Delphi Collected Works of Johann Wolfgang von Goethe \(Illustrated\) pdfdrive com

CHAPTER XII.

By  a  short  and  pleasant  road,  Wilhelm  had  reached  the  town  to  which  his

letter  was  addressed.  He  found  it  cheerful  and  well  built;  but  an  appearance  of

newness betrayed only too clearly that it must have recently suffered from fire.

The address of his letter took him to the last, small portion of the town that had

escaped, to a house of an ancient, solemn style of architecture. Colored window-

panes, strangely combined together, gave indication of a cheerful wealth of color

within.  And  the  interior  really  corresponded  with  the  outside.  In  the  sombre

rooms were seen on all sides pieces of furniture that might have served several

generations  already,  interspersed  with  but  few  modern  ones.  The  master  of  the

house received him kindly, in an apartment similarly furnished. Many an hour of

birth and death had these clocks already struck, and all that stood around called

to  mind  that  the  past  could  flow  on  into  the  present.  The  visitor  delivered  his

letter, but his host laid it aside without opening it, and in a cheerful conversation

essayed  in  a  direct  way  to  become  acquainted  with  his  guest.  They  soon  grew

confidential, and when Wilhelm, contrary to his usual habit, allowed his glances

to  run  observantly  about  the  room,  the  kind  old  man  said:  “My  surroundings

awaken your interest. You see here how long a thing can last. And one must, too,

look on such things as the counterpoise of what changes and alters so rapidly in

the  world.  This  tea-kettle  before  now  served  my  parents,  and  was  a  witness  of

our evening family gatherings. This copper fire-screen still continues to protect

me  from  the  fire,  which  this  strong  old  poker  stirs  up,  and  so  it  is  with

everything.  I  have  consequently  been  able  to  devote  sympathy  and  activity  to

many  other  subjects  because  I  have  not  troubled  myself  further  about  the

changing of these external requirements that expend the time and strength of so

many people. A loving attention to what man possesses makes him rich while he

thereby amasses for himself a wealth of memories in unimportant things. I have

known a young man, who, in taking leave of his sweetheart, stole from her a pin,

with which he used daily to pin on his cravat, and actually brought home from a

distant  journey  of  many  years’  length  this  cherished  and  carefully  preserved

object. To us other petty human beings this may well be reckoned as a virtue.”

“Many also,” added Wilhelm, “perhaps bring back from a like long journey a

thorn in the heart, that probably they would rather be free of.”

The  old  man  seemed  to  know  nothing  about  Lenardo’s  circumstances,

although  he  had  in  the  meantime  opened  and  read  the  letter,  for  he  again

returned to his former reflections.

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“Attachment to what we possess,” he continued, “in many instances gives us

the  greatest  energy.  To  this  kind  of  selfishness  I  owe  the  saving  of  my  house.

When the town was on fire, those too, who were with me, wanted to run away

and escape. I forbade it, ordered windows and doors to be shut, and with several

of  my  neighbors  turned  to  deal  with  the  flames.  Our  efforts  were  successful  in

saving  unscathed  this  corner  of  the  town.  The  next  morning  everything  in  my

house stood as you see it, and as it has stood almost a hundred years.”

“With  all  that,”  said  Wilhelm,  “you  will  confess  that  man  cannot  resist

changes that time brings about.”

“Granted,”  said  the  old  man;  “but  still  he  who  has  kept  himself  longest  has

also  achieved  something.  Nay,  we  are  even  able  to  preserve  and  make  sure

beyond the term of our existence: we hand down knowledge, we transfer tastes

just as well as property; and as it is for me chiefly a question of the latter, I have

on  this  account  for  a  long  time  been  wonderfully  cautious,  and  hit  on  quite

peculiar  expedients;  but  only  of  late  have  I  succeeded  in  seeing  my  desire

fulfilled.  Usually  the  son  scatters  abroad  what  the  father  has  collected,  collects

something  different,  or  in  different  manner.  But  if  we  are  able  to  wait  for  the

grandson,  for  the  new  generation,  then  the  same  inclinations,  the  same  objects

come  to  light.  And  thus  at  last  through  the  interest  of  our  pedagogue-friends,  I

have  got  hold  of  a  fine  young  man,  who  if  possible  is  more  tenacious  of

heirlooms than myself, and feels a strong bent for curious things. He has entirely

gained  my  confidence  through  the  strenuous  efforts  by  which  he  succeeded  in

averting  the  fire  from  our  house;  he  has  doubly  and  trebly  earned  the  treasure,

the possession of which I think of bequeathing to him; nay, it is already handed

over to him, and since that time our store has been increased in a wonderful way.

