'future. The lady changed the conversation, leading it, as usual. on 'manifold indifferent things; and as I, persisting in my reverie, did 'not forthwith answer her with due liveliness, she again reproached 'me, as she had often done, that this evening too, according to cus'tom, I was in the dumps (maussade), and no cheerful talk to be had 'with me. I felt seriously angry; declared that she was capable of 'no true sympathy, that she dashed in without note of warning, felled 'you with a club,—and next minute you must begin piping tunes 'for her, and jig from subject to subject.

Such speeches were quite according to her heart; she wished to 'excite passion, no matter what. In order to appease me, she now 'went over all the circumstances of the above sorrowful mischance, ' and evinced therein great penetration into characters, and acquaint'ance with the posture of affairs.

Another little story will prove likewise how gaily and lightly you might live with her, so you took it her own way:

'At a numerous supper-party with the Duchess Amelia, I was 'sitting far off her, and chanced this time also to be taciturn and 'rather meditative. My neighbours reproved me for it, and there rose a little movement, the cause of which at length reached up to 'the higher personages. Madame de Staël heard the accusation of 'my silence; expressed herself regarding it in the usual terms, and 'added, "On the whole, I never like Goethe till he has had a bottle ' of champagne." I said half-aloud, so that those next me could hear, "I suppose then, we have often got a little elevated together." A 'moderate laugh ensued. She wanted to know the cause. No one ‘could, or would, give a French version of my words in their proper 'sense; till at last Benjamin Constant, one of those near me, under'took, as she continued asking and importuning, to satisfy her by 'some euphonistic phrase, and so terminate the business.

'But whatever, on reflection, one may think or say of these pro'ceedings, it is ever to be acknowledged that, in their results, they 'have been of great importance and influence. That Work on Ger'many, which owed its origin to such social conversations, must be 'looked on as a mighty implement, whereby, in the Chinese Wall of 'antiquated prejudices which divided us from France, a broad gap 'was broken; so that across the Rhine, and, in consequence of this, across the Channel, our neighbours at last took closer knowledge of 'us; and now the whole remote West is open to our influences. Let 'us bless those annoyances, therefore, and that conflict of national 'peculiarities, which at the time seemed unseasonable, and nowise 'promised us furtherance.'

THAT Goethe, many years ago, wrote a piece named Das Mährchen (The Tale); which the admiring critics of Germany contrived to criticise by a stroke of the pen; declaring that it was indeed The Tale, and worthy to be called the Tale of Tales (das Mährchen aller Mährchen), — may appear certain to most English readers, for they have repeatedly seen as much in print. To some English readers it may appear certain, furthermore, that they personally know this Tale of Tales; and can even pronounce it to deserve no such epithet, and the admiring critics of Germany to be little other than blockheads.

English readers! the first certainty is altogether indubitable; the second certainty is not worth a rush.

That same Mährchen aller Mährchen you may see with your own eyes, at this hour, in the Fifteenth Volume of Goethe's Werke; and seeing is believing. On the other hand, that English Tale of Tales,' put forth some years ago as the Translation thereof, by an individual connected with the Periodical Press of London (his Periodical vehicle, if we remember, broke down soon after, and was rebuilt, and still runs, under the name of Court Journal), - was a Translation, miserable enough, of a quite different thing; a thing, not a Mährchen (Fabulous Tale) at all, but an Erzählung or common fictitious Narrative; having no manner of relation to the real piece (beyond standing in the same Volume); not so much as Milton's Tetrachordon of Divorce has to his Allegro and Penseroso! In this way do individuals connected with the Periodical Press of London play their part, and commodiously befool thee, O Public of English readers, and can serve thee with a mass of roasted grass, and name it stewed venison; and will continue to do so, till thou-open thy eyes, and from a blind monster become a seeing one.

This mistake we did not publicly note at the time of its occurrence; for two good reasons: first, that while mistakes are increasing, like Population, at the rate of Twelve Hundred a-day, the benefit of seizing one, and throttling it, would be perfectly inconsiderable: second, that we were not then in existence. The highly composite, astonishing Entity, which here as O. Y.' addresses mankind for a season, still slumbered (his elements scattered over Infinitude, and working under other shapes) in the womb of Nothing! Meditate on us a little, O Reader: if thou wilt consider who and what we are; what Powers, of Cash, Esurience, Intelligence, Stupidity and Mystery created us, and what work we do and will do, there shall be no end to thy amazement.

