THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES LOUISA MUHLBACH'S HISTORICAL NOVELS. Uniformly bound. 12mo. Cloth, $1.00 per volume. Napoleon and the Queen of Prussia. Illustrated. The Empress Josephine. Illustrated. Napoleon and Bliicher. Illustrated. Queen Hortense. Illustrated. Marie Antoinette and her Son. Illustrated. Prince Eugene and his Times. Illustrated. The Daughter of an Empress. Illustrated. Joseph II and his Court. Illustrated. Frederick the Great and his Court. Illustrated. Frederick the Great and his Family. Illustrate*?. Berlin and Sans-Souci. Illustrated. Goethe and Schiller. Illustrated. The Merchant of Berlin. Illustrated. Louisa of Prussia and her Times. Illustrated. Old Fritz and the New Era. Illustrated. Andreas Hofer. Illustrated. Mohammed Ali and his House. Illustrated. Henry VIII and Catherine Parr. Illustrated. Xew York : D. APPLETON & CO., 72 Fifth Avenue. GOETHE. GOETHE AND SCHILLER jEjistoricol Uomancc BY L. MUHLBACH AUTHOR OF JOSEPH II. AND HIS COURT, FREDERICK THE GREAT AND HIS COURT. THE EMPRESS JOSEPHINE, ANDREAS HOFER, ETC. TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN BY CHAPMAN COLEMAN NEW YORK D. APPLETON AND COMPANY COPYRIGHT, 1867, BY D. APPLETON AND COMPANY. Library T J T /l/V. OJ>- COISTTEXTS. BOOK I. CHAPTER PAGE I. Introduction, 1 II. The Trials of Life 10 III. Henrietta von Wolzogen 22 IV. Joy and Sorrow, 33 V. Charlotte von Kalb, 4t VI. The Title 59 VII. Adieu to Mannheim ! . 68 VIII. Plans for the Future, 73 IX. The Last Ride, . . 85 BOOK II. I. After the King's Death, . . Ill II. "Le Roi est Mort ! Vive le Roi !" . . 120 III. The Favorites . 129 IV. The Maid of Honor, . 138 V. Fiiraro, . 143 VI. The Alliance 157 VII. The Conditions, .... . 173 VIII. New Love, ..... . 180 IX. The Decision, . 189 X. The Invocation, .... 198 XI. The Will, . . 214 XII. Leuchseuring, .... 226 1265915 IV CONTENTS. BOOK III. CHAPTER PAGE I. Schiller in Dresden, 236 II. Gilded Poverty, 245 III. Marie von Arnim, 252 IV. Souls in Purgatory, 268 V. Separation, 283 VI. The Song "To Joy," 293 VII. Together once more, 299 VIII. Goethe and Moritz, . . . . . . .314 IX. Leonora, 326 X. A Dream of Love 340 XI. Adieu to Italy, 355 BOOK IV. I. The Return, 3GO II. Reconciliation, 377 III. Grim Death, 385 IV. Goethe's Return from Rome, 394 V. Estrangement, ........ 404 VI. The Two Poets 421 VII. The First Meeting, 431 VIII. Wilhelmine Rietz, . . . . . . . .443 IX. Husband and Wife, 450 X. The Attack, 460 XI. Youth Victorious, 470 XII. Schiller's Marriage, . . 482 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. BOOK I. CHAPTER I. INTRODUCTION. THE honest and peaceful inhabitants of Mannheim, the capital of the Palatinate, had long since retired to rest; the streets were deserted, and the houses wrapped in darkness. Only high up in the little bow window of a corner house on the Palace Square still glimmered a faint light like the sub- dued gleam of a lamp in a sick-chamber. But the watch, who had just proclaimed at the corner in stentorian tones the third hour of the morning, knew better; and, as he entered the square, he again looked up at the illu- minated window, gravely shaking his head. " Mr. Schiller has not yet gone to bed," said he to himself; "writing all night again, I suppose. But I will not stand it! Did I not promise Mr. Streicher that I would always look up at his window, and, whenever I found the light burning after one o'clock, protest against it? Well, then, I'll try it to- night, and keep my word, as an honest man should." And in stentorian tones the watchman cried out, " Mr. Schiller! Halloo! Mr. Schiller!" For a moment the window was darkened by a shadow, and then opened, and a hoarse voice demanded, "Who called? who called my name?" 2 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. "I, Mr. Schiller. I, the watchman, Fabian," roared the man in response. " And what do you desire of me, worthy guardian of the worthy city of Mannheim?" " I wish to beg of you, Mr. Schiller, to be so good as to put out your light and go to bed." " What brought you to this strange and ridiculous idea?" exclaimed the voice from above, laughing loudly. " What does the ligHt behind my windows concern you, a watchman and a guardian of the streets?" " Eeally it doesn't concern me at all," cried the watchman. " I know that very well, but I have promised the music- teacher of my daughter, Mr. Streicher, to pay attention to your window, and every time I see the light burning in your room after one o'clock, to call you, and beg you in the name of your dear friend to be kind enough to put out your light and go to bed." " A very ridiculous idea of Mr. Streicher," said the voice of the invisible poet, laughingly, " and I am only surprised that you should do his bidding, and take this task upon yourself." " Don't be surprised, sir, for I am not doing it gratis. Mr. Streicher told me that whenever I had called you, and begged you in his name to go to bed, I should have to pay only half- price for the next piano-lesson of my daughter ; and I beg you, therefore, Mr. Schiller, to be good enough to tell Mr. Streicher to-morrow that I have done his bidding. And hereafter do as you please, sleep or wake. I have done my duty. Good- night, Mr. Schiller "Good-night!" The poet rapidly closed the window, and drew the folds of the old threadbare coat which served him as a dressing-gown closer around his shivering form. "The good and true Streicher," he murmured in a low voice, " is an honest soul, and means well, and does not know how he has injured me to-day! I was in the grandest flow of enthusiasm; all the discomforts and necessities of life had INTRODUCTION. 3 disappeared ! I was no longer cold, there were no more tor- menting creditors, no cares, and no pangs of love ! I was in thy heaven, Father Zeus! And the messenger of my friend comes and calls me back to the cold, inhospitable earth. The fire of my enthusiasm is extinguished, and now I am sen- sible that there is no fire in the stove!" He raised his large blue eyes, and glanced through the dimly-lighted space toward the high black stove, within the open grate of which only a few glimmering coals were visible. "No fire," sighed Schiller, shrugging his shoulders, "and no wood to make one. Poor, feeble man! The fire of the soul does not suffice to warm thy shivering body, and the prose of life ever recalls thee from the Elysian fields of poetry. But it shall have no power over me. I will defy it! Forgive me, friend Streicher, but I cannot do your bidding! Your watchman calls to me to sleep, but Don Carlos calls to me to be wakeful! I cannot let the Spanish prince call in vain! Fortunately the coffee-pot is still standing in the stove. If it is yet warm, something can be done for the poor, shivering body." He rapidly went across the room to the stove, knelt down before the fire-place, drew the brown coffee-pot from its bed of ashes, raised it to his lips and refreshed himself with sev- eral long draughts, after which he carefully restored the ves- sel to its former place. Truly a strange sight, this long, thin figure in the gray- yellow flannel gown, a pointed nightcap on his head, stooping before the stove and occupying himself with a coffee-pot! If the admirers of the tragic poet .Schiller could have seen him in this position, they would never have believed that the young man in this miserable apparel the long, lean, angular figure, with the bony, homely face and yellow hair, loosed from the confinement of the queue, and falling in dishevelled masses over his sunken cheeks that this man was the author of the three tragedies which for the last few years had filled all Germany with astonishment, admiration, and terror. Like 4 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. the column of fire, harbinger of a new era, they towered on the grave of the old, licking the heavens with tongues of flame. About ten years before, Goethe's " Sufferings of Young Werther" had flooded Germany with great enthusiasm. This wonderful book, half romance, half reality, had pierced the hearts of all like lightning as if these hearts had been but tinder awaiting ignition and destruction at the touch of this eloquence, this passion of love, and revelling in destruction by such heavenly agents! In the impassioned and excited state of the public mind, Goethe's " Werner" had been received by the youth of Germany yes, of all Europe as a revelation of the spirit of the universe, as a proclaiming angel. On bended knees and in ecstatic devotion they listened to the heavenly voice which aroused their hearts from sleep with the holy sirocco of passion, and awakened them out of the tameness of prose to the passion and vehemence of poetry ; to the blissful pain of unsatisfied longing and heaven-achieving love. And now, when the excited minds had hardly quieted down, when the dazzled eyes had hardly become accustomed to the heavenly effulgence shed upon them by " Werther" now, after scarcely ten years, another wonder occurred, another of the stormy, impassioned periods, of which Klinger had been the father and creator, with his soul-stirring dramas, had given birth to a new genius, and a new light was diffused over Germany. In the year 1774 Goethe had published his romance, "Sufferings of Young Werther." Carried away with sym- pathy by his lofty enthusiasm, all Germany yes, all Europe applauded and hailed him as the wonderful poet who had em- bodied the sorrows and pangs which agitate the heart and soul of each individual, in a sublime symphony, in which every sigh and every thought of suffering, weeping, rejoicing, and exulting humanity, found expression. Schiller's first trag- edy, "The Robbers," was produced upon the stage for the first time in 1782; and its effects and results were of the most vast and enduring character. INTRODUCTION. 5 Goethe, with his " Werner," had imbued all hearts with en- thusiasm for love and feeling; Schiller, with his "Robbers," filled all hearts with yearnings after liberty and hatred of tyranny. The personal grandeur and freedom of man were idealized in the noble robber Charles Moor, and, not only was this magnanimous robber the hero of all young girls, but the hearts of all the young men were filled with abhorrence of and contempt for the tyrants who had compelled this high- minded man to flee to the Bohemian forests and become a robber in order to escape the galling chains of subserviency to princes. Enthusiasm for this champion of liberty, this robber, Charles Moor, at the same time imbued all with detestation of tyrants. The lion-rampant which was to be seen on the printed copies of "The Robbers," and which bore the motto "In Tyrannos," was only a representation of the German people, who, moved to the core by Schiller's tragedy, and made con- scious of the worth and dignity of man, asserted itself in its majesty against tyranny. " Had I been present at the creation of the world as God," said a German prince at that time, " and had I foreseen that 'The Robbers' would be written in this world, I would never have created it." In a German city where " The Robbers" was produced on the stage, the performance had so powerful an effect on the minds of the youth, that twelve young men formed the plan of fleeing secretly from the houses of their parents to the Bo- hemian forests, in order to make up a band of robbers. All the preparations had been made, and the twelve juvenile rob- bers had agreed to meet on the following night at a desig- nated place outside the city gate; when one of the young heroes, in giving his mother a last good-night kiss, could no longer restrain his tears, and in this manner led to the dis- covery of the great secret and the prevention of the plan by the arrest of the youthful band of aspirants. 6 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. As the German public was filled with rapture for the suicidal love-hero Werther, it now worshipped the suicidal robber-hero Charles Moor: while love then excited its trans- ports, liberty and the rights of humanity were now the objects of its enthusiasm. And the poet Schiller added fuel to the flames of this en- thusiasm. A new tragedy, the theme of which was liberty, "Fiesco," soon followed his "Robbers;" and the sensation which it caused was still to be surpassed by that excited throughout all Germany by his third tragedy, " Louise Miil- lerin, or Intrigues and Love." This was, at the same time, an exaltation of noble love, and of the proud human heart, and a condemnation and denunciation of the established prejudices which arrogantly recognized nobility and gentle birth as conferring prerogatives and privileges. "The Bobbers," "Fiesco," and "Louise Miillerin," these were the flaring torches of the revolution which in Germany was to work out its ends in the minds of men, as it had done in a more material manner, in France, on their bodies. In France royalty and the nobility were conducted to the guillo- tine, in Germany they were pilloried in public opinion by the prince and court marshal in " Intrigues and Love." Goethe had given the German public the ideal of love Schiller gave them the ideal of liberty. And the poet of " The Robbers" was as warmly enshrined in the heart of the German people as the poet of " Werther" had been. But alas! the admiration and enthusiasm of the German public shows itself in words and praises, but not in deeds in material proofs. True, the Germans give their poets a por- tion of their hearts, but not a portion of their fortune. Schiller had given the Germans his three tragedies; they had made their triumphal march over every stage in Ger- many; but Schiller had nevertheless remained the poor poet, whose only possession was the invisible laurel-wreath which adorned his noble brow, accorded him by the German people. His countless admirers saw him in their inspired thoughts INTRODUCTION. 7 with his youthful head entwined with laurel, and would, no doubt, have been horrified if they could have seen him in his dressing-gown, the nightcap pulled down over the laurel, stooping in front of his iron stove and endeavoring to rekindle the coals with his breath, in order that his coffee might be warmed a little. But it was a vain endeavor. The fire was almost out, the coals glowed but faintly, and the poet's breath was not strong enough to renew the flame. "All in vain," sighed Schiller, replacing the coffee-pot on the ashes, with a disconsolate shrug of the shoulders; "where there is no fuel, there can be no fire." He slowly arose from his kneeling position, and, his hands folded behind his back, walked with rapid strides to and fro in his little chamber. The dimly-burning tallow-candle which stood on the table, covered with papers and books, flared up whenever he passed, and illuminated, for the mo- ment, the large rugged figure and the pale countenance, with the high forehead and light-blue eyes. At first this counte- nance wore a gloomy, troubled look. But by degrees it as- sumed another expression; and soon the flaring light showed in this dingy little room the features of an inspired poet, with sparkling eyes, and an exulting smile. " Yes," he exclaimed, in a loud voice, "yes, it shall be so! I will append this scene to the third act, and it must be the loftiest and grandest of the entire tragedy. Not to Prince Carlos or to the queen shall Posa proclaim his sublime ideas of liberty and his plans for the happiness of the people. No, he shall hurl them in the face of the tyrant, of King Philip himself. With the lightning of his words he shall warm this rock of tyranny, and unseal the spring of inspiration in the breast of the man-despising, bigoted ruler, and make the waters of human love play joyfully ! Oh, ye eternal gods, give me words, fire my thoughts, and give wings to my inspiration, that I may be able to give expression, in a flow of rapture and poetry, to that which now fills my whole soul!" GOETHE AND SCHILLER. He rushed to his table and threw himself with such violence into his old stool that it groaned and cracked beneath him. But Schiller paid no attention to this ; his whole soul was in his work, his whole heart was filled with enthusiasm and de- light. His hand flew over the paper, his smile brightened, his countenance became more radiant. At times he dictated to himself in a loud, energetic voice, the words which his flying pen conveyed to the paper, that they might henceforth to all eternity be indelibly imprinted in the hearts of his readers. But Schiller was not thinking of his readers, nor of the possible effect of his words; he thought only of his work. There was no room in his soul but for poetry, for the sublime and lofty scene which he wished to add to his tragedy. " Oh," he now exclaimed, his pen speeding like an arrow over the rustling paper, " oh, could the combined eloquence of all the thousands who are interested in this lofty hour, but trem- ble on my lips, to fan the spark which I feel into a flame ! Abandon this unnatural idolatry that destroys us. Be our model of the eternal and the true, and A severe and painful cough interrupted the enraptured poet ; he was compelled to discontinue his recitation ; the pen faltered in his quivering hand; and from the sublime realms of the ideal, bodily pain recalled the poet to reality. He let fall the pen, the arrow which the gods had be- stowed, to enable him to divide the clouds of prejudice and throw open to enraptured humanity the heaven of poetry, he let fall the pen, and raised his hand to his trembling, pant- ing breast. " How it pains, how it pricks!" he groaned. " Is it not as if the tyrant Philip had thrust his dagger into the breast of poor Posa, in the anger of his offended majesty, and Another attack of coughing silenced him, and resounded through the quiet solitary chamber. The sound struck upon his ear so dismally that he cast a hasty glance behind him into the gloomy space, as if looking for the ghost which had ut- tered such dreary tones. INTRODUCTION. 9 " If this continues, I am hardly repaid for having fled from my tyrannical duke," murmured Schiller. " Truly I had bet- ter have remained and served out my poor miserable existence as regimental surgeon, than cough my life out as a German, that is, as a hungry poet." But as he said this, his lips quivered, and self-reproach was depicted in his countenance. "Be still," he exclaimed, "be still! Shame upon you, Schiller, for uttering such unmanly, cowardly words! Yovi a poet, Frederick Schiller? you are not even a man! You aspire to ascend the heights of Parnassus, and sink down dis- heartened and discouraged when an evil annoys you on the way, and admonishes you that you are only a man, a mortal who aspires to climb to the seat of the gods. If you are a poet, Frederick Schiller, remember that the gods are watch- ing over you, and that they will not cruelly abandon you be- fore the goal is half achieved. "No," he exclaimed in a loud voice, raising his head, and looking upward, "no, the gods will not abandon me! They will give me strength and health and a long life, that I may accomplish the task which my soul and mind and heart tell me is required at my hands. No, Parnassus stands before me, and I will climb it!" His beaming eye glanced upward in ecstasy and saw not the low dusty ceiling, the want and indigence by which he was surrounded. He gazed into im- mensity; the low ceiling opened to his view, and through it "he saw the heavens and the countenance of the blessed!" A loud noise in the street awakened him from his trance. It was the watchman blowing his horn and calling the hour in stentorian tones. "Four o'clock," murmured Schiller, " the night approaches its end! and my candle also," he continued, smiling, as he looked at the brass candlestick, from the upper rim of which the softened tallow was falling in heavy drops, while the wick had sunk down into the liquid mass. Schiller shrugged his shoulders. " It appears that 1 must 10 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. stop in the middle of my grand scene and go to bed. My good friend Streicher has in vain begged me to do so, through his musical messenger of love ; and now a tallow-candle com- pels me to do so ! What poor, miserable beings we men are ! A trifling, inanimate, material thing has more power over us than the spirit, and while we oppose the latter we must sub- mit to be overcome by the former ! Therefore to bed, to bed ! Farewell, my Posa! The poor human creature leaves you for a few hours, but the lofty human mind will soon return to you! Good-night, my Posa!" The wick of the miserable candle flared up once more and then expired with a crackling noise in the liquid tallow. "That is as it should be," laughed Schiller; "the poet, like the mule, must be able to find his way in the dark on the verge of an abyss!" He groped his way through the little room to his bed- chamber, and undressed himself rapidly ; and the loud, reg- ular breathing soon announced that the young poet, Frederick Schiller, was wrapped in health-giving and refreshing slumber. CHAPTER II. THE TEIALS OF LIFE. FREDERICK SCHILLER still slept, although the pale winter sun of December stood high in the heavens, and the streets of the little city of Mannheim had long since awakened to new life and activity. Frederick Schiller still slept, and, worn out by his long vigils, his work, and his cough, might have slept on for a long time, had he not been aroused by a loud knock- ing at the door, and an audible step in the adjoining room. A young man stood on the threshold of the bedchamber and wished Schiller a hearty good -morning. " I can account for this, Fritz," said he, raising his finger threateningly " not into bed at night, not out of bed in the THE TRIALS OF LIFE. 11 morning! Did I not send you my watchman as a love- messenger? But he has already complained to me that it was unavailing." "Do not be angry, my Andrew," exclaimed Schiller, ex- tending his hand to his friend with a cordial smile. " A poet must above all things wait upon the muses submissively, and may not show them the door when they pay him a visit at an unseemly hour of the night." " Ah, the nine muses would have been satisfied if you had shown them out, and had graciously accorded them the privi- lege of knocking at your door again this morning! But get up, Fritz ! Unfortunately, I have something of pressing and grave importance to communicate!" With one bound Frederick Schiller was out of his bed. "Of pressing and grave importance," he repeated, dressing rapidly, " that sounds very mystical, Andrew. And now that I look at you, I find that your usually open brow is clouded. It is no misfortune that you have to announce?" " No, Fritz, no misfortune, thank God, but a very great annoyance. Miserable, grovelling poverty once more stretches out its ravenous claws." "What is it?" asked Schiller, breathlessly, as he drew the dressing-gown over his shoulders with trembling hands. " I am now composed and ready to hear all! Some impatient creditor who wishes to throw me into prison. Is it not so? Speak it right out, Andrew, without hesitation." " Well, then, come with me into the other room. There you shall learn all," answered Andrew Streicher, taking his friend's hand and throwing the chamber door open, which he had closed behind him on his entrance. " Come and see!" "Mr. Schwelm," exclaimed Schiller, as he observed on crossing the threshold a gentleman standing in a window- niche, whose countenance indicated that he was very ill at ease. "Yes, truly, this is my loved and faithful friend, Os- wald Schwelm, from Stuttgart, the literary godfather of my career as a poet, and But how mournful you look, dear 12 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. Schwelm! and not a single word of friendship for me, no greeting?" "Ah, Schiller, these are hard times," sighed Oswald Schwelm. " Anxiety and want have driven me from Stutt- gart, and I come to you as a right unwelcome guest. Only believe that I deplore it deeply myself, but I cannot help it, and it is not my fault. I would gladly sacrifice every thing for my friend Schiller, but I have nothing more; and painful necessity compels me to remind you of the old debt." "Do not judge him harshly, Schiller," said Streicher, in a low voice. " Poor Schwelm 's difficulties are of a very urgent nature. You know very well that at a time when no printer could be found to put your 'Robbers' in press, Schwelm guaranteed to the publisher in Stuttgart the expense incurred in its publication, because he was convinced, as we all Avere, that the 'Bobbers' would make you a celebrated poet, and not only insure you a harvest of honor and renown, but also of money. Xow, unfortunately, the money has not yet been harvested, and poor Oswald Schwelm has had the additional misfortune of losing his capital by the failure of the commer- cial house in which it was deposited. Since then the pub- lisher has dunned him in an outrageous manner, and has even obtained a warrant for his arrest; and, in order to escape, Schwelm fled from Stuttgart and came here!" "Forgive me, friend Schwelm," said Schiller, rushing for- ward and embracing the young merchant. "Ah, my dear friends, it seems that you have mistaken me and my future ; it seems that the lofty plans formed in our youthful days are not to be realized." "They have already been realized in part," said Schwelm, gently. "You are a renowned poet; all Germany admires and praises you! The 'Robbers' has been given on every stage, and " "And I have not even three hundred florins," interrupted Schiller, sadly, " not even a paltry three hundred florins to meet the just demands of the friend who confided in and gave THE TRIALS OF LIFE. 13 his bond for me, and who must now become involved in danger and difficulty on my account." " Then you have not succeeded in getting the money to- gether?" said Streicher, mournfully. " I imparted to you two weeks ago the contents of the letter containing an anxious appeal for help, which Schwelm had written to me, and you promised to procure the money. Since then I disliked to speak of the matter again, because I knew you would surely leave no means untried to raise the amount." "And I have left no means untried," exclaimed Schiller, with an angry gesture. " What can I do? No one is willing to lend or advance money on the pitiful capital of a poet's tal- ent! The few florins which I have received for the repre- sentation of the 'Robbers' and 'Fiesco' have hardly sufficed to purchase the bare necessities of life; and when I begged the manager, Mr. von Dalberg, to advance me on 'Louisa Miil- lerin' at least three hundred florins, as he had determined to put it on the stage, he refused me, and I had the mortifica- tion of being turned off by this nobleman like a miserable begging writer." " And your father," said Andrew Schwelm, timidly. " Did you not say that you would apply to your father, Major Schiller?" "I have done so," replied Schiller, with a sigh. "I wrote urgently, representing my want and troubles, and begging him to have pity on his poor son, and to lend him a helping hand for this once. But it seems my words have not had power to touch his paternal heart, for until now I have in vain awaited a reply on every mail day. And it seems that the mail which comes from Stuttgart to-day has brought me no letter, for I believe the hour at which letters are delivered has long since passed. I must therefore patiently wait an- other three days for a reply, and the next mail will perhaps condemn me to another trial of patience. Oh, my friends, if you could see my heart, if you could estimate the pain this mortification causes me! For myself, I am ready to suller 14 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. want, to content ni} T self with the bare necessities of life yes, even to hunger and thirst, to attain the lofty ends to which I aspire. The path of a poet has ever been a thorny one, and poverty has always been the companion of poetry. This I am ready to bear. I do not crave riches; and even if the tempter should approach in this trying hour and offer me a million, but with the condition that I should forswear poetry, and write nothing more for the stage, I would reject the million with contempt, and a thousand times prefer to remain a poor poet than become a rich idler. But to see you, my friends, in trouble and suffering on my account, and powerless to re- lieve you, is truly bitter, and " "The letter-carrier," exclaimed Streicber joyfully, as, after a timid knock, the door was softly opened, and a man in the uniform of the Thurn and Taxis post-office officials entered the room. " A letter from Ludwigsburg. Ten kreutzers postage," said the carrier, holding out a large sealed letter. "Ten kreutzers," murmured Schiller, as he nervously fum- bled in the pockets of his dressing-gown and then in the table-drawer. " Here are the ten kreutzers, in case you should not happen to have the small change," said Streicher, hastily, as he handed the carrier the money and received the letter. " And here it is, friend Schiller. Is it from your father?" " Yes, my friends, it is from him. And may the gods have been graciously inclined, and have opened my father's heart to his son's prayer!" He hastily tore off the cover and threw open the large folded sheet. "Alas, my friends," he sighed, "it is a very long letter, and that bodes no good, for he who gives says but little, but he who denies clothes his refusal in many prettily- turned phrases. Let me read!" A few moments of silence followed. Schiller, seated on his chair, his arm resting on the table, was reading his father's letter, while Andrew Streicher and Oswald Schwelm were THE TRIALS OF LIFE. 15 standing opposite him, in the window-niche, regardipg him anxiously and inquiringly. They saw that Schiller's brow grew darker and darker; that his cheek became paler; and that the corners of his mouth quivered, as they always did when the poet's soul was moved with anger or pain. "Read, Andrew," said Schiller, handing the letter to An- drew Streicher, after a long silence. " Read my father's let- ter aloud, that you may both know what I have to expect; that you may. perceive that I am nothing but a poor, miser- able dreamer, in whom no one believes, not even his own father, and who must be awakened from his illusions by harsh words. Andrew, read the lecture addressed by my father to his miserable son. To hear these unhappy words from your lips will serve as a penance, and may perhaps have the effect of bringing you to the conclusion that my father is right in giving me up. Read it, Streicher." Streicher took the proffered letter and read aloud : '"M\" Sox! Here I sit with his letter before me, and its perusal has provoked tears of displeasure. I have long since foreseen his present position, the foundation of which has already been laid in Stuttgart. I have faithfully warned him against it, given him the best advice, and cautioned him against expending any thing over his income, and thereby involving himself in debts, which are very readily made, but not so easily paid. I gave him an adequate outfit upon leav- ing the academy. To give him a start in the world, our gracious duke gave him for his services what, together with the little his parents were able to do for him from day to day, would have been an ample support for him as an unmarried man. But all these advantages, all my teachings, and all hopes of better prospects here, have been able to effect noth- ing. He has combated all my reasons, made light of my experience and of the experience of others, and has only lis- tened to such counsels as would inevitably insure his destruc- tion. God in His wisdom and goodness could choose no other way to bring him to a knowledge of himself than by sending 16 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. this affliction to convince him that all our intellect and power, all reliance upon other men, and upon accidental and happy contingencies, are for the most part vain, foolish, and falla- cious, and that it is He alone who helps all those who pray to Him earnestly and patiently. ' ' "As if I had not done so!" interrupted Schiller. "As if I had not besought the great Euler of the destinies of men, in deep fervor and humility of soul, to cast a ray of enlighten- ing grace upon the head of him who had believed it to be his duty to follow the divine call of poetry, and who for its own sake had joyfully relinquished all other earthly prospects and hopes! But my fervid prayers were in vain; no ray of mercy has illumined my poor, gloomy chamber ; and from God and man alike the poet receives an angry refusal, and is dismissed as a beggar ! Read on, Streicher ! I will drink the cup of bitterness to the dregs; not a single drop of gall shall remain untasted. Eead on, my friend!" "But, Frederick," said Streicher, in a tender, imploring voice, "why impose upon yourself and us the penance of reading these hard words? Your father means well with you undoubtedly. He is a good and honorable man, but from his stand-point the world has a different appearance than from that of the heights of Parnassus. He estimates you by an ordinary scale, and that is not adapted to Frederick Schiller. That your father will not furnish you the required three hun- dred florins was evident from the commencement of the let- ter, and that suffices." "No, that is not enough," exclaimed Schiller, earnestly. "You shall know what my own father thinks of me, that you may be under no more illusions concerning me, and not have to reproach me some day with having infected you with my fantasies, and held out hopes that would never be realized. I beg you, therefore, to read on. It seems as if the scorch- ing words of paternal anger might in some degree expiate the criminality of my conduct. Eead!" THE TRIALS OF LIFE. 17 "Well, Fritz, if you insist upon it, I will do so," sighed Streicher; and in a loud voice he resumed the reading: "'lie has not been humbled by all the chastening adminis- tered to him -since his departure, and experience only has made him wiser. That he has suffered from intermittent fever for eight entire months, does no credit to his pro- fessional studies; and in the same case he would certainly have bitterly reproached a patient for not having followed in- structions in regard to diet and mode of living. Man is not always dependent upon circumstances, or he would be a mere machine. My dear son has never striven with himself, and it is highly improper and sinful to throw the responsibility of his not having done so upon his education in the academy. Many young men have grown up in this institution who de- manded and received as little assistance, and they are now doing well, and are much esteemed and provided for. How does he suppose we poor parents feel when we reflect that these troubles would not have overtaken him, that we would have been spared a thousand cares on his account, and that he would certainly have achieved what he sought if he had remained here? In brief, he would have been happier, more contented, and more useful in his day and generation, if he had been satisfied to pursue a medium course in life, and had not aspired to take so high a flight. Nor is it necessary that a superior talent should be made manifest outwardly, at least not until the benefits accruing from its exercise can be shown and proven, and it can be said, " These are the fruits of dili- gence and intelligence." Pastor llahn and Pastor Fulda are both great men, and are visited by all travelling scholars, and yet they look like other men. As for the three hundred florins, I must say that this demand has excited my great dis- pleasure. I have never given him cause to think, " My father can and will rescue me when I become involved in dittk'ulties." And he knows himself that I have three other children, none of whom are provided for, and from whom much has already 18 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. been withheld on his account. On his prospects, hopes, plans, and promises, I can advance nothing, as I have already been so badly deceived. Even if it were possible to place some faith in them, I could not raise the money ; for, although I am known as an honest man, my financial condition, and the amount of my salary, are also well known; and it is evi- dent that I would not be able to pay a debt of from two to three hundred florins out of my income. I can do nothing but pray for my son! His faithful father, SCHILLER.' " * "Can do nothing but pray and scold," exclaimed Schiller, emphatically. " There you see what an unworthy, trifling fellow I am. All the hopes which my family and friends en- tertained for me, yes, which I entertained for myself and my talents, are blighted, dissolved in smoke like burning straw. Nothing real is left but the burden of my debts, and my pov- erty. My good Oswald, you have had the weakness to believe in me, and to accept a draft on my future. To your own detriment, 3-011 must now perceive that this draft is Avorthless, and that my father was right in reproaching me for having had the temerity to attempt to make a German poet out of a Wurtemberg regimental surgeon." " Do not speak so, Frederick Schiller," exclaimed Streicher, indignantly. "Your words are blasphemous; and all Ger- many would be angry with you if it heard them!" " But all Germany would take good care not to pay my debts. While I, in holy and true disinterestedness, am ready to consecrate my whole being to the service of my country, and to devote all the powers of my mind and talents to its benefit, its instruction and entertainment, if I should demand of the German nation that it should also bring me an offer- ing, that each individual who had read and seen my tragedies should give me a groschen, each one would deny that he had ever seen or read them, and, with a shrug of his shoulders, would turn from the beggar who had the temerity to require any thing of the public but its applause and its momentary * "Schiller's Relations to his Parents and the Walzogen Family," pp. 62-68. THE TRIALS OF LIFE. 19 delight. My friends, I am very miserable, for you must know that this is not the only large debt which troubles me. There were other noble souls who had confidence in my success, and allowed themselves to be bribed by 'The Robbers.' My noble friend, Madame von Wolzogen, who gave the homeless one an asylum on her estate in Bauerbach, when he had fled from Ludwigsburg, did more than this. When, after a sojourn of seven mouths in her beautiful Tusculum, I marched out into the world again, she loaned me two hundred florins, which I solemnly promised to return in a year. The year has ex- pired, my noble friend depends on this sum to make a necessary payment on a mortgage which is attached to her estate, and I am not able to keep my word. I must expect her to consider me a swindler who has cheated her with empty promises!" "No, Madame von Wolzogen will not think so, for she knows you," exclaimed Streicher, indignantly. "She will be as far from thinking so as I am," said Oswald Schwelm, gently. " It is not your fault that you are in pecuniary difficulties; the blame does not attach to you, but to the German public, to the German nation, which allows its poets to suffer want, even while enraptured with their works. The German people are prodigal with laurels and wreaths, but cannot be taught that laurels do not sustain life, and that wreaths are of no avail to the poet if they do not also prepare a home for him, where he can await the muses at his ease, and rest on his laurels. Ah, Frederick Schiller, when I see how you, one of the noblest of poets, are tor- mented by the want of a paltry sum of money, my eyes fill with tears of compassion, not for you, but for the German fatherland, which disowns its most exalted sons, while it worships the foreigner and gives a warm reception to every stranger charlatan who condescends to come and pocket Ger- man money for his hackneyed performances." " No, no," said Schiller, hastily. "You must not abuse and condemn the object of my highest and holiest love. As 20 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. a true son never reviles his mother, even when he believes that she has been unjust to him, so the true son of Germany must never scold his sublime mother, but must love her tenderly and endearingly, even if she should accord him nothing but a cradle and a grave. As we say, ' what God does is well done, ' we must also say what Germania does is well done. And be- lieve me, my friends, if I truly deserve it, and if, as you say, and I hope, I am really a poet, the German fatherland Avill smile upon me, and give me the bread of life for the manna of poetry. Men will not let him die of hunger to whom the gods have given the kiss of immortality." "Amen," said Streicher, with a slight touch of derision. "Yes, amen," repeated Schiller, smiling. "It was well, friend Oswald, that you awakened the patriot in me by your indignation in my behalf, for the patriot has helped me to overlook my little earthly necessities. My friends, be patient and indulgent with me. Better times are coming, and if I am really a poet the gods will take pity on me, and a day of recognition and renown will also come! To be sure, I have nothing to offer you at present but hope. The draft on the future is all I can give you, my good OsAvald, for the money you loaned me." "This draft is, in my eyes, the most beautiful coin," said Oswald Schwelm, heartily, " and truly it is not your fault that my hard-hearted creditor cannot take the same view of the matter, but demands payment for the publication of 'The Bobbers.' "Well, we will speak of it no more. Forgive me, Schiller, for having caused you disquiet by coming here. But, as I said before, I did not think of the ingratitude of the German fatherland, but only of the German poet who had given it 'The Robbers,' 'Fiesco,' and 'Louise Miilleriu;' and I hoped that applause had made him rich. Give me your hand, Schiller, and let us say farewell." "And what will you do, my poor friend?" asked Schiller, feelingly. "Will you return to Stuttgart, where the hard- hearted creditor awaits you?" THE TRIALS OF LIFE. 21 "No, no," answered Oswald, "I will not return to Stutt- gart, for the warrant of arrest would hang over my head like the sword of Damocles! I will go to Carlsruhe, where I have an old uncle, and will endeavor to soften his heart. Do not trouble yourself about me, my friend; and may your cheerful- ness and the creative power of the poet not for a single mo- ment be darkened by the remembrance of me! We prosaic sons of humanity are often aided by accident, and find some little avenue of escape from the embarrassments of life, while you poets march through the grand portals into the temple of fame, where you are more exposed to the attacks of enemies. Farewell, friend Schiller, and may great Jupiter ever be with you!" " Adieu, friend Schwelm!" said Schiller, extending his hand and gazing sadly at his kind, open countenance. " You as- sume to be gay, in order to hide your anxiety; but I see through the veil which friendship and the goodness of your heart have prompted you to assume, and behind it I detect a careworn, anxious look. Oh, my friends, I am a poor man, and am only worthy of commiseration; and it is all in vain that I endeavor to arm myself against a knowledge of this fact." "No, you are a great and enviable man," exclaimed Strei- cher, with enthusiasm. " Of that we are all assured, and you also shall become convinced of it. You are ascending the mountain which leads to renown, and, although now enveloped in a cloud, you will at last attain the heights above, and be surrounded with a halo of sunshine and glory." "I wish, my friend," said Schiller, pointing with a sad smile to the ashes in the stove, "I wish we had some of this sunshine now, and were not compelled to warm the room with such expensive coals. But patience, patience! You are right, Andrew, 1 am ascending a mountain, and am now in a cloud, and therefore it is not surprising that I feel chilly and uncomfortable. Hut better times are coming, and my health will improve, and this bad cough and fever will no longer re- 22 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. tard my footsteps, and I will be able to mount aloft to the abode of the gods with more rapid strides. Farewell, my friends! My writing-table seems to regard me with astonish- ment, as if asking why I have not brought it my customary ovation." "Let it look and inquire," said Streicher. "You must make no reply, but must first break your fast, as any other honest man would do. Come and breakfast with us at the inn, Frederick. A man must eat, and, although I unfor- tunately have not enough money to satisfy this Cerberus of a creditor, I have at least enough to pay for a breakfast and a glass of wine for us three. Come, Frederick, get yourself ready quickly, and let us tread the earth with manly footsteps, and compel it to recognize us as its lords." "No, you good, thoughtless man of the world," said Schil- ler, smiling; "no, I must remain here! I must work on at 'Don Carlos,' who gives my mind no rest by day or night, and insists on being completed!" " But promise me, at least, Fritz, that you will breakfast before you go to work?" " I promise you ! Now go, Andrew, for the good Schwelm is already holding the door open, and waiting for you." CHAPTER III. HEXKIETTA VON AVOLZOGEN. " BREAKFAST," murmured Schiller, after his two friends had taken leave of him. " Oh, yes, it were certainly no bad idea to indulge in a hot cup of coffee and fresh sweet rolls. But it costs too much, and one must be contented if one can only have a cup of fresh water and a piece of bread." He stood up and returned to the chamber, to complete the toilet so hastily made before, to adjust his hair, and put on HENRIETTA VON WOLZOGEN. 