 
#  Hermann Ungar a Life and Works

#  By Dieter Südhoff

#  Translation Copyright 2011 Angela Ladd

#  Published by Vicky Unwin at Smashwords

#

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Table of Contents

Foreword

Preface

1 The gradual recollection of a forgotten reception after 1945

2 Stages: Life – Work - Influence

I Background, Family, Childhood: Boskowitz (1898 – 1903)

II Grammar School in Brno (1903 –1911)

III University Studies Berlin-Munich-Prague: (1911-1914)

IV WAR (1914 – 1918)

V Transitional Times – Prague – Eger – Prague (1918 – 1920)

Excursus 1 Boys and Murderers - Reception

VI Diplomat and Author, Berlin (1921 – 1928)

Excursus 2: The Maimed \- Reception

Diplomat and Author - continued (1924 -1927)

Excursus 3: The Class – Reception

Diplomat and Author – continued (1927-1928)

VII The End: Prague (1928 – 1929)

Excursus 4: The Red General – Reception

The End – Continued (1928-1929)

VIII The Final Act – Posthumous Reception until 1945

1 Obituaries

2 The Arbour

3 Colbert's Journey

4 Forgotten

Foreword

In May 2009 my father called me into his study. He was dying from Parkinson's Disease and felt it was time to reveal some family secrets. He showed me a suitcase which, he said, contained books and files relating to my grandfather, Hermann Ungar, the little-known Czech writer.

When I returned home from that visit to my father I decided to try and find out as much as possible about my father's history. The family mythology was simple: my father had come to England in 1938, sent by his mother from Prague to join his older half-brother John Weiss/West, who had fled Prague with Rudi, her first husband. She and her younger son, Alex (Sasha) had joined them in 1939; they lived in Fairfax Road, then moved to Wells in Somerset as part of the evacuation. The young Tomy found work in a factory in Wells, his mother cooked for the night shift and Sasha managed to get a scholarship to Bembridge in the Isle of Wight.

There had never been any mention of any Jewish link to their flight from Europe just before the war; in fact it was vehemently denied: the family were intellectuals who had fled on principle and out of fear of persecution under the suppression of freedom of speech that accompanied the rise of Hitler. My grandfather Hermann Ungar had been a well-known and controversial Czech writer, who died of peritonitis as a result of his hypochondria, at the age of 36 in 1929. But strangely his life and work were uncelebrated in our family, so that when I, as a young publisher and German-speaker, grew curious about him and started asking questions, this drew blanks.

Staring at the famous photograph of my grandfather in my father's study, it dawned on me how Jewish-looking he was and, spurred on by the surprise arrival on my doorstep in Belsize Park in the 1990s - ironically just around the corner from Fairfax road - of his cousin Helen Stransky on her way to a Kindertransport reunion, I felt I had to confront him with the truth.

With my father's deterioration from Parkinson's it became critical to find out as much as possible about this past before he died. I had taken the family to Prague for his 79th birthday; we had walked the streets, my father full of schoolboy memories - 'Look this is the statue [on Charles Bridge of three snooty looking men looking as if they are experiencing a bad smell] we called it somebody's farted' and so on - and even found the apartment he grew up in after his father's death, still occupied by the collaborators who had taken it over from them; we found his maternal grandfather's factory where they made buttons and zips: according to his cousin Helen [Stransky] their grand-parents were one of the richest families in Prague. We visited the Jewish quarter but he never told us that his father was buried in the Malvazinka. What a missed opportunity!

In the meantime I had been googling grandfather Ungar and had tracked down three of his books in translation into English – two novels, _The Class_ and _The Maimed_ and a collection of short stories, _Boys and Murderers._ I had also been using a fantastic resource called JewishGen, which helps researchers with family trees, traces holocaust victims and survivors and puts people in touch with each other globally. I began to build a family tree of Ungars, Stranskys and Kohns and discover relations I did not know existed.

I went down to Somerset to open the suitcase and to record my father's memories of his early childhood, his time in England, and his wartime experiences in the Navy.

