fore. We have our little theory on all human | long-past class of Popes were possessed of and divine things. Poetry, the workings of inflicting moral censure; imparting moral engenius itself, which in all times, with one or couragement, consolation, edification; in all another meaning, has been called Inspiration, ways, diligently" administering the Discipline and held to be mysterious and inscrutable, is of the Church." It may be said, too, that in no longer without its scientific exposition. The private disposition, the new Preachers somebuilding of the lofty rhyme is like any other what resemble the Mendicant Friars of old masonry or bricklaying: we have theories of times: outwardly full of holy zeal; inwardly its rise, height, decline, and fall,-which latter, not without stratagem, and hunger for terres it would seem, is now near, among all people. trial things. But omitting this class, and the Of our "Theories of Taste," as they are call-boundless host of watery personages who pipe, ed, wherein the deep, infinite, unspeakable as they are able, on so many scrannel straws, Love of Wisdom and Beauty, which dwells | let us look at the higher regions of Literature, in all men, is "explained," made mechanically where, if anywhere, the pure melodies of Poevisible, from "Association," and the like, why sy and Wisdom should be heard. Of natural should we say any thing? Hume has written talent there is no deficiency: one or two richlyus a "Natural History of Religion;" in which endowed individuals even give us a superiority one Natural History, all the rest are included. in this respect. But what is the song they Strangely, too, does the general feeling coin- sing? Is it a tone of the Memnon Statue, cide with Hume's in this wonderful problem; breathing music as the light first touches it? for whether his "Natural History" be the right a "liquid wisdom," disclosing to our sense the one or not, that Religion must have a Natural deep, infinite harmoniès of Nature and man's History, all of us, cleric and laic, seem to be soul? Alas, no! It is not a matin or vesper agreed. He indeed regards it as a Disease, we hymn to the Spirit of all Beauty, but a fierce again as Health; so far there is a difference; clashing of cymbals, and shouting of multibut in our first principle we are at one. tudes, as children pass through the fire to Molech! Poetry itself has no eye for the Invisible. Beauty is no longer the god it worships, but some brute image of Strength; which we may well call an idol, for true Strength is one and the same with Beauty, and its worship also is a hymn. The meek, silent Light can mould, create, and purify all Nature; but the loud Whirlwind, the sign and product of Disunion, of Weakness, passes on, and is forgotten. How widely this veneration for the physically Strongest has spread itself through Literature, any one may judge, who reads either criticism or poem. We praise a work, not as "true," but as "strong;" our highest praise is that it has "affected "us, has "terrified" us. All this, it has been well observed, is the "maximum of the Barbarous," the symptom, not of vigorous refinement, but of luxurious corruption. It speaks much, too, for men's indestructible love of truth, that nothing of this kind will abide with them; that even the talent of a Byron cannot permanently seduce us into idol-worship; but that he, too, with all his wild syren charming, already begins to be disregarded and forgotten.

To what extent theological Unbelief, we mean intellectual dissent from the Church, in its view of Holy Writ, prevails at this day, would be a highly important, were it not, under any circumstances, an almost impossible inquiry. But the Unbelief, which is of a still more fundamental character, every man may see prevailing, with scarcely any but the faintest contradiction, all around him; even in the Pulpit itself. Religion in most countries, more or less in every country, is no longer what it was, and should be,-a thousand-voiced psalm from the heart of Man to his invisible Father, the fountain of all Goodness, Beauty, Truth, and revealed in every revelation of these; but for the most part, a wise, prudential feeling grounded on a mere calculation; a matter, as all others now are, of Expediency and Utility: whereby some smaller quantum of earthly enjoyment may be exchanged for a far larger quantum of celestial enjoyment. Thus Religion, too, is Profit; a working for wages; not Reverence, but vulgar Hope or Fear. Many, we know, very many, we hope, are still religious in a far different sense; were it not so, our case were too desperate: But to witness Again, with respect to our Moral condition: that such is the temper of the times, we take here also, he who runs may read that 'he same any calm observant man, who agrees or disa-physical, mechanical influences are every where grees in our feeling on the matter, and ask him whether our view of it is not in general wellfounded.