23 the sober, well-worn suit which constituted alike his work- day and holiday attire. After having finished his toilet, Schiller took the pitcher, which stood on a tin waiter by the side of a glass, and bounded gayly down the stairway into the large courtyard and to the fountain, to fill his pitcher at the mouth of the tragic mask from which a stream of water constantly gushed. This was Schiller's first morning errand. Every morning the people in the house could see the pale, thin young man go to the fountain with his pitcher; and it amused them to watch him as he walked up and down the yard with long strides, looking heavenward, his head thrown back, and his chest expanded with the fresh morning air, which he inhaled in long draughts. Then, when he had stretched and exer- cised his limbs, breathed the air, and looked at the heavens, he returned to the fountain, took up his pitcher, running over with water, ran into the house, up the stairway, and re- entered his dingy little room. But he brought the heavens and the fresh morning air with him, and his soul was gladdened and strengthened for his poetic labors. To-day the fresh air had done him much good; and, after he had drunk his first glass of water, and eaten Ins bread and butter, which he took from a closet in the wall, he looked pleased and comfortable; a smile glided over his features, and his eyes brightened. " How rich is he who has few wants," he said softly to him- self, "and how freely the spirit soars when its wings are un- encumbered with the vanities of life! Come, ye Muses and Graces, keep a loving watch around my table, and guide my hand that I may write nothing that does not please you!" lie threw himself on the chair before the table, took up his pen, rapidly read what he had last written, and with a few strokes finished the last great scene of the third act of his new tragedy, "Don Carlos." 24 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. "Undjetzt verlaszt mich!"* recited Schiller, as his pen flew over the paper; and then he continued, in a changed voice: " Kann ich es mit einer erfiillten Hoffnung, dann ist dieser Tag der schonste meines Lebens !" And then he added, in the first voice: " Er ist kein verlorener in dem meinigem!" "Yes," exclaimed Schiller, in a loud voice, as he threw his pen aside, " and it is not a lost one in mine. At some future day I will think of this hour with joy and satisfaction of the hour in which I wrote the closing scene of the third act of a tragedy, a dramatist's greatest and most difficult task. Oh, ye Muses and Graces, whom I invoked, were you near me, blessing my labors? I laid my human sacrifice of pain and suffering on your altar this morning, and my poor head once more received the baptism of tears. Bless me with your favor, ye Muses and Graces, and let me hope that the tears of the man were the baptism of the poet! Yes, my soul per- suades me that" I am a poet; and this new work will attest it before the world and mankind, and A cry of surprise and dismay escaped his lips, and he stared toward the door which had just been opened, and in which a lady appeared who was completely wrapped up in furs, and whose face was entirely shaded by a hood. "Madame von Wolzogen," he exclaimed, rising quickly. "Is it possible? Can it be you?" He rushed forward and seized her hand, and when he encountered her mournful gaze he sank on his knees and wept bitterly. " Oh, my friend, my mother, that we should meet under such circumstances! That I should be compelled to throw myself at your feet in shame and penitence!" " And why, Schiller?" asked Madame von Wolzogen, in her soft, kindly voice. " Why must you throw yourself at my feet, and why this penitence? Be still. Do not reply yet, * Fragment of a dialogue between the King atid the Marquis, last Scene, Act III., of "Don Carlos:" u King. And now leave me. "Marquis. If I can do so with an accomplished hope, this will be the most glo- rious day of my life. " Mui'yuin. It is no lost one iq mine!" HENRIETTA VON WOLZOGEN. 25 my poor child. First, hear me ! My only reason in coming here was to see you. It seemed impossible, unnatural, that I should pass through Mannheim without seeing my friend, my son, my Frederick Schiller! My sister, who lives in Meinin- geii, has suddenly fallen ill, and has called^me to her bedside. Well, I am answering her call ; for no one has ever appealed to Henrietta von Wolzogen in vain. I have ridden all night, and will soon resume my journey. The carriage is waiting for me at the corner. I inquired my way to Schiller's dwell- ing; and here I am, and I wish to know, Frederick Schiller, what this silence means, and why you have not written to me for so long a time? That I must know; and I am only here for the purpose of putting this one question : Schiller, have you forgotten your friends in Bauerbach? have you for- gotten me, who was your friend and your mother?" " No, no," he cried, rising and throwing his arms tenderly around Madame von Wolzogen's neck, and pressing her to his heart. " No, how could I fcrget your goodness, your gener- osity, and friendship? But can you not comprehend, my friend, why your arrival could have a terrible effect on me could bring me to the verge of despair?" " Only see how the poetic flame bursts forth when we pro- saic people ask a practical question when we have to remind poets that, unfortunately, we are not fed upon ambrosia fall- ing from heaven ! But I imagined that my wild boy would be once more tearing his own flesh, and terribly dissatisfied with his destiny. And I am here, Schiller, to tell you that you must think better of me and better of yourself, and not confound noble friendship with ignoble gold, which shrewd people call the mainspring of life, but which is, fortunately, Dot the mainspring of friendship, and " " Oh, my friend, if you knew "Silence! The philippic which I had time to prepare at my leisure during my night ride, and which I am determined to inflict upon the capricious and wayward boy, if not upon the man, is not yet ended. Is it possible that your heart 26 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. could be forgetful of and untrue to the past? And why? Because his poor motherly friend has written him in confi- dence that she would be glad if he would return at least a part of the sum of money she had loaned him. And what is his reply? Kothing, nothing at all! He throws his friend's letter into the fire, and " "Into the fire of his anguish, of his reproaching con- science," interrupted Schiller, passionately. "He was silent, because it wrung his heart to stand even for a moment in the category of those who had defrauded you. Oh, my dear friend, toward whom I feel drawn as a loving, obedient son, consider in your sensitive woman's heart if the thought of breaking my faith and becoming a traitor to you was not cal- culated to drive me to desperation! Confiding in my honesty, you loaned me a considerable sum of money, the more considerable as you were not rich, and were yourself compelled to borrow the money from a Jew. I solemnly promised to return the borrowed sum within the course of a year. The year has expired, the Jew urges payment; and now, when you gently remind me of my promise, I feel with shame and rage that I have broken my word, and acted dis- honorably toward you; and, therefore oh, out upon con- temptible, cowardly human nature, which dares not look its own weakness in the face ! and therefore I was silent. How often did my heart prompt me, in my distress of mind, to fly to your friendship for relief! but the painful consciousness of my inability to comply with your request and pay my debt, held me back. My powerlessness to meet your just demand made the thought of you, which had ever been a source of joy, a positive torment. Whenever your image appeared, the picture of my misery rose up before me. I feared to write to you, because I had nothing to write but the eternal: 'Have patience with me!' " * He laid his head on Madame von Wolzogen's lap and sobbed; but with gentle force she compelled him to rise. * Schiller's own words. See "Schiller's Relations to Parents," etc., p. 450. HENRIE1TA VON WOLZOGEN. 27 " Stand up, Schiller ; hold your head erect. It does not beseem you to despair and complain like other poor, suffering children of humanity. You, who are marching upward to Parnassus, should tread under foot the vermin of earthly cares." " But this vermin does not lie at my feet, but is in my brain, and will drive me mad if this goes on! But I must tell you, you must know the truth : it is impossible for me to pay you any part of my debt. Oh, it is hard to say these words ; nevertheless, I must not be ashamed, for it is destiny. One is not to be deemed culpable because one is unfor- tunate." * " And_one is not unhappy because one has no money," said Madame von Wolzogeu, smiling. " One is only retarded and checked, like the fiery young steed, impatient to bound madly over the plain and dash up the mountain, but prevented by the tightly-drawn reins. But, my friend, this need cause you no uuhappiuess. With the strength of brave determi- nation, and the energy of creative power, you will break the reins, liberate yourself, and soar aloft. Even the winged Pegasus bears restraint, and must suffer it; but the poet, who holds and guides the reins, is free free to mount aloft on his winged steed. And as he soars higher and higher, the earth, with its want and distress, grows less and less distinct. Then look upward, friend Schiller, upward to Parnassus, where golden renown and immortality await you!" " Words, beautiful words!" exclaimed Schiller. " Oh, there was a time when the hope of renown was a source of as intense delight to me as an article of jewelry is to a young girl. Now, I am indifferent to every thing. I am willing to serve up my laurels in the next 'boeuf a la mode,' and to resign my tragic muse to your dairy-maid, if you keep cows.f How pitiable is a poet's renown, compared with a happy life! And I am so unhappy that I would willingly exchange all my expectations Schiller's own words. See "Relations to Parents," etc 1 ., p. 451. tlbid., p. 416. 28 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. of future renown for a valid check for one hundred thousand florins, and "Be silent!" exclaimed Madame von Wolzogen, imperi- ously. " You slander yourself. Thank God, these utterances do not come from your heart, but from your lips; and that the blasphemies which anger provokes are in a language known and understood only by your fantasy, and not by your mind ! I told you before, that it did not beseem you to grovel in the dust. But now I say: Down on your knees, Frederick Schiller, on your knees, and pray to your own genius for for- giveness for the words which you have just spoken." "Forgiveness," groaned Schiller, falling on his knees. " I beg forgiveness of you, my friend, my mother. I am a crim- inal am like Peter, who in the hour of trial denied his Lord and Saviour and reviled that which is greatest and holiest on earth. Be indulgent, have patience with me ! Better times will come! The foaming and fomenting juice of the grape will clear, and become the rich, fiery wine which refreshes and makes glad. No, I do not despair of my future, and you who love me shall not do so either, and " " We do not," said Madame von Wolzogen, smiling. " You are a wonderful man ! You are like the changing skies in storm and sunshine first threatening clouds, then celestial blue; before anger and despair, now joy and hope. And this, my dear young friend, is the best evidence that you are truly a poet; and if you had not known it already, this hour should assure you of the fact. I, however, Frederick Schiller, have never doubted either your genius or yourself; and I have come to tell you this, and dissipate the dark cloud that was forming between two friends. No, Frederick, we will not permit the sun of our friendship to be darkened. AVe must be honest, true, and sincere to one another; but we must not be silent and withhold a word of sympathy whenever one of us cannot grant what the other requires. I know that you are embarrassed and in want; and notwithstanding all my friend- ship, I cannot aid you. You know that the Jew Israel de- HENRIETTA VON WOLZOGEN. 29 mands the sum which I borrowed of him; and it is not in your power to return it, although it is very inconvenient for me, and very painful to you. But shall we, because we are needy, make ourselves poor also? Shall we, because we have no money, have no friendship either?" "No, my dear, my great, my good lady," exclaimed Schil- ler, his countenance radiant with joy. No, we will strengthen and console ourselves with friendship, and it must compensate us for all else. Oh, how poor and needy one would be in the possession of millions, without love and friendship! I, however, am rich, for I have dear friends " And have, perhaps, besides friends, the precious treasure of a sweetheart? Oh, Schiller, how very prettily you blush, and how conscious you look. In love once more in love! But in love with whom, my poet, with one or with two? And is the dear one's name Margaret, or Charlotte, or Laura, or " "Enough, enough," cried Schiller, laughing, "the dear one's name is Love, and I seek her everywhere, and think I find her in every noble and beautiful female face that wears the smile of innocence and the dignity of beauty, that meets my gaze. My heart is thrown open to permit Love to enter as a victorious queen, and take possession of the throne of beauty which I have erected in its sanctuary at the side of the altar of friendship, on which you reign supreme, my dear Madame Wolzogen, my second mother! Ah, how I thank you for having come ! Your loving hand has removed from my soul the load of shame and humiliation, and I once more feel light and free; and I can now speak to you about these disagreeable money matters with calmness. No, no, do not forbid me, my dear lady, but let me speak on. Listen! I have been sick throughout almost the entire past year. Gnawing disquiet and uncertainty in regard to my prospects have retarded my recovery. This alone is the reason why so many of my plans have miscarried, and I have not been able to work and earn as much as I hoped. But I have now 30 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. marked out my future course after mature consideration. And, if I am not disturbed on my way, my future is secured. I am putting my affairs in order and will soon be in a con- dition to pay all my debts. I only require a little time, until my plans begin to work. If I am hampered now, I am ham- pered forever. This week I will commence editing a journal, the Rhenish TJialia. It will be published by subscription; and a helping hand has been extended to me from many places. The journal will be a success, and I shall derive from it a certain income which will be sufficient for my support. From the proceeds of my theatrical pieces I shall be able to pay off my debts by degrees, and above all, my debt to you, my friend. I solemnly promise to pay you the entire amount, in instalments, by the end of next year, and I will make out three drafts which shall certainly be honored when due. Do not smile incredulously, my dear lady, but depend upon my assurances. I am certain that God' will give me health to attain this noble aim." * "My friend," said Madame AVolzogen, with emotion, "may God give you health and strength, not to enable you to pay this little debt, but to enable you to pay the great debt you owe the world! For the world requires of you that you use the great capital of poetry and mind with which God has in- trusted you, as the talent which shall bear interest to the joy of mankind and your own honor and renown. It is a high and difficult calling for which God has chosen you. You must march in advance of humanity as its poet and priest, proclaiming and sympathizing with its sorrows and sufferings, and awakening that enthusiasm which leads to action and promotes happiness. Ever keep your noble ends in view, my friend, and when the little cares of life annoy you, disregard them, as the lion does the insects that fly around his head, and which he could destroy with a single blow of his paw, did he deem it worth the trouble. And now that we have come to an understanding, and knoAV what we are and intend to * Schiller's own words. See "Relations to Parents," etc., p. 452. HENRIETTA VON WOLZOGEN. 31 remain to each other, and as my time has expired, I must leave you, for my sister is awaiting me. Farewell, Frederick! Give me your hand once more, and now, hand in hand, let us vow true friendship, that friendship which is never dumb, but imparts to the sister soul its joys and sorrows." "So let it be," said Schiller, earnestly. "In joy and in sorrow I will ever turn to you, my friend, and second mother; and I now beg you never to doubt me. You were, are now, and always will be, equally dear to my heart. I can never be faithless to you, although circumstances and fate might make me appear so outwardly. Never withdraw your love from me. You must and will learn to know me well, and you will then, perhaps, love me a little better. Let nothing impair a friendship so pure, scaled under the eye of God.* And be assured I will always love you with the tenderness of a son, although you would not permit me to become your son. I do not reproach you, because I knew you were right. I am at the starting-point of my career, and dare not yet stretch out my hand after the woman I love!" Henrietta von Wolzogen laid her hand on Schiller's shoul- der and looked smilingly into his large blue eyes. "After the woman you love?" she whispered. "You, dear boy, admit that the woman you love has not yet been found, and that for the present your heart is playing blind-man's- buff with all the pretty young women? For instance, my daughter Charlotte is almost forgotten, because the beautiful Madame Vischerin has such lovely eyes and converses so agreeably. Then we have Margaret Schwan, who Schiller would now certainly love to the exclusion of all others, if, for- tunately or unfortunately, Madame Charlotte von Kalb had not been sojourning in Mannheim for the last few weeks. She is certainly not exactly beautiful, but then she has such eyes; eyes that glow like a crater of passion, and her words are flaming rockets of enthusiasm. This, of course, charms * Schiller's own words to Henrietta vou Wolzogen. See "Kelat ions, "etc., p. 458. 32 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. the young poet ; he stands hesitating between Margaret and Charlotte; and will at last, because he does not know whether to turn to the right or to the left, walk straight on, and look farther for the lady of his love. Farewell, Schiller, you faith- ful friend, you faithful lover! Farewell!" And waving her hand as a last adieu, Madame von Wol- zogen left the room. Schiller cast a confused and troubled look after her. "Can she be right?" he murmured. "Have I really a heart that only seizes upon an object to relax its hold again? Where is the solution of this enigma? Have I ever loved, and is my heart so fickle that it can hold fast to nothing?" He walked to and fro in his little room with great strides, his brow clouded and his eyes looking inward, endeavoring to unravel the mysteries of his heart. "Xo," he said, after a pause. "No, I am not fickle. To her who loved me I would hold firmly in love for ever and ever. But here is the difficulty! I have never found a woman who could or would love me. My heart longs for this sweet interchange of thought; and new sources of happiness and enthusiasm would be opened to me if this ardeutly- wished-for woman would but appear! It seems the poor, ugly, and awkward Frederick Schiller is not worthy of such happiness, and must be contented with having had a modest view of love in the distance, like Moses of the promised land, without ever having entered its holy temple." "With a sigh, Schiller threw himself in the chair before the table and covered his quivering face with his hands. But he soon let them fall, and shook his head with an energetic movement. "Away with sensitiveness!" said he, almost angrily,"! must accustom myself to be happy on earth without happi- ness. And if I have no sweetheart, I have friends who love me, and the friendship of a noble soul can well console me for the denied love of a perhaps fickle heart. For he who can call but one soul on earth his friend is blessed, and sits at the JOY AND SORROW. 33 round-table of the gods. My poor Posa, I will learn from you, and will infuse into you my own feelings. You had but one friend on earth, and the love you could give to no woman you bestowed upon humanity, upon your people. I also will open my heart to humanity, and one woman I will love above all others, and her name shall be Germania! I will serve her, and belong to her, and love her as long as I live. Hear my vow, ye Muses and gods! Germania is my love. I will be her poet and her servant; on bended knees I will worship her; I will raise her to the skies, and never falter in my de- votion, for to her belong the holiest impulses of heart and soul alike. And now, Frederick Schiller, be resolute, be strong and joyful. You are Germania's lover and her son. Determine to do what is good and great, throughout your life- time, to her honor and renown ! Take up the pen, Frederick Schiller! The pen is the sword with which you must fight and conquer!" He took the pen and held it aloft; his eyes sparkled with enthusiasm, and on his smiling lips a silent prayer trembled. The deep silence was again unbroken, save by the rustling of the pen as it glided over the paper. The Muses gathered round the poet and smiled on his labors. CHAPTER IV. JOY AND SORROW. How long he had sat there and written he knew not, he only knew that these had been happy moments of action and creation; that his heart had been full of bliss and his soul overflowing with enthusiasm, and that this high thought Jiad found expression in words. He felt that, like a god, he was creating human beings who lived, moved, and suffered before him. But alas! he was doomed to descend from the serene heights of poetry to the dusty earth; the cares of life were about to recall him from the bright sphere of poetical visions* 34 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. His door was violently thrown open, and Oswald Schwelm rushed in, pale and breathless. "Help me, for God's sake, Schiller! Hide me! I have recognized him! He has just turned into this street, followed by two constables." "Who? Of whom do you speak ? Who pursues you?" ex- claimed Schiller, bounding from his seat. " The hard-hearted creditor from Stuttgart. Some one has advised him that I have come to Mannheim, and he has fol- lowed me with his warrant, determined to arrest me here. Of this I felt assured when I saw him accompanied by the two constables : but, hoping that I had not been perceived, I ran hastily to your room, and now, Schiller, I implore you to res- cue me from my pursuers, from my unmerciful creditor; to preserve my freedom and protect me from arrest." "That I will do," said Schiller, with an air of determi- nation and defiance : and he stood erect and held up his hand as if threatening the invisible enemy. " You shall suffer no more on my account; you shall not be robbed of your freedom." " Be still, my friend! I think I hear steps and whispering voices outside the door. Hide me! for God's sake, hide me, or " Too late! too late! The door is opened and the cruel creditor enters, accompanied by two constables. Schiller uttered a cry of rage, sprang like a chafed lion at the intruder, caught hold of him, shook him, and pressed him back to the door. " What brings you here, sir? How can you justify this in- trusion? how dare you cross this threshold without my per- mission?" To the stormy questions addressed to him by Schiller, with a threatening look and knitted brow, the man replied by a mute gesture toward the two constables, who, with a grave official air, were walking toward Oswald Schwelm, who had retired to the farthest corner of the room. " Mr. Oswald Schwelm, we arrest you in the name of the JOY AND SORROW. 35 Superior Court of Mannheim, by virtue of this warrant, made out by the judicial authorities in Stuttgart; and transferred, at the request of Mr. Richard, to the jurisdiction of the au- thorities in Mannheim. By virtue of the laws of this city we command you to follow us without offering any resistance whatsoever." " You have heard it, Mr. Schiller," said the printer Rich- ard, emphatically. " I have a perfect right to enter this room to arrest my debtor." "No, bloodsucker!" cried Schiller, stamping the floor with his foot. " No, you have not the right. You are a barbar- ian, for you desire to deprive a man of his liberty of whom you know that he owes you nothing!" " lie made himself responsible for the payment of a sum of three hundred florins; the sum is due, and Mr. Schwelm must either pay or go to prison. " "God help me!" cried Schiller, trembling with anger, and deathly pale with agitation. " Give me patience that I may not crush this monster in my righteous indignation. I will be calm and humble, I will beg and implore, for something high and noble is at stake, the liberty of a man! Be tran- quil, friend Schwelm; this man shall not carry out his base intention, he shall not arrest you here in my room. This room is my house, my castle, and no one shall violate its sanctity. Out with you, you cruel creditor, ye minions of the law ! Y'ou can stand before my door and await your prey like blood-hounds, but you shall not lay hands on this noble game until it leaves this sanctuary and crosses this threshold. Out with you, I say! If you love life, leave quickly. Do you not see that I am filled with the holy wrath of outraged hu- manity? Do you not feel that my hands will destroy you if you do not go, and go instantly?" lie threw up his arms, and clinched his fists; and, his eyes flaming, and his angry countenance beautiful with inward agitation, he was about to rush upon the men who had taken hold of Oswald Schwelm, and now looked on in confusion 36 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. and terror. But Oswald Schwelm had, in the mean while, liberated himself from their grasp, and now seized Schiller's arm and held him back, gently entreating him to let the law take its course and leave him to his fate. He then turned to the officers and begged them to forget Mr. Schiller's offensive words, uttered in anger ; he admitted that they were perfectly in the right, and he was ready to yield to stern necessity and accompany them. As Oswald Schwelm approached the door, Schiller thrust him back, exclaiming in loud and threatening tones: "I will permit no one to pass this threshold. If you will not leave without him, you shall all remain here ; and my room, the room of a German poet, shall be the prison of the noble German man, who is guilty of nothing but " " But not having paid the money he owes me," interposed Mr. Richard, " the money which he should have paid a yeai- ago. Since then he has been continually putting me off with empty promises and evasions. I am tired of all this, will put up with it no longer, and am determined to resort to extreme measures. Officers of the law, do your duty, arrest this man, and pay no attention to the boastful words of Mr. Schiller. He is a poet, and poets are not so particular in their words. One must just let them talk on without heeding what they say! Forward now, forward!" "No, no, Oswald," cried Schiller, trembling with anger. " Come to me, Oswald, hold fast to me. They shall never tear you from my side. Xo, never! no, never!" " What is going on here, who uttered that cry?" asked a loud, manly voice, and the broad, well-conditioned body of a man who was plainly dressed, and whose face wore an expres- sion of good-nature and kindliness, appeared in the doorway. " Herr Holzel," exclaimed Schiller, with relief. "My landlord, God sends you to our aid !" " What's the matter? What can I do?" asked Holzel. " I came down from the floor above, and in passing your door I heard a noise and disturbance, and my Mr. Schiller cry JOY AND SORROW. 37 out. 'Well,' thinks I, 'I must go in and see what's going on.'" " And I will reply I will tell you what is going on, my dear Holzel," said Schiller, with flashing eyes. "We have here an unmerciful creditor and rude minions of the law, who dare to enter my room in pursuit of a friend who has fled to me from Stuttgart for help; to me who am the miserable cause of all his misfortunes. Good Oswald Schwelm pledged himself to make good the payment of three hundred florins to the printer who printed my first work, 'The Robbers.' At that time we anticipated brilliant success; we dreamed that 'The Robbers' was a golden seed from which a rich harvest would be gathered. We have erred, and my poor friend here is now called upon to pay for his error with his freedom." "But he shall not," said Mr. Holzel, with vivacity, as he laid his broad hand on Schiller's shoulder. " I will not suffer it; your good friend shall have made no miscalculations. Now, Mr. Schiller, you know very well how fond I am of 'The Robbers,' and that I see the piece whenever it is given here in Mannheim, and cry my eyes out over Iffland, when he does Charles Moor so beautifully; and I so much admire those fine fellows the robbers, and Spiegelberg, who loves his captain dearly enough to die for him a thousand times. I will show you, Schiller, that I have learned something from the noble Spiegelberg, and that the high-minded robber captain is my model. I am not rich, certainly, and cannot do as he did when his money gave out, and take it forcibly from the rich on the public highways, but I can scrape together funds enough to help a good man out of trouble, and do a service to the author of 'The Robbers!' ' " What do you say, my friend? What is it you will do?" asked Schiller, joyfully. " With your permission, I will lend Mr. Schwelm, with whose family in Stuttgart I am well acquainted, and who, I know, will repay me, the sum of three hundred florins for two years, at the usual rate of interest that is, if he will accept it." 38 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. "I will accept it with pleasure," said Oswald Schwelm, heartily grasping Holzel 's proffered hand. " Yes, I accept the money with joy, and I give you my word of honor that I will return it at the expiration of that time." "I believe you," said Holzel, cordially, "for he who pro- moted the publication of 'The Robbers' by giving his money for that purpose, is surely too good and too noble to defraud his fellow-man. Come down into my office with me. Busi- ness should be done in an orderly manner," said he, as he laughingly surveyed the room, in which nothing was in its proper place, but every thing thrown around in the greatest disorder. " Things are not exactly orderly here; and I don't believe there would be room enough on that table to count out the three hundred florins." "Very true," said Schiller, smiling. "But you must also consider, Holzel, that the table has never had occasion to prepare itself for the reception of three hundred florins." " I, unfortunately, know very well that the managers of the theatres do not pay the poet as they should," said Holzel, contemptuously. " They pay him but a paltry sum for his magnificent works. Tell me, Schiller, is what Mr. Schwan told me yesterday true ; did the Manager von Thalberg really give you but eight louis d'ors for your tragedy, 'Fiesco?' >: " Yes, it is true, Holzel, and I can assure you that this table, for my three tragedies, has not yet groaned under the weight of three hundred florins. And this may in some meas- ure excuse me in your eyes for what has occurred." "No excuse is necessary," said Holzel, good-humoredly. " Come, gentlemen, let us go down and attend to our business. Above all things, Mr. Printer-of-the-Robbers, send your con- stables away. They have nothing more to do here, and only offend the eye with their presence. And now we will count out the money, and satisfy the warrant." " And make out a note of indebtedness to you, you worthy helper in time of trouble," said Oswald Schwelm, as he fol- lowed the printer and constables out of the room. JOY AND SORROW. 39 Schiller was also about to follow, but Holzel gently pushed him back. " It is not necessary for you to accompany us, Mr. Schiller. What has the poet to do with such matters, and why should you waste your precious time? We can at- tend to our money matters without you; and I am not willing that this harpy of a printer should any longer remain in your presence." "My dear friend," exclaimed Schiller, with emotion, " what a kind, noble fellow you are, and how well it becomes you to do good and generous actions in this simple, unosten- tatious manner! You have freed me from a heavy burden to-day, and relieved my soul of much care; and if my next drama succeeds well, you can say to yourself that you are the cause, and that you have helped me in my work!" " Great help, indeed," laughed the architect. " I can build a pretty good house, but of your theatrical pieces I know nothing at all ;, and no one would believe me if I should say I had helped Frederick Schiller in his tragedies. Nor is it necessary that they should. Only keep a kind remembrance of me in your heart, that is renown enough for me, although men should hear nothing about the poor architect, Holzel." " My friend," said Schiller, in an earnest, solemn voice, "if I am really a poet, and the German nation at some future day recognizes, loves, and honors me as such, you also will not be forgotten, and men will keep your name in good remem- brance; for what a good man does in love and kindness to a poet, is not lost. Children and grandchildren will praise his good action, as if he had done it to themselves, and will call him the nation's benefactor, because he was the poet's bene- factor. May this be your reward, my friend! I wish this for your sake and for my own. And now go, for my heart is filled with tears, and I feel them rushing to my eyes!" Ilolzel had already passed out, and gently closed the door, and did not hear these last words. No one saw Schiller's gushing tears; no one heard the sobs which escaped his breast ; no one witnessed the struggle with himself, with the humili- 40 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. ations, sorrows, and distress of life; no ear heard him com- plain sadly of want and poverty, the only inheritance of the German poet! But Frederick Schiller's soul of fire soon rose above such considerations. His glance, which had before been tearfully directed to the present, now pierced the future ; and he saw on the distant heights, on the temple of renown, inscribed in golden letters, the name FREDERICK SCHILLER. "I am a poet," he cried, exultingly, "and more 'by the grace of God' than kings or princes are. If earth belongs to them, heaven is mine. While they are regaled at golden tables, I am feasted at the table of the gods with ambrosia and nectar! What matter, if poets are beggars on earth if they are not possessed of riches? They should not complain. Have they not the God-given capital of mind and poetry in- trusted to them, that it may bear interest in their works? And, though the man must sometimes hunger, a bountiful repast awaits the poet on the heights of Olympus! With this thought I will console myself," he added, in a loud voice, " and will proclaim it to others for their consolation. I will write a poem on this subject, and its name shall be, 'The Partition of the Earth!'" He walked to the table, and noted this title in his diary with a few hasty strokes of the pen. He now wished to return to his tragedy. But the Muses had been driven from this consecrated ground by discordant earthly sounds, and were now not disposed to return at his bidding, and the poet's thoughts lacked buoyancy and enthusiasm. " It is useless," exclaimed Schiller, throwing his pen aside. " The tears wrung from my heart by earthly sorrow have ex- tinguished the heavenly fire, and all is cold within me! Where shall I find the holy, soul-kindling spark?" "In her," responded a voice in his heart. "In Charlotte von Kalb! Yes, this fair young woman, this impassioned soul will again enliven and inspire me. She understands CHARLOTTE VON KALB. 41 poetry; and all that is truly beautiful and great finds an echo in her heart. I will go to Charlotte! I will read her the first two acts of my 'Carlos,' and her delight will kindle anew the fire of enthusiasm." He hastily rolled up his manuscript, and took down his hat. He cast no look at the dusty, dingy little mirror fastened to the window-frame. No brush touched his dis- hevelled hair, or removed the dust and stains from his dress. It never occurred to the poet to think of his outward appear- ance. What cared he for outward appearances he who occupied himself exclusively with the mind? He rushed out of the house, and through the streets of the little city. The people he met greeted him with reverence, and stood still to look after the tall, thin figure of the poet. He neither saw nor heeded them. His eyes were upturned, and his thoughts flew on in advance of him to Charlotte to the impassioned, enthusiastic young woman. Does her heart forebode the poet's coming? Does the se- cret sympathy which links souls together, whisper: "Char- lotte von Kalb, Frederick Schiller approaches?" CHAPTER V. CHARLOTTE VOX KALB. SHE was sitting at the window of the handsomely-furnished room which she used as a parlor. She had just completed her elegant and tasteful toilet; and when the mirror reflected the image of a young woman of twenty, with light hair, slightly powdered, a high, thoughtful forehead, and remarkably large and luminous black eyes, and the tall, graceful figure, attired in a rich and heavy woollen dress of light blue, Char- lotte von Kalb turned from the beautiful vision with a sigh. " I am well worthy of being loved, and yet no one loves me! No one! Neither the husband, forced upon me by 42 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. my family, nor my sister, who only thinks of the unhappiness of her own married life, nor any other relative. I am alone. The husband who should be at my side, is far away at the court of the beautiful Queen of France. The sister lives with her unloved husband on her estates. I am alone, entirely alone! Ah, this solitude of the heart is cheerless, for my heart is filled with enthusiasm, and longing for love!" She shuddered as she uttered these words, and turned her eyes with a startled, anxious look to the little picture which, together with several others, hung on the window-frame. She slowly walked forward and gazed at it long and thought- fully. It was only a plain black silhouette of a head taken in profile. But how expressive was this profile, how magnifi- cent the high, thoughtful forehead, how proud the sharply- defined nose, how eloquent the swelling lips, and how power- ful the massive chin! It would have been evident to any observer, that this picture represented the head of a man of great intellect, although he had not seen, written underneath, the name Frederick Schiller! "Frederick Schiller," 'whispered Charlotte, with a sigh, "Frederick Schiller!" Her lips said nothing more, but an anxious voice kept on whispering and lamenting in her heart ; and she listened to this whispering, and gazed vacantly out into the street ! The door-bell rang and roused Charlotte von Kalb from her dreams. Some one has entered the house ! She hopes he is not coming to see her! She does not wish to see any one, for no one will come whom she cares to see ! Some one knocks loudly at the door; a crimson glow suf- fuses itself over Charlotte's cheeks, for she knows this knock, and it echoes so loudly in her heart, that she is incapable of answering it. The knocking is heard for the second time, and a sudden unaccountable terror takes possession of Charlotte's heart; she flies through the room and into her boudoir, closing the door softly behind her. But she remains standing near it, CHARLOTTE VON KALB. 43 and hears the door open, and the footsteps of a man entering; and then she hears his voice as he calls to the servant: " Madame von Kalb is not here ! Go and say that I beg to be permitted to see her." Oh, she recognizes this voice! the voice of Frederick Schiller; and it pierces her soul like lightning, and makes her heart quake. . It may not be! No, Charlotte; by all that is holy, it may not be ! Think of your duty, do not forget it for a moment ! Steel your heart, make it strong and firm! Cover your face with a mask, an impenetrable mask! No one must dream of what is going on in your breast he least of all ! A knock is heard at the door leading to her bedchamber. It is her maid coming to announce that Mr. Schiller awaits her in the reception-room. " Tell him to be kind enough to wait a few minutes. I will come directly." After a few minutes had expired, Charlotte von Kalb en- tered the reception-room with a clear brow and smiling coun- tenance. Schiller had advanced to meet her, and, taking the tapering little hand which she extended, he pressed it fer- vently to his lips. " Charlotte, my friend, I come to you because my heart is agitated with stormy thoughts, for I know that my fair friend understands the emotions of the heart." "Emotions of the heart, Schiller?" she asked, laughing loudly. " Have we come to that pass again? Already an- other passion besides the beautiful Margaret Schwan and the little Charlotte von Wolzogen?" He looked up wonderingly, and their eyes met; Charlotte's cheeks grew paler in spite of her efforts to retain the laugh- ing expression she had assumed. " How strangely you speak to-day, Charlotte, and how changed your voice sounds!" " I have taken cold, my friend," said she, with a slight shrug of her shoulders. " You know very well that I cannot 44 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. stand the cold ; it kills me ! But it was not to hear this you came to see me?" "No, that is very true," replied Schiller, in confusion. " I did not come for that purpose. I why are your hands so cold, Charlotte, and why have you given me no word of welcome?" " Because you have not yet given me an opportunity to do so," she said, smiling. "It really looks as if you had come to-day rather in your capacity of regimental surgeon, to call on a patient, than as a poet, to visit an intimate acquaint- ance." "An intimate acquaintance!" exclaimed Schiller, throw- ing her hand ungently from him. " Charlotte, will you then be nothing more to me than an intimate acquaintance?" "Well, then, a good friend," she said quietly. "But let us not quarrel about terms, Schiller. We very well know what we are to each other. You should at least know that my heart sympathizes with all that concerns you. And now tell me, my dear friend, what brings you here at this unusual hour? It must be something extraordinary that induces the poet Schiller to leave his study at this hour. Well, have I guessed right? Is it something extraordinary?" "I don't know," replied Schiller, in some confusion. "You don't know!" exclaimed Charlotte, with a peal of laughter, which seemed to grate on Schiller's ear, for he re- coiled sensitively, and his brow darkened. " I cannot account for the sudden change that has come over me," said Schiller, thoughtfully. "I came with a full, confiding heart, Charlotte, longing to see you, and now, all at once I feel that a barrier of ice has arisen around my heart ; your strangely cold and indifferent manner has frozen me to the core." " You are a child; that is to say, you are a poet. Come, my poet, let us not quarrel about words and appearance; whatever my outward manner may be, you know that I am sound and true at heart. And now I see why you came. CHARLOTTE VON KALB. 45 That roll of paper is a manuscript ! Frederick Schiller has come, as he promised to do a few days ago, to read his latest poem to the admirer of his muse. You made a mystery of it, and would not even tell me whether your new work was a tragedy or a poem. And now you have come to impart this secret. Is it not so, Schiller?" " Yes, that was my intention," he replied, sadly. " I wished to read, to a sympathizing and loved friend, the beginning of a new tragedy, but "No 'but' whatever," she exclaimed, interrupting him. " Let me see the manuscript at once!" and she tripped lightly to the chair on which he had deposited his hat and the roll of paper on entering the room. " May I open it, Schiller?" and when he bowed asseut- ingly, she tore off the cover with trembling hands and read, " Don Carlos, Infanta of Spain; a Tragedy." " Oh, my dear Schiller, a new tragedy! Oh, my poet, my dear poet, what a pleasure! how delightful!" "Oh, "cried Schiller, exultingly; "this is once more the beautiful voice, once more the enthusiastic glance ! Welcome, Charlotte, a thousand welcomes!" He rushed forward, seized her hand, and pressed it to his lips. She did not look at him, but gazed fixedly at the manuscript which she still held in her hand, and repeated, in a low voice, " Don Carlos, Infanta of Spain." " Yes, and I will now read this Infanta, that is, if you wish to hear it, Charlotte?" " How can you ask, Schiller? Quick, seat yourself oppo- site me, and let us begin." She seated herself on the little sofa, and, when Schiller turned to go after a chair, she hastily and noiselessly pressed a kiss on the manuscript, which she held in her hand. When Schiller returned with the chair, the manuscript lay on the table, and Charlotte sat before him in perfect composure. Schiller began to read the first act of "Don Carlos" to his "friend, "in an elevated voice, with pathos and with fiery 46 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. emotion, and entirely carried away by the power of his own composition! But his friend and auditor did not seem to participate in this rapture! Her large black eyes regarded the reader in- tently. At first her looks expressed lively sympathy, but by degrees this expression faded away; she became restless, and at times, when Schiller declaimed in an entirely too loud and grandiloquent manner, a stealthy smile played about her lips. Schiller had finished reading, and laid his manuscript on the table; he now turned to his friend, his eyes radiant with en- thusiasm. " And now, my dear, my only friend, give me your opinion, honestly and sincerely! What do you think of my work?" "Honestly and sincerely?" she inquired, her lips twitching with the same smile. " Yes, my friend, I beg you to do so." "Well, then, my dear friend," she exclaimed, with aloud and continuous peal of laughter ; " well, then, my dear Schiller, I must tell you, honestly and sincerely, that 'Don Carlos' is the very worst you have ever written!" Schiller sprang up from his chair, horror depicted in his countenance. " Your sincere opinion?" "Yes, my sincere opinion!" said Charlotte von Kalb, still laughing. "No," cried Schiller, angrily, "this is too bad!" Schiller seized his hat, and, without taking the slightest notice of Charlotte, left the room, slamming the door behind him.