Wilhelm Meister's apprenticeship and travels, vol. 1 (of 2)Goethe, Johann Wolfgang von
General
Wilhelm Meister's apprenticeship and travels, vol. 1 (of 2)
Goethe, Johann Wolfgang von
Bildungsromans; German fiction -- Translations into English; Self-realization -- Fiction
"Are you mad, Philina?" cried Wilhelm, endeavoring to disengage himself;
"to make the open street the scene of such caresses, which I nowise
merit! Let me go! I can not and I will not stay."
"And I will hold thee fast," said she, "and kiss thee here on the open
street, and kiss thee till thou promise what I want. I shall die of
laughing," she continued: "by this familiarity the good people here must
take me for thy wife of four weeks' standing; and husbands, who witness
this touching scene, will commend me to their wives as a pattern of
childlike, simple tenderness."
Some persons were just then going by: she caressed him in the most
graceful way; and he, to avoid giving scandal, was constrained to play
the part of the patient husband. Then she made faces at the people, when
their backs were turned, and, in the wildest humor, continued to commit
all sorts of improprieties, till at last he was obliged to promise that
he would not go that day, or the morrow, or the next day.
"You are a true clod!" said she, quitting him; "and I am but a fool to
spend so much kindness on you." She arose with some vexation, and walked
a few steps, then turned round laughing, and cried, "I believe it is
just that, after all, that makes me so crazy about thee. I will but go
and seek my knitting-needles and my stocking, that I may have something
to do. Stay there, and let me find the stone man still upon the stone
bench when I come back."
She cast a sparkling glance on him, and went into the house. He had no
call to follow her; on the contrary, her conduct had excited fresh
aversion in him; yet he rose from the bench to go after her, not well
knowing why.
He was just entering the door, when Melina passed by, and spoke to him
in a respectful tone, asking his pardon for the somewhat too harsh
expressions he had used in their late discussion. "You will not take it
ill of me," continued he, "if I appear perhaps too fretful in my present
circumstances. The charge of providing for a wife, perhaps soon for a
child, forbids me from day to day to live at peace, or spend my time as
you may do, in the enjoyment of pleasant feelings. Consider, I pray you,
and, if possible, do put me in possession of that stage machinery that
is lying here. I shall not be your debtor long, and I shall be obliged
to you while I live."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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