THE REMINISCENCES OF CARL SCHURZ
Indeed I did not follow them with the same naïve illusions with which I had lived through the adventures of the fair Genovefa; but what I saw in the theater in Cologne was on so much higher a level that I could surrender myself again to full enjoyment. Thus I saw one or two knight dramas, popular at the time; also “Wallenstein.” These pleasures did not come in rapid succession, for frequent visits to the theater could hardly have accorded with the principle of economy that governed my locksmith as well as myself. But the drama took profound hold upon me, and what I saw of it created an almost irresistible desire to write a play myself. I searched through Beckers' Universal History for a good subject, and finally fell upon the Anglo-Saxon King Edwy, who ruled in England in the middle of the tenth century and who brought upon himself, through his love for the beautiful Elgiva, a struggle with Saint Dunstan, and an unhappy fate. It seemed to me that if I took some liberties with history, as dramatic poets not seldom do, this subject—a royal lover battling with the power of the church—might be capable of being worked up into a fine tragedy. Of course the play as I wrote it amounted to nothing; but in weaving the plot through successive scenes, and in writing out some of the dialogues, I enjoyed the full bliss of literary creation. Never to have tasted this delight is never to have known one of the greatest joys of life.
Lyric poems and ballads also figured among my “early works.” One of my ballads originated in this wise: Under a clump of tall trees not far from the castle at Liblar were some crumbled ruins of masonry that had an uncanny look. Nobody seemed to know their history. Imagination pictured to me a variety of possibilities, out of which I wove a romantic tale. The Knights of the Gracht had on this spot kept wild animals in a big pit. A beautiful maiden had somehow got
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