From Goethe’s “Wilhelm Meister’s Apprenticeship,” Book III., Chap. xi.

WILHELM had scarcely finished a few of Shakespeare’s plays, before he became so much affected by them that he could not continue their perusal. His whole soul was in a state of excitement. He thereupon sought an opportunity to speak with Jarno, and he could not adequately express his gratitude for the pleasure to which he had introduced him.

  “I foresaw plainly,” observed Jarno, “that you could not remain indifferent to the excellence of the most extraordinary and wonderful of all writers.”

  “Yes,” exclaimed Wilhelm, “I do not think that any book, any man, or any occurrence of life has ever produced so strong an effect upon me as the precious works to which, by your kindness, I have been introduced. They appear to be the productions of a heavenly genius who has descended to the abodes of men, to render them, by the gentlest lessons, acquainted with themselves. They are not mere poems. One might think during their perusal that he stood before the opened, solemn books of destiny, through which the whirlwind of impassioned life is breathing, whilst the leaves are agitated to and fro. I have been so astonished and overcome by the strength and tenderness, the power and repose of these works, that I long for the time when I shall be able to continue their perusal.”

  “Bravo,” said Jarno, holding out his hand to Wilhelm, and pressing his in return, “I knew it would be so, and the results which I anticipate are sure to follow.”

  “I wish,” observed Wilhelm, “that I could explain to you all my present sensations. Every dream which I have ever indulged respecting man and his destiny, every idea I have ever entertained upon such subjects within my own secret soul, I find unfolded and complete in the compositions of Shakespeare. It appears as if he had unraveled to us the mystery of all our enigmas, even though we cannot explain wherein lies the actual word of solution. His men seem to be human beings, and yet they are not so. These wonderful and complicated creations of nature act like watches that are inclosed in crystal dial plates and cases, which whilst they indicate the course of the hours, display the machinery and wheels by which they are set in motion. The few glances which I have cast into the world of Shakespeare impel me irresistibly to march forward with hasty strides into the world of active life, to mingle in the flood of destiny which courses through it, and, finally, to fill a few goblets from the deep tide of true nature, and distribute them from the stage to the thirsty inhabitants of my native land.”