which the mere craving for existence gets the better of him. In such moments he will prowl about, like a beast of prey, in the vicinity of Gottfried's house, or wherever he imagines Ottegebe to be, crouch on the ground, creep through the thicket, only to get a glimpse of her and to feed on the thought of being saved by her. And at last, in one such moment of highest transport of despair, when exhausted and fainting he has sunk to the ground, Ottegebe is at his side, and in rapturous delight presses a fervent kiss upon his forehead. Inexpressibly sweet is the contrast formed by the last act with these wild and frenzied happenings. Heinrich has returned with Ottegebe to his castle. Instinctively, even against his will, had he followed her to Salerno. Traveling by the side of his little saint, he had for the first time felt his heart secure from the pursuit of the demons; a new life had been born within him, joy and hope had returned; and at last, at the height of the catastrophe, when the sacrificial act was about to be performed, Love had descended upon him and bidden him prevent the execution and he was healed Da traf der dritte Strahl der Gnade mich : Das Wunder war vollbracht, ich war genesen! Hartmann, gleichwie ein Körper ohne Herz, Aus Stein, oder aus Erz - bist du, solange nicht Der reine, grade, ungebrochne Strom Der Gottheit eine Bahn sich hat gebrochen In die geheimnisvolle Kapsel, die Das echte Schöpfungs-Wunder uns verschliesst : In das urewige Liebes-Element. While Heinrich from this moment on is in the full possession of his powers, joyful, daring, active as of old, Ottegebe has remained as in a stupor. She has not fulfilled her mission, she has not won the heavenly crown! She, too, has through suffering become knowing. She knows now that she loves Heinrich, but it seems to her an unholy love, an earthly desire. She, the bride of Heaven, has fallen a victim to the powers of darkness. What is there left to her but death? So, as in Goethe's Iphigenie, there seems to arise a new conflict after the rounding out of the main theme. But, happily, this conflict is only a transient clouding of the radiance that is spread over these clos ing scenes. For human love proves its divineness, in spite of these ecclesiastical scruples; and when Heinrich, at the wedding ceremony, presses Ottegebe passionately to his breast, she whispers joyfully: "Heinrich !-Nun sterb' ich doch den süssen Tod !" There are few works in the world's literature that aim higher than this sweet and noble poem. In depth of feeling, in simplicity of structure, in beauty of language, in strength of character-drawing, in spiritual import, it surpasses to my mind everything that has come from the hand of living dramatists. Hail to the poet who, disdaining ephemeral effects or the applause of the crowd, has clung to that which is for the few of all ages, and has thus added a new treasure to the spiritual possessions of mankind. VII. THE STRUGGLE FOR INDIVIDUALITY ON THE GERMAN STAGE (FEBRUARY, 1902) The German society drama of the present day shows a curious mixture of high aspirations and imperfect fulfillment, of noble conceptions and brutal effects, of an ardent desire for truth, freedom, nature, and of a tame subser vience to conventional devices and artificial sentiment. In the early nineties, when the first powerful productions of Sudermann and Hauptmann filled the air with joyous echoes of the striving for a heightened existence both. of the individual and of society, we dreamed of a new classic era of dramatic literature close at hand. We hoped that the young German writers who so boldly and with such earnest conviction had taken up the gospel of Ibsen, Björnson, and Tolstoi, would soon rise to the full height of their masters, or perhaps even surpass them. For it seemed as though there were something in these young writers, a certain sense of measure and tradition, a certain reverence for the human past, that in all their tumultuous strivings would keep them on the path of true art and preserve them from the merely volcanic, which, especially in the Scandinavian writers, not infrequently destroys the pure æsthetic enjoyment of modern poetry. These hopes, if I may be permitted to give to my own experience a somewhat wider application, have been sadly disappointed. Instead of pressing on toward the goal of an art embodying in vigorous, free, and impressive types the ideals of modern humanity, and thus holding up before the eyes of the present the life that is to come, the German dramatists, or most of them at least, have again fallen back to that position from which the whole movement of "Youngest Germany" started some fifteen years ago, -the position of an essentially negative and pessimistic analysis and arraignment of existing conditions. That in taking this stand they give expression to a large and important part of the intellectual life of modern Germany, can hardly be denied; for the natural counterpart of the reigning imperialism and officialdom has been the growth of a public opinion so peevishly sensitive to even the slightest encroachments on personal rights, so eagerly insisting on free inquiry, so boldly - and often with such bitter sarcasm— exerting its function of a searching criticism of public affairs, as is scarcely to be found in countries where individual liberty is more firmly guarded. In no other country, for instance, would the artistic views of the chief of state have aroused such violent antagonism, or would his efforts at putting these views into practice have been received with such a flood of biting satire, as was the case with the Emperor's recent utterances on art addressed to the sculp |