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WILHELM MEISTER -- VOLUME 2

BOOK 7

CHAPTER 1

THE spring had commenced in all its brilliancy; a storm,
that had been lowering all day, went fiercely down upon the
hills; the rain drew back into the country; the sun came
forth in all its splendour, and upon the dark vapour rose the
lordly rainbow. Wilhelm was riding towards it: the sight
made him sad. " Ah !" said he within himself, "do the
fairest hues of life appear, then, only on a ground of black?
And must drops fall, if we are to be charmed? A bright
day is like a dim one, if we look at it unmoved: and what can
'*move us but some silent hope that the inborn inclination of
our soul shall not always be without an object? The recital
of a noble action moves us; the sight of everything harmonious
moves us: we feel then as if we were not altogether
in a foreign land; we fancy we are nearer the home, towards
which our best and inmost wishes impatiently strive."
Meanwhile a pedestrian overtook him, and walking with
a stout step by the side of the horse, began to keep him
company. After a few common words, he looked at the rider
and said: "If I am not mistaken, I must have already seen
you somewhere."
"I too remember you," said Wilhelm: "had we not some
time ago a pleasant sail together?" "Right!" replied the
other.
Wilhelm looked at him more narrowly; then, after a pause,
observed: "I do not know what alteration has occurred in
you; last time we met, I took you for a Lutheran clergyman,
you now seem rather like a Catholic one."
"Today at least you are not wrong," replied the other,
taking off his hat and showing him the tonsure. "Where is
your company gone? Did you stay long with them?"
"Longer than was good: on looking back upon the period
which I passed in their society, it seems as if I looked into an
endless void; nothing of it has remained with me."
"Here you are mistaken," said the stranger; "everything
that happens to us leaves some trace behind it, everything
contributes imperceptibly to form us. Yet often it is dangerous
to take a strict account of that. For either we grow
proud and negligent, or downcast and dispirited; and both
are equally injurious in their consequences. The safe plan is,
r always simply to do the task that lies nearest us; and this in
the present case," added he with a smile, "is to hasten to our
quarters."
Wilhelm asked how far Lothario's house was distant; the
stranger answered that it lay behind the hill. "Perhaps I
shall meet you there," continued he; "I have merely a small
affair to manage in the neighbourhood. Farewell till then! " _.'
And with this, he struck into a steep path, that seemedto lead
more speedily across the hill.
"Yes, the man is right!" said Wilhelm to himself as he
proceeded; "we should think of what is nearest: and for me
at present there is nothing nearer than the mournful errand I
have come to do. Let me see whether I can still repeat the
speech, which is to put that cruel man to shame."
He then began reciting to himself this piece of oratory:
not a syllable was wanting; and the more his recollection
served him, the higher grew his passion and his courage.
Aurelia's sorrows and her death were vividly present to his
soul.
"Spirit of my friend!" exclaimed he, "hover round me;
and if thou canst, give some sign to me that thou art softened,
art appeased! "
Amid such words and meditations, he had reached the
summit of the hill; and near the foot of its declivity, he now
beheld a curious building, which he at once took to be
Lothario's dwelling. An old irregular castle, with several
turrets and peaked roofs, appeared to have been the primitive
erection; but the new additions to it, placed near the main
structure, looked still more irregular. A part of them stood
close upon the main edifice; others, at some distance, were
combined with it by galleries and covered passages. All
external symmetry, every shade of architectural beauty, appeared
to have been sacrificed to the convenience of the
interior. No trace of wall or trench was to be seen; none of
avenues or artificial gardens. A fruit and potherb garden
reached to the very buildings; and little patches of a like sort
showed themselves even in the intermediate spaces. A cheerful
village lay at no great distance: the fields and gardens
everywhere appeared in the highest state of cultivation.
Sunk in his own impassioned feelings, Wilhelm rode along,
not thinking much of what he saw: he put up his horse at an
inn; and, not without emotion, hastened to the Castle.
An old serving-man received him at the door; and signified,
with much good-nature, that today it would be difficult to get
admission to his Lordship; who was occupied in writing
letters, and had already refused some people that had business
with him. Our friend became more importunate; the old
man was at last obliged to yield, and announce him. He
returned, and conducted Wilhelm to a spacious ancient hall;
desiring him to be so good as wait, since perhaps it might
be some time before his Lordship could appear. Our friend
walked up and down unrestfully; casting now and then a look
at the knights and dames, whose ancient figures hung round
him on the walls. He repeated the beginning of his speech:
it seemed, in presence of these ruffs and coats of mail, to
answer even better. Every time there rose any stir, he put
himself in posture to receive his man with dignity; meaning
first to hand him the letter, then assail him with the weapons
of reproach.
More than once mistaken, he was now beginning to be really
vexed and out of tune, when at last a handsome man, in boots
and light surtout, stept in from a side-door. "What good
news have you for me ?" said he to Wilhelm, with a friendly
voice; "pardon me, that I have made you wait."
So speaking, he kept folding a letter, which he held in his
hand. 1iVilhelm, not without embarrassment, delivered him
Aurelia's paper, and replied: "I bring you the last words of a
friend, which you will not read without emotion."
Lothario took it, and returned to his chamber with it;
where, as Wilhelm through the open door could very easily
observe, he addressed and sealed some letters, before opening
Aurelia's. He appeared to have perused it once or twice; and
Wilhelm, though his feelings signified that the pathetic
speech would sort but ill with such a cool reception, girded up
his mind, went forward to the threshold, and was just about
beginning his address, when a tapestry door of the cabinet
opened, and the clergyman came in.
"I have got the strangest message you can think of," cried
Lothario to him. "Pardon me," continued he, addressing
Wilhelm, "if I am not in a mood for speaking farther with
you at this moment. You remain with us tonight: you, Abbe,
see the stranger properly attended to."
With these words, he made his guest a bow: the clergyman
took Wilhelm by the hand, who followed, not without
reluctance.
They walked along some curious passages, in silence, and
at last reached a very pretty chamber. The Abbe led him in;
then left him, making no excuses. Ere long, an active boy
appeared; he introduced himself as Wilhelm's valet; and
brought up his supper. In waiting, he had much to say about
the order of the house, about their breakfasting and dining,
labours and amusements; interspersing many things in commendation
of Lothario.
Pleasant as the boy was, Wilheim endeavoured to get rid
of him as soon as possible. He wished to be alone; for he
felt exceedingly oppressed and straitened, in his new position.

He reproached himself with having executed his intentions so
ill, with having done his errand only half. One moment, he
proposed to overtake next morning what he had neglected
tonight; the next, he saw that by Lothario's presence he
would be attuned to quite a different set of feelings. The
house, too, where he was, seemed very strange to him: he
could not be at home in his position. Intending to undress,
he opened his travelling-bag: with his night-clothes, he took
out the Spirit's veil, which Mignon had packed in along with
them. The sight of it increased the sadness of his humour.
"Fly! youth, fly!" cried he: "What means this mystic word?
What am I to fly, or whither? It were better had the Spirit
called to me: Return to thyself!" He cast his eyes on some
English copperplates, hung round the room in frames; most
of them he looked at with indifference: at last he met with
one, in which a ship was represented sinking in a tempest; a
father with his lovely daughters was awaiting death from the
intrusive billows. One of the maidens had a kind of likeness
to the Amazon: an indescribable compassion seized our friend;
he felt an irresistible necessity to vent his feelings; tears filled
his eyes, he wept, and did not recover his composure, till
slumber overpowered him.
Strange dreams arose upon him towards morning. He was
in a garden, which in boyhood he had often visited; he looked
with pleasure at the well-known alleys, hedges, flower-beds:
Mariana met him, he spoke to her with love and tenderness,
recollecting nothing of any bygone grievance. Ere long his
father joined them, in his week-day dress; with a look of
frankness that was rare in him, he bade his son fetch two seats
from the garden-house; then took Mariana by the hand, and
led her into a grove.
Wilhelm hastened to the garden-house, but found it altogether
empty; only at a window in the farther side be saw
Aurelia standing. He went forward and addressed her, but
she turned not round; and though be placed himself beside
her, he could never see her face. He looked out from the
window; in an unknown garden, there were several people,
some of whom he recognised. Frau Melina, seated under a
tree, was playing with a rose which she had in her hand;
Laertes stood beside her, counting money from the one hand
to the other. Mignon and Felix were lying on the grass; the
former on her back, the latter on his face. Philina came and
clapped her hands above the children; Mignon lay unmoved;
Felix started up and fled. At first he laughed while running,
as Philina followed: but he screamed in terror, when he saw
the Harper coming after him with large, slow steps. Felix
ran directly to a pond; Wilhelm hastened after him: too late;
the child was lying in the water! Wilhelm stood as if rooted
to the spot. The fair Amazon appeared on the other side of
the pond; she stretched her right hand towards the child, and
walked along the shore. The child came through the water,
by the course her finger pointed to; he followed her as she
went round; at last she reached her hand to him, and pulled
him out. Wilhelm had come nearer: the child was all in
flames; fiery drops were falling from his body. Wilhelm's
agony was greater than ever; but instantly the Amazon took
a white veil from her head, and covered up the child with it.
The fire was at once quenched. But when she lifted up the
veil, two boys sprang out from under it, and frolicsomely
sported to and fro; while Wilhelm and the Amazon proceeded
hand in hand across the garden; and noticed in the distance
Mariana and his father walking in an alley, which was formed
of lofty trees, and seemed to go quite ,round the garden. He
turned his steps to them, and with his beautiful attendant was
moving through the garden, when suddenly the fair-haired
Friedrich came across their path, and kept them back with
loud laughter and a thousand tricks. Still, however, they
insisted on proceeding; and Friedrich hastened off, running
towards Mariana and the father. These seemed to fly before
him; he pursued the faster; till Wilhelm saw them hovering
down the alley almost as on wings. Nature and inclination
called on him to go, and help them; but the hand of the
Amazon detained him. How gladly did he let himself be
held! With this mingled feeling he awoke; and found his
chamber shining with the morning beams.

CHAPTER 2

OUR friend was called to breakfast by the boy: he found
the Abbe waiting in the hall; Lothario, it appeared, had
ridden out. The Abbe was not very talkative, but rather wore
a thoughtful look; he inquired about Aurelia's death, and
listened to our friend's recital of it, with apparent sympathy.
"Ah!" cried he, "the man that discerns, with lively clearness,
what infinite operations art and nature must have joined
in, before a cultivated human being can be formed; the man
that himself as much as possible takes interest in the culture
of his fellowmen, is ready to despair when he sees how lightly
mortals will destroy themselves, will blamelessly or blameably
expose themselves to be destroyed. When I think of these
things, life itself appears to me so uncertain a gift, that I
could praise the man who does not value it beyond its worth."
Scarcely had he spoken, when the door flew violently up;
a young lady came rushing in; she pushed away the old
servant who attempted to restrain her. She made right to the
Abbe, and seized him by the arm; her tears and sobs would
hardly let her speak these words: "Where is he? Where
have you put him? 'Tis a frightful treachery! Confess it
now! I know what you are doing: I will after him; will
know where you have sent him! "
"Be calm, my child," replied the Abbe, with assumed composure;
"come with me to your room; you shall know it all ;
only you must have the strength to listen, if you ask me to
relate." He offered her his hand, as if he meant to lead her
out. " I will not return to my room," cried she: "I hate the
walls where you have kept me prisoner so long. I know it all
already: the Colonel has challenged him; he is gone to meet
his enemy; perhaps this very moment he-Once or twice 1
thought I heard the sound of shots! I tell you, order out a
coach, and come along with me, or I will fill the house and all
the village with my screaming."
Weeping bitterly, she hastened to the window; the Abbe
held her back, and sought in vain to soothe her.
They heard a sound of wheels: she threw up the window,
exclaiming: "He is dead! They are bringing home his
body." "He is coming out," replied the Abbe; "you perceive
he lives." "He is wounded," said she wildly, "else he
would have come on horseback. They are holding him! The
wound is dangerous!" She ran to the door, and down the
stairs: the Abbe hastened after her; and 'Wilhelm following,
observed the fair one meet her lover, who had now dismounted.
Lothario leaned on his attendant, whom Wilhelm at once
knew as his ancient patron Jarno. The wounded man spoke
very tenderly and kindly to the tearful damsel; he rested on
her shoulder, and came slowly up the steps; saluted Wilhelm
as he passed, and was conducted to his cabinet.
Jarno soon returned, and going up to Wilhelm, "It
appears," said he, "you are predestined everywhere to find a
theatre and actors. We have here commenced a play which is
not altogether pleasant."
"I rejoice to find you," answered Wilhelm, "in so strange
an hour: I am astonished, frightened; and your presence
already quiets my mind. Tell me, is there danger? Is the
Baron badly wounded?" "I imagine not," said Jarno.
It was not long till the young surgeon entered from the
cabinet. "Now what say you?" cried Jarno to him. "That
it is a dangerous piece of work," replied the other, putting
several instruments into his leathern pouch. Wilhelm looked
at the band, which was hanging from the pouch; he fancied
he knew it. Bright contrary colours, a curious pattern, gold
and silver wrought in singular figures, marked this band from
all the bands in the world. Wilhelm was convinced he beheld
the very pouch of the ancient surgeon, who had dressed his
wounds in the green of the forest; and the hope, so long
deferred, of again finding traces of the lovely Amazon, struck
like a flame through all his soul.
"'Where did you get that pouch?" cried he. "To whom
did it belong before you? I beg of you, tell me." "I bought
it at an auction," said the other: "what is it to me, whom it
belonged to?" So speaking, he went out; and Jarno said:
"If there would come but one word of truth from our young
Doctor's mouth!" "Then he did not buy the pouch? " said
Wilhelm. " Just as little as Lothario is in danger," said the
other.
Wilhelm stood immersed in many reflections; Jarno asked
how he had fared of late. Wilhelm sketched an outline of his
history; and when he at last came to speak of Aurelia's death,
and his message to the place, his auditor exclaimed: "'Well!
it is strange, most strange! "
The Abbe entered from Lothario's chamber; beckoned
Jarno to go in instead of him; and said to Wilhelm: "The
Baron bids me ask you to remain with us a day or two, to
share his hospitality, and, in the present circumstances, contribute
to his solacement. If you need to give any notice to
your people, your letter shall be instantly despatched. Meanwhile,
to make you understand this curious incident, of which
you have been witness, I must tell you something, which indeed
is no secret. The Baron had a small adventure with a lady,
which excited more than usual attention; the lady having
taken him from a rival, and wishing to enjoy her victory too
ostentatiously. After a time, he no longer found the same
delight in her society; which he of course forsook: but being
of a violent temper, she could not bear her fate with patience.
Meeting at a ball, they had an open quarrel: she thought
herself irreparably injured; and would be revenged. No
knight stept forth to do battle for her; till her husband,
whom for years she had not lived with, heard of the affair
and took it up. He challenged the Baron, and today he has
wounded him; yet, as I hear, the gallant Colonel has himself
come still worse off."
From this hour, our friend was treated in the house as if he
had belonged to it.

