Wilhelm Meister's Apprenticeship and Travels

“Permit me one question,” said Wilhelm: “as you have set up the life of this divine Man for a pattern and example, have you likewise selected his sufferings, his death, as a model of exalted patience?” “Undoubtedly we have,” replied the eldest. “Of this we make no secret; but we draw a veil over those sufferings, even because we reverence them so highly. We hold it a damnable audacity to bring forth that torturing cross and the Holy One who suffers on it, or to expose them to the light of the sun, which hid its face when a reckless world forced such a sight on it, to take these mysterious secrets, in which the divine depth of sorrow lies hid, and play with them, fondle them, trick them out, and rest not till the most reverend of all solemnities appears vulgar and paltry. Let so much, for the present, suffice to put your mind at peace respecting your son, and to convince you, that, on meeting him again, you will find him trained, more or less, in one department or another, but at least in a proper way, and, at all events, not wavering, perplexed, and unstable.” Wilhelm still lingered, looking at the pictures in this entrance-hall, and wishing to get explanation of their meaning. “This, too,” said the eldest, “we must still owe you for a twelvemonth. The instruction which, in the interim, we give the children, no stranger is allowed to witness: then, however, come to us; and you will hear what our best speakers think it serviceable to make public on these matters.”

Shortly after this conversation a knocking was heard at the little gate. The overseer of last night announced himself; he had brought out Wilhelm’s horse: and so our friend took leave of the Three, who, as he set out, consigned him to the overseer with these words: “This man is now numbered among the trusted, and thou understandest what thou hast to tell him in answer to his questions; for, doubtless, he still wishes to be informed on much that he has seen and heard while here: purpose and circumstance are known to thee.” Wilhelm had, in fact, some more questions on his mind; and these he erelong put into words. As they rode along they were saluted by the children as on the preceding evening; but to-day, though rarely, he now and then observed a boy who did not pause in his work to salute the overseer, but let him pass unheeded. Wilhelm asked the cause of this, and what such an exception meant. His companion answered, “It is full of meaning, for it is the highest punishment we inflict on our pupils: they are declared unworthy to show reverence, and obliged to exhibit themselves as rude and uncultivated natures; but they do their utmost to get free of this situation, and in general adapt themselves with great rapidity to any duty. Should a young creature, on the other hand, obdurately make no attempt at return and amendment, he is then sent back to his parents with a brief but pointed statement of his case. Whoever cannot suit himself to the regulations must leave the district where they are in force.”

Another circumstance excited Wilhelm’s curiosity to-day as it had done yesterday, - the variety of color and shape apparent in the dress of the pupils. Hereby no gradation could be indicated; for children who saluted differently were sometimes clothed alike, and others agreeing in salutation differed in apparel. Wilhelm inquired the reason of this seeming contradiction. “It will be explained,” said the other, “when I tell you, that, by this means, we endeavor to find out the children’s several characters. With all our general strictness and regularity, we allow in this point a certain latitude of choice. Within the limits of our own stores of cloths and garnitures the pupils are permitted to select what color they please; and so, likewise, within moderate limits, in regard to shape and cut. Their procedure in these matters we accurately note; for, by the color, we discover their turn of thinking; by the cut, their turn of acting. However, a decisive judgment in this is rendered difficult by one peculiar property of human nature, - by the tendency to imitate, the inclination to unite with something. It is very seldom that a pupil fancies any dress that has not been already there: for most part, they select something known, something which they see before their eyes. Yet this also we find worth observing: by such external circumstances they declare themselves of one party or another; they unite with this or that; and thus some general features of their characters are indicated; we perceive whither each tends, what example he follows.

“We have had cases where the dispositions of our children verged to generality, where one fashion threatened to extend over all, and any deviation from it to dwindle into the state of exception. Such a turn of matters we endeavor softly to stop: we let our stores run out; this and that sort of stuff, this and that sort of decoration, is no longer to be had: we introduce something new and attractive; by bright colors, and short, smart shape, we allure the lively; by grave shadings, by commodious, many-folded make, the thoughtful, - and thus, by degrees, restore the equilibrium. “For to uniform we are altogether disinclined: it conceals the character, and, more than any other species of distortion, withdraws the peculiarities of children from the eye of their superiors.” Amid this and other conversation, Wilhelm reached the border of the province, and this at the point where, by the direction of his antiquarian friend, he was to leave it, to pursue his next special object. At parting, it was now settled with the overseer, that, after the space of a twelvemonth, Wilhelm should return, when the grand triennial festival was to be celebrated, on which occasion all the parents were invited, and finished pupils were sent forth into the tasks of chanceful life. Then, too, so he was informed, he might visit at his pleasure all the other districts, where, on peculiar principles, each branch of education was communicated, and reduced to practice, in complete isolation and with every furtherance.

My valued, and, to speak it plainly, dear friend, you are wrong, and yet, as acting on your own conviction, not wrong either. So the nut-brown maid is found, then, - found, seen, spoken to, known, and acknowledged! And you tell us further, that it is impossible to wish this strange person, in her own way, any happier condition, or, in her present one, to be of any real advantage to her. And now you make it a point of conscience not to tell us where that wondrous being lives. This you may settle with your own conscience, but to us it is unconscionable. You think to calm Lenardo by assuring him that she is well. He had said, almost promised, that he would content himself with this; but what will not the passionate promise for others and themselves! Know, then, that the matter is not in the least concluded as it yet stands. She is happy, you tell us, - happy by her own activity and merit: but the youth would like to learn the How, the When, and the Where; and, what is worse than this, his sisters, too, would like to learn. Half a year is gone since your departure: till the end of another half-year we cannot hope to see you. Could not you, like a shrewd and knowing man, contrive to play your eternal Rouge-et-Noir in our neighborhood? I have seen people that could make the knight skip over all the chess-board without ever lighting twice on one spot. You should learn this feat: your friends would not have to want you so long.

But, to set my good will to you in the clearest light, I now tell you in confidence, that there are two most enchanting creatures on the road: whence I say not, nor whither; described they cannot be, and no eulogy will do them justice. A younger and an elder lady, between whom it always grieves one to make choice, - the former so lovely, that all must wish to be loved by her; the latter so attractive, that you must wish to live beside her, though she did not love you. I could like, with all my heart, to see you hemmed in for three days between these two splendors: on the morning of the fourth, your rigorous vow would stand you in excellent stead. By way of foretaste I send you a story, which, in some degree, refers to them: what of it is true or fictitious you can try to learn from themselves. The major came riding into the court of the mansion; and Hilaria, his niece, was already standing without, to receive him at the bottom of the stairs which led up to the apartments. Scarcely could he recognize her; for she had grown, both in stature and beauty. She flew to meet him: he pressed her to his breast with the feeling of a father.

To the baroness, his sister, he was likewise welcome; and, as Hilaria hastily retired to prepare breakfast, the major said with a joyful air, “For this time I can come to the point at once, and say that our business is finished. Our brother, the chief marshal, has at last convinced himself that he can neither manage farmers nor stewards. In his lifetime he makes over the estates to us and our children: the annuity he bargains for is high, indeed, but we can still pay it; we gain something for the present, and for the future all. This new arrangement is to be completed forthwith. And, as I very soon expect my discharge, I can again look forward to an active life, which may secure decided advantages to us and ours. We shall calmly see our children growing up beside us; and it will depend on us, on them, to hasten their union.” “All this were well,” said the baroness, “had not I a secret to inform thee of, which I myself discovered first. Hilaria’s heart is no longer free: on her side thy son has little or nothing to hope for.” “What sayest thou?” cried the major. “Is it possible? While we have been taking all pains to settle economical concerns, does inclination play us such a trick? Tell me, love, quick, tell me, who is it that has fettered Hilaria’s heart? Or is it, then, so bad as this? Is it not, perhaps, some transient impression we may hope to efface again?”

“Thou must think and guess a little first,” replied the baroness, and thereby heightened his impatience. It had mounted to the utmost pitch, when the entrance of Hilaria, with the servants bringing in breakfast, put a negative on any quick solution of the riddle. The major himself thought he saw the fair girl with other eyes than a little while before. He almost felt as if jealous of the happy man whose image had been able to imprint itself on a soul so lovely. The breakfast he could not relish; and he noticed not that all was ordered as he liked to have it, and as he had used to wish and require it. In this silence and stagnation Hilaria herself almost lost her liveliness. The mother felt embarrassed, and led her daughter to the harpsichord; but Hilaria’s sprightly and expressive playing scarcely extorted any approbation from the major. He wished the breakfast and the lovely girl fairly out of the way; and the baroness was at last obliged to resolve on breaking up, and proposed to her brother a walk in the garden. No sooner were they by themselves, than the major pressingly repeated his question, to which, after a pause, his sister answered, smiling, “If thou wouldst find the happy man whom she loves, thou hast not far to go: he is quite at hand; she loves thee!”

The major stopped in astonishment, then cried, “It were a most unseasonable jest to trick me into such a thought, which, if true, would make me so embarrassed and unhappy. For, though I need time to recover from my amazement, I see at one glance how grievously our circumstances would be disturbed by so unlooked-for an accident. The only thing that comforts me, is my persuasion that attachments of this sort are apparent merely, that a self-deception lurks behind them, and that a good, true soul will undoubtedly return from such mistakes, either by its own strength, or at least by a little help from judicious friends.” “I am not of that opinion,” said the baroness: “by all the symptoms, Hilaria’s present feeling is a very serious one.” “A thing so unnatural I should not have expected from so natural a character,” replied the major. “So unnatural it is not, after all,” said his sister. “I myself recollect having, in my own youth, an attachment to a man still older than thou. Thou art fifty, - not so very great an age for a German, if, perhaps, other livelier nations do fail sooner.” “But how dost thou support thy conjecture?” said the major.

“It is no conjecture, it is certainty. The details thou shalt learn by and by.” Hilaria joined them; and the major felt himself, against his will, a second time altered. Her presence seemed to him still dearer and more precious than before, her manner more affectionate and tender: already he began to put some faith in his sister’s statement. The feeling was highly delightful, though he neither would permit nor confess this to his mind. Hilaria was, in truth, peculiarly interesting: her manner blended in closest union a soft shyness as towards a lover, and a trustful frankness as towards an uncle; for she really, and with her whole soul, loved him. The garden lay in all the pomp of spring; and the major, who saw so many old trees again putting on their vesture, might also believe in the returning of his own spring. And who would not have been tempted to it, at the side of this most lovely maiden. So passed the day with them; the various household epochs were gone through in high cheerfulness: in the evening, after supper, Hilaria returned to her harpsichord; the major listened with other ears than in the morning: one melody winded into another, one song produced a second; and scarcely could midnight separate the little party.

On retiring to his room, the major found every thing arranged to suit his old habitual conveniences: some copper-plates, even, which he liked to look at, had been shifted from other apartments; and, his eyes being at last opened, he saw himself attended to and flattered in the most minute particulars. A few hours’ sleep sufficed on this occasion: his buoyant spirits aroused him early. But now he soon found occasion to observe that a new order of things carries many inconveniences along with it. His old groom, who also discharged the functions of lackey and valet, he had not once reproved during many years, for all went its usual course in the most rigid order; the horses were dressed and the clothes brushed at the proper moment: but to-day the master had risen earlier, and nothing suited as it used to do. Erelong a new circumstance combined with this to ruffle him still further. At other times all had been right, as his servant had prepared it for him: now, however, on advancing to the glass, he found himself not at all as he wished to be. Some gray hairs he could not deny, and of wrinkles also there appears to have been a trace or two. He wiped and powdered more than usual, and was fain at last to let matters stand as they could. Then it seemed there were still creases in his coat, and still dust on his boots. The old groom knew not what to make of this, and was amazed to see so altered a master before him.

In spite of all these hinderances, the major got down to the garden in good time. Hilaria, whom he hoped to find there, he actually found. She brought him a nosegay; and he had not the heart to kiss her as usual, and press her to his breast. He felt himself in the most delightful embarrassment, and yielded to his feelings without reflecting whither they might carry him. The baroness soon joined them and, directing her brother to a note which had just been brought her by a special messenger, she cried, “Thou wilt not guess whom this announces to us!” “Tell us at once, then,” said the major; and it now appeared that an old theatrical friend was travelling by a road not far off, and purposing to call for a moment. “I am anxious to see him again,” said the major: “he is no chicken now, and I hear he still plays young parts.” “He must be ten years older than thou,” replied the baroness. “He must,” said the major, “from all that I remember.” They had not waited long, when a lively, handsome, courteous man stepped forward to them. Yet the friends soon recognized each other, and recollections of all sorts enlivened the conversation. They proceeded to questions, to answers, to narratives: they mutually made known their present situations, and in a short time felt as if they had never been separated.

