Do the English know that Shakespeare plagiarized Ovid

Book reviews from the time of the Empire


News from the English book table. FZ, December 23, 1898, No. 354, First Morning Gazette.
The German-English contemporary literary scene; Maarten Maartens, Her memory. London: Macmillan Oct. 1898 / Leipzig: Tauchnitz Nov. 1898; Mrs. Alexander, Barbara: lady's maid and peeress. Leipzig: Tauchnitz 1897; Dorothea Gerard, A forgotten sin. Leipzig: Tauchnitz 1898; George Paston, A fair deceiver. Leipzig: Tauchnitz 1898; Rudyard Kipling, The Day's Work. London: Macmillan Oct. 1898 / Leipzig: Tauchnitz Nov. 1898. ●●● "The English are content to name Goethe and Heine as the two main representatives of German literature. The average audience in our country limits their knowledge of English literature to the Both names: Shakespeare and Byron. The fact that one has to accept as such deserves a few words of explanation. Just as voices have risen again and again - though hardly from poets - who have denied Heine's poetic talent, so There has been no shortage of critics on the other side of the Channel who have cast doubt on Lord Byron's greatness as a poet. New arguments are constantly being put forward to shake his fame; and the English public today crosses the line at the very name of Byron Times of enthusiastic enthusiasm are usually followed by cool, skeptical reluctance, and the Bacon-Shakespeare theory cannot be explained in any other way There are, of course, other reasons that play a role. But while the atheist Shelley has long been forgiven, the poet-lord's vicious lifestyle and the frivolous satire of his writings unleash ever new storms of indignation among the sanctimonious British, even without the blessed [Harriet] Beecher-Stowe, the author of Uncle Tom's Cabinwho with their revelations [Lady Byron Vindicated (1870)] hoped to render civil mankind a service. Indeed, the influence of Byron's poetry on modern English literature is negligible; their teacher is Byron's artistic antipode, Wordsworth, who is hardly known in Germany. But Byron had a stronger effect on German poetry, which took over from him the turmoil, the Weltschmerz. / If you asked an average educated man about English musicians, he would only be able to name two today: [Arthur] Sullivan [1842-1900], who gave us the mikado [1885] and Sidney Jones [1861-1946], the composer of the Geisha [1896]. But there was a time in Germany when English novelists also had their community with us. Walter Scott was so popular that Willibald Alexis [1798-1871] smuggled his way into German literature under his flag. [His first two historical novels, Walladmor (1824) and Avalon Castle (1827), had the subtitle: "Freely after the English of Walter Scott".] Dickens not only lives on with us among the adolescents, he also lives on in modern dramatic art. George Eliot has ardent admirers among us too, her star still seems to be rising. Only Thackeray, the pessimistic vivisector of man and society, is unfortunately not read as much as he deserves, probably because his characters are specifically English, more English than Dickens', also less problematic than George Eliot's, and we Germans have always had a special preference for problematic natures. But the author of the Problematic natures [1861/62], Friedrich Spielhagen [1829-1911], judges too much when he says of English fiction: “What would England have produced after Thackeray's death if we except one George Eliot What could be compared to the novels of our G. Freytag, Auerbach in terms of depth of content and delicacy of art without being too easily found? And even Thackeray, yes - I dare to say it - even Dickens - they adhere to the surface of life compared to the depth of mind and soul of these our poets, have a banausal touch.Contributions to the theory and technique of the novel (1883), p. 262] Auerbach stands next to Thackeray like the shepherd next to the man of the world. / Today, however, the German public's interest in English novels seems to be on the decline, and it is rare for a work to make an impact on this side of the Canal. There may be various reasons for this: On the one hand, the view is widespread in large circles of the German reading world that England can no longer do anything literary at all. With very few exceptions, this applies to the dramatic production. Henry Arthur Jones [1851-1929] and Arthur W. Pinero [1855-1934] want to be taken seriously; but the latter Second Mrs. Tanqueray [1893], which is also known to us, let us - to use a quote from the piece itself - »cold as an iceberg« [»She What to iceberg! «(Act I)]. Unfortunately, for a long time there has been a lack of a mediator between the two countries, an interpreter who would Germanize the best for those with no knowledge of the language. Since Freiligrath's death [1876] only scant attempts have been made to do this. Yes, if one examines our weekly and monthly publications, our magazines and reviews, one will seldom see an article dealing with recent English literature. This is the only way to explain that a man of the deep worldview of Robert Browning [1812-1889] is hardly known by name to the best of our nation and has passed by without a trace. From the lighter, more sympathetic [Alfred] Tennyson [1809-1892] only Enoch Arden [1864] acquired citizenship with us. Of what is flooding the novella market in England today, Tauchnitz has a monopoly in Leipzig. There is a rich selection of what the English call "Works of Fiction", but the most famous authors in particular are dodgy when they are supposed to wander over to the mainland because they are sold over there at far higher prices. You even pay 6 shillings for silly amateur machinations. What does not appear in Tauchnitz is as good as lost for the German reading world. We still have the principle of borrowing six books from friends and three from the lending library before buying one. It is characteristic that even the most distinguished lending library in Berlin only satisfies the cravings of its English-friendly subscribers with Tauchnitz volumes. But as long as the German public does not buy the domestic authors, one cannot reasonably expect them to spend 6 marks on a foreign novel; because here, too, the English principle applies: "Charity begins at home." / The English have no idea what we are striving for in modern literature and what we have already achieved in some cases. Shaking his head, he would listen if we wanted to tell him about our goals and wishes. Hold we raise the banner of individualistic art, so go he with full sails on in the fairway of a typical art. These fictional characters are typical, people with a certain number of characteristics that we know in ourselves and in others. But that in addition to these universal properties there is a whole conglomerate of small features which first make up the overall picture of a person, we only get an idea of ​​this in the rarest of cases. The distinction between good and bad people is typical, and it persists as well in modern English narration as it does in the family novel of the 18th century. As if there were only angels or only devils! As if the common man were not between extremes! It is also typical that the capital London is usually chosen as the scene of the action, because today's English knows best about it, because all interests converge in this center. ●● The Dutch Maarten Maartens [Jozua Marius Willem van der Poorten Schwartz (1858-1915)], who is still a better narrator, is infected by this type of presentation. Promising highlights his new novella Her memory at. For a moment I thought we should have a match for Grant Allen's The Woman Who Did [1895] received. Just as here the heroine Herminia Barton, a free-thinking, enlightened woman, alone leads the upbringing of her child in order to allow it to mature for a new view of life, at Maarten Maartens the artistically inclined Anthony Stollard takes over the upbringing of his daughter alone. His idolatrously loved wife, who passed away at an early age, recommends this to be the main task of his life. The first chapter in which the death of the mother is told, with which Dickens' Dombey and Son [1848] opened, a certain ability to characterize should not be denied. Anthony then leaves England with little Margaret and spends four years abroad, living on Lake Geneva, in Nice, in Monte Carlo and finally in Florence. The artist awakens in him and he is busy painting. All his thoughts are dedicated to the memory of the noble dead: in memory of them - hence the title! - Margaret should grow up. The death of his brother creates a new turn in Anthony's life. Now other duties arise for him, he is drawn into parliamentary life, of course he no longer has time to deal exclusively with Margie, who enjoys a common upbringing and promises to become a full member of human society. Yes, when she has blossomed, her father gives her a new mother, an acquaintance from her youth, Lady Mary Hunt, for "if we love our dead we owe them more than mourning." 11] So we finally end up in the harbor of superficiality: to everyone's satisfaction, the whole thing ends as homely as possible. The presentation is concise and fortunately not peppered with reflections, a legacy of English novelism. In addition, there is no lack of small trivialities; so is the first sentence with its 7 alliterative ones s conspicuous: »She lay dying in the silent summer evening - in the sunlit summer silence that seems alive with sound. «●●» When a man tells you he wants to write a book, «it says at one point in Allen's novella The Woman Who Did"Nine times out of ten he means a treatise or pamphlet on a subject that interests him." But - "When a woman tells you she wants to write a book, she means nine times out of ten that she wants to write a novel . For this task, nature has usually gifted them richly. 