a glimpse of the liberal, independent, audacious spirit of the hero.
Orange attempts to inculcate caution into his friend, and since word
has come of the arrival of the Duke of Alva, tries to persuade him to
flee; but all in vain.
(_Third Act_)
The citizens in fear of the impending danger; the lawyer foretells
Egmont’s fate; the Spanish watch enters, and the people scatter.
In a room in one of the houses we find Klaerchen thinking of her love
for Egmont. She seeks to spurn the affection of her lover Brackenburg,
then proceeds with mingled pleasure and dread to think of her relations
with Egmont; he enters, and all is joy and happiness.
(_Fourth Act_)
The Palace. Alva’s character becomes evident through his measures;
Ferdinand, his natural son, who is attracted by the personality of
Egmont, is ordered to take him prisoner, in order that he himself may
become accustomed to tyranny. Egmont and Alva in conversation; the
former frank and open, the latter reserved and at the same time tries
to irritate Egmont. The latter is arrested.
Brackenburg on the street; twilight. Klaerchen wishes to incite the
citizens to liberate Egmont, but they withdraw in alarm; Brackenburg,
alone with Klaerchen, attempts to calm her, but in vain.
(_Fifth Act_)
Klaerchen alone in a room. Brackenburg brings the news of preparations
for Egmont’s execution. Klaerchen takes poison, Brackenburg rushes
away, the lamp goes out, signifying that Klaerchen has passed away.
The prison, Egmont alone. The sentence of death is announced to him.
Scene with Ferdinand, his young friend. Egmont, alone, falls asleep.
Vision of Klaerchen in the background. He is waked by drums, and
follows the watch, almost with the air of the commander himself.
Concerning the last appearance of Klaerchen, opinions are divided;
Schiller was opposed to it, the author in favor of it; the public will
not allow it to be omitted.
* * * * *
Since the present discussion does not attempt to deal with plays
chronologically but with reference to other considerations, and
particularly from the standpoint of author and adapter, I shall turn
next to _Stella_, which also owes its appearance in the theatre to
Schiller.
Since the action of the piece is unimpassioned and smooth, he left it
substantially unchanged, only shortening the dialogue here and there,
especially when it seemed to be passing from the dramatic to the
idyllic and elegiac. For just as there may be too many incidents in a
piece, so there may be too great an expression of feeling. So Schiller
resisted the enticements of many charming passages and struck them
relentlessly out. Well-staged, the piece was presented on January 15,
1806, for the first time, and repeated. It soon became evident that,
according to our customs, which are founded strictly on monogamy, the
relation of a man to two wives, especially as it appeared in this play,
was not to be reconciled, and for that reason was only fit material
for tragedy. For that reason the attempt of the intelligent Cecilie
to harmonize the incongruities proved futile. The piece took a tragic
turn, and ended in a way that satisfied the emotions and elevated
the feelings. At present the piece is quite competently acted, and
consequently receives the most unqualified applause. But a sweeping
assurance of this kind can hardly be of practical utility to the
playhouses which intend to put on the piece; and I therefore add in
detail some further and necessary considerations.
The rôle of Fernando every actor, not too young, will be glad to
undertake, actors, that is, who are fitted to heroic or lovers’ rôles,
and they will try to express with all the emotion and effect possible,
the impassioned dilemma in which they are placed.
The allotment of the feminine rôles is more difficult. There are
five of them,--carefully differentiated and contrasted characters.
The actress who undertakes the rôle of Stella must depict to us not
only her indestructible affection, her passionate love, her glowing
enthusiasm, but must also make us share her feeling, and carry us along
with her.
Cecilie, who at first appears weak and repressed, must soon leave this
all behind her, and appear before us as a high-spirited heroine of
courage and intelligence.
Lucia represents a person who in the midst of an easy and comfortable
life has cultivated her talents independently, does not feel the outer
pressures which force themselves upon her, but rather casts them off.
Not a trace of priggishness or conceit should appear.
The postmistress is no quarrelsome old woman, but a young, cheerful,
active widow, who would like to marry again only in order to be better
obeyed.
