter has rather gathered it from detached expres-
sions, songs, and childish observations, which have indistinctly
betrayed what she would willingly have concealed."
"Wilhelm was now able to understand many of the songs
and mysterious expressions of the affectionate child. And
he implored the physician not to withhold from him any of
the strange poetry or confessions of so singular a being.
""Well," said the physician, "prepare for an unexpected
communication, a story with which you, without being con-
scious of it, are intimately connected, and which I fear has
been decisive for the life or death of this good creature/'
"Let me hear it," said Wilhelm; "I am beyond measure
impatient."
"Do you remember," inquired the plrysician, "a certain
secret nocturnal visit from a stranger after your performance
of Hamlet?"
"I remember it well," answered Wilhelm, with a blush,
"but I did not expect to be reminded of it at the present
moment."
"Do you know who it was?"
"No! but vou alarm me. You cannot mean Mignon.
Who was it ? * Tell me."
"I do not know myself."
"Then it was not Mignon?"
u No certainly not. But Mignon had intended, at the
time to visit you, and saw with horror from the spot where
she lay concealed, a rival occupy her place."
"A rival!" exclaimed Wilhelm. "Explain yourself; you
amaze me."
"Be satisfied that with my assistance you can learn the
result so easily. Natalia and I, who have felt but a slight
interest upon this subject, have been sufficiently distressed
API'BEKTICZSniP.
591
at discovering the perplexed condition of this good creature,
whom we have been so anxious to assist. Her attention
had been attracted by some thoughtless expressions of
Philina and some of her companions, as well as by a song of
the former, in which she celebrated the praises of the night,
and she felt desirous of passing the night in company
with a person whom she loved, without any other desire
than to enjoy a happy and secure repose. A feeling of
attachment to you reigned so powerfully within her breast,
and within your arms she had found relief from so many
sorrows, that she wished to realize this happiness in all its
fulness. At first she had thought of asking this favour of
you in a friendly manner, but a secret reluctance had pre-
vented her. At length however, that merry evening, and the
excitement of a more than usual quantity of wine, had
inspired her with courage to make the bold attempt, and to
approach your bed. She had therefore gone before you to
conceal herself in your apartment, but when she was as-
cending the stairs, she heard a noise, and hid herself, when
she perceived a female figure clad in white, steal into your
chamber. You arrived yourself a short time after, and she
heard you bolt the door.
"Mignon then suffered indescribable agony. All the
violent sensations of passionate jealousy, mingled with the
mysterious longings of obscure desire, exerted a strong in-
fluence upon her half developed nature. Her heart, which
had hitherto beaten violently with anxious expectation,
became almost still, and oppressed her bosom with its leaden
weight. She breathed with difficulty, and knew not where
to seek relief, till hearing the sound of the old man's harp,
she hastened to his garret, and amid the most frightful con-
vulsions, she spent the night at his feet"
The physician paused for a moment, but as "Wilhelin con-
tinued silent, he proceeded: "Is alalia has assured me that
no incident of her whole life had so much alarmed and
affected her, as the state of Mignon whilst she was relating
this occurrence, and our noble friend upbraided herself for
having elicited this confession from her, and thus renewed
the sorrows of the gentle maiden."
"i The kind creature,' continued Natalia, 1 had scarcely
readied this point of her narrative, or rather of her replies
492
WILHELM MEISTEIl'S
to my direct questions, than she suddenly fell down at my
feet, and pressing her hand to her bosom, complained of the
returning pains of that dreadful night. She writhed upon
the ground, and I was obliged to summon all my resolution
to apply those remedies for the recovery of her mind and
body, with which I was acquainted."
"You reduce me to a painful condition," cried Wilhelm,
"by making me feel so sensible of my repeated injustice to
Mignon, at the very moment when I am proposing to visit
her. If I am to see her again, why do you deprive me of
the courage to meet her without apprehension? But shall
I confess it to you? that as her mind seems so affected, I
cannot think that my presence will prove beneficial to her.
If it is your opinion, as a physician, that the illness arising
from her extreme longing, has so far injured her constitu-
tion as to threaten death, why should I renew her sorrows
by my presence, and perhaps hasten the termination of her
existence?''
"My friend," continued the physician, "where Ave can-
not cure, we are bound at least to alleviate, and I could
furnish the most convincing proofs, that the presence of a
beloved object can deprive the imagination of its evil powers,
and can convert a consuming longing into the repose of
peaceful contemplation. We should do everything with
moderation and judgment. It is true that such a presence
can sometimes revive an almost extinguished passion. But
go, and see the dear child; be kind to her, and let us await
the result with patience."
Natalia returned at that moment, and requested Wilhelm
to accompany her to Mignon, saying, "She appears to be
very happy with. Felix, and I hope she will receive her friend
kindly." Wilhelm followed her with some reluctance. He
wTas deeply affected at the accounts which he had heard, and
feared that he might have to witness a passionate scene.
But his interview was of the very opposite description.
Mignon was dressed in long white female attire, and with
her rich brown hair, partly knotted and partly streaming in
curls over her shoulders, she was sitting with Felix in her
lap, and she pressed him tenderly to her heart; and whilst
she resembled a departed spirit, the boy was life itself. It
seemed as if heaven and earth were embracing. With a
APPRENTICESHIP.
493
smile she extended her hand to "Wilhelin. "I thank you
for restoring Felix to me. I know not how they had enticed
him away, and since then I have never enjoyed my existence.
And whenever my heart feels any want npon earth, Felix
shall fill the void."
The tranquillity with which Mignon had received her
friend, gave great satisfaction to the whole party. The
physician begged that "Wilhelm would visit her frequently,
and that her peace, both of mind and of body, might be un-
interruptedly attended to. He withdrew almost imme-
diately, but promised to return in a short time.
"YVilhelm had an opportunity now of observing Natalia
within the limits of her own circle. He could enjoy no
greater happiness than to live in her society. Her presence
produced the most beneficial effect upon the girls, and the
young ladies of various ages, who either resided with her in
the house, or came to visit her from the neighbourhood.
"The course of your existence," observed Wilhelm, "has
doubtless been smooth and undisturbed, and your aunt's
description of your childhood seems to agree with your pre-
sent condition. We may easily see that your path has
never been entangled. You have never felt the necessity
of retracing your steps."
"I am indebted for this," replied Natalia, "to my uncle,
and the Abbe, who have so well understood my peculiarities.
I do not remember during my whole life having experienced
a stronger wish than to discover the necessities of others
that I might relieve them. The child who was unable to
walk, the bed-ridden old man, the anxiety of a rich family for
offspring, the inability of the poor to support their children,
the secret anxiety of many for employment, the impulse
to cultivate some particular talent, the ability to follow a
hundred little necessary pursuits, to discover these, seemed
to be my natural mission. I could perceive them in places
to which my attention had never been directed, and I
seemed to have been born for the purpose of making such
discoveries. The charms of inanimate nature, to which so
many others are keenly sensitive, produced no impression
upon me, and the charms of art I valued even less. My
most agreeable occupation was to search out want and dis-
tress, and to discover and apply a remedy for their alleviation
494
wilhelm: meisteh's
""When I beheld a poor creature in rags, I immediately
remembered the superfluous clothes wiiich filled the ward-
robes of my friends; when I saw children pining away for
want of care or food, I thought of the many ladies whom I
knew to be oppressed with tedium amidst their countless
luxuries and riches, and when I saw throngs of persons con-
fined in narrow habitations, I thought that they ought to be
provided for, in the spacious palaces and unoccupied rooms
of large mansions. This mode of beholding things was quite
natural to me, so that I made constant errors in my child-
hood, and perplexed my friends with my unreasonable pro-
posals, it was another peculiarity of mine .that I could with
difficulty consider money as the proper means of relieving any
of these evils. All my favours were rendered in hind, and I
am perfectly aware that in consequence of this, many a laugh
was indulged at my expense. The Abbe alone appeared to
understand me, he yielded to my wishes upon every occasion,
he made me acquainted with my wants and desires, and
taught me how to gratify them with propriety."
"And have you then," asked Willi elm, "in the education
of your little female world, adopted the principles of those
extraordinary men? Do you suffer the dispositions of the
children to form themselves? Do you permit them to search
and wander and commit mistakes, allowing them to reach the
goal at last, or leave them to perish in their errors?"
"No," answered Natalia, "such a mode of education
would be quite contrary to my principles. Tie who affords
no assistance at the proper time, in my opinion, never helps
at all; and he who withholds his advice at the needful
juncture, never counsels. I also think it necessary to pro-
mulgate certain laws, and impress them upon the minds of
children, that they may the better comprehend the object
of their existence. Tes, I would almost say that it is better
to go astray by rule, than to err in obedience to the
caprices of our disposition, and accordiug to my view of
mankind, there always seems to me to be a want in our
nature, which a distinctly enunciated law alone can supply."
"Your system, then," observed Wilhelm, " differs alto-
gether from the plan which is followed by our friends."
"Yes," answered Natalia, "and they afford a noble ex-
ample of toleration, in their refusal to interfere with my
APPRENTICESHIP.
495
principles. They allow me to pursue ray own course, because
it is my own, and they assist me to accomplish all my wishes."
We must postpone a circumstantial detail of Natalia's
system to a more favourable opportunity.
Mignon had frequently begged to be admitted into their
society, and they yielded to her request the more readily,
as she seemed to be again growing reconciled to Wilhelm,
Her heart was opening to him once more, and she was daily
becoming more happy and cheerful. During their walks, as
she was easily fatigued, she loved to lean upon his arm.
"Now," he would say, "she leaps and climbs no more, and
yet she feels the wish to ascend to the mountain top, to skip
from house to house, and to sport from tree to tree. How
enviable are the birds, especially when in the enjoyment of
sweet and social intercourse they build their nests."
Mignon soon acquired the habit of inviting Wilhelm daily
into the garden. And when he was engaged or absent, Eelix
supplied his place, and if she seemed at times to lose all
earthly consciousness, yet at other moments, she was so
firmly attached to both father and son, that she seemed to
dread a separation from them more than any other calamity.
Natalia appeared thoughtful. (i It was our object," she
said, "to open her kind and affectionate heart by means of
your presence. I do not know whether we have acted
wisely.She paused, and seemed to expect that Wilhelm
would make some answer. He felt apprehensive that, under
present circumstances, his marriage with Theresa would be
extremely afflicting to Mignon, but he did not venture in his
uncertainty to give expression to this thought, and he h&d
no suspicion that Natalia was already aware of his intention.
And he found it equally impossible to converse with free-
dom, when his noble friend spoke about her sister, praised
her good qualities, and deplored her present condition. He
was no less perplexed when Natalia informed him that the
Jountess was shortly expected to arrive. "Her husband,"
she said, "has no other intention than to replace the departed
€ount, who was Principal of the Herrnhuther community,
arid by activity and vigilance to extend and maintain that
noble institution. He is coming with the Countess to bid
us farewell; lie intends, then, to visit the various localities
where the community have settled. All his wishes are com-
49G
"WILHELM MEISTEIt's
plied with, and I almost think that he will take my poor
sister with him to America, in order more closely to imitate
his predecessor. And as he seems convinced at present that
lie wants but little to become a saint, perhaps the thought
has sometimes floated through his soul, that he would even
cheerfully embrace the glories of a martyr."
CHAPTER IV.
Thebesa had frequently been the subject of conversation
among our friends, and many were the indirect allusions
that had been made to her, and "Wilhelm had been often
tempted to confess that he had already offered her his heart
and hand. But a certain feeling, for which be could not
account, had hitherto restrained him, until at length Natalia,
with that heavenly, modest, cheerful smile, which so became
her, addressed him thus: "I am compelled, then, to break
this silence, and to force myself into your confidence. AVhy,
my friend, do you make a secret of a circumstance which is
of so much importance to you, and so deeply interests
myself?—Tou have offered your hand to my friend. It is
not without invitation that I interfere in the matter—here
are my credentials—here is a letter which she has written
to you, and has transmitted through my hand."
"A letter from Theresa!" he exclaimed.
"Yes, "Wilhelm! and your fate is now decided. Let me
congratulate you, no less than my dear friend." "Wilhelm
was silent and gazed intently upon vacancy. Natalia looked
at him; she saw that he was pale. "Tour joy is strong,"
she said, "it takes the form of terror, and deprives you of
the power of utterance. My sympathy is not the less cor-
dial, because it compels me to give utterance to my thoughts.
I hope you will prove grateful to me, for I must inform you
that my influence with Theresa has not been small. She
sought my advice, and as you were fortunately here, I was
enabled to overcome the few doubts which my friend still
entertained. Our notes were rapidly interchanged—and
here is her decision—here is her determination. And now
you shall peruse all her letters. Tou shall look with a clear
eye into the fair heart of your bride."
APPEEFTICESHXP.
497
Wilhelm opened the letter which had been handed to him
unsealed. It contained the following affectionate words.
"I am jours as I am, and as you know me. I call you
mine as you are, and as I know you. Whatever either in
ourselves or in our circumstances, marriage may alter, we
will endeavour to arrange by reason, cheerful courage, and
good will. As it is not passion, but attachment and con-
fidence which have brought us together, we incur less risk
than a thousand others. You will, doubtless, bear with me,
if I sometimes affectionately remember my former friend,
and in return I will press your son to my heart as if I were
his mother. If you will consent to share my humble dwel-
ling, it is yours, and in the meantime the purchase of your
estate may be concluded. I should wish, however, that no
further steps were taken in the matter without my assistance,
to prove that I deserve the confidence which you have
bestowed upon me. Farewell, my dear, dear friend! beloved
bridegroom! honoured husband! Theresa embraces you
with hope and joy. Natalia will tell you more, will tell you
everything."
Wilhelm, who beheld his Theresa fully represented in this
letter, had now completely recovered his composure. During
its perusal the most rapid thoughts alternated within his
soul. With indignation he observed in his heart the most
undoubted traces of an inclination for Natalia. He con-
demned himself, and pronounced every such idea to be mad-
ness, he thought of Theresa in all her perfection, he read her
letter again, and he became more cheerful, or rather he
recovered so far that he could appear cheerful. Natalia now
gave him the letters which she had interchanged with
Theresa, and from them wTe shall extract a few passages.
When Theresa had concluded a description of her husband,
she continued thus.
"Such is my idea of the man who has just offered me his
hand. His own opinion of himself you will learn at some
future time, from the papers, in which he has delineated
himself to me with perfect candour. 1 am convinced thai;
with him I shall find happiness."
"As for rank, you have long kno >vn my thoughts upon that
subject. Some persons keenly fee- the disagreement -if out*
2 K
408
WILLLELM MEISTEK'S
ward circumstances. I have no wish to alter the opinion of
others, but I will act according to my own convictions. I
do not intend to set an example to others, though I am not
acting without an example. I fear nothing but interior
disagreements—a vessel which is not adapted for its contents
—great display and little enjoyment—riches and avarice—
nobility and rudeness—youth and pedantry—want and cere-
mony—these are the things which would annihilate me, let
the world prize and value them as it may."
"In hoping that we shall suit each other, I ground my
expectations upon the belief that he resembles you, my dear
Natalia, you, a being whom I prize and reverence so highly.
Yes, like you he possesses that noble wish to search and
strive after the Best, by which we produce the Good, which
we hope to find elsewhere. How often have I not silently
censured you, because your conduct towards certain friends,
or your behaviour, in certain cases, has been different from
what my own would have been, and yet the result has always
proved that you were right. You have been accustomed
to say, that by dealing with men as they are, we make them
worse, but by treating them as if they really were what they
ought to be, we improve them as far as it is possible. I
know that I can neither see thiDgs thus, nor can I act in
this manner. Penetration, order, discipline, command, are
my peculiar gifts. I well remember Jarno's expression,
'Theresa drills her pupils—Natalia instructs them.' In-
deed, upon one occasion, he went so far as to deny that I
possessed any of those indispensable virtues, faith, hope, or
love. 1 Instead of faith,' he said, "she has penetration —
instead of love, constancy—and instead of hope, she has
trust.' I will even admit, that before I knew you, I thought the
most valuable qualities in the world were clear-sightedness
and prudence, but now your presence has pervaded, animated
and conquered me, and I willingly yield the preference to
your pure and exalted soul. In the same sense I honour
my distinguished friend. The history of his life is a per-
petual seeking, without being able to find, but his has not
been an empty seeking, but a wonderful and generous toil,
and he has always hoped to obtain from others, what could
only proceed from himself. And so, love, my clear sighted-
APPRENTICESHIP.
499
ness has not injured me in the present instance. I know
my husband better than he has known himself, and, there-
fore, I value him more highty. I see him and I understand
him, but all roy penetration cannot tell me how much he is
capable of accomplishing. When I think of him, his image
always appears to me in conjunction with yours, and I know
not how I have proved worthy to possess two such friends.
But I will become worthy of them, by devoting myself to my
duty, by fulfilling all that is expected from me."
"' Do I think of Lothario?' "Vividly and daily. He is never
one moment absent from the society of those beings who live
in my remembrance. 0! how I lament that that excellent
man, who is related to me by an error of youth, should have
been connected with you by ties of nature. In very truth a
being, such as you are, would have been more worthy of him
than 1 can be. I would have surrendered him to you. Let
us be to him all that is possible, until he find a worthy wife,
and let us then continue perpetually together,"
cc But what will our friends say?" observed Natalia. <c My
brother knows nothing of the event—not in the least—the
entire affair has been managed for once by us women. I
know not the fancies with which Lydia has contrived to
imbue Theresa, but she seems to mistrust both the Abbe
and Jarno. Lydia has hinted some suspicions of secret
engagements and plans, of which I have heard in a general
manner, without wishing to inquire into them more parti-
cularly, and in this decisive step of her life, she lias not
wished that any other person than myself should influence
her. She had previously arranged with my brother that
they should mutually inform each other of their union, with-
out consulting with any one upon the subject."
Natalia now addressed a letter to her brother, and invited
"Wilhelm to add a few words, in compliance with the wish of
Theresa. They were about to seal it, when Jarno was unex-
pectedly announced. He was received as kindly as possible,
he looked cheerful and merry, and could not long avoid
saying, "1 have come to acquaint you with a strange but
pleasant piece of news, which concerns our Theresa. You
have often blamed us, dear Natalia, for troubling ourselves
600
WILHELM MEISTEB S
about so many matters, but you will now admit the ad-
vantags of having our spies every where. Guess—and prove
your sagacity for once."
The confidence with which he said this, the cunning look
with which he surveyed Wilhelm and Natalia, convinced
them both that their secret had been discovered. Natalia
answered with a smile, ""We are more clever than you think,
and have already committed to paper the solution of your
riddle, even before you have proposed it."
With these words she handed him the letter to Lothario,
and felt satisfied at having so successfully prevented the
surprise which had been intended for them. Jamo took the
letter with some astonishment, read it quickly, started,
let it fall from his hands, and stared at them with an expres-
sion of surprise and alarm, to which he was wholly unaccus-
tomed. He did not utter a word.
Wilhelm and Natalia were petrified. Jarno paced rest-
lessly up and down the room. "What shall I say?" he
exclaimed, " or rather shall I tell what has happened? It
cannot remain a secret, and the difficulty cannot be avoided.
Therefore, secret for secret! Surprise for surprise! The-
resa is not the daughter of her supposed mother. The
obstacle is removed, and I have come hither to beg you will
prepare for her marriage with Lothario."
Jarno observed the astonishment of them both, although
they bent their eyes upon the ground. "The present case,"
he said, "is one of those in which the company of others is
distressing. It is better that each person should indulge
his own reflections in private, and I, at least, beg that I may
retire for a short time." He hastened into the garden, and
Wilhelm followed him mechanically at some distance.
After the lapse of an hour, they were again assembled.
