A '■ ■•'III' 
 
 lis... \ W*. \ .MhsB^ituS^ 
 
(i^atnell Hmuerattg Sitbcatg 
 
 Stiiuta. ^tva fork 
 
 LIBRARY OF 
 
 LEWIS BINGLEY WYNNE 
 
 A. B., A.M., COLUMBIAN COLLEGE, '71 ,'73 
 WASHINGTON. D. C. 
 
 THE GIFT OF 
 
 MRS. MARY A. WYNNE 
 
 AND 
 
 JOHN H. WYNNE 
 
 CORNELL *98 
 1922 
 
Cornell University Library 
 
 arV10037 
 
 Goethe and Schiller' 
 
 3 1924 031 236 049 
 olin,anx 
 
Cornell University 
 Library 
 
 The original of tliis book is in 
 tlie Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http ://www. arch i ve . o rg/detai Is/cu31 924031 236049 
 
E 
 
 3 
 
 Q 
 
 JZ M 
 
 43 
 C 
 
GOETHE AND SCHILLER 
 
 <3ln historical Eomancc 
 
 BY 
 
 L. MUHLBACH 
 
 AUTHOR OP JOSEPH 11. 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 
 1900 
 
M loo a -w 
 
 COPTKIGHT, 1867, 
 
 Bt d. appleton and company. 
 
CO]SrTEE"TS. 
 
 BOOK I. 
 
 CHAPTER PAOB 
 
 I. Introduction, 1 
 
 II. The Trials of Life 10 
 
 III. Henrietta von Wolzogen 23 
 
 IV. Joy and Sorrow 83 
 
 V. Charlotte von Kalb, 41 
 
 VI. The Title 59 
 
 VII. Adieu to Mannheim 1 68 
 
 Vm. Plans for the Future, 73 
 
 IX. The Last Ride, 85 
 
 BOOK II. 
 
 I. After the King's Death, Ill 
 
 IL "Le Eoi est Mort! Vive le Eoi!" 120 
 
 m. The Favorites 129 
 
 IV. The Maid of Honor 138 
 
 V. Figaro, 143 
 
 VI. The Alliance 157 
 
 VII. The Conditions 173 
 
 VHI. New Love 180 
 
 IX. The Decision 189 
 
 X. The Invocation, .... ... 198 
 
 XL The Will 214 
 
 XII. Leuchsenring, 226 
 
 iii 
 
IV CONTENTS. 
 
 BOOK III. 
 
 CHAPTER PAGB 
 
 I. Schiller in Dresden 336 
 
 II. Gilded Poverty, 245 
 
 III. Marie von Arnim, 253 
 
 IV. Souls in Purgatory 268 
 
 V. Separation, 283 
 
 VI. The Song "ToJoy," 293 
 
 VII. Together once more, 299 
 
 VIII. Goethe and Moritz 814 
 
 ' IX. Leonora 336 
 
 X. A Dream of Love 340 
 
 XL Adieu to Italy, 355 
 
 BOOK IV. 
 
 I. The Return 360 
 
 II. Reconciliation, 377 
 
 III. Grim Death 385 
 
 IV. Goethe's Return from Rome, 394 
 
 V. Estrangement, 404 
 
 VI. The Two Poets, 431 
 
 VII. The First Meeting 431 
 
 VEIL Wilhehnine Rietz, 443 
 
 IX. Hushand and Wife, 450 
 
 X. The Attack, 460 
 
 XI. Youth Victorious, 470 
 
 XII. Schiller's Marriage, 483 
 
GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 BOOK I. 
 
 CHAPTEE I. 
 
 INTRODUCTIOK. 
 
 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." 
 
 " AVhat 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 Zens! 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 jSchiller, 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 
 suoh 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 Eobbers," was produced upon the stage for the 
 first time in 1783; 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 "Bobbers," 
 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 Eobbers," 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 Eobbers' would be written in this world, I would never 
 have created it." 
 
 In a German city where " The Eobbers" 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 "Bobbers;" 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 Eobbers," "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 Eobbers" 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 cofEee 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 shov.-ed 
 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!" 
 
8 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 ofEended 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 tliis 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! You 
 a poet, Frederick Schiller? you are not even a man I 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 I 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. 
 
 Fkedekick Schillee 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. U 
 
 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,y 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, hut 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 'Eobbers' in press, Schwelm 
 guaranteed to the publisher in Stuttgart the expense incurred 
 in its publication, because he was convinced, as we all were, 
 that the 'Eobbers' would make you a celebrated poet, and not 
 only insure you a harvest of honor and renown, but also of 
 money. Now, 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 'Eobbers' 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 dififioulty 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 'Eobbers' 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 suffer 
 
14 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 want, to content myself with tlie 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 Streicher joyfully, as, after 
 a timid knock, the door was softly opened, and a man in the 
 uniform of the Thurn and Taxis post-office ofEcials 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, "jt 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, regarding 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. " Eead 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 : 
 "'My Son! — 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 ! — Eead 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: 
 "'He 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 Hahn 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 diflSculties." 
 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, Schixlek. ' " * 
 
 " 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, you must how perceive that this draft is worthless, 
 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 RelationE 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. Therfe 
 were other noble souls who had confidence in my success, and 
 allowed themselves to be bribed by ' The Bobbers. ' 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 months 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 Str6icher, 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 will 
 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 yon at present but hope. The draft on the 
 future is all I can give you, my good Oswald, 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 
 Eobbers, ' 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 Eobbers,' 'Fiesco,' and 'Louise Miillerin;' 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, I am ascending a mountain, and am now in a 
 cloud, and therefore it is not surprising that I feel chilly and 
 uncomfortable. But better times are coming, and my health 
 will improve, and this bad cough and fever will no longer re- 
 
32 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." 
 
 CHAPTBE III. 
 
 HENEIETTA VOIT WOIZOGEK, 
 
 "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 guched. 
 
 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 his 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!" 
 
 He 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 acene of the third act of his new 
 tragedy, "Don Carlos." 
 
24-. GOETHE AND SCHILLER, 
 
 "Und jetzt 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 and the Marquis, last Scene Act 
 III., of "Don Carlos:" ' 
 
 "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. 
 
 "MarguU. It is no lost one In mine 1 " 
 
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- 
 gen, 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 Bauer bach? 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 forget your goodness, your gener- 
 osity, and friendship? But can you not comprehend, my 
 friend, why your arrival could have a terrible efEect 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, 
 not the mainspring of friendship, and—" 
 
 " Oh, ray 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 hita 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? Nothing, 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 yon 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, 
 helfl 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. 
 
 •Sohinep'B own words.— See "Schiller's Relations to Parents," etc., p, 450. 
 
HENRIETTA 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 ii 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 monej^," said 
 Madame von Wolzogen, 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 unhappiness. 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 beai's 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 4 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 
 
 *SchiUer's own words.— See "Relations to Parents," etc., p. 451. 
 + n)id., p 416. 
 3 
 
28 GOETHE AND SCHILLEE. 
 
 of future renown for a Talid 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. We 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 Thalia. 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 oif 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 Wolzogen, 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 yon 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 know what we are and intend to 
 
 *Schlller's own words.— See "Kelations 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, sealed 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 
 
 •SchiUer's own words to Henrietta von Wolzogen. —See "Eelations,"etc., p. 
 453. 
 
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. 
 
 "No," 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 difBculty! 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 ardently- 
 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. 
 
 HoTV 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 had 
 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 hreathless. 
 
 "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 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 Eich- 
 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!" 
 
 " He 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 ! You 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?" 
 
 He 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. Eichard, " 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. No, 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 Bobbers. ' At 
 that time we anticipated brilliant success; we dreamed that 
 'The Eobbers' 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 sufEer 
 it; your good friend shall have made no miscalculations. 
 Now, Mr. Schiller, you know very well how fond I am of 'The 
 Eobbers,' and that I see the piece whenever it is given here 
 in Mannheim, and cry my eyes out over IfBand, 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 Eobbers!' " 
 
 " 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 pubhcation of 'The Eobbers' 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 prkise 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!" 
 
 Holzel 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 Fredeeick 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 east 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. 
 
 CHAELOTTE VON 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 tno nnhappiness 
 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 sweUing 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 ; CharlotteV 
 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 
 4 
 
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 assent- 
 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, aud 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 bis disordered hair, tearing 
 off the ribbon which confined his queue, and struck with his 
 clinched fist the miserable little table which he honored with 
 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 be 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 "Piesco," 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? Who had ever sent him any 
 thing but rejected manuscripts and theatrical pieces? 
 
 "Ah, that was it!" He 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 wrathfuUy 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 wondcringly, 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 
 with 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 "Eobbers," 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 Germany. 
 
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. He 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 
 
 ♦SchiUer's own words.— See "Belations," etc., p. 448. 
 
53 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! Chaklotte!" 
 
 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 wound, 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 yon, Charlotte, that I feel no trace of displeas- 
 nre. Good augels 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 had 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." 
 
 "No, 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 her with 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 and 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 make 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.— "For the friends of the deceased," printed as MS., p. 86. 
 
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 yon 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 
 \ow it is you are now pleased with what only excited your 
 daughter 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 niolit aus Stuttgart," and means is not 
 from Stuttgart. 
 
CHARLOTTE YON 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 us 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 Wieland, and Herder, he will not 
 trouble himself much about the poor young Schiller. At the 
 best, he will anathematize the author of 'The Eobbers,' 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 acquainted 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 Tasso would ever have written his 'Jerusalem De- 
 livered,' if the Duke of Este had not been his friend— if he 
 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 
 'Bobbers.' 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 hght! 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, Teproachful 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!'" 
 
 CHAPTEE VI. • 
 
 THE TITLE. 
 
 Chaelotte ton 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 influ- 
 
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 Eobbers" and " Fiesco," poems which lauded 
 freedom and popular government, and of "Louise Miillerin," 
 which branded aristocracy as opposed to the riglits 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 s(?fa in the middle of the saloon, behind which 
 the ladies and gentlemen of the court were standing in groups. 
 Not 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. 61 
 
 the brilliant court 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 Eoman 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 could 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 ofEensive 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. 65 
 
 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 
 oifered 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. 67 
 
 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 of Charlotte von Kalb — she would rejoice to see him 
 thus honored by a German prince. He 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 Httle 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 efEect 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 MANITHEIM! 
 
 ScHiLLEE had returned to Mannheim as ducal counsellor of 
 Weimar. Charlotte von Kalb received this intelligence witli 
 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 what 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 1 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 necessi-ty 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. 1 
 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. He avoided seeing 
 any 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 youtli 
 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! Fkederick Schillek." 
 
 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. " He 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, I 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 svim suificient to defray his travel- 
 ling-expenses and pay off his most pressing debts. 
 
PLANS FOR THE FUTURE. 73 
 
 CHAPTEE VIII. 
 
 PLANS FOR THE FUTUEE. 
 
 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 liim 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 in 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 diflBculty 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 with 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 !" 
 
 " No, 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! When 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. Pate 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. 
 6 
 
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!'* Itisa seal which unites closely, and therefore 
 we will impress it upon our holy and eternal union !" 
 
 Slie 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 aud 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, but her 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?" 
 
 He 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 in 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! 
 Wh ire 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 ^olian 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!" 
 
 He 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. 
 He 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 Streicher'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 been paying the Maid of the Ehine 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 would 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 np, Schiller placed 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 yon 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 
 
83 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 our glasses and drink to a future crowned with beaver liats! 
 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. 
 
 " E^ise 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. 83 
 
 enter the stage-coach to-night to go to Leipsic, it will not 
 contain the poet Schiller, the author of 'The Eobbers,' 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 Streicher; "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 German. 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 : ' AVe will neither write to, nor 
 
THE LAST RIDE. 85 
 
 visit each other, until Andrew Streicher is the orchestra-leade^, 
 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-oflBce, 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 Csesar and his fortunes!' 
 
 CHAPTEE IX. 
 
 THE LAST KIDE. 
 
 Yeaes, 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 1786 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 difficult to contend with 
 
 *SchiUer's own words.— See " Schiller's Flight from Stuttgart," etc., p. 216. 
 
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, thie 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 Hapsburgs. 
 
 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! 
 
 But 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 bat 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 Nature 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, 1786, " 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 
 
 *Zimmermann.— "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. He 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. He 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 laissant I'univers comblS do nos bienf aits. 
 Ainsi I'asti-e du jour au bout de sa carriSre, 
 Repand sur Thorizon une douce lumi^re, 
 Et ses derniers rayons qu'il darde dans les airs 
 Sont ses derniers soupirs qu'il donne ^ I'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 liand, 
 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, Oonde, 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 
 
93 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 he shook his head with displeasure. "No foolishness, no 
 pomp!" said he, imperi'ously. "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. Cond^, 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 Gonde 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 as soft and smooth as velvet. The 
 king slackened his speed. He 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 first 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 and gone, and he would 
 soon follow them ! 
 
 He bad 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 tliee." 
 
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-8ouci, 
 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 lifeV 
 
 "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 gi'ave. " * 
 
 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, " Eeconcile 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? 
 Bather 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 will 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, Caesar, 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. He 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 diflSculty. 
 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 Oonde'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 Cond6." 
 
 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 
 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 Cond6'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. 97 
 
 any pressure. The king gi-asped 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 he 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 bont6 de me donner 
 votre bras?" * 
 
 "Sire, et mon roi," replied the prince, quickly, "vous me 
 daignez d'un grand honneur, et je vous suis tres reconnais- 
 sant!" t And after bowing deeply he ofEered his arm to the 
 king. 
 
 "Just see how well bespeaks 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 
 
 • "WUl you have the goodness to give me your arm, my princef" 
 
 t"Sire and my king, you confer a great honor on me, and I am very grateful." 
 
98 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 stood near his chair. And, when the prince had done as he 
 bade him, he looked long and earnestly into his fresh, open 
 face. 
 
 "I sent for yon, 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 
 naively. ' 
 
 "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 Avhole 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. 99 
 
 "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 Behnisch 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 be any one among 
 yon to whom I have done injustice, let him come forward 
 quickly, for death approaches!' And a loud voice from among 
 
lOa GOETHE AND SCHILLEE. 
 
 the people cried: 'You have done nothing but good, youhavw 
 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. " 
 
 "Veryigood," 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. Be 
 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. Pat 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 ray 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 Eenard et le Gorbeau." * 
 
 " Now 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, "Bravo, 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. Ee- 
 
 * The Fox and the Crow. 
 
103 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 with 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 WiUiamlll.," 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 hiniself fluently in his own language in later years. When the 
 king spoke French b^s 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 arc 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 de 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 beautiiul." 
 
 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, 
 this 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 
 his 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 voice, 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 
 Sans-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 Eussia. 
 
 " 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 
 vour 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?" 
 8 
 
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 they 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, "I believe Alkmens 
 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, bub, when my boay 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 KIKG's DEATH. 
 
 " The king is dead ! Frederick the Second is no more ! 
 come, your majesty, to bring you this sad intelhgence!" 
 
 These were the words with which the minister Herzberg, 
 accompanied by the valet Eietz, 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 Eietz, in low, submissive 
 tones. 
 
 " Is the carriage in readiness?" demanded Frederick Will- 
 iam, starting as if aroused from deep thought. 
 
 " Yes, 3'our majesty, I ordered it to be ready at once." 
 
 "Come, then, Herzberg, let us go; Eietz, 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, Eietz, 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. Eietz, 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 Eietz? 
 
 "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, Eiotz 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. Eietz 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 had 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 Eietz, 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 Eietz 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 Herzberg, 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, Striitzki 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 Ton Herzberg. 
 
 "Count," said he, "bow your head, and receive, at my 
 hands, the last souvenir of the great king who has cast off hia 
 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 Herzberg, 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 on 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 vi'ill still continue to administer the a-ffairs 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, Eietz, who had stood, with his head bowed down, in 
 order to hide the curiosity, and the indifEerence 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 Eietz, 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 
 
 *Thf" 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. 
 
 "Eietz, 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. He 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. 
 
 " Eietz, 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, Eietz, you are a faithful and considerate servant. 
 Go 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. 
 
 CHAPTEK II. 
 
 "LE EOI est MOBT! VIVE LE ROI ! " 
 
 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 oflBcials and ministers had already assembled; 
 and now the princes of the royal family were coming in. 
 
 Eietz, 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-Colonel 
 Bischof s werder ? ' ' 
 
 "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!" 131 
 
 " 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 oi 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. 
 
 " Eietz, 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 
 
 Eietz 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 reply would be," 
 said the king, smiling. " No, you may also present my com- 
 pliments to the queen's beautiful maid of honor, Julie von 
 Yoss. Eequest 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 Eietz, 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 Eietz, 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 Eietz 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 is 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 Eietz 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 latter 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 
 
126 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 3'ears 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 Eoyal, 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 tlie 
 
"LE ROI EST MORT! VIVE LE ROI ! " 137 
 
 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 body of Frederick the 
 Great, was afterward framed, and hung for many years in his study, with this in- 
 scription, in his own handwriting: "I sketched th'is on the 17th of August, U&i, 
 between the hours of 'J and 10 p.m." 
 
138 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 were the two lackeys, and the greyhound's head protruded 
 from beneath the chair. The sculptor Eckstein had 
 withdrawn to the farthest end of the room. Prince Louis 
 had, however, noiselessly glided into the adjoining concert- 
 room, where the instruments were kept. There were the 
 flutes and violins in their cases, and there stood the magnifi- 
 cent piano, inlaid with ivory and mother-of-pearl, which the 
 king's hands had so often touched. 
 
 The silence of the death-chamber was once more unbroken. 
 The body lay there, so great and sublime in the two-fold 
 majesty of death and renown, and the prince royal was ab- 
 sorbed in his work, when the silence was suddenly broken by 
 subdued tones of plaintive music. These tones came from 
 the concert-room, and filled the chamber of the dead with 
 low and harmonious sighs and lamentations. 
 
 Alkmene crept out from under the arm-chair, and trotted 
 slowly into the adjoining chamber, as if to see if her master, 
 whose voice "she had not heard since yesterday, had not called 
 to her to come to him at the piano. The greyhound, how- 
 ever, returned to her former position, when she saw that it 
 was another who sat at the piano. 
 
 No, it was not the king, but his nephew Louis, who was 
 playing this requiem for the great departed, and tears were 
 trickling down over his handsome and manly young face. 
 Perhaps it was improper to break in upon the stillness of the 
 sacred chamber in this manner. But what cared the young 
 prince for that. He thought only of bringing the great dead 
 a last love-offering, and none was there to prevent him. 
 Etiquette had nothing more to do with the dead king. It 
 had taken up its abode in the neighboring audience-chamber, 
 with the living king. There, all was formality and ceremony. 
 There, decorated excellencies and gold-embroidered uniforms 
 were making profound obeisances. There, respectful con- 
 gratulations were being made, and gracious smiles accorded 
 by royal lips. 
 
 " Le roi est mort! Vive le roi!" 
 
THE FAVORITES. 129 
 
 CHAPTEE III, 
 
 THE FAVORITES. 
 
 King Feederick William stepped back into the little 
 audience-chamber, and beckoned to his two friends Bischols- 
 werder and Wollner to follow him. 
 
 He embraced Bischofswerder, and pressed a kiss on his 
 forehead. " My friend, you must never leave me, but always 
 remain at my side. " 
 
 "I will follow my royal master," said Bischofswerder, bow- 
 ing profoundly, " as a faithful dog follows his master's foot- 
 steps, satisfied if he shall from time to time vouchsafe me a 
 gracious look." 
 
 "I know you, my friend, "said the king. "I know that 
 you are disinterested, that you are not ambitious, and that 
 the things of this world are of but little importance to your 
 noble mind." 
 
 " Let it be my task to provide for your earthly as you have 
 undertaken to provide for my spiritual welfare. My dear 
 Bischofswerder, I appoint you colonel, and this shall be only 
 the step from which you wiU be rapidly promoted to the rank 
 of general ; for you not only war bravely and daringly against 
 visible men, but also against invisible spirits, and it is my holy 
 duty and privilege to reward the brave." 
 
 "Your majesty," said Bischofswerder, gently, "the only 
 reward I crave is your favor. I desire and solicit nothing 
 more. The honors and dignities which you shower upon me, 
 and of which I am so undeserving, only awaken anxiety by 
 illumining my small merit, and making my unworthiness all 
 the more conspicuous before the world. Nevertheless, I ac- 
 cept with thanks the promotion accorded me by the grace of 
 my king, although I would rather decline the honor, and re- 
 main in obscurity in the shadow of your throne. But I dare 
 not, for a higher one has commanded me to submit to your be- 
 hests, and I must obey." 
 
130 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 "A higher one?" asked the king. "Who is he? Who 
 commands here besides myself?" 
 
 " Your majesty, the spirits of the great dead — the Inyisible, 
 ■whose power is greater than that of all the visible, however 
 great and mighty they may be!" 
 
 The king had asked this question with a proud and haughty 
 glance; suddenly his manner altered, his countenance as- 
 sumed an humble, penitent look, his head sank down upon 
 his breast, and he folded his hands as if in prayer. " I am a 
 sinner and a criminal," he murmured. " In the pride of my 
 new dignity I forgot my superiors ; and the little visible creat- 
 ure dared to consider himself the equal of the Invisible! 
 I now repent, beg for mercy, and am ready to yield obedience 
 to my superiors. — They have then spoken to you again, these 
 superior beings? They have imparted to you their wishes?" 
 
 " Your majesty," said Bischofswerder, in a mysterious whis- 
 per, " while sleeping last night, I was suddenly awakened by 
 a wondrous radiance, and I sprang from my bed, believing 
 that fire had broken out and enveloped my room in flames ; 
 but I felt that a gentle hand forced me back, and I now saw 
 that the light which had terrified me came from a luminous 
 countenance, which stood out in bold relief amid the sur- 
 rounding darkness. The eyes of this countenance shone like 
 two heavenly stars, shedding a soft light upon me. With a 
 celestial smile on its lips, the spirit spoke to me: 'Your 
 heart is humble and guileless. You have no craving after 
 earthly honors, and are not attracted by grandeur and riches ; 
 but I command you to arise from your humility, and no 
 longer to withdraw yourself from earthly honors, for those 
 whom the Invisible love must also be recognized and elevated 
 by the visible, that their favor be made manifest before men. 
 You will be advanced to-morrow, and on the ensuing day you 
 will receive a second advancement; and what your king offers 
 you must accept. This is the will of the Invisible. ' And 
 after this wonderful spirit had spoken it vanished, and all 
 was again enveloped in darkness. I, however, lit a candle, 
 
THE FAV0EITE8. 131 
 
 in order that I might have tangible proof, on arising the next 
 morning, that this had been no dream ; I wrote down on a 
 sheet of paper the last words the spirit had spoken, and the 
 hour at which it appeared. Your majesty, I have brought 
 this paper with me to show it to my king. Here it is!" 
 
 The king took the writing, and read in a low voice: " You 
 will be advanced to-morrow, and on the ensuing day you will 
 receive a second advancement ; and what the king offers you 
 must accept. This is the will of the Invisible. Command 
 of the radiant spirit, given in the night between the sixteenth 
 and seventeenth of August, at twenty minutes past two." 
 
 "The hour at which the king died," exclaimed Frederick 
 William, with astonishment, " and the hour at which I also 
 suddenly awoke! Wonderful, wonderful indeed !" 
 
 " Your majesty, for those endowed with intuition there are 
 no wonders," said Bischofswerder, quietly, " and your majesty 
 belongs to this number." 
 
 "But only in a very slight degree," sighed the king. "I 
 am still groping in the twilight ; my eyes are yet dazzled by 
 the splendor of the Invisible." 
 
 " But your majesty will advance steadily toward the source 
 of light; and if the Invisible will permit me to conduct you 
 into the holy temple of infinite knowledge, I will esteem it 
 the greatest earthly blessing!" 
 
 "Yes," cried the king, in ecstasy; "yes, my friend, you 
 shall conduct me; and, at the side of him upon whom this 
 light has been shed, I will walk in safety over the slippery 
 paths of life. Nothing can astonish me in the future, for the 
 paper I hold in my hand is a miracle, and an evidence that 
 the Invisible is omnipresent and omniscient. At the same 
 moment in which King Frederick died I awoke with a cry, 
 and at the same time the spirit announced to you that you 
 would be advanced by your king— by me, who at that mo- 
 ment became king! My friend, I beg you to. give me this 
 paper, this evidence of the presence of the Invisible'; 
 
 Bischofswerder bowed profoundly. "All that the kings 
 
132 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 consecrating hand touches becomes his property, as I am his 
 with all that is mine!" 
 
 " I thank you, colonel, I thank you. Ascend the step to 
 honor which this day oilers, and let it be my care that the 
 prophecy for the ensuing day be also fulfilled. And now," 
 continued the king, turning to WoUner, who had stood with 
 folded hands, his head bowed down, during this conversation; 
 "and now, as to you, Councillor Wollner, you are also deserv- 
 ing of thanks and reward." 
 
 "Far more deserving than I, poor unworthy man," ex- 
 claimed Bischofswerder; "for Chrysophorus, the effulgent, 
 belongs to the chosen, and is the favorite of the Invisible. If 
 your majesty empties the plenteous horn of your favor on the 
 head of Chrysophorus, no drop will be lost, but all will fall 
 on good and fertile soil." 
 
 The king greeted the noble, disinterested friend with a 
 kindly smile, and then laid his hand gently on Wollner's 
 shoulder. 
 
 " Thus I will sustain myself on you, Wollner, and as I now 
 lay my right hand on you, so will I make you my right hand, 
 as I make Bischofswerder my head, to think for me. You 
 too shall be my head and my hand." 
 
 "But your heart, sire?" asked Wollner, in his earnest and 
 solemn voice. "Your heart you must be yourself, and no 
 other human being must be your heart but the king himself." 
 
 Frederick William smiled. " My heart, that am I — I the 
 king, but also I the man ; and the head and hand which act 
 for me, must also permit the heart to act, as it will and can! 
 Councillor Wollner, has the Invisible announced nothing to 
 you? have you alone passed the night in quiet slumber?" 
 
 "Your majesty," replied Wollner, with an air of self- 
 reproach, " I have received no message from the Invisible ; I 
 must honor the truth, and acknowledge that I have rarely en- 
 joyed such peaceful and unbroken slumber as in the past night. " 
 
 " He slept the sleep of the just," said Bischofswerder, " and 
 the spirits kept watch at the door of our Chrysophorus." 
 
THE FAVORITES. 133 
 
 " Well, then, I will announce to you what the spirits did 
 not announce," exclaimed the king, with vivacity, " Wollner, 
 I appoint you Privy Councillor of the Finances, and, at the 
 same time, Intendant of the Eoyal Bureau of Construction." 
 
 " Oh, your majesty," cried Wollner, his little gray eyes 
 sparkling with joy, "' that is more than I deserve, almost more 
 than I can accept. I do not consider myself worthy of such 
 high distinction; and this favor far exceeds my merit. And 
 yet, notwithstanding the high honor my king has conferred 
 upon me, I still dare prefer a request; one, however, which 
 does not spring from any bold desire of my own, but one which 
 the command of the Invisible compels me to utter. I am not 
 actuated by earthly motives, but I must obey the behests of 
 the spirits." 
 
 " What is this request, my dear privy councillor of the 
 finances?" asked the king, with a smile. " I give you my 
 royal word that your first request shall be granted." 
 
 "Your majesty, my request is only this: Give me your 
 favor, your confidence, and your esteem, as long as I live." 
 
 " This I promise you, but as a matter of course I should 
 have been compelled to do so, although you had not asked me. 
 This, therefore, we cannot consider a compliance with your 
 request. Speak, Wollner, and prefer your other request." 
 
 " Well, then, your majesty, I beg to be permitted to arrange 
 King Frederick's papers, and prepare this literary legacy for 
 the press." 
 
 " I commission you not only to do so," said the king, " but, 
 in order to remove all impediments and facilitate your labors, 
 I make you a present of these papers, to have and to hold as 
 your own property. You may print or suppress portions of 
 them, as seems best to you. I make this one condition, how- 
 ever, that you do not destroy the king's writings, manuscripts, 
 and papers, after you have examined and had them printed 
 as your insight and judgment shall direct; but that you de- 
 posit them in the royal archives, set apart for the preservation 
 of such documents." 
 
134 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 " Your commands shall be obeyed in every particular," said 
 Wollner, respectfully, " and that no doubts may arise on this 
 subject, I beg this favor of your majesty, that you make out 
 a written order to the effect that all the papers of the de- 
 ceased king (whom I unhappily cannot call the blessed, be- 
 cause he lived in unbelief and darkness) be transferred to me 
 by the two privy cabinet councillors of the late king; they 
 taking a receipt for the exact number of sheets counted out 
 to me, and my written obligation to return each and every 
 one of them. And I will certainly make haste to accomplish 
 my task, for the Invisible has commanded me to complete the 
 great work with which I have been intrusted without delay." 
 
 " And are you permitted to acquaint me with the object of 
 this great work, my friend?" asked the king. 
 
 " Yes your majesty, I am not only permitted, but am com- 
 manded to do so ! I am to impart to you the reasons why I 
 solicit the papers of the deceased king, and why I desire to 
 have them printed. The object is, that the eyes of your 
 majesty's subjects may be opened, and they be brought to the 
 knowledge that he, whom freethinkers and unbelievers called 
 a shining light, was a mocker at all religion, and an atheist 
 who scoffed at all that was holy, and did homage to himself, 
 the idol of renown and heathenish poetry, only. The Invis- 
 ible has commanded me to unveil the scoffing mind of the un- 
 believing king, and make manifest to the world that such a 
 one may never hope to enter heaven and participate in bliss. 
 Listen, my dear king and master," continued Wollner, in an 
 elevated voice, as the roll of drums announced the approach 
 of a body of troops; "listen to those drums proclaiming the 
 dawn of a new day ! Hail the day which gives to millions of 
 misguided men a leader and a guide, destined to lead them 
 back to the right path ; and to rear aloft the holy cross which 
 his predecessor trod under foot! Hail to your people, Freder- 
 ick William, for you have come to rebuild the Church of God ! 
 Hail to thee, thou favorite of the Invisible ! hail, Frederick 
 William!" 
 
THE FAVORITES. 135 
 
 And with a cry of enthusiasm, Bischofswerder repeated the 
 words, "Hail to thee, thou favorite of the Invisible! hail, 
 Frederick William!" 
 
 The king had listened to Wollner with downcast eyes, and 
 the joyful acclamations of his two friends seemed only to have 
 given him disquiet and anxiety. 
 
 "I am an unworthy sinner," murmured the king, in a 
 penitent voice, '' and if you do not take pity on me and in- 
 tercede for me with the Invisible, I am a lost man. I implore 
 you both to sustain me with a helping hand, that I may not 
 fall to the ground." 
 
 " The Invisible has commanded us to stay at your side and 
 devote our lives to your welfare," said Wollner, solemnly. 
 
 "And even if he had not," cried Bischofswerder, feelingly, 
 ' my own heart would have prompted me to do so, for I am 
 my king's alone, and am ready to shed my blood for him. 
 Tell us, therefore, what we are to do, and what ij^ required to 
 restore peace to your soul." 
 
 "Say, to my heart, my faithful friend," cried the king, 
 " for it is my heart that needs peace. I love, love with glow- 
 ing passion. And yet I have sworn in the holy lodge of the 
 Invisible to dedicate my life to virtue. Oh, tell me, tell me, 
 my friends, how can I keep my vow without giving my heart 
 the death-blow ! Do not let me sink in despair, but take pity 
 on me. I feel sick and miserable; the torment of love and 
 the conflict with duty rob me of all strength and courage. 
 Oh, help me, help me! You, my friend Bischofswerder, let 
 me drink once more of the elixir of life, which the great ma- 
 gician, Cagliostro, intrusted you with; give me once more 
 life, health, and happiness!" 
 
 "Your majesty knows," replied Bischofswerder, "that I 
 gave you the last drop of the precious elixir, given me by the 
 great" magician, to infuse new life and health into my veins, 
 when the hour of death should draw near. I joyfully deliv- 
 ered myself over to death in order that my king might have new 
 life; and I now learn, with the greatest sorrow, that it was not 
 
136 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 suflScient to accomplish its object. But what I would never 
 do for myself, I will now do for my king. I will entreat the 
 Invisible to impart to me the secret of the preparation of this 
 elixir of life; I will address my thoughts to this magician 
 with all the strength of my soul, and conjure him to appear 
 and instruct me how to concoct the elixir of life for my king 
 and master." 
 
 "Ah," sighed the king, sadly, "if it is necessary that the 
 magician should appear here, personally, in order to impart 
 to you this wonderful secret, my wish will probably never be 
 gratified, for Cagliostro is at present, as my ambassador yes- 
 terday informed me, in London ; and the believers are pour- 
 ing into that city, from all parts of Europe, to see the sublime 
 martyr, who languished in a French prison, on account of the 
 unhappy necklace affair, until his innocence was proved, when 
 he was restored to liberty, on condition that he should leave 
 France at oi^e and never recross its boundaries. Cagliostro 
 then went to London, where he is now receiving the homage 
 of his admirers; and there he expects to remain, as he in- 
 formed our ambassador. How can your prayers and entreat- 
 ies have sufficient power to call the magician here from so 
 great a distance? His sublime spirit is united with the body, 
 and is subject to finite laws." 
 
 "No, my king," replied Bischofswerder, quietly, "the 
 sublime magician, Cagliostro is uncontrolled by these laws. 
 The miraculous power of his spirit governs the body, and it 
 must obey his behests. I read in your soul that you are in 
 doubt, my king, and that you do not believe in the dominion 
 of the spirit. But your majesty must learn to do so, for in 
 this belief only are safety and eternal health to be found for 
 you and for us all. I will invoke the Invisible in the coming 
 night; and, if my prayer be heard, the magician of the North 
 will appear in our midst this very night, to give ear to my 
 entreaties." 
 
 " If this should occur," cried the king, " I am forever con- 
 verted to this belief, and nothing can hereafter make me 
 
THE FAVORITES. 137 
 
 waver in my trust and confidence in you, my Bischofs- 
 ■werder!" 
 
 " It will occur," said Bischofswerder, quietly. " I beg that 
 your majesty will call Chrysophorus and myself to your cham- 
 ber at the next midnight hour, in order that we may invoke 
 the Invisible in your presence." 
 
 "At the next midnight hour?" repeated the king, in con- 
 fusion. Bischofswerder's quick, piercing glance seemed to 
 read the king's inmost thoughts in his embarrassed manner. 
 
 "I know," said he, after a pause, "that your majesty in- 
 tended to pass this night in Charlottenburg with your chil- 
 dren and their mother; and if your majesty commands, we 
 will meet there at the midnight hour." 
 
 "Do so, my friends," said the king, hastily, " I will await 
 you in Charlottenburg, at the appointed time, although I 
 scarcely believe you will come; and doubt, very much, 
 whether Bischofswerder's incantations will have power to call 
 the great magician to my assistance. Oh, I am greatly in 
 need of help. If you are really my friends, and if the Invis- 
 ible has anointed your eyes with the rays of knowledge, you 
 also must know what torments my soul is undergoing!" 
 
 "And we do know," said Bischofswerder. "It has been 
 announced to us." 
 
 "And we do know," repeated "Wollner, "the Invisible has 
 commanded me to implore his dearest son. King Frederick 
 William, not to burden his conscience with new sin, but to 
 renounce the passion which is burning in his heart." 
 
 "I cannot, no, I cannot!" exclaimed Frederick William; 
 and with a cry of anguish he buried his face in his 
 hands. 
 
 His two confidants exchanged a rapid glance; and Bischofs- 
 werder, as if answering an unspoken but well-understood 
 question of Wollner's, shook his head dissentingly. He then 
 stooped down to the lamenting, moaning king. 
 
 "Your majesty," whispered he, "to-night we will also ask 
 the Invisible if he will not have indulgence with the king's 
 
138 GOETHE AND SCHILLEE. 
 
 love; and permit the beautiful Fraulein von Voss to become 
 the wife of the man she loves?" 
 
 "Oh, if this could be brought about!" cried the king, 
 throwing his arms around his friend's neck, " I could be the 
 happiest of mortals, and would gladly resign to you my whole 
 kingdom to dispose of it as you see fit. Give me the woman 
 I love, and I will give you my royal authority!" 
 
 Again the two confidants exchanged rapid glances, and 
 WoUner bowed his head in assent. 
 
 "We will entreat the Invisible to-night," said Bischofs- 
 werder — " and I hope that he will grant what your majesty 
 desires." 
 
 " But, if so, certain conditions will be exacted, and penance 
 enjoined," said Wollner. 
 
 " I am ready to consent to all his demands, and to do all he 
 enjoins, if he will only give me this heavenly woman." 
 
 CHAPTEE IV. 
 
 THE MAID OF HONOR. 
 
 No intelligence of the demise of the great king had as yet 
 arrived at the palace of Schonhausen, the residence of Queen 
 Elizabeth Christine, Frederick's wife. It was still early in 
 the morning, and the queen, who was in the habit of sending 
 a special courier to Potsdam every day, to inquire after the 
 king's health, was now writing the customary morning letter 
 to her husband. 
 
 She had just finished the letter, and was folding the sheet, 
 when the door of the adjoining chamber was opened, and a 
 tall and remarkably beautiful young lady appeared on the 
 threshold. Her rich, light, and unpowdered hair fell in a 
 profusion of little locks around her high-arched brow. Her 
 large, almond-shaped eyes were of a clear, luminous blue, her 
 delicately-curved nose gave her countenance an aristocratic 
 
THE MAID Ot' HONOR. 139 
 
 expression; and from her slightly-pouting crimson lips, when 
 she smiled, all the little Cupids of love and youth seemed to 
 send their arrows into the hearts of the admirers of the lovely 
 maid of honor, Julie von Voss. Her tall and slender figure 
 showed the delicate outline and the rich fulness which we 
 admire in the statues of Venus, and there was, at the same 
 time, something of the dignified, severe, and chaste Juno in 
 her whole appearance— something unapproachable, that de- 
 manded deference, and kept her worshippers at a distance, 
 after they had been attracted by her alluring beauty. 
 
 The queen greeted her maid of honor, who bowed pro- 
 foundly, with a gentle smile. " You have come for my letter, 
 have you not, my child? The courier is waiting?" 
 
 "No, your majesty," replied the maid of honor, in a some- 
 what solemn voice. " No, it is not a question of dispatching 
 a courier, but of receiving one who begs to be permitted to 
 see you. The valet of your royal nephew Frederick William 
 is in the antechamber, and desires to be admitted to your 
 presence." 
 
 The queen arose from her sofa with a vivacity unusual in 
 one of her age. " The valet of my nephew?" said Elizabeth 
 Christine, with quivering lips — "and do you know what 
 brings him here?" 
 
 "He will impart his mission to your majesty only," replied 
 the maid of honor ; and when the queen sank back on the 
 sofa, and told her in faltering tones to admit the courier, she 
 threw the door open, and summoned the valet with a proud 
 wave of the hand. And straightway the broad, colossal figure 
 of the royal privy chamberlain Eietz appeared on the thresh- 
 old. With a smile on his thick lips, and his little gray eyes 
 fixed intently on the pale old lady, who stared at him with an 
 expression of breathless anxiety, the chamberlain entered, and 
 walked across the wide room to the queen's sofa with the 
 greatest composure, although she had expressed no desire that 
 he should do so. 
 
 "Your majesty," said he, without waiting permission to 
 10 
 
140 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 speak, " I have been sent by his majesty King Frederick 
 William—" 
 
 The queen interrupted him with a cry of anguish. " By 
 King Frederick William!" she repeated, in faltering tones. 
 "He is then dead?" 
 
 "Yes," replied Eietz, inclining his head slightly. "Yes, 
 King Frederick died last night ; and he who was heretofore 
 Prince of Prussia is now King of Prussia. His majesty sends 
 the widowed queen his most gracious and devoted greeting; 
 and orders toie to inform her majesty that he will arrive here 
 during the day to pay her a visit of condolence." 
 
 The queen paid no attention to the chamberlain's words; 
 of all that he had spoken, she heard but this, that her hus- 
 band, that Frederick the Great, was dead, that the man she 
 had loved with such fidelity and resignation for the last fifty 
 years was no longer among the living. , 
 
 "He is dead! Oh, my God, he is dead!" she cried, in 
 piercing accents. " How can life continue, how can the world 
 exist, now that Frederick is no more! What is to become of 
 unhappy Prussia, when the great king no longer reigns ; what 
 can it be without his wisdom and strength, and his enlight- 
 ened mind?" 
 
 " Your majesty forgets that the king has a glorious suc- 
 cessor," remarked Eietz, with cynical indifference. 
 
 A dark frown gathered on the brow of the maid of honor, 
 Julie von Voss, when the chamberlain uttered these imperti- 
 nent words; and she glanced haughtily at his broad, self- 
 complacent countenance. 
 
 "Leave the room," said she, waving her hand imperiously 
 toward the door; " wait in the antechamber till you are called 
 to receive her majesty's reply and commands." 
 
 The chamberlain's countenance flushed with anger, but he 
 quickly suppressed all outward manifestation of feeling, and 
 assumed an humble and respectful manner. 
 
 "Your grace commands," said he, "and I am her zealous 
 and obedient servant, ever ready to do her bidding. And 
 
THE MAID OF HONOR. 141 
 
 herein I know that I am only fulfilling the desire of my royal 
 master, who — " 
 
 "Leave the room at once!" cried the maid of honor, her 
 cheeks flushing with anger. 
 
 "No," said the queen, awakening from her sad reyerie; 
 " no, let good Eietz remain, dear Julie. He must tell me of 
 the great dead. I must know how he died, and how his last 
 hours passed. — Speak, Eietz, tell me." 
 
 The chamberlain described the king's last hours in so ready 
 and adroit a manner, managing to introduce the person of 
 the new king so cleverly into his narrative, and accompanying 
 his remarks with such intelligent and significant looks at the 
 maid of honor, that she blushingly avoided his glances, and 
 pressed her lips firmly together, as if to suppress the angry 
 and resentful words her rosy lips longed to utter. 
 
 " I left his majesty King Frederick William in the death- 
 chamber," said Eietz, as he finished his narrative. "But, 
 even in the depth of his grief for his royal uncle, he thought 
 of the living whom he loves so dearly, and commanded me 
 to hasten to Schonhausen, to announce that he intended 
 to gratify the longings of his heart by coming here, and 
 that — " 
 
 "Will not your majesty dismiss the messenger?" inter- 
 rupted the maid of honor in an angry voice. 
 
 "Yes, he may go," murmured Elizabeth Christine. "Tell 
 the king my nephew that I await him, and feel highly hon- 
 ored by the consideration shown me." 
 
 " Ypur majesty, love and admiration draw him to Schon- 
 hausen," observed Eietz. "I can assure you of this, for the 
 king confides every thing to me, and often calls me his — " 
 
 "Figaro," added the maid of honor, with a contemptuous 
 curl of her proud lips. 
 
 "His friend," continued Eietz, without, as it seemed, hav- 
 ing heard this cutting word. " I have the honor to know all 
 my master's heart-secrets, and — " 
 
 "To be the husband of Wilhelmine Enke," exclaimed the 
 
142 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 maid of honor, passionately. "Your majesty, will you not 
 dismiss the messenger?" 
 
 "You may go, Eietz," said the queen, gently. But Eietz 
 still hesitated, and fastened his gaze upon the young lady, 
 with a smiling expression. 
 
 "Your majesty," said she, "I believe he is waiting for a 
 gratuity ; and we will not be rid of him until he receives it. " 
 
 Eietz broke out into loud laughter, regardless of the pres- 
 ence of the mourning and weeping queen. " This is comical," 
 he cried. "This I will relate to his majesty; it will amuse 
 him to learn that this young lady offers his privy chamberlain 
 and treasurer a gratuity. He will consider it quite bewitch- 
 ing on her part, for his majesty finds every thing she does be- 
 witching. But I am not waiting for a gratuity, but for 
 permission to deliver to Mademoiselle von Voss the messages 
 which his majesty intrusted to me for her grace, and I there- 
 fore beg the young lady — " 
 
 " Go out of the room, and wait in the antechamber until I 
 send for youl" said the maid of honor, imperiously. 
 
 "And will you soon do so?" asked Eietz, with unruffled 
 composure. " I take the liberty to remark, that I have other 
 commissions to execute for his majesty, and therefore I ask 
 whether you will soon call me?" 
 
 "You have nothing to ask, but only to obey," said the 
 young lady, proudly. 
 
 Eietz shrugged his shoulders; bowed profoundly to the 
 queen, who was wholly occupied with her grief, and had heard 
 nothing of this conversation, and then left the room with a 
 firm step. 
 
 "She is very proud, very haughty," growled Eietz in a low 
 voice, as he threw himself into a chair in the antechamber 
 with such violence, that it cracked beneath him. " That she 
 is, and it will require much trouble to tame her. But she 
 shall be tamed nevertheless; and the day will come when I 
 can repay her abuse with interest. Figaro she called me. I 
 know very well what that means ; my French education has 
 
FIGARO. 143 
 
 not been thrown away. Yes, yes, Figaro ! I understand ! 
 The ever-complaisant servant of Count Almaviva, and the 
 negotiator in the affair with the beautiful Eosine. Oh, my 
 young lady, take care! I am the Figaro, to-day, helping to 
 capture the fair Eosine, in order to deliver her over to Count 
 Almaviva. But I, too, have my beautiful Susanna; and some 
 day, when Almaviva wearies of his divine Eosine, he will turn 
 again to my Susanna ; and you will then be thrown in the 
 background. Figaro ! Ah, my lovely maid of honor, I will 
 give you cause to remember having called me this name ! I 
 will speak to my wife about this matter before the day is 
 over I" 
 
 OHAPTEE V. 
 
 FIGAEO. 
 
 "While Eietz was sitting in the antechamber, in an angry 
 and resentful frame of mind, the maid of honor was still at 
 the queen's side, endeavoring to console her with tender 
 words and entreaties. 
 
 " After all, your majesty is but suffering an imaginary loss," 
 said the maid of honor finally, after she had exhausted all 
 other grounds of consolation. " For you, all will be just as it 
 was before, as it has been for many years; and it should be all 
 the same to your majesty whether the king has died, or is 
 still remaining in Sans-Souci, for you were widely separated 
 in either case." 
 
 "But I was always with him in thought," lamented Eliza- 
 beth Christine. " I knew that he lived, that we breathed the 
 same air-, that the ray of sunshine which warmed me, fell also 
 on his dear, noble head. I knew that the eyes of the country 
 were directed toward Sans-Souci ; and that the great king's 
 every word found an echo throughout all Europe. It did me 
 good, and was my consolation for all other wants, that this 
 great hero and king, who was worshipped and admired by the 
 
144 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 world, sometimes thought of his poor wife, in his infinite 
 goodness, and sometimes shed a ray of light on her dark and 
 solitary life. I was permitted to be at his side on every New- 
 Year's-Day, and hold with him the grand court-reception. 
 And I always looked forward to this event with rejoicing 
 throughout the entire year, for he was ever the first to con- 
 gratulate me, although in silence ; and then he looked at me 
 so kindly and mildly with his wondrous eyes, that my heart 
 overflowed with happiness and bliss. " 
 
 " But he never spoke to your majesty, the cruel, unfeeling 
 king!" said the maid of honor, shrugging her shoulders. 
 
 "Do not abuse him," said the queen, warmly. "He was 
 not cruel, not unfeeling. For if he had been so, he would 
 have sundered the tie which bound him to the unloved woman 
 who had been forced upon him when he became king. But 
 he was mild and gentle ; he tolerated me, and I was permitted 
 to love him and call myself his, although he was never mine. 
 Instead of banishing me, as he might have done, he endured 
 me, and accorded me the royal honors due his wife. True, I 
 have not often seen him, and have very rarely spoken to 
 him ; but yet I heard and knew of him, and he never per- 
 mitted my birthday to pass without writing me a letter of 
 congratulation. Once, however — once he went so far in his 
 goodness as to hold the New- Year's reception here in 
 Schonhausen, because an accident which happened to my foot 
 prevented my coming to Berlin. Oh, I shall never forget 
 that day, for it was the only time the king visited me 
 here; and since then it seems to me that the sun has never 
 set, but still gilds the apartments through which Frederick 
 had wandered. On that day," continued the queen, with a 
 sad smile, absorbed in her recollections of the past, " on that 
 day, something occurred which astonished the court, and was 
 talked of in all Berlin. The king, who, on similar occasions 
 in the city, had only looked at and saluted me from a dis- 
 tance, walked up to my side, extended his hand, and inquired 
 after my health in the most kind and feeling manner. I was 
 
FIGAEO. 145 
 
 so confused and bewildered by this unexpected happiness, that 
 1 almost fainted. My heart beat wildly, and I found no 
 strength to utter a single word in reply, that is, if my tears 
 were not an answer.* But since that day the king has never 
 spoken to me. The words, however, which he then uttered 
 have always resounded in my ear like sweet music, and will 
 lull me to sleep in the hour of death." 
 
 " Oh," exclaimed the maid of honor, in astonishment and 
 indignation, " how can it be possible to love in such a manner?" 
 
 The queen, who had entirely forgotten that she was not 
 speaking to herself, and that another listened to her plaintive 
 wail, raised her head quickly, her blue eyes sparkling as if 
 she had been but seventeen instead of seventy years old. 
 
 "How could it be possible not to love in such a manner, 
 when one loved Frederick the Great?" said she, proudly. " I 
 had made this love my life, my religion, my hope of immor- 
 tality. I gave to this love my whole soul, my every thought 
 and feeling; and it gave me, in return, joyful resignation 
 and the strength to endure. AVithout this, my great, my 
 beautiful love, I would have perished ia the solitude and deso- 
 lation of my being; but from it my life derived its support, 
 its enthusiasm, and its perpetual youth. Years have whitened 
 my hair and wrinkled my countenance, but in the poor, 
 miserable body, in the breast of this old woman, throbs the 
 heart of a young girl ; and it bears me on with its youthful 
 love, through and beyond all time and trouble, to those heights 
 where I will once more behold him, and where he will, per- 
 haps, requite the love he here despised. Love never grows 
 old ; when the heart is filled with it, years vanish like fleeting 
 dreams, and it encircles mortality with the halo of undying 
 youth! Therefore it must not surprise you, Julie, that the 
 old woman you see before you can speak of her love. It was 
 the love of my youth, and still makes me young. And now 
 go, my child, and leave me alone with my recollections, and 
 the great dead ! I have much to say to him that God only 
 
 *See Preuss.— " Frederick the Great, a Biography," vol. iv. 
 
146 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 may hear! Go, my child, and if, at some future day, you 
 should love and suffer, think of this hour !" 
 
 She greeted the young lady with a gentle wave of the hand, 
 and as the maid of honor left the room she saw the queen fall 
 on her knees. 
 
 Slowly, and with her head bowed down, Julie von Voss 
 wu,lked through the adjoining rooms to her own apartments. 
 " I will never love like this, and consequently never suffer like 
 this," said she to herself. "I cannot comprehend how one 
 can lose and forget one's self so completely in another, par- 
 ticularly when this other person does not love as ardently — 
 as ardently as I am loved by — " 
 
 She stopped and blushed, and a slight tremor ran through 
 her being. " I should like to know whether he loves me as 
 passionately as this woman has loved her husband, whether — 
 But," exclaimed she, interrupting her train of thought, " I had 
 entirely forgotten that his valet is waiting to deliver a message. " 
 
 Immediately on entering her parlor, she rang the bell, and 
 ordered her chambermaid to show the valet, Kietz, who was 
 waiting in the queen's antechamber, up to her apartments at 
 once. She then walked slowly to and fro; she sighed pro- 
 foundly, and her lips whispered in low tones, " I do not love 
 him ! No, I do not love him ; and yet I will no longer be 
 able to resist him, for they are all against me; even my own 
 relatives are ready to sacrifice me. That they may become 
 great, I am to be trodden in the dust; and that they may 
 live in honor, I am to live in shame! But I will not!" she 
 cried, in a loud voice; and she stood proudly erect, and held 
 up her beautiful head. " No, I will not live in shame ; every 
 respectable woman shall not have the right to point the finger 
 of scorn at me, and place me in the same category with the 
 brazen-faced wife of the abominable Eietz ! They shall not 
 have the right to call Julie von Voss the king's mistress! 
 No, they shall not, and — " 
 
 " The king's privy chamberlain," announced the maid, and 
 behind her Eietz walked into the parlor. 
 
FIGARO. 147 
 
 " Poor Figaro has been compelled to wait a loBg time, my 
 lady," said he, with a mocking smile. "You have treated 
 Figaro's master, who longs for an answer, very cruelly." 
 
 " I did not ask your opinion of my conduct," said the maid 
 of honor, haughtily. " You are the king's messenger; speak, 
 therefore, and execute his majesty's commands." 
 
 " Ah, this is not a question of commands, but of entreaties 
 only — the king's entreaties. His majesty begs that he may 
 be permitted to see you after he has paid his visit of con- 
 dolence to the widowed queen." 
 
 " Etiquette requires that I shall be present when her maj- 
 esty, the widowed queen, receives his visit. And if his majesty 
 desires to speak with me, I beg that he will graciously avail 
 himself of that opportunity." 
 
 "Ah, but that will not answer," said Eietz, with a smile. 
 " When his majesty expresses a desire to visit my lady here in 
 her own apartments, he probably has something to say, not 
 intended for the ears of other ladies. Perhaps his majesty 
 wishes to speak with my lady about the widowed queen and 
 her condition, and to ask your advice as to the proper ar- 
 rangement of her household, j. believe the king intends to 
 place it on a far better footing, for he spoke a few days since 
 with real indignation of the paltry salary received by Queen 
 Elizabeth Christine's maids of honor — hardly sufficient to 
 give them a decent support. The king will consider himself 
 in duty bound to raise the salaries of these ladies; and you 
 would certainly confer a great pleasure on his majesty by 
 making known to him the amount you desire, and command 
 for yourself. And you must not hesitate to mention a very 
 considerable sum, for his majesty is generous, and will be 
 happy to fulfil your wishes It would, perhaps, be well for 
 my lady to give me some hints in advance, in order that I may 
 prepare his majesty. I shall be inexpressibly happy if my lady 
 will permit me to be her most devoted servant, and it might 
 also be of great advantage to her, for all Berlin and Potsdam 
 — yes, all Prussia, knows that I am the king's factotum." 
 
148 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 " Did his majesty commission you to utter all these im- 
 pertinences?" asked Julie, coldly. 
 
 "How so, — impertinences?" asked Eietz, bewildered by the 
 proud and inconsiderate manner of the lady, who regarded 
 him, the almighty factotum, so contemptuously. " I have 
 not, I certainly did not — " 
 
 " Silence ! I listened to you out of respect for the king. 
 And now, out of respect for myself, I command you to leave 
 the room immediately. I will ask his majesty if he authorized 
 his valet to tell me any thing else than that the king intended 
 to honor me with a visit. Go!" 
 
 She proudly turned her back on the chamberlain, and 
 walked through the room. She felt that she was suddenly 
 held back. It was Eietz, who had caught hold of her dress, 
 and he now sank on his knees, and looked up to her im- 
 ploringly. 
 
 "Forgiveness, my lady, forgiveness! I have surely ex- 
 pressed myself badly, for otherwise my lady could not desire 
 to leave the most devoted of her servants in anger. I only 
 intended to say, that — " 
 
 "That you are the wedded husband of Wilhelmine Enke," 
 cried the young lady with a mocking peal of laughter ; and 
 she withdrew her garment as violently as if a venomous ser- 
 pent had touched it. She then left the room, still laughing, 
 and without even once looking at the kneeling chamberlain. 
 
 Eietz arose from his knees ; and his countenance, before all 
 smiles, now assumed a dark and malignant expression. He 
 shook his fist threateningly toward the door through which 
 she had left the room, and his lips muttered imprecations. 
 And now he smiled grimly. "Yes," said he, "I am Wilhel- 
 mine Bnke's husband, and that will be your ruin at some 
 future day ! Threaten and mock me as you please ; you are, 
 nevertheless, nothing better than the bird that flies into the 
 net to eat the alluring red berries placed there to entice it to 
 inevitable destruction. The net is set, the red berries are 
 scattered around ; and you will not resist the temptation, my 
 
FIGARO. 149 
 
 charming bird ; you -will be caught, and will perish !" And, 
 laughing maliciously, he turned and left the room. 
 
 The maid of honor, Julie von Voss, had not heard his 
 malignant words, and yet her heart was filled with anxiety 
 and tormenting disquiet ; and when the door opened, and her 
 brother, the royal chamberlain, Charles von Voss, entered, 
 she cried out in terror, and sank into a chair, covering her 
 face with her hands. 
 
 "But, Julie," said her brother, angrily, "what does this 
 childishness mean — what is the matter? Why does my pres- 
 ence terrify you?" 
 
 "I do not know," said she, "but when you appeared in the 
 doorway, just now, it seemed to me that I saw the tempter 
 coming to allure me to sin and shame!" 
 
 "Very flattering, indeed," observed her brother, "but there 
 may be something in it. Only you forget to add that the 
 tempter intends to offer you a world. What did Satan say to 
 Christ when he had led Him up a mountain and showed Him 
 the world at His feet? 'This will I give Thee if thou wilt 
 fall down and worship me. ' Julie, I also come to ofEer you a 
 part of the world ; to lay a kingdom, a crown, and a king at 
 your feet." 
 
 "Have you seen the king? Has he spoken with you?" 
 asked Julie, breathlessly. 
 
 " He sends me in advance, as postilion d''amour, and will 
 soon be here himself." 
 
 " I will not see him," cried the maid of honor, stretching 
 out both hands as if to ward ofE his approach. " No, never ! 
 He shall not visit me; I will lock my door, and not open it 
 until he has gone, until he ceases to pursue and torment me!" 
 
 "My dear," said he, quietly, "I have come to speak with 
 you seriously. You must now come to some decision; or 
 rather, you must decide to do that which your family, which 
 reason, policy, ambition, and pride counsel. You have 
 bound the king in your toils with admirable ingenuity, and I 
 congratulate you. No lion-tamer can tame the king of the 
 
150 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 desert more skilfully, and with greater success, than you have 
 tamed your royal lion, who follows your footsteps like a lamb. 
 This taming has been going on for three years, and your 
 cruelty has only had the efiect of making him more tender 
 and affectionate. But there are limits to every thing, my 
 discreet sister; and if the rope is drawn too tightly, it breaks." 
 
 "If it would only do so!" cried Julie, despairingly. 
 " That is exactly my desire, my object. Oh, my brother, you 
 and all my cruel relatives deceive yourselves about me; and 
 what you consider the finesse of coquetry, is only the true and 
 open expression of my feelings ! For three years the king has 
 pursued me with his love, and for three years I have met his 
 advances with coldness and indifference. In every manner, 
 by word, look, and gesture, have I given him to understand 
 that his love was annoying, and his attentions offensive. Oh, 
 that I could fly from this unendurable, fearful love, to the 
 uttermost ends of the world! But I cannot go, for I am 
 poor, and have not the means to live elsewhere, and free my- 
 self from the terrible fetters in which you are all endeavoring 
 to bind me!" 
 
 " And besides, my dear sister, acknowledge that your own 
 heart persuades you to remain. You love the king?" 
 
 "No,'' she cried, passionately, "no, I do not love him, 
 although I must admit that I have seen no man I liked better. 
 But I do not love him; my heart beats no quicker when he 
 approaches, my soul does not long for him when he is at a 
 distance; and at times, when the king is at my side, a terri- 
 ble feeling of anxiety creeps over me, and I wish to flee, and 
 cry out to the whole world — 'Eescue me, rescue me from the 
 king!' ISTo, I do not love the king; and if I meet his ad- 
 vances coldly, it is not from policy, but because my heart 
 prompts me to do so. Therefore, renounce all thought of 
 winning me over to your plans. I will not become the as- 
 sociate of Wilhelmine Enke!" 
 
 "And truly you shall not," said her brother, earnestly. 
 " On the contrary, my beautiful and discreet sister, you shall 
 
FIGARO. 151 
 
 displace this unworthy person ; you shall become the benefac- 
 tress of Prussia, and, through you, virtue and morality shall 
 once more stand in good repute at the court of our young 
 and amiable king." 
 
 The eyes of the beautiful maid of honor sparkled, and a 
 soft color sufFused itself over her cheeks. " If that were pos- 
 sible," she cried, in joyous tones — "yes, if I could succeed in 
 delivering the king from this unworthy bondage, if I could 
 make this hateful person harmless, this indeed were an object 
 for which much could be endured." 
 
 "You hate her, then, this Wilhelmine Eietz?" 
 
 "And who should not hate her?" asked Julie, passion- 
 ately. "She is the disgrace of her sex; she heaps dishonor 
 on the head of our noble and genial king ; she has caused his 
 wife so many tears, and — " 
 
 " And you, too, is it not so?" asked her brother, smiling. 
 "My beautiful Julie, you have betrayed yourself, you are 
 jealous. But one is jealous only when one loves. Do not 
 longer deny it — you love the king." 
 
 "No, no, I do not, I will not love him," she cried, "for 
 shame would kill me. Oh, my brother, I conjure you, do 
 not demand of me that I deliver myself over to shame! Take 
 pity on me, do not force me to abandon my quiet and peace- 
 ful life. I will be contented to remain here in this solitude 
 at the side of the unhappy queen, to pass my days in ennui 
 and loneliness. I am not ambitious, and do not crave splen- 
 dor; permit me therefore to live in seclusion." 
 
 "No, my dear sister, we cannot permit you to do so," said 
 the chamberlain, shrugging his shoulders. " If it concerned 
 you alone, you could dispose of yourself as you thought fit. 
 But behind you stands your family— your family, which has 
 been brought down in the world by all sorts of misfortunes, 
 and is far from occupying the position to which it is entitled, 
 and to which I, above all things, wish to see it restored, for 
 I acknowledge that I am ambitious, my dear sister, and I de- 
 sire to achieve eminence. I am now on the highway to sue- 
 
152 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 cess, and I do not intend that you shall arrest, but rather 
 that you shall promote, my progress. If you reject the king's 
 addresses, of course the whole family will fall into disfavor, 
 and that would not be agreeable, either to myself or to my 
 dear uncle, the master of ceremonies of the widowed queen. 
 He wishes to become the king's master of ceremonies, and I 
 wish to become a cabinet minister. Apart from this, the 
 family coffers are sadly in need of replenishment. Our an- 
 cestral castle is in a crumbling condition, the forests have 
 been cut down, the land is badly cultivated, and the farm- 
 houses and stables must be rebuilt, for they are only miserable 
 ruins, in which the half-starved cattle find no protection 
 from the weather ; and it is your mission to restore the old 
 family Von Voss to its former splendor." 
 
 "By my dishonor, by my criminality!" sighed Julia von 
 Voss. " Oh, my mother, my dear mother, why did you leave 
 me, and fly to heaven from all this degradation ! If you were 
 here, you would protect me, and not suffer me to be so cruelly 
 tempted." 
 
 " You remind me of our dear mother at the right time, 
 Julie. Do you remember what she told you on her deathbed?" 
 
 "Yes, my brother, I do," she replied, in a low voice. 
 "She said: 'You will not be an orphan, for you have your 
 brother to take care of and protect you. I transfer all my 
 rights to him; for the future, he will be the head of the fam- 
 ily, and you must love, honor, and obey him as such.' " 
 
 " 'I transfer all my rights to him; for the future, he will 
 be the head of the family, and you must love, honor, and 
 obey him as such,' " repeated her brother, in an elevated 
 voice. " Do not forget this, my sister. I, as the head of the 
 family, demand of you that you become the benefactress of 
 your family, of your queen, and of your whole country. A 
 grand and holy task devolves upon you. You are to liberate 
 the land, the queen, and the king himself, from the domina- 
 tion of sin and indecorum. In a word, you are to displace 
 this Eietz and her abominable husband, and inaugurate the 
 
FIGARO. 153 
 
 reign of virtue and morality in this court. Truly, this is a 
 noble mission, and one well worthy of my beautiful sister." 
 
 " It will not succeed," said the maid of honor. " The king 
 will never consent to banish this hateful Eietz." 
 
 " The greater would be the honor, if you succeeded in 
 liberating the king from this scandalous woman, the queen 
 from this serpent, and the country from these vampires. 
 Ah, the whole royal family, yes, all Prussia, would bless you, 
 if you could overthrow this Eietz and her self-styled husband !" 
 
 "Yes," said Julie, in a low voice, "it would be a sublime 
 consummation; but I should have to purchase it with my own 
 degradation. And that I will not — cannot do. Brother, 
 my dear brother, be merciful, and do not demand of me what 
 is impossible and horrible. The daughter of my mother can 
 never become a king's mistress!" 
 
 "And who said that you should? Truly, I would be the 
 last to require that of you. No, not the mistress, but the 
 wife of the king. You shall become his wedded wife; and 
 your rightful marriage shall be blessed by a minister of the 
 Eeformed Church!" 
 
 "But that is impossible!" exclaimed the maid of honor, 
 whose eyes sparkled with joy, against her will, " that cannot 
 be. The queen lives, and she is the king's wedded wife." 
 
 "Yes, the wedded wife of the right hand," said her 
 brother, quietly; "but the king, like every other mortal, has 
 two hands; and he has a privilege which other mortals have 
 not— the privilege of wedding a wife on the left hand." 
 
 " Impossible, quite impossible, as long as the wife of the 
 right hand lives!" exclaimed Julie. 
 
 " Of that, the consistory of church matters is alone com- 
 petent to decide," replied her brother, with composure; "or 
 rather, I expressed myself badly, the consistory has only a 
 deliberative voice; and the decision rests with the king alone, 
 who, in our country, represents the church, and is its head — 
 the evangelical pope. It is his province to say whether such 
 a marriage of the left hand is possible, notwithstanding a 
 
154 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 marriage of the right hand. Demand it of him ; make it a 
 condition. Eemember the words which the beautiful Gabri- 
 elle said to Henry the Fourth, when he inspected her dwell- 
 ing, and asked the lady he adored, 'Which is the way to your 
 chamber?' 'Sire,' she replipd, 'the way to my chamber goes 
 through the church. ' Eemember this when you speak to the 
 king." 
 
 " Be assured, I will remember it," cried Julie, with glowing 
 cheeks, and a proud, joyous smile. " I will make my con- 
 ditions ; and only when the king fulfils them will I be his, 
 and—" 
 
 " And, why do you pause, and why is your face crimsoned 
 with blushes all at once? Ah! you hear an equipage rolling 
 up the avenue, and your tender heart says the king, your 
 future husband, is approaching. Yes, my beautiful sister," 
 continued her brother, as he stepped to the window and looked 
 out ; " yes, it is the king. Now prepare yourself, my wise and 
 discreet Julie ; prepare to give your royal lover a worthy re- 
 ception. For, of course, you will receive him? And I may 
 tell — I may tell his majesty that you welcome his visit joy- 
 fully?" 
 
 " No, oh no," murmured the maid of honor, with trembling 
 lips. " I am not prepared ; I am not composed ; I cannot 
 receive the king now!" 
 
 "No childishness," said her brother, severely. "You will 
 have sufficient time to compose yourself. The king must first 
 pay his respects to the widowed queen, and the visit of con- 
 dolence will last at least a quarter of an hour. I must now 
 leave you ; but remember that the fortunes of your family, 
 and of the whole country, are in your hands, and act ac- 
 cordingly !" 
 
 He left the room hastily, without awaiting a reply, and 
 went down to the grand audience-chamber, where the court- 
 iers and cavaliers were assembled. The king had already re- 
 tired with the widowed queen to her library. 
 
 On entering the chamber, he immediately walked up to his 
 
FIGARO. 155 
 
 intimate acquaintance, Bischofswerder, the newly-created 
 colonel, who had accompanied the king to Schonhausen. 
 
 " It will succeed," said he, in a low voice, "our great ends 
 will be attained; we will conquer our enemies, and secure 
 dominion for ourselves and the invisible fathers. My sister 
 loves the king, but she has been virtuously reared, and would 
 rather renounce the king and her love, than sacrifice her 
 moral principles." 
 
 " She is, therefore, the more worthy of the high mission to 
 which she has been called by the will of the Invisible," said 
 Bischofswerder, emphatically. " She shall rescue our loved 
 master and king from the arms of sin, and lead him back to 
 the path of virtue with the hand of love, sanctified and con- 
 secrated by these noble ends." 
 
 " But she demands another consecration. The consecration 
 of a lawful marriage. If this can be procured, my sister 
 will always be our obedient and devoted friend, and, through 
 her instrumentality, we — that is, the Invisible — will establish 
 our rule." 
 
 "Her desire is certainly a bold one," said Bischofswerder. 
 " But we must endeavor to fulfil it. We will speak with our 
 wise friend Wollner on this subject; and will also lay the 
 noble young lady's request at the feet of the sublime grand- 
 kophta, and master of the invisible lodge." 
 
 " Is he here, the great grand-kophta?" asked Charles von 
 Voss, eagerly. " Then what the circle-director announced 
 yesterday in the assembly was really true, and the grand- 
 kophta is in our midst." 
 
 " He was with us in that assembly, we were all enveloped in 
 the atmosphere of his glory, but it is only given to the 
 initiated of the first rank, to know when the Invisible is near. 
 Oh, my friend, I pitied you yesterday, while in the assembly; 
 lamented that you should still stand in the antechamber of 
 the temple, and not yet have been permitted to enter the 
 inner sanctuary." 
 
 " But what must I do before I am permitted to enter?" 
 11 
 
156 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 asked Charles von Voss, in imploring tones. " Oh, tell me, 
 my dear, my enviable, my illustrious friend, what must I do 
 to advance myself and become a participant of the inestima- 
 ble privilege of being permitted to enter the inner sanctuary, 
 and belong to the band of the initiated?" 
 
 " You must belong to the band of the believing, the hope- 
 ful, and the obedient. You must prove to the Invisible, by 
 unconditional submission, that you are an obedient instru- 
 ment; and then you will be called!" 
 
 " And by what token will I know that such is the ease?" 
 
 " You will receive a visible sign of the satisfaction of the 
 Invisible. When you and we succeed, with his assistance, in 
 establishing the dominion of the Invisible so firmly that he 
 will rule Prussia; when Eietz and her whole faction of the 
 unbelieving are made harmless and destroyed; when, through 
 your sister's instrumentality, virtue and propriety once more 
 regulate and sanctify the king's private life — then, my friend, 
 the Invisible will give you a visible token of his satisfaction, 
 and will make the Chamberlain von 'Voss, the Minister of 
 State von Voss. " 
 
 "Oh, my dear, my mighty friend!" cried the chamberlain 
 joyfully ; " I will do all that the superiors desire. I will have 
 no will of my own. I will be an instrument in their hands in 
 order that I may finally — " 
 
 "The king!" cried the chamberlain of the day, as he 
 threw open the folding doors of the antechamber. " The 
 king!" 
 
 And amid the profound silence of his courtiers, who bowed 
 their proud heads respectfully. King Frederick William en- 
 tered the audience chamber, on his return from the visit of 
 condolence paid to the mourning widow of Frederick. He 
 cast a quick glance around the chamber, and, observing the 
 Chamberlain von Voss, beckoned him to approach. 
 
 In obedience to the king's command, the chamberlain 
 walked forward. " Well," said the king in a low voice, 
 " what does your sister say?" 
 
THE ALLIANCE. 157 
 
 " Your majesty, she said but little to me, but she will have 
 a great deal to say to your majesty." 
 
 " She is then ready to receive me?" said the king, his coun- 
 tenance radiant with joy. 
 
 " Your majesty, my sister is awaiting you, and I will con- 
 duct you to her, if your majesty will graciously follow." 
 
 "Come,;' replied the king, and, without honoring his 
 courtiers with a glance, the king followed the Chamberlain 
 von Voss out of the audience-chamber. 
 
 CHAPTEK VI. 
 
 THE ALLIANCE. 
 
 "WiLHELMiNE EiETZ had passcd the whole day in a state of 
 great excitement. King Frederick was dead ! Public rumor 
 had communicated this intelligence; it had flown on the 
 wings of the wind from Sans-Soud to Potsdam, from Pots- 
 dam to Charlottenburg and Berlin, and thence to all the 
 towns and villages of the Prussian monarchy. 
 
 King Frederick the Great was dead! This report was 
 uttered in wailing accents all over the country ; and filled the 
 eyes of millions of faithful subjects and admirers of Frederick 
 with tears. This report also conveyed the tidings to the be- 
 loved of the prince royal, that she was now the beloved of a 
 king. 
 
 But Wilhelmine would have much preferred to hear it from 
 himself; to receive a visible proof that her image still filled 
 the king's heart, and that the clouds of incense rising around 
 the new monarchy had not dimmed the recollections of the 
 past. 
 
 Long hours of anxious expectation passed, and when the 
 clock struck the hour of noon and no messenger had arrived, 
 she was seized with unutterable fear. At last at about two 
 o'clock, her son Alexander arrived at Charlottenburg, with 
 his tutor Mr. Von Chapuis, "at the king's command," as the. 
 
158 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 tutor announced. Nor could he give her any further infor- 
 mation, for he had not seen the king himself but had received 
 this command from the mouth of the valet, Eietz. 
 
 " That is a bad sign, a very bad sign !" murmured Wilhel- 
 mine to herself when she vi'as again alone. " He sends my 
 son to a distance, in order to give no ofEence to his new court 
 , at Potsdam. He does not love me ; if he did, he "n^ould have 
 the courage to defy the prejudices of the world. Ah! he 
 loves me no longer, and henceforth I will be nothing more than 
 the despised, discarded mistress, to be greeted with derisive 
 laughter by every passer-by, and to have cause for congrat- 
 ulation if she can hide her shame in some obscure corner of 
 the earth, where she might escape the scornful looks and 
 stinging words of mankind. But this shall never be; no, I 
 will not be discarded — will not be trodden in the dust. And 
 now, Wilhelmine," she continued, with sparkling eyes and 
 glowing cheeks, "now prove that you are no weak, no or- 
 dinary creature; prove that you possess wisdom, courage and 
 energy. Fight for your existence, for your future, for your 
 love! For I do love him, and I cannot live without him. 
 And I will not live without him!" she cried loudly and em- 
 phatically. " He is the father of my children ; he is my hope 
 and my future. Without him I am a despised creature ; with 
 him I am a lady of distinction, who is flattered and courted 
 in the most devoted manner ; and only abused and ridiculed 
 behind her back. But continue to abuse and ridicule me, my 
 triumph will be all the greater, when you must nevertheless 
 bend the knee and do homage to the hated person. I have 
 borne and endured a great deal for the poor prince-royal 
 Frederick William, and now I demand compensation and re- 
 ward at the hands of the rich King Frederick William. No, 
 I will not be put aside ! As long as I live, I will fight for my 
 existence, and fight with the weapons of strategy and force, 
 of intrigue and flattery. Ah, I rejoice in the prospect. Yes, 
 I really rejoice in it ! At all events, it will lend an additional 
 charm to life, and be a change and a diversion!" 
 
THE ALLIANCE. 159 
 
 "The privy-chamberlain and treasurer of the king!" an- 
 nounced the servant, entering the room. 
 
 ""Who is that?" asked Wilhelmine in astonishment. "I 
 know no such gentleman." 
 
 " I am the gentleman, my dear wife, my adored Wilhel- 
 mine," said Eietz, laughing loudly, as he followed the servant 
 into the room. " In me, my dear wife, you see the privy- 
 chamberlain and treasurer, fresh as a newly-baked loaf from 
 the oven of royal favor." 
 
 "Leave the room, Jean," said Wilhelmine, who, impelled 
 perhaps by curiosity, gave himself the appearance of being 
 busily occupied in arranging the room. 
 
 "No, my dear wife," said Eietz, beckoning to the servant, 
 " have the goodness to permit Jean to remain a moment until 
 I have given him my orders. — Jean, I am hungry, and feel 
 an irresistible inclination to eat. Bring me something enjoy- 
 able, right away — for instance, a goose-liver pie, or a pheas- 
 ant, or both. You can also bring some caviar and a piece of 
 venison. And then have a bottle of champagne brought up 
 and placed on ice ; it is abominably warm to-day, and I need 
 something cooling. Be quick, Jean." 
 
 The servant made no reply, but looked inquiringly at his 
 mistress. Eietz caught this look, and laughed loudly. " I 
 really believe this simpleton entertains the daring idea of not 
 obeying me, his master!" 
 
 "Excuse me, sir," murmured the servant, timidly, "but 
 my services were engaged by this lady." 
 
 " Yes, certainly ; but you well know, you rascal, that I am 
 the master, and that this lady is my wife, and — " 
 
 "Enough," interrupted Wilhelmine, gravely. "Set the 
 table in the dining-room, Jean, and be quick!" 
 
 " Well spoken, Wilhelmine; let me kiss you for it, my treas- 
 ure !" cried Eietz, walking with extended arms toward his wife, 
 while the servant was opening the door. But the door had 
 scarcely closed when he let his arms fall, and recoiled timidly 
 from Wilhelmine, who stood before him with flashing eyes. 
 
160 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 "Sir," said she, her voice trembling with anger; "sir, I 
 forbid you to take such liberties, and use such familiar lan- 
 guage in the presence of my servant." 
 
 "But, madame," replied Eietz, smiling, "it is only in the 
 presence of your servant that I can use such language ; and it 
 seems to me that it suits my r61e very well. I have the honor 
 to figure before the world as your husband, consequently I 
 should play my r61e respectably before men, and prove that 
 we are a happy and contented pair. The wickedness and 
 malice of mankind are great ; and if men should observe that 
 I spoke to you with less tenderness, your enemies would cer- 
 tainly spread the report, that we were living together un- 
 happily." 
 
