sweet, gentle moon, how
fall thy rays upon my heart, illumining, in marvellous sort, that
universe which lives and moves within this soul of mine. Lead on before
me, thou brave luminary, that I may steer my course to where experience
of life and knowledge of mankind stream towards my ken, in rich
abundance, for advantageous employment! Character-studies, lifelike
drawing--not possible without living models! Glorious drink! Noble,
splendid ardour, opening the heart and kindling the fancy! Yes, that
man eating sausages in there lives within my soul! He is tall and lean,
has on a blue frock coat with gilt buttons, English boots, takes snuff
out of a black lacquered snuff-box, speaks German fluently, and is
consequently a German, in spite of his boots and the Italian sausages;
a glorious, lifeful German character for my next novel! But, more
knowledge of mankind! More character!"' And with that my poet sailed,
with a fair wind, into the harbour of the fourth wineshop."

"Stop! you Oliver Martext," cried Lothair. "I call you so, because you
have completely marred _my_ text. I know well enough what you are
driving at with your poet who collects experience of life in wineshops,
and by his man in the blue frock coat; and I don't care to expatiate
further on the Thema. But there are other, very different, people too,
who think that, when they have accurately described the personality
of this or that unimportant 'subject' they have drawn a strikingly
life-like character. The peculiar pigtail which this or that old man
wears--the colours in which this or that girl dresses--are not enough.
It requires a certain special faculty, and a penetrating eye, to see
the forms of life in their deeper individuality. And even this seeing
is not enough. It is the poet's spirit--that spirit which dwells within
every true poet--which brings the pictures which he has seen, in their
endlessly, infinitely, varied changefulness, as they have shown
themselves to him--on to the stage. And then, by a process like
chemical precipitation, those forms appear as _substrata_ belonging to
life and the world in their complete extension. Such are those
wonderful characters--wholly unconnected with place and time--whom
every one knows, and looks upon as friends, who move on amongst us for
ever, in perfect fulness of life. Need I instance Sancho Panza and
Falstaff? And as you, Vincent, spoke of a blue frock coat, it is rather
curious that forms, which a true poe