The Rudolf Steiner Archive

Leipzig 1898

Under this title, Karl Jentsch has just published a book. The application of the scientific way of thinking of our time to the development of mankind leads to this concept. Just as in the rest of nature those forms are preserved which prove to be the stronger in the struggle for existence, this is also the case in the historical development of man. By applying this concept, one arrives at the overcoming of all purposive causes. In nature today only backward spirits will probably believe in purposive causes. In the views on human development, however, this idea seems to be less easy to eradicate. This is most clearly shown by the author of the above-mentioned book. While others, such as Huxley, Alexander Tille and so on, understand the progress of mankind in the same way as the rest of nature in the sense of Darwinism, Jentsch does not believe he can do without the assumption of a purposeful arrangement of historical facts. But it must be noted: Whoever assumes a purposeful arrangement in nature or the human world must also believe in a wise creator of this arrangement. And whoever does this falls back into old theological prejudices which should have been overcome by the Darwinian view of the world. But it will be a long time before the remnants of the old theological ideas have disappeared from people's minds. They will still haunt us in one form or another.

Stuttgart 1899

This book is one of the literary phenomena that are unfortunately not at all rare in our time, whose authors bear a large part of the blame for the regrettable fact that philosophy is becoming increasingly discredited. A self-evident truth, which no reasonable person doubts, is dealt with in 129 pages of comfortable breadth. What is before everyone's eyes is clothed in the most abstract formulas, and the author has the misfortune of losing his footing in the world of his abstractions and not even suspecting that his "formulations" say nothing at all. He wants to show that in nature, in which everything is connected according to cause and effect, there are also phenomena that are connected in other ways. Cause and effect form a two-part connection. Coßmann seeks to demonstrate tripartite connections within the world of life. The retinal image of the eye arises as the effect of a light stimulus on the eye-gifted organism. We have a two-part connection. The light stimulus acts on the organism and the eyelid is closed to protect against the stimulus. We have a tripartite connection, a connection between the cause - the light stimulus - the effect - the closing of the eyelid - and the purpose, the protection of the organ. Bipartite connections should be called causal, tripartite teleological purposeful. The natural science of the present is reproached for wanting to explain everything from the connections between causes and effects; and the natural science of the future is dreamed of bringing teleology to bear in all its glory. What Mr. Coßmann broadly expounds on his 129 pages can be found in the following eight lines of the book "Die Welträtsel" by Ernst Haeckel, whom our author certainly counts among those who overlook teleological connections: "In the body structure and in the life activity of all organisms we are undeniably confronted with purposeful activity. Every plant and every animal, in its composition of individual parts, appears to be just as equipped for a certain purpose in life as the artificial machines invented and constructed by man, and as long as their life continues, the function of the individual organs is just as directed towards certain purposes as the work in the individual parts of the machine." Coßmann does nothing more than put this undeniable fact into unspeakably pedantic formulas. There is no need to object to such philosophical gimmickry. It should be dealt with by those who find nothing more sensible to do in the world. But if Mr. Coßmann believes that organic natural science should incorporate teleology, he must be told that he does not understand the relationship of modern natural science to teleology. A locomotive is undoubtedly purpose-built, and Mr. Coßmann could attribute its effectiveness to his neat tripartite formula. However, the person who is to build the locomotive is not served by describing its purpose to him in a pure way. He must know the causes by which the purpose is achieved. This is how the naturalist feels about nature. He determines the purposes; but he then seeks to explain the purposeful effects from the causes. As little as a machine can be built according to its purpose, so little can a living being be explained from its purposeful arrangement.

But Mr. Coßmann faces an even more serious reproach. The purpose occurs in the time sequence after the cause. If we now disregard time and merely consider that there is a necessary connection between cause and effect, then we can also derive each cause from its effect just as well as, conversely, the effect from the cause. In a formula of mechanics that derives an effect from the cause, we only need to insert the time with a negative sign, then we have the possibility of deriving the earlier from the later. If the later then appears as a purpose, the causal connection becomes a purposeful one, and Mr. Coßmann's tripartite formula is not needed. Mr. Coßmann would now have a task if he really wanted to prove something. He would have to show that a fact valid within mechanics also corresponds to such a fact in the teleological field. For mechanics, this fact is that we can imagine a process regressing in our thoughts (through the negative sign before time), but that in reality this process cannot take place regressively. In teleology it would have to be shown that the retroactive effect of the purpose which we can imagine is really present. Mr. Coßmann is probably wary of this, because he would then have to come to the only way out that exists for the purpose theorist, to the statement of "wisdom and reason", which have first ordered the organisms as we imagine them afterwards. "Whether there are special final causes, causae finales, apart from, in addition to, beyond the causas efficientibus (forces of nature), which continue to work with blind, unintentional necessity, is a matter of scholastic dispute, and scholastic dispute is possible; but that there is in Natura naturata a purposefulness independent of man, infinitely superior to all his art, is not," says Otto Liebmann in "Gedanken und Tatsachen" (1st ed., 91). Coßmann contributed nothing, absolutely nothing, to the decision on the former; we did not need him to establish the latter. We have before us the work of a dilettante who has acquired the airs and graces of a philosopher.

An unprejudiced view of the world. Leipzig 1898

In 1865, Otto Liebmann demanded in his essay "Kant and the Epigones" that we must return to Kant in philosophy. He saw the salvation of his science in the fulfillment of this demand. In doing so, he was merely expressing the view of the vast majority of philosophers of our time. And many natural scientists, insofar as they are still concerned with philosophical concepts, also see Kant's doctrine as the only possible form of central science. Starting with philosophers and naturalists, this opinion has also penetrated the wider circles of educated people with an interest in philosophy. Kant's view has thus become a driving force in our scientific thinking. Without ever having read a line from Kant or heard a sentence from his teachings, many of our contemporaries view world events in his way. For a century, the proud-sounding word has been uttered again and again: Kant had liberated thinking humanity from the shackles of philosophical dogmatism, which made empty assertions about the essence of things without undertaking a critical investigation into whether the human mind was also capable of making out something absolutely valid about this essence. For many who utter this word, however, the old dogma has been replaced by a new one, namely that of the irrefutable truth of Kant's fundamental views. These can be summarized in the following sentences: A thing can only be perceived by us if it makes an impression on us, exerts an effect. But then it is always only this effect that we perceive, never the thing itself. We cannot form any concept of the latter. The effects of things on us are our perceptions. What we know of the world is therefore not the things, but our ideas of the things. The world given to us is not a world of being, but a world of imagination or appearance. The laws according to which the details of this imaginary world are linked can of course not be the laws of the "things in themselves", but those of our subjective organism. What is to become an appearance for us must obey the laws of our subject. Things can only appear to us in a way that corresponds to our nature. We ourselves prescribe the laws of the world that appears to us - and this alone we know.

What Kant thought he had gained for philosophy with these views becomes clear if we take a look at the scientific currents from which he grew and which he confronted. Before the Kantian reform, the teachings of the Leibniz-Wolff school were the only dominant ones in Germany. The followers of this school wanted to arrive at the fundamental truths about the nature of things by means of purely conceptual thinking. The knowledge gained in this way was regarded as clear and necessary as opposed to that gained through sensory experience, which was seen as confused and random. Only pure concepts were believed to lead to scientific insights into the deeper context of world events, the nature of the soul and God, i.e. to the so-called absolute truths. Kant was also a follower of this school in his pre-critical period. His first writings are entirely in its spirit.

A change in his views occurred when he became acquainted with the explanations of the English philosopher Hume. The latter sought to prove that there was no evidence other than experience. We perceive the sunbeam, and then we notice that the stone on which it falls has warmed up. We perceive this again and again and get used to it. We therefore assume that the connection between the ray of sunlight and the warming of the stone will also manifest itself in the same way in the future. However, this is by no means a certain and necessary realization. Nothing guarantees us that an event which we are accustomed to seeing in a certain way will not take a completely different course at the next opportunity. All propositions in our sciences are only expressions established by habit for frequently noticed connections between things. Therefore, there can be no knowledge about those objects which philosophers strive for. Here we lack experience, which is the only source of our knowledge. About these things man must be content with mere belief. If science wants to deal with them, it degenerates into an empty game of concepts without content. These propositions apply, in the sense of Hume, not only to the last psychological and theological insights, but also to the simplest laws of nature, for example, to the proposition that every effect must have a cause. This judgment, too, is derived only from experience and established by habit. Hume only accepts as absolutely valid and necessary those propositions in which the predicate is basically already included in the subject, as is the case, in his view, with mathematical judgments.

