irruption of the northern swarms, issuing, like Faust and his air-warriors, "from Cimmerian Night," and spreading over so many fair regions? Perhaps of both, and of more; perhaps properly of neither: for the whole has a chameleon character, changing hue as we look on it. However, be this as it may, the Chorus cannot sufficiently admire Faust's strategic faculty; and the troops march off, without speech indeed, but evidently in the highest spirits. He himself concludes with another rapid dithyrambic, describing the Peninsula of Greece, or rather, perhaps, typically the Region of true Poesy, "kissed by the seawaters," and "knit to the last mountainbranch" of the firm land. There is a wild glowing fire in these two odes; a musical indistinctness, yet enveloping a rugged, keen sense, which, were the gift of rhyme so common as Faust thinks it, we should have pleasure in presenting to our readers. Again and again, we think of Calderon and his Life a Dream. But at once in cleft of some rude cavern sinking as he And so seems it we have lost him. Mother mourning, Father cheers her, Shrug my shoulders I, and look about me. behold, what vision! again, and garments Glittering, flower-bestriped has on.. Faust, as he resumes his seat by Helena, observes that "she is sprung from the highest gods, and belongs to the first world alone. It is not meet that bolted towers should encircle her; and near by Sparta, over the hills, "Ar-Are there treasures lying here concealed? There he is cadia blooms in eternal strength of youth, a blissful abode for them two." "Let thrones pass into groves; Arcadianly free be such felicity!" No sooner said, than done. Our Fortress, we suppose, rushes asunder like a Palace of Air, for, "the scene altogether changes. A series of Grottoes now are shut in by close Bowers. Shady Grove, to the foot of the Rocks which encircle the place. Faust and Helena are not scen. Chorus, scattered around, lie sleeping." The breastknots, Tassels waver from his arms, about his bosom flutter And the Parents, in their rapture, fly into each other's arms. For what glittering 's that about his head? Were hard with such a bearing moves he, in himself this boy announces Future Master of all Beauty, whom the Melodies Eternal In Arcadia, the business grows wilder than ever. Phorcyas, who has now become wonderfully civil, and, notwithstanding her ug-And liness, stands on the best footing with the poor light-headed Cicada-Swarm of a Chorus, awakes them to hear and see the wonders that have happened so shortly. It appears, too, that there are certain "Bearded Ones" (we suspect, Devils) waiting with anxiety, "sitting watchful there below," to see the issue of this extraordinary transaction; but of these Phorcyas gives her silly woman no hint whatever. She tells them, in glib phrase, what great things are in the wind. Faust and Helena have been happier than mortals in these grottoes. Phorcyas, who was in waiting, gradually glided away, seeking "roots, moss, and rinds," on household duty bent, and so they two remained alone." Sure enough, ye foolish creatures! These are unexplored recesses; amazement. The Chorus suggest, in their simplicity, that this elastic little urchin may have some relationship to the "Son of Maia," who, in old times, whisked himself so nimbly out of his swaddling clothes, and stole the "Sea-ruler's trident" and "Hephaestos' tongs," and various other articles before he was well span-long. But Phorcyas declares all this to be superannuated fable, unfit for modern uses. And now, a beautiful, purely melodious music of stringed instruments resounds from the Cave. All listen, and soon appear deeply_moved. It continues playing in full tone;" while Euphorion, in person, makes his appearance, "in the costume above described;" larger of stature, but no less frolicsome and tuneful. Our readers are aware that this Euphorion, the offspring of Northern Character wedded to Hall runs out on hall, spaces there on spaces: these I Grecian Culture, frisks it here not without re musing traced. But at once re-echoes from within a peal of laughter: Peeping in, what is it? Leaps a boy from mother's breast 10 Father's, From the Father to the Mother: such a fondling, such a dandling, ference to Modern Poesy, which had a birth so precisely similar. Sorry are we that we cannot follow him through these fine warblings and trippings on the light fantastic toe: to our ears there is a quick, pure, small-toned music HELENA and FAUST.. Joy soon changes to wo, in them, as perhaps of elfin bells when the | Crownlet mounts like a comet to the sky, mult which rather dissatisfies Faust. The wild- EUPHORION. And hear ye thunders on the ocean, Is the law of life, That is certain once for all. HELENA, FAUST, and CHORUS. Shall I view it, safe and gladly? HELENA, FAUST, and CHORUS. War is for the stout. EUPHORION. Ha!-and a pair of wings Folds itself out! Thither! I must! I must! 