“I am afraid that such a work would be considered too serious for the novel reader;” I observed.
“Impossible, mein freund!” replied the student. “Always, in works of imagination, the ideal and the matter of fact should be so blended as to make an interesting and amusing whole; and it matters not whether the time sought to be illustrated be of the past, of the present, or of the future: each may be made equally laughable, equally pathetic, and equally philosophical.”
“But the idea is too comprehensive to be done well;” said I. “To draw an imaginary state of the world in any thing like consonance with probability, requires more than ordinary talent in the draughtsman; but to add to it pictures of an imaginary state of its inhabitants, and an imaginary state of their philosophy, presents difficulties which I should think are not to be overcome.”
“The imagination can conquer any difficulty;” exclaimed my companion. “There is no power beneath heaven like imagination. It can dive into the uttermost corners of the ocean, or ascend through the trackless fields of air. It can fly where the eagle dare not move its wing, and amid Alpine obstacles outclimb the chamois. It can pass the great desert at a bound, and bear the four corners of the world in the hollow of its eye. It seeth all things that nature showeth; and after disclosing these, can show many things that nature never beheld. It pierces into the most hidden things. It flingeth a shining light into the most utter darkness. Locks, bolts, or bars, cannot keep it out—laws, walls and chains cannot keep it in: it is the only thing belonging to human life that is perfectly free. There is nothing imagination cannot do; no matter whether it be good or evil, reasonable or absurd, to it all things are alike easy. And as for wealth or power or dignity, or aught of which the world thinks highly, where is the greatness, and where are the riches that exceed those of the imagination? Mechanics are proud of their engines, and think them wonderful: they are mere playthings compared with the imagination. Cannot imagination make the sea dry land, and the earth ocean? Archimedes boasted that he would move the world, could he place it in a convenient situation. Let imagination put forth its powers, and the world becomes obedient to its law, moves when required, crumbles into dust, and is re-created with increased glory. Cannot it break the rock like a reed, and snap the gnarled oak of many centuries like a rotten thread? Cannot it build cities on the plain, and form a garden in the wilderness? Cannot it people the solitude and confer happiness on the desolate? Cannot it make the sands of the sea-shore glittering with gold; and of the leaves of the forest create treasures far outvaluing the riches of the earth and sea? And more than this, it can make the dead live and the living die; it can raise the earthquake and the pestilence; it can fight battles and win kingdoms; it can float upon the whirlwind like a leaf upon the breeze; and pass through a consuming fire unscathed by a single flame.
“These are the powers of the imagination; and what are its pleasures? Let the most luxurious seeker after enjoyment take all the delights reality will give him. Let him wrap himself up in roses; lie in baths of milk; taste all that is delicious to the appetite; be loved by the most lovely and the most loving of women; and pass not a minute in which his soul is not lapped in ecstacy; and his enjoyments will bear no comparison with those of the imagination. Imagination can concentrate in a single moment the pleasures of a thousand years: it possesses all the delights the world may produce, in addition to raptures more exquisite of worlds of its own: it can create forms clothed with a beauty far excelling the rarest of those who have glorified the earth with their presence; its sunshine pales the light of heaven; its flowers alone can bloom with a perpetual fragrance.”
“Wilhelm, you must not excite yourself so;” said I, observing him fall back exhausted against the pillow, from which he had raised himself, and a violent fit of coughing follow.
“O du ewige Güte?” exclaimed the student, gasping for breath.
“Ah! I was afraid of this; you are too weak to allow yourself to be carried away by the impetuosity of your feelings. Here! take some of this drink. It will allay the irritation of the cough.”
“I am better now—I am better, mein freund,” murmured the grateful Wilhelm; “and now let us resume our conversation.”
“I am almost afraid, Wilhelm, for I see it excites you so much;” I observed.