CHAPTER 3

AT times they had read a little to the patient; Wilhelm
joyfully performed this service. Lydia stirred not from
Lothario's bed; her care for him absorbed her whole attention.
But today the patient himself seemed occupied with thought:
he bade them lay aside their book. "Today," said he, "I feel
through my whole heart how foolishly we let our time pass on.
How many things have I proposed to do, how many have I
planned; yet how we loiter in our noblest purposes! I have
just read over the scheme of the changes which I mean to
make in my estates: and it is chiefly, I may say, on their
account that I rejoice at the bullet's not having gone a deadlier
road."
Lydia looked at him with tenderness, with tears in her eyes,
as if to ask if she, if his friends could not pretend to any
interest in his wish to live. Jarno answered: "Changes, such
as you project, require to be considered well on every side,
before they are resolved on."
"Long considerations," said Lothario, "are commonly a
proof that we have not the point to be determined clearly in
our eye; precipitate proceedings, that we do not know it. I
see distinctly that in managing my property, there are several
particulars, in which the services of my dependants cannot be
remitted; certain rights which I must rigidly insist on: but I
also see that there are other articles, advantageous to me, but
by no means indispensable, which might admit of relaxation.
Do I not profit by my lands far better than my father did?
Is not my income still increasing? And shall I alone enjoy
this growing benefit? Shall not those who labour with and
for me partake, in their degree, of the advantages which
expanding knowledge, which a period of improvement are
procuring for us ?"
"'Tis human nature!" cried Jarno: "I do not blame
myself when I detect this selfish quality among the rest.
Every man desires to gather all things round him, to shape
and manage them according to his own pleasure: the money
which he himself does not expend, he seldom reckons well
expended."
"Certainly," observed Lothario, "much of the capital might
be abated, if we consumed the interest less capriciously."
" The only thing I shall mention," said the other, " the only
reason I can urge against your now proceeding with those
alterations, which, for a time at least, must cause you loss, is,
that you yourself are still in debt, and that the payment
presses hard on you. My advice is, therefore, to postpone
your plan till you are altogether free."
"And in the mean while leave it at the mercy of a bullet,
or the fall of a tile, to annihilate the whole result of my
existence and activity! O my friend! it is ever thus; it is
ever the besetting fault of cultivated men, that they wish to
spend their whole resources on some idea, scarcely any part of
them on tangible existing objects. Why was it that I contracted
debts, that I quarrelled with my uncle, that I left my
sisters to themselves so long? Purely for the sake of an idea.
In America, I fancied I might accomplish something; over
seas, I hoped to become useful and essential: if any task was
not begirt with a thousand dangers, I considered it trivial,
unworthy of me. How differently do matters now appear!
How precious, how important seems the duty which is nearest
me, whatever it may be!"
"I recollect the letter which you sent me from the Western
world," said Jarno: "it contained the words: 'I will return,
and in my house, amid my fields, among my people, I will
say: Here or nowhere is America!'"
"Yes, my friend! and I am still repeating it, and still
repining at myself that I am not so busy here as I was there.
For certain equable, continuous modes of life, there is nothing
more than judgment necessary, and we study to attain nothing
more; so that we become unable to discern what extraordinary
services each vulgar day requires of us; or if we do discern
them, we find abundance of excuses for not doing them. A
judicious man is valuable to himself; but of little value for
the general whole."
"We will not," said Jarno, " bear too hard upon judgment:
let us grant that whenever extraordinary things are done, they
are generally foolish."
"Yes! and just because they are not done according to
the proper plan. My brother-in-law, you see, is giving up
his fortune, so far as in his power, to the Community of
Herrnhut: he reckons that by doing so, he is advancing the
salvation of his soul. Had he sacrificed a small portion of his
revenue, he might have rendered many people happy, might
have made for them and for himself a heaven upon earth.
Our sacrifices are rarely of an active kind; we, as it were,
abandon what we give away. It is not from resolution but
despair, that we renounce our property. In these days, I
confess it, the image of the Count is hovering constantly
before me; I have firmly resolved on doing from conviction,
what a crazy fear is forcing upon him. I will not wait for
being cured. Here are the papers: they require only to be
properly drawn out, Take the lawyer with you; our guest
will help: what I want, you know as well as I; recovering
or dying I will stand by it, and say: Here 01' nowhere is
Herrnhut!"
Then he mentioned dying, Lydia sank before his bed; she
hung upon his arm, and wept bitterly. The surgeon entered;
Jarno gave our friend the papers, and made Lydia leave the
room.
"For Heaven's sake! what is this about the Count?" cried
Wilhelm, when they reached the hall and were alone: "What
Count is it that means to join the Herrnhuters?

"One whom you know very well," said Jarno. "You yourself
are the ghost who have frightened the unhappy wiseacre
into piety; you are the villain who have brought his pretty
wife to such a state, that she inclines accompanying him."
"And she is Lothario's sister?" cried our friend.
"No other! "-" And Lothario knows- ?"
"The whole."
"O let me fly!" cried Wilhelm: "How shall I appear
before him? What can he say to me?"
"That no man should cast a stone at his brother; that
when one composes long speeches, with a view to shame his
neighbours, he should speak them to a looking-glass.'"
"Do you know that too?"
"And many things beside," said Jarno with a smile. " But
in the present case," continued he, "you shall not get away
from me so easily as you did last time. You need not now
be apprehensive of my bounty-money; I have ceased to be
a soldier; when I was one, you might have thought more
charitably of me. Since you saw me, many things have
altered. My Prince, my only friend and benefactor, being
dead, I have now withdrawn from busy life and its concerns.
I used to have a pleasure in advancing what was reasonable;
when I met with any despicable thing, I hesitated not to call
it so: and men had never done with talking of my restless
head and wicked tongue. The herd of people dread sound
understanding more than anything; they ought to dread
stupidity, if they had any notion what was really dreadful.
Understanding is unpleasant, they must have it pushed aside;
stupidity is but pernicious, they can let it stay. Well, be it
so! I need to live; I will by and by communicate my plans
to you; if you incline, you shall partake in them. But
tell me first how things have gone with you. I see, I feel
that you are changed. How is it with your ancient maggot
of producing something beautiful and good in the society of
gypsies? "
"Do not speak of it!" cried Wilhelm: "I have been
already punished for it. People talk about the stage; but
none, that has not been upon it personally, can form the
smallest notion of it. How utterly these men are unacquainted
with themselves, how thoughtlessly they carryon their trade,
how boundless their pretensions are, no mortal can conceive.
Each not only would be first, but sole; each wishes to exclude
the rest, and does not see that even with them, he can
scarcely accomplish anything. Each thinks himself a man
of marvellous originality; yet with a ravening appetite for
novelty, he cannot walk a footstep from the beaten track.
How vehemently they counter work each other! It is only the
pitifulest self-love, the narrowest views of interest, that unite
them. Of reciprocal accommodation they have no idea; backbiting
and hidden spitefulness maintain a constant jealousy
among them. In their lives they are either rakes or simpletons.
Each claims the loftiest respect, each writhes under
the slightest blame. 'All this he knew already,' he will tell
you! Why then did he not do it? Ever needy, ever unconfiding,
they seem as if their greatest fear were reason and
good taste, their highest care were to secure the majesty of
their self-will."
Wilhelm drew breath, intending to proceed with his eulogium,
when an immoderate laugh from Jarno interrupted him.
"Poor actors!" cried he; threw himself into a chair, and
laughed away: "Poor dear actors! Do you know, my friend,"
continued he, recovering from his fit, "that you have been
describing not the playhouse, but the world; that out of all
ranks I could find you characters and doings in abundance,
to suit your cruel pencil? Pardon me, it makes me laugh
again, that you should think these amiable qualities existed
on the boards alone."
Wilhelm checked his feelings: Jarno's extravagant, untimely
laughter had in truth offended him. "It is scarcely
hiding your misanthropy," said he, "when you maintain that
faults like these are universal."
"And it shows your unacquaintance with the world, when
you impute them to the theatre in such a heinous light. I
pardon in the player every fault that springs from self-deception
and the desire to please. If he seem not something
to himself and others, he is nothing. To seem is his vocation;
he must prize his moment of applause, for he gets no other
recompense; he must try to glitter, he is there to do so."
"You will give me leave at least to smile, in my turn,"
answered Wilhelm. "I should never have believed that you
could be so merciful, so tolerant."
"I swear to you I am serious, fully and deliberately serious.
All faults of the man I can pardon in the player; no fault
of the player can I pardon in the man. Do not set me upon
chanting my lament about the latter: it might have a sharper
sound than yours."
The Surgeon entered from the cabinet; and to the question
how his patient was, he answered with a lively air of complaisance:
"Extremely well indeed; I hope soon to see him
quite recovered." He hastened through the hall, not waiting
Wilhelm's speech, who was preparing to inquire again with
greater importunity about the leathern case. His anxiety
to gain some tidings of his Amazon inspired him with confidence
in Jarno: he disclosed his case to him, and begged his
help. "You that know so many things," said he, "can you
not discover this?"
Jarno reflected for a moment, then turning to his friend:
"Be calm," said he, "give no one any hint of it: we shall
come upon the fair one's footsteps, never fear. At present,
I am anxious only for Lothario: the case is dangerous; the
kindliness and comfortable talking of the Doctor tells me
so. We should be quit of Lydia; for here she does no good:
but how to set about the task, I know not. Tonight I am
looking for our old Physician; we shall then take farther
counsel."

CHAPTER 4

THE Physician came: it was the good, old, little Doctor
whom we know already, and to whom we were obliged for the
communication of the pious Manuscript. First of all, he
visited the wounded man; with whose condition he appeared
to be by no means satisfied. He had next a long interview
with Jarno: but they made no allusion to the subject of it
when they came to supper.
Wilhelm saluted him in the kindest manner, and inquired
about the Harper. "W e have still hopes of bringing round
the hapless creature," answered the Physician. "He formed
a dreary item in your limited and singular way of life," said
Jarno. "How has it fared with him? Tell me."
Having satisfied Jarno's curiosity, the Physician thus proceeded:
"I have never seen another man so strangely circumstanced.
For many years, he has not felt the smallest interest
in anything without him, scarcely paid the smallest notice to
it: wrapped up in himself, he has looked at nothing but his
own hollow empty Me, which seemed to him like an immeasurable
abyss. It was really touching, when he spoke to us of
this mournful state. 'Before me,' cried he, 'I see nothing;
behind me nothing but an endless night, in which I live in the
most horrid solitude. There is no feeling in me, but the feeling
of my guilt: and this appears but like a dim formless
spirit, far before me. Yet here there is no height, no depth,
no forwards, no backwards; no words can express this never-changing
state. Often in the agony of this sameness, I exclaim
with violence: Forever! forever: and this dark incomprehensible
word is clear and plain to the gloom of my condition.
No ray of a Divinity illuminates this night; I shed all my
tears by myself and for myself. Nothing is more horrible to
me than friendship and love; for they alone excite in me the
wish that the Apparitions which surround me might be real.
But these two Spectres also have arisen from the abyss to
plague me, and at length to tear from me the precious
consciousness of my existence, unearthly though it be.'
"You should hear him speak," continued the Physician,
"when in hours of confidence he thus alleviates his heart. I
have listened to him often with the deepest feelings. When
pressed by anything, and as it were compelled for an instant
to confess that a space of time has passed, he looks astounded,
then again refers the alteration 'to the things about him,
considering it as an appearance of appearances, and so rejecting
the idea of progress in duration. One night he sung
a song about his grey hairs: we all sat round him weeping."
"O get it for me !" cried Wilhelm.
"But have you not discovered any trace of what he calls
his crime?" inquired Jarno: "nor found out the reason of his
wearing such a singular garb; of his conduct at the burning
of the house; of his rage against the child?"
"It is only by conjectures that we can approximate to any
knowledge of his fate: to question him 'directly, contradicts
our principle. Observing easily that he was of the Catholic
religion, we thought perhaps confession might afford him some
assuagement; but he shrinks away, with the strangest gestures,
every time we try to introduce the priest to him. However,
not to leave your curiosity respecting him entirely unsatisfied,
I may communicate our suppositions on the subject. In his
youth, we think, he must have been a clergyman: hence probably
his wish to keep his beard and long cloak. The joys of
love appear to have remained for many years unknown to him.
Late in life, as we conceive, some aberration with a lady very
nearly related to him; then her death, the consequence of an
unlucky creature's birth, have altogether crazed his brain.
"His chief delusion is a fancy that he brings misfortune
everywhere along with him; and that death, to be unwittingly
occasioned by a boy, is constantly impending over him. At
first he was afraid of Mignon, not knowing that she was a girl;
then Felix frightened him: and as, with all his misery, he has
a boundless love of life, this may perhaps have been the origin
of his aversion to the child."
"What hopes have you of his recovery?" inquired our
friend.
"It advances slowly," answered the Physician; "yet it
does advance. He continues his appointed occupations: we
have now accustomed him to read the newspapers; he always
looks for them with eagerness."
"I am curious about his songs," said Jarno.
"Of these I can engage to get you several," replied the
Doctor. "Our parson's eldest son, who frequently writes
down his father's sermons, has, unnoticed by the Harper,
marked on paper many stanzas of his singing; out of which
some songs have gradually been pieced together."
Next morning Jarno met our friend, and said to him: "We
have to ask a kindness of you. Lydia must, for some time, be
removed: her violent unreasonable love and passionateness
hinders the Baron's recovery. His wound requires rest and
calmness, though with his healthy temperament it is not
dangerous. You see how Lydia tortures him with her
tempestuous anxieties, her ungovernable terrors, her never-drying
tears; and-Enough!" he added with a smile, after
pausing for a moment, "our Doctor expressly requires that
she must quit us for a while. We have got her to believe
that a lady, one of her most intimate friends, is at present in
the neighbourhood, wishing and expecting instantly to see
her. She has been prevailed upon to undertake a journey to
our lawyer's, which is but two leagues off. This man is in the
secret: he will wofully lament that Fraulein Theresa should
just have left him again; he will seem to think she may still
be overtaken. Lydia will hasten after her; and if you prosper,
will be led from place to place. At last, if she insist on turning
back, you must not contradict her; but the night will
help you; the coachman is a cunning knave, and we shall
speak with him before he goes. You are to travel with her
in the coach, to talk to her, and manage the adventure."
"It is a strange and dubious commission that you give
me," answered Wilhelm: "How painful is the sight of true
love injured! And am I to be the instrument of injuring it?
I have never cheated any person so; for it has always seemed
to me that if we once begin deceiving with a view to good
and useful purposes, we run the risk of carrying it to excess."
" Yet you cannot manage children otherwise," said Jarno.
"With children it may do," said Wilhelm; "for we love
them tenderly, and take an open charge of them. But with
our equals, in behalf of whom our heart is not so sure to call
upon us for forbearance, it might frequently be dangerous.
Yet do not think," he added, after pausing for a moment,
"that I intend to decline the task on this account. Honouring
your judgment, as I do, feeling such attachment to your
noble friend, such eagerness to forward his recovery by whatever
means, I willingly forget myself and my opinions. It is
not enough that we can risk our life to serve a friend; in the
hour of need we should also yield him our convictions. Our
dearest passions, our best wishes we are bound to sacrifice in
helping him. I undertake the charge; though it is easy to
foresee the pain I shall have to suffer from the tears, from
the despair of Lydia."
"And for this, no small reward awaits you," answered
Jarno: "Fraulein Theresa, whom you get acquainted with,
is a lady such as you will rarely see. She puts many a man
to shame: I may say, she is a genuine Amazon; while others
are but pretty counterfeits, that wander up and down the
world in that ambiguous dress."
Wilhelm was struck: he almost fancied that in Theresa he
would find his Amazon again; especially as Jarno, whom
he importuned to tell him more, broke off abruptly, and went
away.
The new, near hope of once more seeing that beloved and
honoured being, awoke a thousand feelings in his heart. He
now looked upon the task, which had been given him, as the
intervention of a special Providence; the thought that he
was minded treacherously to carry off a helpless girl from
the object of her sincerest warmest love, dwelt but a moment
in his mind, as the shadow of a bird flits over the sunshiny
earth.
The coach was at the door; Lydia lingered for a moment,
as she was about to mount. " Salute your lord again for me,"
said she to the old servant; "tell him that I shall be home
before night." Tears were standing in her eyes, as she again
looked back when the carriage started. She then turned round
to Wilhelm; made an effort to compose herself, and said:
"In Fraulein Theresa you will find a very interesting person.
I wonder what it is that brings her hither: for, you must know,
Lothario and she once passionately loved each other. In spite
of the distance, he often used to visit her: I was staying with
her then; I thought they would have lived and died for one
another. But all at once it went to wreck, no creature could
discover why. He had seen me, and I must confess that I
was envious of Theresa's fortune; that I scarcely hid my love
from him; that when he suddenly appeared to choose me in
her stead, I could not but accept of him. She behaved to
me beyond my wishes; though it almost seemed as if I had
robbed her of this precious lover. But ah, how many thousand
tears and pains that love of his has cost me! At first we met
only now and then, and by stealth, at some appointed place;
but I could not long endure that kind of life: in his presence
only was I happy, wholly happy! Far from him, my eyes
were never dry, my pulse was never calm. Once he stayed
away for several days: I was altogether in despair; I ordered
out my carriage, and surprised him here. He received me
tenderly; and had not this unlucky quarrel happened, I
should have led a heavenly life with him. But since the
time when he began to be in danger and in pain, I shall
not say what I have suffered: at this moment I am bitterly
reproaching myself, that I could leave him for a single day."
Wilhelm was proceeding to inquire about Theresa, when
they reached the lawyer's house. This gentleman came
forward to the coach, lamenting wofully that Fraulein Theresa
was already gone. He invited them to breakfast; signifying,
however, that the lady might be overtaken in the nearest
village. They determined upon following her: the coachman
did not loiter; they had soon passed several villages, and yet
come up with nobody. Lydia now gave orders for returning;
the coachman drove along, as if he did not understand her.
As she insisted with redoubled vehemence, Wilhelm called to
him, and gave the promised token. The coachman answered,
that it was not necessary to go back by the same road; he
knew a shorter, and at the same time greatly easier one. He
now turned aside across a wood, and over large commons. At
last, no object they could recognise appearing, he confessed
that unfortunately he had lost his way; declaring at the
same time that he would soon get right again, as he saw a
little town before him. Night came on; the coachman
managed so discreetly that he asked everywhere, and nowhere
waited for an answer. He drove along all night: Lydia
never closed an eye; in the moonshine she was constantly
detecting similarities, which as constantly turned out to be
dissimilar. In the morning, things around seemed known to
her, and but more strange on that account. The coach drew
up before a neat little country-house; a young lady stepped
out, and opened the carriage-door. Lydia looked at her with
a stare of wonder; looked round; looked at her again; and
fainted in the arms of Wilhelm.

