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Greece and Rome seem but myths of an Age of Fable. They live for us as pictures live, as statues live. What was it I was saying about statues that they all look alike to me? There are too many of them. They bring the ancients down to us in marble and bronze, not in flesh and blood. We do not really laugh with Terence and Horace, nor weep with Æschylus and Homer.
Once more she hastened to her room to weep, but it was from excess of joy and delight. The reader may think Agnes silly, but he must take into consideration the climate, and that she was not yet fifteen. Our young gentlemen sent for a tailor, and each ordered a new suit of clothes; they delivered their letters of recommendation, and went to the banker to whom they were addressed by Don Rebiera.
Only in a pause which she made after the comments on homicide, by violence did she notice the groans of the sinner. Then her tone passed into the sublime as she read the rest of the commandment in accents that she tried to reader threatening, seeing that her niece was still weeping. "Weep, daughter, weep!" she said, approaching the bed. "The more you weep the sooner God will pardon you.
You took the great journey; your heart is still filled with the eagerness of youth, with the vanity of earthly ambition. But all these things will be purged from your heart, your bowels of compassion will yearn for the mothers of sons, who weep for their sons because they are not. Your journey was not in vain.
Wezel’s satire on the craze for originality is exemplified in the account of the “Original” (Chap. XXII, Vol. II), who was cold when others were hot, complained of not liking his soup because the plate was not full, but who threw the contents of his coffee cup at the host because it was filled to the brim, and trembled at the approach of a woman. Selmann longs to meet such an original. Selmann also thinks he has found an original in the inn-keeper who answers everything with “Nein,” greatly to his own disadvantage, though it turns out later that this was only a device planned by another character to gain advantage over Selmann himself. So also, in the third volume, Selmann and Tobias ride off in pursuit of a sentimental adventure, but the latter proves to be merely a jest of the Captain at the expense of his sentimental friend. Satire on sentimentalism is further unmistakable in the two maidens, Adelheid and Kunigunde, who weep over a dead butterfly, and write a lament over its demise. In jest, too, it is said that the Captain made a “sentimental journey through the stables.” The author converses with Ermindus, who seems to be a kind of Eugenius, a
Ha, he must not grieve too much over her; she could not stand that; she might even lose sleep over it! Think of that! But who had said that he would grieve? She was mistaken. He might have knelt before her, but he hadn't licked her boots; no, he would hardly be compelled to take to his bed on account of this. She need not worry; she need not weep scalding tears on his account.
In another place, we find him asking Esli, the wife of Joseph, of whom he had just said, "Her little daughter has died recently, and her heart is broken," "When your child died, did you weep and wail as your people do?" and she answered, "No."
"One day," answered the Princess, "I overhead the Evil Magician telling the old witch to prepare a bed in the cellar for a Queen." "Good mercy," cried the Duchess. "My dear niece in that dreadful place. Oh, what shall I do?" And she began to weep afresh, but Daimur was so interested in the story that he hardly heard her. "What happened next?" he asked breathlessly.
"Aye, weep, if the tears wash out a sin, but not because the divine will is different from thine own. What callest thou calamity? There is no calamity, but sin." "It is hard," sighed Armstrong, "to reach that height of abnegation and faith to which you would have me aspire." "Hard, but attainable, for without faith it is impossible to please Him.
You can laugh over them, you can weep over them; you can in some way or other genially relate yourself to them you can, at lowest, hold your peace about them, turn away your own and others' face from them, till the hour come for practically exterminating and extinguishing them! At bottom, it is the Poet's first gift, as it is all men's, that he have intellect enough.
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