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You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org Title: Problematic Characters A Novel Author: Friedrich Spielhagen Translator: Schele de Vere Release Date: December 24, 2010 [EBook #34748] Language: English *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PROBLEMATIC CHARACTERS *** Produced by Charles Bowen, from page scans provided by the Web Archive Transcriber's Note: 1. Page scan source: http://www.archive.org/details/problematicchar00veregoog BY COPYRIGHT ARRANGEMENT WITH THE AUTHOR. F. S PIELHAGEN ' S C OMPLETE W ORKS Translated from the German JUST PUBLISHED I. PROBLEMATIC CHARACTERS. A Novel. Translated by Prof. Schele de Vere. 12mo. Cloth. $2.00. II. THROUGH NIGHT TO LIGHT. A Novel. Translated by Prof. Schele de Vere. Uniform with the above. 12mo. cloth. $2.00. CRITICAL NOTICES. "Such a novel as no English author with whom we are acquainted could have written, and no American author except Hawthorne. What separates it from the multitude of American and English novels is the perfection of its plot, and it's author's insight into the souls of his characters.... If Germany is poorer than England, as regards the number of its novelists, it in richer when we consider the intellectual value of their works. If it has not produced a Thackeray, or a Dickens, it has produced, we venture to think, two writers who are equal to them in genius, and superior to them in the depth and spirituality of their art-- Auerbach and Spielhagen."-- Putnam's Magazine "The name is suggested by a passage in Goethe, which serves as a motto to the book. Spielhagen means to illustrate what Goethe speaks of--natures not in full possession of themselves, who are not equal to any situation in life, and whom no situation satisfies"--the Hamlet of our latest civilisation. With these he deals in a poetic, ideal fashion, yet also with humor, and, what is less to be expected in a German, with sparkling, flashing wit, and a cynical vein that reminds one of Heine. He has none of the tiresome detail of Auerbach, while he lacks somewhat that excellent man's profound devotion to the moral sentiment. There is more depth of passion and of thought in Spielhagen, together with a French liveliness by no means common in German novelists.... At any rate, they are vastly superior to the bulk of English novels which are annually poured out upon us--as much above Trollope's as Steinberger Cabinet is better than London porter.-- Springfield Republican "The reader lives among them (the characters) as he does among his acquaintances, and may plead each one's case as plausibly to his own judgment as he can those of the men whose mixed motives and actions he sees around him. In other words, these characters live, they are men and women, and the whole mystery of humanity is upon each of them. Has no superior in German romance for its enthusiastic and lively descriptions, and for the dignity and the tenderness with which its leading characters are invested."-- New York Evening Post "He strikes with a blow like a blacksmith, making the sparks fly and the anvil ring. Terse, pointed, brilliant, rapid, and no dreamer, he has the best traits of the French manner, while in earnestness and fulness of matter he is thoroughly German. One sees, moreover, in his pages, how powerful is the impression which America has of late been making upon the mind of Europe."-- Boston Commonwealth "The work is one of immense vigor; the characters are extraordinary, yet not unnatural; the plot is the sequence of an admirably-sustained web of incident and action. The portraitures of characteristic foibles and peculiarities remind one much of the masterhand of the great Thackeray. The author Spielhagen in Germany ranks very much as Thackeray does with us, and many of his English reviewers place him at the head and front of German novelists."-- Troy Daily Times "His characters have, perhaps, more passion, and act their parts with as much dramatic effect as those which have passed under the hand of Auerbach."