No More Learning

I am very philosophically, and with the most tender esteem, etc.


## p. 15487 (#437) ##########################################

VOLTAIRE
15487
THE DRAMA
From a Letter to an Italian Nobleman
Thea
He theatre is the chef-d'oeuvre of society. Men in general
are compelled to labor at the mechanic arts, and their time
is happily occupied; while men of rank and wealth have
the misfortune to be abandoned to themselves, to the ennui insep-
arable from idleness, to gaming more fatal than ennui, to petty
factions more dangerous than play and idleness.
What is the true drama ? It is the art of teaching virtue and
good manners by action and dialogue. How cold in comparison
is the eloquence of monologue! Have we retained a single phrase
of thirty or forty thousand moral discourses? And do we not
know by heart admirable sentences placed with art in interesting
dialogues ? «Homo sum; humani nihil a me alienum puto. ”
It is this which makes one of the great merits of Terence; it
is that of our own good tragedies, of our good comedies. They
have not excited a profitless admiration; they have often corrected
men. I have seen a prince pardon an injury after a representa-
tion of the clemency of Augustus. A princess, who had despised
her mother, went away to throw herself at her feet after wit-
nessing the scene in which Rhodope asks her mother's forgive-
ness. A man well known sought reconciliation with his wife
after seeing Préjudice à la Mode. ' I saw the proudest man in
the world become modest after the comedy of the Glorieux. '
And I could cite more than six sons of distinguished families
whom the comedy of the Prodigal Son reformed. If our bank-
ers are no longer coarse, if the people of the court are vain dan-
dies no longer, if doctors have abjured the robe, the cap, and
consultations in Latin, if some pedants have become men,- to
what are
we indebted for it ? To the theatre,- to the theatre
alone.
What pity ought we not, then, to have for those who wage
war upon this first of the literary arts; who imagine that we
ought to judge the theatre of to-day by the trestles of our ages
of ignorance; and who confound Sophocles, Menander, Varius, and
Terence, with Tabarin and Punch! But how much more to be
pitied are they who admit Punch and Tabarin, while rejecting
Polyeucte,' 'Athalie,' Zaïre,' and 'Alzire'! Such are the incon-
sistencies into which the human mind falls every day.


## p. 15488 (#438) ##########################################

15488
VOLTAIRE
Let us pardon the deaf who speak against music, the blind
who hate beauty: such persons are less enemies of society, less
conspirators to destroy its consolation and its charm, than the
unfortunate beings to whom nature has denied certain organs.
I have had the pleasure of seeing at my country-house
'Alzire performed,- that tragedy wherein Christianity and the
rights of man triumph equally. I have seen Mérope's maternal
love bringing tears without the aid of the love of gallantry.
Such subjects move the rudest soul, as they do the most refined;
and if the common people were in the habit of witnessing such
spectacles of human worth, there would be fewer souls gross
and obdurate. It was such exhibitions that made the Athenians
a superior nation. Their workmen did not spend upon indecent
farces the money which should have nourished their families; but
the magistrates, during their celebrated festivals, summoned the
whole nation to representations which taught virtue and the love
of country. The plays which are given among us are but a
feeble imitation of that magnificence; but after all, they do pre-
serve some idea of it. They are the most beautiful education
which we can give to youth, the noblest recreation after labor,
the best instruction for all orders of citizens; they furnish almost
the only mode of getting people together for the purpose of ren-
dering them social beings.
TO THEURIET
YES
ES, I will scold you till I have cured you of your indolence.
You live as if man had been created only to sup; and you
exist only between 10 P. M. and 2 A. M. When you are old
and deserted, will it be a consolation to you to say, “Formerly I
drank champagne in good company »?
GREATNESS AND UTILITY
From (Letters on the English)
W"
HOEVER arrives in Paris from the depths of a remote prov-
ince, with money to spend and a name in ac or ille, can
talk about “a man like me,” “a man of my quality," and
hold a merchant in sovereign contempt. The merchant again so


## p. 15489 (#439) ##########################################

VOLTAIRE
15489
constantly hears his business spoken of with disdain that he is
fool enough to blush for it. Yet is there not a question which
is the more useful to a State,- a thickly bepowdered lord who
knows exactly at what time the King rises and what time he
goes to bed, and gives himself mighty airs of greatness while he
plays the part of a slave in a minister's ante-room; or the mer-
chant who enriches his country, gives orders from his counting-
house at Surat or Cairo, and contributes to the happiness of a
whole globe?
Not long ago a distinguished company were discussing the
trite and frivolous question who was the greatest man, Cæsar,
Alexander, Tamerlane, or Cromwell. Somebody answered that it
was undoubtedly Isaac Newton. He was right; for if true great-
ness consists in having received from heaven a powerful under-
standing, and in using it to enlighten one's self and all others,
then such a one as Newton, who is hardly to be met with once
in ten centuries, is in truth the great man.
It is to him
who masters our minds by the force of truth, not to those who
enslave men by violence; it is to him who understands the uni-
verse, not to those who disfigure it, - that we owe our reverence!
TO A LADY
wonder
Yº Though eighty
years have left their chill)
My superannuated Muse,
That hums a quavering measure still.
In wintry wolds a tuft of bloom
Will sometimes through the snowdrifts smile,
Consoling nature in her gloom,
But withering in a little while.
A bird will trill a chirping note,
Though summer's leaves and light be o'er,
But melody forsakes his throat -
He sings the song of love no more.
'Tis thus still my harp entune,
Whose strings no more my touch obey;
'Tis thus I lift my voice, though soon
That voice will silent be for aye.
XXVI–969


## p. 15490 (#440) ##########################################

15490
VOLTAIRE
Tibullus to his mistress said,
“I would thus breathe my last adieu,
My eyes still with your glances fed,
My dying hand caressing you. ”
But when this world grows all remote,
When with the life the soul must go,
Can yet the eye on Delia dote ?
The hand a lover's touch bestow ?
Death changes, as we pass his gate,
What in our days of strength we knew:
Who would with joy anticipate
At his last gasp love's rendezvous ?
And Delia, in her turn, no less
Must pass into eternal night,
Oblivious of her loveliness,
Oblivious of her youth's delight.
We enter life, we play our part,
We die - nor learn the reason here;
From out the unknown void we start,
And whither bound ? — God knows, my dear.
Translation of Edward Bruce Hamley.