CHAPTER 5

WILHELM was conducted to a little upper-room: the house
was new, as small nearly as it could be, and extremely orderly
and clean. In Theresa, who had welcomed him and Lydia at
the coach, he had not found his Amazon: she was another
and an altogether different woman. Handsome, and but of
middle stature, she moved about with great alertness; and
it seemed as if her clear blue open eyes let nothing that
occurred escape them.
She entered Wilhelm's room, inquiring if he wanted
anything. "Pardon me," said she, "for having lodged you
in a chamber which the smell of paint still renders disagreeable:
my little dwelling is but just made ready; you are
handselling this room, which is appointed for my guests.
Would that you had come on some more pleasant errand!
Poor Lydia is like to be a dull companion; in other points
also, you will have much to pardon. My cook has run away
from me, at this unseasonable time; and a serving-man has
bruised his hand. The case might happen I had to manage
everything myself; and if it were so, why then we should just
put up with it. One is plagued so with nobody as with one's
servants; none of them will serve you, scarcely even serve
himself."
She said a good deal more on different matters; in general
she seemed to like speaking. Wilhelm inquired for Lydia;
if he might not see her, and endeavour to excuse himself.
"It will have no effect at present," said Theresa; "time
excuses, as it comforts. Words, in both cases, are of little
effect. Lydia will not see you. 'Keep him from my sight;
she cried, when I was leaving her; 'I could almost despair of
human nature. Such an honourable countenance, so frank a
manner, and this secret guile!' Lothario she has quite
forgiven: in a letter to the poor girl he declares: ' My
friends persuaded me, my friends compelled me!' Among
these she reckons you, and she condemns you with the rest."
"She does me too much honour in so blaming me," said
Wilhelm: "I have no pretension to the friendship of that
noble gentleman; on this occasion, I am but a guiltless
instrument. I will not praise what I have done; it is enough
that I could do it. It concerned the health, it concerned the
life of a man, whom I value more than anyone I ever knew
before. O what a man is he, Fraulein; and what men are
they that live about him! In their society I for the first
time, I may well say, carried on a conversation; for the first
time, was the inmost sense of my words returned to me, more
rich, more full, more comprehensive, from another's mouth;
what I had been groping for, was rendered clear to me; what
I had been thinking, I was taught to see. Unfortunately
this enjoyment was disturbed, at first by numerous anxieties
and whims, and then by this unpleasant task. I undertook
it with submission; for I reckoned it my duty, even though
I sacrificed my feelings, to comply with the request of this
gifted company of men."
While he spoke, Theresa had been looking at him with a
very friendly air. "O how sweet is it, to hear one's own
opinion uttered by a stranger tongue! We are never properly
ourselves until another thinks entirely as we do. My own
opinion of Lothario is perfectly the same as yours: it is not
everyone that does him justice; and therefore all that know
him better are enthusiastic in esteem of him. The painful
sentiment that mingles with the memory of him in my heart,
cannot hinder me from thinking of him daily." A sigh heaved
her bosom as she spoke thus; and a lovely tear glittered in
her right eye. "Think not," continued she, "that I am so
weak, so easy to be moved. It is but the eye that weeps.
There was a little wart upon the under eyelid; they have
happily removed it; but the eye has been weak ever since;
the smallest cause brings a tear into it. Here sat the little
wart: you cannot see a vestige of it now."

He saw no vestige; but he saw into her eye; it was clear
as crystal; he almost imagined he could see to the very
bottom of her soul.

"We have now," said she, "pronounced the watchword of
our friendship: let us get entirely acquainted as fast as
possible. The history of every person paints his character.
I will tell you what my life has been: do you too place a
little trust in me; and let us be united even when distance
parts us. The world is so waste and empty, when we figure
only towns and hills and rivers in it; but to know of some
one here and there whom we accord with, who is living on
with us even in silence, this makes our earthly ball a peopled
garden."
She hastened off; engaging soon to take him out to walk.
Her presence had affected him agreeably: he wished to be
informed of her relation to Lothario. He was called; she
came to meet him from her room. While they descended,
necessarily one by one, the strait and even steepish stairs,
she said; "All this might have been larger and grander, had
I chosen to accept the offers of your generous friend: but to
continue worthy of him, I must study to retain the qualities
which gave me merit in his eyes.-Where is the steward?"
asked she, stepping from the bottom of the stairs. " You
must not think," continued she, "that I am rich enough to
need a steward: the few acres of my own little property I
myself can manage well enough. The steward is my new
neighbour's, who has bought a fine estate beside us, every
point of which I am acquainted with. The good old gentleman
is lying ill of gout; his men are strangers here; I
willingly assist in settling them."
They took a walk through fields, meadows and some
orchards. Everywhere Theresa kept instructing the steward;
nothing so minute but she could give account of it; and
Wilhelm had reason to wonder at her knowledge, her precision,
the prompt dexterity with which she suggested means
for ends. She loitered nowhere; always hastened to the
leading points; and thus her task was quickly over. " Salute
your master," said she, as she sent away the man; "I mean to
visit him as soon as possible, and wish him a complete
recovery.-There now," she added with a smile, as soon as
he was gone, "I might soon be rich: my good neighbour, I
believe, would not be disinclined to offer me his hand."
"The old man with the gout?" cried Wilhelm: "I know
not how, at your years, you could bring yourself to make so
desperate a determination." "Nor am I tempted to it!" said
Theresa; "Whoever can administer what he possesses has
enough, and to be wealthy is a burdensome affair, unless
you understand it."
Wilhelm testified his admiration at her skill in husbandry
concerns. "Decided inclination, early opportunity, external
impulse, and continued occupation in a useful business," said
she, "make many things, which were at first far harder,
possible in life. When you have learned what causes stimulated
me in this pursuit, you will cease to wonder at the
talent you now think strange."
On returning home, she sent him to her little garden.
Here he could scarcely turn himself, so narrow were the walks,
so thickly was it sown and planted. On looking over to the
court, he could not help smiling: the firewood was lying
there, as accurately sawed, split and piled, as if it had been
part of the building, and had been intended to continue
permanently there. The tubs and implements, all clean,
were standing in their places: the house was painted white
and red; it was really pleasant to behold. Whatever can
be done by handicraft, which knows not beautiful proportions,
but labours for convenience, cheerfulness and durability,
appeared united in this spot. They served him up dinner in
his own room; he had time enough for meditating. Especially
it struck him, that he should have got acquainted
with another person of so interesting a character, who had
been so closely related to Lothario. "It is just," said he to
himself, "that a man so gifted should attract round him
gifted women. How far the influence of manliness and
dignity extends! Would that others did not come so
wofully short, compared with him! Yes, confess thy fear.
When thou meetest with thy Amazon, this woman of women,
in spite of all thy hopes and dreaming, thou wilt find her, in
the end, to thy humiliation and thy shame,-his bride

CHAPTER 6

WILHELM had passed a restless afternoon, not altogether
without tedium; when towards evening his door opened, and
a handsome hunter-boy stept forward with a bow. "Shall we
have a walk?" said the youth; and in the instant Wilhelm
recognised Theresa by her lovely eyes.
"Pardon me this masquerade," said she; "for now, alas,
it is nothing more. But as I am going to tell you of the time
when I so enjoyed the world, I will recall those days, by every
method, to my fancy. Come along! Even the place, where
we have rested so often from our hunts and promenades, shall
help me."
They went accordingly. On the way, Theresa said to her
attendant: "It is not fair that I alone should speak: you
already know enough of me, I nothing about you. Tell me
in the mean while something of yourself, that I may gather
courage to submit to you my history and situation." "Alas!"
said Wilhelm, "I have nothing to relate but error on the back
of error, deviation following deviation: and I know none from
whom I would more gladly hide my present and my past
embarrassments than from yourself. Your look, the scene
you move in, your whole temperament and manner, prove to
me that you have reason to rejoice in your bygone life; that
you have travelled by a fair, clear path, in constant progress;
that you have lost no time, that you have nothing to reproach
yourself withal."
Theresa answered with a smile: "Let us see if you will
think so, after you have heard my history." They walked
along: among some general remarks, Theresa asked him:
"Are you free?" "I think I am," said he; "and yet I do
not wish it." "Good!" said she; "that indicates a complicated
story; you also will have something to relate."
Conversing thus, they ascended the hill, and placed themselves
beside a lofty oak, which spread its shade far out on
every side. "Here," said she, "beneath this German tree,
will I disclose to you the history of a German maiden: listen
to me patiently.
"My father was a wealthy nobleman of this province, a
cheerful, clear-sighted, active, able man; a tender father, an
upright friend, an excellent economist. I knew but one fault
in him; he was too compliant to a wife who did not know his
worth. Alas, that I should have to say so of my mother!
Her nature was the opposite of his. She was quick and
changeful; without affection either for her home, or for me
her only child; extravagant, but beautiful, sprightly, full of
talent, the delight of a circle she had gathered round her.
Her society in truth was never large; nor did it long continue
the same. It consisted principally of men; for no woman
could like to be near her, still less could she endure the merit
or the praise of any woman. I resembled my father, both in
form and dispositions. As the duckling, with its first footsteps,
seeks the water; so, from my earliest youth, the kitchen,
the store-room, the granaries, the fields, were my selected
element. Cleanliness and order in the house, seemed, even
while I was playing in it, to be my peculiar instinct, my
peculiar object. This tendency gave my father pleasure; and
he directed, step by step, my childish endeavour into the suitablest
employments. On the contrary, my mother did not
like me, and she never for a moment hid it.
"I waxed in stature: with my years, increased my turn for
occupation and my father's love to me. When we were by
ourselves, when walking through the fields, when I was helping
to examine his accounts, it was then I could see how glad he
was. While gazing on his eyes, I felt as if I had been looking
in upon myself: for it was in the eyes that I completely resembled
him. But in the presence of my mother, he lost this
energy, this aspect: he excused me mildly, when she blamed me
unjustly and violently; he took my part, not as if he would
protect me, but as if he would extenuate the demerit of my
good qualities. To none of her caprices did he set himself in
opposition. She began to be immensely taken with a passion
for the stage; a theatre was soon got up; of men of all shapes
and ages, crowding to display themselves along with her upon
her boards, she had abundance; of women, on the other hand,
there was often a scarcity. Lydia, a pretty girl, who had been
brought up with me, and who promised from the first to be
extremely beautiful, had to undertake the secondary parts;
the mothers and the aunts were represented by an ancient
chambermaid; while the leading heroines, lovers, and shepherdesses
of every kind, were seized on by my mother. I
cannot tell you how ridiculous it seemed to me, to see the
people, everyone of whom I knew full well, standing on their
scaffold, and pretending, after they had dressed themselves in
other clothes, to pass for something else than what they were.
In my eyes they were never anything but Lydia and my
mother, this baron and that secretary, whether they appeared
as counts and princes or as peasants: and I could not understand
how they meant to make me think that they were
sad or happy, that they were indifferent or in love, liberal or
avaricious, when I well knew the contrary to be the case. Accordingly,
I very seldom stayed among the audience: I always
snuffed their candles, that I might not be entirely without
employment; I prepared the supper; and next morning before
they rose I used to have their wardrobe all sorted, which
commonly, the night before, they had left in a chaotic state.
"To my mother this activity appeared quite proper; but
her love I could not gain. She despised me; and I know for
certain that she more than once exclaimed with bitterness:
, If the mother could be as uncertain as the father, you would
scarcely take this housemaid for my daughter!' Such treatment,
I confess, at length entirely estranged me from her: I
viewed her conduct as the conduct of a person unconnected
with me; and being used to watch our servants like a falcon
(for this, be it said in passing, is the ground of all true housekeeping),
the proceedings of my mother and her friends, at
the same time, naturally forced themselves upon my observation. It was easy to perceive that she did not look on all the
men alike: I gave sharper heed; and soon found out that
Lydia was her confidant, and had herself, by this opportunity,
become acquainted with a passion, which from her earliest
youth she had so often represented. I was aware of all their
meetings: but I held my tongue; hinting nothing to my
father, whom I was afraid of troubling. At last, however, I
was obliged to speak. Many of their enterprises could not be
accomplished without corrupting the servants. These now
began to grow refractory; they despised my father's regulations,
disregarded my commands. The disorders which arose
from this I could not tolerate; I discovered all, complained of
all to my father.
"He listened to me calmly. 'Good girl!' replied he with
a smile; 'I know it all: be quiet, bear it patiently; for it is
on thy account alone that I endure it.'
"I was not quiet, I had not patience. I in secret
blamed my father; for I did not think that any reason should
induce him to endure such things. I called for regularity
from all the servants; I was bent on driving matters to
extremity.
"My mother had been rich before her marriage; yet she
squandered more than she had a right to; and this, as I
observed, occasioned many conferences between my parents.
For a long time, the evil was not helped; till at last the
passions of my mother brought it to a head.
"Her first gallant became unfaithful in a glaring manner:
the house, the neighbourhood, her whole condition grew
offensive to her. She insisted on removing to a different
estate; there she was too solitary: she insisted on removing
to the town; there she felt herself eclipsed among the crowd.
Of much that passed between my father and her I know
nothing: however, he at last determined, under stipulations
which I did not learn, to consent that she should take :l
Journey, which she had been meditating, to the South of
France.