'T is my hest to fly! Coat, Mantie, EUPHORION'S voice (from beneath.) Let me not to realms below The prayer is soon granted. The Chorus chant a dirge over his remains, and then : HELENA (to FAUST.) A sad old saying proves itself again in me, PHORCYAS (to FAUST.) Hold fast! Hold.fast, what now alone remains to thee (PHORCYAS picks up EUPHORION'S Coat, Mantle, and Lyre from the Ground, comes forward into the Proscenium, holds these Remains aloft, and says :) Well, fairly found be happily won! (Sits down in the Proscenium at the foot of a pillar.) The rest of the personages are now speedily disposed of. Panthalis, the Leader of the Chorus, and the only one of them who has shown any glimmerings of Reason, or of aught beyond mere sensitive life, mere love of Pleasure and fear of Pain, proposes that, being now delivered from the soul-confusing spell of the "Thessalian Hag," they should forthwith return to Hades, to bear Helena company. But none will volunteer with her; so she goes herself. The Chorus have lost their taste for Asphodel Meadows, and playing so subordinate a part in Orcus: they prefer abiding in the (He casts himself into the air: his Garments support him for a moment; his Head radiates, a Train of Light | Light of Day, though, indeed, under rather follows him.) CHORUS. Icarus! earth and dust ! O, wo! thou mount'st too high. (A beautiful Youth rushes down at the feet of the Parents; you fancy you recognise in the dead a well-known Form ;* but the bodily part instantly disappears; the gold * It is perhaps in reference to this phrase, that cértain sagacious critics among the Germans have hit upon the wonderful discovery of Euphorion being--Lord Byron! A fact, if it is one, which curiously verifies the author's prediction in this passage. But unhappily, while we fancy that we recognise in the dead a well-known form, "the bodily part instantly disappears;" and the keen peculiar circumstances; being no longer " Per sons," they say, but a kind of Occult Qualities, as we conjecture, and Poetic Inspirations, residing in various natural objects. Thus, on". division become a sort of invisible Hama dryads, and have their being in Trees, and their joy in the various movements, beauties. est critic finds that he can see no deeper into a millstone than another man. Some allusion to our English Poet there is, or may be, here and in the page that precedes, and the page that follows; but Euphorion is no image of any person: least of all, one would think, of George Lord Byron. and products of trees. A second change into successful. It is wonderful with what fidelity Echoes; a third, into the Spirit of Brooks; the Classical style is maintained throughout and a fourth take up their abode in Vineyards, the earlier part of the poem; how skilfully it and delight in the manufacture of Wine. No is at once united to the Romantic style of the sooner have these several parties made up their latter part, and made to re-appear, at intervals, minds, than the Curtain falls; and Phorcyas "in to the end. And then the small half-secret the Proscenium rises in gigantic size; but steps down touches of sarcasm, the curious little traits by from her cothurni, lays her Mask and Veil aside, which we get a peep behind the curtain! and shows herself as MEPHISTOPHELES, in order, so Figure, for instance, that so transient allusion far as may be necessary, to comment on the piece, to these "Bearded Ones sitting watchful there by way of Epilogue." below," and then their tugging at Helena's Mantle to pull it down with them. By such light hints does Mephistopheles point out our Whereabout; and ever and anon remind us, that not on the firm earth, but on the wide and airy Deep, has he spread his strange pavilion, where, in magic light, so many wonders are displayed to us. Had we chanced to find that Goethe, in other instances, had ever written one line without meaning, or many lines without a deep and true meaning, we should not have thought this little cloud-picture worthy of such minute development, or such careful study. In that case, too, we should never have seen the true Helena of Goethe, but some false one of our own too indolent imagination; for this Drama, as it grows clearer, grows also more beautiful and complete; and the third, the fourth perusal of it pleases far better than the first. Few living artists would deserve such faith from us; but few also would so well reward it. Such is Helena the interlude in Faust. We have all the desire in the world to hear Mephisto's Epilogue: but far be it from us to take the word out of so gifted a mouth! In the way of commentary on Helena, we ourselves have little more, to add. The reader sees, in general, that Faust is to save himself from the straits and fetters of Worldly Life in the loftier regions of Art, or in that temper of mind by which alone those regions can be reached, and permanently dwelt in. Further, also, that this doctrine is to be stated emblematically and parabolically; so that it might seem as if, in Goethe's