صور الصفحة
النشر الإلكتروني

and seldom writes without a meaning far be- | glimpses of which look forth on us from almost yond the sphere of common romancers. Hes- every one of his writings. He died while enperus and Titan themselves, though in form gaged, under recent and almost total blindness, nothing more than "novels of real life," as the in enlarging and remodelling this Campaner Minerva Press would say, have solid metal Thal: the unfinished manuscript was borne enough in them to furnish whole circulating upon his coffin to the burial vault; and Kloplibaries, were it beaten into the usual filigree; stock's hymn, Auferstehen wirst du, "Thou shalt and much which, attenuate it as we might, no arise, my soul," can seldom have been sung quarterly subscriber could well carry with him. with more appropriate application than over Amusement is often, in part almost always, a the grave of Jean Paul. mean with Richter; rarely or never his high- We defy the most careless or prejudiced est end. His thoughts, his feelings, the creations reader to peruse these works without an imof his spirit, walk before us imbodied under pression of something splendid, wonderful, and wondrous shapes, in motley and ever-fluctuat- daring. But they require to be studied as well ing groups; but his essential character, how-as read, and this with no ordinary patience, if ever he disguise it, is that of a Philosopher and the reader, especially the foreign reader, wishes moral Poet, whose study has been human to comprehend rightly either their truth or their nature, whose delight and best endeavour are want of truth. Tried by many an accepted with all that is beautiful, and tender, and mys- standard, Richter would be speedily enough teriously sublime, in the fate or history of man. disposed of; pronounced a mystic, a German This is the purport of his writings, whether dreamer, a rash and presumptuous innovator; their form be that of fiction or of truth; the spirit and so consigned, with equanimity, perhaps that pervades and ennobles his delineations of with a certain jubilee, to the Limbo appointed common life, his wild wayward dreams, allego- for all such wind-bags and deceptions. Oriries, and shadowy imaginings, no less than his ginality is a thing we constantly clamour for, disquisitions of a nature directly scientific. and constantly quarrel with; as if, observes our author himself, any originality but our own could be expected to content us! In fact, all strange things are apt, without fault of theirs, to estrange us at first view, and unhappily scarcely any thing is perfectly plain, but what is also perfectly common. The current coin of the realm passes into all hands; and be it gold, silver, copper, is acceptable and of known value: but with new ingots, with foreign bars, and medals of Corinthian brass, the case is widely different.

But in this latter province also, Richter has accomplished much. His Vorschule der Aesthetik (Introduction to Esthetics*) is a work on poetic art, based on principles of no ordinary depth and compass, abounding in noble views, and, notwithstanding its frolicsome exuberance, in sound and subtile criticism; esteemed even in Germany, where criticism has long been treated of as a science, and by such persons as Winkelmann, Kant, Herder, and the Schlegels. Of this work we could speak long, did our limits allow. We fear it might astonish many an There are few writers with whom deliberahonest brother of our craft, were he to read it; tion and careful distrust of first impressions and altogether perplex and dash his maturest are more necessary than with Richter. He counsels, if he chanced to understand it. is a phenomenon from the very surface; he Richter has also written on education, a work presents himself with a professed and deterentitled Levana; distinguished by keen prac-mined singularity: his language itself is a stone tical sagacity, as well as generous sentiment, of stumbling to the critic; to critics of the and a certain sober magnificence of speculation; grammarian species, an unpardonable, often the whole presented in that singular style which an insuperable, rock of offence. Not that he characterizes the man. Germany is rich in is ignorant of grammar, or disdains the sciences works on Education; richer at present than of spelling and parsing; but he exercises both any other country: it is there only that some in a certain latitudinarian spirit; deals with echo of the Lockes and Miltons, speaking of astonishing liberality in parentheses, dashes, this high matter, may still be heard; and speak- and subsidiary clauses; invents hundreds of ing of it in the language of our own time, with new words, alters old ones, or by hyphen, insight into the actual wants, advantages, chains, pairs, and packs them together into perils, and prospects of this age. Among most jarring combination; in short, produces writers on this subject, Richter holds a high sentences of the most heterogeneous, lumberplace; if we look chiefly at his tendency and ing, interminable kind. Figures without limit aims, perhaps the highest.—The Clavis Fichti- indeed the whole is one tissue of metaphors, ana is a ludicrous performance, known to us and similes, and allusions to all the provinces only by report; but Richter is said to possess of Earth, Sea, and Air, interlaced with epithe merit, while he laughs at Fichte, of under- grammatic breaks, vehement bursts, or sarstanding him; a merit among Fichte's critics, donic turns, interjections, quips, puns, and which seems to be one of the rarest. Report even oaths! A perfect Indian jungle it seems; also, we regret to say, is all that we know of a boundless, unparalleled imbroglio; nothing the Campaner Thal, a Discourse on the Immor- on all sides but darkness, dissonance, confusion tality of the Soul; one of Richter's beloved worse confounded! Then the style of the topics, or rather the life of his whole philosophy, whole corresponds, in perplexity and extravagance, with that of the parts. Every work, be it in fiction or serious treatise, is embaled in some fantastic wrappage, some mad narrative accounting for its appearance, and connecting it with the author, who generally becomes a per

