Sláinte, Sire Schiller!

Geben Sie Gedankenfreiheit!
Give freedom of thought! *
Friedrich von Schiller , November 10th, 1759 - May 9th, 1805

To put it straight: In case I were an autograph collector, I'd give 100 Grass' and Goethes for one Schiller.

* The quotation above is incomplete?

You miss one word?
The word "Sire"?

Hm, let's look at Don Carlos, 3,10 on page 176 of Volume one of the complete edition from 1886, published by A. Warschauer Verlag, Berlin.

It's obviously neither Geben Sie Gedankenfreiheit, Sire! nor Sire, geben Sie Gedankenfreiheit!.

Why would most quotation collections then offer Sire, give freedom of thought! ?

Let's look a bit closer.

See the 'stage directions' after Gedankenfreiheit?

1. in the same line: Sich ihm zu Füßen werfend = Throwing himself at his feet
2. König / King (überrascht, etc = surprised, etc.)

Is it possible that some translator(s) in later (erroneously) added König / Sire to Marquis Posa's speech, and thus it became Sire, give freedom of thought?

Well, anyway, Friedrich, both we shall be able to live with this, shan't we? :)

In this sense [raising my tin chalice from 1905]: Sláinte, Sire!

Winter is in the Air

"See there! See there, Timotheus,
Behold the cranes of Ibycus!"

15 minutes ago:
Those who in February were harbingers of spring,
while passing Seanhenge singing their "Farewell".

Spring is in the Air

First I 'only' heard their calls. Minutes later:

And suddenly the sky is dark'ning,
And o'er the theater away,
One sees, within a blackish swarming,
A host of cranes pass on its way.

And what a formation! Almost a perfect 'W' of around 150 metres width. Estimating their number as once being taught by an ornithologist, this will have been between 450 and 500 harbingers of spring. Amazing. Wonderful!

Unfortunately it was already too dark for taking photos. Thus my thoughts returned to Schiller.

Sieh da, sieh da, Timotheus,
die Kraniche des Ibikus.

However - sorry Friedrich - that ballad is a bit long for a post. (If you like, you will find it here, though - and in English.)

So I chose a poem which does not contain of cranes, but has been written by a crane.
Enjoy.

I met a seer.
He held in his hands
The book of wisdom.

"Sir", I addressed him,
"Let me read."
"Child", he began.

"Sir", I said,
"Think not that I am a child,
For already I know much
of that which you hold.
Aye, much."

He smiled.
Then he opened the book
And held it before me.

Strange that I should have grown so suddenly blind.

Stephen Crane (1871 - 1900)

The peace of the night.