"We were now free; we lived as if in heaven: I do believe,
my father could not be a loser, had he purchased her absence
by a considerable sum. All our useless domestics were dismissed;
and fortune seemed to smile on our undertakings: we
had some extremely prosperous years; all things succeeded to
our wish. But, alas, this pleasing state was not of long continuance;
altogether unexpectedly my father had a shock of
palsy; it lamed his right side, and deprived him of the proper
use of speech. We had to guess at everything that he required;
for he never could pronounce the word that he
intended. There were times when this was dreadfully afflicting
to us: he would require expressly to be left alone with
me; with earnest gestures he would signify that everyone
should go away; and when we saw ourselves alone, he could
not speak the word he meant. His impatience mounted to
the highest pitch: his situation touched me to the inmost
heart. Thus much seemed certain: he had something which
he wished to tell me, which especially concerned my interest.
What longing did I feel to know it! At other times, I could
discover all things in his eyes: but now it was in vain. Even
his eyes no longer spoke. Only this was clear: he wanted
nothing, he desired nothing; he was striving to discover something
to me; which unhappily I did not learn. His malady
revisited him: he grew entirely inactive, incapable of motion,
and a short time afterwards he died.
"I know not how it had got rooted in my thoughts that
somewhere he had hid a treasure, which he wished at death
to leave me rather than my mother: I searched about for
traces of it while he lived, but I could meet with none; at his
death a seal was put on everything. I wrote to my mother,
offering to continue in the house, and manage for her: she
refused, and I was obliged to leave the place. A mutual testament
was now produced; it gave my mother the possession
and the use of all; and I was left, at least throughout her
life, dependent on her. It was now that I conceived I rightly
understood my father's beckoning: I pitied him for having
been so weak; he had let himself be forced to do unjustly to
me even after he was dead. Certain of my friends maintained,
that it was little better than if he had disinherited me: they
called upon me to attack the will by law; but this I never
could resolve on doing. I reverenced my father's memory too
much; I trusted in destiny; I trusted in myself.
"There was a lady in the neighbourhood possessed of large
properly, with whom I had always been on good term5: she
gladly received me; I engaged to superintend her household,
and ere long the task grew very easy to me. She lived
regularly, she loved order in everything: and I faithfully
assisted her in struggling with her steward and domestics.
I am neither of a niggardly nor grudging temper; but we
women are disposed to insist, more earnestly than men, that
nothing shall be wasted. Embezzlement of all sorts is intolerable
to us: we require that each enjoy exactly in so far as
right entitles him.
"Here I was in my element once more; I mourned my
father's death in silence. My protectress was content with
me: one small circumstance alone disturbed my peace. Lydia
returned: my mother had been harsh enough to cast the
poor girl off, after having altogether spoiled her. Lydia
had learned with her mistress to consider passions as her
occupation; she was wont to curb herself in nothing. On
her unexpected reappearance, the lady whom I lived with
took her in; she wished to help me, but could train herself
to nothing.
"About this time, the relatives and future heirs of my protectress
often visited the house, to recreate themselves with
hunting. Lothario was frequently among them: it was not
long till I had noticed, though without the smallest reference
to myself, how far he was superior to the rest. He was
courteous towards all; and Lydia seemed ere long to have
attracted his attention to her. Constantly engaged in something,
I was seldom with the company: while he was there I
did not talk so much as usual; for I will confess it, lively
conversation, from of old, had been to me the finest seasoning
of existence. With my father I was wont to talk of everything
that happened. What you do not speak of, you will
seldom accurately think of. No man had I ever heard with
greater pleasure than I did Lothario, when he told us of his
travels and campaigns. The world appeared to lie before
him clear and open, as to me the district was in which I lived
and managed. We were not entertained with marvellous
personal adventures, the extravagant half-truths of a shallow
traveller, who is always painting out himself, and not the
country he has undertaken to describe. Lothario did not tell
us his adventures; he led us to the place itself. I have seldom
felt so pure a satisfaction.
"But still higher was my pleasure, when I heard him talk,
one evening, about women. The subject happened to be
introduced; some ladies of the neighbourhood had come to
see us; and were speaking, in the common style, about the
cultivation of the female mind. Our sex, they said, was
treated unjustly; every sort of higher education men insisted
on retaining for themselves: they admitted us to no science,
they required us either to be dolls or family drudges. To all
this Lothario said not much: but when the party was a little
thinned, he gave us his opinion more explicitly. ' It is very
strange,' cried he,' that men are blamed for their proceeding
here: they have placed woman on the highest station she is
capable of occupying. And where is there any station higher
than the ordering of the house? While the husband has to
vex himself with outward matters, while he has wealth to
gather and secure, while perhaps he takes part in the administration
of the state, and everywhere depends on circumstances;
ruling nothing, I may say, while he conceives that he
is ruling much; compelled to be but politic where he would
willingly be reasonable, to dissemble where he would be open,
to be false where he would be upright; while thus, for the
sake of an object which he never reaches, he must every
moment sacrifice the first of objects, harmony with himself,-
a reasonable housewife is actually governing in the interior
of her family; has the comfort and activity of every person in
it to provide for, and make possible. What is the highest
happiness of mortals, if not to execute what we consider right
and good; to be really masters of the means conducive to our
aims? And where should or can our nearest aims be, but
in the interior of our home? All those indispensable, and
still to be renewed supplies, where do we expect, do we require
to find them, if not in the place where we rise and where
we go to sleep, where kitchen and cellar, and every species of
accommodation for ourselves and ours is to be always ready?
What unvarying activity is needed to conduct tbis constantly
recurring series in unbroken living order! How few are the
men, to whom it is given to return regularly like a star,
to command their day as they command their night; to form
for themselves their household instruments, to sow and to
reap, to gain and to expend, and to travel round their circle
with perpetual success and peace and love! It is when a
woman has attained this inward mastery, that she truly makes
the husband whom she loves a master: her attention will
acquire all sorts of knowledge; her activity will turn them
all to profit. Thus is she dependent upon no one; and she
procures her husband genuine independence, that which is
interior and domestic: whatever he possesses, he beholds
secured; what he earns, well employed; and thus he can
direct his mind to lofty objects, and if fortune favours, he may
act in the state the same character which so well becomes his
wife at home.'
"He then described to us the kind of wife he wished. I
reddened; for he was describing me as I looked and lived.
I silently enjoyed my triumph; and the more, as I perceived,
from all the circumstances, that he had not meant
me individually, that indeed he did not know me. I cannot
recollect a more delightful feeling in my life than this,
when a man whom I so highly valued gave the preference,
not to my person, but to my inmost nature. What a recompense did I consider it! What encouragement did it
afford me!
"So soon as they were gone, my worthy benefactress, with
a smile, observed to me: 'Pity that men often think and
speak of what they will never execute, else here were a special
match, the exact thing for my dear Theresa!' I made sport
of her remark; and added, that indeed men's understanding
gave its vote for household wives; but that their heart and
imagination longed for other qualities; and that we household
people could not stand a rivalry with beautiful and
lovely women. This was spoken for the ear of Lydia; she
did not hide from us that Lothario had made a deep impression
on her heart; and in reality, he seemed at each new
visit to grow more and more attentive to her. She was poor
and not of rank; she could not think of marriage: but she
was unable to resist the dear delight of charming and of being
charmed. I had never loved, nor did I love at present: but
though it was unspeakably agreeable to see in what light
my turn of mind was viewed, how high it was ranked by
such a man, I will confess I still was not altogether satisfied.
I now wished that he should be acquainted with me,
and should take a personal interest in me. This wish arose,
without the smallest settled thought of anything that could
result from it.
"The greatest service I did my benefactress, was in bringing
into order the extensive forests which belonged to her. In
this precious property, whose value time and circumstances
were continually increasing, matters still went on according
to the old routine; without regularity, without plan: no end
to theft and fraud. Many hills were standing bare; an equal
growth was nowhere to be found but in the oldest cuttings.
I personally visited the whole of them, with an experienced
forester. I got the woods correctly measured; I set men to
hew, to sow, to plant; in a short time, all things were in
progress. That I might mount more readily on horseback,
and also walk on foot with less obstruction, I had a suit of
men's clothes made for me; I was present in many places, I
was feared in all.
"Hearing that our young friends with Lothario were purposing
to have another hunt, it came into my head, for the
first time in my life, to make a figure; or that I may not do
myself injustice, to pass in the eyes of this noble gentleman
for what I was. I put on my men's-clothes, took my gun
upon my shoulder, and went forward with our hunters, to
await the party on our marches. They came; Lothario did
not know me: a nephew of the lady's introduced me to him
as a clever forester; joked about my youth, and carried on
his jesting in my praise, till at last Lothario recognised me.
The nephew seconded my project, as if we had concocted it
together. He circumstantially and gratefully described what
I had done for the estates of his aunt, and consequently for
himself.
"Lothario listened with attention; he talked with me;
inquired concerning all particulars of the estates and district.
I of course was glad to have such an opportunity of showing
him my knowledge: I stood my ordeal very well; I submitted
certain projects of improvement to him; which he sanctioned,
telling me of similar examples, and strengthening my arguments
by the connexion which he gave them. My satisfaction
grew more perfect every moment. Happily, however, I merely
wished that he should be acquainted with me, not that he
should love me. We came home: and I observed more clearly
than before, that the attention he showed to Lydia seemed
expressive of a secret inclination. I had reached my object;
yet I was not at rest: from that day, he showed a true
respect for me, a fine trust in me; in company he usually
spoke to me, asked my opinion, and appeared to be persuaded
that, in household matters, nothing was unknown to me.
His sympathy excited me extremely: even when the conversation
W8.S of general finance and political economy, he
used to lead me to take part in it; and in his absence, I
endeavoured to acquire more knowledge of our province, nay,
of all the empire. The task was easy for me: it was but
repeating on the great scale what I knew so accurately on the
small.
"From this period he visited our house oftener. We
talked, I may say, of everything: yet in some degree our conversation
always in the end grew economical, if even but in a
secondary sense. What immense effects a man, by the continuous
application of his powers, his time, his money, even
by means which seem but small, may bring about, was frequently and
largely spoken of.
"I did not withstand the tendency which drew me towards
him: and, alas, I felt too soon how deep, how cordial, how
pure and genuine was my love, as I believed it more and more
apparent that Lydia and not myself was the occasion of these
visits. She, at least, was most vividly persuaded so; she
made me her confidant; and this, again, in some degree,
consoled me. For in truth, what she explained so much to
her advantage, I reckoned nowise of importance; there was
not a trace of any serious lasting union being meditated; but
the more distinctly did I see the wish of the impassioned girl
to be his at any price.
"Thus did matters stand, when the lady of the house
surprised me with an unexpected message. 'Lothario,' said
she, , offers you his hand, and desires through life to have you
ever at his side.' She enlarged upon my qualities, and told
me, what I liked sufficiently to hear, that in me Lothario was
persuaded he had found the person whom he had so long been
seeking for.
"The height of happiness was now attained for me: my
hand was asked by a man for whom I had the greatest value;
beside whom and along with whom I might expect a full,
expanded, free and profitable employment of my inborn
tendency, of my talent perfected by practice. The sum of my
existence seemed to have enlarged itself into infinitude. I
gave my consent; he himself came, and spoke with me in
private; he held out his hand to me; he looked into my eyes, he
clasped me in his arms, and pressed a kiss upon my lips. It
was the first and the last. He confided to me all his circumstances;
told me how much his American campaign had cost
him, what debts he had accumulated on his property; that,
on this score, he had in some measure quarrelled with his
granduncle; that the worthy gentleman intended to relieve him,
though truly in his own peculiar way, being minded to provide
him with a rich wife, whereas a man of sense would choose a
household wife at all events; that however, by his sister's
influence, he hoped his noble relative would be persuaded.
He set before me the condition of his fortune, his plans, his
prospects, and requested my cooperation. Till his uncle
should consent, our promise was to be a secret.
"Scarcely was he gone, when Lydia asked me, whether he
had spoken of her. I answered no; and tired her with a
long detail of economical affairs. She was restless, out of
humour; and his conduct, when he came again, did not
improve her situation.
"But the sun, I see, is bending to the place of rest. Well
for you, my friend! You would otherwise have had to hear
this story, which I often enough go over by myself, in all its
most minute particulars. Let me hasten: we are coming to
an epoch, on which it is not good to linger.
"By Lothario I was made acquainted with his noble sister;
and she, at a convenient time, contrived to introduce me to
the uncle. I gained the old man; he consented to our wishes;
and I returned, with happy tidings, to my benefactress. The
affair was now no secret in the house: Lydia heard of it;
she thought the thing impossible. When she could no longer
doubt of it, she vanished all at once: we knew not whither
she had gone.
"Our marriage-day was coming near: I had often asked
him for his portrait; just as he was going off, I reminded him
that he had promised it. He said: 'You have never given
me the case you want to have it fitted into.' This was true:
I had got a present from a female friend, on which I set no
ordinary value. Her name, worked from her own hair, was
fastened on the outer glass; within there was a vacant piece
of ivory, on which her portrait was to have been painted,
when a sudden death snatched her from me. Lothario's love
had cheered me at the time her death lay heavy on my spirits:
and I wished to have the void, which she had left me in her
present, filled by the picture of my friend.
"I ran to my chamber; fetched my jewel-box, and opened
it in his presence. Scarcely had he looked into it, when he
noticed a medallion with the portrait of a lady. He took it
in his hand, considered it attentively, and asked me hastily
whose face it was. ' My mother's,' answered I. 'I could have
sworn,' said he, 'that it was the portrait of a Madame Saint
Alban, whom I met some years ago in Switzerland.' 'It is
the same,' replied I, smiling; 'and so you have unwittingly
become acquainted with your mother-in-law. Saint Alban is
the name my mother has assumed for travelling with: she
passes under it in France at present.'
"'I am the miserablest man alive!' exclaimed he, as he
threw the portrait back into the box, covered his eyes with his
hand, and hurried from the room. He sprang on horseback;
I ran to the balcony, and called out after him: he turned,
waved his hand to me, went speedily away,-and I have never
seen him more."
The sun went down: Theresa gazed with unaverted looks
upon the splendour; and both her fine eyes filled with tears.
Theresa spoke not: she laid her hand upon her new friend's
hands: he kissed it with emotion; she dried her tears, and
rose. " Let us return, and see that all is right," said she.
The conversation was not lively by the way. They entered
the garden-door, and noticed Lydia sitting on a bench: she
rose, withdrew before them, and walked in. She had a paper
in her hand; two little girls were by her. " I see," observed
Theresa, "she is still carrying her only comfort, Lothario's
letter, with her. He promises that she shall live with him
again, so soon as he is well: he begs of her till then to stay
in peace with me. On these words she hangs; with these lines
she solaces herself: but with his friends she is extremely angry."
Meanwhile the two children had approached. They
courtesied to Theresa, and gave her an account of all that had
occurred while she was absent. " You see here another part of
my employment," said Theresa. "Lothario's sister and I have
made a league: we educate some little ones in common: such
as promise to be lively serviceable housewives I take charge
of; she of such as show a finer and more quiet talent: it is
right to provide for the happiness of future husbands both in
household and in intellectual matters. When you become
acquainted with my noble friend, a new era in your life will
open. Her beauty, her goodness, make her worthy of the
reverence of the world." Wilhelm did not venture to confess,
that unhappily the lovely Countess was already known to
him: that his transient connexion with her would occasion him
perpetual sorrow. He was well pleased that Theresa let the
conversation drop; that some business called for her within.
He was now alone: the intelligence which he had just
received, of the young and lovely Countess being driven to
replace, by deeds of benevolence, her own lost comfort, made
him very sad; he felt that with her it was but a need of self-oblivion,
an attempt to supply, by the hopes of happiness to
others, the want of a cheerful enjoyment of existence in herself.
He thought Theresa happy, since even in that unexpected
melancholy alteration which had taken place in her prospects,
there was no alteration needed in herself. "How fortunate
beyond all others," cried he, "is the man who, in order to
adjust himself to fate, is not required to cast away his whole
preceding life! "
Theresa came into his room, and begged pardon for disturbing
him. "My whole library," said she, "is in the wallpress
here; they are rather books which I do not throw aside,
than which I have taken up. Lydia wants a pious book:
there are one or two of that sort among them. Persons who
throughout the whole twelve months are worldly, think it
necessary to be godly at a time of straits: all moral and
religious matters they regard as physic, which is to be taken,
with aversion, when they are unwell: in a clergyman, a
moralist, they see nothing but a doctor, whom they cannot
soon enough get rid of. Now, I confess, I look upon religion
as a kind of diet, which can only be so when I make a constant
practice of it, when throughout the whole twelve months I
never lose it out of sight."
She searched among the books; she found some edifying
works, as they are called. "It was of my mother," said
Theresa, "that poor Lydia learned to have recourse to books
like these. While her gallant continued faithful, plays and
novels were her life; his departure brought religious writings
once more into credit. I, for my share, cannot understand,"
continued she, " how men have made themselves believe that
God speaks to us through books and histories. The man, to
whom the universe does not reveal directly what relation it has
to him; whose heart does not tell him what he owes to himself
and others,-that man will scarcely learn it out of books;
which generally do little more than give our errors names."
She left our friend alone: he passed his evening in examining
the little library; it had, in truth, been gathered quite at
random.
Theresa, for the few days Wilhelm spent with her, continued
still the same: she related to him, at different times, the consequences
of that singular incident with great minuteness.
Day and hour, place and name, were present to her memory:
we shall here compress into a word or two, so much of it as
will be necessary for the information of our readers.
The reason of Lothario's quick departure was unhappily
too easy to explain. He had met Theresa's mother on her
journey: her charms attracted him; she was no niggard of
them; and this luckless transitory aberration came at length
to shut him out from being united to a lady, whom nature
seemed to have expressly made for him. As for Theresa, she
continued in the pure circle of her duties. They learned that
Lydia had been living in the neighbourhood in secret. She
was happy that the marriage, though for unknown causes, had
not been completed. She endeavoured to renew her intimacy
with Lothario: and more, as it seemed, out of desperation
than affection, by surprise than with consideration, from
tedium than of purpose, he had met her wishes.
Theresa was quiet on the subject; she made no pretensions
farther to him; and if he had even been her husband, she
would probably have had sufficient spirit to endure a matter
of this kind, if it had not troubled her domestic order: at
least she often used to say, that a wife, who properly conducted
her economy, should take no umbrage at such little fancies of
her husband, but be always certain that he would return.
Ere long, Theresa's mother had deranged her fortune: the
losses fell upon the daughter, whose share of the effects, in
consequence, was small. The old lady, who had been Theresa's
benefactress, died; leaving her a little property in land, and a
handsome sum by way of legacy. Theresa soon contrived to
make herself at home in this new narrow circle. Lothario
offered her a better property, Jarno endeavouring to negotiate
the business: but she refused it. "I will show," said she,
"in this little, that I deserved to share the great with him:
but I keep this before me, that, should accident embarrass me,
on my own account or that of others, I will betake myself
without the smallest hesitation to my generous friend."
There is nothing less liable to be concealed and unemployed
than well-directed practical activity. Scarcely had she settled
in her little property, when her acquaintance and advice began
to be desired by many of her neighbours; and the proprietor
of the adjacent lands gave her plainly enough to understand,
that it depended on herself alone, whether she would take his
. hand, and be heiress of the greater part of his estates. She
had already mentioned the matter to our friend: she often
jested with him about marriages, suitable and unsuitable.
"Nothing," said she once, "gives a greater loose to people's
tongues, than when a marriage happens, which they can
denominate unsuitable: and yet the unsuitable are far more
common than the suitable; for, alas, with most marriages, it
is not long till things assume a very piteous look. The confusion
of ranks by marriage can be called unsuitable, only
when the one party is unable to participate in the manner of
existence which is native, habitual, and which at length grows
absolutely necessary to the other. The different classes have
different ways of living, which they cannot change or communicate
to one another; and this is the reason why connexions
such as these, in general, were better not formed. Yet exceptions,
and exceptions of the happiest kind, are possible. Thus
too, the marriage of a young woman with a man advanced in
life is generally unsuitable; yet I have seen some such turn
out extremely well. For me, I know but of one kind of
marriage that would be entirely unsuitable; that in which I
should be called upon to make a show, and manage ceremonies:
I had rather give my hand to the son of any honest farmer in
the neighbourhood."
Wilhelm at length made ready for returning. He requested
of Theresa to obtain for him a parting word with Lydia. The
impassioned girl at last consented: he said some kindly things
to her; to which she answered: "The first burst of anguish
I have conquered. Lothario will be ever dear to me: but for
those friends of his, I know them; and it grieves me that they
are about him. The Abbe, for a whim's sake, could leave a
person in extreme need, or even plunge one into it; the Doctor
would have all things go on like clock-work; Jarno has no
heart: and you-at least no force of character! Just go on;
let these three people use you as their tool; they will have
many an execution to commit to you. For a long time, as I
know well, my presence has been hateful to them: I had not
found out their secret, but I had observed that they had one.
Why these bolted rooms, these strange passages? Why can
no one ever reach the central tower? Why did they banish
me, whenever they could, to my own chamber? I will confess,
jealousy at first incited me to these discoveries: I feared some
lucky rival might be hid there. I have now laid aside that
suspicion: I am well convinced that Lothario loves me, that
he means honourably by me; but I am quite as well convinced
that his false and artful friends betray him. If you would
really do him service; if you would ever be forgiven for the
injury which I have suffered from you, free him from the
hands of these men. But what am I expecting! Give this
letter to him: repeat what it contains; that I will love him
for ever, that I depend upon his word. Ah !" cried she, rising
and throwing herself with tears upon Theresa's neck: "he is
surrounded by my foes; they will endeavour to persuade him
that I have sacrificed nothing for his sake: O! Lothario may
well believe that he is worthy of any sacrifice, without needing
to be grateful for it."
Wilhelm's parting with Theresa was more cheerful: she
wished they might soon meet again. "Me you wholly know,"
said she: "I alone have talked while we have been together.
It will be your duty, next time, to repay my candour."
During his return, he kept contemplating this new and
bright phenomenon, with the liveliest recollection. What
confidence had she inspired him with! He thought of
Mignon and Felix; and how happy they might be if under
her direction: then he thought of himself; and felt what
pleasure it would be to live beside a being so entirely serene
and clear. As he approached Lothario's Castle, he observed,
with more than usual interest, the central tower and the many
passages and side-buildings: he resolved to question Jarno or
the Abbe on the subject, by the earliest opportunity.

