CHAPTER VI.

THE SONG "TO JOY."

It was the postman, who brought the poet a rosy, perfumed letter from Weimar.

With eager hands, Schiller opened and unfolded the missive. His countenance beamed with joy as he recognized Madame von Kalb's handwriting. "Good and noble woman, you have not forgotten me! Do you still think of me lovingly?"

No, she had not forgotten him; she still loved him, and begged him, with tender and eloquent entreaties, to come to her.

"Schiller, the world is a solitude without you; you are the thought of my inmost thoughts, the soul of my soul! Frederick, separation from you has disclosed the holy mystery of your heart and of mine. It is this: We are the two halves that were one in heaven, and our mission on earth is to strive to come together, in order that our eternal indivisibility and unity of spirit may be restored. Schiller, when we are once more united, hand in hand, and are gazing in each other's eyes, we shall feel as if we had left the earth and were once more in heaven. Frederick, come to your Charlotte!"

"Yes, I am coming to my Charlotte, I am coming!" cried Schiller, in a loud voice, as he pressed the letter to his lips. "You have saved me, you have made me myself again, Charlotte! I am no longer lonely, no longer unloved. Your heart calls me, your spirit longs for me. I feel as though my soul's wings, destined to bear me aloft above the misery of earth, were growing stronger. They will bear me to you, Charlotte--to you, the dearest friend of my life! You shall console, you shall restore me, your friendship shall be the balsam for the wounds of my heart. Eternal Fate, I thank thee for having permitted me to hear this call of friendship in this my hour of trial. I thank thee that there is still one soul that I can call mine; I praise thee that I am not compelled to stand aside in shame and tears, like an unloved, friendless beggar, while the happy are feasting at the richly-laden table of life. One soul I can at least call my own, and I will keep her holy, and love and thank her all the days of my life. Away with tears! away with this sorrowing over a dream of happiness! Farewell, Marie! Be forgiven. I will think of you without anger, and rejoice when you become a happy countess! Farewell, Marie![32] A greeting to you, Charlotte! I am coming to you! I am coming!"

He walked slowly to and fro; the cloud of sorrow that had rested on his brow gradually lifted, and his countenance grew clearer and clearer. The man had conquered--the poet was once more himself.

"I will go to Körner! I must see my friend!" He took down his hat, and walked out into the street. His mind had freed itself of its fetters, his step was elastic, and he bore himself proudly, his blue eyes turned heavenward, and a joyous smile rested on his thin and delicate lips.

Thus he entered Körner's dwelling, and found his friend on the point of starting to Loschwitz, to see what had become of the poet. Schiller extended both hands and greeted him with a loving glance.

"Here I am again, my friend. The prodigal son returns from his wanderings, and begs to be permitted to take up his abode in your heart once more. Will you receive him, friend Körner?"

"I will not only receive him, but will kill the fatted calf in honor of his return. I will give a festival, to which all our friends shall be invited, in order that they may rejoice with me, and exclaim, 'The wanderer has returned! Blessed be the hour of his return!'"

Schiller threw himself into his friend's arms, and pressed him to his heart. "I have caused you much sorrow and trouble. I have been a wild and stubborn fellow. Why should beautiful women be blamed for not loving this ungainly and unmannerly fellow, when there are so many handsomer, richer, and happier men in the world? Marie von Arnim is right in marrying the rich and handsome Count Kunheim; and you must not blame her on this account, or say of her that she deceived me. She has only done what we all must do on earth: she has done her duty, and God will bless her and give her His peace in the hour of death for so doing.--But let us speak no more of this."

"No, my friend, we will speak of it no more," said Körner, heartily; "let us only rejoice that you have returned to your friends; that you once more believe in us and our friendship. How happy my wife will be when her dear friend is restored to her again! how glad Göschen will be when you once more extend your hand to him in a loving greeting!"

"Poor, generous Göschen!" said Schiller, thoughtfully. "I was cruel and unjust to him yesterday, I imputed ignoble motives to my friend!"

"He thinks of it no longer," said Körner; "he has no memory for the words spoken by your anguish. He will be only too happy when you once more greet him with a loving smile."

"How good and patient you all are with me!" said Schiller, softly; "and how little have I deserved such treatment at your hands! In truth, I feel as though I had now returned to you after a long separation--as though I had only seen you of late through a cloud that had arisen between us, and in which a single star shone, and-- Be still, no more of this! The cloud has been dissipated; I now see you again, and will rejoice with you as long as we are together."

"Schiller, you do not contemplate leaving us?" said Körner, sadly.

"I am a poor wanderer, my friend, whose stay at any one place is but brief. At last, a time will come even for me, when I can lay down my staff and knapsack, and exclaim, 'Here I will rest! This is my home!' But the gods only know whether this home will be in the grave or in the heart of a woman!"

"No sad thoughts now, my friend, if you please, now that I am ready to exult and rejoice over your return!"