Wilhelm commenced by observing. "Formerly, when I was
living without any object or plan of life, in a state of levity
and indifference, friendship, love, attachment and confidence
met me with open arms, and even forced themselves upon
me. But now when I wish to be serious, fate appears to
ireat me very differently. My determination to offer my hand
lo Theresa, is perhaps the only resolution which has ever
come pure and unbidden from my heart' I formed my
plans with deliberation, my reason approved it, and with
APPRENTICES Hlr
,!jhe consent of the dearly loved maiden, all my hopes
were fulfilled. But now the strangest fate rejects my
outstretched hand. Theresa extends her own to me as in a
dream, but I cannot grasp it, and the lovely image vanishes
for ever. So, farewell, thou dearest image, and all my hopes
of bliss and happiness which gathered around thee!"
He remained silent for an instant; and Jarno was abont
to answer him. "Let me add one word more," said
Wilhelm, "for the die which is about to be cast will affect
my whole existence. In this moment I feel the full effect
of the impression which Lothario's presence first produced
upon me, and which has never left my mind. He is worthy
of the warmest friendship and affection, and without some
sacrifice, no friendship can be proved. For his sake, I found
it easy to deceive a helpless maiden, and for his sake, I shall
find it possible to renounce a bride. Go, then, inform him
of the singular event which has occurred, and tell him for
what I am prepared."
Jarno remarked, <£ In cases of this nature, I hold it im-
portant that nothing should be rashly done. Let us take
no step without Lothario's consent. I will go to him at once,
and wait patiently for my return or for his letter."
He rode away, and left his friends in the greatest distress
of mind. They had time now to reflect upon past events, and
to draw their own inferences from them. They remembered
now for the first time, that they had received Jarno's singu-
lar announcement without inquiring into any of the atten-
dant circumstances. Wilhelm began to entertain his doubts,
when to their great astonishment and perplexity, a
messenger arrived from Theresa on the following day, and
was the bearer of a letter to Natalia.
u Strange as it may appear, I must write another letter
to beg that you will send my husband to me without delay.
He shall be my husband in spite of the plans which they
are contriving co deprive me of him. Give him t-he enclosed
letter—but not before witnesses of any kind."
The letter to Wilhelm was as follows:
u What will you think of your Theresa, if she now insists
passionately upon a union, which the most calm reflection
seemed alone to have inspired? Let nothing prevent you
from setting out immediately upon receipt of this letter.
'joq^otii po;ncloi Joq jo Jo;qSnup oq; ;on si usojoq^ VflW
poouiAuoo rau i \i9.ouuj;s u Aq poaoAipp oSbssoui ;sgSnoj
oq; nuq; 'onpA ojoui jo si pnuq Am uiojj onq 9tio „ 'o;ojav
oq ./noA' o; 3puq oilier puos o; puoqnt ;on op j „ *ooiApu
siq; jo oonopiud oq; poAvoqs ouuq;orj uiojj jo;;q"[ y
tt*sodoq put? soAQipq jpsuuq oq ;uqAV Qjmbui pnu
'sAvonq gq ipnui Avoq itiu;joosu ;sjq sn ;oh[ -uiiq uodn onxqs
oq. suioos Suiq; A'joao uoq.w ;uouioui u ;u lssonidd,nq
siq Aoj;sop o; piuo oq ppiOAV ;i 'tisojoijx q;iA\ 9.oUIJJUUi
v. Saipnpnoo jo sodoq soSjnput AquoJ Joq;ojq A at jj -ospj
jo otu; st pjuoq OAuq oav qonpvv Ajo;s oq; Joq;oqA\ pj;qnop
muiiigi Suo\ ;ouuuo ;i pnu—suSisop }nj;ju -Tpq^ Jo 891<TO
Jpq; o; oonopiud pnu Aouu;snoo osoddo nuo o^ -o;suq in
noqu; gq J9A9n ppioqs £GjquooA9JJi si ipiqAV dg;s -U tpjqq. 'jpAi
oo; Avonq j s;noui9T5nu;no 9.ouuj;s gsgq; nj „ 'uqujujs^
pius <cj nopoonoj joj quu; Q"[;;q u—oonoi;ud ot;;i[ y „
u(j ;ou o; j mu A\oq—<j noq; op ][ Tjuqs
3ullAl '^™oq joq o; 9in so;uni oipv opijq pojnonoq Aui
'oao[ Aui oos j cjoq;o oq; no pnu 'noipn u ;nq oq Ai3m qoiqAi
'ssoniddttq scoiJi:q;oq; jo ;09cTsojcI gq; ppipq j cgpis 9no itq
•usojoqj, jo Gin OATjclop o; si osodjcid ;nosojd jpq; ;uq; 99S
Aninqd nuo \ ;nq (;o9fqo Q;uuii;Tn jpq; oq Aum ;uqA\ Avoirsf
;on op j -opinS o; oSuuum Aoq; moqA\ 'spmpiAtpui Anura:
jo Ani;sop pnu sSinpoooojd oq-; Qononnni Aoq; 'popnnoj
-jus si oq uioqAv Aq 9ju suosjod oq; qai;ou A\oq poAjgsqo
jpsAnt 9aui[ j f S9onuAiJ^no9 pnu sqojd q.ojoos jo ini^oiA
oq; sr OTJuq^oq; ;uq; pgragp gq ^onnuo ;j ^ mqd Aue
ponuoj oau[[ usojoqjj nuQ j oq suoi;no-;ni jpq; nuo q.uqAv
jo cnu9ui A9T[j nuo ;uq^ ^ A;suc[ os nooq ;on puq 9Ai jx
'uot^luJOjm J9q;o oraos sn hoat§ 9Auq ;on 9q ;qSij\[ ^ jo^oj
jtio Smpuoj nodn Ap^ipomitix %o\d gq; posuop 9Auq onjup
P[U00 6 n^is9p popoonoo oraos p ;jods ojoiu gq; 'soApsjno
Qy[\\ oq gq nuo £;i savour oq ji jo 'ponodduq suq ;uqA\ jo ;nuJon
-St oq nuo oiJuq;orj ;uq; 'uqoqjT^ pospu ^/ojqissod ;t sj „
t;;s9.o.oiis o; ;uqAv jo c;ou o; A\oq ;on A\onT[ j -;n9S9jd
;u su ;nons Ap;9|diuoo os gq o; ^nomSpnf pni? ;jugq Am
joqraoraoj J9A9n j „ cnox;o9ngj guios jo;ju 'po'qdgj uip;u^r
•jg;;9[ syq; pasiuod
puq gq ngqAV 'tupqji^ pgyjo ttgonop 9q o; si';uq^„
,(*noA jo oni oAudop o; SnmioAtigpng oju Agq; oonis
^oiBop sonn; ggjq; Avon cpnoijj juap cJuop Am 'omoo' 'omoQ
ni 'siq; tniq jpjQ *9jq^ iCxn jo ssanidduq 9q; nuoj A\uu pusuj
Avoa siq; 'cinim oq ni?o J9A9n OKrcq;orj oouia ;uq; noipiAiioo
si ;i 'noissud ;on si ;i q.ng; "iisaiaqj, <moA* p9i9A\.od.i9Ao suit;
OAuq ppioqs uoissvd q.-tjtj_q. jopuoAV uoj^ 'oiu Juan no A* nrv;aj
pnti 'sAup Ai9j v ni no A o; 911100 fluqs I '^nasoad ;i; si gq
9a9i|Av S9nin;noD pii9iaj A\u •GjqTTip91119j.il 9q auui jtao oq;
'dn pGjrnop si A\ig;saui ;uGSGjd oq; n9i|A\ ^qv 'p0J9;;Tjqs pirc
qmmuiGpnn cpGjn[\u os 9q ;on Auni spodsojd Adduq ano
JGlTJGljAV AV9t[S JJIAV 9U0p? 91111^ \I0;U9J.o TL9A9 9UI009q At? Ill
A;ixG{d.i9d 9q; '9.10111 on Ai?s nso j '9iu Sniniir;qo ni poGOons
;oA Aura gq ;m[; odoq q.iru;sip it jo noisnpp 9q; ;no Sin
-ppq fuipA*'j jo uiiq SntAudop ojx Aoqj] -OLrcq^orj Snnni!;
-qo ;noq;iAi 'uuq qso\ Tjuqs j ai-q; jugj x 'luR qo^ap
sp.iuAU9;ju J9A9 ppioqs uosj9d on moqAv raoJj 'Bsojoqj^
su[ jo sraiu 9q; o;ni jpsunq Avojq; pun 'noA iuojj odx?oso
siq ;09j;9 03. 9Au;noo pp.iOA\. 9i[ 'op j su ;qSnoq; puouj A'm
'noi;i?ntqdx9 jo A;tnqissod aq; pnoAGq 'os oq 0; 9nin;noo
{pqs pnu 'psAiooap noaq nu 9Ai?q 9ai ivoj j -;n9Ui;i":9j; piuo
§nijnpii9 si ;nas9icl;r! oqAv'uipArpJOod poppas OAtiq j naqAv'noA
0:1 oS 0; 9q jjtay osjnoo ;sgsiav Am pny *9jout on Ans ppioqs
j ;i:q; J9;;aq si ;j -p9ss9j;sip G.msuaxn pnoAgq 'p9SS9.i;sip
rax? 1 -;na;x9 siq; 0; uoi;iqiumssip osipuad Apxns ;on ppioo
9q ,i9;sis siq q;iAY joj 'p9DiiiAnoo j[93iuiq 9q ppoqs oiJuq^orj
c^nq^ p9SLicLms v ^on uit? j „ 'paj9Aisnu iiS9J9qj^
'omy\ 9inus
9q^ ^tj J9i[ 0^ J9^9[ stouuqr4orj p9SOTon9 9i]S pnu 'jgq 0>\Kd\
0^ ropqp^ Avo^pj ^on ppiOAi oqs Sauupap cus9i9qj^
0} Qonajjnooo opq^ oq; jo ^nnoooc itc 9.)ojav Bipj^j^j
u*noA*
A*q papmS uiu j nois^ooo siq^ nodn ^qq. snixioS J9^9q
Am pax? po-9 5[ni7q^i j -\\ias. jnoA ^smcSu 9snoq siq^ 9at?9{
q.on [pAi j „ 'pnuq siq qno Sniqopjqs 'pouo 9q tt%i 9Ai§ j „
i('9snoq 9i{^ 9At?9|; ^on ][iav noA ^*oqq. jnouoq jo
p.iOAi jnoA 9iu 9Ai§ „ 'tnpqp^ oq. goioA A{pn9iJj 1? q^iA\ cpii?s
0qs cc'ss9nisnq jno jo noicnpnoo q.n9S9id oqq. 99s no^ „
a'9nmqnoo .ono{ ^on
^nre^JODnn siq; qt?qq. 9sunojd j -93^s qu si J9q;ojq dnoA
jo 9ji|; gqq. ess9uiddx?q 9q^ *9Jcqdun j 'noA 9At?9[ oq. nnq
Vm-isd ;on oq "pnouj A'm pnt? jpsAai jo sraiBp 9qq. n99^9q
A^niTBO 9pp9p naqq. m?o pnu cpi?j siq; jo p9pnnsJ9cI uggq s-Bq
oqs cjaq °niss9ssod jo 9doq oq; ngis9j J9A9U n131!8 I P11"3
504
WILHELM MEISTER's
the name of the little boy who sat with him under the oak
tree, and delighted in his sympathy. Tell him this, in the
name of Theresa, who received his proposals with the most
cordial sin2erity. My earliest dream of passing an existence
with Lothario, has vanished from my soul—the dream of
living with my new friend, engrosses my whole imagination.
And am I so lightly esteemed, that it is thought an easy
matter for me to renounce my present attachment?"
"I rely upon you," Natalia said to Wilhelm, as she
handed him Theresa's letter. "Do not leave me. Think
that I have placed the happiness of my life in your hands.
My welfare is so bound up, and interwoven, with the happi-
ness of my brother, that he can feel no pain which I do not
likewise experience, no joy to which I can be a stranger. I
may truly say that I have found, through him alone, that the
heart may be affected and exalted, that in this world there
may be joy, love and a feeling which contents the soul beyond
its every want."
She paused. Wilhelm took her hand and exclaimed, " 0,
continue! this is the proper moment to express a true
and mutual confidence; it is only necessary that we should
understand each other."
"Yes, my friend!" she said, smiling with her easy, soft,
and indescribable dignity, "it may not be an improper time
for me to tell you, that all that which we have so often read
in books, and which the world holds up to us, and designates
as love, has ever appeared to me the veriest fable."
"Tou have never loved!" cried Wilhelm.
"Never or always!" replied Natalia.
CHAPTER Y.
During this conversation, they had been walking in the
garden. Natalia had gathered several strange flowers,
which were quite new to Wilhelm, and of which he eagerly
asked the names.
"Tou will scarcely guess," said Natalia, " for whom I have
plucked these flowers. They are intended for my uncle, to
whom we nv-ist pa J a visit. The su'n is shining at this moment
APPRENTICESHIP.
505
brightly upon the Hall of the Past, I must conduct you thi-
ther without delay, and I never visit that place without taking
some flowers with me, which my uncle particularly loved.
He was a singular man, and was susceptible of the strangest
impressions. For certain plants and animals, for certain
individuals and places, and even for certain sorts of minerals,
he indulged a strong attachment, which it was almost im-
possible to explain. 'If I had not from my youth,' he was
accustomed to say,' resisted myself, and endeavoured to form
my judgment upon broad and general principles, I should
have been the most narrow-minded and intolerable of
beings; for nothing can be more intolerable than trivial
peculiarities in a person from whom one may expect a pure
and proper activity.' Nevertheless, he was obliged to own
that his life would have been in danger, if he had denied
himself occasional indulgence, and prohibited the intense
enjoyment of some things which he could neither praise nor
defend. It is not my fault, he would say, if I have not been
able to bring my judgment into complete harmony with my
wishes. Upon such occasions, he would jest with me, and say,
'Natalia can be esteemed happy during her life time, her
nature desires nothing which the world in general does not
wish.'"
During their conversation they arrived at the building.
She led him though a wide passage to a door, before which
were reposing two sphinxes of granite. The door itself
was constructed in the Egyptian fashion, a little narrower
above than below, and the brazen sides prepared the visitor
for a solemn and even gloomy feeling. Wilhelm, therefore,
was agreeably surprised when this expectation changed to a
sensation of happy cheerfulness, as they entered a hall in which
art and life removed every idea of death and the grave. A
succession of well proportioned arches had been sunk
in the walls, in which some large sarcophaguses had been
placed, in the intervening pillars, he observed some smaller
niches, containing urns and funeral vessels; in other places,
the surface of the walls had been divided into compartments,
and between bright and variegated borders, he saw garlands,
and other ornaments, together with cheerful and expres-
sive figures painted upon panels of different sizes. The other
parts of the building were decorated with beautiful yellow
50G
WILHEM MEISTEJl'S
marble, winch passed into a reddish hue and mingling
with blue lines, formed of a chemical composition, resembled
azure stone, which, while it satisfied the eye with the con-
trast, gave unity and connection to the whole. All the
display of ornament was executed in the purest architectural
taste, and the stranger, as he entered, felt himself exalted,
and by the various combinations of art, he first perceived
what man was, and what he might become.
Opposite the door, upon a noble sarcophagus, was seen the
marble figure of a man reposing upon a pillow. He held a
scroll in his hand, upon which he appeared to gaze with silent
attention. It wras so placed that one could easily read the
words which were inscribed thereon. They were as follows—
''Think of living."
Natalia, removing a withered garland, placed a fresh one
before the image of her uncle—for he was the person whom
the figure represented—and Wilhelm thought he could re-
cognise the features of the old gentleman, whom he had for-
merly seen in the wood. "We have spent many hours
together, in this spot," observed Natalia, u whilst this hall
was being prepared. During his latter years he had collected
some skilful artists around him, and his most favourite
amusement consisted in inventing and arranging the drawings
and cartoons for these paintings."
Wilhelm could not sufficiently enjoy the various objects
by which he was surrounded. "What a life!" he exclaimed,
"is this Hall of the Past! With equal propriety might we
name it the Hall uf the Present, or of the Future! For
so every thing has been, and so every thing will be!
Nothing is transitory, save the mortal who beholds and enjoys
it all. This picture, of a mother pressing her infant to her
heart, will live through many a generation of happy mothers.
After centuries, perhaps, some father's heart will glow at
the appearance of this aged man, who lays aside his ear-
nestness and plays for a moment with his child. And thus
will the bride blush for many a year, and seek amid her silent:
wishes for comfort and companionship. And thus will the
impatient bridegroom pause upon the threshold, and listen
whether he may enter."
Wilhelm beheld innumerable images around him. From
the earliest cheerful impulse of childhood to employ its
APPRENTICE SHIP.
507
limbs in play, to the quiet retired earnestness of the sage»
he saw, in living order, hoAV man possesses no natural
capacity or talent, without devoting it to some practical pur-
pose. From the first conscious feeling which induces the
maiden to linger whilst she draws her pitcher from tho
fountain, and to behold her own image with inward satisfac-
tion, to the high festivities when kings and people appeal
before the altar to the gods to witness their alliances, all was
delineated forcibly and with overpowering effect.
The spectators here were surrounded by a world, by a
heaven, and in addition to the thoughts which these polished
figures excited, besides the emotions which they awoke, there
was some other inexpressible feeling present, by which the
man was influenced. Wilhelm observed this, without being
able to account for it—" What is it," he asked, " which inde-
pendent of the meaning and sympathy with which human
actions and adventures inspire us, acts so powerfully upon
me at present? It speaks to me from the whole scene be-
fore me, and from every part of it, though I cannot apply
to myself any thing that I behold. What enchantment
do I not see in these surfaces, in these lines, these heights
and breadths, these masses and colours? "What is it that
delights me in these figures, even when cursorily inspected
as mere ornaments? Yes, I feel that we might linger here
and rest, and view the whole and be happy, though our
thoughts might turn to other subjects than the scenes
before us."
And, in truth, could we only explain how happily every
thing was divided, and arranged in its proper place, so as by
combination, contrast, simplicity or variety, to produce a
perfect and distinct effect, we should transport the reader to
a scene, from which he would not willingly depart.
Eour large candelabra stood in the corner of the hall, and
four smaller ones in the middle, surrounding a beautifully
carved sarcophagus, which from its appearance might once
have contained a person of middle size.
Natalia paused for a moment near it, and placing her hand
upon it, she observed, "My uncle had a great love for this an-
cient monument, he used frequently to say,£ It is not only the
first blossoms that fall, such as you can preserve above in those
other funeral urns, but the fruits, which hanging from tho
508
WILEELM MEISTEE'S
bough, delude us with the fairest hopes, whilst a secret worm
prepares their early ripeness for a quick decay.' I fear," she
continued, "that his words may bear reference to the dear
maiden, who seems gradually to be withdrawing from our
cares, and inclining to this peaceful dwelling."
As they were about to take leave, Natalia said, "I must
draw your attention to one thing more. Observe those
semicircular openings in the ceiling. They were constructed
to conceal the chorus of singers, and those brazen ornaments
below the cornice, serve to fasten the tapestiy, which, by
direction of my uncle, must be used at every funeral.
He could not exist without music, and especially without
singing, but it was his peculiar taste that the singers never
should be seen. He was accustomed to say, ' The theatre
spoils us completely—there the music is intended for the
eye, it accompanies motions, not emotions.' At oratorios
and concerts the figure of the performer always distracts us
—true music is for the ear; a fine voice is the most general
idea which we can conceive, and whilst the petty individual
who produces it appears before our eyes, the pure effect of
the general idea is disturbed. I like to see the person with
whom I converse, for he is a particular individual, whose form
and character imparts value or worthlessness to his conver-
sation—but whoever sings to me should be invisible, that
his appearance may not confuse nor warp my judgment. In
this case one human organ speaks to another—not spirit to
spirit, nor a manifold world to the eye, nor a heaven toman.
