The same day I dined at Mr. Klopstock's, where I had the pleasure of a third interview with the poet. We talked principally about indifferent things. I asked him what he thought of Kant. He said that his reputation was much 5 on the decline in Germany. That for his own part he was not surprised to find it so, as the works of Kant were to him utterly incomprehensible-that he had often been pestered by the Kanteans, but was rarely in the practice of arguing with them. His custom was to produce the 10 book, open it and point to a passage, and beg they would explain it. This they ordinarily attempted to do by substituting their own ideas. I do not want, I say, an explanation of your own ideas, but of the passage which is before us. In this way I generally bring the dispute to an imme15 diate conclusion. He spoke of Wolf as the first Metaphysician they had in Germany. Wolf had followers; but they could hardly be called a sect, and luckily till the appearance of Kant, about fifteen years ago, Germany had not been pestered by any sect of philosophers whatsoever; 20 but that each man had separately pursued his enquiries uncontrolled by the dogmas of a Master. Kant had appeared ambitious to be the founder of a sect; that he had succeeded but that the Germans were now coming to their senses again. That Nicolai and Engel had in different ways 25 contributed to disenchant the nation; but above all the incomprehensibility of the philosopher and his philosophy. He seemed pleased to hear, that as yet Kant's doctrines had not met with many admirers in England-did not doubt but that we had too much wisdom to be duped by a writer 30 who set at defiance the common sense and common understandings of men. We talked of tragedy. He seemed to rate highly the power of exciting tears-I said that nothing was more easy than to deluge an audience, that it was done every day by the meanest writers."

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I must remind you, my friend, first, that these notes

are not intended as specimens of Klopstock's intellectual power, or even " colloquial prowess," to judge of which by an accidental conversation, and this with strangers, and those too foreigners, would be not only unreasonable, but calumnious. Secondly, I attribute little other interest to 5 the remarks than what is derived from the celebrity of the person who made them. Lastly, if you ask me, whether I have read the Messiah, and what I think of it? I answer -as yet the first four books only and as to my opinion (the reasons of which hereafter) you may guess it from what 10 I could not help muttering to myself, when the good pastor this morning told me, that Klopstock was the German Milton" a very German Milton indeed!!!"-Heaven preserve you, and S. T. COLERIDGE.

CHAPTER XXIII

"Quid quod præfatione præmunierim libellum, quâ conor omnem offendiculi ansam præcidere? Neque quicquam addubito, quin ea candidis omnibus faciat satis. Quid autem facias istis, qui vel ob ingenii pertinaciam sibi satisfieri nolint, vel stupidiores sint, quam ut satisfactionem intelligant? Nam quemadmodum Simonides dixit, Thessalos hebetiores esse, quam ut possint a se decipi, ita quosdam videas stupidiores, quam ut placari queant. Adhæc, non mirum est, invenire quod calumnietur, qui nihil aliud quærit, nisi quod calumnietur."

Erasmus ad Dorpium Theologum. IN the rifacciamento of THE FRIEND, I have inserted extracts 15 from the Conciones ad Populum, printed, though scarcely published, in the year 1795, in the very heat and height of my anti-ministerial enthusiasm: these in proof that my principles of politics have sustained no change.-In the present chapter, I have annexed to my Letters from Ger- 20 many, with particular reference to that, which contains a disquisition on the modern drama, a critique on the Tragedy

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of Bertram, written within the last twelve months: in proof, that I have been as falsely charged with any fickleness in my principles of taste.-The letter was written to a friend: and the apparent abruptness with which it begins, is owing to the omission of the introductory sentences.

