Chapter XVII: Part III: p. 12: 'Died at Mannheim, on the 27th of December 1806, in

his 85th year, Wolfgang Heribert, Reichsfreiherr von Dalberg; knighted by the Emperor Leopold on his coronation at Frankfort. A warm friend and patron of the arts and sciences; while the German Society flourished at Mannheim, he was its first President; and the theatre of that town, the school of the best actors in Germany, of Iffland, Beck, Beil, and many others, owes to him its foundation, and its maintenance throughout his long Intendancy, which he held till 1803. As a writer and a poet, he is no less favourably known. We need only refer to his _Cora_, a musical drama, and to 'the _Monch von Carmel_.'--These letters of Schiller were found among his papers at his death; rescued from destruction by two of his executors, and published at Carlsruhe, in a small duodecimo, in the year 1819. There is a verbose preface, but no note or comment, though some such aid is now and then a little wanted.

The letters most worthy of our notice are those relating to the exhibition of the _Robbers_ on the Mannheim stage, and to Schiller's consequent embarrassments and flight. From these, accordingly, the most of our selections shall be taken. It is curious to see with what timidity the intercourse on Schiller's part commences; and how this awkward shyness gradually gives place to some degree of confidence, as he becomes acquainted with his patron, or is called to treat of subjects where he feels that he himself has a dignity, and rights of his own, forlorn and humble as he is. At first he never mentions Dalberg but with all his titles, some of which to our unceremonious ears seem ludicrous enough. Thus in the full style of German reverence, he avoids directly naming his correspondent, but uses the oblique designation of 'your Excellency,' or something equally exalted: and he begins his two earliest letters with an address, which, literally interpreted, runs thus: 'Empire-free, Highly-wellborn, Particularly-much-to-be-venerated, Lord Privy Counsellor!' Such sounding phrases make us smile: but they entirely depend on custom for their import, and the smile which they excite is not by any means a philosophic one. It is but fair that in our version we omit them, or render them by some more grave equivalent.

The first letter is as follows:

[No date.]

'The proud judgment, passed upon me in the flattering letter
which I had the honour to receive from your Excellency, is
enough to set the prudence of an Author on a very slippery
eminence. The authority of the quarter it proceeds from,
would almost communicate to that sentence the stamp of
infallibility, if I could regard it as anything but a mere
encouragement of my Muse. More than this a deep feeling of my
weakness will not let me think it; but if my strength shall
ever climb to the height of a masterpiece, I certainly shall
have this warm approval of your Excellency alone to thank for
it, and so will the world. For several years I have had the
happiness to know you from the public papers: long ago the
splendour of the Mannheim theatre attracted my attention.
And, I confess, ever since I felt any touch of dramatic
talent in myself, it has been among my darling projects some
time or other to remove to Mannheim, the true temple of
Thalia; a project, however, which my _closer_ connection with
Wuertemberg might possibly impede.

'Your Excellency's very kind proposal on the subject of the
_Robbers_, and such other pieces as I may produce in future,
is infinitely precious to me; the maturing of it well
deserves a narrower investigation of your Excellency's
theatre, its special mode of management, its actors, the _non
plus ultra_ of its machinery; in a word, a full conception of
it, such as I shall never get while my only scale of
estimation is this Stuttgard theatre of ours, an
establishment still in its minority. Unhappily my
_economical_ circumstances render it impossible for me to
travel much; though I could travel now with the greater
happiness and confidence, as I have still some _pregnant
ideas_ for the Mannheim theatre, which I could wish to have
the honour of communicating to your Excellency. For the rest,
I remain,' &c.

From the second letter we learn that Schiller had engaged to _theatrilise_ his original edition of the _Robbers_, and still wished much to be connected in some shape with Mannheim. The third explains itself:

'Stuttgard, 6th October 1781.

'Here then at last returns the luckless prodigal, the
remodelled _Robbers_! I am sorry that I have not kept the
time, appointed by myself; but a transitory glance at the
number and extent of the changes I have made, will, I trust,
be sufficient to excuse me. Add to this, that a contagious
epidemic was at work in our military Hospital, which, of
course, interfered very often with my _otia poetica_. After
finishing my work, I may assure you I could engage with less
effort of mind, and certainly with far more contentment, to
compose a new piece, than to undergo the labour I have just
concluded. The task was complicated and tedious. Here I had
to correct an error, which naturally was rooted in the very
groundwork of the play; there perhaps to sacrifice a beauty
to the limits of the stage, the humour of the pit, the
stupidity of the gallery, or some such sorrowful convention;
and I need not tell you, that as in nature, so on the stage,
an idea, an emotion, can have only one suitable expression,
one proper tone. A single alteration in a trait of character
may give a new tendency to the whole personage, and,
consequently, to his actions, and the mechanism of the piece
which depends on them.

'In the original, the Robbers are exhibited in strong
contrast with each other; and I dare maintain that it is
difficult to draw half a dozen robbers in strong contrast,
without in some of them offending the delicacy of the stage.
In my first conception of the piece, I excluded the idea of
its ever being represented in a theatre; hence came it that
Franz was planned as a _reasoning_ villain; a plan which,
though it may content the thinking Reader, cannot fail to vex
and weary the Spectator, who does not come to think, and who
wants not philosophy, but action.

