SCHILLER. I. HIS LIFE AND POETRY. SUABIA has been specially distinguished as the seat and home of German poetry, both secular and sacred. Among authors of the latter are to be noted Hiller, Hahn, (a peasant), Bahnmaier, Barth, Bengel (author of "The Gnomon"), and Knapp. Of the secular poets, Uhland, Hauf, Mörike, Körner, Gustav Schwab, and the subject of this paper are the most distinguished Schiller being facile princeps. The reader is invited to accompany me on a visit to Schiller's birthplace. It is a lovely May morning; the carol of birds, the fragrance of fruit blossoms and flowers, and the first leaves and "tender grapes" of the vineyards along the terraced slopes, the chesnuts in blossom of varied hue and colour, with a bright blue sky overhead, and the soft warm breath of the breezy morn-all conspire to make our journey to Marbach delightful. Leaving Stuttgard, the capital, we are carried by the railway in a brief space of time to Ludwigsburg, a town not much above a century old, well built and airy, and with many delightful avenues shaded from the summer heat by trees impenetrable to the sunbeams. Once a ducal court had its residence here, with its schloss and its parks, where an English princess, a daughter of one of our Hanoverian Georges, lived as the consort of the first king of Wurtemberg, a somewhat lonely, and it is said, a not very happy life. In the royal chapel attached to the palace her ashes repose, and her memory is fragrant to this day, as having been a generous benefactor of the poor, and -childless herself-tender and affectionate towards children, whom ofttimes she gathered around her, providing for their amusements and ministering to their happiness. As we pass through Ludwigsburg we see that it is a garrison town. Here is the general depôt for the whole army of Wurtemberg, and one third of the inhabitants are soldiers. By a postal conveyance we are carried through lovely scenery, and descend into a fertile valley, enclosed on either hand by woodcrowned hills, and watered by the translucent and rapidly-flowing Neckar. Before us to the eastward rises the very ancient town of Marbach, once the scene of cruel devastation by the army of Louis le Grand of France, whose generals carried fire and sword all through these regions. Except for its fine situation there is nothing attractive in the town itself; and yet it has been for more than half a century a place of pilgrimage for cultivated men of all nations, and specially the cynosure and the pride of the German race. For here, in a small house, half hidden from the eye of the passer-by, and not remarkable for its architecture, first saw the light, on the 10th of November, 1759, Johann Christoph Friederich Schiller. He was the son of Johann Kaspar Schiller, a military surgeon. At the expiration of the Seven Years' War, the Duke of Wurtemberg reduced his army, and Schiller's father became director of the ducal gardens and castle of the once famous "Solitude," with the honorary rank of major. His wife, the mother of the poet, was Elizabetha Dorothea Kodweiz. Young Schiller spent one year at a classical school in Ludgwigsburg, where he was distinguished for great diligence as a scholar, although in feeble and delicate health. His parents intended that he should enter the Theological Gymnasium ("Kloster Schule"), with the view of his becoming a clergyman of the Lutheran church. But the reigning duke had about that time established an academy for training youths in the higher branches of science and art; and being of a despotic temper, without any regard to the boy's aptitudes and tastes, or to the wishes of his parents, he commanded that he should become a student at "Duke this institution. This establishment ere long became famous and flourishing. Its organization was strictly military, the duke himself acting as superintendent, and permitting no interference from any quarter. Schiller entered the institution, known as Charles's Academy," in his fourteenth year. Without any choice being given as to what branch of studies he would prefer, he was ordered to devote himself to medicine. During the period of his attendance in this department his poetical genius began to reveal itself. The duke was intolerant of any proclivities of this kind among the students of the academy, and the nascent bard, in spite of himself fired and filled with the "faculty divine," was obliged to resort to many stratagems in order to gratify his ruling passion, and to give scope and expression to sentiments and emotions which are now and for all time will be "married to immortal verse." Among other devices, he feigned sickness, in order that he might be sent as a patient to the hospital of the academy; and when on his bed his pen was busy in writing down the burning words of poetry and song. It was in truth, under such difficulties as nothing but the living force of genius could surmount, that his famous Robbers' was written, at intervals extending over several years. Meanwhile his medical studies were not neglected, as was indicated by the several prizes which he obtained, and by his appointment in 1780 to the position of a regimental surgeon, with the rank of an officer in the army. POETRY AND PERILS. 