Frederick Burwick and James C. McKusick (eds), Faustus: From the German of Goethe: Translated by Samuel Taylor Coleridge

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pg xvINTRODUCTION Coleridge's Translation of Faust

On 4 September 1820, Johann Wolfgang von Goethe wrote to his son August that Samuel Taylor Coleridge was translating Faust.1 What happened to the translation? The question has long baffled scholars of Goethe and Coleridge. The answer, as it turns out, is much the same as the solution to the mystery in Edgar Allan Poe's tale of the 'Purloined Letter'. It was there in plain sight all along. The search ought to have commenced with a look at the translations that were forthcoming at the very time of Goethe's letter. The translations, to be sure, were catalogued by William Hauhart in 1909, but he had no suspicion that a translation by Coleridge might be among them.2 When Rosemary Ashton in 1977 addressed the possibility of a missing translation, she concluded that it was among the many Coleridgean projects that 'failed to come to fruition'.3 In documenting Coleridge's undertaking with Thomas Boosey, she cited only Boosey's edition of 1820, unaware that Boosey published another edition one year later.4

Germaine de Staël included several passages from Faust in her De l'Allemagne, originally published in Paris in 1810. In 1813 the publisher John Murray issued the English translation of de Staël's Germany, with the passages from Faust now in English that she had earlier translated into French. These excerpts included Faust's soliloquies on the Earth Spirit and on life and his love for Margaret, Margaret's torment in the Cathedral, Faust fascinated by the wraith on Walpurgis Night, and confronting Margaret in pg xviher prison cell.5 So popular was de Staël's sampling from Faust that, by midsummer of 1814, Murray sought someone who could translate the whole play. Coleridge's reputation as a poet of the demonic and his accomplishment in translating Wallenstein (1800)6 made him the natural choice.

Coleridge's first letter revealing his negotiations with Murray is dated 23 August 1814. After thanking Murray for his 'flattering Faith' in his abilities, he praised among recent works in German literature Goethe's Faust and Johann Heinrich Voss's Luisa7 as 'the two, if not the only ones, that are emphatically original in their conception, & characteristic of a new & peculiar sort of Thinking and Imagining'. 'I should not be averse', he assured Murray, 'from exerting my best efforts in an attempt to import whatever is importable … into our own Language.' Admitting that his financial distress compelled him 'to bring even my Intellect to the Market', he made it clear to Murray that a 'pecuniary advantage' was necessary. 'I should like to attempt the Translation' and, if the terms were acceptable, would 'do it immediately'. He would provide as well a 'preliminary critical Essay'.8 Murray, in his reply dated 29 August, assured Coleridge that he alone 'could do justice' to 'the translation of Goethe's extraordinary drama'. He then answered Coleridge's concern for a 'pecuniary advantage':

I am no less anxious that you should receive, as far as I think the thing can admit, a fair remuneration; and trusting that you will not undertake it unless you feel disposed to execute the labor perfectly con amore, and in a style of versification equal to 'Remorse,' I venture to propose to you the sum of One Hundred Pounds for the Translation and the preliminary Analysis, with such passages translated as you may judge proper of the works of Goethe, with a copy of which I will have the pleasure of supplying you as soon as I have your final determination.9

Coleridge's 'final determination' was sent two days later, 31 August 1814. He told Murray that 'the Terms proposed are humiliatingly low: yet such as pg xviiunder modifications I accede to'. Coleridge listed three 'modifications': (1) that the £100 should be paid to 'Mrs Coleridge, or Mr Robert Southey, at a Bill of five weeks' upon the 'delivery of the last Mss Sheet'; (2) that 'after two years from the first publication' the translation might be reprinted in any collection of his works; (3) that he retain the rights to adapt it for the stage. Although he agreed to Murray's request that Faust should be rendered 'in a style of versification equal to "Remorse"', Coleridge stressed that 'a large proportion of the work cannot be rendered in blank verse, but must be in wild lyrical meters'. Repeating his complaint that 'the Translation of so very difficult a work, as the Faustus, will be most inadequately remunerated by the Terms you propose', Coleridge added that those terms 'very probably are the highest, it may be worth your while to offer to me'. He also reminded Murray that Faust was only a fragment which Goethe might never complete, and that even de Staël had been critical in introducing her excerpts. Coleridge nevertheless confirmed their agreement, pledging that 'I will commence the Task as soon as I receive Goethe's Works from you.' Moreover, he would commence 'instantly, so as to let you have the last Sheet before the middle of November'.10

Coleridge went to work with good will, leaving London for the countryside where he could work undisturbed in order to complete the translation, as he had told Murray, within the next two and a half months. Murray's reply to Coleridge's second letter is missing, but Coleridge's third letter gives considerable evidence of its content. He clearly perceived Coleridge's comments as a deprecation of the value of the work, for Coleridge began his reply by saying that he had not intended to offend and that he believed Faust to be a work 'of genuine and original Genius'. He is nevertheless convinced that English readers will be less enthusiastic:

The Scenes in the Cathedral and the Prison must delight and affect all Readers not pre-determined to dislike. But the Scenes of Witchery and that astonishing Witch- Gallop up the Brocken will be denounced as fantastic and absurd. Fantastic they are, and were meant to be; but I need not tell you, how many will detect the supposed fault for one, who can enter into the philosophy of that imaginative Superstition, which justifies it.

Murray had also queried Coleridge on his planned Essay. Murray expected a critique of Faust; Coleridge planned a history, 'the 4 Stages of German Poetry, from Hans Sachs to Tie[c]k and Schlegel'. Finally, Murray had not expected Coleridge's complaint that £100 was too small a sum. Because Coleridge had already accepted that sum, he merely clarified the pg xviiiground of his complaint: 'In reference to the Labor and to the quantity of thoughtful Reading I deemed the price inadequate; not as less than you were justified in offering.' He then reassured Murray that he was fully committed to the project: 'I have left Bristol for a Cottage 5 miles from Bath, in order to be perfectly out of the Reach of Interruption.'11

His letters of ensuing weeks reflect the best intentions. How many pages he translated daily, he did not record, but he did report in September that he was adhering to a work schedule of six hours daily, from 9 a.m. to 1.00 p.m., then after reading and correcting what he had written, working again from 6.00 to 8.00 p.m.12 His commitment flagged, and by 16 October, as he informed Daniel Stuart, he had given up the entire project, leaving himself bereft of Murray's promised, and much needed, commission of £100: 'Murray, the Bookseller, has treated me in a strange way—about a translation of Goethe's Faust—but it is not worth mentioning except that I employed some weeks unprofitably—when it was of more than usual necessity that I [shou]ld have done otherwise.'13 Because Murray's part in the correspondence is missing, it is impossible to determine what that 'strange way' might have been. Murray had provided him with the requested edition,14 but perhaps had disagreed with Coleridge's opinion that the text needed judicious editing. A few months later Coleridge told Byron that he himself had convinced Murray to give up the project because the 'Witcheries' were too fantastic and 'the moral and religious opinions' too obnoxious.15 Faced with a similar problem when translating Wallenstein earlier, he had simply omitted the objectionable 'Prelude', explaining in the preface, 'It would have been unadvisable from the incongruity of those lax verses with the present taste of the English Public.'16

pg xixThe effort that he had already invested in translating Faust may well have been an influencing factor when, less than six years later, he was again negotiating a translation. The demand this time, however, was for Goethe's text to accompany the drawings that Moritz Retzsch had made of twenty-six scenes from the play. Those drawings had been published in Germany by Cotta in 1816, along with a ten-page analysis that included quotations from the depicted scenes. When Cotta brought out a second edition in 1820,17 Johann Heinrich Bohte, German bookseller in London, issued an English edition with excerpted captions to the plates translated by the playwright George Soane. The preface to Bohte's edition states: 'The Translator neither seeks nor desires credit; his task has been a simple one: that of selecting from the Tragedy the passages most appropriate to the Plates, and adding to them so much, of the story as would render the whole intelligible.'18

By June 1820, rival publishers, Thomas Boosey and Sons, issued their own version of Retzsch's drawings as engraved by Henry Moses, with analysis and translation of the text by 'a German in humble circumstances … possessing a very considerable knowledge of the English language'.19 Both the Bohte and the Boosey editions sold out quickly, but Thomas Boosey had initiated plans for a second edition of his version two months before the first edition appeared. He thus turned to Coleridge for 'friendly advice'.20 The second edition, published by Boosey and Sons in September 1821, followed Coleridge's plan far enough to constitute a new book rather than another edition. It was anonymous, as the first had been, but now gave emphasis to the text rather than to Moses' plates. The title of the first had been Retzsch's pg xxSeries of Twenty-Six Outlines Illustrative of Goethe's Tragedy of Faust. The new title read Faustus: From the German of Goethe.21 The new text was twenty-nine pages longer (89 vs. 60), and could be bound with the plates or separately as an independent publication. Coleridge translated almost half of the original work, with his dramatic blank verse embedded in a prose plot summary of the remaining half. The prose, to be sure, occasionally compressed well over a hundred lines into one sentence (e.g., 'The student enters, and discourses, as he supposes, with his master, on the prosecution of his studies' summarizes 180 lines of verse). 'Faust's Study' and 'Before the Town Gates' are given in great detail; Faust and Mephistopheles in Faust's chamber are given in detail also, with lengthy excerpts from their sallies to Auerbach's Cellar and the Witch's Kitchen; the seduction of Margaret is given in detail, although Faust's comment on religion is omitted; Valentine's murder is given in verse, most of the Walpurgis Night scene in prose, and the prison scene in verse.

The verse passages interspersed in the prose paraphrases are not, as Coleridge had proposed, in 'the manner & metre of the original' except for occasional hymns and songs and one remarkable passage in tetrameter couplets describing the onset of Walpurgis Night revels (lines 3940–55).22 The rest, including those translating the scenes represented in the plates, are in dramatic blank verse. In his correspondence with Murray in 1814, and again in his proposal to Boosey and Sons in 1820, Coleridge had stressed a translation 'as for the stage'. His rendering of Faust in dramatic blank verse sets Coleridge's work apart from all earlier translations.

And there is more evidence. In an essay on Faust in Blackwood's for June 1820, a 27-year-old Dublin barrister, John Anster, had translated some 1,600 lines,23 closely imitating Goethe's varied verse forms, mixing them with just such a prose 'analysis' as Coleridge had proposed. Coleridge was also writing for Blackwood's at this time,24 and their mutual interest in Faust brought them together during the ensuing year. They met several times during the pg xximonths when Coleridge was preparing his Faust translation for Boosey. Although Coleridge followed Anster's version through the first three scenes, he then began to incorporate more from Goethe's original. In the opening scene, 'Night', he used exactly the same selection of passages as Anster. For the next scene, 'Before the Town-Gate', he inserted only two additional lines. For the scene in Faust's Study, Coleridge added sixty-five lines not in Anster. Coleridge then strikes out on his own, introducing lengthy passages from the scenes in Auerbach's Cellar and the Witch's Kitchen, as well as the entire courtship of Margaret. It is not until the final Prison scene that one may again notice similarities to Anster in Coleridge's text. With the excuse that 'many of these scenes have been rendered familiar by Madame de Stael', Anster had merely summarized. Because Coleridge translated passages to accompany each of the scenes illustrated by Retzsch's plates, he adhered to a more rigorous plan than Anster had found necessary. Furthermore, Coleridge was concerned with maintaining a dramatic blank verse very different from the verse written by Anster, and even more different from the rhymed verse written by George Soane.

In his letter of 4 September 1820 to his son, Goethe cited a report from England that 'in Consequence of the extensive Sale of the Outlines in this Country, great Curiosity has been excited respecting the tragedy'. The 'Outlines' refer, of course, to the reproduction of Retzsch's illustrations which had been published in England in January 1820 by Bohte and June 1820 by Boosey. In spite of the competition, both editions were promptly sold out. Bohte, who regularly corresponded with Goethe,25 would have told him of the public demand for the work and informed him, too, that Boosey had commissioned Coleridge to assist with an expanded second edition. Because Bohte wrote his letters in German, Goethe is here clearly citing another of his London informants. He has learned not only that 'Colleridge übersetzt das Stück', but also that Coleridge intended his translation for the stage. To adapt Faust for the British stage, and for a British audience, Goethe recognized that changes would be inevitable. 'The present witch trial', he said in a wry reference to the scandalous divorce trial of Queen Caroline, 'can be disposed of only on the Blocksberg.'26 Although he may well have originally pg xxiiconsidered such a scene,27 there is, of course, no witch trial in Faust. Goethe was, however, fully aware of the widespread contention in England that his play was blasphemous and obscene, and would therefore have perceived an irony in the public accusations of the queen's immorality and adultery.28 In this context, the 'Walpurgis Night', the scene with the witches' orgy atop the Blocksberg, would provide the apt distraction.

