From Goethe’s “Wilhelm Meister’s Apprenticeship,” Book IV., Chap. xiii.

FOR the first time since a long period, Wilhelm found himself once more in his proper element. Of late his conversation had been listened to by those who were attentive by compulsion, but now he had the happiness of speaking with critics and artists, who not only fully comprehended him, but whose conversation was instructive in return. With eager rapidity they spoke of all the latest pieces and pronounced judgment upon them with decision. They knew how to try and estimate the judgment of the public, and they speedily explained their mutual opinions.

  In deference to Wilhelm’s love for Shakespeare, their conversation soon turned upon that author. He assured Serlo that he looked forward with the fondest hopes to the epoch which would arise in Germany from his incomparable productions, and he soon introduced the character of Hamlet, with which he had been much occupied of late.

  Serlo declared that if it had been possible, he would long since have performed that celebrated piece, and that he himself would willingly have played the character of Polonius. And then he added with a smile, “We should have been able to find an Ophelia, had we only been provided with a Prince.”

  Wilhelm did not observe that Aurelia seemed a little displeased at her brother’s raillery. In accordance with his usual habit, he was becoming talkative and instructive, and he wished to explain how he would have “Hamlet” performed. He stated in detail the result of his reflections upon the subject, and was at much pains to render his opinions acceptable, notwithstanding Serlo’s doubts as to the correctness of his views. “But,” exclaimed the latter at length, “supposing we admit all that you have said, what further explanation have you to add?”

  “I have much to add,” replied Wilhelm. “Picture to yourself a prince, such as I have described him, whose father has died suddenly. Ambition and the love of rule are not the passions which inspire him. He would have been satisfied with knowing that he was the offspring of a king. But now he is compelled for the first time to notice the difference between a monarch and a subject. His right to the throne was not hereditary, yet his father’s longer life would have strengthened the claims of his only son, and secured his hopes of the crown. But he now sees himself excluded by his uncle, perhaps forever, in spite of all his specious promises. Destitute of all things and of favor, he is a stranger in the very place which from his youth he had considered as his own possession. At this point his disposition takes the first tinge of melancholy. He feels that now he is not more, but rather less, than a private nobleman. He becomes the servant of every one, and yet he is not courteous nor condescending, but degraded and needy.

  “His past condition appears to him like a vanished dream. In vain does his uncle seek to console him and to display his prospects in another light. The consciousness of his nothingness will not abandon him.

  “The second blow that struck him inflicted a deeper wound, and bowed him to the earth. It was the marriage of his mother. After the death of his father, the true and tender son had yet a mother left, and he hoped that in the company of this noble parent he might honor the heroic form of his deceased father; but he lost her also, and that by a more cruel fate than if he had been deprived of her by death. The hopeful picture which an affectionate child loves to form of his parents has forever vanished. The dead can afford him no assistance, and in the living he finds no constancy. She too is a woman and owns the frailty which belongs to all her sex.

  “He feels for the first time that he is forsaken, that he is an orphan, and that no worldly happiness can restore to him what he has lost. Naturally, neither sorrowful nor reflective, sorrow and reflection now become to him a grievous burden. Thus it is that he appears before us. I do not think I have introduced into the character anything that does not belong to it, or that I have exaggerated it in any respect.”

  Serlo looked at his sister and observed, “Have I given you a false account of our friend? He has begun well, and he will continue to inform and to persuade us.”

  Wilhelm declared loudly that he did not wish to persuade, but to convince; and he asked for another moment’s patience.

  “Think of this youth,” he exclaimed; “think of this prince vividly; reflect upon his condition and then observe him when he learns that his father’s spirit has appeared. Accompany him during that fearful night when the venerable ghost addresses him, A shuddering horror seizes him; he speaks to the mysterious form; it beckons to him,—he follows and listens. The dreadful accusation of his uncle echoes in his ears; the injunction to revenge, and the imploring supplication again and again repeated, ‘Remember me!’

  “And when the ghost has vanished, whom do we see standing before us? A young hero panting for revenge? A prince by birth who feels proud that he is enjoined to punish the usurper of his crown? No! astonishment and perplexity confound the solitary youth; he vents the bitterness of his soul against smiling villains, swears never to forget his father’s departed spirit, and concludes with the expression of deep regret that:—

  “It seems to me that in these words will be found the key to Hamlet’s whole course of conduct, and it is evident that Shakespeare meant to describe a great duty imposed upon a soul unable to perform it. And in this sense I find that the whole play is conceived and worked out. An oak tree is planted in a costly vase, which should only have borne beautiful flowers in its bosom; the roots expand and the vase is shattered.

  “A lovely, pure, noble, and highly moral being, without the strength of mind which forms a hero, sinks beneath a load which it cannot bear and must not renounce. He views every duty as holy, but this one is too much for him. He is called upon to do what is impossible; not impossible in itself, but impossible to him. And as he turns and winds and torments himself, still advancing and retreating, ever reminded and remembering his purpose, he almost loses sight of it completely, without ever recovering his happiness.”