For this reason, he always required that instrumental music
at a concert should be concealed as much as possible, as tbe
mind becomes so perplexed and disturbed by the mechanical
motions and awkward gestures of the performers. It was
his delight to listen to music with his eyes closed, that his
whole being might be concentrated upon the one pure en-
oyment of the ear."
They were about to leave the hall, when the children ran
violently through the passage, and they heard Felix exclaim,
"No! I. No! I."
Mignon was the first to rush through the open door.
She was breathless, and could not utter a word, but Felix,
who was at a little distance, cried out, "Mamma Theresa is
here I" The children, it appears, had run a race to bring
APPRENTICESHIP,
609
the news. Mignon was lying in Natalia's arms, and her
heart beat violently.
"Naughty child!" said Natalia, "is not every violent
exercise forbidden? See how your heart heats."
"Let it break!" replied Mignon with a deep sigh, "it has
too long beaten already."
They had scarcely recovered from this sudden surprise and
tumult, when Theresa entered. She ran to Natalia and em-
braced both her and Mignon. She then turned to "Wilhelm,
and looked at him with her clear eyes and said, "Well, my
friend, what have you done? Have you allowed them to impose
upon you?" He advanced towards her—she rushed to him,
and hung upon his neck. "0, my Theresa !" he exclaimed.
"My friend, my love, my husband! yes, for ever your's,"
she cried amid the most affectionate kisses.
Eelix seized her by the gown, and cried, "Mamma The-
resa! I am also here." Natalia paused and looked on
silently. Mignon suddenly pressed her left hand to her
heart, and extending her right hand violently, she fell with
a shriek apparently lifeless at Natalia's feet.
They were dreadfully alarmed. No motion of the head
or pulse was perceptible. Wilhelm took her in his arms,
and carried her hastily away; her body hung motionless
over his shoulders. The presence of the doctor afforded
them but little consolation—he and the young surgeon, to
whom we have already alluded, exerted themselves in vain.
The clear little creature could not be restored to life.
Natalia motioned to Theresa. The latter took her friend's
hand, and conducted him from the room. He was silent—
uttered not a syllable, and dared not meet her eyes. He sat
down near her, upon the sofa, where he had met Natalia for
the first time. He thought rapidly of the multitude of
events which had happened, or rather he did not think, but
allowed them to produce an effect upon his soul which he
could not avoid.
There are moments in life in which circumstances, like
winged shuttles, move backwards and forwards before us, and
without ceasing, finish the web which we ourselves have pre-
pared and partly spun. "My friend!" said Theresa, "my
oeloved!" breaking the silence and taking him by the hand,
"Let us remain firmly united at this moment, as perhaps we
510
-WTLIIELM MEISTEl^S
may often need to be, in similar cases. There are evente
whlii it requires the union of two hearts to bear. Beflect,
my friend! remember that you are not alone—prove that
you love your Theresa, by sharing your sorrows with her!"
She embraced him and drew him close to her bosom. He
clasped her in his arms, and pressed her tenderly to himself.
"That poor child/' he cried, u would in sorrowful moments
seek refuge and protection in my inconstant heart. Let the
firmness of your's now assist me in this dreadful hour."
She held him locked in her embrace, he felt the beating of
her heart against his own—but his soul was desolate and
solitary—only the figures of Mignon and Natalia floated be-
fore his imagination.
Natalia entered. fc Give us your blessing!" cried The-
resa, " and let us be united before you in this hour of sor-
row." "Wilhelm hid his face upon Theresa's neck; he felt
happy that he was able to weep. He had not heard Natalia
approach—he had not seen her, but at the sound of her voice
his tears redoubled. ""What God has joined, I will not put
asunder," answered Natalia with a smile, "but it is not in
my power to unite you, nor does it afford me pleasure to see
that grief and sympathy have so completely banished the
memory of my brother from your hearts." At these words
Wilhelm tore himself from Theresa's arms. "Whither are
you going?" they both exclaimed together. aLet me see
the child whom I have murdered," he replied. <c A misfor-
tune upon which we look is less dreadful than one which
oppresses the soul through the powers of imagination —let
me, therefore, see the departed angel! Her serene look will
tell me that she is happy." As they could not restrain the
agitated youth, they accompanied him, but the doctor and the
surgeon meeting them, prevented their intention. tc With-
draw," they said, "from this sad spectacle, and permit us, as
far as the resources of art will allow, to give some perpetuity
to these remains. I will exercise all my power, not only to
preserve the remains of this dear being, but to communicate
to them an appearance of life. I foresaw her death, I have
made all the necessary preparations, and with their assistance
I cannot but succeed. Grant me a delay of a few clays, and
do not ask to see the child again, until she has been trans-
ferred to the Hall of the Past."'
.APPRENTICESHIP.
511
The young surgeon held in his hands the well known case
of instruments. "JFrom whom can he have obtained them?"
Wilhelm asked the Doctor. "I knew them well," answered
Natalia, "he received them from his father, who bound up
your wounds in the forest."
"Then I have not been mistaken," cried Wilhelm, "I
recognised the ribbon immediately. Procure it for me. It
first brought me upon the trace of my benefactress.
Through what happiness and misery will not such a lifeless
Miing as this endure! How much anguish has not this
ribbon already witnessed, and yet its threads still hold
together! How many a death pang has it not beheld, and
yet it colours are not faded I It was near to me in one of the
happiest hours of my existence, when I la}T wounded on the
ground, and your kind form appeared before me, and the
shild, whose untimely death we now bewail, was sitting near
me, with its hair all bathed in blood, busied with the ten-
derest solicitude to save my life."
They were allowed but a short time to advert to this
occurrence, and to answer Theresa's inquiries about the
child, and the apparent cause of its sudden death, for the
arrival of some visitors was announced, who when they had
made their appearance proved not to be absolute strangers, for
Lothario, Jarno, and the Abbe entered. Natalia advanced,
to meet her brother, and the others preserved a momentary
silence. Theresa then said, with a smile, to Lothario, "You
scarcely expected to meet me here, at least our interview at
the present moment had been better postponed, but, never-
theless, allow me, after so long an absence, to give you a
cordial reception."
Lothario gave her his hand, and answered, li If we are
destined to suffer and to part, it may as well occur in the
presence of the being whom we love and whom we desire.
I seek not to influence your decision, and my confidence in
your heart, your understanding, and clear judgment, is so
great, that I willingly place in your hands my own fate an(f
that of my friend."
The conversation turned then upon general and unimpor-
tant subjects, and the company shortly afterwards separated
into different parties for a walk. Natalia took Lothario,
Theresa accompanied the Abbe, and Wilhelm remained with
Jarno in the castle.
512
WILHELM MEISTER's
The appearance of these three friends, at a time when
sorrow lay heavy upon Wilhelm's heart, had, instead of re-
lieving his mind, only irritated and distressed him; he grew
angry and fretful and made no secret of his ill temper,
which occasioned Jarno to question him about the cause.
""Why need I say more,'' he cried; "Lothario and his com-
panions have arrived, and it would be strange if those mys-
terious inhabitants of the tower, who are so perpetually
busy, should fail to exert their influence upon us. As far
as I can judge of these persons, they always seem to be em-
ployed in endeavouring to separate whafc is united, or to
unite what is separated. "What sort of web they may
eventually weave will, perhaps, remain for ever an enigma
to our profane eyes."
"You are angry and satirical," cried Jarno; "that is well.
If you were only in a proper passion it would even be
better."
"And, perhaps, that may happen yet," answered Wilhelm,
"and I rather fear that my natural good temper may be over
irritated."
"And in the mean time," said Jarno, "until we see what
is to be the end of our adventures, I can tell you something
about the tower, which you seem to view with so much
mistrust."
"Tou may act as you please," replied "Wilhelm, "for my
attention is wholly engaged. My mind is so perplexed at
present that I can scarcely interest myself suQiciently in
the subject."
4* Tour indifference," said Jarno, " shall not prevent me
from giving an account of the matter. Tou consider me
a clever fellow, and henceforth you shall reckon me an
honest one, and what is more, I have now a commission to
execute in reference to you." "I wish," observed Wil-
helm, that you were addressing me of your own accord, and
with an honest wish to give me information, but, as I cannot
listen to you without mistrust, why should I attend to you at
all." "If I have no better task to execute," continued Jarno,
"than to relate mere fairy tales, you at least have time to listen
to me, and you may feel more disposed to do this, when I
mform 70U that you saw nothing in the tower but the mer6
remains of a youthful amusement, in which the greater
APPRENTICESHIP.
513
part of the persons concerned, once took a deep interest,
though we now only regard them with a smile."
"Then all your grave words and signs were mere delu-
sions," cried Wilhehn. ""With solemnity you conduct us to
a place, whose very appearance inspires us with reverence,
we there behold the strangest visions, you hand us parch-
ments filled with noble and mysterious sayings, of which
we can underst and but little, we are informed that hitherto
we have been pupils, you then declare us free, and we re-
main no wiser than we were before." "Have you got the
parchment with }rou?" inquired Jarno; "it contains much
wisdom. For those apparent proverbs were not written
at random, though they may seem dark and meaningless
to the unreflecting mind. But give me the Indenture, if it
be in your possession."
"Here it is," said Wilhelm, "a charm of this nature
should be-worn near the heart." "JN"ow," replied Jarno,
with a smile, "who knows whether its contents ma}r not one
day be deemed worthy to find a place within your head?"
Jarno perused the first half of it rapidly. "These ob-
servations," he said, "refer to the cultivation of our taste
for art—a topic which I shall leave to others ; the remainder
treats of life—a subject which I better understand."
He commenced to read several passages, making observa-
tions at intervals, and connecting them with remarks and
anecdotes of his own. "The disposition of youth for se-
cresy, for ceremony, and imposing words is extraordinary,
and it is frequently a sign of a certain depth of character.
We wish, at that period, to feel our whole being darkly and
mysteriously moved. The youth who anticipates great
things, expects to find mighty resources in what is secret,
and hopes, by their means, to accomplish much. With such
impressions the Abbe patronized a certain society of young
men, partly from his friendly disposition, and partly because
he had been formerly connected with a society which carried
on its proceedings in secret. I did not relish these pursuits.
I was older than the others, I had been frank and open from
my youth, and loved candour beyond every thing. I wished
to become acquainted with the world as it really was, and I
gradually communicated my tastes to ni}r companions, and
this circumstance had almost changed our whole system, fee
2 L
514
WILHELM MEISTERVS
we now 'began to criticize the faults and deficiencies of
others, and to esteem ourselves as the most perfect of human
beings. The Abbe now came to our assistance, and taught
us that we should never scrutinize the conduct of our neigh-
bours without an anxiety for their improvement, and that
activity alone would enable us to watch and judge ourselves.
He recommended us, however, to adhere to the first form of
our Society, and, therefore, there was an appearance of some
regularity in our proceedings, in which, however, the first
mysterious impressions of the whole were easily observable,
and, subsequently, it assumed the form of an undertaking,
whose object was to elevate the arts. Hence arose the
terms Apprentices, Assistants, and Masters. "We wished
to examine every thing with our own eyes, and to keep a
special record of our worldly experience. Hence arose the
numerous confessions, which, in part, we wrote ourselves,
and, in part, obtained from others, and from which the
several Apprenticeships were afterwards composed. All
men do not concern themselves with the education of their
characters. Many employ themselves in searching for com-
fort, hunting after riches, or exploring some other means of
happiness. Persons of this description, who were not anxious
for proper instruction, we amused with mysteries or delu-
sions, or altogether neglected. We never declared any to
he free who did not feel and acknowledge the object for
which they were born, and possess sufficient experience to
pursue their course of life with satisfaction and ease."
''In my case then," observed "Wilhelm, "you have been
somewhat speedy, for even now I am ignorant of what I can
accomplish, or to what I should devote my powers." "We
are not to blame for this uncertainty— good fortune may,
perhaps, assist us; but, in the meantime, listen: The man
in whom much is to be developed, will not too early become
acquainted with himself and with the world. Few mortals
possess deep reflection and activity combined. Reflectior
expands, but weakens—activity animates, but circumscribes.
"I beg," said Wilhelm, "that you will not read any more
of this mysterious language to me. Such phrases have con-
fused me quite enough already."
"Then I will return to my narrative," continued Jarncf.
half folding up tho parchment, and only now and tben look-
APPBENTTCESHIP.
515
ing at it in a cursory manner. u I hav£ been myself of little
benefit to the Society or to mankind. I am but an indiffe-
rent teacher, for I cannot endure to see a person making un-
successful attempts, I must call aloud to every one who
wanders from his path, even though he were a somnambulist
in the act of risking his life. And on this subject I differed
frequently with the Abbe, who maintained that errors could
only be cured by a course of erring. And we have often
argued about you. You were a special favourite with
him, and it was no small compliment to have attracted
his attention. You will do me the justice to acknow-
ledge that, upon all occasions, I have told you the naked
truth." "You have seldom spared me," replied TVilhelm,
"and you seem to have been always true to your principles."
""Why should we spare," added Jarno, "when a youth of
high endowments is following a wrong course?"
"Pardon me," said "Wilhelm, "you have already posi-
tively denied that I possess any talents for the stage, I con-
fess, however, that though I have wholly abandoned that
pursuit, I do not consider myself quite incompetent."
£< And it has been long my opinion," said Jarno, "that
he who can only act himself, is no actor. He who cannot
convert himself, both in thought and appearance, into a
variety of characters, deserves not the title of actor.
Eor example, you have played the part of Hamlet and
several other characters most admirably, because your own
disposition, your figure, and the temper of the moment, were
adapted to the part. And that was sufficient for an amateur
theatre, and for a person who could see no other way open
before him. But," said Jarno, as he looked into the parchment,
kk we should be cautious in the exercise of a talent which
we cannot hope to bring to perfection. For no matter how
much we may improve, we shall never fail when we
thoroughly comprehend the merit of the master, bitterly to
deplore the loss of time and strength which have been de-
voted to such folly."
"Do not read I" cried Wilhelm. "I implore of you not
to read. Speak, relate, instruct me. And so it was the
Abbe who assisted me in Hamlet, who provided me with the
G-host!"—"Yes! for he declared that it was the only way
to cure you, if a cure were possible."—" And therefore he
left the veil behind him, and recommended me to fiy
f
516
WILHELM MEISTEIt's
u Yes He hoped that your wishes would be completely
satisfitxl when you had performed the character of Hamlet.
He maintained that you would never again tread the boards
of a theatre, though I asserted the contrary and my opinion
proved correct. "We discussed the point that very evening,
upon the conclusion of the performance."—" Then you have
seen me play?"—" O, certainly!'*—"And who performed
the Ghost ?"—" I do not know precisely, but it was either
the Abbe or his twin brother, though I believe it was the
latter, as he is a little the taller of the two." —" You seem to
have no secrets from each other !" —" Friends may and ought
to have secrets from each other, but they should not be
secrets to each other."
"The mere remembrance of that perplexity perplexes me.
Explain to me the man to whom I owe so much, and of
whom, alas! I have such reason to complain."
"We value him highly," observed Jarno, "and submit to
his authority, on account of the free and clear penetration,
with which he has been enabled by nature to comprehend
all the powers which dwell in man and are susceptible of
cultivation. Most men, even the most eminent, are limited
. in their minds, each one prizes certain qualities in himself
11 or others, which alone he is willing to favour and to cultivate.
But the Abbe's course is very different; he sympathizes with
every mental endowment, and he favours and encourages
them all. But I must again examine the roll. 'Mankind
is composed of all men, and all powers taken together make
up the world. These are often at strife, and seek to de-
stroy each other, but nature preserves and reproduces them.
From the merest animal attempts at labour, up to the high-
est exertion of mental talent; from the faint cries and excla-
mations of the child, to the most finished periods of the
orator and poet; from the first disputes of boys, to the vast
preparations by which countries are conquered and possessed;
from the smallest favour and the most fleeting affection, to
the warmest passion and most earnest pledges of truth; from
the"simplest feeling of a sensible presence, to the faintest
perceptions and hopes of a distant spiritual future—all these
things, and far more, lie in the organization of man, and
require to be cidtivated, not, however, in one individual,
but in many. Every gift is important and must be developed.
When one person cultivates the beautiful alone, and ano-
APPfiEtfTICESHH?.
517
ther follows the useful, both together form but a single man.
The useful encourages itself, for the crowd produce it, and
none can dispense with it; the beautiful needs encou-
ragement, for few can represent it, and it is required by
many.'"
"Pause for a moment!" cried Wilhelm, "I have read all
that."—" Only a few lines more," continued Jarno; "for
here we have the Abbe to perfection. 'One power may con-
trol another, but one cannot cultivate another. In every
talent lies the force which is to perfect itself, and this is a
truth which few of those men understand who teach and
influence others.'"—" Neither do I understand it," replied
Wilhelm.—" This is one of the Abbe's favourite texts, and
let us therefore always thoroughly understand and perceive
what is within ourselves, what endowments of our own we
would labour to cultivate, but let us be just towards others,
as we ourselves deserve only to be valued as far as we can
value others."—" O, perplex me no more with these fine
sentences! . They are a poor remedy for a wounded heart.
Eather tell me, with your cruel determination, what you
expect from me, and how you mean to sacrifice me."—"I
promise you that you. will yet be sorry for these suspicions.
It is your duty to seek and to prove, and it is ours to
assist you. Man cannot be happy until his own unrestrained
efforts have marked out his proper limits. But you must
not depend upon me, but upon the Abbe. Think not of
yourself, but of all that surrounds you. Learn, for exam-
ple, to comprehend Lothario's superiority; how his compre-
hension and diligence are inseparably united, how he is always
progressing, how he advances himself,and carries others along
with him. In all situations, he bears a world with him;
his presence ever animates and enkindles. See our good
physician on the other hand. He seems to be of the very
opposite nature. Whilst Lothario is working upon the
general whole, and at a remote distance, the latter surveys
with a clear eye the things which are nearest to him. He
rather furnishes the means of activity to others, than prac-
tises that virtue himself. In his conduct, he resembles a
great economist, he works in silence, whilst he provides for
all, within their own particular sphere. His talents are
employed in perpetually gathering and expending, in re-
518
WILHELM MEISTER S
ceiving and dispensing in detaii. Lothario would perhaps
destroy in a day the labours of the Physician for a whole
year, but the latter might in one single moment impart
to others the power of restoring a hundred-fold what he
had destroyed."—" It is a melanchoty employment," said
"Wilhelm, "to contemplate the pure advantages of others,
when we are at discord with ourselves. Such reflections may
suit the peaceful man, but not one who is agitated by passion
and uncertainty."—" Peaceful and wise contemplations,"
answered Jarno, "are never injurious, and whilst we accus-
tom ourselves to reflect upon t) e advantages of others, our
own qualities insensibly take their place, and every false ac-
tivity to which our fancy might lead us is then willingly dis-
continued. If possible, relieve your mind of all suspicion
and anxiety! Here comes the Abbe. Let your conduct be
friendly towards him, until you know better how deeply you
are indebted to him. The rogue! There he goes between
Natalia and Theresa. I could lay a wager that he is engaged
about some plot. He has a taste for playing the part of
Destiny, and often indulges a fancy for contriving marriages."
"Wilhelm, whose passionate and angry humours had not
been soothed by all the prudent and kind expressions of
Jamo, thought it extremely indelicate that his friend should
allude to such a topic at that time. He, however,
answered with a smile, in which there was some bitterness,
"I thought the taste for matchmaking had been left to those
who loved each other."
CHAPTEE YI.
The company once more assembled together, and our
friends were obliged to break off their conversation. Be-
fore long a courier was announced, who was commissioned to
i(ive a letter into Lothario's hands. The man was introduced:
his appearance was bold and confident, and his livery was
rich and handsome. Wilhelm thought that in him he recog-
nized the same person whom he had, some time ago, sent to
APPRENTICESHIP.