As editor of the London Magazine, John Scott reserved for himself an introductory feature entitled 'The Lion's Head', which he used to 'puff' the contents of the present issue or to anticipate a forthcoming piece. In 'The Lion's Head' for the issue of July 1820, he announced that 'a very masterly paper on Göthe, and his Faustus, … will appear in our next number'. Scott also recalled 'in the second number of our Magazine' (February 1820) the review of Extracts from Göthe's Tragedy of Faustus (1820). He praised Bohte for securing for this edition the original quarto prints from Germany. Of the octavo plates engraved by Henry Moses for Boosey's rival edition, Retsch's Series of Twenty-Six Outlines, Illustrative of Goethe's Tragedy of Faust (1820), Scott said that the 'English artist … seems to have executed his task very creditably to himself. But the originals have a spirit which has not been transfused into the copies.' For this reason, Scott was 'glad to hear that a fresh supply from the Continent has been received'.29 This news indicated, too, that Bohte would be preparing a second edition. It was time that the literary work itself, not just the illustrations, be made available to English readers. Coleridge was proposed as best suited to the task of translating Faust: 'If Mr. Coleridge could spare the time from those labours of a more important nature in which he is so visibly and profitably engaged, we should like much to see an attempt made by the author of Christabel'.30 George pg xxiiiCroly's essay on Goethe appeared, as promised, in the August issue of London Magazine.31

In the European Magazine (October 1821), the reviewer of the Boosey edition found the translation, in spite of its 'fidelity', less powerful than it might have been. He complained, with good reason, that Margaret's Song 'Meine Ruh' ist hin', was awkwardly translated as 'My peace of mind's ruined' (3374–413). He granted that the translator 'is evidently a great proficient, … who seems to feel his subject every where else', and called attention to one passage where the translator 'shews us that it was in his power to do considerably better'. He cited the passage where Coleridge turned from blank verse to tetrameter couplets in describing the ascent of the Brocken:

  • O'er the night a cloud condenses,
  • Through the woods a rush commences,
  • Up the owls affrighted start;
  • Listen! how the pillars part,
  • The ever-verdant roofs from under,
  • Boughs rustle, snap, and break asunder!
  • The trunks incline in fearful forms,
  • Roots creak and stretch, as torn by storms;—
  • In startling, and entangled fall,
  • Upon each other rush they all,
  • And through rent clefts and shattered trees,
  • Now sighs and howls the rushing breeze.
  • Hear'st thou voices in the air,
  • Now far distant, and now near?
  • Yes, the mountain's ridge along
  • Sweeps a raging, magic song!              (3940–55)

The reviewer was ecstatic:

There is a wild rush in the above lines, which at once make them the very life they describe; they come upon the ear like the night blast over a bleak hill. Oh why are not all the other poems so translated, and so versified! Throughout the volume there is not the least hint at the translator, yet it is surely a work of which no man ought to be ashamed. Rumor says the author of Christabelle tried at it and resigned it.

The reviewer then revealed that 'the same worthy authority' also informed him that George Soane was to be Coleridge's 'successor in the undertaking'. 32 The reviewer's 'worthy' informant had his facts backwards: Soane had pg xxivindeed been commissioned by Bohte to continue with a translation that would present Goethe's dramatic poem in its entirety. But it was Soane who had resigned the task, and, without realizing it, the reviewer had in hand the work as completed by Coleridge.

Forty-four years later, William Barnard Clarke, in the preface to his translation of Faust (1865), alluded to an earlier translation 'said to be by Coleridge'.33 As more years passed, the rumour and covert assumption that Coleridge was the translator gradually subsided. Not Goethe's assertion that Coleridge was translating Faust, nor even Coleridge's own letters to Murray and to Boosey on his translation, were enough to offset the fact that the work had appeared anonymously.

Coleridge, of course, had specifically requested not to be named as translator. 34 He gave several reasons for wanting anonymity. For one thing, he was worried about the play's immorality. This was a reason that he expressed to Byron when he gave up his first effort at translation in 1814. After Coleridge assumed a more prominent role in religious issues with the publication of The Statesman's Manual (1816) and Lay Sermons (1817), risking an apparent alliance with Goethe's unorthodox religious and moral opinions would have become a greater liability. Even if he managed to excise what might be perceived as morally objectionable, he could not manage a complete translation, and he did not want to undermine his reputation with a translation that remained a fragmentary pastiche. Perhaps, too, he was worried that his own efforts would bear traces of adaptation from Anster. Not the least of his reasons for maintaining anonymity was his former commitment to Murray which had remained unfulfilled.

Coleridge's translation was obscured not only by the anonymity which he requested, but also by the mistaken attribution, towards the end of the nineteenth century, of George Soane as translator of Boosey's second edition. Soane had translated passages into English to accompany the plates in Bohte's 1820 edition of Retzsch's illustrations. None of the brief passages which Soane translated for Bohte's edition of 1820 reappear in Boosey's edition of 1821, nor is there any similarity in style. But Bohte had not yet surrendered his rivalry with Boosey. Continuing with Soane as his translator, he made preparations for an edition with parallel texts in German and English. This edition was never completed. Apparently frustrated with his effort at pg xxvtranslation, Soane turned instead to his own reworking of the tale. Soane's Faustus: A Romantic Drama (first performed at Drury Lane, 16 May 1825) borrows very little from Goethe. The author of the prefatory remarks, 'D. ____G.', condemns Goethe's Faust for its 'supernatural horrors, exaggerated sentiment, and extravagant mysticism', and praises Soane for having 'treated his subject skillfully, and adapted the incidents to the humour of the times'.35

In December 1821, the page proofs of Soane's partial translation were sent to the London Magazine; in June 1822, Goethe also acknowledged having received the unbound set of printed pages:

In England hat ein Herr Soane meinen Faust bewundernswürdig verstanden und dessen Eigenthümlichkeiten mit den Eigenthümlichkeiten seiner Sprache und den Forderungen seiner Nation in Harmonie zu bringen gewußt; ich besitze die ersten Bogen mit nebengedrucktem Original.36

No further instalment followed 'die ersten Bogen'. All that was completed, then, was thirty-two pages on four sheets printed in quarto format. These pages appeared 'mit nebengedrucktem Original', that is with the 546 lines in English alongside the corresponding 576 lines of German text.37 On his visit to the Leipzig Book Fair in spring 1822, Bohte intended to deliver to Goethe personally the advance sheets of Soane's translation. Finding Goethe absent from Weimar, Bohte wrote him a brief note describing the project.38 A year later Soane's translation of the 'Zueignung' (Dedication) was published anonymously in Goethe's Kunst und Alterthum (April 1823).39 Goethe gave no further recognition of Soane's translation. Three years later, commenting on the foreign reception of his works, Goethe again mentioned Coleridge's efforts in his Tagebuch (8 May 1826): 'Einiges dictirt über mein Verhältnis zu fremden Litteratoren und Litteraturen.' Under the head 'England', Goethe listed the following topics:

  • Antheil von Coleridge
  • Verschiedene Versuche Faust zu übersetzen.
  • pg xxviAndere, deren Namen nachzusehen.
  • Kupfer von Retsch zu Faust nachgestochen.40

The only translator specifically named by Goethe is Coleridge, whose endeavour he places in the context of the other translations of Faust and the reproduction of Retzsch's plates.

The set of page proofs with Soane's translation was also sent to the London Magazine and they were reviewed together with the anonymously published translation by Coleridge. The review was a part of the third instalment of 'C. Van Vinkbooms, his Dogma for Dilettanti', a witty, casual, and sometimes scurrilous commentary on importations of European arts and letters. The reviewer began by making the point that Soane was more an adaptor than a translator. Acknowledging the 'many alterations' in his version of Friedrich de La Motte Fouqué's Undine, or, The Spirit of the Waters (staged at Covent Garden 23 April 1821), Soane 'modestly regretted that he had not made many more'. The reviewer then turned to Soane's work on Faust:

Mr. S. is likewise engaged, or ought to be so, in the arduous task of pouring the poetry of Goethe from a German into an English vessel—I have 32 pages of it (the Faust) here in print, wherein he appears to have succeeded so far exceedingly well. No doubt the venerable John Wolfgang's inspection of his MS. has been of material utility, and will give his undertaking consequence in the eyes of the public.—'Allow me to look at those sheets. Ah! this is a very good idea, the inserting of the original on the one side in oblong quarto so as to bind with the original etchings.' So, Soane has turned the sadly pleasing Ottava Rima dedication or address in the Spenserian Stanza. I am afraid he has caught the vulgar notion, that verse in which Tasso sang the woes of Erminia is more adapted to the ludicrous than the pathetic.41

By amending 'engaged' to 'ought to be so', the reviewer hinted that Soane had in fact already lost enthusiasm for the task. The reviewer was aware, too, that Bohte had been in correspondence with Goethe about the dual-language edition to accompany the plates and intended to present him the same offering of thirty-two quarto pages. As well informed as he was about Bohte's plans for a second edition, he had no clue that Coleridge was the translator of Boosey's second edition: 'Boosey has published a very pleasing abstract of this Labyrinthine poem, with copious and sufficiently faithful versions of blank verse.' In spite of the explanation in the preface, the reviewer considered the blank verse a misrepresentation of a work 'written in the most varied metres, principally rhymed, and […] essentially lyrical'. Coleridge, it will be pg xxviirecalled, had informed Murray of precisely this shortcoming: 'a large proportion of the work cannot be rendered in blank verse, but must be in wild lyrical meters.'42 Having already faulted Soane, as well, for altering Goethe's verse forms, 'Vinkbooms' argued that Soane's endeavour 'will better satisfy the inquisitive and thoughtful student in poetry who may be guiltless of German'. But for fidelity to the language, and to the cadences if not the metre, he granted superiority to Boosey's edition:

Our Doctor's aspirations and incantations in the first scene, beginning where he opens the book at the sign of the Microcosmos, 'Ha! Welche wonne fließt in diesem Blick,' &c. down to 'Ich bins, bin Faust, bin deines gleichen!' have more fervour and impetuosity in Soane; but the cadence of the Earth-Spirit's mystic strain, 'In Lebensfluthen, im Thatensturm, &c.' is better felt in Boosey's prettily printed 8vo.

  • Spirit—In the floods of life, in the tempests of action,
  • Up and down I rave;
  • Hither and thither in motion;
  • Birth and the grave,
  • An unbounded ocean—
  • A changing strife—
  • A kindling life—
  • At the rustling loom of Time I have trod,
  • And fashion'd the living vesture of God.43            (501–9)

In quoting from Boosey's edition, 'Vinkbooms' selected one of the few passages that turn from blank verse to imitate Goethe's rhyming. While not many readers would agree that Soane's translation should be preferred for its 'fervour and impetuosity', he picked a passage of verbal coincidences in claiming his preference for Coleridge's rendition 'of the Earth-Spirit's mystic strain' over Soane's:

  • In life's flowing tide,
  • In action's strife,
  • Up and down I glide,
  • Here and there I wave,
  • A birth and a grave,
  • An endless ocean,
  • A weaving motion,
  • A glowing life;
  • So work I at the rustling loom of time
  • And weave the living garment of the God Sublime.            (501–9)

pg xxviiiThe most troubling of the coincidences is that both Soane and Coleridge translate 'am sausenden Webstuhl der Zeit' as 'at the rustling loom of time'; both, that is, ignore sausen as eilen—a tempus fugit metaphor—transforming the rush into a specifically auditory rustle.44 In the very passage for which he granted Soane the advantage, 'Vinkbooms' has mistaken the perplexity about how to grasp the 'breasts' of nature ('Or, ye breasts, where?'—a literal translation) for 'fervour and impetuosity':

  • Into a whole how all parts blend!
  • Each in the other doth work and live;
  • Up and down the heavenly powers wend;
  • And the golden pails to each other give.
  • In flight, that scatters blessing around,
  • From Heaven they pierce through the earth profound,
  • And all through all harmoniously sound.
  • Ha! what a sight!—but only a sight!
  • Where to grasp thee, nature, so infinite?
  • Or, ye breasts, where? Ye, life's endless spring,
  • To which the earth and the heavens cling!
  • To which the withering heart would strain,
  • Ye flow, quench thirst,—and I long in vain!            (447–59)

Coleridge's blank verse gives to Faustus a much keener appreciation of the dynamism within the sign: the stars and planets in constant wheeling action, rising and falling; their 'Schwingen' visualized as 'winnowing … Wings'. Goethe's 'Welch Schauspiel! Aber ach! ein Schauspiel nur!' is utterly flattened in Soane's 'Ha! what a sight!—but only a sight!' Coleridge recreates the sense of enchantment lost in the moment of disenchantment: 'How splendid an illusion! but, alas! | Illusion only!'