 " I must inform you, sir, that I have no desire whatever to 
 jest," cried Wilhelmine, impatiently. " Have the goodness to 
 be serious. Now, that we are alone, I beg that you will not 
 attempt to keep up the absurd farce of our so-called marriage. " 
 
 " And bad enough it is for me that it is only a farce," 
 sighed Eietz, impressively. " I would — " 
 
 The angry look which Wilhelmine bestowed upon him, re- 
 pressed his words, and he quickly assumed a melancholy, sub- 
 missive manner. " I am silent, madame, I am silent," said 
 he, bowing profoundly, and with an air of deep pathos. " I 
 am your most submissive servant, nothing else; and, having 
 now paid my homage to the sun, I will retire, as its splendor 
 has dazzled my eyes." 
 
 He crossed his arms before his breast, bowed to the earth 
 before his mistress, as the slaves do in the east, and then arose 
 and walked rapidly toward the door. 
 
 "Where are you going, sir?" asked Wilhelmine. "Why 
 do you not remain here?" 
 
 " I cannot, mistress," said he, humbly. " The Moor has 
 done his duty ! The Moor can go ! So it reads at least in 
 Frederick Schiller's new piece, the one given at the theatre a 
 short time ago." 
 
 " But you have not yet done your duty," said Wilhelmine, 
 
THE ALLIANCE. 161 
 
 smiling involuntarily. "You have not yet delivered your 
 message." 
 
 " What message?" asked Eietz, with a pretence of astonish- 
 ment. » 
 
 " His majesty's message. For he it was, undoubtedly, who 
 sent you here." 
 
 "You are right," said Eietz, with an air of indifference. 
 " Yes, that is true. I had forgotten it. Good heavens ! I 
 have received so many commissions to-day, and been sent to 
 so many ladies, that I forget the one in the other. I am now 
 playing a very important role. I am the Figaro of my mas- 
 ter Almaviva — the Figaro who has to help his master in 
 carrying ofE his beautiful cousin. You know the piece, of 
 course, the delightfully good-for-nothing piece, that created 
 such a furor in France, and consequently here with us 
 also?" 
 
 " Yes, I do, Rietz ; and I beg you not to stretch me on the 
 rack with your drollery! What did the king say? What 
 messages did he entrust to you?" 
 
 "Oh, madame! You cannot require of me that I should 
 betray Count Almaviva's confidence, and impart to you the 
 messages entrusted to me?" cried Figaro Rietz, with noble 
 indignation. " I have only to impart that which concerns my 
 beautiful Susanna; and that is, his majesty is coming here 
 this evening, and his rooms are to be held in readiness. He 
 will first take tea, and then adjourn to the little laboratory to 
 do some little cooking and brewing." 
 
 Wilhelmine's countenance, before bright and animated, 
 darkened as the privy-chamberlain uttered these last words. 
 
 " The king intends to work in the laboratory? Then he is 
 not coming alone?" 
 
 " He is coming alone, but I expect bis assistants and teach- 
 ers, the two great heroes of the invisible lodge, will follow at 
 a later hour, in order to make a little 'hocus pocus' for his 
 majesty— that is, I expressed myself badly— I wished to say, 
 in order to work with his majesty in the secret sciences. 
 
163 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 Yes, the two great luminaries are coining, and if I could be 
 permitted to give you my advice — but no, so wise and en- 
 lightened a lady as yourself can have no need of the advice of 
 so foolish and ridiculous a fellow as I am. I am therefore 
 silent, and will now retire, in order to strengthen my body at 
 least, as my mind is of so hopelessly weak a constitution, that 
 all endeavors in that direction would be thrown away. My 
 gracious queen, I beg that you will now kindly dismiss me!" 
 He made a ceremonious bow, and then retired towards the 
 door, walking backwards. 
 
 "Eietz, remain!" commanded Wilhelmine, imperiously. 
 
 "Impossible, my queen. My message is delivered; and the 
 Moor not only can, but will go." 
 
 "Eemain, Eietz; I beg you to do so," said "Wilhelmine, ad- 
 vancing a step nearer. 
 
 "When the stomach commands," said Eietz, shrugging his 
 shoulders, " the entreaties of the most beautiful of women are 
 of no avail." 
 
 " "Well, then go and eat," cried "Wilhelmine, impatiently. 
 " And when you have done eating, come back to my room !" 
 
 " Nor can I do that, my queen. I must then ride to Pots- 
 dam, where, by the king's command, I am to hold a secret 
 and important conference with her majesty, the queen, that 
 is, with her majesty of the right hand. I must, therefore, 
 hoist anchor and sail again as soon as I have eaten, and — " 
 
 ""Well then," said "Wilhelmine, with determination, "I will 
 accompany you to the dining-room, and we will converse 
 while you are eating." 
 
 "Bravo! bravo! That was what I desired!" cried Eietz, 
 laughing. " The servants shall see in how heavenly an under- 
 standing we live together ; and how careful my wife is not to 
 lose her husband's society for a moment. Give me your arm, 
 madam, and lead me to the dining-room." 
 
 "With a forced smile she took his arm, and permitted him 
 to conduct her through the parlor to the dining-room. Jean 
 had served up all manner of delicacies on a little table, and 
 
THE ALLIANCE. 163 
 
 was now occupied, at the sideboard, in breaking ice for the 
 champagne. 
 
 " Put a bottle of Ehine wine on the ice, too, Jean," cried 
 Rietz, imperiously, as he seated himself comfortably in the 
 chair, leaving his " wife" to find one for herself and bring it 
 up to the table, at which he had already made an assault on a 
 truffle-pie. "Magnificent!" said he, after eating a few mor- 
 sels, " I must tell you, my dearest Wilhelmine, there is noth- 
 ing better than a truffle-pie!" 
 
 Wilhelmine turned impatiently to the servant, who was 
 turning the wine in the freezer: " You can now go, Jean, the 
 gentleman will wait on himself." 
 
 "And my champagne!" exclaimed Eietz. But, with an 
 imperious gesture, Wilhelmine dismissed the servant. 
 
 "Now we are alone," said Wilhelmine. "Now you can 
 speak. You wished to give me your advice." 
 
 " Madam," rejoined Eietz, as he carried a savory morsel to 
 his mouth ; " madam, at this moment I can advise you to do 
 but one thing, and that is, to try this truffle-pie, it is truly 
 magnificent!" 
 
 "You are cruel," cried Wilhelmine, "you torture me!" 
 
 "Say rather, madam, that you are cruel," said Eietz, rising 
 from the table to go after the champagne. " It is truly cruel 
 to compel a man to arise, in the midst of the delights of the 
 table, and wait on himself! Champagne loses its flavor when 
 one has to pour it out himself!" 
 
 "I will wait on you, sir!" cried Wilhelmine, rising with 
 vivacity, and taking the bottle in her hands. 
 
 Rietz nodded complacently. "That is right. That is 
 piquant, and will season my repast. The almighty queen of 
 the left hand waits on her submissive husband of the left 
 hand. The mistress becomes the slave, the slave the master! 
 This is a charming riddle, is it not? But I tell you, madame, 
 it is not the last riddle we will propound! Oh, very many 
 riddles will now be propounded; and some people would be 
 very happy if they could find the right solution." 
 
164 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 " You wished to give me good advice concerning the two 
 favorites," said Wilhelmine, Avith a smile, that cost her proud 
 heart much humiliation. "Speak, therefore, my dear Eietz! 
 Give me your advice!" 
 
 Eietz held his glass up to the light, and gazed smilingly at 
 the rising bubbles. " That reminds me of my old friend, the 
 burgomaster of Stargard, the dear place of my nativity. The 
 good Burgomaster Funk, was a true child of Pomerania, who 
 despised High-German, and would have spoken Low-German, 
 even with the king. Speaking Lov/-German, and eating din- 
 ner was his passion. And I have often thought, when I saw 
 him sitting at the dinner-table, with so reverent and pious a 
 countenance, that the old gentleman fancied himself in 
 church, administering the sacrament as a priest. He applied 
 himself with such heavenly tranquillity to the delights of the 
 table, permitting nothing in the world to disturb him while 
 so engaged." 
 
 " But I cannot comprehend what the recollections of your 
 happy youth have to do with the advice you desired to give." 
 
 "You will soon do so, my queen," said Eietz, slowly empty- 
 ing his glass. " And yet permit me to dwell a little longer 
 on the recollections of my dear old master. For you must 
 know that this good old gentleman was my master; under 
 him I learned the arts of a valet, writer, and confidant, and 
 all the little artifices and stratagems by which a valet makes 
 himself his master^s factotum. Truly the king is greatly in- 
 debted to the burgomaster; without him he would never have 
 been the possessor of so excellent a factotum as the privy- 
 chamberlain and treasurer Eietz. At the same time, I learned 
 from my master how to become a gourmand; learned what 
 precious knowledge, and how much practical study, were nec- 
 essary to educate a man up to this sublime standard, and 
 entitle him to the proud appellation of gourmand. My old 
 master, who deservedly bore this title, inculcated in me the 
 most beautiful and strict principles. In the midst of our 
 conversation, and while the old gentleman was digesting, 
 
THE ALLIANCE. 165 
 
 slowly imbibing his delicious mocha, and blowing clouds of 
 smoke from his long pipe, it sometimes occurred that some 
 one of the burghers of the little city would come, in his 
 necessity, to his burgomaster to obtain advice or assistance. 
 Then you should have seen his anger and rage. He would 
 strike the table with his fist, and cry furiously: 'Vat, I give 
 advice! After dinner, and for noting!' " 
 
 " Ah," exclaimed AVilhelmine, " now I begin to understand !" 
 
 "That is fortunate, indeed," said Rietz, laughing; and he 
 held out his empty glass to Wilhelmine that she might fill it. 
 "Then you begin to understand that the phrase "after dinner, 
 and for nothing,' is very beautiful and appropriate?" 
 
 " Yes, and I will give you a proof of it at once ! Sir, what 
 do you ask for your good advice?" 
 
 "Bravo, bravo!" cried Eietz. "Well sung, my prima 
 donna! Kow we shall understand each other; and with your 
 permission we will proceed to talk seriously. Madame, will 
 you form an offensive and defensive alliance with me? Do 
 not reply yet! I have no desire whatever that you should buy 
 the cat in the bag; first hear what I have to say, and then 
 make up your mind. We are now at the beginning of a new 
 era ; and to most men the future is as a book written in mys- 
 terious and illegible characters. But I think I can decipher 
 it, and I will tell you what it contains. I read in this book 
 that Prussia is now governed by a king who can do anything 
 but govern himself, and who is like soft wax in the hands of 
 those who know how to manage him." 
 
 "How dare you speak so disrespectfully of your king?" 
 cried Wilhelmine. 
 
 "Madame," said Eietz, shrugging his shoulders, "give 
 yourself no trouble ! To his valet and to his mistress — pardon 
 me for this word, my queen — the greatest king is but an 
 ordinary man ; and when we two are alone, we need stand on 
 no ceremony. The king, I say, will be ruled over. And the 
 only question is, by whom? The question is, shall the valet 
 and the mistress rule over the happy and prosperous kingdom 
 
166 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 of Prussia, or shall they leave this difficult but remunerative 
 business to the Eosicrucians, to the Invisible Fathers, and to 
 their visible sons, Bischofswerder and Wollner." 
 
 "If they do that," cried Wilhelmine, with vivacity, "the 
 mistress and the valet will be lost, they will be banished." 
 
 " That is also my opinion," said Eietz. " These dear Eosi- 
 crucians dread our influence. They know that we are both 
 too wise to believe in the hocus pocus, and that it sometimes 
 afEords us pleasure to enlighten the king's mind on the sub- 
 ject of these mysterious fellows and their jugglery. I, for 
 my part, hate these pious hypocrites, these wise fools. It is 
 as impossible for me to live together with them in friendship, 
 as it is for the honest dog and sneaking cat to sojourn har- 
 moniously in one kennel. And I account it one of my great- 
 est pleasures when I can sometimes give them a good blow, 
 and tear out a piece of their sheepskin, in order to show the 
 king that a wolf is disguised in sheep's clothing." 
 
 "I feel exactly as you do on this subject," cried Wilhel- 
 mine, laughing. " I find it impossible to accept their offers 
 of friendship. They have frequently attempted to make me 
 their ally, but I wish to have nothing to do with the Invisible 
 Fathers of the inner temple; I prefer the visible sons in the 
 outer halls, for we, at least, know what they are!" 
 
 "You are a divine woman," cried the chamberlain, in de- 
 light. " If you were not my wife I should certainly fall in 
 love with you. It is fortunate, however, that you are my 
 wife, for lovers are blind, and it behooves us both to keep our 
 eyes open to avoid being caught in the snares which will be 
 laid for us in great plenty by our pious fowlers. 'They or 
 we ;' this will be the watchword throughout the glorious reign 
 of our king. The Pharisees and Eosicrucians, or — may I 
 pronounce the word, my enchantress?" 
 
 " Yes, my friend, pronounce the word !" 
 
 "Well, then! The watchword is: 'The Pharisees and 
 Eosicrucians, or the libertines and mistresses!' I cast my lot 
 with the latter party, for with them good dinners and brill- 
 
THE ALLIANCE. 167 
 
 iant fetes are the order of the day. With them pleasure 
 reigns, and joy is queen." 
 
 "I am with you, my friend. Death and destruction to the 
 Pharisees and Eosicrucians!" 
 
 "Long live the libertines and mistresses! They shall rule 
 over Prussia! They shall guide the ship of state; and we, 
 Wilhelmine Enke, we two will be the leaders and masters of 
 this merry band ! We will fight with each other and for each 
 other; and the Pharisees and Eosicrucians are, and shall ever 
 be, our common enemies! Give me your hand on this, my 
 queen!" 
 
 " Here is my hand. Yes, the Pharisees and Eosicrucians 
 are, and shall ever be, our common enemies!" 
 
 " You will aid me, and I you ! We will protect and watch 
 over each other. Our interests are identical, what furthers 
 yours furthers mine. You, my beautiful Wilhelmine, are 
 ambitious, and are not contented with my well-sounding 
 name. You aim higher, and I do not blame you, for a crown 
 would become you well, although it were only the crown of a 
 countess." 
 
 "That would suffice," said Wilhelmine, smiling. "And 
 you, my friend, what do you aspire to?" 
 
 " I am a very modest man, and decorations and titles have 
 no charms for me. I do not wish ever to become more than 
 I now am ; but that, my queen, I would like to remain. I 
 have no desire to be dispossessed of my situation; on the con- 
 trary, I desire to make of it a right warm and comfortable 
 nest." 
 
 "And I will procure you the necessary down," cried 
 Wilhelmine, laughing. 
 
 " Very well, but it must be eider-down, my love, for that is 
 the softest. I love the exquisite and the excellent ; lama 
 gourmand in all things. If there is one thing I could wish 
 for, it would be that my whole life might consist of one long 
 dinner, and I remain sitting at the savory, richly-laden table, 
 until compelled to leave it for the grave. I am not am- 
 
168 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 bitious, nor am I miserly; but money I must have, much 
 money. In order to lead a comfortable and agreeable life one 
 must have money, a great deal of money, an immense quan- 
 tity of money. My motto is, therefore, 'My whole life one 
 good dinner, and — after dinner, no advice for nothing!' " 
 
 " I consider this a wise motto, and, although I cannot make 
 it my own, I will always respect it as yours, and act in accord- 
 ance with it in your interest." 
 
 " That will be very agreeable," said Eietz. " I will then be 
 able to realize my ideal." 
 
 "And in what does your ideal consist, if I may ask the 
 question?" 
 
 " My ideal is a house of my own, elegantly and /luxuriously 
 furnished, attentive and deferential servants,, an exquisite 
 cook, and the most choice dinners, with four coVers always 
 ready for agreeable, gay, and influential guests, yipo must be 
 selected each day. Do you know, my queen, what is essential 
 to the realization of my ideal? In the first place, the king 
 must give me a house just large enough to make me a com- 
 fortable dwelling. I know of such a house. It stands at the 
 entrance of the park of Sans-Souci. It has only five cham- 
 bers, a parlor, a cellar, a kitchen, and several servants' rooms. 
 That is just the house for a modest man like myself; and I 
 wish to have it. And then rich clients are required, petition- 
 ers for decorations and titles, who come to me for counsel, 
 supposing the king's confidential chamberlain can gratify 
 their longings, if they only cajole him and show him some 
 attentions. For instance, if this nice new house were mine, 
 I would furnish one room only, and that sparingly, letting all 
 the others stand empty. I would then show my visitors my 
 dear little house, and it would be strange, indeed, if it were 
 not soon handsomely furnished. To accomplish this, nothing 
 is wanted but your assistance, my gracious wife and queen." 
 
 " And in what manner shall I assist you, my dear philos- 
 opher?" 
 
 " In this manner, my adored : by sending the suitors who 
 
THE ALLIANCE. 169 
 
 come to yon, to me — that is, those suitors who desire deco- 
 rations, titles, or a noble coat-of-arms ; for with politics I will 
 have nothing to do. I only speculate on the foolishness of 
 mankind. Therefore, let it be well understood, you are to 
 send the foolish to me with their petitions — to tell them that 
 decorations and titles are my specialty, and that I alone can 
 eifect anything with the king in such matters. In doing this,, 
 you not only send me clients who furnish my house, but you 
 also enhance my respectability. You make an important per- 
 son of me, to whom great deference must be shown, and who 
 must be courted and flattered. The natural consequence will 
 be, that I will have humble and devoted servants, and be able 
 to secure agreeable and influential guests for my dinners. For 
 I need scarcely inform you, that it would afford me no enter- 
 tainment whatever simply to fill empty stomachs at my table. 
 On the contrary, I desire to have guests to whom eating is a 
 science, and who do not regard a good pasty merely as an 
 article of food, but rather as a superior enjoyment. Will 
 you help me to attain all this?" 
 
 " Yes, I will, my friend. But now tell me what services 
 you propose to render in return !" 
 
 "I will be your obedient servant, your sincere and discreet 
 friend, and your ally in life and death. When diplomatists 
 and politicians apply to me for my good offices, I will refer 
 them to you. I will always have your interests at heart. If 
 Bischofswerder and Wollner should ever succeed in poisoning 
 the king's mind against you, or in depriving you of his favor, 
 I will lend a helping hand in thrusting these pious lights into 
 the shade, where they belong. You can depend on me in all 
 things. I will represent your interests, as if they were my 
 own, and as if I had the honor to be in reality what I, unfor- 
 tunately, only appear to be, the husband of the beautiful and 
 amiable Wilhelmine Eietz. But truly, the name sounds bad, 
 and I will assist you in exchanging it for a longer and more 
 harmonious one. The name Eietz is just long and good 
 enough for me. It fits me snugly, like a comfortable, well- 
 
170 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 worn dressing-gown; and I prefer it to a court-dress. But 
 for you, my fair one, we must certainly procure the title of a 
 baroness or countess. Moreover, as your disinterestedness and 
 improvidence in money matters is well known to me, I will 
 also consider it my sacred duty to look after your interests in 
 this particular, and call the king's attention to your neces- 
 sities from time to time. For instance, you might require a 
 handsome palace in Berlin, or a larger villa here in Char- 
 lottenburg, or a magnificent set of jewelry, or an increase of 
 income." 
 
 "Ah, my friend, I will be very thankful for all this," said 
 Wilhelmine, with a bewitching smile. " But what is of para- 
 mount importance is, that the king should continue to love 
 me, or at least that he should never reject my love or discard 
 me. I love him. He is the father of my children ; he was 
 the lover of my youth ; and I can swear that I have never 
 loved another besides him. Even my worst enemies cannot 
 say of me that I was ever untrue to the love of my youth, or 
 that I ever had any liaison, except the one with the poor 
 prince royal, for whom I suffered want, rather than listen to 
 the addresses of rich and influential admirers." 
 
 " That is true," said Eietz, with an air of perfect gravity; 
 " they can make you no reproaches. Your life has been 
 altogether irreproachable; and the chronique scandaleuse has 
 had nothing to report concerning you." 
 
 " You are mocking me," sighed Wilhelmine. " Your words 
 are well understood. You wish to say that my whole life has 
 been one impropriety, and that I am the legitimate prey of 
 the chronique scandaleuse. Oh, do not deny it, you are 
 perfectly right. I am an outcast from society; and yet it 
 cannot be said of me, that I, like so many highly-respectable 
 ladies, have sold my heart and hand for an advantageous 
 marriage settlement. I only followed the dictates of my heart 
 and my love ; and the world punishes me by erecting a barrier 
 between me and good society. But I have no intention 
 of submitting to this any longer. Why should the 
 
THE ALLIANCE. 171 
 
 king's beloved stand without the barrier, while many 
 a countess, who has sold herself, and married an unloved 
 man for his title and his wealth, and to whom faith is but an 
 empty fancy, stands within on consecrated ground. This 
 barrier shall crumble before me, and I will be received within 
 the circle of this so-called good and exclusive society. To 
 their hatred and contempt, I am quite indifferent, but they 
 shall at least seem to esteem and respect me. They shall not 
 leave me in perfect solitude in the midst of the world, as if I 
 lived on a desert island, like Robinson Crusoe, and had great 
 reason to be thankful when the king sometimes took the r61e 
 of Friday and kept me company. I will be received in so- 
 ciety; I will be the head of society; I will have parlors, 
 where not only artists and men of intellect assemble, but to 
 which the ladies of the best society must also come. This is 
 my ambition ; this is my dream of happiness. I will have a 
 social position in defiance of all these so-called exclusive cir- 
 cles. Whenever I meet these people, and see them turn aside 
 to avoid me with a contemptuous smile, I say to myself: 
 'Only wait, ye proud, ye virtuous! you shall yet fill Wilhel- 
 mine Eietz's parlors, and form the background of the brill- 
 iant picture of her power and magnificence. Only wait, ye 
 noble gentlemen, you shall yet dance attendance in Wilhel- 
 mine Eietz's antechamber ! Only wait, ye heroines of virtue, 
 you shall one day walk arm in arm with Wilhelmine Eietz, 
 and accord her the place of honor on your right hand !' You 
 see I have consoled myself with these thoughts of the future 
 for many years. But the future has now become the present, 
 and the longed-for time has at last arrived when Wilhelmine 
 Eietz will compel society to unbolt its portals and permit her 
 to enter. Will you assist me in this matter?" 
 
 "I shall be delighted to do so," said Eietz, laughing. "I 
 will be the locksmith, who furnishes the keys to open these 
 doors with, and if keys will not suffice, he will provide pick- 
 locks and crowbars. But, enter you shall. It will be a diffi- 
 cult undertaking, to be sure, but it will amuse me all the 
 13 
 
172 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 more, on that account, to assist you, and help to pull down 
 the pride of these arrogant people. Ah, I hate these people, 
 and it will afford me immense satisfaction to see them com- 
 pelled to humble themselves before you, and fawn and flatter 
 in spite of their reluctance! Yes, I will help you to ascend 
 this mountain, but I do not desire to rise with you, I prefer 
 to remain below in the valley, and earn an honest livelihood, 
 as the good old proverb says." 
 
 " And will become a rich man in the valley, while I will, 
 perhaps, be struggling with debts and creditors on the heights 
 above!" 
 
 "Yes," said Eietz, "there will certainly be struggles, and 
 struggles of every variety. As for your debts, I will under- 
 take to have them all paid ; and in the future your income 
 will be so considerably increased that you will no longer be 
 under the necessity of making debts. But what I cannot 
 take upon myself, unaided, is the struggle with your beauti- 
 ful and high-born rival. That is woman's work ; there, fists 
 are of no avail, and delicate fingers can manipulate needles 
 with far greater efficiency." 
 
 " You speak of my rival, the beautiful Julie von Voss. " 
 
 " Yes, my adorable, I speak of her, and I will now prove 
 to you that I am your friend. And I will tell what I have no 
 right to tell. The privy-chamberlain breaks the inviolable 
 seal of ofBce. But what can I do? are you not my wife? 
 And in the end, the most discreet man in the world can keep 
 no secret from his wife! Now, listen!" And in a low, sup- 
 pressed voice, as if fearing the walls might hear, he told her 
 of his mission to Schonhausen, of the king's messages, and of 
 his conversation with the beautiful maid of honor. 
 
 Wilhelmine listened with pallid cheeks and quivering lips, 
 only interrupting him from time to time with a brief ques- 
 tion, or an angry or threatening cry. 
 
THE CONDITIONS. 173 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 THE CONDITIOKS. 
 
 While this was occurring in the dining-room, Jean sat in 
 the antechamber, holding himself in readiness to answer his 
 mistress's bell, if it should ring. But no bell rang, and all 
 was so still, the air so warm and sultry in the little chamber, 
 and the soft twilight had so tranquillizing an efEect, that Jean 
 could no longer resist the temptation to close his eyes, and 
 indulge in his dreams of the future. And perhaps he was 
 dreaming, when a tall figure, completely enveloped in a black 
 mantle, stood before him, laid his hand on his shoulder, and 
 pronounced his name in a low voice. Perhaps it was only a 
 dream when he saw this, and heard the veiled figure utter 
 these words in a low voice: 
 
 " You belong to the third circle of the Invisible lodge?" 
 
 And he replied — whether in a dream or in reality, he was 
 himself not perfectly satisfied — " Yes, I belong to that circle." 
 
 Furthermore, the veiled figure said : " You were sent here 
 with orders to make an exact report of all that occurs, to the 
 circle director, and to submit to his will, in all things. Do 
 you bear this in mind?" 
 
 "I am the obedient servant of the Invisible," replied Jean, 
 respectfully. " I will never forget my oath ; if I did, punish- 
 ment would overtake, and the just anger of the Invisible de- 
 stroy me." 
 
 "Did the circle-director show you the symbol of the 
 brotherhood?" 
 
 "Yes, he did." 
 
 " Behold the symbol," said the veiled figure, and for a mo- 
 ment a little triangular plate of metal shone in his open 
 
 hand. 
 
 "I see it," replied Jean, rising, "and I know by this tri- 
 angle that a brother of the higher degrees stands before me; 
 
174 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 I therefore salute you with reverence, brother superior." He 
 bowed profoundly, but the veiled figure merely nodded in 
 return. 
 
 " Do you know the sign by which the master of the order, 
 the grand kophta is recognized?" said he, in low and piercing 
 tones. 
 
 " I do," replied Jean, his voice almost inaudible, from in- 
 ward agitation. 
 
 The veiled figure thrust forth his hand from under the 
 concealing mantle, and a large solitaire sparkled on his fin- 
 ger. " See, this is the sign," said he. 
 
 Jean uttered a cry of astonishment, and sank on his knees. 
 "Command me, almighty one," he murmured, ''your slave 
 has no will but yours." 
 
 "Arise, and be my guide," commanded the veiled figure, 
 and Jean stood up immediately. 
 
 "Where shall I lead, my exalted master?" 
 
 " Conduct me to the little room adjoining the laboratory of 
 the present king, but by such a way that no human eye shall 
 see, and no human ear hear me." 
 
 "Then, I must first beg permission," said Jean, hurrying 
 tov/ards the door, " to assure myself that no one is in the hall." 
 
 But the veiled figure followed, and held him back. " Why 
 go that way?" he asked. "Why through the hall, when we 
 can go through the door in the wall into the little passage 
 that leads to the secret staircase?" 
 
 "That is true; I had forgotten that," said Jean, trem- 
 bling, and looking with surprise and terror at his superior, 
 who was so well acquainted with this strange house that he 
 knew the secret doors and staircases. 
 
 "As my master pleases; here is the door." He pressed a 
 small, almost imperceptible knob in the wall, and a little door 
 sprang open. 
 
 "Go before, and lead me," said the veiled figure, pushing 
 Jean through the entrance. " We must walk softly, and with- 
 out uttering a word ; the passage runs by the dining-room, 
 
THE CONDITIONS. 175 
 
 ■where your mistress is conversing with the king's privy- 
 cliamberlain, and we might be heard. I will, therefore, give 
 you my command here. You will lead me through the pas- 
 sage and down the staircase. With the key which you carry, 
 you will then open the door and let me into the laboratory. 
 You will then lock the door again, take the key from the lock, 
 and hurry back to the antechamber. You will observe the 
 most profound silence in regard to what has occurred ; and, if 
 life and your eternal welfare are dear to you, you will betray 
 having seen me by neither word, look, nor gesture." 
 
 "Exalted master," whispered Jean, "I am nothing more 
 than your slave and creature, and I know that my life is but 
 dust in your hands. I fear the Invisible, and I adore you in 
 your sublimity. Graciously permit me to embrace your feet, 
 that the touch may impart to me eternal health and strength." 
 
 And he knelt down and kissed the feet of the veiled figure 
 with impassioned tenderness. 
 
 The veiled figure bowed down to him and said : " Grace 
 will be shed upon you ; you are a good and obedient servant. 
 At the next assembly you will learn that you have been 
 elevated a degree, and have come a step nearer to the inner 
 halls of the temple. Be silent, no word of thanks, but arise 
 and conduct me!" 
 
 Jean arose and stepped forward, the veiled figure following 
 him, and conducted him, as he had been directed, to the 
 laboratory; he let him in, closed and locked the door again, 
 and returned hastily to the antechamber. 
 
 Had this all really happened, or had Jean only been dream- 
 ing? He asked himself this question, and looked inquiringly 
 and anxiously around in the little chamber. He was entirely 
 alone; the secret door was closed. No one was with him, all 
 was still around him, and profound silence seemed to reign in 
 the dining-room also. Jean stepped softly to the door and 
 listened. He could now hear a subdued murmur, and could 
 even distinguish the voices of his mistress and the privy- 
 chamberlain. They seemed to be conversing eagerly; but 
 
176 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 they spoke in such low tones that it was impossible for Jean 
 to understand a single word. 
 
 And they were really engaged in a very earnest conver- 
 sation; in a conversation which absorbed Wilhelmine's atten- 
 tion wholly. Eietz had not only related his interview with 
 the maid of honor, but had also given her a faithful account 
 of the king's visit to Schonhausen, and of the conversation 
 between Charles von Voss and his sister, in which he per- 
 suaded her to receive the king. 
 
 "How do you know this?" asked Wilhelmine, with a shrug 
 of her shoulders. " I imagine it could have needed no per- 
 suasion, that this young lady would have done so willingly 
 enough." 
 
 " There you are in error, my beautiful countess ; I know 
 better, because I listened to the whole conversation between 
 the maid of honor and her brother." 
 
 "How? You were present?" 
 
 " Not exactly present, but I heard it, nevertheless. The 
 doors of the dilapidated old castle in Schonhausen are full of 
 cracks and crannies, and if you get near enough you can see 
 and hear very readily." 
 
 "And you were near the door of the maid of honor's 
 chamber?" 
 
 "So near that a sheet of paper could hardly have been 
 slipped in between us." 
 
 " And there was no one there to order the bold eavesdropper 
 to leave?" 
 
 " Yes, there was a human being in the little dressing-room 
 in which I stood, but this human being made no opposition 
 whatever to my listening at the door, for the simple reason 
 that I had paid well for the privilege. The young lady's 
 chambermaid loves money, and is of a speculative disposition. 
 She wishes to open a millinery establishment, and for that 
 money is necessary ; and she takes it whenever she can get it. 
 I pay her in my gracious master's name for singing the king's 
 praise in her mistress's ear ; and I pay her in my own name 
 
THE CONDITIONS. 177 
 
 for reporting to me the result of this singing, and permitting 
 nie to listen at the door when there is anything to be heard. 
 To be sure, it cost me a considerable sum yesterday. This 
 shrewd little kitten made me pay her twice: once for the 
 conversation between the maid of honor and her brother, and 
 the second time for the conversation between the king and 
 the maid of honor." 
 
 Wilhelmine sprang up, and an exclamation of astonishment 
 escaped her lips. " You have listened to the conversation be- 
 tween the king and the maid of honor, and now tell me of it 
 for the first time. I conjure you, Eietz, my dear Eietz, my 
 best friend, tell me of it. Speak — what did the king say, and 
 what did she reply?" 
 
 " After dinner, and for nothing?" asked Eietz, as he 
 stretched himself comfortably, poured the last few drops of 
 champagne into his glass and carried it slowly to his lips. 
 
 " Speak, my dear Eietz. Say what I shall do. What will 
 you have?" 
 
 " The little love of a house at the entrance of the park of 
 Sans-Souci. It was built on speculation ; that is to say, I had 
 it built, hoping that the old king would be dead, and our 
 Frederick William seated on the throne by the time of its com- 
 pletion. My hope is now realized, and I ask you, my adorable 
 wife, will you use your influence to persuade the king to give 
 me this house as a reward for my long and faithful services?" 
 
 " I will do so ; I will storm the king with entreaties to give 
 you this house." 
 
 "Then it is as good as mine already, and I thank my noble 
 patroness. And now that I am paid in advance, I will im- 
 part to you the substance of that important conversation — 
 that is, you will certainly not require me to repeat the king's 
 protestations of love and vows of eternal fidelity." 
 
 "No, I do not require that of you," sighed Wilhelmine, 
 with trembling lips; '"that I can readily imagine. It can 
 only have been a repetition of what he told me. Out upon 
 men ! They are a perfidious and faithless race!" 
 
178 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 "Yes, they imbibe these qualities with their mother's 
 milk; and King Frederick William also is only the son of his 
 mother. Therefore, nothing of the king's protestations of 
 love, and the noble indignation and conflict between love and 
 virtue on the part of the young lady. To the king's intense 
 gratification the young lady finally admitted, with many tears 
 and sighs, that she would love him if he were not, unfor- 
 tunately, already married, and if Madame Rietz were not in 
 existence. If the king were no better than a poor nobleman, 
 the young lady would esteem it perfect bliss to become his. 
 She would joyfully undergo hardships and suffer want at his 
 side ; but she was not willing to occupy a position that would 
 expose her to scorn and contempt. She could not cause the 
 noble queen additional sorrow and pain ; and finally, it would 
 be quite impossible to tolerate a despised and hated rival like 
 Wilhelmine Eietz at her side. But — good heavens ! what is 
 the matter with you? You turn pale, and wail and moan 
 fearfully! Poor woman, if you are so sensitive, I must of 
 course be silent." 
 
 "It is nothing — nothing at all," murmured Wilhelmine. 
 " It was only a momentary pang, and it is now past. Speak 
 on, I am quite composed. Speak! What did the king reply?" 
 
 " He begged her to name the conditions on which she could 
 consent to be his ; and the beautiful and wise maid of honor 
 stated her conditions, assuring him that they were irrevo- 
 cable — her ultimatum, as the diplomatists say. And truly 
 these conditions were ridiculous. I almost burst out laughing 
 when I heard them." 
 
 "And what were they? I pray you tell me," murmured 
 Wilhelmine, clasping her hands tightly together to keep them 
 from trembling. 
 
 " There were three conditions, and the maid of honor swore 
 by the memory of her mother, who had died of grief caused 
 by her love for the king's father, Prince August William, 
 that she would neither see his majesty nor speak with him 
 until he had promised to fulfill her conditions; and, that if 
 
THE CONDITIONS. 179 
 
 he could or would not fulfil them, the young lady would leave 
 the court forevei', and retire into the deepest seclusion." 
 
 "She is cunning; oh, she is very cunning," murmured 
 Wilhelmine, clasping her hands yet more firmly together. 
 " And her three conditions?" 
 
 ■' Are as follows : firstly, the young lady exacts of the king 
 that she he married formally and rightfully to his left hand, 
 by a Protestant minister ; secondly, she demands that, above 
 all things, the consent of the queen, the wife of the right 
 hand, be first obtained ; and thirdly, and finally, she demands 
 that Wilhelmine Eietz, together with her two children, be ban- 
 ished, and that an estate be given her in Lithuania, and she 
 be compelled to remain there and never return to Berlin or 
 Potsdam." 
 
 "And the king?" cried Wilhelmine, in piercing accents. 
 
 " The king stipulated for four weeks' time in which to con- 
 sider the matter, kissed the proud lady's hand, and retired. 
 Now, my queen, you know all, and it is also time for me to 
 retire. I must ride to Potsdam at the king's command, and 
 confer with the queen as to the conditions on which she 
 would give her consent to this absurd marriage. But I can- 
 not comprehend you, my beauty! You look as mournful as 
 if you were on the point of starting for Lithuania already, 
 and as if it were another than you who sways the king's heart 
 and soul. I, for my part, place implicit confidence in your 
 power, and am satisfied that the king will never give you up 
 or desert you. Would I otherwise have courted your alli- 
 ance? Would I have based my hopes of obtaining the little 
 house at Sans-Souci on your intercession? No, my beauty; 
 you are, and will remain, queen, in spite of all the wives of 
 the right and the left hand. Only you must not be discour- 
 aged, and must not look so sad. For you well know that our 
 good master cannot abide mournful faces, and invariably 
 runs away from weeping women." 
 
 "It is true; you are right," said Wilhelmine. "I will 
 wreathe my face in smiles. I will laugh." 
 
180 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 And she burst out into a loud and vibrating peal of laugh- 
 ter, in which Eietz heartily joined. 
 
 " That is right," he cried ; " now I admire you ! You look 
 like a lioness defending her young. That is right, my beauty ! 
 'He who trusts in God, and strikes out boldly around him, 
 will never come to grief,' my good old burgomaster Hen 
 Funk used to say. Strike boldly, my queen, deal out heavy 
 blows, and we shall never come to grief, and all will yet be 
 well. And now, my charming wife, I must take leave of you, 
 as I hear a carriage driving up that I wager brings no other 
 than his majesty. It is not necessary that he should still find 
 me here. I will, therefore, slip out of the back door and 
 beat a retreat through the garden. Addio, carissima, addio!" 
 
 He bowed respectfully, threw her a kiss with the tips of his 
 fingers, opened a window, and sprang out upon the terrace, 
 from which a small stairway led down into the garden. 
 
 Wilhelmine frowned, and cast an angry look in the direc- 
 tion he had taken. " How degraded a soul ! how base a char- 
 acter!" she murmured; "but yet I must cling to him, and be 
 very friendly with him. He is my only support, my only 
 friend ; for without hi-m I would be lost ! And I will not be 
 lost ! I will maintain my position ; while I live, I will bravely 
 battle for it!" 
 
 "The king!" cried Jean, throwing the door open. "His 
 majesty has arrived, and awaits my lady in her parlor." 
 
 "I am coming," said "VVilhelmine, calmly. "Hurry down 
 into the park, and tell my son and daughter that their father 
 is here. They are down on the river ; they must come at once 
 to greet his majesty." 
 
 CHAPTEK VIII 
 
 :SEW LOVE. 
 
 The king advanced to meet Wilhelmine with a gentle 
 smile ; and when, after a formal obeisance, she congratulated 
 him in cold and ceremonious terms, Frederick William burst 
 
NEW LOVE. 181 
 
 out into laughter, caught her in his arms, and pressed a kiss 
 on her brow. 
 
 "Wilhelmine trembled, and tears rushed to her eyes. She 
 felt like clasping him in her arms and conjuring him, with 
 tender reproaches and passionate words of love, not to aban- 
 don her, and not to drive herself and his children out into 
 the cold world. But she repressed her emotion — she knew 
 the king could not endure sad faces, and always fled from a 
 woman in tears. 
 
 She had the courage to smile, and seem to be gay; and her 
 countenance bore no trace of disquiet or anxiety. She con- 
 versed with perfect composure and indifference, as if no 
 change had taken or ever could take place in their relations 
 to each other. 
 
 Frederick "William's joyousness had at first been assumed, 
 to hide his embarrassment; and he felt greatly relieved by 
 Wilhelmine's manner. He abandoned himself wholly to the 
 charming society of the beautiful and agreeable friend, who 
 had always so well understood how to enliven him and banish 
 all care from his breast. And when the two children entered 
 the parlor, and his favorite Alexander, a boy of ten years of 
 age, ran forward, looked wonderingly at his papa king, and 
 then threw his arms tendei'ly around his neck, and kissed and 
 hugged him, regardless of his royalty; when the lovely 
 daughter, in the bloom of sixteen summers, the charming 
 image of her young mother, walked forward, and seated her- 
 self on one of his knees opposite her bi other, who sat on the 
 other; and when the still beautiful mother stepped up to 
 this group, her eyes beaming and her face wreathed in smiles. 
 and clasped father and children in one embrace, a feeling of 
 infinite comfort filled Frederick William's breast, and tears 
 rushed to his eyes. 
 
 He gently pushed the two children from his knees, and 
 arose. " Go down into the garden, my pets, and wait for me 
 in the rose-pavilion, when we will watch the sun set. But 
 now go, as I have something to say to your mother." 
 
182 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 "But nothing unpleasant, I hope, papa?" said Alexander, 
 anxiously. " You have nothing to say to my mamma that 
 will make her sad?" 
 
 "And if I had," asked Frederick William, smiling, "what 
 would you do to prevent it?" 
 
 " If you had," replied the boy, with a bold and defiant ex- 
 pression, " I know very well what I would do. I would not 
 go away. I would remain here, even if my papa ordered me 
 to go. But for this once I could not be obedient, although I 
 should be scolded for it." 
 
 " And what effect would your remaining here have, Alex- 
 ander?" asked the king. 
 
 " It would have this effect, your majesty," replied the boy, 
 gravely. " My dear mamma would then hear nothing that 
 would make her feel sad, or perhaps even make her cry." 
 
 " But if I should tell her something in your presence that 
 would make her feel sad?" 
 
 "That you will not do, papa!" cried Alexander, erecting 
 himself proudly. "No, while I am here you will certainly 
 not make my mamma sad; for you know that I would cry 
 too, if my mamma cried, and you certainly could not bear to 
 see your poor little son and his mamma weeping bitterly." 
 
 "You love your mamma very much, I suppose?" 
 
 "Yos," exclaimed the boy, throwing his arms around his 
 mother's neck, and laying his curly head on her bosom ; " yes, 
 I love my mamma very dearly ; and my heart almost breaks 
 when I see her cry. And she cries very often now, and — " 
 
 "Go, Alexander," said his mother, interrupting him. 
 " You see your sister is an obedient daughter, and has already 
 obeyed her father's command. Follow her now, my son; 
 learn from your sister to obey your father without murmur- 
 ing." 
 
 "Yes, my son, follow your sister," said the king, gently. 
 " Fear nothing, my boy, I have no intention of making your 
 mother feel sad." 
 
 "Then I will go, papa," cried Alexander, as he pressed his 
 
NEW LOVE. 183 
 
 father's hand tenderly to his lips. He then skipped joyfully 
 out of the room. 
 
 The king followed the handsome boy, with an affectionate 
 look, until the door closed behind him. He then turned to 
 Wilhelmine, who met his gaze with a gentle smile. " Wil- 
 helmine, I have entered on a new life to-day. The poor 
 prince royal, who was harassed with debt, has become a rich 
 and mighty king. A young king's first and most sacred duty 
 is to prove his gratitude to those who were his loving and 
 faithful friends, while he was yet prince royal. And there- 
 fore, Wilhelmine, you were my first thought ; therefore am I 
 come to you to prove that I have a grateful heart, and can 
 never forget the past. You have undergone hardships, and 
 suffered want for me; the hour of reward has now come. 
 Impart to me all your wishes freely, and without reservation, 
 and I swear to you that they shall be fulfilled. Will you 
 have a name, a proud title? will you have jewelry or treas- 
 ures? will you have a magnificent landed estate? Speak out, 
 tell me what you desire, for I have come to reward you, and 
 I am king." 
 
 She looked at him proudly, with sparkling eyes. " You 
 have come to reward me," said she, "and you are king. 
 AYhat care I for your royalty ! The king has not the power 
 to grant my wishes!" 
 
 " What is it, then, that you wish?" he asked, in embarrass- 
 ment. 
 
 "I -wish what the king cannot, what only the man can 
 grant. I wish you to love me as dearly as the prince royal 
 loved me. I crave no riches and no treasures, no titles and 
 no estates. When we swore that we would love and be truo 
 to each other until death, you did not dare to think that you 
 •would some day reward me for my love. When we exchanged 
 our vows of love and fidelity, written with our blood, this was 
 the marriage contract of our hearts, and this contract con- 
 sisted of but one paragraph. It only secured to each of us 
 the love and fidelity of the other as a dower. Let me retain 
 
184 GOETHE AND SCHILLEE. 
 
 this dower, Frederick William; keep your treasures, titles, 
 and estates, for your favorites and flatterers. Such things are 
 good enough for them, but not for me — not for the mother of 
 your children ! Leave me in possession of my dower of your 
 love and fidelity!" 
 
 Frederick lowered his eyes in confusion, and did not seem 
 to see her stretch out her arms imploringly. He turned away 
 and walked slowly to and fro. 
 
 Wilhelmine's arms sank down, and a deep sigh escaped her 
 lips. "The decisive hour has come," said she to herself. 
 " It shall find me armed and prepared for the struggle!" 
 
 Suddenly the king stopped in front of her, and a ray of de- 
 termination beamed in his genial, handsorne countenance. 
 " Wilhelmine," said he, "I stand on the threshold of a great 
 and sublime future. I will not act a lie at such a time. 
 Between us there must be perfect and entire truth. Are you 
 ready to hear it?" 
 
 "I am ready," said she, gravely. "Truth and death are 
 preferable to life and falsehood." 
 
 "Come, Wilhelmine," continued the king, extending his 
 hand. " Let us seat ourselves on the sofa, where we have so 
 often conversed in earnestness and sincerity. Let us converse 
 in the same spirit to-day, and open our hearts to each other 
 in honest sincerity." He conducted her to the sofa, and 
 seated himself at her side. She laid her head on his shoul- 
 der, and subdued sobs escaped her breast. 
 
 "Do not speak yet," she whispered. " Let me rest a mo- 
 ment, and think of the beautiful past, now that your future 
 looks so bright. I have not the courage to look at the future. 
 It seems to me that I am like those unhappy beings, of whom 
 Dante narrates, that they walk onward with their faces turned 
 backward, and that they cannot see what is coming, but only 
 that which has been and which lies behind them. Ah, like 
 them I see only what has been. I see us two, young, happy, 
 and joyous, for the star of our youthful love shone over us. 
 I see you at my side as my teacher, instructing me, and en- 
 
NEW LOVE. 185 
 
 deavoring to cultivate my mind. — Frederick, do yea remem- 
 ber the Italian lessons you gave me? With you I read Dante, 
 you explained to me this awful picture of the reversed faces. 
 Shall I now experience through you the dreadful reality of 
 what you then explained in the poem? Shall I shudder at 
 the aspect of the future, and only live on that which is past 
 and gone? Tell me, Frederick, can it he true, can it be pos- 
 sible? Does love, with all its happiness and bliss, then really 
 lie only behind us, and no longer before us? But no, no, do 
 say so!" she cried, imploringly, as she saw that he was about 
 to speak ; " let us be still and dream on for a moment, as we 
 are now on the threshold of a new era, as you say." She 
 ceased speaking, and buried her head in Frederick William's 
 bosom. He laid his hand on her neck and pressed her to his 
 heart. A long pause ensued. A last ray of the setting sun 
 shone in through the window, and illumined with its golden 
 light the head of the poor woman who clung trembling to her 
 lover's bosom. 
 
 The last ray of the setting sun! The spirits of the past 
 danced and trembled in its luminous course; the days which 
 had been, sparkled and glittered in its last ray, and then expired. 
 
 "Ah," sighed the king, after an interval of silence, "why 
 is the human heart so weak? why does it not retain like the 
 precious stone its brilliant tints and fiery lustre? why do the 
 rainbow hues and fire of love vanish? Why has fate ordained 
 that all things should be subject to change, even love?" 
 
 Wilhelmine raised her head — the hour of bitterness was 
 past; she now had courage to face the future, to pass the 
 threshold of the new era. What has the future in store for 
 her? Will it be gloomy ? Has the sun set for her whole life, 
 as its last ray has set in the chamber where she now sits, in 
 night and darkness, at the side of the man she once called the 
 sun of her life? 
 
 "You no longer love me, Frederick Wilham!" 
 
 "I do love you, Wilhelmine; certainly I do, right cordially 
 and sincerely." 
 
186 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 She uttered a loud cry and pressed her hand to her heart. 
 How different was this tame assurance of love to the passion- 
 ate protestations of former days ! 
 
 "Speak on, Frederick William, speak on! I am prepared 
 to hear all ! You love me right cordially and sincerely, you 
 say?" 
 
 " Yes, "Wilhelmine, and God is my witness that this is the 
 truth. I desire to do everything to contribute to your happi- 
 ness?" 
 
 "Everything! everything, but love me as heretofore!" 
 
 "Ah, Wilhelmine, man is but man after all, and no God! 
 Nothing in his nature is eternal and imperishable, not even 
 love; not that ardent, passionate love which is only crowned 
 by the possession of the loved and adored object. But pos- 
 session it is, this longed-for possession, that kills love. We 
 are only charmed with that for which we long; when once 
 attained we become accustomed to it, and custom begets in- 
 difference. It is heart-rending that it should be so, but it is 
 so ! We cannot change human nature, and human we all are !" 
 
 "Words, words," she murmured. "Why not say it all at 
 once. You do not love me? You love another? Answer 
 these two questions; I conjure you, answer them!" 
 
 " I will, Wilhelmine. I no longer love you, you say. It is 
 true, I no longer love you as I once loved you, but perhaps 
 more, perhaps better, more purely! I no longer love you, but 
 I entertain for you the dearest and most enduring friendship. 
 Love is like the sun : it shines brightly in the morning, but 
 sets when evening comes. Friendship is like the evening star, 
 ever present, and only obscured at times by the greater brill- 
 iancy of the sun. Wilhelmine our sun has at last set after 
 gladdening us with its rays for many long years. And you 
 cannot justly complain of its departure ; it was necessary that 
 night should ultimately come. But the evening-star still 
 shines in the heavens, and will ever shine there! I pray you, 
 Wilhelmine, be no weak, no ordinary woman! Do not make 
 useless complaints, but look at matters as they are. Be 
 
NEW LOVE. 187 
 
 strong, and overcome the petty vanity of the woman who feels 
 herself insulted when her lover's passion cools. I do not love 
 you; and, as I am a man, and as the human heart is always 
 susceptible to a new love, I am also ready to make this ad- 
 mission: I love another! Be composed, do not interrupt me 
 with reproaches. This is unalterable, and we must have the 
 courage to look the truth in the face ! Yes, I love another, 
 and love her as ardently as I once loved you, but — I now no 
 longer believe in an eternity of passion ; I know that it will 
 decline, and I therefore no longer tell my new love as I once 
 told you. I will love you as long as I live ; but I only say, I 
 will love you as long as my heart will permit! I know that a 
 day will come when I will also weary of this love; but never, 
 never will the day come, Wilhelmine, when the friendship I 
 feel for you could grow cold, when I could become indifferent 
 to her I once so passionately loved, and to whom I owe the 
 happiest years of my life ! Some day my heart will be callous 
 to all love and all women, but it will ever beat warmly for 
 you ; the days of my youth will be reflected from your brow, 
 and the recollections of happy years will bind me more firmly 
 to you, than all the vows of love could bind me to other 
 women. Be as strong, brave, and wise, as you have always 
 been; forgive me this human weakness. Eenounce my love, 
 and accept my friendship — my true, lasting, and imperishable 
 friendship." 
 
 "Friendship!" she repeated, with mocking laughter. 
 " The word has a freezing sound. You promised me glowing 
 wine, and now you offer to quench the thirst of my heart with 
 cold water." 
 
 " Of wine we grow weary, Wilhelmine. Heavenly intoxi- 
 cation is followed by highly terrestrial headache ; but pure 
 water refreshes and revives without intoxicating; it gives 
 health and tranquillizes the heart." 
 
 " Or turns it to ice," rejoined Wilhelmine. 
 
 " Not so, it gives new warmth ! And thus it is with friend- 
 ship also, Wilhelmine." 
 ].3 
 
188 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 "And all this means, " said she, sobbing, "that you intend 
 to drive me from your side, to banish me? 1 am to be com- 
 pelled to yield to a rival?" 
 
 " No, that you shall not do !" he cried with vivacity. " No, 
 you are only to consent to be my friend, to elevate yourself 
 above all petty jealousy, and to wisely and discreetly adapt 
 yourself to the unavoidable. If you should not be able to 
 do this, Wilhelmine, if you should attempt to play the role of 
 the jealous Orsina, instead of that of the discreet friend, 
 then only would I, to my own great sorrow, be compelled to 
 separate from you, to renounce the pleasure of associating 
 with my dear friend, and — " 
 
 "No," she cried in dismay, as she threw her arms around 
 him; "no, I cannot live without you, I will not go into exile 
 with my poor, dear children!" 
 
 "With your children!" repeated the king. "Who thinks 
 of sending these children into exile?" 
 
 " Do you not consider it possible that you will send me into 
 exile? And where I am, there my children will also be, of 
 course!" 
 
 " Where you are, Wilhelmine, there your daughter will be ; 
 that is lawful and natural. But the son belongs to the father; 
 and, whatever may divide and separate us, my son Alexander 
 shall not leave me ; my bright, handsome boy, remains with 
 his father." 
 
 It had grown dark, and he could not see the light of the 
 bold resolution Wilhelmine had formed, sparkling in her eyes. 
 
 She laid her hand on Frederick William's shoulder. "We 
 are standing on the threshold of a new era," said she, "my 
 son shall now decide between you and me. I lay my fate in 
 his hands, and will accept it as if it came from God. We 
 will have him called, and he shall choose between his father 
 and his mother. If he decides to leave me and remain with 
 you, I will bow my head in humility, and will remain, and 
 content myself with your friendship. I will stand in dark- 
 ness, and view from afar my happy rival sunning herself in 
 
THE DECISION. 189 
 
 your love. But if my son should decide to go with his 
 mother, then, like Hagar, I will wander forth into the desert. 
 But I will not complain, and will not feel unhappy; I will 
 have at my side, my son, the image of his father; the son in 
 whom I love the father !" 
 
 "So let it be," cried the king. "Our son shall decide. 
 Go, and bring him in." 
 
 "Xo, I will only see him in your presence; you might 
 otherwise suppose I had influenced his decision. Permit me 
 to have him called." 
 
 She rang the bell, and ordered the servant to bring lights, 
 and request his young master to come at once to his majesty^s 
 presence. 
 
 "We wiU soon learn the decision of fate," said Wilhelmine, 
 when the servant had closed the door. " For fate will speak 
 to me through the mouth of my son!" 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE DECISION. 
 
 A FEW minutes had hardly elapsed before the door of the 
 parlor was opened, and Wilhelmine's son entered. With 
 flushed cheeks and a displeased expression on his handsome 
 face, the boy walked up to the king, who was gazing at him 
 tenderly. 
 
 "My gracious father," said he, "you promised to join us in 
 the rose-pavilion, down at the river side ; and we waited and 
 waited, but all in vain! The sunset was splendid; it was a 
 beautiful sight to see the sun fall into the water all at once ; 
 but you would not come to tell the dear sun 'good-night.' 
 Why not? I think a king should always keep his word, and 
 yon certainly promised to come!" 
 
 "Well, my severe young gentleman, " said the king, smil- 
 ing, "I beg your pardon. But I had to speak with your 
 
190 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 mother on matters of importance, and you must have the 
 goodness to excuse me." 
 
 The boy turned and looked inquiringly at the face of his 
 mother. "Was it necessary, mamma?" 
 
 The king burst into laughter. "Eeally," he cried, "you 
 are a grand inquisitor, my little Alexander. I am almost 
 afraid of you. But you have not yet answered his severity, 
 mamma. Excuse me to this young gentleman by assuring 
 him that we had matters of the gravest importance to discuss. " 
 
 "Alexander knows that what the king says and does is 
 above all blame," replied Wilhelmine, gravely; "and I beg 
 that he may be excused for losing sight of the king and 
 thinking only of the indulgent father. But now hear why 
 your father sent for you, my son; and answer his questions 
 as your little head and heart shall prompt." 
 
 " Shall I state the question?" asked the king, in some em- 
 barrassment. " I had rather you did it, Wilhelmine. How- 
 ever," he continued, as she shook her head in dissent, "It 
 shall be as you desire. Listen, my little Alexander. Your 
 mother thinks of going on a journey, and of leaving here for 
 a few years. I intend to give your mother several estates in 
 Prussia as a remembrance of this day, and she may conclude 
 to make them her home for some years. Although such a 
 life may be pleasant for ladies, it is very quiet and lonely, and 
 not at all suitable for a young man who still has a great deal 
 to learn, and who is ambitious of becoming a soldier, which 
 he could not well accomplish in the country. I therefore, 
 very naturally, desire that you should separate yourself from 
 your mother for a few years, and remain with me, your 
 father, who certainly loves you as much as she does. But we 
 have determined to leave the decision to you, although you 
 are still so young, and I now ask you, my son, will you go 
 with your mother, or will you remain with your father? Do 
 not reply at once, my child, but take time for considera- 
 tion." 
 
 "Oh, my dear papa," said the boy, quickly, "there is 
 
THE DECISION. IDl 
 
 nothing to consider, I linow at once wliat I ought to do. My 
 dear mamma lias always remained with me, she has never 
 deserted me. And when I had the measles, a short time ago, 
 she sat at my bedside, day and night, and played with me, 
 and told me such beautiful stories. And I would never have 
 got well if my mamma had not nursed me. Whenever she 
 left my bed, if only for a few minutes, I grew worse and suf^ 
 fered much more, and when she returned I always felt re- 
 lieved at once. And how could I now desert the dear 
 mamma, who never deserted me?" 
 
 "Oh, my child, my darling child," cried Wilhelmine, her 
 eyes filling with tears, " God bless you for these words! But 
 yet this shall not be a decision. You must take some time 
 for consideration, my son. I am going to live on my estates, 
 as your father told you. It will be very quiet and lonely in 
 the country ; there will be no soldiers, no beautiful houses, no 
 amusements, and no boys to play with. Bat if you remain 
 here with your father, you will have all this, and be honored 
 and respected as a prince. You will live with your tutor, in 
 a splendid house, in the beautiful city of Berlin, you will take 
 delightful rides and drives, and see the soldier's drill every 
 day. Your father will give you all you desire." 
 
 " Then let him give me my mamma," cried the boy eagerly. 
 " l"es, my papa, if I can live with my dear mamma in a fine 
 house in Berlin, and if you will come right often to see us, I 
 will have all I desire." 
 
 " But your mother will not remain in Berlin, Alexander, 
 and, therefore, you must decide whether you will go with her, 
 or stay here with your father." 
 
 "Well, then," said Alexander, gravely, "if I must choose 
 between you, I will go with mamma, of course. To be sure, 
 I am very sorry to leave my papa, but I cannot live without 
 my mamma; she is so good to me and loves me so dearly, I 
 am always afraid when she is not with me." 
 
 Speechless with emotion, Wilhelmine sank on her knees, 
 her countenance radiant with delight, and extended her arms 
 
192 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 tow.'ird her son, who threw himself on her breast with a lov- 
 ing cry. 
 
 The king turned away, his heart filled with unutterable 
 sadness. He covered his eyes with his hands, and stood in 
 the middle of the chamber, isolated and deserted in his grief, 
 while he could hear the kisses, sobs, and whispered words of 
 tenderness of the mother and her son. Suddenly he felt a 
 light touch on his shoulder and heard a mournful, trembling 
 voice murmur his name. The king withdrew his hands from 
 his countenance, and his eyes met Wilhelmine's. She stood 
 before the king, her right hand resting on the boy's shoulder, 
 who had thrown his arm around her waist and nestled closely 
 to her side. 
 
 "Farewell, Frederick William!" said she in a loud and 
 solemn voice. "Hagar is going forth into the desert of life! 
 The estates and treasures which you offer me, I reject; my 
 children must not suHer want, however, and the little that 
 has heretofore been mine, I will retain. As soon as I find a 
 place where I wish to remain, you will be informed of it, and 
 I desire that the furniture of this house be sent to me there. 
 The house shall be sold, and the proceeds will constitute my 
 fortune and the inheritance of my children. I leave here 
 with my children to-night. My thoughts and blessings will, 
 however, remain with the father of my children. Farewell, 
 your majesty, and may your happiness be complete! Fare- 
 well !" She bowed her head in a last greeting, and then turned 
 and walked slowly through the room, supported by her son. 
 
 The king looked after her in breathless suspense; with 
 every step she took his anxiety increased. And when she 
 opened the door, and mother and son were about to pass the 
 threshold, without even once turning to look at him, whose 
 eyes were filled with tears, and who was regarding them with 
 such fondness and such agony, he uttered a cry of dismay, 
 rushed after them, seized Wilhelmine's arm, and thrust her 
 back into the room with such violence that she fell helplessly 
 to the floor, and her son burst into tears. 
 
THE DECISION. 193 
 
 His sobs seemed to arouse Wilhelmine from her insensi- 
 bility. She arose, and turned with proud composure to the 
 king, who stood before her almost breathless with passion. 
 
 " Send him out of the room," she murmured. " He should 
 not see your majesty in this condition." 
 
 The king made no reply, but took the boy by the hand, 
 kissed him tenderly, and then led him to the door, and locked 
 it behind him. He then returned to Wilhelmine, who 
 awaited him with pallid cheeks, although her manner was 
 perfectly composed. 
 
 " Wilhelmine," said he, uttering each word with difficulty, 
 " Wilhelmine, it is not possible. You cannot leave me. If 
 you go, my youth, my happiness, my good star go with you! 
 Have pity on me! See how I suffer! Be great, be good, be 
 merciful! Stay with me!" 
 
 "Thou hearest him, God," cried Wilhelmine, raising her 
 arms toward heaven. " Thou hearest him, and Thou seest 
 what I suffer! I have loved him from my youth. I have 
 been true to him in every thought, with every breath of life. 
 I have borne for his sake shame and disgrace, and the con- 
 tempt of the world. I have bestowed upon him all the treas- 
 ures of my soul and heart; and yet my sacrifices have not 
 been great enough, I have not yet been sufficiently humiliated. 
 He demands of the mother of his children a still greater sac- 
 rifice: that I renounce his love, and stand by and see him 
 give to another the love he swore should be mine ! O Thou 
 Great, Thou Almighty God, have pity on me! Send down a 
 flash of lightning to kill and save me! I cannot live without 
 him, and I may not live with him/' 
 
 "Wilhelmine," said the king, in a hollow voice, "you will 
 not make this sacrifice? You will not remain with me as my 
 best and dearest friend— the friend to whom I will give my 
 whole confidence, who shall share my thoughts as my sister 
 soul, and from whom I will conceal no secrets?" 
 
 She slowly shook her head. What did Cleopatra determine 
 to do, rather than grace the triumph of her faithless lover 
 
194 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 and her hated rival, and pass under the yoke? She deter- 
 mined to die ; she let loose the serpent which had been gnaw- 
 ing at her heart, that it might take her life. " I prefer to 
 die like Cleopatra, rather than live like the Marquise de 
 Pompadour." 
 
 "Well, then," said Frederick "William, his voice trembling 
 with emotion, and looking tenderly at Wilhelmine, "I will 
 prove to you that the friendship I entertain for you is stronger 
 than the love I have given to another. I sacrifice to you, the 
 beloved of my youth and the friend of my soul, all the wishes 
 and hopes of my heart. I will renounce my love for the maid 
 of honor, Julie von Voss, and will see her no more. She 
 shall leave the court, and I will never seek to recall her. 
 Are you now contented, Wilhelmine? Will you remain with 
 me, and not deprive me of my dear son, who was about to 
 leave me on your account? Wilhelmine, will you try to for- 
 get, and — " The king's voice faltered, and tears rushed to 
 his eyes, but with an effort he steadied his voice and con- 
 tinued : " and will you sincerely endeavor to compensate me 
 for what I sacrifice?" 
 
 With a cry of joy, Wilhelmine threw her arms around the 
 king's neck, and pressed a long and fervent kiss on his 
 quivering lips. 
 
 " I thank you, Frederick William, I thank you ! You 
 promised me when you came that you would to-day reward 
 me for my love and fidelity during the long years v?hich have 
 been. You have kept your promise, my beloved ; you have 
 rewarded me. You have made the greatest sacrifice one 
 human being can make for another. You have sacrificed the 
 passion of your heart, and are ready to keep the faith which 
 you sealed with your blood. See here, Frederick William, 
 see this scar on my hand! This wound I gave myself, in 
 order that I might write for you in my own blood my vow of 
 love and fidelity. You kissed the wound and drank of my 
 blood, swearing that you would always love, and never desert 
 me. You have kept your oath, Frederick William. You 
 
THE DECISION. 195 
 
 have conquered yourself ; you have now sealed your faith -with 
 the greatest human sacrifice." 
 
 The king suppressed the sigh ■which trembled on his lips, 
 and pressed Wilhelmine's head to his bosom. " Now you will 
 remain, Wilhelmine? Now you will not go?" 
 
 She raised her head quickly, and looked at him with beam- 
 ing eyes. " I will remain with you, Frederick William; I will 
 remain. And, stronger in my love than Cleopatra was, I will 
 pass under the yoke, and march quietly in the triumphal pro- 
 cession of my rival. Sacrifice for sacrifice! You were ready 
 to sacrifice your passion, I will sacrifice to you my woman's 
 pride and vanity! I, the discarded woman, will walk with- 
 out murmuring behind your new love and be her trainbearer. 
 Go, Frederick William, and woo this beautiful young lady; 
 wed her, if your priests will permit; be happy with her, and 
 love her as long as you can, and then return to your friend, 
 who can never cease to love you — whose affection for you is 
 the breath of her life." 
 
 "Oh, Wilhelmine, my dear, my generous AVilhelmine," 
 cried the king, pressing her to his heart, " 1 can never forget 
 this noble-hearted generosity; I can never cease to be grate- 
 ful ! I have told you already, and I now repeat it : the human 
 heart is inconstant, and every love must at last die; but 
 friendship lives forever. No earthly desires dim the pure 
 flame of its holy affection. Oh, Wilhelmine, I will never de- 
 sert you; never shall your enemies and rivals succeed in 
 estranging my heart from you, my friend." 
 
 " Swear that they shall not!" cried Wilhelmine, raising her 
 right hand. " Lay your fingers on this scar on my hand, and 
 swear that you will be my dear friend throughout my whole 
 life, that nothing shall separate us, and that nothing shall in- 
 duce you to drive me from your side, but that I shall live 
 where you live, and ever be your friend, your confidante, and 
 your sister soul." 
 
 The king laid the fingers of his right hand on the scar, re- 
 peated the words she had spoken, and swore that he would be 
 
196 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 her true and devoted friend until death, that he would never 
 drive her from his side, but that she should live where he 
 lived, and remain with him as his friend and confidante for 
 all time.* 
 
 "And now that we have come to an understanding," said 
 he with a joyous smile, " I may perhaps be permitted to re- 
 ward my dear friend, and shed a ray of my newly-acquired 
 royalty on this humble dwelling ! You said some time ago 
 that you desired to sell this house and live on the proceeds of 
 its sale. I approve of your plan. I will purchase this house 
 of you for five hundred thousand dollars. You will endeavor 
 to live on the interest of this sum ; if there should be a hitch 
 now and then, and debts should arise, you need only inform 
 me of the fact and they shall be paid." 
 
 "Oh, my dear, my generous friend," cried Wilhelmine, 
 " how can I thank you, how — " 
 
 "Be still," said the king, interrupting her, "I have not 
 yet quite finished. The house is now mine; and the price 
 agreed upon shall be paid you to-morrow out of the royal 
 fund. As I can do what I please with my own property, I 
 intend to make a present of it to the mother of the Count and 
 Countess von der Mark. And it will be my first care to have 
 it enlarged and elegantly furnished, in order that it may be 
 a suitable dwelling for the Count and Countess von der Mark, 
 and particularly for their noble and beautiful mother!" 
 
 "The Count and Countess von der Mark?" repeated "Wil- 
 helmine with astonishment. "Who are they? Who is their 
 mother? I never heard of them!" 
 
 " You shall soon become acquainted with them, only wait," 
 said the king smiling; and he went to the door, unlocked it, 
 and gave the bell-rope which hung beside it a violent pull. 
 
 "Where are the children?" asked the king, of the servant 
 who rushed forward to answer his summons. 
 
 " Your majesty, my young master and mistress are in the 
 dining-room." 
 
 •This scene is accurate.— See "M^molresde la Comtesse de Lichtenau." 
 
THE DECISION. 197 
 
 "Send them to me immediately," said the king; and he 
 remained standing at the door awaiting them. When they 
 came running into the parlor with anxious, inquiring looks, 
 the king took them by the hand and conducted them to their 
 mother. 
 
 "Madame," said he, gravely, "I have the honor to intro- 
 duce to you Countess Mariane and Count Alexander von der 
 Mark." 
 
 " Count Alexander von der Mark?" repeated the boy, look- 
 ing up wonderingly at his father. " Who is that?" 
 
 " That you are, my son," said the king, as he stooped down 
 and raised the boy up in his arms. " You are the Count von 
 der Mark, and your sister is the countess; and you shall have 
 the Prussian eagle in your coat of arms, and shall be honored 
 at my court as my dear, handsome son. All the proud court- 
 iers shall bow their heads before you and your sister. The 
 Count and Countess von der Mark shall have the precedence 
 at my court over all the noble families ; and their place shall 
 immediately be behind the royal princesses." 
 
 "And that will be my dear mamma's place, too?" said 
 Alexander. "She will always be where we are?" 
 
 " Yes," said the king hastily, " she will always remain with 
 her dear children. Yes, and (as the young count once re- 
 marked that, if he could live in a splendid house 'under the 
 Linden-trees'* with his mother, and if I would go to see 
 them right often, he would have all he desired), I will make 
 him a present of the most magnificent house 'under the 
 Linden-trees' in Berlin, and the young count shall live there, 
 and I will visit him right often in his new home." 
 
 "That will be splendid," cried the boy clapping his hands 
 "You are delighted, too, are you not, Mariane?" 
 
 "Certainly I am," replied his sister, smiling, "and I thank 
 his majesty for the great honor he confers in giving us such 
 grand titles." 
 
 " I am glad to hear that you are pleased with your title, my 
 
 * " Unter den Linden," a street in Berlin. 
 
198 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 dear daughter; but, as Barnes and titles do not sustain life, a 
 sufficient amount will be set apart for your use as pin-money. 
 And when a suitable and agreeable gentleman demands your 
 hand in marriage, you shall have a dowry of two hundred 
 thousand dollars. When this becomes known you will cer- 
 tainly not fail to hare a vast number of admirers from which 
 to make your selection. No more thanks, if you please! We 
 will now go to dinner. Count von der Mark, give your 
 mother your arm, I will escort the young countess." 
 
 "Your majesty," announced the servant, who entered at 
 this moment, " Colonel von Bischofswerder and Privy-Cham- 
 berlain von Wollner have just arrived, and beg to be admitted 
 to your majesty's presence!" 
 
 "True, indeed," murmured the king, " I had altogether 
 forgotten them. Madame, you will please excuse me for 
 withdrawing from your society. I must not keep these 
 gentlemen waiting, as I directed them to meet me here on im- 
 portant business. When this business is transacted I must 
 however return to Potsdam. Farewell, and await me at 
 breakfast to-morrow morning." 
 
 CHAPTEE X. 
 
 THE INTOCATIOK. 
 
 "You have then really come, my friends," said the king. 
 " You have really determined to attempt to invoke the In- 
 visible?" 
 
 " God is mighty in the weak," said Wollner, folding his 
 hands piously ; " and we men are merely the vessels into which 
 He pours His anger and His love, and in which He makes 
 Himself manifest. By fasting and prayer I have made my- 
 self worthy to commune with spirits." 
 
 "The longing after the Invisible Fathers throbs in my 
 heart and brain ;' and, if in the heat of this longing I invoke 
 
THE INVOCATION. 199 
 
 them, they will lend an ear to ray entreaties, and approach to 
 answer the questions of your majesty, their best-beloved son." 
 
 "Nor have I a doubt on the subject," said Bischofswerder, 
 complacently. " I will entreat the spirit of the grand-kophta 
 with the whole strength of my soul, and with all the means 
 which the holy secret sciences place at my disposal. The 
 hour has come in which will be determined whether the im- 
 mortal spirit controls the mortal body, compelling it to obey 
 its behests in spite of time and space." 
 
 "Then you really consider it possible, my friend? You 
 are yefc of the opinion that the grand-kophta will appear in 
 answer to your invocationsV" 
 
 " Yes, sire, I am of that opinion I" 
 
 " That is to say, his spirit will come amongst us in some 
 intangible shape. You cannot be in earnest when you assert 
 that he will answer your call in the body, as I have already 
 told you that the grand-kophta is in London. Our ambassa- 
 dor not only saw him there, but spoke with him the very day 
 he dispatched the courier, who arrived here yesterday." 
 
 " Your majesty, the secret sciences teach me that the spirit 
 controls the body; and we will now test the truth of this les- 
 son. If the grand-kophta does not appear in flesh and blood, 
 and give to your majesty, with his own hand, the elixir of life 
 for which your soul thirsts, science lies, and the sublime 
 spirits consider me unworthy of their confidence! In that 
 event, I will renounce my right to enter the inner temple ; it 
 will be evident that I am not one of the enlightened. I will 
 bow submissively to the anger and contempt of the Invisible, 
 and return voluntarily to the outer temple to begin my ap- 
 prenticeship anew." 
 
 The king shook his head thoughtfully. "Your faith is 
 heroic; and I only hope you are not doomed to be dis- 
 appointed. And now, let us begin our work !" 
 
 " His majesty's will be done," replied the two Eosicrucians, 
 respectfully. "Will your majesty permit us to go to the 
 laboratory iu order to make our preparations?" 
 
200 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 " I will accompany you, and render assistance as an inferior 
 brother. You know that no one besides us three is permitted 
 to enter this laboratory ; and I therefore keep the key in a 
 secret drawer of my writing-desk, which I alone can open!" 
 
 " Permit us to withdraw, in order that we may not see from 
 what place your majesty takes the key." 
 
 The two Eosicrucians walked toward the door, and turned 
 their faces so that they could not see what was done behind 
 them. 
 
 "I Have the key," said the king, after a short interval. 
 " Come, my brothers. I am now ready!" • 
 
 He walked rapidly to the door, unlocked it, and entered 
 the laboratory, followed by Bischofswerder and WoUner. 
 
 But hardly had the king stepped into the room before he 
 uttered a cry of terror, and staggered back, pale with fright. 
 
 "The Invisibles! the Invisibles!" he murmured. "See! 
 See ! They knew we were coming, and have made all the 
 preparations!" 
 
 "All hail, the Invisible Fathers," cried Wollner, with en- 
 thusiasm. " They have prepared the altar." 
 
 " The Invisibles are awaiting us; they approve of our pur- 
 pose," shouted Bischofswerder, exultingly. " Oh, behold, my 
 king! Oh, see, my brother!" 
 
 He drew the king eagerly to the large furnace which oc- 
 cupied one entire side of the laboratory ; and it really looked 
 as if invisible hands had been at work in this chamber. A 
 bright fire was burning in the furnace, jets of flame darted forth 
 through the openings, and licked the pans and retorts in which 
 liquids and mixtures of various colors boiled and simmered. 
 
 "All is prepared," said Bischofswerder, who had been ex- 
 amining the retorts closely. " It seems the Invisibles are con- 
 cocting a secret mixture. But my eyes are blinded, and my 
 brain is still in darkness; these substances and elixirs are un- 
 known to me ; I only feel that their fragrance fills me with 
 wondrous delight. Oh, come, your majesty, and inhale this 
 blessed aroma — this atmosphere of invisible worlds!" 
 
THE INVOCATION. 201 
 
 The king timidly stepped up close to the furnace, and in- 
 clined his head over the retort pointed out by Bischofswerder. 
 Dense vapors arose from the bubbling mass and euTeloped the 
 king's head. 
 
 "It is true," said the king, inhaling deep draughts of the 
 vapor. "It creates a wondrous sensation of delight and 
 ecstasy!" 
 
 " It is the fragrance of the spirit- world," said Wollner, im- 
 pressively. — " Oh, I feel, I know that my prayers have been 
 heard. They are coming ! Lo, the Invisibles are approach- 
 ing! Look, my king, look up there!" 
 
 The king turned eagerly to Wollner, whose right arm was 
 raised, and pointed to the opposite wall. 
 
 " See, see these heavenly forms waving their hands and 
 greeting us!" 
 
 " I see nothing," murmured the king, sadly. " The visions 
 which bless the eye of the anointed are invisible to me. I see 
 nothing!" 
 
 No, the king saw nothing! To him the chamber was 
 empty. He saw no spirits, nor did he see Bischofswerder 
 throw a handful of white powder into the large retort at this 
 moment. But he saw the white clouds which now ascended 
 from the furnace ; he saw the flames which burst forth from 
 the retorts, and, in the explosions and detonations which en- 
 sued, he heard the roar of invisible musketry. 
 
 "The Invisibles are contending fiercely," exclaimed Woll- 
 ner. " The good and bad spiriis are warring with each other, 
 and struggling for the possession of our noble king. The 
 holy ones and the Eosicrucians are battling with the free- 
 thinkers and scoffers, and the so-called enlightened. Give 
 the former the victory. Almighty God ! Incline Thyself to 
 the believers and Eosicrucians, and deal out destruction to 
 the unbelievers and scoffers ! On my knees I entreat thee. 
 Thou Euler of all things ! have pity on the king, have pity on 
 us, and — " 
 A loud and fearful detonation — a whistling, howling roar — 
 
203 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 drowned his voice. Dense white clouds, through which 
 tongues of flame darted in every direction, ascended from the 
 furnace and gradually filled the room. 
 