Ann, if possible, should be acted by a little child. In the mouth of a
child, if she speaks clearly, the decisiveness of what she has to say
sounds extremely well. If the proper contrasts and shading are given to
all these characters, this tragedy will not miss its effect.
The first act, which portrays external life, should be mastered with
extraordinary care and thoroughness, and even the unimportant incidents
ought to betray a certain artistic fitness. The sounding of the
posthorn twice, for instance, produces an agreeable and even artistic
effect. The steward also should not be impersonated by a mediocre but
by an excellent actor, who will play the rôle of the kindly old man
called to a lover’s aid.
If one considers the incredible advantage which the composer has in
being able to indicate in his score all his wishes and intentions by
a thousand words and signs, one will pardon the dramatic poet also
if he seeks to enjoin upon the directors and managers what he holds
indispensable for the success of his work.
_Die Laune des Verliebten_ was produced at the theatre in March, 1805,
just when this little piece was forty years old. In it everything
depends on the rôle of Egle. If a versatile actress can be found
who expresses the character perfectly, then the piece is safe, and
is witnessed with pleasure. One of our most agreeable and charming
actresses, who was going to Breslau, took it to the theatre there. An
ingenious writer made use of the idea of the character and composed
several pieces with this motive for the actress. _Stella_ is also at
present well received in Berlin.
Here I venture to make an observation which seems to me worth
careful consideration on the part of stage-managers. If one tries to
discover just why certain pieces, to which some worth is not to be
denied, either are never produced or else, even when they make a good
impression for a time, yet little by little disappear from the boards,
one will find that the cause lies neither with the piece nor with the
public, but that the necessary actors are lacking. For this reason it
is advisable that pieces should not be laid entirely aside or dropped
from the repertory. Rather let them be kept constantly in mind, even
if there is no opportunity to give them for years. Then when the time
comes that the rôles can be adequately filled again, one does not lose
the chance of making an excellent impression.
Thus, for instance, the German theatre would experience a great change
if a figure like the famous Seylerin should appear, with a genuine
dramatic talent trained according to our modern requirements. Speedily
would Medea, Semiramis, Agrippina and other heroines, which we think
of as so colossal, be resurrected from the grave; other rôles besides
would be transformed. Think only of such a figure as Orsina, and
_Emilia Galotti_ is quite another play; the Prince is exonerated as
soon as one realizes that so powerful and imperious a person is the
encumbrance upon his shoulders.
We turn now to the _Mitschuldigen_. That it has a certain dramatic
value may be inferred from the fact that, at a time when all German
actors seemed afraid of rhythm and rhyme, it was turned into prose and
produced at the theatre, where it could not maintain itself because
a principal feature, the poetic rhythm and the rhyme, was lacking.
But now, when the actors are more skilled in both, this attempt could
be made. Some of its crudities were removed, some archaic touches
modernized, and thus it continues to hold the boards still if the cast
is good. It was put on at the same time as _Die Laune des Verliebten_,
in March, 1805. Schiller made many suggestions for the production,
but he did not live to see the _Raetsel_ produced in September of the
same year. This had a great success, but the author desired to remain
anonymous for a long time. Afterwards, however, he published a sequel,
and the two pieces help to support each other.
Let us not hesitate in the German theatre, where there appears so much
variety besides, to place side by side pieces of similar motive and
atmosphere, in order that we may at least give a certain breadth to the
different departments of dramatic production.
_Iphigenia_, not without some abbreviation, was put on the Weimar
stage as early as 1802; _Tasso_ first in 1807 after a long and quiet
preparation. Both plays continue to hold the boards, with the support
of actors and actresses who are exceptionally excellent and well
adapted to the rôles.
Finally we shall mention _Goetz von Berlichingen_, which was produced
for the first time in September, 1804. Although Schiller himself would
not undertake this new revision, he coöperated in every possible way,
and was able by his bold resolution to facilitate for the author many
a point of revision; from the beginning to the final production he
was most influential and effective both in word and deed. Since it is
produced at few theatres, it may be worth while to relate here briefly
the action of the piece, and to point out in general the principles
according to which this revision was made.