'In the new edition, I could not overturn this arrangement
without breaking-down the whole economy of the piece.
Accordingly I can predict, with tolerable certainty, that
Franz when he appears on the stage, will not play the part
which he has played with the reader. And, at all events, the
rushing stream of the action will hurry the spectator over
all the finer shadings, and rob him of a third part of the
whole character.

'Karl von Moor might chance to form an era on the stage;
except a few speculations, which, however, work as
indispensable colours in the general picture, he is all
action, all visible life. Spiegelberg, Schweitzer, Hermann,
are, in the strictest sense, personages for the stage; in a
less degree, Amelia and the Father.

'Written and oral criticisms I have endeavoured to turn to
advantage. The alterations are important; certain scenes are
altogether new. Of this number, are Hermann's counter-plots
to undermine the schemes of Franz; his interview with that
personage, which, in the first composition of the work, was
entirely and very unhappily forgotten. His interview with
Amelia in the garden has been postponed to the succeeding
act; and my friends tell me that I could have fixed upon no
better act than this, no better time than a few moments prior
to the meeting of Amelia with Moor. Franz is brought a little
nearer human nature; but the mode of it is rather strange. A
scene like his condemnation in the fifth act has never, to my
knowledge, been exhibited on any stage; and the same may be
said of the scene where Amelia is sacrificed by her lover.

'If the piece should be too long, it stands at the discretion
of the manager to abbreviate the speculative parts of it, or
here and there, without prejudice to the general impression,
to omit them altogether. But in the _printing_, I use the
freedom humbly to protest against the leaving out of
anything. I had satisfactory reasons of my own for all that I
allowed to pass; and my submission to the stage does not
extend so far, that I can leave _holes_ in my work, and
mutilate the characters of men for the convenience of actors.

'In regard to the selection of costume, without wishing to
prescribe any rules, I may be permitted to remark, that
though in nature dress is unimportant, on the stage it is
never so. In this particular, the taste of my Robber Moor
will not be difficult to hit. He wears a plume; for this is
mentioned expressly in the play, at the time when he
abdicates his office. I have also given him a baton. His
dress should always be noble without ornament, unstudied but
not negligent.

'A young but excellent composer is working at a symphony for
my unhappy prodigal: I know it will be masterly. So soon as
it is finished, I shall take the liberty of offering it to
you.

'I must also beg you to excuse the irregular state of the
manuscript, the incorrectness of the penmanship. I was in
haste to get the piece ready for you; hence the double sort
of handwriting in it; hence also my forbearing to correct it.
My copyist, according to the custom of all _reforming_
caligraphers, I find, has wofully abused the spelling. To
conclude, I recommend myself and my endeavours to the
kindness of an honoured judge. I am,' &c.

'Stuttgard, 12th December 1781.

'With the change projected by your Excellency, in regard to
the publishing of my play, I feel entirely contented,
especially as I perceive that by this means two interests
that had become very alien, are again made one, without, as
I hope, any prejudice to the results and the success of my
work. Your Excellency, however, touches on some other _very_
weighty changes, which the piece has undergone from your
hands; and these, in respect of myself, I feel to be so
important, that I shall beg to explain my mind at some length
regarding them. At the outset, then, I must honestly confess
to you, I hold the projected transference of the action
represented in my play to the epoch of the _Landfried_, and
the Suppression of Private Wars, with the whole accompaniment
which it gains by this new position, as infinitely better
than mine; and must hold it so, although the whole piece
should go to ruin thereby. Doubtless it is an objection, that
in our enlightened century, with our watchful police and
fixedness of statute, such a reckless gang should have arisen
in the very bosom of the laws, and still more, have taken
root and subsisted for years: doubtless the objection is well
founded, and I have nothing to allege against it, but the
license of Poetry to raise the probabilities of the real
world to the rank of true, and its possibilities to the rank
of probable.

'This excuse, it must be owned, is little adequate to the
objection it opposes. But when I grant your Excellency so
much (and I grant it honestly, and with complete conviction),
what will follow? Simply that my play has got an ugly fault
at its birth, which fault, if I may say so, it must carry
with it to its grave, the fault being interwoven with its
very nature, and not to be removed without destruction of the
whole.

'In the first place, all my personages speak in a style too
modern, too enlightened for that ancient time. The dialect is
not the right one. That simplicity so vividly presented to us
by the author of _Goetz von Berlichingen_, is altogether
wanting. Many long tirades, touches great and small, nay
entire characters, are taken from the aspect of the present
world, and would not answer for the age of Maximilian. In a
word, this change would reduce the piece into something like
a certain woodcut which I remember meeting with in an edition
of Virgil. The Trojans wore hussar boots, and King Agamemnon
had a pair of pistols in his belt. I should commit a _crime_
against the age of Maximilian, to avoid an _error_ against
the age of Frederick the Second.

'Again, my whole episode of Amelia's love would make a
frightful contrast with the simple chivalry attachment of
that period. Amelia would, at all hazards, need to be
re-moulded into a chivalry maiden; and I need not tell you
that this character, and the sort of love which reigns in my
work, are so deeply and broadly tinted into the whole picture
of the Robber Moor, nay, into the whole piece, that every
part of the delineation would require to be re-painted,
before those tints could be removed. So likewise is it with
the character of Franz, that speculative,
metaphysico-refining knave.