 The king had staggered back, and would have fallen to the 
 ground, but for Bischofswerder, who had supported him and 
 conducted him to an arm-chair, into which he sank back 
 helplessly. His eyes closed, and for a few moments he was in 
 an unconscious condition. 
 
 Suddenly the king's name resounded in his ear and aroused 
 him from this trance. "Awake, Frederick William, awake! 
 Ours is the victory ! The holy cross of love and of roses is 
 victorious! The evil spirits have flown! Awake, Frederick 
 William, awake! The Invisibles are ready to answer your 
 questions!" 
 
 The king opened his eyes and looked around. He saw 
 nothing at first but the clouds which encircled him. But 
 suddenly a face seemed to arise in their midst — a face of 
 deathly pallor? Long brown hair fell down on either side of 
 the broad, but low forehead. Its widely-opened glassy eyes 
 seemed to stare at the king, who shuddered, and would have 
 turned away had not some invisible power compelled him to 
 continue gazing at this death-like countenance. By degrees 
 the vision grew more distinct, and stood out from the sur- 
 rounding vapor in bolder relief. The neck and shoulders now 
 appeared, and gradually the entire body of a man of a power- 
 ful build was disclosed. He wore a tightly-fitting jerkin of 
 leather; his neck was encircled with a broad, double lace 
 collar. A golden star glittered on his breast, and a richly- 
 embroidered velvet mantle, bordered with ermine, hung down 
 over his broad shoulders. This mighty, princely figure stood 
 immovable in the midst of the white clouds, which enveloped 
 it like a winding-sheet. But its large, proud eyes seemed 
 fixed on Frederick William with a cold, hard look. The king 
 shuddered, and uttered low entreaties for mercy. 
 
 " Fear nothing, Frederick William," said the vision, which 
 spoke without opening its lips. These tones struck on the 
 
THE INVOCATION. 303 
 
 t55 
 
 king's ear like a voice from the grave. "Fear nothing 
 Frederick William ; I have not come to alarm, but to console 
 you. The Invisibles have sent me to soothe your heart, and 
 give peace and consolation to your soul. Do you not know 
 who I am, Frederick AYilliam?" 
 
 " Xo," replied the king, in a low voice, " I do not." 
 
 " I am Philip of Hesse," rejoined the closed lips. " Philip 
 of Hesse, called, by foolish and short-sighted men, 'The Mag- 
 nanimous. ' " 
 
 "Ah, now I know who you are, my prince," cried the king. 
 " You, it was, who overthrew the rebellious peasants in bat- 
 tle, who overcame Franz von Sickingen, and introduced the 
 reformation into Germany. You were the prince who sub- 
 mitted to the Emperor Charles the Fifth, after the unfortu- 
 nate battle of Miihlberg; were taken prisoner by him, and 
 held in captivity until released by the treaty of Passau. Tell 
 me, sublime spirit, are you not the spirit of that noble prince, 
 of Philip the Magnanimous?" 
 
 " I am ! My whole life was a struggle, and I had many 
 enemies to contend with. But my most formidable enemy 
 was my own heart. This enemy was love, passionate Ipve. 
 "Wedded since my sixteenth year with Christina of Saxony, 
 selected as my wife for state reasons ; my heart became in- 
 flamed with love for the beautiful Margaret von Saale, and 
 my one great desire was to win her and call her my wife. 
 But her virtue withstood my entreaties; and, although she 
 loved me, she was nevertheless determined to fly from me 
 unless our union could be consummated by the blessing of a 
 priest. It was in vain that I besought her to become mine. 
 These were days of agony, and this struggle was harder than 
 any I had maintained on the field of battle. I then suflered 
 and wept as though I were a puling boy, and not a warrior 
 
 and prince." 
 
 "You are recounting the history of my own sufferings," 
 murmured the king, in a low voice. " You are describing 
 my own struggles!" 
 14 
 
204 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 " I know it," replied the apparition. " My eye sees your 
 heart, and your sufferings, and therefore have I come to con- 
 sole you, to tell you that I have suffered as you suffer, and 
 that your wounds shall be healed as mine were. The maiden 
 you love is as virtuous as Margaret von Saale was. Like Mar, 
 garet von Saale she demands that she be made your wedded 
 wife. In my distress and misery I addressed myself to the 
 great reformer, whom I had patronized with pious zeal. I 
 asked Luther if the church could bless a marriage of the left 
 hand, when a marriage of the right hand already existed; and 
 Luther, the man of justice and of truth, replied: 'It stands 
 in the Bible that the left hand shall not know what the right 
 does; and, consequently, it is not necessary that the right 
 hand should know what the left does. The wife of the left 
 hand has nothing to do with the wife of the right, forced 
 upon you for reasons of state. The former is the wife of the 
 prince, the latter will be the wife of the man. And, as two 
 persons are united in you, the prince and the man, these per- 
 sons can contract two marriages, the one for the prince and 
 the other for the man, and the blessing of the church is ad- 
 missible for both.' But the sensitive conscience of my beau- 
 tiful Margaret was not yet satisfied. I now turned to Philip 
 Melanchthon, the great scholar, the strictly moral and virtu- 
 ous man, and demanded his opinion, telling him that the 
 decision should rest in his hands. But Philip Melanchthon 
 decided as Luther had done, and proved by Holy Writ that 
 such a marriage was possible and admissible. He, however, 
 added the condition that the consent of the wife of the right 
 hand must be obtained before the marriage of the left hand 
 could be consummated. My generous wife gave her consent. 
 Margaret von Saale became my wedded wife, and the mother 
 of seven children, who were the joy and pride of their 
 parents. To tell you this, I left the peaceful grave. Such 
 were the commands of the sublime spirits, who are greater 
 than I, and who rule over the living and the dead. Learn by 
 my example how virtue can be reconciled to love. Put away 
 
THE INVOCATION. 205 
 
 from yon the unchaste woman with whom you live ; turn your 
 countenance from her forever — and seek and find your happi- 
 ness at the side of the noble young woman to whom you shall 
 be united by priestly blessings. Farewell! My time has ex- 
 pired, I must go." 
 
 The apparition seemed to melt away ; it grew darker and 
 fainter. For a while its dim and uncertain outlines could be 
 seen when the clouds lifted, and then it disappeared entirely. 
 The clouds also slowly vanished ; and now they were gone, 
 the fire could once more be seen burning brightly in the fur- 
 nace. The king looked around, and observed his two friends 
 kneeling and praying on either side of his chair. 
 
 "Have you been listening, my friends? Did you hear the 
 utterances of the blessed spirits?" 
 
 " We have heard nothing but mutterings and shrieks, and 
 therefore we have been entreating the sublime spirits to miti- 
 gate their anger," said WoUner, shaking his head. " But I 
 saw a vision, a heavenly vision," cried Bischofswerder. "I 
 saw my beloved king and master, standing between two noble- 
 women. They both regarded him tenderly. They stood, the 
 one on the right, the other on the left hand; on the ex- 
 tended right hand of both glittered a golden ring, the precious 
 symbol of marriage. The countenance of my royal master 
 was radiant with delight; and above him shone the star of 
 pure and chaste love. And it seemed to me that I heard a 
 heavenly voice cry: 'Find your happiness at the side of the 
 noble young woman to whom you will be joined by priestly 
 blessings.' " 
 
 " These were the last words of the sublime spirit that ap- 
 peared to me," said the king, joyfully. "You heard them, 
 my faithful friend, while wrestling in prayer at my side. 
 Oh, I thank you both; and while I live, I will reward your 
 fidelity. But, alas," continued the king, with a deep-drawn 
 sigh, " I only fear that my life will be of short duration ! I 
 feel weak and exhausted, and upon you and your influence, 
 my friend, I depend for the life-restoring elixir." 
 
306 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 "I will procure it, you shall have it," cried Bischofswerder, 
 rising from his knees with youthful vivacity, in spite of his 
 corpulence. " The invocation shall now begin. I will com- 
 mand my spirit to leave the body, and fly through time and 
 space to the grand-kophta, to entreat him to give to the 
 doubting, unbelieving king a visible sign of his heavenly 
 power, to convince him that the mind rules over the body." 
 
 "Do not attempt it, my dear friend; do not, I solemnly 
 conjure you," implored Wollner. "It is tempting God, to 
 seek to set at naught the laws of Nature. It is possible that 
 your mighty spirit has power to tear itself from the body, and 
 transport itself from place to place with the rapidity of 
 thought; but consider the difficulty of returning, consider 
 whether the cold, dead body can be a fitting receptacle and 
 abode for the spirit on its return. " 
 
 " I know that this is the great danger to which I shall be 
 exposed," replied Bischofswerder. "But I will dare all for 
 my king, and no danger shall terrify me when his health and 
 happiness are at stake. — Be still, my king! No thanks what- 
 ever! I love you! That suffices, that explains all! And 
 now let me take my departure! Now let me invoke the 
 grand-kophta, the dispenser of life and health ! — But listen, 
 Wollner, listen to these last words ! If the Invisibles assist 
 me, and enable my spirit to leave its earthly tenement, my 
 body will grow cold and assume a death-like appearance. But 
 this must not lead you to suppose that I am dead. Only 
 when this condition shall have lasted more than half an hour, 
 I beg that you will kneel down beside my body and entreat 
 the Invisibles to command my spirit to return to its earthly 
 abode. Truly I would not wish to remain in a bodiless state, 
 when the king needs my services. And now, my king and 
 master, permit me to kiss your hand before I go." 
 
 "No, my true, my generous friend, come to my heart!" 
 cried the king, as he embraced Bischofswerder, and pressed a 
 kiss on his forehead. 
 
 "And now, hear me, ye Invisibles! Lend an ear to my 
 
THE INVOCATION. 207 
 
 prayer ! Give wings to my spirit that it may fly through time 
 and space! — Here, Wollner! hold my body!" 
 
 "Wollner rushed forward in answer to this call, and caught 
 Bischofswerder in his arms as he was on the point of falling 
 to the floor. He rested the head on his breast, covered the 
 face with his hand, and gently stroked his cheeks and brow. 
 The king, who stood behind him in breathless suspense, did 
 not comprehend what was going on, and did not see the little 
 bottle which Wollner held under his friend's nose, nor did he 
 see him slip it adroitly into his coat-sleeve when he arose. 
 But when Wollner stepped back, and pointed solemnly to the 
 tranquil body, the king saw that Bischofswerder's spirit had 
 flown. He saw that the pallid, inanimate object, which lay in 
 the chair, was nothing more than the empty tenement, once 
 the abode of Bischofswerder's spirit. Of this, the widely- 
 extended, glassy eyes, and the stiffened features, were suflBcient 
 evidence. 
 
 The king shuddered, and turned away. " It is fearful to 
 look upon the lifeless body of a friend who dies in an endeavor 
 to save and prolong our life. How fearful, if death should be 
 the stronger, and prevent the spirit from returning to its 
 dwelling ! Not only would we mourn the loss of a friend, but 
 his death would have been in vain, and the elixir of life un- 
 attained! AYe must observe the time closely and count the 
 minutes, in order that the prayers may begin when the half- 
 hour has elapsed." With trembling hands the king drew his 
 richly-jeweUed watch from his pocket, and watched the creep- 
 ing hands in breathless anxiety. His alarm increased as time 
 progressed, and now, when only five minutes were wanting to 
 complete the half-hour, the king turned pale and trembled 
 with terror. " Only one minute more, then—" 
 
 "He moves," whispered Wollner. "See, your majesty! 
 Oh, see! There is life in his eye, his mouth closes, the hue 
 of life returns to his cheek. A miracle, a miracle has taken 
 place ! The spirit has returned to the earthly tabernacle !" 
 
 Bischofswerder is once more among the living; he arises. 
 
208 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 His eyes seek the king and find him. With unsteady gait, a 
 smile on his lips, he approached the king. " Sire, my spirit 
 greets you, my heart shouts for joy. I bring you glad tid- 
 ings! The grand-kophta has yielded to my entreaties. He 
 approaches to give my king life and health, and above all 
 things to remove his unbelief!" 
 
 "He is then really coming? He approaches?" cried the 
 king, Joyfully. 
 
 "Call him, your majesty! Call the grand-kophta, but do 
 so with a believing and confident heart." 
 
 " Grand-kophta ! Sublimest of the sublime ! Lend an ear 
 to my entreaties ! Appear Divo Cagliostro ! Appear, my lord 
 and master!" 
 
 A flash, a detonation, proceeding from the furnace, near 
 which WoUner stands, and all is once more concealed by the 
 clouds of vapor which fill the room. When they at last rise 
 and pass away, a tall figure, enveloped in a long black mantle, 
 is seen standing in the middle of the room. The head only 
 is uncovered, and' this head is surrounded with waving black 
 hair, in the midst of which a precious stone shines and spar- 
 kles with the lustre of a star. And the large black eyes, which 
 are fastened on the king's countenance, with a mild and ten- 
 der look, also shine like stars. 
 
 Carried away with rapture and enthusiasm, the king falls 
 on his knees, and raises his hands in adoration. 
 
 But the grand-kophta advanced noiselessly to the kneeling 
 king, begged him to rise, and helped him to do so with his 
 own hand. "Yes, you are really my sublime master," cried 
 the enraptured king. " I feel the warm, living body, the lov- 
 ing pressure of the blessing-dispensing hand. Hail, master! 
 hail Cagliostro!" 
 
 "You appealed to me for assistance," said Cagliostro, in 
 solemn tones. " I heard the call of the noble messenger you 
 sent me as I was about to enter the St. James's Palace in 
 London. King George of England had received another visi- 
 tation from the demons who confuse his brain and darken his 
 
THE INVOCATION. 209 
 
 intellect. I was sent for and urged to come at once and drive 
 out the demons from the head of the sick king. But it is of 
 more importance that the healthy should not become sick, 
 than that the sick man's condition should be somewhat im- 
 proved. The spirit Althotas cried out to me, saying: 'Has- 
 ten to King Frederick "William of Prussia; without your 
 assistance he must languish and die. Hasten to preserve his 
 health and strengthen his noble soul with the breath of im- 
 mortality. ' At first I was uncertain of whom Althotas spoke, 
 for I had not yet heard of king Frederick's death. But be- 
 fore my eyes there suddenly arose the vision of an old man 
 reclining in an arm-chair. He was on the threshold of the 
 grave; his lips quivered and his eye grew dim, and the blood 
 refused to flow from the open vein. Two weeping servants 
 stood at his side ; a greyhound lay at his feet. Above him in 
 the air I saw the demons of unbelief struggling for the soul 
 whicb had just left the body; but the good angels turned 
 away in anger. And I interpreted this vision aright ; I now 
 knew that the unbelieving king was dead, and that Frederick 
 William, the favorite of the Invisible Fathers, was now king 
 of Prussia. Althotas then cried out, for the second time: 
 'Hasten, Frederick William needs you sorely. Hasten, that 
 he may not die. I impart to the mortal the strength of im- 
 mortality!' I turned my back on St. James's Palace, and 
 immediately repaired to the holy laboratory of the spirits, to 
 procure the necessary remedies. I then arose and flew to my 
 suffering king on the wings of the Invisible." 
 
 "It is then true, it is really possible!" cried the enraptured 
 ting. " You are really the great Cagliostro ! You have ac- 
 complished this miracle, have compelled the body to subject 
 itself to the will of the spirit, and fly through time and space 
 at its command! Oh, let me fall down and embrace your 
 knees! Infuse the heavenly breath of thy lips into my en- 
 feebled body!" 
 
 And he sank on his knees before the grand-kophta, and 
 looked up to him in supplication. 
 
210 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 "Arise, Frederick William; favorite of the Invisible, arise 
 from your knees! I have not come to humble you, but to 
 raise you up. The king who rules over millions of human 
 beings, must not bend the knee to mortal man, and worship 
 that which is visible and perishable. Humble your immortal 
 spirit before the immortal, and lift up your soul in adoration 
 to the unseen and imperishable. Be the ruler of men, and 
 the humble subject of the Invisible. Arise, Frederick Will- 
 iam, and listen to what I have to say, for my time is short, 
 and Althotas awaits me on the threshold of St James's Pal- 
 ace, in London." 
 
 In obedience to this command the king arose from his 
 knees, and stood before the magician, whose luminous eyes 
 were still fixed intently on his countenance. 
 
 "You are not ill, Frederick William," said he, "nor are 
 you well ; your spirit lacks buoyancy, its wings are drooping, 
 and your pulse is feeble. Death is slowly but surely ap- 
 proaching, and you would languish and die, if there were no 
 means of driving off this grim monster." 
 
 " Oh, have pity on me ! Give me the life-preserving elixir! 
 Save me! 1 swear that my gratitude shall be unbounded, 
 and that I am ready to bestow any reward that the Invisible 
 Fathers may demand." 
 
 " They, indeed, demand no sacrifice and accept no reward, 
 as men do. Their actions are influenced by higher laws. 
 Love, honor, and obedience, are the rewards they exact." 
 
 "And from the depths of my heart, I promise them love, 
 honor, and obedience." 
 
 " The Invisibles know you to be an obedient servant, and 
 therefore am I here to restore health and strength to your 
 body. But hear me, Frederick William, and lay my words to 
 heart! In order that death may obtain no power over you, 
 your heart must regain its joyousness, and your soul its buoy- 
 ancy. A passionate love, which you are too weak to over- 
 come, has filled your heart, and therefore its joyousness is 
 dimmed. Then, gratify this passion, Frederick William! 
 
THE INVOCATION. 311 
 
 The Invisibles give their consent ! Let your whole being be 
 imbued with this pure, this noble love; renounce all ignoble 
 passions and desires. Make the fdir maiden you love your 
 wife, and peace, joy, and tranquillity, will once more abide in 
 your heart, and your spirit will regain its buoyancy, and bear 
 you aloft to the heights of enthusiasm. But your body shall 
 also be restored to health; we will drive from it all weakness 
 and disease. I bring you the elixir of life, of health, and of 
 strength!" 
 
 "Oh, thanks, unspeakable thanks!" cried Frederick Will- 
 iam, seizing the little bottle which Cagliostro held in his 
 hand, and carrying it eagerly to his lips. 
 
 "Let me drink, sublime master! Let me drink of this 
 heavenly elixir at once!" 
 
 "No! Save this precious medicine for a time when you 
 will need it, when I will no longer be with you. For the 
 present I am here, and I will infuse strength and health into 
 your body! Eeceive these blessings, Frederick William! In 
 the name of the Invisible, I anoint you king of the world 
 and of life!" 
 
 As he uttered these words, he poured a few drops of some 
 fluid on the king 's head from a bottle which he held in his 
 hand. A delicious fragrance instantly filled the room. The 
 king raised his head with an exclamation of delight, and in- 
 haled, in long draughts, the fragrant atmosphere. 
 
 " A wondrous sensation thrills my being; I feel so happy, so 
 buoyant ! I am leaving earth ; and now I seem to see the por- 
 tals of Paradise!" 
 
 " Take this, and these portals will open to your view," said 
 Cagliostro, handing the king a little pill of some grayish sub- 
 stance. " Eat this, and all the bliss of Paradise will be yours !" 
 
 The king took the pill from Cagliostro's extended hand, 
 carried it to his lips, and slowly swallowed it. Instantly a 
 tremor seized his whole body, his cheeks turned deathly pale ; 
 he tottered and sank back into the chair which WoUner had 
 noiselessly rolled forward. 
 
213 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 Cagliostro stooped down over him, and regarded the shadows 
 which passed across and darkened the king's countenance. 
 By degrees these shadows disappeared. His features bright- 
 ened, and at last his countenance shone with Joy and happi- 
 ness, and was radiant with smiles. 
 
 "He is in Paradise," said Cagliostro, stepping back from 
 the chair. " His spirit revels in heavenly delights. An hour 
 will elapse before he returns from Paradise to this earth, and 
 the remembrance of what he has seen and enjoyed in this 
 hour will be a sunbeam in his existence for a long time to 
 come. He will long for a renewal of this bliss, and you must 
 console him with the promise, that I will either appear to him 
 in person, or else send him, by a messenger, at the expiration 
 of each year, one of these wonderful pills, which, condenses 
 the delights of a whole life into one hour, provided he is an 
 humble and obedient servant, and does the will of the Invis- 
 ible in all things. His soul is lost in rapture, and his ear is 
 closed to all earthly sounds! — And now, my friends, come 
 nearer, and listen to my words." 
 
 The two Eosicrucians, Wollncr and Bischofswerder, ap- 
 proached, in obedience to his command ; and when Cagliostro 
 laid his hands on their shoulders, their countenances beamed 
 with delight. 
 
 " Speak to us, sublime master ! Your utterances fall on 
 our souls like heavenly dew. Speak, and command your 
 servants to do your will!" 
 
 " You must continue the course marked out for you by the 
 Fathers through me. You must aid in building up the king- 
 dom of the Church and the Invisible on this earth. The In- 
 visible Church, and her visible priests and representatives, 
 shall alone rule on earth in the future, and, therefore, thrones 
 must be overturned, crowns trodden in the dust, and the 
 names of the kings and princes of earth uprooted like weeds 
 and cast in the oven. An era of terror is drawing nigh when 
 the sword and firebrand will go hand in hand through the 
 land, and rapine and slaughter be the order of the day. The 
 
THE INVOCATION. 313 
 
 demons of insurrection and rebellion are already at work, 
 threatening princes, and greeting the people with these words 
 of promise : Liberty and Fraternity. We, the Invisible, the 
 Sacred Fathers of the holy Church, have sent them out to 
 carry terror to the hearts of princes. The king who has just 
 died devoted his whole life to the enfranchisement of the 
 spirit of the people; our chief endeavor must be to fetter this 
 spirit, and restore the people and their rulers to their former 
 humility and submission. They must do penance in sack- 
 cloth and ashes, and be made aware that the priests of the 
 holy Church and the pious brothers of the order, can alone 
 save them, and reduce their rebellious subjects to obedience 
 and submission. The knife and burning fire are sometimes 
 necessary to heal wounds and diseases. And these remedies 
 we will apply. The revolution can be made a mighty and 
 sublime weapon in the hands of the Invisible, and the bloodiest 
 paths may lead to the greatest good ! Alas, that we should be 
 compelled to tread such paths!" 
 
 "Alas! alas!" cried the two Rosicrucians, pale with terror. 
 The countenance of the slumbering king, however, still wore 
 the same enraptured expression. 
 
 "But," continued Cagliostro, "of these evils, good will 
 come. The proud flesh shall be cut out with the knife, and 
 the wound burned with fire, in order that it may heal the 
 more rapidly. The storm of the revolution will shake the 
 earth. Thrones will tremble, and princes fall down in the 
 dust. The people will be lashed to fury, like the waves of 
 the storm-tossed sea. But the holy Church will be the little 
 vessel that bids the sea be still, and stems the tide of the peo- 
 ple's wrath by leading them back to humility and belief. 
 Anger makes blind, and in their blindness they can the more 
 readily be fettered. We, the Invisible Fathers, use the peo- 
 ple to terrify the rulers. In all parts of Europe, the fathers 
 and brothers of our order are preparing this work of destruc- 
 tion and overthrow, in order that the noble and sublime may 
 be built up anew out of the debris. Oh, my brothers, perform 
 
214 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 diligently your allotted task ! In the name of the Invisible 
 Fathers, I deliver over to you this kingdom and this king ! 
 Govern him, and make him serviceable to the holy order and 
 the holy Church. You shall rule in Prussia. Build up the 
 good, destroy the evil ! But the greatest good is, belief ; the 
 greatest evil, unbelief ! Eoot out the king's unbelief ! You 
 will be justified in using any means, for the end sanctifies the 
 means ; and even that which is in itself vile, becomes a holy 
 weapon in the hands of the chosen ! — And now, my brothers, 
 I bid you a final adieu; my time has expired, I must go!" 
 
 "Oh, master, do not leave us!" cried Bischofswerder. 
 " Stay with us, and promote our holy ends." 
 
 " Stay with us, and assist us in leading the king back to 
 the right path," exclaimed Wollner. 
 
 " You can accomplish it without my assistance. Your will 
 is strong, and his resistance will be but feeble ! You shall be 
 the kings of Prussia ; you shall reign in the land ! But do 
 not forget that as rulers you will still be servants!" 
 
 " That we will never forget! We will ever obey the com- 
 mands of the Invisibles, and faithfully execute their will as 
 announced to us by your sublime lips!" 
 
 "Who knows that my lips will never speak to you again," 
 said Oagliostro, in a sad voice. " I wander through the 
 world on the verge of an abyss, and the storm and revolution 
 are my companions. From the murder and bloodshed of the 
 revolution, the Church will blossom afresh. Eemember these 
 words, ye brothers of the cross and of the roses ! Eemember 
 them, and farewell forever!" 
 
 CHAPTEE XI. 
 
 THE WILL. 
 
 The solemn ceremony was over. The body of the great 
 king had been borne forth from the apartments in which he 
 had governed Prussia for so many years; from the house 
 
THE WILL. 315 
 
 which had been his chief delight on earth, and which was 
 thenceforth to stand as a monument of his life. But the de- 
 ceased king's commands and wishes were disregarded in the 
 very beginning. And it was made manifest to the world that 
 his successor did not intend to walk in his footsteps, and did 
 not share his independent views on religious subjects, and hie 
 freedom from all prejudices. Frederick had caused a burial 
 vault to be built for himself on the terraces. He desired that 
 his body should find a last resting-place in the garden which 
 he had made, and near the house in which he had lived with 
 his friends, and in which he had been so happy! 
 
 But his successor considered such a resting-place, in the 
 temple of Kature, and under the dome erected by the hand 
 of the Almighty, an unfit abode for the remains of a king. 
 He considered the temple of brick and mortar erected by the 
 hand of man a far more worthy receptacle for the dead 
 monarch. 
 
 The philosopher of Sans-Souci had not attended church for 
 many years ; and now, as if to proclaim to the world that a 
 revolution had taken place in Prussia, the king's body was 
 deposited in the church. To the Garrison Church in Pots- 
 dam, where the plain and unadorned coffin of King Frederick 
 William the First had been placed in the vault under the 
 altar, the gloomy funeral procession of the dead ruler wended 
 its way on the evening of the eighteenth of August. His 
 generals and officers, the magistrate of Potsdam, and the 
 members of his household, followed the funeral car. But his 
 successor, King Frederick William, and the princes and 
 princesses, were not present. In solitude, as he had lived, 
 King Frederick descended into the dark vault in which the 
 coffin of his father awaited him. In life, they had kept at a 
 distance from each other; death now brought them together, 
 and their mortal remains lay side by side in peace and tran- 
 quillity. Death reconciles all things; in his hands even kings 
 are but as the dust of the earth. 
 
 On the morning after Frederick's interment, King Freder- 
 
316 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 ick William repaired to Sans-Souci, where the opening and 
 reading of the monarch's will was to take place. The royal 
 princes, who had not accompanied the king's body to its last 
 resting-place, were by no means absent on this momentous 
 occasion, and Princes Henry and Ferdinand, and even the 
 Princess Amelia, Frederick's sister, who was decrepit from 
 age, and deformed by the mental and bodily anguish she had 
 undergone, had come to Sans-Souci to be present at the read- 
 ing of the will. These three were standing in an alcove, con- 
 versing eagerly, but in an undertone. Their manner was 
 expressive of resentment and anger, and the glances which 
 they from time to time cast toward the door through which 
 the king was expected to enter, were full of hatred and 
 derision. 
 
 " Bischofswerder has been made colonel; and Wollner, 
 privy-councillor," murmured Prince Henry, bitterly; "even 
 that abominable fellow, Kietz, has received a title. But he 
 never thought of his family ; for us there are no favors. " 
 
 "And how could there be?" rejoined Princess Amelia, in 
 her sharp, scornful voice. " The favorites stand where the 
 golden shower falls, and you do not desire that we should do 
 likewise, I hope? I, for my part, shall certainly decline the 
 honor of standing at Wilhelmine Enke's side; nor have I any 
 desire to share the royal favor with the king's new flame, the 
 maid of honor. Von Voss." 
 
 " She will soon hold an important position," whispered 
 Prince Ferdinand. " The king intends to make her his wife." 
 
 "Impossible!" exclaimed the hoarse voice of the princess. 
 " That is, unless our dear nephew first manages to put his 
 legitimate wife out of the way with the aid of his sorcerers." 
 
 " Perhaps he intends to take King Solomon as his model, " 
 said Prince Henry, derisively. " He also was an arch- 
 profligate, although he was accounted a most holy and worthy 
 king." 
 
 "Let him pronounce a Solomon's judgment on himself," 
 screeched the princess; "let him cut himself in three pieces: 
 
THE WILL. 217 
 
 one for the queen, a second for Wilhelmine Enke, and the 
 third for the new favorite." 
 
 " The last must, however, be spoken of with the greatest 
 deference," whispered Prince Ferdinand. "The king will 
 have it so. The maid of honor. Von Voss, is exceedingly 
 virtuous, and insists on a marriage. The king had an inter- 
 view with the young lady on the day of Frederick's death; 
 and she then imposed three conditions: She demands that 
 the queen's consent be first obtained, then a church marriage, 
 and finally the iing's separation from Madame Eietz." 
 
 "The queen will not give her consent," said Princess 
 Amelia. 
 
 " She has already done so ! The Privy-Chamberlain Eietz, 
 accomplished this masterpiece of diplomacy. The king pays 
 his wife's debts, and doubles her pin-money; and for this 
 consideration she consents to the marriage of the left hand." * 
 
 "They are all mercenary creatures, these women," mut- 
 tered Prince Henry. " They are like dissembling cats, that 
 are always ready to scratch and betray their best friends. In 
 this respect a queen is no better than a beggar-woman ! For 
 money, a queen compromises her honor and her rights ; and 
 permits a virtuous mantle to be thrown over vice. But this 
 time it will be of no avail, since no priest can be found to 
 consummate this unlawful marriage." • 
 
 "You are mistaken, my dear brother," said Prince Ferdi- 
 nand, smiling. " One has already been found. The king 
 asked advice of his newly-appointed Privy-Councillor "Wollner. 
 This fellow was formerly a preacher, as you well know, and 
 is therefore well acquainted with priestly stratagems. He 
 proved to the king, by historical references, that such double 
 marriages were possible, and that even Luther had permitted 
 the landgrave Philip to contract a marriage of this kind. 
 Moreover, he called the king's attention to the fact, that he 
 was an ordained preacher himself, and, as such, entitled to 
 exercise the functions of that calling, and offered to perform 
 the ceremony himself. " 
 
 * Historical. 
 
218 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 " They are all mercenary creatures, these men," said Prin-, 
 cess Amelia, with a malicious side glance at her brother, 
 Prince Henry. 
 
 "I am surprised to hear that, my dear sister," remarked 
 ' Prince Henry. " It seems you have changed your opinion of 
 men very materially." 
 
 "No," she rejoined, angrily, "no, I have always known 
 that men were miserable creatures. There were only two ex- 
 ceptions: the one was my brother Frederick, and the other 
 was the man whom even the great King Frederick could not 
 keep in fetters — he who broke the heaviest bars and strongest 
 chains with the strength of his invincible spirit, and liberated 
 himself in defiance of all kings and jailers. I thank yon, 
 Henry, for reminding me of him ! My heart has been enven- 
 omed by mankind, and is old and withered, but it grows 
 warm and young again when I think of him for whom I suf- 
 fered so much, and who made of me the old hag I now am. — 
 But here comes the king, our dear nephew. " And Amelia, 
 whose countenance had been illumined for a moment with a 
 ray of youth, resumed her spiteful and gloomy look, and hob- 
 bled toward her dear nephew, who was just entering the 
 chamber, followed by Count von Herzberg and the newly- 
 appoined minister of state, Von Voss. " How handsome your 
 majesty looks!" cried Princess Amelia, in her hoarse voice; 
 " how young and handsome ! If it were not for the thin hair, 
 the embonpoint, and the dear wife, one might take your maj- 
 esty for a youthful Adonis, going a wooing, and — " 
 
 " And who has the misfortune to meet a bad fairy * on the 
 road. But it makes no difference, custom has robbed your 
 evil glance of its terrors, and we will never cease to love and 
 esteem you. I beg leave to assure my dear aunt Amelia, as 
 well as my two uncles, that I will always remain their affec- 
 tionate and devoted nephew, and thaj; it will afford me the 
 greatest pleasure to gratify their wishes. However, we will 
 speak of this hereafter, but now let us consider the grave pur- 
 
 * A Diclmame given the princess at court. 
 
THE WILL. 319 
 
 pose for which we have come together. Count von Herzberg, 
 I beg you to conduct the ambassador of the Duke of Bruns- 
 wick to our presence." 
 
 The king seated himself on the sofa which stood in the 
 middle of the room. Princess Amelia and the two princes 
 seated themselves in chairs, in his immediate vicinity. In 
 front of them, and near the window, stood a table covered 
 with green cloth, and beside it three elegantly carved chairs. 
 This was Frederick the Great's writing-desk, the desk at 
 which he had thought and labored so much for the welfare 
 and honor of his kingdom and subjects. 
 
 " Baron von Hardenberg, minister, and extraordinary am- 
 bassador of his highness, the Duke of Brunswick," cried 
 Count Herzberg as he entered and presented this gentleman 
 to the king. Baron von Hardenberg bowed with the grace of 
 a courtier and an elegant man of the world, and then looked 
 up at the king, expectantly, with an air of perfect ease and 
 composure. 
 
 "Speak, Baron von Hardenberg," said the king, with some 
 little embarrassment, after a short pause. " My uncle, the 
 Duke of Brunswick, sends you. What message does the 
 baron bring?" 
 
 " Sir, I bring, at the command of my gracious master, the 
 duke, the last will and testament of King Frederick the sec- 
 ond, of blessed memory — with unbroken seals, and in exactly 
 the same condition as when years ago delivered by his deceased 
 majesty to the duke, and by him deposited in the state ar- 
 chives at Brunswick, where it has remained until now." 
 
 The baron handed the sealed document to the king, and 
 
 begged him, and th^ princes, and ministers, to examine the 
 
 seals, to assure themselves that they had not been tampered 
 
 with, and requested his majesty to break them, and open the 
 
 will, after having satisfied himself of that fact. After this 
 
 had been done, and after Herzberg had testified to Frederick's 
 
 handwriting, the king returned the document to Baron von 
 
 Hardenberg. 
 
 15 
 
220 GOETHE ANB SCHILLER. 
 
 " You brought us these last greetings and injunctions of 
 the great king, and it is therefore but just and proper that 
 you, as the representative of the duke, should make us ac- 
 quainted with the contents of the will. I authorize you to 
 read it aloud. Seat yourself at that table between my two 
 ministers. And now read." 
 
 Count von Hardenberg spread the document out on the 
 table, and commenced to read in a loud and sonorous voice, 
 as follows : 
 
 "Life is but a fleeting transition from birth to death. 
 Man's destiny is to labor for the welfare of society, of which 
 he is a member, during this brief period. Since the duty of 
 managing the affairs of state first devolved upon me, I have 
 endeavored, with all the powers given me by Nature, to make 
 the state which I had the honor to govern happy and prosper- 
 ous. I have caused justice to be administered, I have brought 
 order and exactitude into the finances, and I have introduced 
 that discipline into the army, which makes it superior to the 
 other troops of Europe. After having done my duty to the 
 state, in this manner, it would be a subject of unceasing self- 
 reproach, if I neglected that which concerns my family. 
 Therefore, in order to avoid the dissensions which might arise 
 among the members of my family in regard to the inheritance, 
 I herewith declare to them this my last will and testament: 
 
 " (1.) I willingly, and without regret, return the breath of 
 life which animates me to beneficent Nature, which honored 
 me with its bestowal, and this body to the elements of which 
 it is composed. I have lived a philosopher, and I desire to 
 be buried as such, without pomp, show, or splendor. I desire 
 neither to be dissected nor embalmed. • I desire to be buried 
 ,' in Sans-Souci, on the terrace and in the vault which I have 
 had prepared for the reception of my body. In this manner 
 the Prince of Nassau was laid to rest in a wood near Cleve. 
 Should I die in time of war, or on a journey, my body must 
 be conveyed to the most convenient place, and afterwards to 
 Sans-Souci in the winter, and deposited as above directed. 
 
THE WILL. 231 
 
 " (2.) I bequeath to my dear nephew, Frederick "WiHiam, 
 my successor to the crown, the kingdom of Prussia, provinces, 
 states, castles, fortifications, places, munitions, and arsenals, 
 lands which are mine by right of conquest or inheritance, all 
 the crown jewels which are in the hands of the queen, my 
 wife, the gold and silver plate in Berlin, my villas, libraries, 
 collections of medals, picture galleries, gardens, etc., etc. 
 Moreover, I leave him the state treasure as he may find it at 
 my death, in trust. It belongs to the state, and must only be 
 used in defending or assisting the people. 
 
 " (3.) If death compels me to leave unpaid some small debts, 
 my nephew shall pay them. Such is my will. 
 
 " (4.) I bequeath to the queen, my wife, the revenue she 
 now draws, with the addition of ten thousand dollars per 
 annum, two tuns of wine each year, free wood, and game for 
 her table. Under this condition, the queen has consented to 
 make my nephew her heir. Moreover, as there is no suitable 
 dwelling that can be set apart as her residence, I content my- 
 self with mentioning, for form's sake, Stettin as an appro- 
 priate place. At the same time, I request of my nephew that 
 he hold suitable lodgings in readiness for her in the palace in 
 Berlin, and that he show a proper consideration for the widow 
 of his uncle, and for a princess whose virtue is above all 
 reproach. 
 
 " (5.) And now, we come to the Allodial estate. I have 
 never been either miserly or rich, nor have I ever had much 
 to dispose of. I have considered the state revenues as the 
 ark of the covenant, which none but consecrated hands might 
 touch. I have never appropriated the public revenues to my 
 own use. My own expenses have never exceeded the sum of 
 two hundred thousand dollars; and my administration leaves 
 me in perfect quietude of conscience, and I do not fear to 
 give the public a strict account of it. 
 
 " (6.) 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. Muhlbach. 
 
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. He had that receipt already! 
 He 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 WoUner must know the receipts necessary to efEect 
 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 Eosicrucians ! 
 
 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 enmity to the Eosicrucians. 
 
226 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 CHAPTEE XII. 
 
 LEUCHSENEING. 
 
 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 Hain 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 pointed 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 Naples, 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. 227 
 
 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, 
 ■vromen 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 afEairs. 
 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 poHtical 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." 
 
238 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 "I am," said Hardenberg, his jovial face assuming an 
 earnest expression, and he touched Leuohsenring'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 Eosicrucians 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 nationG, v/ill free themselves by the fearful 
 
LEUCHSENEING. 229 
 
 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 
 'Eobbers, ' Schiller hurled the firebrand into the mind of 
 youth, and princes and rulers are feeding and nourishing the 
 enkindled flame with 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. " Yes, 
 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 we 
 
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 
 ofEers an asylum to all restless consciences, and dispenses 
 blessings and forgiveness for all vices and crimes. For this 
 reason, these Eosicrucians 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 Eosicrucians 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 Eosicrucians 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 Eosicrucians 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 
 
 fluential 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 Eosicrucians. 
 We call ourselves Illuminati, because we intend to illumine 
 the darkness of the Eosicrucians, 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 Eosicru- 
 cians 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 Hardenberg. " Your 
 ardor inspires me, your enthusiasm is contagious. I will take 
 part in this great and noble struggle. Admit me into your 
 order!" 
 
 " Yon 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 Eosicrucians, 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 Eosicrucians 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 ofEended — 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. 
 "Eead 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 Eosicrucian 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 Eosicrucians 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 Eosicrucians 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 Eosicrucians 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 Illuminati. 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 Eosicrucians. 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 Eosicrucians 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 see 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 Leuchsenring 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 Kosicrucians 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 Eoyal 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. No, 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, reserved boy, 
 who has suffered and endured so much in his youth. I love 
 this prince, who has so warm a heart, but can never find 
 words to express his feelings. I pity 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 
 afEectionate and tender-hearted son, who wishes to love and 
 esteem his father, but dares not look at him, for fear of see- 
 
LEUCHSENRING. 335 
 
 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 bitter experience ! But, perhaps, 
 it is well that such should be the case ; if he has received the 
 Daptism 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 Leuchsenring, joyously. "It may be that I will 
 not live to see the day. My enemies, the Eosicrucians, 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 Eoyal of Prussia, and on his genial 
 friend, Prince Louis Ferdinand!" 
 
BOOK III. 
 
 CHAPTEE I. 
 
 SCHILLER IN DRESDEIJ. 
 
 " 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, yile 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. " Why 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 ourselves 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 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, 
 SchiUer!" 
 
 " Keason !" cried he, stamping the floor, wrathfuUy. 
 " 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!" 
 
 "Xow 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 vilo 
 
238 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 dross! Yon 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, 
 vbile Goschen turned away, his lips trembling, and his eyes 
 tilled 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 jnortals, let me also j)ar- 
 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 Hon 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! Eepeat 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 adorningjts 
 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 infq^rnal 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. 341 
 
 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 Arnim 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 her 
 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 
 oflBcers 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 bashfulness 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 tolf. 
 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 oflBcers 
 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 Komer. 
 " 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. Go, 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. "No," said he, solemnly, " there 
 are gi'eat 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 POVEETT. 
 
 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 oake 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 i)raised that I intend to give him my patron- 
 age. He is to keep an account of all I purchase, and I will 
 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," 
 3aid 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 Versen'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 
 livided 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 
 
348 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 with 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 you 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 baptized wine— before the 
 company is assembled, because if I 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 w^rongs." 
 
 " 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 r.n 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 
 such 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. 351 
 
 " Only Leonhard, my lady, who lias 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 me 
 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 console him with promises for the future, 
 17 
 
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, Leonhard 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. Now, 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 YOK AENIM. 
 
 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. 353 
 
 the only window through which but little light penetrated 
 the roona 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?" 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. 
 
 "Eemain 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 ever 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. 355 
 
 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." 
 
 " He looked just as he did when we 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 it: 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 h;is 
 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." 
 
 "But 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. 357 
 
 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 Jind that it is emptj', 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. But 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- 
 
358 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 pity 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— ?" 
 
 "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 shouM 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 &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 
 you ; 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. 361 
 
 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 Kunheim 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. 263 
 
 is mine! She 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 ofl&cers, 
 " 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. 
 
 " No, he is not coming," repeated Marie, mechanically. 
 Eegrets, 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. 
 
264 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. 
 
 "No, 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 Schiller," said she, 
 in dulcet tones. " We feel highly honored and are partic- 
 
MARIE VON ARNIM. 365 
 
 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 
 " Eeally, 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 Arnim," 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 
 virnim. 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. 267 
 
 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 suffering. 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 up with an expression of un- 
 speakable admiration at the tall figure of the poet, who had 
 written his two favorite pieces, " The Bobbers," and " Fiesco." 
 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. lie 
 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! 
 
 CHAPTEK IV". 
 
 SOULS IIT PUEGATOET. 
 
 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. He 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 peace of slumbering Nature 
 with the agonized cry of his wakeful, tormenting grief. 
 
 There he lies, stretched out like a corpse, or like one in a 
 trance. But the moon sees that he is not dead, not uncon- 
 scious, and sadly witnesses the tears trickling down his coun- 
 tenance, and hears his sobs and wails, the wails of the genius 
 suffering after the manner of humanity ; and yet the spirit of 
 God dwells in his exalted mind, and will give him strength 
 to overcome this grief. 
 
 The night sheds a soft light on his tearful countenance, as 
 though it greeted him with a heavenly smile ; and the stars 
 gtand still and twinkle their greetings to the poet. The mel- 
 
270 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 ody of the birds is hushed, and they listen in the foliage, as 
 though they understood his lamentations. Schiller had now 
 raised his head ; the stillness and solitude of the night had 
 cooled the burning fever of his soul. 
 
 " Is it then true, am I destined only to suffer and to be de- 
 ceived? Years roll on and I have not yet enjoyed the golden 
 fruits that life promises to man, the golden fruits of Arcadia. 
 My heart was filled with such joyous anticipations, my soul 
 longed for these fruits. Although the spring-time of my life 
 has hardly begun, its blossoms have already withered. All is 
 vanity and illusion ! Falsehood alone can make men happy, 
 truth kills them like God's lightning! I have looked thee in 
 the face again to-day, Truth, thou relentless divinity, and my 
 heart burns in pain, and my soul is filled with agony. The 
 poet is a prophet, my present condition proves it; what the 
 poet in me sung, the poor child of humanity now experi- 
 ences; my sufferings are boundless." 
 
 He buried his face in his hands, and the moon saw the tears 
 which trickled out from between his fingers, and heard the 
 poet's plaintive, trembling voice break in upon the stillness 
 of the night like the soft tones of an ^olian harp : 
 
 " leh zahle Dir in einem andren Leben, 
 Gieb Deine Jugend mir 1 
 Nichts kann ich Dir als diese Weisung geben. 
 Ich nabm die Weisung auf das andre Leben 
 Und meiner Jugend Freuden gab ich ihr ! 
 
 Gieb mir das Weib, so theuer Deinem Herzen I 
 Gieb Deine Laura mir I 
 
 Jenseit des Grabes wucliern Deine Schmerzen ! 
 Icli riss sie blutend aus dem wunden Herzen, 
 Icb weintelaut und gab sie ihr! " * 
 
 * " I will repay thee in a holier land — 
 Give thou to me thy youth; 
 All I can grant thee lies in this command. 
 I heard, and, trusting in a holier land, 
 Gave my young joys to Truth. 
 
 Give me thy Laura — Give me her whom love 
 To thy heart's core endears; 
 The usurer bliss pays every grief — above 1 
 I tore the fond shape from the bleeding love 
 And gave — albeit with tears." 
 
 Sir E. B. Lytton\ Schiller. 
 
SOULS IN PURGATORY. 271 
 
 "And gave — albeit with tears!" repeated Schiller once 
 more, and a cry of anguish escaped his breast. " Is it then 
 inevitable? Is man born only to suffer, and are those right 
 who assert that life is only a vale of sorrow, and not worth 
 enduring?" 
 
 He seemed to be painfully meditating on this question. 
 Nature held its breath, awaiting his answer; even the birds 
 had ceased chirping, and the wind no longer dared to rustle 
 in the tree-tops. In what tones will the ^Slolian harp of the 
 soul respond ? What reply will the poet make to the question 
 propounded by the man? 
 
 He looks up at the bright firmament shedding its peaceful 
 beams upon his head ; he looks at the stars, and they smile 
 on him. There is sorriething in him that bids defiance to all 
 sorrow and melancholy. A soft, heavenly, and yet strong 
 voice resounds in his soul like the mysterious manifestation 
 of the Divinity itself. He listens to this voice; the pinions 
 of his soul no longer droop ; he rises, stretches out his arms 
 towards the moon and the stars, and his soul soars heavenward 
 and revels in the glories of the universe. 
 
 "No," he exclaimed, in loud and joyous tones, "no, the 
 earth is no vale of sorrow, it is the garden of the Almighty. 
 No, life is no bauble to be lightly thrown away ; the sufferings 
 life entails must be endured and overcome. Give me strength 
 to overcome them, thou indwelling spirit; illumine the dark- 
 ness of my human soul, thou flame of God, holy poetry! No, 
 it were unworthy the dignity, unworthy the honor of man- 
 hood, to bow the head under the yoke of sorrow, and become 
 the slave of melancholy for the sake of a faithless woman. A 
 greeting to you, you golden lights of the heavens! you shall 
 not look down on me with pity, but with proud sympathy ! 
 I am a part of the great spirit who created you, am spirit of 
 the spirit of God, am lord of the earth. Down with you, sor- 
 rows of earth! down with you, scorpions! I will set my foot 
 on your head, and triumph over you. You shall have no 
 power over me. I am a man; who is more so?" 
 
272 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 And exultantly and triumphantly he once more cried out 
 to the night and the heavens: " I am a man!" 
 
 It was not the sky which now illumined his countenance, 
 it was the proud smile of victory ; the light in his eyes was 
 not the reflection of the stars, but the brave courage of the 
 soul which had elevated itself above the dust of the earth. 
 
 " The struggle is over, grief is overcome ! I greet thee, 
 thou peaceful tranquil night, thou hast applied the healing 
 balsam to my wounded breast : and all pain will soon have 
 vanished !" 
 
 He turned homeward, and walked rapidly through the 
 wood and along the river bank, which was here and there 
 skirted with clumps of bushes and shrubbery. 
 
 Suddenly he stood still and listened. It seemed to him 
 that he had heard the despairing cry of a human voice be- 
 hind some bushes, close to the river bank. Yes, he had not 
 been mistaken, he could now hear the voice distinctly. 
 
 Schiller slowly and noiselessly approached the clump of 
 bushes from behind which the voice had seemed to proceed ; 
 he bent the twigs aside, and, peering through the foliage, 
 listened. 
 
 He beheld a strange sight. He saw before him the river 
 with its rippling waves, and, on its narrow bank, kneeling in 
 the full moonlight, a human form — a youth whose coun- 
 tenance was pale and emaciated, and whose long black hair 
 fluttered in the breeze. His features were distorted with 
 anguish, and the tears which poured down his hollow cheeks 
 sparkled in the light like diamonds. He was partially un- 
 dressed, and his coat, hat, and a book, which, to judge from 
 its size and shape, appeared to be a Bible, lay at his side on 
 the sand. The youth had raised his bare arms toward heaven, 
 his hands were clasped together convulsively, and in his agony 
 his voice trembled as he uttered these words : 
 
 "I can no longer endure life. Forgive me, God in 
 heaven, but I cannot ! Thou knowest what my struggles have 
 been ! Thou knowest that I have tried to live — tried to bid 
 
SOULS IN PURGATORY. 273 
 
 defiance to the torments which lacerate my soul! Thou 
 knowest how many nights I ha.ve passed on my knees, entreat- 
 ing Thee to send down a ray of mercy on my head, to show 
 me an issue out of this night of despair ! But it was not Thy 
 will, Almighty Father! Thou hast not taken pity on the 
 poor worm that writhed in the dust, on the beggar who 
 stretched out his hands to Thee, imploring alms! Then, 
 pardon me at least, and receive me in Thy mercy ! I am 
 about to return to Thee ; God, receive me graciously ! And 
 thou, thou hard, cruel, joyless world, thou vale of affliction, 
 a curse upon thee — the curse of a dying mortal who has re- 
 ceived nothing but torment at thy hands! Farewell, and — " 
 
 He arose from his knees, and rushed forward with extended 
 arms toward the deep, silent grave that lay there ready to 
 receive him. Suddenly a strong hand held him as in a vice, 
 he was drawn back and hurled to the ground at the water's 
 edge. It seemed to him that a giant stood before him — a 
 giant whose golden locks were surrounded by a halo, whose 
 eyes sparkled, and whose countenance glowed with noble 
 anger. 
 
 "Suicide," thundered a mighty voice, "who gives you the 
 right to murder him whom God has created ! Felon, mur- 
 derer, fall on your knees in the dust and pray to God for 
 mercy and forgiveness I" 
 
 "I have prayed to God for weeks and months," murmured 
 the trembling youth, writhing in the dust, and not daring to 
 look up at the luminous apparition that hovered over him like 
 God's avenging angel. " It was all in vain. No ray of light 
 illumined the night of my sufferings. I wish to die, because 
 I can no longer endure life! I fiee to death to seek relief 
 from the hunger that has been gnawing at my vitals for four 
 days, and has made of the man a wild animal! I — " 
 
 His wailing voice was silent, his limbs no longer quivered; 
 when Schiller knelt down at his side, he saw that his features 
 were stiffened and that his eyes were widely extended and 
 glassy. 
 
274 GOETHE AND SCHILLER, 
 
 Schiller laid his ear on the unfortunate man's breast and 
 felt his pulse. His heart was not beating ; his pulse no longer 
 throbbed. 
 
 " It is only a swoon, nothing else ; death cannot ensue so 
 quickly unless preceded by spasms. Poor unfortunate, for- 
 give me for calling you back to the torment of existence ; but 
 we are men, and must not violate the laws of Nature. I must 
 awaken you, poor youth!" 
 
 He stretched out his hands to the river, filled them with 
 water, and poured it on his pale forehead, and, as he still lay 
 motionless, he rubbed his forehead and breast with his hands, 
 and breathed his own breath into his open mouth. 
 
 Slowly life dawned again, a ray of consciousness returned 
 to the glassy eyes, and the trembling lips murmured a low 
 wail, which filled the poet's soul with sadness, and his eyes 
 with tears of sympathy. 
 
 There lay the image of God, quivering in agony; the most 
 pitiful complaint of the human creature was the anxious cry 
 of the awakening human soul, " I am hungry ! I am hungry !" 
 
 "And I have nothing to allay his hunger with," said Schil- 
 ler, anxiously ; " nothing with which to make a man of this 
 animal." 
 
 " Woe is me," groaned the youth, "this torment is fearful! 
 Why did you call me back to my sufEerings? .Who gave you 
 the right to forbid me to die?" 
 
 "Who gave you the right to die?" asked Schiller, with 
 severity. 
 
 "Hunger," groaned the youth, "hunger, with its scorpion 
 teeth ! If you compel me to live, then give me the bread of 
 life! Bread! Give me bread! Se^e, I beg for bread! I 
 preferred to die rather than beg, but you have conquered me 
 and bowed my head in the dust, and. now I am a beggar! 
 Give me bread! Do not let me starve!" 
 
 " I will bring you bread," said Schiller, mildly. " But, no, 
 you might avail yourself of my absence to accomplish your 
 dark purpose. Swear that you will remain here until I return. " 
 
SOULS IN PURGATORY.' 275 
 
 The unfortunate youth did not reply; when Schiller again 
 knelt down at his side, he saw that he was again in a 
 swoon. 
 
 "When he awakens, I will have returned," murmured 
 Schiller. lie arose, and ran rapidly to the little inn that 
 stood at the foot of Briihls's Terrace. To his great joy, a 
 light was still burning in the main room, and, when he en- 
 tered, several guests were still sitting at the table enjoying 
 their pipes and beer. Schiller stepped up to the counter, pur- 
 chased a loaf of bread and a bottle of wine, and returned with 
 all possible haste to the unfortunate youth, who had resumed 
 consciousness, and was, at the moment of his arrival, painfully 
 endeavoring to raise his head. 
 
 Schiller knelt down, and rested the poor youth's head on 
 his knees. " Be patient, my poor friend, I bring relief, I 
 bring bread!" 
 
 How hastily did his trembling hands clutch the loaf, and 
 how eagerly did they carry it to his mouth! How radiant 
 was his countenance when he had taken a long draught from 
 the bottle which Schiller held to his pale lips. 
 
 The poet turned away, he could not endure this painful 
 sight. Sadly and reproachfully he looked upward. 
 
 " God, Thou hast made Thy world so rich ! There is 
 enough to provide a bounteous repast for all ! The trees are 
 laden with fruits, and man may not pluck them ; the bakeries 
 are filled with the bread of life, and man may not take, 
 although he is starving. He sinks down in the death agony 
 while the rich usurer drives by in his splendid equipage, and 
 looks down proudly and contemptuously upon the unhappy 
 man whose only crime is that he is poor. eternal, divine 
 Justice, it is in vain that I seek thee behind the clouds. I 
 look for thee in vain in the palaces of the rich, and in the 
 huts of the poor!" 
 
 "Ah, how refreshing, how delightful was this bread and 
 wine !" sighed the unfortunate youth. " You are my saviour, 
 you have freed me from torment. I thank you ! Let me kiss 
 
276 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 this merciful hand! — You will not permit me, you withdraw 
 it? You despise me, the suicide, the coward? You have a 
 right to do so!" 
 
 "No," said Schiller, gently, "I do not despise, I pity you. 
 I also have suffered, I also have felt the scorpion stings of 
 poverty. No, I do not despise you. All men are brothers, 
 and must aid one another. All cares are sisters, and must 
 console one another. Speak my brother, tell me, how can I 
 aid you? Unburden your bosom to my sister soul, and I will 
 try to console you." 
 
 " You are an angel-messenger from God," sobbed the young 
 man. " Your lips speak the first words of sympathy I have 
 heard for long months. I could bathe your feet in tears of 
 gratitude. Yes, my brother, you shall hear the sad history 
 of my life, and then you will perhaps justify, perhaps pardon, 
 the crime I was about to commit. Oh, my brother!" 
 
 Schiller seated himself at his side on the river bank, and 
 the pale youth rested his head on the poet's proffered shoul- 
 der. A pause ensued. While he who had but Just returned 
 from the gates of death, was endeavoring to collect his con- 
 fused and wandering thoughts, the voice of pity was resound- 
 ing in the heart of him who had been stronger than his 
 brother in the hour of trial, who had bid defiance to mis- 
 fortune, and with manly fortitude had overcome grief. His 
 heart was filled with sympathy for his weaker and less coura- 
 geous brother, who had desired to flee from life because his 
 soul lacked the pinions which had borne the poet aloft, above 
 the dust and misery of earth. 
 
 " How can he fly to whom the Almighty, the Omnipresent, 
 has not given the pinions of enthusiasm? He must crawl in 
 the dust, his only thought is the gratification of his animal 
 instincts, and like an animal he must live and perish. For 
 him from whom God withholds this heavenly ray, all is night 
 and darkness — no stars shine for him ; it were well he sought 
 safety in the silence of the grave, in a cessation of torment ! 
 I thank Thee, God, for the strength Thou hast given, for 
 
SOULS IN PURGATORY. 271 
 
 the ray of light Thou hast sent down to illumine my dark 
 path in life!" 
 
 These words did not pass Schiller's lips, they were only 
 uttered in the depths of his soul. He looked up at the moon 
 and stars, journeying in unchangeable serenity on their 
 heavenly course. " 8mile on, smile on! You know nothing 
 of man's sufferings. The eternal laws have marked out your 
 course. Why not ours, too? Why not man's? Why must 
 we wander in the desert of life, seeking happiness, and find- 
 ing pain only ! We conceive ourselves to be godlike, and yet 
 we are no more than the worm that writhes in the dust, and 
 is trodden under foot by the careless passer-by." 
 
 These were the thoughts that passed through Schiller's 
 mind, while the pale youth at his side was narrating, in a 
 voice often interrupted by sobs and tears, the history of his 
 sufferings. 
 
 It was a simple, unvarnished story of that suffering and 
 want altogether too proud to seek sympathy or relief. A story 
 such as we might daily hear, if our ears were open to the 
 mute pleadings that so often speak to us in the pale, care- 
 worn countenances of our fellow-travellers in the journey of 
 life. Why repeat what is as old as the world ! A shipwrecked 
 life, a shipwrecked calling! There was that in this son of 
 poverty which urged him to the acquisition of knowledge; 
 he believed his mind endowed with treasures, and his am- 
 bitious heart whispered : " You will one day be a renowned 
 preacher! God gave you inspiration; inspiration will give 
 you the words with which to move the hearts of men!" He 
 was the son of a poor tailor, but his father looked with pride 
 on the boy who always brought home the best testimonials 
 from his school, and who was held up to the other scholars as 
 a model of diligence. It would be an honor for the whole 
 family if the tailor's son should become a learned man and a 
 pastor. All that the parents could save and earn by hard 
 work they willingly devoted to the education of their son, 
 that he might become a scholar, and the pride of his family. 
 
378 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 What is there, that is glorious and beautiful, which parental 
 love does not hope for, and prophesy for the darling son? 
 
 Young Theophilus had passed his examination with honor, 
 and had repaired to the university in Leipsio to continue his 
 studies when the sad intelligence of his father's death reached 
 him, summoning him back to Dresden, to his mother's assist- 
 ance. He now learned, what he, the student who had lived 
 only in his books, had hitherto had no knowledge of what- 
 ever. He learned that his affectionate father had contracted 
 debts, and pawned all that he possessed, in order that his 
 son's studies might be promoted. When the father found it 
 no longer possible to assist his son, he had died of grief. 
 And now the usurers and creditors came and took possession 
 of every thing, regardless of the distressful cries of the un- 
 happy mother, and the protestations of her despairing son. 
 The law awarded them all, and they took all ! Theophilus 
 had reason to esteem it almost a blessing when his mother 
 followed her husband to the grave a short time afterward. 
 In the hospital of the Ursuline Sisters, he had at least found 
 shelter for her, and six days afterward she found rest in her 
 last abode in the narrow cofBn accorded her by charity. 
 
 But where was a refuge to be found for the poor son who 
 had so suddenly been driven from the study into the desert of 
 life, where he could find no oasis in which to refresh himself 
 and rest his wearied limbs? At first he refused to be discour- 
 aged, and struggled bravely. So little is needed to sustain 
 life! and for this little he was willing to give all the knowl- 
 edge acquired by honest diligence. He applied to the rich, 
 to the learned, to artists; he offered his services, he wished to 
 give instruction, to teach children. But, where were his 
 recommendations? What guaranties had he to offer? The 
 man who sought work was taken for a beggar, and the per- 
 sons to whom he applied either turned their backs on him, or 
 else offered a petty gratuity! This he invariably rejected; he 
 wished to work, he was not a beggar. His unseasonable pride 
 was ridiculed, his indignation called beggar insolence! Long 
 
SOULS IN PURGATORY. 279 
 
 days of struggling, of hunger, and of humiliations; long 
 nights without shelter, rest, or refreshment! This little 
 wood, on the river bank, had been his bedchamber for a long 
 time. Here, on the bed of moss, accorded him by Nature, 
 he had struggled with despair, feeling that it was gradually 
 entwining him in its icy grasp ! Finally, it held him as in a 
 vice, and he felt that escape was no longer possible. Hunger 
 had then spoken to him in the tempter's voice, and whispered 
 to his anxious soul that crime might still save him ; it whis- 
 pered that he could not be blamed for a theft committed 
 under such circumstances, and hard-hearted society would 
 alone bear the responsibility. Then, in his anguish, he had 
 determined to seek refuge, from the tempter's voice, in death, 
 in the silent bed of the river. 
 
 Theophilus narrated this sad history of his sufferings with 
 many sighs and groans. He painted a very gloomy picture* 
 of his life, and Schiller was deeply moved. He laid his hand 
 on the poor youth's pale brow and looked upwards, an expres- 
 sion of deep devotion and solemn earnestness depicted in his 
 countenance. 
 
 " Thou hast listened to the wails of two mortals to-day, 
 thou Spirit of the Universe. The one spoke to Thee in the 
 anger of a man, the other in the despairing cry of a youth. 
 Impart, to both of them, of Thy peace, and of Thy strength ! 
 Give to the man the resignation which teaches him that his 
 mission on earth is not to be happy, but to struggle; teach 
 the youth that the darkest night is but the harbinger of com- 
 ing day, and that he must not despair while in darkness and 
 gloom, but ever look forward hopefully to the coming light." 
 
 " Thou hast had Hope— in thy belief thy prize— 
 Thy life was centred in it," 
 
 murmured Theophilus, smiling sadly. 
 
 Schiller started and looked inquiringly at the youth, who, 
 in so strange a coincidence of thought, had given expression 
 to his despair in lines taken from the same poem from which 
 the poet had repeated a verse in his hour of trial. 
 
280 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 "Are the lines you have just uttered your own?" asked 
 Schiller. 
 
 "No," replied the youth, softly, "from whence should such 
 inspiration come to me. The lines are from Schiller's poem, 
 ' To Eesignation, ' from the pen of the poet who is the favorite 
 of the gods and muses, the poet who is adored by all Ger- 
 many." 
 
 " Do you know this Frederick Schiller, of whom you speak 
 with such admiration?" 
 
 " No, I have never seen him, nor do I desire to see him ! I 
 love and adore him as a sublime spirit, as a disembodied 
 genius. I would, perhaps, envy him if he should appear be- 
 fore me in human form." 
 
 "Envy him, and why?" 
 
 " Because he is the chosen, the happy one ! I do not wish 
 to see the poet in bodily form ; I do not wish to know that he 
 eats and drinks like other men!" 
 
 "And suffers like other men, too," said Schiller, softly. 
 
 " No, that is impossible!" cried Theophilus, with vivacity. 
 " His soul is filled with Heaven and the smiles of the Divin- 
 ity; he cannot suffer, he cannot be unhappy!" 
 
 Schiller did not reply. His head was thrown back, and he 
 was gazing up at the heavens; the moon again shone on his 
 countenance, and the starlight sparkled in the tears that 
 rolled slowly down his cheeks. " He cannot suffer, he cannot 
 be unhappy!" he repeated in a low voice. It seemed to him 
 that a transformation was going on within himself, that he 
 was growing larger and stronger, and that his heart had laid 
 on a coat of armor. He sprang from the ground, stood 
 proudly erect, and shook his arms aloft. "Here truly is 
 manly strength, the sinews are tightly drawn, the muscles are 
 firm ; a genius has selected this breast as its abode, to give it 
 strength to shake off the burden of sorrow." He felt that his 
 good genius had conducted him to this unhappy man, that he 
 might be taught that the strong alone can bear pain, and that 
 the weak must succumb under the rod of affliction. His 
 
SOULS IN PURGATORY. 38i 
 
 heart was filled with pity for the weak brother at his side. 
 " It was God's will that I should save you from death ; in so 
 doing, I however contracted the obligation to preserve your 
 life. I will meet this obligation. Tell me, what were your 
 plans before your father's death?" 
 
 " I hoped, when I should have finished my course at the 
 university, to enter some family as teacher, where I could, in 
 time, earn enough to enable me to go to the Catholic Sem- 
 inary in Cologne, and maintain me there, while completing 
 my studies." 
 
 "You are a Catholic?" 
 
 " My father was from the Ehine, and my mother was of 
 Polish extraction. Both were Catholics, and it was their fond 
 hope that their son might some day receive ordination and 
 become a priest of the Catholic Church. It seems, however, 
 that I have only been ordained to misery, and I could veil my 
 head and die in shame and remorse!" 
 
 "Young man, this is blasphemy, you forfeit God's grace 
 when you speak in this manner. He sent me here to save 
 you, and with his aid I will not leave my task uncompleted. 
 How much will enable you to prepare yourself for your future 
 career?" 
 
 " The sum that I require is so great that I scarcely dare 
 mention it." 
 
 "Would one hundred dollars be sufficient?" 
 
 " That is far more than I need, more than I ever possessed!" 
 cried Theophilus, almost terrified." 
 
 " If I should promise to give you this amount — to give it 
 to you here, at this same place, and at this hour, in a week 
 from to-day, would you swear to wait patiently and hopefully 
 until then, and to make no further wicked attempt on your 
 life?" 
 
 "I would swear to do so," replied Theophilus, in a trem- 
 bling and tearful voice. 
 
 " By the memory of your father and mother?" 
 
 " By the memory of my father and mother !" 
 
282 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 " Well, then, my brother, with God's help I will bring you 
 the money in a week from to-day. I would say to-morrow, if 
 I had the money; but I am poor, like you, my brother. No, 
 this is hardly true. I am rich, for I have friends, and these 
 friends will furnish the money you require, if I entreat them 
 to do so." 
 
 " You will narrate my history to your friends?" said The- 
 ophilus, blushing. 
 
 " That I will have to do, in order to awaken sympathy, but 
 I will not mention your name, nor will I so closely narrate 
 the circumstances that they can possibly divine of whom I am 
 speaking. Moreover, you told me that you had no friends or 
 acquaintances in Dresden?" 
 
 " True," sighed Theophilus, letting his head sink on his 
 breast, " misfortune knows itself only, and cares are its only 
 friends. It conceals its wounds, and hides itself in darkness. 
 But I have no longer the right to be proud; I bow my head 
 in humility. Plead my cause, my noble, generous friend, my 
 saviour! God's mercy will give you eloquence, and the con- 
 sciousness of having saved a human being from disgrace and 
 crime will make your words irresistible. My heart is filled 
 with the joyful conviction that God has sent you as a messen- 
 ger of peace and reconciliation. I will believe in, and con- 
 fide in you; I will live, because you tell me to live!" 
 
 "Live, my brother, and hope!" said Schiller, gently. 
 " Await me at this place, and at this hour, a week from to- 
 day; I hope to bring you the money. But you must have 
 something with which to purchase the necessaries of life until 
 then. Here, my brother, take all that I have in my purse. 
 I have only four dollars, bat that sum will suffice to provide 
 you with food and lodging." 
 
 Theophilus took the money, and kissed the giver's hand. 
 " I have proudly rejected the gifts offered me by the rich, 
 preferring to die rather than receive their heartless charity. 
 But from you, brother Samaritan, I humbly accept the gift of 
 love. I willingly burden myself with this debt of gratitude. " 
 
SEPARATION. 283 
 
 " Let ns now separate," said Schiller. " In a week we meet 
 again. But owe request I desire to make of you." 
 
 "You have but to command, and I will obey you im- 
 plicit]}'." 
 
 " I beg you not to attempt to find me out, or to learn who I 
 am? We have seen each other's countenances in the moon- 
 light, but they were covered with a golden veil. Do not 
 attempt to remove this veil in the light of day, and to learn 
 my name. I feel assured that you will make no mention of 
 this incident of to-night, but I also desire to avoid meeting 
 you in future. I therefore beg you not to go out much in 
 Dresden, and not to frequent the main streets of the city. If 
 we should meet, my heart would prompt me to extend my 
 hand and speak to you, and that would not be desirable." 
 
 " Further down on the Elbe there is a little inn wliere I can 
 board cheaply. From here I will go to this inn and there re- 
 main till the appointed hour. I will not go near the city." 
 
 "Good-night, brother!" said Schiller, extending his hand. 
 " Here we shall meet again. And now, turn you to the left, 
 and I will turn to the right. May good spirits watch over us 
 till our return!" 
 
 CHAPTEE V. 
 
 SEPAEATIOK. 
 
 Schiller walked homeward with rapid strides. The 
 streets of the city were silent and deserted, and the houses 
 enveloped in darkness. He passed by the house in which she 
 lived for whom he had suffered so much. He did not look 
 up, but his head sank lower on his breast, and a feeling of 
 unutterable sadness came over him; but he had no pity for 
 himself, not a single sigh or complaint escaped his breast. 
 
 A sensation of chilliness crept over him as he now entered 
 his solitary dwelling. No one was there to extend the hand 
 19 
 
284 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 of sympathy and bid him welcome. His two friends had 
 awaited his return for a long time, but had finally gone home. 
 They knew their friend's disposition, they knew that Schiller 
 always avoided men when his passions were aroused, and 
 sought out some solitude where no eye could witness his strug- 
 gle to subdue them. 
 
 " He very probably has gone to Loschwitz, to spend a few 
 days in the pavilion in which he wrote 'Don Carlos,'" said 
 Korner. " His genius always directs the poet aright, and he 
 possesses the healing balsam for his wounds in hisownjDreast. 
 I will go to Loschwitz myself, to-morrow, to see if he is there, 
 and to make a few inquiries as to his condition. If I find 
 him there I shall leave him to himself till his agitation and 
 passion have subsided, and he voluntarily returns to his 
 friends. " 
 
 " But if he is not there?" said Goschen, anxiously, as they 
 stepped out into the street. " I never before saw Schiller in 
 so violent a state of excitement. If this fearful awakening 
 from his delusion should overcome him — if in his despair he 
 should—" 
 
 "Do not conclude your sentence," said Korner, interrupt- 
 ing him, " do not utter that terrible word. Do not insult 
 your absent friend ; remember that he is a genius. He will 
 not yield to despair like an ordinary man ; his soul will soon 
 recover its buoyancy." 
 
 But for this night, at least, Korner's prophecy was not des- 
 tined to be fulfilled. True, Schiller had overcome despair, 
 but the pain still rankled in his breast. The bed on which 
 he threw himself in his physical exhaustion was a bed of pain. 
 His thoughts and remembrances were the thorns that pierced 
 his heart, and drove sleep from his couch. 
 
 He arose the next morning at a late hour in a state of 
 feverish excitement, entered his plainly-furnished parlor, and 
 looked gloomily around him. But yesterday his parlor had 
 looked so cosey and comfortable, to-day it seemed so bare and 
 desolate. Those flowers in the little vase were but yesterday 
 
SEPARATION. 285 
 
 so bright and fragrant, to-day they were faded. The books 
 and papers on his table -were in the greatest disorder. The 
 appearance of the room awakened in Schiller the sensation of 
 sadness and desolation we experience on entering the deserted 
 room of a dear friend who has suddenly left us. 
 
 Yes, Joy, love, hope, and enthusiasm, had departed from 
 this room ; it now looked dreary and desolate. How can we 
 work, how can we write poetry, without enthusiasm, without 
 
 joy? 
 
 "Elegies on a faithless sweetheart," said Schiller, in loud, 
 mocking tones. "A tearful poem, with the title: 'When 
 last I saw her in the circle of her suitors;' or 'The amorous 
 swain outwitted!' " 
 
 He burst into laughter, stepped to the window, and com- 
 menced tapping on the panes with his fingers, as he had done 
 when Korner and Goschen first aroused his suspicions con- 
 cerning his love. He was now reminded of this; he hastily 
 withdrew his hands and walked back into the room. But he 
 suddenly recoiled, and uttered a cry of dismay, as though he 
 had seen a ghost. Marie von Arnim stood in the doorway, 
 pale but composed, her large blue eyes fastened with an im- 
 ploring expression on Schiller's countenance. 
 
 She gave him no time to recover from his surprise, but locked 
 the door behind her, threw her bonnet and shawl on a chair, 
 and walked forward into the the room. 
 
 " Schiller," said she, in a soft, trembling voice, "I have 
 come because I do not wish you to despise me, because I do 
 not wish the thought of me to leave a shadow on your 
 memory." 
 
 He had now recovered his composure; a feeling of anger 
 raged in him and demanded utterance. 
 
 "What is there surprising in your coming? Why should 
 you not have come? Ladies of rank go in person to their 
 tailors and shoemakers when they desire to make purchases or 
 leave orders, why should you not come to a poet to order a 
 nuptial poem. I am right in supposing that the young lady 
 
286 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 wishes me to write a poem in honor of her approaching nup- 
 tials with Count Kunheim, am I not? I am also right, I 
 believe, as regards the name of that favored member of the 
 exclusive family circle of yesterday, who is destined to become 
 that young lady's husband?" 
 
 "Yes, you are," she replied, softly. "You see, Schiller, I 
 have not interrupted you, but have received your words as the 
 penitent receives the blows of the rod, without complaint or 
 murmur, although blood is streaming from her wounds. But 
 now be merciful, Schiller! let this punishment safiSce, and 
 listen to me!" 
 
 " I know what the substance of the poem is to be," observed 
 Schiller, in the same threatening voice. " Undoubtedly you 
 desire a sort of illustration of the courtship, from the first 
 meeting down to the avowal, and then the golden honeymoon 
 is to be painted in brilliant colors. Probably it would meet 
 your wishes if a comical feature were also introduced ; for in- 
 stance : a poor poet, who, in his absurd conceit, had dared to 
 consider himself Count Kunheim's equal, and who, acting on 
 this belief, had even dared to fall in love with the beautiful 
 young lady, who, of course, only laughed at his presumption." 
 
 " No, Schiller, who would have been the proudest and hap- 
 piest of women if circumstances had permitted her to avow 
 her love freely and openly." 
 
 "Yes," cried Schiller, gruffly, "circumstances are always 
 the scapegoats of the weak and faithless. I, however, admit 
 the difficulties arising from the circumstances by which you 
 were surrounded in this instance. You were making use of 
 the poet's love to allure richer suitors into your toils, a game 
 requiring some finesse. My role was neither a flattering nor 
 a grateful one, but yet it was a role, and a dramatic poet can- 
 not expect to have good ones only. But enough of this! Let 
 us speak of the poem. When must it be ready?" 
 
 "Schiller," she cried, almost frantic, tears streaming from 
 her eyes, " Schiller, will you have no pity on me?" 
 
 " Did you have pity on me?" asked he, with a sudden 
 
SEPARATION. 287 
 
 transition from his mocking to an angry tone of voice, and 
 regarding Marie, who had folded her hands humbly, and was 
 looking up at him entreatingly, with glances that grew darker 
 and angrier as he spoke. " I ask you, did you have pity on 
 me? Did it never occur to you, while engaged in your 
 shrewd calculation, that you were preparing to give me a 
 wound for which there is no cure? When two loving hearts 
 are torn asunder by death or the hand of fate, the pain can 
 be borne, and time may heal the wound ; when the cruel laws 
 of human society compel us to separate from those we love, a 
 consolation still remains. The sacred, the undimmed remem- 
 brance of past hours of bliss, and the hope that time, the 
 great equalizer, may remove all obstacles, still remains. But 
 what consolation remains to him who has been cheated of his 
 love, his enthusiasm, and his ideal? — to me, over whose heart 
 the remembrance of this deception lies like a pall? From 
 whence am I to derive faith, hope, and confidence, now that 
 you, whom I loved, have deceived me? You have not only 
 destroyed my happiness, but you Jjave also offended the genius 
 of poetry within me. Henceforth all will seem cold and in- 
 sipid. The word 'enthusiasm' will ring in my ear like a 
 mockery. I will even mistrust the vows of fidelity uttered by 
 the lips of my dramatic creations ; for, now that you have so 
 shamefully deceived me, there is no longer any thing noble, 
 pure, and beautiful." 
 
 He hurled a last angry glance at her, and then turned 
 away, walked to the window and looked out into the street. 
 Marie von Arnim followed him and laid her cold, trembling 
 hand on his arm. 
 
 " Schiller, if I were really the woman you take me to be, 
 would I have come to you at the risk of being observed by 
 others — at the risk of its becoming known throughout the 
 city that I had visited you? I have come, Schiller, because 
 I was unwilling that the most beautiful music of my life should 
 end in discord, because I was unwilling that you should re- 
 member me with anger, when I only deserve commiseration." 
 
288 GOETHE AND SCHILLEB. 
 
 "Commiseration!" repeated Schiller, shruggiBg his shoul- 
 ders. 
 