hands, the History of Faust, commencing among the realities of every-day existence, superadding to these certain spiritual agencies, and passing into a more aerial character as it proceeds, may fade away, at its termination, into a phantasmagoric region, where symbol and thing signified are no longer clearly distinguished; and thus the final result be curiously and significantly indicated, rather On the general relation of Helena to Faust, than directly exhibited. With regard to the and the degree of fitness of the one for the special purport of Euphorion, Lynceus, and other, it were premature to speak more exthe rest, we have nothing more to say at pre-pressly at present. We have learned, on sent; nay, perhaps we may have already said authority which we may justly reckon the best, too much. For it must not be forgotten by the that Goethe is even now engaged in preparing commentator, and will not, of a surety, be for- the entire Second Part of Faust, into which gotten by Mephistopheles, whenever he may this Helena passes as a component part. With please to deliver his Epilogue, that Helena is the third Lieferung of his Works, we undernot an Allegory, but a Phantasmagory; not a stand, the beginning of that Second Part is to type of one thing, but a vague, fluctuating, be published: we shall then, if need be, feel fitful adumbration of many. This is no Pic-more qualified to speak. ture painted on canvas, with mere material For the present, therefore, we take leave of colours, and steadfastly abiding our scrutiny; but rather it is like the Smoke of a Wizard's Cauldron, in which as we gaze on its flickering tints and wild splendours, thousands of strangest shapes unfold themselves, yet no one will abide with us; and thus, as Goethe says elsewhere, we are reminded of Nothing and of All." Properly speaking, Helena is what the Germans call a Mährchen (Fabulous Tale), a species of fiction they have particularly excelled in, and of which Goethe has already produced more than one distinguished specimen. Some day we purpose to translate for our readers, that little piece of his, deserving to be named, as it is, "THE Mährchen," and which we must agree with a great critic in reckoning the "Tale of all Tales." As to the composition of this Helena, we cannot but perreive it to be deeply-studied, appropriate, and Helena and Faust, and of their Author: but with regard to the latter, our task is nowise ended; indeed, as yet, hardly begun, for it is not in the province of the Mährchen, that Goethe will ever become most interesting to English readers. But, like his own Euphorion, though he rises aloft into Æther, he derives, Antæus-like, his strength from the earth. The dullest plodder has not. more practical understanding, or a sounder or more quiet character, than this most aerial and imaginative of poets. We hold Goethe to be the Foreigner, at this era, who, of all others, the best, and the best by many degrees, deserves our study and appreciation. What help we individually can give in such a matter, we shall consider it a duty and a pleasure to have in readiness. We purpose to return, in our next Number, to the consideration of his Works and Character in general. GOETHE.* [FOREIGN REVIEW, 1828.] It is not on this" Second Portion" of Goethe's works, which at any rate contains nothing new to us, that we mean at present to dwell. In our last Number, we engaged to make some survey of his writings and character in general; and must now endeavour, with such insight as we have, to fulfil that promise. We have already said that we reckoned this no unimportant subject; and few of Goethe's readers can need to be reminded that it is no easy one. We hope also that our pretensions in regard to it are not exorbitant; the sum of our aims being nowise to solve so deep and pregnant an inquiry, but only to show that an inquiry of such a sort lies ready for solution; courts the attention of thinking men among us, nay, merits a thorough investigation, and must sooner or later obtain it. Goethe's literary history appears to us a matter, beyond most others, of rich, subtile, and manifold significance; which will require end reward the best study of the best heads, and to the right exposition of which not one but many judgments will be necessary. However, we need not linger, preluding on our own inability, and magnifying the difficul, ties we have so courageously volunteered to front. Considering the highly complex aspect which such a mind of itself presents to us; and, still more, taking into account the state of English opinion in respect of it, there certainly seem few literary questions of our time so perplexed, dubious, perhaps hazardous, as this of the character of Goethe; but few also on which a well-founded, or even a sincere, word would be more likely to profit. For our countrymen, at no time indisposed to foreign excellence, but at all times cautious of foreign singularity, have heard much of Goethe; but heard, for