"You are right, no sad thoughts at this time! Let us turn our thoughts to joy. The first song I write shall be in praise of joy. I will no longer avoid mankind, no longer seek solitude! As you said, Körner, so shall it be! Give the prodigal son a festival, call our friends together, let us once more assemble around the festive board and partake of the repast of friendship and joy. This festival shall be in honor of my return and of my departure."

Körner gave this festival. The lost one, who had of late withdrawn himself from his friends in the violence of his love, had now returned, and this was a fitting occasion for joy and festivity. He called his friends together; he had for each a kind word and a tender greeting. Göschen was richly rewarded when Schiller gave him the manuscript of his Don Carlos, that was now to be given to the world, and to entwine the halo of immortality around the poet's brow, and to enkindle and fan the flame of enthusiasm in thousands and thousands of hearts!

Six days after Schiller's "return," the festival which Körner had promised took place. Körner and his beautiful young wife, Theresa Huber, Göschen, and the artist Sophie Albrecht, were present; a few friends in Leipsic had also joyfully availed themselves of Körner's invitation, and had come to Dresden to see the poet once more.

There he sat at the festive board, his arm thrown around Körner's neck; in his right hand he held the goblet filled with sparkling Rhine wine. His eyes beamed and his countenance shone with enthusiasm. His glance was directed upward, and, perhaps, he saw the heavens open and the countenance of the blessed, for a soft and joyous smile played about his lips.

"Look at this favorite of the muses," cried Körner. "One might suppose they held him in their embrace, and were whispering words of inspiration into his poet's heart."

"Perhaps they are whispering a song of joy in my ear, my friend, in order that I may repeat it to you, the favorite of the gods! But before I do so, I will narrate a history--a history that will touch your hearts and open your purses, unless you are cold-hearted egotists, and then you deserve to share the fate of King Midas, whose very food and wine were turned into gold because he was a hard-hearted miser. I condemn you to this punishment if you have the courage to listen to my story without being moved to tears and generosity!"

With deep pathos and eloquence Schiller recounted to his listening friends his midnight adventure, his conversation with the poor youth who had attempted to take his own life. So graphic was his representation of the unfortunate youth's distress and vain struggles, that the hearts of his hearers were deeply touched, and no eye remained dry.

When he had concluded his narrative and told his friends of the promise he had made to poor Theophilus, Schiller arose from his seat, took the plate which lay before him, and walked around the table, halting at each seat and extending his plate like a beggar, with soft words of entreaty. When the ready hands opened and dollars and gold-pieces rang out on the plate, Schiller inclined his head and smiled, thanking the givers with looks of tenderness.

Now he had returned to his seat and was counting the money. "Seventeen gold-pieces and thirty dollars. I thank you, my friends! You have saved a human life; you have redeemed a soul from purgatory! To-morrow night I will take this love-offering to the poor youth; the blessing of a good man will then rest on your closed eyelids, and you will be rewarded with sweet dreams and a happy awakening. Now, my dear friends, you shall receive from the poet's lips the thanks that are glowing in my heart. Now, you shall hear the exulting song to joy which Körner supposed the Muses were whispering in my ear. Raise your glasses and listen; when I incline my head repeat the words last spoken."

Schiller arose, drew a small, folded sheet of paper from his pocket, opened it, glanced over it hastily, and then let it fall on the table. He did not require it; his song resounded in his mind and brain; it was written on the tablets of his heart, and his lips now uttered it exultantly:

"Joy, thou brightest heaven-lit spark, Daughter from the Elysian choir, On thy holy ground we walk, Reeling with ecstatic fire!"

His eyes shone with enthusiasm, his cheeks glowed, and a heavenly smile illumined his whole countenance, while reciting his song "To Joy." His friends caught the inspiration of his poem, arose with one accord from their seats, clasped hands and gazed into each other's eyes--into the eyes that shone lustrously, although they were filled with tears. Now, at the culminating point of his rapture, Schiller's countenance suddenly quivered with pain as he recited a second verse of his song:

"Yea--who calls _one_ soul his own, _One_ on all earth's ample round:-- Who cannot, may steal alone, Weeping from our holy ground."

"Who cannot, may steal alone, weeping from our holy ground," repeated his friends. The tears gushed from their eyes; they clasped hands more firmly, and listened breathlessly to the words of the poet, whose voice now rose again to the high tones of enthusiasm. It was almost like an adoration of joy, friendship, and love. Their hearts beat higher, mightier and mightier the waves of rapture surged in their kindred souls.

"Myriads join the fond embrace! 'Tis the world's inspiring kiss. Friends, yon dome of starry bliss Is a loving father's place."

They embraced each other; they wept, but with rapture, with enthusiasm. The kiss that passed from mouth to mouth was given to the whole world; for all that the world could offer of love, of friendship, and of happiness, the friends found combined at the happy festival to which Schiller had dedicated his song "To Joy."