CHAPTER 7

ON arriving at the Castle, Wilhelm found its noble owner
in the way of full recovery: the Doctor and the Abbe had
gone off; Jarno alone was there. It was not long till the
patient now and then could ride; sometimes by himself;
sometimes with his friends. His conversation was at once
courteous and earnest, instructive and enlivening: you could
often notice in it traces of a tender sensibility, although he
strove to hide it, and almost seemed to blame it, when in spite
of him it came to view.
One evening while at table he was silent, though his look
was very cheerful.
"Today," said Jarno, "you have met with an adventure;
and a pleasing one?"
"I give you credit for your penetration!" said Lothario.
" Yes, I have met with a very pleasing adventure. At another
time, perhaps I should not have considered it so charming as
today, when it came upon me so attractively. Towards night,
I rode out beyond the river, through the hamlets, by a path
which I had often visited in former years. My corporeal
sufferings must have reduced me more than I supposed: I felt
weak; but as my strength was re-awakening, I was as it were
new-born. All objects seemed to wear the hues they had in
earlier times; all looked graceful, lovely, charming, as they
have not looked to me for many years. I easily observed that
it was mere debility; yet I continued to enjoy it: I rode softly
onwards, and could now conceive how men may grow to like
diseases, which attune us to those sweet emotions. You know,
perhaps, what used of old so frequently to lead me that way?"
"If I mistake not," answered Jarno, "it was a little love
concern you were engaged in with a farmer's daughter."
"It might be called a great one," said Lothario: "for we
loved each other deeply, seriously and for a long time. Today,
it happened, everything combined to represent before me in its
liveliest colour the earliest season of our love. The boys were
again shaking maybugs from the trees; the ashen grove had
not grown larger since the day I saw her first. It was now
long since I had met with Margaret. She is married at a
distance; and I had heard by chance, that she was come
with her children, some weeks ago, to pay a visit to her
father."

"This ride, then, was not altogether accidental? "
"I will not deny," replied Lothario, "that I wished to
meet her. On coming near the house, I saw her father sitting
at the door; a child of probably a year old was standing by
him. As I approached, a female gave a hasty look from an
upper window; and a minute afterwards, I heard some person
tripping down-stairs. I thought surely it was she: and I will
confess, I was flattering myself that she had recognised me,
and was hastening to meet me. But what was my surprise
and disappointment, when she bounded from the door; seized
the child, to which the horses had come pretty close, and took
it in! It gave me a painful twinge: my vanity, however, was
a little solaced, when I thought I saw a tint of redness on her
neck, and on the ear, which was uncovered.
"I drew up, and spoke a little with the father, glancing
sideways, in the mean time, over all the windows, to observe
if she would not appear at some of them: but no trace of her
was visible. Ask I would not; so I rode away. My displeasure
was a little mollified by wonder: though I had not
seen the face, it appeared to me that she was scarcely changed;
and ten years are a pretty space! Nay, she looked even
younger, quite as slim, as light of foot; her neck if possible
was lovelier than before; her cheeks as quick at blushing; yet
she was the mother of six children, perhaps of more. This
apparition suited the enchantment which surrounded me so
well, that I rode along with feelings grown still younger:
and I did not turn till I was at the forest, when the sun was
going down. Strongly as the falling dew, and the prescription
of our Doctor, called upon me to proceed direct homewards, I
could not help again going round by the farm-house. I observed
a woman walking up and down the garden, which is fenced by
a light hedge. I rode along the footpath to it; and found
myself at no great distance from the person whom I wanted.
"Though the evening sun was glancing in my eyes, I saw
that she was busy with the hedge, which only slightly covered
her. I thought I recognised my mistress. On coming up, I
halted, not without a palpitation at the heart. Some high
twigs of wild roses, which a soft air was blowing to and fro,
made her figure indistinct to me. I spoke to her, asked her
how she was. She answered in an under-tone, 'Quite well.'
In the mean time I perceived a child behind the hedge,
engaged in plucking roses, and I took the opportunity of
asking where her other children were. ' It is not my child,'
said she: 'that were rather early!' And at this moment, it
happened that the twigs were blown aside, and her face could
be distinctly seen. I knew not what to make of the affair. It
was my mistress, and it was not. Almost younger, almost
lovelier than she used to be ten years before. 'Are not you
the farmer's daughter, then?' inquired I, half confused. ' No,'
said she: 'I am her cousin.'
'"You resemble one another wonderfully,' added I.
"'Yes, so says everyone that knew her half-a-score of
years ago.'
"I continued putting various questions to her: my mistake
was pleasant to me, even after I had found it out. I could
not leave this living image of bygone blessedness, that stood
before me. The child meanwhile had gone away; it had
wandered to the pond in search of flowers. She took her
leave, and hastened after it.
"I had now, however, learned that my former love was
really in her father's house: while riding forward, I employed
myself in guessing whether it had been her cousin or she, that
had secured the child from harm. I more than once, in thought,
repeated all the circumstances of the incident: I can remember
few things that have affected me more gratefully. But I feel
that I am still unwell: we must ask the Doctor to deliver us
from the remains of this pathetic humour."
With confidential narratives of pretty love-adventures, it
often happens as with ghost-stories; when the first is told, the
others follow of themselves.
Our little party, in recalling other times, found numerous
passages of this description. Lothario had the most to tell.
Jarno's histories were all of one peculiar character: what
Wilhelm could disclose we already know. He was apprehensive
they might mention his adventure with the Countess; but
it was not hinted at, not even in the remotest manner.
"It is true," observed Lothario, "there can scarcely any
feeling in the world be more agreeable, than when the heart,
after a pause of indifference, again opens to love for some new
object; yet I would forever have renounced that happiness,
had fate been pleased to unite me with Theresa. We are not
always youths; we ought not always to be children. To the
man, who knows the world; who understands what he should
do in it, what he should hope from it, nothing can be more
desirable than meeting with a wife who will everywhere cooperate
with him, who will everywhere prepare his way for
him; whose diligence takes up what his must leave; whose
occupation spreads itself on every side, while his must travel
forward on its single path. What a heaven had I figured
for myself beside Theresa! Not the heaven of an enthusiastic
bliss; but of a sure life on earth: order in prosperity,
courage in adversity, care for the smallest, and a spirit capable
of comprehending and managing the greatest. O! I saw in
her the qualities, which, when developed, make such women as
we find in history, whose excellence appears to us far preferable
to that of men: this clearness of view; this expertness in
all emergencies; this sureness in details, which brings the
whole so accurately out, although they never seem to think of
it. You may well forgive me," added he, and turned to
Wilhelm with a smile, "that I forsook Aurelia for Theresa:
with the one I could expect a calm and cheerful life, with the
other not a happy hour."
"I will confess," said Wilhelm, "that in coming hither, I
had no small anger in my heart against you; that I proposed
to censure with severity your conduct to Aurelia."
"It was really censurable," said Lothario: "I should not
have exchanged my friendship for her with the sentiment of
love; I should not, in place of the respect which she deserved,
have intruded an attachment she was neither calculated to
excite nor to maintain. Alas! she was not lovely when she
loved; the greatest misery that can befall a woman."
"Well, it is past!" said Wilhelm. "We cannot always
shun the things we blame: in spite of us, our feelings and our
actions sometimes strangely swerve from their natural and
right direction; yet there are certain duties which we never
should lose sight of. Peace be to the ashes of our friend!
Without censuring ourselves or her, let us, with sympathising
hearts, strew flowers upon her grave. But at the grave in
which the hapless mother sleeps, let me ask why you acknowledge
not the child; a son whom any father might rejoice in,
and whom you appear entirely to overlook? With your pure
and tender nature, how can you altogether cast away the
instinct of a parent? All this while, you have not spent one
syllable upon that precious creature, of whose attractions I
could say so much."
"Whom do you speak of?" asked Lothario: "I do not
understand you."
"Of whom but of your son, Aurelia's son, the lovely child,
to whose good fortune there is nothing wanting, but that a
tender father should acknowledge and receive him."
"You mistake, my friend," exclaimed Lothario: "Aurelia
never had a son, at least by me: I know of no child, or I
would with joy acknowledge it; and even in the present case,
I will gladly look upon the little creature as a relic of her,
and take charge of educating it. But did she ever give you
to believe that the boy was hers, was mine?"
"I cannot recollect that I ever heard a word from her
expressly on the subject: but we took it up so, and I never for
a moment doubted it."
"I can give you something like a clue to this perplexity,"
said Jarno. "An old woman, whom you must have noticed
often, gave Aurelia the child: she accepted it with passion,
hoping to alleviate her sorrows by its presence: and, in truth,
it gave her many a comfortable hour."
This discovery awoke anxieties in Wilhelm; he thought
of his dear Mignon and his beautiful Felix with the liveliest
distinctness. He expressed his wish to remove them both
from the state in which they were.
"We shall soon arrange it," said Lothario. "The little
girl may be committed to Theresa; she cannot be in better
hands. As for the boy, I think you should yourself take
charge of him: what in us the women leave uncultivated,
children cultivate, when we retain them near us."
"But first, I think," said Jarno, "you will once for all
renounce the stage, as you have no talent for it."
Our friend was struck: he had to curb himself, for Jarno's
harsh sentence had not a little wounded his self-love. "If
you convince me of that," replied he, forcing a smile, "you
will do me a service; though it is but a mournful service to
rouse one from a pleasing dream."
"Without enlarging on the subject," answered Jarno, "I
could merely wish you would go and fetch the children. The
rest will come in course."
"I am ready," answered Wilhelm: "I am restless, and
curious to see if I can get no farther knowledge of the boy:
I long to see the little girl, who has attached herself so
strangely to me."
It was agreed that he should lose no time in setting out.
Next day, he had prepared himself; his horse was saddled: he
only waited for Lothario, to take leave of him. At the
dinner hour, they went as usual to table, not waiting for the
master of the house. He did not come till late; and then
sat down by them.
"I could bet," said Jarno, "that today you have again
been making trial of your tenderness of heart; you have not
been able to withstand the curiosity to see your quondam
love."
" Guessed! " replied Lothario.
"Let us hear," said Jarno, " how it went: I long to know."
"I confess," replied Lothario, "the affair lay nearer my
heart than it reasonably ought: so I formed the resolution of
again riding out, and actually seeing the person, whose
renewed young image had affected me with such a pleasing
illusion. I alighted at some distance from the house, and
sent the horses to a side, that the children, who were playing
at the door, might not be disturbed. I entered the house;
by chance she met me just within the threshold; it was
herself; and I recognised her, notwithstanding the striking
change. She had grown stouter, and seemed to be larger:
her gracefulness was shaded by a look of staidness; her
vivacity had passed into a calm reflectiveness. Her head,
which she once bore so airily and freely, drooped a little;
slight furrows had been traced upon her brow.
"She cast down her eyes on seeing me; but no blush
announced any inward movement of the heart. I held out
my hand to her, she gave me hers: I inquired about her
husband, he was absent; about her children, she stept out
and called them; all came in and gathered round her.
Nothing is more charming than to see a mother with a child
upon her arm; nothing is more reverend than a mother
among many children. That I might say something, I asked
the name of the youngest. She desired me to walk in, and
see her father: I agreed; she introduced me to the room,
where everything was standing almost just as I had left it;
and what seemed stranger still, the fair cousin, her living
image, was sitting on the very seat behind the spinning-wheel,
where I had found my love so often in the self-same form.
A little girl, the very figure of her mother, had come after
us; and thus I stood in the most curious scene, between the
future and the past, as in a grove of oranges, where, within
a little circle, flowers and fruits are living, in successive stages
of their growth, beside each other. The cousin went away
to fetch us some refreshment; I gave the woman I had loved
so much my hand, and said to her: 'I feel a true joy in
seeing you again.' 'You are very good to say so,' answered
she: 'but I also can assure you I feel the highest joy. How
often have I wished to see you once more in my life! I have
wished it in moments, which I regarded as my last.' She
said this with a settled voice, without appearance of emotion,
with that natural air which of old delighted me so much.
The cousin returned; the father with her: and I leave you
to conceive with what feelings I remained, and with what I
came away."