The suitcase revealed some wonderful secrets – a 700 page PhD thesis by German scholar Dieter Sudhoff on my grandfather, with over 200 pages of _Leben_ , with intricate details of his family in Boskovice, Moravia, traced through the earliest recorded Ungar in the early 1800s; his marriage to Margarete Stransky and information about her side of the family, as well as diaries, letters and notebooks not only written by Ungar but also by his close friends and fellow literary circle members, for instance Thomas Mann, Camill Hoffman (who had been his best man) Max Brod and so on. And another two volumes of literary criticism by a Czech Professor from Boskovice, Jaroslav Bransky, as well as yet another tome by Jurgen Serke on the vanished Jewish towns of Bohemia and their heroes. All of these volumes contained interviews with my father and photographs supplied by him; yet he had never said a word. Sadly as my German is no way near good enough to understand what are very complex grammatical records, the first thing to do was to try and find a translator to unlock the missing world of the genius that was Hermann Ungar, forgotten almost entirely since his death, apart from a few German and French translations, but unnoticed in the great literary cannon of the interwar years. Unnoticed largely due to his untimely death, his proscription by the Nazis, but most of all because, apart from Dieter Sudhoff, who also died young, he had no champion. Kafka had Max Brod, who admired Ungar hugely while he lived, but turned against him after his death.

I decided then and there to make it my mission to recover and record my grandfather's reputation, to trace the lost relatives even if only to re-confirm that most had died in Auschwitz, but above all to celebrate one of the great lost talents of the 20th century.

Sadly my father died on 29 May 2012, before the work was complete. With him dies the last living memory of Hermann Ungar.

This publication is the first step on the journey to bring Ungar back to life. The second stage is the website http://www.hermannungar.com, which contains photographs, the notes to this work (in German I am afraid), and more recent posthumous reviews.

The aim is to encourage others to read his work, to revel in his modernity of style and content and to celebrate his great talent. And also to pay tribute to some of the other great artists, as well as my family, lost to the Holocaust.

Acknowledgements

Heartfelt thanks to Angela Ladd who laboured through the rather dense prose of the PhD thesis; to the estate of Dieter Sudhoff for supplying the raw material; to Professor Jaroslav Bránský; to my late daughter Louise, to whom this work is dedicated – she was thrilled about her 'secret history'; to Bonnie Fogel and to my husband Ross, who provided encouragement and support in keeping me going through the tough times.

Vicky Unwin, September 2012

#  Preface

I thus found myself, having mapped out and commenced the draft for my work in my youthful blind enthusiasm, in the part enviable, part disastrous position of a pioneer.

Arno Schmidt, Fouqué and some of his contemporaries, Darmstadt 1960

By undertaking a full-scale monograph on the life, work and influence of a virtually unknown, to all outward appearances remote and dispassionate writer, one exposes oneself to considerable challenges and reservations – the challenges in tracking the author after centuries of obscurity, the reservations as shown by the public, who initially doubt whether it is all really worth the effort. Hermann Ungar is truly deserving of attention and effort and I hope my work will prove this. Ongoing efforts will underline this. My most pressing duty at present is to clear the path forwards, by providing an all-compassing image of the preserved material, by researching as far as possible any mislaid or endangered items and, finally, by analysing Ungar's major literary works. Without, however, wide-spread help from numerous people and institutions I would never have been able to complete this voluntary task satisfactorily. As a sign of my gratitude and in thanks, I list them in the following as a reminder to me and to everyone.