  •   How divinely
  • Are all things blended! how each lives and moves
  • But with the rest! how heav'nly powers descend,
  • And re-ascend, balancing reeling worlds;
  • And from the winnowing of their radiant wings,
  • Scatter eternal blessings! how they press
  • pg xxixFrom heav'n to earth, and ever in their course
  • Utter immortal harmony! How bright!
  • How splendid an illusion! but, alas!
  • Illusion only! Oh! how may I gaze
  • Upon thee, boundless nature? where embrace thee?
  • Ye fountains of all life, whose living tides
  • Feed heav'n and earth: the wither'd bosom yearns
  • To taste your freshness! Ye flow sparkling on,
  • And yet I pant in vain.            (447–59)

In the face of the marked differences in the Boosey edition of 1821, the mistaken identification of Soane as the anonymous translator could have occurred only if that attribution had been made without bothering with even a cursory comparison of the two texts.

The English reception was troubled by the notion that Goethe's works were tinged with blasphemy and obscenity. Although the pseudonymous 'C. Van Vinkbooms' declared his 'faith and reverence for holy things … too steadfastly anchored to fear the puffs of doubt and mockery', he nevertheless approved that both Bohte's edition and Boosey's had omitted the lines in which Faust repudiates orthodox religion. Yet 'Vinkbooms' himself prints the 'offensive' passage to satisfy 'the curious' that the lines are not as bad as they were reputed to be:

In the works of several authors, ironies are put into the mouths of even the human actors: in Faust, the evil one himself is, as he ought to be, their sole utterer. The language of the wretched hero is very different—hark! '—Margaret. So then! you believe nothing?—Faustus. Do not construe my words so ill, charming creature! Who can name the deity, and say, I comprehend him? Who can feel, and not believe in him? Does not Heaven descend to form a canopy over our heads? Is not the earth immovable under our feet? Do not the eternal stars, from their spheres on high, look down on us with love?'45

Goethe's reputation in England had been tarnished by accounts of religious and moral deviations in his works.

Thomas Carlyle attempted to dispel notions of the poem's ostensible immorality. For him, Faust and Mephistopheles represented the conflict of higher and lower instincts, and it was Goethe's objective to vindicate the former. His 'Review of Faustus, from the German of Goethe' (1822)46 included, as pg xxxwell, a comparison to Soane's Extracts from Göthe's Tragedy of Faustus, Explanatory of the Plates by Retsch. Carlyle subsequently asserted that his own inspection of these works, and of 'various disquisitions and animadversions, vituperative or laudatory, grounded on these two works', gave him no reason to alter his persuasion that 'Faust, though considerably talked of in England, appears still to be no wise known'.47 De Quincey, motivated in part by Carlyle's review of Faustus, sought to turn the tables in his review of Carlyle's translation of Wilhelm Meister for the London Magazine (1824). In spite of Carlyle's defence of Goethe's high moral purpose, De Quincey gleefully exposes Goethe's obsession with the sexual exploits of his characters.48 Coleridge, even in his most enthusiastic endorsements of Goethe's genius, expressed misgivings about the want of moral rectitude.

In his Table Talk, Coleridge went so far as to declare, 'I never put pen to paper as translator of Faust.'49 Yet from his letters and the gossip of his friends we know that he had undertaken the task, not once but twice. A closer look at the earnestness with which he undertook those two efforts makes it evident that he had not only 'put pen to paper', but had done so with ardour and determination. He had, after all, invested two and a half months at the task when he had accepted Murray's commission in the autumn of 1814.50 When Boosey, whose London address Coleridge sometimes used for correspondence, asked Coleridge for 'friendly advice' in providing a more ample translation to accompany a second edition of the Retzsch/Moses plates, Coleridge misinterpreted the request. He was indignant about being asked to do 'job work', especially if his translation would be made subservient to Moses' engravings. It would be another matter if his work were presented as an independent translation, not as mere accompaniment to the plates. After rehearsing objections about the play's blasphemy, he confessed that he could overlook immorality if he would be given room to counter it with his own moral position.51 He would insist on being allowed to substitute his own for pg xxxisome untranslatable passages and provide an abridgement rather than a complete translation. More important to present purposes, he adds that he would be even more pleased if the work could be published anonymously—'Without my name I should feel the objections & the difficulty greatly diminished.' 52 Whether at Boosey's or his own initiative, he drew up a detailed proposal, dated 12 May 1820, 'My Advice & Scheme'.53

The proposal contained four elements. The first sounds like part of the Murray negotiations in proposing a preliminary essay on Goethe and praising Faust as 'perhaps, the only properly original work on German Poesy' (praise shared, as in 1814, with Voss's Luise). The second suggestion is for a scene-by-scene analysis in the manner of Gray's treatment of Aristophanes' Birds.54 The third is for a translation of 'beautiful, yet inoffensive, passages … in the manner & metre of the original', to be interspersed with the prose analysis. Finally, Coleridge proposes that each of the scenes represented in the plates be translated in their entirety ('exceptional Lines excluded'), and that they be 'translated poetically' as for the stage, i.e. in dramatic blank verse.

During the ensuing year Coleridge was debt-ridden. His letters say nothing more of the Boosey project, although one to Robert Southey mentions a mysterious 'work of amusement' in which he is engaged 'entitled the Weather-bound Travellers'.55 He plans to publish it without his name— 'There is little chance of any work having a fair chance with my name.'56 By pg xxxiithe end of 1820 he reports that his debts compel him 'to do something', and so he is anxious to finish 'one of two or three Schoolbooks', among other 'Literary Labours'.57 Might the Weather-bound Travellers have been a scene from Faust? Certainly when Mephistopheles guides Faustus on the rugged ascent of the Brocken, there is reason enough to call them weather-bound travellers. When Faustus senses the coming of a spring thaw, Mephistopheles declares that he feels nothing of the sort: it is wintry in his body, and he wishes the way engulfed in snow and frost (3845–50). 58 The entire scene would have reminded Coleridge of making the same ascent to 'the witches' ball-room', with Friedrich Blumenbach and friends as weather-bound travellers, in May 1799.59 That ascent of the Brocken had been the occasion for his poem 'Lines Written in the Album at Elbingerode, in the Hartz Forest'. On 21 July 1820, Coleridge wrote to Thomas Poole requesting that he send him material on the Brocken.60

Even before Coleridge could add to the work that he had begun six years earlier, two publications appeared that required him to deviate from his 'Advice & Scheme'. He had proposed a preliminary essay, yet only a brief, innocuous preface appeared. George Croly had published an essay, along the lines that Coleridge had proposed, in the London Magazine for August 1820.61 Coleridge had also proposed that 'the manner & metre of the original' be followed in the interspersed verse. Published in Blackwood's for June 1820, Anster's translations from Faust had anticipated that scheme as pg xxxiiiwell.62 Rather than trying to avoid Anster's work, Coleridge revised and rewrote, and during these months he met with Anster several times. The Huntington Library has a copy of Anster's collected poems of 1819, with several corrections in Coleridge's hand, as though he were trying to guide the young poet. Coleridge revises Anster's 'When Hope's reviving glow with health return'd' to read 'Yet oft as Hope and tremulous Health return'd', and 'A form that, angel-like, hung o'er my bed' to read 'A form angelic, o'er my bed of pain | It hung &c.'63 Coleridge's translation of Faust bears evidence of similar revisions of Anster's translation; evidence, that is, that Coleridge had an eye on Anster's translation as he set to the task of preparing his own translation for Boosey's second edition.

Coleridge drafted 'My Advice & Scheme' for the Faust translation in May 1820; Anster's translation appeared in June 1820; Croly's essay appeared in August 1820. Also published during the same period in 1820 were Bohte's edition with Soane's translation and Boosey's edition with the translation by a German 'in humble circumstances'. The latter two publications posed no rivalry to Coleridge's scheme. Indeed, it was only Anster's work that caused Coleridge to reconsider his approach. From April/May64 to August 1821 he met with Anster on several occasions; in September 1821 the translation of Faust was completed and published by Boosey. There are only a few records of Coleridge's relationship with Anster during these months. In July 1821, he gave Anster a copy of A Lay Sermon (1817), followed by a second gift, in August 1821, of The Statesman's Manual (1816). Coleridge wrote the following inscription in the first volume:

  • To | John Anster, Esqre
  • with high esteem and regard from
  • S. T. Coleridge—
  •           To meet, to know, to love—and then to part
  •           Forms the sad tale of many a worthy heart.65

To this inscription Anster added the date: '( July, 1821, J.A.).' On the title page of The Statesman's Manual Coleridge wrote: 'John Anster, Esqre | from S. T. Coleridge'; on the flyleaf preceding, he wrote:

pg xxxiv

  • Haec tam parva dedisse sat erit, Anstere,
  • siquidem meminisse mei tibi sat fuerint,
  • S. T. Coleridge,
  • James Gillman's Esqre, | Highgate
  • August, 1821.

These presentation copies are of special interest because they also contain Coleridge's penciled marginalia to his own text.66 Anster had in turn given Coleridge a volume of his Poems (1819), in which Coleridge had entered his own stylistic alteration to Anster's sometimes clumsy phrasing.67

Among Anster's Poems was 'The Times', a bold imitation of Coleridge's 'France: An Ode', and 'Reflections on Having Left a Place of Retirement'. The volume also included his translations from Goethe, the endeavour which led to his translations from Faust and his meetings with Coleridge. Through the summer months of 1821, Anster continued to visit Highgate during his trips from Dublin to London. When Faustus was published in September 1821, Coleridge was ready with yet another project that followed Anster's interests in German literature. On 19 September, Coleridge wrote to William Blackwood offering to submit a 'Life of Hölty, with specimens of his poems translated into English Verse'.68 The collaborative spirit had given way to competitive rivalry, for Anster was busy with the very same project, publishing his 'Life of Hölty' in the November issue of London Magazine.69 Also at this time, Anster tried to persuade Coleridge to visit him in Dublin and deliver there a course of lectures. Coleridge was uneasy about making the trip. On 17 November 1821, he wrote to Thomas Allsop expressing his 'anxiety to consult you on the subject of a proposal made to me by Anster, before I return an answer, as I must do speedily'.70 When Coleridge again wrote to Allsop a few weeks later, 8 December 1821, he had developed an argument against accepting Anster's invitation: 'the thought of giving out my soul where you could not be present, …—this in conjunction with your anxiety and that of Mr. and Mrs. Gillman concerning my health, is the most efficient, I may say imperious, of the retracting influences as to the Dublin scheme.'71 Although Anster remained a visitor to Highgate, and 'a Fixture at our Fire-side',72 his trips from Dublin to pg xxxvHighgate became less frequent. Only after Coleridge's death did Anster publish his complete translation. In his preface, he acknowledged that 'Some extracts from this translation … were published in Blackwood's magazine … 1820.'73 He made no mention, however, of any part in Coleridge's translation of 1821.

Coleridge did not keep up the relationship after the translation was completed. Indeed, even in the midst of translating, Coleridge was concerned with making his own independent contribution. Because of his more fluent poetic style and his greater command of the German language, this was relatively easy for him to accomplish. Although he follows Anster's selection of passages closely throughout the opening scenes, he gradually draws in more and more of those passages which Anster avoided. Comparing Coleridge's blank verse with Anster's is complicated by the fact that Anster was conscientious in trying to imitate what he calls Coleridge's 'musical versification' as the closest approximation of Goethe's tone.74 Anster's blank verse, however, is typically end-stopped or breaks at the pause between subject and predicate. Coleridge, by contrast, seldom end-stops a line and often concludes a line with a preposition or an adjective that propels both sound and sense forward. In Faust's monologue in the 'Forest and Cave', Goethe had written:

  • Und steigt vor meinem Blick der reine Mond
  • Besänftigend herüber, schweben mir
  • Von Felsenwänden, aus dem feuchten Busch
  • Der Vorwelt silberne Gestalten auf
  • Und lindern der Betrachtung strenge Lust.           (3240–5)

pg xxxviAnster translates:

  • And when before my eye the pure moon walks
  • High over-head, diffusing a soft light,
  • Then from the rocks, and over the damp wood,
  • The pale bright shadows of the ancient times
  • Before me seem to love, and mitigate
  • The too severe delight of earnest thought!         (3240–5)

Coleridge reworks the lines:

  •                     There may I gaze upon
  • The still moon wandering through the pathless heaven;
  • While on the rocky ramparts, from the damp
  • Moist bushes, rise the forms of ages past
  • In silvery majesty, and moderate
  • The too wild luxury of silent thought.          (3240–5)

Coleridge clearly has his eye on Goethe's text, not Anster's, when he renders 'Felsenwänden' as 'rocky ramparts' (not just 'rocks'), 'aus dem feuchten Busch' as 'from the damp | Moist bushes' (not 'over the damp wood'), 'silberne Gestalten' as 'forms … | In silvery majesty' (not 'pale bright shadows'). In the next line, however, he most probably had looked from Goethe's text to Anster's, for Anster had rendered 'Betrachtung' not as 'observation' but as 'thought'. Coleridge keeps not only Anster's word but his syntax as well. 'Und lindern der Betrachtung strenge Lust' becomes in Anster's phrase, 'and mitigate | The too severe delight of earnest thought!' Coleridge substitutes, 'and moderate | The too wild luxury of silent thought'. Yes, the same syntax, but much richer tensions in the oxymoron of 'strenge Lust'. Furthermore, the creative power seething in 'silent thought' was precisely what Coleridge, in Biographia Literaria, had praised as the 'just and original reflection' in Wordsworth's lines on holding 'in your mind | Such stores as silent thought can bring'.75

Coleridge's presence in the rendering of Faust is marked, in contrast to Anster's endeavour, by the more poetic and more accurate attention to textual detail, but also by the persistence of ideas and images echoing Coleridge's earlier works. For one thing, Coleridge recognized the language of prayer in Faust's monologue to the Spirit of Nature. Anster's rendition, pg xxxvii'Yes! lofty spirit, thou hast given me all, | All that I asked of thee' (3217–18), gives the words but not the tone of devotion. Coleridge recognized in these lines (3217–39) Goethe's allusions to Psalm 23:

  • He maketh me to lie down in green pastures:
  •   he leadeth me besides the still waters.
  • He restoreth my soul:
  •   he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness.