_Goetz von Berlichingen_
(_First Act_)
By the insults which are accorded his servants by some peasants in the
inn at Bamberg, we learn of the hostility between Goetz and the Bishop.
Some horsemen in the service of this knight enter and relate that
Weislingen, the Bishop’s right-hand man, is in the neighborhood. They
hurry away to notify their master.
Goetz appears in front of a hut in the woods, alert and listening. A
stable-boy, George, declares himself a future hero. Brother Martin
expresses envy of the soldiers, husband, and father. The servants come
in with the news, Goetz hastens away, and the boy is quieted by the
present of a saint’s picture.
At Jaxthausen, Goetz’s castle, we find his wife, sister and son. The
former exhibits herself as a capable noblewoman, the latter as a
tender-hearted woman, the son as rather effeminate. Faud brings word
that Weislingen is captured and Goetz is bringing him in. The women
go out; the two knights enter; by Goetz’s frank demeanor and the
narration of old stories, Weislingen’s heart is touched. Maria and Karl
come in; the child invites them to sit down at table, Maria asks them
to be friends. The knights give each other their hands, Maria stands
between them.
(_Second Act_)
Maria and Weislingen enter. They have become lovers. Goetz and
Elizabeth appear; they are all busy with hopes and plans. Weislingen is
happy in his new situation. Franz, Weislingen’s lad, comes from Bamberg
and awakes old memories; he also draws a picture of the dangerous
Adelaide of Walldorf. His passion for this lady is not to be mistaken,
and we begin to fear that he will carry away his master with him.
Hans von Selbitz comes in, representing himself to the Lady Elizabeth
as a merry knight-errant. Goetz gives him welcome. The news that
merchants from Nuremberg are passing by to the fair is brought in; they
go out. In the forest we find the merchants from Nuremberg; they are
fallen upon and robbed. Through George, Goetz learns that Weislingen
has left him. Goetz is inclined to work off his chagrin on the captured
merchants, but he is moved to give back a jewel-box which a lover is
taking to his mistress; for Goetz thinks with sadness how he must break
the news to his sister of the loss of her betrothed.
(_Third Act_)
Two merchants appear in the pleasure-gardens at Augsburg. Maximilian,
vexed, refuses to see them. Weislingen encourages them, and makes use
of the opportunity to influence the Emperor against Goetz and other
unruly knights.
Here the relations between Weislingen and his wife Adelaide develop;
she compels him unconditionally to promote her ambitions. The growing
passion of Franz for her, the wanton arts used to seduce him, become
apparent.
We now return to Jaxthausen. Sickingen woos Maria. Selbitz brings the
news that Goetz is declared an outlaw. They seize weapons. Lerse is
announced; Goetz receives him joyfully.
We are now on a mountain; wide view, ruined tower, castle and rocks.
A gipsy family is here seeking protection from the dangers of the
military campaign and the unrest of the country. They serve to give
coherence to the following scenes. The captain of the Imperial troops
enters, gives his orders, makes himself comfortable. The gipsies cajole
him. George comes suddenly upon the summit; Selbitz is brought in
wounded, having been attacked by servants of the Emperor, and rescued
by Lerse. He is visited by Goetz.
(_Fourth Act_)
Jaxthausen. Maria and Sickingen, with them the victorious Goetz.
He is afraid that he will be surrounded. Maria and Sickingen are
married; Goetz persuades them to leave the castle. Summons, a siege,
brave resistance, the family table once more; Lerse brings news of a
capitulation; treachery.
Weislingen’s and Adelaide’s dwelling in Augsburg. Night. Adelaide’s
masked ball. It is noticeable that the Archduke is her centre of
interest at this occasion; but she is able to silence the jealous Franz
and use him for her purposes.
Tavern at Heilbronn. The Town Hall there. Goetz’s daring and boldness.
Sickingen releases him. The familiar scenes are left in.
