# 146. The Free Literary Society in Berlin 1898

On 12 January, the Berlin "Freie Literarische Gesellschaft" organized a humorous lecture evening. First, Otto Julius Bierbaum read parts of his latest novel "Stilpe". A naïve humor makes itself felt in this novel. If you have retained your youth, you laugh at the things Bierbaum laughs at. This laughter is harmless. The things that are laughed at are so cute. If the lecturer had been better planned, there would certainly have been a lot of laughter last Wednesday too.

Guido Thielscher achieved a rare lecture success with Otto Erich Hartleben's little masterpieces: "Das Kalbskotelett" and "Moritz, der Sortimenter". I am not obliged to leave my judgment of Otto Erich Hartleben's achievements unspoken because I am friends with him. I know of no artist today who practises with such perfection what I feel is important in art. With sure strokes he draws figures that live. He is a master of the art form in the very best sense of the word. He spurns everything that does not belong to this art form. Artistic nobility is a fundamental trait of his work. And because this nobility comes so naturally to him, it strikes me as a superior way of dealing with things. Hartleben knows the irony of living conditions, and he knows the natural necessity of banality. And he knows how to shape both. In "Kalbskotelett" he shows himself from the first side, in "Moritz, der Sortimenter" from the second. These are light sketches, but only a complete artist can write them.

Guido Thielscher brought both to full effect. All the nuances came into their own. Thielscher has a fine art of characterization. He delves lovingly into things and knows how to portray them vividly. He is one of those performers who are followed with the greatest interest not only because of the poetry they serve through their art of performance, but who also arouse the greatest interest through the way they express something.

*

On Friday, January 28, the "Freie Literarische Gesellschaft" had the opportunity to get to know an excellent reciter. Marcell Salzer read poems and prose creations by Viennese authors: Arthur Schnitzler, Loris (Hugo von Hofmannsthal), Peter Altenberg, Christian Morgenstern and Hermann Bahr. Marcell Salzer has a -- Hermann Bahr would say in his Viennese - cozy way of settling into the artistically fine and amusing things of Schnitzler, Morgenstern and Bahr and rendering them in such a way that the Viennese who hears him feels quite at home. But it seems to me that Salzer's talent goes even further. As a reciter he is a real artist. That is not so easy. Because it is difficult for a reciter to be an artist. The range of his means is limited. Words and word nuances are basically the only things that come into consideration. If the reciter wants to work with other means, he becomes intrusive. His art is one of the most intimate there is. When reading from the works of the authors mentioned, I found that Marcell Salzer keeps within the limits of his art and performs excellently within these limits. Schnitzler's, Bahr's and Morgenstern's sketches, born out of Viennese sentiment, have been genuinely rendered down to the charming hint of dialect.

Hugo von Hofmannsthal, the coquettish pathetician, and especially Peter Altenberg, the Iyrian drifter, were less prominent. Hugo von Hofmannsthal is a displaced musician. He composes in vowels. As a reciter, Marcell Salzer is a characterizer. He should not read Hofmannsthal. He makes feminine lyricism theatrical. That is no criticism. I have to say this to praise the reciter. How could he recite Schnitzler and Bahr well if he wanted to strike Hofmannsthal's unmanly tone! The leaves in the forest rustle as this poet speaks, the spring rushes its melodies. What he sings and says will always sound unnatural from human throats. And Peter Altenberg! Why do we have such poets? It's quite nice that we can allow ourselves such luxury. Why shouldn't there be something else when the last of the table's delights have been cleared away? A very fine cigar. We don't want to do without it. Peter Altenberg is a fine cigar. But not all people are smokers, and not all smokers have an appreciation for fine cigars. You have to have climbed the mysterious ladder to distinction again - to philistrosity.

I am writing this to give Marcell Salzer, who is an excellent reciter, some good - perhaps superfluous - advice. Cabinet pieces of his art were the samples of Schnitzler, Bahr and Morgenstern. With Loris and Mr. Peter he spoils the most beautiful effects.

On Tuesday, March 1, the Berlin "Freie Literatische Gesellschaft" organized an evening of authors. Sigmar Mehring read his one-act play: "Vom Baume der Erkenntnis. A Mystery". The author of this short drama has attempted to deal with the ancient question of the Fall of Man in a way that lies halfway between the simple biblical narrative and a philosophically speculative interpretation of the mythical event. In the second part of the evening, Ludwig Fulda delighted us with a series of witty poems: Sein und Nichtsein, Beichte, Der Beneidenswerte, Zweierlei Auffassung, Eigener Nachruf, Drei Parabeln, Studienkopf - and with the cheerful humoresque "Zufall". I have no need to praise either these poems or Fulda's art of performance, unless I wish to say something generally acknowledged. Instead, however, I may express the wish that the speaker may often delight the "Freie Literarische Gesellschaft" in a similar way as he did this time. The society will be very grateful to him.