519
inquire about Philina and the supposed Mariana, and whe
Lad not since made his appearance. He was about to ques •
tion him, when Lothario, who had perused his letter, asked
him, in a serious and somewhat angry tone, "What is the
name of your master?"
"That is one of the questions," answered the courier
with gravity, "to which I am not instructed to give a reply.
I hope the letter will have told you whatever is necessary,
as I have no verbal message to deliver."
"Well then," answered Lothario, with a smile, "since
your master has such confidence in me as to write in a jocu-
lar strain, say that he will be welcome." "He will make no
delay," replied the courier, as he retired with a low bow.
"Only think/' said Lothario, "of the dull, stupid message.
My unknown correspondent writes thus: e As good humour
is the most agreeable of guests when he makes his appear-
ance, and always accompanies me as a travelling companion,
I am convinced that the visit which I intend to pay to your
Lordship, will not be taken ill, particularly as I hope to be
well received by the whole of your illustrious family, and to
be allowed to depart with the same feeling. I am always
yours, and so forth, the Count of Snailfoot.'"
"That must be a new family," said the Abbe.
"An assumed title," added Jarno.
"The mystery is easy to solve," said Natalia. "I will
wager a trine that it is my brother Priedrich, who has pro-
jected paying us a visit ever since the death of his uncle."
"You have hit it, my fair and wise sister!" said a voice
from the nearest copse, and instantly a handsome, cheerful
youth stepped forward. Wilhelm could scarcely restrain an
expression of surprise. "What!" he said, u my fair-haired
friend to meet me here also!" Priedrich looked at Wil-
helm with astonishment, and cried, "In truth, I should have
been less astonished to find in the garden of my uncle,
the celebrated Pyramids of Egypt, or the tomb of king
Mausolus, which I believe no longer exists, than I am to
meet you here, my old friend, and unwearied benefactor. A
thousand times welcome to me!"
After he had welcomed and kissed every one in turn, he
rushed into Wilhelm's arms, and cried, " You must all be
kind to this hero, who is also a general and a dramatic
520
WILHELM MEISTETl'S
philosopner. I must admit that when t first became
acquainted with him, I dressed his hair but indifferently, and
yet he afterwards saved me from a torrent of blows. He is
as generous as Scipio, and as munificent as Alexander, and
though he may bo frequently in love, he never hates his
rivals. He does not heap coals of fire upon their heads, for
that in my opinion is a sorry service, which any one can
render, but when his friends have carried off his love, he
sends a kind and trusty servant in pursuit, that they may not
knock their feet against a stone."
He pursued this strain without ceasing,and no person could
prevail upon him to pause, even for an instant; and as they
could not reply to him in the same style, he had the conversa-
tion wholly to himself. "You must not," he continued, "be
surprised at my acquaintance with sacred and profane writers,
you shall learn how I have acquired my information." They
all wished to know his history, and from what place he had
just arrived: but his store of proverbs, and his fund of old
stories, prevented him from entering into a connected expla-
nation.
Natalia observed to Theresa, "His cheerfulness makes me
sad. I would wager that he is not happy."
As, with the exception of a few jokes from Jarno, Fried-
rich's merriment was not reechoed by the company, he ob-
served at length, "I have no alternative but to be serious in
a serious family. And, as under such solemn circumstancesr
the burden of my sins weighs heavily upon my soul, I will
make a general confession, by which, ladies and gentlemen,
you shall not be in the least enlightened. This worthy friend
here, who already knows some portion of my life and actions,
shall alone be made acquainted with the rest, more particu-
larly as he is the only person who can have any reason to
seek such information. Have you not," said he, addressing
himself to Wilhelm, " have you not sometimes wished to know
the where and the when, the who, the why, and the where-
fore? and what progress I have made in the conjugation
of the Greek verb 0i\£w, tytXw, and the derivatives of that
very amiable part of speech."
He thereupon took Wilhelm by the arm, and led him away,
after he had embraced him with the tenderest affection.
As soon as Friedrich had reached Wilhelm's apartment,
APPRENTICESHIP.
521
he saw a powder-knife lying upon the table, bearing the in-
scription "Think of me!" "You take good care of your
treasures," he observed,—"why this was Philina's powder-
knife,—she gave it to you upon that day when I curled your
locks for you,—I hope you have never ceased to think of
that affectionate damsel. I cannot assure you that she has
not forgotten you: and if I had not loug since obliterated
every particle of jealousy from my bosom, I could not now
behold you without envy."
"Do not speak any more of that creature," answered
Wilhelm. "I must confess, that for a long time I could not
banish the impression of her agreeable appearance, but that
was all."
"Tor shame!" cried Priedrich, "who can forget his love
in this manner? But, indeed, you were as thoroughly in
love, as a man could possibly be. No day ever passed over
that you did not make her a present; and when a German
makes presents, there can be little doubt of his love. Nothing
remained for me at last, but to carry her off, and in this, the
little red officer at length succeeded."
"What! were you then the officer whom we met at
Philina's, and with whom she set out upon her travels?"
"The same, and whom you took for Mariana. We have
enjoyed many a laugh at your mistake."
"What cruelty," said Wilhelm, "to leave me in such
uncertainty!"
<£ And to take the courier into our service, whom you sent
in search of us!" added Priedrich. "But he is a capital
fellow, and we have never let him leave us since. And I
love Philina as desperately as ever. She has a sort of power
over me, so that I sometimes labour under a mythological
delusion, and fancy every day that I shall undergo some
strange transformation."
"Tell me," said Wilhelm, " where you have acquired your
stock of learning? I observe with astonishment the strange
habit which you have acquired of making allusions to old
histories and fables."
(t I have obtained all my learning," replied Priedrich, "in
the most agreeable manner possible. Philina and I live to-
gether still, we have rented from a farmer an old castle that
was once a knight's inberitance, and tliere we live as merrily
522
WILIIELM MEISTEE's
as fairies. We found there a compendious, but very choice
collection of books, amongst which were a Bible in folio,
Gottfried's Chronicles, two volumes of the Theatrum Euro-
peum, the Acerra Philologica, the writings of Gryphius, and
several other books of less importance. When we were
wearied with other amusements, we had recourse to reading,
but before long, we became even more weary than before.
At length, Philina suggested the rich idea of opening out
all our books, upon a large table, when we seated ourselves
before them, and read alternately detached passages from
whatever works we chose. It afforded us rare amusement!
We fancied ourselves in refined society, where it is con-
sidered incorrect to dwell too long upon one topic, or to
discuss it thoroughly, or else we fancied ourselves in gay
society, where one will scarcely allow his neighbour to speak.
We amused ourselves in this manner regularly every day,
and by this means we became so learned, as to astonish even
ourselves. We soon found that there is nothing new
under the sun, as our store of learning bore reference to
every thing we had seen or heard of. We frequently varied
our mode of instruction, by several expedients. Sometimes
we read with the assistance of an old hour-glass, which al-
lowed the sand to run down in a few minutes: whereupon
we turned it round instantly, and commenced a new book.
The sand had scarcely disappeared again, before we started to
another subject, and in this way we pursue our studies in a
regular academical manner, except that our hours are some-
what shorter, and our studies more varied,"
"I can understand this species of folly," said Wilhelm,
il when so merry a pair of mortals meet together, but how
so inconstant a couple should have remained so long together,
I own is somewhat surprising.
"It is the effect of our good and bad fortune," answered
Friedrich. "Philina is afraid to shew herself, she cannot
even bear to look upon herself,—she expects shortly to
become a mother. Her figure is quite spoiled. A short
time ago, she looked at herself in the glass—' Alas! alas!'
she exclaimed, and turned her face away. 'Am I not a very
Madame Melina! Shocking sight! l)o I not look deplor-
able r"
APPRENTICE SHIP.
523
"T must confess/' said Wilhelm, " that it does seem rather
laughable to think of you two as father and mother!"
"It is a foolish business," answered Friedrich, "that I
must, at last, be promoted to parental honours. But she
asserts it, and the time coincides. I must admit, however,
that I had my suspicions, when I thought of that visit which
she paid to you, after you had acted the character of Hamlet."
"What visit?" asked Wilhelm.
uNay! you cannot quite have slept off the recollection of
it," answered Eriedrich. "The dear, sensitive spirit of that
night—if you do not know it already,—was Philina. The
story was a hard trial for me, but, if we could be contented
with such things, we should not love. Fatherhood, at all
events, depends upon conviction, I am convinced, therefore,
I am a father. Thus, you see that I can avail myself of my
logic at the proper time. And if the child does not die of
laughing the instant it is bom, it may, perhaps, form a
useful or agreeable citizen of the world."
Whilst our friends were talking in this manner of their
merry adventures, the other members of the company had
engaged in serious conversation. Scarcely had Friedrich and
Wilhelm disappeared together, than the Abbe led the rest
of his companions unperceived into a garden-house, and as
soon as they had taken their seats, he addressed them, thus:
"We have already stated," he said, "in general terms, that
Theresa is not the daughter of her reputed mother, it is
necessary now that we should explain ourselves more clearly
upon this subject. Here is the account in detail, which I
propose to lay before you, and to prove in every particular,
"Erau von * * * * lived happily with her husband, during
the first years of her marriage, but it happened, unfortu-
nately, that the two children to which she gave birth were
still-born. The third infant survived, but the mother was
reduced to the point of death, and the physician declared
that she could not survive another accouchment. It was
necessary, therefore, to come to some decision, and they
determined, for pecuniary reasons, not to dissolve the nuptial
tie. Irau von * * * * sought, in the cultivation of her
mind, in her fondness for display, and in the pursuits of
vanity, a recompense for the maternal happiness of which
she was thus deprived. She observed, with great satis-
524>
WILHELM MEISTEJi 8
faction, that her husband evinced a partiality for a young
lady who superintended his household, a person of engaging
appearance, and of sensible character. After a short time
she assisted in effecting an arrangement, in pursuance of
which the young maiden submitted to the wishes of Theresa's
father, who continued to fulfil her household duties, with
more attachment and devotion to her mistress, even than she
had exhibited before.
"In due course of time an infant was born, and upon this oc-
casion the same idea occurred to the married people, though
they were actuated by quite different motives. Herr von * *
* # wished that the child of his mistress should be considered
as his lawful offspring, and Frau von * * * * vexed that
through the indiscretion of her physician, her own infirmity
had been published in the neighbourhood, thought to coun-
teract it, by means of a supposititious child, and hoped by
this apparent compliance with her husband's wishes, to pre-
serve an influence at home, which she was otherwise in danger
of losing. She was of a more reserved disposition than her
husband, but she saw his purpose, and she contrived, without
inquiring, to ascertain his wishes. She made her own terms,
obtaining everything that she desired, and hence arose the
will, to which we have alluded, in which the child was so
indifferently provided for. The old physician was at this
time dead. They applied, therefore, to a young man of
discretion, by whom he was succeeded, and who, having been
handsomely remunerated, thought he saw an opportunity
for establishing his own credit by remedying the unskilful-
nesa and premature opinion of his departed colleague. The
true mother became a party to the deception, which was
successfully managed. Theresa was born, and immediately
handed over to the care of a step-mother, whilst her real
parent fell a victim to this plot, as she died, in consequence of
having ventured out too early, and left the father inconsolable.
"But Frau von * * * * had completely succeeded in her
design. In the eyes of the world she was the mother of a
darling child, which she exhibited with much ostentation, and
she felt happy at finding herself delivered from a rival, whose
influence she beheld with jealous eyes, and whose future
power over her husband she had some reason to apprehend.
Her kindness to the infant was indescribable, and im confU
APPBE2? TICESHTP.
525
dent moments she displayed so lively a sympathy for her
husband's loss, that he placed in her hands, not only his own
happiness, but that of his wife and child, and it was only a
short time before his death, through the interference of his
elder daughter, that he once more became master of his
household. Such was the secret, lovely Theresa, which your
father, in his last illness, was anxious to impart to you, and
this is the history which I have wished circumstantial]}' to
relate to you, at a moment, wrhen, by a strange coincidence,
your intended husband happens to be absent. Here are
the papers which will clearly prove all that I have stated.
You will perceive, by perusing them, how long I have been
on the point of making this discovery, and how I have only
lately become acquainted with all the facts. I did not dare
to impart to my friend the possibility of his happiness, as it
would have been too distressiDg, if his hopes should be a
second time frustrated. You may understand Lydia's sus-
picions, but I confess that I never encouraged our friend's
attachment to her, from the moment when I expected his
union with Theresa."
jSTo one offered a remark upon the termination of this
statement. After some days the ladies returned the papers,
and made no further allusion to the subject.
They soon found abundant means to provide occupation for
the party whilst they remained together: and the country
around them was so charming, that our friends took the
greatest pleasure in visiting it, either singly or in parties,
on horseback, in carriages, or as pedestrians. Jarno took
advantage of one of these excursions to open the affair to
AVilhelm, and laid all the papers before him, without seeming
to require that he should express any decision upon the
subject.
"In the strange situation in which I find myself placed,"
said Wilhelm, "it is only necessary that I should repeat to
you, what I have already, in the presence of Natalia, pro-
mised with a conscientious heart. Lothario and his friend
may demand from me every species of self denial. I abandon
all my pretensions to Theresa, only furnish me with a proper
formal discharge. It requires no long reflection to decide
me. I have long felt that Theresa is forced to make an
effort to retain even an appearance of the affection with
526
WILHELM MEISTEe's
which she used to welcome me. Her love is gone from me,
or rather I have never possessed it."
"It will be easier/' replied Jarno, "to comprehend such
matters as these, gradually, in silence and by patience, than
to explain them by conversations which never fail to occasion
perplexity and embarrassment.''
"I should rather have thought," answered "Wilhelm, "that
this matter admits of the clearest and calmest decision. I
have often been rebuked for hesitation and uncertainty, but
why will you now, when I am resolved, commit towards me
the very fault of which I am accused? "Why will the world
take so much trouble in training us, in order that we may
the clearer observe their" own deficiencies? Let me enjoy
the delightful thought that I have escaped a mistaken
alliance, into which I should have entered with the purest
feelings in the world.'*
In spite of this request, some delays elapsed, and he heard
no more of the affair, nor did he perceive the smallest altera-
tion in the conduct of his friends. Their conversation was
always of the most general and indifferent nature.
CHAPTEE VII.
One day Natalia, Jarno, and "Wilhelm were sitting to-
gether, when the former observed, "Vou are thoughtful,
Jarno. I have remarked it for some time."
"It is true," replied the latter, "I see the end of some
important business before me, with which I have been for a
long time engaged, and which I am now obliged to bring to
a conclusion. You are already acquainted with it in some
measure, and I do not object to speak of it before our friend,
and he must himself decide whether he will engage in it or
not. You will soon see me no more, as I have an intention
of making a voyage to America."
"To America?" said "Wilhelm with a smile, "I should
not have expected such an adventure from you, still less that
you would have chosen me for a companion."
APPEENTTCESHIP.
527
"When you have heard me explain our plan," said Jarno,
"you will give it a better name, and, perhaps, be induced to
join in it. Listen to me. It does not need a very deep
knowledge of the world, to perceive that important changes
are about to occur, and that property is no where quite
secure.'3
"I have no great experience in worldly matters,'' observed
Wilhelm, "and I have not lately troubled myself much about
my own affairs. Perhaps it would have been better for me
if I had banished them from my mind still longer, for I must
say that an anxiety about such things renders me melan-
choly."
"Hear me out," said Jarno. "Anxiety becomes a
person in mature age, in order that youth may live for a
longer time free from care. Unfortunately an equality in
human affairs can only be maintained by contrarieties. At
present nothing seems less advisable than to keep your
property in only one place, to trust your mcney to a single
spot, and it is difficult to manage it well when dispersed.
¥e have, therefore, thought of a plan. A society is about
to be established by the inhabitants of our old tower, which
is to extend to all parts of the world, and of which every
living being may become a member. "We are to insure a
competent subsistence to each other, in the single event of
a revolution happening, which shall drive any of the members
from his possessions. I propose to visit America, to avail
myself of the good connections which our friend formed
during his residence there. The Abbe intends to go to
Russia, and if you join us, you shall choose whether you will
accompany me, or remain in Grermany to assist Lothario,
I suppose you will prefer the former, for a distant journey
cannot fail to be profitable to a young man."
Wilhelm replied after a moment's reflection. "The pro-
posal is worth considering, for before long I shall doubtless
think that the further I am away from this place the better.
I trust you will acquaint me more fully with your plan. It
arises, perhaps, from my ignorance of the world, but I cannot
help thinking that your proposal is attended with insuperable
difficulties."
"And these," continued Jarno, "have been for the most
part overcome, by the fact that the Society has hitherto con-
528
WILHELH MEISTEr's
sisted of a few honourable, discreet and determined persons
possessing an united feeling, by which alone societies can
hope to prosper."
Friedrich, who had hitherto been a mere listener,
immediately replied, "if you give me proper encouragement,
perhaps I may be tempted to join you."
Jarno shook his head.
"Well, what objections have you to offer?" continued
Friedrich. "In a new colony young people will be required,
and I can provide them for you, and merry colonists they
will prove I promise you. And in addition, I know a good
kind maiden, who does not find herself quite at home here—
I mean the sweet, charming Lydia. What is she to do with
all her grief and sorrow, unless she can drown it in the
depths of the sea, and find some honest fellow to take her
hj the hand. I should have thought that you, my kind
friends, who have always taken so much interest in consoling
the distressed, would each have taken his girl under his arm
and accompanied Jarno."
This proposal displeased Wiihelm. He answered, how-
ever, with apparent composure. "I am not certain that she is
disengaged, and as I have always been especially unfortunate,
m courtship, I should scarcely like to make the attempt."
Natalia, turning to her brother, observed, "Friedrich,
though you are accustomed to act with so much levity, your
sentiments may not prove quite agreeable to others. Our
friend deserves a heart that shall be all his own, unin-
fluenced by foreign recollections, and it is only with a pure
and reasonable being, like Theresa, that he could venture
upon such a risk."
"liisk!" exclaimed Friedrich. "In love it is ail risk.
In the bower, or at the altar, in an embrace, or bound by f
golden ring, by the chirping of a cricket or at the sound of
-trumpets and drums, it is all risk: chance does it all."
"I have always observed," said Natalia, "that our prin-
ciples are a mere supplement to our mode of existence. "We
delight to clothe our errors in the garb of appropriate laws.
Observe the path by which your mistress will lead you, now
that she has attracted you to her, and obtained such an in-
fluence over your mind."
"She is in a very pretty path herself at present," sai l
APPRENTICESHIP.
520
Frcedrich, "she is on the road to sanctity. It is rather a
by-way, to be sure, but it is all the pleasauter and safer on
that account. Many a sinner has already travelled that
road. But, my dear sister, as this is all a question of love,
why should you not take a part in it? In my opinion you
will never marry, till a wife is wanted somewhere, and then
you will give yourself away, with your accustomed generosity,
to form the supplement to some peculiar mode of existence.
Let us, therefore, make a bargain with Jarno, and select our
travelling companions."
"Your proposals come too late,1' observed Jarno, " Ljdia
is already provided for."
"How is that managed?" asked Eriedrich.
"I have myself offered her my hand," said Jarno.
u Old gentleman," said Eriedrich, "you have in that case
accomplished a feat, to which if we regard it as a substantive,
several adjectives might be appended, and for which, if we
look upon it as a subject, various predicates might be
found."
"I must confess candidly, that it is a dangerous step to
marry a maiden at the very moment when her love for
another person is driving her to despair."
"A step, however, which I have ventured to take," said
Jarno, "and subject to certain conditions, she is mine.
Depend upon it, the world contains no more valuable trea-
sure than a heart, susceptible of love and passion. Whether
that heart has ever loved—whether it loves at present, are
questions of small importance. The warmth with which
another is loved is almost more charming to me than that with
which I should be loved myself. I see the strength, the
power of an affectionate heart, and my own self-love does
not disturb the pure vision."
