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Mary Stuart Wohlthaetig heilend nahet mir der Tod, Der ernste Freund! Mit seinen schwarzen Fluegeln Bedeckt er meine Schmach den Menschen adelt, Den tiefstgesunkenen das letzte Schicksal 'Mary Stuart'. After the completion of 'Wallenstein', in the spring of 1799, Schiller was not long in selecting a new dramatic theme.
And in Scriabine, that new intensity of sensation attained something near to heroic supernatural stature. What was beautiful and sick in his age entered into his art. Through it, we learn, not a little, how we feel. His music was a thing created in the flesh of a man, out of his agony. "Eine Entwicklung ist ein Schicksal," Thomas Mann once wrote.
The opening bars, which the Master designated, "So pocht das Schicksal an die Pforte," lured his every power of concentration. He was one with it, and movements of the dark swung with the flow of harmony. The silence startled him. It was hard to re-assemble his faculties to change the rolls for the 'Andante.... The three voices returned to his mind man and woman and the luminous third Presence.
"But ah, signorini miei, I am an infelice infelicissimo, ever persecuted by le Fate." "By whom? A count like Schlangenwald?" asked Ebbo. "Das Schicksal," whispered Friedel. "Three long miserable years did I spend as a captive among the Moors, having lost all, my ships and all I had, and being forced to row their galleys, gli scomunicati."
With him I have cast in my lot, to live and die, and be buried by his side; and to him I go home contented, to look after his petty interests, cares, sorrows Petty, truly seeing that they include the whole primal mysteries of life Food, raiment, and work to earn them withal; love and marriage, birth and death, right doing and wrong doing, 'Schicksal und eigene Schuld; and all those commonplaces of humanity which in the eyes of a minute philosopher are most divine, because they are most commonplace catholic as the sunshine and the rain which come down from the Heavenly Father, alike upon the evil and the good.
"I will arise and go to my father." "Ach! ein Schicksal droht, Und es droht nicht lange! Auf der holden Wange Brennt ein böses Roth!"
He told her that he had seen only too little of Ida at The Knoll, but enough to know that she was his 'Schicksal'; and then he took the Fraeulein's hand and pressed it gently. 'I know you are our friend, he said. 'Bis den Tod, gasped Gertrude. After this no one felt any more restraint. The Fraeulein dropped into her place of confidante as easily as possible.
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