-- Cincinnati Chronicle The N. Y. Times, of Oct. 23d, in a long Review of the above two works, says: "The descriptions of nature and art, the portrayals of character and emotion, are always striking and truthful. As one reads, there grows upon him gradually the conviction that this is one of the greatest of works of fiction.... No one, that is not a pure egoiste , can read Problematic Characters without profound and even solemn interest. It is altogether a tragic work, the tragedy of the nineteenth century--greater in its truth and earnestness, and absence of Hugoese affectation, than any tragedy the century has produced. It stands far above any of the productions of either Freytag or Auerbach ." IN PRESS. III. T HE H OHENSTEIN F AMILY . Translated by Prof. Schele de Vere. IV. H AMMER AND A NVIL . V. I N R ANK A ND F ILE . VI. R OSE , A ND T HE V ILLAGE C OQUETTE LEYPOLDT & HOLT, Publishers , 451 BROOME ST., NEW YORK. PROBLEMATIC CHARACTERS. A Novel BY FRIEDRICH SPIELHAGEN. Author's Edition NEW YORK LEYPOLDT & HOLT 1870. Problematic Characters A N OVEL BY FRIEDRICH SPIELHAGEN FROM THE GERMAN BY PROF. SCHELE DE VERE Author's Edition "There are problematic characters, who are not equal to any situation in life, and whom no situation satisfies. This causes an immense discord within, and their whole life is spent without enjoyment." GOETHE NEW YORK LEYPOLDT & HOLT 1870 Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1869, by LEYPOLDT & HOLT, In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the Southern District of New York. T HE N EW Y ORK P RINTING C OMPANY , 81, 83, and 85 Centre St ., N EW Y ORK FRIEDRICH SPIELHAGEN. Extract from the Westminster Review, October, 1868 From biographical notices of Spielhagen in German periodicals, [1] we gather that he was born in Magdeburg, in 1829, and is the son of a Prussian functionary of considerable rank (Regierungsrath). His youth was passed in the romantic old town of Stralsund, to which his father was removed in 1835, and the scenery of that neighborhood, and of the near lying island Rügen, appears to have become so deeply impressed on the opening mind of the boy, that he subsequently painted it with enthusiasm in several of his romances. His course of "gymnasial" education in Stralsund having been completed in 1847, he went in that year to the University of Berlin, intending to study medicine. But his poetical nature soon caused him to give up all thoughts of the medical profession, and the following year he removed to Bonn to study philology. He remained at Bonn till 1850, when he returned to Berlin, continuing his studies partly at that university and partly at that of Greifswald. Whilst at these universities he appears to have studied a variety of subjects, but discursively rather than with reference to any regular profession--for which both his poetical vein and his thirst for observations of actual life seem to have disqualified him. After serving his allotted time in the Prussian army, and occupying the post of tutor in the family of a Pomeranian nobleman, he went to Leipzig, in 1854, to devote himself to general literature, and he afterwards became a teacher ( Privat Docent ) of modern literature and æsthetics. His first romance, "Clara Vere," was published in 1857, and in the following year a short romance, "Auf der Düne" ("On the Downs"), appeared, and attracted considerable attention. In the six years Spielhagen resided at Leipzig he wrote many critical essays for periodicals, translated a considerable number of French, English, and American works [2] --particularly of American poets, and published there two more short romances, one of which, "Röschen vom Hofe," a charming idyl, rapidly passed through four editions. In 1860 he went to Hanover, where he married; and the following year he removed to Berlin, where he has since resided, displaying great activity in connection with a leading periodical, and as romance writer. In 1861 his first large romance, "Problematische Naturen," appeared, and at once established for the writer a great reputation. It was followed the next year by a continuation, "Durch Nacht zum Lichte" ("Through Night to Light"). In 1864 another long romance, "Die von Hohenstein," was published, and lastly, in the autumn of 1866, "In Reih' und Glied" ("In the Ranks"), a romance in six volumes. [3] The scenes of all Spielhagen's romances, with the exception of his first, "Clara Vere," are laid in the Baltic provinces or islands, in the Prussian capital, or on the Rhine.... The heroes in many of Spielhagen's romances are not made of common stuff. They are very unusual natures, gifted with more than the average of intellectual power, even for our intellectual age. A few have even Titanic qualities,--towering ambition, insatiable cravings, and overwhelming passions, which bring them to a miserable end. That the heroes in romances--which have been styled the modern epics--should stand at least a foot higher than ordinary men is but what we have a right to expect. It can interest none but the most unrefined minds, to be occupied chiefly in works of fiction with commonplace, vulgar natures and their unpoetical surroundings, or with stilted heroes clothed in tinsel, and talking in high-flown fashion amidst scenes of extravagant conception. In Spielhagen's heroes psychological truth is never violated. The