Secret history informs us that this person had, in former days, being then a very elegant and graceful youth, the good or bad fortune to attract the favor of a lady of rank; that, by this means, he had come into perplexity and danger, out of which the major, at the very moment when the saddest fate seemed impending, had happily delivered him. From that hour he continued grateful to the brother as well as to the sister; for it was she that, by timeful warning, had originated their precautions. For a while before dinner the men were left alone. Not without surprise, nay, in some measure with amazement, had the major viewed, as a whole and in detail, the exterior condition of his old friend. He seemed not in the smallest altered, and it was not to be wondered at that he could still appear on the stage as an actor of youthful parts. “Thou inspectest me more strictly than is fair,” said he at last to the major: “I fear thou findest the difference between this and by-gone times but too great.” “Not at all,” replied the major: “on the contrary, it fills me with astonishment to find thy look fresher and younger than mine; though I know thou wert a firm-set man at the time when I, with the boldness of a callow desperado, stood by thee in certain straits.”

“It is thy own fault,” replied the other: “it is the fault of all like thee; and, though you are not to be loudly censured for it, you are still to be blamed. You think only of the needful: you wish to be, not to seem. This is very well so long as one is any thing. But when, at last, being comes to recommend itself by seeming, and this seeming is found to be even more transient than the being, then every one of you discovers that he should not have done amiss, if, in his care for what was inward, he had not entirely neglected what was outward.” “Thou art right,” replied the major, and could scarcely suppress a sigh. “Perhaps not altogether right,” said the aged youth; “for though in my trade it were unpardonable if one did not try to parget up the outward man as long as possible, you people need to think of other things, which are more important and profitable.” “Yet there are occasions,” said the major, “when a man feels fresh internally, and could wish, with all his heart, that he were fresh externally too.” As the stranger could not have the slightest suspicion of the major’s real state of mind, he took these words in a soldierly sense, and copiously explained how much depended on externals in the art military, and how the officer who had so much attention to bestow on dress might apply a little also to skin and hair.

“For example,” continued he, “it is inexcusable that your temples are already gray, that wrinkles are here and there gathering together, and that your crown threatens to grow bald. Now look at me, old fellow as I am! See how I have held out! And all this without witchcraft, and with far less pains and care than others take, day after day, in spoiling, or at least wearying, themselves.” The major found this accidental conversation too precious an affair to think of ending it soon, but he went to work softly and with precaution towards even an old acquaintance. “This opportunity, alas! I have lost,” cried he; “and it is past recalling now: I must even content myself as I am, and you will not think worse of me on that account.” “Lost it is not,” said the other, “were not you grave gentlemen so stiff and stubborn, did you not directly call one vain if he thinks about his person, and cast away from you the happiness of being in pleasant company, and pleasing there yourselves.” “If it is not magic,” smiled the major, “that you people use for keeping yourselves young, it is, at all events, a secret: or, at least, you have arcana, such as one often sees bepraised in newspapers; and from these you pick out the best.”

“Joke or earnest,” said the other, “thou hast spoken truth. Among the many things that have been tried for giving some repair to the exterior, which often fails far sooner than the interior, there are, in fact, certain invaluable recipes, simple as well as compound; which, as imparted to me by brethren of the craft, purchased for ready money, or hit upon by chance, I have proved, and found effectual. By these I now hold fast and persevere, yet without abandoning my further researches. So much I may tell thee, and without exaggeration: a dressing-box I carry with me beyond all price! A box whose influences I could like to try on thee, if we chanced any time to be a fortnight together.” The thought that such a thing was possible, and that this possibility was held out to him so accidentally at the very moment of need, enlivened the spirit of the major to such a degree that he actually appeared much fresher and brisker already: at table, excited by the hope of bringing head and face into harmony with his heart, and by eagerness to get acquainted with the methods of doing so, he was quite another man; he met Hilaria’s graceful attentions with alacrity of soul, and even looked at her with a certain confidence, which, in the morning, he was far from feeling.

If the dramatic stranger had contrived, by many recollections, stories, and happy hits, to keep up the cheerful humor once excited, he so much the more alarmed the major, on signifying, when the cloth was removed, that he must now think of setting forth, and continuing his journey. By every scheme in his power the major strove to facilitate his friend’s stay, at least for the night; he pressingly engaged to have horses and relays in readiness next morning: in a word, the healing toilet was absolutely not to get out of the premises, till once he had obtained more light on its contents and use. The major saw very well that here no time must be lost: he accordingly endeavored, soon after dinner, to take his old favorite aside and speak with him in private. Not having the heart to proceed directly to the point, he steered towards it from afar off, and, taking up the former conversation, signified that he, for his part, would willingly bestow more care on his exterior, were it not that people, the moment they observed a man making such an attempt, marked him down for vain, and so deducted from him, in regard to moral esteem, what they felt obliged to yield him in regard to sensible.

“Do not vex me with such phrases!” said his friend: “these are words to which society has got accustomed without attaching any meaning to them, or, if we take it up more strictly, by which it indicates its unfriendly and spiteful nature. If thou consider it rightly, what, after all, is this same vanity they make so much ado about? Every man should feel some pleasure in himself, and happy he who feels it. But, if he does feel it, how can he help letting others notice it? How shall he hide, in the midst of life, that it gives him joy to be alive? If good society, and I mean this exclusively here, only blamed such indications when they became too violent; when the joy of one man over his existence hindered others to have joy and to show it over theirs, - it were good and well; and from this excess the censure has, in fact, originally sprung. But what are we to make of that strange, prim, abnegating rigor against a thing which cannot be avoided? Why should not a display of feeling on the part of others be considered innocent and tolerable, which, more or less, we from time to time allow ourselves? For it is the pleasure one has in himself, the desire to communicate this consciousness of his to others, that makes a man agreeable, - the feeling of his own grace that makes him graceful. Would to Heaven all men were vain!

that is, were vain with clear perception, with moderation, and in a proper sense: we should then, in the cultivated world, have happy times of it. Women, it is told us, are vain from the very cradle; yet does it not become them, do they not please us the more? How can a youth form himself if he is not vain? An empty, hollow nature will, by this means, at least contrive to give itself an outward show; and a proper man will soon train himself from the outside inwards. As to my own share, I have reason to consider myself, in this point, a most happy man: for my trade justifies me in being vain; and, the vainer I am, the more satisfaction I give. I am praised when others are blamed, and have still, in this very way, the happiness and the right to gratify and charm the public at an age when others are constrained to retire from the scene, or linger on it only with disgrace.”

The major heard with no great joy the issue of these reflections. The little word vanity, as he pronounced it, had been meant to serve as a transition for enabling him to introduce, with some propriety, the statement of his own wish. But now he was afraid, if their dialogue proceeded thus, he should be led still farther from his aim: so he hastened to the point directly. “For my own part,” said he, “I should by no means disincline to enlist under thy flag, since thou still holdest it to be in time, and thinkest I might yet in some degree make up for what is lost. Impart to me somewhat of thy tinctures, pomades, and balsams; and I will make a trial of them.” “Imparting,” said the other, “is a harder task than you suppose. Here, for example, it were still to small purpose that I poured thee out some liquors from my vials, and left the half of the best ingredients in my toilet: the appliance is the hardest. You cannot, on the instant, appropriate what is given you. How this and that suit together; under what circumstances, in what sequence, things are to be used, - all this requires practice and study, - nay, study and practice themselves will scarcely profit, if one bring not to the business a natural genius for it.”

“Thou art now, it seems, for drawing back,” said the major. “Thou raisest difficulties when I would have thy truly somewhat fabulous assertions rendered certain. Thou hast no mind to let me try thy words by the test of action.” “By such banterings, my friend,” replied the other, “thou wouldst not prevail on me to gratify thy wish, if it were not that I entertain such affection for thee, and, indeed, first made the proposal myself. Besides, if we consider it, man has quite a peculiar pleasure in making proselytes; in bringing what he values in himself into view also, without himself, on others; causing others to enjoy what he enjoys; finding in others his own likeness, represented and reflected back to him. In sooth, if this is selfishness, it is of the most laudable and lovable sort, - that selfishness which has made us men and keeps us so. From this universal feeling, then, apart from my friendship to thee, I shall be happy in having such a scholar in the great youth-renewing art. But, as from a master it may be expected that he shall produce no botcher by his training, I confess myself a little at a loss how to set about it. I told thee already that neither recipes nor instructions would avail: the practice cannot be taught by universal rules. For thy sake, and from the wish to propagate my doctrine, I am ready to make any sacrifice. The greatest my power for the present moment I will now propose to thee. I shall leave my servant here, - a sort of waiting-man and conjurer, - who, if he does not understand preparing every thing, if he has not yet been initiated into all the mysteries, can apply my preparations perfectly, and, in the first stage of the attempt, will be of great use to thee, till once thou have worked thy way so far into the art, that I may reveal to thee the higher secrets also.”

“How!” cried the major, “thou hast stages and degrees in thy art of making young? Thou hast secrets, even for the initiated?” “No doubt of it,” replied the other. “That were but a sorry art which could be comprehended all at once, the last point of which could be seen by one just entering its precincts.” Without loss of time the waiting-man was formally consigned to the major, who engaged to treat him handsomely. The baroness was called on for drawers, boxes, glasses, to what purpose she knew not; the partition of the toilet-store went forward; the friends kept together in a gay and sprightly mood till after nightfall. At moonrise, some time later, the guest took his leave, promising erelong to return. The major reached his chamber pretty much fatigued. He had risen early, had not spared himself throughout the day, and now hoped very soon to get to bed. But here, instead of one servant, he found two. The old groom, in his old way, rapidly undressed him; but now the waiting-man stepped forth, and signified, that, for appliances of a renovating and cosmetic nature, the peculiar season was night, that so their effects, assisted by a peaceful sleep, might be stronger and safer. The major was obliged to content himself, and let his head be anointed, his face painted, his eyebrows pencilled, and his lips tipped with salve. Besides all this, there were various ceremonies still required; nay, the very night-cap was not to be put on immediately, not till a net, or even a fine-leather cap, had been drawn on next the head.

The major laid himself in bed with a sort of unpleasant feeling, which, however, he had no time to investigate the nature of; as he very soon fell asleep. But, if we might speak with his spirit, we should say he felt a little mummy-like, somewhat between a sick man and a man embalmed. Yet the sweet image of Hilaria, encircled with the gayest hopes, soon led him into a refreshing sleep. In the morning, at the proper hour, the groom was ready in his place. All that pertained to his master’s equipment lay in wonted order on the chairs; and the major was just on the point of rising, when the new attendant entered, and strongly protested against any such precipitation. He must rest, he must wait, if their enterprise were to prosper, if they were to be rewarded for their pains and labor. The major now learned that he had to rise by and by, to take a slight breakfast, and then go into a bath, which was already prepared for him. The regulations were inflexible, they required a strict observance; and some hours passed away under these occupations. The major abridged the resting-time after his bath, and thought to get his clothes about him: for he was by nature expeditious, and at present he longed to see Hilaria; but in this point also his new servant thwarted him, and signified, that in all cases he must drop the thought of being in a hurry. Whatever he did, it appeared, must be done leisurely and pleasurably; but the time of dressing was especially to be considered as a cheerful hour for conversation with one’s self.

The valet’s manner of proceeding completely agreed with his words. But, in return, the major, when, on stepping forward to the glass, he saw himself trimmed out in the neatest fashion, really thought that he was better dressed than formerly. Without many words the conjurer had changed the very uniform into a newer cut, having spent the night in working at it. An apparently so quick rejuvenescence put the major in his liveliest mood; so that he felt himself as if renovated, both without and within, and hastened with impatient longing to his friends. He found his sister engaged in looking at the pedigree which she had caused to be hung up; the conversation last night having turned on some collateral relations, unmarried persons, or resident in foreign countries, or entirely gone out of sight, from all of whom the baroness and her brother had more or less hope of heritages for themselves or their families. They conversed a while on these matters, without mentioning the circumstance that all their economical cares and exertions had hitherto been solely directed to their children. By Hilaria’s attachment the whole of this prospect had altered, yet neither the major nor his sister could summon courage to mention it further at this moment.