the most part, what excited and perplexed rather than instructed them. Vague rumors of the man have, for more than half a century, been humming through our ears: from time to time, we have even seen some distorted, mutilated transcript of his own thoughts, which, all obscure and hieroglyphical as it might often seem, failed not to emit here and there a ray of keenest and purest sense; travellers also are still running to and fro, importing the opinions or, at worst, the gossip of foreign countries: so that, by one means or another, many of us have come to understand, that considerably the most distinguished poet and thinker of his age is called Goethe, and lives at Weimar, and must, to all appearance, be an extremely surprising cha *Goethe's Sämmtliche Werke. Vollständige Ausgabe letzter Hand. (Goethe's Collective Works. Complete Edition, with his final Corrections.) Zweite Lieferung, Bde. vi.-x. Cotta: Stuttgard and Tübingen. 1827. racter: but here, unhappily, our knowledge almost terminates; and still must Curiosity, must ingenuous love of Information and mere passive Wonder alike inquire: What manner of man is this? How shall we interpret, how shall we even see him? What is his spiritual structure, what at least are the outward form and features of his mind? Has he any real poetic worth; and if so, how much; how much to his own people, how much to us? Reviewers, of great and of small character, have manfully endeavoured to satisfy the British world on these points: but which of us could believe their report? Did it not rather become apparent, as we reflected on the matter, that this Goethe of theirs was not the real man, nay, could not be any real man whatever? For what, after all, were their portraits of him but copies, with some retouchings and ornamental appendages, of our grand English original Picture of the German generically?In itself such a piece of art, as national portraits, under like circumstances, are wont to be; and resembling Goethe, as some unusually expressive Sign of the Saracen's Head may resemble the present Sultan of Constantinople! But Did we imagine that much information, or any very deep sagacity were required for avoiding such mistakes, it would ill become us to step forward on this occasion. surely it is given to every man, if he will but take heed, to know so much as whether or not he knows. And nothing can be plainer to us than that if, in the present business, we can report aught from our own personal vision and clear hearty belief, it will be a useful novelty in the discussion of it. Let the reader be patient with us then; and according as he finds that we speak honestly and earnestly, or loosely and dishonestly, consider our statement, or dismiss it as unworthy of consideration. Viewed in his merely external relations, Goethe exhibits an appearance such as seldom occurs in the history of letters, and indeed, from the nature of the case, can seldom occur. A man, who, in early life, rising almost at a single bound into the highest reputation over all Europe; by gradual advances, fixing himself more and more firmly in the reverence of his countrymen, ascends silently through many vicissitudes to the supreme intellectual place among them; and now, after half a century, distinguished by convulsions, political, moral, and poetical, still reigns, full of years and honours, with a soft undisputed sway; still labouring in his vocation, still forwarding, as with knightly benignity, whatever can profit the culture of his nation: such a man might justly attract our notice, were it only by the singularity of his fortune. Supremacies this sort are rare in modern times; so univer- | cannot unriddle, learns to trust;" each takes sal, and of such continuance, they are almost with him what he is adequate to carry, and deunexampled. For the age of the Prophets and parts thankful for his own allotments. Two Theologic Doctors had long since passed of Goethe's intensest admirers are Schelling away; and now it is by much slighter, by of Munich, and a worthy friend of ours in transient and mere earthly ties, that bodies of Berlin; one of these among the deepest men men connect themselves with a man. The in Europe, the other among the shallowest. wisest, most melodious voice cannot in these All this is, no doubt, singular enough; and a days pass for a divine one; the word Inspira- proper understanding of it would throw light tion still lingers, but only in the shape of a on many things. Whatever we may think of poetic figure, from which the once earnest, Goethe's ascendency, the existence of it reawful, and soul-subduing sense has vanished mains a highly curious fact; and to trace its without return. The polity of Literature is history, to discover by what steps such incalled a Republic; oftener it is an Anarchy, fluence has been attained, and how so long. where, by strength or fortune, favourite after preserved, were no trivial or unprofitable infavourite rises into splendour