66 His "Robbers" was first issued at his own expense, of its publication. But as soon as the duke was aware as he was unable to find a bookseller to take the risk of the publication of the play, his anger was so kindled against the author, that he almost deprived him of personal liberty. There is a tradition that the duke, walking through the park, one day came suddenly on of his approach, were listening with rapt attention to a party of young officers and students, who, not aware the declamation by Schiller of the chief portions of his "Robbers." The ire of the prince was greatly increased when he learnt that Schiller had, without leave, made a journey to Mannheim to be present at the first representation of his work. He was immediately put under arrest for a fortnight, to which was added the heavier punishment of an extracted promise on his part, never to publish any production which did not bear on his medical studies. This was the more aggravating, as besides many smaller pieces in manuscript, Schiller was at this time preparing to launch one of his most famous works, "Fiesco." Thus, driven almost to despair, he determined to make his escape from the duchy; and after a secret parting from his loved and loving mother, with a faithful friend, a musical composer, called Streicher, he fled from Stuttgard on the 17th of September, 1782, assuming the name of Doctor Kitter, while his companion took that of Doctor Wolf. SCHILLER ABROAD. The poet's flight was deepened in its hardships by his poverty. He left Stuttgard penniless and in debt; he had no capital for his future sustenance except his brain. On his arrival at Mannheim he found that his "Robbers" had been previously represented, without any pecuniary advantage to the author, while others had profited largely by its production. Depressed by want, he almost began to doubt whether he had the qualities that make a poet, especially when, on reading portions of his Fiesco" to some of his friends, including his companion in flight, it was unanimously condemned. After a short stay at Mannheim, without means, the two friends set out on foot to Frankfort, a three days' journey, during which Schiller, unaccus. tomed to fatigue, repeatedly lay down weary and faint under a tree, and fell asleep. He had hoped, on arriving | his household, his mental labours were constant and at Frankfort, to have received from the director who uninterrupted. It is stated that in reading and had so largely profited by his "Robbers a remittance writing he spent fourteen hours out of the twenty-four. of one hundred florins. Bitter was his disappointment Succour to a certain extent, prompted by the affection when a letter came refusing the request. Being thus and sympathies of his admirers in North Germany, in urgent want, Schiller took one of his earliest poems was furnished him. One friend, for example, hearing of (which, however, has been lost) to a Frankfort pub- his distresses and the frequent illnesses of himself and lisher, offering it to him for twenty-five florins, but in family, determined to allow him one thousand thalers his pride refused to part with it when only eighteen per annum for three years, which Schiller duly received. guilders were placed before him. After ten years' absence from his native country, the poet, now famous, determined to visit his beloved mother, on which occasion the Duke of Wurtemberg, his former patron and persecutor, ignored him entirely. Schiller had taken his wife with him, and soon after their arrival their hearts were made glad by the birth of a firstborn child—a son. At last one day he received a sum of thirty florins, which his devoted mother with great difficulty had got together, with which aid he was enabled to pay his debts at Frankfort and to return to Mannheim. There, after many vicissitudes and privations, he found a purchaser for his "Fiesco" for eleven louis d'or, nearly ten pounds. He was thus enabled to pay off some of his obligations, and to travel by mail to Bauerbach, near Meiningen, in Saxony, where Madame de Wolzogen, whose acquaintance Schiller had made at Stuttgard, resided. His friend here parted from him with many tears. Schiller hoped that in Bauerbach he should be able without interruption to continue his literary career, and had already