* With great strides, he hurried through the streets, chagrin and resentment in his heart; and yet so dejected, so full of sadness, that he could have cried out with pain and anguish against himself and against the whole world. When he saw acquaintances approaching, he turned into a side street to avoid them. He wished to see no one; he was not in a condition to speak on indifferent subjects. * This scene is historically exact. CHARLOTTE VON KALB. 47 He reached his dwelling, passed up the stairway, and into the room, which he had left in so lofty a frame of mind, dis- pirited and cast down. " It is all in vain, all in vain," he cried, dashing his hat to the floor. " The gold I believed I had found, proves to be nothing but glimmering coals that have now died out. Oh, Frederick Schiller, what is to become of you what can you do with this unreal enthusiasm burning in your soul?" He rushed excitedly to and fro in his little room, striking the books, which lay around on the floor in genial disorder, so violently with his foot, that they flew to the farthest cor- ners of the chamber. He thrust his hands wildly into his disordered hair, tearing off the ribbon which conrined his queue, and struck with his clinched fist the miserable little table which he honored witli the name of his writing-desk. These paroxysms of fury, of glowing anger eruptions of internal desolation and despair were not o* rare occurrence in the life of the poor, tormented poet. "My father was right," he cried, in his rage. "I am an inflated fool, who over-estimates himself, and boasts of great prospects and expectations which are never to be realized! Why did I not listen to his wise counsel? why did I not re- main the regimental surgeon, and crouch submissively at the feet of my tyrant? Why was I such a simpleton as to desire to do any thing better than apply plasters! I imagined my- self invited to the table of the gods, whereas I am only worthy to stand as a lackey at the table of my Duke, and eat the hard crust of duty and subserviency! She laughed! Laughed at my poem! All these words, these thoughts that had blos- somed up from the depths of my heart; all these forms to whom I had given spirit of my spirit, life of my life: all this had no other effect than to excite laughter laughter over my tragedy! Oh, Charlotte, Charlotte, why have you done this?" And he again thrust his hands violently into his hair, and sank groaning into his chair. 48 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. " I am unhappy, very unhappy ! I believed I could con- quer a world, and have not yet conquered a single human heart ! I hoped to acquire honor, renown, and a competency by the creative power of my talents, and am but a poor, name- less man, tormented by creditors, by misery, and want, who must at last admit that he placed a false estimate on his abilities. Truly I am unhappy, very unhappy! Entirely alone; none who loves or understands me!" Deep sighs escaped his breast, and tears stood in the eyes that looked up reproachfully toward heaven. As he lowered his eyes, he looked toward the writing- table the writing-table at which he had spent so many hours of the night in hard work ; at which he had written, thought, and suffered so much. " In vain, all in vain ! Nothing but illusion and dis- appointment! If what I have written with my heart's blood excites laughter, I am no poet, am not one of the anointed ! It were better I had copied deeds and written recipes, instead of tragedies, for a living, and " He ceased speaking as he observed a letter and package, which the carrier had brought and deposited on his table dur- ing his absence. A simple letter would have excited no pleasure or curios- ity; yes, would even have filled him with consternation, for the letters he was in the habit of receiving only caused hu- miliation and pain. They were either from dunning cred- itors, from his angry father, or from theatre-managers, re- jecting his " Fiesco," as useless, and not adapted to the stage. But beside this letter lay a package; and the letter which Schiller now took from the table bore the postmark Leipsic. From Leipsic! Who could write to him? who could send him a package from that city? AVho had ever sent him any thing but rejected manuscripts and theatrical pieces? "Ah, that was it!" lie had also sent his "Fiesco" to the director of the theatre at Leipsic, and this gentleman had CHARLOTTE VON KALB. 49 now returned it with a polite letter of refusal. Of course, it could be nothing else! He wrathfully broke the seal, unfolded the letter, and looked first at the signature, to assure himself that he had not been deceived. But no! This was not the name of the director in Leipsic; and what did these four signatures in different handwritings mean? There were: " C. G. Korner," and, beside it, " Minna Stock;" and under these names two others, " L. F. Huber," and "Dora Stock." Schiller shook his head wonderingly, and began to read the letter; at first with composure, but, as he read on, became agitated, and his pale check colored with pleasure. From the far-off Leipsic four impassioned beings wafted a greeting to the distant, unknown poet. They wished to thank Frederick Schiller, they wrote, for the many delightful hours for which they were indebted to him ; to thank him for the sublime poetry which had awakened the noblest feelings in their bosoms and filled their hearts witli enthusiasm. They, two bridal couples, were deeply im- bued with love for each other, and the high thought and feel- ing of Frederick Schiller's poems had excited emotions in them which tended to make them better and happier. They wrote further, that nothing was wanting to complete their happiness but the presence of the poet at the consummation of their union. Together they had read his "Robbers," his "Louise Miillerin," and his "Fiesco;" and while so engaged love had taken root in their hearts, grown and blossomed, and for all this they were indebted to Frederick Schiller. They therefore implored him to come to Leipsic on the wedding- day. And then in touching, cordial words, they told him that they never spoke of him but as their dearest friend and benefactor. And further, they begged permission to send the accompanying package as a token of their gratitude in the ardent admiration which they entertained for him in common with every feeling heart and thinking head in (Jermany. 50 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. He laid the letter aside, and hastily opened the package, for he longed to see the persons who so ardently admired him. And there they were, these dear persons, in beautiful min- iatures, on each of which the name of the painter, Huber, was inscribed. How charming and beautiful were the two girlish faces which seemed to smile upon Schiller from the two medallions; how grave and thoughtful the head of the young man designated as Korner ; how genial and bold the face of the painter Huber! But there was something else in the package besides the four portraits. There was a song neatly written on gilt-edged paper, a song from " The Bob- bers," and Korner's name was given as the composer. More- over, the package contained a magnificent pocket-book, worked in gold and silk, and embroidered in pearls; in the inside he found a little note in which Dora and Minna had written that they had worked this pocket-book while their fiances read his tragedies to them. Schiller regarded these tokens of love and esteem with as- tonishment. It seemed to him that he was dreaming; that all this was an illusion, and could not be reality. How could he, who, but a few hours before had experienced such morti- fication and humiliation, he who had been ridiculed, scolded, and laughed at; how could he be the happy recipient of such appreciation and recognition? How was it possible that peo- ple with whom he was not even acquainted, who knew noth- ing of him, could send him a greeting, presents, and words of thanks? No, no, it was all a dream, an illusion! But there lay the letter, yes, there lay the eloquent witness of truth and reality ! Schiller seized the letter with trembling hands, and continued reading. " We must tell you, you great and noble poet, that we are indebted to you for the brightest and best hours of our life. What was good in us you made better, what was dark in us you made light ; our inmost being has been elevated by your poems. Your sublime words are constantly on our lips when we are together. Accept our thanks, Frederick Schiller, ac- CHARLOTTE VON KALB. 51 cept the thanks of two German youths and two German maidens! Let them speak to you in the name of the German nation, in the name of the thousands of German maidens and youths who sing your songs with enthusiasm, and whose eyes fill with tears of devotion and delight when they see your tragedies!" Tears of devotion and delight ! Schiller's eyes are now filled with such tears. lie sinks down upon his knees almost un- consciously, and his soul rises in inspiration to God. He raises his arms and folds his hands as if in prayer, and the tearful eye seeks and finds heaven. "I thank Thee, God, that Thou hast blessed me with such happiness. I thank you, my absent friends, to whom my heart longs to fly. I thank you for this hour! I thank you, because it is the happiest of my life. Your loving greeting sounds on my ear like a voice in the desert, cheering and con- soling. And I, who was crushed in pain and despair, once more arise in renewed hope and happiness. God! when I think that there are, perhaps, others in this world besides you, the two happy couples who love me, who would be glad to know me ; that, perhaps, in a hundred years or more, when my dust is long since scattered to the winds, people will still bless my memory, and pay it a tribute of tears and admiration when my body is slumbering in the grave; then, my beloved unknown friends, then I am proud of my mission, and am reconciled to my God and my sometimes cruel fate.* " Now I know that I am a poet," he exclaimed, rising from his knees and walking to and fro with rapid strides. " It was not a dream, a vain illusion! I am a poet! These noble souls and loving hearts could not have been enkindled by my works if they had not been deeply imbued with the fire of poetry! I am a poet, although she laughed at and ridiculed me! She of all others; she who I thought would certainly understand me!" Schiller opened the door to admit some one who knocked 'Schiller's own words. See "Relations," etc., p. 4-W. 52 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. loudly. A liveried servant entered and handed him a little note. These few words were written on the sheet of paper in almost illegible characters: " I conjure you to come to me, my friend ! I have something of importance to communicate ! Be magnanimous, and come at once! CHARLOTTE!" She had appealed to his magnanimity at a favorable mo- ment! She had irritated and mortified him greatly, but balm had been applied to the wonnd, and it no longer smarted. " Go, Charles, and tell Madame von Kalb that I will come at once!" Charles leaves the room, followed by Schiller, whose thoughts are not occupied with Charlotte on the way this time, but with the four friends in Leipsic, who love him and who did not laugh at his "Don Carlos." These thoughts illumine his countenance with serenity and noble self- consciousness. He carries himself more proudly and his face is brighter and clearer than ever before, for the recognition of his fellow-man has fallen upon and elevated him like the bless- ing of God. He enters Charlotte's dwelling and passes through the hall to the door of her room. Charlotte awaits him, standing at the open door, her eyes red with weeping, and yet a heavenly smile resting on her countenance. She beckons to him to enter; and when he had done so and closed the door, Charlotte falls on her knees before him; she, the beautiful, high-born lady, before the poor young poet but yet the poet "by the grace of God." " Oh, Schiller, dear Schiller, can you forgive me? I appeal to you, the genius, the noblest of German poets, for forgiveness!" He stooped down to her in dismay. " For God's sake, my lady, what are you doing? How can you so debase yourself? Stand up. I conjure you, stand up!" " Schiller, not until you have forgiven my error; not until you swear that that horrible scene no longer excites your anger!" CHARLOTTE VON KALB. 53 " I swear to you, Charlotte, that I feel no trace of displeas- ure. Good angels have wafted from me all irritation and anger with the breath of love. And now arise, Charlotte! Let me assist you with my hand." She took hold of the large hand which he extended, -with her two little hands, and raised herself up. " Oh, my dear Schiller, how I have suffered, and yet how much delight I have experienced since your departure! How fortunate it was that you had forgotten your manuscript in your displeas- ure! I read it once more, to strengthen my opinion as to its want of merit. But how completely hud I been deceived, how sublime a poem is this tragedy, how melodious is the flow of words, how poetic is the heavenward flight of thought! Hail to you, my friend, hail to your future, for your latest poem, your 'Don Carlos,' is the most beautiful you have yet written!" "Oh, Charlotte," exclaimed Schiller, joyfully, "is it true, are you in earnest? But no, only your goodness of heart prompted you to utter these words. In your generosity you wish to soothe the pain your condemnation inflicted." "Xo, Schiller, I swear by all that is high and beautiful, by yourself, by your poetic genius, that your 'Don Carlos' will adorn your brow with a laurel-wreath of immortality. After the lapse of centuries this tragedy will be still praised and esteemed as a masterpiece; and the entire German nation will say with pride, 'Frederick Schiller was our own! The poems which excited enthusiasm and delight throughout all Europe were written in the German language, and Frederick Schiller was a German poet!' Oh, could my spirit wing its flight earthward to hear posterity proclaim these words, and to sing the song of rejoicing on the immortal grave of him whom my spirit recognized and revered while he still trod the earth in the flesh! Schiller, something seems to tell me that I am the Muse destined to consecrate the poet with the kiss of love and of pain. What can a woman give the man she honors above all others, and for whom she entertains the purest affection, 54 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. what more noble gift can she bestow upon him than the kiss of consecration from her lips? Take it, Frederick Schiller, poet of 'Don Carlos,' take from my lips the kiss of consecra- tion, the kiss of gratitude." " Oh, Charlotte, my Muse, my friend, and let me say the grand, the divine word, my beloved! I thank you!" He entwined her slender figure with his arms ; pressed her to his heart, and imprinted a long and ardent kiss upon her lips, then looked at herewith sparkling eyes, and, enraptured with her blushing countenance, his lips were about to seek hers for the second time. With a quick movement, Charlotte withdrew from his em- brace, and stepped back. " The sublime moment has passed," she said, with earnestness arid dignity. " We again belong to the world, to reality; now, that we have done homage to the gods and muses, we must again accommodate ourselves to the rules and customs of the world." "And why, Charlotte, why should we do so? Are not those rules changeable and fleeting? What men denounce as crimes to-day, they proclaim as heroic deeds at some other time; and what they to-day brand as vice, they will perhaps praise as virtue at some future day. Oh, Charlotte, I love you, my soul calls for you, my heart yearns for you. When I look upon you, all is feeling and blissful enjoyment! Let us unite the souls which arise above earthly feeling to divine sublimity; let us unite in the godlike love in which heart re- sponds to heart, and soul to soul. Oh, do not look wonder- ingly at me with those profound and glowing eyes! Char- lotte, have you not long since known and divined that I loved you, and you only?" "Me only," she cried, sadly. " No, it is not so, not me only! It is love that you love in me, and not myself. Oh, Schiller, beware, I pray you; for your own sake, beware! Take back your avowal. I will not have heard it, it shall have died away inaudibly have been erased from my fan- tasy. Take it back but no, rather say nothing more about CHARLOTTE VON KALB. 55 it. Let this moment be forgotten, as the last golden ray of the setting sun is forgotten. Let us speak to each other as we have been accustomed to do, as friends!" "Friends!" exclaimed Schiller, angrily. "I say to you, with Aristotle: 'Oh, my friends, there are no friends!' At least what I feel for you, Charlotte, is not friendship! It is ardent, passionate love! But this you cannot comprehend. You do not know what love is; your heart is cold!" "My heart cold?" she repeated, with sparkling eyes. "I not know what love is! And Frederick Schiller tells me this! The poet's eyes are clouded ! He does not look behind the veil, which the usage of the world has thrown over my coun- tenance. I know what love is, Frederick Schiller! But ought I, the married woman, the wife of an unloved and un- loving husband, ought I to know love? Must I not wipe the tear of delight from my eye, suppress the longing cry on my lips, and erect a barrier of ice around the heart, that burns and glows with the flames which animate my whole being, giving warmth and light, like the fires in the bosom of the earth? If I were free, if the will of my relations had not forced me to the altar, where I fainted after my lips pro- nounced the fatal word of assent;* if I could name the man I love, I would say to him: 'Beloved, you are the life of my life, the heart of my heart, and the thought of my thought. From you I receive all being, and breathe all inspiration from your glances! Take me to yourself as the sea receives the drop of rain, absorbing it in its bosom ! Let me be a part of your life! Let me feel that my own being merges its identity in yours! I have lost myself that I may find myself in you. My sun sets, to rise again with you to the serene heights of bliss, of knowledge, and of poetry. For us there is no more parting on earth or in heaven; for we are one, and by murder only can you mako of this union two distinct beings capable of going in different directions. But I would not wander on, for separation from you, my beloved, with whom I had been * See Charlotte. Tor the friends of the deceased," printed us MS. . p. HO. 56 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. made one, would only be accomplished by shedding my heart's blood. But my lips would not accuse you ; they would receive the kiss of death in silence ! Therefore, if you do not wish to kill me, be true, as I shall be unto death.' ' "Charlotte, heavenly being," cried Schiller, gazing at her radiant countenance with astonishment and delight, "you stand before me as in a halo! you are a Titaness; you storm the ramparts of heaven!" A smile flitted over her features, and she lowered the eyes, which had been gazing upward, again to earth, and regarded Schiller earnestly and intently. " I have told you how I would speak to the man I loved, if I dared. Duty forbids it, however, and 1 must be dumb. But I can speak to you as a friend and as a sympathizing acquaintance, and rejoice with you over your magnificent work. Seat yourself at my side, Schiller, and let us talk about your 'Don Carlos.' ' " No, Charlotte, not until you have first honestly and openly acknowledged why this sudden change took place, and how it is you are now pleased with what, only excited your laughter a few hours ago?" " Shall I tell you, honestly and openly?" " Yes, my friend, henceforth everything must be open and honest between us!" " Well, then, my friend, you yourself bear the blame." "Myself? How so, Charlotte?" " I acknowledge it out of friendship, your tragedy was spoiled in the reading. You are a poet, but not an orator. In the heat of delivery, my friend forgets that Don Carlos did not speak Suabian German, and that King Philip 'halt nit aus Stuckart ist. ' * And now, that I have told you, give me your hand, Schiller, and swear that you will forget my laughter!" "No, I will forget nothing that you say or do, Charlotte; for all that you do is good, and beautiful, and amiable! I * A provincialism. It should be, " ist nicht aus Stuttgart," and means is not from Stuttgart. CHARLOTTE VON KALB. 57 kiss the loved hand that struck me, and would like to demand as an atonement a kiss from the cruel lips which laughed at me." "No jesting, Schiller; let ns be grave, and discuss the future of your 'Don Carlos.' Something great, something extraordinary, must be done for this great and extraordinary work ! It must shoot like a blazing meteor over the earth, and engrave its name in characters of flame on huts and pal- aces alike. The poet who makes kings and princes speak so beautifully, must himself speak with kings and princes must obtain a princely patron. And I have already formed a plan to effect this. Schiller, you must become acquainted with the Duke Charles August of Weimar, or rather he must become acquainted with you, and be your patron. Do you desire this?" "And if I do," sighed Schiller, shrugging his shoulders, "he will not! He, the genial duke, who has his great and celebrated Goethe, and his Wielaud, and Herder, he will not trouble himself much about the poor young Schiller. At the best, he will anathematize the author of 'The Robbers,' like all the other noblemen and rulers, and be entirely satisfied if his mad poetry is shipwrecked on the rock of public indifference." "You do the noble Duke Charles and yourself wrong," cried Charlotte, with vivacity. " Charles August of Weimar is no ordinary prince, and you are no ordinary poet. You should know each other, because you are both extraordinary men. May I make you acqiiainted with each other? The Duke Charles August is coming to Darmstadt to visit his relations. Are you willing to go there and be introduced to him?" " Yes, I will gladly do so," exclaimed Schiller, with eager- ness. "The poet needs a princely protector! Who knows whether Tas.so would ever have written his 'Jerusalem De- livered,' if the Duke of Este had not been his friend if ho had not found an asylum at the court of this prince? If you can, Charlotte, and if you consider me worthy of the honor 58 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. procure me this introduction, and the patronage of the Duke Charles August. May he, who lets the sun of his friendship shine upon Goethe, send down one little ray of his grace to warm my cold and solitary chamber! I will crave but little, if the Duke would only interest himself in the interdicted 'Kobbers. ' This alone would be of great service to me." " He will, I hope, do more for you, Schiller. I know the Duke, and also the Landgravine of Hesse ! I will give you letters to both of them, and Mr. von Dalberg, toward whom the Duke is graciously inclined, will also do so. Oh, it will succeed, it must succeed! We will draw you forcibly out of the shade and into the light! Not only the German people, but also the German princes, shall love and honor the poet Frederick Schiller; and my hand shall lead him to the throne of a prince." "And let me kiss this fair hand," said Schiller, passion- ately. " Believe me, Charlotte, all your words have fallen like stars into my heart, and illumined it with celestial splendor!" "May these stars never grow pale!" sighed Charlotte. "May we never be encompassed with the dark night! But now, my friend, go!" "You send me away, Charlotte?" " Yes, I send you away, Schiller. We must deal econom- ically with the beautiful moments of life. Now go!" On the evening of this day of so many varied emotions, Schiller wrote letters, in which he warmly thanked his un- known friends in Leipsic. In writing, he opened his heart in an unreserved history of his life so poor in joys, and so rich in deprivations and disappointed hopes. He imparted to them all that he had achieved; all his intentions and de- sires. He told them of his poverty and want; for false shame was foreign to Schiller's nature. In his eyes the want of money was not a want of honor and dignity. He acknowl- edged every thing to the distant, unknown friends his home- less feeling, and his longing to be in some other sphere, with other men who might perhaps love and understand him. THE TITLE. 59 As he wrote this he hesitated, and it seemed to him that he could see the sorrowful, reproachful look of Charlotte's large, glowing eyes; and it seemed to him that she whispered, "Is this your love, Schiller? You wish to leave me, and yet you know that you will be my murderer if you go!" He shuddered, and laid aside his pen, and arose and walked with rapid strides up and down his room. The glowing words which Charlotte had spoken to him that morning again resounded in his ear, but now, in the stillness of the night, they were no longer the same heavenly music. "I believe it is dangerous to love her," he murmured. "She claims my whole heart, and would tyrannize over me with her passion. But I must be free, for he only who is free can conquer the world and achieve honor ; and the love which refreshes my heart must never aspire to become my tyrant!" He returned to his writing-table and finished the letter which he had commenced to Korner. He wrote: " I would that a happy destiny led me away from here, for I feel that my stay in this place should come to an end. I wish I could visit you in Leipsic, to thank you for the hour of delight for which I am indebted to you! Aristotle was wrong when he said: 'Oh, my friends, there are no friends!' I think of you and yours; I think of you four, and cry joyously: 'There are friends, nevertheless! Blessed is he to whom it is vouch- safed by the gods to find friends without having sought them!'" CHAPTER VI. THE TITLE. CHARLOTTE VON KALB had kept her word. She had equipped Schiller with letters of introduction to the Duke Charles August and members of his family; she had also in- duced Mr. von Dalberg to furnish him with letters to iuflu- 60 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. ential friends at the court of Darmstadt. Provided with these recommendations, and in his modesty and humility at- taching greater importance to them than to his own reputa- tion and dignity, Schiller journeyed to Darmstadt, in the beginning of the year 1785, for the purpose of endeavoring to obtain a friend and protector in the Duke Charles August of Weimar. Dalberg's and Charlotte's letters accomplished more than Schiller's name and worth could possibly have done. The author of " The Bobbers" and " Fiesco," poems Avhich lauded freedom and popular government, and of " Louise Mullerin," which branded aristocracy as opposed to the rights of the human heart; a poet who had dared to defy a prince and a ruler could not have entered the golden gates of a princely palace without the golden key of Dalberg's and Charlotte's letters. Frederick Schiller was received at the court of the land- grave in Darmstadt. The young and joyous Duke Charles August of Weimar welcomed the poet cordially, and, prompted by the enthusiastic praises of Madame von Kalb, requested Schiller to read him a portion of the new tragedy. Schiller offered to read the first act of "Don Carlos," and his offer was graciously accepted. The reading took place on the afternoon of the same day. A brilliant array of noble- men in embroidered court 'dress, and adorned with decora- tions, and of magnificently attired ladies, sparkling with jewels, had assembled in the reception-room of the land- gravine. She, the lover of art, the intellectual Landgravine of Hesse, had seated herself at the side of the Duke Charles August on the sofa in the middle of the saloon, behind which the ladies and gentlemen of the court were standing in groups. IS'ot far off, and completely isolated, stood a plain cane- bottomed chair, and a little round table, on which a glass of water had been placed. This was the poet's throne, and this was the nectar he was to drink at the table of the gods. He felt embarrassed and almost awe-stricken as he entered THE TITLE. Gl the brilliant conrt circle in his homely garb ; he felt the blood first rush to his cheeks and then back to his heart again, leav- ing his countenance deathly pale. " Rouse yourself, Schiller, and be a man ! Shame upon you for being blinded by the trumpery and outward glitter of nobility and princely rank!" He said this to himself as he walked to the place set apart for him, feeling that the eyes of all rested on him with a cold, examining glance. " What do I care for this pack of courtiers, this court- marshal Von Kalb and his associates?" said he to himself, de- fiantly. " It was not on their account I came here, and what they may think of me is a matter of complete indifference. I aspire only to the good opinion of the duke, of the friend of the great Goethe." He looked over toward the sofa, and his glance encountered the eyes of the young duke, whose countenance was turned to him with a smile and an expression of good-natured sympathy. Schiller felt encouraged, and a smile flitted over his features. He opened his manuscript and began to read the first act of " Don Carlos" in a clear and loud voice. His voice was full and sonorous, and his delivery, thanks to Charlotte's admoni- tions, was purer and more moderate; and, as he read on, his embarrassment disappeared, and the clouds lifted from his high brow. The courtiers, who had first regarded the young poet con- temptuously, now began to show some sympathy; the head, covered with light-yellow locks, with its sharply-chiselled features and large Roman nose, was, now that it was illumined with earnest thought, no longer so homely and uninteresting. The countenance of the landgravine was expressive of the closest attention, and the reading of " Don Carlos" affected her so profoundly, that she had recourse to her handkerchief to wipe the tears of emotion from her eyes. At times Charles August could not repress an exclamation of delight, a loud bravo; and when Schiller arose from his seat, after finishing the first act, Charles August walked for- 62 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. ward to thank the poet with a warm pressure of the hand, and to conduct him to the landgravine, that she might also express her thanks and sympathy. The duke then took the poet's arm, and walked with him through the saloon, to the disgust of the courtiers, who, not- withstanding their devotion, found it somewhat strange that the duke couM so demean himself as to walk arm-in-arm with a man without birth or name. But of course this was a natural consequence of the mania after geniuses which reigned in Weimar; such abnormities should no longer excite surprise. Was there not at the court in Weimar so variegated an admixture of well-born and ill- born, that one ran the risk of encountering at any moment a person who was- not entitled to be there? Had not the duke carried his disregard of etiquette so far, that he had made Wolfgang Goethe, the son of a citizen of Frankfort, his privy- councillor, and an intimate associate? And was it not well known that his mother, the Duchess Amelia, as well as him- self, never made a journey without picking up some genius on the road for their establishment at Weimar? This time Frederick Schiller was the genius whom the duke desired to recruit. That was quite evident, for the duke had been standing with the poet for more than a quarter of an hour in a window-niche, and they were conversing with vivacity. It was offensive and annoying to see this Mr. Schiller standing before the duke, with a proud bearing and perfect composure; and conversing with him without the slightest embarrassment. But the duke seemed to be greatly interested, and his coun- tenance expressed lively sympathy and kindliness. " I believe that destiny has intrusted you with a great mis- sion, Mr. Schiller, ' said the duke, when the poet had given him a brief and terse account of the continuation and con- tents of his " Don Carlos." " I believe that you are destined to be the poet-preacher of the people; and to refresh the hearts and enliven the imagination of the degenerate Ger- THE TITLE. 63 mans; and I prophesy a great future for you! Your aim is a noble one. You desire not only to assign to the purely human, but also to the ideal, its proper sphere in this world ; and your 'Don Carlos' is an open combat between the purely human and ideal, against materialism and custom. Through it you will make many enemies among the higher classes, and acquire many friends among the masses; and, although you will not be the favorite of princes, you will certainly be be- loved by the people. For the judgment of the people is good and sound, and it will always give its sympathies to the cham- pion of the purely human, as opposed to the ridiculous assumptions of etiquette and prejudice. But I tell you before- hand, that, in so-called noble society, you will, with great difficulty, have to fight your way step by step." " I have been accustomed to such warfare since my earliest youth," said Schiller, smiling. " Fate has not given me a bed of roses, and Care has as yet been the only friend who stood faithfully at my side." " You forget the Muses," cried the duke, with vivacity. " It seems to me that you have no right to complain of a want of attention on the part of these ladies!" " True, your highness," responded Schiller earnestly; " they have at times been graciously inclined, and I am indebted to them for some of the most delightful hours of my life." " Nor has the favor of earthly goddesses and Muses been wanting to the inspired poet's happiness," said the duke, and he laughed loudly when he saw Schiller blush and cast his eyes down. "Oh, I see," he cried gayly, "you have earthly Muses also, your ideal has become reality! Could there be any connection between this and the songs of praise which Madame von Kalb wrote me concerning you?" " Your highness, I really do not understand your meaning." "Or rather, will not understand it! But we will not ex- amine the affair any closer. Madame von Kalb has certainly made it my duty to interest myself for her poet, and I thank 64 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. her for having made me acquainted with you. And now I should like to give a proof of my gratitude, and it would afford me pleasure to have you tell me in what manner I can be use- ful to you." " Your kind and gracious words have already been of great benefit to me," said Schiller, heartily; "your goodness has shed a ray of sunshine into my sometimes cold and cheerless heart." " Your heart is never cold, Schiller, for the fire of poetry burns there. But in your little chamber it may sometimes be cold and cheerless. That I can well believe, for when the gods rain down blessings upon the poet they generally forget but one thing, but that is the one thing needful, money! The gods generally lay but one sort of capital in the cradle of mortal man, either a capital in mind or one of more material value ; and truly he must be a great favorite to whom they give both." "Yes, a very great favorite," murmured Schiller, in a low voice ; and he read in the prince's countenance that he was thinking of his favorite, Wolfgang Goethe, who had arisen like a meteor before Schiller's gaze at the time he visited the Charles School in Stuttgart, in company with the duke, to witness the distribution of prizes to the scholars of this in- stitution. While the scholar, Frederick Schiller, was receiv- ing a prize which had been awarded him, the gaze of Goethe's large eyes was fixed upon him, but only with the composed expression of a great man who wished him well and con- descended to evince sympathy. This look had sunk deep into Schiller's heart, and he thought of it now as he stood before the duke in the palace of Darmstadt the duke, who could be a friend to Goethe, but to him only a patron and an alms- giver." "I desire to be of service to you if I can," said the duke, who, for some time, had been silently regarding Schiller, whose eyes were cast down thoughtfully. " Have you any wish, my dear Mr. Schiller, that I can perhaps gratify? I am THE TITLE. 