busy. For the "superior morality," of which we hear so much, we too, would desire to be thankful: at the same time, it were but blindLiterature, too, if we consider it, gives simi- ness to deny that this "superior morality" is lar testimony. At no former era has Litera- properly rather an "inferior criminality," proture, the printed communication of Thought, duced not by greater love of Virtue, but by been of such in portance as it is now. We greater perfection of Police; and of that far often hear that the Church is in danger; and subtler and stronger Police, called Public truly so it is,-in a danger it seems not to Opinion. This last watches over us with its know of: For, with its tithes in the most per- Argus eyes more keenly than ever; but the fect safety, its functions are becoming more "inward eye" seems heavy with sleep. Of any and more superseded. The true Church of belief in invisible, divine things, we find as few England, at this moment, lies in the Editors traces in our Morality as elsewhere. It is by of its Newspapers. These preach to the peo-tangible, material considerations that we are ple daily, weekly; admonishing kings them-guided, not by inward and spiritual. Self-denial, selves; advising peace or war, with an au- the parent of all virtue, in any true sense of thority which only the first Reformers and a that word, has perhaps seldom been rarer: so

rare is it, that the most, even in their abstract] the high vocation to which, throughout this his speculations, regard its existence as a chimera. earthly history, he has been appointed. HowVirtue is Pleasure, is Profit; no celestial, but ever it may be with individual nations, whatan earthly thing. Virtuous men, Philanthro- ever melancholic speculators may assert, it pists, Martyrs, are happy accidents; their seems a well-ascertained fact that, in all times, taste" lies the right way! In all senses, we reckoning even from those of the Heracleids worship and follow after Power; which may and Pelasgi, the happiness and greatness of be called a physical pursuit. No man now mankind at large have been continually proloves Truth, as Truth must be loved, with an gressive. Doubtless this age also is advancing. infinite love; but only with a finite love, and as Its very unrest, its ceaseless activity, its disit were par amours. Nay, properly speaking, content, contains matter of promise. Knowhe does not believe and know it, but only "thinks" ledge, education, are opening the eyes of the it, and that there is every probability!" He humblest,-are increasing the number of thinkpreaches it aloud, and rushes courageously ing minds without limit. This is as it should forth with it,-if there is a multitude huzzaing be; for, not in turning back, not in resisting, at his back! yet ever keeps looking over his but only in resolutely struggling forward, does shoulder, and the instant the huzzaing lan- our life consist. Nay, after all, our spiritual guishes, he too stops short. In fact, what mo- maladies are but of Opinion; we are but fetrality we have takes the shape of Ambition, of tered by chains of our own forging, and which Honour; beyond money and money's worth, our ourselves also can rend asunder. This deep, only rational blessedness is popularity. It were paralyzed subjection to physical objects comes but a fool's trick to die for conscience. Only for not from Nature, but from our own unwise mode "character," by duel, or in case of extremity, of viewing Nature. Neither can we understand by suicide, is the wise man bound to die. By that man wants, at this hour, any faculty of arguing on the “force of circumstances," we heart, soul, or body, that ever belonged to him. have argued away all force from ourselves; "He, who has been born, has been a First and stand leashed together, uniform in dress Man;" has had lying before his young eyes, and movement, like the rowers of some bound- and as yet unhardened into scientific shapes, a less galley. This and that may be right and world as plastic, infinite, divine, as lay before true; but we must not do it. Wouderful "Force the eyes of Adam himself. If Mechanism, like of Public Opinion!" We must act and walk some glass bell, encircles and imprisons us, if in all points as it prescribes; follow the traffic the soul looks forth on a fair heavenly country it bids us, realize the sum of money, the degree which it cannot reach, and pines, and in its of "influence" it expects of us, or we shall be scanty atmosphere is ready to perish, yet the lightly esteemed; certain mouthfuls of articu- bell is but of glass; "one bold stroke to break late wind will be blown at us, and this, what the bell in pieces, and thou art delivered!" mortal courage can front? Thus, while civil Not the invisible world is wanting, for it dwells Liberty is more and more secured to us, our in man's soul, and this last is still here. Are moral Liberty is all but lost. Practically con- the solemn temples in which the Divinity was sidered, our creed is Fatalism: and, free in once visibly revealed among us, crumbling hand and foot, we are shackled in heart and away! We can repair them, we can rebuild soul, with far straiter than Feudal chains. them. The wisdom, the heroic worth of our Truly may we say with the Philosopher, "the forefathers, which we have lost, we can recover. deep meaning of the laws of Mechanism lies That admiration of old nobleness, which now heavy on us;" and in the closet, in the market- so often shows itself as a faint dilettantism, will place, in the temple, by the social hearth, en- one day become a generous emulation, and cumbers the whole movements of our mind, man may again be all that he has been, and and over our noblest faculties is spreading a more than he has been. Nor are these the night-mare sleep. mere daydreams of fancy; they are clear pos sibilities; nay, in this time, they are even assuming the character of hopes. Indications we do see, in other countries and in our own, signs infinitely cheering to us, that Mechanism is not always to be our hard taskmaster, but one day to be our pliant, all-ministering servant; that a new and brighter spiritual era is slowly evolving itself for all men. these things our present course forbids us to enter.

