EXPRESSIONISM AS AN INTERNATIONAL LITERARY PHENOMENON

A COMPARATIVE HISTORY OF LITERATURES IN EUROPEAN LANGUAGES

SPONSORED BY THE INTERNATIONAL COMPARATIVE LITERATURE ASSOCIATION
HISTOIRE COMPARÉE DES LITTÉRATURES DE LANGUES EUROPÉENNES
SOUS LES AUSPICES DE L’ASSOCIATION INTERNATIONAL DE LITTÉRATURE COMPARÉE

Coordinating Committee for

A Comparative History of Literatures in European Languages
Comité de Coordination de
l’Histoire Comparée des Littératures de Langues Européennes
2010–2013

President/Président
Margaret R. Higonnet (University of Connecticut)
Vice-President/Vice-Président
Marcel Cornis-Pope (Virginia Commonwealth University)
Secretary Treasurer/Secrétaire Trésorier
Svend Erik Larsen (Aarhus University)
Acting Treasurer/Trésorier par intérim
Vivian Liska (University of Antwerp)
Members/Membres assesseurs
Theo D’haen, César Dómínguez Prieto, Angela Esterhammer,
Patrizia Lombardo, Inocência Mata, Thomas Nolden,
Anders Pettersson, Fridrun Rinner, Franca Sinopoli,
Steven P. Sondrup, Francesco Stella, Anja Tippner
Past Presidents
Randolph D. Pope (Charlottesville)
†â•›Henry H.H. Remak (Indiana)
Mihály Szegedy-Maszák (Bloomington)
Mario J. Valdés (Toronto)
†â•›Jacques Voisine (Paris)
Jean Weisgerber (Bruxelles)
Past Secretaries
Daniel F. Chamberlain (Kingston)
†â•›Milan V. Dimić (Edmonton)
Margaret R. Higonnet (Storrs)
†â•›György M. Vajda (Budapest)

Volume I
Expressionism as an International Literary Phenomenon
Twenty-one essays and a bibliography
Edited by Ulrich Weisstein
 EXPRESSIONISM
AS AN INTERNATIONAL
LITERARY PHENOMENON
TWENTY-ONE ESSAYS AND A BIBLIOGRAPHY

Edited by

ULRICH WEISSTEIN

JOHN BENJAMINS PUBLISHING COMPANY

AMSTERDAM/PHILADELPHIA
 TM The paper used in this publication meets the minimum requirements of American National
8

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ANSI Z39.48-1984.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Expressionism as an international literary phenomenon. 21 essays and a bibliography / edited by Ulrich
Weisstein.
â•…â•… p.â•…â•… cm. -- (Comparative history of literatures in European languages = Histoire comparée des
littératures de langues européennes, ISSN 0238-0668 ; v. 1)
â•… Includes bibliographical references and index.
╇ 1. Expressionism (Art).
NX600.DE9 W44â•…â•… 1973
709/.04 74166499
ISBN 978 1 58811 670 3 (hb; alk. paper) CIP
© 2011 - John Benjamins B.V. / Association Internationale de Littérature Comparée
Published 1973 by Librairie Marcel Didier, Paris and Akadémiai Kiadó, Budapest
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form, by print, photoprint, microfilm, or any other means, without written
permission from the publisher.
John Benjamins Publishing Co. • P.O.Box 36224 • 1020 ME Amsterdam • The Netherlands
John Benjamins North America • P.O.Box 27519 • Philadelphia PA 19118-0519 • USA
 TABLE OF CONTENTS

Preface
Ulrich Weisstein, Bloomington (Indiana) 7
"Expressionism as an International Literary Phenomenon"
Ulrich Weisstein, Bloomington (Indiana) 15
"Expressionism: Style or Weltanschauung ?"
Ulrich Weisstein, Bloomington (Indiana) 29
"Outline of the Philosophic Backgrounds of Expressionism"
György M. Vajda 45
"Foreign Influences on German Expressionist Drama"
H. F . Garten, London 59
"Foreign Influences on German Expressionist Poetry"
Reinhold Grimm, Madison (Wisconsin) and Henry J. Schmidt,
Columbus (Ohio) 69
"Foreign Influences on German Expressionist Prose''
Armin Arnold, Montreal 79
"Dadaism and Expressionism"
Richard Brinkmann, Tübingen 97
"Expressionist Literature and Painting"
Paul Hadermann, Brussels 111
"Expressionist Literature and Music"
Henry A. Lea, Amherst (Massachussetts) 141
"A Contribution to the Definition of the Expressionist Film"
Lotte H. Eisner, Paris 161
"Vorticism: Expressionism English Style"
Ulrich Weisstein, Bloomington (Indiana) 167
"Expressionism in English Drama and Prose Literature"
Breon Mitchell, Bloomington (Indiana) 181
"Expressionism in the American Theater"
Mardi Valgemae, New York City 193
"Expressionist Stage Techniques in the Russian Theater"
Eugene Bristow, Bloomington (Indiana) 205
"Expressionism in Scandinavia"
Richard Vowles, Madison (Wisconsin) 211
"Expressionism in Belgium and Holland"
Paul Hadermann and Jean Weisgerber, Brussels 225
"Expressionism and the South Slavs"
Zoran Konstantinovic, Innsbruck 259
"Rumanian Expressionism"
Al. Dima and Dan Grigorescu, Bucharest 269
"Expressionism in Hungary"
Miklós Szabolcsi, Budapest 287
"Expressionism in Poland"
Jan Jozef Lipski, Warsaw 299
"Russian Expressionism''
Vladimir Markov, Los Angeles 315
Expressionism as an International Phenomenon:
An Annotated Bibliography
Compiled by U.W. 329

Index 351
 PREFACE

The present volume forms part of the international project of "A Comparative History
of Literatures in European Languages," sponsored by the International Comparative
Literature Association. It constitutes a sort of companion piece to Wolfgang Rothe's
massive compilation Expressionismus als Literatur (Berne/Munich: Francke, 1969),
which offers a comprehensive survey of German Expressionist (and Dadaist) literature
consisting of ten essays on general topics—partly generically, partly historically, and
partly weltanschaulich oriented—and thirty-seven monographic chapters dealing with
the leading poets, playwrights and prosaists linked with that prominent and influential
movement. Accordingly, it seeks to avoid any duplication of materials already pre­
sented in that volume, which explains the absence of a chapter solely devoted to Ger­
man E. and its replacement by three essays, each concerned with the impact of foreign
writers on one major genre in the time-span covered by this collection.
Although this is not the first book-length study of E. as an international or inter­
disciplinary phenomenon, it is the fullest account published so far. To be precise:
Expressionism as an International Lierary Phenomenon has been preceded by two collec­
tions, namely, 1) the proceedings of the symposium "Ineontri con I'espressionismo"
organized, in April, 1964, by the Accademia Nazionale L. Cherubini in Florence and
published under the title Bilancio dell' Espressionismo (Florence: Vallecchi, 1965) and
2) the proceedings of another conference on E. held in Zagreb, Yugoslavia, in 1969 and
lished, that same year, in a special issue of the periodical Kritika (Zagreb) labelled pub-
Ekspresionizam i hrvatska knijzevnost. (It is by no means coincidental that the two
meetings occurred in Italy and Yugoslavia respectively, for these two countries—the one
almost totally unaffected by E. and the other heavily impinged upon—have produced
a vast amount of secondary literature on the movement, which, in both quantity and
quality, is matched only by German scholarship in this area of specialization.) To these
must now be added the proceedings of the Strasbourg conference held in 1969 and
recently published by the Editions du Centre Nationale de la Recherche Scientifique,
under the title l'Expressionnisme dans le théâtre européen.
The range of the two former publications is severely limited, however, with regard
to size as well as scope. Thus Bilancio delV Espressionismo boasts of no more than 129
pages, offers only Italian contributions, and is restricted to a discussion, in sequence,
of German Expressionist literature, painting, music, cinematography and theater.
Ekspresionizam i hrvatska knijzevnost (156 pages), on the other hand, is truly cosmo­
politan but focuses on the impact of German E. on the Central-East-European litera-

7
tures, those of Poland, Bulgaria, Rumania, Hungary and Yugoslavia, Serbian and
Croatian as well as Slovenian. Special attention is paid to Miroslav Krleza, the dean
of South Slavic Expressionists.
The proceedings of two other symposia on E. viewed from a supranational and inter­
disciplinary vantage point have not—in one case not as yet—been published. To start
with the least ambitious of the two: during the V. Congress of the ICLA/AILC, held
in Belgrade in late August/early September, 1967, I organized a two-hour conference
on the subject in which Professors Armin Arnold, Zoran Konstantinovic, Gerhard
Loose, Richard Vowles and I myself participated. Unfortunately, the texts of the
papers read on that occasion were not included in the Proceedings of the congress
published by Swets & Zeitlinger in Amsterdam (1969). However, Professor Vowles'
communication (which I would have liked to see expanded) is reprinted in this
volume, Professor Konstantinovic has enlarged his paper for our benefit, and Professor
Arnold's findings have been incorporated in his book Liferatur und Expressionismus
(Stuttgart: Kohlhammer).
A much greater (and, hopefully, temporary) loss to scholarship is caused by the
absence of a printed record of the conference held, between May 18 and 23, 1964, in
conjunction with the Maggio Musicale Fiorentino. Luckily, some of the papers read
at t h a t Convegno Internazionale di Studi sull' Espressionismo have appeared in schol­
arly and semi-scholarly journals, several of them in the form of a small anthology
published in the lavishly illustrated periodical Mataré. (For details see the bibliography
appended to the present volume.) Like the pieces gathered in Bilancio dell' Espressio-
nismo, the, roughly, twenty-five relazione di base (position papers, as we might call
them) presented on t h a t memorable occasion were primarily interdisciplinary, rather
than international, in character. Moreover, most of the participants in the Convegno
were either Germans or Italians—scholarly experts in the various fields, like Ladislao
Mittner, Paul Poertner, Hans H. Stuckenschmidt, Willi Reich, Aurel Milosz (for the
dance), L. M. Ungers (for architecture), and Lotte Eisner (for cinematography). Miss
Eisner's contribution has, in fact, been embodied in our volume of otherwise freshly
commissioned essays since the survey originally contracted for did not materialize.
The journalistic and scholarly coverage of the Maggio Musicale and the Convegno
of 1964 has been unusually broad, especially in Italy and France (where a whole issue
of the magazine L ' A r c : Cahiers Mediterranéens was reserved for the topic of E.). And
I recommend the readers the critical evaluations found in Professor Mittner's book
Saggi, divagazioni, polemiche (Naples, 1964) as well as in the opening portion of Paolo
Chiarini's monograph L'Espressionismo; storia e struttura (Florence, 1969)—probably
the best overall survey of Expressionist literature in any language.
Insofar as the outlook presupposed for the present volume is more international
than interdisciplinary, the latter will complement, rather than conflict with, the
published record of the Florentine conference. Ultimately, the four volumes—Expressio-
nismus als Liferatur, flanked by Expressionism as an International Literary Phenomenon,
the Convegno proceedings, and l'Expressionnisme dans le théatre europeen—will form a
quartet of intestimable value for the comparatist seeking to understand European
"modernism". I would be less than candid, however, if I did not admit, at the very

8
start, t h a t this volume has certain gaps, which were unavoidable, given the vast scope
of t h e undertaking and the pragmatic difficulties involved in commissioning and collect­
ing essays from contributors residing in a dozen different countries. Nor do I hide the
fact t h a t the issues broached and views presented by the contributors are at times
somewhat lopsided or idiosyncratic. In some cases, I would even regard them as unten­
able. They must, at any rate, be regarded as the authors' own opinions and cannot be
construed as reflecting the views of the editor. Yet, insofar as we are still in a very
early phase of the study of E. as an international movement and any attempt at making
a synthesis would be premature, all papers have been printed as submitted, in the hope
that, at some future time, a more fully integrated picture can be presented — prefer­
ably in a volume which will account for avantgarde literature as a whole.
Specifically, I note the absence of two chapters dealing with Czech and Slovak E.,
respectively, for which unforeseen external circumstances are responsible. The chapter
on Expressionism in the Latin countries (France, Italy, Spain, Portugal and South
America), commissioned in due time, also failed to materialize. The inclusion of a chapter
on E. in Russian literature (and not merely in the Russian theater) was originally
contemplated, but after an exchange of view with the editors of the projected two
volumes on the literary avantgarde, to be prepared—as part of the international
project—at centers in Prague and Bratislava, the topic was ceded to that team, since
it can be more meaningfully treated in the context of Russian Futurism. In the mean­
time, Professor Vladimir Markov has published a remarkable essay (the first of its
kind) which presents and tentatively evaluates the rare materials available for the
study of how German E. affected Russian letters in the turbulent years immediately
following the Revolution. His paper "Russian Expressionism" (California Slavic
Studies, V I [1971], 145-160) is required reading for the specialist and I am happy to be
able to include it in our volume. I also alert the readers to Marian Galik's study "Über
die kritische Auseinandersetzung Chinas mit dem deutschen Expressionismus ,, (Nach-
richten der Gesellschaft für Natur- und Völkerkunde Ostasiens, Hamburg, No. 103 [1968],
pp. 39-59), of which I am, unfortunately, unable to offer an English version.
As is natural in a volume of this size, by no means all the "eligible" writers, painters
and composers could be mentioned in the appropriate chapters on E. in the non-Ger­
man-speaking countries on one hand, and in painting, music, and cinematography on
the other. Thus I personally, for example, regret the absence of any reference to Dennis
Johnston, O'Casey's Irish compatriot and fellow playwright, whose preface to The
Old Lady Says 'No'!, a "Romantic Play in Two Parts with Choral Interludes" (1929),
contains the sentences:

Although many of (the play's) expressionist tricks are now commonplace,

especially in radio production, it was, at the time of writing, a fairly original
type of play, and technically it owes less to other dramatists than anything
t h a t I have written since. The play's actual foster parents are neither Evreinov,
O'Neill nor Georg Kaiser. Nor has Joyce got much to do with it, although I
gratefully acknowledge the presence of his finger in the stirring of some of my
later pies . . . The two plays to which this experiment does owe something are,
firstly, Kaufman and Connelly's Beggar on Horseback—a superb piece of

9
 American Expressionism that I have always admired—and secondly a conti­
nental satire called The Land of Many Names that I once saw in the 'twenties.
Who wrote it, and where it came from, I have often since wondered. I think it
may have been one of the Čapeks.

Writers from the Anglo-Saxon world who have elsewhere been discussed in the
context of E. and whose names might have been profitably adduced in the present
volume include the Sitwells in England (see Bernhard Fehr's article listed in our bib­
liography) and e. e. cummings—whose parody of O'Neill's The Great God Brown in a
scene of Him is mentioned by Professor Valgemae—in the United States. The case for
D. H. Lawrence, the Expressionist, made by Max Wildi and other Anglicists, is a weak
one, to begin with. Even less successful is the attempt to pull Virginia Woolf into this
orbit, whereas the role of Joyce is hard to assess. On the other hand, it would be intrigu­
ing to look at Faulkner's experimental novels, The Sound and the Fury and As I Lay
Dying, from this perspective; for some of the most prominent features of these works
would seem, at first glance, to be strikingly Expressionistic. To be sure, no solid links
between Faulkner and German E. (except by way of O'Neill) can presently be forged;
but what if there existed a filiation from Dostoevsky, that "granddaddy" of Werfel,
Trakl, Toller and certain Expressionist prose writers?
One could also have wished for a more extensive treatment of the dramatic theo­
ries (and practices) of Scandinavian writers like Par Lagerkvist and Svend Borberg,
which are traceable through their essays first published in the magazine Litteraturen,
as well as of the oeuvre of certain Swedish poets. Moreover, as Professor Markov
observes in a footnote to his essay on "Russian Expressionism", several Russian authors
have been treated, both at home and abroad, under the sign of E. They include Maja-
kovsky, Kuzmin, Pasternak and the "Surrealist" Jury Olesha. In the West, Leonid
Andreev is sometimes called a forerunner of the movement—but quite mistakenly so.
For a close examination of the play usually introduced by way of evidence, The Black
Maskers, shows rather convincingly that his true models were Edgar Allan Poe and the
Symbolists (primarily Maeterlinck, one would suppose). The entire plot of this play is,
more or less, an extension of the poem recited by Roderick Usher, the owner of the
famous "falling" house, insofar as (speaking with Andreev) "the strange black maskers
are the powers whose field of action is the soul of man and whose mysterious action
he can never fathom". To be sure, this use of a technique labelled "Ausstrahlungen des
Ichs" in reference to Strindberg's To Damascus and his Dream Play has its Expressionist
applications; but in its deeply allegorical mode it also harks back to the late medieval
Moralities.
In their essay on E. in the Flemish-speaking countries, Professors Hadermann
and Weisgerber briefly talk about Ghelderode and Crommelynck, whose dramatic
oeuvres might also warrant a closer look, especially in the case of Ghelderode, who was
directly exposed to German E. through the mediation of Carl Sternheim. As the Belgian
playwright puts it in the second of his Entretiens d'Ostende (Paris: L'Arche, 1956):

Je n'ai pratiquement pas eu de contacts avec l'expressionisme littéraire

allemand. Peu de ces oeuvres devaient être traduites, et ma connaissance de

10
 la langue allemande était insuffisante pour me permettre d'approfondir
les écrits nouveaux des poètes et des dramaturges. Seul, après Sternheim
qui me traduisait un peu Wedekind, Kaiser ou Kokoschka au théatre, Ie
dadaiste Beige Clément Pansaers me révéla, en 1917, quelques poètes allemands
d'esprit nouveau. Cependant, par des revues illustrées telles que Der Sturm
qui nous arrivaient de Berlin, j'ai connu l'expressionisme a son debut, dans la
sculpture et la peinture. (p. 77)
Compared with the most representative plays of Kaiser, Goering, Toller or Bar-
lach, Ghelderode's scenic spectacles do not really strike one as being in the same tra­
dition. Rather, while deeply imbued with the spirit of the grotesque (which Ghelde-
rode imbibed from the proto-Expressionist James Ensor), they are much closer to the
experimental, but essentially playful, art of the French Avantgardists Apollinaire
(Les Mamelies de Tirésias), Cocteau and Blaise Cendrars, as Camille Poupeye points
out in his perceptive introduction to La Mort du Docteur Faust.
As for the Romance countries, Italy, for one, has hardly produced any works that
might be labelled Expressionist or proto-Expressionist. However, as Paolo Chiarini
has stressed in a highly suggestive essay listed in our bibliography, certain aspects of
the Teatro del grottesco in general, and the work of Rosso di San Secondo in particular,
might yield some clues to an affinity. Among the French writers prominent in the 'teens
and twenties, Henri Lenormand is occasionally singled out as an Expressionist (for
instance by Mardi Valgemae in his essay on the Pinwheel controversy). No such links,
however, are mentioned in Lenormand's autobiography, Les Confessions d'un auteur
dramatique, which stresses, instead, the role of Freud and Strindberg. The plays
Le Mangeur des Rêves and Le Temps est un Songe bear out this contention, in addition
to showing, most emphatically, the ductus of Maeterlinck.
Paul Claudel was hailed by some Expressionists (notably by Lothar Schreyer of
the Sturmbühne) as a truly congenial writer. Some of his plays were performed at the
experimental stage in Dresden-Hellerau, where Kokoschka's dramatic tours de force
were also mounted. And in an essay primarily devoted to the style of the Unanimist
Jules Romains—which he makes out to be Expressionist—Leo Spitzer suggests that
Claudel's style, too, might well be studied from that perspective, and Henri Barbusse
and the Clarté group would ideologically match the German Activists. Finally, one
wonders how Antonin Artaud's theory and practice of the theater would fit into the
context of E., once the biographical and factual links with Surrealism are taken care of.
Like Ghelderode and Lenormand, Artaud was profoundly affected by the Elizabethan
theater which—if it had been better known and more easily available to German
writers in the first and second decades of our century—might well have served as a
major source of inspiration for dramatic E. But, clearly, there is no end to speculation.
In a field as attractive and as poorly defined as International Expressionism there is
much room for both expansion and consolidation, and there is no need to apologize
for so abruptly terminating the catalogue of tantalizing possibilities for further research
from a comparative point of view, which might also include the Swiss playwrights
Hans Ganz and Hermann Schneider mentioned by Chiarini (op. cit., p. 45).
It now remains for me to say a few words about the nature and purpose of the
appended bibliography—as far as I know, the most comprehensive of its kind—and

11
to express my gratitude to the many individuals who have helped me at various stages
in the preparation of this book. —Unlike the essays constituting the bulk of the volume,
the bibliography which concludes it is meant to be all-encompassing. Thus, in addition
to listing the standard reference works, bibliographies, reviews of research, memoirs,
collections of documents, manifestos and letters, it includes a list of major anthologies
of German Expressionist literature published in Germany and abroad (TV), as well as
an extensive catalogue of secondary literature about German literary E. (VI), a section
devoted to Sekundarliteratur published abroad and in foreign tongues (VII), a section
bibliographically detailing the impact of German E. beyond the confines of the Ger­
man-speaking area (VIII), and a list of publications concerned with E. in the arts other
than literature (IX). Like all such compilations, it is bound to be fragmentary—especi­
ally with regard to items originating in the East European and Asian countries. Every
effort has been made, however, to ascertain and verify the accuracy of the listed entries.
Anticipating a second edition of the volume, I heartily welcome any additions and
corrections on the part of the readers.
The number of friends, colleagues and students who have, in one way or another,
assisted in this labor of love is very large, and I can acknowledge only those debts which
are considerable. First of all, I wish to thank Miss Linda Brust and Mrs. Josee Duyt-
schaever, who have had a hand in translating material from the French and German,
and Mrs. Anna Strikis, who typed the final manuscript with exquisite care and great
attention to detail. Miss Zoë Theoharis has been an extremely conscientious proof­
reader, and Mr. Charles Loker has helped in the preparation of the index. Mr.
Thomas Glastras, the reference librarian of the Indiana University Library, and Mrs.
Gail Mathews, our Interlibrary Loan Librarian, have done their utmost to identify
and procure materials located in libraries across the United States, thus allowing
me, in many instances, to view the physical evidence where otherwise I would have
had to content myself with copying bibliographical data, which are often misleading or
unreliable.
My colleagues here at Indiana University, Professors Samuel Fiszman and Ante
Kadic, have been most patient and kind in collecting, explaining and translating data
pertaining to E. in Polish and Yugoslav literature. Mr. David Queen, a doctoral candi­
date in Comparative Literature, has translated material from the Russian. Professor
Karl-Ludwig Schneider of the University of Hamburg was kind enough to loan me
xeroxed copies of the relazione di base presented at the Florence Convegno. To Lotte
Eisner I am grateful for permitting me to translate her contribution to the Convegno.
Professor Vladimir Markov has obliged me by letting me have an advance copy of his
essay on Russian E., and Professor Henry Glade of Manchester College in Manchester,
Indiana, was good enough to lend me his personal copy of a recent volume of essays
on E. published in the Soviet Union. To Professors Zdenek Mathauser and Rene Wellek,
appointed readers of this volume, as well as György M. Vajda, Secretary of the Co-Ordi-
nating Committee of the international project, "A Comparative History of Literatures
in European Languages", I owe special thanks for the candid views they have expressed
in this capacity. I have greatly benefited from their criticism. Financially, I am in­
debted to the Graduate School of Indiana University, as well as to the International

12
Comparative Literature Association, for the modest grants which have enabled me to
pay for the translations of the contributions submitted in French or German respectively
and for the typing of the final version. My family has, once again, demonstrated its
patience with regard to a husband and father who spends too much time hacking away
at his typewriter in the local skyscraper known as Ballantine Hall.

Bloomington, Indiana, January, 1972

ULRICH WEISSTEIN

13
 EXPRESSIONISM AS AN INTERNATIONAL
LITERARY PHENOMENON

INTRODUCTION

by ULRICH WEISSTEIN

The exact definition of Expressionism—unlike that of Cubism, Futurism (Italian style),

Dadaism, and Surrealism in its first, "automatic" phase—has always been a touchy and
highly problematic issue, to be compared, in its complexity and in the amount of
excitement it has generated in over half a century, with the relatively futile attempts,
so far undertaken by literary critics and historians, to determine the exact nature and
scope of European Symbolism and literary Impressionism. The first question which
arises, naturally enough, in this connection concerns the temporal and spatial limits
of the phenomenon. More specifically: should European E. be regarded as a movement
in its own right (i.e., as a given set of fairly coherent, self-conscious and self-critical
activities pursued by a number of contemporaries—but not necessarily coevals—sharing
a common outlook), is it a trend dominating, or at least characteristic of, a certain
period, or must it be viewed as a universal current or tendency surfacing periodically
throughout history?
At the outset, I should like to state emphatically that the present volume was
conceived in such a manner as to forestall the danger of succumbing to a belief in the
kind of perennial E. preached by Wilhelm Worringer and asserted, with various degrees
of force and conviction, by many of his followers, both critics and creators. To be sure,
Worringer never explicitly used the word Expressionism when formulating his doctrine
of an art raising the banner of abstraction against the "Vicious" forces of empathy.
(It was, chronologically, too early for him to do so, since he wrote Abstra1ktion und Ein-
fühlung already in 1906.) Still, for him and his disciples contemporary avantgarde art
surely took its place side by side—typologically speaking—with primitive art, Egyptian
art, Gothic art, Baroque art and Romantic art, as well as constituting an earthier
variant of the decoratively abstract art of the Orient. For him, it was opposed to the
stable or stabilizing forces asserting themselves in classical Greece, in Rome, during the
Renaissance, in European neo-classicism, during the Enlightenment and in the art of
nineteenth-century Realism-Naturalism and Impressionism.
In a volume like ours, which forms part of a comprehensive, internationally con­
ceived series, the focus cannot possibly be on things which are subject to the mysterious
"law" of eternal returns but must be strictly and sharply aimed at a specifio body of
works and opinions—a relatively dense core surrounded by a less clearly defined fringe
zone—indigenous to the German-speaking countries and covering a closely circum­
scribed time-span, the so-called Expressionist decade extending from, roughly, 1910 to,
roughly, 1920 or 1925. If it aims at being complete, such a survey, apart from taking

15
 stock of the strong but often elusive influence of philosophers like Nietzsche, must also
account for the most important forerunners of the movement, both at home and
abroad. In our case, this would, ideally, entail extended references to writers like Strind-
berg, Wedekind and Sternheim in the drama, Whitman, Verhaeren and Marinetti in
poetry, Van Gogh and Munch in the plastic arts. Whereas these artists might well be
called proto-Expressionists, other predecessors—such as Maeterlinck in the drama and
Rimbaud in poetry—merely constitute the frame of reference without which E. as a
historical phenomenon cannot be fully grasped. And while they themselves can hardly
be said to have furnished the specific models appropriate to, and valid for, the new
style, their—often significant—influence must be taken into account whenever the
evolution of Expressionists such as Barlach, Kandinsky, Kokoschka, Przybyzewski
and Trakl is traced. I n fact, Symbolism, which, in nearly every way, rejects what E.
stands for (as Professor Lipski shows in the opening sections of his essay), is a stage
through which many Expressionists had to pass in order to reach their artistic desti­
nations. Other artists whose works sometimes appear in studies devoted to literary E.
—Leonid Andreev and Henri Lenormand, for instance—never got beyond t h a t stage
and can be linked with E. only by means of their subjectivism, which Symbolism
shares with E., without emulating the latter's example insofar as its subsequent
change of direction—the turning outward in a violent projection of soul states—is
concerned.
The frame of reference for the subject matter dealt with in our volume would be
incomplete without the other bracket, Neue Sachlichkeif, the successor movement to E.
Here the task would be t h a t of showing a different kind of overlap, since most of the
writers surfacing in the twenties (Bertolt Brecht, for instance, and Carl Zuckmayer)
grew up in an atmosphere charged with Expressionist energy and slow in being de-
pressurized. Similarly, the faculty of the Bauhaus was largely composed of artists with
strongly Expressionist roots; nor could Erwin Piscator's theory and practice of the
political theater be adequately defined without t h a t context. And even the slowly
emerging doctrine of Socialist Realism crystallized in the course of a prolonged and
heated debate over E .
A survey such as ours, if it indulges in the Utopian desire of being complete and
fully rounded, must further seek to trace the fortune of German E. in the rest of Europe
as well as overseas; and, in doing so, it must endeavor to show the ideological or aesthe­
tic modifications effected in the various national environments, as well as explaining the
reasons, for such time lags as may have occurred between the flowering of E. in Germany
a n d the inroads it made into other literatures. Nor can it afford to slight the second wave
of E., the ultimte uses made of it, say, by a Wolfgang Borchert, Friedrich Dürrenmatt,
Thornton Wilder and Tennessee Williams.
B u t even thus it would be sorely deficient and lacking in both authority and authen­
ticity if it failed to mention the role taken by E. in other spheres of human—primarily
artistic—endeavor. After all, who would forget—even for one moment—that E . was
initially tied to the plastic arts and only subsequently transferred to literature, and
t h a t it flourished in music, the dance (two genuine Ausdruckskünste), as well as in
cinematography and the theater—the one major exception being architecture, and

16
t h a t for reasons cogently explained by Ö. M. Ungers in his contribution to the
Florence Convegno:

Transferred to architecture, the idea underlying Expressionism, which culmi­

nates in the total detachment from reality by means of a purely visionary
experience, cannot be directly realized. This is due to the innate quality of
architecture, which, much more so than all the other arts, is tied to its mate­
rials, its purpose, its function and the principles of construction.

The call for a pure vision can hardly be heeded by architecture, unless one
restricts oneself to the realm of designs, i.e., ideas . . . Architecture is incap­
able of expressing all psychological phenomena. I t can achieve purely spiritual
expression only if, in itself, it is not reality but reproduction, i.e., illusion.
Therefore it is only correct to speak of Expressionist architecture insofar as
its visionary aspect is concerned.

The second issue regarding the true nature of E. pertains to the question as to wheth­
er t h a t phenomenon, in its German guise at least, was a movement sensu strictu. The an­
swer would certainly be in the negative if we were to include all the artists and works
with a vested historical right to be housed under t h a t umbrella. Upon closer scrutiny
on stylistic grounds, for instance, several poets represented in Menschheitsdammerung
would probably have to be dismissed for various reasons—among them Georg Trakl
(a Surrealist avant la lettre ?), Else Lasker-Schüler and Iwan Goll, to name only the most
prominent "victims". Pinthus, who noted this discrepancy, sought to restore some
kind of unity by stressing the common Weltgefühl—not necessarily Weltanschauung
—and through the thematic grouping of the poems. But this does not alter the fact
t h a t the twenty-three poets of his choice never subscribed to a common program,
whether explicitly (by signing a manifesto) or implicitly. What we have, in fact, is not
one E. but a number of loosely connected and subtly—or not so subtly—differentiated
Expressionisms.
Here we run into another question looming large for the concerned specialist; for
each critic/historian must decide for himself whether to stress the stylistic, thematic or
ideological sector and how to integrate these components to achieve unity-in-diversity.
Since we are, first and foremost, students of literature as an art, we would do well to
focus initially on the use of the medium (language), which should then be explained
with a view toward the underlying attitudes and the themes which they engender. This
question turns out to be especially burning if one looks for Expressionist traits in
foreign literatures; for although there, too, analogous linguistic devices and techniques
are occasionally used (not to mention documented and traceable influences, like t h a t of
Marinetti on Becher, Döblin and Stramm, or the structural repercussions of Kaiser's
Von morgens bis mitternacMs in O'Neill's Emperor Jones and Elmer Rice's derivative
Adding Machine), thematic or theoretic approaches are much more promising, on the
whole, since they do not have to account for changes imposed by the language barrier.
Returning, for a moment, to the problem of E. as a movement, we observe that, in
spite of the enormous variety of phenomena commonly subsumed under that label,
certain relatively clearcut divisions and subdivisions can nevertheless be discerned and

17
methodologically adumbrated. Thus we may, by stretching a point, isolate the powerful
strain of Activism manifesting itself in publications like Die Aktion and Das Ziel.
A complex of views primarily weltanschaulich in nature, Activism fortunately permits
us to syphon off the ideological components of E. Thus it is entirely symptomatic that,
both in Eastern Europe and in Ireland, Toller had a much greater impact than Georg
Kaiser or the "existential" Expressionist Ernst Barlach, and that Becher, Rubiner and
the Weltfreund Werfel (representing what I might venture to call the mystic strain of
Activism) far outstripped Trakl and Benn as intermediaries.
Speaking in art-historical terms, we note that Die Brüche was a genuine Künstler-
gemeinschaft (artists' commune) whose members shared distinct stylistic preferences
and formed a much more closely knit group than did Les Fauves, their French compeers,
who cultivated an ornamental E. culminating in the florescent style of Henri Matisse.
Der Blaue Beiter, in turn, was more diffuse in its aims and practices, and what held it
together as a group gathering around its almanac was a craving for the spiritual in
art—to borrow the title of Kandinsky's influential treatise. Über das Geistige in der
Kunst, by the way, was largely responsible for the shadow cast abroad by German
Expressionist art, as is proved by the various "instant" translations into other tongues.
Worringer's Abstraktion und Einfühlung, on the other hand, was too theoretical and
not sufficiently topical to have the same direct appeal to foreign artists. It was savored
only by philosophic minds like T. E. Hulme, who transmitted his knowledge to Ezra
Pound and Wyndham Lewis, the two kingmakers of Vorticism. Unlike Hermann Bahr's
inane little monograph, which enjoyed an international reputation far exceeding its
intrinsic worth, it was not immediately translated into English; nor was Däubler's
paradigmatic book of essays, Der neue Standpunkt. (In literature, minor critics like
Friedrich Marcus Huebner and Lenore Ripke-Kühn, in some instances, seem to have
been more effective ambassadors of Expressionist goodwill than a Kasimir Edschmid
or a Max Krell On the whole, however, it was probably Kurt Pinthus who was the most
successful propagator.)
In the verbal arts, the term "Expressionist movement" is most aptly applied to
the equipe gathered around Herwarth Walden and Der Sturm, with its radical Wort-
kunstwerk theories and its many organizational outlets, such as the Sturm-Galerie,
the Sturm-Verlag, the Sturmbühne and the various Sturmschulen. Since here was a fairly
coherent body of doctrine, many foreign artists and writers were attracted to this
circle and absorbed E. in this manner. Most of the German Expressionists unconnected
with Der Sturm or Die Aktion, however, were either Einzelganger (like Trakl, Kaiser,
Barlach or, ultimately, Kokoschka) or briefly adhered to cliques promoting a plethora
of short-lived magazines and forming constantly shifting designs in the richly varied
mosaic. Thus German E. might well be regarded as a "combination of a highly charged
core with ill-defined margins" (John Willett). And as we move outward beyond the
linguistic borders of Teutonia, the fringe zone surrounding that core grows perceptibly
larger as well as hazier, and we enter—to use Paul Hadermann's expression—a difficult
"terrain with moving frontiers".
Off and on in this collective enterprise, the reader will chance upon the notion that
in E. we have to do with tendencies characteristic of modern art as a whole, rather

18
than traits inherent only in certain parts—the implication being that, basically, all
"progressive" and "experimental" art of the twentieth century may, in one way or
another, be treated as an aspect of an entity called Modernism. As Breon Mitchell
puts it in his essay, "there has been a recent tendency to broaden the definition of E.
in such a way as to subsume the whole of the modern development of the arts". Un­
fortunately, the tendency is not so recent, and for many decades a persistent inability
or unwillingness, on the part of certain critics, to make distinctions where they are
both needed and warranted has greatly obscured the issue. Historically, it was not until
well into the second decade of our century that the line was drawn between E., Cubism
and Futurism, for example. The lack of a clear temporal perspective may be blamed,
and serves as an excuse, for this critical myopia of keen but early observers like Daubler
and Walden. Far less excusable, from the historical point of view, is Gottfried Benn's
dogged persistence in this perspectivist error, which, as late as 1933, caused him—within
the broad framework of his courageous apology for E.—to treat these terms coexten-
sively: "Der Futurismus als Stil, auch Kubismus genannt, in Deutschland vorwiegend
als Expressionismus bezeichnet, vielfältig in seiner empirischen Abwandlung, einheit-
lich in seiner inneren Grundhaltung . . . "
Nor was Benn later to repent this sin; for in 1955, when preparing a modified
version of the essay he had written more than twenty years earlier—his preface to the
anthology Lyrik des expressionistischen Jahrzehnts--he added injury to insult by offer­
ing still another synonym: "Ich werde im folgenden die Bezeichnung Expressionismus
unkritisch in dem ihr seit vier Jahrzehnten angewachsenen Sinn verwenden. Zunachst
möchte ich darauf hinweisen, dass dieser Stil—der in anderen Landern Futurismus,
Kubismus, spater Surrealismus genannt wurde—in Deutschland die Bezeichnung
Expressionismus [behalt]."
It is fortunate that today—at least in Germany and the Anglo-Saxon countries—the
distinction between these four germinative movements is often made with great sub­
tlety and acumen, presupposing an awareness of the need for analytical dissection rather
than an untimely urge for synthetic constructs held together either by vast generali­
zations or by commonplaces pointing to an ideological superstructure. The same cannot,
or not as yet, be said of the majority or critics in the Romania and in Eastern Europe.
As Renato Poggioli has persuasively argued in his book The Theory of the Avantgarde,
in the Latin countries the notion of the avantgarde as a force uniting all "progressive"
tendencies "in the two spheres of social and artistic thought" has long been prevalent,
whereas this label is rarely used in England, America and—we may add—in Germany
as well, because here "a less rigid classical tradition . . . has made the sense of exception,
novelty and surprise less acute, by natural contrast". But even though, historically,
the socio-political nature of the phenomenon is taken for granted and somehow or
other impinges on the study of avantgarde art in France, Italy, Spain and South
America, the discussion itself often focuses on the cultural products. The same cannot
always be said of the use which is made of the concept by critics dealing with the East
European avantgarde.
Actually, most historians of twentieth-century literature in Poland, Hungary,
Yugoslavia, Rumania, etc., tend to substitute the designation Modernism for the term

19
Avantgarde. Modernism, for them, is an all-embracing force responsible for most twen­
tieth-century developments in the Slavic literatures. Once again, the vast complexity
of the cultural scene is reduced, in the hands of some single-minded critics, to a pattern
much more uniform and rigid than actually emerges from the observable facts. Luckily,
the crude overview offered by Dmitri Čizewsky in his Outline of the History of Slavic
Literatures is balanced by the skilful adumbration of the subject in surveys such as
Endre Bojtar's essay "Le Problème des tendances dans la poésie est-européenne entre
les deux guerres" (Studia Slavica Hungarica, XIV [1968], 63-73), where a breakdown of
national and supra-national trends into specific movements and groupings is attempted:

L'activisme hongrois, le futurisme russe, la poésie tchèque dite 'civilisatrice',

le futurisme polonais; puis la seconde vague: l'expressionnisme polonais,
tchèque et letton, le groupe tardif (et de la sorte englobant le constructivisme
aussi) des keturvejininkas lithuaniens, le futurisme des divers groupes
d'Ukraine, l'expressionnisme bulgare; enfin, la troisième vague, le groupe con­
structiviste-surréaliste: constructivisme de Kassák en Hongrie, le L E F russe,
la littérature des faits, la Nowa Sztuka polonaise, l'Awangarda de Cracovie,
le 'poétisme' tchèque. Ajoutons encore la poésie prolétarienne qui présente
dans tous les pays et embrasse une très large gamme de tendances du symbo­
lisme a certains éléments du constructivisme, en passant par l'expressionnisme,
de la plus fréquente de toutes. Il s'agit la, dans chaque cas, de groupes litté-
raires, même s'ils portent des denominations de tendance, telles l'expression-
nisme, le futurisme, etc. La cause de ce phénomène est qu'en Europe orientale
les tendances se sont mélangées et différent sensiblement des manifestations
occidentales du même nom. Ainsi le futurisme russe n'a rien de commun, outre
sa denomination, avec le mouvement de Marinetti et de ses amis.

Professor Konstantinovic's statement regarding Croatian, Serbian, Slovenian and

Bulgarian literature, to the effect t h a t "hitherto E. has not been accepted as a generally
valid concept of period in South Slavic literary history," could easily be extended t o
mean that, actually, nowhere but in Germany itself E. was, at any given time, the
dominant style or trend in modern art. For depending on the many variables which
determine the overall picture of an age, whether culturally, socially, politically, econo­
mically or in matters of religion, no two scenes will be exactly alike. Thus the readers
of this volume should not be surprised to find t h a t repeatedly (whether in Belgium,
Holland, Poland, Czechoslovakia, Yugoslavia, Rumania and even Denmark) the cultu­
ral physiognomy of a country, or part thereof, was formed only after a battle—some­
times ending in a stalemate—between the Teutonic forces of E. and the Latin phalanx
of movements ranging from Symbolism by way of Apollinaire and Futurism to Dada
and Surrealism. Some countries—such as Yugoslavia, where the Serbs embraced
Surrealism and the Croatians E.—were split right down the middle, whereas in others
the conflict was brief and less incisive. Thus England rid itself of Futurism and Surreal­
ism as a duck shakes off water after dipping into a pond. Most of the Latin countries,
on the other hand, did not have to face the issue; literary Germany, in its turn, channell­
ed Dada into political life, thereby avoiding a confrontation with Surrealism (which
occurred only after World War Two). When analyzing these cultural tensions, which
prevailed, for longer or shorter periods, in many of the smaller, more peripherally

20
located countries, especially in Eastern Europe, we must also keep in mind their
enormous Nachholbedarf, i.e., the urgent need, after their socio-political emancipation,
for catching up with Central European developments from ca. 1870 on. Hence the
near-simultaneity, observed in Hungary and elsewhere, of Naturalism, E. and Sur­
realism.
I t is for reasons of historical accuracy and scholarly precision t h a t I question the
value of Professor Vajda's assertion that "even in its very name . . . Expressionism
represents one of the characteristic traits of all Romantic-Modernistic tendencies''.
For such a view would seem to deny, by implication, the modernity of the classical vein
inherent in Cubism, De Stijl, Constructivism, Suprematism and even Vorticism, and
I hesitate to accept the pragmatic conclusions drawn from the assertion of the "primacy
of the subjective and creative element of artistic activity" in twentieth-century art:

We will not emphasize the manifold gradations of various tendencies within

modern literature and art—which, in any case, have lost some of their dis­
tinctness with the passing of time—but rather their methodological similarities,
which may be seen in Expressionism. The philosophical background to which
Expressionism harks back is thus decisive for modernistic art, i.e., for the art
of the artistic and literary avant-garde of our century in its totality.

Discussing particular authors and works in this exceedingly broad framework,

one should beware of implicating writers like Kafka, Joyce, and Garcia Lorca unless
one is ready to use extremely fine tools of stylistic analysis. Thus Kafka—like Alfred
Kubin, whom Professor Hadermann mentions in his essay because he was briefly
linked with Der Blaue Reiter, of which the rabid individualist Paul Klee was also a
temporary member—did not really "move in the circle of the Prague Expressionists,"
as Professor Vajda will have us believe. For no such circle actually existed; and if there
really was a grouping, it was so loose as to defy description in terms of a movement or
cénacle. To be sure, if only for historical reasons, Werfel must be regarded as an Ex­
pressionist; b u t can the same be reasonably said of Martin Buber and Max Brod?
As for Kafka, his work—except for some very early pieces—shows no stylistic affinity
with E. Much more meaningful, in my view, would be a linking of the so-called Prague
School (Kafka, Kubin and Meyrink) with Surrealism, which was then, admittedly,
non-existent as a historical phenomenon but which had its roots in German and French
Romanticism. By discussing these writers in his book on the grotesque (in the chapter
entitled "Die Erzahler des Grauens"), Wolfgang Kayser took a first, important step in
the right direction.
As for Joyce—whose name figures in many essays seeking to define the nature of
English E.—he may have had some brittle first-hand connection with the movement
(primarily, one imagines, through Eugène Jolas and his influential magazine transition),
but as a bold experimenter in structure and language he stands clearly outside any such
tradition. Oddly enough, but not surprisingly, he exerted a decisive and measurable
influence on such German "Expressionist" prose writers as Hans Henny J a h n n (Per-
rudja) and Alfred Döblin (Berlin Alexanderplatz). Döblin, by the way, also borrowed

21
some of his techniques from John Dos Passos, author of Manhattan Transfer and him­
self a fairly active participant in the dramatic experiments undertaken by the Expres-
sionistically inclined New Playwrights.
Neither would Federico Garcia Lorca seem to fit into a pigeonhole called E. (much
less so, at any rate, than the Rilke of some of the Duino Elegies and certain of the
Sonnets to Orpheus). He moves, instead, in the rich and suggestive atmosphere of
Surrealism, a movement whose underlying world view the Spaniards found congenial
to their temper, and whose rich pictorial language he himself infused with folkloristic
elements. Thus while a play like Blood Wedding may well be discussed without reference
to Andre Breton and his cohort, Lorca's odes (to Dali, to the Immaculate Conception,
etc.) and his lyrical cycle A Poet in New York should be studied in that context. It is a
stroke of historical irony that the poet referred to in the title (Walt Whitman) was also
an acknowledged forerunner of E.
My cautionary note regarding facile equations or sweeping generalizations applies,
with equal force, to Professor Arnold's essay on foreign models for German Expression­
ist prose, especially to the author's suggestion "that the Expressionists were ready to
use any style whatever" which, naturally, tips the scale in favor of thematic and ideo­
logical criteria. Thus Arnold inadvertently commits the same fallacy as Walter Sokel,
whose book The Writer in Extremis stresses the subject matter preferred in the literature
of E. In his contribution to the Rothe volume, on the other hand, Sokel discerns in
Expressionist prose an "objectivating narrative tradition"—and that with reference
to a style usually praised or blamed for its utter subjectivism! How much scholarly
uncertainty still prevails in this particular field of inquiry is demonstrated, once again,
by the fact that Arnold considers the d'Annunzianesque traits inherent in works like
Heinrich Mann's trilogy Die Göttinnen to be proto-Expressionist, which leads him to
suspect Flaubert-—the author of Salammbô and the Tentation . . . rather than the creator
of Madame Bovary or IS Education sentimentale—of being an ancestor of E. (On alto­
gether different grounds—and with how much greater justification!—Benn celebrated
the French master as the champion of Ausdruckskunst which, in his eyes, meant an art
of pure abstraction rather than E. in the historical sense.) Little is gained, however,
by introjecting elements more properly placed in the context of décadenceand fin-de-
siècle art into the discussion of literary E., unless it were done with the intention of
demonstrating the transitional nature of certain works stylistically suspended between
two ages.
Nor would it be altogether "cricket" to eschew the question of what constitutes
German Expressionist prose by choosing as exhibits solely narratives written by authors
rightly or wrongly linked with E. This is the facile solution embraced by Fritz Martini
in his Reclam anthology Prosa des Expressionismus, where rather conventional stories
by Kafka and Heinrich Mann appear side by side with more relevant selections by
Benn, Sternheim, Edschmid and Döblin. Perhaps the most intelligent way of solving
this knotty problem—which, apart from Max Krell's suggestive monograph in the
series Tribüne der Kunst und Zeit, has so far been most intelligently treated in three or
four German dissertations—would be to apply the stylistic criteria adduced in most
studies of Expressionist drama and poetry, especially those listed in Edschmid's pro-

22
grammatic lecture "Uber den dichterischen Expressionismus". If one were to do this
systematically (using such features as concentration, intensity, distortion, black-white
contrast as in the film, dynamieism, succinctness, telescoping, telegram style and so
forth as yardsticks), only a handful of the works assembled by Martini would qualify,
and the authors one would wish to focus on initially would most likely be Sternheim
and Benn, followed by Edschmid, Döblin and Rene Schickele, with Heinrich Mann's
parodistic novella "Kobes" bringing up the rear.
In my essay "Expressionism: Style or Weltanschauung?" (reprinted in the present
volume), I have dressed the catalogue of traits ingrained in German E. In the following
pages, I should like to review this list in order to set the stage for a brief resumé of the
basic differences between E. and its chief contenders. There is, first of all, no quarrel­
ling with the fact that, in order to qualify as a bona fide Expressionist, an artist must
reject the mimetic approach. Thus, epistemologically, E. undermines the foundations
of realistic art, whether couched in the form of Realism, Naturalism or Impressionism
(where, paradoxically, extreme subjectivism turns out to be the only truly objective
stance). Thus Edschmid asserts: "Die Welt ist da. Es ware sinnlos, sie zu wiederholen,"
and Paul Klee opens his "creative confession" with the maxim "Kunst gibt nicht das
Sichtbare wieder, sondern macht sichtbar". What Expressionist art seeks to render
visible, however, are soul states and the violent emotions welling up from the innermost
recesses of the subconscious. (Hence the Expressionist cult of the primitive as that
state in which Seelenstände—Hermann Bahr's German rendition of the French états
d'âme—h^ve not yet been filtered through the various layers of consciousness.) What is
caught here, on the canvas or in the poem, are extreme moods, such as numinous
fear or ecstatic joy, externalized by means of projection and outwardly manifesting
themselves as distortions of color, shape, syntax, vocabulary or tonal relationships
( = dissonance).
On the surface, this may seem to be the same kind of dislocation which is generally
considered to be the hallmark of satire. But it would be a crucial error to identify E.
with the satirical mode, as Thomas Mann has done in a famous passage of his autobio­
graphical Betrachtungen eines Unpolitischen directed at his brother Heinrich. Satire,
after all, is a technique deliberately used for moral or political ends. Perhaps the Ex­
pressionist distortions are more closely related to the grotesque which, in Wolfgang
Kayser's opinion, reveals a rift between the numinal and the phenomenal world, and
which shows man to be ill at ease in the presence of events and situations eluding his
grasp, just as Worringer claims primitive man to have been in the face of a terrifying,
anonymous and inscrutable nature.
Distortion, taken to its extreme, is bound to result in one or the other kind of
abstraction—and all too frequently E. is confused with abstract art, partly, one as­
sumes, due to a misinterpretation of Worringer's use of the term Abstraktion. However,
even though Expressionist art, along with Cubism and Impressionism, may lead the
way toward non-representation, qua E. it has nothing in common with the controlled,
disciplined and, at times, serene Ausdruckskunst of Neo-Plasticism or Suprematism.
It is most emphatically content-oriented (which is not the same as saying that its
orientation is thematic), and Edschmid speaks with contempt of what he calls

23
"öde Abstraktion". Like Schönberg (the pre-Twelve Tone Schönberg, that is to say),
Kandinsky subscribes to Inhaltskunst and insists that his own "abstract" compositions,
expressing specific moods, purposively manipulate the viewer's emotions and consti­
tute a literal application of the principle of internal necessity. Here, then, are the roots
of Abstract Expressionism—an apparent contradictio in adiecfo which is, nevertheless,
in keeping with Kandinsky's theory. In objecting to the inherent lyricism of Kandinsky's
canvases, which he, in a manner of speaking, took to be non-Expressionist, Wyndham
Lewis asserted the primacy of the volitional element, the Kunstwollen which, enshrined
by Worringer, causes E. to differ radically from both Impressionism (the gentle art of
drifting) and Surrealism (whose nonvolitional bent explains its penchant for psychic
automatism).
Being heavily focused on the human soul and the pains and pleasures it is prone
to, E. is a distinctly anthropocentric art for which, as K u r t Pinthus phrases it, man is
the "Ausgangspunkt, Mittelpunkt, Zielpunkt" of the creative process, even to the point
where landscapes, animals and inanimate objects (such as Delaunay's painted Eiffel
Tower, according to Daubler) are "vermenschlicht". I n this respect, it is clearly at
odds with Futurism (with its glorification of the machine as a perpetrator of speed) as
well as Vorticism, which likes the machine only when it is at rest. Nor, by the way, does
E. emulate Cubism or Futurism in their obsession with simultaneity (of states and
processes respectively)—no matter what Theodor Daubler and others would have us
believe. For Daubler's "Wenn einer gehangt wird, erlebt er im letzten Augenblick
sein ganzes Leben nochmals , , presupposes a rapid shifting of scenes and images, and
not their temporal coalescence. The force and violence of the Expressionist projection,
it seems, can only be channelled into unilinear expression. While focusing on man, the
Expressionists did not treat him as a person, individual or character in the accepted
sense. The projection of soul states they were concerned with aimed much rather at a
collective or metaphysical sphere, and their preferred realm was either cosmic (pervaded
with mystico-religious feelings, as in many paintings by Van Gogh, or shot through with
visionary elements) or broadly humanitarian (centered in what is typical and repre­
sentative rather than what is unique and eccentric). Actually, the much touted "Zer-
splitterung des I c h " initiates a process of allegorization, and even the most intimate
Wandlung or personal Aufbruch operates on a fairly high level of abstraction. I n short:
in their yearning for spiritualization the Expressionists clung to essences without ridding
themselves of the phenomenal world. For a pragmatic Englishman like John Gals­
worthy, addressing the English Association in a lecture entitled "On Expression''
(1924), this urge seemed ludicrous and farcical:

Some few years ago painters coined the word "expressionism". When asked
what they meant by it, they became involved and hot. Only fools—they
thought— could mistake their meaning. Amazing number of fools in those days!
At last a great good painter made it clear. Expressionism meant depicting the
inside of a phenomenon without depicting the outside in a way t h a t could
be recognised. That is to say, if you wanted to express an apple-tree you
drew and coloured one vertical and three fairly horizontal lines, attached a
small coloured circle to one of these, and wrote the word " F r u i t y " in the

24
 catalogue. To express an Englishman by the expressionistic method you
drew a pump, coloured it in a subdued manner and wrote the words "not
working properly" in the catalogue.
Seeking to disown individualism, the Expressionists threw psychology—or at
least Individual-Psychologie—overboard and dethroned causality. Their stance, how­
ever, must not be confused with the wilfully destructive manner of the Dadaists who
overthrew logic and reason with the express purpose of reducing all existing values,
cultural as well as socio-political, to non-sense. And nothing could be further from the
truth than to assert that, like Dada, E. was an anarchist movement.
Breaking through the individual shell or mask, (persona), Expressionist art (para­
doxically) fuses the extremely subjective with the starkly objective. Unlike Surrealism,
which, abandoning surface psychology but not depth psychology, would gladly align
itself with Freud (without sharing the latter's obsession with complexes and inhibi­
tions), initially moved in a realm of pure and utter subjectivity, E. would feel more at
home with Jung's universalizing notion of the collective unconscious. In fact, O'Neill's
Emperor Jones, which is a paragon of literary E., traces precisely this movement away
from psychological motivation and toward a supra-personal (and ultimately racial)
consciousness, which is that of the primitive. Stravinsky's Sacre du Prinfemps, that
model of musical E., on the other hand, moves altogether in the prehistorical realm
and does not touch upon civilization.
While, theoretically, it may be simple enough to distinguish the various strains
of Modernism, given the necessary skill, knowledge and sophistication, in actual practice,
when it comes to screening specific works and showing exactly what trends have inter­
acted to produce them, we are sometimes faced with a real dilemma. At other times,
it may be possible to anatomize such Mischformen. Thus, in the vers libre poems of
J. R. Becher the impact of Whitman makes itself, at times, as strongly felt as does
that of Marinetti; and both influences are fused by means of the Activist world view
which makes a product like "Menseh stehe auf!" so topical and so uniquely German.
The abyss which, on the other hand, separates an Expressionist Lautgedicht like Rudolf
Blümner's "Ango Laina" from a Dadaist non-sense poem like Hans Arp's "Elefanten-
karawane" cannot be fathomed by a mere confrontation of these works, since both
poets use language abstractly and without apparent reference to intelligible meaning.
What is needed here is a knowledge of the theoretical assumption underlying Expression­
ist and Dadaist practice respectively.
Similarly, the Dadaists, who were proud of being intellectual and artistic scav­
engers, gladly availed themselves of Bruitist music, using it in a way incompatible
with the function assigned to martial noise in Futurist theory, where the notion of
Larmmusik originated. Sometimes it is merely a name which throws the comparatist
researching twentieth-century art and literature off the track. Thus while Vorticism
warmly embraced the views outlined by Worringer, it combined the latter's Welt-
anschauung with Bergsonian theories adapted—one might even say: inverted—by T.E.
Hulme. What it produced in the plastic arts, however, were works outwardly unrelated
to E., i.e., machine-like constructs striking the beholder as being Cubo-Futuristic.
And just as Hulme extracted from the Impressionist flux a hardened, classicist

25
"manifold intensity," so, under the hands of Ezra Pound, Imagism turned into a
Parnassian variant of poetic Impressionism. (E. and Vorticism part ways in several
other respects as well, most strikingly perhaps in their disparate views regarding the
Gesamtlcunstwerk.)
As a rule, the mixture of styles so characteristic of our age, and illustrating the
profusion of conflicting and overlapping tendencies in the first two decades of this
century, can be more readily discerned in painting than in literature—especially in an
international context where each phenomenon is apprehended in a manner that is
actually or potentially comparative. For each language has stylistic and grammatical
features which cannot be exactly reproduced in other languages. Thus an influence from
abroad may not leave any visible traces in the work of an author who has absorbed it,
and cases like that of August Stramm's (linguistic) impact on the Dutch Expressionist
Marsman are relatively rare. Pictorial language, however, is, within stated limits, uni­
versal; hence the relative ease with which art critics dissect even the most eclectic
paintings. Thus Picasso's justly famous "Les Demoiselles d'Avignon" (1907) marks
a decisive point in the history of modern art; for, as the finished canvas demonstrates,
the artist found himself at a cross-roads, one path leading in the direction of what may
be loosely termed Expressionist primitivism, the other having Cubism as its goal. And
while the Spaniard may have been tempted to choose the former path, the "natu­
ralized'' Frenchman took the latter.
Futurist painting which, being dynamic, glorifies speed and goes so far as to invest
inanimate objects—a street or a row of houses—with rhythmic motion, can be divided
into two main branches, depending on the style which it accelerates. Thus, works like
Balla's "Leash in Motion" could be viewed as examples of accelerated Impressionism,
while Russolo's Dynamism of an Automobile or Severini's Dynamic Hieroglyphic of the
Bal Tabarin exemplify an accelerated Cubism—as opposed to Wyndham Lewis'
arrested Futurism. Within the tradition of German pictorial E., a brief glance at three
such androgynous works may suffice: Franz Marc's "Blue Horses", exemplifying (like
so many of that painter's canvases) the Cubist strain within the E. of Der Blaue
Reiter; the same artist's late "Tierschicksale", painted in a manner reminiscent of the
Futurists' accelerated Cubism but used for entirely different ends (they depict a world
on the brink of chaos rather than glorifying war, speed and the machine); and Lyonel
Feininger's geometrized cityscapes, which anticipate the constructivism of the Bauhaus
style.
This crossing of trends, which results in a mixture of styles compatible with the
mentality, the world view and the genius of individual artists, whole movements or
entire ethnic groups, constitutes a formidable challenge for the comparatist who seeks
to isolate the various national or regional strains of E. even in cases where they are
intricately blended in a mélange known as avantgarde art, modernism or what have
you. Thus it will be his principal task to name the ingredients which went into the
making of such Expressionist, semi-Expressionist or pseudo-Expressionist phenomena
as Zenitism in Yugoslavia, Vorticism in England, Poetism in Czechoslovakia, Catastroph-
ism in Poland, Vitalism in Holland, Aktivizmus in Hungary and Centrifugism in Russia.
With a similar attention to detail, he will have to study the contents of such

26
"progressive'' journals as Blast in England, transition in France, Zenit in Yugoslavia, Tett
and Ma in Hungary, Zdrój in Poland, Integral in Romania, Vezni in Bulgaria, Ruimte
in Belgium and Het Getij in Holland, in order to determine to what extent these publi­
cations actually merit the epithet "Expressionist". Surely, no definitions of E. found
in the current handbooks or dictionaries of literature will serve our purpose; and it is
both shocking and amusing to read and to compare the relevant entries found in ref­
erence works like A Modern Lexicon of Literary Terms, A Reader's Guide to Literary
Terms, the Handbook to Literature by Thrall and Hibbard (where Eliot's "Waste Land"
is called "the poetic classic of the movement") or Laffont-Bompiani's Dictionnaire uni-
versel des lettres (whose definition would seem to be more appropriate to Surrealism).
Trying to base a synthetic definition of international E. on such epitomes, as graduate
students have done repeatedly at my behest, is a futile exercise having considerable
pedagogical value.
The most immediate satisfaction in the search for the magic formula encompassing
the system of norms constituting European E. can probably be derived from the study
of those artists who were self-proclaimed addicts to, and propagators of, the movement
and who published proclamations bolstering their position. Among their number we
find writers like Henrik Marsman ("Divagatie over het expressionisme") and Karel van
den Oever ("Rond wat men moent: expressionisme") in Holland, Lajos Kassók ("Akti-
vizmus") in Hungary, Geo Milev in Bulgaria, Lucien Blaga in Rumania, Ippolit Sokoiov
in Russia, Stanislaw Przybyzewski in Poland, A. B. Šimić and Stanislav Vinavér
(Manifest ekspressionisticke skole) in Yugoslavia, and the New Playwrights (Em Jo
Basshe's essay "The New Showmanship") in the U.S.A. But even in such apparently
clearcut cases one must not be fooled by the use of the term "Expressionism"; for
some of these self-styled Expressionists misunderstood, or garbled the message signalled
from abroad.
Obviously, the mere application of a convenient label means little to a skilled
investigator. Wyndham Lewis, for example, never called himself an Expressionist,
even though he publicly acknowledged the debt he and his fellow-Vorticists owed to
"unofficial Germany". And the Swedish playwright Par Lagerkvist altogether avoided
the term in his programmatic essay "Modern Theater: Point of View and Attack"
(1918), where the only reference to German E. is an oblique one buried in the following
passage about Strindberg:

What has been taken by force is something that, in a much higher degree,
remains Strindberg's inviolable personal property. It is that genuine Strind-
bergian atmosphere in a drama, the storm and eruption, the violent outburst
of morbid and raging genius. This is what they have hurried to take possession
of. In Germany—with a shriek as from jubilant dervishes—and even, if
much more modestly, in Sweden.

Other writers who are widely acknowledged as Expressionists have expressly

denied their German "ancestry". This is true of O'Neill and Elmer Rice in the U.S.A.
and, less emphatically so, of O'Casey and Dennis Johnston on the other shore of the
Atlantic. (Not unreasonably, it has been suggested that O'Neill as well as Susan Glas-

27
pell may have been under the spell of German Expressionist films such as The Cabinet
of Dr. Caligari, an influence frankly acknowledged by Ghelderode.) But such a personal
disavowal does not obliterate the fact t h a t firsthand knowledge must be presupposed
in one or the other instance. Thus, even if we wisely refrain from exploring parallels
and analogies due, perhaps, to a mysterious Zeitgeist, we still face a task so arduous as
to defy description. Nevertheless, it is a task which we, as comparative literary critics
and historians, must tackle. For while a defeatist acquiescence in the state of perma­
nent chaos may sometimes be preferable to the superimposition of an artificial order,
even the most hopelessly tangled web can often be sufficiently unravelled to reveal, or
at least suggest, a basic design.

28
 ULRICH WEISSTEIN

EXPRESSIONISM: STYLE OR "WELTANSCHAUUNG" ?*

"No matter how things turn out, one will have to admit that E. was the last common,
general, and conscious attempt of a whole generation to instill new life into art, music,
and literature." 1 I think that this holds true even though, geographically speaking,
E. was more or less restricted to the Teutonic part of Europe: Germany, Scandinavia,
and the Netherlands, including the northern, Flemish part of Belgium (James Ensor).
Although, except in the theater—where Alexander Tairov and Vsevelod Meyerhold
helped in shaping the physiognomy of "Revolutionary Romanticism" — Russia did
not substantially contribute to this general Aufbruch, inspiration for many German
"Expressionist" writers (such as Franz Werfel and, later, Hermann Hesse) came from
Dostoevsky, just as some of the Activists were fond of Tolstoy. And in painting, the
spirit of Russian mysticism strongly pervaded the aesthetic thinking of the Blaue Eeiter.
It is not generally known that the latter group, apart from its whip Wassily Kan-
dinsky, counted a considerable number of Russians among its members, as did its
predecessor, the Neue Künstlervereinigung. Wladimir Bechtejeff, the brothers Burliuk,
Axel von Jawlensky, Moissej Kogan, and Marianne von Werefkin are perhaps the most
prominent of these. As a curiosity it might be mentioned that one of the Blaue Beiter
was the American Albert Bloch, who subsequently became Professor of Art at the
University of Kansas.
On the whole, E. had little immediate impact on the Anglo-Saxon world, however.
John Marin and the cubistically inclined Lyonel Feininger (who spent the decisive
years of his career in Germany) embraced the cause; and shortly before World War I
Wyndham Lewis and Henri Gaudier-Brzeska briefly raised the Vorticist flag in
London.2 The plays of Georg Kaiser, Werfel, and Ernst Toller, performed on the New
York stage around 1920, gave impetus to playwrights like Eugene O'Neill, Elmer
Rice and, later, Thornton Wilder; and the English Group Theatre of W. H. Auden and
Christopher Isherwood, including T. S. Eliot's Aristophanic minstrel show Sweeney
Agonistes, was not unaffected by the German model.
Yet it is no secret that, until fairly recently, the Busch-Reisinger Museum at
Harvard University owned the only representative collection of paintings by members
* Reprinted from Criticism, A Quarterly for Literature and the Arts, Vol. IX, No. 1 (Winter,
1967), with the permission of the editors.
1
Menschheitsdämmerung: Ein Dokument des Expressionismus, new ed. (Hamburg, 1959),
p. 16. All translations used in this essay are my own.
2
For a discussion of Vorticism see my article "Vortieism: Expressionism English Style" in
the Yearbook of Comparative and General Literature, X I I I (1964), pp. 28-40, as reprinted in this
volume.

29
of the Brücke group to be found anywhere in the United States. But now the graphic
and pictorial work of these artists is suddenly in great demand, and Peter Selz' monu­
mental study of German Expressionist Painting offers the most authoritative analysis
of their art. 3 German Expressionist literature, on the other hand, is still unfamiliar
and poorly understood in America and England. At least a few anthologies of plays
and poetry in translation are now available: Michael Hamburger and Christopher
Middleton's German Poetry 1919-1960 and Walter H. Sokel's An Anthology of German
Expressionist Drama, absurdly subtitled "A Prelude to the Absurd".4 And one critical
monograph in English, Sokel's The Writer in Extremis, has been published, albeit its
predominantly thematic orientation reduces its value for those who seek to define the
Expressionist style? But, after all: As E. had first to be discovered in England and
America, it had to be rediscovered in post-war Germany. For Adolf Hitler had consigned
it to aesthetic Limbo when he labelled all art that failed to live up to the naturalistic
standards of Wilhelm Leibl "entartet".
The Latin countries found E. uncongenial to their way of thinking and feeling. Being
classicists at heart, the French prefer an art that seeks to depict objectively verifiable
and measurable formal beauty. The father of Cubism was a Frenchman, Paul Cézanne;
but it was a Dutchman, Piet Mondrian, who lifted the quasi-abstract art of Georges
Braque and Pablo Picasso into the untroubled realm of what he called Pure Plastic
Art. For the true Expressionist, however, Classicism was the very establishment whose
foundations he sought to undermine, his Weltgefühl being admittedly closer to that of
the Romantics. Gottfried Benn's introduction to the collection Lyrik des expressionisti-
schen Jahrzehnts—which is a revised version of an essay in defense of E. published,
courageously, in 19335a—culminates in the rhetorical assertion: "[E.] rose, fought its
battles on the fields of Chalons, and was defeated. It raised its flag on the Bastille, the
Kreml, and at Golgotha, but never reached Mount Olympus and other classical terrain." 6
Apart from Georges Rouault's neo-medieval stained-glass technique, the only
kind of E. France produced was the decorative "Ausdruckskunst" of Les Fauves:
the "wild beasts" André Derain, Maurice Vlaminck, and Henri Matisse in their paint­
ings executed between 1905 and 1910. Like the members of Die Brücke in the Dresden of
those years, the Fauves developed a sudden, intense interest in primitive art, which had
hitherto lingered away in ethnographic museums. But their Gallic esprit kept them from
getting too fiercely involved in the quest for a revival of the barbaric spirit. Standing
at the crossroads between Cubism and E., Picasso created his "Demoiselles d'Avignon"
(1907), but then moved on to an art that was less contorted and more serene.
Italy witnessed the spectacular rise of the proto-Fascist movement known as
Futurism: a violent action art which sought, like Dadaism, to destroy the past with its
3
Peter Selz, German Expressionist Painting (Berkeley, 1957).
4
Michael Hamburger and Christopher Middleton, German Poetry 1910-1960 (New York,
1962): Walter H. Sokel, An Anthology of German Expressionist Drama (New York, 1963).
5
Walter H. Sokel, The Writer in Extremis (Stanford, 1959).
5a
For a discussion of the two versions of this essay, see my contribution to the volome
Dichter und Leser: Studien zur Literatur (Groningen: Wolters, 1972), pp. 9 — 27, entitled "Vor
Tische las man's anders: Eine Literarpolitische Studie über die beiden Fassungen (1933 und 1955)
von Gottfried
6
Benns Expressionismus—Aufsatz".
Lyrik des expressionistischen Jahrzehnts (Munich, 1962), p. 16. The essay "Expressionismus"
appears in Bonn's Gesammelte Werke, ed. Dieter Wellershoff (Wiesbaden, 1959), I, pp. 240-256.

30
burdensome heritage. The Futurists indulged in a blind worship of speed and the ma­
chine, preferably when used as a means of warfare. In literature, they sought, in the
words of Filippo Marinetti's Technical Manifesto, to free language by releasing it from
the fetters of Latin grammar: "It is an urgent necessity to liberate the words by dragging
them out of the cage of Latin syntax." 7 Their recipes were used by some of the radical
German Expressionists: Johannes R. Becher, one of the most violent makers of word
cascades, and Alfred Döblin, author of "Die Ermordung einer Butterblume" (The
Assassination of a Buttercup) and Die drei Sprünge des Wang-Lun (The Three Leaps
of Wang-Lun).
Spain, to complete our rapid survey of the international situation, remained quite
unaffected by E., even though the naturalized Toledan Domenico Theotocopuli, better
known as El Greco, was, like Matthias Grünewald, regarded as one of the spiritual
godfathers of Germany's twentieth-century "Stürmer und Dranger". In his autobiog­
raphy, Salvador Dalí reports that when he entered the Madrid Academy his teachers,
belated Impressionists, had just begun to notice that shadows weren't black and were
duly shocked when he blithely proceeded to demonstrate Cubist techniques of painting.
Spain, perhaps partly on account of its Moorish background, soon afterwards came
under the spell of French Surrealism.
Kurt Pinthus' initially quoted statement was not invalidated by the birth of
Surrealism in 1924, i.e., at a time when E. had already spent its force. True, Surrealism-
due, most likely, to its Freudian underpinning—gained far more universal recognition
than was ever bestowed on its German counterpart. But as a movement it was origi­
nally tied to poetry, painting being formally introduced only after Dali's arrival in
Paris, when Andre Breton decided that an extension of the Surrealist aesthetic to the
plastic arts was feasible. However, the movement, as was inevitable, produced a wealth
of artistically inferior works due to the underlying assumption that art must rely on
chance, and that the automatic transcription of subliminal experiences is a valid form
of expression. At least in the first, experimental phase, the Surrealists wished nothing
better than to ibe appareils enregisfreurs, just as the Impressionists had shown them­
selves satisfied with being "nothing but eyes", to use a phrase coined by Cézanne
and aimed at Claude Monet.
Surrealism altogether eschews the volitional element in art, the intention or what
Wilhelm Worringer calls the Kunstwollen. Precisely this aspect, however, prevails in
Expressionist art, where it predicates a total involvement of the artist, thereby pre­
cluding any sort of playful experimentation or automatism. No doubt: a lot of Ex­
pressionist art, both poetry and painting, has also dated on account of its pronounced
stylistic mannerisms; but enough literary and pictorial works of sound value remain
to make E. a vital and enduring force in modern European culture.
What renders E. doubly interesting to students of contemporary art is the fact
that its gospel spread to all the arts, thereby encouraging the formation and cultiva­
tion of Doppelbegabungen, which is hardly surprising if one keeps in mind that what
mattered to the Expressionists was not so much the formal perfection of the finished
7
Filippo Marinetti, "Manifesto tecnico della letteratura futurista" in I Poeti Futuristi
(Milan, 1912), p. 12f.

31
product, i.e., the craft and technical skill (Worringer's Könneri) as the intensity of the
artistic drive. As Ernst Stadler puts it in a poem that has often been called pro­
grammatic:

Form und Riegel mussten erst zerspringen,

Welt durch aufgeschlossne Röhren dringen:
Form ist Wollust, Friede, himmlisches Genügen,
Doch mich reisst es, Ackerschollen umzupflügen.
Form will mich verschnüren und verengen,
Doch ich will mein Sein in alle Weiten drangen.

"Form wants to oppress and stifle me, but I desire a vast expansion of my being";
such is the message to which many artists of that generation barkened. Oskar
Kokoschka is not only a painter but also the author of boldly experimental plays like
Mörder Hoffnung der Frauen, a prototype of the Expressionist Schrei-Drama. Arnold
Schönberg was a composer, a dramatist (he wrote the texts for several of his operas)
and a painter. Indeed, some of his paintings were included in the first exhibition of the
Blaue Reiter. Ernst Barlach, finally, was a sculptor and graphic artist as well as novelist
and playwright, a man who expressed himself with equal force in several media. Bar­
lach, who hated to be classed with any group or movement, was perhaps the most
genuine Expressionist, an Expressionist "beyond fashion and full of necessity".8 One
of his basic themes was resurrection; and he treated it most poignantly in those comedies
(Der arme Vetter and Der blaue Boll) where transcendence is achieved in a thoroughly
earthy setting delineated with the utmost realism. Barlach was greatly shocked when
he discovered that, at the Berlin Staatstheater, his characters were portrayed with
Expressionist onesidedness.9
Following Pinthus, I have, so far, carefully avoided calling E. a movement. For
viewed as a historical phenomenon in its totality, it cannot be properly regarded as
such. The term movement, that is to say, should be reserved for groups of contemporaries
having a common goal and subscribing to a formulated program. To be sure, in painting
we have Die Brücke, a true Künstlergemeinschaft until Ernst Ludwig Kirchner's chron­
icle met with the disapproval of his fellow painters. The Blaue Reiter, on the other
hand, showed relatively little artistic coherence. In literature, the situation was even
more chaotic; and, with the exception of the clique gathered around Herwarth
Walden's periodical Der Sturm, programs were written and theories developed only
after the fact by critics, editors, anthologists and other "outsiders".
In the introduction to his pamphlet Über neue Prosa (which forms part of the well-
known series Tribune der Kunst und Zeit), Max Krell observes that E. is a collective
term used to refer to a complex of views and feelings ("Sammelwort eines Gefühls-
und Anschauungskomplexes") but that the individual Expressionist prefers Lösung
(creative freedom or independence) to Bindung (adherence to a common cause).10

8
From Julius Bab's Ghronik des deutschen Dramas (Berlin, 1922), iv, 106, as quoted in Expres-
sionismus:
9
Literatur und Kunst 1910-1923 (Munich, 1960), p. 312.
10
See Barlach's letter to his brother Karl of October 18, 1924.
Über neue Prosa (Berlin, 1919), p . 11.

32
However, as Krell points out, there are the Activists, a group of writers associated
with publications like Das Ziel, Die Aktion, and Rene Schickele's far less virulent Die
weissen Blatter. The Activists, of whom Heinrich Mann was the most prominent, had
specific goals and shared a Weltanschauung, the term being here used in the narrower,
socio-political sense. Perhaps they actually were, as one writer puts it, thwarted human­
ists who had discovered that the world in which they lived did not measure up to the
ideal glowingly painted by their teachers.11
The literary output of the Activists was infused with a rigorously ethical spirit;
for what they had in common with their Expressionist brethren was a craving for the
renaissance of man. Their idol was Friedrieh Schiller, whom Friedrich Nietzsche, in
an unforgettable phrase, had dubbed the "Moraltrompeter von Sackingen". These
Zivilisationsliteraten, as Thomas Mann calls them in his autobiographical Betrachtungen
eines Unpolitischen, were invariably Pacifists, but, unlike the Dadaists, constructive
ones. Many of them actively participated in setting up local and regional governments
during the revolution of 1918-1919. The lines of distinction between E. and Activism
have been admirably drawn in a book by Wolfgang Paulsen.12
What, however, makes it possible for us to discuss the Expressionists as a group, if
there is no such thing as an Expressionist program or manifesto ? And can we, in spite
of the apparent incoherence of views and styles, find some common denominator for
all their efforts ? I think most of the writers and painters whom we now regard as Ex­
pressionists would have agreed that they were primarily concerned with capturing the
essence of things rather than their external appearance. They found nothing more con­
temptible than the Naturalistic "slice of life" and its Impressionist variant. "Mensch
werde wesentlich", the clarion call sounded by the Baroque epigrammatist Angelus
Silesius, was their motto. The essence or core of things, however, can be reached only by
resolutely piercing through the various layers of social, political, and psychological
reality. This thrust, this plunging into depth, i.e., into a realm forbidden to the senses,
presupposes a quasi-religious fervor, an urge to bring about a total Vergeistigung
(spiritualization) of life and art. In the works of E., man is, therefore, directly confronted
with eternity. Art, for these writers and painters, was not a substitute for religion; it
was religion itself. And their principal line of communication, like that of the Mystics,
was not a horizontal but a vertical one. This, naturally, poses an entirely new problem
of communication on the human plane.
Even before World War I, a number of critics conversant with the current trends
sought to isolate certain traits in order to gain valid criteria for analyzing contemporary
works of art. They did so almost invariably in terms of style, not content. For even if
one concedes that certain themes—such as the father-son conflict, the struggle between
duty and conviction, the Aufbruch from one mode of existence to another—occur fre­
quently in Expressionist literature, the thematic approach is doomed to failure when it

11
"Die Expressionisten waren enttauschte Humanisten, da die Wirklichkeit, in der sie lebten,
nichts gemein hatte mit jener, die der Humanist der Gymnasien und Universitäiten lehrte" (Pinthus
in Menschheitsdammerung, p. 15).
12
Aktivismus und Éxpressionismus: Eine typologische Untersuchung (Berne/Leipzig, 1935).

33
comes to judging the plastic arts or comparing poetic with pictorial works. Pinthus,
who singled out "intensity'' as the principal feature of E., himself succumbed to the
thematic fallacy—which he rejected in theory—when arranging the contents of his*
anthology.
In his collection of essays Der neue Standpunkt, one of the first and most eloquent
apologies for the new art, Theodor Daubler—the man whom Barlach seems to have
used as a model for Der blaue Boll13—lists "speed, simultaneity, and extreme intensity
in the telescopic view of the world" as traits characteristic of a style which, in his as yet
undifferentiated view, comprises Cubism, Futurism, and E.14 "When a man is hanged,
he relives his entire life in a final moment" is another way in which Daubler expresses
the same idea.15 Viewed historically, such a description would seem to be more appli­
cable to paintings like Marc Chagall' sproto-Surrealistic "I and the Village" (1917) or
Gino Severini's "Dynamic Hieroglyphic of the Bal Tabarin" (1912) than to any Ex­
pressionist work, except perhaps of the type represented by Franz Marc's "Tierschick-
sale" (The Fate of the Animals, 1913).
Daubler also refers to Expressionist art as that of a highly concentrated vision:
"A vision seeks to manifest itself with extreme succinctness in the realm of mannered
simplicity: that is E. in every style."16 With regard to literature, Kasimir Edschmid,
another pioneer of E. in both theory and practice, claims that "the rhythmic construc­
tion of the sentences is different. They serve the same intention, the same spiritual urge
which renders only the essential."17 The sentences "link peak with peak, are telescoped
into each other, and have ceased to be connected by the buffers of logical transition
or the external plaster of psychology."18
An excellent illustration of this technique occurs in Kaiser's play Von morgens bis
mitternachts, when the protagonist—a bank clerk who has absconded with a large sum
of money and is now trying to reap the fruits of his Aufbruch—describes the effect of the
climactic moment of a tandem race upon the already frenzied audience: "This is the
utmost concentration of fact. Here it does the impossible. A fusion of all galleries. The
utter dissolution of the individual leads to the formation of a dense core: passion."19
And later, when the waiter of a restaurant enters the chambre separée to inquire what he
wants to eat, the clerk replies: "Peaks, peaks, from beginning to end. Peaks are the

13
In 1913, Barlach wrote to his publisher, Reinhard Piper: "[Der blaue Boll] ist ein schönes
Modell,14
aber schwer. Man denkt: so viel Fleisch und Bein soll und will überwunden werden."
"Schnelligkeit, Simultaneitat, höehste Anspannung una die Ineinandergehörigkeit des
Geschauten," Der neue Standpunkt (Dresden-Hellerau, 1916), p . 179.
15
"Wenn einer gehangt wird, so erlebt er im letzten Augenblick sein ganzes Leben nochmals,"
Ibid. 16
"Eine Vision will sich in letzter Knappheit im Bezirk verstiegener Vereinfachung kund-
geben: das ist E. in jedem Stil," Ibid.
17
"Die Satze [liegen] im Rhythmus anders gefaltet als gewohnt. Sie unterstehen der gleichen
Absicht, demselben Strom des Geistes, der nur das Eigentliche gibt." Über den Expressionismus in
der Literatur und die neue Dichtung (Berlin, 1919), p. 65.
18
"[Sie] binden Spitze an Spitze, sie schnellen ineinander, nicht mehr verbunden durch Puffer
logischer Überleitung, nicht mehr durch den federnden ausserlichen Kitt der Psychologie." Ibid., p. 66.
19
"Das ist die letzte Ballung des Tatsachlichen. Hier schwingt es sich zu einer schwindelhaften
Leistung auf. Vom ersten Rang bis in die Galerie Verschmelzung. Aus siedender Auflösung des
einzelnen geballt der Kern: Leidenschaft." Deutsckes Theater des Expressionismus, ed. Joachim
Schondorff (Munich, n.d. [1963]), p . 217.

34
utmost concentrations in everything."20 It is this passion for intensity which explains,
among other things, the telegram style of the Expressionist Schrei-Drama, as exempli­
fied by Reinhard Goering's famous Seeschlacht. This telegram style is the very opposite
of the Naturalist Sekundenstil, which forms the literary equivalent of the "slice of
life".
Phrases such as "Höhe des Gefühls", "Spitzen des Gefühls", "Berge des Herzens"
(this latter coined by Rainer Maria Rilke) abound in Expressionist literature, indicat­
ing that its mysticism is dynamic. Indeed, nothing could be further from the Expres­
sionist than to imitate the saints in the First Duino Elegy who, experiencing levitation,
"knieten, Unmögliche, weiter und achtetens nicht". (Kept on kneeling, impossible
ones, and did not heed it.) Perhaps the word most frequently uttered by Expressionist
protagonists is Aufbruch which, untranslatable into English, suggests a complete de­
sertion of the past, a burning of bridges, a progress beyond the point of no return. Auf-
bruch is the catchword of a generation which, following Faust's example, seeks "auf
neuer Bahn den Ather zu durchdringen / Zu neuen Spharen reiner Tatigkeit" (to
penetrate the ether on new paths toward new spheres of pure activity). Such an
awakening may occur either in the form of a sudden, volcanic eruption or, as in the
Stationendrama of Strindbergian provenience, in a number of stages leading to some
sort of spiritual catharsis, as in the protagonist's contrived Ecce Homo pose at the end
of Von morgens bis mitternachts.
The "Weltgefühl" which animates the Expressionist writers is captured in the
titles of the numerous magazines, books, series, and anthologies issued between 1910
and 1920: Erhebung, Anbruch, Verkündigung, Botschaft, Entfaltung, Das neue Pathos,
Der jüngste Tag, whereas the Activist publications carry names like Kameraden der
Menschheit or Gemeinschaft. Menschheitsdammerung, patterned after Richard Wagner's
Götterddmmerung and Nietzsche's Götzendammerung, points both to the end (dusk) of
an epoch and to the beginning (dawn) of a new era. By far the most influential of these
periodicals was Der Sturm, not only because, in its pages, literature, painting, and the
graphic arts found themselves united—for that was a feature common to many publi­
cations of the time—but also because its editor, Herwarth Walden, solidified his own
views on modern art by extracting a literary theory from the poems of August Stramm
and by founding and supporting institutions like the Sturmschule and the Sturmbühne.
The title of my essay must seem paradoxical to those who believe that, whether
directly or indirectly, style must be a reflection of Weltanschauung, Weltanschauung
being the sum total of intellectual views and emotional attitudes embraced by a given
individual. No such paradox applies to those artistic movements which aim at repro­
ducing tangible reality by means of imitation. If Realism, which is the most moderate
and commonsensical of these movements, can be defined, with Vivian de Sola Pinto, as
"that art which gives a truthful impression of actuality as it appears to the normal
consciousness,"21 then the "advance" of Naturalism or Impressionism can be measured

20
"Spitzen, Spitzen . . . Von Anfang bis zu Ende nur Spitzen . . . Spitzen sind letzte Ballungen
in allen
21
Dingen," Ibid., p. 220 f.
"Realism in English Poetry," Essays and Studies by Members of the English Association,
XXV (1939), pp. 81-101.

35
as a deviation from that norm, as a shift of accent or change in emphasis effected by a
Gustave Courbet or Claude Monet, a Paul Verlaine or Emile Zola.
Realists, Naturalists and Impressionists, in their different ways, wish to portray
solely that which is visible, audible, etc., not only to themselves but to all men. They
fight their pitched battles uniformly in the name of objectivity. With the Expression­
ists—as, by the way, also with the Surrealists—the matter is radically different. In
their opinion, the function of art is not to reproduce the visible but, in Paul Klee's
words ("Kunst gibt nicht das Sichtbare wieder, sondern macht sichtbar"),22 to make
visible that which is not ordinarily revealed to the senses. "The world exists already",
says Edschmid. "It would be useless to repeat it." 23 Unlike the Surrealists, however,
the Expressionists realized that before one can make the invisible visible one must ex­
perience a vision.
As Marcel Proust points out in Du Coté de chez Swann, this externalization of the
internal is natural enough to the writer, who enjoys the inestimable advantage of
being able to place himself and his readers inside the characters he has created, whereas
in real life we cannot intuit other people's soul states:

A real person, profoundly as we may sympathise with him, is in a great measure

perceptible only through our senses, that is to say, he remains opaque, offers a
dead weight which our sensibilities have not the strength to lift. . . The
novelist's happy discovery was to think of substituting for those opaque sec­
tions, impenetrable by the human spirit, their equivalent in immaterial
sections, things, that is, which the spirit can assimilate to itself.24

But how is the painter to accomplish a similar feat? How can he, being so closely
tied to the world of ordinary sense perception, break through the shell in order to reveal
what it hides from view, i.e., our inmost thoughts and feelings? The answer furnished
by the Expressionists is simple: through style; style meaning primarily shapes and colors
representing an order of things that is different from the natural one. Seen from the
mimetic point of view, however, this signifies abstraction or, at least, some sort of more
or less violent distortion. Unlike mere Stilisierung, as we find it, say, in Mannerism or
Art Nouveau (Jugendstil), style is not constituted by a gradual, decorative abstraction
from organic form, resulting in a kind of arabesque. In the most radical instances of
Expressionist style, the beholder, unless he prefers to ignore the artist's intentions by
concentrating on formal values, is thus faced with the grim task of reuniting "abstract"
compositions with their underlying Weltanschauung.
The arguments I have adduced are partly taken from Worringer's book Abstraktion
und Einfühlung which, originally published in 1908, was the aesthetic Bible of E.,
especially of the Blaue Reiter. Worringer contends that the urge for abstraction
(Abstraktionsdrang) arises on two different levels of man's spiritual evolution: (a) at
the primitive stage when, numinously overwhelmed by the supernatural forces which he
thinks inherent in nature, man fashions objects which, being geometric and regular, i.e.,
22
23
Schöpferische Konfession (Berlin, 1920), p . 28.
Op. cü., p. 56.
24
Swarm's Way, tr. C. K. Scott Moncrieff (New York, n.d.), p . 118 f.

36
unnatural, give him a sense of superiority and, hence, security; and (b) at a highly
sophisticated stage when the world of matter becomes indifferent, and transcendence is,
once more, desired. This latter phase produces the abstract, spiritualized and highly
ornamental art of the Orient.
Worringer and his British disciple T. E. Hulme—the man who laid the theoretical
foundations for Vorticism—scorned the realistic stage which intervenes between a and
b. They spoke contemptuously of the classical art of Greece, of the Renaissance, and of
the positivistic nineteenth century. Inspiring the Expressionists, Worringer singled
out the Gothic and the Baroque as the only two ages which, due to their spiritual
unrest and mystical aspiration, ought to be admired by the moderns. He himself pre­
ferred the Gothic to the Baroque, because the latter, by intensifying the sensual until
it became suprasensual,25 had chosen a devious way toward spiritualization, whereas
in the Gothic cathedral man's urge toward spiritual transcendence (Vergeistigung) was
directly embodied.
In Worringer's and Hulme's opinion, all classical art, grown out of a harmonious
relationship between man and nature, signals an abdication of the will. Kunstwollen
(artistic volition), however, to their mind, was the agent which assured man's ascen­
dancy over his environment. Empathy and imitation are the cornerstones of an aesthetic
formed by weaklings. They were now to be deposed, and alienation and abstraction
crowned in their place.
The two leading German schools of Expressionist art may serve to illustrate the
two levels of abstraction named by Worringer: the Brücke group representing the neo-
primitive phase, and the Blaue Better the oriental. As Hermann Bahr states in his book
Expressionismus, "Just as primitive man, frightened by nature, hides within himself,
we moderns flee a civilization that devours man's soul."26 How the members of Die
Brücke saved their souls was demonstrated, some years ago, by the exhibition "Das
Ursprüngliche und die Moderne," which was held at the West Berlin Akademie der
Künste. Here the primitive objects owned by the Berlin and Dresden ethnographic
museums were shown side by side with the paintings and sculptures they had inspired.
Following in the footsteps of Paul Gauguin, Emil Nolde and Max Pechstein sepa­
rately visited the South Sea Islands in 1913 and 1914. Both returned imbued with the
"savage" spirit. Pechstein's Credo in the volume Schöpferische Konfession begins with
exclamations like "Work! Frenzy! Crush the brain! Chew! Devour! Gulp! Squash!
Blissful pains of delivery. The brush cracks and should like to pierce the canvas.
Trample on the paint tubes . . . Paint! Roll in paints, wallow in chords ! In the thick
of chaos."27 At approximately the same time, Igor Stravinsky reincarnated the savage
25
"Only twice [in the history of Western art] a large-scale attempt was made to broaden the
narrow frame of the relationship [between individualism and sensualism] and to reach out for
God by creating a supernatural and suprapersonal, spiritualized art. In the age of the Baroque,
this was done covertly, in E. overtly, i.e., in the former through the exaggeration of the sensualis-
tic, in the latter through the exaggeration of the individualistic component of this relationship."
Fragen und Gegenfragen (Munich, 1956), p . 97 f.
26
27
Expressionismus (Munich, 1920), p . 115.
"Arbeiten! Rausch ! Gehirn zerschmettern ! Kauen, fressen, schlingen, zerwühlen! Wonne-
volle Schmerzen des Gebärens! Krachen des Pinsels, am liebsten Durchstossen der Leinwände.
Zertrampeln der Farbtuben . . . Malen ! Wühlen in Farben, Walzen in Klangen! l m Brei des Chaos !"
Schöpferische Konfession, p. 19.

37
state in his Sacre du Prinfemps, and O'Neill followed suit with his drama Thé Emperor
Jones.
The neo-primitives of the Brüclce group were at their best in the graphic arts, es­
pecially in the woodcut. Wyndham Lewis found their work to be "African, in that it is
sturdy, cutting through. . . to the monotonous wall of space, and intense yet hale;
permeated by eternity—an atmosphere in which only the black core of life rises and is
silhouetted". For him, the woodcut was "a miniature sculpture where the black nervous
fluid of existence in flood forms into hard stagnant masses".28 What appealed to the
Expressionists in this medium, as used by the German primitives of the fifteenth century,
was its imperviousness to psychological finesse, as well as its harsh angularity.—In the
field of sculpture, Amedeo Modigliani in France (with his Caryatids) and Gaudier-
Brzeska in England came perhaps closest to reaching this Vorticist-Expressionist ideal,
whereas Germany, Barlach excepted, produced no major Expressionist sculptor, even
though Wilhelm Lehmbruck's elongated figures are often drawn into the dis­
cussion.
The works of several Blaue Reiter, on the other hand, breathe the spirit of Worrin-
ger's post-empathetic phase. Marc looked at his own art in much the same light, as is
shown by his remark: "Our European urge for abstract form is nothing but our hyper-
conscious, superactive reaction to, and triumph over, the sentimental spirit. Primitive
man, however, had not met the latter when he loved abstraction."29 August Macke,
reaching, at least experimentally, the stage of pure abstraction in 1907, wrote to his
fiancée: "Just now all my bliss derives from pure colors. Last week I placed colors side
by side on a wooden board without thinking of any object, such as men or trees, as in
crochetry."30 Kandinsky and Adolf Hoelzel—Nolde's and Willi Baumeister's teacher-
broke the barrier around 1910, and Marc, with his "Fighting Forms", four years later.
Of the members of Die Brücke, Kirchner was probably the only one to grope his way
toward abstraction in his colored woodcut illustrations to Adelbert von Chamisso's
Peter Schlemihl.
We have reached the crucial point in any discussion of E. in literature or painting;
for whoever wishes to make his peace with that style has to know where to draw the
line between so-called nonobjective and representational art. In statement after state­
ment, the Expressionists professed that it was their aim to mate the abstract with the
concrete, soul with body, and spirit with matter—just as the Surrealists wished to
reconcile the world of dreams with that of waking, the subconscious with the conscious.
Walter von Hollander, for example, calls Paul Kornfeld's drama Die Verführung Ex-

28
Wyndham Lewis, the Artist (London, 1939), p. 109.
29
"Unser europaischer Wille zur abstrakten Form ist ja nichts anderes als unsre höchst
bewusste, tatenheisse Erwiderung und Überwindung des sentimentalen Geistes. Jener frühe Mensch
aber war dem Sentimentalen noch nicht begegnet, als er das Abstrakte liebte." Quoted from Briefe,
Aufzeichnungen und Aphorismen (Berlin, 1920) in Will Grohmann, Bildende Kunst und Architektur
[zwischen den beiden Kriegen] (Frankfurt a.M., 1953), p. 411.
30
"Meine ganze Seligkeit suche ich jetzt fast nur in reinen Farben. Vorige Woche habe ich
auf einem Brett versucht, Farben zusammenzusetzen, ohne an irgendwelche Gegenstande, wie
Menschen oder Baume, zu denken, ähnlich wie bei der Stickerei." The letter, dating May 16, 1907,
is quoted in the catalogue of the exhibition Der Blaue Reiter held in 1963 in the Stadtische Galerie,
Munich. I t appears opposite the illustration No. 46.

38
 pressionistic in so far as, in it, the soul finds an outlet through the body.31 And
Edschmid bluntly states: " We want theflesh,but in sharpened suprasensual pleasures.''32
As the chief apologist for Expressionist literature, Edschmid fought the notion
that a school of pure abstraction might develop within its framework. "The urge for
abstraction no longer knows any limits, no longer realizes how subtle the balance of
content and creative form. Exceeding the boundaries of the sensuous, it creates pure
theory/' 33 Edschmid was undoubtedly shocked by Däubler's definition of the new
style as "color without a name, line without boundary", but the criterion of "rhythmi­
cally placed nouns without attributes'' 34 must have been more to his taste. Still,
Edschmid must have rejected the extreme views pushed by the artists of the Sturm
circle: Rudolf Blümner's use of abstract word formations and Lothar Schreyer's theory
of the Expressionist Gesamtkunstwerk composed of pure words, sounds, forms, colors,
and rhythms.
Indeed, "Abstract Expressionism" is a logical absurdity unless we can somehow
salvage Kandinsky's concept of art as based on the principle of inner necessity.
Kandinsky himself would not have called his works abstractions, since, for him, form
was always the expression of a content.35 Thus, as far as the underlying intentions are
concerned, his Impressions, Improvisations and Compositions are polar opposites of
the serene abstractions of De Stijl and the stark geometries of Kasimir Malevich's
Suprematism.
Kandinsky's aesthetic issues from the conviction that art is a vehicle of communi­
cation between the artist and his audience. In his programmatic treatise Über das
Geistige in der Kunst (Concerning the Spiritual in Art) he uses the piano to show that
art is "purposive playing with the human soul". With the aid of color and form, the
feelings of the beholders of his pictures are to be manipulated in such a way that
"[color] is the keyboard, the eyes are the hammers, the soul is the piano with many
strings, [and] the artist is the hand that plays, touching one key or another pur-
posively, to cause vibration in the soul".36
To this end all of Kandinsky's efforts were directed. Ideally, he wanted the be­
holder to be compelled to "wander around" in the finished picture,37 just as Klee, writing
in Schöpferische Konfession, invites us to take a little journey.38 What Kandinsky hoped

31
Quoted from Die Neue Rundschau in Expressionismus: Literatur und Kunst 1910-1923,
p . 304.
32 "Wir wollen das Fleisch, aber in gehobenen Übersinnslüsten." From the essay "Döblin
und die Futuristen" in Die doppelköpfige Nymphe (Berlin, 1920), p . 133.
33
Über den dichterischen Expressionismus . . . , p. 73.
34
"Farbe ohne Bezeichnung, Zeichnung und kein Erklaren . . . im Rhythmus festgesetztes
Hauptwort ohne Attribut," Der neue Standpunkt, p. 179.
35
"Since form is merely the expression of a content, and the content differs with different
artists, it is obvious that several equally valid forms may exist at the same time." Quoted from the
essay "Über die Formfrage" (Der Blaue Reiter, p. 75) in the exhibition catalogue opposite the
illustration No. 25. The Blaue Reiter has been newly edited by Klaus Lankheit (Munich, 1965).
36
Concerning the Spiritual in Art (New York, 1947), p. 47.
37
"For many years, I have tried to find a way of making the viewer walk around in my pic­
tures, of forcing him to forget himself in the act of contemplation." Exhibition catalogue Der Blaue
Reiter,38 opposite the illustration No. 20.
"Let us make a little trip into the land of greater insight, with the help of a topographic
plan," Schöpferische Konfession, p. 29.

39
to achieve was, paradoxically enough, a sort ot "empathy through abstraction". But
how was this empathy to be brought about? For assuming even that one sincerely
believes in the veracity of the feelings an artist claims to have channelled into his work,
it is, and always will be, quite impossible to extract such feelings from their visual
record on the canvas. Of course, we may rely on intuition, which found so strong an
advocate in Henri Bergson. But intuition is an unreliable guide and difficult to translate
into the language of ordinary logic. Thus Kandinsky's paintings after 1910, to quote
Däubler's beautifully turned phrases, are "blue manifestations of a decision before
their embodiment in action; Mongolianisms which mistily invade us, creating chaos
through the mystical use of color or [generating] a cosmos".39
Schönberg, the inventor of the "method of composition with twelve tones which are
related only with one another", broke resolutely with the musical past by completing
a process that had begun with Wagner's chromaticism and continued via Claude
Debussy's experiments to the full emancipation of dissonance in Stravinsky's Sacre.
Similarly, Kandinsky broke with the tradition of representational art by pushing to the
limit the implications of a statement with which Vincent van Gogh, writing from Aries
to his brother Theo, had announced the emancipation of pictorial dissonance:

Because instead of trying to reproduce exactly what I have before my eyes,

I use color more arbitrarily so as to express myself more forcefully. Well,
let that be as a matter of theory, but I am going to give you an example of
what I mean.
I should like to paint the portrait of an artist friend, a man who dreams
great dreams, who works as the nightingale sings, because it is his nature. He'll
be a fair man. I want to put into the picture my appreciation, the love that
I have for him. So I paint him as he is, as faithfully as I can, to begin with.
But the picture is not finished yet. To finish it I am now going to be the
arbitrary colorist. I exaggerate the fairness of the hair, I get to orange tones,
chromes and pale lemon yellow.
Beyond the head, instead of painting the ordinary wall of the mean room,
I paint infinity, a plain background of the richest, intensest blue that I can
contrive, and by this simple combination the bright head illuminated against
a rich blue background acquires a mysterious effect, like the star in the depths
of an azure sky.40

I do not think that the Expressionist theory of art in general, and of portrait
painting in particular, has ever been more clearly articulated. The painter's statement
helps to resolve the dichotomy posed by our contention that the Expressionists wanted
to show the essence of things (their Wesen) and Herbert Read's definition of the style
as one which seeks to reproduce "not the objective reality of the world, but the sub-
39
"Blaue Kundgebungen des Beschlusses vor ihren Einkörperungen in Taten" or "Mongoleien"
which "farbenmystisch chaotisierend oder einen Kosmos ergrenzend, zu uns hereinwolken,"
Der newe Standpunkt, p . 183 ff.
40
The letter, written in mid-August, 1888, appears in The Letters of Vincent van Gogh
(New York, 1963), p. 276 ff.

40
jective reality of the feelings which objects and events arouse in us". 41 For the finished
product, as indicated by Van Gogh, was to embody both the sitter's personality and the
artist's estimation thereof, i.e., a perfect blend of the objective (not conceived in a
superficial, realistic way) and the subjective.
With the coming of E., the focus of attention was, once again, shifted from physical
to human nature. Indeed, the Expressionists are among the greatest portrait painters
of all time. They invariably show their sitters en face, never in profile, because the eyes
"are the windows of the sour'.42 It is precisely the soul, however—especially the soul
in writhing anguish—which the Expressionists desired to project.
Edvard Munch, many of whose paintings are, in Daubler's words, "highly erotic
but not sensual",43 reflects this anguish in his pictorial allegory of the Scream, which
seems to illustrate Bahr's puzzling statement: "Impressionism treated the eye like an
ear, E. like a mouth. The ear is dumb, and Impressionism bade the soul to be silent.
The mouth is deaf, and the Expressionist cannot hear the world."44 Paula Modersohn-
Becker's portrait of Rilke (1906) represents one of the earliest stages in the Expression­
ist search for the pictorial equivalent of soul states; and Kokoschka's masterful Self-
Portrait of 1917 reveals the "ghost" of the painter through the enormously dilated
pale blue eyes and the twisted hands that look like caterpillars. According to Edschmid,
a literary parallel to this phenomenon is found in the work of Döblin, "who so fabulously
permeates and irradiates the flesh with injections of spirit that the ghost (a different
thing from the skeleton) becomes solely visible".45 Edschmid credits August Strind-
berg—we think of his Ghost Sonata—with having done the same thing in drama.
Unlike Munch, Modersohn-Becker, and Kokoschka, certain Expressionists sought
to plumb the depth of the souls of animals. According to Macke, "the senses are a
bridge connecting the visible and the invisible. To look at plants and animals means to
feel their secret."46 Thus Marc, the Expressionist animal painter par excellence, sought
to portray the world of beasts not as we see it but as the eagle, the horse, the cow, or
the tiger see it. Every animal thus becomes, in Daubler's words, "the incarnation of
its cosmic rhythm". 47
Moving still further down the Great Chain of Being, other Expressionists breathed
a soul even into inanimate things, not in order to reveal their inner geometry (for that
was what the Cubists aimed at doing) but with the intention of demonstrating
their latent dynamism. Speaking of Robert Delaunay, Daubler calls him the first
Expressionist on account of his "portraits" of the Eiffel Tower. In fact, the tower is

41
The Philosophy of Modern Art (New York, 1955), p . 51.
42
For a discussion of this problem see Karen Macho ver, Personality Projection in the Drawing
of the Human Figure (Springfield, 111., 1949), p . 47 ff.
43
Der neue Standpunkt, p. 86.
44
" H a t der Impressionismus das Auge zum blossen Ohr gemacht, so macht es der E. zum
blossen Mund. Das Ohr ist stumm; der Impressionist liess die Seele schweigen. Der Mund ist taub;
der Expressionist kann die Welt nicht horen." Op. cit.f p . 116.
45
". . . der das Fleisch mit Geistinjektionen so fabelhaft durchwühlt und durchschimmert,
dass nur das Gespenst (was eine andere Geschichte ist als das Skelett) entsteht." Die doppélköpfige
Nymphe, p . 133.
46
Quoted from August Macke's essay "Die Masken" (Der Blaue Reiter, p. 21) in the exhibi­
tion catalogue,
47
opposite illustration No. 48.
Der neue Standpunkt, p . 138.

41
"scaffold and skeleton of the future . . . [It] is the first Expressionist. . . [it] has a soul
. . . [it] is an a r t i s t . . . It is also the father of Delaunay".48 Thus Worringer hits the
mark when, surveying E. in a retrospective essay, he credits it with having theomorphiz-
ed the world in its drive for total spiritualization.49 Impressionism having run its course,
landscape, too—in the words of Pinthus—was no longer "copied, described, glorified . . .
but wholly humanized''.50 Such an interpretation could well be placed on El Greco's
View of Toledo or Van Gogh's Starry Night.
On the pictorial plane, such spiritualization is invariably manifested as distortion.
Distortion of form or color is, in fact, the very hallmark of Expressionist art. But
how about Expressionist literature? I believe that even in this respect a perfect paral­
lelism exists between the two media. A few hints may suffice in the present context. The
immediate forerunners of German literary E. were Frank Wedekind and Carl Sternheim,
whose tools were caricature, the grotesque, and satire; in other words: techniques which
invariably involve distortion. When Thomas Mann defined E. in his Befrachtungen, he
singled out these very traits to show how totally writers like his brother Heinrich had
lost touch with contemporary life and political reality.
The syntactical distortions which occur in Expressionist poetry are nowhere more
prominent than in Benn's poem "Karyatide", which contains the difficult lines "Bespei
die Saulensucht: toderschlagene / Greisige Hande bebten sie / Verhangenen Himmeln
zu," which Hamburger renders clumsily as "Spit on this column mania: done to death/
mere senile hands they trembled/towards cloud-covered heavens," and Lohner/Corman
more appropriately "Spit on this passion for pillars: the death-dealing/ hoary hands
trembled them / to overhanging heaven."51
To be sure, in the realm of language it seems particularly bold to strive for the
kind of simplification and foreshortening found in the woodcuts of the Brücke group
or the type of abstraction familiar from Kandinsky. Nevertheless, such tendencies
made themselves felt in the poetry of Stramm and other, more radical exponents of
Sturm art. Walden demanded that the poet should use words and rhythm in the same
way in which the painter uses color and form, and the composer sound and rhythm.
Stramm, who was not a theoretician, transformed Dichtung (poetry) into Wortkunst,
as in the poem "Schwermut", which reads:

Schreiten Streben Striding Striving

Leben sehnt Life yearns
Schauern Stehen Shuddering Standing
Blicke suchen Glances seek
Sterben wachst Dying grows
Das Kommen The coming
Schreit! Cries!
Tief Deeply
Stummen We
Wir. Mute.
48
49
Ibid., p. 181 f.
50
Fragen und Gegenfragen, p.
89.
Menschheitsddmmerung, p.29.
51
Hamburger's translation appears in Hamburger/Middleton, German Poetry 1910-1960,
the Lohner/Corman version in Origin, VII (Autumn, 1952), 144.

42
 Under the aegis of Blümner, the level of pure abstraction was reached shortly
afterwards in the Lautkunst of poems like "Ango Laina", which opens with the cryptic
line "Oiaí laéla oia ssisialu" and ends with what sounds like a parody of Stramm's
one-word lines: "gádse / ina / leíola / kbáo / sagór / kadó." Blümner took the matter
very seriously and would have been offended had anybody told him about the curious
resemblance between "Ango Laina" and certain Dadaist nonsense poems. Like the
experiments with abstract rhythms which Edith Sitwell undertook in her sequence
of poems Façade, Lautkunst entails a complete breakdown of communication on the
level on which language commonly operates. For how are we to extract any sort of
meaning from Blümner's African-sounding word formations ? Benn, who was fascinated
by what he called "das südliche Wort", and who dreamed of realizing the purely formal
art which Gustave Flaubert envisaged when he stood on the Acropolis, wisely refrained
from putting his theory into practice. So did Ezra Pound, a great admirer of Kandinsky,
who wished to rid poetry of air literary values (as Verlaine had proclaimed in his poem
"Art Poétique") and who, at least in the Imagist-Vorticist phase of his career, cham­
pioned an art devoid of meaning. For while the general public has, at long last, been
reconciled with abstraction in the pictorial arts, abstraction in literature, or even a
private, synthetic language of the kind employed in James Joyce's non-novel Finnegans
Wake, is not likely ever to be fashionable.
As a term, E., which had been launched by the French painter Julien-Auguste
Hervé in 1901, found general acceptance in 1911 when a number of German art critics
applied it to the Fauvist paintings included in an exhibition of the Berlin Sezession.
Worringer gave his blessing when, writing in Der Sturm, he spoke of the "Pariser
Synthetisten und Expressionisten: Cézanne, Van Gogh, Matisse". No transfer to litera­
ture was attempted until several years later, probably 1914 or 1915;52 and as early as
1918 Edschmid spoke of literary E. as a fad embraced by a horde of imitators. Four
years later, Pinthus, asked to prepare a new edition of his anthology, decided to leave
Menschheitsdammerung untouched. For he felt that "after the completion of this lyrical
symphony, no poetry has been written that inalienably belongs to it". 53
Those were the years of transition from E. to Neue Sachlichkeit (New Objectivity).
Soon the Bauhaus was to be the most influential force in the fine and applied arts, and
sobriety began to reassert itself in literature and music. E. was an impulse quickly
spent. The Weltanschauung at its root, and the style to which it gave rise, were those
of youthful enthusiasts who overreached themselves or slid back into more conventional
channels of expression. "Let the young", said Rudolf Kurtz in a phrase that applies to
the Storm and Stress as well as to E., "stay young even to the point of catastrophe.
Immaturity is the most potent yeast of history."54
The title of our essay posed the question as to whether E. should be viewed
primarily as a stylistic phenomenon or as a Weltanschauung, i.e., whether it should be

52
The history of the term E. in its literary application has been discussed by Armin Arnold
in his53 book Die Literatur des Expressionismus (Stuttgart, 1966), pp. 9-15.
54
Menschheitsdammerung, p . 33.
From Kurtz' introduction to Die neue Kunst, a bimonthly publication edited by F. S. Bach-
mair, I/1 (1913-14), as quoted on p . 67 of Expressionismus: Literatur und Kunst 1910-1923.

43
judged by aesthetic or extra-aesthetic criteria. We pointed out that, luckily, its socio­
political aspect can be subsumed under the term Activism. If, excluding this aspect,
one defines the term broadly enough to include man's attitude toward himself, his
fellow-beings and the world at large, one can defend the use of Weltanschauung in
the sense of a sharp rejection of previously embraced views on the part of an entire
generation. This is what the Expressionists meant by Aufbruch, by their concentration
on soul states, by their determination to make the invisible visible. Hence the intensity,
the spiritual unrest and the emotionally charged atmosphere of their products. Indeed,
one cannot imagine an Expressionist work to be conceived rationally and in cold blood.
Although, as critics and historians of art, we prefer to approach E. inductively
(through an analysis of stylistic devices), we see nothing wrong with the deductive
method, provided that it leads to tangible results and comes to grips with specific
problems. We object, however, to the thematic treatment proffered in Sokel's book
The Writer in Extremis. For as is shown by the unrepresentativeness of the examples
adduced there, what mattered to the Expressionists was not the what—or, for that
matter, the why—but only the how of a given phenomenon. They simply did not care
whether the Aufbruch they sought to portray occurred in the life of a son, a bank teller,
or an artist.

44
 GYÖRGY M. VAJDA

OUTLINE OF THE PHILOSOPHIC BACKGROUNDS

OP EXPRESSIONISM

Even in its very name, which stresses the primacy of the subjective and creative element
of artistic activity, E. represents one of the characteristic traits of all Romantic Modern­
istic tendencies. In the following pages, we shall deal with it, in this sense, in its repre­
sentative quality. We will not emphasize the manifold gradations of various tendencies
within modern literature and art—which, in any case, have lost some of their distinct­
ness with the passing of time—but rather their methodological similarities, which may
be seen in E. The philosophical background to which E. harks back is thus decisive for
Modernistic art, i.e., for the art of the artistic and literary avant-garde of our century
in its totality.

(1) EXPRESSIONISM: MOVEMENT, METHOD, STYLE

Because of the representative nature of E., it follows that its lifespan cannot be
limited to the "Expressionistic decade". The literary and artistic movement in the
German-speaking area which called itself E. died quickly. Bertolt Brecht, for example,
whose career began around 1918, had scarcely anything to do with it. But the artistic
method which the Expressionists employed, and some of the stylistic devices which
they developed, survived. Indeed, they existed even prior to the blossoming of the
movement and have not yet ceased to exist.
Painting, that realm of art from which E. borrowed its name, still shows the ten­
dency to express primarily soul states and emotional qualities by means of forms and
colors. This tendency was already advocated by the "forefathers" of E.: Cézanne, Van
Gogh, Munch, Gauguin, and was ingrained among the members of Die Brücke and Der
Blaue Reiter, Both "Pre-" and "Post-" Expressionists attempted to use the mood-
creating power of color at the expense of the objective representation of the objects
of the external world, and to fashion a world of pure fantasy instead of depicting empiri­
cal space. Architecture has no Expressionist style. But we know that Walter Gropius
introduced the observation and simplification of space practiced by the early Cubists—
Picasso, Braque, Fernand Leger—into architecture and offered, in the theater studio
of his Bauhaus in Weimar, a home for the Constructivist endeavors of Oskar Schlemmer
and László Moholy-Nagy. He thus assured the success of these tendencies in the at­
mosphere of E., within which the whole theory and practice of the Bauhaus developed.
And it was Gropius who provided the decisive impetus for modern architecture with
his first factory building, erected in 1911. The novel sounds of Schönberg and Béla

45
Bartók were already resounding at the beginning of the century; subsequently they
came into contact with Expressionist music, which was still flowering in the 1920's
and even today continues to influence modern composition.
In respect to literature, finally, we must be content with a few hints. Through its
radical style, its daring neologisms, and its blurring of traditional rhythms, the lyric
poetry of E. left unmistakable traces on the prosody of many literatures. It is often
said that prose was the most questionable genre of Expressionist literature. But when
we think of how many parallels there are between Expressionist prose and Joyce's
Ulysses, and of how Franz Kafka, who moved in the circle of the Prague Expressionists,
began to exert his tremendous influence on world literature only after the Second World
War, we might have to change our opinion about the function of prose in the literature
of E. Most visible of all, however, is the survival of Expressionist dramaturgy, along
with its stage techniques. Rebelling against the lack of poetry in Naturalism, Expressio­
nist drama assigned to lyric poetry an important role initiated by Maurice Maeterlinck
and Hugo von Hofmannsthal and reaching our stages by way of Brecht, and—on
different paths—through Federico García Lorca, in whose work, as in that of many
modern writers of Eastern Europe, modernity and folklore were amalgamated, just as
they are in modern Czech, Spanish, and Hungarian music. Blatantly epic scene sequences
were naturalized on today's stage by Strindberg and through the mediation of the
Expressionists. After the "synthetic" dramatic attempts of Kandinsky, the experiments
aimed at "totalization" and "theatricalization" of the theater proceeded on parallel
courses in Berlin, Moscow, Paris and in the Prague of the twenties. The variations of the
abstract representation of the world on the stage, the projection of space which did
not intend to reconstruct actual space, the destruction of the temporal sequence of the
phases of dramatic action, the interior monologue—all these are means and effects to
which we have now become accustomed, but which were already present in the theater
of E. And in 1916, Walter Hasenclever was already defending the right to project the
"inner world" onto the stage (a right concerning which Eugéne Ionesco is still—half
a century later—polemicizing against Brecht [L'Impromptu de l'Alma]).

(2) METHODOLOGICAL PRINCIPLES

The methods and stylistic devices of the Expressionists have also survived the
properly Expressionist decade by merging with the techniques of the other branches
of the artistic avant-garde. This fusion was possible because the artists' aesthetic views,
as well as their methodological principles, had several essential features in common.
We first want to enumerate some of these, even though they are not unknown and even
though, like every generalization, they are not applicable to all specific instances.
After the common principles, we shall mention a few which are primarily characteristic
of E.
Basic to all Modernist tendencies was the principle of subjectivity. The Classicists,
the Realists, and even the Naturalists treated their subjects objectively; they subordi­
nated their art to the representation of a reality which was independent of them. The
avant-garde of the twentieth century, however, insisted on the right of the subjective.

46
It found this trend foreshadowed in the Romantics. Instead of the objective reproduc­
tion of the world, the modern artists preferred total creative freedom. Through the
work of art, they wanted to create an autonomous world; for what mattered to them
was not the world outside the self, but their own artistic consciousness. This principle
of the primacy of the artist's consciousness led to a negation of reality on the part of
the "radicals" of the avant-garde. It led the "moderates" to emphasize, or even over­
emphasize, the importance of the poetic experience; and in the case of the Activists, it
led to the artistic demand for an ideal world. With the increasing role of the artist's
consciousness, the effectiveness of the law of causality began to falter. The principle
of spontaneity ruled their visions, dreams, and outbursts of emotion; it also explains
the lack of motivation in their dramas and novels. The inner world of the works, issuing
from the caprice of the subject, the contents of his consciousness, and freedom of
spontaneity, was not subject to the laws of causality.
But from the three previously enumerated principles there follows a fourth, which
was decisive for the avant-garde of our century: the avoidance of mimesis, of imitation,
copying or representation of the "external" world, about whose relations to the sub­
ject and to the individual consciousness the representatives of the avant-garde could
not get a clear-cut answer from the philosophy of the time. At the root of the avoidance
of the mimetic method lay a philosophic doubt, an uncertainty which could be laid
solely through reference to the only certain existence, that of the self. Therefore, in­
stead of applying the mimetic principles of the traditional methods, the avant-garde
accentuated the principle of expressing oneself, and of expressiveness in general. (For
this reason, we may consider Ausdruckskunst to be, in this respect, somewhat repre­
sentative of the whole avant-garde.)
But if the poet and the artist did not represent the external, intelligible world by
way of imitation, to what should he give expression in his work ? For the Expression­
ist, the purpose of representation lay in the essence of things (an idea which shows the
unmistakable influence of contemporary philosophy); and, the method by which it
could be expressed was that of abstraction. The principle of abstraction, a method
bestowed by science, was valid not only for E., but also for those schools of avant-garde
art which wanted to combine spontaneity with a principle of order (e.g., Cubism and
Constructivism). The expression of what is essential required concentration on the mode
of expression itself. The intent was to express the thing in one, and in no other way;
thence the forced, desperate, volitional quality of many Expressionist works. We call
the methodological basis of this characteristic the principle of artistic volition ("Kunst-
wollen"), a term popularized by Worringer. But let us remember that, for Worringer,
the concept applies to art in general, and to the choice of style in every epoch. In the
following pages, we shall attempt to illustrate the above principles with reference to
the writings of the time.
It is well known that the Expressionists wanted to dissociate themselves from
Naturalism. The aspect of Naturalism which they most fervently rejected was its
method of imitation, of reproducing the external object, i.e., the world. The Expression­
ist, Pinthus wrote in the foreword to Menschheitsdammerung, avoids "the Naturalistic
portrayal of reality as a means of representation, no matter how palpable this decayed

47
reality was; rather, with a tremendous and violent energy, [the Expressionists] derive
their means of expression from spiritual energy • . . " And further on he states: "Thus
the social element is not represented as realistic detail, objectively, as for example in
the painting of misery (found in the art around 1890), but it is always aimed at the
general, at the great ideas of humanity. And even the war, which crushed many of
these poets, is not described in an impartial, realistic manner; it is always there as
vision. . ."
The objective representation of reality disappears behind the vision, which is
called upon to express a deeper truth, a more essential insight. As Pinthus wrote else­
where in his foreword: "They [the Expressionists] began to dissolve the surrounding
reality (Umwirklichkeit) into unreality (Unwirklichkeif), to push through appearances
to the essence, to embrace and destroy the enemy in an assault of the spirit. . ." Simi­
larly Georg Trakl wrote in a letter: "You can believe that it isn't easy for me, and never
will be, to subordinate myself unconditionally to that which is to be represented, and
I will have to correct myself over and over again in order to give unto truth the things
that are truth's . . . " The leader of the Hungarian avant-garde, Lajos Kassak, saw in
the work of art the subjective become objective: "Every work of art is an objectification
of a world view and a world consciousness in a new synthetic form . . . Art is the
quintessence of life, and he who thirsts for art must be, in life, the devil's dissatisfied
son" (Foreword to the collection of poems Máglyák Énekelnek [Funeral Pyres are Sing­
ing], 1920.) And Béla Balázs, the famous film aesthetician, explained the essence of the
cartoon from a truly Expressionist point of view:

In this world only sketched beings exist. Yet their lines are not only rep­
resentations of their appearance but also their real substance. Appearance
is not transformed into reality. . ., it does not turn into something that is
no longer a picture. Art is not transformed into nature. Here, there is no
difference at all between appearance and reality. If the tail of Felix [Pat Sulli­
van's well-known character, G.M.V.] curls and looks like a wheel, he can
immediately use it as a bicycle. Why should it first have to become reality? 1

Similarly, Benn called E. the "shattering of reality", "a ruthless getting-to-the-

root-of-things, where they are no longer individually and sensualistically tinged. . .
but where, in the permanent acausal silence of the absolute ego, they approach the
rare calling of the creative spirit".2 And the problematic relationship between art and
reality may also have found in Benn its most radical formulation, in so far as here
reality as such, and as a model for art, is simply rejected: "There is no reality, there is
only the human consciousness, which incessantly forms new worlds from its own crea­
tive resources, transforms them, assimilates them by hard work, and spiritually stamps
them. There is only the thought, the objective thought, which is eternity, the order
of the world, which lives from abstraction and is the formula of art" ("Lebensweg eines
Intellektualisten" [1934]). Thus, if there existed any model for art, it could only be a

1
2
Der Geist des Films (Halle, 1930), pp. 127f.
From Benn's essay on E. (1933).

48
mental one, given to the consciousness: according to Benn, the only artistic method
would be abstraction.
Worringer is responsible for the fact that abstraction became one of the key con­
cepts of the new art. His dissertation, Abstraktion und Einfühlung, sought to demon­
strate "that the art work, as an independent organism, stands alongside of nature on
equal terms and, in its deepest essence, has no connection with it, in so far as man
understands 'nature' to be the visible surface of things". 3 The independent work of art,
then, cannot be generated through imitation of nature. Thus the anti-Aristotelian
dramaturgy of Brecht has its roots in the aesthetics of incipient E. Worringer also
attacks Aristotle by asserting: "Here it is necessary to agree that the mimetic urge,
this elementary drive, stands outside the realm of aesthetics proper, and that its satis­
faction has, basically, nothing to do with art." 4
In this view, art arises from artistic volition. Worringer got his inspiration from the
works of the Viennese art historian Alois Riegl, who saw in "artistic volition", on the
one hand, the original psychic source of all artistic activity, while, on the other hand,
describing it as the particularized "will to art", which revealed itself in different ways
in the human beings of different ages. Accordingly, the style of every period is dependent
on its own particular type of artistic volition. The Gothic artist worked in the Gothic
style not because he could not but because he did not want to do otherwise. We may
add that the modern artist, too, is thus able to create his art according to his own artistic
volition, which, according to Worringer, already determined the art of primitive peo­
ples, namely in the guise of an urge to abstraction. In abstraction man found peace
and satisfaction from the world, in the face of which he felt insecure, and by which he
felt himself threatened. Worringer makes the proposition: "The simple line and its
development in pure geometrical regularity was bound to offer the greatest possibility
of happiness to the man disturbed by the confusion and obscurity of the things sur­
rounding him. For here the last traces of the connection with, and dependence on, life
have been obliterated, and the highest absolute form, the purest abstraction has been
attained: law and necessity now reign where the effect of the organic used to prevail.
But no natural object serves as a model for such abstraction" (italics are mine, G.M.V.).
Kandinsky, who in 1910—two years after the appearance of Worringer's disser­
tation—painted the first consciously abstract pictures in the history of modern art,
already used Worringer's concepts with complete naturalness in his treatise Über das
Geistige in der Kunst, a book which is equally basic for E. His assertions were based
on the practice of art. And he saw everywhere "the seeds of the striving toward the
non-natural, toward the abstract and toward inner nature . . .", just as he envisaged,
as a result, the mutual approximation of the arts on the basis of the common principle
of spiritual renewal: "An artist who sees no goal for himself in the imitation of natural
phenomena, even in an artistic one, and who is a creator wanting arid having to express
his inner world, jealously sees how such goals are naturally and easily reached in today's
most immaterial art, i.e., music . . ."5
3
4
Abstraktion und Einfühlung, new ed. (Munich, 1964), p. 35.
Ibid., p. 44.
5
Über das Geistige in der Kunst (Munich, 1912), pp. 36f.

49
 I t is understandable t h a t Worringer's book struck the adherents of modern art
with the force of a revelation. The philosophical bases of its theory are evident in
Worringer as well as in Kandinsky. Through abstraction, the artist is able to penetrate
from the world of external objects to "the thing itself", and to lay hold of and portray
the essence of things, their profounder truth. He is able to reach the common goal of
all contemporary science, philosophy and art—expressed in the actual terminology of
the philosophical "revolt" of the times. In addition, however, one finds in Worringer
a historical explanation characteristic for the method of the new art: its explanation
by reference to the contemporary situation. Although the arguments are simplified,
they contain a great deal of truth. Worringer does not talk about decadence but re­
cognizes the transvaluation of values and the loss of the feeling of security such as man
in the nineteenth century still possessed. The loss of the sheltered feeling induces in
the individual of the pre-war era a state of mind out of which abstract art is born. The
urge for empathy and the corresponding method of artistic representation presupposes,
according to Worringer, "a certain familial relation between man and the outside world
. . . I n a people predisposed in such a way, this sensuous surety, this blind faith in
the external world, this unproblematic feeling of well-being, will lead, theologically
speaking, to a naive anthropomorphic pantheism or polytheism, and, artistically speak­
ing, to a carefree worldly naturalism." 6
"Naturalism'' must not be understood here as the literary current by that name, but
as t h a t art which is dependent on nature as a model. By contrast, as we have already
seen, "the urge for abstraction is the result of a great inner unrest in man caused b y
phenomena of the external world. I t corresponds, in the religious sphere, to a strong
transcendental coloring of ideas. We should like to call this condition an immense
spiritual agoraphobia. When Tibullus says primum in mundo fecit deus timor, the same
feelings of fear may also be presumed to lie at the root of artistic creation." 7 This is an
accurate analysis of the situation in which the restive Expressionist generation began
to uproot the traditional poetic world view; it was the generation in which Georg
Heym, Trakl, and Kafka created their works. But in a broader sense, the analysis also
applies to the philosophy of the times, which, strictly speaking, was reacting to the
same unrest of man at the turn of the century.

(3) PILOSOPHICAL BACKGROUNDS AND PARALLELS

"Spiritual motivation", "reality and vision", "appearance and essence", the "hid­
den face of things", "feeling of dread": it is not difficult to hear, in these terms, which
served to characterize E., the voice of those philosophical currents which, for the most
part, were generated around the turn of the century, and which were shortly to form
the main stream of contemporary Idealistic thought. One could call them "neo-Roman-
tic", not only because the majority of their exponents actually fell back upon Romantic
philosophy, but because, emphasizing the emotions as being partly irrational and
6
Abstraktion und Einfühlung, p. 83.
7
Ibid., p. 49.

50
blurred, they gave expression to a "world view" similar to that of the Romantic period,
while, at the same time, entailing, or at least aiming at, the dissolution of the systematic
body of thought of mid-nineteenth-century philosophy.
This philosophical neo-Romanticism discovered the works of Sören Kierkegaard
and appraised his Angst theory as the symptom of the modern age. The "existential
dread {Angst)" never left the artist of the dawning century. The "founding father"
of neo-Romantic philosophy, who exercised perhaps the greatest influence on the art
of the generations immediately following, was Nietzsche, who denounced the material­
istic natural science of his time as superficial and who looked for the principle of the
"higher life" in the spiritual realm. In opposition to the deterministic world of matter,
he emphasized the creative force of the spirit, which, since it is not subject to causality,
gives free play to the will. In well-known ways, these thoughts carried over into the
province of artistic creativity. The great turn to the "spiritual", of which Kandinsky
spoke, found its exemplary expression in Nietzsche's philosophy. Intimately related
to Romanticism (as Karl Joel had pointed out to his contemporaries in his book Nietzsche
und die Romantik [1905]), Nietzsche aided the aesthetic thinking, as well as the art of
his age in destroying the traditional categories of thought, aesthetics, and morality.
Moreover, the Vitalistic enthusiasm in which the artists luxuriated at the turn of the
century was largely derived from him.
From the "surface" of the phenomenal world, the neo-Romantic trend of thought
tended "to the depths". Bergson considered empirical knowledge to be unsatisfactory
and, therefore, looked for the source of true knowledge in non-empirical, even non-
rational, intuition; behind the "ostensible" contexts of reality he found something
"deeper", a creative vitality (élan vital). He also discovered behind "ostensible"
empirical time a "real" time which cannot be measured by the clock. Wilhelm Dilthey,
too, found the essence of poetry to lie in "something deeper" than the reflection of the
external world through literature, namely in experience. As if quoting Dilthey, Barlach
wrote about the insignificance of the material object: "My eyes intercept a cypher,
and in the darkness of m y Self it is translated and adapted {verarbeitet) . . . the thing
may continue in its track . . .; the one harmony only, the one piece of eternity which
I grabbed for myself, has full value . . ." 8 The direction of Sigmund Freud's analysis
also tended toward a "deeper" level of the soul; from consciousness into the subcon­
scious, from the "visible" surface of the human psyche into its darker regions. We do
not want to speak here about the incalculable influence of psychoanalysis or depth
psychology on art and literature. Let us merely note that their influence corresponded
to the general philosophical trend of the times.
Another direction of contemporary philosophy, and a very important one, harked
back to pre-Romanticism and was inspired by the thinker who, still under the influence
of the Enlightenment, himself had fascinated so many Romantics, i.e., Immanuel
Kant. "Phenomenon", "noumenon", "appearance", "Ding an sich" as contrasting
principles were decisive for the philosophy that emerged at the turn of the century.

8
As quoted from the Güstrower Fragmente (1913) in Paul Pörtner, ed., Literatur-Revolution
1910-1925 (Neuwied, 1960), I, p . 31.

51
The neo-Kantian schools were agreed in the assumption that, experientially, man can
recognize only appearances: the essence, the "Ding an sich", remains inaccessible to
the mind. The modernized version of Kant's doctrines, however, could not be satisfied
with a simple agnosticism. It rather sought out methods with whose help to make the
thinking individual capable of penetrating to the essence of reality by means of ex­
periential phenomena like symbols, cyphers, and signs. Other schools denied the rift
between the appearance and the hidden essence, or, rather, limited themselves to the
investigation of the mere contents of consciousness. The Empirio-criticist Ernst Mach
recognized as "realities" only the experiences and sensations contained in the conscious­
ness. According to him, the world consists of our complexes of sensations, and we need
not distinguish between an "external" and an "internal" world. Ernst Cassirer treated
the "symbolic forms"—linguistic signs or symbols of mythical thought—as such
"meanings" through which the true countenance of things is made accessible to us.
The most comprehensive philosophical trend which cropped up around the turn
of the century was Phenomenology, whose founder, Edmund Husserl, went beyond the
Kantian dualism—at least in respect to his method—by advancing "to the things
themselves" and investigating these as phenomena given in the "pure consciousness" —
not, however, as mere psychological experiences, but as actualities reduced to their
essence (Eidos). What corresponded to these facts of the pure consciousness "outside
of" the consciousness was of no interest for the phenomenologist. Everything accessory
to the object under investigation (even its existence in the real world) was "put into
parentheses", disregarded, for it might have disturbed the study of the true nature of
the object. The essential objects were even given to the pure consciousness through the
latter's "intentional act", such that the consciousness acquired the task of experiencing
the world as well as that of performing the act of entering into an intentional relation­
ship with the given object. In the intentional act, the subject was essentially related to
the object, and the object was given essentially to the subject, and nothing that was
more essential lay behind the phenomenon established in this manner. The duplication
of the world was thus—according to Husserl—overcome through the Phenomenological
method.
If we apply Husserl's philosophy to art, it will probably be apparent that a creative
act which does not want to copy "the given" but "intends" to fashion, i.e., call into
existence, its own artistic world, proceeds, in this respect, in a manner similar to the
Phenomenological method. The expression of what is essential, supplanting the repro­
duction of what merely exists, appears to be the salient point of this artistic trend.
Max Scheler, next to Husserl the most original Phenomenologist, rightly spoke of a
"knowledge of the structure of the essence" which is superior to purely "inductive
knowledge".
Phenomenology, as founded by Husserl, was a strict "academic" method, a closed
scientific theory. Thus only certain basic concepts of this method were able to exert
an influence on the artistic practice of the time, above all those concepts which were
also used in other contemporary philosophical trends. Only a few artists and poets are
known to have had actual contact with Phenomenology itself as, for example, Max
Brod, who played an important role among Prague Modernists (which engaged in an

52
especially lively intellectual intercourse) and in the development of Kafka. It would not
be difficult to discover in Kafka's art elements which are related to some of the principles
of Phenomenology. If Phenomenology discarded the traditional, descriptive psycho­
logy, Kafka dispensed with the psychological motivation of his figures. He presented
movements, situations, actions and processes without further explanation, and obscured
the boundaries between reality and appearance, as if there were no difference between
the real world and its reflection in the consciousness. The situations and events of his
stories fluctuate between reality and the dream world; they move from one world to
the other, and back again, and realistic details alternate with grotesque and fantastic
elements, as if reality and fantasy were in principle separated by no boundaries. Con­
sequently, Kafka's world does not appear as something which exists independently,
but rather as something given or intended in the consciousness. Even the pre-formation
of man's basic existential situation, which is partly founded on Kafka's contact with
Kierkegaard, points, from another angle, to an "ontological kinship" with Phenom­
enology, which served, and serves, as the basis of modern Existentialism.
The method and style of E. was, to a certain extent, an artistic expression of these
modern philosophies. The anti-materialistic "revolt" of the philosophers and the violent
movement of the avant-gardists were called forth, at the turn of the century, by the
same social conditions and historical tendencies. In both, concrete reality gave way
to the "creative idea", and the object was pushed into the background by the activity
of the subject. Not the laws of the former, but the activity of the latter, was decisive
for the recognition of the true nature of the world, and the illumination of the essential
features rather than the reproduction of the object, became the goal of art. Husserl's
pupil, the aesthetician Moritz Geiger, thusly characterized this procedure: "And one
can, finally, try, as several brands of E. do, to present the essence of an object in pure
form, without including its appearance."9 The early abstractionists gave their pictures
the title "Eidos" (i.e., "essence" in Husserl) and Walter Meckauer studied Wesenhafte
Kunst (1920).
This aiming at essences also explains the hectic, voluntaristic character of Ex­
pressionist art, in whose world the modus operandi of reality lost its validity—just as
Husserl had placed it "in parentheses" —; no causality prevailed, and no broad structure
of material relationships was described. At the turn of the century, a-causal thinking
to a certain extent made its presence felt even in the natural sciences, as in the de­
scriptive psychology of Behaviorism, in linguistics and in literary criticism. In the
latter two disciplines, the question regarding the function of language and the study
of poetic expression was prominently raised. The genetic explanation of the work of art
was de-emphasized, and the structural method asserted itself in the case of the Russian
Formalists, the Czech Structuralists, the Anglo-Saxon semanticists and the German
styliaticians—all of them young innovators in their fields in the teens and twenties,
who, for the most part, were on a friendly footing with the representatives of the lit­
erary avant-garde. Formalists and Futurists, Structuralists and Poeticists worked
together; and Max Scheler's philosophic journalism became a vital factor in contempo-

9
Zugänge zur Ästhetik (Leipzig, 1928), p . 94.

53
rary literature. Literary critics like Alfred Kerr and Karl Kraus were not untouched by
the stylistic influence of E., and it might be fruitful to investigate what connection
there is between the style of the Expressionists and t h a t of the scholarly representatives
of Geisteswissenschaf'f —-and not only between their styles.
Robert Musil, who combined the knowledge and practice of natural science and lit­
erary criticism, philosophy and literature in his own person, thanks to his talent and
education, wrote his first novel, Die Verwirrungen des Zöglings Törless (Young Törless),
expressly on the model of the "Visible surface" behind which a secret but true "essence"
is hidden. Two years after the novel, he published his dissertation "Beitrag zur Beurtei-
lung der Lehren Machs" (Contribution to the Evaluation of Mach's Doctrines, 1908),
which is prefaced by a general characterization of modern natural science as reflected
in the teachings of Mach. This introduction now appears to us to aim directly at the
interest of the modern writer and to contain, as it were, the seeds of an Expressionist
theory of art. "All natural science," Musil states, "merely describes what has happened,
instead of explaining i t . . . As there are no explanations in general, there are, partic­
ularly, no causal ones . . . . With causality, an essential part of the meaning of the
concepts relating to things and substances vanishes, and the philosophical hope of
throwing light on the world of experience through causal relationships is, to a certain
extent, cut in half by the disappearance of causality." Thus not only causality itself,
but also the concepts relating to substance disappear, and only elements and sensations
remain—but no self and no soul, as a result of which "the desperate problem of the
relation between psychological and physiological phenomena becomes meaningless".
Musil adopted Mach's views, but not without reservation; he even criticized them
sharply. For us, his discussion serves as proof that Naturalism and its method was not
the only trend based on the natural science of the age. For the Expressionists, the anti-
materialist "revolt" did not mean a renunciation of natural science, which itsel under­
went a radical change around the turn of the century. I t is an open question to what
extent the philosophical and, especially, the aesthetic consequences of this change
were correctly drawn by Idealistic thinkers. The great natural scientists of the age,
such as Albert Einstein, protested against the unjustified philosophical "exploitation"
of their doctrines. B u t Kandinsky and many of his contemporaries found "material
reality upon which, even yesterday, everything was based, and by which the whole
universe was supported, called into question". 10 We do not have to repeat the cata­
logue of these consequences.