05 certainly not a mighty prince, and unfortunately not a rich one, but if I can help you in any way, I will gladly do so." Schiller raised his head quickly, and his eye met the in- quiring look of the duke with a proud gaze. Not for all the world would he have told the prince of his distress and want, would he have stood on the floor of that palace as an humble beggar, soliciting alms for the journey through life! " Your highness, I repeat it, your friendly reception and your sympathy have already been a great assistance to me." The duke's countenance brightened, and he breathed freer, as if a burden had fallen from his soul. " And this assistance shall never be wanting, of that you may be assured. Every one shall learn that Charles August, of Weimar, is happy to know the German poet, Frederick Schiller, and that he counts him among those who are dear to him. A German duke was your tyrant; a German prince drove you out into the world, therefore it is just and right that another German duke should show you friendship, and endeavor to make your path in life a little smoother. I will be ready to do so at all times, and to testify to my high opinion of yourself and your talents before the whole world, your tyrannical prince in- cluded. And a proof of it shall be given you before you leave Darmstadt! For the present, farewell, and if you should come to Weimar at any time, do not forget to pay your good friend, Charles August, a visit! You will not leave until to- morrow morning, I suppose?" "No, your highness, not until to-morrow morning." " Well, then, my dear Mr. Schiller, you will hear from me this evening." Schiller returned to his hotel in a thoughtful mood. "What could the duke's words mean? What token of esteem would Charles August give him? Perhaps even an appointment. Ah, and if ever so unimportant a one, it would still be an alleviation of relief. Perhaps the duke only intended to offer him the use of one of his unoccupied castles, in order that he might finish his " Don Carlos" in peaceful seclusion. 66 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. Well, that also would be a blessing, a benefit ! The homeless one would then have a resting-place from which he could not be driven, where he would not be assailed by the cares and vexations of life. The hours dragged on sluggishly in the bare, uncomfortable little room at the hotel, and the poet tor- mented himself with suppositions and questions, while he listened attentively to hear the footstep of the expected mes- senger of the duke. At last, after hours of waiting, a knock was heard at the door, and a ducal lackey handed Schiller a large sealed docu- ment. It seemed to regard him with a right official and solemn look with its great seal of state bearing the inscription, "Ducal private cabinet," and the poet's feelings were of the same nature when he opened it after the lackey's departure. What could it be that the duke offered him, an appointment or a retreat? An expression of astonishment and surprise was depicted on Schiller's countenance as he read the document; his brow darkened, and he let the paper fall to the table. The duke offered him neither an appointment nor a retreat. He gave him a title, the title of a ducal counsellor. The secretary of the cabinet made known the generous determination of his master, and informed him that the document appointing him to this office would be made out in official form and forwarded to him on the duke's return to Weimar. Frederick Schiller should, however, be enabled to wear the title so graciously conferred, and call himself " ducal counsellor" from that hour. While reading it for the second time, the poet laughed de- risively. This was the solution of the riddle. He who had scarcely known how to counsel himself, was now the counsel- lor of a prince who would probably never desire his counsel. He who was tormented with cares, who had no home, had nothing he could call his own besides his manuscripts he was now the possessor of a title. How strange the contrast ! The tragedy which waged war against princely prerogatives, etiquette, and ceremony, in THE TITLE. 07 favor of humanity, equality before the law, and nobility of soul this tragedy was to bear, as its first fruit, the favor of a prince. It was strange it looked almost like irony, and yet ! He thought ef Charlotte von Kalb she would rejoice to see him thus honored by a German prince. lie thought of his old parents, to whom it would undoubtedly be a great satisfaction to know that the former regimental-surgeon of the Duke of Wurtemberg had become so distinguished. It would prove to them that their Fritz, of whom the severe father had often despaired, had nevertheless attained honor and respectability in the eyes of the world. Well, then, let it be so! A little appointment would cer- tainly have been better, and some hunting-castle as a retreat would probably have furthered the completion of "Don. Carlos." But one must be contented, nevertheless. The lit- tle was not to be despised, for it was an honor and a public acknowledgment, and would, perhaps, have the effect of in- fusing into the directors a little more respect for the poet, whose dramas they often maltreated and injured by poor and careless representation. With a smile, Schiller folded the document and laid it aside. " Well," said he to himself, in a low voice, " I enter- tain the proud hope that I am a poet 'by the grace of God!' Moreover, I have now become a counsellor by the grace of a duke. All that I now wish is, that I may at last become a poet and a counsellor, by the grace of the people, and that they may approve my works, and hold me worthy of the title to their love and honor. To be the people's counsellor, is truly an honor above all honors. My soul longs for this holy and beautiful title. With all that I possess in mind and tal- ent, in strength and energy, I will endeavor to deserve it, and to become that which is the poet's greatest and noblest rec- ompense the teacher and counsellor of the people!" 68 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. CHAPTEK VII. ADIEU TO M A X X H E I M ! SCHILLER had returned to Mannheim as ducal counsellor of Weimar. Charlotte von Kalb received this intelligence with so much joy, that Schiller could not help feeling pleased himself. He threw his arms around her, and demanded a kiss as a condition of his retention of the title. Charlotte blushingly hid her face on his bosom, but he gently raised her head, and pressed an ardent kiss on the lips which uttered no refusal. But Charlotte now demanded that Schiller should leave her; and when he refused, and begged and implored that he might be permitted to remain, her eyes glistened, and a glowing color suffused itself over her cheeks. " Oh, Schiller, you know not Avhat you are doing and what you demand! Do you not see that an abyss lies between us?" "I see it, Charlotte; but the arm of Love is strong and mighty, and he who truly loves, carries the loved woman over all abysses, or else precipitates himself with her into the yawning chasm?" " There is another alternative, Schiller, and a terrible one. The abyss is crossed, and they are joined ; and then afterward his illusion vanishes he is undeceived. The ideal has been transformed into a very ordinary woman, whom he scorns, because her love was dearer and holier to her than her virtue. She feels his scorn, and the abyss over which he had borne her becomes the grave in which she voluntarily precipitates her- self, in order to escape from him she had loved. Oh, Schil- ler, if the eye which has heretofore regarded me lovingly should ever cast upon me a glance of contempt! It would crush me, and I should die! Yet, in dying, my lips would denounce him who had known how to love, but had not kept faith ; and would arraign him as a traitor and murderer be- fore the judgment-seat of God! Oh, Schiller, I warn you ADIEU TO MANNHEIM! 69 once more not to enkindle a fire in my breast which can never be extinguished or repressed when once in flames, but will blaze upward grandly and proudly, setting aside all thought of the world and its rules and prejudices. We are now walk- ing on the verge of the abyss; you on the one side, I on the other. But our voices reach each other; we can see each other's faces, and our glances can meet in loving friendship. You are free to go where you will ; and if your path in life should lead you aside from the road on which I am journey- ing, I will look after you and weep, but I will make you no reproaches! Think of this, Schiller, and be contented that Charlotte should call you by the name of friend ! Do not de- mand that she should give you another name, which you would now bless, but hereafter curse! Flee now, while it is yet time ; and we shall still have the happy remembrance of the beautiful days of our friendship. Let us await the future in quiet resignation, and sustain ourselves with recollections of the past!" " You are in a strange humor to-day, Charlotte," said Schil- ler, sadly. " Your eyes are so threatening, that I would almost be afraid of you, if I did not know that my Titaness is still a gentle, loving woman in spite of her fiery enthusi- asm. No, Charlotte, you accuse yourself unjustly. No, you would never curse the man you had loved ; in death you would bless him for the love he had once given you. You would not denounce, but pity and excuse him whom stern necessity com- pelled to separate from you from what is dearest to him on earth. You would know that his path was bleak and lonely, and that, like the faces in Dante's 'Inferno,' he could only look back at the past with a tearful glance while wandering into the dreary future. This you would do, Charlotte. I know you better than you know yourself. The woman never curses the man she has truly loved ; she pardons and still loves him when the stream of life surges in between, and forces him to leave her." "For those who truly love, who have plighted troth, there 70 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. is no such compulsion," cried Charlotte, her countenance flushed with indignation. " If you say so, Schiller, you do not know what love is. You make light of the holiest feel- ings when you believe that it could ever be extinguished that the necessities of life could ever separate two hearts eternally and indissolubly united in love." "How strangely moved you are to-day, Charlotte!" an- swered Schiller, his countenance darkening. " I came here with a heart full of joy, and had so much to impart to you ! I came as to a happy and peaceful retreat. But I now see that the time was badly chosen, and that Charlotte will not understand me to-day. Oh, why is it, my dear, that we human beings are all like Erostratus, who hurled the firebrand into the holy temple of the gods, and why do we all desire to unveil the mysterious picture in the temple of Isis!" " Because we wish to look at the truth," she cried, passion- ately. "The truth is death," sighed Schiller, "error is life; and woe to us if we are not satisfied with the beautiful illusion that adorns and disguises life, and casts a veil over death! I am going, Charlotte. It is better that I should, for you have saddened me, and awakened painful thoughts in my breast. Farewell for the present; and when I come again to-morrow, be kind and gracious to me, Charlotte, as you always are at heart!" He took his hat, greeted her with a mournful smile, and left the room. Charlotte's eyes followed him with a glance of dismay. "He does not love me," she cried in despair. "He does not love me! If he loved me, he would not have left me without plighting his eternal faith. All that I wished to hear was, that he desired an eternity of love; but he drew back in dismay and left me. He does not love me, and I, my God, I love him!" She sank down on her knees, covered her face with her hands, and cried bitterly. ADIEU TO MANNHEIM! 71 And Schiller's thoughts were also of a bitter, and, at the same time, somewhat disquieting nature, lie avoided seeing auy one, and remained in his lonely room the entire day. He walked to and fro restlessly; from time to time, he seated himself at the table and wrote a few lines, and then arose, and, resuming his walking, either talked to himself or was lost in thought. Charlotte also kept her chamber, and avoided all intercourse with others. Late in the evening, a knock was heard at her door, and her maid announced that a letter had arrived from the Counsellor Schiller. Charlotte opened the door, took the letter, and ordered lights to be brought in. She then tore the cover from Schil- ler's letter; in it she found a little note on which the few words had been hastily written : " Dear Charlotte ! I have written down the thoughts which our conversation of to-day awakened in my bosom; and send them to you, for they be- long to you. May we never share the fate of the poor youth in the temple of Sais! To seek the truth is to kill love, and yet love is the most beautiful truth; and true it is also that I love you, Charlotte! Believe this, and let us leave the great Isis veiled ! FREDERICK SCHILLER." After reading this, Charlotte unfolded the large sheet which was also contained in the cover. It was a poem, and bore the title, "The Veiled Picture at Sais." Charlotte read it again and again, and her soul grew sadder and sadder. " lie does not love me," she repeated, softly. " If he loved me he would not have written, but would have come to weep at my feet! That would have been a living poem! Oh, Schiller, I am the unhappy youth ; I have seen the truth! My happiness is forever gone, and, like him, 1 will go to the grave in despair. I exclaim, with your youth, 'Woe to him who commits a crime in order to find the truth! It can never give him joy!' ' When Schiller returned on the following morning, Char- lotte gave him a warm welcome, extended both hands, and 72 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. regarded him with a tender smile, repeating the words from his letter, " Let us leave the great Isis veiled." Schiller uttered a cry of joy, fell on his knees at Charlotte's feet, kissed her hands, and swore that he loved her and her only, and that he would remain true to her in spite of all abysses and chasms! But the vows of mankind are swept away like the leaves of the forest; what to-day was green and blooming, to-morrow fades and dies ! Charlotte may have been right when she said that Schiller could love, but could not keep faith, for, after scarcely two months had elapsed since his return from Darmstadt, and the date of this interview with Charlotte, Schiller wrote to his new friend Korner, in Leipsic, as follows: "I can no longer remain in Mannheim. I write to you in unspeakable distress of heart. I can no longer remain here. I have carried this thought about with me for the past twelve days, like a de- termination to leave the world. Mankind, circumstances, heaven, and earth, are against me; and I am separated here from what might be dearer to me than all by the proprieties and observances of the world. Leipsic appears to me in my dreams like the rosy morning beyond the wooded mountain- range; and in my life I have entertained no thought with such prophetic distinctness as the one that I should be happy in Leipsic. Hitherto fate has obstructed my plans. My heart and muse were alike compelled to succumb to necessity. Just such a revolution of destiny is necessary to make me a new man, to make me begin to become a poet." And his dis- tant friend in Leipsic responded to his cry of distress with a deed of true friendship. He invited Schiller to visit himself and his friends in Leipsic; and, in order that no moneyed embarrassments should delay Schiller's departure, Korner forwarded him a draft for a sum sufficient to defray his travel- ling-expenses and pay off his most pressing debts. PLANS FOR THE FUTURE. 73 CHAPTER VIII. PLANS FOR THE FUTURE. THE preparations for his departure were soon made. Schiller had completely severed his connection with the thea- tre at Mannheim several weeks before. The actors were all inimical to him, because he had dared to take them to task in his journal, The Thalia, for having, as he said, "so badly maltreated his tragedy, " Intrigues and Love." The director, Mr. von Dalberg, had long since considered himself insulted and injured by the free and independent behavior of him who dared array his dignity and pride as a poet against the dig- nity of the director's office and the pride of aristocracy. This gentleman made no attempt whatever to retain Schiller in Mannheim. Schiller had to say farewell to but few acquaint- ances and friends, and it was soon over. He packed his little trunk, and was now ready to leave on the following morning. There were only two persons to whom he still wished to bid adieu, and these were Charlotte von Kalb and Andrew Strei- cher. He had agreed to spend the last hours of his stay with Streicher at his home, and as every thing was now in order, Schiller hurried to Charlotte's dwelling as evening approached. She was sitting alone in her room when he entered; the noise of the closing door aroused her from her reverie, and she turned her head, but did not arise to meet him; she gave him no word of welcome, and gazed at him sadly. Schiller also said nothing, but walked slowly across the wide room to the sofa on which she was seated, and stood regarding her mournfully. Neither of them spoke; deep silence reigned i?i the gloomy chamber, and yet their souls were communing, and one and the same wail was in both hearts, the wail ever approaching separation and parting. "Schiller, you stand before me like the future," said Char- 74 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. lotte, after a long pause. " Yes, like the future grand, gloomy, and cold your countenance clouded." " Clouded like my soul," sighed Schiller, as he slowly sank on his knees before Charlotte. She permitted him to do so, and offered no resistance when he took her hand and held it firmly within his own. " Charlotte, my beloved, my dear Charlotte, I have come to take leave of you. I must leave Mannheim." "Why?" " My position here has become untenable. I am at enmity with the authorities of the theatre, and I no longer desire to waste my time and talents on such ungrateful showmen. Mr. von Dalberg's short-lived courtesy is long since ended, and he does not take my side in the difficulty with the pre- suming actors. I am tired of this petty warfare, and I am going." " Why?" she repeated. " You still ask, Charlotte; have I not just told you?" " I have heard pretences, Schiller, but not the truth. I wish to know the truth, and I am entitled to demand the truth. The time has arrived to tear the veil from the statue of Isis! We must look the truth in the face, even if death should follow in its train! Schiller, why are you leaving Mannheim? Why are you leaving the place where I live?" " Ah, Charlotte, this is a bitter necessity, but I must bear it. A mysterious power compels me to leave here. Who knows where the star of his destiny will lead him? We must follow its guiding light, although all is dark within and around us ! True, I had thought that it would be the great- est delight of life to be ever at your side, to share witli you all thought and feeling, our lives flowing together like two brooks united in one, and running its course through the bright sunshine with a gentle murmur! But these brooks have become rivers, and their waves, lashed into fury by pas- sion, brook no control, and break through all restraints and barriers. Charlotte, I go, because I dare not stay! I will PLANS FOR THE FUTURE. 75 tell you all; you demand the truth, and you shall hear it! Charlotte, I go for your sake and for mine! You are mar- ried. I go! Your pure light has set fire to my soul; have I not reason to dread a future based on falsehood and decep- tion? Your presence infused into my bosom an enthusiasm before unknown, but to this enthusiasm, peace was wanting." " Oh, remain, Schiller, and, if we desire it, we can both find this peace the peace of friendship!" "Xo, Charlotte, our heart-strings are familiar with a greater harmony!" " Well, if it be so, let the strings resound with the harmony of united souls! Oh, my friend, if we separate, we will no longer be to each other what we now are. I will not com- plain, and will not unveil the anguish of my soul before you ; and yet, Schiller, remain, I implore you! AVhen my candle is brought in, I will no longer enjoy its light; all will still be dark around me, for the evening will no longer bring you, my friend!" " I can, and will be, your friend no longer, Charlotte, and therefore I am going! I will be all, or nothing! This sus- pension midway betwixt heaven and earth is destroying me! My soul glows with passion, and you inhale it with every breath of life. You have not the courage to face the truth!" " I say, with you, I will be all, or nothing," she exclaimed, passionately. "Truth and falsehood cannot exist together; and it would be acting a falsehood if I gave my heart unlim- ited freedom, while my hands are in chains! All, or nothing! Only no hypocrisy ! I will freely acknowledge my love to the whole world, or I will cover it with the veil of duty and resig- nation. But I will not sin under cover of this veil! Oh, Schiller, our life until now was a bond of truth, and you wish to sever it. Fate sent you to me; moments of the purest delight were vouchsafed us; and is the cup of happiness to be dashed from our lips now?" Schiller did not reply at once, but bowed down over Char- lotte's hand, and pressed it to his burning brow. 76 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. " Above all," he said, in a low voice, " above all, I know that it is in the bloom of youth only that we truly live and feel. In youth, the soul is illumined with light and glory; and my heart tells me that thou canst never dim its longing." "'Thou,' you say," she whisperd softly, "then I will also say 'thou!' Truthfulness knows no 'you!' The blessed are called 'thou !' * It is a seal which unites closely, and therefore we will impress it upon our holy and eternal union!" She threw her arms around Schiller's neck he was still kneeling at her feet and pressed a kiss on his forehead. He embraced her yet more tenderly, and pressed impassioned kisses upon her brow, her cheeks, and her trembling lips. "Farewell, thou only one, farewell!" "Oh, Frederick," she sobbed, "was this thy parting kiss?" " Yes, Charlotte, I must go ! But you will be present with me in my every thought." "And yet you go, Frederick?" " Destiny so ordains, and I must obey ! The world demands of me the use of my talent I demand of the world its favor." "And when you have achieved this favor," she said, plain- tively, " then you will no longer care for love, or me!" " You should not say so, Charlotte, for you do not believe it," said Schiller, angrily. "Why these painful words? I lose all in you, but you lose nothing in me! You are so wayward ah, not like the woman I pictured to myself in the days of my youth." " Oh, Frederick," she murmured, " do you not know that I love you, and you only?" " I have hoped so in many moments of torment when you treated me coldly ; but only for the last few days have I felt assured of it, and, on that account, loved, adored woman, the words must be spoken, therefore I flee from you!" "You know that I love you," she cried, plaintively; "you know it, and yet you flee!" *In Germany, the word "thou" is frequently used instead of "you" in fam- ilies and among children, and intimate and dear friends. PLANS FOR THE FUTURE. 77 " Yes, Charlotte, I do, because the waves of passion are surging high in my breast, and will destroy me if I remain. Peaceful love is the only atmosphere suited to the poet. Stormy passion distracts his thoughts and casts a shade on the mirror of his soul." He arose and walked restlessly to and fro. It had grown dark in the mean while, and the figure of her friend flitted before Charlotte's vision like a shadow, buther eyes were fixed intently on the shadow which was nevertheless the only light of her being. The figure now stopped before her, and when he laid his hand on her shoulder she felt the electric touch thrill her whole being. They could not see each other's faces on account of the darkness. "Charlotte," said Schiller, deeply moved, "I owe you a great deal, and I can never forget it. My youth was dreary; I became familiar with error and sorrow at an early day, and this clouded my understanding and embittered my heart! And then my genius found your voice to utter my thoughts. You were my inspired Muse, and I loved you, and would be yours forever if I had the courage requisite for such a love ! the courage to permit myself to be absorbed in this passion ; to desire nothing more, to be nothing more, than your creat- ure, Charlotte; the vase only in which the boundless stream of your love empties itself. But this cannot remain so! My soul must be peaceful and independent of this power which terrifies and delights me at the same time. He only is free who elevates himself above passion, and the man who aspires to bend Nature to his will must be free." " You are governed by pride," sighed Charlotte, " and pride has no confidence, no repose. You are not familiar with the sorrow and coldness of the world, or you would remain here with her who feels and sympathizes with you! Nothing is more terrible in its self-inflicted revenge than the determi- nation to disregard the promptings of the heart in life." " I do not disregard them, Charlotte, but the heart must not 78 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. be the only axis on which my life revolves, and it would be, if I remained near you, you divine woman, to whom my heart and soul will ever lovingly incline, forgetting all else, and yet I desire your friendship only!" As he said this he threw his arms around her, raised her up from the sofa, and covered her face with kisses. " Oh, Frederick, you are crying ! I feel your tears falling on my forehead!" "Be still, Charlotte, be still, and love me! For a single blissful moment love me, and let yourself be loved !" "I love you, Frederick," she cried, passionately. "You fill my soul with anguish and delight, alternately. You love as I do ! Only love alarms you ; you will not accord to a mortal that which is divinely beautiful ! Oh, Schiller, the essence of Divinity is within us; then wherefore should our love not be divinely beautiful, joyfully renouncing hope and desire in hu- mility and resignation?" lie did not reply, but only drew her closer to his heart, bowed down his head on her shoulder, and sobbed. The silence which now reigned in the dark room was un- broken save by the sobs of the weeping lovers. . After a long and painful pause, Schiller raised her head and withdrew his arms from Charlotte's figure. " Let us have light," said he, and his voice now had a harsh sound " light, that I may once more see your beloved coun- tenance before I leave!" " No, Frederick, when you leave, I will no longer require light; a cheerless life is more endurable in the dark. No light! Let us part in darkness, for in darkness I am doomed to grope my way hereafter, but the light of your countenance will always be reflected in my soul. Good-night, Frederick ! You take with you all that is dear to me, even my beautiful dreams. The most lovely visions have heretofore surrounded my bed at night; but now they will follow you, for they came from you, and were the thoughts of your soul. Your thoughts fly from me, and my dreams follow them. You rob my day PLANS FOR THE FUTURE. 79 of its sun, and my night of its dream. Let us therefore sepa- rate ill darkness!" "Charlotte," said he, deeply agitated, "your words sound like tones from a spirit- world, and the past seems already to be leaving me! Oh, do not go; stay with me, sweet past, happy present! Stay with me, soul of my soul, beloved being! Whjre are you, Charlotte where are you?" She did not reply. Longingly he stretched out his arms toward her, but did not find her; he found empty space only. "Charlotte, come for the last time to my heart! Come! let me inhale from your lips the atmosphere of paradise!" No reply. He seemed to see a shadow flit through the darkness, and then the words, "Good-night, Schiller!" struck his ear like the low, vibrating tones of an yEolian harp. The noise of an opening and closing door could be heard, and then all was still. A groan escaped Schiller's breast; he felt that Charlotte had left him that he was alone. For a moment he stood still and listened, hoping she would return; but the silence remained unbroken. "Ah," murmured Schiller, "parting is like death! Ah, Charlotte, I have loved you dearly ! I be still, my heart, no more complaints! It must be so!" lie turned slowly and walked toward the door. " Farewell, Charlotte, farewell!" No reply. It seemed to be only the echo which responded from out the dark space, "Farewell!" Schiller opened the door and rushed out into the still night, and through the lonely streets, unconscious that he was bare- headed, oblivious of having left his hat in Charlotte's room. lie rushed on, heedless of the raw night air and cutting wind. At length he was aroused by the heavy drops of rain which were falling on his forehead. The cold rain awakened him from a last painful struggle with his passion, and cooled his head and heart at the same time. 80 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. " God, I thank Thee for sending down the waters of heaven to cleanse my heart from passion and slavish love, and making me free again ! And now I am free ! am once more myself! am free!" Schiller entered Stretcher's apartment with a cheerful countenance, and greeted his friend heartily; but Andrew regarded his wet clothing and dripping hair with dis- may. " Where in the world do you come from, Fritz? You look as if you had heen paying the Maid of the Rhine a visit, and had just escaped from her moist embrace!" " You are, perhaps, right, Andrew ! I have just taken leave of the fair maid who had bewitched me." " But what have you done with your hat, Fritz? Did you leave it with the maid as a souvenir?" " You are, perhaps, right again, Andrew. I left my hat with the maid as a souvenir, and only succeeded in slipping my head out of the noose." "Be kind enough to speak sensibly," said Streicher, "and tell me where your hat is." " I have told you already I left it with the Maid of the Ehine as a souvenir." " I wish you had not done so," said Andrew, in grumbling tones. " You had better have left her a lock of your yellow hair ; that Avould have been cheaper, for hair grows again, but hats must be bought. Well, fortunately I happened to buy a new hat to-day, and that you must take, of course." He handed Schiller a bran-new beaver hat, telling him to dry his disordered locks and try it on. "Andrew," said Schiller, after having tried the hat on, and found that it fitted him perfectly. " Andrew, you bought this hat for yourself to-day?" "Yes, for myself, of course, but you, wild fellow, come running here bareheaded, and no resource is left but to put my beaver on your head." "Come here, Andrew," said Schiller, smiling, and when he PLANS FOR THE FUTURE. 81 came up, Schiller pluced the hat on the little bald head and pressed it down over his friend's eyes, making Streicher a very ludicrous object. Schiller, however, did not laugh, but slowly lifted the hat up, and looked lovingly into the abashed and mortified coun- tenance of his friend. " Andrew, I would never have believed that you knew how to tell an untruth !" "And you see I acquitted myself badly enough," growled Streicher. " And bad enough it is that you should compel an honest man to tamper with the truth. Your hat had seen much service and well deserved a substitute, but if I had had the presumption to offer you a new one what a scene there would have been ! So I thought I would exchange hats with you at the last moment, after you had entered the stage-coach. And I would have done so, had you not burst in upon me without a hat, and given me what I considered a fine op- portunity to make you my trifling present." " It is no trifling present, Andrew, but a magnificent one. I accept your hat, and I thank you. I will wear it for the pres- ent instead of the laurel- wreath which the German nation is on the point of twining for my brow, but which will probably not be quite ready until my head has long since been laid under the sod; for the manufacture of laurel- wreaths pro- gresses but slowly in Germany; and I sometimes think my life is progressing very rapidly, Andrew, and that I have but little time left to work for immortality. But we must not make ourselves sad by such reflections. I thank you for your pres- ent, my friend, and am contented that you should adorn my head with a hat. Yes, when I consider the matter, Andrew, a hat is a far better and more respectable covering for a Ger- man head than a laurel-wreath. In our bleak, northern climate, laurels are only good to season carps with, and a sensible German had far better wish for a good hat than a laurel-wreath. Yes, far better, and we will drink a toast to this sentiment, Andrew. You invited me to a bowl of punch; out with your punch, you good, jolly fellow! We will raise 82 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. our glasses and drink to a future crowned with beaver hats! Your punch, Andrew!" Andrew hurried to bring from the warm stove the little, covered bowl of punch, carefully prepared according to all the rules of the art. The two friends seated themselves at the little table on which the steaming bowl had been placed, and filled their glasses. " Raise your glass, Andrew; 'Long live the beaver! destruc- tion to the laurel!' ' "No, Fritz, I will not drink such a toast with you," said Streicher, slowly setting his glass down. " It would be a sin and a crime for Frederick Schiller to drink so unworthy, so miserable a toast. You are in your desperate humor again to-day, Fritz, and would like to invoke the very lightning from heaven, and concoct with its aid a little tornado in your own heaven." " Yes, of course, you droll fellow!" cried Schiller, emptying his glass at one draught. " Lightning purifies the atmosphere and brings the sun out again. And you see my departure is a mighty tornado, with showers of rain, with thunder and light- ning, intended, no doubt, to cleanse and purify my life, that it may afterward flow on through the sunshine, clear and limpid. Andrew, I go from here to seek happiness and peace." " And, above all, renown," added Streicher, emptying his glass. "No," cried Schiller, vehemently, "no renown for me! Translated into good German, renown means thorns, hunger, want! I intend to have my portion of the viands with which the table of life is richly provided. And do you know what my purpose is?" " No, but I should like to learn it." "I intend to become a jurist," cried Schiller, emptying his second glass. " Yes, that is it. I will begin a new life and make a jurist of myself. My old life is ended, and when I PLANS FOR THE FUTURE. enter the stage-couch to-night to go to Leipsic, it will not contain the poet Schiller, the author of 'The Robbers,' and other absurdities, but the student, Frederick Schiller, on his way to Leipsic to study jurisprudence at the university. Don't shake your wise head and look so horrified, Andrew. I tell you I will become a jurist; I am tired of journeying on the thorny path of the poet, with bleeding feet and a hungry stomach. All my illusions are vanished. My vision of a golden meteor sparkling in the sun, proves to have been only a soap-bubble; and this bubble called renown has now bursted." " You are again talking wildly and romantically, like Charles Moor, in 'The Robbers,' " cried Streichcr; "and yet you are not in earnest!" " But I am in earnest, my friend ! The sad experience of my past life has made me wise and practical. I will not dis- card poetry altogether, but will indulge in it at times only, as one indulges in oysters and champagne on great and festive occasions. My ordinary life will be that of a jurist. I have given the matter much thought and consideration. Fortu- nately, I have a clear head and quick comprehension, I will, therefore, with a firm will and untiring diligence, study and learn as much in one year as others do in three. The univer- sity in Leipsic is rich in resources, and I will "know how to avail myself of them. If an ordinary head, by ordinary ap- plication, can acquire in three years sufficient knowledge to enable a man to earn a comfortable living in the practice of his profession, I can certainly attain the same end in a shorter time. My attention has been directed to the study of systems since my earliest youth; and in our Charles School, of blessed memory, I have at least learned to express myself as fluently in Latin as in fierman. Study, thought, and reflection, is a delight to me, and the explication of difficult subjects a pleas- ure; and, therefore, I am convinced that I can become a good jurist, and, with bold strides, swiftly overtake the snail-mov- ing pace of others, and in a brief time attain that which the 84 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. most sanguine would scarcely imagine could be achieved in years. " " Then you, at least, admit that you are no ordinary man," said Andrew Streicher, shrugging his shoulders. " And, never- theless, you propose to confine this extraordinary man in the strait-jacket of practical science. Truly, I lose my appetite, and even this punch seems sour, when I reflect that the poet of 'The Eobbers' is to become an advocate!" " You had rather he hungered, and wrote dramas, than he should lead a happy and comfortable life, and write deeds. Ah, my friend, the career of a poet is full of bitterness and humiliation. The wise and sensible shrug their shoulders when mention is made of him, as though he were a crazy fool; the so-called gentlefolk do not recognize him as their equal, and even the players on the stage act as though they conferred a favor on the poet when they render his dramas, and, as they say, give life to inanimate forms by their sublime impersona- tions. No, no, my mind is made up, I will write no more stage pieces, at least until I have achieved a respectable posi- tion in the world as a jurist. Man must always push on and possess the ambition which leads higher and higher. Are not you, too, ambitious, Andrew?" " Of course, I am, and will strive with all my might to ob- tain my ideal,' and become the leader of an orchestra." " And I, Andrew, I will become a minister," cried Schiller, with enthusiasm. " Yes, that is my ideal ! minister of a little state to devote my whole life, my thought, and being, to the happiness of mankind, to be a benefactor to the poor and oppressed, to advance men of talent and science, to pro- mote the good and useful, to cultivate the beautiful. This, Andrew, is my ideal; and this is attained if I succeed in be- coming a good jurist and a minister at one of our dear little Saxon courts. Yes, my friend, thus it shall be! You, an orchestra-leader I, a minister! Let us arise with our foam- ing glasses, and shake hands over it. Let this be our last toast, and our final compact: 'We will neither write to, nor THE LAST RIDE. 85 visit each other, until Andrew Streicher is the orchestra-leader, and Frederick Schiller the minister.' " * "So let it be," cried Andrew, laughing. " Hurrah, the orchestra-leader! hurrah, the minister!" They raised their glasses exultingly, and emptied them. They then gave each other one last embrace. The hour of departure and parting had come. Andrew accompanied his friend in silence through the de- serted streets of the slumbering city, to the post-office, where the coach stood awaiting the passengers. A last pressure of the hand, a last loving look, and the coach rolled on, and carried into the world the " new Caesar and his fortunes. 1 * CHAPTER IX. THE LAST HIDE. YEARS, when we look back at them in the past, are but as fleeting moments; when we look forward to them in the fu- ture, they are eternities! How long was the year from the spring of 1785 to the spring of 1780 to be for young Frederick Schiller, who looked forward to it with so much hope and so many beautiful dreams! How long was the same year to be for old Frederick, for the old philosopher of Sans-Souci, who grew day by day more hopeless, in whose ear was daily whispered the awful tidings, " You must die!" He did not close his ear to thse mutterings of age and de- crepitude, nor did he fear death. For him life had been a great battle a continuous conflict. He had ever faced death bravely, and had fought gallantly against all sorts of enemies; and truly the worst and most dangerous among them were not those who opposed him with visible weapons, and on the real battle-field. It had been far more diilk-ult to contend with Schiller's own words. Seo "Schiller's Flight from Stuttgart," etc., p. 210. 