evening we entered Stutgard, which, surrounded by a chain of hills with terraced vineyards, presented a coup d'oeil really beautiful: the countless summer-houses dotted about the hills were illuminated; rockets were blazing in every direction, and repeated discharges of fire-arms broke the silence of the night. CHAPTER XXV Stutgard-King's Palace-Theatre-Dannecker-Anecdote of SchillerEnvirons-Ludwigslust-Hohenasperg-Journey to Strasburg-German Emigrants-Kehl-National Character of the Germans-Strasburg-Cathedral-Departure for Paris-Concluding Remarks. STUTGARD being the capital of a little kingdom, with a population of one million two hundred thousand, and the seat of government, we behold, while rambling through its streets, quite as much military parade and court splendour as if we were in Vienna; and the king's palace is far more magnificent than any I have seen belonging to the Emperor of Austria. It is certainly a most imposing edifice, and has the advantage of being situated at once in town and country; on one side it opens into a fine park, and on the other into a spacious square, planted with trees, fronting the Königs Strasse, the finest street in the town: from hence, in whatever direction we turn our attention, we have a pleasing picture of the encircling hills, mingling their variegated foliage with the buildings of the town. But however we may admire the beautiful architecture of the palace, yet we must condemn the bad taste which permits the unsightly wooden theatre to remain united to one of its splendid wings. Stutgard wants what Munich has in too great abundance, water and air. As for the first, there is nothing bnt a dirty ditch running through the centre of the town; with respect to the latter, being situated in a deep hollow, it is in winter enveloped in mists and fogs, and in summer the inhabitants find it necessary to cmigrate to the mountains, to escape the malaria. In short, Stutgard does not offer a single inducement to the traveller to prolong his stay, unless he is partial to studying old books and moth eaten MSS. in the king's library. There is no gallery of paintings, nor any other collection of works of art, such as we find at Munich. The king, however partial he may be to the ballet, is no patron of the fine arts. He is just one of those negative characters, who, contented to exist for themselves, never think of extending their sphere of usefulness for the benefit of others. I was much pleased at the theatre with Seydelman's performance of Macbeth; he certainly deserves the praise of being one of the best tragic actors in Germany;-in his style I thought he resembled Talma. Demoiselle Stubenrauch is another of the theatrical luminaries of Stutgard, and though a good singer, and first-rate actress, yet since she has advanced so high in the good graces of a certain illustrious personage, she has declined in favour with the public. I was indebted to a friend at Stutgard for an intro duction to the Geheime-Rath, M. Lehr, who conducted me into one of the rooms of his house in which Schiller wrote his "Robbers." We spent the evening with Dannecker, who, though seventy-eight years of age, still retains, in a great degree, the vivacity of youth. He is a well-informed man, of the middle size; and his large blue eyes even yet sparkle with the fire of that genius which has obtained for him the wreath of immortality, while his gray locks impart a venerable appearance to his fine, intellectual-looking head. He pointed out to me the bust of Schiller, with whom he lived upon terms of the most intimate friendship. This beautiful work of art, said to be a most faithful resemblance of the original, is finished, in its minutest part, with an elaborate exactness that astonishes the beholder, and almost appears breathing with animation. He considers it his best work, and though he has been repeatedly offered the most extravagant prices, yet such is his attachment to the memory of his friend, that he has refused to part with it. How many clever men has not Swabia produced? This was the land of Wieland, Spittler, Moser, Paulus, and Schiller. My friend related an interesting anecdote of the latter, which, I believe, is not generally known in England. When Schiller was a young man, he was extremely desirous of assuming the profession of an actor; at length the happy moment arrived that was to introduce him as a candidate for histrionic fame. It was ANECDOTE OF SCHILLER. 339 the birth-day of the late Duke of Würtemberg, in 1780. Being an intimate friend of the manager, he was allowed to select his own play, when he chose Clavigo, by Göthe, (who was also his friend,) in which he was to play the principal character. Young, sanguine, ardent, and imaginative, he expected to make such an impression on the audience, as would at once stamp him an actor of first-rate excellence; his style of acting was to constitute a new era in dramatic history, and entirely eclipse that of any son of Thespis who had preceded him. The important evening arrived, the hero in prospective was on the stage, the curtain was withdrawn: but, when the hitherto confident debutant cast a bewildered glance on the crowded house, and found himself exposed to the gaze of all the rank, beauty, and fashion, of the court and town, he lost all self-command, stammered, hesitated, and was silent. The cheers of the audience so far re-assured him, that he was enabled tremblingly to proceed; but his air-built castles of fame having vanished, and with them his buoyancy of spirit, he played in such a style as to convulse the audience with laughter; and our actor was at length obliged to quit the stage, overwhelmed with hisses. The sensitive mind of Schiller sunk beneath the blow, and he continued in such a state of despondency, that it was feared he would terminate his existence. His friends attempted to console him, by suggesting that some of the greatest dramatic writers, such as Otway, Jonson, and Voltaire, had been equally unsuccessful in attempting to excel as |