'In a word, I think I may affirm, that this projected
transposition of my work, which, prior to the commencement,
would have lent it the highest splendour and completeness,
could not fail now, when the piece is planned and finished,
to change it into a defective _quodlibet_, a crow with
peacock's feathers.

'Your Excellency will forgive a father this earnest pleading
in behalf of his son. These are but words, and in the
long-run every theatre can make of any piece what they think
proper; the author must content himself. In the present case,
he looks upon it as a happiness that he has fallen into such
hands. With Herr Schwann, however, I will make it a condition
that, at least, he _print_ the piece according to the first
plan. In the theatre I pretend to no vote whatever.

'That other change relating to Amelia's death was perhaps
even more interesting to me. Believe me, your Excellency,
this was the portion of my play which cost me the greatest
effort and deliberation, of all which the result was nothing
else than this, that Moor _must_ kill his Amelia, and that
the action is even a _positive beauty_, in his character; on
the one hand painting the ardent lover, on the other the
Bandit Captain, with the liveliest colours. But the
vindication of this part is not to be exhausted in a single
letter. For the rest, the few words which you propose to
substitute in place of this scene, are truly exquisite, and
altogether worthy of the situation. I should be proud of
having written them.

'As Herr Schwann informs me that the piece, with the music
and indispensably necessary pauses, will last about five
hours (too long for any piece!), a second curtailment of it
will be called for. I should not wish that any but myself
undertook this task, and I myself, _without the sight of a
rehearsal, or of the first representation_, cannot undertake
it.

'If it were possible that your Excellency could fix the
general rehearsal of the piece some time between the
twentieth and the thirtieth of this month, and make good to
me the main expenses of a journey to you, I should hope, in
some few days, I might unite the interest of the stage with
my own, and give the piece that proper rounding-off, which,
without an actual view of the representation, cannot well be
given it. On this point, may I request the favour of your
Excellency's decision soon, that I may be prepared for the
event.

'Herr Schwann writes me that a Baron von Gemmingen has given
himself the trouble and done me the honour to read my piece.
This Herr von Gemmingen, I also hear, is author of the
_Deutsche Hausvater_. I long to have the honour of assuring
him that I liked his _Hausvater_ uncommonly, and admired in
it the traces of a most accomplished man and writer. But what
does the author of the _Deutsche Hausvater_ care about the
babble of a young apprentice? If I should ever have the
honour of meeting Dalberg at Mannheim, and testifying the
affection and reverence I bear him, I will then also press
into the arms of that other, and tell him how dear to me such
souls are as Dalberg and Gemmingen.

'Your thought about the small Advertisement, before our
production of the piece, I exceedingly approve of; along with
this I have enclosed a sketch of one. For the rest, I have
the honour, with perfect respect, to be always,' &c.

This is the enclosed scheme of an Advertisement; which was
afterwards adopted:

'THE ROBBERS,

'A PLAY.

'The picture of a great, misguided soul, furnished with every
gift for excellence, and lost in spite of all its gifts:
unchecked ardour and bad companionship contaminate his heart;
hurry him from vice to vice, till at last he stands at the
head of a gang of murderers, heaps horror upon horror,
plunges from abyss to abyss into all the depths of
desperation. Great and majestic in misfortune; and by
misfortune improved, led back to virtue. Such a man in the
Robber Moor you shall "bewail and hate, abhor and love. A
hypocritical, malicious deceiver, you shall likewise see
unmasked, and blown to pieces in his own mines. A feeble,
fond, and too indulgent father. The sorrows of enthusiastic
love, and the torture of ungoverned passion. Here also, not
without abhorrence, you shall cast a look into the interior
economy of vice, and from the stage be taught how all the
gilding of fortune cannot kill the inward worm; how terror,
anguish, remorse, and despair follow close upon the heels of
the wicked. Let the spectator weep today before our scene,
and shudder, and learn to bend his passions under the laws of
reason and religion. Let the youth behold with affright the
end of unbridled extravagance; nor let the man depart from
our theatre, without a feeling that Providence makes even
villains instruments of His purposes and judgments, and can
marvellously unravel the most intricate perplexities of
fate.'

Whatever reverence Schiller entertained for Dalberg as a critic and a patron, and however ready to adopt his alterations when they seemed judicious, it is plain, from various passages of these extracts, that in regard to writing, he had also firm persuasions of his own, and conscientiousness enough to adhere to them while they continued such. In regard to the conducting of his life, his views as yet were far less clear. The following fragments serve to trace him from the first exhibition of his play at Mannheim to his flight from Stuttgard:

'Stuttgard, 17th January 1782.

'I here in writing repeat my warmest thanks for the
courtesies received from your Excellency, for your attention
to my slender efforts, for the dignity and splendour you
bestowed upon my piece, for all your Excellency did to exalt
its little merits and hide its weaknesses by the greatest
outlay of theatric art. The shortness of my stay at Mannheim
would not allow me to go into details respecting the play or
its representation; and as I could not say all, my time
being meted out to me so sparingly, I thought it better to
say absolutely nothing. I observed much, I learned much; and
I believe, if Germany shall ever find in me a true dramatic
poet, I must reckon the date of my commencement from the
past week.' * * *

* * * * *

'Stuttgard, 24th May 1782.