Dr. Manon Andreas-Grisebach, Aarbergen-Kettenbach; Jean-Paul Archie, Toulouse; Mirjam Becher, Kfar Schmarjahu; Joachim Bechtle-Bechtinger, Berlin; Prof. Dr. Hartmut Binder, Ditzingen; Prof. Dr. Jürgen Born, Wuppertal; PhDr. Jaroslav Bransky, Boskovice; Dr. Hugo Brauner, Haifa; Elias Canetti, Zürich; Elisheva Kohen, Jerusalem; Dr. Jean-Pierre Danäs, Les Essarts le Roi; Dr. Peter Engel, Hamburg; Dr. Herta Haas, Hamburg; Jarmila Haasovä-Necasovä, Prague; Hansotto Hatzig, Oftersheim; Ilse Ester Hoffe, Tel Aviv; Prof. Dr. Wilma Iggers, Buffalo/N.Y.; Prof. Dr. Wolfgang Kasack, Much; Michael Kehlmann, Vienna; Dr. Edith Krojanker, Jerusalem; Shulamith Irene Krojanker, Givatajim; Dr. Manfred Linke, Berlin; Cordula Marx, Hanover; Harry Matter, Berlin; Erik Mossel, Amsterdam; Anita Naef, Munich; Hedwig Neumann, Tel Aviv; Friedl Niedermoser, Vienna; Dr. Eva Patkovä, Prague; Prof. Dr. Margarita Pazi, Tel Aviv; PhDr. Josef Poläcek, Prague; Prof. Dr. Ulrich Profitlich, Berlin; Peter Richter, Dresden; Gisela Riff-Eimermacher, Bochum; Prof. Dr. Karl Riha, Siegen; Prof. Dr. Dr. h.c. Claus Roxin, Stockdorf; Chaim Sharon, Gan-Shmuel; Dr. Nanette Souche, Marly; DrHelmut Schmiedt, Cologne; Dr. Peter-Paul Schneider, Marbach a.N.; Brigitte Schwaiger, Vienna; Prof. Dr. Hans-Hugo Steinhoff, Paderborn-Wewer; Hans-Dieter Steinmetz, Dresden; Jana Stepanek, Würzburg; Prof. Dr. Eduard Studer, Fribourg; Dr Reinhard Tgahrt, Marbach a.N.; Tom Unwin, Milverton; Dr. Hartmut Vollmer, Paderborn; Alena Wagnerovä, Saarbrücken; Dr. Fritz Wahrenburg, Paderborn-Schloß Neuhaus; Franz-Josef Weber, Siegen; Joern H. Werner, Cheyenne/Wyo.; Ernest Wichnar, Berlin; Marianne Winder, London; Dr. Edith Yapou, Jerusalem; Dr. AleS Zach, Prague.

Academy of Arts, Berlin; Academy of Arts of the GDR, Berlin; Academy of Sciences of the GDR, Berlin; America Memorial Library, Berlin; Berliner Ensemble, Berlin; Felix Bloch Hieritage, Berlin; German State Library, Berlin; Freee University, Berlin; Humboldt University, Berlin; State Archives, Berlin; Paulinenkrankenhaus, Berlin; Senator for Cultural Matters, Berlin; Sender Freies Berlin; State Theatre Stage,. Berlin; Prussian State Library of Cukture, Berlin; Ullstein Photo Services, Berlin; Foreign Office, Bonn; Embassy of the Czechoslovakian Socialist Republic, Bonn; Archiv mesta Brna, Brno; City Library, Dortmund; German Library, Frankfurt a.M.; City and University Library, Frankfurt a.M.; University, Hamburg; The Israel Museum, Jerusalem; The Jewish National and University Library, Jerusalem; Germania Judaica, Cologne; German Library, Leipzig; Linz Cellar Theatre, Linz; Germany Literary Archives, Narbach a.N.; National Literary Agency, Milan; Bavarian State Library, Munich; Collegium Carolinum, Munich; Ludwig-Maximilians-University, Munich; States Archive, Munich; Yale University Library, New Haven/Conn.; Leo Baeck Institute, Paderborn, Arches of the Media Centre, Paderborn; University Library, Paderborn; Archives of Karlovy University, Prague; Archivni spräva, Prague; Embassy of the Republic of Germany, Prague; Pamätnik närodniho pisemnictvi, Prague; Rada zidovskych nabozenskych obci v CSR, Prague; Statni knihovna ÖSR, Prague; Vojensky historicky ustav, Praha; Statni knihovna CSR, Praha; Statni Sidovske muzeum v Praze, Prague; Statni ustredni archive v Praze, Praha; Stadni zidovske museum v Praze, Praha; Princeton University Library, Princeton/N.J. /Saarland Radio, Saarbrücken; Institute for Foreign Relations, Stuttgart , Austrian National Library, Vienna; Austrian State Archives, Vienna; Theatre in Josefstadt, Vienna; University Library, Vienna; Viennese City and State Archives, Vienna; Eidg. Technical College, Zürich; City Archives, Zurich.

