CHAPTER IV.
JOY AND SORROW.
How long he had sat there and written he knew not, he only knew that these had been happy moments of action and creation; that his heart had been full of bliss and his soul overflowing with enthusiasm, and that this high thought had found expression in words. He felt that, like a god, he was creating human beings who lived, moved, and suffered before him. But alas! he was doomed to descend from the serene heights of poetry to the dusty earth; the cares of life were about to recall him from the bright sphere of poetical visions.
His door was violently thrown open, and Oswald Schwelm rushed in, pale and breathless.
“Help me, for God’s sake, Schiller! Hide me! I have recognized him! He has just turned into this street, followed by two constables.”
“Who? Of whom do you speak? Who pursues you?” exclaimed Schiller, bounding from his seat.
“The hard-hearted creditor from Stuttgart. Some one has advised him that I have come to Mannheim, and he has followed me with his warrant, determined to arrest me here. Of this I felt assured when I saw him accompanied by the two constables: but, hoping that I had not been perceived, I ran hastily to your room, and now, Schiller, I implore you to rescue me from my pursuers, from my unmerciful creditor; to preserve my freedom and protect me from arrest.”
“That I will do,” said Schiller, with an air of determination and defiance: and he stood erect and held up his hand as if threatening the invisible enemy. “You shall suffer no more on my account; you shall not be robbed of your freedom.”