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

CHAPTER II.

Melina  was  in  hopes  to  get  established,  with  his  company,  in  a  small  but

thriving  town  at  some  distance.  They  had  already  reached  the  place  where  the

count’s horses were to turn, and now they looked about for other carriages and

cattle  to  transport  them  onward.  Melina  had  engaged  to  provide  them  a

conveyance:  he  showed  himself  but  niggardly,  according  to  his  custom.

Wilhelm, on  the contrary,  had the  shining ducats  of the  countess in  his  pocket,

and thought he had the fullest right to spend them merrily; forgetting very soon

how ostentatiously he had produced them in the stately balance transmitted to his

father.

His  friend  Shakspeare,  whom  with  the  greatest  joy  he  acknowledged  as  his

godfather, and rejoiced the more that his name was Wilhelm, had introduced him

to a prince, who frolicked for a time among mean, nay, vicious companions, and

who,  notwithstanding  his  nobleness  of  nature,  found  pleasure  in  the  rudeness,

indecency,  and  coarse  intemperance  of  these  altogether  sensual  knaves.  This

ideal  likeness,  which  he  figured  as  the  type  and  the  excuse  of  his  own  actual

condition, was most welcome to our friend; and the process of self-deception, to

which  already  he  displayed  an  almost  invincible  tendency,  was  thereby  very

much facilitated.

He  now  began  to  think  about  his  dress.  It  struck  him  that  a  waistcoat,  over

which, in case of need, one could throw a little short mantle, was a very fit thing

for a traveller. Long knit pantaloons, and a pair of lacing-boots, seemed the true

garb of a pedestrian. He next procured a fine silk sash, which he tied about him,

under the pretence at first of securing warmth for his person. On the other hand,

he  freed  his  neck  from  the  tyranny  of  stocks,  and  got  a  few  stripes  of  muslin

sewed  upon  his  shirt;  making  the  pieces  of  considerable  breadth,  so  that  they

presented  the  complete  appearance  of  an  ancient  ruff.  The  beautiful  silk

neckerchief, the memorial of Mariana, which had once been saved from burning,

now lay slackly tied beneath this muslin collar. A round hat, with a party-colored

band, and a large feather, perfected the mask.

The  women  all  asserted  that  this  garb  became  him  very  well.  Philina  in

particular  appeared  enchanted  with  it.  She  solicited  his  hair  for  herself,    —

beautiful  locks,  which,  the  closer  to  approach  the  natural  ideal,  he  had

unmercifully  clipped.  By  so  doing  she  recommended  herself  not  amiss  to  his

favor;  and  our  friend,  who  by  his  open-handedness  had  acquired  the  right  of

treating  his  companions  somewhat  in  Prince  Harry’s  manner,  erelong  fell  into

---

the humor of himself contriving a few wild tricks, and presiding in the execution

of them. The people fenced, they danced, they devised all kinds of sports, and, in

their  gayety  of  heart,  partook  of  what  tolerable  wine  they  could  fall  in  with  in

copious proportions; while, amid the disorder of this tumultuous life, Philina lay

in wait for the coy hero, — over whom let his better genius keep watch!

One chief diversion, which yielded the company a frequent and very pleasing

entertainment,  consisted  in  producing  an  extempore  play,  in  which  their  late

benefactors  and  patrons  were  mimicked,  and  turned  into  ridicule.  Some  of  our

actors  had  seized  very  neatly  whatever  was  peculiar  in  the  outward  manner  of

several distinguished people in the count’s establishment; their imitation of these

was  received  by  the  rest  of  the  party  with  the  greatest  approbation:  and  when

Philina  produced,  from  the  secret  archives  of  her  experience,  certain  peculiar

declarations of love that had been made to her, the audience were like to die with

laughing and malicious joy.

Wilhelm  censured  their  ingratitude;  but  they  told  him  in  reply  that  these

gentry well deserved what they were getting, their general conduct toward such

deserving  people,  a  sour  friends  believed  themselves,  not  having  been  by  any

means  the  best  imaginable.  The  little  consideration,  the  neglect  they  had

experienced,  were  now  described  with  many  aggravations.  The  jesting,

bantering, and mimicry proceeded as before: our party were growing bitterer and

more unjust every minute.

“I wish,” observed Wilhelm, “there were no envy or selfishness lurking under

what  you  say,  but  that  you  would  regard  those  persons  and  their  station  in  the

proper point of view. It is a peculiar thing to be placed, by one’s very birth, in an

elevated situation in society. The man for whom inherited wealth has secured a

perfect  freedom  of  existence;  who  finds  himself  from  his  youth  upwards

abundantly encompassed with all the secondary essentials, so to speak, of human

life,    —    will  generally  become  accustomed  to  consider  these  qualifications  as

the first and greatest of all; while the worth of that mode of human life, which

nature  from  her  own  stores  equips  and  furnishes,  will  strike  him  much  more

faintly. The behavior of noblemen to their inferiors, and likewise to each other,

is regulated by external preferences. They give each credit for his title, his rank,

his clothes, and equipage; but his individual merits come not into play.”

