The time had indeed come when Ilse could comprehend and enter into the feelings and fate of others than herself.
The bright rays of the midday sun do not always shine upon the paths of man. Not with the eye alone does he seek his way amid the shadows of night, but he hearkens, too, to the secret voices within his breast. From the battle of clashing duties, from the irresistible impulse of passion, it is not with most men a careful thought or a wise adage that saves or ruins; it is the quick resolve which breaks forth from within like an uncontrollable impulse of nature and which is yet produced by the compulsion of their whole past lives--by all that man knows and believes, by all that he has suffered and done. What forces us to the good or the bad in the sombre hours of trial, people call character, and the changing steps of the wayfarer through life as he seeks his way amid difficulty and danger, the spectator at the play calls dramatic movement.
He only who has wandered amid the flitting shadows of night, and has seriously listened to the secret admonitions of his inmost soul, can fully understand the spirit of others who, in a similar position, have sought to extricate themselves from an intricate labyrinth, and have found safety or met destruction.
Ilse, too, had experienced hours of fleeting terrors; she also had trembled as to whether she had pursued the right path.
The seventh tragedy of the Greek poet had been read; the boldest representation of bitter passion and bloody revenge. Ilse sat mute and horrified at the outbreak of fearful hatred from the heart of Electra. Then her husband, in order to recall her to less anxious thoughts, began: "Now you have heard all that remains to us of the art and power of a wonderful poetical mind, and you must tell me which of his characters has most attracted you."
"If you mean that in which the power of his poetry has most impressed me, it is always the newest form which has appeared to me the greatest, and today it is the monstrous conception of Electra. But if you ask which has pleased me most--"
"The gentle Ismene?" interrupted the Professor, laughing.
Ilse shook her head. "No, it is the valiant son of Achilles. At first he was tempted to yield to the cunning counsel of his confederate, and do violence to an unfortunate fellow-creature; but after a long struggle his noble nature conquers: he sees that it will be wrong, and he asserts his manhood by refusing."
The Professor closed the book, and looked with astonishment at his wife.
"There is," continued Ilse, "in the greatest characters of your Greek poet a stern rigidity that frightens me. Something is wanting in all to make them like us; they do not doubt as we do, nor struggle; even when they do right, their greatness consists in their immovable determination to do something fearful, or rigid persistence in stemming a terrible fate. But while we expect that the strong man shall act powerfully, according to his nature, either for good or evil, he does not gain our full human sympathy, unless we have the certainty that he experiences an inward struggle such as we may ourselves feel."