86 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. folly, malice, envy, and prejudices to pursue his conquering course regardless of the cries of the foolish and the calumnies of the ungrateful. It is easier to conquer on the field of battle than to combat prejudices, than to extirpate abuses. And, after the days of real battles were over, Frederick was compelled to wage in- cessant war against these evils. The one great and holy aim of his life was to make his people happy and respected, rich and powerful; and with all the energy and strength of which he was capable he strove to accomplish these ends, never per- mitting himself to be confounded or dismayed by malice and ingratitude. Commerce flourished under his rule the fruits of Prussian industry found a market in the most distant lands. Barren lands had been made fertile. The soldiers of war had become the soldiers of peace, who were now warring for the prosperity of the people. This warfare was certainly at times a little severe, and the good and useful had to be in- troduced by force. But what of that? Were potatoes less nutritious, because the peasants of Silesia were driven into the field by armed soldiers, and compelled to plant this vegetable? Did it not become a great favorite with the people, notwith- standing their resistance to its introduction in the beginning? Were not vast sums of money retained in the land by the cul- tivation of this vegetable, which would otherwise have been used to purchase rice and other grains in foreign countries? Had not the king succeeded in. introducing the silkworm into his dominions? Had not the manufacture of woollen goods been greatly promoted by the adoption of a better system of raising sheep? But Frederick had not only fostered agriculture and in- dustry, he had also evinced the liveliest sympathy for the arts and sciences. Scholars and artists were called to his court, and every assistance was rendered them. Universities and academies were endowed. But, while looking to the internal welfare of his kingdom, his gaze was ever fastened on Austria, the hereditary enemy THE LAST RIDE. 87 of Prussia. He did not permit the house of Hapsburg to stretch out its rapacious hands after German lands. Looking to the future, and contemplating his death, he endeavored to secure his kingdom against the Hapsburgs beyond the time when he should be no more. This was evinced by Frederick's last political act the formation of the "Union of Princes" the Prussian king's last defiance to Austria. This " Union of Princes" was a confederation of German princes against ra- pacious, grasping Austria. It united all against one, and made the one the enemy of all. The intention and object of this union was to assist and protect each state against the common enemy, to tolerate no trespass on the rights of any one of them, to revenge a wrong done to the smallest member of the union, as if it had been perpetrated on the greatest. Moreover, the welfare of the German people was to be duly considered and promoted, the constitution maintained, and no violation of its requirements to be tolerated. This "Union of Princes" was determined upon, and car- ried into effect, between Prussia and all the other German states, except Austria, and other states whose sovereigns were related to the Ilapsburgs. This union was Frederick's last political act! Against Austria he had first drawn his sword as a young king, and against Austria this, his last blow, was directed in uniting Germany, and making it strong in unity, and free in strength ! He had sown the seed destined to bear rich fruit, but he was not to be permitted to reap the harvest. His life was drawing to a close; and the poor, decrepit body reminded the strong and active mind that it would soon leave its prison, and soar to heaven, or into illimitable space! Hut Frederick wished to serve his people to the last mo- ment. As long as he could still move his hands, they should work for the welfare of his kingdom. As long as his intellect remained clear and active, he would continue to work. At times, however, bodily pain clouded his understanding, and made him peevish and irritable. To have occupied himself 88 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. with matters of state at such times would have been danger- ous, as his physical condition might have affected the decisions he was called upon to make. In his paternal solicitude for the welfare of his people, Frederick gave this subject due con- sideration, and endeavored to render his bodily afflictions harm- less. There were several hours in which he suffered but little from the gout and the asthma, and these were in the early morning, when he felt refreshed after having slept for one or two hours. One or two hours' sleep! This was all Xature accorded the royal invalid, who had watched over Prussia's honor for half a century, and whose eyes were now weary, and longed for slumber and repose. But the king bore this affliction with the patience of a sage he could even jest about it. "My dear duke," said he to the Duke of Courland, who paid him a visit in June, 178G, " if, on your return to Cour- land, you should hear of a vacancy among the night-watch- men, I beg of you to reserve the place for me, for, I assure you, I have learned the art of watching at night thoroughly." But he wished to employ his hours of wakefulness in the night for the good of his people, and ordered that the mem- bers of his cabinet, who had been in the habit of coming to his room with their reports at seven o'clock in the morning, should now assemble there at four. "My condition," said the king, when he acquainted the three members of his cabinet with his desire, " my condition necessitates my giving you this trouble, but it will be of short duration. My life is on the decline, and I must make the most of the time which is still allotted me. It does not be- long to me, but to the state." * Yes, his life was on the decline; but for a long time his heroic mind found strength to overcome the weakness of the body. At times, when the physicians supposed his strength was entirely exhausted, and that the poor, worn-out figure sit- ting out on the terrace under the burning July sun, and yet * Zimmermani). "Frederick the Great's Last Days," p. 163. THE LAST RIDE. 89 trembling with cold, would soon be nothing more than the empty tenement of the departed soul, he would gather the energies of his strong and fiery mind together, and contend successfully with the weakness of the body. Thus it was in the month of April, when his physicians believed him to be at the point of death, lie suddenly recovered one morning, after a refreshing slumber, arose from his bed, dressed him- self, and walked with a firm step down the stairway to the carriage, which he had ordered to be held in readiness to drive him out; he entered the carriage, but not with the inten- tion of returning to the palace of Potsdam, but to drive to his dear Sans-Souci, to take up his residence there for the summer. And thus it was to-day, on the fourth of July, when the king, who had passed the day before in great pain and dis- tress, felt wonderfully refreshed and restored on awaking. He sent for the members of his cabinet at four o'clock in the morning, and worked with them until eight, dictating dis- patches and lengthy administrative documents, which bore witness to the vigor of his mind. At eight o'clock he desired that his friends should pay him a visit, and conversed with them as gayly and wittily as in the long-gone-by days of un- broken health. lie laughed and jested about his own weak- ness and decrepitude so amiably, that Count Lucchesini could not refrain from giving utterance to his delight, and hailing the king as a convalescent. " My dear count," said Frederick, shrugging his shoulders, "you are right; I will soon be well, but in another sense than the one you mean. You take the last flare of the lamp for a steady flame. My dear count, dark- ness will soon convince you that you are wrong. But I will profit by this transient light, and will persuade myself that I am well. Gentlemen, with your leave I will avail myself of the bright sunshine and take a ride. Order Conde to be saddled." "But, sire!" cried Lucchesini, in dismay. A glance from Frederick silenced the count. 90 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. "Sir," said he, severely, "while I still live, I must be ad- dressed with no ' buts. ' ' The count bowed in silence, and followed the other two gentlemen who were leaving the room. Frederick followed his favorite with a look of lively sympathy, and, as Lucchesini was about to cross the threshold, called him back. The count turned quickly, and walked back to the king. Frederick raised his hand and pointed to the window through which the sunshine and green foliage of the trees could be seen. " Look how beautiful that is, Lucchesini ! Do you not con- sider this a fine summer day?" " Yes, sire, a very fine summer day; but it is to be hoped we shall have many more such; and if your majesty would be quiet for the next few days, you would, with increased strength, be better able to enjoy them." " And yet I will carry out my intention, you obstinate fel- low," exclaimed the king, smiling. " But I tell you I will never recover, and I have a question to ask. If you had lived to- gether with intimate friends for long years, and were com- pelled to take your departure and leave them, would you not desire to bid them adieu, and say to them, 'Farewell! I thank you !' Or would you leave your friends like a thief in the night, without a word of greeting?" "No, sire, that I would certainly not do," replied Lucche- sini. " I would throw my arms around my friend's neck, and take leave of him with tears and kisses." "Now, you see," said Frederick, gently, "the trees of my garden are also my friends, and I wish to take leave of them. Be still, not a word! I am old, and the young must yield to the old. I have no fear of death. In order to understand life rightly, one must see men entering and leaving the world.* It is all only a change, and the sun shines at the same time on many cradles and many graves. Do not look at me so sadly, but believe me when I say that I am perfectly willing to leave the stage of life." * Frederick's words a short time before his death. THE LAST RIDE. 91 And, raising his head, the king declaimed in a loud, firm voice: "Oui, flnissons sans trouble et mourons sans regrets, En luissunt I'univere comb!6 de nos bienfaits. Ainsi Tastre du jour au bout de sa carriere, Repand sur 1'horizon une douce lutniere, Et ses derniers rayons qu'il darde dans les airs Sont ses derniers soupirs qu'il donne a 1'univers. " He extended his hand to the count with a smile, and, when the latter bowed down to kiss it, a tear fell from his eyes on Frederick's cold, bony hand. The king felt this warm tear, and shook his head gently. " You are a strange man, and a very extravagant one. The idea of throwing away brilliants on an old man's hand! it would be far better to keep them for handsome young people. Now you may go, and I hope to find you well when I return from my ride." Having intimated to the count, by a gesture of the hand, that he might withdraw, he turned slowly to his greyhound, Alkmene, which lay on a chair near the sofa, regarding the king with sleepy eyes. "You are also growing old and weak, Alkmene," said the king, in a low voice; "and your days will not be much longer in the land. We must both be up and doing if we wish too enjoy another ray of sunshine. Come, Alkmene, let us go and take an airing! Come!" The greyhound sprang down from the chair and followed the king, who walked slowly to his chamber to prepare him- self for the ride. A quarter of an hour later the king, assisted by his two valets, walked slowly through his apartments to the door which opened on the so-called Green Stairway, and at which his favorite horse, Conde, stood awaiting him. The equerry and the chamberlain of the day stood on either side of the door, and at a short distance two servants held the horses of these gentlemen. The king's quick glance took in this scene at once, and 7 92 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. he shook his head with displeasure. " No foolishness, no pomp!" said he, imperiously. "My servants alone will ac- company me." The two gentlemen looked sadly at each other, but they dared make no opposition, and extended their hands to assist the king in mounting. But it was a difficult and sorrowful task to seat the king on his horse. Deference prevented them from lifting him up, and the king's feebleness prevented him from mounting un- aided. At last chairs and cushions were brought and piled up, until they formed a gradual ascent to the saddle-back, up which the two servants led the king, and succeeded in placing him on his horse. Conde, as if conscious that perfect quiet was necessary to the successful carrying out of this experi- ment, remained immovable. But now that he was seated on the back of his favorite horse, Conde threw his head high in the air and neighed loudly, as if to proclaim his joy at being once more together with the king. Alkmene did not seem to relish being behind Conde in man- ifesting joy, for she barked loudly and sprang gayly around the horse and rider, who had now taken the reins in his hand and started the sagacious animal by a slight pressure of the thigh. The king rode slowly down the green stairway, that is, a succession of green terraces forming a gentle declivity in the direction^of Sans-Souci. As the grooms were on the point of following him the chamberlain stepped up to them. " Take care to keep as near the king as possible, in order that you may be at hand if any thing should happen to his majesty." " His majesty's carriage shall be held in readiness at the Obelisk," said the equerry, in a low voice. "If any thing should happen to the king, bring him there, and one of you must ride in full gallop to the physician Sello!" The two grooms now hurried on after the king, who had put spurs to his horse and was galloping down the avenue. It was a beautiful day; a shower which had fallen the THE LAST RIDE. 93 night before had made the air pure and fragrant, and washed the grass till it looked us soft and smooth as velvet. The king slackened his speed. lie looked sadly around at the natural beauties which surrounded him, at the foliage of the trees, and up at the blue sky, which seemed to smile down upon him in cloudless serenity. " I will soon soar up to thee, and view thy glories and wonders! But I will tirst take leave of the glories of earth !" He slowly lowered his eyes and looked again at the earth, and inhaled its delicious atmosphere in deep draughts, feasted his eyes on nature, and listened to the music of the murmur- ing springs and plashing cascades, and of the birds singing in the dense foliage. He rode on through the solitary park, a solitary king, no one near him; the two lackeys behind in the distance, the greyhound bounding before him; but above him his God and his renown, and within him the recollections of the long years which had been! The friends who had wandered with him through these avenues, where were they? All dead aud gone, and he would soon follow them ! He had often longed for death; had often said to himself that it would be a great relief to lie down and sleep the eternal sleep of the grave. And yet he was now saddened to his in- most being. It seemed to him that the skies had never be- fore been so bright, the trees so fresh and green, or the flowers so fragrant ! Why long for the peace of the grave ! How delicious and refreshing was the peace of Nature! with what rapture did the soul drink in the sunshine and the fragrance of flowers! " From the afflictions of the world I fly to thee, thou holy virgin, pure, chaste Nature," said he, softly to himself. " Men are but weak, miserable beings, and not worth living for; but, for thy sake, Nature, I would still desire to live. Thou hast been my only beloved on earth, and it is very pain- ful to thy old lover to leave thee." 94 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. Yes, it was very painful. Nature seemed to have put on festive garments to-day, in order to show herself to the de- parting king in all her magnificence and beauty. The king rode on slowly through the avenues of Sans-Souci, bidding adieu to each familiar scene. At times, when an opening in the trees offered a particularly fine view, he halted, and feasted his eyes on the lovely landscape, and then he would lower his gaze quickly again, because something hot had darkened his vision it was perhaps a grain of sand thrown up by the wind, but certainly not a tear! No, cer- tainly not! How could he weep, he who was so weary and sick of life? "Yes, weary and sick of life," he said, in a loud voice. " Men are such miserable beings, and I am weary of ruling over slaves! weary of playing the tyrant, when I would so gladly see freemen around me ! No, no, I do not regret that I must die, I leave willingly, and my countenance will wear a smile when I am carried to the grave." * It may be easy to take leave of men, but Nature is so beau- tiful, it smiles so sweetly on us! It is very hard to have to say to the sky, the earth, and to the trees and flowers : " Fare- well! I will never see you more! Farewell!" The trees and bushes rustle in the wind and seem to sigh, "Farewell!" The falling waters seem to murmur, "Never- more!" Ah, there is yet a little corner in the king's and hero's heart, which is merely human; a little nook to which wisdom and experience have not penetrated, where natural feeling reigns supreme. Yes, man tears himself from beautiful Nature reluctantly and sadly. He would like to gaze longer on the flowers, and trees, and shrubbery ; to continue to breathe the fragrant air. But this man is also a hero and philosopher; and the hero whispers in his ear : " Courage, be strong ! You have often looked death in the face without flinching do so now!" The philosopher whispers, " Reconcile yourself to that which * The king's own words. THE LAST RIDE. 95 is inevitable. A town-clock is made of steel and iron, and yet it will not run more than twenty years. Is it surprising that your body should be worn out after seventy years? Rather rejoice that you are soon to read the great mysteries of creation, to know whether there is life beyond the grave, and whether we are again to be united with those who have gone before." "These mysteries I wil\ solve," cried the king, in a loud voice. " I greet you, dead with whom I have wandered in these shady groves. We shall soon meet again in the Elysian fields, and I will bring you intelligence of this miserable earth and its miserable inhabitants. My mother, my sister, I greet you, and you Cicero, Ctesar, Voltaire! I am coming to join the immortals." He raised his head and breathed freely, as if a heavy burden had fallen from his soul. His countenance was illumined with enthusiasm. lie looked over toward Sans-Souci, which had just become visible through an opening in the trees; its windows shone lustrously in the bright sunshine, and the whole building glittered in the glorious light. "It is my tomb," he said, smiling, "and yet the cradle of my renown. If I knew that I could escape death by not re- turning to my house, I would still do so. I am willing to yield my body to death, and am now going home to die!" As he said this he slowly raised his arm and lifted his old three-cornered hat slightly, and bowed in every direction, as a king does when taking leave of his court. He then slowly replaced the hat on his thin white hair, and pressed Conde so firmly with his knees, and drew in the reins so closely, that the animal galloped off rapidly. Alk- mene could only manage to keep up with great difficulty. The terrified lackeys urged their horses to a greater speed. This rapid ride did the king good, the keen wind seemed to strengthen his breast and dispel the clouds of melancholy from his soul. He had bidden his last adieu to Nature. Death was now vanquished, and the last painful sacrifice made. 96 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. When the king, after a two hours' ride through the park of Sans-Souci, galloped up the green stairway on his return, the chamberlain and equerry were astonished and delighted to find that he had met with no accident, and was positively looking better 'and stronger than he had done for a long time. The king halted with a sudden jerk of the reins, and the lackeys rushed forward with chairs and cushions, to form a stairway for his easy descent, as before. But with a quick movement Frederick waved them back. "Nothing of the kind," said he. "I can dismount with the aid of your arm. 1 will, however, first rest a moment." He stroked Coude's smooth, tapering neck, and the intelli- gent animal turned his head around, as if to look at his master and thank him for the caress. " Yes, you know the hand that strokes you," said the king, smiling. " We two have taken many a ride, and gone through rain and sunshine together. Farewell, my faithful Conde." He had bowed down over the animal's neck to stroke its mane. When he raised his head, his quick, piercing eye ob- served a young officer coming over the terrace with an air of embarrassment; he hesitated and stood still, as if doubting } O whether he might be permitted to come nearer. " Who can that be? " asked the king, gayly. " What young officer have we here? Come up, sir, and report." The young man hurried forward, stepped close up to the king's horse, and saluted him by raising his right hand to his cap. " I have the honor to report to your majesty," said he, in clear, joyous tones. " I have been ordered here at this hour, and punctuality is the first duty of the soldier." " Well replied, sir," said the king. " Give me your arm and assist me to dismount." The young officer hastened to obey the command, laid his hands on Conde's neck, and stretched his arms out as firmly as if they had been made of iron and were capable of standing THE LAST RIDE. 07 any pressure. The king grasped these living supports and slowly lowered himself from the horse's back to the ground. " Well done, my nephew, you have a strong arm, and, for your fifteen years, are quite powerful." "Sixteen years, your majesty," cried the young man, eagerly; " in four weeks I shall be sixteen years old." " Ah, sixteen already!" replied Frederick, smiling. " Then you are almost a man, and must be treated with due consid- eration. Mon prince, voulez-vous avoir la bonte de me donner votre bras?" * "Sire, et mon roi," replied the prince, quickly, "vous me daignez d'un grand houneur, et je vous suis tres reconnais- sant!"f And after bowing deeply he offered his arm to the king. "Just see how well he speaks French already!" said the king. " We will remain out here on the terrace for a few moments. The warm sunshine does an old man good! Lead me, my prince." He pointed with his crutch to the arm-chair which stood near the open door of the saloon, and walked slowly across the terrace, supported by Frederick William's arm. "Here," said he, as he sank slowly into the chair, breath- ing heavily, " here I will repose once more in the warm, bright sunshine before I enter the dark house." He looked slowly around at the terraces and trees, and then his gaze fastened on the young prince, who stood near him with a stiff and formal military bearing. " Lieutenant, forget for a few moments that you are before the king. You are at liberty to dispense with military eti- quette. And now give me your hand, my son, and let your old uncle offer you a right hearty welcome." The prince pressed the hand which he extended respect- fully to his lips. "Seat yourself," said the king, pointing to a stool which "Will you have the goodness to give me your arm, my prince?" fSire and my king, you confer a great honor on me, and 1 ain very grateful." 98 GOETHE AND - SCHILLER. stood near his chair. And, when the prince had done as lie bade him, he looked long and earnestly into his fresh; open face. "I sent for you, my child," said Frederick, in a soft and tender tone, " because I wished to see you once more before I set out on my journey." "Your majesty is then about to travel," said the prince nai'vely. "Yes, I am about to travel," replied Frederick, bowing his head gently. " But, your majesty, I thought the grand manoeuvres were to be held at Potsdam this time." " Yes, the grand manoeuvres will be held in Potsdam; and, at the grand review, I will have to report to Him who is the King of kings. Why do you look so awe-struck, my son? Perhaps it has never occurred to you that men are compelled to leave this paradise to die!" " Your majesty, I had never thought seriously of death!" "And you were perfectly right in not doing so, my child," said Frederick, and his voice had now regained its firmness. " Your attention must be firmly and immovably directed to life, for a great deal will be required of you on earth, and with your whole mind and strength you must endeavor to re- spond to these demands. You must study very diligently and make yourself familiar with the sciences. Which is your favorite study? " " History, sire." " That is well, Fritz. Impress upon your mind the great events of history, and learn, by studying the heroic deeds of kings, to be a hero yourself. Above all, your aims must be great, and you must struggle to attain them throughout your entire life. Who is your favorite hero in history?" " Sire," replied the prince, after a little reflection, " my fa- vorite hero is Cosmo de Medici." The king looked at him in astonishment. " What do you know of him? " said he. " Who was this Cosmo de Medici?" THE LAST RIDE. 00 " He was a great general," replied the prince, "and a great lawgiver, and his sole endeavor was to make the people happy." " Then you believe the chief aim of a great man, of a prince, should always be to make his people happy?" " Yes, sire, his chief aim. Professor Belmisch once told me, in the history lesson of the great Cosmo de Medici, called by the people of Florence the ' benefactor of the people. ' When he felt that his end was approaching, he commanded that he should be carried out in his chair to the largest square in Florence, 'For,' said he, ' I desire to die like a tender and happy father in the midst of his children.' But the children he spoke of were his subjects, who now poured into the square from all sides, and filled it so closely that it looked like a vast sea of humanity. When no more room could be found on the square, the people pressed into the houses, the doors of which had all been thrown open; and from the edifices which sur- rounded the square, thousands upon thousands looked down from the windows. Tens of thousands stood on the square, in the centre of which, and on an elevation, the chair, with the dying prince, had been placed. Yet, although so many inhabitants had assembled there, profound silence reigned. No one moved, and the eyes of all were fixed on the counte- nance of the dying prince. But he smiled, looked around at the vast concourse, and cried in a loud voice. 'As my last hour has come, I wish to make peace with God and men. Therefore, if there be any one among you to whom I have done injustice, or any one who can complain of any injustice done him under my rule, I beg that he will now step forward and call me to account, in order that I may mete out justice to him before I die!' Speak, therefore, in the name of God. I command you to speak.' But no one came forward, and nothing was heard but the low sobs of the people. For the second time the prince asked: 'If there bo any one among you to whom I have done injustice, let him come forward quickly, for death approaches!' And a loud voice from among 100 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. the people cried: 'You have done nothing but good, you have been our benefactor and our father. You will cause us a pang, for the first time, when you leave us ; we therefore im- plore, father, do not leave your children!' And from the vast square and the windows of the circle of houses, resounded the imploring cry of thousands upon thousands: '0 father, do not leave your children!' The countenance of the prince was radiant with joy, as he listened to the imploring cry and the sobs of his people. 'This is a prince's sublimest re- quiem,' said he. 'Happy is that prince who can die in the midst of the tears and blessings of his people!' And when he had said this, he arose and extended his arms, as if to give them his benediction. The whole multitude sank, sobbing, on their knees. And Cosmo fell back into his chair. He had died in the midst of the tears and blessings of his people." The prince's voice had faltered, and his eyes filled with tears, while concluding his narrative, and he now looked timidly at his uncle, who had regarded him intently through- out. The eyes of the venerable old man and the youth met, and their hearts seemed to commune with each other also, for they both smiled. "And you would like to die such a death, my son?" asked Frederick in a soft voice. " Die like Cosmo de Medici, in the midst of the tears and blessings of his people?" "Yes, sire, may such a death be mine!" replied the prince, earnestly ; " and I swear to your majesty that if I should ever become king, my sole aim shall be the happiness of my people. I will always think of you, and remember your deeds and your words. Yesterday my new instructor, Mr. Leuch- senring, also told me something very beautiful. He told me that your majesty worked day and night for the welfare of your people, and that you had said: 'A king is only the first office-holder of his people!' And that pleased me so well that 1 have determined to make it the motto of my life." "Very good," said the king, shaking his head, "keep this motto in your heart, but do not speak of it while you are not THE LAST RIDE. 101 yet king, or it might cause you some inconvenience. Bo careful how you speak of me when I am gone, and impress this lesson on your memory. A prince royal must never crit- icise the actions of the ruling king. He must be modest and silent, and give the people an example of an obedient and loyal subject, even if the king should do many things that do not please him. I repeat it, a prince royal must observe and learn in silence. Never forget this, my son, and adopt this as another rule for your entire life. A good king must never devote too much of his attention to women and favor- ites, or allow them to influence him, for when he does, it is always to the prejudice of his people's interests, and to his own discredit. I desire to say nothing more on this subject, but remember my words." "I will do so, sire," replied the prince, earnestly. " I will repeat these beautiful lessons daily, morning and evening, but noiselessly, that none may hear them." "Well said, my nephew; but let us see how you stand in other respects. Put your hand in my coat-pocket, and take out a little book. I brought it with me in order that you might read something out of it for my benefit. Have you found it?" " Yes, sire, I have. It is the 'Fables of La Fontaine.' ' "That is it! Now open the book at random. At what fable did you chance to open it?" " Le Renard et le Corbeau." * " Xow first read the fable in French, and then let me hear you translate it." The prince first read the fable with fluency and a correct pronunciation in the original language, and then rendered it with the same fluency and correctness in the German. The king listened attentively, often inclining his head in commendation, and murmuring, at times, " liravo, superb!" He extended his hand to the prince when he had finished, and looked at him tenderly. "I am proud of you, Fritz," he cried, "and you shall be rewarded for your diligence. Re- * The Fox and the Crow. 102 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. port to my chamberlain before you go, and he will give yon ten Fredericks d'or. That is your reward for your im- promptu translation." "No, I thank you," said the prince; "I do not deserve this reward, and consequently cannot accept it." " What! You do not deserve it? And why not?" " Because it was not an impromptu translation ; if it had been, it would not have been any thing like as good. By accident I opened the book at the same fable I had been trans- lating yesterday and the day before with my instructor, and of course it was easily done the second time." The king gazed long and thoughtfully at Frederick Will- iam's handsome and innocent young face, his countenance brightening and his eye glistening with pleasure. He bowed down and stroked his cheek fondly with his trembling hand. "Bravely said, my son; that pleases me. You have an honest and sincere heart. That is right. Never appear to be more than you are, but always be more than you seem to be.* The reward I promised you you shall have, nevertheless, for a king must always keep his promise. A king may never recall a favor once granted, however undeserving the recip- ient. But this is not the case with you, for you have really made great progress in your French. Continue to do so, and be very diligent, for you must speak the French language as readily as your own, and for this reason you should always speak French Avith your associates." " And I do," cried the prince with alacrity. " My instruc- tors always speak French with me, and are very angry when they hear my brother and myself speaking a word of German together. I often pass whole days without speaking a single word of German, and our valet speaks French only." f * Frederick's own words. See "Frederick William III.," von Eylert, vol. i., p. 455. t To this habit of Frederick William may be attributed the fact that he was not able to express himself fluently in his own language in later years. When the king spoke French his conversation was vivacious and forcible; when he spoke German, however, he was stiff and embarrassed. THE LAST RIDE. 103 " I am glad to hear it, Fritz! The French language is the language of diplomacy throughout the world, and it is also best adapted to it on account of its flexibility. I love the French language, but not the French people. I think mat- ters are taking a dangerous course in France, and that there will be trouble there before long. I will not live to see it, but the crater will open and cast its abominable streams of lava over all Europe. Prepare yourself for this time, my son. Arm and equip yourself! Be firm, and think of me. Guard our honor and renown ! Perpetrate no wrongs, and tolerate none. Be just and mild with all your subjects, and severe with your- self only." " I will be as severe with myself as Professor Behnisch is with me now," said the prince, earnestly. "I will give my- self no immunity; but when I have done something wrong, I will prescribe a punishment for the offence." " Is your professor so severe?" asked the king, smiling. " Ah, yes, your majesty, very severe. A punishment fol- lows in the train of every offence, and if I have only been the least bit rude or angry I must suffer for it at once." " That is as it should be," said the king. " Your professor is entirely right. Above all things, a prince must be polite, and have control over himself. But in what do the punish- ments he inflicts consist?" "Always in just such things as are most disagreeable: either, instead of taking a walk, I must stay at home and work, or my brother is left at home, and I am compelled to walk with the professor alone, and then we have nothing but learned conversations. Or, when I have not been diligent during the week, I am not permitted to visit my mother on Sunday and dine with her in the palace. Your majesty knows that we, my brother and myself, do not live in the palace, but with Professor Behnisch and Mr. Leuchsenring in Broad Street. Our table is, however, very bad, and for that reason I always look forward to the coming Sunday with pleas- ure, for then I eat, as it were, for the whole week. During 104 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. the week, however, our fare is horrible ; and when I dare to complain, the invariable rejoinder is, 'We have no money to keep a better table. ' ' "And that is the truth," said Frederick, severely. "We should learn to stretch ourselves according to our cover at an early day, and to be economical with money. Moreover, that you do not suffer hunger is quite evident from your fresh, rosy cheeks, and vigorous body. You must eat your daily bread with a merry face, my son, and make no complaints. Young people should be entirely indifferent as to the quality of their food ; the indulgences of the table are a solace of old age ; youth should despise them ; and a good apple ought to be as great a feast for a young man as a pineapple for an old fellow. In later years, when seated at a richly-laden table, you will certainly look back with pleasure to the time when you rejoiced in an approaching Sunday because you fared bet- ter on that day than on any other. My son, by suffering want, we first learn how to enjoy ; and he only is wise who can find enjoyment in poverty. I hope that at some future day you will be a great, a wise, and an economical king, and for this reason I have instructed those who have charge of you to bring you up plainly, and to teach you, above all things, economy in money matters. For you must know that you have nothing of your own, and that the people are now sup- porting you ; and, for the present, not on account of your ser- vices, but solely because you are a scion of your house." "Sire, "cried the prince, with vivacity, "sire, I am very young, and, of course, have not been able to do any service as yet; but I promise your majesty that I will become a useful man, and, above all, a fine soldier, and will make myself worthy of being the nephew of Frederick the Great." " Do that, my son, make yourself worthy to be the king of your people; and bear in mind the beautiful history of the death of Cosmo do Medici, which you have just narrated. And now, my son, we must part. The sun is setting, and I feel a little tired, and will go to my apartments." THE LAST RIDE 105 " Ah, every thing is so beautiful and magnificent here, and your majesty has made me so happy by permitting me to see you "Yes," murmured the king, "the world is very beantij.nl." He looked longingly around over the terraces and trees, and his gaze was arrested by the peak of the obelisk, which stood at the entrance of the garden, and towered high above the trees. He raised his hand, and pointed to the peak. " See, my son, how this peak overtops every thing else. Although high and slender, it stands firm in storm and tem- pest. This pyramid says to you, 'Ma force est ma droiture.' The culminating point of the pyramid overlooks and crowns the whole. It does not support, but is supported by all that lies under it, and chiefly by the invisible foundation, built far beneath. My son, thus it is also with the state. The sup- porting foundation is the people, and the peak of the obelisk is the king. Acquire the love and confidence of the people, tli is only will enable you to become powerful and happy. And now, my son, come to my heart and receive a parting kiss from your old king. Be good, and do only what is right! Make your people happy, in order that you -may be happy yourself." He drew the prince, who had knelt down before him, to his heart, pressed a kiss on his lips, and laid his cold, trem- bling hand on Frederick William's head for a moment, as if to bless him. "And now arise, my child," said he lovingly. "Do not forget this hour." "Sire it shall never be forgotten," whispered the prince, sobbing loudly, and covering the king's hand with tears and kisses. "Call the lackeys," murmured the king, as he fell back in liis chair, exhausted. " Let them carry me in." The prince hurriedly summoned the servants; and they raised the chair in which Frederick lay with closed eyes. For a moment only he opened his eyes to look at the prince, 106 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. and to wave him a last greeting with his hand. His eyelids closed again, and the king was carried into his " dark house" and into the library. After setting the chair down, the lack- eys stepped noiselessly out of the room, believing the king to be asleep. Frederick opened his eyes, and looking around at the busts of his great ancestors, saluted them with a motion of the hand. "All is finished," he said, loudly. " I have seen my garden for the last time, and have taken leave of Nature. When my body leaves this house again, it will be borne to eternal rest, but my spirit will fly to you, my friends, and roam with you in endless light and knowledge. I am coming soon. But," he continued, elevating his voiec, and speaking in firmer tones, " my sun has not yet set, and as long as it is still day I must and will work!" He rang the bell, and told the servant to send Minister von Herzberg (who, at the king's request, had been sojourning at Saus-Souci for the last few weeks,) to his presence at once. Frederick received the minister with a cordial smile, and worked with him, in erect composure of mind and clearness of intellect, for several hours, listened to his report, gave his decisions, and dictated in a firm voice several dispatches to the ambassadors of France and Russia. "Herzberg, have these papers drawn up at once," said he, as he dismissed the minister. " The members of the cabinet must present them for my signature to-day, in order that they may be forwarded at the earliest moment. I must deal sparingly with my time, and employ each moment, for the next may not be mine." " Oh, sire, it is to be hoped that you will still have years to devote to the happiness of your people, and "Do you suppose I desire it?" exclaimed Frederick, inter- rupting him. " No, I am weary, and long to rest from the troubles and cares of life. You think I do not feel them, be- cause I do not complain. But you must know that some things are only endurable when not complained of. My ac- THE LAST RIDE. 107 count with life is balanced, and, although it gave me some laurels, yet the thorns predominated, and there was scarcely a single rose among them. Be still! No complaints! But lis- ten ! I believe my end is approaching already perhaps Death lies in wait at my door and I have something to say to you. Madness and misrule will be the order of the day when I am gone, mistresses and favorites will reign, and hypocrites and impostors will practise iniquity under guise of piety. Well, this you cannot prevent; and if the Lord should see fit to let it come to pass, you must bear it as you best can. But when the spendthrifts attack the treasury, when they begin to squander the money I have saved with so much trouble, for the amelioration of the country, on their mistresses and favor- ites, you must not tolerate it. You must speak to the king's conscience in my name, and endeavor to persuade him, with good and bad words, to consult his people's interests, and not lavish on his favorites what belongs to the state. Will you promise to do this?" "Yes. I promise your majesty that I will do so," replied Herzberg, solemnly. " I swear that I will faithfully and fearlessly obey the commands of my great and beloved king; that I will repeat to your successor the words your majesty has just spoken, if occasion should require; and that I will do all that lies in my power to prevent the expenditure of the state treasure for any other purpose than that of the welfare of the people and country." " I thank you," said the king; " you have relieved my mind of a great burden. Give me your hand, Herzberg, and let me thank you once more. You have been a faithful servant to your king, and you will continue to serve him when he has long since passed away. And now, farewell for the present, Herzberg; I desire to sleep a little. A cabinet meeting will be held here at eight o'clock this evening." " But, sire, would it not be better if your majesty rested to-day, or else called the meeting at once, in order that you might retire to your repose earlier?" 