♦ From aisdávoμat, to feel. A word invented by Baumgarten, (some eighty years ago,) to express generally the Science of the Fine Arts; and now in universal use among the Germans. Perhaps we also might as well adopt it; at least if any such science should ever

urise among us.

son of the drama himself, before all is over. | from its proper centre, his intellectual universe, He has a whole imaginary geography of Europe no longer a distorted, incoherent series of airin his novels; the cities of Flachsen fingen, landscapes, coalesces into compact expansion; Haarhaar, Scheerau, and so forth, with their a vast, magnificent, and variegated scene; full, princes, and privy-councillors, and serene indeed, of wondrous products, and rude, it highnesses; most of whom, odd enough fel- may be, and irregular; but gorgeous, and lows every way, are Richter's private acquaint- varied, and ample; gay with the richest verances, talk with him of state matters, (in the dure and foliage, and glittering in the brightest purest Tory dialect,) and often incite him to get and kindest sun. on with his writing. No story proceeds without Richter has been called an intellectual Cothe must erratic digressions, and voluminous lossus; and in truth it is still somewhat in this tagrags rolling after it in many a snaky twine.light that we view him. His faculties are all Ever and anon there occurs some "Extra-leaf," of gigantic mould; cumbrous, awkward in their with its satirical petition, programme, or other movements; large and splendid rather than wonderful intercalation, no mortal can foresee harmonious or beautiful; yet joined in living on what. It is, indeed, a mighty maze; and union, and of force and compass altogether often the panting reader toils after him in vain, extraordinary. He has an intellect vehement, or, baffled and spent, indignantly stops short, rugged, irresistible; crushing in pieces the and retires perhaps for ever. hardest problems; piercing into the most hidAll this, we must admit, is true of Richter; den combinations of things, and grasping the but much more is true also. Let us not turn most distant: an imagination vague, sombre, from him after the first cursory glance, and splendid, or appalling; brooding over the imagine we have settled his account by the abysses of Being; wandering through Infiniwords Rhapsody and Affectation. They are tude, and summoning before us, in its dim recheap words we allow, and of sovereign po-ligious light, shapes of brilliancy, solemnity, tency; we should see, therefore, that they be or terror: a fancy of exuberance literally unnot rashly applied. Many things in Richter exampled; for it pours its treasures with a accord ill with such a theory. There are rays lavishness which knows no limit, hanging, like of the keenest truth, nay, steady pillars of the sun, a jewel on every grass-blade, and scientific light rising through this chaos: Is it sowing the earth at large with orient pearl. But in fact a chaos, or may it be that our eyes are deeper than all these lies Humour, the ruling not of infinite vision, and have only missed the quality with Richter; as it were the central fire plan? Few rhapsodists are men of science, that pervades and vivifies his whole being. He of solid learning, of rigorous study, and ac- is a humorist from his inmost soul; he thinks curate, extensive, nay, universal knowledge; as a humorist, he feels, imagines, acts as a as he is. With regard to affectation, also, there humorist: Sport is the element in which his is much to be said. The essence of affecta-nature lives and works. A tumultuous element tion is that it be assumed: the character is, as for such a nature, and wild work he makes in it were, forcibly crushed into some foreign it! A Titan in his sport as in his earnestness, mould, in the hope of being thereby reshaped he oversteps all bound, and riots without law and beautified; the unhappy man persuades or measure. He heaps Pelion upon Ossa, and himself that he is in truth a new and wonder- hurls the universe together and asunder like a fully engaging creature, and so he moves about case of playthings. The Moon "bombards" with a conscious air, though every movement the Earth, being a rebellious satellite; Mars betrays not symmetry, but dislocation. This it is" preaches" to the other planets very singular to be affected, to walk in a vain show. But the doctrine; nay, we have Time and Space themstrangeness alone is no proof of the vanity. selves playing fantastic tricks: it is an infinite Many men that move smoothly in the old es- masquerade; all Nature is gone forth mumtablished railways of custom will be found ming in the strangest guises. to have their affectation; and perhaps here Yet the anarchy is not without its purpose: and there some divergent genius be accused these vizards are not mere hollow masks; but of it unjustly. The show, though common, may there are living faces beneath them, and this not cease to be vain; nor become so for being mumming has its significance. Richter is a man uncommon. Before we censure a man for of mirth, but he seldom or never condescends to seeming what he is not, we should be sure that be a merry-andrew. Nay, in spite of its extravawe know what he is. As to Richter in parti-gance, we should say that his humour is of all cular, we think it but fair to observe, that his gifts intrinsically the finest and most genu strange and tumultuous as he is, there is a ine. It has such witching turns; there is somecertain benign composure visible in his thing in it so capricious, so quaint, so heartfelt. writings; a mercy, a gladness, a reverence, From his Cyclopean workshop, and its fuligi united in such harmony, as we cannot but nous limbecs, and huge unwieldy machinery, think bespeaks not a false, but a genuine state the little shrivelled, twisted figure comes forth of mind; not a feverish and morbid, but a at last, so perfect and so living, to be for ever healthy and robust state. laughed at and for ever loved! Wayward as he seems, he works not without forethought; like Rubens, by a single stroke, he can change a laughing face into a sad one. But in his smile itself, a touching pathos may lie hidden, a pity too deep for tears. He is a man of feeling, in the noblest sense of that word; for he loves all living with the heart of a brother; his