* * * 'My impatient wish to see the piece played a second
time, and the absence of my Sovereign favouring that
purpose, have induced me, with some ladies and male friends
as full of curiosity respecting Dalberg's theatre and
_Robbers_ as myself, to undertake a little journey to
Mannheim, which we are to set about tomorrow. As this is the
principal aim of our journey, and to me a more perfect
enjoyment of my play is an exceedingly important object,
especially since this would put it in my power to set about
_Fiesco_ under better auspices, I make it my earnest request
of your Excellency, if possible, to procure me this
enjoyment on Tuesday the 28th current.' * * *

* * * * *

'Stuttgard, 4th June 1782.

'The satisfaction I enjoyed at Mannheim in such copious
fulness, I have paid, since my return, by this epidemical
disorder, which has made me till today entirely unfit to
thank your Excellency for so much regard and kindness. And
yet I am forced almost to repent the happiest journey of my
life; for by a truly mortifying contrast of Mannheim with my
native country, it has pained me so much, that Stuttgard and
all Swabian scenes are become intolerable to me. Unhappier
than I am can no one be. I have feeling enough of my bad
condition, perhaps also feeling enough of my meriting a
better; and in both points of view but _one_ prospect of
relief.

'May I dare to cast myself into your arms, my generous
benefactor? I know how soon your noble heart inflames when
sympathy and humanity appeal to it; I know how strong your
courage is to undertake a noble action, and how warm your
zeal to finish it. My new friends in Mannheim, whose respect
for you is boundless, told me this: but their assurance was
not necessary; I myself in that hour of your time, which I
had the happiness exclusively to enjoy, read in your
countenance far more than they had told me. It is this which
makes me bold to _give_ myself without reserve to you, to
put my whole fate into your hands, and look to you for the
happiness of my life. As yet I am little or nothing. In this
Arctic Zone of taste, I shall never grow to anything, unless
happier stars and a _Grecian climate_ warm me into genuine
poetry. Need I say more, to expect from Dalberg all support?

'Your Excellency gave me every hope to this effect; the
squeeze of the hand that sealed your promise, I shall
forever feel. If your Excellency will adopt the two or three
hints I have subjoined, and use them in a letter to the
Duke, I have no very great misgivings as to the result.

'And now with a burning heart, I repeat the request, the
soul of all this letter. Could you look into the interior of
my soul, could you see what feelings agitate it, could I
paint to you in proper colours how my spirit strains against
the grievances of my condition, you would not, I know you
would not, delay one hour the aid which an application from
you to the Duke might procure me.

'Again I throw myself into your arms, and wish nothing more
than soon, very soon, to have it in my power to show by
personal exertions in your service, the reverence with which
I could devote to you myself and all that I am.'

The 'hints' above alluded to, are given in a separate enclosure, the main part of which is this:

'I earnestly desire that you could secure my union with the
Mannheim Theatre for a specified period (which at your
request might be lengthened), at the end of which I might
again belong to the Duke. It will thus have the air rather
of an excursion than a final abdication of my country, and
will not strike them so ungraciously. In this case, however,
it would be useful to suggest that means of practising and
studying medicine might be afforded me at Mannheim. This
will be peculiarly necessary, lest they sham, and higgle
about letting me away.'

'Stuttgard, 15th July 1782.

'My long silence must have almost drawn upon me the reproach
of folly from your Excellency, especially as I have not only
delayed answering your last kind letter, but also retained
the two books by me. All this was occasioned by a harassing
affair which I have had to do with here. Your Excellency
will doubtless be surprised when you learn that, for my last
journey to you, I have been confined a fortnight under
arrest. Everything was punctually communicated to the Duke.
On this matter I have had an interview with him.

'If your Excellency think my prospects of coming to you
anywise attainable, my only prayer is to _accelerate the
fulfilment of them_. The reason why I now wish this with
double earnestness, is one which I dare trust no whisper of
to paper. This alone I can declare for certain, that within
a month or two, if I have not the happiness of being with
you, there will remain no further hope of my ever being
there. Ere that time, I shall be forced to take a _step_,
which will render it impossible for me to stay at Mannheim.'
* * *

* * * * *

The next two extracts are from letters to another correspondent. Doering quotes them without name or date: their purport sufficiently points out their place.

'I must haste to get away from this: in the end they might
find me an apartment in the Hohenasperg, as they have found
the honest and ill-fated Schubart. They talk of better
culture that I need. It is possible enough, they might
cultivate me differently in Hohenasperg: but I had rather
try to make shift with what culture I have got, or may still
get, by my unassisted efforts. This at least I owe to no one
but my own free choice, and volition that disdains
constraint.'

* * * * *

'In regard to those affairs, concerning which they wish to
put my spirit under wardship, I have long reckoned my
minority to be concluded. The best of it is, that one can
cast away such clumsy manacles: me at least they shall not
fetter.'

* * * * *

[No date.]