Kant seeks to save absolute knowledge by making it a component of the human mind. Man is organized in such a way that he sees processes in necessary contexts, for example of cause and effect. If they are to appear to man, all things must appear in these contexts. For this reason, however, the whole world of experience is only an appearance, that is, a world that may be as it wishes in itself; for us it appears according to the organization of our mind. We cannot know how it is in itself. Kant sought to save human knowledge from its necessity, its unconditional validity; therefore he gave up its applicability to "things in themselves". H. v. Schoeler stands on Kantian ground. He seeks to prove, with the expenditure of a wealth of knowledge, with a commendable knowledge of the details of the individual sciences, that our knowledge does not reach to the sources of being. Like Kant, he does not seek in knowledge the highest content of man's existence. Kant destroyed knowledge in order to make room for the world that he conjures up from the categorical imperative with the help of faith. Schoeler seeks to show that, independently of all knowledge, goals of existence arise in our souls that make life seem much more worth living than the contemplation of the "crude mechanism of nature" and the "physiological automatism of the body in which our desires are rooted". "The ideality of the emotional life is the saving remedy which preserves our bodily organs from degeneration and keeps our soul healthy and puts it in a position to develop all its powers harmoniously, in the lively activity of which alone, no matter in what field of charitable work, is the purpose of a humane existence. He who has lived the ideals of reason and the cultural aims of humanity has lived for all time; for ability is more important than knowledge - action is the highest." No supporter of the modern scientific world view need contradict this conclusion. For those who understand the modern theory of development, it is a necessary consequence of it. H. v. Schoeler would have found proof of this if he had added to the wealth of knowledge he has acquired the knowledge of my "Philosophy of Freedom" published five years ago. I do not resent him because he has not done so, but I also do not feel obliged to tell him here what he can better read in context in my book.

The rich literature that exists on this relationship proves that the great poet, to whom the capital of Austria has now also erected a monument, had a relationship with the natural sciences that is of profound interest to the natural scientist. A number of the most important natural scientists have endeavored to describe Goethe's significance for their science. One need only recall the relevant writings of Virchow ("Goethe as a natural scientist and in special relation to Schiller", 1861), Helmholtz ("Über Goethes naturwissenschaftliche Arbeiten" and "Goethes Vorahnungen kommender naturwissenschaftlicher Ideen", 1892), Haeckel ("Goethe, Lamarck and Darwin", 1882) and Cohn ("Goethe as a Botanist", 1881) in order to bring to life the idea of the high value attached to the poet's scientific work by experts in the field. The author of this essay has himself attempted to explain the significance of Goethe's scientific ideas and their position within the scientific development of the nineteenth century in a series of works ("Einleitungen zu Goethes naturwissenschaftlichen Schriften" in the Kürschnersche Goethe-Ausgabe, 1883 to 1897, and "Goethes Weltanschauung", 1897). Whatever else one may think about this significance, one thing seems beyond doubt after the above-mentioned works: Goethe was right to say in a review of his scientific endeavors: "Not through an extraordinary gift of the spirit, not through a momentary inspiration, nor unexpectedly and all at once, but through a consequent effort have I finally arrived at such a gratifying result." In Goethe's scientific ideas, we have before us not just flashes of genius, but the results of strictly methodical work. And if we follow Goethe's efforts historically, it is particularly striking how close he was to the spirit of modern scientific methods in the way he worked. This has been shown particularly clearly in the notes published from Goethe's papers left behind (second section of the great Weimar Goethe edition, volumes 6, 7, 9, 10, 11 and 12, edited by Steiner, volume 8, edited by Professor v. Bardeleben). To point out just one thing, let us mention Goethe's notes on the relationship between the bones of the skull and the vertebrae contained in these papers. We know that the natural philosopher Lorenz Oken was the first to draw public attention to this relationship; and anyone who has read Goethe's scientific writings is also aware that he was familiar with this fact, which is so significant in terms of evolutionary history, before Oken. However, it was not until Carl Gegenbaur's investigations "On the head skeleton of the Selachians", published in 1872, that it was given a firm foundation. The aforementioned records now prove that Goethe did not arrive at his theory suddenly, through a brilliant idea, like the naturalist Oken, but through continued methodical work, and indeed through such work that was already moving in the direction that later led Gegenbaur to his important results (cf. the essay by Professor Karl v. Bardeleben "Goethe als Anatom" in the XII. Bande des Goethe-Jahrbuches, 1892). The poet Goethe proceeded much more methodically than the natural scientist Oken.

It can be observed in many cases with Goethe that a seemingly trivial remark in his writings has an enlightening effect on the whole nature of his work in the most eminent sense. One such remark can be found in the "Appendix" that he added in 1817 to the reprint of his work on the "Metamorphosis of Plants". There he considers certain pathological phenomena in the plant kingdom and speaks of them in the following way: "Nature forms normally when it gives countless details the rule, determines and conditions them; but the phenomena are abnormal when the details prevail and stand out in an arbitrary, even seemingly random way. But because the two are closely related and both the regulated and the irregular are animated by one spirit, there is a fluctuation between the normal and the abnormal, because formation and transformation always alternate, so that the abnormal appears to become normal and the normal abnormal. The shape of a plant part can be abolished or obliterated without us wanting to call it deformity... In the plant kingdom the normal in its completeness is rightly called healthy, physiologically pure; but the abnormal is not immediately to be regarded as diseased or pathological." Such a remark shows how Goethe thought about the pathological. He knew the value of considering the pathological for those who want to form an opinion about the laws of the healthy.

It is certainly not wrong to link such a thought of Goethe's with the poet's relationship to medicine. For his scientific ideas were largely influenced by these relationships. One need only follow his own communications in "Dichtung und Wahrheit" to gain an insight into the significant stimuli that Goethe owed to medicine. At the two universities he attended, he felt more attracted to the medical sciences than to the representatives of other subjects. (An interesting clarification of Goethe's relationship to medicine was recently given by Dr. P.H. Gerber, Privatdozent at the University of Königsberg, in his work "Goethes Beziehungen zur Medizin", Berlin 1900). The poet tells us about his stay at the University of Leipzig: "In the manifold dispersion, indeed fragmentation of my being and my studies, it happened that I had lunch with Hofrat Ludwig. He was a physician, a botanist, and the company consisted, apart from Morus, of all aspiring doctors or doctors approaching perfection. During these hours I heard no other conversation than that of medicine or natural history, and my imagination was drawn into quite another field ... The subjects were entertaining and important and held my attention." And later, at the University of Strasbourg, Goethe spent a stimulating time in a circle of doctors. He reported: "Most of my dinner companions were physicians. As is well known, they are the only students who talk about their science, their profession, with liveliness even outside the lessons. This is in the nature of things. The objects of their endeavors are the most sensual and at the same time the highest, the simplest and the most complicated. Medicine deals with the whole person because it deals with the whole person. Everything that the young man learns immediately points to an important, albeit dangerous, but in many ways rewarding practice. He therefore throws himself with passion into what is to be recognized and done, partly because it interests him in itself, partly because it opens up to him the happy prospect of independence and prosperity." But Goethe did not confine himself to such external stimuli in Strasbourg; he also diligently pursued medical and scientific studies himself. He attended lectures on chemistry by Spielmann and on anatomy by one of the most important anatomists of the time, Lobstein. Special circumstances prompted him to take a further interest in certain branches of the medical art. Herder had come to Strasbourg to undergo an eye operation. Goethe, who had formed an intimate friendship with this outstanding mind, was present at the operation and showed himself to be "of service and assistance to his friend in many ways". We also learn from "Dichtung und Wahrheit" how intensely Goethe was interested in these things at the time. He describes an eye operation that was unsuccessful for his friend Jung-Stilling and includes the words: "Usually, and I had watched it myself several times in Strasbourg, nothing seemed easier in the world, as Stilling had also succeeded a hundred times. After a painless incision had been made through the insensitive cornea, the cloudy lens popped out by itself at the slightest pressure, the patient immediately saw the objects and only had to wait blindfolded until a completed cure allowed him to use the delicious organ at will and convenience." The interest Goethe took in medical studies in Strasbourg corresponded to a profound need of his nature. No external circumstances would have been necessary to awaken such an interest in him. For in a certain sense he came to the university well prepared in this direction. The time between his studies in Leipzig and Strasbourg was also filled with reading medical writings. He had studied Boerhave's Compendium and his aphorisms, which formed the basis of medical teaching at the time.

