In
box 37/5
2. Cuttings
aus:
Ane Daily Telegraph, Londor
18 S. 7313
—
BOOKS OF THEDAY.
By W. L COURTNEV.
ARTHUR SCHNITZLER.
GAYAMNGCK
Slowly the reputation of Arthur Schnitzler
the Austriandramatist, is making its way in this
country. First a piece of his called“ Liebelei?
was seen at an afternoon performance in
His Majesty’s Theatre; then came the fasci¬
nating sequence at the Palace called“ Anatol,?
adapted for the English stage by Mr. Granville
Barker; finally, only the other day, we had
two pieces done by the Stage Society,“ The
Countess Mizzi“' and“ The Green Cockatoo.
It is very difficult to say precisely in whnt
consists the remarkable charm of these pieces.
They are very witty, amusing, and agreeable;
they are equally cynical, flippant, and—if one
likes to call them so—heartless. But the in¬
variable characteristic is the lightness of touch
with which the dramatist skates over thin ice,
the deft ekill with which he has at once re¬
vealed and concealed the bitter tragedies under¬
lying the gay romance of woridly life. Rarely
has a dramatist exhibited so masterly a gift of
saying just enough and not too much, of prob¬
ing folly, yet not going down to the bed-rock of
bitterness, of making us aware of the tragie
issues without insisting on them, and investing
somo of the gloomiest of all possible scenes with
an unfailing „ift of humour. It is throughthis
lightness of touch that Arthur Schnitzler gains
bis distinction and puts himself into the com¬
Sanyof Oscar Wilde and Bernard Shaw. He is,
course, modern of the moderns, and asg
gainst the thorough-going somewhat stodgy
lulosophy of Berlin, places before us the light
nd dainty fare, the brilliant artificiality of
ienna.
A MEDIOAL TRAINING.
Schnitzler has one great advantage over his
ivals and competitors in that he is à doctor,
nd has had a thorough medical training.
#hafat the present mement he has an
Pateizive private practice in Vienna.
Very
arely, 1 suppose, has practienl experience
gained in the sick room been conjoined with
such an acute artistic sense as is to be found
in the Viennese dramatist. His analytieal
power is as remarkable as his synthetic
brilliancy. He knows what is the matter with
the modern human soul; he knows to what
extent it is subject to nervons disease; be can
say from personal experience“ Thou uilest
nere, and here,' not only to his patients, but
othe larger world which he addresses through
bis dramas. There is little that is sincere in
mundane romanticism. Inall theamourettes of
a Viennese day thero is an underlying stratum
of bitterness and disillusionment. Perhaps the
man has a better time than Clie woman; at all
events the woman gets the greater blame and
has the major part of the suffering. No better
ilinstration of this can be found than in
* Liebelei?' (Light-o’-Love). Theodor makes
an effort to rescue his friend Fritz from a some¬
what perilous liaison with a married woman, an
1
aristocrat., by introducing him to a littlo gir!
of the pcople, Christine. The experiment is not
whollv successful. When Christine discovers
that Fritz, for the sake of his aristocratie love,
I
has been actually killed in a duel with the in¬
sulted and outraged husband, she suddenly
41
realises with intense conviction what sort of
h.
person she is." What, then, am I?' sbe cries
in
in passionate anguish. Andthis in various ways w.
is a theme which constantly cccurs throughont
ment done fer their speoial beboof, a
sort of impromptu drama, in which the actors
simulate passions and enggest vivid episodes
by the sheer forco of their mimetio talents.
Now, the best actor of the lot is a man called!
Henri, who is about to marry the actress called
Leocadie, who, we learn, is too friendly with
Emile, Duc de Cadignan. First Henri goes
through a scene in which he pretends he has
killed his rival the Duc in the dressing-room
of his intemled wife at the theatre. Then fol¬
lows a scene in which Henri actually does kill
the Duc, having at last learnt the real truth.
But which is the more powerful incident of the
two? In some ways it is the simulated wrath
and fury of the histrionic episode, the actual
murder being tame in comparison. In so in¬
a5
genions a fashion dees Sehnitzler suggest either
ON
that art is stronger than nature, or that
t
imagination is as potent as reality, or that our
b.
life is spent between visions and things, and we
W
often mistake the two. Or, perhaps, the most
K
suceinet moral we can take comes from a line
V.
in another of the plays included in this little
volume—“ Paracelsus.? Here Paracelcus is a
wesmerist, and in the hypnotio condition hei #n
extracts from Justina a confession which is
probably false, but which may yet have somel V.
glimmering of truth, and which, at all events, 1#
Urcaks down the barriers between dreams and #.
teality. Just before Paracelsus leaves thestage I.
he utters the sentence,“ Life is a game; whod
knows it he is wise.“ Truly, if we acceptsse.
Schnitzler’s platform, life is a game—stupig,###
amusing, bitter, agreeable, tragio or comfe,
1
1
according to the taste and predilection offthe
gamester.