These dark features, we are aware, belong more or less to other ages, as well as to ours. This faith in Mechanism, in the all-importance of physical things, is in every age the common refuge of Weakness and blind Discontent; of all who believe, as many will ever do, that man's true good lies without him, not within. We are aware also, that, as applied to our selves in all their aggravation, they form but half a picture; that in the whole picture there are bright lights as well as gloomy shadows. If we here dwell chiefly on the latter, let us not be blamed: it is in general more profitable to reckon up our defects, than to boast of our attainments.

Neither, with all these evils more or less clearly before us, have we at any time despaired of the fortunes of society. Despair, or even despondency, in that respect, appears to us, in all cases, a groundless feeling. We have a faith in the imperishable dignity of man; in,

But on

Meanwhile, that great outward changes are in progress can be doubtful to no one. The time is sick and out of joint. Many things have reached their height; and it is a wise adage that tells us, "the darkest hour is nearest the dawn." Whenever we can gather any in dication of the public thought, whether from printed books, as in France or Germany, or from Carbonari rebellions and other political tumults, as in Spain, Portugal, Italy, and Greece, the voice it utters is the same. The thinking minds of all nations call for change.

There is a deep-lying struggle in the whole fabric of society; a boundless, grinding collision of the New with the Old. The French Revolution, as is now visible enough, was not the parent of this mighty movement, but its offspring. Those two hostile influences, which always exist in human things, and on the constant intercommunion of which depends their health and safety, had lain in separate masses, accumulating through generations, and France was the scene of their fiercest explosion; but the final issue was not unfolded in that country: nay, it is not yet any where unfolded. Political freedom is hitherto the object of these efforts; but they will not and cannot stop there. It is towards a higher freedom than mere freedom from oppression by his fellow-mortal that man dimly aims. Of this higher, heavenly freedom, which is "man's reasonable service,"

all his noble institutions, his faithful endea, vours, and loftiest attainments, are but the body, and more and more approximated emblem.

On the whole, as this wondrous planet, Earth, is journeying with its fellows through infinite space, so are the wondrous destinies embarked on it journeying through infinite time, under a higher guidance than ours. For the present, as our astronomy informs us, its path lies towards Hercules, the constellation of Physical Power: But that is not our most pressing concern. Go where it will, the deep HEAVEN Will be around it. Therein let us have hope and sure faith. To reform a world, to reform a nation, no wise man will undertake; and all but foolish men know that the only solid, though a far slower reformation, is what each begins and perfects on himself.

JEAN PAUL FRIEDRICH RICHTER AGAIN.*

[FOREIGN REView, 1830.]

giddy with their clangor, their Evohes; but, alas! in a little while, the lion-team shows long ears, and becomes too clearly an assteam in lion-skins; the Manads wheel round in amazement; and then the jolly god, dragged from his chariot, is trodden into the kennels as a drunk mortal.

