A FRENCHMAN, an Englishman, and a German, were commissioned, it is said, to give the world the benefit of their views on that interesting animal the Camel. Away goes the Frenchman to the Jardin des Plantes, spends an hour there in rapid investigation, returns, and writes a feuilleton, in which there is no phrase the Academy can blame, but also no phrase which adds to the general knowledge. He is perfectly satisfied, however, and says, Le voilà, le chameau! The Englishman packs up his tea-caddy and a magazine of comforts; pitches his tent in the East; remains there two years studying the Camel in its habits; and returns with a thick volume of facts, arranged without order, expounded without philosophy, but serving as valuable materials for all who come after him. The German, despising the frivolity of the Frenchman, and the unphilosophic matter-of-factness of the Englishman, retires to his study, there to construct the Idea of a Camel from out of the depths of his Moral Consciousness. And he is still at it.

With this myth the reader is introduced into the very heart of that species of criticism which, flourishing in Germany, is also admired in some English circles, under the guise of

Philosophical Criticism, and which has been exercised upon Wilhelm Meister almost as mercilessly as upon Faust, but which reaches the depths of absurdity when it treats of Shakspeare. There are many excellent critics in Germany, and I should be sorry if laughter at pretenders and pedants were supposed to extend to writers really philosophical; but in the name of Art and common-sense, I protest against the fundamental error, and the extravagant fruits, of a school which claims to be profound, and is profoundly absurd. The fundamental error is that of translating Art into Philosophy, and calling it the Philosophy of Art; a work is before the critic, and instead of judging this work he endeavours to get behind it, beneath it, into the depths of the soul which produced it. He is not satisfied with what the artist has given, he wants to know what he meant. He guesses at the meaning; the more remote the meaning lies on the wandering tracks of thought, the better pleased is he with the discovery, and sturdily rejects every simple explanation in favour of this exegetical Idea. Thus the phantom of Philosophy hovers mistily before Art, concealing Art from our eyes. It is true the Idea said to underlie the work was never conceived by anyone before, least of all by the Artist; but that is the glory of the critic: he is proud of having plunged into the depths. Of all horrors to the German of this school there is no horror like that of the surface-it is more terrible to him than cold water.

Wilhelm Meister has been the occasion of so many ideas constructed out of the depths of moral consciousness, it has been made to mean such wondrous (and contradictory) things, that its author must have been astonished at his unsuspecting depth. There is some obvious symbolism in the latter part, and I have little doubt it was introduced to flatter the German tendency, as I have no sort of doubt that its introduction has

spoiled a master-piece.

The obvious want of unity in the

work has given free play to the interpreting imagination. Hillebrand boldly says that the "Idea of Wilhelm Meister is precisely this-that it has no Idea",-which does not greatly further our comprehension.

Instead of trying to discover the Idea, let us stand fast by historical criticism, and see what light may be derived from a consideration of the origin and progress of the work. The historical facts assure us that the first six books-beyond all comparison the best and most important-were written before the journey to Italy: they were written during the active theatrical period when Goethe was manager, poet, and actor. The contents of these books point very clearly to his intention of representing in them the whole nature, aims, and art of the comedian; and in a letter to Merck he expressly states that it is his intention to pourtray the actor's life. Whether at the same time he meant the actor's life to be symbolical, cannot be positively determined. That may or may not have been a secondary intention. The primary intention is very clear. Nor had he, at this time, entered on the symbolical track in Art. He sang as the bird sings; his delight was in healthy objective fact; he had not yet donned the robes of an Egyptian priest, or learned to speak in hieroglyphs. He was seriously interested in acting, and the actor's art. He thought the life of a player a good framework for certain pictures, and he chose it. Afterwards the idea of making these pictures symbolical certainly did occur to him, and he concluded the romance upon this after-thought.

Gervinus emphatically records his disbelief of the opinion that Goethe originally intended to make Wilhelm unfit for success as an actor; and I think a careful perusal of the novel, even in its present state, will convince the reader that Ger

vinus is right. Instead of Wilhelm's career being represented as the development of a false tendency-the obstinate cultivation of an imperfect talent, such as was displayed in Goethe's own case with respect to plastic Art-one sees, in spite of some subsequent additions thrown in to modify the work according to an after-thought, that Wilhelm has a true inborn tendency, a talent which ripens through practice. With the performance of Hamlet the apogee is reached; and here ends the first plan. Having written so far, Goethe went to Italy. We have seen the changes which came over his views. After a lapse of ten years he resumes the novel; and having in that period lived through the experience of a false tendencyhaving seen the vanity of cultivating an imperfect talent-he alters the plan of his novel, makes it symbolical of the erroneous striving of youth towards culture; invents the cumbrous machinery of a Mysterious Family whose watchful love has guided all his steps, and who have encouraged him in error that they might lead him through error unto truth. This is what in his old age he declared-in the Tag und Jahres Hefte, and in his letters to Schiller-to have been the plan upon which it was composed. 'It sprang", he says, "from a dim feeling of the great truth that Man often seeks that which Nature has rendered impossible to him. All dilettantism and false tendency is of this kind. Yet it is possible that every false step should lead to an inestimable good, and some intimation of this is given in Meister." To Eckermann he said: "The work is one of the most incalculable productions; I myself can scarcely be said to have the key to it. People seek a central point, and that is difficult to find; nor is it even right. I should think a rich manifold life brought close to our eyes would be enough in itself without any express tendency, which, after all, is only for the in

tellect." This is piercing to the very kernel. The origin of the symbolical matter, however, lies in the demands of the German intellect for such food. But," he continues, "if anything of the kind is insisted upon, it will, perhaps, be found in the words which Frederic at the end addresses to the hero, when he says, 'Thou seem'st to me like Saul, the son of Kish, who went out to seek his father's asses, and found a kingdom.' Keep only to this; for, in fact, the whole work seems to say nothing more than that man, despite all his follies and errors, being led by a higher hand, reaches some happy goal at last."

Schiller, who knew only the second plan, objected, and with justice, to the disproportionate space allotted to the players. "It looks occasionally," he wrote, "as if you were writing for players, whereas your purpose is only to write of them. The care you bestow on certain little details of this subject and individual excellencies of the art, which although important to the player and manager, are not so to the public, give to your representation the false appearance of a particular design; and even one who does not infer such a design, might accuse you of being too much under the influence of a private preference for these subjects." If we accept the later plan, we must point out the inartistic composition, which allows five Books of Introduction, one of Episode, and only two of Development. This is against all proportion. Yet Frederick Schlegel expressly says that the two last Books are properly speaking the whole work; the others are but preparations.*

The purpose, or rather purposes, of Wilhelm Meister are, first, the rehabilitation of Dramatic Art; and, secondly, the theory of Education. The last two Books are full of Education.

Charakteristiken und Kritiken, p. 168. Schlegel's review is well worth reading as an example of ingenious criticism, and praise artfully presented under the guise of analysis.