I owe a particular debt of thanks to my dissertation tutor, Professor Dr. Hartmut Steinecke of Paderborn-Wewer, who offered support, unabating interest, encouragement and stimulation right from the start, as well as to Professor Dr. Manfred Durzak, Grebin, who was the co-referent during the end phase. My gratitude also goes to the Minister for Science and Research in North Rhine Westfalia and to the Chancellor of the University and Colleges Paderbon for granting a stipendium under the graduate support laws.

Last but by no means least, I thank my wife, Ursula, whose patience and forbearance allowed me to devote myself entirely to this work and who was also responsible for proof-reading. To my chilidren, Fabian, Elisabeth und Johanna, I owe many irretrievable hours.

The monographic text was complete in May 1988; lacking only a few bibliographic details.

I dedicate this work to my parents.

Paderborn-Elsen, October 1988

#  1 The gradual recollection of a forgotten reception after 1945

For a while I received frequent enquiries about Hermann Ungar, all in search of dissertation material. My response to these requests was that I could not remember Ungar at all. His activities, relating to the Prager Tagblatt (Prague Daily News), made such an insignificant impression on me that I had no recollections at all. 1

Max Brod's surprising memory lapse became even more contentious with successive quotations in his memoires about the Prague Circle (1966). (He described Ungar's first work _Boys and Murderers_ as 'bearing the mark of non-entity, with clumsy and ordinary illustrations of inferiority complexes, etc.') 2 Presented with little credibility, but highly orchestrated and laden with personal animosity and antipathy with resulting intentional repression, this forms a core example of the lack of justice and knowledge, with which the works of Hermann Ungar, a Moravian Jew who wrote in German, were greeted right up to the present day. There are a few significant exceptions to this, which will be discussed in detail later. Willy Haas, the other highly-acclaimed source of information on Prague literature in the German language dispensed a moral verbal flaying, possibly because Haas never forgave Ungar for calling him a ' _repulsive literate_ ' in his diary.3

These two facts are the main causes for the continued ignorance about Ungar amongst the wider public and for the hitherto grotesque misjudgements within the circles of literary science, which surround Franz Kafka and the Prague Circle. In the hugely abundant literature about Kafka, Ungar is encountered mainly in marginal roles, within the works on Prague Literature he all too often only appears on lists, occasionally even totally ignored. In most of the new literary volumes one can search in vain for a mention of Ungar and the same is valid for treatises concerning the literary trends in the period between the wars or relating to the role played by Jews in German literature. The silent or disparaging treatment from contemporaries and – at times – peers Brod and Haas, whose secret influence on the post-war reception of German-language Prague literature may not be overestimated, determined the position early on and rendered the rediscovery of Hermann Ungar very difficult. Whilst Kafka and also to a certain degree Werfel were more or less rightfully elevated to singularly phenomenal positions, other authors such as Ungar, Ludwig Winder or Paul Kornfeld faded into oblivion, overshadowed by the posthumous fame of a few supposed illustrious experts. In addition, Ungar's works, written mainly in the 1920s, appeared in a period in which only gradual recognition of groups, rather than just single authors such as Brecht or Döblin, was recorded.

