common folk. These are of two kinds: the Berlin populace and the Silesian
peasants. The world of the former in all its shrewdness, impudence and
varied lusts he has set down with quiet and cruel exactness in _The
Beaver Coat_ and _The Conflagration_. Mrs. Wolff, the protagonist of both
plays, rises into a figure of epic breadth--a sordid and finally almost
tragic embodiment of worldliness and cunning. When he approaches the
peasants of his own countryside his touch is less hard, his method not
quite so remorseless. And thus, perhaps, it comes about that in the face
of these characters the art of criticism can only set down a
confirmatory: "They are!" Old Deans in _The Heart of Midlothian_,
Tulliver and the Dodson sisters in _The Mill on the Floss_ illustrate the
nature of Hauptmann's incomparable projection of simple men and women.
Here, in Dryden's phrase, is God's plenty: the morose pathos of Beipst
(_Before Dawn_); the vanity and faithfulness of Friebe (_The
Reconciliation_); the sad fatalism of Hauffe (_Drayman Henschel_); the
instinctive kindliness of the nurse and the humorous fortitude of Mrs.
Lehmann (_Lonely Lives_); the vulgar good nature of Liese Baensch
(_Michael Kramer_); the trivial despair of Pauline and the primitive
passion of Mrs. John (_The Rats_); the massive greatness of old Hilse's
rock-like patience and the sudden impassioned protest of Luise (_The
Weavers_); the deep trouble of Henschel's simple soul and the hunted
purity of Rose Bernd--these qualities and these characters transcend the
convincingness of mere art. Like the rain drenched mould, the black trees
against the sky, the noise of the earth's waters, they are among the
abiding elements of a native and familiar world.



VII