(4) FUNCTIONAL CHANGES: METHOD AND STYLE

The sources of the philosophical inspiration of the Expressionist method—the

currents in philosophy and the natural sciences which followed a course parallel' with
the artistic movement—were not secret. At least some of the contemporaries were fully
aware of them, and one of the first literary historians of E., Albert Soergel (Im Banne
des ExpressionismuSy 1925) pointed to some of the philosophical parallels with that
10
Über das Geistige in der Kunst, p . 23.

54
school. And in his book Die Überwindung des Expressionismus (1927), Emil Utitz did
not forget to treat the philosophical connections of the movement. In the meantime,
new trends and new groups appeared and, in part, resumed the depiction of objective
reality; and a "new objectivity" came into being. But certain methodological peculiari­
ties of E. (especially the new forms of abstraction) were not lost, and many of its
stylistic devices continued to be used. What Erwin Piscator wrote in his book Das
politische Theater (1929) is symptomatic of this development: "Whatever is said must
be said unaffectedly, not experimentally, 'Expressionistically', or pathetically, but
guided by a simple, undisguised revolutionary purpose and will.,, But further on he
writes:
Naturally, one should not neglect to apply the new techniques and stylistic
means of the last epoch of art, insofar as such application serves the designated
purposes and does not serve a purely artistic end-in-itself. In all questions of
style, the decisive question must be: Will the majority of proletarian listeners
be able to benefit by it, or will they be bored or infected by bourgeois ideas ?11

The utilization of Expressionist techniques by some of the progressive writers of

the Weimar Republic, and the fact that the majority of the Expressionists belonged to
different, and primarily "progressive", groups in the literary life of the twenties, made
that direction suspicious and undesirable in the eyes of the National Socialists. There­
fore, immediately after their seizure of power, Benn felt called upon to act as spokes­
man for the movement by writing the essay "Bekenntnis zum Expressionismus"
(1933). With this step he did the memory of E. a disservice and succeeded only in
making it suspect also in the eyes of many of its previous adherents. In this situation,
György Lukacs published, in 1934, his essay "Grösse und Verfall des Expressionismus",
which, in its theoretical parts, though not in all of its conclusions still remains valid.
His analysis of the, partly familiar, relations between the Idealistic bases of the phi­
losophy of the turn of the century and the artistic principles and practices of E. were
confirmed, five years later, by the non-Marxist Wilhelmina Stuyver in her dissertation
"Deutsche expressionistische Dichtung im Lichte der Philosophie der Gegenwart"
(Amsterdam, 1939). It could not have been otherwise; the facts spoke for themselves.
And it was no accident that, in his plea, Benn pointed to the example of Futurism,
which the Fascist government of Italy had promoted. In the last sentence of his study,
Lukacs referred to the possibility that the "creative method" of E. need not "be
distorted in order to be pressed into the service of the Fascist demagogy, [which is] the
unity of decadence and retrogression".
In 1938, other participants in the E. debate of the Moscow German emigrant
periodical Das Wort went even further by assigning to E. the role of predecessor of
Fascism. Immediately after the Second World War, this assumption was repeated, as
it were, in Max Ferdinand Eugen van Bruggen's non-Marxist dissertation "Im Schatten
des Nihilismus. Die expressionistische Lyrik im Rahmen und als Ausdruck der geistigen
Situation Deutschlands" (Amsterdam, 1946). In the reservoir of ideas contained in
Expressionist poetry, van Bruggen was able to discover ideological factors which an-
11
Das politische Theater (Berlin, 1929), p . 30.

55
ticipated the antihumanism of the Third Reich. And he was right, indeed. But, as we
know, among the Expressionists, there were also those who wanted to bring about
radical moral or social changes for the sake of all mankind. An anarchy of feelings
and views prevailed, in which the negative was mixed with the positive. A common
frame was conferred upon the representatives of these various ideological, political, and
moral tendencies by the artistic method and style whose contemporary philosophical
backgrounds have occupied us in this essay.
The philosophical backgrounds of Expressionist method and style were those
currents of thought which emerged around the turn of the century. They were not the
only trends dominating the thought of this era. And together with other modern literary
and artistic movements Expressionist method and style can be neither praised nor
condemned merely for the source they originally derived. The Expressionists were able
to express different ideological concepts, political and moral contents and were not
bound to one of them exclusively. Purely methodological and stylistic devices did not
actually serve for the preparation of revolutionary or counter-revolutionary political
movements. Ideas expressed by these devices could do that. It was not Futurist method
that led to Fascism in Italy, though some concepts expressed by the Futurists were
picked up by the Fascists. It was not the method of E. that factually contributed to
the inthronization of Hitler's regime. The true motives of such phenomena lie in a
deep structural layer of society.
The international history of E. clearly confirms the fact that many of the adherents
of this artistic tendency, especially in the countries which were backward as a result
of their politico-economic structure or which suffered from the strong pressure of
reactionary politics, connected the "revolution in literature'' with the demand for
social renewal. This combination even characterized the German Expressionist move­
ment at the end of the First World War, and even more so those adherents and followers
who used stylistic devices inherited from E. Thus Johannes R. Becher wrote in an
article about the situation of the Expressionist writers at the end of the war: "Almost
all of these writers were opponents of the war and in 1918 stood on the side of the revo­
lution. The failure of the German revolution also resulted in the banalization and dis­
integration of E." 12 Limiting ourselves to one more example, we cite the Hungarian
Socialist emigrant, Sandor Barta, who, in 1922, saw the adequate expression of the
revolutionary spirit in E.: "The human being who had been cleansed through the com­
mon misery of the war found his voice here for the first time, and it is no accident that
it was precisely E. which exerted the greatest influence on the literature of people who
held Socialist views."13
We could reel off pages of such quotations, for the number of writers and artists
of the avant-garde who stood up for the social or moral renewal of the world was large.
These writers turned their eyes to reality. Their goal was not the "shattering of reality",
or they merely wanted to shatter the old reality in order to replace it with a new one,

12
"Über die proletarisch-revolutionare Literatur in Deutschland" (1927), reprinted in
Zur Tradition der sozialistischen Literatur in Deutschland (Berlin, 1962), p. 19.
13
Quoted from the editorial of the review Akasztott ember (Hanged Man) (Vienna, Novem-
ber, 1922).

56
and t h a t not taken in an aesthetic sense. How could they, therefore, employ an artistic
method and use a style whose philosophical backgrounds and parallels questioned
reality itself, the material world (or at least the possibility of knowing it), or which
disregarded it, p u t it "in parentheses'', and limited itself entirely to the acknowledge­
ment of the contents of consciousness ?
The literary realism of the nineteenth century, like every mimetic, reproductive
method, proceeded from the (perhaps implicit) assumption t h a t the objective world
exists independently of consciousness. For what else would there be to 'imitate' or
'copy' ? Honoré de Balzac and Tolstoy confirmed, through their creative methods, the
philosophical doctrine of the primacy of objective reality. This is the basic position of
every materialistic philosophy: which is not to say, however, that every realist in art
is also a philosophical materialist. But in order to prove how clear this relationship
between art and materialism was precisely to the "artists of consciousness," we may
turn to Virginia Woolf, who in one of her critical essays ("Modern Fiction", 1919)
called prose writers like John Galsworthy or H. G. Wells "materialists", because they
were deeply concerned also with externals, instead of solely concentrating on "the
true and the enduring". " I n contrast with those whom we called materialists," she
wrote, "Mr. Joyce is spiritual; he is concerned at all costs to reveal the flickerings of
the innermost flame which flashes its message through the brain." 1 4
The artistic realism of the nineteenth century, which built on the basis of a
materialistic epistemology, forcefully separated the world of reality from t h a t of
consciousness, and the imagination. Of poetry it demanded the expression of the direct
experience of reality, and from drama and prose a depiction of natural, chronological
order, and of characters who are socially and psychologically motivated and operate
in a causal nexus. This method was not acknowledged by E. as a way of expressing the
essential, for it sought other stylistic means and evolved its method on the basis of a
philosophical world view which renounced the emphasis on the primacy of objective
reality. The method of the Naturalist Zola agreed with that of the Realists on account
of its theory of knowledge. When, in his novel Germinal, he describes the march of the
rebellious miners, he gives an exact picture of the world of concrete reality through
the enumeration of many small details. The same claim cannot be made for Kafka,
although he, too, does not spare us small details in his account of Gregor Samsa's
transformation into a beetle. B y implication, he states the deeper truth about the beetle
existence of the little man of his world, and about the impossibility of communicating
with the powers which judge the life of man; but his method is not aimed at representing
the world of concrete experience in order to clarify the ideational content. Similarly,
Becher's impassioned lyrical prose of the twenties did not aim at a representation of
the external world for its own sake, but the writer sharply focused on reality, since
he wanted to shock and awaken the reader. Ernst Toller's dramas show no trace of
imitation, yet they were aimed at reality and wanted to direct the viewer to it. And
to a still greater extent this can be said about the didactic plays of Brecht—and not
only about those.

14
Collected Essays (London, 1966), II, p. 105.

57
 The sense of "artistic volition", this key concept of the Expressionistic method,
taken by itself, designates the desire, the intention, and the purpose of the artist. Artistic
volition makes its presence more intensely felt in the genetic process of a work of art
in which non-mimetic methods and techniques are employed than in the calm, classical
art which follows nature faithfully. The volitional character of E. permitted it to employ
its methods and stylistic devices for the purpose of a pure "art of consciousness", as
well as for an art which focused on, and pointed to, reality. In spite of the philosophical
background of his method, the Expressionist—or the artist who borrowed methods and
techniques from E.—could express reality and truth just as well as the artist who used
realistic methods. The artistic volition of the Expressionists was also capable of chang­
ing the function of its own method and its means of creation. It was able to reflect the
real world, though not as broadly and adequately as that of the Realist, who was true
to nature. By pointing to reality, it mobilized its public, whipped up passions and in­
spired to action even more strongly than the latter.
If the creative individual is a conscious and active participant in the structure of
the reality of which he forms part, then his will manifests itself by representing,
criticizing, and changing that structure by means of self-expression, since his subject,
in an aesthetic sense, represents objective reality. Therefore objective reality emerges
through his subject, and the objective social goal through his art. Thus realistic art
has several variations of its method at its disposal, each of which mirrors reality, re­
presents it, and orients itself toward it. In the one strain, which makes use primarily
of the style that is faithful to nature, the object dominates. The other style, which also
makes use of "anti-Naturalistic" techniques, assigns a greater and more flexible role
to the subject. Both can express reality, and both can becloud it. Thus what Brecht
said in the course of the E. debate (1938) in his well-known essay "Weite und Vielfalt
der realistischen Schreibweise" seems worth while pondering: "Reality, and not aes­
thetics,—not even the aesthetics of Realism—, must be consulted about literary
forms. The truth can be stated and withheld in many ways."15

(Translated from the German by Linda Brust.)

15
Bertolt Brecht, Gesammelte Werke (Frankfurt, 1968), X I X , p . 349.

58
 H. F . GARTEN

F O R E I G N INFLUENCES ON GERMAN EXPRESSIONIST DRAMA

I t is no mere accident that, as a literary movement, E. first made itself felt in lyric
poetry. For lyric poetry is, by its very nature, the expression of subjective emotions
and experiences. And subjectivism is the hallmark of E., at least in its early stages.
Subjective drama seems, at first sight, a contradiction in terms, for drama presupposes
a clash between opposing characters or forces. However subjective the primary creative
impulse of the dramatists, and however close his identification with the central
character—some degree of objectivity is necessary to engender drama in the accepted
sense. I n view of this circumstance it is surprising how quickly E. invaded the theater,
at any rate in Germany. Indeed, it may be argued that it was in the drama that German
E. found its most significant and potent form.
Many social, political, and intellectual factors had to come together to produce
Expressionist drama as it emerged in Germany around 1910, gathered momentum
during the First World War, reached its peak after the revolution of 1918, and subsided
around 1923. I n the course of this development, it took on many forms and underwent
several changes. I n the years before the war, it bore the stamp of the ecstatic lyricism
from which it had sprung (e.g., in the early plays of Kokoschka, in Reinhard Johannes
Sorge's Der Bettler and Werfel's Die Troerinnen). Soon, however, a social note was
struck: the world of reality in its manifold facets—the big city, the machine, war,
capitalism—took on more and more concrete forms, symbolizing a corrupt society
from which the Expressionist hero tried to break away, or which he sought to trans­
form in the light of his vision. Thus Expressionist drama acquired a messianic fervor
which, around 1918, reached a revolutionary pitch in the plays of Kaiser, Toller,
Ludwig Rubiner, and Hasenclever. In short, from an aesthetic concept E. turned
into a social and political force.
This development is a specifically German phenomenon which is closely linked
with the political and ideological history of Germany during the late nineteenth and
early twentieth centuries: the growing estrangement of the intellectuals from society,
the violent indictment of bourgeois values, the opposition to the Emperor's autocratic
regime, and, finally, the defeat and collapse of the whole social fabric as a result of
the war. I t is, therefore, quite possible to explain the emergence of Expressionist
drama merely in terms of German social and literary history. Nevertheless, this drama
was by no means an isolated feature; it was stimulated by and, in its turn, stimulated
developments in other European countries. In tracing these interchanges, it is not
easy to distinguish between independent parallel developments and direct "influences",

59
since the movement which, in Germany, came to be known as E. corresponded to
similar contemporary movements—Imagism and Vorticism in England, Surrealism
in France, and Futurism in Italy.
Moreover, we must distinguish between those foreign influences which affected
the Expressionist movement generally, and those which stimulated the drama in par­
ticular. We are here concerned only with the drama. In order to elucidate the emergence
of German Expressionist drama, one must call to mind the situation of European
drama at the turn of the century. By then, Naturalism, which had dominated the
1880's and '90's, had spent its force as a literary movement. It had been superseded
by Symbolism (or Neo-Romanticism, as it is usually labelled in Germany in connection
with the drama), which was, in many ways, its very opposite. Curiously enough, it
was the very champions of realistic and Naturalistic drama — Henrik Ibsen, Gerhart
Hauptmann, and Strindberg—who, in their creative development, moved from the
one to the other and, with their later works, turned Symbolist. Along with them,
there emerged genuinely Symbolist playwrights like Maeterlinck, Gabriele D'Annunzio,
Hofmannsthal, and many others. Much as they differ in their individual approach,
they have certain fundamental traits in common: the conscious withdrawal from the
contemporary scene into the realm of legend, folklore, and myth; the cult of "beauty"
and sensitive refinement, and the probing into the innermost recesses of the human
soul. Instead of closely reproducing reality, they gave full rein to poetry and imagina­
tion. These aesthetic concepts called for a new kind of scenic representation. In Paris,
the Naturalistic Theatre Libre of Andre Antoine was succeeded by Lugné-Poë's Theatre
de l'Oeuvre (which, significantly, opened in 1893 with Maeterlinck's Pelléas et Méli-
sande). In Berlin, the champion of Naturalist drama, Otto Brahm, found his successor
in Max Reinhardt, who met the demands of the Symbolist and Neo-Romantic play­
wrights with his sumptuous display of color, light, and music—"the stage as a dream
image", as Hofmannsthal defined it.
It was from this type of play that the Expressionist drama grew and against
which it violently reacted. It is not easy, at first sight, to draw the borderline between
Symbolist and early Expressionist drama. The transition from the one to the other
was often imperceptible. Some of the foremost Expressionist playwrights began with
Symbolist and Neo-Romantic works (e.g., Sternheim's Don Juan [1906], Kaiser's
König Hahnrei and Die jüdische Witwe [1908 and 1910]) and, vice versa, some Sym­
bolist playwrights evolved, in their later works, Expressionist tendencies (e.g., Carl
Hauptmann with his Krieg [1913], Stefan Zweig with Jeremias [1917], or Paul Claudel
with his mystery play L'Annonce faite a Marie [1912]).
In many ways, the Symbolist drama, which was clearly inspired by the French
Symbolist poets from Stéphane Mallarmé to Rimbaud, prepared the ground for the
Expressionist theater. It transcended surface reality, adding a spiritual and meta­
physical dimension; it used poetic, non-naturalistic language and, above all, it employed
symbols to express universal concepts. In short, without the Symbolist movement,
which dominated European drama at the beginning of the century, German Expression­
ist drama could never have developed as it did. Much as the early Expressionist play­
wrights were influenced by Symbolist drama, they reacted violently against it. Thus

60
they rejected its aestheticism, its cult of "beauty", its detachment from contemporary
life and social problems, and its ethical relativism and fatalism. The Symbolists still
thought of man as being ruled by uncontrollable forces—not by material conditions,
as the Naturalists believed, but by a transcendental destiny (cf. Mélisande's "C'est
quelque chose qui est plus forte que moi" [There is something stronger than myself]).
By way of contrast, E. turned from the past to the future, from legend and myth
to the contemporary world, from Vart pour Vart to life. Above all, it believed in man's
active potentialities in shaping his destiny by transforming himself and the world.
Richard Samuel defines the ambivalent relationship of Expressionist drama to its
immediate predecessors as follows:

It rejected the Neo-Romantic surrender to impressions, its analysis of the soul,

its preoccupation with history, legend and fairy-tale, and its lack of a definite
programme for the future. It accepted from Neo-Romanticism . . . the cult of
the irrational, the representation of the dream-world, the application of sym­
bols, and the heightening of the emotional effect to the point of ecstasy. From
Naturalism it inherited the emphasis on the social defects of the existing milieu
and criticism of the bourgeois world. Upon these traditional features it imposes
new ideas and ideals.1

These new ideas and ideals were carried by a new generation in revolt against the
old one. This revolt is epitomized in the conflict between father and son—one of the
dominant themes of Expressionist drama, from Sorge's Der Bettler and Hasenclever's
Der Sohn to Arnolt Bronnen's Vatermord. It is in the revolt of son against father, cul­
minating in actual parricide, that the revolutionary impulse of Expressionist drama
first found vent. The son, mouthpiece of the young generation, became the prophet
of a new world of peace and happiness for all. The idea of transformation (Wandlung)
and regeneration (Erneuerung) became the central theme of all Expressionist drama.
This new spirit, which pervaded the drama as well as every other art form, was
stimulated by influences from various European countries. From Russia came the
powerful impulse of Dostoevsky (the standard German edition of whose works began
to appear in 1907); from France, Bergson's concept of Creative Evolution (L'évolution
créatrice [also 1907]), with its emphasis on intuition, instead of analytical reasoning,
as revealing the essence of things. To this may be added Claudel, whose drama L'Annonce
faite a Marie, performed in Germany in 1913 under the title Die Verkündigung, was
widely accepted as a valid contribution to Expressionist drama.
The greatest single influence from abroad was undoubtedly Strindberg, especially
his two plays, To Damascus and A Dream Play. The impact of the Swedish dramatist
on Germany was deeper and more far-reaching than on any other country. It grew
steadily from the late 1890's to the First World War and reached its peak between
1913 and 1915, when twenty-four of his plays were staged in more than a thousand
performances in sixty-two German cities. In his creative development, Strindberg
reflected, and partly anticipated, the main literary movements of his time, Naturalism,
1
Richard Samuel and R. Hinton Thomas, Expressionism in German Life, Literature and the
Theatre (Cambridge, England, 1939), p . 59.

61
Symbolism, and E. But all three were, to a larger or smaller degree, latent in all his
works; for he infused them with his own singular genius and used them at will for his
artistic purposes. Even his early, ostensibly Naturalistic plays already contain Expres-
sionistic elements. Their characters, though still realistically drawn and psychologically
motivated, are larger than life; and some of them are nameless, like the Captain in
The Father. Already here the war of the sexes, the dominant theme of all of Strind-
berg's works, is not conditioned by time and place, but has a timeless, symbolic quality.
The same applies to Miss Julie, for although the play presents a "slice of life'' in the
Naturalistic sense, the two protagonists are really embodiments of elemental forces,
locked in a perennial struggle. This is even more evident in later plays such as Dance
of Death which, for all its realistic detail, reaches beyond its specific time and place.
The decisive turning-point occurred at the end of the century with To Damascus
(1898-1903). This trilogy, grown out of Strindberg's mental agony known as the "In­
ferno" crisis, is generally regarded as the prototype of Expressionist drama, anticipating
the rise of the movement by several years. In his book Anarchie im Drama, Bernhard
Diebold calls it "die Mutterzelle des expressionistischen Dramas" (the germ of Expres­
sionist drama).2 In Strindberg's play, both the external form and the spiritual substance
of Expressionist drama are, for the first time, fully realized: first, the reduction of the
dramatis personae to nameless types, such as the Unknown Man, the Lady, the Beggar,
the Doctor, and so on; secondly, the breaking-down of the analytical form with its
exposition, denouement, and catastrophe, and its replacement by a succession of scenes,
denoting stages (Stationen) on the central character's road toward a spiritual goal;
and thirdly, the identification of the author with his central figure, the Unknown
Man, who passes through every kind of mental agony until he finds salvation in the
Christian faith. There is no antagonist equivalent to this central figure. All the other
characters have no empirical existence but are merely projections or manifestations
of his own Self—"Ausstrahlungen des Ich", as Dahlström calls them.3 Similarly, the
scenes are not realistic settings but reflections of the hero's inner consciousness, merging
and changing like pictures in a dream. In short, the whole play is virtually a monodrama,
and its basic structure is monological. To quote Diebold once again:

In Nach Damaskus steht mit dem Unbekannten zum erstenmal der Monologist
des expressionistischen Dramas auf dem Theater. Jener im Kerne eher lyrische
als dramatische Anklager der Menschheit und Ausschreier seiner Schmerzen,
wie Sorges Bettier, Hasenclevers Sohn und Kornfelds Bitterlich, deren meiste
Gegenspieler weniger Vertreter von wirklichen Gegenwillen sind als Materiali­
sation ihrer eigenen Seelen.4
The Expressionist character of To Damascus is evident not only in its formal struc­
ture but also in its spiritual content. Its central idea—a man's transformation and
2
Bernhard Diebold, Anarchie im Drama, third ed. (Frankfurt, 1925), p. 165.
3
4
C. E. W. Dahlström, Strindberg's Dramatic Expressionism (Ann Arbor, Michigan, 1930).
" I n To Damascus, the soliloquist of the Expressionist drama appears for the first time in
the person of the Stranger, (this soliloquist is) a basically more lyrical than dramatic accuser of
mankind and forceful proclaimer of his pains, like Sorge's Bettler, Hasenclever's Sohn and Korn-
feld's Bitterlich, most of whose antagonists are less representatives of actual wills opposed to them
than materializations of their own souls." Diebold, op. cit., p. 165 f.

62
regeneration—becomes the dominant theme of German Expressionist drama, from
Der Betller to Toller's Die Wandlung and Kaiser's Nebeneinander. As Sokel puts it,
"The haughty, stubborn, passionate self of the Unknown Man must be broken to be
reborn in humility and love."5 The very title of the play points to the Christian idea
of conversion. In fact, the analogy with Christian concepts is apparent in many Expres­
sionist plays, even where it is not expressly stated, as in To Damascus. Strindberg's
hero, whose suffering is representative of the suffering of mankind, has a Christ-like
quality about him: "I suffer as though I were the whole of humanity." We find the
same quality in many of the central figures of Expressionist drama proclaiming the
message of spiritual and ethical transformation.
Although To Damascus shows all the essential features of Expressionist drama,
there are, nevertheless, some important differences. First of all, the central character,
for all his universal implications, is, in every detail, a self-portrait of Strindberg.
His obsession with the problem of marriage, his petty financial worries, his persecution
mania, his vacillation between self-abasement and megalomania, his preoccupation
with alchemy—all these are clearly autobiographical traits. No social issues are touched
upon; and suffering and redemption, the central problems of the drama, are confined
to the solitary individual. On his road of martyrdom, the hero is weighed down by a
sense of inexorable fate against which he struggles in vain. Even his final salvation
lies in passive submission and resignation.
In these respects, To Damascus is still a product of the fin de siècle. Moreover,
it is the work of a middle-aged man, worn down by half a lifetime of intense emotional
experience. It is not so much a conscious attempt at creating a new dramatic form
as the spontaneous expression of an acute personal crisis. Moreover, it is unique within
Strindberg's dramatic work, for he never again employed a similar form (except perhaps
in his last play, The Great Highway, subtitled "A Wander-Drama in Seven Stations").
The other play by Strindberg which exercised a strong influence on German Expres­
sionist drama was his Dream Play of 1902. In his preface, Strindberg relates it expressly
to To Damascus: "As he did in his previous dream play, so in this one the author
has tried to imitate the disconnected but seemingly logical form of the dream. Anything
may happen: everything is possible and probable. Time and space do not exist ...The
characters split, double, multiply, vanish, solidify, blur, clarify." Here, however,
there is no central character comparable to the Unknown Man: "One consciousness
reigns above them all—that of the dreamer." Strindberg's Ego may be said to split
into three characters—the Officer, the Lawyer, and the Poet. But he is really immanent
in every character as he himself is the dreamer in whose consciousness the whole
phantasmagoria unfolds. Here, too, all the characters are nameless types, but the
social range is much wider; here, too, the dominant theme is suffering—not the ego­
centric suffering of a single individual but that of all humanity, culminating in the
ultimate knowledge that "Life is evil". This suffering is epitomized in the cry of Indra's
Daughter which, as a constant refrain, echoes through the play: "Man is to be pitied!"
(or, in its more poignant German version: "Es ist schade um die Menschen !"). Through-

5
Sokel, The Writer in Extremis, p. 155.

63
out, however, she remains a passive onlooker, unable to change man's predicament.
Thus the whole play is suffused with a sense of hopelessness, barely relieved by the
final symbol of the opening flower.
It is this deep pessimism which distinguishes Strindberg's Dream Play from genuine
Expressionist drama. Ideologically, the play is closer to the world of Maeterlinck
than to E. This is equally true of Strindberg's later plays, the so-called "chamber
plays", culminating in Ghost Sonata (1907). With their complex symbolism and their
dark mood of inescapable fate, they are late offsprings of the Symbolist movement
rather than marking the beginning of E. Yet they, too, contain undoubtedly "expres-
sionistic elements", as Dahlström demonstrates in his detailed study.
More influential than the verbal content are the nonverbal elements of Strindberg's
dramatic art, that is, his bold innovations in stagecraft and scenery: the symbolic
use of light, color, music, and decor to express states of the mind. It is in these scenic
devices that Strindberg comes closest to E. Referring to a new production of A Dream
Play in his "Letters to the Intimate Theatre" he suggests that "instead of painted
scenery we shall look only for color effects; for we have discovered that the red plush
curtain can take on all shades of color merely by letting different light fall on it. We
shall set up allegorical attributes which symbolize the scene by an image: e.g., some
large shells indicate the proximity of the sea, a few cypresses take us to Italy, two
flags in red and blue signify Foulstrand . . ." Here the principles of the Expressionist
stage are already fully applied.
It is illuminating to compare Sorge's Der Bettler (1910), the first full-fledged Expres­
sionist play, with Strindberg's work. Its dramatic form is closely akin to that of To
Damascus. The characters are nameless types, divided into "Human Beings", "Groups",
"Mute Figures", and "Projections of the Poet". The central character, alternately
called "The Poet", "The Youth", and "The Beggar", is the author himself, who voices
his innermost conflicts and aspirations in a series of ecstatic-lyrical monologues. He sees
himself as the pioneer of a "new drama" which will address itself not to a select few
but to the masses. This drama, which will express itself "in symbols of eternity", will
sanctify and purify mankind, leading it to an ideal future of "love never loved before".
In fact, the whole play, subtitled "a dramatic mission", delineates the process of
writing this very drama. It is this missionary zeal, the basic belief that man can be
transformed and raised to a higher level of existence, which distinguished Expressionist
drama from the pessimism and disillusionment of Strindberg's world. While the Un­
known Man is fundamentally egocentric, striving only for his own salvation, Sorge's
Beggar projects his spiritual conflicts onto the whole of mankind and feels himself
to be the prophet of a Utopian future. While Indra's Daughter helplessly watches
the sufferings of men and returns defeated to her transcendental realm, Sorge and the
Expressionist playwrights who followed in his wake hoped for an earthly paradise—
however far away. This gave German Expressionist drama an activist, revolutionary
momentum which eventually carried it to regions far removed from its origin.
An important aspect of Expressionist drama often underrated or altogether ignored
is its realization on the stage. Without the revolution in stage design and in the general
concepts of theatrical representation which marked the early years of the century,

64
the Expressionist playwrights could hardly have materialized their visions in terms
of the theater. This revolution was initiated mainly by two men, the Swiss designer
Adolphe Appia and the Englishman Edward Gordon Craig. Much as these two men
differed in their specific aims, they met in their emphatic rejection of the realistic
stage, brought to perfection in the theaters of Otto Brahm and Konstantin Stanislavski.
Instead, they envisaged a stylized stage which ignores all realistic detail and reflects
the symbolic and spiritual content of the drama. Appia drew his inspiration from
Bayreuth. Although Wagner, in his own productions, was still constrained by the
realistic style of his time, the mythical content of his work called for a totally different
approach. It was Appia who first visualized these possibilities. His two theoretical
works, La mise en scene du drame Wagnerien (1895) and Die Musik und die Inszenie-
rung (1899), though mainly dealing with the operatic stage, prepared the ground for
a general revolution in scenic design.
While Appia's influence remained largely ephemeral, the impact of Craig on the
German theater just before the rise of the Expressionist movement was of vital impor­
tance. After trying in vain to realize his ideas in England, Craig went to Germany in
1904 and, after a short stay in Weimar, arrived in Berlin, where he met Brahm and
Bernhardt. It was for these two that he designed the sets for Hofmannsthal's plays
Das gerettete Venedig and Elektra. His influence, promoted by exhibitions in many
German cities, spread rapidly. In 1905, he formulated his ideas in his book, The Art
of the Theatre, which was immediately translated into German. These ideas cover
the whole field of theatrical presentation, décor, acting, shape of the auditorium, etc.,
and many of them clearly foreshadow the Expressionist theater. "To be theatrical—that
should be the highest aim of the Theatre of today and of to-morrow. To chant—to
strike attitudes—to sweep on and off the stage—to mouth— to glare—to whisper with
baited breath . . . to become more, not less theatrical." Craig vehemently attacked
"the falseness and pretentious thought of hideous Realism". Against this he set his
ideal of a "Theatre of Truth and Beauty". His aim as a stage designer was "to realise
in scene the vision of the poet".6
Craig's repudiation of realism in scenery and acting, his emphasis on light, color,
rhythm, and abstract decor, prepared the ground in which Expressionist drama could
take root. By concentrating the light on the central figure, or by picking out segments
of the stage from the surrounding darkness, the essential structure of Expressionist
drama could be realized in terms of the theater.
Craig himself was, of course, still unaware of E.; he merely spoke of the "new
movement" which would transform the theater. Moreover, he still lacked the plays
corresponding to his vision. His own work was devoted to such dramatists as Ibsen,
Hofmannsthal, William Butler Yeats, and, above all, Shakespeare. With his emphasis
on "Beauty" as the guiding principle of the theater of the future, he still shared the
aesthetic concepts of the Symbolist and Neo-Romantic movements. Yet the crucial
two years during which Craig lived and worked in Germany (1904—1906) gave a
powerful impulse to the rise of Expressionist drama. Strindberg, who was well ac-

6
Edward Gordon Craig, Index to the Story of My Days (London, 1957), p. 290 ff.

65
quainted with Craig's writings, noted in his "Letters to the Intimate Theatre": "There
is a whole literature on the theatrical revival, and first and foremost I would like to
mention Gordon Craig's wonderful magazine, The Mask."7 Craig's vision of a flight
of steps as the dominant feature of the stage found its fulfillment in Leopold Jessner's
famous "Treppe" (Stairs); and his ideas about acting were taken up, consciously or
unconsciously, by Kornfeld, who demanded that the Expressionist actor should not
merely be an "imitator" striving to "fake reality", but should "abstract from the
attributes of reality and be nothing but a representative of ideas, of emotions, or of
fate!"
Craig's radical notions about the predominance of the visual elements over the
spoken drama were echoed by the Sturm circle, whose theatrical theorist, Lothar
Schreyer, declared that "color, form, sound and movement" are the only means by
which a drama can give expression to a "vision"—a theory carried to its extreme in
the plays of Stramm and in Hasenclever's Mensehen, where the spoken text is reduced
to a bare minimum. But more important than any specific links between Craig's
theories and E. was the revolutionary impulse he gave to the German theater in the
years immediately preceding that movement.
Another vital impulse for German E. came from Futurism 8 and, in particular,
from its chief propagator, Filippo Marinetti. Although this movement was initially
concerned with the visual arts, it soon extended its influence to literature. E. and
Futurism had arisen independently, but they soon established close links. In 1909,
Marinetti published his first Futurist manifesto and his novel Mafarka le Futuriste.
These were followed, in 191.1 and 1912 respectively, by his manifestos on Futurist
painting and literature. During these years, he visited Berlin several times to organize
exhibitions of Futurist painting. Here he came into contact with Walden, who published
his manifestos in Der Sturm. Marinetti's theories were eagerly taken up by such writers
as Walden, Stramm, and Döblin.
In his manifesto on literature (published in Der Sturm, 1912, under the title
Die futuristische Literatur: Technisches Manifest), Marinetti expounds the principles
of Futurist writing. He violently attacks the Symbolists for indulging in verbal beauty
and rhetoric, and calls for a new mode of writing which will "use all brutal tones, all
expressive cries of violent life that surrounds us". He then proceeds to outline in detail
his rules for a new syntax aiming at condensation and emphasis—elimination of articles,
adjectives, adverbs, and concentration on nouns and verbs. It is evident that these
principles are closely akin to those underlying Expressionist language, as employed by
Sternheim, Kaiser, and many others.
While Marinetti's literary manifesto applied mainly to poetry and prose, his
Teatro del varieta (1913) and his Manifesto del teatro sintetico (1916) are specifically
relevant to the drama. He vehemently rejects traditional drama, with its psychological
motivation and logical development, and calls for "synthetic drama" which reduces
acts and scenes to a few words and concentrates on the climactic moments of the action.

7
Quoted by Denis Balet, Edward Gordon Craig (London, 1966), p. 104.
8
See Arnold, Die Literatur des Expressionismus, p. 26.

66
We find these principles fully applied in the plays of Stramm, such as Krafte (Forces)
and Geschehen (Happening), published in 1914, a year before their author was killed
in the war. Other ideas propounded by Marinetti—his glorification of the circus and
the cabaret and his demand for eliminating the separation of stage and audience—bore
fruit only in the post-Expressionist period, in Dadaism and, finally, in the theater of
Brecht.
There are very close affinities between Futurism and E.: both propagate a radical
break with the past, vehemently attack "bourgeois" values, and rely on intuition and
ecstasy as opposed to logic and intelligence. However, there are also significant differ­
ences: Marinetti's worship of the machine, his ecstatic vision of the "mechanical man"
of the future, finds no echo in Expressionist writing. On the contrary, German E.
sees in the machine the tyrant of man, impeding his full spiritual development
(cf. Kaiser's Gas trilogy and Toller's Die Maschinenstürmer). Similarly, Marinetti's glo­
rification of war as the remedy for all social ills stands in glaring contrast to the anti­
war attitude of the German Expressionists. These differences largely account for the
different directions which the two movements took in their further development:
while Marinetti became an ardent supporter of Fascism, the German Expressionists
prepared the way for the socialist revolution of 1918.
The First World War severed all cultural and intellectual ties between Germany
and the outside world. But it was during these crucial years that German Expressionist
drama got into its full stride. In fact, the war, the defeat, and the ensuing revolution
were already foreshadowed in some significant plays written before the outbreak of war
—Carl Hauptmann's Krieg (1913), Kaiser's Die Bürger von Calais (1913), and Werfel's
Die Troerinnen (1914). When war broke out, it merely confirmed the chaos which
the Expressionists had foreseen in their visions. From out of this chaos arose the cry
for spiritual rebirth and the brotherhood of man. In this way, German Expressionist
drama began to veer toward social and political issues which were originally outside
its range. This development can be clearly traced through the war years. The year
1916 marked a crucial turning-point: in that year, such plays as Goering's Seeschlacht
and Fritz von Unruh's Ein Geschlecht were written, to be followed, in 1917, by Toller's
Die Wandlung and Kaiser's Gas. When, in 1918, the revolution broke out and the social
structure of Wilhelminian Germany disintegrated, the Expressionists saw their visions
fulfilled. The end of the war released the full flood of Expressionist writing, above all,
in the theater. The years immediately following the revolution can be regarded as the
peak of the Expressionist movement in German drama: for a brief moment, the Expres­
sionist vision seemed to coincide with reality.
This development of the movement from a primarily aesthetic program to an
active revolutionary force was a peculiarly German phenomenon, conditioned by social
and political factors—the intelligentsia's mounting antagonism to the imperial regime,
and the total collapse of this regime through defeat in war. There was no parallel in
any other country and consequently no "influence" from the outside—with one sig­
nificant exception: the Russian revolution.
The October Revolution of 1917 had an overwhelming impact on Germany, not
only in the political but also in the intellectual and literary sphere. For a brief moment

67
 it seemed that the chiliastic hopes of the Expressionists had been realized in the estab­
lishment of a Communist society. Since their antagonism was, from the outset, directed
against the bourgeois and capitalist order, the future they visualized tended to take
the shape of a socialist or, in its radical form, Communist society. The plays written
immediately after the German revolution of 1918 clearly show the impact of these
ideas (e.g., Toller's Masse-Mensch, Rubiner's Die Gewaltlosen, Kaiser's Holle Weg
Erde, and Julius Maria Becker's Das letzte Gericht, whose hero even has a Russian
name).
However, with this definite political fixation the Expressionist movement lost
its essential character. For the essence of E. was the spiritual regeneration of man,
unrelated to any specific social program. By consciously embracing the Communist
creed, the Expressionist playwrights ceased to be Expressionists. This process is clearly
illustrated by the two successive versions of Becher's drama Arbeiter, Bauern, Soldaten.
The first version, written in 1919, is fully Expressionist, preaching, in ecstatic verse,
man's spiritual transformation in religious terms. In the end, the "Saint" leads mankind
to the "land of promise, the holy land". The second version of 1924, on the other
hand, is unmistakably a political manifesto propagating world revolution in the Marxist
sense. The language is toned down; good and evil are seen unequivocally in terms of
Communism and capitalism; and the ultimate goal is now the Communist society
carried by the proletariat.
Apart from this ideological influence of the Russian revolution on the final phase
of E., the German Expressionist stage received fresh impulses from the Russian revo­
lutionary theater, especially from the work of Tairov and Meyerhold.9 Both stage
directors had broken away, in the early years of the century, from Stanislavski's
Moscow Art Theatre and had founded their own "studios", in which they developed,
each in his way, new theatrical forms. Their common ground was the rejection of the
naturalistic stage. Tairov evolved what he termed the "unfettered theater" (das ent-
fesselte Theater), which turned the stage into a riot of Colors and geometrical shapes
and demanded the "synthetic actor", who masters every form of expression, including
dancing, singing, and acrobatics. Meyerhold, in turn, developed his concept of "bio­
mechanics", filling the bare stage with scaffolding, steps, and ladders.
Like German E., the Russian theatrical reform began before 1914 as a purely
aesthetic, apolitical movement but eventually fell in with the political revolution of
1917. Its champions became the protagonists of the revolutionary theater, putting
their art at the service of the Communist state. Their influence on the German stage
came too late to change substantially the course of Expressionist drama. On the
contrary, it hastened its end. The "constructive stage" of Meyerhold and the
"unfettered theater" of Tairov made its full impact only in the post-Expressionist
era, on the theater of Piscator and, finally, Brecht.10 They thus initiated the drama
of critical realism or "Neue Sachlichkeit", which superseded the Expressionist
movement.
9
See the essay by Eugene Bristow in this volume.
10
See Ulrich Weisstein's essay on Piscator in Reinhold Grimm, ed., Deutsche Dramentheorien
(Frankfurt, 1971), pp. 516-547.

68
 REINHOLD GRIMM and HENRY J. SCHMIDT

FOREIGN INFLUENCES ON GERMAN EXPRESSIONIST POETRY*

In the course of literary history, many German poets have been influenced by foreign
models. But the appearance of Stefan George's translation of numerous poems from
Charles Baudelaire's Fleurs du Mal in 1901 was an event of especially prophetic sig­
nificance. During the first three decades of the twentieth century, the German poetic
idiom was to be affected more strongly than ever before by impulses from abroad.
This is particularly true of Expressionist poetry, where the importation of aesthetic
theories and poetic styles was not simply a diffuse aspect of Zeitgeist but a readily
traceable factor of artistic development. Exposure to the lyric heritage of other lands
was, for the German Expressionists, both a formative and subjective experience.
Occasionally, they went as far as to seek and find in this heritage the source material
of their art.
The Expressionist poets generally acquired their knowledge of foreign poetry
through translations. Some were themselves translators. Although the act of trans­
lation does not invariably indicate an affinity to the original, it can be indicative of
stylistic or aesthetic preferences and may tend to reflect a poet's Weltanschauung.
Once again, this is exemplified by the generation preceding that of the Expressionists.
George, for instance, was selective in his translations from Baudelaire; he chose to
omit, among other poems, "Une Charogne". Admiring Baudelaire, the Symbolist,
George, the formalist, rejected the glorification of the repellently ugly. Rilke, on the
other hand, singled out this poem for special praise in Die Aufzeichnungen des Malte
Laurids Brigge (The Notebooks of Malte Laurids Brigge) and wrote in a letter to his
wife: "Ich musste daran denken, dass ohne dies Gedicht die ganze Entwicklung zum
sachlichen Sagen... nicht hatte anheben können" (I had to consider that, without this
poem, the entire development toward objectified expression... could not have begun).1
Both George and Rilke translated extensively. Yet these endeavors were of sig­
nificance primarily to the poet-translators themselves. The wide popularity which
François Villon, Arthur Rimbaud, and other French poets enjoyed in the German-
speaking countries was mainly due to the skill and dedication of a man who did not
aspire to be a major poet in his own right: Karl Klammer (1897-1959).2 Best known

* All German Quotations were translated by the editor, U. W.

1
Letter of October 19, 1907.
2
See Reinhold Grimm, "Werk und Wirkung des Übersetzers Karl Klammer" in Neophilologus,
XLIV (1960), pp. 20—36. Reprinted in Grimm, Strukturen: Essays zur deutschen Literatur
(Göttingen, 1963).

69
under the pseudonym of K. L. Ammer, he published the bulk of his influential trans­
lations in 1906 and 1907. They included selected works of Maeterlinck (in collaboration
with Friedrich von Oppeln-Bronikowski), Villon (a volume from which Brecht was
to borrow so extensively that he was accused of plagiarism) and, most important of
all, Rimbaud. Klammer's Rimbaud translations, together with Stefan Zweig's adulatory
characterization of the French poet, made an immediate and lasting impact on the
literary avant-garde. As early as 1908, Rudolf Kurtz, writing in Die Gegenwart, celebrat­
ed the Frenchman as a great liberator, who "with an unequalled jolt tears up the irk­
some form of language . . . Modern poetry in France and the beginnings of modern
poetry in Germany bear his stamp". 3
Klammer's role can hardly be overestimated. As his friend, Alexander Lernet-
Holenia, has correctly stated, "What we call modern poetry in Germany has begun
with K. L. Ammer's translation of Arthur Rimbaud's poems".4 The poets whose
verses echo Klammer's translations are legion. Apart from Brecht, they include Heym,
Rubiner, Iwan Goll, numerous minor writers and, above all, Trakl. There cannot be
the slightest doubt that Trakl's intensive study of Rimbaud—mostly via Klammer—
caused him to become aware of new possibilities of lyric expression.5 To a somewhat
lesser degree, the same holds true for German Expressionist poetry as a whole.
Klammer's Rimbaud translations inspired similar but definitely inferior efforts
by Däubler (1917), Paul Zech (1924 and 1927), and Alfred Wolfenstein (1930). Single
poems from these collections had appeared earlier, especially in Expressionist journals
such as Die Ahtion and Die Weissen Blatter. Die Weissen Blatter also published Zech's
and Ludwig Scharf's translations of poems by Emile Verhaeren, Daubler's translations
of Verlaine, Franz Blei's translations of Mallarmé, and Ernst Stadler's rendering of
the "Franziskanischen Gebete" by Francis Jammes. Between 1911 and 1916, Die
Aktion offered translations of poems by Baudelaire, Verlaine, Mallarmé, Emile Ver­
haeren, Jammes and Marinetti from the pen of writers like Stadler, Wolfenstein,
Goll, Wilhelm Klemm, Ferdinand Hardekopf, and Alfred Richard Meyer. Ausgewahlte
Gedichte, an important "Nachdichtung" of Verhaeren's poetry by Stefan Zweig, was
already in its second edition in 1910.
An extension of this list would reaffirm a basic fact: poetry translated by the Ger­
man Expressionists (or by writers who influenced them) was overwhelmingly French.
Maeterlinck and Verhaeren, though Belgians of Flemish origin, wrote in French,
and even the Italian Futurist Marinetti used that language extensively. Only one
foreign poet equalled the French influence at that time: Walt Whitman. English and
American poets were generally of little interest to the German writers of the early
twentieth century. George had actually translated poems by Dante Gabriel Rossetti,
Charles Algernon Swinburne and Ernest Dowson for his Zeifgenössische Dichter I,

3
4
"Arthur Rimbaud" in Die Gegenwart, LXXIV (1908), p. 184 ff. and 202 ff.
5
Quoted in Grimm, Strukturen, p. 144.
See Reinhold Grimm, "Georg Trakls Verhältnis zu Rimbaud" in Germanisch-Bomanische
Monatsschrift, N. F . I X (1959), pp. 288—315, as reprinted in Zur Lyrik-Diskussion, ed. R. Grimm
(Darmstadt, 1966). See also Herbert Lindenberger, "Georg Trakl and Rimbaud" in Comparative
Literature, X (1958), pp. 21—35, and F . Pamp, "Der Einfluss Rimbauds auf Georg Trakl" in Revue
de littérature comparée, X X X I I (1958), pp. 396-406.

70
and there exist Rilke translations of poetry by Elizabeth Barrett Browning; yet neither
the contributors to the Expressionist periodicals nor the Expressionists at large inclined
toward these schools. Whitman was an exception.
The story of Whitman's fame in Germany bears a striking resemblance to that
of Rimbaud's German reputation. It differs from it only in so far as it begins a few
years earlier. Whitman was first introduced to German readers in 1868 by the poet
Ferdinand Freiligrath, who was then living in London. Freiligrath translated ten
poems from Leaves of Grass. Subsequently, in 1889, a larger selection of poems was
made available in German by T. W. Rolleston and Karl Knortz. In 1907, that banner
year for translations, Johannes Schlaf produced a translation of eighty-four poems
by Whitman in what has been called the first popular edition in German.6 What this
collection achieved in popularity it lacked in quality, for Schlaf uncritically adopted
all the faults of earlier translators. This becomes easily understandable if one accepts
the statement of the critic O. E. Lessing: "Schlaf ist ein begabter Dichter, aber seine
Kenntnisse der englischen Sprache sind gleich null" (S. is a gifted poet, but his knowledge
of English is practically nil).7 Klammer, on the other hand, was well versed in French
and was certainly as gifted a poet as Schlaf. What made his translations both extremely
popular and yet somewhat deficient in quality stemmed from the boldness with which
he not only changed and regrouped Rimbaud's lines but also imbued them with the
poetic idiom of German Romanticism. Thus Klammer and Schlaf, though for entirely
different reasons, achieved a similar effect.
Contrary to Rimbaud, who was hailed as a lyrical anarchist, Whitman was wel­
comed as the poet of democracy and socialism. Five additional translations based on
Leaves of Grass appeared between 1899 and 1909, along with selections from Whitman's
prose, and Blei contributed some translations of poems to Die Aktion in 1914 and 1915.
But the most important contribution came from the German Socialist Gustav Landauer,
whose "Walt Whitman, Krieg: Zehn Gedichte" appeared in Die Weissen Blatter in
1915. Harry Law-Robertson assesses it as follows: "Apart from the clearly recognizable,
one-sidedly socialistic tendency of this selection, which tears several stanzas out of
their context in order to render the alleged social mission of the American more prom­
inent, the examples offered here have been literally translated and are also stylistically
close to the original" (p. 27). One would, therefore, expect to find a good deal of Whit­
man in periodicals such as the Sozialistischen Monatshefte, and indeed, approximately
sixty Whitman poems in translation were published in that journal. These translations,
however, were all inferior to the selection published by Hans Reisiger in 1919, but
they undoubtedly contributed to Whitman's impact on the Activist wing of German E.
Having established the vehicle of influence to some degree, we can now turn
to ascertainable traces of that influence. Expressionist poetry abounds with them.
Nowhere are they more clearly noticeable than in the relationship of Trakl to
Rimbaud. Between Trakl's lyrics and Klammer's translations there exist correspon­
dences which are often literal, often related with respect to imagery, motifs,

6
Harry Law-Robertson, Walt Whitman in Deutschland (Giessen, 1935), p. 22.
7
Quoted ibid., p . 25.

71
"dynamic metaphors" 8 or structural aspects of composition. In Trakl's poetry we
encounter

literal borrowings of almost entire lines and sentences, extensive overlapping

in the vocabulary, especially with regard to the sphere of the ugly and repel­
lent; and, finally, the reproduction of syntactic peculiarities, as well as those
pertaining to word formation. Even in the choice of titles and the assignment
of names there exist affinities. The influence even extends to the intonation, the
syntax and the verbal structure. Metrical and versificatory correspondences,
which seem to betray an occupation with French literature in general, are
also in evidence. Primarily, however, it is Rimbaud's daring, innovative and
idiosyncratic metaphors and motifs, often coagulating into stereotype formulas
and fusing the most diverse elements, which left an indelible influence on
Trakl's poetry.9

In many respects, Klammer's translation of Rimbaud served as Trakl's "quarry"

from which he mined material for his lyric experimentation.10 This does not preclude,
however, that in his most mature works a thorough assimilation of imagery and motifs
took place, irrespective of their original context.11
Heym also seems to have found inspiration not only through Klammer but from
Rimbaud directly. A case in point is the dance metaphor in Rimbaud's "Bal des Pendus"
which occurs repeatedly in Heym's verse. This dual influence of Klammer's translation
and the French original can be summarized as follows: "The courage to treat ugly
and unusual things, the violent revaluation of reality through metaphors, such as is
exemplified by the demonization of the universe, and the novel ways of using colors—all
these stylistic traits visible in Heym's works are prefigured in Klammer and
Rimbaud. Especially close is the relationship in the grandiose furor of the imagery."12
Heym was attracted not only to Rimbaud's poetic vigor and exuberance but
also to his personality. Like Trakl, he was fascinated by the poète maudit whom he
ranked highly among his literary idols. "Ich liebe alle, die in sich ein zerrissenes Herz
haben," he wrote in his diary, "ich liebe Kleist, Grabbe, Hölderlin, Büchner, ich liebe
Rimbaud und Marlowe."13 Even in Rimbaud's decision to leave Europe for Africa
the Expressionists saw an act of rebellion against the establishment.
The artistic manifestation of such a revolutionary philosophy is revealed most
typically in the "absolute metaphor", which, once again, is traceable to Rimbaud.
Baudelaire figures here as well, since both poets were anti-traditionalists and rejected
the sterile artificiality of their literary heritage, as they sought out new subjects and
8
A term used by Karl-Ludwig Schneider in his book Der bildhafte Ausdruck in den Dichtungen
Georg9 Heyms, Georg Trakls und Ernst Stadlers (Heidelberg, 1954).
Grimm in Zur Lyrik-Diskussion, p. 298.
10
Maeterlinck and Verlaine also figure in Trakl's "quarry". See Reinhold Grimm, "Zur Wir-
kungsgeschichte Maurice Maeterlincks in der deutschsprachigen Literatur" in Revue de littéra-
ture comparée, X X X I I I (1959), pp. 535-544, and Walther Killy, Wandlungen des lyrischen Bildes,
fourth ed. (Göttingen, 1964), p. 116.
11
See especially Bernhard Böschenstein, "Wirkungen des franzosischen Symbolismus auf
die deutsche
12
Lyrik der Jahrhundertwende" in Euphorion, LVIII (1964), pp. 375-395.
13
Grimm, Strukturen, pp. 139f.
Georg Heym, Dichtungen und Schriften, ed. K.-L. Schneider (Hamburg and Munich), I I I .
(1960), p. 128.

72
shockingly new modes of expression. Themes changed as well as form: the morgue,
the insane asylum, the dissection table replaced the idyllic settings of conventional
poetry, and Rimbaud's idea of a "derèglement raisonnée de tous les sens" induced
Trakl and other German Expressionists to break with the concept of logical continuity
within the poem. In Trakl's works, this transformation is crucial, "and what originally
had been merely an unheard-of foreshortening of logically still coherent parts finally
turned into alogical imagery".14
Alogical or absolute metaphors were occasionally produced by an abstract series
of sounds, as in Rimbaud's "Memoire" ("les roses des roseaux dès longtemps dévorées"),
the vowels of which have their exact counterpart—paradoxical though this may seem
from the point of view of content—in Trakl's "Oh, die Rosen, grollend in Donnern".
More often, however, they are achieved by a coupling of disparate images, as in the
following stanzas:

lm grünen Tempel glüht Verwesung.

Die Fische stehen still. Gotts Odem
Weckt sacht ein Saitenspiel im Brodem
Aussatzigen winkt die Flut Genesung.

Geist Dädals schwebt in blauen Schatten,

Ein Duft von Milch in Haselzweigen.
Man hört noch lang den Lehrer geigen,
lm leeren Hof den Schrei der Ratten.

Trakl's poem "Kleines Konzert", from which these lines are taken, combines the
most heterogeneous elements: a landscape in decay, several totally independent images
and motifs from Klammer's Rimbaud translation, a sudden echoing of Hölderlin,15
and a "fragment of crude, unformed reality from the two spheres of the banal and
the repulsive".l6 As Paul Valéry states, although in a different context, such a manner
of expression is a perfect example of "incohérence harmonique".17
Yet in the last analysis, a precise quantitative evaluation of direct or indirect
borrowings is not only impossible but unnecessary. Only by means of a qualitative
investigation can one attempt to clarify that which is uniquely Expressionistic. Bern-
hard Blume has noted, for instance, that the inclination of the Expressionist poets
toward "Aaspoesie" is derivative in its origin yet uniquely Expressionist in its post-
Rimbaud development.18 Previous to Rimbaud's treatment of the Ophelia motif, a
girl's drowning represented the final act of a tragic existence. But Rimbaud's influence
and the glorification of the then popular figure of the "Inconnue de la Seine" in Rilke's
Malte Laurids Brigge mark a turning point: the girl's corpse is no longer symbolically
reminiscent of a previous life but exists solely in the present. Rimbaud's "Ophélie",

14
Grimm, Zur Lyrik-Diskussion, p. 307.
15
16
See "Dadalus' Geist" in Hölderlin's poem "An Zimmern".
Grimm, Zur Lyrik-Diskussiori p. 312.
17
18
Lettres a quelques-uns (Paris, 1952), p. 240.
"Das ertrunkene Madchen: Rimbaud's 'Ophelie' und die deutsche Literatur" in Germanisch-
romaniscke Monatsschrift, N. F. IV (1954), pp. 108-119.

73
written in 1870, inspired similar treatments by Wolfenstein, Zech, Benn, Heym,
Ernst Balcke, Armin T. Wegner, and finally, Brecht.
According to Blume, the motif represents the loss of belief in the rationality of
human existence and the decay of the self which completely lacks the power to resist.
Thus the poignant death of Shakespeare's heroine becomes a source of elemental
disintegration in Heym's "Ophelia":

lm Haar ein Nest von jungen Wasserratten,

Und die beringten Hande auf der Flut
Wie Flossen, also treibt sie durch den Schatten
Des grossen Urwalds, der im Wasser ruht . . .

This image, rats included, is more grotesque yet in Benn's early poem "Schone Jugend"
from his collection Morgue:

Der Mund eines Madehens, das lange im Schilf gelegen hatte,

sah so angeknabbert aus.
Als man die Brust aufbrach, war die Speiseröhre so löcherig.
Schliesslich in einer Laube unter dem Zwerchfell
fand man ein Nest von jungen Ratten . . .

Such verses obviously hark back to Baudelaire's daring "Une Charogne". But the
Ophelia motif is not invariably coupled with an emphasis upon the repellently grotesque.
Brecht's "Vom ertrunkenen Madchen" (1920), for example, equates physical decay
with spiritual eradication:

Als ihr bleicher Leib im Wasser verfaulet war,

Geschah es (sehr langsam), dass Gott sie allmahlich vergass.
Erst ihr Gesicht, dann die Hande und ganz zuletzt erst ihr Haar.
Dann ward sie Aas in Flüssen mit vielem Aas.

Here Ophelia not only loses her self but the very memory of her being.
During the heyday of the personality cult surrounding Rimbaud, adulation of
Whitman was reaching ecstatic proportions. Once again the avant-garde had found
a figure considered to be an anti-traditionalist, although of a different school. The
Young Socialists of the 1880's and after praised Whitman as a prophet of their political
idealism, a messiah of universal democracy; and Schlaf, his most prominent disciple,
claimed in 1896 to see in Whitman the ideal of Nietzsche's superman and the Utopian
ideal of the Socialists. Three years later, these attitudes had already broadened into
a pseudo-religion. Critical assessments of the prophet and his works were vigorously
attacked by Schlaf and his followers, although few of Whitman's disciples had read
his poetry in the original.
At the outset of the war, the workers' press helped spread Whitman's fame to
the working classes. The poet, ironically, first was called a "Sanger des Krieges" but
subsequently became an inspirational panacea for the suffering masses in Germany,

74
who regarded his works as a "Bibel der Demokratie". Sehlaf remained at the forefront,
and in 1919 he proclaimed:

Hundertmal nötiger als das tagliche Brot—und wir stehen gegenwartig

dicht vor der Hungersnot!—brauchen wir Religion. Drum auf! Kommt zu
Whitman! Erkennt, was Religion und wahre Demokratie ist! Ich wüsste bis
zu diesem Augenblicke niemand, bei dem wir es so überwaltigend erfahren
könnten, als ihn! Jetzt erst ist seine Zeit gekommen !19

Such democratic pathos and enthusiasm had long been admired in Whitman by
the Expressionists and some of their predecessors, who often adopted his free-flowing
style and long lines of verse. For instance, Max Dauthendey's Die geflügelte Erde:
Ein Lied der Liebe und der Wunder um sieben Meere (The Winged Earth: A Song of
Love and the Wonders around Seven Seas, 1910) reflects Whitman's humanistic,
all-embracing pathos in verses which are unquestionably Whitmanesque. Whereas
Schlaf's colleague Arno Holz emphatically disclaimed any desire to imitate the American
poet in his Phantasus, the list of those upon whom Whitman left his mark is extensive.
It includes Hasenclever, Alfons Paquet, Bahr, Karl Otten, Goll (a Whitman translator),
Rubiner and Werfel, as well as the Arbeiterdichter Gerrit Engelke, Karl Bröger, and
Heinrich Lersch. Most of them were Expressionists. Schlaf's comments on Werfel's
volume Wir sind are thus not wide of the mark: "Unsere neue expressionistische
Dichtung ist ohne Whitman nicht denkbar und tritt wohl in Zukunft noch entschiedener
in sein Zeichen" (Our new Expressionist poetry is inconceivable without Whitman
and, in the future, it will bear his stamp even more prominently).20
Wegner, for example, went so far as to preface his collection of poems Das Antlitz
der Städte (The Face of the Cities) with the following lines from Whitman: "Nun aber
ziehen wir aus unserer Verborgenheit, einen gewaltigen Hunger zu stillen. / Nun ziehen
wir aus, zu empfangen was Erde und Meer uns niemals gab./Nicht durch die machtigen
Walder ziehen wir, sondern durch die machtigeren Stadte." Law-Robertson sees
Whitmanesque traits in Wegner's use of direct discourse, repetition, and free verse.
Stadler's long lines are equally reminiscent of Whitman's style; and so is what Sokel
calls Stadler's "loving interest in the small, concrete things of everyday life", as in
poems like "Hier ist Einkehr" and "Kleine Stadt".20a
The Expressionist poet most profoundly devoted to Whitman was doubtless the
Activist Becher.21 His poem "Die Schlacht" offers not only Whitmanesque word
clusters, rhythmical language, and the use of such French phrases as en masse and en
avant but is expressly "Walt Whitman nachgedichtet". In Das neue Gedicht (1919),
19
"A hundred times more necessary than our daily bread—and we are directly facing a period
of starvation—is religion. Let us rise, then I Come to Whitman! Realize what religion and true
democracy are like ! Up to this time, I knew of nobody from whom we could learn it as forcefully
as from him ! Only now our time has come !" Quoted by Law-Robertson, op. cit., p. 71.
20
Quoted ibid., p. 78. Law-Robertson, however, shows little familiarity with the subject
matter and style of early Expressionist poetry and underestimates the Activist tendencies that it
shared with Whitman's verses.
20a
Walter H. Sokel, The Writer in Extremis (Sanford, 1964), p. 160.
21
In Die Literatur des Expressionismus, p. 137, Armin Arnold calls Becher "einen hysterischen
Whitman".

75
Becher wrote a "Nachschrift für Bruder Whitman", which includes the following
panegyric:

Sieh, mein lieber Bruder Whitman, dies Gedicht hier habe ich vor acht Tagen
aufgeschrieben, da schlug ich eben heute wieder Dein unsterbliches Buch
auf . . . und da erlebte ich, als ob ich Auge in Auge, Hand in Hand mit Dir
stünde—: O unendlich schmelzender allverbindender ewiger Kontakt... Lieber
Bruder Whitman—: Hoffnung, Ansporn, absolute Gesichertheit, aus der damp-
fenden Masse Deiner wogenden Strophen-Armeen bestatige ich mich. Ja, hatte
ich beinahe gesagt, ich übernehme für dieses Jahrhundert Dein Kommando
. . . Ja, mein alterer Bruder, mein weiser, mein erfahrener Du—ich verspreche
es Dir, darf ich Dir vortragen wie ich meine Mission auszuwirken gedenke—:
Ich will das Neue Gedicht von Tribünen herab, an alien Orten . . . Ein heftiger
Wille zur Macht armiert uns, lasst uns unsere Ideen verwirklichen . . . O
Schlacht um den Endsieg der Menschheit !22

The young Becher was thoroughly dedicated to Whitman and, characteristically,

no less profoundly devoted to Rimbaud. These were the two "über alles Geliebten"
to whom not only Becher but Expressionist poetry in general owed the most.
One other figure cannot be ignored, however. The most cohesive group of Expres­
sionists were the contributors to Walden's periodical Der Sturm. In 1912 Walden
sponsored exhibitions of Futurist art and lectures on Italian Futurist poetry by Marinetti
whose teachings exerted a great and lasting influence on the writers of this generation.
As late as 1934, Benn testified to this when he addressed Marinetti, in a politically
rather embarrassing speech, as "the creative power", indeed the "prophet of Futurism",
i.e., of modern art and poetry. "Sie und die von Ihnen geschaffene Kunstrichtung",
he said, "war es, die die stupide Psychologie des Naturalismus hinter sich warf,
das faul und zah gewordene Massiv des bürgerlichen Romans durchstiess und mit
der funkelnden und rapiden Strophik Ihrer Hymnen auf das Grundgesetz der Kunst
zurückging: Schöpfung und Stil."23
Marinetti's manifestos, to which Benn ascribed "incredible effects", appeared
in various issues of Der Sturm, attacking the cliche-ridden poetry of earlier generations
by replacing it with a glorification of technology. Equally strident were Marinetti's
linguistic theories which propounded a deliberate destruction of syntactic logic. Liter­
ature is not beautiful, he proclaimed; it will use "all brutal sounds . . . all expressive
screams of the violent life that encircles us. Let us use the 'ugly' in literature, and let

22
"See, my dear brother Whitman, I have composed this poem a week ago. Today once
again I opened your immortal book . . . and felt as if I were facing you and taking your hand. Oh,
infinite, dissolving, all-embracing, eternal contact. . . Dear brother Whitman: hope, inspiration,
complete reliance; I affirm my existence from the steaming mass of your surging stanza armies.
Yes, I almost said: for this century I take over your command . . . Yes, my elder brother, my wise,
my experienced one —I promise you, may I tell you how I seek to fulfill my mission—: I want to
proclaim the New Poem from the grandstands, everywhere . . . A strong craving for power arms
us, let us to realize our ideas . . . O battle for the final victory of mankind."
23
"You and the artistic trend you have established have succeeded in throwing the stupid
psychology of Naturalism behind, you have bored through the massif of the middle-class novel,
which had become sluggish and tough, and, with the sparkling and rapid stanzas of your hymns,
you have re-established the basic law of art: creation and style." Gesammelte Werke, ed. Dieter
Wellershof (Wiesbaden, 1959), I, p . 479.

76
us kill solemnity everywhere! Don't adopt the poses of high priests in listening to
me! Every day one ought to spit at the 'altar of art'. We enter the unlimited realm
of free intuition. After the free verse (we must) also (have) words in freedom." Thus
Marinetti, too, was a prophet. Besides Whitman's "démocracy" and Rimbaud's
"dérèglement raisonnée", his slogan parole in libertá was to become the third battle
cry of German Expressionist poetry.
Marinetti's strongest impact was upon the most radical Expressionist, Stramm.
Although rather belatedly, Stramm learned of Marinetti via Walden and decided to
effect a total break with his previous development as a poet. He destroyed every line
of poetry he had written before 1914 and created a style based on dissecting and
reassembling the elements of language, avoiding, in his linguistic transformation,
the shopworn poetry which all Expressionists despised. Like Trakl, Stramm worked
painstakingly at his verse. His poem "Freudenhaus" —note especially the amalgam
"schamzerpört" —is an excellent example of such consciously and carefully contrived
language:

Lichte dirnen aus den Fenstern Lights whore from the windows
die Seuche The epidemic
spreitet an der Tür Spreads at the door
und bietet Weiberstöhnen aus ! And offers female moaning for sale !
Frauenseelen schamen grelle Lache ! Female souls shame strident laughs !
Mutterschösse gahnen Kindestod! Mothers' wombs gape children's death !
Ungeborenes Unborn lives
geistet Roam
dünstelnd Ghostlike
durch die Raume! Through the rooms!
Scheu Shyly
im Winkel In the corner
schamzerpört Wrought with shame
verkriecht sich Sex
das Geschlecht! Hides away!
Marinetti's teachings, in particular his Technical Manifesto and its Supplement,
had a truly cathartic effect on Stramm. Nevertheless, Arnold is justified in stating
that he was by no means an imitator of Marinetti. Stramm had been led by the Italian
to discover the immense possibilities of creative language. He had realized that a poet
could do away with syntax and enrich his vocabulary, and that the fastest and most
concise expression was the best.
Summing up our brief survey, then, we can conclude that significant foreign
influences on German Expressionist poetry came from three countries and operated
on three levels. France was by far the most important of these sources, followed by
America and Italy. French literature, represented mainly by Rimbaud and including
a great many other writers, dominated in the realm of imagery. Whitman, the sole
representative of American literature, fostered a new humanitarian pathos and new
verse forms; and Italian Futurism, under its leader Marinetti, was responsible pri­
marily for linguistic innovations. Modern themes, ranging from the repellently ugly
to the unequivocal praise of technology, were offered by all three. As far as we

77
know, no other foreign literature or literary figure exerted any noteworthy influence on
German Expressionist poetry.
After 1920, when E. began to decline, these foreign models gradually lost their
impact. There is ample proof, however, that the influence of Marinetti or Rimbaud
did not end with the Expressionist phase. Aside from the general evolution of modern
poetry, which has recently led to the movement of concrete poetry, evidence indicating
such continuity is most strikingly prominent in the works of Brecht. Although it is
highly debatable whether even his earliest writings should be subsumed under the
heading "Expressionist", it cannot be denied that he shared the Expressionists' recep­
tivity to a number of the foreign poets mentioned above, specifically Rimbaud, Villon,
Whitman, and Verhaeren. The latter inspired Brecht's juvenile poem "Der brennende
Baum"; Whitman is referred to in an early version of the drama Baal, and Klammer's
rendering of Villon's ballads permeates the songs of the Dreigroschenoper. Another
early play, Im Dickicht der Städte, contains a direct reference to Rimbaud,24 direct
quotations from Klammer's translation of Une Saison en enfer, and slightly altered
passages from "Enfance". Rimbaud's famous "Bateau ivre" echoes in the verses of
"Das Schiff" and "Ballade auf vielen Schiffen" in Brecht's Hauspostille, and his style
is noticeable even in such works as the "Vier Psalmen".
In spite of such traces of continuity, however, it cannot be denied that after 1920
E. "died".25 The former Expressionists themselves were fully aware of this change.
It is, therefore, not surprising that those beloved masters whom they had admired
and praised so passionately now became objects of parody and satire. And once again,
the Expressionists themselves were the first to launch this attack. Toller's satirical
play Der entfesselte Wotan (Wotan Unbound), which ridicules the grotesquely Expres-
sionistic "Aufbruch" of a chauvinist barber, provides a cogent example:

Reporter: Wie denken Sie über Amerika?

Wotan: Ein glühender Verehrer bekennt sich zu ihm.
Kamerado, du rührst kein Buch, du rührst
einen Mensehen an.
Reporter: Oh, Sie kennen Walt Whitman ?
Wotan: Mein Herr, seit Jahren frequentiere ich jüngste
Weltliteratur.
Reporter: Very interesting.26
In this short passage, the impact of foreign models on German Expressionist
poetry is both implicitly summarized and mercilessly ridiculed.

24
"Ich verkaufe Ihnen die Ansichten von . . . Mr. Arthur Rimbaud, aber ich verkaufe Ihnen
nicht meine Ansicht darüber." Gesammelte Werke, I, p. 128.
25
26
"Der Expressionismus stirbt aus" was the title of an essay by Iwan Goll, written in 1921.
Ernst Toller, Der entfesselte Wotan, second ed. (Potsdam, 1924), p. 49. In his first reply,
Wotan is referring to Whitman's poem "So long" ("Camerado, this is no b o o k / W h o touches this
touches a man . . . " ) .

78
 ARMIN ARNOLD

FOREIGN INFLUENCES ON GERMAN EXPRESSIONIST PROSE*

While terms like "Expressionist poetry", "Expressionist theater", and "Expressionist

film" carry, by now, rather well-defined meanings, the term "Expressionist prose"
would still mean different things to different people. Some would argue that there
is no such thing at all, for when Heym, Trakl, or Stadler wrote in prose their style
was quite conventional. Others would say that writers like Edschmid, Carl Einstein,
and Döblin did, indeed, discover new dimensions in German prose style and that,
hence, their writings could be called Expressionistic. Many would agree on one point
only, namely that the German Expressionists produced excellent poetry and some
interesting plays, but that narrative prose (at least the novel) was not an appropriate
medium for their ideas. Kafka, some of them would add, cannot be considered an
Expressionist.
All the usual prejudices regarding this matter were summed up by Erich von Kahler,
who states: "Thus the forms in which E. appears at its purest and most appropriate
are poetry and the drama. Prose is too drawn-out, too calm for emotional outbursts.
It does not permit the urgent, immediate interchange between individuals which E.
demands." Expressionist prose is, accordingly, "primarily a byproduct of the move­
ment". 1 Kahler is talking about style only, and not about content. According to him,
the following traits are characteristic for the Expressionist prose style: "Brevity, speed,
daring precision, and a foreshortening of the narration which sharply delineates the
essential." He concludes, therefore, that neither Holz nor Musil, and still less Kafka,
can be numbered among the Expressionists.
Another critic who has defined the Expressionist style is Egbert Krispyn, who
calls it "antithetic, dynamic, and rhetorical".2 In his view, the Expressionist is addres­
sing a public he wishes to convince, less by logical argument than by pathos, for the
reader must be won at any cost. Krispyn quotes Kurt Hiller, who had spoken of the
"raised psychic temperature" of the Expressionists. In line with this definition, he
concludes his study by stating that Trakl, Alfred Mombert and Else Lasker-Schüler
cannot qualify as Expressionists.
* This is a slightly revised and somewhat shortened version of Professor Arnold's original
contribution, undertaken, with the author's permission, by the editor, who is also responsible for
the translations. U. W.
1
Erich von Kahler: "Die Prosa des Expressionismus" in Der deutsche Expressionismus :
Formen und Gestalten, ed. Hans Steffen (Göttingen, 1965), p. 165.
2
Egbert Krispyn, Style and Society in German Literary Expressionism (Gainesville, Florida,
1964), p. 45.

79
 Walter Sokel's observations on Expressionist prose are more convincing than
those of both Krispyn and Kahler. As he sees it, Einstein (Bebuquin oder Die Dilettanten
des Wunders) and Döblin (Die drei Sprünge des Wang-lun) are the two poles between
whom most other Expressionist prose writers can be lined up. They have one thing
in common, however: "One may call this modern narrative tradition objectivating
because it seeks to exclude the subjectivity of the narrator—his personality and his
mentality—as far as possible and wants to concentrate entirely on the description
of the objects and events, as well as the audible and inaudible speech of the characters." 3
Einstein wrote the novel Bebuquin between 1906 and 1909, published it in Die Aktion
and dedicated it to Andre Gide, whose book Paludes (1895) had strongly influenced
him as well as Benn. In Sokel's view, "Einstein's pacemaking novel combines four
narrative principles which, often separately, affect the Expressionistic prose: mono-
logic reflection, phantastic allegory, aphoristic irony, and pulpit-like oratory".
Stylistically, Döblin's novel is completely different, in so far as it displays "brevity,
force, and precision". However, what the two books have in common are the lack
of psychology, the absence of logical thinking, and the shock effect exerted upon the
reader. Concerning Expressionist style as such, Sokel observes: "If there is anything
at all that, from a linguistic point of view, characterizes Expressionist prose, it is the
following three factors: parataxis, ellipsis and, finally, syntactical distortion." This
would mean that Kafka, Heinrich Mann, and Alfred Kubin could not be considered
Expressionists. But Sokel is more cautious than Kahler and Krispyn, for he quickly
adds: "If, on the other hand, point of view, narrative technique and narrative structure,
rather than the linguistic and stylistic elements, are used as criteria, the three above-
mentioned authors surely qualify as Expressionists."4 Sokel analyzes specific works
by Kafka, Döblin, Paul Adler, and Heym, and finds that the point of view of the person
telling the story is, in each case, such that the world he sees appears to be completely
out of focus.5
While Sokel's observations are to the point, Kahler's and Krispyn's procedure
is somewhat dubious, since they come up with definitions first and then find out
who fits and who does not fit them. On the whole, there seems, thus, to be no agreement
who the Expressionist prose writers really were; and it may be useful to solve this
problem pragmatically before we proceed any further. Expressionist short stories
and novellas have found their way into several anthologies, the most representative
of which are Ahnung und Aufbruch and Ego und Eros, both edited by Karl Otten.
Together, they offer selections by nearly sixty authors, many of them well known
(such as Benn, Brod, Daubler, Döblin, Edschmid, Leonhard Frank, Goll, Heym,
Kafka, Klabund, Lasker-Schüler, Oskar Loerke, Heinrich Mann, Musil, Schickele,
Sternheim, Trakl, Unruh, Werfel, Wolfenstein, Zech and Arnold Zweig) and many
now largely or totally forgotten (Martin Beradt, Friedrich Bischoff, Paul Boldt, Hans
3
Walter Sokel, "Die Prosa des Expressionismus" in Expressionismus als Literatur, ed. Wolf­
gang 4Rothe (Berne/Munich, 1969), p . 155.
Ibid., pp. 163-165.
5
Wolfgang Paulsen's book Expressionismus und Aktivismus also contains a chapter on Ex­
pressionist prose (pp. 200—219). Paulsen analyzes Sternheim's, Heinrich Mann's, Edschmid's
and Einstein's style.

80
 von Flesch-Bruningen, Franz Jung, Philipp Keller, Bohuslav Kokosehka, Simon
Kronberg, Alfred Lemm, Robert Müller, Heinrich Schaefer, and Hermann Ungar). 6
On the whole, it is quite difficult to obtain copies of novels written by the lesser
known Expressionists. Few libraries own the hundreds of titles mentioned by Soergel
in his monumental literary history or by Rudolf Majut in his survey. 7 When Wolfgang
Rothe commissioned some fifty essays for his volume Expressionismus als Literatur,
he had difficulties in finding authors who were competent to write on Expressionist
prose writers. 8 I n the end, he found eight scholars to discuss the work of Heinrich
Mann, Mynona, Döblin, Ernst Weiss, Einstein, Gustav Sack, Ehrenstein, and
Edschmid. (Kafka is absent since he appears in another volume edited by Rothe.)
Having mentioned most of the authors who are generally credited with being
Expressionists and who wrote all or part of their works in prose, we must ask ourselves
what is the common denominator between Sternheim's experiments in syntax, Döblin's
cascades of happenings, Franz Jung's "chaotic prose", Mynona's cool satire, Edschmid's
ecstatic stenography, Klabund's film scripts, Kafka's bureaucratic use of relative
clauses, Einstein's brainstorms, Stramm's interior monologues (except for two such
monologues, he wrote no narrative prose), and Arnold Zweig's exquisite echoes of
Eugenie Marlitt (in his Novellen um Claudia). One concludes t h a t Kahler is, quite
unintentionally, right: if we consider style alone, there would be little reason to exclude
Thomas Mann from E. I t is, in fact, characteristic that the Expressionists were ready
to use any style whatever. I t is exactly the unlimited variety of styles and moods which
is characteristic of the movement; for never before in the history of German literature
such stylistic variety has existed. However, there was a tendency toward extremes,
and it is understandable t h a t the critics (like the public) should have become conscious
of the stylistic extremists first of all, and t h a t they should have tried to characterize
the Expressionist style as being concentrated, abstract, hymnic, ecstatic, as the case
might be. The danger of such a definition is that it can be applied to only a small
portion of Expressionist prose.
By about 1925, when Soergel's book appeared, one knew who was definitely not
an Expressionist: Thomas Mann, Hesse (who, at one time, thought otherwise), Haupt-
mann—in short, those not listed in the appropriate chapters of t h a t volume. Almost
all of those listed, however, have since been considered genuine Expressionists or writers
in close contact with the movement. I n fact, since 1914, the term "Expressionist"
could have any of the following connotations: subjective, ecstatic, hysterical, crazy,
modern, eccentric, anti-bourgeois, written in a concentrated style, written in a hymnic
style, written with complete disregard for logic and psychology, written with inten­
tional disregard for literary taboos, excellent, Futurist, degenerate, etc. The word,

6
Ahnung und Aufbruch (Neuwied, 1957); Ego und Eros (Stuttgart, 1963). See also Fritz
Martini's anthology Prosa des Expressionismus (Stuttgart, 1970).
7
Albert Soergel, Dichter und Dichtung der Zeit: Im Banne des Expressionismus (Leipzig, 1925).
Rudolf Majut, "Der deutsche Roman" in Deutsche Philologie im Aufriss, eds. P . Merker and
W. Stammler, second ed. (Berlin, 1960), pp. 1604-36.
8
I t is interesting to note that Hermann Friedmann and Otto Mann's volume Expressionismus :
Gestalten einer literarischen Bewegung (Heidelberg, 1956) has only two parts, "Lyrik" and "Drama",
and contains no section on prose writers.

81
coined in analogy to the prevailing popular use of the term "Impressionist", was even
used in the sense of "unscientific". Thus Harnack called Karl Barth's unorthodox
and, in his view, unscientific method ''expressionistisch". 0 To sum up: it seems t h a t
few prose writers of the Expressionist period had any preconceived ideas about what
Expressionist prose should be like. There were no valid or generally accepted standards
in the field of the novel or the short story. Nor was there a prose anthology similar in
importance to K u r t Pinthus' lyric anthology MenschJieitsddmmerung.

II

Before embarking on our search for possible foreign influences on German Expres­
sionist prose, let us, by way of introduction, briefly discuss two authors whose prose
style and prose writings would seem to be uniquely German: Kasimir Edschmid and
Carl Sternheim. I t is generally accepted that the former (whom K u r t Hiller jokingly
nicknamed Rasimir Edschmid) invented the "speediest" German prose when he
wrote the stories collected, in 1915, under the title Die sechs Mündungen. Except
for his rapid description of the action, Edschmid is by no means "objektivierend".
The first story ("Der Lazo"), for instance, begins as follows: "Raoul Perten verliess
das Haus. Seine Füsse stiegen die Treppe herunter, er fühlte es und die Bewusstheit
des mechanischen Vorgangs erfüllte ihn ganz, beruhigte ihn fast, obwohl keine Erregung
in diesen Tagen vorangegangen war, und dies erstaunte ihn ein wenig" (R. P . left
the house. His feet descended the stairs. He felt this, and the awareness of the mecha­
nical process satisfied him completely, almost reassured him, although no excitement
had preceded in these days; and this surprised him a little). 10
The passage reminds us of Büchner's Lenz (in the novella by that name) who
wanted to walk on his head and was as introspective as Raoul Perten. The narrator
obviously knows every thought and feeling of his hero, and we are as far from the
anti-psychologists as possible. The contemporary reviewers stamped Edschmid's
prose as typically Expressionist, and Edschmid himself subsequently did everything
in his power to preserve this image of himself. But, actually, his prose had little influence
on other writers, and his stories are of a decidedly inferior quality. Moreover, the idea
t h a t one's tales should be short even though the reader might lose the thread by being
deprived of the usual explanations had been taken up by many other writers as well.
Everybody was conscious of the new speed in life, of velocità: and this was the reason
why many writers shortened their previously published stories when revising them
for a second publication. Wolfenstein, for instance, reduced his story "Dika" to one-
third of its original length when revising it in 1.918.11
As we have stated: Edschmid's and Sternheim's prose is uniquely German. Both
writers knew Flaubert, of course, but Edschmid rarely succeeded in preserving a
single point of view throughout a story, and Sternheim's strenuous exercises to appear
9
Martin Rumscheidt, "The Correspondence between Harnack and Barth." Diss., McGill
University (Montréal), 1967, pp. 28, 91, and 93.
10
11
K. Edschmid, Die sechs Mündungen (Leipzig, 1915) p. 2.
See Peter Fischer, Alfred Wolfenstein: Der Expressionismus und die verendende Kunst
(Munich, 1968), pp. 105-126.

82
(grammatically at least) original only served to make his prose amusingly unreadable.
I t sounds slightly Futuristic, though, when the wife in "Vanderbilt" (Vier Novellen,
1918) ponders the acquisition of a hat: "Fünf Tage vor der Abreise brach aus unteren
Bezirken, wo sie ihn gebandigt hatte, an den zu kaufenden H u t der Gedanke mit
elementarer Macht herauf." But, as it turns out, her husband does not like the idea:
"Dann merkt sie ihres Mannes Blick sie greifen schmecken festhalten und mit Ruck,
der sie bis ins Mark spaltet, yon sich schütteln . . . Von Alfons zu ihr hatte es sich
blitzschnell entschieden: Null Greuel Kompost war der Hut, entsprach in keiner
Weise." 12 When Edschmid wrote the novel D i e achatnen Kugeln (1919), he must have
been influenced, to a certain degree, by Sternheim. For having read the novel, the
latter wrote to its author on J a n u a r y 5, 1920:

Am schnellsten verstandige ich mich Ihrer Sprache wegen. Die ist stellen-
weise zum Weinen schön! Ich sehe, wo Sie von mir gelernt haben, indem
Sie es zu Eigenem (als Einziger) machten. Ich weiss, Sie zerschlagen mit
mir, reihen weise starker, die bornierte Rinde des Begriffs und bringen ihn
von innen zu einer zweiten Explosion. Es gibt Satze, wo ich kein Vergleich
mehr bin, aber Baudelaire ist. Nur ist auch in der Sprache fur mich—kaum ein
anderer darf das aussetzen—in der wilden Rebellion, alten Plunder aufzu-
räumen, das Tempo der Hast zu standig. 13

III

Having established the names of those authors who have been, or might be,
numbered among the Expressionist prose writers, and having given an indication of
the wide variety of their styles, we can now try to find out by which foreign authors
they were influenced. Let us first have a look at the two leading periodicals of early E.
and see what writers from abroad received the most attention on the part of their
editors. Franz Pfemfert's Die Aktion is a veritable treasury for the student of Compara­
tive Literature. Pfemfert himself was married to Alexandra Ramm, a Russian, whose
sister was Carl Einstein's wife. Both women were active as translators from the Russian.
Pfemfert was deeply interested in the literature of other countries and, from time
to time, dedicated entire issues to Russian, French, Italian, Belgian, English and
Polish letters. He was especially fond of the Russian and French novelists of the nine­
teenth century. The first four volumes of Die Aktion (1911-1915) contain contributions
by and about Alain, Hermann Bang, Balzac, Baudelaire, Paolo Buzzi, Edward Car­
penter (three essays), Blaise Cendrars, Leon Deubel, Dostoevsky, Flaubert, Gide,
Maxim Gorky, Jules Laforgue, Walter Savage Landor, Pierre Loti, Marinetti, Camille
Mauclair, Multatuli, Charles Péguy, Stanislaw Przybyszewski, Strindberg, Verhaeren,

12
13
Carl Sternheim, Das Gesamtwerk, ed. Wilhelm Emrich (Neuwied, 1963), IV, p. 256.
" I come most quickly to terms with you on account of your language which, at times, moves
me to tears. I see where you have learned from me by adapting my style (the only one to do so)
to yourself. I know that, together with me—being stronger in formation—you will destroy the shell
of abstract concepts and make them explode, from the inside, a second time. There are sentences
that can no longer be compared with anything in my works, but only with Baudelaire. But even
for me (and nobody else has a right to raise this objection) the rapid speed which you maintain in
the urge to dispense with the old rubbish is too consistently hectic."

33
Verlaine, Whitman, and Oscar Wilde, as well as numerous reviews of books by these
and other foreign authors.14 In his introduction to the reprint edition of Die Aktion,
Paul Raabe, one of the foremost authorities on E., makes some interesting observations
concerning foreign influences. In his view, Nietzsche, Strindberg, Whitman and Wede-
kind must be regarded as authors whose works form the background and basis (Hinter-
grund and Untergrund) of Expressionist literature. Similarly, the novels of the Danish
writer Hermann Bang (1857-1912) made a strong impact on the German novel at
the turn of the century, and the French poet Léon Deubel (1879-1913) was highly
esteemed by many Expressionists, including Zech, who translated his poetry. The
Polish writer Przybyszewski (1868-1927) was himself an admirer of Nietzsche, and
his ecstatic plays (Der Schrei, etc.), written in German, strongly affected the Expres­
sionist movement. Concerning Strindberg, Raabe states: "His plays and novels with
their descriptions of an intoxicatingly intensified, self-destructive existence have
strongly influenced German literature at the turn of the century, as well as E." 15
If we glance at the first seven volumes (1909-1915) of Der Sturm, we find, among
many others, contributions by Guillaume Apollinaire, Artur Babillotte (his novel
Die Schwermut des Geniessers [The Melancholy of the Sybarite] in twenty-one install­
ments), Bang, André Beaunier, William Blake, Umberto Boccioni, Cendrars, Claudel,
Flaubert, Aage von Kohl (three stories and the novel Der Weg durch die Nacht, in
twenty installments, translated from the Danish by Nell Walden), Laforgue, Par
Lagerkvist, Marinetti, Octave Mirbeau, Aldo Palazzeschi, Przybyszewski, Rimbaud,
Jacques Riviére, Marcel Schwob, Strindberg, and Rabindranath Tagore (who became
popular in Germany after receiving the Nobel Prize in 1913). We also encounter essays
about Balzac, Bang, Baudelaire, Edward Carpenter, Flaubert, Charles Louis Philippe,
Marinetti, Schwob, Strindberg, Tolstoy, and Whitman, as well as dozens of contri­
butions by, and essays about, non-German painters and composers. Again, one is
astonished by the scope of Walden's periodical, which was truly international.16
From this point, we would have to proceed in the following way: we should first
have to familiarize ourselves with those texts by foreign authors which were easily
available (preferably in translation) to the Expressionist prose writers. Then we should
have to read the latter's works, their critical writings and their letters, and establish,
in each case, the extent of their knowledge of foreign literature and the extent of
possible or probable influences. The task is, unfortunately, still a forbidding one, because
it is so difficult to obtain the works of most Expressionists listed in connection with
Otten's anthologies. In the case of most authors, no biographies or bibliographies are
available, nor have their letters or journals been published. In some instances, one
cannot even ascertain whether any manuscripts, diaries or letters have survived,
where they are located, and who owns the copyright. What follows will, therefore,

14
Books by the following authors were reviewed (the figures in parentheses indicate the
number of reviews): d'Annunzio (4), Bang (6), Björnsterne Björnson (3), Boccioni, Dickens,
translated by Meyrink, (2), Flaubert, Hamsun (6), Lafcadio Hearn (5), Ibsen (3), Johannes V.
Jensen (4), Selma Lagerlof (2), Emil Rasmussen (2), Otto Rung (3), G. B. Shaw, Strindberg (4),
Tolstoy,
15
and Turgenev.
Paul Raabe, ed., Die Aktion (1911-1915). Reprint (Stuttgart, 1961).
16
See Nell Walden and Lothar Schreyer, Das Sturmbuch (Baden-Baden, 1954).

84
be bits and pieces of information, most of them requiring further study and more
careful analysis. Indeed, the field of Expressionist prose offers hundreds of research
topics for the literary bibliographer, biographer, editor, critic, historian and for the
student of Comparative Literature.

IV

For the Naturalist, man was the product of heredity and environment, whereas
the Expressionists believed (or pretended to believe) in man's ability to transform
himself. By killing their fathers (in literature only!), they hoped, subconsciously, to
destroy their bourgeois "heredity". The Futurists, on the other hand, ignored or
despised women. Thus, without a woman's help, Marinetti's Mafarka le Futuriste
(1909) produces a child resembling an airplane. In his novel in free verse, Le Monoplan
du Tape (1911), the same author kills over a thousand women who try to derail the
trains transporting their husbands/fathers to the front. Marinetti kills them by flying
so low that the wings of his airplane decapitate them. The German Expressionists
were less radical. With them, it was usually the male who became a New Man, but
the help of women was occasionally still needed and appreciated. Thus, in Kaiser's
drama Gas it is a woman who makes up her mind to produce the New Man. Nevertheless,
the woman in Expressionist literature is often a ruthless, spiteful being who brings
disaster upon her idealist lover. Such women, of course, had been popular in French
literature for some time already. Balzac, Zola, and Maupassant had depicted them,
and Strindberg had put them on the stage. The incredibly ruthless women in Jakob
Wassermann's novel Das Gansemannchen (1915) and Ernst Weiss' novel Tiere in
Ketten (1918) strongly remind one of certain Strindbergian females whose behavior
on stage had frightened even some hard-boiled Activists. In a review published in
Die Aktion (October 9, 1912), we find the following shocked reaction to a play by the
Swedish dramatist: "It is horrible, it is terrible; one cannot defend oneself against
this man, Strindberg. For he is right. Woman is a beast, a sly, thin-skinned and tough
beast."
In theory, the Naturalist had to be interested in the dreary and hopeless life of
the proletariat. He should thus have had no room for the extraordinary human being,
the great hero, the psychologically unique individual, the pathological case—unless
that individual had been conceived under the influence of alcohol. The Expressionist,
on the other hand, preferred the extraordinary creature. He used the homme moyen
sensuel and the average bourgeois only for satirical purposes and was interested in the
workers only as a mass, and not as a group of individuals. Their function was, for him,
to follow the leader. There has never been any doubt about the influence of Nietzsche's
Also sprach Zarathustra on the Expressionists. How direct an influence this was is
quite another matter. There is good reason to believe, for instance, that d'Annunzio's,
Marinetti's, and Jack London's supermen were as familiar to German readers as was
Zarathustra himself.
Gabriele d'Annunzio (1863–1938) was for the world of 1900-1920 what Ernest
Hemingway was for that of 1920-1940. In Italy, he became known at the age of

85
sixteen with the publication of a volume of poetry entitled Primo vere, and his reputa­
tion spread after an erroneous report that he had died. His love affair with Eleonora
Duse made him famous. By about 1900 his works had been translated into many
languages and were received enthusiastically, especially in Germany. In 1898 he was
elected to parliament. Although d'Annunzio's income was considerable, he spent so
much money that he owed millions to his creditors. He saved himself by escaping to
France in March, 1910. After his return to Italy, five years later, he became famous
for his aviatic feats; and his flight over Vienna to drop propaganda leaflets is mentioned
in the history of aviation. In 1919 he occupied Fiume with a small detachment of
soldiers and held the town for over a year.
D'Annunzio was the incarnation of the superman: a famous poet, a politician,
a military leader, an aviatic pioneer, and a hero (he lost one eye during an emergency
landing). What he was the Expressionists of the Activist school would have liked to be.
A writer whose works were anything but Naturalist or (except at the very beginning
of his career) Verist, he admired Wagner and Nietzsche, as well as Hellenism, the
Renaissance, the extraordinary man, and the superman. Even his early tales are colorful,
drastic, and often gruesome. In the Novelle della Pescara (1884-1886) we find stories
like "L'eroe" and "La madia". In the former, L'Ummalido cuts off his squashed hand
in front of the altar and offers it as a sacrifice to Sante Gunzelve—and t h a t in the
presence of the entire community! In the latter, the cruel Luca, who is sick in bed,
refuses to give his starving, crippled brother food. When the cripple tries to steal it,
Luca wakes u p and kills him—probably with the author's approval; for, after all,
cripples should be done away with in order t o make room for the supermen.
D'Annunzio's works appeared in German from about 1900 on: Trionfo della Morte
(1894, German 1899), Il Piacere (1896, German 1898), La Citta Morta (1898, German
1901), Il Fuoco (1900, German 1900), Le Novelle della Pescara (German 1903), etc.
The German translation of Forse che si, forse che no appeared in 1910, those of L'Inno-
cente and Le Vergini delle Rocce in 1912. They were enthusiastically and widely reviewed.
Thus Karl Vollmoeller's "Nachdichtung" of Forse che sï, forse che no (Vielleicht—
Vielleicht auch nicht) was lavishly praised by Heinrich Eduard Jacob (Die Aktion,
August 21, 1911): "There is no desire (Genussverlangen) —with the exception of that
which, hating the sight of perfection, longs for imperfection-which could not be
indulged, quenched or satisfied in this book." Forse che sì, forse che no is a novel con­
cerned with love, pilots and flying. The translator, Karl Vollmoeller, was himself an
enthusiastic aviator, and, according to Else Lasker-Schüler, his splendid "Katharine
von Armagnac [war] die erste Aviatikerin der Welt". 1 7 In reviewing the novel, Jacob
maintained that, so far, German writers had not succeeded in adequately describing
the technical innovations of the age. 18

17
Else Lasker-Schüler, "Wenn mein Herz gesund war—Kinematographisches" in Ahnung
und Aufbruch, p . 414.
18
"Stehen nicht die Tage kaum hinter uns, da zu gestalten noch völlig misslang, was um uns
dampfte, was um uns schnob, hammerte, auf Schienenstrangen einherdonnerte und schwere Kol-
ben hob? 1st nicht Gerhart Hauptmanns Jugendgedicht vom eilenden Schnellzuge, jenes kon-
ventionell -programmatische, eine einzige peinbereitende Geschmacklosigkeit ? Sind wir nicht im­
mer noch Zeuge der ohnmächtigen Versuche, welche die Hamburgische Dichterschule unternimmt,

86
 D'Annunzio's coming to grips with modern technology is only one aspect of the
novel which Jacob praises. (The poetry of Heym and Zech, Kaiser's Gas trilogy and
Döblin's novels Wadzeks Kampf mil der Dampfturbine, Berge Meere und Giganten,
and Berlin Alexanderplatz were to be concerned with technical progress as well, but
their authors would be much more skeptical about it than d'Annunzio or Marinetti.)
He also lauds the intense colors pervading the work and the author's ability to evoke
associations: "Whenever a Persian rug is mentioned, all of Persia with its fervid air,
the rocky Kurdish desert and the roses of Shiraz are invoked; and whenever the Adriatic
Sea is referred to, a hundred promontories, islands, and ships float past our brightened
eyes." Jacob compares the novel to Wilde's Dorian Gray, Joris Karl Huysmans' A Re-
borns and Wassermann's Alexander in Babylon and finds it to be "the richest in asso­
ciations, moods, splendors and decorative paintings we know of". His admiration for
d'Annunzio was, in fact, boundless, and for him (who was himself an Expressionist and
wrote a great deal about the movement) the Italian writer was one of those great
authors who were rejected by the contemporary (1910) p l e b s – m e n like George, Rilke,
Hofmannsthal, Heinrich Mann, and Wassermann.
No wonder, then, that it was Rudolf G. Binding who translated d'Annunzio's
La Nave (Das Schiff, 1910) and Fedra (Phädra, 1910) into German. Die Auferstehung
des Kentauren (The Resurrection of the Centaur, 1909) appeared in Binding's German
version even before the Italian original was published, and Otto von Taube translated
d'Annunzio's essay on Nietzsche. The Expressionists, then, were quite ready to absorb
the aspect of pompous splendor in d'Annunzio (whose German publisher was the Insel-
Verlag, which showed little enthusiasm for the movement), although they frowned
upon similar undertakings on the part of George and his disciples. D'Annunzio's style
may have annoyed them, but not so his ideas, as expressed, e.g., in the following
passage from Die Auferstehung des Kentauren:

Ein unersattlicher Wissensdurst treibt ihn [den neuen Menschen], alle Raume
zu durchmessen, alle Grenzen zu überschreiten, weiter und weiter gegen
ferne Horizonte die Schranken seiner Herrschaft zurückzudrangen, die
immer der Wunsch an Grösse übertrifft. Im Wettlauf mit dem Sturm, dem
Blitz und seinen eigenen Gedanken berauscht er sich an wuchtiger Schnellig-
keit, befreit sich von dem hemmenden Gesetze der Schwere, vervielfaltigt die
Kraft seiner Sinneswerkzeuge. 19

Like Shaw, d'Annunzio saw that technological progress could lead to the destruc­
tion of humanity. In this vein, the quotation continues:

urn sprachlich etwas zu unterjochen, was sich eben nur von Grösseren unterjochen lässt? Lebt
nicht noch Richard Dehmel und mit ihm das vielfach lachelnde Gedenken an die 'Zwei Menschen',
in denen meisterlich ungeschickt Telephon und Veloziped in die Complexe der Hochsprache ein-
gefangen werden sollten? Freilich: mit den Mitteln eines liliencronesken Sprachgebrauchs liess sich
derlei nicht bewaltigen." Die Aktion, I (1911), columns 851-855.
19
"An unquenchable thirst for knowledge drives the new man to penetrate all spaces, trans­
gress all limits and push the borders of his domain, which is always exceeded by desire, further
and further toward the horizon. Competing with the storm, the lightning and his own thoughts,
he is intoxicated with mighty speed, rids himself of the restrictive laws of gravity, and multiplies
the force of his sense organs." Die Auferstehung des Kentauren (Leipzig, 1909), pp. 3f.

87
 H a t nicht in diesem Bilde das tragische und asketische Geschlecht des neuen
Menschen Gestalt gewonnen? Des neuen Menschen, der, nachdem er seinem
Leben die fürchterlichsten Regungen und Kraftausserungen der Elemente
aufgezwungen hat, nun seinen Geist auf den Gipfel seines Könnens erhebt,
um die Übergriffe jener Gewalt zu meistern, die ihn mit sich fortzureissen
und zu vernichten bereit ist, wenn er auch nur einen Augenblick die Herr-
schaft über sich verliert oder seine Willenskraft verlangsamt. 20

D'Annunzio's early short stories (Le Novelle della Pescara) could have been entitled
Contes cruels, the title which Villiers de l''Isle Adam had assigned to a volume of his
tales published in 1883. (Villiers' collected works in German translation began to appear
in 1909, and the first volume included Grausame Geschichten, translated by H. H.
Ewers.) This title could also have been used for Otten's anthologies.
Despite the enthusiastic talk about the superman, few writers of the age actually
believed in his coming. Jack London, for instance, mentions Nietzsche on the first
page of his novel The Sea Wolf, before introducing his superman Wolf Larsen. Evidently
at the beginning his sympathies lie with Larsen, since he is thrilled by his excessive
cruelty; but in the end he lets him die a horrible death, implying t h a t the superman
cannot survive but only lives and dies more intensely than others. Wassermann's
Alexander (in Alexander in Babylon, 1904) resembles Wolf Larsen in many ways.
Zarathustra is mentioned in the book, and the hero is a superman who, like Larsen,
must discover t h a t he has no power over his decaying body. Wassermann anticipates
Marinetti's and Döblin's enthusiasm for monstrous occurrences. Thus Alexander's
army is almost starving in the desert when a soldier finds a puddle of dirty water:

Einer von den Suchenden stiess ein misstönendes Triumphgeschrei aus. Neben
einer aufgewehten Düne hatte er eine Pfütze mit brackigem, stinkendem Was­
ser entdeckt; er lag schon bis zum Gürtel darin und trank nicht nur mit
den Lippen, sondern mit dem ganzen Gesicht. Schwer atmend warfen sich an­
dere neben ihn und tranken lautlos, bemiiht, ihren Fund geheimzuhalten.
Ihre Körper erstarrten vor Wollust.
Aber als hatten sie das Wasser in der Luft gerochen, erfuhren es die nahe
lagernden Scharen der Messenier. Mit kraftlos wankenden Beinen stürzten sie
herbei und verloren unterwegs Helme und Mützen. Nach wenigen Augen-
blicken bezeichnete ein Haufen von Gliedmassen, Rümpfen und Köpfen die
Stelle, wo vorher das elende Rinnsal gewesen, und Hunderte von Zuspat-
kommenden scharrten heulend im Sand. 21
20
"Is it not that, in this image, the tragic and ascetic race of the new man has taken shape?
Of the new man who, having imposed upon his life the most awesome motions and forces of the
elements, raises his spirit to the height of its ability, in order to stave off the attack of that force
which is ready to carry him off and destroy him if, only for a single moment, he loses control over
himself or slows down his will power." Ibid.
21
"One of the seekers uttered a strident, triumphant scream. Close to a dune lifted by the
wind he had found a puddle with stale, odoriferous water. He was lying in it up to his belt and
drank, not only with his lips but with the entire face. Breathing heavily, others fell down beside
him and drank silently, eager to keep their discovery hidden. Their bodies were rigid with pleasure.
—But as if they had smelled the water in the air, the Messenian troops resting nearby discovered
the secret. On wobbly legs they rushed up and, on the way, lost their caps and helmets. After a few
seconds, a heap of extremities, torsos and heads marked the spot where previously had been the
pitiful trickle, and hundreds of latecomers howlingly scratched the sand." Jakob Wassermann,
Historische Erzählungen (Berlin, 1924), p. 8.

88
 D'Annunzio's and Marinetti's aviators are of the game kind as Wolf Larsen; they
enjoy superhuman thrills when flying over the Alps but risk their lives every time they
leave the ground. This cruelty and this readiness to risk one's life for the sake of sen­
sational thrills, as well as the desire for "erhöhte Temperatur" at any cost, is charac­
teristic of much of Expressionist literature.

There is no doubt that German E. was strongly influenced by Futurism. In order

to describe the gigantic new machines, modern industry, airplanes, bicycle and car
racing, a new vocabulary and a new style were needed. "Speed'' was probably the
most important factor of the new age. No wonder that the Expressionist prose style
is "speedier'' than any previous style in German literature, and t h a t Thomas Mann
or Musil were, for all their modernity, often regarded as belated nineteenth-century
realists. One aspect of velocity is simultaneity: instead of reporting one event after
another, everything is described as happening at once. Joyce became the world's
greatest addict of simultaneità when he wrote Finnegans Wake. If one wants to tell
something quickly, there is no time for qualifying adjectives and for psychological
explanations and ruminations on the author's part. I n fact, the personality of the
author completely disappears, and there is no room for elaborate comparisons, symbols,
and metaphors. On the whole, most Expressionist novels are considerably shorter
than their realistic and Naturalistic predecessors. And if they are long (as in the case
of Döblin's works), one has the feeling that ten volumes have been compressed into one.
Speaking of Döblin: that author frankly admitted that Marinetti's Mafarha le
Futuriste had meant a great deal to him. That novel, written in French, was published
in Paris in the same year which saw the publication of the first Futurist manifesto
(in Le Figaro of February 20, 1909). While Döblin subsequently attacked the German
translations of Marinetti's 1912 manifestos in Der Sturm (March, 1913), he had nothing
but praise for Mafarka, the novel which largely influenced the language of Die drei
Sprünge des Wang-lun (1915), Wadzeks Kampf mit der Dampffurbine (1919), Wallenstein
(1920), and Berge Meere und Giganten (1924). Like Marinetti, Döblin relies mainly on
masses of nouns and verbs, which he lines up in long sequences without separating
them by punctuation. As Edschmid put it, "Döblin is a long mason (langer Maurer);
he continuously walks back and forth with stones but puts no plaster in between. He
merely places one broad, square and evenly shaped piece on top of another." 22 This
is to say t h a t Döblin (like Marinetti) ignores the usual psychological motivations
for the actions carried out by his protagonists. They act one way but could as well
act in another. A few words uttered by Spendius in Flaubert's Salammbô could put an
entire army on the move; b u t in Mafarha and Wang-lun no motivation at all is needed.
An idea occurs to the hero, who indulges in a certain mood, and the gigantic action
takes a different (and completely unexpected) turn.
Marinetti had a definite political program: war against Austria, the return of

22
K. Edschmid, Frühe Manifeste (Darmstadt, 1957), p. 110.

89
Trieste to Italy, and the conquest of Lybia. He was opposed to clericalism and royalism,
as well as to socialism and Communism. He loved machines, and his pet project was
the industrialization of Venice. Döblin's political ideas were totally different, and al­
though the German author, too, was fascinated by machines and the new, rapid means
of transportation, he was afraid of technological progress. Thus his sympathy clearly
lies with Wadzek rather than with the new industrial giants, and with Bieberkopf
rather than with the Moloch Berlin to whom he succumbs again and again. And the
tremendous vision of the new world in Berge Meere und Giganten is that of a man who
is afraid that, one day, it might become reality. (It is possible that Johannes V. Jensen's
book Der Glelscher: Ein Mythos vom ersten Menschen, 1911, also had some influence
on this novel.) What fascinated Döblin was Marinetti's style, his anti-psychology,
and his use of the modern superman. While Mafarka's orgies take place in Africa,
where they are more credible than if set in Europe, Wang-lun performs his feats in
China. Walter Muschg, who has described the genesis of Die drei Sprünge des Wang-lun,
was unable to find its Chinese sources, but in the meantime, Ingrid Schuster has identi­
fied them and demonstrated their influence. 23
Döblin's and Marinetti's supermen are descendants of Nietzsche's Zarathustra,
but they are as different from their model as Expressionist sons are from their nine­
teenth-century fathers. Zarathustra looked back and longed for the old Hellenic pa­
ganism. In Marinetti's words, he is

a compound of three corpses: Apollo, Bacchus, and Mars. He is the disciple of

the Engine, the enemy of books, an exponent of personal experience. He is a
manifold product not of an inherited culture but of his own activity. His
glory rests on his personal qualities, a lucid inspiration, a keen discernment,
a flashing rapidity of decision, a savage instinct, courage and temerity. The
children of the present generation who live in the cosmopolis of science, who
witness the rising tide of syndicalism and the daring con quests of aviators, are
but precursors of the superman we envisage. 24

The poet who writes about such supermen must be well acquainted with tech­
nology. He must be more enthusiastic about speed than about beauty and love, and
he must have a greater interest in motors than in women. The root of his writings must
not be memory, longing, pity, and logic, but rather intuition. "Intuition, in its un­
conscious, unreflecting, spontaneous vivacity," says R. T. Clough, "is what sends
the poet down the stream of motion, synchronizes his breathing with the rhythm of
the motor and his pulse-beat with the throbs of metal, of stones, of wood." 25 On these
points Döblin was in full agreement with Marinetti, and he proved it in his novels
written between 1915 and 1924.
For Otto Weininger (author of the book Geschlecht und Charakler), Strindberg
and Shaw, women were evil and dangerous, seeking to enslave man, to suppress his
23
W. Muschg, "Nachwort" in Döblin, Die drei Sprünge des Wang-lum (Olten, 1960); Ingrid
Schuster, "Döblins chinesiseher Roman," Wirkendes Wort, X X (1970), 339—346.
24
Marinetti, as quoted in R. T. Clough, Futurism, the Story of a Modern Art Movement: A New
Appraisal (New York, 1961), pp. 33f.
25
Ibid., p. 47.

90
artistic talent and his freedom, using him to produce children, trapping him with
romantic love and other lies, and finally destroying him. The Futurists turned the
table cm women by ignoring them altogether. Feminine beauty did not interest them,
and they found a motor car more interesting than a pretty girl. Döblin, too, considered
love stories stereotyped/Like Marinetti, he admitted love mainly in the form of sexual
orgies indulged in by masses of people. Accordingly, the pure love of the Chinese youth
Tai in Wang-lun is mentioned in a few ironic words. The lovers are ridiculously old-
fashioned, and they die because of it: she is raped by other men (because her friend
did not dare take her himself), whereupon he hangs himself from a tree.
In his several essays on the novel, written between 1913 and 1919, Döblin spoke
out, over and again, against the use of psychology in fiction, as well as against a
dramatic structure of the novel (i.e., a structure relying on one principal action, with
every element being introduced only for the purpose of preparing for the final epitome).
He preferred a rapid narration of many happenings, a cinematographic "montage"
of scenes (Kinostil). A good novel, he said, can be cut into ten parts, and each part
will continue to live on its own, like the parts of an earthworm. Marinetti, no doubt,
would have fully subscribed to Döblin's theory and practice. 26

VI

Turning to the influence of French literature on the prose writings of the German
Expressionists, we note that the novel which served as a model for Wassermann and
Heinrich Mann, just as it did for Marinetti, was Flaubert's Salammbó (1862). After
completing his psychological study of petit-bourgeois souls (Madame Bovary), Flaubert
turned to writing a gigantic epic, set in and around the African city of Carthage. The
novel describes monumental events, tremendous sufferings, fierce hatreds, and the
movements of thousands of people driven to frenzy by a few neurotic leaders. Salammbô
is anything but petit-bourgeois, and none of its characters acts like a nineteenth-
century middle-class individual. Flaubert uses no psychology, and the reader is fur­
nished with almost no clues and explanations as to the characters' behavior. As the
author keeps himself completely in the background, the reader merely watches in
horror, fascinated. Salammbó is, in fact, the prototype of the "objektivierender Roman"
in world literature.
Marinetti's Mafarka would seem to be directly based on Salammbô, and the same
applies to Wassermann's already mentioned novel Alexander in Babylon. In addition,
Bernhard Kellermann's scenes of mass hysteria (in Der Tunnel, 1913), with their
thousands of choking workers and their rallies of thousands of fanatical wives, were
inspired by either Flaubert, Marinetti or Jensen. Döblin must have known Der Tunnel
when he wrote Berge Meere und Giganten. We also know t h a t Heinrich Mann was
deeply influenced by Salammbó, so much so in fact that his fragmentary novella "Die
Königin von Cypern" is a direct outgrowth of his reading of that novel. Mann did
not translate Flaubert (as he translated Anatole France, Choderlos de Laclos, and
26
For a more detailed study of Marinetti's influence on Döblin, consult my book, Die Lite-
ratur des Expressionismus: Sprachliche und thematische Quellen, pp. 80-107.

91
Alfred Capus), but in 1905 he wrote an essay on that writer's relationship to George
Sand. Mann's rapid, objective way of telling the story in Die Göttinnen oder Die drei
Romane der Herzogin von Assy (1903) reminds one of Salammbo, while d'Annunzio's
influence seems to be responsible for the mellower colors and moods of the Italian
background. The following is an example of Flaubert's manner—the speed of the narra­
tive, the impulsiveness and cruelty of the crowd of Africans, and the impassiveness of
the narrator:

A ce moment-la, il se fit un rassemblement sous les platanes. C'était pour

voir un nègre qui se roulait en b a t t a n t le sol avec ses membres, la prunelle
fixe, le cou tordu, l'ècume aux lèvres. Quelqu'un cria qu'il était empoisonnée.
Tous se crurent empoisonnés. Ils tombèrent sur les esclaves; une clameur épou-
vantable s'éléva, et un vertige de destruction tourbillona sur l'armée ivre. Ils
frappaient au hasard, autour d'eux, ils brisaient, ils tuaient: quelques-unes
lancèrent des flambeaux dans les feuillages; d'autres, s'accoudant sur la
balustrade des lions, les massacrèrent a coups de flèches; les plus hardis
coururent aux elephants, ils voulaient leur abattre la trompe et manger de
I'ivoire. 27

In Die Göttinnen, cruelty, treason and torture occur on a more individual level,
and there are few mob scenes. But the speed and the laconism of the narrator are the
same as in Salammbô. I n the first part of the trilogy, Mann covers an entire year in the
life of the duchess in one paragraph:

Der Herzog brach sofort mit ihr auf. Am Morgen nach ihrer Ankunft in
Wien lag er tot im Bett. Sie reiste weiter, von der Leiche begleitet, und sie be-
grub sie in der Assyschen Gruft zu Zara, auf jenem feierlichen Friedhofe, dem
entgegen mit d ü t e r m Pomp der Zug der Zypressen schreitet. Dann ver-
schloss sie sich in ihrem düstern Palais. Die Gesellschaft der dalmatinischen
Hauptstadt rückte vor ihrer Tür an, doch beobachtete die Herzogin ein
strenges Trauerjahr. 28

Apart from the far-reaching influence of Flaubert, on which all German Expres­
sionists agreed, many other French novels were widely read, among them the already
mentioned Contes cruets by Villiers de l'Isle Adam and Huysmans' decadent A Rebours.
In fact, it is not entirely correct to say that the Expressionists tried to supersede
the decadents by inventing the New Man; for Expressionist prose features several
"decadents" in the style of Lord Henry (from Wilde's Picture of Dorian Gray) or Des
Esseintes. Wilde in particular was very popular in the Germany of 1900-1914. Alfred
Lichtenstein, Mynona, Einstein (Bebuquin), Schickele (Benkal der Frauentröster),
Döblin, Sternheim ("Posinsky") and Ehrenstein (Tubutsch) all created figures as
eccentric as any to be found in French or English literature.

27
Gustave Flaubert, Salammbô (Paris, 1964), p. 34.
28
"The Duke left with her immediately. On the morning after their arrival in Vienna he lay
dead in his bed. She travelled on, accompanied by the corpse, whom she buried in the Assy tomb at
Zara, in that solemn cemetery toward which the procession of the cypresses moved with somber
pomp. Then she locked herself up in her somber palace. The society of the Dalmatian capital
appeared at her door; but the duchess observed a strict year of mourning." Die Göttinnen (Berlin,
1932), p. 26.

92
 Generally speaking, the Expressionists and the decadents had one thing in common:
their hatred of middle-class society. Thus Strindberg's Axel Borg (an intellectual kind
of superman in the novel Am offenen Meer, 1891) gradually breaks off all contacts
with society and dies in solitude on an island off the Scandinavian coast, whereas
Des Esseintes remains in the heart of Paris, after having locked the world out. The
eccentric decorations and exotic perfumes of his house (plus a goodly dose of phantasy)
enable him to forget altogether the reality surrounding him and to live a life of satisfying
illusions. The eccentrics of E. either emulated Axel Borg and Des Esseintes, turned
into revolutionaries or went insane.
Perhaps it would be worth while for the student of E. to investigate the influence of
Pierre Loti and his exotic world, of Barbey d'Aurevilly (Les Diaboliques, 1874; Histoire
sans nom, 1882), of Claudel, and of Mirbeau who, in 1907, authored one of the first
novels about the motor car (La 628 E8). Furthermore, Gide's book Les Nourrifures
terrestres (1897) contains ideas picked up by Marinetti over a decade later, such as
the exclamation "Nathanael! quand aurons-nous brûlé tous les livres ! !" And Marinetti
would have endorsed the statement: "Il ne me suffit pas de lire que les sables des plages
sont doux; je veux que mes pieds nus le sentent . . . Toute connaissance que n'a pas
précédée par une sensation m'est inutile. ,,29 Gide's ideas were in direct contrast to
those offered in A Rebours. German E. offered both alternatives: the vitalist who
enjoys the phenomenon of life in the flesh, and the eccentric who withdraws into spiritual
self-contemplation. The latter alternative is the one that was most frequently embraced
and usually more convincing.
Only in the case of a few German Expressionist writers has the impact of French
prose literature already been assessed. Thus Erich von Kahler mentions Flaubert
in connection with Heinrich Mann, and in his essay on Schickele Ferdinand Lion
refers to Maurice Barrès, the influence of whose books, such as L'Homme libre and
Les Deracinés, he discerns in Schickele's first novel, Der Fremde; "In accordance
with Barrès' technique, here, too, the self is carefully probed and, turning inward,
desires to know itself. This urge subsequently projects its findings onto the external
landscapes."30 In his dissertation on Ehrenstein, Gabriel Beck traces the influence
of Xavier de Maistre on Tubutsch,31 and when Edschmid discussed Knut Hamsun
in 1920 (the year in which the Norwegian author received the Nobel Prize), he linked
him to two French authors, Henri Barbusse and Anatole France.32 But the Clarté
movement (Barbusse) came too late to influence early Expressionist prose. Although
we are solely concerned with prose, we should mention Maeterlinck, whose plays,
strange as this may seem, strongly affected certain Expressionist prose works. La
Princesse Maleine, L'Intruse, and Pelléas et Mélisande had already been translated
before 1900, whereas Marie Madeleine appeared in 1909 (German translation 1910)
and L'Oiseau bleu in 1910 (German translation 1911).

29
30
André Gide, Les Nourritures terrestres (Paris, 1964), p . 33.
31
Ferdinand Lion, "René Schickele" in Friedmann/Mann, op. cit., pp. 205 ff.
32
"Die erzahlende Prosa Albert Ehrensteins (1886-1950)", Fribourg/Switzerland, 1969, p. 29.
Kasimir Edschmid, Frühe Manifeste, p. 44.

93
 VII
As regards the impact of English literature, we have already mentioned Shaw
and Wilde. Shaw's influence on the German Expressionist drama (notably Kaiser)
cannot be overrated; but Wilde's novels were also widely read. Thus Max Brod's
novel Schloss Nornepygge (1908) owes a great deal to The Picture of Dorian Gray (as
well as to Huysmans). This "Roman des Indifferenten", in turn, influenced many
Expressionists. Among the English poets familiar to the Expressionists we name only
Swinburne and Whitman (although, curiously enough, Sack adored Byron and Shelley),
and among the novelists Conrad with his South Sea novels. Reinhold Grimm has
discovered still another author whose influence may have been considerable: William
Beckford. 33
Beckford's novel Vathek had originally appeared in 1786. The first French edition
is dated 1787, the first German one 1788. In 1907 Blei produced a new German version
of the work. Grimm quotes Benn, who called Beckford "the father of the entire non-
didactic, non-redemptive literature", and refers to an essay on Vathek which Carl
Einstein included in his volume Anmerkungen (1916). I t is almost certain t h a t Einstein
had read Blei's translation and knew Mallarmé's "Préface a Vathek" (1876). Indeed,
his Bebuquin is, at least at first glance, anything but "didactic and redemptive".
Actually, the rediscovery of Vathek was by no means limited to Germany. The English
Review, for instance, published several hitherto unknown manuscripts by Beckford
(in French) in 1909 and 1910. They had been unearthed by Beckford's biographer,
Lewis Melville.
The principal characters of Vathek have no conscience. Both the protagonist and
his mother are ready to kill people by the thousands in order to procure wealth, knowl­
edge and sensations. They are Faustians more ruthless thàn Johann Faust, because
they have no qualms when selling their souls to the devil. After having lived an exquisite
life in their luxurious castle, they will have to suffer eternal pains; but only in the end
do they occasionally think of what is to come, although even then they are too proud
to despair. "Vathek is the book of inexhaustible desire, of the excessive urge for origi­
nality; concluding with infernal boredom and desperate banality," Einstein exclaimed
in a review published in 1913.34 When the Expressionists stated t h a t they detested
psychology in literature, they did not mean to imply t h a t they despised Freud,
Adler, or Jung. Whereas for the Naturalists "psychology" was the logical conse­
quence once the milieu and heredity had been established, they treated their protag­
onists in a completely different manner, making them feel and do the most unexpected
and "illogical" things. Their own ambition was never t o . b e conventional. Hence
Einstein's enthusiasm for Vathek:

Vathek eröffnet die Reihe der Bücher, welche uns die Erkenntnis und Zucht
der reinen Kunst spendeten, diese in das Gebiet der abgeschlossenen Imagina-

33
Reinhold Grimm, "Vathek in Deutschland: Zwei Zwischenfalle ohne Folgen?" Revue de
littérature
34
comparée, X X X V I I I (1964), pp. '127–135.
Sabine Ree (pseudonym for Carl Einstein), "Über das Bueh Vathek", Die Aktion I I I (1913),
columns 298–301. Einstein's pantomime Nuronihar (1913) is based on Vathek.

94
 tion verwies, und in ihr die Kraft eines in sich vollendeten Organismus verlieh.
Damit wurde dem allegorisehen Charakter der Literatur ein Ende gesetzt; zu-
nachst durchdrang die Gewissheit einer isolierten Kunst, die gesetzmassige
Willkür, den Stoff. Man sucht kostbare Materiale auf, die aristokratische
Technik fordert Auslese und Seltenheit. Wir verspüren etwas von literarischem
Kunstgewerbe. Als wertvollste neuere Oeuvres dieser Klasse bezeichne ich:
Mallarmé, Hérodiade; Flaubert, Hérodias, Salammbo; Beardsley, Under the
Hill; Baudelaire, z. B. "Harmonies" (sic).35

Vathek preaches a religion of beauty, which is considered to be more important

than morality or goodness. Wilde (and the Preraphaelites) shared this opinion; hence
the appropriateness of the rediscovery of Beckford. I n this connection, we should
mention William Morris' fantastic novels. The World Beyond the World (1895), for
instance, is a fairytale for adults. What happens is of little importance and has nothing
to do with logic; and the reader derives his enjoyment solely from the beautiful type,
the archaic language, and the beauty of the words and the rhythm. There is nothing
in the book t h a t could be called "didactic" or "redemptive". Morris' novel breathes
the same spirit as Vathek; at the same time, it is also reminiscent of L'Oiseau bleu.

VIII

In winding up our survey, we observe that the great Russian novelists, who had
already influenced the Naturalists, were by no means ignored or slighted by the Expres­
sionists. Sokel has studied their impact and concluded that it was mainly the religious
aspect of their work which interested the Expressionists. For all that, Dostoevsky
was more significant than Tolstoy; for it was in the novels of the former (a complete
edition of which in German was published, under the editorship of Moeller vanden Bruck,
by the Piper-Verlag, 1907ff.) that they found the neurotic intellectuals, the vitalistic
saints, the visionaries and the new men whom they themselves were propagating.
According to Sokel, Wassermann, Kornfeld, Kafka, Trakl, Daubler, Werfel, Wolfenstein,
and Leonhard Frank were the writers most profoundly influenced by Dostoevsky,
whose Sonia (from Crime and Punishment), who sacrifices herself in order to support
her family, was the model for the proverbial "good prostitute" encountered in the
works of Johst, Wolfenstein, Kornfeld, Döblin, Becher, Brecht, and others.
Tolstoy's conversion was also, evidently, the act of a new man, and several Expres­
sionists followed in his footsteps. In some ways, Tolstoy even replaced Zarathustra.
What Italy meant for Werfel and Heinrich Mann, Russia meant for Rubiner, Barlach,
and Rilke. As Sokel puts it,

For Barlach as well as for Trakl, Kafka and Kornfeld, it was the mystic-
demonic Russia of Dostoevsky, and for Rubiner, Goll, Becher and Frank the
35
"Vathek opens the series of books which gave us the insight and discipline of pure art by
relegating it to the sphere of pure imagination and endowed it with the force of a self-contained
organism. In this way, an end was put to the allegorical character of literature. Initially, the cer­
tainty of an isolated art and its lawful arbitrariness, pervaded the subject matter. Precious mate­
rials were chosen, since the aristocratic technique required selectivity and rarity. We get an inkling
of literary Kunstgewerbe (applied art). The most valuable representatives of this class are . . "

95
 Russia of Tolstoy, the village commune and, a few years later, the Bolshevik
revolution which appeared as a liberating force. But within and without
the Russian experience in the two guises they found that which both
Dostoevsky and Tolstoy preached and the village commune exemplified: the
image of brotherly coexistence within apostolic Christianity. For the German
Expressionists, Russia pointed back to Christ.36

Reading through Die Aktion and Der Sturm, one gains the impression that almost
any book was reviewed enthusiastically in these Expressionist periodicals as long as
it was extraordinary in one way or another. One was simply bored by conventional
life and literature. But, in the long run, it was sufficient to set a love story in an exotic
country to convince the reader that he was, in fact, facing a piece of unconventional
modern literature. Anything was acceptable as long as the action took place in Africa
or Asia. Thus a review of Emil Rasmussen's Sultana: Em arabisches Frauenschicksal
demonstrates that the contents of this novel were embarrassingly banal: "Basically,
nothing more than the story of a man and a woman fated to love each other and
unable to meet. Death intervenes at the very moment when they were certain of ful­
fillment." What saves the novel in the eyes of the reviewer? Merely the fact that
"the landscape pervades the entire book: the intense heat of Africa which makes
people passionate and fanatical".37 Here we have a kind of superficial E. where the
out-of-the-way setting replaces a genuine foreign influence. Like Flaubert, Gide, and
Marinetti before them, that is to say, some Expressionists indulged in transposing
the action of their novels to unfamiliar countries: China (Döblin, Ehrenstein), Africa
(Daubler, Weiss), or the Far North (Döblin, Jahnn). Europe, after all, was a conven­
tional place—with the exception, in some cases, of Italy (Heinrich Mann's Die
kleine Stadt, Benn's "südüches Wort")—and unconventional actions and characters
were more credible when depicted as occurring under exotic skies.
Our indications of foreign influences on German Expressionist prose have, of
necessity, been fairly vague. We have not mentioned Jens Peter Jacobsen, for instance,
and have ignored the role played by the "Anti-Erotiker" Paul Scheerbart, by Paris
von Gütersloh, and Gustav Meyrink. Nor have we mentioned the, presumably vast,
influence exerted by translations from the Chinese and Japanese, such as appeared
in the decade before World War I. For this influence was by no means restricted to
Pound and Yeats, but extended to Kubin, Döblin, and later Ehrenstein, and other
German authors as well. In brief, our survey can only serve as a point of departure,
and further investigations are badly needed.

36
W. H. Sokel, Der literarische- Expressionismus (Munich, 1960), p. 192.
37
Die Aktion, I (1911), columns 569—570,

96
 RICHARD BRINKMANN

DADAISM AND EXPRESSIONISM

"Dadaism holds more future for us than does E.," Fritz Usinger declared in 1956,
arguing as follows:

The Expressionist way of relating to the world, with its violent intensification
of expression, is no longer spiritually or intellectually accessible to us, for
the material presuppositions of the state of affairs, both terrestrial and
cosmic, no longer permit it. The linguistic achievements of E. have retained
their value and, after having temporarily receded into the background, are now
coming to the fore again, especially in recent poetry. But precisely in this realm
Dadaism is even bolder, even more radical and considerably more diversified.
Especially the overall conception of Dadaism, with its inclusion of the spiritual,
is much more acute and topical than the Expressionist soul manifestos. Dada­
ism lives from a remarkable correspondence with our state of mind, and the
time of its full discovery is still to come. I t is still completely undigested, where­
as E. has already become history—literary history—, for its genetic conditions
have been swept downstream by the river of time, and only its verbal and artis­
tic results are meaningful to us as a historic transition to our own position. 1

What was prognostic in these remarks has, in the meantime, been confirmed.
Although the interest in E. has continued to grow, new texts have become accessible,
new facts have been uncovered, and mountains of secondary literature have piled
up, precisely those things to which the concept of E. has been increasingly limited,
and upon which it has focused in the last decade, must now be regarded as things of
the past whose resurrection historical and critical observation can neither confirm nor
support, even though they have had certain consequences in the aesthetic and political
spheres, as well as in the realm of Geistesgeschichte. The historiographers of literature
and art have also begun to take stock of the Dadaist achievement, and here documen­
tation and interpretation continue to remain a fruitful field of endeavor for scholars,
critics and publishers. But in this case the source of interest is, actually, of a different
kind, for it is not merely aimed at past causes which have an effect in a—totally different
—present. Rather, Dadaism, even if it is historically traceable to specific events, persons
and manifestations of the past, is still felt to be of burning and topical interest - a fact
which must be understood not only as a prerequisite, but also as an ingredient, of
the present. I t would be anachronistic to act or write today expressionistically. Dada-

1
"Der Dadaismus" in Expressionismus: Gestalten einer literarischen Beivegung, ed. H. Fried-
mann and O. Mann (Hei berg, 1956), pp. 341—350; here: p. 342.

97
like events, "happenings", manifestations, demonstrations and forms of expression,
on the other hand, would not seem merely to be props unearthed from the historical
storage box or residues of a sickness long since cured. They are, rather, forms or media
of adaptation to the still unclarified circumstances of a reality closed to us—forms and
media of an almost indisputable "necessity" and, as such, appropriate to our own
age. And yet Dadaism erupted—if we may use that expression—in the immediate
vicinity (not only chronologically speaking) of E.; and even today scholars often take
it to be one of the latter's more extreme variants. The clever phrase describing Dadaism
as a "satyr play following the tragedy", coined by Soergel and retained by Curt Hohoff,
is still frequently considered to be an apt label for that movement.2 No matter what is
meant by tragedy in this context (Hohoff cautiously dropped the word from Soergel's
formula), it can hardly be anything other than E. with its ardent and pathetic serious­
ness. As it is, the attractive slogan is paradoxical even in matters of chronology.
For even if one ignores "DADA before DADA"3 and considers the founding of the
Cabaret Voltaire in early 1916 as Dada's birthday, one can scarcely maintain that,
at this point, the "tragedy" had been concluded, and that the time for the postlude
had arrived. Indeed, the founders and collaborators of the Cabaret Voltaire did not
operate under this assumption.

II

Reinhard Döhl properly distinguishes three phases in the development of Zurich

Dadaism: first, the "still completely un-Dadaistic phase of the Cabaret Voltaire"
in its beginnings, then a stage marked by attempts to differentiate the movement from
E. and other contemporary trends, and finally a phase of "logical continuation and
radicalization". Only at this point, Döhl believes, does its real birth occur.4 On February
2, 1916, Hugo Ball quotes the following newspaper report in his diary: "Cabaret
Voltaire. Unter diesem Namen hat sich eine Gesellschaft junger Künstler und Literaten
etabliert, deren Ziel es ist, einen Mittelpunkt für die künstlerische Unterhaltung zu
schaffen. Das Prinzip des Kabaretts soll sein, dass bei den taglichen Zusammenkünften
musikalische und rezitatorische Vortrage der als Gaste verkehrenden Künstler statt-
finden, und es ergeht an die junge Künstlerschaft Zürichs die Einladung, sich ohne
Rücksicht auf eine besondere Richtung mit Vorschlagen und Beitragen einzufinden."5
The contributions listed by Ball and his colleagues for the first month after the
founding of the Cabaret Voltaire show no specific direction or clearcut antagonism.
"Alle Stilarten der letzten zwanzig Jahre gaben sich gestern ein Stelldichein" Ball
2
"Das Satyrspiel nach der Tragödie" in Albert Soergel, Dichtung und Dichter der Zeit: Im
Banne des Expressionismus (Leipzig, 1925), pp. 623—634; Soergel/Hohoff, Dichtung und Dichter
der Zeit: Vom Naturalismus bis zur Gegenwart (Düsseldorf, 1961), II, pp. 311—323.
3
"Dada before Dada" by Paul Pörtner in Das war Dada: Dichtungen und Dokumente, ed.
Peter Schifferli (Zurich, 1963), p . 9.
4
See Reinhard Döhl, "Dadaismus" in Expressionismus als Literatur, pp. 719-739.
6
Hugo Ball, Die Flucht aus der Zeit, second ed. (Lucerne, 1946), p. 71. "Cabaret Voltaire.
Under this name, a society of young artists and writers has been founded whose goal it is to create
a focus for artistic entertainment. The cabaret intends to offer musical and literary presentations
by the artists who frequent the establishment as guests at their daily meetings. They invite all the
young artists of Zurich, irrespective of their orientation, to make suggestions and contributions."