It is some six years since the name "Jean | god, with all his thyrsi, cymbals, Phallophori, Paul Friedrich Richter" was first printed with and Manadic women: the air, the earth is English types; and some six-aud-forty since it bas stood emblazoned and illuminated on all true literary Indicators among the Germans; a fact, which, if we consider the history of many a Kotzebue and Chateaubriand, within that period, may confirm the old doctrine, that the best celebrity does not always spread the fastest; but rather, quite contrariwise, that as blown bladders are far more easily carried than metallic masses, though gold ones, of equal bulk, so the Playwright, Poetaster, Philosophe, will often pass triumphantly beyond seas, while the Poet and Philosopher abide quietly at home. Such is the order of nature a Spurzheim flies from Vienna to Paris and London, within the year; a Kant, slowly advancing, may, perhaps, reach us from Königsberg within the century: Newton, merely to cross the narrow Channel, required fifty years; Shakspeare, again, three times as many. It is true there are examples of an opposite sort; now and then, by some rare chance, a Goethe, a Cervantes, will occur in literature, and Kings may laugh over Don Quixote while it is yet unfinished, and scenes from Werter be painted on Chinese tea-cups, while the author is still a stripling. These, however, are not the rule, but the exceptions; nay, rightly interpreted, the exceptions which confirm it. In general, that sudden tumultuous popularity comes more from partial delirium on both sides, than from clear insight; and is of evil omen to all concerned with it. How many loud Bacchus-festivals of this sort have we seen prove to be Pseudo-Bacchanalia, and end in directly the inverse of Orgies! Drawn by his team of lions, the jolly god advances as a real

Wahrheit aus Jean Paul's Leben. (Biography of Jean Fan ) Istes, 2ies, 3tes Bündchen. Breslau, 1826, 27, 28.

That no such apotheosis was appointed for Richter in his own country, or is now to be anticipated in any other, we cannot but regard as a natural, and nowise unfortunate circumstance. What divinity lies in him requires a calmer worship, and from quite another class of worshippers. Neither, in spite of that forty years' abeyance, shall we accuse England of any uncommon blindness towards him: nay, taking all things into account, we should rather consider his actual footing among us, as evinc. ing not only an increased rapidity in literary intercourse, but an intrinsic improvement in the manner and objects of it. Our feeling of foreign excellence, we hope, must be becoming truer: our Insular taste must be opening more and more into a European one. For Richter is by no means a man whose merits, like his singularities, force themselves on the general eye; indeed, without great patience, and some considerable catholicism of disposition, no reader is likely to prosper much with him. He has a fine, high, altogether unusual talent; and a manner of expressing it perhaps still more unusual. He is a Humorist heartily and throughout; not only in low provinces of thought, where this is more common, but in the loftiest provinces, where it is well nigh unexampled; and thus, in wild sport, "playing bowls with the sun and moon," he fashions the strangest ideal world, which at first glance looks no better than a chaos. The Germans themselves find much to bear with in him;