13] The women’s novel is terrifyingly rampant in England today. It is not an exaggeration to say that 75% of conversational English reading today is done by women. These products are written without any literary pretensions, purely for the amusement of the masses, for the satisfaction of the English public who are hungry for reading. And yet how popular are the Mrs.Alexander [Pseud. by Annie French Hector (1825-1902)], the Ouida [Pseud. by Marie Louise de la Ramée (1839-1908)], the [Marie] Corelli [Pseud. by Mary Mackay (1855-1924)]! Year in and year out, they keep their crops, but the fabulous routine of their business makes their books shallow rather than better. It is fortunate that with us the dilettante work has so far not been so abundant; in England it is growing almost gigantic. Mostly, the novelists treat love stories, easily digestible, not strenuous to read, written quickly, while the tension is artificially maintained. And the main thing: that morality is not violated, that everything goes nicely in accordance with our good moral laws, the triumph of the good, the punishment of the villain, that's how it goes in our righteous world - otherwise it would be "shocking"! / Mrs. Alexander, a busy seventies, put us in Barbara: Lady's Maid and Peeress the not entirely unusual story of a girl who holds off a rich lover until the poor farmer's son comes back from India as a captain and can lead her home. The subplot, which is grouped around Barbara West, is loosely linked to this; originally a maid, she turns out to be Lord Glengarvon's daughter. / Dorothea Gerard (Mme. Longard de Longgarde) [1855-1915] has in A forgotten sin the other way around: Carlos Dennison stands between two women, much like Fernando in the Stella [from Goethe]. In addition, the two beloved are daughters of one father. The legitimate finally wins the victory over her favored rival, Signora Julia Belveda, the star of Covent Garden. But the illegitimate has the satisfaction that she drives her father to his death, and then she flees to America, where all sinners are loaded. The old man's forgotten sin has been dragged into the light, there is no longer any place in the world for him. The book also speaks of Schubert's songs, which is very common in England today. / George Paston - despite the pseudonym an author [Emily Morse Symonds (1860-1936)] - guides us in her novel A fair deceiver the same triangular relationship. This time it is veritable sisters between whom the 40-year-old professor of history, Anthony Travers, steps in. First, the older Magda ties him up, but then the teenage Lesbia, with whom he becomes engaged, knits him. In feverish fantasies, Magda reveals the secret of her heart that she loved Anthony, and she showered her favorite sister with accusations. In an incredible sense of generosity, Lesbia renounces happiness so that the sister can be happy. Even [Hermann] Sudermann's art in the novella was able to create a similar, even more tragic conflict A desire [The desire (1897)] cannot be made entirely credible. What then follows with George Paston is quite fictional. Lesbia is seized by a roaring machine - you don't really know, is it intent, is it mishap - just like Bernadine Holme in [Beatrice Harraden's] Ships that pass in the night [1893] being crushed by a truck. The heroines have been in the water long enough; With this type of death the verdict "suicide" cannot be given with certainty. / To her praise, the books are technically cleverly crafted. The events follow one another in rapid succession, without being interrupted by long descriptions or even ethical considerations, in which Eliot still indulged with preference. The dialogue is like a brook flowing on the plain, its water never dries up, but it never swells either. The feeling of boredom seldom creeps in with this kind of reading, not because it stimulates a lot of personal thoughts in the reader, but because there is so much humanity in it that our participation is kept active. This can be taken as a compliment, but it can also be said of the most daring adventure novel. ● Let us now leave these lowlands and climb a respectable summit. Rudyard Kipling has a dozen short stories under the somewhat violent title The Day's Work united. Anyone who picks up a volume of Kipling for the first time will be amazed at the originality of this poet. His first Jungle Book has sparked great enthusiasm with his grotesque fantasy. He seemed to be the man to free Germanic poetry from the spell of sultry French moral descriptions; he countered the refined art of Maupassant's naive sensual pleasure. From this book, which Mowgli grew up among the animals of the jungle, one could easily build a bridge to the animal pos and to the fairy tale poetry. That Kipling chose India as the scene of the action was just a new nuance. But as a consequence of how these animals are given a special way of speaking, as is the case with the real world of Kipling's animal state, a strong originality emerged. The animals are no longer mere types for him, they become individuals under his hand, such as the tiger Shere Kahn, the panther Bagheera, the giant snake Boa Kaa. Then there was the allure of the exotic portrayal, which has always aroused the greatest joy in England. The first Jungle Book followed, spurred on by the applause, the second, just a mild infusion, as is usually the case with the products that are created by the demand of the public and by the success. They have not sprung from the artistic initiative and take care of what they lack in terms of invention and what makes them literarily less valuable, to be replaced by highly cranked technology by exploiting the trick of the first work. / Now Kipling has gone one step further: he has given language to inanimate objects.There we find the capstan of a ship on the voyage from Liverpool to New York in lively conversation with the deck beams, and the steam hisses vigorously in between, emitting inarticulate noises: Rrrrrraaa! Brraaaaa! Prrrp! etc. The machine is endowed with a sensitive soul. The eight-wheeled American locomotive · 007 indulges in sedate slang. Anyone who makes ships, locomotives, and machines such privileged entities, of course, has to know exactly about them. Kipling's knowledge of the details is astonishing. The smallest detail from the arsenal of his expertise is readily available to him. There is nothing that he does not know, but he also does not hide anything from his readers. This accumulation of material threatens to overgrow. In his own way, Kipling knows no more than Zola how to sift through the abundance of material and how to choose. This creates an overwhelming mass of ancillary work, of tendrils that barely reveal what is hidden underneath. The two horse stories seem the freshest to me. How in "A walking Delegate" the individual horses that come together on the pasture in Vermont are characterized, that is a masterly success. "The Maltese Cat" is not inferior to this story in terms of originality. Two novels, "An Error in the Fourth Dimension" and "My Sunday at Home," make fun of the quirks of the Americans, the cousins ​​from across the ocean, in a very subtle way. All in all, with this volume, too, Kipling has proven his eminent talent for storytelling. May he just not want to reap too much fruit on this soil, because one-sided exaggerated originality borders on manner. What does Kipling need to ask about success? He takes his audience in tow. If he remembers it, we would like to see his wonderful poem ["L'Envoi"] in Seven Seas [1896] and continue to criticize
And only the Master shall praise us, and only the Master shall blame;
And no one shall work for money, and no one shall work for fame,
But each for the joy of the working ... "



New English novels and short stories. FZ, March 24, 1899, No. 83, First Morning Gazette.
Harold Frederic, Gloria Mundi. London: Heinemann 1898; George Moore, Evelyn Innes. London: Fisher Unwin 1898; Mrs. Humphry Ward, Helbeck of Bannisdale. London: Smith, Elder, & Co. 1898; Jerome K. Jerome, The Second Thoughts of an Idle Fellow. Leipzig: Tauchnitz 1898. (Not in Langenfeld) ●●● "The recently deceased [on October 19, 1898] Harold Frederic left a novel with the glorious title Gloria Mundi. The word dripping with false piety De mortuis nil nisi bene need not prevent us from speaking the truth in an open manner. It is all the more appropriate, yes it is challenged because a discussion of the Saturday Review [of November 12, 1898 (Vol. 86, pp. 645-646)] touted this book as a panorama of brilliant scenes. [This is not correct. Rather, it says in the review cited by MM from the pen of the writer colleague Julia Frankau (pseud. Frank Danby), who is a close friend of Harold Frederic: »Gloria Mundi will not live as long as the memory of its writer ... It is sometimes as dull as life. Harold Frederic had the honesty of the special reporter and the training of the busy journalist, and both of them interfered with his gift of romance. So his books lack artistry; they are panoramas of brilliant scenes, they are galleries of speaking likenesses, but they are not novels at all ... And all the epitaph that can be honestly written is that he was a big man who did small work. «] With the best will one cannot agree with this judgment. It is difficult to get through the 348-page volume, because unfortunately the first chapters already show too clearly that the author lacks any creative ability. The plot is sparse and thin, endless conversations like barricades hampering its progress. It was invented with great effort and of unbelievable naivety, one could say: simplicity. Some things are likely to hit the face. So the beginning: the hero, Christian Tower, climbs into the coupé with a lady who first treats him, the rough intruder, with hurtful reserve, in order then to explain his origins to him and inform him about his family. He is the presumptive Duke of Glastonburg. She, with whom an unheard of chance throws him together, becomes his duchess. This is in a nutshell the entire content, which is obvious to the imaginative reader in the first chapter. The old duke must first die, and Frances's opposition to marriage, which requires independence as a sacrifice, must be overcome. Not only can the character drawing not only compensate for these deficiencies, but get stuck in the most primitive. The most original thing about the whole novel seems to me to be a passage about the 'new woman': 'You systematically lie to women from the cradle to the grave. You read so eagerly! - you are the Consumers of novels, religious books, weeklies, magazines and the like, but they should never get a really true word from them .... A few years ago there was a lot of noise about certain novels (which portrayed the "new woman") : at last, they cried, the truth should be revealed by women, for women, about women. But what nonsense! The truth was not left alone, but the old lie was only put into a hysterical robe. Women are lied to by their parents, their clergy, their doctors, their publishers, their writers; and of course they lie to themselves. "[p. 247] Finally a word about the title: it is stuck on the outside without getting to the heart of the plot. How differently did Thackeray know the succinct title for his picture of life Vanity Fair to find! Against this colossal painting of human vanity is Gloria Mundi an ink blot. ● Ad maiorem Dei gloriam one could overwrite two novels that lead us out of the bustling world into the barriers of Catholicism. Of course, one of them is full of the world's glory, so that at the end we will lead us into the seclusion of a monastery. The other is full of dull asceticism, fanatical practice of religion and the suppression of all freer religious impulses. / George Moore's Evelyn Innes sets in idyllically cheerful. Evelyn has matured to a maiden in the town of Dulwich near London at the side of her good Catholic father, who holds a position as organist and sees his life's work in the revival of the liturgical chants of the Catholic Church. Evelyn seems to have inherited the voice from her mother, once a celebrated coloratura