THE INSIDE OETHE CUP. H
box 37/5
2. Cuttings
aus:
Ane Daily Telegraph, Londor
18 S. 7313
—
BOOKS OF THEDAY.
By W. L COURTNEV.
ARTHUR SCHNITZLER.
GAYAMNGCK
Slowly the reputation of Arthur Schnitzler
the Austriandramatist, is making its way in this
country. First a piece of his called“ Liebelei?
was seen at an afternoon performance in
His Majesty’s Theatre; then came the fasci¬
nating sequence at the Palace called“ Anatol,?
adapted for the English stage by Mr. Granville
Barker; finally, only the other day, we had
two pieces done by the Stage Society,“ The
Countess Mizzi“' and“ The Green Cockatoo.
It is very difficult to say precisely in whnt
consists the remarkable charm of these pieces.
They are very witty, amusing, and agreeable;
they are equally cynical, flippant, and—if one
likes to call them so—heartless. But the in¬
variable characteristic is the lightness of touch
with which the dramatist skates over thin ice,
the deft ekill with which he has at once re¬
vealed and concealed the bitter tragedies under¬
lying the gay romance of woridly life. Rarely
has a dramatist exhibited so masterly a gift of
saying just enough and not too much, of prob¬
ing folly, yet not going down to the bed-rock of
bitterness, of making us aware of the tragie
issues without insisting on them, and investing
somo of the gloomiest of all possible scenes with
an unfailing „ift of humour. It is throughthis
lightness of touch that Arthur Schnitzler gains
bis distinction and puts himself into the com¬
Sanyof Oscar Wilde and Bernard Shaw. He is,
course, modern of the moderns, and asg
gainst the thorough-going somewhat stodgy
lulosophy of Berlin, places before us the light
nd dainty fare, the brilliant artificiality of
ienna.
A MEDIOAL TRAINING.
Schnitzler has one great advantage over his
ivals and competitors in that he is à doctor,
nd has had a thorough medical training.
#hafat the present mement he has an
Pateizive private practice in Vienna.
Very
arely, 1 suppose, has practienl experience
gained in the sick room been conjoined with
such an acute artistic sense as is to be found
in the Viennese dramatist. His analytieal
power is as remarkable as his synthetic
brilliancy. He knows what is the matter with
the modern human soul; he knows to what
extent it is subject to nervons disease; be can
say from personal experience“ Thou uilest
nere, and here,' not only to his patients, but
othe larger world which he addresses through
bis dramas. There is little that is sincere in
mundane romanticism. Inall theamourettes of
a Viennese day thero is an underlying stratum
of bitterness and disillusionment. Perhaps the
man has a better time than Clie woman; at all
events the woman gets the greater blame and
has the major part of the suffering. No better
ilinstration of this can be found than in
* Liebelei?' (Light-o’-Love). Theodor makes
an effort to rescue his friend Fritz from a some¬
what perilous liaison with a married woman, an
1
aristocrat., by introducing him to a littlo gir!
of the pcople, Christine. The experiment is not
whollv successful. When Christine discovers
that Fritz, for the sake of his aristocratie love,
I
has been actually killed in a duel with the in¬
sulted and outraged husband, she suddenly
41
realises with intense conviction what sort of
h.
person she is." What, then, am I?' sbe cries
in
in passionate anguish. Andthis in various ways w.
is a theme which constantly cccurs throughont
ment done fer their speoial beboof, a
sort of impromptu drama, in which the actors
simulate passions and enggest vivid episodes
by the sheer forco of their mimetio talents.
Now, the best actor of the lot is a man called!
Henri, who is about to marry the actress called
Leocadie, who, we learn, is too friendly with
Emile, Duc de Cadignan. First Henri goes
through a scene in which he pretends he has
killed his rival the Duc in the dressing-room
of his intemled wife at the theatre. Then fol¬
lows a scene in which Henri actually does kill
the Duc, having at last learnt the real truth.
But which is the more powerful incident of the
two? In some ways it is the simulated wrath
and fury of the histrionic episode, the actual
murder being tame in comparison. In so in¬
a5
genions a fashion dees Sehnitzler suggest either
ON
that art is stronger than nature, or that
t
imagination is as potent as reality, or that our
b.
life is spent between visions and things, and we
W
often mistake the two. Or, perhaps, the most
K
suceinet moral we can take comes from a line
V.
in another of the plays included in this little
volume—“ Paracelsus.? Here Paracelcus is a
wesmerist, and in the hypnotio condition hei #n
extracts from Justina a confession which is
probably false, but which may yet have somel V.
glimmering of truth, and which, at all events, 1#
Urcaks down the barriers between dreams and #.
teality. Just before Paracelsus leaves thestage I.
he utters the sentence,“ Life is a game; whod
knows it he is wise.“ Truly, if we acceptsse.
Schnitzler’s platform, life is a game—stupig,###
amusing, bitter, agreeable, tragio or comfe,
1
1
according to the taste and predilection offthe
gamester.
THE INSIDE OETHE CUP. H