projected two new works. But he had been so wounded in spirit, and agitated by continuous and heartless ill-treatment, that he became almost misanthropic, and thus his progress was arrested. After a time Schiller returned to Jena, and the north of Germany henceforth was his second home. It was there that he wrote his principal works, both in poetry and prose. His social and political views were much influenced and shaped by the ideas which first revealed themselves in connection with the French Revolution. In fact, his sentiments in the "Robbers," and some of his earlier productions, gave such pleasure to the leading revolutionists at Paris, that the National Convention conferred upon him, in 1792, the honours and privileges of French citizenship. But though a liberal in his political views, the excesses which were com He soon began to yearn after fellowship and inter-mitted in the sacred name of liberty filled him with course with kindred minds. Some time after this a disgust and horror. He sought consolation in the letter of apology, couched in affectionate terms, was philosophy of Kant, to the study of which he devoted received from the director at Mannheim, who also himself, and from which, as a standpoint, he formed invited him to return thither. He did so, and was his estimate of the historic events both of the past and offered an appointment, with a salary of twenty-five the present. Philosophy, history, and æsthetics were pounds a year. He soon, however, rebelled against henceforth his favourite studies. the idea of working and writing by order, and resigned his situation even while his debts at Stuttgard "were pressing on him like a nightmare." When despairing of help from any quarter, and forgotten and neglected by his former admirers, a simple and almost unlettered citizen at Mannheim, a builder, named Anton Helzel, raised among his townsmen a sum sufficient to relieve the poet from his pressing necessities. Schiller now began to think better of human nature. He repaired to Weimar, where a government appointment was given him. He reached Weimar in 1787, at the time when Goethe, his great contemporary, then a citizen of that town, was absent in Italy. But there he found two other kindred spirits, Wieland and Herder, and was also presented at the ducal court, then famous for its patronage of eminent men. Soon after he was introduced to Herr Von Lengefeldt, who held an important office at court, and whose daughter Charlotte was destined to be his future wife. SCHILLER AS PROFESSOR. In 1788 an offer was made to Schiller of an appointment as professor of history at Jena, which he finally accepted, although no salary was attached to the office; the fees of the students who might enrol themselves as his hearers being his only source of income. Again cares and sorrows lay heavily upon him. His first lecture was a great success. There was a crowded audience, and so delighted were the students that they serenaded him in the evening, But with all this his worldly prospects did not improve, and his intended union with Charlotte Von Lengefeldt seemed to be more distant than ever. Once more in his extremity, relief came, in the form of an extraordinary annual allowance from the duke, to the amount of six hundred thalers; a small sum indeed, yet to the sanguine imagination of the poet it seemed sufficient to warrant him to enter the matrimonial state. The marriage was celebrated on the 22nd of February, 1790. While still oppressed with anxiety by reason of a limited income, and by many visitations of sickness to INTERCOURSE OF GOETHE, HUMBOLDT, AND SCHILLER. The year 1794 was an important one in Schiller's life. It was then that he formed the acquaintance of Wilhelm Von Humboldt, the statesman whose mind was well compared to that of Pericles of Athens, and who, from the deep and admiring interest which he felt towards Schiller's gifts and pursuits, furnished a powerful stimulus to the further development of his genius. For days and nights they were in closest intercourse, and ere long the illustrious Goethe joined them. The two poets had met once before, but their intercourse was brief, and was not followed by intimate fellowship. When they met a second time they were, by mutual attraction, drawn to each other, and at once combined in united literary labours. Schiller had just commenced the preparation of a poetical annual, and Goethe proffered his aid. Many of Schiller's best productions first saw the light in this serial publication. Both his own contributions and those of Goethe were subjected to the envious criti cisms of what-if we might bring in an allusion to the Dunciad" of Alexander Pope and the literary hacks of the last century-might be called the "Grub Street." school of German writers. In retaliation, the parties attacked issued a series of short, pithy, and biting apothegms, which were entitled "Xnvia," amounting in number to nearly six hundred. It was never ascer tained what were the respective shares of the two selfavengers in this work, but they came out from the contest applauded victors, and more popular than ever. All this time more serious work was not neglected. I It was then that Schiller composed what may be called the triple dramatic poem of Wallenstein," in which the Thirty Years' War, in its leading features and social bearings, is so vividly portrayed. 