Yet not all that you see here is ours; rather, just as at a pawnbroker’s you behold

many an alien jewel, so I can also point out to you some valuables, which under

the most diverse circumstances have been deposited here for better keeping.”

Wilhelm thought of the splendid casket, which in any case he did not like to

carry about with him on journeys, and he did not refrain from showing it to his

friend. The old man looked at it attentively, named the time when it must have

been made, and showed him something similar. Wilhelm then mooted the point

whether it might be opened.

The old man thought not.

“I  believe  indeed,”  he  said,  “that  it  could  be  done,  without  any  particular

damage; but, since you have obtained it by such a strange accident, you ought to

try  your  fortune  with  it.  For  if  you  are  born  to  good  luck,  and  if  this  casket

betokens anything, then in time the key must be found for it, and just where you

expect it least.”

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“There are probably such cases,” replied Wilhelm.

“I have myself experienced several,” answered the old man, “and here you see

the most remarkable one before you. For thirty years I possessed the body of this

ivory  crucifix  with  head  and  feet  all  of  one  piece;  for  its  subject,  as  well  as  its

most exquisite art, it was carefully locked up in my most precious drawer. About

ten years ago, I received the cross belonging to it, with the inscription, and I let

myself be persuaded to have the arms put on, by the cleverest carver of our time;

yet how far was the good man behind his predecessor! Still, it might pass, more

for edifying contemplation than for admiration of the workmanship. Now, only

think  of  my  delight!  A  short  time  ago  I  received  the  original,  genuine  arms,  as

you  here  see  them,  fitted  on  in  the  loveliest  accord!  And  in  my  rapture  at  so

happy a coincidence, I cannot refrain from recognizing in this the destinies of the

Christian  religion,  which,  often  enough  divided  and  scattered,  must  yet  at  last

meet again at the cross.”

Wilhelm  admired  the  image  and  its  strange  recombination.  “I  shall  follow

your advice,” he added; “let the casket remain shut, until the key has been found,

even if it should lie by to the end of my life.”

“He who lives long,” said the old man, “sees many things gathered together,

and many dispersed.”

The young joint-owner just then entered, and Wilhelm declared his intention

of intrusting the casket to their keeping. A large book was now brought, and the

property  intrusted  was  entered;  a  receipt  was  made  out  with  the  observance  of

many ceremonies and stipulations. It was, in point of fact, expressed in favor of

anyone  who  presented  it,  but  would  be  honored  only  on  a  special  sign  agreed

upon with the receiver.

When  this  was  all  completed,  the  contents  of  the  letter  were  considered,  the

reception  of  the  good  Felix  being  first  discussed,  in  which  matter  the  elderly

friend, without more ado, propounded certain maxims, which ought to form the

basis of education.

“All life, all activity, all art must be preceded by handiwork, that can only be

acquired  in  a  limited  sphere.  A  correct  knowledge  and  practice  give  a  higher

culture than half-knowledge in hundredfold. In the place that I have indicated to

you all activities have been isolated; the pupils are tested at every step; thereby a

man  finds  out  whither  his  nature  really  tends,  or  if  he  is  turning  with  confused

wishes,  now  this  way,  now  that.  Wise  men  allow  the  boy  to  find  at  hand  what

suits him; they cut off the by-roads along which men will only too easily stray

away from their vocation.

“In  the  next  place,”  he  continued,  “I  venture  to  hope  that,  from  that  grandly

based centre, they will guide you upon the road to where that good girl will be

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found,  who  has  made  such  a  wonderful  impression  upon  your  friend,  who  by

dint  of  moral  feeling  and  reflection  has  so  highly  enhanced  the  value  of  an

innocent, unfortunate creature that he has been compelled to make her existence

the  end  and  aim  of  his  life.  I  hope  that  you  will  be  able  to  set  him  at  rest;  for

Providence possesses a thousand means of raising the fallen, and setting up those

bowed  down.  Our  destiny  often  looks  like  a  fruit-tree  in  winter.  Who  would

think  from  its  pitiable  aspect  that  those  rigid  boughs,  those  rough  twigs  could

next spring again be green, bloom, and even bear fruit? Yet we hope it, we know

it.”

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