CHAPTER 8

IN his journey to the town, our friend was thinking of the
lovely women whom he knew, or had heard of: their curious
fortunes, which contained so little happiness, were present
to him with a sad distinctness. "Ah!" cried he, "poor
Mariana! What shall I yet learn of thee? And thou
noble Amazon, glorious protecting spirit, to whom I owe so
much, whom I everywhere expect to meet, and nowhere see,
in what mournful circumstances may I find thee, shouldst
thou again appear before me !"
On his arrival in the town, there was not one of his acquaintances
at home: he hastened to the theatre; he supposed
they would be rehearsing. Here, however, all was still; the
house seemed empty; one little door alone was open. Passing
through it to the stage, he found Aurelia's ancient serving-maid,
employed in sewing linen for a new decoration: there
was barely light enough to let her work. Felix and Mignon
were sitting by her on the floor: they had a book between
them; and while Mignon read aloud, Felix was repeating all
the words, as if he too knew his letters, as if he too could read.
The children started up and ran to him: he embraced them
with the tenderest feelings, and brought them closer to the
woman. "Art thou the person," said he to her, with an
earnest voice, "from whom Aurelia received this child?"
She looked up from her work, and turned her face to him;
he saw her in full light; he started back in terror; it was old
Barbara.
"Where is Mariana?" cried he.
"Far from here," replied the crone.
"And Felix-- ?"
"Is the son of that unhappy, and too true and tenderhearted
girl! May you never feel what you have made us
suffer! May the treasure which I now deliver you, make you
as happy as he made us wretched! "
She arose to go away: Wilhelm held her fast. ., I mean
not to escape you," said she; "let me fetch a paper that will
make you glad and sorrowful."
She retired; and Wilhelm gazed upon the child with a
painful joy: he durst not reckon him his own. "He is
thine! " cried Mignon; "he is thine!" and pressed the child
to Wilhelm's knee.
Barbara came back, and handed him a letter. "Here are
Mariana's last words," said she.
"She is dead! " cried he.
"Dead," said the old woman. "I wish to spare you all
reproaches."
Astonished and confounded, Wilhelm broke up the letter;
but scarcely had he read the first words of it, when a bitter
grief took hold of him; he let the letter fall; and sank upon
a seat. Mignon hurried to him, trying to console him. In
the mean time, Felix had picked up the letter; he teased his
playmate till she yielded, till she knelt beside him, and read
it over. Felix repeated the words, and Wilhelm was compelled
to hear them twice. "If this sheet should ever reach
thee, then lament thy ill-starred friend. Thy love has caused
her death. The boy, whose birth I survive but a few days, is
thine: I die faithful to thee, much as appearances may be
against me: with thee I lost everything that bound me to
life. I die content; for they have assured me that the child
is healthy and will live. Listen to old Barbara; forgive her;
farewell, and forget me not."
What a painful, and yet to his comfort, half-enigmatic
letter! Its contents pierced through his heart, as the
children, stuttering and stammering, pronounced and repeated
them.
"There you have it now!" said the crone, not waiting till
he had recovered. "Thank Heaven that having lost so true
a love, you have still so fine a child remaining. Your grief
will be unequalled, when you learn how the poor good girl
stood faithful to you to the end; how miserable she became,
and what she sacrificed for your sake."
"Let me drain the cup of sorrow and of joy at once!" cried
Wilhelm. "Convince me, even persuade me that she was a
good girl, that she deserved respect as well as love; then leave
me to my grief for her irreparable loss."
"It is not yet time," said Barbara; "I have work to do, and
I would not we were seen together. Let it be a secret that
Felix is your son: I should have too much abuse to suffer
from the company, for having formerly deceived them.
Mignon will not betray us; she is good and close."
"I have known it long, and I said nothing," answered
Mignon. " How is it possible? " cried Barbara. " Whence? "
cried Wilhelm.
"The spirit told it me."
" Where? Where?"
"In the vault, when the old man drew his knife, it called
to me: 'Bring his father,' and I thought it must be thou."
"Who called to thee?" -
"I know not; in my heart, in my head, I was terrified; I
trembled, I prayed, then it called, and I understood it."
Wilhelm pressed her to his heart; recommended Felix to
her, and retired. He had not observed till then that she was
grown much paler and thinner than when he left her. Madam
Melina was the first acquaintance he met: she received him
in the friendliest manner. " 0, that you might find everything
among us as you wished!" exclaimed she.
"I doubt it," answered Wilhelm; "I do not expect it.
Confess that they have taken all their measures to dispense
with me."
"Why would you go away?" replied his friend.
"We cannot soon enough convince ourselves," said he,
"how very simply we may be dispensed with in the world.
What important personages we conceive ourselves to be!
We think that it is we alone who animate the circle we move
in; that, in our absence, life, nourishment and breath will
make a general pause: and, alas, the void which occurs is
scarcely remarked, so soon is it filled up again; nay, it is
often but the place, if not for something better, at least for
something more agreeable."
"And the sorrows of our friends we are not to take into
account? "
"For our friends, too, it is well, when they soon recover
their composure, when they say each to himself: There where
thou art, there where thou remainest, accomplish what thou
canst; be busy, be courteous, and let the present scene delight
thee."
On a narrower inquiry, he found what he had looked for;
the opera had been set up, and was exclusively attracting the
attention of the public. His parts had in the mean while
been distributed between Horatio and Laertes; and both of
them were in the habit of eliciting from the spectators
far more liberal applause than he had ever been enabled
to obtain.
Laertes entered, and Madam Melina cried: "Look you
here at this lucky fellow: he is soon to be a capitalist, or
Heaven knows what!" Wilhelm, in embracing him, discovered
that his coat was superfine: the rest of his apparel
was simple, but of the very best materials.
"Solve me the riddle!" cried our friend.
"You are still in time to learn," replied Laertes, "that
my running to and fro is now about to be repaid; that a
partner in a large commercial house is turning to advantage
my acquirements from books or observation, and allowing me
a share with him. I would give something, could I purchase
back my confidence in women: there is a pretty niece in the
house; and I see well enough that, if I pleased, I might soon
be a made man."
"You have not heard," said Frau Melina, "that a marriage
has already taken place among ourselves? Serlo is actually
wedded to the fair Elmira; her father would not tolerate their
secret correspondence."
They talked, in this manner, about many things that had
occurred while he was absent: nor was it difficult for him to
observe, that, according to the present temper and constitution
of the company, his dismissal had already taken place.
He impatiently expected Barbara, who had appointed him
to wait for her far in the night. She was to come when all
were sleeping; she required as many preparations as if she
had been the youngest maiden gliding in to her beloved.
Meanwhile he read, a hundred times, the letter she had given
him; read with unspeakable delight the word faithful in the
hand of his darling; with horror the announcement of her
death, whose approaches she appeared to view unmoved.
Midnight was past, when something rustled at the half-open
door, and Barbara came in with a little basket. "I am to
tell you the story of our woes," said she; "and I must believe
that you will sit unmoved at the recital; that you are waiting
for me but to satisfy your curiosity; that you will now, as you
did formerly, retire within your cold selfishness, while our
hearts are breaking. But look you here! Thus, on that
happy evening, did I bring you the bottle of champagne;
thus did I place the three glasses on the table: and as you
then began, with soft nursery tales, to cozen us and lull us
asleep, so will I now with stern truths instruct you and keep
you waking."
Wilhelm knew not what to say, when the old woman in
fact let go the cork, and filled the three glasses to the
brim.
"Drink!" cried she, having emptied at a draught her
foaming glass. "Drink, ere the spirit of it pass! This third
glass shall froth away untasted to the memory of my unhappy
Mariana. How red were her lips, when she then drank your
health! Ah, and now forever pale and cold! "
"Sibyl! Fury!" cried Wilhelm, springing up and striking
the table with his fist, "what evil spirit possesses thee and
drives thee? For what dost thou take me, that thou thinkest
the simplest narrative of Mariana's death and sorrows will not
harrow me enough, but usest these hellish arts to sharpen my
torment? If thy unsatiable greediness is such, that thou must
revel at the funeral table, drink and speak! I have loathed
thee from of old; and I cannot reckon Mariana guiltless while
I even look upon thee, her companion."
"Softly, mein herr!" replied the crone; "you shall not
ruffle me. Your debts to us are deep and dark: the railing
of a debtor does not anger one. But you are right: the
simplest narrative will punish yon sufficiently. Hear, then,
the struggle and the victory of Mariana striving to continue
yours."
"Continue mine?" cried Wilhelm: "what fable dost thou
mean to tell me ?"
"Interrupt me not," said she, "hear me, and then give
what belief you list: to me it is all one. Did you not, the
last night you were with us, find a letter in the room and take
it with you? "
"I found the letter after I had taken it with me: it was
lying in the neckerchief, which, in the warmth of my love, I
had seized and carried off'."
"What did the sheet contain?"
"The expectation of an angry lover to be better treated
on the next, than he had been on the preceding evening.
And that you kept your word to him, I need not be told; for
I saw him with my own eyes gliding from your house before
daybreak."
"You may have seen him: but what occurred within;
how sadly Mariana passed that night, how fretfully I passed
it, you are yet to learn. I will be altogether candid; I will
neither hide nor palliate the fact, that I persuaded Mariana
to yield to the solicitations of a certain Norberg: it was with
repugnance that she followed my advice, nay, that she even
heard it. He was rich; he seemed attached; I hoped he
would be constant. Soon after, he was forced to go upon his
journey, and Mariana became acquainted with you. What
had I then to abide! What to hinder, what to undergo!
'O!' cried she often, 'hadst thou spared my youth, my
innocence but four short weeks, I might have found a worthy
object of my love; I had then been worthy of him, and love
might have given, with a quiet conscience, what now I have
sold against my will.' She entirely abandoned herself to her
affection for you: I need not ask if you were happy. Over her
understanding I had an unbounded power; for I knew the
means of satisfying all her little inclinations: but over her
heart I had no control; for she never sanctioned what I did
for her, what I counselled her to do, when her heart said nay.
It was only to irresistible necessity that she would yield: but
ere long the necessity appeared to her extremely pressing. In
the first period of her youth, she had never known want: by
a complication of misfortunes her people lost their fortune;
the poor girl had been used to have a number of conveniences;
and upon her young spirit certain principles of honour had
been stamped, which made her restless, without much helping
her. She had not the smallest skill in worldly matters; she
was innocent in the strictest meaning of the word. She
had no idea that one could buy without paying: nothing
frightened her more than being in debt; she always rather
liked to give than take. This, and this alone, was what made
it possible, that she could be constrained to give herself
away, in order to get rid of various little debts which weighed
upon her."
"And couldst not thou," cried Wilhelm in an angry tone,
"have saved her?"
"O yes!" replied the beldame; "with hunger and need;
with sorrow and privation: but for this I was not disposed."
"Abominable, base procuress! So thou hast sacrificed
the hapless creature? Offered her up to thy throat, to thy
insatiable maw?"
"It were better to compose yourself and cease your reviling,"
said the dame. "If you will revile, go to your high noble
houses: there you will meet with many a mother full of
anxious cares to find out for some lovely, heavenly maiden
the most odious of men, provided he be the richest. See the
poor creature shivering and faltering before her fate; and
nowhere finding consolation, till some more experienced female
lets her understand, that by marriage she acquires the right,
in future, to dispose of her heart and person as she pleases."
"Peace!" cried Wilhelm: "dost thou think that one
crime can be the excuse of another? To thy story, without
farther observations! "
"Do you listen then, without blaming! Mariana became
yours against my will. In this adventure at least I have
nothing to reproach myself with. Norberg returned; he
made haste to visit Mariana: she received him coldly and
angrily; would not even admit him to a kiss. I employed all
my art in apologising for her conduct; gave him to understand
that her confessor had awakened her conscience; that so long
as conscientious scruples lasted one was bound to respect them.
I at last so far succeeded that he went away; I promising to
do my utmost for him. He was rich and rude; but there
was a touch of goodness in him, and he loved Mariana without
limit. He promised to be patient; and I laboured with
the greatest ardour not to try him too far. With Mariana I
had a stubborn contest: I persuaded her, nay, I may call it
forced her, by the threat of leaving her, to write to Norberg
and invite him for the night. You came, and by chance
picked up his answer in the neckerchief. Your presence broke
my game. For scarcely were you gone, when she anew began
her lamentation: she swore she would not be unfaithful to
you; she was so passionate, so frantic, that I could not help
sincerely pitying her. In the end, I promised, that for this
night also, I would pacify her lover, and send him off, under
some pretence or other. I entreated her to go to bed; but
she did not seem to trust me; she kept on her clothes, and at
last fell asleep, without undressing, agitated and exhausted
with weeping as she was.
"Norberg came: representing in the blackest hues her
conscientious agonies and her repentance, I endeavoured to
retain him: he wished to see her, and I went into the room to
prepare her; he followed me, and both of us at once came
forward to her bed. She awoke; sprang wildly up, and tore
herself from our arms: she conjured and begged, she entreated,
threatened and declared she would not yield. She was improvident
enough to let fall some words about the true state
of her affections; which poor Norberg had to understand in a
spiritual sense. At length he left her, and she locked her
door. I kept him long with me, and talked with him about
her situation: I told him that she was with child; that, poor
girl, she should be humoured. He was so delighted with his
fatherhood, with his prospect of a boy, that he granted everything
she wished; he promised rather to set out and travel
for a time, than vex his dear, and injure her by these internal
troubles. With such intentions, at an early hour he glided
out; and if you, mein herr, stood sentry by our house, there
was nothing wanting to your happiness, but to have looked
into the bosom of your rival, whom you thought so favoured
and so fortunate, and whose appearance drove you to despair."
"Art thou speaking truth?" said Wilhelm.
"True," said the crone, "as I still hope to drive you to
despair.
"Yes, certainly you would despair, if I could rightly paint
to you the following morning. How cheerfully did she awake;
how kindly did she call me in; how warmly thank me, how
cordially press me to her bosom! 'Now,' said she, stepping up
to her mirror with a smile, 'can I again take pleasure in
myself, and in my looks, since once more I am my own, am
his, my one beloved friend's. How sweet is it to conquer!
How I thank thee for taking charge of me; for having turned
thy prudence and thy understanding, once, at least, to my
advantage! Stand by me, and devise the means of making
me entirely happy! '
"I assented, would not irritate her; I flattered her hopes,
and she caressed me tenderly. If she retired but a moment
from the window, I was made to stand and watch; for you, of
course, would pass; for she at least would see you. Thus did
we spend the restless day. At night, at the accustomed hour,
we looked for you with certainty. I was already out waiting
at the staircase; I grew weary, and came in to her again.
With surprise, I found her in her military dress: she looked
cheerful, and charming beyond what I had ever seen her. 'Do
I not deserve,' said she, 'to appear tonight in man's apparel?
Have I not struggled bravely? My dearest shall see me as he
saw me for the first time. I will press him as tenderly and
with greater freedom to my heart than then; for am not I his
much more than I was then, when a noble resolution had not
freed me? But,' added she, after pausing for a little, 'I have
not yet entirely won him; I must still risk the uttermost, in
order to be worthy, to be certain of possessing him; I must
disclose the whole to him, discover to him all my state, then
leave it to himself to keep or to reject me. This scene I am
preparing for my friend, preparing for myself: and were his
feelings capable of casting me away, I should then belong
again entirely to myself; my punishment would bring me consolation,
I would suffer all that fate could lay upon me.'
"With such purposes and hopes, mein herr, this lovely girl
expected you: you came not. O! how shall I describe the
state of watching and of hope? I see thee still before me ;
with what love, what heartfelt love, thou spokest of the man,
whose cruelty thou hadst not yet experienced!"
"Good, dear Barbara!" cried Wilhelm, springing up, and
seizing the old woman by the hand, "we have had enough of
mummery and preparation! Thy indifferent, thy calm, contented
tone betrays thee. Give me back my Mariana! She
is living, she is near at hand. Not in vain didst thou choose
this late lonely hour to visit me: not in vain hast thou
prepared me by thy most delicious narrative. Where is she?
Where hast thou hidden her? I believe all, I will promise to
believe all, so thou but show her to me, so thou give her to
my arms. The shadow of her I have seen already: let me
clasp her once more to my bosom. I will kneel before her, I
will entreat forgiveness; I will congratulate her upon her
victory over herself and thee; I will bring my Felix to her.
Come! where hast thou concealed her? Leave her, leave me
no longer in uncertainty! Thy object is attained. Where
hast thou hidden her? Let me light thee with this candle,
let me once more see her fair and kindly face!"
He had pulled old Barbara from her chair: she stared at
him; tears started into her eyes, wild pangs of grief took hold
