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CHAPTER XIV.
Several people entering interrupted the discussion. They were musical
dilettanti, who commonly assembled at Serlo’s once a week, and formed a little
concert. Serlo himself loved music much: he used to maintain, that a player
without taste for it never could attain a distinct conception and feeling of the
scenic art. “As a man performs,” he would observe, “with far more ease and
dignity when his gestures are accompanied and guided by a tune; so the player
ought, in idea as it were, to set to music even his prose parts, that he may not
monotonously slight them over in his individual style, but treat them in suitable
alternation by time and measure.”
Aurelia seemed to give but little heed to what was passing: at last she
conducted Wilhelm to another room; and going to the window, and looking out
at the starry sky, she said to him, “You have more to tell us about Hamlet: I will
not hurry you, — my brother must hear it as well as I; but let me beg to know
your thoughts about Ophelia.”
“Of her there cannot much be said,” he answered; “for a few master-strokes
complete her character. The whole being of Ophelia floats in sweet and ripe
sensation. Kindness for the prince, to whose hand she may aspire, flows so
spontaneously, her tender heart obeys its impulses so unresistingly, that both
father and brother are afraid: both give her warning harshly and directly.
Decorum, like the thin lawn upon her bosom, cannot hide the soft, still
movements of her heart: it, on the contrary, betrays them. Her fancy is smit; her
silent modesty breathes amiable desire; and, if the friendly goddess Opportunity
should shake the tree, its fruit would fall.”
“And then,” said Aurelia, “when she beholds herself forsaken, cast away,
despised; when all is inverted in the soul of her crazed lover, and the highest
changes to the lowest, and, instead of the sweet cup of love, he offers her the
bitter cup of woe” —
“Her heart breaks,” cried Wilhelm; “the whole structure of her being is
loosened from its joinings; her father’s death strikes fiercely against it, and the
fair edifice altogether crumbles into fragments.”
Our friend had not observed with what expressiveness Aurelia pronounced
those words. Looking only at this work of art, at its connection and
completeness, he dreamed not that his auditress was feeling quite a different
influence; that a deep sorrow of her own was vividly awakened in her breast by
these dramatic shadows.
Aurelia’s head was still resting on her arms; and her eyes, now full of tears,
were turned to the sky. At last, no longer able to conceal her secret grief, she
seized both hands of her friend, and exclaimed, while he stood surprised before
her, “Forgive, forgive a heavy heart! I am girt and pressed together by these
people; from my hard-hearted brother I must seek to hide myself; your presence
has untied these bonds. My friend!” continued she, “it is but a few minutes since
we saw each other first, and already you are going to become my confidant.” She
could scarcely end the words, and sank upon his shoulder. “Think not worse of
me,” she said, with sobs, “that I disclose myself to you so hastily, that I am so
weak before you. Be my friend, remain my friend: I shall deserve it.” He spoke
to her in his kindest manner, but in vain: her tears still flowed, and choked her
words.
At this moment Serlo entered, most unwelcomely, and, most unexpectedly,
Philina, with her hand in his. “Here is your friend,” said he to her: “he will be
glad to welcome you.”
“What!” cried Wilhelm in astonishment: “are you here?” With a modest,
settled mien, she went up to him; bade him welcome; praised Serlo’s goodness,
who, she said, without merit on her part, but purely in the hope of her
improvement, had agreed to admit her into his accomplished troop. She behaved,
all the while, in a friendly manner towards Wilhelm, yet with a dignified
distance.
But this dissimulation lasted only till the other two were gone. Aurelia having
left them, that she might conceal her trouble, and Serlo being called away,
Philina first looked very sharply at the doors, to see that both were really out;
then began skipping to and fro about the room, as if she had been mad; at last
dropped down upon the floor, like to die of giggling and laughing. She then
sprang up, patted and flattered our friend; rejoicing above measure that she had
been clever enough to go before, and spy the land, and get herself nestled in.
“Pretty things are going on here,” she said; “just of the sort I like. Aurelia has
had a hapless love-affair with some nobleman, who seems to be a very stately
person, one whom I myself could like to see some day. He has left her a
memorial, or I much mistake. There is a boy running about the house, of three
years old or so: the papa must be a very pretty fellow. Commonly I cannot suffer
children, but this brat quite delights me. I have calculated Aurelia’s business.
The death of her husband, the new acquaintance, the child’s age, — all things
agree.
“But now her spark has gone his ways: for a year she has not seen a glimpse
of him. She is beside herself and inconsolable on this account. The more fool
she! Her brother has a dancing-girl in his troop, with whom he stands on pretty
terms; an actress with whom he is intimate; in the town, some other women
whom he courts; I, too, am on his list. The more fool he! Of the rest thou shalt
hear to-morrow. And now one word about Philina, whom thou knowest: the
arch-fool is fallen in love with thee.” She swore it was true and prime sport. She
earnestly requested Wilhelm to fall in love with Aurelia, for then the chase
would be worth beholding. “She pursues her faithless swain, thou her, I thee, her
brother me. If that will not divert us for a quarter of a year, I engage to die at the
first episode which occurs in this four times complicated tale.” She begged of
him not to spoil her trade, and to show her such respect as her external conduct
should deserve.
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