The secret of the matter, perhaps, is that Richter requires more study than most readers care to give; for, as we approach more closely, many things grow clearer. In the man's own sphere there is consistency; the farther we advance into it, we see confusion more and more unfold itself int> order till at last, viewed

scul rushes forth, in sympathy with gladness | but in still smiles, which lie far deeper. It and sorrow, with goodness or grandeur, over is a sort of inverse sublimity; exalting, as it all creation. Every gentle and generous affec- were, into our affections what is below us, tion, every thrill of mercy, every glow of while sublimity draws down into our affections nobleness, awakens in his bosom a response, what is above us. The former is scarcely less nay, strikes his spirit into harmony; a wild precious or heart-affecting than the latter; permusic as of wind-harps, floating round us in haps it is still rarer, and, as a test of genius, still fitful swells, but soft sometimes, and pure and more decisive. It is, in fact, the bloom and soul-entrancing as the song of angels! Aver- perfume, the purest effluence of a deep, fine, sion itself with him is not hatred; he despises and loving nature; a nature in harmony with much, but justly, with tolerance also, with itself, reconciled to the world and its stintedplacidity, and even a sort of love. Love, in ness and contradiction, nay, finding in this fact, is the atmosphere he breathes in, the me- very contradiction new elements of beauty as dium through which he looks. His is the well as goodness. Among our own writers, spirit which gives life and beauty to whatever Shakspeare in this as in all other provinces, it embraces. Inanimate Nature itself is no must have his place: yet not the first; his longer an insensible assemblage of colours humour is heartfelt, exuberant, warm, but seland perfumes, but a mysterious Presence, with dom the tenderest or most subtile. Swift inwhich he communes in unutterable sympathies. clines more to simple irony; yet he had genuWe might call him, as he once called Herder," a ine humour too, and of no unloving sort, though Priest of Nature, a mild Bramin," wandering cased, like Ben Jonson's, in a most bitter and amid spicy groves, and under benignant skies. caustic rind. Sterne follows next; our last The infinite Night with her solemn aspects, specimen of humour, and, with all his faults, Day, and the sweet approach of Even and our best; our finest, if not our strongest, for Morn, are full of meaning for him. He loves Yorick, and Corporal Trim, and Uncle Toby, have the green Earth with her streams and forests, yet no brother but in Don Quixote, far as he lies her flowery leas and eternal skies; loves her above them. Cervantes is indeed the purest with a sort of passion, in all her vicissitudes of all humourists; so gentle and genial, so full of light and shade; his spirit revels in her yet so ethereal, is his humour, and in such acgrandeur and charms; expands like the breeze cordance with itself and his whole noble naover wood and lawn, over glade and dingle, ture. The Italian mind is said to abound in stealing and giving odours. humour; yet their classics seem to give us no right emblem of it: except, perhaps, in Ariosto, there appears little in their current poetry that reaches the region of true humour. În France, since the days of Montaigne, it seems to be nearly extinct. Voltaire, much as he dealt in ridicule, never rises into humour; and even with Molière, it is far more an affair of the understanding than of the character.

