We make this observation, because it probably had its weight in determining the poet in the course he pursued. Schiller probably reflected that, whether he _related_ his marvels in the dialogue of his personages, or represented them as _facts_ in his drama, he must in both cases depend, for the impression he should produce, on a successful appeal to the superstitious feelings of his contemporaries. In whatever era a poet may find his materials, his authority for using them must lie in the age he writes for--in the interest they are capable of exciting in that age. His success as a dramatic poet required that he should kindle the love of the marvellous; and he may have thought that, in an artistical point of view, the question resolved itself into one of policy, of means to an end--whether it were better to assail our credulity by open 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 sighs to re-enter into the common rank of mortals, and laments the dreadful honour that has been imposed upon her. Yet this latter sentiment, so natural and so affecting, could not be separated from the previous fable. In this lies the difference between the poetry of a rude and a cultivated age. In the first, the supernatural is for itself sought for and admired; in the second, it is admitted for the sake of the singular opportunities it affords for the display of natural and powerful emotions. There is another point in the tragedy of _The Maid of Orleans_, on which we feel no hesitation whatever in expressing a decisive opinion-- namely, the violent departure from history in the catastrophe. But in order to make our remarks on this and some other points intelligible, we must enter a little further into the plot of the drama. Our detail shall be as brief as possible.[1]