Now, however, we must give a glance at Klingemann's other chief performance in this line, the tragedy of Faust. Dr. Klingemann admits that the subject has been often treated; that Goethe's Faust in particular has "dramatic points," (dramatische momente:) but the business is to give it an entire dramatic superficies, to make it an ächt dramatische, a "genuinely" dra

gard to virtue; indeed a distinct patronage both | burg looks after him surprised; the rest kneel of Providence and the Devil. In this manner, round the corpse; the Requiem faintly condoes Dr. Klingemann compound his dramatic tinues;" and what is still more surprising, "the electuaries, no less cunningly than Dr. Kitch- curtain falls." Such is the simple action and ener did his "peptic persuaders;" and truly of stern catastrophe of this Tragedy; concerning the former we must say, that their operation is which it were superfluous for us to speak farnowise unpleasant; nay, to our shame be it ther in the way of criticism. We shall only add spoken, we have even read these Plays with a that there is a dreadful lithographic print in it, certain degree of satisfaction; and shall de- representing "Ludwig Derrient as Ahasuer;" clare that if any man wish to amuse himself in that very act of "stepping solemnly inte irrationally, here is the ware for his money. the wood;" and uttering these final words: Klingemann's latest dramatic undertaking is Ich aber wandle weiter-weiter-weiter!" We Ahasuer; a purely original invention, on which have heard of Herr Derrient as of the best he seems to pique himself somewhat; confess-actor in Germany; and can now bear testimoing his opinion that now when the "birth-pains" ny, if there be truth in this plate, that he is one are over, the character of Ahasuer may possi- of the ablest-bodied men. A most truculent, bly do good service in many a future drama. rawboned figure, "with bare legs and red We are not prophets, or sons of prophets; so leather shoes;" huge black beard; eyes turned shall leave this prediction resting on its own inside out; and uttering these extraordinary basis. Ahasuer, the reader will be interested words :-" But I go on-on-on!" to learn, is no other than the Wandering Jew or Shoemaker of Jerusalem, concerning whom there are two things to be remarked. The first is the strange name of this Shoemaker: why do Klingemann and all the Germans call the man Ahasuer, when his authentic Christian name is John; Joannes a Temporibus Christi, or, for brevity's sake, simply Joannes a Temporibus? This should be looked into. Our second re-matic tragedy. Setting out with this laudable mark is of the circumstance that no Historian or Narrator, neither Schiller, Strada, Thuanus, Monroe, nor Dugald Dalgetty, makes any mention of Ahasuer's having been present at the Battle of Lützen. Possibly they thought the fact too notorious to need mention. Here, at all events, he was; nay, as we infer, he must have been at Waterloo also; and probably at Trafalgar, though in which fleet is not so clear; for he takes a hand in all great battles and national emergencies, at least is witness of them, being bound to it by his destiny. Such is the peculiar occupation of the Wandering Jew, as brought to light in this Tragedy: his other specialities, that he cannot lodge above three nights in one place; that he is of a melancholic temperament; above all, that he cannot die, not by hemp or steel, or Prussic-acid itself, but must travel on till the general consummation, -are familiar to all historical readers. Ahasuer's task at this Battle of Lützen seems to have been a very easy one; simply to see the Lion of the North brought down; not by a Another characteristic distinction of Klingecannon-shot, as is generally believed, but, by mann is his manner of imbodying this same the traitorous pistol-bullet of one Heinyn von Evil Principle, when at last he resolves on inWarth, a bigoted Catholic, who had pretended troducing him to sight; for all these contracts to desert from the Imperialists, that he might and preliminary matters are very properly find some such opportunity. Unfortunately, managed behind the scenes; only the main Heinyn, directly after this feat, falls into a points of the transaction being indicated to the sleepless, half rabid state; comes home to spectator by some thunder-clap, or the like. Castle Warth, frightens his poor wife and Here is no cold mocking Mephistopheles; but a worthy old noodle of a Father; then skulks swaggering, jovial, West-India-looking "Stranabout, for some time, now praying, oftener curs- ger," with a rubicund, indeed quite bricking and swearing; till at length the Swedes coloured face, which Faust at first mistakes for lay hold of him and kill him. Ahasuer, as the effect of hard drinking. However, it is a usual, is in at the death: in the interim, how-remarkable feature of this Stranger, that ever, he has saved Lady Heinyn from drowning, though as good as poisoned her with the look of his strange stony eyes; and now his business to all appearance being over, he signifies in strong language that he must begone; there- For some time, after his grand bargain, upon, he "steps solemnly into the wood; Wasa-Faust's affairs go on triumphantly, on th

intention, Dr. Klingemann has produced a Faust, which differs from that of Goethe in more than one particular. The hero of this piece is not the old Faust, doctor in philosophy, driven desperate by the uncertainty of human knowledge: but plain John Faust, the printer, and even the inventor of gunpowder; driven desperate by his ambitious temper, and a total deficiency of cash. He has an excellent wife, an excellent blind father, both of whom would fain have him be peaceable, and work at his trade; but being an adept in the black art, he determines rather to relieve himself in that way. Accordingly he proceeds to make a contract with the Devil, on what we should consider pretty advantageous terms; the devil being bound to serve him in the most effectual manner, and Faust at liberty to commit four mortal sins before any hair of his head can be harmed. However, as will be seen, the devil proves Yorkshire; and Faust naturally enough finds himself quite jockeyed in the long run.