 "Yes," she continued, in a soft voice, "yes, I deserve it. 
 I am not bad, not faithless, and not false. I am only a poor 
 girl whose heart and hands have been fettered by fate. A 
 poor girl who cannot do what she would, but must obey God's 
 command and submit to her mother's will. Do not require 
 me to acquaint you with all the misery which afflicts my 
 family, with the cares and humiliations which those must suffer 
 who cover their want with a veil of wealth, and polish and 
 plate iron poverty till it has the appearance of golden plenty. 
 Believe me, Schiller, we are so poor that we do not know how 
 we are to escape from our importunate creditors." 
 
 " And yet, you gave agreeable dinners, and entertained the 
 exclusive family circle at delightful suppers," observed Schil- 
 ler, jeeringly, and without even turning to look at Marie, who 
 stood behind him. 
 
 " My mother would have it so, Schiller. She had sold her 
 last jewels in order that she might be able to come to Dres- 
 den, where she hoped to marry her daughter to a fortune. 
 Schiller, you will believe me when I swear that I knew noth- 
 ing of this, and that my first and greatest joy on coming to 
 Dresden was experienced when I made your acquaintance, 
 and when you honored me with your notice! Schiller, I 
 have dreamed a sweet, a blissful dream." 
 
 " And the light in the window was the night-lamp in this 
 dream," he observed, in mocking tones. 
 
 " I make no attempt to justify myself," said she, gently. 
 " My mother gave me her commands, and I was compelled to 
 obey. When she yesterday declared to me that the only issue 
 out of all her troubles was for me to accept Count Kunheim's 
 addresses, and begged me to do so, I only consented after 
 a long and fruitless struggle, after many tears and entreaties. 
 I yielded to my mother's commands, but I exacted this con- 
 dition: Schiller must now learn the whole truth, these little 
 mysteries must cease, and no light shall be placed at the win- 
 
SEPARATION. 289 
 
 dow this evening, requesting him not to come. This, my 
 mother promised, but she was cruel enough to break her 
 promise." 
 
 " So that I should still wander about, a deluded and credu- 
 lous simpleton, if I had not broken through the barriers of 
 the exclusive family circle in defiance of the warning light." 
 
 " I am thankful that fate willed otherwise, and frustrated 
 my mother's intentions," said Marie, gently. " When we are 
 compelled to deny any one the happiness we would so willingly 
 accord, it is our duty to tell him the truth, although it may 
 be painful. Truth is a two-edged sword ; it not only wounds 
 him who hears, but him also who imparts it. I have come, 
 Schiller," continued Marie in an agitated voice, after a short 
 pause, " to take leave of you — to say to you : Schiller, we shall 
 never meet again in life, let us part in peace!" 
 
 "Never again!" murmured he, slowly turning his coun- 
 tenance toward the woman, who had heretofore looked so 
 bright and joyous, so radiant with youth and beauty, and who 
 now stood at his side so humble and submissive, her tearful 
 eyes raised imploringly to his. 
 
 "Never again!" sighed Marie. "Our paths in life will 
 henceforth be widely separated. I intend to marry the man 
 whose wealth will save my mother and brother. I will be to 
 him a faithful and grateful wife, although I may not be a 
 loving one. I am to be aflSanced to Count Kunheim at noon 
 to-day, and I have employed the last hour of my liberty in 
 coming here to take leave of you, Schiller, and to beg for- 
 giveness for the pain inflicted on you, of which I am the in- 
 nocent cause." 
 
 "The innocent cause!" cried Schiller, turning around and 
 staring at her with his large, flaming eyes. " How can you 
 say that you are the innocent cause of the pain which you 
 inflicted on me? You knew that I loved you. I told you 
 so, and you listened to my avowal. You gave me hope, al- 
 though you must have known that my love was hopeless." 
 
 " You speak of yourself only," rejoined Marie, in low and 
 
290 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 trembling tones. " You are not thinking of me at all ; it does 
 not occur to you that I also have suffered, that I also have 
 hoped. Yes, Schiller, I did suppose that my mother would 
 yield to my prayers and entreaties ; even yesterday I conjured 
 her on my knees to permit me to seek my own happiness in 
 my own way, as my heart prompted. At that time I was not 
 aware that my mother's circumstances were so desperate. I 
 knew not that her honor and even her liberty were endangered. 
 When she admitted that such was the case, when she disclosed 
 the whole sorrowful truth, I felt as though my heart would 
 break, as though all the blossoms of my future had suddenly 
 faded. The conviction forced itself upon me that it was my 
 duty to sacrifice, to my mother's welfare, my own wishes and 
 hopes. I did my duty ; I gave up my own happiness to save 
 my mother — to secure, at least, a ray of sunshine in the even- 
 ing of her life. I have submitted. I will become the wife 
 of Count Kunheim." 
 
 " And will say to him that you joyfully accept and recipro- 
 cate his generous love!" 
 
 " No, I will not tell this noble man a falsehood, nor have I 
 done so. When he yesterday evening offered me his hand, I 
 told him honestly and openly that I esteemed and confided in 
 him, and would be a very thankful and faithful wife, but that 
 my heart was no longer free — a love dwelt therein that could 
 never die, for it was Schiller whom I loved !" 
 
 "You told him that?" asked Schiller, with emotion. 
 "Andhe— " 
 
 " He agreed with me that the heart which loved Schiller 
 could never forget him, but added that he would only esteem 
 me the more, and could never be jealous on account of this 
 love. He said that my love for Schiller should be the altar 
 of our married life and of our house — the altar to which we 
 would bring the fruits of our noblest thoughts and feelings." 
 
 "Noble, generous man!" cried Schiller, "Yes, he deserves 
 to be happy and to possess you. Be his wife, Marie, and do 
 your duty. Let the early blossom of your heart fade, and let 
 
SEPARATION. 391 
 
 the full summer-rose of your love bloom for your husband. 
 You can do so, Marie, for — I say it without anger or ill-will — 
 you have never loved me ! No, do not contradict, do not at- 
 tempt to assure me that such is not the case. In this hour, 
 when my soul is elevated above all selfish wishes and desires — 
 in this hour, I rejoice in recognizing the fact, you have never 
 loved me. I know that a kind Providence has tkus spared you 
 the pain I now endure ; I know you will be happy at the side 
 of the noble and high-souled man who demands your hand in 
 marriage. I do not mean to say that you will soon forget me ; 
 I think too well of myself to believe this. No, you will yet 
 shed tears when you think of him who loved you, but the 
 bridegroom will be there to dry these tears. With tender 
 sympathy he will speak to you of your love, as of a beautiful 
 dream of the spring-time, and you will find that the awaken- 
 ing from this dream on a bright, flowery summer day, is also 
 beautiful, and that will console you. Some day, after many 
 years, when my pain has long since vanished, and I have gone 
 home to the unknown land from whence no traveller returns — 
 some day, when your weeping children and grandchildren 
 surround your couch, and you feel your last hour approaching, 
 you will once more remember this dream of the spring-time. 
 It will greet you like a ray of sunshine from the new life that 
 is dawning. With a smile on your lips, you will turn to your 
 children and say: 'I leave you gold and treasures, a brilliant 
 name and high rank. But I leave you a more precious leg- 
 acy. Schiller loved me, and a poet's love is a blessing that is 
 inherited from generation to generation. Your father's 
 name gives you rank and honor before men, but the love 
 which the poet consecrated to your mother gives you renown 
 and immortality. Strive to be worthy of this love. Go to 
 the grave of the poet who died in solitude and poverty, and 
 pray for him!' " 
 
 " No, Schiller, that will not be all that I say to those who 
 will some day surround my death-bed," said Marie, drying 
 her tears, in order that her large, luminous eyes might gaze 
 
393 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 at his sad countenance more fully and firmly. " I will say to 
 them: 'I am now returning to God, and to my first, my im- 
 perishable love. In death I may proudly and joyfully con- 
 fess I have loved Schiller! I still love him!' " 
 
 The poet, as if irresistibly attracted by her enthusiasm and 
 her glowing countenance — hardly knowing what he did — ex- 
 tended his a»ms toward Marie. She threw herself on his 
 breast; he pressed her gently to his heart, and let his hand 
 rest lovingly on her head. 
 
 It was a silent and solemn moment, a last blissful and 
 sorrowful embrace. Their lips were dumb, but their hearts 
 communed in holy thought and prayer. 
 
 After a pause, Schiller gently raised up between his hands 
 the head that was still resting on his breast ; he gazed long 
 and lovingly into the fair girl's countenance. The tears that 
 flowed from his eyes fell on hers like glowing pearls, mingling 
 with her own tears and trickling down her cheeks. Schiller 
 bowed his head, and kissed the lips that responded warmly to 
 his own. He then pressed her hands to his eyes and released 
 her from his embrace. 
 
 She turned slowly, walked toward the door, and put on her 
 shawl and bonnet. "Farewell, Schiller!" 
 
 "Farewell, Marie!" 
 
 And now she stood in the doorway, her eyes fastened on 
 him in a last lingering look. He stood silently regarding her. 
 
 A grating noise broke in upon the silence ; it was the clos- 
 ing door behind which Marie had vanished. Schiller re- 
 mained standing at the same place, his eyes fixed on the door. 
 Had it suddenly grown so dark? was the sun overcast? or was 
 it only the tears in his eyes that made the room look so 
 gloomy? Had a storm suddenly arisen? did an earthquake 
 make the ground tremble beneath him? or was it only the 
 storm of passion that was passing over his head? "Why was it 
 that his knees trembled, and that he would have fallen to the 
 ground had not a chair stood near by, into which he sank, 
 groaning? 
 
THE SONG "TO JOY." 203 
 
 The hour in which a man wrestles with his agony — the 
 hour of renunciation and conquest, is sacred ; the eye of God 
 only may witness it, but no tongue must attempt to describe 
 it, unless indeed that of the poet whose pain is surrounded 
 by the halo of poetry — the poet to whom the hour of renun- 
 ciation has also become the hour of enthusiasm. 
 
 Some one is weeping and lamenting behind that door. Is 
 it Marie? 
 
 Some one is speaking in loud and earnest tones behind this 
 door. Is it the poet composing an inscription for the grave- 
 stone of his love? 
 
 *' Give me thy Laura — give me her whom love 
 To thy heart's core endears; 
 I tore the (ond shape from the bleeding love, 
 And gave— albeit vf ith tears 1" 
 
 A loud knock is heard at the door, and then a second, and 
 a third, in quick succession. Schiller shakes back the hair 
 from his countenance, and hastens forward to see who is 
 clamoring for admission. 
 
 CHAPTEE VI. 
 
 THE SONG "to JOY." 
 
 It was the postman, who brought the poet a rosy, perfumed 
 letter from Weimar. 
 
 With eager hands, Schiller opened and unfolded the mis- 
 sive. His countenance beamed with joy as he recognized 
 Madame von Kalb's handwriting. " Good and noble woman, 
 you have not forgotten me! Do you still think of me 
 lovingly?" 
 
 No, she had not forgotten him; she still loved him, and 
 begged him, with tender and eloquent entreaties, to come to 
 her. 
 
 " Schiller, the world is a solitude without you ; you are the 
 thought of my inmost thoughts, the soul of my soul ! Freder- 
 
294 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 ick, separation from you has disclosed the holy mystery of 
 your heart and of mine. It is this: We are the two halves 
 that were one in heaven, and our mission on earth is to 
 strive to come together, in order that our eternal indivisibility 
 and unity of spirit may be restored. Schiller, when we are 
 once more united, hand in hand, and are gazing in each 
 other's eyes, we shall feel as if we had left the earth and were 
 once more in heaven. Frederick, come to your Charlotte!" 
 
 "Yes, I am coming to my Charlotte, I am coming!" cried 
 Schiller, in a loud voice, as he pressed the letter to his lips. 
 " You have saved me, you have made me myself again, Char- 
 lotte! I am no longer lonely, no longer unloved. Your 
 heart calls me, your spirit longs for me. I feel as though my 
 soul's wings, destined to bear me aloft above the misery of 
 earth, were growing stronger. They will bear me to you, 
 Charlotte — to you, the dearest friend of my life! You shall 
 console, you shall restore me, your friendship shall be the 
 balsam for the wounds of my heart. Eternal Pate, I thank 
 thee for having permitted me to hear this call of friendship 
 in this my hour of trial. I thank thee that there is still one 
 soul that I can call mine; I praise thee that I am not com- 
 pelled to stand aside in shame and tears, like an unloved, 
 friendless beggar, while the happy are feasting at the richly- 
 laden table of life. One soul I can at least call my own, and 
 I will keep her holy, and love and thank her all the days of 
 my life. Away with tears ! away with this sorrowing over a 
 dream of happiness ! Farewell, Marie ! Be forgiven. I will 
 think of you without anger, and rejoice when you become a 
 happy countess ! Farewell, Marie ! * A greeting to you, 
 Charlotte! I am coming to you ! I am coming!" 
 
 He walked slowly to and fro ; the cloud of sorrow that had 
 
 * Marie von Amim married Count von Kunlieim, and retired with him to his es- 
 tates in Prussia. She never saw ScMller again, nor did she ever forget him. A fine 
 portrait of Schiller hung over her bed until her death. After the death of her hus- 
 band, in the year 1814, Countess Kunheim returned to Dresden, and lived there in re- 
 tirement until her death, in the year 1847. But she died without issue, and could not 
 fulfil Schiller's prophecy, and speak to weeping children and grandchildren as- 
 sembled around her death-bed. 
 
THE SONG "TO JOY." 395 
 
 rested on his brow gradually lifted, and his countenance grew 
 clearer and clearer. The man had conquered — the poet was 
 once more himself. 
 
 "I will go to Korner! I must see my friend!" He took 
 down his hat, and walked out into the street. His mind had 
 freed itself of its fetters, his step was elastic, and he bore 
 himself proudly, his blue eyes turned heavenward, and a Joy- 
 ous smile rested on his thin and delicate lips. 
 
 Thus he entered Korner's dwelling, and found his friend 
 on the point of starting to Loschwitz, to see what had become 
 of the poet. Schiller extended both hands and greeted him 
 with a loving glance. 
 
 " Here I am again, my friend. The prodigal son returns 
 from his wanderings, and begs to be permitted to take up his 
 abode in your heart once more. Will you receive him, friend 
 Korner?" 
 
 " I will not only receive him, but will kill the fatted calf in 
 honor of his return. I will give a festival, to which all our 
 friends shall be invited, in order that they may rejoice with 
 me, and exclaim, 'The wanderer has returned! Blessed be 
 the hour of his return!' " 
 
 Schiller threw himself into his friend's arms, and pressed 
 him to his heart. " I have caused you much sorrow and 
 trouble. I have been a wild and stubborn fellow. Why 
 should beautiful women be blamed for not loving this un- 
 gainly and unmannerly fellow, when there are so many hand- 
 somer, richer, and happier men in the world? Marie von 
 Arnim is right in marrying the rich and handsome Count 
 Kunheim ; and you must not blame her on this account, or 
 say of her that she deceived me. She has only done what we 
 all must do on earth : she has done her duty, and God will 
 bless her and give her His peace in the hour of death for so 
 doing. — But let us speak no more of this." 
 
 " No, my friend, we will speak of it no more," said Korner, 
 heartily; "let us only rejoice that you have returned to your 
 friends ; that you once more believe in us and our friendship. 
 
296 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 How happy my wife will be when her dear friend is restored 
 to her again ! how glad Goschen will be when you once more 
 extend your hand to him in a loving greeting!" 
 
 "Poor, generous Goschen!" said Schiller, thoughtfully. 
 " I was cruel and unjust to him yesterday, I imputed ignoble 
 motives to my friend !" 
 
 "He thinks of it no longer," said Korner; "he has no 
 memory for the words spoken by your anguish. He will be 
 only too happy when you once more greet him with a loving 
 smile." 
 
 " How good and patient you all are with me!" said Schiller, 
 softly; "and how little have I deserved such treatment at 
 your hands! In truth, I feel as though I had now returned 
 to you after along separation — as though I had only seen you of 
 late through a cloud that had arisen between us, and in which 
 a single star shone, and — Be still, no more of this! The 
 cloud has been dissipated; I now see you again, and will re- 
 joice with you as long as we are together." 
 
 "Schiller, you do not contemplate leaving us?" said Kor- 
 ner, sadly. 
 
 ".I am a poor wanderer, my friend, whose stay at any one 
 place is but brief. At last, a time will come even for me, 
 when I can lay down my staff and knapsack, and exclaim, 
 'Here I will rest! This is my home!' But the gods only 
 know whether this home will be in the grave or in the heart 
 of a woman!" 
 
 " No sad thoughts now, my friend, if you please, now that 
 I am ready to exult and rejoice over your return !" 
 
 " You are right, no sad thoughts at this time ! Let us turn 
 our thoughts to joy. The first song I write shall be in praise 
 of joy. I will no longer avoid mankind, no longer seek soli- 
 tude ! As you said, Korner, so shall it be ! Give the prodi- 
 gal son a festival, call our friends together, let us once more 
 assemble around the festive board and partake of the repast 
 of friendship and joy. This festival shall be in honor of my 
 return and of my departure." 
 
THE SONG "TO JOY." 297 
 
 Korner gave this festival. The lost one, who had of late 
 withdrawn himself from his friends in the violence of his 
 love, had now returned, and this was a fitting occasion for joy 
 and festivity. He called his friends together ; he had for 
 each a kind word and a tender greeting. Goschen was richly 
 rewarded when Schiller gave him the manuscript of his Don 
 Carlos, that was now to be given to the world, and to entwine 
 the halo of immortality around the poet's brow, and to en- 
 kindle and fan the flame of enthusiasm in thousands and 
 thousands of hearts ! 
 
 Six days after Schiller's "return," the festival which Kor- 
 ner had promised took place. Korner and his beautiful 
 )'oung wife, Theresa Huber, Goschen, and the artist Sophie 
 Albrecht, were present; a few friends in Leipsic had also joy- 
 fully availed themselves of Korner's invitation, and had come 
 to Dresden to see the poet once more. 
 
 There he sat at the festive board, his arm thrown around 
 Korner's neck? in his right hand he held the goblet filled 
 with sparkling Rhine wine. His eyes beamed and his coun- 
 tenance shone with enthusiasm. His glance was directed 
 upward, and, perhaps, he saw the heavens open and the coun- 
 tenance of the blessed, for a soft and joyous smile played 
 about his lips. 
 
 " Look at this favorite of the muses," cried Korner. " One 
 might suppose they held him in their embrace, and were 
 whispering words of inspiration into his poet's heart." 
 
 " Perhaps they are whispering a song of joy in my ear, my 
 friend, in order that I may repeat it to you, the favorite of 
 the gods! But before I do so, I will narrate a history — a his- 
 tory that will touch your hearts and open your purses, unless 
 you are cold-hearted egotists, and then you deserve to share 
 the fate of King Midas, whose very food and wine were turned 
 into gold because he was a hard-hearted miser. I condemn 
 you to this punishment if you have the courage to listen to 
 my story without being moved to tears and generosity!" 
 
 With deep pathos and eloquence Schiller recounted to his 
 
298 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 listening friends his midnight adventure, hi'', conversation 
 with the poor youth who had attempted to take his own life. 
 So graphic was his representation of the unfortunate youth's 
 distress and vain struggles, that the hearts of his hearers were 
 deeply touched, and no eye remained dry. 
 
 When he had concluded his narrative and told his friends 
 of the promise he had made to poor Theophilus, Schiller arose 
 from his seat, took the plate which lay before him, and 
 walked around the table, halting at each seat and extending 
 his plate like a beggar, with soft words of entreaty. When 
 the ready hands opened and dollars and gold-pieces rang out 
 on the plate, Schiller inclined his head and smiled, thanking 
 the givers with looks of tenderness. 
 
 Now he had returned to his seat and was counting the 
 money. " Seventeen gold-pieces and thirty dollars. I thank 
 you, my friends! You have saved a human life; you have 
 redeemed a soul from purgatory! To-morrow night I will 
 take this love-offering to the poor youth ; the blessing of a 
 good man will then rest on your closed eyelids, and you will 
 be rewarded with sweet dreams and a happy awakening. 
 Now, my dear friends, you shall receive from the poet's lips 
 the thanks that are glowing in my heart. Now, you shall 
 hear the exulting song to joy which Korner supposed the 
 Muses were whispering in my ear. Eaise your glasses and 
 listen; when I incline my head repeat the words last spoken." 
 
 Schiller arose, drew a small, folded sheet of paper from his 
 pocket, opened it, glanced over it hastily, and then let it fall 
 on the table. He did not require it ; his song resounded in 
 his mind and brain ; it was written on the tablets of his heart, 
 and his lips now uttered it exultantly : 
 
 " Joy, thou brightest heaven-lit spark, 
 Daughter from the Elysian choir, 
 On thy holy ground we walk, 
 Eeeling with ecstatic fire !" 
 
 His eyes shone with enthusiasm, his cheeks glowed, and a 
 heavenly smile illumined his whole countenance, while recit- 
 
TOGETHER ONCE MORE. 299 
 
 ing hig song " To Joy." His friends caught the inspiration of 
 his poem, arose with one accord from their seats, clasped 
 hands and gazed into each other's eyes — into the eyes that 
 shone lustrously, although they were filled with tears. Now, 
 at the culminating point of his rapture, Schiller's countenance 
 suddenly quivered with pain as he recited a second verse of 
 his song: 
 
 " Yea— who calls one soul his own, 
 One ou all earth^s ample round: — 
 Who cannot, may steal alone. 
 Weeping from our holy ground." 
 
 "Who cannot, may steal alone, weeping from our holy 
 ground," repeated his friends. The tears gushed from their 
 eyes ; they clasped hands more firmly, and listened breathlessly 
 to the words of the poet, whose voice now rose again to the 
 high tones of enthusiasm. It was almost like an adoration of 
 joy, friendship, and love. Their hearts beat higher, mightier 
 and mightier the waves of rapture surged in their kindred souls. 
 
 " Myriads join the fond embrace I 
 ^Tis the world's inspiring kiss. 
 Friends, yon dome of starry bliss 
 Is a loving father's place." 
 
 They embraced each other ; they wept, but with rapture, 
 with enthusiasm. The kiss that passed from mouth to mouth 
 was given to the whole world ; for all that the world could 
 offer of love, of friendship, and of happiness, the friends 
 found combined at the happy festival to which Schiller had 
 dedicated his song " To Joy. " 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 TOGETHEK ONCE MOEE. 
 
 Night had come, a dark, gloomy night. The moonlight 
 
 that had played so beautifully, on the rippling waters of the 
 
 Elbe, a week before, was wanting on this night. The sky was 
 
 overcast, and the clouds that were being driven through the 
 
 20 
 
300 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 heavens by the wind, cast on the river dark shadows that 
 looked like yawning graves. 
 
 Theophilus stood on the river bank at the same place where 
 he had knelt and prayed a week before. He stood there gaz- 
 ing at the dark river and looking up from time to time at the 
 driving clouds. 
 
 " If he should not respect his word, if he should not be able 
 to keep his promise, because no generous hearts responded to 
 his entreaties! What then? Will this river be my grave? 
 Are the waves murmuring my death-song? No, no! be brave, 
 Theophilus; wait patiently, be strong in hope! His voice 
 was so gentle, so full of conviction, when he promised to meet 
 me here to-night, to bring me help ! He appeared before me 
 like the angel Gabriel; I will believe that God sent him in 
 human form, and that he will also send him a second time. 
 Hope, my heart, and be strong in faith !" 
 
 He folded his hands in silent prayer, and listened anxiously 
 to every slight noise other than the murmuring of the waves 
 on the shore, and the rustling of the wind in the trees, that 
 broke in upon the stillness of the night. Some distance 
 up the river, on its opposite bank, lay the city with its many 
 lights. On the Elbe bridge, towering conspicuously above 
 all other objects, stood the gilded crucifix, surrounded by a 
 circle of lighted lamps, placed there by pious hands. 
 
 Theophilus saw this crucifix, and it awakened pious 
 thoughts and brave resolutions in his breast. " I will endure 
 all that may befall me in patience and hope. By resignation 
 and pious devotion, I will endeavor to atone for the sins com- 
 mitted in my despair. My whole life belongs to Thee, my 
 God, and shall be dedicated to Thy service ! I will serve the 
 poor and the unfortunate. Every man who sufEers shall be 
 my brother, to every man who stumbles will I extend a help- 
 ing hand. I will strive to dry the tears of the weeping, and, 
 if I can do nothing else, I will, at least, pray with them. 
 This, I swear to Thee, my God ! — this I swear by yon lumi- 
 nous crucifix!" 
 
TOGETHER ONCE MORE. 301 
 
 The great bell resounded from the tower of the Catholic 
 Church, striking the eleventh hour. Theophilus shuddered ; 
 he remembered that he had heard this bell at the moment 
 when he was on the point of plunging into his watery grave, 
 and that it had then resounded on his ear like a death-knell. 
 
 " Never will I hear this hour strike without fear and trem- 
 bling. It will always sound to me like the knell of the 
 doomed criminal. Grant, God, that in such an hour I 
 may prove myself a repentant sinner, and make atonement 
 for my crime! I resolve that I will do so," cried he, in a 
 loud voice. " I swear that this eleventh hour shall each day 
 remind me of my crime, and find me ready to devote to the 
 welfare of mankind the life I was about to sacrifice to 
 despair." 
 
 " In the name of God and humanity I accept your vow !" 
 said a solemn voice behind him. " Here I am, my brother. 
 Forgive me for having kept you waiting, but important busi- 
 ness prevented my coming earlier, and I found it difficult to 
 steal away from the friends who were with me, without at- 
 tracting observation. While awaiting me, you have formed 
 good resolutions, and made your peace with God and your 
 conscience. Hold fast to them, my . brother ; be firm and 
 brave. Elevate your thoughts above things perishable, let 
 your soul soar above the vanities of earthly existence, and you 
 will find that spiritual joys will amply console you for the 
 sorrows of earth. Here is the money I have brought you, 
 here are one hundred and twenty dollars. According to your 
 calculation it will sufiice to enable you to complete your 
 studies, and give you a start • in your career. Take the 
 money, my friend, and let us part." 
 
 " Part ! without giving me the name of my benefactor and 
 saviour?" asked Theophilus, holding the hand, that had 
 given him the money, firmly clasped in his own. "Part! 
 and may I never hope to see and thank you in the light of 
 
 day?" 
 
 " Thank me, my brother, by being happy. Bear the light 
 
'302 GOETHE AND SCHILLEB. 
 
 of day within you, and then I shall be rewarded, then my 
 memory will live in your heart. Why should I tell you my 
 name? I am your brother, let that suffice. Go on your way, 
 be just, and do good to others who are sufEering and who are 
 unhappy, as you were. This shall be my thanks : I say to 
 you, with Christ: 'What you do to the least of these my 
 brethren, that you have done unto me.' Bear this in mind!" 
 
 The voice was silent ; Theophilus knew that he was again 
 alone. He folded his hands, bowed his head, and prayer- 
 fully repeated the words, that, in the stillness of the night, 
 and amid the rustling of the wind, had resounded on his ear 
 like the solemn tones of an organ. " What you do to the least 
 of these my brethren, that you have done unto me. Bear 
 this in mind!" 
 
 " I will bear this in mind ! I will endeavor to atone for 
 the evil I have done! I dedicate myself to God's service. 
 The holy crucifix, that illumines the surrounding darkness, 
 has also illumined the darkness of my soul. I will go to 
 Cologne, and enter the seminary, in order that I may become 
 a priest — a pious, humble priest of the Church of God. 
 Farewell ! earthly vanity, earthly pride, and earthly hope ! I 
 will be a priest of mercy, for God has shown me mercy, and 
 sent an angel-messenger to save me. I will bear this in 
 mind!" 
 
 While Theophilus was wending his way to Dresden, Schil- 
 ler was journeying toward Weimar in the stage-coach. After 
 giving Theophilus the money collected for him, Schiller had 
 hurried to the post-office, where his friends were waiting to 
 take leave of him, and bid the traveller a last farewell. 
 
 "Farewell! We shall soon meet again; I will soon re- 
 turn!" cried Schiller from the stage-coach, as it rolled out of 
 the court-yard on through the city gate into the soft summer 
 night. 
 
 " Charlotte is awaiting me!" murmured Schiller, as he sank 
 back on the hard cushions. " Charlotte is awaiting me. She 
 is the friend of my soul. Our spirits belong to each other, 
 
TOGETHER ONCE MORE. 303" 
 
 and I will show my friend the wounds of my heart, in order 
 that she may heal them with the balsam of tender friendship." 
 
 But, strange to say, the nearer he came to his journey's 
 end, the more joyfully his heart throbbed, the less painful its 
 wounds became. 
 
 " Charlotte, dear Charlotte, if I were but already with you ! 
 I feel that the fire which drove me from Mannheim is not yet 
 extinguished ; a breath from your lips will sufdce to kindle 
 the spark into a conflagration." 
 
 There is Weimar! Now the stage-coach has entered the 
 city. Schiller is on classic ground 1 On the ground where 
 Germany's greatest poets and intellects dwell. Wieland and 
 Herder, Bertuch and Bode, dwell here; here are also many 
 artists and actors of eminence, and here lives the genial Duke 
 Charles August ! And yet Weimar is desolate, for Goethe is 
 not here ; he left more than a year ago. 
 
 Schiller knew this, but what did he care now ! He had so 
 longed to tread this classic ground that his heart throbbed 
 with joy at the prospect of seeing and becoming acquainted 
 with the celebrated men whose works he had read with so 
 much enthusiasm — whom he could now meet with the feeling 
 that he was not unworthy of them, and that he also now filled 
 a place in the republic of intellect. 
 
 He had been occupied with these thoughts during the 
 whole journey ; but now they suddenly vanished. He thought 
 only of Madame von Kalb, the friend he had not seen for 
 two years — the friend whose dear lips had called him to her 
 side in the hour of his deepest distress. 
 
 He had taken lodgings in the chief hotel of the city; it was 
 already quite late in the evening, so late that it seemed hardly 
 proper to call on a lady. He would not remain in his solitary 
 chamber, but would walk out, and at least look at the house 
 in which she lived. If the lights had, however, not yet been 
 extinguished, if she should still be awake — He did not com- 
 plete this thought, but sprang down the steps, ordered the 
 servant, who was walking to and fro in the hall, to accompany 
 
304 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 him and show him the house in which Madame von Kalb 
 lived, and rushed down the designated street with such long 
 and rapid strides that the servant could scarcely follow him. 
 
 There is the house in which Madame von Kalb lives, a 
 modest little house at the entrance of the park. A light is 
 still burning behind the basement windows, and he sees the 
 shadow of a tall woman pass across the closed curtains. 
 "That is her figure, I would recognize it among thousands! 
 That is Charlotte!" 
 
 "I intend to enjoy this beautiful summer night in the 
 park," said Schiller, turning to the servant, with a hasty 
 movement. " You may return, I will be able to find my way 
 back, alone." 
 
 As soon as the servant had vanished around the next cor- 
 ner, he walked up to the door and opened it very softly, in 
 order that the bell above it might not betray his entrance. 
 "I will take her by surprise," murmured he to himself; "I 
 will see what effect my unexpected coming will have on my 
 dear friend." 
 
 The bell rang in such low tones that it could certainly not 
 have been heard in the room. But a servant came forward 
 from the back end of the hall. 
 
 "I call at Madame von Kalb's request. She is in this 
 room, is she not?" 
 
 " Madame von Kalb is in. May I have the honor of an- 
 nouncing you?" 
 
 " It is unnecessary, she is awaiting me. I can eater un- 
 announced." 
 
 He had uttered these words in subdued tones; Charlotte 
 must not hear him, must know nothing of his arrival until he 
 stood before her. He opened the door noiselessly, closed it 
 gently behind him, and now stood between the door and the 
 heavy velvet curtain that hung over the entrance. He could, 
 however, see his friend through an opening in the curtain. 
 She sat reclining on the sofa, her beautiful eyes gazing dream- 
 ingly into empty space. Her cheeks were pale with inward 
 
TOGETHER ONCE MORE. 305 
 
 agitation, and a soft smile played about her lips. Of whom 
 was she thinking? Of whom was she dreaming? 
 
 "Charlotte! dear Charlotte!" 
 
 She uttered a cry and sprang up from her seat. 
 
 "Charlotte, you called me to your side, and here I am! 
 "Will you not welcome me?" 
 
 She stood as though incapable of utterance, but the beauti- 
 ful, the loved countenance, with its proud and noble expres- 
 sion, its rosy lips, and soft smile, was before him. Before her 
 stood Schiller, whom she had yearned for since they last 
 parted, whom she had loved ardently and faithfully for two 
 long, long years, without having seen him. But, now he was 
 there, he stood before her with extended arms. She thought 
 nothing, she felt nothing more than that Schiller had re- 
 turned, and was once more at her side. Happy, blissful 
 reunion ! 
 
 " Welcome, my Schiller ! welcome, friend of my soul !" She 
 threw herself on his bosom, and he entwined his arms around 
 her, as though they were two chains with which he intended 
 to bind, and hold her forever. Yes, forever ! 
 
 " Tell me, Charlotte, that you love me ! utter the word 
 which your lips refused to confess in Mannheim. Do not 
 again drive me out into the darkness of life, as you did in 
 Mannheim. I am weary of wandering, and am disgusted 
 with the world. You alone are true, in you only can I con- 
 fide. Accord me a home where I may lay down my head and 
 rest. Tell me, Charlotte, that this is my heart's home. Tell 
 me that you love me? You do not reply, Charlotte? Why 
 are you silent?" He opened his arms to release her, that he 
 might look at her. But she did not raise her head, she still 
 lay on his breast. She had fainted ! He lifted her in his 
 arms, carried her to the sofa, and knelt down beside her. 
 As she lay there with closed eyelids, and pale lips, he bowed 
 down over her and pressed his glowing lips to hers, entreat- 
 ing her to return to life. " Charlotte, friend, awaken ! For- 
 give me for having dared to surprise you in the wilfulness of 
 
306 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 my happiness. Eeturn to me, friend of my soul! I will be 
 quiet and gentle, will sit at your feet like a child, and be 
 contented to look up at your dear countenance, and read in 
 your eyes that you love me. Open these dear eyes! Soul of 
 my soul, heart of my heart, let me hear your loved voice ! 
 Give me a word of consolation, of hope, of love!" 
 
 And Charlotte, called by the voice she had longed to hear 
 for two long years, awoke, and looked up lovingly into the 
 countenance of him who was the sun of her existence. She 
 entwined her arms around his neck and kissed his lips and his 
 eyes. " I greet you, I kiss you, proclaimer of my happiness." 
 
 " You must tell me that indeed you love me. My heart 
 thirsts for these words; it is wounded and bleeding, and you 
 must heal it. I will drink that oblivion from your lips, 
 Charlotte, that will make me forget all, save that you love 
 me. It is disconsolate to be alone and unloved ! I cling to 
 your heart as the shipwrecked mariner clings to the flower 
 thrown up before him by the waves,, hoping thereby to save 
 himself. Charlotte, do not let me sink, save me ! Let me 
 seek safety from the storm in the haven of your love ! Say 
 that you will let me seek and find peace, enthusiasm, and 
 happiness, in this longed-for haven." 
 
 She threw her arms around his neck, and pressed a kiss on 
 his forehead. " I love you, Schiller, I love you ; I have the 
 courage to tell you so, and to break through all barriers, and 
 place myself at your side. I have the courage to testify be- 
 fore the whole world, and even to confess to my husband: 'I 
 love Frederick Schiller. Our souls and hearts are bound to- 
 gether. Tear them asunder, if you can!' I love you, and 
 with that I have said all — have said, that I will be yours be- 
 fore God and man, and that nothing shall longer separate us." 
 
 "And your husband?" asked Schiller, anxiously. 
 
 "He is a good and generous man," said Charlotte, smiling. 
 " He will not desire to hold me fettered to himself against my 
 wish. Our union was based on convenience and interest, and 
 was never a happy one. We have lived together but little; 
 
TOGETHER ONCE MORE. 307 
 
 our natures were entirely different. I have lived in retire- 
 ment, while my husband has passed his time in luxury and 
 amusements at the court of Queen Marie Antoinette, where he 
 is a welcome guest. AVe respect and esteem, but we do not 
 love each other. When I confess my love and plead for a 
 divorce, my husband will certainly give his consent. Then I 
 can belong wholly to the man I not only love, but so highly 
 esteem that I joyfully dedicate myself to him until death, and 
 even beyond the grave." 
 
 "It shall be as you say, my friend," cried Schiller, raising 
 her hand to his lips. "Nothing shall separate us, and even 
 the king of terrors shall have no terrors for us; in the joyons- 
 .ness of our union of souls we will defy him. Yes, we will 
 defy death, and the whole world!" 
 
 They kept their promises; they defied the whole world; 
 they made no secret of their union of hearts; they denied to 
 none that they were one and indivisible. Charlotte had the 
 heroism to defy the world and acknowledge her love freely. 
 She had the courage to remain whole days alone with Schiller 
 in her little house. She held herself aloof from society, in 
 order that Schiller might read to her his two new novels, and, 
 above all, his 'Don Carlos.' Nor did she avoid being seen 
 with him in public. How could she deny him before men, 
 when she was so proud of him and of his love! She helped 
 to adorn and make comfortable the little apartments he had 
 rented ; she sent him carpets, flower- vases, chairs, and many 
 other things. She felt that she was his mother, his sister, 
 his sweetheart, and his friend. In the ardor of her passion, 
 she endeavored to combine the duties of these four persons in 
 herself ; she felt that the divine strength of her love would 
 enable her to do so. In her confidence and guilelessness of 
 heart, she never even asked herself this question : Will the 
 man I love be willing to rise with me in this whirlwind of 
 passion, to soar with me from heaven to heaven, and to revel 
 in ever-youthful, celestial thought and feeling, regardless of 
 earthly mutability? 
 
308 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 Together, they visited the heroes of art and literature in 
 Weimar, and, together, they drove out to Tiefurt, where the 
 Duchess Amelia and taken up her summer residence. 
 
 The duchess gave the poet of "Don Carlos" and "Piesco" 
 a cordial welcome. " I was angry with you on account of 
 your 'Eobbers,' Mr. Councillor," said she, "nor was 'Louise 
 Miillerin' entirely to my taste. But 'Fiesco,' and, above all, 
 'Don Carlos,' have reconciled me to you. You are, in truth, 
 a great poet, and I prophesy a brilliant future for you. 
 Eemain here with us in Weimar!" 
 
 "Yes, Mr. Schiller," cried the little maid of honor Von 
 Gockhausen, as she stepped forward, coUrtesied gracefully, 
 and handed him a rose, "remain in Weimar. The muses 
 have commanded me to give you their favorite, this rose, and 
 to tell you, suh rosa, that Weimar is the abode of the gods, and 
 that the nine maidens would be well contented to remain here. " 
 
 " Gockhausen, take care," said the Duchess, laughing. " I 
 will tell Goethe what a fickle, faithless little thing you are. 
 While he was here, my Thusnelda's roses bloomed for him 
 only, and for Goethe only was she the messenger of the gods 
 and muses. Now, the faithless creature is already receiving 
 messages from the muses for Frederick Schiller ! But she is 
 not to be blamed; the poet of 'Don Carlos' deserves homage; 
 and, when even the muses worship Goethe and Schiller, why 
 should not Gockhausen do it also? Do you know Goethe?" 
 
 "No, not personally," replied Schiller, softly; "but I ad- 
 mire him as a poet, and I shall be happy if I can some day 
 admire and love him as a man also." 
 
 "You should have come earlier," sighed the duchess. 
 " You should have made his acquaintance during the early 
 days of his stay in Mannheim. Then, you would indeed have 
 loved him. At that time, he was in the youthful vigor of his 
 enthusiasm. It was a beautiful era when Goethe stood among 
 us, like the genius of poetry, descended from heaven, enflam- 
 ing our hearts with heavenly rapture. He is still a great 
 poet, but he has now become a man of rank — a privy-council- 
 
TOGETHER ONCE MORE. 309 
 
 lor! Beware, my dear Councillor Schiller, lest our court 
 atmosphere stiffen you, too, and rob your heart of its youth- 
 ful freshness of enthusiasm. Goethe was a very god Apollo 
 before he became a privy-councillor, and was entitled to a 
 seat and voice in the state council. By all means avoid be- 
 coming a minister ; the poet and the minister cannot be com- 
 bined in one man. Of this, Goethe is an example." 
 
 "No, he is not," cried Gockhausen, eagerly; " Goethg can 
 be all that it pleases him to be. He will never indeed cease 
 to be a poet ; he is one in his whole being. Poetic blood 
 courses through his veins ; the minister he can shake off at 
 any time, and be himself again. This he proved some eigh- 
 teen months ago, when he suddenly took leave of our court 
 and all its glories, and fled from the state council, and all his 
 dignities and honors, to Italy. He cast all this trumpery of 
 ducal grace behind him, and fled to Italy, to be the poet by 
 the grace of God only!" 
 
 " See, my Thusnelda has returned to her old enthusiasm!" 
 cried the duchess, laughing. " That was all I desired ; I only 
 wished to arouse her indignation, and make her love for 
 Goethe apparent. — Now, Mr. Schiller, you see what my Thus- 
 nelda's real sentiments are, and how true she is to her distant 
 favorite." 
 
 " Much truer, probably, than he is to his former favorites, ' 
 said Gockhausen, smiling. " Men cannot be true; and I am 
 satisfied that Werther, if he had not shot himself prematurely, 
 would subsequently have consoled himself, although the adored 
 Lotte was married, and could never be his. Laugh on, duch- 
 ess! I am right, nevertheless. Is not Goethe himself an 
 example of this? Did he not love Charlotte von Kastnerr 
 If he had shot himself at that time, he could not have con- 
 soled himself afterwards with Charlotte von Stein, to become 
 desperate once more, and finally to take a pleasant and con- 
 solatory trip to Italy, instead of leaving the world. Truly, 
 the Charlottes are very dangerous to poets; but I would, 
 however, advise each and every one of them to beware of 
 
310 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 falling in love with a poet, for — how forgetful I am ! I beg 
 your pardon, Madame von Kalb!" 
 
 "Why, my dear young lady?" 
 
 " Because I did not remember that you, too, were a Char- 
 lotte," murmured the malicious maid of honor, meekly. 
 
 Von Kalb laughed, but she was more subdued and thought- 
 ful after this visit than usual. Her eyes often rested on 
 Schiller with a peculiar, inquiring look, and when he sat at 
 her side on the sofa that evening, she laid her hands gently 
 on his shoulders and gazed intently into his countenance. 
 
 "You love me, Schiller, do you not?" 
 
 " I love you, although you are a Charlotte. That is the 
 question you intended to ask, is it not?" 
 
 She smiled and laid her head on his shoulder. " Schiller, 
 I would that our union of heart and soul had already received 
 its indissoluble consecration. I would that my husband had 
 already given his consent to a separation and I were wholly 
 yours." 
 
 "Are you not truly and wholly mine? Is not our union 
 indissoluble? Does not God, does not the whole world know 
 that we are one and inseparable? Does not society respect 
 and treat our relation to each other with consideration for 
 both of us? The people with whom we come in contact have 
 the discretion to leave us when they observe that we wish to 
 be alone. Did not Von Einsiedel, who called on you this 
 evening, leave again when the servant told him that I was 
 with you? Was not even the Duchess Amelia so considerate 
 as to invite us together yesterday; for that she did so out of 
 consideration for the relation existing between us, Wieland 
 told me.* You see, therefore, my dearest friend, that no 
 one doubts, or ignores our union." 
 
 "Why do you call me your dearest friend?" asked she, 
 anxiously. 
 
 "Why? Because you are. Is it not your opinion, also, 
 that friendship is the highest power of love?" 
 
 * Schiller's own words.— See his correspondence witli Korner. 
 
TOGETHER ONCE MORE. 311 
 
 She said yes, but she was very thoughtful after Schiller had 
 gone. " I would that my husband were here, and that the 
 word of separation had already been spoken!" she murmured. 
 
 Several months passed before her husband arrived in Wei- 
 mar. Madame had not been able to endure this uncertainty, 
 this continued hypocrisy. She had written to her husband, 
 confessing her love and her relation to Schiller, and begging 
 him, as her best friend, to give her his advice and to promote 
 her happiness. 
 
 Her husband had replied at once as follows: "My dear 
 friend, for the very reason that I am, as you say, your best 
 friend, I will treat your letter as though I had not received 
 it. It is obliterated from my memory, and I only know that 
 I love and esteem you as the mother of my little boy, and that 
 the dearest wish of my heart is your happiness. Let us leave 
 these little afflictions of the heart to time, the great healer. 
 I am coming to "Weimar in a few months, and we shall then 
 see if time has not exercised its healing properties on yourself 
 and on the heart of an easily-excited poet. If this should not 
 be the case, however, and you should then repeat the words 
 written in your letter, it will still be time to see whether the 
 desires of your heart can be gratified without detriment to 
 our son's interests. Let us, therefore, postpone the decision 
 for a few months." 
 
 He had also written to Schiller, but without any reference 
 to Charlotte's communications. His letter was full of quite 
 hearty sympathy, profound admiration for the poet, and earnest 
 assurances of friendship. He concluded by announcing that 
 he would come to Weimar in a few months, and that Schiller 
 would find him ready to do him any service, and to make any 
 sacrifice for him that the poet could expect at the hands of a 
 friend. 
 
 Schiller folded the letter thoughtfully, and a glowing color 
 suffused itself over his cheeks. "He will come," said he to 
 himself, in a low voice. " It will be a strange meeting for me, 
 I already blush with shame when I think of it. He loves me, 
 
312 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 he calls me his friend, and yet he knows all ! Will I really 
 have the courage to demand this sacrifice of a friend, and — " 
 asked he in a low voice — " and do I really so ardently desire 
 this sacrifice? I came here to seek consolation from a dear 
 friend, and I found love — love that has drawn me into the 
 whirlpool of passion. We are both being driven around in 
 its eddying circles, and who knows but that marriage is the 
 sunken reef on which our hearts will ultimately be ship- 
 wrecked. Save us from a violent end, thou Spirit of the 
 Universe; save me from such an end, thou genius of poetry; 
 let me fly to some peaceful haven where I can find safety from 
 the storms of life! There is a mystery in every human 
 breast ; it is given to God only and to time, to solve it. Let 
 us, therefore, wait and hope!" 
 
 When her husband arrived in Weimar a few months after- 
 ward, this mystery seemed to have sunk deeper in Charlotte 
 and Schiller's hearts; neither of them had the courage to lift 
 the veil and speak the decisive word. Charlotte was paler 
 and quieter than usual, and , her eyes were often stained with 
 tears, but she did not complain and made no attempt to bring 
 her husband to an explanation. 
 
 Only once, when she held her little boy, who had just re- 
 covered from an attack of illness, lovingly in her arms, her 
 husband stepped up to her, and gave her a kind, inquiring 
 look: 
 
 " Could you ever make up your mind to leave this child, 
 Charlotte — to deliver it over to the care of a stranger." 
 
 "Never, no, never!" cried she, folding her arms tenderly 
 around her delicate little boy. " No, not for all the treas- 
 ures — for all the happiness earth can offer, could I part with 
 my darling child!" 
 
 " And yet you would be compelled to do so, if you should 
 lay aside the name your child's father bears," said her hus- 
 band, gently. 
 
 He made no explanation of his words, but his wife had well 
 understood him, and also understood his intention when, 
 
TOGETHER ONCE MORE. 313 
 
 after a short interval, he smilingly observed that he would 
 now £0 to see Schiller, and take a walk with his dear 
 friend. 
 
 When her husband had left the room she looked down at 
 the pale child, who was slumbering in her arms. Tears 
 gushed from her eyes, and she folded her hands over her boy's 
 head: 
 
 " Give us all peace. Thou who art the Spirit of Eternal 
 Love! Give us wisdom to discern truth and strength, to 
 make any sacrifice in its behalf!" 
 
 On the evening of this day, after a long walk which Schil- 
 ler had taken with Charlotte's husband, and during which 
 they had conversed on the highest intellectual topics only, 
 Schiller wrote to his bosom friend Korner, in Dresden : " Can 
 you believe me when I assert, that I find it almost impossible 
 to write anything concerning Charlotte? Nor can I even 
 tell you why ! The relation existing between us, like revealed 
 religion, is based on faith. The results of the long experience 
 and slow progress of the human mind are announced in the 
 latter in a mystical manner, because reason would have taken 
 too long a- time to attain' this end. The same is the case with 
 Charlotte and myself. We commenced with a premonition of 
 the result, and must now study and confirm our religion by 
 the aid of reason. In the latter, as in the former case, all the 
 intervals of fanaticism, skepticism, and superstition, have 
 arisen, and it is to be hoped that we will ultimately arrive at 
 that reasonable faith that is the only assurance of bliss. I 
 think it likely that the germ of an enduring friendship exists 
 in us both, but it is still awaiting its development. There is 
 more unity in Charlotte's mind than in my own, although 
 she is more changeable in her humors and caprices. Solitude 
 and a peculiar tendency of her being have imprinted my 
 image more firmly in her soul, than her image could ever be 
 imprinted in mine. Her husband treats me precisely as of 
 yore, although he is well aware of the relation existing be- 
 tween us. I do not know that his presence will leave me as I 
 
314 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 am. I feel that a change has taken place within me that may 
 be still further developed." * 
 
 CHAPTEE VIII. 
 
 GOETHE AND MORITZ. 
 
 " Cheer up, my friend ! Grnmble no longer ! Eejoice in 
 life and throw ofE the burden of your cares ! Open your eyes 
 and behold the beauties of the world created by the Almighty 
 Spirit of the Universe ! We have studied and worshipped the 
 immortal gods and immortal arts in Eome — we have been 
 living with the ancients ; now let us live for a few days with 
 eternal youth, with ever-fading, ever-blossoming Nature! 
 Let us live like God's children in His glorious world !" 
 
 It was Goethe who spoke these words — not Goethe, the 
 secretary of legation, who, at the end of the year 1786, had 
 secretly withdrawn from his friends, and even from his be- 
 loved Madame von Stein, and fled to Italy, the land he so 
 ardently desired to visit. No, it was not that Goethe, who, 
 during the last months of his sojourn in Weimar, had es- 
 chewed his youthful exuberance of feeling, his exaggerated 
 manner, and his Werther costume, and had assumed the grave 
 dignified air which he deemed becoming in a high official ! 
 No, he who spoke these words, was the poet Johann Wolf- 
 gang Von Goethe, the poet who was once more himself, now 
 that he sojourned under Italy's glorious skies — the poet whose 
 soul glowed with enthusiasm,, and on whose lips inspiration 
 trembled — the poet who sought the essence of the Divinity in 
 the least flower, and who saw the glory of his Maker reflected 
 in the countenance of each human being. 
 
 This Goethe it was who spoke these cheering, encouraging 
 words. He addressed them to Philip Moritz, with whom he 
 had been living in Eome, and other parts of Italy, for the last 
 two years, and with whom he had rejoiced and sorrowed in 
 
 ♦ Schiller and his Times, by Johannes Scherr.— Vol. ii., p. 89. 
 
GOETHE AND MORITZ. 315 
 
 many pleasures and vicissitudes. They had both come to 
 Italy to make new men of themselves. Goethe, to become 
 himself again — to become the original, creative genius. Mo- 
 ritz, to heal his heart-wounds, and refresh his mind with the 
 wonders of art and nature that abound for every man, who 
 has eyes to see, in Italy — this land of art and poetry. Philip 
 Moritz had eyes to see, and the woman he loved had begged 
 him not to close them, not to shut out from his vision the 
 treasures which the God of creation and the gods of art had 
 so plentifully bestowed upon this favored land. 
 
 Marie von Leuthen was the woman of his love, and she it 
 was who had entreated him to go to Italy, that he might re- 
 cover from the wounds life had inflicted, his grief be healed, 
 and hope restored to his heart. 
 
 " Go," she had said to him, " Italy and art will be a healing 
 balm for your wounds. Recover from them, and return after 
 two years, renewed in mind and constant in heart, and I will 
 give you a joyful answer if you then ask me if I love you." 
 
 Philip Moritz had journeyed to Italy as she bade him. On 
 arriving in Eome he learned that Goethe had been in the city 
 for some time. Moritz at once sought out his adored poet, 
 and since then they had been close comrades. He admired 
 and worshipped Goethe, who tenderly loved the friend (who 
 was often so gloomy, and whose merriment was often exagger- 
 ated), in spite of his peculiarities. Together they visited the 
 treasures of art in Rome ; together they made excursions to 
 the neighboring villages and places of interest, on foot or on 
 horseback, as the case might be. On an excursion of this 
 kind to Frascati, Moritz had been thrown from his horse, and 
 had his arm broken. Goethe had nursed him like a brother; 
 for long days and weeks he had been the sufferer's only con- 
 soler and associate. 
 
 " I have just left Moritz," he wrote on one occasion to Ma- 
 dame von Stein. " The bandages were to-day removed from 
 his arm, and it appears to be doing well. What I have ex- 
 perienced and learned at the bedside of this sufferer, in the 
 21 
 
316 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 last two weeks, may be of benefit to us both in the future. 
 During this period he was perpetually alternating between 
 the greatest misery and the highest delight." * 
 
 This " greatest misery" the poor hypochondriac had borne 
 in silence. The "highest delight," he had shared with his 
 happier friend, with Goethe, the favorite of the gods. 
 
 In the autumn they had both left Eome, and gone out to 
 Castel Gandolfo, to pay a visit to the house of a hospitable 
 friend. Many eminent poets and artists were sojourning at 
 this charming place at that time. Gayety and merriment 
 was the order of the day. It was in vain that Goethe en- 
 deavored to draw his friend Moritz into this magic circle of 
 enjoyment. It grieved him deeply to see his friend brooding 
 over his studies, to see the sad and gloomy expression that 
 rested on his features. Goethe's entreaties and exhortations 
 were at times successful in arousing him from this condition ; 
 but, after a short interval of forced gayety and mocking 
 merriment, he would relapse into his ordinary state of silent 
 melancholy. 
 
 " Let us live as God's children in His glorious world!" 
 
 Moritz raised his pale countenance from the book over 
 which he had been brooding, and looked tenderly, and yet 
 sadly, at Goethe. 
 
 "Happy, enviable man," said he. "But who can feel' and 
 think as you do?" 
 
 "You can, Moritz, if you only try," cried Goethe. "But, 
 above all, tell me what burden is resting on your soul, and 
 what these wrinkles on my friend's .brow mean." 
 
 "They mean that I have a sad presentiment," replied Mo- 
 ritz, with a sigh, as he threw his book aside and rose from his 
 seat. " I am angry with myself on this account, and I have 
 sought to dispel this presentiment, but all to no purpose! 
 The skies of Italy are n<J longer serene, the whole world seems 
 like a huge grave; of late, even Eome's works of art have ap- 
 pealed to me in vain; my ear has been deaf to their sublime 
 language." 
 
 * " Trip to Italy."— Qoethe's Works. 
 
GOETHE AND MORITZ. 317 
 
 "But, speak out, growler, monster," cried Goethe, im- 
 patiently, " what northern spleen has again penetrated your 
 northern heart? what is the matter with you? What imps 
 have taken up their abode in your brain? What crickets are 
 fiddling in your ears, and transforming the author, the lin- 
 guist, and the sage into a miserable, grief-stricken old woman, 
 who shuffles along through God's beautiful world, and bur- 
 rows in the ground like a mole, instead of soaring upwards to 
 the sun like an eagle?" 
 
 "Corpo di Bacco!" cried Moritz, striking the table so 
 furiously with his fists that he sent the books flying in every 
 direction, and upset the ink-bottle, flooding his papers with 
 its black contents. " Oorpo di Bacco! Enough of your ridi- 
 cule and abuse! How dare you call' me a miserable old 
 woman, how dare you compare me with a mole? How dare 
 you make yourself merry over my northern heart? You, 
 above all, whose heart is a lump of ice, an extinguished coal, 
 that even the breath of a goddess would fail to enkindle! If 
 one of us is an iceberg, it is you, Mr. Johann Wolfgang 
 Goethe! You are an iceberg, and your heart can never thaw 
 again, but will remain coffined in an eternal winter. What 
 do you know of the sufferings of a man who loves the fairest, 
 the best, and the noblest of women, and who, tormented by 
 terrible forebodings of her death, tears his own flesh with the 
 serpent's tooth of care, and who is blinded by his grief to all 
 the beauties of God's world!" 
 
 "That is it," said Goethe, heartily, "then I have attained 
 my object. With the iron hammer of my abuse I have beaten 
 on the anvil of your obdurate temperament until I have made 
 the sparks fly and kindle a fire. That was all I desired, you 
 overgrown, harmless child ; I only called you an old woman 
 in order to awaken the man in you, and I now beg your par- 
 don a thousand times for this abuse. He who has seen the 
 old shrews that infest the neighborhood of St. Peter's, and 
 has suffered from their visitations in the Ohiesa Maria della 
 Pace, knows how terrible a creature such an old fright is, and 
 
318 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 how offensive it is to be compared to such a personage. I 
 humbly beg your pardon, Philip Moritz, professor, sage, con- 
 noisseur of art, and first-class etymologist. But as for your 
 presentiments and your fears that some evil may have befallen 
 your sweetheart, permit me to say that they are only the 
 vagaries of a lover who blows soap-bubbles into the air, and 
 afterward trembles lest they should fall on his head as cannon- 
 balls. Why, in the name of all the saints, do you give vent 
 to your yearnings in trumpet tones, and afterward consider 
 them the death-song of your love? Was it not agreed upon 
 between you two lovesick children of affliction that these two 
 years of your sojourn in Italy should be a trial of your love 
 and fidelity? Was it not understood that you were not to 
 exchange a single letter during this period?" 
 
 "Yes, that was our agreement," replied Moritz. "Marie 
 would have it so; she wished to try me, to see whether I 
 would remain faithful and constant in love, even among the 
 glories of Italy." 
 
 "Well, then! What is it that oppresses you? What do 
 these lamentations signify? What are you afraid of?" 
 
 "Do not laugh, Goethe," murmured Philip Moritz. "I 
 will tell you, a dream has tormented and alarmed me; a 
 dream that has returned to me for three successive nights. I 
 see Marie lying on her couch at the point of death, her cheeks 
 pale and hollow, her eyes dim and fixed ; old Trude kneels at 
 her side wringing her hands, and a voice cries in my ear in 
 heart-rending tones : 'Philip, my beloved Philip, come! Let 
 me die in your arms. ' This is the dream- that has haunted 
 me for three nights ; these are the words that have each time 
 awakened me from sleep, and they still resound in my ear when 
 I am fully aroused." 
 
 "Dreams amount to nothing," said Goethe, shrugging his 
 shoulders, " and your faith in them proves only that Cupid 
 transforms even the most sensible men into foolish children, 
 and that the wanton god can make even sages irrational." 
 
 " I would he made you so, you mocker at love and mar- 
 
GOETHE AND MORITZ. 319 
 
 riage," rejoined Moritz, grimly. "I would like to see you a 
 victim of this divine madness. I trust that Cupid, whom 
 you deride, will send an arrow into your icy heart and melt it 
 in the flames of infinite love-pains and heaven-storming long- 
 ings! I hope to see you, the sage who has fled from all the 
 living beauties, from all the living women here in Italy, as 
 though they were serpents of Eden — I hope to see you com- 
 pelled by one of them to eat of the apple, and experience the 
 dire consequences! I hope — " 
 
 "Hold, rash mortal!" said Goethe, interrupting him, with 
 a smile. " You know that children and fools often speak the 
 truth, and that their prophecies often become realities. It is 
 to be hoped an all-kind Providence will preserve me from a 
 new love, from new flames. No, the fires of love have been 
 extinguished in my heart; in the warm ashes of friendship 
 that stiU remain, a spark may sometimes glimmer sufficiently 
 to enable me to read the name of my beloved friend, Char- 
 lotte von Stein, engraven therein." 
 
 "Warm ashes of friendship, indeed!" osberved Moritz, in 
 mocking tones. " A sorry tenant for the heart of the poet of 
 Werther." 
 
 "Keally," cried Goethe, "I believe this fellow would be 
 capable of imploring the gods to visit a 'Werthercade' upon 
 me." 
 
 " I not only would be capable of doing so, but I really will 
 do so," rejoined Moritz. "I entreat the gods to bless and 
 curse j'ou with a heaven-storming, bliss-conferring and an- 
 nihilating love, for that is all that is wanting to drive the last 
 vestiges of humanity out of you, and make of you a demi-god 
 with a halo of love-flames around your semi-divine head. 
 Yes, Wolfgang Goethe, poet by the grace of God, to whom 
 the immortal have vouchsafed the honor of creating an 'Iphi- 
 genia' and an 'Bgmont'— yes, I hope that a glowing, flaming, 
 and distracting love, may be visited upon you !" 
 
 "That you should not do," said Goethe, gently, "let me 
 make a confession, Moritz : I believe that I am not capable of 
 
320 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 sucli a love — am not capable of losing my own individuality in 
 that of another. I am not capable of subjecting all other 
 thoughts, wishes, and cravings, to the one thought, wish, and 
 craving of love. Perhaps this was at one time my condition, 
 perhaps my Werther spoke of my own life, and perhaps this 
 tragedy was written with the blood of my heart, then bleeding 
 for Charlotte Kastner. But you perceive that I did not shoot 
 myself like Werther. I have steeled my heart since then to 
 enable it to rely on its own strength, and to prevent its ever 
 being carried away by the storm of passion. I am proof 
 against this, and will ever be so!" 
 
 "To be in Eome!" exclaimed Moritz, "in Rome, with a 
 heart void of all save the ashes of friendship for Charlotte von 
 Stein, and to remain cold and indifferent to the most beauti- 
 ful women in the world!" 
 
 "That is not true, that is calumny!" said Goethe, smiling. 
 " My heart is not cold, but glows with admiration and love 
 for the noblest and loveliest woman, for the goddess of beauty, 
 chastity, and virtue. She was my first love in Eome, and 
 will be my only love. I yearned for her until she at last 
 yielded to my entreaties, and took up her abode in my poor 
 house. Yes, I possess her, she is mine ! No words can give 
 an idea of her, she is like one of Homer's songs!" * 
 
 "I would like to know," cried Moritz, in astonishment, 
 " yes, really, I would like to know of whom you are speaking I" 
 
 " I am speaking of her," said Goethe, pointing to a colossal 
 bust of the Juno Ludovisi, that stood on a high pedestal in a 
 corner of the room. He approached the pedestal, looked up 
 into the proud and noble countenance of the chaste goddess, 
 and greeted her with a radiant smile. 
 
 " I greet you, mysterious goddess, on whose brow love and 
 chastity are enthroned ! When I behold you I seem to hear 
 words of revelation, and I then know that you reflect all that 
 the fancy of the poets, the researches of the learned, and the 
 piety of priests, ever thought or depicted that is sublime and ■ 
 
 'Goethe's own words.— See " Trip to Italy," Goethe's works, vol. xxiii., p. 159. 
 
GOETHE AND MORITZ. 321 
 
 beautiful. You are the blessing-dispeusing Isis of the Egyp- 
 tians, the Venus Aphrodite, and Mother Mary, all in one, and 
 I stand before you in pious awe, adoring, loving and — " 
 
 "Holy Mary! Holy Januarius!" screamed a voice from 
 the doorway, and a woman, in the picturesque dress of an 
 Italian peasant, rushed into the room. "Signori, signori, 
 a wonder, a miracle!" 
 
 "What do you mean, Signora Abazza?" asked Goethe, 
 laughing, as Moritz, alarmed by the old woman's screeching, 
 ■withdrew hastily to the window recess. 
 
 " What do I mean?" repeated the old woman, as she sank 
 breathlessly into a chair. " A miracle has occurred, Signori! 
 My cat is praying to God the Father!" 
 
 " How so, signora?" asked Goethe, while Moritz had aban- 
 doned his retreat and was slowly approaching the old woman, 
 curiosity depicted in his countenance. 
 
 "I mean just what I say, signori! I went to your bed- 
 chamber to make up the bed, and the cat accompanied me as 
 usual. Suddenly I heard a whining and mewing, and when 
 I looked around, supposing she had hurt herself in some way, 
 I saw her — but come and look yourselves. It is a miracle, 
 signori! A miracle!" She sprang up, rushed to the door of 
 the bedchamber, opened it, looked in, and beckoned to the 
 two friends to approach. " Softly, softly, signori ; do not 
 disturb her!" 
 
 Goethe and Moritz walked noiselessly to the door, and 
 looked into the adjoining room. There, on the antiquated 
 wardrobe, opposite Schiller's bed, and illumined by the sun- 
 light that poured in through the broad window, stood the 
 colossal bust of the almighty Jupiter. In front of this bust, 
 full of beauty and regal composure, stood Madame Abazza's 
 gray cat, upright on her hind feet. She had laid her fore- 
 paws on the god's broad breast, and stretched her neck so 
 that she could gaze into his majestic countenance, and touch 
 with her tongue the lips with their godlike smile, and the 
 beard with its curling locks. She kissed his divine lips 
 
322 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 ardently, and zealously licked his curly beard, stopping now and 
 then to gaze for a moment at his royal countenance, and to 
 utter a tender, plaintive mew, and then renewing her atten- 
 tion to beard and lips. 
 
 Goethe and Moritz looked on with smiling astonishment, 
 the old woman with pious dismay. 
 
 " Come to me, pussy," cried the signora at last; " come to 
 me, my little pet, I will give you some milk and sugar; 
 come!" 
 
 But call and entreat as she would, the cat would not allow 
 herself to be disturbed in her devotions, not even when 
 Goethe walked heavily through the room and stepped up to 
 the wardrobe. She continued to kiss the god's lips and 
 beard, and to utter her plaintive mews. Signora Abazza, 
 who was standing in the door-way, with folded hands, now 
 protested that the cat sang exactly like Father Ambrose when 
 he ofiBciated at the morning mass, and that her heart, the 
 signora's, was filled with pious devotion. 
 
 "I must, however, bring this cat-mass to an end," cried 
 Goethe, laughing, "for if the cat continues her devotions 
 much longer, another miracle will take place: the divine 
 locks will dissolve, and the lips, so expressive of wisdom and 
 majesty, will be nothing more than shapeless plaster. Halloo ! 
 father cat, away with you ! You shall not transform the god 
 into a lump of plaster !" With threatening tones and gestures 
 he frightened the cat down from the wardrobe, and drove her 
 out of the room. Goethe and his friend then returned to the 
 parlor. 
 
 "Wonders are the order of the day," said Moritz, thought- 
 fully, " and we are surrounded by a mysterious atmosphere of 
 dreams and tokens." 
 
 "Only when we are dreamers," cried Goethe, laughing. 
 " To the unbiassed there is nothing miraculous, to them all 
 things seem natural." 
 
 "How can you explain the cat's rapturous devotion?" 
 
 "In a very prosaic, pitiful manner," replied Goethe, smil- 
 
GOETHE AND MORITZ. 323 
 
 ing. "You know, exalted dreamer, that this bust was 
 moulded but a few days ago, and you also know that grease 
 was used to prevent the plaster from adhering to the form. 
 Some of this grease remained in the cavities of the beard and 
 lips; the cat's fine sense of smell detected its presence, and 
 she was endavoring to lick it oil. " * 
 
 Philip Moritz raised his arms, and looked upward with 
 comic pathos : " Hear this mocker, this cold-hearted ma- 
 terialist, ye eternal, ye sublime gods ! punish the blasphemer 
 who mocks at his own poetic genius ; punish him by filling 
 his cold heart with a lost passionate love! Cast down this 
 proud poet in the dust, in order that he be made aware that 
 he is still a mortal in spite of his poetic renown, and that he 
 dare not attempt to hold himself aloof from human love and 
 human suffering ! — Venus Aphrodite, pour out the lava streams 
 of your passion on this presumptuous poet, and — " 
 
 " Hold, hold !" cried Goethe, laughing, as he seized his 
 friend's arms, and forcibly drew them down. " You remind 
 me of Thetis invoking the wrath of the great Zeus upon the 
 head of the son he believed to be guilty, and to whom the god 
 granted his cruel prayer." 
 
 " Signori, signori!" cried Signora Abazza from the outside. 
 
 " Come in, come in, signora ! What is the matter this time ?" 
 
 " Signore Zucchi has arrived from Kome with his divine 
 signora," said the old woman, appearing in the doorway, 
 " they inquired at the post-ofRce for your letters and papers, 
 as they promised to do, and here is the mail Signora Angelica 
 has brought you. " 
 
 Goethe hastily opened and examined the sealed package 
 which she had handed him. "Newspapers! newspapers!" 
 exclaimed he, throwing the folded papers on the table. " I 
 am surrounded by living Nature, what care I for lifeless 
 newspapers." 
 
 "You will not read them?" said Moritz. "You have no 
 
 *This cat story Goethe relates precisely as above, in his "Italian Trip."— See 
 Goetlie's Works, vol. xxiii., p. 181. 
 
324 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 desire to learn what is taking place in the German empire, 
 to learn whether the emperor has undertaken another cam- 
 paign against presumptuous Prussia or not?" 
 
 "No, I wish to know nothing of war," said Goethe, softly. 
 " I am a child of peace. I wish eternal peace to the whole 
 world, now that I am at peace with myself." * 
 
 " Then permit me, at least, to interest myself in these mat- 
 ters," said Moritz, taking one of the papers from the table 
 and opening it. With a cry of joy Goethe picked up the 
 three letters that fell to the floor. 
 
 "Two letters for me! A letter from my Charlotte, and 
 one from my dear friend. Herder! And here is a letter for 
 you, friend Moritz." 
 
 "A letter for me!" said Moritz, clutching and hastily 
 opening the letter Goethe held in his extended hand. " Who 
 can have written to me?" 
 
 " Eead, my friend, and you will see. I will first read Her- 
 der's letter, it probably contains his opinion of my 'Egmont,' 
 which I sent him some time ago." 
 
 He seated himself at the little table, opposite Moritz. 
 Both were soon busily reading, and Goethe was so completely 
 absorbed in his letter that he did not notice how pale Moritz 
 had become, and how the letter trembled in his hands; nor 
 did he hear the deep sighs that escaped his lips. 
 
 " I knew these fault-flnders would not understand my 
 Clarchen ; they demand another scene, explaining her relation 
 to Egmont. Another scene! Where am I to introduce it? 
 Where?" 
 
 " Goethe," said Moritz, rising and handing the letter, which 
 he had read again and again, to his friend, " Goethe, read this, 
 and then laugh at my dreams and presentiments, if you can." 
 
 "What is it?" asked Goethe, looking up. "But what is 
 the matter with you, my friend? How pale you are, and how 
 you tremble! Tears in your eyes, too! Have you received 
 bad news?" 
 
 * Goethe's own words.— See "Italian Trip," vol. y*iv., p. 146. 
 
GOETHE AND MORITZ. 335 
 
 "I have," groaned Morifiz. "Marie is ill. Eead!" 
 
 Goethe took the letter and hastily glanced over it. It was 
 from Professor Gedicke in Berlin ; he announced that Marie 
 Leuthen had been ill for some time; that she had, at first, 
 concealed her illness, but now admitted it, and expressed an 
 ardent desire to see Moritz. The physician had given it as 
 his opinion that a reunion with her lover after so long a sep- 
 aration would have a beneficial effect on his patient, and in- 
 fuse new life into her being; it was therefore considered 
 desirable that Moritz should speedily return to Germany and 
 Berlin, to restore health and happiness to his beloved. 
 " Strange, truly strange !" said Goethe. " Your dream is 
 being fulfilled, your presentiment has become reality." 
 
 "Fearful reality!" groaned Moritz. "Marie will die, I 
 shall not see her again!" 
 
 "No, oh no," said Goethe, endeavoring to console him. 
 "You take too gloomy a view of things; your fancy conjures 
 up horrible visions. You will see her again. The magical 
 influence of your presence, the heavenly fire of your love, will 
 save her. Women are generally such sensitively constituted 
 beings that all ordinary kws are set at defiance when they 
 love. They die of love, and they live on love. Marie is ill 
 because she longs to be with you ; she will recover when she 
 once more beholds you, and reads love and fidelity in your 
 countenance." 
 
 • "Marie will die!" groaned Moritz. '^od grant that I 
 may, at least, arrive in time to kiss the last death-sigh from 
 her lips!" 
 
 " You are then about to take your departure? You will 
 leave Italy and return to Germany?" 
 
 Moritz shrugged his shoulders. "Truly, Goethe, in this 
 question I see that your heart is cold and loveless. I leave 
 here within an hour!" 
 
 Goethe extended both hands, and his eyes shone with deep 
 sympathy, as he gazed lovingly into his friend's pale coun- 
 tenance. " Moritz, I am not cold and not loveless. I under- 
 
326 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 stand you. I appreciate your grief. I know that you must 
 leave me, and must answer this call. Do not misunderstand 
 me, my friend, and when I subdue the holy flames, that glow 
 in your soul and my own, with the prose of every-day life, 
 remember that I have eaten much bitter fruit from the tree 
 of knowledge, and that I anxiously avoid being poisoned in 
 that manner again. But a blasphemer I am not, and be it 
 far from me to desire to shake your resolution. Love is the 
 holy god who often determines our thoughts and actions, and 
 love it is that calls you ! Go, my friend, answer this call, and 
 may love console and give you heavenly delight. Go ! I will 
 assist you in getting ready ! We will go to work at once ! 
 The stage leaves here for Rome in a few hours, and you will 
 arrive there in time to take the mail-coach for Milan this 
 evening." 
 
 Goethe assisted his friend in preparing for his departure 
 with such tender solicitude that Moritz's eyes filled with tears 
 at the thought of separation from his dear companion. 
 
 Angelica Kaufmann, the celebrated painter, who had now 
 been married to the artist, Tucchi, for some months, sent 
 twice to her friend Goethe inviting him to take a walk, but 
 in vain. It was in vain that a merry party of artists, who 
 were sojourning in Castel Gandolfo, sang beneath Goethe's 
 window, and entreated him to join them in an excursion to the 
 mountains, where they proposed to draw, paint, and amuse 
 themselves till evening. 
 
 Goethe let them go without him and remained with his 
 friend, endeavoring to console and encourage him. When 
 the trunk was entirely packed, Goethe quietly slipped a well- 
 filled purse into the tray, hastily locked the trunk, and handed 
 the key to Moritz. " All is now ready, my friend. Listen 
 how our friend, the stage-driver, is cracking his whip and 
 giving vent to his impatience, at the delay we have caiised, in 
 his charming Italian oaths. We will promise him a gratuity, 
 as an incentive to make him drive rapidly, to ensure your ar- 
 riving in Eome in time for the mail-coach." 
 
GOETHE AND MORITZ. 327 
 
 " May heaven grant that I arrive in Berlin in time to find 
 Marie still living ! this is all I crave ! You see life has made 
 me humble and modest ; my life has been rich in misfortunes 
 and poor in joys. I found two beautiful blossoms on my 
 journey: Marie's love and Goethe's friendship. But I will 
 lose them both ; death will tread the one of these blossoms 
 under foot, and life the other." 
 
 Goethe laid his hand gently on Moritz's shoulder, and 
 gazed into his countenance in deep emotion. " What fate has 
 determined concerning the blossom of your love, that we must 
 await with composure and resignation, for death is an almighty 
 king, before whom the haughtiest head must bow in rever- 
 ence. But the blossom of friendship which we have so ten- 
 derly nurtured, and which has so often cheered and refreshed 
 our hearts — that blossom we will preserve and protect from 
 all the storms of life. You may be right in asserting that the 
 flames of love are extinguished in my heart, but the light of 
 friendship is still burning brightly there, and will only expire 
 with my death. Be ever mindful of this, and, although you 
 suppose me to be a cold lover, you shall never have cause to 
 consider me a cold friend. Let this be our farewell; ever 
 bear this in mind." * 
 
 " This thought will console and encourage," said Moritz, 
 his eyes filling with tears. " All that I have enjoyed in these 
 last few years that was good and beautiful, I owe to you, and 
 have enjoyed with you alone ! Farewell, my Pylades ! I feel 
 that, like Orestes, I am being pursued by Furies, and driven 
 out into the world, to death and to despair! Farewell, 
 Goethe!" 
 
 They clasped each other in a long embrace, and then Goethe 
 led his friend down to the stage in silence. He gave the 
 angry driver a gratuity, and pressed his friend's hand warmly 
 in a last farewell. 
 
338 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 CHAPTEE IX. 
 
 LEONORA. 
 
 Goethe stood for a long time on the steps in front of the 
 house, following with his gaze the departing stage, and listen- 
 ing to the jingling of the little bells with which the horses 
 were adorned. When this also had finally become inaudi- 
 ble, Goethe turned slowly, a deep sigh escaping his lips, and 
 reentered the house. 
 
 But his apartments seemed bare and solitary, and even the 
 drawings and paintings which had usually afforded him so 
 much pleasure, were now distasteful. 
 
 He impatiently threw brush and palette aside and arose. 
 "This solitude is unendurable," he murmured to himself, " I 
 must seek company. I wish I knew where my merry friends 
 have gone, I would like to follow them and take part in their 
 merrymakings. But they will all have gone, not one of them 
 will have been misanthropical enough to remain at home. I 
 shall probably have to content myself with the society of Sig- 
 nora Abazza and her* cat." 
 
