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achievement; and their present character is determined by the genius of the great writers who first emerged from that minor chaos.

One of the earliest and most important among these was the acknowledged doyen of German letters, Herr Gerhart Hauptmann, who not only attained to that position at an uncommonly early age, but has also maintained his prestige and fame more successfully than most of his surviving peers-so that, indeed, certain acute observers of current events believe he may inspire and lead the new generation of German writers as he stood in the van of the old, that he will yet prove himself Lessing and Goethe (say Johnson and Coleridge) in one.

II

In Germany the literary outlook about the year 1885 struck observers as more unpromising perhaps than in any other country. From Konstanz to Königsberg, from Greifswald to Graz, the older men remarked with sorrow that no one seemed waiting for the empty shoes of Freytag, Spielhagen, Geibel, Auerbach and the other veterans who had charmed their generation, and that the most striking and disquieting success of the decade had been gained by Theodor Fontane at the age of sixty and more; the middle-aged, uneasily jubilant at the national unity welded by Bismarck, lamented the weakness of man power wherewith to win an artistic supremacy comparable with that of arms; and the young (or "Youngest", as they pleased to call themselves) could do no more than lay down laws to govern the new writers, if and when they should deign to appear. Prominent among the latter stood the brothers Hart and certain cronies of theirs who foregathered in the Berlin suburb of Friedrichshagen, and precisely to their obscure lodgings, while they were pontificating in full throat, did the coltish steps of a certain young Herr Hauptmann lead him. In him, with his shock of wild hair and uncouth, docile energy, his artistic ambitions and his freedom from any compromising literary Past, the "Friedrichshagener Kreis" (Circle) quickly espied the raw material which it could knead into the new model patented by themselves; and where is the young man of twenty-three who would not surrender himself gladly

to such man-handling-particularly if his writing desk lay buried already with completed and half-completed MSS: sketches of a drama and epic on Arminius, among other things, a Life of Christ which should knock David Strauss and Renan into a cocked hat, and the elegiac epic of Promethidenloos (The Lot of Prometheus's Kin), all ready for the publisher?

To the flattering interest and the theories of Julius and Heinrich Hart, then, young Herr Hauptmann yielded himself, and at Erkner-just down the railway-line from Friedrichshagen-he set himself to justify the interest and practice the theories. Promethidenloos duly appeared before the year was out (1885); its author wrote a grim short story about a homicidal signalman; he turned out a set of lyrics; he began an autobiographical novel, which no doubt told of his birth and childhood in his father's hôtel "Zur Preussischen Krone" at Obersalzbrünn in Prussian Silesia, of the impression that Schiller's poem of Der Taucher (The Diver) made on his very young consciousness, of the secondary school at Breslau where he spent four inglorious years, of the Moravian relatives who tried to make a pietistic farmer of him (as, many years later, he was to tell again in Anna), of the provincial School of Art from which he was expelled and of another abortive attempt to turn sculptor, of the pilgrimage to Italy and of the ideals and sufferings from which Promethidenloos grew, and of the three Thienemann sisters whom he and his two brothers so precociously and symmetrically had married.

At Erkner too he wrote the tragedy to which at first he gave the title of Der Sämann (The Sower), but later altered to Vor Sonnenaufgang (Before Sunrise). Into this play of a young prig who, in fear of alcoholically tainted offspring, runs away from his betrothed, thereby driving her to suicide, the author put all he knew of the doctrines that his friends had preached to him and had tentatively been introducing into practice. It disdains kinship with Heyse, Wildenbruch and the other post-Romantics of the day, and as evidently derives its ancestry from Zola's Assommoir, Tolstoy's Power of Darkness and Hebbel's Maria Magdalene; it turns away from the smart metropolitan society of drawing-room plays to treat of the actual social conditions (wretched, of course) in the easily identified locality of Weiss

stein, within five miles of Herr Hauptmann's birthplace; it eschews all suggestiveness and mercilessly fixes attention on the bases of suggestiveness-incontinence, rape and childbirth; it freely patronizes what the theatre calls "ideas" by referring, for instance, to Professor Dahn's most worthy novel Ein Kampf um Rom (A Fight for Rome) and the temperance-propaganda of the enthusiastic Bunge, whose statistics the hero, clad in his nice Jaeger coat, unblushingly quotes at length. Small wonder, then, that the "Verein Freie Bühne" (Free Stage Society), newly founded by the Harts and others, accepted Vor Sonnenaufgang for presentation immediately after their inaugural performance of Ibsen's Ghosts and that its production on October 20, 1889, should have been considered in advance as an epoch-making event, for which the first night of Victor Hugo's Hernani alone offered a worthy parallel.