The waves of acceptance greeting the Expressionists and 'Exile' literature led to a relegation of Ungar's work. Despite such seemingly external reasons for the continuing obscurity of Ungar and other similar writers, glib, smug journalistic literature critics find it hard to get to grips with writing which fails to conform to contemporary tone and the fashion of the day. 4 This, however, should not hide the fact that the real causes lie much deeper with a repeat of the miserable reception of his Ungar's work during his lifetime. His novels _The Maimed_ (1922) and _The Class_ (1927) achieved no greater recognition from the contemporary public than during the republishing in 1973 and 1981, although they were actually highly praised by respected fellow-authors and critics. The thematic radicalism of the prose, the depressing feeling of gloom, the intolerant pursuit of extreme suffering – such characteristics can hardly expect wider appeal. It is to be hoped that Hermann Ungar will finally and conclusively rise out of obscurity. The signs are there, they multiply with each attempt to trace the reaction to his work since 1945. We wish to make our contribution. For the general public, however, Rudolf Kayser's wording of the poet's obituary in 1929 will remain valid:

Ungar won over very few readers. He made no concessions concerning the modern use of clichés. He created figures from his innermost secret depths, gruesome and turgid. This was unwanted and no-one forgave him. He was a writer. 5

* * *

Without recognition from the public during his lifetime – with the relative exception of two plays, both scandalous in other ways, _The Red General_ (1928) and _The Arbour_ (1929), Ungar's narrow works fell into obscurity after his death (1929) in the confusion of national socialism and the world war, remaining solely in the memories of a few writers and readers, friends, acquaintances and enemies.

In 1948 when Ernst Wodak wrote his melancholy obituary to Prague of _Yesterday and the Day Before_ , in his new homeland Israel, he included Ungar - besides Kafka, Werfel, Brod, Katz, Kisch, Salus, Baum, Perutz and Weiß – in the circle of 'famous, yes, even world famous German-Jewish writers, who lived in Prague', and in a short silhouette pointed out the 'unique atmosphere', a 'symphony of three old cultures – German, Czech and Jewish', this 'singular blend', which all gave rise to 'important, even exceptional, literary achievements'. 6 And he recalled time spent at the 'famous Cafe Continental with its special table reserved for regulars', 'around which the Prague Literary collected':

A few of these writers decamped to foreign parts, many, such as Werferl, Katz, Ungar, Weiss, etc to Berlin, some died and so the group around the celebrated table gradually dispersed. 7

Similar anecdotally-tinged memories, most only of biographical interest, are to be found in later writings, describing the former Prague or Berlin times, such as in a paper given in November 1965 by Hans Demetz, previously the Literary Artistic Director at the New German Theatre in Prague, founder of the intimate drama chamber and only fleetingly acquainted with Ungar. This treatise, presented at the Global Friends' Conference at Liblice Castle, focussed on 'personal relationships and reminiscences of the German Writers Circle in Prague'.

An interesting case is that of Hermann Ungar, born in Boskowitz in Moravia, whom I used to meet almost daily in the cafe of the Blue Star Hotel in Prague, a meeting place which has long since disappeared from the scene. We held lengthy literary conversations in the cafe, during which he never once disclosed that he himself was a writer. Only after his death in 1929 in Prague did I come across some of his work. His debut piece was a volume entitled Boys and Murderers on the subject of sexual awakenings in the young. Even today a sense of horror overcomes me when I think about his Prague novel, The Maimed, with its unrelenting, unsavoury, terrible and frightening portrayal of repulsive activities against a perverse-erotic background. 9

These comments from Hans Demetz - who, in his position as Director of the Brünner German Theatre wanted to produce Ungar's _The Arbour_ during the 1930/31 season 10 – are symptomatic. Although in Liblice the Czech scholars of German literature and their guests were striving to present an all-encompassing overview of the most important Prague authors of German literature besides Kafka, Demetz's comments remained the sole reference to Ungar 11 (which was almost certainly not only due to the dominance of Czech speakers, whose interest naturally centred mainly on socialist writers and German-Czech mediators such as Rudolf Fuchs, Egon Erwin Kisch or F.C. Weiskopf). In addition, Demetz's contribution served to illustrate the levels of incomprehension and misunderstanding, almost fatuity, with which Ungar's works were greeted. Catchwords such as 'unsavoury', 'repulsive activities' and 'perverse-erotic environment' are nothing more than signals of fearful helplessness in the face of a piece of work which plumbs the depth of extreme situations encountered by humanity whilst unrelentingly breaking all taboos and rejecting puerile classic traditions.