of her. " What luckless error," cried she, "leaves you still a
moment's hope? Yes, I have hidden her; but beneath the
ground: neither the light of the sun, nor any social taper shall
again illuminate her kindly face. Take the boy Felix to her
grave, and say to him: 'There lies thy mother, whom thy
father doomed unheard.' The heart of Mariana beats no
longer with impatience to behold you; not in a neighbouring
chamber is she waiting the conclusion of my narrative, or
fable; the dark chamber has received her, to which no bridegroom
follows, from which none comes to meet a lover."
She cast herself upon the floor beside a chair, and wept
bitterly. Wilhelm now, for the first time, felt entirely convinced
that Mariana was no more; his emotions it is easy to
conceive. The old woman rose: "I have nothing more to tell
you," cried she, and threw a packet on the table. "Here are
some writings that will put your cruelty to shame: peruse
these sheets with unwet eyes, if you can." She glided softly
out. Our friend had not the heart to open the pocket-book
that night: he had himself presented it to Mariana; he knew
that she had carefully preserved in it every letter he had sent
her. Next morning he prevailed upon himself: he untied the
ribbon; little notes came forward written with pencil in his
own hand; and recalled to him every situation, from the first
day of their graceful acquaintance to the last of their stern
separation. In particular, it was not without acute anguish,
that he read a small series of billets, which had been addressed
to himself, and to which, as he saw from their tenor, Werner
had refused admittance.
"No one of my letters has yet penetrated to thee; my
entreaties, my prayers have not reached thee; was it thyself
that gave these cruel orders? Shall I never see thee more?
Yet again I attempt it: I entreat thee, come, 0 come! I
ask not to retain thee, if I might but once more press thee to
my heart."
"When I used to sit beside thee, holding thy hands, looking
in thy eyes; and with the full heart of love and trust to call
thee, 'Dear, dear good Wilhelm!' it would please thee so,
that I had to repeat it over and over. I repeat it once again:
, Dear, dear good Wilhelm! Be good as thou wert; come,
and leave me not to perish in my wretchedness.'''
"Thou regardest me as guilty: I am so; but not as thou
thinkest. Come, let me have this single comfort to be altogether
known to thee; let what will befall me afterwards."
"Not for my sake alone, for thy own too, I beg of thee to
come. I feel the intolerable pains thou art suffering, whilst
thou tliest from me. Come, that our separation may be less
cruel! Perhaps I was never worthy of thee till this moment,
when thou art repelling me to boundless woe."
"By all that is holy, by all that can touch a human heart,
I call upon thee! It involves the safety of a soul, it involves
a life, two lives, one of which must ever be dear to thee. This,
too, thy suspicion will discredit: yet I will speak it in the hour
of death: the child which I carry under my heart is thine.
Since I began to love thee, no other man has even pressed my
hand: O that thy love, that thy uprightness, had been the
companions of my youth! "
"Thou wilt not hear me? I must even be silent. But these
letters will not die; perhaps they will speak to thee, when the
shroud is covering my lips, and the voice of thy repentance
cannot reach my ear. Through my weary life, to the last
moment, this will be my only comfort: that though I cannot
call myself blameless, towards thee I am free from blame."
Wilhelm could proceed no farther: he resigned himself
entirely to his sorrow, which became still more afflicting,
when, Laertes entering, he was obliged to hide his feelings.
Laertes showed a purse of ducats; and began to count and
reckon them, assuring Wilhelm that there could be nothing
finer in the world than for a man to feel himself on the way
to wealth; that nothing then could trouble or detain him.
'Wilhelm bethought him of his dream, and smiled; but at the
same time, he remembered with a shudder, that in his vision
Mariana had forsaken him, to follow his departed father, and
that both of them at last had moved about the garden, hovering
in the air like spirits.
Laertes forced him from his meditations; he brought him
to a coffee-house, where, immediately on Wilhelm's entrance,
several persons gathered round him. They were men who had
applauded his performance on the stage: they expressed their
joy at meeting him; lamenting that, as they had heard, he
meant to leave the theatre. They spoke so reasonably and
kindly of himself and his acting, of his talent and their hopes
from it, that Wilhelm, not without emotion, cried at last:
"O how infinitely precious would such sympathy have been to
me some months ago! How instructive, how encouraging!
Never had I turned my mind so totally from the concerns of
the stage, never had I gone so far as to despair of the public."
"So far as this," said an elderly man who now stept
forward, "we should never go. The public is large; true
judgment, true feeling, are not quite so rare as one believes;
only the artist ought not to demand an unconditional approval
of his work. Unconditional approval is always the least
valuable; conditional you gentlemen are not content with.
In life, as in art, I know well, a person must take counsel with
himself when he purposes to do or to produce anything: but
when it is produced or done, he must listen with attention
to the voices of a number, and with a little practice, out of
these many votes he will be able to collect a perfect judgment.
The few, who could themselves pronounce one, for the most
part hold their peace."
"This they should not do," said Wilhelm. "I have often
heard people, who themselves kept silence in regard to works
of merit, complaining and lamenting that silence was kept."
"Today, then, we will speak aloud," cried a young man:
"You must dine with us, and we will try to payoff a little
of the debt we have owed to you, and sometimes also to our
good Aurelia."
This invitation Wilhelm courteously declined: he went to
Frau Melina, whom he wished to speak with on the subject of
the children, as he meant to take them from her.
Old Barbara's secret was not too religiously observed by
him. He betrayed himself so soon as he again beheld the
lovely Felix. "O my child!" cried he; "My dear child!"
He lifted him, and pressed him to his heart. " Father! what
hast thou brought for me?" cried the child. Mignon looked
at both, as if she meant to warn them not to blab.
"What new phenomenon is this?" said Frau Melina. They
got the children sent away; and Wilhelm, thinking that he
did not owe old Barbara the strictest secrecy, disclosed the
whole affair to Frau Melina. She viewed him with a smile.
"O! these credulous men!" exclaimed she. "If anything
is lying in their path, it is so easy to impose it on them;
while in other cases they will neither look to the right nor
left, and can value nothing, which they have not previously
impressed with the stamp of an arbitrary passion!" She
sighed, against her will. If our friend had not been altogether
blind, he must have noticed in her conduct an affection for
him which had never been entirely subdued.
He now spoke with her about the children; how he
purposed to keep Felix with him, and to place Mignon in
the country. Madame Melina, though sorry at the thought
of parting with them, said the plan was good, nay, absolutely
necessary. Felix was becoming wild with her; and Mignon
seemed to need fresh air and other occupation; she was sickly,
and was not yet recovering.
"Let it not mislead you," added Frau Melina, " that I have
lightly hinted doubts about the boy's being really yours. The
old woman, it is true, deserves but little confidence; yet a
person who invents untruths for her advantage may likewise
speak the truth when truths are profitable to her. Aurelia
she had hoodwinked to believe that Felix was Lothario's son;
and it is a property of us women that we cordially like the
children of our lovers, though we do not know the mothers, or
even hate them from the heart." Felix came jumping in; she
pressed him to her with a tenderness which was not usual
to her.
Wilhelm hastened home, and sent for Barbara; who, however,
would not undertake to meet him till the twilight. He
received her angrily. "There is nothing in the world more
shameful," said he, "than establishing oneself on lies and
fables. Already thou hast done much mischief with them;
and now when thy word could decide the fortune of my life,
now must I stand dubious, not venturing to call the child my
own, though to possess him without scruple would form my
highest happiness. I cannot look upon thee, scandalous
creature, without hatred and contempt;"
"Your conduct, if I speak with candour," said the old
woman, "appears to me intolerable. Even if Felix were not
yours, he is the fairest and the loveliest child in nature; one
might purchase him at any price, to have him always near one.
Is he not worthy your acceptance? Do not I deserve for my
care, for the labour I have had with him, a little pension for
the small remainder of my life? O, you gentlemen who know
no want! It is well for you to talk of truth and honour: but
how the miserable being whose smallest necessity is unprovided
for, who sees in her perplexities no friend, no help, no counsel;
how she is to press through the crowd of selfish men, and to
starve in silence, you are seldom at the trouble to consider.
Did you read Mariana's letters? They are the letters she
wrote to you at that unhappy season. It was in vain that I
attempted to approach you to deliver you these sheets: your
savage brother-in-law had so begirt you that craft and
cunning were of no avail; and at last, when he began to
threaten me and Mariana with imprisonment, I had then to
cease my efforts, and renounce all hope. Does not everything
agree with what I told you? And does not Norberg's letter
put the story altogether out of doubt?"
"What letter?" asked he.
"Did you not find it in the pocket-book?" said Barbara.
" I have not yet read all of them."
"Give me the pocket - book: on that paper everything
depends. Norberg's luckless billet caused this sorrowful perplexity;
another from his hand may loose the knots, so far as
aught may still depend upon unravelling them." She took a
letter from the book; Wilhelm recognised that odious writing;
he constrained himself and read:
"Tell me, girl, how hast thou got such power over me? I
would not have believed that a goddess herself could make
a sighing lover of me. Instead of hastening towards me with
open arms, thou shrankest back from me: one might have
taken it for aversion. Is it fair that I should spend the night
with old Barbara, sitting on a trunk, and but two doors
between me and my pretty Mariana? It is too bad, I tell
thee! I have promised to allow thee time to think; not
to press thee unrelentingly; I could run mad at every wasted
quarter of an hour. Have not I given thee gifts according to
my power? Dost thou still doubt of my love? What wilt thou
have? Do but tell me: thou shalt want for nothing. Would
the Devil had the priest that put such stuff into thy head!
Why didst thou go to such a churl? There are plenty of them
that allow young people somewhat. Enough! I tell thee
things must alter: in two days I must have an answer; for
I am to leave the town; and if thou become not kind and
friendly to me, thou shalt never see me more.... "
In this style, the letter spun itself to great length; turning,
to Wilhelm's painful satisfaction, still about the same point;
and testifying for the truth of the account which he had got
from Barbara. A second letter clearly proved, that Mariana
in the sequel also had maintained her purpose; and it was
not without heartfelt grief that out of these and other papers
Wilhelm learned the history of the unlucky girl to the very
hour of her death.
Barbara had gradually tamed the rude Norberg, by announcing
to him Mariana's death, and leaving him in the
belief that Felix was his son. Once or twice he had sent
her money; which, however, she retained for herself, having
talked Aurelia into taking charge of the child. But unhappily
this secret source of riches did not long endure.
Norberg by a life of riot had impaired his fortune; and by
repeated love-affairs his heart was rendered callous to his
supposed first-born.
Probable as all this seemed, beautifully as it all agreed,
Wilhelm did not venture to give way to joy. He still appeared
to dread a present coming from his evil Genius.
"Your jealous fears," said Barbara, who guessed his mood
of mind, "time alone can cure. Look upon the child as a
stranger one; take stricter heed of him on that account;
observe his gifts, his temper, his capacities; and if you do not,
by and by, discover in him the exact resemblance of yourself,
your eyes must certainly be bad. Of this I can assure you,
were I a man, no one should foist a child on me: but it is a
happiness for women, that in these cases men are not so quick
of sight."
These things over, Wilhelm and Barbara parted; he was
to take Felix with him; she to carry Mignon to Theresa, and
afterwards to live in any place she pleased, upon a small
annuity which he engaged to settle on her.
He sent for Mignon, to prepare her for the new arrangement.
"Master!" said she," keep me with thee: it will do
me good and do me ill."
He told her that, as she was now grown up, there should be
something farther done for her instruction. " I am sufficiently
instructed," answered she, " to love and grieve."
He directed her attention to her health, and showed that
she required continuous care, and the direction of a good
physician. "Why care for me," said she," when there are so
many things to care for?"
After he had laboured greatly to persuade her that he could
not take her with him, that he would conduct her to a place
where he might often see her, she appeared as if she had not
heard a word of it. "Thou wishest not to have me with
thee?" said she. "Perhaps it is better; send me to the old
Harper; the poor man is lonely where he is."
Wilhelm tried to show her that the old man was in comfortable
circumstances. "Every hour I long for him," replied the
child.
"I did not see," said Wilhelm, "that thou wert so fond of
him when he was living with us."
"I was frightened for him, when he was awake; I could not
bear his eyes; but when he was asleep, I liked so well to sit
by him! I used to chase the flies from him; I could not look
at him enough. O! he has stood by me in fearful moments;
none knows how much I owe him. Had I known the road, I
should have run away to him already."
Wilhelm set the circumstances in detail before her; he said,
that she had always been a reasonable child, and that on this
occasion also she might do as she desired. "Reason is cruel,"
said she; "the heart is better; I will go as thou requirest,
only leave me Felix."
After much discussion, her opinion was not altered; and
Wilhelm at last resolved on giving Barbara both the children,
and sending them together to Theresa. This was the easier
for him, as he still feared to look upon the lovely Felix as his
son. He would take him on his arm, and carry him about:
the child delighted to be held before the glass; Wilhelm also
liked, though unavowedly, to hold him there, and seek resemblances
between their faces. If for a moment any striking
similarity appeared between them, he would press the boy in
his arms; and then at once, affrighted by the thought that he
might be mistaken, he would set him down, and let him run
away. "O!" cried he, " if I were to appropriate this priceless
treasure, and it were then to be snatched from me, I should be
the most unhappy man on earth !"
The children had been sent away; and Wilhelm was about
to take a formal leave of the theatre, when he felt that in
reality he had already taken leave, and needed but to go.
Mariana was no more; his two guardian spirits had departed,
and his thoughts hied after them. The fair boy hovered like
a beautiful uncertain vision in the eyes of his imagination: he
saw him, at Theresa's hand, running through the fields and
woods, forming his mind and person, in the free air, beside a
free and cheerful foster-mother. Theresa had become far
dearer to him since he figured her in company with Felix.
Even while sitting in the theatre, he thought of her with
smiles; he was almost in her own case, the stage could now
produce no more illusion in him.
Serlo and Melina were excessively polite to him, when they
observed that he was making no pretensions to his former
place. A portion of the public wished to see him act again:
this he could not accede to; nor in the company did anyone
desire it, saving Frau Melina.
Of this friend he now took leave; he was moved at parting
with her; he exclaimed: "Why do we presume to promise
anything depending on an unknown future? The most slight
engagement we have not power to keep; far less a purpose of
importance. I feel ashamed in recollecting what I promised
to you all, in that unhappy night, when we were lying
plundered, sick and wounded, crammed into a miserable tavern.
How did misfortune elevate my courage; what a treasure did
I think I had found in my good wishes! And of all this not a
jot has taken effect. I leave you as your debtor: and my
comfort is, that our people prized my promise at its actual
worth, and never more took notice of it."
"Be not unjust to yourself," said Frau Melina: "if no one
acknowledges what you have done for us, I at least will not
forget it. Our whole condition had been different, if you had
not been with us. But it is with our purposes as with our
wishes. They seem no longer what they were, when they have
been accomplished, been fulfilled; and we think we have done,
have wished for nothing."
"You shall not, by your friendly statement," answered
Wilhelm, "put my conscience to peace. I shall always look
upon myself as in your debt."
"Nay, perhaps you are so," said Madam Melina; "but not
in the manner you suppose. We reckon it a shame to fail in
the fulfilment of a promise we have uttered with the voice.
O my friend, a worthy person by his very presence promises us
much! The confidence which he elicits, the inclination he
inspires, the hopes which he awakens are unbounded: he is,
and he continues, in our debt, although he does not know it.
Fare you well! If our external circumstances have been
happily repaired by your direction, there is a void produced by
your departure, in my mind, which will not be so easily filled
up again."
Before leaving the city, Wilhelm wrote a copious sheet to
Werner. He had before exchanged some letters; but, not
being able to agree, they had at length ceased to write. Now,
however, Wilhelm had again approximated to his brother; he
was just about to do what Werner had so earnestly desired.
He could say: 'I am abandoning the stage; I mean to join
myself with men whose intercourse, in every sense, must lead
me to a sure and suitable activity.' He inquired about his
property: and it now seemed strange to him, that he had
never for so long a time disturbed himself about it. He knew
not that it is the manner of all persons who attach importance
to their inward cultivation, altogether to neglect their outward
circumstances. This had been Wilhelm's case: he now for
the first time seemed to notice, that to work effectively, he
stood in need of outward means. He entered on his journey,
this time, in a temper altogether different from that of last;
the prospects he had in view were charming; he hoped to meet
with something cheerful by the way.