 With rapid strides he passed down the broad marble steps 
 and out into the garden. Here all was still and solitary. No 
 human forms could be seen in the long avenues, bordered on 
 either side with dense evergreen. No laughter or merry con- 
 versation resounded from the myrtle arbors. In vain the 
 wind shook down the ripe fruit from the orange trees, the 
 merry artists were not there who were in the habit of playing 
 ball with the golden fruit. In great dejection Goethe moved 
 leisurely down the avenue which led to the large pavilion, 
 built on a little hill at the end of the garden, and command- 
 ing a magnificent view of Lake Albano and its wooded shores. 
 Goethe walked slowly toward this point, regardless of his sur- 
 roundings of the marble statues that stood here and there in 
 niches hewn out of the dense evergreen, and of the murmur- 
 
LEONORA. 339 
 
 ing of the neighboring cascades. The study of Nature in all 
 its details usually afforded him great enjoyment. He sought 
 out its mysteries as well in mosses, flowers, and insects, as in 
 the tall cypress, the eagle, and the clouds. But to-day. Na- 
 ture with all its beauties was unheeded by the poet, he was 
 thinking of his absent friend ; the words of separation still 
 resounded in his ear. His mind was burdened with an anxious 
 feeling like a presentiment of coming evil. 
 
 But Goethe was not the man to allow himself to be weighed 
 down by sadness. He suddenly stood still, threw back the 
 brown locks from his brow with a violent movement of the 
 head, and looked around defiantly. 
 
 " "What misery do you wish to inflict on me, hollow-eyed 
 Melancholy," cried he, angrily. "Where do you lie con- 
 cealed? from behind which hedge have you fastened your 
 stony gaze on me? Away with you! I will have nothing to 
 do with you ; you shall not lay your cold, damp hand on my 
 warm human heart. I will — " 
 
 He suddenly ceased speaking, and looked up at the pavilion, 
 astonishment depicted in his countenance. In the doorway 
 of the pavilion, facing the garden, stood two girlish figures. 
 A ray of sunshine penetrated the open window at the other 
 end of the hall and illumined this door-way, surrounding these 
 figures as with a frame of transparent gold, and encircling 
 their heads with a halo of light. The one was tall and slen- 
 der; the dark complexion, the brown cheeks, slightly tinged 
 with crimson, the purple lips, the delicately-curved nose, the 
 large, sparkling black eyes, the glossy black hair, and an in- 
 expressible something in her whole appearance and expression, 
 betrayed the Koman maiden, the proud daughter of the 
 Cffisars. The young girl who stood at her side was entirely 
 different in appearance. She was not so tall, and yet she was 
 as symmetrical in form as the goddess ascending from the 
 waves. Her light hair fell in a profusion of ringlets -around 
 the brow of transparent whiteness, and down over the delicate 
 shoulders that were modestly veiled by her white muslin dress. 
 
330 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 Her large black eyes were milder than, but not so Inminons 
 as, those of her companion ; her delicately-formed cheeks were 
 of a rosier hue ; an innocent smile played about her purple 
 lips, and illumined her whole countenance. Her lovely bead 
 rested on her companion's shoulder, and when she raised her 
 right arm and laid it around her neck, the loose sleeve fell 
 back and disclosed an arm of dazzling whiteness and rare 
 beauty. They stood there in silence, surrounded by a halo of 
 sunshine, looking dreamily around at the garden with its 
 variegated autumnal hues. 
 
 At the foot of the hill on which the pavilion was situated, 
 stood Goethe, his countenance radiant with delight, feasting 
 his eyes on this charming picture. 
 
 " Apollo himself must have sent me this divine picture. I 
 will engrave it deeply on my heart, that it may some day find 
 utterance in living, breathing poetry. Ye are the fair ones of 
 whom my soul has of late been dreaming, whenever Torquato 
 Tasso's image arose before my imagination. I will make you 
 both immortal, at least in so far as it is given to the poet to 
 make aught immortal. Apollo, I thank thee for this ap- 
 parition! These are my two princesses, my two Leonoras, 
 and here stands Tasso, looking up to them with enraptured 
 adoration! But, ye gods, harden my heart against the 
 flames of love, preserve me from Tasso's fate!" 
 
 "Signer Goethe!" exclaimed the Eoman maiden, who had 
 just perceived the poet standing at the foot of the hill, as she 
 stepped forward to the head of the stone stairway that led up 
 to the pavilion. She stood there bov/ing her head in greeting, 
 and beckoning to him to come up, while the fair-haired girl 
 remained in the door, smiling at her friend's eager gestures. 
 
 " Come up, Signore ; mother is in the pavilion, and a party 
 of friends will soon Join us here; we shall then play and be 
 merry, " 
 
 "Yes, we shall play and be merry," cried Goethe, as he 
 rushed up the steps, and extended his hand to the fair friend 
 who awaited him. 
 
LEONORA. 331 
 
 " A greeting to you, beautiful Amarilla, and many thanks 
 for your kind invitation. " Signora Amarilla grasped his hand 
 cordially, and then turned to her friend, " Leonora — " 
 
 " Leonora!" repeated Goethe, startled, " the signora's name 
 is Leonora?" 
 
 Signora Amarilla looked at him with astonishment. " Yes. 
 Leonora. And why not? Is this name so remarkable, so 
 unheard of?" 
 
 " No, not exactly that, and yet it is a remarkable coinci- 
 dence that — " 
 
 In her animation, Amarilla took no notice of the words 
 Schiller had murmured, but ran to the door, grasped her 
 friend's hand, and led her forward. The young girl seemed 
 to follow her almost reluctantly; her lovely eyes were cast 
 down, and a brighter color diffused itself over her cheeks. 
 
 " Leonora, this is the. Signore Goethe, about whom I told 
 you so much this morning — the signore who lives in Eome, 
 in the house adjoining ours, on the Corso — the one to whom 
 the artists recently gave the magnificent serenade that was the 
 talk of all Eome for three days. We supposed the signore to 
 be a rich Inglese, because he indulged in so costly a pleasure, 
 but he tells us that he is only a poor German poet ; this, how- 
 ever, I do not believe. But look up, Leonora! look at the 
 gentleman! He is an intimate acquaintance of mine, and I 
 have already told you so much about him." 
 
 While Signora Amarilla was laughing and speaking, with 
 the unceasing fluency of tongue peculiar to the ladies of Rome, 
 Leonora stood at her side, her eyes still cast down. Goethe's 
 gaze was fixed immovably on the beautiful vision before him. 
 Did his ardent gaze, or his glowing thoughts, exercise a magi- 
 cal influence over her? Slowly she raised her head, and 
 opened the large timid eyes, shaded with long black lashes, 
 and looked at Goethe. Their glances met, and both started ; 
 the hearts of both beat higher. Her cheeks glowed, his 
 turned pale. He felt as though a whirlwind had arisen in his 
 heart, and was carrying him he knew not where, either 
 28 
 
332 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 heavenward or into an abyss. His head swam, and he stag- 
 gered back a step; she grasped her friend's hand, as if to sus- 
 tain herself. 
 
 Signora Amarilla had observed nothing of this mute 
 greeting and interchange of thought; she chatted away 
 merrily. 
 
 " Now, Signore Goethe, permit me to introduce this young 
 lady ; you will have great cause to be thankful for the honor 
 conferred on you. This is my dear friend Signora Leonora 
 Bandetto. Her brother is the confidential clerk in the busi- 
 ness establishment of Mr. Jenkins. He was very homesick, 
 and longed to be with his family in Milan. As he could not 
 conveniently leave Eome, he begged that his sister Leonora 
 might be permitted to come on to live with him and take 
 charge of his household. The most beautiful daughter of 
 Milan came to Rome in answer to this appeal. I made her 
 acquaintance at a party at Mr. Jenkins's, and we became 
 friends. We love each other tenderly, and I stormed Sig- 
 nore Bandetto with entreaties until he consented to lend me 
 his sister for a few weeks. Leonora came to Castel Gandolfo 
 to-day, and will spend two weeks with us, two heavenly weeks. 
 This is the whole story, and now let us go into the pavilion." 
 
 She tripped gayly toward the door, leading her friend by 
 the hand ; Goethe followed them slowly, his breast filled with 
 strange emotions. 
 
 At the entrance they were received by Signora Amarilla's 
 mother, who was surrounded by a number of young ladies 
 who had just arrived. Several young gentlemen, artists and 
 poets, soon joined the party ; the little pavilion was now the 
 scene of great gayety. Laughter and jesting resounded on 
 all sides; and, finally, the game of lotto, the favorite game of 
 the Eomans, and the occasion of this little gathering, was 
 commenced. 
 
 Poor Moritz, poor friend, who is journeying toward Rome 
 in sadness, it is well that you cannot look back at this scene ! 
 It is well that you cannot see the friend for whom your heart 
 
LEONORA. 333 
 
 is soiTOwing, seated between the two lovely women, between 
 Amarilla and Leonora, laughing and jesting with the former, 
 but having eyes and thoughts for Leonora only ! It is well, 
 poor Moritz, that you cannot see Goethe's eyes kindling with 
 rapture, and his countenance radiant with enthusiasm, as he 
 laughs and jests, the youngest among the young, the gayest 
 among the gay ! 
 
 It is now Signora Amarilla's turn to keep the bank. 
 Goethe is her partner; he divides his money and winnings 
 with her, but the losses he bears alone. The beautiful Ama- 
 rilla's mother, who is seated in front of them on the other 
 side of the long table, looks on with great content, laughs 
 heartily at Signore Goethe's jokes, and rejoices at the bank's 
 success, because her daughter's little treasure increases. But 
 a change comes over her countenance, her dark eyes no longer 
 sparkle with delight. This change is evidently owing to the 
 fact that Signore Wolfgang Goethe has dissolved the partner- 
 ship that existed between himself and her daughter; he ten- 
 dered his services as partner to Leonora, and is accepted. 
 Not being familiar with the game, she allows Goethe to guide 
 and direct her. She is fast losing her timidity, and is already 
 conversing quite gayly and confidentially with the signore who 
 eagerly gratifies all her little wishes. 
 
 The right to keep the bank now passed from Leonora to 
 her neighbor. Goethe, however, did not offer to be her part- 
 ner too, but quietly retained his place between the two lovely 
 girls. While Amarilla, with all the animation of her southern 
 nature, gave her exclusive attention to the game, while all 
 the players were anxiously listening to the numbers as they 
 were called out, and covering them on their cards with little 
 squares of glass, Goethe sat leaning back in his chair, gazing 
 into the beautiful countenance of his neighbor, who no longer 
 desired to take part in the game, but preferred to cease play- 
 ing, as she told Goethe naively, rather than run the risk of 
 losing the two scudi she had already won. 
 
 "Signore, we must not tempt fortune," said she, as she 
 
334 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 raised the little coins, which amounted to two scudi in value, 
 in her delicate little hands, and then let them fall one by one 
 into her lap. Unconscious of what she was doing, she con- 
 tinued to play with the little bajocchi and paoli, raising and 
 letting them fall again and again into her lap. 
 
 Goethe smilingly regarded the beautiful hands as they 
 toyed with the little coins, and thought of Oorreggio's cele- 
 brated painting of Danae and the shower of gold. The 
 thought occurred to him: "It is well that the gods no 
 longer roam the earth tempting innocence with such a shower ! 
 Could this lovely child also have been ensnared by the shower 
 of gold?" 
 
 "You laugh, signore," said Leonora, looking earnestly at 
 Goethe; "you laugh, but it is, nevertheless, true! We must 
 not tempt fortune ; we are sure to suffer when we confide in 
 fortune." 
 
 " Is Fortuna so bad a goddess?" asked Goethe, smiling. 
 
 " Fortuna is no goddess," replied Leonora, earnestly ; " For- 
 tuna is a demon, signore. She is the daughter of the tempter 
 who spoke to the mother of mankind in the garden of Eden. 
 If we listen to her words and allow ourselves to be ensnared 
 by her allurements, our good thoughts vanish, and we are 
 led astray." 
 
 " You calumniate the noble goddess, signora. You are 
 doubly unjust to Fortuna; has she not smiled on you to-day, 
 and are not your thoughts good and innocent?" 
 
 "I, myself, am a proof that she is a temptress, a demon," 
 said Leonora, eagerly, but in a subdued voice. " I will tell 
 you my thoughts, signore; there is something in your eyes 
 that compels me to confess the truth. Listen, signore. 
 When I, thanks to your good advice and skill, had won the 
 first few paoli, I rejoiced over my fortune and thought to 
 myself: 'I will give these to Theresa, the old woman I see on 
 the steps of the Santa Marie della Pace, every morning when 
 I attend mass at this church.' Old Theresa invariably 
 stretches out her withered, trembling hand, and I am so 
 
LEONORA. 335 
 
 rarely able to give her any thing, for my brother is not rich, 
 signore, and we are compelled to economize his earnings. It 
 always grieves me to have to pass by the poor woman without 
 giving her any thing. I rejoiced over the first few paoli I 
 had won, calculating that I could have them changed into 
 copper coins and give Theresa one each day for a whole week. 
 At this moment you handed me a few more paoli, telling me 
 that I had already won an entire scudo. But what followed ! 
 Old Theresa's image vanished from my heart; it occurred to 
 me that my brother had recently wished for a new cravat, 
 and that I could now purchase it with my scudo. You are 
 laughing at me, signore, are you not? You are right; it is 
 very bold in me to impart my foolish, girlish thoughts to so 
 wise a gentleman as yourself." 
 
 "No, signora, I am not laughing at you," said Goethe, in 
 such tender tones that she looked up in surprise and listened 
 attentively, as though his words were sweet music. " I was 
 only amused because your own words rebutted your ac- 
 cusations against Fortuna. The goddess has awakened good 
 thoughts only in your bosom!" 
 
 " But I have not yet finished, signore ! Only wait a little ! 
 My old beggar-woman was forgotten, and I had determined 
 to devote my scudo to the purchase of the silk cravat for my 
 brother. But I won, again and again, and you poured the lit- 
 tle paoli into my hand, and observed laughingly : you are now 
 rich, signora, for you have already won more than two scudi! 
 Your words startled me ; I now heard a tempting voice whisper- 
 ing in my breast : 'Play on, Leonora; play on. Win one more 
 scudo, and then you will have enough to buy the coral ear- 
 rings you recently admired so much, but were unable to buy. 
 Play on, Leonora ; win money enough to purchase this jewelry. ' 
 I was about to continue playing, thinking neither of the old 
 woman nor of my brother, but only of my own desires. But 
 I suddenly remembered the last words ray confessor. Father Ig- 
 natio, had spoken to me in Milan when I took leave of him. 
 He said: 'My child, when you hear the tempter's voice, pray 
 
336 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 for strength to resist his allurements;' and I did pray, sig- 
 nore. While we were praying, I vowed to the holy virgin 
 that I would not purchase the jewelry, but would expend my 
 sendi for my brother and my poor old Theresa only. I will 
 keep my vow. Now you will admit that Fortuna is a demon, 
 a daughter of the temptress who spoke to our mother Eve, 
 and was the cause of the expulsion of mankind from Paradise, 
 will you not?" 
 
 Goethe did not reply ; with an inward tremor that was in- 
 explicable to himself, he gazed at the lovely being whose 
 cheeks were flushed with animation, and whose countenance 
 shone with the holy light of purity and innocence. Her 
 sweet voice still rang in his ear after she had ceased -speak- 
 ing. 
 
 "Confess, signore!" repeated Leonora, eagerly. 
 
 Goethe gave her a look of infinite mildness and tenderness. 
 " Signora, you, at least, are still in Paradise, and may the 
 avenging angel with the flaming sword never touch the pure 
 brow which the angel of innocence has kissed and sanctified." 
 
 "We have finished, the game is at an end!" cried the im- 
 perious voice of Amarilla's mother. In the bustle which 
 ensued, Leonora, who was listening breathlessly, failed to 
 catch the words which Goethe added in a low tone. 
 
 The company had arisen from the table, and formed little 
 groups in various parts of the pavilion. Goethe had stepped 
 to an open window and was looking out at the lake, that glit- 
 tered in the last rays of the setting sun. Suddenly a hand 
 was laid heavily on his shoulder; he slowly turned and saw 
 Signora Frezzi, Amarilla's mother, standing at his side. Her 
 countenance was grave, her brow clouded, and the accustomed 
 smile was wanting on her lips. 
 
 " Signore Goethe, you are a stranger, and are, of course, 
 not familiar with the usages of our favored land," said she, in 
 subdued, reproachful tones. 
 
 " Have I sinned, signora?" asked he, gayly. " Have I been 
 guilty of an impropriety?" 
 
LEONORA. 337 
 
 " Yes, signore, yoii have, and as Amarilla's mother, I must 
 say that I cannot suffer the innocent child to be affronted." 
 
 "But, signora," he asked, in alarm, "how can I have 
 affronted your daughter?" 
 
 " I will tell you, signore. You have known my daughter 
 since your concert in Eome, and, when we met here in Castel 
 Gandolfo a week ago, you showed a disposition to cultivate 
 her acquaintance. Since then you have been her companion 
 on all our walks and excursions. It is recognized as your 
 right by all our friends and acquaintances, and no one would 
 dream of attempting to take your place at her side. It is a 
 good old custom for each young lady and gentleman to select 
 a special friend during their summer sojourn in the country. 
 It binds the young lady and gentleman who have associated 
 themselves in this manner, to the most enduring and delicate 
 attentions to each other until they return to Eom.e, when, of 
 course, all obligation ceases." 
 
 "What impropriety have I committed?" 
 
 " This impropriety, signore : for the last week you have 
 been recognized by every one as the amico of my daughter, 
 and now, when you have scarcely made the acquaintance of 
 her friend Leonora, you transfer the attentions hitherto shown 
 to my daughter to this young lady. This is not proper, sig- 
 nore, and I must request you — " 
 
 " I have a request to make of you first, signora," said 
 Goethe, interrupting her in severe and imperious tones. " I 
 must request you not to forget that I am a stranger, and can- 
 not give up the customs and usages of my own country. In 
 Germany it is customary for gentlemen to be polite to all ladies. 
 This, it seems to me, is better and more agreeable than to 
 show exclusive attention and devotion to one lady to the 
 neglect of all others. You will have to permit me to pursue 
 the course I deem the most proper." 
 
 He left her side, and walked through the pavilion to the 
 bay-window in which the two young ladies were standing. 
 They both smiled as he approached. Amarilla had just 
 
338 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 broken off a twig of blooming myrtle from the vine that clung 
 to the lattice-work of the pavilion, and was fastening it in 
 Leonora's hair. She pointed proudly to her friend : 
 
 " See how beautiful she is, signore ! Does she not look like 
 the goddess of love with the flowers of love in her hair?" 
 
 Leonora blushed and turned her head hastily toward the 
 open window. The myrtle fell from her hair to the floor, at 
 Goethe's feet. He stooped down and picked it up. His 
 heart beat tumultuously, and a feeling of wondrous delight 
 ran through his whole being as he handed it to Amarilla to 
 be replaced in Leonora's hair. 
 
 " How long will it be," said Amarilla, smiling, as she again 
 fastened the myrtle in her friend's hair ; " how long will it be 
 before I adorn this golden hair with a real bridal wreath!" 
 
 She looked smilingly at Goethe as she uttered these words, 
 and this look made his heart quake. How composed this 
 heart had hitherto been since his sojourn in Italy! How 
 carefully had Goethe avoided awakening it from this state of 
 dreamy repose! How sedulously had he avoided women, liv- 
 ing only for art and nature! Now, when he hardly knew 
 that he had a heart, it suddenly beat tumultuously, and filled 
 his breast with all the sweet sensations and stormy desires of 
 former days! 
 
 He was so astonished and bewildered by this revelation, that 
 he was unable to take part in the conversation going on 
 around him, or to appear indifferent to this charming girl. 
 He left the pavilion and sought out the most solitary part of 
 the park, where he walked to and fro for hours, listening to 
 the sweet voices that were whispering in his soul. He smiled 
 when he remembered how Moritz had entreated the gods to 
 melt his icy heart; his friend's wish was being gratified in a 
 charming manner! 
 
 " I thank you, ye eternal gods, for having accorded me this 
 highest revelation of poetry here in Italy; I thank you for 
 having enkindled in my heart the holy flames of love. I 
 laughed at you, Venus Aphrodite, and you are punishing the 
 
LEONORA. 339 
 
 sinner with your sweetest wrath ; you are permitting him to 
 feel that undying youth is still glowing in his bosom. For 
 love is eternal youth, and I love! Yes, I love!" 
 
 It was late at night, and his friends had long since retired 
 to rest, but Goethe was still walking to and fro in the gloomy 
 avenues of the park — in the avenues in which the pious 
 fathers of the order of the holy Ignatius had formerly wan- 
 dered, forming plans to divert the power and glory of the 
 whole world into their hands. 
 
 The palace that now belonged to the wealthy Mr. Jenkins 
 had formerly been the summer residence of the general of 
 this order. The monastery was situated at the other end of 
 the park. Pope Urban had once walked arm in arm with his 
 friend the Jesuit general in these avenues, and together they 
 had considered how they were to subjugate princes and 
 nations, and make themselves masters of the world. 
 
 Goethe thought of this as he stepped into the main avenue, 
 and saw before him the grand old palace. 
 
 "Truly," murmured he, "this is the work of the holy 
 fathers. They have thrown a Jesuit's cloak over the mis- 
 chievous god. In this disguise, he has dogged my footsteps, 
 and, while I fondly believed myself to be conversing with an 
 honest priest on learned topics, this impudent knave has so be- 
 witched me that I have abjured all wisdom, and am about to 
 become a fool among fools." 
 
 " But what is to come of this, you fool?" asked he of him- 
 self. " TVhere is your love for this beautiful child to lead 
 you?" 
 
 He listened, as if expecting an answer from the night wind 
 that rustled by. He looked up at the moon, to see if a so- 
 lution of this mystery of the future could be found in its 
 shining countenance. In his heart the mocking words of his 
 own song were all the while ringing, singing, and laughing 
 in low tones : 
 
 " Heirathen, Kind, ist wonderlich Wort, 
 Hor' ich's, mcicht ich gleich wieder fort 1 " * 
 * When marriage is spolten of, my child, I feel Ulie leaving at once. 
 
340 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 He repeated these words again and again, as he slowly 
 walked toward the house, endeavoring to convince himself 
 that they embodied his own sentiments. But the moonbeams 
 are strange sorcerers ; over the glittering waters of the mur- 
 muring cascades, and in every open myrtle-blossom, he saw 
 the countenance of a lovely girl, who seemed to greet him 
 with her dark, starlike eyes, and whose golden hair encom- 
 passed her angel countenance as with a halo of beauty and 
 innocence. 
 
 Goethe smiled, and whispered the following lines of the 
 same song: 
 
 *' Heirathen wir eben, 
 Das ubrige wird sioh geben 1 " * 
 
 OHAPTEE X. 
 
 A DREAM OF LOVE. 
 
 Steong and mighty, harnessed, and full of life, as Minerva 
 had sprung forth from the head of Jupiter, had love suddenly 
 arisen in G-oethe's heart. A single day had awakened it, a 
 single night had sufi&ced to make it strong, mighty, and con- 
 fident of victory. 
 
 When Goethe, after having passed a night of delightful 
 dreams, left his apartments on the following morning, and 
 repaired to the large saloon in which the Jesuit general had 
 formerly entertained his devout guests, and in which merry 
 artists and men of the world, and joyous and beautiful women, 
 were now in the habit of assembling, his countenance wore a 
 glad smile. He had bravely resolved to permit himself to be 
 borne onward on the seething, silver waves of feeling, regard- 
 less of whither they tended — satisfied that they would bear 
 him to some one of the enchanted isles of bliss, on the fragrant 
 shores of which two white arms would embrace him, and two 
 
 * Let us only marry, the rest will take care of itself. 
 
A DEEAM OF LOVE. 341 
 
 radiant eyes would whisper wondrous music in his listening 
 heart. 
 
 He was alone in the large room. The artists had returned 
 at a late hour from their excursion of the previous day, and 
 had not yet left their apartments. Angelica Kaufmann, who, 
 with her hushand, the old painter Zucchi, was always the 
 first to take her seat at the breakfast-table, had to-day sent 
 down word that she was tormented with headache, and would 
 breakfast in her apartments. Signora Frezzi avoided the 
 parlor, because she did not desire to meet Goethe, whose 
 abrupt behavior of the day before had offended her. 
 
 The newspapers that had arrived yesterday were lying 
 around on the little tables. Goethe seated himself at one of 
 these tables, and opened one of the large English papers 
 which are so great a solace to the blue-eyed daughters of 
 Albion. 
 
 Two joyous, girlish voices interrupted his reading, causing 
 him to throw his paper hastily aside, and sending the hot 
 blood to his cheeks. 
 
 The voices were those of Amarilla and Leonora, who had 
 come from the park, and now entered the parlor. They were 
 attired in simple morning dresses, -and looked charming with 
 their fresh, rosy cheeks, and the blossoming sprigs of pome- 
 granate in their waving hair. 
 
 Amarilla's quick, roving eye detected Goethe first, and she 
 uttered a joyous greeting as she hurried forward with ex- 
 tended hands. 
 
 Leonora stood at a distance, but her smiling lips and the 
 timid glance of her large eyes were more eloquent than Ama- 
 .rilla's words could possibly be. 
 
 He stepped forward and extended his hand to Leonora, and, 
 when she laid her little hand in his, timidly, and yet with 
 an expression of childlike confidence, his soul exulted, his 
 heart overflowed with joy, and his countenance beamed with 
 delight. 
 
 Amarilla did not observe this, as she was busily engaged in 
 
343 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 pouring out the coffee at one of the tables. Leonora turned 
 pale under Goethe's glances, blushed, and then turned pale 
 again, and withdrew her hand with a quick, convulsive move- 
 ment. She slowly raised her eyes, and looked at Goethe so 
 reproachfully, so anxiously, that a tremor of joy and emotion 
 ran through his whole being. 
 
 " Be firm, my heart, do not yield so soon to this sweet en- 
 chantment! First inhale the fragrance of this purple blos- 
 som which we call love, before you pluck it and press it to 
 your heart. Be firm, and enjoy the pure delight of the dawn- 
 ing sunlight!" 
 
 She glided slowly from his side, and now, when she stood 
 at the table assisting Amarilla, her anxious look vanished; 
 the timid little dove felt safe under the protecting wing of 
 the older and stronger dove; she had instinctively heard the 
 rustle of the falcon's wings, but now that she was at the side 
 of her sister dove she no longer feared. 
 
 Leonora smiled again, took part in the merry conversation 
 which Amarilla had begun with Signore Wolfgang, and seated 
 herself at his side at the breakfast-table, which Amarilla had 
 arranged for the three. It was a beautiful morning; the 
 fresh breeze wafted clouds of fragrance into the room through 
 the broad, open glass doors ; the rustling of the orange and 
 myrtle trees, and the murmuring and plashing of the cas- 
 cades, greeted the ear like soft music. 
 
 To Goethe, the two lovely girls between whom he sat seemed 
 as bright and fair as the morning. Their ingenuous conver- 
 sation seemed to him more charming and instructive than 
 any conversation he had ever had with the most intellectual 
 women, or the greatest scholars on the most profound subjects. 
 
 His attention was, however, chiefly directed to the fair 
 daughter of Milan, the maiden with the light hair, dark eyes, 
 and the delicate, transparent cheeks — the maiden, whose 
 countenance was but the mirror of her soul, the mirror in 
 which her every thought and impulse was reflected. 
 
 Amarilla had taken one of the English newspapers, had 
 
A DREAM OF LOVE. 343 
 
 folded it into a cap in imitation of the fazzoletta of the Al- 
 banian peasant-women, and placed it jauntily on her pretty 
 head. She was dancing around in the room, and singing in 
 a low voice to the melody of the tarantella, one of those little 
 love-ditties which gush so harmoniously from the lips of 
 Italian maidens. 
 
 " She flies about like the bee, sipping sweets from every 
 blossom, and fancies the world a vast flower-garden, created 
 only for her delight." 
 
 "Are you of that opinion, beautiful Leonora?" asked 
 Goethe, with a tender glance. 
 
 She shook her head slowly. " No," said she ; " I know that 
 both the bee and the flower are of but little importance in the 
 great economy of the universe. I often think," she contin- 
 ued, in a low voice, and with a charmingly thoughtful air, " I 
 often think that we poor, simple girls are nothing more in 
 the sight of God than the bee and flower, and that it is im- 
 material whether we live or die." 
 
 "You have too poor an opinion of yourselves," said Goethe, 
 in low and impassioned tones. " You do not know that the 
 Almighty sometimes takes pity on men, and sends an angel 
 of innocence, grace, and beauty, to console the human soul 
 and refresh the human heart. You do not know that you are 
 such an angel to me!" 
 
 She shook her lovely little head dissentingly. " I only 
 know, signore, that I am a poor ignorant girl, and that I 
 often long to cast off my stupidity, and be able to understand 
 what wise men say. It is, however, not altogether my own 
 fault that I am so stupid, that — " 
 
 "You are unjust to yourself," cried Goethe, interrupting 
 her; "you should not confound the divine ignorance of inno- 
 cence with stupidity." 
 
 "I speak the truth only," rejoined Leonora; "and you see 
 that I am attempting to excuse myself by telling you that it 
 is not wholly our own fault that we are so foolish and ignorant. 
 Our parents and instructors, in their anxiety for our welfare, 
 
344 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 fear to open our eyes, believing it best that a girl should learn 
 and know nothing. They do not teach us to write, because 
 they fear that we would do nothing but write love-letters; nor 
 would they teach us to read, if it were not to enable us to use 
 our prayer-books. We are scarcely taught to express ourselves 
 well in our own language ; and it occurs to none to have us 
 instructed in foreign languages, and give us access to the 
 books of the world." * 
 
 " Would you like to be able to read in these books of the 
 world, Leonora?" 
 
 " I would give all I possess to learn English ! Whenever I 
 hear Mr. Jenkins and my brother, or Madame Zucchi and her 
 husband, conversing in English, it makes me feel sad, and a 
 feeling of envy comes over me that I never experience at other 
 times. See, Signore, Amarilla has made afazzoletta from one 
 of these large English papers, and is skipping around with it 
 on her head, while I — I would give every thing to be able to 
 read and understand what is written in the papers, which I 
 know bring us intelligence from the whole world." 
 
 " You say you would give every thing to be able to read 
 these papers? What will you give me if I teach you how to 
 do so?" 
 
 "Do teach me," she cried, clapping her little hands joy- 
 fully; "oh, do teach me! I will be so thankful, so very 
 thankful ! You will make me so happy, and I know that you 
 are noble and generous, and will find your best reward in hav- 
 ing made a poor ignorant girl happy." 
 
 "Do you, then, really believe me to be so disinterested, 
 signora?" asked Goethe, gazing earnestly into her animated 
 countenance. "No, Leonora, you are mistaken in me! I 
 am not so godlike as you suppose!" 
 
 At this moment the ringing tones of Amarilla's voice were 
 wafted in from the terrace. She was singing to the charming 
 air so well known to every Italian maiden and youth, and so 
 familiar even to the orange groves and flowers, because they 
 
 * Leonora's own words.— See Goethe's Works, vol. xxiv., p. 185. 
 
A DREAM OF LOVE. 345 
 
 have so often heard it resounding from the cooing, exulting 
 lips of lovers : 
 
 " lo ti voglio ben' assai 
 Ma tu non pens' a me 1 " 
 
 Alarmed by the impassioned tones of Goethe's voice, 
 Leonora turned her head quickly toward the terrace. She 
 smiled when she saw Amarilla skipping about from tree to 
 tree, singing like a humming-bird, as she plucked a blossom 
 or a sprig here and there, and arranged them into a bouquet. 
 
 " See, signore," whispered Leonora as she raised her delicate 
 little hand and pointed to her friend. " I told you before 
 that we were not taught how to write, for fear that we would 
 write love-letters. See what we poor ignorant girls resort to 
 when we wish to write a love-letter. Instead of using the let- 
 ters of the alphabet we take flowers, that is the whole 
 difference." 
 
 " Do you mean to say that Amarilla is writing a love-letter 
 with her flowers?" 
 
 " Be still, do not betray her, signore. Look down, that no 
 profane glance may desecrate the letters which God and the 
 sun have created !" 
 
 " But I may look at that young man who is stealing out 
 from behind the evergreen-hedge, may I not?" 
 
 " Of what young man are you speaking?" asked Leonora, 
 in alarm. 
 
 " Of the young Comaccini, who is cautiously peering through 
 those bushes, and for whom the fragrant love-letter, which 
 Amarilla holds aloft so triumphantly, is probably intended." 
 
 "Iso, do not look that way, signore," cried Leonora, with 
 an air of confusion, as she hastily took one of the papers from 
 the table and handed it to Goethe. 
 
 " You said you would teach me to read these papers, to 
 make out these difficult English words. Please do so, sig- 
 nore. I will be a very thankful scholar!" 
 
 Goethe smiled as he took the paper and unfolded it. He 
 had laid his left arm on the back of the chair, in which Leo- 
 
346 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 nora sat; with his right hand he held the paper before her 
 lovely countenance. He began to read and translate, word 
 for word, the passage at which her rosy finger pointed. She 
 listened with breathless attention, utterly unconscious that 
 their heads were side by side, that her cheeks almost touched 
 his, and that her fair, fragrant hair was intermingled with 
 his brown locks. Her whole soul was filled with the deter- 
 mination to impress each word that Goethe uttered indelibly 
 on her mind. Her glances flew like busy bees from the paper 
 to his lips, unconscious that they bore a sting which was in- 
 fusing sweet poison into the heart of her zealous teacher. 
 
 To be the teacher of a beautiful young girl is a dangerous 
 oflBce for a man who is young, and impetuous, and whose 
 heart is not preoccupied. To read out of one book, cheek by 
 jowl, so near to each other that the breath of his lips is min- 
 gled with hers, and that he can hear her heart's quick 
 throbs — when has a woman done this with impunity, unless it 
 was her lover or her husband with whom she was reading! 
 Francesca da Eimini would not have been murdered by her 
 jealous husband, if she had not read Launcelot with her hand- 
 some brother-in-law Paolo Malatesta. 
 
 " One day we were reading for our deligrht, 
 Of Launcelot, how love did him enthrall; 
 Alone we were and without any fear, 
 Full many a time our eyes together drew. 
 That reading, and drove the color from our faces; 
 But one point only was it that overcame us. 
 When as we read of the much longed-for smile. 
 Being by such a noble lover kissed. 
 This one, whenever fx-om me shall be divided. 
 Kissed me upon the mouth all palpitating. 
 Galeotto was the book and he who wrote it. 
 That day no further did we read therein. " * 
 
 They too were reading for their delight, and were alone 
 without any fear. 
 
 Amarilla sang and danced about on the terrace, and paid 
 no attention to the two who were sitting so close together and 
 studying the English newspaper so earnestly. The passage at 
 
 * Dante Alighiere's Divine Comedy, canto v.— Translated by H. W. Longfellow. 
 
A DREAM OF LOVE. 347 
 
 which Leonora pointed, chanced to be the simple, touching 
 history of a young man and a girl who loved each other de- 
 votedly, but could not be united because the man was already 
 married. The girl, unable to conquer her love, and yet tor- 
 mented with remorse and anguish, had buried her love and 
 her sorrows in the dark waters of the Thames. Her lover 
 poisoned himself when he learned the sad intelligence, leaving 
 a letter, in which he begged that they might be permitted to 
 rest in one grave. 
 
 Leonora's attention was so entirely absorbed in the trans- 
 lation of the separate words that the meaning of what they 
 were reading escaped her. In breathless excitement she lis- 
 tened to the words of glowing passion that fell from her 
 teacher's lips, and stored them away in her memory, as newly- 
 acquired precious treasures. She cried out with delight, 
 when, after they had translated the passage for the second 
 time, she succeeded in comprehending its meaning, and could 
 render whole sentences and periods in her own language. She 
 was so beautiful in her innocent joy, her countenance was so 
 animated, her eyes so radiant, the smile on her lips was so 
 charming, that a tremor of delight ran through Goethe's 
 being as he gazed at the fair creature. He said to himself 
 that it must be enchanting to open the treasures of knowledge 
 to this charming child of Nature, and to learn from her while 
 giving her instruction. 
 
 They were still absorbed in the English lesson, and did not 
 observe that the door was noiselessly opened, and that a young 
 man with a merry countenance and bright smile appeared on 
 the threshold. But, when he saw the two, seated side by side, 
 shoulder to shoulder, cheek to cheek, she gazing fixedly* at 
 the paper, he regarding her with an expression of passionate 
 tenderness — when the young man saw this, his merry expres- 
 sion vanished, and he cast a look of anger and hatred to- 
 wards the readers. Leonora had just succeeded in translating 
 the whole narrative, unassisted by her teacher, and now uttered 
 the concluding words in a loud voice: "They found it 
 23 
 
348 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 sweeter to die in love than to live without love!" The pale 
 young man with the angry countenance slowly withdrew, 
 closing the door as noiselessly as he had before opened it. 
 They observed nothing of this, and continued reading until a 
 number of their friends and acquaintances entered the room, 
 when they laid the paper aside, with a sigh and a mutual look 
 of regret and tenderness. 
 
 The servants now appeared and were soon hastily engaged 
 in preparing the breakfast table for the numerous guests who 
 were sojourning in the house. Angelica Kaufmann, who had 
 Just entered the room on Mr. Jenkins's arm, stepped forward 
 and greeted Goethe, cordially, mildly reproaching him with 
 having neglected and forgotten her. 
 
 Goethe replied to this reproach, but not in his usual gay 
 and unrestrained manner, and her keen glance detected a 
 change in his countenance. 
 
 " One of the muses or goddesses of Olympus has paid you a 
 visit this morning," said she. " Her kiss is still burning on 
 your cheeks, and the heavenly fire is still flaming in your eyes. 
 Tell me, my friend, which muse or which goddess was it that 
 kissed you?" 
 
 "Why must it have been an immortal woman, Angelica?" 
 asked Goethe, laughing. 
 
 " Because no mortal woman can touch your hard heart. 
 You know your friend Moritz always called you the polar bear, 
 and maintained that you had an iceberg in your breast instead 
 of a heart. He was right, was he not?" 
 
 "Woe is me, if he was not, but is to be!" sighed Goethe, 
 thinking of the dire visitation Moritz had called down upon 
 his tiead. 
 
 Breakfast was announced, and the guests began to seat 
 themselves at the table. The place of honor was generally 
 conceded to be at Goethe's side, Mr. Jenkins therefore re- 
 quested Angelica Kaufmann to take the seat on Goethe's 
 right hand. While he was looking around, considering to 
 whom he should accord the second place of honor on Goethe's 
 
A DREAM OF LOVE. 349 
 
 left, Leonora stepped forward and quietly seated herself in 
 the coveted place at her instructor's side. 
 
 "I cannot separate myself from you, maestro," said she, 
 smiling. " You must repeat, and explain to me, a few words 
 of ou» lesson. Only think, I have already forgotten the sen- 
 tence which commences: 'Sweet it is to die in love.' " 
 
 Angelica's astonished look convinced Goethe that she had 
 heard these words, and this confused him. His embarrassed 
 manner, when he replied to Leonora, betrayed to Angelica 
 the mystery of his sudden change of color when she had first 
 spoken to him on entering the room. " I was mistaken," said 
 she, in a low voice, and with her soft smile, " it was not a 
 goddess or a muse who visited you. The god of gods himself 
 has kissed your heart and opened your eyes that you might 
 see. 
 
 Yes, these flaming eyes did see, and love had softened the 
 poet's hard heart with kisses. His soul was filled with 
 rapture as in the days of his first boyish love ; every thing 
 seemed changed — seemed to have become brighter and fairer. 
 When he walked in the park with his friends after breakfast 
 it seemed to him that his feet no longer touched the earth, 
 but that his head pierced the heavens, and that he beheld the 
 splendor of the sun and the lustre of the stars. He had gone 
 to the pavilion, where he had first seen Leonora, hoping to 
 find her there now. Amarilla had drawn her aside, after 
 breakfast, and whispered a few words in he^ ear. Goethe had 
 seen her shudder, turn pale, and reluctantly follow her friend 
 from the room. He hoped to find her in the pavilion. She 
 was, however, not there ; a few groups of ladies and gentle- 
 men were standing at the open windows, looking at the beau- 
 tiful landscape. 
 
 Goethe stepped up to one of these windows and gazed out 
 at the lovely lake with its rippling waves and wooded banks. 
 It had never before looked so beautiful. He did not view 
 this picture with the eye of an artist, who desires to reproduce 
 what he sees in oil or aquarelle, but with the eye of an enrap- 
 
350 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 tured mortal, before whom a new world is suddenly un- 
 folded, a world of beauty and of love. * 
 
 Suddenly he heard Amarilla's merry, laughing voice, and 
 his heart told him that she also was near — she, the adored 
 Leonora ! Goethe turned towards the entrance. Yes, #here 
 was Leonora; there she stood on the threshold, at her side a 
 young man, with whom she was conversing in low and eager 
 tones. 
 
 "Here you are, Signore Goethe," cried Amarilla, stepping 
 forward. " We have been looking for you everywhere, we—" 
 
 "Signore," said Goethe, interrupting her, and laying his 
 hand gently on her arm, " pray tell me who that young man 
 is with whom your friend Leonora is so eagerly conversing?" 
 
 "We have been looking for you to tell you this, and to 
 make you acquainted with young Matteo. He has come to 
 tell Leonora that the rich old uncle whose only heir he is, has 
 suddenly died, and that no impediment to his marriage now 
 exists." 
 
 " What does it concern your friend whether this Mr. 
 Matteo has grown rich, and can now marry or not?" 
 
 "What does it concern her?" said Amarilla, laughing. 
 " Well, I should think it concerned her a great deal, as she is 
 betrothed to this Mr. Matteo, and their marriage is to take 
 place in a week. " 
 
 Not a muscle of his face quivered, not a look betrayed his 
 anguish. He turned to the window, and stared out at the 
 landscape which had before shone so lustrously in the bright 
 sunlight. How changed! All was now night and darkness; 
 a film had gathered over his eyes. 
 
 While he stood there, immovable, transfixed with dismay, 
 he observed nothing of the little drama that was going on be- 
 hind him ; he did not feel the earnest gaze of the two pairs of 
 eyes that were fastened on him : the eyes of Leonora, with 
 tender sympathy; the eyes of the young man, with intense 
 hatred. 
 
 * See Goethe's Works, vol. xxiv., p. 37.— " Trip to Italy." 
 
A DEEAM OF LOVE. 351 
 
 "I saw him turn pale and shudder," hissed Matteo in Leo- 
 nora's ear. " It startled him to hear that you were my be- 
 trothed. It seems that you have carefully concealed the fact 
 that you were my affianced, and about to become my bride?" 
 
 " Ifhave not concealed it, Matteo, I had only forgotten it." 
 
 " A tender sweetheart, truly, who forgets her betrothal as 
 soon as another, perhaps a handsomer man, makes his appear- 
 ance." 
 
 "Ah, Matteo," whispered she, tears gushing from her eyes, 
 "you do me injustice!" 
 
 He saw these tears and they made him furious. " Come 
 now, and introduce me to this handsome signore," com- 
 manded Matteo, grimly ; " tell him, in my presence, that our 
 marriage is to come off in a week. But if you shed a single 
 tear while telling him this, I will murder him, and — " 
 
 "Step aside, signore, if you please," said a voice behind 
 him ; " step aside, and permit me to pass through the door- 
 way." 
 
 The voice was cold and composed, as was also the gaze 
 which Goethe fastened on the young man. He did not even 
 glance at Leonora; he had no words for the fair-haired girl, 
 who looked up into his countenance so timidly and so 
 anxiously. He passed out into the open air, down the steps 
 and into the garden, leaving behind him her who but yester- 
 day had seemed to him as the dawn of a new day, the glorious 
 sunshine of a new youth — her, who to-day had cast a pall 
 over his soul, and had cried into his sorrowing, quivering heart 
 the last adieu of departing youth. 
 
 He passed the confines of the park, strode rapidly into the 
 forest and sought out its densest solitude. There, where the 
 stillness was unbroken, save by the rustling of trees and the 
 dreamy song of birds — there he threw himself on a bed of 
 moss, and uttered a cry, a single, fearful cry, that made the 
 forest ring, and betrayed to God and Nature the mystery of 
 the anguish of a noble, human heart, that was struggling 
 with, but had not yet overcome, its agony. 
 
353 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 Goethe did not return home from the forest until late in 
 the evening. He retired to his room and locked himself in, 
 desiring to see no one, to speak to no one, until he had sub- 
 dued the demons that were whispering words of wild derision 
 and mocking despair in his heart. He would not be the 
 slave of passion. No one should see him until he had mas- 
 tered his agony. Early the next morning he again wandered 
 forth into the forest with his portfolio under his arm ; leav- 
 ing a message at the house for his friends to the effect that 
 they must not expect him back to dinner, as he had gone out 
 to draw, and would not return till late in the evening. 
 
 His friends, and she above all, should not know what he 
 suffered ! The forest is discreet, the trees will not betray the 
 poor child of humanity who lies at their feet struggling with 
 his own heart. 
 
 " I will not suffer, I will not bear the yoke ! Did I come 
 to Rome for any such purpose? did I come here to see my 
 peace and tranquillity of mind burn like dry straw, under the 
 kindling glances of a beautiful girl? No! I will not suffer! 
 Pain shall have no power over me ! It will and shall be con- 
 quered ! Away with you, hollow-eyed monster ! I will tread 
 you under foot, will grind you in the dust as I would an 
 adder!" 
 
 He sprang up from his bed of moss, and stamped on the 
 ground, furiously. He then walked on deeper into the forest, 
 compelling himself to be calm, and to contemplate Nature. 
 
 " Goethe, I command you to be calm," cried he, in stento- 
 rian tones. " I will collect buds and mosses, and choose butter- 
 flies and insects. Help me. Spirit of Nature ! aid me, benign 
 mother. Give me peace, peace!" 
 
 With firmer tread, his head proudly erect, he walked on in 
 the silent forest, still murmuring from time to time : " I will 
 have peace, peace!" 
 
 While Goethe was struggling with his heart, in the depths 
 of the forest, and striving to be at peace with himself, an- 
 other heart was undergoing the same ordeal, in silence and 
 
A DREAM OF LOVE. 353 
 
 solitude. The heart of a tender, young girl, who hoped to 
 attain by prayer what the strong man was determined to 
 achieve by the power of his will. 
 
 She did not even know what it was that had so suddenly 
 darkened her heart ; she only felt that a change had taken 
 place — that she was transformed into another being. An un- 
 accountable feeling of anxiety had come over her — a restless- 
 ness that drove her from place to place, through the long 
 avenues of the park, in search of solitude. She only asked 
 herself this : What had she done to cause Signore Goethe to 
 avoid her so studiously ? "Why had he left the house so early 
 in the morning, and returned so late in the evening, for the 
 past three days? Why was it that he conversed gayly with 
 others when he returned in the evening, but had neither word 
 nor look for her? 
 
 These questions gave her no rest; they tormented her 
 throughout the entire day. "What wrong have I done him? 
 Why is he angry with me? Why does he avoid me?" She 
 sat in the pavilion repeating the questions that had made her 
 miserable for the last three days, when suddenly Matteo, who 
 had followed her, stepped forward and regarded her with such 
 anger and hatred that she trembled under his glance like the 
 dove under the claws of the falcon. 
 
 " What is the matter with you, Leonora?" he asked, gruffly. 
 " Why are you weeping?" 
 
 " I do not know, Matteo," murmured Leonora. " Please be 
 patient with me, it will soon pass away." 
 
 He laughed derisively. " You do not know ! Then let me 
 tell you. You have no honor ! You have no fidelity ! You 
 are a vile, faithless creature, and not worthy of my love." 
 
 " How can you speak so, Matteo? What have I done?" 
 
 "I will tell you what you have done," he cried, furiously. 
 "You have listened to the honeyed words of the tempter. 
 Be still, do not contradict me! I saw you seated together — 
 he, breathing sweet poison into your heart; and you, eagerly 
 inhaling it. I hate and despise him, and I hate and curse 
 
354 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 you ! There ! I hurl my engagement ring at your feet, and 
 will never take it back again — no, never ! We are separated ! 
 Matteo will not stoop to marry a girl who has broken faith 
 with him." 
 
 " I — with you? Matteo, that is false! That is false, I tell 
 you." 
 
 "False, is it?" he cried, furiously. "Well then, swear by 
 the holy virgin that your heart is pure ; swear by all the saints 
 that you love me, and that you do not love him, this Signore 
 Goethe!" 
 
 She opened her mouth as if to speak, but no words escaped 
 her lips. Her lovely features assumed an expression of dis- 
 may; she stared into vacancy, and stretched out her arms as 
 if to ward ofE some horrible vision that had arisen before her. 
 
 " Speak !" cried he. " Swear that you do not love him !" 
 
 Her arms sank helplessly to her side, and a deathly pallor 
 spread over her countenance as she slowly, but calmly and 
 distinctly murmnred : " I cannot swear, Matteo ! I know it 
 now, I feel it now: I do love him!" 
 
 Matteo responded with a cry of fury, and struck Leonora 
 with his clinched fist so forcibly on the shoulder, that she 
 fell to the ground with a cry of pain. He stood over her, 
 cursing her, and vowing that he would have nothing more to 
 do with the faithless woman. With a last imprecation, he 
 then turned and rushed out of the pavilion and down into 
 the garden. All was still in the pavilion. Leonora lay there 
 with closed eyelids, stark and motionless, her countenance of 
 a deathly pallor. 
 
 A pale woman glided in through the open door, looked 
 anxiously around, and saw the form of the poor girl extended 
 on the floor. " She has fainted! I must assist her!" 
 
 It was Angelica Kaufmann who uttered these words. She 
 had been painting outside on the porch, had heard every word 
 that was spoken in the pavilion, and now came to help and 
 console the poor sufferer. 
 
 She knelt down by her side ; rested her head on her knees, 
 
ADIEU TO ITALY. 355 
 
 drew a smelling-bottle from her dress-pocket and held it to 
 the poor girl's nose. 
 
 She opened her eyes and gazed dreamily into the kind, 
 sympathetic countenance of the noble woman who knelt over 
 her. 
 
 " It is you, Signora Angelica," murmured Leonora. "You 
 were near? You heard all?" 
 
 "I heard all, Leonora," said the noble artiste, bending 
 down and kissing her pale lips. 
 
 "And you will betray me!" cried she, in dismay. "You 
 will teU him?" 
 
 " No, Leonora, I will not betray you to any one. I will tell 
 no human being a word of what I have overheard." 
 
 ■'Swear that you will not, signora. Swear that you will 
 keep my secret, and that you will not betray it to him, even 
 though my life should be at stake." 
 
 " I swear that I will not, Leonora. Have confidence in me, 
 my child ! I have suffered as you suffer, and my heart still 
 bears the scars of deep and painful wounds. I have known 
 the anguish of hopeless love!" 
 
 "I too, suffer; I suffer terribly," murmured Leonora. "I 
 would gladly die, it would be a relief!" 
 
 " Poor child, death is not so kind a friend as to hasten to 
 our relief when we call him! We must learn to endure life, 
 and to say with smiling lips to the dagger when we draw it 
 from the bleeding wound: 'Paete, paete, non dolet!' " 
 
 CHAPTEE XI, 
 
 ADIEU TO ITALY. 
 
 Wbithing in agony for three days and three long nights, 
 at length Goethe found relief in the omnipresent balsam, all- 
 healing Nature ! 
 
 The poet-eagle was healed ! The pinions of his soul had 
 recovered from the wounds inflicted by Cupid's envenomed 
 
356 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 arrow. Six dajs of solitude, six days of restless wandering, 
 six days of communing with God and Nature, six days of 
 struggling with his own weakness — these six days have made 
 him six years older, taught him to conquer pain, and restored 
 him to joyousness and confidence in himself. 
 
 On the morning of the seventh day, Goethe entered the 
 room where his friends were assembled, and greeted them with 
 all his former gayety and cordiality. No change was observ- 
 able in his countenance, except that he had become a little 
 paler, and that his large brown eyes looked still larger than 
 usual. Only once did an anxious expression flit over his 
 countenance, and that was when he asked Signore Zucchi why 
 his dear friend Angelica had not come down to breakfast with 
 her husband. 
 
 " She is not here," replied Zucchi. " She has been in Eome 
 for the past three days." 
 
 "In Rome?" repeated Goethe, with astonishment. "We 
 intended making an excursion together through the Albanian 
 Mountains, and now she has left us! When will she return?" 
 
 "That the physicians alone can tell you," replied Zucchi. 
 
 "Is Signora Angelica ill?" asked Goethe, with alarm. 
 
 " Oh, no, not she ! But the young girl, the beautiful Leo- 
 nora, has suddenly fallen ill. Angelica found her lying 
 insensible on the floor of the pavilion. She interested herself 
 in the poor girl, did all she could to cheer and console her, 
 and even attempted to reconcile her to her affianced, from 
 whom she had been estranged. Leonora, however, declared 
 that she would never marry young Matteo — that she would 
 become no man's wife, but would always remain with her 
 brother. At her earnest request, Angelica took her to Rome, 
 to her brother's house. She had hardly arrived there before 
 she was taken violently ill with an attack of 'fever. She is in 
 a very precarious condition, and Angelica, instead of finishing 
 the large painting for which an Englishman has offered four 
 thousand scudi, has made herself this poor girl's nurse." 
 
 Goethe had listened to this narrative in silence, his head 
 
ADIEU TO ITALY. 357 
 
 bowed down on his breast. When Zucchi ceased speaking, he 
 raised his head, and cast a quick glance around the room. 
 He saw gay and unconcerned countenances only. No one ob- 
 served him — the story of his anguish was known to none of 
 his friends. 
 
 He also seemed to be perfectly quiet and composed — to be 
 occupied solely with his paintings and drawings. When his 
 friends suggested that the time had now arrived to carry out 
 their projected tour through the Albanian Mountains, Goethe 
 declined to accompany them, telling them that an alteration 
 which his friends in Germany desired him to make in his 
 "Egmont," necessitated his speedy return to Eome. 
 
 Goethe returned to the city on the evening of the same 
 day, and repaired, immediately on his arrival, to the house of 
 Signore Bandetto, to inquire after his sister's condition. She 
 was still dangerously ill, and the physicians gave but little 
 hope. Signora Angelica was with her, nursing her like a 
 tender mother. He returned to the house for the same pur- 
 pose later in the evening, and so on each ensuing day. Grad- 
 ually, the bulletins were more favorable, and he was told that 
 she was steadily improving. 
 
 Goethe had been in Rome for two weeks, and had neither 
 written nor painted during this time; he had even avoided 
 the gods of the Belvidere and the holy halls of St. Peter's. 
 The wounds of his heart were not yet quite healed. Leonora's 
 illness still made them smart. 
 
 To-day, he had again repaired to Signer Bandetto's house, 
 had seen Angelica Kaufmann, and had been told that all dan- 
 ger was now over. A weight of care was removed from his 
 soul, and he now entered his studio with a gay and unclouded 
 countenance for the first time during his stay in Eome. His 
 studio was a scene of wild confusion ; books, papers, drawings, 
 chairs, and tables, were in the greatest disorder. The Juno 
 Ludovisi's head was gray with dust, and the impious chamber- 
 maid had thrown the poet's dressing-gown over the figure of 
 Cupid, as though the god of love were a clothes-rack. 
 
358 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 Goethe laughed loudly, laughed for the first time in long, 
 long weeks, and relieved the poor god of his disgraceful 
 hurden. 
 
 He then bowed profoundly, and looked intently into the 
 mischievous god's smiling countenance, as if to defy him to 
 do his worst. 
 
 Prom this hour Goethe was once more himself. All grief 
 had vanished from his heart, and he was again restored to his 
 former peace and gayety. He once more belonged to the gods 
 and muses, to poetry and to nature. But, above all, to 
 poetry! In the hours of his anguish the arts had not been 
 able to rescue and strengthen him, but wondrous thoughts 
 and sublime feelings had taken root in his soul. 
 
 Pain was overcome, as was also love. When he saw Leo- 
 nora, after her recovery, and when she thanked him, in falter- 
 ing tones, for his sympathy, and his frequent inquiries during 
 her illness, Goethe smiled, and treated her as a kind father 
 treats his child, or a brother his sister. 
 
 She fully understood the meaning of this smile, and shed 
 many bitter tears in her little room in the stillness of the 
 night, but she did not complain. She knew that this short- 
 lived passion had fallen from Goethe, as the withered blossom 
 falls from the laurel-tree, and that she would be nothing more 
 than a remembrance in his life. 
 
 This consciousness she wore as a talisman against all sor- 
 row; the roses returned to her cheeks, her eyes once more 
 shone lustrously, and never in her after-life did she forget 
 Goethe, as he never forgot her. The remembrance of this 
 beautiful girl shone as a bright, unclouded star throughout 
 Goethe's entire life; and in the days of his old age, when the 
 heart that had throbbed so ardently in Eome had grown cold, 
 Goethe said and wrote of this fair girl : " Her remembrance 
 has never faded from my thought and soul. " 
 
 Another painful awakening soon followed this short dream 
 of love — the awakening from the dreamy, enchanting life in 
 Italy, the return to Germany. It was a pain and a joy at the 
 
ADIEU TO ITALY. 359 
 
 same time. The deep pain of separation from Rome, and the 
 joyful prospect of returning to his home and friends, and, 
 above all, to his friend Charlotte von Stein? , 
 
 "It was for her sake that I conquered this passion," said 
 Goethe to himself. " I told her that I would return to her, 
 unfettered in hand and heart, and I will keep my promise. 
 Charlotte's lore, Charlotte's friendship, shall console me for 
 what I have denied myself here, for what I leave behind me! 
 You, too, will be there. Muses; you will follow me to the 
 fatherland, and assemble lovingly around the poet in the lit- 
 tle house in "Weimar. A poet I am ; that I feel ; of that I 
 am now convinced. In the next ten years of work that will 
 at the utmost be vouchsafed me, I will strive to accomplish, 
 by diligent application, as much that is good and great as I 
 achieved without hard study in the days of my youthful vigor 
 and enthusiasm. I will be diligent and joyous! I will live, 
 create, and enjoy, and that I can do as well in Weimar as in 
 Eome ! I will bear the Italian heaven within me ; I will erect 
 'Torquato Tasso' as a monument to Italy and myself. Pare- 
 well, sublime, divine Roma! A greeting to you, you dear lit- 
 tle city, in which the prince lives whom I love, and the friend 
 who belongs to my soul. A greeting to you, Weimar!" 
 
BOOK IV. 
 
 CHAPTEE I. 
 
 THE EETUKlir. 
 
 To-DAT is the anniversary of the birthday of the beautiful 
 Princess Ferdinand, and is to be celebrated by a grand recep- 
 tion in the royal palace of Berlin. The rank and fashion of 
 Berlin are invited. The ladies of the aristocracy are occupied 
 with nothing but their toilette, this object of first and greatest 
 importance to the fair creatures who form so marked a contrast 
 to the lilies of the field, which neither toil nor spin, and are 
 yet so gorgeously arrayed. Nor do these beautiful lilies of the 
 parlor toil or spin ; nor do they wait for the Lord to array 
 them, but take this care upon themselves, and make it an affair 
 of state in their lives. To the Countess Moltke it is also an 
 affair of state, and all the more so as her- waning beauty de- 
 manded increased attention to the arts of the toilette. The 
 rose-colored satin dress lies on the sofa, awaiting the garland 
 of roses destined to encircle its skirt. Her rich black hair 
 is also to be adorned with a wreath of roses, for the countess 
 has a decided penchant for them and fancies the color of.her 
 robe and flowers will be reflected in her countenance, and im- 
 part to it a youthful, rosy hue. The flowers had been ordered 
 a week before at the establishment of Marie von Leuthen, 
 the first manufacturer of them in the city, and the countess was 
 now awaiting the return of the servant she had sent after them. 
 For the past two years, and since the day on which she had 
 opened her store on Frederick Street, Marie von Leuthen had 
 furnished flowers for all the ladies of high rank in Berlin. 
 
THE RETURN. 361 
 
 It was considered ion ton to buy one's wreaths, bouquets, and 
 garlands from her. No one arranged them so prettily as she, 
 no one understood imitating Nature in so beautiful and artistic 
 a manner ; moreover, it gave one the appearance of patronizing 
 the unfortunate young woman, whose fate had been the all- 
 engrossing topic of conversation in good society for an entire 
 week. Her ilowers were also very dear, and it was therefore 
 all the more honorable to be able to say : " I purchased them 
 from Madame von Seuthen. True, she is exceedingly dear, 
 but her work is good, and, moreover, it is a sort of duty to 
 assist her with our patronage. She is, as it were, one of us; 
 we have been entertained by her, and have enjoyed many 
 agreeable evenings at her house." 
 
 Marie von Leuthen had ceased to be a lady of fashion, but 
 she had become the fashionable flower-manufacturer of the 
 city, and, as we have already said, it was considered essential 
 to adorn one's self from her establishment. 
 
 Madame von Moltke was therefore not a little dismayed 
 when the servant returned, and announced that the flowers 
 were not ready, and that Madame von Leuthen begged to be 
 excused for not having been able to furnish them. 
 
 " But did you not tell her that I must necessarily have 
 them?" asked the countess. 
 
 " My lady, I not only told old Trude so, but I reproached 
 her violently for having accepted an order which her mistress 
 could not execute; but the old woman shut the door in my 
 face, and gave me no other answer than this: 'The flowers 
 are not ready. ' " 
 
 "But they can perhaps still be got ready," said the count- 
 ess. " Probably she has a great deal of work on hand for this 
 evening, and it will perhaps only be necessary to offer her a 
 higher price in order to secure the preference above her other 
 customers. Let my carriage be driven to the door. I will 
 see and speak with this inconsiderate person myself!" 
 
 A quarter of an hour later the countess's carriage stopped 
 in front of the store in Frederick Street, over the door of 
 
3G2 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 ■which was written in large letters : " Marie von Leuthen, 
 manufacturer of flowers." 
 
 The servant hurried forward to open the door, and the 
 countess glided majestically into the store, and greeted the 
 old woman, who advanced to meet her, with a proud, and 
 almost imperceptible inclination of the head. 
 
 "I wish to speak with Madame von Leuthen herself," said 
 the countess, imperiously. 
 
 " Her ladyship, however, well knows that none of Madame 
 von Leuthen 's customers have had the pleasure of seeing her 
 in the last two years," rejoined the old woman in sharp tones. 
 " Her ladyship, like all the other inquisitive ladies, has often at- 
 tempted to see and speak with my mistress, but always in 
 vain. Madame von Leuthen has neither time nor inclination 
 to be chatted with or stared at. She does the work and I re- 
 ceive the orders. Her ladyship must therefore have the good- 
 ness to say what she has to say to old Trude. " 
 
 "I have come for my flowers," said the countess, angrily. 
 " My servant tells me that he received the very impertinent 
 message that they not only were not, but would not be, ready. 
 I can, however, scarcely credit his statement, for I ordered 
 these flowers myself, and when an order has been accepted, it 
 must of course be filled at the proper time." 
 
 "Your servant told you the truth," replied old Trude, in 
 grumbling tones, " the roses will not be ready." 
 
 "And why not, if I may be permitted to ask?" 
 
 "Certainly, why should you not ask? Of course you may 
 ask," rejoined Trude, shrugging her shoulders. " The answer 
 is : The roses have not been got ready, because Madame von 
 Leuthen has not worked." 
 
 " Has your mistress then done so well that she is on the 
 point of retiring from business?" asked the countess. 
 
 Trude raised her eyes with a peculiar expression to her lady- 
 ship's haughty countenance, and for a moment her withered 
 old face quivered with pain. But this emotion she quickly 
 suppressed, and assumed her former peevish and severe manner. 
 
THE RETURN. 363 
 
 " What does my lady care whether my little Marie desires 
 to retire to rest or not, or whether the good Lord wills that 
 she shall do so," said she, gruffly. "Enough, the roses can- 
 not indeed be ready, and if her ladyship is angry, let her 
 scold old Trude, for she alone is to blame, as she never even 
 gave Madame von Leuthen your order." 
 
 " This is, however, very wrong, very impertinent," cried 
 the countess. " Pray, why did you accept the order?" 
 
 "True, that I ought not to have done," murmured the old 
 woman to herself, "but I thought she would grow better, and 
 instead — my lady," said she, interrupting herself. " I have 
 nothing more to say, and must beg you to content yourself 
 with my reply. No more flowers will be furnished to-day, 
 and I will immediately lock the front door." 
 
 "She is a rude person," cried the countess, angrily. "If 
 she dares to insult those who assisted her impoverished mis- 
 tress out of benevolence and pity, in this shameless manner, 
 the consequence will be that her customers will withdraw their 
 patronage and give her no more orders." 
 
 "As you please, my lady," said old Trude, sorrowfully. 
 " But be kind enough to go, if you have nothing further to say. " 
 
 The countess gave the presuming old woman an annihilat- 
 ing glance, and rustled out of the store and into her carriage. 
 
 Trude hastily locked the door behind her, and pulled down 
 the blind on the inside. " Who knows whether I shall ever 
 unlock this door again!" sighed she. " Who knows whether 
 she shall ever make flowers again!" 
 
 The old woman sank down on a chair and burst into tears. 
 She quickly dried her eyes, however, and assumed an air of 
 gayety when she heard her name called in the adjoining room, 
 and walked hurriedly into the apartment from which the 
 voice had proceeded. 
 
 " Here I am, my little Marie," said she, on entering; " here 
 I am. " She hurried forward to the pale lady, who was sitting 
 in the arm-chair at the large round table. 
 
 Was that really Marie? Was this pale woman with the 
 
364 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 large lustrous eyes, with the hectic flush on her hollow 
 cheeks — was this really that proud beauty who had laid aside 
 rank and wealth with royal contempt — ;who with joyous cour- 
 age had determined to create for herself a new life, and, after 
 having avenged herself on her unworthy husband and her un- 
 natural mother, had gone out into the world to earn a sub- 
 sistence with the work of her hands? The figure of that 
 woman had been tall and full — the figure of this woman was 
 shrunken, and, in spite of the heavy woollen dress which she 
 wore, it was evident that nothing of their former beauty and 
 fulness remained to these shoulders, to these arms, and to this 
 unnaturally slight figure. And yet, although this pale woman 
 had retained so little of her former beauty, there was still an 
 inexpressible, a touching charm in her appearance. Disease 
 had laid waste her fair form, but disease had not been able to 
 deprive these eyes of their lustre, nor these cheeks of their 
 rosy hue. To be sure, the same lustrous eyes and flushed 
 cheeks were the fatal evidences of that disease which gives 
 those whom it destroys the appearance of improvement, and 
 permits them to hope until the last moment. Her brow was 
 clear and transparent, and a soft, tranquil smile rested oftener 
 on her thin, delicate lips than formerly. True, her figure 
 was thin and unattractive, but this attenuation gave to her 
 appearance something spirituelle. When she glided lightly 
 and noiselessly through the room, the thought would occur 
 to you that she was not a woman of earth, but must really be 
 one of those of whom we read in song and story — one who, 
 for some fault committed in heaven, or in the realm of spirits, 
 is compelled to descend to the earth to make atonement by 
 learning to suflier and endure pain like mortals! She had 
 been working flowers of every variety. Eoses and lilies, 
 violets and forget-me-nots, tulips and pinks, and whatever else 
 the names of these lovely children of the spring and sun may 
 be, lay on the table in the greatest confusion. They were in 
 the varied stages of completion, some half finished, and others 
 wanting only a leaf or the stem. Marie held a bunch of lilies 
 
THE RETURN. 365 
 
 in her delicate hand, and Trude sighed when she observed it. 
 It seemed to her that her darling looked like the angel of 
 death, standing on the brink of the grave, and waving her 
 lilies in a greeting to the new life that was dawning for the 
 dying mortal ! 
 
 "Trude, who was it I heard speaking in the other room, 
 who spoke in such loud tones?" asked Marie, as she leaned 
 back in the arm-chair, as if exhausted by her work. — "Why 
 do you not answer? Why do you not tell me who was there? 
 Good heavens!" she cried, suddenly, "it cannot have been — ■ 
 Trude, for God's sake, tell me, who was it? And if it was 
 he, Trude — if he has at last come, then — " 
 
 "Be still, Marie!" answered the old woman, interrupting 
 her, and assuming an air of gayety. " You are still the same 
 young girl, just as impatient as ever! No, no, it was not 
 he ! It was only Countess Moltke, who wished to speak with 
 you about a garland of roses. " 
 
 "Countess Moltke!" repeated Marie, thoughtfully. "She, 
 too, was present on that terrible day when — " 
 
 " Do not speak of it, do not think of it!" entreated the old 
 woman. " You know the doctor told you that if you desired 
 to grow healthy and strong again, you should lay aside all sad 
 thoughts, and endeavor to be right cheerful. " 
 
 "I am cheerful, Trude," replied Marie, smiling. "Each 
 day brings him nearer, each fleeting hour shortens our long 
 separation. I now bless the disease that attacked me two 
 months ago, for, under the impression that I was about to 
 die, you then did what I never would have done, you caused 
 good Professor Gedicke to write to him and tell him to come 
 home, as his Marie was very ill. I thank you, good Trude, 
 for confessing this, and for giving me the blessed assurance 
 that he will soon be here. But yet it was cruel to terrify and 
 alarm him ! I hope, however, that the professor has again 
 written since then, and told him that all danger is over, and 
 that I am very greatly improved !" 
 
 "And he did so, Marie; he wrote immediately after the 
 
366 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 receipt of his letter from Eome, announcing his departure for 
 home, and requesting that further intelligence, as to your 
 condition, should be sent to him at the post-office in Stuttgart. 
 Mr. Moritz knows that all danger is over, and that you are 
 doing well. You are certainly doing well, are you not, dear 
 Marie?" 
 
 " Yes, I am doing well, very well indeed, and better each 
 day. I feel, at times, as though I had wings, and had flown 
 high above the earth ; when I look down, every thing seems 
 small and indistinct, as though far away in the dim distance. 
 You, however, are always near me, as is also his dear coun- 
 tenance; his large dark eyes are ever shining into my heart 
 like two stars. I feel so happy when I see them — so light and 
 free, that I seem to have bidden adieu to all earthly care and 
 sorrow. Only at times my eyes grow a little dim, and my 
 hands tremble so when I wish to work, and then something 
 pains me here in the breast occasionally! But this need not 
 disquiet you, Trude, it only pains a little, and it will soon 
 pass away." 
 
 "Yes, indeed, it will soon pass away!" said Trude, turning 
 aside, and hastily wiping away the tears which rushed to her 
 eyes in spite of her endeavors to repress them. " Certainly, 
 Marie, you will soon be entirely restored to health and 
 strength; this weakness is only the result of your long illness. " 
 
 Marie did not reply, but cast a quick, searching glance at 
 old Trade's kind face, and then slowly raised her eyes toward 
 heaven with an expression of earnest entreaty. But then a 
 soft smile flitted over her countenance, and the ominous roses 
 on her cheeks burned brighter. 
 
 "Yes, I will soon recover, Trude," she said, almost gayly. 
 " Under such treatment I cannot fail to recover. You nuise 
 me as tenderly as a mother nurses her child. And it is very 
 necessary that I should, good Trude, for our supply of flowers 
 is almost exhausted, and our purse is empty. This is the 
 case, is it not? You gave Countess Moltke no garland of 
 roses because we had no more." 
 
THE RETURN. 367 
 
 " Yes, such is the case, Marie, if you must know. The roses 
 are all sold, but that is easily accounted for, as no elegant lady 
 is willing to wear any flowers but yours. You are quite right, 
 Marie, you must make haste and get well, so that you can 
 make a fresh supply of beautiful roses. But, in order to be 
 entirely restored to health, you must rest and do no work 
 whatever for the next few weeks." 
 
 " The next few weeks!" repeated Marie, in a slightly mock- 
 ing tone of voice. " The next few weeks ! Trude, that seems 
 like an almost inconceivable eternity, and — But, good 
 heavens ! you do not believe that weeks will pass before Philip 
 comes?" 
 
 " But why should I believe any thing of the kind, Marie?" 
 said the old nurse, in tranquillizing tones. " He left Eome 
 long ago, and Mr. Gedicke says we may expect him at any hour. " 
 
 "How pleasantly that sounds! what music lies in your 
 words, Trude!" sighed Marie. " We may expect him at any 
 hour! Do you know, good Trude, that I am still nothing 
 more than a foolish child! I have been awaiting Philip these 
 two long years, and during this time I have always been joy- 
 ous and patient, for I know that this separation was necessary, 
 and would be a blessing to him I loved. 'Before the roses 
 bloom, the thorns grow, and we are wounded by them when 
 we pluck the lovely flowers!' This I have constantly repeated 
 to myself during these two long years, and have borne the 
 pain which the thorns caused me without murmuring. But 
 now, when I know that I will soon see him again — now, each 
 hour is magnified into an eternity of torment, and all reason- 
 ing is in vain, and all patience exhausted. I feel as though I 
 could die for very longing to see him. And yet, I am deter- 
 mined not to die; I must live — live to pluck the roses after 
 having suffered so much from the thorns. But, alas ! Trude, 
 if my sufEerings shall have been too great — if I should die of 
 these many wounds! Sometimes it seems to me as though my 
 strength were entirely exhausted, and — There, the thorn is 
 again piercing my heart! How it pains!" 
 
368 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 She sank back groaning, and pressed her quivering hand to 
 her breast. Trade hurried forward, rubbed her cold, damp 
 brow with strengthening essences, and then ran to the closet 
 to get the little phial of medicine which the physician had 
 prescribed for such attacks of weakness. 
 
 " Open your lips, Marie, and swallow these drops ; they will 
 relieve you. " 
 
 She slowly opened her eyes, and her trembling hand grasped 
 the spoon which Trude had filled from the phial, and carried 
 it to her pale lips. 
 
 " That will do you good, my dear child," said the old nurse, 
 in a firm voice, that knew nothing of the tears which stood in 
 her eyes. " The doctor said these little attacks were harm- 
 less, and would cease altogether by and by." 
 
 "Yes, they will cease altogether by and by," whispered 
 Marie, after a pause. " Cease with my life ! I will not die ! 
 No, I will not!" 
 
 With a quick movement, she arose and walked rapidly to 
 and fro in the little room. A few roses and violets were 
 swept from the table by Marie's dress, and fell to the floor. 
 In passing, Marie's foot crushed them. She stood still and 
 looked down sadly at these flowers. 
 
 "See, Trude," said she, with a faint smile, "a few mo- 
 ments ago I was complaining of having suffered so much from 
 thorns, and now it looks as if Fate intended to avenge me. It 
 strews my path with flowers, as for a bride on her way to the 
 altar, or for a corpse that is being borne to the grave." 
 
 " But, my child, what strange words these are !" cried Trude, 
 with assumed indignation. "The physician says that all dan- 
 ger is past, and that you are steadily improving ; and you say 
 such sad and ominous things that you make me feel sad my- 
 self, and make the tears gather in my eyes. That is not 
 right, Marie, for you well know that the doctor said you must 
 carefully avoid all agitation of mind, and endeavor to be 
 uniformly cheerful." 
 
 " It is true, good nurse, I ought to be cheerful, and I will 
 
THE RETURN. 369 
 
 be cheerful. You see it is only because I so long to live — so 
 long to pluck a few roses after having been wounded by so 
 many thorns. You must not scold me on this account," con- 
 tinued Marie, as she entwined her arms lovingly around her 
 old nurse. " No, you must not scold me!" 
 
 " I am not scolding you, you dear, foolish child," said 
 Trude, laughing. " I, too, so long to see you live ; and if I 
 could purchase life for you with my heart's blood — well, you 
 know I would gladly shed my blood for you, drop by drop." 
 
 "Yes, I know you would," cried Marie, tenderly, as she 
 rested her head on Trude's shoulder. 
 
 "Fortunately, however, it is not necessary," continued the 
 old nurse. " Marie will live and be happy without old 
 Trude's assistance. Professor Philip Moritz will make us 
 healthy and happy." 
 
 "You, too?" asked Marie, a happy smile lighting up her 
 countenance. — "Really, Trude, I believe you love him too, 
 and I suppose I ought to be jealous of you for daring to love 
 my Philip." 
 
 "Yes, I not only love him, but am completely bewitched 
 by him," rejoined Trude, laughing. "I long for him, day 
 and night, because I desire to see my child happy. Like a 
 good, sensible girl, you must endeavor to recover your health 
 and strength, in order that your Philip may rejoice when he 
 arrives, and not appose you to be still unwell." 
 
 " You are right, Trude, Philip will be alarmed if I am not 
 looking well and strong. But then I really am well ; all that 
 I want is a little more strength. But that will soon come, as 
 I intend to guard against all agitation and sad thoughts. 
 These thoughts, however, return, again and again, par- 
 ticularly at night, when I am lying awake and feel feverish ; 
 they sit around my bed like ghosts, and not only tell me sad 
 legends of the past but also make gloomy prophecies for the 
 future. At night I seem to hear a cricket chirping in my 
 heart in shrill, wailing tones: 'Marie, you must die, you have 
 made many roses for others, but life has no roses for you, 
 
370 GOETHE AND SCHILLEE. 
 
 and' — but this is nonsense, and we will speak of it no 
 longer." 
 
 "We will laugh at it," said Trnde, "that will be still bet- 
 ter." She stooped down to pick up the flowers Marie had 
 trodden under foot, and availed herself of this opportunity 
 to wipe the tears from her eyes. " The poor things ! look, 
 Marie, you have completely crushed the poor little violets!" 
 