always on the introduction of any religious topic, or the mention of any sacred name, he strikes his glass down on the table, and gene rally breaks it.

M

SCENE EIGHTH.

BAILIFFS.

Where is he? where?

From these merely terrestrial constables, the jovial Stranger easily delivers Faust; but now comes the long-looked-for tête-à-tête with Helena.

SCENE TWELFTH.

(FAUST leads HELENA on the stage. She also is close masked. The other Masks withdraw.)

FAUST (warm and glowing.)

No longer strive, proud beauty!

HELENA.

Ha, wild stormer!

FAUST.

My bosom burns-!

HELENA.

The time is not yet come.

FAUST.

O, save me !!

STRANGER (clutches him with irresistible force: whirls him round, so that FAUST's face is towards the spectators, whilst his own is turned away: and thus he looks at him, and bawls with thundering voice :)

'T is 1!!-(A CLAP OF THUNDER. FAUST, with gestures of deepest horror, rushes to the ground, uttering an inarticulate cry. The other, after a pause, continues, with cutting coolness :)

Is that the mighty Hell-subduer, That threatened me ?-Ha, ME!! (with highest com tempt.)

-And so forth, through four pages of flame

and ice, till at last,

FAUST (insisting.)

FAUST (rising in his whole vehemence.)

Accursed! Ha, I am! I am!

Down at my feet! I am thy master!

STRANGER.

No more!!

Is concluded!

The Fourth too is committed!
FAUST.

My wife, my child, and my old Father's blood-
STRANGER (holds up a Parchment to him.)
And here thy own!-

FAUST.

That is my covenant!

HELENA.

The couch is ready, there! Come, Bridegroom, to thy fire-nuptials! (She sinks, with a crashing thunder-peal, into the ground, vut of which issue flames.)

All this is bad enough; but mere child's-play to the "Thirteenth Scene," the last of this strange eventful history: with some parts of which we propose to send our readers weeping to their beds.

SCENE THIRTEENTH.

(The STRANGER hurls FAUST, whose face is deadly pale, back to the stage, by the hair.)

STRANGER.

This signature--was thy most damning sin!

FAUST (raging.)

Ha, spirit of lies!! &c., &c.

STRANGER (in highest fury.)

Down, thou accursed!

(He drags him by the hair towards the back-ground; at this moment, amid violent thunder and lightning, the of which, a yawning Chasm: into this the Devil hurls scene changes into a horrid wilderness; in the back ground

Faust; on all sides Fire rains down, so that the whole interior of the Cavern seems burning: a black veil descend over both, so soon as Faust is got under.)

FAUST (huzzaing in wild defiance.) Ha, down! Down! (Thunder, lightning, and fire. Both sink. The Curtain falls.)

On considering all which supernatural transactions, the bewildered reader has no theory for it, except that Faust must, in Dr. Cabanis's phrase, have laboured under "obstructions in

That horrid visage!-throwing himself, in a tremor, the epigastric region," and all this of the Devil,

one sufficient dose of Epsom-salt, on his own prescription, have put an end to the whole matter, and restored himself to the bosom of his afflicted family.

but, after all, it can profit him but little; nay many times, what is sugar to the taste may be sugar-of-lead when it is swallowed. Better were it for Müllner, we think, had fainter thunders of applause, and from fewer theatres, greeted him. For what good is in it, even were there no evil? Though a thousand caps leap into the air at his name, his own stature is no hair's breadth higher; neither even can the final estimate of its height be thereby in the smallest degree enlarged. From gainsayers these greetings provoke only a stricter scrutiny; the matter comes to be accurately known at last; and he, who has been treated with foolish liberality at one period, must make up for it by the want of bare necessaries at another. No one will deny that Müllner is a