The baroness left the room: the major was standing alone before this laconic history of his family; Hilaria stepped in to him; she leaned herself on him in a kind, childlike way, looked at the parchment, and asked him whom of all these he had known, and who of them were still left and living. The major began his delineation with the oldest of whom any dim recollection remained with him from childhood. Then he proceeded farther; painted the characters of several fathers, the likeness or unlikeness of their children to them; remarked that the grandfather often re-appeared in the grandson; spoke, by the way, of the influence of certain women, wedded out of stranger families, and sometimes changing the character of whole branches. He eulogized the virtue of many an ancestor and relative, nor did he hide their failings. Such as had brought shame on their lineage he passed in silence. At length he reached the lowest lines. Here stood his brother, the chief marshal himself, and his sister, and beneath him his son with Hilaria at his side. “These two look each other straight enough in the face,” said the major; not adding what he thought of the matter in his heart.

After a pause Hilaria answered, in a meek, small tone, and almost with a sigh, “Yet those, surely, are not to blame who look upwards.” At the same time she looked up to him with a pair of eyes out of which her whole love was speaking. “Do I understand thee rightly?” said the major, turning round to her. “I can say nothing,” answered she, with a smile, “which you do not know already.” “Thou makest me the happiest man under the sun,” cried he, and fell at her feet. “Wilt thou be mine?” “For Heaven’s sake, rise! I am thine forever.” The baroness entered. Though not surprised, she rather hesitated. “If it be wrong, sister,” said the major, “the blame is thine: if it be right, we will thank thee forever.” The baroness from youth upwards had so loved her brother that she preferred him to all men; and perhaps Hilaria’s attachment itself had, if not arisen from this sisterly partiality, at least been cherished by it. All three now united in one love, in one delight; and thus the happiest hours flew over them. Yet, at last, their eyes re-opened to the world around them likewise; and this rarely stands in unison with such emotions.

They now again bethought them of the son. For him Hilaria had been destined: this he himself well knew. Directly after finishing the business with the chief marshal, the major had appointed his son to expect him in the garrison, that they might settle every thing together, and conduct these purposes to a happy issue. But now, by an unexpected occurrence, the whole state of matters had been thrown out of joint; the circumstances which before plied into one another so kindly, now seemed to be assuming a hostile aspect; and it was not easy to foresee what turn the affair would take, what temper would seize the individuals concerned in it. Meanwhile the major was obliged to resolve on visiting his son, to whom he had already announced himself. Not without reluctance, not without singular forecastings, not without pain at even for a short time leaving Hilaria, he at last, after much lingering, took the road, and, leaving groom and horses behind him, proceeded with his cosmetic valet, who had now become an indispensable appendage, towards the town where his son resided. Both saluted and embraced each other cordially after so long a separation. They had much to communicate, yet they did not just commence with what lay nearest their hearts. The son went into copious talk about his hopes of speedy advancement: in return for which the father gave him precise accounts of what had been discussed and determined between the elder members of the family, both in regard to fortune in general, to the individual estates, and every thing pertaining to them.

The conversation was, in some degree, beginning to flag, when the son took heart, and said to his father, with a smile, “You treat me very tenderly, dear father; and I thank you for it. You tell me of properties and fortune, and mention not the terms under which, at least in part, they are to be mine: you keep back the name of Hilaria; you expect that I should bring it forth, that I should express my desire to be speedily united with that amiable maiden.” At these words the major felt in great perplexity; but as, partly by nature, partly by old habit, it was his way to collect the purpose of the man he had to treat with before stating his own, he now said nothing, and looked at the son with an ambiguous smile. “You will not guess, father, what I have to say,” continued the lieutenant: “I will speak it out briefly, and once for all. I can depend on your affection, which, amid such manifold care for me, has had due regard for my true happiness as well as my fortune. Some time or other it must be said: be it said, then, even now, Hilaria cannot make me happy! I think of Hilaria as of a lovely relative, towards whom I would live all my days with the friendliest feelings; but another has awakened my affection, another has found my heart. The attachment is irresistible: you will not make me miserable.”

Not without effort did the major conceal the cheerfulness which was rising over his face, and, in a tone of mild seriousness, inquire of the son, Who the person was that had so entirely subdued him? - “You must see her yourself, father,” said the other; “for she can as little be described as comprehended. I have but one fear, - that you yourself will be led away by her, like every one that approaches her. By Heaven, it will be so; and I shall see you the rival of your son!” “But who is she?” inquired the major. “If it is not in thy power to delineate her personal characteristics, tell me, at least, of her outward circumstances: these, at least, may be described.” “Well, then, father,” replied the son; “and yet these outward circumstances, too, would be different in a different person, would act otherwise on another. She is a young widow, heiress of an old, rich man lately deceased; independent, and well meriting to be so; acquainted with many, loved by just as many, courted by just as many; yet, if I mistake not very greatly, in her heart wholly mine.” With joyful vivacity, as the father kept silence, and gave no sign of disapproval, the son proceeded to describe the conduct of the fair widow towards him; told of her all-conquering grace; recounted one by one her tender expressions of favor; in which the father truly could see nothing but the light friendliness of a universally courted woman, who, among so many, may indeed prefer some one, yet without on that account entirely deciding for him.

Under any other circumstances he would doubtless have endeavored to warn a son, nay, even a friend, of the self-deception which might probably enough be at work here; but, in the present case, he himself was so anxious for his son’s being right, for the fair widow’s really loving him, and as soon as possible deciding in his favor, that he either felt no scruple of this sort, or banished any such from his mind, perhaps even only concealed it.

“Thou placest me in great perplexity,” began the father, after some pause. “The whole arrangement between the surviving members of our family depends on the understanding that thou wed Hilaria. If she wed a stranger, the whole fair, careful combination of a fine fortune falls to the ground again; and thou thyself art not too well provided for. There is certainly another way still, but one which sounds rather strange, and by which thou wouldst gain very little: I, in my old days, might wed Hilaria, - a plan which could hardly give thee any very high satisfaction.” “The highest in the world!” exclaimed the lieutenant; “for who can feel a true attachment, who can enjoy or anticipate the happiness of love, without wishing every friend, every one whom he values, the like supreme felicity? You are not old, father; and how lovely is Hilaria! Even the transient thought of offering her your hand bespeaks a youthful heart, an unimpaired spirit. Let us take up this thought, this project, on the spot, and consider and investigate it thoroughly. My own happiness would be complete if I knew you happy: I could then rejoice in good earnest, that the care you had bestowed on my destiny was repaid on your own by so fair and high a recompense. I can now with confidence and frankness, and true openness of heart, conduct you to my fair one. You will approve of my feelings, since you yourself feel: you will not impede the happiness of your son, since you are advancing to your own happiness.”

With these and other importunate words the lieutenant repressed many a scruple which his father was for introducing, left him no time to calculate, but hurried off with him to the fair widow, whom they found in a commodious and splendid house, with a select rather than numerous party, all engaged in cheerful conversation. She was one of those female souls whom no man can escape. With incredible address she contrived to make our major the hero of this evening. The rest of the party seemed to be her family: the major alone was her guest. His circumstances she already knew very well; yet she had the skill to ask about them, as if she were wishing, now at last, to get right information on the subject from himself: and so, likewise, every individual of the company was made to show some interest in the stranger. One must have known his brother, a second his estates, a third something else concerned with him; so that the major, in the midst of a lively conversation, still felt himself to be the centre. Moreover, he was sitting next the fair one; her eyes were on him, her smile was directed to him: in a word, he felt himself so comfortable, that he almost forgot the cause which had brought him. She herself scarcely ever mentioned his son, though the young man took a keen share in the conversation: it seemed as if, in her eyes, he, like all the rest, was present only on his father’s account.

The guests strolled up and down the rooms, and grouped themselves into accidental knots. The lieutenant stepped up to his fair one, and asked, “What say you to my father?” With a smile she replied, “Methinks you might well take him as a pattern. Do but look how neatly he is dressed! If his manner and bearing are not better than his gentle son’s!” And thus she continued to cry up and praise the father at the son’s expense; awakening, by this means, a very mixed feeling of contentment and jealousy in the young man’s heart. Erelong the lieutenant came in contact with his father, and recounted all this to him. It made the major’s manner to his fair hostess so much the more friendly; and she, on her side, began to treat him on a more lively and trustful footing. In short, we may say, that, when the company broke up, the major, as well as the rest, already belonged to her and to her circle. A heavy rain prevented the guests from returning home as they had come. Some coaches drove up, into which the walkers arranged themselves: only the lieutenant, under the pretext that the carriage was already too crowded, let his father drive away, and staid behind.

The major, on entering his apartment, felt actually confused and giddy in mind, uncertain of himself; as is the case with us on passing rapidly from one state to the opposite. The land still seems in motion to a man who steps from shipboard, and the light still quivers in the eye of him who comes at once into darkness. So did the major still feel himself encircled with the presence of that fair being. He wished still to see, to hear her, again to see, again to hear her: and, after some consideration, he forgave his son; nay, he thought him happy that he might pretend to the appropriation of such loveliness. From these feelings he was roused by the lieutenant, who, with lively expressions of rapture, rushed into the room, embraced his father, and exclaimed, “I am the happiest man in the world!” After several more of such preliminary phrases, the two at last came to an explanation. The father remarked, that the fair lady in conversing with him had not mentioned the son, or hinted at him by a single syllable. “That is just her soft, silent, half-concealing, half-discovering way, by which you become certain of your wishes, and yet can never altogether get rid of doubt. So was she wont to treat me hitherto; but your presence, father, has done wonders. I confess it, I staid behind, that I might see her one moment longer. I found her walking to and fro in her still shining rooms;

for I know it is her custom, when the company is gone, no light must be extinguished. She walks alone up and down in her magic halls, when the spirits are dismissed which she had summoned thither. She accepted the pretext under cover of which I came back. She spoke with kind grace, though of indifferent matters. We walked to and fro through the open doors, along the whole suite of chambers. We had wandered several times to the end, into the little cabinet, which is lighted only by a dim lamp. If she was beautiful while moving under the blaze of the lustres, she was infinitely more so when illuminated by the soft gleam of the lamp. We had again reached the cabinet; and, in turning, we paused for an instant. I know not what it was that forced this audacity on me: I know not how I could venture, in the midst of the most ordinary conversation, all at once to seize her hand, to kiss that soft hand, and to press it to my heart. It was not drawn away. ‘Heavenly creature!’ cried I, ‘conceal thyself no longer from me. If in this fair heart dwells favor for the happy man who stands before thee, disclose it, confess it! The present is the best, the highest time. Banish me, or take me to thy arms!’

“I know not what all I said, what I looked and expressed. She withdrew not, she resisted not, she answered not. I ventured to clasp her in my arms, to ask her if she would be mine. I kissed her with rapture; she pushed me away: ‘Well, yes, then: yes!’ or some such words, said she, in a faint tone, as if embarrassed. I retired, and cried, ‘I will send my father: he shall speak for me.’ - ‘Not a word to him of this!’ replied she, following me some steps. ‘Go away: forget what has happened.’” What the major thought we shall not attempt to unfold. He said, however, to his son, “What is to be done now, thinkest thou? To my mind the affair is, by accident, so well introduced, that we may now go to work a little more formally; that perhaps it were well if I called there to-morrow, and proposed in thy name.” “For Heaven’s sake, no, father!” cried the son: “it would spoil the whole business. That look, that tone, must be disturbed and deranged by no formality. It is enough, father, that your presence accelerates this union without your uttering a word on the subject. Yes, it is to you that I owe my happiness! The respect which my loved one entertains for you has conquered every scruple, and never would your son have found so good a moment had not his father prepared it for him.”

These and such disclosures occupied them till far in the night. They mutually settled their plans: the major, simply for form’s sake, was to make a parting call, and then set out to arrange his marriage with Hilaria; the son was to forward and accelerate his, as he should find it possible. Here I break off, partly because I can write no more at present, but partly also to fix a thorn in your heart. Now, answer the question for yourself: How strangely, from all that you have read, must matters stand with these ladies at present! Till now they had no mutual relation to each other: they were strangers, though each seemed to have the prospect of a marriage which was to approximate them. And now we find them in company, but by themselves, without male attendance, and wandering over the world. What can have passed, what can be to follow? You, my worthy sir, will doubtless get quit of the difficulty by mournfully exclaiming to yourself, “These, also, are renunciants!” And here you are perfectly right: but expectants too? This I durst not discover, even if I knew it. To show you the way how this amiable pair may be met with on your wandering, I adopt a singular expedient. You herewith receive a little clipping of a map: when you lay this in its place on the full map of the country, the magnetic needle painted here will point with its barb to the spot whither the desirable are moving. This riddle is not so very hard to read: but I could wish, that, from time to time, you would do the like for us, and send a little snip of chart over hither; we should then, in some measure, understand to what quarter our thoughts were to be directed: and how glad should we be if the needle were at last attracted by ourselves. May all good be given you, and all errors forgiven!