"Have you spoken to Lydia lately ?" asked Natalia.
Jarno nodded with a smile. Natalia shook her head as
she rose from her seat, and said, <£I do not well know what
to make of you, hut at all events you shall not deceive me."
He was about to retire, when the Abbe made his appear-
ance with a letter in his hand, and said to her, <e Remain
for a moment. I have a proposal to make, with respect to
which I shall be glad of your advice. The Marquis, our
deceased uncle's friend, whom we have so long expected,
2 M
530
WILIIELM MEISTEE'S
will be here in a few days. He has written to say that his
knowledge of the German language is not so perfect as he
believed, he requires a companion, who shall be master of
that and of other languages; and as he wishes rather for
literary than for political society, such an interpreter seems
indispensable to him. I know no person more adapted for
his purpose than our young friend here. He is conversant
with the language, and possesses a fund of general informa-
tion, and it will be a great advantage for him to travel
through Germany in such excellent company, and in the
enjoyment of so many advantages. He who has not visited
his native land has no standard by which he can judge of
other countries. What is your opinion, my friend f and
what is yours, Natalia?"
No one knew what objection to offer to the proposal.
Jarno seemed to think, that his project of making a voyage
to America, would not prove any obstacle, as he had no in-
tention of setting out immediately. Natalia and Friedrich
quoted many proverbs about the advantage of travelling.
"Wilhelm could scarcely conceal his anger at this new
proposition. He saw plainly that a plan had been concerted
for getting rid of him, and the worst feature in the whole
case was, that it was done too openly and without any
regard to his feelings. The suspicions which Lydia had
awakened in his bosom, and every thing of which he had
personal experience, now vividly occurred to him, and even
the natural manner in which Jarno had unfolded his project,
seemed to him nothing better than a cunning artifice.
He reflected for a moment, and answered, "This proposal
will at all events require mature deliberation."
"Perhaps a prompt decision may be necessary," replied
the Abbe.
"I am not quite prepared for that," observed Wilhelm.
<c But at all events we may await the arrival of the Marquis,
and then see whether we shall suit each other. One con-
dition however I must require, that I shall be at liberty to
take Felix with me, and that he shall accompany me every-
where."
"Such a condition will scarcely be acceded to," replied
the Abbe.
"And I do not understand," cried Wilhelm, <c\vhy I
APPRENTICESHIP.
531
should allow any person to prescribe conditions to me, or
why I should seek to b-e the companion of an Italian, if I
wish to visit my native land."
"Because a young man," replied the Abbe, with a certain
look of earnestness, " always requires to form connections/'
"Wilhelm, who perceived that he would not be able to
preserve his self-command much longer, as his anger had
only been calmed by Natalia's presence, replied rather
hastily, "Only grant me a little more time for reflection,
and I dare say it will soon appear whether I require to form
connections, or whether, on the contrary, I am not impelled
by heart and head to burst the many bonds which threaten
to keep me in endless and wretched thraldom."
Thus he spoke with a deeply excited mind. But one
glance at Natalia restored his composure, for in that pas-
sionate moment her beauty and her worth impressed them-
selves more strongly upon his mind than ever.
<£ Yes," he said, when he found himself once more alone,
"confess that you love her, and that you feel now what it is
for a man to love with all his soul. It was thus that I once
loved Mariana, and so wholly lost myself. I loved Philina,
though I could not help despising her. Aurelia I respected,
but could never love. I reverenced Theresa, and my fatherly
affection for her assumed the form of passion, and now when
all the feelings which can render a mortal happy meet
within my heart, I am compelled to fly! Alas! why must
an unconquerable wish to possess her be inseparable from
these feelings and emotions? and why, without such a pos-
session, should all other happiness be absolutely destroyed?
Can I ever enjoy the sun, the world, or any other happiness?
Shall I not for ever say, 'Natalia is not there!' and yet
Natalia will never be absent from me. If I shut my eyes,
I shall behold her form, and when I open them, she will be
seen in every thing, like that appearance which a dazzling
object leaves behind. "Was not my mind once filled with
the swiftly passing figure of the Amazon? And when I
saw her she was a stranger to me. And now when I know
her, when I have been so long near to her, and she has so
completely won my sympathy, her qualities are as deeply
impressed upon my heart, as hsr image formerly was upon
my fancy. It is painful to be for ever seeking, but stili
WILHIiL'Al MEISTER*3
more paiuful when we have found, to be compelled to leave.
"What shall I now seek further in the world? "What town,
what county contains a treasure equal to this, and shall I
for ever travel in order to find something that is inferior?
Is life then nothing but a race-course, where we are com-
pelled to turn as soon as we have reached the farthest end?
And is the good, the excellent, nothing but an immoveable
goal, from which we are driven back as soon as we seem to
have attained it? Those who seek mere earthly treasures,
may find them in their proper climates, or may buy them at
the fair!
<£ Come, my dearest boy!" he exclaimed to Felix, who
came running to him at that moment, "come, and be every
thing to me! You were given to me to supply the loss of
your beloved mother, you must now replace the second
mother, whom I had intended for you, and you have a greater
deficiency to supply. Let my heart and soul be filled with
your beauty, your loveliness, your talents, and your capa-
bilities."
The child was playing with a new toy. The father tried
to improve it for him, but at that very instant Felix lost his
wrhole interest in it. "Ah!" cried Wilhelm, "you are a
genuine child of earth! come then, m}r son, my brother, let
us henceforth wander together through the world, without
an object, as best we may."
His determination to depart, to take his child along with
him, and to search for amusement in the world, was now
firmly adopted. He accordingly wrote to Werner for a
supply of money and for some letters of credit, and sent
off Friedrich's courier, with the strictest orders to return as
soon as possible. Although he was highly incensed against
his other friends, his affection for Natalia continued un-
diminished. He confided to her his intention; she took it
for granted that he would put it in execution, and although
her apparent indifference grieved him more than a little, yet
the kindness of her manner and her presence rendered him
calm. She advised him to visit several cities, where he
might become acquainted with her friends. The courier
soon returned, and brought the letters wThich Wilhelm had
required, and Werner expressed his dissatisfaction at this
kudden whim. "I must deles my hopes/1 he wrote, "o£
APPEEKTICE'SHIP.
533
your returning prudence. But whither are you all depart-
ing? and what is become of the lady whose assistance I
have been expecting about the arrangement of your affairs?
And your other friends have disappeared. The entire
business is thrown upon your lawyer and myself. It is for-
tunate that he is as good a jurist as I am a financier, and
that we are both men of business. Farewell! We must
forgive your errors, as otherwise our situation in this neigh-
bourhood would not have been so favourable."
So far as related to his outward circumstances, Wilhelm
might be considered to have taken his departure, but there
were two circumstances which gave him some uneasiness.
They would not on any account allow him to visit Mignon's
remains until the funeral, which the Abbe intended to cele-
brate, and the preparations for that ceremony were not yet
complete. Moreover, the physician had been called away
by a singular letter which he had received from the country
clergyman. It was in reference to the Harper, of whose
fate Wilhelm was anxious to procure some farther informa-
tion.
In this state of perplexity he could rest neither by day
nor by night. His mind and body were alike disturbed.
When all others were asleep, he roamed restlessly through
the house. The presence of the well-known works of art
attracted and repelled him. He could neither retain nor
abandon the objects by which he was surrounded, every
thing awakened his recollections of the past, he surveyed
the whole circle of his existence which lay in fragments
before him, and seemed as if they could never be united.
These works of art which his father had sold, seemed as an
omen that he would never acquire a peaceable and firm pos-
session of anything valuable in life, but that he was doomed
to be deprived of his acquisitions either by his own fault or
that of others. He became so completely lost in these
strange and melancholy contemplations, that he seemed to
himself like a spirit, and even when he felt and handled ma-
terial objects, he could scarcely bring himself to believe
that he really lived and moved.
Nothing but the intense grief which he felt at being
compelled by frivolous but irresistible causes, to leave the
object which he had found, after so much deep anxiety, and
I
534
WILKELUl MEISTEE'S
the tears which he was compelled to shed, restored him to
the consciousness of his existence. In vain did he call to
mind how happy he was in other respects. "All is nothing
now," he said, "when the one thing fails which possesses
any real value I"
The Abbe announced to the company the arrival of the
Marquis. "It seems,'' he said, addressing himself to "Wil-
helm, "that you are resolved to leave us, accompanied by
your child. I could wish, however, that you had first be-
come acquainted with this nobleman, who may prove of the
greatest advantage to you, if you should meet him upon
your travels." The Marquis entered. He was a person not
far advanced in years, with a handsome, pleasing, Lombard
figure. "When a youth, he had become known to Lothario's
uncle, who was in the army, and they had subsequently met
in the transaction of public business. They had travelled
through the greater part of Italy together, and the various
objects of art by which the Marquis was now surrounded,
had been purchased or procured in his presence, under
various happy circumstances, which he still remembered.
The Italians possess a much higher idea of the dignity of
art than any other nation. Every individual of that coun-
try, when he would engage in any employment, adopts the
title of artist, master, or professor, thus admitting that he
does not consider it sufficient to claim a secondary excel-
lency, or to acquire a mere practical dexterity, and maintain-
ing that every artist should acquire the habit of endeavouring
to establish sound principles, and understand his reasons
for adopting his own particular course.
The stranger was moved at beholding these productions
now that their owner was no more, and he felt delighted to
perceive that the spirit of his friend survived in the persons
by whom he was surrounded. They examined the several
works, and found a great satisfaction in being able so well
to understand each other. The Marquis and the Abbe
conversed together. .Natalia, who felt herself once more in
the presence of her uncle, entered fully into their opinions
and criticisms, which Wilhelm however was obliged to
translate into dramatic language in order to understand.
It was found necessary upon these occasions to check the
frivolity of Friedrich." Jarno was seldom present.
i
APPEE"\TTICE SHIP.
535
"When it was observed, that m these times, superior works
of art were very seldom produced, the Marquis said, "It is
not easy to explain how much the artist must owe to cir-
cumstances, and how endless are the demands which the
greatest genius and the most commanding talent must exact
from themselves; in addition to this, the diligence which is
required for the cultivation of art, is unspeakable. If there-
fore the artist is not highly favoured by circumstances, if
he observes that the world can be very easily satisfied, and
requires nothing more than a ligbt, pleasing, transitory
show, it would be surprising if indolence and self-love did
not impede his progress, and induce him to exchange works
of fashion for gold and praise, rather than follow the correct
path, which would only lead him to a painful martyrdom.
Hence the artists of the present age constantly raise expec-
tations which they never realize. They seek to charm, but
they never satisfy, every thing is merely indicated, and
nowhere do we find foundation or perfection. It is only
necessary to linger for a short time in a gallery and ob-
serve what works of art attract the crowd, what things
are praised and what are censured, to prove how little cause
we have to be satisfied with the present, or to hope for the
future."
"Yes," replied the Abbe, "and in this manner, artists
and critics mutually educate each other. The latter seek
nothing more than a general vague enjoyment; a work of
art, in their eyes, resembles a work of nature, and men
believe, for the most part, that the organs by which such
objects can be enjoyed, resemble the tongue and the palate,
and need no cultivation, and they criticize a work of art as
they would an article of food. They do not comprehend
the different species of cultivation which is necessary to ele-
vate them to a true enjoyment of art, the most difficult part
of which consists, perbips, in that sort of separation which
a man who would become perfect must accomplish in him-
self, and for this reason there are so many persons imper-
fectly cultivated, who think themselves nevertheless fully
competent to pronounce an opinion upon the general
whole."
"I have not quite understood your meaning," said Jarno..
who entered at that moment.
53G
WILHELM MEISTEIl's
"It is not easy," replied the Abbe, "to explain one's
meaning fully in so short a time. But I may observe this
much : whenever an individual lays claim to manifold activity
or manifold enjoyments, he should possess the power of
rendering his manifold organs independent of each other.
He who will accomplish or enjoy every thing in his full
nature, he who will connect everything without himself in
such a species of enjoyment, must waste his time in perpetual
unsuccessful efforts. How easy it appears, and yet it is
extremely difficult, to admire a noble disposition, or a beau-
tiful painting, in and for itself alone, to hear sweet music for
the music's sake, to applaud the actor in the actor, and to
feel pleasure in the sight of a building, on account of its
harmony and durability. Eor the most part men deal with
finished works of art as if they were soft clay. According
to their fancies, notions and caprices, the polished marble
must be again re-modelled, the firm-built edifice contracted
or expanded, a picture must teach, a play instruct, and
every thing accomplish all. But this arises from the cir-
cumstance that most men are unformed, that they cannot
give themselves or their beings any proper shape, and there-
fore they would deprive other objects of their form, that
every thing may be as loose and uncompact as they are. In
fine they reduce every thing to what they call effect, main-
taining that everything is relative, which in truth will be
the case eventually, with the exception, perhaps, of their
own folly and want of taste, which are likely to remain as
positive as possible."
"I understand you," said Jarno, "or rather I perceive
that your observations completely resemble the principles
to which you have always attached so much importance.
But I cannot deal so severely with mankind. I know many,
who in the presence of the great works of art and nature,
remember their own poor insufficiency, whose morality
and conscience accompany them to the opera, who do
not forget their loves and hatred when they behold a
colonnade. They diminish the effect of the best and greatest
things which can be presented to them, that they may in
some measure become capable of union with their own
wretched nature."
APPRENTICESHIP.
587
CHAPTEE VIII.
In the evening, the Abbe invited them to the funeral of
Mignon. The company assembled in the Hall of the Past,
and found it illuminated and decorated in the most magnifi-
cent manner. The walls were completely covered with
.azure tapestry, so that the friezes and cornices aloDe were
visible. Pour large wax lights were burning in the four
candelabra which stood in the corners, and four smaller
ones were placed near the sarcophagus, in the middle of the
apartment. Near the latter, stood four boys attired in
azure and silver, holding in their hands broad fans of ostrich
feathers, which they waved above a figure that rested upon
the sarcophagus. The company took their seats, and two
invisible choruses commenced in a low, soft recitative, to
ask: "Whom do you bring to our silent company?" The
four children responded with sweet voices: "A weary com-
panion we bring to you, let her rest among you, till the
song of her heavenly sisters shall again awaken her."
Chorus.
Thou first of youth within our circle, we welcome thee!
We welcome thee with sadness. Let no youth, no maiden
follow thee! Let age alone, consenting and composed, ap-
proach the silent hall, and may this dear, dear child, repose
in the solemn company.
Boys,
Alas! how unwillingly we have brought thee hither!
Alas! thou shalt remain here! Let us also remain, let
us weep, let us weep over thy bier!
Chorus.
Behold the powerful wings! behold the pure white robe!
How shines the golden band upon her head! See how
beautiful is her dignified repose!
Boys.
Alas! her wings raise her not! in the light pastime her robe
538
WILHELM. MEISTETl's
11 utters no more. When we crowned her head with roses,
she looked upon us with kind and friendly eyes.
Chorus.
Look forward with the eyes of the spirit! Let imagina-
tion awake, which bears Life—the fairest and the highest—
to a habitation beyond the stars!
Boys.
But alas! we shall seek her here in vain! In the garden
she wanders no more, nor culls the flowers of the meadow.
Let us weep: we leave her here. Let us weep aud remain
with her!
Chorus.
. Children, return to life. Let the pure air which plays
above the rushing water, dry your tears 1 Fly the night!
Day and happiness and continuance are the lot of the living.
Boys.
Rise, we return again to life. Let the day yield us labour
| and pleasure, till the evening brings us repose, and nightly
/ sleep refreshes us.
Chorus.
Children! Hasten into life! In the pure robe of
beauty, may Love meet you with heavenly countenance and
the garland of immortality!
The children were already at a distance, the Abbe rose
from his seat and retired behind the bier. "It was the wish,'*
he said, " of the man who prepared this silent abode, that
each new tenant should be welcomed with solemnity. After
him, the builder of this dwelling, the founder of this estab-
lishment, we have brought hither a young stranger, and thus
this small space has already received two very different
victims of the stern, arbitrary and inexorable G oddess of
Death. We enter into life in conformity with appointed
N laws. Our days are numbered which are to ripen us
1 for the enjoyment of the Light, but for the duration of life
i there is no iaw. The weakest thread of life will extend to an
APPRENTICESHIP.
539
unexpected length, and the strongest is suddenly cut by the
scissors of Pate, who seems to take delight in contradictions.
Of the child whom we inter here, we have but little to say.
It is a mystery to us, whence she came, her parents we know-
not, and we can only guess at the number of her years. Her
deep and inpenetrable heart scarcely allowed us to conjecture
its emotions, and nothing therein was plain and evident,
save her affection for the man, who had rescued her from
the hands of a barbarian. This tender attachment, this
lively gratitude, seemed to be the flame which consumed
the oil of her life. The skill of the physician could not
prolong her fair existence, the most anxious friendship could
not detain her departing spirit, it employed its whole
resources to preserve her body and snatch it from decay. A
preserving balsam has been infused into her veins, and has
coloured her too early faded cheeks with the rosy hue of
life. Come near, my friends, and behold this miracle of art
and affection!"
He raised the veil: the child was reposing in the most grace-
ful posture, and lay in its angel attire, as if asleep.—They all
drew near, and admired the wonderful appearance of life.
Wilhelm alone retained his seat, he could not overcome his
feelings. He dared not think upon what he felt; and every
thought filled him with anguish.
The address had been delivered in the French language,
on account of the Marquis. The latter advanced with the
others, and surveyed the body with attention. The Abbe
continued. "This affectionate heart, which has always been
so closed against mankind, has ever turned towards God
with a holy confidence. Humility, and even a love of self-
abasement, seemed to be her natural disposition. She was
zealously attached to the Catholic religion, in which she had
been bom and educated. She frequently expressed her wish
to be interred in holy ground, and in conformity with the
customs of the Church; we have consecrated this marble-
coffin, and the little earth which is contained within the
pillow, on which her head reposes. With what ardour did
she, in the last moments, kiss the image of the Crucified,
which is beautifully figured on her tender arm, with many
hundred punctures!" Whilst he said this, he uncovered her
right arm, and a Crucifix, ornamented with a multitude of
WTLHELM MEISTEft's
letters and signs, appeared m Dine colours upon her fair
white skin.
The Marquis looked at it with eager astonishment. "0
God! my poor child!" he exclaimed as he rose, and extended
his hands towards heaven. "Poor child! unhappy niece!
Do I find thee once more? What painful joy do I experience
to see thee again, after our long despair, to recover thy dear
body, which we believed had become a prey to the monsters
of the deep—to find thee again, dead it is true, but undecayed.
I attend thy funeral obsequies which are so nobly celebrated,
and are made splendid by the persons who accompany them
to thy last resting-place.—And when I am able to express
my thanks," he said with faltering voice, "I will evince my
gratitude to you."
His tears prevented him from speaking further. The
Abbe pressed a spring, whereupon the body sank slowly into
the marble coffin.
Pour youths dressed in the same manner as the boys had
been, now advanced from behind the tapestry, and having
placed the heavy, but beautiful ornamented cover upon the
coffin, they commenced the following hymn—
The Youths.
Securely is the treasure now preserved—the beautiful
image of the Past! Here in the marble it rests free from
decay, and it lives also in your hearts with active life. Go
back, go back into life; and take holy Earnestness along
with you, for holy Earnestness alone makes life eternity.
The invisible Chorus took part in the last strophe, but
none of the company heard the consoling words: each
was too busy with his own emotions, and with the late
wonderful discovery. The Abbe and Natalia led the Marquis
forth, whilst Theresa and Lothario conducted Wilhelm from
the scene; and before the echoes of the hymn had com-
pletely died away, the pain, the reflections, the thoughts and
curiosity which they had experienced, returned n full force,
and held complete possession of their minds.