It has sometimes been made a wonder that things so discordant should go together; that men of humour are often likewise men of sensibility. But the wonder should rather be to see them divided; to find true genial humour dwelling in a mind that was coarse or callous. The essence of humour is sensibility; warm, tender fellow-feeling with all forms of existence. Nay, we may say that unless seasoned and purified by humour, sensibility is apt to run wild; will readily corrupt into disease, falsehood, or, in one word, sentimentality. Witness Rousseau, Zimmermann, in some points also St. Pierre: to say nothing of living instances; or of the Kotzebues, and other pale hosts of wobegone mourners, whose wailings, like the howl of an Irish wake, from time to time cleft the general ear. The last perfection of our faculties, says Schiller with a truth far deeper than it seems, is that their activity, without ceasing to be sure and earnest, become sport. True humour is sensibility, in the most catholic and deepest sense; but it is this sport of sensibility; wholesome and perfect therefore; as it were, the playful teasing fondness of a mother to her child.

That faculty of irony, of caricature, which often passes by the name of humour, but consists chiefly in a certain superficial distortion or reversal of objects, and ends at best in laughter, bears no resemblance to the humour of Richter. A shallow endowment this; and often more a habit than an endowment. It is but a poor fraction of humour; or rather, it is the body to which the soul is wanting; any life it has being false, artificial, and irrational. True humour springs not more from the head han from the heart; it is not contempt, its essence is love; it issues not in laughter,

That in this point, Richter excels all German authors, is saying much for him, and may be said truly. Lessing has humour,-of a sharp, rigid, substantial, and on the whole, genial sort: yet the ruling bias of his mind is to logic. So likewise has Wieland, though much diluted by the general loquacity of his nature, and impoverished still farther by the influences of a cold, meagre, French skepticism. Among the Ramlers, Gellerts, Hagedorns, of Frederick the Second's time, we find abundance, and delicate in kind too, of that light matter which the French call pleasantry; but little or nothing that deserves the name of humour. In the present age, however, there is Goethe, with a rich true vein; and this sublimated, as it were, to an essence, and blended in still union with his whole mind. Tieck also, among his many fine susceptibilities, is not without a warm keen sense for the ridiculous; and a humour rising, though by short fits, and from a much lower atmosphere, to be poetic. But of all these men, there is none that, in depth, copiousness, and intensity of humour, can be compared with Jean Paul. He alone exists in humour; lives, moves, and has his being in it. With him it is not so much united to his other alities, of intellect, fancy, imagination, mora. feeling, as these are united to it; or rather unite themselves to it, and grow under its warmth, as in their proper temperature and climate. Not as


if we meant to assert that his humour is in all cases perfectly natural and pure; nay, that it is not often extravagant, untrue, or ever absurd: but still, on the whole, the core and life of it are genuine, subtile, spiritual. Not without reason have his panegyrists named him Jean Paul der Einzige,-"Jean Paul the Only:" in one sense or the other, either as praise or censure, his critics also must adopt this epithet; for surely, in the whole circle of literature, we look in vain for his parallel. Unite the sportfulness of Rabellais, and the best sensibility of Sterne, with the earnestness, and, even in slight portions, the sublimity of Milton; and and let the mosaic brain of old Burton give forth the workings of this strange union, with the pen of Jeremy Bentham!

in sincerity of heart, joyfully, and with undi-
vided will. A harmonious development of being,
the first and last object of all true culture, has
therefore been attained; if not completely, at
least more completely than in one of a thousand
ordinary men. Nor let us forget, that in such a
nature, it was not of easy attainment; that
It is true, the
where much was to be developed, some imper-
fection should be forgiven.
beaten paths of literature lead the safeliest to
the goal; and the talent pleases us most, which
submits to shine with new gracefulness through
old forms. Nor is the noblest and most pecu-
iar mind too noble or peculiar for working by
prescribed laws: Sophocles, Shakspeare, Cer.
vantes, and in Richter's own age, Goethe, how
little did they innovate on the given forms of
composition, how much in the spirit they
breathed into them! All this is true; and
Richter must lose of our esteem in proportion.
Much, however, will remain; and why should

