Speech and Drama
GA 282
16 September 1924, Dornach
XII. The Artistic Quality in Drama. Stylisation of Moods
My dear Friends,
today we will begin with the recitation of a scene where we can trace the workings of a conscious endeavour on the part of the dramatist to bring style into drama. I will say only a few words in preparation, for you will find that the scene itself will show you how a real poet—in the best sense of the word—relates himself to this question of style, how he deals with it in practice.
Schiller's early plays were, as we know, not characterised by style. Die Räuber certainly not, but neither can Fiesko nor Kabale—no, nor even Don Carlos, be said to have attained to style. Then, for a while, Schiller's creative powers in that direction were exhausted, and he had to devote himself to other activities; and it was during this time that his relations with Goethe underwent a change. It is not too much to say that, having seen what Goethe's genius could create, Schiller took this work of Goethe's as the foundation for a further development of his own artistic ideal. Goethe's dramas became for him a kind of school at which he studied and prepared himself for new activity in the same field. We can follow the process step by step in the interchange of letters between the two poets, and in the records of their conversations. Nor need we be surprised that Schiller, who saw in Goethe the artist par excellence, should take him for his pattern, the Goethe who had created an Iphigenie and a Tasso, dramas where the language reaches a high level of style. Not that Schiller had any thought of letting drama develop exclusively in the 'direction of style in speech, he was naturally concerned for the totality of dramatic art; but from this time on, he devoted his best effort to the attainment of style. We can see it already in Wallenstein; and in the later dramas, in Maria Stuart, in Die Braut von Messina, in Die Jungfrau von Orleans, we find him concentrating more and more on the development of style in some aspect or another.
In Maria Stuart, from which our scene is taken, we have an attempt to develop a style that is different from that of Die Braut von Messin—a style, namely, in the treatment of mood. For what is so striking in this play is the successive moods that pervade the different scenes. The moods are of course evoked by the characters, especially by the prominent part taken in the play by two such antagonistic characters as Mary, Queen of Scots herself, and Queen Elizabeth; but altogether the drama runs its course, fundamentally speaking, in moods; we can even say that the characters live out their parts in moods. You need only study a few of these individually to see how they pass through mood after mood, as the situation changes. Take the momentous scene that Frau Dr. -Steiner will presently read to us, a scene that is outstandingly characteristic of the whole play. You have here an excellent example of stylised mood. There is, to begin with, the mood that can be observed in Mary herself, and that plays no small part also in the drama as a whole, the mood that arises from the fact that Mary is at first committed to the charge of a kindly inclined gaoler but comes later into the custody of one who is rigid in the discharge of his duties; and then we have all that happens as a result of the change. The mood is still at work in this remarkable scene that is so teeming with interest and incident, and we shall be able to watch how the characters of Mary and Elizabeth unfold under its influence—the characters also of others who are present.
I draw your attention to this because I want you to see how earnest Schiller is in his striving for style. After Wallenstein he sets out, in fact, to give each play style in a different way. Of the significance of this for the actor I will speak later, after you have listened to the scene. Let it suffice now to point out that in Maria Stuart it is moods that are stylised, whereas in Die Jungfrau von Orleans it is events: the successive events come before us there in truly grand manner. And then in Wilhelm Tell we have a stylising of character; Schiller attains in this play to what may verily be called a painting of the human soul. In Die Braut von Messina we find him endeavouring to follow Goethe as closely as possible by developing style in the inner form and picture of the stage. Lastly, he sets out with the intention of giving style to the whole interworking of men and events. That was in his Demetrius, which he did not live to finish.
So now we will ask you to listen to the scene in Schiller's Maria Stuart that portrays the development of the situation to which I have alluded.
(Frau Dr. Steiner):
(Dr. Steiner): And now, my dear friends, if we take such a work as Maria Stuart, and consider it as an example of a drama that owes its creation to a definite artistic resolve, the question may well present itself: How is the actor to find his right relation to a play of this kind? This we have now to consider, and we shall expect to find here again specific laws upon which the actor can base his endeavours.MARY STUART
by Schiller
Act III, Scene 1In a Park. In the foreground Trees; in the background a distant Prospect.
(MARY advances, running from behind the trees: HANNAH KENNEDY follows slowly.)
KENNEDY
You hasten an as if endow'd with wings—
I cannot follow you so swiftly—wait.MARY
Freedom returns! O let me enjoy it—
Let me be childish—be childish with me!
Freedom invites me! O let me employ it,
Skimming with winged step light o'er the lea;
Have I escaped from this mansion of mourning?
Holds me no more the sad dungeon of care?
Let me, with joy and with eagerness burning,
Drink in the free, the celestial air!KENNEDY
O, my dear Lady! but a very little
Is your sad gaol extended; you behold not
The wall that shuts us in; these plaited tufts
Of trees hide from your sight the hated object.MARY
Thanks to these friendly trees, that hide from me
My prison walls, and flatter my illusion!
Happy I now may dream myself, and free;
Why wake me from my dream's so sweet confusion?
The extended vault of heaven around me lies,
Free and unfetter'd range my wandering eyes
O'er space's vast immeasurable sea!
From where yon misty mountains rise on high,
I can my empire's boundaries explore;
And those light clouds which, steering southwards, fly,
Seek the mild clime of France's genial shore.
Fast fleeting clouds! ye meteors that fly;
Could I but with you sail through the sky!
Tenderly greet the dear fand of my youth!
Here I am captive! oppress'd by my foes,
No other than you may carry my woes,
Free thro' the ether your pathway is seen,
Ye own not the power of this tyrant Queen.KENNEDY
Alas! dear Lady! You're beside yourself,
This long-lost, long-sought freedom makes you rave.MARY
Yonder's a fisher returning to home;—
Poor though it be, would he lend me his wherry,
Quick to congenial shores would I ferry.
Spare is his trade, and labour's his doom—
Rich would I freight his vessel with treasure,
Such a draught should be his as he never had seen,
Wealth should he find in his nets without measure,
Would he but rescue a poor captive Queen.KENNEDY
Fond, fruitless wishes! See you not from far,
How we are follow'd by observing spies?—
A dismal, barb'rous prohibition scares
Each sympathetic being from our path.MARY
No, gentle Hannah! Trust me, not in vain
My prison gates are open'd. This small grace
Is harbinger of greater happiness.
No! I mistake not—'tis the active hand
Of love to which I owe this kind indulgence.
I recognise in this the mighty arm
Of Leicester. They will by degrees expand
My prison; will accustom me, through small,
To greater liberty, until at last
I shall behold the face of hüll whose hand
Will dash my fetters off, and that for ever.KENNEDY
O, my dear Queen! I cannot reconcile
These contradictions. 'Twas but yesterday
That they announc'd your death, and all at once,
today, you have such liberty. Their chains
Are also loos'd, as I have oft been told,
Whom everlasting liberty awaits.
(Hunting horns at a distance.)MARY
Hear'st thou the bugle, so blithely resounding?
Hear'st thou its echoes through wood and through plain?
Oh, might I now, on my nimble steed bounding,
Join with the jocund, the frolicsome train!
(Hunting horns heard again.)
Again! O this sad and this pleasing remembrance!
These are the sounds, which, so sprightly and clear,
Oft, when with music the hounds and the Korn,
So cheerfully welcom'd the break of the morn,
On the heaths of the Highlands delighted my ear.Scene II.
(Enter PAULET.)PAULET
Well! have I acted right at last, my Lady?
Do I for once, at least, deserve your thanks?MARY
How! Do I owe this favour, Sir, to you?
PAULET
Why not to me? I visited the Court,
And gave the Queen your Letter.MARY
Did you give it?
In very truth did you deliver it?
And is this freedom which I now enjoy,
The happy consequence?PAULET
(significantly)Nor that alone;
Prepare yourself to see a,greater still.MARY
A greater still! What do you mean by that?
PAULET
You heard the bugle-horns?
MARY
(starting back with foreboding apprehension)
You frighten me—PAULET
The Queen is hunting in the neighbourhood—
MARY
What!
PAULET
In a few moments she'll appear before you.
KENNEDY
(hastening towards MARY, about to fall)
How fare you, dearest Lady?—you grow pale.PAULET
How? Is't not well? Was it not then your pray'r?
'Tis granted now, before it was expected;
You who had ever such a ready Speech,
Now summon all your powers of eloquente,
The important time to use them now is come.MARY
O, why was I not told of this before?
Now I am not prepar'd for it—not now—
What, as the greatest favour, I besought,
Seems to me now most fearful:—Hannah, come,
Lead me into the house, till I collect
My spirits.PAULET
Stay;—you must await her fiere.
Yes!—I believe you may be well alarm'd
To stand before your judge.Scene III.
(Enter the EARL OF SHREWSBURY.)MARY
'Tis not for that,
O God! Far other thoughts possess me now.
O, worthy Shrewsbury! You come, as though
ou were an angel sent to me from heav'n.
I cannot, will not see her. Save me, save me
From the detested sight!SHREWSBURY
Your Majesty,
Comraand yourself, and summon all your courage;
'Tis the decisive moment of your fate.MARY
For years I've waited, and prepared myself.
For this I've studied, weigh'd, and written down
Each ward within the tablet of my mem'ry,
That was to touch, and move her to compassion.
Forgotten suddenly, effac'd is all.
And nothing lives within me at this moment,
But the fierte, burning feeling of my wrongs.
My heart is turn'd to direst hate against her;
All gentle thoughts, all sweet forgiving words
Are gone, and round me stand with grisly mien,
The fiends of hell, and shake their snaky locks!SHREWSBURY
Command your wild, rebellious blood;—constrain
The bittemess which fills your heart. No good
Ensures, when hatred is oppos'd to hate.
How muck soe'er the inward struggle tost,
You must submit to stern necessity,
The pow'r is in her hand, be therefore humble.MARY
To her? I never can.
SHREWSBURY
But pray, submit.
Speak with respect, with calmness!
Strive to move Her magnanimity; insist not, now,
Upon your rights, not not the season.MARY
Ah! woe is me! I've pray'd for my destruction,
And, as a curse to me, my prayer is heard.
We never should have seen each other—never!
O, this can never, never come to good.
Rather in love could fixe and water meet,
The timid lamb embrace the roaring tiger!—
I have been hurt too grievously; she hath
Too grievously oppress'd me;—no atonement
Can make us friends!SHREWSBURY
First see her, face to face:
Did I not see how she was mov'd at reading
Your letter? How her eyes were drown'd in tears?
No—she is not unfeeling; only place
More confidence in her. It was for this
That I came on before her, to entreat you,
To be collected—to admonish you—MARY
(seizing his hand)Oh, Talbot! you have ever been my friend,
Had I but stay'd beneath your kindly care!
They have, indeed, misused me, Shrewsbury.SHREWSBURY
Let all be now forgot, and only think
How to receive her with submissiveness.MARY
Is Burleigh with her too, my evil genius?
SHREWSBURY
No one attends her but the Earl of Leicester.
MARY
Lord Leicester?
SHREWSBURY
Fear not him; it is not he
Who wishes your destruction,—'twas his work,
That here the Queen hath granted you this meeting.MARY
Ah! well I knew it.
SHREWSBURY
What?
PAULET
The Queen approaches. (They all draw aride;
MARY
alone remains, leaning on KENNEDY.)Scene IV. (Enter ELIZABETH, EARL OF LEICESTER, and Retinue.)
ELIZABETH (to LEICESTER)
What seat is that, my Lord?
LEICESTER
'Tis Fotheringay.
ELIZABETH (to SHREWSBURY)
My Lord, send back our retinue to London;
The people crowd too eager in the roads,
We'll seek a refuge in this quiet park.
(TALBOT sends the train away. She looks steadfastly at MARY, as she speaks further with PAULET.)
My honest people love me overmuch.
These signs of joy are quite idolatrous.
Thus should a God be honour'd, not a mortal.MARY
(who the whole time had leaned, almost fainting, on KENNEDY, rises now, and her eyes meet the steady piercing look of ELIZABETH; she shudders and throws herself again upon KENNEDYS bosom)
O God! from out these features speaks no heart.ELIZABETH
What lady's that?—
(A general, embarrassed silence.)LEICESTER
You are at Fotheringay,
My Liege!ELIZABETH
(as if surprised, casting an angry look at LEICESTER)
Who hath done this, my Lord of Leicester?LEICESTER
'Tis past, my Queen;—and now that heav'n hath led
Your footsteps hither, be magnanimous;
And let sweet pity be triumphant now.SHRBWSBURY
O royal mistress! yield to our entreaties;
O cast your eyes on this unhappy one,
Who stands dissolved in anguish.
(MARY collects herself, and begins to advance towards ELIZABETH, stops shuddering at half-way:—her action expresses the most violent internal struggle.)ELIZABETH
How, my Lords!
Which of you then announc'd to me a prisoner
Bow'd down by woe? I see a haughty one,
By no means humbled by calamity.MARY
Well be it so :—to this will I submit.
Farewell high thought, and pride of noble mied!
I will forget my dignity, and all
My sufferings; 1 will fall before her feet,
Who hath reduced me to this wretchedness.
(She turn towards the QUEEN.)
The voice of Heav'n decides for you, my sister,
Your happy brows are now with triumph crown'd,
I bless the Power Divine, which thus hath rais'd you.
(She kneels.)
But in your turn be merciful, my sister:
Let me not lie before you thus disgraced;
Stretch forth your hand, your royal hand, to raise
Your sister from the depths of her distress.ELIZABETH (stepping back)
You are rohere it becomes you, Lady Stuart;
And thankfully I prize my God's protection,
Who hath not suffer'd me to kneel a suppliant
Thus at your feet, as you now kneel at mine.MARY
(with increasing energy of feeling)
Think on all earthly things, vicissitudes.
