This passage perhaps scarcely gives a fair representation of Schiller’s views on the question, which, if we judge from _Wilhelm Tell_, must have been very moderate. War, he says, in this oft-quoted passage, is sometimes a necessity. There is a limit to the power of tyranny and, when the burden becomes unbearable, an appeal to Heaven and the sword. _Wilhelm Tell_: Act. II. Sc. 2. “Nein, eine Grenze hat Tyrannenmacht. Wenn der Gedrückte nirgends Recht kann finden, Wenn unerträglich wird die Last greift er Hinauf getrosten Muthes in den Himmel Und holt herunter seine ew’gen Rechte, Die droben hangen unveräusserlich Und unzerbrechlich, wie die Sterne selbst— Der alte Urstand der Natur kehrt wieder, Wo Mensch dem Menschen gegenüber steht— Zum letzten Mittel, wenn kein andres mehr Verfangen will, ist ihm das Schwert gegeben.” [79] Letter to Bluntschli, dated Berlin, 11th Dec., 1880 (published in Bluntschli’s _Gesammelte Kleine Schriften_, Vol. II., p. 271). [80] Cf. Tennyson’s _Maud_: Part I., vi. and xiii. “Why do they prate of the blessings of Peace? we have made them a curse, Pickpockets, each hand lusting for all that is not its own; And lust of gain, in the spirit of Cain, is it better or worse Than the heart of the citizen hissing in war on his own hearthstone? For I trust if an enemy’s fleet came yonder round by the hill, And the rushing battle-bolt sang from the three-decker out of the foam, That the smooth-faced snub-nosed rogue would leap from his counter and till, And strike, if he could, were it but with his cheating yardwand, home.” See too Part III., ii. and iv. “And it was but a dream, yet it lighten’d my despair When I thought that a war would arise in defence of the right, That an iron tyranny now should bend or cease, The glory of manhood stand on his ancient height, Nor Britain’s one sole God be the millionaire: No more shall commerce be all in all, and Peace Pipe on her pastoral hillock a languid note, And watch her harvest ripen, her herd increase, Nor the cannon-bullet rest on a slothful shore, And the cobweb woven across the cannon’s throat Shall shake its threaded tears in the wind no more. Let it go or stay, so I wake to the higher aims Of a land that has lost for a little her lust of gold, And love of a peace that was full of wrongs and shames, Horrible, hateful, monstrous, not to be told; And hail once more to the banner of battle unroll’d! Tho’ many a light shall darken, and many shall weep For those that are crush’d in the clash of jarring claims, For God’s just wrath shall be wreak’d on a giant liar; And many a darkness into the light shall leap, And shine in the sudden making of splendid names, And noble thought be freer under the sun, And the heart of a people beat with one desire.”