History of Mr. Meister's "Affairs of the Heart." First we find him "in love" (oh! dishonoured phrase!) with Mariana; rapturously in love, if the word of Mr. Goethe were a sufficient guarantee. Not so however. An author may assert what he will of his own creatures; and as long as he does not himself contradict it by the sentiments-wishes-or conduct which he attributes to them, we are to take his word for it but no longer. We, who cannot condescend to call by the name of "love" the fancies for a pretty face, which vanish before a week's absence or a face somewhat prettier-still less the appetites of a selfish voluptuary, know what to think of Wilhelm's passion, its depth, and its purity, when we find (p.211, i.) "the current of his spirits and ideas" stopped by "the spasm of a sharp jealousy."-Jealousy about whom? Mariana? No, but Philina. And by whom excited? By the "boy Frederick. His jealousy was no light one: it was "a fierce jealousy" (p. 221, i.): it caused him "a general discomfort, such as he had never felt in his life before" (p. 211, i.); "and, had not decency restrained him, he could have crushed in pieces all the people round him" (p. 221,i.). Such a jealousy, with regard to Philina, is incompatible we presume with any real fervour of love for Mariana: we are now therefore at liberty to infer that Mariana is dethroned, and that Philina reigneth in her stead. Next he is "in love" with the Countess: and Philina seldom appears to him as an object of any other feelings than those of contempt. Fourthly, at p. 45, ii. he falls desperately in love with "the Amazon"-i. e. a young lady mounted on a grey courser and wrapped up in "a man's white great-coat." His love for this incognita holds on throughout the work like the standing bass, but not so as to prevent a running accompaniment, in the treble, of various other "< passions." And these passions not merely succeed each other with rapidity, but are often all upon him at once: at p. 64, ii. "the recollection of the amiable Countess is to Wilhelm infinitely sweet: but anon, the figure of the noble Amazon would step between;" and two pages further on he is indulging in daydreams that "perhaps Mariana might : the " appear," or "above all, the beauty whom he worshipped" (i. e. Amazon). Here therefore there is a sort of glee for three voices between the Countess, Mariana, and the Amazon. Fifthly, he is in love with Theresa, the other Amazon. And this love is no joke: for at p. 134, iii. meditating upon " her great virtues" (and we will add-her political economy) he writes a letter offering her his hand and at this time (what time? why, post-time to be sure) "his resolution was so firm, and the business was of such importance that, lest Major Socrates should intercept his letter, he carries it himself to the office. But, sixthly, see what the resolutions of men are! In the very next chapter, and when time has advanced only by ten pages (but unfortunately after the letter-bags were made up), Wilhelm finds himself furiously in love with a friend of Theresa's; not that he has seen her since post-time, but he has been reminded of her: this lady is Natalia, and turns out to be "the Amazon." No sooner has he a prospect of seeing her than "all the glories of the sky," he vows," are as nothing to the moment which he looks for." In the next page (145,) this moment arrives: Wilhelm reaches the house where she lives; on entering, “finds it the most earnest and (as he almost felt) the holiest place which he had ever trod;" on going up stairs to the drawing-room is obliged to kneel down to get a moment's breathing time;" can scarcely raise himself again; and upon actual introduction to the divinity "falls upon his knee, seizes her hand, and kisses it with unbounded rapture."-What's to be done now; Mr. Meister? Pity you had not known this the night before, or had entrusted your letter to Socrates, or had seen some verses we could have sent you from England— 'Tis good to be merry and wise, 'Tis good to be honest and true; Before you be on with the new. Matters begin to look black, especially as Theresa accepts his offer; and (as though Satan himself had a plot against him) in consequence of that very visit to Natalia which made him pray that she would not. hope you will be grateful," says the new love: "for she" (viz. the old "I love)" asked me for advice; and as it happened that you were here just then, I was enabled to destroy the few scruples which my friend still entertained." Here's delectable news. A man receives a letter from a lady who has had "her scruples"-accepting him nevertheless, but begging permission" at times to bestow a cordial thought upon her former friend" (Lothario to wit): in return for which she "will press his child (by a former mother) to her heart:" such a letter he receives from one Amazon; "when with terror he discovers in his heart most vivid traces of an inclination for another Amazon. Oh! botheration, Mr. Goethe! a man can't marry two Amazons. Well, thank Heaven it's no scrape of ours. A German wit has brought us all into it; and a German denouement shall help us all out. Le voici. There are two Amazons, the reader knows:-Good: now one of these is ci-devant sweetheart to Lothario, the other his sister. What may prevent therefore that Meister shall have the sister, and Lothario (according to Horace's arrangement with Lydia) his old sweetheart? Nothing but this sweetheart's impatience, who (p. 184, iii.) “dreads that she shall lose him (Meister)" and not regain Lothario;" i. e. between two chairs, &c. and as Meister will not come to her, though she insists upon it in letter after