98
notes on March 30.6 And, in fact, the list of names extends from the nineteenth century
to the contemporary period, including all the -isms which had established themselves
in European art and literature until t h a t time, some of them not as yet properly defined.
The Expressionists played by no means the least important part, and at first they
were thought to be likeminded and congenial. The periodical Cabaret Voltaire, which
appeared in June, 1916, and contained contributions by Apollinaire, Hans Arp, Ball,
Francesco Cangiullo, Cendrars, E m m y Hennings, Jakob van Hoddis, Richard Hül-
senbeck, Marcel Janco, Kandinsky, Marinetti, Modigliani, Max Oppenheimer (Mop),
Picasso, Otto van Rees, Marcel Slodki and Tristan Tzara, "the founders of E., Futurism
and Cubism", was for Ball "the first synthesis of modern trends in art and literature".
To be sure, Ball himself noted "with shame" and embarrassment "the farrago of
diverse styles and convictions". 7 In the reflections of his diary, the awareness of an
attitude toward reality, literature and art which is no longer compatible with most of
the tendencies in t h a t "farrago" emerges more and more distinctly. Even before 1916
Ball penned apergus which point to the coming eruption and the direction it will take.
Thus he writes: "Die Nihilisten berufen sich auf die Vernunft (ihre eigene namlich).
Aber gerade mit dem Vernunftsystem muss gebrochen werden, aus Grimden einer
höheren Vernunft. Das Wort Nihilist bedeutet übrigens weniger, als es besagt. Es
bedeutet: auf nichts kann man sich verlassen, mit allem muss man brechen." 8 Or:
"Man muss sich verlieren, wenn man sich finden will." 9 Or: "Das Ich ablegen wie
einen durchlöcherten Mantel. Was nicht aufrechtzuerhalten ist, muss man fallen lassen.
Es gibt Menschen, die es absolut nicht vertragen, ihr Ich herzugeben. Sie wahnen,
dass sie nur ein Exemplar davon haben. Der Mensch hat aber viele Ichs, wie die Zwiebel
viele Schalen hat. Auf ein Ich mehr oder weniger kommt es nicht an. Der Kern ist
immer noch Schale genug. Es ist erstaunlich zu sehen, wie zah der Mensch an seinen
Vorurteilen festhalt. E r ertragt die bitterste Qual, nur um sich nicht auszuliefern." 10
Or: "Wer das Leben befreien will, muss die Traume befreien." 11
Ball also speaks of artistic products, "die in ihrem Widerspruch unzahmbar
sind und jeglicher Annaherung und Begreiflichkeit spotten". 1 2 "Alle lebendige Kunst,"
he feels, "wird irrational, primitiv und komplexhaft sein, eine Geheimsprache führen
und Dokumente nicht der Erbauung, sondern der Paradoxie hinterlassen." 13 All this
6
7
"All the styles of the last two decades had a rendezvous yesterday." Ibid., p. 79.
Ibid., p . 91.
8
"The Nihilists appeal to reason (namely their own). But it is precisely with the rational
system that we must break for the sake of a higher reason. The word Nihilist, by the way, means
less than it purports. I t means: one can rely on nothing, one must break with everything." Ibid.,
p . 15.
9
10
"One must lose oneself in order to find himself." Ibid., p. 20.
"Throw the Self aside like a torn coat. What cannot be sustained must be dropped. There
are people who absolutely cannot bear to surrender their Selves. They believe that they possess
only one copy thereof. But every human being has many selves, as the onion has many skins.
One Self more or less doesn't matter. The core is always skin enough. I t is amazing to See how tena­
ciously man clings to his prejudices. He suffers the greatest torment in order not to have to yield
himself." Ibid., p . 41.
11
12
" H e who would liberate life must liberate the dreams." Ibid., p. 61.
". . . which are indomitable in their contradictions and scorn any approach and intelli­
gibility." Ibid., p . 64.
13 "All vital art will be irrational, primitive and complex, it will speak a private language
and bequeathe paradoxical rather than edifying documents." Ibid., p. 70.

99
is still very general. But it is symptomatic for the predisposition of a consciousness
which will no longer find satisfaction in one of the clearly defined "isms" of the modern
age. After the founding of the Cabaret Voltaire, and certainly also as a result of the
joint philosophizing with his companions, Ball's remarks become clearer and, at times,
more polemical. Regarding some verses by Hülsenbeck, for example, he states that
they constitute an attempt "to gather in one translucent melody the totality of this
inexpressible age with all its cracks and fissures, with all its malicious and insane
jovialities, with all its noise and muffled din. The Gorgon's head of boundless terror
is smiling out of this fantastic annihilation". In isolated thought splinters, attempts
are made to draw closer to the Dadaistic impulse. Thus we encounter sentences like
"Was wir zelebrieren, ist eine Buffonade und eine Totenmesse zugleich"14 or "Was
wir Dada nennen, ist ein Narrenspiel aus dem Nichts, in das alle höheren Fragen ver-
wickelt sind; eine Gladiatorengeste; ein Spiel mit den schabigen Überbleibseln; eine
Hinrichtung der posierten Moralitat und Fülle".15
Ball further states: "Der Dadaist liebt das Aussergewöhnliche, ja das Absurde.
Er weiss, dass sich im Widerspruch das Leben behauptet und dass seine Zeit wie keine
vorher auf die Vernichtung des Generösen abzielt. Jede Art Maske ist ihm darum will-
kommen. Jedes Versteckspiel, dem eine düpierende Kraft innewohnt. Das Direkte
und Primitive erscheint ihm inmitten enormer Unnatur als das Unglaubliche selbst.
Da der Bankrott der Ideen das Menschenbild bis in die innersten Schichten zerblattert
hat, treten in pathologischer Weise die Triebe und Hintergründe hervor. Da keinerlei
Kunst, Politik oder Bekenntnis diesem Dammbruch gewachsen scheinen, bleibt nur
die Blague und die blutige Pose... Der Dadaist kampft gegen die Agonie und den Todes-
taumel der Zeit. Abgeneigt jeder klugen Zurückhaltung, pflegt er die Neugier dessen,
der eine belustigte Freude noch an der fraglichsten Form der Fronde empfindet. Er
weiss, dass die Welt der Systeme in Trümmer ging, und dass die auf Barzahlung dran-
gende Zeit einen Ramschausverkauf der entgötterten Philosophien eröffnet hat. Wo
für die Budenbesitzer der Schreck und das schlechte Gewissen beginnt, da beginnt
für den Dadaisten ein helles Gelächter und eine milde Begütigung."16
"Der Dadaismus—ein Maskenspiel, ein Gelachter?" Ball asks, and adds the
question: "Und dahinter eine Synthese der romantischen, dandystischen —und dämoni-

14 "What we pompously enact is both a buffoonery and a Requiem Mass." Ibid., p . 78.
15 "What we call Dada is a buffoonery from the nadir in which all the weightier questions are
implicated; a gladiator's gesture; a game with the shabby remnants; the execution of an affected
morality
16
and a pretended abundance." Ibid., p. 91.
"The Dadaist loves the extraordinary, even the absurd. He knows that life asserts itself
in contradictions, and that his age, as none before, aims at the annihilation of all things generous.
He, therefore, welcomes every kind of mask and every game of hide-and-seek which implies a
deceptively effectual strength. I n the midst of an enormous unnaturalness, the direct and the
primitive strike him as being the incredible itself. Because the bankruptcy of ideas has stripped the
image of man to its barest essentials, instinctive drives and subliminal forces emerge pathologi­
cally. Since no art, politics or confession can apparently cope with this disaster, empty talk and
bloody pose are all t h a t remains . . . The Dadaist fights the agony and the death throes of the age.
Rejecting all prudent abstention, he cultivates the curiosity of one who still takes pleasure in the
most questionable form of enforced labor. He knows that the world of systems has gone to pieces
and t h a t the age, insisting on immediate cash payment, has opened a rummage sale of desecrated
philosophies. Where the storekeepers are touched by fear and a bad conscience, the Dadaists be­
gin to laugh brightly and to be mildly appeased." Ibid., p. 92.

100
schen Theorien des 19. Jahrhunderts?" 1 7 I t is no accident that he quotes Nostradamus'
prophecy,

Einen Missklang wird die Trombe geben,

der dem Himmel selbst den Kopf zerbricht.
Blut wird am blutdürstigen Munde kleben,
Milch und Honig an des Narrn Gesicht. 18

Reinhard Döhl has gathered the key words offering themselves in the attempt
to describe the Dadaist engagement of Ball and his comrades-in-arms. Some of the
essential ones are found in the quotes cited above. Accordingly, for Döhl "the role of
the demonstrating Dadaist . . . is approximately . . . that of the fool, or the clown on
the absurd stage of the time, in an absurd world theater devoid of rhyme and reason". 19
No matter how common this idea was, in principle, to the Dadaists in Switzerland
and the other countries, even among its exponents in Zurich it showed various nuances
and grew out of different intentions. The following entry in Ball's diary, however, may
well apply to all the Dadaists: "Die Theorien . . . immer auf den Menschen, auf die
Person anwenden, und sich nicht in die Asthetik abdrangen lassen. Urn den Menschen
geht es, nicht urn die Kunst. Wenigstens nicht in erster Linie um die Kunst." 2 0
The various Dadaists sought to realize this program in contradictory ways. Some
were directly stimulated by politics and social reality, such as Hülsenbeck in his early
phase. Others, like Arp, were directly concerned with a new aesthetic order and its
very indirect humane function. The radical descent to the zero point, the "total skepti­
cism" conducive to "total freedom", "the resolute chaos brought about through the
greatest effort" where "the basic, demonic urges . . . initially come to the fore" and
"the old names and words perish" 2 1 —all this pits the Dadaists decisively against E.,
precisely because there are some misunderstandings which might give rise to confusion.22
Yet the Dadaists found the Expressionist pathos, the spirit, the soul, the New Man,
life and whatever else E. propagated as the ultimate truth—the ens realissimum which,
untrammeled by convention, was to seek expression in exaggerated forms—to behighly
dubious. They believed that they were able to see through the nebulous irrationalism
which was at work there, which, because it lacked an obvious content, could be filled
with all sorts of ideologies, and which, ultimately, confirmed the status quo of the
existing order, no matter how revolutionary the outward pose.
17
"Dadaism—a play of masks, a laughter? And behind it a synthesis of the romantic, dandy­
fied and
18
demoniacal theories of the nineteenth century?" Ibid., p. 162.
"The whirlwind will produce a dissonance
which breaks the head ( = causes a headache) of heaven itself.
Blood will stick to the bloodthirsty mouth,
Milk and honey to the fool's face." Quoted ibid., p. 163
19
Reinhard Döhl, Das literarische Werk Hans Arps 1903-1930: Zur poetischen Vorstellungs-
welt des Dadaismus (Stuttgart, 1967), p. 42f.
20
"Apply the theories always to human beings, persons, and don't let yourself be shunted off
into aesthetics. What matters primarily is the individual, not art." Die Flucht aus der Zeit, p. 76.
21
22
See ibid., p. 83.
Some of the following observations are drawn from an earlier essay of mine: "Über einige
Voraussetzungen von Dada: Ein Vortrag" in Festschrift für Klaus Ziegler, ed. Eckehard Catholy and
Winfried Hellmann (Tübingen, 1968), pp. 361-384.

101
 In a Dadaist manifesto issued in 1918 and signed by many more individuals than
had been members of the original group we still read:

Has E. fulfilled our expectations for an art which would be a ballotting of

our most vital concerns ? NO, NO, NO. Have the Expressionists fulfilled our
expectations for an art which brands our flesh with the essence of life ? NO,
NO, NO. Under the pretense of spiritualization, the Expressionists in literature
and painting have formed a generation which even today longingly awaits its
acceptance in literary and art history, and which campaigns for an honorable
recognition on the part of the middle-class. Under the pretense of propagating
the soul, they have reverted, in the fight against Naturalism, to the abstract-
pathetic gestures which presuppose an empty, comfortable and inactive life.
The stages are filled with kings, poets and Faustian natures of all kinds; and
inactive minds are haunted by the theory of a melioristic world view whose
childish and psychologically naive manner must remain significant for a critical
elaboration of E. The hatred of the press, of advertising and of sensationalism
speaks for men who care more for their armchairs than for the noise of the
streets, and who consider it an advantage to be duped by every crook. That
sentimental resistance against the age, which is neither better nor worse, neith­
er more reactionary nor more revolutionary than any other age, t h a t feeble op­
position ogling for prayers and incense if it does not prefer to make cardboard
bullets out of Attic iambs—these are qualities of a youth which has never
known how to be young. E., which was found abroad and which, in Germany,
has, as usual, turned into a rank idyl and the expectation of a substantial pen­
sion, has no longer anything to do with the endeavors of active individuals. 23

This criticism was aimed also at those Expressionist groups which advocated a
turning from art to concrete social and political action, such as the circle around Pfem-
fert's periodical Die Aktion which, like so many others, was temporarily inactive on
account of the war. I n positing the hopelessness of any practical steps designed to
change the existing order, the Dadaists attempted a different turn from art to action
by doing t h a t which, at t h a t moment, appeared to be the only possible and necessary
thing: the dissolution of art as such, because only the radical destruction of all previous
manners of expression and representation could offer the chance of constituting a new
consciousness t h a t was unhampered by conventions and traditions. This, at least, was
what they thought.
I t is certainly wrong to see in Dadaism merely a systematic radicalization of E.
B u t on the other hand, there can be no question that, a few years prior to the outbreak
of the war, and preceding Dadaism, E. too had been born, among other things, of the
impetus to dissolve the old forms and the conventional language, in order that, through
a rearrangement of its fragments, a new form of expression might be rendered possible
t h a t would be unprejudiced, in principle, by an already established linguistic and struc­
tural world view. For as early as 1910, Kandinsky had written the famous sentence
"Das Wort ist ein innerer Klang" (the word is an inner resonance). One of the differ­
ences between the Expressionists and the Dadaists, to be sure, is the belief, cherished

23
Quoted from Dada: Eine literarische Dokumentation, ed. Richard Huelsenbeck (Hamburg,
1964), p. 27f.

102
by the former, that there is such a resonance, and that, beyond the conventional frames
of thought and expression, there exists a true spirit and a true human order which
might dawn upon the world in the language of art and poetry if language were freed
from the restrictions of its false history. The Dadaists thought t h a t this, too, was de­
lusion and ideology, just as they regarded the Expressionist forms and means of de­
struction to be insufficient and inconsistent.

III

To speak of E. means to speak of the German situation and of the typically German,
and relatively late, variety of modern art and literature. In France at least, the modern
tendencies aiming at the dissolution of the old reality, asserted themselves much earlier;
and it was not via the detour of German E. t h a t the beginnings of a European art
and literature inclining toward the non-representational and the abstract affected the
development of the Dadaist position. The same is true of certain Dadaist forms and
techniques, such as the Bruitist poem which, as is stated in one manifesto, describes
"a tramway as it is, the essence of a tramway, with the yawning of the retired Mr.
Schulze and the squeaking of brakes", or the simultaneous poem which teaches "the
meaning of the violent interpenetration of all things": "While Mr. Schulze reads, the
Balkan Express crosses the bridge near Nisch, and a pig squeals in the basement of
the butcher Nuttke." 2 4
The Bruitist poem, the simultaneous poem and the collage, in which chance par­
ticles of civilization are put together in a kind of picture, are forms of representation
whose antecedents can be found in various pre-Dadaist experiments. An important
role in this development is played by Italian Futurism and its founder, Marinetti.
In fact, the Futurist manifestos offer many suggestions and precepts which, subsequently,
were almost literally emulated by the Dadaists. The call for a radical uprooting of
all existing art and culture—the famous "Destroy the museums, burn down the lib­
raries !"—corresponds to the tenor of Dadaist proclamations. And Bruitist music, too,
is a Futurist invention. If one wishes to designate one European avantgarde writer
as being supremely important for the Expressionists and Futurists as well as for the
Dadaists, it is Apollinaire, who was brought up in Italy by Polish parents of Russian
citizenship and who, after a lengthy sojourn in Germany, settled down in France and
wrote in French—that "cosmopolitan pupil of all European literatures", as he has
been called, who virtually signals the beginning of the modern literary experiment.
The Dadaists found his poems, tending to the absurd, to be congenial to their way
of thinking; and Apollinaire's works were freely recited at the Cabaret Voltaire. The
principle of free association according to the laws of chance and simultaneity, which
is part of the Dadaist "method", was first experimentally applied by Apollinaire.
If it is true t h a t one of the essential impulses of Dadaism was the turning from
art to action, and to demonstration in the sense of a display of the self, this tendency,
too, must be seen in the context of a general trend of European art and literature

24
Ibid., p. 28.

103
aiming at the abolition of the traditional subject-object relationship and, as Hermann
Broch puts it, introducing the observer himself into the field of observation, in analogy
to modern natural science. The propensity of modern art and literature to the non-
objective and the abstract is undoubtedly connected with this trend. The means of
expression were to be purified, and compositions which were not derived from the world
of observation and experience were to delineate something that was not immanent
in the familiar contexts of empirical reality. I t must be stressed, however, that Dadaism
was neither abstract nor non-objective art, and that, rather than the principle of
construction and composition— however abstract—, it was t h a t of pure chance which
permitted the fragments of the shattered civilization, art and culture to be combined
in the Dadaist modes of expression.
In the dissolution of language, Dadaism went considerably beyond the most
radical attempts undertaken by the Expressionists. I n line with the trend which the
Futurists around Marinetti had started by setting the words free, the sentence was
sacrificed to the word. The word itself finally lost its traditional shape, as Rimbaud's
notion of the "alchimie du verbe" was carried to its extreme: "Man ziehe sich in die
innerste Alchimie des Wortes zurück, man gebe auch das Wort noch preis, und bewahre
so der Dichtung ihren letzten, heiligsten Bezirk." 25 This far surpasses the examples
of Expressionist poetry in which a meta-language, integrating the elements of traditional
speech and imagery, was meant to produce new forms of expression which were, never­
theless, still meaningful.
Surrealism was one of the alternatives for escaping the non-sense of Dadaism.
For the Dadaists themselves, in so far as they remained loyal to their creed, the idea
of a psychic automatism and a thought dictation without any rational control was
not an acceptable solution. When Breton speaks of free association and aimless play,
he decisively narrows the role of chance as the Dadaists conceived it; and the belief
in the supremacy of the dream, which he proclaimed, presupposes an intelligible con­
text, even though it must first be made manifest by means of suitable methods.

IV

What, however, caused the Dadaist secession from the main stream of the artistic
revolution, and of modern art in general—a secession which, as stated before, turned
out to be less sectarian and more vital than most "-isms" of the modern age? This
question is difficult to answer, especially since Dadaist ideas and Happenings were
generated in various European countries and the United States almost simultaneously,
though not always under the same conditions and presuppositions. A few reasons
can be given in the case of the Zurich strain, which can claim a certain priority and
a greater measure of reflection than most contemporary and subsequent phenomena
of a similar nature. These reasons may, mutatis mutandis, prevail in other strains,
and even in the comparable Happenings of our day.

25
"Let us withdraw into the innermost alchemy of the word; let us even sacrifice the word,
thus reserving its last and holiest precinct." Die Flucht aus der Zeit, p. 100.

104
 First of all, there was the social situation of the emigrants gathered in Zurich. 26
They had left their several European homelands for political reasons, which have often
enough been detailed. To take the logical step of emigration was by no means self-
evident for them and, taken by itself, constituted an act of separation from the group
of intellectuals and writers in the countries which were engaged in the war. For not
only the political parties, but also the overwhelming majority of European intellectuals
identified themselves, at least initially, with the nationalistic ideologies and the practice
of war. At first, many Expressionists regarded the war as the great liberation, the deci­
sive purifying event, and the long desired call for action, just as the Futurists saw
beauty in fight, and the best hygiene of the world in war. But the prospect of gathering
the forces ready to fight for a new and more humane social order soon seemed to have
been ruined forever. Sheer senselessness triumphed and surrounded itself with the
delusion of higher goals. Fanaticized ideologies and nationalistic myths took the place
of objective analysis and of constructive and intelligible ideas, and art and literature
were to have no other purpose than the justification and proclamation of these notions
and the brutal facts. As Arp put it,

Wahnsinn und Mord wetteiferten miteinander, als Dada 1916 in Zürich aus
dem Urgrund emporstieg. Die Menschen, die nicht unmittelbar an der unge-
heuerlichen Raserei des Weltkrieges beteiligt waren, taten so, als begriffen
sie nicht, was um sie her vorging. Wie verirrte Lammer bliekten sie aus
glasigen Augen in die Welt. Dada wollte die Menschen aus ihrer jämmer-
lichen Ohnmacht aufschrecken. Dada verabscheute die Resignation. 27

However, the external circumstances of the First World War made the younger
generation of artists aware of certain inconsistencies going beyond the political and
social situation. The sciences and, finally, art itself seemed to confirm and sanction
inhumanity by their attitude toward reality and man. That which had been suspected
and known before the war now appeared in its catastrophic consequences, in the
destructive reality. As Pinthus points out in his introduction to Menschheitsdämmerung,
"the impossibility of a humanity which had become fully dependent on its own crea­
tions—science, technology, statistics, commerce, and industry'' and the impossibility
of humanistic scholarship which "irresponsibly applied scientific laws to intellectual
processes" 28 was ever more strongly felt. Some time before the war already, this aware­
ness had taken hold not only of the young generation of writers and artists but of
progressive scientists and philosophers as well; and they had begun to develop counter-
positions designed to overcome the heritage of the nineteenth century. B u t one reason
for the disappointment of the few individuals referred to was that the great majority

26
Regarding this problem, see Miklavz Prosenc, Die Dadaïsten in Zürich (Bonn, 1967). The
book is a sociological study of the group, i.e., of its structure and history. I have learned a great
deal from this scholarly contribution.
27
"Madness and murder competed with each other when, in 1916, Dada arose from the pri­
meval depths. Those persons who were not directly involved in the furious madness of the world
war acted as if they did not comprehend what was going on around them. Like lost lambs, they
looked a t the world through glassy eyes. Dada wanted to rouse people from their pitiful stagnation.
Dada despised resignation." Hans Arp, Unsern taglichen Traum . . .: Erinnerungen, Dichtungen
und Betrachtungen aus den Jahren 1914—1954 (Zurich, 1955), p. 20.
28
Menschheitsdammerung, pp. 22, 26.

105
of those who should have known better and should have taken the initiative abandoned
all reason and the revolutionary impetus in all fields of endeavor, and enthusiastically
welcomed the war as the fulfillment of their expectations, or accepted it, stunned,
like a natural catastrophe, without offering even spiritual resistance.
The formation of new groups among the emigrants, especially among the emigrated
artists, was initially difficult, although their common plight should have facilitated
such measures. In fact, a number of such attempts at consolidation are known. The
role which the Zurich Café played as a forum for such meetings is well known. To this
must be added the founding of several magazines and the feeling of solidarity displayed,
for a short time, by the collaborators of Die Aktion—who were gathered in Zurich—as
well as of thé writers centering around Die Weissen Blatter, which, at the beginning
of the war, moved its editorial office, presided over by Schickele, from Berlin to Zurich.
Other groups formed, naturally, around the Russian Marxists. However, the excep­
tional situation encountered in the foreign city also entailed particular difficulties in
the formation of such groups and increased competition among them, as well as among
specific individuals. And even though Switzerland and its big cities were, in principle,
more liberal and open-minded than the war-torn countries which the emigrants had
left behind, it was by no means easy for individuals or groups to find a suitable public
which, along with patrons—whose support often depended on circumstances—, could
both guarantee economic support and give them an opportunity to define and constitute
themselves clearly and decisively. In spite of a certain interest displayed by circles
within the conservative Swiss citizenry for the all but conservative tendencies and
utterances of most of the emigrants (and there are conflicting reports regarding this
interest), the emigrant's social position remained unnatural and engendered a strong
feeling of frustration. The newly-founded cabarets and periodicals were, for the most
part, extremely short-lived and frequently ended in debt and bankruptcy.
With a few exceptions, the motive for emigrating had not been primarily the hope
for escaping from persecution to the comfort of a peaceful existence. In spite of many
accusations and prohibitions, the danger to which Leftist sympathizers were exposed
in the European countries was not in the least comparable with, say, the situation
encountered during the Nazi years. I t was primarily a question of making it possible,
in a region which had not been drawn into the whirlpool of the war, to do what these
men considered proper and necessary. In this respect, the limitation of their activities
and the lack of a broad public was a vastly more trenchant problem than the social
isolation and disintegration from which, at any rate, the avant-garde artist and—-in a
certain sense—the modern artist in general has suffered since the age of Romanticism.
I n its specifically modern form, the problem of the relation of the artist to society was
perhaps for the first time formulated in Karl Philipp Moritz' novel Anton Reiser and,
even more outspokenly, in Heinrich Wackenroder's Herzensergiessungen eines kunst-
Hebenden Klosterbruders (Emotional Outpourings of an Art-Loving Friar) and the same
author's Phantasien über die Kunst. This problem, which crops up, in many variations,
throughout the entire nineteenth century and which, symptomatically, Thomas Mann
raises in his earliest novellas, reveals itself with exceptional intensity in the situation
of the emigrants.

106
 In Wackenroder's book, the problem of the composer Joseph Berglinger had
been his awareness that art, if it wants to come to full fruition, must divorce itself
from the public for which, and with a view toward which, it actually exists. Art as
such becomes questionable in this paradoxical situation of both needing the public
and setting itself sharply off against it. I do not wish to maintain, however, that the
situation of the modern artist—and, particularly, that of the artists in emigration—is
adequately summarized in this formula; nor do I want to indulge in unhistorieal
analogies. Still, the model presented by Wackenroder would seem to adumbrate a basic
predicament of the modern artist, including the avant-garde artists of our century
and—in an aggravated form—those artists who are known as Dadaists.
To be sure, twentieth-century conditions were much more sober than were the
conditions prevailing in the age of Romanticism, and it was no longer the dignity of
art and the mystique of creativity which called for the retreat from an injudicious
public. Rather, it seemed to be only the pressure of circumstances and the public
indifference which brought about the artists' separation from society. Yet even the
modern artists harbor the notion that they embrace a cause whose progressive humani-
tarianism cannot be grasped by the bourgeoisie and the philistines. The rift between
artists, writers and their audience, which (especially in France) is occasionally found
in the nineteenth and more patently so in the twentieth century, originates by no means
only in the public.
The particular situation of the emigrants in Zurich—and, mutatis mutandis, in
other cities—had an almost paradigmatic character in respect to this interrelationship.
The artists were lacking a larger and more effective audience not only on account of
the unfavorable circumstances, but, in order to be efficacious and achieve their goals
at all, they had to define themselves over against this very public, provoking the
latter in order to conquer it. In other words, they had to reject society in order to secure
a place in it. Miklavz Prosenc, who has convincingly demonstrated the truth of this
paradox, appropriately quotes from Talcott Parsons' well-known study Certain Primary
Sources and Patterns of Aggression in the Social Structure of the Western World. Insecurity
and disturbances in 'functional achievement', Parsons observes, engender "the dis­
position on the part of an individual or a collectivity to orient its action to goals which
include a conscious or unconscious intention illegitimately to injure the interests of
other individuals or collectivities in the same system".29
If, originally, the Dadaists provocatively distanced themselves from all modes
of expression which remained, even implicitly, within the limits of intelligibility estab­
lished by the existing order, one of the presuppositions and reasons for this attitude
is certainly to be found in the attitude analyzed by Parsons. In principle, the precarious
relationship between the artist and society in the modern age can perhaps be seen
to be partly due to this position. This may also explain another aspect of the matter
which plays a crucial role in Dada, namely the step from theory to practice, from mean­
ingful, and still somehow realistic, presentation to self-projection through modes of

29
Talcott Parsons, Essays in Sociological Theory Pure and Applied (Glencoe, Illinois, 1949),
p. 273, quoted by Prosenc, op. cit., p. 25.

107
expression which, precisely in so far as they serve action and self-projection, transform
any conceptually verifiable sense into "non-sense", as the Dadaists themselves called
it—which is not the same as ordinary nonsense.
The complete negation and the inthronization of chance, as well as other charac­
teristic features of Dadaism, by virtue of which it may be contrasted with E., also
have their basis in the psychological and intellectual predispositions of the individual
members of the various Dadaist groups. This mental disposition and intellectual atti­
tude are not to be understood simply as strains of the so-called "Zeitgeist" or as a
topical psychological feature. To be sure, certain relevant aspects can be identified
as to their origin and may perhaps also be sociologically interpreted. But this does
not get us very far. We must rather take cognizance of, and accept, these individual
mentalities and spiritual dispositions as factors relevant to the genesis of a phenomenon
like Dadaism. Ball, who played a crucial role in the founding of the Zurich group,
may serve as an example. I n his notes and letters we can find unmistakable traces of
what he had read and picked up, directly or indirectly, from philosophy and literature.
And as in the case of many of his contemporaries, it is, above all, the ideas of Nietzsche
which hover about and between the lines. Characteristically, no name is as frequently
mentioned as t h a t of the German philosopher. But we also encounter ideas of a totally
different kind derived from altogether different traditions absorbed by Ball in accord­
ance with his own intellectual and spiritual make-up. Ball adopts, transforms and finally
amalgamates this information with the stimuli reaching him via the ideas and inspira­
tions of his fellow-Dadaists, which have a catalytic effect upon him. By no means least
of all these are mystical thoughts which impinge upon his thinking. A distinct skepticism
with regard to the established culture and society, with regard to the rationalism of
K a n t and his successors, and in view of the individual and his delusions and prejudices,
can be traced in Ball's notes from the very beginning. And quite soon the idea emerges
t h a t in abandoning all systematic thought—indeed all positive notions, and finally
even the self—lies the only chance of learning something about what life—and perhaps
truth and reality—can actually mean. This is difficult, perhaps even impossible, to
express in words; for every concept used would already mean a positing of ideas in
lieu of t h a t which is still to be experienced.
In order to explain the breaking away of the Dadaists from the context of modern
art, and especially E., psychological categories have also been used; it has been said,
for instance, t h a t the phenomenon Dada is to be understood as a regression in the
Freudian sense. Freud had attempted to explain the manifestations of the war— the
cruelty of the soldiers, the blind hatred—in terms of such a regression, i.e., of man's
return to earlier stages of his development—more exactly, to the time before the fourth
year of life, where neither conscience nor reason as yet controls and restrains the in­
stincts. Similarly, it was thought, by some, that the Dadaists' behavior could be inter­
preted in this manner. The parallelism between the regressive attitude displayed by
the soldiers in the trenches on one hand, and by the Dadaist writers and artists on the
other, could, according to Freud and his successors, be explained in the sense ''that
such regressions occur when an individual cannot cope with external reality and ex­
periences bitter disappointment. In order to protect himself against further disappoint-

108
ments, he regresses, on the basis of existing fixations, into a time in which he believes
himself to have been happier. Thus, externally, regression is a protest but, internally,
it is a means of self-defense on the part of the despairing individual. The pleasure
apparently procured in this manner is a primitive satisfaction of instinctual urges
unrestrained by adult reason and conscience." 30
The difference between such a compulsory regression and the typical regression
(as well as the form it takes) of the Dadaists should be seen in the fact that the latter,
in contrast to pathologically regressive persons, "knew that they were infantile".
They were thus "in control of their actions [and] had the strength and perspicacity
to guide and interrupt them. Thus they cannot be compared with madmen, no matter
how exceptionally gifted. The comparison with the insane can only serve to elucidate
the operation of the mental forces." 31 In fact, quite a few reasons could be adduced
in support of such an interpretation, among them, once again, several statements by
Ball, who stated, for example: " E s gibt eine gnostische Sekte, deren Adepten vom
Bilde der Kindheit Jesu derart benommen waren, dass sie sich quakend in eine Wiege
legten und von den Frauen sich saugen und wickeln Hessen. Die Dadaisten sind ahn-
liche Wickelkinder einer neuen Zeit." 32

Another entry in Ball's diary reads as follows:

Die Kindlichkeit, die ich meine, grenzt an das Infantile, an die Demenz,
an die Paranoia. Sie kommt aus dem Glauben an eine Ur-Erinnerung, an
eine bis zur Unkenntlichkeit verdrängte und verschüttete Welt, die in der
Kunst durch den hemmungslosen Enthusiasmus, im Irrenhaus aber durch
eine Erkrankung befreit wird. Die Revolutionare, die ich meine, sind eher dort,
als in der heutigen meehanisierten Literatur und Politik zu suchen. I m un-
bedacht Infantilen, im Irrsinn, wo die Hemmungen zerstört sind, treten die von
der Logik und vom Apparat unberührten, unerreichten Ur-Schichten hervor,
eine Welt mit eignen Gesetzen und eigener Figur, die neue Ratsel und neue Auf-
gaben stellt, ebenso wie ein neuentdeckter Weltteil. Im Menschen selbst liegen
die Hebel, diese unsere verbrauchte Welt aus den Angeln zu heben. Man
braucht nicht wie jene antike Mechaniker nach einem Punkte draussen im
Weltall zu suchen. 33

The interpretation of Dadaist forms of expression as an act of regression can also

be supported by the other reasons I have given.
30
Hans Kreitler, "Die Psychologie des Dadaismus" in Dada: Monographic einer Bewegung,
ed. Willy Verkauf (Teufen, 1957), pp. 74-87; here: p. 79.
31
32
Ibid., p . 81.
"There is a gnostic sect whose adherents were so affected by the picture of Jesus' childhood
that they lay down blathering in a cradle and let themselves be nursed and swaddled by women.
The Dadaists are similar swaddle children of a new age." Die Flucht aus der Zeit, p. 93.
33
"The childlike behavior I have in mind borders on the infantile, on dementia, on
paranoia. I t stems from the belief in a primitive memory, in a world which has been de­
stroyed and obscured beyond recognition and which, in art, is liberated through untrammeled
enthusiasm and, in the asylum, through illness. The revolutionaries I have in mind are to be found
there rather than in the mechanized literature and politics of today. In that which is thoughtlessly
infantile, in madness where the restraints are gone, there emerge primitive layers t h a t are un­
touched by logic and by mechanisms—a world with its own laws and its own shape which offers
new riddles and presents new tasks, just like a newly found continent. In man himself lie the levers
needed for renewing our used-up world. One need not seek for a point in outer space, as did that
ancient mechanic." Ibid., p. 104.

109
 V

Returning to our point of departure, we are perhaps justified in saying that

Dadaism has survived E. because it did not share the latter's preoccupation with
content—which was either more or less vague or much too concrete—and because
its principle of total freedom offered a possibility for constituting a new awareness
of reality, excluding, at least temporarily and in definite contrast to E., any historical
prejudice. In our day, this openness permits the repetition of actions and demonstra­
tions which look Dadaistic and which are still based on Dada's presuppositions, whereas
E. was inevitably destined to wax historical along with the specific situations which
determined its origins and served as its points of reference. In order to ascertain to
what extent the position of Dadaism is also historically qualified and limited, one
must go beyond the conditions of its genesis as I have sketched them. For even the
absurd "transcendentally poetic" attempt—if one may call it that—to resist all fixation
and immediately negate all affirmations of meaning cannot save the Dadaists from
being seen as a historical phenomenon whose pretended lack of meaning itself must
finally be ascribed to the nature of the epoch.
(Translated from the German by Linda Brust)

110
 P A U L HADERMANN

EXPRESSIONIST LITERATURE AND PAINTING

Pygmalion, in love with Aphrodite, carved his caresses in ivory and went to bed with
the statue. Clement as she was, the goddess endowed the ivory with life and let this
dream of confounding art and life come true a dream often since repeated in different
forms.
Art restored to life: not only does this refer to Zeuxis' grapes attracting the birds
or to the spider's feast organized by the "realistic" art work congealing the world in
its descriptive twists and turns; it also means the "zurück zur N a t u r " desired by so
many generations, each time as an expression of a different idea of nature. In short,
today more than ever, it is the artist and the poet trying to integrate their art in the
evolution of a society that seems perfectly able to do without them. I t is their, more or
less conscious, desire to "change the world" by undeceiving it and offering it new forms,
new ideas, and a utopia.
The sundry testimonies bearing upon the Expressionist period, coming from artists
and writers who have survived World War I and Nazism— memoirs, letters, prefaces
to anthologies or new editions, the recollections gathered by Paul Raabe, and so on—,
even when they emphasize the formal aspect of the works, share a general atmosphere
which keeps emerging from those years, a passionate way of looking upon the world and
living it fully, an intoxication of the spirit. I t is difficult to dissociate from the literary
and artistic revolution certain philosophical or political currents, such as Activism,
pacifism, anarchism, the influence of the Clarté groups, the social or mystical ideas of
Heinrich Mann, Hiller, Peter Hille, Martin Buber or Brod, because they are part of the
everyday experience and of the intellectual framework of the Expressionists.
The fact t h a t the spirit of socio-political revolt, of which many of these artists
gave proof, has seldom gone beyond the stage of gesturing, that even their pacifism as
Brod has noted—had lacked authenticity before their first fighting, does not justify the
refusal to take into consideration this aspect of their literary personality—no more so
than the pure and simple condemnation pronounced by Lukacs. 1 I t is perhaps by the
force of circumstances that we are bound to attribute to some of their works a much
greater fictionality than they themselves wanted to put into them, which leads us to
stress their rhetorical character. Yet it would be presumptuous to question the profound
sincerity of a young generation t h a t was first to face a crisis from which the Western

1
Georg Lukács, "Grösse unci Verfall des E . " in Probleme des Realismus (Berlin, 1955),
pp. 146–183,

111
world is still far from recovering. They expressed their fear, as well as their hope, with a
violence t h a t shook the traditional framework designed for the art work by a stable
bourgeois society. Eager to change the world, that generation changed only art and
literature—not, however, without being condemned, as "entartete Künstler" (degener­
ate artists), to fifteen years of silence. But form, too, shapes history. Even when—and
perhaps because—it expresses itself as a cry.
"Das Stück beginnt mit einem Schrei'' (The play opens with a scream). This pre­
fatory note to Goering's Seeschlacht might serve as a motto to any study of E. "Sturz
und Schrei" is the title of the first section of Menschheitsdammerung, and one thinks
of the cry of agony painted in 1893 by Munch, who, together with Van Gogh, is the
precursor par excellence of E. I t would be wrong, however, to interpret the intensity of
Expressionist diction solely in a mournful or anguished sense. Perhaps literature tends
to induce in us this error in judgment more easily than painting; whereas the former,
in its finest products, offers a majority of sombre, violent and despondent works, the
latter, by contrast, seems to have a greater share in the joy of living and perceiving, as
expressed in the use of bold colors and motifs that are often happy. Yet it is not im­
possible that this difference passed unnoticed by the contemporaries. Our eyes have
been accustomed to the great spots of harsh or opaque colors, as well as the linear
distortions, and we venture to interpret the pictures differently from what the painters
would have intended. However, the difference is certainly slight, considering the short
time that has since passed, and probably lies only in the degree of expressive intensity
perceived. What is more, nothing indicates that this is not also the case with the effect
created by a poem of that period. Let it, therefore, suffice to state that the Expressionist
cry can express both joy and pain, but that, in any case, it conveys an intensity of
subjective life with more vigor than was ever shown by any style of the past, preventing,
precisely on account of this, the birth of a truly unique Expressionist "style".
What could be more diverse, in fact, than the schools, magazines, and groups that
were founded during the decade preceding the First World War: Die Brücke (1905),
Der Blaue Belter (1911), Der Sturm (1910), Die Aktion (1911), Die Weissen Blatter (1913),
and Das Neue Pathos (1913 ?) From the art of Marc to that of Max Beckmann, from the
poems of Lasker-Schüler to those of Benn, where could a common denominator be
found ? This cogently explains the disagreement which prevails even with regard to the
definition of E., even more so in literature than in painting. Some scholars reserve ex­
clusive rights that remind us of Walden's strictures, who claimed for the contributors
of Der Sturm alone the appellation of pure Expressionists. Others resign themselves
to perpetuate the use of the term in the rather broad sense understood by Soergel, yet
adding prudent restrictions by talking, in quotation marks, of the "sogenannter (so-
called) Expressionismus".
I n the realm, already full of pitfalls, t h a t constitutes the comparison of art and
literature, it is a hazardous enterprise to confront two phenomena with moving and
ill-defined frontiers such as literary and pictorial E. I do not in the least intend to pro­
pose a new line of demarcation between these two zones but will use the term here in
the broad sense of "sogenannter Expressionismus", sticking to its historical meaning
as a movement or state of mind that arose in Germany and Austria at the beginning of

112
 this century, and which, during and after the First World War, had spread, with certain
modifications, to the adjoining regions. I n order to avoid attaching an exaggerated
importance to marginal elements and falsifying the perspective by loading it with
regional variants, I will generally limit my comparisons to German and Austrian E.,
occasionally allowing myself some brief excursions.
I n a more general way—it must be granted—studies like those of Hugo Friedrich,
Richard Brinkmann, or Edgar Lohner have shown the brittle foundations on which
any purely stylistic classification, tending to isolate literary E. from the whole body of
modern poetry since Baudelaire and, above all, Rimbaud, is based. 2 As far as painting
is concerned, the exhibition of European Expressionist art held in 1970 in Munich and
Paris has proved, by its daring comparisons which, to be sure, might be criticized in
some cases, how difficult it is clearly to distinguish, on the basis of formal criteria, the
various "expressive'' tendencies in the art of the end of the nineteenth and the first
half of the twentieth century.
If the artists of the Blaue Reiter have experienced a close affinity with the Cubists,
if Walden in Berlin and Paul van Ostaijen in Antwerp have sometimes tended to
"annex'' Futurism and Cubism to E., the reason for this was not only the necessity to
counter Impressionism, fin-de-siècïe aestheticism or public hostility but, first and fore­
most, their awareness of the fact t h a t beyond the differences of intention and mentality,
there was one thing that united the whole avant-garde and its immediate predecessors.
Henceforth it was no longer a question of reproducing the external world, not even of
viewing it "through a temperament" and analyzing the impressions thus obtained;
on the contrary, it was one of expressing a more authentic and profound reality. This
applied equally well to forces which the Futurists meant to set free, to the idea of the
object as circumvented by the Cubists, to the often convulsive state of mind in which
the Expressionists flung themselves into the universe, and to the dynamic designs of
the Suprematists and Neo-Plasticists.
F a r from corresponding to self-searching or ascetic renunciation, this attitude was
dictated by a common need for conforming to the new image of life, the world and
man—essentially changing, unstable, and dynamic — conveyed by the sciences as well
as the humanities. In most cases, moreover, the artist and the poet did not turn their
back upon appearances.
The Futurists conveyed movement by means of a cinematographic analysis of its
various stages, which they juxtaposed on the canvas, or by a succession of onomato-
poeias and descriptive terms within the poem. The Cubist painters proceeded by associa­
tion and dissection of forms, multiplying their points of view around the object in order
to recreate a multi-faceted image. Could not a similar apprehension of psychic space
by way of successive approaches—justify the appellation of "Cubists" as applied to
certain poets, novelists and playwrights? 3

2
Hugo Friedrich, Die Struklur der modernen Lyrik (Hamburg, 1956); Richard Brinkmann,
E.: Forschimgsprobleme 1952—1960 (Stuttgart, 1961); Edgar Lohner, "Die Lyrik des E . " in
E. als Literatur, ed. W. Rothe. (Bern-Munich, 1969).
3
See G. E. Clancier, De Rimbaud au Surréalisme (Paris, 1953), and especially Wylie Sypher,
Rococo to Cubism in Art and Literature (New York, 1960).

113
 The Expressionists did not detach themselves from the world either. They thor­
oughly dug it out, removed its conventional patina and make-up, paradoxically enough
- a n d in spite of their subjective vision—putting to their own use one of the foundations
of Realistic and Naturalistic technique.
" I t is no longer possible to paint interiors filled with men reading and women
knitting. On the contrary, they must be live human beings, breathing, feeling, suffering,
and loving/' 4 As the young Munch wrote these sentences in 1889, he forgot that the
knitters and readers already testified, however modestly, against the narrow observance
of academic traditions, and that the profound tendency from which his art took root
had asserted itself with some major scandals in the middle of the century: Edouard
Manet's "Man with the Pipe", his "Luncheon on the Grass", and his "Olympia",
inaugurating, as much as Madame Bovary, the rejection of decorative clichés in the
name of the real thing and a conception of man free from bourgeois hypocrisies and
romantic dreams of grandeur. The anti-Venus appeared on the scene simultaneously
with the anti-hero.
Models, dancers, clowns, peasants, and beggars—these picturesque motifs had
suddenly turned into human beings, whose trite existence inspired interest, passion or
revolt. Soon, beyond the individual, the painters unveiled the social drama, paralleling
the work of Zola or Hauptmann. Their predilection for the outcasts of fortune very
different from those painted by Estéban Murillo was sometimes accompanied by an
indictment of the judges representing the Establishment in its omnipotence. There
is a distinct continuity from Honoré Daumier to Rouault. Other painters, or those
already mentioned, extended the tragic sense to the entire human condition, without,
therefore, disparaging the social background. And after Daumier, Edgar Degas, Henri
de Toulouse-Lautrec, the great testimony of Van Gogh and Munch paved the way
for the double tendency of E., which is humanitarian and expressive. During that
time, Gauguin, retreating from society, gave shape to the nostalgia for primitive life
which marked so many works of the period, either in theme or composition.
I n the same way as the Cubists referred to Cézanne, the Expressionist painters con­
sidered Munch, Van Gogh and Gauguin as their models. We know what an important
role Munch had played, in spite of his "Art Nouveau" curves, in the elaboration of the
xylographic technique of Die Brücke, and how great had been the impact of his ex­
hibitions, which toured Germany, beginning in 1892. Similarly, it has become quite
superfluous to point out the formal influence of Gauguin and Van Gogh. What the
Expressionists admired in their spiritual fathers was more than style; it was their way
of feeling and their conception of life. Thus Erich Heckel primarily recognized
"eine Verwandtschaft zu Munch im Erleben und in der Einstellung zum Menschen". 5
Van Gogh's mystical and humanitarian tendencies, which led him to paint his peasants
"as if he were one of them, feeling and thinking like them", 6 and the passion which
animated his art, have at least been as important as his work. The idea he conceived of

4
Cited by Wilhelm Haftmann, Malerei im 20. Jahrhundert, second ed. (Munich, 1957), pp.
86-89.
5
6
Lothar G. Buchheim, Die Künstlergemeinschaft Brücke (Feldafing, 1956), p. 67.
Lettres de Vincent van Gogh a son frére Theo (Brussels, 1946), p. 151 (letter 404).

114
an artistic community to a great extent accounts for the founding of Die Brücke
(1905), which might be considered the beginning of E. 7 As for Gauguin, besides his re­
jection of bourgeois society, his legend embodied the thirst for exoticism and primitiv-
ism characteristic of Kirchner, for example, who from 1904 onwards, i.e., about the time
when negro art was "discovered" in France, was irresistibly attracted by the ethno­
graphic section of the Dresden museum. 8
The admiration for Munch, Gauguin, and, above all, Van Gogh, transformed these
painters into nearly mythical, or at any rate exemplary, personages who seduced the
writers as well as the painters. As late as 1924, Sternheim wrote a short story about
"Gauguin und Van Gogh". The name of Van Gogh also crops up in the letters of Benn 9
and Heym, 1 0 some of whose poems were inspired by the painter's work. In 1911,
Worringer for the first time mentioned E. in connection with Van Gogh, Cézanne, and
Matisse in an article published in Der Sturm.11 Daubler, the pre-eminent mediator
between painting and literature of the period, calls Van Gogh the first Expressionist and
effusively comments on his work in his book Der neue Standpunkt, published in 1916.
There he also admires the paintings of Gauguin and Munch, to which he devotes lyri­
cally written chapters. Munch, whom Reinhardt called upon for his stage designs,
impressed Kokoschka by the diagnosis he made of the "panische Weltangst". 1 2
To be sure, the Expressionists - artists as well as writers—did not only select
painters to fill their pantheon. I t is quite interesting to observe the craving for litera­
ture that obsessed these young artists, who, emulating the Fauves, initially called
themselves "die Wilden Deutschlands", 1 3 but who apparently did not share the hatred
of culture which was typical of their Futurist contemporaries and Dadaist successors.
On the contrary, their desire to leave the aesthetic ghetto and the specialization of their
craft urged them—like Gauguin looking for contacts with Symbolist poets, or Walter
Crane and Morris assigning a social function to Art Nouveau—toward the greatest
possible awareness of the ideas and the literary trends of their time. This is not in the
least surprising among a youth of whom Bahr wrote: "Jetzt aber scheint's, dass sich
in der heraufkommenden Jugend mit Heftigkeit der Geist wieder meldet. [Sie] glaubt
wieder, dass der Mensch nicht bloss das Echo seiner Welt, sondern vielleicht eher ihr
Tater oder doch jedenfalls selbst ebenso stark ist wie sie." 14
This accounts for the fact that Die Brücke was not simply an association of painters
who gathered some ideas on the subject of their craft, but a real "Bund'', with a common
life, a common mission, and common pleasures as their goal. A large part of their activ-

7
See the account given by Bernard S, Myers in The German Expressionists (New York, 1957)*
8
9
See Buchheim, op. cit., p. 50. .
10
Letter to Paul Zech dated September 2, 1913.
Letter to Wolfsohn dated September 2, 1910.
11
"Zur Entwieklunsgeschichte der modernen Malerei," Der Sturm) I I (1911),-No. 75, p. 597.
12
13
E.: Literatur und Kunst, 1910-1923, p. 18.
" I n unserer Epoche des grossen Kampfes um die neue Kunst streiten wir als 'Wilde',
nicht Organisierte gegen eine alte, organisierte Macht . . . Die gefürchteten Waffen der 'Wilden'
sind ihre neuen Gedanken; sie töten besser als Stahl und brechen, was für unzerbrechlich galt."
Franz Marc in Der Blaue Eeiter (Munich, 1912), pp. 5—7 (reprint Munich, 1965).
14
"But now it seems that, in the upcoming generation, the spirit violently reasserts itself.
This youth once again believes that man is not the echo of his world but perhaps rather its perpe­
trator, or, at any rate, as strong as it is." Quoted in Buchheim, op. cit., p. 26.

115
ities was devoted to the reading and discussion of literary works. There was still a
lively enthusiasm for Naturalism. Kirchner read to the others Charles Louis Philippe's
Bubu de Montparnasse and works by Guy de Maupassant. Ibsen, Strindberg, Wedekind,
Hauptmann, and Dostoevsky were simply devoured. The Symbolists equally carried
the day, as did Rimbaud, Verhaeren, and Whitman. 1 5 But it was Nietzsche, above all,
who nourished the passionate discussions. His influence on Expressionist literature has
been assessed by Sokel. In these preferences one recognizes the basic contradiction in­
herent in the Expressionist Weltanschauung, which is divided between the conscious­
ness of a creative self as isolated from his fellow beings by the very act of creativity, on
the one hand, and, on the other, the need to dissolve into a humanitarian and cosmic
communion of Jewish-Christian inspiration.
The same bell was sounded in Der Blaue Belter, where Nietzschean thought deeply
affected Kandinsky and Marc, —which did not keep the latter from planning, in the
mystical and messianic spirit characteristic for him, the edition of a large Bible illus­
trated by Klee, Heckel, Kubin, Kokoschka and himself. Although this group was much
more ephemeral and less coherent, the common interests and ideas of its members are
very apparent in their writings which, greater in number and more remarkable than
those of the members of Die Brücke (with the exception of Kirchner), draw from the
same literary sources: Ibsen, Dostoevsky, Nietzsche, Wagner, etc., while reserving a
greater share to music.
The aesthetics of Der Blaue Belter notably differs from those of Die Brücke,
among other things by its more intellectual and rational cast, which comes closer to
Cubism and the art of Delaunay. At its root, however, lies a similar social utopia, which,
inherited from Art Nouveau, was later taken up by the Bauhaus, where Klee, Kandinsky,
and Feininger were subsequently rejoined. The famous Bauhaus manifesto, dating
from 1919, illustrated by Feininger and culminating in an act of faith in the architecture
of the future, "kristallenes Sinnbild eines neuen kommenden Glaubens", 16 was the
logical outcome of the Brücke manifesto directed against "die wohlangesessenen alteren
Krafte" 1 7 and of the Blaue Reiter almanac, where Marc, for example, meant to create
the symbols, "die auf die Altare der kommenden geistigen Religion gehören". 18 This
demonstrates how, even outside of their art (which was very soon discussed in the
literary periodicals), these painters had a common ground where their preoccupations
joined with those of numerous writers, eternalists, activists, or "Neopathetiker".
Periodicals such as Die Weissen Blätter, Der Sturm, Das neue Pathos, Das Kunst-
blatt, and even Die Aktion, which was more directly political, shared the conviction
t h a t a new world was on the point of being established, based on human brotherhood
and a higher spirituality. They all seemed to believe—even in spite of the war—in
this "Epoche des grossen Geistigen" announced in 1911 by Kandinsky in Über das
Gelstlge in der Kunst. They all attached great importance to the pictorial avant-garde,

15
16
See ibid., pp. 39, 170.
17
"The crystal image of a future belief."
18
"The well-established older forces." See Buchheim, op. cit., p. 89.
"Which should be placed on the altars of the coming spiritual religion." Der Blaue Belter,
loe. cit.

116
whose major role in the artistic and spiritual revolution of the twentieth century
was deeply felt by them, as was also the case with Apollinaire.
Die Weissen Blätter and Die Aktion had a less specific literary and artistic orienta-
tion than the other periodicals. And yet they abounded in articles dealing with con­
temporary painting, whether from the pen of Daubler, Behne, Daniel Henry (Kahn-
weiler), Wilhelm Hausenstein and Leonore Ripke-Kühn in the former, or of Serner or
Rubiner in the latter review. In an article entitled "Maler bauen Barrikaden", Rubiner
even directly associated painting with revolutionary action. 19 (Pechstein, Otto Mueller,
George Grosz, and Otto Dix responded to his summons by joining the Novembergruppe
in I918. 20 ) Die Aktion published drawings—mainly portraits from the pen of Ko»
koschka, Ludwig Meidner, Oppenheimer, Egon Schiele, and Karl Schmidt-Rottluff,
among others. The latter, together with Meidner and Heckel, also contributed to Das
Neue Pathos.
Above all, credit goes to Der Sturm for having revealed the importance of Expres­
sionist painting and for having served as a platform for the literary and artistic avant-
garde in Germany. (Paul Westheim's luxurious periodical Das Kunstblait appeared
only in 1917 and, in the main, did nothing but perpetuate established reputations.)
The role played by Der Sturm is familiar enough. Walden made of his periodical one of
the principal meeting points of contemporary art, literature, and music. Der Sturm
indulged in the luxury of spawning an art gallery (1912), a publishing firm (1914),
and soon afterwards a Sturm-Schule (1916), and a Sturm-Bühne (1918); it also organized
evenings devoted to poetry.
Initially, the periodical was the rallying-point of diverse tendencies: poems by
Lasker-Schüler (Walden's first wife) and b y Lichtenstein appeared side by side with
aphorisms of Karl Kraus, short stories by Mynona and Paul Scheerbart, Kokoschka's
play Mörder Hoffnung der Frauen, articles by K u r t Hiller and, significantly, by Apolli­
naire, Marinetti, Leger, and Delaunay (the latter's contribution translated by Klee).
Under the influence of Kandinsky's, Klee's and Delaunay's ideas, and after Walden's
"discovery" of Stramm, the aesthetic theories of Der Sturm became more specific,
emphasizing the formal, aesthetic side of the work of art—whether literary (and thea­
trical) or pictorial. In its search for a pure and absolute art, Der Sturm moved toward
Constructivism, the poetry of sounds (Lautdichtung), and the gestic, geometrical thea­
ter advocated by Schreyer.
This development, quite apparent in the periodical, in its theater and in the
Sturm-Abende, did not reverberate in the program of the one hundred exhibitions which,
from 1912 to 1921, revealed, or helped to reveal, in Berlin and abroad the works of
countless painters, Futurists, Cubists, and, above all, Expressionists, to whom one
should add Gauguin, Rik Wouters, Ensor, Chagall, Delaunay, Arp, Ernst, K u r t Schwit-
ters, as well as others. Among the Expressionists, Walden assigned the lion's share to
the members of Der Blaue Belter and, most of all, to Klee. Dissolved by 1913, Die
Brücke had sometimes been represented in the Sturm gallery, for instance, at the time

19
Die Aktion, IV (1914), col. 353-364.
20
See Buchheim, op. cit., p . 81.

117
of the Berlin Neue Sezession exhibition. But from the very beginning it was felt that
Walden and his collaborators preferred a more "structured" art. This did not prevent
them, however, from reproducing, in their periodical, works by Heckel, Kirchner,
Nolcle, Pechstein, and Schmidt-Rottluff, as well as Alexander Archipenko, Chagall,
Picasso, Feininger, Johannes Itten, Kandinsky, Klee, Kokoschka, Kubin, Macke, Marc,
Georg Muche, Schlemmer, Schreyer, Schwitters, and many others.
Prior to its Bolshevist phase, which began about 1923, the importance of Der
Sturm for the propagation and development of E. can hardly be overestimated. Its
"erster deutscher Herbstsalon" (1913) was the second great joint avant-garde exhibi­
tion held in Germany, one year after the famous Cologne "Ausstellung des Sonder-
bundes". The periodical also revealed the poetry of Stramm and Schwitters, and the
selections made by Walden from the work of other poets were as perspicacious, on the
whole, as was their artistic quality. What is more, by gradually shifting the emphasis —
in painting as well as in literature—from the subjective and passionate expression
toward a more intellectual and abstractly formal composition, Der Sturm had a large
share in modifying the over-all aspect of German E. Walden's essays on art, such as
Einblick in die Kunst (1917), while simplifying them, reiterated the favorite ideas of
Kandinsky—who, because of the war, had returned to Russia but came back in 1921 -
on the organic work of art, constructed with forms and colors put together according
to the principle of internal necessity. Über das Geistige in der Kunst remained somewhat
ambiguous as to the nature of this necessity, which could depend as much on the creative
individual as on the internal structure of the painting. Walden dissipates the equivoca­
tion on behalf of the objectivized and depersonalized work, in the very sense of the
development which Kandinsky's art was to go through about the time when Gropius
called him to the Bauhaus (1922). Besides, Walden boldly applied to poetry the theory
of artistic autonomy and of the respect for the material appropriate to each art, as
upheld by Kandinsky, who had written as early as 1911: "Das Wort ist ein innerer
Klang". 2 1 In fact, Kandinsky had already sounded the resources of the poetic "con­
centration" and "decentration" of which Walden's friend Stramm was to make such an
extensive and convincing use in Der Sturm in 1914 and 1915.22 The neglect of syntax
and prosody—traditionally coordinated by linguistic usage—for the sake of the iso­
lated word corresponded to a reluctance to imitate, in art, the forms of nature according
to the conventional mode of perspective. The extreme stages of this double rejection
were the "Lautdichtung" of Rudolf Blümner, the ancestor of Lettrism, and in painting
the geometrical abstractions represented in Der Sturm by Rudolf Bauer, Kandinsky,
Moholy-Nagy, Johannes Molzahn, Muche, Arnold Topp, and William Wauer.
The various avant-garde tendencies of the Expressionist theater, ushered in by
Döblin (Lydia und Mäxchen) and Kokoschka (Sphinx und Strohmann) as early as
1906–1907, culminated in the Sturm-Bühne and the Kampfbühne of Hamburg, both
initiated by Schreyer. The recourse to pantomime, baffling mises en scène, music, masks,
cries, and ritual was completed by a plastic conception of the theater, based on the
21
"The word is an inner resonance." Über das Geistige in der Kunst, fourth ed. (Berne,
1952), p. 45.
22
Ibid., pp. 45–46.

118
play of lights and shapes and realized in 1912 in Kandinsky's "Bühneiikomposition"
Der gelbe Klang. In Munich, Kandinsky—together with other members of Der Blaue
Reiter—belonged to a small group formed in 1914 by Ball with the aim of investigating
new modes of dramatic expression. This group designed "total" spectacles, in which
Klee, Marc, Schönberg, and Kandinsky, among others, were to collaborate. I n Über
das Geistige in der Kunst, Kandinsky did not conceal his admiration for Wagner.
As early as 1910, Walden, on his part, had published Kokoschka's Mörder Hoffnung
der Frauen, and he himself had written the music and the scenario for plays, turning
to ridicule and exploiting everyday language for its resonant qualities. He had also
composed the musical part of a pantomime by Wauer, who, as early as 1905, had also
been preoccupied with theatrical innovations, writing articles on the subject for Der
Sturm. The Sturm-Bühne, founded in 1918, unified these ideas and attempts in a system,
related them to the Wortkunstwerk and produced Gesamtkkunstwerke such as Stramm's
Sancta Susanna (written in 1914 and produced in 1918) and Schreyer's Meer sehnte
Mann (1918). In 1921 Schreyer was called upon to direct the theatrical workshop of
the Bauhaus, where Schlemmer further pursued his Constructivist experiments. 23
All this astounding activity of Der Sturm should not induce us to underestimate the
role of numerous other periodicals which— well into the post-war period—did a useful
job in gathering the great names of literary and artistic E.: thus DieNeue Kunst (1913),
Das Neue Pathos (1913-1919), and, above all, Genius (1919-1921), edited by K u r t
Wolff under the supervision of Hans Mardersteig, Pinthus, and C. G. Heise.
There were, of course, other possibilities for contact between painters and poets,
such as the publishing firms, for example that of K u r t Wolff who, in 1913, had taken
over the first Rowohlt-Verlag, founded in 1907. Wolff became the principal publisher
of E., although he subsequently denied this claim by refusing to attach any significance
to the term. 24 The first four authors whose works he published were Brod, Werfel,
Kafka, and Hasenclever, soon followed by Trakl and Meyrink. Wolff published the
famous series "Der jüngste Tag", which was devoted to young authors. Pinthus had
been his first reader. Mardersteig, who was responsible for the lay-out, had introduced
to him Frans Masereel. From 1913 on, Wolff published art books, such as the Dramen
und Bilder of Kokoschka who, at that time, made several portraits of Hasenclever–as
well as studies about Kirchner, Nolde, Modersohn-Becker, and Masereel. Noteworthy
is also the publication, in 1914, of Das Kinobuch, containing Kinodramen by Brod,
Ehrenstein, Hasenclever, Lasker-Schüler, Rubiner, and others, and demonstrating
the interest taken by Wolff and his authors in the youngest plastic art.
Rallying places of artists and writers par excellence, the literary cafes functioned
as an exchange remembered with emotion and nostalgia by those of its beneficiaries
who are still alive. Running through the pages of Paul Raabe's collection of reminis­
cences sufficiently demonstrates how significant these cafés were in the intellectual life
of that generation. In Berlin there was the Café des Westens, the Café Grössemvahn—

23
24
See the documentation in Pörtner's Literatur-Revolution 1910—1925, I I , 194-211.
See E.: Aufzeichnungen und Erinnerungen der Zeitgenossen, ed. Paul Raabe (Olten/Freiburg,
1965), pp. 292-294.

119
 succeeded by the Romanisches Café—and Café Kutschera, where Miller's Neuer Club
held its meetings; in Leipzig there was the restaurant Der Kaffeebaum, and Wilhelms
Weinstuben flourished equally; in Munich the meeting place was the Café Stefanie,
and in Vienna the Café Central to cite only the most important localities. 25
The present essay could not claim to draw up an exhaustive list of the many per­
sonal relationships between the Expressionist painters and writers. Assessing the extent
of these relationships and their influence on particular works will always remain a very
delicate business. In most cases, it will be found that it is basically a matter of common
experiences—the discovery of city life, the frequentation of the same cafés, contri­
butions to the same periodical—rather than a concrete exchange of ideas and tech­
niques. Thus in the early part of 1914, Ernst Wilhelm Lotz and Meidner lived together
in Dresden and, according to the latter, both were elated at the spectacle of the city, in
the course of long enthusiastic walks. 26 Lotz, the poet, sometimes painted, and the
artists whom he especially admired were Delaunay, Marc, and Kandinsky, whose works
had nothing in common with those of Meidner. The latter, in truth, wrote poems such
as "Alaunstrasse in Dresden", evidently showing kinship with some of his paintings
by their panoramic and descriptive nature, while only the exalted tone might possibly
recall the poetry of Lotz or other Expressionist poets and Pathefiker with whom he had
associated in Berlin. (His Expressionist prose saw the light much later, i.e., during the
war.)
Otten, who, before the war, frequented the group of Rhenish painters and sculp­
tors, shared with them the passionate love for life and man, and the aesthetic conviction
expressed by their leader Macke in Der Blaue Belter: "Die Freuden, die Leiden des
Menschen, der Völker stehen hinter den Inschriften, den Bildern, den Tempeln, den
Domen und Masken, hinter den musikalischen Werken, den Schaustücken und Tanzen.
Wo sie nicht dahinterstehen, wo Formen leer, grundlos gemacht werden, da ist auch
nicht Kunst." 2 7 B u t there is not the slightest resemblance between Otten's extravagant
hymns or his pathetic appeals to the humanitarian revolution and Macke's subtle art
so full of warmly pulsating colors, kept in a perfect formal harmony, with happy
loungers and pensive girls smoothly integrated with a perpetually sunny landscape.
Although the friendship between Marc and Else Lasker-Schuier has left definite
traces in the form of letters, poems, and the famous postcard series designed by Marc,
i t has not profoundly affected their respective works. 28 Yet, for all that, a similar ex­
perience of space, distributed around the living beings in magnetic fields related to the
cosmos, forms the basis of their creations.
In Vienna, Kokoschka and Trakl experienced a solidarity due to the ostracism
which struck them on the part of the well-meaning public, as well as to their common

25
26
The appropriate references can be found in the above collection.
27
Ibid., pp. 146ff.
"The joys, the sorrows of men and peoples are behind the inscriptions, the pictures, the
temples, cathedrals and masks, behind the compositions, plays and dances. Where they are not
present in this way, where empty forms are created without this foundation, we have no art."
Der Blaue Belter, pp. 20—26.
28
See B. Kühl-Wiese, "Georg Trakl—Der Blaue Reiter: Form- und Farbstrukturen in Dich-
tung und Malerei des E.," Diss., Münster, 1963, pp. 19ff.

120
 spiritual restlessness and anguish 29 . One of Kokoschka's pictures may well have in­
spired Trakl's "Die Nacht", and the "Windsbraut" appears in the work of either. The
themes of fear, madness, devouring night, solitude, adolescence, guilt, and blood were
part of their vision which, however, was not determined by the interaction of their
personalities. I t was answerable to the specific situation of Austrian E., at once more
lucid (Kraus) and more nightmarish (Kubin) in its profound tendencies than German
E. generally, while being, at the same time, more closely akin to the morbid fin-de-
siècle climate. Schiele's cartilaginous portraits sometimes recall the figures of Gustav
Klimt. The latter, besides, was the teacher of Kokoschka, who dedicated to him"
Die traumenden Knaben".
The poet Paul van Ostaijen, who introduced the Futurist, Expressionist and
Cubist theories into Flanders, loved to discuss painting with his friends—the sculptor
Oscar Jespers and the painters Paul Joostens, Floris Jespers, Fritz Stuckenberg, and
Heinrich Campendonk. His critical writings helped to spread their reputation, and his
personal acquaintance with them made him more aware of the formal problems of his
time. Yet, even if one of their works particularly inspired him in the same degree as
did his other experiences, the only fruitful comparisons that are to be drawn are on
the level of a common vision anteceding any concrete "influence". In the present case,
a synthesis between Cubism and E., which mutually checked each other in an intuitive
apprehension of everyday reality, occurred. Van Ostaijen and Campendonk shared an
admiration for the popular Bavarian painters, yet their conscious naiveté led to differ­
ent results, according to the media they chose.
Similarly, the influence of the German Expressionist painters, and more particu­
larly t h a t of Bauer, on the Dutch poet Hendrik Marsman can only be measured (if at
all) in terms of a certain vitalistic attitude or an appropriation of space, and not in
terms of the concreteness of the works, short of falling into generalities valid for E.
as a whole. (This does not pertain, of course, to the literary influence of Stramm, for
example.)
The instances cited above do not seek to prove the impossibility of any particular
influence of a painter on a writer or vice versa; on the contrary, they tend to demonstrate
the difficulty of delineating the contours of such an influence within the far larger circle
of the entire avant-garde. Such an influence is much more easily verifiable in terms
of intentions—such as, for example, Kokoschka allowing himself to write at the in­
stigation of his literary friends, or Van Ostaijen enthusiastically clinging to Kan-
dinsky's theories—than in terms of the artistic products. This is why the dissemina­
tion of theoretical works was so important, since they manifested the urge to innovate
t h a t was common to an entire generation.
There is a need for monographs studying in more detail the influence on the
creative artistic and literary thought of such great theoretical works as Worringer's
Abstraktion und Einfühlung, Kandinsky's Über das Geisfige in der Kunst, Apollinaire's
Les Peintres Cubistes, the books of Albert Gleizes and Jean Metzinger devoted

29
See Johannes Klein's essay on Trakl in E. als Literatur, p. 376,

121
to Cubism, the essays of Delaunay, Marc, Klee, and Kirchner, the syntheses of
Max Raphael, P . E. Klippers, Wilhelm Michel, Bahr, Daubler, and many other books
that passed from hand to hand and contributed to the creation of an Expres­
sionist "climate'' . 30
Let us observe, in passing, that Expressionist literature lacked personalities such
as Worringer or Kandinsky. From the viewpoint of aesthetics as well as from that of the
creative act, it has stood in need of individuals competent or willing enough thoroughly
to analyze the phenomenon of literary E. and to place it in a broader perspective, Ed-
sehmid, Benn, Walden, Van Ostaijen—no matter how lucid and penetrating their mani­
festos, statements or critical writings—seldom went beyond the limits of producing a
lecture or an article. Probably the painters felt a greater didactic vocation, the Bauhaus
being a typical phenomenon. But it must be admitted that the novelty of their plastic
language was much easier to discern than the language of literature, which has almost
always been tributary to the familiar words. Basically, what was called in question as
far as poetic technique was concerned,—with the exception of a few borderline cases — ,
was the way in which the words were linked to each other. In art, beyond the articu­
lation of forms, the forms themselves were radically transformed, generating the neces­
sity for a theoretical justification which was based on a more revolutionary approach
toreality and, in fact, questioned the very status of that reality.
I t may well be that a deeper awareness of this problem induced several painters
also to take to writing. Simultaneously, they exercised the artistic vocation and the
critical function–as was the case with Kandinsky, Klee, Marc, Macke, and Kirchner —
or even the literary vocation as well, as was done successfully by Kandinsky, Klee,
Kubin, and, above all, Kokoschka and Barlach. 31 The parallelism of the development
of art and literature seems to be more obvious than the hypothetical influence of an
artist X on a writer Y. In fact, the unknown, constituted by the exact role and nature
of the external interference, is eliminated when the same creative subjectivity makes
use of two different kinds of expression. A splitting of the personality seems hardly
probable in this domain, and the following testimony of Kandinsky could probably
be extended to the other artists: "For me [it] is a 'change of instrument'. I say 'instru­
ment' because the force that drives me to my work remains the same, namely an inter­
nal pressure . . ." 32 Neither in his case nor in that of the other artists in question does
literature seem to have been a compensatory activity. On the contrary, in each case an
obviously similar vision emerges from the plastic as well as the literary works.
Kubin is a case in point. His fantastic novel Die andere Seite (1908), illustrated by
the author himself, is the counterpart of an essentially narrative art describing the
world of nightmares, as experienced in dreams, in everyday reality, or while reading
tales of horror. The years during which Kubin worked on his novel saw the growth
of his mature graphic style, dry, nervous, at once probing and suggestive, with the

30
I h a v e m a d e such a n a t t e m p t in m y b o o k Het Vuur in de Verte: Paul van Ostaijens kunstop-
vattingen in het licht van de Europese avant-garde ( A n t w e r p , 1970).
31
Their contemporary Arp developed in a direction different from E .
32
Quoted b y Carola Giedion-Welcker in Poètes a l'Ecart: Anthologie der Abseitigen (Berne,
1946), p. 54.

122
 horror in the foreground only gradually revealing the one lurking all around. In the
case of Kubin's book as well as his drawings, the eyes have first got to acclimatize.
Kandinsky and Klee, and occasionally Meidner as well, were poets; but the pathetic
distortion and t h e burning fever of Meidner's pictures—in m y opinion wrongly de­
precated b y Werner Haftmann— 3 3 do not cross the threshold of poetic expression.
Here bombast has been substituted for passion, disparate enumerations for dynamic
panoramas, rhetorical exclamations for quivering lines and twisting forms. And yet
the fundamental experience is the same: man's frenzy or anguish when confronted with
the enormous city life and the apocalyptic forces which he is capable of letting loose
upon it. Paintings such as "Ich und die Stadt", 3 4 ,"Apokalyptische Landschaft", and
"Brennende Stadt" are sometimes reminiscent of Kokoschka and enhance the pathetic,
passionate, unbridled tendency of E. They come closer to the art of Die Brücke than
to t h a t of Der Blaue Reiter.
Kandinsky, who was a member of the latter group, certainly did not shun subjec­
tive emotions, yet he controlled them better. One might even follow the nearly parallel
stages in which he reinforced this control in his art and in his poetry. Between 1910
and 1912, the abstract quality of his "Compositions" and "Improvisations" mingled
with the figurative art still typical of the preceding stage. Similarly, the volume Klänge
(1913) contains descriptions of animated landscapes side by side with poems of a strictly
musical quality. One might compare, for example, the beginning of "Fagott" ("Ganz
grosse Hauser stürzten plötzlich. Kleine Hauser blieben ruhig stehen. / Eine dicke harte
eiför'mige Orangewolke hing plötzlich über die Stadt") 3 5 with the end of "Bliek und
Blitz': "Aber der Rotzacken, der Gelbhacken am Nordpollacken wie eine Rakete am
Mittag !" 36 As in his art—henceforth non-figurative—the tendency to abstraction grew
equally strong in the subsequent poems, as in the one recited a t the Cabaret Voltaire in
1916: "Blaues, Blaues hob sich, hob sich und fiel./ Spitzes, Dünnes pfiff und drangte
sich ein, stach aber nicht durch. / An alien Ecken hats gedröhnt. / Dickbraunes blieb han­
gen scheinbar auf alle Ewigkeiten..." 37 Here one seems to be witnessing a transposition
into a temporal medium or the elaboration of an abstract painting. Though not a painter,
Van Ostaijen made a similar experiment in "Merkwaardige aanval". 3 8 Of course, such a
"transcription" constitutes an exception. Yet it should be noted t h a t neutral, nounally
used color and other adjectives, "gesichtslose Neutra", as Clemens Heselhaus calls
them, 39 corresponding to the "abstract" use of color in painting, are frequently found

33
Malerei im 20, Jahrhundert, p. 204,
34
Van Ostaijen could have borrowed from Meidner's "Ich und die Stadt" the title for a cycle
of poems in his collection Sienjaal, where he comes closest to humanitarian E.
36
"Very tall houses suddenly collapsed. Small houses stood unperturbed. /A thick, hard, egg-
shaped orange cloud suddenly hung over the city." Poètes a VEcart, pp. 55—56.
36
"But the red peaks, the yellow heels at the North Pollack like a rocket at noon." Ibid.,
3
' "Blue things, blue things, rose, rose and fell./Sharp things, thin things whistled and pushed
in but did not penetrate. / Reverberations everywhere. / Thickly brown things stayed behind,
apparently forever and ever." Ibid.
38 Verzamelt Werk: Grotesken en ander Proza, second ed. (The Hague and Antwerp, 1966),
pp. 101-103.
39
Clemens Heselhaus, "Die Elis-Gediehte von Georg Trakl," Deutsche Vierteljahresschrift
für Literaturwissenschaft und Geistesgeschichte, XXVIII (1954), 384–413, esp. p. 408.

123
in Expressionist poetry by reason of their suggestive force, Trakl was a master in the
use of this technique: "Ein Rot, das traumhaft dich erschüttert"; "Das Blau fliesst
voll Reseden"; " F ü r Einsames ist eine Schenke da." 4 0
Beginning with his Bauhaus period, Kandinsky made more room for the empty
space, the interval that separates the forms; he started to compare and balance them,
Similarly, his sluggish verses became shorter, with more abrupt breaks, and more pauses.
The compositions became more sober, the themes more "intellectually" playful: "Un-
regelmassig / Regelmassig / Massig / Wo ist es ?" 41
Closer to the ordinary world in his formal repertoire and, at the same time, generally
more detached by the way in which he made use of it, Klee was successful in his venture
to dwell on the frontiers of mystery without ever departing from a simplicity of style
that puts the mark of clarity on his work as a whole. His art really makes "visible", in
compliance with his famous slogan: "Kunst gibt nicht das Sichtbare wieder, sondern
macht sichtbar." 42 As Claude Roy has observed: "Cosmic sentiment, humor, metaphysi­
cal anguish, dream world, the leitmotifs of Klee, the painter, recur in the texts of Klee,
the poet." 43 Perhaps it was the allusive and musical character of his paintings — "denn
auch der Raum ist ein zeitlicher Begriff" 44 — t h a t made him avoid the danger of a too
heavily pictorial poetry, as is sometimes found in Kandinsky. Like his paintings, Klee's
poems constitute fixed microcosms and mixtures of extremely simple elements, where
abstraction counterbalances the animal and vegetative themes in a delicate equilibrium
of movements leading in opposite directions: "Mein Stern ging auf / tief unter meinen
Füssen / wo haust im Winter mein Fuchs? / wo schlaft meine Schlange?" 45
I t is significant that the only two Expressionist painters who really impressed
themselves as writers upon their contemporaries, have done so by way of the theater,
whose tendency to approach the other arts has already been stressed. As is the case
with most Expressionist playwrights, they created a theater of archetypes. Barlach's
and Kokoschka's dramatic characters have a mythical significance which is enhanced
by their great plasticity.
Barlach had conceived his idea of God and man in the Russian steppe, as he was
traveling on a spiritual itinerary very much like Rilke's, whose Stundenbuch (1905)
was a foreshadowing, or even an inauguration, of the mystical tendencies of E. Prop­
erly speaking, there are no individuals in Barlach's sculpture or in his dramas. In
general his figures are not even types representing specific passions or vices. Essentially
they sum up the human condition by reducing it to a few fundamental attitudes: sub-
mission, revolt, love, hate, compromise, and thirst for the absolute. Although topical
40
"A red which profoundly affects you as in a dream"; "The blue overflows with mignon­
ettes"; "For loneliness there is an inn." Georg Trakl, Dichtungen, sixth ed. (Salzburg, n. d.),
pp. 30, 33, 78. See also the chapter entitled "Absolute Metaphorik" in Kühl-Wiese's dissertation
cited above.
41
The pun on massig (moderately) and regelmassig (regularly) is untranslatable. Poètes a
l'Ecart,
42
p. 59.
"Art does not reproduce the visible, but makes visible." Schöpferische Konfession, ed. Kasimir
Edschmid (Berlin, 1920), p. 28.
43
44
C. Roy, Paul Klee aux sources de la peinture (Paris, 1963), p. 84.
45
"For space, too, is a temporal concept." Schöpferische Konfession, p. 33.
"My star rose/deep under my feet/ where does my fox dwell in the winter? / where does
my snake sleep?" Poètes a l'Ecart, p. 106.

124
events are alluded to at times, this is done sub specie aefernitatis. Thus a staggering
charcoal sketch of 1916, entitled "Anno Domini MCMXVI Post Christum Natum",
shows us a man ravaged by despair, who, in front of a cemetery swarming with small
crosses, calls to account a perplexed Christ who is obviously puzzled by the events.
More than the intercourse among people, Barlach, as a rule, represents the dialogue
between the soul and a God vaguely conceived according to a Jewish-Christian per­
spective. The heavy folds in which he imprisons the bodies have been compared to the
brute matter from which the heroes of his plays want to free themselves. 46 Yet, since
the woodcuts of "Die Wandlungen Gottes" show us the Creator draped in the same
folds, I would rather interpret them as a rejection of the anecdotal and the individual.
What is more, these folds constitute a major expressive feature of his art. The ample
robes which, inspired by the sculptures of the late Middle Ages, free man from his tem­
poral context, the faces simplified to the extreme, of a solid and rough cast, the broad
gestures all of a piece—all these characteristics confer on Barlach's figures the same
archaic monumentality at which he aimed in his plays by using themes and phrases
borrowed from the Old Testament or from popular tradition, and by a majestic reci­
tative style.
Although Kokoschka also resorted to Biblical images and themes, his dramas
transport us into a more primitive and pagan world governed by the primordial laws
of sex and violence. His diction approaches the cry; the breath is short, and the images
unfold in a frenzied rhythm. While Barlach's characters assert their presence in space
(also in his theater) as monolithic blocks, those of Kokoschka waste away in it by im­
parting the spasms of their exposed nerves. The shriveled contours, the perversity of
the strokes, the abrupt phosphorescences of the colors, form a counterpart to the force
and the barbaric refinement of the vocabulary used in Kokoschka's plays.
Between the archetypal incarnations of the subconscious pulsations which people
Kokoschka's poems and dramas on the one hand, and the individuals treated "with
the scalpel'' in his portraits of the same period on the other, the contrast is only super­
ficial. Being Freud's spiritual brother, Kokoschka crossed the subconscious threshold
of a personality in the latter case, and of a culture in the former. From both he tore
away the mask and discovered his own obsessions underneath.
B y the prehistoric aspect of its figures, the brutal distortions and the sadistic
incisions in the flesh, the famous drawing which illustrates "Mörder Hoffnung der
Frauen" perfectly matches the subject and structure of the play, performed in 1908
and published in 1910. This is not the case with "Die traumenden Knaben", published
as early as 1908, whose lithographs are still largely answerable to the Jugendstil. Yet
this long poem is one of the first experiments in literary E. by its rejection of traditional
forms and rhythms, by an impetuous visionary quality, a purely oneiric chain of images
and, above all, by a grasp of the subjective and dynamic universe whose unexpected
approaches, retreats and leaps condition the supple structure of the verses and
stanzas.

46
Otto Mann, "Ernst Barlach" in E,: Gestalten einer Bewegung, ed. H. Friedmann and
O. Mann, pp. 303-304.

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 In both creative realms, Kokoschka henceforth sought to circumvent, as much as
possible, the connection between subjective vision and reality. This actually became
the theme of his plays where the shadows of the self and of love interpenetrate. Thus,
as early as 1907, Sphinx unci Slrohmann, a "comedy for automatons'', in which the wife
possesses no soul but the one mistakenly lent to her by her husband, already announced
the famous life-size doll which "der tolle Kokoschka" took with him to the theater or
in his car, and which would serve him as a model. Meanwhile his relationship with Alma
Mahler had inspired paintings and plays which, culminating in Die Windsbraut and
Orpheus und Eurydice, respectively, are among the most lucid and poignant expressions
of this struggle between two subjectivities tending to absorb and annul each other:
"Ob es Hass ist, solche Liebe?" 4 7
Perhaps the theme of the couple occurs so frequently in Kokoschka's art because
it embodies the enigma of the subjective vision: the man often tormented or adventur­
ous, the woman placid or enigmatic, a doll or a sphinx, like reality itself, given a mean­
ing only when being apprehended and raped. Similar to any other segment of reality,
the global image of the couple is, in its turn, submitted to the distorting vision of the
painter which is, itself, waiting to be raped by our look: "Dann aber werde ich nichts
mehr sein, als eine, Ihre Einbildung." 48 Yet no skepticism whatsoever, no sense of
vanity results from such a conception; on the contrary, it is a passsionate affirma­
tion of subjectivity.
The case of the "double talents" which I have briefly evoked might encourage
research seeking to define, chiefly in spatial terms, certain structures common to both
fields of expression. Such a study appears to be all the more legitimate since the Ex­
pressionist writers themselves often emphasized the essentially "visionary" character
of their art. Thus they attached central importance to the problem of the subjective
dimension in the visual perception of reality.
Like Cubism, Futurism, and other avant-garde movements, E. was an answer to
the uncertainty and confusion caused, at the beginning of our century, by the overthrow
of the values and principles on which a fixed world view was previously based. I t was
an answer—not of the intellect, as Cubism was—but of passion. Rather than restricting
itself to a search for new technical solutions, it tended to engage the entire man, the
very sense of his existence, and the consciousness of his being.
A negative, distressed, tortured reaction characterizes the work of Trakl, Heym,
Kokoschka, Nolde, and Kubin, who projected into their perception of the universe their
own terror, anguish, or violence. A desire for lucidity urged numerous Expressionists
to represent and recapitulate the drama of the human condition in non-individualized
characters and typical conflicts. The motifs freed by the Naturalists from the strangle­
hold of taboos, where "good form" had repressed them, were now reduced to their

47 "Whether such love is hatred?" This line occurs in the poem "Alios Makar" which, as the
anagrammatic title indicates, deals with the same theme (Alma-Oskar). See II. Schumacher,
"Oskar48
Kokoschka" in E. als Literatur, p. 517.
" B u t then I will be nothing but a, (i.e., your) imagination." Kokoschka's essay on the
artistic vision, "Gesichte," ends with this sentence.

126
essential polarities: father and son, man and woman, active and contemplative man
bourgeois and proletarian confronted each other at daggers drawn. The theater is,
obviously the place to present such conflicts, yet some painters did not hesitate to
introduce this more "narrative" element into their art. We have already mentioned
t h a t Kokoschka painted and etched the war between the sexes. Kirchner more dis­
creetly limited himself to representing the provocation of great women birds in red
dresses, sporting quivering feathers and nailing the walkers to the spot. Grosz insisted
on the venality of Aphrodite and attacked the bourgeois with vitriol, in a way similar
to Dix. Heckel calls to mind Dostoevsky in his "Two Men at Table" (sometimes entitled
"The Brothers Raramazov"), where the brothers confront each other under the image
of the Crucified. Beckmann fathomed, in a hallucinatory manner, the theme of the
hangman and his victim.
The answer was optimistic—even though it sometimes took the form of an indict­
ment—in the case of Werfel, Rubiner, Barlach, R a t h e Rollwitz, and the Mexican
"Expressionists", for it was based on the hope for a new humanity. In these artists'
opinion, the advent of a golden age, on the social or spiritual plane, justified, or even
valorized, suffering and evil in the sense of a Dostoevskian purification. Giving evidence
of an "amor fati" t h a t was more firmly anchored in the present, the poems of Stadler
and Van Ostaijen, and the paintings of Die Brücke, as well as those of Feininger, Klee,
Marc, and Campendonk, often rendered the intoxication which the mind experienced
by living in communion with the world: the powerful rhythms of the city and its
crowds, the exciting speed of trains, the joy of sporting naked near lakes of a blue
deeper than the sky, the crystalline nuptials of architecture and space, and the happy
feeling induced by penetrating the dreams of animals.
With the exception of Dix, who developed in the direction of Neue Sachlichkeit,
the beings and objects were nowhere "described" or enumerated in a realistic fashion.
What mattered was the psychological condition in which the poet or artist encountered
things, made them his own in a cumulative vision and recognized them as signs of his
internal reality. This extremely close contact between the self and the world differs
from Romantic contemplation in being more tyrannical. The Expressionist does not
make his escape into the other world; he rather annexes it. Whether this experience is
painful or n o t does not matter much at the moment he takes it upon himself and forces
his own spiritual law upon it. By this subjective course he interrelates the beings and
links them to the universe, unless he directly expresses his creative impulse in the
abstract sign or the Lautgedicht (Randinsky, Blümner). The environment presented
may be the city or a more or less unspoiled nature. In any case, it is conceived as the
place where subject and object meet, whether this subject concretely appears in human
or animal form in the "decor" to which it gives its meaning, or whether the artist's
subjectivity is revealed without intermediary vehicle, and solely through the formal
structure imposed upon reality.
By vehicle I mean a creature or object into which the creative self is intuitively
projected and whose topographic situation orders and conditions the structure of the
poem, novel, play, or painting, as, for example, the train in Stadler's "Fahrt über die
Rölner Rheinbrücke bei Nacht", or Franz Biberkopf in Döblin's novel Berlin Alexander-

127
platz49, the son in Hasenclever's Der Sohn,50 Meidner's self-portrait in "Ich und die
Stadt", or the animals of Marc, whose movements are echoed by the lines surrounding
them. The function of such a vehicle is to activate space in the sense of subjective emo­
tion, or, to express it more plainly, to justify, through an "explicative'' presence, the
expressive distortion to which the evoked objects are subjected.
Dix painted an empty "Road with Street Lamps'' (1913) under a starry sky, where
the relay is established at the very bottom of the picture, through a vague, curved
silhouette standing out against a small pool of pale light. This light puddle is projected
onto the road by six street lamps surrounded by pointed beams, such as children
would draw. Behind them, the perspective of multistoried houses is falsified in pro­
portion to t h a t of the sidewalk, with the effect of erecting a kind of barrier to the per­
son's walk. The tension inherent in the work is primarily determined by the fact that
beyond its star-shaped halo each street lamp points one of its rays, like a dagger, at the
walker's head. Conforming to the rhythm of his walk, the figure, consequently, seems
to move along with him an enormous crown of painful rays to which corresponds a
luminous cascade at the top of the picture, arbitrarily underlining the black contours
of the roofs. Only the passer-by himself can have the impression t h a t all these rays
converge in his dazzled retina and follow him like search-lights on his solitary walk.
Dix has put himself in his position, and puts us there in our turn. Moreover, the figure's
feet are cut by the frame, and he is thus almost outside of the picture. The space juts out
of the canvas, not in accordance with the reassuring geometric continuity of the tradi­
tional perspective, but through a striking transfer. The light, which is made lively and
mobile through the dynamic perception of the walker, almost blots out the latter in
the consciousness of the spectator, who is literally absorbed by the image and the
solitude expressed by it. B y means of the black silhouette, the painter has identified
us with his creative self in order to let us share his subjective vision more immediately,
without having recourse to the anecdotal expression of a face or any sort of symbolism.
Such a vehicle may recall the use of the second person in poetry, a device which
was not restricted to the Expressionists alone,—far from it—, but for which the latter
showed a particular predilection. In Van Hoddis' poem "Morgens", for example, one
can observe how the subjective sensations draw nearer, materialize and culminate in the
du, subsequently giving rise to the conscious reaction on the part of the subject—a
eaction which has to become ours as well:

Ein starker Wind sprang empor.

Öffnet des eiternden Himmels blutende Tore.
Schlagt an die Türme.
Hellklingend laut geschmeidig über die eherne Ebene der Stadt.
Die Morgensonne russig. Auf Dammen donnern Züge.
49
See Herman Meyer, "Raumgestaltung und Raumsymbolik in moderner Erzahlkunst und
Malerei" in Bildende Kunst und Literatur: Beitrage zum Problem ihrer Wechselbeziehungen im neun-
zehnten Jahrhundert, ed. Wolfdietrieh Rasch (Frankfurt, 1970), pp. 18—34.
50
Concerning this matter, Pinthus observes: "In Hasenclever's play, . . . the perspective is,
throughout, that of the son. This is how we ought to look at the characters; not, according to pre­
vious usage, as objectively sketched by the author, but such as the son sees them," "Versuch eines
zukünftigen Dramas'* in Die Schaubühne X/14 (1914), pp. 292–293.

128
 Durch Wolken pflügen goldne Engelpflüge.
Starker Wind über der bleichen Stadt.
Dampfer und Krane erwachen am schmutzig fliessenden Strom.
Verdrossen klopfen die Glocken am verwitterten Dom.
Viele Weiber siehst du und Madchen zur Arbeit gehn.
Im bleichen Licht. Wild von der Nacht. Ihre Röcke wehn.
Glieder zur Liebe geschaffen.
Hin zur Maschine und mürrischem Mühn.
Sieh in das zartliche Licht.
In der Bäume zartliches Grün.
Horch ! Die Spatzen schrein.
Und draussen auf wilderen Feldern singen Lerchen. 51

The past tense of the first line becomes present tense from the second line onwards.
Short phrases, full of imagery and highly colored, and carrying along dynamic personi­
fications embracing the city spectacle, succeed each other. The first stage ends with the
synthetic statement summing up an absolute state through the absence of the verb:
"Starker Wind über der bleichen Stadt". Then follows the waking of machines and bells,
evoking the filth and fatigue of the life led by their slaves: "schmutzig", "verdrossen",
"verwittert". At the very moment of their appearance, the subject becomes aware
of himself and addresses himself: "Viele Weiber siehst du und Madchen zur Arbeit
gehn." The rest of the poem exploits the contrast between the alienated reality of man
("Hin zur Maschine . . .") and his vocation of happiness ("Glieder zur Liebe geschaffen"),
yet without discursive rhetoric. Instead we get imperatives ("Sieh!", "Horch!"),
calling attention to the spectacle of nature. From the sparrows to the larks, from the
street to the "wilder" fields, the enlargement of perspective suggests the need for free­
dom and the necessity to change the world. The exclamatory " H o r c h ! " is certainly
meant for the reader as well, who, by virtue of the "du", is assimilated to the subject
whose consciousness awakens, and who is thus gradually brought to accept as his own
the implicit message of the poem.
One could question the need for such vehicles. I t could be argued that the use of
the second person here or the foreground silhouette there is only a palliative masking
the lack of persuasive power. And yet, the device essentially corresponds to the need
51
A strong wind arose.
Opens the bleeding gates of the pus-like sky.
Knocks at the towers.
Brightly sounding loud sleek across the ironlike plain of the city.
The morning sun sooty. Trains thunder on trestles.
Golden angel ploughs plough through clouds.
A strong wind above the pale city.
Steamers and cranes awaken by the dirtily flowing stream.
Ill-tempered, the bells knock at the weathered cathedral.
Many women and girls are seen going to work.
In the pale light. Wild from the night, their skirts billow.
Limbs made for love.
Toward the machine and morose effort.
Glance at the tender light.
At the tender green of the trees.
Hark ! The sparrows scream.
And beyond, on the wilder fields, larks are singing.

129
for communication and communion as expressed in a pathetic, sometimes even awk­
ward, manner adopted by such poets as K u r t Heynicke: "Oh, dass wir DU sind
einander," 52 or Werfel: "Mein einziger Wunsch ist dir, o Mensch, verwandt zu sein!
. . . / Mein Mensch, wenn ich Erinnerung singe, / Sei nicht hart, und löse dich mit mir in
Tranen auf."53
This communion soon turned into persuasion or hypnosis. Few movements have
so much insisted on the adhesion, even the submission, of the spectator or reader to the
work—whether in the case of Kandinsky seeking, with functional means, i.e., forms and
colors, "die zweckmassige Berührung der menschlichen Seele", 54 or in the case of Werfel
supplicating "Wolle mir, bitte, nicht widerstehn !"55
Having annexed the world, the Expressionist's vision wants to thrust itself totally
upon the spectator in order to absorb him body and soul. Hence the recourse to strong
measures: expressive distortions, personifications, synaesthesia, the arbitrary use of
colors, extreme simplifications, accentuation of contrasts, panoramic views, close-ups
and montages.
Let us now examine somewhat closer these literary and pictorial devices, keeping
in mind t h a t they are neither the exclusive domain nor the proper creations of E.
Only their frequent and joint occurrence, together with the employment of the sub­
jective vision, can be considered characteristic for this art. Such devices are found in
painting as well as literature. Their common denominators are the creation of a sub­
jective space and, consequently, the sometimes mitigated rejection of old traditions,
being, on the one hand, the reproduction of reality according to a perspective prism and
an atmospheric vision and, on the other, the communication of emotions or ideas in
accordance with a discursive, syntactic, or prosodic a priori.
I t is a truism to say that most of the Expressionists are immediately recognizable
by their expressive distortion of reality. In their works the human form is hollowed out,
schematized around a detail which reduces it to the essential or the typical. A line
such as Benn's "Bartflechte kauft Nelken, Doppelkinn zu erweichen" 56 suggests the
caricatures of Grosz, where a moustache or monocle suffices to establish a human
presence. Heckel's "The Humiliated One" is not only a portrait, but, above all, a play
of sagging and shriveling lines expressing a convulsive and disgraceful suffering. Simi­
larly, Paul Boldt does not allude to a specific poet but to The Poet of his heart, "hinter
die Zahne bergend seinen Schrei" (hiding his scream behind his teeth). Jawlensky,
painting "The Hunchback", Barlach carving "The Blind Beggar", Heym portraying
"Der Blinde", instead of merely offering a description, prefer to bring to light some
specific traits intensifying the human drama at the expense of the realistic anecdote.
In extolling the use of masks in the theater, Ball went even one step further: "Was an
den Masken uns allesamt fasziniert, ist, dass sie nicht menschliche, sondern überlebens-

52
"Oh, that we are you to each other." Menschheitsdammerung (Berlin, 1920), p. 265.
53 "My only wish is to be related to you, oh human being! . . . My human being, when I sing
remembrance, don't be hard and dissolve with me in tears." Ibid., p. 231.
54
55
"The purposive manipulation of the human soul." Über das Geistige in der Kunst, p. 69.
"Please, do not seek to resist me !" Menschheitsdammerung, p. 239.
56
"Barber's itch buys carnations, in order to move double chin." Viewing the wealth of quo­
tations adduced below, I have desisted from giving bibliographical references.

130
grosse Charaktere und Leidenschaften verkörpern. Das Grauen dieser Zeit, der paraly-
sierende Hintergrund der Dinge ist sichtbar gemacht." 57
The cityscapes and the landscapes are animated with mysterious forces, which the
painters translate into an entanglement of planes (Heckel, Schmidt-Rottluff, Beck-
mann), into flames resembling those of Van Gogh (Meidner, Kokoschka), waves (Nolde),
crystallizations (Marc, Klee, Feininger), or nervous vibrations (Kirchner). Similarly, the
poets liquefy, crystallize, or inflame things, and one is reminded of the model constituted
by Rimbaud's "Marine", which is based on a perfect coincidence of the sea and the
fields. Lotz speaks of the "flammenden Garten des Sommers" (the flaming gardens
of summer). For Stadler: "Wie ein See, durch den das starke Treiben eines jungen
Flusses wühlt, / Ist die ganze Stadt von Jugend und Heimkehr überspült" (Like a lake
stirred up by the strong drift of a young river / The whole city is washed over by youth
and homecoming). Boldt transforms the forest into a submarine bed: "Die Walder
wandern mondwarts, schwarze Quallen, / ins Blaumeer" (The woods wander toward
the moon, black medusas, / into the blue sea). And in one of Lichtenstein's poems we
read that "an einem Fenster klebt ein fetter Mann" (a fat man sticks to a window).
Almost entirely absent from Expressionist painting (unless one includes Chagall),
personification is the most common device through which the poets give life to the
static elements of common experience, whether in the form of symbols or allegories,
as in Heym's "Der Gott der Stadt" and the lines by Van Hoddis quoted above, or in
the form of metaphors, as in the case of Lichtenstein's "Ein paar Laternen waten zu
der Stadt" (A few lanterns wade into town), Arthur Drey's "Die Gasse flieht mit mir
vor Hauserwellen" (The lane flees with me from waves of houses), Trakl's "und ein
Kanal speit plötzlich feistes Blut" (and a canal suddenly spits up fat blood), Wolfen-
stein's "drangend fassen /Hauser sich so dicht an, dass die Strassen/grau geschwollen
wie Gewürgte sehn" (crowding each other, / houses press so closely together that the
streets, / gray and swollen, look like people suffocated), Hermann Kasack's "Der
schmerzliche Baum / greift in den Himmel" (The painful tree / reaches out for the sky),
and Stramm's "Die Steine feinden" (The stones act like enemies). In the case of Stramm
and other Sturm poets, the words themselves are subject to expressive distortions or
give rise to neologisms, nouns and adjectives giving birth to verbs, and vice versa. These
words form dynamic climaxes distinct from the composite neologisms in the use of
which the end of the nineteenth century had exhausted the smallest perceptive nuances.
Synaesthesia, a heritage of Symbolism, is more difficult to trace in painting than in
poetry. I t is useless to list the poetic examples, from Klabund ("Schluchze, Enzian-
blau!") to Benn ("Die Geigen grünen"). A picture, by contrast, can merely suggest
or provoke the synaesthesia, but cannot explicitly contain it. One will be tempted to
look for it only when a poem is meant to approximate music, as in the case of Klee and
Kandinsky, or else if the title of the work is suggestive. Thus in Van Gogh's "Berceuse",
Munch's "Cry", and Kokoschka's "The Power of Music" it would seem obvious that the
old-fashioned motif of the painted paper, the enormous sound wave in the shape of a

57 "What fascinates all of us in masks is the fact that they don't represent human but super­
human characters and passions. The horror of this age, the paralyzing background of things is
made visible." Quoted in Pörtner's essay " E . und Theater," E. als Liter'aiur, pp. 202-203.

131
cloud, and the red garment of the figure dancing to the trumpet tune open up many
passages from one sensorial world to the other.
The arbitrary use of colors is quite another matter. Contrary to the case of color
hearing, the question here is not one of interference among the five senses but of a
deliberate jamming of the optical perception by the creative subjectivity. Since the
advent of Fauvism, whose influence on E. is well known, we have become used to seeing
red tree-trunks and green faces. The Expressionists, however, heightened the emotional
potential58 or the symbolic value of these colors,—which does not mean that they were
the first to do so, either, since Denis Seurat and Gauguin had preceded them on this
point in practice as well as in theory. Literary Symbolism, in its turn, widened the path
that had already been opened by everyday speech with phrases like "purple with
rage", "green with envy", etc. Thus E. merely enhanced and systematized an already
current practice. Surprise, nevertheless, subsists when horses are painted blue (Marc) or
"wenn schwarz der Tau tropft von den kahlen Weiden" (when the dew drips blackly
from the bare willows) (Trakl). I will not further enlarge upon the Expressionist use of
color symbolism. Besides, it would be better to limit such an investigation to individual
artists or poets, since it does not pertain to a language that is common to them all, —
in spite of some systematic efforts on the part of Kandinsky and Marc, for example.59
Not only do the colors of "vision" fail to correspond to those registered by the
normal retina, but sometimes they also have the tendency to break away from their
objects. A first stage would be constituted by the overflowing of contours, as demon­
strated by Raoul Dufy. This device is pretty rare indeed in Expressionist painting, which,
as a rule, emphasizes the forms in a crude fashion. Yet relevant examples can be found
in the art of Nolde, Klee, and Kokoschka. In general, the aim is to suggest the mobility
of contours, as in some of Kokoschka's portraits or in Klee's picture entitled "They
Persuade the Child", or else to make the color "radiant" so as to convey a stronger
emotional quality: "O Tulpenleuchten gelben Haares!" (0 tulip radiance of yellow
hair) (Ferdinand Hardekopf). As we have observed, Trakl loved to use colors nounally,
thereby suggesting an undetermined presence. The following image is located half­
way on the road towards this indetermination: "Im Dunkel der Kastanien schwebt ein
Blau, / Der süsse Mantel einer fremden Frau" (In the dark of the chestnut trees hovers
a blue, / The sweet cloak of a strange woman). In this case, the blue color seems to be
a spot which, by way of "floating", is only vaguely coincident with the coat. From here
it is but one step to complete color autonomy, which is relative, to be sure, since—
especially in poetry—-color often recalls the objects whence it originated. Lines such as
Trakl's "Vorm Fenster tönendes Grün und Rot" (Green and red sounding in front of the
window) or "Das Blau fliesst voll Reseden" (The blue flows over with mignonettes)
remind us of Kandinsky's semi-figurative compositions, Marc's last paintings, which can
hardly be called abstract, and the no-man's-land in which Klee mingled signs and
objects. On the other hand, we have seen that Kandinsky and Van Ostaijen went so
far as to postulate the total autonomy of color in poetry.

58
See the letter by Van Gogh cited on p. 40 of this volume.
59
See W. Hess, Das Problem der Farbe in den Sélbstzeugnissen moderner Maler (Munich, 1953).

132
 Half-way between Symbolism and synaesthesia, the application of colors to abstract
concepts was a favorite device of the Expressionist poets. Karl Ludwig Schneider has
demonstrated this usage, relating its application by Lasker-Schüler ("meine blaue
Seele"), Heym ("Ganz grün bin ich innen") and Trakl ("blaue Kühle) to Van Gogh's
intention of "expressing in red and green the terrible human passions" in his famous
painting "The Café B y Night". 6 0
Forms seemed to pass through various states of matter, and colors were detached
from their concrete habitual basis; yet they did not, therefore, disappear. On the
contrary, they were subjected to a tension exploiting to the full their expressive possi­
bilities, by letting them speak the most direct language possible, "mobilizing" the
spectator's subconscious at least as much as his intellect. The Expressionists did not
linger over the delicate nuances guided by the Impressionist perception of reality.
On the contrary, they preferred simple colors. Reds, blues, greens, and yellows were
mainly used "as they came out of the tube". Similarly, the poets generally used the
most common and least "literary" words, and t h a t not merely in order to suggest a
specific color.
The primitivism of expression in Nolde's work is not a mere form of decorative
exoticism; what it meant was an actual return to the sources, on the level of vision.
To the young Friedrich Hebbel Benn ascribes the following artistic credo—another form
of "relay": " . . . und die Welt starrt von Schwertspitzen / Jede hungert nach meinem
Herzen. / Jede muss ich, Waffenloser, / in meinem Blut zerschmelzen" (and the world
is full of sword points, / Each of them thirsting for my heart. / Each of them, I, unarm­
ed, / must melt in my blood). To this desire or necessity corresponds a technique which
pretends to be savage, mobilizing the whole being, and rejecting any aesthetic subtle-
ties: " I h r schnitzt und bildet: den gelenken Meissel/in einer feinen weichen H a n d !
Ich schlage mit der Stirn am Marmorblock / die Form heraus." 6 1 The Expressionist
simplification has nothing in common with a diagram but is a means of aggression. Shock
effects, surprises, violent contrasts are, according to Kandinsky, the main characteristics
of the new aesthetics:

Kampf der Töne, das verlorene Gleichgewicht, fallende 'Prinzipien', uner-

wartete Trommelschlage, grosse Fragen, scheinbar zerrissener Drang und
Sehnsucht, zerschlagene Ketten und Bander, die mehrere zu einem machen,
Gegensatze und Widersprüche, das ist unsere Harmonie. 62

Thus, to give a crude example, the Expressionists would preserve the extreme colora­
tion of a face while suppressing the nuances. The light parts of the face would be uni­
formly yellow, for instance, and the shadows, standing out distinctly, would be dark

60
Karl-Ludwig Schneider, "Wort und Bild im E . " in Zerbrochene Formen (Hamburg, 1967),
pp. 7—31.
61
"You carve and shape, the supple chisel/in a smooth, soft hand! I hammer the form out of
the block of marble with my forehead." "Der junge Hebbel'' in Menschheitsdämmerung, p. 30.
62
"Struggle of sounds, the lost equilibrium, falling 'principles,' unexpected drum beats, great
questions, allegedly torn urge and desire, broken chains and ribbons which confound several
things in one, contradictions and paradoxes—that is our harmony. Über das Geistige in der Kunst,
pp. 108—109. Italics in the text.

133
blue and green, each color serving as a "foil" to the other, The contrasted passions
mutually reinforce each other, thus imbuing the work with a greater degree of expressive
reality. The contrast eliminates the transition. The same applies to the poetic image.
There the explicit comparison disappears in favor of an extremely dense metaphoric
structure. How trivial would be the 'classical' transcription of a line like: "Durch
schmiege Nacht / Schweigt unser Schritt dahin" (Through cuddly night / Our step
moves mutely) (Stramm). Here, too, only the strong expressive terms subsist, giving
each word its most palpable presence.
On the structural level, one can observe, in numerous instances, an elimination of
anecdotal details and euphonic embellishments. Expressive lines and schematic compo­
sition are the general practice of the members of Die Brücke as well as of Der Blaue
Reifer. As in the case of Trakl, Benn, and Stramm, often banishing atrophic and metric
regularity, the verse aims at a diction of utmost intensity. I t is perhaps no coincidence
that many of the most valid examples of Expressionist art are to be found in the medium
of woodcuts or linotype engravings. The absence of color, the forced simplification of
planes and lines, the reduction of tonal values to the sharpest and most expressive
contrasts, all this minimalizes the tendency to slavishly "reproduce" reality, and directly
situates this technique in the neighborhood of the pictorial sign. Should one look for
similar reasons as regards the predilection of literary E. for the lyrical genre? More
detached than the prose of everyday speech, less tempted to "describe" the world,
more stylized, and more "artificial", it provides a more suitable tool for subjective
expression. Operating in silence, it cuts out the verse, as a woodcut makes its impression
black on white—a dialectic of emptiness and meaning, the realm of the most simple
contrast and the most conspicuous sign.
Once more, however, it should be stressed t h a t the Expressionist sign totally de­
tached itself from the perceived world only in some borderline cases, namely in those
of the abstract painters and the "Lautdichter" of Der Sturm who endeavored, in a kind
of experience in the vacuum, to capture the vital force and the creative impulse itself.
This intention was already present in the idea of the "organic" art work upheld b y
Kandinsky as early as 1911.
Most of the Expressionist painters and writers wanted to reconcile the mark of
their subjectivity with their attachment to the world. Or rather, they did not conceive
of the one without the other, since they experienced the world primarily as a field of
projection, a "drillground" of the self. The Expressionist space, scoured with vibrations,
trepidations, spasms, or a grand lyric breath, is that of the encounter of the total self
with the entire world. I t is the straightest possible expression of a human situation
whose experience is fixed by the artist at the point of utmost intensity. Its structure is
frequently determined by the over-all character of this experience. The painters as
well as the poets are fond of the panoramic or bird's eye view in the most dynamic sense
of the term. The juxtaposition of objects is not static but operates according to the
magnetic field of a subjective vision, following the lines of force of a lyrical prehension
or the subjective association of words, sounds, lines, and colors.
Centered upon a message, the humanitarian Expressionist poem often evolves in
the sense of an expansion that tends to affect the reader by its rhetorical form as well

134
as by the images it is made of. Van Hoddis' lines, as quoted above, may serve as an
example. Becker's "Vorbereitung" obeys the same law, in so far as it opens with a de­
finition of the poet and ends with an injunction addressed to all mankind: " L e r n t !
Vorbereitet! Ü b t euch !" (Learn! Prepare! Practice!). Often the final image surges
up like an explosion following a crescendo: "Renne renne renne gegen die alte Z e i t ! ! ! "
(Run run run against the old time !!) (Werfel); "MenschMensch Mensch stehe auf stehe
a u f ! ! ! " (Man! Man! Man! Rise! Rise!) (Becher); "Menschheit! Liebe! und das
Donnerwort: Gerechtigkeit!" (Humanity! Love! and the thundering word: Justice!)
(Leonhard). The poem ending with the latter words is entitled "Prolog zu jeder kom-
menden Revolution." 63 I t is based on a rising, fugue-like movement. The irruption of
each new voice enlarges the ideological and spatial dimensions of the poem: "Der
erste Chor / springt aus den Hausern der Geduckten vor / in den Wind . . . Eine andere
Gruppe erhob zu ihrem Gang / gross den alten Gesang . . . Aber die dritten Scharen
begannen vor Glück zu weinen" (The first chorus / jumps forward from the houses of
those squatting / into the wind . . . Another group loudly raised the old chant for their
walk . . . But the third bands began to cry with happiness). The expansion occurs
by way of successive leaps, beginning with these major pronouncements.
Similarly, the humanitarian art of Kathe Kollwitz wants to involve us by its
passionate eloquence. Yet the desperate gesture of the mother offering her child to
sacrifice, the hand of the stooping woman who, with an electric torch, explores some
formless remains on a battle-field, the pathetic affirmation of the poster "Nie wieder
Krieg" are still the products of a Naturalistic world view. Rather one should turn to
Grosz and his "Homage to Panizza" in order to find such a spatial structure embracing
a persuasive discourse. This picture unleashes the red and black multitude of a chaotic
and grotesque crowd utterly confused by the revolution. I t calls to mind Ensor's
" E n t r y of Christ into Brussels'', whose procession likewise tends to overstep the
border of the canvas, as the figures come to meet the spectator. However, Grosz further
enhanced the impression of vertigo by letting the perspectives of the façades intersect
each other.
The total Expressionist vision is not always brought about by means of eloquence
or unilinear movement guided b y " commit ment'' and the desire to persuade. Often
tlie bird's eye view gathers a number of more or less disparate facts or objects, whose
interrelationship is subsequently falsified by the painter or writer in favor of a
subjective order. Distances are abolished in a desire for cosmic communion —as in the
case of Marc or Campendonk — or violence, as in the case of Beckmann. They stretch,
by contrast, in the mineral universe of Feininger, where the human figure, thin and
solitary, is but a signature at the base of cathedrals.
Generally speaking, since the Expressionist retains from reality only the elements
which are essential to his subjective vision, these are often put on the same level and
seldom distributed in accordance with the data of a "normal", "objective" space per-
ception. Thus in Lichtenstein's famous poem "Die Dammerung" all the diverse facts

63
"Prologue to Every Future Revolution." Menschheitsdämmerung, pp. 221 — 222.

135
have the same importance. 64 Sometimes this is even manifest in the length of the sen­
tences recording those facts: "Ein dicker Junge spielt mit einem Teich. / Der Wind
hat sich in einem Baum gefangen. / . . . / Ein blonder Dichter wird vielleicht verrückt. /
Ein Pferdchen stolpert über eine Dame" (A fat boy plays with a pond. / The wind is
tangled up in a tree. / . . . / A blonde poet may go mad. / A pony stumbles over a lady),
etc. The technique of juxtaposing nearly interchangeable images was used by a great
number of Expressionist poets, especially Trakl, Van Hoddis, and Benn. This poetic
equivalence of all phenomena corresponds, in my opinion, to the pictorial conception
of Nolde, Kandinsky, Marc, Campendonk, and many others, for whom there is no di­
minishing scale in accordance with the laws of perspective, just as there are no depth
effects. These painters present the objects on a single level, the vertical plane of the can­
vas, where the artist's subjectivity alone determines the relationship and proportions
I n this respect, the difference between the Expressionist point of view and that of
the Cubists, who also integrate the objects on a non-perspectivist plane, should once
again be noted. This difference resides in the fact that the Cubists, in a way, compensate
for the lack of depth by a multiplicity of viewpoints which, transferred in projection,
are, by their addition, supposed to produce an objective synthesis, being the perfect
result, in a closed space, of a formal insight. The Expressionist utilization of the plane,
on the contrary, reminds us of the Futurists and, to a lesser extent, of Matisse and
Delaunay, who are oriented more toward a search for plastic balance. Kirchner, Pech-
tein, and Grosz eagerly lift up the background of the painting to pour out the forms-
sand colors and make them swing toward the spectator. Nolde, Heckel, Klee, and Jaw
lensky, like Rouault, love to fill the picture frame to the point of bursting with close-
ups overwhelming the viewer.
The same close contact between subject and object is sought by Benn when, in
the volume Schöpferische Konfession, he quotes two sentences from his short stories:
"Gross glühte heran der Hafenkomplex" and "da geschah ihm die Olive." 65 The differ­
ence between Futurism and E. liss, above all, in the nature of our "participation".
In front of a Futurist painting thie involvement will be more mechanical, because it is
conditioned by the dynamism of the lines of force and the vibration of colors t h a t
stimulate our retina. Even when the Futurists pretend to convey a state of mind, they
communicate, above all, their receptivity and permeability as regards the simultaneous
impressions which reach them from the outside. An Expressionist painting, on the other
hand, might take such a receptivity as a possible point of departure, but it goes further
by inducing us to identify with a more intentional course, distorting reality in propor­
tion to the subjective emotion contained in it, instead of seeing it as a "Hieroglyph
of the Ball Tabarin" or any other sign possessing an objective value. Similarly, the olive
or the harbor mentioned by Benn exist as "Geschehnisse", i.e., as unique and reveal­
ing experiences. If there is such a thing as a hieroglyph, the one traced by the Expres­
sionist can never be more than his own encephalogram. In connection with Trakl's poem

64
Ibid., p. 11.
65
"The harbor complex loomed up in a glow" and "then the olive happened to him." Schöpfe-
ische Konfession, p. 49.

136
"Das Gewitter," Heselhaus has rightly wondered whether its origin should be traced to
the natural phenomenon of the thunderstorm, or to a state of despair—so intimate is
the interpenetration of the external landscape and the poet's own mental world. 66
Resulting from an understanding or, rather, a sudden consciousness, not of the object
but of its subjective "grasp" in a privileged moment, the Expressionist work of art
aims at re-creating this lightning in the spectator by involving him emotionally.
To be sure, the Expressionists were aware of the possible artificiality t h a t lies
in a contrived reconstruction of a state of inspiration or trance. I n this respect, Brod,
Van Ostaijen, and even Werfel regarded the poetic expression as a makeshift. All
the more they concentrated their attention on those technical means t h a t are suscept­
ible to resuscitating, however palely, the past experience. Most of the theoretical writ­
ings of the period emphasize the visionary and passionate character of poetry—"Ihnen
entfaltete das Gefühl sich masslos"; "sie hatten Gesichte", etc. 67 Yet, for all that, one
can feel, sometimes between the lines, the difficulty of a confrontation with the problem
of its re-creation on the canvas. Parallel to Kandinsky's favorite idea of "Komposition",
the notion—if not the term—"montage" here acts as an expedient. Brod was struck
by the interaction and interdependence of meaning and rhythm in the verse, and Carl
Einstein was of the opinion "dass den autonomen Formen des Dichterischen autonome
Gebilde entsprechen, die gleichsam von Beginn an spezifisch dichterisch sind". 68 I n a
kind of poetic landscape entitled "Die neue Syntax", Becher amusingly defined the
role he assigned in poetry to the various parts of speech: "Imperativ/ schnellt steil
empor. Phantastische Satzelandschaft überzüngelnd." 69 In "Die Dämmerung", Lichten-
stein disowned the reproduction of "eine als real denkbare Landschaft" (a landscape
one might take to be real); what he wanted was, with the help of disparate elements
borrowed from a dismantled space, to reconstruct a unity of a different kind, t h a t of
time as it is apprehended b y the poet, "der voll verzweifelter Sehnsucht in den Abend
sinnt (wahrscheinlich aus einer Dachluke)". 7 0 One kind of unity is here destroyed at
the expense of another. Werfel conceived a specifically poetic space, characterized by
the organic unity of the whole and its parts: "Dichterischer Raum ist geometrisch
gesprochen die Beziehung aller Punkte zu alien Punkten . . . Der dichterische R a u m
ist absolute Gebundenheit." 7 1 This calls to mind Kandinsky's views:

Die rein malerische Komposition hat in Bezug auf die Form zwei Aufgaben
vor sich: 1. Die Komposition des ganzen Bildes. 2. Die Schaffung der ein-

66
Clemens Heselhaus, "Deutsche Lyrik der Moderne von Nietzsche bis Yvan Goll, second ed.
(Dtisseldorf, 1962), pp. 232ff.
67
"Their feelings unfolded boundlessly"; "they had visions." Kasimir Edschmid, Frühe
Manifeste (Neuwied, 1960), p. 31.
68
"That, in analogy to the autonomous poetic forms, there are autonomous (pictorial) forms
which seem to be inherently poetic." Carl Einstein, "Über Paul Claudel" in Die Weissen Blätter,
I (1913/14), p. 289.
69
"Imperative rises up steeply, overarching a fantastic syntactical landscape." Lyrik des
expressionistischen Jahrzehnts, p. 149.
70
"Who, with desperate longing, ponders into the night (probably from a loft window)."
A. Lichtenstein,
71
"Zu meinem Gedicht 'Die Dämmerung' " in Die Aktion, III/40 (1913), col. 942.
"Geometrically speaking, poetic space is the relationship of all points with each other . . .
The poetic space is absolute constraint." "Notiz zu einer Poetik" in Die Aktion, VI (1917), col. 4—8.

137
 zelnen Formen, die in versehiedenen Kombinationen zueinander stehen,
sich der Komposition des Ganzen unterordnen. So werden mehrere Gegen-
stande (reale und eventuell abstrakte) im Bild einer grossen Form unter-
geordnet und so verandert, dass sie in diese Form passen, diese Form bilden. 72

Let us also remember Döblin's observations: " I m Roman heisst es schichten, haufen,
walzen, schieben." 73
These few examples demonstrate that Der Sturm was not the only place where the
autonomy of the literary structures was extolled besides those of the fine arts. The idea
of a "Laboratorium für Worte", later formulated by Benn, and the constructivist —
indeed, the functional—tendencies of the Bauhaus existed already in nuce in the techni­
cal preoccupations of the Expressionists, who aimed at producing a maximum effect
on the reader and the spectator. As early as 1911, it had become clear to Kandinsky
"dass die Formenharmonie nur auf dem Prinzip der zweckmassigen Berührung der
menschlichen Seele ruhen muss" (that the harmony of forms depends solely on the
deliberate manipulation of the human soul). Similarly, Carl Einstein had written in
1912 in an article devoted to the novel: "Kunst ist eine Technik, tatsachliche Bestande
und Affekte zu erzeugen." 74 There is no fundamental contradiction between a passionate
world view and the attempt to re-create, in cold blood, its poetic or artistic equivalent,
with the aim of releasing that same passion within us. The ideal toward which the
Expressionist work aspired has perhaps been most cogently voiced by Stadler in his
review of Benn's Morgue cycle: "Gefuhl ist hier ganz Gegenstand geworden, Realitat,
Tatsachenwucht." 7 5
Together with Futurism, E. was the first contemporary artistic movement with an
explicit desire to engage its public. To these two trends —if one takes into consideration
the theatrical, musical, and architectural interferences—can be traced back those
present techniques which seek to include and absorb the spectator or reader (who has
often become a listener) into a space that is at once real and fantastic.
The transition from E. to environmental techniques is illustrated by the course
followed by David Siqueiros, whose painting has taken on an increasingly monumental
character, literally freeing itself from the fetters of the canvas. At the Museum of
Chapultepec, Siqueiros has gone so far as to abolish the angles of a gallery whose back
and side walls he enlivened with the irresistible movement of a marching crowd. In this
fresco, "The Mexican Revolution against Porfirio Diaz' Dictatorship", the entire Mexi­
can people advances toward the spectator, surrounding him and enclosing him in its
ranks. I t might be added that the Mexicans —Siqueiros, Diego Rivera, and Clemente

72
"With regard to form, the purely pictorial composition is faced with two tasks: 1. the com­
position of the entire picture, and 2. the creation of the individual shapes which, being juxtaposed
in different ways, are subordinated to the composition of the whole. Thus several objects (real and
perhaps even abstract ones) are subordinated to one large form and so transformed that they fit
into that form and constitute it." Über das Geistige in der Kunst, p. 72.
73
"In the novel we must stratify, cumulate, roll and push." "Bemerkungen zum Roman"
in Die74 Neue Rundschau, 1917, I, p. 410.
"Art is a technique designed to produce actual values and emotions." Carl Einstein, "Über
den Roman"
75
in Die Aktion, I I (1912), col. 1269.
"Here feeling has been altogether transformed into object, reality and the overwhelming
power of facts." Cited by Clemens Heselhaus in Deutsche Lyrik der Moderne, p. 282.

138
Orozco—are the only painters who have succeeded in giving a pictorially convincing
form to the humanitarian and revolutionary program of E. At present, Siqueiros is
creating an entire auditorium, the "Polyforum", whose walls and floor are slanted to
enhance even more the impression of vertigo that is communicated by its "esculto-
pinturas", a sort of gigantic bas-relief in violent colors.
The spatial preoccupations of an art aiming at a "presence" —a degree of reality
as intense as possible - a r e linked with those of the contemporary theater, which is
just beginning to apply the scenic innovations of Kandinsky, Kokoschka, Schreyer,
Piscator, the Bauhaus, and the Russian "Proletkult". The demolition of the invisible
wall between the stage and the audience corresponds—with some 'delay—to the
abandonment of the perspective prism in painting. Formerly, in either case, an art
based on illusion prudently shut itself up inside the "peep-hole" and the gild frame
customarily prescribed for it. With the advent of E. and Futurism, the frames were
cracked, the curtains dropped down, the spaces were confounded, and ornamental art
has made room for an art that is far more disquieting and harder to restrain—an art
of "unveiling" and, indeed, of conditioning. I t should be observed, however, that the
Expressionist period has not produced the dramatic authors claimed by its most pre­
sumptuous theories. Playwrights such as Ionesco, Artur Adamov, and Tennessee
Williams have appeared belatedly, and that in spite of the very nature of E., whose
theatrical proclivity was emphasized as early as 1917 by Walter von Hollander:
"Keiner Kunst ist der Expressionismus gemasser als der Schauspielkunst. Körperlich-
keit als Urgrund und Entblössung als Folge wären beiden gemeinsam." 76
Similarly, the ultimate consequences of Kandinsky's "innere Notwendigkeit"
(inner necessity) have been drawn by Action Painting or by "Cobra" only after a long
eclipse during which geometrical abstraction, functionalism, Neue SachlichJceit, and
Dada, though partly issued from E., had consigned the direct expression of creative
subjectivity to the background. I t is true, however, t h a t it has since come back full
pace, as is manifest in the present cult of expressive signs and gestures, considered by
themselves, whether in the form of cries, leaps, spots, or gashes.

(Translated from the French by Josee Duytschaever.)

76
" E . is more congenial to acting than to any other art. Both have in common corporeality
as the cause and exposure as the consequence." " E . des Schauspielers" as cited by Pörtner in
E. als Literatur, p. 204.

139
 H E N R Y A. L E A

E X P R E S S I O N I S T L I T E R A T U R E AND MUSIC

I n the introduction to his study of Mozart's Don Giovanni, which forms part of his
book Either-Or, Kierkegaard makes some pertinent remarks about the relationship
between music and language. He notes t h a t both media operate in time rather than
space, and t h a t both appeal primarily to the ear. As to content, he finds that the pres­
ence of reflection in language makes it a less direct but more specific medium than
music, which communicates its content without requiring reflection on the part of the
listener. Being conceptual, language uses more concrete, but also more limited, symbols
than music, which is less denotative and more abstract because notes are not reducible
to precise meanings. And while a literary work can be read, and a play experienced,
in printed form, music exists only in performance. The score, that is to say, is merely
a means of making it available to the performer and student, but it is decidedly not
the work itself. 1 The elusive quality of music led Kierkegaard to observe t h a t longer
and deeper experience is needed to make informed musical judgments than is the
case with literature. I t may be added t h a t these factors help explain the slower
acceptance of modern music as compared with the relatively quick reception of
modern literature and art.
As a non-verbal, non-visual, and non-representational art, music is less accessible
than literature and the plastic arts because it presupposes more specialized knowledge
or training and requires extensive and active listening. This applies particularly to
modern music with its more experimental idiom. There are undoubtedly more people
who can read Joyce than people who can listen to Schönberg with genuine understand­
ing. And, until fairly recently, competent performers of modern music were harder to
find than actors of avant-garde drama or interpreters of experimental novels. Even
today, modern music has a limited audience, partly because much of it is not written
for the orchestra or a solo instrument. I n fact, the active musical repertoire—vocal
and instrumental—is largely built around the Romantic works because their melodic
fertility, harmonic richness and instrumental color strongly appeal to both performer
and listener, and because their expansive content and large-scale design make them
suitable for public performance. They also happen to include a large number of master­
pieces. Indeed, the musical flowering of the Romantic age, extending from Carl Maria

1
"Wir Musiker sind ja übler dran als die Dichter. Lesen kann jeder. Aber eine gedruckte
Partitur ist ein Buch mit sieben Siegeln." (We musicians are worse off than the writers. Everybody
can read. But a printed score is a book with seven seals.) Gustav Mahler, as quoted in Kurt Blau-
kopf, Gustav Mahler oder Der Zeitgenosse der Zukunft (Vienna- Munich—Zürich, 1969), p. 232.

141
von Weber to Gustav Mahler, is hardly matched, in quality or quantity, by the Roman­
tic literatures of Europe. And in Germany, where Romanticism began and where, for
cultural and political reasons, it had a more sustained impact, its influence extended
into the early years of the twentieth century, as a study of musical E. clearly demon­
strates.
An examination of Expressionist works from the present perspective suggests
t h a t E. is a stage through which the arts had to pass in their development from Roman­
ticism to the age of abstraction. Dating the beginning of modern art around 1910, as
is now customary, makes E., with its rejection of realism and its strong dissociating
tendencies, the innovating force that marked the direction of the arts in the twen­
tieth century.
In his preface to the anthology Lyrik des expressionisfischen Jahrzehnts, Benn cites
examples of pre-Expressionist style in Goethe, Friedrich Hölderlin, and Heinrich von
Kleist. Analogous passages can be found in Ludwig van Beethoven and Franz Schu­
bert. 2 These works have an eruptive force that breaks through classical canons of beauty
and brings into question the affirmations already missing in Kleist and Hölderlin.
Beethoven and Kleist are particularly prophetic in this respect. 3 Especially notable is
the abrupt, untamed, unvarnished, and uncompromising quality of their art, as shown
in Beethoven's craggy writing for voices and instruments, in Kleist's daring choice of
theme and language, and in the exploitation of extreme registers as well as the functional
use of ugliness by both artists. Prophetic, too, is their departure from realism, their
tapping of new levels of consciousness (in the introspectiveness of Beethoven's late
works and Kleist's exploration of the subconscious), the prevalence of large-scale con­
flict and their tendency to use open forms which offer brief visions of a better world.
The social dislocation and rebelliousness of these two artists are also relevant. The
emotional intensity and refractory nature of their work, occurring at a cataclysmic
period of European history, suggest that Expressionist features may appear at a
transitional time when traditional forms lose their meaning and give way to new ones.
As a recognizable artistic style, E. made its appearance around 1890, in Van Gogh's
last paintings, in the art of the young Munch, in the plays of Strindberg and Wedekind,
and in Mahler's symphonies. These works share a visionary quality, a tendency to
monumentalization and distortion, emotional directness, a wide expressive range and
an aesthetic that stresses content at the expense of form. While their orientation is
anti-classical and anti-Impressionist, their most radical aspect is their anti-realism.
Strindberg's plays The Father (1887) and Miss Julie (1888), though labeled "natu­
ralistic" by their author, transcend Naturalism by concentrating on the battle of the
sexes at the expense of a detailed description of the milieu, and by a tendency to make

2
For example, in the last movement of the Hammerklavier Sonata and in the Grosse Fuge
by Beethoven, and in Schubert's String Quartet No. 15 in G major (opening section of first move­
ment and measures 43—80 in the second movement), and in the middle section of the second move­
ment of his posthumous A major piano sonata.
3
In Hesse's Steppenwolf, the dreamer Harry Haller takes Goethe to task for having rejected
Beethoven and Kleist, "die Bekenner der Tiefe, die Stimmen der verzweifelten Wahrheit. . .
(those who acknowledge the depth, the voices of desperate truth) (See p . 98 of the Suhrkamp edi-
tion [Frankfurt, 1961].)

142
types of the characters. By placing the action of Miss Julie in the Midsummer Night,
Strindberg suggests a primordial event. In 1889, when Naturalism was celebrating its
first stage success in Germany, Wedekind had one of his figures say: "When realism
has outlived itself, its representatives will earn their living as detectives. ,,4 More signif­
icant still is the manifestation of non-realism in the fabric of Wedekind's plays. Already
in Frühlings Erwachen (written in 1890-1891), we encounter the following exchange:

Martha: "How the water seeps into the shoes !"

Wendla: "How the wind blows on the cheeks !"
Thea: "How the heart pounds !"5

This is not a dialogue but a series of exclamations with which each character greets
the approaching spring in her own way, without communicating directly with the
others. Each one "expresses" herself, independently of the others, and makes a pro­
nouncement. The exaggeratedly poetic style is far removed from realism, and the use
of the impersonal pronoun "einem" emphasizes the stylized quality of these lines, which
are literally projected into the cosmos. In later, more fully developed examples of Ex­
pressionist drama, the dialogue serves to express the point of view of the speaker or
engages in rhetorical summations, rather than providing an exposition, furthering
the plot, or analyzing character. The characters rather tend to become spokesmen for a
way of life and deliver solemn statements that fan out into universality. 6 An example
is the opening of Kaiser's play Die Bürger von Calais (1914), where several representa­
tive characters enunciate, rather than argue, their positions.
In early E., which is fruitful for this study because it enables us to trace the
emerging Expressionist mentality in both media, the interlacing of the universal with
the particular produces a multi-layered texture in which the old and the new confront
each other with startling effect. In Wedekind's Erdgeist (1893), Lulu, Woman Incarnate,
is having her portrait painted by Schwarz, who tries to make love to her a person
trying to interact with a personification:
Lulu (evading him): . . . " I n a long dress I would have succumbed to
you.—But dressed as Pierrot !"
Schwarz (throwing himself on the sofa): ' T v e got you !"
Lulu (hits him over the head with the tiger skin): "Good night !" (jumps over
the podium, climbs up the stepladder.) " I [can see beyond all the cities
of the earth . . . "
Schwarz (emerging from the blanket): "That brat !"

4
"Wenn sich der Realismus überlebt hat, werden seine Vertreter ihr Brot als Geheimpolizisten
finden." (Frank Wedekind, Gesammelte Werke [Munich, 1924], I I , 76.)
5'
Martha: "Wie einem das Wasser ins Schuhwerk dringt !"
Wendla: "Wie einem der Wind um die Wangen saust !"
Thea: "Wie einem das Herz hämmert!"
Ibid., II, p. 106.
6
See Walter H. Sokel, "Dialogführang und Dialog im expressionistischen Drama," in A spekte
des Expressionismus, ed. Wolfgang Paulsen (Heidelberg, 1968), particularly pp. 67—68.

143
 Lulu: "I reach into the heavens and put stars in my hair."
Schwarz (climbing after her): "I'll shake till you fall down/' 7
Especially noteworthy in this passage are the sudden shifts in tone, the suspension of
rational discourse, the clash between slapstick and the demonic, and the echoes of
classical prosody, all of which give a distinctly parodistic flavor to the scene. In general,
Wedekind likes to combine his message with parody; it sometimes seems as if he had
been unable to shake the German classics out of his system.
A remarkably similar situation prevails in Mahler's music. Mahler's indebtedness
to the musical tradition is so evident that his departures from it, in the form of satirical
comment, also amount to self-parody. In the last movement of the Third Symphony
(1896), an exalted conclusion to a gigantic work and, as such, devoid of satire, a
soaring, agitated melody in the first violins and flutes is broken up by a syncopated
beat in the violas, which gives the passage a jazzed-up quality that is completely out
of character.8 Similarly, Mahler likes to assign ironic counter-melodies to the high wood­
winds, as in the four-bar oboe passage in the third movement of his First Symphony
(1888).9 Like Wedekind, he typically combines 'elevated' and 'popular' material in the
same passage, thereby giving a historical and critical dimension to his music. In fact,
these passages are good examples of musical 'Verfremdung'. Mahler's scherzos illus­
trate the extremity of an older form as it strains for cosmic expression. Most of them
begin on a small scale with few instruments, but grow in size, structure, and meaning
to apocalyptic proportions. The conflict between vision and satire in these works is
characteristic of both Wedekind and Mahler, despite the many differences prevailing
otherwise between them.
In Expressionist art, the emotional and stylistic range becomes extremely wide.
The effect of a given work is to break up its formal, logical continuity by abrupt shifts
in the level of utterance, and to abandon conventional dramatic or symphonic sub­
stance and structure. By introducing several stylistic levels into the same work, the
Expressionist makes both a positive and a negative comment: he pays his respect to a
great tradition but, in the same breath, makes it clear that he does no longer embrace it.10

7
Lulu (ausweichend):... " I n langen Kleidern ware ich Ihnen langst in die Hände gefallen.
—Aber in dem Pierrot!"
Schwarz (sich der Lange nach über die Ottomane werfend): "Habe ich dich !"
Lulu (schlägt ihm das Tigerfell über den Kopf): "Gute Nacht !" (Springt über das Podium,
klettert auf dieTrittleiter.) "Ieh sehe über alle Stad te der Erde weg . . . "
Schwarz (sich aus der Decke wickelnd): "Dieser Balg !"
Lulu: "Ich greife in den Himmel und stecke mir die Sterne ins Haar."
Schwarz (ihr nachkletternd): "Ich schüttle, bis Sie herunterfallen."
Gesammelte Werke, I I I , p . 27.
8
The passage begins at no. 14 on p. 215 of the score published by Boosey and Hawkes, Ltd.
(London and New York), in the series "Hawkes Pocket Scores".
9
10
The passage begins at no. 3 on p. 78 of the score published in the same series.
Gf. Theodor W. Adorno's statement in his essay "Musik und neue Musik": "Die neue
Musiksprache, die sich als positive Negation der überlieferten formiert, ist aber nicht auf die
Trivialitat zu bringen, man habe etwas Neues und anderes gewollt . . . Vielmehr meint neue Musik
zugleich Kritik der traditionellen" (The new musical language, which constitutes itself as a posi­
tive negation of tradition, must not be trivialized by stressing its desire for innovations . . . New
music rather implies a critique of traditional music). (Quasi una fantasia [Frankfurt, 1963], pp.
353—354.)