APPRENTICESHIP.
511
CHAPTEE IX.
The Marquis avoided all allusion to the subject, but ho
held long and secret communications with the Abbe. He
sought consolation in music, when the company were assem-
bled together, and they willingly acceded to his wishes as
they were glad to escape the pain of entering into conversa-
tion witk him. He lived thus for some time, till they ob-
served that he was making preparations for a journey. He
said one day to Wilhelm, " I shall not disturb, the remains
of the dear child, let her rest in the place where she has
loved and suffered; but her friends must promise to visit me
in her own country, in the spot where the poor creature was
born and educated: they must see the pillars and statues,,
of which she so long retained a dear remembrance.
"I will take them to the little bays, where she loved to
gather pebbles. Tou must not withdraw yourself, my dear
young friend, from the gratitude of a family that is so deeply
indebted to you. To-morrow I shall take my departure. I
have confided her whole history to the Abbe, he will repeat
it to you. He could pardon me, when grief interrupted my
narrative, and as a stranger, he will be able to give more
connection to the events which I detailed. If, as the Abbe
proposed, you will consent to accompany me upon my tour
through Germany, you shall be cordially welcome. Tou
need not leave your child behind, any trifling inconvenience
which he may occasion, will forcibly recall the protection
which my poor niece received from you."
The same evening they were surprised by the arrival of the
Countess. Upon her entrance, Wilhelm trembled in every
limb: she herself remained near to her sister, who handed her
a chair. How simple was her dress, and how altered was her
form! Wilhelm scarcely ventured to look at her, she saluted
him in a friendly manner, but the general nature of her e£-?
pressions could not conceal her sentiments and feelings. Tit,-
Marquis had retired at an early hour, and the company felt
no inclination to separate. The Abbe now produced a
manuscript, observing—" I have written down the singular
history which has been confided to me. We should not
spare pen and ink, when we find it useful to make special
542
WILHELM MEISTEa'g
memorandums of remarkable events. The Countess, haying
been informed of the particular subject of the narrative, the
Abbe commenced.
"With all my experience of the world, I have always con-
sidered, that my father was one of the most extraordinary
of men. His character was noble and upright, his ideas en-
larged, I may even say great, he was severe towards himself.
In all his projects he pursued a strict order, and in all his
plans an interrupted perseverance. In one point of view he
was a person, with whom it was easy to transact business;
yet, in consequence of his peculiar qualities, he was not happy
in the world, as he required that the state, as well as his
neighbours, children and dependants, should strictly observe
the rules which he had imposed upon himself. The modera-
tion of his demands became exorbitant from their rigour,
and he was a stranger to enjoyment, because nothing ever
succeeded according to his precise plan. At the moment
when he was building a palace, laying out a garden, or pur-
chasing a large and beautiful estate, I have seen him a prey
to the conviction, that fate had condemned him to incessant
privations and sufferings. His outward deportment was
remarkable for its dignity, and even, when he jested, he
evinced the greatness of his understanding. He could endure
censure, and I never knew him to be irritated, except upon
one occasion, when he learnt that one of his undertakings
had been spoken of as ridiculous. In this same spirit lie
proposed to settle his children and his fortune. My elder
brother had been educated as a person who expected a rich
inheritance. I was intended for the Church, and the
youngest of our family was to be a soldier. I was lively in
disposition, ardent, active, quick, and skilled in all bodily
exercises. My youngest brother seemed more disposed to lead
a life of luxurious quiet, and was devoted to study, to the arts
of music and poetry. It was only after the hardest struggles,
and the fullest conviction of the impossibility of his project,
that my father reluctantly consented that we should exchange
our vocations, and though we were both content, he was
dissatisfied, and maintained that no good could result from
our arrangement. The older he grew, the more did he
become detached from society. At last he lived almost
wholly alone. His only companions were an old friend, who
^i'PHENTiceship.
543
had served in the German army, and had lost his vife during
one of his campaigns, and a little daughter of the latter,
about ten years of age. This person had purchased a pro-
perty in our neighbourhood, and he was accustomed to visit
my father every week, on particular days, and at particular
hours, on which occasions he was generally accompanied by
his child. He never contradicted my father, who at length
became quite attached to him, and esteemed him as his only
ndurable companion. After my parent's decease, we found
hat the old gentleman had not paid his visits for nothing, and
hat he was well provided for by my father's will. He en-
arged his estates, and laid aside a handsome provision for
is daughter. The girl grew up well, she was extremely
cautiful, and my eldest brother frequently suggested in joke
hat I ought to marry her.
"In the mean time, our brother Augustine had spent his
ears in a convent, in the strangest state of mind. He
xbandoned himself wholly to religious enthusiasm, to certain
*. motions half spiritual, and half physical, which, for a time,
exalted him to the third heaven, and then cast him into an
abyss of dejection and misery. During my father's life-time,
we could have effected no change in his condition, as what
could we have desired or proposed r But after my father's
death, he visited us frequently, and his state, which at first
distressed us, at length became more tolerable, for his good
sense had obtained the victory. But, in proportion as his
recovery rendered him content, the moiv strongly did he
urge us to procure for him a release from his vows, and he
gave us to understand, that his thoughts were turned upon
our neighbour Sperata.
u My elder brother had suffered too much from the severity
of our father, to remain unmoved at the condition of Au-
gustine. We spoke to our family confessor, a worthy old man,
and we mentioned to him the double purpose of our brother,
and implored him to take an interest in his case. He
hesitated, contrary to his usual custom, and when, at length,
Augustine became urgent, and we pressed the clergyman
more closely, he was compelled to inform us of the strange
mystery.
"Sperata was our sister, the child of our father and
mother. The latter had become pregnant when she was
Y,'ILIIEL3I METSTERD
advanced in years, and as a similar circumstance had, some
short time before, occasioned much jesting in the neigh-
bourhood, my father, to escape derision, had determined to
hide this somewhat late but lawful fruit of love, with as
much care as that with which the accidental fruits of an
early affection are concealed. Our mother was therefore
confined in secret, the child was taken to the country, and
the old friend of our family whom wre have mentioned, and
who, with the exception of the confessor, was the only
person acquainted with the circumstance, was easily per-
suaded to receive the infant as his daughter. The confessor
was authorized, in case of extremity, to divulge the secret.
The reputed father having died, Sperata was brought up
under the superintendence of an old lady; we were
aware that our brother had been attracted to her residence,
by his love of music, and when he once more insisted that
we should procure his release from his religious vows, it
became necessary that we should inform him without delay
of the dangerous precipice upon which he stood.
l( He looked at us with a wild, contemptuous glance.
'Keep your idle tales for children and credulous fools!'
he cried, ' you shall never tear Sperata from my heart, she
is mine. Deny your frightful story, which can only render
me vainly but irrecoverably wretched. Sperata is not my
sister, she is my wife! lie told us how the heavenly
maiden had led him to the enjoyment of true existence
from a state of unnatural separation from mankind, how
their spirits accorded like their voices, how he had blessed
all his sufferings and woes, as they had preserved him for
this dearest of creatures. We were shocked at the dis-
covery, his situation distressed us, and we knew not what
to do, when he assured us that Sperata was in a condition
soon to become a mother. Our confessor did every thing
which his duty commanded, but that afforded us no relief.
The commands of nature and religion, moral rights and
civil laws were all violently assailed by my brother. Nothing
appeared to him sacred, except his relation to Sperata,
nothing honourable, but the title of husband and father.
'These alone,5 he cried, 'are in strict accordance with
nature, all other things arc fancy and opinion. Are there
not noble nations who permitted marriage with a sister?
APPRENTICESHIP.
5*6
Do not speak of your gods; you never use their names, but
to deceive us, to lead us from the paths of nature, and by
shameful compulsion, to convert the most honourable im-
pulses into crimes. Madness and vice are the fate of those
who became the victims of your abominable system.
ici I may speak, for few persons have suffered like me; I
have known all feelings, from the highest and sweetest
enthusiasm, to the most frightful weakness, annihilation
and despair, from the loftiest aspirations of unearthly being,
to the most complete disbelief in myself. I have drunk
these dreadful dregs from the bottom of the attractive cup,
and my whole being has been poisoned to its inmost core.
But now when I am restored to my senses by the power of
love, that most precious gift of nature, when reposing in the
arms of a heavenly maiden, I become conscious of my own
existence, and of her's, and know that from this loving
union, another being will arise to smile upon us—then you
open upon me your flames of hell, your purgatory, which can
only bewilder a vain imagination, and you oppose them to
the vivid, real and undestructible enjoyment of the purest
love. Meet us under yonder cypresses, whose solemn
summits aspire to heaven, meet us in the gardens where the
citrons and pomegranates bloom beside us, where the sweet
myrtles enchant us with their delicious flowers, and then
dare to perplex us with the harmless but wretched contri-
vances which the fancies of mankind have spun.'
"Eor a long time he continued in obstinate disbelief of our
story, and at length when we assured him of its truth,
which was confirmed by the statement of the confessor, he did
not become convinced, but exclaimed,' Consult not the echoes
of your cloisters, consult not your antiquated parchments
and your contracted rules and ordinances! Consult your
own hearts and nature: she will tell you from what you
should recoil, she will shew by the plainest evidence the
things upon which she has pronounced her enduring and
irrevocable curse. Behold the lilies! Do not husband and
wife spring from one stem? Does not the flower which
bore them, contain them both, and is not the lily the typo of
innocence, and is not their sisterly union fruitful? Mature
declares the things which she abhors. The creature which
should not be, can never be produced. The creature winch
[pAv suay jaqp\iq joocI JtiQ qmDnui!}. aq oq. sti papuam
-iuoo9J jossajuoa jito cpq 'pamjup ajq/iq u ^on 3J3AY „
•maqq aq.ujudas apum 3J3A1 spliuaq'ju ji 'norqnjosaj
siq porajoj puq aq qxiiqq. pnu 'jaq qqiAY aduasa oq. padoq an
^uq-q. 'uiujadg oq. ScrioS suay pnu 'pag: puq aq q.uqq.—raopaajf
siq Snppas ni panrqsnf suay aq 'janosud u iniq .oniniu;
-ap ajaAi aAV su :}uqq. 'pajupap aq ipiipv ni ayquq. aq;; nodn Aiq
.id^9\ y -Aidiua ^nauiqjudu siq pnnoj oay Sninjom anQ „
•A'apnS miq paannonojd suapc Ajuuioasno
8iq pnu moiSqaj siq 'sSnqaaj siq ^nq ''qnaoonin unq pajupap
Stnpnuasjapnn paq.udranura3 sijj 'uiua hi ^nq 'niu.ou unq
pa^isiA jossajnoa aqj] 'sjqSiu pnu sAup prpcQj: OAYq. ^nads
ojj 'mat]} painudtuoaau sqqnop pijpuajp pnu 'aajoj jjnj ni
panm^aj noiSqaj jo snoissajdmi Apua aqj, -quaAi suay q.juaq
siq -inq <Snoj:qs miq apura puq Suipnu^sjapim stjaq!p)jq Aj\[
•pazipai uoos ajaAi snoiaidsns jtiq 'sAup Aiaj u ni inuSu
mn^\i ppiOAV aq ^uqq. sn Snunssu 'aAua^ siq spoq. aq 'siqq.
nod[i -apsua aqq. QAV.d\ oq. unq Avoqi? joii 'jaqjojq juo jo
q.q.ots aso[ ^ou ppiOAi oay ^uqq. jossajnoa jno pasimojd a
•ajiiquu jo saidrouijd aqq. su 3{qua.ouuipuu st? 3J3ay snonnquSaj
ptiu SAiiq aiaqAv aauqs u ui ^nq 'suapi put? sqipSnoq:} uayo
siq jo pp.OAv aaij aqq. ni .oUiaij ^ou suay aq ^uqq. jaqmamaj ppioqs
ajq •saananbasnoo qnjjuaj qans aonpojd q.q.oiui qoiqAi daq.s u
aquq. 30U ppioAi aq q.uqq. SniSSaq 'unq pauiuqap aAV q.nq 'jaq oq.
jaAO ssojo q.qSuu aq ^cip ^uoq aq1; oq. Sntuaq.s'cq suai ajj
c-ajoiu on jaq mojj qjud pni7 ^trc^sni spqq. jaq
o§ -[|uqs 1 (J apnqpq^os moA si ^q^ & A'dduq aq j rrca Aioj-j
^ jaq np.L)aJ j wqo a\l>jj -jaq jo am aAijdap ano^u
q^ap pnu cauiiu st u;'ujadg •aajjSniaq jo aSanAud aqq. suq
'auop aAuq j su fpajajjns suq oi[A\ aqq qnjaosad saonannui
jaq^u pnu 'am^ aju spnumuioo jaq y[u i nopujapom si mixum
Jajj ^niuj^snoa pnu nopn^rjsap nodn su -[pAi su aonuS
-UAUJ'^xa pnu aoudua nodn *no^ paniuj;sjaAO nodn nuq^ ssa];
on cssana[pi ;prant nodn ajnsua|dsqD jo saAa q^pi sqooj aqg
•paannonojct naaq suq asjno jaq qaupiv nodn 'pajaAaj pnu
paiujaasnoa aju saaipujd pnusnoq^ u 'p^jOAV aq^ jo o]^snq aq^
ni fsjaqsiopD aqj jo aanaps aqq. nj * pas jno si q.uqAi ^appiq
-joj si quqAi aas oc^ nuj ^onnua noA pnu cnoA pnnoju qoorj
-spajja a'juqoammi Aq saqsinnd aqg -ja.onu jaq jo saanap
-iAa aq^ ^asjna jaq aju asaq^ 'Auoap ajn^uraajd faona^sixa
veqD^ajA\ u 'ssanjnjiinjjnj^ *paAoj^sap noos si cApspi saAij
APPEESTICEHIP.
547
watched. The boatman instead of rowing him across the
river, took him to his convent. "Fatigued with a long
.watching of four-ancl-twenty hours, he fell asleep as the
"boat rocked to and fro in the moonlight, and he did not
awake until he found himself in the bands of his spiritual
brethren. When he came completely to himself, he found
the convent doors were locked upon him.
"Deeply distressed at the fate of our brother, we upbraided
the confessor severely, but this worthy man convinced us
with the surgeon's reason, that our pity was ruinous to the
patient; he assured us tbat he had not acted on bis own
authority, but by command of the Bishop and Chapter. It
was their object to avoid all public scandal, and to conceal
the sad calamity under the veil of a secret course of ecclesi-
astical discipline. Sperata was to be spared. She was not
to know that her lover was her own brother. She was con-
fided to the charge of a clergyman, to whom she had already
entrusted her secret. They adopted means for concealing
her pregnancy and the birth of her child. She felt happy.
Like most of our young women, she could neither read
nor write, and therefore her commissions to her lover were
entrusted to the clergyman. Believing that a pious fraud
was excusable hi the case of a young mother, he brought
pretended news from her brother, whom he had never seen,
in his name recommending her to remain quiet, imploring
her to take care of herself and the child, and to leave all
other things to Grod.
"Sperata was naturally of a religious disposition. Her
peculiar situation and her solitude increased this feeling,
which was encouraged by the clergyman, in order to prepare
her gradually for an eternal separation. Immediately after
her child was weaned, and almost before she was strong
enough, in a physical point of view, to endure severe agony
of mind, he began to paint her fault in frightful colours,
representing that to have engaged herself to a priest was a
sort of sin against nature—a species of spiritual incest.
For he had conceived the strange thought of making her
repentance equal the excessive sorrow which she wouldhavt-..
felt, if she had only known the real circumstances of her
case. By this course he rendered her spirit so penitent and
contrite, he exalted the idea of the church and its pastors to
WILHELM MEISTEE'S
such a height, be explained the dreadful consequences of
easily pardoning sins of this nature, and of rewarding the
guilty by allowing them to be lawfully married—he demon-
strated the advantage of expiating such crimes in time, and of
earning by this means a crown of immortality—so that at
length, like a poor sinner, she extended her neck willingly
to the axe, and insisted that she should be eternally separated
from her brother. Having obtained so much from her, they
allowed her, under certain restrictions, to reside in her own
house, or in the convent, as she herself might feel disposed.
"The child grew up and displayed an extraordinary dispo-
sition. Prom an early age she could run and move with
great agility—she soon learned to sing sweetly, and could
play the cithern almost by intuition. But she could never
express herself with facility, and the difficulty seemed to
arise from her style of thought, rather than from any defect
in her organs of speech.
"The mother's feelings towards her child were of the most
distressing nature—the representations of the priest had
almost rendered her deranged. Her conduct appeared to
her daily in a more culpable light, and the frequency with
which she heard it compared to incest, had impressed her
mind so strongly, that her horror would have been no greater
if she had known all the circumstances of the case. The
confessor was proud of the skill with which he had contrived
to break the poor creature's heart. It was dreadful to con-
template a mother's love ready to glow with delight at the
thought of her infant's existence, but struggling with the
horrid idea that her child ought not to have been born.
These two feelings contended in her soul, but hatred ap-
peared to be stronger than love.
<c She had long since been deprived of her child, which had
been entrusted to the care of a worthy family who resided
near the sea. The child soon evinced the greatest fancy for
climbing. To ascend the highest hills, to run along the sides
of the ships, and to imitate the most difficult feats of the
rope-dancers who sometimes visited the place, seemed to be
a mere impulse of nature.
"That she might do this the more easily, she frequently
changed clothes with the boys who wTere her companions,
and although such conduct was considered very -unbecoming,
APPRENTICESHIP.
it was generally permitted. Her love of wandering often
led her far from home, and though she frequently went
astray, and continued absent for unusually long periods, she
never failed eventually to return. She would then take her
seat beneath the pillars of a portico before a large country
mansion in the neighbourhood, where she was allowed to re-
main as long as she pleased. She would rest upon the steps, or
at times running through the spacious hall, she would linger
among the statues, and then if nothing special occurred tc
detain her, she would hasten home.
"But,at length, our hope 3 were deceived, and our confidence
punished. The child one day continued absent—her hat
was found floating upon the water not far from a spot where
a torrent rushes into the sea. It was supposed that hei
foot had slipped as she was climbing the rocks, and the most
diligent search after her body was made in vain.
"By the thoughtless conversation of her companions, Spe-
rata had become acquainted with the death of her child.
She received the information with calm resignation, even in-
timating her satisfaction that God had been pleased to take
the poor creature to himself, and to save it from enduring or
occasioning some more dreadful calamity.
"And now every fable was narrated which could bear any
reference to the sea. It was said, among other things, that
the sea required every year the sacrifice of ar. innocent
child, but as the waves could not endure the presence of
a dead body, they always cast the corpse upon the shore,
and rejected even the smallest bones, though they might
have sunk to the bottom of the ocean. They told how a
heart-broken mother, whose child had been drowned in the
sea, prayed to Grod and his saints to grant her at least the
bones for burial, how the next storm had cast up the skull,
and a succeeding one. the spine, and how when she had col-
lected them all and carried them to the church, 0 ! wonderful
to tell, she felt as ihe entered the sacred temple that her
burden was becoming heavier, and at length when she de-
posited it on the steps of the altar, the child began to cry,
and to the utter astonishment of the by-slanders, issued
alive from the linen cloth. One bone of the little finger of
the right hand was missing, which the mother found after a
550
WILHELM MEISTEll S
diligent search, and was afterwards preserved as a memorial
amongst the other relics of the church.
"These tales produced a strong impression on the mind oi
poor Sperata. Her imagination now took a new course, and
favoured the emotion of her heart. She believed that her
child had expiated the sins of herself and of her parents,
and that the curse and punishment which had hitherto
threatened them, was now removed: that it would only be
necessary therefore to collect the bones and carry them to
Rome, and that upon being laid before the steps of the high
altar in St. Peter's, her child would once more assume its
pure flesh and stand alive before the assembled multitude.