In Coleridge's translation, the tone of devotional thanksgiving is retained:

  • Oh, thou great Spirit, thou hast given to me
  • All, all that I desired. Thou hast not turned
  • Thy beaming countenance in vain upon me.
  • Thou gav'st me glorious Nature for a kingdom,
  • The facility to feel and to enjoy her.           (3217–321)

Readers of Coleridge will recognize in this invocation of the 'great Spirit' a strain familiar from the early sonnet 'To William Lisle Bowles'

  • Like that great Spirit, who with plastic sweep
  • Mov'd on the darkness of the formless Deep!         (13–14)

through the prayer of Alvar in Remorse:

  • Kneeling I prayed to the great Spirit that made me           (I. ii. 309)

Coleridge's fondness for extending duplication into reduplication is evident as Faustus describes the echoing and re-echoing of the storm through the forest:

  •                       when the storm
  • Howls crackling through the forest—tearing down
  • The giant pines, crushing both trunk and branch,
  • And makes the hills re-echo to their fall         (3228–31)

Goethe has the sounds—braust und knarrt, quetschend, donnert—but not the re-echoing. As a Coleridgean pattern, however, the redoublings abound. In Zapolya, for example, Andreas hears the sounds of the chase 'doubling its echoes' through the forest:

  •   as I reached the skirts of this high forest,
  • I heard the noise and uproar of the chase,
  • Doubling its echoes from the mountain foot.          (IV. i. 199)

As already noted above, Coleridge translated 'Felsenwänden' as 'rocky ramparts' (where Anster had simply 'rocks'), and 'aus dem feuchten Busch' as 'from the damp | Moist bushes' (where Anster had 'over the damp wood'). pg xxxviiiWhile it is easy to credit Coleridge's version with subtly richer and more nuanced imagery, it is also possible to witness the telling peculiarities of Coleridge's descriptive style. The 'rocky ramparts', for example, have precedence in the phrase 'Proudly ramparted with rocks' from 'Ode to the Departing Year' (128). And when Coleridge has Faustus discern that 'from the damp | Moist bushes, rise the forms of ages past' (3236–7), he retrieves words that were written upon his own ascent of the Brocken, 'Where bright green moss heaves in sepulchral forms', from Lines Written in the Album at Elbingerode, in the Hartz Forest (6). Many years had passed from the time when those lines were penned (17 May 1799), but the task of retracing Faust's venture must inevitably have called them to mind.76 When Coleridge has Faustus discern 'the forms of ages past' arising visibly, he utilizes an oft-repeated trope for memories of the mind's eye assuming an external shape: 'the forms of other days', 'the forms of Memory' ('Anna and Harland', 13), 'the faded forms of past Delight' ('To Robert Southey', 11).

Coleridge's advantage over other translators of the period was not simply his command of the German language, but his familiarity with the trends in Spinozism, Transcendentalism, and Naturphilosophie that influenced much of the literature of the period. Faust's thanksgiving to the 'great Spirit'—'Erhabener Geist, du gabst mir, gabst mir alles' (3217)—continues his quest to identify with the power of nature. Coleridge would have recognized a familiar dilemma in Faust vacillating between theism and pantheism, in Faust struggling to affirm an Anima Mundi, a consciousness in nature akin to his own.77 In the opening scene, 'Night', Faust contemplates the Sign of the Microcosm which he dismisses as mere artifice (430–54); he then calls upon the Spirit of the Earth convinced that this is a power more kindred to his own (460–81), only to be devastated by the Spirit's revelation: 'Thou'rt like the spirit whom thy fancy paints, | And not like me' ('Du gleichst dem Geist, den du begreifts, | Nicht mir' 512–13). Rather than affirming man's ideal image of self, the Spirit tells Faust that he can aspire to nothing beyond his own understanding. Faust ponders the narcissistic delusion that man is made in God's image (Genesis 1: 27).

  • Ich, Ebenbild der Gottheit, das sich schon
  • Ganz nah gedünkt dem Spiegel ew'ger Wahrheit,
  • Sein selbst genoß in Himmelsglanz und Klarheit,
  • pg xxxixUnd abgestreift den Erdensohn;
  • In jenem seligen Augenblicke
  • Ich fühlte mich so klein, so groß;
  • Du stießest grausam mich zurücke,
  • Ins ungewisse Menschenlos.             (614–17, 626–9)

Anster preserves the rhyme but drains the passage of its torment:

  • Image of God, I thought that I had been
  • Sublimed from earth, no more a child of clay!
  • That, shining gloriously with Heaven's own day,
  • I had beheld Truth's countenance serene!
  • Oh! at that glorious moment how I felt—
  • How little and how great!
  • Thy presence flung me shuddering back
  • Into man's abject state….             (614–17, 627–9)

In his blank verse, Coleridge heightens Goethe's original contrast of exaltation and loss, and reinforces the psychological tensions with sight– light–blind imagery:

  •              I, the image
  • Of God himself, deeming I had, at length,
  • Grasp'd Truth's own hand, and was about to gaze
  • With eye undazzled on her stainless mirror:
  • Basking in heav'n's pure light, and earthliness
  • Thrown like a worthless garb aside
  •    Oh! in that wondrous moment,
  • How little and how great I felt myself!
  • But thou hast driven me back on the dull lot
  • Of blind humanity.            (614–17, 627–9)

The imagistic patterns are relevant, because Coleridge sometimes augments or adds lines simply to enhance the metaphorical unity. In the opening monologue, Goethe has Faust dismiss traditional learning in formal rhetorical parallelism:

  • Bilde mir nicht ein, was Rechts zu wissen,
  • Bilde mir nicht ein, ich könnte was lehren,
  • Die Menschen zu bessern und zu bekehren.              (371–3)

Coleridge loosens the structure by translating the repeated 'Bilde mir nicht ein' as 'No sweet imaginings' and 'no bright hopes'.

pg xl

  •                  now
  • No sweet imaginings of hoarded blessings,
  • Which knowledge guards the key of—no bright hopes
  • Of mending or enlight'ning dull mankind
  • Beam on my darkling spirit.           (370–3)

No line in Goethe's text provides a source for 'Beam on my darkling spirit'; it follows rather from the light/dark contrast that Coleridge has introduced with 'bright hopes' and 'enlight'ning dull'.

Other translators of Faust were disadvantaged because they lacked the reading in literature and philosophy that enabled Coleridge to perceive and engage the rich intertexuality of Goethe's work. Coleridge was able to comprehend, as other translators could not, Faust's wrestling with theological questions. As one who had himself long pondered the Johannine logos,78 Coleridge could bring full insight to his rendering of Faust's endeavour to interpret the opening of John's Gospel:

  •   'In the beginning was the Word,' 'tis written;
  • Here do I stumble: who can help me on?
  • I cannot estimate 'the Word' so highly;
  • I must translate it otherwise, if rightly
  • I feel myself enlightened by its spirit.
  • 'In the beginning was the Mind,' 'tis written:
  • Repeat this line, and weigh its meaning well,
  • Nor let thy pen decide too hastily:
  • Is it the mind creates and fashions all?
  • 'In the beginning was the Power,' it should be;
  • Yet, even while I write the passage down,
  • It warns me that I have not caught its meaning:
  • Help me, then, Spirit! With deliberation,
  • And perfect confidence, I will inscribe,
  • At last, 'In the beginning was the Deed.'              (1224–37)

This is, of course, a deliberation about the problem of translation, finding the right word for the Word. What does John mean by the logos? Anster, who elsewhere tried to imitate Goethe's rhyme and metre, abandoned Goethe's couplets in translating this passage and resorted to a prose translation broken into lines corresponding to Goethe's text. Faust is not merely speculating about an apt equivalent to the logos, he is rather searching for the meaning concealed in the word. Goethe, for whom damnation is the acquiescence to pg xlipassivity and stasis, has his Faust struggle to assert activity and dynamism. In the German text, Faust considers the alternatives Wort, Sinn, Kraft, before affirming Tat as the best expression for the principle of creativity. Anster's translations—word, thought, power, act—are certainly as apt as Coleridge's the Word, the Mind, the Power, the Deed. The difference between the two translations is that Coleridge's Faustus feels urgency in the quest for meaning, while Anster's Faustus is simply engaged in a pedantic philological exercise. With the confirmation of a Tätigkeit, Goethe's Faust is able to write 'getrost'. Coleridge's Faustus reaches that resolution and writes, 'With deliberation, | And perfect confidence'. Anster's Faustus writes 'boldly', but with no indication of how he has improved on the 'faults' of his previous alternative.

The same crux resides in Faust's pact with Mephistopheles:

  • Werd' ich zum Augenblicke sagen:
  • Verweile doch! du bist so schön!
  • Dann magst du mich in Fesseln schlagen,
  • Dann will ich gern zugrunde gehn!
  • Dann mag die Totenglocke schallen,
  • Dann bist du deines Dienstes frei,
  • Die Uhr mag stehn, der Zeiger fallen,
  • Es sei die Zeit für mich vorbei!              (1699–706)

The condition of damnation is to desire time to stop, change to cease, activity to subside into stasis.

  • And if at any moment I exclaim
  • 'Linger, still linger, beautiful illusions,'
  • Then throw me into fetters; then I'll sink,
  • And willingly, to ruin. Ring my death-knell;
  • Thy service then is o'er; the clock may pause,
  • And the hand fall, and time be mine no longer.

Coleridge, who rejected the philosophical materialism of John Locke and Isaac Newton for treating the mind as 'always passive—a lazy Looker-on',79 certainly recognized the ground of Goethe's Tätigkeitsphilosophie. Anster, however, manages to give the words but not the meaning of Goethe's text:

  • If ever I, at any moment, say,
  • Fair visions linger;'—'Oh how beautiful;'
  • Or words like these, then throw me into fetters,
  • Then willingly do I consent to perish;
  • Then may the death-bell peal its heavy sounds;
  • pg xliiThen is thy service at an end, and then
  • The clock may cease to strike—the hand to move;
  • For me be time then past away for ever!             (1699–1706)

Failing to see the crux in wanting a single moment to linger—'Verweile doch! du bist so schön!'—Anster divides the two phrases with a dash, so that the exclamation 'Oh how beautiful' is no longer dictated by the desire for time and change to cease. The emptiness of his added phrase—'Or words like these'—exposes his failure to understand the condition that governs damnation and will make the clock 'cease to strike'.