 " There is a beautiful and touching poem about a crushed 
 violet," said Marie, regarding the flowers thoughtfully. 
 " Philip loved it, because his adored friend, Goethe, had 
 written it. One day when I showed him the first violets 
 I had made, he smiled, pressed the little flowers to his 
 lips and repeated the last lines of this poem. It seems to 
 me that I still hear the dear voice that always sounded like 
 sweet music in my ear. 'And if I die, 'tis she who takes my 
 life; through her I die, beneath her feet!' " 
 
 "There you have commenced again," sighed Tmde. "No 
 more sad words, Marie, it is not right!" 
 
 "You are right, nurse," cried Marie, throwing the flowers 
 on the table. " What care we for crushed violets ! We will 
 have nothing to do with them ! We will be gay ! See, I am 
 ascending my throne again," she continued, with mock grav- 
 ity, as she seated herself in the arm-chair. "Now I am the 
 princess in the fairy-tale, and you are the old housekeeper 
 whose duty it is to see that her mistress is never troubled 
 with ennui. Begin, madame; relate some story, or the prin- 
 cess will become angry and threaten you with her bunch of 
 lilies." 
 
 " I am not at all afraid," said Trade, " I have a large supply 
 of pretty stories on hand. I learned a great deal while at- 
 tending to your commissions yesterday, Marie." 
 
 "My commissions? Ah yes, I recollect, I asked you to 
 look at the little monument on my father's grave. It has 
 already been placed there, has it not?" 
 
 " Yes, Marie, and the large cross of white marble is beauti- 
 ful; the words you had engraved on it in golden letters are 
 
THE RETURN. 371 
 
 SO simple and toucliing that the tears rushed to my eyes when 
 I read: 'He has gone to eternal rest; peace be with him and 
 with us all ! His daughter, Marie, prays for him on earth ; 
 may he pray for her in heaven!' The golden words shone 
 beautifully in the sun." 
 
 " They came from my heart, Trude. I am glad that I can 
 think of my father without sorrow or reproach. We were 
 reconciled; he often came to see me, and looked on at my 
 work for hours together, rejoicing when I had finished a 
 flower." 
 
 " It is true," said Trude, " your father was entirely changed. 
 I believe his conscience was awakened, and that he became 
 aware of how greatly he had sinned against a good and lovely 
 daughter." 
 
 " Do not speak so, Trude. All else is forgotten, and I will 
 only remember that he loved me when he died. The blessing 
 uttered by his dying lips has wiped out his harsh words from 
 my remembrance. Let it be so with you, too, Trude ! Prom- 
 ise me that you will think of my father with kindness only." 
 
 " I promise," said the old woman, hesitatingly, " although — 
 well, let the dead rest, we will speak of the living. Marie, 
 whom do you suppose I met on my return from the church- 
 yard? Mrs. General von Leuthen !" 
 
 "My mother," exclaimed Marie, raising her hand convul- 
 sively to her heart, "my mother!" 
 
 "Yes, your unnatural mother," cried Trude, passionately; 
 " the woman who is the cause of all your misfortunes and sor- 
 j-Q-^s — the woman I hate, and will never forgive — no, not 
 even in my hour of death." 
 
 " I have already forgiven her, although my hour of death 
 is, as I hope, far distant. Where did you see her?" 
 
 " Riding in a beautiful carriage, and very grand and stately 
 she looked, too. Happening to see me, she called out to the 
 servant, who sat by the coachman's side, to halt. The car- 
 riage stopped, and her ladyship had the wondrous condescen- 
 sion to beckon to me to approach." 
 
372 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 "And you did so, I hope?" said Marie, eagerly. 
 
 "Yes, I did, but only because I thought you would be 
 angry with me if I did not. I stepped up to the carriage, 
 and her ladyship greeted me with the haughtiness of a queen, 
 and inquired after the health of my dear mistress. She 
 wished to know if you were still happy and contented, and 
 whether you never regretted what you had done. To all of 
 which I joyously replied, that you were happy and contented, 
 and were about to be married to the dear professor who was 
 expected to arrive to-day. Her ladyship looked annoyed at 
 first, but soon recovered her equanimity, and said she was 
 glad to hear it. She then observed that something of a very 
 agreeable nature had also occurred to her a short time ago, 
 and that her exalted name and high connections had at last 
 been a great service to her. She had become lady stewardess 
 of the Countess von Ingenheim's household, and at her par- 
 ticular request his majesty the king had permitted her to 
 resume her family name, and call herself Countess Dannen- 
 berg. She had a large salary, a waiting-maid, and a man- 
 servant. Moreover, the king had given her a pair of beautiful 
 horses and a magnificent carriage, with her coat of arms 
 painted on the door. The king was very gracious to her, as 
 was also Countess Ingenheim. I tell you, Marie, her ladyship 
 was almost delirious with joy, and exceedingly proud of her 
 position. You know who this Countess Ingenheim is, do you 
 not?" 
 
 Marie shook her head slowly. " I believe I did know, but 
 I have forgotten." 
 
 " This Countess Ingenheim is the wife of the left hand of 
 our king; her maiden name was Julie von Voss, and she was 
 maid of honor to the queen-dowager. The king made her a 
 countess, and his bad councillors and favorites told him he 
 could marry her rightfully, although he already had a wedded 
 wife. These exalted interpreters of God's Word told the king 
 that it was written in the Bible: 'Let not your right hand 
 know what the left does, ' and that this meant : 'It does not 
 
THE RETURN. 373 
 
 concern the wife of your right hand, although you should take 
 another on your left. ' The king was easily persuaded of this, 
 and the pious Privy-councillor Wollner, who is an ordained 
 priest, performed the ceremony himself, and is on this account 
 in high favor at court. The newly-created Countess von 
 Dannenberg has become lady stewardess to the newly-created 
 Countess Ingenheim; she is proud of it, too, and does not 
 consider it beneath her dignity to be in the service of the wife 
 of the right hand. To have a celebrated professor as son-in- 
 law was not enough for her — that she called a disgrace. But 
 she bends the knee to gilded disgrace, and acts as if she were 
 not well aware that the wife of the left hand is no better than 
 the mistress, and that the ancient nobility of the Countess 
 von Dannenberg is sullied when it comes in such close contact 
 with the brand-new nobility of the Countess Ingenheim." 
 
 "Say no more, Trude, do not give way to passion," said 
 Marie, wearily. " I am glad that slie has at last found the 
 happiness and content she has so long been seeking. On 
 earth each one must seek out his happiness in his own way, 
 and we can reproach no one because his is not ours." 
 
 " But we can reproach every one who seeks it in a dishonor- 
 able way, and that her ladyship has done, and — " 
 
 "Be still, Trude!" interrupted Marie; "you forget that 
 she is my mother." 
 
 "Why should I remember it?" cried Trude, passionately; 
 " why should not I also, at last, forget what she has forgotten 
 throughout her entire life? I hate her!" 
 
 " And I," said Marie, softly, as she folded her hands piously 
 and looked upward, " I forgive her with my whole heart, and 
 wish her all the happiness she can desire." 
 
 "Ah, Marie," cried the old woman, as she hurried forward, 
 seized Marie's hands and covered them with kisses, "how 
 good an angel my Marie is, and how wicked, how abominable 
 an old woman I am! Forgive me, my child, I, too, will en- 
 deavor to be better, and to learn to be good and pious from 
 you." 
 
374 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 "As if you were not so already, my dear nurse!" cried 
 Marie, as she entwined her arms lovingly around the old 
 woman, who had seated herself on a stool at her feet and was 
 looking up at her tenderly. " As if you were not the best, 
 the most loving,"the kindest and the bravest of women! 
 What would have become of me without you ? How could I 
 have survived these two long, terrible years, if you had not 
 stood at my side like a mother? Who has worked with me 
 and kept my little household in good order? Who nursed me 
 when I was sick ? Who cheered me in my hours of sadness, 
 and laughed with me in my hours of gladness? You, my 
 dear, kind nurse, you did all this : your noble, honest, brave 
 heart has supported, guarded, and protected me. I thank 
 you for all this ; I thank you for your love, and if I should 
 die, my last breath of life and my last thought will be a bless- 
 ing for my dear, good nurse !" 
 
 They held each other in a long and close embrace, and for 
 a time nothing was heard but sighs and suppressed sobbing. 
 Then old Trude released her darling, with a last tender kiss. 
 
 "Here we are in the midst of emotions and tears," said she, 
 " although we had determined to be cheerful and gay, in order 
 that we might give our dear Philip a joyous reception if he 
 should happen to come to-day, and not have to meet him with 
 tear-stained countenances." 
 
 " Do you, then, really consider it possible that he may come 
 to-day?" asked Marie, eagerly. 
 
 " Professor Gedicke said we might expect him at any hour," 
 replied Trude, smiling. " Let us, therefore, be gay and 
 merry ; the days of pain and sorrow are gone, and hereafter 
 your life will be full of happiness and joy." 
 
 "Do you really believe so, Trude?" asked Marie, fastening 
 her large luminous eyes in an intent and searching gaze on 
 the pale, wrinkled countenance of her old nurse. She had 
 the courage to smile, and not to falter under the anxious gaze 
 of her darling. 
 
 "Certainly I do," said she; "and why should I not? Is 
 
THE RETURN. 375 
 
 not your lover coming back after a separation of two years? 
 are we not to have a wedding, and will we not live together 
 happily afterward? We are not poor; we have amassed a lit- 
 tle fortune by the labor of our hands. To be sure, we cannot 
 keep an equipage for our Marie, but still she will have enough 
 to enable her to hire a carriage whenever she wishes to ride, 
 and it seems to me it is all the same whether we drive with 
 four horses or with one, provided we only get through the 
 dust and mud. But listen, Marie, I have not yet given you 
 all the news, I have something to tell that will be very agree- 
 able." 
 
 "Then tell me quickly, Trude, I love to hear good news." 
 
 " My child, you have often asked me if I had heard any 
 thing of Mr. Ebenstreit, and if I knew what had become of 
 him. In your goodness you have even gone so far as to ob- 
 serve that you have been hard and cruel toward him." 
 
 " And I have been, Trude, I presumed to play the role of 
 fate and take upon myself the punishment which is God's 
 prerogative only. True, I had bitter cause of complaint 
 against him, and he was to blame for my unhappiness, but I 
 am not free from blame either, and he, too, had just cause of 
 complaint against me. I had stood before God's altar with 
 him — had, at least, recognized him as my husband before 
 the world, and yet I have hated and detested him, and have 
 fulfilled none of the duties which devolved upon me from the 
 moment of our marriage." 
 
 "But you were never married, Marie. You did not utter 
 a single word at the wedding? You did not pronounce the 
 'Yes.'" 
 
 " Do not speak so, Trude ; we deceive our conscience with 
 such pretences, and only persuade ourselves that we have done 
 no wrong. But when we lie sleepless on our couches during 
 the long night, as I do, then the slumbering conscience 
 awakens, all self-deception vanishes, and we see things as they 
 really are. Yes, I know that I have not behaved toward 
 Ebenstreit as I ought to have done, and I wish I knew where 
 
376 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 he is, so that I could write to him and make peace with him 
 before — " 
 
 "Before you marry, you would say, Marie? Then, listen I 
 I know where Mr. Ebenstreit is. I also know that he is doing 
 well, and that he, too, longs to see and speak with you. 
 What do you say to this news, my child?" 
 
 " I am glad to hear it, Trude, and wish to see Ebenstreit as 
 soon as possible, for all things are uncertain on earth, and if 
 he came later — " 
 
 "Yes, if he came later," said Trude, interrupting her, "our 
 dear professor might be here, and then we would not have 
 time to occupy ourselves with any one else. You see I 
 thought of this when I saw Mr. Ebenstreit, and therefore — " 
 
 " What? You have seen and spoken with him?" 
 
 " Of course I have, my child. From whom could I have 
 otherwise learned all this? He entreated me to procure him 
 an interview with you. I told him to come here in two hours 
 and wait outside, promising to call him in if you should 
 permit me to do so. The two hours have now passed, my 
 child. Will you see him?" 
 
 "Wait a moment," said Marie, turning pale. "I must 
 first collect my thoughts, I must first nerve myself. You 
 know I am very weak, Trude, and — there ! I feel that thorn 
 piercing my breast again! It pains fearfully 1" 
 
 She closed her eyes, threw herself back in the chair, and lay 
 there quivering and groaning. Trude remained standing near 
 the door tearfully, regarding the pale, attenuated countenance, 
 which was still her ideal of all that was lovely and beautiful. 
 
 Slowly Marie opened her eyes again. " You may bring him 
 in, Trud£, but we will be composed and avoid speaking of 
 the past." 
 
 Marie followed Trude with a sorrowful gaze, as she walked 
 noiselessly to the door and out into the hall. " The good, 
 faithful old nurse!" murmured she. " Does she really believe 
 that I shall recover, or is she only trying to make me believe 
 so? I so long to live, I so long for a little happiness on earth !" 
 
RECONCILIATION. 377 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 KECONCILIATION. 
 
 The door opened again, and Trude entered, followed by 
 a tall, thin gentleman. His cheeks were hollow, and his light 
 hair and brown beard had turned gray, and yet it seemed to 
 Marie that he was younger and stronger than when she had 
 last seen him, two years before, on that fearful day of ven- 
 geance. His countenance now wore a different, a firmer and 
 more energetic expression, and the eyes that had formerly 
 been so dim, now shone with unusual lustre, and were fastened 
 on Marie with an expression of tender sympathy. 
 
 He hurried forward, grasped the two pale, attenuated hands 
 which Marie had extended toward him, hid his countenance 
 in them and wept aloud. 
 
 For a time all was silent. Trude had noiselessly withdrawn 
 to the furthest corner of the room, where she stood, half- 
 concealed by the bed-curtains, endeavoring to suppress her 
 sobs, that her darling might not hear them. 
 
 " Marie, my friend, my benefactress," said Ebenstreit, after 
 a long pause, " I have come to thank you. I came here from 
 New Orleans, with no other intention and no other wish than 
 the one that is now being gratified : to kneel before you, hold- 
 ing your hands in mine, and to say: I thank you, my benefac- 
 tress ! You have made a new being of me ; you have driven 
 out the demons, and prepared the altar for good spirits. I 
 thank you, Marie, for through you I have recovered happi- 
 ness, peace, and self-esteem ! Marie, when we last saw each 
 other, I was a sordid being, whose soul was hardened with 
 egotism and vanity. You were right in saying there was 
 nothing but cold calculation, and the miserable pride of 
 wealth, in the place where the warm human heart should 
 beat. You stepped before me like the avenging angel with 
 the flaming sword. In your sublime, your divine anger, you 
 
378 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 thrust the sword so deep into my breast, that it opened like 
 the box of Pandora, permitting the evil spirits and wicked 
 thoughts to escape, and leaving, in the depths of the heart 
 that had been purified by pain, nothing but hope and love. 
 When I left you at that time and rushed out into the street, 
 I was blinded and maddened. I determined to end an ex- 
 istence I conceived to be worthless and disgraced. But the 
 hand of a friend held me back, the voice of a friend consoled 
 me ; and then, when I was again capable of thought, I found 
 that these words were engraven in my heart and soul, in 
 characters of living flame: 'Marie shall learn to esteem me, I 
 will make of myself a new man, and then Marie will not des- 
 pise me. ' These words have gone before me on the rough 
 path, and through the darkness of my life, like a pillar of 
 flame. It was my sun and my star. I looked up to it as the 
 mariner looks at his guiding compass when tossed about on 
 the wide ocean. This pillar of flame has at last led me back 
 to the avenging angel, whom I now entreat to become an 
 angel of reconciliation. I entreat you, Marie, forgive me for 
 the evil I have done you, forgive me for the unhappiness I 
 have caused you, and let me try to atone for the past!" 
 
 Marie had at first listened to him with astonishment, and 
 then her features had gradually assumed an expression of deep 
 emotion. Her purple lips had been tightly compressed, and 
 the tears which had gathered in her large eyes were slowly 
 gliding down over the cheeks on which the ominous roses were 
 once more burning brightly. Now, when Ebenstreit en- 
 treated her to forgive him, when she saw kneeling in the dust 
 before her the man whose image had stood before her con- 
 science for the past two years as an eternal reproach, and as a 
 threatening accusation, a cry of pain escaped her heaving 
 breast. She arose from her arm-chair, and stretched out her 
 hands toward heaven. 
 
 " Too much, too much, God !" she cried, in loud and 
 trembling tones. " Instead of passing Judgment on the sin- 
 ner, you show mercy! All pride and arrogance have vanished 
 
RECONCILIATION. 379 
 
 from my soul, and I bow myself humbly before Thee and be- 
 fore this man, whom I have wronged and insulted!' 
 
 And before Ebenstreit — who had arisen when he saw Marie 
 rise from her chair in such great agitation — could prevent 
 it, Marie had fallen on her knees before him, and raised her 
 folded hands, imploringly. 
 
 " Ebenstreit, forgive me, I entreat you ! I have wronged 
 and insulted you, have lived at your side in hatred and anger, 
 instead of striving to be a blessing to you — instead of en- 
 deavoring to seek out with you the path of goodness and jus- 
 tice from which we had both wandered so far. But look at 
 me, Ebenstreit! behold what these years of remorse have 
 made of me — behold her who was once the proud tyrant who 
 presumed to command, but has now become a poor penitent 
 who humbly begs forgiveness. Speak, say that you forgive 
 me ! No, do not attempt to raise me up ! Let me remain on 
 my knees until you take pity on me in your magnanimity — 
 until you have uttered the words for which my soul 
 thirsts." 
 
 "Well, then, Marie," sobbed Ebenstreit, his countenance 
 flooded with tears, " I will do your will. Marie, I forgive you 
 with my whole soul — forgive you for all my sufferings and 
 tears, and tell you that out of these sufferings consolations, 
 and out of these tears hopes, have blossomed. G-od bless, 
 protect, and reward you, my benefactress, my friend !" 
 
 With folded hands, and in breathless suspense, she listened 
 to his words, and a joyous smile gradually illumined her 
 countenance. 
 
 "I thank you, my friend; I thank you," she murmured, in 
 low tones; and lightly and airily, as though borne up by her 
 inward exaltation, she arose and stood before Ebenstreit, a 
 radiant smile on her lips. 
 
 "Do not weep, my friend," she said, "all sorrow and sad- 
 ness are past, and lie behind us. Let us rejoice in the good 
 fortune that brings us together once more for a short time, 
 after our long separation and estrangement. You shall nar- 
 
380 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 rate the history of your life during this period, and tell me 
 where and how you have lived and struggled. " 
 
 "No," he said, tenderly, "let me first hear your history." 
 
 " My friend," she replied, smiling, as she slowly seated her- 
 self in the arm-chair, " look at this table, look at these poor 
 flowers made out of cloth, wire, and water-colors. These 
 lilies and violets are without lustre and fragrance. Such has 
 been my life. Life had no roses for me ; but I made roses for 
 others, and I lived because one heavenly flower blossomed in 
 my life — I lived because this one flower still shed its fragrance 
 in my heart. This is the hope of seeing my beloved once 
 more! 
 
 " Do not ask me to tell you more ; you will soon see and 
 learn all ; and I know you will rejoice in my happiness when 
 my hope becomes beautiful, blissful reality!" 
 
 "I will, indeed," said Ebenstreit, tenderly, "for your hap- 
 piness has been my constant prayer since our separation ; and 
 not until I see you united to the noble man from whom I so 
 cruelly and heartlessly separated you — not until then will I 
 have atoned for my crime, and I conceive of the possibility of 
 a peaceful and happy future for myself." 
 
 She extended her hand and smiled. But this smile was so 
 touching, so full of sadness, that it moved Ebenstreit more 
 profoundly than lamentations or despairing wails could have 
 done. 
 
 " Tell me of your life," said Marie, in a soft voice. " Seat 
 yourself at my side, and teU me where you have been and how 
 you have lived." 
 
 He seated himself as she had directed. Old Trude came 
 forward from the background, and listened eagerly to Eben- 
 streit 's words. 
 
 " I cannot illustrate my history as you did yours when you 
 pointed to these flowers," he said, smiling. "In order to do 
 this I should have to show you forests felled by the axe, fields 
 made fruitful, rivers dammed up, and huts and barns erected 
 after hard toil. When I rushed from your presence, in mad 
 
RECONCILIATION. 381 
 
 desperation, I met the banker Splittgerber on the sidewalk. 
 He had been standing at the door, awaiting me. I endeavored 
 to tear myself from his grasp, but he held me firmly. I cried 
 out that I wanted peace, the peace of the grave, bat he only 
 held me the more firmly, drew me away with irresistible force, 
 raised me like a child, and placed me in his carriage, which 
 then drove rapidly to the densest part of the zoological gar- 
 den. I was wild with rage, and endeavored to jump out of 
 the carriage. But on the side on which I sat, the carriage 
 door was not provided with a handle, and I found it impossi- 
 ble to open it. I endeavored to pass Splittgerber and get out 
 at the other door, and cried: 'Let me out! No one shall 
 compel me to live ! I will die, I must die !' But the old man 
 held me with an iron grasp, and pressed me down on my seat 
 again. A loud and terrible voice resounded in my ear, like 
 the trumpet of the day of judgment, and to this hour I have 
 not been able to convince myself that it was no other than the 
 voice of good old Splittgerber. This terrible voice uttered 
 these words : ' You have no right to die, for you have not yet 
 lived. First go and learn to live, in order to deserve death!' 
 I was, however, completely overcome by these fearful words, 
 and sank back in a state of insensibility." 
 
 " 'You have no right to die, for you have not yet lived,' " 
 repeated Marie, in a low voice. " Have I then lived, and is 
 it for this reason that — " she shuddered and interrupted her- 
 self: "Go on, my friend — what happened further?" 
 
 " Of what further occurred I have no knowledge. I have 
 a vague remembrance that I was like a departed soul, and flew 
 about from place to place through the universe, seeking a 
 home and an asylum everywhere, and finding none. I so- 
 journed in hell for a long time, and suffered all the tortures 
 of the damned. I lay stretched on the rack like Prometheus, 
 a vulture feeding on my vitals, and cried out vainly for 
 mercy. When my wandering soul again returned to earth 
 and to its miserable tenement — when I awakened to conscious- 
 ness, they told me that I had been ill and delirious for a long 
 
382 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 time. Good old Splittgerber had nursed me like a father, 
 and, when I recovered, made me the most brilliant offers. 
 Among many other similar propositions, I was to become his 
 partner, and establish a branch house in New York. I re- 
 jected all ; I could hear nothing but the trumpet-tones of that 
 voice, crying : ' You have no right to die, for you have not 
 yet lived. Go and learn to live, in order to deserve to die!' 
 I wished to deserve to die ; that was my only thought, and no 
 one should help me in achieving this end. I wished to ac- 
 complish this alone, entirely unaided! After having con- 
 verted the paltry remnants of my property into money, I 
 suddenly took my departure without telling any one where I 
 was going. I was wearied of the Old World, and turned my 
 steps toward the New. I longed to be doing and struggling. 
 I bought a piece of land in America, large enough to make 
 A little duchy in Germany. I hired several laborers, im- 
 migrants in whose countenances sullen despair was depicted, 
 and with them I began my work ; and a vast, gigantic work 
 it was. A morass and a dense forest were to be converted 
 into fruitful fields. What the Titans of mythology could per- 
 haps not have accomplished, was achieved by poor mortals to 
 whom despair gave courage, and defiance of misfortune super- 
 human strength. We worked hard, Marie, but our labors 
 were blessed ; we had the satisfaction of knowing that they 
 were not in vain, and of seeing them productive of good re- 
 sults. The forest and morass I then bought have now been 
 converted into a splendid farm, on which contented laborers 
 live in cleanly cottages, rejoicing in the rewards of diligence. 
 In the midst of this settlement lies my own house, a simple 
 log-house, but yet a sufficiently comfortable dwelling for a 
 laborer like myself. Over the door stands the following in- 
 scription: 'Learn to work, that you may enjoy life,' and on 
 the wall of my humble parlor hangs a board on which is 
 written: 'Money is temptation, work is salvation. True 
 riches are, a good heart and the joyousness resulting from 
 labor, ' " 
 
RECONCILIATION. 383 
 
 "You are a good, a noble man," whispered Marie, regard- 
 ing him eai-nestly. " I thank you for having come, I rejoice 
 in your return. " 
 
 " I have not returned to remain," said Ebenstreit, pressing 
 her hand to his lips. " I only returned to see you, Marie, 
 and to render an account to Heaven, through the avenging 
 angel, whose flaming sword drove me from my sins. You see, 
 Marie, there is something of my former accursed sordidness 
 in me still ; I dare to speak of accounts even to God and to 
 you, as if the soul's burden of debt could ever be cancelled! 
 No, while I live I will be your debtor. — And your debtor, too, 
 Trude," said he, turning, with a smile, to the old woman, 
 who was regarding him wonderingly. 
 
 " I'm sure I don't know how that can be," said she, thought- 
 fully; "you have received nothing from me but abuse; that 
 however you certainly still owe me. If you propose to return 
 this now, and call me a short-sighted fool, and an abom- 
 inable person, as I have so often called you, you will be per- 
 fectly justifiable in doing so. I must say that you have the 
 right, and I am glad that I am compelled to say so. You 
 have become a good man, Mr. Ebenstreit, and the good Lord 
 himself will rejoice over you, for it is written in the Bible: 
 ' When the unjust man returns to God there is more joy over 
 him in heaven than over a hundred just men.' Therefore, 
 my dear Mr. Ebenstreit, pay me back for all my abuse, and 
 then give me your hand and say : ' Trude, we now owe each 
 other nothing more, and after all you may be a very good old 
 woman, whose heart is in the right place, and — her mouth 
 too!'" 
 
 Ebenstreit extended his hand, with a kindly smile. " Let 
 us shake hands; the abuse you shall, however, not have. I am 
 your debtor in a higher and better sense; your brave and 
 resolute countenance was often before me, and at times, when 
 a task seemed almost impossible, I seemed to hear a voice at 
 my side, saying: 'Work, work on! Eansom your soul with 
 the sweat that pours from your brow, you soul-seller, for 
 
384 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 otherwise old Trude will give you no peace, either on earth 
 or in heaven! Work, work on! Earn your bread by the 
 sweat of your brow, otherwise you can never enter the king- 
 dom of heaven, you soul-seller!' You will remember that 
 this was the only title you accorded me in former days?" 
 
 " Well, Mr. Ebenstreit, I had others for you, to be sure, '' 
 said the old woman, blushing, " but that was the main title 
 on account of the live hundred dollars that — " 
 
 "Be still!" interrupted Marie, as she slowly arose, and 
 leaned forward in a listening attitude. " Did you hear noth- 
 ing, Trude?" 
 
 "No, my darling. What could I have heard?" 
 
 " A carriage stopped before the door, and my heart suddenly 
 ceased to beat, as if expecting a great joy or a great sorrow. 
 I seemed to hear steps in the passage. Yes, I recognize this 
 step — it is his; he — be still! do you hear nothing?" 
 
 They all listened for a moment in breathless suspense. 
 " Yes, I seem to hear some one walking in the outer hall, " 
 murmured the old woman. " Let me go and see whether — " 
 
 "Some one is knocking," cried Marie. "Trude, some one 
 is—" 
 
 "Be composed, my darling, be composed," said Trude, in 
 soothing tones; "if you excite yourself so much, it will be 
 injurious. Some one knocks again, and — " 
 
 "Trude, be merciful!" cried Marie. "Go and open the 
 door. Do not let me wait ; I believe I have but a little while 
 longer to live, and I cannot wait! Go!" 
 
 Trude had hurried to the door, and opened it. 'She 
 started, waved her hand, closed the door again, and turned to 
 Marie, who stood erect, in breathless suspense. 
 
 "Marie," said she, vainly endeavoring to speak with com- 
 posure, " there certainly is some one at the door, who desires 
 to speak with me, but it is no stranger ; perhaps he wishes to 
 order some flowers. I will go and ask him." 
 
 She was about to open the door again, but Marie ran for- 
 ward and held her back. " You are deceiving me, Trude. 
 
GRIM DEATH. 385 
 
 You well know who it is, and I know too. My heart tells me 
 it is he! Philip! my Philip! Come to me, Philip!" 
 
 " Marie!" cried a loud, manly voice from the outside. The 
 door was hastily thrown open, and he rushed in, with extended 
 arms. " Marie! where are you, Marie!" 
 
 She uttered a loud, piercing cry of joy, and flew to her 
 lover's heart. "My Philip! My beloved! God bless you 
 for having come!" 
 
 "My Marie, my darling!" murmured he, passionately. 
 " God bless you for having called me!" 
 
 CHAPTEE III. 
 
 GRIM DEATH. 
 
 They held each other firmly embraced, heart to heart. All 
 sorrow and sadness were forgotten ; they were oblivious of the 
 whole world, and of all that was going on around them. 
 They did not see old Trude standing near by, with folded 
 hands, her face radiant with delight; they did not see her 
 follow Mr. Ebenstreit, who had glided noiselessly out of the 
 room. They did not hear the door creak on its hinges, as she 
 closed it behind her, and left them alone and unobserved in 
 the silent chamber. And, though the two had remained, 
 though hundreds and hundreds of eyes had been fastened on 
 them inquiringly, what would they have cared? They would, 
 nevertheless, have still been alone with love, with happiness, 
 and with the joy of reunion. 
 
 Her head still rested on his breast ; he still pressed her to 
 his heart. " Marie, the dream of my whole life is now ful- 
 filled; I hold you in my arms, you are mine! The restless 
 wanderer has at last crossed the threshold of the promised 
 land, and love and peace bid him welcome." 
 
 "Yes, my Philip," she murmured, softly, "love and peace 
 bid him welcome. Pain has left us for evermore, and we 
 shall be happy!" 
 
386 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 " Yes, happy, Marie ! Look np, darliug, that I may read 
 love in your dear eyes!" 
 
 With his hand he attempted to raise her head, hut she only 
 pressed it the more firmly to his hreast. 
 
 " No, Philip, let my head still rest on your bosom ; let me 
 dream on for a little while." 
 
 " Marie, I have yearned to see these dear eyes for two long 
 years; look up, my darling!" 
 
 "Not yet, Philip," she whispered, entwining her arms 
 more closely around her lorer, her countenance still hid in his 
 bosom. "Let me first tell you something, Philip! I have 
 been ill, very ill, and it was thought I would die. If you 
 should find me a little changed, a little pale, my beloved, it 
 will only be because I have not yet quite recovered, but am 
 only steadily improving. Eemember this, and do not be 
 alarmed. Look at me! Welcome, welcome, my Philip!" 
 
 When she raised her head, a radiant expression of happiness 
 rested on her features ; her lips were crimson, her eyes shone 
 lustrously, and the death-roses on her cheeks burned brightly. 
 Death had, perhaps, been touched by the supreme happiness 
 of these two beings, who had been wandering under a thunder- 
 cloud of sorrow for long years, and who now fondly believed 
 that they had at last found a refuge from the storms of life, 
 and a balsam for all pain. Death, who comes from God, had, 
 perhaps, been moved with divine pity, and had lain concealed 
 behind these flushed cheeks and crimson lips, permitting joy 
 to illumine Marie's countenance with a last golden ray of the 
 setting sun, and to give her for a brief moment the appear- 
 ance of health and strength. 
 
 Philip, at least, did not see the grim messenger; he was 
 deceived by these death-roses, by this ray of sunshine. He 
 had expected to find Marie in a much worse condition. 
 Gedicke's letter had carried the conviction to his heart that 
 he would find her in a hopeless, ia a dying condition, and 
 that nothing buoyed her up, and withheld her from the 
 clutches of the grave, but her longing to see him once more. 
 
GRIM DEATH. 387 
 
 Now she stood before him with rosy cheeks, with a bright 
 smile on her lips, and with eyes that sparkled with joy. 
 
 " Marie, my jewel, my longed-for happiness, how lovely, 
 how beautiful you are! Why speak of illness and of pale 
 cheeks! I see nothing of all this; I see you healthy, happy, 
 and beautiful — as beautiful as when I often saw you in my 
 dreams in the long nights of the past — as beautiful as I have 
 ever conceived you to be when standing before the Madonnas 
 of Raphael and Giulio Eomano in Eome and Florence. 'Gaze 
 at me with your dark eyes,' I said to them. 'You would ask 
 me whether I admire and adore you. True, you are lovely, 
 but I know a Marie who is lovelier and purer than you all! I 
 know a Marie whose eyes are radiant with the light of woman- 
 hood, purity, and virtue. She is not so coquettish as you are, 
 Maria della Ledia; her eyes are not so dreamy as yours, Maria 
 di Puligno. But they are resplendent with holy love, and 
 noble thoughts dwell on her chaste brow!' And now I have 
 thee,, and now will I hold thee, my Marie, and nothing can 
 separate us more!" 
 
 " No," she said, thoughtfully, " nothing henceforth can now 
 separate us but death!" 
 
 " Death has nothing to do with us, my darling. We shall 
 live, and live a joyous, happy life!" 
 
 "Yes, live, live!" she cried, in such longing, passionate 
 tones, and with so sad an expression of countenance, that 
 Moritz's heart quaked. It seemed to him as though a string 
 had broken on the harp on which she had just begun to play 
 the joyous song of life and of love, and at this moment he 
 saw grim death peering forth from behind the roses on her 
 cheeks, and the smile on her crimson lips. 
 
 "Gome, my darling, let us be seated. There is your 
 throne, and here at your feet lies he who adores you, looking 
 up at his Madonna, at his Marie, with ecstacy." 
 
 He bore her tenderly to the arm-chair, and then seated 
 himself at her feet. He looked up at her with an expression 
 of deep devotion, his folded hands resting on her lap. She 
 
388 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 bowed down over him and stroked with her pale little hand 
 his black, curly hair, and the broad forehead she had once 
 seen so gloomy and clouded, and which was now as clear and 
 serene as the heaven in her own breast. 
 
 " I have thee at last once more, thou star of my life ! When 
 I regard thee, I feel that life is, indeed, beautiful, and that 
 one hour of bliss is not too dearly purchased with long years 
 of suffering and want. We paid dearly, Philij), but now we 
 have the longed-for happiness. We have it and will hold it 
 fast; nothing on earth shall tear it from us?" 
 
 "No, nothing on earth, my beloved! Like Odysseus, I 
 have now returned from my wanderings througl^ life, and 
 here I lie at the feet of my Penelopeia; like him, I have 
 driven ofE the suitors who aspired to the favor of my fair one. 
 Was it not a suitor, who slipped out at the door when I 
 entered?" 
 
 "A suitor of the past," replied Marie, smiling. "Did you 
 not recognize him?" 
 
 " Have I ever known him? But what do we care, now that 
 he has gone! I am not compelled to drive him off, nor yet 
 to hang old Trude as a go-between, as Odysseus did the old 
 woman of whom Homer tells ns." 
 
 Philip and Marie both laughed. It was the innocent child- 
 like laughter with which happiness illumines even the gravest 
 countenances, and which permits those who have been sorely 
 tried, and have suffered greatly, to find the innocence of 
 youth and the smile of childhood again on the threshold of 
 paradise regained. 
 
 " Marie, how beautiful you are when you laugh ! Then it 
 seems as though all these years of sorrow had not been — as 
 though we had only been dreaming, and now awake to find 
 that we are again in the little room under the roof. You 
 are once more my charming young scholar, and Professor 
 Moritz has just come to give Miss von Leuthen a lesson in the 
 Italian language. Yes, that is it, we are still the same ; and 
 see ! there lie the flowers on your table, just as they were when 
 
GRIM DEATH. 389 
 
 old Trude conducted me to your room to give you your first 
 lesson." 
 
 He took a handful of flowers from the table and held them 
 between his folded bands. "You dear flowers! She is your 
 god and your goddess! Like God she made you of nothing, 
 and, like the goddess Flora, she strews you over the pathway 
 of humanity; but to-day you shall receive the most glorious 
 reward for your existence — to-day you shall adorn her, my 
 fair Flora!" 
 
 He sprang up, seized whole handfuls of violets, pinks, 
 lilies, and forget-me-nots, and strewed them over Marie's head, 
 in her lap, and all over and about her. 
 
 " Let me strew your path with flowers for the future, my 
 darling. May your tender little feet never more be wounded 
 by the sharp stones! may you never again be compelled to 
 journey over rough roads! Flowers shall spring up beneath 
 your footsteps, and I will be the gardener who cultivates 
 them." 
 
 " You are my heaven-flower yourself, my imperial lily," said 
 she, extending her hands. He took them in his, pressed 
 them to his lips, and then resumed his former seat at her feet. 
 
 " How handsome you are, Philip, and how strong you look, 
 tanned by the sun of Italy and steeled by the combat with 
 life ! Misfortune has made a hero of you, my beloved. You 
 are taller and prouder than you were." 
 
 "And are you not a heroine, Marie, a victorious heroine?" 
 
 "A victorious heroine!" she said, sadly. "A heroine who 
 is struggling with death! Do not look at me with such con- 
 sternation, Philip — I am well. It is only that joy and sur- 
 prise have made me feel a little weak. You do not find that 
 I look ill, and therefore I am not ill ; you say I will recover, 
 and therefore I will recover. Tell me once more that I am 
 not ill, that I will recover!" 
 
 " You will recover ; you will bloom again in happiness and 
 
 joy-" 
 
 " You say these words in a sad voice, as though you did not 
 
390 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 believe them yourself ! But I will not die ; no, I will not ! I 
 am too young ; I have not lived long enough. Life still owes 
 me so much happiness. I will not die! I will live — live!" 
 
 She uttered this in loud tones of anguish, as though Life 
 were an armed warrior to whom she appealed to defend her 
 against Death, who was approaching her with a murderous 
 dagger in his bony hand. But Life had no longer a weapon 
 with which to defend her ; it timidly recoiled before the king 
 who is mightier than the King of Life, and whose sceptre is 
 a scythe with which he mows down humanity as the reaper 
 harvests the grain of the fields. 
 
 "Philip, my Philip," cried Marie, her countenance quiver- 
 ing with pain, " remain with me, my beloved ! It is growing 
 so dark, and — There, how my breast pains me again ! Alas, 
 you have scattered flowers at my feet, but the thorns have 
 remained in my heart! And they pain so terribly! It is 
 growing dark — dark! — Trude!" 
 
 The old woman, who had been waiting at the threshold 
 with the humility of a faithful dog, threw the door open and 
 rushed forward to her darling, who lay in the arm-chair, with 
 closed eyes, pale and motionless, her head resting on Moritz's 
 arm. 
 
 "Trude, call the physician!" cried he, in dismay. "Eun 
 for assistance! Eun! run! She must not die! She shall 
 not leave me! God, Thou canst not desire to tear her 
 from me ! Thou permittedst me to hear her voice when in 
 Eome, when widely separated from her, and I answered this 
 call and flew here on the wings of the wind. It cannot be 
 Thy will that I am to be surrounded by eternal silence — that 
 I am never more to hear this dear voice ! — Help me, Trude ! 
 Why do you not call the physician?" 
 
 "It is useless, dear sir, useless," whispered Trude, whose 
 tears were still flowing in torrents. " All the physicians say 
 that her case is hopeless ; they told me that this would occur, 
 and that all would then be at an end. But perhaps this is 
 only a swoon ; perhaps we can awaken her once more. " 
 
GRIM DEATH. 391 
 
 Was it the strengthening essence with which Trude rubbed 
 her forehead, the strong musk-drops which she poured be- 
 tween Marie's parted lips, or was it the imploring voice in 
 which Moritz called her name, and conjured her not to leave 
 him? — Marie opened her eyes and cast a look of ineffable 
 tenderness at the pale, horror-stricken countenance of her 
 lover, who was again kneeling at her feet, his arms clasped 
 convulsively around her person, as if in a last despairing effort 
 to withhold her from the King of Terrors, who had already 
 stretched out his skeleton arm to grasp his victim. 
 
 " I am dying, Philip !" murmured Marie, in low tones, and 
 her voice resounded on his ear like the last expiring notes of 
 an ^olian harp. " It is useless to deceive you longer ; the 
 truth is evident, and we must both bear it as we best 
 may." 
 
 " Marie, I cannot, cannot bear it!" he sobbed, burying his 
 countenance in her lap. " God is merciful ; He will take pity 
 on me, on my agony, on my love! God will grant you 
 recovery!" 
 
 "The only recovery God vouchsafes me is at hand," whis- 
 pered Marie. " Recovery is death ! I have felt it approach- 
 ing for many, many days— in the long, fearful nights I have 
 lain awake struggling with this thought, unable to compre- 
 hend it, and doubting God's mercy and goodness. My defiant 
 heart refused to submit humbly to God's will, and still 
 continued to entreat a little more life, a little happiness, of 
 Him who is inexorable, and upon whose ear the wail of man 
 strikes in as low tones as the last breath of the insect we tread 
 under foot. I comprehended, finally, that all complaints 
 were useless — that nothing remained but to submit, to hum- 
 ble myself, to thank God for each hour of life as for a gracious 
 boon, and to consider each ray of sunshine shed on my exist- 
 ence as a proof of His goodness. I have conquered myself ; 
 my stubborn heart has been softened ^ and no longer rebels 
 against the hand of the Almighty, to whom men are as worms, 
 and as the grain of sand to the mighty glacier that touches 
 
392 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 the clouds. You, too, must be gentle and submissive, my 
 Philip. Learn to submit to the eternal laws of God!" 
 
 " No, I cannot," said he, in heart-rending tones; " I cannot 
 be submissive. My heart is rebellious; in my anguish I could 
 tear it from my breast when I see you sufEer!" 
 
 "I am not suffering, Philip," said she, her countenance 
 radiant with a heavenly smile. " All pain has now left me, 
 and I feel as though I floated in a rosy cloud, high above all 
 earthly sorrow. From this height I see how paltry all earthly 
 sorrows are, and how little they deserve a single tear. Here 
 below, all is paltry and insignificant — above, all is great and 
 sublime. Oh, Philip, how sweet it will be to meet you once 
 more up there! In blissful embrace, our spirits will soar 
 from star to star, and the glories of all worlds and the mys- 
 teries of all creations will be made manifest to us, and our 
 life will be bliss and joy unending! The cloud is soaring 
 higher and higher! Philip, I see thee no longer!" 
 
 "But I see thee, my darling," cried Philip, despairingly, 
 as he clasped her sinking head between his hands, and covered 
 it with tears and kisses. "Do not leave me, Marie; stay with 
 me, thou sole delight of my life! Do not leave me alone in 
 the world." 
 
 His imploring voice had that divine power which, as we are 
 told by the Greeks, breathed life into stone, and transformed 
 a cold, marble statue into a warm, loving woman. His im- 
 ploring voice recalled the spirit of the loving woman to the 
 body already clasped in the chilly embrace of death. 
 
 "You shall not be solitary, Philip," she murmured; "it is 
 so sad to have to struggle alone through life. I must go, 
 Philip, but you shall not be left alone." 
 
 " But I will be if you leave me, Marie ; therefore stay ! 
 Oh, stay!" 
 
 "I cannot, Philip," gasped Marie, in low tones. "You 
 must place another at your side! Another must fill my 
 place. Hear my last wish, my last prayer, Philip. Take a 
 wife, marry!" 
 
GRIM DEATH. 393 
 
 " Impossible, Marie, you cannot be so cruel as to desire 
 this." 
 
 " I have thought of this a great deal, have struggled with 
 my own heart, and am now convinced that you must do so. 
 You must have a wife at your side who loves you. Swear 
 that you will seek such a wife. Swear this, and accord me a 
 last joy on earth." 
 
 She raised her hand once more, and her dying gaze was 
 fastened on him imploringly. He could not resist it; he 
 clasped the pale fingers in his quivering, burning hands, and 
 swore that he would do as she bade him. 
 
 A faint smile flitted over her countenance, and her eyes 
 sought out the faithful old woman, who had loved her like a 
 mother, and who found it no longer necessary to conceal her 
 tears, as she had been doing for many months, in holy and 
 heroic deception. 
 
 "Trude," whispered Marie, "you have heard his vow, and 
 you must remind him of it, and see that he keeps it, and 
 marries within the year. Kiss me, Trude, and swear that 
 you will do so !" 
 
 Old Trude had no other words than her tears, no other vow 
 than the kiss which her trembling lips pressed on her dar- 
 ling's brow, already covered with that cold, ominous perspi- 
 ration which gathers, like the morning dew of another world, 
 on the countenances of those who stand on the threshold of 
 the grave, and is symbolical of the new life to which they will 
 awaken on high. 
 
 "Philip, my beloved, you too must kiss me!" whispered 
 Marie, in eager tones, "Kiss me! Hold me fast! Drive 
 death, grim, fearful death, away!" 
 
 He kissed her, entwined his arms around her, and pressed 
 her to his bosom. Trude stretched out her arms imploringly 
 into empty space, as if to ward off " grim death !" 
 
 But he is king of kings, and claims as his own all who live 
 on earth! 
 
 Silence reigned in the little chamber. Holy is the hour 
 
394 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 of separation — holy the moment in which the immortal soul 
 is torn from its earthly abode, and this holy moment must not 
 be desecrated with lamentations and tears! 
 
 After a long interval, the heart-rending cry of a man, and 
 the low wail of a woman broke in upon the stillness. — Marie 
 had died, but a smile still rested on her lips. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Goethe's eeturn from kome. 
 
 Goethe has returned ! Goethe is once more in our midst ! 
 He arrived quite unexpectedly yesterday evening, repaired at 
 once to his summer-house in the park, raised the little draw- 
 bridge, and has yet seen no one ! 
 
 This was the intelligence that ran like wildfire through the 
 good city of Weimar on the morning of the nineteenth of 
 June, 1788, exciting joy and expectation in the minds of 
 many, and perhaps also some little discontent in the minds of 
 others. All were anxious to see the poet once more, who 
 had been enthroned in Weimar as the genius of gayety and 
 happiness, and who had taken these two most beautiful ideals 
 of humanity with him on leaving the capital of Thuringia. 
 Weimar had changed greatly since Goethe's departure. It 
 had, as the Duke Charles August often complained to his 
 friends, become dull, and " terribly old fogyish." The genial 
 freedom from care and restraint, and the poetic enthusiasm 
 and exaltation had all vanished with Goethe. Weimar lay 
 slumbering in its dullness and tranquillity on the banks of the 
 murmuring Ilm, and the staid and honest burghers of the 
 good city considered it a positive blessing that this restless 
 spirit had departed. The court was also very quiet — so quiet 
 that the genial Duchess Amelia could no longer endure it, 
 and was preparing to journey to Italy in the company of her 
 friends, Wieland and Herder, to indemnify herself under the 
 
GOETHE'S RETURN FROM ROME. 395 
 
 bright skies of Italy, and in the midst of rare works of art, 
 for the dull life she had led for the past few years. 
 
 No wonder that the intelligence of Goethe's return agitated 
 the little city, and infused a little life and excitement into 
 slumbering society ! 
 
 Goethe's servant had appeared at the ducal palace at an 
 aarly hour on the following morning, had communicated the 
 glad tidings of his master's arrival to the duke's chamberlain, 
 and had begged to be informed at what hour the privy-coun- 
 cillor would be permitted to pay his respects. The duke had 
 briefly replied that he would send the privy-councillor word ; 
 nothing . more ! But half an hour later, instead of sending 
 word, the duke quietly left his palace, crossed the Market 
 Square with hasty footsteps, and passed on through the streets, 
 into the park, and along its shady avenues to Goethe's little 
 summer-house. 
 
 The bridge was raised, but the Ilm was almost completely 
 dried up by the summer heat, and but a narrow, shallow 
 rivulet flowed in the midst of its sandy bed. What cared 
 he, the genial duke, although his boots and Prussian uniform 
 should become somewhat soiled in wading across to the little 
 island? He had not come to pay a visit of state, but only to 
 call on his dear friend in an unceremonious manner, and to 
 give him a warm embrace, after a long separation. There- 
 fore, forward, through mud and water! On the other side 
 lies the modest little house of his cherished friend ! Forward ! 
 
 Goethe's servant had not yet returned from the city; no 
 one was there to announce the duke, and, if there had been, 
 Charles August would have preferred coming unannounced 
 into his friend's presence; he desired to surprise him. 
 Noiselessly he crept up the stairway, and threw the door open. 
 
 "Welcome, my Wolf! A thousand welcomes! To my 
 arms, beloved brother!" 
 
 " His highness the duke ! How unexpected an honor !" 
 
 Goethe rose hastily from the sofa, and bowed profoundly to 
 the duke, who still stood before him with extended arms. 
 20 
 
396 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 "And in this manner you receive yonr friend, Wolf? 
 Truly, I came running here like a loTer to a rendezvous with 
 his adored, and now you receive me with a cold greeting?" 
 
 " I beg leave to assure your highness, that the heart of your 
 humble servant is also filled with joy, in beholding his dear 
 master once more, and that this moment reconciles me to my 
 return, and — " 
 
 "Wolf, tell me are you playing a comedy? Are you only 
 jesting, or has your sojourn in Eome really made you the stiff 
 and courtly old fellow you appear to be?" 
 
 "la stifE old fellow? I a courtly old fellow?" asked 
 Goethe, with sparkling eyes; and now he was again the 
 Goethe with the Apollo countenance, as he had been in Eome 
 and Castel Gandolfo — once more the poet of Italy, and no 
 longer the privy-councillor of Weimar. 
 
 As the friends now looked at each other — as the duke's 
 merry brown eyes encountered Goethe's fiery, passionate 
 gaze — the last vestiges of the privy-councillor fell from the 
 poet. His handsome countenance brightened, and with a cry 
 of joy he sprang forward, threw himself into the duke's arms 
 and kissed his eyes and lips. 
 
 " May God forgive me if I am guilty of disrespect! I had 
 determined to return home as a well-trained and respectable 
 privy-councillor and courtier. But I am not to blame if the 
 sight of your dear countenance scatters all my good resolu- 
 tions to the winds. Let me embrace, let me kiss you once 
 more, my dear duke and friend !" 
 
 And he did so, again and again, with great ardor. The 
 duke's laughter while submitting to this embrace seemed to 
 be only assumed in order to conceal his emotion, and to make 
 his friend believe that the tears which stood in his eyes had 
 not come from the depths of his heart, but were only the con- 
 sequence of his violent laughter. 
 
 " I see you are still the same wild, unaccountable genius, 
 Wolf! You are as capricious as a beautiful woman, and as 
 imperious as a tyrant! You are still the same Goethe!" 
 
GOETHE'S RETURN FROM ROME. 397 
 
 " Not at all times, my duke. I have determined that the 
 sober-minded world here in AVeimar, shall behold in me a 
 sober-minded privy-councillor, and that I will give no further 
 cause of offence to madame the Duchess Louise, and all other 
 sensitive souls, by my wild behavior. But, for a quarter of 
 an hour, and in the presence of my dear master, I let the 
 mask fall, and am once more the old Goethe or the young 
 Goethe. Your Goethe, my duke and friend!" 
 
 " Thanks, Wolf, thanks ! I hardly knew what to make of 
 you, and was quite ill at ease when I saw you standing before 
 me with your formal manner and courtier countenance. I 
 thought to myself, 'This is not the Goethe you expected to 
 see; this is only his outward form; the inner man has re- 
 mained in Italy. ' " 
 
 "Alas! that such should be the case, my duke, but it is 
 so," sighed Goethe. "The inner man has not yet quite re- 
 turned ; only after a painful struggle will it be able to tear 
 itself from the beautiful home of art and poetry. But since 
 I see you, my dear friend — since I behold your brave, hand- 
 some countenance, I feel that my wounds are healing — that I 
 am coming home! They are healing under your loving 
 glances, and I begin to rejoice in my return, and to consider 
 what I did only from a sense of duty as a real pleasure." 
 
 " Then you did not return gladly, Wolf? It was reason, 
 and not your heart, that prompted you to return!" 
 
 " It was reason only, my duke — the conviction that it was 
 necessary for my well-being. Do not be angry with me for 
 saying so, but in this hour my heart must be laid bare to my 
 friend, and he must see and read its every quivering fibre. 
 No, my duke, my heart did not prompt me to return. I re- 
 turned only because I recognized the necessity of so doing, if 
 I hoped to accomplish any thing great and beautiful. I was 
 compelled to flee from Italy, the siren in whose toils I lay 
 bound, and by whom my being was about to be divided, mak- 
 ing of the poet that I really am, or at least can become, a 
 talent-monster, who acquires a certain artistic ability in many 
 
398 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 things, without attaining to perfection in any one of them. 
 Had I remained in Italy, I would perhaps at last have been 
 able to paint a tolerably good aquarelle picture, and to make 
 a passably good statue according to all the rules of art, ana 
 might also have manufactured dramas and poems in my 
 hours of leisure; but I would have knocked in vain at the 
 temple-gates of each individual art. Not one of them would 
 have been thrown open to permit me to enter, as the elect, 
 the chosen ! At the door of each temple I would have been 
 turned away, and advised to apply for my reward at the abode 
 of another art, and thus I would be considered a worthy ap- 
 plicant nowhere ! He who desires to accomplish something 
 great and complete, must bend all the energies of his soul to 
 the accomplishment of one end. He must not diffuse his tal- 
 ents, but must concentrate them in the attainment of one 
 object. He must strive upward ; in the spirit he must see 
 before him a summit to which he is determined to climb, 
 removing all obstacles that may retard his progress. This 
 conviction forces itself upon me, and I also became convinced 
 that I possessed only one talent — that is, but one great tal- 
 ent — that could carry me to the summit, and this talent is 
 my talent of poetry. All others are but secondary ; and when 
 I take this view of myself, I am reminded of the magnificent 
 marble group in Eome, 'the Nile, with its Tributaries.' 
 There lies the godlike form in its manliness, strength, grand- 
 eur, and sublimity. On his sinewy arms, mighty shoulders, 
 and muscular legs, a number of beautiful little boys are grace- 
 fully dancing, reclining, and playing with his limbs. These 
 are the tributaries of the god Nile, who lies there in sublime 
 composure. He would still be a god although he were en- 
 tirely alone. "We would still admire him and rejoice in his 
 beauty, although he were not surrounded by these graceful, 
 boyish forms. But they would be nothing without him, 
 would not be able to stand alone, and would be passed by as 
 unworthy of attention, if they were not reposing on the grand 
 central form. Thus it is with all my other talents and capac- 
 
GOETHE'S RETURN FROM ROME. 399 
 
 ities: they are only the little boys of the statue, and with me 
 the poet is the main figure. Yes, your highness, thus it is 
 with me. My poetic talent is my Nile, and my other little 
 talents are the tributaries that flow into my being to strengthen 
 me, to make the waves of poetry surge higher, and fill the air 
 with music that shall resound throughout the world, and find 
 an echo in heaven and in hell!" 
 
 "Oh, Wolf!" cried the duke, now that Goethe had paused 
 for a moment, " how happy I am to have you once more in 
 our midst! It is as though the sun had returned, and I bad 
 just stepped out of a dark cellar into the fresh, free air, and 
 were walking hand in hand with a friend toward a glittering 
 temple that had been closed to me during his absence. Wolf, 
 I was becoming a very prosaic and stupid fellow, and had 
 almost begun to consider the dark cellar in which I was so- 
 journing an agreeable dwelling. I thank God that you have 
 come to relieve me from this curse! Speak on, my friend; 
 your words are as sweet music that I have not heard for a 
 long time." 
 
 "I must speak on, my duke; I must unburden my heart 
 completely, for who knows whether it will often open itself 
 again, and lay aside the covering in which I enveloped the 
 poor thing when I took leave of bright, sunny Italy? But I 
 must admit that, since I crossed the borders of Germany, I 
 have been twenty times on the point of retracing my foot- 
 steps, in defiance of reason and conviction — on the point of 
 giving up every thing, and deciding rather to live in Italy as 
 a happy, worthless dilettante, than to dwell in Germany as a 
 high official and celebrated poet. I am angry with myself, 
 but I must nevertheless make the admission. I feel that I 
 have been disenchanted since my return to Germany : I now 
 view, with sobered sight, many things that memory painted 
 in glowing colors, and the result is that I am by no means 
 pleased. I long to return to Italy; and yet, in my inmost 
 soul, I feel that I must remain here, in order to become that 
 for which Fate has destined me. I feel like crying, as a bad 
 
400 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 boy over his broken playthings, and I could box my own ears 
 for entertaining such a desire. I now conjure you, my duke 
 and friend, stand at my side and help me to allay the fury 
 of the storm that is raging in my inmost being. See, what 
 an infamous irony this is on my being ! I have happily passed 
 the stormy period of my poetic labors, and have freed myself 
 from the bombast of sentimentality. I despise all this from 
 the bottom of my heart, and am at times so angry with my- 
 self about that sentimental fellow, 'Werther,' that I would 
 gladly disown him. Now a new storm is raging within me in 
 its former fury, and my heart longs for Italy as for a lost 
 paradise. So help me, duke; help me to become a sensible 
 man once more!" Goethe stamped furiously on the floor as 
 he uttered these words, and his eyes sparkled with anger. , 
 
 "Now you look like the Thunderer, like Jupiter," said the 
 duke, regarding him lovingly. " You have returned hand- 
 somer and sublimer than when you departed, and I can 
 readily comprehend that all the goddesses and nymphs of 
 Italy have endeavored to retain in their happy land the 
 heavenly being in whom the sublimity of Jove and the beauty 
 of Apollo are united." 
 
 "Duke!" cried Goethe, furiously, " I conjure you, speak 
 seriously! Do not annihilate me with your ridicule!" 
 
 "Well, then, we will be serious," said Charles August, 
 tenderly. " Come here, Wolf, and seat yourself at my side 
 on this little sofa, where we have so often sat together in 
 brotherly love. Thus it shall be to-day again. I see, to 
 n^y joy, Wolf, that you are unchanged, and your quick temper 
 and fierce anger against yourself are therefore refreshing to 
 your old friend. Now let us see what can be done; but this 
 I tell you in advance — you must overcome your longing to re- 
 turn to Italy, you must remain here, for only in tranquillity 
 and peace can you attain the high ends of your existence, and 
 climb to the summit of which you were speaking. Of this 
 you were convinced yourself, and on this account you left 
 Italy and returned home. Therefore be true to yourself, you 
 
' '' GOETHE'S RETURN FROM ROME. 401 
 
 dear, great fellow, and journey on toward your high aim with 
 undaunted heart and steadfast gaze! Accomplish your sub- 
 lime mission as poet, and I will endeavor to procure you the 
 leisure and honorable retirement essential to your poetic 
 labors." 
 
 "My duke and master, you are indeed my savior 1" cried 
 Goethe; "you have spoken what I scarcely dared utter! 
 Yes, that is it ! Leisure and retirement I must have. My 
 official sprang wholly from my personal relations to your high- 
 ness. Let our old ones be modiiied — let a new relation here- 
 after exist between us. Let me fill the whole measure of my 
 existence at your side, so that my strength may be concen- 
 trated and made available, like a newly-opened, collected, and 
 purified spring situated on an eminence, from which your 
 will can readily cause its waters to flow in any direction! 
 Continue to care for me as you have heretofore done ; thus 
 you will do more for me than I could accomplish for myself, 
 more than I can desire or demand. Yes, I hope that I will 
 become more to you than I have hitherto been, if you will 
 only command me to do that which no one can do but my- 
 self, and commission others to do the rest. I can only say : 
 'Master, here am I, do with me as you will.' " * 
 
 " Let me first tell you, Wolf, what it is that no one but 
 yourself can do : gladden my heart, elevate my mind, and re- 
 store sunshine to our little city. During your absence I have 
 made a fearful discovery concerning myself ; I am fast becom- 
 ing an 'old fogy,' and if new life and activity are not infused 
 into my sluggish spirit, I greatly fear that my case will soon 
 be hopeless. As it is, I resemble the stagnant waters of a 
 ditch. In its depths swims many a fine fish and blossoms 
 many a fair flower, but the concealing duck-weed covers its 
 surface and hides the treasures that lie below. You and you 
 alone can brighten the mirror of my soul. And if you but 
 now called yourself my servant, I can reverse your poetic 
 
 ♦ Goethe's own words.— See correspondence of Duke Charles August with Goethe, 
 vol. ii. 
 
402 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 phrase, and say to you: 'Servant, here am I — do with your 
 master as you will. ' " 
 
 " See, my duke, you make me blush for shame. You alone 
 are master, and you only can do as you will." 
 
 " Then let me tell you what my will is, Wolf, and I will be 
 brief, for I observe that the quarter of an hour to which you 
 proposed to limit your outpouring of the heart is almost at 
 an end, and the worthy face of my cabinet president and 
 privy-councillor is already peering forth from behind the god- 
 like countenance of the poet. I wish you to retain the rank 
 and dignities with which you were invested when you left for 
 Italy. You are herewith relieved of the duty of presiding in 
 my cabinet and in the war office. You, however, still retain 
 the right to attend the various meetings, if you should find 
 time to do so, and whenever you appear you will seat yourself 
 in the chair set apart for me. I will see that instructions to 
 this effect are issued. On the other hand, you will retain the 
 superintendence of the mining commission, and all other in- 
 stitutions of science and art which you now hold. Your chief 
 occupation will, however, be to stand at my side as friend and 
 councillor, and to tell me the plain, unvarnished truth at all 
 times. These are your duties, and you will now perceive that 
 I have known how to read your soul, although we were widely 
 separated, and that I have endeavored to make your future 
 honorable, and not too burdensome. And, that you may not 
 suppose. Wolf, that these are only fine phrases and that these 
 thoughts first occurred to me in your presence to-day, I have . 
 brought you the written order addressed to the bureau of my 
 cabinet, and the letter in which I acquainted you with all 
 these matters, and which I was about to forward to you in 
 Eome when the letter came announcing your departure from 
 that city." 
 
 " As if my dear, my noble duke ever needed witnesses to 
 confirm his statements," cried Goethe, as he gently refused to 
 receive the papers which the duke held in his extended 
 hand. 
 
GOETHE'S RETURN FROM ROME. 403 
 
 "Ah, I perceive the cabinet president is himself once 
 more," cried the duke, laughing. "I must now retire to my 
 ducal palace. Others -will, I have no doubt, think I have 
 played the barbarian and tyrant by remaining with you so 
 long, and thereby robbing them of the time to which they 
 imagine they have a fairer title.'' 
 
 " Duke, I know of no one who has a higher and better title 
 to my time and person than yourself, my dear patron and 
 friend." 
 
 " Wolf, it is well that I alone have heard these words," cried 
 Charles August, gayly ; " I believe there is a woman in whose 
 ears they would have had a discordant sound. The respon- 
 sibility must not rest on me, if a diflBculty should arise on 
 your first meeting. Therefore I am going. Wolf, although I 
 am very curious to hear of your promised land and of your 
 discoveries and purchases, but for this I will have to wait till 
 the afternoon. You will, of course, dine with me to-day. 
 Wolf, and dispense a little of the incense of your eloquence 
 on the altar of my household gods. Farewell till we meet 
 again, my returned wanderer ! I must, however, request you 
 not to come as the privy-councillor, but as the poet. You 
 may show your official mask and the star on your breast to 
 the court, but appear before me with your Apollo countenance 
 and the stars of your eyes. " 
 
 "My dear duke," said Goethe, affectionately, "your pres- 
 ence has cheered and strengthened me ; I feel as though I had 
 been bathing in nectar, and had been refreshed with am- 
 brosia. When I am with you, nothing will be wanting to my 
 joy and happiness. You must, however, not be angry, my 
 dear duke, if I should sometimes appear grave and stiller than 
 usual in the presence of others, and you will then know that 
 it is only the longing after the distant land of the gods that 
 is tormenting me." 
 
 " I will know how to account for it, Wolf, and will respect 
 your longing; I very much doubt, however, whether others 
 will be equally considerate — I doubt whether one person of 
 
404 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 whom I am thinking will be particularly pleased with 
 such conduct on your part. Have you see her already, 
 Wolf?" 
 
 " Whom does your highness mean?" asked Goethe, with a 
 perfectly innocent expression of countenance. 
 
 The duke laughed. " Oh, Wolf, Wolf, I hope you have 
 not exchanged names, as Hector and Patroclus exchanged 
 armor, and become Von Stein. * I hope you return to your 
 old love, faithful and true. Ah, there I have made a pun 
 without intending it. Excuse me, I entertained no evil de- 
 sign, but now that I have said it I will repeat it. You return 
 to your old love, faithful and true. Eemain here, you must 
 not accompany me ; I came sans ceremonie, and I will take 
 my departure in like manner. It is understood that we dine 
 together to-day. Adieu!" 
 
 A cloud gathered on Goethe's brow as the duke left the 
 room. " My old love!" said he to himself, in low tones. " I 
 wish he had not spoken that word; it sounds so ridiculous!" 
 
 OHAPTBE V. 
 
 ESTRANGEMENT. 
 
 Charlotte ton Stein sat before her mirror, anxiously re- 
 garding her countenance, and carefully examining each fea- 
 ture and every little wrinkle that was observable on her clear 
 forehead and cheeks. 
 
 " No," said she, with an air of joyous confidence, " no, it is 
 not visible ; no one can read it in my face ! It is a secret be- 
 tween myself and my certificate of baptism!" 
 
 As intelligent as she was, Charlotte von Stein was yet sub- 
 ject to that cowardly fear of her sex — the fear that her age 
 might be read in her countenance. She, too, was wanting in 
 that courage which contents itself with the eternal youth of 
 
 • Von Stein, the name of Goethe's sweetheart— anglicized: Stone. 
 
ESTRANGEMENT. 405 
 
 the mind, and does not demand of its covering that it retain 
 no traces of the rude, unfeeling hand of Time. 
 
 A woman who loves has invariably the weakness to desire 
 not to become old, at least in the eyes of him whose image 
 fills her heart — in the eyes of him she loves. She does not 
 consider that, in so doing, she insults the intelligence of the 
 object of her devotion, by admitting that he thinks more of 
 the outward form than of the inner being, and loves with the 
 eyes only, and not with the mind. 
 
 In the first years of their acquaintance, and in the incipient 
 stage of their attachment, Charlotte von Stein had always 
 listened to Goethe's protestations of love with a merry smile, 
 and had invariably replied : " I am too old for you ! Eemem- 
 ber that I am some years older than you — that I am old 
 enough to be your mother." When she made this reply, 
 Goethe would laugh, and kiss with passionate tenderness the 
 fair hand of the woman who offered him motherly friendship, 
 and whom he adored with all the ardor of a lover. 
 
 But ten long years had passed since then! Charlotte 
 thought of this while looking at herself in the mirror, and 
 she sighed as she admitted to herself that she had committed 
 a fault — a great fault, for she had left the cool regions of 
 motherly tenderness, and had permitted herself to be carried 
 away by the tide of Goethe's passion; the two flames in her 
 heart had been united into the one godlike flame of love. It 
 had seemed so sweet to be adored by this handsome man, and 
 to listen to his tender protestations and entreaties ! It had 
 been so charming to receive each morning a letter filled with 
 passionate assurances of love, and vows of eternal fidelity! 
 She had continued to read these ardent letters until their 
 words glowed in her own heart — until, at last, that day came 
 for the lovers of which Dante says : " On that day they read 
 no more" — the day on which Charlotte confessed to her en- 
 raptured lover that his love was reciprocated. 
 
 A few days later, Goethe had written : " My First and 
 Best Friend ! I have always had an ideal wish as to how I 
 
406 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 desired to be loved, and have vainly sought its fulfilment in 
 my illusive dreams. Now that the world seems lighter to me 
 each day, I see it realized in such a manner that it can never 
 be lost again. Farewell, thou fairest prospect of my whole 
 life ; farewell, thou only one, in whom I need lose nothing, in 
 order to find all!" * 
 
 Charlotte had placed this little letter in a golden locket, 
 from which she was never separated ; it had been her blissful 
 assurance, her talisman of eternal youth and joy. 
 
 She now turned from the mirror that utterly refused to say 
 any thing agreeable, and drew from her bosom her talisman, 
 the locket that contained the relic, the source of so much 
 happiness, love, and delight. 
 
 Kelics! Alas, how much that we consider real, present, 
 and full of life, is only a relic of the past ! How few men 
 there are in whose hearts the love theyonce vowed should be 
 eternal, is no more than a relic ! — the crumbling bone of a 
 saint, to whom altars were once erected, and who was adored 
 as an immortal, unchangeable being. Alas, Love, thou poor 
 saint, how often are thy altars overthrown, and how soon do 
 thy youth and beauty fade, leaving nothing of thee but a lit- 
 tle dust and ashes — a relic ! 
 
 Charlotte von Stein held the letter in her hands, but the 
 thought did not occur to her that it too was only a relic ; she 
 still considered it the eloquent witness of passionate love. 
 While reading the letter, a bright smile had illumined her 
 features, and imparted to them a more youthful and beautiful 
 expression. She now kissed the sheet of paper, and replaced it 
 in the locket which she wore on a golden chain around her neck. 
 
 What need had she of written evidences? Was not he near? 
 would not his lips soon say more, in a single kiss, than thou- 
 sands of written words could tell? 
 
 "But he might have come sooner," whispered a voice in 
 Charlotte's heart; " it is very late." 
 
 ♦Goethe's correppondi nee with Madame ■von Stein, vol. ii., pp. 170, 171. Literal 
 translation. 
 
ESTRANGEMENT. 407 
 
 Her beautiful brown eyes cast an anxious look toward the 
 door, and she smiled. Her heart throbbed in advance of 
 time; it was still so early in the morning, that it would 
 hardly have been considered proper for him to call at an 
 earlier hour. 
 
 But now her heart beat quicker — she heard a step in the 
 antechamber. 
 
 " It is he ! Be firm, my heart, do not break with delight, 
 for — yes, it is he! it is he!" 
 
 She flew forward to meet him, with extended hands, her 
 countenance radiant with delight. " Welcome, Goethe, a 
 thousand welcomes!" 
 
 " A thousand thanks, Charlotte, that your faithful, loving 
 heart bids me welcome!" 
 
 His large black eyes regarded her with all their former 
 tenderness, and then — then he kissed her hand. 
 
 Charlotte could scarcely restrain a sigh, and could not re- 
 press the terror that pervaded her whole being. He felt the 
 tremor in the hands which beheld in his own, and it was per- 
 haps on this account that he released them, threw his arms 
 around her and pressed her to his heart. 
 
 "Here I am once more, Charlotte, and, as God is my wit- 
 ness, I return with the same love and fidelity with which I 
 left you! You can believe this, my beloved, for it was on 
 your account chiefly, or on your account solely, that I re- 
 turned at all. You must therefore love me very dearly, Char- 
 lotte, and reward me, with faithful love and cordial friend- 
 ship, for the sacrifice I have made for your sake." 
 
 " It was, then, a sacrifice?" said she, with a touch of irony 
 in her voice that did not escape Goethe. 
 
 " Yes, my dearest, this return to cold, prosaic Germany, 
 from the warm, sunny clime of happy Italy, was a sacrifice." 
 
 " Then I really regret that you did not remain there," said 
 she, with more sensitiveness than discretion. 
 
 He looked at her wonderingly. " You regret that I have 
 returned? I supposed you would be glad." 
 
408 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 " I can rejoice in nothing that I have attained by a sacrifice 
 on your part. " 
 
 " My love, do not let us quarrel over words," said he, almost 
 sadly. " We will not unnecessarily pour drops of bitterness 
 into the cup of our rejoicing at being together once more. 
 "We have met again, and will endeavor to hold each other fast, 
 that we may never be divided." 
 
 " If an effort is necessary, then we are already half divided." 
 
 " But I have come home in order that we may be reunited, 
 wholly and joyfully," said Goethe, moved to kindness and 
 generosity by the tears which stood in her eyes, and the an- 
 noyance and sadness that clouded her countenance, rendering 
 it neither younger nor more beautiful. 
 
 But remembrances of the past smiled on him in the lus- 
 trous eyes of the woman he had loved so ardently for ten 
 years, and it was still a very comforting feeling, after having 
 been ,tossed about by the storms of life for so long a time, to 
 return once more to his heart's home, to lie once more in the 
 haven of happiness and love, where there were no more storms 
 and dangers, and where the wearied wanderer could enjoy 
 peaceful rest, and dream sweet dreams. 
 
 He seated himself at Charlotte's side on the sofa, laid his 
 arm around her neck, took her hand in his own, looked lov- 
 ingly into her countenance, and began to tell her of his jour- 
 ney — of the little accidents and occurrences that can only be 
 verbally imparted. 
 
 She listened attentively; she rejoiced in his passionate 
 eloquence, in his glowing descriptions of his travels, and 
 yet — and yet, as interesting as this was there was nevertheless 
 another theme that would have been far more so — the theme 
 of his love, of his longings to see her, and of his delight in 
 being once more reunited with his Charlotte, and in finding 
 her so beautiful, so unchanged. 
 
 But Goethe did not speak of these things; and, instead of 
 Contenting herself with reading his love in his tender glances, 
 his smiles, and his confiding and devoted manner, her heart 
 
ESTRANGEMENT. 409 
 
 thirsted to hear passionate assurances of love fall from his 
 lips. Her countenance wore a listless expression, and she did 
 not seem to take her usual lively interest in his words. 
 Goethe observed this, and interrupted his narrative to tell 
 her that he was delighted to be with her once more, and that 
 she was still as beautiful and charming as ever. Hereupon 
 Charlotte burst into tears, and then suddenly embraced him 
 passionately, and rested her head on his breast. 
 
 " Oh ! let no estrangement occur between us ; do not be- 
 come cold and reserved to me too, as you are to the rest of 
 the world !" 
 
 "Am I that?" asked he, with an offended air. From her 
 \t least he had not deserved this reproach, and it affected him 
 disagreeably, casting a damper over the gayety with which he 
 had been narrating his adventures. " Am I really cold and 
 reserved?" he asked, as she did not reply, for the second time. 
 
 "Yes, "Wolf," said she, with vivacity, "you know that you 
 are; the world accuses you of being so." 
 
 "Because I am not like a market-place, open to the in- 
 spection of every fool, and in which the inquisitive rabble can 
 gaze at, handle, and criticise every thing, as though the 
 holiest thoughts of the soul were mere wares exposed for 
 sale ! — because I am rather to be compared to a fortress sur- 
 rounded by a high wall, which opens its well-guarded gates to 
 the initiated and chosen only. In this sense I admit that 
 that which is called the world, and which is in reality only 
 the inquisitive, gossipping rabble, composed chiefly of individ- 
 uals who make great pretensions to intellectuality, but are 
 generally empty-headed — that this world calls me cold and 
 reserved, I admit. But have I ever been so toward my friends, 
 and, above all, toward you?" 
 
 "No, Heaven be thanked! no, my beloved Wolf!" cried 
 Charlotte, in eager and tender tones, well aware that she had 
 committed an error, which she wished to repair ; " no, toward 
 me you have always been friendly, communicative, and open, 
 and therefore — " 
 
410 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 "And therefore, my love," said lie, interrupting her, 
 " therefore you should not have reproached me, undeservedly, 
 in the hour of our reunion." He arose and took his hat from 
 the table. 
 
 "Oh, "Wolf!" cried she, anxiously, "you are not going?" 
 
 " I must, my dearest ! I must first ,pay a few formal visits, 
 to avoid giving offence. I must call on some friends I ex- 
 pect to meet at the ducal table to-day." 
 
 " Perhaps it was only on this account that you visited me?" 
 said Charlotte, the tears which she could no longer repress, 
 gushing from her eyes. " Wolf, did you visit me solely be- 
 cause you expected to meet me in the ducal palace to-day?" 
 
 He regarded her with a look of distress and astonishment. 
 " Charlotte, dear Charlotte, is it possible that so great a 
 change has come over you in two short years?" 
 
 She started, and a glowing color suffused itself over her 
 countenance; the poor woman thought of what her mirror 
 had told her but a short time before, and Goethe's question 
 awakened bitter reflections. "Am I really so changed?" 
 sighed she, and her head sank wearily upon her breast. 
 
 "No," cried he, earnestly, "no, Charlotte, you cannot have 
 changed ; it is only that this first moment of reunion after a 
 long separation has affected us strangely. We will soon be re- 
 stored to each other completely, we will soon be reunited in 
 love and friendship. Charlotte, it is impossible that two 
 years of separation can have torn asunder the holy union of 
 our souls ! Let us strive to prevent so unhappy a consum- 
 mation; it would be a misfortune for me — yes, I may say, a 
 misfortune for you, too! I think we love each other so 
 tenderly that we should both endeavor, with the whole 
 strength of our souls, to ward off misfortune from each other. 
 Let these be my farewell words, darling, and, as I have just 
 learned that you too will dine at court to-day, I can joyfully 
 say — till we meet again !" 
 
 He embraced her, and pressed a kiss on her lips, a kiss that 
 wounded her heart more than a cold leave-taking would have 
 
ESTRANGEMENT. 411 
 
 done ; for this gentle, friendly kiss seemed to her but as the 
 second echo of what her mirror had said! As the door closed 
 behind his loved form, Charlotte sank down on her knees, 
 buried her face in the cushions of the sofa, and wept 
 bitterly. 
 
 His head erect, his countenance grave and earnest, Goethe 
 walked on to pay his calls ; and those whom he thus honored 
 found that he had come home colder and more reserved than 
 when he had departed. But, at the banquet, in the ducal 
 palace, he was neither cold nor reserved ; there he was elo- 
 quent and impassioned, — there enthusiastic words of poetic 
 description flowed like golden nectar from his smiling lips; 
 there his eye sparkled and his cheek glowed, and his illustra- 
 tion of life in Italy awakened delight and admiration in the 
 hearts of all — of all, except Charlotte von Stein ! She sat at 
 Goethe's side, and he often turned his lightning glance on 
 her, as though speaking to her alone, but Charlotte felt only 
 that what he said was intended for all. Had he but at- 
 tempted to whisper a single word in her ear, had he given her 
 hand a gentle pressure, had he but made her some secret sign 
 understood by herself only, and permitted her to feel that 
 something peculiar and mysterious was going on in which 
 they two alone participated ! In society, Goethe had formerly, 
 before his journey to Italy, availed himself of every little op- 
 portunity that arose to press her hand and whisper loving 
 words in her ear. To-day he was wanting in these delicate 
 little attentions — in these little love-signals, for which she 
 had so often scolded him in former times! She was therefore 
 very quiet, and did not join in the applause of the rest of the 
 ■ompany. But, amidst the admiration evoked by his 
 3loquence, Goethe listened only to hear a word of approval 
 from Charlotte, and, when his friend still remained silent, 
 his animation vanished and his countenafcce darkened. 
 