To say how, with so peculiar a natural enowment, Richter should have shaped his ind by culture, is much harder than to say at he has shaped it wrong. Of affectation .e will neither altogether clear him, nor very we quarrel with the high, because it is not the Judly pronounce him guilty. That his man-highest? Richter's worst faults are nearly aler of writing is singular, nay, in fact, a wild lied to his best merits; being chiefly exuberomplicated Arabesque, no one can deny. But ance of good, irregular squandering of wealth, the true question is,-how nearly does this a dazzling with excess of true light. These manner of writing represent his real manner things may be pardoned the more readily, as of thinking and existing? With what degree they are little likely to be imitated. of freedom does it allow this particular form of being to manifest itself; or what fetters and perversions does it lay on such manifestation? For the great law of culture is: Let each become all that he was created capable of being; expand, if possible, to his full growth; resisting all impediments, casting off all foreign, especially all noxious adhesions; and show himself at length in his own shape and stature, be these what they may. There is no uniform of excelence, either in physical or spiritual nature: all genuine things are what they ought to be. The reindeer is good and beautiful, so likewise is the elephant. In literature it is the same: "every man," says Lessing, "has his True, there own style, like his own nose." are noses of wonderful dimensions; but no nose can justly be amputated by the public, not even the nose of Slawkenbergius himself: so it be a real nose, and no wooden one, put on for deception's sake and mere show.

On the whole, Genius has privileges of its own; it selects an orbit for itself; and be this never so eccentric, if it is indeed a celestial orbit, we mere star-gazers must at last compose ourselves; must cease to cavil at it, and begin to observe it, and calculate its laws. That Richter is a new planet in the intellectual heavens, we dare not affirm; an atmospheric meteor he is not wholly; perhaps a comet, that, though with long aberrations, and shrouded in a nebulous veil, has yet its place in the empyrean.

Of Richter's individual works, of his opinions, his general philosophy of life, we have no room left us to speak. Regarding his novels, we may say, that, except in some few instances, and those chiefly of the shorter class, they are not what, in strict language, we can term unities: with much callida junctura of parts, it is rare that any of them leaves on us the impression of a perfect, homogeneous, indivisible whole A true work of art requires to be fused in the mind of its creator, and as it were, poured forth (from his imagination, though not from his pen) at one simultaneous gush. Richter's works do not always bear sufficient marks of having been in fusion; yet neither are they merely riveted together: to say the least, they have been welded. A similar remark applies to many of his characters; indeed, more or less, to all of them, except such as are entirely humourous, or have a large dash of humour. In this latter province, certainly he is at home; a true poet, a maker: his Siebenkäs, his Schmelzle, even his Fibel and Fixléin are living figures. But in heroic personages, passionate, massive, overpowering as he is, we have scarcely ever a complete ideal; art has not attained to the concealment of itself. With his heroines again he is more successful; they are often true heroines, though perhaps with too little variety of character; bustling, buxom mothers and housewives, with all the caprices, perversities,


To speak in grave language, Lessing means, and we agree with him, that the outward style is to be judged of by the inward qualities of the spirit which it is employed to body forth; that, without prejudice to critical propriety, well understood, the former may vary into many shapes as the latter varies; that, in short, the grand point for a writer is not to be of this or that external make and fashion, but, in every fashion, to be genuine, vigorous, alive, -alive with his whole being, consciously, and for beneficent results.

Tried by this test, we imagine Richter's wild manner will be found less imperfect than many a very tame one. To the man it may not be unsuitable. In that singular form, there is a fire, a splendour, a benign energy, which persuades us into tolerance, nay into love, of much that might otherwise offend. Above all, this man, alloyed with imperfections as he may be, Is consistent and coherent: he is at one with himself; he knows his aims, and pursues them

[ocr errors]

and warm, generous helpfulness of women; | fearlessness, but also with the martyr reve or white, half-angelic creatures, meek, still, rence, of men that love Truth, and will not aclong-suffering, high-minded, of tenderest affec- cept a lie. A frank, fearless, honest, yet truly tions, and hearts crushed yet uncomplaining. spiritual faith is of all things the rarest in our Supernatural figures he has not attempted; time. and wisely, for he cannot write without belief. Yet many times he exhibits an imagination of a singularity, nay, on the whole, of a truth and grandeur, unexampled elsewhere. In his dreams there is a mystic complexity, a gloom, and amid the dim, gigantic, half-ghastly shadows, gleamings of a wizard splendour, which almost recalled from them; or the cataracts of the Nile by to us the visions of Ezekiel. By readers who a handful of its water! To those, meanwhile, have studied the Dream in the New-year's Eve who will look on twigs as mere dissevered we shall not be mistaken. twigs, and a handful of water as only so many drops, we present the following. It is a summer Sunday night; Jean Paul is taking leave of the Hukelum Parson and his wife; like him we have long laughed at them or wept for them; like him, also, we are sad to part from them.

