The next step is that which Tieck takes in his comedy, _Die verkehrte Welt_ ("The Topsy-Turvy World"), namely, the employing of language exclusively on account of its musical qualities. To this comedy there is prefixed as overture a symphony, which, in its essentially musical vagueness, displays really classic originality. Music had never been paraphrased into words in this manner before; hence the experiment is to this day regarded as distinctly typical. The man who has the courage to carry his madness to its final consequence, by doing so endows this madness, in which there is method, with living vigour. SYMPHONY Andante in D Major. "If we desire to enjoy ourselves, it is not of so much consequence how we do it, as that we really do it. From gravity we turn to gaiety; then, weary of gaiety, return to gravity; but let us observe ourselves too closely, in either case have our aim too constantly in view, and there's an end as well to real seriousness as to unaffected gaiety." Piano. "But are reflections such as these appropriate in a symphony? Why begin so sedately? No! no indeed! I will rather at once set all the instruments to play together." _Crescendo._ "I have only to will, but to will with intelligence; for the storm does not rise all at once, in a moment; it announces itself, it grows, thus awaking sympathy, awe, fear, and joy; otherwise it would but occasion empty amazement and fright. It is difficult to read at sight, how much more difficult, then, to hear at sight. But now we are right in the midst of the tumult. Bang, ye kettle-drums! Trumpets, crash!" _Fortissimo._ "Ha! the turmoil, the onslaughts, the desperate strife of sounds! Whither are ye rushing? Whence do ye come? They plunge like heroes into the thickest of the fray; these fall, and expire; those return, wounded and faint, seeking consolation and friendship. Hark, the galloping, snorting horses! The organ rolls, like thunder among the mountains. There is a rush and a roar as when a cataract, despairingly seeking its own destruction, flings itself over the naked ledge and rages down, deeper and ever deeper down, into the bottomless abyss." *************************** _Violino Primo Solo._ "What! It is not permissible, not possible, to think in sounds, and to make music in words and thoughts? Were it so, how hard would be the fate of us artists! What poor language, and still poorer music! Do ye not think many thoughts so delicate, so spiritual, that in despair they take refuge in music, there at last to find rest? How often does a whole day spent in racking thought leave nought behind but a buzz and a hum, which time alone changes into melody?" *************************** _Forte._