66 WEIMAR. His circumstances having now become more pros perous, Schiller was able to purchase a property at Weimar, and leaving Jena, he removed thither in 1797. for ever. HIS CLOSING DAYS. "William Tell" was completed in 1804, and proved the last work of the great master. He had projected several other works, but, alas! the King of Terrors was about to knock at the gate, and summon him away While young spring in laughing loveliness was scattering her flowers over the land, on the first of May, 1805, he was suddenly seized with alarming illness. Four days after it assumed a fatal aspect. On the day before his death he expressed a desire to look for the last time on the bright face of the orb of day, and on the day following he breathed out his life. What a tender loving spirit then passed away! How different was he in moral qualities and in heart from his giant cotemporary, Goethe, who, it must be admitted, was as remarkable for selfishness as for genius; who, like his own Faust, "had a laughing devil in his sneer"-as a demigod, demanding and exacting as a right the incense and homage of the loftiest of mankind. Schiller was simple-hearted, a loving husband and father; he loved the beautiful and the true. Nature always charmed him, and, to use his own words in his "Knight of Toggenburg: Thus one morn he sate in silence, But to clay returned; Still that face, so calm and pallid, 66 EVENINGS AT THE LIGHTHOUSE, II.-DUGGINS AND THE PHILOSOPHER. AH, sir, here you are agin!" said Duggins, as I entered the lighthouse. "I thought I should see something of you. I said to myself, I shouldn't wonder if the gentleman remembers as it's my watch to-night, and he'll be down for a yarn.' 66 Well, bring yourself to an anchor, and you shall have one. But before I begin I want to tell you about a gentleman as was down here t'other day; a great gun, one o' them chaps as thinks they know everything. Well, he comes up to me, and, arter we'd had a little chat about the lighthouse, he says to me, 'Duggins, what's your opinion about a future state ?' "I saw what he was arter; he wanted to trot me out, but I didn't care; so says I, 'Sir, 'tain't for me to give no opinion about what I don't know nothing about, and what, if I was to live a thousand years, and had all the knowledge there is in the world at my fingers' ends, I couldn't know nothing about. There's a good many things as neither you nor I can understand, and what's to come arter death's one of 'um. All I've got to say is as death and eternity is things as we've got to face, some day or other, and I think the best thing as we can do is to make ready for 'um.' 66 6 "But,' says he, 'suppose when we die there's an end of us, what's the use of all your preparation then?' "Sir,' I says, 'I don't find as trusting in God and trying to lead a good life perwents me from being happy now; and if it was as you say I should be none the wuss for my faith in what the Bible says. But just for argument's sake we'll say, Suppose I'm right and you're wrong, what a pretty pickle you'll be in!" 666 But,' says the gentleman, I'm as anxious to get at the truth as you are, but I can't see things as you do.' "Sir,' says I, if you're unfortunately blind, 'tain't possible for me to make you see.' "But,' says he, laughing, 'I'm not blind.' "Well,' I says, 'I'll put it this way. If a man was to come down this pier, and say to me, Duggins, they tell me you're the lighthouse-keeper, but I don't see no lighthouse; what I should say would be this: If you can't see the lighthouse you must be blind; but whether you do or no don't make no difference, it's there, for all that.' "Now I take it that my lighthouse is werry much like the Bible. My lighthouse is put up there to warn poor sailors from running among the rocks, and to show 'um the way safe into port; and the Bible's given us to warn people from the wrath of God, and to guide 'um safe into heaven; but neither of 'um ain't no use to blind people.' "But why will you persist in calling me blind?' he says. "On the eighth of May, towards evening, he expressed a desire once more to see the setting sun. The curtain was drawn aside, and gazing with a