1 FRASER'S MAGAZINE, NO. 33.

This mistake, however, we do now note; induced thereto by occasion. By the fact, namely, that a genuine English Translation of that. Mährchen has been handed-in to us for judgment; and now (such judgment having proved merciful) comes out from us in the way of publication. Of the Translation we cannot say much; by the colour of the paper, it may be some seven years old, and have lain perhaps in smoky repositories: it is not a good Translation; yet also not wholly bad; faithful to the original (as we can vouch, after strict trial); conveys the real meaning, though with an effort: here and there our pen has striven to help it, but could not do much. The poor Translator, who signs himself 'D. T.,' and affects to carry matters with a high hand, though, as we have ground to surmise, he is probably in straits for the necessaries of life, has, at a more recent date, appended numerous Notes; wherein he will convince himself that more meaning lies in his Mährchen' than in all the Literature of our century:' some of these we have retained, now and then with an explanatory or exculpatory word of our own; the most we have cut away, as superfluous and even absurd. Superfluous and even absurd, we say: D. T. can take this of us as he likes; we know him, and what is in him, and what is not in him; believe that he will prove reasonable; can do either way. At all events, let one of the notablest Performances produced for the last thousand years, be now, through his organs (since no other, in this elapsed half-century, have offered themselves), set before an undiscerning public.

We too will premise our conviction that this Mährchen presents a phantasmagoric Adumbration, pregnant with deepest significance; though nowise that D. T. has so accurately evolved the same. Listen notwith

standing to a remark or two, extracted from his immeasurable Proem:

Dull men of this country,' says he, who pretend to admire Goethe, 'smiled on me when I first asked the meaning of this Tale. "Meaning!" 'answered they: "it is a wild arabesque, without meaning or purpose at 'all, except to dash together, copiously enough, confused hues of Imagina'tion, and see what will come of them." Such is still the persuasion of 'several heads; which nevertheless would perhaps grudge to be consid'ered wigblocks.'- Not impossible: the first Sin in our Universe was Lucifer's, that of Self-conceit. But hear again; what is more to the point:

The difficulties of interpretation are exceedingly enhanced by one cir'cumstance, not unusual in other such writings of Goethe's; namely, that 'this is no Allegory; which, as in the Pilgrim's Progress, you have only once for all to find the key of, and so go on unlocking it is a Phantas'magory, rather; wherein things the most heterogeneous are, with homo'geneity of figure, emblemed forth; which would require not one key to 'unlock it, but, at different stages of the business, a dozen successive 'keys. Here you have Epochs of Time shadowed forth, there Qualities 'of the Human Soul; now it is Institutions, Historical Events, now Doe'trines, Philosophic Truths: thus are all manner of "entities and quiddi'ties and ghosts of defunct bodies" set flying; you have the whole Four 'Elements chaotico-creatively jumbled together, and spirits enough em

bodying themselves, and roguishly peering through, in the confused wildworking mass! * * *

So much, however, I will stake my whole money-capital and literary character upon: that here is a wonderful EMBLEM OF UNIVERSAL HISTORY set forth; more especially a wonderful Emblem of this our won⚫derful and woful "Age of Transition;" what men have been and done, what they are to be and do, is, in this Tale of Tales, poetico-prophetically typified, in such a style of grandeur and celestial brilliancy and life, as the Western Imagination has not elsewhere reached; as only the Oriental ⚫ Imagination, and in the primeval ages, was wont to attempt.' - Here surely is good wine, with a big bush! Study the Tale of Tales, O reader: even in the bald version of D. T., there will be meaning found. He continues in this triumphant style:

-

Can any mortal head (not a wigblock) doubt that the Giant of this Poem means SUPERSTITION? That the Ferryman has something to do * with the PRIESTHOOD; his Hut with the CHURCH?

.

Again, might it not be presumed that the River were TIME; and that it flowed (as Time does) between two worlds? Call the world, or country on this side, where the fair Lily dwells, the world of SUPERNATURALISM; the country on that side, NATURALISM, the working week-day world where we all dwell and toil: whosoever or whatsoever introduces itself, and appears, in the firm-earth of human business, or as we well say, comes into Existence, must proceed from Lily's supernatural country; whatsoever of a material sort deceases and disappears might be 'expected to go thither. Let the reader consider this, and note what comes ' of it.