principal personages in his romances live before us and fix our interest. Their dispositions are not described, but impressed upon our minds in action. The plots of his romances too, despite the great number of scenes and characters introduced, are nevertheless skilful, consistent, and artistic. He makes no extravagant use of improbable coincidences, nor is the reader kept on the tenter-hooks of suspense whilst the intricacies of a plot are unravelled. It was Schiller, we believe, who called the romancist the half-brother of the poet. To Spielhagen's glowing descriptions of nature, which are never tediously minute, and are invariably brought into harmony with, or made to enhance by contrast, the moods and actions of his personages, a true poetical charm is given. In this respect they may be said to occupy a happy position between the vague and shadowy pictures formerly met with in German romances, and the photographic realism or word- painting, so wearisome to readers of taste in many of our modern English novels. With a skilful hand, too, he paints the tender emotions and longings of the heart, particularly in his female characters. Though the interest in his stories is generally well sustained, yet in many of them the dénoûments are sad, a foreboding of which, as the consequences of vices, errors, or weaknesses in the actors, too soon perhaps arises in the reader's mind.... But the comic elements, satire, wit, and humor, are not wanting to afford amusement to the reader. Apart from the national coloring pertaining to his characters, their peculiar qualities are shown to have little to do with external circumstances. We see the hereditary influences of temperament and other organic conditions indicated; and in descriptions of bodily gestures, and expressions of the countenance, much knowledge of human nature, in its morbid as well as healthy state, is displayed. But enough of general observation on this author. We have before us numerous criticisms of his works in well-accredited German periodicals, which could be cited in proof that we have not overestimated his powers nor his popularity. Indeed, in Germany he is generally acknowledged to occupy the foremost rank amongst modern writers of fiction; an opinion, moreover, confirmed to some extent by the publication of his romances in a collected form. In agreement with German critics, we consider "Problematic Natures" to be the most interesting and poetical of our author's productions. [4] ... Goethe says in his "Dichtung und Wahrheit": "There are problematic natures who are not equal to any situation in which they are placed, and for whom no situation is good enough. A fearful conflict results therefrom, which consumes life without enjoyment." These pregnant words of the great German poet are placed as motto on the title-page of the work before us, and Spielhagen has built upon them a tale full of poetry and psychological interest. In the course of the romance the author, through one of his personages, more specifically characterizes problematic natures as "beings for the most part liberally endowed by nature with good qualities; whose feelings and endeavors in general are directed to what is good, yet who all, without exception, come to a sad end, because they understand, either never or too late, that the most enthusiastic efforts and the loftiest aims not only remain uncrowned by success, but at length destroy the struggler himself if he overlooks the conditions of our earthly existence. Such people are not satisfied with anything--with themselves least of all. Possessed of endless susceptibilities, they seize everything with avidity, cast it, however, away as soon as its limited nature becomes clear to them. The world does not satisfy them, and they do not satisfy the world. The world lets those who despise it fall, despair, die of hunger, as may be; and it is right it should be so, for naturally those only can be rewarded who, sacrificing their egotistical desires, strive to serve the world earnestly and diligently." ... Detestation of the aristocracy is prominent in all Spielhagen's romances. The aristocracy in general- -though there are several most favorable exceptions--is shown in them to be rotten and out of date. In some of his romances, a very pandemonium of "Junker" arrogance, frivolity, and debauchery--particularly of the military "Junker"--is painted, perhaps in colors somewhat too dark. In the people, including the Bürger class, healthy virtues and high intelligence are shown to dwell almost as prerogatives. Still, as regards the citizen classes, he has guarded himself against the reproach of one-sidedness, for several of his low-born characters are innately weak