singer who died three years before the plot began; but for the time being the best thing is missing to provide for their training. Then Sir Owen Asher steps in. His stately personality and his immeasurable wealth do not fail to impress Evelyn. She must no longer stay with her father, otherwise she will go sour; she has to go out into the world, make a career, become famous. Which girl's heart could escape this glowing phantom in the long run? / Only consideration for the lonely old man makes her hesitate. But as her love for Sir Owen grows more sincere and her longing grows wilder, she goes ahead with her plan. Madame Savelli in Paris is supposed to train them. Evelyn far exceeds the cherished expectations. She, the humble child, brought up severely in the convent and practicing his religion with faithful devotion, is surrounded by Sir Owen with all the splendor that he now owes to his famous mistress. Everywhere she is earning great successes. She's still pending the best: singing in front of an English audience in Covent Garden. Her first role is Margaret in Gounod's opera, the only non-Wagnerian part in her repertoire. Evelyn has become, unlike her mother, a Wagner singer, and her fame is mainly based on the Elisabeth im Tannhauser and the Brünnhilde in the Valkyrie. She can sing Wagner and is able to bring so much of her own into his female figures that her portrayal overshadows everything that has been achieved so far and has the effect of a new revelation. She reconciles her father quickly, because Mr. Innes is not a nature like the musician Miller in cabal and Lovewho doesn't want to know anything about a connection between his daughter and a great gentleman, but rather resembles Christine's father in Schnitzler's flirtation, only more selfish and pedantic than this, with a stab of philistine. / Now Evelyn is on target: what she once envisioned as an ideal in her Hejra has been achieved. A new entanglement in her life arises from the music critic Ulick Dean; or rather, the emotional confusion arises from the fact that her affection for Sir Owen is slowly beginning to grow cold. Ulick, a friend of her father's, himself a composer, is supposed to study Isolde with her; with this role she believes she will climb the top tier of her ladder of fame. During the Tristan performance, she confesses her love for him. Ulick is of a different kind than Sir Owen. He is the moderate type of bohemian; it is precisely this other species that appeals to them. From that moment on, her love for Sir Owen is over. However, since he senses her new passion, he wants to free her from this dilemma and make her his wife after she has been his lover for six years. Too late! / In this "too late" lies the tragedy of their fate. He had closed himself off too stubbornly to the idea of ​​marriage. Evelyn is now at the point where you a Lover is no longer enough. As if facing an abyss, she shrinks from the danger that she will not be able to leave it at these two. She will soon have a third lover; the time will not be far off when it belongs to twenty men. Sleepless nights bring them close to madness. Where will rescue beckon? - At the church that takes care of repentant sinners. Salvation lies in their faith, in the faith of their childhood. The tried and tested remedy which Hamlet recommends to the chaste Ophelia will soothe her soul, calm the storms of her heart. She confesses and goes to the monastery with pious nuns, not to end her life here. But their newly hardened faith will save them from further temptations; the fervent prayer of the holy sisters will protect them and "perhaps determine the course of their lives" [p. 480]. / "Perhaps" cautiously puts George Moore himself at the end of his novel. He probably wanted to suggest that he himself is not firmly convinced of this change. However, it will be even harder for the reader to believe in it. Evelyn's conscience has awakened, but this conscience was not powerful enough to celebrate the 18-year-old against the siren song of the world, so as not to let her stagger from the desire for pleasure. She's gotten older, but no less passionate. She emerges purified from her intercourse with the nuns, but her love for her art and her religion will continue to feud. It will be harder for the great singer to renounce her art than it used to be for the Catholic to neglect her faith. In short, we don't think Evelyn is strong-willed enough to renounce. She was just as easily converted to Sir Owen's materialistic beliefs as she greedily grasped Ulick's vague belief in the stars and mysticism. Catholicism was not a necessity for her; From time to time she sipped the healing potion of religion, but she did not soak in its ideas so deep that a life without religion seemed to her to be a spiritual death. That is the main concern I have about George Moore. I would have believed him sooner if his heroine had taken poison in desperation. Flaubert hounded Madame Bovary to this end with cruel consistency; for him there was no stopping on the incline. / George Moore's novel is poor in external action and rich in internal action. The art of his psychological character drawing is meticulously detailed, but could be lacking in a certain diffusion and frequent repetition. Sometimes feelings and moods are frayed with an accuracy that borders on chemical analysis. This is where Moore learned the most from the French, he successfully went to school with Zola. On the other hand, where he has events such as B. should describe the race in Longchamps, more plastic would be desired. Incidentally, his preference for the French is expressed in a large, inappropriate excursus on Balzac. On the other hand, the conversations about music, which make up a substantial part of the book, are cleverly woven into the plot. Wagner singers should not fail to study the subtle, substantial analyzes that Elisabeth and Isolde receive with ardent struggle: their portrayal will benefit from it, and they will be indebted to George Moore for it. The musical digressions consistently show how intimately the poet is familiar with his subject matter, whether he is talking about Palestrina or Parsifal. One does not have to adopt all of one's judgments outright. So it seems to me Carmen unjust behind Gounod's fist deferred. Rosa Sucher's unsurpassed embodiment of Isolde is also badly degraded. On p. 274 it says: “Your Isolde was a hurricane, a kind of avalanche; she missed the magic of women ... She went along in the conventional, statue-like posture that is intended for decorating beer gardens. «The venerated artist can be defended against this exaggeration. [Rosa Sucher (1849-1927) was a celebrated Wagner singer and the first Isolde actress at the Bayreuth Festival (1886).] Occasionally inaccuracies creep in, for example on p. 189: der Landgraf im Tannhauser is not Elizabeth's father, but her uncle. Moore did not stick strictly to the time either; he switches with it quite arbitrarily. Although I usually leave the poet the greatest leeway in this regard, I have noticed a strong vacillation here. On p. 328 there is talk of the autumn-colored landscape; P. 334 of sleepy summer streets; then again on p. 371 Evelyn wonders whether she should go to the sea to enjoy the summer weather. / All in all: George Moore, who is not particularly popular with the English public, can count on a benevolent understanding in Germany. His realistic art, which alienates him from his compatriots, is an excellent letter of recommendation for us. Nobody will doubt his skills. ● Less positive ability, but contains a lot of honest will Mrs. Humphry Ward's last novel: Helbeck of Bannisdale. The author, through her Robert Elsmere [1888] who split all reading spirits in England into two camps, advanced to the front row of female novelists; among the living authors, you probably don't dispute their place. And yet - Helbeck of Bannisdale is not a good book. The Latin motto, presupposed by the work, of fear, which fundamentally stirs up human life [Lucretius, De Rerum Natura, III, 37-38], lets us expect storms of the soul. As with George Moore, the plot is, in other words, the sequence of events, kept to a minimum. The longer the author dwells on the moods of her characters. The little that happened is quickly told: / Augustina, the pious Catholic Alan Helbeck's sister, married a Protestant, Stephen Fountain, and converted to his religion for his sake. The day after his death she returns to her innate faith and soon afterwards to the house of her unworldly, ascetic brother. Her 21-year-old stepdaughter Laura Fountain accompanies her to the Squire's mansion, where she is embraced by the dull air of strict Catholicism. Laura, whose father leaned towards deism and was a member of an ethical society at Cambridge, "was brought up in that strict sense of personal dignity which has always counterbalanced the humiliations and humiliations of religion" [Book IV, chap. 3]; all dogma is hated in her deepest soul. Nonetheless, Helbeck, who is 16 years older and has no lack of endearing qualities, makes such an impression on her that she becomes engaged to him. Laura is supposed to convert to Catholicism; this bridges the gap. But Alan meets her honest endeavors to understand the rigid egoism of the dogmas she is supposed to appropriate only halfway. Instead of enlightening and initiating her, he always shakes her hand and says that everything could still be fine. / An insignificant cause brings about the turn. Through no fault of her own, Laura gets into the talk of people who are spreading the rumor that Helbeck is marrying her to save her reputation. This becomes the cause of their flight and the dissolution of their engagement; the reason is to be found in their aversion to everything Catholic. However, when her stepmother's condition worsens, she returns and is reconciled with her bridegroom.She wants to make dying easier for Augustina and tell her the joy of her new relationship with Alan. But she's too late. She recognizes in it a sign from heaven that advises her against the unfortunate connection. In fact, she is increasingly permeated with the impossibility of intermarriage. Your purest intentions, to win friendly sides from the foreign faith and to be converted, are replaced by the desperate cry: "I can't! I can't! ”Drowned out. She decorates her stepmother's bier with young green and then rushes into the swollen stream without Alan knowing what happened; perhaps he also deliberately does not want to know him. He will bury his two dead and then, true to his principle Extra ecclesiam nulla salusto enter the order of the Jesuits. / In addition to this main plot, there are two loosely connected subplots. One of the porters are relatives of Laura's father, the Masons, bitter Catholic haters. Hubert Mason, a clumsy peasant booby, becomes a musician through Laura's soothing influence. The carrier of the other episode, which seems to have been inserted for the sake of contrast, is Edward