letter, she comes to Meister; determined to "hold him fast:" (p. 184, iii.) Oh Amazon of little faith! put your trust in Mr. Goethe and he will deliver you! This he does by a coup de théatre. That lady, whose passions had carried her into the south of France, had bestowed some of her favours upon Lothario: now she is reputed the mother of Theresa; and hence had arisen the separation between Theresa and Lothario. This maternal person however is suddenly discovered not to be the mother of Theresa: the road is thus opened to a general winding up of the whole concern; and the novel, as we said before, hastens to its close amid a grand bravura of kissing and catch-match-making. In the general row even old major Socrates catches a wife; and a young one* too, though too probably we fear a Xantippe. Thus we have made Mr. von Goethe's novel speak for itself. And, whatever impression it may leave on the reader's mind, let it be charged upon the composer. If that impression is one of entire disgust, let it not be forgotten that it belongs exclusively to Mr. Goethe. The music is his: we have but arranged the concert, and led in the orchestra. Even thus qualified however the task is not to us an agreeable one: our practice is to turn away our eyes from whatsoever we are compelled to loath or to disdain; and to leave all that dishonours human nature to travel on its natural road to shame and oblivion. If in this instance we depart from that maxim, it is in consideration of the rank which the author has obtained elsewhere, and through his partisans is struggling for in this country. Without the passport of an eminent name Wilhelm Meister is a safe book; but backed in that way the dullest books are floated into popularity (thousands echoing their praise, who are not aware of the matter they contain); and thus even such books become influential and are brought within the remark of Cicero (De Legg. lib. 3.) on the mischief done by profligate men of rank: "Quod non solum vitia concipiunt, sed ea infundunt in civitatem; neque solum obsunt quia ipsi corrumpuntur, sed quia corrumpunt; plusque exemplo quam peccato nocent." This young lady we overlooked in the general muster: her name is Lydia: and her little history is that she had first of all set her cap at Lothario and succeeded in bringing him to her feet; secondly, had been pushed aside to make room for Theresa; thirdly, had forced herself into Lothario's house and bed-room under the pretext of nursing him when wounded; but fourthly, had been fairly ejected from both house and bed-room by a stratagem in which "our friend" in the character of toad-eater takes a most ungentlemanly part. HEARTS' EASE. 1. I USED to love thee, simple flow'r, 2. But now thou only mock'st my grief For that ne'er tells of what has been, 4. I love thee not, thou simple flow'r, CONTRASTED SCENES. It has ever been considered an interesting task to contrast the scenes and circumstances of human life, occurring at distant intervals. I would make these contrasts more immediate, and show that one day, nay a few hours, which are often the epitomes of the longest existence, may produce events as violently opposed to each other as if they had been divided by a thousand years. The joy-expectant lover has seen his young bride fall dead at the altar ;the mother who rocked her babe to sleep in her arms has found it ere an hour has elapsed lifeless on her bosom, passing away from the earth and its unhappiness without a sigh, but leaving its frantic parent to agony and despair. The aged man, whose boys were the support and luxury of his existence, has by some dire calamity been suddenly deprived of them, and followed their bodies to the grave, with tottering steps and heart-broken feelings. The lips of the sensualist have turned cold upon the glowing cheek of his paramour, and found poison in the cup which seemed mantling with pleasure and with hope. We may reverse the picture, and see the husband come back to his weeping wife, who had mourned for him as dead; the supposed criminal on the eve of an ignominious death proved innocent, and restored to the presence and affection of his friends and relatives; the bankrupt in hope and fortune by some unexpected change exalted to joy and prosperity; and the drowning wretch caught as he is sinking for the last time into the wide-mouthed waters. These reflections are conjured up by the remembrance of circumstances which, although they happened many years ago, can never be obliterated from my mind. I will state them. It was a cold but fine afternoon in November that I was travelling on horseback in one of the most retired and romantic parts of England. As evening drew on, a sense of loneliness and danger began to creep over me-for there is a startling something in solitude which I have no doubt all have felt, but which most people are ashamed to acknowledge, even to themselves. I was on a rough and unfrequented road far distant from the habitations of men, and yearned to see a human being and hear the sound of a human voice. The night came on-stormy and dark. The winds raised their loud voices, like the curses of the tempest, over the distant waters. The clouds hung gloomily above like shrouds over nature's dead serenity, and the owlet shrieked to the sleepless echo of the hills. I put spurs to my horse and galloped on until I found, from the increasing darkness, that I could neither see the road which I had traversed, nor the one on which I was proceeding. Prudence taught me to change my pace, and I walked my horse cautiously, fearing every moment, as I did not know the road, that I was on the edge of some precipice, or