108 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. The king shrugged his shoulders. " There is no repose, except in the grave ; and sleep is for the healthy only." And, even after the}*" had left him, the king remained sitting at his writing-desk, and arranged his papers, and wrote a letter to his sister, the Duchess of Braunschweig. The two lackeys stood in the antechamber, awaiting the summons of the king's bell, and whispering to each other that his majesty was again sitting up, and working at a very late hour, although his physician had expressly forbidden him to do so. And yet neither of them dared to enter and dis- turb him in his labors; they stood hesitating and casting anxious glances at the door. But, behind this door, in the king's room, two eyes were regarding him. intently; these were the eyes of his greyhound, Alkmene. Twice had the animal already jumped up from its bed, run to the king, and nestled caressingly at his side, and had then, when Frederick took no notice of it, hung its head and gone mournfully back to its cushion. It now raised its tapering head, and looked intelligently at the king, who sat writing at the table, his back turned toward the little dog. Suddenly it bounded across the room, sprang upon the king's chair, laid its slender forefeet on its master's shoulder, bent its graceful neck downward, snatched the king's pen from his hand, and jumped down to the floor with it. "Be quiet, Alkmene," cried the king, without looking up from his work, in which he was entirely absorbed. " No non- sense, mademoiselle!" And the king took another pen from the stand. Alkmene let the pen fall, and looked up at the king in- tently. When she saw that he continued writing, she ut- tered a low, plaintive whine. With one bound she was again on the back of the king's chair. Supporting her feet on his shoulder, she snatched the pen from his hand a second time, and jumped down with it. This time she did not let the pen fall, but held it in her mouth, and remained near the king's chair, looking up to him with her sparkling eyes. THE LAST RIDE. 109 Frederick looked down from his work at the little animal, and a smile flitted over his features. " Really," said he, in a low voice,"! believe Alkmene wishes to remind me that it is time to go to bed. Well, come here, mademoiselle, I will grant your desire!" As if understanding her master's words, Alkmene barked joyously, and jumped into the king's lap. The king pressed the little greyhound to his breast, and caressed it tenderly. "My friends have not all deserted me," he murmured. "I shall probably have a smiling heir, but, when my body is car- ried to the grave, my dog at least will remain there to weep over me." He pressed the greyhound closer to his breast ; deep silence reigned in the room. The wind howled dismally through the trees in the garden ; a sudden blast dashed some fallen twigs against the low window, in front of which Frederick worked, and it sounded as if ghostly hands were knocking there. The wind whispered and murmured as if the voices of the night and the spirits of the flowers and the trees wished to bring the king a greeting. Suddenly Alkmene uttered a long, distressful howl, and ran to the door, and scratched and whined until the servants took heart and entered the room. The king lay groaning in his arm-chair, his eyes glazed, and blood flowing from his pale lips. His physician and a surgeon were summoned at once, and the king was bled and his forehead rubbed with strengthening salts. He awoke once more to life and its torments; and for a few weeks the heroic mind conquered death and bodily decrepitude. But the ride on Conde on the fourth of July was nevertheless his last. After that day Frederick never left his "dark house." When the king of the desert, when the lion feels that his end is approaching, he goes to the forest, seeks the densest jungle and profoundest solitude, and lies down to die. Na- ture has ordained that no one shall desecrate by his presence the last death-agony of the king of the desert. 110 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. His Sans-Souci was the great king's holy and solitary re- treat ; and there it was that the hero and king breathed his last sigh on earth, without murmur or complaint. He died on the morning of the 17th August, in the year 1786. A great man had ceased to live. There lay the inanimate form of him who had been called King Frederick the Second. But a star arose in the heavens, and wise men gave it the name Frederick's Honor. The same star still shines in the firmament, and seems to greet us and Prussia: Frederick's Honor ! BOOK II. CHAPTER I. AFTER THE KING'S DEATH. " THE king is dead ! Frederick the Second is no more ! come, your majesty, to bring you this sad intelligence!" These were the words with which the minister Herzberg, accompanied by the valet Rietz, walked up to the bed of the prince royal, Frederick William, on the night of the seven- teenth of August, and aroused him from his slumber. " What is it? Who speaks to me?" asked the prince royal, rising in bed, and staring at the two men who stood before him the one with a sad, the other with a joyful expression of countenance. " I ventured to speak to your majesty," answered Herzberg; " I, the former minister of King Frederick the Second. His majesty departed this life half an hour since, and I have come to bring the sad tidings in person. King Frederick the Sec- ond is dead!" " Long live King Frederick William the Second!" cried the valet Rietz, as he busily assisted the king in dressing himself and finishing his toilet. Frederick William remained silent. No words, either of sorrow or of joy, escaped his lips. Lost in thought, or per- haps painfully alive to the sublimity of the moment, or em- barrassed as to what he should say, in order to satisfy two men so differently constituted, he silently submitted himself to his valet's attentions, while Von Herzberg had withdrawn to the alcove of the farthest window, and stood sadly awaiting the commands of the new king. 112 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. "Your majesty is attired," said Rietz, in low, submissive tones. "Is the carriage in readiness?" demanded Frederick Will- iam, starting as if aroused from deep thought. "Yes, your majesty, I ordered it to be ready at once." "Come, then, Herzberg, let us go; Rietz, you will accom- pany us." " But kings should not venture into the night air, without first breaking fast. The chocolate is already prepared. Will your majesty permit me to serve it up?" " No, Rietz, every thing in its proper place," said the king. " My knees tremble ; give me the support of your arm, Herz- berg, and lead me." He laid his hand heavily upon Herzberg's proffered arm, and walked out, leaning upon him. Rietz, who followed them, fastened his small gray eyes on the minister, and shook his fist at him behind his back. " You will not be the sup- port of my king much longer," he muttered between his clinched teeth. " You and your whole pack shall soon be dismissed ! We have stood in the background and looked on while you governed, long enough. Our time has at last come, and we will make the most of it." His manner had been threatening and hostile while muttering these words; but, as he now hurried forward to open the carriage door, he quickly changed it, and he not only assisted the king in entering, but also extended a helping hand to the minister. He then jumped up and took his seat beside the coachman, and the carriage rolled down the broad avenue that led to the palace of Sans-Souci. The drive was of short duration, the horses pushing forward as if aware that they were carrying a new king to his future. Not a word was spoken in the carriage ; its occupants, the valet included, were lost in meditation. He also was fully aware that he was entering upon a new future, and he swore that it should not only be a brilliant but also a profitable one. He smiled complacently when he con- sidered the pleasures and happiness life had in store for him. AFTER THE KING'S DEATH. 113 > Did not the king love him, and, still better, did not the king love his wife, the soi-disant Madame Rietz? "A plain madame she will not remain much longer," said he to himself. "She is ambitious; I will place her at the head of the department of titles and orders, but I will super- intend the department of finance and material profits. When such a good-natured couple as we are harness ourselves to a wagon, it will be strange indeed if we do not manage to pull it through the mire of life, and if it does not ultimately be- come transformed into a right regal equipage." At this moment the carriage turned the corner of the avenue, and there lay Sans-Souci, illumined by the first rays of the rising sun, bright and beautiful to look upon, although the corpse of a king lay within the corpse of one, who but yesterday was the master and ruler of millions, to-day inanimate clay, a handful of dust from the dust of humanity. The carriage halted, and, as no one came forward to open the door, Rictz reluctantly opened it himself. The king's house was the scene of confusion and sorrow, and could no longer be called the house Sans-Souci, " the house without care," since its royal occupant had closed his eyes. The king entered the antechamber, and greeted with a kindly smile the two valets who stood near the door. Tears rushed to their eyes, and disregarding etiquette in their grief, they neglected to open the door that led to the inner apart- ments. Rietz hastened forward and opened it, and then fol- lowed the king and minister into the reception-room, which was still empty, as the princes and princesses, and the court- iers, had not yet been informed of the king's death. " Le roi est mort! Vive le roi!" They will soon come with one weeping and one laughing eye; with a reluctant tear for the departed, and a fascinating smile for the living king, who bad awakened this morning to find a crown on his brow, and a kingdom at his feet! " Le roi est mort! Vive le roi !" How desolate is the antechamber of the departed king to- 114 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. day! Not a sound is heard ! The portrait of the Marquise de Pompadour, which she had given Frederick as a mark of her favor, hangs on the wall, and smiles down upon this scene with its coquettish beauty. The king and the minister do not observe it, but Kietz, who follows close behind, looks up at the picture with a complacent smile, and thinks to himself that his wife will certainly become quite as celebrated and hon- ored as the French king's flame. Why should not an empress also write to her some day to her, the adored of the King of Prussia, and call her "ma cousine?" Why not? It is only with the greatest difficulty that the valet can sup- press his inclination to burst into laughter, when this thought occurs to him. As he follows his master into the king's study, he covers his face with his hand, and assumes an air of deep dejection. There are people in this room, and there might be observant eyes there also. But no, there are no observant eyes in the king's study to- day. The men who are present are thinking only of their trouble and grief. There are no tears of etiquette and no sighs of assumed sorrow there. The king's four cabinet counsellors alone are present. In accordance with his request of the day before, they had come to his study at four o'clock in the morning, the accustomed hour. On the preceding day they had been admitted to his presence, and he had given them his instructions in a weak voice, and had even steadied his trembling hand sufficiently to affix his signature to a state document. To-day they had come, as usual, with the rising sun, but they now saw that their sun had set nothing re- mained for them but to weep. The king did not see them, or did not seem to see them, but walked rapidly toward the open door, and the mourning group who had assembled in the adjoining apartment. On a blood-stained pillow in an arm- chair lay the countenance which was yesterday that of a king. A day had transformed it into a marble bust; it lay there with closed eyes, in peaceful serenity a smile on the lips that had yesterday cried out to the sun, " Soon I will be with you !" AFTER THE KING'S DEATH. 115 The great king was with the sun; that which lay in the chair was only the worthless casket of the flown soul. Beside the body stood the physician Sello, in deep dejec- tion. Behind the chair were the two lackeys, who had faith- fully watched at the king's bedside during the preceding night; they were weeping bitterly, weeping because he had gone from them. Deep silence reigned; and there was something in this silence which inspired even the valet Rietz with awe. He held his breath, and approached noiselessly to look at the corpse of King Frederick, whom he had never had an oppor- tunity of viewing in such close proximity during his lifetime. As the king approached the body, the servants sobbed audi- bly. The physician bowed his head deeper, to salute the ris- ing star. The greyhound, which had remained quiet and motionless at the king's feet until now, jumped up, raised its slender head, and howled piteously, and then returned to its former position. Deeply moved, his eyes filled with tears, the king stooped over the dead body, raised the cold hand to his lips, and kissed it; and then he laid his warm hand on the brow that had worn a crown, and had so often been entwined with laurel- wreaths. " Give me, God, Thy blessing, that I may be a worthy successor of this great king," said Frederick William, in a low voice, while tears trickled down his cheeks. " You, my predecessor, made Prussia great ; God grant that it may never be made weak through my instrumentality! Farewell, my king and uncle, and peace be with us all!" " Amen! " said llerzberg, in a firm voice. " Last evening, when the shades of death were already gathering on his brow, his majesty King Frederick sent for me, and whispered these words, in faltering tones: 'On the morrow you will present my salutations to my successor beside my body.' Your majesty, King Frederick greets you through me!" Frederick William inclined his head in response. " You 116 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. were with the king when he died, were you not, my dear Sello?" "Yes, sire, I was." " At what hour did the king die?" Sello raised his hand, and pointed solemnly to the large clock which stood against the wall on a marble stand. " Your majesty, the hands of that clock stopped the moment the king breathed his last sigh. Sire, behold the first monument erected to the memory of our great king!" Frederick William looked both astonished and pleased. "This is truly wonderful," he observed, in an undertone. "They were then right! We are surrounded by wonders. The hand of a mysterious agency is visible in all things!" He walked up to the clock, and a feeling of awe crept over him as he regarded the dial. To him the hands were ghostly fingers pointing to the moment at which the king had died. "Twenty minutes past two," said the king, softly. "Strange, passing strange!" He turned and beckoned to his valet to approach. " Eietz, at what time did I call you last night, when I was awakened by some fearful anxiety?" " It was exactly twenty minutes past two, your majesty ! I am certain of it, because you commanded me to consult your watch at the time." "Yes, that was the exact time," murmured the king to himself. " The spirits woke me, that I might greet the new day that was dawning for me." " Le roi est mort! Vive le roi!" The king, who gave en- lightenment and freedom of thought to his people, is dead ! King Frederick is dead! A shadow darkens the sun of this first morning of the new era. This shadow will soon become a lowering cloud, and night and darkness will sink down over Prussia. " Le roi est mort! Vive le roi !" Frederick William had been gazing thoughtfully at the clock. With an effort he suddenly aroused himself. The AFTER THE KING'S DEATH. 117 hands of that clock proclaimed the cessation of the old and the beginning of the new era of his era. He must be pre- pared to meet its requirements. For the second time he approached the corpse. " Where are the king's decorations?" he demanded of Strutzki, the attendant, in whose arms the king had breathed his last. Hastily drying his eyes, Strutzki stepped softly to the little cabinet, and opened it. " Leave the others," commanded the king, "and bring me only the ribbon of the Order of the Black Eagle." Striitzki speedily returned with the designated order. Holding the broad orange ribbon in his hand, the king now turned to" the Minister von Herzberg. "Count," said he, " bow your head, and receive, at my hands, the last souvenir of the great king who has cast off his mortal frame, in order that he may sojourn with us as an im- mortal spirit. The ribbon worn by Frederick the Great shall now adorn your breast, in order that the respect and esteem which I entertain for you be made manifest to the world. You will be as true and zealous a friend to me as you were to my great uncle. You will serve me, as you served him, in the capacity of minister of state; and you will be often called on for advice and counsel, Count Herzberg." "Your majesty," murmured Ilerzberg, his voice tremulous with emotion, " your majesty rewards me beyond my deserts. I have done nothing but my duty, and " Happy is that king," exclaimed Frederick William, inter- rupting him, " happy is that king who is surrounded by ser- vants who take no credit to themselves for the good and great which they accomplish, considering that they have done no more than their duty. The obligation to acknowledge their services and show his gratitude, is on this account all the more incumbent upon him; there are very few people on earth who can say of themselves, in this exalted sense, that they have done their duty. But I am a very happy king; I have two such friends at my side 011 the very threshold of my 118 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. career. You, my dear count, I have already rewarded for your services. Your patent as count shall be made out, and the insignia of the highest order of the Black Eagle presented you. You will still continue to administer the affairs of your foreign bureau. And now, you need rest, my dear count; I know that you have watched a great deal in the last few nights. Au revoir ! " After taking a last lingering look at the royal corpse, Herz- berg retired; and King Frederick William turned to the valet, Rietz, who had stood, with his head bowed down, in order to hide the curiosity, and the indifference to the solem- nity of the occasion, which were depicted in his countenance. "And now, my dear Eietz," said the king, extending his hand to the valet, " now the time has at last come when I can reward you for your faithful services! I appoint you treas- urer of my household, and keeper of my strong-box!" * "Ah, your majesty, my beloved king," sobbed Rietz, as he pressed Frederick William's hand to his thick, swollen lips, " such grace, such favor, I have not deserved. I thank your majesty, however, from the bottom of my heart, and you shall always find in me a true and faithful servant! Oh, what will my wife say, and how happy she will be, over the new honor you have conferred upon me!" The king withdrew his hand with a slight shudder, and looked almost timidly in the direction of the corpse, which lay there so grand and still. He did not see the quiet, stealthy glance which the treasurer fastened on his coun- tenance. If the corpse of the great Frederick had suddenly come to life again if those closed eyes had opened once more how withering a glance would they have bestowed upon the wanton valet ! But even the corpse of a king hears no more, and the closed eyes open not again ! " Le roi est mort! Vive le roi !" The king stepped slowly back, but his gaze still rested on *The king's own words, uttered beside Frederick's corpse. AFTER THE KING'S DEATH. 119 the countenance of the dead. Though closed, those eyes seemed to see into his heart. " Rietz, send for the sculptor, in Potsdam, in order that a cast of the king's face may taken." " Your majesty, it shall be attended to immediately." He hurried toward the door, but a gesture of his royal mas- ter recalled him. Frederick William dreaded being left alone with the great dead and the weeping lackeys! For he well knew that the bodies of the departed were always watched over by the spirits of their ancestors. lie knew that the spirits of those who had been dear to the departed in love and friendship, and the spirits of those who were his enemies while they trod the earth in the flesh, were now hovering over the body, and struggling for the possession of King Frederick's soul, even as they struggled for the soul of Moses. But a short time had elapsed since this had been commu- nicated to him by the spirit of the great philosopher Leib- nitz, whom the two believers, Bischofswerder and Wollner, had conjured up to confirm the statements they had made to the unbelieving prince royal! Yes, these hostile spirits are struggling over the body for the possession of the soul, and to remain, with this knowledge, alone with the dead and the contending spirits, inspires awe and terror. " Rietz, my faithful follower, remain," said the king, almost anxiously. " But no ! Call Lieutenant-Colonel Bischofs- werder." " Your majesty, he has ridden into the city to carry this sad intelligence to the present prince royal, and conduct him here to Sans-Souci." "And the Councillor Wollner?" " Your majesty, I have dispatched a courier to Berlin to inform him of the king's death, and he will probably soon be here." " Ah, Rietz, you are a faithful and considerate servant. (Jo before and open the doors. I will repair to the audience- 120 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. chamber; the court will probably have assembled by this time!" He waved the royal corpse a final adieu, bowed and walked backward to the door, as if retiring from an audience accorded him by the great Frederick. Profound silence reigned in the chamber for a moment, until Alkmene crept out from under the chair and again howled piteously. CHAPTER II. " LE KOI EST MOET ! YIVE LE EOI ! " WHILE only two poor servants and a faithful dog remained with the dead king, the new king was receiving the congrat- ulations of his court in the audience-chamber. The court officials and ministers had already assembled; and now the princes of the royal family were coming in. Rietz, who had remained in the antechamber, now entered and approached the king. " Your majesty, his royal high- ness the prince royal and Prince Louis have this moment ar- rived, and beg permission to tender their congratulations." "Conduct the prince to the concert-hall," said the king, " I will join him there directly. And Lieutenant- Col on el Bischof swerder ? ' ' "Your majesty, he accompanied the prince royal." The king bowed graciously. The word " majesty" sounded like sweet music in his ear, and drowned the wail of grief for the departed. Bestowing a kindly smile upon the assembled court, the king left the audience-chamber in order to repair to the concert-hall, where the two princes awaited him. Eietz went in advance, and, as he threw open the door of the concert-hall, cried in a loud voice, "His majesty the king!" The two princes hastened forward, and pressed their father's extended hand to their lips. "LE ROI EST MORT! VIVE LE ROI!" 121 " I take the liberty of tendering to my royal father my most humble congratulations." The prince uttered these words in a stiff and declamatory manner, merely repeating them as they had been taught him by his tutor, Professor Behnisch. " I beg that your majesty will accord me your favor, and I assure my royal father that he will always find in me an affectionate son and his most obedient subject." The king's countenance darkened as he gazed upon the prince, who would one day be his successor. Prince royal! An unpleasant word, truly; a gloomy and constant reminder of approaching death! the prince royal, who is only waiting to be king, who, like the shadow of death, is ever at the mon- arch's side, reminding him of approaching dissolution. To love one's successor is certainly a hard task ; but his existence may, at least, be forgiven, when he is the son of a loved wife, when the father loves his child. But when the prince royal is the fruit of a marriage of convenience, the son of an un- loved wife when the king has another and a cherished son, whose mother he has passionately loved! Ah, how differ- ently would this son have received his father! He would have thrown himself into his father's arms, and would have hugged and kissed him. " Oh, my dear son Alexander, why are you not my succes- sor? Why must you remain at a distance? why are you not permitted to stand at my side in this great hour? But all this shall be changed! My Alexander shall no longer remain in obscurity no, he shall not!" With his two sons the king had only exchanged a few words of ceremony. He responded but coldly to the formal con- gratulation of the prince royal; and replied with a mute gest- ure only to the embarrassed and stammering words of Prince Louis. "And now go, my princes," said he; "go and look at the body of your great uncle, and impress the solemn scene upon your minds, that you may never forget it!" "I shall never forget the great king," said the prince 122 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. royal, his countenance expressive of great tenderness and emotion. " No, your majesty, I shall never forget the great Frederick. He was always so gentle and gracious to me; and but a few days ago he spoke to me like a kind father, and that made me feel so proud and happy that I can never forget it, and never cease to be grateful while life lasts." The long-repressed tears now rushed from the prince royal's eyes, and Prince Louis began to weep, too, when he saw his brother's tears, and murmured : " The great Frederick was also very gracious to me." The king turned aside. His sons' tears were offensive. Who knows whether they will weep when their father also dies? " Go, my sons, and pay a last tribute of tears to the past, and then turn your thoughts to the joyful realities of the present!" The two princes bowed ceremoniously, and then left the room, retiring backward, as if in military drill. The king's eyes followed them as they left the room, and his countenance darkened. " They are as stiff and awkward as puppets. And yet they have hearts, but not for their father! Eietz!" The chamberlain immediately appeared in the doorway, and stood awaiting his master's commands, his countenance beam- ing with humility. " Rietz, go at once and inform my son Alexander of what has taken place! He must go to Charlottenburg with his tutor and await me there! Let him tell his mother that I will take tea with her this evening, and that she may expect me at six o'clock." " Will your majesty pass the night in Charlottenburg?" asked the chamberlain, with his eyes cast down and the most innocent expression of countenance. "I cannot say," replied the king; "I may go to Berlin, and ' "Your majesty, perhaps, considers it necessary to pay a visit of condolence to the widowed queen at Schonhausen?" "LE ROI EST MORT! VIVE LE ROI!" 123 Rietz had said this in an almost inaudible voice, but the king's attentive ear caught the words nevertheless, and his countenance beamed with joy. " Yes, my friend and heart's interpreter, I will visit the widowed queen at Schonhausen. Take the fastest horse from my stable and ride there to announce my coming." "To the widowed queen only, your majesty? To no one else?" " You ask as if you did not know what my re*ply would be," said the king, smiling. " No, you may also present my com- pliments to the queen's beautiful maid of honor, Julie von Voss. Request her, in my name, to hold herself in readiness to receive me. I wish to speak with her on matters of great importance. Go, my friend!" " To speak with her on matters of great importance," mut- tered Rietz, after he had left the room. " As if we did not all very well know what he has to say to this beautiful young lady; as if his love for her were not a public secret, well known to the queen, his wife, to the entire court, and to dear Madame Rietz, my wife ! Very well, I will first ride to young Alexander, then I will speed to Schonhausen, and finally I will hie me to Madame Rietz in Charlottenburg, to make my report. My dear wife is so generous, and I can dispose of so much money ! Life is so pleasant when one has money. And it is all the same who a man is and what he is! If he always has money, a goodly supply in his purse, he is a distinguished man, and is respected by all. Therefore the main thing is to become rich, for the world belongs to the rich ; and I am quite willing that the world should belong to me. Oh, I will make the best use of my time ; and those who suppose they can fool me by their flattery, and that I can be induced to inter- cede for them with the king, out of pure goodness of heart, will discover that they have calculated without their host. Money is the word, gentlemen ! Pay up, and the influence of the mighty chamberlain shall be exerted in your behalf; but nothing gratis! Death only i.s gratis! No, I am wrong," 124 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. said he, laughing derisively, as he gazed at a company of gren- adiers, who were marching up the avenue toward the palace, where they were to be stationed as a guard of honor to the royal corpse. " The funeral costs a great deal of money." The grenadiers passed on; and the subdued roll of the drums, which were draped in mourning, died away in the distance, while the winds wafted over from Potsdam the sounds of the tolling bells which proclaimed the king's death to the awakening city. Eietz hurried off to send the son of the king to his mother in Charlottenburg, and then to ride to Schonhausen and deliver a loving greeting to Frederick William's new flame. It was still silent and desolate in the chamber of the dead at Sans-Souci. Striitzki had once stepped softly out of the room to get some twigs from the elder-tree which stood on the terrace, to keep the flies from the face of the dead king. And now the two lackeys were standing on either side of the. chair, fanning away the miser- able insects that had dared to light on this countenance since the hand of the artist Death had chiselled it into marble. Nothing was heard but the rustle of the twigs and the hum- ming of the flies, ever returning, as if to mock man's vain efforts to drive them from what was justly their own. The doors were softly opened, and the two princes glided in, and noiselessly approached the arm-chair in which Freder- ick lay, as if fearful of awakening him. The prince royal looked at the body long and silently, and his countenance was expressive of deep and earnest feeling. "Stand aside, lackeys," said he, haughtily, "and you, too, my brother, I wish to be alone. I wish to commune awhile with his majesty!" The lackeys and Prince Louis retired ; the former to the door, the latter to the distant window; and now the lad of sixteen was alone with the immortal Frederick. He knelt down before the body, grasped the cold hand, and gazed on the marble features of the great dead with an expression of intense earnestness and determination. LE ROI EST MORT! VIVE LE ROI!" 125 "My great uncle and king," murmured he, "I swear to you that I will endeavor to do all that you recently enjoined upon me; and that I will ever strive to do honor to your great name. I swear to you that I will one day be a good and use- ful king, and endeavor to deserve the affection of the people. My dear uncle, I have a secret in my heart, and I must dis- close it before you descend into the grave. It seems to me your sleep will be more peaceful when you learn it: I hate Madame Rietz and her husband. And if she is still living when I become king, I will punish her for her crimes, and will repay her for all the tears which she has caused my dear mother. No one knows of my determination except my mother, who recently told me what sorrow Madame Eietz had occasioned her, and then I was so angry that I wished to go immediately and kill her. But my mother exhorted me to silence and patience, and I promised that I would obey her. But when I am king, I will be no longer silent; then shall come the day of arraignment and punishment. This I swear to you, my dear, my great uncle and king; and this is the secret I longed to disclose. Yes, I will some day avenge my mother. Farewell, my king sleep in peace! and A hand was laid upon his shoulder ; he looked up and saw his young cousin Prince Louis, whose approach he had not no- ticed, standing beside him. "I congratulate you, cousin," said Prince Louis, impres- sively, " and crave the continuance of your favor, prince royal of Prussia. His majesty the king sent me here to pay my re- spects to the royal corpse and the prince royal, but I propose to pay my respects to the latfer first." " No," said Frederick William, who had slowly arisen from his knees, "that you must not do, cousin Louis. I am not changed, and am no better because of our great king's death." "But more powerful," said the prince; "you are now prince royal, and the greatest deference should be shown you. Oh, do not look at me so earnestly and angrily, cousin. You 12G GOETHE AND SCHILLER. think I am cold and indifferent; but no, I have only deter- mined not to weep over the body of our dear uncle. My mother tells me we shall also soon die, if we let fall a tear on the countenance of the dead. And yet, Frederick, when I reflect that the good uncle is dead who was always so kind to me, and who was our pride and glory, I cannot help shedding tears in spite of my mother's injunction. Oh, great Freder- ick, that you could have remained a few years longer on earth, till that proud eye might have rested on a gallant prince and brave soldier, instead of a foolish lad!" " But, cousin, how can you speak so disparagingly of your- self, and so far forget your dignity as a prince?" "Ah, a prince is no better than any one else," said Prince Louis, shrugging his shoulders, " and while I have the great- est respect for your exalted rank, Mr. Prince Royal, I have none whatever for my own little title; particularly at this moment, when I see that the great Frederick, the hero and king, was only a mortal. Oh, my dear uncle,*why did you leave us so soon ! You were not yet so old scarcely seventy- four years, and there are so many who are older. A short time since, as I was coming here to inquire after your health, I saw an old man at the entrance of the park, warming him- self in the sun ; he sat with folded hands, and prayed aloud. I approached and offered him a piece of money, which he re- jected. I then asked him why he prayed and begged, if he did not desire money. 'I am praying for the sick king,' said he; 'I am entreating the sunbeams to warm and invigorate the king's suffering body, and restore him to new life. The king is so young! he should live much longer. I was a sol- dier when the king was baptized, and stood near by as a sentinel ; and now they say that he must die. That makes me anxious. If so young a man must already die, my turn will soon come; and I so much desire to live a little longer and warm myself in the bright sunshine!' And the old man of ninety is still sitting in the sunshine; while you, great Frederick, were compelled to die! You have gone to the "LE ROI EST MORT! VIVE LE ROI!" 127 sun, while we are still groping in darkness, and lamenting your loss, and "Be still, cousin!" murmured the prince royal; "some one is coming ! It is the sculptor who is to take a cast of the king's face. Come, let us go ! Come!" He extended his hand to Prince Louis, to lead him out of the room, but the prince drew back. He knelt down before the body, and kissed the cold hand which had recently stroked his cheeks affectionately. Freder- ick had always loved Prince Louis, the son of his brother Ferdinand, and had often prophesied that he would live to accomplish something great and useful. The young prince thought of this, as he pressed the cold hand to his lips in a last farewell. " I swear to you, my great uncle and king, that I will faithfully strive to fulfil your prophecy, and accomplish something good and useful, and to do honor to the name I bear. Let the kiss which I now press on your hand be the seal of my vow, and my last greeting!" He arose, and his large dark eyes rested on the body with a lingering, tender look. "Oh," sighed he, "why am I not a painter or an artist, that I might sketch this scene!" "A happy suggestion," said the prince royal, eagerly. "I am certainly no artist, but I can draw a little nevertheless; and I intend to make for myself a memento of this day. Mr. Eckstein, I beg you to wait a quarter of an hour, in order that I may make a sketch of this scene." The sculptor, who had already approached the body with his apparatus, bowed respectfully, and stepped back. Prince Louis took a pencil and a sheet of paper from the king's writ- ing-desk, and handed it to his brother the prince royal. The latter commenced to sketch the scene with hurried strokes.* His brother stood at his side, looking on; behind the chair This drawing which the prince royal had made of the b.) I appoint my nephew Frederick William residuary legatee of my Allodial estate, after having paid out the follow- ing legacies." 222 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. After the king, in twenty-four additional clauses, had named a legacy for all of his relatives, either in money, jewels, or something else, and after he had determined the pensions for the invalid officers and soldiers of his army, and for his servants, the testament continued : " I recommend to my successor that he honor and esteem his blood, in the persons of his uncles, aunts, and all other relatives. Accident, which determines the destiny of man, also regulates the succession. But the one, because he be- comes king, is no better than the others. I, therefore, rec- ommend to all my relatives that they live in a good under- standing with each other; and that they, if it be necessary, sacrifice their personal interests to the welfare of the father- land and the advantage of the state. " My last wishes when I die will be for the happiness of this kingdom. May it ever be governed with justice, wis- dom, and strength ! May it be the happiest of states, through the mildness of its laws; may its administration in respect to finance ever be good and just ; may it ever be most gallantly defended by an army that breathes only for honor and fair re- nown ; and may it last and flourish to the end of all centuries !" "Amen! amen!" exclaimed the king, folding his hands piously, when Baron von Hardenberg had concluded. " Amen ! The intentions of my great and exalted uncle shall be carried out in all things! God bless Prussia, and give me strength to govern it and make it happy! I thank you, baron, and promise myself the pleasure of a confidential interview with you to-morrow morning before you take your departure." His ministers having retired with the ambassador, in com- pliance with an intimation from the king that they might do so, Frederick William now turned with a gracious and genial smile to Princess Amelia and her two brothers, who, like the king, had arisen from their seats. " My exalted uncle particularly recommended that I should consider the welfare of my uncles and aunts," said Frederick. " I assure you, however, that this recommendation was un- . THE WILL. 223 necessary; without it, I would have been only too happy to contribute to your happiness and welfare, to the extent of my ability. I beg each of you, therefore, to prefer some request, the gratification of which will serve as a remembrance of this solemn occasion. Speak, Prince Henry; speak, my dear uncle; name some favor that I can grant." The prince started, and a glowing color flitted over the countenance that was an exact copy of the deceased king's. The word " favor," which Frederick's smiling lips had uttered, pierced the prince's heart like a poisoned arrow. " Sire," said he, sharply, " I crave no favor whatever at your hands, unless it might be considered a favor that my rights be protected, and justice be shown me, in the matter of my claims to a certain succession." "To exercise justice is no favor, but a duty," replied the king, mildly; "and my dear uncle Henry will certainly be protected in all his rightful claims." " In my claims to the succession in the Margraviate Schwedt?" inquired Prince Henry, hurriedly; and his eyes, which were large, luminous, and keen, like Frederick's, fas- tened a piercing glance on his nephew's countenance. Frederick William shrugged his shoulders. " That is a political question, which must be decided in a ministerial council, and not in a family conference." "That is to say, in other words," screeched Amelia, with mocking laughter, " Prince Henry will always belong to the dear family, but never to the number of the king's ministers and councillors." The king, actuated perhaps by a desire to turn the conver- sation, now addressed Prince Ferdinand: "And you, my dear uncle, have you no particular wish to impart?" The prince smiled. " I am not ambitious, and my finances are fortunately in good order. I recommend myself and family to the king's good-will. I should be particularly pleased if my oldest son Louis could be honored with the pro- tection of his royal uncle." 224 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. "He shall stand on the same footing with my son," said the king. " I desire him to be the friend and companion of my son Frederick William; and I trust that he will infuse some of his spirit and fire into the latter. The young princes are made to complete each other, and I shall be glad to see them become close friends. And now, my dear aunt and princess," continued the king, as he turned to Amelia, "will you be kind enough to name your wishes." The princess shrugged her shoulders. " I am not ambitious, like brother Henry, and I have no children to care for, like brother Ferdinand. My own wants are few, and I am not fond enough of mankind to desire to collect riches in order that I may fill empty pockets and feast those who are in want. Life has not been a bed of roses for me, why should I make it pleasant for others? There is but one I desire to make happy; he, like myself, has lived through long years of mis- ery, and can sing a mournful song of the hard-heartedness and cruelty of mankind. Sire, I crave nothing for myself, but I crave a ray of sunshine for him who was buried in the darkness of a prison, who was robbed of his sun for so many long years. I crave for an old man the ray of happiness of which his youth and manhood were wickedly deprived. Sire, in my opinion, there is but one shadow on the memory of my exalted brother. This shadow is Frederick Trenck.* Let justice prevail. Eestore to Von Trenck the estates of which he was unjustly deprived; restore the title and military rank of which he was robbed. Sire, do this, and I, whom misery has made a bad fairy, will hereafter be nothing more than a good-natured and withered old mummy, who will fold her hands and pray with her last breath for the good and gener- ous king who made Frederick von Trenck happy." " It shall be as my dear aunt desires," said the king, with emotion. " Frederick von Trenck shall be put in possession of his estates, and restored to his military and civic honors. We * Frederick von Trenck suffered long years of imprisonment on Princess Amelia's account. See " Frederick the Great and his Family," by L. Miihlbach. THE WILL. 225 will also invite him to our court, and he shall not have to fear being again thrown into the gloomy dungeons of Magdeburg, although Princess Amelia should smile graciously upon him." The princess distorted the poor old face, which was so com- pletely disfigured with scars, in an attempt at a smile, which was only a grimace; and she was herself unaware that the veil which had suddenly dimmed her eyes was a tear. For long years she had neither wept nor smiled, and shed tears to-day for the first time again. For the first time in many years she thanked God, on retiring, for having been permitted to see the light of this day. She no longer desired to die, but prayed that she might live until she had seen Frederick von Trenck until she had received his forgiveness for the misery she had caused him! To-day, for the first time, the em- bittered mind of the princess was touched, with a feeling of thankfulness and joy. And it came from the bottom of her heart, when she said to Frederick William, on taking leave of him after the reading of the will : " I wish I were not a bad, but rather a good fairy, for I could then give you the re- ceipt for making your people and yourself happy!" The king smiled at this. lie had that receipt already! lie had received it in the elixir of life which Cagliostro had given him. These drops were the receipt for his personal happiness; and, as for making the people happy, Bischofs- werder and Wollner must know the receipts necessary to effect that object. In their hands the king will confidently place the helm of state. They are the favorites of the Invisible Fathers; the chosen, the powerful. And they shall rule Prussia, they, the Rosicrucians! This thought filled the king's heart with joy, but it filled the hearts of the opponents of the pious brotherhood, of the. enemies of Bischofswerder and Wollner, with dismay and anx- iety. And the number of their enemies was great, and many of them were men of high rank and standing. There was also at the court a party which entertained bitter but secret eumitv to the Kosicruciaus. 