It is said of women, that they cannot send away a letter without tacking postscripts to the end of it. Whatever inferences you may draw from the fact, I cannot deny that this is my second postscript, and the place, after all, where I am to tell you the flower of the whole matter. This arrow-shaft, on the little patch of map, Hilaria herself was at the pains to draw and to decorate with such dainty plumage: the sharp point, however, was the fair widow’s work. Have a care that it do not scratch, or perhaps pierce you. Our bargain is, that whenever you meet, be this where it may, you are forthwith to present the small shred of paper, and so be the sooner and more heartily admitted into trust. That a certain deficiency, perhaps discernible in the parts, certainly discernible here and there in the whole, cannot, henceforth, be avoided, we ourselves take courage to forewarn the reader, without fearing thereby to thwart his enjoyment. In the present task, undertaken truly with forethought and good heart, we still meet with all the inconveniences which have delayed the publication of these little volumes for twenty years. This period has altered nothing for the better. We still find ourselves in more than one way impeded, at this or that place threatened with one obstruction or another. For we have to solve the uncertain problem of selecting from those most multifarious papers what is worthiest and most important, so that it be grateful to thinking and cultivated minds, and refresh and forward them in many a province of life. Now, here are the journals, more or less complete, lying before us; sometimes communicable without scruple; sometimes, again by reason of their unimportant, and likewise of their too important contents, seemingly unfit for insertion.

There are not even wanting sections devoted to the actual world, on statistic, technical, and other practical external subjects. To cut these off as incongruous, we do not determine without reluctance; as life and inclination, knowledge and passion, strangely combining together, go on here in the straitest union. Then we come on sketches written with clear views and for glorious objects, but not so consequent and deep searching that we can fully approve of them, or suppose, that, in this new and so far advanced time, they could be readable and influential. So likewise we fall in with little anecdotes, destitute of connection, difficult to arrange under heads, some of them, when closely examined, not altogether unobjectionable. Here and there we discover more complete narratives, several of which, though already known to the world, nevertheless demand a place here, and at the same time require exposition and conclusion. Of poems, also, there is no want; and yet it is not always easy, not always possible, to decide where they should be introduced with best regard to the preserving and assisting of their true tone, which is but too easily disturbed and overturned. If we are not, therefore, as we have too often done in by-gone years, again to stop in the middle of this business, nothing will remain for us but to impart what we possess, to give out what has been preserved. Some chapters, accordingly, the completion of which might have been desirable, we now offer in their first hurried form, that so the reader may not only feel the existence of a want here, but also be informed what this want is, and complete in his own mind whatever, partly from the nature of the object, partly from the intervening circumstances, cannot be presented to him perfectly completed in itself, or furnished with all its requisite accompaniments.

The proposed riddle raised some scruples in Wilhelm’s mind; yet erelong he began to feel a still attraction in the matter, an impulse of longing to reach that appointed line, and follow its direction: as, indeed, we are wont to seize with eagerness any specific object that excites our imagination, our active faculties, and to wish that we might accomplish it and partake of it. A child that, in asking alms of us, puts into our hand a card with five lottery numbers written on it, we do not lightly turn away unserved; and it depends on the moment, especially if it be shortly before the drawing, whether we shall not, with accidentally stimulated hope, quite against our usual custom, stake heavy shares upon these very numbers. The wanderer now tried on a large map the little fragment which had been sent him, and stood surprised, amazed, affrighted, as he saw the needle pointing straight to Mignon’s native place, to the houses where she had lived. What his peculiar feelings were, we do not find declared; but whoever can bring back to memory the end of the Apprenticeship, will in his own heart and mind, without difficulty, call forth the like.

The chief cause, however, why we meet with scantier records of this excursion than we could have wished, may probably be this: that Wilhelm chanced to fall in with a young, lively companion of his journey, by means of whom it became easy to retain for himself and his friends a vivid and strong remembrance of this pious pilgrimage without any aid of writing. Unexpectedly he finds himself beside a painter, - one of that class of persons whom we often see wandering about the world, and still oftener figuring in romances and dramas, but, in this case, an individual who showed himself at once to be really a distinguished artist. The two very soon got acquainted, mutually communicated their desires, projects, purposes. And now it appears that this skilful artist, who delights in painting aquatical landscapes, and can decorate his pieces with rich, well-imagined, well-executed additions and accompaniments, has been passionately attracted by Mignon’s form, destiny, and being. He has often painted her already, and is now going forth to copy from nature the scenes where she passed her early years; amid these to represent the dear child in happy and unhappy circumstances and moments, and thus to make her image, which lives in all tender hearts, present also to the sense of the eye.

The friends soon reach the Lago Maggiore: Wilhelm endeavors by degrees to find out the places indicated. Rural palaces, spacious monasteries, ferries and bays, capes and landings, are visited; nor are the dwellings of courageous and kind-hearted fishermen forgotten, or the cheerfully built villages along the shore, or the gay mansions on the neighboring heights. All this the artist can seize, to all of it communicate, by light and coloring, the feeling suitable for each scene; so that Wilhelm passes his days and his hours in heart-searching emotion. In several of the leaves stood Mignon represented on the foreground, as she had looked and lived: Wilhelm striving by correct description to assist the happy imagination of his friend, and reduce these general conceptions within the stricter limits of individuality. And thus you might see the boy-girl set forth in various attitudes and manifold expression. Beneath the lofty portal of the splendid country-house she is standing, thoughtfully contemplating the marble statues in the hall. Here she rocks herself, plashing to and fro among the waters, in the fastened boat: there she climbs the mast, and shows herself as a fearless sailor. But distinguished beyond all the other pictures was one which the artist, on his journey hither, and prior to his meeting with Wilhelm, had combined and painted with all its characteristic features. In the heart of the rude mountains shines the graceful seeming-boy, encircled with toppling cliffs, besprayed with cataracts, in the middle of a motley horde.

Never, perhaps, was a grim, precipitous, primeval mountain-pass more beautifully or expressively relieved with living figures. The party-colored, gypsy-looking group, at once rude and fantastic, strange and common, too loose to cause fear, too singular to awaken confidence. Stout beasts of burden are bearing along, now over paths made of trees, now down by steps hewn in the rock, a tawdry, chaotic heap of luggage, round which all the instruments of a deafening music hang dangling to and fro, to affright the ear from time to time with rude tones. Amid all this the lovely child, self-collected without defiance, indignant without resistance, led, but not dragged. Who would not have looked with pleasure at this singular and impressive picture? Given in strong characters, frowned the stern obstruction of these rock-masses, riven asunder by gloomy chasms, towered up together, threatening to hinder all outgate, had not a bold bridge betokened the possibility of again coming into union with the rest of the world. Nor had the artist, with his quick feeling of fictitious truth, forgot to indicate the entrance of a cave, which you might equally regard as the natural laboratory of huge crystals, or as the abode of a fabulously frightful brood of dragons.

Not without a holy fear did our friends visit the marchese’s palace. The old man was still absent on his travels; but, in this circle also, the two wanderers, knowing well how to apply and conduct themselves, both towards spiritual and temporal authorities, were kindly received and entertained. The absence of the owner also was to Wilhelm very pleasant; for although he could have wished to see the worthy gentleman, and would have heartily saluted him, he felt afraid of the marchese’s thankful generosity, and of any forced recompense of that true, loving conduct for which he had already obtained the fairest reward. And thus our friends went floating in gay boats from shore to shore, cruising the lake in every direction. It was the fairest season of the year: and they missed neither sunrise nor sunset, nor any of the thousand shadings which the heavenly light first bounteously dispenses over its own firmament, and from thence over lake and land; not appearing itself in its perfect glory till imaged back from the waters. A luxuriant vegetable world, planted by Nature, watched over and forwarded by Art, on every side surrounded them. The first chestnut forests they had already greeted with welcome; and now they could not restrain a mournful smile, as, lying under the shade of cypresses, they saw the laurel mounting up, the pomegranates reddening, orange and citron trees unfolding themselves in blossoms, and fruit at the same time glowing forth from the dark foliage.

Through means of his vivid associate, Wilhelm had another enjoyment prepared for him. Our old friend had not been favored by Nature with the eye of a painter. Susceptible of visual beauty only in the human form, he now felt, that by the presence of a companion, alike disposed, but trained to quite different enjoyments and activities, the surrounding world also was opened to his sight. By viewing, under conversational direction, the changing glories of the region, and still more by concentrated imitation, his eyes were opened, and his mind freed from all its once obstinate doubts. Hitherto all copies of Italian scenery had seemed to him suspicious: the sky, he thought, was too blue; the violet tone of those charming distances was lovely, but untrue; and the abundant, fresh green too bright and gay; but now he united in his inmost perceptions with his new friend, and learned, susceptible as he was, to look at the earth with that friend’s eyes: and, while Nature unfolded the open secret of her beauty, he could not but feel an irresistible attraction towards Art as towards her most fit expositor. But his pictorial friend quite unexpectedly anticipated his wishes in another point. The artist had already many times started some gay song, and thus, in hours of rest, delightfully enlivened and accompanied their movement when out in long voyages over the water. But now it happened, that, in one of the palaces they were visiting, he found a curious, peculiar stringed instrument, - a lute of small size, strong, well toned, convenient, and portable:

he soon contrived to tune it, and then handled the strings so pleasantly, and so well entertained those about him, that, like a new Orpheus, he subdued by soft harmonies the usually rigorous and dry castellan, and kindly constrained him to lend the instrument for a time, under the condition, that, before departing, the singer should faithfully return it, and, in the interim, should come back some Sunday or holiday, and again gratify them by his music.

Quite another spirit now enlivened lake and shore: boat and skiff strove which should be nearest our friends; even freight and market barges lingered in their neighborhood; rows of people on the beach followed their course; when landing they were encircled by a gay-minded throng; when departing each blessed them with a heart contented, yet full of longing. And now, at last, to any third party who had watched our friends, it must have been apparent enough that their mission was, in fact, accomplished: all scenes and localities referring to Mignon had been, not only sketched, but partly brought into light, shade, and color, partly in warm, mid-day hours, finished with the utmost fidelity. In effecting this they had shifted from place to place in a peculiar way, as Wilhelm’s vow frequently impeded them: this, however, they had now and then contrived to evade by explaining it as valid only on land, and on water not applicable. Indeed, Wilhelm himself now felt that their special purpose was attained; yet he could not deny that the wish to see Hilaria and the fair widow must also be satisfied if he wished to leave this country with a free mind. His friend, to whom he had imparted their story, was no less curious, and already prided himself in the thought, that, in one of his paintings, there was a vacant space, which, as an artist, he might decorate with the forms of these gentle persons.

Accordingly, they now cruised to and fro, watching the points where strangers are wont first to enter this paradise. Their hope of meeting friends here had already been made known to the boatmen; and the search had not lasted long when there came in sight a splendid barge, which they instantly made chase of, and forbore not passionately to grapple with on reaching it. The dames, in some degree alarmed at this movement, soon recovered their composure as Wilhelm produced his little piece of chart; and the two, without hesitation, recognized the arrow which themselves had drawn on it. The friends were then kindly invited to come on board the ladies’ barge, which they did without an instant’s delay. And now let us figure to ourselves these four, as they sit together in the daintiest apartment, the most blissful world lying round them, looking in each other’s faces, fanned by soft airs, rocked on glittering waves. Imagine the female pair, as we lately saw them described; the male, as they have together for weeks been leading a wayfaring life; and after a little reflection we behold them all in the most delightful, but also the most dangerous situation. For the three who have before, willingly or unwillingly, ranked themselves in the number of renunciants, we have not the worst to fear: the fourth, however, may, probably enough, too soon see himself admitted into that order, like the others.

After crossing the lake several times, and pointing out the most interesting spots, both on the shore and the islands, our two wanderers conducted their fair friends to the place they were to pass the night in; where a dexterous guide, selected for this voyage, had taken care to provide all possible conveniences. Wilhelm’s vow was now a harsh but suitable master of the ceremonies; for he and his companion had already passed three days in this very station, and exhausted all that was remarkable in the environs. The artist, not restrained by any vow, begged permission to attend the dames on shore: this, however, they declined, and so the party separated at some distance from the harbor. Scarcely had the singer stepped into his skiff, which hastily drew back from the beach, when he seized his lute, and gracefully began raising that strangely plaintive song which the Venetian gondoliers send forth in clear melody from land to sea, and from sea to land. Expert enough in this feat, which in the present instance proceeded with peculiar tenderness and expression, he strengthened his voice in proportion to the increasing distance; so that on the shore you would have thought you heard him still singing in the same place. He at last laid his lute aside, trusting to his voice alone, and had the satisfaction to observe that the dames, instead of retiring into their house, were pleased to linger on the shore. He felt so inspired that he could not cease, not even when night and remoteness had withdrawn every thing from view; till at last his calmer friend reminded him, that, if darkness did favor his tones, the skiff had already long passed the limits within which these could take effect.