CHAPTER 9

ON returning to Lothario's Castle, Wilhelm found that
changes had occurred. Jarno met him with the tidings, that
Lothario's uncle being dead, the Baron had himself set out to
take possession of the heritage. ., You come in time," said
he, "to help the Abbe and me. Lothario has commissioned
us to purchase some extensive properties of land in this
quarter: he has long contemplated the bargain, and we have
now got cash and credit just in season. The only point which
made us hesitate was, that a distant trading house had also
views upon the same estates; at length we have determined
to make common cause with it, as otherwise we might outbid
each other without need or reason. The trader seems to be a
prudent man. At present we are making estimates and calculations:
we must also settle economically how the lands are to
be shared, so that each of us may have a fine estate." The
papers were submitted to our friend; the fields, meadows,
houses, were inspected; and though Jarno and the Abbe
seemed to understand the matter fully, Wilhelm could not
help desiring that Theresa had been with them
In these labours several days were spent, and Wilhelm had
scarcely time to tell his friends of his adventures and his
dubious fatherhood. This incident, to him so interesting,
they treated with indifference and levity.
He had noticed, that they frequently in confidential conversation,
while at table or in walks, would suddenly stop
short, and give their words another application, thereby
showing, at least, that they had on the anvil many things
which were concealed from him. He bethought him of what
Lydia had said; and he put the greater faith in it, as one
entire division of the Castle had always been inaccessible to
him. The way to certain galleries, particularly to the ancient
tower, with which externally he was so well acquainted, he
had often sought, and hitherto in vain.
One evening Jarno said to him: "We can now consider
you as ours, with such security, that it were unjust if we did
not introduce you deeper into our mysteries. It is right
that a man, when he first enters upon life, should think
highly of himself, should determine to attain many eminent
distinctions, should endeavour to make all things possible;
but when his education has proceeded to a certain pitch, it
is advantageous for him that he learn to lose himself among
a mass of men, that he learn to live for the sake of others,
and to forget himself in an activity prescribed by duty. It
is then that he first becomes acquainted with himself; for it
is conduct alone that compares us with others. You shall
soon see what a curious little world is at your very hand, and
how well you are known in it. Tomorrow morning before
sunrise be dressed and ready."
Jarno came at the appointed hour: he led our friend
through certain known and unknown chambers of the Castle,
then through several galleries; till at last they reached a
large old door, strongly framed with iron. Jarno knocked;
the door went up a little, so as to admit one person. Jarno
introduced our friend, and did not follow him. Wilhelm
found himself in an obscure and narrow stand: all was dark
round him: and when he tried to go a step forward, he found
himself hemmed in. A voice not altogether strange to him
cried: "Enter!" and he now discovered that the sides of the
place where he was were merely hung with tapestry, through
which a feeble light glimmered in to him. "Enter!" cried
the voice again: he raised the tapestry and entered.
The hall, in which he now stood, appeared to have at one
time been a chapel; instead of the altar he observed a large
table raised some steps above the floor, and covered with a
green cloth hanging over it. On the top of this, a drawn
curtain seemed as if it hid a picture; on the sides were spaces
beautifully worked, and covered-in with fine wire netting, like
the shelves of a library; only here, instead of books, a multitude
of rolls had been inserted. Nobody was in the hall, the
rising sun shone through the window, right on Wilhelm, and
kindly saluted him as he came in.
"Be seated!" cried a voice, which seemed to issue from
the altar. Wilhelm placed himself in a small arm-chair, which
stood against the tapestry where he had entered. There was
no seat but this in the room; "Wilhelm had to be content
with it, though the morning radiance dazzled him; the chair
stood fast, he could only keep his hand before his eyes.
But now the curtain, which hung down above the altar,
went asunder with a gentle rustling; and showed, within a
picture-frame, a dark empty aperture. A man stept forward
from it, in a common dress; saluted the astonished looker-on,
and said to him: "Do you not recognise me? Among the
many things which you would like to know, do you feel no
curiosity to learn where your grandfather's collection of
pictures and statues are at present? Have you forgot the
painting which you once so much delighted in? Where,
think you, is the sick king's son now languishing?"
Wilhelm, without difficulty, recognised the stranger whom,
in that important night, he had conversed with at the inn.
"Perhaps," continued his interrogator, "we should now be
less at variance in regard to Destiny and Character."
Wilhelm was about to answer, when the curtain quickly
flew together. " Strange!" said Wilhelm to himself: "Can
chance occurrences have a connexion? Is what we call
Destiny but Chance? Where is my grandfather's collection;
and why am I reminded of it in these solemn moments?"
He had not leisure to pursue his thoughts: the curtain
once more parted; and a person stood before him, whom he
instantly perceived to be the country clergyman, that had
attended him and his companions on that pleasure sail of
theirs. He had a resemblance to the Abbe, though he seemed
to be a different person. With a cheerful countenance, in a
tone of dignity, he said: "To guard from error, is not the
instructor's duty; but to lead the erring pupil; nay, to let
him quaff his error in deep satiating draughts, this is the
instructor's wisdom. He who only tastes his error, will long
dwell with it, will take delight in it as in a singular felicity:
while he who drains it to the dregs will, if he be not crazy,
find it out." The curtain closed again; and Wilhelm had a
little time to think. "What error can he mean," said he
within himself, "but the error which has clung to me through
my whole life; that I sought for cultivation where it was not
to be found; that I fancied I could form a talent in me, while
without the smallest gift for it."
The curtain dashed asunder faster than before; an officer
advanced, and said in passing: "Learn to know the men who
may be trusted!" The curtain closed; and Wilhelm did
not long consider, till he found this officer to be the one who
had embraced him in the Count's park, and had caused his
taking Jarno for a crimp. How that stranger had come
hither, who he was, were riddles to our friend. "If so many
men," cried he, "took interest in thee, knew thy way of life,
and how it should be carried on, why did they not conduct
thee with greater strictness, with greater seriousness? Why
did they favour thy silly sports, instead of drawing thee away
from them?"
"Dispute not with us!" cried a voice: "Thou art saved,
thou art on the way to the goal. None of thy follies wilt
thou repent; none wilt thou wish to repeat; no luckier
destiny can be allotted to a man." The curtain went asunder;
and in full armour stood the old King of Denmark in the
space. "I am thy father's spirit," said the figure, "and I
depart in comfort, since my wishes for thee are accomplished,
in a higher sense than I myself contemplated. Steep regions
cannot be surmounted save by winding paths; on the plain,
straight roads conduct from place to place. Farewell, and
think of me, when thou enjoyest what I have provided for
thee."
Wilhelm was exceedingly amazed and struck: he thought
it was his father's voice; and yet in truth it was not: the
present and the past alike confounded and perplexed him.
He had not meditated long, when the Abbe came to view,
and placed himself behind the green table. " Come hither!"
cried he to his marvelling friend. He went, and mounted up
the steps. On the green cloth lay a little roll. "Here is
your indenture," said the Abbe: "take it to heart; it is of
weighty import." Wilhelm lifted, opened it, and read:
INDENTURE.
Art is long, life short, judgment difficult, opportunity
transient. To act is easy, to think is hard; to act according
to our thought is troublesome. Every beginning is cheerful;
the threshold is the place of expectation. The boy stands
astonished, his impressions guide him; he learns sportfully,
seriousness comes on him by surprise. Imitation is born with
us; what should be imitated is not easy to discover. The
excellent is rarely found, more rarely valued. The height
charms us, the steps to it do not: with the summit in our
eye, we love to walk along the plain. It is but a part of art
that can be taught; the artist needs it all. Who knows it
half, speaks much, and is always wrong; who knows it wholly,
inclines to act, and speaks seldom or late. The former have
no secrets and no force: the instruction they can give is like
baked bread, savoury and satisfying for a single day; but
flour cannot be sown and seed-corn ought not to be ground.
Words are good, but they are not the best. The best is
not to be explained by words. The spirit in which we act is
the highest matter. Action can be understood and again
represented by the spirit alone. No one knows what he is
doing, while he acts aright; but of what is wrong we are
always conscious. Whoever works with symbols only, is a
pedant, a hypocrite, or a bungler. There are many such,
and they like to be together. Their babbling detains the
scholar: their obstinate mediocrity vexes even the best. The
instruction which the true artist gives us, opens the mind;
for where words fail him, deeds speak. The true scholar
learns from the known to unfold the unknown, and approaches
more and more to being a master.
"Enough!" cried the Abbe; "the rest in due time. Now,
look round you among these cases."
Wilhelm went, and read the titles of the rolls. With
astonishment, he found Lothario's Apprenticeship, Jarno's
Apprenticeship, and his own Apprenticeship placed there, with
many others whose names he did not know.
"May I hope to cast a look into these rolls?"
"In this chamber there is now nothing hid from you."
"May I put a question?"
"Without scruple; and you may expect a positive reply,
if it concerns a matter which is nearest your heart, and ought
to be so."
"Good then! Ye marvellous sages, whose sight has pierced
so many secrets, can you tell me whether Felix is in truth my
son? "
"Hail to you for this question!" cried the Abbe, clapping
hands for joy. "Felix is your son! By the holiest that
lies hid among us, I swear to you, Felix is your son; nor, in
our opinion, was the mother that is gone unworthy of you.
Receive the lovely child from our hands; turn round, and
venture to be happy."
Wilhelm heard a noise behind him: he turned round, and
saw a child's face peeping archly through the tapestry at the
end of the room; it was Felix. The boy playfully hid
himself, so soon as he was noticed. "Come forward!" cried
the Abbe; he came running; his father rushed towards him,
took him in his arms, and pressed him to his heart. " Yes!
I feel it," cried he, "thou art mine! What a gift of Heaven
have I to thank my friends for! Whence, or how, comest
thou, my child, at this important moment? "
"Ask not," said the Abbe. "Hail to thee, young man!
Thy Apprenticeship is done; Nature has pronounced thee
free."

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