"Coleridge's translation of Wallenstein is perhaps the best model translation in the English language. It is, in many places, better than the original. The metre is better."*

That such is still the opinion entertained by students of German literature, competent to adjudicate, or at least, to vote upon the question,-for besides an acquaintance with the original language, some sense of rhythm, some feeling for poetic expression, is requisite, may be gathered from the current literature of the day. Thus the anonymous author of the "Eclipse of Faith," evidently an accomplished scholar, refers to the opening scene of the fifth act of the "Death of Wallenstein" in Coleridge's translation, as preferable "even to the magnificent original."+

As above intimated, this version, though on the whole not merely faithful, but literal to an extraordinary degree, considering the idiomatic flow of the language and the harmony of the versification, varies in some remarkable particulars from the original. The "Camp of Wallenstein" is not translated, for reasons given in the Author's preface. This is doubtless to be regretted. The two latter plays are differently divided; the first two acts of the "Death of Wallenstein" being subjoined to the "Piccolomini," without any intimation of the change on the part of the translator, who shows himself elsewhere scrupulous in noticing the alterations for which he is himself accountable. About 250 lines are omitted, and there are some additions and substitutions. The precise extent to which these variations are imputable to the translator cannot now be determined. It is admitted that in some cases they are intentional; but it is no less certain that the translation was not made from the printed text, as it now stands. This fact (which has recently been questioned) does not rest on the current tradition merely, nor even upon internal evidence, though it would be difficult to account for some of the omissions, or for many of the substitutions, on any other supposition. In the sixth scene of the fourth act of the "Piccolomini " (the first of the "Death of Wallenstein," in the present German), are several passages quoted with infinite scorn by a reviewer, some two years ago, in the “Westminster Review," as "introduced by Coleridge." Had this indignant censor looked into the first edition, he would have seen a fragment of the original German quoted in a footnote! "Not harmonise with Schiller's genius?" "Not of German make?" It is impossible for critics to be too cautious when there is any likelihood that their decisions may be tested by matter of fact. But in truth, if internal evidence may in anything be trusted, it might have been pronounced with an approach to moral certainty, that these lines could not have been added by any translator whatever;

*Copied from a MS. journal by Capt. Robertson.

"After a pause, an expression of deepest sadness crept over the features, and he murmured, with a slight alteration, two lines from Coleridge's translation of that glorious scene in which Wallenstein looks forth into the windy night in search of his 'star,' and thinks of that brighter light of his life which had been just extinguished. Harrington used to say that he preferred the translation of that scene even to the magnificent original itself."-The Eclipse of Faith, p. 448.

and the same may be said of the other "gratuitous additions' marked for reprobation by the same writer.*

That there are in this translation a certain number of errorsslips of the pen of the most obvious kind-is unquestionable. The wonder is, that in so hasty a performance, the number is so small. And although, as regards the total effect of the work, they are of next to no importance to the English reader, it is well that they should be pointed out. A list of them, taken from the above article, is given at the end of this volume; and the Editor can truly say that he would have been well pleased if he could have made his acknowledgment for the service thus rendered without reserve or qualification.

It is only necessary to add that the plays have been reprinted from the first editions, with the original stage-directions and notes, the omission of which in later editions has led to some misapprehension, and can in no respect be regarded as an improvement. DERWENT COLERIDGE.

ST. MARK'S COLLEGE, CHELSEA,

July, 1852.

* Of the critic's own taste and judgment, the following may be taken as a

specimen :

"Again,

The ramparts all around with multitudes,

With peaceful multitudes are thronged, that fill
The air with their rejoicings."

(Such is his translation of the lines

Literally

66

Von Menschen sind die Wälle rings erfüllt
Von Friedlichen die in die Lüfte grüszen.

With people are the ramparts round quite filled,
With peaceful ones, who greet into the breezes.)

The following is Coleridge's construction of this passage-
The ramparts are all filled with men and women-
With peaceful men and women, that send onwards
Kisses and welcomings upon the air,

Which they make breezy with affectionate gestures.

"Making the air 'breezy with affectionate gestures' is what we are quite at a loss to understand. Perhaps it means 'raising the wind.""

De gustibus non est disputandum. The Editor had marked this passage as strikingly beautiful in itself, whatever might be its merits as a translation. But which of the two renderings, neither being literal, is the most faithful? Is 'it better to evade the meaning, or to expand it?

MARQUIS VALDEZ, father to the two brothers, and Doña
Teresa's guardian.

DON ALVAR, the eldest son.

DON ORDONIO, the youngest son.

MONVIEDRO, a Dominican and Inquisitor.

ZULIMEZ, the faithful attendant on Alvar.

ISIDORE, a Moresco chieftain, ostensibly a Christian.

Familiars of the Inquisition.

NAOMI.

Moors, Servants, &c.

DONA TERESA, an orphan heiress.