226 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. CHAPTER XII. LEUCHSENRIXG. AT the head of the opposition party at court stood Franz Michael Leuchsenring, the prince royal's instructor, Goethe's friend, and a member of the former Haiii association. He had been called to Berlin by Frederick the Great to assume the position of French tutor to the future King of Prussia, and impart to him a thorough knowledge of French literature. Baron von Hardenberg sought out the tutor, whom he had known and loved for many years, on the morning after the reading of the will. The meeting of these long-separated friends was hearty and cordial, and yet the keen glance of the ambassador did not fail to detect the cloud which rested on Leuchsenring's countenance. After they had shaken hands, and exchanged a few questions and remarks relative to each other's health and circumstances, the baron raised his delicate white hand and poiuted-to Leuchsenring's brow. " I see a shadow there," said he, smiling; "a shadow which I never before observed on my friend's forehead. Is the handsome Leuchsenring no longer the favorite of the ladies, and consequently of the muses also? Or have we again some detestable rival, who dares to contend with you for a fair maid's favor? I know what that is; I saw you in the role of Orlando Furioso more than once, when we were together in the Elysian Fields of Xaples, where we first met and joined hands in friendship. My friend, why did we not remain in bella Italia ! Why has the prose of life sobered us down, and made of you the teacher, and of me the servant of a prince! But enough of this; and now answer this question: Who is the rival? Am I to be your second here in Berlin, as I was on three occasions in Naples?" Leuchsenring smiled : " I observe, with pleasure, my dear baron, that your ministerial rank has not changed you. You LEUCHSENRING. are still the same merry, thoughtless cavalier; while I, really, I can no longer deny it, have become a misanthrope. With me gayety and love are things of the past; and, unfortunately, women have nothing to do with the shadow which your keen glance detected." "And more unfortunately still, you have become a politi- cian," exclaimed the baron, smiling. "What I have heard is then true; you no longer write love-letters, but occupy your- self with learned treatises. You have joined a political party?" "It is true," said Leuchsenring, emphatically. "I am filled with anger and hatred when I see these advocates of darkness, that is, these Rosicrucians, or, in other words, these Jesuits, attempting to cast their vast tissue of falsehood over mankind. I feel it to be my duty to tear asunder its meshes and lay bare the toils in which they hoped to involve mankind." "Bravo, bravo!" cried Hardenberg. "I am delighted to hear you declare your views in this manner. I now perceive that you are in earnest. And I will give you a proof of my confidence by asking your advice in my personal affairs. King Frederick William has honored me with an audience, and I have just left his presence. It seems his majesty has taken a fancy to me ; some effeminate feature in my counte- nance has found the highest appreciation. To be brief, the king has graciously proposed to me to enter his service; he offers me a ministerial position." "And what reply did you make to this proposition?" asked Leuchsenring, eagerly. " I begged some little time for consideration. I was not sufficiently acquainted with the political phase, and I desired to discuss the matter with you, my friend, before coming to a decision. And now, give me your opinion. Shall I accept?" " First tell me what you are, and then I will reply. Tell me whether you are a Rosicrucian, that is, a Jesuit, or whether you have remained a faithful brother of our society? Give me your hand, let me touch it with the secret sign; and now tell me if you are still a brother." 228 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. "I am," said Hardenberg, his jovial face assuming an earnest expression, and he touched Leuchsenring's extended hand in a peculiar manner. " The grasp of this hand pro- claims to you that I have remained true to the society ; and that I am still a brother of the order and a zealous freemason." " Thanks be to God that you are my friend!" cried Leuch- senring. " Then you are with me, with those who are pre- paring for the future, and erecting a barrier in the minds of mankind to the present tide of evil. And now I will answer your question. Do not accept the offer which has been made you, but save yourself for the future, for the coming gener- ation. Gloomy days are in store for Prussia, and the good genius of the German fatherland must veil its head and weep over the impending horrors. The demons of darkness are at work in the land. Superstition, hypocrisy, Jesuitism, and lasciviousness, have combined to fetter the understanding and the hearts of men. A period of darkness such as usually precedes the great convulsions and epochs of history will soon come for Prussia. Believe me, we are standing on a crater. The royal favorites are covering it with flowers and garlands; the royal Rosicrucians are administering elixirs and wonder- working potions, to obscure the eye and shut out the fearful vision. They are, however, not arresting the progress of the chariot of fate, but are urging it on in its destructive career. As good springs from evil, so will freedom spring from slav- ery. The oppression which rulers have been exercising on their subjects for centuries, will now bear its avenging fruits. The slaves will break their fetters, and make freemen of themselves." "Ah, my friend," exclaimed Hardenberg, shrugging his shoulders; "you see the realization of unattainable ideals; unfortunately, I cannot believe in it. Tell me, by what means are these poor, enslaved nations to break their fetters and make freemen of themselves?" " I will tell you, and make your soul shudder. The slaves, the down-trodden nations, will free themselves by the fearful LEUCHSENRING. 220 means of revolution. It already agitates every soul, and throbs in every heart. The time of peace and tranquillity is at end ; the storm no longer rages in the heads and hearts of poets only, but in every human heart. The thoughts and songs of the poets have pierced the heart of nations, and fermented a storm that will soon burst forth ; as it sweeps along it will destroy the old and build up the new. With his 'Robbers,' Schiller hurled the firebrand into the mind of youth, and princes and rulers are feeding and nourishing the enkindled flame Avith the trumpery of their gold-glittering rags, and their vices. This flame will blaze up until it be- comes a mighty conflagration. The vices of princes are the scourges chosen by God, to chastise the nations, in order that they may rise up from the dust, and that slaves may become men! Louis the Fifteenth of France, with all his crimes and vices, was an instrument in the hands of the Almighty. And Marie Antoinette, with her love of pleasure, her frivolity, and her extravagance, is such an instrument, as is also Frederick William of Prussia, with all his thoughtlessness, his good- nature, and his indolence. Even this hypocritical generation of vipers, this lying, deceiving brotherhood, these Rosicru- cians and Jesuits, must serve God's purposes. Falsehood ex- ists only to make truth manifest; and bondage, only to promote liberty. Therefore I will not complain, although vice should be triumphant for a while. The greater the suc- cess of evil now, the greater the triumph of good hereafter. The greater the number of Jesuits who execute their dark deeds now, the greater the number who will be destroyed." "They exist only in your imagination, my exalted friend," said Hardenberg, smiling. "There are not any Jesuits in Prussia." "They are everywhere," said Leuchsenring, interrupting him, and grasping his friend's arm in his earnestness. " Yrs, there are Jesuits. They go about with us, they sit with us at table, they grasp our hands as friends, they flatter us as our admirers, they smile on us in the persons of the women \ve 230 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. love, they leave no means untried to fetter our hearts and understanding. The Rosicrucians, what are they, one and all, but disguised Jesuits! They wish to impose Catholicism on us, and drive out Protestantism. They wish to mystify the mind, and make the soul grovel in sin and vice, from which condition the victims around whom they have woven their toils will only be permitted to escape by flying to the bosom of the Catholic Church. To the bosom of that Church which offers an asylum to all restless consciences, and dispenses blessings and forgiveness for all vices and crimes. For this reason, these Rosicrucians tempt the good-natured, thought- less king to luxury and debauchery; for this reason they ter- rify his mind with apparitions and ghosts! In his terror he is to seek and find safety in the Catholic Church ! I see through their disguise; and they know it. For this reason, they hate me ; and they cry out against me because I have exposed their wiles and stratagems, and proclaimed that these vile Rosicrucians are Jesuits in disguise, whose object is the expansion of Catholicism over the earth. This I proclaimed in a treatise, which aroused the sleeping, and convinced the doubting, and excited the wrath of the Rosicrucians against me." "I have heard of it," said Hardenberg, thoughtfully. "I heard of your having hurled a defiant article at the secret societies, through the medium of the ' Berlin Monthly Maga- zine;'* but, unfortunately, I could never obtain a copy." "That I can readily believe," said Leuchsenring, laughing; " the dear Rosicrucians bought up the whole edition of the monthly magazine. When the new one is published, they will buy that up, too, in order to suppress the truth. But they will not succeed. Truth is mighty, and will prevail; and we freemasons and brothers of the order of the Illuminati, will help to make truth victorious. We freemasons are the cham- pions of freedom and enlightenment. Many of the most in- *This article appeared in the August number of 1786, and created a great sensa- tion in all classes of society. LEUCHSENRING. 231 flnential and distinguished men of Berlin have joined our order, and are battling with us against the advocates of dark- ness and ignorance against the Jesuits and Rosicrucians. o o We call ourselves Illuminati, because we intend to illumine the darkness of the Rosicrucians, and manifest truth, in an- nihilating falsehood! My friend, the struggle for which we are preparing will be a hard one, for the number of Rosicru- ciaus and Jesuits is vast, and a king is their protector. The number of the Illuminati is comparatively small ; and only the kings of intellect and science, not, however, of power and wealth, belong to our brotherhood. But we shall overthrow the Jesuits, nevertheless. We stand on the watch-tower of Prussia, and our Protestant watchword is Luther's word, 'The Word they shall not touch. ' ' " Well said, my gallant friend," cried Ilardenberg. " Your ardor inspires me, your enthusiasm is contagious. I will take part in this great and noble struggle. Admit me into your order!" " You shall become one of us ! A meeting of our brother- hood takes place this evening at the house of our chieftain Xicolai. You must accompany me, and I will see that you are admitted." " And then, when I have become a member of your order, and am enrolled among the number of the enemies of the Jes- uits and Rosicrucians, you will no doubt consider it advisable for me to accept the king's proposition?" "No, my friend, I cannot approve of it; I cannot advise you to do so." " How? You do not desire me to remain and fight at your side? You despise my assistance?" " I do not despise your assistance; I only wish to spare you for better times. I have a high opinion of your capacities, and it would be a pity if your usefulness should be prematurely destroyed. But this would be the case if you remained here at present. The Rosicruoians are not only mighty, but are also cunning. They would soon recognize an enemy in the 232 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. Minister of State, and would not be slow in relieving him of his office and power. They would pursue the same course with you that they have pursued with me." "What course have they pursued with you? In what can the instructor of the prince royal have offended the instruc- tor appointed by Frederick the Great? What harm can the Rosicrucians do him?" Leuchsenring took up an open letter which lay on the writing-desk, and smiled as he handed it to Hardenberg. "Read this," said he, "it will answer your question." Hardenberg glanced quickly over the few lines which the letter contained, and then let it fall on the table again with an air of dejection. " Dismissed !" he murmured. " The body of the late king is hardly under ground, and they already dare to disregard his will, and send you your dismissal." " They go further," said Leuchsenring, angrily. " They not only dismiss me, but what is still worse, they have appointed a Rosicrucian to fill my position. General Count Briihl has been selected to give the finishing touch to the education of the young prince." "And you will now leave Berlin, I suppose?" said Harden- berg. " Well, then, my friend, I make you a proposition. You do not desire me to remain here; I now propose to you to accompany me to Brunswick. Save yourself and your ability for better times, save yourself for the future!" "No, I will remain," cried Leuchsenring, with determina- tion. " I will not afford the Rosicrucians the pleasure of see- ing me desert my post; I will defend it to the last drop of my blood. I will remain, and the Jesuits and Rosicrucians shall ever find in me a watchful and relentless enemy. All those brave men to whom God has given the sword of intellect, will battle at my side. The Rosicrucians will bring gloom and darkness over Prussia, but we, the Illuminati, will dissipate this darkness. The vicious and the weak belong to the former, but the virtuous and strong, and the youth of the LEUCHSENRING. 233 nation, will join the ranks of the Ilium inati. Oh, my friend, this will be a spirit-warfare, protracted beyond death, like the struggles of the grim Huns. The spirits of falsehood must, however, eventually succumb to the heavenly might of truth ; and darkness must, at last, yield to light! This is my hope, this is my banner of faith ; and therefore do I remain here in defiance of my enemies, the Rosicrucians. This struggle, this spirit-warfare, is my delight it excites, elevates, and re- freshes me. But when the victory is ours, when the new era begins, when the old has been torn down, and the new Prussia is to be built up, then your time will come, my friend ; you shall be the architect selected to erect this stately edifice. For the dark days of the Rosicrucians and King Frederick William, your services are not available. But after these will come the bright days of the young king, and at his side you shall stand as friend and councillor! For, believe me, King Frederick "William the Second will only pass over the horizon of Prussia, and darken the existence of the people, like a storm-cloud, with its thunder and lightning. But cloud and darkness will be dissipated, and after this, day will dawn again, and the sun will once more shine. You have come to Berlin to Bee Prussia's unhappiness, but you shall now see something else. I will show you Prussia's hope, and Prussia's future! Come!" He took his friend's arm and led him to the window, which commanded a fine View of the adjoining garden. It was only a plain garden, with walks of yellow sand, and beds of or- dinary flowers. A bench stood under an apple-tree, covered with fruit, on the main walk, and between two flower-beds. On this bench, two boys, or rather two youths, were sitting, attired in plain, civil dress. The one was very handsome, and well-made; his large, bright eyes were turned upward, the loud tones of his voice could be heard at the window, and his animated gestures seemed to indicate that he was reciting some poem, and was carried away with enthusiasm. The other, a tall youth of sixteen, with the soft, blue eyes, the 234 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. mild countenance, and good-natured expression, was listening attentively to his companion's declamation. It was the latter whom Leuchseuring pointed out to his friend. "See," said he, "that is the future King of Prussia, King Frederick William the Third, that is to be. At his side you are to stand as councillor; and he will need your advice and assistance. He will reap the bitter harvest which will spring from the seed the Jesuits and Rosicrucians are now sowing. Save yourself for Frederick William the Third, Baron Hardenberg, and do not waste your talents and ener- gies in the unfruitful service of Frederick William the Second." " The one you point out, the one with the fair hair, and the mild, diffident expression, is then the Prince Royal of Prussia. I wish you had shown me the other, that handsome lad, that youthful Apollo, with the proud smile and piercing eye. I wish he were the future King of Prussia." " That is Prince Louis, the present king's nephew. You are right, he looks like a youthful Apollo. If he were the future king, he would either lift Prussia up to the skies, or else hurl it into an abyss, for he is a genius, and he will not tread the beaten track of life. Xo, it is better that his gen- tle young friend should some day wear the crown of Prussia. They have increased his natural timidity by severe treatment. He has no confidence in himself, but he has good, strong sense and an honest heart, and these qualities are of more importance for a king than genius and enthusiasm. I do not know why it is, my friend, but I love this poor r reserved boy, who has suffered and endured so much in his yoiith. I love this prince, who has so warm a heart, but can never find words to express his feelings. I picy him, for I know that his youthful heart is burdened with a secret sorrow. I have divined the cause, in an occasional word which escapes his lips unawares, and in his manner at times. It is the sorrow of an affectionate and tender-hearted son, who wishes to love and esteem his father, but dares not look at him, for fear of see- LEUCHSENRING. 235 ing the spots and shadows which darken that father's coun- tenance." " Poor, poor lad !" said Hardenberg, moved with sympathy. " So young, and yet such hitter experience ! But, perhaps, it is well that such should he the case; if lie has received the baptism of tears, and has been anointed with affliction, he may become a king by the grace of God ! I will do as you say, Leuchsenring; I will save myself for the future, and, if such be the will of God, I will one day serve your young king of the future." " And something tells me that God will permit you to do so," cried Leuchseuring, joyously. " It may be that I will not live to see the day. My enemies, the Rosicrucians, may have destroyed, or the storm-wind of the revolution have swept me away by that time; but you will remain, and at some future day you will remember the hour in which I showed you the young prince royal, Frederick William the Third. He is the future of Prussia, and, in the dark day which is now dawning, we are in sore need of a guiding light. Fix your eye on the Prince Royal of Prussia, and on his genial friend, Prince Louis Ferdinand!" BOOK III. CHAPTER I. SCHILLER IX DRESDEN. " THAT is false, I say; false!" cried Schiller, with glowing cheeks and sparkling eyes, as he walked to and fro in his lit- tle room. " It is all slander, vile slander!" The two friends, the young councillor of the consistory, Korner, and the bookseller, Goschen, stood together in the window recess, gazing sadly and sympathetically at the poet, who rushed to and fro, almost breathless with rage, hurling an angry glance at his friends, whenever he approached them. Suddenly he stopped, and fastened his gaze on them, in- tently. "Why do you not reply?" asked he, in loud and wrathful tones. " AYhy do you allow me to accuse you both of a falsehood, without even attempting to justify yourselves?" " Because we wish to give your just anger time to expend itself," said Korner, in his soft, mild voice. "To our own great sorrow we have been compelled to wound our friend's feelings, and it is quite natural that this wound should smart." " And we do not justify (Thrselves against these reproaches, because they do not apply to us," added Goschen, " and be- cause they are only the utterance of your just indignation. Believe me, my friend, we would gladly have spared you this hour, but our friendship was greater than our pity." "Yes, yes, the old story," cried Schiller, with mocking laughter. " Out of friendship, you are pitiless; out of friend- ship you give the death-blow to my heart! And what the most cruel enemy would hardly have the courage to whisper in my ear, merciful friendship boldly declares!" SCHILLER. SCHILLER IN DRESDEN. 237 " Schiller, you are deceived ! Schiller, the girl you love is a cold-hearted coquette, who does not love you, who only keeps you in leading-strings, in order to extort presents from you, and to be able to say that a poet adores her!" " But I will give no credit to such unworthy insinuations! My love shall not be regarded as a mere mockery. You shall not have the pitiful triumph of tearing me from the girl I love. I declare to you and the whole world, I love her, I love the beautiful, the admired, the courted Marie von Arnim. To her belong my thoughts, my wishes, and my hopes. She is my ideal of beauty, of youth, and of female loveliness. I exult in this love ; it will raise me from the dust of earth to the sphere of the eternal and immortal gods!" " My poor friend !" sighed Korner, " like your love, the gods only exist in your poetical fancy. Listen to reason, Schiller!" "Reason!" cried he, stamping the floor, wrathfully. " That means the dry insipidity of every-day life, instead of life's festival, wreathed with flowers. No, I will not listen to reason; for you call it reason to consider it possible that the most divine creature on earth could be a base coquette!" "Now you go too far, Schiller," said Goschen, eagerly, "no one made such grave accusations against the daughter. We only said of the mother that she misused your love for her daughter, and that she would never consent to your union. We said that the beautiful young lady was aware of this, and continued to receive your attentions, although she knew the gentleman selected by her mother as her future husband, and would finally consent to marry him. As friends, we conceived it to be our duty to tell you this, in order that you might no longer be deceived in your noblest impulses, and continue to throw away your love, your confidence, and your money, on unworthy objects." "That is the word," cried Schiller, with mocking laughter, " now you have uttered the right word ! My money, or rather your money, you would say! You tremble for your vile 238 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. dross! You made me advances, and Don Carlos is not yet completed. You now fear that my love might distract my attention, and draw me from my work, and that the two hun- dred dollars which " "Frederick Schiller!" cried Korner, interrupting him, while Goschen turned away, his lips trembling, and his eyes filled with tears ; " Frederick Schiller, now you are unjust ; and that, a friend must not be, even in his deepest grief. Vile dross has nothing to do with this sacrifice of friendship, and it was not for its sake that we undertook the thankless office of making the blind see. You well know that Goschen is a noble and disinterested friend, who rejoiced in being per- mitted to help the poet of Don Carlos out of his difficulties, but it is, of course, painful to him to see the loving, confiding man, squander what the poet earns." "It is true, it is true!" cried Schiller, "I am unjust! I reproach you instead of reproaching myself, and myself only. Oh, my friends, forgive these utterances of my anguish, con- sider what I endure! You are both so happy; you have all that can lend a charm to life, and adorn it. You are wealthy, you do not know what it is to have to contend with want, and to struggle for existence, nor have you any knowledge of that more painful struggle, the warfare of life without love, with- out some being who loves you, and is wholly yours. You, my friends, have loved and loving wives, who are yours with every fibre of their being. You have also well-appointed house- holds, and are provided with all that is requisite to enable you to exercise a generous hospitality. But, look at me, the soli- tary, homeless beggar, who calls nothing on earth his own but that spark of enthusiasm which burns in his heart, who must flee to the ideal, in order to escape the too rude grasp of reality. Why must I alone rise from the richly-laden table of life with unsatisfied hunger? Why are the stars, for me, merely candles of the night, that give me light in my labors, and the sun only an economical heating apparatus, to which I am only in so far indebted as it saves me expensive fuel for SCHILLER IN DRESDEN. 239 my stove in winter. Grant me my portion of the repast which the gods have prepared for all mortals, let me also par- take of the golden Hesperian fruit. My friends, have pity on the poor wanderer, who has been journeying through the desert of life, and would now recline on the green oasis and rest his weary limbs!" He sank down into a chair, and covered his quivering face with his trembling hands. His two friends stood at his side regarding him sorrow- fully. Neither of them had the cruel courage to break in upon this paroxysm of anguish with a word of encouragement or consolation. A pause ensued, in which the silence was interrupted only by Schiller's deep-drawn sighs, and the few indistinct words, which he from time to time murmured to himself. But sud- denly he arose, and when he withdrew his hands from his face its expression was completely changed. His countenance was no longer quivering with pain and flushed with anger, but was pale, and his glance defiant. And when he now shook back the long yellow hair which shaded his brow, with a quick movement of the head, he looked like a lion shaking his mane, and preparing to do battle with an approaching enemy. " Enough of these lamentations and womanish complaints," said he, in a resolute, hoarse voice. " I will be a man who has the courage to listen to the worst and defy the greatest agony. Repeat all that you have said. I will not interrupt you again, either with complaints or reproaches. I know that you are actuated by the kindest intentions, and that, like the good surgeon, you only desire to apply the knife and fire to my wounded heart in order to heal it. And now, speak, my friends! Repeat what you have said!" He walked hastily across the room to the little window, stood there with his back turned to the room, and beat the window-panes impatiently with his cold hands. "Frederick, why repeat what is already burning in your head and heart?" said Korner, gently. " Why turn the knife 240 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. once more in the wound, and tell you that your noble, gener- ous love is not appreciated, not honored? The best and fairest princess of the world would have reason to consider herself happy and blessed, if the poet by the grace of God loved her ; and yet his noble, generous love is misused by a cold, calculating woman, and made the means of adorning its object for richer suitors." "Proofs!" cried Schiller, imperiously, and he drummed away at the window-panes till they fairly rang. " It is difficult for others to give proofs in such cases," re- plied Korner, in a low voice. " You cannot prove to the man who is walking onward with closed eyes, that he is on the verge of a precipice; you can only warn him and entreat him to open his eyes, that he may see the danger which menaces. We have only considered it our duty to repeat to you what is known by all Dresden, and what all your acquaintances and friends say: that this Madame von Arnim has come to Dres- den to seek a husband of rank and fortune for her daughter, and that she only encourages Frederick Schiller's attentions, because the poet's homage makes the beautiful young lady appear all the more desirable in the eyes of her other suitors." "An infernal speculation, truly!" said Schiller, with de- risive laughter. " But where are the proofs? Until they are furnished, I must be permitted to doubt. I attach no im- portance whatever to the tattle of the good city of Dresden ; to the malicious suppositions and remarks of persons with whom I am but slightly acquainted, I am also quite indiffer- ent. But who are the friends who believe in this fable, and who have commissioned you to relate it to me? At least, give me the name of one of them." "I will at least give you the name of a lady friend," said Goschen, sadly; "her name is Sophie Albrecht, my wife's sister." Schiller turned hastily to his friends, and his countenance now wore an alarmed expression. " Sophie Albrecht!" said he, " the sensitive artist she in SCHILLER IN DRESDEN. 241 whose house I first saw Marie. Is it possible that she can have uttered so unworthy a suspicion?" " She it was who charged me to warn you," replied Goschen, with a sigh. " For this very reason, that you first met Ma- dame von Arnini and her daughter in her house, does she con- sider it her duty to warn you and show you the abyss at your feet. At this first interview, she noticed with alarm how deep an impression the rare beauty of Miss von Arnim made on you, and how you afterwards ran blindly into the net which the old spider, the speculative mother, had set for you. This Madame von Arnim is the widow of a Saxon officer, who left her nothing but his name and his debts. She lives on a small pension given her by the king, and has, it seems, ob- tained a few thousand dollars from some rich relative; with this sum she has come to Dresden, where she proposes to carry out her speculation that is, to keep house here for some lit- tle time, and to entertain society, and, above all, rich young cavaliers, among whom she hopes to find an eligible suitor for her daughter. This at least is no calumny, but Madame von Arnim very naively admitted as much to my sister-in-law, Sophie Albrecht, calling her attention to the droll circum- stance, that the first candidate who presented himself was no other than a poor poet, who could offer her daughter neither rank, title, nor fortune. When Sophie reminded her that Frederick Schiller could give her daughter the high rank and title of a poet, and adorn her brow with the diamond crown of immortal renown, the sagacious lady shrugged her shoul- ders, and remarked that a crown of real diamonds would be far more acceptable, and that she had far rather see hor daughter crowned with the coronet of a countess than with the most radiant poet's crown conceivable. And she already had the prospect of obtaining such a one for her daughter; the poet's admiration for her beautiful daughter had already made her quite a celebrity." " You are still speaking of the mother, and of the mother only," murmured Schiller. " I know that this woman is 242 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. sordid, and that she would, at any time, sell her daughter for wealth and rank, although purchased with her child's happi- ness. But what do I care for the mother ! Speak to me of the daughter, for she it is whom I love she is my hope, my future." "My poor friend," sighed Korner, as he stepped forward and laid his hand on Schiller's shoulder. This touch and these words of sympathy startled Schiller. " Do not lament over me, but make your accusations," cried Schiller, and he shook his golden lion's mane angrily. " Speak, what charges can you prefer against Marie von Arnim? But I already know what your reply would be. You would say that she has been infected by the pitiful worldly wisdom of her scheming mother, and that I am noth- ing more to her than the ornament with which she adorns herself for another suitor." " You have said so, Frederick Schiller, and it is so," replied Korner, in a low voice. " Yes, the worldly-wise and schem- ing mother has achieved the victory over her nobler daughter, and, although her heart may suffer, she will nevertheless fol- low the teachings of her mother, and make a speculation of your love." "That is not true, that is calumny!" cried Schiller, vio- lently. " No, no, I do not believe you ! Say what you please of the mother, but do not defile her innocent daughter with such vile, unsubstantiated calumny!" "What proofs do you demand?" asked Goschen, shrug- ging his shoulders. "I repeated to you what Madam von Arnim told Sophie Albrecht, namely, that a rich suitor had already been found for her daughter." " Yes, that the mother had found one. But who told you that the daughter would accept him ; that Marie was a party to this disgraceful intrigue?" " Of that you can certainly best assure yourself," said Kor- ner, slowly. " How can I do that?" asked Schiller, shuddering slightly. SCHILLER IN DRESDEN. 243 " Does not Miss Marie permit you to visit her in the even- ing?" " Yes, she does." " Only when you see a light at the window of her cham- ber the signal agreed upon between you only then you are not permitted to come. Is it not so?" " Yes, it is so, and that you may well know, as I told you of it myself. When Marie places a light at that window it is a sign that begs me not to come, because then only the in- timate family circle is assembled, to which I certainly do not as yet belong." " You can, perhaps, assure yourself whether the young lady was strictly accurate in her statement. You intend pay- ing her a visit this evening, do you not?" " Yes, I do," cried Schiller, joyfully, "and I will fall down on my knees before her, and mentally beg her pardon for the unjust suspicions which have been uttered concerning her." "I do not believe that she will receive you to-day," said Korner, in a low voice. " This so-called family circle will have assembled again; in all probability you will see a light in the designated window!" " Why do you believe that?" " Well, because I happened to converse with several young officers to-day, who are invited to Madam von Arnim's for this evening. They asked if they might not, at last, hope to meet you there, regretting, as Madam von Arnim had told them, that your ba-shfulness and misanthropy made it impos- sible for you to appear in strange society. I denied this, of course, and assured them that Madam von Arnim had only been jesting; but they said her daughter had also often told them that Frederick Schiller was very diffident, and always avoided the larger social gatherings. 'If that were not the case,' said these young gentlemen, 'Schiller would certainly appear at Madam von Arnim's the dansante this evening, that is, unless the feelings awakened in his bosom by the presence of Count Kunheim might be of too disagreeable a nature.'' 244 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. Schiller shuddered, and a dark cloud gathered on his brow. " Who is this Count Kunheim?" " I asked them this question also, and the young officers replied that Count Kunheim was the wealthy owner of a large landed estate in Prussia, who had intended remaining a few days in Dresden in passing through the city on his way to the baths of Teplitz. He had, however, made the acquaint- ance of Miss von Arnim at a party, and had been so captivated by her grace and beauty that he had now sojourned here for weeks, and was a daily visitor at Madam von Arnim 's house." "And she never even mentioned his name," murmured Schiller, with trembling lips, the cold perspiration standing on his forehead in great drops. "No, she told you nothing about him," repeated Korner. " And this evening Count Kunheim will be with her again, while the little taper will burn for you at the window, an- nouncing that the impenetrable family circle has once more closed around the fair maid and her mother." " If that were true oh, my God, if that were true!" cried Schiller, looking wildly around him, his breast heaving with agitation. " If this beautiful, this divine being could really have the cruel courage to He had not the courage to pronounce the bitter word which made his soul shudder, but covered his face with his hands, and stood immovable for a long time, wrestling with his grief and anguish. His two friends did not disturb him with any attempts at consolation. They understood the poet well; they knew that his heart was firm, although easily moved. They knew that after Frederick Schiller had wept and lamented like a child, he would once more be the strong, courageous, man, ready to look sorrow boldly in the face. And now but a short time elapsed before the manly breast had regained sufficient strength to bear the burden of its grief. Schiller withdrew his hands from his face, threw his head back proudly, and shook his golden mane. GILDED POVERTY. 245 " You are right, all doubt must be removed," said he; "I will see if the light has been placed at the window!" He looked at his large silver watch a present from his father. Its old-fashioned form, and the plain hair-guard with which it was provided, instead of a gold chain, made it any thing but an appropriate ornament for a suitor of Marie von Arnim. "It is eight o'clock," said he "that is, the hour of reprieve or of execution has come. (Jo, my friends, I will dress myself, and then " But will you not permit us to accompany you to the house?" asked Korner. " Will you not permit your friends to remain at your side, to console you when the sad convic- tion dawns on your mind, or to witness your triumph, if it appears (what I sincerely hope may be the case) that we have been misinformed?" Schiller shook his head. " Xo," said he, solemnly, " there are great moments in which man can only subdue the demons when he is entirely alone, and battles against them with his own strength of soul. For me, such a moment is at hand ; pray leave me, my friends!" CHAPTER II. GILDED POVERTY. THE chandelier in the large reception-room had been already lighted ; and in the adjoining room, the door of which was thrown open, the servant hired for the occasion was oc- cupied in lighting the candles in the plated candlesticks, while at a side table a second servant was busily engaged in arranging the cups and saucers, and providing each with a spoon ; but he now discontinued his work, and turned to the elderly lady, who stood at his side, and was endeavoring to cut a moderately-sized cake into the thinnest possible slices. " My lady," said the servant, humbly, " ten spoons are still wanting. Will you be kind enough to give them to me?" 246 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. "Ah, it is true," replied the lady, "I have only given you the dozen we have in daily use, and must fetch the others from the closet. You shall have them directly." " My lady," remarked the first servant, " there are not can- dles enough. Each of the branched candlesticks requires six candles, and I have only six in all." " Then you will have to double the number by cutting them in two," rejoined her ladyship, who was counting the slices of cake, to see if she had not already cut a sufficient number. "Thirty-three," she murmured, letting her finger rest on the last slice. "That ought to be enough. There will be twenty persons, and many of them will not take cake a second time. A good piece will be left for to-morrow, and we can invite Schiller to breakfast with us on the remainder." At this moment, a red-faced maid, whose attire was far from being tidy, appeared at a side door. "My lady," said she, "I have just been to the grocer's to get the butter and sugar, but he would not let me have any." " He wouldn't let you have any?" repeated Madame von Arnim. " What do you mean?" "My lady," continued the cook, in a whispering voice, and with downcast eyes, " the grocer said he would furnish noth- ing more until you paid his bill." " He is an insolent fellow, from whom you must buy noth- ing more, Lisette," cried Madame von Arnim, very angrily. " I will pay this impertinent fellow to-morrow morning, when I have had my money changed, but my custom I with- draw from him forever. I wish you to understand, Lisette, in the future you are to buy nothing whatever from this man. Go to the new grocer on the corner of Market Square, give him my compliments, and tell him that I have heard his wares so highly praised that I intend to give him my patron- age. He is to keep an account of all I purchase, and I Avill settle with him at the end of each month." " My lady," said the cook, " as I have to go out again, any- how, wouldn't it be better for me to run over to the game GILDED POVERTY. 