## p. 15491 (#441) ##########################################

15491
JOOST VAN DER VONDEL
(1587-1679)
. .
HE long life of Joost van der Vondel, Holland's greatest poet,
was contemporaneous with the most brilliant period of the
Gelo Dutch renaissance. As triumphant England in Elizabeth's
reign brought forth mighty children, so the new-born Republic of the
United Provinces in its turn gave birth to such men as Hooft and
Vondel, Brederoo and Huygens. The background of Vondel's life was
the city of Amsterdam, whose society, representative perhaps of the
most assertive forces in Holland's intellectual and spiritual develop-
ment, was expressing its intense vitality in
the pursuit of literature, of art, in the heats
of religious controversy, seeking in a thou-
sand ways to give metropolitan embodiment
to the new-born national consciousness. To
this city Vondel 'had come as a boy. He
had been born at Cologne, November 17th,
1587; his maternal grandfather, Peter Kran-
ken, had taken no mean rank among the
poets of Brabant. His parents were Ana-
baptists, who moved from city to city in the
pursuit of religious freedom, settling finally
at Amsterdam.
Vondel, being designed for a tradesman, Joost VAN DER VONDEL
received but an indifferent education; his
innate love of learning drawing him, however, to independent study,
he was throughout his long life a student, seeking his inspiration at
the fountain-heads of culture. In 1612 he produced his first drama,
(Het Pascha, the subject of which was the Exodus of the Children
of Israel. After the approved Dutch model, it was written in Alex-
andrines, in five acts, with choral interludes between. It gave little
evidence of the genius which was to produce (Lucifer. For the next
eight years Vondel did no original work, being seemingly satisfied
with the leisurely development of his powers. The death of Brederoo,
Holland's greatest comic dramatist, left a high place vacant, which
Vondel was soon to fill. In 1620 he published a second tragedy,
Jerusalem Laid Desolate'; and in 1625 a third, which secured him his



## p. 15492 (#442) ##########################################

15492
JOOST VAN DER VONDEL
fame. Palamedes, or Murdered Innocence,' owed its notoriety as
much perhaps to the nature of its subject as to its intrinsic merits;
appearing as it did at a time when all Holland was palpitating with
religious controversy. In the hero of the play, Palamedes, the people
of Amsterdam recognized Barneveldt; whose support of the Arminian
doctrine had led to his execution in 1618 through the powerful influ-
ence of the Calvinists, headed by Prince Maurice of Nassau. Von-
del at once became popular with the highest circles in Amsterdam
and Holland. The obscure tradesman obtained fame in a night.
Plunging into the controversy, he now began to wage war against the
Counter-Remonstrants, as the Calvinists were termed; launching at
them a great number of satirical pamphlets in verse, among the most
noted of which are (The Harpoon,' 'The Horse-Comb,' and 'The
Decretum Horrible. '
In 1638 an event occurred which diverted the genius of Vondel
into another channel. The Dutch Academy, founded in 1617 as in
the main a dramatic guild, had later coalesced with the two noted
chambers of rhetoric, the “Eglantine” and the White Lavender. ”
In 1638, on the strength of these reinforcements, it erected what it
had long needed, a large public theatre. On the opening night a
new tragedy by Vondel was presented, -'Gysbreght van Aemstel,'
founded upon incidents in early Dutch history. For many years fol-
lowing, Vondel wrote Scriptural pieces for the theatre in the heroic
style; among them, “Solomon' (Samson,' 'Adonijah,'' (Adam in Ban-
ishment, and Noah, or the Destruction of the Old World. In 1654
appeared his great masterpiece, Lucifer'; a tragedy of sublime con-
ception, to which a peculiar interest is attached as being supposedly
the work which suggested to Milton the subject of Paradise Lost. '
Milton is known to have studied the Dutch language about the time
of the production of "Lucifer'; there are verbal correspondences be-
tween the two plays. The theory of Milton's indebtedness to Vondel
has been considered by Thomas Lovell Beddoes, by Edmund Gosse,
and by Mr. George Edmundson in a monograph entitled Milton and
Vondel. ' Vondel's (Lucifer, however, is concerned with the fall of
Lucifer and not with the fall of Adam.
The years following the production of his mightiest tragedy were
full of labor and sorrow to Vondel. Reverses had come upon him;
from 1658 to 1668 he was obliged to work as a clerk in a bank, a
servant of hard taskmasters, who were incapable of appreciation of
or reverence for his genius. In his eightieth year he was liberated
from this slavery by the city of Amsterdam, from which he received
a pension. Until his death in 1679 Vondel continued to write, his.
literary energy being seemingly inexhaustible. Among his works
of this period is a rendition of the Metamorphoses) of Ovid into


## p. 15493 (#443) ##########################################

JOOST VAN DER VONDEL
15493
Dutch verse. His entire writings fill nine quarto volumes, embracing
almost every conceivable subject and every well-known verse form.
Vondel remains the most powerful, and perhaps the most represent-
ative, poet of Holland, whose writings gave adequate embodiment to
the manifold forces of her golden age.
TO GEERAERT VOSSIUS
ON The Loss of His SON
Hy mourn'st thou, Vossius? why has pain
Its furrows to thy pale brow given ?
Seek not to hold thy son from heaven!
'Tis heaven that draws,-resign him, then!
WY
Yes, banish every futile tear;
And offer to its Source above,
In gratitude and humble love,
The choicest of thy treasures here.
We murmur if the bark should strand;
But not when richly laden she
Comes from the wild and raging sea,
Within a haven safe to land.
We murmur if the balm be shed:
Yes, murmur for the odor's sake;
But not whene'er the glass may break,
If that which filled it be not fled.
He strives in vain who seeks to stay
The bounding waters in their course,
When hurled from rocks with giant force,
Towards some calm and spacious bay.
Thus turns the earthly globe; – though o'er
His infant's corse a father mourn,
Or child bedew its parents' urn,
Death passes neither house nor door.
Death nor for gay and blooming youth,
Nor peevish age, his stroke defers;
He chains the lips of orators,
Nor cares for wisdom, worth, or truth.


