PARIS. (From our own Correspondent.) FOUR Centuries and-a-half had well nigh elapsed since an English monarch set foot in Paris. "Henry the Sixth, in infant bands crowned King of France and England," was the last reigning sovereign of the British who had visited the fair capital of France. Son of that "star of England" Henry the Fifth, and of Katharine of France, he was anointed king of the one realm at Westminster Abbey, and of the other at Notre Dame. Four centuries and a-half! Then, painting, sculpture, music, poetry, and philosophy; all that adorns and beautifies existence, all that raises man above the brute and makes him little lower than the angels, seemed to have perished with the Greeks from whom they derived their birth. One beacon light alone shone in the English firmament, where the star of old Dan Chaucer shed its solitary ray; but, with that exception, thick clouds had for centuries enveloped Europe in the mist and fog of the dark ages. Raphael and Michel Angelo had not yet, with magic pencil and chisel, produced those masterpieces of art, which have rendered their names immortal, and which are the despair of modern painters and sculptors. Shakspere had not unfolded the secret recesses of the human heart, nor Racine proved the capabilities of his country's language, when illustrated by the pen of a true poet. Dante's divine comedy was yet unwritten, Spenser and Milton were still unborn, and centuries were to elapse ere France produced her great lyric poet, him whose every song appeals to some chord, some sympathy, some generous feeling of his countrymen, the still living and immortal Beranger. Beethoven and Mozart, Mendelssohn and Meyerbeer, connect the past with the present in the history of music, and prove how slow was her revival, and how tardy her awakening; centuries after the sister arts of painting, sculpture, and poetry, had been brought to perfection. Four centuries and-a-half! Then, the chivalry of France had succumbed to the bows and bills, the spears and lances of merry England; a treaty united the conqueror to the daughter of the conquered, and gave the fair realm of France to English rule. But the day of retribution was near, and the Maid of Orleans appeared on the scene. Like lions after slumber, the whole manhood of France rushed to arms, and with the death of Talbot the English domination ceased for ever. And now, after centuries of war and ages of strife, appears in the city of Paris another sovereign of England, and she, too, represents the union of England and France. But it is no hollow treaty, no fruitless triumph, no state marriage, which now knits together with bonds of steel these fosterers of the fine arts, these protectors of civilization, and this vanguard of mankind. For no mere personal advantage, with no mean motive, with no petty desire, have they assumed those weapons which they never wield save in victory, and which have so long hung idle in their sheaths. To roll back the tide of barbaric conquest, to protect the weak against the strong, to prove that might no longer makes right, and that the will of the oppressor shall not further prevail, is the noble aim which now animates France and England. And while the admirals from the Baltic announce the destruction of Sweaborg, and the electric wire flashes the news of victory from the Crimea, the sovereign of England arrives in the capital of France, the guest of him who so ably directs the destinies of his country. Of her reception, it would be idle to speak, for what words could paint the boulevards streaming with banners and flaunting with flags, the bright sky overhead by day, and the many coloured lamps by night, the military salute of the troops, the loud hurrahs of her numerous subjects, and the more subdued, but equally cordial greeting of those of her ally. One week has the Queen of England spent in Paris. She has visited Notre Dame, where Henry VI. of England was crowned; and the Sainte Chapelle, founded by Saint Louis; the Louvre, whence Catherine de Medici witnessed the massacre of the Huguenots; and the Tuileries, from which the unfortunate Louis XVI. was dragged to his prison, and which Louis Philippe quitted as Mr. Smith; the Bastille, whose column commemorates alike the fall of the dungeon of the old monarchy, and that of legitimacy; and the Place Vendôme, whose pillar celebrates Napoleon's victories; she has been entertained at the Hôtel de Ville, the head quarters of the Fronde and of all other insurrections; and has witnessed a fête in the magnificent saloons which Louis XIV. erected at Versailles. She has made a pilgrimage to the tomb of her kinsman, James II., at St. Germain, and visited the spot where Napoleon's remains rest under the dome of the Invalides. These monuments has she seen which remind her of the past, which teach a moral from which even monarchs may profit, and in whose stones many a sermon may be found. But if the past history of France, as told in her palaces and pillars, her churches and museums, be instructive