Williams, who, driven into the arms of the Jesuits by Helbeck's proselytizing, is given back to life by Laura. / The tendency of the novel is clear: mixed marriages are evil; a marriage between a Catholic and a Protestant, even if she changes faith, cannot be happy. In order to corroborate this generally questionable assertion, Mrs. Humphry Ward had to construct a case, a particularly blatant one. For this purpose she has kept the figure of her hero as gloomy as possible. He is the stubborn adherent of a religion that suffocates all human germs. Not for a moment does he think of acquainting himself with the faith of his bride. He is constantly on the threshold of Jesuitism. So all shadow falls on Catholicism, all light on Protestantism, which recognizes the rights of the individual. According to a British playwright [Henry Arthur Jones], the church in sect-teeming England is becoming an "archaeological museum of fossil dogmas" [The Renascence of the English Drama (1895)] is, all the more perverse, it seems to paint a distorted one-sided picture of the Catholic religion, which covers the whole world sub specie peccati considered. Mrs. Humphry Ward wanted to present a special case of particularly keen individualities. But the whole problem, the solution of which is not in question for a moment, had to fail from the outset, because any development of the people is foregone. So there was no need to tie such a tangled knot, so it didn't take 464 tightly printed pages. The English novel has still not shed the legacy of verbosity. You could easily paint entire sections without damaging the structure of the events. The best chapter of the whole work lies outside the framework of the actual narrative: it is the description of an accident in an iron foundry that really succeeded with striking vividness. You do the greatest benefit to style if you don't talk about it. Deliberately working out certain effects can be out of tune. In this way the catastrophe is prepared very externally. Helbeck warns Laura to go into the garden until he has the Regenbach dammed. Stop! the reader says to himself, the brook will play a role. When you work with such subtle means, you shouldn't bump your nose into it. / Due to the similarity of the materials, a comparison between Helbeck of Bannisdale and Evelyn Inneswhich turns out to be much to the advantage of George Moore. "Without the church we are like ships without oars and compass" [Evelyn Innes, Chap. 26], that goes for Evelyn as well as Laura. Evelyn flees into the lap of the church, Laura prefers doom. This results from the image that is drawn of this church. With George Moore it is a haven for rudderless ships, a heaven on earth, forgiving, mild; with Mrs. Humphry Ward it is a hell, a dungeon, draconian strict, implacable. ● But now about life's »sinister aspects« [Schiller, Elfriede (Drama fragment)] into the pure mountain air of humor, too Jerome Klapka Jerome! He is one of the few English authors whom we enjoy reading, and he is valued for his humor. Three men in a boat [1889] still seems to me to be the most informally composed of his works and therefore the most primitive. Now they are no less famous Idle Thoughts of an Idle Fellow [1886] after a decade The Second Thoughts of an Idle Fellow followed, so a kind of continuation. Such a second volume usually has something unfortunate about it; New water is poured on the old tea leaves, and the drink does not get stronger as a result. But pretty much all English authors go along with this fashion today. They flatter the taste of their audience, to whom they descend instead of pulling it up to them. It usually happens that whatever originality was originally found is later replaced by artificial means. The Second thoughts have taken on a completely different character than their predecessors; they are no longer just "idle thoughts of an idler", but often social and ethical considerations of a sarcastic observer who also introduces a pedagogical tendency here and there. The naivety of the debut has given way to a reflective style. Even purely externally, this difference is made clear by the headings; no longer the short and concise title of the first volume, but now: "About the disadvantage if you don't get what you want" [chap. 2] or "How inadvisable it is to take advice" [chap. 11] and the like / The secret of Jerome K. Jerome's art is in his Inexhaustibility. He possesses to a large extent what distinguishes the real epic: the pleasure in telling stories, the skill to go from the hundredth to the thousandth. He's even in it Laurence stars whose fickle style he fortunately does not imitate. What leads from Fielding on a broad military road to Dickens we find again in Jerome; the figures mostly have something odd. They have some quirk that has grown together with their being. Jerome's technique also deserves attention. Usually he devises a framework fable along the lines of 1001 night or from Chaucer's Canterbury Tales. The individual threads are spun into this frame. He does not proceed as capriciously as, for example, Paul Scheerbart [1863-1915] in his railway novel I love you! [1897], which in reality only consists of 66 intermezzi. But even with Jerome, the stories are the main thing, not the story. It often ends very differently from the way it started; For example, he starts with a very drastic scene in a clothing store and ends with the two souls that live in his chest. How he manages that is his art. Once he has got lost in the dead end of an overly extensive digression, he returns with a "But to our story" or "Forgive me, gentle reader, for digressing". Yes, he confesses at one point Novel Studies [Novel Notes (1893)] - translated into German in a thankful way by Ernst Heilborn (at Engelhorn [in Stuttgart]) -: "To wander from one to the other is a grave sin for a narrator and a damnable habit." [Chap. 4, p. 58] But with such tricks he only deceives the reader about his technique. You can enjoy Jerome for half an hour with intimate comfort, after an hour you put him aside to feast on the freshly bubbling well of his humor another time. Nobody will be able to read it out in one go. It's just as if someone wanted to eat their fill of cracked almonds and raisins. This indicates the limits of its effectiveness. But with Jerome you have to be careful, because he maliciously calls criticism "civilization's substitute for the lust of cruelty" [Novel Studies, Chap. 5, p. 65]. [See. MM's review of Jerome's book in LE from 01/15/1911.] "

News from the English book table. FZ, December 7, 1899, No. 339, First Morning Gazette.
Obituaries for Florence Marryat (1833-1899) and Grant Allen (1848-1899); Notes on Elizabeth Robins (1862-1952) and Edward Martyn (1859-1923); Joseph Conrad, Tales of Unrest. Leipzig: Tauchnitz 1898. Vol. 3300; Maurice Hewlett, The Forest Lovers. Leipzig: Tauchnitz 1899. Vol. 3353; Leonard Merrick, The Actor Manager. Leipzig: Tauchnitz 1898. Vol. 3296; Max Pemberton, The Garden of Swords. Leipzig: Tauchnitz 1899. Vol. 3360; Rudyard Kipling, Stalky & Co. London: Macmillan 1899. ●●● "" Once upon a time, if you switch to storytelling, then you are after new stories like the hunter for game, the speculator for money, the ladies for new fashions, in short Anyone looking for something desirable. "A playwright [not investigated] coined these words on the novelists as a whole. They are fully valid, especially for the English producers and perhaps most of all for the women producers, for their fertility seems to be Lope de Vega to wrestle for the palm. One of the most fertile ones died a short time ago [on October 27th, 1899]. Florence Marryat, the daughter of the famous narrator for the youth Captain [Frederick] Marryat [1792-1848]. The father asserts his place in literature; the chronicler can only report of the daughter that her novels are devoured by contemporaries. To be sure, to read all of her novels, it would take a long life. At Tauchnitz alone are theirs fiftythree listed in the catalog. She must have literally shaken her multi-volume works out of her sleeve at the speed of a sorcerer. It is regrettable that this example has found so many imitators in England: Mrs.Alexander [Pseud. by Annie French Hector (1825-1902)], Mrs.Oliphant [1828-1897], Ouida [Pseud. by Marie Louise de la Ramée (1839-1908)] are hardly inferior to her on this point. However, almost as quickly as such narratives are put into the world, they have also disappeared from the world again. Not only does England still produce the most novels, it also consumes the most. If the demand and the desire to buy from the English public were not so enormous compared to our German conditions, the novelistic market could not be flooded in this way in the long run. Who the sum of the annually appearing Works of Fiction examines, it must come to the consciousness that the craft work is in progress. The literary Harvest turns out to be more and more meager. But with this gigantic scope, the overview of individual parts is so difficult that it is not made easy even for domestic judges to sift through and promote up-and-coming talents from the waste tangle. The individual pearl may be lost in the pile of rubble. ● Recognized these dangers and occasionally expressed them with his own sincerity Grant Allenthat a few weeks ago [on October 25th, 1899] death swept away after severe illness. He was not so fortunate to be able to write novels for pleasure; it helped him earn his living, because he could not live on the earnings of his popular scientific books. At first he resisted temptation. Even after he had succumbed to her, he still looked curiously at this kind of activity that he wanted to be left to women. Against his will, he was driven more and more with the flow. Success sealed his fate, the success of his novel The woman who did [1895], which also caused a stir in Germany. A sensitive subject was discussed here with great moral seriousness; by no means to moralize with that addiction which is sullenly widespread in England. It was a book that had artistic goals, so to speak, on the forehead. The accusation novel against the modern marriage, who is no less open than Friedrich Schlegel's Lucinde the greatest number of marriages declared to be concubinate had grown in its second part into an armed protest against the hypocrisy of our social morals. The English critics chalked him up in the book of his sins. After this decisive success, the novelist never let go of him, and from then on he diligently provided food for the magazines. This enabled him to satisfy his wanderlust. As a fruit of these journeys it appeared shortly before his passing The European Tour [1899], in which he collects his observations and gives useful hints to those who follow his tracks. ●● For this some promising beginners advanced last year. Undoubtedly belongs to them Elizabeth Robins (C.E. Raimond [pseud.]), Their novel The Open Question (1898) now in German translation in the Frankfurter Zeitung is published. The