 But they had loved each other too long and too tenderly 
 not to be alarmed by the thought of a possible coolness and 
 separation. True, Charlotte often wept in the solitude of her 
 
412 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 chamber, and acculed him of ingratitude ; true, Goethe often 
 grumbled in silence, and lamented over Charlotte's irritability 
 and sensitiveness, but yet he was earnest in his desire to avoid 
 all estrangement, and to restore to their hearts the beautiful 
 harmony that had so long existed. 
 
 He resumed the habit that had formerly given him so much 
 delight — that of writing to Charlotte almost daily. But her 
 sensitive woman's ear detected a difference in the melody of 
 his letters; they were no longer written in the same high, 
 passionate key, but had been toned down to a low, melancholy 
 air. Her own replies were of a like character, and this an- 
 noyed Goethe greatly. He abused the gloomy skies of Ger- 
 many, and lamented over the lost paradise of Italy; and 
 Charlotte could not help comprehending that she was the 
 cause of his discontent and anger. 
 
 But still he visited her almost every day, and was always 
 animated and communicative in hei; society. He read por- 
 tions of his newly-commenced drama " Torquato Tasso," with 
 her, told her of his plans for the future, and permitted her to 
 take part in his intellectual life. Then she would soon forget 
 her little sorrows and her woman's sensitiveness, and become 
 once more the intelligent friend, with the clear judgment and 
 profound understanding. 
 
 On an occasion of this kind, Goethe requested his " beloved 
 friend" to return the letters he had written to her during the 
 two years of his sojourn in Italy. 
 
 Charlotte looked at him in astonishment. " My letters — 
 the dear letters I have kept so sacred that I have not shown a 
 single one of them to my most intimate friends — these letters 
 you desire me to return?" 
 
 " Certainly, my dear, I beg you to do so. I intend having 
 an account of my Italian journey published — have also prom- 
 ised Wieland some* fragments for his "Mercury," and, in 
 order to prepare these for the press, it will only be necessary 
 to have the letters I have written to you copied." 
 
 " Can this be possible, Wolf?" asked she, in dismay. " Do 
 
ESTRANGEMENT. 413 
 
 you really intend to have the letters, written by you to me, 
 read and copied by a third person?" 
 
 " As a matter of course, I will first correct these letters, and 
 leave nothing in them addressed to you personally and in- 
 tended for your dear eyes only," replied Goethe, laughing. 
 " I always had this end in view while writing to you in Italy, 
 and you will have observed that my letters were always 
 divided, to a certain extent, into two portions. The first is 
 addressed to you only, my dear Charlotte — to you, my friend 
 and my beloved — and this was filled with the words of love 
 and longing that glowed in my own heart. The second por- 
 tion is a mere narrative and description of what I have seen, 
 heard, and done while in Italy, and was intended for 
 publication." 
 
 "But this is unheard of," cried Charlotte, angrily; "this 
 experiment does great honor to your cold calculation, but very 
 little to your heart." 
 
 " Charlotte, I am not aware of ever having done any thing 
 discreditable to my heart in my relations to you!" 
 
 "Eolations to me!" she repeated, offended. "Certainly, 
 this is an entirely new name for the ardent love you once pro- 
 tested could never expire in your heart. " 
 
 "Charlotte, dear, beloved Charlotte!" he sighed, sadly, 
 " do take pity on us both. Be yourself once more. You 
 were once so noble, so lofty-minded; do not now fall from 
 this high estate, but take a quiet, unprejudiced view of our 
 relations. Why should you reproach me for desiring to have 
 a portion of your letters published? Will they be any the less 
 your letters on that account?" 
 
 " They are not, and never were mine!" she replied, angrily; 
 " they merely chanced to be addressed to me— these letters, 
 which you intended for publication even while writing them, 
 and which were so well concocted that it will only be necessary 
 to extra,ct a few little elements of feeling and sentiment to 
 make the manuscript complete and ready for the press. And 
 I, poor, blinded simpleton, imagined that this Goethe, who 
 
414 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 could leave me to go to Italy — I imagined that this Goethe, 
 whom my soul had followed with its sighs of affectionate long- 
 ing, still loved me. I was generous enough to believe that 
 the thoughts, love, and confidence contained in his letters 
 were addressed to me only; but now I must learn that I was 
 nothing more to him than the representative of the great 
 hydra-headed monster, the public, and that he was only inform- 
 ing it when he seemed to be speaking to me!" 
 
 " Charlotte, I conjure you, do not continue to talk in this 
 manner; you cannot know how your words grieve my heart! 
 Charlotte, by the brightest and most beautiful years of my 
 life, I conjure you, do not step forth from the pure and 
 radiant atmosphere in which you have heretofore appeared to 
 me. I conjure you, my friend, by all the adoration, esteem, 
 and love which I have consecrated to you, do not descend 
 from the altar on which my love has placed you; do not join 
 the throng of those women who are unnecessarily jealous when 
 they fancy their lovers not quite so tender as usual. You are 
 not one of them ; remain, therefore, on your altar, and allow 
 me to worship you as I have heretofore done." 
 
 "You do well to say 'as you have done,' but as you no 
 longer do," cried Charlotte, bursting into tears, without con- 
 sidering that woman's tears are but poor weapons to use 
 against men, and that the woman must be very young, very 
 beautiful, and the object of great adoration, who can afford to 
 disfigure her countenance with tears and clouds of discontent. 
 
 Goethe looked at her in surprise and alarm, and his glance 
 rested on her countenance inquiringly, as though seeking the 
 charm that had formerly attracted him so irresistibly. Then, 
 as she fastened her tear-stained eyes on his countenance, he 
 started and turned hastily aside, as though some unwelcome 
 vision had arisen before him. 
 
 The conviction now dawned on Charlotte that she had 
 committed a grave error; she quickly dried her eyes, and, 
 with that power peculiar to women, she even forced a smile 
 to her lips. 
 
ESTRANGEMENT. 415 
 
 " Yon turn from me, Wolf," said she, in tender tones, "you 
 do not reply?" 
 
 "My dear," said he, gently, "as you have asked me no 
 question, what can I answer? You asserted that I no longer 
 loved and adored you as in former days. To such an asser- 
 tion, Charlotte, I can make no reply; I would consider it a 
 sacrilegious breach of the union that has been sanctified and 
 confirmed by long years of love and fidelity, and that should 
 be elevated above all doubt and protestations." 
 
 " Then you love me. Wolf? You still love me?" 
 
 "Yes," said he; and it seemed to Charlotte as though he 
 had laid a peculiar emphasis on this little word. It sounded 
 like another echo of the ominous whisperings of her mirror. 
 
 For a moment both were silent, perhaps because Charlotte 
 was too completely absorbed in her own thoughts. When 
 they conversed again it was on an entirely different topic. 
 
 After a short time Goethe tenderly took leave of Charlotte, 
 and left the house; he hurried through the streets and en- 
 tered the park, to the densest and most obscure retreats of 
 which he had so often revealed his thoughts in past years. 
 This park had been Goethe's true and discreet friend for 
 many years, and he now turned his footsteps once more 
 toward the favorite retreat in which he had so often poured 
 out his sighs and complaints in former days, when Charlotte 
 had cruelly repelled the advances of her tender friend and 
 lover. Goethe suffered to-day also, but his sufferings were 
 not to be compared to those he had formerly experienced in 
 the same shady avenues. Then his soul was filled with a de- 
 spair that was tempted with hope and joyousness. For was 
 there ever a true lover whose ladylove had driven him to de- 
 spair by her cruelty, who did not nevertheless entertain a 
 joyous hope that her hard heart would at last be softened, and 
 that he would yet become a happy lover? Then these avenues 
 had often resounded with Goethe's sighs and lamentations, 
 and there the tears of wounded pride had often filled his eyes. 
 To-day he neither sighed nor lamented, and his eyes were tear- 
 
416 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 less, but he looked gloomy, and nn expression of annoyance 
 rather than of sadness rested on his countenance. In silence 
 he walked to and fro with hasty strides; suddenly he raised 
 the light cane which he held in his hand and struck a sprig 
 of blossoming woodbine from a vine that overhung the walk, 
 so violently that it fell to his feet ; and then his lips mur- 
 mured : " She is very much changed. She has become an old 
 woman, and I — I cannot make myself ridiculous by playing 
 the lover — no!" 
 
 He ceased speaking, without having finished his sentence, 
 as if alarmed at his own words. He then stooped down, 
 picked up the sprig of woodbine, and regarded it thought- 
 fully. 
 
 "Poor blossom," said he, gently, "I did wrong to strike 
 you ! You are not beautiful, but you are very fragrant, and 
 it is for this reason probably that the kindly and delicate feel- 
 ing of the people has given you so pretty a name. They call 
 you, 'The longer, the dearer!' I will not tread you under 
 foot, you poor 'the longer the dearer;' your fragrance is very 
 delightful, and somehow it seems to me as though Charlotte's 
 eyes were gazing at me from out your tiny cups." 
 
 He placed the flower in a button-hole of his coat, and, as 
 though his little " the longer the dearer" blossom had given 
 him a satisfactory solution of his heart-troubles, he left the 
 shady retreat and went toward an opening in the park. He 
 walked rapidly, and was on the point of turning into a path 
 that led to his garden-house, when he saw a young girl ap- 
 proaching from the other side of the road. She was unknown 
 to Goethe, and her whole appearance indicated that she did 
 not belong to that favored class that claims to constitute what 
 is called " society." The simple calico dress which enveloped 
 her full and graceful figure, the "coarse shoes in which her lit- 
 tle feet were enclosed, and the white and delicate little un- 
 gloved hands, proclaimed that she did not belong to 
 " society." Moreover, the light little hat which ladies of rank 
 wore jauntily on one side of their powdered hair at that time, 
 
ESTEANGEMENT. 417 
 
 was wanting. Her hair was uncovered, and surrounded her 
 lovely little head with a mass of sunny curls. Her coun- 
 tenance was radiant with youth, innocence, and freshness; 
 she blushed as her eyes encountered Goethe's lightning 
 glances. Her large blue eyes rested on him with an expres- 
 sion of gentle entreaty and tender humility, and a soft smile 
 played about her pouting, crimson lips. This youthful, 
 charming apparition resembled but little the pale, faintly- 
 colored blossoms of the flower which he wore in his button- 
 hole; she was more like the rich mossrose-bud which nestled 
 on the fair girl's bosorii, and with which she had confined the 
 two ends of the lace shawl that hung loosely over her beautiful 
 shoulders. 
 
 Goethe now stood before her, regarding her with inquiring, 
 wondering glances. With a graceful movement the young 
 girl raised her right hand, in which she held a folded paper. 
 
 " Mr. Privy-Councillor, I beg you to take this and read it." 
 
 "What does this document contain?" asked Goethe, in 
 tender tones. 
 
 " It is a petition from my brother in Jena," murmured her 
 clear, silvery voice. " I promised him to give it to the privy- 
 councillor myself, and to entreat him right earnestly to grant 
 my dear brother's request. Dear privy-councillor, please do 
 so. We are such a poor and unhappy family; we are com- 
 pelled to work so hard, and we earn so little. We have to 
 study such close economy, and there are so few holidays in 
 our life! But it would be a glorious fete-day for us all if the 
 privy-councillor would grant what my dear brother so ardently 
 desires." 
 
 Goethe's eyes were still fastened on the lovely apparition 
 that stood before him like an embodied Psyche. In he« rich, 
 youthful beauty she seemed to him like some myrtle-blossom 
 wafted over from sunny Italy. " What is your name, my 
 dear girl?" asked he. 
 
 "My name is Christiane Vulpius, Mr. Privy-Councillor," 
 murmured she, casting her eyes down. 
 
418 . GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 "Not the daughter of that good-for-nothing drunkard, 
 who— " 
 
 " Sir, he is my father," said she, interrupting him in such 
 sad, reproachful tones, that Goethe felt heartily ashamed of 
 his inconsiderate words, and took off his hat as he would have 
 done to a lady of rank. " Forgive me, mademoiselle, I did 
 wrong. Excuse my thoughtless words. But now I can 
 readily comprehend that your family must be poor and un- 
 happy. It seems to me that misfortune has, however, not 
 dared to touch these rosy cheeks and lustrous eyes with its 
 rude fingers." 
 
 She smiled. "I am still so young, sir; youth is light- 
 hearted and hopes for better times. And then, when I grow 
 weary of our dark little room, I run here to the park. 
 The park is every one's garden, and a great delight for us 
 poor people. Here I skip about, seek flowers in the grass, 
 and sing with the birds. Is not this enough to make me 
 happy, although hard work, poor fare, and much abuse, await 
 me at home?" 
 
 " But it seems to me," said Goethe, taking the hand, which 
 still held the petition, gently in his own, " it seems to me 
 that this fair hand has no right to complain of hard work. 
 It is as white as a lily." 
 
 "And this hand has made a great many lilies," rejoined 
 she, smiling. " My work consists in making flowers. I love 
 flowers, and roam through the woods all day long on Sundays, 
 seeking beautiful flowers to copy from. My field-flower bou- 
 quets are great favorites, and the milliners pay me well for 
 them. They are very fashionable, and the high-born ladies 
 at court all desire to wear field-flower bouquets on their hats. 
 Day before yesterday I furnished a field-flower bouquet, which 
 the milliner sold to Madame the Baroness von Stein, on the 
 same day, and yesterday I saw it on her hat." 
 
 The hand which but now had clasped the white tapering 
 fingers of the young girl so tenderly, trembled a little, and 
 a shadow flitted over his smiling countenance. Madame von 
 
ESTRANGEMENT. 419 
 
 Stein's name sounded strangely on the young girl's lips; it 
 seemed like a warning of impending- danger. He looked 
 grave, and released her hand, retaining only the petition. 
 "Tell me what it contains," said he, pointing to the paper. 
 " I would rather read it from your lips than from the 
 paper?" 
 
 " Mr. Privy-Councillor, it concerns my poor, dear brother. 
 He is such a brave, good fellow, and so diligent and learned. 
 He lives in Jena, translates books from the Italian and 
 French, and sells them to publishing houses. The office of 
 secretary of the university library, in Jena, is now vacant, 
 and my brother desires it, and would be so happy if he should 
 receive the appointment! He has dared to address you, Mr. 
 Councillor, and to entreat you earnestly to use your influence 
 to secure him the situation. I have undertaken to deliver the 
 petition, and to say a great many fine phrases besides. Ah, 
 Mr. Privy-Councillor, I had written down a whole speech that 
 I intended to make to you." 
 
 " Then let me hear this speech, my fair girl. The nightin- 
 gales and bulfinches have hushed their songs, and are waiting 
 for you to begin. " 
 
 " Sir," murmured she, blushing, " I do not know why it is, 
 but I cannot." 
 
 He bent forward, closer to her side, so close that the wind 
 blew her golden locks against his cheek. " Why is it that you 
 cannot, my fair child? Why not let me hear your beautiful 
 little speech?" 
 
 " Because, because — I have hitherto only seen you at a dis- 
 tance, and then you looked so exalted, and walked with so 
 much stiffness and dignity, that I entertained the most pro- 
 found respect for the proud old privy-councillor, and now 
 that I am near you I see, well — " 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 "Well," cried she, with a joyous peal of laughter, "I see 
 that you are much too young, that my speech is entirely in- 
 appropriate." 
 
430 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 "Why so?" asked Goethe, smiling. "Try it, let me hear 
 it, nevertheless." 
 
 She looked up at him with an inquiring, childlike expres- 
 sion. " Do yon believe that my beautiful speech would in- 
 fluence you and promote my brother's interests? If you 
 believe that, I will speak, for my brother is a dear, good fel- 
 low, and I will do any thing to make him happy!" 
 
 "Then let us hear it," replied Goethe, delighted with the 
 fair young girl, whose beauty, grace, and naivete, reminded 
 him of the lovely Leonora in Eome. Yes, it was she, it was 
 Leonora, with this difference only, that this fair girl was a 
 northern version of the Leonora of the south, but was none 
 the less beautiful on that account. " Oh, Leonora, you child 
 of the sun and of Nature, am I really to be so blessed, am I to 
 find you here again — here where my heart was congealing, 
 and longing for the sunny rays of delight from a fair woman's 
 eyes? Yes, Leonora, this is your sweet smile and kindling, 
 childlike glance; it is you, and yet it is not you. God and 
 Nature were reflected in your countenance, a whole heaven 
 shone in your features. Fair Nature is reflected in this lovely 
 countenance also, but I seek the divinity in vain, and instead 
 of heaven I find the joyous earth enthroned therein !" 
 
 Goethe was occupied with these thoughts while Christiane, 
 blushing, smiling, half -ashamed at times, and then again bold 
 and fearless, was declaiming her well-prepared speech. Too 
 much of what was passing in Goethe's mind must have been 
 reflected in the tender, ardent glances which rested on her 
 countenance, for she suddenly broke off in the midst of a sen- 
 tence, murmured a few embarrassed words, blushed, courte- 
 sied, and then turned and fled like a startled doe. 
 
THE TWO POETS. 431 
 
 CHAPTEE VI. 
 
 THE TWO POETS. 
 
 "She is bewitching," murmured Goethe, as the beautiful 
 girl was lost to view behind the green bushes that skirted the 
 avenue. " I had no idea that dull, sober Weimar contained 
 such a treasure, and — " 
 
 "Goethe! Welcome, Goethe!" cried the joyous voice of a 
 woman behind him; "how delighted I am to meet you 
 here!" 
 
 He turned hastily, and saw Madame von Kalb standing 
 before him, on the arm of a tall, fair-haired gentleman. 
 This was the cause of Christiane's flight. The beautiful girl 
 had seen this lady and gentleman coming. She was, there- 
 fore, not only beautiful, she was also discreet and modest. 
 Goethe said this to himself, while he kissed Madame von 
 Kalb's extended hand, and gayly responded to her greeting. 
 
 "The two gentlemen are, of course, acquainted," said she. 
 
 "I believe I have never had the honor," replied Goethe, 
 who had again assumed the cold reserve of the privy- 
 councillor. 
 
 " Who does not know the greatest and most celebrated of 
 Germany's poets?" said the other gentleman, a slight flush 
 sufEusing itself over his pale, hollow cheeks. "I have known 
 the poet Goethe for a long time; I was present when he 
 visited the Charles School in Stuttgart. He, of course, did 
 not observe the poor scholar, but the latter was delighted to 
 see the poet Goethe. And he is now delighted to make the 
 acquaintance of the Privy-Councillor Goethe!" 
 
 Perhaps there was a slight touch of irony in these words, 
 but his large blue eyes beamed as mildly and lovingly as ever. 
 A slight shadow flitted over Goethe's brow. 
 
 " You are right," said he, " in reminding me that there are 
 hours in which the poet must be contented to perform the 
 
422 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 duties of an oflBcial. By the document which I hold in my 
 hand, you will perceive, my lady, that I am an official who 
 has duties to fulfil, and I trust that you will, therefore, excuse 
 me." He bowed formally, and passed on in the direction of 
 his garden-house. 
 
 " He is becoming colder and more reserved each day," said 
 Madame von Kalb. " He has been completely transformed 
 since I first saw him here in Weimar. Then, radiant and 
 handsome as Apollo, flaming with enthusiasm, carrying all 
 hearts with him by his impetuosity and genial manner — 
 then we were forced to believe that earth had no barriers or 
 fetters for him, but that he could spread his pinions and soar 
 heavenward at any moment; now, a stiif, unapproachable, 
 privy-councillor, reserved and grandly dignified! Schiller, 
 no woman could change so fearfully, or become so false to 
 herself! Goethe's appearance has saddened me so much that 
 I feel like crying!" 
 
 "And I," said Schiller, angrily, " I feel like calling myself 
 a simpleton for having addressed a kindly greeting to so 
 haughty a gentleman. He despises me, and looks down upon 
 the unknown dramatic writer with contempt; he — " 
 
 "Frederick," said Madame von Kalb, gently, "my Freder- 
 ick, such petty envy does not beseem a genius like yourself ; 
 you—" 
 
 "Nor do I envy him," said Schiller, interrupting her; "in 
 my breast also glows the holy fire that was not stolen from 
 heaven by Prometheus for him alone! My spirit also has 
 pinions that would bear it aloft to the sun, if — yes, if it were 
 not for the paltry fetters that bind my feet to earth!" 
 
 "And yet, my beloved friend," rejoined Charlotte, passion 
 ately, " and yet I will be only too happy to share these fetters 
 with you — and I would rather live with you in a modest cot- 
 tage, than in the most magnificent palace at the side of an 
 unloved man." 
 
 "You are an angel, Charlotte," murmured Schiller; "you 
 over-estimate me, and I know only too well how little I re- 
 
THE TWO POETS. 433 
 
 semble the sublime image your lively imagination has made 
 of me." 
 
 He did not look at Charlotte while uttering these words, 
 his manner was embarrassed, and his eyes turned heavenward. 
 He suffered Charlotte to lead him by the hand, and walked 
 at her side like a dreaming, confiding child. 
 
 She led him to the darkest and most solitary avenue — to 
 the same retreat in which Goethe had walked restlessly to and 
 fro but a short time before. The little branch of woodbine 
 which Goethe had struck down with his cane, and from 
 which he had plucked a blossom and placed it in his button- 
 hole, still lay in the middle of the road. Charlotte carelessly 
 trod it under foot, never dreaming that thcse crushed blos- 
 soms could have told a tale that might have served her as a 
 warning. 
 
 But of women's hearts the same may be said that Mirabeau 
 said of princes : " They have learned nothing and forgotten 
 nothing!" 
 
 No; they, too, learn nothing and forget nothing, these poor 
 women's hearts. Never have they learned by the fate of an- 
 other woman that love is not immortal, and that the vows of 
 men, as Horace says, " are wafted away like the leaves of the 
 forest." Never have they forgotten these vows, and on the 
 leaves of the forest do they still erect air-castles, which they 
 fondly hope will stand forever. 
 
 They seated themselves on a rustic bench that had been 
 placed in a flowery niche, cut out of the hedge that skirted 
 the path in which they had been walking. There they sat, 
 hand in hand, Charlotte's eyes fastened on Schiller's noble, 
 thoughtful countenance, with an expression of mingled pain 
 and tenderness. 
 
 " Frederick, you have nothing to say to me?" 
 
 He raised his eyes slowly, and in the vehemence of her own 
 feelings she failed to observe that his glance was somewhat 
 embarrassed and anxious. 
 
 "It is very beautiful here," he said in low tones. "This 
 
424 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 solitude, this eloquent silence of Nature, is very delightful, 
 particularly when I can enjoy it at your side, my beloved 
 friend. Our souls are like two harps that are tuned to the 
 same tone, and are so near together that, when the strings of 
 the one are touched, those of the other echo a response in the 
 same accord." 
 
 " God grant that it may ever be so, my Frederick ! God 
 grant that no storm break in upon the harmony of these harps !" 
 
 " And from whence should such a storm come, my dear 
 friend, beloved sister of my soul? No, I am sure that this 
 can never be. The love which unites us is exalted above all 
 change and illusion. I can conceive of no purer or more 
 beautiful relation than that of a brother to his sister, when 
 they are loving, and live in a proper understanding of their 
 duties to each other. Let this thought truly console us and 
 strengthen our hearts, Charlotte, if other wishes entertained 
 by me for a long time, as you well know, should never be ful- 
 filled. Charlotte, I am not one of those whose lives flow on 
 in a smooth, unbroken current, and over whose desires au- 
 spicious stars shine in the heavens. To forego has ever been 
 my fate, and you, my dearest, have given me painful instruc- 
 tion in this bitter lesson. You will remember how I knelt at 
 your feet in Manheim, passionately entreating you to sunder 
 the fetters which bound you to the unloved man, and to be- 
 come mine, my wife! It was, however, in vain; and now, 
 when your heart is at last inclined to grant the fulfilment of 
 our wishes and hopes — now, when you would dare to become 
 my wife, another obstacle presents itself that seems to render 
 it impossible that we should ever be outwardly united." 
 
 "What obstacle, Frederick? Who can prevent it?" 
 
 "Your husband, Charlotte. It seems that he loves you 
 truly, and cannot bear to entertain the thought of separation. " 
 
 "Have you spoken with him, Frederick? Have you hon- 
 estly and openly told him of our wishes, and have you en- 
 treated him to fulfil them?" 
 
 " I have often attempted to do so, but he always avoided 
 
THE TWO POETS. 425 
 
 coming to the point. Whenever he observed that I was en- 
 deavoring to turn our conversation in that direction, he would 
 break off abruptly and introduce another topic of conver- 
 sation. This convinced me that he loved you dearly, and the 
 thought that I am about to grieve this good and noble man 
 and rob him of a treasure that my own feelings teach me must 
 be very dear to him, pains me to the heart's core." 
 
 "Frederick," said she, softly, "how fearful it is to see the 
 most beautiful flowers of spring fade and die, sometimes cut 
 off by a nipping frost, sometimes parched by the too great 
 warmth of the sun!" 
 
 "I do not understand you, Charlotte," said Schiller, in a 
 little more confusion than was entirely compatible with his 
 "not understanding." 
 
 "And I," cried she, with sparkling eyes, "I wish I did 
 not understand you ! Tell me, Frederick, is your heart really 
 mine? Are your feelings toward me unchanged?" 
 
 He raised his eyes, and gazed into her agitated countenance 
 earnestly and thoughtfully. " Charlotte, you ask a question 
 which God alone can answer. Who can say of himself that 
 he has a true and exact knowledge of his own feelings? All 
 is subject to change ; the sea has its ebb and flow, the sun 
 rises and sets. But the sea ever and again returns to the 
 beach it had before deserted, and the sun ever rises again after 
 the dark night. As the sea and sun, with all their changes, are 
 still eternally constant, so it is also with true love. At times 
 it would seem as though it were withdrawing, and leaving a 
 bleak, sandy desert behind; in the next hour its mighty 
 waves surge back impetuously over the barren strand, chanting, 
 in holy organ- tones, the song that love is eternal." 
 
 "Wondrous words!" cried Charlotte; "the paraphrase to a 
 glorious song which I hope the poet Frederick Schiller will 
 one day sing to the world ! But I ask the poet, whether these 
 are also the words of the man Frederick Schiller? Did the 
 hymn to love, just uttered by the poet's lips, also resound in 
 the heart of the man, and was it addressed to me?" 
 
426 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 " And why these questions, my dearest? The poet and the 
 man are one, and the utterances of the poet's lips are the 
 thoughts of the man; when he consecrates an enthusiastic 
 hymn to love, while at your side, be assured that it is addressed 
 to you !" 
 
 He laid his arm around her neck, and drew her head to his 
 breast, as he had so often done before in hours of tenderness. 
 But Charlotte felt that there was, nevertheless, a difEerence 
 between then and now: the arm that embraced her did not 
 rest on her neck with the same warm pressure as of yore. 
 She, however, repressed the sigh that had nearly escaped her 
 lips, nestled closer to his bosom, and whispered in low tones: 
 "Frederick, your hymn has found an echo in my heart; 
 Frederick, I am very grateful to God for your love!" 
 
 He was silent, his only response was a warmer pressure of 
 the arm entwined around her neck. Then both were silent. 
 Deep stillness reigned; it seemed as though Nature were hold- 
 ing divine service in her green halls under the dome of 
 heaven; at first with silent prayer, then a joyous song of 
 praise resounded from the hidden chorus in the foliage of the 
 tall trees, until the breeze rustled through the leaves in holy 
 organ-tones, and silenced the feathered songsters. 
 
 To these deep organ-tones, to this rustling of the wind in 
 the foliage, listened the two lovers, who sat there on the little 
 rustic bench in a trance of delight and devotion. Both were 
 silent, and yet so eloquent in their silence. He, with his pale 
 countenance turned upward, gazing intently at the blue dome 
 of heaven, as though seeking to fathom its mysteries; she, 
 with her head resting on his bosom, seeking no other, now 
 that she had found this heaven. But the wind now rustled 
 through the trees in deeper and more solemn tones, and 
 awakened Charlotte from her sweet repose. A leaf torn from 
 the branches by the wind was borne against her cheek; it 
 glided over her face like the touch of a ghostly finger, and 
 fell into her hands, which lay folded in her lap. She started 
 up in alarm, and looked down at this gift of the wind and trees. 
 
THE TWO POETS. 427 
 
 They had given her a withered, discolored leaf. Like the 
 harbinger of coming autumn had this withered leaf touched 
 her face, and rudely awakened her from her heavenly summer 
 dream. 
 
 "A bad omen," she murmured, tearing the leaf to pieces 
 with her trembling fingers. 
 
 " What does this murmuring mean, Charlotte?" asked 
 Schiller, who had been completely absorbed in his own 
 thoughts, and had not observed this little by-play in the great 
 tragedy of the heart. " What alarmed you so suddenly?" 
 
 "Nothing, it is nothing," said she, rising. "Come, my 
 friend, let us go; I fear that a storm is gathering in the 
 heavens." 
 
 He looked up at the clear blue sky in amazement. " I do 
 not see a single cloud." 
 
 "So much the better, Frederick!" rejoined Charlotte, 
 quickly, " so much the better ! Nothing will therefore pre- 
 vent our taking the contemplated drive to Eudolstadt." 
 
 Her large eyes fastened a quick, penetrating glance on his 
 countenance while uttering these words, and she saw that he 
 colored slightly, and avoided encountering her gaze. 
 
 " We will carry out our intention of driving to Eudolstadt 
 to-morrow, will we not, my friend? I have been promising 
 to pay Madame von Lengefeld a visit for a long time, and it 
 will afford me great pleasure to see her two daughters again. 
 Caroline von Beulwitz is a noble young woman, and bears the 
 cruel fate entailed upon her by her unfortunate marriage with 
 true heroism. At the side of this matured summer-rose 
 stands her sister Charlotte, like a fair young blossom of the 
 spring-time." 
 
 Schiller, his countenance radiant with pure joy, gave Char- 
 lotte a tender, grateful look ; and this look pierced her heart, 
 and kindled the consuming flames of jealousy. Poor Char- 
 lotte ! The wind had dashed a withered autumn-leaf against 
 her face, and but now she had called the woman who was hence- 
 forth to be her rival " a fair young blossom of the spring-time." 
 
 28 
 
428 GOETHE ANB SCHILLER. 
 
 " How beautifully you paint with a few strokes of the brush, 
 Charlotte!" said Schiller, gayly. " Your portrait is an excel- 
 lent one, and portrays Madame von Lengefeld's daughters as 
 they really are. Caroline, as the full-blown rose, and Char- 
 lotte as a lovely, fragrant violet." 
 
 " And which of these flowers do you most admire?" 
 
 "It is hard to choose between them," replied Schiller, 
 laughing. "It is best to admire them together; I can 
 scarcely conceive of their being separated; separation would 
 destroy the harmony of the picture!" 
 
 Charlotte felt relieved. Then he loved neither. His heart 
 had not chosen between them. 
 
 "I am so glad," said she, "that my friends chance to be 
 yours also ! How did you become acquainted with the Von 
 Lengefeld family?" 
 
 "We are old acquaintances!" replied Schiller, smiling. 
 " I made the acquaintance of these ladies four years ago 
 while residing in Madame von WoUzogen's house, soon after 
 my flight from Stuttgart, and it was her son, my friend, Wil- 
 liam von WoUzogen, who took me to see them in Eudolstadt." * 
 
 " Kumor says that Mr. William von Wollzogen loves his 
 cousin Caroline devotedly." 
 
 "And for once, rumor has, as I believe, told the truth. 
 Wollzogen loves his beautiful cousin passionately." 
 
 "And Caroline, does she love him?" 
 
 " Who can fathom the heart of this noble woman ! Her 
 lips are sealed by the solemn vow which united her with her 
 unloved husband, and Caroline von Beulwitz is too noble and 
 chaste a woman to become untrue even to an unloved hus- 
 band, and — " Schiller hesitated ; he now felt how deeply his 
 words must have wounded the woman who stood at his side — 
 the woman over whom he had just pronounced judgment. 
 But women have a wonderful knack of not hearing what they 
 do not wish to hear, and of smiling even when stabbed to the 
 heart. 
 
 * Schiller's Life, by Caroline von Wollzogen, p. 115. 
 
THE TWO POETS. 429 
 
 Charlotte von Kalb smiled on Schiller as though his words 
 had not wounded her in the slightest degree. 
 
 " And has Charlotte, has this poor child, at last recovered 
 from her unhappy love? Have the bleeding wounds of her 
 young heart at last been healed?" 
 
 IMadame von Kalb, her countenance wreathed in smiles, had 
 drawn the dagger from her own heart and plunged it into her 
 lover's. "Paete, Paete, non dolet!" 
 
 He felt the blow and found it impossible to force a smile to 
 his lips. " What do you mean?" asked he, gloomily. " Who 
 has dared to wound the heart of this fair girl?" 
 
 " I am surprised, indeed, that you should have heard noth- 
 ing of this affair, my dear friend," said Charlotte, the smile 
 on her lips becoming more radiant as she felt that the dagger 
 was entering deeper and deeper. " Charlotte von Lengefeld 
 was aflBanced to a noble young man whom she loved devotedly, 
 and it was the most ardent wish of both to be united for life. 
 But, unfortunately, the wealth of their feelings formed a cut- 
 ting contrast to the poverty of their outward circumstances. 
 Madame von Lengefeld, a lady of experience and discretion, 
 informed the lovers that their union was out of the ques- 
 tion, as they were both jDOor. Yielding to stern necessity they 
 separated, although with many tears and bleeding hearts. 
 The young man entered the Hessian army and went to Amer- 
 ica, never to return. The young girl remained behind in 
 sorrow and sadness, and, as it is said, took a solemn vow 
 never to marry another, as fate had separated her from the 
 man she loved." 
 
 And after Charlotte, with the cruelty characteristic of all 
 women when they love and are jealous, had dealt this last 
 blow, she smiled and gave her lover a tender glance. But his 
 countenance remained perfectly composed, and Charlotte's 
 narrative seemed rather to have appealed to the imagination 
 of the poet than to the heart of the man. 
 
 "It is true," said he, softly, "each human heart furnishes 
 material for a tragedy. All life is, in reality, nothing more 
 
430 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 than a grand tragedy, whose author is the Eternal Spirit of 
 the universe. We, little children of humanity, are nothing 
 more than the poor actors to whom this Eternal Spirit has 
 given life for no other purpose than that we might play the 
 rdles which He has assigned us. We poor actors fancy our- 
 selves independent beings, yes, even the lords of creation, 
 and talk of free agency and of the sublime power of the 
 human will. This free agency is nothing more than the self- 
 worship of the poor slave. — Come, Charlotte," cried Schiller, 
 suddenly awakening from his thoughtful contemplation; 
 " come, my dear friend, let us go. Thoughts are burning in 
 my heart and brain, the poet is being aroused within the man. 
 I must write; work only can restore me to peace and tran- 
 quillity!" 
 
 "Do you no longer find peace and tranquilliby with me, 
 Frederick? Have they ceased to ring the festive bells of our 
 union of hearts? Do they no longer call our souls together, 
 that they may impart light and warmth to each other like two 
 rays of sunshine?" 
 
 " Charlotte, souls too are untuned at times, although the 
 accord of love is ever the same. Eemember this, and do not 
 be angry if storms should sometimes break in upon the har- 
 mony of our souls." 
 
 " I am never angry with you," said she,- in tones of mingled 
 sadness and tenderness. " Your peace and your happiness is 
 all I desire, and to give you this shall be the sole endeavor of 
 my whole life. I believe that this is the holy mission with 
 which fate has entrusted me, and for which I have been placed 
 in the world. To do my utmost to add to your happiness and 
 to give joyousness to your heart and gayety to your soul. 
 Yes, you shall be gay! Your good genius smiles on your 
 labors and relieves the laurel-crowned head of the poet of all 
 care, giving him honor and glory. But I — I will give you 
 happiness and gayety, for I love you ; and you, you have told 
 me a thousand times that you loved me, and that my heart 
 was the home of your happiness. I will believe this sweet as- 
 
THE FIRST MEETING. 431 
 
 surance, Frederick, and will hold fast to it forever and ever- 
 more. I will look into the future with a glad heart, hoping 
 that we may, at last, ove'-come all obstacles and belong to each 
 other wholly. You say that my husband always avoids this 
 subject, refusing to understand you. I will compel him to 
 understand us. I, myself, will tell him of our hopes and 
 wishes!" 
 
 " No, Charlotte," said he, " this duty devolves upon me ! A 
 time will come when all his endeavors to avoid this subject 
 will be futile, and I will avail myself of this moment to speak 
 for us both. Do not look at me so doubtingly, Charlotte. 
 You have instructed me in the trying art of patience ! Be 
 patient yourself, and never forget that the stars of our love 
 will shine forever!" 
 
 CHAPTEE VII. 
 
 THE PIEST MEETING. 
 
 On the next morning Schiller and Madame von Kalb drove 
 to Rudolstadt to pay the Lengefeld family a visit. Charlotte 
 did not fail to observe that Schiller's countenance grew 
 brighter and brighter the nearer they approached the little 
 Thuringian village, that was so beautifully situated in the 
 midst of wooded hills. 
 
 Madame von Lengefeld received her welcome guests, at the 
 door of her pretty little house, with dignity and kindness. 
 Behind her stood her two lovely daughters ; the eyes of both 
 fastened on Frederick Schiller, to whom they extended their 
 hands, blushingly bidding him welcome. 
 
 Charlotte von Kalb, although conversing in an animated 
 manner with Madame von Lengefeld, nevertheless listened to 
 every word Schiller uttered, and observed his every glance. 
 She heard him greet the two sisters with uniform cordiality, 
 and she saw that his gaze rested on both with the same kind- 
 
432 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 liness. Madame von Kalb's countenance assumed a more joy- 
 ous expression, and a voice in her heart whispered, exultingly : 
 " He does not love her, he has no preference for either one of 
 them. He told me the truth, he entertains a brother's affec- 
 tion for tJiem, but his tenderness and love are for me ! " And 
 now that her heart had come to this joyful conclusion, Char- 
 lotte von Kalb's whole manner was gay and animated; she 
 laughed and jested with the two young ladies, was devoted in 
 her attentions to Madame von Lengefeld, and treated Schiller 
 with the most tender consideration. Her conversation was 
 very gay and witty, and the most piquant and brilliant re- 
 marks were constantly falling like sparkling gems from her 
 smiling lips. 
 
 " How intelligent and amiable this lady is!" said the elder 
 of the two sisters, Caroline von Beulwitz, to Schiller, with 
 whom they were walking in the flower-garden, behind the 
 house, while dame von Kalb remained with Madame von 
 Lengefeld in the parlor. 
 
 Schiller walked between the sisters, a pretty snow-white 
 hand resting on either arm. His countenance shone with 
 happiness, and his step was light and buoyant. " I should 
 like to ascend straightway into Heaven with you two,'' said 
 he, joyously; "and I think it highly probable that I will do 
 so directly. Nothing would be impossible for me to-day, and 
 it seems to me as though Heaven had descended to earth, so 
 that I would have no obstacles to overcome, and could walk 
 right in, with you two ladies on my arms." 
 
 " Then let us return to the house at once, in order to guard 
 against any such ascension," said Caroline von Beulwitz, 
 smiling. 
 
 " Oh, Caroline," exclaimed Charlotte, laughing joyously, 
 " I wish we could take this flight to Heaven ! How surprised 
 they would be, and how they would look for us, while we 
 three were taking a walk up there in the clouds!" 
 
 " And how angry Madame von Kalb would be with us, for 
 having enticed her dear friend away !" said Caroline, ironically. 
 
THE FIRST MEETING. 433 
 
 " I would enjoy it all the more on that very account," rejoined 
 Charlotte, laughing. 
 
 " And I, too," protested Schiller. " It would be very pleas- 
 ant if we could sometimes cast aside all earthly fetters and 
 rise, like the bird, high above the noisy, sorrowing earth, and 
 float in the sunbright ether with the loved one in our arms. 
 My dear friends, why not make this ascension to-day?" 
 
 "To-day! no, not to-day," said Charlotte, exchanging a 
 meaning glance with her sister. " It will not do to leave the 
 earth to-day, will it, Caroline? We expect to have too pleas- 
 ant a time here below to think of making the ascension to- 
 day!" 
 
 "What does this mystery — what do these sly glances 
 mean?" asked Schiller. " Something extraordinary is .about 
 to occur. Tell me, Lolo, what does all this mean?" 
 
 "I will tell nothing," said Charlotte, laughing merrily, 
 and shaking her brown locks. " It is useless to ask me." 
 
 " But you, dear Caroline, on whose sweet lips the truth and 
 goodness are ever enthroned, you, at least, will tell me 
 whether I am wrong in supposing that a mystery exists that 
 will be unravelled to-day." 
 
 "Yes, my dear friend," said she, smiling, "there is a little 
 surprise in store for you, but I hope you are satisfied that we 
 would never do any thing that — " 
 
 "And I believe," said her younger sister, interrupting her, 
 " I believe that the solution of this mystery is at hand, for I 
 hear a carriage approaching. Listen, it has stopped at our 
 door! Yes, this is the mystery! Come, my friend, the so- 
 lution awaits you!" 
 
 She was about to lead Schiller to the house, when Caroline 
 gently drew her back. " One moment, Lolo ! Tell me, my 
 friend, do you place sufficient confidence in us, to follow 
 without question and without uneasiness, even when we con- 
 fess that we are leading you to the solution of a mystery?" 
 
 Schiller clasped the right hands of the two sisters and 
 pressed them to his heart. " I will gladly and proudly follow 
 
434 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 you wherever you may choose to lead me. I place such con- 
 fidence in you both that I could lay my life and eternal hap- 
 piness in your dear hands, and bid defiance to all the mys- 
 teries of the world!" 
 
 " But yet you would like to know what this mystery is, 
 would you not?" asked Lolo. 
 
 "No," replied Schiller, with an expression of abiding faith; 
 " no, the solution of the mystery which my fair friends have 
 in store for me will unquestionably be agreeable. Let us go." 
 
 " We are much obliged to you for your confidence, Schil- 
 ler," said Caroline. "We will, however, not permit you to 
 be surprised, as the other ladies had determined you should 
 be. It will depend upon your own free-will whether you 
 enter into the plans agreed upon by your friends, or not. 
 Schiller, you heard a carriage drive up to our door a few mo^ 
 ments since? Do you know who were in that carriage? 
 Madame von Stein and Goethe!" 
 
 "Is not that a surprise?" cried Lolo, laughing. 
 
 "Yes," he said, with an expression of annoyance, "yes, a 
 surprise, but not an agreeable one. The Privy-Councillor 
 Goethe showed no desire to cultivate my acquaintance, and I 
 would not have him think that I desire to intrude myself on 
 his notice. If he deems my acquaintance undesirable, the 
 world is wide enough for us both, and we can easily avoid 
 each other. As much as I admire Goethe's genius, I am not 
 humble enough to forget that I too am a poet to whom some 
 consideration is due. Nothing could be less becoming than 
 for Schiller to advance while Goethe recedes, or even stands 
 still." 
 
 "But this is not so, Schiller; it could not be!" exclaimed 
 Charlotte earnestly, while Caroline gazed at him with spar- 
 kling eyes as though rejoicing in his proud bearing and ener- 
 getic words. " Join with me, Caroline, in assuring him that 
 is not the case! Tell him how it is." 
 
 " My friend," said Charlotte, in a low voice, " Goethe knew 
 as little of your presence here as you of his. The two ladies, 
 
THE FIRST MEETING. 435 
 
 Madame von Stein and Madame von Kalb, arranged the 
 ■whole iifEair, and we were only too glad to assist them in 
 bringing together the two greatest poets of our day, the two 
 noblest spirits of the century, in order that they might be- 
 come acquainted, and lay aside the prejudices they had enter- ■ 
 tained concerning each other. While we are conversing with 
 you here, this same explanation is being made to Goethe by 
 the ladies in the house. Charlotte von Stein is also there, 
 and, as you will readily believe, holds the honor of her be- 
 loved friend Schiller in too high estimation to permit Goethe 
 to suppose for a moment that you had connived at this meet- 
 ing, or were anxious to make an acquaintance which he 
 might deem undesirable." 
 
 " Come, my friends, let us return to the house," said Schil- 
 ler, smiling sadly. "It is but proper that I should make the 
 first advances to my superior in rank and ability, and — " 
 
 He ceased speaking, for at this moment Goethe and the two 
 Charlottes appeared on the stairway. 
 
 "You see," whispered Caroline, "Goethe thinks as you do, 
 and he, too, is willing to make the first advances." 
 
 In the meantime Goethe had walked down into the garden, 
 still accompanied by the two ladies, with whom he was en- 
 gaged in an animated conversation. But when he saw Schil- 
 ler approaching, Goethe hastened forward to meet him. 
 
 " Madame von Kalb has reproached me for having with- 
 drawn so abruptly when we met in the park a few days since," 
 said Goethe, in kindly tones. " I admit that I was wrong, 
 but, at the same time, I must confess that it did not seem ap- 
 propriate to me that we should make each other's acquaintance ' 
 under such circumstances — as it were by the merest chance." 
 
 " And yet it is chance again that enables me to greet the 
 poet Goethe, to-day," replied Schiller, quickly. 
 
 "But this time it has been brought about by fair hands," 
 cried Goethe, bowing gracefully to the ladies, " and, with the 
 ancients, I exclaim: "'What the great gods vouchsafe can 
 only be good and beautiful!' " 
 
436 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 But, as though he had conceded enough to his friends' 
 wishes,, and shown Schiller sufficient consideration, Goethe 
 now turned again to the ladies, and resumed the conversation 
 in which he had been engaged on entering the garden. They 
 had been questioning him about Madame Angelica Kaufmann, 
 the painter, and Goethe was telling them of her life, her ge- 
 nius, and her nobility of mind, with great animation and in 
 terms of warm approval. Afterward, when the company were 
 assembled around the table at dinner in the garden pavilion, 
 Goethe, at Charlotte von Stein's request, told them of his 
 travels, of the Eternal City, and of that charming life in 
 Italy which he considered the only one worthy of an artist, or 
 of any really intellectual man. Carried away with enthu- 
 siasm, his countenance shone with manly beauty, originating 
 rather from his inward exaltation than from any outward per- 
 fection of form and feature. 
 
 The ladies were fascinated by this handsome countenance, 
 these lustrous eyes, and the eloquent lips which described 
 sunny Italy, the land of promise, of art and poetry, in such 
 glowing colors. 
 
 Schiller sat there in silence, listless, his eyes cast down, 
 rarely adding a low word of approval to the enthusiastic ap- 
 plause of the ladies, and never addressing a question or 
 remark to Goethe ; nor did the latter ever address himself 
 directly to Schiller, but spoke to all with the air of a great 
 orator who feels assured that all are listening to his words 
 with deference and admiration. 
 
 "I am not satisfied with our success to-day," sighed Ma- 
 dame von Kalb, while returning with Schiller to Weimar in 
 the evening. " I had promised myself such glorious results 
 from this meeting with Goethe. I hoped that you would be- 
 come friends, learning to love each other, but now you seem 
 to have passed like two stars that chance to meet on their 
 heavenly course, yet journey on without attracting each other. 
 Tell me, at least, my dear friend, how you were pleased with 
 Goethe." 
 
THE FIRST MEETING. 437 
 
 " Ask me how I am pleased with a glacier, and whether I 
 feel warm and cheerful in its vicinity. Yes, this Goethe is 
 a glacier, grand, sublime, and radiant, like Mount Blanc, but 
 the atmosphere that surrounds him is cold, and the little 
 flowers of attachment that would so gladly blossom are frozen 
 by his grandeur. To be in Goethe's society often, would, I 
 confess, make me unhappy. He never descends from this 
 altitude, even when with his most intimate friends. I be- 
 lieve him to be egotistic in an eminent degree. He possesses 
 the gift of enchaining men, and of placing them under obli- 
 gations to himself, by little as well as great attentions, while 
 he always manages to remain unfettered himself. He mani- 
 fests his existence in a beneficent manner, but only like a 
 god, without revealing himself — this, it seems to me, is a 
 consistent and systematic rule of action, based on the highest 
 enjoyment of self-love. Men should not permit such a being 
 to spring into existence in their midst. This, I confess, 
 makes me detest him, although I love his intellect, and have 
 a high opinion of his ability." * 
 
 " But you will yet learn to love him as a man, Frederick." 
 
 "It is quite possible that I may," said Schiller, thought- 
 fully. " He has awakened a feeling of mingled hatred and 
 love in my bosom — a feeling, perhaps, not unlike that which 
 Brutus and Cassius may have entertained toward C^sar. I 
 could murder his spirit, and yet love him dearly." f 
 
 While " Brutus" was giving utterance to this feeling of 
 mingled hatred and love, " Caesar" was also pronouncing judg- 
 ment over " Brutus;" this judgment was, however, not a com- 
 bination of hatred and love, but rather of pride and contempt. 
 The hero who had overcome all the difficulties of the road, 
 and whose brow was already entwined with the well-deserved 
 laurel, may have looked down, from the sublime height which 
 he had attained, with some proud satisfaction and pitying 
 
 * Schiller's own words.— See "Schiller's Correspondence with Komer," vol. ii, 
 p. 21. 
 tlbid. 
 
438 GOETHE AND SCHILLEE. '- 
 
 contempt upon him who had not yet overcome these diffi- 
 culties, who had not yet vanquished the demons who opposed 
 his ascent. 
 
 "My dear Wolf," said Madame von Stein to Goethe, while 
 returning to Weimar, " I had hoped that you would meet 
 Schiller in a more cordial manner. You scarcely noticed 
 him." 
 
 " I esteem him too highly to meet him with a pretence of 
 cordiality when I really dislike him," replied Goethe, em- 
 phatically. " I have an antipathy to this man that I neither 
 can nor will overcome." 
 
 " But Goethe is not the man to be influenced by antipathies 
 for which he has no good reasons." 
 
 "Well, then," cried Goethe, with an outburst of feeling, 
 such as he had rarely indulged in since his return from Italy, 
 " well, then, I have good reasons. Schiller destroys what I 
 have toiled to create; he builds up what I fancied I had over- 
 thrown — this abominable revolution in the minds of men, this 
 heaven-storming conviviality, this wild glowing, and reeling, 
 so very indistinct and cloudy, so replete with tears, sighs, 
 groans, and shouts, and so antagonistic to lucid, sublime 
 thought, and pure enthusiasm. His 'Eobbers' I abhor — this 
 Franz Moor is the deformed creation of powerful but im- 
 mature talent. I found, on my return from Italy, that 
 Schiller had flooded Germany with the ethic and theatrical 
 paradoxes of which I had long been endeavoring to purify 
 myself. The sensation which these works have excited, the 
 universal applause given to these deformed creations of an in- 
 toxicated imagination, alarm me. It seems to me as though 
 my poetic labors were all in vain, and had as well be dis- 
 continued at once. For, where lies the possibility of stem- 
 ming the onward tide impelled by such productions — such 
 strange combinations of genuine worth and wild form? If 
 Germany can be inspired by the robber, Charles Moor, and 
 can relish a monstrous caricature like the brutal Franz Moor, 
 then it is all over with the pure conceptions of art, which I 
 
THE FIRST MEETING. 439 
 
 have sought to attain for myself and my poems — then my 
 labors are useless and superfluous, and had best be discon- 
 tinued." * 
 
 " But you are speaking of Schiller's first works only, my 
 dear friend; his later writings are of a purer and nobler 
 nature. Have you not yet read his 'Don Carlos?' " 
 
 "I have, and I like it no better than 'The Bobbers.' It is 
 useless to attempt to reconcile us to each other. Intellect- 
 ually, we are two antipodes, and more than one diameter of 
 the earth lies between and separates us. Let us then be con- 
 sidered as the two poles that, in the nature of things, can 
 never be united. " f 
 
 "How agitated you are, my dear friend!" sighed Char- 
 lotte. " It seems there is still something that can arouse you 
 from your Olympian repose and heartless equanimity, and re- 
 call you to earth. " 
 
 " 'Homo sum, nihil humani a me alienum puto,'' " rejoined 
 Goethe, smiling. " Yes, Charlotte, I learned in Italy to ap- 
 preciate the vast distance between myself and the great gods 
 of Olympus, and I say with all humility: 'I am a man, and a 
 stranger to nothing that is human. ' " 
 
 "I wish you had never been in Italy," sighed Charlotte. 
 
 "And I," rejoined Goethe, "I wish I had never left Italy 
 to return to Germany, and to exchange a bright sky for a 
 gloomy one." 
 
 "How cruel you are, Goethe!" cried Charlotte, bursting 
 into tears. 
 
 " Cruel !" repeated he, in dismay. " Good heavens ! are we 
 never to understand each other again! Does Charlotte no 
 longer sympathize with me in my sorrows, as in my joys? 
 Can you not comprehend the deep sadness that fills my heart 
 when I think of Italy?" 
 
 " Certainly I can," cried Charlotte. " Since you told me of 
 your love-affair with the beautiful Leonora, I comprehend 
 
 ♦ Goethe's words.— See " Goethe's Works," vol. xxiii. 
 t Goethe's words. 
 
440 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 and understand all. I know that you left your heart in Italy, 
 and that it is the longing of love that calls you back to the 
 sunny land from the bleak north." 
 
 He gave her a lingering, reproachful look. " Charlotte, it 
 is now my turn to call you cruel, and I can do so with perfect 
 justice. That which you should consider the best proof of 
 my love and friendship — the unreserved and complete con- 
 fession I made when I told you of this afEair — this same con- 
 fession seems rather to have made you doubt me, than to have 
 carried the conviction to your heart that you are the being I 
 love most dearly on earth!" 
 
 "I thank God that I have no confession to make to you," 
 cried Charlotte. " I have not forgotten you for a moment. 
 My soul and heart were ever true to you, and, while you were 
 kneeling at the feet of the beautiful Leonora, I knelt at the 
 feet of God, and entreated Him to bless and preserve the 
 faithless man who was perhaps betraying me at that very 
 hour, and who now carries his cruelty so far that he dares to 
 complain and lament over his lost Italian paradise in my 
 presence, and — " 
 
 "Charlotte, do not speak so, I conjure you," cried Goethe, 
 interrupting her. " You cannot know what incalculable pain 
 your words inflict. My friend, my beloved, is nothing 
 sacred? is every temple to be overthrown? is every ideal to be 
 destroyed? Charlotte, be yourself once more; do not give 
 way to this petty jealousy. Be the noble, high-souled woman 
 once more, and lay aside these petty weaknesses. Know that 
 the holy bond of love in which we are united is indestruc- 
 tible, and still exists even when fair blossoms of earth spring 
 into life beside it. Be indulgent with me and with us both, 
 and do not desire that I, at forty years of age, should be an 
 ascetic old man, dead to all the little fleeting emotions of the 
 heart." 
 
 "These sophistries are incomprehensible to me," said she, 
 sharply, " and it seems to me that what you call fleeting 
 emotions of the heart are simply infidelity and a desecration 
 
THE FIRST MEETING. 441 
 
 of the loTe -whicli you vowed would be eternal and unchange- 
 able." 
 
 Goethe bowed his head sadly. " It really looks as though 
 we could no longer understand each other," said he, gently. 
 " I admit, however, that I am to blame, and beg you to par- 
 don me. In the future I will be more cautious. I will make 
 no more communications calculated to offend you." 
 
 " That is, you will withdraw your confidence, but you will 
 not cease to do that which nxust offend me." 
 
 His countenance quivered, his eyes sparkled with anger, 
 and his cheeks turned pale, but he struggled to repress the 
 indignant words that trembled on his lips. 
 
 Charlotte turned pale with alarm. Goethe looked sternly 
 on his beloved for the first time. She read indifference in 
 his features for the first time. A loud cry of anguish escaped 
 her lips, and the tears gushed from her eyes. 
 
 Goethe did not attempt to console her, but sat at her side 
 in silence, his gaze resting gloomily on her countenance. 
 " It is a cruel destiny that women should be compelled to give 
 vent to their grief in tears, for their beauty is seldom en- 
 hanced thereby," said he to himself. " The tears of offended 
 love are becoming in youthful faces only, and Charlotte's is 
 not youthful enough. She looks old and ugly when she 
 cries!" 
 
 Poor Charlotte! 
 
 Late in the evening of this day Goethe left his house 
 through a side door that led from his garden into a narrow 
 little street. His hat was pressed down over his forehead, 
 and a long cloak enveloped his figure. In former days, be- 
 fore his trip to Italy, he had often slipped through this small 
 door in the early hours of the morning, and in the twilight, 
 to take the most direct and quiet route to his beloved Char- 
 lotte; the side door had also been often opened to admit the 
 beautiful Madame von Stein when she came to visit her dear 
 friend Goethe. To-day, Goethe had waited until it grew so 
 dark that it was impossible that his curious neighbors could 
 
442 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 observe his departure, and on this occasion he did not 
 direct his footsteps toward the stately house in which ma- 
 dame the Baroness von Stein resided. He took an entirely 
 different direction, and walked on through streets and alleys 
 until he came to a poor, gloomy, little house. But a light 
 was still burning in one window, and the shadow of a grace- 
 ful, girlish figure flitted across the closed blind. Goethe 
 tapped twice on the window, and then the shadow vanished. 
 In a few moments the door was cautiously opened. Had any 
 one stood near he would soon have observed two shadows on 
 the window-blind — two shadows in a close embrace. 
 
 CHAPTEE VIII. 
 
 WILHELMINE EIETZ. 
 
 They were victorious, the pious Eosicrucians and lUumi- 
 nati, who held King Frederick "William the Second entangled 
 in their invisible toils. They governed the land; by their 
 unbounded influence over the king's mind they had become 
 the real kings of Prussia. General von Bischofswerder stood 
 at the king's side as his most faithful friend and invoker of 
 spirits. Wollner had been ennobled and advanced from the 
 position of chamberlain to that of a minister of Prussia, and 
 to him was given the guidance of the heart and conscience of 
 the nation. This promotion of Wollner to the position of 
 minister of all affairs connected with the church and public 
 schools, took place at the end of the year 1788, and the first 
 great act of the newly-appointed minister was the promul- 
 gation of the notorious Edict of Faith, intended to fetter the 
 consciences of men, and prescribing what doctrines apper- 
 taining to God and religion they should accept as true and 
 infallible. They were no longer to be permitted to illumine 
 the doctrines of the church with the light of reason, and to 
 reveal what it was intended should remain enveloped in mys- 
 tical darkness. It was strictly forbidden to subject the com- 
 
WILHELMINE EIETZ. 443 
 
 niandments of the church and the doctrines of revealed relig- 
 ion to the fallacious tests of reason. Unconditional and im- 
 plicit obedience to the authorities of the church was required 
 and enforced. 
 
 But the minister Von Wollner was far too shrewd a man 
 not to be fully aware that this edict of faith would be received 
 with the greatest dissatisfaction by the people to whom 
 Froderick the Great had bequeathed freedom of thought and 
 faith, as his best and greatest legacy. He had fettered reason 
 and intelligence in matters appertaining to religion, but he 
 knew that they would seek revenge in severe criticisms and 
 loud denunciations through the public press. It was neces- 
 sary to prevent this, but how could it be done? Wollner de- 
 vised the means — the censorship of the press. This guillotine 
 of the mind was erected in Prussia, and at the same time the 
 good King of France and Doctor Guillotine were, from 
 motives of humanity, devising some means of severing the 
 heads of criminals so quickly from their bodies that death 
 would be instantaneous and painless. Good King Louis the 
 Sixteenth and his philanthropical physician invented an in- 
 strument whicli they believed would answer these require- 
 ments, and baptized it "Guillotine," in honor of its inventor. 
 Good King Frederick William caused his misanthropical phy- 
 sician Wollner to erect an instrument that should kill the 
 noblest thoughts and mutilate the mind. This guillotine of 
 the mind, called censorship of the press, was WoUner's sec- 
 ond stroke of policy. With this instrument he effectually 
 destroyed Frederick the Great's work of enlightenment; and 
 yet this same pious, holy, orthodox man published the 
 "Works of Frederick the Great," the royal freethinker and 
 mocker at religion. For these works there was, however, no 
 censorship. The publication of Frederick the Great's writ- 
 ings was a source of great profit to the wily minister Von 
 Wollner, who worshipped with greater devotion at another 
 than the shrine before which he bowed the knee in the church— 
 at the shrine of mammon. 
 29 
 
444 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 The great king now lived in his writings only ; the men who 
 had served him faithfully, Count Herzberg above all, had been 
 dismissed from office, and were powerless; the laws which he 
 had made to protect freedom of thought were annulled, the 
 light which he had diffused throughout his kingdom was ex- 
 tinguished, and darkness and night were sinking down over 
 the minds and hearts of a whole nation ! The promise which 
 the circle directors had made to the grand-kophta on the 
 night of Frederick the Great's death was fulfilled: "The 
 kingdom of the church and of the spirits embraced all Prus- 
 sia, and the power and authority of the government were 
 in the hands of the pious fathers. The invisible church and 
 its visible priests now ruled in Prussia. The king was re- 
 stored to the true faith, and lay in the dust at the feet of the 
 Invisibles, who ruled him and guided his mind and conscience 
 as they saw fit." 
 
 There were still a few brave men left who refused to submit 
 to their control, and bade defiance to this guillotine of censor- 
 ship — men who warred against these murderers of thought 
 and freedom. There was Nicolai, and Biisching, and Leuch- 
 senring, the former instructor of the prince royal, who never 
 wearied of warning the people, and who unceasingly en- 
 deavored to arouse those whom the pious executioners desired 
 to destroy. " Nicolai's Berlin Monthly Magazine" was the 
 arena of these warriors of enlightenment, and in this maga- 
 zine the' combat against darkness and ignorance was still 
 carried on, in defiance of censorship and the edict of faith. 
 The practical and intelligent editor, Nicolai, still attacked 
 these new institutions with bitter sarcasm ; the warning voice 
 of Leuchsenring was still heard denouncing these Rosicru- 
 cians. But Wollner's guillotine vanquished them at last, and 
 the " Berlin Monthly Magazine" fell into the basket of the 
 censors, as the heads of the French aristocrats fell into the 
 executioner's basket when severed by the other guillotine in 
 France. 
 
 But King Frederick William the Second submitted to the 
 
WILHELMINE RIETZ. 445 
 
 will of the Invisibles, and obeyed the commands of the holy 
 fathers, announced to him through their representatives, 
 Bischofswerder and Wollner. Let these men rule, let them 
 take care of and discipline minds and souls; the king has 
 other things to do. The minds belong to the Rosicrucians, 
 but the hearts are the king's. 
 
 In her palatial residence, "under the linden-trees," in Ber- 
 lin, sj,t the king's friend, in brilliant attire, her hair dressed 
 with flowers, and her beautiful neck and bare arms of dazzling 
 whiteness adorned with rich jewelry. She was reclining on 
 her sofa, and gazing at her reflection in a large mirror of 
 Venetian glass that stood against the wall on the opposite 
 side of the boudoir; the frame of this mirror was of silver, 
 richly studded with pearls and rubies, and was one of the 
 king's latest presents. A proud and happy smile played about 
 her full, rosy lips as she regarded the fair image reflected in 
 this costly mirror. 
 
 "I am still beautiful," said she, "my lips still glow, and 
 my eyes still sparkle, while she is fading away and dying. 
 Why did she dare to become my rival, to estrange the king's 
 heart from me? She well knew that I had been his beloved 
 for long years, and that the king had solemnly vowed never 
 to desert me ! She dies with the coronet of a countess on her 
 pale brow, while I still live as Madame Eietz — ^as the self- 
 styled wife of a valet. I have life and health, and, although 
 I am not yet a countess, I can still achieve the coveted title. 
 Have I not sworn that I will yet become either a countess, a 
 duchess, or, perhaps, even a princess? l^either the royal Wife 
 of the right nor of the left hand shall prevent me; while I 
 rise, they will descend. While I am riding in my splendid 
 equipage, emblazoned with a coronet, they will be riding to 
 the grave in funeral-cars. And truly, it seems to me that it 
 must be more agreeable to ride in an equipage, even as plain 
 Madame Eietz, than to journey heavenward as Countess 
 Ingenheim. " 
 
 She burst into laughter as she said this, and saluted her 
 
446 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 image in the mirror with a playful nod. The brilliants and 
 rubies on her neck and arms sparkled like stars in the flood 
 of light difEused through the room by the numerous jets of 
 gas in the splendid chandeliers, richly adorned with crystal 
 pendants. This, as well as all the other apartments of Wil- 
 helmine Eietz's residence, was furnished with a degree of lux- 
 ury and splendor befitting a royal palace. The king had kept 
 the promise made to his darling son. Count Alexander von 
 der Mark, in Charlottenburg. The affectionate father had 
 given his handsome son the longed-for palace under the linden- 
 trees ; and the young count, together with his mother and sis- 
 ter, had taken up his abode in this palace. But the little 
 Count von der Mark had not long enjoyed the pleasure of 
 standing with his beautiful mother at the windows of his 
 residence, to look at the parades which the king caused to be 
 held there on his account. On such occasions the king had 
 always taken up his position immediately beneath the win- 
 dows of his son's palace, in order that they might obtain a, 
 better view of the troops. The little count had worn his title 
 and occupied his palace but one year, when he died.* The 
 king's grief had been profound and lasting, and never had 
 the image of his handsome boy grown dim in the heart of his 
 royal father. The loss of his son had driven Frederick Wil- 
 liam to the verge of despair, and Wilhelmine had been com- 
 pelled to dry her own tears and suppress her own sorrow in 
 order to console the king. Wilhelmine Eietz had manifested 
 so much love and tenderness for the king during this trying 
 period, and had practised so much self-denial, that the king's 
 love and admiration for his " dear friend" had been greatly 
 increased. 
 
 " You are a noble woman, and a heroine," said he. " Any 
 other woman would weep and lament — yon are silent, and 
 your lips wear a smile, although I well know what pain this 
 smile must cost your tender mother's heart. Any other 
 woman would tremble and look with care and anxiety into the 
 
 * In the latter part of the year 1787. 
 
WILHELMINE RIETZ. 447 
 
 future, because the death of the son might be prejudicial to 
 her own position ; she would have hastened to obtain from me 
 an assurance that she should not suffer in consequence of this 
 loss. You have done nothing of all this ; you have wept and 
 sorrowed with me; you have cheered and consoled me, and 
 have not once asked, who was to be the heir of my little Alex- 
 ander, and what souvenir he had left you." 
 
 Wilhelmine Eietz shook her head, and smiled sadly, well 
 knowing how becoming this smile was to her pale coun- 
 tenance. 
 
 "I need no souvenir of my son," said she; "his memory 
 will ever live in my heart. I have not asked who Alexander's 
 heir was to be, because I have never supposed that he could 
 have left an inheritance, for all that I and my children have 
 belongs to the king, and is his property, as we ourselves are. 
 I have not trembled for my own security, because I confide in 
 my king and master as in my God, and I feel assured that he 
 will ever observe his solemn oath and will never abandon me." 
 
 "No, never, Wilhelmine," cried the king. "You are a 
 noble woman! You are, and will ever remain, my dear, 
 adored friend, and my love for you will be more enduring 
 than my love for any other woman. Lay aside all care and 
 fear, Wilhelmine, and confide in me. All the efforts and in- 
 trigues of your friends to injure you shall be unavailing. All 
 else will pass away, but my love for yoa will endure until 
 death ; and no woman, though I love her passionately, will be 
 able to banish you from my side!" 
 
 " Will you swear this, Frederick William ! Will you lay 
 your finger on this scar on my hand and swear that my 
 enemies shall never succeed in banishing me from your side, 
 and that you will ever accord me a place in your heart?" 
 
 The king laid his hand on this scar, and it recalled to his 
 memory the hour in which Wilhelmine had intentionally 
 given her hand a wound in order that he might record his vow 
 of love and fidelity in her own blood. " I lay my hand on 
 this scar," said he, "and swear by the memory of my dear 
 
448 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 son, Alexander, that I will never neglect or forget his mother, 
 but will love, honor, and cherish her until the end. And 
 here is a proof that I have not forgotten you," cried the king, 
 as he threw his arms around her neck, kissed her cheek, and 
 handed her a deed of the palace under the linden-trees, and 
 of all else that had belonged to Count Alexander von der Mark. 
 
 Wilhelmine Eietz and her daughter continued to reside in 
 the palace under the linden-trees. Her house was one of the 
 most popular resorts in Berlin, and the most select and in- 
 telligent society was to be found in her parlors. To be sure 
 the rustle of an aristocratic lady's silk robe was never heard 
 on the waxed floors of this stately mansion, but Wilhelmine's 
 social gatherings were, perhaps, none the less animated and 
 agreeable on that account. Her guests were charmed with 
 her vivacity, brilliant wit, and fine satire, and the most 
 eminent scholars, artists, and poets, esteemed it a great honor 
 to be permitted to frequent Wilhelmine Eietz's parlors. She 
 loved art and science, was herself somewhat of a poetess, and 
 possessed above all else a mind capable of quickly compre- 
 hending what she saw and heard, and of profiting by inter- 
 course with scholars and artists. It was a favorite plea with 
 the gentlemen who visited her house, that Wilhelmine Kietz 
 was the protectress of art and science, and, moreover, a very 
 intelligent lady, of whom they were in justice compelled to 
 say that she possessed fine sense, much knowledge, and very 
 agreeable manners. 
 
 The king himself, an intellectual man, and a patron of art 
 and science, often took part in Madame Eietz's social gather- 
 ings. In her parlors he was sure to find the relaxation and 
 enjoyment which he sought in vain in the society of his beau 
 tiful and aristocratic wife of the left hand. 
 
 The beautiful Julie von Voss, entitled Countess Ingenheim, 
 had never forgiven herself for having at last yielded to the 
 wishes of her family, to the entreaties of her royal lover, and 
 to the weakness of her own heart, by consenting to become 
 the king's wife of the left hand, although a wife of the right 
 
WILHELMINE RIETZ. 449 
 
 hand still lived. Her reason and her pride told her that this 
 little mantle of propriety was not large enough to hide her 
 humiliation. Her soul was filled with grief and remorse ; she 
 felt that her glittering, apparently so happy existence, was 
 nothing more than a gilded lie — nothing more than shame, 
 garnished over with titles and honors. 
 
 The king often found his beautiful, once so ardently loved 
 Julie in tears ; she was never gay, and she never laughed. 
 Indeed she often went so far as to reproach herself and her 
 royal lover. 
 
 But tears and reproaches were ingredients of conversation 
 which were by no means pleasing to Frederick William, and 
 he fled from them to the parlors of his dear friend, Wilhel- 
 mine, where he was certain to find gayety and amusement. 
 
 Wilhelmine Eietz thought of all this while reclining on her 
 sofa, awaiting the arrival of invited company — she thought of 
 this while gazing at the reflection of herself (adorned with 
 jewelry and attired in a satin dress, embroidered with silver), 
 in the magnificent Venetian mirror. She had always found 
 these conversations with her image in a mirror very interest- 
 ing, for these two ladies kept no secrets from each other, but 
 were friends, who imparted their inmost thoughts without 
 prudery and hypocrisy. 
 
 " You will yet be a countess," said "Wilhelmine. " Yes, a 
 countess, and whatever else you may desire." 
 
 The lady in the mirror smiled, and replied : " Yes, a count- 
 ess, or even a princess, but certainly not one who heaps re- 
 proaches upon herself, and dies of remorse ; nor yet one of 
 those who seek to reconcile themselves to the world, and to 
 purchase an abode in heaven, by unceasing prayer and costly 
 alms-giving. No, I will be a countess who enjoys life and 
 compels her enemies to bend the knee — who seeks to reconcile 
 herself to the world by giving brilliant entertainments and 
 good dinners, and cares but little for what may take place 
 after her death — a countess who exclaims with her great 
 model, the Marquise de Pompadour, 'Apres moi, le deluge! ' " 
 
450 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 HUSBANB AND WISE. 
 
 WiLHELMiNE was BOW interrupted in her animated conver- 
 sation with her reflection by the abrupt entrance of her " self- 
 styled husband," the Chamberlain Eietz. 
 
 She saw him in the mirror, and she saw, too, how the 
 friend with whom she had been conversing, colored with dis- 
 pleasure and frowned. Without rising, or even turning her 
 head, she allowed the chamberlain to approach until he stood 
 in front of her, and then she cried, in an imperious voice: 
 "Where were my servants? Why do you come unannounced 
 to my presence?" 
 
 Eietz, the king's chamberlain and factotum, laughed 
 loudly. • "For fear of being turned away, ma belle, and be- 
 cause I considered it more appropriate to come unannounced 
 to my wife's presence. Once for all, my dearest, spare me 
 this nonsense, and do not embitter our lives unnecessarily! 
 Let your courtiers, your dukes, princes, counts, and profes- 
 sors, wait in the antechamber, and come announced, if you 
 will, but you must receive me as you receive the king, that 
 is, unannounced. On the other hand, I promise you, never 
 to make use of this privilege when you are entertaining com- 
 pany, or are engaged in some agreeable little tete-a-tete. Are 
 you satisfied? Is this agreed upon?" 
 
 "It shall be as you say," said Wilhelmine, pointing to a 
 stool that stood near the sofa. " Seat yourself and let me 
 know why you honor me with your presence." 
 
 But Eietz, instead of seating himself on the stool, proceeded 
 with the greatest composure to roll forward a splendid arm- 
 chair, on the back of which a royal coronet was emblazoned. 
 
 " I suppose I am entitled to use this chair when the king is 
 not present," said he, seating himself ; "moreover, I like to 
 sit comfortably. Now, I am installed, and the conference 
 
HUSBAND AND WIFE. 451 
 
 between the two crowned heads can begin. Do you know, 
 or have you the slightest conception of, what the subject of 
 this conference will be?" 
 
 " No," replied Wilhelmine, placing her little foot with its 
 gold-embroidered satin slipper on the stool, and regarding it 
 complacently, " no, not the slightest, but I beg you to tell me 
 quickly, as I am expecting company." 
 
 " Ah, expecting company ! Then I will begin our confer- 
 ence, Carissima, by telling you to order your servant to in- 
 form your visitors that you have been suddenly taken ill and 
 beg to be excused." 
 
 " Before giving this command I must first request you to 
 give me your reasons." 
 
 "My reasons? Well, I will give you one reason instead of 
 many. It might not be agreeable to your guests to have the 
 glass from the window-panes and the stones which have shat- 
 tered them flying about their heads in your parlor." 
 
 "My friend," said Wilhelmine, still regarding the tips of 
 her feet, " if you feel an irresistible inclination to jest, you 
 will find an appreciative audience among the lackeys in my 
 antechamber." 
 
 " Thank you, I prefer to converse seriously with my wife in 
 the parlor. But if you desire it I will ring for one of these 
 impudent rascals, and order him, in your name, to admit no 
 visitors. Moreover, it would be well to have the inner shut- 
 ters of all the windows of your palace closed. The latter 
 must, of course, be sacrificed, but the shutters will, at least, 
 prevent the stones from entering your apartments and doing 
 any further damage. Are your windows provided with 
 shutters?" 
 
 "I see you are determined to continue this farce," said 
 AVilhelmine, shrugging her shoulders. " Without doubt you 
 have wagered with some one that you could alarm me, and 
 the closing of the shutters is to be the evidence that you have 
 won the wager. Such is the case, is it not?" 
 
 "No, Carissima, such is not the case, and I beg you to 
 
452 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 play the role of the undaunted heroine no longer; it becomes 
 you very well, but you cannot excite my admiration and — " 
 
 "Nor have I any such intention," said she, leaning back 
 on the sofa, and stretching herself like a tigress that appears 
 to be quite exhausted, but is, nevertheless, ever ready to 
 spring upon the enemy. 
 
 " Enough of this, my friend !" cried the chamberlain, im- 
 patiently. " Listen ! If you consider it a bagatelle to have 
 your palace demolished, and yourself accused of being a 
 poisoner, it is, of course, all the same to me, and I have noth- 
 ing more to say, except that I was a fool to consider it my 
 duty to warn you, because we had formed an alliance, offen- 
 sive and defensive, and because I could not look on calmly 
 while your enemies were plotting your destruction." 
 
 The tigress had bounded from her lair, her eyes glowing 
 with great excitement. 
 
 " You are in earnest, Eietz? This is not one of your jokes? 
 My enemies are plotting my destruction ! They are about to 
 attack me ! Speak, be quick ! What was it you said about 
 poisoning? Do they accuse me of being a poisoner?" 
 
 " Certainly they do, and I am glad that this magical word 
 has recalled my sleeping beauty to life. Yes, your enemies 
 accuse you of being a poisoner. It is truly fortunate that I 
 have spies in every quarter, who bring me early intelligence 
 of these little matters." 
 
 " And whom have I poisoned?" 
 
 " Countess Ingenheim, of course. Whom should you have 
 poisoned but your rival?" 
 
 "My rival!" repeated Wilhelmine, with a contemptuous 
 shrug of her shoulders. " Countess Ingenheim was ill. Is 
 she worse?" 
 
 "Countess Ingenheim is dying!" 
 