When Goethe was then summoned to Weimar by Duke Karl August in 1775, he immediately entered into relations with the neighboring University of Jena. Once again, it was the physicians from whom he drew his most important inspiration. He studied anatomy in depth under the guidance of Court Councillor Loder. A manuscript he left behind (now published in Volume VIII of the Weimar Goethe Edition) shows how he pursued this science entirely in the spirit of a rational comparative method. One fruit of his studies is his important discovery that humans, like other vertebrates, have an intermaxillary bone in the upper jaw. These studies in Jenens enriched his anatomical knowledge to such an extent that he was able to give anatomical lessons to the students of the Weimar Academy of Drawing. The thoroughness of Goethe's studies is also evidenced by the fact that in the winter of 1781, he worked particularly diligently on the study of ligaments with Hofrat Loder, a subject that was "neglected by the medical youth" at the time.

It was Goethe's need for a comprehensive view of nature that corresponded to the whole disposition of his mind that drove him to an energetic preoccupation with empirical natural science, which he found best in the circles of medical experts. But this preoccupation also caused the poet to develop a deep understanding of medical science. The nature of this understanding is shown clearly enough by a description he gives in "Dichtung und Wahrheit" of the medical movement of the seventies of the last century. "For a light had dawned on excellent, thinking and feeling minds that a direct, original view of nature and action based on it was the best that man could wish for, and not even difficult to attain. Experience, therefore, was again the general watchword, and every one opened his eyes as well as he could; but it was actually the physicians who had most reason to urge it, and opportunity to seek it.... Because some extraordinary people, such as Boerhave and Haller, had really achieved the unbelievable, it seemed justified to demand even more from their students and descendants. It was claimed that the course was broken, since in all earthly things there can seldom be any question of a course; for just as the water that is displaced by a ship immediately collapses again behind it, so also error, when excellent spirits have pushed it aside and made room for themselves, naturally closes up again very quickly behind them."

In an important matter concerning medical teaching, Goethe even came up with a fruitful practical suggestion. He first presented it as a "semi-fiction" in chapter 3 of "Wilhelm Meister's Wanderjahre". The difficulty of procuring the necessary objects for anatomical teaching led him to the idea of using plastic replicas for educational purposes instead of real organic bodies. He later approached Privy Councillor Beuth in Berlin with a proposal to this effect. A part of the letter to him is printed in Goethe's works under the title "Plastic Anatomy". Here he mentions that this "plastic anatomy" has been practiced in Florence for many years and adds the remark: "But should one not immediately think of Berlin when calling for such a location, where everything - science, art, taste and technology - is together and therefore a highly important, admittedly complicated undertaking could be carried out immediately by word and will?" Goethe has very specific suggestions in this direction: "Send an anatomist, a sculptor, a plaster casterer to Florence to be instructed in the special art in question. The anatomist learns to work out the specimens for his own purpose. The sculptor descends from the surface of the human body deeper and deeper into the interior and lends the higher style of his art to objects that would be repulsive and unpleasant without such ideal assistance. The caster, already accustomed to adapt his skill to more intricate cases, will find little difficulty in disposing of his task; he is no stranger to handling wax of various colors and all kinds of dimensions, and he will soon achieve what is desirable." The fact that such a suggestion for a pedagogical aid, which was later used in so many ways, came from Goethe proves how thoroughly he dealt with the requirements of medical teaching.

When one considers Goethe's close relationship with medicine, it is not unreasonable to say that this spiritual field also plays an important role in his life's poetry, in "Faust". Faust's personality is reminiscent of Paracelsus and other medical scholars of the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. Goethe put much of his own essence into this figure. And when we read Faust's reflections on his art as a physician, we may remember that similar thoughts often arose in Goethe's own soul. Questions about the significance of medicine for life certainly often occupied Goethe, as he had become acquainted with the art of healing from a more than merely theoretical perspective through his frequent illnesses. After all, it is entirely in the spirit of his world view to think of the physical in full unity with the spiritual. He, to whom everything human was so intimately familiar, had to be led back again and again to the science of which he had gained the conviction in Strasbourg that it deals with the whole human being, because it has to do with the whole human being. But there is also a branch of medical science to which Goethe was particularly close through his artistic work: psychiatry. Even if we cannot claim that Goethe dealt with this field theoretically in the same way as with the purely physical phenomena of the living organism, it is nevertheless extremely interesting to note his keen eye for psychological abnormalities. His Werther, Orest, the harpist in "Wilhelm Meister", his Lila, Mignon and finally Gretchen are exemplary achievements in the depiction of pathological psyches. Gerber ("Goethe's Relations with Medicine") has subtly pointed out that Goethe portrays Mignon's character as it must be due to the girl's descent from her siblings.

Numerous paths led Goethe to medicine. He, who said that true art must be an expression of the highest laws of nature, that poetry rests on the foundations of knowledge, proved through his relationships with medicine that he knew how to assign this spiritual field its rightful place in the totality of the human spirit.

Guest performance at the Court Theater, Weimar

The person who first explained the greatness of Shakespeare's dramas from the fact that their poet was an actor had a happy, illuminating idea. It is less important that this poet practiced the art of acting professionally than that he was, by his very nature, an actor. It is part of the essence of such a nature that it can, with complete denial of its own personality, immerse itself in other characters. The actor renounces being himself. He is given the opportunity to speak out of other beings. And the more malleable, the more transformable he is, the more of an actor he is. It has a deeply symbolic meaning that we know next to nothing about Shakespeare as a person. What is he to us as a person? He does not speak to us as a person; he speaks to us in roles. He is the true chameleon. He speaks to us as Hamlet, as Lear, as Othello. Shakespeare plays theater, even when he writes plays. He no longer feels what is going on in his soul when he creates the characters in his plays. Because Shakespeare was only an actor, his plays can only be performed by real actors. It will always be the sign of an actor's deficiency if his art fails in Shakespeare's dramas.

These thoughts crossed my mind last Sunday when I saw Mr. Wüllner's Othello. I couldn't shake off a certain impatience throughout the performance. I wanted to see Othello and all I saw all evening was Mr. Wüllner. I wanted to understand how Othello could gradually fall into this terrible rage of jealousy, and I only got to know the feelings that dominate Mr. Wüllner when he looks at Othello. Mr. Wüllner has not the power of self-expression which makes the true actor. At every moment he lets us see to the bottom of his own being.

Do not be unfair to Mr. Wüllner. His art is no small one. He has a great command of his means of expression, he is a master of the nuances of acting. There are many things to praise. But it is annoying when you see such art applied where the main point is missed.

Mr. Wüllner used to be a learned philologist. I think I recognize the scholar in the actor. The scholar lacks the ability to slip into the unknown; he only observes it, he usually just ponders it. And Mr. Wüllner did not play Othello, he played about Othello. He played what he pondered about Othello. But what does the audience care what Mr. Wüllner feels about Othello, no matter how vividly it is felt. I would rather see Mr. Wüllner's feelings and thoughts about the character of Othello set down in a literary work than acted on the stage. I have no doubt that such a work would be interesting. But I am not interested in interesting doctrines on the stage. They don't seem interesting there. It was therefore boring and tiring to watch Mr. Wüllner's Othello to the end. To portray a character in such a way that he stands there as if from a single mould, that the spectator has the feeling with every word, with every gesture, with every step, that all this must be so: this, it seems, Mr. Wüllner cannot do. With every detail one has the feeling that it could be different without changing anything as a whole. Mr. Wüllner offered a mosaic of acting nuances, not a uniform character. His art lacks style. It seems mannered. It represents the flip side of good acting. It denies everything that makes good actors great. Mr. Wüllner cannot eradicate the "doctor" in himself.

On October 2, 1895, the Marie Seebach Foundation was opened in Weimar. The founder created a friendly home for sixteen German stage artists who had become unfit for their profession due to old age or illness. In doing so, she realized a wonderful idea within the limits imposed by the circumstances. Compared to the large number of German stage performers, however, the cause has a modest reputation. It can only be regarded as a fortunate and very grateful suggestion. However, the founder has understood how to set an example that is truly worthy of imitation. If imitation were to take place in abundance and if the same sure sense of what meets the needs were always demonstrated as with Marie Seebach, then an important social issue for German stage artists would indeed be solved.