## p. 15494 (#444) ##########################################

15494
JOOST VAN DER VONDEL
Blest is the mind that, fixed and free,
To wanton pleasures scorns to yield,
And wards as with a pliant shield
The arrows of adversity.
Translation of Sir John Bowring.
FROM LUCIFER)
[The scene of the drama is laid throughout in heaven. The actors are the
angels. Lucifer has sent Apollyon to Eden to view the new-made man and
woman, and to inquire into their state. Apollyon thus describes Eve. )
EARCH all our angel bands, in beauty well arrayed,
Sof a
maid.
Beelzebub -
It seems you burn in love for this new womankind!
Apollyon —
My great wing-feather in that amorous flame, I find
I've singed! 'Twas hard indeed to soar up from below,
To sweep, and reach the verge of Angel-borough so;
I parted, but with pain, and three times looked around:
There shines no seraph form in all the ethereal bound
Like hers, whose hanging hair, in golden glory, seems
To rush down from her head in a torrent of sunbeams,
And flow along her back. So clad in light and grace,
Stately she treads, and charms the daylight with her face:
Let pearls and mother o’pearl their claims before her furl,
Her brightness passes far the beauty of a pearl!
Beelzebub -
But what can profit man this beauty that must fade,
And wither like a flower, and shortly be decayed ?
[Lucifer's jealousy of the new race being aroused, he thus addresses bis
attendant angels. ]
Swift spirits, let us stay the chariot of the dawn;
For high enough, in sooth, God's morning star is drawn, -
Yea, driven up high enough! 'tis time for my great car
To yield before the advent of this double star,
That rises from below, and seeks, in sudden birth,
To tarnish heaven's gold with splendor from the earth!


## p. 15495 (#445) ##########################################

JOOST VAN DER VONDEL
15495
Embroider no more crowns on Lucifer's attire,
And gild his forehead not with eminent dawn-fire
Of the morning star enrayed, that rapt archangels prize;
For see another blaze in the light of God arise !
The stars grow faint before the eyes of men below;
'Tis night with angels, and the heavens forget to glow.
[The loyal angels, perceiving that a change has come over a number of
their order, inquire into its cause. )
Why seem the courteous angel-faces
So red? Why streams the holy light
So red upon our sight,
Through clouds and mists from mournful places ?
What vapor dares to blear
The pure, unspotted, clear
And luminous sapphire ?
The flame, the blaze, the fire
Of the bright Omnipotence ?
Why does the splendid light of God
Glow, deepened to the hue of blood,
That late, in flowing hence,
Gladdened all hearts ?
[The chorus answers. )
When we, enkindled and uplifted
By Gabriel's trumpet, in new ways
Began to chant God's praise,
The perfume of rose-gardens drifted
Through paths of Paradise,
And such a dew and such a spice
Distilled, that all the flowery grass
Rejoiced. But Envy soon, alas!
From the underworld came sneaking.
A mighty crowd of spirits, pale
And dumb and wan, came, tale on tale,
Displeased, some new thing seeking;
With brows that crushed each scowling eye,
And happy foreheads bent and wrinkled :
The doves of heaven, here on high,
Whose innocent pinions sweetly twinkled,
Are struck with mourning, one and all,
As though the heavens were far too small


## p. 15496 (#446) ##########################################

15496
JOOST VAN DER VONDEL
For them, now Adam's been elected,
And such a crown for man selected.
This blemish blinds the light of grace,
And dulls the flaming of God's face.
[Beelzebub, feigning submission to Deity, thus addresses the rebel angels. )
Oh, cease from wailing; rend your badges and your robes
No longer without cause, but make your faces bright,
And let your foreheads flash, O children of the light!
The shrill sweet throats, that thank the Deity with song,
Behold, and be ashamed that ye have mixed so long
Discords and bastard tones with music so divine.
[They appeal from him to Lucifer. ]
Forbid it, Lucifer, nor suffer that our ranks
Be mortified so low and sink without a crime,
While man, above us raised, may flash and beam sublime
In the very core of light, from which we seraphim
Pass quivering, full of pain, and fade like shadows dim. . . .
We swear, by force, beneath thy glorious flag combined,
To set thee on the throne for Adam late designed !
We swear, with one accord, to stay thine arm forever:
Lift high thy battle-axe! our wounded rights deliver!
[Gabriel relates to Michael the effect which the knowledge of the rebellion
produced at the throne of God himself. ]
I saw God's very gladness with a cloud of woe
O’ershadowed; and there burst a flame out of the gloom
That pierced the eye of light, and hung, a brand of doom,
Ready to fall in rage. I heard the mighty cause
Where Mercy pleaded long with God's all-righteous laws;
Grace, soothly wise and meek, with Justice arguing well.
I saw the cherubim, who on their faces fell,
And cried out, “Mercy, mercy! God, let Justice rest!
But even as that shrill sound to his great footstool pressed,
And God seemed almost moved to pardon and to smile,
Up curled the odious smoke of incense harsh and vile,
Burned down below in praise of Lucifer, who rode
With censers and bassoons and many a choral ode:
The heaven withdrew its face from such impieties,
Cursèd of God and spirits and all the hierarchies.


## p. 15497 (#447) ##########################################

JOOST VAN DER VONDEL
15497
[The rebel angels form themselves into an army. They fight against
Michael and his host, and are conquered. The victorious angels sing. )
Blest be the hero's hour,
Who smote the godless power,
And his might, and his light, and his standard,
Down toppling like a tower:
His crown was near God's own,
But from his lofty throne,
With his might, into night he hath vanished;
God's name must shine alone.
Outblazed the uproar fell,
When valorous Michaël
With the brand in his hand quenched the passion
Of spirits that dared rebel.
He holds God's banner now;
With laurels crown his brow!
Peace shall reign here again, and her forehead
Shall vanquished Discord bow. .
Amid the conquering throng
Praises to God belong;
Honor bring to the King of all kingdoms!
He gives us stuff for song.
(After this, Gabriel enters bearing the tidings of man's fall. ]
Gabriel —
Alas! alas! alas! to adverse fortune bow!
What do ye here? In vain are songs of triumph now;
In vain of spoil of arms and gonfalons ye boast!
Michael
What hear I, Gabriel ?
Gabriel -
Oh, Adam is fallen and lost!
The father and the stock of all the human race
Most grievously hath erred, and lies in piteous case.
(Michael sends Uriel to drive the guilty pair out of Eden, and then thus
pronounces the doom of the rebel angels. ]
Ozias, to whose fist the very Godhead gave
The heavy hammer framed of diamond beaten out,
And chains of ruby, clamps, and teeth of metal stout, -
Go hence, and take and bind the hellish host that rage,
Lion and dragon fell, whose banners dared to wage
War with us thus. Speed swift on their accursèd flight,
And bind them neck and claw, and fetter them with might.


## p. 15498 (#448) ##########################################

15498
JOOST VAN DER VONDEL
The key which to the gates of their foul pit was fitted
Is, Azarias, now into thy care committed;
Go hence, and thrust therein all that our power defied.
Maceda, take this torch I to your zeal confide,
And Aame the sulphur-pool in the centre of the world:
There torture Lucifer, and leave his body curled
In everlasting fire, with many a prince accursed;
Where Sorrow, wretched Pain, numb Horror, Hunger, Thirst,
Despair without a hope, and Conscience with her sting,
May measure out their ineed of endless suffering.
Translation from the Cornbill Magazine.


