force, and so take it by storm, or to content himself with a less
advantage, gained by more insidious but surer approaches. With all his
boldness, and all his genius, has Schiller succeeded in his treatment of
the miraculous? We hesitate to reply. There is a peculiar difficulty in
deciding how far a poet has been successful in an appeal to
superstitious feelings; it is this, that in such cases every intelligent
reader feels that he must be aidant and assistant in the subjection of
his own rebellious reason, prompt at every moment to turn with
impatience and derision from the utterly incredible. This necessity to
be a party concerned in the business, leaves him in doubt how far he has
been compelled by the poet, and how far he has, or _ought to have_,
voluntarily surrendered. After all, the use of the marvellous in poetry
is not so much itself to impress us with awe and astonishment, as to
supply novel and striking situations for the display of human feelings.
When Johanna, for instance, describes the visitation by the Virgin, and
declares her sacred mission, we listen unmoved. Not so, when, having
felt the touch of human passion, she