# 35. Schlenther's Direction

It was just a year ago that Schlenther was named as Burckhard's successor for the first time. Right then, there was fierce opposition. This must have surprised those from afar. Schlenther was, after all, a respected man whose literary merits were not in doubt. His name had become familiar along with the leading names of the modern movement. In Vienna, he was regarded as the critical representative of German modernism. And he was also known as a knowledgeable student of Scherer, so he must have been the right man - in a literary sense - for the diverse needs of the Burgtheater, which was striving towards the new without being able to do without the old.

And yet he was not welcomed. People were - with a few exceptions - cool, if not hostile towards him. But the reasons for this did not lie in his personality. People hated the new man because they loved the old one. That is true Viennese logic.

Burckhard had opponents everywhere during his time as director, in his theater, in the critics, in society - everywhere. No one liked him - with the exception of Hermann Bahr. When he left his post, he had only friends. They all stood by him. Not only because the loser always has the closest right to the hearts of the Viennese - for Vienna is the most kind-hearted city in the world - but because he had fallen for a glorious cause. That made him forget everything. He had declared that he could no longer submit to the censorship of the Obersthofmeisteramt and demanded a free path for modern literature. "With 'Liquidatorr' and the 'Jugendfreunde'," he thundered, "I can't run a Burgtheater. Then, gentlemen, I ask for the "Jugend" etc. Whether this memorandum was the cause or the reason for his dismissal - no matter, for the Viennese Burckhard was now the victim of his convictions, the holy Sebastian of modern art. Everyone felt they were on his side in his fight against the higher authorities. It was hoped that the prestige of public opinion would silence his opponents. For weeks it was the talk of the town whether Burckhard would remain in office or not. Every combination that wanted to put a new man in Burckhard's place was perceived as personal antagonism. People wanted nothing to do with Bulthaupt, Savits, Schönthan, Claar - and all the names that came to light at the time - they wanted to keep Burckhard. It was like a democratic vote against a cabinet decree. People completely forgot that they had no right to interfere in the matter; after all, the Burgtheater is a private matter for the court. They wrote and resolved and shouted: Burckhard and no one else!

So not Schlenther either. The new director soon had to feel this. Where he was not received with open hatred, he was met with cool distrust. Hardly one or two critical voices found a warm word for him. Of course, his first statement could not win him much love. If Burckhard was liked because he was an upright man, Schlenther betrayed a surprising courtly smoothness. In his welcoming speeches, he had displayed an enormous amount of devotion to the Imperial-Royal Olympians. Olympians in his welcoming speeches - probably with all the more unobjectionable words because he was a free-minded man and felt the whole thing to be a weightless formality. But that was not clever of him. Criticism was right behind him. So that's the modern, the independent, the revolutionary! Things were strange with this revolutionary character. We had expected an impetuous firebrand, a wild go-getter who had ten years of hot fighting behind him and who would bring a fresh sense of mischief into our quiet circles. Instead, we got a serious, very calm man, a skillful diplomat who never loses himself for a moment, who settles everything internally and always shows a calm, smiling face externally - that was another foreign, un-Viennese trait that we didn't like about him. In Vienna, everything is temperament, openness, love, hate, anger - but for God's sake, no secrecy, no reticence, no playing with the situation! That makes you insecure, unstable, confuses your judgment. The ideal theater director, who has become a legendary figure in Vienna, was Laube. And the whole of Vienna still raves about his straightforward coarseness today. This is how Schlenther was conceived: coarse, approachable, headstrong, strong. He was amiable, conciliatory, modest. He took an active part in the rehearsals and gave much appreciated advice to some of the actors - who are very intelligent people at the Burgtheater. But he placed the reigns in the hands of his directors; he was more of a corrective than a creative element in his company. But this did not earn him an impressive reputation. Under Laube, all directors were superfluous. He stood on the stage every day, leading, overseeing, the master of the house. An older court actor was once asked what the directors had to do under Laube. "Oh, they had a strictly regulated job," he reported, "the director on duty had to bring the director his sandwich every day at ten o'clock - on time, otherwise the old man would get very angry. But that was the end of the director's functions."

