DEDICATION. YE wavering shapes, who came in days of old As round me ye arise, from mist and cloud, Comes Friendship back, and First Love's ecstasies; The songs upon my lips they cannot hear- My strain falls only on a stranger's ear, And my heart aches at praises of his tongue- And yearnings, long unfelt, possess my heart, Like the harp touched by the wind's fitful hand: The stubborn heart grows weak and half-unmanned : What I possess, as though far off I see, And what hath vanished, grows reality. 2 Zueignung. Ihr naht euch wieder, schwankende Gestalten! Ihr bringt mit euch die Bilder froher Tage, Und nennt die Guten, die, um schöne Stunden Ein Schauer faßt mich, Thräne folgt den Thränen, 30 Das strenge Herz, es fühlt sich mild und weich; Was ich besige, seh' ich wie im weiten, Und was verschwand, wird mir zu Wirklichkeiten. 3 PRELUDE ON THE STAGE. Manager.-I should be glad to know what you think of the probable success of our piece. I must confess I am not a little embarrassed; our public are not, 'tis true, accustomed to the best, but unfortunately they are terrible readers. I like to see them surging up against the booth as if they were storming a baker's shop during a famine. But this miracle can only be wrought by thee, my friend, the Poet. Poet.-Tell me not of the motley crowd, the mere sight of them quenches all a poet's fire, and he is dragged in spite of himself into the whirlpool. Bring me rather to some quiet nook where love and friendship will create and foster the best that the heart has to give. Alas! to think how the wild moment devours the thought which was just trembling on the lip, and of the long years through which it must make its way to the perfect birth. Glitter endures but for a moment, but that which is real and true is the heirloom of posterity. Merry-Andrew.-Posterity! a pretty word for one who has to cater for contemporary amusement. For, mark you, amusement our public will have, and we mean to provide it. He who has the gift of saying pleasantly what he has got to say is not soured by the people's changing mood. A large audience pleases him best, since he is then the more certain to affect it. Come, cheer up, and do your best. Summon Fancy and all her attendant train, but take good care that Folly is among them. Remember they Manager.-Yes, and do not forget Incident. come to gaze, and if you wish to be popular you must offer them plenty to gaze at. Your audience is various, and you must offer it variety. Do not think too much about the unity of the Drama; however compact your work may be, the public will soon pull it to pieces on rough and ready principles of selection. Poet.-You do not feel how base such play-making is. You swear by botching and bungling. Manager.-I am proof against your shafts. A good workman chooses the tools most fitted for his work. They come to us to be amused; quit your dreams on Parnassus, and take a closer look at your hearers. What have the sweet gracious muses to do with them? Quantity not quality is what they want. Mystify and distract them, to satisfy them is difficult. But what's the matter ? Poet.-Go and find another hack! Is the poet to fool away, at thy behest, his supreme right, his right as man? Why is he lord of men's hearts and of Nature? Why, but because of the harmony which, springing forth from him, gathers up and brings back to him the long tangled web of Nature. Who is it that brings music out of the discord and breathes life and order into the eternal unvarying sequence of men and things? Who makes each separate being blend in one sublime and holy symphony? Who links passion with the storm, meditation with the sunset, love with spring blossoms, glory with the laurel? Who secures immortal fame for man, and unites the great and good in one divine brotherhood? The might of man revealed in the Poet. Merry-Andrew-Come, then, with your poet's might, and set to work. Let us do it something after the fashion of a love affair, chance meeting, a tangle, ecstasy, anguish. Dash straight into the stir of life, and don't be too particular as to where you begin. Let us have motley and mystery, a good spice of the false, and just a glimmer of the true. And then you will brew us a famous beverage, and youth will come and watch for revelation, and the sentimental will find food for their melancholy, and all will be moved, for their natures are not yet set and formed, but are plastic and growing. Poet.-Ah! would that that were still true of me, and that those old days were back once more, when the spring of song was never dry, when the world was still veiled in mist, and the flower-bud was still a miracle, and when I pressed on towards truth and found pleasure in illusion, when happiness and hate, and love, were full and strong; the sweet, sweet days of youth. Merry-Andrew-Youth, my friend, is well enough in the battlefield, in love, in the race, for riot, but age too has its part to play, and the aged, better than the young, can lay hand on the familiar lyre and roam on sweetly towards the self-appointed goal; old age does not make us childish, but child-like. Manager.-Enough of talk, let us set to work; it is no use waiting till you are in the mood; you know the brew we want, so let us have it without delay. We have no time to waste, make a resolute beginning, and the rest will follow. Remember you are writing for the German stage, and so do not stint your scenery or your machinery. Let us have sun, moon, and stars; water, fire, crags; birds and beasts,-in short, let the whole circle of creation surround us on our progress from Heaven, through Earth, to Hell. |