This  speech  was  honored  with  the  company’s  unbounded  applause.  They

declared  it  to  be  shameful,  that  men  of  merit  should  constantly  be  pushed  into

the  background;  and  that,  in  the  great  world,  there  should  not  be  a  trace  of

natural and hearty intercourse. On this latter point particularly they overshot all

bounds.

“Blame them not for it,” said Wilhelm, “rather pity them! They have seldom

---

an  exalted  feeling  of  that  happiness  which  we  admit  to  be  the  highest  that  can

flow from the inward abundance of nature. Only to us poor creatures is it granted

to  enjoy  the  happiness  of  friendship  in  its  richest  fulness.  Those  dear  to  us  we

cannot elevate by our countenance, or advance by our favor, or make happy by

our  presents.  We  have  nothing  but  ourselves.  This  whole  self  we  must  give

away;  and,  if  it  is  to  be  of  any  value,  we  must  make  our  friend  secure  of  it

forever. What an enjoyment, what a happiness, for giver and receiver! With what

blessedness does truth of affection invest our situation! It gives to the transitory

life  of  man  a  heavenly  certainty:  it  forms  the  crown  and  capital  of  all  that  we

possess.”

While  he  spoke  thus,  Mignon  had  come  near  him:  she  threw  her  little  arms

round him, and stood with her cheek resting on his breast. He laid his hand on

the child’s head, and proceeded, “It is easy for a great man to win our minds to

him,  easy  to  make  our  hearts  his  own.  A  mild  and  pleasant  manner,  a  manner

only not inhuman, will of itself do wonders, — and how many means does he

possess  of  holding  fast  the  affections  he  has  once  conquered?  To  us,  all  this

occurs less frequently; to us it is all more difficult; and we naturally, therefore,

put a greater value on whatever, in the way of mutual kindness, we acquire and

accomplish.  What  touching  examples  of  faithful  servants  giving  themselves  up

to  danger  and  death  for  their  masters?  How  finely  has  Shakspeare  painted  out

such things to us! Fidelity, in this case, is the effort of a noble soul, struggling to

become  equal  with  one  exalted  above  it.  By  steadfast  attachment  and  love,  the

servant is made equal to his lord, who, but for this, is justified in looking on him

as a hired slave. Yes, these virtues belong to the lower class of men alone: that

class cannot do without them, and with them it has a beauty of its own. Whoever

is  enabled  to  requite  all  favors  easily  will  likewise  easily  be  tempted  to  raise

himself above the habit of acknowledgment. Nay, in this sense, I am of opinion

it might almost be maintained, that a great man may possess friends, but cannot

be one.”

Mignon clung more and more closely to him.

“It may be so,” replied one of the party: “we do not need their friendship, and

do  not  ask  it.  But  it  were  well  if  they  understood  a  little  more  about  the  arts,

which they affect to patronize. When we played in the best style, there was none

to mind us: it was all sheer partiality. Any one they chose to favor, pleased; and

they  did  not  choose  to  favor  those  that  merited  to  please.  It  was  intolerable  to

observe how often silliness and mere stupidity attracted notice and applause.”

“When I abate from this,” said Wilhelm, “what seemed to spring from irony

and malice, I think we may nearly say, that one fares in art as he does in love.

And,  after  all,  how  shall  a  fashionable  man  of  the  world,  with  his  dissipated

---

habits,  attain  that  intimate  presence  with  a  special  object,  which  an  artist  must

long continue in, if he would produce any thing approaching to perfection, — a

state  of  feeling  without  which  it  is  impossible  for  any  one  to  take  such  an

interest, as the artist hopes and wishes, in his work?

“Believe me, my friends, it is with talents as with virtue; one must love them

for  their  own  sake,  or  entirely  renounce  them.  And  neither  of  them  is

acknowledged  and  rewarded,  except  when  their  possessor  can  practise  them

unseen, like a dangerous secret.”

“Meanwhile, until some proper judge discovers us, we may all die of hunger,”

cried a fellow in the corner.

“Not quite inevitably,” answered Wilhelm. “I have observed, that, so long as

one stirs and lives, one always finds food and raiment, though they be not of the

richest sort. And why should we repine? Were we not, altogether unexpectedly,

and  when  our  prospects  were  the  very  worst,  taken  kindly  by  the  hand,  and

substantially  entertained?  And  now,  when  we  are  in  want  of  nothing,  does  it

once occur to us to attempt any thing for our improvement, or to strive, though

never  so  faintly,  towards  advancement  in  our  art?  We  are  busied  about

indifferent  matters;  and,  like  school-boys,  we  are  casting  all  aside  that  might

bring our lesson to our thoughts.”

