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Show THE CITIZEN 8 MIMH& THINGS BOOKISH iimiuinHiniiHimuniHmiyiumimMiimiMiiiMiiiiimiMiimuuHiuiiiiiimMmiuuMiimmiiiMuimMummuHiuimniitfiiiiiiiiiuiiMiiiiiiniaiiuyiyiuiiHii Edited By WILUAM C. WINDER, Jr. It has been aptly'said that when a man reaches that stage of life from which he looks back instead of for- ward, that period of existence when memory steps in and fulfills its mission, the American lives over again his childhood, the Frenchman remembers his past love affairs. I have seen this classification hold good time and again, but I never hear of a new autobiography by a man of prominence that I do not become curious as to his favorite ruminations as life proceeds inexorably down hill. For a long time past having had a keen interest in German letters, I have looked forward with more than ordinary pleasure to the autobiography of some of her masters, but until now have found none. They, as a rule, seem to have been engaged in creative work right up to the time of death, always putting off until too late the enchanting story of their own struggles. I have often pondered as to the form such a task would take, whether it would be coldly and scientifically analytical, or whether it would be marred by the sentimentality left as a heritage by the romantic school. But now comes one of Germanys great sons, Hermann in his The Book of My Youth, telling of his childhood and youthful trials and struggles with a delightful naivete and candor. This work does not bear the marks of the great dramatist and novelist. There is no effort at brilliance or effect is purely the holiday pastime of a man who has arrived at success and now has time to look back on his life with a feeling of detachment. Mistakes there were, and plenty of them, but as success came in spite of them, their memory now Su-derma- nn, Nor has international approval made of this artist a conceited boor; as a matter of fact it at times appears to one while reading the book that he is a little too hard on the Sudermann of these youthful escapades and failures. Strange as it may sound, the one holds no bitterness. attribute of the child which marked him for success was the very thing for which he was so often held in contempt by others, both within his family and without, the capacity he had for imaginative dreaming. Even when he was studying composition at high school, a place where of all things his imagination should have been given free rein, he was held back. Of this" he writes: My compositions regularly brought me a warning, when , they were given back to me, to avoid giving my imagination too free play, as that could only damage the common sense so necessary for practical life. Is there, let me ask candidly, a greater tragedy in life than the sacrificing everything to the common sense of practical life ? The terrible and chaotic condition of the world today is the result of this deified efficiency in practical matters, this organized economic It has had its short competition. day beneath the sun, but its results have been ghastly. Had the world been not only controlled but overrun by dreamers of the filmiest imaginations, the net result could not possibly have been worse, and in all probability would have been ten-fol- d better. Yet these practical leaders dare to denounce the few who refuse not to see the beautiful possibilities within the mind of man, and make of the word dreamer anathema! childhood! Glorious dreams of There are too few names emblazoned in gold on the shrine at which we worship, and of those few there is not one who did not cherish the wild, formless, inarticulate dreams of his childhood. Whose spirit is resurrected in memory, the man who has dared to dream or the one who for practical reasons has locked without his mind all the pleadings and promptings of imagination ? The sordid, brutal reign of the absolutely practical has brought more sorrow to mankind than any other system which has ever been conceived; why then continue to rob one of the dreams and fancies of youth? On that Jacobs ladder of imagination let every child climb into high heaven for a change of air, for an occasional relief and refuge from the endless battle of existence. Of how many poets, writers, composers, painters, is the world robbed each year in this senseless grinding out of the mind of almost every child the blessed fairy-land- s of the untrammeled im-agiati- on ? But now from these speculations we must return to the story of this lad in his far northern East Prussian home. Life did not look down with smiling face on this struggling family; Dame Care usually stood in the doorway gazing with grey and hagard face at the mother and her little brood. In fact it is no wonder that the greatest work of Suder-manmature life is his Frau Sorge (Dame Care), for it was the matter during his one formative years. He writes of it now, No, in truth my Frau Sorge was not born of some idle poetic fancy. ns ever-prese- nt Anyone who goes forth into life with such sounds in his ears and such pictures in his eyes has no use for foolish' levity, and though every instinct in him bids him seek for joy, he will remain banished to the darker side of life until his fears and desires blend into a smile of resignaAnd in his Frau Sorge he tion. incorporated not a little of his early life, notably the tragic incident of Frau Meyerhofer and her three little children being compelled to move during a November storm from their former house into a dilapidated old farmhouse which was