On January 12, the Berlin "Freie Literarische Gesellschaft" organized a humorous lecture evening. First, Otto Julius Bierbaum read parts of his latest novel "Stilpe". A naïve humor makes itself felt in this novel. If you have retained your youth, you laugh at the things Bierbaum laughs at. This laughter is harmless. The things that are laughed at are so cute. If the lecturer had been better planned, there would certainly have been a lot of laughter last Wednesday too.

Guido Thielscher achieved a rare lecture success with Otto Erich Hartleben's little masterpieces: "Das Kalbskotelett" and "Moritz, der Sortimenter". I am not obliged to leave my judgment of Otto Erich Hartleben's achievements unspoken because I am friends with him. I know of no artist today who practises with such perfection what I feel is important in art. With sure strokes he draws figures that live. He is a master of the art form in the very best sense of the word. He spurns everything that does not belong to this art form. Artistic nobility is a fundamental trait of his work. And because this nobility comes so naturally to him, it strikes me as a superior way of dealing with things. Hartleben knows the irony of living conditions, and he knows the natural necessity of banality. And he knows how to shape both. In "Kalbskotelett" he shows himself from the first side, in "Moritz, der Sortimenter" from the second. These are light sketches, but only a complete artist can write them.

Guido Thielscher brought both to full effect. All the nuances came into their own. Thielscher has a fine art of characterization. He delves lovingly into things and knows how to portray them vividly. He is one of those performers who are followed with the greatest interest not only because of the poetry they serve through their art of performance, but who also arouse the greatest interest through the way they express something.

On Friday, January 28, the "Freie Literarische Gesellschaft" had the opportunity to get to know an excellent reciter. Marcell Salzer read poems and prose creations by Viennese authors: Arthur Schnitzler, Loris (Hugo von Hofmannsthal), Peter Altenberg, Christian Morgenstern and Hermann Bahr. Marcell Salzer has a -- Hermann Bahr would say in his Viennese - cozy way of settling into the artistically fine and amusing things of Schnitzler, Morgenstern and Bahr and rendering them in such a way that the Viennese who hears him feels quite at home. But it seems to me that Salzer's talent goes even further. As a reciter he is a real artist. That is not so easy. Because it is difficult for a reciter to be an artist. The range of his means is limited. Words and word nuances are basically the only things that come into consideration. If the reciter wants to work with other means, he becomes intrusive. His art is one of the most intimate there is. When reading from the works of the authors mentioned, I found that Marcell Salzer keeps within the limits of his art and performs excellently within these limits. Schnitzler's, Bahr's and Morgenstern's sketches, born out of Viennese sentiment, have been genuinely rendered down to the charming hint of dialect.

Hugo von Hofmannsthal, the coquettish pathetician, and especially Peter Altenberg, the Iyrian drifter, were less prominent. Hugo von Hofmannsthal is a displaced musician. He composes in vowels. As a reciter, Marcell Salzer is a characterizer. He should not read Hofmannsthal. He makes feminine lyricism theatrical. That is no criticism. I have to say this to praise the reciter. How could he recite Schnitzler and Bahr well if he wanted to strike Hofmannsthal's unmanly tone! The leaves in the forest rustle as this poet speaks, the spring rushes its melodies. What he sings and says will always sound unnatural from human throats. And Peter Altenberg! Why do we have such poets? It's quite nice that we can allow ourselves such luxury. Why shouldn't there be something else when the last of the table's delights have been cleared away? A very fine cigar. We don't want to do without it. Peter Altenberg is a fine cigar. But not all people are smokers, and not all smokers have an appreciation for fine cigars. You have to have climbed the mysterious ladder to distinction again - to philistrosity.

I am writing this to give Marcell Salzer, who is an excellent reciter, some good - perhaps superfluous - advice. Cabinet pieces of his art were the samples of Schnitzler, Bahr and Morgenstern. With Loris and Mr. Peter he spoils the most beautiful effects.

On Tuesday, March 1, the Berlin "Freie Literatische Gesellschaft" organized an evening of authors. Sigmar Mehring read his one-act play: "Vom Baume der Erkenntnis. A Mystery". The author of this short drama has attempted to deal with the ancient question of the Fall of Man in a way that lies halfway between the simple biblical narrative and a philosophically speculative interpretation of the mythical event. In the second part of the evening, Ludwig Fulda delighted us with a series of witty poems: Sein und Nichtsein, Beichte, Der Beneidenswerte, Zweierlei Auffassung, Eigener Nachruf, Drei Parabeln, Studienkopf - and with the cheerful humoresque "Zufall". I have no need to praise either these poems or Fulda's art of performance, unless I wish to say something generally acknowledged. Instead, however, I may express the wish that the speaker may often delight the "Freie Literarische Gesellschaft" in a similar way as he did this time. It will be very grateful to him.