ALHADRA, wife of Isidore.

TIME-The Reign of Philip II., just at the close of the civil wars against the Moors, and during the heat of the persecution which raged against them, shortly after the edict which forbade the wearing of Moreścó apparel under pain of death.

ACT I.

SCENE I.-The Sea-shore on the Coast of Granada.-DON ALVAR, wrapt in a boat cloak, and ZULIMEZ (a Moresco), both as just landed.

Zul. No sound, no face of joy to welcome us!
Alv. My faithful Zulimez, for one brief moment
Let me forget my anguish and their crimes.
If aught on earth demand an unmixed feeling,
'Tis surely this-after long years of exile,
To step forth on firm land, and gazing round us,
To hail at once our country, and our birth-place.
Hail, Spain! Granada, hail! once more I press
Thy sands with filial awe, land of my fathers!
Zul. Then claim your rights in it! O, revered
Don Alvar,

Yet, yet give up your all too gentle purpose.

It is too hazardous ! reveal yourself,

And let the guilty meet the doom of guilt!

Alv. Remember, Zulimez! I am his brother, Injured indeed! O deeply injured! yet

Ordonio's brother.

Zul.

Nobly minded Alvar!

This sure but gives his guilt a blacker dye.

Alv. The more behoves it, I should rouse within him Remorse that I should save him from himself.

Zul. Remorse is as the heart in which it grows :

If that be gentle, it drops balmy dews

Of true repentance; but if proud and gloomy,
It is a poison-tree, that pierced to the inmost
Weeps only tears of poison.

Alv.

And of a brother,

Dare I hold this, unproved? nor make one effort

To save him?-Hear me, friend! I have yet to tell thee, That this same life, which he conspired to take,

Himself once rescued from the angry flood,

And at the imminent hazard of his own.

Add too my oath

Zul.

You have thrice told already

The years of absence and of secrecy,

To which a forced oath bound you: if in truth
A suborned murderer have the power to dictate
A binding oath—

Alv.

My long captivity

Left me no choice: the very wish too languished
With the fond hope that nursed it; the sick babe
Drooped at the bosom of its famished mother.
But (more than all) Teresa's perfidy;

The assassin's strong assurance, when no interest,
No motive could have tempted him to falsehood:
In the first pangs of his awakened conscience,
When with abhorrence of his own black purpose
The murderous weapon, pointed at my breast,
Fell from his palsied hand-

Zul.

Heavy presumption !

Alv. It weighed not with me-Hark! I will tell thee

all;

As we passed by, I bade thee mark the base

Of yonder cliff

Zul.

That rocky seat you mean, Shaped by the billows?—

There Teresa met me

Alv.
The morning of the day of my departure.
We were alone: the purple hue of dawn
Fell from the kindling east aslant upon us,
And blending with the blushes on her cheek,
Suffused the tear-drops there with rosy light.
There seemed a glory round us, and Teresa
The angel of the vision!

[Then with agitation.

Had'st thou seen

How in each motion her most innocent soul

Beamed forth and brightened, thou thyself would'st

tell me,

Guilt is a thing impossible in her !

She must be innocent!

Zul. [with a sigh.] Proceed, my lord!

Alv. A portrait which she had procured by stealth, (For even then it seems her heart foreboded

Or knew Ordonio's moody rivalry)

A portrait of herself with thrilling hand
She tied around my neck, conjuring me,
With earnest prayers, that I would keep it sacred
To my own knowledge: nor did she desist,
Till she had won a solemn promise from me,
That (save my own) no eye should e'er behold it
Till my return. Yet this the assassin knew,

Knew that which none but she could have disclosed.
Zul. A damning proof!

Alv.

My own life wearied me! And but for the imperative voice within,

With mine own hand I had thrown off the burthen.

That voice, which quelled me, calmed me and I sought The Belgic states; there joined the better cause;

And there too fought as one that courted death!

Wounded, I fell among the dead and dying,

In death-like trance: a long imprisonment followed.
The fulness of my anguish by degrees

Waned to a meditative melancholy;

And still the more I mused, my soul became
More doubtful, more perplexed; and still Teresa,
Night after night, she visited my sleep;
Now as a saintly sufferer, wan and tearful,
Now as a saint in glory beckoning to me!
Yes, still as in contempt of proof and reason,
I cherish the fond faith that she is guiltless!
Hear then my fixed resolve: I'll linger here
In the disguise of a Moresco chieftain.-
The Moorish robes?—

Zul.

All, all are in the sea-cave,

Some furlong hence. I bade our mariners

Secrete the boat there.

Alv.

Of the assassination

Zul.

Above all, the picture

Be assured

Thus disguised

That it remains uninjured.

Alv.

I will first seek to meet Ordonio's-wife!

If possible, alone too. This was her wonted walk,
And this the hour; her words, her very looks
Will acquit her or convict.

Zul.

Will they not know you?

Q