cheerful and serene air at the bright rays of evening, Nature thus received his last farewell. When asked how he felt, he said, "Calmer and calmer." During the night he repeatedly prayed to God to save him from a lingering death. At nine o'clock in the morning he became insensible, and in the afternoon the solemn moment of dissolution drew near. His wife, Lotte, strove to Because you are,' says I; or, if you see, it's a place his head in an easier position. He recognized sort of cross sight, as makes things appear different to her, smiled, and his eye had already a glorified ex- what they is. You say you are seeking for the truth, pression. She sank down close beside him and he and I dare say you think so, but then it isn't the kissed her. This was the last symptom of conscious-right sort. What's the use of a man knowing, as you ness. Suddenly an electric shock seemed to vibrate through him, his head sank back, the most perfect peace lit up his countenance; his features were those of one calmly sleeping."* In a second and concluding paper we shall cross the threshold of his birthplace, at which we have detained the reader longer than was our design. We shall also present some specimens of his genius. Meanwhile, we trust that what we have recorded as to his career and history, drawn as it has been from the most authentic sources, will be alike fresh and interesting to many readers. *Pallestri's "Life of Schiller." 666 do, Greek and Latin, and all about animals, and fish, and butterflies, and caterpillars, and don't know nothing about yourself, and God, as made you and all of 'um. What 'ud be the use of a sailor's knowing all about the moon and the stars, if, when he got into a gale o' wind, he didn't know where to find the recftackles, and was afear'd to go aloft? 666 'Now, sir, because I say this, don't you go and think as I dispises knowledge and larning, because I don't. Only don't let us get mixing things up and putting one thing for another. Philosophy's one thing and religion's another; only what I says is this, the best sort o' philosophy is that as teaches us the best sort o' wisdom-what teaches us to believe in God's | and a lot o' larning, he thinks he's at the top o' the word, how to keep our course in this world, and how tree, and he don't like to own his littleness, and preto get a good berth in the next.' tends not to see it. And now let's get on with my story. 666 No, no,' he went on, turning to me, 'I hope I shall never dispise knowledge of no sort, 'cause it's all useful in its way.' "But there's some sort of knowledge as is thought a good deal of, and some just the rewerse. If a feller know all about Egyptian mummies, or geology, or chemistry, he's thought a good deal of; but a chap as knows all about a ship, and can reef and steer, and knot and splice, and work a grummet, why that's nothing, he's only a sailor, and he ain't looked upon. If a man knows anything well, particularly if it's his bisness, why should he be looked down upon? I'll put it this way, and we'll see how it fits. Suppose one of these philosophers was to take me down into a coalmine, and was to begin to talk to me about stratas, and fossils, and such like. I should look like a fool, for I shouldn't understand him a bit. He'd soon see that by my talk; and then perhaps he'd say, ' Why, Duggins, where was you eddicated? you don't seem to know nothing.' And if I was to say, 'Well, sir, I was eddicated at sea, and I know all about sailing and navigating a ship;' then he'd say to me, 'What's the good o' your navigation in a coal-pit ?' And he'd be right; he'd have the laugh at me, and I should be shut up. Well, another chap, as is a chemist, takes me into a room, and talks about gases; and then he begins to potter about with bottles and glasses, and things as I don't understand, and then he does something, and it goes bang! Not being up to his tricks, I get scared, and say I, Hello, mister! don't go and blow us out o' the winder, 'cause that 'ud be sudden death, and no mistake.' Then he laughs at me, and says, 'It's all right, it's nothing when you're used to it.' I Now just let's turn the thing end for end, and see how it looks. Suppose I got Mr. Philosopher and Mr. Chemist aboard my ship in a gale o' wind. says to Mr. Philosopher, 'Well, sir, how do you like it P' Oh,' says he, she goes on nicely, only I think the man at the wheel steers rather wildly. I've a theory.' "Well,' says I, 'never mind your theory-theories won't do aboard ship, go and show us how you'd do it; only see you don't let her broach to, or else you'll be taking the sticks out of her.' "Well, Mr. Philosopher thinks he knows everything, and away he goes. He ain't bin long at the helm when up she comes right into the wind; flap bang goes the topsails, right out o' the bolt ropes; and we ships a sea as nearly drowns us all. "I runs to the wheel and gets her before the wind, and then I turns round, and there stands Mr. Philosopher like a stuck pig; and says I, 'Hello, shipmate, what's the use o' your philosophy in a gale o' wind?' "Then I turns round to look for Mister Chemist, and there he stands shaking in the lee-scuppers, and he says to me, 'There ain't no danger, is there ?' 