(1815)

Now that the German stage, as one of our best national institutions, is emerging from an unfortunate narrowness and seclusion into freedom and vitality, wise directors are exerting themselves to produce an effect on a wide public, and not to confine themselves, however earnestly, to any single institution. Poets, actors, managers, and public will come to a better and better’ mutual understanding, but in the gratification of the moment they must not forget what their predecessors accomplished. Only upon a repertory which includes older plays can a national theatre be founded. I hope that the following words will have a favorable reception, so that the author’s courage will be stimulated and he will come forward from time to time with similar suggestions.

A Plan of Schiller’s, and What Came of It

When the lamented Schiller, through the influence of the court, the solicitations of society, and the inclinations of his friends, was moved to change his place of residence from Jena to Weimar, and to renounce that seclusion in which until then he had wrapt himself, he had the theatre at Weimar particularly in his mind, and he decided to devote his attention carefully and closely to the productions there.

And such a narrowing of his field the poet needed, for his extraordinary genius from his youth up had sought the heights and the depths. The power of his imagination, his poetical activity, had led him over a great range; but in spite of the ardor with which his mind traversed this broad range, with further experience it could not escape his clear insight that these qualities must necessarily lead him astray in the field of the theatre.

At Jena his friends had been witness to the perseverance and resolute determination with which he occupied himself with “Wallenstein.” This subject, which kept expanding at the hands of his genius, was worked out, knit together, revised, in numerous ways, until he saw at last that it would be necessary to divide the piece into three parts, as was thereupon done. And afterwards he did not cease to make alterations, in order that the principal scenes might acquire all the effect that was possible. The result was, however, that the Death of Wallenstein was given oftener on all stages than the Camp and the Piccolomini.

Don Carlos had been condensed still earlier for the stage; and whoever will compare this play, as it is produced, with the earlier printed edition, will recognize the same laborious changes. For though Schiller in sketching out the plan of his work felt bound by no limitations, in a later revision for theatrical purposes he had the courage, as a result of his convictions, to adapt it stringently, yes even mercilessly, to the practical exigencies of the situation. These meant a definite limitation of time; all the principal scenes had to pass before the eyes of the audience in a certain period of time. All the other scenes he omitted, and yet he could never really confine himself to the space of three hours.

The Robbers, Intrigue and Love, Fiesco, productions of an aggressive youthful impatience and indignation at a severe and confining training, had to undergo many alterations for the stage-production which was eagerly demanded by the public and especially the young men. About them all he would speculate whether it was not possible to assimilate them to a more refined taste, a taste such as he had trained himself since to feel. On this point he was accustomed to take long and detailed counsel with himself, in long sleepless nights, and sometimes on pleasant evenings in talks with his friends.

Could these discussions and suggestions have been preserved by a shorthand writer, we should have possessed a noteworthy contribution to productive criticism. But even more valuable will discerning readers find Schiller’s own remarks about the projected and indeed commenced “Demetrius,” which fine example of penetrating and critical creative ability is preserved for us in the supplement to his works. The three plays mentioned above, however, we decided not to touch, for what is offensive in them is too closely bound up with their contents and form; and we had to trust to fortune in transmitting them to posterity just as they had sprung from a powerful and bizarre genius.

Schiller, finely matured, had not attended many performances, when his active mind, considering the situation and taking a comprehensive view of things, got the idea that what had been done to his own works could be done in the case of other men’s. So he drew up a plan whereby the work of earlier playwrights might be preserved for the German theatre, without prejudice to contemporary writers,—the accepted material, the contents of the works chosen, to be adapted to a form which should be partly determined by the requirements of the stage and partly by the ideas and spirit of the present time. For these reasons he decided to devote the hours which were left him from his own work to constructing plans, in company with congenial friends, whereby plays which had a significance for our age might be revised, and a true German Theatre founded,—not only for the benefit of the reader, who would come to know famous plays from a new standpoint, but also for the benefit of the numerous theatres of Germany, which would be given the opportunity of strengthening their repertories by laying a solid foundation of older works under the ephemeral productions of the day.

In order then to found the German Theatre on true German soil, it was Schiller’s intention to revise Klopstock’s Hermanns Schlacht. The play was taken up, but the first consideration of it produced much doubt in his mind. Schiller’s judgment was in general very liberal, but at the same time independent and critical. The ideal demands which Schiller according to his nature was obliged to make were not satisfied, and the piece was soon laid aside. Present-day criticism requires no hints in order to discover the grounds for the decision.

Towards Lessing’s work Schiller had a singular attitude. He did not care particularly for it,—indeed, Emilia Galotti was repugnant to him. Yet this tragedy as well as Minna von Barnhelm was accepted in the repertory. He then devoted himself to Nathan der Weise, and in this revision, in which he was glad to have the coöperation of discerning friends, the piece is played to this day, and it will be retained on the boards, because able actors will always be found who feel themselves equal to the rôle of Nathan. And may the German public remember always that it is called not only to witness this well-known piece, so excellently staged, but also to hear it and to understand it! May there never come a time when the divine spirit of toleration and forbearance contained in it will cease to be sacred to the nation.

The presence of the distinguished Iffland in 1796 gave occasion for the shortening of Egmont to the form in which it is now given here and in several places at present. That Schiller rather mutilated it in his revision is indicated by a comparison of the following scenes with the printed play itself. The public was annoyed at the omission of the Princess, for instance; yet there is in Schiller’s work such a consistency that no one has dared to attempt to alter the piece for fear that other errors and misadjustments might creep into its present form.

Egmont

(First Act)

In an open square, cross-bow shooters. One of Egmont’s men is being elevated to the post of captain, through his skill in shooting, and his health and that of the lord are being drunk; public affairs are discussed, and the characters of distinguished persons. The disposition of the people begins to show itself. Other citizens come in; unrest is revealed. A lawyer joins them, and begins to discuss the liberties of the people. Dissent and quarrels follow. Egmont enters, quiets his men, and threatens the trouble-maker. He exhibits himself as an honored and popular prince.

(Second Act)

Egmont and his private secretary, through whose discourse one catches 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.