and for readers of any other nation, he is in- | character from other literary lives, which, for volved in almost boundless complexity; a most part, are so barren of incident: the earlier mighty maze, indeed, but in which the plan, or portion of it was straitened enough, but not traces of a plan, are nowhere visible. Far otherwise distinguished; the latter and busiest from appreciating and appropriating the spirit portion of it was, in like manner, altogether of his writings, foreigners find it in the highest private; spent chiefly in provincial towns, and difficult to seize their grammatical meaning. apart from high scenes or persons; its princi Probably there is not, in any modern language, pal occurrences the new books he wrote, its so intricate a writer; abounding, without whole course a spiritual and silent one. He measure, in obscure allusions, in the most became an author in his nineteenth year; and twisted phraseology; perplexed into endless with a conscientious assiduity, adhered to that entanglements and dislocations, parenthesis employment; not seeking, indeed carefully within parenthesis; not forgetting elisions, avoiding, any interruption or disturbance sudden whirls, quibs, conceits, and all manner therein, were it only for a day or an hour. of inexplicable crotchets: the whole moving Nevertheless, in looking over those sixty voon in the gayest manner, yet nowise in what lumes of his, we feel as if Richter's history seem military lines, but rather in huge party- must have another, much deeper interest and coloured mob-masses. How foreigners must worth, than outward incidents could impart to find themselves bested in this case, our readers it. For the spirit which shines more or less may best judge from the fact, that a work with completely through his writings, is one of pethe following title was undertaken some twenty rennial excellence; rare in all times and situayears ago, for the benefit of Richter's own tions, and perhaps nowhere and in no time countrymen: "K. Reinhold's Lexicon for Jean more rare than in literary Europe, at this era. Paul's works, or explanation of all the foreign words We see in this man a high, self-subsistent, and unusual modes of speech which occur in his original, and, in many respects, even great writings; with short notices of the historical persons character. He shows himself a man of wonand facts therein alluded to; and plain German derful gifts, and with, perhaps, a still happier versions of the more difficult passages in the context: combination and adjustment of these: in whom —a necessary assistance for all who would read Philosophy and Poetry are not only reconciled; those works with profit?" So much for the but blended together into a purer essence, into dress or vehicle of Richter's thoughts; now let Religion; who, with the softest, most universal it only be remembered farther, that the thoughts sympathy for outward things, is inwardly calm, themselves are often of the most abstruse impregnable; holds on his way through all description; so that not till after laborious temptations and afflictions, so quietly, yet so meditation, can much, either of truth or of inflexibly; the true literary man, among a thoafalsehood, be discerned in them; and we have sand false ones, the Apollo among neatherds; a man, from whom readers with weak nerves, in one word, a man understanding the nineand a taste in any degree sickly, will not fail teenth century, and living in the midst of it; to recoil, perhaps with a sentiment approach- yet whose life is, in some measure, an heroic ing to horror. And yet, as we said, notwith- and devout one. No character of this kind, standing all these drawbacks, Richter already we are aware, is to be formed without manimeets with a certain recognition in England; fold and victorious struggling with the world; he has his readers and admirers; various and the narrative of such struggling, what littranslations from his works have been pub- tle of it can be narrated and interpreted, will lished among us; criticisms, also, not without belong to the highest species of history. The clear discernment, and nowise wanting in ap- acted life of such a man, it has been said, "is plause; and to all this, so far as we can see, itself a Bible;" it is a "Gospel of Freedom," even the un-German part of the public has preached abroad to all men; whereby, among listened with some curiosity and hopeful an- mean unbelieving souls, we may know that ticipation. From which symptoms we should nobleness has not yet become impossible; and, infer two things, both very comfortable to us languishing amid boundless triviality and desin our present capacity: First, that the old picability, still understand that man's nature strait-laced, microscopic sect of Lelles-lettres-is indefeasibly divine, and so hold fast what is men, whose divinity was "Elegance," a creed the most important of all faith, the faith in of French growth, and more admirable for ourselves. men-milliners than for critics and philosophers, must be rapidly declining in these Islands; and, secondly, which is a much more personal consideration, that, in still farther investigating and exhibiting this wonderful Jean Paul, we have attempted what will be, for many of our readers, no unwelcome service.

But if the acted life of a pius Vates is so high a matter, the written life, which, if properly written, would be a translation and interpretation thereof, must also have great value. It has been said that no Poet is equal to his Poem, which saying is partially true; but, in a deeper sense, it may also be asserted, and with still greater truth, that no Poem is equal to its Poet. Now, it is Biography that first gives us both Poet and Poem; by the significance of the one, elucidating and completing that of the other. That ideal outline of himself, which a man unconsciously shadows forth in his writings, and which, rightly deciphered, It does not appear that Richter's life, exter-will be truer than any ther representation of nally considered, differed much in generall him, it is the task of the Biographer to fill up

Our inquiry naturally divides itself into two departments, the Biographical and the Critical; concerning both of which, in their order, we have some observations to make; and what, in regard to the latter department at least, we reckon more profitable, some rather curious documents to present.

Three little Volumes of that Wahrheit au Jean Paul's Leben, published in the course of as many years, are at length before us. The First volume, which came out in 1826, oc

into an actual coherent figure, and bring home | the editing and completing of it; not without to our experience, or at least clear, undoubting sufficient proclamation and assertion, which in admiration, thereby to instruct and edify us in the meanwhile was credible enough, that to many ways. Conducted on such principles, him only could the post of Richter's biographer the Biography of great men, especially of great belong Poets, that is, of men in the highest degree noble minded and wise, might become one of the most dignified and valuable species of composition. As matters stand, indeed, there are few Biographies that accomplish any thing|casioned some surprise, if not disappointment of this kind; the most are mere Indexes of a Biography, which each reader is to write out for himself, as he peruses them; not the living body, but the dry bones of a body, which should have been alive. To expect any such Promethean virtue in a common Life-writer were unreasonable enough. How shall that unhappy Biographic brotherhood, instead of writing Jike Index-makers and Government-clerks, suddenly become enkindled with some sparks of intellect, or even of genial fire; and not only collecting dates and facts, but making use of them, look beyond the surface and economical form of a man's life, into its substance and spirit? The truth is, Biographies are in a similar case with Sermons and Songs: they have their scientific rules, their ideal of perfection and of imperfection, as all things have; but hitherto their rules are only, as it were, unseen Laws of Nature, not critical Acts of Parliament, and threaten us with no immediate penalty: besides, unlike Tragedies and Epics, such works may be something without being all their simplicity of form, moreover, is apt to seem easiness of execution; and thus, for one artist in those departments, we have a thousand bunglers.