author had already acted as an actress from Ibsen’s female characters, e. B. as Hedda Gabler, made a name in America. The study of the Magus from the north has been of great benefit to her, for the importance of her novel lies in the fact that - it seems to me for the first time - the playwright's ideas have found their expression in a foreign novel. In England the opposition to Ibsen is still the order of the day; fearfully one closes oneself off against his problems and denies him access to the stages. The reaction will one day be all the stronger. But it is worth mentioning and to be taken as a good omen that his influence is already beginning to stir in the English drama; at least the work is filled with literary intentions The Heather Field [1899] by Edward Martyn completely imbued with Ibsen's spirit, and none other than George Moore gave the drama a foreword. ●● Has also emerged significantly Joseph Conrad with his under the collective title Tales of Unrest united stories. It is not just stuck on labels, but happily emphasizes the unsteady, restlessness that runs through the novellas. It calls for a sensitive art of dissecting intimate feelings. Sometimes the thread is too tight; that is the mark of the beginner. A passage taken from the third novella [“An Outpost of Progress”] could have preceded the motto: “Fear always remains. A man can destroy everything in himself: love, hate, faith, even doubt; but as long as he is forged to life he cannot destroy fear: the fear, cunning, indestructible, terrible, which pervades his being; that whitewashes his thoughts; who lurks in his heart; who watches on his lips until his last breath. ”The characters of the individual stories are under the spell of this ghost, some of them fall victim to it. Although nobody has to suffer from this fear, which lies like a fool, than Karain, the hero of the first novel ["Karain: A Memory"], the cheerful outcome gives it a special twist. Karain, a chief of a noble family in a Celebes state, is held in chains by a secret. His best friend's sister once did not take the man intended for her, but escaped with a Dutchman. For two years Karain and his friend Matara looked for unfaithfulness. They have finally discovered her, and just at the moment when the brother is about to fire at the traitor, Karain knocks his friend down with a well-aimed shot. In two years of restless hunting he learned to love her; during many a sleepless night he had a familiar dialogue with her shadow, her lovely appearance has scared him away from the fiends of darkness. And that is why he cannot bring himself to shoot them down. From then on he lives in constant fear, the demon of his conscience incites him. He is temporarily freed from the visions by entrusting himself to his dog-loyal sword-bearer. But after the Old Death, the gruesome ghost repeats itself more intensely. He hopes to get rid of the painful memory when he leaves his home with the strangers. But a clever Englishman knows how to persuade the gullible Malay to have the healing power of an amulet, a sixpence coin is given to him as a talisman during solemn ceremonies, his hallucinations will disappear and he will remain with his people. Apart from the fact that the crime does not seem sufficiently motivated, this story, which in some respects reminds one of Kipling's gripping creations, deserves unreserved praise. Technically, too, it is peculiar.Another murderer [in "The Idiots"], who cannot get over the idea that she has given birth to all kinds of idiotic children and therefore murdered her drunk, lustful husband, is judging herself by jumping into the water. The technical criticism here is that the author, who has heard the story from a third party, knows how to tell the most minute details of the couple's wedding. The joy of the details outweighs the novella "The Return", to which I would otherwise like to award the prize. A woman maliciously leaves her husband, then returns to live with him under the same roof; that is unbearable for him, so he goes away, never to be seen again. These brief incidents are spread over 87 pages. If you follow it through to the end, it proves what Conrad was able to get out of his material. Here, too, there is a gap in motivation: the causes of the woman's behavior are only hinted at, veiled, similar to how Fontane depicted Effie Briest's misstep as gently as possible. The man's characteristics give weak clues, but the axis of the plot is too much in the balance. Occasionally the cool reflection pushes ahead too strongly. Nevertheless, the story can be counted among the best that English novelists have produced for years. Joseph Conrad did not learn from the French to his detriment. Gradually Maupassant's theory penetrates the channel: “The novelist of yesterday chose and related life crises, drastic states of mind and soul; today's novelist writes the story of the heart, soul, and intelligence in a normal state Pierre et Jean] ●● Maurice Hewlett did in his award-winning novel The Forest Lovers expresses the old love of the English for adventure anew. In a few introductory sentences he himself speaks to the reader: “I hope you will not ask what all this means and what the moral of it is. I place myself on a par with the historian in this type of novel writing and consider it my only task to pass dispassionately through the subject. The novelist must neither fall in love with his heroine nor (as today's fashion demands) with his main villain. "[Chap. 1] With this, all objections to an action devised too fantastically are broken off from the start. To ask about morality is far from us. Isn't it possible without the moral braid? On the contrary, we rejoice in the poet's freshly rising ingenuity. It leads us into the adventurous times of the Middle Ages, to knights and monks, to beautiful young women and forest children, in front of the stake and in towering castles, to the barriers of the tournament and to the loose game of courtly courtesy. A breath of ballad air blows through this novel, whose luscious grace gilds a basically banal reproach. The heroine Isolde [Isoult] is a different Käthchen. Like the Heilbronn armorer's daughter, the child of the forest follows his Savior everywhere. Their weather from the beam is called Prosper le Gai, who, chased away by his brother, goes out into action, frees Isolde from the clutches of Dom Galors and clears the country of this plague. Countless obstacles pile up between the lovers. At first Isolde is unable to admit her love because she thinks she will not be loved again. Their love has proven itself in a thousand peril; In fact, she is not afraid to deprive herself of her blond curls and to go about in pageantry like the Shakespearean girls. Finally Isolde-Käthchen turns out to be a scion of the most noble origins. To complete the resemblance to Kleist's drama, there is also a Kunigunde. The memory of Conrad Ferdinand Meyer sometimes appeared in the gloss of the description. ●● The industrious one leads us considerably deeper Leonard MerrickThe Actor Manager. It is always tempting for the layman to take a look behind the scenes. Although we are richly blessed with acting novels, the old theme of ideal and sober reality can always be found new sides. A few glaring highlights fall on the actor's misery in England. The mime is particularly bad about it here, because he is not constantly at a theater, but only for the run of the piece is engaged. In the best case, he can be provided for for years, because a train piece is carried by the companies into the provinces; in the worst case it suddenly stops vis-à-vis de rien. Alma King and Royce Oliphant meet as two poor provincial actors in London on dry land in a dining house on Christmas Eve. They have both savored the plight of their hiking profession to the end. They moved around with their troops like nomads, grazing place by place. They now form an undemanding friendship that will last only as Alma finds himself drawn to South Africa through new commitments. Oliphant is now increasing from season to season. First he made a career as an actor in London, where he met his future wife, Blanche Ellerton, and with the help of a rich school friend, he rose to be theater director. Even now his idealism does not leave him. His ambition is to direct a literary stage ... That sounds like a mockery to anyone who knows about English theater. And it quickly turns out that he did the math without the audience. The incorrigible dreamer fails because of his honesty. Only when he tries a French buffoon at the request of his more knowledgeable, flirtatious wife does he see himself rewarded. But his artistic conscience is offended and he resigns. Alma returns home at the right moment. The more embarrassing the alienation from the vain Blanche becomes, especially since the death of her child, the closer Royce is to this sympathetic soul. Blanche, meanwhile, has drawn the wealthy childhood friend into her nets, and with the comforting prospect of a divorce and two new connections, the story breaks off abruptly enough. Leonard Merrick is a fair writer in many saddles. It will never spoil a grateful subject, just as little as it will artistically exhaust it. His episodic figures in particular reveal a considerable capacity for characterization. In drawing original owls, the English have been masters and masters since the days of Fielding. ●● One more step down and we're at Max Pemberton's The Garden of Swords arrived. With that skill that still characterizes the average English novel, the fate of a young Englishwoman during the siege of Strasbourg is told against the backdrop of the Franco-German war. The war trumpet sounds in her honey moon, duty calls her husband into the field; she escapes from her Buen Retiro to Strasbourg. Here she finds her compatriot Brandow North, who is serving in the German army, and a loyal friend in every need. The man returning from captivity suspects the angelic Beatrix, wants to fight a duel with the British for his honor, but is hit by a shrapnel beforehand, and dying he announces the ultimate conclusion: "Everything in the world is trinkets, only love Not; everything else we live for, fame, honor, money - they are nothing. «[chap. 31] The wildly turbulent wartime is illustrated by a few episodes. There is a grueling amount of shooting and the bombs are just flying around in the air. In addition, England's praise is sung at every suitable and sometimes unsuitable opportunity: England, England above everything! ●● Nobody today knows how to tune his lyre more powerfully at Albion's prices and is able to create a more echoing echo than that Rudyard Kiplingwhose fame has now also received the imperial sanction. [In response to the news that the author had survived his life-threatening pneumonia, Kaiser Wilhelm had sent Kipling a congratulatory telegram in the spring of 1899.] The convalescent has just finished a new work, Stalky & Co., sent out into the world. This is not a meaningless