Oh! there are gods who punish haughty pride:
Respect them, honour them, the dreadful ones
Who thus before thy feet have humbled me!
Before these strangers' eyes, dishonour not
Yourself in me: profane not, nor disgrace
The royal blood of Tudor. In my veins
It flows as pure a stream, as in your own.
O! for God's pity, stand not so estranged
And inaccessible, like some tall cliff,
Which the poor shipwreck'd mariner in vain
Struggles to seize, and labours to embrace.
My all, my life, my fortune now depends
Upon the influence of my words and tears;
That I may touch your heart, O! set inne free.
If you regard me with those icy looks,
My shudd'ring heart contracts itself, the stream
Of tears is dried, and frigid horror chains
The words of supplication in my bosom!ELIZABETH (cold and severe)
What would you say to me, my Lady Stuart?
You wish'd to speak with me; and I, forgetting
The Queen, and all the wrongs I have sustain'd,
Fulfil the pious duty of the sister,
And graut the boon you wished for of my presence.
Yet 1, in yielding to the gen'rous feelings
Of magnanimity, expose myself
To rightful censure, that 1 stoop so low.
For well you know, you would have had me murder'd.MARY
O! how shall I begin? O, how shall I
So artfully arrange my cautious words,
That they may touch, yet not offend your heart?—
Strengthen my words, O Heav'n! and take from them
Whate'er might wound. Alas! I cannot speak
In my own cause, without impeaching you,
And that most heavily. I wish not so;
You have not, as you ought, behav'd to me;
I am a Queen, like you, yet you have held me
Confin'd in prison. As a suppliant
I came to you, yet you in me insulted
The pious use of hospitality;
Slighting in me the holy law of nations,
Immur'd me in a dungeon—tore from me
My friends and servants; to unseemly want
I was exposed, and hurried to the bar
Of a disgraceful, insolent tribunal.
No more of this ;—in everlasting silence
Be buried all the cruelties I suffer'd!
See—I will throw the blame for all an fate,
'Twas not your fault, no more than it was raine.
An evil spirit rose from the abyss,
To kindle in our hearts the flames of hate,
By which our tender youth had been divided.
It grew with us, and bad designing men
Fann.'d with their ready breath the fatal fixe:
Frantics, enthusiasts, with sword and dagger
Arm'd the uncall'd-for hand! , This is the curse
Of kings, that they, divided, tear the world
In pieces with their hatred, and let loose
The raging furies of all hellish strife!
No foreign tongue is now between us, sister,
(approaching her confidently, and with aflattering tone)
Now stand we face to face; now, sister, speak;
Name but my crime, fully satisfy you,—
Alas! had you vouchsaf'd to hear me then,
When I so earnest sought to meet your eye,
It never would have come to this, nor would,
Here in this mournful place, have happen'd now
This so distressful, this so mournful meeting.ELIZABETH
My better stars preserv'd me. I was warn'd,
And laid not to my breast the pois'nous adder!
Accuse not fate! your own deceitful heart
It was, the wild ambition of your house:
As yet no enmities had pass'd between us,
When your imperious linde, the proud priest,
Whose shameless hand grasps at all crowns, attack'd me
With unprovok'd hostility, and taught
You, but too docile, to assume my arms,
To vest yourself with my imperial title,
And meet me in the lists in mortal strife:
What arms employed he not to storm my throne?
The curses of the priests, the people's sword,
The dreadful weapons of religious frenzy,—
Ev'n here in my own kingdom's peaceful haunts,
He fann'd the flames of civil insurrection;—
But God is with me, and the haughty priest
Has not maintain'd the field. The blow was aim'd
Full at my head, but yours it is which falls!MARY
I'm in the hand of Heav'n. You never will
Exert so cruelly the pow'r it gives you.ELIZABETH
Who shall prevent me? Say, did not your uncle
Set all the kings of Europe the example,
How to conclude a peace with those they hate?
Be mine the school of Saint Bartholomew;
What's kindred then to me, or nations' laws?
The church can Break the Bands of ev'ry duty;
It consecrates the regicide, the traitor;
I only practise what your priests have taught!
Say then, what surety can be offer'd me,
Should I magnanimously loose your Bonds?
Say, with what lock can I secure your faith,
Which by St. Peter's keys cannot be open'd?
Force is my only surety; no alliance
Can be concluded with a rate of vipers.MARY
O! this is but your wretched, dark suspicion!
For you have constantly regarded me
But as a stranger, and an enemy.
Had you declar'd me heir to your dorainions,
As is my right, then gratitude and love
In me had fix'd, for you, a faithful friend
And kinswoman.ELIZABETH
Your friendship is abroad,
Your house is Papacy, the monk your brother.
Name you my successor! The treach'rous snare!
That in my life you might seduce my people;
And, like a sly Armida, in your net
Entangle all our noble English youth;
That all might turn to the new rising sun,
And I—MARY
O sister, rule your realm in peace:
I give up ev'ry claim to these domains—
Alas! the pinions of my soul are lam'd;
Greatness entices me no more: your point
Is gain'd; I am but Mary's shadow now—
My noble spirit is at last broke down
By long captivity:—you've done your worst
On me; you have destroy'd me in my bloom!
Now, end your work, my sister:—speak at length
The word, which to pronounce has brought you hither;
For I will ne'er believe that you are come
To mock unfeelingly your hapless victim.
Pronounce this word;—say, Mary, you are free:
You have already felt my pow'r,—learn now
To honour too my generosity.'
Say this, and I will take my life, will take
My freedom, as a present from your hands.
One word makes all undone;—I wait for it ;—
O let it not be needlessly delay'd.
Wde to you, if you end not with this word!
For should you not, like some divinity,
Dispensing noble blessing, quit me now,
Then, sister, not for all this island's wealth,
For all the realms encircled by the deep,
Would I exchange my present Lot for yours.ELIZABETH
And you confess at last, that you are conquer'd:
Are all your schemes run out? No more assassins
Now an the road? Will no adventurer
Attempt again, for you, the sad achievement?
Yes, madam, it is over:—You'll seduce
No mortal more. The world has other cares;—
None is ambitious of the dang'rous honour
Of being your fourth husband :—
You destroy Your wooers like your husbands.MARY
(starting angrily)Sister, sister!—
Grant me forbearance, all ye powr's of heav'n!ELIZABETH
(regards her long, with a Look of proud contempt)
Those then, my Lord of Leicester, are the charms
Which no man with impunity can view,
Near which no woman Bare attempt to stand?
In sooth, this honour has been cheaply gain'd;
She who to all is common, may with ease
Become the common object of applause.MARY
This is too much!
ELIZABETH (laughing insultingly)
You show us now, indeed,
Your real face; till now 'twas but the mask.MARY
(burning with rage, yet dignified and noble)
My sins were human, and the faults of youth;
Superior force misled me. I have neuer
Denied or sought to hide it: I despis'd
All false appearance as became a Queen.
The worst of me is known, and I can say,
That I am better than the fame I bear.
Woe to you! when, in time to come, the world
Shall draw the rohe of honour from your deeds,
With which your arch-hypocrisy has veil'd
The raging flames of lawless secret Lust.
Virtue was not your portion from your mother;
Well know we what it was which brought the head
Of Anna Boleyn to the fatal block.SHREWSBURY
(stepping between both Queens)
O! Heav'n! Alas, and must it come to this!
Is this the moderation, the submission,
My Lady?—MARY
Moderation! I've supported
What human nature can support: farewell,
Lamb-hearted resignation, passive patience,
Fly to thy native heaven; hurst at length
Thy Bonds, come forward from thy dreary cave,
In all thy fury, long-suppressed rancour!
And thou, who to the anger'd basilisk
Impart'st the murd'rous glance, O, arm my tongue
With poison'd darts!SHREWSBURY
She is beside herself!
Exasperated, mad! My Liege, forgive her.
(ELIZABETH, speechless with anger, casts enraged Looks at MARY.)LEICESTER
(in the most violent agitation; he seeks to lead ELIZABETH away)
Attend not to her rage! Away, away,
From this disastrous place!MARY
(raising her voice)A Bastard soils,
Profanes the English throne! The gen'rous Britons
Are cheated by a juggler (whose whole figure
Is false and painted, heart as well as face!).
If right prevail'd, you now would in the dust
Before me lie, for I'm your rightful monarch!(ELIZABETH hastily quits the stage; the Lords follow her in the greatest consternation)
(From the translation by Joseph Mellish.)
In some dramas we can see quite clearly, when we look into the question of their origin, that it is the theme, the plot with its characters, that has inspired the dramatist to write bis drama. This was true more or less of Schiller when, as a young man, he set himself to compose Die Räuber. All through the play we can see that what interests him is the subject-matter in the widest sense of the word. He is attracted by the event and the characters that take part in it; he wants to make poetry of them. The same can be said even of Goethe in one period of his life. At the time when he was beginning to compose Faust and was writing also Götz von Berlichingen, his main interest was in the plot and the characters. Faust is a character that interests him intensely. And then, what a Faust can experience—that too has a great attraction for him. And in Götz von Berlichingen it is in the first place the Nero himself, and then the time in which he lived; these two themes were of lively interest to Goethe.
But now look at Schiller embarking upon his Maria Stuart. We have here quite another situation. Maria Stuart is the result of a conscious endeavour on Schiller's part to be an artist in the realm of drama. His whole desire is to compose plays that shall be artistic; and he looks round for material to serve bis purpose. He looks for a material that will lend itself to the style he wants to develop. His starting-point was by no means the story of Mary, Queen of Scots; he sets out in search of a theme upon which he can successfully create a drama where it shall be the moods that give style to the piece.
Now the initial purpose of the dramatist is of no little significance for the actor; and if we are making plan for a school of dramatic art, we ought certainly to arrange that both kinds of drama are studied. The students should practise with dramas where the poet's interest lies mainly in the plot,—such a drama, for instance, as Götz von Berlichingen, or Die Räuber; and they should work also with dramas like Maria Stuart, Die Jungfrau von Orleans, Die Braut von Messina, or Wilhelm Tell. And while the students are studying in this way the different dramatic styles, that will also be the moment for them to pass from a study that concerns itself purely with acting to a study that, instead of merely asking all the time: How are we to do this?—How are we to do that?, takes rather for its theme the entire play itself as a work of art. I will give you an example.
Wilhelm Tell is a play that provides excellent opportunity for an actor to develop style in his work by studying the style of the piece. But it should be made clear to the student that in this play Schiller's style comes to grief in many places. The fact will be forcibly brought home to you if you should ever happen to hear some orthodox professor of literature interpreting one of the scenes in a way that may possibly accord with the illusions of a professor who has more credulity than discernment, but does not at all accord with real life. What a wonderful scene that is,' you might hear him say to his pupils, where Tell declines to attend the meetings the others are holding, declaring that he is a man of deeds and not of words, and that he will leave it to them to do the talking, and hold himself ready to be called on when the moment for action has come.' I did once hear a credulous professor speak in this way to a still more credulous audience of both young and old! And then all too easily such a view becomes the accepted interpretation and is handed down and repeated as if it were an indisputable truth. And we can see it spreading like a disease through the schools, and indeed wherever it has a chance to push its way in. No one stops to ask : But is it possible that Teil should speak like that? For it certainly is not possible! True, Tell had the character that Schiller means to give him. He was not a man of many words ; you would not find him taking a front seat in the meetings and making grandiloquent Speeches. But he would be there. He would be sitting at the back and listening. Tell was not the kind of man to boast that he let the others do the talking and wanted only to be called on when it was time for action,—which would give the impression that he had himself no idea as to what ought to be done! It is simply not true, the way Schiller makes Tell speak in that passage, and the student has here a good opportunity of learning to judge for himself without bias,—and that is supremely important where art is concerned. What Schiller has done in this passage is to push the stylisation too far. Then it can become routine,—which it must never do, it must always have life.
And now let us suppose, die actor—or the student—takes a drama of the one or the other kind as subject for his study. How will he proceed with a drama like Die Räuber or Don Carlos? or, on the other hand, with a drama like Maria Stuart or Die Braut von Messina? For a drama of the first kind, the right course will be to work only for a shorter time at the development of mime and gesture whilst another does the reciting, and to lead over quite soon to simultaneous speaking and acting. There must of course always be first the practice in gesture to the accompaniment of a reciter, but in this case not for long; the student should as soon as possible unite the gesturing with the spoken word.
With a drama of the second kind, the actor or student will require to practise the silent gesture and mime with a reciter speaking the words for him, for a much longer period. He should indeed defer till as late as possible the union in his own person of gesture and word. By following this method he will attain a result which there is no need to attain in the former type of drama and which could even perhaps be detrimental there to the performance of his part. I mean the following. The gesture, having through long practice come to rest, as it were, in die actor, continues to be present there in him and co-operates in the forming of the word,—the actor of course meanwhile quite unconscious of the process ; it happens instinctively as far as he is concerned. And if we want to stage a drama that is first and foremost, in its whole intention, a work of art, dien we have to make .sure that all through our study of it we succeed in uniting the art of the acting with the art, the poetry, that is in the play itself. Only then will the art of the acting make its right contact with the audience; and upon that, after all, everything depends.
The audience will not easily be brought into a mood that grips them in their very soul, if we put before them a realistic scene which is, in addition, realistically acted. It is quite possible to fascinate people with a realistic scene, so that for the moment they give their whole attention; but if we sincerely want to reach our audience, there can be no better way than by lifting them right out of naturalistic experience, and taking them up to the level of art.
