Heyse's dramas are in the highest degree heterogeneous: civil
tragedies, mythological, historic, patriotic plays of the most
dissimilar artistic nature. His talent is so pliant that he feels at
liberty to enter upon any theme. A strong impulse for the historical,
Heyse has never had; his historical dramas have all sprung from a
patriotic sentiment, and are effective chiefly through this sentiment.
The one of his groups of dramas for which the poet is most noted is
that which deals with antique subjects. At a time when modern political
action was everywhere demanded of the higher drama, this employment
of old Grecian and Roman materials was lamented over and derided in
Germany, with an utter lack of comprehension. People asked what in all
the world there was in such a subject as the rape of the Sabine women,
or Meleager, or Hadrian, that could possibly interest the poet or any
one else. To those who read critically it is very evident what must
have attracted Heyse to these themes. They incorporate for him his
favorite ideas concerning woman's love and woman's destiny, and his own
being is mirrored in them. Any one who will compare the warm-blooded
drama "Meleager" with Swinburne's "Atalanta in Kalydon," which
handles the same material, will find occasion for many interesting
observations, concerning the peculiarity of the two poets. "Hadrian"
has perhaps perplexed the critic the most. What could attract the poet
to a relation so wholly foreign to us as that between Hadrian and
Antinous, one, too, that is so decidedly a reminder of the shady side
of antique life, seems almost incomprehensible. I, for my part, rank
"Hadrian" highest of all of Heyse's dramas. I have never been able to
read this tragedy of the handsome young Egyptian who, passionately
loved by the ruler of the world, surrounded by all the pomp and
splendor of the court, free in every respect, and bound alone to his
imperial admirer, languishes for freedom,--I have never been able to
read this tragedy, I say, without thinking of a certain young poet who,
already in his earliest youth summoned to a South German court, soon
became an object of envy as the favorite of an amiable and intelligent
monarch, as the darling of fortune, while in many a secret moment he
wished himself far from court, and in many a fettered moment felt
how little even the favor of the best master weighed in the balance
against the freedom of one who was entirely unprotected, but entirely
independent.
In this drama, by way of exception, all that is scenic is of the
highest effect. The actual reason why Heyse, with all his great ability
for the stage, still failed to meet with decided success in his dramas,
is unquestionably because he does not possess the German pathos
proper, that of Schiller. Not until the pathos is broken, not until
it has become half pathological, is he able to treat it with entire
originality. Genuine dramatic pathos from the depths of the heart, with
him easily becomes inartistically national, patriotic, and somewhat
commonplace. This is the reason why the representation of manly action
proper is not his province. To however high a degree he may have
command in his poetry over the passive qualities of manhood, such as
dignity, earnestness, repose, dauntless courage, he nevertheless,
like Goethe, wholly lacks the active momentum. A vigorous, effective
plan of action that follows a defined goal is as little the essential
part of his dramas as of his novels and romances. If there now and
then appear an energetic action, it is occasioned by despair; the
individual is forced into a dilemma in which the only apparent means
of escape may be gained through the utmost daring alone. (Compare the
action of the young forester in "Mutter und Kind," when he kidnaps the
son of his sweetheart, or the elopement in "Das Bild der Mutter"--The
Mother's Portrait.) In the romance "Im Paradiese" a good example of
this will be found in the scene where Jansen, in exasperation at all
the incompleteness amid which his life has been passed, dashes to
pieces the models of his saints. It was an unmanly thing in Jansen
to carry on a saint factory,--the whole idea is amusing as a passing
jest, but does not admit of being made permanent without disfiguring
the character,--but it is a still more unmanly, aye, a truly womanish
course of action, when he pours out the vials of his wrath against
the dead plaster images. Although from the reason already cited the
genuine dramatic nerve and sinew are almost always lacking in Heyse's
works, the hindrances which are placed in the way of the poet's
decided success on the stage are not of such importance that he may
not overcome them with time and celebrate a scenic triumph. By way of
preliminary, a few years ago he made his début, to the astonishment of
every one, in a species of poetic composition which seemed to be wholly
remote from his province, but in which, in a very short time, he won
the greatest success.
It is still fresh in the public memory what an excitement the "Kinder
der Welt" created when it first appeared in Spener's "Zeitung." For a
whole month this feuilleton was the universal theme of conversation.
The guileless novelist, who was so completely an alien to worldly life,
had suddenly unveiled himself as a purely modern thinker, who ended a
philosophic romance with the words of Hölderlin:--
"Cease not to guard with heav'nly buckler
Fair innocence; thou guardian of the bold,
Forsake her not!"
It had been apparently overlooked previous to this that through Heyse's
insinuating poetry there ran a vehement demand for freedom, a complete
independence of dogmas and conventional fetters. At his new departure,
therefore, people were more astonished than they had any reason to be.
Heyse is of a mixed origin: from his Teutonic father he has inherited
the positive side of his character, the fulness and beauty of his
disposition; from his mother, who was a Jewess, a critical vein. For
the first time both sides of his nature were revealed to the great
public. It must have produced a marked impression on the minds about
him that this Fabius Cunctator who had so long held aloof from the
problems of the day, now felt that the moment had come for him to
take his position in their ranks, and fight the fight of the times.