hyperbole with him, because his name is at home in both worlds today. A new Kipling is also an event across the ocean. No poet nowadays speaks to such a mighty church as he does. And more and more followers flock to her. For the large German public, however, it first had to be discovered. Active publishers have exploited the constellation and hired interpreters spurred them to work. In the course of a year four of his books were published in German translation [Indian stories (Plain Tales from the Hills), Ballads from the bivouac (Barrack Room Ballads), The new jungle book (The Second Jungle Book), A fleet of maneuvers (A fleet in being)], a record that lives up to the translators' steadfastness. But whether Kipling's peculiarity will find sympathetic understanding and due appreciation in Germany, whether he will gain a foothold with his idea of ​​imperialism, that remains an open question for the time being. The bizarre originality of the jungle book was only a treat for a few nobles, and his book about work (The Day's Work) was, as far as I can see, in spite of the occasional dithyrambs, was not ready to attract new admirers to us. His latest work will be even less able to do this. I don't know of any English book that is as specifically English with every fiber as it is Stalky & Co. In it he tells with great relish of the funny pranks of three schoolboys or real cadets, because the events take place in a military preparation center, a kind of cadet house, in northern Devonshire. English literature in particular has a whole series of such school stories which we have become familiar with from our youth. What readers of English novels are not Tom Brown's School Days in memory? Who wouldn't have been in with the troubled children Nicholas Nickleby Felt pity? Dickens has here vigorously tackled the mischief in the private schools with all the sharpness that is only tempered by the humane tendency. Also in England is Dean [Frederic William] Farrar's Eric [1858] a popular book, and [F.] Anstey's Vice versa [1882] has produced splendid burlesque effects from this chapter. The further we remove ourselves from school, the more we lose touch with it. For adults only Anstey is actually edible, who has taken the material from the cheerful side and tellingly added the subtitle "A lesson for fathers". Kipling joins this tradition. So he didn't need to be embarrassed about role models, but there was no real role model for him. In the appendix of the book we get most of the humorist Jerome Three men in a boat warned; but there can be no question of a dependence in a certain direction. Kipling's originality has again been brilliantly proven. My own memories may have flowed in abundantly. Yes, Kipling probably drew his own portrait in Beetle in the one boy who reveals poetic inclinations at an early age. In one essential point he differs from all men in front: he did not try in the least to draw types in his heroes as they appear in English youth. These budding soldiers are full of originality like their creator. He has spurned the unrolling of a complete image of a certain social organism from the individual fate. If I am allowed to speak of my own impressions that I had while reading the book, I was by no means unadulterated. Above all, these youthfully high-spirited follies are spun out far too far. Too much of a good thing has really been done. At first these pranks and jokes are amusing. But soon the limit will be reached. Stalky and his comrades M'Turk and Beetle are constantly at war with their superiors, they play all kinds of jokes to them, they are the ringleaders wherever nonsense is to be committed. Sometimes they have a drink when they're thirsty, sometimes they smoke a heavy East Indian cigar, sometimes they burn a comrade's freshly sprouting mustache with a wax candle, and they keep beating and fighting one another. But more than that, they are beaten, and they take the welts for granted. These sixteen-year-old Rangen read Horace and then hide a stinky cat in the bedroom in revenge. Stalky is the most daring of them all. He considers it beneath his dignity to read Browning and Ruskin, whom he flatly rejects as a donkey. But there is real English blood in these budding warriors: when a patriotic speech is given to them at the end, they get into a real frenzy. And finally we learn that Stalky has become a hero who works miracles of bravery in the Indian theater of war. In the final chapter, Kipling's tendency to break through: "India is full of stalkies," exclaims the poet enthusiastically. And he will undoubtedly inspire his people with this work. Whether the poet still has a lack in art to sift through his material, I would not simply want to answer this question in the negative. Throughout the book, with the exception of the last chapter, the same tone of rude exuberance, of brutal bravado, runs through it. The language is in full harmony with this; it is ingeniously adapted to the content. Kipling is driving his fondness for here slang-Expressions on the tip. The English may see a triumph in this grandiose use of the jargon. We will stumble frequently, for every dictionary leaves us miserably in the lurch. For this simple reason alone, the book will ricochet off abroad. We can never grow fond of it because it seems too strange to us. - I am again amazed at Rudyard Kipling's originality, I sincerely admire his singular command of the language, I unreservedly acknowledge his versatility; but I doubt that these boys of today will become men of tomorrow, according to Wordsworth's word: the child is the father of the man, I miss the general human touch in this book. There are more noble tasks for a poet of Kipling's rank than the purring and joking of green boys, no matter how brilliantly they are told. And as long as he denies us these higher objects with wider perspectives, I cannot love him as I love Burns and Byron and Shelley. "



A German Tennyson biography. LE, Vol. 2, H. 7, January 1, 1900, Col. 483-486.
Emil Koeppel, Tennyson. Berlin: Ernst Hofmann 1899. 175 p. ●●● "Alfred Lord Tennyson died of very old age on October 5th, 1892. Less than a decade has passed and he has already found a German biographer, the English poet in the Strasbourg university professor Emil Koeppel [1852-1917], whose work is in the known collection Spirit heroes (Leading Spirits) has appeared. As is well known, the ancients praised Achilles happy because he had found in Homer the herald of his deeds. The English poets in particular have not often achieved a Homer of their fame. If the biographies they have received are as numerous as the sand on the sea, unfortunately there are no such ones that would be able to meet scientific demands in every respect. Instead of being honored historically, their view of life has often been distorted polemically. So one has in the fatherland of the cant moral objections were always raised against Burns; he was found, based on the authority of his first biographer, Dr. [James] Currie [The Works of Robert Burns, With an Account of His Life (1800)] and the rigorous [Thomas] Carlyle ['Burns' (1828)], portrayed as victims of his passions, especially drunkenness, and only recently have these fables been partially dispelled. So today, with Lord Byron, after a period of exuberant enthusiasm had prevailed for him, one lapses into the other extreme, and since the scandalous revelations of Mrs. [Harriet] Beecher-Stowe [Lady Byron Vindicated (1870)] do not paint black enough. It would be for him that the book by [Karl] Elze [Lord Byron (1871)] is out of date and overtaken by today's research, would like a qualified biographer. ● Tennyson's character image has never really wavered in literature. Even in his lifetime he was not lacking in adversaries, but since his death he has been raised like no other in the English world, and there is no longer a voice that dared to drag his poet's greatness into the dust. Tennyson the man with his way of life, especially faults and blame, has probably never been feuded. Since his son [Hallam] published an extensive work of memoirs about the father [Alfred Lord Tennyson. A memoir by his son. 2 vol. (1897)], in which all necessary material is available, is the Poeta laureatus again moved to the center of literary historical investigations. At the moment the Tennyson movement and enthusiasm in England should have reached its peak, while it is gradually gaining a foothold here. Nobody since Dickens is so right in partibus infidelium become popular. ● "Once an English poet has won a name," writes Koeppel, "thanks to the world position of his fatherland, this name will soon be mentioned and honored in all zones" [p. 64] One need only look to the exaggerated cult that is practiced in our day with the undoubtedly original, but inclined to a certain one-sidedness that is slightly bordering on manner, Rudyard Kipling to gauge the correctness of this sentence. Tennyson's sympathetic talent has also found warm admirers in Germany, where, after a period of intense interest in English literature, a cool reluctance now seems to take hold. In Germany, too, the example of the English court poet, who never demeaned himself to a court servant and who, despite the dangers of a responsible position, always knew how to maintain the right of free expression, can find followers. But strange: while we most admire the simple story of the good sailor Enoch Arden, the most famous variation on the old theme of the returning husband, because the characters of this epic - which is not always the case with Tennyson - reveal human traits to us in the poet's homeland there is a tendency to give preference to others of his works. We have to J [akob] Fels for the skillful attempt at interpreting, the cycle that is most valued in England In memoriam To translate it into German, we must certainly be grateful [Strasbourg: Heitz 1899], but we cannot do this rambling lament for the dead, which the poet has made the vessel for his views on life and death, with Shelley's Adonais put in a row, we are still allowed to address the most splendid niece in world literature, Goethe's Epilogue to the bell, think [1805/15]. Yet another parallel does not work in favor of the British: compare Tennyson's ode to the death of the Duke of Wellington ['Ode on the Death of the Duke of Wellington' (1852)] with the swan song of our Fontane, the few lines noted Bismarck's death ['Where Bismarck should lie' (1898)]. Here a poet who sings popularly and intimately, there an artist whom the ancient meter of the Pindar stanza seduces into artifice. Even the In memoriam titled poems, in which the deep excitement of their creator trembles more than elsewhere, are too often burdened with the lead weight of reflection. In addition to this abstract trait, he often strives for pathetic rhetoric. The purple cloak of his diction, in which the decorative epithets form a constant prop, sometimes conceals the precious metal of the language. Everywhere he tries to give