Let us take now the scene that has been read to us and imagine we have to consult together how we shall proceed to stage it. Giving our attention first to the question of scenic effect, how shall we create the right environment for die words that are spoken in this scene?
To build up a décor from a naturalistic point of view, to paint, let us say, a forest as naturalistically as possible, would most certainly not achieve our object. For could anyone imagine that such a scene as this (the scene ends, you will remember, in a manner that is directly contrary to the will of everyone present, takes them one and all by surprise),—could anyone imagine that the motif of the scene could be rendered with style if we set out to surround it with the mood of a forest? The one and only thing to do is let the surroundings of the scene present, by your artistic treatment of them, the mood that belongs to this juncture in the play.
I must here allude to a request that has been handed me in writing, asking if I would add a little more to what I said the other day about the painting of stage scenery. But, my dear friends, so far as my memory goes, I have not spoken at all on this subject. What I said then was in reference to landscape painting.1See Lecture 10. We were considering the character of art in general, and took landscape painting for our example. I do not like to be misunderstood in this way. I have up to now said nothing whatever about painting for the stage. As a matter of fact, the very first thing you must realise in this connection is that for stage d&or, painting as an art does not come into question. We have to rely on our equipment for stage lighting, etc., to do the painting for us.
To return to the scene from Maria Stuart, our main concern should be that the speakers have around them the mood of the scene with all the successive changes it undergoes.
Now on the matter of moods there is bound to be always some difference of opinion, but 1 think no one will find it seriously discordant if we propose to arrange for the whole stage to be suffused during this scene with a reddish lighting. The colour will naturally have to change a lade as the scene goes on, but can always keep a fundamental reddish tone. At the end of the scene, where Mary speaks so sharply, the reddish tone can, as it were, pierce inwards into itself and become dazzling yellow. There will also be not a few other modifications here and there. For example, right at the beginning of the scene, where Mary is in a thoroughly sentimental wein, you can introduce into the general reddish mood a bluish-violet mood. That then will be your first question settled.
And now, how are you going to see that your wings and back-drop make their right contribution to the mood of the scene? Impossible to have there a realistically painted picture of a bit of forest. Trees, however, you must have; and what about their colour? The scene demands that the colouring of the trees shall harmonise with the mood of the lighting. You cannot paint into a red mood trees that are absolutely green; you will have to introduce a touch of red into their colour. And in order to provide something on which the eye can rest when Mary grows sarcastic, you can take yellow also on to your palette,—I should rather say, on to your brush; for one should never paint from a palette, but always with water colours. Then the actors will have around them a true picture of the mood of the scene.
And it will be the same with all your arrangements for the staging of the play. When you come to the question of costume, you must realise that it is of no use to set about inventing all manner of fancy dresses which only make the wearers look queer and awkward. That is not the way to attain style. Costumes should be cut to suit the wearers; it is in the colour that you will have to let style come in,—in the choice of colour, in the harmony of the colours worn by different parts. And here one will not be so childish as to snatch at the first idea that offers, which would naturally mean in this rase that Mary should wear black. Black should appear on the stage only in the rare cases where it is justified from an artistic point of view. As a matter of fact, on the stage black obliterates itself, makes a void. Devils, or beings of such ilk, we can allow to appear in black, but we ought never to think of using black for any other purpose. Mary will have to be dressed in dark violet. Her colour should be chosen first. (For the achievement of style, it is always important to know where to begin.) Then, with Mary in violet, you cannot do otherwise than choose for Elizabeth a dress of reddish-yellowish colour; and the colours of the other characters will be gradually shaded as taste requires.
Working in this way, you will get your picture. And you will see, your audience will understand it. Provided it has been faithfully built up on these lines the picture will make its appeal.
For how is it that the actor of today finds it so difficult to carry bis audience with him? Simply because we are not sufficiently in earnest about this question of style. We want to attain style, but we do not set about it seriously enough. We ought not really to complain so muck of the audience; it is never die audience who are to blame. It is the art itself that is wanting! But, my dear friends, how can we expect to achieve art if, behind the founding of our theatres, lie impulses and motives such as are disclosed in the following well-authenticated incident?
A big theatre was once started in a town by a journalist who was also a playwright, and who took on himself the direction of the theatre. It was named after a distinguished classical author. Externally, you see, the founder was trying to do die thing in style. ‚Arrangements were also made for a speech to be given at the opening ceremony, in which very fine things were said about this author, and about the splendid future that the theatre would have if it followed in his footsteps; for he had himself been eminent in the art of the stage and had laid down many golden rules for its practice.
If now a true devotion to art in the highest sense had begun to manifest in the work of that theatre—naturally, fare of a lighter kind being offered also now and again in deference to public taste—it might have been in quite good style to open the theatre with a Speech of this kind. But style has to be something inward; it has to be livingly experienced. And I would ask you now to judge for your-selves whether there really was style in the enterprise, when I tell you what took place immediately after the official opening,—despite the high-sounding words that had been spoken by the director. There had of course been other Speeches too, including one by the chairman of the theatre committee, who spoke in becoming terms of the director, and so on, and so on. Yes, there was style in the opening ceremony; but of what kind? There was no life in it!—as all too quickly became apparent! For what happened when the function was over and the audience had dispersed? Among the people around such a director there will generally be some who are sincere idealists. Not many; but there will be a few. One such—or perhaps only a semi-idealist—went up to the director and said: ‘I wish you all success! Running your theatre in the way you have described, you will be helping to revive and restore art.’ To which the director replied: But it's the profits I'm after!'
Yes, you see how it is! The style of which the opening ceremony gave promise has all crumbled to dust. It was not in the man's heart, not in his inner being. Style has, in fact, become in our day something which people no longer feel in life, they are insensitive to it; and that is why I find it so important to impress upon you that he alone can hope to achieve style in art who sets out in all seriousness to live in it.
12. Künstlerische Dramatik Stilisierte Stimmungen
Wir wollen heute damit beginnen, eine Szene zu rezitieren, welche aus einem Bestreben hervorgegangen ist, gerade im Dramatischen zu einem wirklichen Stil zu kommen. Ich möchte nur mit ein paar Worten diese Sache berühren, weil sie eigentlich zeigt, wie der wirkliche Dichter im besten Sinne des Wortes sich zu dieser Stilfrage im praktischen Schaffen stellt. Wir wissen, daß Schiller nicht mit eigentlichen Stildramen begonnen hat, sondern daß er - von den «Räubern» gar nicht zu reden - in «Fiesko», in «Kabale und Liebe» und sogar noch in «Don Carlos» nicht eigentlich bis zum Stil hin erhobene Dramen geschaffen hat. Es versiegte dann seine dichterische Schaflenskraft, und Schiller mußte sich wesentlich anderen Dingen hingeben. Aber in jener Zeit wandelte sich das ganze Verhältnis zwischen Schiller und Goethe. Und Schiller bildete eigentlich seine weitere künstlerische Anschauung aus, man kann schon sagen, indem er als Grundlage für diese Ausgestaltung den Anblick desjenigen hatte, was Goethes Schaffen ausmachte. An Goethes Schaffen bildete sich Schiller wiederum heran zu seiner weiteren dramatischen Tätigkeit. Das kann man Stück für Stück im Briefwechsel oder in der Mitteilung der Gespräche aus der damaligen Zeit verfolgen. Und es braucht nicht wunderbar zu erscheinen, daß Schiller, der gewissermaßen in Goethe den repräsentativen Künstler sah, Goethe zum Vorbilde nahm, der etwa an «Iphigenie» und «Tasso» geschaffen hat, also gerade das Dramatische bis herauf zum Sprachstil gehoben hat.
Gewiß dachte Schiller nicht daran, die Dramatik ganz und gar vorrücken zu lassen bis zu diesem Sprachstil hin allein, sondern er dachte natürlich an die Totalität des Dramatischen. Aber er strebte mit allen Kräften nach dem Stil hin. Und so sehen wir ihn schon im «Wallenstein», ich möchte sagen, sich immer mehr und mehr zum Stil herausarbeiten; und in seinen letzten Dramen immer mehr und mehr suchen, den Stil von irgendeiner Seite zu erfassen: in der «Maria Stuart», in der «Braut von Messina», in der «Jungfrau von Orleans» und so weiter. Gerade in der «Maria Stuart» ist von ihm etwas versucht, was ich etwa zum Unterschiede von dem Stil in der «Braut von Messina» Stimmungsstil nennen möchte. Das ist eigentlich ganz besonders auffällig bei der «Maria Stuart», daß wir aufeinanderfolgende Stimmungen haben. Stimmungen, herbeigeführt durch die Charaktere allerdings, durch das Teilnehmenlassen solch antagonistischer Charaktere, wie die der Maria und der Elisabeth und so weiter; aber das Drama läuft im Grunde in Stimmungen ab, und sogar die Charaktere leben sich in Stimmungen aus.
Man soll nur sehen, wie die einzelnen Persönlichkeiten mit den wechselnden Situationen sich in Stimmungen ausleben! Und so sehen wir bei der charakteristischesten Szene, die jetzt zum Vortrag durch Frau Dr. Steiner gebracht werden soll, gerade wiederum solch stilisierte Stimmung hervorgehen, auf der einen Seite aus der Stimmung, die nicht nur an Maria, sondern im ganzen Drama zu beobachten ist, als Maria in Gewahrsam ist bei einem gutmütigen Kerkermeister, dann aber in den Gewahrsam kommt eines starr seine Pflichten nehmenden Mannes - und allem, was unter diesem Einflusse geschieht. Wir sehen jetzt sich abspielen in dieser inhaltsvollen Szene, wie gerade unter dieser Stimmungsänderung die Charaktere von Maria und Elisabeth und den anderen, die dabei sind, in ganz besonderer Weise sich entfalten.
Ich möchte auf diesen Umstand aus dem Grunde hinweisen, weil wir wirklich bei Schiller ein so ernstes Streben nach Stil haben, daß bei jedem dieser Dramen, die auf den «Wallenstein» folgten, in einer anderen Weise die Stilisierung gesucht wird. Daß das für den Schauspieler eine große Bedeutung hat, will ich im Anschlusse an das in diesem Vortrag durch Frau Dr. Steiner Rezitierte später sagen. Aber aufmerksam möchte ich zunächst darauf machen, wie Schiller in der «Maria Stuart» Stimmungen stilisiert, wie er in der «Jungfrau von Orleans» Ereignisse stilisiert, die aufeinanderfolgenden Ereignisse in großartiger Weise stilisiert, wie er im «Wilhelm Tell» dazu kommt, eigentlich wahre Seelenmalerei in bezug auf Stilisierung der Charaktere herauszuarbeiten, wie er dann in der «Braut von Messina» danach strebt, Goethe möglichst ähnlich zu werden durch eine Stilisierung, die ein plastisches inneres Bühnenbild gibt, und wie er dann, ich möchte sagen, die Totalität des Menschlichen und des Ereignisreichen in dem Drama stilisieren will, in dem «Demetrius», über das er stirbt, bei dem er stirbt.
So bitte ich Sie also jetzt, sich eine Szene anzuhören: die Szene, die aus dieser Situation heraus, die ich angedeutet habe, stammt, aus der «Maria Stuart» von Schiller.
Frau Dr. Steiner liest den dritten Aufzug aus der «Maria Stuart», Szene I, II, III, IV.
Gegend in einem Park. Vorn mit Bäumen besetzt, hinten eine weite Aussicht.
Erster Auftritt.
Maria tritt in schnellem Lauf hinter Bäumen hervor. Hanna Kennedy folgt langsam.
KENNEDY
Ihr eilet ja, als wenn Ihr Hügel hättet,
So kann ich Euch nicht folgen, wartet doch!MARIA
Lass mich der neuen Freiheit geniessen,
Lass mich ein Kind sein, sei es mit!
Und auf dem grünen Teppich der Wiesen
Prüfen den leichten, geflügelten Schritt.
Bin ich dem finstern Gefängnis entstiegen?
Hält sie mich nicht mehr, die traurige Gruft?
Lass mich in vollen, in durstigen Zügen
Trinken die freie, die himmlische Luft.KENNEDY
O meine teure Lady! Euer Kerker
Ist nur um ein klein weniges erweitert.
Ihr seht nur nicht die Mauer, die uns einschliesst,
Weil sie der Bäume dicht Gesträuch versteckt.MARIA
O Dank, Dank diesen freundlich grünen Bäumen,
Die meines Kerkers Mauern mir verstecken!
Ich will mich frei und glücklich träumen,
Warum aus meinem süssen Wahn mich wecken?
Umfängt mich nicht der weite Himmelsschoss?
Die Blicke, frei und fessellos,
Ergehen sich in ungemessnen Räumen.
Dort, wo die grauen Nebelberge ragen,
Fängt meines Reiches Grenze an,
Und diese Wolken, die nach Mittag jagen,
Sie suchen Frankreichs fernen Ozean.
Eilende Wolken! Segler der Lüfte!
Wer mit euch wanderte, mit euch schiffte!
Grüsset mir freundlich mein Jugendland!
Ich bin gefangen, ich bin in Banden,
Ach, ich hab keinen andern Gesandten!
Frei in Lüften ist eure Bahn,
Ihr seid nicht dieser Königin untertan.KENNEDY
Ach, teure Lady! Ihr seid ausser Euch,
Die langentbehrte Freiheit macht Euch schwärmen.MARIA
Dort legt ein Fischer den Nachen an!
Dieses elende Werkzeug könnte mich retten,
Brächte mich schnell zu befreundeten Städten.
Spärlich nährt es den dürftigen Mann.
