How many years was it that Hermione, of the "Winter's Tale," remained hidden? I have quite forgotten.
I am constantly reminded, while at work, of various passages, of the solos, the great choruses, and even the instrumental accompaniments, in Mozart's "Magic Flute." They fill the silent air with their sounds, and bear me aloft.
Above all, the appeal, "Be steadfast!" with the three short notes, d, e, d, and the trumpet-blast that follows, is ever sounding in my ears like some spiritual watchword. The highest truths should be conveyed by music alone, and would thus become more forcible and enduring. Be steadfast--
I am again trying to solve the enigma of life.
Man may not do all that he can, or to which he feels impelled. Since he is human, he must recognize the limit of his rights before he reaches the limit of his powers.
At court they often discussed the saying: "Right before might." I have melted down the phrase in the alembic of thought. I have coined it anew.
How beautiful is the legend of paradise! The first human pair were placed there; as far as their powers went, everything, with a single exception, was permitted to them--and the fruit tempted them. But there is no paradise. The beast alone possesses what may be termed paradise. It is free to do whatever it can. As long, however, as there is a prohibition which man, as a moral being, must know, there can be no paradise, for perfect freedom is at an end.
What I mean is this: self-consciousness is gained by overstepping the barrier. It is eating of the fruit of the tree of knowledge. From that moment, man's joys are no longer provided for him. He must create them, either from within himself or from his surroundings. Now he begins to wrestle with nature, and his life becomes one of deeds. Work, whether directed to self-perfection or intended to benefit the world, is a second creation.