and suggestive, her present history is no less remarkable. Queen Victoria has seen in the exhibition of industry a true and lasting monument to peace, stronger than brass, more durable than marble. She has seen that though France be engaged with England in a gigantic struggle against the. Colossus of the north, she has not been unmindful of the mechanical and fine arts. She has beheld the new buildings which adorn the streets, the numerous bridges which span the Seine, the railways which are gradually covering the country, developing its resources and stimulating its industry, the Louvre to whose completion the last touch has just been put, and the Palais de Justice which has risen phoenix-like from its ashes. She has heard the national anthem of England performed by French troops, and cheered by French lungs, and has seen that in the capital of France the same enthusiastic greeting has everywhere awaited her which was awarded to the French Emperor in the capital of England. And thus have old animosities, false prejudices, and so-called "natural antipathies," been buried in the grave of the Russian war, and the blood of Alma, Inkermann, and Balaklava has cemented an alliance pregnant with future benefit to both nations. In the arrangement of the fêtes, and plan of the entertainments given in honour of Queen Victoria, the drama and music have held a prominent part. On the Monday after her arrival Les Demoiselles de Saint Cyr was performed at Saint Cloud by the Queen's express request. Regnier and the Mesdlles. Brohan filled the principal parts. On Tuesday the Queen and Emperor, the Empress, Prince Albert, the Prince of Wales, and the Princess Royal paid a state visit to the Grand Opera. Nothing could exceed the brilliancy of the audience, which included all that is famous in the political, fashionable, literary, and artistic world of Paris. Every one was in full dress, and the ladies resplendant in diamonds and jewels. As the two stars, Cruvelli and Alboni, could not shine together in the same sphere, or perform in the same opera, and as the Emperor was naturally desirous that his distinguished guest-herself no mean proficient in music-should hear both, it was determined to have a concert and the ballet of the Fonti. Accordingly a concert was given, in which Cruvelli, Alboni, Roger, Gueymard, etc., took part, and acquitted themselves admirably. Rosati was charming as ever in La Fonti," and the performances passed off with great éclat. At the conclusion of the ballet a transparency of Windsor Castle occupied the back of the stage, and the whole of the artists came forward to sing "God save the Queen." The audience rose, and high above band and chorus were heard the glorious voices of the two great singers Cruvelli and Alboni. At the conclusion of your national anthem the enthusiasm of the audience burst all bounds. It was encored vociferously, and the Royal and Imperial party quitted the theatre, amid the same demonstrations of delight which had greeted their arrival. On Wednesday the actors of the Gymnase gave Le Fils de Famille, at St. Cloud. On Friday the Queen and Emperor visited the Opéra-Comique, where Auber's charming opera of Haydee was performed, Maddle. Lefebvre filling the principal part. M. Perrin was determined not to be outdone, and strengthened the chorus for this occasion, by uniting that of the Théâtre-Lyrique with the regular establishment of the OpéraComique. The whole scene, as regards the audience, was but a repetition of that of the Grand-Opéra, and the Queen, who was looking remarkably well, was radiant with smiles and happiness. No accident has occurred to mar this long-expected visit, no unforeseen event has thrown a damp upon the fêtes. The news from the seat of war has been all that could be desired, the weather brilliant and lovely, such as ever accompanies her Majesty in her tours, and the aspect of the people most satisfactory. The workmen are in full employment, labour is in good demand; and it was with a happy heart and well-filled stomach that the blouses of the Rue Saint Antoine greeted Queen Victoria, as she drove through a quarter famed in days gone by for its antipathy to crowned heads. The Duke of Saxe Coburg's new opera of Santa Chiara will probably not see the light before the end of the year, although Roger was engaged expressly to "create" the principal part. The Queen's visit has thrown all minor novelties into the shade, and now that she will not be present at its début, the rehearsals are pressed with little vigour. Meanwhile the operas and theatres are making more money than at any previous period on record, and are compelled to turn away thousands every night. This is the more satisfactory as the summer and autumn are the dull seasons in Paris, and those theatres which remain open during the hot weather, are generally compelled to play to empty houses. Novelty there is none, for Les Vepres Siciliennes and the Prophèteat the Grand-Opéra, and L'Etoile du Nord, Les Diamants de la Couronne, and