"It is true, it is true!" cried Schiller, "I am unjust! I reproach you instead of reproaching myself, and myself only. Oh, my friends, forgive these utterances of my anguish, consider what I endure! You are both so happy; you have all that can lend a charm to life, and adorn it. You are wealthy, you do not know what it is to have to contend with want, and to struggle for existence, nor have you any knowledge of that more painful struggle, the warfare of life without love, without some being who loves you, and is wholly yours. You, my friends, have loved and loving wives, who are yours with every fibre of their being. You have also well-appointed households, and are provided with all that is requisite to enable you to exercise a generous hospitality. But, look at me, the solitary, homeless beggar, who calls nothing on earth his own but that spark of enthusiasm which burns in his heart, who must flee to the ideal, in order to escape the too rude grasp of reality. Why must I alone rise from the richly-laden table of life with unsatisfied hunger? Why are the stars, for me, merely candles of the night, that give me light in my labors, and the sun only an economical heating apparatus, to which I am only in so far indebted as it saves me expensive fuel for my stove in winter. Grant me my portion of the repast which the gods have prepared for all mortals, let me also partake of the golden Hesperian fruit. My friends, have pity on the poor wanderer, who has been journeying through the desert of life, and would now recline on the green oasis and rest his weary limbs!" He sank down into a chair, and covered his quivering face with his trembling hands. His two friends stood at his side regarding him sorrowfully. Neither of them had the cruel courage to break in upon this paroxysm of anguish with a word of encouragement or consolation. A pause ensued, in which the silence was interrupted only by Schiller's deep-drawn sighs, and the few indistinct words, which he from time to time murmured to himself. But suddenly he arose, and when he withdrew his hands from his face its expression was completely changed. His countenance was no longer quivering with pain and flushed with anger, but was pale, and his glance defiant. And when he now shook back the long yellow hair which shaded his brow, with a quick movement of the head, he looked like a lion shaking his mane, and preparing to do battle with an approaching enemy. "Enough of these lamentations and womanish complaints," said he, in a resolute, hoarse voice. "I will be a man who has the courage to listen to the worst and defy the greatest agony. Repeat all that you have said. I will not interrupt you again, either with complaints or reproaches. I know that you are actuated by the kindest intentions, and that, like the good surgeon, you only desire to apply the knife and fire to my wounded heart in order to heal it. And now, speak, my friends! Repeat what you have said!"