Guest performance at the Neues Theater, Berlin

The Italians currently call Ermete Zacconi their greatest actor. For a few days now, we have been seeing him every day at the Neues Theater in Berlin. Before that, he did a guest performance at the Carl Theater in Vienna. The news we received about this guest performance from Vienna bordered on the unbelievable. Not since Duse had thrilled the art community in the city on the Danube had anything similar been experienced there. People fell into a delirium when they saw Zacconi. Eight days ago, a Viennese theater critic wrote in this magazine that for weeks, while Zacconi was with them, the theater-goers of Vienna were preoccupied with the question: what is the secret of the great actor? Now we have also seen him here in Berlin. His first role was that of Oswald in the "Ghosts". The message of the Viennese delirium had so little effect on the Berliners that on the third day of his guest performance, when he played Oswald for the third time, Zacconi produced himself in front of empty benches. And there was absolutely no sign of any excitement about the question: what is the secret of the great actor? And I must confess that I, too, cannot quite understand the excitement in Vienna. Zacconi has taught me only one thing. When the art of acting emancipates itself from drama and appears obtrusive and self-important to us, it becomes repulsive. We want the actor to carry out the poet's intentions. We call an actor great when he succeeds in bringing the poet's intentions to the stage in the purest, most unadulterated way. This is the secret of the great actor for anyone of understanding. There is no other. Zacconi has not given us the slightest explanation of this problem. Basically, his art has nothing to do with this kind of acting. It is ridiculous to argue about whether Zacconi is a great actor in the sense that he aspires to be. He is not interested in poetry. He has become acquainted with Ibsen's drama "Ghosts". He has seen that there is a paralytic in it. Now he plays the course of the paralysis in a masterly way. The way in which he portrays the development of this illness in all its phases is of indescribable perfection. Probably nothing better can be created on stage in this direction. He portrays paralysis in ideal perfection, just as Goethe portrays the type of the noble woman in Iphigenia. He elevates a clinical image to a work of art. 'But Ibsen's drama is none of Zacconi's business. Zacconi is indifferent to what happens in this drama apart from Oswald going mad. The whole plot could go differently than Ibsen portrays it: Zacconi would play everything the way he plays it after all, if only one thing were certain, that Oswald is a paralytic. One could become angry when one sees how the intrusive art of the comedian deals with great poetry. But you don't get angry. And that is the strange thing about Zacconi. His art is again so great that you are drawn into its spell. It is so great that one forgives even his acts of violence towards poets. One says to oneself: Ibsen's Oswald is not portrayed by Zacconi. But what Zacconi portrays is interesting in every turn. You follow every word, every gesture, every movement with the most rapt attention. You say to yourself, if an actor can do something so important, let's enjoy him for once, even if he moves in the wrong direction. Zacconi is also forgiven for appearing in the worst possible plays. Where we are not interested in the poet, we are genuinely interested in the actor.

I was curious about Zacconi as Kean. I told myself I was dealing with an actor who was nothing more than an actor, a comedian. In the silly play "Kean", Zacconi had to play a comedian. I thought that must be his best role. It will show what he can actually do. The actor as a human being, I thought, is what he will bring to the stage. What the comedian suffers and what joys he feels, that's what Zacconi will portray, I thought. And strange! It was precisely as Kean that I liked Zacconi the least. He doesn't portray the actor as a human being, but as an actor. Zacconi's Kean is not only acting when he plays Hamlet on stage; he is also acting when he talks to members of high society in the drawing room; he is also acting when he receives visits from his lovers in his dressing room. In Kean, Zacconi has revealed his nature. He has given his whole personality to the art of comedy. His individuality, his soul, has been absorbed into this art and has completely disappeared. He is no longer human at all; he is just a comedian. And he is a comedian in everything he brings to the stage. That's why we admire his tricks, but we are never moved, never enraptured. We try to figure out how he does this and that, but that's as far as our feelings towards him go. He does not depict human actions, but soulless images of these actions.

Zacconi's acting is an independent art. And an art that loses all justification in this independence. Poets could not write dramas for the stage if all actors played the way Zacconi plays. They would only have to write instructions for the actors. Ibsen should not have written his "Ghosts", but the general outline of a plot in which a paralytic appears. He should have left it to the brilliant actor to carry out this plot in detail. As long as playwrights create as they do at present, Zacconi's way makes no sense.

Guest performance in Berlin

If I were to describe in a few words the feeling I have when Adele Sandrock is on stage, I would have to say: I revel in the pleasure of mature, sweet beauty. I leave the theater in the harmonious mood that I usually only have when I have succeeded in completing a difficult work to my complete satisfaction. A soothing calm takes over my soul. Not a calm similar to that which comes from idleness, but a calm similar to that which comes from a properly completed life.

This was not always the case when I saw Adele Sandrock. Ten years ago, when she was just beginning to be regarded by the public as a great actress, I left her performances with a hot head and feverish nerves. Everything in me twitched when I saw her Eva, her Alexandra - in Richard Voss' plays - or even her Anna in Gunnar Heiberg's "King Midas". A great nature spoke from her. Everything one had in the way of vitality excited her. But back then you had to find peace through yourself. It gave you nothing to restore the torn harmony of your soul. There was always something missing that belonged to full beauty. It must also calm the waves it has stirred. Sandrock was once a stormy wind, now she has become a power that knows how to evenly distribute storm and calm. That is why I say her art has the hallmark of mature beauty that comes from harmony.

I believe that Adele Sandrock owes this to the fact that she came to the Burgtheater at the right time. Her style was mature, and in the Burgtheater she found a calm. Beauty blossomed there, but the warmth of passion and temperament had died in this beauty. The whole Burgtheater was like Charlotte Wolter. Adele Sandrock brought with her everything that Charlotte Wolter lacked, and with the manner of a genius she appropriated what she could learn from Wolter.

Now, at her Berlin guest performance, I found in Adele Sandrock all the traits that once made me feel hot, but everything is muted by the noble artistry that was always at home in the Burgtheater.

This was already clear to me on the first evening when she played Francillon. It became even clearer to me during the performance of "Mary Stuart". This Mary was all life and also all art. The innocent-guilty woman appeared in large, noble-beautiful features, in whom one could believe at any moment that a noble soul can submit to great misfortune.

And the following evening, this Christine in Schnitzler's brisk, genuinely dramatic, fragrantly beautiful insignificance "Liebelei". The Viennese girl with all the magic of loveliness that is so charming in the city on the Danube. I always had to ask myself: where have I seen this girl? She seemed like a good acquaintance to me. And yet again everything was played in the style of the Burgtheater. Immediately afterwards, the high-spirited, cynical exuberance of Anni in Schnitzler's "Abschiedssouper". The two roles are like black and white, and Sandrock didn't miss a note in either of them.

However, old memories came back most vividly when she played Eva. That was one of the roles in which she shone ten years ago. How differently she plays it now. A noble dignity always forces the erupting passion back into beautiful form. Adele Sandrock says today what she said ten years ago, but she has recast everything in the same way that Goethe recast his Iphigenia in Italy. Her passion is still the same as before, her warmth is still the same as before: but above the passion, above the warmth, stands the personality of the artist, who no longer allows herself to be subdued by the forces of her soul and is driven by them. Today she rules over them with playful power.

When Adele Sandrock recently made a guest appearance in Berlin, she published a short article in the Berliner Tageblatt in which she advocated the employment of female directors. The idea is certainly very appealing, and if one is generally in favor of opening up to women the professions to which prejudice and error have so far prevented them, then one can only applaud the proposal of the great Viennese actress. Nevertheless, one should not suppress reservations in this respect. The reasons put forward by Adele Sandrock are the main reason for this. In many cases, directing is a matter of arrangements that women take care of in real life. They should therefore - in Adele Sandrock's opinion - have more understanding than men when it comes to working out these arrangements on stage. One thing is not taken into account: It is another to do a thing in real life, another to imitate it in the field of art. This seems to be a fundamental error in Adele Sandrock's conception of art. Could not the male imagination be better suited than the female imagination to imitate those things on stage that women do in life? Of course, it cannot be denied that there will always be some women in the ranks of actresses who have a distinct talent for directing. They should not be deprived of the opportunity to use this talent. 'There will also be plays that definitely need a female hand. They will be those in which feminine feelings and views are in the foreground. In short, Adele Sandrock's suggestion will not be easy to reject. Incidentally, Berlin will soon get to know the advantages of a female director - the enterprising Nuscha Butze will not fail to add to the burden of direction in her "theater, which she takes off Lautenburg's shoulders, also that of the "Oberregie", with which her predecessor was also burdened.

Dr. Raphael Löwenfeld, the meritorious director of the Berlin Schiller Theater, has just had the lecture "Volksbildung und Volksunterhaltung" (Popular Education and Popular Entertainment), which he gave on June 8, 1897 at the general assembly of the Gesellschaft für Verbreitung von Volksbildung in Halle a.S., published. He advocates working on the education of more classes of the people through popular theater with cheap admission prices and by organizing lecture evenings. The example of the Schiller Theater, whose activities Löwenfeld describes, illustrates how a popular theater should be conceived. The lecture evenings are intended to present individual artistic personalities to a larger audience. On such an evening, a characterization of a poet or sound artist should first be developed, and this should be followed by declamations or musical reproductions of individual creations by the artists concerned. It is to be hoped that the author's fine intentions will be well received. For one must agree with him when he considers art to be the best means for the further development of a mature person. Those who are no longer able to follow scientific debates after a hard day's work can very well refresh and enrich their minds with the creations of art. Löwenfeld rightly says: "Those who come from gainful employment, physically tired and mentally exhausted, need stimulation in the most appealing form... Not factual knowledge, not specialist training, but intellectual stimulation in the broadest sense is the task of popular education."