 "Dying!" echoed Wilhelmine, and a ray of joy gleamed in 
 the eyes of the tigress, but she quickly repressed it. " This 
 is, of course, an exaggeration of the physicians, who will 
 afterward attribute to themselves the merit of having effected 
 
HUSBAND AND WIFE. 453 
 
 her recovery from so hopeless a condition. I have heard of 
 instances of this kind before. Four days ago the countess 
 was comparatively well; I met her in the king's little box at 
 the theatre, on which occasion her afEability and condescen- 
 sion were truly surprising." 
 
 "Yes, and it is alleged by your enemies that you com- 
 mitted the crime on that very occasion. The countess com- 
 plained of heat and thirst, did she not?" 
 
 "Yes, she did, and when she sank back in her chair, 
 almost insensible, the king begged me to assist her." 
 
 " To which you replied that a composing powder was what 
 she required, and that you, fortunately, always carried a box 
 of these powders in your pocket. Hereupon you opened the 
 door, and ordered one of the lackeys who stood in the entry 
 to bring you a glass of water and some sugar. When he 
 brought it, you took a small box from your pocket, and 
 emptied a little paper of white powder into the water ; when 
 this foamed up, you handed the glass to the countess, who 
 immediately drank its contents. Am I accurate?" 
 
 " You are, and I admire this accuracy all the more, because 
 no one was present in the box but us three." 
 
 " You forget the lackey who brought the water, and saw 
 you pour the powder into the glass. This morning the 
 countess was suddenly attacked with a violent hemorrhage; 
 whereupon the lackey immediately told her brother. Minister 
 von Voss, the whole story. Her high connections and the 
 entire court have been aroused, and if the countess should 
 die to-day, as her physicians say she will, a storm will arise 
 out of this glass of water, with the aid of which your enemies 
 hope to hurl you from your eminence and consign you to 
 prison." 
 
 "Foolish people!" said Wilhelmine, contemptuously. 
 " The king will not only discredit their revelations, but 
 will also hold them to a strict account for their slander. Let 
 this be my care." 
 
 " My dearest, before proceeding to punish these slanderers. 
 
454 GOETHE AND SCHILLEE. 
 
 I would advise you to consider your own safety a little. I 
 tell you this matter is graver than you suppose, my proud, 
 undaunted lady. The whole pack is let loose, and Bischofs- 
 werder and Wollner are lashing the conspirators on, and 
 heaping fuel on the flames. They immediately convoked a 
 meeting of the holy brotherhood, and issued a secret order. 
 This order I have seen. You must know that I was received 
 into this holy band some two weeks since, as serving brother 
 of the outer temple halls. What do you think of the title, 
 'serving brother of the outer temple halls?' " 
 
 And the chamberlain burst into so loud and mocking a peal 
 of laughter, that his colossal stature fairly trembled. 
 
 " Suppress your merriment for a moment, if you please, and 
 tell me how this secret order of the Kosicrucians reads." 
 
 The chamberlain's countenance quickly assumed an air of 
 gravity. " The order is as follows: 'All the brothers serving 
 in the outer temple halls will repair, at ten o'clock this even- 
 ing, to your, palace, for the purpose of engaging in the 
 charming recreation of battering your windows with the stones 
 that lie piled up in great plenty in this vicinity, in places 
 where the pavement is being renewed ; while so occupied, they 
 are to cry — 'Murderess! poisoner! Curses upon her ! Down 
 with this murderess!' A charming chorus, my angel of 
 
 innocence 
 
 " Yes, a chorus over which the angels in heaven will re- 
 joice, even if they should not be such angels of innocence as I 
 sua in this affair. I thank you for this communication; it 
 is really of great importance. " 
 
 " I must, however, beg you, my dear madame, to take this 
 fact into consideration. By making this communication, I 
 not only imperil my salvation, but am probably already wholly 
 lost, and have certainly forfeited all prospects of ever enter- 
 ing the sanctuary of the temple, and becoming an Invisible 
 Brother. Each brother is required, on his admission, to 
 register a fearful oath, to the effect that he will never, 
 although his own life or that of his parents or children should 
 
HUSBAND AND WIFE. 455 
 
 be at stake, betray the secrets of the holy fathers; and I, frail 
 mortal, have betrayed the confidence of my superiors! Alas, 
 alas ! I am a lost soul ! The Invisible Fathers will expel me 
 from the brotherhood if they should ever hear of this." 
 
 " Give yourself no disquiet, I will never betray you," said 
 Wilhelniiue, laughing. " I am only surprised that you should 
 ever have been admitted into the brotherhood, and that such 
 an order should have been issued in your presence." 
 
 " My fairest, they are not aware that the Mr. Miiller of 
 Oranienburg, who was received into the holy order by the 
 general assembly some two weeks since, is no other than the 
 veritable Chamberlain Rietz. You must know that it is im- 
 possible to recognize each other in these assemblies, as they 
 are held in a mystical gloom, and that the brothers are known 
 to each other when they meet in the world by certain words, 
 signs, and pressures of the hand, only. My dear, twenty of 
 these Eosicrucians might meet at a party, without dreaming 
 that they were so closely connected. The names of all the 
 brothers are known only to the circle directors, and I was of 
 course not such a fool as to write my real name on the slip of 
 paper which I deposited in the urn after having paid the ad- 
 mission-fee of four Fredericks d'or, and received in return 
 the holy symbol of initiation in the solemn twilight of the 
 outer temple halls. The exalted fathers, Bischofswerder and 
 WoUner, would be astonished, and any thing but delighted, 
 to learn that I was present at the meeting of to-day, and was 
 one of the favored individuals who heard the order given con- 
 cerning the demolition of your palace." 
 
 "By all that I hold dear, these traitors shall pay dearly 
 for this malice!" exclaimed Wilhelmine, frowning angrily. 
 " This conflict must be brought to a conclusion. I am weary 
 of this necessity of being constantly on the alert to guard 
 against the stratagems and attacks of my enemies. I will 
 have peace, and either they or Zmust be conquered." 
 
 " If I might be permitted to give the goddess Minerva my 
 advice, I would say: 'Make peace with these enemies, and 
 
456 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 secure the support and assistance of the dear Eosicrucians 
 against your other enemies, the aristocrats and court conspir- 
 ators. ' Believe me, I give you this advice in all honesty and 
 sincerity, and why should I not? Are we not allies, and have 
 we not sworn to assist each other at all times and everywhere? 
 In this respect my charming wife has been a most excellent 
 companion ; she has kept her promises faithfully. Thanks to 
 her assistance, I have attained all I desired, and there are few 
 men who can say this of themselves. I desired influence, 
 power, and money, and I have them all. By the king's 
 favor I have achieved influence and power, and have amassed 
 wealth by the folly of the persons sent me by you, my dearest, 
 with their petitions for patents of nobility and decorations. 
 In the three years of our reign I have created at least two 
 hundred noblemen, and of this number twenty counts in the 
 first year alone." 
 
 "Yes, indeed, these counts are well known," said Wilhel- 
 mine, laughing ; " the gentlemen of the old nobility call them 
 by no other name than 'the batch of 1786.' " * 
 
 "Moreover, the number of crosses of St. John, and orders 
 of the Eagle, conferred by me upon deserving individuals, is 
 legion, and goodly sums of money have they brought into my 
 coffers!" said Eietz, laughing. "I desired a well-provided 
 table, at which I could entertain a few gentlemen of rank and 
 convivial spirits ; and now gentlemen of this stamp are only 
 too anxious to obtain invitations to my dinners, and to enjoy 
 the delicious pasties for which my French cook is so justly 
 celebrated. I lead a life of enjoyment, and, as I am in a 
 great measure indebted to your recommendation and patron- 
 age for this enjoyment, it is but natural that I should be 
 grateful, and should endeavor to serve you to the best of my 
 ability." 
 
 " I thank you, cher ami," said Wilhelmine, in kindly tones. 
 " You, too, have always been a good and efficient friend, and 
 it was partly through your influence that my debts were paid, 
 
 *See "Private Letters," vol. iii. 
 
HUSBAND AND WIPE. 45 r 
 
 my income doubled, and myself made the mistress of this 
 beautiful palace. I still desire a great many things, however. 
 You are aware that I am so unfortunate as to be ambitious, 
 and — " 
 
 " And, in your ear, the name Madame Eietz is not exactly 
 the music of the spheres." 
 
 " Not exactly, my dear friend, although I must admit that 
 the name is rather musical. But I — " 
 
 The door of the antechamber was hastily opened, and a 
 lackey appeared on the threshold, holding in his hand a silver 
 waiter on which a folded note lay. 
 
 "This note has just been left here for Chamberlain Eietz," 
 said the lackey. 
 
 Eietz took the note and opened it. " Madame, " said he, 
 after the door had closed behind the servant, " madame, my 
 worst fears are realized. Countess Ingenheim is dead !" 
 
 " Dead !" repeated Wilhelmine, shuddering. " Poor wo- 
 man, she has paid dearly for her short-lived triumph, and those 
 who assert that the poor person was poisoned, are probably 
 right; the shame attendant upon her position, her pangs of 
 conscience and her remorse — these were the drops of poison 
 which she daily imbibed, and of which she has now died. 
 Truly, to be the beloved of a king requires a firm heart and 
 very strong nerves. Poor woman, I pity her!" 
 
 "Truly, you are worthy of the greatest admiration," said 
 Eietz. " You lament the sad fate of your rival, while you 
 yourself are in the greatest danger on her account. You 
 must now decide whether you will receive your company or 
 not." 
 
 "Oh, my friend," sighed Wilhelmine. "how can you sup- 
 pose me capable of indulging in the delights of social inter- 
 course at a time when I have suffered so sad a loss? No, the 
 king's grief is my grief also, and instead of being merry and 
 laughing with others, I will weep with the royal widower." 
 
 "You are an incomparable woman," cried Eietz, with a 
 loud peal of laughter; "as wise, as beautiful, as much the 
 
458 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 demon as the angel! No wonder you are fearless! Your 
 power rests on an adamantine foundation." 
 
 Wilhelmine made no response, but rang the bell, and told 
 the servant who answered her call, to inform the porter than 
 no soiree would take place that evening, and that he was to 
 tell all visitors that mourning for the sudden death of Count- 
 ess Ingenheim would compel her to forego the pleasure of 
 seeing them for that evening and the following week. 
 
 " I beg you to leave me now, my friend," said Wilhelmine, 
 beginning to divest herself of the sparkling jewels that en- 
 circled her neck and arms. '' I must hasten to lay aside these 
 worldly garments, in order that the king may find me attired 
 in sable robes when he arrives." 
 
 " How ! Do you believe the king will visit you at a time 
 when his wife of the left hand has but just breathed her 
 last?" 
 
 " I feel assured that he will. His majesty knows how deep 
 an interest I take in all that concerns him. He knows where 
 to look for sympathy; he knows that I laugh with him when 
 he is glad, and weep with him when he is sad. To whom 
 should he flee in his hour of grief but to me?" 
 
 "You are right," said Eietz, smiling, "to whom should he 
 flee, in his hour of grief, but to his first sultana? I am going, 
 and I truly promise you that if his majesty, in the depth of 
 his grief, should chance to be forgetful of this haven of rest, 
 I will suggest it to our dear, chastened king." 
 
 " Do so, my friend, and hasten to his majesty's side, or my 
 enemies will forestall you, and perhaps console the king in a 
 different manner." 
 
 " I am going, sultana. But these shutters — shall I order 
 them to be closed?" 
 
 "And why, pray? I am not afraid of a few stones, and if 
 they should be showered upon us too plentifully, we can re- 
 tire to one of the back rooms and observe the bombardment 
 iQ perfect security. When did you say it was to begin?" 
 
 " As soon as it has grown dark ; the deeds of these pious 
 
HUSBAND AND WIFE. 459 
 
 fathers shun the light of day. The calendar says moonlight 
 until ten o'clock ; it is therefore probable that the sovereign 
 people, as the rabble of Paris now calls itself, will not honor 
 you with a call until that hour. It would be well to notify 
 the police of the flattering attentions awaiting you, and to 
 solicit a guard for the protection of your palace." 
 
 " I will take good care not to do so," rejoined Wilhelmine, 
 smiling. "Let the sovereign people amuse themselves by 
 breaking my windows if they choose. The louder they howl 
 and call me poisoner the better, for the king will hear them 
 and he will pity me." 
 
 "Wilhelmine," cried Eietz with enthusiasm, "it is a pity 
 you are already my wife ; if you were not I should certainly 
 address you. I could love you to distraction!" 
 
 "Do not, my friend, I pray you," said Wilhelmine; "you 
 would cut but a sorry figure in the rdle of a disconsolate lover. 
 But now go ; it is already eight o'clock, and I hear a great 
 many carriages coming and going. " 
 
 The chamberlain pressed her beautiful hand to his lips, and 
 then took his departure. She regarded him with a contempt- 
 uous smile as he left the room, and when the door had closed 
 behind him, a clear and ringing peal of laughter escaped her 
 lips. " To think that this CaHban has the honor of being 
 called my husband," said she, "and that I am still the wife 
 of a valet! And why? Merely because I am not of noble 
 birth, like — like these sensitive puppets, whose shame is gar- 
 nished over with noble titles and robes of ermine, and who 
 nevertheless succumb and die under the burden of their self- 
 acquired dignities. I can bear the precious burden ! I — will 
 not die! No, not I!" 
 
 80 
 
460 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE ATTACK. 
 
 Half an hour later the folding-doors of the reception-room 
 were thrown open to admit the king, who came without cere- 
 mony, and without attendants, as he was in the habit of 
 doing. Wilhelmine hurried forward to meet him ; her lovely 
 countenance wore a sad expression, and her beautiful figure 
 was attired in sable mourning-robes. One might have sup- 
 posed she had lost her mother or a sister, so mournful was her 
 manner, so full of sadness was her glance as she slowly raised 
 her eyes to the king's pale countenance. "My dear master," 
 murmured she, " how kind your majesty is, to think of me, 
 and honor me with a visit, in this your hour of sore trial!" 
 
 He stroked her soft, shining hair tenderly, and drew her 
 head to his bosom. " I never forget you, my friend, and the 
 thought of your radiant eyes and lovely countenance always 
 consoles me when I am troubled with care or grief, which is 
 unfortunately very often the case. " 
 
 "Your majesty's grief has been so great to-day! The 
 divine being whom we all loved and honored has gone from 
 us!" 
 
 "Yes," said the king, with a deep-drawn sigh, his expres- 
 sion more indicative of ennui than of sorrow, " yes. Countess 
 Ingenheim died this afternoon. But her death did not sur- 
 prise me; the good countess had been in very bad health ever 
 since the birth of her son, more than a year ago, and my 
 physician had long since told me that she had the con- 
 sumption, and would not live through the autumn. The 
 poor countess had been very tearful of late ; she wept a great 
 deal when I was with her, and was constantly reproaching 
 herself. This was unpleasant, and I visited her but rarely 
 during the last few weeks for fear of agitating the poor in- 
 valid. Moreover, she kept up a pretence of being well," con- 
 
THE ATTACK. 4C1 
 
 tinued the king, seating himself in the arm-chair, in which 
 Eietz had been so comfortably installed a few minutes before. 
 " Yes, she wished to impose on the world with this pretence, 
 as if it were possible to avoid observing the traces of her ter- 
 rible disease in her pale, attenuated countenance ! She always 
 held herself erect, went to all the parties, and even visited the 
 theatre, four days ago. You remember it, doubtlessly, as you 
 were present?" 
 
 "Yes, I remember," murmured "Wilhelmine, as she seated 
 herself on a stool at the king's feet, folded the hands, that 
 contrasted like white lilies with her flowing black-lace sleeves, 
 on his knees, and gave him a tender, languishing glance. 
 She knew how efEective these glances were — she knew that 
 she could always bind her lover to herself again with these in- 
 visible toils. 
 
 "If poor Julie had but had your eyes and your health!" 
 sighed the king. " But she was always ailing, and in the end 
 nothing becomes more disagreeable than a sickly woman. 
 But let us speak of this no longer, it makes me sad ! It is 
 well that my poor Julie has, at last, found a refuge in the 
 grave from her unceasing remorse and her jealous love." 
 
 And thus Frederick took leave of the spirit of the affection- 
 ate woman who had sacrificed all through her love for him. 
 The consciousness that his love for her had long since died, 
 and that she was nothing more than a burden to him, had 
 killed her. 
 
 Having taken leave of the spirit of his dead love, the king 
 now assumed a cheerful expression, and this expression was 
 immediately reflected in Wilhelmine's countenance. She 
 smiled, arose from her stool, threw her soft, white arms 
 around the king's neck with passionate tenderness, and ex- 
 claimed : " How is it possible to die when one can have the 
 happiness of living at your sidel" 
 
 The king drew her to his heart and kissed her. " You will 
 live, Wilhelmine ! You love me too dearly to think of dying 
 of this miserable feeling of remorse. You have been tried 
 
463 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 and found true, Wilhelmine, and nothing can hereafter sep- 
 arate us." 
 
 "Nothing, my dear king and master!" 
 
 " Nothing, Wilhelmine ; not even a new loye. The flames of 
 tenderness that glow in my heart may sometimes flare up and 
 seem to point in other directions, but they will ever return 
 to you, and never will the altar grow cold on which the first 
 love-flames burned so brightly ia the fair days of our youth." 
 
 "God bless your majesty for these words!" cried Wilhel- 
 mine, pressing the king's hands to her lips. 
 
 " Let us have no more of this formality, I pray you," said 
 Frederick William, wearily. "We are alone, and I am 
 heartily tired of carrying the royal purple about with me 
 wherever I go. Eelieve me of this burdensome mantle, Wil- 
 helmine, and let us dream that the days of our youthful 
 happiness have come back to us." 
 
 " My Frederick is always young," whispered she; "eternal 
 youth glows in your heart and is reflected on your noble brow. 
 But I — look at me, Frederick William! I have grown old, 
 and the unmerciful hand of Time has been laid ungently on 
 my brow." 
 
 The king looked at Wilhelmine, and could find no evidence 
 of this in the fresh, smiling countenance of his enchantress. 
 He listened to her siren voice, and its music soothed his soul 
 and dissipated all care and sorrow. As the hand of the clock 
 neared the tenth hour, and while Wilhelmine was engaged in 
 a charming Ute-a-tite with the king over a delightful supper 
 of savory dishes and choice wines, the smiling siren told him 
 of the danger that threatened her, of the new intrigue of her 
 enemies at court, and of their determination to incite a mob 
 to attack her palace. 
 
 " There can be nothing in all this," said the king, smiling; 
 " this story has only been concocted to alarm you. If your 
 enemies had formed any such plan, my superintendent of 
 police would certainly have heard of it, and have taken meas- 
 tires to prevent it." 
 
IHE ATTACK. • 4G3 
 
 Wilhelmine inclined her rosy lips to the king's ear, and 
 narrated in low accents what Eietz had told her concerning 
 the order issued by the Eosicrucians. 
 
 The king started with surprise and alarm, " No," said he, 
 " this is impossible ; Bischofswerder and Wollner are my most 
 faithful friends; they will never undertake to harm you, for 
 they know that you are dear to me, and that your presence is 
 necessary to my peace and contentment — yes, I may even say 
 to my happiness!" 
 
 " It is for this very reason that they desire to effect my 
 banishment. They hope to gain unbounded control over you, 
 by driving from your side the only being who dares to tell 
 you the truth, and who loves in you the dear, noble man, and 
 not the king! My disinterested love for you, Frederick "Wil- 
 liam, is in their eyes a crime, and they accuse me of having 
 committed another crime, for the purpose .of tearing me from 
 your heart and treading me under foot like a noxious weed!" 
 
 "They shall not succeed!" protested Frederick William. 
 "But I cannot believe that — " The king ceased speaking; 
 at this moment a deafening roar, as of the sea when lashed to 
 fury by the storm, was heard in the street; it came nearer and 
 nearer, and then the windows of the palace shook with 
 the fierce cries : " Murderess ! Poisoner ! Curses upon the 
 murderess!" 
 
 Wilhelmine, an air of perfect serenity on her countenance, 
 remained seated at the king's feet, but he turned pale and 
 looked toward the window in dismay. " You perceive, my 
 master," said she, with an air of perfect indifEerence, "you 
 perceive that these are the exact words agreed upon in the 
 Eosicrucian assembly this morning. This is the war-cry of 
 my enemies." 
 
 "Murderess! Poisoner!" resounded again upon the night 
 air. "Curses upon the murderess!" 
 
 " I knew they would dare to make this attack," murmured 
 Wilhelmine, still smiling. " Had I felt guilty, I would have 
 fled or have solicited protection of my king. But I wished 
 
464 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 your majesty to see how far my enemies would go in their 
 malignity — what cruel measures they would take to effect my 
 banishment. " 
 
 " You have done well," said the king, earnestly; " you have 
 acted like a heroine, and never — " 
 
 He was interrupted by a loud crash, and something hissed 
 through the broken window. With a loud, piercing cry, 
 Wilhelmine threw herself over the king's person and clasped 
 him in a close embrace, as if determined to protect him 
 against the whole world. 
 
 " They may murder me, but they shall not harm a hair of 
 your dear head, my beloved!" 
 
 These words, uttered in loud, exulting tones, sounded in 
 the king's ear like an inspiring hymn of love, and he never 
 forgot them. 
 
 The stone had fallen to the floor, with a loud noise, but no 
 second one followed it. Curses still resounded from below, 
 but the mob seemed nevertheless to have been alarmed by 
 their own boldness, and hesitated before commencing a new 
 attack. 
 
 Wilhelmine now released the king from her protecting em- 
 brace, and with gentle force compelled him to rise from his 
 chair. 
 
 " Come, my beloved, danger threatens you here ! They will 
 soon make another attack." 
 
 " Wilhelmine," said he, with emotion, " give me that stone." 
 
 As she stooped to pick up the stone that lay at her feet, the 
 black lace shawl fell to the floor, disclosing a purple stripe on 
 her snow-white shoulder. 
 
 "You are wounded, Wilhelmine, you are wounded!" cried 
 the king, in dismay. She had arisen in the mean while, and 
 now handed him the stone, with her siren smile. 
 
 "It is nothing, my king; the dear people's cannon-ball 
 merely grazed my shoulder. To be sure, it hurts a little, but 
 my arms are not broken." 
 
 "And it was for me that you received this wound!" said 
 
THE ATTACK. 465 
 
 the king, in deep emotion. " You shielded and protected me 
 with your fair form. Wilhelmine, I will never forget this; 
 this stone shall be a lasting memorial of your love and heroic 
 devotion!" 
 
 For the second time a loud crash was heard, and now the 
 stones came flying through the broken windows in quick suc- 
 cession. At this moment several lackeys, pale with fright, 
 rushed into the room to report that the populace were en- 
 deavoring to batter down the doors of the palace, and that 
 these were already giving way. 
 
 "Save yourself, my king, flee from this palace!" cried 
 "Wilhelmine. " Permit my butler to lead you through the 
 garden to the little gate that opens into Behren Street; from 
 there your majesty will be able to return to your palace in 
 safety." 
 
 " And you, my dearest?" asked the king. 
 
 "And I," said she, with heroic composure, "I will await 
 my enemies; if they kill me I can die with the proud con- 
 sciousness that I have saved the life of my king, and that he, 
 at least, is convinced of my innocence!" 
 
 Another shower of stones succeeded, and the parlor was now 
 a scene of fearful confusion. While fierce curses upon the 
 head of the murderess, and denunciations of the poisoner, re- 
 sounded from the street below, chairs, mirrors, vases, and 
 marble tables, were being broken and scattered in every direc- 
 tion by the stones that poured in through the windows in an 
 uninterrupted shower. In the midst of this din and clatter 
 Wilhelmine's voice could be heard from time to time, conjur- 
 ing the king to fly, or at least to repair with her to one of the 
 apartments in the rear of the palace. 
 
 But the king remained firm; and issued his commands to 
 the trembling servants, in a loud voice. He ordered them to 
 close the inner shutters, and they did as he bade them. 
 Creeping timidly on their hands and knees to the windows, 
 they withdrew the bolts and closed the shutters with a sudden 
 jerk. The king now ordered one of the lackeys to hasten 
 
466 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 through the garden to the office of his superintendent of 
 police, to acquaint him with the state of afEairs, and to re- 
 quest him to disperse the insurrectionary populace. After 
 this messenger had been despatched, and now that the stones 
 were falling harmlessly from the closed shutters, the king 
 dismissed the servants who were present. He was now once 
 more alone with the beloved of his youth. 
 
 " Wilhelmine, " said he, "I can never forget your heroism 
 and devotion. You shall have complete satisfaction for the 
 insults offered you to-day, and those who sought your de- 
 struction shall bend the knee before you. " 
 
 Half an hour later all was still, and the stones were no 
 longer flying against the windows. The chief of police had 
 made a requisition on the military^authorities for a body of 
 troops, and the populace had fled in terror from the threaten- 
 ing muskets and glittering sabres. 
 
 The king had taken his departure in the carriage thaM, had 
 been ordered to await him in Behren Street. He had, how- 
 ever, taken the stone with him that had struck Wilhelmine's 
 shoulder. On taking leave he kissed her tenderly, and told 
 her to await him in her palace at twelve o'clock on the follow- 
 ing day, when she should receive the promised satisfaction. 
 
 Wilhelmine was now alone; with a proud, triumphant 
 smile, she walked to and fro in the parlor, seeming to enjoy 
 the scene of confusion and destruction. At times, when her 
 foot touched one of the stones, she would laugh, push it aside, 
 and exclaim : " Thus you shall all be thrust aside, my 
 enemies ! I will walk over you all, and the stones which you 
 have hurled at me shall serve as a stairway for my ascent ! — 
 I have managed well," said she, continuing to walk restlessly 
 to and fro. " I have opened the king's eyes to the malignity 
 and cunning of his friends, and have shown my enemies that 
 I am not afraid of, and scorn to fly from them. Messrs. Von 
 Bischofswerder and "Wollner will soon come to the conclusion 
 that they will be worsted in this conflict, and had better seek 
 to form an alliance with their formidable enemy !" 
 
THE ATTACK. 467 
 
 As she continued walking amid the surrounding stones and 
 ruins, the blood trickled slowly down her shoulder; and this, 
 with her glittering eyes, gave her once more the appearance 
 of a tigress — of a wounded tigress meditating revenge. 
 
 Wilhelmine was now interrupted in her train of thought 
 by a noise in the street that sounded like the distant roll of 
 thunder. She opened one of the shutters, behind which 
 nothing remained of the window but the frame, and looked 
 out into the night, and down into the broad street of the 
 linden-trees, now entirely deserted. But the noise grew 
 louder and louder, and the street seemed to be faintly illu- 
 mined in the distance. This light soon became a broad 
 glare; and then Wilhelmine saw that it was a funeral 
 procession. She saw a number of dark, shrouded figures 
 bearing gleaming torches, and then a long funeral car, drawn 
 by four black horses. A coffin lay on this car. Its silver 
 ornaments shone brightly in the reflection of the torches ; a 
 coronet at the head of the coffin glittered as though bathed 
 in the dawning light of a new day. Torch-bearers followed 
 the funeral car, and then came a number of closed carriages. 
 It was the funeral procession of Countess Julie von Ingen- 
 heim, conveying the corpse to the estate of the family Von 
 Voss, to deposit it in the ancestral vaults. Wilhelmine stood 
 at the window and saw this ghostly procession glide by in the 
 stillness of the night. She remained there until it had dis- 
 appeared in the distance, and all was again silent. When she 
 stepped back her countenance was radiant with a proud, tri- 
 umphant smile. "She is dead!" said she, in low tones; 
 " the coronet now glitters on her coffin only. I still live, and 
 a coronet will yet glitter on my brow. A long time may 
 elapse before I attain this coveted gem ; but this wound on 
 my shoulder may work wonders. I can afFord to wait, for I — 
 I do not intend to die. I will outlive you all — you who dare 
 contend with me for the king's heart. Our love is sealed 
 with blood, but the vows which he made to you were cast 
 upon the wind !" 
 
468 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 On the following day, the king repaired to Madame Eietz's 
 palace at the appointed hour. He came with a brilliant 
 suite; all his ministers and courtiers, and even his son, the 
 Prince Eoyal Frederick William, accompanied him. The 
 young prince had come in obedience to his father's command, 
 but a dark frown rested on his countenance as he walked 
 through the glittering apartments. When he met the mis- 
 tress of all this magnificence, and when the king himself 
 introduced her to his son as his dear friend, a glance of con- 
 temptuous anger shot from the usually mild eyes of the prince 
 royal upon the countenance of the smiling friend. 
 
 She felt the meaning of this glance; it pierced her heart 
 like a dagger; and a voice seemed to whisper in her ear: 
 " This youth will destroy you ! Beware of him, for he is the 
 avenging angel destined to punish you!" 
 
 But she suppressed her terror, smiled, and listened to the 
 king, who was narrating the occurrences of the riot of the day 
 before, and pointing to the stones which, at the king's ex- 
 press command, had been allowed to remain where they had 
 fallen. 
 
 "It was an insurrection," said the king — "an insurrection 
 of the populace, that now fancies itself sovereign, and would 
 so gladly play the master and ruler, and dictate terms to its 
 king. I hate this rabble and all those who make it sub- 
 servient to their ends — who use its rude fists to execute their 
 own plans — and never will I pardon or take into favor such 
 rebels and traitors." 
 
 As the king concluded, he fastened an angry glance on 
 Bischofswerder and Wollner, the covert meaning of which 
 these worthies seemed to have divined, for they cast their 
 eyes down and looked abashed. 
 
 The king now turned to Wilhelmine, raised the lace shawl 
 from her shoulder with a gentle hand, and pointed to the 
 wound which she had received the day before. 
 
 " Look at this, gentlemen ! Madame Eietz received this 
 wound while interposing her own body to protect her king; 
 
THE ATTACK. 469 
 
 the stone that inflicted this wound would, but for her devo- 
 tion and heroism, have struck me in the face. My son, you 
 see before you the protectress of your father ; kiss her hand 
 and thank her! And you, too, gentlemen, all of you, thank 
 the heroic woman who shielded your king from danger." 
 
 This was indeed a glorious satisfaction! Wilhelmine's 
 ambitions heart exulted with joy as she stood there like a 
 queen, her hand extended to be kissed by a prince royal, by 
 generals, ministers, and courtiers, whose words of thanks 
 were unceasingly resounding in her ear. But there was one 
 drop of bitterness in all this honey; and the warning voice 
 again whispered, " Beware of the prince royal, for he is the 
 avenging angel destined to punish you !" 
 
 The prince royal had given her a second threatening glance 
 when he stooped to kiss her hand, at the king's command; 
 and she alone knew that his lips had not touched her hand. 
 
 The king had looked on with a smile while his ministers and 
 courtiers were doing homage to his "protectress." He now 
 turned to the portrait of his favorite son, Count von der Mark. 
 His boy's soft, mild eyes seemed to gaze down on his father. 
 
 " My son," said the king, in a loud, agitated voice, " I swear 
 to your blessed spirit, surely in our midst in this hour, I swear 
 that I will reward the mother you so tenderly loved, for all 
 the affection which she lavished upon my boy, and that I will 
 never forget her devotion in risking her own life to preserve 
 mine. My son, I swear to you that I will be grateful to the 
 preserver of my life while I live, and that her enemies shall 
 never succeed in lowering her in my high estimation. My 
 son, in witness of this my solemn vow, I kiss the wound 
 which your noble mother received in my defence!" 
 
 Frederick William stooped and kissed the wound on Wil- 
 helmine's shoulder. 
 
 It was a grand, an impressive moment, and Wilhelmine's 
 ambitious heart exulted. Visions of a brilliant future arose 
 before her soul, and, as she stooped to kiss the king's hand, 
 she vowed that these visions should be realized! 
 
470 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 But, when she raised her head, she shuddered. She had 
 again encountered the prince royal's glance. The dagger 
 pierced her heart for the third time, and the warning voice 
 in her soul whispered for the third time: "Beware of the 
 prince royal ! He is the avenging angel destined to punish 
 you!" 
 
 CHAPTBE XI. 
 
 YOUTH VICTORIOUS. 
 
 Charlotte von Stein sat in her garden pavilion, anxiously 
 awaiting him for whom it had never been necessary to wait in 
 former days. She had already given him three invitations to 
 pay her a morning visit in the little pavilion in which his 
 protestations of love had so often resounded. But these ten- 
 der invitations had not been accepted. He had always found 
 some pretext for avoiding this tete-h-Ute in Charlotte's pavil- 
 ion ; he was too busy, had commenced some work which he 
 desired to iinish without interruption, or was troubled with 
 toothache. 
 
 But Charlotte would not understand that he made these 
 excuses in order to give the dark cloud that hung over them 
 both time to pass away. With the obstinate boldness so often 
 characteristic of intelligent women who have been much 
 courted, and which prompts them rather to cut the Gordian 
 knot with the sword than to unravel it slowly with their skil- 
 ful fingers, Charlotte von Stein had for the fourth time en- 
 treated him to grant the desired interview, and Goethe at last 
 consented. 
 
 Charlotte was now awaiting him ; she gazed intently at the 
 doorway, and her heart beat wildly. But she determined to 
 be composed, to meet him in a mild and gentle manner. She 
 knew that Goethe detested any exhibition of anger or violence 
 in women. She was also well aware that he was very restive 
 under reproach. Charlotte knew this, and was determined 
 
YOUTH VICTORIOUS. 471 
 
 to give him no cause for displeasure. She desired to see this 
 monarch bound in her silken toils once more; she desired to 
 see the vanquished hero walk before her triumphal car as in 
 the past. "I cannot break with him," said she, "for I feel 
 that I still love him; moreover, it would be very disagreeable 
 to be spoken of by posterity as the discarded sweetheart of 
 the celebrated poetl No, no! I will be reconciled to him, 
 and all shall be as it was before! All! And now be quiet, 
 my heart, be quiet!" 
 
 She took a book from the table before which she was sit- 
 ting, regardless of what it might be; her object was to collect 
 her thoughts, and compel her mind to be quiet. She opened 
 the book, and looked at it with an air of indifference. It 
 was a volume of Voltaire's works, which Goethe had sent the 
 day before, when she had written him a note requesting him 
 to let her have something to read. She remembered this 
 now, and also remembered that she had as yet read nothing 
 in the volume. Perhaps she would still have time to make 
 good this omission ; Goethe might ask her about the book. 
 She read listlessly, in various parts of the work; suddenly 
 this passage attracted her attention ; 
 
 " Qui n'a pas I'esprit de son 4g 
 Be son fi,ge n'a que la malheur 1 " * 
 
 Strange words these ! She felt as if a chilly hand had been 
 laid on her warm, quivering heart. Was the spirit of her 
 age wanting in her? was nothing but its unhappiness por- 
 trayed in her faded countenance? With an angry movement 
 she threw the book aside, arose from her seat, and went to 
 her mirror. 
 
 "Am I really old? Is the unhappiness of old age really 
 depicted in iny countenance, while the spirit of youth and 
 love is at the same time burning in my heart?" 
 
 She anxiously scanned ber features in search of the hand- 
 writing of this inexorable enemy of women, who stalks 
 
 * He who has not the spirit of his age 
 Has nothing but the unhappiness of his age. 
 
472 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 pitilessly behind their youth and beauty, is their invisible 
 companion on all the rosy paths of life, and who, when he at 
 last becomes visible, drives away all those who had loved, 
 adored, and done homage to their beauty. Charlotte sighed; 
 she recognized this handwriting; the enemy was becoming 
 but too plainly visible ! She sighed again. 
 
 " Yes, it is written there that I am forty-six years old, and 
 every one can read it! He, too — alas! he, too!" But after 
 a short pause her countenance grew brighter. " Charlotte, 
 you should be ashamed of yourself — you insult your friend 
 and lover ! He loves you for your beauty of heart and mind, 
 and not for your outward beauty. It was your mind that at- 
 tracted him, your heart that enchained him, and they have 
 not undergone any change, have not grown older. He loves 
 you for the eternal youth that glows in your heart and mind, 
 and he cares not for the mask with which age has covered 
 your countenance! Yes, thus it is, and thus it always will 
 be, for Goethe is not like other men ; he cares not for out- 
 ward appearances, he looks at the inmost being. This it is 
 that he loves, and ever will love in me, for this is and ever 
 will be unchanged! Be joyous, Charlotte, be happy! Do 
 not dread the unhappiness of old age. Voltaire was wrong, 
 and I will take the liberty of correcting "Voltaire. His sen- 
 tence should read : 
 
 " Qui n'a pas Tesprit de la jeunesse 
 N'aura que le malheur de la vieillesse." 
 
 "Yes, thus it should read: 'Who does not bear the spirit 
 of youth within himself, to him old age brings nothing but 
 unhappiness!' " 
 
 As her dear friend soon afterward entered the pavilion, 
 Charlotte advanced to meet him with the reflection of endur- 
 ing youth resting on her brow, and a glad smile on her lips. 
 
 But he did not observe it, his countenance was grave and 
 earnest. He came with the conviction that the thunder 
 storm that had been long gathering overhead would now burst 
 upon them in all its fury. He had come armed for the fray 
 
YOUTH VICTORIOUS. 473 
 
 with this outward sternness of manner, while his soul was 
 filled with grief and tenderness. 
 
 "Goethe," she murmured, extending both hands to greet 
 him, " Goethe, I thank you for having come." 
 
 " Charlotte," said he, gently, " how can you thank me for 
 doing what is as gratifying to me as to yourself?" 
 
 " And yet I was compelled to entreat you to do so for the 
 fourth time. Three times you excused yourself with pre- 
 texts," she cried, forgetful of her good resolutions, and car- 
 ried away by her sensitiveness. 
 
 "Pretexts?" repeated Goethe. — "Well, if you will have it 
 so, I must admit that they were pretexts, and this should 
 convince you, Charlotte, of my anxiety to avoid offending 
 you; for to any one else I would plainly and openly have 
 said: 'I will not come.' It will be better for us both if we 
 avoid any further explanation. It would perhaps have been 
 wiser, my dear Charlotte, if you had endeavored to master 
 this irritation in silence, instead of bringing about the ex- 
 planations which it would have been better for us both to 
 have avoided." 
 
 " I have nothing to avoid; I can give every explanation. I 
 can lay bare my heart and soul to you. Wolf, and give an ac- 
 count of my every thought and deed. No, I have no cause 
 to avoid explanations. I love you and have always been true 
 to you, but you, you — " 
 
 "My love," he said, interrupting her, "do not reproach 
 me again; my soul's pinions are already drooping under 
 the weight of reproaches that retard the flight of my 
 imagination!" 
 
 " Now you are reproaching me !" cried Charlotte. " I am 
 to blame that the pinions of your soul are drooping! 
 Wolf, how can you be so cruel! To reproach me!" 
 
 "No, Charlotte, I do not reproach you, and how could I? 
 If you have to bear with me in many things, it is but right 
 that I, too, should suffer. It is much better to make a 
 friendly compromise, than to strive to conform to each 
 
474 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 other's requirements in all things, and, in the event of our 
 endeavor being unsuccessful, to become completely estranged. 
 I would, however, still remain your debtor in any agreement 
 we might make. When we reflect how much we have to bear 
 from all men, my love, it will teach us to be considerate with 
 each other."* 
 
 " Then we are no longer to endeavor to live together in 
 happiness, but only in an observance of consideration toward 
 each other?" cried Charlotte. 
 
 " I had hoped that consideration for each other's weak- 
 nesses would lead us back to happiness. I, for my part, will 
 gladly be indulgent." 
 
 " I was not aware that I stood in need of your indulgence," 
 said Charlotte, proudly. 
 
 " I will, however, be indulgent, nevertheless. And I will 
 gladly say — that is, if you care to hear it — that your dis- 
 content and many reproaches have left no feeling of anger in 
 my heart, although they inflicted great pain." 
 
 " This is surely to be attributed to the fact that candor 
 compels you to admit that my reproaches are just, and my 
 discontent, as you call my sadness, but natural under the cir- 
 cumstances. Tell me. Wolf, what reproaches have I ever 
 made that were not fully warranted by your changed manner 
 and coldness?" 
 
 " There it is!" cried Goethe, beginning to lay aside his kind- 
 ly manner, and to resent Charlotte's haughtiness; "therein 
 lies the reproach, and, I must say, the unmerited reproach. 
 This is the refrain that I have been compelled to listen to 
 ever since my return. I am changed, I love you no longer. 
 And yet my return and my remaining here, are the best and 
 most conclusive proofs of my love for you ! For your sake, I 
 returned — for your sake I tore myself from Italy, and all the 
 beauties that surrounded me, and — " 
 
 "And also from the beauty who had entwined herself 
 around your faithless heart," added Charlotte. 
 
 *Goethe'sown words.— See "Goethe's Correspondence with Madame von Stein." 
 vol. ii.. ti. P26. 
 
YUUTH VICTORIOUS. 475 
 
 He did not notice this interruption, but continued in more 
 animated tones : " And for your sake have I remained here, 
 although I have felt that this life was scarcely endurable ever 
 since my return. I saw Herder and the duchess take their 
 departure ; she urged me to take the vacant seat in her car- 
 riage, and journey to Italy in her company, but I remained, 
 and remained on your account, And yet I am told, over 
 and over again, that I might as well have remained away — 
 that I no longer take an interest in my fellow-man, and that 
 it is no pleasure to be in my company." * 
 
 "That I have never said." 
 
 " You have said that and much more ! You have called me 
 indifferent, cruel, cold-hearted ! Ask all my other friends if 
 I am indifferent to them, less communicative, or take less in- 
 terest in all that concerns them, than formerly. Ask them if 
 I do not belong more completely to them and to society than 
 formerly." 
 
 "Yes, indeed, so it is! You belong more to them and so- 
 ciety, because you belong less to me; you have abandoned our 
 intimate, secret, and peculiar relation, in order to devote 
 yourself to the world in general. This relation is no longer 
 pleasant, because all confidence is at an end between us." 
 
 "Charlotte," cried he, in angry tones, "whenever I have 
 been so fortunate as to find you reasonable and disposed to 
 converse on interesting topics, I have felt that this confidence 
 still existed. But this I must admit," he continued, with 
 increased violence, and now, that the floodgates were once 
 opened, no longer able to repress his indignation; "this I 
 must admit, the manner in which you have treated me of late 
 is no longer endurable. When I felt disposed to converse, 
 you closed my lips; when I was communicative, you accused 
 me of indifference; and when I manifested interest in my 
 friends, you accused me of coldness and negligence. You 
 have criticised my every word, have found fault with my 
 manner, and have invariably made me feel thoroughly ill at 
 
 * Goethe's own words. 
 
 *>! 
 
476 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 ease. How can confidence and sincerity prosper when you 
 drive me from your side with studied caprice?" * 
 
 "With studied caprice?" repeated Charlotte, bursting 
 into tears. "As if my sadness, which he calls studied 
 caprice, were not the natural result of the unhappiness which 
 he has caused me." 
 
 " I should like to know what unhappiness I have caused 
 you. Tell me, Charlotte ; make your accusations ; perhaps I 
 can succeed in convincing you that you are wrong." 
 
 "It shall be as you say," cried Charlotte, passionately. 
 " I accuse you of being faithless, of having forgotten the love 
 which you vowed should live and die with you — of having 
 forgotten it in a twofold love, in a noble and in an unworthy- 
 one." 
 
 " Charlotte, consider well what you say ; weigh your words 
 lest they offend my soul." 
 
 "Did you weigh your words? You have offended my soul 
 mortally, fearfully. Or, perhaps, you suppose your telling 
 me to my face that you had loved another woman in Italy, 
 and had left there in order to flee from this love, could not 
 have inflicted such fearful pain." 
 
 " Had left there in order to preserve myself for you, Char- 
 lotte; to remain true to you." 
 
 "A great preservation, indeed, when love is already lost. 
 And even if I admit that the beauty of the charming Italian 
 girl made you for the moment forgetful of your plighted 
 faith, what shall I say to what is now going on here in Wei- 
 mar? What shall I think of the great poet, the noble man, 
 the whole-souled, loving friend, when he finds his pleasure in 
 secret, disreputable intercourse with a person who has neither 
 standing nor education, who belongs to a miserable family, 
 and who, in my estimation, is not even worthy to be my 
 chambermaid? Oh, to think, to know, that the poet Goethe, 
 the privy-councillor Goethe, the scholar Goethe — that he 
 
 *Goethe's own words.— See " Goethe's Correspondence with Madame von Stein," 
 vol. iii., p. 327. 
 
YOUTH VICTORIOUS. 477 
 
 steals secretly to that wretched house in the evening to visit 
 the daughter of a drunkard ! To think that my Goethe, my 
 heart's favorite, my pride, and my love, has turned from me 
 to a person who is so low that he himself is ashamed of her, 
 and only visits her clandestinely, anxiously endeavoring to 
 avoid recognition!" 
 
 "If I did that, it was for your sake," cried he, pale with 
 inward agitation, his lips quivering, and his eyes sparkling. 
 " If I visited her clandestinely, I did so because I knew that 
 your noble perception was dimmed, and that you were no 
 longer capable of looking down upon these petty, earthly re- 
 lations from a more exalted stand-point. If you were wise 
 and high-hearted, Charlotte, you would ignore a relation 
 that lies entirely out of the sphere in which we both live. Of 
 what nature is this relation? Upon whose rights does it tres- 
 pass? "Who lays claim to the feelings I bestow upon this poor 
 creature? Who claims the hours that I pass in her com- 
 pany?"* 
 
 With a loud cry of anguish, Charlotte raised her arms 
 toward heaven, " God, he admits it ! He admits this fear- 
 ful relation!" 
 
 "Yes," said he, proudly, "he does, but he also entreats you 
 to aid him in preventing the relation you so greatly abhor, 
 from degenerating — to aid him in keeping it as it is. Con- 
 fide in me again, look at this matter from a natural point of 
 view, permit me to reason with you on the subject, and I 
 may still hope to bring about a good understanding between 
 
 us."t 
 
 " Not I !" she cried, with a proud toss of her head. " No 
 good understanding can exist between us while this person 
 stands in the way — this person who makes me blush with 
 shame and humiliation, when I reflect that the hand which 
 grasps my own has, perhaps, touched hers ; that these lips — 
 oh, Wolf, I shudder with anger and disgust, when I reflect 
 
 * floethe's own words.— See " Correspondence with Madame von Stein," vol. iii., 
 p. 328. 
 tlbid. 
 
478 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 that you might kiss me after having kissed her a short time 
 before!" 
 
 " There will be no further occasion for such disagreeable 
 reflections," said he, gruffly, his countenance deathly pale. 
 " Out of love I have endured much from you, but you have 
 now gone too far! I repeat it, you will never again have to 
 overcome the disgust of being kissed by me, and while I, as 
 you observed, have perhaps kissed another but a short time 
 before ! And as for this other woman, I must now confess 
 that you were quite right in reproaching me for visiting her 
 clandestinely, and making a mystery of our relation. You 
 are right, this is wrong and cowardly; a man must always 
 avow his actions, boldly and openly; and this I will do! 
 Farewell, Charlotte, you have shown me the right path, and 
 I will follow it ! We now separate, perhaps to meet no more 
 in life ; let me tell you before I go that I owe to you the 
 happiest years of my life ! I have known no greater happi- 
 ness than my confidence in you^ — the confidence that has 
 hitherto been unbounded. Now, that this confidence no 
 longer exists, I have become another being, and must in the 
 future suffer still further changes!" * 
 
 He ceased speaking, and struggled to repress the tears that 
 were rushing fiom his heart to his eyes. Charlotte stared at 
 him in dismay and breathless anxiety. Her heart stood still, 
 her lips were parted, but she repressed the cry of anguish that 
 trembled on her lips, as he had repressed his tears. A warm, 
 tender, forgiving word might perhaps have called him back, 
 and all misunderstanding might have vanished in tears, re- 
 morse, and forgiveness ; but Charlotte was too proud, she had 
 been too deeply wounded in her love and vanity to consent to 
 such a humiliation. She had exercised such great power over 
 Goethe for the past ten years, that she perhaps even now be- 
 lieved that he would return, humble himself before her, and 
 endeavor to atone for the past. But the thought did not 
 occur to her that a man can forgive the woman who mistrusts 
 
 * Goethe's own words.-- See "Correspondence with Madame von Stein, vol. iii., 
 p. 330, 
 
YOUTH VICTORIOUS. 479 
 
 his love, but that he never will forgive her who wounds his 
 pride and his honor. 
 
 Charlotte did not speak; she stood motionless, as in a 
 trance, and saw him take up his hat, incline his head, and 
 murmur: "Farewell! dearest, beloved Charlotte, farewell!" 
 
 Then all was still, and she saw him no longer! She 
 glanced wildly and searchingly around the room, and when 
 the dread consciousness that he had gone, and that she was 
 surrounded by a terrible solitude, dawned upon her, Charlotte 
 sank down on her knees, stretched out her arms toward the 
 door through which his dear form had vanished, and mur- 
 mured, with pale, quivering lips: "Farewell! lost dream of 
 my youth, farewell ! Lost delight, lost happiness, lost hope, 
 farewell ! Night and solitude surround me ! Youth and love 
 have departed, and old age and desolation are at hand! 
 Henceforth, no one will love me! I shall be alone! Fear- 
 fully alone! Farewell!" 
 
 While Charlotte was wailing and struggling with her grief, 
 Goethe was pacing restlessly to and fro in the shady little 
 retreat in the park to which he had so often confided his in- 
 most thoughts in the eventful years that rolled by. When 
 he left the park, after hours of struggling with his own heart, 
 an expression rested on his noble and handsome countenance 
 that had never been observed there before. An expression of 
 mingled gloom and determination was depicted in his fea- 
 tures. His eyes were luminous, not with their usual glow of 
 enthusiasm, but with subdued and sudden flames. "De- 
 scended into hell, and arisen again from the dead!" mur- 
 mured he, with a derisive smile, as he walked on through the 
 streets to the wretched little house in which Christiane Vul- 
 pius's drunken father and his family lived. 
 
 She came forward to greet him with an exclamation of 
 joyous surprise, for it was the first time Goethe had visited, 
 in the light of day, the little house in which she lived. She 
 threw herself into his extended arms, entwined hers around 
 his neck and kissed him. 
 
480 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 Goethe pressed her lovely head to his bosom, and then 
 raised it gently between his hands. He gazed long and 
 tenderly into her large blue eyes. "Christiane," murmured 
 he, "Christiane, will you be my wife?" 
 
 A dark glow suffused itself over her face and neck, and then 
 a clear ringing peal of laughter, like the joyous outburst of a 
 feathered songster, escaped her coral lips, displaying two 
 rows of pearly teeth. "I, your wife, my good friend? Why 
 do you jest with poor little Christiane?" 
 
 " I am not jesting, Christiane. I ask you in all earnest- 
 ness, Will you be my wife?" 
 
 "In all earnestness?" repeated she, the gaze of her large, 
 soft eyes fastened with an expression of astonishment on 
 Goethe, who stood regarding her intently, his countenance 
 radiant with a tender smile. 
 
 "Giye me an answer, Christiane." 
 
 " First, give me an answer, my good friend. Answer this 
 question. Do you love me? Am I still your pet, your sing- 
 ing-bird, youT little love, your fragrant violet?" 
 
 " You still are, and will ever remain my pet, my singing- 
 bird, my little love, and my violet." 
 
 " Then let me remain what I am, my dear sir. I am but 
 a poor little girl, and not worthy to be the wife of a gentle- 
 man of high rank ; I would cut but a poor figure at your 
 side, as the wife of the mighty privy-councillor, and you 
 might even suppose I had only accepted your love because I 
 had seen the altar and this magnificence in the background." 
 
 " I could not think so, my darling ; I know that you love 
 me." 
 
 " Then I wish you to understand, good sir, that I must re- 
 main as I am, for you are pleased with me as I am. Let me 
 still remain your violet, and blossom in obscurity, observed 
 by no one but you, my good friend and master. I will serve 
 you, I will be your maid-servant, and will work and sew and 
 cook for you. For this I am suited; but I cannot become a 
 noble lady worthy to bear your celebrated name. If I were 
 
YOUTH VICTORIOUS. 481 
 
 your wife, you would often have cause to blush for me ; if I 
 remain your love, I can perhaps amuse you by my little 
 drolleries, and you would have no cause to be ashamed of the 
 ignorant girl who craved nothing except to be near you, and 
 to have you smile on her sometimes." * 
 
 " Christiane, you shall ever be near me ; I will always smile 
 on you !" protested Goethe, deeply moved. 
 
 "Always near you!" repeated Christiane, in joyous, exult- 
 ing tones. "Oh, do let me be with you, good sir! Let me 
 be your servant — your housekeeper. I will serve and obey 
 you, I will honor you as my master, and I will love you as 
 my dearest friend !" 
 
 "And I," said Goethe, laying his hand on her golden hair, 
 " I swear, by the Eternal Spirit of Love and of Nature, that 
 I will love you, and that your happiness shall be the chief end 
 of my life. I swear that I will honor you as my wife, protect 
 and cherish you as my child, and be to you a husband and 
 father until death." 
 
 He stooped and kissed her shining hair and fair brow, and 
 gazed tenderly into her lustrous eyes. " And now, my pet, 
 get ready and come with me!" 
 
 "To go where? You cannot intend to walk with me 
 through the public streets in the broad light of day?" 
 
 " Through the public streets, and in the broad light of day, 
 at your side!" 
 
 "But that will not do," said she, in dismay. "It would 
 not be proper for a noble, celebrated gentleman to be seen in 
 public with a poor, humble creature like myself. What 
 would the world say?" 
 
 " Let the world say what it will ! Come, my violet, I will 
 transplant you to my garden, and there you shall blossom in 
 the future." 
 
 She no longer resisted, but threw her shawl over her shoul- 
 ders, covered her golden tresses with the hat adorned with 
 
 * Christiane Vulpius really rejected Goethe's offer of marriage.— See Lewes's Life 
 of Goethe, vol. ii. p. 121. 
 
483 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 roses of her own manufacture, stepped with Goethe from be- 
 neath the roof of her father's wretched house, and walked at 
 his side through the streets to the stately mansion on Market 
 Square, henceforth destined to be her home. 
 
 Goethe conducted her up the broad stairway, through the 
 antechamber, and into his reception-room. Both were silent, 
 but the countenances of both were radiant with happiness. 
 
 With a gentle hand he relieved her of her shawl and hat, 
 pressed her to his bosom, and then, with upturned eyes, he 
 cried, in loud and impressive tones: " Oftmals hab' ich 
 geirrt, und habe mich wieder gefunden, aber gliicklicher nie ; 
 nun ist dies Madchen mein Gliick! 1st auch dieses ein 
 Irrthum, so schont mich, ihr kliigeren Gotter, und benehmt 
 mir ihn erst driiben am kalten Gestade." * 
 
 CHAPTEE XII. 
 
 SCHILLER'S MAEEIAGE. 
 
 The two great intellects, whose genius shed such rays of light 
 over Weimar, and over all Germany, neither knew nor loved 
 each other. These two heroes of poetry still kept at a dis- 
 tance from each other, and yet there was a wondrous uniform- 
 ity in their inner life, although their outward existence was 
 so different. Goethe, the recognized poet, the man of rank, 
 who had never known want or care : Schiller, still struggling, 
 creating much that was great and beautiful, but aspiring to, 
 and foreseeing with prophetic mind, a future of greater and 
 more brilliant success — Schiller, the man of humble stand- 
 ing, who was still wrestling with want and care. His anxiety 
 and poverty were not destined to be relieved by the appoint- 
 ment which Schiller i-eceived in the year 1789, as Professor 
 
 * Often have I erred, and always found the path again, but never found myself 
 happier; now in this maiden hes my happiness. If this, too, is an error, oh spare me 
 the knowledge, ye gods, and let me only discover it beyond the grave ! " 
 
SCHILLER'S MARRIAGE. 483 
 
 of History at the University of Jena, for— no salary was at- 
 tached to this professorship ! 
 
 "A Mr. Frederick Schiller," wrote (not the poet, but) the 
 Minister Goethe— a report forwarded to the Duke Charles 
 August at that time—" a Mr. Frederick Schiller, who has made 
 himself known to the world by his History of the Nether- 
 lauds, is disposed to take up his abode at the University of 
 Jena. The possibility of this acquisition is aU the more 
 worthy of consideration from the fact that it could be had 
 gratis." 
 
 Gratis! The Dukes of "Weimar, Meiningen, Altenburg, 
 and Gotha, the patrons of the University of Jena, could offer 
 nothing but a professorship without salary to the poet of " Don 
 Carlos," of "Fiesco," of "Louise Miillerin," and of "The 
 Eobbers" — to the poet of so many glorious songs, to the au- 
 thor of "The History of the Netherlands!" They had but 
 one title, but one appointment, to bestow upon the man to 
 honor whom was to honor themselves, and this appointment 
 was made to save expense ! 
 
 Schiller accepted this professorship with the nobility of 
 mind of the poet whose soul aspired rather to honor and re- 
 nown than to pecuniary reward, and who had, for those who 
 profited by his labors while withholding all compensation, 
 nothing but a contemptuous shrug of the shoulders and a 
 proud smile. Schiller's friends were, however, by no means 
 satisfied with this appointment; his practical friend Korner 
 called his attention to the fact, that the necessities of life 
 were also worthy of some consideration, advising him to in- 
 form the minister of state that the addition of a salary to his 
 title of professor was both desirable and very necessary. But 
 Schiller was too proud to solicit as a favor what had not been 
 accorded from a sense of duty. He would not beg bread for 
 the professor, hoping that the poet would be able to support 
 him. He had been accustomed to study close economy, and 
 to struggle with want ; care had been his inseparable companion 
 throughout his entire life. The poet had ever looked np to 
 
484 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 heaven in blissful enthusiasm, rejoicing in the glory of God, 
 and had been " with Him" while the world was being divided 
 among those who understood looking after their pecuniary- 
 interests better than the poet. His heart was rich, and his 
 wants were few. He did not desire wealth, and had refused 
 the rich lady tendered him in marriage by his friend Korner. 
 His loving heart should alone be his guide in the selection of 
 a wife. 
 
 His loving heart ! Had not Schiller a Charlotte, as well as 
 Goethe? The year 1789 had been an eventful one in Goethe's 
 heart's history, and had effected a final separation between 
 Goethe and his Charlotte : the same year was also destined to 
 be an important one in Schiller's heart's history, and to bring 
 about a crisis in his relations to his Charlotte. 
 
 The experience of the two women at this period was of a 
 similar nature. Charlotte von Kalb had often entreated Schil- 
 ler to pay her a visit, but in vain. He had invariably excused 
 himself with the plea that the duties of his professorship in 
 Jena were of such a nature that it was impossible to leave 
 there even for a single day. 
 
 At last Charlotte despatched a messenger to Jena with this 
 laconic letter : " If you do not come to me in Weimar, I will 
 go to you in Jena. Answer." And Schiller's answer was — 
 "I am coming!" 
 
 She was now awaiting him, gazing fixedly at the door; a 
 nameless fear made her heart throb wildly. 
 
 "He shall not find me weak," murmured she; "no, I will 
 neither weep nor complain. No, my pride must give me 
 strength to conceal my anguish, and to hear the decision, 
 whatever it may be, with a smiling countenance. I will cover 
 my heart with a veil, and it shall rest with him to withdraw 
 it with a loving hand, if he will." 
 
 "Here you are at last, my Frederick!" she said to Schiller 
 on his arrival. " It seems, however, that a threat was neces- 
 sary to bring you !" 
 
 "No, dearest friend," replied Schiller, gayly, "the threat 
 
SCHILLER'S MARRIAGE. 485 
 
 was unnecessary I You know that I love you with my whole 
 soul, and my heart has always ye rned to see you once more. 
 The duties of my professorship are such that I find it almost 
 impossible to leave Jena. " 
 
 A bitter smile rested for a moment on Charlotte's lips, but 
 she quickly repressed it. " It is but natural that the new 
 professor should be so busily engaged as not to be able to find 
 time to pay his friend a visit. And yet, Frederick, it was 
 necessary that I should speak to you ; life has now brought 
 me to a point where I must decide upon taking one of two 
 paths that lie before me." 
 
 " Charlotte, I am convinced that your heart and your wis- 
 dom will prompt you to take the right path," said Schiller. 
 
 She inclined her head in assent. " At our last interview I 
 was excited and agitated ; I reproached you for not having 
 spoken to my husband. I believe I even wept, and called you 
 faithless and ungrateful. " 
 
 " Why awaken these remembrances, Charlotte? I have en- 
 deavored to forget all this, and to bear in mind that we should 
 make allowance for words uttered by our friends when irri- 
 tated. We have both dreamed a sweet dream, my friend, 
 and have, unfortunately, been made aware that our romantic 
 air-castles are not destined to be realized in this prosaic 
 world." 
 
 " Do you call the plans we have both made for our future, 
 romantic air-castles?" 
 
 "Yes," replied Schiller, with some little hesitation, "I am 
 unhappily compelled to do so. A marriage with you was the 
 brightest and most glorious air-castle of my fantasy ; and may 
 the egotism of my love be forgiven if I once dreamed that 
 this castle might on some blissful day descend to earth and 
 open its portals to admit us within its radiant halls ! But 
 sober thought followed quickly upon this trance of ecstasy, 
 and told me that these heavenly dreams could not be realized." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 " Because I can offer you no compensation for the great 
 
486 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 sacrifice you would be compelled to make, and because the 
 thought that you might live to regret what you had done fills 
 me with horror. You are a lady of rank, accustomed to the 
 comforts and luxuries of an aristocratic house. I am only a 
 poor professor, accustomed to hardships and want, and not in 
 a condition to provide a comfortable home for a wife. Who- 
 ever takes me must enter upon life with modest expectations, 
 and begin an existence at my side that offers little for the 
 present but hopes and prospects. It would even require much 
 self-denial on the part of a young girl, who is but just begin- 
 ning life, to become the wife of a poor professor and poet. 
 How much more would it require on the part of a lady of 
 high rank to exchange a palace for an humble cottage, and 
 to relinquish wealth, rank, and even the son she so dearly 
 loves? What could I give her in return after she had relin- 
 quished all these blessings? Charlotte, to live with me is to 
 labor, and labor would wound your tender hands. Therefore, 
 forgive the enraptured poet, who thought only of his own 
 happiness when he dared to hope you might still be his, 
 without reflecting that he had no right to purchase his happi- 
 ness at the expense of that of his idol." 
 
 "You are right, my dear friend; we must never permit 
 love to make us selfish, and we must consider the happiness 
 of the object of our love more than our own. We will both 
 consider this and act accordingly. You have my happiness at 
 heart; let me, therefore, consider yours. Schiller, I conjure 
 you by the great Spirit of Truth and Love, now surely hover- 
 ing over us, tell me the truth — answer the question I am 
 about to ask as truthfully as you would before God : Do you 
 love me so firmly, so warmly, and so exclusively, that my 
 possession can alone make you happy?" 
 
 " Charlotte, this is, indeed, a question that I could only 
 answer before God." 
 
 " God dwells in the breast of each human being, and, by 
 the God of Love, who has stretched out His hand over me, I 
 demand of you a truthful answer to my question : Do you 
 
SCHILLER'S MARRIAGE. 487 
 
 love me so firmly, so warmly, and so exclusively that my pos- 
 session can alone make you happy?" 
 
 A pause ensued — a long pause. The God of Truth and of 
 Love, whose presence Charlotte had so solemnly proclaimed, 
 alone beheld the pale countenances of the two beings who 
 stood face to face with the bitter feeling that nothing on earth 
 is constant, and that all is subject to change and destruction — ■ 
 even love! 
 
 " No!" said Schiller, in a low voice, " no, I do not love you 
 so firmly, so warmly, and so exclusively. Nor do I believe we 
 would be happy together, for it is only when no passion exists 
 that marriage can unite two beings in an eternal union ; and 
 then, Charlotte, you are also too exalted for me, and a woman 
 who is a superior being cannot, I believe, make me happy. I 
 must have a wife whom I can educate, who is my creation, 
 who belongs to me alone, whom I alone can make happy, and 
 in whose existence I can renew my own — a wife who is young, 
 inexperienced, and gentle, not highly gifted, devoted to me, 
 and eager to contribute to my comfort and peace." * 
 
 " In a word, a woman who is young," said Charlotte, with 
 proud composure, " or rather, a young girl who is like a sheet 
 of white paper, on which your love is to write the first word." 
 
 " Yes, Charlotte, so it is ! You understand my heart as you 
 have always understood it." 
 
 " I relinquish from to-day all further claim to any such 
 understanding, and I can only give you one last piece of ad- 
 vice, and that is, to ask Mademoiselle von Lengefeld if she is 
 not desirous of being the sheet of paper on which you could 
 write your name. I advise you to marry Mademoiselle von 
 Lengefeld ; she seems to possess all the required qualifications : 
 she is not gifted, has no experience, and can certainly not be 
 called a superior being. " 
 
 "But a noble, an amiable being," cried Schiller, passion- 
 ately •, " a being full of innocence and goodness, a fair creature 
 full" of heart and feeling, full of gentleness and mildness; 
 
 * Schlller'8 own words.— See " Schiller's Correspondence with Korner," vol. ii. 
 
488 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 moreover, she has a noble heart, and a mind capable of great 
 cultivation. She has understanding for all that is intellect- 
 ual, reverence for all that is great and beautiful, and is at the 
 same time modest, affectionate, playful, and naive." 
 
 " In brief, she is an ideal," said Charlotte, derisively. ." But 
 let your thoughts sojourn with me for a moment longer. At 
 my request you have told me the truth, now you shall hear 
 the truth from my lips. We might have spared ourselves all 
 these explanations, but I desired to probe your heart to assure 
 myself that I would not wound you too deeply by telling you 
 what I must now avow. Now that I am no longer uneasy on 
 that score, you shall hear the truth from my lips. My air- 
 castles have vanished also — vanished so long since, that I 
 scarcely have a recollection of them, and can only think of 
 them as of a foolish dream, that neither could nor should have 
 been realized. I have awakened, and I will remain what I 
 am, the wife of Mr. von Kalb, and the mother of my son. I 
 live once more in the present, and the past with all its rec- 
 ollections and follies is obliterated." * 
 
 " I am glad to hear this," said Schiller, in a clear and com- 
 posed voice, the gaze of his large blue eyes fastened on Char- 
 lotte's cold and haughty countenance with an expression of 
 severity. " I am glad to hear that the past is obliterated from 
 your remembrance, as it is from mine. I can now speak to 
 you freely and openly of the happiness which the future has, 
 as I hope, in store for me. I love Charlotte von Lengefeld, 
 and now that you have discarded me, I am at liberty to ask 
 her to become my wife." 
 
 " Do so," said she, quietly. " We are about to separate, but 
 my blessing will remain with you; any correspondence be- 
 tween us in the future would, of course, be annoying, and as 
 our letters of the past have become meaningless, I must re- 
 quest you to return mine." f 
 
 " As you had already written to me on this subject several 
 
 * Charlotte's own words.— See " Schiller's Life of Caroline von Wollzogen." 
 + Charlotte's own words.— See " Charlotte: A Life Picture," p. 80. 
 
SCHILLER'S MARRIAGE, 489 
 
 times, I took the precaution of bringing these letters with me 
 to-day. Here they are. I have preserved them carefully and 
 lovingly, and I confess that it gives me great pain to part with 
 these relics of the past." 
 
 He handed her the little sealed package which he had drawn 
 from his breast-pocket; she did not take it, however, but 
 merely pointed to the table. 
 
 " I thank you, and I will now return your letters." 
 
 She walked into the adjoining room, closing the door softly 
 behind her. With trembling hands she took Schiller's letters 
 from the little box in which she had kept them. She kissed 
 them, pressed them to her heart and eyes, and kissed them 
 again and again, but when she saw that a tear had fallen on 
 the paper she wiped it off carefully ; she then walked rapidly 
 to the door and opened it. On the threshold she stood still, 
 composed, proudly erect. 
 
 "Schiller, here are the letters!" 
 
 He approached and took them from her hand, which she 
 quickly withdrew. She then returned to the adjoining room, 
 locking the door behind her. 
 
 This was their leave-taking, this their parting, after long 
 years of love ! 
 
 With downcast eyes and in deep sadness of heart, Schiller 
 left the house of the woman he had once loved so ardently. 
 But this soon passed away and gave place to the blissful feel- 
 ing that he was once more free — free to offer his heart, his 
 hand, and his life, to the woman he loved ! 
 
 A few days later his heart's longing was gratified. He went 
 to Eudolstadt and received a loving and cordial welcome from 
 both sisters. Both ! But only one of the sisters was at liberty 
 to bestow her hand. Caroline was not! Her hand was fet- 
 tered by her plighted troth, and even if her husband's con- 
 sent to a separation could have been obtained, there were 
 other fetters. She was in her sister's confidence. She knew 
 that Charlotte loved Schiller tenderly. 
 
 They were together in the quiet little parlor, they three 
 
490 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 alone, for the mother was absent on a little journey. Schiller 
 sat between the sisters, his countenance radiant with happi- 
 ness. 
 
 " Oh, my fair friends, how delighted I am to be with you 
 once more!" 
 
 "Schiller," whispered Caroline, laying her hand gently on 
 his shoulder, " Schiller, I have a word to say to you. Come I" 
 
 She conducted him to a window-recess, and inclined her 
 head so close to his ear that her trembling lips kissed one of 
 his fair locks. "Schiller," whispered she, "you love my sis- 
 ter, and I know that she loves you. Courage, confess your 
 love, and God bless you both!" 
 
 Having said this, she walked noiselessly from the room, re- 
 tired to her solitary chamber, closed the door behind her, and 
 sank down on her knees. She shed no tears, and the brave 
 soul of this noble woman was exalted above all pain in this 
 hour of her great sacrifice. Her chaste lips would not express 
 the noble secret in words, even before God. But her Maker 
 may have read her sacrifice in the expression of anguish and 
 resignation in her upturned countenance. 
 
 " Be happy, Schiller ! God bless you both ! Be happy ! 
 then I will be happy, too." 
 
 On returning to the parlor, Caroline's countenance shone 
 with pleasure, and her lips parted in a happy smile when she 
 saw the two lovers in a close embrace, heart to heart. 
 
 " Oh, dear Caroline, she has confessed ; you were certainly 
 right ! She loves me, she is mine. And so are you, Caroline, 
 you are also mine, and we three will belong to each other for 
 evermore!" 
 
 "Yes, for evermore, my friend, my brother!" She gently 
 entwined her arms around Schiller's and Lottie's neck; and 
 now the three were joined in one close and loving embrace. 
 
 " I have at last entered the haven of happiness," said Schil- 
 ler, in deep emotion. " I have, at last, found my home, and 
 eternal peace and repose are mine. I am encircled with your 
 love as with a halo, ye beloved sisters; and now all the great 
 
SCHILLER'S MARRIAGE. 491 
 
 expectations which you have entertained concerning me will 
 be realized, for happiness will exalt me above myself. Char- 
 lotte, you shall never again have cause to tell me I look 
 gloomy, for your love will shed a flood of sunshine on my ex- 
 istence hereafter. You shall teach me to laugh and be 
 merry. God, I thank Thee for permitting me to find this 
 happiness! I, too, was born in Arcadia!" 
 
 They held each other in a close embrace, they wept for joy, 
 and their souls, beaming eyes, and smiling lips, exchanged 
 mute vows of eternal love and fidelity. 
 
 These were blissful days for Schiller. Madame von Lenge- 
 feld had given her consent to the marriage of her daughter 
 Lottie with Schiller, sooner than the lovers expected. Charles 
 August gave the poet the title of privy-councillor, and at- 
 tached a salary of two hundred dollars to his professorship, 
 as a marriage present. The title delighted Madame von 
 Lengefeld, and somewhat reconciled her aristocratic heart to 
 the thought that her daughter, who had been on the point of 
 becoming a maid of honor, should now marry a man of the 
 people. Schiller deemed his salary of two hundred dollars 
 quite a small fortune, and hoped that this, together with the 
 fruits of his poetic labors, would be sufiQcient to provide a 
 comfortable home for his darling, and — " space in the smallest 
 cottage for a happy and loving pair!" 
 
 They were a "happy, loving pair;" and the serene heaven 
 of their happiness was undimmed by the smallest cloud. Had 
 a cloud appeared, Charlotte's quick eye would have detected 
 and dissipated it before the lovers were aware of its existence. 
 The sister watched over their happiness like their good genius, 
 like a faithful sentinel. 
 
 At times, while gazing dreamily into his Lottie's soft eyes, 
 Schiller would smile and then ask her if she really loved him, 
 as though such happiness were incredible. 
 
 In reply, Charlotte would smile and protest that she had 
 loved him for a long time, and that her sister, who had known 
 her secret, could confirm her statement. 
 
493 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 " And she it'was who told me this sweet secret. Yes, Car- 
 oline was the beneficent angel who infused courage into my 
 timid heart." 
 
 "Yes, she is an angel!" said Charlotte, thoughtfully. "I 
 look up to her as to a being far superior to myself, and, let 
 me confess, my beloved, that the thought sometimes torments 
 me that she really could be more to you than I am, and that 
 I am not necessary to your happiness." 
 
 He gazed into her lovely countenance, an expression of 
 perfect peace resting on his own. " Your love is all I require 
 to make me happy. The peculiar and happiest feature of our 
 union is, that it is self-sustaining, ever revolving on its own 
 axis in a well-defined orbit; this forbids my entertaining the 
 fear that I could ever be less to either of you, or that I could 
 ever receive less from you. Our love has no need of anx- 
 iety — -of watchfulness. How could I rejoice in my existence 
 unless for you and Caroline? — how could I always retain 
 sufficient control over my own soul, unless I entertained the 
 sweet conviction that my feelings toward both, and each of 
 you, were of such a nature that I am not forced to withdraw 
 from the one what I give to the other? My soul revolves be- 
 tween you in safety, ever returning lovingly from the one to 
 the other, the same star, the same ray of light, differently re- 
 fiected from different mirrors. Caroline is nearer to me in 
 age, and therefore more closely akin to me in the form of her 
 thought and feeling ; but I would not have you other than 
 you are, for all the world, Lottie. That in which Caroline is 
 your superior, you must receive from me ; your soul must ex- 
 pand in my love, and you must be my creation. Your blos- 
 som must fall in the spring of my love. " * 
 
 "Yes," cried Charlotte, entwining her arm more closely 
 around his neck, " I will be your creation, and happy shall I 
 feel in the consciousness of belonging to you, and of being 
 able to contribute somewhat to your happiness. " f 
 
 * Schiller's own words.— See " Schiller's Life of Caroline von WoUzogen." 
 + Lottie's own words.— Ibid. 
 
SCHILLER'S MARRIAGE. 493 
 
 On the morning of the twentieth of February, i790, a closed 
 carriage drove rapidly from Rudolstadt in the direction of 
 Jena. But this carriage stopped in the little village in the 
 immediate vicinity of the university-city — Weningenjena — at 
 the door of the village church with its tapering spire. 
 
 The sexton was standing at the open door in his Sunday 
 suit ; when the carriage drove up, he hastened forward to 
 open the door. A tall gentleman, attired in black, stepped 
 out; his countenance was pale, but a wondrous light beamed 
 in his eyes, and noble thoughts were enthroned on his brow, 
 while his lips were parted in a soft smile. With tender solici- 
 tude, he helped an elderly lady from the carriage. Then 
 followed a younger lady, with pale cheeks, but with eyes that 
 were radiant with love and peace. At last a young girl — a 
 girl with rosy cheeks, and a timid, childlike smile on her 
 fresh lips — was about to descend from the carriage, but the 
 tall gentleman would not sufEer her to touch the pavement 
 with her tender little feet. He raised her fair form in his 
 arms, and bore her over the rough stones and into the church. 
 
 The two ladies followed, and behind them came the sexton, 
 gravely shaking his head, and ruminating over the strangely 
 quiet nature of the approaching ceremony. He did what 
 Pastor Schmidt, who was already standing between the burn- 
 ing wax-candles in front of the altar, had told him to do. 
 He closed and locked the church doors, so that no one should 
 see what was going on in the church. 
 
 And you, too, ye rude winter winds, hold your breath and 
 blow softly! and thou, thou clear blue sky, look down mildly; 
 and thou, bright sun, shed thy warmest rays through the 
 windows into the little village church of Weningenjena. For 
 the poet Frederick Schiller is standing before its altar at the 
 side of his lovely bride. Charlotte weeps, but her tears are 
 tears of emotion and of joy. The mother stands at her side, 
 her hands folded in prayer. Caroline's eyes are upturned; 
 and God reads the mute entreaty of her lips. 
 
 Schiller's countenance is radiant with peace and happiness, 
 
494 GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 
 
 and manly determination beams in the large blue eyes that 
 gaze so firmly and tranquilly at the preacher, who stands be- 
 fore the altar, proclaiming the sacred nature of the union 
 about to be consummated. 
 
 Subdue your fury, ye boisterous winter storms! do not 
 touch the poet's cheeks too rudely with your cold breath. He 
 has already suffered much from cold winter winds, he has 
 journeyed over rough paths — has renounced and struggled, 
 and has often seen his heart's fairest blossoms bruised and 
 borne away by rude storms. Be tranquil, and let the spring- 
 time come, that the buds of his hopes may put forth blossoms. 
 
 Shed thy glorious light upon this little church, thou 
 heavenly sun ! greet the poet Frederick Schiller, the poet of 
 the German nation, who is now celebrating life's fairest fes- 
 tival before its holy altar ! But, 
 
 " Ah, life's fairest festival 
 Ends the May of life anon; 
 With the girdle, with the veil, 
 Is the fond illusion gonel " 
 
 THE END. 
 
Missing Page