now their only refuge. In the. work of Sudermann throughout there is little of humor and the brighter side of life; the hardships of early childhood were written too indelibly upon his mind. In his work grim tragedy stalks abroad. In school young Hermann does not appear to have been particularly bright, nor was he exceptionally studious. German composition was his strongest point, and he became in- tir . joined in the wild escapades of his fellows, but for a long while it was because he was afraid to do otherwise, even though he had not much heart for it himself. These years were often half filled with follies, some of which nearly cost him his standing in the various schools, yet he was gaining experience in life and he can afford to look back upon it now with a feeling of amusement. During Sudermanns impression- able period one notices many interesting changes in his emotional life, his feelings toward religion, toward nationalistic patriotism, toward royalty itself. His young life went from one form of piety to another, finally throwing off the cloak of all organized religion in favor of a naturaistic In politics he was also strongly interested, evolving from a royalist under the influence of the brilliant war of 1870 to the camp of the Social Democrats and editor of their paper but a few short years afterward. These changes were not due to weakness in him, but rather were due to his continual investigations and the fact that he was strong enough to discard and bury his outworn beliefs. It is quite a universal fallacy to believe that the strong man never changes his opinions; on the contrary it is the stubborn bigot who can never admit that his existing beliefs are capable of improvement, that anything might be changed for the better in this best of all possible worlds. I mentioned before that Sudermann was always interested in politics, and on that account the effects of the World War cut him deeply, fime and again throughout this volume he turns to the terrible tragedy of the last nine years with their intolerable suffering, beside which all the sufferings he had ever known before seemed childish. In vain during those years did he call for a real leader; no such one came forward. philosophy. , , . fatuated with one after another of the natural sciences. Mathematics he abhorred, and Latin he likewise detested. He does not hesitate to admit that he was only able to pass in Latin by the continued use of a crib. In fact, he appears to have been just about as human as the average student of today, only a little more candid perhaps. He was never particularly popular with the other students, especially the boys. With the girls he always got on fairly well. He He was just thirteen when the victory of 1871 was won, when the great German federation was born. To him as well as the other youths it was a promise and a symbol. Now in despair he asks, Well, and what is use of it all? . Today we cannot answer the question, nor can we see the use of it yet. 'In those days it was, it is true, easy to see in it a ; symbol. God himself had spoken. But today we have condemned Him to silence, and He will show us no sign until the God within us compels Him to do so. And now as to the formative influences which played through these years and placed him at the foot of the ladder of fame up which the late, years were to carry him. As I men-- -' tioned before, the boy from infancy was possessed of powerful! and vivid imagination. He says, My voracious imagination sucked up nourishment from every stone and added to my boyish existence a dozen other lives which I dreamed and made so real to myself that I sometimes scarcely knew to which of them my body really belonged. I suppose that every really imaginative child goes through the same process, but I think that few have the opportunity of developing their imaginative powers as Later he wrote, I freely as I aid. often did not know what to do with the fullness of my thoughts and visions, and roamed like a savage forest, while through the night-fille- d my companions, tired out, were fast The other great influence asleep. which helped him form his method was a wild enthuof siasm with which he was seized for a certain tragic actress, Hermine Claar by name, while he was still in the lower grades. Then and there he determined to write a play to be dedicated to her. This he did, but of course the thing was never accepted for presentation. It was, however, the necessary first step up the ladder. In The Book of My Youth there are some unforgettable portraits, some of them written in love, others in bitterness. His great pictures are his Uncle Heinrich, a drunken wastrel with a philosopic mind, his dull, hard working father, and the mother who was his angel and saviour. With Dame Care ever at her elbow, it was she who made possible the impo sible, who literally performed uie miracles which permitted her son to go on his beloved path rather than become an ordinary drudge. And if it is at all possible to repay a mother for all that she sacrifices for her children, then the homage in this book will repay the mother of Hermann Sudermann. In the translation we might wish for a style nearer that of the great German himself, but of a worthy book we ought to be grateful for a translation that is half good. Wh'.j Sudermann attempted to make the whole writing as informal as possible, yet I know his work well enough to think that he would never stoop to some of the colloquialisms with which the translator has endeav- - . self-expressi- on . |