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But when all is done, to have achieved this artistic perfection of self-seeking is a sorry account to give of life. Thus, the very successes on which we plume ourselves are sometimes badges of disaster, as we ourselves may secretly know if others do not. "When one composes long speeches," says Jarno, "with a view to shame his neighbors, he should speak them to a looking-glass."
It is wonderful to see with, what softness the scepticism of Jarno, the commercial spirit of Werner, the reposing polished manhood of Lothario and the Uncle, the unearthly enthusiasm of the Harper, the gay animal vivacity of Philina, the mystic, ethereal, almost spiritual nature of Mignon, are blended together in this work; how justice is done to each, how each lives freely in his proper element, in his proper form; and how, as Wilhelm himself, the mild-hearted, all-hoping, all-believing Wilhelm, struggles forward towards his world of Art through these curiously complected influences, all this unites itself into a multifarious, yet so harmonious Whole; as into a clear poetic mirror, where man's life and business in this age, his passions and purposes, the highest equally with the lowest, are imaged back to us in beautiful significance.
I know of no child, or I would gladly acknowledge it. But did she ever give you to believe that the boy was hers was mine?" "I cannot recollect that I ever heard a word from her expressly on the subject, but we took it so, and I never for a moment doubted it." "I can give you a clue to this perplexity," interposed Jarno.
Mignon is a child who was stolen in infancy by a band of gipsies. She travels with them from town to town, dancing in the streets to the delight of the crowd. One day in a German city she refuses to dance, and Jarno the gipsy chief threatens her with his whip. Wilhelm Meister, who happens to be passing, saves her from a beating, and, pitying the half-starved child, buys her from the gipsies.
In all, or any of these views, history will stand your friend. History, in its passive irony, will make no objection. Like Jarno, in Goethe's novel, it will not condescend to argue with you, and will provide you with abundant illustrations of anything which you may wish to believe.
He led our friend through certain unknown chambers and galleries of the castle to a door, strongly framed with iron. Jarno knocked; the door opened a little, so as to admit one person. Jarno introduced our friend, but did not follow him. Within was complete darkness. A voice cried "Enter"; he pressed forward and found that only tapestry was hemming him in. Raising this, he entered.
In all or any of these views, history will stand your friend. History, in its passive irony, will make no objection. Like Jarno, in Goethe's novel, it will not condescend to argue with you, and will provide you with abundant illustrations of any thing which you may wish to believe. "What is history," said Napoleon, "but a fiction agreed upon?"
"Have you never," said Jarno, taking him aside, "read one of Shakespeare's plays?" Translated by Thomas Carlyle. "No," replied Wilhelm: "since the time when they became more known in Germany, I have myself grown unacquainted with the theater; and I know not whether I should now rejoice that an old taste and occupation of my youth has been by chance renewed.
III. Wilhelm's Apprenticeship One evening Jarno said to Wilhelm, "We can now consider you as one of ourselves with such security that it were unjust not to introduce you deeper into our mysteries. You shall see what a curious little world is at your very hand, and how well you are known in it."
"Bravo!" said Jarno, holding out his hand, and squeezing our friend's. "This is as it should be! And the consequences which I hope for will likewise surely follow." "I wish," said Wilhelm, "I could but disclose to you all that is going on within me even now.
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