ical and the mystical temperaments. It is
as if he wanted to say that all differences are unreal except those
between individuals as such. And if that be his intention, he is right,
I believe, and his play is the greater for bringing that thought home
to us.

The play is a remarkable one in many respects. It deals largely with
the internal affairs of a hospital. An overwhelming majority of the
characters are physicians connected with the big hospital of which
_Professor Bernhardi_ is the head. They talk of nothing but what men of
that profession in such a position would be likely to talk of. In other
words, they are all the time "talking shop." This goes on through five
acts. Throughout the entire play there is not the slightest suggestion
of what the Broadway manager and the periodical editor call a "love
interest." And yet the play holds you from beginning to end, and the
dramatic tension could not be greater if its main theme were the
unrequited love of the professor's son instead of his own right to
place his duties as a physician above all other considerations. To one
who has grown soul-weary of the "triangle" and all other combinations
for the exploiting of illicit or legitimized love, "Professor
Bernhardi" should come as a great relief and a bright promise.

* * * * *

These are the main outlines of Schnitzler's work as a dramatist. They
indicate a constant, steady growth, coupled with increased realization
of his own possibilities and powers as well as of his limitations. In
all but a very few of his plays, he has confined himself to the life
immediately surrounding him--to the life of the Viennese middle class,
and more particularly of the professional element to which he himself
belongs. But on the basis of a wonderfully faithful portrayal of local
characters and conditions, he has managed to rear a superstructure of
emotional appeal and intellectual clarification that must render his
work welcome to thinking men and women wherever it be introduced. And
as he is still in the flower of his manhood, it seems reasonable to
expect that still greater things may be forthcoming from his pen.

SCHNITZLER'S "ANATOL"

Spearhead fences, yew-tree hedges,
Coats of arms no more regilded,
Sphinxes gleaming through the thickets....
Creakingly the gates swing open.

With its tritons sunk in slumber,
And its fountains also sleeping,
Mildewed,