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

CHAPTER VIII.

Mariana,  overpowered  with  sleep,  leaned  upon  her  lover,  who  clasped  her

close  to  him,  and  proceeded  in  his  narrative;  while  the  old  damsel  prudently

sipped up the remainder of the wine.

“The embarrassment,” he said, “into which, along with my companions, I had

fallen,  by  attempting  to  act  a  play  that  did  not  anywhere  exist,  was  soon

forgotten. My passion for representing each romance I read, each story that was

told  me,  would  not  yield  before  the  most  unmanageable  materials.  I  felt

convinced  that  whatever  gave  delight  in  narrative  must  produce  a  far  deeper

impression when exhibited: I wanted to have every thing before my eyes, every

thing  brought  forth  upon  the  stage.  At  school,  when  the  elements  of  general

history were related to us, I carefully marked the passages where any person had

been slain or poisoned in a singular way; and my imagination, glancing rapidly

along the exposition and intrigue, hastened to the interesting fifth act. Indeed, I

actually  began  to  write  some  plays  from  the  end  backwards,  without,  however,

in any of them reaching the beginning.

“At  the  same  time,  partly  by  inclination,  partly  by  the  counsel  of  my  good

friends, who had caught the fancy of acting plays, I read a whole wilderness of

theatrical  productions,  as  chance  put  them  into  my  hands.  I  was  still  in  those

happy  years  when  all  things  please  us,  when  number  and  variety  yield  us

abundant  satisfaction.  Unfortunately,  too,  my  taste  was  corrupted  by  another

circumstance. Any piece delighted me especially, in which I could hope to give

delight; there were few which I did not peruse in this agreeable delusion: and my

lively  conceptive  power  enabling  me  to  transfer  myself  into  all  the  characters,

seduced  me  to  believe  that  I  might  likewise  represent  them  all.  Hence,  in  the

distribution of the parts, I commonly selected such as did not fit me, and always

more than one part, if I could by any means accomplish more.

“In  their  games,  children  can  make  all  things  out  of  any:  a  staff  becomes  a

musket, a splinter of wood a sword, any bunch of cloth a puppet, any crevice a

chamber.  Upon  this  principle  was  our  private  theatre  got  up.  Totally

unacquainted with the measure of our strength, we undertook all: we stuck at no

quid pro quo, and felt convinced that every one would take us for what we gave

ourselves out to be. Now, however, our affairs went on so soberly and smoothly,

that I have not even a curious insipidity to tell you of. We first acted all the few

plays  in  which  only  males  are  requisite,  next  we  travestied  some  of  ourselves,

and at last took our sisters into the concern along with us. In one or two houses,

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our amusement was looked upon as profitable; and company was invited to see

it. Nor did our lieutenant of artillery now turn his back upon us. He showed us

how we ought to make our exits and our entrances; how we should declaim, and

with  what  attitudes  and  gestures.  Yet  generally  he  earned  small  thanks  for  his

toil,  we  conceiving  ourselves  to  be  much  deeper  in  the  secrets  of  theatrical  art

than he himself was.

“We  very  soon  began  to  grow  tired  of  tragedy;  for  all  of  us  believed,  as  we

had often heard, that it was easier to write or represent a tragedy than to attain

proficiency  in  comedy.  In  our  first  attempts,  accordingly,  we  had  felt  as  if

exactly  in  our  element:  dignity  of  rank,  elevation  of  character,  we  studied  to

approach  by  stiffness  and  affectation,  and  imagined  that  we  succeeded  rarely;

but our happiness was not complete, except we might rave outright, might stamp

with our feet, and, full of fury and despair, cast ourselves upon the ground.

“Boys  and  girls  had  not  long  carried  on  these  amusements  in  concert,  till

Nature began to take her course; and our society branched itself off into sundry

little love-associations, as generally more than one sort of comedy is acted in the

playhouse. Behind the scenes, each happy pair pressed hands in the most tender

style; they floated in blessedness, appearing to one another quite ideal persons,

when  so  transformed  and  decorated;  whilst,  on  the  other  hand,  unlucky  rivals

consumed  themselves  with  envy,  and  out  of  malice  and  spite  worked  every

species of mischief.

“Our  amusements,  though  undertaken  without  judgment,  and  carried  on

without  instruction,  were  not  without  their  use  to  us.  We  trained  our  memories

and  persons,  and  acquired  more  dexterity  in  speech  and  gesture  than  is  usually

met with at so early an age. But, for me in particular, this time was in truth an

epoch: my mind turned all its faculties exclusively to the theatre; and my highest

happiness was in reading, in writing, or in acting, plays.

“Meanwhile the labors of my regular teachers continued: I had been set apart

for  the  mercantile  life,  and  placed  under  the  guidance  of  our  neighbor  in  the

counting-house; yet my spirit at this very time recoiled more forcibly than ever

from all that was to bind me to a low profession. It was to the stage that I aimed

at  consecrating  all  my  powers,    —    on  the  stage  that  I  meant  to  seek  all  my

happiness and satisfaction.

“I  recollect  a  poem,  which  must  be  among  my  papers,  where  the  Muse  of

tragic  art  and  another  female  form,  by  which  I  personified  Commerce,  were

made to strive very bravely for my most important self. The idea is common, nor

do I recollect that the verses were of any worth; but you shall see it, for the sake

of the fear, the abhorrence, the love and passion, which are prominent in it. How

repulsively did I paint the old housewife, with the distaff in her girdle, the bunch

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of  keys  by  her  side,  the  spectacles  on  her  nose,  ever  toiling,  ever  restless,

quarrelsome, and penurious, pitiful and dissatisfied! How feelingly did I describe

the condition of that poor man who has to cringe beneath her rod, and earn his

slavish day’s wages by the sweat of his brow!

“And  how  differently  advanced  the  other!  What  an  apparition  for  the

overclouded mind! Formed as a queen, in her thoughts and looks she announced

herself  the  child  of  freedom.  The  feeling  of  her  own  worth  gave  her  dignity

without pride: her apparel became her, it veiled her form without constraining it;

and the rich folds repeated, like a thousand-voiced echo, the graceful movements

of the goddess. What a contrast! How easy for me to decide! Nor had I forgotten

the  more  peculiar  characteristics  of  my  Muse.  Crowns  and  daggers,  chains  and

masks, as my predecessors had delivered them, were here produced once more.

The contention was keen: the speeches of both were palpably enough contrasted,

for  at  fourteen  years  of  age  one  usually  paints  the  black  lines  and  the  white

pretty near each other. The old lady spoke as beseemed a person that would pick

up a pin from her path; the other, like one that could give away kingdoms. The

warning  threats  of  the  housewife  were  disregarded;  I  turned  my  back  upon  her

promised riches: disinherited and naked, I gave myself up to the Muse; she threw

her golden veil over me, and called me hers.

“Could I have thought, my dearest,” he exclaimed, pressing Mariana close to

him,  “that  another,  a  more  lovely  goddess  would  come  to  encourage  me  in  my

purpose, to travel with me on my journey, the poem might have had a finer turn,

a far more interesting end. Yet it is no poetry, it is truth and life that I feel in thy

arms: let us prize the sweet happiness, and consciously enjoy it.”

The pressure of his arms, the emotion of his elevated voice, awoke Mariana,

who hastened by caresses to conceal her embarrassment; for no word of the last

part of his story had reached her. It is to be wished, that in future, our hero, when

recounting his favorite histories, may find more attentive hearers.

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