the expression a splendid drapery, to lend the language a pose. He writes how [Carl Theodor von] Piloty [German history painter (1826-1886)] paints. And in the choice of his fabrics, too, he expresses this tendency to be colorful. He enjoys wandering back into the gray Middle Ages, conjuring up the knights of the past, putting his characters in armor or peasant smocks, draping them in costumes. This predilection for the picturesque, admittedly essentially different from that of the romantic straggler Walter Scott, was nourished and promoted by Tennyson's form of the dramatic monologue. Here he comes into contact with his more sober poetic antipode, Robert Browning. ● One or the other of these points could have been formulated a little more sharply in Koeppel's biography. Otherwise the little book, which is nowhere tired from dry erudition and fortunately does not drag along any ballast of notes, reads pleasantly and easily, almost like a story. It is particularly valuable because of the concise content information, which may invite some to get to know the poet's works better. Koeppel, who has so far investigated the relationship between English and Italian literature in the age of Queen Elizabeth [Studies on the History of the Italian Novella in Sixteenth Century English Literature (1892)], has chosen a modern subject for the first time and treated the main representative from the government of Queen Victoria. With the close proximity of time, the present falls under some interesting glancing lights. ● Even with Tennyson we can see efforts that vividly remind us of Kipling's imperialist tendencies. The laureate also preaches the closest possible connection between the colonies and the mother country. The last line of the stanzas he wrote for the opening of the Indian exhibition [Opening of the Indian and Colonial Exhibition] wrote: »One life, one flag, one fleet, one thrones! Britons, hold your own! «Shines like a banner before the English [p.147]. ● His political gospel has also attracted many followers. "He who loves his own country the most is the best cosmopolitan": // "That man's the best cosmopolitan / Who loves his native country best", // is his highest principle [p. 141]. The ardent love of the country, the belief in the mission of the island kingdom, runs like a leitmotif through his life's work. The legend of the international nature of art has no hold on Tennyson, because all of his poetry is rooted in British soil. Pronounced patriotism need not degenerate into blind jingoism, it does not need to throw oneself into the arms of a certain party branch. Despite the fact that the laureate had to weigh every word on the gold scales, he has retained his political independence. ● His religious views, however, will not necessarily meet with approval in today's England, on whose threshold the Cerberus of piety stands guard. Tennyson's thirsty soul has not been spared religious battles, but has repeatedly won through to believe in God and immortality. "It is difficult to believe in God, but even more difficult not to believe" (Koeppel, p. 172), that almost echoes Voltaire's words: "Si Dieu n'existait pas, il faudrait l'inventer" [Epîtres, xcvi]. And then the price of honest doubt, in which he found more faith than in half of the denominations: // "There lives more faith in honest doubt, / Believe me, than in half the creeds". (In memoriam, 96). // If the modern Englishman, who likes to be in "pious ecstasy" [p. 89] dawns and only too willingly lets all his doubts lull, say yes and amen? Or in the finale of the clay-rich Arthur idylls, the poet confesses his hero: "I found him (God) in the shine of the stars, I recognized him in the blooming of his fields, but in his rule over people I do not find him" (Koeppel, P. 89). But with all skepticism, believing hearts always reconcile the unreserved honesty with which Tennyson dares to express his doubts. ● Only a man of his "flawless lifestyle" [p. 171] was allowed to proclaim such wisdom to the Orthodox, who had declared the cynic Byron, the atheist Shelley in spell. The ideal of the gentleman, honored in him by friends and enemies alike, was bound to arouse admiration even in Zealot opponents. And to this day the educated Englishman is impressed by Tennyson as the gentleman who has found in him a glorious personification. // "Thine island loves thee well." ['Ode on the Death of the Duke of Wellington', 85] // "

Vischer's Shakespeare Lectures. FZ, February 22, 1900, No. 52, First Morning Gazette.
Friedrich Theodor von Vischer [1807-1887], Shakespeare lectures. Edited for the German people by Robert Vischer [1847-1933]. Vol. I: Introduction. Hamlet, Prince of Denmark. Stuttgart: Cotta 1899. ●● "It is always an awkward thing to send out the workbooks to the public. The publishers of posthumous works have found out so and so often. Wilhelm Scherer's poetics [1888] e.g. B. is in this way from the writer's notes [d. 1886] and the writings of his students [especially the editor Richard M. Meyer (1860-1914)]. Writing down - even if it were the most embarrassing shorthand notes - seldom record anything of the character of the presenter. They are mostly satisfied with sketching the skeleton of thought, but they are unable to give us fresh life. From the mouth of the speaker to the hand of the writer, a good part, sometimes even the most valuable part, is lost. On the other hand, such study books offer the advantage of a first throw, but the file of the elaboration remained denied them. A good speaker will never slavishly bind himself to the letter of his manuscript, otherwise he will be shackled and lame. Regardless of what he was doing in the quiet scholarly room, he often only gets the best of it in front of his auditorium in the nick of time come to mind. The foundation must be laid, but the ornamentation is only set in at enlightened moments. And so many great speakers have assured us again and again that the best they had given was not neatly recorded, but rather flashed through like an electric spark in the opportunity and embarrassment of the moment. ● The name Friedrich Vischer was for an edition of the Shakespeare lectures a tempting figurehead. To see Friedrich Vischer walking in the footsteps of the greatest playwright was from the outset a reasonably sure guarantee that one would encounter strange views here. Many may have eagerly reached for the tape, awaiting new information. If, in the course of reading, a slight disappointment overcame it, then the author is not to be blamed for all. These lectures come to light today, gnawed in places by the rust of old age. In the meantime, research has not slowed down and has continued diligently. So not everything that was right then has remained unchallenged to this day. In the restlessly bustling world of scientific research, the gears of which do not stand still on Sundays and weekdays, even deserving books are quickly overtaken, supplemented here, deepened there, refuted here, confirmed there. And Shakespeare's research over the past decade has produced significant works. The publisher and his adviser friend, Professor Lorenz Morsbach [1850-1945], have by no means remained hidden from this situation. They even believed they had to do something special by adding an appendix that raised some of the obsolete things in Vischer's remarks, some of which he could not know at the time, to the modern level, sometimes without referring to the treatise, which tacitly made them themselves contradict some assertions. Such "improvements" usually remain a gift from Dana. They seem like a newfangled garnish on an older vintage dress. Nevertheless, the editor intends to bring the company to an end, and Cotta'sche Buchhandlung has six volumes in all Shakespeare lectures in prospect. Only when the complete work is available will a final decision be made as to whether we may see it as an enrichment for literature. May you the fate of Otto Ludwig's Shakespeare Studies [Published from the estate in 1872], often mentioned and little known, are spared. ● The first half of the present volume, which is intended as an introduction to the study of the Elizabethan dramatist - a very extensive, 228-page introduction - should have been under the table with a bold line. Its positive value is not great enough, even if one takes into account as a mitigating circumstance that students are here to be acquainted with the incunabula of Shakespearean scholarship. Vischer spreads about all the points that belong in a foreword and which [Alois] Brandl recently placed with admirable brevity at the top of his edition organized on behalf of the Bibliographical Institute [Shakespeare's Dramatic Works, ed. Alois Brandl, Vol. 1, Leipzig: Bibliographisches Institut 1897, pp. 9-46]. The first approach applies to the Bacon hypothesis, but it is not a dashing settlement, not a victorious conquest that drives the opponents into pairs and throws up their myths, which have been defended with all sorts of means of a penetrating mind. Vischer agrees only reluctantly, and he is happy when he hears the "strange hypothesis" [p. 12] has behind him. Then he passes over to the age of the poet and tries to understand it from within its time. The two currents that flow together in it are revealed. "The setting moon of Romanticism is still in the sky while the sun of Enlightenment rises, and that is why his poetry is also mixed with heterogeneous components" (p. 21). The Middle Ages and the Renaissance collide in it; this is partly linked to the thoughts of August Wilhelm Schlegel. And on the other hand, the blending of two styles is emphasized: Realism and mythic romanticism intersect with him. The excessively heaped up for our modern sense of art (or, as Vischer writes: graces) are blamed on the "overgrown age". Indulging in "excessive art, sought-after wit, absurdity in analogies, antitheses and puns" [p. 37] brought in line with the taste of the times and the overload with concetti traced back to the example of the court poet Lilly and the euphuism named after his famous novel, with highlights on the one that also prevailed in Spain à la mode-Tone of Gongorism and the marinism prevalent in Italy fall. But if Vischer goes so far, Shakespeare seriously has a lack of decency, yes, "the lust for the dirty" [p. 35], he is here not entirely free from an evil squeamishness. Later he even drives at the Hamlet- Discussion of prudery to such an extent that he believes he must stamp out the profanity directed at Ophelia. “But now there are lascivious ambiguities in what Hamlet says to Ophelia, alas, God's. I have done you a favor of leaving them out ”(p. 357). Such a procedure in usum delphini is bad for a scientific presentation. Otherwise they will be next fist-Interpreters by blushing in the footsteps of the Swabian aesthetician [sic], exercise similar restraint. ● This is followed by a brief description of Shakespeare's life, which leads on to the pre-Shakespearean and contemporary drama. Marlowe's