144
Expressionist works of literature and music give evidence of a hard and unresolved
struggle to free themselves from an honored but burdensome tradition.
Nowhere is this tendency more conspicuous than in the transitional compositions
of the so-called Vienna School, whose most important members are Schönberg, Alban
Berg, and Anton Webern. 11 In this context, the term 'transitional' refers to those works
which come between the early, post-Romantic works of these composers and their
adoption of the twelve-tone method of composition. In the case of Schönberg, this
covers the works written between 1907 and 1922, beginning with the Second String
Quartet, op. 10, and extending through the Four Orchestral Songs (op. 22).12 In
the case of Berg, the least orthodox practitioner of the twelve-tone method, all works
from the Four Songs, op. 2, (1909-1910,) to his last composition, the Violin Con­
certo (1935), can be included, and in Webern's case, the pertinent phase opens with
the Five Songs op. 3, (1907-1908) and ends with the Five Canons (op. 16; 1923-
1924).
These works are transitional in the sense t h a t their composers are clearly abandon­
ing Romanticism and groping for a new language. A comparison of Schönberg's sym­
phonic poem Pelléas und Mélisande (op. 5), completed in 1903, with his Five Pieces
for Orchestra (op. 16), completed in 1909, shows his development toward a sparser,
more sharply profiled and harmonically more advanced idiom. The rich chromaticism
of the tone poem gives way to a more abstract, non-melodic style in the later work,
where the orchestral writing is more subtle and differentiated and tends to aim at
chamber music effects. Rhythmically, Pelléas und Mélisande is surging and propulsive,
in keeping with the Romantic subject, whereas the later work is generally more static
and, in a few passages, more frenetic, with the rhythm becoming increasingly freer.
The shift from the programmatic title of the tone poem to the nondescript title of
Opus 16 is also significant. Originally Schönberg had given brief descriptive titles to
the five pieces, but he omitted them from the published score of 1912.13 Like Mahler,
he was moving toward a more absolute music.
An extreme example of this development can be heard by comparing Webera's
orchestral idyll Im Sommerwind (1904) with his Six Pieces for Orchestra, op. 6,
(1909). The earlier work is so mellifluously Romantic that it is hard to believe that
the same composer could have written the elliptic and pungent Six Pieces. Especially
notable in this shift from Romanticism to E. is the reduction in the instrumentation
11
Other composers in this group, such as Josef Matthias Hauer, Ernst Krenek, Franz Schrekeer
and Egon Wellesz, have not been included in this study because recordings of their music wer,
not readily available to this writer.
12
I n a letter to Nicolas Slonimsky, dated June 3, 1937, Schönberg reports that his first twelve-
tone compositions were some movements of the Suite for Piano (op. 25), which he composed in the
fall of 1921. According to the documentary information in the Schönberg catalogue, the movements
in question are probably the Prelude and the Intermezzo. Schönberg's letter to Slonimsky is quoted
on pp. 173—174 of Willi Reich's book Arnold Schönberg oder der konservative Revolutionär (Vienna,
1968); Schönberg's works are catalogued by Josef Rufer in Das Werk Arnold Schönbergs (Kassei,
1959), which documents the composition of the Suite op. 25 on pp. 25—27.
13
In a diary entry for January 27, 1912, quoted on pp. 13—14 of Rufer's catalogue, the com­
poser explains that he added the titles to the 1922 edition at the request of his publisher. A very
detailed and knowledgeable analysis of this work by Robert Craft may be found in the booklet
t h a t accompanies Volume I I I of The Music of Arnold Schönberg, as recorded by Columbia (Album
M2L 309), and which includes a brief and vivid recorded interview with Schönberg,

145
(the use of the instruments, it not always their number) and in the length; the later
works being invariably shorter and more thinly orchestrated, since an effort is made to
concentrate the material to what is essential. Between his Opus 1 (1908) and his Opus
31 (1941-43), his last completed work, 14 Webern, who went further in this direction
than the others, did not compose a single piece lasting longer than fifteen minutes. But
what strikes the listener most forcefully in the Expressionist works is that they dismantle
the Romantic apparatus — the large forms and performing groups, the picturesque
content, the self-dramatization and heroics, the sensuous writing, the "thrust and
counterthrust methods" of construction 15 —while retaining certain traces of it in the
rhythm, the leaping intervals and the use of tone color. Webern's tendency to end many
of his pre-1914 pieces very softly emphasizes his rejection of the closing fanfares in
many Romantic symphonies. The lack of recapitulations, and the rejection of the entire
concept of repeatability and symmetry, may also be regarded as typical innovations
in Expressionist music. 16 These compositions sound fragmented, disjointed, and sus­
pended. Lacking the organizing force and forward thrust of the classical and Romantic
symphony, they seem to have no inner core. I t is this lack of impulsion, combined with
the absence of traditional harmony, that makes them difficult to listen to even for the
musically sophisticated listener.
The rapid historical development from tonal to atonal music is an artistic revo­
lution of radical proportions t h a t has no equivalent in literature. The closest literary
parallel t h a t comes to mind is Joyce's Finnegans Wake.17 But unlike music, words,
however uniquely written or arranged, can be deciphered, as scholars have actually
succeeded in doing in the case of Joyce. And, curiously enough, the sense of logic seems
to be less deeply ingrained than the sense of harmony. Finally, music is a more 'culi­
nary' art, in Brecht's sense, than literature; it engages the emotions more, and the intel­
lect less, than literature, at least as far as the listener is concerned. For even the most
active listening constitutes a more passive act than reading and requires less focused
and sustained attention. If music is a more readily 'consumed' art than literature, the
displacement of the ultra-'culinary' Romantic style by the non-'culinary' atonal one
may help to explain the limited audience appeal of modern music.

14
Webern's Second Cantata (op. 31) is described as "the longest opus in time of performance,
lasting about ten and one-half minutes . . . the time required for the performance in Anton Webern :
The Complete Music (Columbia Album K4L-232), directed by Robert Craft", though Webern
himself estimated that the work would take a half hour in performance. See Anton von Webern :
Perspectives, compiled by Hans Moldenhauer, edited by Demar Irvine (Seattle, 1966), p. 70.
15
Constant Lambert's characterization of German Romantic music, in his book Music Ho!
(London,
16
1937), p. 17.
Cf. the relevant statements in the article on E. in Die Musik in Geschichte und Gegenwart.
Allgemeine Enzyklopàdie der Musik, ed. Friedrich Blume, I I I (1954), 1658ff.
17
A perceptive comparison between Joyce and Schönberg is made by the British composer,
conductor and critic Constant Lambert in his book Music Ho! Lambert argues that both artists
were basically romantics who, finding Romanticism no longer adequate, created a highly sophis­
ticated manner of expressing themselves in order to do justice to the complexities of the modern
temper and of their own imagination. According to Lambert, the conflict between their Romantic
outlook and their "crossword puzzle technique" gives their work its characteristic flavor and
marks them as self-conscious modern artists. (See pp. 206—211.) From today's perspective, it
might be added that both men were exiles whose emigration merely confirmed their spiritual
alienation.

146
 K u r t Weill's music for Brecht's plays, which is neither 'culinary' nor atonal, is a
special case in point because it was written to underline and comment on Brecht's
words. I t is functional music composed for specific scenes. But although it completely
lacks the pathos which usually marks the Expressionist style, 18 it is Expressionist in
some important respects; it is written for a small number of instruments of charac­
teristic and widely differing timbres, sounds mordant, uses 'Sprechstimme', and is a
defining rather than an atmospheric idiom. If its breakup of Romanticism is more
deliberate than in the music of the Vienna School, it is because it was set to anti-
Romantic words and because it was written considerably later.
The development from a post-Romantic idiom to a less melodious, less decorative
and more compact style can be observed in literature by comparing a poem by Hof-
mannsthal with one by Stramm—to cite an obvious example—or a Neo-Romantic
play, such as Ernst Hardt's Tantris der Narr, with an Expressionist play, such as Kai­
ser's Von morgens bis mitfernachts. The staccato style in the latter play, the lack of
transitions, the bare stage, the anonymity of the characters and the 'unreal', disembodied
atmosphere constitute a parallel to the stripped-down musical aphorisms of the Vienna
School. Ideologically, there was a shift from the super-individualism of the Neo-
Romantic writers to the social ethic of the Expressionists, just as the post-Wagnerian
paganism of Schönberg's Gurrelieder gave way to the religious affirmation of his Jahobs-
leiter. The swift and sharp transition from a Neo-Romantic to an Expressionist idiom
in one artist is not encountered, to this degree, in literature, perhaps because of the
more limited expressive scope of that medium. Kaiser may be cited as an analogous
literary figure, whose early plays (Die jüdische Witwe and König Hahnrei, for example)
deal with Neo-Romantic themes while their ironic tone introduces a critical note that
is absent from Neo-Romantic writing.
In numerous works of the early twentieth century, we find a conjunction of Neo-
Romanticism and E., sometimes combined with Jugendstil. I t is found in Heym, whose
poems fuse a highly developed sense of color, expressed in many descriptive adjectives,
with a brevity of line, compressed syntax and apocalyptic visions. 19 Among contempo­
rary plays, Werfel's Der Besuch ans dem Elysium, Sorge's Der Bettier and Hasenclever's
Der Sohn have an Expressionist ambience in which their characters contend with sex
problems and savior complexes. A Freudian atmosphere hovers over these strangely
«ambivalent works. Their half-psychological, half-visionary character is found also in
the Vienna School music of the pre-1914 period, particularly in the vocal works, which
completely lack the messianic element and concentrate on desolation and highly stylized

18
In his study of E., Egbert Krispyn identifies pathos as being "defined by . . . antithesis,
dynamism, and rhetoric" and concludes that it is "the hallmark of expressionist style". See Style
and Society in German Literary Expressionism (Gainesville, Florida, 1964), p. 48 and p . 53.
19
The link with Neo-Romanticism is most noticeable in those poems of Heym that deal with
nature and the seasons. Many of them express an isolation and a transitoriness that recall the
poetry of George and Hofmannsthal, whose rhythm and tone are occasionally echoed. An early
analysis of Heym's transitional position is found in Ferdinand Josef Schneider, Der expressive
Mensch und die deutsche Lyrih der Gegenwart (Stuttgart, 1927), pp. 32—37; Schneider notes Heym's
preoccupation with the moon and with death—themes that give his poetry a fin-de-siècle quality
also found in Expressionist music,

147
erotic situations. The atmosphere is Gothic, but the music has a searing intensity far
transcending the meaning of the words.
Schönberg's Erwartung (op. 17; 1909), subtitled 'monodrama', is the monologue
of a woman who searches for her lover, finds him murdered in the forest and sings a
lament to him. Applying a revolutionary musical language to a fig-de-siècle text, the
work conveys a sense of doom more characteristic of musical than of literary E. Ex-
pressionistic in particular is the highly individual deployment of the many instruments
that are given much solo work and occur in extreme sonorities (flutter-tonguing in
brass and woodwinds, muted trumpets, glissando trombones, strings playing close to
the bridge or tapping their bows), the use of a large and specialized group of percussion
instruments (celesta, xylophone, glockenspiel, gong, rod, triangle, cymbals, large and
small drums), broad leaps in the vocal and instrumental parts, a wide dynamic range,
strong accentuation, sharp dissonance and the jagged, improvisatory overall effect of the
work. The rhythm here is fluid and agogic, in so far as the changes affect only the speed
and the length of bar, but not the beat itself. This music is not polyrhythmic and does
not possess the kinetic quality found in Bartók and Stravinsky. In fact, its lack of
rhythmic variety gives it a curiously static effect, despite the many frenetic passages.
In this respect, too, it reflects the German musical tradition (Wagner in particular),
which does not excel in rhythmic inventiveness.
Parallels between Die Erwartung and literary E. are constituted by the lack of
elaborate staging, the declamatory vocal part, the designation of the single character
as 'Woman', and the straining of expressive resources. The libretto by Marie Pappen-
heim is based on an idea by Schönberg, who wrote his own text for his next stage work,
Die glückliche Hand (op. 18; 1910-1913). This 'drama with music' elaborates on the
theme of loneliness—this time in the modern artist who is barred from love and from
the world of reality. As in Erwartung, the drama takes place in the protagonist's soul,
and the main characters are identified only as 'Man', 'Woman', and 'Gentleman'. The
work is noted for its ghostly chorus which voices the protagonist's tormenting self-
doubts, partly in the 'Sprechstimme' first used by Schönberg in the Gurrelieder.20 In
his detailed interpretation of the text, Theodor W. Adorno discusses two aspects that
specifically link this work with E.: the dream form and content— as shown in the con­
trast between the anxiety-ridden, dream-crossed protagonist and the realistically
costumed workers— and the influence of Strindberg, as expressed in the erotic torment
that is a major theme of these librettos.21 Strindberg is undoubtedly an important point
of contact between musical and literary E., but whereas the mental climate of Schön-
berg's early atonal pieces reflects his earlier, less metaphysical work, the writers were
more deeply influenced by his later, more religiously oriented plays.22 The nightmarish
20
The Expressionist qualities of Die glückliche Hand, with emphasis on its staging, are dis­
cussed by Dika Newlin in Bruckner, Mahler, Schönberg (New York, 1947), pp. 254—256; its plot is
described by Willi Reich in Arnold Schönberg oder der konservative Revolutionäir (Vienna, 1968),
pp. 111—115. According to Reich, a plan to film the work with Schönberg's assistance did not
materialize.
21
See Adorno's book Die Philosophie der neuen Musik (Frankfurt, 1958), pp. 46—49.
22
While Strindberg's influence on the literary Expressionists is well known, his significance
for the musical Expressionists is less well documented. A brief and preliminary account would
include the following observations:

148
quality of Strindberg's work and the larger-than-life dimension of his characters have
left their mark on both groups, however.
Two other vocal works by Schönberg, written at about the same time, deserve to
be mentioned in this connection. Herzgevjächse (op. 20; 1911), set to a text by Maeter­
linck, is famous for its high soprano part culminating in a stratospheric F t h a t has to
be sung very softly (pppp) and held for four beats. I n contrast with Erwartung and
Die glückliche Hand, this work is scored only for celesta, harmonium, and harp. I t was
first published in Der Blaue Reiter.23 The song cycle Pierrot Lunaire (op. 21; 1912),
on the other hand, is composed for 'Sprechstimme' and eight instruments, but the full
instrumental complement is used only in the last song. I n a prefatory note, the compo­
ser emphasizes t h a t the recitation must not be realistic and yet must not approach
the level of singing. The cycle consists of twenty-one songs by the Belgian poet Albert
Giraud in a translation by Otto Erich Hartleben. The tone of the work hovers uneasily
between t h e grotesque and the satiric. Schönberg later wrote t h a t he had conceived it
in a "light ironic-satiric tone", 2 4 but it sounds musically and textually uncomfortably
like a half-satanic, half-parodistic updating of one of the Romantic German song cycles.
The moonstruck atmosphere recalls the poetry of Joseph von Eichendorff, while the
subject matter echoes Robert Schumann's piano suite Carnaval. More so than Schön­
berg's earlier works, Pierrot Lunaire raises questions about the choice of texts and
the conjunction of demonic and popular elements in his music.
Since the composers of the Vienna School were primarily vocal composers—here
again revealing their Romantic origin—their choice of texts calls for some comment.
An examination of their œuvre (completed and incomplete, published and unpublished)
permits the following observations: First, of the classical German poets only Goethe
and Matthias Claudius are represented—Claudius once and Goethe five times, once as
an adapter of Ossian. Second, numerous traditional texts, both sacred and secular,
were set by Schönberg and Webern. These include Biblical texts and several poems from
Des Knaben Wunderhorn. Third, the remaining German texts all date from the nine-

1. Schönberg considered Strindberg's Jacob Wrestling (a,n autobiographical prose work writ
ten in 1897-1898 and included in the Inferno. Legenden volume of the complete German edition
of his works) as a possible text for an oratorio dealing with modern man's search for God. He sub­
sequently wrote his own text for Die Jakobsleiter, which was left unfinished, however. See Schönberg's
letter to Dehmel, dated December 13, 1912, in Arnold Schönberg: Briefe, selected and edited
by Erwin Stein (Mainz, 1958), pp. 30—32.
2. Schönberg's reference to Strindberg's play Moses (written in 1905; this is the first part of
a posthumously published "world-historical trilogy" which also includes Socrates and Christ)
indicates t h a t he examined the play in connection with his own opera Moses und Aron. See his
letter to Alban Berg, dated August 5, 1930, ibid., pp. 153—154.
3. Schönberg mentions Strindberg, together with Maeterlinck and Weininger, as serious
thinkers and seekers who reject the status quo and remind us that there are unsolved prob­
lems that demand our attention. See his Harmonielehre, third ed. (Vienna, 1922), p. vi.
4. A cursory check of Berg's early letters reveals deep admiration and affinity for Strindberg's
work and mentality. In the letter of August 15, 1907, Berg includes Strindberg in a list of his favo­
rite writers. See Alban Berg : Briefe an seine Frau, ed. Helene Berg (Munich, 1965), pp. 16, 29—30,
72, 88-90.
5. Webern set one Strindberg text, the poem from The Ghost Sonata (op. 12, No. 3).
23
24
Der Blaue Reiter, pp. 230—237. This is a facsimile of Schönberg's manuscript.
See the excerpt from Schönberg's letter to Fritz Stiedry, dated August 31, 1940, as
quoted in Rufer's book, Das Werk Arnold Schönbergs, p. 20.

149
 teenth and early twentieth centuries, with the majority stemming from the fin-desiècle.
The most important German authors represented—listed in a more or less chronological
order—are Georg Büchner, Conrad Ferdinand Meyer, Peter Altenberg, Richard Dehmel,
Wedekind, George, Alfred Mombert, Rilke, and Trakl, Fourth, foreign texts in German
translations play an important part: Petrarca, Eyron, Baudelaire, Jacobsen, Strind-
berg, Tagore, Maeterlinck, and Dowson. Several major compositions (the Gurrelieder
and Pierrot Lunaire by Schönberg, Der Wein by Berg) were inspired by translations,
Fifth, in several important instances, Schönberg and Webern wrote their own texts.
Schönberg himself wrote numerous texts, notably for the oratorio Die Jakohsleiter and
for his opera Moses und Aron, as well as choral settings, whereas Webern found a writer
congenial to him, the Austrian poetess Hildegard Jone, and used numerous texts
written by her. And sixth, in a few cases, purely instrumental compositions ( Verklärte
Nacht and Pelléas und Melisande by Schönberg, lm Sommerwind by Webern) were in­
spired by literary works.
Judging by the above facts, it is fair to conclude that these composers possessed
considerable literary sophistication, that their literary knowledge and interest was not
limited to German poetry, and that the poems (but not the plays) set by them during
their Expressionist phases show a decidedly Neo-Romantic preference. Many of these
poems are not among the best examples of their age and kind, and often not even
among the best poems of their authors; and, with the possible exception of Wedekind
and Trakl, none of the writers most important for this music can be considered as an
Expressionist. 25
The fact t h a t very few Expressionist texts were set by these composers is, first
of all, a matter of chronology, since musical E. slightly antedated its literary equiv­
alent. B u t more significant is the time lag that usually separates the creation of a text
from its musical setting. I t seems that poems have to be around for a while, and t h a t
their essential qualities have to be absorbed before a composer can respond to them
creatively. As to the artistic stature of poetic texts, there are enough precedents (Die
schone Müllerin and Die Winterreise by Schubert, the Wesendonck Songs by Wagner,
the Kinderfotenlieder by Mahler) to show that major compositions are frequently in­
spired by minor poems, perhaps because powerful texts may collide with, rather than
complement, strong musical ideas. In his essay "Das Verhältnis zum Text", 2 6 Schön­
berg explains t h a t he set poems to music on the basis of their sound and not their
meaning; but this does not settle the matter because he wrote some of his own texts
and because many of the texts he chose have more than sound in common. One can
only conclude t h a t these composers found the Neo-Romanticism of their chosen texts
temperamentally congenial.

25
The discovery of a list of seventy early songs by Berg, all but one unpublished, as reproduced
in H. F. Redlich's Alban Berg (Vienna, 1957), pp. 330—332, after this section was written, re­
quires some corrections but does not essentially change these conclusions. Texts by major German
poets used by Berg include one by Walther von der Vogelweide, three by Goethe, one each by
Eichendorff, Heine, and Mörike, and two each by Hofmannsthal and Rilke. Foreign texts in­
clude one each by Burns, Ibsen, and Björnson. The remaining authors, as far as they can be iden­
tified, are mostly minor German poets of the nineteenth century.
26
Der Blaue Beiter, pp. 60—75. The relevant passage is on pp. 65—66.

150
 In their music, however, the Expressionists convey the collapse of traditional
values at a far deeper level. Not only does it heighten the effect of words: it breaks
them open and exposes their inherent despair. The breakdown of harmony and the
extreme exacerbation of musical expressiveness actually amount to a 'Verfremdung'
of the text, in t h a t the musical treatment destroys the illusion and calls for critical
judgment. Such passages occur at Measures 28 to 31 of Schönberg's song Seraphita,
op. 22, No. 1, (1913), with words by Dowson as translated by George, and in the first
of Berg's Altenberg Songs, op. 4, No. 1, (1912) at Measures 29 to 30. The piercing clari­
net part at the words "Sonst löscht die laute Angst der Wasser vor der Zeit das helle
Leuchten" in the Schönberg song and the instrumentation of the line "Und über
beiden liegt noch ein trüber Hauch, eh das Gewölk sich verzog" (for pizzicato strings,
brass, and xylophone) in Berg's song intensify the text far beyond its literary capacity.
More obvious examples of 'Verfremdung', however, occur within the music itself,
both as to content and form. In the second movement of his "Second String Quartet''
op. 10, (1907–1908), for example, Schönberg introduces the folksong "O du lieber
Augustin, alles ist hin". Suddenly appearing in the midst of much tortured Romanticism
and embroidered with a counter-melodic canon, this ditty makes a startling effect in
its musical context. In this case we have Schönberg's own statement, quoted by one
of his students, to the effect t h a t "alles ist hin" is" not ironical" but has "a real emotion­
al significance". 27 This means, no doubt, that this folksong world and its way of life
is gone. Confronting it with the atonal idiom dramatizes the gap between two worlds
and measures the historical and emotional distance which separates them, both aesthe­
tically (musical simplicity vs. complexity) and sociologically (folksinger vs. alienated
artist). Mahler frequently quotes and transforms folksongs in order to express a similar
mentality—for example, in the haunting posthorn episode in the scherzo of the "Third
Symphony", which recalls and, at the same time, lays to rest the moonlit world of
Eichendorff. But whereas in Mahler one feels that he still half-shares this romantic
spirit, for Schönberg it is no longer viable.
'Verfremdung', as defined by Brecht, performs several functions: it transforms
something familiar into something striking and unexpected, in order to reveal it in a
new light and make it better known; it treats the material historically, thereby indicat­
ing t h a t it is characteristic of a particular era and is to be superseded; and it develops a
critical perspective toward the material t h a t enables us to judge it with detachment.
The numerous musical quotations in the above works fulfill these functions in a special
way t h a t differentiates them from quotations as used by other composers, for the
composers of the Vienna School show a strong emotional attachment to the music
they are quoting. When Schönberg uses the folksong "Ännchen von Tharau" as the
theme for a set of atonal variations (third movement of the Suite, op. 29 [1925–1926]-
or when Berg cites two bars from the prelude to Tristan und Isolde in the last movement
of his Lyric Suite (1925-1926), one senses in the solemn tone that they are quoting
music t h a t is in their bloodstream. This element is lacking in other composers who are
fond of quoting music. When Bartok quotes folksongs at the end of his Fifth String
Quartet or in the last movement of his Divertimento for Strings, when Stravinsky
27
See Dika Newlin, Bruckner, Mahler, Schönberg (New York, 1947), p. 235.

151
quotes Tchaikovsky in Le Baiser de la fee, or when Hindemith quotes Weber in his Sym-
phonic Metamorphoses, this is done in a playful and, at times, even virtuoso manner
t h a t does not convey the spiritual conflict inherent in the Expressionist works. The
quotations of patriotic songs in Charles Ives' Second Symphony and his Second
String Quartet come much closer because they constitute a commentary on the com­
poser's own cultural legacy; but they too lack the aura of tragedy and the sense of a
doomed heritage t h a t pervades the musical reminiscences of Schönberg and Berg.
Perhaps the most poignant examples of this kind occur in Berg's Violin Concerto
(1935). I n this composition—Berg's last work and, in a sense, also the swan song of
musical E.—the composer quotes a Carinthian Landler in the first part, and toward
the end of the piece he introduces a chorale from Bach's Cantata No. 60 (O Ewigkeit,
du Donnerwort). The variations on this chorale, which conclude the work, are suspended
by a brief reminiscence of the Landler, played "as if from a distance, but much more
slowly than the first time". The Landler and the chorale, whose text is written into the
score, encompass heaven and earth, life and death, the sacred and the profane—evoking
a musical and spiritual cosmos t h a t eludes verbal definition.
Confronting the old with the new is a characteristic trait of Expressionist music,
which uses the familiar in order to transform it while retaining an emotional link to it.
Especially striking is the ambivalent attitude toward the familiar, which is part of
the composer's cultural heritage but has been reduced to meaninglessness in the modern
context. While acknowledging his debt to it, the modern artist uncovers its dark re­
cesses. Not only individual melodies but entire musical forms as well are treated in this
manner—particularly dances and marches—perhaps because as basic rhythmic ex­
pressions they reach deep into the cultural subsoil and span both popular and art forms.
Thus the Landler and the waltz, already demonized in Mahler's symphonies, are dis­
integrated by the Vienna School. The atonal waltzes in Schönberg's works (in the
second, fifth, and nineteenth songs of Pierrot Lunaire, in the last piece of the Five
Piano Pieces op. 23, and in the second movement of the Suite, op. 29) and the Land-
ler in the second of Berg's Three Orchestral Pieces op. 6, and in the tavern scene of
Wozzeck are savage distortions of these dances, far too serious and too deeply in­
grained in the works to be considered parodies or caricatures. This is not 'Ver-
fremdung" in the Brechtian sense, but a danse macabre into the abyss. Here
the sense of crisis is unmistakable.
An awe-inspiring example of this usage is the march in Berg's Three Orchestral
Pieces (op. 6). Employing a gigantic orchestra, the composer literally unhinges the
march and tears it to shreds. The implications of this piece—the reverberations of
Beethoven, Schubert, and Mahler, and of all patriotic marches ever written—and
the awareness t h a t the march as a musical form has been irrevocably debased (the
work was completed on August 23, 1914, shortly after the outbreak of World War I),
make the work a remarkable document of musical E. Berg's Opus 6 is perhaps the last
'culinary' work of the new music. Here traditional devices, though grotesquely dis­
figured, are still discernible, and quotes from Mahler and Debussy 28 link the work
28
The slow movement of Mahler's Sixth Symphony is quoted in bars 99—101 of the March;
Debussy's piano piece La Cathédrale engloutie is quoted in bars 110-112 of the Reigen.

152
with the immediate past. Taken as a whole, it has the emotional force and some
of the impetus of Romantic music, while the break-up of melody, harmony, and
rhythm, and the increased use of percussion, point to the future. That this work
is so rarely performed even fifty-six years after its completion shows not only t h a t
it is difficult to play but that its idiom remains forbidding.
If one compares this march with the march in the first movement of Carl Nielsen's
Fifth Symphony (op. 50; 1921-1922), with the fanfares in the first and last move­
ments of Leos Janacek's Sinfonieita (1926) or with the march in Bartók's Sixth String
Quartet (1939), all of which treat the march in a strongly personal way, one finds
that each of them is written without reference to an earlier style, either harmonically,
rhythmically, or emotionally, and without Berg's sense of impending catastrophe.
The extended march in the first movement of Dmitri Shostakovich's Seventh Sym­
phony, (1942), in turn, is a piece of program music that memorializes a particular
battle, whereas Berg, avoiding any references to specific events, pronounces the death
of the traditional march.
Berg's Wozzeck begins with a military drum roll. Ominous military music, a sign
of Wozzeck's soldiering and of the threatening presence of the drum major, the captain
and the entire military system, pervades the entire work. Both the text and the music
convey the banalization of traditional Kulturgut. Büchner's protagonist is steeped in
popular lore (Biblical, folkloristic, military) which, though integral to his background,
is no longer adequate to his situation. The playwright was clearly aware of the abysses
of the human soul, as well as of the decline of human values in a materialistic society.
This decline is expressed in numerous folksongs, proverbs, and folk tales, for example,
when Wozzeck, replying to the Captain's complaint that his child is illegitimate, quotes
Jesus' words "Let the children come to me," or when a well-known hunting song is
heard as Wozzeck watches Marie dance with the drum major. 29 The references to hunt­
ing suggest both hunters (like the drum major) and hunted (like Wozzeck). I n this
context, they are bitterly ironic and destroy all romantic associations with one stroke.
Andres' little hunting song in Act I (Measures 212 to 222) and the recurring hunting
chorus of soldiers and apprentices in Act I I (Measures 560 to 577, 581 to 589, 636 to
639) are counterpointed against Wozzeck's agony as a taunting refrain of normality.
All the romantic hunting songs and fanfares ever written or composed-^by Weber,
Eichendorff, Felix Mendelssohn, Schumann, Wagner, Anton Bruckner, and Richard
Strauss—are buried here.
In this manner, the Expressionists alienated not only the romantic clichés but
also venerable musical forms, such as passacaglia, fugue and rondo. In every case, the
motivation and the effect seem peculiarly ambivalent in a way that is characteristic of
the style of these composers: it is a mark of respect (as if they would and could not
write otherwise) and a way of showing how far the dissociation of form and content
has gone. Perhaps the retention of these forms is even a way of containing the extreme

29
In the piano score of the opera by Fritz Heinrieh Klein (Universal Edition: Vienna, 1958)
the words of Jesus occur on p . 20 at bars 131—132 of Act I; the hunting chorus "Ein Jager aus der
Pfalz" begins on p. 149 at bar 560 of Act I I .

153
expressiveness of this music. Thus it has been shown 30 t h a t the second act of Wozzeck is
cast in the form of a five-movement symphony in which the tavern scene is the scherzo,
but it would be difficult for a listener to detect this. What is discernible, especially in
the tavern scene, is the multi-layered texture and meaning, the confrontation of two
worlds and even of two orchestras. 31 The satanic dance music played on stage—waltz,
handler, polka—with appropriate instrumentation that includes a pianino, an accordion,
a bombardon and several guitars, is another high point of musical E., which uses
Romantic devices for anti-Romantic purposes by driving them beyond their harmonic,
rhythmic, and expressive limits, 32 while the declamatory vocal line uses Wagnerian
melos to anti-Wagnerian effect. Thus the various levels of diction in Büchner's play
are heightened by the music which voices the doctor's scientific jargon, the cap­
tain's sanctimonious taunts, and the drum major's vainglorious rhetoric in their
variously exaggerated vocal parts. And the children's folksong in the final scene
of the opera intensifies the tragedy of Wozzeck's child, whose mother has just been
murdered.
Literary parallels to this tormented attitude toward Romanticism are hard to
find because Romantic devices are less insinuating in their verbal form. In literary E.,
the treatment of Romanticism is, on the whole, openly parodistic or satirical. Karl
Kraus's Die letzten Tage der Menschheit (written between 1915 and 1919, first published
in 1919, revised in 1920 and 1921, and re-published in 1922, and thus almost exactly
contemporaneous with Wozzeck, which was begun in 1914, completed in 1921, and first
published in piano score in 1922) is filled with bitter parodies of German literature as
well as of patriotic and military songs, which are satirized by being used in an incon­
gruous context. Since the entire work is a gigantic satire and an outcry against war,
with innumerable allusions to specific persons and events, it is openly political and, as
a verbal work, explicit in a way that a musical work cannot be. However, the 'Ver-
fremdung' of language—its degradation to jargon, its misuse for destructive purposes,
30
In his essay "Die musikalischen Formen in meiner Oper Wozzeck," Berg states that Scene
1 of Act I I follows the classical sonata-form and that Scene 4 of Act I I forms the scherzo movement.
(See Willi Reich, Alban Berg, pp. 178—179.) Based on Berg's statements, an outline of the opera's
structure has been worked out, followed by a detailed scene-by-scene analysis. See ibid., pp. 64—86.
31
Expressionist works in all media share this multi-level composition and the resulting
wealth of meaning that is difficult to pin down because it rests on mental associations between dis­
sociated elements. Sometimes these collage-like devices serve to make connections and references,
to uncover contradictions, or to combine formal with popular elements; sometimes they even call
the work itself into question. This aspect of E. is more poignant in musical works because of the
greater connotative quality of music.
32
See Adorno''s Philosophie der neuen Musik: "Die neuen Mittel der Musik aber sind aus der
immanenten Bewegung der alten hervorgegangen, von der sie sich zugleich durch qualitativen
Sprung absetzt" (But the new musical means have resulted from the immanent movement of the
old ones from which they detach themselves by means of a qualitative leap), p. 18.
"Es sind nicht Leidenschaften mehr fingiert, sondern im Medium der Musik unverstellt
leibhafte Regungen des Unbewussten, Schocks, Traumata registriert" (The passions are no longer
invented but in the medium of music the actual stirring of the unconscious, shocks, and traumas
are frankly recorded). Ibid., p. 42.
"Die expressionistische Musik hatte das Prinzip des Ausdrucks aus der traditionell roman-
tischen so genau genommen, dass es Protokollcharakter annahm. Damit aber schlagt es urn.
Musik als Ausdrucksprotokoll ist nicht langer 'ausdrueksvoll'" (Expressionist music took the
principle of expression as applied in traditional Romantic music so literally that it took on a docu­
mentary character. In this way, however, a change is brought about, for music as a protocol of
expression is no longer 'expressive'). Ibid., p. 52.

154
the perversion of cultural values-and of form (the morality play) is analogous to the
handling of musical tradition by the Vienna School.
In Sternheim's cycle Aus dem bürgerlichen Heldenleben (From the Heroic Life of the
Bourgeoisie), the satire is chiefly directed against Romanticism, which is debunked as
the vulgarized property of philistine minds. Expressed in Sternheim's characteristic
imitation of pretentious rhetoric, the prince's pride in German song, in Bürger Schippel
(1913),33 is ludicrously exemplified in the parodistic abduction scene (Act I I I , Scene 1),
where, trying to emulate Romeo but lacking literary sophistication, the prince
steals away with Thekla to the sound of Schippel's pseudo-Shakespearean love song,
and embraces her to the voices of the quartet intoning a pseudo-Eichendorffian hunt­
ing chorus. In the drama 1913 (1915), which contains premonitions of the war, like
Berg's opus 6, Ottilie's inability to cope with the times is exemplified by her singing
of Eichendorff's Mondnacht in Schumann's setting (Act I I I , Scene 1).
In Expressionist literature, Eichendorff and Wagner are the two most widely
parodied romantics. The fatuous Wagner-mania of Mandelstam in Sternheim's Die
Hose (1911), the tenor in Wedekind's Der Kammersänger (1899)—who literally walks
over the dead body of a woman infatuated with him in order to fulfill an engagement
as Tristan—and the bank clerk's daughter practicing the Tannhäuser overture in
Kaiser's Von morgens bis mitternachts show that Wagner, like Eichendorff, captured a
basic feeling that appealed to the unsophisticated and lent itself to being trivialized.
Implicit in all these examples is the warning against false Romanticism and the fear
that, because of its emotional appeal, Romanticism is easily perverted and can lead
to escapism and worse in uncritical hands. I t is the banalization of Romanticism and
its abuse for nationalistic ends t h a t is particularly stressed in the literary examples
we have adduced. Though this treatment is sharply satirical in contrast to the compo­
sers' valedictory treatment of such material, Expressionist music is nevertheless
clearly distinguishable from its non-Expressionist counterparts by its critical attitude
toward Romanticism. If one examines Strauss' handling of Romanticism in Also sprach
Zarathustra (1896) and Salome (1905), or Hans Pfitzner's in his setting of Eichendorff
texts in the cantata Von deutscher Seele (1921; title not by Eichendorff), 34 the difference
between their uncritical acceptance and the Expressionists' 'Verfremdung' of Romanti­
cism becomes obvious. (Non-German composers like Bartók or Stravinsky, being un­
touched by German Romanticism, wrote from a very different perspective.) 'Ver­
fremdung' of their respective languages', though differing in intent, degree, and effect
according to medium, is used by the Expressionist writers and composers in order to
33
Sternhei m, Werke, I, p. 491,
34
In his im portant and richly documented study of Eichendorff interpretation, Eberhard
Lammert points o u t that in Pfitzner's score, and even in some Eichendorff editions, the word
"Sinnen" in the couplet
Wohl vor lauter Sinnen, Singen
Kommen wir nicht recht zum Leben
appears as "Singen", and concludes that this change and its occurrence in a choral song shows
vividly "wieviel leichter es den Deutschen wurde, ihren Eichendorff zu singen als ihn bedenkend
anzuhören" (how much easier it was for the Germans to sing their Eichendorff than to listen to
him reflectively). See Eberhard Lammert, "Eichendorffs Wandel unter den Deutschen: Überle-
gungen zur Wirkungsgeschichte seiner Dichtung," in Die deutsche Romantik, ed. Hans Steffen
(Göttingen, 196 7), p. 243 and Note 72a.

155
come to terms with the past. Thus the extreme stylization of language in the plays of
Wedekind, Kaiser, and Sternheim, as shown in the artificiality of their dialogue, which
alternates between "golden age" rhetoric and flat workaday prose, finds a parallel in
the mixture of pathos and banality present in Expressionist music. 35
The Expressionist perspective is a critical one and involves an active social con­
cern. To be sure, all art is, to some extent, critical in the sense t h a t it shapes reality
according to a personal vision, but in the case of the Expressionists the artist's vision
was coupled with a specific program. The Expressionists in all media were tireless
writers of manifestos. Schönberg, Berg, and Webern also wrote prolifically in an effort
to define their aesthetic views. Formally and informally (in books, essays, lectures, and
letters), they explained their art and fought for it. Because their music was constantly
under attack for its dissonance and inaccessibility, their writings became strongly
polemic. This is particularly true of Schönberg, who had a longer career than the others
and who emerges from his writings as a militant spokesman for an ideology which, in
addition to music, encompasses education, politics, ethics, religion, and other human
concerns. Schönberg's writings stamp him as an activist with a powerful mind who was
absolutely convinced of the Tightness of his cause and never ceased to fight for it.
One gains a strong impression of uncompromising integrity and sincerity with more than
a touch of obsessiveness. Schonberg's beliefs and convictions are set forth not only in theo­
retical works and many essays and letters, but they also dominate his literary efforts,
which culminate in the text to the opera Moses und Aron (1926-1932; Schönberg did not
compose the music for the last act). Moses' final address to Aron and the Seventy Elders,
rejecting materialism and accommodation to the world and affirming belief in God and
His covenant with Israel, not only reflects the author's own religious and artistic strug­
gles b u t also conveys an idealism and a sense of mission t h a t is characteristic of E.
Like those of the literary Expressionists, the concerns of the Schönberg group
range from detailed aesthetic problems to man's relation to God. On the musical level,
they advocate contrapuntal writing, the interweaving of several voices rather than the
homophonic style of Romanticism in which one voice predominates; variation in place
of repetition, which had degenerated into cliché in the Romantic sonata and symphony;
asymmetry and disparity as a departure from the regularity and evenness of much
classical and nineteenth-century music, with its tendency to congeal the increasingly
unclassical content; and the "emancipation of dissonance" 36 and its functional use on
35
Cf. the introduction of a tango into a twelve-tone composition in Berg's concert aria Der
Wein (from measures 39 to 63, briefly recapitulated from measures 182 to 195) and the use of
the alto saxophone in this piece and in Berg's opera Lulu. In the first scene of Act I I I of Lulu,
at Casti-Piani's line "Von den unzahligen Abenteuerinnen . . . " (Measure 103), Berg introduces
Wedekind's tune to a lute song which, according to Robert Craft, is a Berlin street-walkers' song.
Berg also uses this theme in the Variations movement of his Lulu-Symphonie. See Willi Reich,
Alban Berg, p. 121, and Robert Craft's notes for his recordings in the album Music of Alban Berg
(Columbia M2L 271).
36
In his lecture on "Composition with Twelve Tones," given at the University of California
at Los Angeles on March 26, 1941, Schönberg explained that the development of chromaticism
had drastically changed the concept of harmony, leading to extended tonality and then to the
"emancipation of dissonance". "The term emancipation of the dissonance refers to its comprehen-
sibility, which is considered equivalent to the consonance's comprehensibility. A style based on
this premise treats dissonances like consonances and renounces a tonal center." Style and Idea
(New York, 1950), pp. 104-105.

156
an equal basis with consonance. The latter principle embodies an important tenet of
E.: to make available to serious art what had previously been excluded as unsuitable.
Both in literature (Hauptmann's Vor Sonnenaufgang, 1889) and in music (Strauss's
Till Eulenspiegel, 1895), Naturalism had pioneered in this search, but its innovations
were more in the area of subject matter and style and did not make a philosophical
contribution. Naturalism extended realism b u t did not change the way of looking at
reality and, hence, did not attack the basis of art. Naturalism also lacked the visionary
quality of E. and its practice of combining disparate elements to expose hidden mean­
ings and associations as well as dissociations.
I n Naturalism ugliness was used to present "a slice of life", whereas the Expres­
sionists went beyond the social aspect to challenge the traditional meaning of the word.
Schönberg believed t h a t the development of harmony was making 'consonance' and
'dissonance' obsolete. Denying the existence of non-harmonic tones, he proclaimed the
equality of all twelve tones of the scale: "There are no non-harmonic tones, but only
tones alien to the harmonic system . . . Possibilities for combining tones are unlimited;
only the possibilities of bringing the combinations into a system that establishes their
aesthetic validity can have limits. For the time being, t h a t is; later this, too, will
change." 37
The use of all twelve notes of the scale without regard to traditional harmony is
directly related to the rejection of mimesis found in E., for the Expressionist does not
observe or imitate reality, but wishes to create it anew in his own image. 38 Twelve-
tone composition in music is equivalent to the absence of realism in literature and to
non-representation in the plastic arts. I t emphasizes the subjectivism and dissociation
of Expressionist art by concentrating on a highly personal and intense vision that sets
the inner world sharply apart from the outer one. The Expressionist radicalizes art in
order to lay bare deep-seated psychic layers at the root of human consciousness. He
seeks to reorder the basic ingredients of artistic expression, in keeping with drastic
changes in human existence. Truth is ranked above beauty, and content takes prece­
dence over form.
The title of Schönberg's collection of essays, Style and Idea, indicates t h a t the
author distinguishes between execution and conception. He believes that the composer
must have a concept, an idea, and a controlling vision t h a t will dictate its own treat­
ment. Style, which for Schönberg includes form and technique as well as the personal
37
"Harmoniefremde Töne gibt es also nicht, sondern nur dem Harmoniesystem fremde . , .
Den Mögliehkeiten des Zusammenklangs sind keine Grenzen gezogen; höchstens den Möglichkeiten,
die Zusammenklange in ein System zu bringen, das ihre asthetische Wertigkeit feststellt. Vorlaufig;
später wird wohl auch das gelingen." Harmonielehre, p. 389.
38
"Die Realität muss von uns geschaffen werden. Der Sinn des Gegenstands muss erwühlt
sein. Begnügt darf sich nicht werden mit der geglaubten, gewahnten, notierten Tatsache, es muss
das Bild der Welt rein und unverfalscht gespiegelt werden. Das aber ist nur in uns selbst. So wird
der ganze Raum des expressionistischenKünstlers Vision." (We have to create reality. The meaning
of the object must be deeply fathomed. We must not be content with the believed, imagined, re­
corded fact, but the picture of the world must be reflected purely and clearly. But it is (found)
in ourselves alone. Thus the entire cosmos of the Expressionist turns into vision). Kasimir Edschmid,
"Über den dichterischen Expressionismus", Fruhe Manifeste, p. 32.
"Auf ihrer höchsten Stufe befasst sich die Kunst ausschliesslich mit der Wiedergabe der
inneren N a t u r " (On its highest level, art is exclusively concerned with the reproduction of internal
nature). Harmonielehre, p. 14.

157
stamp, must not be the determining factor but the means to an end. Schönberg dis­
parages the use of sound and color for their own sake which he finds in the music of
Strauss, and which Berg found reflected in Pfitzner's attack on the new music. "More
mature minds resist the temptation to become intoxicated by colors and prefer to be
coldly convinced by the transparency of clear-cut ideas." 39
On one level the argument is between art and craft. Schönberg wrote: " I believe
t h a t art does not stem from ability but from necessity." 40 In his view, as in that of
Kandinsky, the true artist creates out of an inner compulsion, a need to express him­
self, and develops the skill to do so without conscious application, whereas the crafts­
man has the skill without having anything vital to say: "Art is the outcry of those who
partake of the fate of mankind, who do not resign themselves to it but confront i t . . .
who do not avert their eyes to protect themselves from emotions but open them wide
to do whatever has to be done." 4 1
The pedagogical aim of these composers, set forth in the 191.1 preface to Schönberg's
Harmonielehre, extends to a concern with reform in the arts and in the quality of life.
Like their compeers in literature and painting, the composers joined hands and actively
promoted greater integrity in artistic expression and performance. In November, 1918,
Schönberg founded a "Society for Private Performances of Music" (Verein für musika-
lische Privataufführungen) devoted to renditions of modern music that were carefully
prepared and free from commercialism. In the official prospectus, written by Berg, the
clarity of musical presentation and the lack of competitive spirit were particularly
stressed: "The only success an artist should have here is the one that should mean the
most to him: to have made the work and, with it, the author intelligible." 42 Similar
thoughts were expressed by Schönberg in a 1919 document dealing with the relation
between government and the arts, in which he called for improvements in the social
status of musicians. And Webern fulfilled an active educational and social function
by directing several workers' orchestras and choruses and introducing them and their
audiences to new music.
The social conscience of these composers expresses itself in their work through
their concern with human rights and through their international outlook. After their
early, fin-de-siècle compositions, they chose subjects dealing with figures on the fringes
of society, particularly the persecuted and oppressed (Berg's Wozzeck and Lulu, Schön­
berg's A Survivor from Warsaiv), and with questions of religious salvation (Schönberg's
Kol Nidre, his Psalms op. 50, and his Moses und Aron, as well as Webern's two cantatas,
op. 29 and op. 31). In a brief piece entitled "Human Rights" Schönberg wrote t h a t
39
Arnold Schönberg, Style and Idea (New York, 1950), p. 131. See also his programmatic
statement "Die Musik soll nicht schmücken, sie soll wahr sein" (Music should not be decorative
but true), quoted by Theodor W. Adorno, Philosophie der neuen Musik, p . 45.
40
"Ich glaube: Kunst kommt nicht von Können, sondern von Müssen !" Arnold Schönberg,
Schöpferische Konfessionen, selected and edited by Willi Reich (Zürich, 1964), p. 37; the statement,
italicized by Schönberg, was made in 1911.
41
"Kunst ist der Notschrei jener, die an sich das Schicksal der Menschheit erleben. Die nicht
mit ihm sich abfinden, sondern sich mit ihm auseinandersetzen . . . Die nicht die Augen abwenden,
um sich vor Emotionen zu behüten, sondern sie aufreissen, urn anzugehen, was angegangen werden
muss." Ibid., p. 12. See also the related statement "Der Mittelweg ist der einzige, der nicht nach
Rom fülirt," quoted by Willi Reich, Schönberg oderder konservative Revolutionar (Vienna, 1968), p, 200.
42
Quoted by Willi Reich, ibid,, p, 160,

158
" a certain minimum of rights equally valid for all peoples and races should be searched
for." 43 And in his messianic view of art, music was to voice man's aspirations for a
more humane and inspired existence: "My personal feeling is that music conveys a
prophetic message revealing a higher form of life toward which mankind evolves. And
it is because of this message that music appeals to men of all races and cultures." 44
With the literary Expressionists Schönberg shared the view that art should proclaim
the new man: "A new sound is an instinctively discovered symbol that announces the
new man expressing himself."46
Ideologically Schönberg's position was closely akin to that of the metaphysically
oriented Expressionist writers. His plan for a large-scale choral-orchestral work, as
outlined in a letter to Dehmel dated December 13, 1912, and several statements in the
Harmonielehre show that he ranked spiritual regeneration higher than material im­
provement - a view t h a t is shared by Werfel in his programmatic essay "Die christliche
Sendung" (1917).46
Schönberg , sreforming spirit, anti-establishment stance, and internationalism re­
flect the exposed social position of many Expressionists. Among them are found more
outsiders than insiders, as the movement was decisively shaped by artists who were
spiritual exiles. Many Expressionists were Jews, and among those who were not there
was a conspicuous group of uprooted or declasse figures. A comparison between Haupt-
raann and Wedekind, Strauss and Mahler among the older group; between Thomas Mann
and Döblin, Max Reger and Schönberg among the middle group; between Carl Zuck-
mayer and Toller, Hindemith and Weill among the younger group exemplifies these
differences in outlook and artistic profile. The supranationalism of many Expressionists
may be attributed to their malaise in a conservative society to whose flaws they were
particularly vulnerable. Among them were numerous figures from the borderlands,
especially from the Austro-Hungarian empire—persons who, by their origin, lacked a
sense of national identity and served as mediators between two cultures. Often their
situation produced a kind of cultural diaspora that gives E., as a German-based move­
ment, its peculiar tension. The sharp division between outer and inner reality—sharper
than is usually found in works of art—may perhaps be explained by the lack of political
maturity and national fulfillment in the German-speaking area and by the concomitant
search for substitute religions—art, for example.

43
44
Style and Idea, p. 205.
Ibid., p. 194.
45
"Ein neuer Klang ist ein unwillkürlich gefundenes Symbol, das den neuen Menschen an-
kündigt,
46
der sich da ausspricht . . . " Harmonielehre, p. 479.
"leh will seit langem ein Oratorium schreiben, das als Inhalt haben sollte: wie der Mensch
von heute, der dnrch den Materialismus, Sozialismus, Anarchie durchgegangen ist, der Atheist
war, aber sich doch ein Restenen alten Glaubens bewahrt hat . . ., wie dieser moderne Menseh
mit Gott streitet. . . und schliesslich dazu gelangt, Gott zu finden und religiös zu werden" (For
some time now I have wished to write an oratorio dealing with the following subject: how con­
temporary man, having passed through materialism, socialism, and anarchism, and having been
an atheist, still retains some of the old belief. . . , (and) how this modern man quarrels with God . . .
and finally succeeds in finding Him and turning religious). Briefe, p. 31.
"Die geistigen Folgen eines Gedankens sind, da sie geistiger Natur sind, bleibend; aber die
Folgen der Revolutionen, die sich im Materiellen abspielen, sind vorübergehend" (The spiritual
consequences of a thought are permanent, in so far as they are of a spiritual kind; but the conse-
quenees of revolutions in the material world are transitory). Harmonielehre, p, 481.

159
 The extraterritoriality 47 of many Expressionists reveals itself in the lack of popular
or regional accents in their work. Most of them hail from the city; and as cosmo­
politans without strong roots, they addressed humanity in a new language. The
music of Schönberg, Berg, and Webern is extremely sophisticated, undancelike,
highly organized, and self-conscious. Unlike the music of Ralph Vaughan Williams,
Ives, Bartók, or Stravinsky, Expressionist music seems divorced from the pulse and
flavor of the indigenous musical spirit. The fact that Vienna is the home of E. in music
points up both its non-national cast and its complex link to the local musical tradition.
The music of the Vienna School is non-national in that it lacks a characteristic regional
flavor and tends to abstraction by its avoidance of melody and tonality; but it is linked
with local musical tradition by an occasional Viennese echo so startling that the psycho­
logical distance between the composer and his social setting is readily apparent. I t is,
generally, characteristic of Expressionist art t h a t stylized and popular components do
not mesh and t h a t the popular element is Verfremdet'. But the Expressionist composers
have stronger and more positive ties with the tradition of classical and Romantic music
than the writers have with the corresponding literary heritage, because the musical
tradition is longer and more distinguished, besides being rooted precisely in Vienna.
As the capital of a polyglot, supra-national empire (until 1918) and a city with a rich
musical tradition, Vienna undoubtedly provided a more favorable atmosphere for these
composers than any other city in the German-speaking area.
As we have seen, modern music developed more suddenly and more radically than
modern literature, perhaps because music, having developed more slowly before, is
capable of more far-reaching technical innovations. Because theory and practice are
harder to reconcile in music than they are in literature—theory is verbal, music is
non-verbal — the Expressionist theory is not confirmed in practice; for while the theory
is loftily idealistic, the music sounds doom-haunted—more evocative of a crumbling
old world than of a dawning new one. Expressionist literature shares this despair, but
has a more aspiring and dynamic ring and looks more to the future than to the past.
Both, however, undertake a radically new examination of the bases of human existence.

47
Adorno's term applied to Schönberg. (See Quasi una fantasia, p. 283.) Adorno finds this
element in Schönberg's gypsy-like physiognomy, in his "undomesticated" quality, in a non-Western
aspect expressed by the Jewish mysticism also found in Mahler, Kraus, and Kafka, and in the
essential strangeness of his music. He also mentions the lack of formal training, the avoidance of
professionalism in Schönberg as well as in Bruckner and Mahler,

160
 LOTTE H. EISNER

A CONTRIBUTION TO T H E D E F I N I T I O N OF
T H E EXPRESSIONIST FILM

Even at the risk of being considered a rigorous purist, I would like to offer, at long
last, my own definition of the Expressionist film, for in most countries, especially in
France, there seems to be an increasing tendency toward regarding all of the "classic''
German films of the twenties as Expressionistic. I suspect that, in spite of all my
attempts at explanation in the book L'écran démoniaque {The Haunted Screen in the
English version), the latter's subtitle "Influence de Max Reinhardt et de l'expression-
nisme" has caused this misunderstanding because one sought to substitute or for and.
I n the first issue of Cinéma 55 I published an article entitled "Mise en garde et
mise au point'' (Warning and Redefinition) which deals with the Expressionist school,
or rather movement, and in which I tried to clarify my position, apparently without
success. For in the 69th and 70th issues of Cinéma 62 (i.e., quite a few years later)
a certain gentleman declared, in a narticle called "Actualité de l'expressionnisme,"
that Max Reinhardt was an undaunted Expressionist. (The gentleman in question,
by the way, plagiarized my book rather unscrupulously by borrowing entire phrases
and whole passages, from which he drew the wrong conclusions.) I t is well known,
however, t h a t Reinhardt had relatively little to do with the Sunday matinees of the
Junges Deutschland, and t h a t he almost invariably entrusted these productions to
his collaborators. Unlike (Jürgen) Fehling and (Leopold) Jessner, he was rather in­
different toward E., and if he allowed Expressionist plays to be staged at all, this was
done outside of the repertory and simply because the spirit of the time demanded it. 1
I t is not for personal but for factual reasons that I wish to quote, at this point,
a passage from my previously mentioned article:

The word Expressionism is often indiscriminately applied to every German

film of the 'classic' period. Is it still necessary, however, to emphasize that
certain chiaroscuro effects often considered to be Expressionist were actually
used in advance of Caligari? Since (Siegfried) Kracauer, in his book From
Caligari to Hitler, discussed the Expressionist staging of Reinhard Sorge's
play Der Bettler (The Beggar), produced by Reinhardt in 1917, most film

1
See pp. 91f. of Max Fleischmann's book Max Reinhardt (Vienna: Neff, 1948): "Reinhardt
was rather indifferent toward, and had little sympathy with, the very modern, young, Expression­
ist writers. Neither ideologically nor stylistically, they suited his taste. If their works were performed
at this theater, this was done mostly in the form of closed cycles, like "Das junge Deutschland"
in Berlin and "Das Theater des Neuen" in Vienna. Reinhardt had almost no personal share in
these productions. This was the great and tireless innovator's way of showing that he wanted to
have no hand in these experiments."

161
 enthusiasts seem bent on believing t h a t ReinharcLt was an Expressionist
stage director, and that this was, in fact, implied by the subtitle of my book.
Actually, Reinhardt used the learned magic of chiaroscuro, i.e., of light that
is gently modelled by the shadows, in a truly Impressionist manner; and
thus many of the light effects we note in the old German films are not neces­
sarily signs of an Expressionist technique.

This is hardly the place for pointing out how decisively the German film of the
'teens- especially the so-called costume film—was influenced by Reinhardt's stage
productions, even in cases where the genius of this great dramaturgist of light is hardly
recognizable. After all, most of the film stars of that period, as well as several film
directors, were originally employed at Reinhardt's theaters.
Whereas Reinhardt was after mysterious light effects a la Rembrandt (whose
source is often unidentified) by causing light in the form of softly flowing triangular
shapes to filter from a high window into a dark room, 2 the Expressionists, for whom
all things and objects were brought to life anthropomorphically, turned light into a
frenzied cry of anguish devoured by the greedy maws of the shadows. The key prin­
ciple of Expressionist lighting techniques is, in fact, this clash and this pitiless struggle
between light and darkness. But how many films actually show this kind of abruptness ?
I know only a few in which these effects are consistently aimed at.
Strange as it may seem, the tinted contemporary copies, as well as the subsequently
dubbed black-and-white ones, of The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari—a film in which painted
cast shadows and budlike light effects were sought after—hardly convey this shock
effect, except perhaps in the case of the dark alley where we see the murderer err
about. We encounter the stark contrast between light and darkness in Karl Heinz
Martin's film Von morgens bis mitternachts (From Morn till Midnight), as well as in
the rising triangular and lozenge-shaped forms of the Jack-the-Ripper episode in
Paul Leni's film Das Wachsfigurenkabinett (Waxworks). Elsewhere it appears only
in scattered episodes, such as in the spotlighted grooves and cornices of the portal
of the vault of the dead lovers in Fritz Lang's Der müde Tod (Destiny). At times, as
in Rippert's Homunculus films, a pale face emerges from the dark or, as in Robert
Wiene's Orlacs Hände, white hands suddenly spread out in convulsion or the gleaming
of a knife issues from the black void.
I have mentioned Rippert's Homunculus films, which were shot in 1916, i.e.,
prior to Caligari. Here the Expressionist techniques are used almost unconsciously;
just as in the basically Impressionist first version of the Student von Prag we come
upon light effects that strike us as being quasi-Expressionistic. 3

2
Such a scene is found especially in Oswald's film Karlos und Elisabeth) there is a similar
one in his Lucrezia Borgia, at the point where Lucrezia discovers her dead husband. The cathedral
scene in Lang's Siegfrieds Tod should be mentioned in this connection, and even in the church scene
of Murnau's Sunrise an analogous light effect is used.
3
In the second version of Der Student von Prag, directed by Galeen, Expressionist visions
abound—for instance, the dark, winding street in which the student is persistently confronted by
his ghostlike mirror image. The first version of that film, directed by Stellan Rye, contains many
shots made on location, which makes them inherently Impressionistic. In this case, only the con-
trastive use of the shadows cast by the colonnade on the terrace produces an expressive—and
almost Expressionistic—effect, as does also the view through the window upon the real street.

162
 Thus basically, with regard to Dr. Caligari, one can only say that this was the first
Expressionist film in respect to the architectural settings and the bodily poses of the
actors that were induced by them, whereas the Expressionist use of light is already
found in some earlier films, usually at such points where the dramatic expression calls
for it.
Whereas doubts may arise concerning the Expressionist use of light—especially
given the condition of newly dubbed copies of the originals—it can be stated that
most of the films which strictly adhere to the Expressionist distortion of the settings
use light Impressionistically. When, after the great success which Caligari enjoyed
among the intellectuals, Wiene engaged Andrei Andreev for his film Baskolnikoff,
he is supposed to have told the puzzled stage designer of the Moscow Art Theater:
"Simply make everything oblique, walls, windows, doors and the furniture!" And
yet, the Expressionistically distorted interiors of that film (where, considerably more
so than in Caligari, the natural forms remain visible underneath) show soft Impres­
sionist light effects, since Wiene did not insist on a starkly contrastive use of light and
shadow.
Paul Wegener invariably protested when people called his second Golem Expres-
sionistic; for in that film Impressionistically shaded light flows into the elliptically
distorted Gothic interiors, and only at certain points a starker light effect lifts out
a passage-way or causes a stairwell suddenly to pierce the dark. In their use of light,
the German films of the period frequently use these two styles in an almost hybrid
mixture. In fact, it is precisely this paradox, this partly intentional and partly uninten­
tional stylistic discrepancy, which lends them their peculiar charm.
The clay forms used in G. W. Pabst's film Der Schatz (The Treasure), which seem
to owe a great deal to Hans Poelzig's architectural designs for Der Golem, are distorted
and inflated. In these interiors, too, the light flows softly gleaming and Rembrandtesque.
The same applies to the Expressionistically warped interiors of the Harun-al-Raschid
episode in Das Wachsfigurenlcabinett, where only the intermittent gleaming of orna­
mental details shows Expressionist features. The flowing, opalescent and misty atmos­
phere of the Ivan-the-Terrible episode (in the same film) even more strongly illustrates
this tendency, as is only natural in the case of Leni, who was himself an Expressionist
painter. Only the action of the frame story and the concluding episode which comple­
ments it are stylistically coherent. There are, then, altogether no more than a handful
of purely Expressionist films, the majority of the works so far referred to being either
films with Expressionist settings or using Expressionist techniques of acting.
However, even the ambiguous use of light may be conducive to Expressionist
effects. One of the best examples of this kind is constituted by the congested, streaming
crowd in the ghetto street of Der Golem, which gives a flamelike, stippling impression,
whereas the light in the background flows softly and broadly. Where, in such cases,
does E. begin and Impressionism end? In order to ascertain the stylistic affiliation of
these visual effects, one must contrast them with such radically different ones as are
found in the Wintergarten scene of Variété (Variety), where Impressionism reigns su­
preme in the guise of a thousand colored dots. But precisely in that film we discover
traces of a dissolving E., as in the scene with the prisoners walking in a circle in the

163
 narrow shaft of the dark courtyard, which contains, in fact, an allusion to a painting
b y the Impressionist Van Gogh—another instance of the inherent contradiction.
Wiene desperately clung to E. by trying to shoot Genuine in the manner of Caligari,
and, given Cesar Klein's ornamental sets, he produced a rather abstruse pattern which
only rarely lent itself to contrastive light effects. We have already seen how, in Raskol-
nikoff, Klein's successor, Andreev, led him to an Impressionistically tinged E.
And how about directors like Fritz Lang and F . W. Murnau ? Can one call them
Expressionists, as is so often done, or may at least some of their films be regarded
in this light? Lang certainly was too much of an eclectic to be subsumed under
any common label. Thus, the symmetry of the Nibelungen settings, for instance,
in no way conforms with the Expressionist will-to-style, and the skyscraper façades
of Metropolis, surrounded by an aura of light, are not Expressionistically conceived.
But Expressionist traits are constantly evident: the sharply delineated white crosses
of the subterranean church, for example, are decidedly Expressionistic, and so are
the brightly lit road markers in the pursuit scene of the Testament of Dr. Mabuse.
Like most of the great German directors, Lang was an artist who profited from pass­
ing through the experience of the Expressionist sense of style. The same can be said of
Murnau, who also employed Expressionist techniques whenever he deemed them ap­
propriate for the dramatic expression, as in the dream scene of his film Der letzte
Mann (The Last Laugh). If Nosferatu is often taken to be a paragon of Expressionist
cinematography, this is due to the fact that two Expressionist actors—Max Schreck
as Nosferatu and Alexander Granach as the real-estate agent Knock—have put
their stamp upon this film. But they are cast opposite inferior 'naturalistic' perform­
ers. 4 The same applies to Caligari, where only Werner Krauss in the role of the diabolic
doctor and Conrad Veidt as the somnambulist Cesare succeed in Expressionistically
blending with the distorted settings. The other actors vainly seek to adjust to this
particular style, and the sequence depicting the servants perturbed by the abduction of
the beautiful J a n e (Lil Dagover) reaches the point of being farcical. And can G. W.
Pabst, the subsequent "champion of realism", be called an Expressionist merely be­
cause in Der Schatz he used Expressionist stage settings ? Or because in his Freud film
Geheimnisse einer Seele (Secrets of a Soul) he occasionally uses Expressionist light ef­
fects which serve his intention of reproducing subconscious processes unrealistically ?
Even a film like Hintertreppe (Backstairs), created by artists as devoted to the
Expressionist will-to-style as Paul Leni and Leopold Jessner, does not strike us as
being altogether Expressionistic as far as the style of acting is concerned. Fritz Kortner,
the Expressionist actor par excellence (in the theater as well as in the movies), is not
supported by the 'naturalistically' plump Henny Porten or the naive-dynamic Wilhelm
Dieterle. The same is true of Schatten (Warning Shadows), where the charming actress
R u t h Weyer, surrounded by an aura of light, has neither sufficient expertise nor stage
4
Ruth Landshoff, for instance, was no professional actress but a high-school student. Murnau
had seen her on the street and had prevailed upon her mother to let her join the cast during her
vacation. "As if catapulting stones, we threw words into the audience," Leontine Sagan is known to
have said with reference to the Expressionist style of acting. The actors in the silent Expressionist
films had to replace this abrupt and disconnected verbal projection with facial expressions, gestures
and expressive poses.

164
 presence to master the abrupt, incoherent gestures and the bizarre poses demanded
by the Expressionists.
The director of Schatten, Arthur Robison—an American brought up in Germany—
wavers between a flowing Impressionism, to which Murnau's Tartuffe and Faust
were to be greatly indebted, and an E. indulging in shadow contrasts and represented
primarily by the two Expressionist actors Kortner and Granach. In Die Chronik von
Grieshuus (The Chronicle of G.), Arthur von Gerlach also opts for flowing Impres­
sionism—and this in spite of the Expressionist settings. For in this film the designers
Herlth and Röhrig emulated, while slightly modifying, the Expressionist intentions
of Hans Poelzig, the creator of the Golem settings, who was first asked to make the
settings of this film as well. Gerlach's Impressionism is further strengthened by the
exterior scenes which were shot outdoors.
In Karl Grune's film Die Strasse (The Street), to which Ludwig Meidner contrib­
uted his flame-like, distorted sets, the light effects, as well as Eugen Klöpfer's poses,
are Expressionist in many ways. But Klöpfer was no truly Expressionist actor like
Kortner, and with him Expressionist moments alternate with realistic ones, as had
already been the case in Lupu Pick's film Sylvester. And here we encounter the most
radical mixture of styles; for the anti-Expressionist "Kammerspiel" films which Pick
intended as "naturalistic slaps in the face of Expressionist snobs", are inherently
paradoxical. For while, on the one hand, the extremely talented script writer Carl
Mayer furnished a psychologically motivated, individualistic tragedy, on the other
hand he remained, in his own words, an Expressionistic visual poet. Moreover, Pick's
decided preference for symbolic stylization and his enthusiasm for metaphysical
speculations of the visionary type produces an atmosphere congenial to E., even though
the Expressionists violently rejected metaphysics along with psychology and indi­
vidualism.
And E. A. Dupont? This Impressionistically oriented director very rarely slipped
into the use of Expressionist light effects, as he did, for example, in Das alte
Gesetz (The Ancient Law). I n Moulin Rouge, he finally realized an Impressionistically
tinged Baroque style.
I n the German directors of this period, then, one constantly meets with a tendency
toward mixing stylistic elements, which seems to be characteristic for the age. Only
one single director was unaffected by this trend: Ernst Lubitsch, the realist, who
profited from Reinhardt in his own peculiar way. I t should be obvious even to those
who call all the German films of this era Expressionistic that this man never subscribed
to the tenets of t h a t movement. His film Die Bergkatze (The Mountain Cat) is rather
a parody of Expressionist tendencies. Indeed, for this film Ernst Stern, Reinhardt's
stage designer, having a typically Impressionist background, created pseudo-Expres­
sionist settings which parody that style.
Should our reflections be interpreted as an attempt to effect a revision of the
prevailing views regarding cinematographic E. ? I do not want to convey that impression
but merely wish to point out how rarely, in all the above instances, one can speak
of a consistently applied Expressionist technique. There are strictly Expressionist
actors (but they, too, modify their style), as well as Expressionist films, although

165
even those created by directors fully devoted to the Expressionist will-to-style harbor
Impressionist elements—mostly in the use of light effects.
The only feature rather consistently used in these films is the Expressionist nature
of the settings, and this may explain why such forms survived, long after the decease
of E., in German cinematography. The steep roofs and gables in Murnau's Faust
and his Sunrise offer an excellent case in point. And because an architect like Otto
Hunte was assigned to the Impressionistically inclined Austro-American Josef von
Sternberg, the dark and narrow lanes leading to the cabaret in Der Blaue Engel—like
the slum streets in Oswald's Alraune—sound a distinct echo of the previously men­
tioned lane in Caligari, even though the light is handled Impressionistically. 5 Perhaps
it is these heterogeneous elements fused in the films of the " classic'' period which are
to blame for the failure of all post-World War I I attempts to renew German cinema­
tographic E. Der Apfel ist ab (The Apple Fell) contents itself with a lot of ado in the
music-hall style; and so does Die Berliner Ballade (Berlin Ballad). Only Peter Lorre's
Der Verlorene (The Lost One) recaptures some of the Expressionist traits of the films
made in the pre-Hitler era because here some of the visions and intentions inherent
in Fritz Lang's M are further explored and no stylistic exaggerations are attempted.

(Translated by Ulrich Weisstein)

5
For all that, Hunte, who constructed the balanced, spacious and symmetrical sets of Metro-
polis and the Nibelungen films, was no Expressionist architect, not even Herlth or Röhrig—in
whose settings impressionistic chiaroscuro values can be seen—can be considered as such. But,
after all, narrow streets and stairwells have always been depicted in a mysterious way since
Caligari.

166
 ULRICH WEISSTEIN

VORTICISM: EXPRESSIONISM ENGLISH STYLE*

In order to place Vorticism, that Anglo-Saxon offshoot of E., in its proper historical
context, I should like to state, by way of introduction, that this movement was but
one of several manifestations of the anti-Impressionist spirit prevalent in Europe in
the first two decades of our century. But while Cubism and E. were, in part, accepted
by the Vorticists, Futurism or—to use Pound's terminology—"accelerated Impres­
sionism" was attacked by them beginning with the first issue of Blast, the Vorticist
declaration of independence. 1
As for the chronology of events that led to the formulation of Vorticist doctrine,
Geoffrey Wagner has pointed out t h a t Wyndham Lewis's artistic rebellion stemmed
from his break with Roger Fry, whose Omega Workshops he had joined in July, 1913.2
I t was in consequence of a quarrel over a mural commission that Lewis and three of
his fellow-Vorticists-in-the-making quit the Workshops in the fall of 1913. They stated
their reasons for doing so in an open letter, which Virginia Woolf reproduced in her
biography of Fry. 3 Being free agents, the dissenters immediately founded their own
school, the so-called Rebel Art Center with offices in Great Ormond Street. Frequent
gatherings were held at the "Cave of the Golden Calf" owned by the third Mrs. Strind-
berg and adorned with works by Lewis himself and the sculptor Jacob Epstein. Toward
the end of 1913, the group was joined by Pound, who had come to London five years
earlier as an "M. A. in Romantics" and stigmatized member of the faculty of Wabash
College, as well as by the sculptor Henri Gaudier-Brzeska. Pound, that professional
discoverer of genius, had recently promoted the cause of Robert Frost, a poor candidate
for Vorticism's Hall of Fame on account of his potato-without-the-dirt realism, and
was about to launch the literary career of "the only American I know of who has
made what I can call adequate preparation for writing", T. S. Eliot, the author of a
satirical poem entitled "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock". Pound was desperately
trying to "sell" this poem to the reluctant Harriett Monroe, founder and editor of
Poetry Magazine, of which he was the English correspondent. What is more, Joyce's
Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man was shortly to appear in serial form in The Egoist,
the former Freewoman, a magazine which enjoyed Pound's special protection.

* Reprinted, with permission, from the Yearbook of Comparative and General Literature,
X I I I (1964) pp. 28-40.
1
For a brief account of Lewis's attitude toward Futurism, see The Letters of Wyndham Lewis.
ed. W.2 K. Rose (London, 1963), p. 61f.
3
Wyndham Lewis: A Portrait of the Artist as the Enemy (New Haven, 1957).
New York, 1940, p. 192.

167
 "We are getting our little gang after five years," the Vorticist kingmaker Pound
wrote to William Carlos Williams on December 19, 1913, in a letter that also contains
the first reference to the Great Vortex, a label that Pound himself is said to have in,
vented. On January 22, 1914, T. E. Hulme, the spiritual godfather of the movement-
though not a cosigner of its manifestos, lectured publicly on "Modern Art and Its
Philosophy". 4 And on May 5 of the same year Marinetti delivered the second of two
lectures on Futurism at the Doré Gallery, a performance that, eye-witnesses say,
met with violent physical protest on the part of Lewis, Hulme, and Gaudier-Brzeska.
Lewis is also supposed to have been outraged by the manifesto "Vital English A r t "
which Marinetti and his disciple C. R. W. Nevinson inserted in several London news­
papers. I t is hard to fathom, however, what was so offensive to him in this fairly innocu­
ous document (reprinted in Nevinson's book Paint and Prejudice).5
Probably the shock caused by Futurist activities made the first issue of Blast
appear in its present form. Originally the magazine, announced for April, 1914 (i.e.,
prior to Marinetti's demonstrations), was merely to be devoted "to the discussion of
Cubism, Futurism, Imagism, and all vital forms of modern art". 6 Blast was finally
published on June 20. A sizable volume of 160 pages, it contains various preliminary,
general Vortices, the specialized Vortices of Pound, Lewis, and Gaudier-Brzeska, several
poems by Pound, Lewis's Enemy of the Stars, stories by Ford Madox Hueffer and
Rebecca West, a review of Kandinsky's book by the painter Edward Wadsworth,
and a number of reproductions. The preliminary Vortices are patently Expressionist
in tone, just as the "Blasts and Blesses" attached to them are Expressionist in typo­
graphy. A somewhat ambiguous reference to the unconscious is strangely out of keeping
with Lewis's views on art, and none of his other writings bears out the contention t h a t
"intrinsic beauty is in the interpreter or seer, not in the object or content". Lewis
never sympathized with Kandinsky's art, and it is hard to see how he could have
subscribed to the concluding remarks of Wadsworth's review which stipulate t h a t
"the insistence on the value of one's own feelings as the only aesthetic impulse means
logically t h a t the artist is not only entitled to treat form and color according to his
inner dictates but t h a t it is his duty to do so, and [that] consequently his life . . . becomes
raw material of which he must carve his creations". I n allowing this review to be
printed in Blast, Lewis seems to have made concessions to Pound, who was an ardent
Kandinskyan.
The ties between Vorticism in the plastic arts and the poetic style known, since
late 1912, as Imagisme were tentatively established in Pound's first Vortex. But no
solid link was forged until Pound's essay on Vorticism appeared in the Fortnightly
Review of September 1, 1914. In November of that year, Pound announced the opening
of a College of Arts. The members of its faculty, as listed in The Egoist for November 2,
were to consist mainly of Vorticists and their "fellow travellers"; and the courses to
be offered were to cover almost the entire range of arts and crafts. Pound himself
planned to give a course in Comparative Poetry.
4
5
The essay is found in Speculations (New York, n.d.), pp. 73—109.
6
New York, 1938, pp. 79-81.
According to the announcement in The Egoist and Poetry Magazine of June, 1914.

168
 Late in 1914 Gaudier-Brzeska voluntarily joined the French army in the trenches
and shortly afterwards, hardened by the war, he dispatched a violent anti-Teutonic
manifesto to his mentor. This manifesto, announcing the Vortex of Will and Conscious­
ness, was subsequently printed in the second and last issue of Blast. In March, 1915,
a Vorticist exhibition was held at the Doré Gallery. But the Vorticist year of grace
was over; and with the death of Gaudier-Brzeska in June the group lost its most ener­
getic member. Lewis's attempt to revitalize the movement through a second issue of
Blast in July, 1915, was bound to fail. For the student of Vorticism as an English out­
growth of E., however, this issue is of interest insofar as it carries the admission that
"unofficial Germany has done more for the movement this paper was founded to
propagate . . . than any other country".
But, on the whole, this supplementary Blast could not hide the fact that, as a
movement, Vorticism had virtually ceased to exist. With Hulme's death in 1917,
moreover, Lewis lost his lieutenant in charge of ideology. Yet neither Pound nor he
was willing to forsake their brain child. As late as October, 1919, Lewis demanded,
in a pamphlet entitled The Caliph's Design, the creation of an architectural Vortex.
And in the twenties his American confrère solemnly informed the world of his discovery
of the musical Vorticist George Antheil, the American "Bad Boy of Music" best known
as the composer of the score for Leger's famous Ballet Mécanique.
Following this historical sketch, we must now discuss the basic assumptions of
the movement. Let us recall t h a t both Romanticists and Impressionists had wanted
either to merge the arts, as in Wagner's Gesamtkunstwerk, or, at least, to use them
interchangeably: Impressionist poetry sought to turn into music, and Impressionist
music was eminently pictorial. Anti-Impressionism, and thus Vorticism, on the other
hand, wishes to save the arts from such pollution. And like the makers of epic opera
and epic drama, the Vorticists in particular sought to forbid any intercourse between
the arts, since they feared t h a t it would result in the interpenetration and, ultimately,
the confusion of their distinctly unique properties. Indeed, the Vorticist knows no
greater offense against aesthetic propriety than the attempt to express "one thing
in terms of another". Obviously, says the purist Pound, "you cannot have 'cubist'
poetry or 'imagist' painting". 7
Being a "system t h a t swallows up those who approach it", the Vortex was to
divest the arts of all but their "primary pigments or forms in which every concept,
every emotion presents itself to the vivid consciousness". 8 What precisely, however,
are these "primary pigments" which form the still center of each art? They are, in
Pound's words, "sound in music, formed words in literature, images in poetry, forms
in design, color in position in painting, and form or design in three planes in sculpture".
The difficulties Pound faced with regard to some of these definitions are obvious.
What these pigments have in common is their formal, as contrasted with a possible
conceptual, value. "Our respect is not for subject matter", says Pound the Vorticist. 9
Indeed, in order to be truly Vorticist an art must be either abstract or capable of
7
Gaudier-Brzeska: A Memoir (London, n.d.), p. 81.
«Ibid.,
9
p. 93.
Ibid., p. 98.

169
abstraction. I t is precisely in this way that Daubler speaks of E. as aiming at "Farbe
ohne Bezeichnung, Zeichnung und kein Erklären, im Rhythmus festgesetztes Haupt-
wort".
Pound, b u t especially Lewis, wished to concentrate on the point of maximum
energy, the heart of the Vortex, "where it has not yet spread itself into flaccidity,
elaboration and secondary application"; 10 in other words, before it has acquired content.
At this stage Pound was very eager to oust what he called "literary values" and pre­
ferred non-programmatic music, non-symbolic literature, and non-representative paint­
ing and sculpture.
One final note concerning the problem of communication as posed by Romanti­
cism/Impressionism and the anti-Impressionist school respectively. The basic difference
between these approaches can be gauged from the title of Worringer's book Absfraldion
und Einfühlung (1908), to be discussed below. The Romantic artist sought to establish
the closest possible rapport between himself, his works, and his audience. The public
thus is invariably asked to empathize through the finished product with its maker.
The anti-Impressionist, on the other hand, wants to place a barrier of abstraction or
alienation between himself and the beholder. This applies even to Kandinsky's "Expres­
sionist" paintings; for no matter how vigorously their creator would deny this, it is
impossible to empathize with compositions made up of geometrical shapes or purely
ornamental designs, which, although they may well be repositories of genuine feelings,
cannot convey such feelings with any degree of accuracy. Theoretically, E. affirms the
Romantic/Impressionist position in this respect, but, practically, it is barred from main­
taining it, at least in the plastic arts, whereas Expressionist poetry and music—and,
to a lesser extent, the drama—are much more frankly emotional. This distinction is
important if one wishes to understand why the Vorticists leaned so heavily on Expres­
sionist painting but slighted Expressionist music and totally ignored German Expres­
sionist poetry.
Worringer's book (which was not translated into English until 1953) may not
have been known by Pound and Lewis at first hand, 1 1 although they were unquestion­
ably exposed to its thesis through Hulme's extended paraphrase in his lecture. Abstrak-
tion und Einfühlung, at any rate, is an anthropologically oriented psychology of art
which, even though it had no immediate application to the contemporary scene, closely
reflected the spirit of the age of anxiety ushered in during the years preceding World
War I. I t thus possesses what Worringer calls "inner topicality".
As a psychologist of Weltanschauung, Worringer discerns three basic approaches
to art or, more specifically, to the conditions which give rise to art. He rejects the Aris­
totelian notion of art as a reflection of the mimetic urge; for that would reduce it, as
in the Platonic view, to a mere copy of nature. Nor does he share the opinion of those
nineteenth-century writers who claimed that art was wholly or largely conditioned
by the materials at the artist's disposal. For here, too, art would fail to express an

10
Ibid., p. 102.
11
Although Lewis studied in Munich in February and March of 1906, he does not mention
Worringer anywhere in the published letters.

170
individual urge. And what, under such circumstances, would become of the cherished
concept of originality?
Art, according to Worringer, can be satisfactorily explained only if one assumes
that it results from a creative impulse generated in the aesthetically predisposed indi­
vidual. Kunst, for the Expressionist, is not a matter of ability (Können) but stems
from an inner spiritual necessity, an artistic volition (Kunstwollen) that exists prior
to, and independent of, any object or mode of operation. The Vorticist, too, exalts
the inventive faculty and creative energy, both mental and physical, t h a t goes into
the making of an objet (d'art. Art thus comes into being when the absolute, i.e., abstract
formative will, encounters the world of concretions that forms the raw material. And
the creative act is regarded as the embodiment of the Kunstwollen in a tangible medium.
Theoretically, however, a Raphael without hands is still a Raphael.
Enlarging on this view, the Expressionist took the conscious or unconscious in­
tentions, and the extent to which they have been realized, to constitute the chief
criteria in the critical evaluation of artistic phenomena. He thus inevitably succumbed
to the intentional fallacy. Art criticism, if it follows in Worringer's footsteps, must
cease to apply conventional intrinsic standards, such as beauty determined by mathe­
matical proportion or symmetry measured by the number of acts in a play or feet
in a line, and must concern itself solely with the force and intensity of the Kunstwollen
invested in a given work.
Worringer lists two different modes in which the formative will asserts itself:
the one aims at reproducing organic form, while the other seeks to avoid or transcend
nature. The former type of Kunstwollen gives rise to realistic (Worringer says "natural­
istic") art, the latter to an art of more or less rigid abstraction. The urge to abstraction
(Abstrakfionsdrang), the only one which Worringer takes seriously, is equally strong
in primitive and in highly sophisticated societies, i.e., in those societies that either
antecede or succeed what Hulme called the humanistic phase. In a primitive society,
the urge to abstraction issues from a numinous feeling, a space shyness which alienates
the savage from the world surrounding him. In order not to be crushed by his en­
vironment he, therefore, creates two-dimensional, geometric forms which affirm his
superiority.
Civilized man, on the other hand, by studying and exploring nature, learns to
understand it, until he begins to feel at home in it. Only at that stage of development,
Worringer claims, does he derive pleasure from reproducing it. And in the extreme
case of a daydreaming promeneur solitaire he may even wish to merge back into it.
This empathetic attitude toward nature and art is abandoned when nature, having
been intellectually transcended, becomes indifferent to the beholder. Then it is no longer
capable of inspiring awe or worthy of being joyfully contemplated. Thus the Oriental
artist, adduced b y Worringer as a paradigm, formulates a strictly anti-realistic aesthetic
and creates an artistic world entirely sui generis.
Expressionists and Vorticists alike eagerly embraced these views. Suspicious of
the so-called humanistic art, i.e., the art of Greece and Rome, of the Renaissance,
Neo-Classicism, and the art from Romanticism to Impressionism, they either sought
to regress to the primitive stage or to reach the level of abstraction. The members

171
 of the Brücke group, whose graphic work Lewis greatly admired, were deeply imbued
with the spirit of African and especially Polynesian art, while Kandinsky indulged in
a far more serene and suspiciously decorative, pseudo-Oriental manner, and Marc
applied the Cubist lesson to his increasingly abstract, i.e., spiritualized, animal paint­
ings. The Vorticists, finally, aimed at joining the organic with the mechanical by pro­
longing the movement toward abstraction to the point where man begins to resemble
the machine.
I n what, according to Pound's report in The Egoist of February 16, 1914, was
an "almost unintelligible lecture'' presented to the London Quest Society, the young
English Bergsonian T. E . Hulme epitomized Worringer's theories with a view toward
linking the, by now manifestly Expressionist, aesthetic to a theological theory of dis­
satisfaction and the ensuing philosophical pessimism. Hulme emphasized the qualita­
tive leap t h a t separates transcendence from immanence, the absolute from the relative,
stability from the flux, and Classicism from Romanticism. A classicist to the bone,
he wanted to restore space shyness on a conscious, intellectual level. On this level,
but not in the lyrical manner of Kandinsky (whom he despised), he wished the modern
artist to operate, although he himself was by no means sure of what the new art he
envisaged would be like. One thing, however, he never questioned: namely, that once
again art had become the only medium capable of relieving man from the tension gener­
ated by his fall; the only way, as a matter of fact, to achieve some sort of satisfaction.
Hulme felt that, while the scientist must content himself with describing surface
phenomena, artistic genius has the gift for entering the heart of things. Science, in other
words, is concerned with appearances, art with essences. The scientist, piecing together
innumerable fragments of observation, hopefully aims at reconstructing the universe
in his laboratory. B u t since he remains unable to see the inner springs, as it were,
the motivations inherent in the natural processes, the explanations he provides are
only skin-deep. Instead of condensing reality, he spreads it thin, substitutes quan­
tity for quality, and makes complex statements about simple phenomena.
Opposed to these laboriously constructed "extensive manifolds" (to use Hulme's
terminology) are the intensive ones which give rise to art and which art gives rise to.
I n Bergson's view, the absolute (Hulme's "intensive manifold") cannot be known
by means of the intellect or expressed symbolically, but it has to be grasped by the
intuition. Like the ecstatic unio of the mystic, the intuition (whose nature Bergson
defined in his Introduction to Metaphysics, of which Hulme furnished an authorized
English version) places us inside the manifold and thereby enables us to be one with it.
Unfortunately, however, the intuitional synthesis is not durable. I t is rather a
momentary flash of insight incapable of repetition and immediately swallowed by
the flux. But is there no means, Hulme—turning anti-Bergsonian—asks himself,
of detaching the intuition from its living context, and of preserving it from the ravages
of time, which is the destroyer of things organic ? Certainly there must be. For as long
as it lasts, the intuition seems "eternal" and not subject to decay, since it subsists
in the spatial substratum of time, which is the indivisible moment. If the vision could
somehow be transferred to a non-temporal sphere, it would be safe. What was needed,
in short, was a geometric rather than a vital or realistic art.

172
 The artist, to be entrusted with this task, is ideally equipped to eternalize the
flash of insight by grafting it onto whatever medium is most congenial to him. He is
the man who, dissatisfied with the generalized notions of ordinary perception, seeks
to reproduce the "exact curve" of his experience. He will not succeed in doing so,
however, unless he treats his subject directly and in such a way as to keep feelings,
reflections, and other secondary applications from intervening. The artist must have
"the particular faculty of mind to see things as they really are, and apart from con­
ventional ways in which he has been trained to see them". He needs "the concentrated
state of mind, the grip over himself which is necessary in the actual expression of what
one sees". "Wherever one gets sincerity," Hulme concludes, "one gets the fundamental
quality of good a r t " .
Let me reiterate emphatically that what Hulme has in mind is decidedly not an
Impressionistic art of the flux, as the phrase "exact curve" might lead one to believe.
I t is not a cinematographic art in which the flashes follow each other in rapid succession,
but an essentially static art culminating in the fixation of "suspended energy". For
good reasons, the machine is the object most dearly loved by the Vorticists but loved
only when in repose.
Nowhere within the orbit of Expressionist painting do we encounter the urge
to reduce man to the machine which characterizes Lewis's pictorial style from about
1912 to the end of that crucial decade. But if we consider the two extremes of Expres­
sionist art, Kandinsky's decorative style and the terse, neo-primitive woodcuts of the
Dresden group, it becomes clear why Lewis should have been drawn toward the latter
rather than the former. In the second issue of Blast Lewis attacked Kandinsky as a
maker of "ethereal, lyrical and cloud-like pictures" who, in spite of his being "the only
purely abstract painter in Europe", is "so careful to be passive, medium-like and com­
mitted by his theory to avoid almost all powerful and definite forms that he is, at best,
wandering and slack". 12 For the one thing no Vorticist can condone is the lack of form
which results from the absence or suppression of the formative will. What makes a
Vorticist is precisely "the weeding out of sentiment and the retention of what is hard,
clean and plastic". 1 3
As far as their views on Kandinsky were concerned, Pound and Lewis failed to
see eye to eye. For whom but the Russian painter could Pound have had in mind
when he spoke of the primary pigment of painting as being "color in position?" Pound
was equally fascinated, no doubt, by Kandinsky's treatment of his art in musical terms,
i.e., by his avowed attempt to express emotions unattached to specific, recognizable
objects. Recounting a crucial moment in the pre-verbal phase of the composition óf
" I n a Station of the Metro", the American poet confided:

When I came to read Kandinsky's chapter on the language of form and

color, I found little t h a t was new to me. I only felt t h a t someone else under­
stood what I understood, and had written it out very clearly. I t seems quite
natural to me t h a t an artist should have just as much pleasure in an arrange-

12
Wyndham Lewis, the Artist (London, 1939), p. 140.
13
Ibid., p. 147.

173
 ment of planes or in a pattern of figures, as in painting portraits of fine ladies,
or in portraying the Mother of God, as the Symbolists bid us. 14

Lewis agreed with the Brücke group in so far as their craving for simplicity and
their insistence on essentials was concerned. He found their art to be "African, in t h a t
it is sturdy, cutting through every time to the monotonous wall of space, and intense
yet hale: permeated by eternity—an atmosphere in which only the black core of
life rises and is silhouetted". These artists did their best in the woodcut medium,
"this miniature sculpture where the black nervous fluid of existence in flood forms
into hard stagnant masses". 15
While sympathetic toward the end product of the creative endeavors of these
artists, Lewis is sure to have questioned the psychological basis of their art. True,
the primitivism of a Kirchner and a Pechstein was neither as naive as t h a t displayed
by the douanier Rousseau nor as formal as that of Picasso; for they had made primitive
sculpture the point of departure in their quest for the aesthetic correlate of the collective
unconscious. Modern man, in wanting to plumb the depths of the primitive soul—as
O'Neill was shortly to undertake in The Emperor Jones—must first rid himself of
consciousness and the repressions imposed by it. Only when the top layers of the mind
have been pierced can he hope to abandon himself to the instincts and emotions which
play around the dark core of life, t h a t boiling lava which heats the human soul. Having
touched bottom, however, the Expressionist seeks to reascend to the surface by means
of a violent projection. Thus Expressionist art has no structure in the classical sense
of the word, no harmonious proportions, that is to say, or symmetry. Instead, the
beholder is faced with what, from the mimetic point of view, we are forced to call
distortions: foreshortenings and jagged zigzag lines reflecting the frenzied dynamism
of the soul. "When the noose is put around the condemned man's neck," says Däubler,
"he recapitulates his entire life in a single moment. That can only be E . "
While the Expressionists sought to expose the throbbing heart of the anguished
organism, man, the Vorticists had radically different intentions. For where the Expres­
sionist works initially from the outside in, from the shell to the core, from intellect
to emotion, and then suddenly reverses his direction, the Vorticist, using the initial
flash of insight as his starting point, focuses on the gradual hardening in the direction
of the shell. With Lewis, he begins by "becoming" nature. Around that Bergsonian
intuition, and guided by the "living will from within", he then progresses from the
center outward (in the ex post facto reconstruction of the process). The force of the
impulse diminishes in proportion to the growing distance from the core; and as the
surface is reached, the pace is slackened and a hardening of forms occurs. Since the
shell, however, is the only visible portion of the work and the only tangible record of
its formation, the finished product will be outwardly static. Thus, while soul states
are manifestly present in Expressionist art, they are merely implied in its Vorticist
counterpart. E. shows life in the raw, Van Gogh's "red-hot furnace of humanity",
whereas Vorticism seeks to absorb the machine into the aesthetic consciousness. The
14
Gaudier-Brzesha: A Memoir, p. 100f.
15
Wyndham Lewis, the Artist, p. 109.

174
machine, in Vorticist philosophy, suggests a state of transition from organism to mecha­
nism, or vice versa. Its aesthetic validity lies in the fact that it is neither of these and
refuses to be committed one way or the other since, as Lewis puts it, "the sudden extinc­
tion and neutralization awaits you as matter or as the machine".
"Some adjustment between the approach of a conscious being to that mechanical
perfection, and the fact of his mechanical incompetence," Lewis stated, "is t h a t situation
which produces art. The game consists in seeing how near you can get". The finest art,
accordingly, is "not unorganized life". I t is rather that in which "Euclid is buried
in the living flesh". A machine in action loses its shape; a machine that fails even
to suggest movement, on the other hand, is dead. As Hugh Kenner suggests, Lewis
chose the Vortex as his emblem "because it negates the stream, and because it is a
spatial rather than a temporal image". 16 Yet, he should have added, it implies fierce
motion. Thus it is both true and false to say that the Vorticists engaged in an intermi­
nable "war against time".
Common sense would indicate that, as an art, sculpture is more "primitive" than
painting. For the sculptor literally, i.e., three-dimensionally, copies nature, whereas
the painter is forced to reduce sculptural masses to two-dimensional, flat surfaces.
I t is only by means of a highly complex method known as three-point perspective
that the painter manages to give a semblance of reality. Thus sculptural forms, being
plastic, are real, while pictorial forms remain fictitious. Worringer, from his anthro­
pological viewpoint, however, suggested that, in its primitive stage, sculpture is actually
more sophisticated than painting or drawing, though surely unwittingly so. For in
his eyes the fact that primitive sculpture is almost invariably endowed "with the more
permanent values of necessity and regularity" went to prove that, in this early phase,
art was fighting a battle against nature.
For Worringer, sculpture "becomes a real work of art only when it appears to
be two-dimensional". Vorticist sculpture was to be the living proof of this contention.
Gaudier-Brzeska spoke of the plastic soul as "intensity of life bursting the plane"
and defined sculptural feeling as the "appreciation of masses in relation". For him,
the sculptor's greatest asset was his ability to define these masses by planes. Sculpture
was to be "energy cut into stone" and thus immobilized. Epstein, Constantin Brancusi,
Archipenko, and Modigliani were the Vorticist sculptor's true comrades-in-arms,
since they, too, were moving on the fringe of abstraction. The father of sculptural evil,
on the other hand, was Auguste Rodin, the Bergsonian maker of "perverted cascades
of sleek, white, machine-ground stone". 17 True, in the final phase of Impressionism,
subject matter begins to disappear as the act of seeing becomes more important than
the thing seen. But no matter how abstract this art may become—witness Monet's
late Nymphéas series—it invariably remains an art of the surface. I t can never be
"the abstraction of intense feeling". In deploring the "formless, vague assertions"
of Kandinsky's paintings, Gaudier-Brzeska, in fact, treated t h a t master as an
Impressionist.

16
Wyndham Lewis (Norfolk, 1954), p. 66.
17
Wyndham Lewis, Men Without Art (London, 1934), p. 117.

175
 Returning to the sculptural Vortex, we call to mind that, the machine being a
plastic thing, the Vorticist painter, by reducing it to two dimensions, was able to
absorb it into the aesthetic consciousness. But the Vorticist sculptor could do nothing
of the sort, since he himself works in the plastic medium. The utilitarian machine as
a symbol of progress and energy thus enters directly into competition with art. From
this premise, Gaudier-Brzeska concluded that, while "the field for combination of
abstract form is nearly unexplored in Occidental painting . . . machinery itself has
used up so many of the fine combinations of three-dimensional inorganic forms that
there is very little use in experimenting with them in sculpture". And while clinging
to his definition of sculpture as an expression of "abstract thoughts of conscious superior­
ity", he contemplated a return to natural forms, although hardly of the kind which
Pound condemned as "caressable".
As for the struggle for pre-eminence among the Vorticist arts, the advantage,
which, according to the group's aesthetic, painting enjoys over sculpture as a medium,
is partly offset by the sculptor's privilege to leave visible traces of the energy expended
in the creative act. The painter traditionally glosses over the physical labor that goes
into the making of a panel by smoothing out its surface when all is done. Although
the Impressionists, with their impulsive and irregular brush-stroke, broke with t h a t
tradition (as artists of earlier times had sometimes done with their impasto), still so
little energy is needed to wield a brush that the stroke, no matter how vigorous, will
not seem to be an imprint of manual labor. The sculptor, however, especially when
working with hard, recalcitrant materials, literally cuts energy into the stone; and
Michelangelo's pride is also that of Gaudier-Brzeska, who admired those masters in
whose works "every inch of the surface is won at the point of the chisel [and] every
stroke of the hammer is a physical and mental effort".
Before turning to the literary Vortex, we ought to take note that Wyndham Lewis's
call for an architectural Vortex, as issued in The Caliph's Design, remained unheeded.
Houses, for Lewis—as for Le Corbusier—were machines for living developed in accor­
dance with a somewhat mysterious "law of efficient evolution". Everything was to start
from the box shape, with all surface ornaments being banished. The design of the box,
however, was to be left to the artist rather than the engineer. One suspects that the
functionalism of the Bauhaus style, which wrought a revolution in architecture as
well as interior design, fulfilled some of the vaguely adumbrated conditions of the
Vortex.
In literature, the Vorticists concentrated almost exclusively on poetry, both lyrical
and satiric, and prose satire. Pound was the apologist for the former, Lewis for the
latter. What they agreed upon was the need for an utmost economy of means and
precision of statement, as well as the elimination of all rhetorical padding. Pound
shared John Yeats's views on the "relation of beauty to certitude" and preferred
"satire, which is due to emotion, to any sham emotion". Certitude, in Pound's vocab­
ulary, meant the search for le mot juste, in which Ford Madox Hueffer, the self-styled
"grandfather of Vorticism", was engaged, or for l'image juste, the image exactly corre­
sponding to the feeling it is meant to convey, in the absence of all sentimental
gushing.

176
 Since Pound regarded the image as the "primary pigment" of lyrical poetry, the
art which he and his fellow-Vorticists practiced is justly called Imagisme. The poetic
method used by this school consists largely in what Pound, in the section "Language"
of his essay How to Read, calls Phanopoeia or "the casting of images upon the visual
imagination". As he puts it in his book on Gaudier-Brzeska, poetry must be of the
kind where painting and sculpture seem as if they were "just coming over into speech".
The primary pigment of poetry was thus openly borrowed from a sister art.
An image, in Pound's opinion, is that which "presents an intellectual and emotional
complex in an instant of time". In so doing, it gives " a sudden-sense of liberation from
the limits of time and space", thereby constituting what Hulme would have called
an intensive manifold delivered from the flux. Such a manifold, however, can only
be grasped by means of an intuition, just as it owes its existence to a flash of insight.
Hence the logical absurdity of an explication de texte of the Imagist poem or the Japanese
haiku, its F a r Eastern prototype.
"The whole art," Pound stated in a letter of July 27, 1916, to Iris Barry, "is
divided into (a) concision of style, or saying what you mean in the clearest and fewest
words, (b) the actual necessity for creating or constructing something; of presenting
an image, or enough images of concrete things arranged to stir the reader". 18 The rest
is either psychological plaster or, in Pound's own words, "simple emotional statements
of facts" or "simple credos". But statements of fact and credos are "purely optional,
not essential, often superfluous and therefore bad". By ousting literary values, as
Pound felt Whistler, Kandinsky, and the Cubists had done in painting, he sought to
purify the art of poetry through a process analogous to, but hardly identical with,
the method described in Verlaine's programmatic poem "Art Poétique".
Lifted from the flux, the image and, hence, the poem takes on a distinctly spatial
quality. I t renounces the temporal dimension, whereas the Impressionists sought to
overcome the spatial limitations of their art by showing a given subject at different
hours of the day or seasons of the year. Imagist poetry rejects any portrayal of action
or character. For none of the images it sees fit to use resembles the Proustian madeleine
around which a vast body of memories, and ultimately the entire past, is meant to
crystallize. Such secondary applications, in Pound's view, merely soften the "hard
light" and blunt the "clear edges" which he regarded as the hallmarks of Imagist poetry.
Imagisme, then, harks back to the art of the Parnassians rather than to any other
school of poetry.
As for the image itself, Pound prefers to use it without any symbolic overtones.
" I believe," he argued, " t h a t the proper and perfect symbol is the natural object,
that if a man use 'symbols' he must so use them that their symbolic function does
not obtrude; so that a sense, and the poetic quality of the passage, is not lost to those
who do not understand the symbol as such, to whom, for instance, a hawk is a hawk." 1 9
The image used as symbol, i.e., doubled, is obviously no longer a primary pigment
in the Vorticist sense. Unlike the more elaborate figures of speech, it always forms

18
The Letters of Ezra Pound, 1907-1941, ed. D. D. Paige (New York, 1950), p. 90f.
19
Literary Essays of Ezra Pound, ed. T. S. Eliot (London, 1954), p. 9.

177
part of the "record of the precise instant when a thing outward and objective trans­
forms itself into a thing inward and subjective". This notion, which should be seen
in the light of Lewis's pictorial theory, is strikingly illustrated by the transition from
the first to the second line of " I n a Station of the Metro".
In a footnote to his essay on Henry James (1918), Pound remarks that "most
good prose arises, perhaps, from an instinct of negation", that "it is the detailed and
convincing analysis of something detestable, of something t h a t one wants to eliminate",
and that poetry is "the assertion of a positive, i.e., of a desire, and endures for a longer
period" "Poetic satire", Pound decrees, "is only an assertion of this positive inversely,
i.e., as if of an opposed hatred". I n Pound's view, the satiric poet is a surgeon who,
cutting into the decadent body of poetry, purifies the dialect of the tribe. "The cult
of ugliness —," Pound said in corroboration of this view, "Villon, Baudelaire, Corbière,
Beardsley are diagnosis. Flaubert is diagnosis. Satire, if we are to ride this metaphor
to staggers, is surgery, insertions and amputations." 2 0 Ultimately, however, the cult
of ugliness (poetic satire) was to be replaced by the cult of beauty (Imagisme), the
surgery proper by plastic surgery.
With Pound, then, poetic satire was a prerequisite to poetry, while Wyndham
Lewis sought to identify prose satire with art. Lewis's views on satire are prefigured
in the preliminary Vortices of the first Blast, where Swift is blessed "for his bleak
and solemn wisdom of laughter", and black humor (to use a Surrealist label) is shown
to be desirable only "if it has fought like tragedy".
Summarizing Lewis's theory of satire, as developed in Men Without Art, we note
that this arch-Vorticist wished to reduce organic form to geometric abstraction, without,
however, quite removing all vestiges of life. Satire, in analogy to Vorticist painting,
was to be "a resistant and finely sculptured surface" of words, something conceived
primarily in visual terms. Since the eye was to be supreme, it was the shell, and not
the core, of things t h a t mattered. Essences were to be conveyed b y means of this exter­
nalized approach and in keeping with "the classical manner of apprehending". Empathy
was to be banished; and Lewis accused his fellow-writers Joyce and Proust of drifting
along on their characters' stream of consciousness. In so doing, he claimed, both sacri­
ficed the principle of objectivity to the quest for an evanescent "inner reality". He
justly maintained t h a t "to let the reader into the minds of the characters . . . is the
method least suited to satire". For the "jellyfish that floats in the center of the sub­
terranean stream of the 'dark' Unconscious", he wished, accordingly, to substitute
"the shield of the tortoise, or the rigid stylistic articulations of the grasshopper".
Only "the extremely aged, young children, half-wits and animals" were to be shown
from the inside. Thus Lewis resumed his warfare against time.
He was also convinced t h a t satire must be strictly non-ethical, meaning that it
must not deal with specific individuals, classes, or societies in a given historical context.
Instead, he wanted it to be "metaphysical" and aimed at man in general. Unlike the
caricaturist, who suppresses certain details at the expense of others which are more
prominent, the "metaphysical" satirist seeks to delete specific references with a view

20
Ibid., p. 45.

178
toward finding the lowest common denominator. This leads to an increasing dehuman-
ization of art, to use a phrase originally coined by Lewis and later driven home by
José Ortega y Gasset. Precisely this dehumanization, however, was to be "the chief
diagnostic of the modern world of the machine age". Lewis the satirist was satisfied
only when he had reached the point where his figures "turn into machines governed
by routine". He wished to provoke a cruel laughter t h a t was to be tragic in its effect,
"if a. thing can be tragic without pity and terror".
In postulating the Vorticist theory of satire, Lewis was well aware of the difficulties
entailed by its application. For literature, as he saw it, "is far more directly involved
in life than the pictorial, or the plastic". The kind of abstraction he had in mind was,
therefore, much harder to come by. " I do not believe," Lewis stated, " t h a t anything
in the literary field can be done t h a t will correspond with what has been called abstract
design." This brooks no doubt as long as one defines literature as that art which con­
veys a verbal meaning. And neither Pound nor Lewis was ready to emulate the example
of those German Expressionists who, having rid themselves of Dichtung, moved in the
direction first of Wortkunst and then of Lautkunst, i.e., a kind of poetry in which words
or sounds are used abstractly and solely for their rhythmic and musical qualities.
Space limitations forbid even the briefest summary of Pound's strange and mani­
festly lopsided theory of Vorticist music which, originating in views not dissimilar
to those held by Jean Cocteau and Les Six—who were violently anti-Wagnerian and
anti-Impressionist—was subsequently set forth in a volume entitled Antheil and the
Treatise on Harmony,21 The book redounds in praise of spatialized tone clusters ("musical
slabs of sound"), and its central argument revolves around the view that the art of
composing consists "in knowing what note you want, how long you want it held, and
how long one is to wait for the next note, and in making the exact design for these
durations".
In concluding, it seems natural to ask why the movement under discussion did
not survive, why it failed to make an impact on the contemporary English scene, and
why it did not merge into the main stream of European avant-garde art. Lewis himself
repeatedly complained that England was a country in which no movement, i.e., no
coherent group of contemporaries pursuing an identical goal and subscribing to a
clearly formulated program, could flourish. Neither Naturalism nor Impressionism
—which counted so many British painters among its forebears — made history in Eng­
land. E. and Futurism did not fare any better, and Futurism was so short-lived that
it collapsed with the departure of Marinetti.
Surrealism, though noisily proclaimed by Herbert Read, never really caught on.
Neither the nineteenth nor the twentieth century produced an indigenous English
movement; and the gap t h a t Vorticism was meant to fill remained open.
A second reason adduced by Lewis concerns the fact that abstract art, so widely
accepted in Germany, Russia, Holland, and the rest of the continent, was too far
advanced for the Pre-Raphaelite taste of the conservative public used to what Lewis
called the "regular British time-lag". I t was only with the arrival of Henry Moore,

21
Chicago, 1927.

179
Barbara Hepworth, Ben Nicholson, and Paul Nash that the breakthrough occurred.
And even then Vorticism was cheated of its reward, since nobody seemed to remember
its pioneering contribution.
Thirdly, and lastly, there are the intrinsic factors. Shortly before his death, Gaudier-
Brzeska began to realize the need for a return to organic forms in sculpture. Around
1921 Lewis followed suit by creating a series of paintings described as "pure abstraction
and stylized nature", and by 1939 he was a convert to "super-Naturalism," his anti­
dote to the poison of super-Realism/Surrealism. In literature, Pound and Lewis shirked
any experiment with abstract sound combinations and thereby doomed their own
efforts to oust literary values from literature. In music, Vorticism was never more
than a personal whim, almost a hoax. The fragmentation of Vorticist art was thus
inevitable almost from the start. And the critic trying to recapture the spirit of this
movement is tempted to exclaim with Faust: "We have the components in our hand/
but lack, alas, the spiritual band." Whereas E., temporarily obscured by Neue Sach-
lichkeif, went into hiding in 1933, only to emerge triumphantly after World War II,
Vorticism, its British stepchild, was not destined to outlive its infancy.

180
 BREON MITCHELL

EXPRESSIONISM I N ENGLISH DRAMA AND PROSE L I T E R A T U R E

As Ulrich Weisstein points out in the preceding essay, England as a nation has shown
itself singularly unreceptive to literary movements imported from abroad. Since the
First World War this has been particularly true with regard to contemporary German
literature and art. The strong anti-German bias, still present, to a certain extent, in
literary and academic circles, was undoubtedly a hindrance to the direct impact of
E. on English literature. There were, however, manifestations in English cultural life
which shared some common stylistic features with that movement: Vorticism and cer­
tain prose experiments in the English novel, discussed below. Furthermore, there were
developments in the English theater of the thirties which seemed to point, in part,
to the influence of Expressionist themes and techniques. Finally, there has been a
recent tendency, on the part of some literary critics, to broaden the definition of the
term E. in such a way as to subsume almost the whole of the modern development of
the arts. 1 I do not intend, in this essay, to search for interesting parallels in English
literature to such a broadly defined conception of the movement. Rather I shall discuss
the reception of German E., and its characteristic stylistic innovations, in England,
and attempt to clarify and delimit its influence upon t h a t country's dramatic and
narrative literature.

II

Only one aspect of German Expressionist literature significantly occupied English

readers and theater-goers between the two world wars: the Expressionist drama. 2
As early as 1920, Londoners had the opportunity to see Kaisers From Morn till Mid-
night produced by the Stage Society. By 1928 it had received four additional produc­
tions, two in London, and one each in Oxford and Cambridge. There also had been three

1
An extreme example of this tendency may be found in Johannes Fabricius, The Unconscious
and Mr. Eliot: A Study in E. (Copenhagen, 1967). The author defines E. as "an artistic attitude
which, far from viewing the elements of the outer world as an independent reality to be described,
conceives the phenomena of nature as the material for the expression of a subjective state of mind"
(p. 9). In Jungian terms, he sees "T. S. Eliot and the whole movement of Expressionist a r t " as
representing "the eruption of the collective unconscious into the conscious strata of modern civi­
lization and modern Zeitgeist" (p. 11).
2
For a detailed discussion of the critical reception of German drama in England during this
period see Hans Galinsky, Deutsches Schrifttum der Gegenwart in der englischen Kritik der Nach-
kriegszeit (1919-1936) (Munich, 1938). The reception of E. is treated in Chapter IV, pp. 163-194,
to which I am indebted.

181
productions in English of Gas, and single productions of four other Kaiser plays in
London, Hampsted, and Dublin. But it was Toller who proved to be the most successful
and widely-known German Expressionist in England, beginning with the Stage Society
production of Masses and Man in 1924. By the end of the Twenties, English theater­
goers were familiar with The Machine-Wreckers, Hoppla, wir leben, and Broken-Bow
(Hinkemann) as well. Interest in both the form and subject matter of the German
drama was further strengthened by a personal interest in Toller. As early as 1922,
the Times Literary Supplement spoke favorably of "the young Bolshevist writer, who
is still in prison". 3 The image of the imprisoned artist seemingly caught the imagination
of the public and prepared the friendly reception he received in 1933, upon his exile
from Nazi Germany.
Those who attended the productions of German Expressionist dramas in England
were clearly motivated by a general interest in the state of post-war Germany and,
in particular, the political situation in t h a t defeated country. The propagandistic
aspect of several of Toller's plays was not lost upon English critics, who spent a good
deal of time discussing the problem of art versus propaganda. Although the term "Ex­
pressionist" was almost never used in the twenties, several formal aspects were singled
out which bore the stamp of the Expressionist style; and the general force and dramatic
power of the presentations were frequently noted. The originality of form and stage
technique was often alluded to, although the reactions were, at first, primarily negative.
The "loose" and "rhetorical" style, as well as the highly emotional tone, of these plays
ran against the natural grain of the English character, as well as the English theatrical
tradition.
From Morn till Midnight was the first German play to be produced in England
after the war (1920), and with it arose a "mild controversy... as to whether German
works should now be performed in England". 4 But critical attention ultimately cen­
tered upon the formal and stylistic innovations of Gas. The "unorthodoxy of dramat­
ic technique" 5 was seen to consist in the episodic structure of this play and Kaiser's
use of types rather than individual characters. The reaction was by no means entirely
positive, and critics remained puzzled by the new drama. Reviewing Gas, Graham
Sutton put the question most directly:

Surely, such violent contradictions of normality must have symbolic mean­

ings? But in our efforts to discover these meanings, we are losing touch
with the play . . . What is E. anyway? I protest I ask in all seriousness. No
one seems to know this secret, except earnest folk without the gift of impart­
ing it . . . My own eyes, both physical and spiritual, are baffled by the black
lips and so forth; the floor-lamps throw no light on anybody's nature, for me. 6

Arnold Bennett pronounced the most damning judgment in his Journal (1929):
"Extraordinary and incomprehensible, the prestige of German plays in advanced
3
Times Literary Supplement, December 28, 1922, p. 872 (a favorable review of Die Maschi-
nenstürmer).
4
"Editorial Notes", The London Mercury, II/7 (May, 1920), p. 5.
«A.
6
W. G. Randall, The Criterion, V (1927), pp. 350-351.
Graham Sutton, "Two Foreign Plays", The Bookman, L X X I (December, 1926), p. 206.

182
L o n d o n ! . . . Both these German plays 7 are ill-constructed or not constructed at all,
sentimental, long-winded, full of impossible dialogue, and in a general way feeble and
messy. They are not original, but they have an air of originality, because they are
episodic, cinematographic, fragmentary, and occupied with low or vicious life." 8
But the "prestige" of German plays alluded to, in so far as it went beyond the public's
simple curiosity about, and interest in, post-war Germany, rested primarily in the
stylistic features which upset Bennett. As late as 1936, in a review of a volume of
Toller's plays in English translation, Michael Sayers praised them as a "stimulating
model for the young dramatist". 9 Even the varied critical reaction could not ob­
scure the fact t h a t German Expressionist drama formed a major part of the theatrical
life of London in the twenties.
English critics first began to discuss E. as a literary style around 1924, that is,
at about the same time it was dying out in Germany. By the early thirties, the interest
in producing Expressionist plays had waned, and the phenomenon could be viewed
in what approached a historical perspective. E., in retrospect, was regarded as a
typically "German" literary movement, reflecting the particular social and political
problems of the German people. Its positive elements were said to include creative
innovations in stage technique and dramatic form (which, in allowing scope for the
creative talents of the stage director, had undoubtedly contributed to the frequency
of productions). On the negative side, its themes were seen as an overly-pessimistic
reading of the problems of post-war Germany: "This drama had truth and passion;
but it was also a drama of despair, lacking a positive faith and invoking the complete
ruin of the old order of things as a way of escape from the nation's humiliation. As
such it was doomed to failure." 10
The interest German Expressionist drama aroused in English theatrical circles
seems to have been out of all proportion to its impact on English playwrights. In the
light of what has already been said, the reason for this discrepancy seems to be fairly
obvious. The thematic material used by the Expressionists held little attraction for
English writers. The problems dramatized and the questions raised may have been
burning ones in Germany but had no direct bearing on England. In the twenties,
after all, England was a victorious and relatively stable nation. A sharp break with
tradition, the complete restructuring of the social and political order, and violent
Aufbruch even on the personal level simply were not ideas appealing to literary England,
writers and readers alike. If Expressionist drama was to make itself felt in English
literature, it would have to be in terms other than thematic. But even its stylistic
and formal innovations were ill-suited to present the familiar English subjects.
I t was not until the thirties that English theatrical productions began to take
on some of the characteristics of the Expressionist stage, and even then the impact

7
The plays were The Outskirts (of undetermined authorship) and Toller's Hoppla!, both
produced
8
at the Gate Theatre.
Arnold Bennett, Journal of Things Old and New (Garden City, New York, 1930), pp. 221—
222. Bennett adds: " I saw Hoppla in Berlin once, and in the middle of the performance unobtru­
sively slipped away from the theatre" (p. 222).
9
10
Michael Sayers, "A Year in the Theatre", The Criterion (July, 1936), p. 651.
R. D. Charques, Contemporary Literature and Social Revolution (London, 1933), p. 154.

183
 was largely indirect. Within the English theater proper only the verse plays of Auden
and Isherwood displayed certain "Expressionist" features. But the dramatic experi­
ments of T. S. Eliot, and the powerful creations of Sean O'Casey should also be discussed
in this context.
In its originality and intellectual subtlety, the poetry of T. S. Eliot strongly resists
categorization. But it is worth noting Eliot's involvement, around 1910, with the
Vorticist-Imagist movement. 11 By the mid-twenties he began attempting to cast
his verse in dramatic form, with the hope of creating a poetry of the theater which
would approach the rhythms of natural speech and present a modern counterpart
to the blank verse of Elizabethan drama. His first experiment, Sweeney Agonistes:
Fragments of an Aristophanic Melodrama (1926-1927), remained unfinished. The
breadth of literary allusion already apparent in the title makes the play more akin,
in this respect, to the work of a writer like Thomas Mann than to t h a t of the Expres­
sionists. But structurally and stylistically it seems to have some affinities with the
latter, and it has been referred to as "a piece of pure Expressionism both in form and
content". 1 2 Among the most prominent "Expressionist" features of this drama are
the use of symbolic types rather than individual characters, and the "wholly abstract"
atmosphere, setting, and gestures, including the use of masks, a chorus, and drumbeats
to accompany the spoken lines.
Although Eliot's wide literary interests may have prompted him to read or see
German Expressionist plays prior to 1926, the particular characteristics here alluded
to can easily be traced to other, seemingly sufficient, sources. Here are Eliot's own
words regarding the matter: " I n Sweeney Agonistes the action should be stylized as
in the Noh drama—see Ezra Pound's book and Yeats's preface to The Hawk's Well.
Characters ought to wear masks... Diction should not have too much expression. I had
intended the whole play to be accompanied by light drum taps to accentuate the beats." 1 3
Indeed, Eliot's reference to the Noh drama, and the work of his personal friends, as
well as a subsequent reference, in the same passage, to Francis Cornford's book
The Origins of Attic Comedy, seem much more illuminating than generalizations about
the influence of German E. In 1934 Eliot further experimented with the use of
the chorus in The Rock. However, he was careful to disavow responsibility for anything
but the choruses and one section of the work. That section, cast entirely in verse, depicts
a confrontation between two groups, the Red-shirts and the Black-shirts, who are
offering solutions to political problems. Again the resemblance to E. is probably super­
ficial. When Eliot began to write his own full-length plays, starting with Murder in
the Cathedral (1935), he retained certain of the above stylistic features; but they merely
seem to mark the plays as products of the twentieth century. Prom this point onward,
Eliot's plays become steadily more traditional in terms of stage technique, although
they are clearly stamped with his poetic power. All in all, there is little reason to see
a major German influence at work in his dramatic output.

11
See Weisstein, above, p. 167.
12
Fabrieius, p. 10.
13
Letter to Hallie Flanagan dated March 18, 1933, in H. Flanagan, Dynamo (New York,
1943), p. 82.

184
 In a quiet way, the dramatic experiments of T. S. Eliot had their effect on two
young English writers, Auden and Isherwood. Auden was the outstanding young
poet of his generation in England, and three plays on which he collaborated with Isher­
wood are considered to be among the few significant English dramas of the thirties.
They are The Dog Beneath the Skin (1935), The Ascent of F 6 (1938), and On the Frontier
(1939). Until recently, these works have been loosely regarded as having been written
under the influence of German E. and the early plays of Brecht. 14 Indeed, on the surface,
they are sometimes remarkably similar to those of the Expressionist stage; for they
are written in a mixture of verse and prose, are loosely constructed and episodic,
present types rather than characters, and the language employed in them is, at times,
highly rhetorical and emotional (e.g., the Vicar's speech in The Dog Beneath the Skin).
In content the plays are topical, dealing primarily with the question of the commitment
of the individual and the quest for meaning in a troubled time.
To this surface resemblance with the Expressionist drama is added the fact t h a t
both Auden and Isherwood lived in Berlin for varying lengths of time between 1929
and 1933 and thus had ample opportunity to see contemporary plays performed.
But in spite of the widespread assumption that their own plays were l 'strongly influ­
enced by German expressionist drama", 1 5 the facts seem to have been otherwise, for
it turns out t h a t neither Auden nor Isherwood were familiar with the German language
prior to their arrival in Berlin. Nor had either of them studied German literature.
Moreover, both poets do not remember having seen a play by Kaiser, Toller or any
other Expressionist while in Berlin. 16 I t is not surprising, then, that they deny any
influence from t h a t direction. Auden states t h a t he disliked the drama of Kaiser and
Toller when he became familiar with it through seeing productions in England, and
Isherwood, who seems to have seen only Gas at the Gate, was "amused rather than
impressed". He speaks of a "very indirect" literary influence while in Berlin "by talking
to people rather than reading or seeing plays".
Auden was also affected by the Berlin experience, but mostly in non-literary ways.
The real impact seems to have been the atmosphere of crisis and unrest prevailing
in the German capital. In a revealing passage from his autobiographical reflections
published in The New Yorker, he wrote: "Looking back now it seems to me incredible
how secure life seemed [in England]. Too young for the war to have made any impres­
sion upon us, we imagined t h a t the world was essentially the same as it had been in
1913." 17 Auden's first year in Berlin brought an end to this feeling: " I was awakened
in t h a t for the first time I felt the shaking of the foundations of things." Thus the Berlin
experience seems to have been meaningful for these men, but in a much more personal,
and less specifically literary, way than was commonly believed.
We are thus left with the task of explaining the "Expressionistic" features of the
plays under discussion. As in the case of Eliot, one finds that almost every "German"
14
For a detailed account of this topic see Breon Mitchell, "W. H. Auden and C hristophe
Isherwood:
15
The 'German Influence,' " Oxford German Studies, No. 1, 1966, pp. 163—172.
Joseph Warren Beach, The Making of the Auden Canon (Minneapolis, 1957), p. 148.
16
This and all other references to the personal recollections or opinions of the two poets,
unless17otherwise indicated, are taken from personal conversations and correspondence.
The New Yorker, April 3, 1965, p. 190.

185
 characteristic found therein may actually be traced to a non-German source. Auden
and Isherwood themselves have pointed to the plays of Shaw, Cocteau, and Eliot,
as well as Hans Christian Andersen's Snow Queen, Ibsen's Peer Gynf, and Lewis Carroll's
Alice in Wonderland as their models. Indeed, many of the formal characteristics of their
plays can be explained by examining the above list, and so can the non-Expressionist
lightness lent to them by the influence of fairytale and fable.
"The most important single influence" in The Dog Beneath the Skin, however,
according to Auden, has yet to be mentioned. I t is the genre of the English Christmas
pantomime, a model which suggested the original structure of the work. 18 Auden
himself specifically states: "The impact on me and, I'm sure, many other children was
partly due to the fact t h a t the pantomime was the first drama we ever saw." In 1934
A. E. Wilson described the Christmas pantomime "as we now know it—a strange medley
of burlesque, musical comedy, fairy play, music hall turns, and revue." 1 9 The aptness
of this description in its application to the plays of Auden and Isherwood is readily
apparent and, in itself, goes a long way toward helping us understand their common
stylistic features. Even more revealing perhaps is the fact t h a t these young men felt
t h a t they were writing within an established English theatrical tradition, not against
it. This attitude is symptomatic of the spiritual and cultural distance which separated
the English playwrights from the earlier generation of German Expressionists. For the
young men of the thirties, E. was already a thing of the past, a phenomenon of the
twenties, and in the following years, the spiritual gap continued to widen. Quite
recently Isherwood spoke of the plays of Kaiser and Toller as "charmingly nostalgic,
like Gilbert and Sullivan". Such an unlikely comparison could only be made by a
writer who, in a profound way, had remained untouched by German E.
The most powerful English drama of the British Isles in the thirties was being
written in Ireland, however. The amazingly rich literary life of Dublin, in exile and
at home, produced yet another outstanding young writer in Sean O'Casey. His early
dramatic works, written from 1923-1926, are, for the most part, straightforward
naturalistic dramas. But already at this time, before there was any question of influence
from abroad, his plays demonstrated non-naturalistic tendencies which help to explain
his later development. Almost all critics agree t h a t The Silver Tassie (1929) marks
the turning point of O'Casey's dramatic production in the direction of E. Although
much has been written on the subject, the question of the extent and origin of the
'Expressionist' influence in these dramas has not yet been resolved. 20
O'Casey himself has explained both his thematic and formal intentions in writing
The Silver Tassie: " H e would show a wide expanse of war in the midst of timorous

18
This was revealed by the investigation of a previously unnoticed early typescript version
of the play in the possession of the library of Exeter College, Oxford. I t had been deposited there
by Professor Neville Coghill, to whom I am indebted, in the thirties. See Mitchell, op. cit., pp.
170-171.
19
A. E. Wilson, Christmas Pantomime: The Story of an English Institution (London, 1934),
p. 18.
20
For the most complete statement on this topic so far see the chapter "Expressionistische
Allegorik und poetische Rhetorik" in Thomas Metscher's Sean O'Caseys dramatischer Stil (Braun­
schweig, 1968), pp. 173—187. Metscher includes a detailed bibliography of secondary material
relating to O'Casey and E.

186
hope and overweening fear; amidst a galaxy of guns; silently show the garlanded horror
of war . . . And he would do it in a new way. There was no importance in trying to
do the same thing again, letting the second play imitate the first, and the third the
second. He wanted a change from what the Irish critics had called burlesque, photo­
graphic realism. . . ." 21 The two major drives—to depict the horror of war, and to break
away from dramatic realism—link O'Casey to the spiritual basis of E. far more closely
than anything we may point to in his English counterparts. And the results were to
move Shaw to the declaration: "There is a new drama rising from unplumbed depths
to sweep the nice little bourgeois efforts of myself and my contemporaries into the
dustbin . . ." 22
In The Silver Tassie, O'Casey mixes Naturalistic and anti-Naturalistic devices.
Only the second act seems to be purely "Expressionistic"; it is composed of a series
of scenes set in a ruined monastery where anonymous soldiers stand for Everyman
at war. The repetitive rhythm of their prose songs seems to echo the language of the
German Expressionists, although in his notes to the play O'Casey himself referred to
the passages as "simply Plain Song", pointing to Gregorian Chant, rather than to a
particular German source. Once more we are faced with the fact that presumably
Expressionist features may have very little to do, in a causal sense, with German E.
The formal and stylistic tendencies apparent in this act reach their high point in Within
the Gates (1933) and continue to be a vital part of O'Casey's dramatic art in such plays
as The Star Turns Red (1940, a depiction of the class struggle) and Oak Leaves and
Lavender (1946). Almost inadvertently, O'Casey's political beliefs also tend to make
his plays resemble, thematically, those characteristic of German E. The danger here
of equating thematic similarity with "influence" is obvious. O'Casey's later plays show
an attempted synthesis of almost all the dramatic styles with which he had already
experimented, as well as new elements of song, music, and dance. This is seen most
clearly in the play he considered to be his best, Cock-a-Doodle-Dandy (1949).
In the search for the possible dramatic influences which helped O'Casey to redirect
his dramas starting with The Silver Tassie, O'Neill has emerged as the most likely
candidate. 23 Such an influence is certainly not surprising, considering O'Neill's power
as an innovator and the common language shared by the two playwrights. I t is also
clear that many of the dramatic innovations in O'Casey's works may be detected in
similar forms encountered in O'Neill. I t is not our purpose to determine the extent
to which O'Neill was indebted to German E., but it seems possible that O'Casey was
confronted with certain characteristics of t h a t style, and t h a t any influence of E.
itself is thus most likely to have been indirect.
The possibility of Toller's influence on O'Casey's work has often been mentioned
but never fully investigated. 24 O'Casey is said to have become acquainted with Toller's

21
22
Sean O'Casey, Rose and Grown (New York, 1956), p. 32.
Quoted in Metscher, p. 5.
23
See R. G. Rollins, "O'Casey, O'Neill, and E. in The Silver Tassie," The Bucknell Review
X, 4 (1962), pp. 364—369. In a letter to Rollins, O'Casey described the impact of O'Neill's The Hairy
Ape: "This was a play that gave more than a facsimile of life; it brought the inward outward
through
24
symbolic distortion" (p. 365).
Metscher, p. 174, n. 10, enlarges only slightly upon the topic.

187
work through a production of Masses and Man in Dublin, prior to his writing The Silver
Tassie.25 Although he mentions Toller a few times in The Green Crow and elsewhere,
he does not say anything which would lead us to believe that Toller was a major influ­
ence upon his work. Certainly similarities with Toller's dramas may be found in his,
but none t h a t are particularly striking. On the basis of the available evidence, therefore,
there is little reason for believing t h a t Toller, or German E. in general, was directly
influential in the works of Sean O'Casey.26
O'Casey's references to Toller bring us to a final point worth noting. In 1933 Toller
left Germany, where he had become "unwanted", and came to England. His stay
there resulted in the publication of the book I was a German (1933) and a collection
of seven of his plays. Toller made contact with every major literary figure within reach.
Contemporary reports indicate t h a t he was anxious to secure an audience for his
plays and to inform the world about the frightening situation in Germany. To this end
he seems to have made a great effort to get those plays translated which were not yet
available to English readers and, if possible, to have this done by respected poets.
Stephen Spender, for example, translated Pastor Hall at Toller's request, although he
did not care for the play. He simply felt that it was impossible to turn down such
a request from a man in Toller's unfortunate position. 27 For similar reasons, Auden
translated the lyrics from Toller's No More Peace (1937), thus implicitly showing
his approval and leaving the door open for critics to point to the "evidence" of the
influence of German E. So it happens t h a t Toller's name appears in the personal remi­
niscences of English writers of this period more often than is warranted by his literary
impact. His suicide in 1939 even moved Auden to compose a poetic tribute in his memory.

III

Whereas German Expressionist drama formed a significant part of English theatri­

cal life in the twenties, Expressionist prose went almost literally unnoticed. The prose
works of writers like Edschmid, Einstein, Heym, Lasker-Schüler and, at first, Döblin
were simply unknown, and for the most part have remained so. 28 Among the innovators
of modern German prose literature, the writings of Franz Kafka, available since the
mid-twenties, stimulated the greatest interest, and after 1930 Döblin's novel Berlin
25
G. Fallon, "Pathway of a Dramatist," Theatre Arts, X X X I V (January, 1950), p. 38.
26
In his most direct statement on the matter, O'Casey denied that he "consciously adopted
E., which I don't understand and never did". Letter to R. Rollins, March 24, 1960, quoted by
Rollins, p. 365.
27
These statements are taken from a personal conversation with Spender in London, March 11,
1965. An interesting contemporary account of Toller's sojourn in England may be found in En-
counter (October, 1952), pp. 29—33, where Isherwood offers a "semi-fictional sketch" of Toller—
a subjective account which he nevertheless considers to be an accurate impression of the man. Here
is a sample passage:
I heard several complaints from my friends of the tasks he had contrived to set
them—one was ordered to produce letters of introduction, another to use his influence
with an important uncle, a third had to translate an entire blank-verse play. He found uses
for everybody, even the humblest. And no one had ventured to refuse. I knew, only too
well, t h a t I shouldn't have the moral courage to refuse him, myself. (p. 31)
28
For a detailed account see Galinsky, op. cit., pp. 190—194.

188
Alexanderplatz was at least a temporary success. But most English readers, in so far
as they were aware of German novels, remained loyal to the more traditional authors.
I t is, therefore, very difficult to speak of the impact of German Expressionist
prose in England. Certainly the names of several leading novelists writing in English
have been linked with E.; Joyce, Virginia Woolf, and D. H. Lawrence being mentioned
most often in this context. 29 But those critics who have approached the topic have
invariably done so solely in terms of parallel development of theme and style, without
postulating any direct influence. And the available evidence clearly indicates t h a t
we cannot speak of any direct impact of German Expressionist prose upon these nov­
elists. Inversely, it is possible, however, that Joyce may have given impetus to certain
developments in the German novel discussed below.
The topic at hand is even more difficult to handle because many of the basic
features of E. are, almost by definition, unsuitable for use in the novel. This seems
particularly true of such characteristics as high emotional intensity and such stylistic
techniques as the Telegrammstil. Neither that tone nor that style seems suitable for
consistent use throughout a novel of some length. And yet it is equally difficult to
imagine an "Expressionist'' novel with long stretches of placid prose or one in which
the style reverts, for several pages at a time, to a more naturalistic presentation. For
this reason the standard examples of Expressionist prose tend to be short stories or
sketches in which stylistic unity may be preserved.
A brief look at the theory of Expressionist prose is thus necessary to accurately
assess the relationship of German to English fiction in this period. Walter Sokel has at­
tempted to distinguish two main directions, represented by the theoretical pronounce­
ments of Dublin, on the one hand, and Carl Einstein on the other. 30 He suggests t h a t
Döblin saw the problem primarily in terms of narrative technique (objectivity of presen­
tation, depersonalization, complete withdrawal of the commenting author), and that
he regarded E., seen in this light, as Naturalism taken to its logical extreme. Carl
Einstein, who had practically nothing to say about the technical aspects of writing
such prose, concentrated, instead, on the subject matter, which, in his opinion, was
to turn from description (Darstellung) to ideas (weltanschaulicher Inhalt). The problem
of writing a modern novel is thus seen in philosophical rather than literary terms.
As a result, the narrative perspective envisaged by Einstein is in sharp contrast to
Döblin's suggestions; and the author or main figure (when the novel is written in the
first person) takes a central role as a commenting and reflecting mind.
In both cases, the resulting prose shows Expressionist features: a tendency toward
brevity in language and sentence structure, as well as dynamism and conciseness of
expression. Nevertheless, as Sokel points out, in the prose writings of the two men
29
Studies relating these authors to E. include: Wilhelm Reichwagen, Der expressionistische
Zug im neueren englischen Roman (Gütersloh, 1935) (deals mainly with Joyce and Lawrence); Erna
Weidner, "Impressionismus und Expressionismus in den Komanen Virginia Woolfs," Diss., Greifs-
wald, 1934; Max Wildi, "The Birth of E. in the Work of D. H. Lawrence," English Studies, X I X
(1937), pp. 241—259; J. W. Beach, The Twentieth Century Novel: Studies in Technique (New York,
1932), Chapter Thirty-Eight, " E . : Woolf, Frank," pp. 485-500. Other novelists who have been
mentioned in this connection include Wyndham Lewis, Richard Aldington, Rhys Davies, and J. D.
Baresford.
30
"Die Prosa des E . " in E. als Literatur, pp. 153-170,

189
these characteristics are evident in very different ways. Einstein and the writers of
similar persuasion show syntactic brevity in an aphoristic style in which the parable
becomes an important literary form. Only in Dublin's works, however, do these same
characteristics appear in a style closely related to the syntactical structures of dramatic
E., where parataxis and ellipsis play an important role. "Nicht erzahlen, sondern bauen"
(not telling but building) is Döblin's goal, and he wishes to replace psychological
investigation by the simple notation of mental process.
Turning to the English novel of that period, we find that Lawrence and Joyce
could be considered representative of these two major tendencies. Like Einstein,
Lawrence was not primarily interested in problems of narrative technique, but rather
in communicating, in a forceful way, a moral world view which he considered vitally
important to England. I n his works, ideas, such as they are, outweigh simple narrative
presentation. Those characteristics of E. which are most easily recognizable inLawrenee's
prose are contained in the visionary—at times ecstatic—passages which mark the
voice of the prophet. I t is true that, in Lawrence's later works, the presentation of
reality tends to become more abstract, and thus more closely akin to what we conceive
of as E., but on the whole it is in spiritual rather than literary terms that Lawrence
seems related to the German movement. The closing passage of The Rainbow may serve
as a typical example:
And the rainbow stood on the earth. She knew that the sordid people . . .
were living still, t h a t the rainbow was arched in their blood and would quiver
to life in their spirit, t h a t they would cast off their horny covering of disinte­
gration to a new growth . . . She saw in the rainbow the earth's new archi­
tecture, the old, brittle corruption of houses and factories swept away, the
world built up in a living fabric of Truth, fitted to the overarching heaven.

