“No, Fritz, I will not drink such a toast with you,” said Streicher, slowly setting his glass down. “It would be a sin and a crime for Frederick Schiller to drink so unworthy, so miserable a toast. You are in your desperate humor again to-day, Fritz, and would like to invoke the very lightning from heaven, and concoct with its aid a little tornado in your own heaven.”
“Yes, of course, you droll fellow!” cried Schiller, emptying his glass at one draught. “Lightning purifies the atmosphere and brings the sun out again. And you see my departure is a mighty tornado, with showers of rain, with thunder and lightning, intended, no doubt, to cleanse and purify my life, that it may afterward flow on through the sunshine, clear and limpid. Andrew, I go from here to seek happiness and peace.”
“And, above all, renown,” added Streicher, emptying his glass.
“No,” cried Schiller, vehemently, “no renown for me! Translated into good German, renown means thorns, hunger, want! I intend to have my portion of the viands with which the table of life is richly provided. And do you know what my purpose is?”
“No, but I should like to learn it.”
“I intend to become a jurist,” cried Schiller, emptying his second glass. “Yes, that is it. I will begin a new life and make a jurist of myself. My old life is ended, and when I enter the stage-coach to-night to go to Leipsic, it will not contain the poet Schiller, the author of ‘The Robbers,’ and other absurdities, but the student, Frederick Schiller, on his way to Leipsic to study jurisprudence at the university. Don’t shake your wise head and look so horrified, Andrew. I tell you I will become a jurist; I am tired of journeying on the thorny path of the poet, with bleeding feet and a hungry stomach. All my illusions are vanished. My vision of a golden meteor sparkling in the sun, proves to have been only a soap-bubble; and this bubble called renown has now bursted.”
“You are again talking wildly and romantically, like Charles Moor, in ‘The Robbers,’” cried Streicher; “and yet you are not in earnest!”
“But I am in earnest, my friend! The sad experience of my past life has made me wise and practical. I will not discard poetry altogether, but will indulge in it at times only, as one indulges in oysters and champagne on great and festive occasions. My ordinary life will be that of a jurist. I have given the matter much thought and consideration. Fortunately, I have a clear head and quick comprehension, I will, therefore, with a firm will and untiring diligence, study and learn as much in one year as others do in three. The university in Leipsic is rich in resources, and I will know how to avail myself of them. If an ordinary head, by ordinary application, can acquire in three years sufficient knowledge to enable a man to earn a comfortable living in the practice of his profession, I can certainly attain the same end in a shorter time. My attention has been directed to the study of systems since my earliest youth; and in our Charles School, of blessed memory, I have at least learned to express myself as fluently in Latin as in German. Study, thought, and reflection, is a delight to me, and the explication of difficult subjects a pleasure; and, therefore, I am convinced that I can become a good jurist, and, with bold strides, swiftly overtake the snail-moving pace of others, and in a brief time attain that which the most sanguine would scarcely imagine could be achieved in years.”
“Then you, at least, admit that you are no ordinary man,” said Andrew Streicher, shrugging his shoulders. “And, nevertheless, you propose to confine this extraordinary man in the strait-jacket of practical science. Truly, I lose my appetite, and even this punch seems sour, when I reflect that the poet of ‘The Robbers’ is to become an advocate!”
“You had rather he hungered, and wrote dramas, than he should lead a happy and comfortable life, and write deeds. Ah, my friend, the career of a poet is full of bitterness and humiliation. The wise and sensible shrug their shoulders when mention is made of him, as though he were a crazy fool; the so-called gentlefolk do not recognize him as their equal, and even the players on the stage act as though they conferred a favor on the poet when they render his dramas, and, as they say, give life to inanimate forms by their sublime impersonations. No, no, my mind is made up, I will write no more stage pieces, at least until I have achieved a respectable position in the world as a jurist. Man must always push on and possess the ambition which leads higher and higher. Are not you, too, ambitious, Andrew?”