through the dirt of popular wit; persons the most sacred are made the subjects of jests and stories which would cause the pious reader in these days to shudder. Yet the audiences did not regard these plays as blasphemous,—far from it; the plays were written by priests, performed by priests, and used for priestly purposes. Were they blasphemous? no, they were naïve. Popular imagination admits of no subtle metaphysical distinctions; popular legends are not philosophical in their treatment. Göthe therefore, treating a legend of the middle ages, gave it the mediaeval colouring. An inferior poet would assuredly have made the Prologue in Heaven as grand, and above all as metaphysical, as possible. Göthe intentionally made it naïve. We cannot suppose that he was unable to treat it otherwise, had he so willed it; but he did not will it so. Look at the tenor of the poem, and say what keeping would there have been in a prologue treated according to modern conceptions of the Deity and of Mephistopheles, and the remainder of the poem treated according to legendary beliefs: such scenes as Walpurgis Nacht,' Hexenküche,' Auerbach's Cellar,' and that of Mephistopheles' appearance as a poodle, would not have been in keeping with a metaphysical prologue. The Prologue in Heaven is therefore just what it should be; it strikes the key-note; it opens the world of wonder and legendary belief, wherein we are to see transacted the great and mystic drama of life: it is treated in a legendary style, as the rest of the work is also treated. It is the threshold of a palace of art, at which you are bidden to put off your garments, soiled as they are with the dust of this work-day world; fairy garments are given in exchange; you enter a new region, and there the drama is acted before your eyes,-dream-like in form, terribly real in spirit. There are two prologues to Faust, because there are two leading ideas to be worked out in the poem, because there are two aspects in which the poem will present itself to the reader. The world and the world's ways are to be pictured; the individual and the individual's struggles are to be portrayed. For the former we have the Prologue of the Theatre,for the latter the Prologue in Heaven. The world has not a more fitting type than the stage; as various pocts have clo quently told us. Where, but in heaven, can be performed the prologue to man's intellectual struggles, his doubts, his reverence and his despair? This then is the double aspect of Faust: it may be regarded as a picture of the world, or it may be regarded as the struggles and experience of an individual. In the former, wider sense the Prologue of the Theatre is the proper prologue, introducing us to heaven as to one scene of life, in accordance with the manager's command to the poet, to wander from "heaven through the world to hell." In this view Henry Faust is but one figure in the drama of life. In the second view, the whole dramatis persone are subordinate to him; they are there for his sake, to develope the phases of his existence. This second view is the one usually taken by critics; to us it appears that the double aspect is the right one. We continue, however, our indication of the various elements of which this wondrous drama is composed. Faust is alone in his study. What student, pale with midnight toil, does not fill that study with his own thoughts, his own yearnings, his own despairs? How many Fausts have mused over that scene! How many will continue to muse over it! How many have felt, with Göthe's hero, the nothingness of knowledge, the illimitable sphere which man with limited faculties would embrace! And while musing on this the student, like Faust, turns his gaze upon the melancholy moon traversing in silence the mysterious heavens, looking down with cold pity, with pity not unallied to scorn, making him exclaim:— "Und fragst du noch warum dein Herz Sich bang' in deinem Busen klemmt? Dir alle Lebensregung hemmt? Statt der lebendigen Natur, Da Gott die Menschen schuf hinein, Dich Thiergeripp' und Todtenbein." Bitter lesson! From its bitterness who would not seek relief, like Faust, in supernatural agency? Who would not cast away his life, his hopes, his soul, rather than endure defeat, rather than die with the riddle unsolved? In the exaspe ration of despair who would not seek an outlet, "though hell itself might yawn before him"? Faust calls up a spirit; but it is not the spirit that he desires. What a grave and curious aspect of life is shadowed out in this brief scene! The entrance of Wagner presents another aspect to our view. Wagner is a type of the Philister and Pedant. As Faust sacrifices himself to knowledge, so Wagner sacrifices himself to books. It is the letter he adores, and not the "o'er-informing spirit." Parchment is to him the holy fount of inspiration; the dust of folios is his element. He pursues learning not for its own sake, but for the consequence it may give him in the eyes of others. Wagnerism is a widespread evil; Faust himself is not without a taint of it, though of a nobler kind. The scene changes. We have now every-day life and everyday joyousness, replacing the passionate earnestness and painful irony of the former scene. We are outside the city gates: it is Sunday; students and maid-servants, soldiers and shopkeepers are thronging out, on their way to the various