Le Chien du Jardinier at the OpéraComique, afford an ample banquet to the strangers and provincials who throng the boulevards, the cafés, the restaurants, and the hotels. TO CORRESPONDENTS. The Reviews of several new publications are unavoidably postponed for the present, owing to a press of other matter. MR. FREDERICK CRANE'S communication shall appear in our next number. ENTHUSIAST. We cannot publish the paper forwarded to us, having already dismissed the subject in question. ERRATUM. For clergyman, in the article on Cathedral Music (No. 33), read clever man. THE MUSICAL WORLD. LONDON, SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 1ST, 1855. ERE these lines reach our readers' hands, the two great Festivals of Hereford and Birmingham will be things of the past; M. Costa will have waved his bâton for the last time; the last note will have died away in the noble Hall which Birmingham-setting an example that might be advantageously followed by other towns-has reared as a suitable abode of the gentle goddess of melody; the last of the eminent "London professionals," as some of our provincial contemporaries love to designate them, will have packed up his or her portmanteau or carpet bag, as the case may be; and the last pound will have been exacted, and paid, as the charge for occupying, during the space of three or four days, some miserable garret, which, in non-Festival times, would be dear at five shillings per week. The two events now constitute a portion of musical history, and every one who cares anything about the matter can, if he was not himself present, learn the minutest details connected with them, thanks to the ability, judgment, and hard work of the gentlemen sent down by the London press as "special correspondents"-of whose character and position some, at any rate, of the stewards of the Hereford Festival do not seem to entertain a very exalted or very correct idea. We suppose, however, that a vague report of the existence of a class of persons entitled "penny-a-liners"-a very respectable class, by the way-has, at some period or other, penetrated to Hereford, and that the stewards, or steward, whose directions with regard to our special correspondent caused the without, mirabile dictu, latter to leave the ball room begging to be allowed to stop, even if, to do so, he were obliged to assist in serving out the ices-had an idea that the gentleman who, for his musical ability and talent, was selected by a London paper to furnish it with criticisms on the works of the greatest masters that ever lived, and the. performances of some of the greatest executionists of the present day, both vocal and instrumental, was usually employed in supplying spirited reports of the metropolitan police courts, or a full and accurate description of the "most awful conflagration which broke out, etc." whenever there did not happen to be a Festival claiming his attention. Of the details of the late gatherings it is not, therefore, at present, our intention to speak. These will afford us a theme at some future time. Our object now is to offer a few general remarks that have been suggested to us by the doings of the last fortnight. How many of the thousands who have just visited Hereford and Birmingham would have done so, had the means of transit been less easy?-How many would have stopped away? To the first question, we think we are justified in replying, Nearly all; and, to the latter, Hardly any. We have been led to interrogate ourselves as above, from having read in the pages of several of our contemporaries that the Festivals were greatly advantaged by the railways. Now, with all due deference to the opinions of others, we do not think that this is correct-at least not unconditionally so. People do not go to Hereford or Birmingham, or any where else, simply because the place happens to boast of a railway. There* must be something at the farther end of the railway to induce them to take their places at the opposite extremity. That something, too, must be attractive. For instance, we do not believe that the announcement of a series of lectures on the Chinese language, or even a three days' Musikfest, entirely composed of the productions of the Man of the Future, would occasion any considerable rise in the price of the necessaries of life or the rent of third-floor-backs. No! that which fascinates people, that which-as the mountain of load-stone attracted the iron in Sinbad's ship—draws them from the extreme nooks and corners of these realms, aye, and, if report speaks true, even from beyond the seas, is the force of genius-of musical genius, as exemplified in the works of those intellectual giants, Haydn and Händel, Mozart and Mendelssohn, besides a host of others. That this view of the case is as correct as it is natural, we have a strong proof in a small paragraph that appears in another portion of our impression of to-day. That paragraph informs us that, at Norrköping, a small Swedish town: "A musical festival, that lasted two days, was