Beladen wollt ich ihn reich mit Schätzen,
Einen Zug sollt er tun, wie er keinen getan,
Das Glück sollt er finden in seinen Netzen,
Nähm er mich ein in den rettenden Kahn.KENNEDY
Verlorne Wünsche! Seht Ihr nicht, dass uns
Von ferne dort die Spähertritte folgen?
Ein finster grausames Verbot scheucht jedes
Mitleidige Geschöpf aus unserm Wege.MARIA
Nein, gute Hanna. Glaub mir, nicht umsonst
Ist meines Kerkers Tor geöffnet worden.
Die kleine Gunst ist mir des grössem
Glücks Verkünderin. Ich irre nicht. Es ist
Der Liebe tätge Hand, der ich sie danke;
Lord Lesters mächtgen. Arm erkenn ich drin.
Allmählich will man mein Gefängnis weiten,
Durch Kleineres zum Grössern mich gewöhnen,
Bis ich das Antlitz dessen endlich schaue,
Der mir die Bande löst auf immerdar.KENNEDY
Ach, ich kann diesen Widerspruch nicht reimen!
Noch gestern kündigt man den Tod Euch an,
Und heute wird Euch plötzlich solche Freiheit.
Auch denen, hört ich sagen, wird die Kette
Gelöst, auf die die ewge Freiheit wartet.MARIA
Hörst du das Hifthorn? Hörst du's klingen,
Mächtigen Rufes, durch Feld und Hain?
Ach, auf das mutige Ross mich zu schwingen,
An den fröhlichen Zug mich zu reihe!
Noch mehr! 0 die bekannte Stimme,
Schmerzlich süsser Erinnerung voll.
Oft vernahm sie mein Ohr mit Freuden
Auf des Hochlands bergichten Heiden,
Wenn die tobende Jagd erscholl.Zweiter Auftritt.
Paulet. Die Vorigen.
PAULET
Nun! Hab ich's endlich recht gemacht, Mylady?
Verdien ich einmal Euern Dank?MARIA
Wie, Ritter? Seid Ihr's, der diese Gunst mir ausgewirkt?
Ihr seid's?PAULET
Warum soll ich's nicht sein? Ich war
Am Hof, ich überbrachte Euer Schreiben—MARIA
Ihr übergabt es? Wirklich, tatet Ihr's?
Und diese Freiheit, die ich jetzt geniesse,
Ist eine Frucht des Briefs—PAULET (mit Bedeutung)
Und nicht die einzge!
Macht Euch auf eine grössre noch gefasst!MARIA
Auf eine grössre, Sir? Was meint Ihr damit?
PAULET
Ihr hörtet doch die Hörner—
MARIA (zurückfahrend, mit Ahnung)
Ihr erschreckt mich!PAULET
Die Königin jagt in dieser Gegend.
MARIA
Was?
PAULET
In wenig Augenblicken steht sie vor Euch.
KENNEDY
(auf MARIA zueilend, welche zittert und hinzusinken droht)
Wie wird Euch, teure Lady! Ihr verblasst.PAULET
Nun! ist's nun nicht recht? War's nicht Eure Bitte?
Sie wird Euch früher gewährt, als Ihr gedacht.
Ihr wart sonst immer so geschwinder Zunge,
Jetzt bringet Eure Worte an, jetzt ist
Der Augenblick zu reden!MARIA
Oh, warum hat man mich nicht vorbereitet!
Jetzt bin ich nicht darauf gefasst, jetzt nicht.
Was ich mir als die höchste Gunst erbeten,
Dünkt mir jetzt schrecklich, fürchterlich.—Komm, Hanna,
Führ mich ins Haus, dass ich mich fasse, mich
Erhole—PAULET
Bleibt! Ihr müsst sie hier erwarten.
Wohl, wohl mag's Euch beängstigen, ich glaub's,
Vor Euerm Richter zu erscheinen.Dritter Auftritt.
Graf Shrewsbury zu den Vorigen.
MARIA
Es ist nicht darum! Gott, mir ist ganz anders
Zumut.—Ach, edler Shrewsbury! Ihr kommt,
Vom Himmel mir. ein Engel zugesendet!
—Ich kann sie nicht sehn! Rettet, rettet mich
Von dem verhassten Anblick—SHREWSBURY
Kommt zu Euch, Königin! Fasst Euern Mut
Zusammen! Das ist die entscheidungsvolle Stunde.MARIA
Ich habe drauf geharret—Jahrelang
Mich drauf bereitet, alles hab ich mir
Gesagt und ins Gedächtnis eingeschrieben,
Wie ich sie rühren wollte und bewegen!
Vergessen plötzlich, ausgelöscht ist alles,
Nichts lebt in mir in diesem Augenblick,
Als meiner Leiden brennendes Gefühl.
In Blutgen Hass gewendet wider sie
Ist mir das Herz, es fliehen alle guten
Gedanken, und die Schlangenhaare schüttelnd
Umstehen mich die finstern Höllengeister.SHREWSBURY
Gebietet Euerm wild empörten Blut,
Bezwingt des Herzens Bitterkeit! Es bringt
Nicht gute Frucht, wenn Hass dem Hass begegnet.
Wie sehr auch Euer Innres widerstrebe,
Gehorcht der Zeit und dem Gesetz der Stunde!
Sie ist die Mächtige.—Demütigt Euch!MARIA
Vor ihr! Ich kann es nimmermehr.
SHREWSBURY
Tut's dennoch!
Sprecht ehrerbietig, mit Gelassenheit!
Ruft ihre Grossmut an, trotzt nicht, jetzt nicht
Auf Euer Recht, jetzo ist nicht die Stunde!MARIA
Ach, mein Verderben ha`, ich mir erfleht,
Und mir zum Fluche wird mein Flehn erhört!
Nie hätten wir uns sehen sollen, niemals!
Daraus kann nimmer, nimmer Gutes kommen!
Eh mögen Feur und Wasser sich in Liebe
Begegnen, und das Lamm den Tiger küssen.—
Ich bin zu schwer verletzt—sie hat zu schwer
Beleidigt.—Nie ist zwischen uns Versöhnung!SHREWSBURY
Seht sie nur erst von Angesicht!
Ich sah es ja, wie sie von Euerm Brief
Erschüttert war, ihr Auge schwamm in Tränen.
Nein, sie ist nicht gefühllos, hegt Ihr selbst
Nur besseres Vertrauen!—Darum eben
Bin ich vorausgeeilt, damit ich Euch
In Fassung setzen und ermahnen möchte.MARIA (seine Hand ergreifend)
Ach, Talbot! Ihr wart stets mein Freund.—Dass ich
In Eurer milden Haft geblieben wäre!
Es ward mir hart begegnet, Shrewsbury!SHREWSBURY
Vergesst jetzt alles! Darauf denkt allein,
Wie Ihr sie unterwürfig wollt empfangen.MARIA
Ist Burleigh auch mit ihr, mein böser Engel?
SHREWSBURY
Niemand begleitet sie, als Graf von Lester.
MARIA
Lord Lester!
SHREWSBURY
Fürchtet nichts von ihm! Nicht er
Will Euern Untergang.—Sein Werk ist es,
Dass Euch die Königin die Zusammenkunft
Bewilligt.MARIA
Ach! Ich wusst es wohl!
SHREWSBURY
Was sagt Ihr?
PAULET
Die Königin kommt!
(Alles weicht auf die Seite; nur MARIA bleibt, auf die KENNEDY gelehnt.)
Vierter Auftritt.
Die Vorigen. Elisabeth. Graf Leicester. Gefolge.
ELISABETH (zu LEICESTER)
Wie heisst der Landsitz?
LEICESTER
Fotheringhayschloss.
ELISABETH (zu SHREWSBURY)
Schickt unser Jagdgefolg voraus nach London!
Das Volk drängt allzu heftig in den Strassen,
Wir suchen Schutz in diesem stillen Park.
(Talbot entfernt das Gefolge. Sie fixiert mit den Augen die MARIA, indem sie zu FAULET weiter spricht.)
Mein gutes Volk liebt mich zu sehr. Unmässig,
Abgöttisch sind die Zeichen seiner Freude,
So ehrt man einen Gott, nicht einen Menschen.MARIA
(welche diese Zeit über halb ohnmächtig auf die Amme gelehnt war, erhebt sich jetzt, und ihr Auge begegnet dem gespannten Blick der ELISABETH. Sie schaudert zusammen und wirft sich wieder an der Amme Brust)
O Gott, aus diesen Zügen spricht kein Herz!ELISABETH
Wer ist die Lady?
(Ein allgemeines Schweigen.)LEICESTER
Du bist zu Fotheringhay, Königin.
ELISABETH
(stellt sich überrascht und erstaunt, einen finstern Blick auf LEICESTER richtend)
Wer hat mir das getan? Lord Lester!LEICESTER
Es ist geschehen, Königin—und nun
Der Himmel deinen Schritt hieher gelenkt,
So lass die Grossmut und das Mitleid siegen!SHREWSBURY
Lass dich erbitten, königliche Frau,
Dein Aug auf die Unglückliche zu richten,
Die hier vergeht vor deinem Anblick.(MARIA rafft sich zusammen und will auf die ELISABETH zugehen, steht aber auf halbem Wege schaudernd still, ihre Gebärden drücken den heftigsten Kampf aus.)
ELISABETH
Wie, My lords?
Wer war es denn, der eine Tiefgebeugte
Mir angekündigt? Eine Stolze find ich,
Vom Unglück keineswegs geschmeidigt.MARIA
Sei's!
Ich will mich auch noch diesem unterwerfen.
Fahr hin, ohnmächtger Stolz der edeln Seele!
Ich will vergessen, wer ich bin und was
Ich litt; ich will vor ihr mich niederwerfen,
Die mich in diese Schmach herunterstiess.
(Sie wendet sich gegen die Königin.)
Der Himmel hat für Euch entschieden, Schwester!
Gekrönt vom Sieg ist Euer glücklich Haupt;
Die Gottheit bet ich an, die Euch erhöhte!
(Sie fällt vor ihr nieder.)
Doch seid auch Ihr nun edelmütig, Schwester!
Lasst mich nicht schmachvoll liegen! Eure Hand
Streckt aus, reicht mir die königliche Rechte,
Mich zu erheben von dem tiefen Fall!ELISABETH (zurücktretend)
Ihr seid an Euerm Platz, Lady Maria!
Und dankend preis ich meines Gottes Gnade,
Der nicht gewollt, dass ich zu Euern Füssen
So liegen sollte, wie Ihr jetzt zu meinen.MARIA (mit steigendem Affekt)
Denkt an den Wechsel alles Menschlichen!
Es leben Götter, die den Hochmut rächen!
Verehret, fürchtet sie, die schrecklichen,
Die mich zu Euern Füssen niederstürzen!—
Um dieser fremden Zeugen willen, ehrt
In mir Euch selbst! entweihet, schändet nicht
Das Blut der Tudor, das in meinen Adern
Wie in den Euern fliesst!-O Gott im Himmel!
Steht nicht da, schroff und unzugänglich wie
Die Felsenklippe, die der Strandende
Vergeblich ringend zu erfassen strebt.
Mein alles hängt, mein Leben, mein Geschick,
An meiner Worte, meiner Tränen Kraft;
Löst mir das Herz, dass ich das Eure rühre!
Wenn Ihr mich anschaut mit dem Eisesblick,
Schliesst sich das Herz mir schaudernd zu, der Strom
Der Tränen stockt, und kaltes Grausen fesselt
Die Flehensworte mir im Busen an.ELISABETH (kalt und streng)
Was habt Ihr mir zu sagen, Lady Stuart?
Ihr habt mich sprechen wollen. Ich vergesse
Die Königin, die schwer beleidigte,
Die fromme Pflicht der Schwester zu erfüllen,
Und meines Anblicks Trost gewähr ich Euch.
Dem Trieb der Grossmut folg ich, setze mich
Gerechtem Tadel aus, dass ich so weit
Heruntersteige—denn Ihr wisst,
Dass Ihr mich habt ermorden lassen wollen.MARIA
Womit soll ich den Anfang machen, wie
Die Worte klüglich stellen, dass sie Euch
Das Herz ergreifen, aber nicht verletzen!
O Gott, gib meiner Rede Kraft und nimm
Ihr jeden Stachel, der verwunden könnte!
Kann ich doch für mich selbst nicht sprechen, ohne Euch
Schwer zu verklagen, und das will ich nicht.
—Ihr habt an mir gehandelt, wie nicht recht ist,
Denn ich bin eine Königin wie Ihr,
Und Ihr habt als Gefangne mich gehalten.
Ich kam zu Euch als eine Bittende,
Und Ihr, des Gastrechts heilige Gesetze,
Der Völker heilig Recht in mir verhöhnend,
Schlosst mich in Kerkermauern ein; die Freunde,
Die Diener werden grausam mir entrissen,
Unwürdgem Mangd werd ich preisgegeben,
Man stellt mich vor einschimpfliches Gericht—
Nichts mehr davon! Ein ewiges Vergessen
Bedecke, was ich Grausames erlitt.
—Seht! Ich will alles eine Schickung nennen;
Ihr seid nicht schuldig, ich bin auch nicht schuldig;
Ein böser Geist stieg aus dem Abgrund auf,
Den Hass in unsern Herzen zu entzünden,
Der unsre zarte Jugend schon entzweit.
Er wuchs mit uns, und böse Menschen fachten
Der unglückselgen Flamme Atem zu.
Wahnsinnge Eiferer bewaffneten
Mit Schwert und Dolch die unberufne Hand—
Das ist das Fluchgeschick der Könige,
Dass sie, entzweit, die Welt in Hass zerreissen
Und jeder Zwietracht Furien entfesseln.
