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CHAPTER XIII.
In the restless vexation of his present humor, it came into his head to go and
see the old harper; hoping by his music to scare away the evil spirits that
tormented him. On asking for the man, he was directed to a mean public house,
in a remote corner of the little town; and, having mounted up-stairs there to the
very garret, his ear caught the fine twanging of the harp coming from a little
room before him. They were heart-moving, mournful tones, accompanied by a
sad and dreary singing. Wilhelm glided to the door: and as the good old man was
performing a sort of voluntary, the few stanzas of which, sometimes chanted,
sometimes in recitative, were repeated more than once, our friend succeeded,
after listening for a while, in gathering nearly this: —
“Who never ate his bread with tears, Through nights of grief who, weeping,
never Sat on his bed, midst pangs and fears, Can, heavenly powers, not know
you ever.
Ye lead us forth into this life, Where comfort soon by guilt is banished,
Abandon us to tortures, strife; For on this earth all guilt is punished.” —
Editor’s Version.
The heart-sick, plaintive sound of this lament pierced deep into the soul of the
hearer. It seemed to him as if the old man were often stopped from proceeding
by his tears: his harp would alone be heard for a time, till his voice again joined
it in low, broken tones. Wilhelm stood by the door; he was much moved; the
mourning of this stranger had again opened the avenues of his heart; he could
not resist the claim of sympathy, or restrain the tears which this woe-begone
complaint at last called forth. All the pains that pressed upon his soul seemed
now at once to loosen from their hold: he abandoned himself without reserve to
the feelings of the moment. Pushing up the door, he stood before the harper. The
old man was sitting on a mean bed, the only seat, or article of furniture, which
his miserable room afforded.
“What feelings thou hast awakened in me, good old man!” exclaimed he. “All
that was lying frozen at my heart thou hast melted, and put in motion. Let me not
disturb thee, but continue, in solacing thy own sorrows, to confer happiness upon
a friend.” The harper was about to rise, and say something; but Wilhelm
hindered him, for he had noticed in the morning that the old man did not like to
speak. He sat down by him on the straw bed.
The old man wiped his eyes, and asked, with a friendly smile, “How came you
hither? I meant to wait upon you in the evening again.”
“We are more quiet here,” said Wilhelm. “Sing to me what thou pleasest, what
accords with thy own mood of mind, only proceed as if I were not by. It seems
to me, that to-day thou canst not fail to suit me. I think thee very happy, that, in
solitude, thou canst employ and entertain thyself so pleasantly; that, being
everywhere a stranger, thou findest in thy own heart the most agreeable society.”
The old man looked upon his strings; and after touching them softly, by way
of prelude, he commenced and sang, —
“Who longs in solitude to live, Ah! soon his wish will gain: Men hope and
love, men get and give, And leave him to his pain. Yes, leave me to my moan!
When from my bed You all are fled, I still am not alone.
The lover glides with footstep light: His love, is she not waiting there? So
glides to meet me, day and night, In solitude my care, In solitude my woe: True
solitude I then shall know When lying in my grave, When lying in my grave,
And grief has let me go.”
We might describe with great prolixity, and yet fail to express the charms of,
the singular conversation which Wilhelm carried on with this wayfaring
stranger. To every observation our friend addressed to him, the old man, with the
nicest accordance, answered in some melody, which awakened all the cognate
emotions, and opened a wide field to the imagination.
Whoever has happened to be present at a meeting of certain devout people,
who conceive, that, in a state of separation from the Church, they can edify each
other in a purer, more affecting, and more spiritual manner, may form to himself
some conception of the present scene. He will recollect how the leader of the
meeting would append to his words some verse of a song, that raised the soul
till, as he wished, she took wing; how another of the flock would erelong
subjoin, in a different tune, some verse of a different song; and to this again a
third would link some verse of a third song, — by which means the kindred
ideas of the songs to which the verses belonged were indeed suggested, yet each
passage by its new combination became new and individualized, as if it had been
first composed that moment; and thus from a well-known circle of ideas, from
well-known songs and sayings, there was formed for that particular society, in
that particular time, an original whole, by means of which their minds were
animated, strengthened, and refreshed. So, likewise, did the old man edify his
guest: by known and unknown songs and passages, he brought feelings near and
distant, emotions sleeping and awake, pleasant and painful, into a circulation,
from which, in Wilhelm’s actual state, the best effects might be anticipated.
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