lately given; on the first day, Händel's Messiah, and on the second, Haydn's Creation, was performed. On both occasions, the audiences were so numerous, that St. Hedwig's Church, in which the performances took place, could scarcely accomodate all who desired to obtain admission. What was it that thus attracted the crowds to a small Swedish town, or rather village? Norrköping possesses no railroad, so it could not be that. Did the general mass of our readers ever hear of Norrköping before? We think we may venture to answer: No. But Norrköping had heard of Händel and of Haydn; and it was the same genius-the genius of music-which filled, almost simultaneously, St. Hedwig's Church," which could scarcely accommodate all those who desired admittance," the venerable pile at Hereford, and the magnificent Hall of which Birmingham may so justly boast. If, then, we are justified in assuming that it was the object, and not the mere facility for attaining that object, which has lately attracted such crowds to two provincial cities, what becomes of the parrot cry that: England is not a musical nation. As well affirm that Englishmen have no taste for painting, because, with the exception of Hogarth and one or two others, we could boast of no native artists before the time of Sir Joshua Reynolds-and now to what a list of illustrious names can we point! Or, to go farther back, it might have been asserted, with equal justice, in the time of good Queen Bess, that the English would never produce broadcloths worth anything, because they had learnt the art of manufacturing them from the Flemings, to whom the virgin, but rather masculine-minded, sovereign had, with her keen perceptive glance as to the results, offered an asylum. We say fearlessly that the English are a musical nation, and the popularity of these periodical festivals, which, instead of diminishing, goes on steadily increasing, would be alone sufficient to prove the fact. We own that we are indebted for much of our progress in this most beautiful of arts to foreigners to such foreigners as Mendelssohn, Johann Sebastian Bach, and Mozart. But what of that? We never yet heard that the telescope was discovered by a native of Great Britain or Ireland, and yet such names as Newton, Herrschel, Brewster, and Airey, are respected by us, and the world generally, as those of great astronomers. THE FESTIVALS OF THE THREE CHOIRS. (From the Gloucestershire Chronicle of 1853.) The accounts of our late successful Festival have now been finally made up, and the results are as gratifying as the most sanguine had anticipated, the Festival not only having cleared itself without a call upon the stewards, but actually realised a surplus (after paying all expenses) to be applied for the benefit of the charity for the relief of clergymen's widows The auditors of the accounts, W. P. Price, Esq., M.P., and the and orphans, in support of which these Festivals were instituted. Rev. B. S. Claxson, D.D., presented their report to the stewards at a meeting held in the Chapter Room of the Cathedral. It appeared from the report that the net receipts amounted to 34317. 188. 6d., and that after paying the expenses, which exceeded those of the Festival in 1850 (when a deficit of 1317, occurred) by 2377. 88. 6d., a surplus of 687. 28. 8d. remained, Turner, Esq., seconded by the Rev. T. Evans, D.D., should be inwhich it was unanimously agreed, on the proposition of Thomas vested in the funds in the names of the Dean and Chapter of Gloucester, with the sums formerly obtained in like manner, the dividends from which are annually added to the collections made in each diocese for the benefit of the recipients of the charity connected with these ancient Festivals. The collection at the late Festival for the benefit of the widows and orphans of including 60%. from the Worcester fund, 16. 5s. 8d. from the the clergy in the three dioceses amounted to 9177. 138. 6d., Gloucester fund, and donations of 201. each from the Right Rev. the Lord Bishop of the Diocese, the Right Hon. Lord Leigh, and Lord de Saumarez, &c., &c. The following return of the receipts exclusively for this charity, made at these Festivals for the twenty years previous to the meeting in 1853, shows how greatly the admirable institution of the Widows' and Orphans' Charity has been benefitted. HEREFORD. GLOUCESTER. £634 4 10 676 11 0 818 1 2 1831. 1837. 1843. 1846. 1849. ... ... 901 13 0 ... WORCESTER." 1833. £981 18 7 1836. 828 6 0 1839. 