## p. 15498 (#449) ##########################################



## p. 15498 (#450) ##########################################


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## p. 15498 (#451) ##########################################

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## p. 15498 (#452) ##########################################


WAGNER


## p. 15499 (#453) ##########################################

15499
RICHARD WAGNER
(1813–1883)
BY CHARLES HARVEY GENUNG
O NAME in the history of music occupies at the same time in
the annals of literature so high a place, and with so secure
a title, as that of Richard Wagner. He was a philosopher,
who, with a nervous incisive prose which almost rivaled that of his
master Schopenhauer, was able to set forth the theories by which his
creative genius was guided; and he was a poet of supreme eminence
in a field quite his own, reconstructing in form and spirit the splen-
did conceptions of the legendary ages, and infusing into the charac-
ters of that heroic time the more complicated emotions of our modern
days. He displayed a power of dramatic construction, and a depth
of poetic imagination, that rank him among the great romantic poets
of the nineteenth century. When Schopenhauer read the text of
the Nibelungen' trilogy he exclaimed, «The fellow is a poet, not a
musician;) and again, «He ought to hang music on the nail: he has
more genius for poetry.
” But the might of Wagner's musical genius
long obscured the poet's fame. Critics continued to sneer at the
lines long after they had conceded the merit of the scores; but it is
a crowning tribute to the greatness of the poet-composer that now
a whole literature has arisen around his operas as poems, and the
process
still
goes on. It is a remarkable coincidence that in the
very town of Bayreuth, where since 1876 the Wagner festivals have
been held, Jean Paul Richter in a preface to a book of E. T. W. Hoff-
mann's wrote the half-prophetic words: «Hitherto Apollo has always
distributed the poetic gift with his right hand, the musical with his
left, to two persons so widely apart that up to this hour we are still
waiting for the man who will create a genuine opera by writing both
its text and its music. ”
In the very year in which these words were written, Richard
Wagner was born in Leipsic on May 22d, 1813. It is not to the pres-
ent purpose to follow his career in biographical detail. The fatuous
prophecies of criticism which followed him through life began when
his music-teacher announced in disgust that he would never amount
to anything. The creative impulse in him was early manifested
when he wrote an ambitious tragedy, in which, having killed off all
but one of forty-one characters, he was obliged to have some of them
>>


## p. 15500 (#454) ##########################################

RICHARD WAGNER
15500
return as ghosts in order to save the last act from being a mono-
logue. When he was sixteen he turned to music, and after a week's
study he found its difficulties so great that he resolved to become a
musician. Difficulties stimulated his energy. The germ of the ideas
by which Wagner subsequently revolutionized the operatic stage lay
already in the mind of Carl Maria von Weber, who, as early as 1817,
had begun a campaign against the empty forms of the Italian-French
opera. In Weber's Euryanthe) Wagner found suggestion and inspi-
ration; and in 1843 he succeeded to the position that Weber had
held in Dresden, of court capellmeister. The commonplaceness of his
early operas, and the Meyerbeer-like blatancy of (Rienzi,' was less a
concession to public taste than the result of an irresistible creative
impulse with artistic aims as yet undefined. But when these aims
became definite, never did an artist pursue his purpose with a more
relentless energy in the face of gigantic obstacles. He defied the
public taste in the midst of poverty and ridicule; the more discour-
aging his reception, the more absolute became his adherence to his
ideals. There was something victorious in his resolute nature, which,
quite apart from the originality and intrinsic beauty of his works,
made him one of the formative forces of his age.
During the days of poverty in Paris, Wagner began his series
of essays with a short story entitled A Pilgrimage to Beethoven. '
Already a new world was dawning upon him; but it was at the
time of the general revolutionary movement in Europe that he began
to publish the works which proclaimed the revolution in art. The
first was entitled Art and Revolution (1849); the much-discussed
(Art Work of the Future' appeared in the following year; and in
1851 the Communication to my Friends, and Opera and Drama. '
In these works Wagner had not yet developed the powerful prose
style of his later period: the metaphysician in him led him into what
Mr. Finck has called “sophomoric bombast," and sometimes into un-
intelligibility. To the public of that day it all appeared unintelligi-
ble. In the Communication to my Friends,' first published as a
preface to the poems of "The Flying Dutchman,' «Tannhäuser,' and
(Lohengrin,' the plan of a Nibelung festival was announced. Opera
and Drama,' the most important of these revolutionary treatises, is
in three parts: of the Opera, of the Drama, and of the Music Drama.
Of these the third part has permanent value: it is the statement of
his ideals and the programme of his life. All the arts are to be
merged into one composite but unified art work. Architecture and
painting contribute the scenery, the actor is the sculptured figure,
while poetry and music unite in drama, orchestra, and voice. .
With such ideas as these, it was obvious at once that the theatre
as then constituted must be revolutionized. Wagner fought against
(


## p. 15501 (#455) ##########################################

RICHARD WAGNER
15501
the degradation of the theatre to a mere place of entertainment. The
relations of art to public life were the burden of his argument. The
great Wagner strife was thus of much wider scope than the musical
questions involved. The national drama, or as Wagner called it, true
German art, was to be the highest expression of the culture and art-
istic capabilities of the German people; and this art work, Wagner,
by his own unaided genius, stood ready to create. A self-confidence
so colossal moved to astonishment and scornful laughter; but the
battle has been won, and the only echoes of the days of strife are
the self-apologetic phrases of the former scoffers, who have slowly
become conscious that the lack lay in them, while the works of the
master exist by their own right and might. They received their con-
secration in the pilgrimage temple of Bayreuth in 1876 and 1882.
That the extravagant theories of Wagner, with their contraven-
tion of artistic limitations and their socialistic coloring, have not been
carried out in their entirety, is perfectly true. The genius of the
artist was superior to the reasoning of the theorizer.
What Wagner
did, viewed from the standpoint of literature, was to create a national
music-drama, based upon ancient Germanic traditions and legends,
about which he threw the gorgeous mantle of his harmonies. In
addition to the beauty of the poetic conceptions, the literary artist
appears in the perfect adaptation of each phrase and word and vowel,
not only to the dramatic expression of the thought but to the needs
of the human voice as well. His method of treating themes asso-
ciates them inseparably with certain thoughts, so that the words
come involuntarily to the mind: and in the midst of all the action,
the orchestra speaks an articulate language; suggests, warns, alarms,
melts, threatens, or moves to tears of sympathy or joy,- produces in
short that “demonic) emotion, the effect beyond all for which the
reason can account, the effect which Goethe considered the highest
achievement of all art. Indeed, the music will not yield the whole
secret of its charm until the words, the poetic thought, and the entire
dramatic conception, have become completely a part of the hearer's
mental equipment. To this quality of Wagner's works the art of the
poet contributed as much as the genius of the composer.
For the material through which to give national expression to the
culture of the German people, Wagner turned, like a true poet of
Romanticism, to the heroic traditions of his race. In the Flying
Dutchman' it is a sombre legend of the sea; in "Tannhäuser' it is
the famous contest of the thirteenth century when the Minnesingers
strove together in song in the hall of the Wartburg; in Lohengrin'
and (Parsifal' it is the mediaval tradition of the Holy Grail; in
(Tristan und Isolde it is the most popular love tale of the Middle
Ages; and finally in Der Ring des Nibelungen' (The Nibelungs'


