dled into
brightness, as the possibility of their accomplishment became
apparent: Schiller glowed with a generous pride when he felt his
faculties at his own disposal, and thought of the use he meant to make
of them. 'All my connexions,' he said, 'are now dissolved. The public
is now all to me, my study, my sovereign, my confidant. To the public
alone I henceforth belong; before this and no other tribunal will I
place myself; this alone do I reverence and fear. Something majestic
hovers before me, as I determine now to wear no other fetters but the
sentence of the world, to appeal to no other throne but the soul of
man.'

These expressions are extracted from the preface to his _Thalia_, a
periodical work which he undertook in 1784, devoted to subjects
connected with poetry, and chiefly with the drama. In such sentiments
we leave him, commencing the arduous and perilous, but also glorious
and sublime duties of a life consecrated to the discovery of truth,
and the creation of intellectual beauty. He was now exclusively what
is called a _Man of Letters_, for the rest of his days.

PART II.

FROM SCHILLER'S SETTLEMENT AT MANNHEIM TO HIS SETTLEMENT AT JENA.
(1783-1790.)

PART SECOND.

[1783-1790.]

If to know wisdom were to practise it; if fame brought true dignity
and peace of mind; or happiness consisted in nourishing the intellect
with its appropriate food and surrounding the imagination with ideal
beauty, a literary life would be the most enviable which the lot of
this world affords. But the truth is far otherwise. The Man of Letters
has no immutable, all-conquering volition, more than other men; to
understand and to perform are two very different things with him as
with every one. His fame rarely exerts a favourable influence on his
dignity of character, and never on his peace of mind: its glitter is
external, for the eyes of others; within, it is but the aliment of
unrest, the oil cast upon the ever-gnawing fire of ambition,
quickening into fresh vehemence the blaze which it stills for a
moment. Moreover, this Man of Letters is not wholly made of spirit,
but of clay and spirit mixed: his thinking faculties may be nobly
trained and exercised, but he must have affections as well as thoughts
to make him happy, and food and raiment must be given him or he dies.
Far from being the mo