en
anticipation and reality, and dwells with man till the age when habit
becomes stronger than desire, or anticipation ceases to be hope.
Schiller did not find that his establishment at Leipzig, though
pleasant while it lasted, would realise his ulterior views: he yielded
to some of his 'alluring invitations,' and went to Dresden in the end
of summer. Dresden contained many persons who admired him, more who
admired his fame, and a few who loved himself. Among the latter, the
Appellationsrath Koerner deserves especial mention.[14] Schiller found
a true friend in Koerner, and made his house a home. He parted his time
between Dresden and Loeschwitz, near it, where that gentleman resided:
it was here that _Don Carlos_, the printing of which was meanwhile
proceeding at Leipzig, received its completion and last
corrections.[15] It was published in 1786.

[Footnote 14: The well-written life, prefixed to the
Stuttgard and Tuebingen edition of Schiller's works, is by
this Koerner. The Theodor Koerner, whose _Lyre and Sword_
became afterwards famous, was his son.]

[Footnote 15: In vol. x. of the Vienna edition of Schiller
are some ludicrous verses, almost his sole attempt in the way
of drollery, bearing a title equivalent to this: 'To the
Right Honourable the Board of Washers, the most humble
Memorial of a downcast Tragic Poet, at Loeschwitz;' of which
Doering gives the following account. 'The first part of _Don
Carlos_ being already printed, by Goeschen, in Leipzig, the
poet, pressed for the remainder, felt himself obliged to stay
behind from an excursion which the Koerner family were making,
in a fine autumn day. Unluckily, the lady of the house,
thinking Schiller was to go along with them, had locked all
her cupboards and the cellar. Schiller found himself without
meat or drink, or even wood for fuel; still farther
exasperated by the dabbling of some washer-maids beneath his
window, he produced these lines.' The poem is of the kind
which cannot be translated; the first three stanzas are as
follows:

"Die Waesche klatscht vor meiner Thuer,
Es plarrt die Kuechenzofe,
Und mich, mich fuhrt das Fluegelthier
Zu Koenig Philips Hofe.

Ich eile durch die Gallerie
Mit schnellem Schritt, belausche
Dort die Prinzessin Eboli
Im suessen Liebesrausche.

Schon ruft das schoene Weib: Triumph!