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Wen da der Dichter hineingesperrt Den kann kein Gott mehr retten. And from the "singing flames" of Rodin there is no rescue. But he is not all tragedy and hell fire. Of singular delicacy, of exquisite proportions are his marbles of youth, of springtide, and the desire of life. In 1900, at his special exhibition, Paris, Europe, and America awoke to these haunting visions.
"Ihr, die ihr horet dies mein Wort, Ihr, die ihr in der Ferne seid, Ihr Pflanzen all', vereignet euch, Gebt diesem Kraute eure Kraft!" And the herbs, taking counsel together with Soma their king, answer: "Fur Wen uns ein Brahmane braucht Den, Konig, wollen retten wir,"
Few could forget, after once hearing them, the stanzas at the close of “Deutschland,” in which he warns the King of Prussia not to incur the irredeemable hell which the injured poet can create for him—the singing flames of a Dante’s terza rima! “Kennst du die Hölle des Dante nicht, Die schrecklichen Terzetten? Wen da der Dichter hineingesperrt Den kann kein Gott mehr retten.
The music stops, the great conductor turns to glare at them, and, referring to the geese which are said to have saved Rome by their hissing, thunders: "Hier ist kein Capitol zu retten!" There are some forty thousand professional musicians in Germany.
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