The voice is the voice of the Expressionists, but the prose is that of England.
Joyce, like Döblin, on the other hand, was vitally interested in problems of nar­
rative technique. He differed from Döblin most strikingly in that he licked the problems
which the former recognized but could not adequately resolve in prose. Their common
interest in 'building' a prose work rather than telling a story relates them closely, as
does their common belief in the artist's withdrawal behind his work. Consider Joyce's
literary credo as expressed in A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man (1916): "The
personality of the artist . . . finally refines itself out of existence, impersonalizes itself,
so to speak . . . The artist, like the God of creation, remains within or behind or beyond
or above his handiwork, invisible, refined out of existence, indifferent, paring his
fingernails." Joyce's innovations in narrative style and technique approach E. in their
assertion of the right of the artist to form, and at times deform, his material. But
unlike Lawrence, Joyce is not spiritually inclined to use the thematic material preferred
by the German writers.
Regardless of the similarities between these novelists, it is clear that, as such,
German E. had no direct literary influence on Lawrence or Joyce. As Armin Arnold
has shown, Lawrence was unaware of the most exciting developments in contemporary
31
See Arnold's book D. H. Lawrence and German Literature, with Two Hitherto Unknown Essays
by D. H. Lawrence (Montreal, 1963), pp. 51—58.

190
German literature and considered Thomas Mann to be the typical representative
of the modern movement. He was among the first to introduce Mann's work to English
readers, and the concluding sentence of his introductory article amply demonstrates
his limited understanding of the contemporary spirit in German letters: "But Thomas
Mann is old—and we are young. Germany does not feel very young to me," 3 2 Joyce
was even less aware of contemporary German literature, and as late as 1936 he had
no idea who Kafka was. 33 He only came to know of such writers as Döblin and Broch
after they had reacted positively to his work. And there is no evidence that he ever
read a word they wrote beyond what they wrote about him. 34
Joyce, however, seems to have had an important influence on German literature.
W h a t had been noticeably lacking in the German novel during the period of E, was
a revolution of form similar to t h a t which so clearly separated Expressionist drama
from the mainstream of the German dramatic tradition. In spite of all the theoretical
pronouncements, the German novel had remained essentially unchanged, both in
terms of structure and narrative techniques, until the late twenties. Novels like Döblin's
Die drei Sprüng e des Wang-lun (1915) employ a prose which is clearly marked by Expres­
sionist features, b u t remain, on the whole, disappointingly traditional. The same is
true of Döblin's narrative technique, for in spite of an increased interest in the inner
workings of the mind, the techniques he employed to render those thoughts remain
almost exclusively those which had been used for the last two centuries in German
literature. The gap between Döblin's theory and his practice was not closed until
Berlin Alexanderplatz (1929). His enthusiasm over Ulysses, which he reviewed while
working on his own novel, led him to stress the realization of new formal possibilities
in the novel: "Ich entsinne mich nicht, in den beiden letzten Jahrzehnten einem um-
fangreichen Schriftwerk von derartiger Radikalität in der Form begegnet zu sein....
Es ist ein literarischer Vorstoss aus dem Gewissen des heutigen geistigen Menschen
heraus. Es sucht auf seine Weise die Frage zu beantworten: wie kannman heute dichten ?
Zunächst hat jeder ernste Schriftsteller sich mit diesem Buch zu befassen." 35
I t is impossible here to indicate in any detail the extent of Joyce's influence upon
the German novel. But much evidence does exist which points to his impact upon
the development of that genre, and specifically upon Döblin's Berlin Alexanderplatz,
36
Jahnn's Perrudja (1929), and Broch's Die Schlafwandler (1931–1932). These novels
32
Quoted ibid., p. 58.
33
See Richard Ellmann, James Joyce (New York, 1959) p. 715.
34
Joyce used their names in passages in Finnegans Wake, where the suggestion is clearly
made that they were "borrowing" from him. For details see Breon Mitchell, "Swobbing Broguen
Eeriesh Myth Brockendootsch: Two German Novelists in Finnegans Wake,'' A Wake Newslitter,
V/5 (1968), pp. 7 0 - 7 1 .
35
" I cannot remember having encountered, in the last two decades, a sizeable literary
work that is more radical in matters of form . . . I t is a literary experiment guided by the
conscience of the modern intellectual. In its way, it seeks to answer the question:
how can one writeliterature in our time ? For the time being, every serious writer should
occupy himself with this book."
Alfred Döblin, "Ulysses von Joyce" (1928) as reprinted in Aufsatze zur Literatur (Olten, 1963),
p. 287ff., and quoted from that source, pp. 287 and 290.
36
See Breon Mitchell, "Hans Henny Jahnn and James Joyce: The Birth of the Inner Mono­
logue in the German Novel," Arcadia, VI (1971), pp. 44—71; and the same author's "Joyce and
Döblin At the Crossroads of Berlin Alexanderplatz", Contemporary Literature, XII (1970),
173-187.

191
were, in turn, influential in enlivening the genre in Germany, and discussion of the
"Expressionist novel" often includes these and later works by the same authors as
the best examples of the form. Joyce, in revolutionizing the form of the novel, and
showing, for the first time, how inner monologue could be used effectively in longer
prose works, helped loosen the hold of tradition on the German novel.

IV

As far as England was concerned, E. was a German dramatic style which died
out in the twenties. I t was of interest in what it revealed about post-war Germany
and the particular problems of the German people, but had little to say to the average
Englishman. Its formal innovations were alternately praised and attacked by con­
temporary English critics, and later simply forgotten, to reemerge only after the Second
World War in full historical perspective.
The influence of German E. on English drama was slight at best. Both culturally
and intellectually, English dramatists seemed unreceptive to the Weltanschauung
of their German contemporaries, and any formal similarities which may be found
would seem to be largely coincidental—parallel developments out of a different dramatic
tradition. The impact of German Expressionist prose on the English novel was prac­
tically nil. If anything, the influences flowed in the other direction. E. in prose literature
was not even recognized by English critics, let alone emulated by English novelists.
One more literary complex of ideas and aesthetic innovations had crossed the
channel for a brief visit, but did not find a home. Only in the most general sense has
German E. invaded English literary life, and t h a t is the sense in which the movement
was, after all, seminal for twentieth-century art in general. As Edschmid puts it,

Die Versuche, für die expressionistische Dichtung in Frankreich Liebhaber

zu finden, waren nicht ganz, aber beinahe vergeblich. In England und Amerika
war es ebenso . . . Spater, im Surrealistischen, war die Verbindung leichter her-
zustellen. Sowohl Apollinaire wie auch Cocteau, Proust wie Eliot, Pound
wie Montale und Durrell übernahmen, ob sie es wollten, ob sie es wussten
oder nicht, Expressionismus. Etwas anders gefarbt. Mit realistischen Tricks
durchsetzt . . . Aber der Impetus kam, gegen jeden Widerspruch gesagt,
wie die französische Romantik, aus Deutschland. 37

37
"All attempts to find readers for German Expressionist literature in France were almost
entirely vain. The same holds true of England and America . . . Later on, in the realm
of Surrealism, the link was more easily fashioned. Whether they knew it or not, Apolli­
naire as well as Cocteau, Proust as well as Eliot, and Pound as well as Montale and Dur­
rell absorbed 'Expressionism' slightly deformed. Shot through with realistic sleights-of-
h a n d . . . But no matter what the objections, the impetus, as in the case of French
Bomanticism, came from Germany."
Kasimir Edschmid, Lebendiger Expressionismus (Munich, 1961), p. 367.

192
 M A R D I VALGEMAE

EXPRESSIONISM I N T H E AMERICAN T H E A T E R *

I n an essay on the development of modern American drama, the late critic and theater
historian John Gassner noted that "when our theatre arrived at maturity, it absorbed
two originally divergent aims of the modern European theatre—that of the realists
and naturalists and t h a t of the symbolists and expressionists". 1 Gassner's generally
valid observation would be even more to the point if we substituted for "our theatre
arriv[ing] at maturity" the contribution of O'Neill, who single-handedly catapulted
American drama into world prominence. Like most of his contemporaries and successors,
from Elmer Rice and J o h n Howard Lawson to Edward Albee and the playwrights
of the lofts, churches, and coffee-houses of Off-Off Broadway, O'Neill was stimulated
by the aesthetic principles of European E. and selected from these the techniques
t h a t best suited his purposes in dramatic construction. Thus there is a marked tendency
in modern American drama and stagecraft to concretize subjective experiences, though
such objectification rarely assumes the intensity of distortion that characterizes much
of European—especially German—E.
Yet even before O'Neill, most native experimenters with dramatic form or stage
design were indebted to European sources. Percy MacKaye, whose The Scarecrow
(1911)2 anticipates subsequent treatments of the split personality, drew inspiration
—misapplied as it was—from Gordon Craig. Theodore Dreiser, who published his
bizarre Plays of the Natural and the Supernatural in 1916, knew Strindberg's Dream
Play. Alfred Kreymborg, whose stylized Lima Beans (1916) and Vote the New Moon
(1920) were produced by the Provincetown Players, edited such little magazines as
The Glebe, which published translations of plays by Wedekind and Leonid Andreev.
Robert Edmond Jones, whose masks and grotesque settings for Arthur Hopkins' 1921
Broadway production of Macbeth signaled the beginning of Expressionist stagecraft
in the professional theater, had studied with Reinhardt. And Cleon Throckmorton,
whose subjectively distorted design for the second act of Susan Glaspell's The Verge
(1921) reminded reviewers of The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari, was an ardent admirer of
the German Expressionist film. In short, the revolution t h a t swept through the American
theater in the late teens and early twenties of the present century was inspired largely
by the achievements of the European avantgarde theater.
* For a more extensive treatment of the subject under consideration see the author's
book Accelerated Grimace: Expressionism in the American Drama of the 1920s (Carbondale:
Southern
1
Illinois University Press, 1972).
John Gassner, "Modern American Drama," A Treasury of the Theatre, revised ed. (New York,
1951), I I I , 785.
2
All dates, unless otherwise noted, are production- dates.

193
 The scenes of projection in most experimental American plays prior to O'Neill
(e.g., The Scarecrow) appear to be a mere groping toward the new form. Other,
more uniformly stylized works (e.g., those by Dreiser and Kreymborg), left no
mark on the theatrical life of the day. One early attempt at concretizing subjective
states did, how-ever, create a great deal of excitement: O'NeilFs The Emperor
Jones, staged by the Provincetown Players in November, 1920, marks the beginning
of the modern movement in American drama, which has fertilized even the sterile
landscape of Broadway.
O'Neill had read Greek, Elizabethan and modern plays while spending five months
in a sanatorium during the winter of 1912/1913. During his one year at Harvard (in
1914/1915) he began to study German in order to read Nietzsche and Wedekind in
the original. By the time he had spent several seasons with the Provincetown Players,
whom he joined in 1916, he had already acquired considerable familiarity with the
new Continental drama. In his Nobel Prize acceptance speech he spoke of his indebt­
edness to Strindberg, and his debt to the German Expressionists–hough he has
denied having been influenced by Kaiser—emerges from a perusal of his letters and
other unpublished documents, from conversations with his friends, and from the
published comments of his second wife.3
As has been noted by O'Neill scholars, the fable and the form of The Emperor
Jones closely resemble Kaiser's From Mom till Midnight, which O'Neill said he had
read before it was produced in New York in 1922, but which, he insisted, had not
influenced him. In Kaiser's play, the seven relatively short scenes are held together
by the figure of the Teller who has embezzled bank funds. Through the monologues
and the dizzy wanderings of this allegorical character who, like Brutus Jones, is a
fugitive on account of his greed, Kaiser presents the action of the play as seen through
the mind of the protagonist. The skeleton in the tree, the identically dressed gentlemen,
and the masked prostitutes are all emanations from his unconscious mind, not unlike
the visions experienced by Jones. For the forest through which Jones must pass in
order to reach safety is a jungle not only of physical trees but also of mental images,
ranging from the "Little Formless Fears", an Expressionist projection of his guilty
conscience, to the crocodile god who rules over O'Neill's version of the heart of darkness.
Secondary sources also reveal O'Neill's Expressionist orientation. In his reply
to a query about the possibility of filming The Emperor Jones, the playwright stated
that the movie rights to the play were "not open at present" and added, by way of
explanation: "I am working out a scheme for its filming along Expressionistic lines."4
Nothing came of this project, but O'Neill continued with the Expressionist mode in
The Hairy Ape, in which he again projects the inner experience of the protagonist.

3
Agnes Boulton, "An Experimental Theatre: The Provincetown Playhouse,'* Theatre Arts
Monthly, VIII (March, 1924), p. 185. Some of the comments made by O'Neill's associates are
recorded in Mardi Valgemae, "O'Neill and German Expressionism," Modem Drama, X (1967),
p. 112. See also O'Neill's undated letter (1923/24?) to Kenneth Macgowan (in the Eugene O'Neill
Collection at Yale), in which he refers to the work of the Russian Expressionist director Tairov
and suggests that the Provincetown Players stage the works of Strindberg, Wedekind, Andreev,
4
O'Neill to Harry Weinberger, January 26, 1922 (at Yale),

194
 The opening scene of The Hairy Ape requires a setting t h a t mirrors the distorted
mental state of Yank, and in specifying that the treatment should not be naturalistic,
O'Neill obviously had in mind the stage techniques of the Continental Expressionists,
for in a letter to George Jean Nathan he expressed hope that Robert Edmond Jones
would do the sets, which "must be in the Expressionistic method". 5 When the play
opened at the Provincetown Playhouse in March, 1922, the sets did reflect subjective
states, and the Fifth Avenue scene was played with masks. O'NenTs use of nightmarish
sight and sound effects in the stokehole, and the creation of a subjectively distorted
scene on Fifth Avenue bring to mind episodes from the plays of Kaiser, notably The
Coral, Gas, P a r t I, and Hell, Road, Earth. When the time came for The Hairy Ape
to be made into a movie, O'Neill suggested t h a t a brief Expressionist scene be added
to the script. "Yank, after his frustrated I.W.W. experiences," he wrote, "resolves
he'll blow up steel all on his own. . . . But again, a fiasco and frustration. All his attempt
does is to blow down a section of wall—and immediately an army of workers rebuilds
the wall up before his eyes (an Expressionist touch)." 6
O'Neill's frequent use of rapidly moving short scenes has been compared to the
technique of the motion picture. Thus critics have suggested that The Emperor Jones
and The Hairy Ape should be seen in relation to such films as Eisenstein's Battleship
Pofemkin (1925) and October (1928), both of which postdate The Hairy Ape. The basic
principles underlying the form of The Hairy Ape may, however, be more profitably
compared to those employed in the German Expressionist film The Cabinet of Dr.
Caligari. The action of Caligari reflects the workings of the insane mind of the protag­
onist, and the visual aspects of the film are correspondingly distorted. I t is not at all
inconceivable that O'Neill's description of the forecastle and a number of other specific
visual images in The Hairy Ape were suggested by the German film, which O'Neill
saw in the summer of 1921, and soon afterwards he communicated to a friend his
enthusiastic reaction: " I saw 'Caligari' and it sure opened my eyes to wonderful pos­
sibilities I have never dreamed of before." Six months later he quickly recast a now
lost short story t h a t contained "the germ idea" of The Hairy Ape in the form of a
play characterized by Expressionist distortions. 7
In an interview given in 1924, O'Neill said t h a t "the real contribution of the ex­
pressionist has been in the dynamic qualities of his plays," for these works "express some­
thing in modern life better than did the old plays." Then he added, " I have some­
thing of this method in The Hairy Ape."8 Something of this method appears in O'Neill's
The Great God Brown, produced at the Greenwich Village Theatre in January, 1926.
In his manuscript foreword to the play, O'Neill calls realism "insufficient" for portraying

5
6
Quoted in Arthur and Barbara Gelb, O'Neill (New York, 1962), p. 492.
O'Neill to Robert F. Sisk, March 21, 1935 (at Yale).
7
O'Neill to Ralph Block, June 10, 1921, in the Walter Hampden Memorial Library at the
Players, New York. According to a notation which concludes the MS of The Hairy Ape (Princeton
University Library), the play was begun on December 7 and finished on December 23, 1921. For the
short story see O'Neill's letter to Richard Dana Skinner in the latter's book Eugene O'Neill : A
Poet's Quest (New York, 1935), p. viii.
8
"Eugene O'Neill Talks of His Own and the Plays of Others," New York Herald Tribune,
November 16, 1924, Sec. 8, p. 14; reprinted in Oscar Cargill et al., eds., O'Neill and His Plays:
Four Decades of Criticism (New York, 1961), pp. 110—112.

195
the inner life of man. Like Edschmid, for whom facts had meaning only as long as
the artist penetrates them in order to grasp that which lies beyond, O'Neill felt that
"the theatre should be a refuge from the facts of life which . . . have nothing to do
with the truth". The theater, he stated, should lift us to a plane beyond realism and
drive us "deep into the unknown within and behind ourselves".9
The Great God Brown is a probing into that beyond, involving an elaborate use
of masks and the projection of a split personality, with Dion Anthony and Billy Brown
representing the two warring personae of one individual, whom Cybel calls "Dion
Brown".10 In a note addressed to the actor John Barrymore, O'Neill offers external
evidence in support of this interpretation: "Am taking liberty send you my latest
play The Great God Brown thinking may interest you as vehicle. Dion in first half
and Brown in rest of play should be played by same actor." 11 The genesis of Dion-
Brown's dual personality may go back to O'Neill's reading of Wilde's The Picture
of Dorian Gray, Euripides' Bacchae, or even Nietzsche's The Birth of Tragedy. The
Expressionist projection of the split personality suggests, however, the influence of
Andreev's The Black Maskers, while the melodramatic involutions of the plot resemble
those found in Kaiser's The Coral.
Among O'Neill's other Expressionist plays are All God's Ghillun Got Wings (1924),
Lazarus Laughed (published in 1927), Dynamo (1929), Days Without End (1934), and
a dramatization of Coleridge's The Ancient Mariner (1924). Later plays that contain
some Expressionist elements include The Iceman Cometh (1946) and More Stately
Mansions (1967).
Though he had a number of plays produced by the Theatre Guild, O'Neill's name
is most frequently linked with the Provincetown Players, who provided him and
other native playwrights with a laboratory in which to experiment with new dramatic
techniques. In addition to producing such works of European E. as Strindberg's
Ghost Sonata (1924) and Dream Play (1926), Hasenclever's Beyond (1925), and Carlo
Gozzi's eighteenth-century comedy Princess Turandot (1926) in emulation of Eugene
Vakhtangov's celebrated Expressionist version of that play, the Provincetown Players
staged a number of American dramas that were written in the new mode. The first
of these, following the plays of Kreymborg, Glaspell, and O'Neill, was Edmund Wilson's
Grime in the Whistler Room (1924). As a critic has quipped, "one of the several crimes
in the play is the introduction of expressionistic dream sequences in what is otherwise
an ordinary drawing room comedy".12
One of the dream sequences in Wilson's play projects the protagonist's fears
about an impending algebra examination. She is shown working at a gigantic black­
board covered with large chalked figures, while the tutor sits on a high stool behind
a tall desk. Throckmorton's designs for this scene featured a grotesquely elongated
stool and desk, pronounced shadows, a mask for the tutor, and two enormous black-
9
Mardi Valgemae, "Eugene O'Neill's Preface to The Great God Brown" Yale University
Library
10
Gazette, X L I I I (July, 1968), p . 29.
The Plays of Eugene O'Neill (New York, 1955), I I I , 320.
11
Holograph draft of a telegram, July 6, 1925, in the Landauer Collection, Dartmouth
College
12
Library.
Sherman Paul, Edmund Wilson (Urbana, 111., 1965), p, 41.

196
boards sufficiently askew to suggest the influence of The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari. Wilson,
too, knew Continental E. at first hand, for he alluded to the new drama and film in
his critical articles. At the same time he was writing other experimental plays, including
Cronkhite's Clocks, a grotesque pantomime reminiscent of the work of the Dadaists,
the Triadic Ballet, and Schlemmer's novelties at the Bauhaus theater.
Among other Expressionist or semi-Expressionist plays staged by the Province-
town Players were E m J o Basshe's Adam Solitaire (1925), Paul Green's Pulitzer Prize-
winning In Abraham's Bosom (1926), Lajos Egri's Rapid Transit (1927), and Cummings's
Him (1928). Like Eliot's "The Love Song of J . Alfred Prufrock," Him begins with
" a patient etherized upon a table": a doctor is anesthetizing a woman. Her eyes close
and the play unfolds as a projection of her thoughts and memories, with the doctor
reappearing in different roles throughout the play. Unlike the sterile Prufrock, however,
the woman in Him is about to give birth to a child, and the play is a subjectively dis­
torted presentation of her affair with the father of the child, who is a playwright grap­
pling with the problems of art and reality.
Cummings's concern with the ego of the artist— with the Ausstrahlungen of his
own Ich, as the Germans would put it—-is characteristically Expressionistic. In matters
of form, too, Cummings rebelled against the conventions of realistic dramaturgy.
Reviewing a performance of the visiting Moscow Art Theater Musical Studio, he spoke
derisively of the "pennyintheslot peepshow parlor" proscenium stage, for which should
be substituted "an aesthetic continent" where tourists pay their way in "constructivist"
or "expressionist" currency. 13 P a r t of the Expressionist currency in Him involves
the chorus of the three Miss Weirds, who wear identical maskfaces, and Cummings's
dramatization of the split personality of Him and his mirror image, O. Him, brings
to mind Werfel's Spiegelmensch (Mirror-Man) as well as O'Neill's The Great God Brown.
I n 1926, the year the latter play was produced, Cummings reported on the New York
theater scene in the Dial, and in Act Two, Scene Four, of Him he parodies O'Neill's
use of masks and the complicated business of Billy Brown's murder.
Also in 1928 the Provincetown Players staged The Final Balance, an experimental
play by the Yiddish dramatist David Pinski, gave a reading from O'Neill's Lazarus
Laughed (which Schreyer considered to be the ultimate in Expressionist drama),
and made plans to produce Paul Green's Tread the Green Grass, subtitled "A Folk
Fantasy in Two Parts With Interludes, Music, Dumb-show, and Cinema (to be produced
with masks when possible)." 14 The play is a powerful Expressionist dream vision, con­
taining echoes of The Great God Brown and WerfeFs Goat Song (which the Theatre Guild
produced in 1926). Though the Players rehearsed Tread the Green Grass, the production
was canceled. The Provincetown board apparently dropped Green's experimental
play because they needed a commercial success. Yet neither the substitution of another
play nor the generous pledges of support by a number of wealthy patrons were able
to save the theater when the stock market crashed in October, 1929. A decade, a
way of life, and a great experimental theater expired in the crash.

13
E . E . Cummings, "The Theatre," The Dial, L X X X (1926), p . 344; reprinted in George J.
Firmage, ed., E. E, Cummings : A Miscellany (New York, 1958), p. 73
14
In Paul Green, The House of Connelly and Other Plays (New York, 1931), p. 225.

197
 The depression that followed in the wake of the chaos on Wall Street focused the
attention of more and more playwrights on social and economic issues, with Clifford
Odets's agit-prop Waiting for Lefty (1935) setting the tone for much of the drama of
t h a t decade. Yet plays dealing with economic problems were by no means the exclusive
province of the 1930's. For the social orientation of the experimental playwrights of
the thirties was anticipated in the twenties by the work of Rice, Lawson, and the
members of the New Playwrights' Theatre.
Rice's The Adding Machine, produced by the Theatre Guild in 1923, remains his
best-known work. In it the playwright projects the mind and soul of Mr. Zero, a depart­
ment store bookkeeper. Like Kaiser and other Continental Expressionists, Rice casti­
gates modern industrial procedures that waste away men's souls by demanding from
them only the mechanical use of their limbs. In the Guild production, Lee Simonson's
use of masks and tilted settings transformed Rice's visual images into effective stage
poetry, with the result that The Adding Machine has become the most frequently cited
example of American Expressionist theater. The modest success of The Adding Machine
may have influenced its author to attempt another play in the same mode. Yet The
Subway (written in 1923) was not produced until 1929. Although Rice has said t h a t
The Subway, like The Adding Machine, deals with the slavery of the machine-age,
an analysis of the Expressionist techniques that comprise the most vivid aural and
visual moments of the play suggests that the work owes as much to erotic considerations
as to economic impulses.
I n The Subway Rice objectifies the sexual fears and fantasies of a young woman
named Sophie Smith. Thus when a man stares at her in Scene One, Sophie literally
feels naked: "her dress becomes diaphanous, revealing the outlines of her figure."15 Scene
Two finds Sophie in the subway during the rush hour. A crowd of seemingly beastly
men surround her, and Rice externalizes Sophie's repulsion at feeling their bodies
press against her by means of a simple but theatrically effective Expressionist tech­
nique. As the flickering lights of the subway black out, the men don various grotesque
and ugly animal masks. Other scenes continue in this manner, until, deflowered and
about to be deserted by her lover, Sophie has the inevitable Expressionist nightmare
in Scene Eight. Accusing fingers shoot out at her from the blackness surrounding
her bed, and she hears a number of voices that grow louder and louder. In desperation,
she rushes out and throws herself in front of the phallic subway train, thus suggesting
t h a t the play owes as much to the gospel according to Freud as to the teachings of
Marx. Other works by Rice that contain greatly diluted Expressionist elements include
The Sidewalks of New York (written in 1925), Two on an Island (1940), A New Life
(1943), and The Grand Tour (1951).
Lawson's best-known play, Processional, was produced by the Theatre Guild
in 1925. Earlier, the Equity Players had given his Roger Bloomer (1923). Lawson's
later plays were staged by the New Playwrights' Theatre. Roger Bloomer, which Nathan
called "an attempt to see New York through the eyes of a Georg Kaiser or Walter
Hasenklever [sic]," 16 depicts the spiritual journey of a Midwestern youth who rebels
15
Elmer Rice, The Subway (New York, 1929), p. 20.
16
George Jean Nathan, The House of Satan (New York, 1926), p. 156.

198
against middle-class values and flees to the big city in search of maturity. The work
is thoroughly Expressionist and bears a slight resemblance to Henri-René Lenormand's
play Failures. Lawson, who, like Cummings, had been a member of the famed ambulance
corps, remembers seeing t h a t French Expressionist play in Paris soon after World
War I. 17 With Processional Lawson abandoned his complete reliance on Expressionist
dramaturgy, but like his Nirvana (1926), Loud Speaker (1927), and The International
(1928), Processional contains a number of genuine Expressionist elements.
As in the case of Wilson's Crime in the Whistler Room, Lawson's early plays
conclude on a note of hope, reminiscent of a number of German Expressionist
dramas proclaiming the coming of the utopian New Man. In the nightmare scene
in Roger Bloomer, the spirit of the protagonist's dead girl friend chases away the
obscene Old Women by saying, "Away, ghosts of yesterday, for the young are coming
marching, marching; . . . can't you hear them singing a new song?" In Processional, the
heroine's optimistic curtain line, " I ' m agonna raise my kid, sing to him soft . . .," 18
strongly suggests an ideological affinity between Lawson and the German Expres­
sionists. I t was no doubt this quality in Processional, coupled with its Expressionist
techniques, t h a t prompted O'Neill to refer to it as "too much German patent
American goods". 19
The termination of Lawson's experimental phase roughly coincides with the
closing of the New Playwrights' Theatre, which produced his Loud Speaker and The
International. Like these imaginative works, most of the other plays staged by this
group contain Expressionist elements. Influenced by Expressionist theory as well
as by the production methods of Russian constructivism and Piscator's Epic Theater,
the New Playwrights issued an Artaudesque manifesto proclaiming "a theatre where
the spirit, the movement, the music of this age is carried on, accentuated, amplified,
crystallized. A theatre which shocks, terrifies, matches wits with the audience. . . . In
all, a theatre which is as drunken, as barbaric, as clangorous as our age". 20 The choice
of adjectives in this outburst of radical sentiment mirrored the tone of the exhibits
on display at the International Theater Exposition, held in New York early in 1926.
According to Lawson, the impact of the exposition on him and his soon-to-be-colleagues
at the New Playwrights' Theatre was "tremendous".
Among the non-realistic plays staged by the New Playwrights' Theatre, in addition
to those by Lawson, were Basshe's The Centuries (1927), a kaleidoscopic picture of
Jewish immigrant life in the sweat shops of New York; Paul Sifton's The Belt (1927),
a social protest play attacking Henry Ford; Michael Gold's anti-racist Hoboken Blues
(1928), which anticipates Jean Genet's The Blacks in so far as Gold demands an all-
Negro cast with white roles to be played b y Negroes in white masks; and Upton Sin-
17
Unless otherwise documented, specific information concerning Lawson and the New Play­
wrights' Theatre was furnished by Mr. Lawson in a series of conversation, in Los Angeles, California,
in the summer of 1966.
18
John Howard Lawson, Boger Bloomer (New York, 1923), p. 222; Processional (New York,
1925), p. 218.
19
Letter from O'Neill to Michael Gold, February 12, 1925, in the Landauer Collection, Dart­
mouth20 College Library.
E m J o Basshe, "The Revolt in Fifty-Second Street," New York Times, February 27, 1927,
Sec. 7, p. 4.

199
clair's Singing Jailbirds (1928), which had the longest run of the plays presented by
the group. As John Dos Passos subsequently noted, the popular success of Sinclair's
socialist play was due to the fact that the staging "did not depart too far from the
methods of Expressionism with which [the audiences] were already familiar" 2 1
No consistently Expressionist plays by the two other members of the New Play­
wrights' Theatre, Dos Passos and Francis Edwards Faragoh, were staged by the group
(which gave Dos Passos's Airways, Inc.), but one Expressionist play by each of these
writers did see production in New York. Dos Passos's The Garbage Man, retitled The
Moon is a Gong, was staged at the Cherry Lane Playhouse in March, 1926. The play
projects the inner world of two young lovers who are haunted by Death in various
guises, including t h a t of a Garbage Man. P a r t Two of the play is a grotesquely distorted
vision of modern America, not unlike that revealed in Manhattan Transfer. Speaking
of his early novels, Dos Passos later admitted that his "excitement over the 'expres­
sionist' theatre of the nineteen-twenties had a good deal to do with shaping their
style", and in a letter to the present writer, he speaks of his indebtedness to Continental
sources: "We were all very much influenced by expressionist developments in Europe.
. . .. I saw a couple of plays by Andreev in translation, but in my case I suspect t h a t
the Diaghilev ballet was the great influence." 22 The Diaghilev ballet seems to have
left its impact also on Faragoh's Pinwheel, whose production at the Neighborhood
Playhouse (February, 1927) caused what one newspaper termed "The Civil War
Between the Expressionists". 23
I n the 1930's, Expressionist elements enlivened the matter-of-fact content of
crude left-wing agit-prop plays (of which Odets's Waiting for Lefty is one of the most
sophisticated), and social revolutionaries argued in the pages of Workers' Theatre
(later renamed New Theatre) whether to use realism or E. in order to undermine the
bourgeois theater. The proletarian troupes were united under the League of Workers'
Theatres (later the New Theatre League). One of the League's most successful pro­
ductions was Irwin Shaw's Bury the Dead (1936), which invites comparison with
Toller's Transfiguration and Hans Chlumberg's Miracle at Verdun. Another workers'
company of the thirties was the Theatre Union. Its first season opened with Peace on
Earth (1933) by George Sklar and Albert Maltz. This anti-war play about a pacifist
college professor begins realistically but ends with an Expressionist dream sequence.
Expressionist elements can also be found in the work of the Federal Theatre
Project. Of the many new plays produced by the Federal Theatre, John Hunter Booth's
Created Equal could be taken as an example of the Expressionist social protest play
of the thirties. The work makes use of masks and contains a scene with a huge stock
ticker t h a t emits enormous quantities of ribbon. Top-hatted plutocrats, chewing fat
cigars, study the tape while voices in the background speak in disconnected language.
Yet the most original contribution of the Federal Theatre Project was undoubtedly
21
John Dos Passos, "Did the New Playwrights Theatre Fail?" New Masses, V (August,
1929), p, 13.
22
John Dos Passos, "Looking Back on 'U.S.A.,' " New York Times, October 25, 1959, Sec. 2,
p. 5; 23Dos Passos to Mardi Valgemae, September 5, 1966
For details see Mardi Valgemae, "Civil War Among the Expressionists: John Howard Law-
son and the Pinwheel Controversy," Educational Theatre Journal, X X (March, 1968), pp. 8—14.

200
the Living Newspaper. Influenced by the work of the Soviet Blue Blouse troupes,
Brecht, Piscator, as well as the Expressionists, the Living Newspaper frequently
distorted character, speech, setting, time, and action in order to express inner meanings.
Thus in Power (1937) the justices of the Supreme Court, hearing arguments on the
TVA case, are represented by nine forbidding masks placed on a high bench. In 1935
(1936) Louisiana legislators are depicted as lifeless puppets whose strings are literally
pulled by Huey Long.
Traces of E. are also to be found in the plays of Archibald MacLeish, and recent
scholarship has paid attention to the same mode as used in the work of Thornton Wilder.
In the 1940's, E. left its mark on the plays of William Saroyan and William Carlos
Williams and invaded the field of musical comedy. As far back as 1924, the new mode
had become thoroughly commercialized by George S. Kaufman and Marc Connelly
when their successful Beggar on Horseback, an adaptation of a German play, opened
on Broadway. With such native Expressionist plays as J . P . McEvoy's Americana
(1926) and God Loves Us (1926), William Gaston's Damn the Tears (1927), Sophie
Treadwell's Machinal (1928), and Channing Pollock's Mr. Money penny (1928) firmly
entrenched on Broadway in the twenties, 24 it comes as no surprise that some of the
musicals of the forties made use of the same techniques. Among those who did borrow
from E. were Rogers and Hammerstein in Allegro (1947) and K u r t Weill and Moss Hart
in Lady in the Dark (1941). In the H a r t musical, Liza Elliott's Freudian dreams are
acted out with the help of grotesquely distorted props, and at one point Liza's lover
appears as a circus ringmaster, snapping a whip in the manner of Mr. Moneypenny in
Pollock's play. The circus scene then changes into a courtroom, reminiscent of the
musical dream trial in Beggar on Horseback. Hart has written about the impact which
this comedy made on him. Another important influence on H a r t was a young man who
talked of Kaiser and Meyerhold, 25 whose shadows loom even larger over the post-World
War I I American theater and the work of playwrights from Arthur Laurents (A Clear-
ing in the Woods) to Adrienne Kennedy (The Owl Answers), Tom Eyen (The White
Whore and the Bit Player), and Julie Bovasso (Gloria and Esperanza). And the plays
of the three universally recognized American dramatists of this period Arthur Miller,
Tennessee Williams, and Edward Albee - are all heavily indebted to Expressionist
dramaturgy.
Pondering the question of dramatic form in an essay, Miller suggests t h a t there
are two general "ideas" that govern the choosing of the right form, namely those of
family and society. The first of these demands realism, while social relationships are
best revealed through E. Miller then analyzes two recent plays, Eliot's The Cocktail
Party and Wilder's Our Town. The Cocktail Party fails, in his view, because Eliot's
poetic mode clashes with the play's essentially realistic family relationship. Our
Town, however, is concerned with society as a whole. "Wilder," writes Miller, "sees

24
An entirely different mood of E, permeated Broadway when the Habima Theatre of Moscow
arrived in New York and presented Vakhtangov's celebrated version of Salamon Ansky's The Dybbuk
at the Mansfield Theatre in December, 1926. Expressionist productions were mounted also by the
Yiddish Art Theatre, the Artef Players, and the Unzer Theater.
25
Moss Hart, Act One (New York, 1960), pp. 73, 102.

201
his characters in this play not primarily as personalities, as individuals, but as forces.''
I t is appropriate, therefore, t h a t Wilder chose E. as a vehicle. But "the price paid by
Our Town" Miller adds, "is psychological characterization forfeited in the cause of the
symbol." A successful play must bridge the gap between the private life of a man
(realism) and his social life (E.), and Miller urges the creation of a form " t h a t will unite
both elements". 26 I n his own Death of a Salesman (1949) he achieved this synthesis of
realistic and Expressionist modes.
I n the introduction to his Collected Plays, Miller speaks of the genesis of this play,
which began as an Evreinovesque monodrama: "The first image that occurred to me
which was to result in Death of a Salesman was of an enormous face the height of the
proscenium arch which would appear and then open up, and we would see the inside
of a man's head." I t was his aim, writes Miller, "to create a form which, in itself as a
form, would literally be the process of Willy Loman's way of mind". In other words,
"the play's eye was to revolve from within Willy's head." I t does—not only in Death
of a Salesman, but also in After the Fall (1964). Miller also states that he "had always
been attracted and repelled by the brilliance of German E". 2 7
A less ambiguous view is held by Tennessee Williams. " E . and all other uncon­
ventional techniques in drama," he writes in the production notes to The Glass Me-
nagerie (1945), "have only one valid aim, and that is a closer approach to truth." Wil­
liams discards the photographic approach and speaks of using poetic imagination in
order to change reality into "other forms than those which were merely present in ap­
pearance". 2 8 Aided by the directorial hand of Elia Kazan (who staged Miller's Death
of a Salesman as well as After the Fall) and the scenic effects of J o Mielziner, these
"other forms" appear here and there in Williams's plays (e.g., the projection of the ter­
ror in Blanche's mind in A Streetcar Named Desire [1947] by means of grotesquely dis­
torted visual and aural images) and find their most sustained application in Camino
Real (1953), whose street cleaners probably derive from Dos Passos's The Garbage Man.
Albee, whose The American Dream (1961) and Malcolm (1966) contain Expression­
ist distortions, referred at a press conference to his Tiny Alice (1964) as "something of
a metaphysical dream play which must be entered into and experienced without pre­
determination of how a play is supposed to go". 29 Since Albee was, at the time, lecturing
the critics, his warning about "predetermination" in all probability related to thinking
conditioned by the conventions of Broadway realism. For by calling Tiny Alice
" a metaphysical dream play", he placed his own work in the tradition of dramatic E.
that goes back to Strindberg's dream plays. When we add to this statement a consid­
eration of the structure and imagery of the play, we are justified in interpreting Tiny
Alice as an Expressionist projection of Brother Julian's nightmare or hallucination.

26
Arthur Miller, "The Family in Modern Drama," Atlantic Monthly, April, 1956, pp. 35—41.
27
Arthur Miller, Collected Plays (New York, 1957), pp. 23-24, 30, 39.
28
Tennessee Williams, The Glass Menagerie (New York, 1949), p. ix. For an extended discus­
sion of Williams's indebtedness to E. see Esther Merle Jackson, The Broken World of Tennessee
Williams (Madison, Wisc., 1965).
29
Quoted in Louis Calta, "Albee Lectures Critics on Taste," New York Times, March,'23, 1965,
p. 33. For a consideration of E. in Tiny Alice and the play's affinity with The Great God Brown
see Mardi Valgemae, "Albee's Great God Alice," Modern Drama, X (1967), pp. 267—273.

202
A similar approach to the play was taken by William Ball, who, in directing the work
for the American Conservatory Theatre, made use of exaggerated properties and em­
ployed masks far beyond the application prescribed by Albee's stage directions.
Tiny Alice not only contains a number of familiar Expressionist techniques (masks,
visually expressed transferrals of personality, symbolic distortions of reality) but
derives, in part, from O'Neill's The Great God Brown. Other plays of the sixties are
indebted to American Expressionist plays of earlier decades. For example, Murray
Schisgal's The Typists (1963) owes much to both Rice's The Adding Machine and Wilder's
The Long Christmas Dinner, Lewis John Carlino's Objective Case (1963) is reminiscent
of Kreymborg's Manikin and Minikin as well as Wilson's Cronkhite's Clocks, and the
grotesque puppets and masks of Jean-Claude van Itallie's America Hurrah (1965) are
not unlike the giant effigies of cheer leaders and pop venders in Gaston's Damn the
Tears. Similarly, the new centers of avant-garde drama, such as the Caffe Gino, the
Living Theatre, La Mama Experimental Theatre Club, the Open Theatre, and Theatre
Genesis, are the spiritual heirs of the Provincetown Players, the Washington Square
Players, the Neighborhood Playhouse, and the New Playwrights' Theatre.
The extent of the indebtedness of the "new" American drama of the sixties to E.
(as well as to other movements influenced by E., such as the " a r t " film and the theater
of the absurd) is revealed in the notes to Megan Terry's Keep Tightly Closed in a Cool
Dry Place (1965). The play, says its author, "can be directed literally or as a fantasy or
dream", and its three characters can be seen "as aspects of one personality". In talking
about the Open Theatre production of Keep Tightly Closed, the director, Peter Feldman,
states t h a t the formal innovations of Miss Terry's play have been anticipated by earlier
forms of theater, including "Expressionistic plays", the films of Federico Fellini, and
the work of the absurdist playwrights, whose approach to character "is a way to get
beyond the nervous system into the soul". 30 We recall that it was Toller who observed
t h a t the playwright skinned the human being in order to find his soul under the skin.
Most serious American playwrights as well as many scene designers and directors
since the 1920's have grasped the imaginative tools of E. in order to expose the soul
by hacking through what O'Neill called "the banality of surfaces". Numerically, Amer­
ican E. was not overwhelming. I t is significant, however, t h a t the leading playwrights
from O'Neill to Albee and beyond have utilized the Expressionist mode. While verse
drama, or what Cocteau called "poetry in the theatre", has all but disappeared from
the modern American stage, a different kind of "poetry of the theatre" has taken its
place. Similarly, such well-known scene designers and directors as Robert Edmond
Jones, Throckmorton, Simonson, Kazan, Mielziner, and Rail have assimilated the new
mode into their work. Utilizing Expressionist techniques, imaginative writers and scenic
artists have created a ritualistic poetry of visual stage metaphors and rhythms that
reveals the essence of the human predicament. Ry dramatizing the tortured inner life
of twentieth-century man, American E. has added to the modern repertory a significant
body of vivid and dynamic plays.

30
Megan Terry, Viet Rock and Other Plays (New York, 1967), pp. 155-156, 201-202.

203
 E U G E N E BRISTOW

EXPRESSIONIST STAGE TECHNIQUES

I N T H E RUSSIAN T H E A T E R

From the beginnings to the present, the theatrical genius of Vsevolod Meyerhold has
been instrumental in shaping both the nature and the uses of E. in the Russian theater.
U p to 1930 Meyerhold staged almost two hundred productions, and since most of his
work consisted of experiments in new forms and techniques, he provided a multitude of
stage techniques t h a t were used in various styles ranging from realism to the "absurd".
Meyerhold died in 1940 but with the subsequent publication of his writings in the
fifties and the memoirs of those who had worked with him or had seen his original
productions, his experiments with Expressionist stage techniques continue to influence
the present-day theater. My purpose in this paper is to examine in detail the first periods
of experimentation in the Russian theater, from the beginnings to the Revolution, and
to sketch briefly the consequences.

1905–1908

Among the memorable events in the modern Russian theater, few perhaps equal
in significance the Moscow Art Theater production of Chekhov's Čaika (The Seagull)
in December, 1898. Although the production faced several odds against success, the
highly favorable response by both audience and critics ensured the establishment of
the new theater and led to the submission of new scripts by the author. The symbol of
the "seagull", stitched to the curtain of the Moscow Art Theater and stamped on its
posters, tickets, and programs, not only sealed in visible form the inseparable linking
of theater, author, and play, but also marks the transition from one art movement to
the other in the history of Russian theater. The production of The Seagull asserted the
domain of the Naturalist —subsequently refined to Realist — movement in the use of
the proscenium arch theater of illusion and, at the same time, signified the introduc­
tion of the modern theater of multiple forms, techniques, and styles.
Reviving the aims of Alexander Ostrovsky in establishing a national theater, and
the techniques of the Meiningen Players in creating productions of pictorial illusion,
the founders of the Moscow Art Theater intended to reform the Russian theater; but
"like all revolutionaries", as Konstantin Stanislavsky put it, "we broke the old and
exaggerated the value of the new". 1 In short, during the early years of the Moscow

1
Konstantin Stanislavskv, My Life in Art, trans. J. J, Bobbins (New York, 1956), p. 330,
(Orig, pub, in 1924.)

205
Art Theater both Stanislavsky and Vladimir Nemirovich-Danchenko discarded the
obvious theatrical devices ingrained in the Russian court theaters of their day and
sought their ''genuine artistic t r u t h ' ' in the materials and techniques of Naturalism:
' ' I t was the truth of things, furniture, costumes, properties, lighting effects, as well
as of the outward image of the actor, and his external physical life." 2 Only in later
years, chiefly under the influence of Chekhov's works, Stanislavsky discarded the ex­
cesses of Naturalism and sought to discover the devices that led to the "inner realism",
or "perezivanie", of his productions.
Both an incident at a rehearsal of The Seagull and the script itself presaged the
modern theater of multiple forms. In the script, the character Arkadina is a successful
actress in the contemporary "peephole" theater, which her son Treplyov describes as
being "in a rut, ingrained with conventionalism [predrassudok]".3 I n the first act,
Treplyov passionately repudiates that theater:

When the curtain rises on a room with three walls illuminated by artificial
light, when I see these extremely talented persons, these high priests of a
holy art, showing the way people eat, drink, make love, walk around, and
wear their jackets; when out of trite scenes and empty phrases they try to fish
a moral—a tiny moral, easy to grasp and useful for everyday practice in
the home; when in a thousand variations they treat me to one and the same
thing over and over again, then I run, I run away . . .4

Treplyov's conclusion that "new forms are needed" in the theater is eventually qualified
in the fourth act when he realizes that it is "not a question of old and new forms, but
t h a t one writes . . . because it pours freely out of his own soul". 5 Thus, in the character
of Treplyov as well as in the image of the "seagull", Chekhov gave recognition to the
gathering forces of Symbolism in Russia.
The rehearsal incident occurred in early September, 1898, when Chekhov arrived
in Moscow to see the company in operation. Among those actors who talked with him
was Meyerhold, who not only played the role of Treplyov but also made the following
entry in his diary:

One of the actors said t h a t in The Seagull there would be croaking frogs,
the sound of dragonflies, and the barking of dogs offstage.

" W h y ? " Chekhov asked in a tone of dissatisfaction,

" I t is realistic," the actor answered.
" I t is realistic," Chekhov repeated with a laugh, and after a short pause,
he said: "The stage is art. There is a genre painting by Kramskoi in which the
2
K. S. Stanislavskij Moia žizn' v iskusstve (My Life in Art) (Moscow, 1936), p. 309. (Orig. pub.
in 1925.) All translations in this paper, with the exceptions noted, have been made by the author
of this paper.
3
A. P. Chekhov, P'esy (London, 1963), p. 145.
4
6
Ibid., pp. 145-146.
Ibid., p. 189. In his excellent two-volume biography (in Russian) of Meyerhold, Nikolai
Volkov concluded that the character of Treplyov expressed the feelings of a new generation of
artists in the period from 1898 to 1908. Nikolai Volkov, Meierhol'd (Moscow—Leningrad, 1929),
I, 90-94.

206
 faces are magnificently depicted. Suppose a nose were cut out of one of the
faces and a live one substituted? The nose would be 'realistic', but the paint­
ing would be spoiled.''
One of the actors proudly said that, at the end of the third act of
The Seagull, the director wanted to introduce on stage the entire house­
hold, including a woman with a weeping child.
" I t ' s unnecessary," Chekhov said. " I t would be like playing the piano
pia-nissimo at the moment the lid of the piano drops."
" B u t in life it often happens t h a t a forfe digs into the pianissimo quite
unexpectedly for us," one of the actors tried to object.
"Yes, but the stage," Chekhov said, "demands a certain convention (izvest-
noj uslovnosti). You have no fourth wall. Besides, the stage is art, the stage
reflects in itself the quintessence of life, and it is unnecessary to introduce
anything superfluous on the stage." 6

Chekhov's complaints about superfluous naturalistic detail in the Moscow Art

Theater, his belief t h a t the theater is an art and, therefore, subject to the conditions of
t h a t art, and his recognition t h a t even the illusionistic "peephole" theater—the kind
of theater for which he wrote his own plays -required "a certain convention", not only
underscored his brilliant insight into the relationship between life and art but also
framed the essential points in the argument over the aims and uses of the theater that
have engaged the attention of Russian playwrights, theorists, critics, and directors
from t h a t day on.
In the course of this century, essentially two directions were provided in the search
for the proper aims and uses of the Russian theater. One direction, exemplified, at its
best, by the Moscow Art Theater, continued along the same course which, having
originated in the Renaissance roofed playhouse, led to the realistic theater of illusion,
where everything was arranged to transport the spectator into the universe of the play
being enacted on the stage. Stanislavsky "rejoiced in the fact t h a t the spectator used
to come to the Art Theater for a performance of Tri sestry (The Three Sisters), not as
though coming into a theater, but as though for a visit to the Prozorov family". 7 Con­
sidering such an audience response as the highest achievement of the theater, he de­
scribed the chief aim of the Moscow Art Theater in the following terms: "As soon as the
spectator is seated in his place, and the curtain has opened, there and then we take
possession of him, we induce him to forget that he is in the theater. We take him to
ourselves, into our own setting, into our own atmosphere, into that environment which
now exists on the stage." 8 A significant portion of Stanislavsky's artistic life was de­
voted to the search for the proper techniques allowing the action to take hold of the

6
Statement from Meyerhold's diary, printed in E. A. Polockaja, "Čekov i Mejerhol'd",
Literaturnos nasledstvo, LXVIII (1960), pp. 418—419. This statement was first published by Meyer-
hold in 1907. For an earlier discussion of conventions in the theater see Valerij Bryusov "Nenu-
zhnaia pravda" in Mir iskusstva, VII—VIII, nos. 1—6 (1902), pp. 67—74.
7
Quoted from Evg. Vaxtangov, "Dve besedy s ucenikami" (April 10, 1922), printed in L. D.
Vendrovskaja, Evg. Vakhtangov, Materialy is staVi (Moscow, 1959), p. 206.
8
Quotation attributed to Stanislavsky, as reported by Vakhtangov, ibid., p, 206,

207
spectator. That his system was subsequently designated as the "official" means for the
actor to use during the thirties and forties not only stresses the degree of Stanislavsky's
success but also clarifies the aims and uses of the Russian theater of t h a t time.
The second direction, exemplified, at its best, by Meyerhold's career, was in large
measure the continuation of an older course t h a t had been interrupted in the eighteenth
century and largely diverted, in the nineteenth century, by the Naturalist movement.
The impetus for returning to the older course and the subsequent endorsement of the
"new" theater—which was largely the "old" theater modified by new theories and
practices—had a number of sources.
The antiquarian movement in nineteenth-century Europe, aided by archeological
field work chiefly in the ancient theater and by new research on theatrical institutions
in various historical periods, contributed to the increasing awareness t h a t theatrical
forms, techniques, and styles in earlier cultures were shaped by aims and uses other
than those which prevailed in the Russian theater at the turn of the century. The
members of the avantgarde were particularly interested in the ancient Greek theater.
For example, Valery Bryusov noted the uses of conventions such as the chorus, masks,
prologues, and the lack of scenery; Vyacheslav Ivanov studied the theater in terms of
its ritual; and Fyodor Sologub believed that the contemporary theater should employ
the ritual. The spectators coming into the theater should "leave their coarse, petty-
bourgeois clothing at the door [and] dart off into a light dance", he urged, and "the
crowd which has come to observe will be transformed into a chorus come to participate
in the tragic action". 9
The new artistic movements in Western Europe, particularly in the visual arts and
music, coupled with the new theatrical theories and practices introduced by designers
like Appia and Craig, b y directors like Reinhardt, and by writers like George Fuchs,
paralleled to a new generation of artists, musicians, writers, and directors in Russia.
A new journal, Mir iskusstva (The World of Art), published by Sergei Diaghilev and his
associates at the turn of the century, served not only as a means of spreading informa­
tion about the arts in Western Europe, but also provided a sounding board for the
avantgarde in Russia. Materials published in the journal included letters from art
centers in cities like Rome and Paris, accounts of Russia's historical past, foreign and
domestic criticism and theory, and beautiful illustrations. New methods in the staging
of Russian opera, having originated in the 1880's under Savva Mamontov and contin­
uing almost twenty-five years under his guidance, resulted in lavish productions fea­
turing singers like Fyodor Shalyapin, composers like Nikolay Rimsky-Korsakov, and
scenes and costume designs by artists like Mikhail Vrubel, Konstantin Korovin, and
Vasily Polenov. Mamontov's work, in turn, initiated a renaissance in the opera and
ballet productions at the Imperial theaters; and in the first decade of this century,
Diaghilev organized special Russian tours abroad that included, in the beginning, art
exhibitions and concert performances, and later, "seasons" of Russian opera and ballet.
In all these endeavors, the members of the Russian avantgarde were, as Marc Slonim

9
Fyodor Sologub, "Teatr odnoj voli," Teatr, Kniga o novem teatre (St. Petersburg, September,
1908), p 198.

208
observes, united more "by the community of taste than by ideology"; but "all hated
provincialism, naturalism, sloppiness of execution, substitution of social righteousness
for craft, and replacement of excellence by virtuous intentions''. 1 0
The Russian theater was the last of the arts to respond to the new movement in
Europe. Not until 1905, with Meyerhold's work at the Theater Studio established by
the Moscow Art Theater, was there a deliberate effort to experiment with new theories
and practices. Although the productions at the Theater Studio were never open to the
public, the nature of the work done there shaped the course of the new theater in
Russia. In 1906, Meyerhold joined the Theater of Vera Komissarzhevskaya in St. Pe­
tersburg and, continuing experiments similar jto those initiated in Moscow, he staged
fourteen productions in less than two years. By 1908 the foundations of the new theater
had been laid, chiefly under his guidance, and thereafter two kinds of theater were
available in Russia: the realistic one and the uslovnij theater of conventions. The aims
and uses of these two kinds differed greatly, and although each drew sustenance from
the other, it was primarily the uslovnij theater that can be rightly called the theater of
multiple forms, techniques, and styles. Moreover, it was in this, and not in the realistic
theater, that Expressionist stage techniques were first developed.
If the chief aim of the realistic theater was to induce the spectator "to forget
t h a t he is in the theater", the chief aim of the uslovnij theater was to remind him t h a t
he was indeed there. I n reviewing the work of Reinhardt in Berlin in 1907, Meyerhold
subscribed to the terms of the uslovnij theater, as defined by Leonid Andreev in a letter
to the young director: "[In the uslovnij theater] the spectator should not forget for
one moment that in front of him there are actors who are acting; nor the actors that
in front of them is the audience, that beneath their feet is a stage, that on each side is
the setting." 1 1 Whereas the realistic theater sought to incorporate the spectator into
the play being enacted before him, the uslovnij theater intended to supply only what
was necessary—"to help the spectator", as Bryusov put it, "in the slightest way to
reconstruct, in his imagination, the scene required by the plot". 12 In the uslovnij
theater, Meyerhold declared, there were four creators, and although each performed
separate functions, they were inseparably linked to each other by a creative process
which Meyerhold explained both diagrammatically and verbally as follows:

Author Director Actor Spectator

The director of the uslovnij theater makes it his task only to direct the actor,
not to govern him (the opposite of the Meiningen director). He serves only
as a bridge which connects the soul of the author with the soul of the actor.
Having assimilated the director's creative work, the actor is left alone, face
10
Marc Slonim, Russian Theater from the Empire to the Soviets (New York, 1962), p. 188. For
accounts in Russian, see the following: V. Vsevolodskij (Gerngross), Istorija russkogo teatra (Lenin­
grad—Moscow, 1929), I I , 262—267; Evg. A. Znosko-Borovskij, Éusskij teatr nachala XX veka
(Prague, 1925), pp. 246-253.
11
From a letter by Andreev to Meyerhold, printed first in an article by Meyerhold on Rein-
hardt's productions, which he saw in Berlin in April, 1907. See Vesy, VI (1907), 93—98, reprinted
in V. 12E. Meierhol'd's Stat'i, pis'ma, reči, besedy (Moscow, 1968), I, 164.
Bryusov, op. cit., p. 73,

209
 to face with the spectator, and from the friction of these two uncombined
sources—the creative work of the actor and the creative imagination of
the spectator—a true bright flame is kindled. 13

In this analysis of the creative process, Meyerhold laid the foundation for all of his
experimentation. The process was flexible enough to serve various styles; and it was
particularly appropriate in the development of Expressionist stage techniques. What­
ever devices the author incorporated in his script, the. director could employ them as
given, add to them, or discard them; the actor was free to improvise, should that serve
the director's intent, but he must participate in the creative process mutually enacted
between the actor and the spectator. Various Expressionist techniques, ranging from
distorted scenic units, area lighting, or symbolic costume to the mask, the grotesque,
and ironic by-play illustrate the flexibility of Meyerhold's creative process. That the
uses of the theater are conditioned by the conventions employed in it was a substantial
part of his theory.
However much the members of the Russian avantgarde disagreed among them­
selves concerning the means of production, the relationship of author, director, and
actor, or the aims of the theater, they were all firmly convinced that the theater was
not only an art conditioned by its innate conventions, but also that the spectator should
never forget that he was in the theater.
Although from 1905 to 1908 Meyerhold produced primarily Symbolist plays,
several of his stage techniques were later used in the production of Expressionist drama.
At the Theater Studio in 1905, the architectural setting was discarded and Meyerhold's
designers used the decorative panel with furniture and properties selected in terms of
suggestion and exaggeration. In a scene depicting an artist's studio, for example, a
large canvas with a picture partially completed (the remainder outlined in charcoal)
dominated half of the stage, only part of the skylight was revealed, and the pieces of
furniture and props were few in number and chosen for their functional purpose (as
required by the action of the play). In the production of Hauptmann's Schluck und Jau
(1905), the original designs, which featured "a great number of details", were replaced
by "one or two prominent brush strokes": in the first scene, huge castle gates; in the
royal bedchamber, a gigantic bed of exaggerated proportions complete with an "in­
credible" canopy; in the third scene, a blue sky with clouds painted on the backdrop,
a row of roses running the entire width of the upstage area, and a row of arbors devised
like wicker baskets on the forestage. In this scene, Meyerhold introduced the principle
of uniform movement and gesture performed simultaneously by the group, in opposi­
tion to the naturalistic use of diversification. As the curtain rises, the princess, seated
in the central arbor, is flanked by her ladies-in-waiting seated in identical arbors, each
of them embroidering a single broad ribbon with ivory needles, all in identical time.
A duet, sung to the accompaniment of harp and harpsichord, is heard offstage. "The
musical rhythm is evident throughout," Meyerhold said, "in the movements, lines,
gestures, words, colors of the setting and colors of the costumes." 14
13
Vs. Meierhol'd's "Teatr (K istorii i tekhnike)," Teatr, Kniga o novom teatre (St. Petersburg,
1908),14pp. 159, 175.
Ibid., pp. 130-132.

210
 At Poltava in the summer of 1906, Meyerhold introduced several new stage tech­
niques. He changed the architectural design of the theater by dismantling the footlights
and covering the orchestra with a floor that was on the same level as the stage itself.
In this way, the actors were brought closer to the audience. In Ibsen's Ghosts, he discard­
ed the front curtain and dressed the actors in symbolic colors, e.g., Oswald in black and
Regina in bright red. In Arthur Schnitzler's Der Ruf des Lebens (The Call of Life),
a sofa as long as the stage was placed parallel to the footlights, and the props were multi­
plied to reduce the characters to insignificance. Using a Japanese device, Meyerhold
carefully plotted the movements of the actors in terms of dance steps which either fol­
lowed or preceded the individual lines of the dialogue.
Meyerhold's productions in 1906 and 1907 in St. Petersburg contributed numerous
stage techniques that were later employed in production after production. In several
plays, the stage was thrust close to the footlights, the decorative panel was used, and
the actors appeared in the form of bas-relief. In Ibsen's HeddaGabler (1906), the costume
and scene designers worked to harmonize the color scheme. In the costumes, for ex­
ample, line and mass were combined with color symbolism to express the inner nature as
well as the typical traits of the characters, e.g., green for Hedda, pink for Thea, brown
for Lovborg. The setting, the furniture, and the properties were similarly treated. As a
compositional device Meyerhold used widely-spaced groupings (two actors on opposite
sides of the stage), actors speaking en face, and the static pose of the character in associa­
tion with a particular property, e.g., Brack in the pose of a lawn, Hedda seated like
a queen on a huge armchair covered with white fur. Long pauses, coldly-minted vocal
sounds, separate rhythms for voice and body were combined with patterns of movement
and static poses in order to enable the spectator not only to hear the spoken dialogue
but also to penetrate to the ''inner secret dialogue of forebodings and emotional ex­
periences which cannot be expressed in words". The aim of the production was to pre­
sent "a primitive, pure expression to what is felt behind Ibsen's play: a cold, royal,
autumnal Hedda". 1 5
In Andreev's Žizn' Čeloveka (The Life of Man 1907), Meyerhold discarded both
the decorative panel and the usual lighting system, substituted draperies which were
hung on the walls of the stagehouse, and introduced area lighting from a single light
source. Properties were constructed in exaggerated proportions, and only a few pieces
of furniture were selected to suggest the typical, and, given the low intensity of the
light, the walls appeared invisible. On account of a special use of light and draperies,
the characters were bathed in a dream-like atmosphere. The episodic structure of
Wedekind's Frühlings Erwachen (1907) posed a serious problem in the shifting of
eighteen scenes which Meyerhold and his designer solved by placing the entire setting
on the stage and by spotlighting only the portion required by a particular episode.
In this way, rapid changes of scene took place. Meyerhold's technique of area spotlight­
ing was subsequently elaborated and proved particularly useful for Expressionist drama
by allowing a large number of episodes to be set in many different places of action; two

15
From the description of the production of Hedda Gabler by P. M. Jarcev, printed by Meyer-
hold in his book, O teatre (St. Petersburg, 1913), reprinted in Meierhold's Stat'i, 1, 242.

211
 or more places to be revealed at the same time; and rapid shifts of contrasting actions
to move from place to place (montage).
For his last production at the Komissarzhevskaya Theater, Sologub's Pobeda
Smerti (The Victory [of Death, 1907), Meyerhold devised a flight of stairs that ran the
full width and depth of the stage, from the rear wall to the edge of the proscenium.
Through a large center arch, which was flanked by smaller openings, the steps rose to
the large double door at the rear of the stage. Meyerhold had wanted to extend the
stairs into the auditorium itself but was persuaded to stop at the edge of the prosce­
nium. I n some of his productions after 1908, however, he had his way, and the gulf
between the actors and the audience was bridged; and the critics noted the excellent
grouping of actors on the flight of steps. Both Tairov and Leopold Jessner later per­
fected this use of actors in plastic groupings and movements on steps and levels of
varying heights.
Meyerhold's most important production in this period was that of Alexander
Blok's Balagancik (The Puppet Show) in 1906. I t marked a turning point in his career
and after 1908 led to further experimentation with the techniques of the commedia
dell'arte and the show-booth theater (balagan). Blue drapes were hung at the rear and
the sides of the stage house, and a small booth theater, complete with its own stage,
curtain, setting, and proscenium, was placed near the edge of the footlights. No mask­
ing was used to conceal the top of the booth theater, the ropes attached to the scenery
in the booth theater were visible, and its settings were flown aloft in full view of the
audience. Moreover, the light in the auditorium was on during performance. The char­
acters executed only suggestive movements and gestures. When the "doll" wept, for
example, the handkerchief did not touch the eyes, and when it killed, the sword did
not touch the victim. Pierrot, who was played by Meyerhold himself, used precise
gestures (flapping arms) which were consistently repeated and were associated only
with t h a t figure. At one point, the Clown was "struck" with a wooden sword and ex­
claimed t h a t cranberry juice was running from his wound. As Marjorie Hoover has
observed, "the argument that the doll 'show' and not 'be' the character it portrays
foreshadows the 'alienation' Brecht demands of his actors". 1 6 Both the script and the
production of Blok's play were conceived in terms of the ambiguity of the mask, the
dialectics of illusion/reality/irony, and the grotesque.
I n the first phase of his career, Meyerhold experimented with a number of stage
techniques which were subsequently refined and used in the production of Expression­
ist drama. By 1908 he had made the following innovations: designing the settings, fur­
niture, properties, and costumes in terms of selectivity, suggestion, and exaggeration;
using the stage light, such as low-intensity light, to suggest mood and the area spot­
lighting to change multiple episodic scenes; exploiting the variable relationships be­
tween stage and auditorium, such as bringing actors closer to the audience, removing
the footlights and the front curtain, retaining full light in the auditorium during the

16
Marjorie L. Hoover, "V. E. Meyerhold: A Russian Predecessor of Avant-Garde Theater,"
Comparative Literature, XVII (1965), 243. For descriptions of productions staged by Meyerhold
in this period, see the following: Meierkhol'd, Stat'i, I, 95–97, 215–217, 239–257; Volkov, op.
cit., I, 245—246; Znosko-Borovskij, op. cit., pp. 266-295,

212
performance; using voice and diction to express an inner dialogue; the groupings and
patterns of movement for the actors, including simultaneous and uniform group action,
the static pose, dance patterns related to dialogue, and plastic groupings and move-
ments on steps and levels; and employing musical rhythm, the mask, and the grotesque
to define and control the elements of the production.

1913-1915

While the first stage of Meyerhold's career was marked by the introduction of
Expressionist stage technique, the second was characterized by refinement and elabo­
ration. Along with several other directors, as well as Futurist writers and painters,
Meyerhold added new devices, perfected the old, and prepared the way for the heyday
of Expressionist stage production in the twenties.
Among the directors who experimented with such devices were Nikolay Evreinov
and Fyodor Komissarzhevsky, Vera's brother. Evreinov was instrumental in organizing
two seasons (1907-1908; 1911-1912) at the Ancient Theater in St. Petersburg, during
which medieval and seventeenth-century plays were staged in terms of their original
conventions. Like Meyerhold in his second phase, Evreinov worked in cabarets, staging
improvisations and plays characterized chiefly by parody and the grotesque. Among
his views, like t h a t of "theatricalizing life" (which posits a universal theatrical instinct
in mankind), the theory and practice of monodrama were most appropriate to the
staging of Expressionist drama. "Every play," he said, "could be the drama or comedy
of a single person, a central hero. The crowd of other persons . . . must only be shown
from a single point of view, namely t h a t of the hero . . . One could thus produce all
the variations of the hero's mood, extract them from his soul, and project them through
the other characters." 17 Evreinov wrote and produced monodramas in which the central
character is divided and multiplied, and the stage light changes in color and intensity as
the mood of the character changes.
Komissarzhevsky was an innovator of forms and styles from 1910 until his emigra­
tion in 1919. Like Meyerhold, he produced both operas and plays, experimented with
the devices of the commedia dell'arte and the show-booth theater, staged plays by
Ostrovsky and Molière, and developed the use of musical rhythm and the grotesque.
He proposed a synthetic theater in which the performer was to combine the talents of
dramatic actor, singer, and dancer. His production of Carlo Gozzi's Princess Turandot
featured several aspects later incorporated by Vakhtangov in his own production: the
actors enter from the auditorium, improvise speeches, actions, and asides; scenery
in the form of screens appears and disappears in full view of the audience; and the style
of the whole production is fantastic and grotesque. Among Komissarzhevsky's many
productions, his concept of a play based on Dostoevsky's Skvernyj anekdot (A Sordid
Story) is an excellent illustration of the uses of theatrical E. "The delirious images of
17
Znosko-Borovskij, op. cit., pp. 329—330. For discussions of Evreinov, see the following:
Nicolas Evreinoff, The Theatre in Life, ed. and trans. Alexander I. Nazaroff (New York, 1927);
N. N. Evreinov, Istorija russkogo teatra s drevnejšix vremen do 1917 goda (New York, 1955), pp.
402—405; Nikolai A. Gorchakov, The Theater in Soviet Russia, trans. Edgar Lehrman (New York,
1957), pp. 77-85.

213
 the hero of the play," Yevgeny Znosko-Borovsky observes, "were expressed in the
broken, unnatural lines of the décor, in the degenerate houses, in the interrupted move­
ments of the characters, the unexpected pauses, the stumbling rhythm, speech, etc." 1 8
From 1908 to 1918 Meyerhold was employed as a director of both opera and drama
at the Imperial theaters in St. Petersburg, and using the Hoffmannes que pseudonym
of Dr. Dapertutto, he continued his experiments in cabarets and in his own theater
studio. Two productions at the Interlude House in 1910 illustrate how he elaborated
his earlier devices. He removed the footlights, added steps to link the stage with the
auditorium, and substituted tables and chairs for the rows of seats. Schnitzler's scenario
Der Schleier der Pierette (Pierette's Veil), under the title Sarf Kolombiny (Columbine's
Scarf) was changed to a pantomime in the style of E.T.A. Hoffmann. Dividing the three
scenes into fourteen episodes, in order to contrast the sharp changes in mood and to
stress the nightmarish atmosphere, Meyerhold developed the uses of the grotesque.
The action and nature of the chief characters, drawn from the commedia dell'arte, were
manipulated by the changing musical rhythms supplied by the large-headed Kapell-
meister and his four grotesque musicians. The movement spread into the auditorium
with a dance of wedding guests around the tables and with the Kapellmeister's flight
through the audience after the discovery of the bodies of Columbine and Pierrot. In
Znosko-Borovsky's comedy, Obrascenny princ (The Transformed Prince), Meyerhold
demonstrated the transformation from prince to king by having the courtiers add a
gray wig and long beard to the prince in full view of the audience. At one point, during
a battle scene, a soldier crawled out from underneath the scenery, described the violent
conflict, was interrupted by shots, fell down the stairs into the auditorium, slid under
a table, and eventually ran through the audience, shouting for everyone to save himself.
In 1914 Meyerhold produced Blok's Neznakomka (The Unknown Woman) and The
Puppet Show in St. Petersburg. Using devices borrowed from the Japanese Kabuki and
No theaters for staging the first play, he experimented with using the property men,
who held, waved, or moved gauze curtains, veils, and other objects to change both
place and time. The bridge in The Unknown Woman was later described as the "first
experiment of designing scenic space in the spirit ot constructivism". 19 In the same
year, Meyerhold opened his own actors' studio, which featured physical training in the
use of various devices from the commedia dell' arte, and the Hindu, Japanese, and Chi­
nese theaters, as well as instruction in acrobatic skills, in speaking prose and verse, and
in theater history. Although the studio closed in 1917, it pioneered the training methods,
emerging, under the name of biomechanics, in the twenties. Meyerhold's productions
at the Imperial theaters, on the other hand, were, in the words of Edward Braun,
"largely a consolidation of lessons already learnt". 2 0 His most outstanding production
was t h a t of Mikhail Lermontov's Maskarad (Masquerade, 1917) on the very eve of the
Revolution. As in The Puppet Show and Columbine's Scarf, Meyerhold here emphasized
the mask and the grotesque.
18
Znosko-Borovskij, op. cit., p. 359.
19
Volkov, op. cit., II, 324, quoting from Teatr im. Vs. Meierkhol'da (Moscow, 192G). For
descriptions of the productions at the Interlude House in 1910 and Blok'c plays in 1914, see Volkov,
op. cit.,
20
II, 124-132, 318-325, and Znosko-Borovskij, op. cit., pp. 302–318.
Edward Braun (tr. and ed.), Meyerhold on Theatre (New York, 1969), p. 78.

214
 Since the grotesque was an important stage technique in the production of Ex­
pressionist drama after the Revolution, Meyerhold's theory influenced a number of
directors. In his article, "The Show Booth (Balagan),'' published in 1913, Meyerhold
examined not only the nature and theatrical use of the grotesque but also the desired
response on the part of the audience. Even though certain plays by Blok, Sologub, and
Wedekind may be classified as realistic, Meyerhold explained, something altogether
different has been injected into their depiction of everyday life. He ascribed these
unusual effects to the nature of the grotesque; that is, the particular realism in these
plays forces the spectator to respond ambivalently to what is happening on the stage.
The task of the grotesque "is to keep the spectator constantly in the condition of this
ambivalent response to the scenic action, which changes its own course by means of
contrasting touches". As Meyerhold pointed out, the effect of the grotesque upon the
audience is similar to the responses of an observer to certain life-like figures by Jacques
Callot, in that one senses something familiar and, at the same time, alien, and that
thereby enigmatic hints are evoked by means of the grotesque. Hence, it is the aim of
the artist employing the grotesque in the theater "to take the spectator out of one level
of perception which he has just achieved to another which the spectator has by no
means expected". The nature of the grotesque, according to Meyerhold, is, essentially,
the struggle between form and content. A mixture of opposites, the grotesque is fantas­
tic and depends on its own originality in performance. I t may be found in both the
comic and the tragic modes and expresses "the demonic in the deepest irony; the tragi­
comic in the everyday". I t strives for a "consistent improbability [Pushkin's phrase,
uslovnoe nepravdopodobie], for enigmatic hints, for substitution [of something false for
something true, podmena] and for transformation". I t neutralizes "what is sentimentally
weak in the romantic" and employs sharp incongruity as well as "dissonance, elevated
to the harmoniously beautiful and the overcoming of the daily grind in everyday life
[preodolenie byta v byte]".21 As Volkov has observed, the method of the grotesque served
as the basis for Meyerhold's device of changeover (pereključenie) which he used in his
production of Alexey Faiko's UčiteV Bubus (The Teacher Bubus) in 1925.
The work of the Russian Futurists in both art and the theater was revealed to the
public in the period from 1913 to .1915. In December, 1913, the Society of Youth in
St. Petersburg staged performances of two Futurist works at the Luna Park, in the
same theater where Meyerhold had staged plays for Vera Komissarzhevskaya six
years earlier. The works produced were Alexey Kruchenykh's opera Pobeda nad soln-
cent (The Victory over the Sun) and Mayakovsky's play, Vladimir MayaJeovsky, A Tra­
gedy. The opera, divided into two acts with a prologue by Viktor Khlebnikov, depicts
the forces of the future struggling with those of the past, as well as the problems which
men of the future will face. Malevich designed both the sets and costumes for the pro­
duction. According to Kruchenykh, the scenery "was made of big sheets—triangles,
circles, bits of machinery". 22 One of the backdrops consisted of an abstract geometrical
design composed simply of a black and white square. The remaining backdrops in-
21
Meierhol'd, Stat'i, I, 2 2 5 - 2 2 9 . Volkov, op. cit., I I , 247.
22
From the unpublished memoirs of Kruchenykh, "Nas v y x o d , " quoted and trans, b y Camilla
G r a y , The Great Experiment: Russian Art, 1863-1922 (New York, 1962), p. 308. For Malevich and
his designs, see Gray, p . 136 a n d p l a t e 99.

216
cluded triangles, curves, and semi crides. A second-act curtain was made of white
calico on which the designer, composer, and author were represented by three sets of
hieroglyphs. Malevich subsequently explained that it was in this production t h a t
Suprematism was born. The costumes, in design revealing the influence of Picasso's
Cubist works, were made of cardboard and wire; and the performers wore masks, some
of them resembling gas masks.
Written in verse, Vladimir Mayakovsky, Á Tragedy is divided into two acts, framed
by a prologue and an epilogue in the form of a soliloquy. The script contains various
Expressionist devices combined with Futurist themes. Its protagonist is the poet, played
by himself, dressed in his everyday clothes, including overcoat, top hat, and a blouse
with orange and black stripes. In the short opening monologue, the Poet appears alone
and introduces several of his basic themes and ideas, as well as those of his Futurist
colleagues: "Urbanism, primitivism, and anti-estheticism; the themes of hysterical
despair, of lack of understanding, and of the soul of a new man and the souls of things." 2 3
Remaining on stage throughout the play, Mayakovsky is visited by abstract agents
characterized in the manner of the grotesque. Although some of these agents, such as
the Old Man with Scrawny Black Cats, the Man without an Ear, the Man without an
Eye and a Leg, and the man with Two Kisses, have lengthy monologues, all except the
Ordinary Young Man are simply personifications of various aspects of the poet. I n the
production, these agents were acted chiefly by university students carrying shields on
which the various deformities or features had been painted by Pavel Filonov. Maya­
kovsky, who served as director as well as author and protagonist, directed the performers
to walk only in straight lines and to keep their faces (painted like masks) hidden behind
the shields except when speaking.
Mayakovsky drew upon the ancient Greek theater and its tragedy for some of the
ritual content and several conventions. The Poet in his play is sympathetic to the
suffering of the city and its inhabitants, eventually takes on their burdens in the form
of tears (which resembled giant fish bubbles in the production), packs them into his
suitcase, and deserts the community, leaving behind shreds of his soul on the lances
of the city. As in Greek tragedy, little happens on stage, but offstage events are reported
by messengers. The poet's role as scapegoat resembles that of Oedipus; and following
Aeschylus, Mayakovsky as author/director/actor combined three of the four creators
whom Meyerhold declared essential in the theater. Not only were the agents, other than
the Poet, treated in the manner of the grotesque, as Meyerhold had defined it, but
costumes, properties, and scenery were also designed with the aim of distortion. For
example, the agent called The Known Woman (a travesty on Blok's Unknown Woman)
was characterized as huge and some two fathoms tall, while the two backdrops for the
production were designed to reveal abstract and geometrical distortions. Filonov's
backdrop for the prologue and epilogue consisted of a black rectangular cardboard
on which objects, inscriptions, and colored spots were painted. Shkolnik's backdrop
for the two acts, as described by Rostotsky, depicted "in the uslovnyi manner a city
in a maze of streets, with houses that are falling down and squeezed together, streetcars,

23
Vladimir Markov, Russian Futurism: A History (Berkeley and Los Angeles, 1968), p. 143.

216
signboards, telegraph poles, streeet lamps, and other characteristic parts of the city
landscape". 24
Mayakovsky's lyrical tragedy incorporated certain aspects of Evreinov's theory
of monodrama, revealed the Expressionist devices of Meyerhold's grotesque, and proved
significant in his subsequent development as a poet and playwright. As Lawrence Stahl-
berger sees it, "tragic content, with a mythic base or core, expressed in grotesque
imagery, and emphasizing the absurdity of existence, are the underlying characteristics
of much of his work". 25 Moreover, Mayakovsky's three major plays written after the
Revolution featured several Expressionist stage techniques first used in his tragedy
in 1913.
A play called Ogon' (Fire), written by Yuri Bondi, Meyerhold, and Vladimir
Solovyov, and published in Meyerhold's journal Ljubov' k treni apeVsinam (The Love
of Three Oranges) not only influenced Meyerhold's production of Sergey Tretyakov's
Zemlya dybom (The Earth Upside Down) in 1923 but was also an early example of
Expressionist drama in Russia. A scenario—to allow for improvisations - i n eight
scenes with an apotheosis, Fire, was never produced. Although inspired by the German-
Belgian confrontation, its authors aimed at a depiction of war in general and sought to
achieve the maximum emotional effect. Comparing the production of The Earth Upside
Down with this script, Volkov noted certain similarities: each consisted of eight epi­
sodes and had the same purpose, namely, "to arouse heroic feelings in the audience". 26
Moreover, the stage directions in Fire recall Lyubov Popova's constructivist settings
for Tretyakov's play:

[Scene 8, Fire.] A system of iron trusses and beams, the center is occupied by
an observation platform joined by a whole row of catwalks to the invisible
foundations of the whole structure. On the platform a system of levers regulat­
ing a complex series of dikes . . .27

In December, 1914, Tairov opened his Kamerny (chamber) Theater with the pro­
duction of Kalidasa's Shakuntala, with Alisa Koonen in the leading role. Konstantin
Balmont, an early Symbolist poet, had made the translation, and Pavel Kuznetsov,
a noted painter, designed the scenery for this production. The critical response to this
production of Shakuntala was typical for that accorded to many productions at the
Kamerny. Since Tairov believed in careful preparation, he directed no more than four
new plays each season. His productions were characterized by the fusion of all the
theatrical arts, by the use of music and musical rhythm, and by the combination of
various talents ranging from ballet to the circus.
Among Tairov's productions before the Revolution which demonstrated Expres­
sionist stage techniques was Innokenty Annensky's Famira Kifared in 1916, for which
Alexandra Ekster, a noted painter, had designed both the scenery and the costumes,

24
B. Rostotskij, Maiakovshij i teatr (Moscow, 1952), p. 35.
25
26
Lawrence Leo Stahlberger, The Symbolic System of Majakovskij (London, 1964), p. 43.
27
Volkov, op. cit., I I , 347.
Iu. Bondi, Vs. Meierkhol'd, VI. Solov'ev, "Ogon' (p'esa)," Liubov' ktrem apeVsinam (1914),
nos. 6—7, p. 50.

217
As Tairov explained, the problem in designing the Betting was to create appropriate
spaces for two rhythmic tasks: the bacchanalian and satyrical moments (Dionysian) as
contrasted with the tragedy of Famira (Apollonian): " Working together with Aleksandra
E k s t e r , . , we gave the whole central part of the model's background to platforms which
expressed the Apollonian rhythm [Famira] . . ., while all the side scenes were occupied
by forms which, piled up around the basic rhythmic design of the center, vibrated with
all the multiformity of rhythmic oscillation characteristic of the cult of Dionysus." 28
Ekster provided three long steps leading to a platform in the center and surrounded
by cubes and conical forms in various shapes and sizes. Her costumes were designed to
express the true nature of characters and to enhance their emotional gestures and
movements. Famira Kifared illustrated Tairov's principle of breaking up the level stage
floor with systems of steps, platforms, and ramps designed to express the rhythmical
movement and the plastic groupings of actors. His use of rhythm in creating a scenic
atmosphere dominated his productions of Expressionist plays in the 1920's. Moreover,
Tairov continued to bring first-rate painters and architects into his theater: Nataliya
Goncharova designed the scenery and costumes for Carlo Goldoni's Fan (1915), Ale-
xandr Vesnin the scenery for G. K. Chesterton's The Man Who Was Thursday (1923),
Georgy Yakulov that for Charles Lecocq's Giroflé-Giroflà (1922); and Vladimir and
George Stenberg that for O'Neill's The Hairy Ape (1926).

After the Revolution the Russian theater became one of the foremost international
centers of the performing arts. In the first few years of the Soviet Union, some of the
Futurist writers and artists, as well as important directors, continued their work for
the stage. Foremost among the movements in scenic design was the widespread use of
constructivism after 1921. Characteristically, Meyerhold was the first to demonstrate
this technique in his production of Fernand Crommelynck's The Magnanimous Cuckold
(1922). Although Edward Braun concludes that Meyerhold's production of Marcel
Martinet's Night, rewritten by Tretyakov under the title The Earth Upside Down (1923),
"constituted the first significant attempt in Russia to relate Expressionist abstractions
to political reality," 29 the two productions of Mayakovsky's Misterija-Buff (Mystery
Bouffe, 1918 and 1921), staged by Meyerhold and the author, were earlier examples
of political purposivencss combined with Expressionist stage techniques. Russia's
outstanding representatives of E., Mayakovsky (according to Markov, the "truest"
Russian playwright "of this aesthetic kind" 30 ) and Meyerhold (the most prolific in­
ventor of Expressionist stage techniques), always worked side by side in the production
of Mayakovsky's major plays.
German Expressionist drama was imported to Russia beginning in 1920 when
Anatoly Lunacharsky, the Commissar of Education, recommended the plays of Kaiser,
28
Alcksandr Tairov, Zàpiski režissera (Moscow, 1021), p. 141. For a comparinoli of Tairov
with Meyerhold, see "Introduction" by William Kuhlke (tr.) to his edition of Tairov's Notes of a
Director '(Coral Gablos, Florida, 1969), pp. 24-28, 33-34.
29
30
Braun, op. cit., p. 189.
Markov, op. cit., p. 238. Markov notes that "Pasternak and Mayakovsky are, in different
ways, the truest Russian representatives" of E., "which was born (but never actually identified)
on the frontier of symbolism and futurism". Ibid.

218
Toller, and Hasenclever for production, By 1922, however, he wrote about the Expres­
sionist "grimace" on the face of the German theater. 3 1 In the following year, he issued
his famous slogan "Back to Ostrovsky," and from that moment, as Vsevolodsky notes,
"the path in the development of the Soviet theater might be described as the rush from
the uslovnyj to the realistic". 32 Although productions of Expressionist plays were rarer
after 1923, directors like Tairov continued to use the methods of constructivism. Tairov
demonstrated his principles not only in the previously mentioned productions of
Chesterton's The Man Who Was Thursday (1923), and O'Neill's The Hairy Ape (1926),
but also by staging Hasenclever's Antigone (1927). Expressionist stage techniques were
used by various directors like Nikolay Okhlopkov as late as 1936.

31
A. V. Lunacharskij, Teatr i revoliutsija (Moscow, 1924), p. 89. For an account of the impact
of Russian Expressionist stage techniques on the German theater of the 1920's, see Jürgen Rüble,
Theater
32
und Revolution (Munich, 1963).
Vsevolodskij, op. cit., II, 411. For descriptions of productions of Expressionist drama, see
A. Anastas'ev, et al., Istorija sovetskogo dramaticeskogo teatr a v sesti tomax (Moscow, 1966), I I ,
56-58, 92-116, 148-149, 446-449; I I I , 1 0 4 - 1 0 6 . For a discussion of Vakhtangov's work, see
the unpublished diss. (Iowa, 1965) by William Lonnie Kuhlke, "Vakhtangov's Legacy." For a
description of Meyerhold's productions of Toller's plays at the Theater of Revolution, see Z. G.
Dal'tsev, "Moskva, 1917—1923 (iz vospominanij)," in the book U istokov (Moscow, 1960), pp.
215-224.

219
 RICHARD VOWLES

EXPRESSIONISM I N SCANDINAVIA

A consideration of the arena of E. presents us with an essential antinomy: movement

vs. national identity. On the one hand, E. seems to deal with universals: vision, sub­
jectivism, distortion, and revolt. Moreover, few movements can lay claim to so much
interaction and interfusion of the arts: literature, art, and music, with some practi­
tioners, namely Kokoschka and Barlach, working ably in two media. On the other
hand, E. is frequently considered a German phenomenon and sometimes even dismissed
as being excessively localized in both time and place. Undeniably the movement flour­
ished in Germany for particular social and political reasons; just as undeniably, however,
it had a wider significance that transcends the transmission of a bag of habits and
tricks.
E. in Scandinavia is a matter of some importance because, as some say, it originated
there, and also because this region presents interesting problems of homogeneity and
diversity, as well as a proximity to Germany. To discover the shape and continuity of
E. in the various Scandinavian countries is, therefore, to illuminate the nature of the
movement and the peculiar workings of nationalism.
Strindberg can probably be called the first Expressionist, independent of whether
he is more important as an originator, synthesizer or transmitter. The interaction of
Strindberg and Munch in both Berlin and Paris was an event of great significance, since
the flow of ideas from one medium to another was established. Strindberg was himself
a painter, curiously anticipating abstract E.; and in Munch we observe an unusual
literalization of the canvas in his idea of a frieze of life. Perhaps more deep-seated are
the shared themes of anguish, revolt against parentage and pietism, the projection of
states of mind, and soul, and a diversity of metaphors, such as vampirism, madonnaism,
and the world as inferno. One would think that, accordingly, Munch would have been
an important emissary of E. to Norway. After all, did not Bahr, with an eye on Munch's
canvas of t h a t name, maintain that the "scream" was the essential Expressionist
gesture ?
But E. found no fertile soil in Norway, and for all practical purposes it is useless
to look for an Expressionist tradition there. Perhaps the reason is that Munch failed
to develop along these lines. I t is indicative of his development that his talents were
applied to Ibsen's realistic plays, and t h a t his art took on the rather bland, public
form of murals for the Oslo University aula and a Norwegian chocolate factory. More
to the point, Munch's paintings from about 1905, while executed in rich broken color,
have lost intensity and have changed their focus from man to landscape. Nevertheless,
one would expect Munch to have had a greater literary effect than he actually did.

221
 The force of Ibsen's example had much to do with establishing a realistic tradition
in the Norwegian drama. There is little deviation from the Ibsenesque format to be
found in the major Norwegian playwrights Gunnar Heiberg, Helge Krog, and Nordahl
Grieg. By and large, they wrote problem plays - suffused with new ideas, but problem
plays nonetheless - cast pretty much in the form of the well-made-play. The one creator
of dream plays in Norway, Tore 0rjesaeter, probably owed as much to Peer Gynt
as he did to Strindberg's Dream Play. I t is quite common to take flight from a major
figure, as Dryden fled from the long shadow of Shakespeare, but not so where a country
is finding itself, literarily speaking, and where a writer, however independent and in»
ventive he may be, is likely to follow established paths.
Social conditions were also major determinants in the Norwegian scene. Proletarian
preoccupations insisted on realism, whether the concern was with folklore, the rural
community, self-conscious urbanization and unionization, or intellectual Communism
(much more dominant among major writers in Norway than in the other Scandinavian
countries). I t is also possible that the political atmosphere surrounding Norway's
separation from Sweden meant not merely an assertion of national identity but an
avoidance of Swedish models like Strindberg. J u s t recently, the Norwegian writer Finn
Alnaes has lamented the fact that Norwegians paid too little heed to Strindberg's
later plays, and in all probability at a time when it would have been decisive. There are,
of course, Expressionist elements in the works which Hamsun wrote in the 1890's,
and Hamsun was a sturdy exponent of Strindberg's writing at that time. But their
effect, singly or together, is scarcely to be noted in Norwegian letters. Individual Ex-
pressionist traits may be noted, but never the peculiarly feverish convergence of ele­
ments that constituted dramatic E. What emanated from Hamsun's blood was not so
much a scream as it was a whisper.
Strindberg casts as long a shadow in Sweden as Ibsen does in Norway, and Swed­
ish E. is definitely Strindbergian. The underlying reasons are rather more aesthetic
than social. To some extent, they depend on a rhythm of events. Only six years after
Strindberg's death, Par Lagerkvist published a dramatic manifesto that picked up the
echo of Strindberg's reputation and amplified it for generations of playwrights to come.
I t is fair to say that most modern Swedish plays of any consequence come somewhere
near being an extrapolation of the line originating in Strindberg's dream plays and
proceeding through such plays by Lagerkvist as The Invisible (1923) and He Who Got
to Live His Life Over Again (1928), the titles of which are, in themselves, indicative. But
in his book Modern Theatre—all the more striking because of its strong pathos and
monumental loneliness (he wrote little criticism thereafter)—Lagerkvist clearly rejects
Ibsenesque realism and all showy and supercilious theatricality in favor of a theater
of vision attuned to the moralities and mysteries of the Middle Ages.
I t could, of course, be argued that Lagerkvist is as far from German E. as is Ghelde-
rode, with whom he has a good many things in common. Nevertheless he is, in other
ways, attuned to the Expressionist movement. His poems "Anguish" (1916) and
"Torso" (1922) establish an important affinity with Expressionist poetry on the conti­
nent and are, essentially, subjective. "Torso", for example, deals with personal mutila­
tion, whereas Ivan GoiPs poem of the same name treats political mutilation. The differ-

222
ence is illuminating, for Swedish E., on the whole, is personal rather than political.
There was, indeed, no special reason for it to be political, since the conflict was not
externalized in the neutral Sweden of World War I.
The other important playwright of Lagerkvist's generation, Hjalmar Bergman,
was so eclectic t h a t he can hardly be said to belong to any one tradition. However, in
the teens and twenties he wrote a sufficient number of parables, doppelgänger
plays to align himself with, and certainly to suggest no strong departure from, the
evolving theater of E. The playwrights to follow, Stig Dagerman, Werner Apen-
ström and Ingmar Bergman, sustain and fulfill Strindberg's heritage in a remarkably
pure and persistent fashion.
I t is illuminating to compare Lagerkvist's early triptych, The Difficult Hour (1918),
with the early plays of Kokoschka. The stage tableaux are as rich and lurid in color
but less violent, and they are crosshatched with the angularities and overlapping planes
of Cubism. After all, Lagerkvist had read Apollinaire's Les Peintures cubistes as if it
were gospel. These early plays, anticipating the theater of the absurd rather more than
most of E., are both more intellectual and more subjective than the body of German
Expressionist drama. Thus Swedish E. went its own way, which was Strindberg's.
Many circumstances—literary, social, and political—render the history of E. more
complicated in Denmark. For one thing, there is a substantial body of Expressionist
poetry in the Denmark of the early twenties. I t is, however, an E. that owes as much
to Futurism and Whitman as it does to the German practitioners of the style and, con­
sequently, it takes on a character of its own. I t could probably be demonstrated t h a t
Denmark had special affinities with Italy at the time. I t is also clear that the poetry of
Johannes V. Jensen introjected Whitman into the lifeblood of Danish poetry, and, in­
deed, this event had a separate culmination in the scholarship of Frederik Schyberg.
As a result, the lost generation of the Danish twenties found itself, or, shall we say,
muddled through, by means of various, surviving Expressionist energies.
The Danish theater got its E. chiefly from Germany, in spite of occasional direct
influences from Sweden, like the impact of Strindberg on Kjell Abell. I t is easy to name
the intermediaries, especially Svend Borberg, whose unswerving German orientation
got him in trouble as late as World War I I . I t is almost as easy to isolate and identify
the presence of Unruh, Toller, Kaiser, Hasenclever, and Sorge in the Danish theater
of the twenties, but not much is gained by so doing.
What is important is that Denmark attached itself to satiric rather than visionary
E,, merging it with its own tradition of humor reaching from the Plautine exercises of
Ludwig Holberg to the vaudevilles of Johann Ludvig Heiberg and to the satyr plays
of Gustav Wied, always enriching itself, on the way, from such non-dramatic sources
as Andersen's sly and deliberately ingenuous wit and Kierkegaard's comedy of faith.
Rebellion against all forms of the establishment, and shades of the complacent and the
"comfy", lie at the heart of the E. of Abell and Soya, two of the leading playwrights
to emerge in the twenties and thirties. Abell's dramatic style is, however, strongly
shaped by revue techniques, the directing of Louis Jouvet, and a kind of Gallic
elegance he acquired as a scene designer and apprentice of Balanchine in Paris. Con­
sequently, he strongly reminds one of Jean Giraudoux, though there is a more compel-

223
ling moral authority at the heart of his drama than is usually the case with that Freud­
ian author. Carl Erik Soya has picked up all the ploys of the German Expressionists,
but he suffuses them with a temperament quite Danish. Generally speaking, however
earnest Danish writers may be, they have little feeling for the strain of anguish t h a t
runs like a raw nerve through Swedish literature. If we had time to analyze the various
Scandinavian reactions to the new mannerists and the theater of the absurd, we could
demonstrate how each national tradition tends to perpetuate itself and absorb what
is essentially compatible with its identity. Furthermore, we could show with some
precision t h a t music and art in Sweden pursued the direction of visionary E., whereas
in Denmark they tended to be witty—albeit with metaphysical overtones—, satiric,
and social.
Critics like James Agate, who dispose of E. as an isolated event with no significant
after-effects are hopelessly hemmed in by their own cultural boundaries and encapsu­
lated in their egos. Of course, much so-called E. in Sweden can be attributed to the
mysticism of Swedenborg and the surreal elements of Swedish folklore, just as much
so-called E. in Denmark can be characterized as an evolving union of indigenous wit
and temperament; but the rhythms are new (sometimes hectic, sometimes hortatory,
sometimes passionate), and the distorted shapes and flights of human fantasy adum­
brate the character of life ahead. After all, E., far from being static, is a mode of thought
and creation in constant motion and turmoil. However frantic and random some of its
manifestations, its dynamism in Scandinavia is still being felt.

224
 P A U L HADEKMANN and J E A N W E I S G E R B E H

EXPRESSIONISM I N BELGIUM AND HOLLAND

Flemish and Dutch E. are distinguished by two common traits: their short duration
and their heterogeneity. Their apparition coincides very nearly with the debut of the
poet Paul van Ostaijen (1916) and the founding of the magazine Het Getij (1916-1924);
and some ten years later already their exponents have disappeared from the literary
scene or have chosen other paths. Between 1925 and 1930, E., renouncing any official
role, imperceptibly withdrew behind the scenes, from where, for a while, it watched
over the destinies of the novel, until the second wave of Modernism (1950) put it once
more in the limelight. In the linguistic realm, which is our concern, it constitutes the
most coherent and remarkable expression of the first avantgarde, which developed in
Berlin, Rome, Paris, and Russia before World War I, but reached Brussels, Antwerp
and Amsterdam only between 1914 and 1918. Its importance, however, should not be
overestimated.
Even if it eclipsed Cubism, Dadaism, and Surrealism, for example, the Expression­
ist current never dominated Dutch literature entirely but only represented a sector,
no doubt the most active and advanced, but also the most contested one. Moreover,
foreign influences were profoundly changed by the contact with local traditions, as is
always the case when they penetrate into Flanders and the Netherlands. Among the
writers treated in this chapter, there are very few who perfectly meet the criteria of the
German Expressionist doctrines (which, as it is, are often vague and contradictory).
Nor did any of them adhere, for any length of time, to the formulas which they had
borrowed. For most of them, E. was, at most, only a way of looking at things, a phase,
a tool, i.e., something fragmentary or transient. In that respect, the careers of Hendrik
Marsman and even of Van Ostaijen the two figures at the fore of the movement are
particularly significant.
Among the components of Belgian and Dutch E., preference must be given to
Vitalism. One encounters it already in Germany, where it was spotlighted, and it was
just in this form that E. survived well beyond the thirties. We will return to this
question later on. Let us merely add, at this point, that poetry alone benefited from the
revival. At a time in which, officially, E. was already dead, the narrative genre did not
feel the effect except on the rebound and behind the scenes. As to the theater, a domain
which had been relatively infertile for a long time, E. (with the exception of Herman
Teirlinck) recruited only a few adherents among the young. I t should finally be noted

225
 t h a t this poetic efflorescence passed by almost unnoticed outside of the country, save
for certain writers of French Belgium (Michel de Ghelderode, Franz Hellens). 1
*

"To be Flemish in order to become European." This slogan, launched by August

Vermeylen, adequately defines the problem which the Flemish intelligentsia had to
face at the end of the nineteenth and the beginning of the twentieth century. I n the
young Belgian state which, as a consequence of historical and social circumstances, had
only recently recognized Dutch as an official language next to French, this elite was
simultaneously aware of its individuality and of a terrible cultural backwardness —
especially in literature. Some writers regarded themselves spontaneously as being
European and chose French as the vehicle of their art, since this was often the lan­
guage in which they had been brought up, as sons of the upper middle class. Moreover,
they sometimes achieved an international reputation which they probably would not
have gained had they written in the other language. Thus Verhaeren and Maeter­
linck, each of whom added a very specific note to French literature. Others, generally
bilingual, opted for Dutch but saw themselves confronting a regionalist tradition due
precisely to the Romantic trend derived from the debut of the Flemish movement half
a century earlier. The latter writers deliberately set about to surpass their provincial
boundaries and to Europeanize their art while not denying their origins, whether by
means of a Naturalism which was often idyllic (Cyril Buysse, Stijn Streuvels), a deca­
dent Symbolism with a very earthy flavor (Karel van de Woestijne), an aestheticism
glorifying the powers of instinct (Teirlinck) or an intellectualism which attempted
to communicate with the great cosmic rhythms (Vermeylen).
These writers, gathering around the magazine Van Nu en Straks (Today and To­
morrow, 1893-1901), aligned themselves, as one can easily see, on the side of synthesis.
Their cosmopolitan spirit and their attachment to Flanders influenced a part of the
following generation, notably Paul van Ostaijen, the leader of Flemish E., although
he tried to deny it. The fact is t h a t for certain young men whose political conscience
was awakened during the First World War, the differences which separated them from
their elders concealed their similarities. These differences, however, were considerable.
There was, to be sure, the conflict of generations which manifested itself, at least in the
case of a few writers, in a rejection of the Neo-Romantic and Symbolist sensibility.

1
As a whole, the Dutch Expressionist literature of Belgium has been presented only in certain
chapters forming part of general surveys, such as A. Vermeylen's De Vlaamse letteren van Oezelle
tot heden, fourth ed. (Amsterdam/Brussels, 1949), A. Demedts's De Vlaamsche poëzie sinds 1918,
second ed. (Diest, 1945), and R. F . Lissens's De Vlaamse Letterkunde van 1780 tot heden, fourth ed.
(Brussels, 1967). In addition to the monographs on specific authors, mentioned below, one should
also consult the study which F . van Passel has consecrated to the periodical Ruimte: Het tijd-
schrift "Ruimte" (1920—1921) als brandpunt van humanitair expressionisme (Antwerp, 1958), as
well as the essay by E. Krispyn, "Herman van den Bergh, Marsman en het Noord-Nederlands
expressionisme" in De Gids, I (1958), 237-240. As for the literature in French, we shall have oc­
casion to point out that, properly speaking, there was no Expressionist current, although certain
writers sometimes showed an affinity with that movement. Regarding this subject, see the Histoire
illustré des lettres françaises de Belgique, published under the general editorship of G. Charlier and
J, Hanse (Brussels, 1958).

226
But that, for them, was not essential. The essential lay, rather, in the political preference
of those students who, after studies conducted more or less in their mother tongue,
found themselves, on the eve of the war, at universities which were still French-
speaking.
The German invader, in order to divide the country, instituted a very clever
"Flamenpolitik", one of whose trumps was the transformation of the university of
Ghent into a Dutch-speaking institution. The overwhelming majority of the Flemish
people abstained from responding to the German advances, reckoning that it was
necessary to wait until the end of the war to pursue, loyally and legally, the policy of
cultural emancipation. But not everyone saw things in that light, especially in the
ranks of the young, who were particularly sensitive to linguistic problems and disheart­
ened by certain declarations of Belgian ministers residing in France (the government
had fled to Le Havre). Since the beginning of the century, clubs of students profoundly
influenced by the ideals of Van Nu en Straks had been organized in some schools. When
the principal speakers of that review, above all Vermeylen, refused, in 1914, to profit
by the German separatist policy, several groups of young people advocated immediate
action and regarded even the abstention of their elders as a betrayal of the Flemish
cause. These "Activists"—the term was taken, it appears, from an analogous Swedish
movement but probably also reveals the influence of German Leftist Activism and its
magazine, Die Aktion—had, as its principal rallying point, the monthly which, for
years, had served as the central organ for groupings of students: Jong-Vlaanderen
(Young Flanders), whose title they changed to De Goedendag. This new name (The
'Good-Day') alludes to the weapon, as primitive as it was formidable, with which, in
1302, at the time of the Battle of the Golden Spurs, the weavers and butchers of the
Flemish free towns had sent to their deaths the flower of French chivalry, which had
come to subdue a revolt of these rebellious subjects of the count of Flanders, a vassal
of the French crown.
The periodical, in effect, intended, from the time of its founding, to stem the Galli-
cization of Flanders by its ruling classes and, accordingly, devoted itself to denouncing
all linguistic abuses, especially in respect to education. I t continued its project at the
beginning of the war and published, along with a few traditional poems, some articles
which were essentially political or of local interest, attacking the "Passivism" of their
elders and the government of Le Havre, stressing the deficiencies in secondary educa­
tion, or exhorting the students to chasten their language. As the successive editors
themselves confessed, all this was without any guideline except for the major concern
with the interests of Flanders. Nothing indicated t h a t this rather disparate magazine
would one day be called upon to play a role in the literary life of the country, until,
in June, 1916, it published an article entitled "Nasionalisme en het nieuwe geslacht"
(Nationalism and the New Generation), signed P . van Ostaijen. The author, who,
already in the preceding issue, had published a rather mediocre poem celebrating the
Battle of the Golden Spurs, enlarged the Europeanism of Vermeylen into an Inter­
nationalism in which the harmony of the various national literatures emanations—of the
specific character of each people—was simultaneously the sign and the condition of a
new human fraternity. Citing, in support of his thesis, the examples of Léon Bloy,

227
Claudel and Jammes in France, and of Werfel in Germany, he thus inserted Activist
nationalism into the context of a literary avant-garde, which was something totally new
for Belgium. At the same time, he rejected "the romanticism and sentimental drivel"
of the first Flemish nationalists, since it was oriented toward the past.
Van Ostaijen grossly deceived himself in considering nationalism to be the main
feature of the European literary revolution at t h a t time, but this error in perspective
is perhaps responsible for both his and De Goedendag's Expressionist leanings. I t is
rather striking t h a t in the same issue, to our knowledge for the first time in Flanders,
an attempt at a definition of the term E. was made, and, what is more, that the occasion
for this attempt was furnished by the review of a book by the same Van Ostaijen
(Music-Hall) which had just been published. One can only admire the perspicacity of
the critic, 0[scar] d[e] S[medt], who immediately saw not only the faults of this collec­
tion of pieces written by a beginner but also its revolutionary qualities and what was
definitely promising about it in respect to the poet's work.
De Smedt himself was president of the "Vlaamsche Kring" (Flemish Circle) of
Antwerp, where he had just organized a series of important debates concerning South
Africa, the Irish question, Polish nationalism, etc. He was not content with indicating
the implicit or explicit ideology of these poems but also related their technique to the
dynamic principles of the Futurists and the young German poets. Actually, it is, above
all, to French Unanimism that it would have been appropriate to link the most modern­
istic poems of this still heterogeneous collection, for the global unity in which the dy­
namic sensations of modern life are fused is sought after more in the spirit of l'Abbaye
than in t h a t of Futurism. Better informed about German than about French literature,
De Smedt, on the other hand, discerns very well the germs of a "Menschheits- und
Allgefühl" in Music-Hall—they developed into the theme of Van Ostaijen's next
collection, Het Sienjaal (The Signal)—and it is in this connection t h a t he circumscribes
the term 'E', in a way which is quite vague and banal, by opposing it to Impressionism
and by referring to a definition of Lenore Ripke-Kühn which had appeared in Die
Weissen Blätter (I [1914], 1048-52). One must note t h a t De Smedt retains the most
general aspects of this definition: ''umfassende . . . und bedeutsame Formel für das
neue Zeitideal und Weltgefühl," but leaves aside the formal characteristics enunciated
in the same article, i.e., conciseness, concentration, solidity of contours, and pathos of
expression. I t is true that Miss Ripke-Kühn's article was primarily concerned with
sculpture, and t h a t De Smedt had to realize the difficulty of applying the first of these
criteria to the only Expressionist poet whom he offered as an example to Van Ostaijen :
Werfel, a few of whose poems he himself had translated. One can see that literary E.
was, implicitly, identified here with its Humanitarian and cosmic trends, i.e., those
trends which would recruit the most adherents in Flanders. From the "Activist" en­
gagement in the political and social battle to the Pacifist Internationalism of Die
Weissen Blätter, it was essentially the will to "change the world" which animated
Flemish E. in those of its productions which were the most numerous and often, artisti­
cally, the least valuable.
Die Weissen Blätter, to which the library of the City of Antwerp had subscribed
before the war, was apparently the Expressionist periodical most often read by the

228
writers of De Goedendag. I t is, in any case, the periodical whose title or contributors are
most frequently cited in the articles which henceforth followed one another at a rapid
pace, alternately from the pen of Van Ostaijen and De Smedt (pseudonym Marc),
who were soon joined by Brunclair (pseudonym Bardemeyer). Thanks to them, De
Goedendag became an avantgarde periodical which devoted itself to moulding its young
readers by informing them about the great contemporary currents, above all literary,
in accordance with the promise of the editors, explicitly stated in 1917, to see the po­
litical struggle and the cultural movement simultaneously conducted. I t is to be noted
t h a t this education aimed essentially at the most contemporaneous literature, Dehmel
being the oldest of the authors mentioned. Here, too, we note a strong determination to
break with the past. Actually, there is nothing surprising about the fact that the Ger­
man avantgarde was the best known; for the newspapers and periodicals of other
countries could penetrate only sporadically during the occupation. I t is more surprising
t h a t the Germans permitted the dispersal of magazines with revolutionary or Pacifist
tendencies outside of their own borders. In addition to the writers of Die Weissen
Blätter, one finds t h a t Hiller, Rubiner, Pfemfert, and Die Aktion were also read, and
t h a t their combative attitude was approved by the contributors to De Goedendag.
Even though these writers were sometimes insufficiently aware of the latest inno­
vations in France, their orientation toward French literature was no less important.
Even in De Goedendag, it was not at all a matter of rejecting the culture with which,
throughout its history, Flemish as well as Walloon Belgium had found itself most fruit­
fully impregnated. Rather, it was simply a matter of not stifling the national aspirations
in the process. I t is thus that De Smedt recommended, in an article written in 1917
and entitled "Aktuele beschouwingen" (Topical Considerations), the reading not only
of Dehmel, Mombert, Rilke, Max Dauthendey, Schickele, Däubler, Werfel, Ehrenstein,
Becher, Sternheim, Heinrich Mann, Meyrinck, Brod, etc., but also of Jammes, Péguy,
Claudel, Verhaeren, Jules Romains, Georges Chennevière, Charles Vildrac, Alexandre
Mercereau, Tancrède de Visan, and Apollinaire. In a later issue of the same year, Van
Ostaijen contrasted Apollinaire with Verlaine in order to explain his conception of
poetry, and expressed his admiration for Claudel and Romains, while Brunclair analyzed
a few of the tendencies of the young French literature: the paroxysm of Henri
Beauduin, the dramatism of Barzun and the Unanimism of Romains, Vildrac, Pierre
Jean Jouve, Jacques Duhamel, Arcos and Chennevière. In these articles, the lion's
share goes to French and German writers: apart from these men of letters, our
authors mention only Marinetti, Giovanni Papini, Arthur Symons, Whitman, Edgar
Allan Poe, Tagore and Brezina.
I t is noteworthy that De Goedendag, in spite of its nationalistic bias, brought
scarcely any Flemish or Dutch literature to the attention of its readers (with the ex­
ception of rare reviews of books of the very latest fashion, like Van Ostaijen's Music
Hall). The reason was that the stand taken in favor of Modernism outweighed national
pride in this case, and that the reaction against the most recent past more easily dis­
cerned the detestable aestheticism of the Dutch and Flemish than that of foreign poets.
Finding favor in the eyes of De Smedt were only those poets who spiritualized the real,
like Boutens, or those who prepared the advent of a new social order, like Henriette

229
Roland Hoist-van der Schalk. But even they were offered only as conductors of transi­
tional exercises, for it is not possible to leap with impunity "from [Jacques] Perk or
[Willem] Kloos to Werfel". Real homage was rendered only to one poet, a Belgian who
used the French idiom: Verhaeren. We know what success Verhaeren had outside of
his own country, notably in France, where his disciple Henri Guilbeaux propagated the
"poetry of machines", and even more so in the ranks of the German Expressionists,
who considered him to be one of their precursors, for the same reason as Whitman (cf.
Stadler speaking in the Cahiers alsaciens, of "die neue und heftigere Intensität des
Welterlebens, deren erste Verkünder Whitman und Verhaeren waren"). Some poems
by Verhaeren had appeared in periodicals like Das Neue Pathos, Der Hahn, Neue Blätter,
Die Weissen Blätter, Die Gegenwart, Die Schaubühne, Die Aktion, etc. The article which
F.-Cl. Chrispeels dedicated to the poet on the occasion of his death praises him, on the
one hand, as the bard of the Flemish soil and, on the other, as the poet of tentacular
cities, industrial landscapes, and "the future, displayed like a country in flames".
The choice of quotations demonstrates a marked preference for the humanitarian aspect
of his work: "J'aime l'homme et le monde et j'adore la force / qui donne et prend sa
force à l'homme et l'univers."
De Goedendag did not actually formulate a literary program. I t was not a deliber­
ately Expressionist periodical. But from that point at which it began to associate a
resolutely Modernistic point of view with nationalism, its major contributors oriented
themselves toward the Unanimist, Humanitarian and cosmic tendencies of contemporary
literature. Denying or rejecting the reality of the war, they believed in the beauty of
the modern world, provided that the latter be accepted in a spirit of communion and
human fraternity. I t was not until 1918, the last year of publication, that they identified
this ideal explicitly with E.: Brunclair then directly attacked art for art's sake, Im­
pressionism, and individualism as outmoded values of a moribund bourgeois society. He
declared t h a t the communitarian conscience, friendship, love, fraternity, and a spirit
of cosmic harmony would determine, for the artist and the poet, a synthetic view of the
world, reconstructed by the idea. Since 1917, Van Ostaijen proclaimed this primacy of
the idea, of the spiritual in art as well as literature, with an ample supply of quotations
borrowed from the Blaue Reiter, Daniel Henry (Kahnweiler), and Kandinsky. Facing
a world transformed by technology and the machine, which had upset the notions of
time and space, he affirmed t h a t the human spirit, covering the domains which are
the vastest and most profound, had become essentially dynamic and synthetic. For
this reason the artist was, henceforth, to denounce the servile imitation of things and
express, first of all, the turmoil in which his spirit recreates them. As for the poet, he
would no longer "describe", one by one, the feelings which inspired him, but would
proceed, after the fashion of Apollinaire in "Zone", by successive leaps and by associa­
tions of ideas, images, and sounds. 2

2
Regarding Van Ostaijen see the following monographs: J. Muls et al., Paul van Ostaijen
(Antwerp, Brussels, Louvain, 1928); GL Burssens, Paul van Ostaijen zoals hij was en is (Wilrijk,
Antwerp, 1933); P. de Rijck, Van Ostaijen, fascinerend dichter (Antwerp, 1939); A. T. W. Bellemans,
Poëtiek van Paul van Ostaijen (Antwerp, 1939); P. de Rijck, Bezinning over Van Ostaijen (Ghent,
1951); E. Schoonhoven, Paul van Ostaijen: Introduction à sa poétique (Antwerp, 1952); M. Gilliams
et al., Paul van Ostaijen (Antwerp, The Hague, Amsterdam, 1952); M. E, Tralbaut, Van Gogh —

230
 The fruit of this new poetics, on the one hand, and the ideas of the Unanimists
and Expressionists, on the other, was the second collection of poetry by Van Ostaijen,
entitled Het Sienjaal. One senses here, on the level of ideas as well as on that of form,
the influence of the Bible, Verhaeren, Whitman, and the Claudel of the Cinq Grandes
Odes: but it is, above all, to Humanitarian E. that it is appropriate to relate these
pathetic exhortations, these prayers, and these series of images which follow one another
in an almost uninterrupted stream of long free verses. Typically Expressionist are the
themes of "Hassliebe" of the large city, the expansion of the soul in the cosmos, the
hope for a new society founded on neighborly love, the Christian notions of sin, humility,
and repentance, the desire for purification through suffering, and the prophetic mission
of the poet, who gives the "signal" of a life which is finally "authentic" and in which
individual catharsis must prepare the great Pacifist revolution.
Announced by De Goedendag, which had published several of the poems contained
in it, this book actually inaugurated E. in Flemish poetry. Having appeared in Antwerp
in 1918, it was almost immediately confiscated by the Belgian authorities hunting for
Activist witches at the end of the war. Thus Het Sienjaal could barely be read by the
impassioned students and the young poets who soon were going to take over the re­
sponsibility for transmitting its message of peace and of human fraternity, as well as
some of its Expressionist rhetoric. The armistice also marked the end of De Goedendag,
of which the principal merits had been, from the literary point of view, its spreading of
the Humanitarian, Unanimist, and Expressionist ideas of the 1910's (for the first time
in Belgium), and its grouping together, along with a few authors who would choose a
different path, the majority of those who would "make" Flemish E.: the poets Van
Ostaijen, Gaston Burssens, Brunclair, René de Clerq, Paul Verbruggen, Maurits van
de Moortel, and the sociologist Herman Vos. Only one important name is still missing
from the list: t h a t of Wies Moens. This poet, in fact, made his debut elsewhere, namely
in the magazine of the Flemish university of Ghent, Aula, whose foundation was warmly
greeted in 191.7 by De Goedendag. Van Ostaijen and Burssens immediately submitted
some poems to it. Although the orientation of Aula was more academic and less ex­
clusively modernistic, there was, during the two years of its existence, a fertile exchange
of views with De Goedendag. We cite among the critiques and reviews published in it
those of Geo van Tichelen, Karel Chrispeels, and Fernand-Martin Pauwels. Aula dis­
appeared at the end of 1918 for the same political reasons that affected De Goedendag
and other ephemeral periodicals like Ons Land (1914), De Stroom (1918), and the popular­
izing weekly Vlaamsch Leven (1915-1918), with which the authors mentioned so far
collaborated more or less sporadically.

reflexies op Van Ostaijen (Deurne, 1956); G. Burssens, Paul van Ostaijen: De dichter (Brussels,
1957); A. de Roo ver, Paul van Ostaijen (Bruges, 1958); H. Uyttersprot, Paul van Ostaijen en zijn
proza (Antwerp/Rotterdam, 1959); A, Westerlinck, "Een Visie op Paul van Ostaijen" in Wandelen
al peinzend (Louvain, 1960—62), pp. 174—237; A. C. M. Meeuwesse, Over Poëzie en Poëtik van
Martinus Nijhoff en Paul van Ostaijen (Amsterdam, 1961); P. Hadermann, De Kringen naar Binnen :
De dichterlijke Wereld van Paul van Ostaijen (Antwerp, 1965); P. de Vree and H. F. Jespers, Paul
van Ostaijen (Antwerp, 1967). Van Ostaijen's works have been edited by L. Borgers: Verzameld
Werk (Antwerp/The Hague/Amsterdam, 1952—1956) in 4 vols.

231
 Let us draw attention particularly to a long essay by Van Ostaijen, which appeared
in De Stroom (I, 103-117, 152-171, 208-224) and was entitled ''Expressionisme in
Vlaanderen". The author, taking up ideas developed earlier in several articles dedicated
to painting, situates the art of his Antwerp Expressionist friends (the painters Paul
Joostens and Floris Jespers and the sculptor Oscar Jespers) in relation to the main
contemporary currents of Futurism, Cubism, and E. He devotes himself, above all,
to indicating what points these movements have in common, perhaps because he was
not always able to clearly put his finger on their divergences.
The primacy of the creator over the perceived object, the conception of a new
beauty made of shocks and contrasts, and the autonomy and organic unity of the work
of art, whether it synthesizes the forms of objects or expresses the inner world of the
artist in lyrical abstractions—all these principles, illustrated by quotations from
Kandinsky, Marc, Gleizes, and Metzinger and by detailed analyses of French, Italian,
German, Russian, and Flemish works, show how much Van Ostaijen was interested
in the formal problem of avantgarde art. He did not conceal the arbitrary character
of the label E., which was applied to the ensemble of new schools, but he employed it
in order to accentuate the contrast to Impressionism, an art which, according to him,
was individualistic and bourgeois. At present, so he argued, works were needed which
could decorate the rooms of railroad stations and factories, works whose simplicity of
expression affects everyone and permits serial reproduction—in short: a collective and
communal art corresponding to the great mutation of the contemporary spirit. Thus
one finds in the theories of Van Ostaijen the same humanitarian intentions which were
present in his poetry of the moment. But whereas the latter contents itself with expres­
sing in a fitting, and usually lyrical, manner, the ideas of fraternity and universal love,
one senses t h a t the theoretician of art concentrates to a greater extent on the possibili­
ties of formal language. The art critic was thus in advance of the poet, as well as of his
compatriots, who continued, for a few more years, the fashion of Humanitarian E.,
whereas he himself would soon disavow his Sienjaal.
The Activist sympathies or activities of the majority of these writers explain why
E., scarcely having become aware of itself, experienced a certain lull after 1918. Im­
prisoned, emigrated, or temporarily constrained to silence, its champions secretly
brought to fruition an art which had not often had the chance to express itself fully.
One must remember that, except for Van Ostaijen, at the end of the war E. in Flemish
literature was more of an intention or a doctrine than a concrete reality. No new blood
was infused into literature by the return to political and cultural life of those who, from
1914 to 1918, had preferred to abstain from being active. At most, one can ascertain
among the older people the will to re-establish the status quo, or sometimes the inten­
tion to outdo the individualistic and aestheticizing propensity of Van Nu en Straks
cultivated before the war by De Boomgaard (The Orchard, 1909-1911). I t is thus that
Het Roode Zeil (The Red Sail, 1920) for a year proposed the ideal of a ''Decadent Flan­
ders", impregnated with dandyism and mundane nonchalance.
But it is quite evident that the young revolutionaries, the soldiers having come
home from the front, the debunked Activists and the unemployed students (those of
the Dutch-speaking university of Ghent were no longer authorized to pursue their

232
studies) were only waiting for the first opportunity to regroup themselves in places
other than the old periodicals which were recovering their breath. One witnesses, first
of all, the birth of little subversive pamphlets (like Staatsgevaarlik [Dangerous to the
State]) which changed their names at every turn in order to escape the vigilance of
legislators and judges. Teeming with pseudonyms, this periodical affirmed in its four
issues (from September to October, 1919) the endurance of Activism and its solidarity
with the idealism of Karl Liebknecht, Romain Rolland, and Barbusse. I t launched some
of the manifestos of Flemish youth, of the new Internationalism, etc., defended Fem­
inism, and published a few poems by prisoners or political emigrés, among them, a
humanitarian poem by Brunclair, "Het nieuwe Chanaän" (New Canaan), in which the
author appeals to the Flemish people to participate in the world-wide revolution.
1920 finally saw the birth of the avantgarde periodical which was going to take
up the torch of Humanitarian E. and make it burn full force: Ruimte (Space). I t was
the fruit of the efforts of the publisher E. de Bock, who had earlier founded De Stroom
and who now intended to carry on its task by appealing to writers, artists and specialists
in economic and social questions. The sociologist Vos was given the task of writing the
manifesto for the first issue. Clarifying the name of the periodical, this manifesto bears
witness to a new breadth of spirit and to a firm determination to apply questions of a
literary and artistic nature to political and economic life. "Space" signifies both the
international extension of the movement, already advocated by De Goedendag—whose
crew was reunited here, minus De Clercq but with the addition of a few new writers,
among them Moens and Marnix Gijsen—and the surpassing of individualistic aesthetics
(as understood by Van Nu en Straks, and often attacked in the new periodical) in favor
of a social ethic which, this time, would be well-defined and based on a communal ideal.
The artist and the intellectual must, above all, show themselves to be men of action,
from whom it is proper to expect a dynamic outlook and the organization of a system
of collective cultural values corresponding to the needs of the proletariat, the Socialist
party and the State. One would think he were hearing a manifest of Die Aktion. Not
all the contributors to Ruimte were equally politically committed, but all shared an
ideal of human fraternity and the hope of putting an end to misery in the world.
I t is rather remarkable that the tone adopted by these writers did not tend toward
bitterness, disappointment or pessimism, in spite of the personal ups and downs which
several of them had experienced. In Dutch literature there are few pieces of writing
as ardent, as enthusiastic and as youthfully idealistic as those of Moens, written at a
time when, after having seen his house on fire, he was incarcerated, released to see his
mother die, and returned to prison a few months later. There is no doubt —and a
number of his colleagues were promptly irritated by this fact — that the halo of the
martyr made the laurels of the poet shine. Indeed, Moens's popularity was tremendous.
His Celbrieven (Letters from a Cell), full of hope for the "eudaemonistic" society of
tomorrow, and his De Boodschap (The Message), a fresh and spontaneous expression
of Christian faith and universal fraternity, achieved, from the time of their publication
in book form (1920), an even greater success than the poetry of De Sieenjal, with which
Van Ostaijen had had rather bad luck. In the same year, Ruimte published the most
outstanding poems of De Boodschap, as well as a few poems by Däubler translated by

233
Moens and taken from Das Sternenkind. In the following year, Moens published his
translations of Lasker-Schiiler. A former student of Germanic philology, he put his
knowledge to further use by translating still other works. 3
I t is not certain that the German influences, in particular that of Lasker-Schiiler,
favorably influenced Moens' poetry which, after De Boodschap, is often weighted down
with gratuitous or redundant Baroque images. This danger of a rhetoric which is cer­
tainly the mark of imitation weighs heavily on most of the poets of Ruimte who were
fascinated, we now believe, by the "recipes" of Humanitarian E. Chrispeels sent admir­
ing reports from Germany, among them one about Menschheitsdämmerung. He may
also have been the first to call attention to the Expressionist theater, with which he
became acquainted in Cologne. De Bock has mentioned the favorite writers of the group:
Brod, Buber, Edschmid, Lasker-Schiiler and Werfel. Remembering probably the reli­
giosity and the pathetic exclamations of the latter, Gijsen, still a Catholic at this time,
wrote a long "Lof-litanie van den H. Franciscus van Assisië" (Litany in praise of
St. Francis of Assisi), in which the virtues of humility and the love of God and
neighbor are expressed in a flood of Biblical and oriental images sprinkled with
one's "Modernism". 4
In order for a poem to be truly Expressionist, Brunclair said in this connection,
it was not enough that a saint reek of gasoline instead of holy water. Yet Gijsen intro­
duced unexpected contrasts and striking images which hold our attention, while others
were content with replacing the trees of their native countryside with telegraph poles
and passed off their false naiveté under the guise of Christian humility. This is the case
with Karel van den Oever, a neophyte to E. and a deserter from the preceding gen­
eration, whom Gijsen introduced to the editorial staff. His "Gebed" (Prayer) and the
extracts from "De Zee" (The Sea), published in Ruimte, are no more convincing than
his traditional poems. 5 More authentically Expressionist in their conception, the dy­
namic poems of Burssens, for example, strongly betray the influence of Van Ostaijen;
for here, too, it is against the moving backdrop of the big city and its crowds t h a t a
message of peace and of confidence in mankind emerges. For several years, and not
least of all in his Liederen uit de Stad en uit de Sel (Songs from the City and from the
Cell, 1919), this poet seems to justify Chrispeels, who had greeted his first productions
with the sarcastic remark "Mr. Van Ostaijen has just had a child". But more than Van
Ostaijen, Burssens cultivated the oriental mode introduced by German E. He also
translated (after Klabund) a Chinese anthology, De Yade fluit (The Jade Flute, 1919),
and soon afterwards some poems by Li T'ai-po and Hafiz. In addition, Negro art pro­
foundly impressed him (his brother taught Congolese languages at Ghent). 6 One finds
the same primitivism in the work of Brunclair, who also conformed to the great humani­
tarian vogue and admired Whitman, Werfel, and the poets of Die Weissen Blätter.

3
4
Regarding Moens, see W. Noe, De Ontwikkelingsgang van een volks dichter (Tielt, 1944).
Regarding Gijsen, see A. Grootjans, Marnix Gijsen (Antwerp, 1933); R. Goris and J. Greshoff,
Marnix Gijsen (Antwerp, The Hague, 1955); M. Roelants, Marnix Gijsen (Brussels, 1958).
5
Regarding Van den Oever, see Fr. Verachtert, Karel van den Oever (Louvain, 1940); M. Gijsen,
Karel van den Oever, (Brussels, 1958).
6
Regarding Burssens, see J. Walravens, Gaston Burssens (Brussels, 1960).