According to promise, the two parties again met next day on the open lake. Flying along, they formed acquaintance with the lovely series of prospects, now standing forth in separate distinction, then gathering into rows, and seen behind each other, and at last fading away, as the higher eclipsed the lower; all which, repeating itself in the waters, affords in such excursions the most varied entertainment. Nor, in the course of these sights, did the copies of them, from our artist’s portfolio, fail to awaken thoughts and anticipations of what, in the present hour, was not imparted. For all such matters the still Hilaria seemed to have a free and fair feeling. But, towards noon, singularity again came into play: the ladies landed alone; the men cruised before the harbor. And now the singer endeavored to accommodate his music to a shorter distance, where not only the general, soft, and quickly warbling tone of desire, but likewise a certain gay, graceful importunity might be expected to tell. And here now and then some one or other of the songs, for which we stand indebted to our friends in the “Apprenticeship,” would come hovering over his strings, over his lips; but out of well-meant regard to the feelings of his hearers, as well as to his own, he restrained himself in this particular, and roved at large in foreign images and emotions, whereby his performance gained in effect, and reached the ear with so much the more insinuating blandishment. The two friends, blockading the harbor in this way, would not have recollected the trivial concern of eating and drinking, had not the more provident fair ones sent them over a supply of dainty bits, to which an accompanying draught of wine had the best possible relish.

Every separation, every stipulation, that comes in the way of our gathering passions, sharpens instead of stifling them; and in this case, as in others, it may be presumed that the short absence had awakened equal longing in both parties. At all events, the dames in their gay, dazzling gondola were very soon to be seen coming back. This word gondola, however, let us not take up in the melancholy Venetian meaning: here it signifies a cheerful, commodious, social bark; which, had our little company been twice as large, would still have been spacious enough for them. Some days were spent in this peculiar way, between meeting and parting, between separation and social union; but, amid the enjoyment of the most delightful intercourse, departure and bereavement still hovered before the agitated soul. In presence of the new friends the old came back into the mind: were these new ones absent, each could not but admit that already they had taken deep root in his remembrance. None but a composed and tried spirit, like our fair widow, could in such moments have maintained herself in complete equilibrium. Hilaria’s heart had been too deeply wounded to admit of any new entire impression: but as the grace of a fair scene encircles us of itself with soothing influences; so, when the mildness of tender-hearted friends conspires with it, there comes over sense and soul a peculiar mood of softness, that recalls to us, as in dreaming visions, the past and the absent, and withdraws the present, as if it were but a show, into spiritual remoteness. Thus, alternately rocked this way and that, attracted and repelled, approximated and removed, they wavered and wended for several days.

Without more narrowly investigating these circumstances, the shrewd, experienced guide imagined he observed some alteration in the calm demeanor of his heroines; and when at last the whimsical part of their predicament became known to him, he contrived here also to devise the most grateful expedient. For, as our two shipmen were again conducting the ladies to their usual place of dinner, they were met by another gay bark, which, falling alongside of theirs, exhibited a well-covered table, with all the cheerful invitations of a festive repast: the friends could now wait in company the lapse of several hours, and only night decided the customary separation. Happily the artist and Wilhelm had, in their former voyagings, neglected, out of a certain natural caprice, to visit the most highly ornamented of all the islands, and had even yet never thought of showing to their fair friends the many artificial and somewhat dilapidated curiosities of the place, before these glorious scenes of creation were entirely gone through. At last, however, new light rose on their minds. They took counsel with the guide: he contrived forthwith to expedite their voyage, and all looked on it as the most blissful they had yet undertaken. They could now hope and expect, after so many interrupted joys, to spend three whole heavenly days assembled together in a sequestered abode.

And here we cannot but bestow on this guide our high commendation: he belonged to that nimble, active, dexterous class, who, in attendance on successive parties, often travel the same roads; perfectly acquainted with the conveniences and inconveniences on all of them, they understand how to use the one and evade the other, and, without leaving their own profit out of sight, still to conduct their patrons more cheaply and pleasantly through the country than without such aid would have been possible. At this time, also, a sufficient female train, belonging to our dames, for the first time stepped forth in decided activity; and the fair widow could now make it one of her conditions, that the friends were to remain with her as guests, and content themselves with what she called her moderate entertainment. In this point, too, all prospered; for the cunning functionary had, on this occasion as on others, contrived to make so good a use of the letters and introductions which his heroines had brought with them, that, the owner of the place they were now about to visit being absent, both castle and garden, kitchen included, were thrown open for the service of the strangers, - nay, some prospect was held out, even of the cellar. All things co-operated so harmoniously, that our wanderers from the very first moment felt themselves as if at home, as if born lords of this paradise.

The whole luggage of the party was now carried to the island, an arrangement producing much convenience to all; though the chief advantage aimed at was, that the portfolios of our artist, now for the first time all collected together, might afford him means to exhibit in continuous sequence to his fair hostesses the route he had followed. This task was undertaken by all parties with delight. Not that they proceeded in the common style of amateur and artist, mutually eulogizing: here was a gifted man, rewarded by the most sincere and judicious praise. But that we fall not into the suspicion of attempting, with general phrases, to palm on credulous readers what we could not openly show them, let us here insert the judgment of a critic, who some years afterwards viewed with studious admiration both the pieces here in question, and the others of a like or similar sort by the same hand. “He succeeds in representing the cheerful repose of lake-prospects, where houses in friendly approximation, imaging themselves in the clear wave, seem as if bathing in its depths; shores encircled with green hills, behind which rise forest mountains, and icy peaks of glaciers. The tone of coloring in such scenes is gay, mirthfully clear; the distances, as if overflowed with softening vapor, which, from watered hollows and river valleys, mounts up grayer and mistier, and indicates their windings. No less is the master’s art to be praised in views from valleys lying nearer the high Alpine ranges, where declivities slope down, luxuriantly overgrown, and fresh streams roll hastily along by the foot of rocks.

“With exquisite skill, in the deep, shady trees of the foreground, he gives the distinctive character of the several species; satisfying us in the form of the whole, as in the structure of the branches and the details of the leaves, - no less so in the fresh green, with its manifold shadings, where soft airs appear as if fanning us with benignant breath, and the lights as if thereby put in motion. “In the middle ground his lively green tone grows fainter by degrees, and at last, on the more distant mountain tops, passing into weak violet, weds itself with the blue of the sky. But our artist is, above all, happy in his paintings of high Alpine regions; in seizing the simple greatness and stillness of their character; the wide pastures on the slopes, clothed with the freshest green, where dark, solitary firs stand forth from the grassy carpet; and from high cliffs foaming brooks rush down. Whether he relieve his pasturages with grazing cattle, or the narrow, winding, rocky path with mules and laden pack-horses, he paints all with equal truth and richness: still introduced in the proper place, and not in too great copiousness, they decorate and enliven these scenes without interrupting, without lessening, their peaceful solitude. The execution testifies a master’s hand, - easy with a few sure strokes, and yet complete. In his later pieces he employed glittering English, permanent colors on paper: these pictures, accordingly, are of pre-eminently blooming tone, cheerful, yet, at the same time, strong and sated.

“His views of deep mountain chasms, where round and round nothing fronts us but dead rock; where, in the abyss, overspanned by its bold arch, the wild stream rages, - are, indeed, of less attraction than the former; yet their truth excites us: we admire the great effect of the whole, produced at so little cost, by a few expressive strokes, and masses of local colors. “With no less accuracy of character can he represent the regions of the topmost Alpine ranges, where neither tree nor shrub any more appears; but only, amid the rocky teeth and snow summits, a few sunny spots clothe themselves with a soft sward. Beautiful and balmy and inviting as he colors these spots, he has here wisely forborne to introduce grazing herds; for these regions give food only to the chamois, and a perilous employment to the wild-hay-men. “We shall not deviate from our purpose of bringing the condition of these waste scenes as close as possible to the conception of our readers, if to this word, wild-hay-man, or Wildheuer, we subjoin a short explanation. It is a name given to the poorer inhabitants of the upland Alpine ranges, who occupy themselves in making hay from such grassy spots as are inaccessible to cattle. For this purpose they climb, with cramps on their feet, the steepest and most dangerous cliffs; or from high crags let themselves down by ropes when this is necessary, and so reach these grassy patches. The grass once cut and dried to hay, they throw it down from the heights into the deeper valleys; where, being collected together, it is sold to cattle-owners, with whom, on account of its superior quality, it finds a ready market.”

These paintings, which must have gratified and attracted any eye, were viewed by Hilaria, in particular, with great attention; and from her observations it became clear, that, in this department, she herself was no stranger. To the artist, least of all, did this continue secret: nor could approval from any one have been more precious to him than from this most graceful of all persons. Her companion, therefore, kept silence no longer, but blamed Hilaria for not coming forward with her own accomplishment, but lingering in this case as she always did, - now where the question was not of being praised or blamed, but of being instructed. A fairer opportunity, she said, might not easily occur. And now it came to light, when she was thus forced to exhibit her portfolios, what a talent was lying hid behind this still and most lovely nature: the capacity had been derived from birth, and diligently cultivated by practice. She possessed a true eye; a delicate hand, such as women, accustomed to use it in their dressing and decorating operations, find available in higher art. You might, doubtless, observe unsureness in the strokes, and, in consequence, a too undecided character in the objects: but you could not help admiring the most faithful execution; though the whole was not seized in its happiest effect, not grouped and adjusted with the skill of an artist. She is afraid, you would say, of profaning her object, if she keep not completely true to it: hence she becomes precise and stiff, and loses herself in details.

But now, by the great, free talent, by the bold hand of the artist, she feels rising, awakening within her, whatever genuine feeling and taste had till now slumbered in her mind: she perceives that she has but to take heart, and earnestly and punctually to follow some fundamental maxims which the artist, with penetrating judgment and friendly importunity, is repeating, and impressing on her. That sureness of stroke comes of its own accord; she by degrees dwells less on the parts than on the whole: and thus the fairest capability rises on a sudden to fulfilment; as a rosebud, which in the evening we passed by unobservant, breaks forth in the morning at sunrise before our face; and the living, quivering movement of this lordly blossom, struggling out to the light, seems almost visible before our eyes. Nor did this intellectual culture remain without moral effects; for, on a pure spirit, it produces a magic impression to be conscious of that heartfelt thankfulness natural towards any one to whom it stands indebted for decisive instruction. In this case it was the first glad emotion which had risen in Hilaria’s soul for many a week. To see this lordly world lying round her day after day, and now at once to feel the instantly acquired, more perfect gift of representing it! What delight in figures and tints, to be approaching nearer the Unspeakable! She felt herself surprised as with a new youth, and could not refuse a peculiar kindliness to the man who had procured for her such happiness.

Thus did the two sit together: you could scarcely have determined whether he were readier in communicating secret advantages in art, or she in seizing them and turning them to practice. The happiest rivalry, such as too seldom rises between scholar and master, here took place. Many a time you might observe the friend preparing with some decisive stroke to influence her drawing; which she, on the other hand, would gently decline, hastening to do the wished, the necessary, of her own accord, and always to her master’s astonishment. The fair widow, in the mean while, walked along the terraces with Wilhelm, under cypresses and pines, now under vine, now under orange groves, and at last could not but fulfil the faintly indicated wish of her new friend, and disclose to him the strange entanglement by which the two fair pilgrims, cut off from their former ties, and straitly united to one another, had been sent forth to wander over the world. Wilhelm, who wanted not the gift of accurately noting what he saw, took down her narrative some time afterwards in writing: this, as he compiled it and transmitted it by Hersilia to Natalia, we purpose by and by communicating to our readers.