## p. 15502 (#456) ##########################################

15502
RICHARD WAGNER
Ring), Wagner has combined in a colossal work of wonderful unity
and beauty the most ancient poetic legends of the Germanic peoples,
the legends out of which seven centuries before Wagner's time some
unnamed poet created Germany's most national epic,- the Nibe-
lungenlied. To have created anew these splendid conceptions of
the poetic past, is not the least of Wagner's merit. His works, in
addition to their æsthetic value, have a value of the moral sort as
well: in them speaks the deep soul of a historic people, with its moral
earnestness, its childlike love of song and legend, its martial strength
and its manly tenderness.
The central theme of all these poems is love. It is through Sen-
ta's love, faithful unto death, that the curse is removed from the Fly-
ing Dutchman. Through the power of Elizabeth's pure passion and
incessant prayers, Tannhäuser is at last delivered from the bondage
of the Venusberg. In Lohengrin,' love is the manifestation of the
Divine mercy; and a knight of the Holy Grail comes, swan-drawn,
from his inaccessible temple to rescue
a maiden in distress. He
becomes her husband and protector, but Elsa, tempted of evil, puts
the fatal question: her faith was insufficient, and her lord returns to
the service of the Grail.
Tristan und Isolde' is the apotheosis of earthly passion. Into this
Celtic legend, of which Gottfried von Strassburg in the thirteenth
century had made a German epic, Wagner has introduced a modern
psychology; and he has given the poem a new significance. He
has retained the love potion, but he has not made it the cause of
the lover's passion. They loved before, but Tristan is resolutely
faithful to King Mark; and Isolde is wounded to the quick that
Tristan should have wooed her in another's ame.
The potion sym-
bolizes the irresistible power of a love that bears down all obstacles
and stifles all considerations. The triumph, the reconcilement, the
nirvana of their passion, is attained only in death. This work must
be numbered among the greatest love poems of literature.
And so too in the Nibelungen' trilogy, love is not only the theme,
but in the end the force that conquers even in death. In (Rhein-
gold' the power of love is contrasted with the lust for gold; and
here the keynote is struck, and the tragedy set in motion. The love
and faithfulness of Siegmund and Sieglinde in the Walküre' show
Brünnhilde for the first time what love can do; and when Siegfried,
in the idyllic fairy tale that bears his name, awakens her from her
long sleep, she throws aside her Walküren nature for the joy of
human love. Siegfried is the free fate-defying man, triumphing
over the powers of darkness and destiny; to him Wotan, ever seek-
ing guidance from the mother of wisdom, is forced to yield. In the
'Götterdämmerung' the god awaits the fullness of time, while the


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RICHARD WAGNER
15503
guileless Siegfried falls a victim to the wiles of man. But the end
towards which Wotan blindly strove is attained by Siegfried's death.
Brünnhilde, to whom the counsels of the gods are known, restores
the symbolic ring to the daughters of the Rhine, and in twilight the
ancient reign of the gods comes to an end. The reign of love is
proclaimed as Brünnhilde immolates herself upon Siegfried's funeral
pyre. But the symbolism which it is so easy to find in these operas,
and so easy to exaggerate, is unimportant, if not wholly negligible.
The Nibelung poems are fairy tales; it is the buoyant spirit of the
young German race that revels here in the poetry and legends of its
childhood, and as fairy tales these works should be enjoyed.
Wagner died in Venice on February 13th, 1883. In the preced-
ing year he had seen his life work crowned by the performance
of Parsifal' at Bayreuth. Wolfram von Eschenbach's Parzifal, the
finest courtly epic of the Middle Ages, Wagner has wrought into
a music-drama of even greater moral significance and beauty. Wolf-
ram's salvation of Parsifal through self-renunciation, as in Faust,'
has in Wagner's work become the salvation of humanity through all-
saving pity. This is love sublimated into its most unselfish form.
The central thought is announced by an invisible chorus from the
dome of the temple of the Holy Grail:-
“Made wise through pity
The guileless fool:
Wait for him,
My chosen tool. )
ner
And Parsifal, once found wanting, attains at last, through paths of
pain and error, the wisdom of pity. He is the chosen tool of the
Divine power for the salvation of suffering sinners.
One great opera remains to be mentioned, and that which is
probably destined to be Wagner's most popular work, — 'The Master-
singers of Nuremberg. ' This, unless we include (Siegfried,' as Wag-
once did, is his only comic opera; and that in a sense widely
different from the ordinary. "The Mastersingers) gives a wonderful
picture of German life in the early sixteenth century. The humor-
ous and serious elements are so artistically woven around the central
story of Walther's and Eva's love, that as a play this poem must be
pronounced the finest example of Wagner's dramatic power.
a blending of satire and genial appreciation, Wagner has herein set
forth his own theories of musical art and ridiculed the formalists.
Hans Sachs is one of the most winning of all his creations, and
through him the poet expresses his own philosophy. Walther, in his
exquisite song before the Mastersingers in the first act, attempts to
conform to the rules, but the marker scores countless mistakes against