and vicious, and amongst his political democrats he has sketched popularity-hunting demagogues, actuated likewise by motives entirely base and selfish. Amongst the distinguished and good personages our author introduces, young physicians, and other students of science and nature occupy the foremost places. They are some of them evidently painted after life; and in his great appreciation of physical sciences, and the men who devote to them their energies, he does but give expression to sentiments now-a-days prevailing in Germany. And in his low estimate of the nobility, he forms no exception to modern writers of fiction in Germany. Indeed, Immermann, in his village tales, and even Goethe, in "Wilhelm Meister" and the "Wanderjahre," display anti-aristocratic sympathies. To these great writers of fiction the names of Gutzkow, Auerbach, Freitag, Schloenbach, and many others may be added. One chief cause of the antipathy of the citizen classes in Germany to the nobility we have already mentioned in speaking of "Problematical Natures." Another cause may be found in the circumstance that the nobility, since 1848, has in general used whatever political influence it possesses in a reactionary, ultraconservative spirit. As a consequence, however, of the strict line of demarcation, based on pedigree, between nobles and the citizen classes in Germany, the vulgar conceit and mean struggles for social position, so well known in this country, and so fertile a theme with our satirical novelists, are but seldom experienced in that country. The characters in Spielhagen's romances most resembling our snobs are worldly-minded, sycophantic clergymen and the low-born nouveaux riches .... Although in some respects this popular German romance-writer displays subjective biases; yet, on the whole, he is objective, and most decidedly reflects opinions now prevalent in his country. In fact, one of his critics avers, that "a psychological historian of the future may turn to his works for valuable data on many aspects of social life in the present times." As a delineator of individual characters--many of them types of different classes of society; as a painter of various situations, scenic and social, he appears to us unequalled by any other modern German writer of fiction. P ROBLEMATIC C HARACTERS P ART F IRST CHAPTER I. It was a warm evening in July in the year 184-, when an ordinary wagon, drawn by two heavily-built bay horses, made its way slowly through the heavy roads of a pine forest. "Is this forest never to have an end?" exclaimed the young man who was sitting alone on the back seat of the carriage, and raised himself impatiently. The taciturn driver answered only by cracking his whip. The slow bays made a desperate effort to trot, but soon abandoned the purpose, which was as little suitable to their tempers as to the deep sand. The young man leaned back again with a sigh, and commenced once more to listen to the monotonous music of the vehicle, as it tried to keep in the deep rots, and let the dark trunks of the pine-trees glide by, one by one, noticing how here and there a ray of moonlight fell upon them; for the moon was just rising above the wood. He began again to fancy what would be his reception at the château, and his new situation, upon which he was about to enter; but these dim visions of an unknown future became vaguer and vaguer, his weary eyes closed, and the first sound of which he was again conscious was the dull tramp of the horses on a wooden bridge which led to a lofty stone portal. "At last!" exclaimed the young man, rising and looking around him full of curiosity, as the wagon drove rapidly through a dark avenue of gigantic trees, followed a rounded-off curve on a large open courtyard covered with gravel, and then stopped before the doors of the château, on whose windows the rays of the moon glittered brightly. The silent driver cracked his whip to make his arrival known. The only answer was the loud sound of a clock, quite near by, which slowly struck eleven o'clock. When the last stroke had been heard, the door opened and a servant stepped out, and behind him the figure of an old gentleman became visible, whose wrinkled face was lighted up by the glare of a candle, which he tried to protect with his hand against the strong draught. The young man jumped briskly from the wagon to meet the old gentleman, who offered him his hand, and said to him in a voice full of kindness, but betraying his old age by its tremor, and marked by a foreign accent: "Be heartily welcome, doctor!" The young man pressed his hand cordially and replied: "I come rather late, baron, but----" "No matter, no matter at all," interrupted the old gentleman. "My good