247 dealers, in Wilsdruffer Street, and buy another turkey? One will certainly not be enough, my lady." "But, Lisette," rejoined her ladyship, angrily, " what non- sense is this? When we talked over the supper together you said yourself that one turkey would be quite sufficient." " Yes, my lady, but you then said that only twelve persons were to be invited, and now there are twenty!" "That makes no difference, whatever, Lisette! What will well satisfy twelve, will satisfy twenty; moreover, it is not necessary that they should be exactly satisfied. I was invited to a supper, a few evenings since, where they had nothing but a roast turkey, and a pie afterwards. There were twenty-two persons, and although each plate was provided with a respect- able piece of the roast, I distinctly observed that half of the turkey was left over. Go, therefore, and get the butter and sugar, but one turkey is entirely sufficient. Every thing de- pends, however, on the carving," continued her ladyship, when the cook had taken her departure, " and I charge you, Leonhard, to make the carving-knife very sharp, and to cut the slices as thin and delicate as possible. Nothing is more vulgar than to serve up great thick pieces of meat. It makes it look as if one was not in good society, but in some res- taurant where people go to eat all they desire." " My lady knows what my performances are in that line," said the elder servant, simpering; "my lady has tried me be- fore. Without boasting, I can make the impossible, possible. For instance, I carved yesterday, at Countess von Verse ii's, for a company of twenty-four people, and as a roast, a single hare, but I cut it into pieces that gladdened the heart. I divided the back into as many pieces as there were joints. Eighteen joints made eighteen pieces, I divided the quarters into twenty pieces, making in all thirty-eight, and so much still remained that my lady, the countess, afterward remarked that she would perhaps have another little party this evening, and gave me two groschens extra for my services." "Carve the turkey so that half of it shall remain," said her 248 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. ladyship, with dignity, " and I will also give you two groschens extra." The servant smiled faintly and bowed in acknowledgment of this magnanimous offer. He then turned to the table at which the young servant was occupied in folding up the nap- kins into graceful figures. " Here are three bottles of white wine, my lady," said Leonhard, thoughtfully. " I very much fear that it will not go round twice, even if I fill the glasses only half full." " Unfortunately I have no further supply of this variety," said her ladyship, with dignity, " it will therefore be better to take a lighter wine, of which I have several varieties in my pantry. I will take these three bottles back and bring you others." With a bold grasp she seized them and vanished through the side door. " Do you know what her ladyship is now doing?" asked the experienced servant, Leonhard, his mouth expanded into a broad grin, as he danced through the room in his pumps, and placed the chairs in position. "She has gone after a lighter wine," replied the younger and inexperienced, who, with commendable zeal, was at this moment transforming the peak of a napkin into a swan's neck. "After a lighter wine," repeated Leonhard, derisively. " That is, she is on her way to the pantry Avith her three bot- tles of wine, a pitcher of water, a funnel, and an empty bot- tle. When she enters the pantry she will lock the door, and when she opens the door and marches forth, she will have four full bottles instead of three, and only the pitcher will be empty." The other servant looked up in dismay, heedless of the fact that his swan's neck was collapsing into an ordinary napkin again. " Mr. Leonhard, do you mean to say that her lady- ship is diluting the wine with water?" " Young man, that is not called diluting, but simply 'bap- tizing,' and, indeed, it is very appropriate that, in Christian GILDED POVERTY. 249 society, where every body has been baptized, the wine should also receive baptism. Bear this in mind, my successor." " Your successor? How so, your successor?" asked the other, eagerly, as he pushed a piece of bread under a napkin, which he had just converted into a melon. " Do you propose to re- tire to private life, and resign your custom to me, Mr. Leonhard?" " Such custom as this, willingly," growled Leonhard, " that is, when I have received my money when her ladyship pays the last penny she owes me!" "Then she has not paid you for your services?" said the younger, in a faint voice. "She has been in my debt since I first served her; she owes me for four dinners and eight soirees. She promised to pay each time, and has never kept her word; and I would cer- tainly have discontinued coming, long ago, if I had not known that my money would then certainly be lost. As it is, I now and then receive a paltry instalment of a few groschens. To- day," he continued, "she went so far as to promise me two groschens extra. Promised ! yes, but will she keep her word? And it is very evident to me what the end of all this is to be. Her ladyship wishes to be rid of me; and I am to be set aside, little by little, and by you, my friend. To-day, we are to wait on the table together; but the next time she drums a company of matrimonial candidates together, you alone will be summoned. Therefore, I call you my successor. I hope you will profit by my example. It is a fearful thing to say, but nevertheless true, I stand before yon as a living example of how her ladyship cheats a noble servant out of his well- earned wages. But patience, patience! I will not leave this field of my renown without having at least avenged myself! I intend to beg her ladyship to pay me; and if she refuses to do so, I will exercise vengeance, twofold, fearful vengeance. Before the company assembles, I will be so awkward as to fall down and break the four bottles of bapti/ed wine before the company is assembled, because if 1 did it afterwards, the 250 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. guests would hear the crash, and know that she had had wine ; but if I do it beforehand, nobody will believe that I broke the bottles." "That is a splendid idea," observed the younger servant, grinning. " I will bear this in mind, and follow your example. " "I told you I was a living example, my successor," said Leonhard, impressively. " You can learn of me how to suffer, and how to avenge your wrongs." " But you spoke of twofold vengeance. In what will your second act of vengeance consist?" "The second act of 'vengeance will be this: in spite of the promised mark the words of your unfortunate living exam- ple in spite of the promised two groschens, I will not cut the unhappy turkey (which, to judge by the length of her spurs, must have been torn from her family as an aged grand- mother) into little, transparent slices, leaving half of it for the next day; but I will cut the whole turkey into pieces, and &uch great thick pieces, that it will not go round once, and nothing but the neck and drumsticks will be left when her ladyship's turn comes. Bear this in mind for the future, my successor ! I am now going to her ladyship with a flag of truce before the battle. If she rejects the conditions on which I consent to make peace, the result will be made known to you by its crashing consequences. I am now going, my successor; and I repeat it, for the last time, I am your living example!" Gravely nodding his well-dressed and powdered head, the servant glided through the room on his inaudible dancing- shoes, and vanished through the side door, which opened into a small room, connected with the kitchen by a passage. Her ladyship was neither in this room nor in the kitchen, but, as Leonhard had prophesied, had repaired to the pantry and locked herself in. The living example smiled triumphantly, and knocked gently at the door. " What is it?" asked her ladyship from within. " Who knocks?" GILDED POVERTY. 251 " Only Leonhard, my lady, who has come after the four bottles of wine." "You shall have them directly," replied his mistress; and Leonhard, whose ear was applied to the keyhole, heard for a moment a sound as of water gurgling through a funnel. Then all was still, and he hurriedly withdrew from the key- hole. The door was now opened, and Madame von Arnim looked out. " Come in and take the wine; there it stands." Leonhard danced up the two steps and into the pantry, and laid hold of the bottles, two in each hand. "And now, my lady," said he, bowing profoundly, and waving his arms slowly to and fro with the bottles, like a jug- gler who first throws himself into the proper position before beginning his performances; "and now, my lady, I beg that you will graciously accord your humble servant a few mo- ments' conversation." Her ladyship inclined her head haughtily. " Speak, Leon- hard, but be brief; my company will soon arrive." The younger servant was still at work preparing for the supper; and, while so engaged, was at the same time reflect- ing on the dangers and uncertainties of life, and particularly on those attending a career so open to the caprices of fortune as that of a valet de place. Suddenly the silence was broken by a loud crash ; and the servant rushed to the side door to listen. He could now distinctly hear the angry, scolding voice of her ladyship, and the humble, apologetic murmurs of the cunning Leonhard. "Yes," said the younger servant, grinning with delight, " he has broken the four bottles of wine! Consequently," he quickly added, his voice subdued to a low murmur, "her ladyship has not paid him, and will probably not pay rnc either! That is sad, for I bought a pair of new cotton gloves especially for this occasion," said he, surveying his hands. No, her ladyship had not paid Leonhard ; as usual, she had endeavored to cousole him witli promises for the future, 252 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. and the servant had taken his revenge. With unspeakable satisfaction, he was now engaged in picking up the fragments of glass which covered the floor, perfectly indifferent to the volleys of wrath which her ladyship thundered down upon him from the threshold of the pantry. "What am I to do now? what can I do?" asked his mis- tress, finally. " To give a supper without wine is impossible !" Having cleared the wreck away, Leouhard now arose. "My lady," said he, with an air of profound deference, " I deeply regret this unfortunate occurrence, and I humbly beg you to deduct the value of these four bottles of wine when you pay me my wages for the four dinners and eight soirees, not including to-day's!" " That I will do, as a matter of course," rejoined her lady- ship; " but what am I to do now!" " I take the liberty of making a suggestion," murmured the living example, submissively. " In the first instance, your ladyship took from me the three bottles of strong wine, giving me four bottles of a lighter variety instead. Xow, as I have had the misfortune to break these four bottles, how would it do to fall back on the original three bottles of strong wine? As I pour out the wine in the pantry, I could baptize it a lit- tle, and add some water to each glass. What does your lady- ship think of this plan?" Her only reply was an annihilating glance, which Leonhard received with an air of perfect composure, as her ladyship rustled past him and descended into the kitchen. CHAPTER III. MARIE \ON AKXIM. WITH glowing cheeks and sparkling eyes her ladyship passed on, not to the parlor, but through a side door and into a small chamber. It was a plainly-furnished bedroom. It contained two uncurtained beds and a bureau, which stood in front of MARIE VON ARNIM 253 the only window through which but little light penetrated the room from the narrow side street into which it opened. A young girl of extraordinary beauty was sitting before the bureau, on which a single candle burned. Her small, lovely oval head was that of a Venus; the tall, slender and graceful figure, that of a Juno. In conformity with the fashion of that day, her dark-brown and shining hair was arranged in hundreds of little curls, encompassed with a golden band, which terminated on her forehead in a serpent's head. Her eyes the large blue eyes which contrasted so wondrously with the dark hair were gazing at the mirror. A sad smile played about her beautiful, crimson lips, as she looked at the reflec- tion of her ^own figure, at the lovely, rosy countenance, the full and rounded shoulders, the arms of dazzling whiteness, and at the tapering waist, brought out to great advantage by the closely-fitting blue silk bodice. She wore no ornament but the golden band in her hair; her jewels were her youth and her beauty; the tears which trembled on her eyelashes were more precious gems than were ever mined for in the depths of the earth, for these came unsought from the depths of her heart. She was so completely absorbed in her sadly-sweet dreams that her mother's entrance was unobserved; and not until now, when her mother stood at her side, was she awakened from her reverie. " What do you wish, mamma V" she asked quickly. " Have our guests arrived? Am I to go down?" She was about to rise, but her mother motioned her back with an imperious gesture. " Remain where you are, no one has come yet. Lisette will announce the arrivals as they come. I desire to speak with you." Her daughter sighed, folded her hands on her lap, and let her head fall on her bosom in mute resignation. " I think I know what you wish to speak about, mother," she whispered. " That I can readily believe, nor is it at all surprising that 254 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. / you should," said her corpulent ladyship, as she seated herself at her daughter's side. " I wish to speak to you of our future and of your duties. This state of things can continue no longer ! I can no longer endure this life of plated poverty. I must no longer be exposed to the humiliations I am com- pelled to suffer at the hands of shoemakers and tailors, grocers and servants, and the host of others who are dunning me for a few paltry groschens. My creditors have compelled me to run the gantlet again to-day, and I have been so annoyed and harassed that I feel like crying." "Poor mother!" sighed Marie. " Ah, why did we not re- main in quiet, little Pillnitz, where we were doing so well, where our modest means were sufficient for our support, and where we were not compelled to gild and burnish our poverty !" "For the hundredth time I will tell you why we did so," rejoined her mother, impatiently. " I left Pillnitz, and brought you to Dresden, because in Pillnitz there were only pensioned revenue officials, invalid officers, and a few gray- headed lawyers and judges, but no young gentlemen, and, least of all, no marriageable, wealthy gentlemen, for you." " For me, mamma? Have I over expressed any longing to be married?" " Perhaps not, for you are a simple-minded, foolish dreamer ; but I desired it. I recognized the necessity of making a wealthy and a suitable match for you." "If you had recognized this necessity, mother," cried Marie, bursting into tears, " it was very cruel of you to let any other than such wealthy, marriageable gentlemen come to our house. If this is really a matrimonial bureau, we should have permitted only those to register themselves who possessed the necessary qualifications." " I see you are becoming quite sarcastic and bitter," said her ladyship, shrugging her shoulders. " You have profited somewhat by your interview with Schiller." Marie drew back with a quick, convulsive movement, and a sigh escaped her lips. " You should not have mentioned the MARIE VON ARNIM. 255 name of this noble man at such a time, at a time when I am again compelled to deceive him." "Enough of this sentimentalism, Marie," rejoined her mother. " Monsieur Schiller is a very pleasant and agreeable man; he may be a great poet besides, but a suitable husband for you, he is not! He can scarcely earn enough for his own support, and his clothing is not respectable. How did he look when he came here yesterday? You will admit that it is im- possible to bring him into the society of rich cavaliers and elegant officers, in his disorderly costume." " lie looked just as he did when w% first met him at Ma- dame Albrecht's, and yet you then begged him to visit us. And you it was who afterwards encouraged his visits." "Nor do I regret having done so," remarked Madame von Arnim, quietly. " Councillor Schiller is a man of high respectability and eminence. Our intimacy with him is of great advantage to us. It proves to the world that we are wise and intellectual ourselves, for otherwise, so intellectual a man would not have selected us as associates. Believe me, this intimacy has greatly advanced our social position; it has called great attention to us, and placed your youth and beauty in the proper light. Gentlemen of the highest standing and greatest wealth now consider it a great honor to be permitted to visit at our house, since they know that Frederick Schiller .adores you, each one of them is anxious to achieve the renown of supplanting the celebrated poet in your favor and making you his wife. You have a great many suitors, Marie, and you owe them, in a great measure, to your intimacy with Schiller." " Hut that is wrong, that is criminal!" cried Marie, burst- ing into tears. " Why so?" rejoined Madame von Arnim, laughing. "He was the alluring bait we used to catch our gold-fishes with; I can see nothing criminal in that. Why was this wise man foolish enough to fall in love with you, as he must have known that a union between you and him is impossible?" 256 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. "Why impossible?" asked Marie, quickly; she dried her eyes, and looked defiantly into her mother's complacent, smiling countenance. " Why impossible? Because you are of too good, too noble a family to ally yourself with a man who is not a nobleman, who has no preeminent rank." " Mother, Frederick Schiller's rank is higher and more illus- trious than that of counts and barons. There are hundreds of princes, counts, and barons, in the German empire, and but one poet, Frederick Schiller. Happy and highly honored throughout all Germany*will the woman be to whom Freder- ick Schiller gives his name, whom he makes his wife." "Well, that may be," said Madame von Arnim, contempt- uously, " but one thing is certain, and that is, that you will never be this woman." "And why not?" asked Marie, passionately. "If Schiller really loves me, and offers me his hand, why shall I not ac- cept it? Because he is not wealthy? He will know how to convert the treasures of his intellect into millions of money. Until then I can practice economy. My wants are few, and you well know, mother, that I can make a little go a long way. Then, permit me to be happy in my own way. I will tell you the whole truth, mother, I love Frederick Schiller, and, if he asks me to be his wife, I shall be the happiest of God's creatures." "Nonsense!" rejoined her ladyship. "You will be kind enough to give up all thought of this foolish love, and make up your mind to marry the noble and wealthy gentleman selected for you by your mother." "Mother," cried Marie, imploringly, "do not be so cruel, have pity on me ! Do not compel me to destroy my own hap- piness, for I tell you that I can only be happy at Schiller's side." "And why should you be happy?" asked her mother, coldly. " What right have you to happiness above the rest of mankind? Do you suppose I am happy? / have never been, MARIE VON ARNIM. 257 and have never imagined I had a right to be. Life is a pretty hard nut; in attempting to crack it we break our teeth, and when we at last succeed, we find that it is empty, after all. Whether we are personally happy or not, is a matter of small moment the one thing is to do our duty to others; and your duty it is, to repay your mother for her sacrifices for yourself and your brother. At your father's death you were both young children, and of course his lieutenant's paltry pension was not sufficient for our support. But I could not let you starve, and it was my duty to give you an education that would qualify you to take the position in society to which your rank entitles you. I did not hesitate for a moment, and, although I was still young, and might have made a second and an advantageous marriage, I gave up all such plans, sold my handsome and costly trousseau, and retired with you to the little town of Pillnitz, where I devoted myself wholly to the education of my children. You know that this is so, do you not?" "I do," replied Marie, as she grasped her mother's hand and carried it to her lips. " You sacrificed yourself for your children, and they are indebted to you for all that they are." " Unfortunately, that is not a great deal as yet," said her mother. "Your brother is only a poor second-lieutenant, whose salary is not sufficient for his support, and you are only an indigent young lady of noble birth, who must either become a governess or marry a fortune. My means are now entirely exhausted. Little by little I have sold all the valu- ables I possessed, my diamonds, my jewelry, and my silver- ware. I finally parted with my last jewel, the necklace inherited from my mother, in order that we might live in Dresden a year on the proceeds, lint the year is almost at an end, and my money also. We cannot maintain ourselves here more than four weeks longer, and then the artistic structure of our social position will crumble over our heads, and all will be over. You will be compelled to earn your own bread, your poor brother will be reduced to the greatest ex- 258 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. tremities, and your mother will have to take up her abode in a debtors' prison, as, after her well-considered plans have failed, she will have no means to meet the demands of her numerous creditors. All this will be your work, the respon- sibility rests with you." " my God, have pity on me!" sobbed Marie. " Show me the result of all this trouble!" "The result is, governess or countess," said Madam von Arnim, quietly. " In your weakness you may suppose there could be a third alternative, that of becoming Councillor Schiller's wife. Yet I will never give my consent to such a misalliance; a misalliance is only excusable when gilded over with extraordinary wealth. But Councillor Schiller is poor, and will always remain poor; he is an idealist, and not a practical man. I should like to know what advantage I should derive from having the poet Schiller as a son-in-law. Can he compensate me for my sacrifices? can he replace my jewels, my trousseau, and my silver- ware? You know that he cannot, and never will be able to do so. It is your sacred and imperative duty to compensate and reward me for the sacrifices which I have made for you, and to secure to me in my old age the comfortable existence of which care and solic- itude for yourself and your brother have hitherto deprived me. You will marry the rich Count Kunheim. You will receive his attentions in such a manner as to encourage him to offer you his hand, which you will then accept. I com- mand you to do so!" " But, mother, this is impossible, I do not love the count, I cannot marry him! Have pity on me, mother!" she sank down on her knees, and raised her hands imploringly. " I repeat it; I love Frederick Schiller!" "Well, then, love Frederick Schiller, if you will," said her ladyship, with a shrug of her shoulders, " but marry Count Kunheim. It is given to no woman to marry the object of her first love, to make the ideal of her heart her husband. You will only share the common lot of woman; you will have MARIE VON ARNIM. 259 to renounce your first love and make a sensible marriage. I can tell you, however, for your consolation, that marriages of the latter sort generally prove much happier in the sequel than these moneyless love-marriages. When hunger stalks in at the door love flies out at the window. On the other hand, the most lovelorn and desolate heart will finally recover, when given a daily airing in a carriage-and-four. Drive in your carriage, and accord me a seat in it; I am weary. I have been travelling life-long on the stony streets, and my feet are wounded! Marie, I entreat you, my child, take pity on the poor mother, who has suffered so much, take pity on the brother, who must give up his career in life, unless we can give him some assistance. He would be compelled to leave the army, and perhaps his only resource would be to hire him- self out as a copyist to some lawyer, in order to earn a sub- sistence. Marie, dear Marie, I entreat you, take pit}' on your family! Our happiness is in your hands!" She made no reply, she was still on her knees, had covered her countenance with her hands, and was weeping bitterly. Her mother gazed down upon her without an emotion of pity, her broad, fleshy face and little gray eyes expressed no sym- pathy whatever. "Be reasonable, Marie," said her ladyship, after a short interval, " consider the happiness of your mother and brother, rather than the momentary caprice of your heart. Cast aside these dreams, this sensitiveness, and seek your own happiness in that of your family." "It shall be as you say," said Marie, rising slowly from her knees. " I will sacrifice my own happiness for your sake, but I make one condition." " And that is V" " That all these little mysteries and intrigues be dis- continued, and .Schiller be told the whole truth. No more signs are to be given requesting him not to come; he is no longer to be made use of and yet denied at the same time. He must not be permitted to hope that his addresses will be 260 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. accepted; he must learn that they will be rejected. If he should then still desire to visit us, our door must be open to him at all times, and the light must never be placed in my window again to warn him off. This is my condition. Ac- cept it, and I am ready to cover my face with a mask, and play the role which the necessities of life compel me to assume." "I will accept it," replied Madame von Arnim, "although I consider it very impolitic. Schiller's nature is violent, easily excited, and deficient in that aristocratic cultivation which represses all the movements of natural impulse. For instance, if he should come here this evening, a very disagree- able scene might ensue; he would be capable of reproaching me or yourself quite regardless of the presence of others." " And he could reproach us with justice," sighed Marie, " I am resolved rather to bear his anger than to deceive him any longer." " But I am not," rejoined her ladyship, " I have a perfect horror of these scenes dramatiques. But you will have it so, you made it your condition, and nothing remains for me but to accept it. And now, be discreet, be sensible; induce Count Kunheim to declare himself this evening, if possible, in order that Schiller may hear of your betrothal as a fait accompli.'" "I will do your bidding," said Marie, with a sad and yet proud smile. " Give yourself no further care, the sweet dream is at end, I have awakened. It is a sad awakening, and I will have to weep a great deal, but my tears shall not accuse yon ; if I am unhappy, I will not say that you were the cause of my unhappiness. It was God's will, this shall be my con- solation; God wills it and I submit!" " And you do well, and will live to thank me for having prevented you from becoming the wife of a poor German poet. And now, that we have disposed of this disagreeable affair, come to my heart, my daughter, and give me a kiss of reconciliation." MARIE VON ARNIM. 2G1 But, instead of throwing herself into her mother's extended arms, Marie drew back. "No, "said she, "do not kiss me now, mother; we could only exchange a Judas kiss. Come, give me your hand, mother, and let us go to the parlor to receive our guests. Let us, however, first extinguish this candle." " Yes, we will, or rather I will carry it with me to the kitchen, where a little more light would not be amiss," said her ladyship, taking the candle from the bureau. " Go to the parlor, my daughter, and receive our guests, I must first go to the kitchen to see if every thing is in order." They both left the chamber ; Marie repaired to the parlor, and her mother passed on to the kitchen, to see if the new grocer had furnished the butter and sugar. To her great relief, she learned that he had, and, elated by this success, she determined to send to the accommodating grocer for a few bottles of wine to replace the broken ones. Nothing more was now wanting for the completion of her soiree ! She has- tily gave the cook a few instructions, and then returned to the bedchamber with the candle. "He must not come this evening," said her ladyship to herself; "he might frustrate the whole plan, for Marie is transformed into another being in his presence, and Count Kunheim would not fail to observe that she did not love him. No, the light must be burning Schiller must be kept away. As the rich Countess Kunheim, Marie will some day thank me for not having kept my promise. Yes, she certainly will !" She hastened forward to the window and placed the light in a conspicuous place. But what was that! At this mo- ment, a loud peal of laughter resounded in the narrow street beneath the window a peal of laughter that was so bitter, so mocking, that it startled even her ladyship's fearless heart; it seemed almost like a threat. Her ladyship now repaired to the parlor to receive her guests, who had begun to arrive, and this disagreeable sen- sation was soon forgotten. Madame von Arnim greeted each 262 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. one of her guests with the same stereotyped smile the same polite phrases. She quietly conducted the few old ladies, who had been invited to give dignity to the occasion, into the adjoining boudoir, and recruited an invalid major to play whist with them. And now, after having satisfactorily dis- posed of these guests, and rendered their gossiping tongues harmless, she returned to the parlor, and displayed to the assembled officers and cavaliers the smiling, pleasant coun- tenance of a lady who is ready to become a loving and tender mother-in-law. For propriety's sake, a few young women had also been invited, having small pretensions to good looks, and of modest attire ; such ladies as are commonly termed friends, and who are nothing more than the setting which gives additional lustre to the gem. To entertain these friends was the mission of the second-lieutenants, while the officers of higher rank and the wealthy cavaliers congregated around the goddess of their adoration the lovely Marie von Arnim. She was now once more the radiant beauty; her coun- tenance was rosy and joyous, her blue eyes were bright and clear, and bore no evidence of the tears which had flowed back to her heart. A smile played about her rosy lips, and merry, jesting words escaped the mouth which but now had uttered wails and lamentations. Count Ehrhard von Kimheim was completely captivated by her grace and beauty ; his gaze was fastened immovably on her lovely countenance. The homage she received from all sides was a flattering tribute to the lady of his choice the lady he now firmly resolved to make his bride. It was very pleasant to see his future wife the object of so much adoration. He would gladly have seen the whole world at her feet, for then his triumph would have been so much greater in seeing himself favored above all the world. He gazed proudly at the array of rank by which his love was surrounded; the expressions of admiration were sweet music in his ear. He mentally determined to address her this very evening; in a few brief hours it would be in his power to cry out to his rivals: " The lovely Marie von Arnim MARIE VON ARNIM. 283 is mine! Sho is my bride!" How great, how glorious a triumph would that be! It was a pity that he was not pres- ent! To have carried off this prize before him would have crowned his triumph. "Miss Marie," asked the count, interrupting the joyous conversation which she was carrying on with several officers, " you have graciously promised to make me acquainted with your protege, Mr. Schiller? Is he likely to come this even- ing?" The smile faded from her lips, the lustre of her eyes was dimmed, and she looked anxiously around, as if seeking help. Her eyes met the keen, threatening glance of her mother, who at once came forward to her assistance ; she felt that es- cape was no longer possible the hand of fate had fallen upon her. " I fear Councillor Schiller is not coming," said her lady- ship, in her complacent manner. " Xo, he is not coining," repeated Marie, mechanically. Regrets, and many praises of the genial poet they so much admired, and whose latest poems were so charming, now re- sounded from all sides. " It is really a pity that you have never been able to gratify us by producing this celebrated poet," said Count Kunheim to the beautiful Marie. With a forced smile, she replied, " Yes, it is really a pity." "And why is he not coming?" asked several gentlemen of Madame von Arnim. " Pray tell us, why is it this councillor only comes when you are alone, and is certain of meeting no company here?" "He avoids mankind, as the owl does the light," replied her ladyship, smiling. "We gave him our solemn promise that we would not receive other visitors when he is with us; we promised, moreover, that we would let him know when we had company in the evening by giving him a signal." " And do you really give him the signal, my lady?" asked Count Kunheim. 2G4 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. "Yes, we do," replied Marie, in a low voice. " And may I ask in what the signal consists that announces to the man-fearing poet that other mortals have approached his goddess?" "It is no secret," said Madame von Arnim. " I will tell you, count. The signal is a lighted candle placed at the win- dow of our dressing-room. When he sees this light, he beats a retreat, and turns his back on our house." "Will he come if no light is burning for him?" inquired Count Kunheim, quickly. " He will," replied Madame von Arnim, laughing. " Therefore, if no light should burn in the window, he would come this evening?" " Certainly he would. He vows that he only lives and thinks when in my daughter's presence; and he would un- doubtedly have come this evening if I had not given him the signal." "But, mother," exclaimed Marie, "you are mistaken; we did not give the signal to-day." " Then, as you gave no signal, he has simply declined to avail himself of your invitation for this evening," remarked Count Kunheim. " Xo, no, count, he has not come, because I gave the signal." "Not so, my lady," observed a cold, quiet voice behind her; "true, you gave the signal, but he has come neverthe- less." "Schiller!" exclaimed Marie, turning pale, and yet she smiled and her eyes sparkled. She was on the point of hasten- ing forward with extended hands to meet him, but her mother had already interposed her colossal figure between her and the poet, and was gazing at him defiantly, as if to signify her readiness to take up the gauntlet if he should meditate war- fare. "You are heartily welcome, Councillor Sc..iller," said she, in dulcet tones. " We feel highly honored and are partic- MARIE VON ARNIM. 205 ularly pleased to have you join us at last on an evening when we have company. These gentlemen will all be delighted to make your acquaintance. We were speaking of you when you entered, and all were regretting that you were not here, and " Of that I am aware," said Schiller, interrupting her. " I had been standing in the doorway for some time, but you were conversing so eagerly that no one noticed my presence. I saw and heard all." Schiller's voice trembled while uttering these words, and his countenance was deathly pale. " Then you heard us all express an ardent desire to make your acquaintance," said Count Kunheim, stepping forward. " I esteem myself highly fortunate in being able to gratify this desire. Permit me to introduce myself. I am Count von Kunheim." Schiller did not seem to observe the count's extended hand, and bowed stiffly; he then looked over toward the window- niche, to which Marie had withdrawn, and where she stood trembling, her heart throbbing wildly. How angry, reproach- ful, and contemptuous, was the glance he fastened on her countenance! But his lips were mute, and as he now with- drew his gaze, he erected his head proudly, and a derisive smile quivered on his thin, compressed lips. With this smile he turned to the gentlemen again, and greeted them with a haughty inclination of his head, like a king who is receiving the homage of his subjects. " You expressed a desire to see me, gentlemen, I am here. The conversation which I over- heard, compelled me to show myself for a moment, in order to correct a little error imparted to you by Madame von Arnim." " An error?" said her ladyship, in some confusion. " Really, Mr. Schiller, I am at a loss to understand exactly your meaning." "I will make myself understood, Madame von Arnim. You told these gentlemen that I avoided mankind as the owl avoids the light. But this is not the case, and I beg these gentlemen not to credit this statement. I do not avoid man- 266 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. kind, and I do not hate my fellow-creatures, but I love them. I love and revere the human countenance, for the spirit of God is reflected in the human eye. I love my fellow- creatures, and although they have sometimes caused me pain, and rudely awakened me from my dreams of happiness, yet, my faith in humanity is unshaken, and " "Oh, Schiller," cried Marie, stepping forward from the window-niche, and no longer able to conceal her agitation, " Schiller, give me your hand, tell me " "Miss von Aruim," said he, interrupting her, " I have nothing to say to you, I only desire to speak to these gentle- men! I do not wish you to consider me a foolish misan- thrope, gentlemen, and therefore, I take the liberty of cor- recting a second erroneous statement made by Madame von Arnim. She told you that I had exacted of her the promise, to warn me by a signal-light when the ladies were entertain- ing company, because social intercourse was burdensome and repugnant to me. This is, however, not the case, but exactly the reverse. These ladies, and particularly Miss Marie von Arnim requested me to come here only when the window was dark, and on the other hand never to visit them when I saw a light in the window. Miss von Arnim " "Schiller," said she, interrupting him, in a loud and trem- bling voice, and laying her hand on his arm, " Schiller, I conjure you, go no further!" " Miss von Arnim also explained to me why she desired this," continued Schiller, as though he had not heard Marie's imploring voice, as though he did not feel the pressure of her trembling hand. " Miss von Arnim told me that on the evenings in which the signal would be given the circle of her mother's nearest relatives would be assembled in the house, in which circle it was impossible to introduce a stranger. Gentlemen, it affords me great pleasure to recognize in you the dear cousins and uncles of this young lady, and I congrat- ulate her on her brilliant and exclusive family party. And now permit me to explain why I dared to enter this house, MARIE VON ARNIM. 26? although the light displayed in the window proclaimed the presence of the family." " But there was no light at the window," exclaimed Marie, eagerly ; " this is an error ! I desired that you should come this evening, and on that account it was expressly understood between my mother and myself that no " "The light was there," said her ladyship, interrupting her; "I had placed it there! Be still, do not interrupt the councillor; he said he had something to explain. Continue, sir! Why did you come, although the light was displayed in the window?" "Because I wished to know what it really meant," replied Schiller, with composure and dignity. " You see, my lady, I am not afraid of the light, and I seek the truth, although I must admit that it is a painful and bitter truth that I have learned to-day. But man must have the courage to look facts in the face, even if it were the head of the Medusa. I have seen the truth, and am almost inclined to believe that the eternal gods must have imparted to me some of the strength of Perseus, for, as you see, I have not been transformed into stone, but am still suifering. And now that I have corrected her ladyship's errors, I humbly beg pardon for having cast a shadow over the gayety of this assembly. It will certainly be for the last time! Farewell, ladies!" He inclined his head slightly, but did not cast a single glance at the lovely Marie von Arnim ; he did not see her faint, and fall into Count Kunheim's arms, who lifted her tenderly and carried her to the sofa, where he gently de- posited his precious burden. Nor did he see the friends rush forward to restore the insensible young lady to consciousness with their smelling-bottles and salts. No, Frederick Schiller observed nothing of all this; he walked through the parlor and antechamber toward the hall-door. Near the door stood the 'living example,' looking tip with an expression of un- speakable admiration at the tall figure of the poet, who had written his two favorite pieces, "The Kobbers," and " Ficsco." 18 268 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. He was so grateful to the poet for having put her ladyship to shame, that he would gladly have knelt down and kissed his feet. "Oh, Mr. Schiller, great Mr. Schiller," murmured Leon- hard, hastening forward to open the door, " you are not the only one whom she has deceived. She has deceived me also; I, too, am a wretched victim of her cunning. But only wait, sublime poet, only wait; I will not only avenge myself, but you also, Mr. Schiller. I will cut the pieces still larger, and the turkey shall not go half around, not half around! I will avenge both myself and Schiller!" He did not hear a word of what Leonhard had said, for he hurried past him, down the steps, and out into the street. There he stood still for a moment gazing at the lighted win- dows, until a veil of unbidden tears darkened his vision. The burning tears trickling down his cheeks aroused him. He shook his head angrily, and pressed his clinched hands against his eyes to drive them back; not another tear would he shed. Away! Away from this house ! Away! CHAPTER IV. SOULS IK PURGATORY. As if pursued by the Furies, with uncovered head, his yel- low locks fluttering in the wind, he rushed onward through the streets, over the long Elbe bridge, past the golden cru- cifix, which towered in the moonlight, and now along the river bank beneath the Briihl Terrace, following the river, and listening to the rippling waves, that murmur of peace and eternal rest. The moon threw golden streaks of light on the river, and a long shadow on its bank, the shadow of the poet, who was hurrying on in grief and agony. Where? He did not know, he was not conscious that he was walking on the verge, of an open grave; he was only instinctively seeking a solitude, a retreat where the ear of man could not hear, nor the eye of SOULS IN PURGATORY. 269 man see him. lie wished to be alone with his grief, alone in the trying hour when he would be compelled to tear the fair blossom from his heart, and tread it under foot as though it were a poisonous weed. He wished to be alone with the tears which were gushing from his soul, with the cries of agony that escaped his quivering lips alone in the great and solemn hour when the poet was once more to receive the baptism of tears, that his poetic children, his poems, might be nourished with the blood that flowed from his wounded breast. He had now entered the little wood which at that time skirted the river bank a few hundred yards below the terrace. Its darkness and silence was what he had sought, and what he needed. Alone! Alone with his God and his grief! A loud cry of anguish escaped his breast and must have awakened the slumbering birds. The foliage of the trees was agitated by a plaintive whispering and murmuring, as though the birds were saying to the moonbeams: " Here is a man who is suffer- ing, who is wrestling with his agony! Console him with your golden rays, good moon ; give him of your peace, starry sum- mer eve!" Perhaps the moon heard the plaintive appeal of the birds and the spirits of the night, for at this moment it broke forth from the concealing clouds and showed its mild, luminous countenance, and pierced the forest with its golden beams, seeking him who had disturbed the pea