“In  sad  truth,”  said  Philina,  “it  is  even  so!  Let  us  choose  a  play:  we  will  go

through  it  on  the  spot.  Each  of  us  must  do  his  best,  as  if  he  stood  before  the

largest audience.”

They did not long deliberate: a play was fixed on. It was one of those which at

that time were meeting great applause in Germany, and have now passed away.

Some of the party whistled a symphony; each speedily bethought him of his part;

they commenced, and acted the entire play with the greatest attention, and really

well  beyond  expectation.  Mutual  applauses  circulated:  our  friends  had  seldom

been so pleasantly diverted.

On  finishing,  they  all  felt  exceedingly  contented,  partly  on  account  of  their

time being spent so well, partly because each of them experienced some degree

of satisfaction with his own performance. Wilhelm expressed himself copiously

in their praise: the conversation grew cheerful and merry.

“You  would  see,”  cried  our  friend,  “what  advances  we  should  make,  if  we

continued  this  sort  of  training,  and  ceased  to  confine  our  attention  to  mere

learning  by  heart,  rehearsing  and  playing  mechanically,  as  if  it  were  a  barren

duty, or some handicraft employment. How different a character do our musical

professors merit! What interest they take in their art! how correct are they in the

practisings  they  undertake  in  common!  What  pains  they  are  at  in  tuning  their

instruments;  how  exactly  they  observe  time;  how  delicately  they  express  the

---

strength and the weakness of their tones! No one there thinks of gaining credit to

himself by a loud accompaniment of the solo of another. Each tries to play in the

spirit of the composer, each to express well whatever is committed to him, be it

much or little.

“Should  not  we,  too,  go  as  strictly  and  as  ingeniously  to  work,  seeing  we

practise an art far more delicate than that of music, — seeing we are called on

to  express  the  commonest  and  the  strangest  emotions  of  human  nature,  with

elegance, and so as to delight? Can any thing be more shocking than to slur over

our rehearsal, and in our acting to depend on good luck, or the capricious choice

of  the  moment?  We  ought  to  place  our  highest  happiness  and  satisfaction  in

mutually  desiring  to  gain  each  other’s  approbation:  we  should  even  value  the

applauses  of  the  public  only  in  so  far  as  we  have  previously  sanctioned  them

among  ourselves.  Why  is  the  master  of  the  band  more  secure  about  his  music

than  the  manager  about  his  play?  Because,  in  the  orchestra,  each  individual

would  feel  ashamed  of  his  mistakes,  which  offend  the  outward  ear;  but  how

seldom  have  I  found  an  actor  disposed  to  acknowledge  or  feel  ashamed  of

mistakes, pardonable or the contrary, by which the inward ear is so outrageously

offended! I could wish, for my part, that our theatre were as narrow as the wire

of a rope-dancer, that so no inept fellow might dare to venture on it, instead of

being, as it is, a place where every one discovers in himself capacity enough to

flourish and parade.”

The  company  gave  this  apostrophe  a  kind  reception;  each  being  convinced

that the censure conveyed in it could not apply to him, after acting a little while

ago so excellently with the rest. On the other hand, it was agreed, that during this

journey,  and  for  the  future  if  they  remained  together,  they  would  regularly

proceed with their training in the manner just adopted. Only it was thought, that,

as  this  was  a  thing  of  good  humor  and  free  will,  no  formal  manager  must  be

allowed to have a hand in it. Taking it for an established fact, that, among good

men, the republican form of government is the best, they declared that the post

of  manager  should  go  round  among  them:  he  must  be  chosen  by  universal

suffrage, and every time have a sort of little senate joined in authority along with

him. So delighted did they feel with this idea, that they longed to put it instantly

in practice.

“I have no objection,” said Melina, “if you incline making such an experiment

while we are travelling: I shall willingly suspend my own directorship until we

reach some settled place.” He was in hopes of saving cash by this arrangement,

and of casting many small expenses on the shoulders of the little senate or of the

interim manager. This fixed, they went very earnestly to counsel how the form

of the new commonwealth might best be adjusted.

---

“’Tis an itinerating kingdom,” said Laertes: “we shall at least have no quarrels

about frontiers.”

They  directly  proceeded  to  the  business,  and  elected  Wilhelm  as  their  first

manager. The senate also was appointed, the women having seat and vote in it:

laws were propounded, were rejected, were agreed to. In such playing, the time

passed  on  unnoticed;  and,  as  our  friends  had  spent  it  pleasantly,  they  also

conceived that they had really been effecting something useful, and, by their new

constitution,  had  been  opening  a  new  prospect  for  the  stage  of  their  native

country.

---