Oldalképek
PDF
ePub

even in matters of fact, to say nothing of questions of law; and, further, the author observes, that the unanimity which is essential to the value of any jury at all, can only be obtained by measures of coercion, such as the starvation system that is in such vogue in England. The upshot of the professor's remarks upon this part of the subject is really neither more nor less than this-that an inquisition, a private and irresponsible tribunal of justice, is the best for a state! However, even he, who, by strictly following his theory of justice, comes to the conclusion that such a tribunal as that composed of a secret judge, who prosecutes in the dark, is the most to be preferred by any wise government; even he, we repeat, is under the necessity of yielding a little to that extorting force which the weight of truth is always sure to exercise upon every mind which admits it. He acknowledges, in total defiance of every principle of consistency, that, in trials for political offences, a jury is the safest medium of decision, because, in all such instances, the question at issue is, whether the act impugned is one of hostility against the state, or merely a legitimate act performed by a citizen. In these cases, M. Carmignani condescends to make the strange admission, that there is a greater chance of the government acting with a selfish bias when a party, than the people. But, whether or not, it shall be by juries or commissioners, or appointed agents of any kind, that the proceedings connected with criminal justice shall be carried on,-this rule, at all events, should ever prevail-namely, that the institution in which the people have greatest confidence is the one to be preferred.

The work of M. Carmignani should be in the hands of every sound lawyer; and we trust that some spirited member of the profession will contribute a version of the contents to English literature, if it were only for the purpose of showing, by a specimen, what a rich mine of legal and constitutional knowledge may be obtained from foreign writers.

ART. III.-Characteristics of Goethe, from the German of Falk, Von Muller, &c. with Notes, Original and Translated, Illustrative of German Literature. By SARAH AUSTIN. In 3 vols. 8vo. London: Wilson.

1833.

THE plan of this work is altogether new, and, on the whole, it appears to us a very successful one. The contents are composed of a series of selections, either from the published or manuscript accounts, given by the intimate friends of the hero of the biography, and thus a variety in the picture of his character is attained, which very considerably adds to the pleasure of the reader.

The materials of these volumes have been chiefly drawn from a recent work, entitled Recollections of Goethe, by Johann Falk, an VOL. II. (1833) NO. III.

Y

intimate friend of the deceased. To these materials, it had been originally the intention of Mrs. Austin exclusively to adhere; but her resolution was subsequently changed, by finding that much of what would prove new and interesting to the British public, might be added from various sources, to which she was so fortunate as to have access. The first two volumes, then, may be properly described as containing a series of illustrations of Goethe's mind, in the several important relations in which he stood to his cotemporaries. The third volume is devoted to memoirs of the noble family of the Grand Duke Carl-August of Saxe-Weimar, whose intimate association with Goethe appears, to Mrs Austin, to merit a niche in the same temple beside the bust of her own adoration.

The first volume contains Falk's reminiscences, in which Goethe is presented to us in the agreable shape in which he appeared amongst his familiar friends. In common with many other great men, Goethe seems to have been indebted for the peculiar impress which marked his genius to his mother. All who were acquainted with parent and child, concur in the fact, that his moral character was almost a complete imitation, even in the smallest details, of that which she possessed, and developed before him from his earliest existence.

The love of nature which has so strikingly characterised the long life of Goethe, manifested itself whilst yet he was very young. We learn, too, from his associates, that no subject for conversation seemed to be prefered by him with more ardour, than that which related to natural history. Falk declares that a person could not better recommend himself to Goethe for ever, than by presenting him with some object of nature, which differed in any respect from those forms of organization with which he was every day familiar. The paw of an arctic bear, the tooth of a lion, the twisted horn of a chamois, made Goethe the eternal friend of any one who presented it.

