The German Classics of The Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries, Vol. III | Page 6

the earliest historical classics in the German language.
Schiller was the first German to make literature out of history.
The year 1794 brought about a closer relation between Schiller and
Goethe, an event of prime moment in the lives of both. On Goethe's
return from Italy, in the summer of 1788, Schiller was introduced to
him, but the meeting had no immediate consequences. In fact, Schiller
had quietly made up his mind not to like the man whom, for a whole
year, he had heard constantly lauded by the Weimar circle. He thought
of Goethe as a proud, self-centred son of fortune, with whom friendship
would be impossible. Goethe, on the other hand, was not drawn to the
author of The Robbers. He looked on the popularity of the detestable
play as a shocking evidence of depraved public taste and was not aware
how its author had changed since writing it. So it came about that, for
some six years, the two men lived as neighbors in space but strangers in
the spirit. At last, however, an accidental meeting in Jena led to an
interchange of views and prepared the way for the most memorable of
literary friendships.
By this time Schiller had undertaken the editorship of a new literary
magazine to be called Die Horen, which was to be financed by the
enterprising publisher Cotta in Stuttgart. The plan was that it should
eclipse all previous undertakings of its kind. But it was to eschew
politics. Germany was just then agitated by the fierce passions of the
revolutionary epoch, and this excitement was regarded by Schiller as
ominous for the nation. There was need of esthetic education. So he
proposed to keep the Horen clear of politics and try to divert the minds
of men into the serener regions of letters and art. To Goethe, who also
hated the Revolution, this was a highly acceptable program. So he
readily undertook to write for the Horen, and thus he and Schiller soon
became linked together in the public mind as allied champions of a
cause. It is for this reason that the Germans are wont to call them the

Dioscuri.
By way of signalizing their community of interest the Dioscuri
presently began to write satirical distichs at the expense of men and
tendencies that they did not like. For example:
Gentlemen, keep your seats! for the curs but covet your places, Elegant
places to hear all the other dogs bark.
The making of these more or less caustic epigrams amused them.
Sometimes one would suggest the topic and the other write the distich;
again, one would do the hexameter, the other the pentameter. They
agreed that neither should ever claim separate property in the Xenia, as
they were called. The number grew apace, until it reached nearly a
thousand. About half the number on hand were published in 1797 in
Schiller's Musenalmanach and had the effect of setting all Germany
agog with curiosity, rage or solemn glee. Some of those hit replied in
kind or in vicious attacks, and for a little while there was great
excitement. But having discharged their broadside Goethe and Schiller
did not further pursue the ignoble warfare. They wisely came to the
conclusion that the best way to elevate the public taste was not to assail
the bad in mordant personal epigrams, but to exemplify the good in
creative work.
After his nine years of fruitful wandering in other fields Schiller
returned at last, in 1796, to dramatic poetry. Once more it came in his
way to write for the stage, since Goethe was now director of the
Weimar theatre. After some hesitation between Wallenstein and The
Knights of Malta, both of which had long haunted his thoughts, he
decided in favor of the former. It occupied him for three years and
finally left his hands as a long affair in three parts. Yet it is not a trilogy
in the proper sense, but a play in ten acts, preceded by a dramatic
prelude. At first Schiller found the material refractory. The actual
Wallenstein had never exhibited truly heroic qualities of any kind, and
his history involved only the cold passions of ambition, envy, and
vindictiveness. Whether he was really guilty of treason was a moot
question which admitted of no partisan treatment. But Schiller's genius
triumphed splendidly over the difficulties inherent in the subject. In the
Camp we get a picturesque view of the motley soldatesca which was
the basis of Wallenstein's power and prestige. In The Piccolomini we
see the nature of the dangerous game he is playing, and in

_Wallenstein's Death_ the unheroic hero becomes very impressive in
his final discomfiture and his pitiable taking-off. The love-tragedy of
Max and Thekla casts a mellow light of romance over the otherwise
austere political action.
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