## p. 15504 (#458) ##########################################

15504
RICHARD WAGNER
him; it is only under the instruction of Hans Sachs in the last act
that he really composes his master-song.
And as through this opera the golden age of Nuremberg has been
made to live again, so have the ancient gods and heroes and myth-
ical happenings of early German legend been impressed upon the
modern imagination, as not all the critical texts of the original poems,
nor all the efforts of the other Romantic poets, have been able to
impress them. They have passed not into the national consciousness
only, but these fine old fairy tales and mediæval pictures have be-
come an indispensable part of the culture of the world. If this be
to create a national art, Wagner has accomplished his purpose. There
is an inscription under a bust of the poet-composer in Leipzig, which
in the old alliterative form that he used in the Nibelungenring'
sums up the genius which has wrought a greater artistic revolution
than any other force of this century:-
«Denker und Dichter
Gewaltigen Willens,
Durch Worte und Werke
Wecker und Meister
Musischer Kunst. »
(Thinker and poet of powerful will, by words and by works awakener and
master of musical art. )
Chauttruung
BESIDE THE HEARTH
B
ESIDE the hearth, when days were short,
And snow shut in the castle court;
How spring once smiled on mead and brake,
And how she soon would reawake-
A book I read, of ancient make,
Which these good tidings brought me:
Sir Walther of the Vogelweid',
He was the master who taught me.
Then when the snow has left the plain,
And summer days are come again,


## p. 15505 (#459) ##########################################

RICHARD WAGNER
15505
What I on winter nights have read,
And all my ancient book hath said,
That echoed loud in forest glade,-
I heard it clearly ringing:
In woodlands on the Vogelweid',
'Twas there I learnt my singing.
What winter night,
What forest bright,
What book and woodland told me;
What through the poet's magic might
So subtly did infold me,-
The tramp of horse
In battle course,
The merry dance
In war's romance, -
I heard in music ringing:
But now the stake is life's best prize,
Which I must win by singing;
The words and air, if 't in me lies,
And genius shall but speed me,
As mastersong I'll improvise:
My masters, pray you, heed me.
Translated by Charles Harvey Genung.
THE FUNCTION OF THE ARTIST
From the Opera and Drama)
T°
RAISE the strangely potent language of the orchestra to
such a height, that at every instant it may plainly manifest
to feeling the unspeakable of the dramatic situation,- to do
this, as we have already said, the musician inspired by the poet's
aim has not to haply practice self-restraint; no, he has to sharpen ·
his inventiveness to the point of discovering the most varied
orchestral idioms, to meet the necessity he feels of a pertinent,
a most determinate expression. So long as this language is in-
capable of a declaration as individual as is needed by the infinite
variety of the dramatic motives themselves; so long as the mes-
sage of the orchestra is too monochrome to answer these motives'
individuality,- so long may it prove a disturbing factor, because
not yet completely satisfying: and therefore in the complete
XXVI-970


## p. 15506 (#460) ##########################################

15506
RICHARD WAGNER
-
drama, like everything that is not entirely adequate, it would
divert attention toward itself. To be true to our aim, however,
such an attention is absolutely not to be devoted to it; but
through its everywhere adapting itself with the utmost close-
ness to the finest shade of individuality in the dramatic motive,
the orchestra is irresistibly to guide our whole attention away
from itself, as a means of expression, and direct it to the subject
expressed. So that the very richest dialect of the orchestra is
to manifest itself with the artistic object of not being noticed, -
in a manner of speaking, of not being heard at all; to wit, not
heard in its mechanical but only in its organic capacity, wherein
it is one with the drama.
How must it. discourage the poet-musician, then, were he to
see his drama received by the public with sole and marked
attention to the mechanism of his orchestra, and to find himself
rewarded with just the praise of being a “very clever instru-
a "
mentalist " ! How must he feel at heart,- he whose every
shaping was prompted by the dramatic aim,-if art-literarians
should report on his drama, that they had read a text-book and
had heard, to boot, a wondrous music-ing by flutes and fiddles
and trumpets, all working in and out?
But could this drama possibly produce any other effect, under
the circumstances detailed above ?
And yet! are we to give up being artists ?
!
Or are we to
abandon all necessary insight into the nature of things because
we can draw no profit thence? Were it no profit then to be
not only an artist, but a man withal; and is an artificial know-
nothingness, a womanish dismissal of knowledge, to bring us
more profit than a sturdy consciousness, which, if only we put
all seeking-of-self behind us, will give us cheerfulness, and hope,
and courage above all else, for deeds which needs must rejoice
ourselves, how little soever they be crowned with an outward
success ?
For sure! Even now, it is only knowledge that can prosper
us; whilst ignorance but holds us to a joyless, divided, hypochon-
driacal, scarcely will-ing and never can-ing make-believe of art,
whereby we stay unsatisfied within, unsatisfying without.
Look round you, and see where ye live, and for whom ye
make your art! That our artistic comrades for the representment
of a dramatic art work are not forthcoming, we must recognize at
once, if we have eyes the least whit sharpened by artistic will.


## p. 15507 (#461) ##########################################

RICHARD WAGNER
15507
Yet how greatly we should err, if we pretended to explain this
by a demoralization of our opera-singers due entirely to their
own fault; how we should deceive ourselves if we thought neces-
sary to regard this phenomenon as accidental, and not as condi-
tioned by a broad, a general conjuncture! Let us suppose for an
instant that in some way or other we acquired the power of so
working upon performers and performance, from the standpoint
of artistic intelligence, that a highest dramatic aim should be
fully carried out,- then for the first time we should grow actively
aware that we lacked the real enabler of the art work: a public
to feel the need of it, and to make its need the all-puissant
fellow-shaper. The public of our theatres has no need for art
work: it wants to distract itself, when it takes its seat before the
stage, but not to collect itself; and the need of. the seeker after
distraction is merely for artificial details, but not for an artistic
unity. If we gave it a whole, the public would be blindly driven
to tear that whole to disconnected fragments, or in the most
fortunate event it would be called upon to understand a thing
which it altogether refuses to understand; wherefore, in full
consciousness, it turns its back on any such artistic aim. From
this result we should only gain a proof why such a performance
is absolutely out of the question at present, and why our opera
singers are bound to be exactly what they are and what they
cannot else be.
To account to ourselves for this attitude of the public towards
the performance, we must necessarily pass to a judgment on this
public itself.
If we cast a look at earlier ages of our theatric
history, we can only regard this public as involved in an advan-
cing degradation. The excellent work, the pre-eminently fine work
that has been done already in our art, we surely cannot consider
as dropped upon us from the skies; no, we must conclude that it
was prompted withal by the taste of those before whom it was
produced. We meet this public of fine taste and feeling at its
most marked degree of active interest in art production, in the
period of the Renaissance. Here we see princes and nobles not
only sheltering art, but so engrossed with its finest and its bold-
est shapings that the latter must be taken as downright sum-
moned into being by their enthusiastic need. This noble rank,-
nowhere attacked in its position; knowing nothing of the mis-
ery of the thralls whose life made that position possible; holding
itself completely aloof from the industrial and commercial spirit of