You remember, my dear Sir, that Mr. Whitbread, shortly before his death, proposed to the assembled subscribers of Drury-Lane Theatre, that the concern should be farmed to some responsible individual under certain conditions and 10 limitations: and that his proposal was rejected, not without indignation, as subversive of the main object, for the attainment of which the enlightened and patriotic assemblage of philo-dramatists had been induced to risk their subscriptions. Now this object was avowed to be no less than the redemp15 tion of the British stage not only from horses, dogs, elephants, and the like zoological rarities, but also from the more pernicious barbarisms and Kotzebuisms in morals and taste. Drury Lane was to be restored to its former classical renown; Shakespeare, Jonson, and Otway, with the expurgated muses ao of Vanbrugh, Congreve, and Wycherley, were to be reinaugurated in their rightful dominion over British audiences; and the Herculean process was to commence, by extermina. ting the speaking monsters imported from the banks of the Danube, compared with which their mute relations, the 25 emigrants from Exeter 'Change, and Polito's (late Pidcock's) show-carts, were tame and inoffensive. Could an heroic project, at once so refined and so arduous, be consistently entrusted to, could its success be rationally expected from, a mercenary manager, at whose critical quarantine the lucri 30 bonus odor would conciliate a bill of health to the plague in person? No! As the work proposed, such must be the work-masters. Rank, fortune, liberal education, and (their natural accompaniments, or consequences) critical discernment, delicate tact, disinterestedness, unsuspected morals, 35 notorious patriotism, and tried Mæcenasship, these were the

recommendations that influenced the votes of the proprietary subscribers of Drury Lane Theatre, these the motives that occasioned the election of its Supreme Committee of Management. This circumstance alone would have excited a strong interest in the public mind, respecting the first 5 production of the Tragic Muse which had been announced under such auspices, and had passed the ordeal of such judgements; and the Tragedy, on which you have requested my judgement, was the work on which the great expectations, justified by so many causes, were doomed at length to settle. Io But before I enter on the examination of Bertram, or the Castle of St. Aldobrand, I shall interpose a few words, on the phrase German Drama, which I hold to be altogether a misnomer. At the time of Lessing, the German stage, such as it was, appears to have been a flat and servile copy 15 of the French. It was Lessing who first introduced the name and the works of Shakespeare to the admiration of the Germans; and I should not perhaps go too far, if I add, that it was Lessing who first proved to all thinking men, even to Shakespeare's own countrymen, the true nature of 20 his apparent irregularities. These, he demonstrated, were deviations only from the accidents of the Greek tragedy; and from such accidents as hung a heavy weight on the wings of the Greek poets, and narrowed their flight within the limits of what we may call the Heroic Opera. He proved 25 that in all the essentials of art, no less than in the truth of nature, the plays of Shakespeare were incomparably more coincident with the principles of Aristotle, than the productions of Corneille and Racine, notwithstanding the boasted regularity of the latter. Under these convictions 30 were Lessing's own dramatic works composed. Their deficiency is in depth and imagination; their excellence is in the construction of the plot; the good sense of the sentiments; the sobriety of the morals; and the high polish of the diction and dialogue. In short, his dramas are the very 35

antipodes of all those which it has been the fashion of late years at once to abuse and enjoy, under the name of the German Drama. Of this latter, Schiller's Robbers was the earliest specimen; the first fruits of his youth (I had 5 almost said of his boyhood) and, as such, the pledge and promise of no ordinary genius. Only as such did the mature judgement of the author tolerate the Play. During his whole life he expressed himself concerning this production with more than needful asperity, as a monster not less 10 offensive to good taste, than to sound morals; and, in his latter years, his indignation at the unwonted popularity of the Robbers seduced him into the contrary extremes, viz. a studied feebleness of interest, (as far as the interest was to be derived from incidents and the excitement of curiosity); 15 a diction elaborately metrical; the affectation of rhymes; and the pedantry of the chorus.

But to understand the true character of the ROBBERS, and of the countless imitations which were its spawn, I must inform you, or at least call to your recollection, that, about 20 that time, and for some years before it, three of the most popular books in the German language were the translations of Young's Night Thoughts, Hervey's Meditations, and Richardson's Clarissa Harlow. Now we have only to combine the bloated style and peculiar rhythm of Hervey, 25 which is poetic only on account of its utter unfitness for prose, and might as appropriately be called prosaic, from its utter unfitness for poetry; we have only, I repeat, to combine these Herveyisms with the strained thoughts, the figurative metaphysics, and solemn epigrams of Young on the 30 one hand; and with the loaded sensibility, the minute detail, the morbid consciousness of every thought and feeling in the whole flux and reflux of the mind, in short the self-involution and dreamlike continuity of Richardson on the other hand; and then to add the horrific incidents, and mysterious 35 villains (geniuses of supernatural intellect, if you will take