'Your Excellency will have learned from my friends at
Mannheim, what the history of my affairs was up to your
arrival, which unhappily I could not wait for. When I tell
you _that I am flying my country_, I have painted my whole
fortune. But the worst is yet behind. I have not the
necessary _means_ of setting my mishap at defiance. For the
sake of safety, I had to withdraw from Stuttgard with the
utmost speed, at the time of the Prince's arrival. Thus were
my economical arrangements suddenly snapped asunder: I could
not even pay my debts. My hopes had been set on a removal to
Mannheim; there I trusted, by your Excellency's assistance,
that my new play might not only have cleared me of debt, but
have permanently put me into better circumstances. All this
was frustrated by the necessity for hastening my removal. I
went empty away; empty in purse and hope. I blush at being
forced to make such disclosures to you; though I know they
do not disgrace me. Sad enough for me to see realised in
myself the hateful saying, that mental growth and full
stature are things denied to every Swabian!

'If my former conduct, if all that your Excellency knows of
my character, inspires you with confidence in my love of
honour, permit me frankly to ask your assistance. Pressingly
as I now need the profit I expect from my _Fiesco_, it will
be impossible for me to have the piece in readiness before
three weeks: my heart was oppressed; the feeling of my own
situation drove me back from my poetic dreams. But if at the
specified period, I could make the play not only _ready_,
but, as I also hope, _worthy_, I take courage from that
persuasion, respectfully to ask that your Excellency would
be so obliging as _advance_ for me the price that will then
become due. I need it now, perhaps more than I shall ever do
again throughout my life. I had near 200 florins of debt in
Stuttgard, which I could not pay. I may confess to you, that
this gives me more uneasiness than anything about my future
destiny. I shall have no rest till I am free on _that_ side.

'In eight days, too, my travelling purse will be exhausted.
It is yet utterly impossible for me to labour with my mind.
In my hand, therefore, are at present no resources.

* * * * *

'My actual situation being clear enough from what I have
already said, I hold it needless to afflict your Excellency
with any _importuning picture_ of my want. Speedy aid is all
that I can now think of or wish. Herr Meyer has been
requested to communicate your Excellency's resolution to me,
and to save you from the task of writing to me in person at
all. With peculiar respect, I call myself,' &c.

* * * * *

It is pleasing to record that the humble aid so earnestly and modestly solicited by Schiller, was afforded him; and that he never forgot to love the man who had afforded it; who had assisted him, when assistance was of such essential value. In the first fervour of his gratitude, for this and other favours, the poet warmly declared that 'he owed all, all to Dalberg;' and in a state of society where Patronage, as Miss Edgeworth has observed, directly the antipodes of Mercy, is in general 'twice cursed,' cursing him that gives and him that takes, it says not a little for the character both of the obliged and the obliger in the present instance, that neither of them ever ceased to remember their connexion with pleasure. Schiller's first play had been introduced to the Stage by Dalberg, and his last was dedicated to him.[69] The venerable critic, in his eighty-third year, must have received with a calm joy the tragedy of _Tell_, accompanied by an address so full of kindness and respect: it must have gratified him to think that the youth who was once his, and had now become the world's, could, after long experience, still say of him,

And fearlessly to thee may _Tell_ be shown,
For every noble feeling is thy own.

[Footnote 69: It clearly appears I am wrong here; I have
confounded the Freiherr Wolfgang Heribert von Dalberg,
Director of the Mannheim Theatre, with Archduke and _Fuerst
Primas_ Karl Theodor Dalberg, his younger Brother,--a man
justly eminent in the Politico-Ecclesiastical world of his
time, and still more distinguished for his patronage of
letters, and other benefactions to his country, than the
Freiherr was. Neither is the play of _Tell_ 'dedicated' to
him, as stated in the text; there is merely a copy presented,
with some verses by the Author inscribed in it; at which time
Karl Theodor was in his _sixtieth_ year. A man of conspicuous
station, of wide activity, and high influence and esteem in
Germany. He was the personal friend of Herder, Goethe,
Schiller, Wieland; by Napoleon he was made _Fuerst Primas_,
Prince Primate of the Confederation of the Rhine, being
already Archbishop, Elector of Mentz, &c. The good and brave
deeds he did in his time appear to have been many, public and
private. Pensions to deserving men of letters were among the
number: Zacharias Werner, I remember, had a pension from
him,--and still more to the purpose, Jean Paul. He died in
1817. There was a third Brother also memorable for his
encouragement of Letters and Arts. "_Ist kein Dalberg da_, Is
there no Dalberg here?" the Herald cries on a certain
occasion. (See _Conv. Lexicon_, B. iii.)

To Sir Edward Bulwer, in his _Sketch of the Life of Schiller_
(p. c.), I am indebted for very kindly pointing out this
error; as well as for much other satisfaction derived from
that work. (_Note of_ 1845.)]

Except this early correspondence, very few of Schiller's letters have been given to the world.[70] In Doering's Appendix, we have found one written six years after the poet's voluntary exile, and agreeably contrasted in its purport with the agitation and despondency of that unhappy period. We translate it for the sake of those who, along with us, regret that while the world is deluged with insipid correspondences, and 'pictures of mind' that were not worth drawing, the correspondence of a man who never wrote unwisely should lie mouldering in private repositories, ere long to be irretrievably destroyed; that the 'picture of a mind' who was among the conscript fathers of the human race should still be left so vague and dim. This letter is addressed to Schwann, during Schiller's first residence in Weimar: it has already been referred to in the Text.