234
Along with his poems, which sometimes teem with syncopation and sonorous virtuosity,
and which did not appear as a collection until some years later (De Dwaze Rondschouw
[The Stupid Panorama], 1926), Ruimte published several of his articles about the ten­
dencies of modern art, in which one notes several definite echoes from Van Ostaijen's
essay on E. and from other texts by the same author, whom Brunclair does not hesitate
to quote at length.
The writer who was least influenced by the German "Oh-Mensch-Lyrik" was
Verbruggen, a poet with an elegiac and reticent temperament, whose presence in this
periodical seems, at first glance, surprising. Nevertheless, technically speaking, his
poetry is not out of place here because of the importance which it attaches to the
image and to the subjective association. I t is on this principle of composition that
Verbruggen's poems are based, and his method often resulted in very original images.
More surprising, however, is the absence, in the first seven issues of Ruimte, of
the works of the pioneer of humanitarian E., Van Ostaijen, who suddenly fills the
eighth number almost single-handedly with a few poems, some pieces in prose entitled
''Grotesques", and an essay on Picasso. In fact, he had been reluctant for a long time
because he himself had had in mind, since his trip to Berlin, the founding of a new
magazine, which would have met his own exigencies. The poetic conceptions oïRuimte —
inherited from Het Sienjaal — were, according to him, out of date. He would have liked
to assemble a group similar to that constituted by the contributors to Der Sturm.
Thus he did not give in to the urgings of De Bock until after a few soundings made
him realize t h a t the enterprise he was dreaming of would be premature in Flanders.
Van Ostaijen's essay on Picasso fits very well into the context of Ruimte. In it,
the poet describes the return of Picasso to a more classically figurative art and to a more
"bourgeois'' conception of painting, and attacks the fashionable critics who saw in
this metamorphosis a sign of the imminent death of Cubism. His poems, on the other
hand, struck a totally new note. Even if one of them, dedicated to the memory of a
student killed in a demonstration ("In Memoriam H. van den Reek"), is related, by its
subject matter, to the struggle for Flemish emancipation, the formal research to which
they bear witness was nothing at all in common with the hymnic poets writing like
Werfel. As to Van Ostaijen's grotesque prose, it was so new in Flanders (as it was not
in Germany) that it passed by half-unnoticed: no one had to take it seriously. However,
one may perhaps consider it, together with Moens' Celbrieven, —which was admittedly
more accessible–, to be the only good creative prose which appeared in Ruimte.
Van Ostaijen, of whom we will speak again, may be regarded as an ''outsider" in
this periodical. His concerns were, at that time, of an aesthetic rather than political and
social nature, at least in his purely literary works. But even in so far as the other poets
mentioned above are concerned, we are forced to state that none of them really lived
up to what the readers of the Ruimte manifesto had a right to expect: generosity, cer­
tainly, humanitarianism beyond any doubt; but no social art for all that, and no concern
of a pragmatic nature. I t is true that, in 1920, Brunclair felt personally attracted by a
more militant stance. 7 He admired Hiller and his "Bund des Geistes", became secretary

7
Regarding Brunclair, see P. de Wispelaere, V. J. Brunclair (Brussels, 1960).

235
 of the Antwerp section of the "Clarté" group, a Pacifist and Internationalist league
founded by Barbusse and Rolland, and contributed to its periodical Opstanding. But
none of this transpires in Ruimte. The only contributor who tried to concretely realize
the aspirations formulated by Vos was one of his students, Van de Moortel. A convinced
Socialist, he adhered to the principles of Die Aktion, chose Rubiner as his favorite author
and recommended a literature catering to the proletariat. Under the pseudonym of
W. de Man he sang in Ruimte of daily life in society in very simple verses which are
pretty much the only examples—and, at that, unconvincing ones—of "Arbeiterdich­
t u n g " in Flanders.
Aside from Van de Moortel, only a few Flemish essayists conceived of literature as
immediate involvement in political action. There was, first of all and above all. Vos
himself, who analyzed literary works from an essentially Socialist and nationalist
point of view and willingly reviewed works of a political and economic nature, which
served him as springboards for setting forth his own ideas. More strictly "Activist", in
the sense which the word conveyed in Flanders during the war, A. Jacob attacked the
historian Henri Pirenne, who had demonstrated the fundamental unity of Belgium,
and praised to the skies the poetry and person of Moens, a type of knight whom he
compared with Schiller.
As to De Bock, the founder of the periodical, his contribution was relatively mod­
est. In his book reviews he remained calmly objective except when he was attacking
the political indifference of Vermeylen and his friends or exalting the role of the modern
writer in society. According to him, this role was not essentially one of combat: it was,
above all, a matter of making the masses aware of philosophical and scientific problems.
De Bock was concerned with practical matters and began by demanding public libra­
ries of a modern cast. On the whole, his magazine did not have the revolutionary and
political character suggested by its manifesto: on the other hand, by bringing together
the most active young men of letters of this generation, it created a favorable atmo­
sphere for the modernists and Expressionists in Flemish literature, a role which its
predecessor, De Goedendag, was not able to claim, by reason of its narrower scope.
Moved by the same concern to keep readers informed of the international state of
cultural affairs and encouraged by De Bock, who wanted his magazine to cover as many
topics as possible, the writers of Ruimte deepened their knowledge of Expressionist,
Futurist and, above all, Cubist painting; they discovered modern music by way of
Cocteau (Le Coq et l'Arlequin), as well as saluting the appearance of the Dutch periodi­
cal De Stem, in which they recognized their own social and (sometimes) religious aspi­
rations (while at the same time reproaching it for lacking a system and the dogmatism
necessary in every political action). They finally turned away from Van Nu en Straks
in favor of the Russians, the prophets of a new society.
What distinguished Ruimte from De Goedendag was, nevertheless, not its systematic
spirit, but rather its definite leanings towards the theories of Däubler and of Friedrich
Marcus Huebner in particular and toward German E. in the broadest sense. One sees
reflected here, as a matter of fact, most of the attitudes which characterize the poets
of the Expressionist decade in Germany: from "Literatentum", which Vos combined
with social concern, to the more frankly aesthetic direction taken by Van Ostaijen

236
 after Het Sienjaal, by way of the humanitarian lyricism of Moens, who affected the
periodical most profoundly.
The disparate spirit of this avantgarde, to which one must add those artists who
illustrated the various issues,—P. Joostens, Jozef Peeters, Jozef Cantre, Prosper de
Troyer, F . Jespers, etc., —was precisely the cause of the rapid decease of Ruimte which,
founded in 1920, published its last number in October, 1921, in consequence of quarrels
of a personal nature or over matters of principle. The last issue contained only two texts
which could serve as an epilogue to the history of the magazine. The one, taken from
the Nieuwe Rotterdamsche Courant, contained a critique formulated by one of the moving
forces of Van Nu en Straks, Van de Woestijne, against the young "grave-diggers".
Van de Woestijne stressed their discord and incertitude regarding what sense to give
to their ideal of "gemeenschapskunst'' (art of the community). The other text was De
Bock's response to this article. The principal complaints he formulated against Van Nu
en Straks (and which often merely resumed arguments already presented in Ruimte)
are political abstentionism, literary elitism, pseudo-aesthetic individualism, and shop­
worn hedonism. On these, often unjust, reproaches, applying to a stereotyped image of
the preceding generation, all of the contributors of Ruimte would have agreed. But
they were no longer there.
Taking account less of the homogeneity of their opposition to Van Nu en Straks
than of the differences t h a t had arisen among them, some of them agreed to the principle
of a fusion with Vlaamsche Arbeid, a rather conservative magazine whose editor, Jozef
Muls, had asked them to co-operate right after the war. Others had started new maga­
zines which better corresponded to their own objectives, and which subscribed to more
strictly delimited programs. The diverse orientations of these reviews emphasize the
internal contradictions on which the spirit of Ruimte rested: on the one hand, the ethical
tendency was affirmed and defined with a greater stress on the political, economic, cultu­
ral and religious situation of the times in Belgium—Opstanding (Resurrection), Ter
Waarheid (Towards the Truth), Pogen (Attempts)—and on the other hand, the aesthe­
tic tendency imbued periodicals of a more international character in which the plastic
arts had at least as much importance as literature—Het Overzicht (The Panorama), De
Driehoek (The Triangle).
If Opstanding, the organ of the "Clarté" groups, did not outlive Ruimte (1920–
1921), the Catholic magazines had more success: these are Ter Waarheid (1921-1924),
where we re-encounter Moens and Verbruggen, and Pogen (1923-1925), founded by
Moens, whose humanitarian and Christian ideals were gradually narrowed down to a
sort of Catholic and "volksverbunden" nationalism, which limited the significance of
his later work and rigidified its forms. This did not prevent him from exercising a pro­
found influence on Flanders and, soon afterwards, on Holland where, contributing,
since 1922, to the periodical Roeping, he was welcomed with enthusiasm by his co­
religionists. He also opened the columns of Pogen to the Catholic authors of the Nether­
lands (e.g., Albert Kuykle and G. Bruning) and personally submitted some essays deal­
ing with contemporary literature in the Low Countries.
Besides Moens, let us name among the principal contributors to Pogen Van den
Oever, Verbruggen, Gijsen, André Demedts, and, above all, the young Gerard Walschap,

237
whose novel Waldo (1928), filled with ecstatic religiosity, testified to the influence of
Moens. Some years afterwards, Walschap was to leave the bosom of the Church, but
his Vitalistic novels would still remind one of some Expressionist tendencies: primitiv-
ism, anti-intellectualism, spontaneous communion with the cosmos, and a rejection of
aestheticism. The chef-d'œuvre of this genre in Flanders was his Houtekiet (1939).8
The ''aesthetic'' tendency was primarily represented by Het Overzicht (1921-
1925), founded by Fernand Berckelaers (who later used the pseudonym of Michel Seu-
phor) and Geert Pynenburg, and also by De Driehoek, which took it over (1925-1926)
under the direction of Peeters and Edgar du Perron. There also, they sometimes spoke
in rather vague terms about communal art, but the stress was laid, above all, on
formal problems. These reviews focused on criticism of international art and published
poems by Burssens and Van Ostaijen. This "Formalist" tendency which, though least
represented, nevertheless constitutes the most original contribution of Flemish E.,
had its origin, as did the other, in Van Ostaijen's creative and critical work. Ever since
his arrival, at the end of 1918, in Berlin, he passed through a nihilistic crisis which
caused him to deny the major premises of Het Sienjaal and abandon, at the same time,
the broad hymnic forms. A first manifestation of this change was De Feesten van Angst
en Pijn (The Feasts of Anguish and of Sorrow), written from 1918 to 1921 but published
only after the poet's death. At first glance, a chaotic impression is created by the words
thrown feverishly and jerkily onto the page. Syntax and rhetoric are replaced by the
cry. Between the words, or the groups of words, there is emptiness. Following the ex­
ample of Stramm, Van Ostaijen here employed the method of "Konzentration", which
eliminates articles, conjunctions, punctuation, etc. The direct contacts he had with
Walden and Der Sturm at this time certainly influenced him in this respect. The rela­
tions between the words are indicated by the respective sizes of the letters, their recur­
rence and their ascending and descending movement on the page. One could compare
this technique with t h a t of Mallarmé's Coup de dés, Cendrars's Prose du Transsibérien,
or Apollinaire's Calligrammes, although the diction of De Feesten is more discontinuous
than that of the former two, and the author does not aim at producing the effect of a
musical score.
The Feasts are a direct expression of the internal struggle presented by the poet,
who is torn between his nostalgia for a lost God and his despair of living in a world where
the ideas proclaimed a short time ago are nothing but empty formulas or vain utopias.
One can say as much for the following collection, Bezette Stad (Occupied City), published
in 1921, except that the image of Antwerp during the war here serves as a self-projection
of the author, who in some manner objectivizes his personal drama in poems totally
devoid of all "confession". The "concentrated" style and the rhythmic typography
make this work the printed counterpart of the manuscript of Feasts. This time the
theme is centered around the external world, submitted to some deformations and
hallucinations whose Expressionist and visionary character reminds one as much of the

8
Regarding Walschap, see K. Elebaers, De romankunst van G. Walschap (Diest, 1942); B. F.
van Vlierden, Gerard Walschap (Bruges, 1958); J. C. Brandt Corstius, Gerard Walschap (Brussels,
1960); J. Weisgerber, Formes et domaines du roman flamand, 1927–1960 (Brussels, 1963), pp. 83—
101,

238
 fantastic world of Ensor as of the grimacing caricatures of Grosz (Van Ostaijen men­
tions the latter in his letters and hailed the former as the great precursor of E. in Flan­
ders). If it is permitted to play the gratuitous game of comparisons for a moment, one
could define Bezette Stad as the work of a Heym expressing himself in the language of a
Stramm having been acquainted with Dada.
Noting with bitterness t h a t the post-war period, far from realizing the dreams of
humanitarianism, had returned to power the middle-class in all its splendor, Van
Ostaijen, while in Berlin, actually felt very close to Dadaism. We know that in this city,
more distinctly than elsewhere, Dada was characterized by social protest, and that often
Dadaists, Communists, and Spartacans made common cause there. I t is in the sense
of a fundamental opposition to the return of the bourgeois order that one can speak of
a Dadaist influence in Bezette Stad, as well as in the grotesque prose pieces which its
author began to write at approximately the same time, after reading Scheerbart and
Mynona, who are cited as models in his correspondence. These grotesque pieces are
often posthumous and difficult to date. They are stories in which political satire con­
tends with nonsense of the most dishevelled sort. Next to direct allusions to political
facts or personalities of the m o m e n t – " D e Stad der Opbouwers'' (The City of the Con­
structors), "De Generaal" (The General)–one encounters texts of a corrosive humor
in which, for example, the logic of a situation or a character is carried to its extreme,
so that the reader ends by losing his foothold, swept along by an inexorable mechanism
which sometimes reminds one of Kafka ("Kluwen van Ariadne", [Ariadne's Thread]).
In 1924, Van Ostaijen actually translated into Dutch a few of Kafka's short fragments.
In spite of the despair which made him renounce all forms of human community,
sometimes even to the point of refusing to use the second person singular ("You, you,
who is you ?"), Van Ostaijen did not go as far as to advocate the anti-art of the Dadaists.
Quite on the contrary, it appears that it was his aesthetic endeavors, in which he was
encouraged by Der Sturm, which sustained him morally in these years of nearly total
misery and solitude. His articles of the period 1918-1921 (in 1921 he returned to Bel­
gium for the first time), devoted to art or to the defense of his own poetic ideas, witness
to this fact. If he had lost faith in the possibilities of an immediate revolution, he still
retained the ideal of an art which, by its essence alone –and not by some sort of huma­
nitarian "message" —could prepare the spirit and the mentality of the classless society
of tomorrow.
One of the principal characteristics of the art which Van Ostaijen then considered
to be really "modern" was "disindividualization". From then on, his own poems tended
in this direction, after the fashion of certain paintings and sculptures by Campendonck,
and especially by O. Jespers which he submitted to the admiration of his readers. The
goal of art, according to him, was to assure a spiritual communion among men. The
individual and his personal taste put an obstacle in its way, and this is the reason why
Van Ostaijen admired the great mystics who, from Mechtild of Magdeburg to Jeanne
Marie de la Motte-Guyon, set aside their critical and rational selves to the sole advantage
of intuitive powers, which he supposed to be common to all men. In the same manner,
both Der Sturm (Schreyer) and Das Kunstblatt conveyed a mystical tendency battling
the individualism of the Renaissance. This attitude paralleled that of a theoretician of

239
art like Worringer, whose Abstraktion und Einfühlung Van Ostaijen knew well and cited
more than once.
One can compare these ideas to those which Kandinsky set forth in Das Geistige
in der Kunst, but in Van Ostaijen one also finds, beyond E., the influence of some of the
theories of the Bauhaus, several of whose members Van Ostaijen visited, and of Gleizes,
whose new book Du Cubisme et des moyens de la comprendre Van Ostaijen had acclaimed
since its publication. Discovering in Cubism, especially in the light of this last essay, the
objectivity of expression, the simplification of forms and colors and, by these very
means, the possibility of producing, in industrial quantity, works which could meet the
needs of the collectivity, Van Ostaijen even wanted to launch a literary and artistic
review which would have been the organ of ''emancipated Cubism". Would it be suit­
able to call "Cubist" some of his last poems, which appeared in Vlaamsche Arbeid, Het
Overzicht, De Driehoek, and Avontuur before being published in posthumous collections ?
He himself always preferred to speak of E. of a Constructivist leaning, or of Organic
E., meaning by t h a t a poetic transposition of the laws of artistic autonomy, of internal
necessity, of respect for specific materials and of organic unity as formulated by Kan­
dinsky and, after him, by Gleizes for painting. The only German Expressionist poet
whom Van Ostaijen always recognized as such was Stramm, who exploits all the sono­
rous and plastic qualities of words to the maximum while the poet himself remains
hidden.
The "disparition élocutoire" of the poet which Mallarmé talks about is made
subservient not to an idea of order, beauty, or to some sort of atmosphere, but to the
expressiveness contained in the materials. Van Ostaijen wanted only to write poems
which contained their own causality: even before Henri Brémond he spoke of "pure
poetry". The deliberate impersonality of his poems adhered to an idea of art conceived,
paradoxically enough, simultaneously as an autonomous end and as a means of attain­
ing an intuitive knowledge of the real. Words would have, for him, a revelatory power
because their deepest resonances awaken in our (collective) subconscious the memory of
the Platonic Idea. The unexpected associations, the isolation of the word, the musical
variation blossoming almost automatically after a "premise" phrase—these would be
the principal poetic means of which Organic E. was to make use. In this respect, the
theories of Surrealism are closely related, with the difference, however, that Van
Ostaijen permitted, and even demanded, the final intervention of a principle of order
which makes the poem self-enclosed and insures its unity.
With reference to these theories, which Van Ostaijen summed up more clearly in
a posthumous essay entitled Gebruiksaanwijzing der Lyriek (How to Use Poetry), one
has a right to ask if he is still talking about E. But where are we to find the definition
which will, one day, clearly delimit this terrain with moving frontiers? If E. signifies,
above all, an art in which the expression of the subjectivity of the artist reigns supreme,
then we do not have E. here, for Van Ostaijen precisely wanted to efface all signs of
individuality from the poem, and all emotional "élan" as well (it is this élan for which
he reproaches the long-winded free verses of humanitarianism). If one conceives of the
term in a broader sense—, as contrasting with Realism and its derivatives, and as a
new vision centered on the very problem of expression—we can apply it to the theories

240
of Van Ostaijen and to a few of his poems which correspond to them. But in practice,
the problem is of minor importance, for there are many poems in which he expresses,
in a most startling manner, by means of shocking images or musical effects, his pessi­
mistic vision of the world, his anguish in the face of death, or the joy he feels at seeing
a child discover things. The deformations which he imposes on the syntax, the extreme
liberty of his verse, and the original, sometimes puzzling, character of his images had
the result t h a t few of his contemporaries took him seriously.
Having returned to Belgium for good in 1923, after his military service which
had sent him back to Germany, Van Ostaijen neither really succeeded in estab­
lishing a school nor even in forming a homogeneous group. The "Humanitarians",
who were not spared by his sharp pen, turned their backs on him, and the official
circles ignored him and did nothing to aid him materially in the illness which
caused his death in 1928. The Expressionist adventure was reaching its end, as
it were, as Moens chose the path of a militant Catholicism and of a narrow na­
tionalism which oriented him more and more toward propaganda. Gijsen had chosen
a new sober and prosaic style of reporting, in the verses of Het Huis (The House,
1925), some everyday actions and banal anecdotes from which a profound sense
of human dignity radiates — before quitting the literary scene for a long time. De
Clercq, retired into himself, wrote only love poems or epic poems of Biblical inspi­
ration. Brunclair, after having attacked Werfel's disciples—that is, Moens and the
other "Messianists" (Over moderne litteraturen, 1922) — , wore himself out in an
attempt at writing an Expressionist novel which, symptomatically, describes, in a
chaotic way, the failure of a Humanitarian dream and of a Socialist utopia. De
Monnik in het Westen (The Monk in the Western World), written in 1927 and pub­
lished in 1929, bears eloquent witness to the failure of Idealistic E.
Is this to say that E. in Flemish literature was nothing more than a brief interlude ?
Certainly not. Following in the wake of Van Ostaijen, Burssens, in his turn, took the
path of Organic E. and of verbal experiments, which he was the only one to practice
until the moment when, in 1950, the Tijd en Mens generation, which descended indi­
rectly from Dutch E. and French Surrealism, formulated the principles of an "experi­
mental art", of which Van Ostaijen was deemed the precursor.
For a time, the art of Brunclair was also oriented in this direction, but with less
success. These are but isolated cases, although one could doubtlessly cite many others
in which some Expressionist tendencies manifested themselves long after 1930.
Achilles Mussche, for example, probably remembered his humanitarian period (De twee
Vaderlanden [The Two Fatherlands], 1927) when, in 1950, he created the vast epic
fresco Aan de voet van hef Belfort (At the Foot of the Belfry), in which he traces, in a
visionary manner, the history of the resistance of the Flemish weavers to capital and
the machine.
But E. also continued to survive in a literary genre which was indebted to it for a
profound renovation: the theater. This genre, flourishing in the Middle Ages, had since
then produced only a few valuable works in Flanders. The epoch of Van Nu en Straks
h a d not significantly changed this situation, which found expression in translations of
the most facile and banal plays of other countries. In several newspaper articles, Van

241
Ostaijen had already deplored the choice of repertoires in Belgium, which were almost
exclusively limited to boulevard comedies and soap operas. Without proposing a real
solution, he contented himself with expressing his preference for Shaw's plays of ideas
and for the Dutch Naturalist theater of Herman Heijermans. Ruimte must be given the
credit for having called attention to the new aspects of foreign drama and, more especi­
ally, to the German Expressionist theater. We have seen that Chrispeels had been in
charge of this department since 1920. One of the plays which impressed him most was
Unruh's Ein Geschlecht, because of its universal implications and the concluding mes­
sage of hope, because of the quasi-allegorical figuration of the subconscious, the exacer­
bated style of the dialogues, the simplification of the decor, and the fact that a Sunday
morning had been chosen for the performance so as to give the play a ritual and commu­
nal character.
Along with Ruimte, Pogen was also interested in the new perspectives in the theater.
Thus the ideas of Gordon Craig, Appia, Marinetti, etc., were praised in general terms by
G. Heyndrickx, in 1923. Heyndrickx admired, in passing, the "Karsenty" theater of
Moscow and the Russian Ballet, but above all he dwelled on the German Expressionist
"school". After having expressed his mistrust of the extremism of the " Sturm-Bühne",
he enumerated the playwrights whom he considered to be most representative of the
era: Sternheim, Kornfeld, Friedrich Wolf, Kokoschka, and Kaiser. Once more, the
E. of "ideas", that of the "Mensch in der Mitte", held more attraction than the formal
experiments from the "Laboratorium für Worte". In the same article, Heyndrickx
spoke highly of the Flemish stage-director J. 0 . de Gruyter, who, since 1920, had
directed the itinerant troupe of the "Vlaamsche Volkstooneel" (Flemish Folk Theater).
The latter originated from the "Fronttooneel" created during the war. The secretary of
the "Vlaamsche Volkstooneel" after 1922 was none other than Moens, whose interest
in this enterprise should not surprise us. About this time, he translated several authors,
among whom were Anton Wildgans and Henri Ghéon, whose "medieval" theater, of a
religious and popular inspiration, achieved great success in Belgium. But Moens him­
self never wrote an original play.
I t is rather surprising that none of the humanitarian and social poets had the
desire—or the means—to write for the stage, since drama is the "communitarian"
art par excellence. The lack of a real tradition made itself cruelly felt here. Paradoxi­
cally, the first and only writer who contributed a few valuable Expressionist works
to the Flemish theater belonged to the Van Nu en Straks group. Teirlinck, whose repu­
tation as a novelist was still to increase after World War II, has sometimes been called
the Proteus of Flemish letters. His ideas about communal theater were a logical con­
sequence of the artistic ideas of Van Nu en Starks, ignored with such levity or bad
faith by Ruimte. Teirlinck applied his concepts to his staging of foreign plays and to the
plays he wrote himself. Sometimes the baroque aestheticism of his novels was blended
with a sort of pagan Vitalism which bore certain similarities to the mystical trend of
E., but the only deliberately Expressionist part of his artistic production was his drama.
In 1921 he wrote De Vertraagde Film (The Slow-Motion Film), staged in Brussels in the
following year. Other plays followed: Ik Dien (I Serve, 1924), a dramatization of the
medieval legend of Beatrice; De Man zonder Lijf (The Man Without a Body, 1925); and

242
Borne open-air plays in which Teirlinck also blazed a trail: Bet Torenspel (The Tower
Game, 1923), Het A-Z Spel (The A - Z Game, 1924), and Ave (1928).
Reacting against the Naturalism cultivated by his predecessors and against the
conventional bourgeois theater, Teirlinck liberated the stage from the dogmas of
realism and from chronological, spatial, and psychological verisimilitude, in order to
highlight types and ideas which never fall into the stagnation or degeneration of the
abstract. He did not hesitate to take recourse to allegorical figures or upset traditional
conceptions about décor and staging. He was reproached for not always having been
able to adapt his manneristic language to the " collectivist" spirit of his plays. Nonethe­
less, no other contemporary Flemish playwright, including Anton van de Velde, Willem
Putman, and Dirk Vansina, achieved a reputation equal to his. 9
Still, the stage was changing completely, thanks, above all, to the efforts of the
"Vlaamsche Volkstooneel", directed, since 1924, by J. de Meester. Under the guidance
of this Dutch director, the troupe acquired international fame because of its avant-
garde performances. Its repertoire included Shakespeare, O'Neill, Claudel, Cocteau,
Ghéon, Michel de Ghelderode, and Van de Velde, as well as popular plays like the medi­
eval miracle play Mariken van Nieumeghen, a folkloristic-religious play by Felix Tim­
mermans and Veterman, En waar de Ster bleef stille staan (Where the Star Stopped),
and Reinaert de Vos (Reynard the Fox) by Paul de Mont. Popular theater out of doors
or in the auditorium achieved tremendous success in Flanders until the eve of the
Second World War. The collective genre par excellence, it was generally inspired by
native folklore, by the Middle Ages, by religious sentiment, by the fantastic, by satire,
and by farce. 10 Only a genius like de Ghelderode, however, was able to fuse these data
into something universal. He was a writer of Flemish origin, who integrated them into
a visionary, truculent, and brutal form. He wrote his plays in French for J. de Meester.
The latter had them immediately translated and performed: it is thus that Images de
la vie de Saint François d'Assise, Barabbas, and Pantagleize were created with success
in Dutch, a quarter of a century before the French public discovered the modernism of
this author. De Ghelderode, heir to Maeterlinck and Strindberg, was, for a time, in­
fluenced by the E. of the theater and of the cinema in some of his formal experiments
like La Mort du docteur Faust (1926) and Don Juan (1928), which he called, respectively,
"tragedy for the music hall" and ''drama-farce for the music hall". But at the risk of
dangerously expanding the scope of what should remain a ''period term", one could
discern an even profounder E. in de Ghelderode, which consists of an exacerbated syn­
thesis in an atmosphere of horror and of contradictory tendencies, such as the mystic
and the grotesque—in a sort of excess which makes one think of Bosch even more than
of Ensor, or of Alfred Jarry, to whom de Ghelderode felt himself akin. 11

9
R e g a r d i n g Teirlinck, see W . P u t m a n , Tooneeldagboek (1928-1938) ( A n t w e r p , n . d . ) ; P . B r a c h i n ,
L' Expressionisme dans le théâtre de H. Teirlinck (Paris, 1958).
10
R e g a r d i n g t h e B e l g i a n t h e a t e r a t t h a t period, see W . P u t m a n , Tooneelgroei (1921-1926)
( A n t w e r p , n.d.) a n d Tooneeldagboek (1928-1938); L. M o n t e y n e , Stroomingen, gestalten en spelen
in het naoorlogsh Vlaamsch tooneelleven (Ghent, 1938); C Godelaine, Het vlaamsche Volkstooneel
( L o u v a i n , 1939); A. de M a y e r a n d R . R o e m a n s , Een kwart eeuw tooneelleven in Vlaanderen ( A n t w e r p ,
1948); S. Lilar, The Belgian Theatre since 1890 (New Y o r k , 1950); id., Soixante ans de théâtre belge
(Brussels, 1952).
11
R e g a r d i n g de Ghelderode, see J . F r a n c i s , Michel de Ghelderode, dramaturge des pays de par

243
 One could also include in a discussion of E. the highly colorful dramatic art of
Fernand Crommelynck, a French-speaking Belgian, whose Cocu Magnifique, a tragi­
comedy about jealousy and masochism, was premiered in 1921 in Paris, in the Theatre
de l'Oeuvre. Crommelynck's plays reach the pathetic or the delirious by means of the
disproportionate enhancement of the banal or ridiculous and by means of the confron­
tation of an impossible desire for purity with the worst of vulgarities. Thus in Tripes
d'Or, staged by Jouvet in 1925, Crommelynck goes Molière one better and announces
the theater of the absurd by having a miser eat his money until death ensues. 12
Also tending toward mysticism but just as caricaturizing and grating in their
expression, the French plays of Henri Soumagne reflect Meyerhold's and Piscator's
ideas on the theater by mixing the marvelous with the ordinary. Soumagne's L'Autre
Messie was produced by Lugne-Poë in 1923.
French letters in Belgium nevertheless remained largely inaccessible to E.: here
there was no violent reaction against the generation of La Jeune Belgique (Young Bel­
gium), a periodical which one may consider as the counterpart to Van Nu en Straks.
On the other hand, literary groups, often perpetuating Symbolism or sometimes return­
ing to regionalism, adhered little to a movement which seemed foreign to the Walloon
spirit, being fonder of order and "classicism". Is it accidental t h a t Verhaeren, a pre­
cursor of E., was Flemish by birth, like de Ghelderode? And that, among the major
poets who could be mentioned here, the greatest was Hellens (pseudonym of F . van
Erminghem), who spent his youth near Ghent before settling down in Paris? But in
the work of this visionary, for whom dreaming was "the normal state of being" and
who admired the German Romantics, one would look in vain for the excesses and the
systematic bent of mind characteristic of so many Expressionists. He himself was un­
concerned with labels and -isms, which is not to say t h a t he withdrew from the con­
temporary literary scene. Quite to the contrary, he was the co-founder of important
avantgarde periodicals like Le Disque Vert (1921-1925) and Signaux de France et de
Belgique (1920-1921). 13
A phenomenon of essentially Germanic origin, as much in painting as in literature,
E. was imported into Belgium. War, politics, anda s imilarity of language were re­
sponsible for the short-lived favor it enjoyed in Belgium and which was limited to the
Northern part of the country. But it would be wrong to assume that it reigned there
alone and supreme. Its influence on poetry was quickly counterbalanced by that of
Italian Futurism, by the Dadaist International and, above all, by the French avant-
garde. In his last period, Van Ostaijen, for example, felt himself closer to Apollinaire,
Cocteau, Cendrars, and Max Jacob than to the Expressionists, with the sole exception

deça (Brussels, 1949); M. de Ghelderode, Les Entretiens d'Ostende (Paris, 1956); A. Lepage, Michel
de Ghelderode (Brussels, 1960); A. Grisay, Bibliographie de Michel de Ghelderode (Brussels, 1962);
P. Vandromme, Michel de Ghelderode (Paris, 1963); J. Francis, L'Eternel Aujourd'hui de Michel de
Ghelderode (Brussels, 1968).
12
Regarding Crommelynck, see A. Berger, A la Rencontre de Fernand Crommelynck (Brussels,
1946); A. Grisay, Bibliographie des editions originales de Fernand Crommelynck (Brussels, 1964).
13
Regarding Hellens, see M. J. Hachelle, L'Oeuvre de Franz Bellens (Brussels, 1937); P . Meral,
G. Ungaretti, and V. Larbaud, Franz Hellens ou la transfiguration du réel (Brussels, 1941); J. De
Bosschere et al., Franz Hellens (Lyon, 1956); A Grisay, L'Oeuvre de Franz Hellens (Liège, 1962);
A. Lebois, Franz Hellens (Paris, 1963).

244
of Stramm. Other forms of poetry manifested themselves in an independent manner,
whether these were more traditionalist in spirit or whether they innovated in the
direction of a greater cerebrality. With few exceptions, the novel—and prose in gen­
eral—scarcely felt the effects of E. before 1928. As for the theater, one should speak of
a striking similarity of contemporary ideas rather than of the direct and exclusive in­
fluence of German writers. As is often the case, the greatest artists were those who freed
themselves from literary fashions or pointed in entirely new directions: Van Ostaijen,
Burssens, Gijsen, Walschap, and de Ghelderode.

There are very few studies relating to E. in Holland, all of them posterior to the
revival of interest in the movement about 1950, at the time of the blossoming of the
"experimental" school. The broad outlines of this subject have already been sketched
by N. A. Donkersloot (1954), J . C. Brandt Corstius (1957), and E. Krispyn (1958).14
To these three articles must be added a few others devoted principally to Herman van
den Bergh and Hendrik Marsman. Finally, A. Lehning wrote a little book on Marsman
and E. 1 5
One could ask oneself in this connection why the two branches of literature in the
Dutch language are always studied separately and if this does not imply an error of
perspective due to the confusion of politics and art. But this is not the case; for as far
as E. is concerned, we face two phenomena related from a linguistic point of view but
different in many other respects, and whose disparity derives precisely from dissimilari­
ties in the historical circumstances. Closely linked with the German occupation and the
struggle of the Flemish Movement, Belgian E. took on the air of an explosion which
was at once political and aesthetic. I n Flanders, E. was set in motion earlier and with
greater violence than in Holland, where the Activism, the social commitment and the
militant fervor of Moens find their equivalent only in the young Catholics. The North
was more individualistic and more concerned with exclusively aesthetic questions than
the South—a contrast which is quite apparent when one compares De Nieuwe Gids
with Van Nu en Straks.
This tradition dates back to the nineteenth century; in Flanders, the cultural con­
text has always tended to subjugate the artist to the collectivity, whereas Holland
grants him greater autonomy. The Dutch writers were less eager to upset—by means of
their pen—society, morality, and the State. Furthermore, because of the delay, they
benefited from the Flemish experiments while undergoing the influence of German

14
N . A. Donkersloot, "Expressionisme in de Nederlandse letterkunde" in Het Expressionisme :
Zes lezingen . . . (The Hague, 1954), pp. 5—24; J. C. Brandt Corstius, "Die Nieuwe Beweging" in
De Gids, I (1957), 363-389; E. Krispyn, op. cit.
15
G. Stuiveling, "Herman van den Bergh en de eerste jaargang van Het Getij" in Raam, 32
(February, 1967), pp. 27—38; id., "Het Getij, Herman van den Bergh en het expressionisme"
in Handelingen van het XXVIe Vlaams Filologencongres (1967), pp. 100—111; R. P. Meijer, "Ex­
pressionist Influence in Marsman's Early Poetry" in Australasian Universities Modern Language
Association Journal, I I I (1955); M. J. G. de Jong, "Marsman und August Stramm" in Levende
Talen (April, 1959), 181—190; A. Lehning, Marsman en het expressionisme (The Hague, 1959).

■245
ideas. Flemish E. was born under the combined pressure of French and German trends;
by fusing them, it furthered, in its turn, a parallel movement in Holland. Here the
contribution of Germany was considerably smaller and was not really assimilated until
shortly after the war. In the meantime—and this is essential—an autonomous E.
appeared in the Netherlands, without any contact with Berlin, Munich, or Vienna, and
totally unaware of Van Ostaijen's Sienjaal. The North differs from the South on this
point as well. Equally remarkable, finally, is the contrast between the generally eclectic
Dutch periodicals, in which E. played a modest role, and the organs of combat which
appeared in Belgium.
As we have seen, these differences resulted from the diversity of the literary heri­
tage, from the fact, for example, that in Flanders, literature for a long time had to serve
the emancipation of the people, and that the aestheticism of Willem Kloos, although
much admired, was hardly imitated there. Moreover, the war spared the Netherlands,
but cruelly hit Belgium. The four years of occupation which that country had to un­
dergo explain, among other things, the precedence of the German influence, as well as
the power and the importance of the renewal.
Fate nevertheless willed t h a t Het Getij was founded the same year in which Van
Ostaijen published Music Hall (1916). Neither the first issues of the Dutch magazine
nor the debut of the Flemish poet show any traces of E., strictly speaking, and yet it
is from these that it drew inspiration.
The elaboration of an authentically Dutch E., exempt from all German or Flemish
ties, proceeded from the literary evolution begun in 1880. For in 1916 it was still in
relation to the principles enunciated thirty years earlier in De Nieuwe Gids that litera­
ture was defined, although the attitude of the young people had turned from enthusiasm
or indulgence to revolt. This shows unequivocally from the time of the first "study" of
Van den Bergh in Het Getij (1917) where, already in the preceding year, C. van Wessem
had declared that today truth was preferred above art and artifice. The enemy to be
fought was aestheticism, and a new taste for reality supplanted the cult of the beauti­
ful. To be sure, De Nieuwe Gids had attracted attention to society and politics through
the medium of Frank van der Goes and Frederik van Eeden. Nevertheless, this did
not prevent posterity from identifying the image of the movement of 1880 especially
with the program of Kloos and of Van Deyssel. Still, the major figures of the past were
not rejected wholesale—far from it. If Kloos is sometimes described as a monster of
egocentricity, E. Groenevelt paid homage to his pioneering work, while, at the same
time, specifying t h a t he had seen his day. Marsman went even so far as to dedicate a
poem to him (much later, in 1938). Nothing here recalls the animosity with which
Gijsen went about demolishing Van de Woestijne.
A similar moderation impregnates the verdicts about Herman Gorter and Albert
Verwey. In fact, the former fares quite well, in spite of his Impressionism. His vitality,
his freshness, his experimental tendencies commended him in the eyes of the innova­
tors. 16 Gerhard Bruning did not hide his admiration for him, Karel van den Oever called

16
See T. Kurpershoek-Scherft, De Episode van "Het Getij": De Noordnederlandse Dichtkunst
van 1916 tot 1922 (The Hague, 1956).

246
him a precursor of E., 17 and Marsman wrote a poem and a long essay about him. The
case of Verwey is more ambiguous. On the one hand he repudiated, like Gorter, indi­
vidualism, aestheticism, and the mannered style advocated by Kloos, and in founding
De Beweging (1905-1919), he became the leader of those for whom art was based not
on impressions of the tangible world, but on idea and imagination. Having a mind
open to novelty, he published in De Beweging some prose by E. de Bock (1915 and 1916),
a thorough study by Theo van Doesburg on contemporary painting (1916) and some
poetry by Marsman (1919). What is more, he welcomed A. H. Feijs's modernistic poems,
and did not hide his sympathy for Kandinsky and Marc. On the other hand, his philo­
sophical turn of mind and his preference for fixed forms were to repel Van den Bergli,
although the latter's theories—notably the preeminence he accords to the sentence
over the nuances of the isolated word—are related to those of Verwey. 18 In short, by
rejecting matter and by renouncing sensations in favor of concepts, Verwey decisively
influenced the development of Dutch literature and prepared the advent of E. as well
as other avant-garde movements.
The tendency toward internalization was not characteristic of Verwey alone who,
like Gorter, burned what he formerly adored after the fashion of Kloos and Van Deyssel.
What Kandinsky calls "das Geistige in der Kunst'' also permeates the work of P . C.
Boutens and of the poets whom Verwey gathered around himself in De Beweging (P. N.
van Eyck, J. C. Bloem, etc.). About 1910, the Impressionist and Naturalist techniques
were entirely outmoded (at least in the view of an active minority), and the founda­
tions of the Platonic Constructivism of Mondrian and the E. of Van den Bergh had
been laid. But on the whole, the young poets were wide off the mark. If the general
orientation had changed, the feelings, the themes and the means of expression had
remained pretty much the same. One ought not be surprised, then, that Van den
Bergh began by tackling the problem of language.
But it is time to describe the main features of an evolution which, beginning with
De Nieuwe Gids (1885), proceeds to De Stijl (1917-1932), Het Getij (1916-1924),
Herman van den Bergh, and finally, Marsman, the brothers Bruning, and H. de Vries.
The rupture with the cult of the Beautiful and the Self, incarnated by Kloos, was
marked not only by contempt for the unique and ephemeral sensation and for the refined
pleasures it affords. One of the slogans of the times was Dynamism, in contrast to the
passive and receptive attitude embraced by Impressionism. The rejection of a strict
mimesis, the shift of focus from matter to spirit and from perception to Idea, was
accompanied by an "updating'' of the poetic sensitivity, which was until then indiffer­
ent to the rhythm of urban life and technology. After the physicists and the Futurists,
the Dutch poets discovered that reality was energy, movement, and tension. Symp-
tomatically, the first collection of Van den Bergh is entitled De Boog (The Bow).
Kloos was judged to be guilty, first and foremost, of individualism. His narcissism
was judged to belong to the heritage of the Renaissance, which was rejected by com-
17
K . v a n d e n Oever, " R o n d w a t m e n n o e m t : e x p r e s s i o n i s m e " in Roeping ( 1 9 2 5 - 2 6 ) , I V ,
130—148, esp. p . 133. V e r w e y used t h e t e r m E . since 1913. See J . K a m e r b e e k , J r . , Albert Verwey
en het nieuwe classicisme (Groningen, 1966), p . 47.
18
See J . J . Oversteegen, Vorm of vent : Opvattingen over de aard van het literaire werk in de
Nederlandse kritiek tussen de twee wereldoorlogen ( A m s t e r d a m , 1969), p . 39.

247
mon consent. In 1925, Marsman, enunciating one of his famous "Theses", declared:
''The cause of the ruin of this civilization is individualism. Only a new, original religion
can save the world." Even if one makes allowance for Marsman's personal concerns
one may discover in his words a desire which had already been latent for a long time:
t h a t of transcending the limits of the ego and identifying oneself with a religious, polit­
ical, social or simply artistic cause—a desire for expansion which would nonetheless
not stifle the awareness of human fragility. This dream of fraternity, universality, and
cosmopolitanism, and this wish to embrace life in its totality, animated Het Getij as
well as De Stijl. The war and the Russian revolution probably reinforced an aspiration
which dates from Verhaeren, Rolland and their precursors. The abstract, geometric
forms of Mondrian, which stress only the spiritual side, are at the same time universal.
Similarly, Van den Bergh proclaimed the superiority of the sentence over the word,
t h a t is, of the whole over its parts.
The renovation of the world begins with the renovation of language; for a poet,
this stood to reason. To the emancipation of language Van den Bergh devoted a series
of elaborately technical studies which gave eloquent expression to his phobia for the
"nuance", the blurred and the vague—including vague longings of the soul—character­
istic of Impressionism. "Extreme sobriety of the word, richness of the sentence,"—this
is the controlling idea of his poetics after January, 1917. The tendency is toward syn­
thesis, and no longer toward analysis; and now the global vision holds sway over the
minute observation of details. Let us emphasize that these views had already been for­
mulated by Verwey four years earlier. Van Wessem, for his part, insisted that the im­
pression of nature and the verbal image constitute an indissoluble unity "of such a
kind t h a t by naming the image one also expresses the essence". The key word has been
spoken: appearances—forms, colors, and sounds—do not suffice; and it is necessary
to penetrate to the heart of things. To the extent that one deviates from mimesis the
idea of an autonomous art, detached from the tangible world, takes shape. Van den Bergh
regarded poetry as an independent universe, and for Van Doesburg words were the
materials which the writer manipulates in the same way as the painter works with
color. Thus the poem becomes an object made of language, a verbal organism, as Van
Ostaijen also suggested. All these ideas will come once more to the fore around 1950.
From 1916 to 1920, the new positions were consolidated; they were often poorly
delineated in Het Getij, but extremely well defined in De Stijl. Unfortunately, De Stijl
is of little interest to the historian of E., and it is basically through the back door t h a t
the latter movement enters the Netherlands. The Getij contributors saw themselves only
as reformers. Their program hardly merits its name, and the first issues of the magazine
contain nothing new except in poetry, namely the poems and critical essays of Van
den Bergh. In 1917, the foreign authors who were held up as examples were, besides
Verhaeren and Rolland, Paul Adam and Henri Bordeaux ! I t was not until 1918 t h a t
Het Getij was modernized, notably under the influence of Van Doesburg. In 1921, Van
Doesburg contributed a more or less regular survey of avantgarde art, while Joseph
Leonard, who belonged to the Ruimte group, dealt, also in Het Getij, with Flemish
letters. Little by little, the windows facing the outer world were opening. Speaking,
in 1921, of the "Avant-Garde in Holland", Van Doesburg did not abstain from using

248
sarcasm: "All the periodicals constantly warm up the egg of 1880 and eagerly take
delight in the remains left by Gorter, Van Deyssel, Kloos, Van Eeden, etc." This was
probably the opinion of Dirk Coster as well, who, in 1920, omitted Het Getij from his
somewhat scant panorama of literary activities in the Netherlands.
Het Getij was almost exclusively focused on France, the most notable exceptions
being Tagore and, above all, Whitman, whose Leaves of Grass, translated by Maurits
Wagen voort in 1917, was enthusiastically greeted by Van den Bergh and admired by
Van Wessem. Whitman's vigor, his idealism and his free verse exercised an undeniable
influence on the humanitarian poets, as was also the case in Flanders. For similar
reasons, Verhaeren was the favorite French writer. Martin Permys (pseudonym of M. J .
Premsela) was one of his most fervent disciples, and the reading of Verhaeren was an
authentic revelation for Van den Bergh. The similarities between Van den Bergh and
this or t h a t German or Flemish Expressionist whom the Dutchman did not even know
existed are to be primarily explained by their common infatuations. Whereas De
Nieuwe Gids had still followed in the footsteps of Shelley and Keats, the generation of
1916 read the French Symbolists and their successors. Long after German E. had taken
root in Holland, France continued to make its authority felt there. From 1916 to 1925,
then, attention was called not only to Baudelaire, Jammes, Henri de Régnier, Laforgue,
Corbière, Rimbaud, and Villiers de I'Isle-Adam, but also to Alfred Jarry, whose Ubu
Roi appeared in translation in Het Getij in 1922; to Cocteau, who influenced the work of
Constant van Wessem; to Cendrars, admired by Marsman; and to Apollinaire, whom
Van den Bergh studied in the first issues of De Vrije Bladen (1924). I t is quite obvious:
from Symbolism the movement proceeds gradually to literary Cubism, whose effect
was surely as considerable in Holland as it was in Belgium.
The historical circumstances, the evolution of literature after the turn of the
century and the favorable reception given to Whitman, Verhaeren, and the French
poets led to a blossoming of Dutch E. apart from any German influence. The phe­
nomenon is similar to the one which had taken place in Germany itself a few years
earlier, but it is a movement on a small scale. Martin Permys, who initiated this current,
swore only by Verhaeren and Maeterlinck, and was impervious to what was going on
at the time in occupied Flanders and in Germany. In 1916, Feijs employed a harsh,
abrupt style (Oorlog, Verzen in Staccato), whose popularity spread after the war, under
the impact of Cubism and Stramm.
But it was Van den Bergh (1897-1967) who, with his two collections (De Boog,
1917; De Spiegel [The Mirror], 1925) constituted the soul of this trend. His poems come
under the heading of E. by virtue of several essential features: the primacy of vision
over perception, their re-creation of nature by means of language, and their sense of
the movement and unity of the universe. An individualist, Van den Bergh nevertheless
aimed at the universal. In his pagan dithyrambs about the Earth he paved the way
for the Vitalism of the twenties and the cosmic images of Marsman. His style, though
concentrated, never reaches the excessiveness of Stramm, for it banishes, as we have
seen, the isolated word in favor of the sentence. Moreover, it is characterized by count­
less neologisms and paradoxes, the concretization of abstract words, the omission of
articles, the fusion of heterogeneous images and a typically Expressionist use of colors.

249
The poetry of Van den Bergh breaks with classical metrics and introduces the staccato
rhythm which subsequently triumphed with Marsman and H. de Vries. His studies,
collected in Nieuwe Tucht (A New Discipline, 1928) exercised, according to Binnendijk,
less influence than his poems. Van den Bergh retired from the literary scene about 1925,
when E. began to recede; the volumes which he published after the Second World
War, at the time when the ''expérimental'' poets rescued him from oblivion, witness
to the survival of his earlier manner.
An Expressionist without knowing it, Van den Bergh is situated at an equal dis­
tance from Humanitarianism and the verbal experiments of Der Sturm. Marsman,
H. de Vries and J a n Slauerhoff are his debtors. Better informed of international currents,
more daring, b u t literarily less gifted, Van Doesburg (1883-1931) embarked, at about
the same time, on some attempts which had no future, but which demonstrated that
Holland intended to participate in European Modernism. The neo-Plasticism of De
Stijl was one of its most original manifestations, and the autonomous E. of Van den
Bergh was joined to Futurism, Cubism, and Dada, with which E. was often amalgamated.
Once the armistice was signed, German E. set out to swamp the literature of the
Netherlands. I t is noteworthy that the vanguard of the invasion included scarcely any
poets. The doctrines of Mondrian and, above all, those of Van Doesburg base themselves
partly on Kandinsky and the Blaue Reiter group; but this is not surprising, since De
Stijl was primarily interested in the plastic arts. 1 9 Van Doesburg being also a writer,
Kandinsky's ideas quickly reached literature in a roundabout way. Über das Geistige
in der Kunst dates from 1912, and as early as 1912-1913, Van Doesburg emulated its
fundamental principles. We know t h a t Verwey was taken by Marc as well as by
Kandinsky, about whom even before the war he wrote a poem ("De Schilder"). In
short, the painters preceded the writers by making use of a medium which transcends
linguistic barriers and painlessly adjusts to a milieu in which the pictorial tradition
enjoyed an unparalleled prestige and from which came Van Gogh himself, who is con­
sidered to be one of the ancestors of E. Most of the periodicals so far referred to re­
served an important place for the fine arts, which often provided the poets with a frame
of reference. Marsman, for example, "cited" Marc's famous blue horses in his poem
about Berlin ("Berlijn").
Without realizing it, Verwey had identified in 1916 the two painters whose role
was going to be decisive. If the cult of Van Gogh was already taking shape at this time,
if here and there Flemish painters like A. Servaes or G. de Smet were mentioned, if
Marsman saw in Rudolf Bauer the ideal incarnation of his E., the names which most
constantly recurred were those of Marc and Kandinsky. 2 0 The former made a deep
impression on Marsman, who wrote a cycle of poems about German and Dutch cities
("Seinen" [Signals]) as well as "Aanteekeningen over Franz Marc" (Some Notes on
Franz Marc) after having visited the extensive one-man show, organized in Berlin in
1922. For Marsman, Marc had effected the synthesis of Stramm and Cendrars, t h a t is

19
See H. L. C. Jaffé, "De Stijl", 1917—1931 : The Dutch Contribution to Modern Art (Amster­
dam, 1956). The second manifesto, concerned with literature, appeared in De Stijl, I I I (1920),
pp. 49-50.
20
See H. Marsman, "Divagatie over expressionisme" in Den Gulden Winckel, 1921, pp. 3—5.

250
of E. and Cubism, and of the heart and the mind. Marc, he said, was "the Cubist of
sentiment". This is also the goal he set himself; and it is again to Marc that Marsman's
colors, which transmit purely subjective information with no reference to the tangible
world, are related. As for Kandinsky, Het Getij published in 1921 some extracts from
his treatise which deal with literature. We have already indicated how much Van
Doesburg owed to him. For Marsman, who was a friend of the painter A. de Winter,
one of the Dutch disciples of Kandinsky, the Russian was a representative of the authen­
tic E. he loved and extolled.
In the Netherlands, E. is generally thought of as a foreign phenomenon, "Germanic"
and "Slavic" as people used to say at that time, and consequently opposed to "Latin"
Cubism. This turn of mind, in which the conflicts of nationalism are reflected, manifests
itself also in the evolution of Marsman, who was later to soften and equilibrate his
"Germanic" nature through contact with "Mediterranean" Humanism.
The first publications mentioning German E. scarcely date back beyond 1914-
1918. Here are the oldest and most important ones:

1914
E. Wichman and C. L. Dake, Nieuwe Richtingen in de Schilderkunst (cubisme, expres­
sionisme, futurisme, etc.) (Baarn, 1914).

1916
Th. van Doesburg, "De Nieuwe Beweging in de Schilderkunst," Het Getij (1918),
pp. 180-190, 212-215.
O. van Tussenbroek, Review of H. Bahr, Expressionismus in Den Gulden Winckel
(1918), pp. 85-86.
1919
Th. van Doesburg, "Rondblik. Het expressionisme," De Stijl (1919), pp. 140-144.

1920
R. Houwink, Review of K. Edschmid, Die achatenen Kugeln in Den Gulden Winckel
(1920), pp. 151-153.
F. M. Huebner, "Het expressionisme in Duitschland" in De nieuwe Europeesche Geest
in Kunst en Letteren (Arnhem, 1920).
W. Retera Wzn., "Over uitersten in de beeldhouwkunst," Het Getij (1920), pp. 487-492,
650-653.
1921
Th. van Doesburg, "Revue der Avant-Garde," Het Getij (1921), pp. 193-200.
Th. van Doesburg, "Beeldende K u n s t " Het Getij (1921), pp. 50-57, 73-76.
F. M. Huebner, "Deutscher Brief," Het Getij (1921), pp. 145-160.
F. M. Huebner, "Neue Erzählkunst," Het Getij (1921), pp. 427-432.
H. Marsman, "Divagatie over expressionisme," Den Gulden Winckel (1921), pp. 3-5.
H. Marsman, Review of K. Pinthus, Menschheitsdämmerung in Den Gulden Winckel
(1921), pp. 50-51.
M. H. Werkman, "Vooruitstrevende Duitsche Lyriek," Groot Wederland, I I (1921),
495-524.
H. Wolf, Studies over hedendaagsche Duitsche Letterkunde (Arnhem, 1921).

251
 The list clearly shows that the breakthrough of German E. in Holland occurred
about 1920 (at this date, literary E. was still unknown in the Netherlands) and t h a t
its most active pioneers were Van Doesburg, F . M. Huebner, and Marsman. Not only
did German culture reach Amsterdam and The Hague, but, peace having returned,
one was able to become acquainted with it on the spot. Marsman took several trips
to Germany (1921, 1922, 1923), visiting exhibitions and meeting writers, among them
Hermann Kasack. Van Doesburg also travelled to Weimar, where he established close
relations with the Bauhaus (1921).
I t would be superfluous to study in detail the influence which German writers of
the past and present exerted in Holland. I n many cases, a name appears but once,
not to be heard of again. Let us, nevertheless, cite Nietzsche, the reading of whose
works left evident traces in the work of Marsman and Menno ter Braak; 2 1 Novalis,
Büchner, and Rilke, in whom Marsman was particularly interested; and Hofmannsthal,
whom he read when he was eighteen. Among the Expressionists and Modernists, the
periodicals mention, in addition to Schönberg, a host of poets, novelists, and dramatists:
Döblin, Leonhard Frank, Hasenclever, Kaiser, Lasker-Schüler, Mynona, Rubiner,
Stadler, Sternheim, etc. There are even more influential figures: Worringer, whose
Abstraktion und Einfühlung was well known; K. Edschmid (Die achatenen Kugeln),
appreciated b y Roel Houwink and F . M. Huebner; Trakl and Heym, two of Marsman's
favorite authors (no one, he writes in 1924, could go further than Trakl "without
turning stark mad"); Heynicke, whom Marsman accused of having let himself be
overtaken by the humanitarian vogue; and Schreyer, whose article on "Die neue
K u n s t " he had read in Der Sturm (1919).
The latter magazine, to which Van den Bergh drew attention as early as 1917,
contributed,—together with Menschheitsdämmerung—, to fixing the image of German
E. in the Netherlands. Thus, Marsman condemned Pinthus and subscribed to the ideas
of Walden: art and commitment had nothing in common for him, either. Of all the
Sturm poets, it was Stramm who carried off the honors. Admired by Van Doesburg,
he aided Marsman in fashioning his poetic idiom, concentrated in the extreme, the use
of which culminates in "Seinen". M. J. G. de Jong has shown that if Schreyer compared
Stramm with the Cubists, Marsman contrasted them because he did not understand
t h a t Stramm's "cries" concealed a deliberate intention. Moreover, it is possible t h a t
Stramm's style was also imitated—indirectly, through Marsman?—by H. Bruning.
The other aspect of E., the Weltfreund of Werfel, seduced the "Humanitarians", who
were less numerous and less obstreperous than in Flanders. In spite of its variety,
P i n t h u s ' anthology was almost unanimously considered to be the archetype of this
current: the young Catholics of Roeping read Menschheitsdämmerung with enthusiasm,
and Marsman with a repulsion which he openly expressed—the first time in 1921,
the second in 1929. Poetry, for him, was not dynamite, but diamond.
To the list of those who unconsciously laid the foundations of the new literature
it would be necessary to add Dostoevsky, who left his mark upon the Vitalism of
Van Wessem ("Love life more than its meaning"), inspired Dirk Coster to write several

21
See R. Henrard, Menno ter Braak in het licht van Friedrich Nietzsche (Hasselt, 1963).

252
essays and influenced Marsman as well as the brothers Bruning. 22 But let us rather
see b y which roads and at what time Flemish E. crossed the frontier and how it was
received in the North.
1919
L. Monteyne, "Over Vlaamsche Boeken uit Bezet-België," Den Gulden Winckel (1919),
pp. 85-87; principally about Van Ostaijen's Music Hall and Het Sienjaal.

1920
L. Monteyne, "Vlaamsche Boeken uit België," Den Gulden Winckel (1920), pp. 186-
189, about Ruimte.
1921
I. K. Bt's (Th. van Doesburg), "Kritische Tesseracts," De Stijl (1921), p. 179, debunking
Bezette Stad.
Th. van Doesburg, "Revue der Avant-Garde," Het Getij (1921), pp. 25-29.
Jos. Leonard, "Brief uit Vlaanderen," Het Getij (1921), pp. 97-101; ibid., pp. 206-210,
about M. Gijsen's Lof-Litanie; ibid., pp. 122-126, on Van Ostaijen.
H. Marsman, "Bezette Stad," Den Gulden Winckel (1921), pp. 86-89.

1922
G. Bruning, "Wies Moens," Roeping (1922-23), pp. 131-140.
D. Coster, "Een Stem uit het jonge Vlaanderen," De Stem (1922), pp. 1041-56; about
W. Moens and the Celbrieven.
M. Gijsen, "Mijn vadertje" (poem), Roeping (1922-23), p. 299.
R. Houwink, "Wies Moens," Den Gulden Winckel (1922), pp. 40-41.
W. Moens, "Aanwezigheid" (poem), Het Getij (1922), pp. 189-190.
W. Moens, "Gebed voor ons, Dichters" (poem), Roeping (1922-23), p. 372.
W. Moens, "Het nieuwe Dichten" (essay), De Stem (1922), pp. 868-881.
H. W. E. Moller, "Nieuwe Dichtkunst. Karel van den Oever: Het open Luik" Roeping
(1922-23), pp. 69-72, 139-144.
Paul van Ostaijen, Open letter to I. Leonhard concerning the typography of his volume
Bezette Stad in Het Getij (1922), pp. 85-91.

I t thus appears t h a t the first contacts with Flanders were slightly lagging after those
which had just been established with Germany, and t h a t the breakthrough (1921-
1922) was as extensive as it was rapid—a success easily accounted for by the common
language. The Flemings at first took charge of their propaganda themselves, and from
the time of the founding of Roeping, 1922, an organ of militant Catholicism, they regu­
larly contributed to it as well as to De Stem (1921) and De Gemeenschap (1925). Van den
Oever and Moens soon became co-editors of Roeping, for that matter. However, if
Nieuwe Geluiden (1924), the anthology compiled by Coster, introduced Flemish
Humanitarianism to the general public, only the Catholic circles received it with
enthusiasm. Here, indeed, Humanitarianism was to last for a long time—as long as
E. itself — and to provoke emulation.
22
Anon., "Flaubert en Dostojefski in Nederland: Naar aanleidig van de gedenkdagen van hun
geboorte" in Den Gulden Winckel, 1921, pp. 182—184.

253
 Of the four most popular writers, Moens was the one who ran away with the
largest number of votes; his name was called attention to in Het Getij, De Stem, Roeping,
and De Gemeenschap: and in 1926, he was still interviewed at length by Den Gulden
Winckel. Along with Menschheitsdämmerung, Verhaeren, Whitman, and Unanimism,
he was the chief source of Dutch Humanitarianism. He was particularly esteemed by
Houwink and Coster, who devoted two pages of commentary to him in Nieuwe Geluiden,
as well as by G. Bruning, Gerard Knuvelder, H. Moller, and A. Van Duinkerken.
K. van den Oever, although very active—he published an interesting lecture on E. in
Roeping—never won the fame of Moens, nor t h a t of Gijsen, whose sobriety in Het
Huis was praised by Marsman, and who helped to launch "Franciscanism" with his
famous Lof-litanie. The opinions about Van Ostaijen were more reserved. Praised to
the skies by some of his compatriots, but decried by Van Doesburg, he did not arouse
the enthusiasm of Marsman, either; it is on this note, at any rate, that the latter con­
cluded his review of Bezette Stad in 1921, although he confessed ten years later to having
"admired him very much". Outside of the literary circles, Van Ostaijen was scarcely
read; the Borgers edition of his works was to give him a stunning revenge a quarter
of a century later.
No matter how much foreign painters, poets, novelists and critics were respected
or imitated, Holland's idea of E. certainly remained rather confused. But it is true
t h a t even in Germany, its country of origin, the term was given divergent meanings.
Van Doesburg, for example, stressed the fact that in reconstructing life, E. was charac­
terized by a movement from the internal to the external, which is accurate; but as
he gave preference to other currents, especially Cubism, most of his commentaries
on E. lack impartiality. For him, E. was a "primitive" formula and already outmoded.
One finds in Het Getij a definition of E. by E. Groenevelt—"the immediate externaliza-
tion of impressions produced by objects on the soul of the artist"—which would apply
almost as well to Impressionism. Marsman's criticism, finally,—as is the case with
many poets — , gives us more and better information about himself than about the
things he is discussing; but on the whole, his "divagations", as he himself calls them,
are among the most pertinent and best documented essays in this field.
Paradoxically, it was Van Doesburg, always fond of novelty, who, as one of the
first Dutchmen, placed his works under the banner of E. in the "Expressionistisch-
literaire Komposities", prose sketches he published in Het Getij in February, 1919.
The others published their poems without baptizing them. This was also the case
with the Humanitarians, who were largely recruited from the Catholic minority, that
is, especially in the Southern provinces. Moved by its underlying idealism, E. was
often concerned with political, social, and religious questions: propaganda, vehemence,
Messianism, ecstasy all suit it very well. As in Flanders, it devoted itself to the service
of an active coterie, although in the beginning—as with M. Permys—, Humanitarianism
did not at all crusade for the Church militant. The heyday of the Catholic movement
in Holland coincides with the discovery of Moens: Roeping (1922) and De Gemeenschap
(1925) fell into step behind Ruimte (1920) and Ter Waarheid (1921), recommending
a poetry often copied from that of the Flemish Activists and characterized by an
ardent faith, by pathos, the use of free verse and a simplified spelling (spelling reform

254
is one of the traditional traits of the avantgarde in this linguistic area), and the con­
sciousness of a cultural and religious solidarity with Flanders. Roeping launched the
formula of direct expression of the (Catholic) soul, thus affirming its allegiance as much
to the creed of E. as to the most rigid conceptions of the Roman dogma. Free verse,
which was inspired sometimes by the Bible as well as by Whitman and Werfel, and
sometimes by Stramm's staccato rhythms, admirably reflects the dynamism of the
new aesthetics and the desire for expansion which characterized it: the vital impulsion
toward God and Man. According to Van den Oever, this form is born from the rhythm
of the soul itself.
Because it praised fraternity, Humanitarianism turned toward the place where
crowds assemble: the ''tentacular'' city, symbol of an industrial civilization which is
integrated into the poetic language but whose abuses are at the same time denounced.
One thus sees the Good Lord get into trains and walk around in the metropolis. Works
of this kind, which appeared in Het Getij (M. Permys, E. Groenevelt), achieved their
greatest triumph in Roeping, so much so that even Moens and Van den Oever judged
them to be exaggerated. Saint Francis notably, whom Gijsen had extolled in Flanders,
embodied the humility and the mystic faith toward which the young poets aspired;
no wonder t h a t the air was ringing with his praises.
The Humanitarianism of the twenties stemmed from diverse sources: the Humani­
tarianism which had already come to the fore before the war (Verhaeren, the Unani-
mists, etc.), the revulsion of feeling provoked by the conflict, the reaction of the indi­
vidual against increasing mechanization, the German and Flemish example and, in
particular, the minority situation of Dutch Catholicism, which encouraged an Activism
comparable to that which had developed in Belgium politically. One must confess
that this poetry suffers from monotony to such a degree that it is sometimes difficult
to tell the authors from one another. Backed up by a number of minor writers, it was
the brothers Bruning and J. Engelman who essentially assured its success. Gerard
Bruning (1898-1926), one of the extremists, wrote not only poems, but also some
essays about Rembrandt and Gorter, as well as prose in an Expressionist vein: he was
a believer in the manner of Léon Bloy, a "Christian Vitalist", as Van Duinkerken
called him, as ardent in his attacks on democracy as in his professions of faith. His
brother Henri (1900) published some poems which could be regarded as prototypes
of this trend; decked out in modernistic finery, they witness to his consciousness of
human impotence and his thirst for God (De Sirkel [The Circle], 1924). Let us also point
out that he was one of the very few writers in this group who attempted to write a
novel. Speaking of the bathos in the works of the brothers Bruning, Van den Oever
observed, not without spitefulness, that they formed a procession by themselves. J a n
Engelman (1900), co-editor of De Gemeenschap, excelled by greater reserve, modesty
and more respect for the traditional forms. A partisan of musical verse, he was soon
won over to pure poetry.
Whether they were Catholics, Protestants, or atheists, Humanitarians or not,
the young poets all participated, each in his own way, in the Vitalistic movement,
which, extolling the élan vital, the irrational, and instinct, originated from a reaction
against the massacres of 1914-1918, the obsolete structure of bourgeois society, the

255
intellectualism of Verwey, Neo-Romantic sentimentalism, and the pre-eminence given
by De Nieuwe Gids to art over life. The authorities to which they referred were Dostoev-
sky, Verhaeren, and Nietzsche, among others. Inseparable from Dutch E.—and some­
times linked up with German E. - , one finds this spirit in Het Getij, in Van den Bergh,
in Van Wessem, who speaks of fidelity to "primitive life", and in Retera, who mentions
Worringer in this connection. Vitalism outlived E. in the work of Marsman, furnishing
him with one of his fundamental themes, as also in that of H. de Vries. I t manifested
itself in a variety of forms, few concepts being as many-sided as "life": a taste for risk
and adventure (Slauerhoff), extolling pagan sexuality (Van den Bergh), the polarity
of life and death (obsession with the latter being usually accompanied by glorification
of the former), solidarity with mankind (as in Humanitarianism) or, by contrast,
"anarchic" and "aesthetic" individualism (as in Marsman), basic amorality or worship
of the Divinity through Creation (Roeping). If there is one principle on which everyone
agreed, it was certainly t h a t stated by Marsman and Molenaar, namely that the value
of art is measured by t h a t of man and by the vital intensity which his works reveal.
Henceforth, literature was viewed sub specie vitae. The history of Vitalism, which begins
with Van den Bergh's De Boog, is closely related to Marsman's own development.
This poet's theorizing about Vitalism began at the time when he personally no longer
thought of it as an absolute value. I n 1933, he was to issue its death certificate ("De
Dood van het Vitalisme"), proclaiming with nostalgia: "le vitalisme c'était moi."
This was one of the central aspects of Marsman's lyricism until his death (1940) and
even one of the main characteristics of Dutch literature, as much in Flanders as in
the Netherlands, from 1920 to 1950.
From an aesthetic point of view, Dutch E. reached its apogee with De Vries's
and Marsman's first poems. De Vries (born in 1896) published De Nacht (The Night)
in 1920, Vlamrood (Fiery Red) in 1921 and Lofzangen (Hymns) in 1923. On the one
hand, he combined E. with a keen sense of the national tradition (he was influenced
by Jost van den Vondel and Willem Bilderdijk). On the other hand, the imagination
of a visionary who takes delight in horror, nightmare, and decay manifests itself in
his work. This makes one think of Poe and of the Nachtseite of Romanticism, by which
a number of German Expressionists were also fascinated. The dynamism of De Vries,
the terseness of his syntax and of his images, his pictures of modern city life all reflect
the climate of the times. On the other hand, his anguish, his morbidity, and his taste
for incantation are his personal characteristics.
I t is unnecessary to emphasize the importance of Marsman (1899-1940), one of
the greatest writers in the Dutch language. His Expressionist period, which some con­
sider to be the summit of his short career, lasted approximately from 1919 to 1926
(Verzen [Poems], 1923; Paradise Regained, 1927). Schooled by his readings in German
and French,—and by reading Van den Bergh as well—, this thorough-going individ­
ualist virulently denounced Humanitarianism for its "softness" and its scorn of form;
hence his sympathy with Cubism. The self of the poet, "both atom and cosmos",
extends over the universe, over which it reigns until light—an element favorable
to the expansion of the self—fails him, and night and death, the antipodes and comple­
ments of the Vitalist strain, triumph. This is, basically, the existential drama which

256
Marsman described throughout his career and which sheds light on the question of
his borrowings from Stramm, Heym, and Trakl, as well as on the problem of his affinity
with the Expressionist movement. In his famous "Divagatie over het expressionisme"
(1921), he gave one of the best definitions of E. framed in Holland. Basically, he says,
it is a matter of working "with one's eyes closed" :

The vision . . . nourished and continually driven by means of elementary 'feel­

ing', mingled with numerous personal factors . . . becomes an image which
causes the spectator to experience more or less the equivalent of the 'feeling'
from which it issued. The process can be summarized as follows: 'feeling' . . .
vision . . . work . . . 'vision' . . . 'feeling'.

The abrupt, "explosive" style, which culminated in Seinen, the subjective value
of colors, the fusion of man and nature or subject with object, and the construction
of reality through the medium of words: these are the aspects by which Marsman is
related to E.—and sometimes to other trends of Modernism as well. He did not dare
go beyond the formal experiments of Seinen, whose diction lies halfway between articu­
lated language and cry. After 1926, he drew even closer to the classical canon, al­
though E. still proved influential. Regarding poetry as a vital activity of the individ­
ual, he was able to avoid both the Humanitarianism of Moens and the formalism of
Van Ostaijen's Eerste Boek van Schmoll.
In drawing up the balance sheet of Dutch E., one can, without hesitation, place
Marsman at the head of the list. Though not very voluminous, his production easily
bears comparison with that of Trakl, Heym, and Van Ostaijen. Two small collections
by Marsman, two or three by de Vries, two by Van den Bergh, a few poems and essays
scattered in the periodicals: the inventory is rather meager, but the products are of
fine quality. Historically, the movement marked a turning point, for it modified, for
a time, the way in which the relations between art and reality were conceived, created
a new style, and gave life to Vitalism. However, it almost exclusively concerned the
poetic and critical domains. The theater did not benefit by it, and it contributed very
little to the novel, except on the rebound. As early as 1918, Van Doesburg had predicted
the overthrow of the traditional conception of narrative time and space. Three years
later, Houwink announced the end of the Naturalistic and psychological novel, which,
in the meantime, had been attacked in the literary manifesto of De Stijl (1920). These
ideas, however, did not take shape in a convincing manner. As in Flanders, fragments
and prose poems seemed to suffice, and the Netherlands did not even produce the
equivalent of the admirable grotesques of Van Ostaijen. G. van Duyn —an isolated
case—published De verlaten Stad (The Deserted Town) in 1924. As for the attempts
of Van Doesburg, G. and H. Bruning, Houwink, and Marsman, they hardly went
beyond the short story. The novel was regenerated by Albert Helman, Slauerhoff,
Du Perron and others only when E. had carried out its mission, i.e., about 1929.
The parallelism with Flanders is clear, and the reasons are—in part—identical. At
this point, humanitarian messianism and the formal experiments had had their day;
a synthesis was now possible between the ideal of the Weltfreund, derided by history,
and the isolation of the poetic laboratory. This synthesis was related to the notion of

257
"personality"—of the individual involved in a network of social, moral, and philo­
sophical relationships—, a notion embodied in the magazine Forum (1932) and a fit
subject for the social novel and the novel of ideas. Simultaneously, the language lost
the pre-eminence and the autonomy which Expressionist poetry had conferred upon
it and was made subservient, instead, to the building up of fiction, which will be, by
its very nature, a world of personalities and problems much more than one of bodily
forms and actions. Thus, in the long run, E. did contribute to the internalization of
the narrative genre.
A flash in the pan, the Dutch E. of German and Flemish origin made its first
appearances about 1920 and vanished as early as 1924-1926. All are agreed on this
last point. In 1924, Marsman observed that tradition was getting the upper hand
again, and he himself sought out new directions. In the same year, Coster announced
a return to "discipline"; and in 1925, Van den Oever ceased to believe in the future
of the movement. Imperceptibly, the Dutch writers returned to the regular forms of
syntax, stanza, meter, and rhyme. The ballad began to reappear, a lyrico-epic genre
which was to remain fashionable until the Second World War, and in which the last
echoes of dynamism and Humanitarianism made themselves heard, but subjected
to a stricter control. The reaction, a logical result of the dialectics of cultural history,
had not been long in coming in a milieu traditionally fond of order. The economic
crisis and the rise of Fascism and National Socialism, moreover, were soon radically
to transform the literary climate. E. as such was dying, but from its ashes were to
emerge a renovated novel and poetry, and, eventually, the avantgarde of 1950.

(Translated from the French by Linda Brust)

258
 ZORAN KONSTANTINOVIĆ

EXPRESSIONISM AND T H E SOUTH SLAVS

That apparently pan-European literary context which was created in the first decades
of our century, which links the literary avantgarde of the various peoples and which,
as E., acquires its peculiarly profound character in Germany, is of extemely great
interest to South Slavic literary research. For within this context an extremely important
process of assimilation was completed by the Southern Slavs as well. For several
centuries, the largest portion of the South Slavic area was hermetically sealed off
from the European cultural community, and the Serbs, in the age of Romanticism,
were the first to regain their national independence, which they had lost in the Middle
Ages. In the first phase of their resurrected literature, they combined enlightened-
didactic, neoclassical and Romantic-sentimental forms of expression. The Bulgarians
acquired their full national independence at a time when West European literature
had already reached the end of its realistic period, and, hurriedly catching up, they
now experienced Romanticism and Realism almost simultaneously. Macedonia, how­
ever, ceased to be a Turkish province during the years in which E. was already in full
swing in the German-speaking area. As for the Slovenians and Croatians, whose con­
tinuous development had not been interrupted by Turkish domination, they, too,
lived on the periphery of the European literary development. Since even the German
parts of the Habsburg monarchy, with which the Slovenian and Croatian regions
were integrated, went through the various phases of literary history belatedly, the
various literary currents reached those subjects of the Empire who spoke other languages
even more belatedly.
At the beginning of our century, many of the South Slavic peoples had already
attained a social structure which was fully adapted to the general European pattern.
For that reason they were also seized by the same spiritual unrest which caused that
meaningful process of fermentation in literature. In Pörtner's anthology, Literatur­
revolution 1910-1925, the reader is faced, for the first time, with documents originat­
ing from the South Slavs as a direct contribution to the formation of a literary move­
ment. The so-called Modernism in South Slavic literature—a concept which is admit­
tedly broad—thus also becomes the first intellectual movement in which it takes its
place in the literary life of the European peoples without any temporal lag. South
Slavic literary scholarship is thus given the task of thoroughly investigating, and then
presenting in their totality, the points of contact between this Modernism on the
one hand and Futurism, the art of Apollinaire and his French successors, as well as

259
Vladimir Mayakovsky's Russian brand of Futurism and, especially, German E., on
the other. 1
Chronologically speaking, in the South Slavic region we encounter the term E.
for the first time in 1.912, in the Slovenian magazine Dom in svet (Home and World)
(Nos. 77/78). Interestingly enough, the term was not borrowed from the German-
speaking countries, but from the English periodical The Studio. I. Cankar, the editor-in-
chief of Dom in svet, was also the translator of this article, entitled "On Impressionism
and E . " and offering a dialogue between a young painter and an art critic. The Slovenians
wrote their first decidedly Expressionist poems in 1914 and 1915; and this is probably
the first Expressionist poetry of the South Slavs in general. These poems, however,
certainly did not come into being as a result of reading the above article; nor were
they washed up on the waves of a violent literary storm. They rather seem to be the
slow realization of certain individual views on the part of Slovenian poets, especially
their negative attitude toward the war, their condemnation of militarism, and their
renunciation of the hapless realism and Symbolism which had failed to stimulate the
masses intellectually. 2 But all this happened in close intellectual proximity with similar
tendencies prevailing in Germany. The individual phases of the development of Slo­
venian E. can also be compared with the chronological scheme generally accepted
by German literary scholarship: first the phase of the forerunners, the first signs of
a coming Expressionist literature (Oton Župancič with his poems "Vizija" [Vision]
and "Nocni psalm" [Night psalm]), then the phase marked by the experience of the
First World War (Jože Lavrencic and France Bevk), followed by the great wave of
Expressionist poetry which branches off into the cosmic, visionary poetry of Miran
J a r c ("Modre dalje" [Blue Distances]), certainly the most gifted of the Slovenian Ex­
pressionists, into an anarchist poetry (Anton Podbevsek) and into a socially oriented
E. (Tone Seliskar, Milan Klopčič, and Srecko Kosovel). As in Germany, this phase
was followed by a prolonged late phase of E.
Along with its cosmic, anarchistic, and social tendencies, Slovenian E. is character­
ized by a very strong mystico-religious component (represented especially by Anton
Vodnik), which makes use, above all, of the sacred symbols of the Catholic Church:

1
An extremely useful point of departure for such an investigation was, for instance, the sym­
posium "Srednjoevropski ekspresionizam i hrvatska knjizevnost," Zagreb, 1969. (The proceedings
were published in the volume Ekspresionizam i hrvatska knjizevnost, also Zagreb, 1969.) But in
studying such points of contact, this type of investigation must take one problem into special
consideration. For if a programmatic or poetological concept transcends linguistic boundaries and
takes hold in a foreign literature, it may change, occasionally, also in respect to its contents. At
times, the use of a certain label in the literary scholarship of a country is denounced as a form of
recognition of the epigonal nature of one's own literature. This very type of protest developed in
Croatian literary studies. Thus G. Krklec's essay "Ausklang des deutschen E. in Kroatien" is contra­
dicted by M. Franjić's theory of an autonomous E. in Croatian letters (Pristup problemu autohtonosti
ekspresionizma u hrvatskoj knjizevnosti [Zagreb, 1968]).
2
In regard to Slovenian E., I should like to mention especially two articles: J. Pogacnik,
"Novija slovenska lirika," Izraz, 1965/10, pp. 1018—1036, and F. Petré, "Uz genezu hrvatskog i
slovenskog ekspresionizma," Ekspresionizam i hrvatska knjizevnost, pp. 43—49. These studies seem
to me to be important in respect to the problem of periodization in Slovenian E. For a more inten­
sive look at German—South Slavic literary relations and the philosophical (ideological) content
of South Slavic E. two further studies by Petré should be consulted: "Der slowenische E . " (Die
Welt der Slawen, 1956, pp. 159—177), and "Idejnost i izraz ekspresionizma: Nekoliko nacelnih
primjedaba" (Umjetnost riječi, 1957, pp. 81—98).

260
the chalice, the monstrance, the oil lamp, the bell-ringing, the cathedral, etc. We
must surely look for the cause of such a religious E. in the strong Catholic tradition
of the Slovenian people and, beyond that, in a very special interest in theoretical ques­
tions of art on the part of Catholic circles at the beginning of our century. On this occa­
sion, they primarily raised the question of whether the idea of God could be expressed
in every artistic style. The Twenty-Third Eucharistie Congress in 1912 furnished the
answer by stating that it could be voiced in every style, even in the most modern one.
The Croatians, too, have a very strong Catholic tradition, yet no Catholic E.
was generated. The reason for this lies surely in the fact that Croatian E. is primarily
the work of Miroslav Krleža. Krleža, however, is a Marxist who bases his ideas about
art on a materialistic world view and uses the Expressionist style to this end. Along
with him, August Cesarec and Gustav Krklec gave Croatian E. its peculiar ideological
character. In the history of Croatian literature, E. gives the impression of being some­
thing unified and self-contained. The catholically inclined literary critic Ljubomir
Marakovic describes it as a trend which, even though it was not organized, was very com­
pact in itself, being characterized by a common artistic method, a common world view,
and a common means of expression. 3 Marakovic, a contemporary of the Croatian
Expressionists, thoroughly studied their development and limited it to the decade
1915-1925; t h a t is, to a time-span covering the period from the creation of Krleža's
Pan to the performance of that author's last Expressionist play, Michelangelo Buonarroti.
A. B. Simic is undoubtedly the most important exponent of the Expressionist style
in Croatian literature, although, in his lifetime, he published only one book of poems,
entitled Preobrazanje (Metamorphosis). Simic consistently adheres to a reality based
on inner perception, without, however, deciding in favor of those last linguistic con­
sequences which were drawn by the Dadaist offshoots of E. in Germany. His poetry
is autocentric; he joins animate with inanimate things, the abstract with the concrete,
and addresses himself to the whole universe. Much like Lasker-Schüler, Däubler and
Trakl, Simic also prefers the color blue and sings of the blue morning, the blue coun­
tenance and the blue stars. 4
At approximately the same time when Simic was writing his article about the
humanitarian ideal of E. ("Ekspresionizam i svecovjecanstvo," published posthu­
mously), 5 —only a few months, t h a t is to say, before the periodical Kritika carried
his excellent survey of German Expressionist poetry, in which he notes the differences
between, and assesses the aesthetic value of, the poetic works of Däubler, Lasker-
Schüler, Heym, Stadler, van Hoddis, Lichtenstein, Stramm, Werfel, Ehrenstein,
Hardekopf, and Benn (containing insights which are far ahead of his time and which
only the most recent research on E. has attained) 6 — , Stanislav Vinavér in Belgrade
published his manifesto of the Expressionist school (Manifest ekspresionisticke skole,
3
Lj. Marakovic, "Iza eksprezionizma. Pokusaj bilanse," Hrvatsko kolo, 1927, p. 342.
4
For more thorough studies concerning A. B. Simic, see especially V. Žmegac, "Antun Branko
Simic als Lyriker: Ein Beitrag zur Erforschung des kroatischen E.," Die Welt der Slawen, I I I (1958),
151-165, and R. S. Bauer, "A. B. Simic i njemacki ekspresionizam," Ekspresionizam i hrvatska
knjizevnost, pp. 84-87.
5
6
"Antun Branko Simic," Sabrana djela, III, pp. 182-190.
"Novi njemacki pjesinici," Kritika, 1922 (reprinted in Antun Branko Simic, Sabrana djela,
I I I , 400–420).

261
 1921), where he asserts: "We are all Expressionists. We all use reality as a means of
creation. Our goal is creation, not the creative product." Vinavér was doubtlessly
right when asserting: "We are all Expressionists," for E. had taken hold of Serbian
literature like a whirlwind, and even poets who were deeply rooted in the indigenous
poetic tradition now turned to E. At one moment it seemed as if all of Serbian poetry
would swim in the stream of this Modernism proclaimed by Vinavér. I t loudly resounded
with the uproar it bore within itself, behaved extremely eccentrically, threatened to
overabound in the ecstasy of destruction, and in the free play of mental associations
it freed itself from all traditional ties and formal-aesthetic rules. Along with Vinavér,
Rastko Petrovic and Rade Drainac were the leaders of this rebellion.
But what happened next is interesting: E. disappeared from the stage of Serbian
literature just as unexpectedly and vehemently as it had emerged. I t had to give up
its positions and thus proved to be extremely short-lived. For the Serbs' connection
with French literature was simply too strong to be severed by such a single assault
by German culture. Thus the spontaneous, rebellious and contagious outburst, which
was closely related to German E., was, on the one hand, supplanted by the tightly
organized Surrealism; and, on the other hand, it flowed into Zenitism, which suffuses
E. with traits characteristic of the Balkan mentality. In the time between the two
World Wars, Belgrade became the center of a strong Surrealist school which picked
up the threads of E. and perpetuated its revolt and its renunciation of the existing
order, but which, otherwise, holds to the aesthetic-social and moral-psychological
theories derived from the Surrealist Manifesto of 1924. Above all, it did not accept
the direct experience of reality which is the focus of the Expressionists' desires.
Thus in Belgrade, the periodical Zenit, being a counterpart of the French Surrealist
journals which increasingly capture the attention of present-day research, made its
appearance.
In this richly variegated picture of influences on the individual South Slavic
literatures it is symptomatic that Bulgarian literature which, for most of the time,
had been under the influence of Russian and, subsequently, French letters, does not
owe its contact with German E. to the effect of an influence operating in the traditional
way, but rather to the personal contact of Geo Milev, who studied philosophy and
psychology in Germany and upon his return brought E. to Bulgaria. 7 This intellectually
powerful personality, initially devoted to nihilistic and anarchistic theories, later turned
into one of the most important revolutionary Bulgarian figures. Milev wrote Expres­
sionist poems dedicated to the proletariat, and he fought for a revolutionary art which
was to overcome the contemplative tendency of bourgeois art and express the ideas
of a new age.
In the context of all South Slavic literatures, Bulgarian poetry seems to have
retained, even in its Expressionist phase, the closest ties with folk poetry, that charac-

7
Concerning these Bulgarian Expressionists, see Georgi Markov's biography Geo Milev (Sofia,
1964). The first study which draws comparisons with the E. of the other South Slavic peoples from
the Bulgarian point of view is definitely Gančo Savov's contribution to the Zagreb E. symposium
"Srednjoevropski ekspresionizam i knjizevnost Bulgara i Hrvata," Ekspresionizam i hrvatska
knjizevnost, pp. 55—61.

262
teristic element of all Slavic literature. In this respect, it would perhaps suffice to remem­
ber Milev's poem "Das Grab" in order to ascertain the links with motifs and techniques
of folk poetry. For the rest, Bulgarian E. appears to be more closely related to Croatian
E. than to any of the other related phenomena among the South Slavic peoples. Like
the Croatian Expressionists, Milev and his successors (after their initial enthusiasm
for ideologically indifferent values) embraced a Leftist world view and directed litera­
ture toward a coming world revolution. Like Croatian E., Bulgarian E., too, became
the mouthpiece of serious revolutionary endeavors. In consequence, the artistic experi­
ment was relegated to second place; yet it strongly affected the future literary develop­
ment, insofar as Simic as well as Milev altered and developed the structure and the
meters of their national poetry, fomented the spirit of literature and, in this way,
created the possibility of a dynamic and expressive conception of drama and prose.
I t must be apparent by now that E. in the South Slavic area cannot be seen as a
simple reception of this stylistic phase of German literature. A few examples may
further elucidate this point. Thus the Croatian journalist A. H. Žarkovic tells how,
on an autumn day in 1916, he and a group of friends saw an issue of Der Sturm in a
bookstore in Zagreb, and how, thereupon, they began to read the Sturm, as well as Die
Aktion, Walden's Einführung in die Kunst, Bahr's Expressionismus, and Kandinsky's
Über das Geistige in der Kunst. "We immediately recognized," Žarkovic reports, "that
the Expressionist generation is akin to us, and that E. is only one branch, the Ger­
man, of the European literary and intellectual movement of the new generation rising
from the World War and the collapsing old world." 8
This group of friends also included Simic, whose work is, throughout, distinguished
by a very balanced and distanced judgment of German E. 9 A stance against E. was
also taken in the early issues of the first Expressionistically tinged magazine of the
South Slavic area, Ulderiko Donadini's Kokot (The Rooster, 191.6). Donadini attacked
Bahr and rejected Expressionist art as a "still-birth", as "something unintelligible,
which would have no effect on the feelings", and as "the exclusive property of the
artist who has created such Expressionist art"; and he compared this state of affairs
with the fact that "every madman also has his own world, his own feelings, and his
own logic, by means of which he moves about in the world". 10 But if one wanted to
draw conclusions on the basis of the contents of this magazine, they would undoubt­
edly favor E. Donadini's Vaskresenje dusa (Resurrection of the Souls) can surely be
taken as the first Expressionist manifesto in South Slavic literature: "You, poet, may
no longer let your soul be crucified on the crossbeams of hexameters and iambs ; you
may no longer allow rhyme to tyrannize you; and, indeed, your Venus, oh modern

8
"Uspomene o A. B. Šimicu," Krugovi, 1955, Nos. 2, 3, 4, 5 and 6.
9
After Simic became acquainted with Der Sturm, he published, as early as 1917, in the Zagreb
newspaper Novine the article "Berlinski Sturm ili Nova umetnost germanska," which concludes with
the words: "These poets storm at everything. Storm. Let us see whether they will destroy the
world." (Sobraría djela, I I I , p. 400). In his article "Novi njemacki pjesnici" (Kritika, 1922), Simic
says not only that the word E. "cannot be defined, but that it can scarcely have any meaning at
all . . . The concept E. gets lost in indeterminate breadths and has no contours at all" (Sabrana
djela, I I , p. 275).
10
Kokot, 1916, p. 116.

263
artist, no longer needs a lovely bodice." 11 And it was Donadini himself who, in 1918,
published the poem "Bolan sam" (I am Suffering):

J a uzimam tvoju dusu

J a je žderem
Radjam dijete
Dajem svoju dusu zvijezdi
Moja dusa sjaji sa zvijezde u noć . . . 12

No one can deny that this is an Expressionist poem of pure water. Moreover, Donadini,
because he attacked the bourgeois periodicals, was attacked by them, in turn; and
on this occasion he was accused of the great vice of being an Expressionist. 13
An especially characteristic example of this tension between the artist's statements
about himself and our statements about him is undoubtedly provided by Krleza.
In retrospect, this important Croatian writer would more and more like to dissociate
himself from E., 14 even though, for many years, his literary output was abundantly
influenced b y it, so that he could be described as "both quantitatively and qualitatively
one of the best Expressionist writers in world literature". 1 5 In 1959, Krleža wrote a
short essay on E., in which he ironically settles his account with this movement, calling
it a ''freak", a "phrase borrowed from the Impressionist movement in the plastic
arts and stood on its head, like a clown",—a phrase which, according to him, expresses
itself in "nebulous ingredients from the subconscious and the instincts, in muddled,
half-religious and half-supernatural images, in a plastic and linguistic confusion which,
all too often, constitutes a mask meant to hide the lack of any sincerity and ability". 16
Everything of permanent value created in the era of so-called E. and having survived
"this dim hausse", belongs, in Krleža's opinion, to the pre-war phase of Symbolism
or Impressionism. E. itself is, from this point of view, "an abstraction, today completely
superannuated like such derivative trends as Dadaism, Cubism, Constructivism,
Imagism, and Futurism". 1 7 Such divergencies can only be another proof that, in the
elucidation of such questions, we must always separate the historical aspects of the
issues from their theoretical import, and especially the poet's own understanding from
the objective facts which determine this and every other literary tendency.
In the South Slavic area, too, the poets congenial to E. gathered about literary
magazines. Chronologically, the first was Donadini's Kokot. The Croatians also published

11
12
Ibid., p. 117.
I take your soul
I devour it
I bear a child
I give my soul to the star
My soul shines from the star into the night . . .
13
See I. Krsnjavi, Narodne novine, 1917, p. 57.
14
I have attempted to offer a complete survey of all of Krleza's statements on this topic
in the chapter "Ekspresionisticki 'intermeco' " of my study "Krleza o nemackoj i skandinavskoj
knjizevnosti" in Miroslav Krleza, ed. N. Stipcevic (Belgrade, 1967), pp. 145-198.
15
Branislav Choma, "Miroslav Krleza i ekspresionizam, " Ekspresionizam i hrvatska knjizev-
nost, p.
16
124.
Evropa danas, p. 276.
17
Ibid.

264
 the magazines Vijavica (Storm, from 1917 on) and Juris (Assault, from 1919 on),
both important for the Expressionist phase; and Expressionist tendencies are also
visible in Krleža's Flamen (Flame). Among the Slovenians, the Expressionist fermenta­
tions are even visible in the leading but generally conservative magazine Dom in svet;
but they found their fullest expression in the periodicals Tri labodje (Three Seagulls,
from 1922 on), and Tank, which made its appearance in 1924 with a declaration of
war against the epical heroic pathos as well as against lyrical eccentricity. Epoch-
making for Bulgarian E. was Geo Milev's magazine Vezni (Scales). The entire contents
of these magazines, especially the programs and manifestos published there, distinctly
show that all these writers regarded themselves as the pioneers of a new art and wished
to be recognized as such.
Deserving special attention among these magazines is Zenit, which in 1923 began
publication in Zagreb and then moved to Belgrade. I t represents and develops a specific
variant of South Slavic E. 38 In its subtitle, the magazine calls itself an ''International
Review for Art and Culture", and here, for the first time, the attempt is made to ignore
the traditional nationalistic principles of journalism and to constitute a literary mag­
azine which would be, in principle, polyglot. In its introductory manifesto, the editor-
in-chief, Ljubomir Micić, announced that art "is the deepest expression of the soul and
the intellect, a human cry for immediacy, and that, therefore, it is bound to no models
and norms, neither to the beauty of antiquity nor to the ideal of a stale aestheticism". 19
Micić designated these endeavors as Zenitism, which he defined as "abstract meta-
cosmic E " .
At this point we should perhaps mention, in passing, that Zenit secured extensive
international cooperation on the part of the European avantgarde, and that in the
individual issues we find contributions by Boris Pasternak, Mayakovsky, IIja Ehren­
burg, Michel Seuphor, Kassák, and Barbusse—primarily, however, by the German
Expressionists, mostly presented in the original: Yvan and Claire Goll, Walden, Hey­
nicke, Einstein, Raoul Hausmann, Franz Richard Behrens, Kaiser, Benn, and Josef
André Kalmer, i.e., preponderantly authors who, at that time, were contributors to
Der Sturm and Die Aktion.20 The most interesting personality among them was surely
Goll, who temporarily functioned as co-editor of the magazine. His most important
poem, "Paris brennt", was published for the first time in a special supplement to Zenit—
this first version being much longer and differing in several details from the later
versions. I t can even be assumed that this early version was entirely unknown to the
editors of the Luchterhand edition of Goll's works. But precisely in this form the poem
was regarded by the Zenitists as a model of modern poetry, and the idea of simul­
taneity which it promulgates was particularly emphasized. Because countless different,
illogical and mutually independent events take place at a given moment, the poetic

18
This periodical is now frequently mentioned. For basic information, see V. Zmegac's "Zenit,
eine vergessene
19
Zeitschrift," Die Welt der Slawen, X I I (1967), 353—362.
"Čovek i umetnost" (Man and Art), Zenit, 1924.
20
A similarly extensive international cooperation also developed in the case of the periodical
Tank (in Ljubljana), edited by Ferdinand Delak. Its collaborators included Marinetti, Lunacharsky,
Tzara, Walden, Hannes Meyer, and Schwitters.

265
rendering of such a moment must also be illogical. As an example of this procedure,
the editor strings the headlines of a newspaper together into a poem:

Russenmenschen sterben Hungers

Ein Professor vergewaltigt seine Schülerin aus
Freude, weil sie Logik lernte
Zeitungstod Lenjins
Charlie Chaplin reitet Esel
Einfuhr von Luxusartikeln verboten. 21

This is a moment from the life of man in the year 1922.

However, along with this idea of simultaneity and the linguistic experiment,
which, in many respects, points forward to Dadaism, the most important contribution
made by Zenit was the theory of Balkanization and its implicit notion of the barbarian
genius. As a literary program, this Balkanization was intended to express the desire
for leading Europe back to a form of culture in which, according to the Zenitists,
ethical notions and unqualified humaneness had been prevalent. The barbarian genius
is thought of as the original image of such humaneness, the "vehicle of an unsenti­
mental and violent vitality of pure belief, an undistorted soul, and genuine feelings".
In the opinion of the Zenitists, it is precisely the Serbs and the Russians who were
to revive this human type. This belief in the mission of the Serbs and the Russians
subsequently degenerated into mysticism. A poem b y Micić, dedicated to Goll and pub­
lished in a German translation, ends with the lines:

Alfa und Pons

U n d die rotgefärbten Kreuze hochschwenken
Auf den Milchgläsern des gelben Wagens
Die visionäre Fahne der Erlösung
U n d singen das ostslawische Lied der Auferstehung . . .

I t is characteristic for Micić and his circle t h a t here the "East Slavic hymn of resurrec­
tion"—that is, a Slavophile or even Slavic orthodox motif, that of the religious feast
of Easter—is sounded, and motifs of the "Slavic idea" are synthesized with the motifs
of E.
Among the Germans themselves, the first reference to a South Slavic E. seems to
have come from Goll, who, in 1921, published in the periodical Der Arrarat, a Zenitist
manifesto carrying the editorial note: "The magazine Zenit is a polyglot inter­
national magazine published by pure young people in Zagreb, SHS." Understandably,
it was the Sturm circle—Herwarth Walden first and foremost—which showed the

21
Russian people die of hunger
A professor rapes his student, being so happy
that she had studied logic
The newspaper death of Lenin
Charlie Chaplin rides donkey
Importation of luxury articles forbidden.
The quote is taken from the July, 1922, issue of Zenit, which appeared completely in German.

266
greatest interest in South Slavic E. In the fourth issue of Der Sturm for 1925 there
appears an article by Micić with the title "Zenitosophie oder die Energetik des schöp­
ferischen Zenitismus" (Zenitosophy or the Energetics of Creative Zenitism). The
ninth issue of the next volume is dedicated to Slovenian E., and, from 1927 on, Der
Sturm began to publish translations of Serbian Expressionist literature. I n the issue
of January, 1929, we find articles about "young Slovenian art", while the October-
November issue of the same year is entirely devoted to modern Bulgarian literature,
literary criticism, painting, sculpture, and architecture.
Finally, from the many questions touched upon here I might draw the following
conclusions, elaborating on them as I go along. Most importantly, hitherto E. has
not been accepted as a generally valid concept of periodization in South Slavic literary
history. In the literary histories of the individual South Slavic peoples, the term is
used and interpreted in several different ways. I n the case of the Slovenians, E. is
already firmly anchored in their literary history, whereas the Croatians link it to the
concept of "Modernism". The Serbs still have to extract it more clearly from its con­
fusion with Surrealism, and in Bulgaria it is not detectable as a period term but exists
only as filtered through the personality of Milev. But in contrast to Futurism, German
E. is much more intensely a part of the literary awareness of the Southern Slavs,
while, in comparison with Surrealism, it appears to be fragmentary, immature, scattered
over too wide an area and, in the last analysis, less effective. Yet, in comparison with
Russian Futurism, it has a more far-reaching effect. Although, in its beginnings, it
was rather uniform in the whole South Slavic region, in the course of its progress E.
took on a different cast for each of the South Slavic peoples. Moreover, Slovenian E.
is characterized b y a distinctly Catholic-religious strain, while Zenitism presents
a peculiar combination of the Slavic sense of mission with a heroic and ethical idea
of the Balkan type. Nevertheless, the sources of South Slavic E. are to be found in
its contacts with the German movement, and the idea of an indigenous E. among the
individual South Slavic peoples is hardly scientifically tenable.
In general, the South Slavic Expressionists, whether or not they took on this
name, understood themselves to be the vanquishers of a deterministic realism in art,
and they felt this expressive art to be an act of liberation from the chains of scientific,
causal thinking, as well as a return to long-hidden sources of artistic creation. Fascinated
b y the verbal art of E., they also shook the structure and meter of South Slavic poetry
to its very foundations; shattering its traditional laws and effecting the breakthrough
of new ideas, above all in poetry, but also in drama and prose. Thematically and
ideologically, the so-called Leftist E. predominated, and South Slavic Expressionist
writing much less frequently tends to the opposite direction, namely by escaping into
extreme subjectivism.
Stamped chronologically by the premonition of World War I, formed by the expe­
rience of the war itself and of the years immediately following, E. in the South Slavic
area meant a breaking away from nationalistic themes. At a time of profound national
differences between Germany and the various parts of the South Slavic area, the con­
tact and cooperation between the German and South Slavic Expressionists was perhaps
one of the first bridges rebuilt, in this respect, after the First World War. In addition,

267
E. links the South Slavs and the Hungarians in a very special way, 22 and it even had
a unifying effect among the South Slavs themselves.
Today, from a temporal distance, it is possible to assess the artistic achievement
of this movement, including its effects on the South Slavs more thoroughly, and to
define the impulses more closely. In order to do this, however, we still need many
scholarly editions and additional studies and monographs. But the methodological
principles seem to be assured. They rest on the comparative study of cultural and social
structures and conditions, personal contacts and developments, stylistic devices and
linguistic modes of expression, with each single contribution to the study of Expres­
sionist literature being evaluated in respect to both its historical relevance and its
artistic uniqueness.
(Translated from the German by Linda Brust)

22
See Zoltán Csuka, "Ekspresionizam u madjarskoj knjizevnosti Jugoslavije," Ekspresio-
nizam i hrvatska knjizevnost, pp. 61—65.

268
 A L . DIMA and DAN GRIGORESCU

RUMANIAN EXPRESSIONISM*

E. in Rumanian culture took several different directions incorporating some very

diversified forms of art. Actually, the history of Rumanian literature and art makes
no reference to organized Expressionist groups acting in the spirit of a manifesto or
a specific program. One can observe the same phenomenon in other European countries.
Without doubt, this corresponds, for the most part, to the general character of this
movement, which exalted, first and foremost, the individuality of the creator. And
what is more, one can sometimes find reflections of the Expressionist attitude in artists
formally adhering to other currents and contributing to periodicals whose aesthetic
tendencies were totally different.
The Rumanian intellectuals who studied in Germany before World War I were
the first to acquaint their native audience with the essential problems of E. And it is
perhaps natural t h a t the echoes of E. resounded, at first, primarily in the plastic arts.
Being more directly transmissible, the visual impressions exercised an influence upon
certain painters whose temperamental predisposition strengthened a lucid interest in the
capacity to grasp and express vast problems by means of the new Expressionist style.
One must note t h a t Rumanian art represented, above all, the realistic trend
of E. This was the tendency which had affirmed its militant credo and its adhesion
to an anti-bourgeois and anti-militarist ideology by means of post-Expressionist Neue
Sachlichkeit (New Objectivity). The conscience of a great number of artists was torment­
ed by the vision of a tragic world; and to the traditions of Rumanian twentieth-century
art, which had reflected the most important events of the epoch, the suggestions of
German E., conveyed through its new manner of expressing an ethical and political
attitude, had just been added.
N. N. Tonitza (1886-1940) was one of the most active militant artists after World
War I. This painter studied the life of humble people and discovered the tragic sense
of the world. In his sketches, he was more successful in defining his polemical attitude
toward established society. In several socialist periodicals he published pictorial com­
mentaries on daily events, seeking to discover their larger significance. The pictures
of children asking for alms in the street, or of women in fixed attitudes near fresh
tombs — , these were comments on a social situation which this artist considered to
be a consequence of the war. One must remember that, for the majority of Rumanian

A valuable study on Rumanian literary E. (O.S. Crohmâlnieeanu, Expresionismul si literatu-

ra romana, [Bucharest, 1971]) was published several months after our article had been sent to press.
We call the attention of those interested in a comprehensive analyis of the phenomenon to this study.

269
artists, the front represented the heroism of the soldiers who fought for the indepen­
dence of their country; "the real disasters of the war"—to use Goya's familiar title
were to be found primarily behind the front.
In Tonitza's sketches, the political demonstrations, the strikes, the intervention
of the police and the army are dealt with by means of a nervous line. The props are
often strikingly Expressionistic: skulls, skeletons, masks, echoing (as in the works
of Ensor) the Baroque. But the fantastic element is converted into allegory, and the
scenes depicted by Tonitza do not express the feeling of universal suffering which
deforms contours and exalts color. Thus E. is implied in the themes treated rather
than in the stylistic devices employed.
Aurei Marculescu (1884-1946) prolonged the experiment in Expressionist
graphic art until after World War I I . His engravings (to some extent edulcorated)
depict the provincial suburbs, alternating with those in which Fascism and its horrors
are submitted to a vehement indictment. Mărculescu lived through the tragedy of
concentration camps on which he later commented in his engravings, which are filled
with dense emotion. The sketches which portray Hitler and his acolytes are not cari­
catures in the current sense of the word; drawn in the tradition of Goya and Daumier,
they are veritable pamphlets composed in the name of those human ideals which at
t h a t time were threatened by the Nazi offensive.
Nicolae Cristea (1908-1936), self-educated like Märculescu, commented on social
drama with a line that is less firm but testifies to a heightened sensibility. The world
presented in these drawings is that of the sordid suburbs, peopled with human beings
who are sorely afflicted, with half-starved children and women who have lost their
femininity. But the artist turns toward another reality, that of irreducible conflicts
and of a harsh existence: the modern factory, "hell", as Cristea calls it in one of his
sketches, taking recourse to an allegory. And although his contours and his hatchings
show a certain Impressionist influence, the deformations and the simplifications of the
physiognomies have a real Expressionist touch to them.
The universe of Aurei Jiquidi (1896-1962) adds what one might call the type
of an age. His spiritual link with the great Rumanian humorist Caragiale (whose work
he illustrated) has often been noted. Jiquidi also reconstitutes a world, but one which
lives in his drama with an inviolable unconsciousness. From this point of view, the
atmosphere of his drawings is not Expressionistic; for it lacks the shudder of the great
convulsions and spiritual devastations. But when he reaches the realm of the grotesque,
he is merciless, and his caricature attacks the lack of humanity. A village enveloped
in a heavy atmosphere, drunks with trivial faces, heavily rouged women, people dom­
inated by vulgar instincts, gluttony and drunkenness; musicians in rags and tatters,
orchestras of blind men (tragic figures with eyes covered by the black patches of glasses),
coachmen waiting in vain for passengers,—all of this reconstitutes a Breughelian
world dominated by the figure of the fiscal agent, the policeman and the speculator.
The misery begins during infancy, as the children portrayed by Jiquidi live out
this drama in great innocence. They suffer the persecution of their employers and
their teachers. Misery pursues man until the end of his life; and even the burials are
not lacking in the grotesque and the macabre. But the most virulent accents of this

270
artist's satire are those which mark his anti-Fascist works: Rumanian Fascists assas­
sinating their political adversaries in hospital rooms and setting fire to piles of books.
The Hitlerites and the Fascists are portrayed in sketches which have a scathing touch
and whose deformations have psychological as well as aesthetic significance.
This militant attitude is a characteristic trait of Expressionist art in Rumania.
Almost all of the sketches published in the socialist periodicals of the time evidence
this trait. Thus the sculptor Gheza Vida, moulding shapes in a violent movement,
rediscovers the same strong and discontinuous rhythm in his sketches, and Béla Gy.
Szabó approaches Expressionist aesthetics in his illustrations for Toller's Schwalben-
buch. Other artists, whose subsequent evolution took different stylistic directions, made
use of Expressionist devices in order to express a sarcastic attitude toward Fascism.
Mattis-Teutsch of Brasov was, at one time, one of the prominent figures in certain
Expressionist circles of Western Europe. His work lets us catch a glimpse of the different
stages in the evolution of E. after the war, beginning with the temperamental explosion
of works characteristic for the artists of the Walden group, 1 and ending with the har­
monious and lucid constructions favored by the Bauhaus. Mattis-Teutsch attached
himself to Gropius because—as some critics say—"he found in his humanism a basis
for exploring the social functions of a total art". As a painter he followed the direction
indicated by Der Blaue Reiter, demonstrating—like other artists in Munich—the
inconsistencies of the Expressionist aesthetic, its evolution toward an abstract art.
He tried to achieve the symphonic effects of color but also occupied himself, more
assiduously than Marc or Kandinsky, with the implications of man's relation to nature
and the whole universe. The values of color found in his works betray a spiritual tension
suited to capture the effluvia of light and the essence of the human spirit. Mattis-
Teutsch became interested in what he called "the structures of universal existence"
and expressed them in paintings and sculptures whose symbolic meaning—not always
easy to decipher—is the proof of a conscience troubled by grave questions. " I am the
child of the twentieth century," he would later say. "As an artist, I observe, from the
very beginning, all t h a t occurs around me from a personal point of view, and I walk
straight on my chosen path."
In general, the relations of the Rumanian literary and artistic avantgarde with
the German Expressionist groups were numerous and explicit. Articles by Walden
were published in one of the most representative avantgarde periodicals of Rumania,
Integral, which appeared between 1925 and 1928 and defined its Constructivist credo
in "trenchant formulas". One programmatic article, written by Ilarie Voronca and
printed in the first issue of Integral (March 1, 1925), expressed hostility towards Sur­
realism. I t declared that the movement was not consonant with "the rhythm of the
times" and considered it to be "an involution compared with the Dadaism of Tzara". 2
I t is interesting to observe that Voronca contrasted the "backward experiment" of
Surrealism with previous Modernistic literature—E., Futurism, and Cubism—implicitly

1
Walden organized expositions in which Mattis-Teutsch appears side by side with artists
like Klee,
2
Chagall, and Archipenko, who had already achieved great prestige.
See Matei Cälinescu's preface to the Antologia literaturii romane de avangardä (Anthology of
Rumanian Avant-Garde Literature) (Bucharest, 1969), p. 25.

271
considering these latter -isms to be more congenial to the contemporary sensibility.
This fact is even more significant if one considers that the Rumanian poet rejected
the Surrealist experiment in the name of Integralism, i.e., "order-synthesis" and "order—
constructive, classical, integral essence" (the words are underlined in the original text).
This style was contrasted with the "sickly, romantic Surrealist disaggregation". This
attitude suggests adhesion to the Expressionist group in Munich, which was interested
in the depiction of a geometrical order, rather than to the lively art of Die Brüche,
which wanted to express the profound contortions of the human soul in desperation
over this ''order'' established by modern technology. I n any case, a Dadaist-Construc-
tivist manifesto which proclaims "adhesion to the epoch" of E. is not often found in
European literature. One can perhaps detect, in this case, a reflex of a characteristic
trait of Rumanian culture, often demonstrated by its critics: the inclination toward
equilibrium and reason. Most often, Rumanian E. (especially in its plastic manifes­
tations) takes the form of a reaction against an absurd existence and a poorly con­
structed world.
Lascăr Vorel was one of the Rumanian artists who reacted profoundly against
this world and the existing moral order. I t has been said that he was not "attached
to any specific artistic school", and that he did not directly participate in any current
of the time. 3 This is true, considering that he did not subscribe to the aesthetic program
of the groups active in Germany during his long sojourn in that country. Vorel's artistic
debuts in Munich (where he had established himself around 1899, studying under
Franz von Stuck, the former teacher of Klee and Kandinsky) stand under the influence
of Jugendstil and Secessionism. Subsequently, he evolved toward an E. which tends
to trace the moral profile of one class, the upper-middle-class. Persons with somber
looks and satisfied smiles which distort their features are surprised in the characteristic
moments of modern life: in the foyers of theaters, the cabaret, and the hippodrome.
Their violently geometrized silhouettes inscribe themselves in a closed, suffocating space.
Even the colors (the whites and the violets which Vorel uses) have a harshness which
reinforces the dominant mood. Physiognomic detail is not eliminated but, on the cont­
rary, it is accentuated by a somber touch around the eyes, by wrinkles, irregular dentu­
res or toothless gums. The mouth, infact, is the detail which Vorel most heavily emphasizes.
Even the women, majestic and statuesque presences in the Jugendstil manner,
are dehumanized beings in Vorel's sketches and his gouaches. Impassive and cold,
they are "creatures of luxury", in contrast to the men, who have a heavy, vulgar
air about them. Vorel's vision is t h a t of a hell on earth. The scenes depicting acrobats
(men with strong torsos, muscular, but with very small skulls) join in this misanthropic
analysis of a world filled with insignificant people devoid of ideas.
"Posedatii" (The Possessed), one of the last works by Vorel, comes perhaps closest
to illustrating the Expressionist technique. The subject, often treated by the artists
of Die Brücke, offered him the possibility of analyzing certain exalted psychologies.
Moreover, this analysis stays within the limits of allegory and of a typology of Romantic
origin: the figures who fill the geometrically delimited space, an agglomeration of trunks,

3
Petru Comarnescu, Lascăr Vorel (Bucharest, 1968), p. 5.

272
pyramids and prisms, have the hallucinatory looks of figures ravaged by fear. But
they represent, in fact, a social class; the are judges, officers, bankers, and men of
the world, and this is what gives Vorel's depictions a precise, polemical significance.
If one finds in Rumanian graphic art numerous examples of artists who have
undergone the influence of E. (in the sense of a modulation of the means of social criti­
cism), Rumanian painting knew only a few cases of artists who consistently adhered
to the Expressionist principles. Ion Tuculescu is an exception in this respect. His
singular presence manifested itself "in the atmosphere of a harmonious art". Now
and then, this painter became aware of the necessity of disciplining—in the classicist
sense—the volcanic eruptions of his temperament in order to create canvasses composed
in a vigorous and concentrated manner, clearly distinct in both form and thought.
He made, and sometimes succeeded in, the attempt to work in this manner, but his
Expressionist works carry the greatest weight in his oeuvre. 4 The tormented soul of
Tuculescu expressed itself in violent chromatic explosions. Folklore was integrated
into his vision precisely in the sense of the mystery toward which the popular artist
has descended, since ancient times, in this world of profound emotional tension. A
chromatic universe in which the black helps define a fantastic atmosphere, shivering
nights, and fields agitated as if by a cosmic wind—Tuculescu created the vast image of
a humanity haunted by the essential questions of a superior sense of life. I t is a concen­
trated art having a densely dramatic, and profoundly human air.
I n Rumanian art, E. thus manifested itself primarily in the sense of a militant
attitude with broad social implications, founded on a distinctive stylistic structure,
or else —as in the case of Tuculescu—there is an assimilation of the philosophical mean­
ings of folklore. The feeling of nothingness and irreparable spiritual collapse is not
even found in the works in which the reasons for misanthropy are clearest; it is replaced
by a straightforward social polemic or else by a very broad Humanism.
We must bear in mind t h a t the Rumanian philosophers believed that they had
discovered, in the aesthetic foundations of E., the suggestion of an affirmation of human
existence. The question poses itself, above all, in connection with the translation of
the term Einfühlung, which posed problems to other non-German aestheticians as
well (for example in the case of Roger Munier, the French translator of Worringer's
book, Absfraktion und Einfühlung).
Petre Andrei, a Rumanian philosopher who has made valuable contributions in
several branches of philosophy, had been acquainted, during his years of study in
Germany, with the ideas which Worringer's book had put into circulation. In a study
written in 1919-1920 5 he observed that by Einfühlung is understood "our own manner
of objectifying things, a manner of reflecting our selves in the exterior world". And
he added (note the aesthetic sense which he attributed to this word): "The aesthetic value
is thus created by the affirmation of life. . . Negation of life in an object constitutes
— according to Theodor Lipps—the ugly. In order to appreciate and enhance the aes­
thetic value, we consider what is human and are aware of the value as existing in

4
Petru Comarnescu, Ion Tuculescu (Bucharest, 1967), pp. 13—14.
5
Published after his death in the periodical Cronica de Iassy (Nos. 4 and 8, 1968).

273
 ourselves, but also as an objectivized value. We feel an aesthetic sympathy for every
object into which we put life" (italics are ours).
An attitude characteristic for Rumanian philosophy, whose concerns center around
the study of the significations of E., was thus defined at the end of the second decade
of our century. The relations with human existence are stressed and a major importance
assigned to them. The value of Expressionist art (and not exclusively of it) was attrib­
uted to its capacity for expressing a human ideal and for penetrating into the very
core of human existence.
Another personality (still very young at this time), Tudor Vianu—one of the
most important Rumanian aestheticians, and the founder of the Rumanian school
devoted to the study of world and comparative literature-occupied himself with
Worringer's theory in his book Estetica. He extolled the ''enlargement of the field of
aesthetic observation by means of the products of oriental and primitive art, which
do not represent organic and living forms, but almost always forms which are abstract
and dead". 6 Worringer's idea that classical and primitive man nourishes the same aspira­
tion to happiness and that, therefore, art's permanent raison d'être "consists in the reali­
zation of this need" 7 (an idea stressed by Vianu) made it possible to view E., which
is dominated by this idea, in a new perspective. The conclusion of the Rumanian aesthe-
tician was, then, that Expressionist art would retain, in its depths, the aspiration toward
happiness, and t h a t its significations would be all the more tragic the more brutally
this aspiration was contradicted.
At the same time, the attitude of some Rumanian philosophers toward the formal
conceptions of certain contemporary aestheticians is characteristic. In his Geschichte
der Malerei des neunzehnten Jahrhunderts, for example, Max Deri articulated the famous
division of the "fundamental dispositions of modern art". In this work, published in
1920, he expressed his belief t h a t these directions were Naturalism (which stresses the
passivity of the spirit), Idealism ("the tendency toward presenting not only the con­
crete idea of a thing, but also toward retouching its purely individual features"), and
E., restoring "the creative rights" of the spirit.
Lucian Blaga (whose philosophical outlook—a symptomatic fact, in our opinion —
was, to a certain degree, indebted to the German school) rejected this division by justly
objecting t h a t these categories were altogether relative, and that there were types and
objects which belong to all three of these styles. But what is important in Blaga's
polemic is that it has led to a philosophical investigation of the sources of E., envisaged
no longer as historical facts but as elements of an aesthetic attitude, and a specific
way of viewing the world. I t is generally known t h a t many exegetes of E. considered
Grünewald to have been an artist who foresaw one of the trends of E. And it may be
true t h a t this sixteenth-century painter appeared as an obvious predecessor of this
creation traversed by the sigh of ecstatic and redemptive suffering. I n a work entitled
Filozofia stilului (Philosophy of Style) Blaga (whose poetry has—as we shall see —
indisputable links with E.) investigated the ties existing between Grünewald and the

6
Tudor Vianu, Estetica, third ed. (Bucharest, 1968), p. 26.
7
Ibid.

274
Expressionist vision. He demonstrated precisely those artistic rapports which were
not accidental, while rejecting the exaggerations of a falsely comparative reasoning
tempted to integrate into E. certain artists, and even some isolated works, offering
peripheral resemblances, and not a genuine correspondence of feeling and thought.
Blaga's description of the Isenheim altarpiece constitutes an admirable inter­
pretation of artistic creation. I t has—at the same time—the merit of fixing the exact
premises of a discussion concerning the precursors of E.:

I t is, without doubt, a moving crucifixion, comparable to no other; the

arms of the cross give way under the weight of the crucified body . . . The body
of Jesus, to which death has given a greenish tint, is bristling with thorns
issuing from the flesh. The legs, twisted by the dreadful grief, are torn by
the nails like those of beasts at the butcher's . . . The whole is an ecstatic
vision of redemptive pain, a vision realized by a visible exaggeration of the
natural. In spite of this, to define E. by nothing but an increase of potentiality,
by the reinforcement and intensification of the individual, means to limit one­
self to an almost negative definition. Instead of seeking out the positive values
materialized in E., one commits the error of taking nature as one's point of de­
parture, with regard to which E. can only be a deviation. In seeking to define
E. by a negation—as a deviation of nature, in the sense of an exaggeration of
its individual traits, one does not sufficiently differentiate E. from caricature,
which perfectly corresponds to the same definition. . . . The grief in Grune­
wald's vision assumes proportions which surpass the individual; they are
"absolute". Every time something is presented in such a manner that its power,
its inner tension exceeds it, when it is transcendent, establishing connections
with the cosmic elements, we have to do with an Expressionist work of art.8

Thus, in Blaga's opinion, the exaltation of the individual does not always signify
E., and suffering alone cannot be regarded as an Expressionist trait. That which defines
E. is not only the intensity of feeling but also its quality of suggesting the absurdity
of an individual or social existence, the dolorous rendings of a conscience which discov­
ers the impossibility of realizing its aspirations. And what is equally important for
Blaga is the fact that the object of poetry is transcendent "in betraying its relations
with the cosmic elements". I t is only in this perspective that one can understand the
relationship between E. and Blaga's poetry.
As a poet, Blaga integrates a whole mythology of mysteries while evolving from
the pantheism of his first compositions toward an ascetic vision of nature. One of the
profoundest commentators on Rumanian literature, George Cälinescu, has noted the
pantheism of Blaga's youthful poetry which "assumes Virgilian forms". 9 From this
"infatuation with the vegetal, with fruits, with cold animality" 1 0 the poet subsequently
moved toward a conversion of myth into poetry, in the tradition of Novalis and
German Romanticism in general ("alles Poetische muss märchenhaft sein"). I t has
been said of this poetry t h a t it represents "a kind of magic idealism, viewing the world

8
Lucian Blaga, Filozofia stilului (Bucharest, 1924), pp. 67—69, et passim. The italics in this
t e x t are by the author of the article.
9
10
George Cälinescu, Istoria literaturii romane, fifth ed. (Bucharest, 1968), p. 352.
Ibid.

275
as a fantastic projection of a magic self, overcome by dreams and gilded with miracles". 31
This is only partially true, for the miracle, in Blaga's vision, descends from an old
folkloric tradition in which the propensity of material phenomena is evident. Even in
the poems in which one notes the inflections of orthodoxy the mystic visions have
something of the naiveté (deliberate in this case) of popular iconography:

Fecioara Maria
a legat rod ca un pom 12

An image sketched in this manner, not lacking in grace, comes perhaps closer to
the images of Emily Dickinson than to Expressionist poetry. After the fashion of
the American poetess, Blaga cultivates the mystery of the universe by placing it on
the vegetable plane, like a materialization of the mystery of germination and death:

Apoi cu frunza cobori. Şi tärna

ti-o tragi peste ochi
ca o grava pleoapä. 13

In Blaga's poetry, the metaphorical associations are often vegetal; even the mi­
racle of the world is a "corolla" which the poet does not want to "crush". Like Trakl
(in "Abendlied", "Verfall", or "Landschaft", for example), the Rumanian poet ex­
presses the ardent necessity of discovering the wonderful spiritual world of dreams
in which sleep is an experience on the same level as the miracle. Moreover, one of Blaga's
volumes bears the evocative title Lauda somnului (Praise of Sleep).
But the mythology of Blaga, in contrast to that of the German Expressionists,
is not t h a t of an agonizing, grief-filled, and somber vision. His mystery is accentuated
(as in the canvasses of Van Gogh, for whom he often expressed his admiration) by the
light which never fades. The title of one of his volumes of verse, Poemele luminii (Poems
of Light) is significant in this respect. Blaga thus approached those zones of archaic
Greek mystery in which he rediscovered the ancient mythology of the people inhabit­
ing the present territory of Rumania. He did not aim at the expression of "integral
existence" in the exotic world of the Polynesian islands, like the German painters of
Die Brücke, but rather in the mythic religion of his Dacian ancestors. The mystery
of Zamolxis (a Dacian divinity whom Blaga often evoked in his work) is a mystery of
light and the sun. The poet cultivates this call for a return to the ancestral stage, to
the times immemorial of the legend which he glorified on many occasions in his philo­
sophical works, as well as in his poetry and his aphorisms.
But the myths encountered in Blaga's poetry are most often those of Rumanian
folklore, which the poet has integrated into a vision t h a t is simultaneously universal
and specific. The long popular poem Mioriţa, which translates the feeling of communion

11
Al. Piru, Panorama deceniului literar românesc (Panorama of the Rumanian Literary Decade
[1940–1950], Bucharest, 1968), p. 25.
12
13
The Virgin Mary / conceived the fruit like a tree.
Then, with the leaf, you descend. And with dust / you „cover your eyes/ as with a solemn
lid.

276
with nature (peculiar to the Rumanian people) into a symbolic language, provided
the poet with the occasion for repeatedly trying to discern the horizons of human
existence on Rumanian soil, which Blaga called "spaţiul mioritic". But what the
anonymous poet experienced as the feeling of the unknown was for Blaga the reason
for the irrational. Călinescu, among others, recognized the Platonic structure of Blaga's
philosophical system which, being called "Satanic knowledge" by the Rumanian poet
and philosopher, "permits of delirium as a means of investigation". 14
The cosmology of Lucian Blaga also stems from Platonic sources, as has been fre­
quently pointed out. The observation that the geographical factor has an influence
(often decisive) on the intellectual perception of an entire people is here transformed
into a theory concerning "the unfathomable ethnic space" governed by an all-power­
ful entity called, by Blaga, "The Great Anonymous One" and corresponding to Plato's
demiurge. This facilitates the comprehension of a line which makes up part of the
Gintec penfru anul 2000 (Song for the Year 2,000), in which Blaga declares himself
to be contemporaneous with the vision of Rilke, to whom he dedicated a poem, as the
man who was "killed by a thorn plunged into the blue", that is to say, by "the thirst
for the absolute". 15
To be sure, the mysteries referred to by Blaga are only deciphered by the reve­
lation which holds no terror or internal confrontations:

Incă ieri, numai ieri, doar ieri

mă apăram cu frica
de zodia noua ce se ridica.
Şi azi, dintr-odată, neaşteptat, acest räsărit.
Ce cîntec nemăsurat !
Ca unui orb vindecat
lumea-n lumina mi s-a lărgit.
Puterile mişca-n zenit.
Deschid porţile: Timp neumblat,
bine-ai venit,
bine-ai venit !16

From this unaccustomed mixture of Platonic philosophy, pantheism, orthodox

mysticism and Rumanian folklore issued a very dense and profound lyric poetry
which does not attain the level of irremediable despair, thus serving as evidence of the
Rumanian literary tradition, which believes in the human capacity to find happiness
in the surrounding world. This is because the mystic revelation invites Blaga to dis­
cover the truth of palpable nature. In utilizing, for example, the suggestion of the
ancient myth of Zamolxe, he composed a poem dedicated to the rapport between the
creator and his work (the conclusion of which was, as in the case of a drama based on a

14
15
Op. cit., p. 388.
See Al. Piru, op. cit., p. 27.
16
Yesterday again, yesterday only, only yesterday / I defended myself, afraid / Against
the new sign which is appearing. / And today, suddenly, unexpectedly, this aurora. / What an im­
mense s o n g ! / A s for a blind man cured,/The world in the light has become larger for m e . / T h e
powers stir in the zenith. / I open the doors: Times which our feet have not yet touched,/ Welcome/
Welcome !

277
Rumanian medieval legend, M esterni Manole (Master Manole), that fiction surpasses
its creator). Zamolxe, seeker of the absolute, rejoices at direct contact with nature:

Altada nopţile-mi erau un leagăn de odihnä,

iar ziua lucrurile dimprejur se prefăceau în mine
într-un vis atît de linistit,
că reci şi jilave şopîrlele veneau
sä caute soarele
pe picioarele mele goale. 17

Zamolxe lives in the midst of a bucolic nature, exempt from great conflicts, and
he fishes "salmons round as the legs of young girls" or sacrifices his sheep and cries
"into their wool". Even in the later poems, in which the "Virgilianism" is spiritualized
and "the rural elements sanctified", nature remains the same beneficient power which
he praises in his own way, as does popular Rumanian poetry. I t is a nature which does
not know fear and which does not terrify man but approaches him submissively and
tenderly. The roe-deer drink water from his palm, the dogs are tame, as in the pre-
Renaissance pictures depicting Francis of Assisi. Nor do the apocalypses of Blaga's
poetry have the terrifying atmosphere of the nights of Trakl, with "strange g a r d e n s . . .
filled with snakes, night-butterflies, spiders and bats"; they introduce the typical
Expressionist vision of cities ravaged by terrible disasters but proclaim, at the same
time, the triumph of nature over civilization.

Din depártate sälbăticii cu stele mari,

doar cäprioare vor pătrunde în oraşe
sä pască iarba din cenuşă.
Cerbi cu ochi uriaşi şi blînzi
intra-vor în bisericile vechi
cu portile deschise —
uitîndu-se mirati în jur . . . 18

The feeling of solitude attains in Blaga's works an intensity different from that of
German Expressionist poetry. In the case of the Rumanian poet, it results from a philo­
sophical argument and not from a simple impulse of temperament. In this respect,
it is interesting to point out Blaga's ideas concerning the contribution of the subcon­
scious to cultural life. Blaga describes the case (not very frequent) of an Expressionist
who critically contemplates the Freudian theory of the creative function of the sub­
conscious. In his view, "the unfathomable coordinates", as Blaga calls them, must be
studied in relation to the conscious products of culture; but he rejects the Freudian
analogy between the ideas of psychopaths and those of primitive peoples, consider­
ing—with good reason—these latter as cultural, and not pathological, phenomena.

17
Formerly the nights were the cradle of my repose, / but in the daytime the things which
surrounded me became within / so sweet a dream, / that, cold and humid, the lizards came / to
seek the sun / at my bare feet.
18
From savage corners, distant, to the great stars / only the roe-deer are going to penetrate
into the cities/to graze on the grass among the cinders./The cerfs with tender, immense eyes/
will enter the old churches / with open doors / and look around astonished . . .

278
 Blaga rarely refers to Freud; one could mention, in this connection, a play, Daria,
whose theme slightly resembles that of Wedekind's Frühlings Erwachen. But, in this
case, the problem of the noxious intervention of a hypocritical or conservative pedagogy
is not linked with the appearance of the sexual instinct at the time of adolescence,
but with the normal life of a married woman who has an old husband and who falls ill,
having certain obsessions. Basically, the author advocates a free exercise of the in­
stincts, as is also the case in the plays of Strindberg.
As in the case of many Rumanian painters, Blaga's E. constitutes a particular
phenomenon with striking individual features which give it a special place in the com­
plex European artistic movement. Although the interpretations of Rumanian folklore
distance themselves from the spirit of this creation, the poetry of Blaga completes the
landscape of modern Rumanian poetry.
Alexandra Philippide provides Rumanian E. with a personal accent; he thirsts
for the absolute and confronts the great troubling questions, tempted by the sym­
bols of eternal nature, and first of all, quite clearly by that of Pan, who—to him—sig­
nifies both totality and victorious soaring:

Vreau să m-amestec pe deplin

Cu plasma din adînc a vieţii,
Să fiu la fel cu-acel elin
De care pomenesc poeţii
Si căruia în vremuri vechi
Un zeu îi dase drept pedeapsă
Să-i crească frunze din urechi
Şi negre rădăcini din coapsă. 19

I t is interesting to note that critics have often considered Philippide to be representa­

tive of an anti-Modernist trend, relating him to a sort of late Romanticism stemming
from the tradition of Poe and E.T.A. Hoffmann. This is due, perhaps, to the form of
his poems (which do not seek merely to adhere to a fixed prosody) and sometimes to
the pattern of metaphors fitted to a somber symbolism. But, in truth, beyond this
formal austerity and apparently tranquil surface somber depths and a bitter fear of
death are hidden.
The poet feels himself surrounded by eternity while living in the midst of a great
solitude in which he is "a Robinson" who "carries his island in his soul". The landscape
of this poetry is that of agitated gloom, as in Dante, peopled with phantom-like, sinister
apparitions. Sometimes this universe is constituted—as in the case of so many other
Expressionists - by the fragments of a concrete urban landscape with sordid suburbs.
But these images fade away as soon as the poet afiirms aspirations toward the light of a
humanity which dreams of forging a world of beauty and hope. The poetry thus be­
comes an alternation of infernal horizons (in which the wind howls like dogs) and of
seraphic skies, traversed by the poet in a barge in which a lily holds the helm. This

19
I want to merge completely / with the plasma of the depths of life, / I want to be like that
Greek / of whom the poets speak / and who was condemned, long ago, by a god / to put leaves in
his e a r s / a n d black roots in his thigh.

279
passage from somber sadness to exuberance is not only "Romantic", as it has been
called; but the hypersensitivity of the poet, receptive to changes in the ambient sur­
roundings, reverberates and amplifies them with an intensity proper also to E.
As in Heym, the war is a monster which lacerates the lives of men. Humanity must
be regenerated by great fraternity and love (a theme which recalls the poetry of Werf el,
among others). Thus Philippide dedicated some very moving lines to the anti-Fascist
heroes whose ideas he shared:

Cînd aţi pornit cu suflet flamînd de nemurire

Rîvnind spre-o lume dreaptă de tihnă şi splendoare,
Cine-ar fi spus că visul de-azur şi strălucire
Şi idealul nostru de pace Şi iubire
Vor fi scuipate, frînte, călcate în picioare ?
Cine-ar fi spus, prieteni, că veti pieri în drum,
Prin cîmpuri teutone, în munci ucigătoare
Zvîrliţi de vii prin ruguri şi-n cuptoare ?
Nu doarme-n nici o urnă sărmanul vostru scrum,
Si vîntul e mormîntul vostru-acum.
Dar visul vostru cîntă în visul meu mereu;
De vorbă stau acuma cu voi ca altădată;
Si în adincul sufletului meu
Adun cenuşa voastră— mprăştiată. 2 0

This poetry, dominated by the feeling of participation in the destiny of the anti-Hitler­
ite combatants, established at base a connection between two fundamental directions
of Expressionist art, both present in Philippide's work. His obsession with the night,
the menacing landscape, things darkly fantastic, and merciless destiny, is reinforced
by a revolutionary tone and by the firm condemnation of a whole social system.
Especially after the war, the poetry of Philippide became more serene, celebrat­
ing the future of humanity, which he finds more and more to lie in fraternity and love
among peoples. Now the prophetic tone and the sacerdotal gesture embrace a new
reality, while hell itself appears to be lost in the wind. While descending into Styx,
the poet ascertains t h a t the black waves of the river have become clear, that—symbo­
lically—the boatman of death, Charon, Cerberus and even the shades have vanished
forever. The return to the living is not impossible, for the poet leaves the subterranean
countries and returns to the land of human beings, thus outlining a total aesthetic
conception based on the belief t h a t everything stands in relation to our imaginative
power and to the "standard against which we measure ourselves".
In the poetry of Philippide, the affinities between the ephemeral and the eternal
are presented in a very meaningful way: the instant signifies eternity, and art is an
20
When you have gone, the soul, hungry for eternal glory,/Desirous of a righteous world
full of peace and splendor,/ Who would have said that upon the dream of azure and of breathtaking
beauty, / That on our ideal of peace and love / They would spit, they would destroy them, they
would trample them to bits ? / Who would have said, friend, that you would be killed en route /
On the Teutonic fields, by overwhelming tasks / Burned alive in the ovens ? / Your poor ashes can­
not repose in any urn, /And the wind is your tomb at present / But your dream sings forever in my
dream; / As at that time, I converse with you, / A n d at the bottom of my soul, / I gather your lost
ashes.

280
immaculate human permanence. But with this is mind, he proclaims the necessity of
a renewed art capable of grasping a more complex spiritual reality. Otherwise, poetry is
irremediably condemned to remain a strange museum piece:

Rugină nefolositoare
Sufletelor viitoare,
Te văd în timpuri foarte — apropíate
Zăcînd printre unelte demodate,
Maşina cu-ntrebuinţări uitate,
Mai nebăgată-n seamă în giulgiul tău de praf
Decît montgolfierii sau primul batiscafi 2 1

Based on the consciousness of universal and individual tragedy, the "sumptuous

and black" elegy of Philippide is illuminated in proportion as the poet witnesses and
participates in the accomplishment of certain Humanitarian ideas.
In the poetry of other Rumanian writers, E. assumed even less specific forms, their
(accidental) inflections often being closer to other literary currents. A reference to them
nevertheless contributes, in our opinion, to the completion of the lively tableau of
modern Rumanian literature, even if it is considered only from the perspective of a
single aesthetic movement. The Expressionist echoes in the poetry of Scarlat Calli-
machi, for example, do not come—from all appearances—directly from German liter­
ature, but through the mediation of Russian Futurism. The relations with the Ruma­
nian avantgarde were concretized especially in the pages of the magazine Puncf (The
Point), published between March, 1924, and April, 1925, of which Callimachi was edi­
tor-in-chief and where he published numerous contemporary anti-conformist poems.
Callimachi painted a dark picture of the days of the war, foreseeing the revolution in
a manner which, to a certain extent, recalls that of Alexander Blok:

Zăpadă,
Cruci
şi sînge înegrit de vaiete
şi lacrimi
Un cerşetor,
o oarbă
şi-un cîine-n căutarea unui os
uscat.
Strigăte,
rîsete
şi sanitări pătate de sînge
şi de teamă.
Palate,
ruini,
soldaţi în uniforme rupte
şi parfumate.
21
Useless rust / for future souls, / I see you shortly hence / Lying among outmoded tools, /
Machine for forgotten uses, / In your shroud of dust, more neglected / Than the first bathyscope,
than the montgolfiers !

281
 Iub tri,
credintă
si prostituţii în braţe obosite de
neant. 22

The war also constitutes the dramatic substance of Callimachi's play Zail Sturm,
where realistic description is mixed with grandiloquent dialogue and strange metaphors
evoking the plays of Maeterlinck. Assuming a prophetic, menacing tone are, above all,
the fragments in which the wounded have hallucinations in the sordid room of an
improvised hospital: "Destul ! Îmi ardeti ochii. . .Vine moartea . . . vine moartea . . .
lăsaţi-mă . . . Sînge . . . E negru . . . negru . . . negru . . . Soarele se prăvaleste în nori.
Auzi ? Vin cîinii. Vor sä ne mănînce. Le e foame . . . Sînge... Lăsati-mă . . . Sînt s ă r a c . . .
sărac . . . o rubia . . . Mi-e sete . . . sete . . . sint bun . . . bun . . . Vă iubesc. Negru
negru . . . Sînge. Vorbiti. De ce tăceti? Soare? Nu. Nu, mîine . . . e negru . . . " 2 3
Even in those scenes where the dialogue retains its logical coherence, the relentless,
somber visions have a sorrowful intensity: "Am väzut lucruri îngrozitoare. Moarte
pretutindeni, sînge şi urlete. Nu, Nu, e prea îngrozitor. Cînd imi amintesc, plîng. I-am
văzut scuipînd singe şi pămînt. Adunîndu-şi matele din praf. Aruncîndu-şi fraţii în
mormintele pierdute ín imensitatea nemiloasä. Urlau cuvinte murdare, cînd ţîşnea
sîngele din trupul lor . . . Dumnezeu era departe de toţi aceşti oameni. Dumnezeu . . .
(Gerne) Mă doare . . . Mi-e frig . . . frig . . . " 2 4
An interesting poetic personality, combining ingenuity and mystification, is
Dimitrie Stelaru, whose connections with the modern literary movements are rather
vague. His poetry comes rather from the tradition of Poe. We witness not only an
imitation"of the themes (sometimes even the versification) favored by the American
poet, but even of his life, viewed in its nebulous, fantastic aspects. I t has been stressed
t h a t the strange geography of Stelaru's poems and their onomastic system closely
follow those of Poe. 25 But the result is a poetry of great inner tension, of nightmares
and deliriums, in which the image of the world is recomposed of somber fragments
whose prophetie tone has a very personal ring:

Asculaţi-mă !
Aţi crezut cä zilele sînt zdrenţe
I n mînile voastre.
22
Snow, / cross / and blood turned black by lamentations / and by tears. / A beggar, / a blind
woman/ and a dog in pursuit of a dried / bone. / Cries, / smiles / and kisses sullied by blood / and
by fear. / Palace / ruins, soldiers in torn uniforms / perfumed / By the loves, / the faith / and prosti­
tution23 in the fatigued arms of / nothingness.
Enough ! You are burning my eyes . . . Death is coming . . . Here is death . . . leave me alone
. . . Blood . . . I t is black . . . black . . . black . . . The sun is crumbling away in the clouds. Do
you hear ? The dogs are arriving. They want to devour us . . . They are hungry . . . Blood . . . Leave
me alone . . . I am poor . . . poor . . . a rouble . . . I'm thirsty . . . thirsty . . . I am good . . . good . . .
I love you. Black, black... Blood. Speak. Speak. Why are you silent ? The sun ? No, no, tomorrow...
it is black . . .
24
I saw some terrible things. Death everywhere, blood and moaning. NO, no, it was too
horrible ! When I remember it, I cry. I saw them spitting blood and soil. Gathering their entrails
from the dust. Throwing their brothers into tombs lost in merciless immensity. They screamed
dirty words while the blood gushed out of their bodies . . . God was far from these men. God . . .
(He groans) I'm ill . . . I'm cold . . . cold . . .
25
See Al. Piru, op. cit., pp. 133-136.

282
 Le-aţi răsturnat, aţi intrat în ele
Şi m-aţi găsit zeul etern
Nu v-aţi născut nieiodată,
Nu v'aţi născut nieiodată,
Lumina a fost pentru voi săgeata.
Urlaţi şi vă muşcati liniştea
Asteptînd vaierul geniului
Pe care îl roadeţi, îl spînzurati în pieţe
Grîul vostru nu e decît pleavă
Şi rugină. 26

The horror in the tone of Stelaru's poems, which could seem to be self-idolatry
("Dimitrie Stelaru, the new Jesus Christ. . . ") conceals, at base, a dolorous revolt
against the great potentates of the pre-war and war years. With grandiloquent ges­
tures, the poet attacks the bourgeois order, singing the praise (like Villon and, more
recently, Expressionists like Bröger and Alfons Petzold) of those who are outside the
law.

Ne-am răsturnat oasele pe-Iespezile bisericilor,

Prin păduri, la marginea oraşelor,
Nimeni nu ne-a primit niciodată,
Nimeni, nimeni . . .

Marii judecători ne-au închis

Stăruind în ceata legilor lor . . .

Odată-poate cu înfriguratele zori vom singera

Si spînzuratorile ne vor ridica la cer.
Dar lasă, Dimitrie Stelaru, mai lasă !
înt r-o zi vom avea şi noi sărbătoare—
Vom avea pîine, pîine
Şi-un kilogram de izmă pe masa. 27

The poem which Stelaru sought had—except for this often-noted ostentation— a mean­
ing of protest, which, it is true, was not always clearly expressed. But in the universe
of this ''fantastic hour", in the accumulation of abstract divinities and black hells,
of the light of heavens which are always serene and of the smoke of dark, sad taverns,
the authentic purity of the lyricism is finely distilled. This is because Stelaru believes in
the capacity of art to bring beauty and the Humanitarian spirit into the world.
To a certain extent, the remonstrative lyricism of Victor Torynopol is similar to
t h a t of Stelaru. I t lacks the prophetic vision of a better, purer world which illuminates
26
Listen to me ! / You have thought that the days are rags / In your hands / You have turned
them upside down, you have entered into them / A n d you have found me there, eternal god./
You were never born. / You were never born. / To you, light was an arrow. / Scream and bite into
the silence / While waiting for the plaint of the genius / Whom you gnaw at, whom you hang on
the squares./Your wheat is nothing but straw, / Nothing but mildew.
27
We have poured out our bones on the flagstones of the churches / In the forests, on the edges
of the cities, / No one ever opened the door to us / No one, no one . . . / . . . / The great judges have
jailed us / Insisting on the mist of their laws. / . . . / One day perhaps we will bleed with the feverish
dawn, / And the gallows will lift us to the sky. / But let it be, Dimitrie Stelaru, let it be. / One day
we also will have a holiday. / We will have bread, bread / And a kilo of absinthe on the table.

283
the poetry of the latter. Torynopol constantly returns to a sordid universe, insisting on
images which suggest physical and moral misery; he is obsessed with the slow decom­
position and the pestilential miasmas of the mire, as well as by the blood of the hospital
rooms. This world has no hope; and in the Expressionist tradition, the unhappiness of
his existence is increased by the machines of modern technology. The images (often
recalling those of the Surrealists, with their specific discontinuities) convey, at root,
a depressing Expressionist feeling, an exasperated vision of a sick world, irremediably
condemned:

Uzine pleacă la muncă

Infirmierele se-ntorc de la spital.
Ce-i dacă hamalii şi-aruncă
viaţa, plamînii-n canal?
Caravanele cu ser antitific
lipesc vignete galbene pe porţi:
"aici sînt trei, acolo şase morţi."

Trenurile nu mai opresc m gara,

îmi pare că oraşul se mută.
I n casa noastră melcii urcă pe pereti
şi-n colţ s-au spart fiolele cu spută. 28

From this mixture of somber poetry and Naturalistic, detailed description of the
disease, a lyric work whose interior throbbing does not always succeed in transforming
itself into aesthetic value takes shape.
The Rumanian novel has assimilated the influence (marked by a limited number
of works which are not masterpieces) in the sense of this interpénétration of techniques
characteristic of Expressionist prose and the Naturalist novel. On the one hand, the
prestige of the novels written in the first decades of the century (Livin Rebreanu,
Mihail Sadoveanu, Camil Petrescu, Hortensia Papadat-Bengescu) has caused a turning
of more recent Rumanian prose in this traditional direction. On the other hand, the
more recent influences added to this tradition came rather from French and Anglo-
American fiction, countries in which, as we know, E. depended much less on German
literature. And we need not consider the "avantgarde" prose whose sources must be
sought rather in Surrealism and French Dadaism or in the indigenous works of Urmuz,
the real precursor of the Dadaists.
Among the few Expressionist stories, special mention is due to those belonging to
the cycle La margined cîmpiei (By the Side of the Field) of Ruxandra Oteteleşanu.
In her case, the themes (sometimes even the denouements) treated in the plays of O'Neill
are taken up. For example, a young man is loved by two women, the daughter and the
mother, at the same time. I n the end, the solution of this tragic dilemma is found in the

28
The factory is going to work. / The nurses are returning from the hospital. / What does it
matter if the porters throw out / Their lives, their lungs into the sewer. / The caravans with anti­
typhoid serum/ glue yellow vignettes on the doors/ "Here there are three, there six dead men." /
The trains are no longer stopping in the stations. / I t seems to me that the city is going to move
away. / In our house, the snails are climbing on the wall, / and in the corner the spittoons are broken.