More than other translators, Coleridge was also alert and responsive to Goethe's use of Marlowe's Doctor Faustus and Shakespeare's The Tempest. Both Marlowe's play opens, and Shakespeare's closes, with a scene of abjuration. Goethe has Faust repeat that act of divesting power. Coleridge, in his lectures, called attention to ways in which that motif works in The Tempest. Goethe's Faust, like Shakespeare's Prospero, can command, but not fully control, the powers of earth and air. Prospero's magic is a troublesome burden, and his very usurpation and banishment was brought about by his study of magic interfering with his involvement in human affairs. Through his involvement with his daughter and with the shipwrecked crew of former friends and kinsmen, Prospero regains his position in the actions of the natural world. His final act of abjuration, 'I'll drown my book,' is an affirmation rather than a resignation.80 Because Coleridge's last lecture series on Shakespeare was held in 1819, years before the publication of Faust Part II, he had no opportunity to discuss Goethe's appropriation of Shakespeare's Ariel. But he does observe the way in which Goethe, like Shakespeare, grounds power in natural rather than in supernatural phenomena.81

Writing from Goslar to Coleridge in Ratzeburg, Wordsworth sent the poem 'There was a Boy'. In his reply, 10 December 1798, Coleridge quoted two lines and then declared them to be quintessentially Wordsworthian:

  • That
  •   Uncertain heaven received
  • Into the bosom of a steady lake           [24–5]

pg xliiiI should have recognized any where; and had I met these lines running wild in the deserts of Arabia, I should have instantly screamed out 'Wordsworth!'82

In Faustus there are also passages that should prompt the reader to shout 'Coleridge!' Translating another poet's thought and style might well be deemed a chameleonic task, one which would require the translator to eschew stylistic self-revelations. But Coleridge was translating Goethe's work not only into another language, but also into another poetic medium. In writing dramatic blank verse Coleridge had learned to marshal his imagery in coherent patterns, and he had acquired certain habits of recurrent phrasing. Some recurrences are evident within different parts of the translation. For example, in addressing the Sign of the Macrocosm, Faustus asks:

  • Who wrote this sign? it stills my soul's wild warfare (435)

Later, when Mephistopheles taunts him with the fact that Faustus had been ready to drink poison, Faustus recalls that the church bells ringing in the Easter services had restored him. He uses the same phrasing for taming the 'wild' action:

  •   Tho' from my heart's wild tempest
  • A sweet remembered tone recovered me             (1585)

In neither case are there words in Goethe's text that would prompt the phrase. But variations recur throughout Coleridge's work:

Remorse (III. ii)

… A worse sorrow | Are fancy's wild hopes to a heart …

Death of Wallenstein (II. vi)

… incapable of compact, | Thy heart's wild impulse only dost thou …

Fall of Robespierre (Act I)

… endearment, | All sacrificed to liberty's wild riot.

'Ode to the Departing Year' (23)

… young-eyed Joys! advance! By Time's wild harp,

'Monody on the Death of Chatterton' (73)

… of vernal Grace, | And Joy's wild gleams that lighten'd o'er …

In the very speech in which Faust describes how the bells of Easter rescued him from suicidal thoughts, he goes on to pervert the Beatitudes of Christ's Sermon on the Mount (Matthew 5: 3–11) into a series of curses, beginning with the words:

  • So fluch' ich allem, was die Seele
  • Mit Loch—und Gaukelwerk umspannt.          (1587–8)

pg xlivIn Coleridge's translation the curse is given a peculiarly Coleridgean turn:

  • Yet do I curse them all— all— all that captivates
  • The soul with juggling witchery, …

Hexerei is not a word that occurs at all in Goethe's Faust. Witchery, however, does recur in Coleridge's poetry, and it is used here with almost the same phrasing as in his translation, many years earlier, from Schiller:

  • aIt mocks my soul with charming witchery (Piccolomini, II. vii. 119)

Striking in this parallel is not just the soul imperiled by witchery, but the animation of that witchery by the active participles, juggling and charming. It is Coleridge's habit to empower witchery with a participle:

'Song of the Pixies' (45)

soothing witcheries

'The Eolian Harp'(20)

floating witchery

The 1821 text echoes expressions common in Coleridge's work of 1814–20. About 10 per cent of the vocabulary is peculiar to Remorse and Zapolya listings in the Concordance,83 while certain other words are peculiar to poems written about 1820, including those like 'To Nature' that remained unpublished during his lifetime and were thus not available for general imitation.

Such echoes, combined with the cadence and metaphorical texture of the blank verse, persistently reveal Coleridge as the translator. Thanks to highly reliable computer-assisted authorship analysis, the characteristics of Coleridge's style can be accurately and reliably demonstrated. In the Appendix, 'Stylometric Analysis of the Faust Translations' James McKusick has prepared a statistical analysis to demonstrate the strong stylistic correlation between the 1821 translation of Faustus and Coleridge's Remorse. McKusick also presents the evidence that distinguishes the translation of 1821 from the other English translations: Hodgson/Staël, Germany (Murray, 1813), John Anster (Blackwood's, 1820), Daniel Boileau (Boosey, 1820), George Soane (Bohte, 1820; and the 1821 proofsheets), and Francis Leveson-Gower (1823).

When Percy Bysshe Shelley obtained Retsch's Series of Twenty-Six Outlines, Illustrative of Goethe's Tragedy of Faust (Boosey, 1820), he was entranced by the engravings and thoroughly disappointed by the translations. pg xlvWriting to John Gisborne in January 1822, Shelley begged him to 'Ask Coleridge if their stupid misintelligence of the deep wisdom and harmony of the author does not spur him to action.' Shelley had also seen Anster's translations in Blackwood's and thought them just as 'miserable'. The engravings, however, he judged fully 'worthy of Göthe'. Plate 8, 'Faustus sees Margaret for the first time', is so 'wonderful', Shelley said, 'that it makes my head beat'.84 His enthusiasm for Retzsch's engravings was still strong three months later, 10 April 1822, when he again wrote to Gisborne:

What etchings those are! I am never satiated with looking at them, & I fear it is the only sort of translation of which Faust is susceptible—I never perfectly understood the Har[t]z Mountain scene, until I saw the etching. [Plate 21]—And then, Margaret in the summer house with Faust! [Plate 15]—The artist makes one envy his happiness that he can sketch such things with calmness, which I dared only to look upon once, & which made my brain swim round only to touch the leaf on the opposite side of which I knew that it was figured. Whether it is that the artist has surpassed Faust, or that the pencil surpasses language in some subjects, I know not; or that I am more affected by a visible image—but the etching certainly excited me here more than the poem it illustrated.

If Retzsch's engravings rival the language of Goethe in power, the translation by Boosey's 'German in humble circumstances' falls considerably short of the original: 'It is not bad, and faithful enough—but how weak! how incompetent to represent Faust!' Shelley repeated his conviction that 'no one but Coleridge is capable of this work'. He nevertheless made his own effort, but 'only attempted the scenes omitted in this translation'. He therefore turned to the Walpurgisnacht, published in the first number of Leigh Hunt's The Liberal (1822). Shelley at this time also translated Calderón's El mágico prodigioso, a play in which he found 'a striking similarity' to Faust.85 In Posthumous Poems (1824), Mary Shelley then published the translations from Calderón and Goethe in full.

When Coleridge agreed to assist Boosey by preparing for the second edition a translation in dramatic blank verse, he may have benefited from some collaboration with Anster, but he apparently had little or no consultation with the writer who supplied the prose and who may well have also been responsible for supervising the whole work through the press. The common practice in collaborative translation seems to have been as described by Simon Sabba who translated Schiller's Don Carlos in 1820. Working with Germans who knew English and Englishmen who knew German, he pored pg xlviover the original word by word, 'dissecting, and entering into the construction of every sentence'.86 But Sabba himself prepared the final text to ensure consistency and uniformity. When Coleridge had translated Wallenstein in 1800, he had assistance from Schiller's friend Joseph Mellish, but, again, was responsible for the final text. In preparing the translation of Faustus for the press, the writer of the prose attempted to provide a bridge to fill in the gaps between Coleridge's translated passages. The transitions summarize 'the Story', which—as Coleridge told Boosey in their negotiations—'any man who can write English & read German can do as well as I'.87

Few men other than Coleridge, however, could have written the blank verse that moves so freely and yet with such harmony and coherence, or have captured as cogently the range of Goethe's ideas and allusions. In spite of this success, Coleridge may, in his own judgement, have fallen short. He was certainly aware of the poetic lapses and mistranslations that mar Anster's version. Among the many reasons that might explain why Coleridge never acknowledged the work, Murray's claim would not have been forgotten. Yet even in denying that he ever 'put pen to paper as translator of Faust',88 he delineated the attraction and repulsion he felt for Goethe's text. When 'pressed—many years ago—to translate the Faust … I so far entertained the proposal as to read the work through with great attention'.89 His major reservation, he repeated once again, was 'whether it became my moral character to render into English—and so far, certainly, lend my countenance to language— much of which I thought vulgar, licentious, and blasphemous'. Whatever it may be morally, it nevertheless possesses poetically a language that is 'very pure and fine'.

The intended theme of the Faust is the consequences of a misology, or hatred and depreciation of knowledge caused by an originally intense thirst for knowledge baffled. But a love of knowledge for itself, and for pure ends, would never produce such a misology, but only a love of it for base and unworthy purposes. There is neither causation nor progression in the Faust; he is a ready-made conjuror from the very beginning; the incredulus odi is felt from the first line. The sensuality and the thirst after knowledge are unconnected with each other. Mephistopheles and Margaret are excellent; but Faust himself is dull and meaningless. The scene in pg xlviiAuerbach's cellars is one of the best, perhaps the very best; that on the Brocken is also fine; and all the songs are beautiful.90

Coleridge tended to see the play much as Retzsch had depicted it in his engraved plates: a series of striking scenes, yet not composing a whole. 'The scenes', he declared, 'are mere magic-lantern pictures, and a large part of the work is to me very flat.'91

How much easier it would have been, Coleridge said, to write his own Faustian tale. Adaptation rather than translation had also been Soane's preference. After translating a few lines to accompany each of Retzsch's twenty-six plates, and providing further lines for a projected dual-language edition, Soane abandoned translation and instead brought to the stage his Faustus: A Romantic Drama as a musical melodrama with a score by Sir Henry Rowley Bishop (opening at Drury Lane on 16 May 1825; performed twenty-four times).92 Soane's Faustus seduces both Rosalia, daughter of Count Casanova, and her cousin Adine, murders the King of Naples, and assumes his identity. The play ends with fiery pyrotechnics as the earth, vomiting fires, opens before Faustus, and Mephistopheles fetches him into hell.

Coleridge's plan was to base his Faustian narrative on the life of Michael Scott (c.1175–c.1235), astrologer and alchemist, whose exploits had already been introduced to contemporary readers by Sir Walter Scott in The Lay of the Last Minstrel.93 Twice in his notebook entries of 1820, Coleridge speculated about writing on Michael Scott, a 'Homo Agonistes', whose story has 'the advantage of Dr. Faustus'; it could be set in Cumberland in the time of John Wyclif (c. 1330–1384). He described a 'Prelude' to the drama which would provide an 'Interpretation of the Bible' in 'the Language of the Senses', adapting, too, the Parable of the Garden (Isaiah 51–7).94 In the subsequent entry, Coleridge correctly set the period back a century: 'Magic—Michael Scott (Edward I time [1239–1307]).' On the history of magic, Coleridge's note went on to trace the lore from 'Zoroaster pg xlviiiDisc[iples]'.95 In the Table Talk, Coleridge again asserted that the very labour of translation made it seem more worthwhile to attempt an original composition:

to revive in my mind my own former plan of Michael Scott. But then I considered with myself whether the time taken up in executing the translation might not more worthily be devoted to the composition of a work which, even if parallel in some points to the Faust, should be truly original in motive and execution, and therefore more interesting and valuable than any version which I could make:96

According to Henry Crabb Robinson, Coleridge was reluctant to continue with his translation of Goethe's Faust because he was convinced that he could write a better Faust-story based on the wizardly deeds of Michael Scott.