November 13, 1897 brings back an interesting memory. It was the centenary of the birth of the composer Gustav Reichardt, to whom we owe the song "Was ist des Deutschen Vaterland". After the wars of liberation, the song was sung in a different melody. It was not suitable to become popular. Reichardt's succeeded to the highest degree. It is said that the composer wrote down the melody in the old little chapel on the Schneekoppe during a hike.

*

An essay by the Berlin court conductor F. Weingartner in the "Neue Deutsche Rundschau" is a true example of unclear thinking. After Weingartner has unreservedly vented his resentment towards the younger composers, their followers and praisers, he describes the "coming man" in music, the savior from the confusion caused by the young originalists. "At first I think of him as independent of all party politics and not concerned with it, because he stands above it; I think of him as neither narrow-mindedly Germanistic nor vapidly international, but as having an all-human feeling, because music is an all-human art; I think of him as being filled with an ardent, unbridled enthusiasm for what has been created by the great spirits of all times and nations, feeling an insurmountable aversion to mediocrity, with which he comes into contact through compulsion, at most once through his own good-naturedness. I imagine him without envy, because he is aware of his own high value and trusts in it, therefore far removed from any petty propaganda for his works, but, if necessary, thoroughly honest, even ruthless, and therefore not particularly popular in many places. I think of him as not fearfully closing himself off from life, but with a tendency towards loneliness - not hating people with exaggerated world-weariness, but despising their pettiness and narrow-mindedness, therefore choosing only exceptions for his closer contact. I imagine him to be not insensitive to success or failure, but not to be moved one step from his path by either, very indifferent to so-called public opinion, a republican in his political views in the sense of Beethoven. ... Feeling himself truly related only to the greatest geniuses, he nevertheless knows that he too is only a new link in the chain which they form together, and also knows that other great ones will follow him. So he too belongs to a direction, but one that hovers above the heads of mankind and flies over them." Does Mr. Weingartner really believe that nature will see fit to realize his fantasies? And if not, why is he writing down his ideal of the future musician? Incidentally, this ideal would be extremely useful for any creative work. If Badeni's successor had the qualities described by Weingartner, the confusion in Austria could give way to the most beautiful harmony. It is incomprehensible how a highly talented artist can please himself with such gimmicks of idle thinking.

*

During these days, the newspapers have been publishing statistical reports on the repertoire of the past season on German stages. They showed that the most popular plays were the Blumenthal-Kadelburg company's "Im weißen Rößl" and "Hans Huckebein", while interest in classical performances had declined considerably. I have long been extremely suspicious of such statements. They say nothing at all. For they do not reveal what our audience is really interested in. We can see that the views of theater directors today no longer correspond to the tastes of the audience. The line-up of our miserable repertoire does not arise from the fact that our audience does not want anything better, but from the fact that the theater directors believe that people only want to see spicy trash. They only try to present something better, as Burckhard, for example, did in his afternoon performances at the Burgtheater in Vienna: the audience really finds itself. There is some truth in the saying: every theater director has the audience he deserves. Our appalling repertoire does not prove a decline in general taste, but only that our theater directors prefer to perform bad plays rather than good ones, and that they therefore attract the lovers of bad plays to the theater, while keeping the audience with better taste away from the theater. Classical performances, presented in a dignified manner, will always have an audience. If the theater directors want to be "poets" at the same time and want to sell their own works of art, then the evil is the greatest imaginable. It should become a kind of rule of decency for theater directors never to perform their own plays at their own institutions. Perhaps such a rule of decency demands some qualities that are not given to everyone; but every code of honor demands such a thing.

I don't see why theater directors should determine taste. In recent years they have shown themselves to be so prejudiced that you don't have to agree with them when they say: we can't put on anything better because no one else will go to the theater. They should try something else. Perhaps they will then have different experiences. I would even seriously advise many of them to stop writing plays.

Stage adaptation

Heinrich Jantsch, the director of the "Wiener Jantsch-Theater", who used to be a member of the Meiningen ensemble, has published a stage adaptation of "Wilhelm Tell" (Halle 1898). He explains that he wants to open a debate with his work about how plays can best be rehearsed. He provides a director's book containing all the instructions necessary for the actors in a play. This director's book should contain everything about a role that takes place while the performer is in front of the audience. One will certainly not be able to refrain from expressing serious reservations about such far-reaching instruction books. Performers who insist on their independence will rebel against such "drill". But consider that the author can hardly have the will to suppress legitimate independence. He wants to make a suggestion - nothing more! "If the performer of the role is intellectually higher than the one who made the 'remark', yes, if he believes he is only allowed to express his own opinion, no one will stop him. He grows beyond the remark, perhaps precisely because of this first suggestion. In any case, it has taken the place of nothing - something!"

It should not be forgotten that in countless cases there will not be enough time to formulate such an opinion. A book like the one Jantsch has in mind must not, of course, be the result of random ideas. It must be the result of a long experience. And then it will serve even the most cradled and talented actor excellently. It must contain what has stood the test of time. "Such a director's book need not be the work of a single person, just as our most beautiful scenery is often created with the help of many actors. Don't complain about the drill that seems to grow out of such a scenario, it is a thousand times better than chaos; it declares war on thoughtlessness on stage." Some of Jantsch's introductory remarks will be reproduced here to characterize the tendency and nature of the proposal.

"The smaller the role, the more necessary the comment and explanation, not only with regard to the external but also the internal design. - Let's take the much-maligned servant roles, one of which is not even mentioned on Lessing's playbill for "Emilia Galotti". - We are at the pleasure palace Dosalo, the prince together with Emilia. Then the prince's mistress, Countess Orsina, intervenes, whom no one had suspected. - A servant delivers this terrifying news with the words:

"The countess is just arriving."

The prince: "The countess? What kind of countess?"

Servant: "Orsina."

The catastrophe of the play germinates in this servant's role! - This slick journeyman, who has grown up in the sins of his master, loses all sense and reason at the news that the Countess has just arrived. - For him, for the prince, for everyone in the castle, she was "the Countess! not Countess Orsina, not the Countess. - In the servant's imagination, there is only one count and one countess at this moment, and this count is the prince himself.

Does the director of the middle stages have time to make these - so necessary - comments? Will he - if he gives them - be thanked by the actor in the role of the servant, who - otherwise a highly esteemed member of the chorus - is reluctant to be "trained"? - In the choir rehearsal he is used to the dressing down, in the play it would be humiliation - so great is the misjudgment. - If the note is written in his role, then it's easier, otherwise the member is not a disavowed enemy of role-reading - which should also happen.

"That's how I recognize my Pappenheimer." The word owes its immortal ridicule to the poor devils who appear in audience with Wallenstein dressed in cardboard armor as the ten cuirassiers of Pappenheim. - As long as the play had been performed before, it was the Meininger who made the cuirassier scene what it is. - There was no laughter! Why should there be? A bit of drill and the audience takes us seriously.

The great value Schiller - the eminent stage practitioner - placed on the role of the servant is demonstrated by the fact that he repeatedly put announcements in the mouths of the heroes themselves. Thus in "Wallenstein" after the monologue "If it were possible". - The Swedish colonel is to be reported. The page enters.

Wallenstein to the page: "The Swedish colonel? Is it him? Well, here he comes!" In Wallenstein we have the example that the message:

"Ten cuirassiers

From Pappenheim demand you in the name

To speak in the name

*

Carl Heine, the director of the theater performances organized by the "Leipziger Literarische Gesellschaft", put together an ensemble with which he gave performances of Ibsen's works in various German cities. On the occasion of the Vienna guest performance of this ensemble, Dr. Heine has now developed the aims and character of his "Ibsen Theatre" in an interesting essay in the weekly magazine "Zeit", the main points of which I think are worth mentioning here.

Heine starts from the conviction that Ibsen is the best school for an ensemble striving for St]. He quite rightly emphasizes that Ibsen is a blessing for actors because they are forced to play not roles and theatrical templates but life types and individualities in his plays. If you want to cast one of Ibsen's later plays - this is not yet the case with the earlier plays - you cannot possibly stick to the old subjects: the bon vivant, the character player, the sedate lover, the chaperone and so on; in Heine's ensemble, the roles of Rank, Aslaksen, Wholesaler Werle, the Stranger, Rosmer and Jörgen Tesmann are all in one hand, as are those of Brendel, Dr. Stockmann, Brack, Hjørgen Tesmann. Stockmann, Brack, Hjalmar Ekdal, Oswald, Günther and Gabriel Borkmann. Such a lack of expertise forces the actor to stick to individual life, to observation, not to the custom and tradition of the theater.

