elevated, ideal, Max in Wallenstein, one was transported; the present generation cannot realise this at all. Poor Jagemann said the same—he would not go to the theatre any more. Surely you remember, when you praised anything which you had seen here, he always said: 'No, you ought to have seen so-and-so.' His favourite, however, was Madame Schröder-Devrient; indeed, I myself remember her too, grandly tragic, plastic, 'classic plastic,' poor Jagemann said; he never missed an evening when she played. It was before we were married, she left the theatre before she was fifty. Oh dear me, yes,… such artists … indeed it was a glorious period."
"But it is everywhere the same, Mrs. Jagemann; also in Denmark the old generation say they can't stand the theatre any longer, and that we poor things never have seen proper comedy."
"Well, there you are, bad times, Mr. Stephensen!… No, it was different in those days, it was nice to be in Dresden then. One did not see all that stiff Prussian Military, and we were not burdened with all these taxes. Oh, what couldn't one get for one's money! Meat has now gone up one-third in price … oh dear, oh dear!"
And, shaking her head, she got up and went towards the door.
Minna laughed and recited—
"How love and truth and religion
From out of the world had fled,
How very dear was the coffee,
How scarce was the gold, we said."
"Well, you have not forgotten your Heine," Stephensen remarked.
"Oh no," she exclaimed eagerly.
I thought of the way in which Stephensen had shown his