The last evening was now come; and a rising, most clear, full moon concealed the transition from day to night. The party had assembled and seated themselves on one of the highest terraces, to see distinct and unimpeded, and glittering in the sheen of east and west, the peaceful lake, hidden partly in its length, but visible over all its breadth. Whatever in such circumstances might be talked of, it was natural once more to repeat the hundred times repeated; to mention the beauties of this sky, of this water, of this land, under the influences of a strong sun and milder moon, - nay, exclusively and lyrically to recognize and describe them. But what none of them uttered, what each durst scarcely avow to himself, was the deep, mournful feeling which, stronger or weaker, but with equal truth and tenderness, was beating in every bosom. The presentiment of parting diffused itself over present union: a gradual stagnation was becoming almost painful. Then at last the singer roused himself, summoned up his resolution; with strong tones, preluding on his instrument; heedless of the former well-meant reserve. Mignon’s figure, with the first soft song of the gentle child, were hovering before him. Passionately hurried over the limits, with longing touch awakening the sweetly sounding strings, he began to raise, -

“Dost know the land where citrons, lemons, grow, Gold oranges ’neath dusky foliage”.... Hersilia rose in deepest agitation, and hurried away, veiling her face: our fair widow, with a motion of refusal, waved her hand towards the singer; while she caught Wilhelm’s arm with the other. The perplexed and half-unconscious youth followed Hilaria: Wilhelm, by his more considerate guide, was led after them. And now, when they stood all four under the high moonshine, the general emotion was no longer to be concealed. The women threw themselves into each other’s arms; the men embraced each other; and Luna was witness of the noblest, chastest tears. Some recollection slowly returned: they forced themselves asunder, silent, under strange feelings and wishes, from which hope was already cut off. And now our artist, whom his friend dragged with him, felt himself here under the void heaven, in the solemn, lovely hour of night, initiated in the first stage of renunciation, which those friends had already passed through, though they now saw themselves again in danger of being sharply tried. Not till late had the young men gone to rest; awakening in the early morning, they took heart; thought themselves now strong enough for a farewell to this paradise; devised many plans for still, without violation of duty, at least lingering in the pleasant neighborhood.

While purposing to introduce their projects to this effect, they were cut short by intelligence, that, with the earliest break of day, the ladies had departed. A letter from the hand of our Queen of Hearts gave them more precise information. You might have doubted whether sense rather than goodness, love rather than friendship, acknowledgment of merit rather than soft, bashful favor, was expressed in it. But, alas! in the conclusion stood the hard request, that our two wanderers were neither to follow their heroines, nor anywhere to seek them; nay, if they chanced to see each other, they were faithfully to avoid meeting. And now the paradise, as if by the touch of an enchanter’s rod, was changed for our friends into an utter desert; and certainly they would have smiled at themselves had they perceived at this moment how unjust and unthankful they were on a sudden become to so fair and remarkable a scene. No self-seeking hypochondriac could so sharply and spitefully have rated and censured the decay of the buildings, the neglected condition of the walls, the weathered aspect of the towers, the grassy obstruction of the walks, the perishing of the trees, the mossiness and mouldering of the artificial grottos, and whatever else of that sort was to be observed, as our two travellers now did. By degrees, however, they settled themselves as circumstances would admit: the artist carefully packed up his work; they both set sail;

Wilhelm accompanying him to the upper quarter of the lake, where, by previous agreement, the former set forth on his way to Natalia, to introduce her by his fair landscape-papers into scenes which, perhaps, she might not soon have an opportunity of viewing with her eyes. He was at the same time commissioned to inform her confessionally of the late incident, which had reduced him to a state such that he might be received with hearty kindness by the confederates in the vow of renunciation, and with soft, friendly treatment in the midst of them, be comforted if he could not be healed.

In this division of our work, the exculpatory “Word from the Editor” might have been more requisite than even in the foregoing chapter; for there, though we had not the paintings of the master and his fair scholar, on which all depended, to exhibit before our readers, and could neither make the perfection of the finished artist, nor the commencing stintedness nor rapid development of the art-loving beauty, visible to their eyes, yet still the description might not be altogether inefficient, and many genial and thought-exalting matters remained to be imparted. But here, where the business in hand is a great object, which one could have wished to see treated in the most precise manner, there is, unhappily, too little noted down; and we cannot hope that a complete view will be attained from our communications. Again, it is to be observed, that in the novel, as in universal history, we have to struggle with uncertain computations of time, and cannot always decisively fix what has happened sooner, and what later. We shall hold, therefore, by the surest points. That a year must have passed since Wilhelm left the pedagogic province is rendered certain by the circumstance that we now meet him at the festival to which he had been invited: but as our wandering renunciants sometimes unexpectedly dive down and vanish from our sight, and then again emerge into view at a place where they were not looked for, it cannot be determined with certainty what track they have followed in the interim.

Now, however, the traveller advances from the side of the plain country into the pedagogic province: he comes over fields and pasturages; skirts, on the dry lea, many a little freshet; sees bushy rather than woody hills; a free prospect on all sides, over a surface but little undulated. On such tracks, he did not long doubt that he was in the horse-producing region; and accordingly he failed not here and there to observe greater or smaller herds of mares and foals. But all at once the horizon darkens with a fierce cloud of dust, which, rapidly swelling nearer and nearer, covers all the breadth of the space, yet at last, rent asunder by a sharp side wind, is forced to disclose its interior tumult. At full gallop rushes forward a vast multitude of these noble animals, guided and held together by mounted keepers. The monstrous hurly-burly whirls past the wanderer: a fair boy among the keepers looks at him with surprise, pulls in, leaps down, and embraces his father. Now commences a questioning and answering: the boy relates that an agricultural life had not agreed with him; the harvest-home he had, indeed, found delightful, but the subsequent arrangements, the ploughing and digging, by no means so. This the superiors remark, and observe at the same time that he likes to employ himself with animals: they direct him to the useful and necessary domestic breeds, try him as a sequestered herdsman and keeper, and at last promote him to the more lively equestrian occupation, where accordingly he now, himself a young foal, has to watch over foals, and to forward their good nourishment and training under the oversight of skilful comrades.

Father and son, following the herd by various lone-lying spacious farm-yards, reached the town, or hamlet, near which the great annual market was held. Here rages an incredible confusion, in which it is hard to determine whether merchants or wares raise more dust. From all countries, purchasers assemble here to procure animals of noble blood and careful training: all the languages of the earth, you would fancy, meet your ear. Amid all this hubbub, too, rises the lively sound of powerful wind instruments: every thing bespeaks motion, vigor, and life. The wanderer meets his overseer of last year, who presents him to the others: he is even introduced to one of the Three, and by him, though only in passing, paternally and expressively saluted. Wilhelm, here again observing an example of exclusive culture and life-leading, expresses a desire to know in what else the pupils are practised, by way of counterpoise, that so in this wild, and, to a certain degree, savage occupation of feeding animals, the youth may not himself roughen into an animal. And, in answer, he is gratified to learn, that precisely with this violent and rugged-looking occupation the softest in the world is united, - the learning and practising of languages.

“To this,” it was said, “we have been induced by the circumstance, that there are youths from all quarters of the world assembled here: now, to prevent them from uniting, as usually happens when abroad, into national knots, and forming exclusive parties, we endeavor by a free communication of speech to approximate them. “Indeed, a general acquaintance with languages is here in some degree rendered necessary; since, in our yearly market festivals, every foreigner wishes to converse in his own tones and idiom, and, in the course of cheapening and purchasing, to proceed with all possible convenience. That no Babylonish confusion of tongues, however, no corruption of speech, may arise from this practice, we employ a different language month by month, throughout the year; according to the maxim, that, in learning any thing, its first principles alone should be taught by constraint. “We look upon our scholars,” said the overseer, “as so many swimmers, who, in the element which threatened to swallow them, feel with astonishment that they are lighter, that it bears and carries them forward; and so it is with every thing that man undertakes. “However, if any one of our young men show a special inclination for this or the other language, we neglect not, in the midst of this tumultuous-looking life, which nevertheless offers very many quiet, idly solitary, nay, tedious hours, to provide for his true and substantial instruction. Our riding grammarians, among whom there are even some pedagogues you would be surprised to discover among these bearded and beardless centaurs. Your Felix has turned himself to Italian; and, in the monotonous solitude of his herdsman life, you shall hear him send forth many a dainty song with proper feeling and taste. Practical activity and expertness are far more compatible with sufficient intellectual culture than is generally supposed.”

Each of these districts was celebrating its peculiar festival, so the guest was now conducted to the instrumental music department. This tract, skirted by the level country, began from its very border to exhibit kind and beautifully changing valleys; little trim woods; soft brooks, by the side of which, among the sward, here and there a mossy crag modestly stood forth. Scattered, bush-encircled dwellings you might see on the hillsides: in soft hollows, the houses clustered nearer together. Those gracefully separated cottages lay so far apart, that neither tones nor mistones could be heard from one to the other. They now approached a wide space, begirt with buildings and shady trees, where crowded, man on man, all seemed on the stretch of expectation and attention. Just as the stranger entered, there was sent forth from all the instruments a grand symphony, the full, rich power and tenderness of which he could not but admire. Opposite the spacious main orchestra was a smaller one, which failed not to attract his notice: here stood various younger and elder scholars; each held his instrument in readiness without playing: these were they who as yet could not, or durst not, join in with the whole. It was interesting to observe how they stood, as it were, on the start; and our friend was informed that such a festival seldom passed over without some one or other of them suddenly developing his talent.

As, among the instrumental music, singing was now introduced, no doubt could remain that this also was favored. To the question, What other sort of culture was here blended in kind union with the chief employment, our wanderer learned, in reply, that it was poetry, and of the lyrical kind. In this matter it appeared their main concern was, that both arts should be developed, each for itself and from itself, but then also in contrast and combination with each other. The scholars were first instructed in each according to its own limitations, then taught how the two reciprocally limit, and again reciprocally free each other. To poetical rhythm the musical artist opposes measure of tone, and movement of tone. But here the mastery of Music over Poesy soon shows itself; for if the latter, as is fit and necessary, keep her quantities never so steadily in view, still for the musician few syllables are decidedly short or long: at his pleasure he can overset the most conscientious procedure of the rhythmer, - nay, change prose itself into song; from which, in truth, the richest possibilities present themselves: and the poet would soon feel himself annihilated if he could not, on his own side, by lyrical tenderness and boldness, inspire the musician with reverence, and, now in the softest sequence, now by the most abrupt transitions, awaken new feelings in the mind.

The singers to be met with here are mostly poets themselves. Dancing also is taught in its fundamental principles, that so all these accomplishments may regularly spread themselves into every district. The guest, on being led across the next boundary, at once perceived an altogether different mode of building. The houses were no longer scattered into separation, no longer in the shape of cottages: they stood regularly united, beautiful in their exterior, spacious, convenient, and elegant within; you here saw an unconfined, well-built, stately town, corresponding to the scene it stood in. Here the plastic arts, and the trades akin to them have their home; and a peculiar silence reigns over these spaces. The plastic artist, it is true, must still figure himself as standing in relation to all that lives and moves among men; but his occupation is solitary: and yet, by the strangest contradiction, there is, perhaps, no other that so decidedly requires a living accompaniment and society. Now, here, in that circle, is each in silence forming shapes that are forever to engage the eyes of men: a holiday stillness reigns over the whole scene; and did you not here and there catch the picking of stone-hewers, and the measured stroke of carpenters, who are now busily employed in finishing a lordly edifice, the air were unmoved by any sound.

Our wanderer was struck, moreover, by the earnestness, the singular rigor, with which beginners, as well as more advanced pupils, were treated: it seemed as if no one, by his own power and judgment, accomplished any thing, but as if a secret spirit, striving towards one single great aim, pervaded and vivified them all. Nowhere did you observe a scheme or sketch: every stroke was drawn with forethought. As the wanderer inquired of his guide the reason of this peculiar procedure, he was told, “That imagination was, in itself, a vague, unstable power, which the whole merit of the plastic artist consisted in more and more determining, fixing, nay, at last exalting to visible presence.” The necessity for sure principles in other arts was mentioned. “Would the musician,” it was said, “permit his scholar to dash wildly over the strings, - nay, to invent bars and intervals for himself at his own good pleasure? Here it is palpable that nothing can be left to the caprice of the learner: the element he is to work in is irrevocably given; the implement he is to wield is put into his hands; nay, the very way and manner of his using it, I mean the changing of the fingers, he finds prescribed to him; so ordered that the one part of his hand shall give place to the other, and each prepare the proper path for its follower: by such determinate co-operation only can the impossible at last become possible.