Directing the dialog in Ibsen's dramas also requires a special art. Heine believes that facial expressions and gestures are less important than in older drama. He uses them only as an aid and as sparingly as possible. On the other hand, he attaches great importance to grouping. The position of the characters in relation to each other, their following each other, their fleeing, the elimination of a character and their closer or further distance from the main troupe form, in his opinion, a large part of what is called mood. Only by striking in this direction that which corresponds to the poet's intentions can the illusion be created which is necessary for the audience to properly absorb an Ibsen drama. The difficulty lies in the fact that in almost every work by this poet different means of this kind must be used, because each of these works has its own style. That style which is demanded by the content. Only those who know how to arrange all the details of the stage direction in such a way that they come together, as required by the individual character of an Ibsen play, can stage such a play in an artistic manner. "Ibsen forms a preliminary school for this ideal requirement. Not two of his dramas have the same style. Just compare "Nora", "Enemy of the People", "Rosmersholm>, "Hedda Gabler" and "John Gabriel Borkmann". But each of his dramas has its own, strictly defined form, which becomes more artistic, purer and clearer from drama to drama... Thus Ibsen is also a teacher for the actor in that he leads him from the simpler tasks to the most artistic; and just as in Ibsen's social dramas the men seek truth, the women freedom, so in Ibsen's drama is the school for the actor which can mature him to the ultimate goals of art, to the goals to which art of every age has aspired: to freedom and truth."

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In numbers 11 and 14 of this magazine, we spoke of the plan to found an Alsatian theater and of the objectives pursued by this foundation. This plan is now approaching its realization. An association has been formed to found the Alsatian Theater. Its chairman is Dr. Julius Greber, the author of the dramatic morality play "Lucie" - which has been banned by the censors -, then the young painter and poet Gustav Stoskopf, as well as Mr. Hauß, editor and newly elected member of the Reichstag, Bastian, the author of Alsatian folk plays, and Horsch.

The author of the article "Theater und Kunst in den Reichslanden" (No. 14 of this journal) has already pointed out that political tendencies were not intended with the new foundation, but that only the desire to see Alsatian folk life on the stage was decisive. The association's statutes are also drafted with this in mind.

Eight novelties are to be performed next winter. Alexander Hessler, the former director of the Stadttheater (Strasbourg), has been appointed artistic director of the new theater company. He is said to have a keen, sure artistic sense and a good eye for judging artistic forces.

If one considers the tremendous success of the popular performances of the people of Schliersee everywhere, one can open up the best prospects for the future to undertakings such as the Alsatian folk theater. Such ventures are very much in line with a remarkable trend of our time. Our art is becoming more and more international in character. Language is almost the only element that still reminds us that art grows out of the soil of nationality. Folkloric and even regional ways of thinking, viewing and feeling are disappearing more and more from the materials of our artistic achievements. And the term "good Europeans" is by no means a mere phrase today. Today, we understand the Parisian mores shown to us from the stage almost as well as those of our home town. In addition to this one extreme direction, however, there is another. Just as we cherish our youthful experiences, we cherish the folkloric idiosyncrasies that are, so to speak, the nation's childhood memories. And the more cosmopolitan culture in general leads us away from them, the more we like to return to them "here and there". Indeed, watching the Schlierseer play today seems like a memory of our youth; a memory of our youth is the content of the plays they perform for us, and a memory of our youth is above all the level of art that we can observe in them.

I would like to see undertakings similar to the Alsatian Theater spring up in various parts of Germany. Perhaps they are the only means of saving the individualities of the countryside for a while longer, which are being mercilessly swept away by the cosmopolitan tide of the times. In the end, however, cosmopolitanism will remain the winner.

*

What actually is "theater"? Hermann Bahr raises this question in issue 200 of Die Zeit. "A poet's play fails, and it is then said that it is unfortunately not "theater" after all. Or we see a crude person dominating the stage with bad things of a mean kind, and the excuse is that he knows what "theater" is. So what is this "theater"? Nobody wants to answer that. Everyone senses that there are things that are not "theatrical" and others that are, but that's all they seem to know. It is claimed: you can't say it, you have to feel it. So we always go round and round in the same circle. When asked what it must be like to be effective in the theater, we are told that it must be theatrical, and when asked what is theatrical, we are told: what is effective in the theater. So we can't get out of the circle."

I am somewhat puzzled by these statements from a man who has always pretended in recent times that he has finally found the key that opens the door to the theatrical. Hermann Bahr was once a terrible striker and rager. He could not do enough in his condemnation of the "theatrical". The pure demands of art were paramount to him. I don't think he thought about it very long ago: what is effective in the theater? What is theatrical? He thought about: what does "modernity" demand of dramatic technique? Then he persecuted everything that violated this "modern" technique in the worst possible way. And if Mr. von Schönthan or Mr. Oskar Blumenthal had come to him back then and told him: your "modernism" is all very well, but it doesn't work in the theater, he would have scolded them for being miserable doers and driven them - albeit only critically - out of the temple of art.

In recent years, Hermann Bahr has become tamer. He has explained this himself.

Marco Brociner had a play performed in Vienna last autumn that was not "art" at all, but only "theater"; Hermann Bahr wrote: "When I was still a striker and a rager, I hated Mr. Marco Brociner's plays. They are what you call "unliterary", and that was terrible for me back then. I was a lonely person back then, such a solitary and independent person who didn't recognize anything and didn't want to submit, but let his mind and taste rule. Now I am more modest; it has become difficult for me, but I have gradually realized that there are other people in the world. They want to live too, but the young man can't understand that. Today I say to myself: I have my taste, other people have a different one; whoever writes what I like is my author, but the others want their authors too, that's just cheap..."

Not only in the essay he wrote about Marco Brociner, but also in quite a few other omissions, Hermann Bahr says that he thinks more modestly today than he once did when he was a "striker and a rager".

The fact that one has to make concessions, this principle of all true philistines, was happily discovered by Hermann Bahr as the last word of wisdom for the time being. He repeated it over and over again in the last issues of "Die Zeit". "The man has learned to obey, he renounces himself, he knows that he is not alone; - he has another passion; he wants to help, wants to work. He feels that the world is not there to be his means, but that he is there for it, to become its servant."

But why am I writing here about Hermann Bahr's latest transformation? Why am I trying to find out what the path is from "Stürmer und Wüterich" to half court councillor?

Only because today, the "half court councillor" raises questions that the "striker and poor rake" would once have described as highly superfluous.

Yes, probably superfluous. And the rest of us, who cannot make up our minds to take the leap into the semi-hierarchical, know how to distinguish between the "theatrical" that crude people bring to the theater with bad things, and the "theatrical" that is genuine and good poetry despite all its "theatricality". A real playwright creates in a theatrical way because his imagination works in a theatrical way.

And if the question is put to us today: "What is theatrical?", we simply laugh. Shakespeare already knew this, and Hermann Bahr would have known it too if he hadn't been on his way from "Stürmer und Wüterich" to tame court councillor.

But that's the way it is: you have to unlearn a lot when you have come so far that you realize what Hermann Bahr realized: "He who has measured his strength and recognizes where he should step with it is immune, nothing can happen to him anymore: because he has become necessary. Becoming necessary, finding your place, knowing your role, that's all."

*

The lawyer Paul Jonas spoke about the current state of theater censorship in Berlin in one of the latest issues of the "Nation" (October 1898). He emphasizes that this current state of affairs has grown into a calamity, and that conditions in this area are hardly better than in the neighbouring Tsarist empire.

As in so many other cases, the guardians of public order are also served by decades-old police regulations when handling the censorship pen. Playwrights writing in the present day are judged according to regulations from July 10, 1851. The High Administrative Court recognized that the censorship pen must pass over matters that "only indicate a remote possibility that the performance of a play could lead to a disturbance of public order", and that this pointed instrument may only be used if there is a "real imminent danger" in prospect. Nevertheless, the pen in question from Hauptmann's "Florian Geyer" found it necessary to destroy the following sentences:

"Eat the plague all clerical servants."

"The priests do nothing with love, but pull the wool over their eyes."

"The Pope barters away Christianity, the German princes barter away the German imperial crown, but the German peasants do not barter away Protestant freedom!"

"If you want to keep your house clean, keep priests and monks out of it."

"The Rhine is commonly called the Pfaffengasse. But where clerics step on a ship, the ship's crew curse and cross themselves, because it is said that clerics bring disaster and ruin to the ship."