titanic Dr. Faustus, in which we see the peak of this epoch, is strikingly underestimated. The Spieß'sche Volksbuch [Johann Spies, Historia by D. Johann Fausten (1587)] is just a pedantic, leathery work in which there is no trace of Marlowe's exuberant spirit. ● A representation of the English theater industry at the time of Shakespeare is appropriately attached here, whereby there is no particularly clear idea of ​​the backstage. We are also not spared the fable of the famous - or, more correctly, notorious - small tablet that marks the place of the action. If Vischer then does not know how to find a thread through the maze of sonnets in the following, modern research has only trumped him here with witty phantasy, but not incontestable conclusions. Too far-reaching concessions are made to the education of the poet: Romeo and Juliet is not based on the Bandello Italian novella (p. 167), but on the epic poem, which was subsequently rewritten by the Englishman Arthur Brooke [The Tragical History of Romeus and Juliet (1562)]. The detailed chapter "Shakespeare in Germany" [p. 190-210] is dwarfed by Bernays' and Brandl's recent research. [I cannot understand the reference to Michael Bernays (1834-1897).] With a certain degree of intentionality, A. W. Schlegel's eternal service to the translation is underestimated. The end of this introduction attempts to sharply delimit Shakespeare's poetic periods of development in terms of time, operating all too well with numbers. Here, too, newer researchers who happily circumvented the difficulty have successfully applied a higher classification principle. Despite all these exhibitions, it is advisable to be mild in the assessment. In the face of this excavation, the radical means of throwing obsolete things overboard was not applicable. ● If one reads the introduction with mixed feelings, »with a cheerful, wet eye« [Hamlet, I. ii], then the comfort increases in what follows Hamlet-Comment.Vischer praises his hero at one point for having proven himself as a "psychological virtuoso" [p. 359], praise that may snap back to the donor. To be sure, even the most subtle instinct cannot disguise all the riddles. If, however, he is inclined to accept gaps or defects in the drama, others see the essence of the work of art as the simplest explanation for this ambiguity. The arithmetic example does not work out completely. There are always little particles left that mock the schema constraint. The mind cannot cope with these hypertrophies everywhere. The impact of symbolism defies school-like tearing apart in details. And so, despite all the hard efforts, not everything is right at Vischer. Goethe has in the Maxims and reflections [No. 940 (Hamburg edition)], paradoxically enough, the sentence: "Everything lyrical must be very reasonable as a whole, but a little unreasonable in detail." I believe that one can say that of every work of art. Let us console ourselves with the words of Friedrich Vischer, who holds out his arms before the difficulty of a passage and has to compromise: "You don't need to be unhappy if you can't shed light on every darkness." [P. 320] ● How does Vischer view his hero? As is well known, two views have long feuded and are still sometimes harshly opposed to one another. Some saw in the Danish prince the phlegmatic dreamer, the eternal procrastinator, who, sick with the paleness of thought, always misses the right moment to act. (This is how he is still portrayed today on all German stages in the traditional sloppy manner and with the necessary bow to the crowd's understanding of the dozen. Recently, a work by the Berlin actor [Ferdinand] Gregori poured us pure wine [The actor's work (1899); see MM's book review in LE dated 09/15/01].) The others, on the other hand, regard Hamlet as a sanguine, on whose shoulders an excessively difficult task rests, which does not allow him, the man of overculture, to stab blindly. This view, first represented by [Karl] Werder [1806-1893] in Berlin (1875) [Lectures on Shakespeare's Hamlet], prevails today. Vischer earlier tended to the first point of view: Hamlet cannot get out of himself, for he has an excess of reflection between his will and the deed. He lacks the natural force of momentary decision; thinking leads him to the eternal screw, and, instead of himself on to judge the purpose, it is directed against the purpose. "[p. 398] But he can no longer get by with that. And so he now justifies Hamlet's hesitation with his own Imagination restlessness [S. 508]. He fidgets the jump, it is said with a vivid picture [p. 399]. Shakespeare's work cannot simply be called the reflective tragedy, Hamlet is - this is repeatedly emphasized - "not a sentimental smack" [p. 324], he is the bitter idealist, the world-weary fantasy man, the ingenious, ingeniously humorous person. And »in highly ingenious people there is an extremely fine approach to insanity, but only a very small tenth, and so also in Hamlet. He is not really insane, certainly not, but he will only have as much of the insanity as that Fantasy genius, in contrast to the political or military genius, has something akin to madness in it ... He plays the fool because he's a little bit one.«[S. 285] In these words is the key to Vischer's remarks. But as carefully as the formula is thought out, it cannot interpret the most complicated character in all its actions. Hamlet remains for us, as Goethe was the first to appreciate in his sometimes extremely strange essay "Shakespeare and No End" (summer 1813), the greatest combination of will and ought in the individual character, in such a way that the will remains at a disadvantage . ● Of course, there are plenty of delicious crumbs from Vischer's abundant table. Ophelia is particularly dear to his heart, she is completely pure innocence to him. He, who is otherwise brittle, knows how to play soft tones when he describes her death: “It is an incomparably tender, dreamily wistful Adagio that touches us deeply. We see the water trickling in the spirit, willow leaves trembling in its moving mirror. Everything is gray, everything is crying. The gentle pile in which this creature lived also extends over her death. It goes like a water spirit that wed its element. «[P. 423] His love for her is so great that he can never forgive the poet for the stains in the picture of the fairies. "Why," he exclaims indignantly, "does Shakespeare spoil the image of Ophelia with those hopeless and contemptible rags?" [P. 477] Here, in his delusion, he does not see that these lascivities seemed to the poet to be an indispensable ingredient of madness. ● The attempt to partially help Schlegel's translation goes hand in hand with the factual interpretation. Vischer did not act very piously. He gives [Ludwig] Seeger [1810-1864] the preference on some points [Shakespeare's Hamlet (1865)]; and where that is not enough for him, he lends a helping hand himself, always trying to do as justice as possible to the wording of the original. [...] ● There is no need to add a word about Vischer's own style. The editor [Robert Vischer] tried to capture the liveliness of the lectures. Spoken Sentences reach us, not the more abstract written language. Avoiding all scholarship, Vischer wanted to transfer the enthusiasm that the work of art aroused in him to his listeners. He forces them properly under his spell, incites their attention by frequent addresses and never lets their participation slacken. Sometimes in the heat of the moment he has broken the line of beauty; he mixes the chosen language abundantly with vulgar expressions, which give his portrayal a coarse, unhealthy appearance. The fact that Shakespeare uses the word "smear" in poetry is offensive to Vischer [p. 320 f.]. But he himself calls Polonius "the old rattle mouth" [p. 292], rants about the "sublimated arsenical shame swindles of our time" [p. 434], uses the adjectives »wuselig« [p. 309] and "duselig" [p. 456], does not disdain the hyperbole of colloquial language "damn clever" [p. 239], yes descends to a "If the listeners have something to remember" [p. 318], and the examples are abundant. Also the poet of Lyric corridors [1882] could not restrain this tendency to use strong expressions. They do not detract from the mobility of the representation, even if they give a gentle stroke of the cheek to some sensitive professor who loves to be patted with ice cream gloves. But the fighter nature of the author of Also one [1879], his unreserved honesty, which often degenerates into neglect of form, his heated agitatorism are not denied here in style either. "[Cf. also the FZ from 07/24/1900 with MM's review of the second volume by Vischer's Shakespeare lectures.]

News from the English book table. FZ, April 26, 1900, No. 114, First Morning Gazette.
Stephen Phillips, Paolo and Francesca. John Lane: London / New York 1900; Algernon Charles Swinburne, Rosamund, Queen of the Lombards. London: Chatto & Windus 1899; Arthur Morrison, To London Town. London: Methuen 1899 / Leipzig: Tauchnitz 1899. No. 3390; Walter Besant, The Orange Girl. London: Chatto & Windus 1899 / Leipzig: Tauchnitz 1899, 2 vol., No. 3388/89; Ouida [Marie Louise de la Ramée], The Waters of Edera. London: Fisher Unwin 1900 / Leipzig: Tauchnitz 1900. Vol. 3407; Anthony Hope, The King's Mirror. London: Methuen 1899 / Leipzig: Tauchnitz 1899. 2 vol., No. 3394/95; Mary Cholmondeley, Red Pottage. London: Edward Arnold 1899 / Leipzig: Tauchnitz 1900. 2 vol., No. 3403/04. ●●● "I. Dramas. - Among the lovers of world literature, two enjoy a universal celebrity; one given by an English playwright, the other by an Italian epic poet with the halo of immortality: Romeo and Juliet, Paolo and Francesca. Both couples are located in Italy, the hotter country of a hotter passion. There the highest lust of love, here the highest sadness, the one subject transplanted by Shakespeare to the stage, the keystone is set in the dramatic arrangement. Only a master like Gottfried Keller was allowed to undertake to recapture this reproach in a different guise for the novella, just as Turgenev and King Lear could step into Shakespeare's giant shadow inferno fifth chant condensed into a harrowing episode that is considered to be one of the most famous passages in the Divina commedia is true, perhaps as a result of this intermezzo-like character has repeatedly tempted the playwrights to linger longer and further spinning out. The successors suggested by the Florentine are almost innumerable. Byron's sunlit Leigh Hunt, the one in his Story of Rimini (1816) returned to epic form, framing the whole thing with the sunset of a quiet melancholy. Of the playwrights, three deserve to be highlighted: the Italian Silvio Pellico with his Francesca da Rimini (1818), a watered down style of the tragedy composed, tame, tearful work that reminds us of the well-known description of his imprisonment (Le mie prigioni) - a true tearful fountain! - reminded. Though torso, Ludwig Uhland's supposed to be Franceska da Rimino