—Jetzt ist kein fremder Mund mehr zwischen uns—
(nähert sich ihr zutraulich und mit schmeichelndem Ton)
Wir stehe einander selbst nun gegenüber.
Jetzt, Schwester, redet! Nennt mir meine Schuld;
Ich will Euch völliges Genügen leisten.
Ach, dass Ihr damals mir Gehör geschenkt,
Als ich so dringend Euer Auge suchte!
Es wäre nie so weit gekommen, nicht
An diesem traurgen Ort geschähe jetzt
Die unglückselig traurige Begegnung.ELISABETH
Mein guter Stern bewahrte mich davor,
Die Natter an den Busen mir zu legen.
—Nicht die Geschicke, Euer schwarzes Herz
Klagt an, die wilde Ehrsucht Eures Hauses.
Nichts Feindliches war zwischen uns geschehn
Da kündigte mir Euer Ohm, der stolze,
Herrschwütge Priester, der die freche Hand
Nach allen Kronen streckt, die Fehde an,
Betörte Euch, mein Wappen anzunehmen,
Euch meine Königstitel zuzueignen,
Auf Tod und Leben in den Kampf mit mir
Zu gehn.—Wen rief er gegen mich nicht auf?
Der Priester Zungen und der Völker Schwert,
Des frommen Wahnsinns fürchterliche Waffen;
Hier selbst, im Friedenssitze meines Reichs,
Blies er mir der Empörung Flammen an
Doch Gott ist mit mir—und der stolze Priester
Behält das Feld nicht.—Meinem Haupte war
Der Streich gedrohet, und das Eure fällt!MARIA
Ich steh in Gottes Hand. Ihr werdet Euch
So blutig Eurer Macht nicht überheben—ELISABETH
Wer soll mich hindern? Euer Oheim gab
Das Beispiel allen Königen der Welt,
Wie man mit seinen Feinden Frieden macht.
Die Sankt Barthelemi sei meine Schule!
Was ist mir Blutsverwandtschaft, Völkerrecht?
Die Kirche trennet aller Pflichten Band,
Den Treubruch heiligt sie, den Königsmord;
Ich übe nur, was Eure Priester lehren.
Sagt! Welches Pfand gewährte mir für Euch,
Wenn ich grossmütig Eure Bande löste?
Mit welchem Schloss verwahr ich Eure Treue,
Das nicht Sankt Peters Schlüssel öffnen kann?
Gewalt nur ist die einzge Sicherheit;
Kein Bündnis ist mit dem Gezücht der Schlangen.MARIA
Oh, das ist Euer traurig finstrer Argwohn!
Ihr habt mich stets als eine Feindin nur
Und Fremdlingin betrachtet. Hättet Ihr
Zu Eurer Erbin mich erklärt, wie mir
Gebührt, so hätten Dankbarkeit und Liebe
Euch eine treue Freundin und Verwandte
In mir erhalten.ELISABETH
Draussen, Lady Stuart,
Ist Eure Freundschaft, Euer Haus das Papsttum,
Der Mönch ist Euer Bruder—Euch zur Erbin
Erklären! Der verräterische Fallstrick!
Dass Ihr bei meinem Leben noch mein Volk
Verführet, eine listige, Armida,
Die edle Jugend meines Königreichs
In Eurem Buhlemetze schlau verstricktet—
Dass alles sich der neu aufgehnden Sonne
Zuwendete, und ich—MARIA
Regiert in Frieden!
Jedwedem Anspruch auf dies Reich entsag ich.
Ach, meines Geistes Schwingen sind gelähmt;
Nicht Grösse lockt mich mehr—Ihr habt's erreicht,
Ich bin nur noch der Schatten der Maria.
Gebrochen ist in langer Kerkerschmach
Der edle Mut—Ihr habt das Äusserste an mir
Getan, habt mich zerstört in meiner Blüte!
—Jetzt macht ein Ende, Schwester! Sprecht es aus,
Das Wort, um dessentwillen Ihr gekommen,
Denn nimmer will ich glauben, dass Ihr kamt,
Um. Euer Opfer Grausam zu verhöhnen.
Sprecht dieses Wort aus! sagt mir: ' Ihr seid frei,
Maria! Meine Macht habt Ihr gefühlt,
Jetzt lernet meinen Edelmut verehren! '
Sagt's, und ich will mein Leben, meine Freiheit
Als ein Geschenk aus Eurer Hand empfangen.
—Ein Wort macht alles ungeschehn. Ich warte
Darauf. Oh, lasst mich's nicht zu lang erharren!
Weh Euch, wenn Ihr mit diesem Wort nicht endet!
Denn wenn Ihr jetzt nicht segenbringend, herrlich,
Wie eine Gottheit von mir scheidet—Schwester!
Nicht um dies ganze reiche Eiland, nicht
Um alle Länder, die das Meer umfasst,
Möcht ich vor Euch so stehn wie Ihr vor mir!ELISABETH
Bekennt Ihr endlich Euch für überwunden?
Ist's aus mit Euren Ränken? Ist kein Mörder
Mehr unterweges? Will kein Abenteurer
Für Euch die traurge Ritterschaft mehr wagen?
—Ja, es ist aus, Lady Maria. Ihr verführt
Mir keinen mehr. Die Welt hat andre Sorgen.
Es lüstet keinen, Euer—vierter Mann
Zu werden, denn Ihr tötet Eure Freier
Wie Eure Männer!MARIA (auffahrend)
Schwester! Schwester!
O Gott! Gott! Gib mir Mässigung!ELISABETH
(sieht sie lange mit einem Blick stolzer Verachtung an)
Das also sind die Reizungen, Lord Lester,
Die ungestraft kein Mann erblickt, daneben
Kein andres Weib sich wagen darf zu stellen!
Fürwahr! Der Ruhm war wohlfeil zu erlangen,
Es kostet nichts, die allgemeine Schönheit
Zu sein, als die gemeine sein für alle!MARIA
Das ist zuviel!
ELISABETH (höhnisch lachend)
Jetzt zeigt Ihr Euer wahres
Gesicht, bis jetzt war's nur die Larve.MARIA
(von Zorn glühend, doch mit einer edeln Würde)
Ich habe menschlich, jugendlich gefehlt
Die Macht verführte mich, ich hab es nicht
Verheimlicht und verborgen, falschen Schein
Hab ich verschmäht mit königlichem Freimut.
Das Ärgste weiss die Welt von mir, und ich
Kann sagen, ich bin besser als mein Ruf.
Weh Euch, wenn sie von Euern Taten einst
Den Ehrenmantel zieht, womit Ihr gleissend
Die wilde Glut yerstohlner Lüste deckt.
Nicht Ehrbarkeit habt Ihr von Eurer Mutter
Geerbt; man weiss, um welcher Tugend willen
Anna von Boleyn das Schafott bestiegen.SHREWSBURY
(tritt zwischen beide Koniginnen)
O Gott des Himmels! Muss es dahin kommen!
Ist das die Mässigung, die Unterwerfung,
Lady Maria?MARIA
Mässigung! Ich habe
Ertragen, was ein Mensch ertragen kann.
Fahr hin, lammherzige Gelassenheit!
Zum Himmel fliehe, leidende Geduld!
Spreng endlich deine Bande, tritt hervor
Aus deiner Höhle, langverhaltner Groll!—
Und du, der dem gereizten Basilisk
Den Mordblick gab, leg auf die Zunge mir
Den giftgen Pfeil—SHREWSBURY
Oh, sie ist ausser sich!
Verzeih der Rasenden, der schwer Gereizten!
(ELISABETH, vor Zorn sprachlos, schiesst wütende Blicke auf MARIEN.)LEICESTER
(in der heftigsten Unruhe, sucht die Elisabeth hinwegzuführen)
Höre
Die Wütende nicht an! Hinweg, hinweg
Von diesem unglückselgen Ort!MARIA
Der Thron von England ist durch einen Bastard
Entweiht, der Briten edelherzig Volk
Durch eine listge Gauklerin betrogen.
—Regierte Recht, so läget Ihr vor mir
Im Staube jetzt, denn ich bin Euer König.
(ELISABETH geht schnell ab, die Lords folgen ihr in der höchsten Bestürzung.)
Nun, meine lieben Freunde, wenn wir gewissermaßen eine solche Dichtung repräsentativ nehmen, die zunächst als Dichtung herausgewachsen ist aus wirklichen künstlerischen Intentionen, so kann uns gerade an derlei die Frage aufgehen: Wie soll nun die Beziehung des Schauspielers zu der Dichtung sein? — Das ist auch dasjenige, was uns zunächst beschäftigen muß, damit wir daraus wiederum spezielle Gesetze finden.
Wenn wir prüfen, wie Dichtungen im Laufe der Zeit zustande gekommen sind, so können wir deutlich zwischen den Tendenzen bei Dichtern unterscheiden, wo unmittelbar der Stoff dasjenige ist, was den Dichter zur Dichtung getrieben hat. Wir können in gewissem Sinne dies sagen von dem jungen Schiller, der an seine « Räuber» ging. Wir sehen überall, daß es der Stoff im weitesten Sinne ist, das Geschehnis, die einzelnen Charaktere, die ihn interessieren, die er dichterisch gestalten will. Wir können selbst in einem gewissen Lebensabschnitt Goethes, zum Beispiel in dem, wo er die ersten Teile seines «Faust» geschrieben hat, wo er seinen «Götz von Berlichingen» geschrieben hat, sagen: Der Dichter geht da von dem Interesse an Stoff und Charakteren aus. — Faust ist ein Charakter, der Goethe intensiv interessiert; dasjenige, was ein Faust erleben kann, interessiert ihn weiter. Götz von Berlichingen als Figur auf der einen Seite, die Zeit, in der Götz von Berlichingen lebte, auf der anderen Seite, sie sind dasjenige, was in Goethe lebt.
Wenn wir Schiller an seine «Maria Stuart» herankommen sehen, dann ist das nicht so. Diesem Herankommen an die «Maria Stuart» geht ein bewußtes Hinstreben zur künstlerischen Dramatik voran. Er will vor allen Dingen Dramen schaffen, die künstlerische Dramatik darstellen. Dazu sucht er seinen Stoff. Er sucht gewissermaßen den künstlerischen Stil und sucht dazu seine Stoffe. Der Stoff der Maria ist nicht dasjenige, wovon Schiller ausgegangen ist; er hat ihn gesucht, um ein in Stimmungen stilisiertes Drama kunstgerecht schaffen zu können. Das ist schon von einer großen Bedeutung auch für den Schauspieler. Denn wenn wir an die Schauspielschule denken, dann müssen wir sagen: Es soll wirklich geübt werden beiderlei; es soll geübt werden dasjenige, was in der Dichtung das Stoffinteresse des Dichters voraussetzt, also etwa geübt werden ein Drama wie der «Götz von Berlichingen», geübt werden ein Drama selbst wie die «Räuber»; aber es soll auf der anderen Seite auch ein Drama geübt werden wie etwa die «Maria Stuart», die «Jungfrau von Orleans» oder die «Braut von Messina» oder der «Wilhelm Tell». - Und es gehört einmal dazu, daß gerade bei solchen Übungen, wo man die verschiedenen dramatischen Stile in der Praxis gestalten soll, nun wirklich die rein schauspielerische Betrachtung da hineingehe in die Betrachtung, die sich mehr an die Dichtung anschließt als etwa die bloße Besprechung, wie soll man das oder jenes machen?
Und so sollte schon, sagen wir, zum Beispiel gegenüber dem «Wilhelm Tell» anschaulich gemacht werden, weil das für den Schauspieler eine sehr gute Grundlage sein kann, um an dem Stil der Dichtung seinen Stil zu entwickeln, wie zum Beispiel Schiller an der Stilisierung beim «Wilhelm Tell» an sehr vielen Stellen wiederum gescheitert ist. Es kann einem besonders dann entgegentreten, wenn jemand, der — ja, wie soll man das nennen: literaturgeschichtsgläubig könnte man es nennen -, wenn einer, der literaturgeschichtsgläubig ist — es gibt ja auch solche Gläubige -, den «Wilhelm Tell» übt. Da wird er so, wie es der Illusion der Professoren, aber nicht dem Leben entspricht, zu denjenigen, an die er die Interpretation heranbringt, sagen: Welch schöne Szene da, wo der Wilhelm Tell es zurückweist, zu den Versammlungen der anderen zu gehen, wo er darauf aufmerksam macht, daß er der Mann der Tat ist und nicht der Mann des Wortes, wo er fordert, die anderen sollen reden bei ihren Versammlungen, ihn solle man rufen zur Tat! - Nun, ich habe derlei Bewunderung gehött, die so von Literaturgeschichtsgläubigen an ein noch gläubigeres Publikum, an jung und alt herangebracht wird. Das erbt sich dann, frei nach «Faust», wie Gesetz und Recht als eine ewige Krankheit fort. Man sieht dann diese Krankheit durch Schulen und durch alles mögliche hindurchgehen, und keiner frägt: Ja, ist denn das überhaupt möglich, daß der Tell das sagt? Gibt es denn das? - Das gibt es nämlich nicht. Gewiß, den Charakter gibt es, den Schiller wollte. Der wird selbstverständlich nicht große Worte schwätzen und sich vorne hinsetzen bei den Versammlungen, aber er wird schon ganz rückwärts sitzen und zuhören und nicht damit renommieren, daß die anderen reden sollen und man ihn rufen soll zur’Tat, so daß er gar keine Ahnung hat, was er eigentlich tun soll. Sehen Sie, das gibt es eben überhaupt nicht, was da Schiller schreibt. Und man kann an solchen Dingen auch noch seine Unbefangenheit schulen, und das ist im Künstlerischen außerordentlich notwendig. Schiller ist eben, wie ich sagte, gescheitert, weil er das Stilisieren bis in die Schablone hinein treibt. Das Stilisieren darf aber nicht aus dem Leben herausgehen, sondern muß natürlich im Leben darinnen bleiben.