Crabb Robinson had studied under Friedrich Schelling in Jena, and in nearby Weimar had become personally acquainted with Goethe and Schiller, as well as with Madame de Staël and August Wilhelm Schlegel. He kept up his acquaintance with Goethe by correspondence and by return visits to Weimar, and had renewed his acquaintance with de Staël and Schlegel on the occasion of their visits to John Murray in 1813. Indeed, Crabb Robinson had been the mediator in Coleridge's negotiations with Murray. When a retrospect on Coleridge's career appeared in the Quarterly Review (November 1834)97 a few months after Coleridge's death (25 July 1834), Crabb Robinson was prompted to respond to the author's denigration of Goethe's Faust and his misunderstanding of Coleridge's involvement in the translation:

I read … the greater part of the admirable article in the Quarterly—one of the finest articles that I have read in a long time. It comes from a personal friend, from one well acquainted with the German…. His praise of Coleridge is most affectionate—his praise perhaps overstrained. His details on metric are beyond my reach. I do not think he is duly aware of Goethe's pre-eminence; least of all can assent to his judgment concerning Faust. He alludes to a fact known principally to me, for I was commissioned by Murray to propose to Coleridge the translation of Faust. Coleridge answered me after a considerable time that he could not execute his purpose; it was burthensome. 'I felt I could make a better!' This reviewer did not relate; perhaps did not know the fact. But to prove that Coleridge could have made a better Faust, he gives an analysis of a Michael Scott, projected by Coleridge.98

Crabb Robinson, who learned that John Gibson Lockhart was the author only after penning the above note, need not have been surprised that pg xlixLockhart would know about Coleridge aborting the translation commissioned by Murray—Murray, after all, was the owner and publisher of the Quarterly Review and Lockhart was his editor.99

Lockhart's account of Coleridge's Faustian 'Michael Scott' was taken directly from the Table Talk, published by Henry Nelson Coleridge the year before:

My Faust was old Michael Scott: a much better and more likely original than Faust. He appeared in the midst of his college of devoted disciples, enthusiastic, ebullient, shedding around him bright surmises of discoveries fully perfected in after-times, and inculcating the study of nature and its secrets as the pathway to the acquisition of power. He did not love knowledge for itself—for its own exceeding great reward— but in order to be powerful. This poison-speck infected his mind from the beginning. The priests suspect him, circumvent him, accuse him; he is condemned, and thrown into solitary confinement: this constituted the prologus of the drama. A pause of four or five years takes place, at the end of which Michael escapes from prison, a soured, gloomy, miserable man. He will not, cannot study; of what avail had all his study been to him? His knowledge, great as it was, had failed to preserve him from the cruel fangs of the persecutors; he could not command the lightning or the storm to wreak their furies upon the heads of those whom he hated and contemned, and yet feared. Away with learning! away with study! to the winds with all pretences to knowledge! We know nothing; we are fools, wretches, mere beasts. Anon I began to tempt him. I made him dream, gave him wine, and passed the most exquisite of women before him, but out of his reach. Is there, then, no knowledge by which these pleasures can be commanded? That way lay witchcraft, and accordingly to witchcraft Michael turns with all his soul. He has many failures and some successes; he learns the chemistry of exciting drugs and exploding powders, and some of the properties of transmitted and reflected light: his appetites and his curiosity are both stimulated, and his old craving for power and mental domination over others revives. At last Michael tries to raise the Devil, and the Devil comes at his call. My Devil was to be, like Goethe's, the universal humorist, who should make all things vain and nothing worth, by a perpetual collation of the great with the little in the presence of the infinite. I had many a trick for him to play, some better, I think, than any in the Faust. In the mean time, Michael is miserable; he has power, but no peace, and he every day more keenly feels the tyranny of hell surrounding him. In vain he seems to himself to assert the most absolute empire over the Devil by imposing the most extravagant tasks: one thing is as easy as another to the Devil. 'What next, Michael?' is repeated every day with more imperious servility. Michael groans in spirit; his power is a curse: he commands women and wine! but the women seem fictitious and devilish, and the wine does not make him drunk. He now begins to hate the Devil, and tries to cheat him. He studies again, and explores the darkest depths of sorcery for a receipt to cozen hell; but all in vain. Sometimes the Devil's finger turns over the page for pg lhim, and points out an experiment, and Michael hears a whisper—'Try that, Michael!' The horror increases; and Michael feels that he is a slave and a condemned criminal. Lost to hope, he throws himself into every sensual excess.—in the mid career of which he sees Agatha, my Margaret, and immediately endeavours to seduce her. Agatha loves him; and the Devil facilitates their meetings; but she resists Michael's attempts to ruin her, and implores him not to act so as to forfeit her esteem. Long struggles of passion ensue, in the result of which his affections are called forth against his appetites, and, love-born, the idea of a redemption of the lost will dawns upon his mind. This is instantaneously perceived by the Devil; and for the first time the humorist becomes severe and menacing. A fearful succession of conflicts between Michael and the Devil takes place, in which Agatha helps and suffers. In the end, after subjecting him to every imaginable horror and agony, I made him triumphant, and poured peace into his soul in the conviction of a salvation for sinners through God's grace.100

Lockhart readily declared that Coleridge's projected drama, quoted here from Coleridge's most fulsome summary, would have been far superior to Goethe's Faust. Crabb Robinson remained sceptical: 'It certainly would have been more moral and more religious, but it would have had little in common with Goethe's Faust.'101

Even before he made the arrangements in 1814 for Coleridge to serve as the translator for Murray's edition of Faust, Crabb Robinson was well aware of Coleridge's objections. On 13 August 1812, he described reading and discussing 'a number of scenes out of the new Faust [1808]'. Coleridge at this time was already familiar with the earlier version, Faust, ein Fragment (1790):

He had read before the earlier edition, and he now acknowledged the genius of Goethe in a manner he never did before. At the same time, the want of religion and enthusiasm in Goethe is in Coleridge's mind an irreparable defect. The beginning of Faust does not please Coleridge, nor does he think Mephistopheles a character. I urged that Mephistopheles ought to be a mere abstraction, and no character. And Coleridge had nothing satisfactory to oppose to this remark. I read Coleridge the Zueignung, and he seemed to admire it greatly.102

A week later, visiting Captain James Burney (brother of Fanny Burney), Coleridge provided 'a very spirited sketch of Faust', again with his own critique:

He thinks the character of Faust himself not motiviert. He would have it explained how he was thrown into a state of mind which led to the catastrophe. This does pg linot seem to me a powerful objection. The last stage of the process is given. We see Faust wretched—he has acquired the utmost that finite powers can obtain, and he languishes for infinity. Rather than be finitely good he would be infinitely miserable.103

Coleridge on this occasion was already formulating his plans for 'writing a new Faust'.

Following the debacle of Coleridge's abandoning his translation for Murray, Crabb Robinson again found an opportunity for discussing Faust with Coleridge on the occasion of Ludwig Tieck's visit to London in 1817. The first meeting, on 13 June, inspired no brilliant conversation: Tieck 'was not the greatest talker to-day'; 'Coleridge was not in his element … His German was not good and his English was not free.' Eleven days later, when Crabb Robinson escorted Tieck to Highgate, the conversation improved:

Coleridge read some of his own poems and he and Ludwig Tieck philosophized. Coleridge talked the most. Tieck is a good listener and is an unobtrusive man…. [Tieck] spoke with great love of Goethe, yet censured his impious prologue to Faust and wishes an English translation might be from the earlier edition written in Goethe's youth.104

Crabb Robinson was apparently unaware of Coleridge's work with Boosey when he recorded reading 'the English Faustus' in November, 1821. In his letter to Goethe, 31 January 1829, he mentions 'the disgrace of such publications … as Lord Leveson Gower's Faustus [1823]', and he laments that Coleridge had not followed through with his endeavour:

Coleridge, too, the only living poet of acknowledged genius who is also a good German scholar attempted Faust, but shrunk from it in despair. Such an abandonment, and such a performance as we have had force to one's recollection the line,

  • 'For fools rush in where angels fear to tread.'105

From his correspondence with both Boosey and Bohte, Goethe had been informed, as Crabb Robinson had not, that 'the English Faustus' of 1821 was the work of Coleridge. In tracing the reception of Faust in England, Goethe, in his note of 8 May 1826, referred specifically to Coleridge's involvement ('Antheil von Coleridge') and to the Boosey edition, for it was Boosey who had the Retzsch plates re-engraved ('Kupfer von Retsch zu Faust nachgestochen'). Coleridge, in fact, is the only one named. Other attempts to translate Faust ('Verschiedene Versuche, Faust zu übersetzen')— pg liiAnster, Soane, Gower—remain unnamed, along with those whose names he must still look into ('Andere, deren Namen nachzusehen').106

During the last years of his life, Coleridge's reply to queries about his translating Faust varied to some degree from the account recorded in the Table Talk for 16 February 1833. John Hookham Frere, who was to publish his own translation of a scene from Faust,107 asked Coleridge, 'Had you ever thought of translating the "Faust"?' Coleridge's explanation of why he was 'prevented' turned into a critique:

I was prevented by the consideration that though there are some exquisite passages, the opening chorus, the chapel and the prison scenes for instance, to say nothing of the Brocken scene where he has shown peculiar strength in keeping clear of Shakespear, he has not taken that wonderful admixture of Witch Fate and Fairy but has kept to the real original witch, and this suits his purpose much better.

Thus far Coleridge's appraisal was positive. Turning to the negative, he declared that 'the conception of Wagner' was bad. But the real fault lay in the character of Faust himself: 'Whoever heard of a man who had gained such wonderful proficiency in learning as to call up spirits &c. being discontented. No, it is not having the power of knowledge that would make a man discontented— neither would such a man have suddenly become a sensualist.' Coleridge also answered Frere's question about Shelley's translation of Faust, saying that he admired it very much, but also lamenting Shelley's atheism.108

Coleridge's evasive replies about translating Faust were doubtlessly rooted in the very grounds that he declared—both moral and aesthetic. The latter are given more weight after 1821, when he began to stress his frustration at the impossibility of capturing both tone and sense of Faust in English, accompanied by the conviction that translation cost him more effort than he would need to create an original Faustian tale on Michael Scott. In the preface to Wallenstein, he had apologized, 'Translation of poetry into poetry is difficult, because the Translator must give a brilliancy to his language without that warmth of original conception, from which such brilliancy would follow of its own accord.' Translating Faust compounded that problem. In June 1820, he lamented that Faust 'could not be endured in English and by the English, and he did not like to attempt it with the necessity of the smallest pg liiimutilation!'109 Two years later he complained with the authority of one who spoke from sad experience:

I would have attempted to translate … 'Faustus,' but I must give it up in despair. To translate it so as to make the English readers acquainted with the plot, is a foolish task. The beauty of this work consists in the fine colour of the style and in the tints, which are lost to one who is not thoroughly au fait with German life, German philosophy, and the whole literature of that country. The antithesis between the slang of Mephistopheles, the over-refined language of Faustus, and the pastoral simplicity of the Child of Nature, Margaret, requires a man's whole life to be made evident in our language.110

The publication of Faustus: From the German of Goethe in September 1821 was not greeted with great public fanfare. In the review by 'R' in European Magazine (October 1821), who hinted that Coleridge was the translator, the anonymous Faustus was said to contain evidence that it could have been better that it was. It received a favourable notice (notice only, not a full review) in 'C. Van Vinkbooms, his Dogma for Dilettanti', London Magazine (December 1821). Then, in Thomas Carlyle's 'Review of Faustus, from the German of Goethe' for the New Edinburgh Review (1822), it was dismissed as failing to convey the fullness of Goethe's meaning. Coleridge saw no reason to step forward and take credit as translator. When John Murray finally found a translator to provide what Coleridge had failed to deliver in 1814, the results were dismal if not disastrous. In 1823, Murray published Faust: A Drama by Goethe; and, Schiller's Song of the Bell, translated by Lord Francis Leveson-Gower. Crabb Robinson was right to call it a 'disgrace'. In the meantime, however, Coleridge's translation had sold out, and Boosey brought forth another edition—this one with a twenty-seventh engraving, a frontispiece portrait of Goethe.111 In 1825, George Soane proved Coleridge's contention that it was better to create one's own version than to translate. Soane abandoned his translation for Bohte and brought forth his own Faustus: A Romantic Drama, which sold well in print and had a fairly good run on stage.112 By the time his account of his projected drama on Michael Scott had been published in the Table Talk, Coleridge had already read the pg livprose translation by Abraham Haywood.113 Anster waited until after Coleridge's death to bring out his completed version, Faustus: A Dramatic Mystery.114 In his preface Anster recalled the passages published earlier in Blackwood's Magazine (1820), but he acknowledged no debt to Coleridge. Although known to a few—to Boosey, to Anster, to Goethe, and no doubt to the Gillmans and a few others in the Coleridge circle—the fact of Coleridge's translation was gradually forgotten. The last echo of Coleridge's endeavour was William Barnard Clarke's recollection, in 1865, of an earlier translation 'said to be by Coleridge'.115

Notes

1 Goethe, Werke, Weimarer Ausgabe (= WA), herausgegeben im Auftrage der Grossherzogin Sophie von Sachsen, 146 vols. (Weimar: H. Böhlau, 1887–1919), ed. Gustav von Loeper et al., IV. xxxiii. 199–200.

2 William F. Hauhart, Reception of Goethe's Faust in England during the First Half of the Nineteenth Century (New York: Columbia University Press, 1909), 38–9.

3 Rosemary Ashton, 'Coleridge and Faust', Review of English Studies, NS 28 (May 1977), 156–67.

4 In the Collected Letters of Samuel Taylor Coleridge (= CL), 6 vols., ed. Earl Leslie Griggs (Oxford: Clarendon, 1956–71), CL v. 42–4, and in The Notebooks of Samuel Taylor Coleridge (CN), ed. Kathleen Coburn (New York: Pantheon, 1957, 1961) CN 4642 n., only Boosey's 1820 publication of Faustus is acknowledged, and not the 1821 edition. See also Carl Woodring's note on Coleridge's negotiations with Murray in 1814 and Boosey in 1820, in Table Talk (= TT), ed. Carl Woodring, 2 vols., The Collected Works of Samuel Taylor Coleridge, xiv (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1990), i. 342 n. 24.

5 Germaine de Stäel's De l'Allemagne (1810), published two years after Goethe's Faust, had been banned and burned by Napoleon who was at war with Germany. The English translation was published as Germany, 3 vols. (London: John Murray, 1813); the passages from Goethe's Faust are in vol. ii, chapter 23, pp. 181–226.