It would again recognise father and mother, upon which the
Pope, convinced that it had been so ordained by Grod and
his saints, w^ould amid the loud jubilee of the people, absolve
the parents' sins, remit their oaths, and unite them in holy
wedlock.
"Henceforth her anxious looks were incessantly directed
\jO the sea and to the beach. "When the midnight waves foamed
in the moonlight, she expected that the rolling surge would
cast up her child, whereupon her friends would run to receive
it, when it should come to land.
<c She walked incessantly by day in those places, where the
pebbly shore declined gradually to the beach, collecting in a
basket all the bones that she could find. No one ventured
to tell her that many of them were the bones of animals,
but nevertheless, she buried the larger ones and retained
only those which were small. She employed herself thus
incessantly. The clergyman, whose unwearied exertions
had reduced her to this state of mind, defended her conduct
with all his might. His influence induced the neighbours to
regard her not as a mad woman, but at> an inspired person,
and, when she passed, they looked at her silently, and the
children ran to kiss her hands.
11 The clergyman had informed the old woman who wras
Sperata's friend and attendant, of the sin which she had
committed by contracting her forbidden marriage. She had
therefore solemnly promised to watch over the unhappy
creature during her life, and with praiseworthy and conscien-
tious patience she had hitherto discharged hi?r duty.
APPRENTICESHIP.
551
"In the mean time, we Had not lost sigHt of Her brother.
Neither the physicians nor the clergy of his convent would
allow us to appear before him; but to convince ourselves
that he was improving in some degree, we were permitted to
see Him as often as we pleased, as he walked in the garden or
the cloisters, or to look at Him through a window in the roof
of His apartment.
"I shall pass over many strange changes which He under-
went, till at length He attained a state of mental tranquillity
and bodily restlessness. He would never consent to sit
down, except upon occasions when he took His Harp and
played thereon, for the most part accompanying himself with
singing. But he was generally in a state of motion, though
He was always quiet and tractable. All his passions seemed
to Have concentrated themselves into one single feeling, an
apprehension of death: and hence, He could Have been in-
duced to do anything by threatening Him with a dangerous
illness, or with death.
"Besides his strange habit of walking incessantly up and
down the cloisters, upon which occasions He would suggest
that it were better if his time were spent in wandering over
hill and dale—he would often speak of an apparition which
constantly tormented him. He asserted that, upon waking
at any hour of the night, He always beheld a beautiful boy
standing at his bed-side, with a bare knife, and threatening
to kill Him. They removed Him to another apartment, but
lie still declared that even there and in various other cham-
bers of the convent, the figure pursued him. His wander-
ings to and fro nowbecame more restless,and the people after-
wards remembered that, about this time, he was accustomed
often to stand at the window, looking out upon the sea.
"In the mean time, our poor sister seemed to be gradually
wasting away, under the effects of her one single thought, of
Her one constant occupation. Our physician at length pro-
posed that they should gradually mingle amongst the bones
which she had collected, the fragments of a child's skeleton,
in order that her Hopes might be thus encouraged. The
success of the experiment seemed doubtful, but they might
at least expect that when she Had collected all the bones of
a Human form, she would desist from Her search, and indulge
hopes of making a journey to Borne.
552 WILHELM MEISTEll's
"This step was accordingly taken. Her attendant gra-
dually changed the bones which had been given to her, for
those which Sperata had found, and an incredible delight
was instantly experienced by the poor infirm creature upon
observing that the parts fitted together, and that they
could distinguish those which were wanting. With great
labour she had fastened the joints together with thread and
ribbon, and pursuing the custom which is adopted with the
relics of saints, she had filled up the interstices with em-
broidery and silk.
"In this manner they collected nearly all the bones. Only
a few of the extremities were deficient. One morning,
whilst Sperata was still sleeping, and the physician had
come to inquire after her health, the old woman, in order to
shew him how his patient occupied herself, took the bones
from a box which stood in the apartment. Immediately
afterwards they heard her leap out of bed, and raising the
cloth she found the box empty. She threw herself upon her
knees, whereupon they approached and listened to her cor-
dial, ardent proyer. 'Yes, it is true!' she cried, i it is no
dream, it is true! Eejoice, my friends, with me! I have
seen the dear, the beautiful creature again alive! She
rose and laid aside her veil—her splendour illuminated the
room, her beauty transfigured her form, she could not tread
the ground, notwithstanding her exertions. Lightly was
she raised on high, but she was unable to extend her hand
to me. There! she exclaimed, and pointed out the way
which I should follow. And I shall follow her soon, and my
heart grows light to think of it. My sorrow is vanishing,
the sight of my reanimated child has already given me a
foretaste of heavenly joy.'
"Her soul from henceforth was filled with the most cheer-
ful prospects—she paid no attention to any earthly object,
she partook of but little food, and her spirit gradually be-
came detached from the ties of the body. At length, they
found her pale and motionless—she opened her eyes no
more—she was dead.
"The report of her vision had been circulated among the
people, and the reverence with which she had been regarded
in her life time, was converted upon her death, into the be-
lief that she was now a happy saint.
APPRENTICESHIP.
553
<f As she was borne to her grave, the crowd pressed eagerly
round to kiss her hand, and touch her shroud. In this im-
passioned excitement, various sick persons ceased to feel the
pains which usually afflicted them; they thought themselves
cured, they asserted it—upon which they praised God and
his new saint. The priesthood were obliged to lay out the
body in a neighbouring chapel; the people required an op-
portunity for paying their devotions—the crowd was enor-
mous; the mountaineers, whose religious feelings are at all
times easily aroused, thronged together from their valleys,
and the reverence, the wonder and the adoration increased
from day to day. The decrees of the bishops, which were
intended to subdue, and gradually to abolish this new wor-
ship, were disobeyed. The people resisted all opposition to
their wishes, and were ready to treat every unbeliever with
violence. 'Did not the holy Borromeo,' they exclaimed,
'dwell among our ancestors? Did not his mother survive
the glory of his canonization? Is not that great statue on
the rocks near Avona intended to present to our minds, by
an image, the idea of his spiritual greatness? Do not his
descendants live amongst us still? And has not God pro-
mised to repeat his miracles for ever amongst a believing
people?'
"When the body, after the expiration of some days, shewed
no symptoms of decay, but had rather become whiter and
more transparent, the faith of the people rose still higher;
and, when subsequently various cures took place amongst
the multitude, which the most attentive observers could
neither explain nor lairly ascribe to imposition, the whole
country was in commotion, and even those who did not stir
from their dwellings, for a long time heard no other topic
discussed.
"The convent where my brother was confined resounded,
like all the neighbourhood, with these wonders; and the
people felt no reluctance to speak about them in his pre-
sence, as he seldom gave heed to any thing; and his connec-
tion with the events themselves was not known. Upon this
occasion, however, he seemed to listen with peculiar atten-
tion—and he took measures for his flight with such skill,
that no one could ever ascertain how he had managed to
escape from the convent. We learned afterwards that ho
WILHELM MEISTEB'S
had crossed the water with a crowd of pilgrims, and that the
boatmen could observe in his conduct no other evidence of
insanity than a great apprehension lest the boat should be
overturned. Late in the night he reached the chapel where
the unfortunate object of his love was resting from her woes.
Only a few pious persons were kneeling in the corners.
Sperata's old friend was sitting amongst them—he saluted
her as he entered, and inquired how her mistress found her*
self? £As you see/she answered, with some embarrass-
ment. He surveyed the corpse with a sidelong glance, and
after some hesitation he took its hand. Shocked at the
coldness, he let it go immediately, and looking round with
restless eyes, he said to the attendant, 'I cannot remain
with you at present, I have a long way to travel, but
I will return at the proper time—tell her so when she
awakes.'
"So saying he went away. It was late when we heard of
these circumstances, we then inquired after him and of the
route which he had taken, but in vain! Since then he must
have undergone incredible toil to traverse so many moun-
tains and valleys. After a long time we discovered some
clue to him in the canton of the Grisons, but we soon lost
sight of him again. We suspect that he has passed into
Germany, but all trace of him has been obliterated by the
war."
CHAPTEE X.
The Abbe ceased to read, and no person had listened
without tears. The Countess still held her handkerchief to
her eyes, when, at length, she rose from her seat and left
the apartment. The rest of the company continued
silent, till the Abbe observed: "We must now consider
whether wre should permit the Marquis to depart without
acquainting him with our secret. lor w7ho can doubt for
an instant that Augustine and the old Harper are the samo
individual? Let us consider what course we had better
AI'PEEJN'TICJiSIIIP.
555
follow, as well for the sake of the unhappy man himself, as
for the family. My advice would be to hasten nothing, but
to wait patiently till we receive news from the physician,
whose arrival we shortly expect."
They were all of the same opinion, and the Abbe thus
continued, "Another question occurs to me, which it is,
perhaps, more easy to answer. The Marquis is deeply
moved at the remembrance of the great kindness which his
poor niece received from our young friend. He has com-
pelled me, more than once, to repeat to him the whole ac-
count circumstantially, which he has listened to with feelings
of the liveliest gratitude. 1 Wilhelin,' he observed, 6 had
refused to accompany me upon my travels, whilst he was
ignorant of the connection which subsists between u3. liut
I am no longer a stranger, with whose habits and disposition
he is entirely unacquainted. I am his companion, his rela-
tion, if I may say so, and as his boy, from whom he was
reluctant to separate, was the obstacle which prevented him
from accompanying me, let the child now become a firmer
bond to unite us to each other. In addition to the obliga-
tions which I owe to him at present, let him prove service-
able to me upon my journey, and when he returns my elder
brother will receive him with joy. And let him not reject
the fortune of his adopted child, for, in pursuance of a secret
stipulation between our father and his friend, the fortune
which had been intended for his daughter, has returned to
us, and we will not deprive the benefactor of our niece of a
recompense which he has so well deserved.'"
Theresa took Wilhelm's hand, and said to him, "We find
here another beautiful exemplification of the truth, that dis-
interested actions will earn the richest recompense. Accept
this strange invitation, and, whilst you render a double ser-
vice to the Marquis, hasten to that beautiful country, which
has already so completely won your imagination and your
heart."
"I submit to the guidance of my friends," answered Wil-
helm; "it is vain, in this world, to expect a complete fulfil-
ment of our wishes. I must abandon my former firm deter-
mination, and I am overwhelmed with favours which I never
deserved."
With a gentle pressure of Theresa's hand, Wilhelm with-
s^srxsiaH nascmTAv
siq qqiA\ poqnnmbou omooaq Apqiq ps puq AViucI eqq
i/uiqooclxns 9ijqi|; ^qoudo.xd qooji9d qqiAV jpsnnq poqonpxtoo
eq pnu 'Anudraoo oxjq jo ^soj oqq.. oq poonpoaqin tioqq. suav
oq i iof qs9q'U9,iS oq^ qqiAV niiq p90Ujqxii9 xxipqn^ *9Sujo
9onu.iU9ddu on a.ioq soanquoj OAissoadxo siq :iuqq. suav 'uiiq osui
-Soo9J oq qpiotgip qi opuui jo asom (hutav pnu 'possoap
A{qunoii7suj suav jiuq siq 'poauoddusip puq piuoq siq 'jgjpAuaq
ti jo aumqsoo oquudoaddu pnu quon Ajuinpjo 9iiq in possoap
suav Qji -oonujuoddu joiikioj siq jo poniuraoj oouaq on qnq
'jgd.iujp 9qq jo ooiOA oqq. suav qj ojotii 90110 pnauij pjo
JiiOiC 9sm.o000J qonnoA' o(j„ 'SniXus 'pnuq siq quo pioq 'uipq
"UAV sp.iUA\oq. Smoutupu \i9Snujqs oqq. 'qqSnaj qu 'onnq t? joj
qnoTis pomirqnoo A'gqjj -paqniunboi! pouioas nosjod on xuoqAv
qqiAV pnu 'qson.xuo pnu 9Aiss9jdx9 qsoui ojoav oonuauoddu
pnu lujqi osoxpw 'joSiiuaqs u Tiquv £SnmoA9 9qj ni p9J9jna
muotsA'qd oqq. noipw qno qos Ajooiuos puq 9J-X 'aonaSnjaqui joj
J9Taaoo u poipqudsop jC^SuipjoooT? ^oqx 'Aiqaooqi 9^9{dlll00
siq jo SAVon Sniqoodxa 9I9AV i9qq. ngqAV 9Lixiq A\i9A oqq. qu
aod-iuj-j oqq. oq ponodduq 9Auq qqSun ounqaojauu omos qsoj
poauoj A'oqj^ -nuppA'qd oqq inoij poAioooi nooq puq SAvon on
quqq 'p9X9idiod o.ioiu 'qxmooou siqq no <qpj Xqaud 9[oqAi
oqq. pnu 'jCoujuoC siq joj A'puoi gqinb Avon suav xnpqji^
•90U9piA0
9]dxnu popjojiu 'sjqnqs poiopioiqrao pnu 'sgnoqs snopoid
'spAi^f jo Sniqsisnoo 'pnixpq qjoj oq quqq sqn9S9ad oqq xpuiAv
jo 'gnnqiquaS siq jo saonumssu poquodoi qnoqqiAi J9A9Avoq
qon 'Aoninof siq poonoiiiixioo A|Snipjooou J9jqu"[ 9qj[ *^sta
oq. pgpxigjni 9q Qdv\d 9q^ jo soiqisouno oqq. jo uoiqunraruxo
nu oq oinij 3niu9AJ9qni Qqq. gqoAgp oq smbju^vj 9X{q popunsjod
oxj 'ojnqaudop oquipoixunx sti{ qn9A9jd pynoAV pnouj SnnoA
sii[ jo sqxioni9.onu.Liu oxjq. q.uqq 'gjoja.ioqq. 'SmSojiy t/^1!^
A^q p9inudtxiooou quo qos A'uxn rapqyi^ (9Sjnoo qnonbgsqns
juo pojopisnoo 9Auq oav n9i|AV £pnu 'nuioxsA'qd ox^q jo ^aodaj
9qq 9A19D9J oq 9.i9q quiAV qsnxn uqoqp.AY „ c. pxus 9q ^'qa^d
-op oq sinbauj\r oqq a\o|[u qsxxxu 9^ ., -ntqd siq p90imonnu
A*T9quip9uiixn oqqy gx[q 'gonu.mss^ snjq Siuaxooojl xiod^
<('qx]Su
.OJ9pisaoo oq A*utxi J9AgquqAV 9^|uqa9pxxn o^ Xpuoi pnu 'sSnnjq.
ju qqiAV qnoqxxoo nru i cxi[9q; 9|qqq Ara nopnuqu oq poSqqo
qon Apio rau \ jj -gquj Axxi oq oq si qux[AV „ 'oqqy
cmissajppu 'pxus ox] (/9nuuj9qop qsnra noj^ „ -iiavo siq Avgjp
APPRENTICESHIP.
657
history. "You will, doubtless, shew some forbearance,'' he
said, with the most perfect composure, " towards a man, who,
though no longer young, is now, after a long course of suf-
fering, entering upon the world like an inexperienced
child. I am indebted to this worthy man for the privilege
of again resuming my place among my fellow men."
He was welcomed, and the physician then proposed a
walk, in order to interrupt the present conversation, and lead
to other topics.
As soon as they were alone, the physician gave the follow-
ing account:—"The cure of this man has been effected by
the most singular accident. Pursuant to our convictions,
we had submitted him to a course of moral and physical
treatment, and, up to a certain point, ever thing went well,
but he continued to entertain the most dreadful apprehen-
sions of death, and he would not consent to lay aside his
cloak or beard. But he had commenced to take a greater
interest in worldly matters, and his songs, and the tone of
his ideas seemed to be more in accordance with actual life.
Tou recollect the strange letter from the clergyman which
summoned me hence. Upon my arrival, I found my
patient quite altered; he had, of his own accord, aban-
doned his beard, and allowed his hair to be dressed
in the usual fashion, he had asked for ordinary clothes,
and appeared to have been suddenly converted into a
different being. We were curious to learn the cause of
this transformation, and, though we did not venture to make
the inquiry of himself, we, at length, became acquainted
with it accidentally. A glass of opium was missed from the
laboratory of the clergyman, about which it was considered
necessary to make the strictest inquiries, every one sought
to avert suspicion from himself, and violent contentions
arose among the inmates of the establishment. At last the
old Harper stepped forward and confessed that he possessed
the laudanum; we inquired whether he had swallowed any
of it, he answered in the negative, assuring us, however,
that he was indebted to it for the recovery of his reason.
'It rests with you, to deprive me of this little bottle, if you
think fit, and 1 shall then return hopelessly to my former
condition. The conviction that it was desirable to terminate
the sorrows of this world by death, opened to me the nath
558
WrLHELM MEISTER's
of recovery. I thought of terminating them by suicide,
and, with this view, I possessed myself of the laudanum.
The possibility of freeing myself from my sufferings for
ever has now given me strength to bear them, and, since I
have had this talisman, I have felt myself restored to life
by my proximity to death. Do not fear that I shall make
use of it, but determine, as men who understand the human
heart, to make me properly dependent upon life, by render-
ing me wholly independent of it.' After mature considera-
tion, we determined to press him no farther, and he now
carries the poison about with him in a little glass bottle,
against which he possesses the strongest antidote."
They informed the Physician of all the circumstances that
had occurred since his departure, and it was determined that
Augustine should not be made acquainted with them. The
Abbe undertook the task of watching him attentively,
and of keeping him in the path upon which he had now
entered.
In the mean time, Wilhelm was to set out upon his jour-
uey through Germany. If it should appear practicable to
awaken Augustine's love for his native land, his relations
were to be made acquainted with the circumstance, and Wil-
helm was then to take charge of him.
Wilhelm had now concluded all his preparations. Tho
Abbe at first thought it strange that Augustine should
rejoice at the approaching departure of his friend and bene-
factor, but he soon discovered the cause of this singular
feeling. Augustine could not overcome the fear which he
entertained of Eelix, and he wished the boy to be removed
us soon as possible.
By degrees, so many persons had arrived, that the castle
and adjoining buildings could scarcely afford accommodation
for them all, more especially as early preparations had. not
been made for the entertainment of so many guests. They
all breakfasted and dined together, and though they woidd
willingly have persuaded themselves that their intercourse
was full of pleasant harmony, in the secrecy of their hearts,
they often longed to separate. Theresa sometimes rode out
with Lothario, but more frequently alone, and she formed an
acquaintance with all the landlords and landladies of the
country, as it was one of her principles of domestic economy
APPRENTICE SHIP.
559
to be on the best terms with her neighbours, and to maintain
with them an interchange of civilities. There seemed no
prospect of a marriage being concluded between herself and
Lothario; the two sisters held frequent communications
together; the Abbe seemed partial to the society of the
Harper; Jarno had many conferences with the Physician;
Friedrich was constant to Wilhelm; and Felix was found
wherever there was any prospect of amusement. In this
manner, the company were distributed during their prome-
nades, and when they returned home, and were still obliged
to remain together, they found a resource in music, which,
whilst it kept them united, restored each individual to him-
self.
The unexpected arrival of the Count increased the number
of the guests. He had come to remove his lady, and to take
a formal leave of his relations. Jarno hastened to meet
him, and when the latter inquired the names of the company,
Jarno answered, in a tone of wild humour to which he was
accustomed, "Tou will find all the nobles of the land assem-
bled together, Marquises, Marchionesses, my Lords, and
Barons,—we fail in nothing but a Count." They went up
stairs, and Wilhelm was the first person who met them in
the anteroom. "My Lord," said the Count, addressing him
in French, after he had looked at him for a moment, " I am
glad to renew* my acquaintance with you so unexpected!)-, as
I am much mistaken if I have not seen you before at my
castle in the Prince's suite-" "I had the happiness of waiting
upon your excellency at that time," said Wilhehn, " but you
honour me too highly in taking me for an Englishman of
rank. I am a German." The Count looked at "Wilhelm
with a smile, and was about to make some reply, when the
other guests arrived, and cordially welcomed him. They
apologized for not being able to provide him with better
accommodation, promising, however, that he should be at-
- tended to as well as possible.