5 950 3 6 1832. £806 11 8 The following gentlemen have consented to act as stewards in 1856, viz:-Sir M. H. Crawley Boevey, Esq., Bart., T. Gambier Parry, Esq., W. P. Price, Esq., M.P., James Ackers, Esq., John Wallington, Esq., Charles Bathurst, Esq., R. F. Onslow, Esq., W. Capel, Esq., G. H. Bengough, Esq., R. Pavin Davies, Esq., W. H. H. Hartley, Esq., Charles J. Monk, Esq., Richard Potter, Esq., Thomas Turner, Esq., J. Whittuck Whittuck, Esq., the Rev. Sir W. Lionel Darrell, Bart., the Rev. T. Murray Browne, Hon. Canon, the Rev. F. T. J. Bayly, the Rev. T. M. Sherwood, the Rev. E. Houlditch, and the Rev. Mr. Hasluck, twelve of But to return to the Festivals. Who that has ever been present at one can have failed to remark the profound devotional feeling, the sentiment almost of awe, which completely overcomes and holds captive the audience, as the mighty strains of Elijah, St. Paul, or the Creation, peal forth from the majestic organ, or rise heavenward from the lips of the singers, and the hearts of all those that listen to them? Who that has witnessed such a scene, has not felt that Festivals might, perhaps, often replace laws, and a score of Mendelssohn, or any other great master, prove more effective for good than a statute in Blackstone? And might not this be done, were the People, properly so called, to be more constant attendants at meetings of this description? We know, however, that just as a man must have a preparatory course of training before he can appreciate the immortal works of Shakespere or Shelley, he cannot value the beauties of Haydn or Bach, unless he have some know-whom, with Thomas Holt, Esq., treasurer, and Mr. J. H. Brown, ledge of the divine art of which they were such glorious exponents. Let us, therefore, do all we can to encourage the various musical societies, and young men's bandsthough the instruments in the latter be only the rather noisy drum and shrill-toned fife, as at Hull-that are springing up in all parts of the country. When young men are engaged in the study of music, they cannot be concerned in the perpetration of crime, and a taste for the former is a certain indication of a distaste for the latter. Let not our idea be thought Utopian. We do not suppose that we shall be able to abolish the criminal courts, but we think we might effect a diminution in the numbers of unhappy wretches arraigned in them-we firmly believe, in fact, that music can do this. Music is not a mere means of passing an idle hour; it is, if properly employed, a great moral engine. Let us only once put faith in this notion, and we shall see that it may truly be said of music, as of truth, magna est et prævalebit. OPERA AND DRAMA. BY RICHARD WAGNER. (Continued from page 547.) PART IL ourselves the conduct of an historical man, naked and bare, as a purely human one, it must necessarily strike us as most capricious, unreasonable, and, at any rate, unnatural, precisely because we are not able to justify the sentiments of such conduct from purely human nature. The sentiments of an historical personage are, however, only the sentiments of such an individual, in so far as they are transferred to him from a generally ceived view, which is not a purely human one, valid at all epochs and in all places, finding its explanation only in a purely historical state of things, which changes in course of time, and is at no two epochs the same. But such a state of things and the changes to which it is subject, we can, again, explain to ourselves only by following up the whole chain of political occurrences, which so worked, in their many-membered connection, upon some more simple conjunction of historical circumstances, that it assumed precisely this shape-in which it expressed precisely these sentiments-as the generally received view of things. The individual, in whose conduct these sentiments are to be expressed, must, therefore, in order to render his sentiments and conduct intelligible to us, be reduced to the lowest standard of individual freedom: his sentiments, if they are to be explained, can be justified only by the sentiments of those around him, which, again, can only be rendered evident by actions which must the more imperatively fill the whole space of the artistic representation, because the surrounding personages, in their turn, can only be rendered intelligible to us by the most complicate ramifications and expansion. MAN can only be understood in connection with man gene-received view of the constitution of things; this generally rerally, and with the objects around him; the man of modern times separated from this connection necessarily appeared the most incomprehensible thing in the world. The restless inward discord of such a man, who had created, between his wish and his ability, a chaos of torturing notions, driving him to combat, and gnaw himself away, and to be incorporeally dissolved in Christian death, was not to be explained, as Christianity had endeavoured to explain it, so much from the nature of the individual man himself, as from the state of confusion to which an incomprehensible view of the constitution of society had brought that nature. The tormenting notions, which dimmed the view, must be reduced to the reality at the bottom of them, and, as this reality, the investigator had to recognise the true condition of human society. But this condition, in which a thousand justifications were nourished by a million acts of unlawfulness, and man was separated from man by insurmountable imaginary boundaries, realized according to the imaginary idea from which