Nun bekommt der Schauspieler oder der Lernende des Schauspiels das eine oder andere dichterische Werk, von deren Art ich gesprochen habe, um daran die Darstellungskunst zu üben. Wie wird man votrgehen, sagen wir, um in die Bühnenpraxis hineinzukommen, bei den «Räubern» oder bei «Don Carlos»? Wie wird man vorgehen bei der «Maria Stuart» oder bei der «Braut von Messina»? Hat man ein Drama der ersteren Art vor sich, dann wird es sich darum handeln, daß man möglichst bald, nachdem man dasjenige vorgenommen hat, was ich als Ausbildung von Mimik und Gebärde charakterisiert habe, während der andere rezitiert, dieses überzuführen hat in das gleichzeitige Rezitieren, gleichzeitige Sprechen und Spielen des Akteurs. Man muß zuerst auch das Gebärdenhafte üben, aber kurz, und möglichst bald die Gebärde mit dem Worte in Verbindung bringen.
Hat man Dramen der zweiten Art vor sich, so ist das andere notwendig. Man lasse sich so lange wie möglich vorsprechen, übe Gebärde und Mimik und versuche, so spät als möglich beides in der eigenen Person miteinander zu verbinden. Dadurch bekommt man in dem zweiten Falle dasjenige heraus, was in dem ersten Fall nicht notwendig ist, ja vielleicht sogar schädlich werden kann. Man bekommt nämlich das heraus, daß die Gebärde, die dann festliegt, die da ist, instinktiv unbewußt mitwirkt bei der Gestaltung des Wortes. Wenn man ein Stildrama leitet, ein Drama, das ganz im Künstlerischen lebt, so handelt es sich darum, daß man in das ganze Studieren das hineinbringt, was Schauspielkunst und Dichtung verbindet. Nur dadurch wird es möglich, daß die Schauspielkunst in das richtige Verhältnis zum Publikum kommt, und davon hängt doch außerordentlich vieles ab.
Das Publikum wird überhaupt nicht leicht zu irgendeiner in der Seele festliegenden Stimmung kommen, wenn man Naturalistisches noch dazu naturalistisch darstellt. Denn man kann dann durch dieses oder jenes blenden, so daß eine augenblickliche Aufmerksamkeit da ist, aber man kommt durch nichts so an das Publikum heran wie dadurch, daß man das Publikum aus dem naturalistischen Leben heraushebt und zur Kunst hinaufhebt.
Nehmen wir also an, wir hätten bei der Szene, die eben vorgebracht worden ist, uns nun zu beraten, wie wir hier vorgehen wollen, damit die Szene wirklich auf der Bühne steht. Da kann die Frage entstehen: Ja, wie sollen wir dasjenige, was sich nun um Wortgestaltung herum offenbaren muß, für die Szene gestalten? Eine naturalistische Umgebung, etwa ein Wald möglichst naturalistisch gemalt, wird hier ganz gewiß nicht angemessen sein. Denn man kann sich kaum denken, daß dasjenige, was so herbeigeführt wird wie die Motive dieser Szene - im Grunde genommen gegen den Willen aller Menschen, die dabei sind, für alle eine Überraschung -, in irgendeiner Weise stilvoll dadurch gestaltet werden kann, daß man nun die ganze Szene in eine naturalistische Morgen- oder irgendwelche Stimmung eines Waldes hineinstellt. Daher gibt es da nichts anderes als die Stimmung, um die es sich handelt, wirklich auch stilgemäß zu gestalten.
Sehen Sie, ich bin gerade vorhin brieflich gefragt worden, ob ich mich nicht weiter aussprechen möchte über dasjenige, was ich vorgestern über Dekorationsmalerei gesagt habe. Ja, meine lieben Freunde, so weit mein Gedächtnis reicht, habe ich überhaupt noch nicht über Dekorationsmalerei gesprochen, sondern ich habe, ausgehend vom Charakter des Künstlerischen, Bezug genommen auf die Landschaftsmalerei. Ich möchte nicht gerne in der Weise mißverstanden werden, wie das in diesem Falle geschehen ist. Ich habe noch gar nicht über Dekorationsmalerei gesprochen.
Nun wird es sich hier darum handeln, daß man so recht gewahr wird, wie man es für die Bühnendekoration zunächst überhaupt niemals zu tun haben kann mit irgendeiner Malerei, denn man hat doch malerisch bloß Beleuchtung und derlei anderes. Also von Malerei kann bei der sogenannten Dekorationsmalerei nicht die Rede sein. Aber hier bei dieser Szene muß in erster Linie die Rede davon sein, daß wir Stimmung und Stimmungsübergänge in der Umgebung der Sprechenden haben.
Nun läßt sich natürlich über Stimmungen immer diskutieren, aber niemand wird es vielleicht doch für ganz unangemessen finden, wenn man in diesem Falle bei dieser Szene die Stimmung durch eine allgemeine Beleuchtung der Bühne hervorruft, die natürlich sich im Laufe der Handlung ändern muß, die aber im wesentlichen bestehen muß in einem rötlichen Grundton: über die ganze Bühne die Stimmung eines rötlichen Grundtones, der, ich möchte sagen, sich innerlich spießend, am Schlusse sich, wo Maria so scharf wird, gelb aufhellt. Zwischendurch kann man mancherlei Stimmungen hineinbringen, zum Beispiel gleich im Beginne, wo Maria die eigentümliche sentimentale Ader entwickelt, in die allgemeine rötliche Stimmung eine bläulichviolette Stimmung hineinbringen. Das muß die nächste Frage sein.
Dazu kann man nun natürlich nicht auf den Kulissen einen beliebig naturalistisch gemalten Wald haben, sondern die nächste Frage ist nun diese: Welche Farbengebung müssen die Bäume haben, die man natürlich braucht. - Dann ergibt sich aus der Szene heraus, daß man dasjenige abstimmen muß, was man zur Lichtstimmung haben muß, mit der Farbengebung der Bäume, daß man also die Bäume nicht klatschgrün hineinmalen kann in die rote Stimmung, sondern daß man da schon auch in die Farbenmischung hinein etwas Rötliches nehmen muß, daß man, damit das Auge ruhen kann auch in demjenigen Punkte, wo Maria scharf wird, in die Palette oder eigentlich in den Pinsel — man sollte nie mit der Palette malen, sondern immer mit der flüssigen Farbe -, Gelb hineinnehmen muß zu gewissen Stellen. Dann wird man ein Stimmungsbild auch auf der Szene haben. Und so hat man vorzugehen bis zum Kostüm. Dabei wird man sich klar sein müssen, daß es sich nicht darum handeln kann, sogenannte Phantasiekostüme, stilisierte Kostüme zu erfinden, damit die Menschen drin ausschauen wie Schrauben, sondern daß es sich darum handeln wird, Kostüme zu haben im Schnitt, die schon an die Menschen angepaßt sind, denn die Stilisierung des Kostümmäßigen auf der Bühne muß bestehen namentlich in der Wahl der Farben und in der Harmonik der Farben über die verschiedenen Persönlichkeiten hin. Es wird niemandem einfallen wollen, in solchen Dingen ganz grobklotzig vorzugehen und das Nächstbequemste zu wählen, denn das würde natürlich bedingen, daß man die Maria schwarz anzieht. Aber Schwarz auf der Bühne kann nur dann sein, wenn es künstlerisch gerechtfertigt ist; das Schwarze löscht sich ja aus auf der Bühne. Also könnte man nur Teufel, oder was dem ähnlich ist, in Schwarz erscheinen lassen, sollte auch nichts anderes wollen. Maria wird schon ein dunkelviolettes Kostüm zu tragen haben. Und man wird zunächst an das Kostüm der Maria denken. Beim Stilisieren handelt es sich immer darum, an was man zuerst zu denken hat, dann kommt man ganz selbstverständlich dazu, wenn man das violette Kostüm der Maria hat, für die Elisabeth ein rötlich-gelbliches Kostüm zu wählen, und dann ergeben sich die Farben der anderen durch entsprechend geschmackvolle Abschattierung.
Auf diese Weise bekommt man ein Bühnenbild, und Sie werden sehen, wenn wirklich nach solchen Dingen hin gestrebt wird, geht das Publikum mit.
Warum wird es denn heute dem Schauspieler so schwer, das Publikum mitgehen zu lassen? Ja, sehen Sie, weil im Grunde genommen doch nicht in dem Willen zum Stil der nötige Ernst vorhanden ist. Eigentlich sollte man über das Publikum möglichst wenig sprechen, man sollte über die Kunst selber sprechen. Das Publikum hat eigentlich niemals die Schuld. Aber ich frage Sie, meine lieben Freunde, wie kann denn Künstlerisches wirklich zutage treten, wenn Thheatergründungen etwa die folgende historisch beglaubigte Gesinnung zugrunde liegen haben? Es wurde in einer Stadt ein großes Theater begründet unter einem schriftstellernden Journalisten, der Dramen schrieb, der die Direktion dieses Theaters übernahm. Das Theater bekam den Namen eines hervorragenden Klassikers. Und siehe da, es war natürlich auch angemessen, äußerlich so weit bis zur Stilisierung zu gehen, nun eine Rede zu halten bei der Eröffnung, welche schönste Phrasen über den Klassiker enthielt, schönste Phrasen darüber, in welch schönen Bahnen man wandle, wenn man in den Bahnen dieses Klassikers wandle, denn er war vor allen Dingen selber ein Mann der Bühnenkunst; er hatte so viele schöne goldene Regeln der Bühnenkunst gegeben. Und wenn man dann noch kommt zu dem hingebungsvollen Sinn an die hohe Kunst, die man nur, weil das nun einmal notwendig ist gegenüber dem Geschmack des Publikums, ab und zu abwechseln lassen will mit einer leichteren Ware - ja, so ist es schon in gewissem Sinne äußerlich stilvoll, mit solch einer Rede zu beginnen.
Aber der Stil muß innerlich sein. Er muß wirklich erlebt sein. Und ich frage Sie, ob der Stil dann wirklich vorhanden ist — gleichgültig, was da gesagt worden ist in diesem Prologus, der vom Direktor gesprochen wurde -, wenn, nachdem das alles vorüber war, folgendes eintritt? Selbstverständlich hatten auch noch andere gesprochen, der Präses des Theaterkomitees in entsprechendem Sinne von dem Direktor und so weiter. Nun, wie es eben zugeht — da drinnen ist Stil, nicht wahr, aber was für einer? Nicht unmittelbares Leben. Da drinnen ist schon Still Aber dann kam es ziemlich bald. Man ging weg. Nun, unter solchen Leuten sind manchmal wirklich auch Idealisten; sie sind ja selten, aber es sind manchmal Idealisten darunter. Da sagte einer dieser Idealisten oder Halbidealisten zu dem Direktor: Ich wünsche, daß Sie in dem Sinne, wie Sie gesprochen haben, einen recht guten, für die Kunst heilsamen Erfolg haben. - Darauf erwiderte der Direktor: Aber bei der zweiten Million schnappe ich!
Ja, sehen Sie, da geht der Stil kaputt, denn er ist nicht in der Gesinnung darinnen. Und eigentlich nur, weil es in der Gegenwart soweit gekommen ist, daß Stil tatsächlich etwas ist, was man gar nicht mehr fühlt im Leben, muß auch auf solche Dinge aufmerksam gemacht werden, daß Stil nur dann hervortreten wird beim Menschen, wenn er in ganz seriöser Weise auch wirklich im Stil darinnen lebt. An diesen Punkt wollen wir dann noch einzelne Betrachtungen anknüpfen. Ich glaube, wir werden, um alles dasjenige besprechen zu können, was für diese Vorträge notwendig ist, vielleicht noch drei oder vier Stunden brauchen. [Jubel unter den Zuhörern.]
12. Artistic Drama Stylized Moods
Today we want to begin by reciting a scene that arose from an endeavor to achieve a genuine style, particularly in drama. I would like to touch on this subject briefly, because it actually shows how the true poet, in the best sense of the word, approaches this question of style in his practical work. We know that Schiller did not begin with actual stylistic dramas, but that – not to mention The Robbers – in Fiesco , in “Intrigue and Love,” and even in “Don Carlos.” His poetic creativity then dried up, and Schiller had to devote himself to other things. But during that time, the whole relationship between Schiller and Goethe changed. And Schiller actually developed his further artistic vision, one might say, by taking as the basis for this development the view of what constituted Goethe's work. Goethe's work inspired Schiller to develop his own dramatic activity. This can be traced piece by piece in their correspondence or in the accounts of their conversations from that time. And it should come as no surprise that Schiller, who saw Goethe as the representative artist, took Goethe as his role model, who created works such as “Iphigenia” and “Tasso,” elevating the dramatic to the level of linguistic style.
Schiller certainly did not intend to advance drama entirely to this linguistic style alone, but naturally thought of the totality of the dramatic. However, he strove with all his might toward this style. And so we see him already in “Wallenstein,” I would say, working his way more and more toward style; and in his last dramas, seeking more and more to grasp style from some angle: in Maria Stuart, in The Bride of Messina, in The Maid of Orleans, and so on. In Maria Stuart in particular, he attempts something that I would call a mood style, in contrast to the style in The Bride of Messina. This is particularly noticeable in Maria Stuart, where we have successive moods. Moods brought about by the characters, of course, by allowing us to participate in such antagonistic characters as Mary and Elizabeth and so on; but the drama basically unfolds in moods, and even the characters live out their lives in moods.
