[Wilhelm Meister's Apprenticeship]
Goethe's prestige was enormously increased by the publication in 1796 of "Wilhelm Meister's Apprenticeship" ("Wilhelm Meisters Lehrjahre"). Representing the fruit of twenty years' labour, it was, like "Faust," written in fragments during the ripest period of his intellectual activity. The story of "Wilhelm Meister" is by no means exciting, but, as a gallery of portraits and repository of wise observation, it is more characteristic of the genius of its author than any other of his prose works. It is more mellow than "Werther," and the action moves slower. Incident follows incident in a leisurely fashion. The keen psychological analysis in the story is assumed to have been derived from Goethe's own experience. "Wilhelm Meister" was dramatised and produced at Leipzig a few years ago, but with no marked success.
I.--On the Road
The moment was now at hand to which poor Mariana had been looking forward as to the last of her life. Wilhelm Meister, the man she loved, was departing on a long journey in connection with his father's business; a disagreeable lover was threatening to come.
"I am miserable," she exclaimed, "miserable for life! I love him, and he loves me; yet I see that we must part, and know not how I shall survive it. Wilhelm is poor, and can do nothing for me--"
Darkness had scarcely come on when Wilhelm glided forth to her house; he carried with him a letter in which he entreated her to marry him forthwith, saying that he would abandon his father's business, and earn his living on the stage, to which he had always been strongly drawn. This he could do with certainty, as he was well acquainted with Serlo, manager of a theatre in a town at some distance.
His plan was to leave the letter with her, and return a little later for her answer. The vehemence of his emotion at first prevented him from noticing that she did not greet him with her wonted heartiness; she complained of a headache, and would not hear of his coming back later that evening. Suspecting nothing wrong, he ceased to urge her, but he felt that this was not the moment for delivering his letter. He retained it, therefore, and, in a tumult of insatiable love, as he tore himself away from her he snatched one of her neckerchiefs, and, after pressing it madly to his lips, crushed it into his pocket.
His whole being was in a ferment of excitement as he walked aimlessly about the streets. Midnight found him again in the neighbourhood of Mariana's house; consciousness of the fact brought him to himself. He went slowly away, set himself for home, and constantly turned round again; at last, with an effort, he constrained himself, and actually departed. At the corner of the street, looking back yet once more, he imagined that he saw Mariana's door open, and a dark figure issue from it. He was too distant to see clearly, and in a moment the appearance was lost in the night.
On his way, he had almost effaced the unexpected delusion from his mind by the most sufficient reasons. To soothe his heart, and put the last seal on his returning belief, ere he disrobed for the night, he took her kerchief from his pocket. The rustle of a letter which fell from it took the kerchief from his lips; he lifted it, and read a passionate letter from another man, railing at her for her coldness on the preceding night, making an appointment for that same night, and breathing a spirit of intimate familiarity.