“But what chiefly vindicates the practice of strict requisitions, of decided laws, is that genius, that native talent, is precisely the readiest to seize them, and yield them willing obedience. It is only the half-gifted that would wish to put his own contracted singularity in the place of the unconditional whole, and justify his false attempts under cover of an unconstrainable originality and independence. To this we grant no currency: we guard our scholars from all such misconceptions, whereby a large portion of life, nay, often the whole of life, is apt to be perplexed and disjointed. “With genius we love most to be concerned, for this is animated just by that good spirit of quickly recognizing what is profitable for it. Genius understands that Art is called Art, because it is not Nature. Genius bends itself to respect even towards what may be named conventional; for what is this but agreeing, as the most distinguished men have agreed, to regard the unalterable, the indispensable, as the best? And does not such submission always turn to good account? “Here, too, as in all our departments, to the great assistance of the teachers, our three reverences and their signs, with some changes suitable to the nature of the main employment, have been introduced and inculcated.”

The wanderer, in his further survey, was surprised to observe that the town seemed still extending; street unfolding itself from street, and so offering the most varied prospects. The exterior of the edifices corresponded to their destination: they were dignified and stately, not so much magnificent as beautiful. To the nobler and more earnest buildings in the centre of the town the more cheerful were harmoniously appended; till, farther out, gay, decorated suburbs, in graceful style, stretched forth into the country, and at last separated into garden-houses. The stranger could not fail to remark that the dwellings of the musicians in the preceding district were by no means to be compared, in beauty or size, with the present, which painters, statuaries, and architects inhabited. He was told that this arose from the nature of the thing. The musician, ever shrouded in himself, must cultivate his inmost being, that so he may turn it outwards. The sense of the eye he may not flatter. The eye easily corrupts the judgment of the ear, and allures the spirit from the inward to the outward. Inversely, again, the plastic artist has to live in the external world, and to manifest his inward being, as it were, unconsciously, in and upon what is outward. Plastic artists should dwell like kings and gods: how else are they to build and decorate for kings and gods? They must at last so raise themselves above the common that the whole mass of a people may feel itself ennobled in and by their works.

Our friend then begged an explanation of another paradox. Why, at this time, so festive, so enlivening, so tumultuously excited, in the other regions, the greatest stillness prevailed here, and all labors were continued? “A plastic artist,” it was answered, “needs no festival. When he has accomplished something excellent it stands, as it has long done before his own eye, now at last before the eye of the world. In his task he needed no repetition, no new effort, no fresh success; whereas the musician constantly afflicts himself with all this: and to him, therefore, the most splendid festival, in the most numerous assemblage, should not be refused.” “Yet, at such a season,” replied Wilhelm, “something like an exhibition might be desirable, in which it would be pleasant to inspect and judge the triennial progress of your best pupils.” “In other places,” it was answered, “an exhibition may be necessary: with us it is not. Our whole being and nature is exhibition. Look round you at these buildings of every sort, all erected by our pupils, and this not without plans, a hundred times talked of and meditated; for the builder must not grope and experiment: what is to continue standing must stand rightly, and satisfy, if not forever, yet at least for a long space of time. If we cannot help committing errors, we must build none.

“With statuaries we proceed more laxly, most so of all with painters: to both we give liberty to try this and that, each in his own way. It stands in their power to select, in the interior or exterior compartments of edifices in public places, some space which they may incline to decorate. They give forth their ideas; and, if these are in some degree to be approved of, the completion of them is permitted, and this in two ways: either with liberty, sooner or later, to remove the work, should it come to displease the artist; or with the condition that what is once set up shall remain unalterable in its place. Most part choose the first of these offers, retaining in their own hands this power of removal; and in the performance they constantly avail themselves of the best advice. The second case occurs seldomer; and we then observe that the artist trusts less to himself, holds long conferences with companions and critics, and by this means produces works really estimable, and deserving to endure.” After all this our traveller neglected not to ask, What other species of instruction was combined with the main one here? and received for answer, that it was poetry, and of the epic sort.

This to our friend must have seemed a little singular, when he heard further that the pupils were not allowed to read or hear any finished poems by ancient or modern poets. “We merely impart to them,” it was said, “a series of mythuses, traditions, and legends, in the most laconic form. And now, from the pictorial or poetic execution of these subjects, we at once discover the peculiar productive gift of the genius devoted to the one or the other art. Both poet and painter thus labor at the same fountain; and each endeavors to draw off the water to his own side to his own advantage, and attain his own required objects with it; in which he succeeds much better than if he attempted again to fashion something that has been fashioned already.” The traveller himself had an opportunity of seeing how this was accomplished: several painters were busy in a room; a gay young friend was relating with great minuteness a very simple story; so that he employed almost as many words as the others did pencil-strokes, to complete the same exhibition, and round it fully off. He was told, that, in working together, the friends were wont to carry on much pleasant conversation; and that in this way several improvisatori had unfolded their gifts, and succeeded in exciting great enthusiasm for this twofold mode of representation.

Our friend now reverted his inquiries to the subject of plastic art. “You have no exhibition,” said he, “and therefore, I suppose, give no prize either?” “No,” said the other, “we do not; but here, close by, we can show you something which we reckon more useful.” They entered a large hall, appropriately lighted from above: a wide circle of busy artists first attracted the eye; and from the midst of these rose a colossal group of figures, elevated with pleasing effect in the centre of the place. Male and female forms, of gigantic power, in violent postures, reminded one of that lordly fight between heroic youths and Amazons, wherein hate and enmity at last issue in mutually regretful alliance. This strikingly intertwisted piece of art presented an equally favorable aspect from every point of its circuit. In a wide ring round it were many artists sitting and standing, each occupied in his own way, - the painter at his easel, the drawer at his sketch-board: some were modelling it in full, others in bas-relief: there were even architects engaged in planning the pedestal, on which a similar group, when wrought in marble, was to be erected. Each individual was proceeding by his own method in this task; painters and drawers were bringing out the group to a plain surface, careful, however, not to destroy its figures, but to retain as much of it as possible. In the same manner were works in bas-relief going forward. One man only had repeated the whole group in a miniature scale, and in certain movements and arrangements of limbs he really seemed to have surpassed his model.

And now it came out that this man was the maker of the model; who, before working it in marble, had here submitted his performance, not to a critical, but to a practical trial, and by accurately observing whatever any of his fellow-artists in his special department and way of thought might notice, retain, or alter in the group, was purposing, in subsequent consideration, to turn all this to his own profit: so that, when at length the grand work stood finished in marble, though undertaken, planned, and executed by one, it might seem to belong to all. The greatest silence reigned throughout this apartment also; but the superior raised his voice, and cried, “Is there any of you, then, who, in presence of this stationary work, can, with gifted words, so awaken our imagination, that all we here see concreted shall again become fluid, without losing its character, and so convince us that what our artist has here laid hold of was indeed the worthiest?” Called forth on all sides by name, a fair youth laid down his work, and, as he stepped forward, began a quiet speech, seemingly intended merely to describe the present group of figures; but erelong he cast himself into the region of poetry, plunged into the middle of the action, and ruled this element like a master: by degrees his representation so swelled and mounted by lordly words and gestures, that the rigid group seemed actually to move about its axis, and the number of its figures to be doubled and trebled. Wilhelm stood enraptured, and at last exclaimed, “Can we now forbear passing over into song itself, into rhythmic melody?”

“This I should wish to deprecate,” said the overseer; “for, if our excellent statuary will be candid, he will confess to us that our poet scarcely pleases him; and this because their arts lie in the most opposite regions: on the other hand, I durst bet, that here and there a painter has not failed to appropriate some living touches from the speech. “A soft, kindly song, however, I could wish our friend to hear: there is one, for instance, which you sing to an air so lovely and earnest; it turns on art in general, and I myself never listen to it without pleasure.” After a pause, in which they beckoned to each other, and settled their arrangements by signs, the following heart and spirit stirring song resounded in stately melody from all sides: - “While inventing and effecting, Artist by thyself continue long: The result art thou expecting, Haste and see it in the throng. Here in others look, discover What thy own life’s course has been; And thy deeds of years past over, In thy fellow-man be seen. The devising, the uniting, What and how the forms shall be, One thing will the other lighten, And at last comes joy to thee! Wise and true what thou impartest, Fairly shaped, and softly done: Thus of old the cunning artist Artist-like his glory won.

As all Nature’s thousand changes But one changeless God proclaim; So in Art’s wide kingdoms ranges One sole meaning still the same: This is Truth, eternal Reason, Which from Beauty takes its dress, And, serene through time and season, Stands for aye in loveliness. While the orator, the singer, Pour their hearts in rhyme and prose, ’Neath the painter’s busy finger Shall bloom forth Life’s cheerful rose, Girt with sisters, in the middle, And with Autumn’s fruitage blent; That of life’s mysterious riddle Some short glimpses may be hent. Thousand-fold and graceful, show thou Form from forms evolving fair; And of man’s bright image know thou That a God once tarried there: And, whate’er your tasks or prizes, Stand as brethren one and all; While, like song, sweet incense rises From the altar at your call.” All this Wilhelm could not but let pass, though it must have seemed paradoxical enough, and, had he not seen it with his eyes, might even have appeared impossible. But now, when it was explained and pointed out to him, openly and freely, and in fair sequence, he scarcely needed to put any further question on the subject. However, he at last addressed his conductor as follows: “I see here a most prudent provision made for much that is desirable in life; but tell me further, which of your regions exhibits a similar attention to dramatic poetry, and where could I instruct myself in that matter? I have looked round over all your edifices, and observed none that seemed destined for such an object.”

“In reply to this question, we must not hide from you, that, in our whole province, there is no such edifice to be seen. The drama presupposes the existence of an idle multitude, perhaps even of a populace; and no such class finds harbor with us: for birds of that feather, when they do not in spleen forsake us of their own accord, we soon take care to conduct over the marches. Doubt not, however, that in our Institution, so universal in its character, this point was carefully meditated; but no region could be found for the purpose, everywhere some important scruple came in the way. Indeed, who among our pupils could readily determine, with pretended mirth or hypocritical sorrow, to excite in the rest a feeling untrue in itself, and alien to the moment, for the sake of calling forth an always dubious satisfaction? Such juggleries we reckoned in all cases dangerous, and could not reconcile with our earnest objects.” “It is said, however,” answered Wilhelm, “that this far-stretching art promotes all the rest of whatever sort.” “Nowise,” answered the other: “it employs the rest, but spoils them. I do not blame a player for uniting himself with a painter; but the painter, in such society, is lost. Without any conscience, the player will lay hold of whatever art or life presents him, and use it for his fugitive objects, indeed, with no small profit: the painter, again, who could wish in return to extract advantage from the theatre, will constantly find himself a loser by it;

and so also in the like case will the musician. The combined arts appear to me like a family of sisters, of whom the greater part were inclined to good economy, but one was light-headed, and desirous to appropriate and squander the whole goods and chattels of the household. The theatre is this wasteful sister: it has an ambiguous origin, which in no case, whether as art or trade or amusement, it can wholly conceal.”

Wilhelm cast his eyes on the ground with a deep sigh: for all that he had enjoyed or suffered on the stage rose at once before his mind; and he blessed the good men who were wise enough to spare their pupils such pain, and, out of principle and conviction, to banish such errors from their sphere. His attendant, however, did not leave him long in these meditations, but continued, “As it is our highest and holiest principle, that no talent, no capacity, be misdirected, we cannot hide from ourselves, that, among so large a number, here and there a mimical gift will sometimes decidedly come to light; exhibiting itself in an irresistible desire to ape the characters, forms, movements, speech, of others. This we certainly do not encourage: but we observe our pupil strictly; and, if he continue faithful to his nature, then we have already established an intercourse with the great theatres of all nations; and so thither we send any youth of tried capability, that, as the duck on the pond, so he on the boards, may be forthwith conducted, full speed, to the future quack-quacking, and gibble-gabbling, of his life.” Wilhelm heard this with patience, but only with half conviction, perhaps with some spleen: for so strangely is man tempered, that he may be persuaded of the worthlessness of any darling object, may turn away from it, nay, even execrate it, but yet will not see it treated in this way by others; and perhaps the spirit of Contradiction, which dwells in all men, never rouses itself more vehemently and stoutly than in such cases.