Of writings which, though with many reservations, we have praised so much, our hesitat ing readers may demand some specimen. To unbelievers, unhappily, we have none of a convincing sort to give. Ask us not to represent the Peruvian forests by three twigs pluck

"We were all of us too deeply moved. We at last tore ourselves asunder from repeated embraces; my friend retired with the soul whom he loves. I remained alone behind with the Night.

Richter's Philosophy, a matter of no ordinary interest, both as it agrees with the common philosophy of Germany, and disagrees with it, must not be touched on for the present. One only observation we shall make: it is not mechanical, or skeptical; it springs not from the forum or the laboratory, but from the depths of the human spirit; and yields as its fairest product a noble system of morality, and the firmest conviction of religion. In this latter point we reckon him peculiarly worthy of "And I walked without aim through woods, study. To a careless reader he might seem through valleys, and over brooks, and through the wildest of infidels; for nothing can exceed sleeping villages, to enjoy the great Night, like the freedom with which he bandies to and fro the a Day. I walked, and still looked, like the dogmas of religion, nay, sometimes, the highest magnet, to the region of midnight, to strengthobjects of Christian reverence. There are pas- en my heart at the gleaming twilight, at this sages of this sort, which will occur to every upstretching aurora of a morning beneath our reader of Richter; but which, not to fall into the feet. White night-butterflies flitted, white bloserror we have already blamed in Madame de soms fluttered, white stars fell, and the white Staël, we shall refrain from quoting. More light snow-powder hung silvery in the high Shadow is in the following: "Or," inquires he, in his of the Earth, which reaches beyond the Moon, usual abrupt way, (Note to Schmelzle's Journey,) and which is our Night. Then began the "Or are all your Mosques, Episcopal Churches, Æolian Harp of the Creation to tremble and to Pagodas, Chapels of Ease, Tabernacles, and sound, blown on from above; and my immor Pantheons, any thing else but the Ethnic Fore-tal Soul was a string in this harp.-The heart court of the Invisible Temple and its Holy of of a brother, everlasting Man, swelled under Holies?" Yet, independently of all dogmas, the everlasting heaven, as the seas swell under nay, perhaps in spite of many, Richter is, in the sun and under the moon.-The distant the highest sense of the word, religious. A village clocks struck midnight, mingling, as it reverence, not a self-interested fear, but a noble were, with the ever-pealing tone of ancient reverence for the spirit of all goodness, forms Eternity.-The limbs of my buried ones the crown and glory of his culture. The fiery touched cold on my soul, and drove away its elements of his nature have been purified blots, as dead hands heal eruptions of the skin. under holy influences, and chastened by a-I walked silently through little hamlets, and principle of mercy and humility into peace close by their outer church-yards, where crumand well-doing. An intense and continual bled upcast coffin-boards were glimmering, faith in man's immortality and native grandeur while the once bright eyes that had lain in accompanies him; from amid the vortices of them were mouldered into gray ashes. Cold life he looks up to a heavenly loadstar; the thought! clutch not like a cold spectre at my solution of what is visible and transient, he heart: I look up to the starry sky, and an everfinds in what is invisible and eternal. He has lasting chain stretches thither, and over, and doubted, he denies, yet he believes. "When, below; and all is Life and Warmth, and Light, in your last hour," says he, (Levana, p. 251,) and all is Godlike or God... when, in your last hour, (think of this,) all faculty in the broken spirit shall fade away and die into inanity,-imagination, thought, effort, enjoyment, then at last will the nightflower of Belief alone continue blooming, and refresh with its perfumes in the last darkness." To reconcile these seeming contradictions, to explain the grounds, the manner, the congruity of Richter's belief, cannot be attempted here. We recommend him to the study, the tolerance, and even the praise, of all men who have inquired into this highest of questions with a right spirit; inquired with the martyr

"Towards morning, I described thy late lights, little city of my dwelling, which I belong to on this side the grave; I returned to the Earth; and in thy steeples, behind the byadvanced great midnight, it struck half-past two: about this hour, in 1794, Mars went down in the west, and the Moon rose in the east; and my soul desired, in grief for the noble warlike blood which is still streaming on the blossoms of spring: Ah, retire, bloody War, like red Mars: and thou, still Peace, come forth like the mild divided Moon!"-End of Quintus Fixlein.


« السابقةمتابعة »