What an idea the official wielding the questionable pen must have of the consciousness and feelings of a theatergoer today! A man who can believe that the views of an educated man of the present day could be devastated by hearing the above words from the stage knows nothing of the life we lead today. The behavior described is likely to open the eyes of the widest circles to the gulf that exists between the ideas of the bureaucratic soul, educated in the tradition of the state, and the feelings of those circles that share in the progress of life.

According to the police ordinance of July 10, 1851, kissing appears to be one of the acts that "give rise to moral, safety, regulatory or trade police concerns". This is because a red police line once deleted the passage from Max Halbe's "Jugend":

"Annchen, you are so beautiful! So beautiful when you sit like that. (Grabs her arm.) I could forget everything. (Out of her mind.) Kiss me, kiss me!"

The banning of Sudermann's "Johannes" sheds a particularly harsh light on the police situation. It is a pity that the Higher Administrative Court did not reach a decision on this ban. As is well known, the play was released by an imperial decision. The police authorities had banned the performance because public representations of the biblical history of the Old and New Testaments were "absolutely inadmissible" according to the regulations. And in response to the objections made to this, the Chief President replied that "the presentation on stage of events from biblical history, and in particular from the life story of Jesus Christ, appears likely to offend the religious sensibilities of the listeners and spectators as well as the audience not attending the performances, to cause alarm among large groups of people and to cause disturbances to public order, the preservation of which is the office of the police". The order clearly shows that the official who issued it felt no obligation to first examine the content of the drama and ask himself: is it such that it could offend anyone's religious sensibilities? But this official obviously thinks that the mere fact of seeing the biblical characters on stage is enough to cause such an offense. He has not yet arrived at the modern conception of the theater. He knows nothing of the fact that art comes right next to religion in our perception. He says: every thing is profaned by stage representation. Modern feeling, however, says: it is ennobled by it. The bureaucratic sensibility drags prejudices along with it that the rest of life has been shedding for centuries.

The practical consequence of all this is that the artists and directors of art institutions always have to make the disgusting choice between two evils: either to make concessions to the bureaucratic "spirit" and appear pretty well-behaved on the outside while things are rumbling on the inside, or to constantly tangle with the police powers. If it had been up to the tendencies of the characterized spirit, then in the Cyrano performance of the "Deutsches Theater" a foolish monk should not have been called a "God's sheep" and Madame d'Athis' little fox should not have been given an enema. It was also considered reprehensible that the king's stomach clenching had been presented by the doctors as an insult to his majesty and that his sublime pulse had been restored.

The dispute that broke out between the police authorities and the Deutsches Theater over these lines may be discussed at another time. For this time, it was only a matter of contrasting the "spirit" of police power and the spirit of life in the present. The essay "Censorship Pranks" by Dr. P. Jonas provided a desirable starting point for this.

*

Adam Müller Guttenbrunn, the director of Vienna's new Kaiserjubiläums-Stadttheater, has just published Kleist's "Hermannsschlacht". The introduction he has written to the drama deals less with its artistic qualities than with Kleist's love for Austria. This love can be explained by the circumstances in which Kleist lived. At the time when Napoleon was humiliating the Germans, the manly actions of Emperor Franz and his commander, Archduke Carl, were an inspiring act. The reason why Müller-Guttenbrunn, in a preface to Kleist's "Hermannsschlacht", emphasizes everything that the poet said in praise of Austria in order to be able to call the drama "A poem on Austria" is probably that the new theater director needed a hymn to his fatherland for his temple of art built for the 50th anniversary.

*

In the important treatise "On the Use of the Chorus in Tragedy", which preceded his "The Bride of Messina", Schiller showed how deeply connected the question of the chorus is with ideas about the nature of dramatic art. No one is qualified to speak about idealism and realism in drama who has not fully clarified this question. In realistic or even naturalistic drama, the chorus is of course an absurdity. In stylized drama it is not. Stylized drama must incorporate symbols into its body. It will want to express things that cannot be expressed with the means that everyday life has for its expression. In drama, things often have to be said that cannot be put into the mouth of a single person.

Any attempt to describe the significance of the chorus in tragedy must therefore be welcomed with joy. One such attempt is the booklet by Dr. Friedrich Klein "Der Chor in den wichtigsten Tragödien der französischen Renaissance" (Erlangen and Leipzig 1897). The author has carefully studied the large number of "Poetics and verse doctrines in metrical and prosaic form" as well as the extensive commentaries on Aristotle's "Poetics", which "have been published in Italy and France since the middle of the sixteenth century", and on the basis of this study has provided excellent information on "the state of theoretical knowledge of the tragic chorus in the sixteenth century". These pages will provide a detailed examination of the work. [Has not been published.

*

Since there are still supposed to be people with a rabble-rousing attitude in some corner of the world, I would like to expressly note that the above essay ["Auch ein Kritiker" by L. Gutmann] was sent to me by a man whose name I have not yet known, and that I would consider it cowardice to reject it with regard to the rabble. I myself have no need to defend myself to Mr. Kerr. He calls me a critic to ball; I confess that I enjoy the idea of the "balling Kerr" as much as his observations, written in a learned Gigerl style, on the societies of western Berlin, his landlord and other important matters. I am only reprinting the above essay because it shows what dares to pose as a great man.

*

A highly significant work for German dramaturgy has just been published: "Deutsche Bühnenaussprache. Results of the consultations on the balancing regulation of the German stage pronunciation, which took place from April 14 to 16, 1898 in the Apollosaale of the Königliches Schauspielhaus in Berlin. Published by Theodor Siebs on behalf of the commission (Berlin, Cologne, Leipzig 1898). - The "Dramaturgische Blätter" will soon publish a detailed report on this important publication. [The report has not been published}

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In the work "Unser Wissen", which is published in Vienna, Richard Specht has published a particularly successful dramaturgical study under the title "Zehn Jahre Burgtheater". The only possible approach to the theater is characterized here with excellent words: "The play that the poet has completed at his desk can be a work of art - it is only a dramatic work of art from the moment it appears, in other words, from the moment it is able to make a complete artistic impression on the stage through the help of creative personalities other than the poet. It is obvious that this assistance is only possible when the work itself remains imperfect per se, when it leaves room for the artistic creations of others - the actors, the director, the musician, the painter. Those masterpieces of dramatic form whose vessel is completely filled by the soul of the poet and which leave no room for the artistic drive of others have hardly ever been done justice to by a stage performance. This is not because there is "too little" performing art, but because in such works the performing art is simply - too much. A play in which the personality of the poet predominates so immensely that it completely prevents the expression of the personality of the actor is a play which makes an equal or greater impression on the reader than on the listener. Thus the stage is rendered superfluous for such a play, which here cannot supplement but merely interfere, and thus such a drama is perhaps a nobler work of art, but certainly a bad play. The ideal of "good plays" in this sense will probably always remain "Hamlet".

This will have to be emphasized again and again in the face of so many attempts to misjudge the nature of the theater and to portray its significance within artistic life in a distorted light."

A second passage of the essay should be mentioned here, which views Burckhard's departure from the Viennese court theater from the point of view characterized by the above fundamental dramaturgical truth. Specht says of Burckhard: "He has brought literary life into the theater, but he has weakened the acting life. The stage, however, can only live primarily from the actor, and despite the successful attempts to help modern acting styles achieve a breakthrough, the actual fame of the Burgtheater - as a whole a wonderful ensemble and individually splendid people who are able to express themselves as actors - has declined considerably under him, if not been lost altogether. Nevertheless, it must be said that he himself learned so much during his time as director that Max Burckhard's name could have been mentioned when looking for the next capable director. But the bitterness and spitefulness of the too often justifiably angry and irritated artists would have been too great to be able to think of fruitful joint work, and this consideration alone had to be enough to make Burckhard's departure an irrevocable one."

The sinner Max Halbe in front of the forum of the archiepiscopal ordinariate in Freiburg im Breisgau

The following letter from the Archbishop of Freiburg: "Disparagement of the Catholic clergy by the theater" looks like a document that has been dormant in the archives for a long time. However, it was written in our day and refers to a dramatic work of art of our time.