yet still left room for hope. It was the com mencement of a real Autobiography, and writ ten with much heartiness and even dignity of manner, though taken up under a quite unex pected point of view, in that spirit of genial humour, of gay earnestness, which, with all its strange fantastic accompaniments, often sat on Jean Paul so gracefully, and to which, at any rate, no reader of his works could be a stranger. By virtue of an autocratic ukase, Paul had appointed himself “Professor of his own His tory," and delivered to the Universe three beautiful "Lectures" on that subject; boasting justly enough, that, in his special department, he was better informed than any other man whatever. He was not without his oratorical secrets and professorial habits: thus, as Mr. Wortley, in writing his parliamentary speech to be read within his hat, had marked, in va rious passages, "Here cough," so Paul with greater brevity, had an arbitrary hieroglyph introduced here and there, among his papers, and purporting, as he tells us, Meine Herren, niemand scharre, niemand gühne!—“ Gentlemen, no scraping, no yawning!"-a hieroglyph, we must say, which many public speakers might stand more in need of than he.

Unfortunately, in the Second volume, no other Lectures came to light, but only a string of disconnected, indeed quite heterogeneous Notes, intended to have been fashioned into such; the full free stream of oratory dissipated itself into unsatisfactory drops. With the Third volume, which is by much the longest, Herr Otto appears more decidedly in his own person, though still rather with the scissors than with the pen; and, behind a multitude of circumvallations and outposts, endeavours to advance his history a little; the Lectures having_left_it_still almost at the very commencement. His peculiar plan, and the too manifest purpose to continue speaking in Jean

With regard to Richter, in particular, to say that his biographic treatment has been worse than usual, were saying much; yet worse than we expected it has certainly been. Various "Lives of Jean Paul," anxiously endeavouring to profit by the public excitement, while it lasted, and communicating, in a given space, almost a minimum of information, have been read by us, within the last four years, with no great disappointment. We strove to take thankfully what little they had to give; and looked forward, in hope, to that promised "Autobiography," wherein all deficiencies were to be supplied. Several years before his death, it would seem, Richter had determined on writing some account of his own life; and with his cus-Paul's manner, greatly obstruct his progress. tomary honesty, had set about a thorough preparation for this task. After revolving many plans, some of them singular enough, he at last determined on the form of composition; and with a half-sportful allusion to Goethe's Dichtung und Wahrheit aus meinem Leben, had prefixed to his work the title Wahrheit aus meinem Leben (Truth from my Life); having relinquished, as impracticable, the strange idea of writing, parallel to it, a Dichtung (Fiction) also, under cover of "Nicolaus Margraf,"-a certain Apothecary, existing only as hero of one of his last Novels! In this work, which weightier avocations had indeed retarded or suspended, considerable progress was said to have been made; and on Richter's decease, Herr Otto, a man of talents, who had been his mate friend for half a life-time, undertook

which, indeed, is so inconsiderable, that at the end of this third volume, that is, after some seven hundred small octavo pages, we find the hero, as yet, scarcely beyond his twentieth year, and the history proper still only, as it were, beginning. We cannot but regret that Herr Otto, whose talent and good purpose, to say nothing of his relation to Richter, demand regard from us, had not adopted some straightforward method, and spoken out in plain prose, which seems a more natural dialect for him, what he had to say on this matter. Instead of a multifarious combination, tending so slowly, if at all, towards unity, he might, without omitting those "Lectures,” or any “Note" that had value, have given us a direct Narrative, which, if it had wanted the line of Beauty, might have had the still more indispensabie