(_Fifth Act_)
A wood. Goetz and George lying in wait for a wild animal. It is
painfully evident out here that Goetz cannot cross his boundaries. We
realize the mischief of the peasant war. The monster advances; Max
Stumpf, whom they have dragged along with them as a guide and leader,
decides to leave them and the position. Goetz, half persuaded, half
compelled, yields, announces himself as their captain for four weeks
and breaks his ban. The peasants are divided in spirit, and the devil
is loose.
Weislingen appears at the head of knights and soldiers against the
rebels, in order especially to capture Goetz, and thus free himself
from the hateful feeling of inferiority. Relations with his wife are
very strained; Franz’s overwhelming passion becomes more and more
evident. Goetz and George in the painful situation of being associated
and implicated with rebels.
A secret judgment is issued against him. Goetz flees to the gipsies and
is captured by the Imperial troops.
Adelaide’s palace. The adventuress parts with the happy youth,
after she has prevailed upon him to bring poison to her husband. An
apparition appears; a powerful scene follows.
From these dismal surroundings, we pass to a bright spring garden.
Maria is sleeping in a bower of flowers. Lerse comes to her, and rouses
her to beg Weislingen for her brother’s life.
Weislingen’s palace. The dying man, with Maria and Franz. Goetz’s
sentence to death is revoked, and we leave the dying hero in the prison
garden.
* * * * *
The principles of the earlier revisions were again applied in this
case. The number of scene-changes was lessened, securing more
opportunity for the development of the characters, the action was
condensed, and, though with many sacrifices, the play finally
approximated genuine dramatic form. Why it has not in this form spread
more widely on the German stage will be eventually understood, I
presume, since critics are not disinclined to give accounts of the
reception on the stage of the plays of the various German authors, the
treatment they receive and the length of time their pieces last.
If these remarks are favorably received, we shall probably discuss next
the introduction of foreign plays, such as has already taken place at
the Weimar Theatre. This includes Greek and French, English, Italian
and Spanish plays, besides the comedies of Terence and Plautus, in
which masks are made use of.
Most necessary would it be perhaps to discuss Shakespeare and combat
the prejudice that the works of this extraordinary writer should be
given in the German Theatre in their complete length and breadth.
This false idea has meant the suppression of the older revisions of
Schroeder, and prevented others from prospering.
It must be emphatically insisted, and with solid reason, that in this
case as in so many others the reader must be distinguished from and
part company with the spectator; each has his rights, and neither
should be permitted to injure the other’s.
LUDWIG TIECK’S _DRAMATURGIC FRAGMENTS_
(1826)
My mind has been stimulated in many ways by this noteworthy book.
As a dramatic poet, as a writer who by extensive travels and by
personal observation and study of foreign theatres has qualified
himself as a critic of insight and knowledge in connection with
our native theatre, and as one who by scholarly study has fitted
himself to be a historian of past and present times, the author has
an assured position with the German public, which is here especially
evident and notable. In him, criticism rests upon pleasure, pleasure
upon knowledge, and these criteria, which are usually thought of as
distinct, are here fused into a satisfying whole.
His reverence for Kleist is highly praiseworthy. As far as I am
personally concerned, in spite of the sincerest desire to appreciate
him justly, Kleist always arouses in me horror and aversion, as of a
body intended by nature to be beautiful, but seized by an incurable
illness. Tieck is the very reverse; he dwells rather upon the good that
has been left by nature; the deformity he puts aside, excusing much
more than he blames. For, after all, this man of genius deserves only
our pity; on this point we do reach agreement.
I also agree with him willingly when, as champion for the unity,
indivisibility and inviolability of Shakespeare’s plays, he wants
to have them put on the stage without revision or modification from
beginning to end.
When ten years ago I was of the contrary opinion, and made more
than one attempt to select only the particularly effective parts of
Shakespeare’s plays, rejecting the disturbing and the diffuse, I was
quite right, as director of the theatre, in doing so. For I had had
experience in tormenting myself and the actors for the space of a
month, and of finally putting on a production which indeed entertained
and aroused admiration, but which on account of conditions hardly
possible to fulfil more than once, could not maintain its place in the
repertory. Still I am perfectly willing that such attempts should here
and there be made, for, on the whole, failure does no harm.
