ge, not one soul of us understands a single syllable of it. For
God's sake, be so kind as to start with a translation of it.'"

The friends laughed; but Cyprian and Theodore remained silent and
grave. Before the latter could begin to speak, Ottmar said: "It is
impossible, in this connection, that I should forget the extraordinary,
nay, almost preposterously absurd, meeting of two men who were--at all
events as concerned their opinions upon Art and their views about
it--absolutely heterogeneous in their natures. Indisputable as it may
be that Werner carried the idea of the 'Kreuz an der Ostsee' about with
him for a long time, to the best of my knowledge the first impulse to
his writing it came to him from Iffland, who was anxious that he should
write a tragedy for the Berlin stage. The 'Soehne des Thales' was then
attracting much attention, and perhaps that dramatic writer may have
been interested in this newly-developed talent, or he may have thought
he saw that this young _debutant_ was capable of being trained to the
performance of the systematic round of theatre tricks, and would
acquire a skilled 'stage-hand.' However this may be, think of Iffland
with the manuscript of the 'Kreuz an der Ostsee' in his hands.
Iffland--to whom the tragedies of Schiller (which then, in spite of all
opposition, had made their way, chiefly through the great Fleck) were
really disgustful, in the depths of his soul; Iffland, who although he
did not dare, for dread of that sharp lash which he had felt already,
to speak out his real opinion, had put _this_ in print: 'Tragedies
which contain grand historical incidents, and a crowd of characters,
are the ruin of the stage;' adding, 'on account of the tremendous
expenses,' but thinking, in his heart, '_dixi et salvavi_.'--Iffland,
who would have been too pleased to put upon his privy-councillors,
secretaries, and so forth, tragic _cothurni_ made after his own
pattern--read the 'Kreuz an der Ostsee' in the light of its being a
tragedy expressly written for the Berlin stage, which he himself should
set out into scenes, and in which he should play nothing less than the
Ghost of Bishop Adalbert, murdered by the Pagan Prussians, very
frequently appearing on the stage as a terror-inspiring character not
sparing of partly edifying, partly mystic speeches, while at every
mention of the name of Christ a flame breaks out of his forehead, to
instantaneously disappear again. It was impossible to throw this