'All right,' says I, don't be scared; it's nothing when you're used to it.' "I tell you what it is, sir. Plenty o' larning is a werry good thing, if a man's got a heart big enough to hold it. That seems funny to you, but this is how it is. When a man's got a lot o' larning and a big heart he isn't puffed up, because he sees that the more he knows the more he's got to know, and he finds out that if he was to live twenty times as long as he does, he couldn't know half the things what there is to know. And he begins to think what a helpless poor thing he is after all; for he sees with all his philosophy he can't make a bit of food to eat, nor a drop of water to drink. When he's come to this, he don't want to ask what God is, like you; he knows him and trusts in him. "Well, when a man's got a big heart, he don't mind singing small; but when he's got a little mean heart, 'Well, now, I daresay you thinks, arter my riding out the gale in the old bo-at, I shouldn't have bin in a hurry to disobey my mother agin; but I did. I used to say to myself, I waunt do nothing to wex mother, 'cause she's werry good to me;' and you don't know how hard I tried to be a good boy, but somehow at times I couldn't. "I tell you what it is, sir. In the first part of my life I always used to say 'I waunt do it,' and when I said so I was always sure to go and do it. When I said I wouldn't, I was like the teetotaller; I took the pledge, like, and trusted in myself, and so got no help, and I broke down. "Well, just about this time we had another baby; we'd had two before, only they died. "Somtimes, arter little sister com'd, I used to go out with father to sell his fish. I used to ride on the donkey. I liked it, for it was all new to me, and some o' the ladies what bought fish o' father used to give me cakes and nice things as I'd never tasted afore. "One day when I wanted to goo, mother says, 'No, you can't to-day. I'm going to be busy, and I want you to nuss the baby.' So I didn't goo, and I was rare and savage; and when little sister cried I pinched her, and mother saw me, and ketched me a crack aside o' my head, and that made my temper feel wuss. "Then the baby fell asleep, and mother put her in the cradle, and says she, 'Now, you may go and play; only don't you get out o' call, 'cause if the baby wakes I shall want you to hold her.' "Out I goes, and there was two boys, and they said as they know'd where there was some birds' nestes, and wanted me to come with 'um. "No,' says I, 'I shan't goo, 'cause mother 'ull want me to hold the baby, perhaps.' "Then they laughed at me, and called me Molly Duggins.' I said I wasn't Molly, I was Jim, and that I shouldn't goo; but at last they persuaded me, and away we went, a long way up the cliff; and then we found the nestes, and played about till we was tired and hungry, and then we started to come home. But it was ever so much past dinner-time, and I was frightened when I got nigh home, and wouldn't go no further. The other boys went; they said they didn't care, they should only get a tanning, and they didn't mind that; and then they should goo and play again. 66 "Thinks I, when they was gone, I daresay I shall get a tanning too, but it ain't that as I care about, neither. But I know mother 'ull be wexed with me, cause I've been naughty; and says I, 'Bust them birds' nestes, and the little birds too; I wish I hadn't a' gone.' "Well, I sits down, and I feels so bad, and then I begins to cry, and then I feels better, and I went home; and on the door-step sits little Jane Bell, a nussing our baby. So says I, Jane, I'll take her now.' "But she says to me, 'No, your mother said I wasn't to let you have her.' 666 Why not?' says I. ""'Cause you've been a bad boy, and she ain't a going to love you no more.' 66 Well, thinks I, I a' bin and done it now; what shall I do? "Then I thinks about the other boys, and wondered why I couldn't 'not care,' as they did. Ah!' says I, at last, I know why they don't care-they don't love their mothers, and their mothers don't love them; and that's why they seems happy; but I know they ain't, for all that.' "Well, all the rest of the day mother didn't say nothing to me, and didn't take no notice of me. If she'd blow'd me up and tanned me I shouldn't have minded; but I know'd now she was dreadful angry, and says I, |