ART. VII.-1. Aus Meinem Leben. Dichtung und Wahrheit. Goethe's Werke. Stuttgard und Tubingen: 1833. 2. Memoirs of Goethe. Written by Himself. New York: 1824. 3. Characteristics of Goethe, from the German of Falk, Von Müller, etc. With Notes, original and translated, illustrative of German Literature. By SARAH AUSTIN. London: Effingham Wilson. 3 vols. 1837. "LA plupart des caracteres vrais sont inconsequents," says Madame de Stael: and the observation is profoundly true. It is only in novels, in tragedies, and in so-called biographies, that we meet with strictly consequent men and women. These, it is true, are for the most part sufficiently smooth, uniform, consistent sort of people, with no troublesome inequalities or perplexing contradictions, nothing which requires study or thought, but comprehensible at a glance. Delightful creatures! But alas! the men and women of real life are much more intractable sort of personages, and defy all attempts to bring them under the rule and compasses. When one thinks he has them all nicely squared and fitted, and is able to show in inches and half inches the exact measure and dimension of each part, up starts a new excrescence and confounds the whole calculation. The man with the rule and compasses finds himself in the situation of a geographer, who is surveying a new region, with intent to make a chart thereof; while before his bewildered and astonished gaze, promontories start up, volcanoes burst forth, islands emerge from the ocean, and rivers gush forth in the desert. In truth, there is no extravagance in the assertion, that one man might furnish a life's study to all other men, yet never be thoroughly understood. There is more than we think of wrapped up in this microcosm of ours.' Should it be objected, that these apparent anomalies originate in the imperfection of human vision;-to a certain extent, we admit it. We do not pretend that the developments of human character are regulated by no law, or that they present real and absolute contradictions. Yet we do assert that this imperfection of vision is incident to humanity, and not to be guarded against by any care or skill of ours. There are wrapped up in this manifold and wondrous nature which God has given us, mysteries which He only can fathom; and to each other we must ever remain inexplicable. If it were not so, we should find a character which, at a distance, appeared strange and contradictory, becoming lucid and comprehensible, on a more intimate acquaintance. On the contrary, it is the remote who appear uniform and consistent, while the near escape from our scrutiny, and defy our standards. The better we know a person-in the common acceptation of that phrase the less do we understand him. Seen at a distance, his character presented a few striking traits, which, standing out in bold relief, were easily appreciated; while lesser inequalities were concealed from view, by the dim haziness of distance. A closer inspection reveals the hitherto unseen roughnesses. And as the attempt to bring unity out of variety must ever be difficult, in proportion to the number of elements embraced in that variety, it follows that we understand a character the less for knowing the more of it. Perhaps Madame de Stael might have couched her observation in still more general terms consistently with truth. She has excluded all artificial characters, and with reason, if we understand by the term those who are so completely the creatures of art, that it has with them become second nature. But we imagine the class to be exceedingly small. And to the partially artificialized, her remark applies with double force, since they have not only the original inconsequence of their own manifold natures to account for, but the incongruities between the original natural, and the patched or artificial. Whether there are any other individuals who form an exception to the remark, by having "no characters at all," we shall not undertake to decide. Indeed, it would be a somewhat delicate matter, after Pascal's remark, "Plus on voit d'hommes originaux, plus on a d'esprit." Yet, spite of our unwillingness to risk our reputation for "esprit," we must confess we have met occasionally with specimens of a class whom nature seems to have stereotyped. They come from the mint as like to each other, apparently, as so many coins from the same stamp, and if you know them apart, it is by the color of their coat or their eyes. They give signs of life by eating, drinking, and locomoting, but have very little visible resemblance to microcosms. Yet we would not venture to assert, even in these cases, that the uniformity and consistency are more than apparent. We have always avoided very near approaches to such specimens of hu manity; and it may be distance only which has lent smoothness to the view. It would be no matter of surprise if a nearer approach, even to these glacier-like personages, should disclose here and there a chasm, a precipice, or even a forth-flaming volcano- or at least, if a few fiery sparks should make good their claim to the name of men. It may be accounted a somewhat singular fact, that after the experience which we have, one and all, had of these perversities and anomalies of human nature, we are in no wise the better prepared to meet with them in a new acquaintance. We as confidently expect, that the individual between whom and ourselves a friendship is just growing up, will prove a well-proportioned, symmetrical piece of humanity; and are quite as much astonished at his subsequently discovered inconsistencies, as if this were our first initiation in such matters. Quite unable to comprehend the endless resources of nature, or to understand how she can go on creating forever, yet never repeat herself, we expect her to dispense qualities by the lot, and always to connect certain characteristics which we have frequently found in conjunction, or between which we imagine a certain congruity to exist. Such and such qualities must be found together, or the character would be unnatural; thus we decide. Blind fools that we are! nature goes on working without regarding us, and produces many a