suburban beer-houses which line the high-roads. Clouds of dust and smoke accompany the throng; joyous laughter, snatches of song, incipient flirtations and eager debates occupy the crowd. It is a true German picture. Life in its every-day aspects is made to stand out in significant clearness by a few brief touches; wonderful painting it is, and wonderfully appropriate in this place. We have just left Faust's study, where we witnessed the influence of life on one who fain would interpret its solemn significance; we are now ushered into the common streets, to witness life as it is accepted by the common mind. Faust spends his life in questioning; the people spend theirs in enjoyment. No question do they address, no riddles perplex their brains; the world to them is a familiarity, not a mystery. They are earnest about trifles, because those trifles are to them important, productive of pleasure. Faust, the struggler, and Wagner, the pedant, come forth to gaze upon this scene of innocent enjoyment,—a scene whose influence sinks deep into Faust's soul, making him feel how much wiser the people are than he is,-for they enjoy. "Hier ist des Volkes wahrer Himmel, Hier bin ich Mensch, hier darf ich's seyn.” Wagner feels nothing of the kind; he is there only because he wishes to be with Faust,-the pedant! The people crowd around Faust and pay him reverence,which Wagner envies, which Faust feels to be a mockery. Seating himself upon a stone, Faust gazes at the setting sun, and pours forth melancholy reflections on the worthlessness of life, on the inanity of his struggles, in lines most exquisite and musical. The pensive melancholy induced by the setting sun was never more melodiously expressed. We pass over the scenes of the introduction of Mephistopheles and of his compact with Faust, to arrive at the scene with the student. Here we have a youth fresh from his native province and about to enter on his university career: he has a general desire for study; what he will study he has not yet decided on,—a satire on the carelessness with which men enter professions without any express vocation. The criticisms of Mephistopheles on the various sciences are worthy of the critic,-sarcastic, but true. From this scene we are conducted to that in Auerbach's cellar, with its Aristophanic buffoonery. The life of the lower orders we saw reflected in the scene outside the gates; we see here the life of wine-swilling sots. What a scene it is! The cellar reeks with the fumes of bad wine and stale smoke: boisterous songs make its blackened arches ring again: the sots display themselves in all their sottishness. Enough of this scene! Away, away to another scene as foul, as hideous, but less common,-to the Hexenküche! In this den of sorcery Faust first beholds the vision of Margaret. He drinks of the witch's potion; rejuvenescence is accompanied by desires hitherto unknown, and he is impelled onwards into the storm of life on the ocean of passion. We are again led back to the real world. The simple Margaret returning from church is accosted by Faust. Then commences the exquisite episode of their love,—an episode which, for touching beauty and overpowering sadness, has no rival in poetry, no, not even in Shakspeare. We will venture on no analysis, lest by our touch we should rob this lovely flower of its perfume. Let us only remark on the contrast between the simple purity of Margaret and the heartless worldliness of Martha, between the passion of Faust and the irony of Mephistopheles. Again, in the brief scene between Bessy and Margaret, wherein the former laughs and triumphs over one of their companions who has been seduced, how completely does Göthe paint the state of opinion amongst women on the subject of seduction! Bessy says not a word against the seducer; her virtuous wrath falls solely on the victim, who has been 'rightly served" in being deserted. "For every woe a tear may claim Except an erring sister's shame." When Margaret timidly suggests that perhaps the seducer will marry the girl, Bessy ridicules the idea: "He would be a fool if he did! a brisk young fellow has the world before him." This is a cutting satire on women,—a deserved satire. Then arrives Valentin, the brother of Margaret, a soldier proud of his sister, humiliated at learning her shame. “La "souffrance qu'il éprouve,” says Madame de Staël, “et dont "il rougit, se trahit par un langage âpre et touchant à la fois. "L'homme dur en apparence et sensible au fond de l'âme "cause une émotion inattendue et poignante." Valentin sees Faust approach-hears him serenade Margaret-rushes upon him and is slain. The people crowd round him; his sister arrives to learn who has fallen; the crowd inform her that it is "her mother's son." Valentin then pours out upon her the bitterest reproaches: "plus terribles," says Madame de Staël, "et plus déchirants que jamais la langue policée n'en pourrait "exprimer. La dignité de la tragédie ne saurait permettre "d'enfoncer si avant les traits de la nature dans le cœur.” A singular judgement! We may suggest in passing, that the magnificent description of the progress of Shame, "Wenn erst die Schande wird geboren," is an imitation of Virgil's description of Rumour (Eneid iv. 176-190). From this scene of bloodshed and horror we are led to the cathedral, where Margaret prays amidst the crowd,-the evil |