And the editor of these sheets may himself confess that he lets not this strange passage through his hands without some touch of anger. Has not he, too, in many senses, expended more life and faculty than was right on the theatre? And would these men convince him that this has been an unpardonable error, a fruitless toil? But we have no time for appending, in splenetic mood, such remembrances and after-feelings to the narrative; for our friend now finds himself agreeably surprised, as one of the Three, and this a particularly prepossessing one, again comes before his eyes. Kind, open meekness, announcing the purest peace of soul, came in its refreshing effluences along with him. Trustfully the wanderer could approach, and feel his trust returned. Here he now learned that the chief was at present in the sanctuary, instructing, teaching, blessing; while the Three had separated to visit all the regions, and everywhere, after most thorough information obtained, and conferences with the subordinate overseers, to forward what was in progress, to found what was newly planned, and thereby faithfully discharge their high duty. This same excellent person now gave him a more comprehensive view of their internal situation and external connections; explained to him the mutual influences of one region on another; and also by what steps, after a longer or a shorter date, a pupil could be transferred from the one to the other. All this harmonized completely with what he already knew. At the same time he was much gratified by the description given of his son, and their further plan of education met with his entire approval.

He was now, by the assistants and overseer, invited to a miners’ festival, which was forthwith to be celebrated. The ascent of the mountains was difficult; and Wilhelm fancied he observed that his guide walked even slower towards evening, as if the darkness had not been likely to obstruct their path still more. But, when deep night came round them, this enigma was solved: our wanderer observed little flames come glimmering and wavering forth from many dells and chasms, gradually stretch themselves into lines, and roll over the summits of the mountains. Much kindlier than when a volcano opens, and its belching roar threatens whole countries with destruction, did this fair light appear; and yet, by degrees, it glowed with new brightness; grew stronger, broader, more continuous; glittered like a stream of stars, soft and lovely indeed, yet spreading boldly over all the scene. After the attendant had a little while enjoyed the surprise of his guest, - for they could clearly enough observe each other, their faces and forms, as well as their path, being illuminated by the light from the distance, - he began, “You see here, in truth, a curious spectacle: these lights which, day and night, the whole year over, gleam and work under ground, forwarding the acquisition of concealed and scarcely attainable treasures, these now mount and well forth from their abysses, and gladden the upper night. Scarcely could one anywhere enjoy so brave a review as here, where this most useful occupation, which, in its subterranean concealment, is dispersed and hidden from the eye, rises before us in its full completeness, and bespeaks a great secret combination.”

Amid such speeches and thoughts they had reached the spot where these fire-brooks poured themselves into a sea of flame surrounding a well-lighted insular space. The wanderer placed himself in the dazzling circle, within which glittering lights by thousands formed an imposing contrast with the miners, ranked round it like a dark wall. Forthwith arose the gayest music as accompaniment to becoming songs. Hollow masses of rock came forward on machinery, and opened a resplendent interior to the eye of the delighted spectator. Mimetic exhibitions, and whatever else at such a moment can gratify the multitude, combined with all this at once to excite and to satisfy a cheerful attention. But with what astonishment was Wilhelm filled when, on being introduced to the superiors, he observed friend Jarno in solemn, stately robes among the number. “Not in vain,” cried Jarno, “have I changed my former name with the more expressive title of Montan: thou findest me here initiated in mountain and cave; and now, if questioned, I could disclose and explain to thee much that a year ago was still a riddle to myself.” At this point our manuscripts forsake us: of the conversation of these friends there is nothing specified; as little can we discover the connection of what follows next, - an incident of which in the same bundle, in the same paper, we find brief notice: That a meeting had taken place between our wanderer and Lothario and the abbé. Unhappily, in this, as in so many other leaves, the date has been neglected.

Some passages, introduced rather in the way of exclamation than of narrative, point to the high meaning of renunciation, by which alone the first real entrance into life is conceivable. Then we come upon a map, marked with several arrows pointing towards one another; and along with this we find, in a certain sequence, several days of the month written down: so that we might fancy ourselves again walking in the real world, and moderately certain as to the next part of our friend’s route, were it not that here also various marks and ciphers, appended in different ways, awoke some fear that a secret meaning at the bottom of it would forever lie hid from us. But what drives us out of all historical composure is the strange circumstance, that, immediately on all this, there comes in the most improbable narration, of a sort like those tales whereby you long keep the hearer’s curiosity on the stretch with a series of wonders, and at last explain, That you were talking of a dream. However, we shall communicate without change what lies before us: - “If hitherto we had continued in the metalliferous part of the mountains, which, externally, is soft, and by no means of a wild aspect, I was now conducted through precipitous and scarcely passable rocks and chasms: at last I gained the topmost summit, - a cliff, the peak of which afforded room only for a single person, who, if he looked down from it into the horrid depth, might see furious mountain torrents foaming through black abysses.

In the present case I looked down without giddiness or terror, for I was light of heart; but now my attention fixed itself on some huge crags rising opposite me, precipitous like my own, yet offering on their summits a larger space of level. Though parted by a monstrous chasm, the jutting masses came so near together that I could distinctly enough, with the naked eye, observe several persons assembled on the summit. They were, for most part, ladies, one of whom, coming forward to the very verge, awakened in me double and treble anxiety; as I became completely convinced that it was Natalia herself. The danger of such an unexpected interview increased every moment; but it grew boundless when a perspective came before my eyes, and brought me over to her, and her over to me. There is something magical at all times in perspectives. Were we not accustomed from youth to look through them, we should shudder and tremble every time we put them to our eyes. It is we who are looking, and it is not we: a being it is whose organs are raised to a higher pitch, whose limitations are done away, who has become entitled to stretch forth into infinitude.

“When, for example, we observe far-distant persons, by means of such an instrument, and see them in unsuspicious thoughtlessness following their business as if they were solitary and unwatched, we could almost feel afraid lest they might discover us, and indignantly upbraid us for our treacherous curiosity. “And so likewise did I, hemmed in by a strange feeling, waver between proximity and distance, and from instant to instant alternate between the two. “Those others in their turn had observed us, as a signal with a white handkerchief put beyond a doubt. For a moment I delayed in my answer to it, finding myself thus close beside the being whom I adored. This is her pure, benign form: these are her taper arms, which once so helpfully appeared before me, after unblessed sorrows and perplexities, and at last, too, though but for moments, sympathizingly embraced me. “I saw distinctly enough that she, too, had a perspective, and was looking over to me; and I failed not, by such tokens as stood at my command, to express the profession of a true and heartfelt attachment. “And as experience teaches that remote objects, which we have once clearly recognized through a perspective, afterwards appear, even to the naked eye, as if standing shaped in distinct nearness, be it that more accurate knowledge sharpens the sense, or that imagination supplies what is wanting; so now did I see this beloved being as accurately and distinctly as if I could have touched her, though her company continued still irrecognizable. And as I was trampling round my narrow station, struggling towards her the more, the abyss was like to swallow me, had not a helpful hand laid hold of mine, and snatched me at once from my danger and my fairest happiness.”

Here at last we again step on firmer ground, the localities of which we can settle with some probability; though still here and there on our way there occur a few uncertainties, which it is not in our power altogether to clear up. As Wilhelm, in order to reach any point of the line marked out by the first arrow, had to proceed obliquely through the country, he found himself necessitated to perform the journey on foot, leaving his luggage to be carried after him. For this walk of his, however, he was richly rewarded; meeting at every step, quite unexpectedly, with loveliest tracts of scenery. They were of that sort which the last slope of a mountain region forms in its meeting with the plain country; bushy hills, their soft declivities employed in domestic use; all level spaces green; nowhere aught steep, unfruitful, or unploughed to be noticed. Erelong he reached the main valley, into which the side-waters flowed; and this, too, was carefully cultivated, graceful when you looked over it, with taper trees marking the bends of the river, and of the brooks which poured into it. On looking at his map, his indicator, he observed with surprise that the line drawn for him cut directly through this valley; so that, in the first place, he was at least on the right road.

An old castle, in good repair, and seemingly built at different periods, stood forth on a bushy hill, at the foot of which a gay hamlet stretched along, with its large inn rising prominent among the other houses. Hither he proceeded, and was received by the landlord kindly enough, yet with an excuse that he could not be admitted, unless by the permission of a party who had hired the whole establishment for a time; on which account he, the landlord, was under the necessity of sending all his guests to the older inn, which lay farther up the hamlet. After a short conference, the man seemed to bethink himself, and said, “Indeed, there is no one of them at home even now: but this is Saturday, and the bailiff will not fail to be here soon; he comes every week to settle the accounts of the last, and make arrangements for the next. Truly, there is a fair order reigns among these men, and a pleasure in having to do with them, though they are strict enough; for, if they yield one no great profit, it is sure and constant.” He then desired his new guest to amuse himself in the large upper hall, and await what further might occur.

Here Wilhelm, on entering, found a large, clean apartment, except for benches and tables altogether empty. So much the more was he surprised to see a large tablet inserted above one of the doors, with these words marked on it in golden letters, Ubi homines sunt modi sunt; which in modern tongue may signify, that, where men combine in society, the way and manner in which they like to be and to continue together is directly established. This motto made our wanderer think: he took it as a good omen; finding here, expressed and confirmed, a principle which he had often, in the course of life, perceived for himself to be furthersome and reasonable. He had not waited long when the bailiff made his appearance; who, being forewarned by the landlord, after a short conversation, and no very special scrutiny, admitted Wilhelm on the following terms: To continue three days; to participate quietly in whatever should occur; and, happen what might, to ask no questions about the reason; and, at taking leave, to ask none about the score. All this our traveller was obliged to comply with, the deputy not being allowed to yield in a single point. The bailiff was about retiring, when a sound of vocal music rolled up the stairs: two pretty young men entered singing; and these the bailiff, by a simple sign, gave to understand that their guest was accepted. Without interrupting their song, they kindly saluted the stranger, and continued their duet with the finest grace;

showing clearly enough that they were well trained, and complete masters of their art. As Wilhelm testified the most attentive interest, they paused, and inquired, If in his own pedestrian wanderings no song ever occurred to him, which he went along singing by himself? “A good voice,” answered Wilhelm, “Nature has in truth denied me: yet I often feel as if a secret Genius were whispering some rhythmic words in my ear; so that, in walking, I move to musical measure; fancying, at the same time, that I hear low tones accompanying some song, which, in one way or another, has pleasantly risen before me.”

“If you recollect such a song, write it down for us,” said they: “we shall see if we have skill to accompany your singing-demon.” He took a leaf from his note-book, and handed them the following lines: - “From the mountains to the champaign, By the glens and hills along, Comes a rustling and a tramping, Comes a motion as of song; And this undetermined roving Brings delight, and brings good heed: And thy striving, be ’t with loving, And thy living, be ’t in deed!” After brief study, there arose at once a gay, marching melody, which, in its repetition and restriction still stepping forward, hurried on the hearer with it: he was in doubt whether this was his own tune, his former theme, or one now for the first time so fitted to the words, that no other movement was conceivable. The singers had for some time pleasantly proceeded in this manner, when two stout young fellows came in, whom, by their accoutrements, you directly recognized as masons; two others, who followed them, being as evidently carpenters. These four, softly laying down their tools, listened to the music, and soon struck in with sure and decided voices; so that to the mind it seemed as if a real wayfaring company were stepping along over hill and valley: and Wilhelm thought he had never heard any thing so graceful, so enlivening to heart and mind. This enjoyment, however, was to be increased yet further, and raised to the highest pitch, by the entrance of a gigantic figure, mounting the stairs with a hard, firm tread, which, with all his efforts, he could scarcely moderate.

A heavy-laden dorsel he directly placed in the corner: himself he seated on a bench, which beginning to creak under his weight, the others laughed, yet without going wrong in their music. Wilhelm, however, was exceedingly surprised, when, with a huge bass voice, this son of Anak joined in also. The hall quivered; and it was to be observed, that in his part he altered the burden, and sang it thus: -

“Life’s no resting, but a moving: Let thy life be deed on deed!” Further, you could very soon perceive that he was drawing down the time to a slower step, and forcing the rest to follow him. Of this, when at last they were satisfied and had concluded, they accused him; declaring he had tried to set them wrong. “Not at all!” cried he: “it is you who tried to set me wrong, to put me out of my own step, which must be measured and sure, if I am to walk with my loading up hill and down dale, and yet, in the end, arrive at my appointed hour, to satisfy your wants.” One after the other these persons now passed into an adjoining room to the bailiff, and Wilhelm easily observed that they were occupied in settling accounts, - a point, however, as to which he was not allowed at present to inquire further. Two fair, lively boys in the mean while entered, and began covering a table in all speed, moderately furnishing it with meat and wine; and the bailiff, coming out, invited them all to sit down along with him. The boys waited, yet forgot not their own concern, but enjoyed their share in a standing posture. Wilhelm recollected witnessing similar scenes during his abode among the players; yet the present company seemed to be of a much more serious cast, constituted, not out of sport, for show, but with a view to important concerns of life.