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CHAPTER XIX.

While our friend was in this way living very happily, Melina and the rest were

in quite a different case. Wilhelm they haunted like evil spirits; and not only by

their presence, but frequently by rueful faces and bitter words, they caused him

many a sorry moment. Serlo had not admitted them to the most trifling part, far

less  held  out  to  them  any  hope  of  a  permanent  engagement;  and  yet  he  had

contrived,  by  degrees,  to  get  acquainted  with  the  capabilities  of  every  one  of

them. Whenever any actors were assembled in leisure hours about him, he was

wont  to  make  them  read,  and  frequently  to  read  along  with  them.  On  such

occasions he took plays which were by and by to be acted, which for a long time

had remained unacted; and generally by portions. In like manner, after any first

representation, he caused such passages to be repeated as he had any thing to say

upon:  by  which  means  he  sharpened  the  discernment  of  his  actors,  and

strengthened  their  certainty  of  hitting  the  proper  point.  And  as  a  person  of

slender but correct understanding may produce more agreeable effect on others

than  a  perplexed  and  unpurified  genius,  he  would  frequently  exalt  men  of

mediocre talents, by the clear views which he imperceptibly afforded them, to a

wonderful extent of power. Nor was it an unimportant item in his scheme, that

he  likewise  had  poems  read  before  him  in  their  meetings;  for  by  these  he

nourished  in  his  people  the  feeling  of  that  charm  which  a  well-pronounced

rhythm  is  calculated  to  awaken  in  the  soul:  whereas,  in  other  companies,  those

prose  compositions  were  already  getting  introduced  for  which  any  tyro  was

adequate.

On occasions such as these, he had contrived to make himself acquainted with

the new-come players: he had decided what they were, and what they might be,

and silently made up his mind to take advantage of their talents, in a revolution

which was now threatening his own company. For a while he let the matter rest;

declined every one of Wilhelm’s intercessions for his comrades, with a shrug of

the shoulders; till at last he saw his time, and altogether unexpectedly made the

proposal to our friend, “that he himself should come upon the stage; that, on this

condition, the others, too, might be admitted.”

“These  people  must  not  be  so  useless  as  you  formerly  described  them,”

answered Wilhelm, “if they can now be all received at once; and I suppose their

talents would remain the same without me as with me.”

Under  seal  of  secrecy,  Serlo  hereupon  explained  his  situation,    —    how  his

first actor was giving hints about a rise of salary at the renewal of their contract;

---

how  he  himself  did  not  incline  conceding  this,  the  rather  as  the  individual  in

question was no longer in such favor with the public; how, if he dismissed him, a

whole  train  would  follow;  whereby,  it  was  true,  his  company  would  lose  some

good,  but  likewise  some  indifferent,  actors.  He  then  showed  Wilhelm  what  he

hoped to gain in him, in Laertes, Old Boisterous, and even Frau Melina. Nay, he

promised  to  procure  for  the  silly  Pedant  himself,  in  the  character  of  Jew,

minister, but chiefly of villain, a decided approbation.

Wilhelm faltered; the proposal fluttered him; he knew not what to say. That he

might  say  something,  he  rejoined,  with  a  deep-drawn  breath,  “You  speak  very

graciously about the good you find and hope to find in us; but how is it with our

weak points, which certainly have not escaped your penetration?”

“These,”  said  Serlo,  “by  diligence,  practice,  and  reflection,  we  shall  soon

make strong points. Though you are yet but freshmen and bunglers, there is not

one  among  you  that  does  not  warrant  expectation  more  or  less:  for,  so  far  as  I

can  judge,  no  stick,  properly  so  called,  is  to  be  met  with  in  the  company;  and

your stick is the only person that can never be improved, never bent or guided,

whether it be self-conceit, stupidity, or hypochondria, that renders him unpliant.”

The  manager  next  stated,  in  a  few  words,  the  terms  he  meant  to  offer;

requested Wilhelm to determine soon, and left him in no small perplexity.

