The candle-makers of previous ages were a guild, important and respected, girded by rules of an almost trade-union sort, the statuses and an order of light-suppliers for courts, theaters and, in the cities, watching over the fire among the people. Ever since there has been electricity, candles have still been used as an ornament, for special occasions, but they do not illuminate any more, the light being too weak, even if it is loved as a real truth, or ridiculed as a sign of mystification. Men are spoiled by other energies, which they have acquired by plundering nature. The old candlelight was no longer used, has become a luxury for the soul, for sentimental hours. Men spoke in this way about art, as a superstructure of the ages. It was no longer needed. Since the electric light has lighted the stages, we speak of the “profession” of direction, and call the poets writers. We afford ourselves poetry, but do we still need it? Use it — Brecht would say.