translation. The story itself, strange, as all our author's stories are, is a kind of mythic representation of the two sides of his own poetic genius; one of the twin brothers, Walt, being a dreamy sentimentalist, the other, Vult, a man of the world, full of practical sense and humour. The latter, a vaurien, who roams through the world as a strolling musician, in vain attempts to protect the former from the loss of a large inheritance left him, but under conditions which to a person of Walt's simplicity of character, unacquaintance with the world, and visionary cast of mind, prove constant snares. For a while the two brothers live together in great harmony; until they both become enamoured of Wina, a great beauty, by whose exalted rank, however, the attainment of her hand is rendered as hopeless for poor Walt, as the possession of the inheritance by the conditions attached to it by the testator. Nevertheless Walt is the accepted lover, while Vult meets with a decided refusal, in consequence of which he takes his leave of his incorrigible and yet more fortunate brother. Thus the story ends, or rather is broken off in the middle, though the allegory seems complete; the inability of poetic genius either to secure the lower advantages of the material, or to reach the higher aims of the ideal world, being admirably represented by the situation in which Walt is left, with a lady love whom he has no hope of marrying, and a fortune which he has no chance of realizing; while at the same time the utter inutility of that keen and humorous perception of life which often accompanies poetic genius, and did so pre-eminently in the case of Jean Paul, for the practical purpose of restraining its eccentric flights, and the repudiation of worldly wisdom, and of the humour of the clown by the highest ideal of poesy, are ingeniously rendered in the allegory by the futility of all Vult's efforts to prevent the mistakes of Walt, and his rejection by the noble and lovely Wina.
As regards the merit of the performance by which the American editor of Jean Paul's Life has attempted to transplant this interesting tale upon the soil of English literature, we are bound to warn our readers, that if they wish to steer clear of the lofty genius and the poetic beauties of our author, they cannot do better than make use of this translation, which turns all his bright poetry into dull prose much more effectually than it does his German into English. We do not underrate the difficulties which a translator of Jean Paul has to cope with; but making every allowance for these, and for the inevitable inferiority of the copy as compared with the original, we cannot admit that the translation before us comes up even to the most moderate requirements which the reading public has a right to make upon a work of this nature: The poetic beauties and the keen wit of Jean