Now, doctrinaire of the tenets of Naturalism as Vor Sonnenaufgang was both in intention and in broad outline, keen eyes perceived that it was something less highfalutin at the same time. The hero, Alfred Loth, might unintentionally be presented as a fool and a monster, but the qualities by which unbiassed observers recognized him as such were skilfully turned to dramatic account, if indeed they had not been forced upon the author by purely dramatic exigences; the action might exhibit almost all the horrors attending upon sexual appetite, but it led also to some lusciously sentimental incidents, and the drunken assault of a father upon his daughter or the shrieks of childbed could still titillate senses jaded by a surfeit of silk stockings and double-meanings; the ordinary playgoer might anxiously apprehend the horrid spectre of Ibsen or Zola under the groaning, but manifestly rotten, board spread in Act I or behind the realistic dunghills of Act II, but Loth himself came forward to reassure him by describing their works as "medicine" and insisting that literature, ranging beyond the actual, should describe men as they should be; and, lastly, all the prattle about books and ideas proved most grateful to the class of human beings, not peculiar to any single race or age, which always enjoys something better if for its pleasure it can find some reason quite unconnected with enjoyment.

At once, then, Herr Hauptmann found himself not alone the standby of the "Verein Freie Bühne" but also-what proved of

much greater moment-the charmer of an influential playgoing public. Piece followed piece in rapid and approved succession: in 1890 Das Friedensfest (The Festival of Peace), best characterized by its sub-title of "a family catastrophe"; in 1891 Einsame Menschen (Lonely Folk), another Prig's Tragedy, in which however it is the Ph.D. hero who comes to grief, divided like any Macheath in allegiance to his weak, simple wife and his soul's affinity from the lecture-rooms of Zürich University; in 1892 Kollege Crampton (Our Professor Crampton), the disgrace and redemption of a bibulous and boastful Professor of Painting; and in 1893 the two masterpieces of Die Weber (The Weavers) and Der Biberpelz (The Beaver Fur).

In the former, taking a whole community for his "hero", Herr Hauptmann represents in five grim and stirring tableaux the appalling distress of the Silesian weavers during the hungry 'forties of the last century, with the culminating riots and characteristically Prussian repression. In the latter he again attacks the spirit which animates the government of the state to which he belongs, but in the spirit of comedy and so much more directly that Der Biberpelz has aroused considerably more indignation in highest circles (whom he has never won) than Die Weber. It portrays a typical Jack in Office-titled, patriotic, hide-bound and stupid—, delectably hoodwinked by his own washerwoman and led astray by the hope of disclosing one of those vast, blood-curdling revolutionary "plots" beloved by the bureaucrat, so that he leaves unmolested the thieves of a certain radically-owned Beaver Fur when they disport themselves under his very nose, and in the end compliments them semi-officially on the valuable services they have rendered to the community in making a complete hash of the case which it was his duty to clear up.

With the partial exception of Die Weber, each of these early plays excels its predecessor. Subjects lend themselves more appropriately to dramatic treatment and undergo more economical handling; characters, more interesting in themselves, are presented to greater advantage; while tension and atmosphere are more vividly varied. With increasing clearness, they exhibit their author as, above all, an excellent observer of his fellow-man,

1 Published 1892

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with an unusual facility to reproduce his actions and his speech. The last-named is perhaps the most remarkable of Herr Hauptmann's faculties. With it he has succeeded in realizing more perfectly than any one else at that time the "facsimilar" ideal of Naturalism, and, with his reproduction of peculiarities of dialect, pronunciation and phrase, he makes the dialogue recorded by his illustrious compeers appear nothing short of mannered.

Like the Austrian dialect-writer Anzengruber, who may have served him as a model, and like later writers who have striven for similar ideals, such as Mr. Shaw and C. K. Munro in our drama, Herr Hauptmann has preserved his dialogue from insipidity by a skilful combination with progressively growing quantities of humor: after the total eclipse of it in Vor Sonnenaufgang comes the slight iridescence emanating from old Friebe, the servant in Das Friedensfest; then the major figure of Old Vockerat in Einsame Menschen; then the central figure itself in Kollege Crampton. When the realistically portrayed humorous characters involve themselves in a comic situation, a masterpiece results-Der Biberpelz, the effulgent humor of which at once suggests reference to the greatest humorists of the past. It is not without significance that Harry Crampton, the German professor with the English name, should recommend a pupil, besides E. T. A. Hoffmann, to study Swift, Smollett, Thackeray, Dickens and Byron. His creator-always an Anglophile-obviously has done so, and has become one of them. Indeed, in one direction he has outstripped the masters just named in maintaining his humorous realism where they would generally have wavered-when the situation turns to tragedy, as it does at the time, for instance, of Old Vockerat's appearance in Einsame Menschen. Fielding, omitted from Professor Crampton's list, might have taught him this lesson, but, as we shall see later, Herr Hauptmann does not seem to have benefited by that schoolmaster; and the hint (if any) came from Ibsen's Wild Duck.

III

In this fine group of early plays Herr Hauptmann, then, showed himself a first-class observer of mankind, whose reproductions of what he observed were suffused, as time went on, not only with

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