One only has to see how the individual personalities live out their moods in changing situations! And so, in the most characteristic scene, which Dr. Steiner is now going to present, we see precisely such a stylized mood emerging, on the one hand from the mood that can be observed not only in Maria but throughout the drama, when Maria is in the custody of a good-natured jailer, but then comes under the custody of a man who rigidly performs his duties – and everything that happens under this influence. We now see unfolding in this meaningful scene how, precisely under this change of mood, the characters of Maria and Elisabeth and the others who are present unfold in a very special way.
I would like to point this out because Schiller's pursuit of style is so serious that in each of the dramas that followed “Wallenstein,” stylization is sought in a different way. I will say later, following on from what Dr. Steiner recited in this lecture, that this is of great importance for the actor. But first I would like to draw your attention to how Schiller stylizes moods in “Maria Stuart,” how he stylizes events in “The Maid of Orleans,” stylizing the successive events in a magnificent way, how he comes to develop a true portrayal of the soul in terms of the stylization of the characters in “Wilhelm Tell,” and how he then strives in “The Bride of Messina” strives to become as similar as possible to Goethe through a stylization that provides a vivid inner stage setting, and how he then, I would say, wants to stylize the totality of the human and the eventful in the drama in which “Demetrius,” over whom he dies, dies with him.
So I now ask you to listen to a scene: the scene that comes from this situation I have indicated, from Schiller's “Maria Stuart.”
Dr. Steiner reads the third act of “Maria Stuart,” scenes I, II, III, IV.
Area in a park. Trees in the foreground, a wide view in the background.
First scene.
Mary emerges from behind the trees, running fast. Hanna Kennedy follows slowly.
KENNEDY
You are rushing as if you had hills to climb,
I cannot follow you, wait!MARIA
Let me enjoy my new freedom,
Let me be a child, be it so!
And on the green carpet of the meadows
Test my light, winged steps.
Have I escaped from the dark prison?
Does the sad tomb no longer hold me?
Let me drink in full, thirsty gulps
The free, heavenly air.KENNEDY
O my dear lady! Your dungeon
Is only slightly enlarged.
You just cannot see the wall that encloses us,
Because it is hidden by the dense thicket of trees.MARIA
Oh, thanks, thanks to these friendly green trees,
Which hide the walls of my prison from me!
I want to dream myself free and happy,
Why wake me from my sweet delusion?
Am I not surrounded by the vast expanse of the sky?
My gaze, free and unbound,
wanders through immeasurable spaces.
There, where the gray misty mountains rise,
the borders of my kingdom begin,
And these clouds, chasing after noon,
They seek France's distant ocean.
Hurrying clouds! Sailors of the skies!
Whoever wandered with you, sailed with you!
Greet my land of youth kindly for me!
I am captive, I am in chains,
Alas, I have no other messenger!
Free in the air is your path,
You are not subject to this queen.KENNEDY
Ah, dear lady! You are beside yourself,
The long-denied freedom makes you rave.MARIA
There a fisherman is mooring his boat!
This miserable tool could save me,
Take me quickly to friendly cities.
It barely feeds the poor man.
I would load it richly with treasures,
He should make a trip like he has never made before,
He should find happiness in his nets,
If he took me into the saving boat.KENNEDY
Lost wishes! Do you not see that
the scout's footsteps follow us from afar?
A grim, cruel prohibition drives every
compassionate creature from our path.MARIA
No, good Hanna. Believe me, it is not in vain
That the gate of my dungeon has been opened.
This small favor is the harbinger of greater
happiness. I am not mistaken. It is
The active hand of love, to which I give thanks;
I recognize Lord Lester's mighty arm in it.
Gradually they want to enlarge my prison,
accustom me to greater things through smaller ones,
until I finally see the face of the one
who will loosen my bonds forever.KENNEDY
Alas, I cannot reconcile this contradiction!
Only yesterday, death was announced to you,
And today, suddenly, such freedom is granted to you.
I hear that even those
will be freed from their chains, who await eternal freedom.MARIA
Do you hear the hunting horn? Do you hear it sounding,
Its mighty call, through field and grove?
Oh, to swing myself onto my brave steed,
To join the merry procession!
Even more! 0 the familiar voice,
Painfully sweet with memories.
Often my ear heard it with joy
On the mountain heaths of the highlands,
When the raging hunt resounded.Second scene.
Paulet. The previous characters.
PAULET
Well! Have I finally done right, my lady?
Do I deserve your thanks?MARIA
What, knight? Is it you who has done me this favor?
Is it you?PAULET
Why shouldn't it be? I was
at court, I delivered your letter—MARIA
You delivered it? Really, you did?
And this freedom I now enjoy
is a result of that letter—PAULET (meaningfully)
And not the only one!
Prepare yourself for an even greater one!MARIA
A greater one, sir? What do you mean by that?
PAULET
You heard the horns—
MARIA (stepping back, with a sense of foreboding)
You're frightening me!PAULET
The queen hunts in this area.
MARIA
What?
PAULET
She will be before you in a few moments.
KENNEDY
(rushing to MARIA, who is trembling and threatening to sink to the ground)
How are you, dear lady! You are turning pale.PAULET
Well! Is it not right? Was it not your request?
It is granted to you sooner than you thought.
You were always so quick-witted,
Now speak your words, now is
The moment to speak!MARIA
Oh, why was I not prepared!
Now I am not ready, not now.
What I asked for as the highest favor,
Now seems terrible, dreadful to me.—Come, Hanna,
Lead me into the house, that I may compose myself,
Recover—PAULET
Stay! You must wait for her here.
Well, well, it may frighten you, I believe,
to appear before your judge.Third scene.
The Earl of Shrewsbury to the others.
MARIA
That's not the reason! God, I feel quite different
—Ah, noble Shrewsbury! You come,
Sent to me from heaven, an angel!
—I cannot see her! Save me, save me
From this hateful sight—SHREWSBURY
Come, Queen! Gather your courage!
This is the decisive hour.MARY
I have waited for this—for years
I have prepared myself, I have told myself
and engraved in my memory
how I would move and touch her!
Suddenly forgotten, everything is erased,
nothing lives in me at this moment
but the burning feeling of my suffering.
My heart has turned against her in bloody hatred,
All good thoughts flee, and shaking their serpent hair,
The dark spirits of hell surround me.SHREWSBURY
Command your wildly rebellious blood,
Overcome the bitterness of your heart! It brings
No good fruit when hatred meets hatred.
However much your inner self may resist,
Obey the time and the law of the hour!
She is the powerful one.—Humble yourself!MARIA
Before her! I can never do it.
SHREWSBURY
Do it nonetheless!
Speak respectfully, with composure!
Appeal to her generosity, do not defy her now,
Do not insist on your rights, now is not the time!MARY
Alas, I have brought my ruin upon myself,
And my plea has been answered with a curse!
We should never have met, never!
Nothing good can ever come of this!
Fire and water may meet in love
And the lamb may kiss the tiger.—
I am too deeply wounded—she has offended me too deeply.
There will never be reconciliation between us!SHREWSBURY
Just look at her face!
I saw how she was shaken by your letter,
her eyes filled with tears.
No, she is not insensitive, just have
more confidence!—That is why
I rushed ahead, so that I could
calm you down and admonish you.MARIA (taking his hand)
Oh, Talbot! You have always been my friend.—If only I
had remained in your gentle custody!
Shrewsbury treated me harshly!SHREWSBURY
Forget everything now! Think only of how you wish to receive her submissively.MARY
Is Burleigh with her too, my evil angel?
SHREWSBURY
No one accompanies her but the Earl of Lester.
MARIA
Lord Lester!
SHREWSBURY
Fear nothing from him! He does not
want your downfall.—It is his doing
that the Queen has granted you the meeting.MARIA
Ah! I knew it!
SHREWSBURY
What do you say?
PAULET
The Queen is coming!
(Everyone steps aside; only MARY remains, leaning on KENNEDY.)
Fourth scene.
The previous characters. Elizabeth. Earl of Leicester. Retainers.
ELIZABETH (to LEICESTER)
What is the name of the country estate?
LEICESTER
Fotheringhay Castle.
ELIZABETH (to SHREWSBURY)
Send our hunting party ahead to London!
The people are crowding the streets too fiercely,
We seek shelter in this quiet park.
(Talbot removes the retinue. She fixes her eyes on MARIA, while continuing to speak to FAULET.)
My good people love me too much. Excessive,
idolatrous are the signs of their joy,
as one honors a god, not a man.MARY
(who had been leaning on the nurse, half fainted, now rises, and her eyes meet the tense gaze of ELIZABETH. She shudders and throws herself back against the nurse's chest)
O God, no heart speaks from these features!ELIZABETH
Who is the lady?
(A general silence.)LEICESTER
You are at Fotheringhay, Queen.
ELIZABETH
(pretending to be surprised and astonished, casting a dark look at LEICESTER)
Who has done this to me? Lord Lester!LEICESTER
It is done, Queen—and now
Heaven has guided your steps here,
So let generosity and compassion prevail!SHREWSBURY
Let me beg you, royal lady,
to turn your eyes upon the unfortunate woman
who is dying here before your gaze.(MARY pulls herself together and wants to go to ELIZABETH, but halfway there she stops, shuddering, her gestures expressing the most violent struggle. )
ELIZABETH
What, my lords?
Who was it that announced to me
a deeply bowed woman? I find a proud woman,
by no means subdued by misfortune.MARY
So be it!
I will submit to this too.
Begone, O powerless pride of the noble soul!
I will forget who I am and what
I have suffered; I will bow down before her,
Who has brought me down to this disgrace.
(She turns to the queen.)
Heaven has decided in your favor, sister!
Your happy head is crowned with victory;
I pray to the deity who has exalted you!
(She falls down before her.)
But now be magnanimous, sister!
Do not leave me lying here in disgrace! Extend your hand,
Give me your royal right hand,
To lift me up from this deep fall!ELIZABETH (stepping back)
You are in your place, Lady Mary!
And I thankfully praise the grace of my God,
Who did not want me to lie at your feet
As you now lie at mine.MARY (with rising emotion)
Think of the changeability of all human things!
There are gods who avenge pride!
Worship and fear them, the terrible ones,
Who cast me down at your feet!—
For the sake of these foreign witnesses, honor
Yourself in me! Do not defile or dishonor
The blood of Tudor that flows in my veins
As it does in yours! —O God in heaven!
Do not stand there, harsh and inaccessible like
The rocky cliff that the stranded man
Strives in vain to grasp.
My everything depends, my life, my fate,
On the power of my words, my tears;
Unlock my heart, that I may touch yours!
When you look at me with your icy gaze,
My heart closes in horror, the stream
Of tears stops, and cold dread binds
The words of supplication in my breast.ELISABETH (cold and stern)
What have you to say to me, Lady Stuart?
You wanted to speak to me. I forget
The queen, who was deeply offended,
To fulfill my pious duty as a sister,
And I grant you the comfort of my presence.
I follow the impulse of generosity, exposing myself
to just reproach for descending so far—
for you know
that you wanted to have me murdered.MARIA
Where shall I begin, how shall I
Choose my words wisely, that they may
Touch your heart, but not hurt you!
O God, give my speech strength and take away
Every sting that might wound!
For I cannot speak for myself without
Accusing you severely, and I do not wish to do that.
—You have treated me unjustly,
For I am a queen like you,
And you have held me captive.
I came to you as a supplicant,
And you, in defiance of the sacred laws of hospitality,
In defiance of the sacred rights of nations,
Locked me up in prison walls; my friends,
The servants are cruelly torn from me,
I am exposed to unworthy men,
I am brought before a shameful court—
No more of this! Eternal oblivion
Cover what I have suffered cruelly.
—See! I will call it all fate;
You are not guilty, nor am I;
An evil spirit rose from the abyss
To ignite hatred in our hearts,
Which has already divided our tender youth.
It grew with us, and evil men fanned
The breath of the unfortunate flame.
Mad zealots armed
With sword and dagger the uncalled hand—
That is the cursed fate of kings,
That, divided, they tear the world apart with hatred
And unleash the furies of every discord.
—Now there is no longer a stranger's mouth between us—
(approaches her trustingly and with a flattering tone)
We now stand face to face with each other.
Now, sister, speak! Tell me my fault;
I will give you complete satisfaction.
Oh, if only you had listened to me then,
When I so urgently sought your eye!
It would never have come to this, not
In this sad place would now take place
This unhappy, sad encounter.ELISABETH
My good fortune saved me from
Placing the viper on my breast.
—Do not blame fate, your black heart
The wild ambition of your house.
Nothing hostile had happened between us
When your uncle, the proud,
domineering priest, who stretches his insolent hand
after all crowns, declared war on me,
beguiled you into accepting my coat of arms,
appropriating my royal titles,
To fight me to the death.
Who did he not call upon against me?
The tongues of priests and the swords of nations,
The terrible weapons of pious madness;
Here, in the seat of peace of my kingdom,
He fanned the flames of rebellion against me
But God is with me—and the proud priest
Will not prevail.—My head was threatened
With the blow, and yours shall fall!MARIA
I am in God's hands. You will not
so bloodily overreach your power—ELIZABETH
Who shall prevent me? Your uncle set
the example for all kings of the world
on how to make peace with one's enemies.
Let Saint Bartholomew's Day be my school!
