valley of the Saal, and the fir mountains of the
neighbouring forest, Schiller built himself a small house, with a
single chamber.[32] It was his favourite abode during hours of
composition; a great part of the works he then wrote were written
here. In winter he likewise dwelt apart from the noise of men; in the
Griesbachs' house, on the outside of the city-trench. * * * On sitting
down to his desk at night, he was wont to keep some strong coffee, or
wine-chocolate, but more frequently a flask of old Rhenish, or
Champagne, standing by him, that he might from time to time repair the
exhaustion of nature. Often the neighbours used to hear him earnestly
declaiming, in the silence of the night: and whoever had an
opportunity of watching him on such occasions, a thing very easy to be
done from the heights lying opposite his little garden-house, on the
other side of the dell, might see him now speaking aloud and walking
swiftly to and fro in his chamber, then suddenly throwing himself down
into his chair and writing; and drinking the while, sometimes more
than once, from the glass standing near him. In winter he was to be
found at his desk till four, or even five o'clock in the morning; in
summer, till towards three. He then went to bed, from which he seldom
rose till nine or ten.'[33]

[Footnote 32: 'The street leading from Schiller's
dwelling-house to this, was by some wags named the
_Xenien-gasse_; a name not yet entirely disused.']

[Footnote 33: Doering, pp. 118-131.]

Had prudence been the dominant quality in Schiller's character, this
practice would undoubtedly have been abandoned, or rather never taken
up. It was an error so to waste his strength; but one of those which
increase rather than diminish our respect; originating, as it did, in
generous ardour for what was best and grandest, they must be cold
censurers that can condemn it harshly. For ourselves, we but lament
and honour this excess of zeal; its effects were mournful, but its
origin was noble. Who can picture Schiller's feelings in this
solitude, without participating in some faint reflection of their
grandeur! The toil-worn but devoted soul, alone, under the silent
starry canopy of Night, offering up the troubled moments of existence
on the altar of Eternity! For here the splendour that gleamed across
the spirit of a mortal, transient as one of us, was made to be
perpetual; these images and thoughts were to pass into other ages and
dist