they sprang, could not be understood by itself; it was necessary that it should be explained by the traditions of History which had become laws, by its matter of fact substance, and, lastly, by the spirit of the historical events, and the sentiments which they had called forth. Thus the romance-poet is obliged to busy himself, almost exclusively, with the description of accessaries, and, to be intelligible, must be circumstantial. What the dramatic poet presupposed, for the intelligence of the accessaries, required from the romance-poet the employment of all his powers of pourtrayal; the generally received view of things, on which the dramatic poet relied at once, the romance-poet has to develope and establish artificially in the course of his representation. The drama, therefore, proceeds from within to without, but the romance, from without to within. From simple, all-intelligible accessaries, the dramatist rises to a richer and richer development of individuality, while, out of complex accessaries, rendered intelligible only by great labour, the romance poet sinks, exhausted, to the description of the individual, who, poor in himself, could not be endowed with individuality except by these accessaries. In the drama, a sturdy individuality, completely developed out of itself, enriches the accessaries, while, in the romance, the accesThus the drama unveils to us the organisation of humanity, inasmuch as individuality is displayed as the essence of a species; but romance displays the mechanism of history, according to which a species is made the essence of individuality. Thus, also, artistic creation in the drama is organic, but, in the romance, mechanical, for the drama presents us with the man, while the romance explains to us the citizen; the former displays the fulness of human nature, while the latter excuses the poverty of that quality on the plea of the State: the drama consequently fashions from inward necessity, and the romance from outward constraint. The mass of reported events and actions, accumulated as such historical facts before the man-seeking gaze of the investigator, was so immense, that the exuberant subject-matter of the Medieval romance appeared like naked poverty in comparison. And yet this mass, which, when examined more closely, extended into more and more complicated ramifications, had to be explored by the searcher after the reality of human circumstances into its very furthest limits, in order, out of its oppressive jumble, to discover the only object that would repay such trouble, namely: the real undistorted man, according to the truth of his nature. In the presence of the abundance of historical realities, stretching far out of sight, each separate investigator was obliged to assign limits to his enquiring zeal; he was compelled to detach from a larger context, which he could merely hint at, certain moments, for the purpose of demonstrating in them with greater accuracy a closer connection, without which every historical representa-saries have to satisfy the hunger of an empty individuality. tion generally will remain unintelligible. But, even within the narrowest limits, this connection, through which alone any historical action is comprehensible, cannot be brought about except by the most circumstantial adduction of accessaries, in which, again, we can only take any interest whatever when they are brought under our view by means of the most lively description. From the necessity which he felt for such description, the investigator was again compelled to become a poet, but his course of proceeding could only be one diametrically opposed to that of the dramatic poet. The latter compresses into a shape that can be easily grasped everything around the acting personage, in order that the actions of this personage, which, again, in conformity with their purport as well as their expression, he compresses into a comprehensive principal action, may proceed from the essential opinion of the individual, and this individuality be brought in it to a conclusion, and from it the constitution of man be represented generally according to a certain decided direction. The romance-poet, on the other hand, has to render the actions of the principal historical personage comprehensible from the outward necessity of those around him; in order to produce upon us the effect of historical truth, he must, above all, enable us to understand the character of whatever surrounds the personage in question, because on it are founded all the demands which decide the individual to act in such and such a manner, and no other. In the historical romance we endeavour to gain a clear idea of the man, whom, from a purely human point of view, we cannot understand. If we would represent to But the romance was not a voluntary but a necessary production of our modern system of development; it contained the honest, artistic expression of conditions of life which could only be rendered by its means, and not by the drama. The romance aimed at the representation