Since men are not to get rid of longing and aspiration, it is salutary
for them to direct their unsatisfied idealism towards some definite
object, to work, for instance, towards depicting a mighty though
vanished past seriously and worthily in the present. Now actors as well
as poets and readers have the opportunity to study and see Shakespeare,
and, through their endeavors to attain the unattainable, disclose the
true inner capabilities and potentialities of their own nature.
Though in these respects I completely approve of the valuable efforts
of my old co-worker, I must confess that I differ from him in some
of his utterances; as, for instance, that “Lady Macbeth is a tender,
loving soul, and as such should be played.” I do not consider such
remarks to be really the author’s opinion, but rather paradoxes, which
in view of the weighty authority of our author can only work great harm.
It is in the nature of the case, and Tieck himself has presented
significant illustrations of the fact, that an actor who does not feel
himself to be quite in agreement with the conventional portrayal, may
in clever fashion modify and adjust it to himself and his own nature,
and fit the new interpretation so well as to provide, as it were, a new
and brilliant creation, and indemnify us for the clever fiction with
unexpected and delightful new grounds of comparison and contrast.
This we must admit as valid; but we cannot approve the case where the
theorist makes certain intimations to the actor, whereby the latter is
led astray to portray the rôle in a new manner and style against the
obvious intention of the poet.
From many viewpoints such an undertaking is questionable. The public
is looking for authority always; and it is right. For do we not act
similarly in taking counsel in joy and sorrow with those who are well
versed in the wisdom of art and of life? Whoever then has acquired any
legitimate authority in any field should strive, by continual assiduity
in holding close to the line of the true and the right, to preserve
that authority in inviolable sanctity.
An important paper is Tieck’s explanation of the _Piccolomini_ and
the _Wallenstein_. I saw these plays develop from beginning to end,
and I am filled with admiration at the degree of penetration which he
shows in treating a work which, although one of the most excellent not
only on the German stage but on all stages, yet in itself is unequal,
and for that reason often fails to satisfy the critic, although the
crowd, which does not take the separate parts with such strictness, is
necessarily charmed with it as a whole.
Most of the places where Tieck finds something to criticize, I find
reason to consider as pathological. If Schiller had not been suffering
from a long wasting disease, which finally killed him, the whole thing
would have been different. Our correspondence, which relates in the
clearest way the circumstances under which _Wallenstein_ was written,
will stimulate thoughtful people to much profitable reflection, and
persuade them to think ever more seriously how closely our æsthetics
is connected with physiology, pathology, and physics: in this way they
may realize the light which these sciences throw upon the conditions
to which individuals as well as whole nations, the most extensive
world-epochs as well as daily affairs, are subjected.
ON DIDACTIC POETRY
(1827)
Didactic poetry is not a distinct poetic style or genre in the same
sense as the lyric, epic, and dramatic. Every one will understand this
who recognizes that the latter differ in form, and therefore didactic
poetry, which derives its name from its content, cannot be put in the
same category.
All poetry should be instructive, but unobviously so. It should draw
the attention of a reader to the idea which is of value to be imparted;
but he himself must draw the lesson out of it, as he does out of life.
Didactic or schoolmasterly poetry is a hybrid between poetry and
rhetoric. For that reason, as it approximates now one and now the
other, it is able to possess more or less of poetic value. But,
like descriptive and satirical poetry, it is always a secondary and
subordinate species, which in a true æsthetic is always placed between
the art of poetry and the art of speech. The intrinsic worth of
didactic poetry, that is to say, of an edifying art-work, written with
charm and vigor, and graced with rhythm and melody and the ornament
of imaginative power, is for that reason in no way lessened. From the
rhymed chronicles, from the verse-maxims of the old pedagogues, down to
the best of this class, all have their value, considered in their place
and taken at their proper worth.