6 Because he worked from a prompter's copy, STC's translation from Schiller's The Piccolomini and The Death of Wallenstein, 2 vols. (London: T. N. Longman and O. Rees, 1800), appeared prior to their publication in Germany; reprinted in The Poetical Works, 3 vols. (London: W. Pickering, 1828).

7 In a letter to William Sotheby, 26 August 1802, Coleridge had described a plan to translate Voss's Luise, ein ländliches Gedicht in drei Idyllen (1795), CL iii. 856–7. The translation which Thomas De Quincey prepared for Blackwood's in 1821 was published posthumously, The Works of Thomas De Quincey, ed. Grevel Lindop et al., 21 vols. (London: Pickering and Chatto, 2000–3), iii. 366–373.

8 To John Murray (August 1814), CL iii. 523.

9 Samuel Smiles, A Publisher and his Friends, 2 vols. (London: John Murray, 1891), i. 299.

10 To John Murray (August 1814), CL iii. 525.

11 To John Murray (10 September 1814), CL iii. 528. Coleridge's address during the subsequent months was 'Mrs Smith's, Ashley, Box, near Bath'.

12 To Daniel Stuart (12 September 1814), CL iii. 533. In addition to translating Faust, Coleridge devoted part of his work schedule during the first weeks of his 'rural Retirement' to completing the last of the 'Essays on the Principles of Genial Criticism', which appeared in five instalments in Felix Farley's Bristol Journal (13, 20, 27 August; 10, 24 September 1814).

13 To Daniel Stuart (16 October 1814), CL iii. 536.

14 The edition lent to Coleridge was likely the edition in the John Murray library: Goethes sämmtliche Schriften, 15 vols. (Vienna: Verlegt bey Anton Strauß. In Commission bey Geistinger, 1808–11); see George Paston [Emily M. Symonds], At John Murray's: Records of a Literary Circle 18431892 (London: John Murray, 1932), 26.

15 Coleridge to Byron (30 March 1815), CL iv. 562: 'I had the open-heartedness to dissuade him [Murray] from hazarding any money on the translation of the Faust of Goethe much as I myself admired the work on the whole, and tho' ready to undertake the translation—from the conviction that the fantastic character of its Witcheries, and the general tone of the morals and religious opinions would be highly obnoxious to the taste and Principles of the present righteous English public.'

16 Preface, Wallenstein. Poetical Works, part 3: Plays, ed. J. C. C. Mays and Joyce Crick, The Collected Works of Samuel Taylor Coleridge, xvi (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2001), 3 (Part I). 619.

17 Umrisse zu Goethe's Faust gezeichnet von Retsch (Stuttgart: Cotta, 1816; 2nd edn. Stuttgart: Cotta, 1820).

18 George Soane's translation of 30 lines (following the 26 captions to Retzsch's plates) for the edition published by Johann Bohte in 1820 bears no similarity to the translation in Boosey's 2nd edition of 1821, nor do the 546 lines (to line 576 of the original German) that he translated for Bohte's projected 2nd edition in 1821. Soane also published Faustus: A Romantic Drama in 1825.

The passages translated by Anster were printed in Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine; Anster's Poetry was, in part, annotated with corrections by Coleridge.

19 Retsch's Series of Twenty-Six Outlines, Illustrative of Goethe's Tragedy of Faust, Engraved from the Originals by Henry Moses, and an Analysis of the Tragedy (London: Printed for Boosey and Sons, Broad-Street, Exchange, and Rodwell and Martin, New Bond Street, 1820). Goethe wrote to Boosey to enquire about the author of the translation and analysis; Boosey replied to Goethe that it was the work of 'a German in humble circumstances, a man of no little ability, and possessing a very considerable knowledge of the English language'; quoted in Carl F. Schreiber, 'Coleridge to Boosey—Boosey to Coleridge', Yale University Library Gazette, 20 (1947), 8–10. On the anonymous translator, Daniel Boileau, see the headnote to the text of Retsch's Series of Twenty-Six Outlines.

20 Schreiber, 'Coleridge to Boosey—Boosey to Coleridge'.

21 In 1971, Paul Zall first presented the compelling evidence that Coleridge was translator of Faustus: From the German of Goethe (London: Boosey and Sons … and Rodwell & Martin, 1821).

In an unpublished paper of 1971, Zall assembled the external evidence through the correspondence with Boosey; and the internal evidence of the striking stylistic similarities to Coleridge's translation of Wallenstein and to the dramatic verse in Remorse and Zapolya.

22 Throughout this edition of Coleridge's Faustus the line references conform to the Hamburg edition of Goethe's Faust. For the ease of cross-reference, these standard line references are also used for other English translations.

23 John Anster, 'The Faustus of Goethe', Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, 7/39 (June 1820), 235–58.

24 Coleridge's 'Letter to Peter Morris, M.D.' (November 1819), a response to John Gibson Lockhart's Peter's Letters to his Kinfolk (3 vols., 1819), was published without his permission in Blackwood's (September 1820), 629; in CL iv. 966–7. His second contribution was published as 'Letter from Mr Coleridge' and 'Selection from the Literary Correspondence with Friends, and Men of Letters', Blackwood's, 10 (October 1821), 243–62.

25 Goethe, Werke (WA), IV. xxxii. 180–1, and xxxiii. 157. xxxii. 154, to Johann Christian Hüttner (draft), Weimar, [6] March 1820; xxxiii. 114, to Friedrich Arnold Brockhaus (draft), Jena, 14 August 1820.

26 Goethe, Werke (WA), IV. xxxiii. 199ff. To August von Goethe (4 September 1820): 'Aus England meldet man Folgendes, welches die Mama wohl dolmetschen wird: "Perhaps it may be

27 Albrecht Schöne, Götterzeichen, Liebeszauber, Satanskult: Neue Einblicke in alte Goethetexte (Munich: C. H. Beck, 1982).

28 J. H. Adolphus (ed.), A Correct, Full, and Empartial Report of the Trial of Her Majesty, Caroline, Queen Consort of Great Britian, before the House of Peers (London: Jones and Co., 1820). The trial lasted from 17 August to 10 November 1820 and ended in the Queen's acquittal, in spite of a widespread belief in her guilt.

29 Referring to the 2nd edition of Retzsch, Umrisse zu Goethes Faust.

30 'The Lion's Head', London Magazine (July 1820), 2. 6–7. On John Scott's editorship, see Josephine Bauer, The London Magazine, 182029, Anglistica Series I (Copenhagen: Rosenkilde and Bagger, 1953); Patrick O'Leary, Regency Editor: The Life of John Scott (Aberdeen: Aberdeen University Press, 1983); and F. P. Riga and C. A. Prance, Index to the London Magazine (New York: Garland, 1978).

31 George Croly, 'Goethe and his Faustus', London Magazine (August 1820), 2. 125–42.

32 'R.', 'Faustus, from the German of Goethe', European Magazine, 80 (October 1821), 362–9. This 'R.' is not the 'R.' identified as the classical scholar Revd Henry Meen (1744–1817) in Emily Lorraine de Montluzin, 'Attributions of Authorship in the European Magazine, 1782–1826', http://etext.lib.virginia.edu/bsuva/euromag/.

33 Goethe's Faust I. and II. Parts, trans. William Barnard Clarke (Freiburg i.Br., 1865), p. iii.

34 To Thomas Boosey, 10 May 1820, CL v. 43–4; Schreiber, 'Coleridge to Boosey—Boosey to Coleridge'.

35 George Soane, Faustus: A Romantic Drama (London: John Cumberland, 1825); prefatory 'Remarks, Biographical and Critical, by D. ____G.', pp. 6–7.

36 Goethe, Werke (WA), IV. xxxvi. 61. To Carl Friedrich von Reinhard (10 June 1822).

37 Leonhard Leopold Mackall, 'Soane's Faust Translation now First Published from the Unique Advance Sheets Sent to Goethe in 1822', Archiv für das Studium der neueren Sprachen und Literaturen, 112/3–4 (Braunschweig, 1904), 277–97.

38 J. H. Bohte to Goethe (3 June 1823): 'Zugleich fügt derselbe die fertigen Bogen einer bei ihm veranstalteten Übersetzung Ew. Excellenzen's "Faust"—aus selbigen Gründe ergebenst bei.— Bedauert dabei außerordentlich nicht die Ehre einer persönlichen Aufwartung genossen zu haben um noch einige andre Bemerkungen wegen dieser Übersetzung von der Feder des Herrn Soane, beifügen zu können.' Quoted in Mackall, 'Soane's Faust Translation', 279–80.

39 Kunst und Alterthum, IV. ii. 77–8 (1823).

40 Goethe, Werke (WA), I. xlii. Zweite Abtheilung (1907), 491.

41 'C. Van Vinkbooms, his Dogma for Dilettanti', London Magazine (December 1821), 657. I have corrected the typographical error which misplaced (following public.') the closed quotation marks which should have closed the two sentences attributed to Goethe (following etchings.').

42 To John Murray (August 1814), CL iii. 525.

43 'C. Van Vinkbooms, his Dogma for Dilettanti', 657–8. I have corrected the typographical error in the German: 'Liebensfluthen' > 'Lebensfluthen'.

44 These two passages coincide where difference might have been expected. Anster in his translation lost the weaving metaphor by substituting a spinning wheel with his phrase 'the murmuring wheel of time.' Of all the sounds that might describe the whir of the weaver at the loom, of all the English equivalents of sausende (often describing the wind: howl, sough, whistle, whiz), rustle does not seem obvious to describe the weaving, although it aptly describes the sound of the woven cloth in the following line. Boosey's 'German in humble circumstances' had already given the line as 'the rustling loom of time'; their identical word choice may well indicate that Coleridge and Soane were both using Boosey's 1820 edition as a reference.

45 'C. Van Vinkbooms, his Dogma for Dilettanti', 657. He also quotes Madame de Staël's opinion that Goethe 'here shows the necessity of a firm and positive belief, since even those whom nature has created good and kind, are not the less capable of the most fatal aberrations when this support is wanting to them'.

46 Thomas Carlyle, 'Review of Faustus, from the German of Goethe', New Edinburgh Review, 52 (1822), 316–34. Carlyle also translated Faust's Curse (from Goethe) (London: J. Francis, 1832), Athenæum, 7 January 1832.

47 Carlyle, review of Goethes sämmtliche Werke (1827) in the Foreign Review, 2 (1828), in Complete Works of Thomas Carlyle, 20 vols. (New York: P. F. Collier & Son, 1901), xiii. 148.

48 Thomas De Quincey, 'Goethe', London Magazine, 10 (August 1824), 189–97; (September 1824), 291–307; in The Works of Thomas De Quincey, ed. Lindop et al., iv. 167–203. For De Quincey's ridicule of the sexual caprices, see especially the sections entitled 'Gallery of Female Portraits' and 'History of Mr. Meister's "Affairs of the Heart"', 183–203.

49 'Faust—Michael Scott, Goethe, Schiller, and Wordsworth' (16 February 1833), TT i. 343.

50 Murray to Coleridge (23 August 1814), Smiles, A Publisher and his Friends, i. 299.

51 See, for example, his moral defence of the character of Don Juan in BL ii. 216: 'We see clearly how the character is formed; and the very extravagance of the incidents, and the super-human entireness of Don Juan's agency, prevents the wickedness from shocking our minds to any painful degree. (We do not believe it enough for this effect; no, not even with that kind of temporary and negative belief or acquiescence which I have described above.) Meantime the qualities of his character are too desireable, too flattering to our pride and our wishes, not to make up on this side as much additional faith as was lost on the other. There is no danger (thinks the spectator or reader) of my becoming such a monster of iniquity as Don Juan! I never shall be an atheist! I shall never disallow all distinction between right and wrong! I have not the least inclination to be so outrageous a drawcansir in my love affairs! But to possess such a power of captivating and enchanting the affections of the other sex!—to be capable of inspiring in a charming and even a virtuous woman, a love so deep, and so entirely personal to me!—that even my worst vices (if I were vicious), even my cruelty and perfidy (if I were cruel and perfidious), could not eradicate the passion!'

52 Schreiber, 'Coleridge to Boosey—Boosey to Coleridge', 8–9.

53 'My Advice & Scheme S. T. Coleridge', single sheet dated 12 May 1820. Huntington Library MS accession number 131334; CL v. 43.

54 Thomas Gray, 'Analysis of The Birds of Aristophanes', The Works of Thomas Gray with Memoirs of his Life and Writings by William Mason (1725–97), ed. Thomas James Mathias (1754–1837), 2 vols. (London: Printed W. Bulmer and Co., Shakspeare Press, for J. Porter, 1814).