"We have the honor to inform the Grand Ducal Ministry of Justice, Worship and Education:

In the second half of April, the "Youth" by Max Halbe was performed at the Court and National Theater in Mannheim. The Catholic press ("Neues Mannheimer Volksblatt, No.91 and 99) rightly took cause from this to protest in the strongest terms against such an abuse of the stage. In view of this public accusation against the Mannheim theater management of having "prepared and more than conceivably narrated an act of indecency in a Catholic rectory in all its details", we could not avoid the task of reviewing the play in question. To our great regret, we have to conclude that the performance of such a play is nothing other than a refined

is nothing other than a subtle and serious disparagement of the Catholic clergy, against which it is our duty to protest. We only want to emphasize that in the play a chaplain "comes to the coffee table in the Messornav, that neither of the two priests in the play has chosen his profession with the moral seriousness that the Church demands and his holiness prescribes, that the chaplain represents scandalous principles about the choice of profession, that on the one hand he behaves as an angry fanatic and yet on the other hand dances with a girl after obtaining the dispensation of the priest. At the end there is an "absolution", which is a degradation of the sacrament of penance. Considering the downright immoral character of the play, we believe that it is in the interests of public order and morality to take action against such abuse of a theater, and we urgently request that measures be taken to prevent it in the future. signed. Thomas. Keller." Should one regard such manifestations of the Catholic Church as a symptom of the growing self-confidence of the representatives of medieval views? Given the regressive nature of our "new course", such a view cannot be ruled out. Max Halbe will now, of course, "laudably submit" to Professor Schell's example and henceforth only represent the sentiments of the infallible Roman chair in his dramas.

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Prof. Dr. Walter Simon, city councillor in Königsberg i. Pr., who is known in wide circles as a warm-hearted patron of the arts, announced a competition for ten thousand marks to win a new German folk opera for the German stage. This is probably one of the most gratifying manifestations of German interest in the arts for a long time. All German and German-Austrian composers may take part in the competition. Full-length operas which have not yet been performed and which deal with a German bourgeois subject, such as Goethe's "Hermann and Dorothea", are eligible. Material from more recent German or Prussian history, since Frederick the Great (for example Eleonore Prochaska), as well as freely invented material are also welcome. The works are to be sent postage paid in score, piano reduction and book to the chief director of the Leipzig City Theatres, Mr. Albert Goldberg, entrusted by the prize donor with the implementation of the competition, by July 1, 1901 at the latest, observing the usual regulations, about which the printed regulations of Prof. Dr. Walter Simon's competition provide more detailed information. These regulations will be sent to interested parties free of charge and postage upon written request by Mr. Goldberg, Leipzig, Neues Theater. The following gentlemen, who enjoy a well-established reputation in the theatrical world, have taken on the role of judges: Senior director Anton Fuchs, Munich, senior director Math.Schön, Karlsruhe, Großh. Hoftheater, senior director Hofrat Harlacher, Stuttgart, Kgl. Hoftheater, Hofkapellmeister Aug. Klughardt, Dessau, Herzogl. Hoftheater, Königl. Kapellmeister Prof. Mannstädt, Wiesbaden, Kgl. Theater, Prof. Arno Kleffel, Cologne, Stadttheater, and senior director Albert Goldberg, Leipzig, Stadttheater. It should be of particular value to the composers that the prize-winning opera will also be performed immediately at the Leipzig Stadttheater.

Mr. Dr. Erich Urban, our former music critic

A lively protest has been raised from respectable quarters against the way Dr. Erich Urban spoke here two weeks ago about Mrs. Carrefio and Mrs. Haasters. It was said that neither the sentence about Mrs. Carrefio's arms nor the one about Mrs. Haaster's marital love had any place in an art review. It seems that the indignation was also directed at me, the editor responsible for the magazine, who allowed such things to be printed in the paper. I owe the public an explanation. Dr. Erich Urban came to me some time ago and asked me to start his critical career in the "Magazin". I was reasonably pleased with the work he submitted for my consideration and, despite his youthfulness, I gave him a try. It went quite well at first. His reviews were not bad and met with some applause. This acclaim was the young man's undoing. It went to his head. It didn't make his reviews any better. Recently, I was forced to let the red pencil work on Mr. Urban's manuscripts in an unusual way. What would the complaining Mr. Bos and Mr. Woldemar Sacks say if they had seen what my red pencil has been doing over the last few weeks! Now one receives current reviews at the last moment before the end of a paper. You have to check them in a short time. My red pencil, which I usually use against Mr. Urban, failed in the criticized passages. I overlooked them. They therefore remained. I had already made the decision not to present Mr. Urban's reviews to the readers of the "Magazin" before the complaint reached me. The conclusion of the last review he wrote for us appears today.

Furthermore, I can only say that I regret having been mistaken about Mr. Erich Urban and that I am completely on the side of his accusers. Unfortunately, he has not been able to escape the influence of the critical nature that I have in mind in my editorial today, and which I strongly condemn. In his youthfulness, he has become an imitator of bad role models. There are enough of these role models. But these gentlemen are clever and know how to keep a sense of proportion. Mr. Urban did not understand such moderation. He did not merely imitate mistakes, but applied them in an enlarged form. He wanted to be quite amusing, and what he wrote with this intention became merely tactless.

But to those gentlemen who cannot forgive the fact that my red pencil slipped once, I wish that nothing worse ever happens to them in their lives.

For an announcement[1]

We intend to discontinue publication of the "Dramaturgische Blätter", a supplement to the "Magazin für Literatur", as of January 1, 1900. In doing so, we are responding to a very often expressed wish from the readers of this weekly publication. They were not sympathetic to a supplement dealing with the special issues of the stage and dramaturgy. When the current management founded the "Dramaturgische Blätter", they hoped that there would be a lively interest among stage members and others close to the theater in dealing with questions of their own art and its connection with other cultural tasks. Experience has not confirmed this, and the above "announcement" recently proves that the hopes cherished in this direction cannot count on fulfillment. It was not possible to achieve more active participation by members of the stage. However, publications such as the "Schiedsgerichtsverhandlungen des deutschen Bühnenvereins" (Arbitration Negotiations of the German Stage Association) put the patience of other readers to the test in the belief that they were serving a special class. These readers will prefer to see the space previously occupied by such pedantic-legal, lengthy and, for non-stage members, completely uninteresting discussions filled with things that belong to the field of literature and art.

1 I hereby inform the general public that our contractual relationship with the "Dramaturgische Blätter" has been terminated by me as of January 1, 1900.

The President of the German Stage Association: Count von Hochberg

I have been the editor of this magazine for more than three years. I took up my task in July 1897 with the best of expectations. My intention was, without any concession in any direction, to express a certain view of the world and of life and to serve contemporary art and public life in the spirit of this view. I was reluctant to use any other means to achieve my goals than the inner strength of this view itself, in whose value I believe and for which I will always devote my life. I was particularly reluctant to achieve an effect by gaining "sonorous" names that are well established with the public or by exploiting sensational events. It was my intention from the outset to stand up for the cause I represent within the framework of this magazine for as long as this is possible through its content alone. More important to me than "illustrious" names was to introduce newly emerging talents to the public, who in my opinion were justified; I attached particular importance to giving a voice to those who, as lone fighters with their views, had little prospect of expressing them elsewhere.

I can leave it to the unbiased readers of this magazine to judge the extent to which I have fulfilled my intentions. I have not lacked the approval of those whose judgment is of the highest value to me. The friends I have seen rise to my cause have been able to give me complete satisfaction over some of the hostility I have naturally received.

From the very beginning of my editorial work, I was under no illusion that my intentions could only be achieved through sacrifices of the most varied kind and, as the circumstances were, only through difficult struggles. I can say that for three years I willingly made these sacrifices and took on these battles for the sake of the cause. The approval of many an estimable personality has helped me to overcome many difficulties. Making these sacrifices any longer is beyond my strength.

The "Magazin für Literatur" was founded in the year of Goethe's death. More than anything else, the fact that it has maintained its existence to this day testifies to the importance of this existence. Under different management, it will continue to serve art, science and public life.

I am not handing over the reins with a light heart, because over the past three years I have become more attached to this magazine than I would like to say. It has been a matter close to my heart, but I am stepping down without bitterness. I am aware that I have worked in the way that was only possible for me. I carry within me the feeling that my goals have an inner justification and that I will continue to find ways and means to dedicate my life to them. May those who have become my friends through this magazine accept here the expression of my deepest gratitude. Through my editorship, an inner necessity has brought me together with many people from whom an external event, such as giving up this editorship, can no longer separate me.

The two gentlemen who are approaching the task of continuing this magazine with full, fresh energy are known to their readers through their proven collaborations. Johannes Gaulke, the subtle and energetic art writer and critic, and the no less esteemed writer and artist Franz Philips will take on this task. I place the leadership in their hands with the best wishes that they may be granted abundant success. I cannot, however, refrain from adding my heartfelt thanks to all the friends who have supported me and to the staff and friends of the "Magazin", as well as to S. Cronbach and his publishing house, who have met me with true understanding, interest in the cause and willingness to make sacrifices. The fact that the publishing house is being continued by this company gives me particular satisfaction.