But to these subjects of natural history alone, Goethe was far from confining himself. Falk gives us a highly interesting account of a conversation which he held with the great poet on the immortality of the soul, and on political institutions. The first of the topics was introduced by the occurrence of the death of Wieland, which produced a change of tone and manner in Goethe that astonished all his friends. Falk ventured to put the question to his companion, what he thought was, at the moment of speaking, the occupation of Wieland's soul. Goethe, who had always been a firm believer in existence after death, replied, "Nothing petty, nothing unworthy, nothing out of keeping with that moral greatness which he all his life sustained." Following up the train of thought which this interrogatory had opened upon his mind, the eloquent speaker proceeded to develop his views of a future life in a strain of solemn feeling, which renders them worthy of the deepest attention. Goethe then declared it to be his firmest conviction, that the de

struction of such high powers of soul as his friend possessed, was a thing that never, and under no possible circumstances, could even come into question. Nature, said he, is not such a prodigal spendthrift of her capital. Goethe was now warmed by his theme, and proceeded thus to unfold his sentiments as to the individual existence of the soul after death. He begins by stating, that his hypothesis of the continuance of existence hereafter, has been recomiended to him after the experience of many years of observation; but how much or how little of this individual existence is worthy to endure, is a point which can only be known to the Deity. He assumes various classes and orders of the primary elements of all existences, as the germs of all phenomena in nature; these he calls souls, as they are the source of the animation of the whole, and proposes to give them the designation of monades. Now experience shows, that some of these monades are so insignificant, that they are adapted merely to some subordinate use only; whilst other monades, which are strong and powerful, draw into their sphere all that approaches them, transmitting into their own nature every thing over which this influence prevails. Thus the human body, a plant, any of the inferior animals, and even a star, has this power of assimilation. The inference to which Goethe arrives at last is, that there are monades of worlds, souls of worlds, as well as monades of ants and souls of ants; and that both, if not actually identical, are at least of cognate origin. He then proceeded as follows:

Every sun, every planet, bears within itself the germ of a higher fulfilment, in virtue of which its development is as regular, and must take place according to the same laws, as the development of a rose-tree, by means of leaf, stalk, and flower. You may call the germ an idea, or a monad, as you please; I have no objection. Enough that it is invisible, and antecedent to the visible external development. We must not be misled by the larva or imperfect forms of the intermediate states, which this idea or germ may assume in its transitions. One and the same metamorphosis, or capacity of transformation in nature, produces a rose out of a leaf, a caterpillar out of an egg, and again a butterfly out of the caterpillar.

The inferior monades, too, belong to a superior because they must, not because it particularly conduces to their pleasure. This takes place in general naturally enough. Let us observe this hand, for instance. It contains parts which are every moment at the service of that chief monas, which had the power, at their first rise into being, to attach them to itself. By means of them I can play this or that piece of music; I can make my fingers fly as I will over the keys of a pianoforte. They certainly thus procure me a delightful intellectual pleasure; but they are deaf: it is the chief monas alone that hears. I may therefore presume that my hand, or my fingers, are little or not at all interested in my playing. The exercise of monades, by means of which I procure for myself an enjoyment, is very little for the good of my subjects; unless, perhaps, that it tires

them.

How much better off they would be as to sensual enjoyment, could they, instead of idly roaming over the keys of my piano, fly about the

meadows like busy bees, perch in a tree, or revel among its blosscms; and doubtless the materials for all this exist in them. The moment of death, which is thence most appropriately called dissolution, is that in which the chief or ruling monas dismisses all those subordinate monades which have hitherto been faithful vassals in her service. I therefore regard the quitting life, as well as the rising into it, as a spontaneous act of this chief monas; which, from its very constitution, is utterly unknown to us.

All monades are by nature so indestructible, that even in the moment of dissolution they do not abate or lose any thing of their activity, but continue their progress uninterruptedly. They quit their old connections only to enter into new ones at the same instant. At the change, all depends upon the degree of strength of the germ of fulfilment contained in this or that monas. Whether the monas be that of a cultivated human soul, of a beaver, of a bird, or of a fish, makes an immense difference. And here, as soon as we desire to explain to ourselves in any degree the phenomena of nature, we come to the class or order of the souls which we are compelled to assume. Swedenborg examined into this in his peculiar manner, and employs an image for the illustration of his thoughts, than which a more felicitous one could not perhaps be found. He likens the abode in which souls dwell, to a space divided into three main chambers, in the centre of which is a large hall. We will assume now, that out of these three chambers various sorts of creatures, as for instance, fishes, birds, dogs, cats, &c. repair into the large hall; certainly a very mixed company! What would be the immediate consequence ? The pleasure of being together would soon be at an end. Sudden and violent friendships would give place to more violent quarrels ; at length, like would consort with like, fish with fish, bird with bird, dog with dog, and cat with cat; and each of these several kinds would endeavour, if possible, to get possession of a separate chamber. Here we have the full and true history of our monades, and of their departure from this earth. Each monas goes to the place whither it belongs; into the water, into the air, into the fire, into the stars; nay, the mysterious attraction which draws it thither, involves at the same time the secret of its future destination.