[Footnote 70: There have since been copious contributions:
_Correspondence with Goethe, Correspondence with Madam von
Wolzogen_, and perhaps others which I have not seen. (_Note
of_ 1845.)]

* * * * *

'Weimar, 2d May 1788.

'You apologise for your long silence to spare _me_ the pain
of an apology. I feel this kindness, and thank you for it.
You do not impute my silence to decay of friendship; a proof
that you have read my heart more justly than my evil
conscience allowed me to hope. Continue to believe that the
memory of you lives ineffaceably in my mind, and needs not
to be brightened up by the routine of visits, or letters of
assurance. So no more of this.

'The peace and calmness of existence which breathes
throughout your letter, gives me joy; I who am yet drifting
to and fro between wind and waves, am forced to envy you
that uniformity, that health of soul and body. To me also in
time it will be granted, as a recompense for labours I have
yet to undergo.

'I have now been in Weimar nearly three quarters of a year:
after finishing my _Carlos_, I at last accomplished this
long-projected journey. To speak honestly, I cannot say but
that I am exceedingly contented with the place; and my
reasons are not difficult to see.

'The utmost political tranquillity and freedom, a very
tolerable disposition in the people, little constraint in
social intercourse, a select circle of interesting persons
and thinking heads, the respect paid to literary diligence:
add to this the unexpensiveness to me of such a town as
Weimar. Why should I not be satisfied?

'With Wieland I am pretty intimate, and to him I must
attribute no small influence on my present happiness; for I
like him, and have reason to believe that he likes me in
return. My intercourse with Herder is more limited, though I
esteem him highly as a writer and a man. It is the caprice
of chance alone which causes this; for we opened our
acquaintance under happy enough omens. Besides, I have not
always time to act according to my likings. With Bode no one
can be very friendly. I know not whether you think here as I
do. Goethe is still but _expected_ out of Italy. The Duchess
Dowager is a lady of sense and talent, in whose society one
does not feel constrained.

'I thank you for your tidings of the fate of _Carlos_ on
your stage. To speak candidly, my hopes of its success on
any stage were not high; and I know my reasons. It is but
fair that the Goddess of the Theatre avenge herself on me,
for the little gallantry with which I was inspired in
writing. In the mean time, though _Carlos_ prove a never so
decided failure on the stage, I engage for it, our public
shall see it ten times acted, before they understand and
fully estimate the merit that should counterbalance its
defects. When one has seen the beauty of a work, and not
till then, I think one is entitled to pronounce on its
deformity. I hear, however, that the second representation
succeeded better than the first. This arises either from the
changes made upon the piece by Dalberg, or from the fact,
that on a second view, the public comprehended certain
things, which on a first, they--did not comprehend.

'For the rest, no one can be more satisfied than I am that
_Carlos_, from causes honourable as well as causes
dishonorable to it, is no speculation for the stage. Its
very length were enough to banish it. Nor was it out of
confidence or self-love that I forced the piece on such a
trial; perhaps out of self-interest rather. If in the affair
my vanity played any part, it was in this, that I thought
the work had solid stuff in it sufficient to outweigh its
sorry fortune on the boards.

'The present of your portrait gives me true pleasure. I
think it a striking likeness; that of Schubart a little less
so, though this opinion may proceed from my faulty memory as
much as from the faultiness of Lobauer's drawing. The
engraver merits all attention and encouragement; what I can
do for the extension of his good repute shall not be
wanting.

'To your dear children present my warmest love. At Wieland's
I hear much and often of _your eldest daughter_; there in a
few days she has won no little estimation and affection. Do
I still hold any place in her remembrance? Indeed, I ought
to blush, that by my long silence I so ill deserve it.

'That you are going to my dear native country, and will not
pass my Father without seeing him, was most welcome news to
me. The Swabians are a good people; this I more and more
discover, the more I grow acquainted with the other
provinces of Germany. To my family you will be cordially
welcome. Will you take a pack of compliments from me to
them? Salute my Father in my name; to my Mother and my
Sisters _your daughter_ will take my kiss.'

* * * * *

'And with these hearty words,' as Doering says, 'we shall conclude this paper.'

FRIENDSHIP WITH GOETHE.

The history of Schiller's first intercourse with Goethe has been recorded by the latter in a paper published a few years ago in the _Morphologie_, a periodical work, which we believe he still occasionally continues, or purposes to continue. The paper is entitled _Happy Incident_; and may be found in Part I. Volume 1 (pp. 90-96) of the work referred to. The introductory portion of it we have inserted in the text at page 109; the remainder, relating to certain scientific matters, and anticipating some facts of our narrative, we judged it better to reserve for the Appendix. After mentioning the publication of _Don Carlos_, and adding that 'each continued to go on his way apart,' he proceeds:

'His Essay on _Grace and Dignity_ was yet less of a kind to
reconcile me. The Philosophy of Kant, which exalts the
dignity of mind so highly, while appearing to restrict it,
Schiller had joyfully embraced: it unfolded the
extraordinary qualities which Nature had implanted in him;
and in the lively feeling of freedom and self-direction, he
showed himself unthankful to the Great Mother, who surely
had not acted like a step-dame towards him. Instead of
viewing her as self-subsisting, as producing with a living
force, and according to appointed laws, alike the highest
and the lowest of her works, he took her up under the aspect
of some empirical native qualities of the human mind.
Certain harsh passages I could even directly apply to
myself: they exhibited my confession of faith in a false
light; and I felt that if written without particular
attention to me, they were still worse; for in that case,
the vast chasm which lay between us gaped but so much the
more distinctly.

