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CHAPTER XVI.
The departure of Philina did not make a deep sensation, either in the theatre or
in the public. She never was in earnest with any thing: the women universally
detested her; the men rather wished to see her selves-two than on the boards.
Thus her fine, and, for the stage, even happy, talents were of no avail to her. The
other members of the company took greater labor on them to supply her place:
the Frau Melina, in particular, was much distinguished by her diligence and zeal.
She noted down, as formerly, the principles of Wilhelm; she guided herself
according to his theory and his example; there was of late a something in her
nature that rendered her more interesting. She soon acquired an accurate mode of
acting: she attained the natural tone of conversation altogether, that of keen
emotion she attained in some degree. She contrived, moreover, to adapt herself
to Serlo’s humors: she took pains in singing for his pleasure, and succeeded in
that matter moderately well.
By the accession of some other players, the company was rendered more
complete: and while Wilhelm and Serlo were busied each in his degree, the
former insisting on the general tone and spirit of the whole, the latter faithfully
elaborating the separate passages, a laudable ardor likewise inspired the actors;
and the public took a lively interest in their concerns.
“We are on the right path,” said Serlo once: “if we can continue thus, the
public, too, will soon be on it. Men are easily astonished and misled by wild and
barbarous exhibitions; yet lay before them any thing rational and polished, in an
interesting manner, and doubt not they will catch at it.”
“What forms the chief defect of our German theatre, what prevents both actor
and spectator from obtaining proper views, is the vague and variegated nature of
the objects it contains. You nowhere find a barrier on which to prop your
judgment. In my opinion, it is far from an advantage to us that we have
expanded our stage into, as it were, a boundless arena for the whole of nature;
yet neither manager nor actor need attempt contracting it, until the taste of the
nation shall itself mark out the proper circle. Every good society submits to
certain conditions and restrictions; so also must every good theatre. Certain
manners, certain modes of speech, certain objects, and fashions of proceeding,
must altogether be excluded. You do not grow poorer by limiting your
household expenditure.”
On these points our friends were more or less accordant or at variance. The
majority, with Wilhelm at their head, were for the English theatre; Serlo and a
few others for the French.
It was also settled, that in vacant hours, of which unhappily an actor has too
many, they should in company peruse the finest plays in both these languages;
examining what parts of them seemed best and worthiest of imitation. They
accordingly commenced with some French pieces. On these occasions, it was
soon observed, Aurelia went away whenever they began to read. At first they
supposed she had been sick: Wilhelm once questioned her about it.
“I would not assist at such a reading,” said she, “for how could I hear and
judge, when my heart was torn in pieces? I hate the French language from the
bottom of my soul.”
“How can you be hostile to a language,” cried our friend, “to which we
Germans are indebted for the greater part of our accomplishments; to which we
must become indebted still more, if our natural qualities are ever to assume their
proper form?”
“It is no prejudice!” replied Aurelia, “a painful impression, a hated
recollection of my faithless friend, has robbed me of all enjoyment in that
beautiful and cultivated tongue. How I hate it now with my whole strength and
heart! During the period of our kindliest connection, he wrote in German; and
what genuine, powerful, cordial German! It was not till he wanted to get quit of
me that he began seriously to write in French. I marked, I felt, what he meant.
What he would have blushed to utter in his mother tongue, he could by this
means write with a quiet conscience. It is the language of reservations,
equivocations, and lies: it is a perfidious language. Heaven be praised! I cannot
find another word to express this perfide of theirs in all its compass. Our poor
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