## p. 15508 (#462) ##########################################

15508
RICHARD WAGNER
.
the burgher life; living away its life of pleasure in its palaces,
of courage on the field of battle, - this nobility had trained its
eyes and ears to discern the beautiful, the graceful, nay, even the
characteristic and energetic; and at its commands arose those
works of art which signal that epoch as the most favored art-
istic period since the downfall of Greek art.
The infinite grace
and delicacy in Mozart's tone-modelings — which seem so dull and
tedious to a public bred to-day on the grotesque — were delighted
in by the descendants of that old nobility; and it was to Kaiser
Joseph that Mozart appealed, from the mountebankish shameless-
ness of the singers of his 'Figaro. ' Nor will we look askance at
those young French cavaliers whose enthusiastic applause at the
Achilles aria in Gluck's “Iphigenia in Tauris turned the waver-
ing balance in favor of that work; and least of all will we
forget that whilst the greater courts of Europe had become
the political camps of intriguing diplomats, in Weimar a German
royal family was listening with rapt attention to the loftiest and
most graceful poets of the German nation.
But the rulership of public taste in art has passed over to the
person who now pays the artists' wages, in place of the nobil. '
ity which erstwhile recompensed them; to the person who orders
the art work for his money, and insists on ever novel variations
of his one beloved theme, but at no price a new theme itself:
and this ruler and this order-giver is — the Philistine. As this
Philistine is the most heartless and the basest offspring of our
civilization, so is he the most domineering, the cruelest and
foulest, of art's bread-givers. True, that everything comes aright
to him; only, he will have nothing to do with aught that might
remind him that he is to be a man,- either on the side of
beauty, or on that of nerve. He wills to be base and common,
and to this will of his has art to fit herself; for the rest — why!
nothing comes to him amiss. Let us turn our look from him as
quickly as may be!
Are we to make bargains with such a world ? No, no! For
even the most humiliating terms would leave us sheer outside
the pale.
Hope, faith, and courage can we only gain, when we recognize
even the modern State Philistine not merely as a conditioning,
but likewise as a conditioned, factor of our civilization; when we
search for the conditionments of this phenomenon, too, in a con-
juncture such as that we have just examined in the case of art.


## p. 15509 (#463) ##########################################

RICHARD WAGNER
15509
ness.
For we
We shall not win hope and nerve until we bend our ear to the
heart-beat of history, and catch the sound of that sempiternal
vein of living waters, which, however buried under the waste-
heap of historic civilization, yet pulses on in all its pristine fresh-
Who has not felt the leaden murk that hangs above us in
the air, foretelling the near advent of an earth upheaval ? And
we who hear the trickling of that well-spring, shall we take
affright at the earthquake's sound ? Believe me, no!
know that it will only tear aside the heap of refuse, and pre-
pare for the stream that bed in which we soon shall even see its
living waters flow.
Where now the statesman loses hope, the politician sinks his
hands, the socialist beplagues his brain with fruitless systems,
yea, even the philosopher can only hint, but not foretell, - since
all that looms before us can only form a series of un-willful hap-
penings, whose physical show no mortal man may pre-conceive,
- there it is the artist whose clear eye can spy out shapes that
reveal themselves to a yearning which longs for the only truth,
the human being The artist has the power of seeing before-
hand a yet unshapen world, of tasting beforehand the joys of a
world as yet unborn, through the stress of his desire for growth.
But his joy is in imparting; and if only he turns his back on the
senseless herds who browse upon the grassless waste-heap, and
clasps the closer to his breast the cherished few who listen with
him to the well-spring, so finds he too the hearts — ay, finds the
senses to whom he can impart his message. We are older
men and younger: let the elder not think of himself, but love
the younger for sake of the bequest he sinks into his heart for
new increasing;- the day will come when that heirloom shall be
opened for the weal of brother men throughout the world!
We have seen the poet driven onward by his yearning for a
perfect emotional expression, and seen him reach the point where
he found his verse reflected on the mirror of the sea of harmony,
as musical melody: unto this sea was he compelled to thrust; only
the mirror of this sea could show him the image of his yearning:
and this sea he could not create from his own will; but it was
the Other of his being, that wherewith he needs must wed him-
self, but which he could not prescribe from out himself, nor sum-
mon into being. So neither can the artist prescribe from his own
will, nor summon into being, that life of the future which once
shall redeem him: for it is the Other, the antithesis of himself,


## p. 15510 (#464) ##########################################

RICHARD WAGNER
15510
for which he yearns, toward which he is thrust; that which, when
brought him from an opposite pole, is for the first time pres-
ent for him, first takes his semblance up into it, and knowably
reflects it back. Yet again, this living ocean of the future can-
not beget that mirror image by its unaided self: it is a mother
element, which can bear alone what it has first received. This
fecundating seed, which in it alone can thrive, is brought it by
the poet,-ie. , the artist of the present: and this seed is the
quintessence of all rarest life-sap which the past has gathered
up therein, to bring it to the future as its necessary, its fertiliz-
ing germ; for this future is not thinkable, except as stipulated
by the past.
Now the melody which appears at last upon the water-mirror
of the harmonic ocean of the future, is the clear-seeing eye
wherewith this life gazes upwards from the depth of its sea abyss
to the radiant light of day. But the verse, whose mere mirror-
image it is, is the own-est poem of the artist of the present,
begotten by his most peculiar faculty, engendered by the fullness
of his yearning. And just as this verse, will the prophetic art
work of the yearning artist of the present once wed itself with
the ocean of the life of the future. In that life of the future,
will this art work be what to-day it yearns for, but cannot actu-
ally be as yet; for that life of the future will be entirely what it
can be, only through its taking up into its womb this art work.
The begetter of the art work of the future is none other than
the artist of the present, who presages that life of the future, and
yearns to be contained therein. He who cherishes this longing
within the inmost chamber of his powers, he lives already in a
better life; but only one can do this thing,—the artist.
Translation of William Ashton Ellis.
FROM THE ART WORK OF THE FUTURE)
WIN
THERESOEVER the folk made poetry, - and only by the folk, or
in the footsteps of the folk, can poetry be really made, -
there did the poetic purpose rise to life alone upon the
shoulders of the arts of dance and tone, as the head of the full-
fledged human being. The lyrics of Orpheus would never have
been able to turn the savage beasts to silent, placid adoration, if
the singer had but given them forsooth some dumb and printed


