Schiller, the great German poet, had an enthusiastic appreciation of friendship-love, as can be seen from his poems “Freundschaft” and “Die Burgschaft,” and others of his writings. His tragedy Don Karlos turns upon the death of one friend for the sake of another. The young Infanta of Spain, Don Karlos, alienated by the severities of his father, Phillip II., enters into plots and intrigues, from the consequences of which he is only saved by his devoted companion, the Marquis of Posa, who, by making himself out the guilty party, dies in the Prince’s stead. Early in the play (Act I., Scene ii.) the attachment between the two is outlined:— [Sidenote: _Karlos and Roderick_] _Karlos._ Oh, if indeed ’tis true— What my heart says—that out of millions, thou Hast been decreed at last to understand me; If it be true that Nature all-creative In moulding Karlos copied Roderick, And strung the tender chords of our two souls Harmonious in the morning of our lives; If even a tear that eases thus my sorrow Is dearer to thee than my father’s favour— _Marquis of Posa._ Oh, dearer than the world! _Karlos._ So low, so low Have I now fallen, have become so needy, That of our early childish years together I must remind thee—must indeed entreat Thy payment of those long-forgotten debts Which thou, while yet in sailor garb, contractedst; When thou and I, two boys of venturous habit, Grew up, and side by side, in brotherhood. No grief oppressed me then—save that thy spirit Seemed so eclipsing mine—until at length I boldly dared to _love_ thee without limit, Since to be _like_ thee was beyond my dreams. Then I began, with myriad tenderness And brother-love most loyal, to torment thee; And thou, proud heart, returned it all so coldly. Oft would I stand there—and thou saw’st it not! And hot and heavy tear-drops from my eyes Hung, when perchance, thou, Roderick, hastening past me, Would’st throw thy arms about some lesser playmate. “Why only these?” I cried, and wept aloud “Am I not also worthy of thy heart?” But thou— So cold and serious before me kneeling, “Homage” thou said’st, “to the King’s son is due.” _Marquis_. A truce, O Prince, to all these tales of childhood, They make my cheeks red even now with shame! _Karlos_. And this from thee indeed I did not merit. Contemn thou could’st, and even rend my heart, But ne’er estrange. Three times thou did’st repulse The young Prince from thee; thrice again he came As suppliant to thee—to entreat thy love, And urgently to press his love upon thee. But that which Karlos could not, chance effected. (The story is then related of how as a boy he took on himself the blame for a misdemeanour of Roderick’s, and was severely punished by his royal father)—