In the marvellous composition of those travels, which he had at first engaged

with, as it were, in jest, and was now carrying on in conjunction with Laertes, his

mind had by degrees grown more attentive to the circumstances and the every-

day life of the actual world than it was wont. He now first understood the object

of  his  father  in  so  earnestly  recommending  him  to  keep  a  journal.  He  now,  for

the  first  time,  felt  how  pleasant  and  how  useful  it  might  be  to  become

participator  in  so  many  trades  and  requisitions,  and  to  take  a  hand  in  diffusing

activity and life into the deepest nooks of the mountains and forests of Europe.

The busy trading-town in which he was; the unrest of Laertes, who dragged him

about to examine every thing, — afforded him the most impressive image of a

mighty  centre,  from  which  every  thing  was  flowing  out,  to  which  every  thing

was coming back; and it was the first time that his spirit, in contemplating this

species  of  activity,  had  really  felt  delight.  At  such  a  juncture  Serlo’s  offer  had

been  made  him;  had  again  awakened  his  desires,  his  tendencies,  his  faith  in  a

natural talent, and again brought into mind his solemn obligation to his helpless

comrades.

“Here standest thou once more,” said he within himself, “at the Parting of the

Ways, between the two women who appeared before thee in thy youth. The one

no longer looks so pitiful as then, nor does the other look so glorious. To obey

the  one,  or  to  obey  the  other,  thou  art  not  without  a  kind  of  inward  calling:

---

outward reasons are on both sides strong enough, and to decide appears to thee

impossible.  Thou  wishest  some  preponderancy  from  without  would  fix  thy

choice;  and  yet,  if  thou  consider  well,  it  is  external  circumstances  only  that

inspire  thee  with  a  wish  to  trade,  to  gather,  to  possess;  whilst  it  is  thy  inmost

want  that  has  created,  that  has  nourished,  the  desire  still  further  to  unfold  and

perfect  what  endowments  soever  for  the  beautiful  and  good,  be  they  mental  or

bodily,  may  lie  within  thee.  And  ought  I  not  to  honor  Fate,  which,  without

furtherance of mine, has led me hither to the goal of all my wishes? Has not all

that  I,  in  old  times,  meditated  and  forecast,  now  happened  accidentally,  and

without  my  co-operation?  Singular  enough!  We  seem  to  be  so  intimate  with

nothing  as  we  are  with  our  own  wishes  and  hopes,  which  have  long  been  kept

and cherished in our hearts; yet when they meet us, when they, as it were, press

forward to us, then we know them not, then we recoil from them. All that, since

the hapless night which severed me from Mariana, I have but allowed myself to

dream,  now  stands  before  me,  entreating  my  acceptance.  Hither  I  intended  to

escape by flight; hither I am softly guided: with Serlo I meant to seek a place; he

now seeks me, and offers me conditions, which, as a beginner, I could not have

looked  for.  Was  it,  then,  mere  love  to  Mariana  that  bound  me  to  the  stage?  Or

love to art that bound me to her? Was that prospect, that outlet, which the theatre

presented  me,  nothing  but  the  project  of  a  restless,  disorderly,  and  disobedient

boy, wishing to lead a life which the customs of the civic world would not admit

of? Or was all this different, worthier, purer? If so, what moved thee to alter the

persuasions  of  that  period?  Hast  thou  not  hitherto,  even  without  knowing  it,

pursued thy plan? Is not the concluding step still further to be justified, now that

no  side-purposes  combine  with  it;  now  that  in  making  it  thou  mayest  fulfil  a

solemn promise, and nobly free thyself from a heavy debt?”

All  that  could  affect  his  heart  and  his  imagination  was  now  moving,  and

conflicting  in  the  liveliest  strife  within  him.  The  thought  that  he  might  retain

Mignon,  that  he  should  not  need  to  put  away  the  harper,  was  not  an

inconsiderable item in the balance, which, however, had not ceased to waver to

the  one  and  to  the  other  side,  when  he  went,  as  he  was  wont,  to  see  his  friend

Aurelia.

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