wife is still up. John, carry the doctor's traps to his room! Please come in here!" Oswald had arranged his dress quickly in the hall, which had a beautiful tessellated floor, and now followed the baron into a lofty large room. As he entered, two ladies arose from the sofa behind a table, where they seemed to have been busy reading. "My wife," said the baron, presenting Oswald to the older of the two, a tall, graceful lady of about forty years, who had advanced a few steps to meet the new-comer and now replied to his bow with some formality. Then he bowed to the younger lady, a delicate, small figure, with a sharp, thoroughly French face, framed in long curls; not thinking that he ought to neglect this act of politeness, merely because he had not been introduced to her also. "You are late, Doctor Stein," said the baroness, with a deep sonorous voice, which was not exactly in harmony with the cold light of her dark gray eyes. "As early, madam," replied the young man, cheerfully, "as the contrary wind, which delayed the ferry- boat in the morning for several hours, and the baron's driver, whose patience I had ample time to admire on the way, would permit me." "Patience is a noble virtue," said the baroness, when she had resumed her seat on the sofa, while the others took chairs around the table; "a virtue which you no doubt value very highly, as you need it so much in your vocation. I am afraid the two boys will give you but too frequent opportunities to practise this virtue to its fullest extent." "I promise myself everything that is good from my future pupils, and am quite sure, in advance, that the trials which they will make of my patience will be no fiery trials." "I hope so," said the baroness, resuming her work, which she had laid aside when the young man entered. "But you will find the boys just now rather neglected, as your arrival has been retarded for several days, and your predecessor could not, or would not, do us the favor to delay his departure for a few days." "I should not think fairly of the character of the boys," replied Oswald, "and still less so of the ability of Mr. Bauer, whom I have heard much praised, if I were really to fear that his influence had not survived a week." "Well, Mr. Bauer had his virtues, but also his foibles," said the baroness, counting the stitches in her work. "That is the fate of men," replied Oswald. "Perhaps the doctor would like some refreshment, dear Anna Maria," said the old gentleman, suddenly. Oswald could not make out whether he was prompted by an impulse of hospitality, or by a desire to change the conversation, which was assuming a somewhat lively character. "No, I thank you," said Oswald, dryly. "You have not been long engaged in teaching," continued the baroness, taking no notice of the interruption, "if I understood Professor Berger correctly, who gave us your address." "No." "You will oblige me particularly if you will give me, at a favorable moment, your views about education. I am convinced in advance that we shall agree in all essential points. But, of course, we must be prepared to differ in some minor matters. I shall always tell you frankly what I may wish or think, and I beg you will be as frank with me. As to the knowledge acquired by the boys, you will be the best judge of that yourself. Nor do I wish to anticipate your opinion of their character; only one thing I should like to mention to you: you will find our son Malte a somewhat spoiled child; while Bruno--you know that Bruno von Löwen is a distant relative of my husband's, whom we have adopted after the death of his father--is a boy who has had no education at all, and is, therefore, perfectly wild." "My dear Anna Maria," said the old gentleman. "I know what you are going to say, my dear Grenwitz," interrupted the baroness. "Bruno is, once for all, your favorite, and our views concerning him will always be at variance. You may be perfectly right when you say that I am unable to judge him fairly; but that is less my own fault than his, as the boy's morose and reserved manner makes all approach on our part--I mean on my part--almost impossible." "But, my dear Anna Maria----" "Well, never mind, dear Grenwitz; we will not weary Dr. Stein on the very first evening he spends under our roof by the spectacle of discord between husband and wife. Besides, Doctor Stein must be tired. Mademoiselle, please ring the bell." The last words, spoken in French, were addressed to the young lady who had been sitting immovable at the table, without ever looking at the new-comer, and holding the book, from which she seemed to have been reading aloud, still in her hand. Now she rose and went to the door, near which the bell-rope was