Before undertaking this, however, I should like to invite you to follow up another clue with me. It often happens that a poet makes use of a slip of the tongue or some other error as a means of artistic expression. This fact in itself proves that he thinks the error, for instance, a slip of the tongue, has a meaning; for he constructs it intentionally. It could hardly happen that a poet accidentally made a slip of the pen and then allowed his slip of the pen to stand as a slip of the tongue of the character. He wishes to reveal something by means of the slip and we may well enquire what that may be—whether perhaps he wishes to indicate that the person in question is distracted or overtired, or is expecting a headache. Of course we should not exaggerate the importance of it if poets do make use of slips to express their meaning. Slips might be in reality without meaning, accidents in the mental world, or only occasionally have a meaning, and poets would still be entitled to refine them by infusing sense into them for their own purposes. However, it would not be surprising if more were to be learned from poets about slips of the tongue than from philologists and psychiatrists. There is an example of a slip of this kind in Schiller’s _Wallenstein_ (Piccolomini, Act I, Scene 5). In the foregoing scene, young Max Piccolomini had taken up Duke Wallenstein’s cause ardently, and had been passionately describing the blessings of peace, which he had become aware of in the course of a journey accompanying Wallenstein’s beautiful daughter to the camp. As he leaves the stage, his father (Octavio) and the courtier Questenberg are plunged in consternation. The fifth scene continues:— QUESTENBERG. Alas! and stands it so? Friend, do we let him go In this delusion? let him go from us? Not call him back at once, not Open his eyes here and now? OCTAVIO (_recovering himself out of deep thought_). He has now opened _mine_ And I see more than pleases me. QUESTENBERG. What is it? OCTAVIO. A curse upon this journey! QUESTENBERG. But why so? What is it? OCTAVIO. Come, come, friend! I must up And follow the ill-omened clue at once And see with mine own eyes—come with me now! QUESTENBERG. What now? Where go you then? OCTAVIO (_hastily_). _To her, herself!_ QUESTENBERG. _To_ ... OCTAVIO (_corrects himself_). To the Duke! Come, let us go! Octavio meant to say: “To him, to the Duke,” but his tongue slips and he betrays (to us, at least) by the words “_to her_” that he has clearly recognized the influence at work behind the famous young warrior’s rhapsodies in favour of peace.