Such, then, for Dr. Klingemann's part, is his method of constructing Tragedies; to which method it may perhaps be objected that there is a want of originality in it; for do not our own British Playwrights follow precisely the same plan? We might answer that, if not his plan, at least, his infinitely superior execution of it, must distinguish Klingemann: but we rather think his claim to originality rests on a different ground, on the ground, namely, of his entire contentment with himself and with this his dramaturgy; and the cool heroism with which, on all occasions, he avows that contentment. Here is no poor, cowering, underfoot Play-person of some considerable talent: we underwright, begging the public for God's sake not stand he is, or was once, a Lawyer; and can to give him the whipping which he deserves; believe that he may have acted, and talked, but a bold perpendicular Playwright, avowing and written, very prettily in that capacity: himself as such; nay, mounted on the top of but to set up for a Poet was quite a different his joinery, and therefrom exercising a sharp enterprise, in which we reckon that he has critical superintendence over the German altogether mistaken his road, and these mobDrama generally. Klingemann, we under-cheers have led him farther and farther astray. stand, has lately executed a theatrical Tour, as Don Quixote did various Sallies; and thrown stones into most German Playhouses, and at various German Playwriters; of which we have seen only his assault on Tieck; a feat comparable perhaps to that "never-imagined adventure of the Windmills." Fortune, it is said, favours the brave; and the prayer of Burns's Kilmarnock weaver is not always unheard of Heaven. In conclusion, we congra:ulate Dr. Klingemann on his Manager-dignity the Brunswick Theatre; a post he seems made for, almost as Bardolph was for the Eastcheap waitership.

Several years ago, on the faith of very earnest recommendation, it was our lot to read one of Dr. Müllner's Tragedies, the Albanäserinn; with which, such was its effect on us, we could willingly enough have terminated our acquaintance with Dr. Müllner. A palpable imitation of Schiller's Braut von Messina; without any philosophy or feeling that was not either perfectly commonplace or perfectly false, often both the one and the other; inflated, indeed, into a certain hollow bulk, but altogether with out greatness; being built throughout on mere rant and clangour, and other elements of the most indubitable Prose: such a work could not but be satisfactory to us respecting Dr. Müllner's genius as a Poet; and time being precious, and the world wide enough, we had privately determined that we and Dr. Müllner were each henceforth to pursue his own

But now, like his own Ahasuer, Doctor Klingemann must "go on-on-on;" for another and greater Doctor has been kept too long waiting, whose seven beautiful volumes of Dramatische Werke might well secure him a better fate. Dr. Müllner, of all these Play-course. Nevertheless, so considerable has wrights, is the best known in England; some been the progress of our worthy friend, since of his works have even, we believe, been then, both at home and abroad, that his labours translated into our language. In his own are again forced on our notice for we reckon country, his fame, or at least notoriety, is also the existence of a true Poet in any country to supreme over all; no Playwright of this age be so important a fact, that even the slight promakes such a noise as Müllner; nay, many bability of such is worthy of investigation. there are who affirm that he is something far Accordingly, we have again perused the Albetter than a Playwright. Critics of the sixth banaserinn, and along with it, faithfully exand lower magnitudes, in every corner of Ger- amined the whole Dramatic works of Müllner, many, have put the question a thousand times: published in seven volumes, on beautiful paWhether Müllner is not a Poet and Dramatist? per, in small shape, and every way very fit for To which question, as the higher authorities handling. The whole tragic works, we should maintain an obstinate silence, or, if much rather say: for three or four of his comic perpressed, reply only in groans, these sixth-formances sufficiently contented us; and some magnitude men have been obliged to make two volumes of farces, we confess, are still answer themselves; and they have done it with unread. We have also carefully gone through, an emphasis and vociferation calculated to dis- and with much less difficulty, the Prefaces, pel all remaining doubts in the minds of men. Appendices, and other prose sheets, wherein In Müllner's mind, at least, they have left little; the Author exhibits the "fata libelli" defends a conviction the more excusable, as the play- himself from unjust criticisms, reports just going vulgar seem to be almost unanimous in ones, or himself makes such. The toils of sharing it; and thunders of applause, nightly this task we shall not magnify, well knowing through so many theatres, return him loud that man's life is a fight throughout: only acclaim. Such renown is pleasant food for the having now gathered what light is to be had on hungry appetite of a man, and naturally he this matter, we proceed to speak forth our ver rolls it as a sweet morsel under his tongue: I dict thereon; fondly hoping that we shall then

have done with it, for an indefinite period of | which indeed is no very mighty affair; Grilltime.

parzer being naturally but a treble pipe in these matters; and. Klingemann blowing through such an enormous coach-horn, that the natural note goes for nothing, becomes a mere vibration in that all-subduing volume of sound. At the same time, it is singular enough that neither Grillparzer nor Klingemann should be nearly so tough reading as Müllner, which, however, we declare to be the fact. As to Klingemann, he is even an amusing artist; there is such a briskness and heart in him; so rich is he, nay, so exuberant in riches, so full of explosions, fire-flashes, execrations, and all manner of catastrophes: and then, good soul, he asks no attention from us, knows his trade better than to dream of asking any. Grill