284
death of the mother, who drowns herself. The theme of the ' Vornan- vampire", of the
woman who attracts bad luck, and that of the violent contrast between pure and sen­
sual love, also recall Strindberg and Munch. In the story "Portretul" (The Portrait),
the fantastic, foreboding atmosphere is accentuated by the strong suggestion of cer­
tain repressed existences of horrendous sensuality—all this in the dull setting of a pro­
vincial town. The climax is reached in the description of the swollen face of a woman,
stricken by a dreadful malady, who had, at one time, been a great beauty, as the por­
trait she keeps in her room demonstrates.
Without presenting vaster ideas or a clearer philosophical position, the stories
of Ruxandra Oteteleşanu (incontestably written with great vivacity) bear comparison
with a number of Expressionist works rather by reason of the strange effects resulting
from the heroes' actions than by dint of their psychology.
In its turn, the Rumanian drama hardly displays Expressionist qualities. Even the
plays which draw their substance from the psychological analysis of their heroes, while
following the meanderings of their psyche rather than their external gestures (as in the
work of Petrescu, George Mihail Zamfirescu or Mihail Sorbul) very rarely show any
connections with the Expressionist theater. Among these dramas, Sorbul's Fatima
Rosie (The Red Passion) employs, to a certain extent, the techniques of the Expressionist
drama, especially t h a t of Werfel. The point of comparison lies in the violence of the
confrontation of temperaments (some of the characters are under the despotic sign
of "the red passion", t h a t is to say, the passion for shedding blood, which descends
into dark ancestral depths). The action is of a carefully worked-out simplicity. I t de­
picts the paradoxical psychology of a woman who tries to overcome the resistance of
a man who has the reputation of being a lady killer, after having refused the marriage
proposal of a young man who is in love with her and whom she had indubitably loved.
Exasperated by his resistance (the man is trying to find a pure love after an adventurous
life), she kills him. The drama, which could have easily succumbed to the faults of
salon literature, is saved by its detailed analysis of the instincts and by a refined gra­
dation of dramatic effects. One could also add the aphoristic commentaries of another
figure, a lucid drunk whose flaunted cynicism hides a deep human warmth (like the
judge Azdak in Brecht's The Caucasian Chalk Circle, written much later than the Ruma­
nian drama). Reaching deep layers of human psychology, in which dark hereditary in­
stincts jostle each other about, Sorbul's play offers the possibility of establishing
definite comparisons with Expressionist drama.
Even more obvious is the connection of certain dramas by Ion Luca with E. The
religious overtones (and, above all, the grandiloquent language which makes certain
replies, and even some larger meanings, quite unintelligible) darkens the atmosphere
of his plays, beginning with the very first one, Salba reginei (The Queen's Necklace),
which nevertheless conveys a certain strange lyricism derived from Christian mythology.
The intrigue is complicated by philosophical tendencies expressed with some difficulty
and whose role should be to demonstrate the incorruptible force of destiny which
each of the characters (such as Jesus, Judas, and the Pharisee Ana) carries within
himself. Equally complicated is the intrigue of Javra pamîntului (The Cursed Dog of the
Earth), whose principal hero is the famous Rasputin. But the idea of redemption by

.285
sin, which this drama illustrates in a morbid and nebulous atmosphere, probably comes
from Dostoevsky rather than from the Expressionists, who, themselves, took up the
mystical themes of the Russian novelist.
The triumph of evil over good and, above all, the nebulous cult of the chthonic
energies—of menacing, dark spirits rising up from invisible depths, spreading terror
and sin—suggests links —distant ones, to be sure—with Expressionist dramaturgy,
which is also interested in these primitive myths.
Pavel Chihaia's drama La farmecul nopfii (Under the Spell of Night) which also un­
folds in a fantastic world, is not only better structured but depicts the spiritual state
of the characters in a more realistic way. The action takes place in a region situated
near the Black Sea, where the memory of Thracian tribes is everywhere present in the
solitary landscape. At the same time, the characters act out a drama of impossible
happiness, plagued, at all times, by terrible maladies (one of them is cancerous, another
has frequent attacks of psychasthenia, losing control of his actions) and by a primitive
mentality as well as a severe and unpardonable morality. The characters ensnare one
another, kill each other in the night, and seek terrible vengeances for faults which
they insufficiently comprehend. The denouement of the heroes' spiritual crises is—in
its turn—terrible; the heroine, who is basically innocent, but who has provoked the
murderous passions of the others, loses her way at night and drowns in a marsh, while
her husband commits suicide (following the advice of a haunting old man, a guardian
of the old savage traditions of these countries), drowning the others in the water of the
same swamp.
As in Ibsen's Rosmersholm, the marsh, dumb and menacing, is always imperceptibly
present. But the most evident influence apparent in this well-constructed drama is—as
has been noted—that of O'NeüTs Strange Interlude, for Chihaia's characters find their
exact equivalents in the work of the American dramatist. Thus the heroine of Farmecul
nopfii greatly resembles Nina Leeds, while her husband, Sam Evans, resembles Marsden,
the dying old man, and the doctor who wants to win the heroine and dies at the hand
of her husband recalls Darwell.
Nevertheless, the best works of Rumanian E. are rather those produced by the
poets and painters. Strong personalities like Blaga and Philippide, Tonitza and Vorel,
have bequeathed a well-defined legacy whose fundamental trait seems to be a profound
sense of the human. Rumanian E. (or the aesthetic orientations which have echoed and
remolded European E. idiosyncratically) preserves its individuality in the general land­
scape of modern art because it largely shares the social aspirations of the collectivity,
being nourished by its aesthetic ideals, and because it seeks new meanings in the tra­
ditional essence of Rumanian folklore and popular art.
(Translated from the French by Linda Brust)

286
 MIKLÓS SZABOLCSI

EXPRESSIONISM I N HUNGARY

"During my career I have become associated with all the more important -isms, and I
have learned something from each without actually having joined any of them." 1
I t is with such words t h a t Lajos Kassák, the most significant representative—both as
artist and as organizer—of the Hungarian avantgarde characterized himself. From t h a t
sentence one may guess that, in examining the appearance, the manifestations, and
the variety of the literary styles, schools, or movements of twentieth-century Hungarian
literature, one will face grave questions of methodology. A discussion of these points
may prove to be illuminating, for it may shed light on how literary trends become
modified in territories far removed from where they originated.
One of the most conspicuous characteristics of more recent Hungarian literature is
the simultaneous existence of several trends. At the beginning of the present century,
various movements sprang up concurrently, thereby intensifying each other, while
in the countries where they first emerged they were separated by an interval of several
decades and thus reacted against each other. To mention only one example: although
translations of Baudelaire, Verlaine, and Rimbaud had previously appeared in Hungary,
their influence became manifest only at the beginning of our century, almost simul­
taneously with the cult of Jammes and the Unanimists. Similarly, Futurism, Cubism,
and E. became influential at the same time, charging each other and blending in a
special way. I t is also characteristic t h a t the same movement may acquire a new func­
tion in a different social atmosphere, cultural tradition, and language. 2 This is also true
of Hungarian E., which was shot through with folkloristic tendencies and local concepts.
A distinction should be made, however, between E. as a movement or "schoor' (or,
at least, as a consciously developed and coherent body of aesthetic theories), on the
one hand, and the stylistic devices and clichés of E., on the other. These latter are,
naturally, much more widespread, but a writer who makes use of them should not
necessarily be regarded as an Expressionist.
The term E. as referring to literature occurs first about 1915 in Hungarian criti­
cism, and the history of Hungarian E. also begins in the second year of the Great War. 3
1
2
Lajos Kassák, "Önarckép háttérrel," Kortárs, 1961/1962, p. 284.
Regarding such changes of function in Eastern and Central Europe, see Miklós Szabolcsi,
"L'avant-garde littéraire et artistique comme phénomène international" in Actes du Ve Congrès
de VA.I.L.C. (Amsterdam, 1969), pp. 318-334.
3
More recent studies on the history of Hungarian E.: Akos Koczogh, Az expresszionizmus
(Budapest, 51964), pp. 96ff.; Imre Bori, "A magyar avant-garde történetéból, III: A magyar expresz-
szionizmus, ' Új Symposion (Novi Sad), 1967. Nos. 24—25, pp. 22—25; Nos. 26—27, pp. 11—14;
No. 28, pp. 6 - 9 .

287
Still, its antecedents are to be found in the preceding years. One must remember t h a t
the evolution of modern Hungarian literature started in the first year of this century
with the group of writers associated with the literary periodical Nyugat (West) and,
first of all, with the development of Endre Ady's mature style. I t is not easy to place
this current in literary history. Generally speaking, it entailed a cult of subjectivism
and the poet's self, a style full of modern tensions, highly stylized forms of expression,
and, at the same time, a desire to portray the conditions of Hungarian society and to
change a world which these writers regarded as narrow and old-fashioned. Their works
can be linked with Naturalism and the literary variant of "Art Nouveau", with late
Symbolism, and sometimes even with a new Classicism or Impressionism. I n his lyrics,
the most important of these writers, the poet Ady, combined various stylistic trends
of the period and synthesized them in his own, personal fashion.
Until the 1910's this movement, started by the contributors to the above-men­
tioned periodical, produced the most up-to-date, dominant, modern and progressive
literature in Hungary. Its representatives fought a decisive battle against conservative
literature and criticism, against the resistance and the attacks on the part of the author­
ities and against the conservative, nationalistic readers who considered this movement
t o b e dangerous and anti-patriotic. The literary development in the whole of Europe
proves that E. can be the result of a step-by-step evolution from Symbolism, with
Symbolist E. constituting an intermediate stage. In a situation as full of literary and
social tensions as the one characteristic of Hungary at the turn of the century, the
emotions of the individual may turn into a formless cry, the poetic self may become
so vast t h a t it can embrace the whole world, and social conflicts may cause writers to
develop a style t h a t is also full of tensions.
German literature, it should be remembered, had been traditionally well-known
in Hungary. Thus certain German authors, among them the Expressionist poets, also
exerted a certain influence, although there were no conscious imitations. From about
1908 on, Hungary produced writers who might be called proto-Expressionists or "un­
conscious Expressionists" on the basis of their vision and their style. Such a writer
was Béla Révész (1876-1944), a leading social-democratic journalist, who, "avant
la lettre", used devices characteristic of E. in his "miniatures" (short stories of working-
class life) and, above all, in a story which has the characteristic title: "Vonagló falvak"
(Agonizing Villages). In Révész's works, villages and natural forces are personified by
passion, the whole world turns into an expression of the writer's poetic self, and the
enumerations, as well as the use of adjectives, remind the reader of the Expressionist-
style. As Révész himself wrote in 1936, "If I cultivated E., I must confess t h a t I
realized the fact only later . . . That tone, style, and literary form has been with me
ever since I was born."
Another representative of proto-E. was Dezsô Szabó (1879-1945), one of the
most highly individual figures in the whole of Hungarian literature. Having begun his
career as a fine scholar, a Francophile teacher, and a man of extremely great ambitions,
he absorbed all literary currents of the period. His early short stories, written about 1910,
show not only the influence of late Symbolism, Nietzsche, and the surcharged atmo­
sphere characteristic of the literary equivalent of Art Nouveau, but also features rem-

288
iniscent of E., for in them the world as seen with ''the eyes of the spirit"—to use a
phrase coined by Bahr—, and implying the idea that man can change the material world
through his mental power. In Szabó's works, as in those of some German Expressionists,
the technical devices of Symbolism turn into musical leitmotifs, and the lonely hero,
who is faced with a world represented by extremely abstract allegories, and who brings
salvation to that world without anybody's help, is in the center. Here Vitalism is com­
bined with a mysticism pervading the phenomenon of death. Both Szabó's highly
idiosyncratic style and his handling of sentence structure are relatively close to E.
For unlike his Hungarian contemporaries, Szabó did not enlarge the vocabulary, but
modified the grammatical system, especially by verbalizing nouns and using verbal
noun forms as often as possible. His style is certainly akin to that of E., but it also
echoes the Hungarian ecclesiastic style of the sixteenth century. Both Szabó's vision
and his style became very influential and served as a direct inspiration for Lajos Kassák. 4
Lajos Kassák (1887-1968) was the self-conscious, programmatic leader of the
Hungarian avantgarde, who organized the movement with exceptional energy. The
first issue of his periodical Tett (Action), the first review to unite all representatives of
the movement, appeared on November 1, 1915. I n 1916 it was suppressed by the author­
ities, but in the fall of that year Kassák founded its successor: Ma (Today), which
survived until 1925. These two reviews, the verse collections and anthologies published,
and the lectures and exhibitions organized, by its contributors, were the chief manifes­
tations of the literary trend which followed as a reaction against the generation of Nyugat
and represents the first stage in the history of the Hungarian avantgarde.
The contents of the first issues of Tett prove that the movement had its foreign
models in Apollinaire and the Unanimist Romains, as well as in the Futurists and the
Expressionists. In fact, the two above-mentioned periodicals effected a combination of
Futurist and Expressionist doctrines, and the Hungarian writing they contained showed
a similarly mixed influence of the two movements. This peculiar synthesis can be ob»
served in the following passage from the manifesto written by Kassák:

1. Although the new literature was not born during the war, the war con­
tributed to its development, in so far as it facilitated the change from
the evocative tendencies and the Weltschmerz of the earlier generation
to the lyric of the conscious will. As a necessary social phenomenon, [this
literature] must be in close contact with all progressive economic and
political movements. Its major representatives must have their share
in directing the state machinery, revising the existing laws and making
new ones in the same way as do commercial, industrial, and political
forces.
2. In order to manifest its own importance and to be influential in its truths
and beauties (which have their origin in the very essence of life), the new
literature must throw off all "ideological" and technical shackles. For
all t h a t had been creative form or essential content for the artists of yester­
day can only be a canal built on a slope through which the essence may
escape.
4
See Péter Nagy, Szabó Dezsô (Budapest, 1964), pp. 171—183, and Gergely Gergely, Szahó
Dezsö stilusa (Szeged, n.d.).

289
 3. The new literature cannot swear by the colors of any -ism. I t cannot
admit the new possibilities of Christianity, and it must oppose Futurism.
At one extreme, ascetics have been leading a life of passive contem­
plation for thousands of years, while, at the other, little primadonnas
are singing the apotheosis of war. In any case, decadent aesthetes, sheer
virtuosi, or sacred mediocrities are on the scene.
4. The new literature must take notice of all natural phenomena. There
must be no gaps in space or time that it cannot bridge. I t aids the sciences
and, conversely, is aware of spiritual forces and tries to illuminate them
with its proper means. I t aims at embodying the mystery of the soul,
the erotic magnificence of blood and flesh, the vapor of dunghills at
spring, the marconigraphs t h a t are hungry for the infinite, locomotives
measuring the globe, aeroplanes feeling their way in the sky, and the
enormous silence which is the language of the souls of the objects.
5. The new literature beautifies the foot cloth [sic] of the will t h a t tries
to liberate itself. I t is skeptical and enthusiastic at the same time; a
lover of everything unattainable, it is entirely indifferent to dead gods and
vague obsessions.
6. The new literature glorifies the creative forces. I t encourages the free
competition of free forces, i.e., reformation and revolution; it is against
all wars, for war [pace what the Futurists assert, M.S.] harnesses all
forces in the meanest way.
7. The ultimate aim of the new literature cannot be racial or national !
8. The new literature cannot consist of a series of melodious rhymes written
by snobs who have shining foreheads, with the only purpose of serving
as sleeping pills for hysterical women.
9. The new literature must be a pillar of fire rising from the soul of the age.
10. The subject of the new literature is the whole cosmos !
11. The voice of the new literature sings the song of forces t h a t have become
aware of themselves.
12. The glorified ideal of the new literature is Man who is aware of the infinite !5

One can see from this manifesto how certain elements of Futurism and E. are
combined in a program which tries to open a new path even in politics and calls for a
participation in the struggle of economic and social forces. At the same time, it repeats
Expressionist clichés with naive enthusiasm. Yet the spirit of revolt and the character­
istics of the Man of the Future had gained, in time, in historical eonereteness, and the
result was a program that could be realized. The revolt of the artistic intelligentsia
paralleled the people's desire for a revolution: the two urges mutually supported each
other. Thus, a trend appeared in artistic theory and practice which Kassák himself
called "Activism". As he wrote at a later date, "Both Der Sturm and Die Aktion were
in close contact with Ma, for the latter effected a synthesis of these two movements;

* Tett, No. 10, March 20, 1916.

290
its artists contributed to Der Sturm, and its political art had a considerable influence
on Die Aktion" ?
This sort of "Activism", which can be regarded as the Hungarian variant of E.,
developed a new attitude and creative method in the service of a political program
which had relatively clear outlines but was far less clear in its details. I t took inspira­
tion from Whitman as much as from Ady, and from Unanimism as well as Futurism.
What brought "Activism" closer to E. in the strict sense of the term was its rather
vague and abstract image of man, the "leap into the future", the "cosmic" perspec­
tive, and, on the formal side, the breaking up of verse and its transformation into an
inarticulate cry or a breathless verve, but also the presentation of abstract concepts,
and the revolt of allegories.
Between 1916 and 1919 numerous documents and artistic expressions of this
Activist attitude were published in the two periodicals. Take, for example, the following
statement:

The art of Ma is the new art with an outlook shared by up-to-date forces. The
young artists who have joined us have brought with them not only a new sense
of form, but also a self-conscious socialist world view.—All buildings must
be pulled down to give way to new possibilities in architecture. — So much for
the will. And we assert that the fact t h a t after a five years' war the masses
demand a socialist society is due partly to the drive which we, as anarchists,
have spearheaded. 7

Activism, a local variant of E., was the main characteristic of the art of Kassák
and his collaborators. Kassák defined his own artistic aims by stating the intention:
"firmly to hold together things that are falling apart; to create a new unity out of the
chaos surrounding us." And he continued:

The inner dynamics broke up forms t h a t had become rigid. I wish to give
form to the materiality of verse and not to playful rhymes or vibrating moods.
I feel words as if they were bricks or stones cut into cubes, and I put them on
top of, or beside, one another, as if I were building a house. . . . 'Futurism',
they say. 'It is not t r u e / I answer, 'Although these poems are different
from what I have written until now, they are more direct and sincere.' I hold
t h a t in many respects Futurism moves on the surface, whereas this art
is coming from the innermost part of myself. This is not art which exists
apart from me; it is myself, all my humanity contained in words. 8

In the Activists' view, the poet is the prophet of a creative and glorious life. His
poems embody an explosive power, a vocation, and they fly toward the glorious future.
The dynamic, verbalizing style, the one-word exclamations, the new compound words,
and the high ecstasy prove that the Activist revolutionists, foreseeing a historical
change, were the advocates of the ideal of a new vitalism. Their works were to be the

6
Lajos Kassák and Imre Pan, "A modern müvészeti irányok története," Nagyvilág, May.
1957, 7p. 276.
'Quoted by Imre Bori and Eva Körner, Kassák irodalma és festészete (Budapest, 1967),
pp. 68-69.
8
Quoted by György Rónay, "Kassák ás az izmusok," Irodalomtörténet, 1959, No. 1, pp. 48—49.

291
voice of Man who is ready to act, taking impartial notice of the manifestations of the
industrial revolution, the age of machines, and the world of nature. The Activist poet
regarded the world as one of blissfull simplicity and as one which was immediately
redeemable. For him, the rhythm of his odes was dictated by a sense of universal
brotherhood. "The happy flags of life are playing in the perspective [sic]." That line,
taken from Kassák's poem "Fiatai munkás" (Young Worker), can be regarded as the
motto of these years. 9 As a Hungarian literary historian described the poetry of Kassák:
" I n the texture of the images which contribute to the perception of one who works on
his own initiative, of a world raised and saved by itself, one can see the lines of force of
a stream moving outwards. These images are extremely functional: 'And now a man
dashes into space'." 1 0
E., Activism, ecstasy, and the "leap into the future" can be illustrated by quoting
a poem which Kassák wrote in 1917:

Stretch out your hands the lady is dead

oh oh the lady is gone oh oh she had vitriol
and blue lilies in her knee-cap
they pulled her to the middle of the room the closet stand
in her pulphead bottomside up
shame the stage has broken down on us and nothing is
certain not even t h a t 2 x 2 = 4 peasants rear
metropolitan bedbugs in their pallets
how can the worldwheel run on without fragrant bunds
the undertakers started unofficial actions everywhere
and o god the streets gurgle black cards below angels
playing Boccaccio's Memoirs on the harp
yet pity most the operas where tattooed legs are sung
into the eyes of lean generals what about
the aspic-bodied count and the jewellers the
lady was lovely remember her ruby-nippled
breasts her eyes were domesticated predators
living on loins gold and drop-outs
lower the sadness down from the loft
far in the East hothouse-flowers bend down
and our ancestors' red asses dance a dance of mourning
romantic race is still alive in them
we are the only ones fallen thru the riddle
and turned into ugly selfish beasts with crooked mustaches
under the nose
memories stab into our hearts with gingers words
b u t we keep on singing
oh oh the lady's dead oh oh the lady's gone
lovely she was hallelujah
remember her ruby-nippled breasts
oh oh OH OH

9
See Miklós Béládi, "Kassák Lajos költészete" in Arcképek a magyar szocialista irodalomhól,
ed. László
10
Illés (Budapest, 1967), p. 63.
Imre Bori, "A magyar expresszionizmus," loe. cit., p, 24.

292
The whole development has been aptly summarized by Imre Bori:

The phases of this poetry were simultaneous with those phases of E. which
had a general significance. The principal feature of Hungarian E. was that the
experience of social, human, and existential misery was presented as a reflex
of the misery brought about by the war; whereas peace, or rather the image
of the end of the war, was associated with revolutionary action and turned
into the image of a characteristically revolutionary apocalypse. 11

I n addition to Kassák, other members of the Hungarian Expressionist-Activist

group should be mentioned. One of them, Aladar Komját (1891-1937), developed an
Expressionist diction as early as 1914. In his work, the fragmentary world was present­
ed in fragmentary poems and broken exclamations that tended to be highly ecstatic.
Komját combined Expressionist diction with the dramatic qualities of the Hungarian
folk ballad, and this synthesis gave special power to his poems. He attacked the war
with increasing vehemence, making use of Expressionist deformations and putting
his own poetic self in the center. Sometimes he arrived at an extreme conciseness, as in
a line like "My body is a mouth shouting. , , Later Komját joined the anti-militarist
movement and then the Communist party, thus parting company with Kassák. Sándor
Barta (1897-1938)—a writer using a strident, hyperbolic and grotesque tone—and
the short-story writer Erzsi Újvári (1899-1940) also started their career as members of
the Expressionist group. The experimental one-act plays and the dramatic theory of
János Mácza (1893-) also revealed the influence of E. Later, in his article on the
Absolute Theater, Mácza developed the concept of an Expressionist theater which
counted upon the whole people as its audience.
János Lékai (1895-1925) also started as a writer of dramatic works written in
"free rhythms" and displaying emotional and stylistic traits characteristic of E. His
play János Ember can be taken as a model of Hungarian Expressionist Activism. 12
I t embodies the creed of a young politician who believes in Communism, but is written
in an Expressionist idiom. As Lékai himself confessed, he wrote that play "at the height
of ecstasy . . . in an extremely quick and ecstatic outburst". With exceptional clarity
and perceptiveness, he described the Weltanschauung characteristic of Expressionist
writers at the time: "The revolutionary transformation of a burning world knew neither
martyrs nor heroes. There were only those who intuitively felt the age of revolutionary
torrents. These did not confront the injustices of earthly existence with their eyes closed,
b u t retained all their high-flung emotions while being carried off in the tempest pre­
ceding the volcanic eruption." 1 3
The contributors of Ma repeatedly emphasized that E. was identical with world
revolution; and in their special way they did their best to prepare the way for such a
revolution. The tone of their journal became more and more radical, and its special
issues, devoted to "international" and "ideological" questions, contained documents

11
12
Ibid., p. 116,
13
A German version, Der Mensch, was published in Konstanz, in 1923.
János Lékai, "A forradalmár." A Hét, December 1, 1918; reprinted in János Lékai váloga-
tott irásai, ed. László Illes (Budapest, 1963), p. 542.

293
concerning the revolution of the proletariat, Thus it was no accident t h a t the Hun­
garian Communist P a r t y came into being in Kassák's flat. This shows that, in certain
cases, the revolt of the artistic intelligentsia moves entirely parallel with the direction
of revolutionary development. I t can be helpful even for the understanding of present-
day developments to examine what mental elements of avant-garde literature and art,
that is, of the manifestations of an artistic intelligentsia in search of new ways, con­
tributed to the construction of the socialist revolution.
In 1919, when the Hungarian Soviet Republic was established, the Activist move­
ment, which had prepared the way for the revolution, became an important constit­
uent of literary life. At the same time, the "profile" of Hungarian Activism underwent
a change, simultaneously with the change in the political situation. The leaders and the
members of the group declared that, once political power had been won, their purpose
was no more to engage in direct political propaganda, but to strive for the formation of
a new image of man, the preparation of "the collective individual", and the creation
of a new human ideal.
In accordance with this theoretical program, as well as with the tradition of E.,
and other contemporary trends in world literature, the literary works published in Ma
in 1919 were full of ecstasy, and the torrent of emotions was expressed in an idiom
combining elements of E., Symbolism, and folk literature, resulting in the "mythology
of misery" and the abstract image of the man of the future who is a worker and an
artist at the same time. This art is exemplified, on a high artistic level, by "Boldog
köszöntés" (Happy Salutation), a poem in which Kassák carries on his polemics with
Béla Kun.
Subsequently, the Activists of Ma entered into a controversy with the representa­
tives of other literary trends. Various groups were fighting for hegemony and the right
to represent Activism. There were, on the one hand, the conservatives advocating
the "workers' poetry" of an earlier type or a lighter, urban literature of distinctly
bourgeois character; on the other hand, there were the impatient Maximalists who
wanted to have everything right away. If one adds to all this the fact that the menace
of right-wing elements was only too real, one will have a vague notion of the atmosphere
pervading the period. These debates foreshadowed the later tensions in Hungary as
well as in other countries between the socialist system in the form in which it was ulti­
mately realized and the avantgarde artists. In 1919 the process was halted before it
had reached its full development, for the Hungarian Soviet Republic collapsed after
a few months.
What happened subsequent to this event was a virtual disintegration of Hungarian
E. The tension caused by the war and the various social problems slackened. Having
lost its driving force, E. was devoid of substance. From the fall of 1919, Hungary was
under a "white" rule; many Hungarian writers were persecuted, while others went
into exile. Most of these latter continued their activity in Vienna. Gradually, E. split
up into four trends, or rather its impulses developed in four different ways.
Kassák also left Hungary for Vienna. Most members of his group followed him, and
it was in that city that Ma was published for a number of years. Kassák and his group
went on calling themselves Activists, but after 1919 the meaning of that word had

294
changed. 14 All hope had vanished, and under the influence of despair the group moved
in the direction of Dadaism. Although, subsequently, Surrealism also made its in­
fluence on their work felt, the dominant trend with which the members of this group
were definitely associated as early as 1922 was Constructivism. The highly passionate Ë.
and its naive cult of man seemed to be old-iashioned to these writers, who thought that
Futurism and E. represented an earlier phase in a development whose turning point
and consummation were Cubism and Constructivism, respectively. They felt that the
new world of the new man had to be designed and presented with utmost geometrical
precision and architectural boldness. Thus, little by little, "Activism" became identical
with Constructivism. The Expressionist style of other members of the group as in the
case of Komját and, later, Barta-became more moderate and survived almost exclu­
sively on the surface, in passionate exclamations and in the verbal style, whereasthe
underlying Weltanschauung and the content were no longer Expressionistic. The ideal
was no longer the man of the Future, goodness, or love, but the revolutionary communist
led by the optimism of the revolutionary surge of the 1920's.
At the same time, E, survived in Hungary. What is more, about 1920 it became
fashionable among the young to write in that particular style. The first works of the
"second generation", of those writers who started their career about 1920, were Ex­
pressionist poems. I t is easy to understand this development, for the belief in Man,
in goodness, and in the power of words comforts one under the pressure of a dark age:

You all are good,

So why should you do something evil,

and
I t is not me who is shouting, it is the earth that is rumbling,

and
O, we are really so pure . « .

This is the voice of Attila József (1905-1937), the greatest Hungarian poet of the
next generation, speaking in his early voice (1923-1924). Lörinc Szabó (1900-1957)
also used an Expressionist idiom when, in the name of the young rebels, he expressed
his desire for life and for the destruction of old patterns. True, soon both writers
abandoned these early experiments, and their essays show that it was a highly conscious
reaction which, in the early thirties, urged them to get rid of an E. they felt to be far
too subjective, unrestrained, and disintegrating. Their reaction was in accordance with
the "objective" tendencies prevalent in contemporary poetry. Szabó even changed the
diction of his early poems when he included them in his later volumes.
In the works of young or second-rate poets, the Expressionist impulse developed
in various ways, but in most cases it became insipid. Those who started to write in the
spirit of socialist ideas went on using broken, passionate, and evocative exclamations,
14
See Kassák's statement "Aktivizmus," Ma, April, 10, 1919, pp. 46-51.

295
while other groups of "lost" young writers brought the Expressionist syntax close to
the Hungarian national tradition and celebrated the man of the twenty-fifth [sic]
century in poems reminiscent of oral formulae and written in very long lines. There
were instances in which E. verged on the anarchist grotesque—as in the work of Ferene
Pintér (1895-1932), who starved to death and who could be regarded as an early re­
presentative of the Hungarian beatniks. E. also had its theoreticians, among whom
Iván Hevesy, who tried to develop an art for the masses on an Expressionist basis,
was the most notable. Taking the prevailing circumstances into consideration, one must
not be surprised t h a t no dramatic works were written in that style: it was obvious that
such plays could not have been staged in a country with a conservative, right-wing
policy. That is why the representatives of E. escaped into lyrical poetry or literary
theory.
A third branch of E. was the survival of that variant which Dezsó Szabó had repre­
sented. What we have said about Hungarian E. having turned insipid and having
changed its function applies especially to this branch. Szabó suddenly turned from a
scholarly man of letters into a ringleader. After 1919, his roman fleuve, Az elsodort falu
(A Village Swept Away) became the Bible of young men who were full of social emotions
but worked them off with the help of right-wing, anti-Semitic, and racist ideas. Thus,
Vitalism, allegories, and the love of the people and of the land were combined with an
Expressionist technique and served as the emotional basis of Hungarian fascism. One
must admit t h a t Szabó combined all this with considerable artistry. The myths of the
Land, the Race, and the Blood, as well as the caricature-like idealization of the Great
Man and the Artist which he cultivated, seem to be extremely old-fashioned nowadays.
But the changes from nominal to verbal forms, the personifications, the 'leaps into the
infinite," the 'living" concepts, and the desperate cries combined with a characteristi­
cally Hungarian diction and vocabulary taken from the poems of Ady had a consider­
able influence on Szabó. This explains why most of the young writers who were either
themselves of peasant origin or were the spokesmen of the Hungarian peasantry—e.g.,
Pál Szabó, Aron Tamási, and László Németh—, and who started their career in a right-
wing circle wrote their first works in a style closely reminiscent of that of Szabó, and
why the phrases and allegories used by this second wave of Hungarian E. appeared in
the right-wing press and political language, so t h a t in the forties the idiom of the move-
merits of the Hungarian extreme right wing contained many Expressionist elements.
The long way traversed from Rubiner, Toller, and Werfel to the vocabulary of the
programs announced by the right-wing terrorists is one of the most paradoxical func­
tional changes in the history of E.
And last, but not least, E. had a much longer survival in the Hungarian literature
of territories which after 1920 belonged to other countries, where writers profited from
a freer political atmosphere. Thus, in Czechoslovakia Imre Forbáth (1898-1967)
became an eminent representative of Expressionist poetry: a characteristic variant of
E. emerged in Yugoslavia in the poetry of Zoltán Csuka (1901-) and Lajos Fekete
(1900-); and the Expressionist idiom had a considerable influence on several Hungarian
literary works written in Rumania, as, for instance, on a characteristic example of
socialist fiction, Új pászfor (The New Shepherd), written by András Szilágyi (1904-).

296
 E. enjoyed a second life in these variants, but its main current ceased to flow at
the beginning of the Thirties, as the perceptive Hungarian critic, György Bálint, ob­
served in 1932. What he said corresponded to the general opinion: "At that time they
caused a sensation . . . Today they seem to be rather interesting and even a bit ridic­
ulous. The representatives of Expressionism had ceased to write in that style long ago;
they have now entered a new, richer, and more creative period; they now write in a
calmer tone." And Bálint's prophecy is equally characteristic: "The great. Sturm und
Drang of the white man and the social crisis of the world have not yet ended, but art
and literature, which always slightly anticipate the social development, already an­
nounce a new age, a new relaxation, a new Classicism." 15

15
György Bálint, "Az izmusok születése és halála," A Toll, IV, (1932), No. 4, p. 155.

207
 JAN JOZEF LIPSKI

EXPRESSIONISM IN POLAND

I t was as a result of its contact with German culture and literature that Polish E, was
born and developed. For it was in Germany -partly through the influence of Scandi­
navian writers like Strindberg— that the new tendency first made itself felt and the
first consciously Expressionist programs were subsequently formulated. Yet, by the
end of the nineteenth and the beginning of the twentieth century the cultural situation
of that country was, in many ways, similar to that of European culture as a whole,
and this for various reasons. Eventually, this similarity resulted in a fairly uniform
and more or less integrated pattern. This integration was facilitated by a thriving
exchange of cultural products (and news about them) by means of translations, visits
abroad and studies at foreign universities. Besides, almost every national culture in
Europe had already exhibited some traits and tendencies which might be regarded as
foreboding E. Let us mention William Blake in England, Dostoevsky in Russia, Rim­
baud in France, and— in view of our present topic—some of the Polish Romanticists,
especially Adam Mickiewicz and his predecessors, Juliusz Slowacki in his writings of
the mystical period, and Zygmunt Krasinski with his Nieboska Komedia (Undivine
Comedy, 1835).
In all European literatures—and more distinctly so in Eastern than in Central
Europe—we encounter areas or phenomena with regard to which a leading role was
played not only by the native literary tradition but by various foreign ones (and by
the current situation of world literature) as well; and this is true not only for literature
but for culture as a whole. This fact should not be viewed, however, as resulting pri­
marily from an almost mechanical exchange—the borrowing and conscious adaptation
of foreign models—but rather in direct relation to the fact that some writers or groups
of writers originated from a cultural borderland. Although the nationality of such
writers might be indisputable, their relations with a foreign culture were often so rich
and so complex t h a t the nature of their art cannot be explained with reference to the
tradition or literary history of any one country, including a writer's personal life,
social standing, political views, ethnic background, etc. Thus, in order to properly
interpret the developments which occurred in one province of a national literature one
needs to be thoroughly versed in the traditions prevailing in the adjoining countries.
But this knowledge is hardly sufficient to explain the autonomous process of growth,
in the course of which the adopted patterns were often transformed and evolved on
their own and apart from the native roots,

299
 Supplementing its internal growth, Polish literature of the Romantic period had
close ties with two other national traditions—the French (with which its links were
firm and well-established) and the German (with which it had only recently come in
touch). As Modernism came into its own, both literatures exerted considerable influence;
but it was the latter which was more organic and, consequently, more creative and
original.
There were no less than four different subcurrents in Polish Modernism: Symbolism,
E., Impressionism, and Neo-Classicism (partly identified with Parnassianism). Un­
fortunately, we cannot discuss here the fourfold nature of this phenomenon, however
relevant it might be to the history of Polish E. Another aspect we have to skip over for
lack of space is the dynamic nature of Polish Modernism which, by 1905, had given
rise to a new literary situation, regarding which there is still considerable doubt as to
whether it represents an outgrowth of or a rebellion against Modernism. At any rate,
to give a general picture of the Expressionist current in Polish letters we must
start with a brief presentation of the fundamental incompatibility between E. and
Symbolism, the two principal trends.
Perhaps the outstanding feature of Symbolism is its underlying cognitive approach
which is founded on the belief in an objective world of ideas. The aim of Symbolist
poetry is, accordingly, to reach out for these ideas, which it seeks to comprehend, while
E. does not make such claims. The Symbolists also considered reality as being dualistic
and maintained t h a t all phenomena were to be seen in relation to ideas and, ultimately,
the principal Idea, often called the Absolute. While sharing this dualistic world view,
the Expressionists focused on the dualism of matter and spirit (or soul) and often
identified the most spiritual phenomenon, God, as their Absolute. In fact, they fre­
quently identified the despised matter with sensual perception. P u t differently, E.
stresses the polarity of will, freedom, and soul, on the one hand, and determinism,
necessity, and matter, on the other. Hence it is possible to interpret Symbolism as a
form of Platonic idealism, while E. has its closest counterpart in the Hindu idealism of
Sankara, as indeed one can trace its Indian antecedents—so fashionable in the mod­
ernistic period—to Schopenhauer.
Let us briefly list a few other important dichotomies between the two movements
under consideration, such as
1. In Symbolist axiology a close relationship exists between ontology and episte-
mology (insofar as the Absolute and Truth are identified with Beauty). I n Expressionist
axiology, ontology and epistemology are similarly related, in t h a t goodness is identi­
fied with the soul, and evil with matter, just as cognition of value is identified with
cognition as such.
2. Symbolist axiology is monistic, i.e., beauty exists as an ideal, substantial being,
while ugliness is only a lack of beauty, and thus a form of non-being. Expressionist
axiology, on the other hand, is dualistic, in that both good and evil are taken to be
real substances.
3. Consistent with their idealistic cognitive outlook is the Symbolists' acceptance
of the world as it is (though not as the best of those existing), while the attitude of the
ethical Expressionists is often rebellious and activist.

300
 4. Given their aestheticism, their cognitive rather than activist attitude, and
their concern with ideal and absolute values, the Symbolists tend to regard human
relations as insignificant. Since the philosophy of Symbolism is individualistic, a total
indifference toward collective interests prevails. By way of contrast, the Expressionists
like to engage in common tasks. They identify themselves with the community and
fight for its own good, quite often furiously attacking the social status quo for ethical
reasons. Generally speaking, then, their attitude is one of participation.
5. In searching for the Absolute and remaining indifferent with regard to social
phenomena, Symbolism centers around the ideal and the eternal. That is to say, it is
apt to disregard the historical facts as well as the contemporary situation, while, in
spite of its fundamental belief in eternal values, E. is rather anthropocentric and
historistic. For the Expressionist, values are embodied in the communal biography
which is history, and history past and present is regarded as a continual struggle be­
tween good and evil. Hence the difference in temporal perspective: the Symbolists,
taking time to be an attribute of the phenomenal world, consider it to be irrelevant,
whereas the Expressionists understand any change or movement to be an attribute
of the soul fighting against matter, evil and its own inertia while striving for self-
realization. The Symbolists, accordingly, tend to depict timeless situations and phenom­
ena. Even in the historical novel they look for a fabulous "somewhere'' and "some­
time", i.e., a condition outside of time and space, while the Expressionists regard time
and its dynamic unfolding as constitutive agents in the struggle of good with evil,
and soul with matter. For them, the prospect of a future whether it be a prospect
for catastrophe or Utopia—is both formally and ideologically significant.
6. Being monistic in its axiology, Symbolism tends to construct the depicted
reality without any conflicts, while E. is essentially conflict-conscious in passing judg­
ment on the world. Hence what matters in the poetics of Symbolism is the endeavor
to harmonize the means of expression, while the Expressionists prefer contradictions.
Moreover, whereas Symbolism leans toward the use of static devices, E. prefers
dynamic forms and techniques.
7. The fundamental structural unit of Symbolism is the symbol as constituting the
organizing principle of the depicted world and as an important agent influencing the
poetic language. Conversely, expression is the basic structural unit of E. In Symbolism,
we have to do with semantics on three different levels: the word-sign level, the level of
connotation and denotation, and the level of ideas denoted with the help of the word-
sign designations. In E., owing to the semantic character of the act of expression, a
direct semantic relationship exists between the word-sign level and a given subject.
Hence it is characteristic for E. to depict reality as reduced to the "I". But the " I " ,
which is the subject of Expressionist literature, tends to identify itself with communal
values and values of a cosmic nature, with the universal Soul acting as a cosmic force,
etc. Thus the dialectics of extreme subjectivism pitted against universal tendencies is
essential for t h a t movement.
A whole set of formal traits and preferred subjects is linked with the above-men­
tioned philosophical and structural features of Polish (and perhaps all) E., whose mor­
alistic outlook and subjectivist standpoint result in an urge for meaningful deformation

301
of the depicted reality. Here one of the favorite methods is that of using the grotesque
along with hyperbolic style and imagery, or of adapting styles like the Gothic, Baroque
mysticism, or folkloric primitivism. A meaningful deformation is achieved when an
image or figure, as a result of a change in its natural appearance, is endowed with a new
quality. Thus the Expressionists use animal metaphors in order to stress aesthetically
displeasing, revolting or horrible features; or they concern themselves with physical
or mental illness. In fact, these methods are characteristic of the anti-aestheticism
of almost all Expressionist writers, linking them, as it were, with the Naturalist tra­
dition—although "naturalism" plays an entirely different role here. E. also likes to
depict reality through the broken mirror of a nightmare, a schizophrenic delusion, etc.
This tendency also affects the relationship between motive and action by breaking
up or obliterating the cause-effect relationship and manifesting itself in a peculiar
kind of word formation, by means of which the world of things and that of phenomena
are dissociated in order to achieve an adequate expression. Ultimately, syntax, ver­
sification and word formation disintegrate in consequence thereof.
I t is obvious that the attempted survey of Polish E. can only be regarded as a
model; for I doubt that among the Expressionist works of literature there is a single
one which has all the markings needed for purposes of illustration. Perhaps it would
be possible to classify the works to be dealt with, so that the attained typology, attesting
to the dispersion of traits and the wealth of their combination, would constitute an
overview of Polish E. This task would be tempting but cannot possibly be accomplish-
ed within the limits of this article. When speaking of borderline cases, for instance, one
single aspect of a writer's work—that of Juliusz Kaden-Bandrowski, among others -
may place him among the Expressionists. If the story of Polish E., on the other hand,
were limited to the writings of those authors who considered themselves adherents
to the movement, the picture would be a very skimpy one. For in that case a discussion
of the periodical Zdroj (Mineral Water), published from 1917 to 1923, would do the
trick. The problem, however, is infinitely more complex.
For some time now, in modern literary history (as in the monograph by Soke!)
the view has prevailed that the beginnings of the current here under consideration could
be discerned as far back as the last decade of the nineteenth century. This temporal
extension resulted in a further enrichment of the picture through the late works of the
writers who did not consider themselves Expressionists but whose writings, neverthe­
less, display certain characteristic features of that movement. In the history of Polish
literature, this view is advocated by Kazimierz Wyka in a book (1953) which was
published at a time when this idea was still new and original. I t is by no means acciden­
tal that the first generation of Polish Expressionists includes several writers who were
closely linked to German letters and thought. This is especially true of Stanislaw Przy-
byszewski, J a n Kasprowicz, Waclaw Berent, and, partly, Tadeusz Micinski. These
authors were the initiators of the movement, which has since proceeded by its own
impetus, though from time to time converging with the history of German E.
One could call Przybyszewski (1868-1927) the godfather of Polish E. if it were
not for the fact that the baby was only christened when it had already grown into a big
child. Educated in German schools and at German universities, an active member of

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t h e German-Scandinavian Bohème in Berlin, a friend of Dehmel's and a close acquaint­
ance of Strindberg (to name only a few of his contacts), Przybyszewski started out as
a German writer and took to writing in Polish at a time when he was well established
on the German literary scene. His fame temporarily subsided in Poland, and even more
so in Germany; but by the end of the century (after the publication of his ecstatic prose
poems Totenmesse, 1893; De Profundis, 1895; and Vigilien, 1895; as well as his essays
—also written in poetic p r o s e – Z u r Psychologie des Individuums, 1892; Das Werk des
Edward Munch, 1894; Auf den Wegen der Seele, 1897; and Die Synagoge des Satans,
1897; and the novels Homo Sapiens, 1895/98; and Satans Kinder, 1897) he found himself
among the writers who counted in German literature.
As far back as the period between the two World Wars, the historians of literature
saw in Przybyszewski a forerunner of E. Today, viewing our recent change of perspec­
tive with regard to t h a t movement, we may even regard him (with Dehmel or Strind­
berg) as one of the first Expressionists. His theory of art, based on the concept of the
''naked soul", fits well into this pattern, especially as he applied it to the study of
Frédéric Chopin and Munch. Equally Expressionistic was Przybyszewski's metaphysics
of sex (pansexualism) and his ethics (satanism, known also to several Symbolists, but
here used in support of a philosophy of freedom and revolt). But most Expressionist
perhaps is his literary style, which is exclamatory and hyperbolic, psychological issues
being transposed to the level of a metaphysical gigantomachia.
When Przybyszewski returned to his native country, he acted as ferment in
Polish literary life. In Cracow he assumed, in 1898, the editorship of Zycie (Life), one
of the most ambitious periodicals in the history of Polish letters, and was the very life
and soul of the extremely dynamic contemporary Bohemia. Actually, Zycie cannot be
regarded as an exclusively Expressionist journal; for although this whole generation
was keenly aware of the contrast between the old and the new, no differentiations were
made within the broadly defined current known as Modernism. Nevertheless, from time
to time, the magazine published Expressionist works of considerable historical impor­
tance, such as Kasprowiez's " H y m n y " (Hymns). But Przybyszewski himself, now
writing in Polish, did not produce new significant works of his own.
The third phase of Przybyszewski's life which is significant for Polish E. were the
years of his close association with the Poznan periodical Zdroj, about which more later.
At that time, he wrote the following essays relevant to our topic: "Szlakiem düszy
polskiej" (Following the P a t h of the Polish Psyche, 1917), "Ekspresjonizm, Slowacki
i Genezis z Ducha" (E., Slowacki and his Genesis out of the Spirit, 1918) and "Powrotna
fala: Naokolo ekspresjonizmu" (The Tide of Return: Around E., 1918). The importance
of this half-poetic and ecstatic prose lies in the fact that it implies a search for a native
tradition in Polish Romanticism.
At the end of his life, Przybyszewski wrote two volumes of memoirs, entitled Moi
wspólczesni (My Contemporaries). The first of these, Wsród obych (Among Foreigners,
1926), is a highly significant contribution to the history of German E,, while its sequel
is often regarded as his most significant book.
One of the most important achievements of Polish literary E. is, undoubtedly,
Kasprowiez's (1860-1926) Hymns, (First published in two slim volumes called Salve

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Regina, 1898, and Ginacemu swiatu [To the Perishing World, 1902], these poems were
integrated in 1922.) These Hymns were of great consequence, not only within the context
of Polish E. but also in the rest of Europe, although their impact abroad was not es­
pecially strong. Educated in Germany and, as a writer, deeply influenced by German
literature, Kasprowicz, in composing the Hymns, created not only an outstanding
work of art but produced a sample of mature Expressionist poetry, even before such
forceful and accomplished works in that style were produced in the homeland of the
movement. The importance of these lyrics is also, in part, due to their being evidence
of the essential oneness of European literature. Every European country has its own
national literature; yet these are not separate pieces of a puzzle but integral organs of
one body, Europe being a melting pot for many ideas, currents, and influences which
would be hard to understand and interpret if viewed as being confined within the
borders of one country.
In his Hymns, Kasprowicz uses a poetic technique which is fundamental to E.
throughout its history. The moods, thoughts and images contained in these great poems
are sharply contrasted with each other, the scenery is cosmic, and hyperboles expres­
sing religious and ethical notions abound. Prayer is juxtaposed with blasphemy, and
obedience to God's will or blind fate with Promethean revolt. Kasprowicz's main sub­
jects are sin and guilt, i.e., problems characteristic of literature in the ambience of E,
from Strindberg to Kafka. The Hymns also belong to the first phase of Polish Catas-
trophism, insofar as they abound with visions of a total extermination (cf. "Dies Irae"),
The apocalyptic motif, however, was quite prominent in German Expressionist litera­
ture as well. In Polish letters, Catastrophism (always closely linked with E.) recurs
frequently, giving voice not only to a metaphysical perception but offering substantial
criticism of contemporary civilization and expressing apprehension regarding its impli­
cations. To name only the most prominent instances of neo-Catastrophism: the poetry
of the Skamander group active after World War I, the Catastrophism of the younger
generation of poets writing on the eve of World War II, the young poets of the Resis­
tance (AK) during the second World War, and, in the late fifties, following the socio-
realistic period, the Catastrophism born out of the fear of nuclear extermination and
the crushing force of totalitarianism.
In the history of Polish E., the publication of every novel by Waclaw Berent
(1873-1940) was an outstanding event. Berent started out as a realist and an epigone
of positivism (in Polish literature, positivism was a branch of realism in the second half
of the nineteenth century); but already his second novel, Fródino (The Rot), published
in 1903, is Expressionist in character. Berent also belonged to the group of writers
linked to German culture and thought. He studied in Munich, was well acquainted
with the works of Nietzsche, which he translated and by which he was greatly influenced,
as is evident from the title of his book Zródta i ujsćia nietzscheanizmu (The Sources
and Outlets of Nietzscheanism, 1906). The scene of Fródino is laid in the Polish-German
circle of the Munich Bohème. The novel itself, being one of the most typical works of
Polish Modernism, is extremely critical of the whole complex of attitudes and behavior
known as decadence in art and life but is, at the same time, greatly influenced by the
fin-de-siècle. Frodino was the first novel to expose the internal conflict of Polish Mod-

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ernism, i.e., the conflict (unknown to the writers themselves) between Expressionist
activism and the quietistic attitudes typical of the other forms of Modernism.
The activism of the Polish Expressionists of the Mloda Polska (Young Poland)
group, flourishing at the end of the nineteenth and the beginning of our century, resulted
in an interesting and important crossbreeding when grafted onto the indigenous Polish
tradition. To tell the truth, the literary tradition was relatively insignificant in this
connection. For in the nineteenth century almost all Polish literature constituted a
direct or indirect commentary on the contemporary political situation. By the end of
the seventeenth century, Poland had lost her independence and was partitioned by
three foreign powers.These facts were the main source of inspiration for Polish Romanti­
cism, the period of the most brilliant achievements in Polish letters, at least in the fields
of poetry and drama. Polish literature has always been patriotic and nationalistic,
constantly looking for an answer to the question of national independence, especially
after the failure of insurrections and in periods of deep social change. The beginning of
Polish E. coincided with a new struggle for independence on the part of some influential
groups, harboring the belief in armed rebellion as a means of liberation. Thus, at t h a t
time, action was not only a matter of philosophical outlook or literary conviction but
one of the keys to the problem of Polish national existence. This problem was, accord­
ingly, reflected in the writers' attitude toward the Romantic heritage. Previously,
Polish Romanticism had been accused of inspiring national uprisings which, time and
again, ended in defeat. (This was obviously an exaggeration.) The Modernists, in turn,
while in many ways harking back to Romanticism, were the first to call our Romantic
poetry "graveyard poetry" and to point out the quietistic effects of the so-called
Messianism. In fact, Messianism greatly influenced the Polish Romanticists, insofar as
the slogan "Poland is the Messiah of nations" gave new meaning to the nation's defeats
and sufferings. But it was not the only weapon of modernist criticism in its attacks
against Romanticism.
The above tendencies generated in Polish E. a body of works of great significance
both in our literature and ideology. The most prominent figure to be mentioned here is
Stanislaw Brzozowski (1876-1911), a critic who argued against Polish Romanticism
and the literature of the time in his book Legenda Mtodej Polski (Young Poland's
Legend, 1909), which preaches a philosophy of work and action. Brzozowski's connec­
tions with E. have not yet been studied; but a kinship between his writings and those
of Berent and Stanislaw Wyspiánski is quite evident. I t is interesting to note that
Brzozowski's novels, dealing with the struggle between Polish and Russian revolution­
aries and the tsardom, display many features linking them with E.
In more recent criticism, Wyspiánski (1869-1907) is frequently labeled an Ex­
pressionist. B u t the question at issue is whether Wesele (The Wedding, 1901), the most
popular of his plays, deserves to be called Expressionist or whether that label should
be reserved for Wyzwolenie (Liberation, 1903), which might well be regarded as one of
the first Expressionist dramas in European literature. The subjects of the two plays
are similar in several ways: both are concerned, with our national—the Romantic —
tradition by depicting the birth of a modern, socially stratified nation, all of whose
classes are fully aware of both their common nationality and their specific political

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aims. B u t in Wesele Wyspiánski makes extensive use of the techniques characteristic
of the Symbolist drama, whereas, primarily with respect to its dramatic form, Wyzwo-
lenie is Expressionist in nature. I n fact, E. established its own dramatic convention,
relying heavily on the peculiar nature of the new theater. To make a long story short,
Expressionist drama was more theatrical than literary. A stage director as well as a
brilliant poet-playwright, Wyspiánski realized these possibilities and knew how to put
them to use. We must add, however, that both Wyzwolenie and, to a degree, Wesele
directly refer back to the tradition of Polish Romantic drama. This explains why those
who prefer to call the modernist literature of the Young Poland group Neoromantic
have chosen Wyspiánski's works as their chief object of demonstration.
The author of Ozimina (Winter Crop, 1911), Berent, like Wyspiánski, is regarded
as one of the chief representatives of the above tendency to link E. with a search for
the new ideological prospects of Polish national life. For a long time, the critics have
pointed out his ties with Wyspiánski, not only as regards their common ideas and
beliefs, b u t also in the choice of the settings in which their drama of ideas unfolds.
Both Ozimina and Wesele feature a dance, lasting all night, during which many people,
representing different strata of society, different orientations, attitudes and generations,
are brought together. This kind of setting is so deeply rooted in the Polish literary
tradition t h a t even after World War I I it was used, to similar purpose, in such out­
standing works as Mury Jerycha (The Walls of Jericho) by Tadeusz Breza (born 1905),
Jerzy Andrzejewski's Popiól i diamant (Ashes and Diamonds, 1948) and, subsequently,
in Wajda's brilliant cinematographic adaptation of the piece, as well as in Slawomir
Mrozek's Tango.
Among the Expressionists of the Young Poland group, Tadeusz Miciñski (1873-
1919)—author of the book of poems W mroku gwiazd (In the Darkness of Stars, 1920),
the plays Kniáz Patiomkin (Prince Patiomkin, 1907) and Bazylissa Teofanu (In the
Darkness of a Gold Palace, 1909), and the novels Nietota (1910) and Xiadz Faust (Father
Faust, 1913) —occupies a special place. He was the most original, experimental and
unpredictable writer of the period. Micinski's contemporaries were shocked by his
poetry, which was often taken to be Symbolist, although its Expressionist traits are
predominant. I n many ways, Miciński harked back to the art of Slowacki, especially
the latter's mystical works; but he also employed Byronic themes and devices, such as
the English poet's lonely and mighty Luciferian rebels. His works abound with images
reminiscent of Secessionist art and make ample use of typically Expressionist tech­
niques (ellipsis, hyperbole, etc.).
Miciñski even went so far as to anticipate Surrealist techniques by introducing
nightmare images. His plays Kniáz Patiomkin and Bazylissa Teofanu are veritable
classics of E., especially the former work, whose plot is based on the revolt of the
Russian Black Sea fleet in 1905. Set against the backdrop of a fantastic scenery, the
play is intended as an allegory of the cosmic struggle between good and evil. I t antic­
ipates the German Expressionist drama of World War I and the immediate post-war
period (Kaiser, Toller, Unruh and others). Bazylissa Teofanu, on the other hand, deals
with an event in the history of Byzantium, which is only used as a pretext, however.
For everything in the play is unreal, nightmarish, and ambiguous, just as the plot is

306
vague and the motivations cryptic. As for Miciński's novels, they depict worlds governed
by their own laws, half fictional but full of references to issues and persons belonging
to the cultural elite of the author's age. Their plots are so nebulous that they seem to be
records of paranoic ravings. For the first time in Polish E., extensive use was being made
of the grotesque, infused with a considerable dose of dramatic mysticism; and the
catastrophic and apocalyptic motifs were not lacking.
After the revolution of 1905, Polish Modernism underwent a profound crisis, which
had a more detrimental effect on the Symbolist strain than on the strictly Expressionist
one, which, precisely in this period, produced a couple of truly outstanding works.
Nevertheless, when during World War I, the first Polish periodical fostering the
cause of E. was founded, E. itself was coming to an end, and a tendency to
return to already existing traditions in the midst of entirely new developments re­
asserted itself.
In this second phase of Polish E., the periodical Zdroj was the exponent of the
most orthodox aspects of t h a t movement. While directly referring to the German
Expressionist programs—not only by using the labels but also by publishing translations
of works identified as tending in this direction—it also took up the cause of Polish E.
To a degree, this was a result of its choice of contributors. We have already seen that
Przybyszewski was one of its most prominent collaborators. Similarly, Berent's third
great Expressionist novel, Zywe kamienie (Living Stones, 1918) was published in Zdroj
as a "half-mythical tale from the late Middle Ages and the dawn of the Renaissance".
This novel once more confirms Nietzsche's influence on Berent's writings while showing,
on the other hand, that Berent was a serious student of history.
Zywe kamienie adds another complication to the range of problems concerning E .
E. Theoretically, that is to say, the Expressionists should refrain from stylization as a
device violating the tenets of spontaneity and direct expression. But, in practice, there
existed acknowledged bonds of kinship between E. on the one hand and primitive,
Gothic, and Baroque art on the other. Viewed in connection with Berent's other works,
Zywe kamienie is seen to take up, once again, a subject central in his Expressionist
oeuvre. Whereas Próchno offers a critique of the artistic impotence of the decadents and
Ozimina a critique of the indolence of the higher strata of Polish society, Zywe kamienie
deals with the problems of acedia, the social illness of an obsolete and inert world.
In comparison with the other works published in Zdroj, Berent's novel was sensa­
tional. Although the periodical succeeded in drawing together a group of contributors,
one or two of whom were to acquire lasting fame, the central focus of a great personality
was lacking. The best known of the frequent collaborators was Emil Zegadlowicz
(1888-1941), the author of Odejsćie Ralfa Moora (The Departure of Ralph Moor, 1919),
one of the most characteristic post-war Expressionist poems. Here great historical
changes are depicted in an unreal, fantastic manner and a grandiloquent style. The
hero of the poem takes on the dimensions of a mythical giant in an enormous and well-
nigh cosmic urban setting; and syntactically as well as prosodically, the poem counter­
mands the sing-song melody of Symbolist poetry. But the true significance of Zegadlo-
wicz's work for Polish literature in general, and Polish Expressionism in particular,
did not emerge until a later date and took on a different cast.

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 The editor-in-chief of Zdrój was Jerzy Hulewicz (1886-1941), a graphic artist,
novelist (Kratery [The Craters, 1924]) and playwright (Aruna [1920], Kain [1922], and
Achim [Joachim, 1922]). As a writer he was mediocre, and his works were not very
popular; but he was daring and adventurous enough to experiment with Expressionist
techniques. His brother, Witold Hulewicz (1895-1941), the poet and translator of
Rilke, leaned a little toward Symbolism but also wrote a biography of Beethoven
(Przybleda Bozy [He Who Strayed from God, 1927]) which is a pendant to the German
Expressionist, or pseudo-Expressionist biographies of the twenties. Jean Stur (1895-
1923), a minor poet, was a fairly accomplished critic, whose criticism, however, is
somewhat vague and pathetically poetical. I t was he who, in his volume of essays Na
przelomie (At the Turning Point, 1921), presented an outline of Polish Expressionist
criticism. In his Hymny (1920), Jozef Wittlin (born 1896) returned to the forms devel­
oped by Kasprowicz but used them for different purposes. These poems are protests
against the war, and their hero is the man on the street. Wittlin's poetry shows affinity
with a current in German E . sometimes known as Communionism and, in this sense,
occasionally reminds one of Werfel.
For a short while, Zdrój published works written by members of the Warsaw group
of poets, who soon succeeded in founding their own organ, SJcamander (1920-1928,
1935-1939). The group included Julian Tuwim, Kazimierz Wierzynski, and Jaroslaw
Iwaszkiewicz. Shortly afterwards, the Zdroj and SJcamander groups parted ways, and a
bitter polemical struggle developed between them. But at least the early works of the
S kamander poets belong to Polish E.
The period of World War I—or, to be more precise, the period of the wars, since
1918 brought no peace for Poland—was a pregnant one for another Polish Expression­
ist, Andrzej Strug (pseudonym for Tadeusz Godecki, 1871-1937), who had already
gained a literary reputation through his brilliant short stories and novels, relating key
events in the history of the Socialist movement, the uprising of 1863 and the Polish
revolution of 1905. He also played an important role in political life, being a member
of the Polish Socialist party and a prominent figure in Polish Free Masonry. Even his
earlier works displayed certain Expressionist features; but his most important Expres­
sionist work was a volume of short stories, Klucz otchlani (A Key to the Abyss, 1917)
and his novels Grób nieznanego zolnierza (The Monument of the Unknown Soldier, 1922)
and Pokolenie Marka Swidy (Marek Swida's Generation, 1925). The literary techniques
adopted by Strug aimed at bringing together elements of reality, dream, delusion,
hallucination and telepathic vision. Everything he wrote was a mark of his profound
engagement in politics and Poland's newly won independence, as well as in the lot of
the Polish combatants in the in vaders'—and subsequently in the Polish—army. Strug's
later novels are less markedly Expressionistic, although until his death he remained
an author partly inspired by this movement.
Abandoning the chronological order in which we ought to discuss the Skamander
poets, we now turn to Kaden-Bandrowski (1885-1944), whose E. is of a peculiarly
complex nature. Distinctly Expressionist traits (largely confined to style in the strict
sense, i.e., syntax, vocabulary, imagery) were quickly noticed by the critics of his early
prose works, E., t h a t is to say, did not initially affect his world view and, above all,

308
had no influence on the ontologica! structure of the world which he depicted. Kaden-
Bandrowski's E., accordingly, is rather one-sided. And if it were not for the stylistic
similarities, one would tend to classify him rather as a Naturalist. One of his most
mature novels, for example—Luk (A Bow, 1919), the story of a lonely woman wanting
to free herself from all fetters—is obviously written in the Naturalistic manner. And
the same might be said of his ambitious political novels, written during the first years
of our independence: General Barcz (1922), Czarne skrzydla (The Black Wings, 1925-
1929), and Mateusz Bigda (1933). Their Expressionist character results mainly from the
author's search for strong and rare expressions, from the animalization of the characters
and situations, and from the characters 1 extremely expressive behavior.
After Poland had won her independence, the whole country underwent a shock,
not only in its political and social life but also with regard to its national culture. Such
outstanding novelists as Strug and Kaden-Bandrowski engaged in politics, while
poetry (free from any obligations to serve political ends during Romanticism as well
as during the Young Poland period) came to be a barometer indicating social change
more precisely than ever. In the time between the wars, some poets of the Skamander
group chose as their subject aspects of contemporary life—often the most everyday,
vulgar and prosaic manifestations in the life of the man in the street —while depriving
them of the vestiges of reality when embodying them in their lyrics. For the first time,
poets observed the crowd, the mass, its agitations, and inner ferment. But of the five
or six poets who constituted the group (Tuwim, Antoni Slonimski, Wierzynski, J a n
Lechón, Iwaskiewicz, and Maria Pawlikowska-Jasnorzewska) only two produced
poems of some consequence. These were Tuwim and Slonimski, the latter being more
representative in this respect.
Let us mention here, by way of digression, that it has always been a matter of
controversy for Polish critics whether it is at all possible to find a common denominator
for the Skamandrites or whether they should merely be regarded as a social group, to
be studied by the sociologist of literature rather than the literary critic or historian.
From a literary point of view, it is undoubtedly Tuwim who made the greatest contri­
bution to Polish E., whereas Slonimski counts only with certain of his poems. I t should
be added that the E. in the works of these two authors is rather similar, even though
otherwise their oeuvres are completely different stylistically. Iwaskiewicz, on the other
hand, produced his own brand of E., as did Wierzynski in his early, vigorous works.
But no traces of the influence of that movement can be found in the poems of Lechón
and Pawlikowska.
The E. of Tuwim (1894-1953) is perhaps the one most closely related to the Ger­
man model, a fact which is rather puzzling insofar as his relations with Russian and
French literature have always been known (he translated Rimbaud and admired Ver-
haeren), while almost nothing is known about his contacts with German letters. Never­
theless, one of the most typically Expressionist poems in Polish literature, "Chrystus
miasta" (A City Christ) from the volume Czyhanie na Boga (In Wait for God, 1918)
exactly parallels German lyrical poetry of the "communionistic" trend and is replete
with pseudo-mystical humanism. Written in protest against the slaughter of war,
and caricaturing and criticizing modern civilization in an often grotesque and catas-

309
trophic manner, Tuwim's poems are more intelligible than is the case with much Ger­
man Expressionist poetry. But it should be added that Tuwim's versification was eclec-
tic; for he would write, in the same period, poems couched in a number of different styles.
Paradoxically, almost all of his poems, notwithstanding their diversity, bear the mark
of their author's personality and constitute a body of poetry unique in character.
After World War I, Catastrophism expressed itself in the poems of Antoni Slonimski
(born 1895) rather than those written by Tuwim. We are referring to the poem "Czarna
wiosna" (Black Spring, 1918), which is a sort of declaration of Slonimski's anarchism
(and was promptly confiscated), as well as to the drama Wieza Babel (The Tower of
Babel, 1927), which harks back to a poem by the same title written four years earlier.
In these two works, we find all the tension of this period of revolution, depression and
cataclysm brought to a climax by a poet who only rarely looked toward E. as a stylistic
model. Nor was Iwaskiewicz (born 1894) an Expressionist throughout his life and in
all of his poetry. Yet he was attracted by the current in the years immediately follow­
ing World War I. His poems dating from this time were collected in the volume Dionizje
(1922), whose title is self-explanatory, even though it does not say anything about the
discordant versification Iwaskiewicz used in this phase of his career.
I t is difficult to classify the work of Boleslaw Lesmian (1878-1937) in the history
of Polish E. Perhaps we should have discussed him together with the writers of the
Young Poland group, as the date of his first publication and his age would seem to
suggest. The handbooks of Polish literary history usually place him in this context.
At any rate, both the Skamander poets and the poets belonging to other literary move-
ments and groups owed much to him, although it is only now that his true importance
is being recognized by the literary historians. Lésmian stood at least as much under the
influence of Symbolism as under that of E.; but he created his own, original style,
and his personal language and versification, whose nature cannot be explained with
reference to any interplay of literary currents a general rule with great artists—and,
last but not least, a very interesting world view reflected in the structure of the depicted
world. We shall not undertake the difficult task of trying to characterize Lésmian's
poetry, but we can, more or less, ascertain that while his early writings were influenced
by Symbolism, already his second volume of poetry, Laica (The Meadow, 1920), is
distinctly related to E., his version being original and quite unique. The poems in
question are those dominated by the ghostly fantasy of the ballad and stylistically as
well as thematically indebted to folkloristic models. Rich in grotesque devices and
primitivist lore, they start a new trend in Polish poetry of the interwar period. I t should
be made clear, however, that Lésmian's contribution to E. was decidedly less signif­
icant than his contribution to Polish lyrical poetry in general.
The primitivism which played so great a part in the history of E . - more so
in painting than in literature—had three principal sources: exotic art and poetry,
the "naive" medieval art, and the native folklore. Polish Expressionist or pseudo-
Expressionist primitivism was almost exclusively of the third kind. As far as the
first kind is concerned, we refer to Niam-Niam (1923), an anthology of professional
Negro poetry compiled by Zegadlowicz and Edward Kozikowski. The second kind
is represented by a number of poems from Micinski's collections Wrolcu Gwiazd (In

310
the Darkness of Stars) and Piosenka umarlego (The Song of a Dead Man, 1937), as
well as Tuwim's adaptations of the old medieval couplet in a contemporary setting.
The third kind of primitivism, finally, was, in part, introduced by Lésmian's ballads
and flourished mainly in the regional poetry written by poets connected with the period­
ical Czartak (1922-1928) and influenced, to some extent, by the last volume of
Kasprowicz's poetry, Mój swiat (My World, 1926), where primitivism and E. interact
rather loosely, as well as by the Pastoralki (Pastorals, 1925) of Tytus Czyzewski
(1885-1945), one of the Polish Futurists and the author of a number of poems
betraying Expressionist inspiration.
The Czartak group advocated regionalism and drew inspiration from the folk art
of the Polish submontane district, which it regarded as a treasury of true feelings un-
corrupted by the false values of civilization. One of the real discoveries of this group was
Jçdrzej Wowro, a peasant sculptor, graphic artist, and poet. The outstanding members
of the group were Zegadlowicz and Kozikowski. Lésmian, while contributing to the
journal, was not a member. The most representative publication of the circle was a
volume of ballads by Zegadlowicz, Powsinogi beskidzkie (The Loiterers of the Beskid
Mountains, 1923), which is filled with near-pantheistic mysticism and whose protagon­
ists are folk artists, artisans, etc.
Even in his later works, Zegadlowicz retained the Expressionist versification, not­
withstanding the many abrupt changes in his style, which render it difficult to discern
a uniform pattern in his works. Powsinogi beskidzkie is quite different from Odejscie
Malfa Moor a, and the link between them remains obscure until a general outline of E.
has been completed. Zegadlowicz's subsequent poetry, as well as the plays he published
in the twenties, do not concern us in the present context. But his "penny grotesque"
Lyziki ksiezyc (The Spoons and the Moon), staged in 1928 but published, posthumously,
after World War I I , constitutes one of the most interesting achievements in Polish
Expressionist drama. Here the questions of art, revolution, etc., are depicted gro­
tesquely, with occasional reference to folk pageants on the one hand and contemporary
Expressionist drama on the other. Conversely, the Polish public was rather shocked
by Zegadlowicz's novels Zmory (The Ghosts, 1936) and Motory (Motors, 1938) and
justly accused their religiously and mystically inclined author of having produced
pornographic works. The latter novel was promptly confiscated. Both narratives dis­
play elements of E. and Naturalism as well as Psychologism, a typical Polish trend in
the fiction of the inter-war period.
The history of Polish literary E. in the latter portion of the period between the
wars was closely linked with Catastrophism. But if, at first, the tendency—mainly in
Kasprowicz's works— was to attempt a symbolic transposition of the moral corruption
of the modern age into large metaphysical metaphors and cosmic, apocalyptic visions,
the Catastrophism of the Skamandrites had a more solid historical background and
t h a t in spite of its fantastic or abstract way of presenting social and historical reality.
In their turn, the Catastrophic novels of Roman Jaworski (1883-1944) and Ignacy
Witkiewicz (1885-1939), treating very real social and political problems, made this
background even more solid, although both writers embraced the principle of the
fantastic grotesque.

311
 Jaworski's novel Wesele hrabiego Orgaza (The Wedding of the Count Orgaz, 1925)
and Witkiewicz's novels of the inter-war period Pozegnanie jesieni (A Farewell to
Autumn, 1925) and Nienasycenie (Insatiability, 1930)— are closely related, even though
the authors' means of expression differ. Dealing with a crisis of modern civilization, these
novels grotesquely distort the social and political conditions of post-war Europe. The
novels of Witkiewicz, one of the most prominent writers of the age, are very original
if somewhat formless. Each of them constitutes an essay with a plot which, in turn,
represents a strange mixture of the traditional devices of Polish Expressionist fiction
(such as Micinski's novels), literary trash, cheap pornography, etc. Witkiewicz himself
did not regard his novels as art sensu stricto but as a kind of philosophical journalism,
an amorphous bag to be filled with all sorts of material. His attitude toward drama was
quite different. Preceding the future achievements of the European avant-garde of the
post-World War I I period, as well as the Theater of the Absurd, his prolific dramatic
output could be described—at least partly and in some of its aspects as Expressionist,
if it were not for the author's own dramatic theory, which was radically anti-Expression­
ist. Witkiewicz, t h a t is to say, emphasized the importance of pure form, a fact which
renders it extremely difficult to interpret his plays and to determine, for the time being,
the exact nature of their affinity with E.
Catastrophism continued to be a current tendency in Polish poetry in the period
between the wars; and from time to time it definitely flourished. But, as we have seen,
this body of poetry was not always and necessarily Expressionist, although, for example,
some of the poems written by the poets connected with the periodical Kwadryga (1927-
1931) could be classified as Expressionists or near-Expressionists - I think especially
of writers like Konstanty Ildefons Galczyński (1905-1953) and Wladyslaw Sebyla
(1902-1940). The same applies to some of Tuwim's pre-World War I I poems, to certain
lyrics by Jozef Czechowicz (1903-1939) and—to name a rather complex subject—to
the Catastrophic writings of a group of poets from Vilna who were first drawn together
by the periodical Zagory (1931-1934): Czeslaw Milosz (born 1911), Jerzy Zagórski
(born 1907), and Aleksander Rymkiewicz (born 1913). The latter's poetry is rather
novel and, though born under the star of E., has little in common with the Expressionist
Catastrophism of Mieczyslaw Jastrun, Slonimski and others.
A particularly significant example of the Catastrophist trend in the period between
the wars is Galczynski's poem "Bal u Salomona" (A Ball at Solomon's, 1933), whose
author, undoubtedly one of the most talented Polish lyricists of our century, amalga­
mates a number of differing elements: sentimental lyricism (making bold use of con­
cert-hall and music-hall means of expression), burlesque exaggeration, mockery and
parody. Sebyla's works, on the other hand, are more traditional though unique in tone
and also employing burlesque devices. But Sebyla was using primarily apocalyptic
motifs or appealing to people's hidden fears and phobias. I should like to mention one
other poet of the Kwadryga group, Stefan Flukowski (born 1902), the author of a brilli­
antly written volume of prose, Pada deszcz (It Rains, 1931) which, in itself, constitutes
an original interpretation of E., and whose maker explores, among other things, various
aspects of depth psychology and psychoanalysis, this practice being quite common
with German and Anglo-Saxon Expressionists, but rarely with their Polish peers.

312
 One of the most outstanding works of Polish Catastrophic E, is Tuwim's poem
"Bal w operze" (A Ball in the Opera House, 1936), some fragments of which were pub­
lished before the war. I t offers a violent and dynamic criticism of the political and finan­
cial elite of capitalist society, the world being depicted in a grotesque and satirical
manner. The poem is full of both lyricism and vulgarity and contains music-hall tricks
alongside apocalyptic motifs.
In the lyrical poetry of the war years, we are once more confronted with Catastrophe
ism. In the poetry of such young members of the underground fighting the German
invaders as Krysztof Kamil Baczynski (1921-1944), Tadeus Gajcy (1922-1944) and
Tadeusz Borowski (1922-1951), the voice of a despairing country and generation was
heard, in mimeographed editions, to speak of our tragic history. These young poets
were highly talented, Gajcy being the most Expressionistically inclined. Their personal
fate tells their story: Baczynski and Gajcy, both members of the Home Army, were
killed during the Warsaw uprising of 1944, and Borowski, an ex-prisoner of Auschwitz,
committed suicide in the Stalin era.
Special reference should finally be made to one of Poland's greatest Expressionists,
Bruno Schulz (1892-1942), the famous author of the original picture of a small town—a
picture composed of a nightmare, a child's dream and pure fantasy, with reality being
transformed poetically. Born and raised in a cultural borderland, Schulz wrote two
brilliant volumes of short stories, Sklepy cynamonowe (The Cinnamon Stores, 1934) and
Sanatorium pod Klepsydra (Sanatorium under the Sign of the Obituary, 1937), as well
as translating Kafka's The Trial (1936). He grew up not only in the context of Polish
culture but also in the artistically prolific atmosphere of the Austro-Hungarian monarchy
of Franz Joseph, which produced such writers as Kafka, Musil, Broch, the Prague Ex­
pressionists, Italo Svevo and many others. The prosaist Kazimierz Truchanowski
(born 1904) belongs to the very same family of writers.
The end of World War I I did not put a stop to the Expressionist trend in Polish
literature, though after the end of hostilities that trend considerably lost in strength
and impact. Among the works still displaying the Expressionist influence we mention
Leonard Buczkowski's (born 1905) novels, of which the first, Wertepy (The Pathless
Tract, 1947), was written before the war, and the second, Gzarny potok (A Black Brook,
1954) within a decade following that holocaust. Buczkowski's E. is quite unconventional
insofar as his style is highly subjective, and the inward logic of the plot and the psycho­
logical motivation of the characters are deliberately vague—especially in the second
novel, which, as it were, records a hallucination in which the dimensions of time and the
events and characters themselves become fluent and indiscernible.
I t might be said that, after 1956, the poetry written by the young generation indi-
cates t h a t E. lives on. However, this matter is still unresolved, as specialized studies
are lacking. Time and perspective are needed to make a fair evaluation. Yet it is reason­
ably safe to state t h a t Expressionist traces can be found in some of the lyrical poems
by Stanislaw Swen Czachorowski (as well as in his prose), and also in Jerzy Harasymo-
wicz's and Tadeusz Nowak's attempts at neo-primitivism.
As we have seen, Polish E. was born under the influence of German literature.
I t developed almost contemporaneously with German E. and, from the very beginning,

313
showed itself to be creative and innovative. With time, its inward strength became
increasingly independent and free from outside influences, although Polish literature of
the period between the wars responded to impulses coming from the rest of Europe.
Since World War I I the Expressionist tendency in Polish literature has markedly
abated, though there is, at present, no evidence of its having altogether vanished. 1

1
The point was made by the theoreticians of Symbolism and generally accepted by other
scholars. Later on, it was thoroughly re-examined, however, and found to be invalid. The misunder­
standing arose by dint of mistaking the symbol for a trope of the symbolic structure of the depicted
reality. Actually, the symbol-as-trope is not characteristic of Symbolism; it plays no leading part in
the arsenal of Symbolist devices.

314
 VLADIMIR MARKOV

RUSSIAN EXPRESSIONISM*

Western European poetic E, did not attract the attention of Russian poets, critics, and
scholars until after the revolution of 1917; however, this statement may be slightly modi­
fied by future research. Interest in this movement, both in its literary and artistic
manifestations, became noticeable only at the very beginning of the 1920's; then
suddenly it produced a minor flood of essays and books which either discussed E,
from a variety of viewpoints or attempted to inform the reader of its scope, content,
aims, and essence. 1
B u t was there a Russian E. ? This question can be answered in two different ways.
First, there have been attempts to reinterpret some well-known figures of modern Rus­
sian literature, or simply to label them as Expressionist, whether they considered
themselves so or not. Such attempts actually belong to the history of Russian literary
criticism, and they may still be a topic for discussion. 2

* Reprinted, by permission of the University of California Press, from California Slavic

Studies, V I (1971).
1
Some examples are the translation of chapter 4 from the 2nd edition of Oskar Walzel's
Die deutsche Literatur seit Goethes Tod, which appeared in Russian as a book under the title Impres-
sionizm i èkspressionizm v sovremennoj Germanii (Petersburg: Academia, 1922); Vsemirnaja Litera­
tura's collection of essays on expressionism, translated from German, edited by E. M. Braudo and
N. E . R a d l o v , entitled Èkspressionizm (Petrograd—Moscow, 1923), which, as stated in the preface,
was published to fight confusion in the Soviet interpretation of the term; A. Lunacarskij's "Nes-
kolko slov o nemeckom èkspressionizme," Zizn', no. 1 (1922); E. Boricevskij, "Filosofija èkspres-
sionizma," Sipovnik, no. 1 (1922); B. Arvatov, "Èkspressionizm kak social'noe javlenie," Kniga i
Revoljucija, no. 6 (18) (1922). After a long silence on the subject, Èkspressionizm : Sbornik statej
(Moscow: Nauka, 1966) appeared recently and was immediately sold out; in this book, many pre-
re volutionary and Soviet artists and theater men are called expressionists and even in Majakov-
skij's work expressionist features are found (p. 12).
2
A Lunacarskij considers Majakovskij, Vasilij Kamenskij, Aseev, Tret'jakov, and, "partially",
Pasternak expressionists ("Georg Kajzer," Sobranie socinenij v vos'md tomax, V [Moscow, 1965],
420). È. Gollerbax in Poèzija Davida Burljuka (New York, 1931), pp. 22—23, sees in his subject
"some affinity" with E.; he also calls the late work of Mixail Kuzmin expressionistic and adds
that E . touched, more or less, all "progressive phenomena in art", but he admits that the idea of
E. is "vague". In his ambitious study Èkspressionizm v Rossii (Trudy Vjatskogo Pedagogiceskogo
Instituía imeni V. I. Lenina, torn 1, vypusk 4, 1928), K. V. Drjagin tries to prove that Leonid
Andreev's drama is expressionistic rather than symbolist. He also considers Majakovskij an ex­
pressionist, though not a pure one. The unjustly forgotten book by I. I. loffe, Sinteticeskaja istorija
iskusstv : Vvedenie v istoriju xudozestvennogo myšlenija (Leningrad, 1933) chooses Pasternak to
represent E. ("psychic functionalism") in poetry and sees its essence in the "deformation of the
visible".
Among the recent applications of the term to Russian literature, see William E. Harkins 9
Freudian analysis of Jurij Olesa in "The Theme of Sterility in Olesha's Envy" (Slavic Review,
XXV, no. 3, 1966) in which the author also undertakes a definition of E.; Aleksis Rannit's intro­
ductory essay ("Zabolotskij—A Visionary at the Crossroads of Expressionism") to Nikolaj Za-
bolockij's Stixotvorenija, (Washington D. C —New York: Inter-Language Literary Associates,

315
 There was, however, at the beginning of the 1920's, in Moscow, a group (or per-
haps two) of poets which called itself Expressionist. I t was, to be sure, a small group,
easily dwarfed by the celebrated Imagists of that time, but it had an interesting and
by no means short history by avant-garde standards—at least three and a half years
and more than a dozen publications. Moreover, the group had ties, both expected and
unexpected, with Russian as well as European literature. In addition to this, E. was
part of the colorful literary background of those years when (at one point, namely in
March, 1922) there were 143 private publishing enterprises in Moscow,3 and when a
critic complained that the time may be near when he will have to write reviews about
those who do not write poetry rather than about those who do. 4 At no other time was
there such a large number of poetic groups and organizations. In addition to the fami­
liar Symbolists, Acmeists, and Futurists (with or without the prefix "neo-"), there were
Centrifugists, Biocosmists, Luminists, Presentists, Neoclassicists, Nonsensists, Kthema-
ticists, Nothingists, Fuists, Antitaxidermists, and probably many others. Even granted
t h a t the creative efforts of some of these poets produced, to borrow a Zoščenko phrase,
malovysokoxudozestvennaja literatura, it is one-sided, to put it mildly, to reduce the
literary history of this period to monochromatic descriptions of the activities of prole­
tarian groups.
The history of Russian E. begins with one man Ippolit Vasil'evic Sokolov. In
1919 he considered himself a "Euphuist" and was active in and around the All-Russian
Union of Poets. On July 11, 1919, as he himself reports it, the idea of "Expressionism"
as a synthesis of Futurism dawned on him. 5 There was nothing special in such an idea;
any group with avant-garde claims at that time felt obliged to do something with
Futurism: either to reject it, wholly or partially, or in some way to "overcome" it;
and either attempt invariably remained just a statement on paper. In Moscow in 1919
the only real Futurist poet in sight was Majakovskij (since all his friends were scattered
across Russia by the Civil War), and such a situation was probably felt by the young
poets to be a poetic vacuum. Sokolov shared his idea with the world at one of the nu­
merous public appearances sponsored by the above-mentioned Union of Poets, and
the prominent Marxist critic V. L'vov-Rogacevskij mentioned him later in one of his
public talks, sponsored by the same union; and this was enough to set his hopes
soaring. 6
Ippolit Sokolov was, however, no greenhorn in literature. Only a month before
his discovery of E. he published a slim, "M"-page 7 booklet which contained only six

1965); and the rather indiscriminate use of the term by Johannes von Guenther in his Die Literatur
Russlands (Stuttgart: Union Verlag, 1964). Von Guenther calls Remizov "the first Russian ex­
pressionist prose writer" (p. 186) and, in contradiction to this, Zamjatin "the first Russian expres­
sionist" (p. 197). He also considers Prisvin "an expressionist-naturalist" (p. 187), Zabolockij "an
expressionist with a predilection for surrealism" (p. 213), and says that Vasilij Kazin "wrote in a
concentrated expressionist language" (p. 197).
3
I storija russkoj sovetskoj literatury v trex tomax, I (Moscow: Izdatel'stvo Akademii Nauk
SSSR,4 1958), 595.
E. Bik (Sergej Bobrov), review in Pečat' i Revoljucija, no. 1 (1922), p. 299.
5
6
Ippolit Sokolov, Bunt èkspressionista (Moscow, 1919), p. 6.
Ippolit Sokolov, Èkspressionizm (Moscow, 1920), p. 3.
7
In this book the pages are lettered alphabetically, instead of being numbered.

316
 poems but was entitled Polnoe sobranie socinenij. Izdanie ne posmertnoe. Ne stixi.,
which he later described as being "without the author's portrait and without a critical-
biographical essay by V. Brjusov". 8 The only manifesto-like element of the book was
the sentence preceding the poems: "Well, I am hurling [at you?] my new, poly metrical
principles." Sokolov's "polymetry" turned out to be simply free verse which, in imagery,
combined the "Mezzanine of Poetry", which, at t h a t time, had been dead for five years,
with Imagism (imazinizm), a movement beginning just then. The former is evident
in Sokolov's poetic landscapes in which nature is consistently "translated" into the
terms of the beauty salon and of women's (and occasionally men's) wardrobe (manteau,
face powder, curlers, fabrics, make-up, tuxedoes) with an admixture of theatrical and
"cultural" imagery (such as " a ravine with Voltaire's sarcastic smile"). Sokolov is,
however, interested in unusual metaphor as such, and occasionally he abandons the
atmosphere of the drawing-room, dressing-table, and dance-hall, or, rather he eclecti-
cally combines it with "unaesthetical" tropes like "pockmarked sky". Finally, in the
poem "Madonna" he comes close to the combination of blasphemy and sex one is
accustomed to expect from Russian Imagists: the poem ends with the poet going to bed
with the Madonna—only in his dream, however. In addition, one finds urbanist imagery
of restaurants and streets of definitely Futurist character, reminiscent of Majakovskij.
Polnoe sobranie socinenij was to remain Sokolov's only book of verse. From then on,
he published theoretical writings and his poetry appeared only in joint collections
(or as an appendix to his own theories).
A more ambitious book by Sokolov came out in the fall of the same year with the
title Bunt èkspressionista on its cover (and further down the page "published, of course,
by the author himself"). The first pages in the book contain a manifesto of E., "Xartija
èkspressionista", which begins with a quotation from Gogol's madman, Popriscin,
and ends with a quotation from St. Luke. The manifesto cheerfully launches what it
calls E. and contains practically everything a good manifesto should contain: a histori­
cal perspective, polemics, and a constructive program. The two "-isms" Sokolov argues
against are Imagism and Futurism, but his interpretation of these two familiar terms
is not quite customary. Sokolov claims t h a t Imagism (which he spells imazizm, and
not imazinizm) is just a device and not a school, that its representatives are Majakov-
skij, Vadim Šeršenevič, Konstantin Bol'čakoy, and Sergej Tret'jakov; and that its
flowering took place in 1913-1915. As to the contemporary Imagism of 1919, Sokolov
dismisses it as pseudo-Imagism that vulgarizes its own principles, is newspaper-oriented,
and amounts to nothing more than poor Futurism. He suggests that a better name for
it is "Hyperbolism".
Futurism, on the other hand (which for Sokolov includes Marinetti, Ezra Pound,
Apollinaire, and, again, Majakovskij), however great it might have been, belongs to
the past: during its nine-year history it became fragmented, with each part cultivating
only one aspect of the Futurist creed. E. does not reject any of these predecessors, but it
claims to be a synthesis of all facets of Futurism. A "revolutionary", constructive part
follows, which lists: (1) abolition of the old versification from Homer to Majakovskij

* Bunt èkspressionista, p. 17.

317
as well as introduction of a new, "chromatic" verse based on musical pitch; (2) "poly-
stanzaies"; and (3) "higher euphony". All t h a t Sokolov offers in the way of definition
is t h a t his E. aims at a "maximum of expression" and a "dynamism of perception and
thinking".
Sokolov's poetry which follows the "charter" is a very questionable illustration
of his tenets. The ambitious, five-page "Fesenebel'naja noč", offered as an "essay in
chromatic versification", is nothing more than free verse, reminiscent of Xlebnikov's
"Zverinec", otherwise differing very little from Sokolov's earlier verse. He merely
tries to shock the reader more (veter-onanist, tverdoe kak posle zapora kalo ljudej, anal'noe
otverstie doma), but, as before, he combines this anti-aesthetic imagery with the salon
dandyism of the "Mezzanine". Too often he slavishly follows the Imagism he castigates
so much in the polemical part of the book, and he himself indulges in "Hyperbolism"
("A woman's foot with an instep as steep as the peak of the Himalayas"). In other
poems he experiments, and not very originally, with rhyme.
There was no poetry in Sokolov's Ekspressionizm, which appeared in the summer
of 1920 and contained little that was not already in Bunt èkspressionista : the phrases
about "maximum of expression" and "dynamism of perception" appear again, and
so does the expressed desire to create a synthesis of "amorphous Russian Futurism",
the latter being subdivided by Sokolov into Imagism, Rhythmism, Cubism, and Eupho-
nism. In fact, he visualizes a new era of "high Futurism" (i.e., E.) which will replace
"early Futurism", just as was the case with the Italian Renaissance—or so he
says. '
The immodesty of the last remark is explained elsewhere in the essay: Sokolov
writes that some time during the spring of 1920 he learned about the existence of
E. in Europe and rejoiced at being able to show L'vov-Rogacevskij that he, Sokolov,
was not a curio and an ephemeron, but part of a strong, European movement which
had already touched Germany, Austria, Czechoslovakia, Latvia, and Finland. The
unexpected perspective obviously made Sokolov slightly dizzy, and, as a result, this
work of his is more fanfare than substance; accordingly, his predilection for making
syntheses went to extremes: he not only generously labels as "geniuses" some of his
contemporaries (and, by implication, himself), but claims in a rather Xlestakovian
way to have created the theory of E. in the theater, which combines the Meiningen
theater, the Moscow Art Theater, Diaghilev, Mejerxol'd, Aleksej Krucenyx, Nikolaj
Evreinov, Vjaceslav Ivanov, Reinhardt, the Communist cultural commissar Kerzencev,
Tairov, and Marinetti.
Sokolov also names his source of information about western European E,— Teodor
Markovic Levit (b. 1904), a shadowy, marginal figure in the literature of that time, who,
like Majakovskij, wrote texts for "Rosta" propaganda posters, was briefly listed as
a Futurist in a Poets' Union publication, published little poetry, was a member of a
later, Expressionist-oriented group "Moskovskij Parnas", and soon faded out of
literature. I t was evidently he who also acquainted Sokolov with Edschmid's well
known book Über den Expressionismus in der Literatur und die neue Dichtung, after
which Sokolov decided t h a t Edschmid's and his main tenets "coincide" technically,
philosophically, and historically, However, the only examples he gives of this coincidence

318
 are the desire to know the essence of things and the presence of E. in all nations and
times.9
Sokolov wrote this time as the leader of a group, and he named, in addition to
himself, three Russian Expressionists: Boris Zemenkov, Gurij Sidorov, and Sergej
Reksin.10
Boris Sergeevic Zemenkov (b. 1902) joined the group, like Sokolov, both as a
theoretician and a poet. His only book of verse, Steorin [sic] s prosed'ju: Voennye
stixi èkspressionista (1920), consists of poetical impressions, based on his own Civil
War experience and is bursting with catachrestic imagery strongly reminiscent of
Šeršenevič, who clearly also influenced Zemenkov's metrics and rhyme. Of slightly
later origin is his treatise Koryto umozaključenij (1920), written at the end of 1919 and
the beginning of 1920, in which Zemenkov tries to lay foundations for E. in the pictorial
arts. This abstruse essay, filled with foreign words whose meanings, one suspects,
are not quite clear to the author, is, nevertheless, on the whole, closer to the idea of
Western E. than the theoretical writings of Sokolov. Zemenkov postulates the final
aim of the world as "dematerialization" and demands from art persuasiveness rather
than truth, a persuasiveness which is equal to that of incantation.
Gurij Sidorov was, by that time, not only the author of two books of verse, but
a veteran of the young Soviet movie industry as well: he had appeared in Majakovskij's
film version of Jack London's Martin Eden (called Ne dlja deneg rodivšijsja)i Both
of his books, Easkolotoe solnce (a poema) and Vedro ognja, were rather inart)culate
imitations of Majakovskij (especially of Oblako v šianax), Šeršenevič (rhymee, and
Bol'šakov (occasional agrammaticality). In spite of this imitativeness, his pootry is
not devoid of some wild originality of its own. His joining the Expressionists pr bably
resulted in his third publication, Xoduli (1920), for which Zemenkov designed thecover.
This and the next slim collection, Jalik (also published in 1920, but including much
of his earlier poetry), contain strongly emotional love poems and hyperbolic cityiscapes,
written in rhymed or rhymeless verse and using most available metrical poss bilities
- from traditional meters to free verse. There is much self-affirmation in thisopoetry
as well as the "cosmic" quality, fashionable at that time, occasionally apprsaching
the apocalyptic. Sidorov's nervous, chaotic, and ecstatic quality was to diappear
in his last known book of verse Stebli (1922), a poetic account of his affair with a married
woman, slightly reminiscent of Vasilij Kamenskij's poetry.
In the meantime, Sokolov continued to publish theoretical writings, and his
most ambitious undertaking in this genre was Bedeker po èkspressionizmu (1920),
the "climax" of Russian E. just before its sudden demise. It was a naive attempt
to "deepen" his earlier theories by using impressive sounding "-ism" terms and by
filling his sentences with as many names as possible. Sokolov kept his old slogan about
"the maximum of expression", but found his previous synthesis of Futurism too narrow.
9
The edition of Edschmid's book referred to by Sokolov is Berlin, 1919. Sokolov does not
show, however, any firsthand knowledge of Edschmid's essay (originally a speech of 1917), and
it is safe to assume that he knew it only from Levit's oral report. Many of Edschmid's points are,
in fact,
10
in direct contradiction to what Sokolov said in his theoretical writings.
Otherwise, Reksin published only one "Majakovskian" imagist-oriented poem in the
miscellany Jav' (Moscow, 1919), He never published anything with the Expressionists,

319
He declared his E. not only: a "new vision", but a "synthesis of all achievements in
all arts". I n addition to this "Synthesism", as he calls it, Sokolov added two more
essential features: "Europeanism" and "Transcendentalism-Noumenalism". All this
develops into a paean to Bergson, whose philosophy is declared to be the successor
to outdated Christianity. In addition to this, Sokolov scatters throughout the essay
undeveloped ideas and statements like "perhaps there are 20 or 30 dimensions and
20 or 30 sensations", or "We have a feeling of the end". He also alludes to the broadest
possible spiritual basis for his E. including occultism, anthroposophy, etc. Anticipating
well deserved criticism, Sokolov hastens to add at the end that his E. "is not a moronic
desire on the part of a few young poetasters to attach to themselves, at any price, a
sonorous label with a n ' i s m ' in it in order to conceal, somehow, the mediocrity of their
doggerel".
At the same time or, most likely, a little earlier, Sokolov also published his "pro­
paganda leaflet", Renessans XX veka, in which he announced the existence of "pan-
Futurism". The list of those scientists, writers, and scholars who belong to the move­
ment (among them, Bergson, Einstein, Losskij, Roman Jakobson, Vasilij Rozanov)
as well as artists, poets (of which only four Russians are named: Majakovskij, Sokolov,
Šeršenevič, and Xlebnikov), et al. is endless and makes the leaflet a veritable orgy
of names, to which Sokolov adds another list—that of outstanding "passeists". At
the end of his catalogue, the author calls himself the "Russian Marinetti" and proclaims
the arrival of the "Renaissance of the twentieth, century" from his "Mount Sinai".
Despite all his efforts, the days of Sokolov's E. were numbered, and all his attempts
to inflate it were in vain. One reason he failed was that in Sokolov's (or in his fellow
Expressionists') poetic practice he could never separate himself from Russian Imagism,
then the dernier cri in poetry. Sokolov not only imitated some aspects of Mariengof's
rhyme or much of Šeršenevič's imagery, but often aped and caricatured the early,
pre-Imagist poems of the latter, which probably both flattered and amused Šeršenevič.
At any rate, Šeršenevič later wrote, "The most murderous criticism of my poetry is
to be found not in the witchdoctor-like babbling of the Frices and the Kogans [the
Marxist critics of the day] but in Sokolov's book of verse." 1 1
There is reason to believe t h a t all three Expressionists tried to join Imagism but,
perhaps, were eventually given a cold shoulder. The second edition of Sidorov's Jalik
was published by the "Imažinisty" publishing enterprise. Zèmenkov managed to
attract two Imagists, including Šeršenevič himself, to the miscellany Ot mamy na
pjat' minut (1920), which he published under the imprint "Farširovannye manžety"
and in which he also printed his p o e t r y - s t i l l labeled Expressionist. As for Ippolit
Sokolov, in 1921 he published his next essay, Imažinistika, which was, for the most
part on a higher level than all his Expressionist theory and makes one suspect t h a t
the author seriously considered becoming a leader and a theoretician in the Imagist
movement. In his book Sokolov applies a statistical method to the study of tropes
and tries to trace a quantitative and qualitative evolution of tropes in Russian poetry,

11
Vadim Šeršenevič, 2 X 2. = : Listy imažinista (Moscow: Imažinisty, 1920), p. 16; Ivan
Grazinov also treated Sokolov contemptuously in Gostinica dlja puteăestvujuăcix v prekrasnom, no,
4 (1924), p. 13

320
beginning with Kantemir. Imagism (which, he again insists, ought to be called in
Russian imazizm, and not imazinizm) is considered a logical, and crowning, stage in this
evolution. Sokolov even points to the ways in which the image has to develop in the
future, and here he touches on some tenets of future Constructivism.
All three Expressionists of the "first period" were preparing new books of verse,
and Sokolov intended to investigate E. in painting and in the theater and also announced
a book with the title "Opyt postroenija programm nemeckogo, francuzskogo, ital'jans-
kogo i anglijskogo èkspressionizma. ,, Edschmid's book mentioned above was announced
for publication in Levit's translation and with his preface and commentaries. 12
I n 1921 the original Expressionists, after the disintegration of their group, tried
alliances with some of the mushrooming and short-lived grouplets of the period,
Zemenkov went over to the nicevoki ("Nothingists"). Sokolov's peregrinations were
more complex. Zemenkov applied for membership in the nicevoki group on April 15,
1921; and only two days later he was a cosignatory of one of their "decrees". Then
he wrote his own ''decree'' on painting, became a part of the nicevoki "tribunal",
and planned the publication of a book of his own verse in their publishing enterprise
called Xobo (Hobo) which they defined as "a refined, revolutionary t r a m p " . Much
of this activity was in direct contradiction to their much-quoted slogan which read
in part, "Don't write anything, don't publish anything". 1 3
The nicevoki, whose history has many fascinating details and deserves closer
scrutiny, originated in Rostov-on-the-Don in August, 1920, and had a rather unpromis­
ing start with the slim collection Vam. This book contained a militant and incoherent
manifesto which "buried" both Imagism and E., and some poetry which was nothing
but a poor imitation of Imagism. I t is to the nicevoki's credit, though, that later, when
the "movement" moved to Moscow, they openly recognized Imagism. 14 "Anyone can
be a nicevok" was declared in one of their decrees, 15 and they divided themselves into
"nicevoki of creativity" and "nicevoki of life". Only one of them developed into a poet
worthy of attention—Rjurik Rok, whose best poetry can be found in the poèma,
Of Rjurika Roka čtenie (1921), but even in this work with apocalyptical overtones
he remained essentially an Imagist (with an admixture of the "Scythian" Esenin and
of Majakovskij). The ideology of the nicevoki consisted not only of revolutionary nihilism
with the professed aim "to disintegrate and to demoralize belles-lettres", but of anti-
materialism and a sort of neo-idealism. Minor points of their aesthetics echoed E.
The nicevoki were active until the beginning of 1923, and in January and February,
1922, they confronted Majakovskij and denied him the right to purge Soviet poetry,
as he had attempted to do at that time. Some reports say that the nicevoki were un­
successful in this attempt and were finally condemned, sharing this "honor" with such
unlikely bedfellows as Axmatova and Vjaceslav Ivanov. 1 6 The climax of the nicevoki
movement can be found in the two editions of Sobačij jaščik (1921 and 1923), in which
12
See p. 8 of Èkspressionizm. Levit was mentioned by Veniamin Kaverin as his co-member
in the group "Zelenoe Kol'co" in 1919 and "junosa neobycajnyx sposobnostej i poznanij"
(V. Kaverin, Avtobiograficeskie rasskazy, Moscow: Biblioteka "Ogonek," 1961, p. 52).
13
14
Nicevoki: S obacij jaScik (Moscow: Xobo, 1923), p. 8.
15
Ibid., p. 8.
Ibid., p. 6.
16
See V. Majakovskij, Polnoe sobranie sočinenij v trinadcati tomax, X I I (Moscow, 1919), p. 461.

321
 they practically admitted their desire to be a Russian version of Dada and which,
this time in better agreement with their slogans, contained no poetry. Within this
framework, it is of interest to note t h a t Rjurik Rok was preparing a book on both
Dada and E. and t h a t he published a translation of GolFs Die Chapliniade.11
In Xobo's last publication, there was an announcement of three books b y the
" F u i s t " poets, and this is an interesting piece of evidence not only of ties between the
two groups of that period but also of the transition from the "imagist" E. to the
"centrifugist'' E., as we shall see later.
Actually, the Fuists began their activities much earlier, at the beginning of 1921,
when they published a collection under the laconic title A. One of the three co-authors
was Ippolit Sokolov, who contributed four poems containing apocalyptic (cf. "feeling
of the end" in his Bedeker po èxpressionizmu) and macabre imagery. There is urbanism
and the familiar desire to shock in these poems, but there is also the appearance of
Lenin, radio, and "the victory of new forces". Sokolov did not continue his association
with the Fuists, b u t one of the original three remained a Fuist to the very end. He
was Boris Perelësin, and he was joined in the next collection (Mozgovoj razziz, 1922)
by Nikolaj Lepok in advocating the destruction of imagery. Finally, their ranks were
increased in April, 1923, when Boris Nesmelov became a part of the group, and they
published the three books mentioned above. 18 However, this seeming climax was also
the end of Fuism. Their theory, as presented in the prefaces to each of the three publi­
cations, though complicated by the inclusion of the Asiatic element, obviously entered
the stage of stagnation and vagueness, while looking ambitious and super-polemical
on the surface. Nesmelov and Perelësin were later associated with Krucenyx. 1 9 Despite
their theoretical shortcomings, some of the Fuists' poetry would reward the attention
not only of the scholar, but of the general reader as well. Their rhyme and some of their
poetical syntax definitely deserve study. Sergej Bobrov, the most important of Centri-
fuga's leaders, was benevolent towards Lepok and Perelësin and wrote about their
deriving from the poetic practice of his group. 20
The Fuists were, however, only a transitional group, leading to "Centrifugist"
E. The beginnings of this second phase of Russian E. are to be found in the 16-page
joint collection Èkspressionisty, published in 1921, again in Moscow. The participants,
in addition to the ubiquitous Sokolov, were Sergej Spasskij, Evgenij Gabrilovic,
and Boris Lapin. Sokolov was generously represented in what was apparently his
farewell to poetry. These poems add little to what he wrote before: the same preoc­
cupation with tropes based on remote associations or on shocking contrasts, this time
with an occasional "baring the device" (ohnazenie priema), and the same free verse
(occasionally rhymed). His themes here are mostly erotic, but there are also theoso-
phical and the familiar apocalyptical poems. Sergej Dmitrievic Spasskij (1898-1956)

17
Rjurik Kok, Sorok sorokov : Dialekticeskiepoèmy nicevokom sodejannye (Moscow: Xobo, 1923),
p. 4.
18
Bel'ma Salara by Perelësin, Dialektika segodnja by Perelësin and Lepok, and Rodit' muzci-
nam by19
Nesmelov—all three in April, 1923.
For example, Nesmelov wrote a preface to Kručenyx's četyre foneticeskix romana (Moscow,
1927).20
Pečat' i Revoljucija, no. 1 (1922), p. 301.

322
had many avant-garde affiliations throughout his varied, but peripheral, literary career;
but he remained essentially a neo-Symbolist poet (a fact especially noticeable in the
poems printed in Èkspressionisty). Occasionally he reminds one of Pasternak, which,
of course, does not contradict his neo-Symbolist quality. 21
The same Pasternakian (or rather "Centrifugist") features can be discerned in
the bold, though obscure, imagery of Boris Matveevic Lapin (1905-1941), who,
together with Evgenij Iosifoviè Gabrilovič (b. 1899), soon became a central figure
of this late, non-Imagist, "Centrifuge"-oriented phase in Russian E. Gabrilovič's
prose in Èkspressionisty is highly elaborate in its use of punctuation, typographical
effects, and contrasting syntactic structures as well as in its fragmentation, mixing
of planes, repetitions, and pauses. I t is movie-script-like prose with an admixture of
lyrical poetry and bears resemblance to both Andrej Belyj and Viktor Šklovskij.
Similar traits can be seen in Gabriloviö's other Expressionist prose, "Lamentacija",
printed in Molnijanin (Moscow, 1922), where fragmentation again reigns supreme and
where minimal description is combined with stream of consciousness. Gabriloviö
shares the pages of this book with Lapin, who contributes fourteen poems. Lapin's
poetry is definitely immature, but intriguing, being a strange melange of metrical and
metaphorical restraint (especially if compared with the Imagists and their followers)
and show-off erudition. Noticeable is a strong German orientation, particularly in epi­
graphs and dedications; and it extends from E. (Ehrenstein) to the romantic (E. T. A.
Hoffmann) and the preromantic times (J. M. R. Lenz); there are even German titles
to poems. Also noticeable is a tribute to the "Centrifuge": an epigraph from Bobrov,
a dedication to Ivan Aksënov, and some influence of Pasternak. The distinguishing
characteristic of Lapin's poetry is, however, a certain strangeness which touches on
the absurd and makes him a predecessor of Russian oberiuty. Molnijanin aimed, how­
ever, at more than showing samples of Expressionist prose and poetry. I t begins with
a mannered manifesto, full of topical allusions, which makes one thing clear: Lapin
and Gabriloviö consider themselves Expressionists; they reject Russian Futurism as
a passé thing, and they show respect for the "Moskovskij Parnas" group (which,
incidentally, published Molnijanin), This E. is not defined, except t h a t they "re-tune
(their) iron lyres to a lyrical tonality" and thus say good-bye (au) to their Futurism,
which, nevertheless, means "no return to the Casta diva". Highly interesting is the list
of writers' ancestors, "the indestructible names of our uncles"; and they make it clear
that "the shining world of E . " has practically no other names to its credit besides
Aseev, Aksënov, Becher, Bobrov, Ehrenstein, Pasternak, and Xlebnikov.
21
Spasskij was a prolific poet and probably had his work printed in more cities than any other
Russian man of letters. His literary debut took place in Tiflis, then he published poetry not only in
Moscow and Petrograd (Leningrad), but in Penza, Niznij Novgorod, Rjazan', and Samarkand as
well. Before E. he was close to Futurism: K. Bol'sakov wrote a preface to his collection of verse
Kak sneg (Moscow, 1917), he knew Xlebnikov well, participated in the Gazeta futuristov, and re­
cited his poetry in "Kafe Poètov". In 1930 he joined "Pereval". In addition to several collections
of his own poems, much of his poetry can be found in miscellanies of different origin and affiliations
(e.g., Bez muz, Jav', Sopo, and even in the anti-Futurist Cet i necet). More interesting than his
books of poems are his autobiographical povest' in verse Neudačniki (Moscow, 1929) and his short
novel Parad osuzdennyx (Leningrad, 1931), which has Velimir Xlebnikov among the characters
and depicts scenes of life in the anarchist colonies in Moscow soon after the Revolution. Also
noteworthy is his book of memoirs, Majakovskij i ego sputniki (Leningrad, 1940).

323
 "The Parnassus of Moscow", whose branch the second-wave Expressionists con­
sidered themselves to be, was actually nothing but the last stage in the evolution of
the "Centrifuge" group, in which prerevolutionary neo-Symbolism is to be found
merged with Futurism. To be sure, the ''Centrifuge" proper still existed by that time,
and "The Parnassus of Moscow" included poets who did not belong to the "Centri­
fuge", namely, Benar, Adalis, Sisov, V. Kovalevskij, et al. Nevertheless, Sergej Bobrov
and Ivan Aksënov, the two "Centrifuge" leaders who. were very influential in the
Muscovite literary circles at the beginning of the 1920's, clearly dominated "The
Parnassus of Moscow". The group published two issues of the miscellany with the same
name, b u t No. 1 never went on sale. I t was announced, however, that Bobrov, Aksënov,
Aseev, Spasskij, and Gabrilovič were to be among the contributors. The second issue
did appear, containing, among other things, poetry, prose, and criticism by Bobrov,
poetry by Aksënov (who, in the prefatory essay to the book, emphasized the uncon­
scious element in art and considered the latter an attempt to remember a dream)
and by another Centrifugist, Evgenij Silling, a story written jointly by Lapin (whose
poetry was also included) and Gabrilovič and a critical review by Levit on a book
about E. T. A. Hoffmann. What makes the issue especially interesting for us, however,
is the abundance of translations from German Expressionists, nearly all of them done
by Lapin and many of them accompanied by brief notes about the author and/or
biographical data as well as by announcements of plans to publish books of translations
of their work. Among this material there is an essay by Wieland Herzfelde on the funeral
of another Expressionist, Alfred Lichtenstein, poems by Lichtenstein himself (who is
presented as "the greatest poet of early E."), as well as by van Hoddis, and Heym.
There are references (epigraphs, etc.) to, and translations from, other European poets
and writers from Angelus Silesius to the obscure Dadaist Theophil Müller, and from
Jules Romains to the Communist poet and Comintern functionary, Henri Guilbeaux.
I t was "The Parnassus of Moscow", too, that published the only book of verse
by Boris Lapin in October, 1922 (1923 on the cover). The book was entitled 1922-ja
kniga stixov and was the most promising publication of Russian E. as well as, ironically,
its finale. I n the highly allusive preface to the book, Lapin both rejects in advance
the possible accusation that the collection is "non-Futurist" and attacks the Futurists. 22
Surprisingly, the antidote to harmful Futurism and an ideal ("life in poetry" as opposed
to the contemporary Futurist "tours de force and pretensions" [fokusnicestvo i akterstvo])
are found in Russian and German Romanticism of the early nineteenth century.
Zukovskij, Novalis, 23 and Schelling are mentioned (or quoted) and further, in a poem.
Lapin calls Tieck, Brentano, and Eichendorff "my forefathers". The forty-seven
poems comprising the collection are not, however, a reconstruction of t h a t professed
Romanticism, though names, motives, and echoes from German Romantic poetry
can be found in abundance on its pages: in addition to those named above, there are
E. T. A. Hoffmann, Kleist, Friedrich Schlegel, and La Motte-Fouqué. This does not

22
I t is difficult to say whom he calls "Futurists". My guess is that these Futurists might be
the budding Constructivists, who might have caused the disintegration of the postrevolutionary
"Centrifuge".
23
Cf. Petnikov's preoccupation with Novalis,

324
 exhaust the German, and Western, element: one can add Schiller and even Klopstock
as well as Kipling and the English ballad (there is also American couleur locale in
the mention of Chicago and the word "boss"). On the Russian side, 2ukovskij is joined
by Lermontov, Marlinskij, and Fet. There had hardly been such wholesale embracing
of German Romanticism in Russian literature since 2ukovskij, and the themes of
Lapin's poetry conform to, or, at least, do not contradict it: poetry, death, the motives
of the "last Romantic", alchemy, astrology. P a r t of this derives, of course, from Sergej
Bobrov and the early "Centrifuge" cult of Hoffmann. The Bobrovian display of erudi­
tion, references to Bobrov's works, his very tone of voice can be found in these poems;
and the introductory poem resembles the verse manifesto of the "Centrifuge" of 1914.
However, there is a definite parodie element, perhaps a version of German romantic
irony for the Russian 1920's, which, nevertheless, touches on the absurd and clearly
anticipates the poetry of Xarms and other oberiu poets. Finally, there is the cult of
Xlebnikov: 24 a poem on his death, a few neologisms in his manner, some use of his
"internal declension"; and finally, in the "postscript" to the book, Xlebnikov, to the
readers' surprise, is proclaimed to be the one who found the needed middle ground
between Futurism and neoclassical trends.
The prevalent impression of Lapin's book is that of strangeness, which originates
mainly from the fact t h a t the romantic "content" is presented in an avant-garde garb.
There are irrelevant epithets as well as a general predilection for the absurd, the reverse
and the oxymora (tixo i sumno; severojug ; a dol opuscen vzoru) and a tendency for
mixing everything. There are also many irregularities, used, however, with restraint,
especially the "agrammatical" and "asyntactical" structures (ub'ja; ulybaja; ocen
ljubov', ocen' krov'). Being a "Centrifuge" apprentice, Lapin indulges in metrical ad­
ventures; he is attracted by unusual kinds of the udarnik verse and even produces a
dol'nik version of the Sapphic stanza. At least some of Lapin's metrical rarities might
represent an attempt to reproduce jazz rhythms in verse (see the postscript to the book).
Lexically, Lapin's poetry is a curious cocktail of various names, coarse words, technical
terms, foreign words, and neologisms; and the sonic aspect is characterized by the use
of paronomasia and of many kinds of and devices in the area of rhyme, such as asso­
nances, split rhymes, placing rhyming clausulas far from each other, etc.
The book ends with an envoy in prose addressed to Gabrilovic which contains some
Expressionist ideas, though the word "Expressionism" is never used. Lapin speaks
about the "elusive reality of objects", juxtaposes the Futurist "word material" and
the Expressionist "word-revelation" and says: "Turning into a word, reality becomes
a new world on this earth, the world of wild reflex and relativity."
Lapin's book, though not a masterpiece, was interesting and highly promising;
but it was hardly noticed. Brjusov, in a review, 25 condescendingly admitted that Lapin
was gifted, b u t chided him for affectation, tortuous imagery, "desperate" metaphors,
childish distortion of language, and obscurity (which, Brjusov hastens to add, any
reader of Mallarmé, the decadents, and the Futurists could decipher).
24
See also Lapin's "Xlebnikovu" in Molnijanin. Also see V. Kovalevskij's poem "Na smert"
Xlebnikova" in no. 2 of Moskovskij Pamas.
25
Pečat i Revoljucija, no. 4 (1923), p. 136.

325
 But this book was also the end of Russian E. When, in November, 1924, the
Brjusov Institute (from which Lapin graduated) organized an Evening of Contemporary
Poetry, such poetry was represented by Lef, Oktjabr,' Molodaja Gvardija, Pereval, and
the Imagists, but it boasted no Expressionists, Fuists or nicevoki. Ippolit Sokolov be­
came active in the Soviet movie industry, 27 Zemenkov illustrated books and wrote books
on the arts, and later became associated with art museums; 27 Gabrilovic first joined
the Constructivists, then achieved prominence in journalism and especially in film
script writing. His recent memoirs 28 ignore the Expressionist episode in his life. Lapin,
too, was close to the Constructivists. He came to neglect poetry and soon was known
in Soviet literature mainly as a journalist who specialized in the frontier areas of Russia.
He traveled abroad a good deal and wrote, individually and jointly, numerous books
about his experiences. He faithfully followed all the twists and turns of Soviet literary
policies, published his essays in a collection on the construction of the White Sea canal
or in a miscellany entitled I zizn' xorosa i zit' xoroso, among other things. He also
translated. Some time before World War I I he became a war correspondent. He con­
tinued to write verse, but seldom published it, except that he used it occasionally in his
books of essays. Some of his unpublished poetry, taken from the archive of his friend
Il'ja Èrenburg's widow, appeared in the anthology, Sovetskie poèty pavšie na Velikoj
Otečestvennoj Vojne (Biblioteka poèta, Bol''saja serija, M.-L., 1965). No avant-garde
features can be seen in it, even in the poems dated 1923.
Such was the "external" history of Russian E. An analysis of its poetry for the
establishment of its precise ties with the West and contemporary Russian poetry is a
task for the future; here it could only be suggested. Even without such analysis,
however, a few things can be summed up at the end of this survey. Russian E. was
born in 1919 as one of numerous groups which, at that time, tried to build a new
avant-garde poetry on the ruins of pre-revolutionary Russian Futurism; it lasted
until 1923. Its pioneer was Ippolit Sokolov, who aspired to create a synthesis of Russian
Futurism in his theory, but in his poetry continued the traditions of the "Mezzanine
of Poetry", resulting only in another version of Imagism. When news about "genuine"
E. in the West reached Sokolov, he was forced partly to change and to broaden
considerably his theoretical tenets; and this led to overextension: Sokolov's Expres­
sionism burst like a soap bubble. Participants in this early, Imagist phase of E. had
contact with some other avant-garde groups of the period, such as the nicevoki and
the Fuists who, in their turn, displayed occasional interest in Western E. The second
phase was connected with the names of Lapin and Gabrilovic, and for them E. meant
26
His first book on the subject was Kinoscenarij : Teorija i texnika (Moscow, 1926). Later he
wrote a monograph on Chaplin, Carli Čaplin : Žizn' i tvorcestvo (Moscow, 1938) and compiled Istorija
sovetskogo kinoiskusstva zvukovogo perioda (Moscow, 1940). The switch of Russian avant-garde
poets to cinematography is a subject worth investigating. Rjurik Rok and his brother, Marian Goring,
became movie directors (they published jointly the book on art in the United States, Xèp, xèp,
mister (Moscow: Proletkul't, 1926); one day they did not come back from a European trip and
they continued to be active in films abroad. Šeršenevič switched from imagist poems to writing
books about film actors. Krucenyx wrote a book Govorjascee kino (Moscow, 1928). Especially in­
teresting is the impact of German expressionist film evident in Kuzmin's last book of verse, ForeV
razbivaet led (Leningrad, 1929).
27
Udarnoe iskusstvo okon satiry (1930), Grafika v bytu (1930); Gogol' v Moskve (1954), Pamjatnye
mesta Moskvy (1959); Ocerki moskovskoj zizni (1962).
28
Evg. Gabrilovic, 0 torn cto prošlo (Moscow: Iskusstvo, 1967).

326
an amalgam of "Centrifuge", German E., Xlebnikov, and German Romanticism.
The "Centrifuge" itself during this last period of its existence came close to German E.
— closer, in fact, than any variety of Russian E. proper.
An unmistakable achievement of Russian E. was the poetry of Boris Lapin which,
though lacking maturity, showed originality and great potentialities. His poetry, wheth­
er in its real or potential qualities, was a part of an unnoticed flowering which included
the late verse of Benedikt Livsic, Mixail Kuzmin, Ivan Aksënov, and Sergej Bobrov
and which would be an interesting subject for future study and, appreciation. This
poetry was overshadowed by the publicity accompanying other avant-garde groups,
not to mention the groups encouraged by the government, and an investigation of this
poetry has yet to be made. So far, out of all this poetry, only the genius of Mandel'stam
begins to break through the crust of neglect accumulated for decades.

327
 EXPRESSIONISM AS AN INTERNATIONAL PHENOMENON

An Annotated Bibliography

* Starred items have heen checked by the compiler. U.W.

I. REVIEWS OF RESEARCH AND BIBLIOGRAPHIES

* Brinkmann, Richard. Expressionismus: Forschungsprobleme 1952—1960 (Stuttgart: Metzler,

1961). 98 pp. From the Deutsche Vierteljahrsschrift für Literaturwissenschaft und Geistesgeschichte.
* Demange, Camille. "Orientations de la recherche sur l'expressionisme depuis 1960". Etudes Ger-
maniques, X X I I (1967), 87-92.
* Hill, Claude and Ralph Ley. The Drama of German Expressionism : A German—English Biblio-
graphy (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1960). 211 pp. —General bibliography
(pp. 6—38) lists 682 items. The second part (listing over 3000 items) offers sections devoted
to Barlach, Brecht (only English-language publications), Bronnen, Goering, Hasenclever,
Jahnn, Johst, Kaiser, Kokoschka, Kornfeld, Rubiner, Sorge, Sternheim, Toller, Unruh and
Werfel respectively.
* Konrad, Gustav. "Expressionismus: Ein kritisches Referat". Wirkendes Wort, VII (1957),
351-367.
Paulsen, Wolfgang. "Die deutsche expressionistische Dichtung und ihre Erforschung". Univer-
sitas, XVII (1962), 411-422.
Raabe, Paul. "Expressionismus: Eine Literaturübersicht". Der Deutschunterricht, XVI/2 (1964)
Supplement, pp. 1—32.
* Schneider, Karl-Ludwig. "Neuere Literatur zur Dichtung des deutschen Expressionismus".
Euphorion, XLVII (1953), pp. 99-110.

II. COLLECTIONS OF ESSAYS, SPECIAL ISSUES

* Bilancio dell'espressionismo (Florence: Vallecchi, 1965). 129 pp. —Six essays originally read at a
conference held in Florence in April, 1964, with the theme "Incontri con l'espressionismo".
Abbreviation: Bilancio . . .
* Einführung in die Kunst der Gegenwart, ed. Max Deri (Leipzig: Seemann, 1919). 148 pp. 48 ills.
— Essays by Deri, Max Dessoir, Arnold Schering, Alwin Kronacher, Max Martersteig, and Oskar
Walzel. Abbreviation: Einführung . . .
*L'Expressionisme dans le théâtre européen (Paris: Editions du Centre National de la Recherche
Scientifique, 1971), 407 pp.—Proceedings of the Strasbourg Colloquium. 25 essays, a number
of documentary statements by Hasenclever, Kaiser, Kornfeld and Goll, a chronology (pp. 363—
390) and 110 ills.
* Friedmann, Hermann and Otto Mann, eds. Expressionismus : Gestalten einer literarischen Bewegung
(Heidelberg: Rothe, 1956). 356 pp. —General introduction by Otto Mann, an essay on the
precursors by Bernhard Rang, a section on poetry (eleven poets, with an introductory essay
by Edgar Lohner), a section on drama (five playwrights, with an introductory essay by Otto
Mann), and a chapter on Dada written by Fritz Usinger. Biographies, bibliographies and a
chronology of publication dates.
* Ekspresionizam i hrvatska knjizevnost. Special issue of the periodical Kritika (Zagreb, 1969).
156 pp. —Essays on Yugoslav, Polish, Hungarian, Rumanian, and Bulgarian E. Abbrevation:
Ekspresionizam . . .
* Imprimatur. Special issue on E.: N. F. III (1961/62), pp. 82 —257.—Contains a variety of essays,
many of them devoted to Expressionist activities and manifestations in various German lo­
calities. An essay by Klaus Ziegler on "Dichtung und Gesellschaft im deutschen E . " is also
included.
* Marcatré, special issue Nos. 8/10 (1964) contains an anthology of papers read at the Florence
convegno, among them those by Gregotti, Reich and Wörner listed below, as well as M. Brizio's
"L'espressionismo in rapporto al passato", E. Debenedetti's "Chagall e l'espressionismo"
and reports by, and interviews with, Raffaello Ramat, Roman Vlad, M. Volpi and N. Ponente.
* Paulsen, Wolfgang, ed. Aspekte des Expressionismus : Periodisierung, Stil, Gedankenwelt (Heidel­
berg: Stiehm, 1968). 175 pp. —Seven papers read at the Amherst Colloquium 1967, including

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 contributions—not separately listed—by Wilhelm Emrich, Wolfgang Paulsen, Reinhold
Grimm, and Andrzej Wirth.
* Rothe, Wolfgang, ed. Expressionismus als Literatur (Berne: Francke, 1969). 797 pp.—The most
exhaustive survey of German literary E.now available. Includes comprehensive bibliographies.
Following three introductory essays by Erich von Kahler, R. Hinton Thomas, and Wolfgang
Rothe, the volume offers five main sections: I. "Übergănge, Gattungen, Querschnitte"
(7 essays); I I . "Expressionistische Lyriker" (14 essays); I I I . "Expressionistische Drama­
tiker" (12 essays); IV. "Expressionistische Prosaisten" (8 essays), and V. "Der Dadaismus"
(4 essays).
* Steifen, Hans, ed. Der deutsche Expressionismus : Formen und Gestalten (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck
& Ruprecht, 1965). 268 pp.—Twelve lectures presented at the German Cultural Institute in
Paris. Covers many aspects of German E., including literature, painting, and music.
* Das Wort, I I (1937), I I I (1938). —An extended discussion of E. in this German-language periodi­
cal published in Moscow on the eve of World War II. 19 contributions in six issues, including
essays by Klaus Mann, Herwarth Walden, Béla Balázs, Georg Lukács, and Ernst Bloch.

I I I . DOCUMENTS, MEMOIRS, CATALOGUES, SYMPOSIA, MANIFESTOS

Chiarini, Paolo, Franco Lo Re, and Ida Porena, eds. Caos e geometria : per un regesto delle poetiche
espressioniste (Florence, 1964). 240 pp.—The Italian counterpart of Pörtner's collection (see
below). "Convegno internazionale di studi sull'espressionismo," held, in May, 1965, as part
of the Florentine Maggio Musicale of that year. Exhibitions, musical performances (opera
and concert) and literary symposia. Proceedings unpublished, except for a selection of papers
printed in the periodical Marcatré and numerous individual contributions published in various
Italian and foreign periodicals. Reports and references in many books and periodicals. See
especially Paolo Chiarini's book Espressionismo : storia e struttura (listed below) and Ladislao
Mittner's monograph (also listed below), as well as the latter's Saggi, divagazioni, polemiche
(Naples: Morano, 1964).
* Dietz, Ludwig. " K u r t Wolffs Bücherei 'Der jüngste Tag': Seine Geschichte und Bibliographie".
Philobiblon, V I I (1962), pp. 96-118.
* DuTzak, Manfred. "Dokumente des Expressionismus: Das Kurt-Wolff-Archiv". Euphorion, LX
(1966), pp. 337-369. — Catalogues and describes the holdings of the archive at Yale, especi­
ally the letters, many of which are found in Wolff's Briefwechsel (listed below).
* Edschmid, Kasimir, ed. Briefe der Expressionisten (Berlin: Ullstein, 1964). 189 pp.
* —.Lebendiger Expressionismus: Auseinandersetzungen, Gestalten, Erinnerungen (Munich: Desch,
1961). 409 pp.
* —, ed. Schöpferische Konfession (Berlin: Reiss, 1920). "Tribüne der Kunst und Zeit" No. 12.—
Perhaps the most important collection of statements by German Expressionist writers and
artists. Credos by Pechstein, Beckmann, Klee, Edwin Scharff, Felixmüller, Marc, HÖlzel,
Schönberg, Benn, Unruh, Toller, Schickele, Becher, and Kaiser. 101 pp.
* Der Aktivismus 1915-1920, ed. Wolfgang Rothe (Munich: Deutscher Taschenbuch-Verlag, 1969).
160 pp.-Selections from Das Ziel, Tătiger Geist and the two volumes of Die Erhebung.
* Ich schneide die Zeit aus: Expressionismus und Politik in Franz Pfemferts "Aktion", ed. Paul
Raabe (Munich: Deutscher Taschenbuch-Verlag, 1964). 386 pp.—Vast selection of materials
published between 1911 and 1918.
* Der jüngste Tag : Die Bücherei einer Epoche, ed. H. Schöffler (Frankfurt: Scheffler, 1970). 2 vols.,
1803 and 1767 pp.—Reprints all 86 booklets issued in this series. Documentary supplement
in II, 1553ff.
* Miesel, Victor H., ed. Voices of German Expressionism (Englewood Cliffs, N. J.: Prentice Hall,
1970). 211 pp. — Statements, primarily by German painters.
* Pörtner, Paul, ed. Literatur-Revolution 1910—1925 : Dokumente, Manifeste, Programme (Neuwied:
Luchterhand, 1960) .2 vols., 503 and 613 pp. I: Zur ăsthetik und Poetik, I I : Zur Begriffsbestim­
mung der Ismen. — Section on E.: II, pp. 143—383.
* Raabe, Paul, ed. Expressionismus: Aufzeichnungen und Erinnerungen der Zeitgenossen (Olten/
Freiburg: Walter, 1965). 422 pp.—Extensive notes.
* —, ed. Expressionismus: Der Kampf um eine literarische Bewegung (Munich: Deutscher Taschen­
buch-Verlag, 1965). 319 pp. —Critical statements pro and con dating from 1909 to 1938. Ex­
tensive bibliography of such statements published in German periodicals between 1909 and
1932 (pp. 308-314).
* —, ed. Der spăte Expressionismus, 1918—1922: Bücher, Bilder, Zeitschriften, Dokumente (Biberach:
Biberacher Verlagsdruckerei, 1966). 58 pp. —Catalogue of an exhibition.
*— and H. L. Greve, eds. Expressionismus: Literatur und Kunst 1910—1923 (Munich: Langen/
Müller, 1960). 349 pp. Many ills. —Catalogue of an exhibition held at the Schiller-National­
museum in Marbach.

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* Schreyer, Lothar. Eri?inerungen an Sturm und Bauhaus: Was ist des Menschen Bild? (Munich:
Langen/Müller, 1956; paperback ed. Munich: List, 1966). 295 pp.
* Symposium on E., conducted during the 5th ICLA-Congress in Belgrade (1967). Not included
in the Proceedings. Papers by Armin Arnold, Zoran Konstantinovic, Gerhard Loose, and
Richard Vowles, with introductory material by Ulrich Weisstein. Unpublished.
* Walden, Nell and Lothar Schreyer, eds. Der Sturm: Ein Erinnerungsbuch an Herwarth Walden
und die Künstler des Sturmkreises (Baden Baden: Klein, 1954). 274 pp. Numerous ills. —Con­
tains essays by Nell Walden ("Aus meinen Erinnerungen an H. W. und die Sturm-Zeit",
pp. 9—63), Lothar Schreyer ("Herwarth Waldens Werk", pp. 113—159), as well as letters
by August Stramm (pp. 74—99), a complete list of contributions to Der Sturm (vols. I—XIV),
a list of Sturm exhibitions and publications, and some poetry. .
* Wolff, Kurt. Briefwechsel eines Verlegers, 1911-1963 (Frankfurt: Schemer, 1966). 621 pp.—
Letters by Hasenclever, Trakl, Stadler, Werfel, Edschmid, Schickele, Unruh, Hiller, and Toller,
among others.
Note: Most of the important Expressionist periodicals (Der Sturm, Die Aktion, Die Weissen Blătter)
and many of the minor ones listed by Raabe (see below) have been reprinted in recent years.

IV. ANTHOLOGIES OF GERMAN EXPRESSIONIST PROSE, POETRY AND DRAMA

Bode, Dietrich, ed. Gedichte des Expressionismus (Stuttgart: Reclam, 1966). Reclams Universal-
Bibliothek Nos. 8726-28.
* Denkler, Horst, ed. Einakter und kleine Dramen des Expressionismus (Stuttgart: Reclam, 1968).
285 pp. Reclams Universal-Bibliothek, Nos. 8562—64. — Sixteen plays by Döblin, Kokoschka,
Kandinsky, Werfel, Hasenclever, Benn, Sorge, Kasack, Johst, Koffka, Becher, Kaiser, Brust,
Goll, Britting, and Franz Jung.
* Kandier, Klaus, ed. Expressionismus: Dramen, 2 vols. (Berlin: Aufbau-Verlag, 1967).
* Heselhaus, Clemens, ed. Die Lyrik des Expressionismus (Tübingen: Niemeyer, 1956.) 199 pp.
"Deutsche Texte 5".—Extensive notes (pp. 164—195).
* Lyrik des expressionistischen Jahrzehnts, ed. Max Niedermayer (Wiesbaden: Limes-Verlag, 1956;
reprinted by the Deutscher Taschenbuch-Verlag in Munich, 1965). —Preface by Gottfried
Benn.
* Martini, Fritz, ed. Prosa des Expressionismus (Stuttgart: Reclam, 1970). 318 pp. Reclams Uni­
versal-Bibliothek, Nos. 8379—82.—A long introduction by the editor (pp. 3—48) is followed
by one selection each from the work of sixteen authors.
* Otten, Karl, ed. Ahnung und Aufbruch: Expressionistische Prosa (Darmstadt: Luchterhand,
1957). 567 pp.
* —, ed. Ego und Eros: Meistererzăhlungen des Expressionismus (Stuttgart: Goverts, 1963). 584 pp.
— Postscript by H. Schöffler.
*—, ed. Expressionismus—grotesk (Zurich: Die Arche, 1962). 106 pp.
* —, ed. Schrei und Bekenntnis: Expressionistisches Theater (Darmstadt: Luchterhand, 1959).;
1012 pp. — Contains thirty-six plays.
* Pandolfi, Vito, ed. Il teatro espressionista tedesco. 2 vols. (Bologna: Zanichelli, 1956).
* Pinthus, Kurt, ed. Menschheitsdămmerung: Eine Symphonie der jüngsten Dichtung, new ed.
(Hamburg: Rowohlt, 1959). 382 pp.— With a postscript "Nach 40 Jahren" (pp. 7-21) and
enlarged biographies and bibliographies.
* Ritchie, J. M., ed. and transi. Seven Expressionist Plays (London: Calder & Boyars, 1968).—
Ritchie has also edited and translated five plays each by Sternheim (Calder & Boyars,
1970) and Georg Kaiser (Calder & Boyars, 1970).
— , ed. and transi. Vision and Aftermath: Four Expressionist War Plays (London: Calder &
Boyars, 1969).
* Schondorff, Joachim, ed. Deutsches Theater des Expressionismus (Munich: Langen/Müller, n.d.
[1961]). — Contains Goering's Seeschlacht, Kaiser's Von morgens bis mitternachts, Barlach's
Der blaue Boll and works by Wedekind, Lasker-Schüler, and Hans Henny Jahnn.
* Sokel, Walter H. An Anthology of German Expressionist Drama : A Prelude to the Absurd (Garden
City: Anchor Books, 1963). — Contains two plays by Kokoschka, Sternheim's Kassette,
Hasenclever's Der Sohn, Sorge's Der Bettler (Acts I—III), Kaiser's Der gerettete Alkibiades and
plays by Goll and Lauckner, plus several essays in English translation.

V. THE WORD "EXPRESSIONISM"

* Arnold, Armin. "Um den Begriff 'Expressionismus'". Die Literatur des Expressionismus (Stutt­
gart: Kohlhammer, 1966), pp. 9—15.
* Gordon, Donald. "On the Origin of the Word 'Expressionism' ". Journal of the Warburg/Gourtauld
Institute, X X I X (1966), 368-385.

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* Kreuzer, Helmut. "The Expressionist : Ein wortgeschichtlicher Hinweis". Monatshefte, LVI (1964),
pp. 336-337.
Pörtner, Paul. "Was heisst Expressionismus?" Neue Zürcher Zeitung, January 29, 1961.
Schmalenbach, Fritz. "Das Wort 'Expressionismus' ". Neue Zürcher Zeitung, March 11, 1961.