To get a free solid communication established over this same won'drous River of Time, so that the Natural and Supernatural may stand in 'friendliest neighbourhood and union, forms the grand action of this Phan⚫tasmagoric Poem: is not such also, let me ask thee, the grand action and summary of Universal History; the one problem of Human Culture; the thing which Mankind (once the three daily meals of victual were mod'erately secured) has ever striven after, and must ever strive after?'Alas! we observe very soon, matters stand on a most distressful footing, in this of Natural and Supernatural: there are three conveyances across, ⚫ and all bad, all incidental, temporary, uncertain: the worst of the three, ⚫ one would think, and the worst conceivable, were the Giant's Shadow, at * sunrise and sunset; the best that Snake-bridge at noon, yet still only a bad-best. Consider again our trustless, rotten, revolutionary transition," and see whether this too does not fit it!

age of

If you ask next, Who these other strange characters are, the Snake, the Will-o'-wisps, the Man with the Lamp? I will answer, in general and afar off, that Light must signify human Insight, Cultivation, in one 'sort or other. As for the Snake, I know not well what name to call it by; nay perhaps, in our scanty vocabularies, there is no name for it, though that does not hinder its being a thing, genuine enough. Medita⚫tion; Intellectual Research; Understanding; in the most general ac

'ceptation, Thought: all these come near designating it; none actually ' designates it. Were I bound, under legal penalties, to give the creature 'a name, I should say, THOUGHT rather than another.

But what if our Snake, and so much else that works here beside it. were neither a quality, nor a reality, nor a state, nor an action, in any kind; none of these things purely and alone, but something intermediate and partaking of them all! In which case, to name it, in vulgar speech, were 'a still more frantic attempt: it is unnameable in speech; and remains 'only the allegorical Figure known in this Tale by the name of Snake, ' and more or less resembling and shadowing-forth somewhat that speech 'has named, or might name. It is this heterogeneity of nature, pitching your solidest Predicables heels-over-head, throwing you half-a-dozen Categories into the melting-pot at once, - that so unspeakably bewilders ' a Commentator, and for moments is nigh reducing him to delirium 'saltans.

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The Will-o'-wisps, that laugh and jig, and compliment the ladies, and eat gold and shake it from them, I for my own share take the liberty of 'viewing as some shadow of ELEGANT CULTURE, or modern Fine Literature; which by-and-by became so sceptical-destructive; and did, as French Philosophy, eat Gold (or Wisdom) enough, and shake it out again. In which sense, their coming (into Existence) by the old Ferryman's (by the Priesthood's) assistance, and almost oversetting his boat, 'and then laughing at him, and trying to skip-off from him, yet being 'obliged to stop till they had satisfied him: all this, to the discerning eye, has its significance.

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As to the Man with the Lamp, in him and his gold-giring, jewel-form'ing, and otherwise so miraculous Light, which "casts no shadow," and ""cannot illuminate what is wholly otherwise in darkness," I see what 'you might name the celestial REASON of Man (Reason as contrasted with Understanding, and superordinated to it), the purest essence of his seeing Faculty; which manifests itself as the Spirit of Poetry, of Prophecy, or 'whatever else of highest in the intellectual sort man's mind can do. We 'behold this respectable, venerable Lamp-bearer everywhere present in 'time of need; directing, accomplishing, working, wonder-working, finally 'victorious; as, in strict reality, it is ever (if we will study it) the Poetic 'Vision that lies at the bottom of all other Knowledge or Action; and is 'the source and creative fountain of whatsoever mortals ken or can, and 'mystically and miraculously guides them forward whither they are to go. Be the Man with the Lamp, then, named REASON; mankind's noblest inspired Insight and Light; whereof all the other lights are but effluences, and more or less discoloured emanations.

His Wife, poor old woman, we shall call PRACTICAL ENDEAVOUR; 'which as married to Reason, to spiritual Vision and Belief, first makes-up 'man's being here below. Unhappily the ancient couple, we find, are but in a decayed condition: the better emblems are they of Reason and En'deavour in this our "transitionary age!" The Man presents himself in 'the garb of a peasant, the Woman has grown old, garrulous, querulous;