"Ah!" said he, with a smile, "I see you have allowed
chance to make your arrangements, but how much can be
effected by means of a little foresight and prudence! I beg,
however, that you will not make the slightest alteration, for
it would cause the greatest confusion. Every one would be
inconvenienced, and that shall not happen on my account.
560
WILHELM MEISTER?B
You were witness, however," he said, turning to Jarno,
"and also you, Meister, how many persons I easily accommo-
dated at my castle. Give me the list of the guests and ser-
vants, shew me how every one is lodged, and I will make a
new arrangement, according to which, every one shall be
provided with a comfortable apartment, and there shall be
room, in addition, for any accidental guest that may arrive."
Jarno assisted the Count in his project, furnished him
with all necessary information, and took the greatest delight
in occasionally leading him astray. But the Count finally
enjoyed a great triumph. The arrangements were satisfac-
torily completed, the names of the several guests were
written over the several doors, and it could notbe denied that,
with very little trouble and inconvenience, the desired object
was satisfactorily attained. Jarno> amongst other contri-
vances, had so managed, that the persons who, at the present
moment, felt an interest in each other, should be lodged to-
gether.
When all these changes had been made, the Count said
to Jarno, "Now give me some information about that young
man whom you call Meister, and who you tell me is a
German." Jarno remained silent, knowing that the Count
was one of those people, who ask questions for the sake of
displaying their own information. The Count continued,
without waiting for a reply. "You presented him to me,
and warmly recommended him in the name of the Prince.
If his mother was a German, I will lay a wager that his
father was an Englishman, and probably a man of rank.
"Who can calculate all the English blood, which, for the last
thirty years, has flowed in German veins! But I will not
press you further: there are always some family secrets
to conceal, but in matters like this, you cannot deceive me."
He then related many circumstances which had occurred
with Wilhelm during his stay at the Castle. Jarno remained
silent, for he saw that the Count was wholly mistaken, and
had confounded Wilhelm with a young Englishman, who,
upon that occasion, had formed one of the Prince's suite.
The old gentleman had once possessed an excellent memory,
of which he was highly proud, as he could recollect the most
trifling circumstance of his youth; but now, in the growing
weakness of his faculties, he was accustomed to detail as true,
AVPEE^TICES37T.V. i><U
the strange combinations which his fancy frequently pre-
sented to his mind. His manners, however, were mild
and gentle, and his presence never failed to produce a favour-
able eiTect upon the company. He would frequently induce
them to engage in useful reading, and occasionally introduced
some trifling amusements and small games, in which, if he
did not himself take part, he seemed to feel the greatest in-
terest, and directed with the greatest care, and when his
friends wondered at his condescension, he woidd say, that it
was the duty of every one who differed from the world in
great things, to conform himself to their habits in matters of
indifference.
Wiihelm, upon these occasions, suffered many annoyances
and vexations. The thoughtless Friedrich seized every op-
portunity to allude to Wilhelm's partiality for Natalia. And
yet how could he have discovered it? What could justify
him in the idea? Would not all parties, however, suppose
that as they were so frequently together, Wilhelm had im-
prudently and unhappily made him his confidant?
Whilst they were thus engaged one day, and apparently
in a humour more cheerful than usual, Augustine rushed to
the door, and burst it open with a terrified look: his face
was pale, his eyes stared wildly, and though he wished to
speak, he could not utter a syllable. The whole party were
alarmed; Lothario and Jarno, supposing that he was seized
with a new fit of madness, sprang forward and seized him.
He stammered out something indistinctly, but, at length,
he exclaimed with a loud voice, "Do not bold me! quick—-
help! save the child—Felix is poisoned!"
They let him go, he ran hastily from the apartment, and
they followed him in consternation. They sent for the
physician: Augustine had directed his steps to the Abbe's
room; they found the child, and when they asked him what
had happened, he seemed frightened and amazed.
c< Dear father," answered Felix, " I did not drink from the
bottle, but from the glass, I was so thirsty."
Augustine clasped his hands wildly together, exclaiming.
11 lie is lost;" he forced his way through the by-standers,
and rushed from the apartment.
They found a glass of almond-milk upon the table. A
email bottle stood near it, which was more than half-empty
2 o
562
TVILHELM MEISTE2J S
The physician came, and heard what had occurred. He was
shocked to see the well-known bottle, which had contained
the laudanum, lying empty upon the table. He called for
vinegar, and had recourse to all the remedies of art.
Natalia caused the child to be carried to a chamber, and she
devoted herself anxiously to him. The Abbe had gone in search
of Augustine, to learn from him the real facts of the case. The
unfortunate father was employed in a similar way; and upon
his return he saw alarm and terror in every countenance.
The physician had, in the mean time, examined the almond-
milk, and discovered that it contained a strong mixture of
laudanum. The child lay upon the bed in a pitiful state, re-
questing his father to give him no more medicine, and not to
pain him farther. Lothario had sent his attendants out, and
gone forth himself to find, if possible, some trace of Au-
gustine. Natalia sat by Felix. He had laid his head in her
lap, and was imploring her to help him—to give him a bit of
sugar, as the vinegar was so sour.—The physician consented,
and desired them to allow the child, who was frightfully
agitated, to enjoy a moment's repose, assuring them that no
available remedy should be left unemployed. The Count
approached with a look of anger. In an earnest and solemn
manner, he laid his hands upon the head of the child, turned
his eyes to heaven, and remained for a moment in that atti-
tude. "Wilhelm, who was lying upon the sofa, in a state of
the deepest distress, sprang up, and casting a look of despair
upon Natalia, left the apartment.—The Count followed him
immediately.
"I cannot understand," observed the physician, "how it
is that the child does not shew the smallest symptom of
danger. He must have swallowed a large dose of laudanum at
a single draught; and yet his pulse seems to be affected by
nothing but the remedies which we have applied; and,
perhaps, by the fright arising from the occurrence."
Jarno now arrived, with the news that they had found w
Augustine in the garret, bathed in blood, a razor was lying
Jiear him, and he appeared to have cut his throat. The
physician ran out at the intelligence, and met the servants,
who were carrying the body down stairs. He was laid upon
a bed, and carefully examined. The gash had penetrated
the windpipe: after a copious loss of blood he had fallen
APPRENTICESHIP.
563
into a swoon, but they soon perceived that not only life, but
hopes of his recovery remained. The physician placed the
body in a proper position, united the edges of the wound,
and bound it up. They all passed a sleepless and anxious
night. Felix would not leave Natalia. Wilhelm took his
seat before her on a stool, holding his boy's feet in his hands,
whilst his head was reposing on Natalia's lap; and thus they
divided the pleasing burden and the painful anxiety, until
day dawned upon their distress. Natalia had given her hand
to Wilhelin—they did not utter a word, but they looked at the
child, and then at one another silently. Lothario and Jarno
were sitting at the other end of the apartment, engaged in
animated conversation, which, if the state of our narrative
allowed, we would gladly communicate to our readers. The
child enjoyed a sound sleep, and in the morning he awoke,
cheerful and refreshed, sat up and asked for a piece of bread
and butter.
As soon as Augustine had in some measure recovered, they
applied to him for an explanation of the mystery. He stated,
with apparent reluctance, that upon the change of apartments
which had taken place under the directions of the Count, he
found himself in the same quarters with the Abbe, and that in
this manner the manuscript, which contained his own history,
had fallen into his hands: that he was dreadfully shocked upon
perusing it, and felt convinced that it was impossible for him
to live: that, thereupon, he had had recourse as usual to his
laudanum, which he mixed with a glass of almond-milk, but
shuddered when he had raised it to his lips: that he set it
down, and hastened into the garden to breath the fresh air:
and that, upon returning, he had found Felix in the act of
filling his glass, which he had already once emptied.
They entreated the unfortunate man to be calm—he seized
Wilhelm violently by the hand and cried, a Alas! why did
I not leave you long ago? I knew that I should kill the
child, and that he would occasion my death." "But Felix:
lives !" said "Wilhelm. The physician, who had listened in
silence, inquired whether all the milk had been mixed with
laudanum? "No!" answered he, u only what the glass
contained!" "Then, by the luckiest accident," cried the
physician, " the child has drunk from the bottle! some good
genius has guided his hand, and rescued him from the death
which seemed inevitable." "No, no!" exclaimed Wilhelm,
with a groan, as he held his hands before his eyes, "How
dreadful are the words! Felix asserted distinctly that he
had drunk not from the bottle, but from the glass. His
recovery is but a momentary delusion, he will surely die."
He hastened out: the physician went to Felix, and caressing
him tenderly, inquired whether he had not drunk from the
bottle, and not from the glass? The child burst into tears,
the physician whispered his suspicions to Natalia—she tried
to elicit a confession from Felix, but he only wept, and
continued to do so, until he fell asleep.
Wilhelm watched by his side. He passed a tranquil
night. In the morning Augustine was found dead in his
bed. He had contrived to deceive his attendants by an
assumed sleep, had untied the bandage, and bled to death.
Natalia took Felix out to walk. He was as cheerful as in
his happiest days. "You are so kind to me!" he said to
her, "you never scold, nor beat me, and I will tell you every-
thing—I drank out of the bottle! Mamma Aurelia always
struck me when I did so, and father always looked so angry,
that I thought he meant to beat me too."
Natalia flew to the castle. "Wilhelm met her with his
heart full of anxiety and fear. "Happy lather!" she ex-
claimed, taking up the child in her arms, and presenting it
to his embrace. "Your son is safe: he drank from the
bottle, and his naughtiness has saved his life!"
They informed the Count of the happy issue. He listened
with that silent smiling satisfaction with which we are
accustomed to tolerate the errors of a good man. Jarno, who
fas attentive to all that occurred, was unable to account for
-.is apparent self-complacency, until, after many evasions,
his Lordship declared his conviction that the child had really
taken poison, but that he himself, by means of prayer and
intercession with heaven, had miraculously preserved his life.
He determined now to take leave of them, and accordingly
his preparations were speedily made. The Countess, before
she bade them farewell, took Wilhelm's hand in her own,
and at the same time affectionately pressing that of her
sister, she joined their hands together, then turning away
hastily, she stepped into her carriage.
The many frightful and wonderful events which had so
APPRENTICESHIP.
565
rapidly taken place, had diverted the whole party from their
accustomed regularity of life, occasioning general disorder
and confusion, and introducing a feverish excitement into
all departments of the household. They had altered their
hours for sleeping, and rising, for eating and drinking, and
for indulging in social conversation. With the exception of
Theresa, they had all been turned from their accustomed
regularity of existence. The men had had recourse to wine
for the restoration of their spirits, and while, by this means,
they acquired an artificial cheerfulness, they drove away
that natural vivacity which alone gives true strength and
activity.
Wilhelm was agitated by the most painful feelings. The
fearful circumstances which had so suddenly occurred ren-
dered him powerless to resist a passion wdiieh had taken
complete possession of his heart. Though Eelix had been
restored to him, he appeared to be destitute of every thing.
And though "Werner's letters, containing all necessary
directions for his journey, had arrived, he could not summon
up courage to take his departure. All things conspired to
urge him to this step. He might easily see that Lothario
and Theresa only waited for his absence to conclude their
marriage. Jarno was unusually silent, and seemed to have
lost something of his customary cheerfulness. Fortunately
the physician was able to assist our friend in his embarrass-
ment, by pronouncing him ill, and treating him as an invalid.
The company continued to meet together in the evening,
and Eriedrieh, that wild youth, who often drank more wine
than was prudent, took the principal part in the conversation,
and kept them all in a roar of laughter by his quotations and
ridiculous remarks, and by his imprudent habit of constantly
expressing his thoughts to himself aloud, he more than once
threw them all into embarrassment.
He did not think very seriously of "Wilhelm's illness.
Upon one occasion, when they were all assembled together,
he cried, ""What is the name of the sickness which has
attacked our friend? Cannot you describe it by one of the
three thousand names with which you cloak your ignorance?
Tou must have seen some similar cases. I think," he con-
tinued, in an emphatic tone, "that we shall find something
like it in Egyptian or Babylonish history."
56G
WILHELM MEISTEIt's
The bystanders looked at one another and smiled.
""What was the name of that King?" he asked, and
paused for a reply. "O," he continued, "if you will not
come to my assistance, I must help myself." He opened
the folding doors of the apartment, and pointed to a large
picture in the antechamber, "What is the name of that old
gentleman with the crown, who is standing at the foot of
the bed, and looking so unhappy at his poor sick son? What
is the name of that beautiful girl who is just making her
appearance with her modest roguish eyes, the unconscious
bearer of the poison and the antidote? "What is the name
of the bungler of a doctor, who just catches a glimpse of the
real state of things, and for the first time in his life prescribes
a proper remedy, orders a medicine wThich works a complete
cure, and is no less agreeable than effective."
In this manner he continued to banter. But the company
bore it all as well as possible, and concealed their embarrass-
ment under an affectation of mirth. A slight blush had in
the meantime suffused Natalia's cheeks, and betrayed the
emotions of her heart. Fortunately for herself, she was
walking up and down the room with Jarno, and seizing an
opportunity when she reached the door, she slipped out,
and after having taken a few turns in the ante-chamber,
she retired to her own apartment.
A general silence ensued, whereupon Friedrich began to
sing,
"Wonders we shall soon behold!
What has happened must be told —
What is told, we all shall say,
And before the dawn of day,
Wonders strange we shall behold!"
Theresa had gone to join jNTataiia. Friedrich took the
physician to examine the picture, pronounced a ridiculous
eulogium upon the virtues of medicine, and then withdrew.
Lothario had all this time been standing at the window,
looking out calmly into the garden. Wilhelm was in the most
pitiable condition. Even now, when he was quite alone with
his friend, he could not speak for a considerable time: he
took a rapid glance at his own history, and at length he
thought of his present situation with a shudder. He started
APPRENTICESHIP.
567
up and cried, "If I am to blame for what has happened, an(
for what you have endured, punish me! In addition to my
present sufferings, withdraw your friendship from me, and
leave me to wander disconsolate through a world in which I
ought long ago to have lost myself. But if you behold in
me the victim of a cruel entanglement of chance, from which
I have been unable to escape, give me the assurance of your
friendship and your love, and accompany me upon a journey,
which I dare not longer postpone. The time will come
when I shall be able to explain to you what has happened
to me lately. Perhaps I am now suffering this punishment,
because I did not make an earlier discovery of my condition
to you, because I have hesitated to explain my circumstances
fully. You might have helped me, you might have assisted
me at the proper moment. But thus it has always been
with me. I learn to know myself too late, and in vain.
How richly have I deserved Jarno's censure. I thought I
had understood it, hoped to profit by it, and to commence
a new life. Could I—might I have done so? It is in vain
that mortals accuse themselves and fortune! We are
wretched beings and appointed to misery, and it matters
little whether it is our own misconduct, or higher influence,
or chance, virtue or vice, wisdom or folly, that plunges us
into ruin. Earewell! I shall not delay for an instant longer
in a house where I have so shamefully violated the rights of
hospitality. The indiscretion of your brother is unpar-
donable. It has brought my misfortunes to a climax, and
driven me to despair."
"And what would you say," observed Lothario, "if your
marriage with my sister were the secret condition upon
which Theresa had promised to enrich me with her hand?
The noble maiden intends that you shall enjoy this splendid
recompense. She has vowed that this twofold marriage
shall be celebrated upon the same day: 'His reason,' she
says, 1 has chosen me, but his heart requires Natalia, and
my reason shall assist his heart?' "We determined to watch
you and Natalia attentively, we made the Abbe our confi-
dant, and we promised him that we woidd not hasten the
marriage, but suffer things to take their own course. We
have done so. Nature has produced its proper effect, and
our mad brother has only shaken the ripe fruit from the tree,
£68 WILHELM MBISTEE'S
And now that we have been so unexpectedly brought to-
gether, let us not pursue a common life. Let us lead a life
of activity for noble purposes. The benefits which a man
of cultivated mind may render to himself and others, are
inconceivable, if without aspiring to rule, he can become the
guardian to many, and teach them to do things at the proper
season, which, at any rate, they are inclined at some time
to effect, can guide them to objects which, though they see
with sufficient clearness, they can seldom accomplish with
success. Let us, therefore, make a contract together. This
is no enthusiasm, it is an idea quite practicable, and which has
often been unconsciously executed by benevolent persons.
Of this my sister Natalia is a distinguished example. Great
are the qualities with which nature has endowed that exalted
being. She deserves the honourable title, more, perhaps,
than even our noble aunt herself, who at the time when our
physician wrote his manuscript, was the most exalted being
that our circle contained. Since then, the character of
Natalia has gradually unfolded itself, and we may rejoice
that the world contains so perfect a being."
He was about to continue, but Friedrich rushed into the
apartment, exclaiming, "What sort of garland have I
earned? How will you reward me? Myrtle, laurel, ivy
and oak—the freshest you can find, come twine them to-
gether—my varied services deserve a varied crown. Natalia
is yours. I am the enchanter who has won this treasure
for you."
"lie is raving!" said Wilhelm.—" I must go."
"Do you speak with authority?" inquired Lothario,
seizing Wilhelm by the arm.
"By my own authority," answered Friedrich, " and with
the grace of God. I was the wooer, and now I am the
messenger. I listened at the door—she made a full con-
fession to the Abbe."
"Shame upon you!" said Lothario, "who bade you
listen?"
"Who made her bolt the door?" cried Eriedrieh. "I
heard it all plain enough. Natalia was deeply moved. In
the night, when Felix was so ill, and was lying half in her
lap, whilst you sat by inconsolable, and shared the precious
burden—she made a vow, that if the child should die, ebo
APPBESTTICESHIf?.
5G9
would confess her love, and offer you her hand. A promise
of that nature must, you know, be kept under all circum-
stances. The clergyman will not be absent long, and guess
what news he wall bring."
The Abbe made his appearance. "We know it all," cried
Priedrich, "be as quick as possible, you only come as a
matter of form, you are not wanted for any thing further."
"lie has listened!" said the Baron.
"Shameful!" exclaimed the Abbe.
"Now despatch us quickly!" continued Friedrich.
"What are our arrangements? Let us enumerate them on
our fingers, First, you must travel. The invitation of the
Marquis comes most opportunely. Once across the Alps,
every thing will be right. People will thank you for under-
taking any thing uncommon. You provide them with
amusement for which they need not pay. It resembles a
free ball—all ranks and classes may enjoy it."
"In truth," said the Abbe, "you have already done some
service to the public by such festivities, but it seems that
to-day you do not mean to let me utter a syllable."
"If it is not all as I have described it," said Iriedrich,
"you may tell your own story. But come, come hither.
"We must see them together."
Lothario embraced Wilhelm, and led him to Natalia. She
advanced to meet him, accompanied by Theresa. All were
3ilent.
"Let us have no delay," cried Iriedrich. "In two days
you must be ready to set out upon your journey. What
do you think now, my friend?" he continued, as he turned
to Wilhelm—" did you suppose, when we first became ac-
quainted, and when I asked you for that beautiful bouquet,
that you would ever be indebted to me for so lovely a
flower?"
"Do not remind me of those days at this moment of in-
expressible happiness?"
"Of which you need not be ashamed, any more than one
need blush at his descent. Those times were good, but I
cannot help laughing when I see you. Tou remind me of
Saul, the son of Kish, who went to seek his father's asses
and found a kingdom."
2 p
570 WILHELM MET.STEE.
"I do not know the value of a kingdom,'' said WillielnL,
"but I know that I have fonnd a happiness of which I am
not worthy, but which I would not exchange for the greatest
oarthly bliss.''
THE END.
fcOHDON: PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LDIITED, STAMFORD STREET
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