'There was no union to be dreamed of. Even the mild
persuasion of Dalberg, who valued Schiller as he ought, was
fruitless: indeed the reasons I set forth against any
project of a union were difficult to contradict. No one
could deny that between two spiritual antipodes there was
more intervening than a simple diameter of the sphere:
antipodes of that sort act as a sort of poles, and so can
never coalesce. But that some relation may exist between
them will appear from what follows.

'Schiller went to live at Jena, where I still continued
unacquainted with him. About this time Batsch had set in
motion a Society for Natural History, aided by some handsome
collections, and an extensive apparatus. I used to attend
their periodical meetings: one day I found Schiller there;
we happened to go out together; some discourse arose between
us. He appeared to take an interest in what had been
exhibited; but observed, with great acuteness and good
sense, and much to my satisfaction, that such a disconnected
way of treating Nature was by no means grateful to the
exoteric, who desired to penetrate her mysteries.

'I answered, that perhaps the initiated themselves were
never rightly at their ease in it, and that there surely was
another way of representing Nature, not separated and
disunited, but active and alive, and expanding from the
whole into the parts. On this point he requested
explanations, but did not hide his doubts; he would not
allow that such a mode, as I was recommending, had been
already pointed out by experiment.

'We reached his house; the talk induced me to go in. I then
expounded to him with as much vivacity as possible, the
_Metamorphosis of Plants_,[71] drawing out on paper, with
many characteristic strokes, a symbolic Plant for him, as I
proceeded. He heard and saw all this with much interest and
distinct comprehension; but when I had done, he shook his
head and said: "This is no experiment, this is an idea." I
stopped with some degree of irritation; for the point which
separated us was most luminously marked by this expression.
The opinions in _Dignity and Grace_ again occurred to me;
the old grudge was just awakening; but I smothered it, and
merely said: "I was happy to find that I had got ideas
without knowing it, nay that I saw them before my eyes."

[Footnote 71: A curious physiologico-botanical theory by
Goethe, which appears to be entirely unknown in this country;
though several eminent continental botanists have noticed it
with commendation. It is explained at considerable length in
this same _Morphologie_.]

'Schiller had much more prudence and dexterity of management
than I: he was also thinking of his periodical the _Horen_,
about this time, and of course rather wished to attract than
repel me. Accordingly he answered me like an accomplished
Kantite; and as my stiff necked Realism gave occasion to
many contradictions, much battling took place between us,
and at last a truce, in which neither party would consent to
yield the victory, but each held himself invincible.
Positions like the following grieved me to the very soul:
_How can there ever be an experiment that shall correspond
with an idea? The specific quality of an idea is, that no
experiment can reach it or agree with it._ Yet if he held as
an idea the same thing which I looked upon as an experiment,
there must certainly, I thought, be some community between
us, some ground whereon both of us might meet! The first
step was now taken; Schiller's attractive power was great,
he held all firmly to him that came within his reach: I
expressed an interest in his purposes, and promised to give
out in the _Horen_ many notions that were lying in my head;
his wife, whom I had loved and valued since her childhood,
did her part to strengthen our reciprocal intelligence; all
friends on both sides rejoiced in it; and thus by means of
that mighty and interminable controversy between _object_
and _subject_, we two concluded an alliance, which remained
unbroken, and produced much benefit to ourselves and
others.'

The friendship of Schiller and Goethe forms so delightful a chapter in their history, that we long for more and more details respecting it. Sincerity, true estimation of each other's merit, true sympathy in each other's character and purposes appear to have formed the basis of it, and maintained it unimpaired to the end. Goethe, we are told, was minute and sedulous in his attention to Schiller, whom he venerated as a good man and sympathised with as an afflicted one: when in mixed companies together, he constantly endeavoured to draw out the stores of his modest and retiring friend; or to guard his sick and sensitive mind from annoyances that might have irritated him; now softening, now exciting conversation, guiding it with the address of a gifted and polished man, or lashing out of it with the scorpion-whip of his satire much that would have vexed the more soft and simple spirit of the valetudinarian. These are things which it is good to think of: it is good to know that there _are_ literary men, who have other principles besides vanity; who can divide the approbation of their fellow mortals, without quarrelling over the lots; who in their solicitude about their 'fame' do not forget the common charities of nature, in exchange for which the 'fame' of most authors were but a poor bargain.

No. 4. Page 125.

DEATH OF GUSTAVUS ADOLPHUS.

As a specimen of Schiller's historical style, we have extracted a few scenes from his masterly description of the Battle of Luetzen. The whole forms a picture, executed in the spirit of Salvator; and though this is but a fragment, the importance of the figure represented in it will perhaps counterbalance that deficiency.