What do blood ties and international law matter to me?
The Church severs all bonds of duty,
It sanctifies betrayal and regicide;
I am only practicing what your priests teach.
Tell me! What pledge did you give me,
When I magnanimously released your bonds?
With what lock can I secure your loyalty,
That even St. Peter's key cannot open?
Force alone is the only security;
There is no alliance with the brood of serpents.MARIA
Oh, such is your sad and dark suspicion!
You have always regarded me as an enemy
and a stranger. Had you
declared me your heir, as I deserve,
gratitude and love would have made me
a faithful friend and relative
to you.ELIZABETH
Outside, Lady Stuart,
Your friendship, your house is the papacy,
The monk is your brother—declare you
as heiress! The treacherous trap!
That you, while I am still alive, seduce my people,
a cunning Armida,
The noble youth of my kingdom
Cunningly entangled in your lover's snare—
That everything turned toward the newly rising sun
And I—MARIA
Rule in peace!
I renounce any claim to this kingdom.
Alas, the wings of my spirit are crippled;
Greatness no longer entices me—you have achieved it,
I am now only the shadow of Maria.
Broken in long prison disgrace
Is my noble courage—you have done the utmost to me,
Destroyed me in my prime!
—Now put an end to it, sister! Speak it,
The word for which you came,
For I will never believe that you came
To cruelly mock your victim.
Speak this word! Tell me: 'You are free,
Maria! You have felt my power,
Now learn to revere my nobility! '
Say it, and I will accept my life, my freedom
As a gift from your hand.
—One word will undo everything. I await
It. Oh, do not make me wait too long!
Woe betide you if you do not end with this word!
For if you do not now depart from me, blessed and glorious,
like a goddess—sister!
Not for this whole rich island, not
for all the lands that the sea encompasses,
would I stand before you as you stand before me!ELISABETH
Do you finally admit defeat?
Are your intrigues over? Is there no murderer
on the road anymore? Will no adventurer
dare to risk the sad knighthood for you anymore?
—Yes, it is over, Lady Maria. You will seduce no more. The world has other concerns. No one desires to become your fourth husband, for you kill your suitors as you kill your husbands!MARIA (rising)
Sister! Sister! O God! God! Give me moderation!
ELIZABETH
(looks at her for a long time with a look of proud contempt)
So these are the charms, Lord Lester,
That no man sees with impunity, beside which
No other woman dares to stand!
Truly! Fame was cheap to attain,
It costs nothing to be universally beautiful
Than to be common to all!MARIA
That is too much!
ELISABETH (laughing scornfully)
Now you show your true
face, until now it was only a mask.MARIA
(glowing with anger, but with noble dignity)
I have failed humanly, youthfully
Power seduced me, I did not
conceal or hide it, false appearances
I spurned with royal frankness.
The world knows the worst about me, and I
can say, I am better than my reputation.
Woe betide you when she once
removes the cloak of honor with which you glamorously
cover the wild fervor of your stolen lusts.
You did not inherit honorability from your mother;
we know for the sake of which virtue
Anne Boleyn ascended the scaffold.SHREWSBURY
(steps between the two queens)
O God in heaven! Must it come to this!
Is this the moderation, the submission,
Lady Mary?MARY
Moderation! I have
endured what a human being can endure.
Begone, lamb-hearted serenity!
Flee to heaven, suffering patience!
Break your bonds at last, step forth
From your cave, long-held resentment!—
And you, who gave the angry basilisk
Its murderous gaze, place on my tongue
The poisoned arrow—SHREWSBURY
Oh, she is beside herself!
Forgive the raving, the severely irritated!
(ELIZABETH, speechless with rage, shoots angry glances at MARIAN.)LEICESTER
(in the most violent agitation, tries to lead Elizabeth away)
Listen
Not to the furious woman! Away, away
From this unhappy place!MARY
The throne of England is defiled by a bastard
The noble-hearted British people
Betrayed by a cunning charlatan.
—If justice prevailed, you would now lie before me
In the dust, for I am your king.
(ELIZABETH exits quickly, the lords following her in utter consternation.)
Now, my dear friends, if we take such a poem as representative, one that initially grew out of real artistic intentions, then this raises the question: What should the actor's relationship to the poem be? — This is also what we must first concern ourselves with, so that we can in turn find specific rules.
If we examine how poetry has come about over time, we can clearly distinguish between the tendencies of poets where the subject matter itself is what drove the poet to write poetry. In a certain sense, we can say this of the young Schiller, who wrote his “Robbers.” We see everywhere that it is the material in the broadest sense, the events, the individual characters that interest him and that he wants to shape poetically. We can even say this of a certain period in Goethe's life, for example when he wrote the first parts of his Faust and his Götz von Berlichingen we can say: the poet starts from an interest in the material and the characters. Faust is a character who interests Goethe intensely; what Faust can experience continues to interest him. Götz von Berlichingen as a figure on the one hand, and the time in which Götz von Berlichingen lived on the other, are what live on in Goethe.
When we see Schiller approaching his “Maria Stuart,” this is not the case. This approach to “Maria Stuart” is preceded by a conscious striving for artistic drama. Above all, he wants to create dramas that represent artistic drama. To this end, he searches for his material. In a sense, he searches for the artistic style and then searches for his material. The material of Maria is not what Schiller started with; he sought it in order to be able to create a drama stylized in moods in an artistic manner. This is also of great importance for the actor. For when we think of drama school, we must say: both should really be practiced; what is required in poetry in terms of the poet's interest in the material should be practiced, i.e., a drama such as Götz von Berlichingen should be practiced, and a drama such as The Robbers; but on the other hand, a drama such as Mary Stuart, The Maid of Orleans, The Bride of Messina, or William Tell should also be practiced. - And it is important that, especially in such exercises, where the various dramatic styles are to be practiced, the purely theatrical consideration really enters into the consideration, which is more closely related to poetry than, for example, the mere discussion of how to do this or that.
And so, for example, in the case of “William Tell,” this should be made clear, because it can be a very good basis for actors to develop their style based on the style of the poetry, just as Schiller, for example, failed in many places in his stylization of “William Tell.” It can be particularly counterproductive when someone who—well, how should one put it—believes in literary history, when someone who believes in literary history—and there are such believers—practices “Wilhelm Tell.” Then, in accordance with the professors' illusion but not with life, he will say to those to whom he is presenting his interpretation: What a beautiful scene it is when William Tell refuses to go to the meetings of the others, when he points out that he is a man of action and not a man of words, when he demands that the others should talk at their meetings and that he should be called upon to act! Well, I have heard such admiration, which is conveyed by believers in literary history to an even more believing audience, young and old. This is then inherited, freely adapted from “Faust,” as law and justice, as an eternal disease. You then see this disease passing through schools and everything else, and no one asks: Yes, is it even possible that Tell said that? Is that even possible? It is not possible. Certainly, the character that Schiller wanted exists. Of course, he will not talk big and sit at the front of meetings, but he will sit at the back and listen and not boast that others should speak and that he should be called to action, so that he has no idea what he is actually supposed to do. You see, what Schiller writes simply does not exist. And one can also train one's impartiality in such things, which is extremely necessary in the arts. Schiller failed, as I said, because he takes stylization to the point of stereotyping. But stylization must not depart from life; it must naturally remain within life.
Now the actor or the student of acting is given one or another poetic work of the kind I have spoken of in order to practice the art of performance. How does one proceed, let's say, to get into stage practice, with “The Robbers” or “Don Carlos”? How does one proceed with “Mary Stuart” or “The Bride of Messina”? If one has a drama of the former type before one, then it will be a matter of transferring what I have characterized as the training of facial expressions and gestures to the simultaneous recitation, simultaneous speaking, and acting of the actor as soon as possible after undertaking it while the other recites. First, one must also practice gestures, but briefly, and as soon as possible connect the gesture with the words.
If one is dealing with dramas of the second type, the opposite is necessary. Let the actor recite for as long as possible, practice gestures and facial expressions, and try to combine both in one's own person as late as possible. In the second case, this brings out what is not necessary in the first case and may even be harmful. Namely, it brings out the fact that the gesture, which is then fixed, instinctively and unconsciously contributes to the formation of the word. When directing a stylized drama, a drama that lives entirely in the artistic realm, it is important to incorporate into the entire study process what connects acting and poetry. Only then is it possible for the art of acting to establish the right relationship with the audience, and an extraordinary amount depends on this.
The audience will not easily arrive at any mood that is fixed in their souls if naturalistic elements are presented in a naturalistic way. For then one can dazzle them with this or that, so that there is momentary attention, but nothing brings one closer to the audience than lifting them out of naturalistic life and raising them up to art.
So let's assume that we have to discuss how we want to proceed with the scene that has just been presented so that the scene really comes across on stage. The question may arise: How should we design what now has to be revealed in terms of word formation for the scene? A naturalistic setting, such as a forest painted as naturalistically as possible, will certainly not be appropriate here. For it is hard to imagine that what is brought about in this scene—basically against the will of all those involved and a surprise for everyone—can be stylistically rendered in any way by placing the entire scene in a naturalistic morning or any other forest setting. Therefore, there is nothing else to do but to design the mood in question in a truly stylish manner.
You see, I was just asked in a letter whether I would like to elaborate on what I said the day before yesterday about decorative painting. Yes, my dear friends, as far as I can remember, I have not spoken about decorative painting at all, but rather, starting from the character of the artistic, I have referred to landscape painting. I would not like to be misunderstood in the way that has happened in this case. I have not spoken about decorative painting at all.
Now, the point here is to realize that stage decoration has nothing to do with painting at all, because all you have in terms of painting is lighting and other such things. So there can be no question of painting in so-called decorative painting. But here in this scene, we must first and foremost talk about the mood and mood transitions in the environment of the speakers.
Now, of course, moods are always open to discussion, but perhaps no one will find it entirely inappropriate in this case to evoke the mood in this scene through general lighting of the stage, which must of course change in the course of the action, but which must essentially consist of a reddish undertone: across the entire stage, the mood of a reddish undertone, which, I would say, intensifying internally, brightening to yellow at the end, where Maria becomes so sharp. In between, one can introduce various moods, for example, right at the beginning, where Maria develops her peculiar sentimental streak, introducing a bluish-violet mood into the general reddish mood. That must be the next question.
Of course, you can't just have a naturalistically painted forest on the backdrop, so the next question is this: What colors should the trees have, which you naturally need? Then it follows from the scene that one must coordinate what one needs for the lighting mood with the coloring of the trees, so that one cannot paint the trees bright green into the red mood, but must also add something reddish to the color mixture so that so that the eye can rest even at the point where Maria comes into focus, into the palette or actually into the brush—one should never paint with the palette, but always with liquid paint—one must add yellow in certain places. Then you will also have a mood picture on the scene. And so you have to proceed to the costumes. In doing so, it must be clear that it is not a matter of inventing so-called fantasy costumes, stylized costumes, so that the people in them look like screws, but that it is a matter of to have costumes that are already adapted to the people, because the stylization of the costumes on stage must consist in particular in the choice of colors and in the harmony of colors across the different personalities. No one would want to take a crude approach to such things and choose the next most convenient option, because that would naturally mean dressing Mary in black. But black can only be used on stage if it is artistically justified; black is invisible on stage. So only the devil, or something similar, could appear in black, and nothing else should be dressed in black. Mary will have to wear a dark purple costume. And the first thing that comes to mind is Mary's costume. When stylizing, it is always a question of what you have to think about first, then it comes quite naturally, if you have Mary's purple costume, to choose a reddish-yellowish costume for Elizabeth, and then the colors of the others result from appropriately tasteful shading.
This is how you get a stage design, and you will see that if you really strive for such things, the audience will go along with it.
Why is it so difficult for actors today to get the audience to go along with them? Well, you see, because basically there is not the necessary seriousness in the desire for style. Actually, one should talk as little as possible about the audience; one should talk about the art itself. The audience is never really to blame. But I ask you, my dear friends, how can artistry really come to the fore when theater foundations are based on the following historically authentic sentiment? A large theater was founded in a city under the leadership of a journalist who wrote plays and took over the management of this theater. The theater was named after an outstanding classic. And lo and behold, it was, of course, also appropriate to go so far as to stylize the exterior, to give a speech at the opening that contained the most beautiful phrases about the classic, the most beautiful phrases about how beautiful it is to follow in the footsteps of this classic, because he was, above all, a man of the stage himself; he had given so many beautiful golden rules of stagecraft. And if one then comes to the devoted sense of high art, which one only wants to alternate now and then with lighter fare because it is necessary to cater to the tastes of the audience—yes, then it is, in a certain sense, outwardly stylish to begin with such a speech.
But style must come from within. It must be truly experienced. And I ask you, is style really present—regardless of what was said in this prologue spoken by the director—when, after all that was over, the following occurs? Of course, others had also spoken, the president of the theater committee in a similar vein to the director, and so on. Well, as it happens — there is style in there, isn't there, but what kind? Not immediate life. There is already silence in there. But then it came pretty soon. People left. Well, among such people there are sometimes real idealists; they are rare, but there are sometimes idealists among them. One of these idealists or semi-idealists said to the director: I wish you every success in the sense in which you have spoken, a success that is beneficial to the arts. To which the director replied: But when it comes to the second million, I'll snap it up!
Yes, you see, that's where style breaks down, because it's not in the mindset. And actually, only because things have come to such a pass in the present day that style is something you no longer feel in life, must attention be drawn to such things, that style will only emerge in people if they really live in style in a very serious way. We will then follow up on this point with some individual observations. I believe we will need another three or four hours to discuss everything that is necessary for these lectures. [Cheers from the audience.]