## p. 15511 (#465) ##########################################

RICHARD WAGNER
15511
>
verse to read: their ears must be enthralled by the sonorous
notes that came straight from the heart; their carrion-spying eyes
be tamed by the proud and graceful movements of the body,- in
such a way that they should recognize instinctively in this whole
man no longer a mere object for their maw, no mere objective
for their feeding powers, but for their hearing and their seeing
powers, - before they could be attuned to duly listen to his moral
sentences.
Neither was the true folk-epic by any means a mere recited
poem: the songs of Homer, such as we now possess them, have
issued from the critical siftings and compilings of a time in
which the genuine epos had long since ceased to live. When
Solon made his laws and Pisistratus introduced his political
régime, men searched among the ruins of the already fallen epos
of the folk, and pieced the gathered heap together for reading
service,- much as in the Hohenstaufen times they did with the
fragments of the lost Nibelungenlieder. But before these epic
songs became the object of such literary care, they had flourished
mid the folk, eked out by voice and gesture, as a bodily enacted
art work; as it were, a fixed and crystallized blend of lyric song
and dance, with predominant lingering on portrayal of the action
and reproduction of the heroic dialogue. These epic-lyrical per-
formances form the unmistakable middle stage between the genu-
ine older lyric and tragedy,- the normal point of transition from
the one to the other.
Tragedy was therefore the entry of the art work of the folk
upon the public arena of political life; and we may take its
appearance as an excellent touchstone for the difference in pro-
cedure between the art creating of the folk and the mere literary-
historical making of the so-called cultured art world. At the
very time when live-born Epos became the object of the critical
dilettanteism of the court of Pisistratus, it had already shed its
blossoms in the people's life: yet not because the folk had lost
its true afflatus; but since it was already able to surpass the old,
and from unstanchable artistic sources to build the less perfect
art work up, until it became the more perfect. For while those
pedants and professors in the prince's castle were laboring at the
construction of a literary Homer, pampering their own unproduct-
ivity with their marvel at their wisdom, by aid of which they
yet could only understand the thing that long had passed from
life, -- Thespis had already slid his car to Athens, had set it up


## p. 15512 (#466) ##########################################

15512
RICHARD WAGNER
.
-
beside the palace walls, dressed out his stage, and stepping from
the chorus of the folk, had 'trodden its planks; no longer did he
shadow forth the deeds of heroes, as in the epos, but in these
heroes' guise enacted them.
With the folk, all is reality and deed; it does, and then
rejoices in the thought of its own doing. Thus the blithe folk of
Athens, inflamed by persecution, hunted out from court and city
the melancholy sons of Pisistratus; and then bethought it how,
by this its deed, it had become a free and independent people.
Thus it raised the platform of its stage, and decked itself with
tragic masks and raiment of some god or hero, in order itself to
be a god or hero: and tragedy was born; whose fruits it tasted
;
with the blissful sense of its own creative force, but whose meta-
physical basis it handed, all regardless, to the brain-racking specu-
lation of the dramaturgists of our modern court-theatres.
Tragedy flourished for just so long as it was inspired by the
spirit of the folk, and as this spirit was a veritably popular, -
i. e. , a communal one. When the national brotherhood of the folk
was shivered into fragments, when the common bond of its
religion and primeval customs was pierced and severed by the
sophist needles of the egoistic spirit of Athenian self-dissection,
- then the folk's art work also ceased: then did the professors
and the doctors of the literary guilds take heritage of the ruins
of the fallen edifice, and delved among its beams and stones; to
pry, to ponder, and to rearrange its members. With Aristo-
phanian laughter, the folk relinquished to these learned insects
the refuse of its meal, threw art upon one side for two millen-
nia, and fashioned of its innermost necessity the history of the
world; the while those scholars cobbled up their tiresome history
of literature by order of the supreme court of Alexander.
The career of poetry, since the breaking-up of tragedy, and
since her own departure from community with mimetic dance
and tone, can be easily enough surveyed, despite the monstrous
claims which she has raised. The lonely art of poetry prophe-
sied no more: she no longer showed, but only described; she
merely played the go-between, but gave naught from herself:
she pieced together what true seers had uttered, but without the
living bond of unity; she gave the catalogue of a picture gallery,
but not the paintings. The wintry stem of speech, stripped of
its summer wreath of sounding leaves, shrank to the withered,
toneless signs of writing; instead of to the ear, it dumbly now


## p. 15513 (#467) ##########################################

RICHARD WAGNER
15513
-
»
addressed the eye; the poet's strain became a written dialect, --
the poet's breath the penman's scrawl.
There sate she then, the lonely, sullen sister, behind her reek-
ing lamp in the gloom of her silent chamber,-a female Faust,
who, across the dust and mildew of her books, from out the un-
contenting warp and woof of thought, from off the everlasting
rack of fancies and of theories, yearned to step forth into actual
life; with flesh and bone, and spick and span, to stand and go
'mid real men, a genuine human being. Alas! the poor sister had
cast away her flesh and bone in over-pensive thoughtlessness; a
disembodied soul, she could only now describe that which she
lacked, as she watched it from her gloomy chamber, through
the shut lattice of her thought, living and stirring its limbs amid
the dear but distant world of sense: she could only picture, ever
picture, the beloved of her youth; "so looked his face, so swayed
his limbs, so glanced his eye, so rang the music of his voice. "
But all this picturing and describing, however deftly she at-
tempted to raise it to a special art, how ingeniously soever she
labored to fashion it by forms of speech and writing, for art's
consoling recompense, - it stifl was but a vain, superfluous labor,
-
the stilling of a need which only sprang from a failing that her
own caprice had bred; it was nothing but the indigent wealth of
alphabetical signs, distasteful in themselves, of some poor mute.
The sound and sturdy man, who stands before us clad in pan-
oply of actual body, describes not what he wills and whom he
loves; but wills and loves, and imparts to us by his artistic organs
the joy of his own willing and his loving. This he does with
the highest measure of directness in the enacted drama. But it
is only to the straining for a shadowy substitute, an artificially
objective method of description,- on which the art of Poetry,
now loosed from all substantiality, must exercise her utmost
powers of detail, - that we have to thank this million-membered
mass of ponderous tomes, by which she still, at bottom, can only
trumpet forth her utter helplessness. This whole impassable
waste of stored-up literature - despite its million phrases and
centuries of verse and prose, without once coming to the living
Word -- is nothing but the toilsome stammering of aphasia-smitten
Thought, in its struggle for transmutation into natural articulate
utterance.
This Thought - the highest and most conditioned faculty of
artistic man - had cut itself adrift from fair warm Life, whose


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