Under Schlenther, the directors were given other tasks after all. And the mistrust that is always shown in theater circles towards a proper man of letters grew. "He runs his theater from the chancellery!" they said. Many highly praised directors of the Burgtheater had done this before Schlenther, but Schlenther's time at the Burgtheater was a very troubled one that urgently required a strong hand. The new director found a completely decomposed theater. Almost all the youth departments were deserted - the staff consisted only of heroic fathers, albeit incomparable ones. - The repertoire was patchy, uninteresting, completely characterless. Modernism - despite modest attempts - had no home in the imperial house and could not have one. But the classical traditions had not found a caring hand either. Hebbel, Kleist, Moliere were completely absent - Schiller, Goethe, Grillparzer were only at home with individual works. However, all of the ideas were tarnished, much had become old and rotten, some had been inadequately replaced - everything called for strong and ruthless reforms. The new deeds of the director were eagerly awaited.

And now came a great disappointment. No one could predict whether the new master would bring success to the tired building. But everyone expected one thing: a program. A man who had been intimately connected with the German theater for decades, a man of letters who had followed the events of the stage, thinking, advising, theorizing, was now suddenly given the direction of the first German stage, at the height of his life, full of strength, completely in possession of his personality, his experiences, his wishes - a flood of ideas now had to rush down on this old stage, unclear, impractical perhaps, but nevertheless full of artistic power, impressive in its abundance and in the warmth of its intention! Here came someone who had spent a lifetime filling his pockets, and now he was finally to show what he had collected - everyone was waiting with burning eyes for his wealth, for the harvest of his life - and Schlenther came empty-handed. Completely empty-handed. He had nothing, absolutely nothing, to show the eager Viennese. He could have started the strangest things - he could have performed Maeterlinck or renewed Sophocles, he could have brought Moliere to the stage in new forms or Ibsen - but he would have had to do something, a real personal act that would have powerfully expressed his will. - And we have waited in vain for this act, we are still waiting today. It is true that he staged the "Baumeister Solneß" and a new adaptation of the "Komödie der Irrungen"; he then once again restaged the "Jungfrau von Orleans" and won a fine act by Ebner-Eschenbach for the Burgtheater - all commendable things that one may praise him for - but where is the Schlenther, the Paul Schlenther, Berlin's first critic, the prologue of a new era and new artistic ideals? After the Berlin successes, he also gave the "Cyrano" and the "Legacy" - but who wouldn't have done that? But we would have liked to have seen something that only he could do, he alone.

He didn't come to Vienna as a rich man who could live off his fortune - he had to greedily scrounge for the day's acquisition. Philippi is now the redeeming god of the Burgtheater. The director wants to make money. He has said it himself often enough. That is a very justified and understandable point of view. But he must not make the director anxious and despondently cautious. But it must not be the exclusive viewpoint of a Burgtheater director; and finally, it is still very much a question of whether it would not be entirely compatible with the artistic needs of the theater. Schlenther, who is still not completely familiar with the Viennese situation, overlooks the fact that the Burgtheater has its classical traditions, which have not lost their old magnetic power when cultivated with understanding. He does not need the "Mädchentraum" or the "Vielgeprüfte" and the other literature of the day; an interesting new production of Hebbel's "Nibelungen" fills the house much more securely for him. In June of last year (i.e. in the most unfavorable theater season) he had a sold-out house with "Faust", when Medelsky played Gretchen. No tickets were available for "Minna von Barnhelm" with Baumeister as Paul Werner. That should have been a proper instruction to the director.

No one doubts the integrity and solidity of his character, but he should have more daring, more decisiveness. It is true that a spirit of industriousness and artistic seriousness prevails in the Burgtheater today that has been alien to the house for years. A few years ago, when Gretchen was assigned to another actress, two scene rehearsals were enough to prepare the performance; "Carlos" was performed again without a rehearsal after a one-year break. Today, the repertoire is carefully prepared. When the "Ministerial Director" or the "Butterfly Battle" are recast in some roles, four to five rehearsals are devoted to the play.

And that is symptomatic. In every sense, there is order and diligence in the house today. But the rich, artistic life is missing. Of course, the director's work is not easy. Hartmann died a few weeks after he arrived; he had to let Sandrock go - he has also acquired some young talent, but they do not suit the Viennese taste, and rightly so.

The deed that gives the director's name its meaning for us is still missing. For the time being, we are still guessing what the once famous critic will bring to the Burgtheater. We know no more than we did a year ago.