of reality, and its effects were so genuine, that, in the presence of this reality, it finally annihilated itself as a work of art. The romance attained its greatest state of perfection as a form of art, when, from the point of view of purely artistic necessity, it adopted the course pursued by the myth in the creation of types. As the medieval romance compressed manifold phenomena of foreign nations, climates, and countries into consolidated, wonderful shapes, the more modern historical romance attempted to represent the most varied expressions of the spirit of entire epochs of history as manifestations of the essence of a particular historical individual. In this, the usual method of looking at history could only second the romance writer. In order to arrange the excess of historical facts so that our glance instinct, from which the fact sprang as full-grown, ripe, and may grasp them, we are generally accustomed to pay attention perishing fruit-in this was manifested the course of the deveonly to the most prominent personages, and to regard the spirit lopment of modern times. What the thinker has grasped in conof the period as embodied in them. As such personages the his-formity with its essential nature, the artist endeavours to repretory of the Chronicles has mostly handed down to us the rulers, sent in conformity with its actual appearance. The phenomena from whose will and plans historical enterprises and political of society which he, too, recognised as the basis of history, the measures sprang. The obscure sentiments and contradictory poet endeavoured to place before us in connected manner, which mode of conduct of these chiefs, but, above all, the fact that they might enable him to explain them. As the most distinguishable never attained the ends for which they were striving, has, in the bond of society, he seized upon the usual accompaniments of first place, caused us to misunderstand the spirit of history, by civil life, in order, by describing the circumstances characterising supposing that we were compelled to explain the arbitrariness it, to explain man, who, removed from participation in the outin the actions of ruling personages by higher and inscrutable ward manifestations of history, still struck him as presupposing influences which guided and predetermined the course and end these manifestations. But this civil society was-as I have preof history. These factors of history appeared to us mere instru- viously expressed it-only a precipitate of history, which pressed ments without a will, or contradicting themselves in their will, down upon it from above, at least as far as its outward form was in the hands of a superhuman and divine power. We laid down concerned. Ever since the consolidation of the modern Statethe ultimate results of history as the reason of its motion, or the system, the new vital emotion of the world has entirely begun aim which some higher spirit in it had, from the very beginning, to proceed from civil society; the living energy of political perstriven to attain. According to this view of matters, the ex- sonages has become more and more blunted in precisely the pounders and exhibitors of history thought themselves also justi- same proportion that civil society has striven to have its pretenfied in deducing the apparently arbitrary actions of the prin- sions recognised in the State. But it is precisely by its inward cipal ruling historical personages from sentiments in which want of participation in historical phenomena, and by the lazy, the supposed consciousness of an universal guiding spirit uninterested manner in which it looks on, that it manifests the was evident, thus disturbing the unconscious necessity of their pressure with which these phenomena weigh it down, and tomotives for action, and, when they looked upon their actions as wards which it assumes a position of obedient aversion. Our perfectly justified, first representing them as completely arbitrary. civil society is no organisation full of life, inasmuch as it is This mode of proceeding, by which the historical actions were influenced from above in its proportions by the retroactive liable to be altered and distorted by arbitrary combinations, outward manifestations of history. The physiognomy of civil merely enabled the romance to produce types, and to raise itself society is the blunted, distorted physiognomy of history reduced as a work of art to a certain height, where it might appear again to a total absence of all expression: what history expresses by calculated for dramatisation. A great many such historical lively movement in the breath of the period, civil society renders dramas have been produced in the most recent times, and the by lazy expansion in space. This physiognomy is, however, the pleasure felt in manufacturing history for the benefit of the drama mask of civil society, under which it still conceals man from is, even at present, still so great, that our expert historical con- the eye that seeks him; the artistic