VI. GERMAN EXPRESSIONISM: SECONDARY LITERATURE IN GERMAN

(including foreign influences on German Expressionist literature)

1. General (primarily books. A rather extensive list of relevant articles published between 1919 and
1932 is found on pp. 308—314 of the previously listed collection Expressionismus : Der Kampf
um eine Bewegung, ed. Paul Raabe.)

* Arnold, Armin. Die Literatur des Expressionismus : Sprachliche und thematische Quellen (Stuttgart:
Kohlhammer, 1966). 200 pp. — The impact of Marinetti and Futurism is dicussed on pp. 16—27
and 69-79.
* Bachmann, Frieda. "Die Theorie, die historischen Beziehungen und die Eigenart des Expressio­
nismus". Germanie Review, I I (1927), pp. 229—243.
Bambauer, Eleonore. "Schizophrenie und Expressionismus". Dissertation, University of Munich
(Medical School), 1951. 39 pp.
* Benn, Gottfried. "Bekenntnis zum Expressionismus". Deutsche Zukunft, November 5, 1933.
Reprinted in the volume Kunst und Macht (1934).
* —. Introduction to the volume Lyrik des expressionistischen Jahrzehnts, ed. M. Niedermayer
(Wiesbaden: Limes-Verlag, 1956).—This essay is a revised version of the above piece.
Bense, Max. "Exkurs über den Expressionismus" in Plakatwelt: 4 Essays (Stuttgart: Metzler,
1952), pp. 38-62.
* Bloch, Ernst. Three essays concerning E. in Die Kunst, Schiller zu sprechen, und andere Aufsătze
(Frankfurt: Suhrkamp, 1969). —"Der E., jetzt erblickt" (1937; pp. 73 — 83); "Diskussionen
über E . " (1938; pp. 83-97), and "Problem des E. nochmals" (1940; pp. 97-101).
Blunck, Richard. Der Impuls des Expressionismus (Hamburg: Harms, 1921). 50 pp.
* Boise, Elisabeth B. "Expressionismus als literarhistorischer Periodenbegriff". Dissertation, New
York University, 1963. Dissertation Abstracts, XXV (1965), 5925. 181 pp.
Brinkmann, Karl. Impressionismus und Expressionismus in der deutschen Literatur (Hollfeld/Obb.:
Bange, 1962). 95 pp. "Königs Erlăuterungen zu den Klassikern", vol. 267.
* Brösel, Karl. Veranschaulichung im Realismus, Impressionismus und Früh-Expressionismus
(Munich: Hueber, 1928). 64 pp.—Vol. 2 in the series "Wortkunst: Untersuchungen zur Sprach-
und Literaturgeschichte". — I: "Wille und Făhigkeit zur Schaffung greifbarer Anschauungs­
werte in realistischer und ihr verwandter Dichtung"; I I : "Stellung frühexpress. und ihr ver­
wandter Dichtung zum Naturvorbild: Gegensătzliche Haltung des Realismus".
* Bruggen, M. F . E. van. Im Schatten des Nihilismus : Die expressionistische Lyrik im Rahmen und
als Ausdruck der geistigen Situation Deutschlands (Amsterdam: Paris, 1946). 234 pp. — Dutch
dissertation.
Daxlberger, R. "Das Heilige in der deutschen Dichtung zur Zeit des Expressionismus". Disser­
tation, University of Munich, 1937.
Domino, Ruth. "Die Programmatik des Expressionismus". Dissertation, University of Vienna,
1933.
* Dürsteier, Heinz Peter. Sprachliche Neuschöpfungen im Expressionismus (Berne: "Wir jungen
Schweizer", 1954). 86 pp.—Berne dissertation (1953). I: "Der E. und sein Verhăltnis zur
Sprache" (pp. 7—22); I I : "Die sprachlichen Neuschöpfungen" (pp. 23—72). The most ex­
haustive treatment of this important subject.
* Duwe, Wilhelm. Deutsche Dichtung des 20. Jahrhunderts vom Naturalismus zum Surrealismus
(Zurich: Füssli, 1969). —"Express. Dichtung" (I, pp. 142-176), "Express. Prosa" (I, pp.
461-508), "Express. Drama" (II, pp. 298-374).
* Edschmid, Kasimir. Die doppelköpfige Nymphe (Berlin: Cassirer, 1920). 238 pp.—A collection
of essays, many of them relevant to our topic. Especially noteworthy are the following pieces:
"Situation der deutschen Dichtung" (pp. 11—18), "Dăubler und die Schule der Abstrakten"
(pp. 116-125), "Döblin und die Futuristen" (pp. 129-134), "Durchstich durch den 24.
Januar 1920 in der deutschen Prosa" (pp. 169-198), and "Bilanz" (pp. 209-231).
* —. Über den Expressionismus in der Literatur und die neue Dichtung (Berlin: Reiss, 1920). "Tri­
büne der Kunst und Zeit", 1. 79 pp.—Contains two very important essays: "Über die dichte­
rische deutsche Jugend" (a lecture presented in March, 1918, in various Scandinavian cities)
and "Über den dichterischen Expressionismus" (fall, 1917). Translated into various languages.
A Russian version was announced but never published.

332
* Erken, Günther. "Der Expressionismus: Anreger, Herausgeber, Verleger" in Kunisch/Hennecke,
eds., Handbuch der deutschen Gegenwartsliteratur (Munich: Nymphenburger, 1965), pp. 647—
676.
* Falk, Walter. Leid und Verwandlung : Rilke, Kafka, Trakl und der Epochenstil des Impressionismus
und Expressionismus (Salzburg: Müller, 1961). — Of very marginal importance: "Impressio­
nismus und E. als Problem" (pp. 11—15) and "Wesensmerkmale des I. und E . " (pp. 403 —
406).
* Gallas, Helga. Marxistische Literaturtheorie: Kontroversen im Bund proletarisch-revolutionărer
Schriftsteller (Neuwied: Luchterhand, 1971).—About the so-called "E.-Debatte": pp. 18—25,
182-184.
Goepfert, Herbert G. "Der expressionistische Verlag: Versuch einer Übersicht". Brandenburger
Vortrăge, Sonderdruck 1962, pp. 43 — 68.
Gruber, Helmut. "The Political and Ethical Mission of German Expressionism". German Quarterly,
X L (1967), 186-203.
Haas, Willy. "Jugendstil und Expressionismus: Eine Anmerkung". Eckart-Jahrbuch, 1963/64, pp.
65-72.
Harms, Gertrude ."Ein Beitrag zur Begriffsbestimmung des Expressionismus". Dissertation, Uni­
versity of Bonn, 1931.
* Hatvani, Paul. "Über den Expressionismus". Bulletin des Leo-Baeck-Instituts (Tel-Aviv), V I I I
(1965), pp. 177-206.
* Heller, Peter. "Eisgekühlter Expressionismus". Merkur, I X (1955), pp. 1095—1100.
* Hermand, Jost. "Expressionismus als Revolution" in Von Mainz nach Weimar (Stuttgart:
Metzler, 1969), pp. 298—355.—Negative approach to E. Factually not always reliable.
—. Expressionismus (Berlin: Akademie-Verlag; Munich: Nymphenburger). Vol. 6 of Richard
Hamann and Jost Hermand, Epochen der deutschen Kultur von 1870 bis zur Gegenwart. An­
nounced for publication in 1972.
Hiermann, Rainer. "Expressionismus und Psychoanalyse". Dissertation, University of Vienna,
1950.
Kayser, Rudolf. "Das Ende des Expressionismus". Der Neue Merkur, IV (1920), pp. 248—258.
* Klages, Ludwig. Ausdrucksbewegung und Gestaltungskraft : Grundlegung der Wissenschaft vom
Ausdruck (Leipzig: Barth, 1923). 205 pp.
Knevels, W. Expressionismus und Religion, gezeigt an der neuesten deutschen Lyrik (Tübingen:
Mohr, 1927).
* Kolinsky, Eva. Engagierter Expressionismus: Politik und Literatur zwischen Weltkrieg und
Weimarer Republik: Eine Analyse expressionistischer Zeitschriften (Stuttgart: Metzler, 1970).
232 pp. — Covers period 1914—1920, focuses on Die Aktion and Die Weissen Blătter.
Kühl-Wiese, B. "Georg Trakl und der Blaue Reiter: Form- und Farbstrukturen in Dichtung und
Malerei des Expressionismus". Dissertation, University of Münster, 1965.
Loewenthal, Leo. "Die Auffassung Dostojewskis im Vorkriegsdeutschland". Zeitschrift für Sozial­
forschung, I I I (1934), pp. 343-381.
* Lukács, Georg. "Grösse und Verfall des Expressionismus". Internationale Literatur, I (1934),
pp. 153-173. Also in Werke (Neuwied: Luchterhand), IV (1971), pp. 111-149. — I: "Zur
Ideologie der deutschen Intellektuellen in der imperialistischen Periode"; I I : Der E. und die
USP-Ideologie"; I I I : "Schöpferische Methode des E " .
* Martini, Fritz. "Expressionismus" in Reallexikon der deutschen Literaturgeschichte, ed. Kohl­
schmidt/Mohr, I (1958), pp. 420-432.—Extensive bibl.
* —. Was war Expressionismus ? (Urach: Port-Verlag, 1948). 244 pp. —"Der E. als dichterische
Bewegung" (pp. 9—65), "Der E. und die lyrische Sprache" (pp. 66—92), "Die Dichter"
(pp. 95-174), "Die Gedichte".
* Mayer, Hans. "Rückblick auf den Expressionismus". Neue Deutsche Hefte, X I I I , No. 4 (1966),
pp. 32—51. As "Retrospektive des Expressionismus" in Mayer's book Zur deutschen Literatur
der Zeit (Hamburg: Rowohlt, 1967), pp. 37—53. Originally presented at the Florence convegno
and published in the special issue of Marcatré.
* Meyer, Alfred Richard. Die maer von der musa expressionistica : zugleich eine quasi-Literaturge-
schichte mit 130 praktischen Beispielen (Düsseldorf-Kaiserwerth: Die Faehre, 1948). 130 pp.
Müller, Robert. Die idealistischen Grundzüge der expressionistischen Literatur (Berlin: Dietzler,
1931).
* Muschg, Walter. Von Trakl zu Brecht: Dichter des Expressionismus (Munich: Piper, 1963). 380
pp.—Essays on specific authors. "Von Trakl zu Brecht" (introductory essay on pp. 11—93)
subdivided into 1. "Das Schlagwort" (pp. 11-23), 2. "Die Hochburg" (pp. 24-57), 3. "Ex­
press. Sprache" (pp. 57—82) and 4. "Express. Form" (pp. 83—93).
* Paulsen, Wolfgang. Expressionismus und Aktivismus (Berlin/Leipzig: Gotthelf, 1935). 240 pp.
— Originally published in Strasbourg.
Pfister, Oskar. Der psychologische und biologische Untergrund expressionistischer Bilder (Berne:
Bircher, 1920). 185 pp. 12 ills. —English translation published in New York (1923).
Picard. Max, Das Ende des Expressionismus (Zurich-Erlenbach: Rentsch, 1916, 1920). 76 pp.

333
* Raabe, Paul. "Der Expressionismus als historisches Phănomen". Deutschunterricht, XVII, No. 5
(1965), pp. 5-20.
*— . "Die Revolte der Dichter: Die frühen Jahre des Expressionismus, 1909—1914". Der Monat,
Heft 191 (1964), pp. 86-93.
* —. Die Zeitschriften und Sammlungen des literarischen Expressionismus (Stuttgart: Metzler,
1964). 263 pp.
* Rasch, Wolfdietrich. "Was war Expressionismus?" Akzente, I I I (1956), 368—373. Reprinted in
Zur deutschen Literatur seit der Jahrhundertwende (Stuttgart: Metzler, 1967), pp. 221—227.
Richter, Wilfried. "Massen und Massenführung in der deutschen Literatur des Zeitraumes des
Expressionismus". Dissertation, Free University, Berlin, 1955. 146 pp.
* Rühle, Jürgen. "Das Theater der deutschen Revolution" in Theater und Revolution (Munich:
Deutscher Taschenbuch-Verlag, 1963), pp. 127—158.
Sallwürck, Edmund von. Der Weg zum literarischen Expressionismus (Langensalza: Beyer, 1919).
28 pp. —No. 275 of "Friedrich Manns Pădagogisches Magazin".
Schacherl, Lillian. "Zeitschriften des Expressionismus: Versuch einer zeitungswissenschaftlichen
Strukturanalyse". Dissertation, University of Munich, 1958. 157 pp.
* Schneider, Karl-Ludwig. Zerbrochene Formen: Wort und Bild im Expressionismus (Hamburg:
Hoffmann & Campe, 1967). 204 pp. Some ills. —"E.: Dichtung und Malerei" (pp. 7-32).
* Schonauer, Franz. "Expressionismus und Faschismus: Eine Diskussion aus dem Jahre 1938".
Literatur und Kritik, 1(1966), No. 7 pp. 44—54, No. 8, pp. 45—55. —Regarding the controversy
in Das Wort.
* Schreyer, Lothar. "Das war Der Sturm" in Minotaurus, ed. Alfred Döblin (Wiesbaden: Steiner,
n. d. [1953]), pp. 112-130.
—. Die neue Kunst (Berlin: Der Sturm-Verlag, 1916).
Stehlin, Peter. Zum Goethebild des literarischen Expressionismus (Zurich: Juris-Verlag, 1967). 96 pp.
* Stuyver, Wilhelmina. Deutsche expressionistische Dichtung im Lichte der Philosophie der Gegenwart
(Amsterdam: Paris, 1937). 219 pp.—Dutch diss.
Utiz, Emil. Die Grundlagen der jüngsten Kunstbewegung: Ein Vortrag (Stuttgart: Enke, 1913).
27 pp.
—. Die Kultur der Gegenwart, in den Grundzügen dargestellt (Stuttgart: Enke, 1921). 292 pp.
*— Die Überwindung des Expressionismus: Gharakterologische Studien zur Kultur der Gegenwart
(Stuttgart: Enke, 1927). 190 pp.—Contains sections on E. (p. 17ff.), "Der express. Mensch"
(p. 26ff.), "Der nachexpress. Mensch" (p. 38ff.), "Expressive Tanz-Tendenzen" (p. 45ff.),
"Nachexpressive Tanz-Tendenzen" (p. 47), "Nachexpressive Tendenzen in den bildenden Kün­
sten" (p. 59ff.) and "Expressive Pădagogik" (p. 72ff.).
Vogeler, Heinrich. Expressionismus: Eine Zeitstudie (Hamburg: Hăuf, n.d. [1921]). 29 pp.
* Walzel, Oskar. "Eindruckskunst und Ausdruckskunst in der Dichtung" in Einführung . . . ,
pp. 26—46. A Russian version of this essay, in the form included in W's book Die deutsche
Literatur seit Goethes Tod, was published under the title Impressionizm i ekspressionizm v sov-
remennoj Germanii (St. Petersburg: Academia, 1922).
Wiese, Leopold von. Strindberg und die junge Generation (Cologne: Rheinland-Verlag, 1921).
16 pp.
* Worringer, Wilhelm. "Künstlerische Zeitfragen" in Fragen und Gegenfragen (Munich: Piper,
1956), pp. 106-129. —A lecture delivered in 1921.
Ziesche, Kurt. Vom Expressionismus : Eine Geivissensforschung (Leipzig: Vier Quellen-Verlag, 1919).
60 pp.

2. Expressionism and Drama

Beer, Willy. "Untersuchungen zur Problematik des expressionistischen Dramas, unter besonderer
Berücksichtigung der Dramatik Georg Kaisers und Fritz von Unruhs". Dissertation, Univer­
sity of Breslau, 1934.
* Denkler, Horst. Drama des Expressionismus : Programm, Spieltext, Theater (Munich: Fink, 1967).
260 pp.
* Diebold, Bernhard. Anarchie im Drama (Frankfurt: Frankfurter Verlagsanstalt, 1921). 479 pp.
—A basic study emphasizing the impact of Strindberg's late dramas and introducing the triad
Ich-, Schrei- and Pflichtdramen.
* Emmel, Felix. Das ekstatische Theater (Prien: Kampmann & Schnabel, 1924). 356 pp.—Pleads
for the "unerbittliche Austreibung der Psychologie" and aims at giving dramatic art "eine neue
überintellektuelle Grundlage: die Ekstase des Blutes". Contains sections on "ekstatische Regie"
(pp, 15—34), "ekstatische Schauspielkunst" (pp. 34—42). The main portion of the book offers
drama reviews written for the Preussische Jahrbücher, among them (in the section "Theater
der Lebenden") reviews of Toller's Masse-Mensch, O'Neill's The Emperor Jones, and Brecht's
Trommeln in der Nacht. Concluding essay by Luise Dumont ("Ursprache").

334
Fărber, Otto M. "Die iliusionsauflösende Tendenz im dramaturgischen Programm des Expressio­
nismus". Dissertation, University of Vienna, 1958.
Frank, Rudolf. Das expressionistische Drama (Frankfurt: Verlag des Bühnenvolksbundes, 1921).
16 pp. Series "Dichter und Bühne".
* Guthke, Karl S. "Das Drama des Expressionismus und die Metaphysik der Enttăuschung" in
Aspekte . . . , pp. 33—58.
* Hain, Mathilde. Studien über das Wesen des frühexpressionistischen Dramas (Frankfurt: Diester-
weg, 1933). 102 pp.
* Hinck, Walter. "Individuum und Gesellschaft im expressionistischen Drama" in Festschrift für
Klaus Ziegler, ed. E. Catholy (Tübingen: Niemeyer, 1968), pp. 343-359.
* Hohendahl, Peter Uwe. Das Bild der bürgerlichen Welt im expressionistischen Drama (Heidel­
berg: Winter, 1967), 305 pp.
* —. "Der Abenteurer im expressionistischen Drama: Zur Soziologie des literarischen Wandels".
Orbis Litterarum, X X I (1966), 181-201.
* Kandier, Klaus, "Das expressionistische Drama vor dem ersten Weltkrieg". Dissertation, Uni­
versity of Leipzig, 1969.
* —. Postscript to the second volume of the anthology Expressionismus : Dramen. (Berlin: Aufbau-
Verlag, 1970), pp. 363-404.
* Kaufmann, Hans. "Expressionistische Dramatik" in Krisen und Wandlungen der deutschen
Literatur von Wedekind bis Feuchtwanger (Berlin: Aufbau-Verlag, 1969), pp. 253—293.
Keller, Marie V. Der deutsche Expressionismus im Drama seiner Hauptvertreter (Weimar: Böhlau,
1936), 66 pp.
* Krell, Max, ed. Das deutsche Theater der Gegenwart (Munich: Rosi, 1923). 256 pp. —Contains an
essay by Rolf Lauckner: "Der Weg zur expressiven Schauspielkunst".
* Lammert, Eberhard. "Das expressionistische Verkündigungsdrama" in Der deutsche Expressio­
nismus, ed. H. Steffen, pp. 138—156.
Peduzzi, Karl. "Beobachtungen über die dramatische Kraftsprache im Sturm und Drang und im
Expressionismus". Dissertation, University of Vienna, 1924.
Petsch, Robert. "Von der Bühnendichtung der jüngsten Vergangenheit". Zeitschrift für deutsche
Kultur, X X X V I (1922), 420—445. Hill & Ley list many other relevant contributions by Petsch
(p. 14).
* Pörtner, Paul. "Die Satire im expressionistischen Theater". Maske & Kothurn, I X (1963), 169—181*
Riedel, Walter E. "Studien zum neuen Menschen im deutschen Drama des 20. Jahrhunderts".
Dissertation, McGill University, Montreal, 1966.
— .Der neue Mensch: Mythos und Wirklichkeit (Bonn: Bouvier, 1970). 124 pp. — Chapters on
Sorge, Kaiser, Toller, Johst, and Brecht.
Runge, Erika. "Vom Wesen des Expressionismus im Drama der Sturmbühne". Dissertation, Uni­
versity of Munich, 1962.
Schmitt, Norbert. "Grundzüge der expressionistischen Dramatik in Deutschland unter besonderer
Berücksichtigung Georg Kaisers". Dissertation, University of Münster, 1952. 179 pp.
Schneider, Manfred. Der Expressionismus im Drama: Ein einführender Vortrag (Stuttgart: Hoff­
mann, 1919). 32 pp.
* Schreyer, Lothar. Expressionistisches Theater: Aus meinen Erinnerungen (Hamburg: Toth, 1948).
233 pp. —O'Neill's Lazarus Laughed discussed on pp. 161—166, Claudel on pp. 226—233.
Sinsheimer, Hermann. Das neue Pathos auf der Bühne (Munich: Sachs, 1917). 18 pp.
*Sokel, Walter H. "Dialogführung und Dialog im expressionistischen Drama: Ein Beitrag zur
Bestimmung des Begriffs 'expressionistisch' im deutschen Drama" in Aspekte . . . , pp. 59—84.
Tintner, Elisabeth. "Über die Entwicklung des dichterischen Expressionismus mit besonderer
Berücksichtigung der dramatischen Probleme". Dissertation, University of Vienna, 1936.
* Viviani, Annalisa. Das Drama des Expressionismus : Kommentar zu einer Epochs (Munich: Wink­
ler, 1970). 190 pp. Extensive bibliography on pp. 149—184.
* —. Dramaturgische Elemente im expressionistischen Drama (Bonn: Bouvier, 1970). 187 pp.
* Vriesen, Hellmuth. "Die Stationentechnik im neueren deutschen Drama". Dissertation, Uni­
versity of Kiel, 1934. Published Essen, 1934. 88 pp.
Wasserka, Ingo. "Die Sturm- und Kampf bühne: Kunsttheorie und szenische Wirklichkeit im
expressionistischen Theater Lothar Schreyers". Dissertation, University of Vienna, 1965.
* Weiisstein, Ulrich. "Soziologisches Drama und politisches Theater: Erwin Piscators Beitrag zum
Drama der zwanziger J a h r e " in Deutsche Dramentheorien, ed. R. Grimm (Frankfurt:
Athenăum, 1971), pp. 516-547.
Wicke, Ernst-August. "Das Phănomen der Menschenliebe im expressionistischen Drama als săku­
larisierte Form der christlichen Agape". Dissertation, University of Marburg, 1952. 224 pp.
Wyatt, R. C. "The Symbolism of Color in the Drama of German Expressionism". Dissertation,
University of Iowa, 1956.
Wyler, Paul. "Der 'neue Mensch' im Drama des deutschen Expressionismus". Dissertation,
Stanford University (1944).
Ziegler, Klaus. "Das Drama des Expressionismus". Der Deutschunterricht, V (1953), 57-72.

335
3. Expressionism and Poetry
* Brinkmann, Richard. " 'Abstrakte' Lyrik im Expressionismus und die Möglichkeit symbolischer
Aussage" in Der deutsche Expressionismus, ed. H. Steffen, pp. 88—114.
* —. "Zur Wortkunst des Sturm-Kreises: Anmerkung über Möglichkeiten und Grenzen abstrakter
Dichtung" in Unterscheidung und Bewahrung : Festschrift für Hermann Kunisch, ed. K. Laza-
rowicz and W. Krön (Berlin: de Gruyter, 1961), pp. 63—78.
* Denkler, Horst, ed. Gedichte der "Menschheitsdămmerung": Interpretationen expressionistischer
Lyrik, mit einer Einleitung von Kurt Pinthus (Munich: Fink, 1971).—Interpretations of one
poem each by sixteen of the poets represented in the famous anthology. Eight of these had
previously appeared in a booklet published by the Oldenburg-Verlag in Munich.
Eberling, Rudolf D. "Studien zur Lyrik des Expressionismus". Dissertation, University of Frei­
burg, 1951. 121 pp.
* Eykman, Christoph. Die Funktion des Hăsslichen in der Lyrik Georg Heyms, Georg Trakts,
Gottfried Benns : Zur Krise der Wirklichkeitserfahrung im deutschen Expressionismus
(Bonn: Bouvier, 1965). 306 pp.
Falkenmeyer, F. "Expressionistische Lyrik". Dissertation, University of Würzburg, 1927.
* Kohlschmidt, Werner. "Der deutsche Früh-Expressionismus im Werke Georg Heyms und Georg
Trakls". Orbis Litterarum, I X (1954), 3-17, 100-119.
Lohn, Reinhold. "Ein Beitrag zur Erschliessung des lyrischen Sprachstils des Früh-Expressionis­
mus". Dissertation, University of Bonn, 1957. 420 pp.
* Luther, Gisela. Barocker Expressionismus ? : Zur Problematik der Beziehung zwischen der Bild­
lichkeit expressionistischer und barocker Lyrik (The Hague: Mouton, 1969). 177 p p . — A
Stanford University dissertation.
Maier, Dieter. "Absolute Wortkunst im Zeitraum des Expressionismus: Theorie, Gestaltung,
Gründe". Dissertation, University of Innsbruck, 1967.
Maté, M. "Die Dichtungssprache des Expressionismus". Dissertation, University of Vienna, 1935.
* Mautz, Kurt. "Die Farbensprache der expressionistischen Lyrik". Deutsche Vierteljahrsschrift
für Literaturwissenschaft und Geistesgeschichte, X X X I (1957), 198 — 240.
* Rittich, Werner. Kunsttheorie, Wortkunsttheorie und lyrische Wortkunst im "Sturm" (Greifswald:
Bamberger, 1933). 117 pp. A Greifswald dissertation.
Ruesch, Jürg-Peter. Ophelia im Wandel des lyrischen Bildes: Das Motiv der navigatio vitae bei
Arthur Rimbaud und im deutschen Expressionismus (Zurich: Juris-Verlag, 1964). 158 pp.
* Schirokauer, Arno. "Expressionistische Lyrik" in Weltliteratur der Gegenwart, ed. L. Marcuse
(Leipzig, 1924), I I , 53—133. Also in Schirokauer's Germanistische Studien, ed. Fritz Strich
(Hamburg, 1957), pp. 20-117.
* Schneider, Franz Josef. Der expressive Mensch und die deutsche Lyrik der Gegenwart: Geist und
Form moderner Dichtung (Stuttgart: Metzler, 1927). 155 pp. Chapters IV—VII are relevant
to E.
* Schneider, Karl-Ludwig. Der bildhafte Ausdruck in den Dichtungen Georg Heyms, Georg Trakls
und Ernst Stadlers (Heidelberg: Lambert Schneider, 1954).
Schulz, E. W. "Zeiterfahrung und Zeitdarstellung in der Lyrik des Expressionismus". Wort und
Welt, XIV (1968), 131-160.
Schumann, Detlev W. "Expressionism and Post-Expressionism in German Lyrics". Germanic Review
I X (1934), pp. 54-66, 115-129.
*—. "Motifs of Cultural Eschatology in German Poetry from Naturalism to Expressionism".
PMLA LVIII (1943), pp. 1125-77.
Steifes, Egbert. "Wirksame Krăfte in Gehalt und Gestalt der Lyrik im Zeitraum des Expressionis­
mus". Dissertation, University of Munich, 1956. 191 pp.
Stolte, H. "Über expressionistische Lyrik" in the volume Kultur und Dichtung (not otherwise
identified).

4. Expressionism and Prose Literature

* Arnold, Armin. Prosa des Expressionismus: Herkunft, Analyse, Inventar. Stuttgart: Kohl­
hammer, 1972. 210 pp. Special emphasis on Franz Jung, Edschmid, Flake and Curt
Corrinth.
Dimic née Bidanchon, Colette. "Das Groteske in der Erzăhlung des Expressionismus". Dissertation,
University of Freiburg, 1960. 240 and 139 pp.
Jens née Puttfarken, Inge. "Studien zur Entwicklung der expressionistischen Novelle". Disser­
tation, University of Tübingen, 1954. 318 pp.
* Kahler, Erich von. "Die Prosa des Expressionismus" in Der deutsche Expressionismus, ed.
H. Steffen, pp. 157-178.
Klee, Wolfhart Gotthold. "Die charakteristischen Motive der expressionistischen Erzăhlungs­
literatur". Dissertation, University of Leipzig, 1933. 151 pp. Published Berlin, 1934.

336
* Krell, Max. Über neue Prosa (Berlin: Reiss, 1919). ''Tribüne der Kunst und Zeit" No. 7. 80 pp.—
Considers especially Edschmid, Döblin, Wilhelm Lehmann, Heinrich Mann, Leonhard Frank,
Schickele, Sternheim, Meyrink and Benn.
* Liede, Helmut. "Stiltendenzen expressionistischer Prosa". Dissertation, University of Freiburg,
1960. 399 pp.
Schneider, Otto. "Bedeutung und Gedanke der Einheit in der expressionistischen Prosa". Disser­
tation, University of B/Ostock, 1949.
* Sokel, Walter H. "Die Prosa des Expressionismus" in Expressionismus als Literatur, ed. W. Rothe,
pp. 153-170.

5. Individual Authors : Studies about Writers who are not normally regarded as Expressionists or who
are otherwise little known
* Akzente stellen vor: "Heinrich Nowak, ein verschollener Expressionist". Akzente, X (1963),
pp. 453-489.
* Bausinger, W. "Robert Musil und die Ablehnung des Expressionismus". Studi Germanici, I I I
(1965), 384-386.
Bonnardel, C. "La technique de Brecht dans ses œuvres expressionistes". Thèse, Lyon, 1962.
* David, Claude. "Rilke et 1'Expressionisme". Etudes Germaniques, XVII (1962), 144—157.
* Durzak, Manfred. "Nachwirkungen Stefan Georges im Expressionismus". German Quarterly,
X L I I (1969), pp. 393-417.
* Fritz, Horst. Literarischer Jugendstil und Expressionismus : Zur Kunsttheorie, Dichtung und Wir­
kung Richard Lehmeis (Stuttgart: Metzler, 1969). —IV: "Die express. Schicht in Dehmels
Werk"; VI: "Jugendstil als Hintergrund express. Dichtung" and VII: "Der Versuch eines
neuen Daseins-Entwurfs: Aufbruch und Verklărung des E " .
Haueis, Eduard. "Karl Kraus und der Expressionismus". Dissertation, University of Erlangen,
1968.
* Hirschbach, Frank D. "Alfred Kerr und der Expressionismus." German Quarterly, XL (1967),
204-211.
* Krispyn, Egbert. "Brecht and Expressionism: Notes on a Scene from Baal". Revue des Langues
Vivantes, X X X I (1965), 211—218. —Invalidated by recent research.
Lenz, Piotr. "Hermann Bahr und die expressionistische Bewegung". Germanica Wratislaviensa,
X I (1967), 105-117.
* Pachmuss, Tamira. "Dostojevskij and Franz Werfel". German Quarterly, XXXVI (1963), pp. 445—
458.—Not particularly relevant.
* Raabe, Paul. "Franz Kafka und der Expressionismus". Zeitschrift für deutsche Philologie,
LXXXVI (1967), 161-175.
* Saas, Christa. "Rilkes Expressionismus". Dissertation, Indiana University. Dissertation Abstracts,
X X V I I I (1968), 3863A. 250 pp.
* Sokel, Walter H. "Brecht und der Expressionismus" in Die sogenannten zwanziger Jahre, ed.
R. Grimm and J. Hermand (Bad Homburg: Gehlen, 1970), pp. 47—74.
* Sperile, Jean-Edouard. "L'Expressionisme dans les nouvelles de Hermann Kesser". Mercure de
France, September 15, 1926, pp. 595—610.
Syring, R. A. " J . P. Richter's Affinity to the Expressionists". Dissertation, University of Cin­
cinnati, 1950.
* Vandenrath, Johannes. "Carl Zuckmayers expressionistischer Erstling: Kreuzweg". Revue des
Langues Vivantes, 1957, No. 2, pp. 37—59.
* Weisstein, Ulrich. "Heinrich Mann und der Expressionismus" in Expressionismus als Literatur,
ed. W. Rothe, pp. 609-622.
*— "The Lonely Baal: Brecht's First Play as a Parody of Hanns Johst's Der Einsame". Modern
Drama, X I I I (1970), 284 303. Especially pp. 286-289.

VII. GERMAN EXPRESSIONISM DISCUSSED ABROAD

1. Czechoslovakia
* Götz, Frantisek. "Ke ktirice literárniho expressionizmu". Host: Mêsičnik pro moderni culturu,
I (1921/22), 66-60.
* Grebenickowá, Rûzena. "Kafka a expressionizmus". Slovenska pohlády, L X X I X (1963), 78—86.
* Teige, Karel. "Cterni o nemeckem expressionizmu". Host, I (1921/22), 157—161.
* Terray, Elemir. "Nemecky literarny expressionizmus". Slovenska póhlady, LXXXI, No. 10 (1965),
74-79.
* — . " Z u r Kunstauffassung des Berliner Sturmkreises" (in German with summary in Slovak).
Philologica (Bratislava), XVII (1966), 71-82.

337
2. England/USA

* Beach, Joseph Warren. The Twentieth-Century Novel: Studies in Technique (New York: Appleton
Century Crofts, 1932). — Part V is, quite capriciously, entitled "Expressionism". In this part,
Virginia Woolf and Waldo Frank are specifically discussed under the heading " E " . (pp. 485—
500): "The term 'expressionism' I set here at the head of a chapter to indicate, somewhat
loosely, a variety of tendencies opposed to the formerly prevailing literalness in the rendering
of life. E. stands, strictly speaking, in opposition to Impressionism . . .
* Boyd, Ernest. "Expressionism Without Tears" in Studies from Ten Literatures (New York:
Scribner's, 1925), pp. 231-255.
* Galsworthy, John. "On Expression". The English Association Pamphlet, No. 59 (July, 1924),
pp. 3—18. —Presidential address to the Association. Offers, on p. 13, a definition of E.
"by a great good English painter". Variously reprinted.
* Goldberg, Isaac. "Expressionistic Theory" in The Drama of Transition : Native and Exotic Play-
craft (Cincinnati: Steward Kidd, 1922), pp. 269-279.
* Freedman, Ralph. "Refractory Visions: The Contour of Literary Expressionism". Contemporary
Literature, X (1968), 54-74.
* Gorelik, Mordecai. "Cynicism and Hysteria" in New Theatres for Old (New York: French, 1941),
pp. 246-254.
* Hamburger, Michael. "1912" in Reason and Energy: Studies in German Literature (New York:
Grove Press, 1957), pp. 213-236.
* Hiller, H. Why Expressionism? (Hollywood: The Author, 1946). 207 pp. Presents a theory of
psychocromatic design. Irrelevant to the study of E.
* Klarmann, Adolf. "Expressionism in German Literature: A Retrospect of Half a Century".
Modern Language Quarterly, XXVI (1965), 62—92.
* Krispyn, Egbert, Style and Society in German Literary Expressionism (Gainesville, Fla.: Univer­
sity of Florida Press, 1964), 60 pp.
Loving, Piere. Revolt in German Drama (Girard/Kansas: Haldemann, 1925). 64 pp. "Little Blue
Book" 7777.
* Middleton, John C. "Dada versus Expressionism: or The Red King's Dream". German Life &
Letters. XV (1961), 37-52.
Palmer, Lucille. "The Language of German Expressionism". Dissertation, University of Illinois,
1938.
Raabe, Paul and J. M. Ritchie, eds. The Era of German Expressionism (London: Calder & Boyars,
1970). Ca. 450 pp. Not verified.
* Rose, William. Men, Myths and Movements in German Literature (London: 1931). 272 pp.]—
" E . in German lit", (pp. 201-223); "The German Drama 1914-1921" (pp. 225-244);
"The Spirit of Revolt in German Literature" (pp. 245—272).
* Samuel, Richard and R. Hinton Thomas. Expressionism in German Life, Literature and the Theatre,
1910-1924 (Cambridge: Heifer, 1939). 203 pp. — "Emergence and Nature of E . " (pp. 1-18).
* Scheffauer, Herman George. The New Vision in the German Arts (New York: Huebsch, 1924).
274 pp.—"The Essence of E . " (pp. 1—41) treats Toller, the film, Georg Kaiser, and Jessner's
stage productions.
* Schultz, H. Stefan. "German Expressionism 1905—1925". Chicago Review, X I I I , No. 1 (Winter,
1959), pp. 8-24.
Selle, C. M. "Notes on Expressionism". The Carrell (University of Miami, Florida), I I I , No. 1 (1962),
pp. 13-20.
* Sokel, Walter H. The Writer in Extremis : Expressionism in Twentieth-Century German Literature
(Stanford University Press, 1959), 251 pp. German edition, Der literarische Expressionismus,
published by Langen/Müller in Munich (1960). — Thematologically oriented. Defines E. much
too loosely.
* Webb, Benjamin. "The Demise of the New Man: An Analysis of Late German Expressionism".
Dissertation, University of Southern California, 1968. Dissertation Abstracts, X X I X (1968),
pp. 1909-10A.
* Weisstein, Ulrich. "Expressionism: Style or Weltanschauung?" Criticism, I X (1967), 42—62.
—Reprinted in this volume.

3. France and French-speaking Belgium

Berton, C. "Expressionisme". Les Nouvelles littéraires, November 11, 1924.

* Demange, Camille. "L'Expressionisme allemand et le mouvement revolutionnaire" in Le Théâtre
moderne: Hommes et tendances, ed. Jean Jacquot (Paris: Editions du Centre National de la
Recherche Scientifique, 1958), pp. 165—174.
* Expressionisme. Special issue of the periodical L'Arc published in Aix-en-Provence (No. 25).
95 pp. — A report on the Florence convegno, an essay by J.-P. Faye (largely on Futurism),

338
 brief anthologies of German Expressionist poetry and prose, brief surveys of Expressionist
drama, music, painting, and film, and a section entitled "A Nouveau", with contributions by
Pierre Jean Jouve, André Masson, Andrzej Wirth, Otto Hahn, and Ernst Erich Noth.
* Gamier, Use and Pierre. L'Expressionisme allemand (Paris: Editions Silvaire, 1962). 174 pp.—
Introduction (to p. 122) and anthology (pp. 125—162).
* Gravier, Maurice. "Les Héros expressionistes" in Le Théâtre moderne . . . , pp. 117—130.
* — .Strindberg et le théâtre moderne: I. L'Allemagne (Lyon: Bibliothèque de la Société des Etudes
Germaniques, 1949). — Strindberg and German E. treated on pp. 83—179.
* Lauret, R. Le Théâtre allemand d''aujourd'hui (Paris, 1934). — Chapter IV (pp. 106—124) con­
cerned with E.
Poupeye, Camille. "Le Théâtre expressioniste" in his Les Dramaturges exotiques, vol. 2 (Brussels:
La Renaissance d'Occident, [1927?]).— Not verified.

4. Hungary
* Koczogh, Akos, ed. and transl. Az expresszionizmus : A bevezetô tanulmányt irta, a szövegeket válo-
gatta, forditotta (Budapest: Gondolat, 1964). 318 pp. — Introduction ("Az expresszionizmus"),
pp. 5—117; documents ("Az expresszionizmus dokumentumai"), pp. 121—263: includes state­
ments by Worringer, Marc, Macke, Kandinsky, Schönberg, Dăubler, Bahr, Edschmid, Pinthus
and several Hungarian writers and critics; anthology ("Irodalmi szemelvények"), pp. 260—305
of German and Hungarian poetry; 6 ills.; fairly extensive but spotty bibliography.
—. "Expressionismus" in Jahrbuch des Deutschen Instituts der Kgl. Ungarischen Péter-Pázmány-
Universităt Budapest, 1. Abteilung, IV (1938/39), 1-102.
* Vajda, György M. "La Philosophie des formes expressionistes". Acta litteraria, I X (1967),
197—214. — A revised version of the essay is included in this volume.

5. Italy
* Chiarini, Paolo. L'Espressionismo: storia e struttura (Florence: La nuova Italia, 1969). 139 pp.
* —. "L'espressionismo tedesco: un problema di metodo critico" in Studi in onore di Lorenzo Bianchi,
ed. H. Rüdiger and M. Pensa (Bologna: Zanichelli, 1960), pp. 29-58.
* —. "Disegno del teatro tedesco espressionista" in his book La letteratura tedesco del novecento:
studi e richerche (Rome: Edizioni dell'Ateneo, 1961), pp. 7—35. —Reprint of an essay pub­
lished in 1957.
* — .Il teatro tedesco espressionista (Bologna: Ciappelli, 1959). 139 pp. — No. 3 in the series "Docu­
menti di teatro". Seven chapters, systematically and chronologically arranged.
* —. "Per una periodizzazione storica e stilistica dell'espressionismo: note e appunti" in Annali del
corso di lingue e letterature straniere presso l'Università di Bari, IV (1960), pp. 225—265.
* Maione, Italo. La Germania espressionista (Naples: Libreria scientifìcia, n.d. [1959?]). — Sections
on Werfel, Trakl, Heym, Kaiser, and an anthology.
* Masini, Ferruccio. "Espressionismo e 'Ausdruckswelt' nella poetica di Gottfried Benn". Studi
Germanici, I I I (1965), 365-372.
Mazzuchetti-Jollos, Lavinia. "Le due grandi antologie dell'espressionismo" and "L'epopea dell'
espressionismo" in her book Novecento in Germania (Milan, 1959).
* Mittner, Ladislao. L'espressionismo (Bari: Laterza, 1965). 151 pp.
* —. "L'espressionismo fra l'impressionismo e la "neue Sachlichkeit': fratture e continuità". Studi
Germanici, I I (1964), 37-82.
* —. "L'espressionismo letterario" in Bilancio . . . , pp. 11—29.
Pandolfì, Vito. "Interpretazione del teatro tedesco espressionista". Società, I (1954), Nos. 1/2,
pp. 64-90.
—."Le manifestazioni e il significato del teatro espressionistico" in Bilancio . . . , pp. 31—45.
An essay by the same title appeared in 1956 as a preface to the collection II teatro espres-
sionista tedesco.
—. "Vita e morte del teatro tedesco espressionista". Preface to an Italian version of Toller's
Hinkemann (Turin, 1947).
* Scardigli, P. "Considerazioni sul linguaggio degli espressionisti". Rivista di letterature moderne e
comparate, XVII (1964), 17—24. — Paper read at the Florence convegno.
* Secci, Lia. Il mito greco nel teatro tedesco espressionista (Rome: Bulzoni, 1969). 335 pp.
Tilgher, Adriano. "Il teatro dell'espressionismo" in his book La scena e la vita: nuovi studi sul
teatro contemporaneo (Rome, 1925).

6. Japan
Doitsu Hyogenshugi (German E.). Collected Essays by members of the German department of the
University of Kyoto (Tokyo: Hakushisha), I (1964), I I (1965).

339
7. Korea

"Literary Expressionism in Germany" (in Korean) in the German literature periodical published at
the University of Seoul, 1966/67, pp. 87-95.

8. Rumania

Blaga, Lucían. "Filosofìa stilului: Expresionismul". Misçana literară (Bucharest), I, No. 2, 1924.
Dominic, A. "Germania intelectuala de azi Expresszionismul". Gîndirea (Cluj), II, No. 7,
(1922/23.
*Secolul 20 : Revista de literara universala (Bucharest), Nos. 11/12, 1969, constitute a special issue
devoted to E., with an anthology and documents. 311 pp.
Vector. "Expresionism si realism". Viata Romaneascá (Bucharest), XIV, No. 7 (1961).

9. Russia

Arvatov, B. "Ekspressionizm kaka social'noe javlenie". Kniga i Revolucija, No. 6, 1922.

Borichevski, E. "Filosofija ekspressionizma". Sipovnik, No. 1, 1922.
* Braudo, E. M. and N. E. Radlov, eds. Ekspressionizm (Petrograd/Moscow, 1923). —A collection
of essays translated from the German. 232 pp. Includes pieces by Max Martersteig, Max Krell,
Wilhelm Hausenstein, Julius Bab, Arnold Schering and F. M. Huebner taken, in part, from
the volume Einführung in die Kunst der Gegenwart, ed. M. Deri (Leipzig, 1919).
* Fradkin, A. "Reply to Motyljowa". Voprosy literatury, 1955, No. 6.
Grozdev, A. Teatr poslevoennou Germanii (Leningrad/Moscow, 1933).—A book on the post-war
German theater.
* Kopelev, L. "Dramaturgija nemeckogo" in Singermann . . . (below)
Lunacharski, A. "Neskol'ko slov o nemeckom ekspressionizm". ¿izn, No. 1, 1922.
* Motyljowa, T. "Questions of Socialist Realism in Western Literatures" (in Russian) in Voprosy
literatury, 1958, No. 11.
* —. "Reply to Fradkin" (in Russian). Ibid., 1959, No. 8.
* Nedoschiwin, G. "Das Problem des Expressionismus" (in German translation) in Kunst und Lite­
ratur, XVI (1968), 73—90. Probably identical with the article in Singerm-ann . . .
* Pavlova, Nina. "Expressionism and Realism" (in Russian) in Voprosy literatury, 1961, No. 5,
pp. 120—141. A German version of the essay appeared in the volume Zur Geschichte der sozia­
listischen Literatur, 1919-1933 (Berlin: Aufbau-Verlag, 1963), pp. 141-159, 349-350.
—. Article on E. in the Istorija nemetskoj literatury (Moscow: Nauka, 1968), IV, pp. 536—564.
—. Essay on E. in a volume of essays on trends in 20th-century literature, announced for publi­
cation in 1971. (Information supplied by Professor Henry Glade of Manchester College).
* Singermann, B. I., ed. Ekspressionizm (Moscow: Nauka, 1966). 154 pp. 40 ills. — Five essays on
Expressionist drama, painting, music, cinema and the graphic arts. Brief review by Henry
Glade in Books Abroad, X L I I (1968), 154.
* Thun, Nyota. "Moskauer Literatur-Diskussion". Neue deutsche Literatur, VIII, No. 1 (1960),
pp. 115—123. —The Motyljowa—Fradkin controversy.

10. South Africa

Burssens, G. "Standpunten van het expressionisme". Standpunten (Kapstadt), IV, No. 4.

11. Spain and South America

* Brugger, Ilse T. B. de. Teatro alemán expresionista (Buenos Aires: Mandragora, 1959), 172 pp.
Gasch, Sebastian. El expresionismo (Barcelona, 1955).
* Guerrero Zamora, Juan. La imagen activa y el expresionismo dramático (Madrid: Ateneo, 1955).
40 pp. —A lecture presented on February 10, 1955. Has brief sections on Wedekind, Strind­
berg, O'Neill and Elmer Rice. Kafka is treated on pp. 27—29 and Artur Adamov on pp. 36—40.
Kohnen, Mansueto. "Der deutsche Expressionismus". Boletin de estudios germanicos, VI (1967),
11-20.
* Modern, Rodolfo. El expresionismo literario (Buenos Aires: Editorial Nova, 1958). 146 pp. — In­
troduction to p. 95, followed by an anthology.

340
12. Yugoslavia
*Bogner, Josip. "Poceci ekspresionizma u hrvatskoj knjizevnosti". Knjizevnik, I I I (1930), 343—348.
* Konstantinović, Zoran. Ekspresionizam (Cetinje: "Obod", 1967). 200 pp. — Introduction to
p. 67, followed by an anthology.
* Marakovic, Ljubomir. "Iza ekspresionizma: Pokusăj bilanse". Hrvatsko kolo, V I I I (1927),
341-353.

VIII. EXPRESSIONISM ABROAD (THE GERMAN IMPACT)

1. Antiquity (!!!)
* La Penna, Antonio. "Tre poesie espressionistiche di Orazio (ed uno meno espressionistica)."
Belfagor, XVIII (1963), 181—192. —Two epodes and one satire by Horace.

2. Austria
Sappe, Theodor. "Die Expressionistendichtung Österreichs". Wort und Zeit, X, Nos. 7/8 (1964),
pp. 10-26.

3. Holland and Belgium (Flanders)

* Brachin, Pierre. "L'Expressionisme dans le théâtre de H. Teirlinck" in Le Théâtre moderne . . . ,
ed. Jean Jacquot, pp. 131 — 148.
* Brandt Corstius, Jan. "Die Nieuwe Beweging: Haar internationale karakter en het aandeel
van Noord- en Zuid-Nederland". De Gids, n.s. I (1957), 363-389.
* Donkersloot, N. A. et al. Het Expressionisme : Zes lesingen (The Hague: Servire, 1954). 144 pp.
— Contains D's essay "Expressionisme in de Nederlandse letterkunde" (pp. 5—24), in addi­
tion to pieces on French Surrealism and Franz Kafka, as well as several others listed below.
* Hadermann, Paul. Het vuur in de verte : Paul van Ostaijens kunstopvattingen in het licht van de
Europese avant-garde (Antwerp: Ontwikkeling, 1970). 348 pp. — No direct references to E.
* de Jong, M. J. G. "Marsman en het expressionisme". Levende Talen, 1959, pp. 181—190.
* Kazemier, G. "Paul van Ostaijen en Marsman" in Het Expressionisme . . . , pp. 56—86.
* Krispyn, Egbert. "Herman van den Bergh, Marsman en het noord-nederlandse expressionisme".
De Gids, n.s., I I (1958), 231-249.
* Lehning, Arthur. Marsman en het expressionisme (The Hague: Boucher, 1959), 61 pp. Some ills.
and facsimiles.
Marsman, H. "Divagatie over expressionisme". Den gulden Winckel, 1921, No. 20, pp. 3—5.
* Meijer, R. P. "Expressionist Influences in Marsman's Early Poetry". A UM LA Journal, I I I
(1955), pp. 1 4 - 2 2 .
Oever, Karel van den. "Rond wat men noemt expressionisme". Roeping, 1925/26, No. 4,
pp. 130-146.
Ostaijen, Paul van. "Expressionisme in Vlaanderen". De Stroom, 1918, Nos. 1—4. Reprinted in
Ostaijen's Krities proza (Antwerp, 1929), p. 12ff.
* Passel, Frans van. Het tijdschrift "Ruimte" (1920—1921) als brandpunt van humanitair expres­
sionisme (Antwerp: De Sikkel, 1958). 162 pp.— Introduction: "Het humanitair expr. in
Duitsland" (pp. 1—18); I: "De externe geschiedenis van hetj tijdschrift Ruimte" (pp. 21—71);
I I . "De Betekenis van het tijdschrift voor onze cultuur" (pp. 75—143).
* Stuiveling, G. "Het Getij, Herman van den Bergh en het expressionisme" in Handelingen van het
XXVIeVlaams Filologencongres (1967), pp. 100-111.

4. Bulgaria
* Savov, Ganco. "Srednjoevropski ekspresionizam i knjizevnost bugara i Hrvata" in Eksprezio-
nizam . . . , pp. 55—60.

5. China
Galik, Marián. "The Expressionistic Criticism of Kuo Mu-jo". Bulletin of the Tokyo Sinological
Society, X I I I (1967), pp. 231-243.
* —. "Über die kritische Auseinandersetzung Chinas mit dem deutschen Expressionismus". Nach­
richten der Gesellschaft für Natur- und Völkerkunde Ostasiens (Hamburg), No. 103 (1968),
pp. 39-59.

341
6. Czechoslovakia

Götz, František. "Nekolik pohledu na expresionizmus i dramate sveto vem i ceskem". Divádlo,
I X (1956), pp. 333 ff.
* Grebenickova, Ruzena. "L'Expressionisme tchèque et les structures du dialogue dramatique".
L' Expressionisme au théâtre européen, pp. 277—284.
* Kucerová, Hana. "Proza slovenskeho v prunich letech poralecnych". Česka literatura, XVI
(1968), pp. 514-533.
* Kudelka, Viktor. "Od expresionimu k socialnimu realismu: Nektere problemy slovinske litera-
tury v letech 1918-1941". Slama, X X X V I I (1968), pp. 449-473.
* Vlasin, Stepan. "Expresionismus a poetismus". Česka literatura, XVI (1968), 323—329.

7. England

* de Baun, Vincent C. "Sean O'Casey and the Road to Expressionism". Modern Drama, IV (1961),
254-259.
* Blast: Review of the Great English Vortex. 2 issues (1914/1915). Reprinted by Kraus Reprint Co.
(New York, 1967). 160 and 102 pp.
* Fabricius, Johannes. The Unconscious and Mr. Eliot : A Study in Expressionism (Copenhagen:
Nyt Nordisk Forlag Arnold Busck, 1967). 160 pp. — Irrelevant to the study of E. F's starting
point and initial thesis is "that T. S.Eliot and the whole movement of Expressionist art repre­
sent the eruption of the collective unconscious into the conscious strata of modern civilization
and modern Zeitgeist".
* Fehr, Bernhard. "Expressionismus in der neuesten englischen Lyrik" in Brittanica: Max Förster
zum 60. Geburtstag (Leipzig: Tauchnitz, 1929), pp. 267—276.— Deals with Imagists (as oper­
ating halfway between Impressionism and E.) and, in particular, Osbert Sitwell.
* Ferrar, H. "Denis Johnston and the Irish Theatre". Dissertation, Columbia University, 1967.
Dissertation Abstracts, X X I X (1967), p. 3143A. — May not be relevant in its approach to
Johnston's art.
* Galinsky, Hans. Deutsches Schrifttum der Gegenwart in der englischen Kritik der Nachkriegszeit
(Munich: Hueber, 1938). — Subtitle: "Ein Versuch über die Lebensbedingungen und das kul­
turpolitische Wirken des deutschen Buches im Ausland, 1919—1935". Relevant portions on
pp. 164—194 ("Der Reiz eines Stils: Der E.") and pp. 462-470 ("Der express. Stil").
* Hogan, Robert. "Expressionism and Romantic Anarchy" in The Experiments of Sean O'Casey
(New York: St. Martin's Press, 1960), pp. 55—79. — Chapter IV of the monograph.
* Metscher, Thomas. "Expressionistische Allegorik und poetische Rhetorik" in Sean O'Caseys
dramatischer Stil (Braunschweig: Westermann, 1968), pp. 173—187.
* Mitchell, Breon. "W. H. Auden and Christopher Isherwood: The 'German Influence"'. Oxford
German Studies, No. 1 (1968), pp 163—172. — Based on personal interviews with the two
authors.
Reichwagen, Wilhelm. Der expressionistische Zug im neueren englischen Roman (Greifswald: Dall-
meyer, 1935). — Greifswald dissertation dealing with Joyce and Lawrence, among others.
* Rollins, R. G. "O'Casey, O' Neill and Expressionism in The Silver Tassie". The Bucknell Review,
X (1962), 364-369.
* —. "O'Casey, O'Neill and the Expressionism of Within the Gates". West Virginia University
Philological Papers, XVIII (1961), 76-81.
* Spender, Stephen. "Poetry and Expressionism". New Statesman & Nation, March 12, 1938,
pp. 407—409. — A few casual references to English writers on p. 409.
* Thomas, R. Hinton. German Perspectives: Essays on German Literature (Cambridge: Heffer, 1940).
— Has a chapter "German E. and the Contemporary English Stage" (pp. 26—40).
* Watson, Sheila M. "Wyndham Lewis and Expressionism". Dissertation, University of Toronto,
1965. Dissertation Abstracts, X X V I I (1966). 2 vols.
* Wees, W. C. Vorticism and the English Avant-Garde, 1910—1925 (Manchester University Press,
1971). — Dissertation written at Northwestern University.
Weidner, Erna. "Impressionismus und Expressionismus in den Romanen Virginia Woolfs". Disser­
tation, University of Greifswald, 1934.
* Weisstein, Ulrich. "Vorticism: Expressionism English Style". Yearbook of Comparative and
General Literature, X I I I (1964), 28—40. —Reprinted in this volume.
* Wildi, Max. "The Birth of Expressionism in the Works of D. H. Lawrence". English Studies,
X I X (1937), pp. 241-259. —On L. and Expressionism (The Rainbow) pp. 258-259. "The
term E. is here applied to the spiritual attitude of a whole irrespective of form. Of such E.
(Lawrence) certainly is an important witness".

342
8. France
* Gravier, Maurice. "L'Expressionisme dramatique en France entre les deux guerres". L'Expres­
sionisme au théâtre européen, pp. 285—298.
* Spitzer, Leo. "Der Unanimismus Jules Romains' im Spiegel seiner Sprache: Eine Vorstudie zur
Sprache des französischen Expressionismus". Aus Archivum Romanicum, reprinted in Stilstu­
dien, I I : Stilsprachen (Munich: Hueber, 1961), pp. 208—300. — Also refers to Paul Morand
and Paul Claudel in this connection. Especially significant are pp. 268—271, 286—291, and
294—298. Some additional secondary literature in the footnotes.

9. Hungary
* Bori, Imre: "A magyar avant-garde történetéból: I I I . A magyar expressionizmus". Uj Symposion
(Novi Sad), 1967, Nos. 24/25, pp. 22-25; Nos. 26/27, pp. 11-14; No. 28, pp. 6-10.
* Csuka, Zoltán. "Ekspresionizam u madarskoj knjizevnosti Jugoslavije" in Ekspresionizam . . .
pp. 61-64.
* Koczogh, Akos. "Magyar és kelet-európai expresszionisták" in Az Expresszionizmus (Budapest:
Gondolat, 1964), pp. 96—109. — In its documetary part, this volume also presents essays on
E. by Dezsó Szabó, Lajos Kassák, János Mácza, Iván Hevesy, and Pal Hatvani.
Ma, ed. Lajos Kassák. Reprint of an important periodical published between 1916 and 1925,
first in Budapest and then in Vienna. Budapest: Akadémiai Kiadó, 1971. 4 vols.

10. Italy
* Chiarini, Paolo. "Rosso di San Secondo e il teatro tedesco del 1900". Studi Germanici, I I I (1965),
90-117, 321-355.
* Isella, Dante. "Nascita dell'espressionismo Dossiano" in La lingua e lo stile di Carlo Dossi
(Milan/Naples: Ricciardi, 1958), pp. 5—13.
* Mazzuchetti-Jollos, Lavinia. "Primo ingresso dell'espressionismo letterario in Italia". Rivista
di letterature moderne e comparate, XVI (1964), 112—119. — Paper read at Florence convegno
and reprinted in the author's Cronache e saggi (Milan, 1966), pp. 307—317.
* Rosenfeld, Emmy. "Luigi Pirandello und die deutsche Literatur". Literaturwissenschaftliches
Jahrbuch der Görres-Gesellschaft, N. F. IV (1963), 73—93. — Brief reference to E. in connection
with Werfel's Spiegelmensch on p. 90.

11. Poland

Florynska, Halina. "Zwiastun ekspresjonizmu". Przeglad humanistyczny, X I I (1968), pp. III—

132. — On Miciński.
Klein, Karol. "Ekspresjonizm polski: Grupa Zdroju". Przeglad humanistyczny, 1932, Nos. 4/5.
Klossowicz, Jan. "Samotnosc i uniwersalizm Witkacego" in Z problemów literatury polskiej xx
wieku, ed. S. Zolkiewski (Warsaw, 1965), II, pp. 193-211.
Klossowski, Jan. "Polscy ekspresjonisci." Dialog, 1960, No. 7.
Kwiatkowski, Jerzy. "Dionizje: Ekspresjonizm i mitologia" in Z problemów . . . , II, pp. 87—128.
* Loth, R. " J . Kasprowicz und die deutsche Literatur". Zeitschrift für Slawistik, X I I (1967),
517—536.—Not particularly relevant.
* Nowak, Bozena. "Poljski ekspresionizam" in Ekspresionizam . . . , pp. 50—54.
Prokop, Jan. "O piervwszych polskich ekspresjonistach" in Z problemów . . . , I, pp. 129—153.
Przybyszewski, Stanislaw. Ekspresjonizm, Slowacki i "Genezis z Ducha" (Poznan, 1918).
Ratajcak, J. "Grupa Zdroju: czyli przypomnienie ekspresjonizmu". Wspóczesnosc. Spring, 1961.
—. "Programy Zdroju". Przeglad humanistyczny, 1967, No. 1.

12. Rumania

Cotrus, Ovidiu, "Elementi ekspresionizma u rumunskoj poeziji" in Ekspresionizam . . . , pp. 65—71.

Cromălniceanu, Ovidiu S. "Expresionismul in constiinta literară românească." Secolul 20, Nos.
11/12 (1969), pp. 177-196.
*—Literatura romana si expresionismul (Bucharest: Eminescu, 1971).
Doinas, Stefan A. "Atitudini expresioniste in poezia româneasca". Secolul 20, Nos. 11/12 (1967),
pp. 197-212.

343
13. Russia (information largely provided by Professor Vladimir Markov).
Drjagin, K. V. Ekspressionizm v Rossii (Moscow: Vjatka, 1928). — Treats Andreev as an Expression­
ist and Majakovski partly so.
* Hiller, B. "Konstantin Fedin und der deutsche Expressionismus" Zeitschrift für Slawistik, X
(1965), pp. 35-52.
Ioffe, I. I. Sinteticeskaja istorija iskusstv : Vvedenie v istoriju xudozestvennogo myslenija (Leningrad,
1933). — Discusses Pasternak and E.
* Markov, Vladimir. "Russian Expressionism". California Slavic Studies, VI (1971). Reprinted
in this volume.
Rannit, Aleksis. "Zabolotskij: A Visionary at the Crossroads of Expressionism and Classicism".
Preface to Zabolocki's Stixotvorenija (Washington/New York: Interlanguage Literary Asso­
ciates, 1965).
Sokolov, Ippolit. Bunt èkspressionista (Moscow, 1919).
—. Ekspressionizm (Moscow, 1920).
—. Bedeker po èkspressionizmu (Moscow, 1920).
* Tairov, Alexander. Das entfesselte Theater : Aufzeichnungen eines Regisseurs (Potsdam: Kiepenheuer,
1923). 112 pp. — German version of this Russian classic.
14. Scandinavia
* Borberg, Svend. "Skuespiellets Forfald". Litteraturen, I I (1919/20), 466-480.
* Dahlström, Carl E. W. "August Strindberg: The Father of Dramatic Expressionism" in Papers
of the Michigan Academy of Science, Arts and Letters, X (1928), pp. 261—272. —Reprinted in
D's book.
* —. Strindberg's Dramatic Expressionism (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1930).
* Durand, Frederic. "Les Voies de 1'expressionisme dans la poésie suedoise: Esquisse d'une étude
comparatiste". Etudes Germaniques, X (1955), 187—199.— Par Lagerkvist, Edith Södergran,
Elmer Diktonius and others.
* Halleux, Pierre. "Le Domaine scandinave". L'Expressionisme au théâtre européen, pp. 299—310.
* Holm, Ingvar. "Strindberg et F Expressionisme: Notes sur l'art dramatique du naturalisme et
de l'expressionisme. "L' Expressionisme au théâtre européen, pp. 39—64.
♦Lagerkvist, Par. "Modem Theatre: Points of View and Attack" (1918) in Modem Theatre:
Seven Plays and an Essay, ed. T. R. Buckmann (University of Nebraska Press, 1966), pp. 3—
37.—Repudiates Naturalism" and exalts the post-Naturalistic plays of Strindberg. Against
Reinhardt and for Gordon Craig. Only one brief reference to German drama on p. 28.
Sverker, E. K. "Par Lagerkvist: En svensk expressionistik diktare". Litteraturen, I (1918).
* Tideström, Gunnar. Edith Södergran (Helsinki: Schildts, 1949). — Passim.
15. Switzerland
Lang, P. "Das Schweizer Drama, 1914—1954." Jahrbuch der Gesellschaft für Schweizerische Theater-
kultur, XIV esp. pp. 30—37. — Mentions Hans Ganz and Hermann Schneider.
16. United States of America
* Bauland, Peter. "Spectacle and Experiment, 1919—1928" in The Hooded Eagle: Modern German
Drama on the New York Stage (Syracuse University Press, 1968), pp. 43—95.
* Blackburn, C. "Continental Influences on Eugene O'Neill's Expressionistic Dramas". American
Literature, X I I I (1941), pp. 109-133.
* Elwood, William G. "An Interview with Elmer Rice on Expressionism". Educational Theater
Journal, X X (1968), 1—7. —Mainly concerned with The Adding Machine.
* Fulton, A. R. "Expressionism Twenty Years After". Sewanee Reviev), L I I (1944), pp. 398—413.
— Survey of American Expr. drama.
* Goldoni, Annalisa. "L'espressionismo nel teatro americano (1920—1930)." Studi Americani,
X I I I (1967), pp. 377-416.
* Jackson, Esther Merle. The Broken World of Tennessee Williams (University of Wisconsin Press,
1965). —E. and Expressionists defined and discussed on pp. 20—22, 90—93 (Glass Menagerie).
Includes Piscator and Brecht among the Expressionists. Refers to T. W's production notes
for Glass Menagerie.
* Macgowan, Kenneth. "Broadway at the Spring: New York Sees its First Expressionistic Play".
Theatre Arts, VI (1922), 179-190. -Mentions The Hairy Ape on pp. 187-189.
* Mounier, Catherine. "L'Expressionisme dans l'oeuvre d'Eugène O'neill". L'Expressionisme au
théâtre européen, pp. 329—340.
* Valgemae, Mardi. Accelerated Grimace: Expressionism in the American Drama of the 1920s.
Carbondale: Southern Illinois University Press, 1972. 145 pp. Based on V.s' dissertation.
* - . "Albee's Great God Alice". Modem Drama, X (1967), 267-273.

344
* —. "Civil War Among the Expressionists: John Howard Lawson and the Pinweel Controversy".
Educational Theatre Journal, XX (1968), pp. 8—14.
* —. "Expressionism in American Drama". Dissertation, University of California at Los Angeles,
1964. Dissertation Abstracts, XXVI (1965), pp. 377-378. Extensive bibliography. 229 pp.
* —. "O'Neill and German Expressionism". Modern Drama, X (1967), 111—123.
* Walstrum, Arthur D. "Expressionism as a Movement in the American Theatre". M. A. Thesis,
Indiana University, 1951. 213 pp.

17. Yugoslavia (Serbo-Croatian and Slovenian)

* Baur, Ruprecht S. "A. B. Šimić i njemacki ekspresionizam" in Ekspresionizam . . . , pp. 84—87.

* Choma, Branislav. "Miroslav Krleza i ekspresionizam" in Ekspresionizam.. . , pp. 118—124.
* Donat. Branimir. "Politicki teatar Miroslava Krleze i nasljede evropskog ekspresionizma"
in Ekspresionizam . . . , pp. 88—100.
* Franic, Ante. "Oautohtonim izvorima ekspresionizma u hrvatskoj knjizevnosti". Zadarska Revija,
XVIII (1969), pp. 1—45. —With supplementary bibliography.
Franjic, M. Pristup problemu authohtonosti ekspresionizma u hrvatskoj knjizevnosti (Zagreb, 1968).
* Jutronic, Andre. "Pilog na temu zenitizma". Mogucnosti (Split), X, No. 1 (1963), pp. 97—105.
—. Concerning the periodical Zenit.
* Konstantino vić, Zoran. "Krleza o nemackoj i skandinavskoj knjizevnosti", in Miroslav Krleza
ed. N. Stipcević (Belgrade: Prosveta, 1967), pp. 145—198.
* Krklec, Gustav. "Ausklang des deutschen Expressionismus in Kroatien zwischen den beiden
Weltkriegen". Jahrbuch der Deutschen Akademie für Sprache und Dichtung in Darmstadt
(Heidelberg: Lambert Schneider, 1967), pp. 11—23.
Markovic, S. Z. "Expressionism in Yugoslav Literature". Helicon, X (1964), pp. 195—206.
—. Eksprezionizam u jugoslavenskoj knjizevnosti (Belgrade, 1965).
* Mozejko. Edward. "Rastko Petrović: Modernista, nadrealista, ekspresjonista". S cando-Slavica,
XIII (1967), 93-103.
* Petré, Fran. "Der slowenische Expressionismus". Welt der Slawen, I (1956), pp. 159—171.
* —. "Idejnost i izraz exspresionizma: Nekoliko nacelnih primjedab". Umjetnost rijeci: Časopis
za nauku o knjizevnosti, I (1957), pp. 81—98.
* —. "Uz genezu hrvatskog i slovenskog ekspresionizsma". in Ekspresionizam . . . , pp. 43—49.
* Pogacnik, Joze. "Novija slovenska lirikă". Izraz: Öasopis za knjizevnu i umjetnicku kritiku (Sara­
jevo), 1965, No. 10, pp. 1018-32.
Simic, A. B. "Berlinski Sturm ili nova umjetnost germanska" (1917) in Sobraría djela (Zagreb,
1960), III, 398
* Slamnig, Ivan. "Strindbergov 'neonaturalizma' i Krlezine Legende" in Ekspresionizam . . . ,
pp. 125-135.
* Stalev, Georgi. "Pokusaj interpretaci je ekspresionizam u poeziji Janka Policá Kamova (Psovka)
in Ekspresionizam . . . , pp. 152—155.
* Zadravec, Franc. "Futurizem in ekspresionizem v slovenski poeziji" in Pot skozi noe : Izbor iz
slovenske futuristićne in ekspresionistićne poezije (Ljubljana: Mladinska Knjiga, 1966), pp.
93—138. — This is an anthology of Expressionist and Futurist poetry written in Slovenian.
* Žmegac, Viktor. "Antun Branko Simic als Lyriker: Ein Beitrag zur Erforschung des kroatischen
Expressionismus". Welt der Slawen, I I I (1958), 151—165.
*■— "Zenit, eine vergessene Zeitschrift". Welt der Slawen XII (1967), 253—263.
*— "Zur Poetik der expressionistischen Phase der kroatischen Literatur". Welt der Slawen, XIV
(1969), 113-136.

IX. EXPRESSIONISM AND THE OTHEE ARTS

1. The Visual Arts
Apollonio, Umbro. "Die Brücke" e la cultura dell'espressionismo (Venice: Alfieri, 1952). 102 pp.
* Bahr, Hermann. Expressionismus (Munich: Delphin-Verlag, 1916, 21920), 152 pp. 20 ills. —
Heavily indebted to Worringer. Extended references to Goethe. An English translation by
R. E. Gribble appeared in 1926 (New York: Boni & Liveright), an Italian version by
G. Maffei in 1945. From an international point of view, one of the most significant, though
rather misleading, theoretical statements concerning E.
* Der Blaue Heiter, ed. Franz Marc and Wassili Kandinsky (Munich: Piper, 1912. 131 pp. 141 ills.
3 musical examples. A scholarly edition of this Almanack was prepared by Klaus Lankheit
(Munich: Piper, 1965). An Italian translation appeared in 1967. — Contains 19 contributions,
three of them by Marc, Kandinsky's essays "Über die Formfrage", "Über Bühnenkomposi­
tion" and his text Der gelbe Klang, August Macke's "Die Masken", Arnold Schönberg's "Das
Verhăltnis zum Text", as well as pieces on the Russian Fauves, Robert Delaunay and Alexan­
der Skrjabin.

345
* —. Catalogue of a retrospective exhibition held at the Stădtische Galerie in Munich in 1963. No
pagination. 82 ills. — Contains excerpts from writings by the painters included in the show,
a long excerpt from Hans K. Roethel's book Moderne deutsche Malerei, and a letter by
Kandinsky.
* Breysig, Kurt. Eindruckskunst und Ausdruckskunst : Ein Blick auf die Entwicklung des zeit­
genössischen Kunstgeistes von Millet bis zu Marc (Berlin, 1927).
* Buccarelli, Palma. "L'espressionismo nella pittura e nella scultura" in Bilancio ..., pp. 73—93.
* Buchheim, Lothar Günther. "Der Blaue Reiter'' und die "Neue Künstlervereinigung München"
(Feldafing: Buchheim, 1959). 344 pp.
* —. Die Künstlergemeinschaft "Brücke" (Feldafing: Buchheim, 1955). 408 pp. 410 ills.
* — .Graphik des Expressionismus (Feldafing: Buchheim, 1958). 292 pp. English version,
The Graphic Art of Expressionism, published in 1964.
* Cheney, Sheldon. Expressionism in Art (New York: Liveright, 1934; revised ed. 1948). 415 pp.
205 ill. — Has a chapter on "The Arts other than Painting" (pp. 373—408) dealing with archi­
tecture (Frank Lloyd Wright), the dance (Isadora Duncan, Mary Wigman), sculpture (Lehm-
bruck, Maillol), and the theater (Appia, Craig, Norman Bel Geddes). In the two pages devoted
to literature, the author mentions the Imagists, Emily Dickinson ( ! !) and Joyce.
* Cirlot, Juan-Eduardo. Del expresionismo a la abstraccion. (Barcelona: Seix-Barral, 1955).
93 pp. 32 ills. —Treats E. proper (including the forerunners) on pp. 25—65. Has a section "La
expansion del expresionismo" (pp. 48—53) referring to American, French, and Spanish
followers of E.
* Dăubler, Theodor. Der neue Standpunkt (Dresden: Hellerauer Verlag, 1916). 201 pp.— Essays
on Munch, Barlach, Matisse, Henri Rousseau, Chagall, Marc and Picasso as well as general
surveys: "Simultaneităt", "Unser Erbteil", "Futuristen" and "Expressionismus".—Very
important internationally.
* Deri. Max. Naturalismus, Idealismus, Expressionismus (Leipzig: Seemann, 1921). 83 pp.—An
enlarged version of Deri's contribution to the volume Einführung . . . (pp. 47 — 129) which
was published separately in 1920 (Leipzig: Seemann).
* Ettlinger, L. D. "German Expressionism and Primitive Art". Burlington Magazine, CX (1968),
191-201.
L'Expressionisme européen. Catalogue of an exhibition held at the Munich Haus der Kunst and the
Musée de l'Art Moderne in Paris in 1970. 70 pp.
* The Expressionists : A Survey of their Graphic Art, intr. by Carl Zigrosser (New York: Braziller,
1957). 122 pp. 8 ills.
* Fechter, Paul. Der Expressionismus (Munich: Piper, 1919). 64 pp. — I: "Impressionistische Situ­
ation"; I I : "Die frühen Gegenbewegungen"; I I I : "Die spăten Gegenbewegungen (E., Kubis­
mus, Futurismus)".
Fierens, P. Les Antecédents de l'Expressionisme. Brussels, 1951.
— .L'Expressionisme flamand, Lille, 1953.
George, W. La Peinture expressioniste. Paris, 1960.
* Grigorescu, Dan. Expresionismul (Bucharest: Editura meridiana, 1959). 203 pp. 45 ills.—
E. in other countries dealt with on pp. 146—200 (France, Romania, Austria, Belgium)
* Hartlaub, Geno F . Die Graphik des Expressionismus in Deutschland (Stuttgart: Hatje, 1947).
69 pp. 64 ills.
Hausenstein, Wilhelm. Über Expressionismus in der Malerei (Berlin: Reiss, 1919). 76 pp. "Tribüne
der Kunst und Zeit", No. 2.
Hevesy, Iván. Az impresszionizmus, futurizmus, kubizmus és expresszionizmus (Budapest,
1919).
Hildebrandt, Hans. Der Expressionismus in der Malerei: Ein Vortrag zur Einführung indas Schaffen
der Gegenwart (Stuttgart: Deutsche Verlags-Anstalt, 1919). 27 pp.
Hofmann, Werner, ed. Aquarelle des Expressionismus (English version: Expressionist Watercolors
1905—1920). New York: Abrams, 1967, 101 pp.
Huyghe, René. "La Nouvelle Subjectivité: L'Expressionisme dans Fart français". L'Amour de
VArt, XV (1934), 315-316.
Joseph, Ragnar, and Erik Wettergren. Expressionism (Stockholm, 1946). —This book is listed by
Ragon (p. 361) but has not been otherwise identified.
* Kandinsky, Wassili. Über das Geistige in der Kunst (Munich: Piper, 1912). — Several new editions.
Italian version by Calonna di Cesaro published in 1940 (Rome: Edizione di Religio); English
versions by Michael Sadleir (London: Constable, 1914), Hilla Rebay (New York: Museum of
Non-Objective Painting, 1946) and a new, revised edition of the Sadleir translation (New York:
Wittenborn, Schultz, 1947). French version by Pierre Volbout: Du spirituel dans Vart (Paris,
1954).
Kirchner, Ernst Ludwig. "Chronik der Brücke" (1913).—Unpublished due to dissension among the
members of the group. The manuscript copy in Munich described by Selz (p. 14If.) has two
essays by Kirchner ("Über die Malerei" and "Über die Graphik") as well as the Chronik
itself, a list of members and friends, and numerous reproductions and photographs.

346
* Knapp, Fritz. "Impressionismus und Expressionismus" in Neue Jahrbücher für Wissenschaft
und Jugendbildung, I (1925), pp. 517—526.
* Kokoschka, Oskar. "Edvard Munch's Expressionism". College Art Journal, X(1950), pp.
50-54.
* Landsberger, Franz. Impressionismus und Expressionismus : Eine Einführung in das Wesen der
neuen Kunst (Leipzig: Klinckhardt & Biermann, 1919). 47 pp. 24 ills.
Lorck, Karl von. Expressionismus: Einführung in die europăische Kunst des 20. Jahrhunderts
(Lübeck: Wildner, 1947). 63 pp. 40 ills.
Marlier, G. Bilan de l'expressionisme flamand (Antwerp, 1920). —Not verified.
—. "L'Expressionisme en Belgique: L'Ecole de Laethem-Saint Martin". L'Amour de l'Art, XV
(1934), pp. 389-398.
Mayer, August Liebmann. Expressionistische Miniaturen des deutschen Mittelalters (Munich:
Delphin-Verlag, 1918.)
Meckauer, Walter. Wesenhafte Kunst: Ein Aufbau (Munich: Delphin-Verlag, 1920). 64 pp.
* Myers, Bernard S. The German Expressionists : A Generation in Revolt (New York: Praeger, 1956;
paperback version 1966). 140 ills. —German version, Malerei des E. : Eine Generation im Auf­
bruch, appeared in 1957 (Cologne: Du Mont Schauberg). Standard survey in English.
* Nelken, Margarita. El expresionismo en la plastica mexicana de hoy (Mexico City: Instituto Nacio­
nal de Bellas Artes, 1964). 297 pp. 118 ills. — Brief general introduction and sixteen chapters,
beginning with a discussion of Orozco and Siqueiros.
* Pavolini, Corrado. Cubismo, futurismo, espressionismo (Bologna: Zanichelli, 1926). 190 pp.—
E. discussed on pp. 129—153.
* Picard, Max. Expressionistische Bauernmalerei (Munich: Delphin-Verlag, 1915). 22 pp. 24 ills.
* Ragon, Michael. L'Expressionisme (Lausanne: Editions Rencontre, 1966). 207 pp. Numerous
illustrations. Contains a chronology and a dictionary.
Ridder, A. de. Het expressionisme in de Vlaamssche Schilderkust (Bruges: van Acker & de Grave,
1937).
—. L'Expressionisme en Belgique. Brussels, 1951.
Roh, Franz. Nach-Expressionismus, Magischer Realismus: Probleme der neuesten europăischen
Malerei (Leipzig: Klinckhardt & Biermann, 1925).
Scheyer, Ernst. "Expressionismus in Holland". Maandblad voor de beeldende kunsten, December,
1950, pp. 286-305.
Schmalenbach, Fritz. Kunsthistorische Studien: Grundlinien des Früh-Expressionismus (Basel:
Schudel, 1941).
* Selz, Peter. German Expressionist Painting. (University of California Press, 1957). 379 pp. 180 ills.
Extensive bibliography of books and articles on pp. 354—370. The best scholarly survey in
English.
Sosset, L. L. Permanence et Actualité de l'Expressionisme. Brussels, n.d.
* Sydow, Eckart von. Die deutsche expressionistische Kultur und Malerei (Berlin: Furche-Verlag,
1920). 151 pp. - "Express. ăsthetik" (pp. 41-60).
* Turova, V. "Grafika ekspressionizma" in Singermann..., pp. 84—119.
* Das Ursprüngliche und die Moderne. — Catalogue of an exhibition held at West Berlin Akademie
der Künste in 1964 and confronting primitive models with the use made of them in 20th-
century painting and sculpture.
* Valentiner, Rudolf. "Expressionism and Abstract Art". The Art Quarterly, IV (1941),
pp. 210-234.
Walden, Herwarth. Einblick in die Kunst: Expressionismus, Futurismus, Kubismus (Berlin:
Sturm-Verlag, 1917). 173 pp.
— .Expressionismus: Die Kunstwende (Berlin: Sturm-Verlag, 1918).
—. Die neue Malerei (Berlin: Sturm-Verlag, 1919).
Werner, Alfred. Impressionismus und Expressionismus: Grundbegriffe allgemeiner Kunstwissen­
schaft (Frankfurt: Kesselring, 1917). 59 pp.
Whitford, Frank. Expressionism (London/New York: Hamlyn, 1970).
* Willett, John. Expressionism (New York: McGraw Hill, 1970). 256 pp. 115 ills. — Best short
overall survey in English, mainly concerned with art but offering extended comments on
literature. Mostly German art but some discussion of foreign and American art (pp. 161 — 184).
Survey includes Neue Sachlichkeit as well as the entartete Kunst phase.
* Worringer, Wilhelm. Abstraktion und Einfühlung (Munich: Piper, 1908; new edition 1946).
— An essay in the psychology of art, originally presented as a dissertation. Together with
Kandinsky's Über das Geistige . . . the most influential treatise internationally. English ver­
sion, Abstraction and Empathy (tr. Michael Bullock) published by Routledge & Kegan Paul in
1953. French translation 1959 by Roger Munier.

2. Expressionism and Architecture

* Argan, Giulio Claudio. "L'architettura dell'espressionismo" in Bilancio . . . , pp. 95—108.

347
* Borsi, Franco and G. K. König. Architettura dell'espressionismo (Genoa: Vitali & Guianda, Paris:
Vincent, Fréal & Co., 1967). 367 pp. 120 ills. — Prefatory essay in French, German and English.
Shades over into Bauhaus architecture.
Gregotti, V. "L'archi ttetura dell'espressionismo". Casabella, No. 254 (1961), pp. 24—50.
Pehnt, W. "Gewissheit des Wunders: Der Expressionismus in der Architektur". Der Kunstwart,
XVII (March, 1964), 2 - 1 1 .
* Sharp, Dennis. Modern Architecture and Expressionism (London: Longmans, New York: Brazil -
ler, 1967). 204 pp. —Standard survey in English.
Ungers, O. M. "Die Erscheinungsformen des Expressionismus in der Architektur". —Paper read
at the Florence convegno and, according to Borsi (p. 14), published in Cologne. Italian version
in the special issue of Marcatré.
Zevi, Bruno. "L'eredità dell'espressionismo in archittetura". — Paper read at the Florence convegno
and published in Marcatré, Nos. 8/10 (1964).

3. Expressionism and Cinematography

* Abramov, N. "Ekspressionizam v kinoiskusstve" in Singermann . . . , pp. 130—153.
Balăzs, Béla. Der sichtbare Mensch (Vienna, 1924). — Balázs wrote several other books and many
articles connecting the film with E. They cannot be listed in this selective bibliography.
Byrne, Richard B. "German Cinematographic Expressionism, 1919—1924". Dissertation, Univer­
sity of Iowa, 1962. Dissertation Abstracts, X X I I I (1963), pp. 3021-22.
* Chiarini, Luigi. "L'espressionismo e il linguaggio del film" in Bilancio . . . , pp. 109—127.
* Eisner, Lotte. The Haunted Screen : Expressionism in the German Cinema and the Influence of Max
Reinhardt (University of California Press, 1969). 360 pp. Numerous ills. Bibliography on pp.
346—347, filmography on pp. 348—354. Original French version: L'Ecran demoniaque:
Influence de Max Reinhardt et de l'expressionisme (Paris, 1952).—An authoritative survey of
the demonic element in the silent film of the late teens and twenties, but rather disappointing
as far as cinematographic E. is concerned. Mainly useful for the wealth of material collected
by the author.
* —. "Mise en garde et mise en point". Cinéma 55, No. 1. An English version of this article is
included in this volume.
* —."Beitrag zur Definition des expressionistischen Films". Unpublished contribution to the
Florence convegno. 11 pp.
Hevesy, Iván. "Az expresszionista film és a film expresszionizmusa". Filmvilág, November 15, 1961.
* Kracauer, Siegfried. From Caligari to Hitler: A Psychological History of the German Film
(Princeton University Press, 1947). —Chapter on Caligari and E. on pp. 61—76.
* Kurtz, Rudolf. Expressionismus und Film (Berlin: Verlag der Lichtbildbühne, 1926; fotomechani-
cal reprint Zurich, 1965, 135 pp. 73 ills. — Following a general introduction (pp. 9—50),
Kurtz discusses "Film und Expressionismus" on pp. 51—60, "Der expressionistische Film"
(mainly Caligari, Von morgens bis mitternachts, Genuine, Haus zum Mond, RasJcolnikov and
Wachsfigurenkabinett) on pp. 61—85, "Absolute Kunst" (Eggeling, Richter, Ruttmann, Leger,
Picabia) on pp. 86—109, and "Stil des express. Films" on pp. 109—126.
* Pinthus, Kurt, ed. Das Kinobuch (1913; documentary re-edition Zurich: Die Arche, 1963). 157 pp.
—Pieces by Hasenclever, Lasker-Schüler, Brod, Ehrenstein, Pinthus, Rubiner, Zech, Lauten­
sack, Blei, etc.

4. Expressionism and Music

* Adorno, Theodor W. Philosophie der neuen Musik (Tübingen: Mohr, 1949). 142 pp.— Although
only one small section of the book is expressly devoted to E., the entire study (concerned with
Schönberg and Stravinsky) is highly relevant.
Bekker, Paul. Neue Musik (Berlin: Reiss, 1919). "Tribüne der Kunst und Zeit", No. 6.
* Blessinger, Karl. "Das Problem des Expressionismus: I I I . Expressionismus und Musik". Der
schwăbische Bund, February, 1920, pp. 497—506.
* Curiel, Hans. "Le Théâtre lyrique expressioniste et sa mise en scène". L'Expressionisme au
théâtre européen, pp. 221—236.
* Jacqout, Jean. "Les musiciens et l'expressionisme". L'Expressionisme au théâtre européen,
pp. 245-276.
* Konen, V. "Etjud o musykal'nom ekspressioniste" in Singermann . . . , pp. 120—129.
* Lea, Henry A. "Gustav Mahler und der Expressionismus" in Aspekte . . . , pp. 85-102.
* Leibowitz, René. "Théâtre lyrique et expressionisme". L'Expressionisme au théâtre européen,
pp. 237-244.
Reich, Willi. "Die Oper im Zeichen des Expressionismus". Paper read at the Florence convegno
(1964). Italian version in the special issue of Marcatré.
—. "Über Expressionismus und Zwölftonmusik". Melos, I I I (1955), pp. 212 ff.

348
* Rognoni, Luigi, Espressionismo e dodecafonia (Turin: Einaudi, 1954), 393 pp.—The most ex­
haustive study of the subject. I : "Dissoluzione tonale e interiorizzazione espressiva" (pp.
38—67); I I : "La nuova vocalità e l'allucinazione drammatica" (pp. 68—85); I I I : "Il destino
e l'eredità dell'espressionismo: Gebrauchsmusik e dodecafonia" (pp. 86—100). In an appendix,
Italian translations of essays by Berg, Kandinsky and Schönberg.
* —. "Espressionismo e dodecafonia". Bilancio . . . , pp. 47—71.
—. "Il significato dell'espressionismo come fenomenologia del linguaggio musicale". Paper read
at the Florence convegno. In special issue of Marcatré.
Rufer, Josef. "Das Erbe des Expressionismus in der Zwölftonmusik". Paper read at the same
occasion.
* Schering, Emil. "Die expressionistische Bewegung in der Musik" in Einfuhrung . . . , pp. 139—
161.
Stuckenschmidt, H. H. "Das Erbe des Expressionismus in der Musik". Paper read at the Florence
convegno.
* Wiedman, Robert W. "Expressionism in Music: An Interpretation and Analysis of the Expres-
sionistic Style in Modern Music". Dissertation, New York University, 1955. Dissertation
Abstracts, XV (1955), 1189—90. 487 pp.— Uses the criteria applied by Dahlström. Singles
out polyphonic saturation, distortion and atonality as characteristic features. Focuses on
Berg, Schönberg and Webern.
Worner, K. H. "Der Expressionismus in der Musik und sein Verhăltnis zur Vergangenheit". Paper
read at the Florence convegno. Italian version in special issue of Marcatré.

5. Expressionism and Dance

* Milosz, Aurelio M. "Das Erbe des Expressionismus im Tanz", unpubl. paper presented at the
Florence convegno. 19 pp.

349
 INDEX OF NAMES*
(exclusive of those mentioned in the footnotes and the bibliography)

Abell, Kjeld 223 Bálint, György 297

Adalis (Adelina E. Efron) 324 Ball, Hugo 9 8 - 1 0 2 , 108, 109, 119, 130
Adam, Paul 248 Ball, William 202, 203
Adamov, Arthur 139 Balla, Giacomo 26
Adler, Paul 80, 94 Balmont, Konstantin 217
Adorno, Theodor W. 148 Balzac, Honoré de 57, 83, 84, 85
Ady, Endre 288, 291, 296 Bang, Herman 83, 84
Aeschylus 216 Barbusse, Henri 11, 93, 233, 236, 265
Agate, James 224 Bahr, Hermann 18, 23, 37, 41, 75, 115, 122,
Akhmatova, Anna 321 221 263 289
Aksenov, Ivan 323, 324, 327 Barlach,' Ernst 16, 18, 32, 34, 38, 51, 95,
Alain 83 122, 124, 127, 221
Albee, Edward 201, 202, 203 Barres, Maurice 93
Alnaes, Finn 222 Barry, Iris 177
Altenberg, Peter 150, 151 Barrymore, John 196
Andersen, Hans Christian 186, 223 Barta, Sándor 56, 293, 295
Andreev, Andrei 163, 164 Barth, Karl 82
Andreev, Leonid 16. 196, 200, 209, 211 Bartók, Béla 46, 148, 151, 153, 155, 160
Andrei, Petre 273 Barzun, Henri-Martin 229
Andreyev, Leonid (see Andreev) Basshe, Em Jo 27, 197, 199
Andrzejewski, Jerzy 306 Baudelaire, Charles 69, 72, 74, 83, 113, 150,
Angelus Silesius 33, 324 178, 249, 287
Annensky, Innokenty 217 Bauer, Rudolf 118, 121, 250
Antheil, George 169, 179 Baumeister, Willi 38
Antoine, André 60 Beardsley, Aubrey 95, 178
Apollinaire, Guillaume 20, 84, 99, 103, 117, Beauduin, Henri 229
121, 192, 223, 229, 230, 238, 244, 249, Beaunier, André 84
259, 289 Becher, Johannes R. 17, 18, 25, 31, 56, 57, 68,
Appia, Adolphe 65, 209, 242 75, 76, 95, 135, 137, 229, 323
Arehipenko, Alexander 118, 175 Bechtejeff, Wladimir 29
Arcos, Renée 229 Beck, Gabriel 93
Aristophanes 29 Becker, Julius Maria 68
Aristotle 49 Beckford, William 94, 95
Arnold, Armin 77 Beckmann, Max 112, 127, 131, 135
Arp, Hans (Jean) 25, 99, 101, 105, 117 Beethoven, Ludwig van 14, 152, 308
Artaud, Antonin 11, 69 Behne, Adolf 117
Aseev, Nikolai 323, 324 Behrens, Franz Richard 265
Aspenström, Werner 223 Bely, Andrei 323
Auden, W. H. 29, 185, 186, 187, 188 Benar, Natalia 324
Axmatova, Anna (see Akhmatova) Benn, Gottfried 18, 19, 22, 23, 30, 42, 48, 55,
74, 76, 80, 94, 96, 112, 115, 122, 130, 131,
Babillotte, Artur 84 133, 134, 136, 138, 141, 261, 265
Bach, Johann Sebastian 152 Bennet, Arnold 183
Baczynski, Krysztof 313 Beradt, Martin 80
Balanchine, Georges 223 Berckelaers, Fernand (see Seuphor)
Baláza, Béla 48 Berent, Waclaw 302, 304, 305, 307
Balcke, Ernst 74 Berg, Alban 145, 150, 151, 152, 153, 155, 156,
158, 160
* The spelling of Polish, Rumanian, Bergh, Herman van den 245, 246, 247, 248,
Russian and Serbo-Croatian names follows 249, 250, 252, 256, 257
PMLA style whenever possible. Bergman, Hjalmar 223

351
 Bergman, Ingmar 223 Burssens, Gaston 231, 234, 238, 241, 245
Bergson, Henri 25, 40, öl, 61, 172, 174, 320 Buysse, Cyriel 226
Bevk, France 260 Buzzi, Paolo 83
Bilderdijk, Willem 256 Byron, George Gordon, Lord 94, 150, 306
Binnendijk, D. A. M. 250
Bischoff, Friedrich 80 Călinescu, George 275, 277
Binding, Rudolf G. 87 Callimachi, Scarlat 281, 282
Bjely, Andrey (see Bely) Callot, Jacques 215
Blaga, Lucian 27, 274—279, 286 Campendonk, Heinrich 121,127,135,136, 239
Blake, William 84, 299 Cangiullo, Francesco 99
Blei, Franz 70, 71, 94 Cankar, I. 260
Bloch, Albert 29 Cantre, Joszef 237
Bloem, J. C. 247 Čapek, Karel and Josef 10
Blok, Alesandr 212, 214, 281 Capus, Alfred 92
Bloy, Léon 227, 255 Caragiale, Ion Luca 270
Blume, Bernhard 73 Carlino, Lewis John 203
Blümner, Rudolf 25, 39, 43, 118, 127 Carpenter, Edward 83, 84
Bobrov Sergei 322, 323, 324, 325, 327 Carroll, Lewis 186
Boccioni, Umberto 84 Cassirer, Ernst 52
Bock, E. de 234, 235, 236, 237, 247 Cendrars, Blaise 83, 84, 99, 230, 244, 249, 250
Bojtár, Endre 20 Cesareć, August 261
Bolsakov, Konstantin 317, 318 Cézanne, Paul 30, 31, 43, 45, 114
Boldt, Paul 130, 131 Chagall, Marc 34, 117, 118
Bondi, Yuri 217 Chamisso, Adelbert von 38
Booth, John Hunter 200 Chekhov, Anton 205—207
Borberg, Svend 10, 223 Chennevière, Georges 225
Borchert, Wolfgang 16 Chesterton, Gilbert K. 218, 219
Bordeaux, Henri 248 Chihaia, Pavel 286
Bori, Imre 293 Chlebnikov, Velimir (see Khlebnikov)
Borowski, Tadeusz 313 Chlumberg, Hans 200
Bosch, Hieronymus 243 Chopin, Frédéric 303
Boutens, P. C. 229, 247 Chrispeels, F.-Cl. 230, 231, 234, 242
Bovasso, Julie 201 Čizevsky, Dmitri 20
Braak, Menno ter 252 Claudel, Paul 11, 60, 61, 84, 93, 228, 229,
Brahm, Otto 60, 65 231, 243
Brancusi, Constantin 175 Claudius, Matthias 149
Brandt Corstius, J a n 245 Clerq, René de 231, 233, 241
Braque, Georges 30, 45 Clough, Arthur T. 90
Braun, Edward 214 Cocteau, Jean 179, 186, 192, 203, 236, 243,
Brecht, Bertolt 16, 45, 46, 49, 57, 58, 67, 68, 244, 249
70, 74, 78, 95, 146, 151, 152, 201, 285 Coleridge, Samuel T. 196
Brémond, Henri 240 Connelly, Marc 9, 201
Brentano, Clemens 22, 31, 104, 324 Conrad, Joseph 94
Breton, André 22, 31, 104 Corbière, Tristan 178, 249
Breughel, Pieter 270 Corman, Cid 42
Breza, Tadeusz 306 Cornford, Francis 184
Březina, Otokar 229 Coster, Dirk 249, 252, 253, 254, 258
Briusov, Valery 317, 325, 326 Courbet, Gustave 36
Broch, Hermann 113, 191, 313 Craig, Gordon 65, 66, 208, 242
Brod, Max 21, 52, 80, 111, 119, 137, 229, 234 Crane, Walter 115
Bröger, Karl 75, 283 Cristea, Nicolae 270
Bronnen, Arnolt 61 Crommelynck, Fernand 10, 218, 244
Browning, Elizabeth Barrett 71 Csuka, Zoltán 296
Bruckner, Anton 153 Cummings, E.E. 197, 199
Bruggen, Max Ferdinand Eugen van 55 Czachorowski, Stanislaw Swen 313
Brunclair, Victor J. (ps. Bardemeyer) 229, Czechowicz, Józef 312
230, 231, 233, 234, 235, 241 Czyzewski, Tytus 311
Bruning, Gerard 254, 255, 257
Bruning, Henri 252, 253 Dagerman, Stig 223
Bruning, Victor and Henri 237, 246, 247 Dagover, Lil 164
Bryusov, Valery (see Briusov) Dali, Salvador 31
Brzozowski, Stanislaw 305 D'Annunzio, Gabriele 22, 60, 8 5 - 8 8 , 92
Buber, Martin 21, 111, 234 Daumier, Honoré de 114, 270
Büchner, Georg 72, 82, 150, 153, 154, 252 Dăubler, Theodor 18, 19, 24, 34, 39, 40, 70,
Buczkowski, Leonard 313 80, 96, 115, 117, 122, 170, 174, 229, 236,
Burliuk, David and Vladimir 29 261

352
D'Aurevilly, Barbey 92 Epstein, Jacob 167, 175
Dauthendey, Max 75, 229 Ernst, Max 117
Debussy, Claude 40, 152 Euripides 196
Degas, Edgar 114 Evreinov, Nikolai 9, 202, 203, 217
Dehmel, Richard 150, 159, 229, 303 Ewers, Hanns Heinz 88
Delaunay, Robert 24, 41, 42, 116, 117, 120, Eyck, P. N. van 247
122, 136 Eyen, Tom 201
Demedts, André 237
Derain, André 30 Faiko, Alexei 215
Deri, Max 274 Faragoh, Francis Edward 200
Deubel, Leon 83, 84 Faulkner, William 10
Deyssel, Lodewijk van 246, 247, 249 Fehling, Jürgen 161
Diaghilev, Sergei 200, 208, 318 Feijs, A. H. 247, 249
Diaz, Porfirio 138 Feininger, Lyonel 26, 29, 116, 118, 127, 131
Dickinson, Emily 276 Fekete, Lajos 296
Diebold, Bernhard 62 Feldman, Peter 203
Dieterle, Wilhelm (William) 164 Fellini, Federico 203
Dilthey, Wilhelm 51 Fet, Afanasy A. 325
Dix, Otto 117, 126, 127, 128 Filonov, Pavel 216
Döblin, Alfred 17, 21, 22, 23, 31, 41, 66, 79, Flaubert, Gustave 22, 43, 82, 83, 84, 89, 91,
80, 81, 87, 88, 90, 91, 95, 96, 117, 127, 92, 93, 96, 178
138, 159, 188, 189, 191, 239 Flesch-Bruningen, Hans von 81
Doesburg, Theo van 247, 248, 250, 251, 252, Flukowski, Stefan 312
254, 259 Forbáth, Imre 296
Döhl, Reinhold 98, 101 Ford, Henry 199
Donadini, Ulderiko 263, 264 France, Anatole 91, 93
Donkersloot, N. A. 245 Frank, Leonhard 80, 95, 252
Dos Passos, John 22, 200, 202 Freiligrath, Ferdinand 71
Dowson, Ernest 70, 150, 151 Freud, Sigmund 25, 31, 51, 108, 125. 147,
Drainac, Rade 262 164, 201, 278
Dreiser, Theodore 193, 194 Friedrich, Hugo 113
Dostoevsky, Fedor 29, 61, 83, 95, 116, 127, Frost, Robert 167
213, 252, 256, 286 Fry, Roger 167
Drey, Arthur 131 Fuchs, George 201
Dryden, John 222
Dufy, Raoul 132 Gabrilovic, Evgenij 322, 323, 324, 325, 326
Duhamel, Jacques 225 Gajey, Tadeusz 313
Duinkerken, A. van 252, 255 Galczyński, Konstanty Hdefons 312
Du Perron, Edgar 230, 238 Galsworthy, John 24, 57
Dupont, E. A. 165 Gaston, William 201, 203
Dürrenmatt, Friedrich 16 Gaudier-Brzeska, Henri 29, 38, 167, 168, 169,
Duse, Eleonora 86 175, 176, 177
Duyn, G. van 257 Gauguin, Paul 37, 45, 114, 115, 117, 132
Geiger, Moritz 53
Edschmid, Kasimir 18, 22, 23, 34, 36, 39, Genet, Jean 195
41, 43, 79, 80, 81, 82, 89, 188, 192, 234, George, Stefan 69, 70, 87, 150, 151
252, 318, 322 Gerlach, Arthur von 165
Eeden, Frederik van 246, 249 Ghelderode, Michel de 10, 11, 222, 226, 243,
Egri, Lajos 197 245
Ehrenburg, Ilya 326 Ghéon, Henri 242, 243
Ehrenstein, Albert 81, 9.2, 93, 96, 119, 229, Gide, André 80, 83, 93, 96
261, 323 Gijsen, Marnix 233, 234, 237, 241, 245, 246,
Eichendorff, Josef von 149, 151, 153, 155 255
324 Gilbert, Henry Schwenck 186
Einstein, Albert 54, 320 Giraud, Albert 149
Einstein, Carl 80, 81, 83, 92, 94, 137, 138, Giraudoux, Jean 223
188, 189, 265 Glaspell, Susan 27, 196
Eisenstein, Sergei 311 Gleizes, Albert 121, 232, 240
Ekster, Alexandra 217 Goering, Reinhard 11, 35, 67, 112
Eliot, T. S. 27, 29, 167, 184, 186, 192, 197, Goes, Frank van der 246
201 Goethe, Johann Wolfgang von 11, 141, 149
Engelke, Gerrit 75 Gogh, Vincent van 16, 24, 40, 42, 43, 45,
Engelman, J a n 255 112, 114,115,131, 141, 164, 174, 250, 276
Ensor, James 29, 117, 135, 243, 270 Gogol, Nikolai 317
Erenburg, Ilya (see Ehrenburg) Gold, Michael 199
Esenin, Sergei A. 321 Goldoni, Carlo 218

353
Goll, Claire 265 Hindemith, Paul 152, 159
Goll, I v a n 17, 22, 70, 80, 95, 265, 266 Hitler, Adolf 30, 56
Goncharova, Natalia 218 Hoddis, Jakob v a n 99, 128, 131, 136, 261,
Gorki, Maxim 83 324
Gorter, H e r m a n 246, 247, 249, 255 Hoffmann, E . T. A. 279, 323, 324, 325
Goya, Francisco 270 Hofmannsthal, Hugo von 46, 60, 65, 87, 147,
Gozzi, Carlo 196, 213 252
Grabbe, Christian D . 72 Hohoff, Curt 98
Granach, Alexander 164, 165 Holberg, Ludvig 223
El Greco 31, 42 Hölderlin, Friedrich 72, 73, 141
Green, Paul 196, 197 Hollander,.Walther von 38, 139
Grieg, Nordahl 222 Holz, Arno 75, 79
Grimm, Reinhold 94 Hölzel, Adolf 38
Groenevelt, E . 254, 255 Hoover, Marjorie 212
Gropius, Walter 45, 118 Hopkins, Arthur 193
Grosz, George 117, 127, 130, 135, 136, 230 Huebner, Friedrich Markus 18, 236, 252
Grune, Karl 165 Hueffer, Ford Madox (Ford) 168
Grünewald, Mathias 31, 274, 275 Hulewicz, Jerzy 308
Gruyter, J. O. de 242 Hulewicz, Witold 308
Guilbeaux, Henri 230 Hulme, T. E . 18. 25, 37, 168, 170, 171, 172,
Gütersloh, Paris von 96 173, 177
Hülsenbeck, Richard 99, 100
Hafiz 234 Hunte, Otto 166
Haftmann, Werner 123 Husserl, Edmund 52, 53
Hamburger, Michael 30, 43 Huysmans, Joris K. 87, 92, 94
Hammerstein, Oskar 201
Hamsun, K n u t 93, 222
Harasymowicz, Jerzy 313 Ibsen, Henrik 60, 65, 116, 186, 211, 221, 222,
Hardekopf, Ferdinand 70, 132, 261 286
Hardt, Ernst 147 Ionesco, Eugène 46, 139
Harnack, Adolf 82 Isherwood, Christopher 29, 185, 186
Hartleben, Otto Erich 149 Itten, Johannes 118
Hasenclever, Walter 46, 59, 61, 62, 66, 75, Ivano v, Vyacheslav 321
Ives, Charles 152, 160
119, 128, 147, 196, 198, 219, 223, 252
Iwaskiewicz, Jaroslaw 308, 309, 310
Hart, Moss 201
Hauptmann, Carl 60, 67
Hauptmann, Gerhart 60, 81, 114, 116, 157, Jacob, A. 236
210 Jacob, Heinrich Eduard 86, 87
Hausenstein, Wilhelm 117 Jacob, Max 244
Hausmann, Raoul 265 Jacobsen, Jens Peter 96, 150
Hebbel, Friedrich 133 Jakobson, R o m a n 320
Heckel, Erich 114, 116, 117, 118, 126, 127, Jahnn, H a n s H e n n y 21, 96, 191
130, 131, 136 James, Henry 178
Heiberg, Gunnar 222, 223 Jammes, Francis 70, 228, 249, 287
Heijermans, Herman 241 Janaček, Leos 153
Heise, Carl Georg 119 Janco, Marcel 99
Hellens, Franz (ps. F. van Erminghen) 226, Jarc, Miran 260
244 Jarry, Alfred 243, 249
Helman, Albert 257 Jastrun, Mieczyslav 312
Hemingway, Ernest 85 Jawlensky, Axel von 29, 130, 136
Hennings, E m m y 99 Jaworski, R o m a n 311, 312
Henry, Daniel (ps. Kahnweiler) 117, 230 Jensen, Johannes V. 91, 223
Hepworth, Barbara 180 Jespers, Floris 121, 232, 237, 239
Herlth, Gustav 165 Jespers, Oscar 121, 232
Hervé, Julien-Auguste 43 Jessner, Leopold 66, 161, 164
Herzfelde, Wieland 324 Jiguidi, Aurei 270
Heselhaus, Clemens 123, 137 Joel, Karl 51
Hesse, Hermann 29, 81, 142 Johnston, Dennis 9, 27
H e v e s y , I v a n 296 Johst, H a n n s 95
H e y m , Georg 50, 70, 72, 74, 79, 80, 87, 115, Jolas, Eugène 21
130, 131, 133, 147, 188, 239, 257, 261, Jone, Hildegard 150
280, 324 Jones, Robert Edmond 194, 195, 203
Heyndrickx, G. 242 Jong, Martien G. de 252
Heynicke, Kurt 130, 265 Joostens, Paul 232, 237
Hilie, Peter 111 Jouve, Pierre Jean 229
Hiller, Kurt 79, 82, 111, 117, 120, 229, 235 Jouvet, Louis 223, 244

354
Joyce, James 21, 43, 46, 57, 89, 141, 146, 167, 124, 125, 126, 131, 132, 139, 221, 223,
178, 189, 191, 192 242
József, Attila 295 Kollwitz, Kăthe 127, 135
Jung, Carl Gustav 25, 94 Komját, Aladár 293
Jung, Franz 81, 82 Komissarzhevskaya, Vera 209, 215
Komissarzhevsky, Fyodor 213
Kaden-Bandrowski, Juliusz 303, 308, 309 Koonen, Alisa 217
Kafka, Franz 21, 46, 50, 53, 57, 79, 80, 81, Kornfeld, Paul 38, 62, 66, 95, 242
95, 188, 191, 239, 304, 313 Korovin, Konstantin 208
Kahler, Erich 79, 80, 81, 93 Kortner, Fritz 164, 165
Kahnweiler, Daniel Henry (see Henry) Kosovel, Srecko 260
Kaiser, Georg 9, 17, 18, 29, 34, 59, 60, 63, 64, Kovalevsky, V. 324
66, 67, 68, 85, 87, 94, 143, 147, 155, 156, Kozikowski, Edward 310, 311
181, 185, 186, 196, 198, 201, 218, 223, Kracauer, Siegfried 161
242, 252, 265 Krasinski, Zygmunt 299
Kalidasa 217 Kramskoi, Ivan N. 206
Kalmer, Joseph André 265 Kraus, Karl 54, 117, 121, 154
Kamensky, Vasili 319 Krauss, Werner 164
Kandinsky, Wassily 16, 18, 24, 29, 39, 40, Krell, Max 22, 32, 33
49, 50, 51, 54, 99, 102, 116, 117, 119, 120 Kreymborg, Alfred 196, 203
121, 122, 123, 124, 127, 130, 131, 132, Krispyn, Egbert 245
133, 134, 136, 137, 138, 139 158, 168, Krklec, Gustav 261
172, 173, 175, 177, 230, 232, 240, 247, Krleza, Miroslav 261, 263, 264
250, 251, 271, 272 Krog, Helge 222
Kant, Immanuel 51, 52, 108 Kronberg, Simon 81
Kantemir, A. 320 Kruchenikh, Alexei E. 318, 322
Kasack, Hermann 131, 252 Kubin, Alfred 21, 80, 96, 116, 118, 121, 122,
Kasprowiez, J a n 302, 303, 304, 308, 311 123, 126
Kassák, Lajos 20, 27, 48, 287, 289, 290, 291, Kun, Béla 294
292 Küppers, P . E. 122
Kaufman, George S. 9, 201 Kurtz, Rudolf 43, 70
Kayser, Wolfgang 21, 23 Kutznetsov, Pavel 217
Kazan, Elia 202, 203 Kuyle, Albert 237
Keats, John 249 Kuzmin, Mihail 10, 327
Keller, Philipp 81
Kellermann, Bernhard 91 Laclos, Choderlos de 91
Kennedy, Adrienne 201 Laforgue, Jules 83, 84, 249
Kenner, Hugh 175 Lagerkvist, Păr 10, 27, 84, 222, 223
Kerr, Alfred 54 La Motte Fouqué, Friedrich 324
Kershentsev, Platon M. 318 Landauer, Gustav 71
Kharms, Daniel 325 Landor, Walter Savage 83
Khlebnikov, Viktor 215, 318, 320, 323, 327 Lang, Fritz 162, 164, 166
Kierkegaard, Soren 51, 53, 141, 223 Lapin, Boris 322, 323, 324, 325, 326
Kipling, Rudyard 325 Lasker-Schüler, Else 17, 79, 86, 112, 117, 119,
Klabund 80, 81, 131, 234 120, 132, 188, 234, 252, 261
Klammer, Karl (p.s. K. L. Ammer) 69, 70, Laurents, Arthur 201
71 73 78 Lavrencic, Joze 260
Kirchner, Ernst Ludwig 32, 115, 116, 118, Law-Robertson, Harry 71, 75
119, 122, 126, 131, 136, 174 Lawrence, D. H. 10, 189,
Klee, Paul 23, 36, 39, 116, 117, 118, 119, 122, Lawson, John H. 198, 199
124, 127, 131, 132, 136, 272 Lechón, J a n 309
Klein, César 164 Lecocq, Charles 218
Kleist, Heinrich von 72, 141, 324, Le Corbusier, Edouard 176
Klemm, Wilhelm 70 Léger, Ferdinand 45, 169
Klimt, Gustav 121 Lehmbruck, Wilhelm 38
Kloos, Willem 230, 246, 247, 249 Leibl, Wilhelm 30
Klopcic, Milan 260 Lékai, János 293
Klöpfer, Eugen 165 Lemm, Alfred 81
Klopstock, Friedrich Gottlieb 325 Leni, Paul 162, 164
Knortz, Karl 71 Lenormand, Henri 11, 16, 199
Knuvelder, Gerard 254 Lenz, Jakob R. M. 323
Kogan, Moissej 29 Leonard, Joseph 248
Kohl, Aaage von 84 Leonhard, Rudolf 135
Kokoschka, Bohuslav 81 Lepok, Nikolay 322
Kokoschka, Oskar 16, 18, 32, 41, 59, 81, 115, Lermontov, Mihail 325
116, 117, 118, 119, 120, 121, 122, 123, Lernet-Holenia, Alexander 70

355
Lersch, Heinrich 75 Martinet, Marcel 218
Lesmian, Boleslaw 310, 311 Martini, Fritz 22, 23
Lessing, O. E. 71 Marx, Karl 198
Levit, Teodor 318, 321, 324 Masereel, Frans 119
Lewis, Wyndham 18, 27, 29, 38, 167, 168, Mattis-Teutsch of Brasov 271
169, 170, 172, 173, 174, 175, 176, 178, Matisse, Henri 18, 30, 43, 136
179, 180 Mauclair, Camille 83
Li T'ai-po 234 Maupassant, Guy de 85, 116
Lichtenstein, Alfred 92, 117, 131, 135, 137, Mayer, Carl 165
261, 324 McEvoy, J. P. 301
Liebknecht, Karl 233 Mechthild von Magdeburg 239
Lion, Ferdinand 93 Meckauer, Walter 53
Lipps, Theodor 273 Meester, J. de 243
Livsic, Benedikt 327 Meidner, Ludwig 117, 120, 123, 165
Loerke, Oskar 80 Mej'erhold, Vselovod (see Meyerhold)
Lohner, Edgar 42, 113 Melville, Lewis 94
London, Jack 85, 88, 319 Mendelssohn-Bartholdy, Felix 153
Lorca, Federigo Garcia 21, 22, 46 Mercereau, Alexandre 229
Lorre, Peter 166 Metzinger, Jean 121, 232
Losski, Nikolai 320 Meyer, Alfred Richard 70
Loti, Pierre 83, 93 Meyer, Conrad Ferdinand 150
Lotz, Ernst Wilhelm 120, 131 Meyerhold, Vsevolod 27, 68, 201, 205, 206,
Luca, Ion 285 208, 209, 210, 211, 212, 213, 214, 215,
Lubitsch, Ernst 165 216, 217, 218, 244, 318
Lugne-Poë, Aurélien-Marie 60 Meyrinck, Gustav 21. 96, 119, 229
Lukács, György 55, 111 Michel, Wilhelm 122
Lunacharski, Anatoly 218 Michelangelo Buonarroti 176
L'vov-Rogacevsky, V. 316, 318 Micić, Ljubomir 265, 266, 267
Micinsky, Tadeusz 302, 306, 307, 310, 312
MacKaye, Percy 193 Mickiewicz, Adam 299
Macke, August 38, 41, 118, 120, 122 Middleton, Christopher 30
MacLeish, Archibald 201 Mielziner, Jo 202, 203
Mach, Ernst 52, 54 Milev, Geo 27, 262, 263, 265, 267
Mácza, János 293 Miller, Arthur 201, 202
Maeterlinck, Maurice 11, 16, 45, 60, 70, 72, Milosz, Czeslaw 312
93, 149, 150, 226, 243, 249 Mirbeau, Octave 84, 93
Mahler, Gustav 142, 144, 150, 151, 152, 159 Modersohn-Becker, Paula 41, 119
Maiakovsky, Vladimir 10, 215, 216, 217, 218, Modigliani, Amedeo 38, 99, 175
260, 316, 317, 320, 321 Moens, Wies 231, 233, 234, 235, 236, 237,
Maistre, Xavier de 93 238, 241, 242, 245, 253, 254, 255, 257
Majut, Rudolf 81 Moholy-Nagy, László 45, 118
Malevich, Kasimir 39, 215, 216 Molenaar, Maurits 256
Mallarmé, Stéfane 60, 70, 94, 238, 240 Molière 213, 244
Maltz, Albert 200 Moller, H. 254
Mamontov, Savva 208 Möller van den Brück, Arthur 95
Mandelstam, Osip 327 Molzahn, Johannes 118
Manet, Edouard 114 Mombert, Alfred 79, 150, 229
Mann, Heinrich 22, 23, 33, 42, 80, 81, 87, 91, Mondrian, Piet 30, 247, 250
92, 93, 95, 96, 111, 225 Monet, Claude 31, 36, 175
Mann, Thomas 23, 33, 42, 81, 89, 106 Monroe, Harriett 167
Marakovic, Ljubomir 261 Mont, Paul de 243
Marc, Franz 26, 34, 38, 41, 112, 116, 118, 119, Montale, Eugenio 192
120, 122, 127, 128, 131, 132, 135, 136, Moore, Henry 179
172, 232, 247, 250, 251, 271 Moortel, Maurits van de (ps. W. de Man)
Mărculescu, Aurei 270 231 236
Marin, John 29 Moritz, Karl Philipp 106
Marinetti, Filippo Tommaso 16, 17, 20, 31, Morris, William 95, 115
66, 67, 70, 76, 77, 78, 83, 84, 85, 88, 89, Motte-Guyon, Jeanne Marie de 235
90, 91, 93, 96, 99, 103, 104, 117, 168, Mozart, Wolfgang Amadeus 141
179, 229, 242 Mrozek, Slawomir 306
Marlinsky 325 Muche, Georg 118
Marlowe, Christopher 72 Mueller, Otto 117
Marsman, Henrik 26, 27, 121, 225, 245, 247, Müller, Robert 81
248, 249, 250, 251, 252, 253, 254, 256, Müller, Theophil 324
257, 258 Muls, Jozef 237
Martin, Karl Heinz 162 Multatuli (ps. of Eduard Douwes Dekker) 83

356
Munch, Edvard 16, 41, 45, 112, 114, 115, 131, Petrarca, Francesco 150
221, 285, 303 Petrescu, Camil 284, 285
Munier, Roger 273 Petrović, Rastko 261
Murnau, F. W. 164, 165, 166 Petzold, Alfons 283
Murillo, Esteban 114 Pfemfert, Franz 83, 102, 229
Muschg, Walter 90 Pfitzner, Hans 155, 158
Musil, Robert 54, 79, 80, 89, 313 Philippe, Charles Louis 84, 116
Musshe, Achilles 241 Philippide, Alexandra 2 7 9 - 2 8 1 , 286
Mynona 81, 92, 117, 239 Picasso, Pablo 26, 30, 45, 99, 118, 216, 235
Pick, Lupu 165
Nash, Paul 180 Pinski, David 197
Németh, László 296 Pinter, Ferenc 296
Nemirovich-Danchenko, Vladimir 206 Pinthus, Kurt 17, 18, 24, 29, 31, 32, 42, 43,
Nesmelov, Boris 322 47, 48, 82, 105, 119, 252
Nevinson, C. R. W. 168 Pirenne, Henri 236
Nicholson, Ben 180 Piscator, Erwin 16, 55, 68, 139, 199, 201, 244
Nielsen, Carl 153 Plato 300
Nietzsche, Friedrich 15, 33, 35, 51, 74, 83, Plautus 223
84, 85, 86, 88, 116, 196, 252, 256, 288, Podbevsek, Anton 260
304, 307 Foe, Edgar Allan 10, 229, 256, 279, 282
Nolde, Emil 37, 38, 118, 119, 126, 131, 132, Poggioli, Renato 19
133, 136 Polenov, Vassily 208
Novalis (ps. of Friedrich von Hardenberg) Pollock, Channing 201
252, 324 Pölzig, Hans 163, 165
Nowak, Tadeusz 313 Popo va, Lyubov 217
Porten, Henny 164
O'Casey, Sean 9, 27, 184, 186, 188 Pörtner, Paul 259
Odets, Clifford 198, 200 Pound, Ezra 18, 26, 43, 96, 167, 168, 169,
Oever, Karel van den 234, 237, 246, 253, 254, 170, 173, 176, 177, 178, 179, 180, 184,
255, 258 192
Okhlopov, Nikolay 219 Prosenc, Miklasz 107
Olesha, Yuri 10 Proust, Marcel 36, 177, 178, 192
O'Neill, Eugene 9, 10, 17, 25, 27, 29, 38, 174, Przybyzewski, Stanislaw 16, 27, 83, 84, 3 0 2 -
196, 197, 199, 203, 218, 243, 284, 286 304, 307
Oppeln-Bronikowski, Friedrich von 70 Pushkin, Alexander S. 215
Oppenheimer, Max (ps. Mop) 99, 117 Putman, Willem 243
Orjesaeter, Tore 222 Pynenburg, Fernand 238
Orozco, Clemente 138
Ortega y Gasset, Jose 179
Ostaijen, Paul van 225, 226, 227, 228, 229, Raabe, Paul 84, 111, 119
230, 231, 234, 235, 236, 238, 239, 240, Ramm, Alexandra 83
241, 244, 245, 246, 248, 254, 257 Raphael (Raffaele Santo) 171
Ostrovski, Alexander 205, 213 Raphael, Max 122
Oswald, Richard 166 Rasmussen, Emil 96
Otetelesanu, Ruxandra 284, 285 Read, Herbert 40, 179
Otten, Karl 75, 84, 88, 120 Rebreanu, Liviu 284
Rees, Otto van 99
Pabst, G. W. 163, 164 Reger, Max 159
Palazzeschi, Aldo 84 Régnier, Henri de 249
Panizza, Oskar 135 Reinhardt, Max 60, 115, 161, 162, 208, 209,
Papadat-Bengescu, Hortensia 284 318
Papini, Giovanni 229 Reisiger, Hans 71
Pappenheim, Marie von 148 Reksin, Sergei 318
Paquet, Alfons 75 Rembrandt 163
Parsons, Talcott 107 Retera, W. 256
Pasternak, Boris 10, 323, 265 Révész, Béla 288
Paulsen, Wolfgang 33 Rice, Elmer 17, 27, 29, 198, 203
Pauwels, Fernand-Martin 231 Riegl, Alois 49
Pawlikowska-Jasnorzewska, Maria 309 Rilke, Rainer Maria 22, 35, 41, 71, 73, 87, 95,
Pechstein, Max 37, 117, 118, 136, 174 124, 229, 252, 308
Peeters, Jozef 237, 238 Rimbaud, Arthur 16, 60, 69, 70, 71, 72, 73,
Péguy, Charles 83, 229 74, 76, 77, 78, 84, 104, 113, 116, 131, 249,
Perelesin, Boris 322 287, 299, 309
Perk, Jacques 230 Rimsky-Korssakov, Nikolai 205
Permys, Martin (ps. of M. J. Premsela) 249, Ripke-Kühn, Leonore 18, 117, 228
254 Rippert, Otto 162

357
Rivera, Diego 138 Seurat, Denis 132
Rivière, Jacques 84 Severini, Gino 26, 34
Robison, Arthur 165 Shakespeare, William 65, 155, 222, 243
Rodgers, Richard 201 Shalyapin, Fjodor 208
Rodin, Auguste 175 Shaw, George Bernard 87, 90, 94, 186, 241
Röhrig, Walter 165 Shaw, Irwin 200
Rok, Rjurik 321, 322 Shelley, Percy Bysshe 94, 249
Roland Holst, Henriette 230 Shershenevich, Vadim 317, 318, 320
Rolland, Romain 233, 236, 248 Shkolnik, I. 216
Rolleston, T. W. 71 Shklovski, Viktor 323
Romains, Jules 11, 289, 324 Shostakovich, Dmitri 153
Rossetti, Dante Gabriel 70 Sidorov, Gurij 318
Rostotsky, B. 216 Sifton, Paul 199
Rothe, Wolfgang 81 Silling, Evgeny 324
Rouault, Georges 116, 136 Simic, A. B. 27, 261, 263
Rousseau, Henri 174 Simonson, Lee 198, 203
Roy, Claude 124 Sinclair, Upton 199, 200
Rozanov, Vasily 320 Siqueiros, David 138, 139
Rubiner, Ludwig 18, 59, 68, 70, 75, 95, 117, Sisov, 324
119, 127, 229, 236, 252, 296 Sitwell, Edith 10, 43
Russolo, Luigi 26 Sitwell, Sacherevell 10
Rymkiewicz, Aleksander 312 Sklar, George 200
Šklovsky, Viktor (see Shklovski)
Sack, Gustav 81, 94 Slauerhoff, J a n 250, 256, 257
Sadoveanu, Mihail 284 Slodki, Marcel 99
Samuel, Richard 61 Slonim, Marc 208
San Secondo, Rosso di 11 Slonimski, Antoni 309, 310, 312
Sand, George 92 Slowacki, Juliusz 299, 303
Saroyan, William 201 Smedt, Oscar de (ps. Marc) 228, 229, 250
Sayers, Michael 183 Soergel, Albert 54, 81, 98, 112
Schaefer, Heinrich 81 Sokel, Walter 30, 44, 63, 80, 95, 116, 189
Scharf, Ludwig 70 Sokolov, Ippolit 27, 3 1 6 - 3 2 7
Scheerbart, Paul 96, 117, 239 Sola Pinto, Vivian de 35
Scheler, Max 52, 53 Sologub, Fjodor 208, 212
Schelling, F . W. J. 324 Soloviev, Vladimir 217
Schickele, René 23, 33, 80, 93, 106, 229 Sorbul, Mihail 285
Schiele, Egon 117, 121 Sorge, Reinhard J. 59, 61, 62, 64, 147, 161,
Schiller, Friedrich von 33, 326 223
Schisgal, Murray 203 Soumagne, Henri 244
Schlaf, Johannes 71, 74, 75 Soya, Carl Erik 223, 224
Schlegel, Friedrich 324 Spassky, Dmitrievic 322
Schlemmer, Oskar 45, 117, 118 Spender, Stephen 188
Schmidt-Rottluff, Karl 118, 131 Stadler, Ernst 32, 70, 75, 79, 121, 131, 138,
Schneider, Karl-Ludwig 133 252, 261
Schnitzler, Arthur 211, 214 Stanislavsky, Konstantin 65, 68, 205—208
Schönberg, Arnold 24, 40, 45, 119, 141, 145, Stelaru, Dimitrie 282, 283
147-152,156-160 Stenberg, Georgy 218
Schopenhauer, Arthur 300 Stenberg, Vladimir 218
Schreck, Max 164 Stern, Ernst 165
Schreyer, Lothar 11, 39, 66, 117, 118, 119, Sternberg, Joseph von 166
139, 197, 239, 252 Sternheim, Carl 10, 16, 22, 42, 66, 80, 81, 82,
Schubert, Franz 141, 150, 152 83, 92, 115, 155, 156, 229, 242, 252
Schulz, Bruno 313 Stramm, August 26, 42, 43, 66, 67, 77, 81,
Schumann, Robert 149, 153 117, 118, 119, 121, 131, 134, 147, 238,
Schuster, Ingrid 90 239, 245, 249, 250, 255, 257, 261
Schwitters, Kurt 117, 118 Strauss, Richard 153, 155, 157, 158, 159
Schwob, Marcel 84 Stravinsky, Igor 25, 37, 148, 151, 155, 160
Schyberg, Frederik 223 Streuvels, Stijn 226
Sebyta, Wladislaw 312 Strindberg, August 10, 11, 16, 27, 46, 60, 61,
Seliskar, Tone 260 62, 63, 65, 83, 84, 90, 93, 116, 141, 143,
Selz, Peter 30 149, 150, 196, 202, 221, 222, 223, 243,
Serner, Martin G. 117 279, 285, 303, 304
Šeršenevič, Vadim (see Shershenevich) Strug, Andrzej 308, 309
Servaes, A. 250 Stuck, Franz von 272
Seuphor, Michael (ps. of Fernand Bercke- Stuckenberg, Fritz 121
laers) 265 Stur, Jean 308

358
Stuyver, Wilhelmina 55 Vesnin, Aleksandr 218
Sullivan, Pat 48 Veterman, F. 243
Sutton, Graham 182 Vianu, Tudor 274
Svevo, Italo 313 Vida, Gheza 271
Swedenborg, Emanuel 224 Vildrac, Charles 229
Swift, Jonathan 178 Villiers de Piale Adam 88, 92, 249
Swinburne, Charles Algernon 70, 94 Villon, François 69, 70, 78, 178, 282
Symons, Arthur 229 Vinaver, Stanislav 27, 261, 262
Szabó, Dezso 288, 289 Virgil 275
Szabó, Lorinc 295, 296 Visan, Tancrède de 229
Szabó, Pál 296 Vlaminck, Maurice 30
Szilágyi, András 296 Volkov, Nikolai 215
Vollmöller, Karl Gustav 86
Tagore, Rabindranath 84, 150, 229, 249 Voltaire 317
Tairov, Alexander 27, 68, 212, 217, 218, 219, Vondel, Jost van den 256
318 Vorel, Lascăr 272, 273, 286
Tamási, Áron 296 Voronca, Ilarie 271
Taube, Otto von 87 Vos, Herman 231, 233, 236
Teirlinck, Herman 225, 242, 243 Vries, H. de 250, 256, 257
Terry, Megan 203 Vrubel, Mihail 208
They, E. 123 Vsevolodsky, V. 219
Throckmorton, Cleon 193, 196, 203
Tibullus 50 Wackenroder, Heinrich 106, 107
Tichelen, Geo van 231 Wadsworth, Edward 168
Tieck, Ludwig 324 Wagenvoort, Maurits 249
Timmermans, Felix 243 Wagner, Geoffrey 167
Toller, Ernst 10, 18, 29, 57, 59, 63, 67, 68, 78, Wagner, Richard 35, 40, 65, 86, 116, 119,
159, 183, 185, 186, 187, 203, 218, 223, 147, 148, 150, 153, 154, 155, 168, 191
296, 306 Wajda, Andrzej 306
Tolstoi, Leo 57, 84, 95, 96 Walden, Herwarth 18, 19, 33, 35, 42, 66, 76,
Tonitza, N. N. 269, 270, 286 84, 113, 117, 118, 122, 238, 252, 263, 266
Topp, Arnold 118 Walden, Nell 84
Tornyopol, Victor 283, 284 Walschap, Gerard 237, 245
Trakl, Georg 10, 16, 17, 18, 48, 50, 70, 71, 72, Wassermann, Jakob 85, 87, 88, 91, 95
73, 77, 79, 80, 95, 119, 120, 121, 131, 132, Wauer, William 118, 119
133, 134, 136, 150, 252, 257, 261 Weber, Carl Maria von 142, 149, 150, 152, 153
Toulouse-Lautrec, Henri de 114 Webern, Anton 145, 146, 156, 158, 160
Treadwell, Sophie 201 Wedekind, Frank 16, 42, 83, 116, 141, 143
Tretjakov, Sergey 217, 218, 317 144, 150, 155, 156, 159, 211, 215, 279
Troyer, Prosper de 237 Wegener, Paul 163
Truchanowski, Kazimierz 313 Wegner, Armin T. 74, 75
Tschaikovsky, Peter Iljitsch 152 Weill, Kurt 147, 159, 201
Tuculescu, Ion 273 Weininger, Otto 90
Tuwim, Julian 308, 309, 310, 311, 313 Weiss, Ernst 81, 85
Tzara, Tristan 99, 271 Weisstein, Ulrich 181
Wells, H. G. 57
Ujvári, Erzsi 293 Werefkin, Marianne von 29
Ungar, Hermann 81 Werfel, Franz 10, 18, 29, 59, 67, 75, 80, 119,
Unruh, Fritz von 67, 80, 223, 241, 306 127, 130, 135, 137, 147, 197, 228, 229,
Urmuz 284 230, 234, 235, 252, 261, 296, 308
Usinger, Fritz 97 Wessem, C. van 246, 248, 249, 252, 256
Utitz, Emil 55 West, Rebecca 168
Westheim, Paul 117
Vakhtangov, Evgeny 191, 255 Weyer, Ruth 164
Valéry, Paul 73 Whistler, James McNeill 177
van Itallie, Jean-Claude 203 Whitman, Walt 22, 25, 70, 71, 74, 75, 76,
Vansina, Dirk 243 77, 78, 83, 84, 94, 223, 229, 230, 231,
Vaughan Williams, Ralph 160 234, 249, 254, 255, 291
Veidt, Conrad 164 Wied, Gustav 223
Velde, Anton van de 243 Wiene, Robert 162, 164
Verbruggen, Paul 231, 235, 237 Wierzyński, Kazimierz 308
Verhaeren, Emil 16, 70, 78, 83, 226, 229, 230, Wilde, Oscar 83, 87, 92, 94, 196
231, 244, 248, 254, 256, 309 Wilder, Thornton 16, 29, 201, 202, 203
Verlaine, Paul 36, 70, 72, 83, 117, 287 Wildgans, Anton 242
Vermeylen, August 226, 227, 236 Williams, Tennessee 16, 139, 201, 202
Verwey, Albert 246, 247, 248, 256 Williams, William Carlos 168, 201

359
Wilson, A. E. 186 Yakulov, Georgy 218
Wilson, Edmund 196, 199, 203 Yeats, John 176
Winter, A. de 251 Yeats, William Butler 65, 96, 184
Witkiewiez, Ignacy 311
Wittlin, Józef 308
Woestijne, Karl van de 226, 237, 246 Zagorski, Jerzy 312
Wolf, Friedrich 242 Zamfirescu, George Mihail 285
Wolfenstein, Alfred 70, 74, 80, 82, 95, 131 Žarkovic, A. H. 263
Wolff, Kurt 119 Zech, Paul 70, 74, 80, 84, 87
Woolf, Virginia 10, 57, 189 Zegadlowiez, Emil 307, 310, 311
Worringer, Wilhelm 15, 18, 23, 24, 25, 32, 36, Zemenkov, Boris 318, 321, 326
37, 42, 43, 46, 49, 50, 122, 170, 171, 175, Zeuxis 111
240, 252, 256, 273, 274 Znosko-Borovsky, Evgeny 214
Wouters, Rik 117 Zola, Emile 36,57, 85, 114
Wowro, Jedrzej 311 Zoshehenko, Mihail 316
Wyka, Kazimierz 302 Zuckmayer, Carl 16, 159
Wyspianski, Stanislaw 305, 306 Zupancic, Oton 260
Xarms (see Kharms) Zweig, Arnold 80, 81
Xlebnikov (see Khlebnikov) Zweig, Stefan 60, 70

360
 ON THE ORGANIZATION AND SCOPE OF THE SERIES
A COMPARATIVE HISTORY OF LITERATURES
IN EUROPEAN LANGUAGES

This series will contain scholarly works dealing with literary works produced in Europe, in
the Americas and elsewhere in languages of European origin. The project is directed by an inter­
national Coordinating Conimittee composed of eminent scholars of comparative literature. The
Committee has, in turn, set up Research Centers throughout the world for dealing each with a
special literary epoch or movement. I t is the Centers' task to provide the volumes with editorial
staffs recruited from experts of various countries, that is, to secure true international co-operation
for each of the volumes. In the course of the past few years, the following types of volumes have
been established:

VOLUMES DEALING WITH. LITERARY EPOCHS

Each working center has a definite field of research such as, for instance, th© B u d a p e s t -
Paris Center, where the research fellows of both the Institute of General and Comparative Literature
at the Sorbonne and of the Institute for Literary Studies of the Hungarian Academy of Sciences
deal with the Literature of Europe at the turn of the 18th and 19th centuries (1770—1815).

VOLUMES CONTAINING STUDIES ON EUROPEAN LITERARY TRENDS

A very significant work of this type is the present volume: Expressionism as an International
Literary Phenomenon. This volume has been prepared by a Center at Indiana University.

VOLUMES DEALING W I T H SPECIAL PROBLEMS

A type of publication intending to give both scholars and readers a chronology of world
literature will be the result of the joint efforts of Centers already functioning.

The series is to consist of 20 to 30 volumes in all.

F U R T H E R TITLES UNDER WAY

La Littérature de la Renaissance

Transformations littéraires européennes au tournant du XVIII e et X I X e siècle

Romanticism and Folklore

The Literature of the ««fin de siècle"
 Fig. 1.
Ludwig Meidner
Ich und die Stadt (The Town and I), 1913
Private Collection, Cologne
 Fig. 2.
Emil Nolde
Legende, Heilige Maria von Ägypten, Die Bekehrung (Legend of the Blessed Virgin
of Egypt. Conversion), 1912
Kunsthalle, Hamburg. (With authorization of the Nolde-Stiftung Secbüll)
 Fig. 3.
Alexej von Jawlensky
Dornenkrone (Crown of Thorns), 1918
Coll. Ernst Schneider, Düsseldorf
 Fig. 4.
Erich Heckel
Hockende (Crouching Woman), 1914
Xylography