The romance is a dignified and noble protest against those who would
fetter freedom of thought and instruction in our day. It has to back
it all polemics against dogmas. All its main personages, with a clear
consciousness of their position, are made to live in that atmosphere
of freer ideas, which is the vital air of modern times. It is one
of those works which possess the intensity of a long-repressed,
late-matured personal experience, and therefore has a vitality to
which no awkwardness of form, no lack of form, can be prejudicial. The
book, as a first attempt, is wanting in many of the elements of the
genuine romance; the hero, as might have been expected, lacks much in
resolution, in active manly vigor; it does not concentrate itself in
a single, absolutely dominating interest; the all-engulfing erotic
element does not permit the idea to stand forth clear and central, as
it was conceived by the poet. The decisive turning-point of the work
seems to be impending where Franzelius, after the burial of Balder, is
thrown into prison on the denunciation of Lorinser. Here Edwin says
expressly:[22] "You desire open war, you yourself demand it, and there
shall be no peace until it has been honestly fought out." But the
_open_ war does not take place; the entire little band of heroes of the
book content themselves with the defensive, and when Edwin has finally
completed his epoch-making work, the romance ends. Closely associated
with this lack is the undue softness of feeling in those parts which
treat of Balder. The absence of that strict observance of proportion
and limits which distinguish Heyse's "novellen," is plainly felt in
this romance. But how would it be possible that great merits in a work
of such extent should not be purchased with some lacks. Not only have
the ideal female characters here the same points of excellence as in
the "novellen"; but the poet has also enlarged his sphere in a high
degree; even the least ideal figures, Christiane, Mohr, Marquard, are
incomparable. And what a flood of genuine humanity streams through this
romance! What a fund of true, versatile culture it contains! It is not
only a courageous book, it is also an edifying one.
On certain foul attacks which it drew down upon its author, I will
not linger. The denunciations of a couple of insignificant German
sheets alone interest me because one of these abusive articles, which
so stated the purport of the book that it was represented as dealing
solely with the coarsest sensuality, was brought out in Norway by the
Norwegian translator of Goethe's "Faust," with an introduction in which
all Norwegian fathers of families were warned against allowing the book
to cross their thresholds.[23]
For a sharp thrust from France, Heyse had every reason to be prepared.
It came not unmerited; for the remarks concerning the literature and
intellectual tendency of that country occurring in his romance are
quite in the style of the general German sentiment; but the cut might
have been given in a more chivalrous and skilful manner than the very
ignoble and narrow-minded article by Albert Réville in the "Revue des
Deux Mondes," which was dictated by national hatred and a love of
self-amusement.
Freedom of thought was the fundamental idea of the "Kinder der Welt";
freedom of moral action is the fundamental idea of the romance "Im
Paradiese," yet not in such a way that this work must be considered an
attempt at justification; for if the freedom of thought Heyse advocates
may be designated as absolute, the freedom of moral action is only
relative. Moreover, "Im Paradiese" is a work of quite a different
character than the first romance. Even the fact that the scenes of
the early romance are laid in keen, critical Berlin, the second one
in merry, pleasure-loving Munich, indicates the difference. While the
"Kinder der Welt" may be called a philosophic romance, "Im Paradiese"
is a sort of _roman comique,_ light, graceful, and full of a raillery
blended with earnestness. Its greatest value is in being the psychology
of an entire city of importance, and the portrait of the social and
art circles of this city. All Munich is embraced in this book, and, as
a matter of course, the artist life of this city of artists occupies
the main place. The conversations and reflections on art have not the
useless and abstract character in the pages of this book that they
assume in the ordinary art-romance; we feel that it is no theorist but
a connoisseur who speaks, and a genuine studio atmosphere is diffused
throughout all portions of the book. The entire æsthetics of the author
may be condensed into Ingre's old definition, _"l'art c'est le nu."_
So far as the entanglements and composition of the plot are concerned,
"Im Paradiese" denotes an undoubted progress. The interest is sustained
throughout, and what is more, it continually increases; a commendation
that cannot be bestowed on "Kinder der Welt." Now and then, however,
the means used to forward the plot are applied in rather an unskilful
manner. For instance, the entire rôle played by the dog Homo as _deus
ex machina_ is especially marked in its exaggerations. He reminds us,
with his superhuman penetration, of those lions of the sculpture of the
"Zopf" period, with human and majestic countenances, framed in masses
which too strongly resemble the big wigs of real life. Yet in German
romances not the plot, but the delineation of character is the main
thing, and in almost all its subordinate figures this book reveals
a new side of Heyse's talent. Such forms as Angelica, Rosenbusch,
Kohl, Schnetz, have sportive, manifold life that formerly had been
almost entirely excluded from Heyse's style. In a word, Heyse's mind
has gained humor, the humor of mature manhood, one might almost say,
of forty years of age; but a delicate, sagacious, quiet humor which
renders complete the gift of the poet and invests its coloring with the
true blending.