describer of this society jurors of the theatre imagine they have unlocked the secret could as yet pourtray only the features of the mask but not those of history itself for the advantage of their manufacture of stage of the real man, and the truer this description, the more must plays. They believe they are the more justified in their pro- the work of art be deficient in animated power of expression. ceedings, from having succeeded in imposing upon the dramatic But when this mask was raised, in order that we might seek representation of a historical subject the most complete unity of beneath it the unpainted features of human society, the first time and place; they have penetrated into the most inward re-thing that necessarily met the eye was a chaos of ugliness and cesses of the mechanism of history, and have discovered for its formlessness. Only in the garb of history, by which he had been heart the prince's ante-chamber, in which, between breakfast brought up, had man, ruined in his true healthy nature, and and supper, the State and man mutually set each in order. But crippled, been able to maintain an appearance that was bearable that this artistic unity is false, as well as this kind of history, for the artist. When the garb was taken off, we beheld in him, and that what is untrue can only produce a false effect, has been to our horror, a shrivelled-up form that excited our disgust, and no plainly proved by the historical drama of the present day. That longer resembled the real man, such as we had pictured him, out real history, however, is no subject for the drama, we also know, of the fulness of his natural constitution, in our thoughts, except in since this historical drama has clearly proved that even the the painful look of suffering of the dying man-that look from romance could only raise itself to its highest attainable height as which Christianity sucked its fervid enthusiasm. From this a work of art by sinning against the truth of history. spectacle, the longing searcher after art turned away-like Schiller-in order to dream of beauty in the realms of thought, orlike Goethe-to cover it over with the garb of artistic beauty, as well as the latter could be accommodated to the form beneath. His romance of Wilhelm Meister was a garb of this description, by the aid of which Göethe endeavoured to render the sight of the reality supportable; it agreed with the reality of modern naked man in so far as he himself was imagined and represented striving after artistically beautiful form. From this height, the romance has again descended, in order that, renouncing the purity it aimed at as a work of art, it might apply itself to the true representation of historical life. The apparent discretionary power in the actions of the principal personages of history could only be explained to the honour of humanity by the discovery of the soil from which they involuntarily and necessarily sprang. After thinking it incumbent on them first to represent this necessity as floating in the realms above, over the principal historical personages, whom it used as mere tools, people became convinced both of the artistic and poetical unfruitfulness of this view of things, and thinkers and poets now sought the explanatory necessity below, in the foundation of all history. The soil of history is the social nature of man; out of the want experienced by the individual to associate with the beings of his own species, for the purpose of obtaining in society the greatest appreciation possible for his capabilities, springs the whole movement of history. The historical personages are the most outward expressions of the inward movement, of which the social nature of man is the core. The nourishing strength of this nature is, however, the individual, who can only pacify his hankering for happiness, by satisfying his yearning for love. From the outward expressions of this nature to deduce its inmost core-from the death of the completed fact to go back to the inward life of man's social Up to this period, for the artistic eye, as well as for the glance of the historian, the human form had been enveloped in the costume of history or the uniform of the State; we might have indulged in fantastical flights about the costume, and in disputes concerning the uniform. Poets and thinkers had an immense selection of all kinds of shapes before them, under which they could, according to their artistic requirements or voluntary assumption, picture man, whom they had, as yet, only imagined in the garb thrown around him from without. Even Philosophy had allowed itself to be misled by this garb, as to the true nature of man; the historical romance writer had been properly-in a certain sense-but a designer of costumes. With the uncovering of the real shape of modern society, the romance assumed a more practical character: the poet could no longer indulge in artistic flights of fancy, when he beheld, unveiled before him, the naked reality, which filled the spectator with horror, com |