55 Coleridge's 'Weather-bound Travellers' apparently bears no relationship to 'The Delinquent Travellers' (?1824), in which he jests about criminals transported to Van Diemen's Land. Poetical Works (= PW), ed. J. C. C. Mays, The Collected Works of Samuel Taylor Coleridge, xvi, i (pt. 2), 1022–6.

56 To Robert Southey (31 May 1820), Coleridge, CL v. 51. In this letter, Coleridge also speaks of attempting to negotiate a new edition of Wallenstein with Thomas Longman, and also regrets the prevailing 'prejudices respecting my supposed German Metaphysics'.

57 To Charles Aders (German merchant living in London) (?December 1820), CL v. 130.

58 Faustus: From the German of Goethe, 69 (below): 'Faustus, under the guidance of Mephistopheles, pursuing a toilsome journey, climbing up rocks, and threading the labyrinths of this region of magic to the heights consecrated to the celebration of the Witches' Revel. The last breeze of spring blows coldly; the moon shines dimly above their heads, scarcely distinguishing the projecting boughs and jutting cliffs. Mephistopheles calls an ignis-fatuus to light them. It proceeds before them in its usual tortuous course, till it is commanded by the Evil-One to go straight forward.

The travellers join in a wild strain, descriptive of the surrounding objects of wonder—the moving trees—the bending cliffs—the falling torrents and rivulets—the unearthly sounds—and the echo like the voice of other times.'

59 For Coleridge's account of his first ascent of the Brocken, departing from Göttingen on Saturday, 11 May, and arriving at the top of the Brocken on 13 May, 1799, see CN 412 and letter to Mrs S. T. Coleridge, Friday, 17 May 1799, CL i. 504; for his second ascent on Sunday, 24 June 1799, see CN 477.

60 To Thomas Poole (July 1821), CL v. 160. When he requested the material from Poole, he was meeting with John Anster and was in the midst of translating Faust. Coleridge's narrative was subsequently published as 'Fragments of a Journey over the Brocken' in The Amulet (December 1828; dated 1829); Shorter Works and Fragments, ed. H. J. Jackson and J. R. de J. Jackson, The Collected Works of Samuel Taylor Coleridge, xi, 2 vols. (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1995), ii. 1472–9.

61 Croly, 'Goethe'; Croly is identified as author of this review by Bauer, The London Magazine, 1820–1829, 288.

62 Anster, 'The Faustus of Goethe'.

63 Coleridge, Marginalia (= M), 6 vols., ed. George Whalley and H. J. Jackson, The Collected Works of Samuel Taylor Coleridge, xii (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1980–2001), i. 100–103.

64 CN 4465. This entry records the London address: 'Mr. John Anster 30 Thornhaught St. Bedford Square.' Although conjecturally dated 1818, the editor concedes that the entry could belong to a later date, in April 1821, when Anster called upon Coleridge at Highgate.

65 PW i (pt. 2). 836.

66 M. J. Ryan, 'Coleridge and Anster; Marginalia to the 'Lay Sermons', Dublin Magazine, 2 (1927), 39–44.

67 M i. 100–103.

68 CL v. 166 and n.; M ii. 1116; SW&F ii. 917; and PW i (pt. 2). 995–7; in listing his projects in October 1821, Coleridge again includes 'Life of Hölty with specimens of his poetry—First, the Ballad', SW&Fii. 955.

69 London Magazine, 4 (November 1821), 518–22.

70 CL v. 187.

71 CL v. 189

72 To John Anster, 18 February 1824, CL v. 332. In a letter to Alsop, 27 April 1824, CL v. 360, Coleridge reports that 'To our great surprise & delight Mr Anster came in on us this afternoon.' After a visit five years later, in July 1829, CL vi. 794, Coleridge was compelled to advise Anster against pursuing an attachment with Susan Steele. A daughter of Coleridge's friend from Christ's Hospital, living as a ward of the Gillmans, Susan had just turned 18. Anster, now 36 years old, was twice her age. Coleridge advised Anster to consider 'the great difference in your ages' and to respect Susan's frail health. Besides these factors, Coleridge also revealed that Susan had already formed an attachment with a 'young Oxonian', not mentioning that this was a planned union with Dr Gillman's son James Gillman, Jr. See further mention of Anster in CL v. 138 n., 187 and n., 211, 234, 332 n., 334 n., 360 n.; CL vi. 73 n., 792, 898.

73 Faustus: A Dramatic Mystery; The Bride of Corinth; The First Walpurgis Night, translated from the German of Goethe, and Illustrated with Notes, by John Anster (London: Printed for Longman, Rees, Orme, Brown, Green, & Longman, 1835). Anster's translation of the second part followed almost thirty years later: Faustus: The Second Part. From the German of Goethe, by John Anster (London: Longman, Green, Longman, Roberts, & Green, 1864).

74 Anster, 'The Faustus of Goethe', 236: 'Goethe seems to us to have conveyed the most lofty conceptions of the nature of man, and those beings with whom we are connected for good or evil, in language rich yet simple, dignified yet familiar, and in parts of the work, we almost believe, while we are listening, in the magical effects attributed to sound. Nothing that we know in our language can give any idea of the charm we allude to, but a few of the most inspired passages of Coleridge; often, while engaged in our present task, have we thought of Kubla Khan and Christabel, and felt an idle regret that we could not have the enjoyment of reading the passages which we most admired in the German tragedy, shadowed out in the rich mystical numbers of our own great poet, which often affect the heart and ear like a spell.'

75 Coleridge, Biographia Literaria, ii. 145, quoting Wordsworth, 'Simon Lee, the Old Huntsman', 65–6. The reference to 'silent thought' occurs nowhere else in the works of either Wordsworth or Coleridge.

76 See 53 above.

77 Coleridge, Opus Maximum, ed. Thomas McFarland, with the assistance of Nicholas Halmi, The Collected Works of Samuel Taylor Coleridge, xv (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2002), 74–6 (on the 'I' and 'Thou'), 111–14 (on pantheism and the Anima Mundi), 231–2 (on the 'I AM' and the 'it is').

78 References to the creative logos and 'the word made flesh' occur frequently in Coleridge's letters, notebooks, and critical writings. The principal text, of course, is Opus Maximum, esp. 199–200, 223, 234, 354–5, 367.

79 Coleridge to Thomas Poole, 23 March 1801, CL ii. 709.

80 Coleridge, Lectures 1808–1819 on Literature, i. 359–367, ii. 445–51 and 520–8.

81 Hough-Lewis Dunn, 'The Language of the Magician as Limitation and Transcendence in the Wolfenbüttel Faustbuch, Greene's Friar Bacon, Marlowe's Faustus, Shakespeare's Tempest, and Goethe's Faust' (Ph.D. dissertation, University of Texas, Austin, 1974). Frithjof Stock, 'Vom Ariel in Shakespeares The Tempest zum Ariel in Goethes Faust II', Arcadia: Zeitschrift für vergleichende Literaturwissenschaft, 7 (1972), 274–80; Eckhard Heftrich, 'Shakespeare in Weimar', in Roger Bauer and Michael de Graat (eds.) and Jürgen Wertheimer, Das Shakespeare-Bild in Europa zwischen Aufklarung und Romantik (Bern: Peter Lang, 1988), 182–200.

82 To William Wordsworth, 10 December 1798, CL i. 452–3.

83 Sister Eugenia Logan, A Concordance to the Poetry of Samuel Taylor Coleridge (Saint Maryof-the-Woods, Ind.: privately printed, 1940).

84 To John Gisborne, January 1822, Letters of Percy Bysshe Shelley, ed. Frederick L. Jones, 2 vols. (Oxford: Clarendon, 1964), ii. 376.

85 To John Gisborne, 10 April 1822. Ibid. ii. 407.

86 Although Don Carlos lacks an imprint on the title page, Sabba's dedication is dated from Versailles, 1820. His statement on translation is on p. ix.

87 Schreiber, 'Coleridge to Boosey—Boosey to Coleridge', 9.

88 'Faust—Michael Scott, Goethe, Schiller, and Wordsworth', TT i. 343; ii. 200.

89 To Daniel Stuart (12 September 1814), CL iii. 533. In addition to reading Faust 'with great attention,' Coleridge described his daily schedule while translating for John Murray as including six hours of writing, four in the morning and two in the evening. Part of this time was devoted to writing 'Principles of Genial Criticism'; see 11 above.

90 'Faust—Michael Scott, Goethe, Schiller, and Wordsworth' TT i. 338–9; ii. 199.

91 Ibid. i. 339; ii. 199.

92 Soane, Faustus: A Romantic Drama; Genest, Some Account of the English Stage, from the Restoration in 1660 to 1830, 10 vols. (Bath: H. E. Carrington, 1832), ix. 294–5, refers to Soane's melodrama as 'insipid' and 'indifferent'.

93 Émile Grillot de Givry, Le Musée des sorciers, mages et alchimistes (Paris, 1929); Witchcraft, Magic, and Alchemy, trans. J. Courtney Locke (Boston: Houghton & Mifflin, 1931), 92. See also Sir Walter Scott, The Lay of the Last Minstrel, Canto II, stanzas 13–19; in this account, Michael Scott 'cleft the Eildon hills in three and bridled the river Tweed with a curb of stone', and was buried with his book of magic 'on a night of woe and dread' in Melrose Abbey.

94 CN 4642. Although she dates this entry as early as February–March 1820, Kathleen Coburn states that 'it may be relevant to notice that the first article in the London Magazine for August 1820 (ii. 124–42) was "Goethe and his Faustus"; it tells the story of the 16th-century Dr. John Faustus.'

95 CN 4690; this undated entry was apparently written shortly after the previous entry, dated 'June 30th, 1820'.

96 'Faust—Michael Scott, Goethe, Schiller, and Wordsworth', TT i. 337–8; ii. 197–9.

97 John Gibson Lockhart, 'Samuel Taylor Coleridge', Quarterly Review (November 1834).

98 Henry Crabb Robinson, On Books and their Writers, 3 vols., ed. Edith J. Morley (London: J. M. Dent and Sons Ltd., 1938), i. 447–8 (7 October 1834).

99 John Murray founded the Quarterly Review in 1809; William Gifford was the first editor, succeeded by Lockhart, who held the post from 1825 until 1853.

100 'Faust—Michael Scott, Goethe, Schiller, and Wordsworth', TT i. 337–8; ii. 197–9.

101 Crabb Robinson, On Books and their Writers, i. 448 (7 October 1834).

102 Ibid. i. 107 (13 August 1812). See also Crabb Robinson, Diary, Reminiscences, and Correspondence, 3 vols., ed. Thomas Sadler (London: Macmillan, 1869); i. 305, 388, 407.

103 Crabb Robinson, On Books and their Writers, i. 108 (20 August 1812).

104 Ibid. i. 207–8 (13 and 24 June 1817).

105 Crabb Robinson to Goethe (January 1829), Briefe an Goethe, 2 vols., ed. Karl Robert Mandelkow (Hamburg: Christian Wegner Verlag, 1969), ii. 496. Crabb Robinson also visited Goethe in August 1829; On Books and their Writers; i. 367–74 (2–18 August 1829).

106 Goethe, Werke (WA), I. xlii, Zweite Abtheilung (1907), 491.

107 John Hookham Frere, Work, 3 vols., ed. W. E. Frere (London: Basil Montegu Pickering, 1872; rev. 2nd edn. 1874), ii. 402–3: Act III, Scene vii (Der Nachbarin Haus, lines 2901–31) (December 1835).

108 TT i. 573–4.

109 Maria Gisborne's Journal, 25 June 1820. Maria Gisborne and Edward E. Williams, ed. F. L. Jones (Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 1951), 37.

110 Gioacchino de' Prati (1790–1863), 'An Autobiography (the Medical Advisor's Life and Adventures)', pt. II ch. 13, Penny Satirist (13 October 1838), in TT ii. 490–1. M. H. Fisch, 'The Coleridges, Dr. Prati, and Vico', Modern Philology, 41 (1943), 121.

111 Faustus. From the German of Goethe. Embellished with Retzsch' Series of 27 Outlines, Illustrative of the Tragedy Engraved by Henry Moses. With a Portrait of the Author, 3rd edn. (London: Boosey, 1824).

112 Soane, Faustus: A Romantic Drama.

113 Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, Faust: A Dramatic Poem, trans. Abraham Haywood (London: Moxon, 1833); 2nd ed., to which is appended an abstract of the continuation, with an account of the story of Faust and the various productions in literature and art founded on it (London: Moxon, 1834).

114 Faustus: A Dramatic Mystery; The Bride of Corinth; The First Walpurgis Night.

115 Goethe's Faust I. and II. Parts, trans. Clarke, p. iii. The Faustus of Goethe, trans. Samuel Taylor Coleridge (London: Boosey, 1821). With the twentysix illustrations by Moritz Retzsch, re-engraved by Henry Moses.

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