Dr. Müllner, then, we must take liberty to believe, in spite of all that has been said or sung on the subject, is no Dramatist; has never written a Tragedy, and in all human probability will never write one. Grounds for this harsh, negative opinion, did the "burden of proof” lie chiefly on our side, we might state in extreme abundance. There is one ground, however, which, if our observation be correct, would virtually include all the rest. Dr. Müllner's whole soul and character, to the deepest | root we can trace of it, seems prosaic, not poetical; his Dramas, therefore, like whatever else he produces, must be manufactured, not created; nay, we think that his principle of manufacture is itself rather a poor and second-parzer again is a sadder and perhaps a wiser hand one. Vain were it for any reader to search in these seven volumes for an opinion any deeper or clearer, a sentiment any finer or higher, than may conveniently belong to the commonest practising advocate: except stilting heroics, which the man himself half knows to be false, and every other man easily waives aside, there is nothing here to disturb the quiescence of either heart or head. This man is a Doctor Utriusque Juris, most probably of good juristic talent; and nothing more whatever. His language, too, all accurately measured into feet, and good current German, so far as a foreigner may judge, bears similar testimony. Except the rhyme and metre, it exhibits no poetical symptom; without being verbose, it is essentially meager and watery; no idiomatic expressiveness, no melody, no virtue of any kind; the commonest vehicle for the commonest meaning. Not that our Doctor is destitute of metaphors and other rhetorical furtherances; but that these also are of the most trivial character: old threadbare material, scoured up into a state of shabby-gentility; mostly turning on "light" and "darkness;" "flashes through clouds," "fire of heart," "tempest of soul," and the like, which can profit no man or woman. In short, we must repeat it, Dr. Müllner has yet to show that there is any particle of poetic metal in him; that his genius is other than a sober clay-pit, from which good bricks may be made; but where, to look for gold or diamonds were sheer waste of labour.

companion; long-winded a little, but peaceable and soft-hearted: his melancholy, even when he pules, is in the highest degree inoffensive, and we can often weep a tear or two for him, if not with him. But of all Tragedians, may the indulgent Heavens deliver us from any farther traffic with Dr. Müllner! This is the lukewarm, which we could wish to be either cold or hot. Müllner will not keep us awake, while we read him; yet neither will he, like Klingemann, let us fairly get asleep. Ever and anon, it is as if we came into some smooth quiescent country; and the soul flatters herself that here at last she may be allowed to fall back on her cushions, the eyes meanwhile, like two safe postillions, comfortably conduct. ing her through that flat region, in which are nothing but flax-crops and milestones; and ever and anon some jolt or unexpected noise fatally disturbs her; and looking out, it is no waterfall or mountain chasm, but only the vil lanous highway, and squalls of October wind. To speak without figure, Dr. Müllner does seem to us a singularly oppressive writer; and perhaps, for this reason, that he hovers too near the verge of good writing; ever tempting us with some hope that here is a touch of poetry; and ever disappointing us with a touch of pure Prose. A stately sentiment comes tramping forth with a clank that sounds poetic and heroic: we start in breathless expectation, waiting to reverence the heavenly guest; and, alas, he proves to be but an old stager dressed in new buckram, a stager well known to us, nay, often a stager that has already been drummed out of most well-regulated communities. So it is ever with Dr. Müllner: no feeling can be traced much deeper in him than the tongue; or perhaps when we search more strictly, instead of an ideal of beauty, we shall find some vague aim after strength, or in defect of this, after mere size. And yet how cunningly he manages the counterfeit! A most plausible, fair-spoken, close-shaven man; a man whom you must not, for decency's-sake, throw out of the window; and yet you feel that being palpably a Turk in grain, his intents are wicked and not charitable!

When we think of our own Maturin and Sheridan Knowles, and the gala-day of popularity which they also once enjoyed with us, we can be at no loss for the genus under which Dr. Müllner is to be included in critical physiology. Nevertheless, in marking him as a distinct Playwright, we are bound to mention that in general intellectual talent he shows himself very considerably superior to his two German brethren. He has a much better taste than Klingemann; rejecting the aid of plush and gunpowder, we may say, altogether; is even at the pains to rhyme great part of his Tragedies; and on the whole, writes with a certain care and decorous composure, to which But the grand question with regard to Mün the Brunswick Manager seems totally indif- ner, as with regard to these other Playwrights, ferent. Moreover, he appears to surpass is: where lies his peculiar sleight of hand in Grillparzer, as well as Klingemann, in a cer- this craft? Let us endeavour, then, to find out tain force both of judgment and passion; his secret, his recipe for play-making; and