Walks o'er the dew of yon high eastern hill!

* * * * *

April 11th.

I have not done much to-day. I spent the morning brooding over the opening
speech. It is somber and terrible, but I have not gotten it right. It
must have a tread--a tread like an orchestra! Ah, how I wish I had an
orchestra!--I would soon do it then--_"So bist nun ewig du verdammt!"_

The secret of the thing is iteration. I must find a word that is like a
hammer-stroke. I have tried twenty, but I have not found the one.

* * * * *

--I spent the rest of the day thinking over the whole first act, mapping it
out, so to speak.

I have often fancied a resemblance between The Captive and the C-minor
symphony; I wonder if any one else would have thought of it. It is not
merely the opening--it is the whole content of the thing--the struggle of a
prisoned spirit. I would call The Captive a symphony, and print the C-minor
themes in it, only it would seem fanciful.--But it would not really be
fanciful to put the second theme opposite the thought of freedom--of the
blue sky and the dawning spring.

All except the scherzo. I couldn't find room for the scherzo. Men who have
wrestled with the demons of hell do not tumble around like elephants, no
matter how happy they are. I wish I could take out Beethoven's scherzos!