'At last the dreaded morning dawned; but a thick fog, which lay brooding over all the field, delayed the attack till noon. Kneeling in front of his lines, the King offered up his devotions; the whole army, at the same moment, dropping on their right knees, uplifted a moving hymn, and the field-music accompanied their singing. The King then mounted his horse; dressed in a jerkin of buff, with a surtout (for a late wound hindered him from wearing armour), he rode through the ranks, rousing the courage of his troops to a cheerful confidence, which his own forecasting bosom contradicted. _God with us_ was the battle-word of the Swedes; that of the Imperialists was _Jesus Maria_. About eleven o'clock, the fog began to break, and Wallenstein's lines became visible. At the same time, too, were seen the flames of Luetzen, which the Duke had ordered to be set on fire, that he might not be outflanked on this side. At length the signal pealed; the horse dashed forward on the enemy; the infantry advanced against his trenches.

* * * * *

'Meanwhile the right wing, led on by the King in person, had fallen on the left wing of the Friedlanders. The first strong onset of the heavy Finland Cuirassiers scattered the light-mounted Poles and Croats, who were stationed here, and their tumultuous flight spread fear and disorder over the rest of the cavalry. At this moment notice reached the King that his infantry were losing ground, and likely to be driven back from the trenches they had stormed; and also that his left, exposed to a tremendous fire from the Windmills behind Luetzen, could no longer keep their place. With quick decision, he committed to Von Horn the task of pursuing the already beaten left wing of the enemy; and himself hastened, at the head of Steinbock's regiment, to restore the confusion of his own. His gallant horse bore him over the trenches with the speed of lightning; but the squadrons that came after him could not pass so rapidly; and none but a few horsemen, among whom Franz Albert, Duke of Sachsen-Lauenburg, is mentioned, were alert enough to keep beside him. He galloped right to the place where his infantry was most oppressed; and while looking round to spy out some weak point, on which his attack might be directed, his short-sightedness led him too near the enemy's lines. An Imperial sergeant (_gefreiter_), observing that every one respectfully made room for the advancing horseman, ordered a musketeer to fire on him. "Aim at _him_ there," cried he; "that must be a man of consequence." The soldier drew his trigger; and the King's left arm was shattered by the ball. At this instant, his cavalry came galloping up, and a confused cry of "_The King bleeds! The King is shot!_" spread horror and dismay through their ranks. "It is nothing: follow me!" exclaimed the King, collecting all his strength; but overcome with pain, and on the point of fainting, he desired the Duke of Lauenburg, in French, to take him without notice from the tumult. The Duke then turned with him to the right wing, making a wide circuit to conceal this accident from the desponding infantry; but as they rode along, the King received a second bullet through the back, which took from him the last remainder of his strength. "I have got enough, brother," said he with a dying voice: "haste, save thyself." With these words he sank from his horse; and here, struck by several other bullets, far from his attendants, he breathed out his life beneath the plundering hands of a troop of Croats. His horse flying on without its rider, and bathed in blood, soon announced to the Swedish cavalry the fall of their King; with wild yells they rush to the spot, to snatch that sacred spoil from the enemy. A deadly fight ensues around the corpse, and the mangled remains are buried under a hill of slain men.

'The dreadful tidings hasten in a few minutes over all the Swedish army: but instead of deadening the courage of these hardy troops, they rouse it to a fierce consuming fire. Life falls in value, since the holiest of all lives is gone; and death has now no terror for the lowly, since it has not spared the anointed head. With the grim fury of lions, the Upland, Smaeland, Finnish, East and West Gothland regiments dash a second time upon the left wing of the enemy, which, already making but a feeble opposition to Von Horn, is now utterly driven from the field.

* * * * *

'But how dear a victory, how sad a triumph! Now first when the rage of battle has grown cold, do they feel the whole greatness of their loss, and the shout of the conqueror dies in a mute and gloomy despair. He who led them on to battle has not returned with them. Apart he lies, in his victorious field, confounded with the common heaps of humble dead. After long fruitless searching, they found the royal corpse, not far from the great stone, which had already stood for centuries between Luetzen and the Merseburg Canal, but which, ever since this memorable incident, has borne the name of _Schwedenstein_, the Stone of the Swede. Defaced with wounds and blood, so as scarcely to be recognised, trodden under the hoofs of horses, stripped of his ornaments, even of his clothes, he is drawn from beneath a heap of dead bodies, brought to Weissenfels, and there delivered to the lamentations of his troops and the last embraces of his Queen. Vengeance had first required its tribute, and blood must flow as an offering to the Monarch; now Love assumes its rights, and mild tears are shed for the Man. Individual grief is lost in the universal sorrow. Astounded by this overwhelming stroke, the generals in blank despondency stand round his bier, and none yet ventures to conceive the full extent of his loss.'

The descriptive powers of the Historian, though the most popular, are among the lowest of his endowments. That Schiller was not wanting in the nobler requisites of his art, might he proved from his reflections on this very incident, 'striking like a hand from the clouds into the calculated horologe of men's affairs, and directing the considerate mind to a higher plan of things.' But the limits of our Work are already reached. Of Schiller's histories and dramas we can give no farther specimens: of his lyrical, didactic, moral poems we must take our leave without giving any. Perhaps the time may come, when all his writings, transplanted to our own soil, may be offered in their entire dimensions to the thinkers of these Islands; a conquest by which our literature, rich as it is, might be enriched still farther.