Achilles and Tell, the ancient and the modern world, as Schäfer remarks, struggled for priority, but neither obtained it, because he was still perplexed in his epic theories. The studies of the Iliad had hunted him through the circle of enthusiasm, hope, insight and despair.' No sooner did he leave Jena than, as he confessed, he was drawn by another polarity. Accordingly, we see him busy with an art-journal, the Propylaen. He was also busy with the alteration of the Theatre, the boards of which, on the 12th of October 1798, were made forever memorable by the production of Wallenstein's Camp and Prologue. On the 30th of January 1799, the birthday of the Duchess Luise, the Piccolomini was produced; and, on the 20th of April, Wallenstein's Tod. It was in this year that a young Writer to the Signet, in Edinburgh, put forth a translation of Götz von Berlichingen, and preluded to a fame as great as Goethe's own; and it was in the December of this year that Karl August's generosity enabled Schiller to quit Jena, and come to Weimar for the rest of his life, there in uninterrupted intercourse with Goethe to pursue the plans so dear to both, especially in the formation of a national stage. I will take advantage of this change to insert a chapter on Hermann und Dorothea, which was published in 1796–7; and I will afterwards group together the scattered details of the theatrical management, so as to place them before the reader in a continuous narrative. CHAPTER IV. HERMANN UND DOROTHEA. THE pleasure every one finds in making acquaintance with the original stories from which Shakespeare created his marvellous plays, is the pleasure of detecting how genius can improve upon the merest hint, and how with its own vital forces it converts lifeless material into immortal life. This pleasure also carries the conviction that there is no lack of subjects for an artist, if we have but the eye to see them. It shows us that great poets are not accustomed to cast about for subjects worthy of treatment; on the contrary, the merest hint is enough to form the nucleus of a splendid work: a random phrase will kindle a magnificent conception. Very like the material offered by Bandello to Shakespeare is the material offered to Goethe by the old narrative from which he created one of the most faultless of modern poems. Herein we learn how a rich and important citizen of Altmühl has in vain tried to persuade his son to marry. The Saltzburg emigrants pass through the * Das Liebthätige Gera gegen die Salzburgischen Emigranten. Das ist kurze und wahrhaftige Erzählung wie dieselben in der Gräflich Reuss Plauischen Residenz Stadt angekommen, aufgenommen, und versorget, auch was an und von vielen derselben Gutes gesechen und gehöret worden. Leipzig: 1732. town, and among them the son finds a maiden who pleases him right well;' he inquires after her family and bringing up, and as all he hears is satisfactory, away he hies to his father, declaring that unless this Saltzburg maiden be given him, he will remain unmarried all his life. The father, aided by the pastor, tries to persuade him from such a resolution. But their efforts being vain, the pastor advises the father to give his consent, which is done. Away goes the son to the maiden, and asks her if she is willing to enter his father's domestic service. She accepts, and is presented to the father. But he, ignorant of his son's ruse, and believing he sees before him the betrothed, asks her whether she is fond of his son. The maiden thinks they are laughing at her, but on learning they are serious in wishing her to belong to the family, declares herself quite ready, and draws from her bosom a purse containing two hundred ducats, which she hands to her bridegroom as her dowry. This is the story out of which grew Hermann und Dorothea. An ordinary story, in which the poet alone could see a poem; what he has seen every reader of German literature well knows; and those to whom the poem is unknown must be content with the following analysis. The epoch is changed to that of the French Revolution. The Emigrants are driven from home by political events. The scene is on the right side of the Rhine. The streets of a quiet little village are noisy with unaccustomed movement, every one is crowding to see the sad procession of Emigrants passing through, in the heat and dust of a summer afternoon. Mine Host of the Golden Lion, sitting at his doorway, marvels at such curiosity, but applauds the active benevolence of his wife, who has sent their son with linen, food and drink, to bestow upon the sufferers, for to give is the duty of those who have.' And now are seen returning some of the curious. See how dusty their shoes! and how their faces are burning! They come back wiping the perspiration from their glowing faces; the old couple rejoice that they have sat quiet at home, contenting themselves with what will be told. them of the sight. Sure enough, here comes the Pastor, and with him the Apothecary; seating themselves on the wooden bench, they shake the dust off their shoes, and fan their hot faces with their handkerchiefs. They narrate what they have seen; and mine host, sighing, hopes his son will overtake the Emigrants, and give them what has been sent. But the heat suggests to him that they should retire into the cool back parlor, and, out of the way of the flies, refresh themselves with a bottle of Rhine wine. There, over the wine, mine host expresses his wish to see his son married. This is the whole of the first canto; and yet, slight as the material is, the wonderful objective treatment gives it substance. The scene lives before us. The fresh air of the country breathes from the verse. In the second canto, Hermann appears before his father and friends. The Pastor's quick eye detects that he is returned an altered man. Hermann narrates how he accomplished his mission. Overtaking the Emigrants, he fell in with a cart drawn by oxen, wherein lay a poor woman beside the infant to which she had just given birth. Leading the oxen was a maiden, who came towards him with the calm confidence of a generous soul, and begged his aid for the poor woman whom she had just assisted in her travail. Touched with pity, and feeling at once that this maiden was the best person to distribute justly the aid he had brought, Hermann gave it all into her hands. They parted, she gratefully pursuing her sad journey, he thoughtfully returning home. Love has leaped into his heart, and, by the light of his smile, the pastor sees he is an altered man. On hearing his tale, the Apothecary hugs himself with the consolation of not having wife and children to make him anxious in those anxious times; 'the single man escapes the easiest.' But Hermann reproves him, asking, Is it well that a man should feel himself alone in joy and sorrow, not understanding how to share these joys and sorrows? I never was so willing to marry as to-day; for many a good maiden needs the protection of a husband, and many a man needs the bright consolation of a wife, in the shadow of misfortune." Hereupon the father, smiling, exclaims, I hear you with pleasure; such a sensible word you have seldom uttered.' And his mother also applauds him, referring to her marriage as an example. Memory travels back complacently to the day of her betrothal. It was in the midst of misfortune a fire had destroyed all their property-but in that hour of misfortune their union was decided. The father here breaks in, and says the story is true, but evidently wishes to warn his son from any imitation of his own venture. With admirable art and humor his fatherly anxiety is depicted. He married a girl who had nothing when he himself had nothing; but now, when he is old and well to do in the world, this idea of beginning life upon no solid foundation of fortune is alarming to him. He paints the difficulty of keeping house, the advantages of fortune, and concludes with a decisive intimation to Hermann that he expects a rich daughter-in-law to be brought into the house. He indicates the daughters of a rich neighbor, and wishes Hermann to select one. But Hermann has not only a new love in his heart, he has an old repugnance to these rich neighbors, who mocked his simplicity, and |