creation which, faithfully delineated in a work of fiction, would be pronounced a monstrosity and an impossibility. Nay, we see not why the remark of Novalis, that nature has shown herself to possess wit and humor in her caricatures of plants and animals, may not also be extended to man. There is no conceivable arrangement, no possible juxtaposition of the elements of human character, of which she has not given us an example. The most apparently contradictory qualities are found in harmonious conjunction, and characters the most opposite melt into each other by imperceptible shadings. In short, it is not true of one man alone, but of every man, "Natura il fece, e poi ruppe la stampa." Thence arises an endless diversity, and an absolute impossibility of all reduction to classes and genera; in short, of all which we call understanding a character. In no wise would we complain of a variety so productive of pleasure. For, though it be sometimes not a little vexatious to meet with these kickers and strugglers, who will by no means lie flat to be measured, and whose rough prominences resist our most persevering attempts to smooth them down into a "patty-cake" surface, yet do we hold that these little grievances are amply atoned for, by the pleasure of an occasional surprise, in this otherwise monotonous world of ours. "L'image d'une vie monotone fait eprouver de l'effrai, même au sein du bonheur ;" and so does a monotonous character, even though it be a perfect one. Nor is it the character of others, alone, which affords us matter of perplexity; we are often a sore puzzle to ourselves. We too are microcosms. We too have our cloud-islands, and our fairseeming morasses, and our fathomless oceans, and our earthquakes; yea, our comets and shooting-stars. We must often look on in silent wonder at that which goes on within us, as at that without us; we must often stand amazed at a new revelation, and pathetically exclaim with the "world renowned" old woman in the affecting history of Pedler Stout, "Goodness! mercy on me! However, in due time, the earthquake passes, and the comet disappears, and we settle down into the comfortable conviction that we are ourselves, and no other. It were much to be wished, that a glimmering of these truths had dawned upon some of our would-be novelists and dramatists. We might then have been spared delineations of character in which a tiresome monotony is mistaken for truth to nature; and the predominance of a single quality, or even a peculiarity of phrase or gesture, constitutes individuality. Each of the dramatis personæ has some "ruling passion," which is to "be strong," if not "in death," yet in every circumstance of his life; some prominent characteristic which is to be shown off on all occasions. The possibility that a man may be operated upon by various motives, that he may sometimes act from motives which himself does not understand, and sometimes-we beg pardon of the metaphysicians from mere impulse without any motive at all; that a generous man may have occasional fits of avarice, and an avaricious man of generosity; nay, that the same man, at the same time, may have streaks of generosity and avarice, of disinterestedness and selfishness, of pride and humility-in short, that there are in every man occasional out-breaks of a character directly the reverse of his ordinary one; -all this has never penetrated the crania of such authors. Herein is visible, the infinite superiority of Shakspeare to ordinary writers. It is indeed impossible to conceive of greater perfection than that to which Shakspeare has attained in this respect. What endless diversity! What perfect individuality! As it has been remarked, we not only know his characters, in their present development, but we seem to have been familiar with them from childhood. In Shakspeare too, as in nature, the clearest revelations of character are made to us by trifles. For, "un sot n'entre, ni ne sort, ni s'assied, ni ne se lêve, ni n'est sur ses jambes comme un homme d'esprit." There is yet another proof of the wonderful multiformity of our infinite nature, in the fact that every man has a different character for each of his acquaintances. Yes, so many associates as you have, be they two or a thousand, so many different men are you. With one you are sentimental, pensive, and reflecting; with another, matter-of-fact, "worky-day," and literal. With one you are careless, talkative, enjoué; with another, precise, formal and erect. To one man you are loquacious, exaggerative, and diffuse; to another, laconic, aphoristic, and profound. Yet in all this there is no affectation, no design. If there were, the wonder would cease, for any man can be a hypocrite. The wonder is, that involuntarily, and at the time unconsciously, we so assimilate to the friend or associate with whom we are conversing, as to be in effect different persons with each. Each sees us under a different phasis, yet every one of these phases is really and truly ourselves. Our own individual, peculiar, and intransferable nature, shines through each transfiguration; under each remains the me, absolutely distinguished from all other me's. Thus, when we are pensive with a pensive friend, or merry with a merry one, our pensiveness and our merriment are our own, not his, and absolutely different from the same attributes, in all the myriads of pensive and merry men, who live, ever have lived, or ever will live. And we may remark, in passing, that if we wish to decide upon the character of a new acquaintance, we have only to observe what we become in his presence. For depend upon it, our instinct will have anticipated our judgment, and we have already adapted ourselves to him, before we have learned what he is. Hence, too, it follows, that we should "beware of thinking we know a person, because we have seen him under all possible circumstances. We have seen him under all circumstances but that of our own absence." From the foregoing remarks, it is quite evident that the biographer has a task of no ordinary difficulty. And the utmost which he can hope to attain, is an approximation to correctness. 40 NO. VI.-VOL. III. |