hanging. Oswald anticipated her, saying: "Permit me, mademoiselle." The girl looked at him out of her large brown eyes with a half-wondering, half-frightened glance, which betrayed clearly enough how little she was accustomed to be treated with such courtesy. Then, casting down her eyes quickly, she went back to her seat at the table. A servant entered, and received orders to show Oswald to his room. "I hope you will find everything as you wish it," said the baroness, as Oswald took his leave with a silent bow; "if anything has been forgotten, or does not suit your taste, I beg you will let us know at once; I am exceedingly anxious for our own sake that you should be comfortable in our house." Oswald bowed once more and followed the servant to his room. They went across a hall, on the walls of which Oswald noticed, by the flickering light of the candle, full-size portraits of gentlemen and ladies in old-fashioned costumes; then up a stone staircase, through long galleries and a suite of rooms into a larger apartment. "This is your room, doctor," said the man, lighting the two candles which stood on a large round table in the centre of the room. "That door opens into your bedroom." "And where do the boys sleep?" asked Oswald. "If you go through your bedroom, you get into the young gentlemen's room. Have you any orders, sir?" "No, I thank you." "I wish you a good-night, sir." "Good-night." Oswald was alone. He had remained standing, one hand resting upon the table, and listened mechanically as the footsteps of the servant became gradually fainter and fainter down the long passage. Then he took one of the candles, passed through his chamber to the door which the servant had told him would admit him to the boys' room, opened it cautiously and went in, carefully screening the light with his hand. The beds of the two boys stood close by each other. Before one bed lay a carpet, before the other none. Above the bed without a carpet hung a small silver watch; above the bed with a carpet, a still smaller gold watch. In the bed below the gold watch lay a boy of perhaps fourteen years, with light, straight hair, and a delicate, finely-cut face, which, at that moment, looked rather silly, thanks to the half-open mouth. In the bed with the silver watch lay a boy who might have been a year older than the other, but who looked at least three years his senior, and formed in every way the most singular contrast with him. While the arms of the younger lay languidly on the coverlet, those of the other were firmly crossed on his chest. The compressed lips and the slightly frowning eyebrows, drawn together perhaps by a troublesome dream, gave to the irregular but not unattractive face an expression of dark defiance and pride, which would not have been amiss in the heir to a throne. "Poor boy," said Oswald to himself, looking with deepest interest at the enigmatical face of the child; "you have had already tears in the spring of your life, if you ever really had a spring." He was deeply moved, scarcely knowing why. But he bent over the sleeping child and kissed his forehead. The boy turned in his sleep, his arms relaxed, and opening his large, deep blue eyes, he looked at Oswald through the mist of his dream. All of a sudden a ray of sunlight seemed to flash across his face; the dark expression vanished, and a warm, inexpressibly sweet smile played over the animated features. "I love you," said the boy. "And I love you, too," replied Oswald. Then Bruno turned over, and Oswald saw from his deep, regular breathing that he had fallen fast asleep once more. "Has he really seen you or were you only a dream to him?" the young man asked himself, as he went back to his room after the little scene which had moved him deeply. He put the candle on the table, went to the window, opened it and looked out. The sky was covered with clouds and fogs, through which the full moon shone like a ball of red fire, far down near the horizon. In the east sheet lightning flashed to and fro. The air was hot and oppressive. In the garden below the windows the flowering fruit-trees shone with a white sheen, while the oaks and beeches, which rose like giants along the wall around the garden, up to the heavens, lay buried in deep, dark shadow. Nightingales sang in long, full notes; a fountain played merrily, but in subdued tones, as if dreaming. Oswald felt strangely excited. His past arose before his mind's eye in dim images, scene after scene, as the veil of clouds drove over the face of the moon; visions of the future flashed across them, as the lightning toward the east. Suddenly the trees rustled, and the loud bell, which he had heard at his arrival, struck twelve in slow, measured beats.