Annihilation is utterly out of the question; but the possibility of being caught on the way by some more powerful, and yet baser monas, and subordinate to it, this is unquestionably a very serious consideration; and I, for my part, have never been able entirely to divest myself of the fear of it, in the way of a mere observation of nature.-pp. 72–76.

At this moment, M. Falk relates, Goethe was interrupted by the barking of a dog; and having a natural antipathy to the canine race, he sprang hastily to the window, and cried out, " Take what form you will, vile larva, you shall not subjugate me!" Then turning to his companion, after a pause, he said, "This rabble of creation is extremely offensive; it is a perfect pack of monades, with which we are thrown together in this planetary nook; their company will do us little honour with the inhabitants if they happen to hear any thing about them."

We have not hesitated to devote a considerable space to the exposition of Goethe's principles on these, the most important subjects of consideration to mankind; for our object was to hold up

to the contemplation of every serious thinker, an example of a man so highly endowed, a genius sinking blindly into paradoxes, which would be ridiculous if they were not mischievous. So then, according to the imaginative theory of Goethe, all our knowledge of the planet which we inhabit is nothing more than (as Falk expresses it) mere botch-work. But we cannot follow the writer through the whole of the extravagances of Goethe's moral and religious system; we infinitely prefer meeting him in the quiet circle of his friends, when he is amusing himself so very amiably by seeking to afford amusement to others. Falk observes of his friend, that upon certain subjects, and before persons of uncongenial character and sentiments, he was extremely reserved; but if any favourite topic rose in his mind, then was it that all the abundance of his fancy was displayed. His merriment was sometimes purchased at too dear a rate, and his love of fantastic exploits sometimes impelled him to acts which he might have had reason to regret. One evening Goethe, Wieland, and Falk, were assembled at the countryhouse of the Dowager Duchess Amelia, at Tiefurth. It happened, that as the party were seated together listening to Wieland, as he read out the Knights of Aristophanes, which he had translated for the Athenæum, the reigning duke, who had just returned from the chase, entered the apartment. As the evening was chill, a fire had been lighted; but the duke, who had just come out of the air, found the room too warm, and raised one of the windows to admit fresh air. Goethe, seeing that some of the ladies, who were thinly clad, suffered from the draft, left his chair, walked on tip-toe lest he should disturb Wieland, and let down the window. The duke, on seeing the window closed, became angry, and asked who had dared to resist his commands. Goethe presented himself with reverential gravity before the duke, and said, "Your highness has the power of life and death over all your subjects. Upon me let judgment and sentence be pronounced."

One afternoon in August, Falk paid a visit to Goethe, whom he found sitting in a white waistcoat on a little grass plot, under the shade of some trees. The day was Friday, and the next evening was appointed for a performance at the theatre. A principal actor had just sent in his resignation in the piece, a circumstance which threw Goethe, then we believe a superintendant of the drama, into a mortal passion; for it was the obligation of every director of a theatre to provide that there should be a regular performance, and a piece of the highest merit, for every night. "There," exclaimed Goethe, as soon as he saw Falk, "there sits the monster in long sleeves, and laughs at me for being such a fool as to be out of humour with the world-as if I did not know how things are ordered in it, and that every thing in it and upon it is covered with dirt.""Such avanies," resumed Goethe, still somewhat angrily, (while he poured out a glass of red wine, and motioned me to sit by him on the bench,) "must I now endure with patience from people who,

« ElőzőTovább »