that some broken stump or fallen tree lay in my way. So painful did my sensations become at last, that I made up my mind to dismount, and lie down on the road until morning. I groped about, and at length found a tree, to which I fastened the bridle, and seated myself at a little distance from my only companion. The few minutes that I remained there were like hours. I endeavoured to think of other scenes which might banish the idea of that in which I was an unwilling actor; but all would not avail. The gloom of the present hung over the radiance of the past; and if a ray broke through for a moment, it was as instantly obscured again. I arose and loosened the bridle, for this inactive security was more annoying to me, than moving onward even under a sense of danger. I proceeded, however, as slowly as before, expecting that I must, in a short time, come to some small inn, or, at least, a road-side cottage. But I saw no light, and heard not even a dog bark in the silence of the night. On a sudden my horse started from his course and neighed loudly. I felt him trembling under me, and suspected that I was on the brink of some pit. I alighted, and with great difficulty held my horse whilst I groped about the spot from which he had just recoiled. As I moved my hands along the ground, my blood grew chill with horror, and my heart sickened within me. My right hand had passed over the cold face of some dead, perhaps murdered, person. I sank back and involuntarily clung to the neck of my horse. It was an action arising from fear and from a dreadful feeling of solitariness. In the absence of human sympathies there is a comfort in any living companionship. I found it so. The certainty that I had a breathing creature near me, although not of my own species, gave me courage. went again towards the spot where the body lay, for the purpose of ascertaining whether the least symptom of life remained. I placed my hand upon the forehead-it was cold; I drew it across the mouth-there was not a breath; I pressed it upon the heart-it was still. Warmth, and respiration, and motion had departed for ever, and only the mortal and drossy portion of man lay before me. There was no pulsation-no vitality. I knew not what to do. I thought if the poor wretch who was lying dead at my feet had been murdered, which appeared far from improbable, my having passed that way at night, and for no ostensible purpose as it might seem, would perhaps implicate me as an accessary to, or even a principal in, the crime; and a number of cases in which persons had been convicted on circumstantial evidence crowded upon my mind. The idea of being even examined as a witness agitated and perplexed me. My resolution, however, was soon taken. With great difficulty I got my horse forward, and rode on at a round trot, careless of the danger to which I had before been so sensitive, and determining to give the alarm at the first place to which I might come. I had gone on for about a quarter of an hour, when to my great joy and relief 1 beheld a light straight onwards, which seemed to be moving towards me. As it approached nearer I perceived that it proceeded from a lantern, which was held by a young man in a small cart, while another, a little older, guided the horse. On seeing me, they instantly drew up and asked in an earnest and anxious tone of voice whether I had seen any body on the way, telling me at the same time that their father had gone with a neighbour to C that morning to collect some money and had not returned. The question made me shudder, for I immediately thought of what had so recently occurred, and I could not help imagining that it was the dead body of their father which I had left on the road behind me. My voice trembled as I told them of all that had happened, and I saw the faces of the poor lads turn pale as I recounted it. "Our dear father is dead!" cried the youngest, and burst into tears. "Nay! nay!" said his brother, "it's ill weeping 'till there's need o't. He was to ha' come back wi' Johnny Castleton, and Johnny is no' the man to leave him on the road-side, alive or dead." This seemed to comfort his brother, but it did not convince me. I had a presentiment hanging like a cloud about my heart, and I felt assured that a bitter trial awaited them. Although nearly exhausted, I willingly agreed to return with them. 1 rode beside the cart, until we came to the fatal spot; my horse started as before, and I called to them to stop, for I was a little a-head. The youngest sprang out, held the lantern to the face of the corse, and fell back with a loud shriek. I shall never forget the chill that ran through me when I heard the calm silence of the night broken by the cry of a son who mourned his father-the voice of the living calling to the dead. The winds had died away, and there was a dreary stillness over the whole scene. The pulse of nature was stopped: and it seemed as if her mighty heart had perished. The elder son did not shed a tear, but it was evident that he felt acutely what had befallen him. His was the deeper grief that tears could not obliterate: A grief that could not fade away As they both stood inactive, I took up the corse myself and placed it in the cart. There were, as far as I could judge, not the least signs of violence about it, and death seemed to have reached it in the midst of calmness and serenity, for a smile lingered even then on the pallid face, A pipe of tobacco and ale of the best "Dang it (cried a little grazier-looking fellow who was nursing his knees at the fire) it's twelve pence wi' one and a shilling wi' the other. Ye know the song, Barney, just as well |