and authority, quiry. It would be worth while to see so but like Masaniello, while judging the people, strange a man for his own sake; and here we is on the third day deposed and shot. Nay, should see, not only the man himself, and his few such adventurers can attain even this own progress and spiritual development, but painful pre-eminence; for at most, it is clear, the progress also of his nation; and this at no any given age can have but one first man; sluggish or even quiet era, but in times marked many ages have only a crowd of secondary by strange revolutions of opinions, by angry men, each of whom is first in his own eyes: controversies, high enthusiasm, novelty of enand seldom, at best, can the "Single Person" terprise, and doubtless, in many respects, by long keep his station at the head of this wild rapid advancement: for that the Germans have commonwealth; most sovereigns are never been, and still are, restlessly struggling foruniversally acknowledged, least of all in their ward, with honest unwearied effort, sometimes lifetimes; few of the acknowledged can reign with enviable success, no one, who knows peaceably to the end. them, will deny; and as little, that in every province of Literature, of Art, and humane accomplishment, the influence, often the direct guidance of Goethe may be recognised. The history of his mind is, in fact, at the same time, the history of German culture in his day; for whatever excellence this individual might realize has sooner or later been acknowledged and appropriated by his country; and the title of Musagetes, which his admirers give him, is perhaps, in sober strictness, not unmerited. Be it for good or for evil, there is certainly no German, since the days of Luther, whose life can occupy so large a space in the intellectual history of that people. Of such a perpetual dictatorship Voltaire among the French gives the last European instance; but even with him it was perhaps a much less striking affair. Voltaire reigned over a sect, less as their lawgiver than as their general; for he was at bitter enmity with the great numerical majority of his nation, by whom his services, far from being acknowledged as benefits, were execrated as abominations. But Goethe's object has, at all times, been rather to unite than to divide; and though he has not scrupled, as occasion served, to speak forth his convictions distinctly enough on many delicate topics, and seems, in general, to have paid little court to the prejudices or private feelings of any man or body of men, we see not at present that his merits are anywhere disputed, his intellectual endeavours controverted or his person regarded otherwise than with affection and respect. In later years, too, the advanced age of the poet has invested him with another sort of dignity; and the admiration to which his great qualities give him claim, is tempered into a milder, grateful feeling, almost as of sons and grandsons to their common father. Dissentients, no doubt, there are and must be; but, apparently, their cause is not pleaded in words: no man of the smallest note speaks on that side; or at most, such men may question, not the worth of Goethe, but the cant and idle affectation with which, in many quarters, this must be promulgated and bepraised. Certainly there is not, probably there never was, in any European country, a writer who, with so cunning a style, and so deep, so abstruse a sense, ever found so many readers. For, from the peasant to the king, from the callow dilettante and innamorato, to the grave transcendental philosopher, men of au degrees and dispositions are familiar with the writings of Goethe: each studies them with affection, with a faith which, "where it In this point of view, were it in no other, Goethe's Dichtung und Wahrheit, so soon as it is completed, may deserve to be reckoned one of his most interesting works. We speak not of its literary merits, though in that respect, too, we must say that few Autobiographies have come in our way, where so difficult a matter was so successfully handled; where perfect knowledge could be found united so kindly with perfect tolerance; and a personal narrative, moving along in soft clearness, showed us a man, and the objects that environed him, under an aspect so verisimilar, yet so lovely, with an air dignified and earnest, yet graceful, cheerful, even gay: a story as of a Patriarch to his children; such indeed, as few men can be called upon to relate, and few, if called upon, could relate so well. What would we give for such an Autobiography of Shakspeare, of Milton, even of Pope or Swift! Dichtung und Wahrheit has been censured considerably in England; but not, we are inclined to believe, with any insight into its proper meaning. The misfortune of the work among us was, that we did not know the narrator before his narrative; and could not judge what sort of narrative he was bound to give, in these circumstances, or whether he was bound to |