The Life of Friedrich Schiller | Page 2

scarcely settled into form, or admitted to a rank among the cultivated
languages of Europe: yet his writings are remarkable for their extent
and variety as well as their intrinsic excellence; and his own
countrymen are not his only, or perhaps his principal admirers. It is
difficult to collect or interpret the general voice; but the World, no less
than Germany, seems already to have dignified him with the reputation
of a classic; to have enrolled him among that select number whose
works belong not wholly to any age or nation, but who, having
instructed their own contemporaries, are claimed as instructors by the
great family of mankind, and set apart for many centuries from the
common oblivion which soon overtakes the mass of authors, as it does
the mass of other men.
Such has been the high destiny of Schiller. His history and character
deserve our study for more than one reason. A natural and harmless
feeling attracts us towards such a subject; we are anxious to know how
so great a man passed through the world, how he lived, and moved, and
had his being; and the question, if properly investigated, might yield
advantage as well as pleasure. It would be interesting to discover by
what gifts and what employment of them he reached the eminence on
which we now see him; to follow the steps of his intellectual and moral
culture; to gather from his life and works some picture of himself. It is

worth inquiring, whether he, who could represent noble actions so well,
did himself act nobly; how those powers of intellect, which in
philosophy and art achieved so much, applied themselves to the
every-day emergencies of life; how the generous ardour, which delights
us in his poetry, displayed itself in the common intercourse between
man and man. It would at once instruct and gratify us if we could
understand him thoroughly, could transport ourselves into his
circumstances outward and inward, could see as he saw, and feel as he
felt.
But if the various utility of such a task is palpable enough, its
difficulties are not less so. We should not lightly think of
comprehending the very simplest character, in all its bearings; and it
might argue vanity to boast of even a common acquaintance with one
like Schiller's. Such men as he are misunderstood by their daily
companions, much more by the distant observer, who gleans his
information from scanty records, and casual notices of characteristic
events, which biographers are often too indolent or injudicious to
collect, and which the peaceful life of a man of letters usually supplies
in little abundance. The published details of Schiller's history are
meagre and insufficient; and his writings, like those of every author,
can afford but a dim and dubious copy of his mind. Nor is it easy to
decipher even this, with moderate accuracy. The haze of a foreign
language, of foreign manners, and modes of thinking strange to us,
confuses and obscures the sight, often magnifying what is trivial,
softening what is rude, and sometimes hiding or distorting what is
beautiful. To take the dimensions of Schiller's mind were a hard
enterprise, in any case; harder still with these impediments.
Accordingly we do not, in this place, pretend to attempt it: we have no
finished portrait of his character to offer, no formal estimate of his
works. It will be enough for us if, in glancing over his life, we can
satisfy a simple curiosity, about the fortunes and chief peculiarities of a
man connected with us by a bond so kindly as that of the teacher to the
taught, the giver to the receiver of mental delight; if, in wandering
through his intellectual creation, we can enjoy once more the
magnificent and fragrant beauty of that fairy land, and express our

feelings, where we do not aim at judging and deciding.
Johann Christoph Friedrich Schiller was a native of Marbach, a small
town of Würtemberg, situated on the banks of the Neckar. He was born
on the 10th of November 1759,--a few months later than our own
Robert Burns. Schiller's early culture was favoured by the dispositions,
but obstructed by the outward circumstances of his parents. Though
removed above the pressure of poverty, their station was dependent and
fluctuating; it involved a frequent change of place and plan. Johann
Caspar Schiller, the father, had been a surgeon in the Bavarian army; he
served in the Netherlands during the Succession War. After his return
home to Würtemberg, he laid aside the medical profession, having
obtained a commission of ensign and adjutant under his native Prince.
This post he held successively in two regiments; he had changed into
the second, and was absent on active duty when Friedrich was born.
The Peace of Paris put an end