* * *

A similar approach was taken by Ernst Josef Aufricht who, as Director of the Berlin Schiffbauerdamm Theatre, put on the premiere performance of Ungar's _The Arbour_ on 12 December 1929. However in later decades he denounced this play as being 'a blend of literature and obscenity.' 12 The box office success achieved by this 'blend' at the Viennese Renaissance Theatre with a production directed by Josef Jarno which premiered on 11 June 1930 some months after the Berlin initial performance, might well have been uppermost in the minds of the literary and dramatic management of the Viennese Little Theatre when they surprisingly included _The Arbour_ in the season's programme at the beginning of March 1954, thereby – and certainly not within the interests of literary innovation – making Ungar's work accessible to the general public again

The Arbour: Comedy in three acts by Hermann Ungar

Little Theatre in the Concert Hall, Vienna. Season 1953/5

Director: Trude Pöschl

Producer: Harry Fuß

Stage Manager: Robert Hofer-Ach

Colbert: Karl Schellenberg

Melanie: Augusta Ripper

Amalie: Luzi Neudecker

Modlizki: Bruno Dallansky

Kudernak: Fritz Widhalm-Windegg

Ferdinand: Wolf Neuber

Josefine: Friedl Hofmann

What might have been the start of an early rediscovery apparently turned into a farce. The actor Harry Fuß, who was celebrating his new role as a producer, attempted to recapture the scandalous successes of 1929 and 1930 by placing singular emphasis on the 'sensuousness of spring awakenings', and seldom added the warning of a 'flash of approaching storms' for a 'world unwittingly standing on the brink of catastrophe'. 13 He thus reduced Ungar's angry attacks on the petite bourgeoisie and the human falsehoods in life, the 'traditional and grotesque society comedies, bloody and soaked in biting irony',14 down to the level of a voyeuristic chamber play with advertising placards bearing the enticing wording 'Only for Adults'. A 'box office hit – nothing more', repeated the Viennese 'Union'.15

Critics were, in the main, united in their antipathy. The communist _österreichische Volksstimme_ (Austrian Voice of the People) wrote:

Harry Fuß as producer applied the make-up of eroticism so thickly, that it turned into a risible caricature.

And:

The scenes are studded with caricatures, with exaggerated jokes about eroticism, which, as sense and objective were missing, led only to feelings of emptiness. 16

The _Weltpresse_ (World Press), which prior to the premiere wrote of a 'frivolous storyline'17 summarised:

This play is not suitable for mature country ladies, who would justifiably consider it indecent. Despite this, the ladies would enjoy it as much as the audience enjoyed the premiere.18

The critic for the _Abend_ (Evening) rose to the assumption that 'the storyline with its alleged ''deeper meaning'' was only an excuse to use words, which otherwise would be deemed unacceptable for use on the stage.' 19

Perhaps a little helplessly, without any knowledge of the production in 1930, Ungar, the 'Austrian dramatist, whose true, great talent was not damaged in any way by the lack of recognition here,' was compared to Ödön von Horväth, a comparison drawn to _Tales from the Vienna Woods_ :

If the grotesque in Horvath's work sometimes became a Dance of Death, the dance in and around the Colbert family in The Arbour actually was more of a ring dance in the Schnitzler meaning... 20

Others bore witness to a 'coarse version of Sternheim, drastically entwined in sex... with a real void becoming visible behind the comic frontage' and accused the author of failing to see 'what was missing from the society he conjured up, i.e, the inner ties which for thousands of years had been provided by religion'.21

One critic stooped low enough to use play on words, a double meaning in which the comedy was described as being 'the most 'non-Ungar' to 'half-baked' (gar being 'cooked') at the point in the final scene where all the events came 'thick and fast'. This same critic also wrote that 'the spiced-up humour of the author in a drastic albeit entertaining way burnt and eroded peepholes in the facade of narrow-minded indifference instead of tearing it down which was the intention both today and 25 years ago when the play was written.' 22

The name of Hermann Ungar meant nothing to the people and, no matter how great the artistic performances were, this monotonous production will do nothing to increase his fame. And so the literary journalists once again wallowed in superficiality or in feigned indignation. The first chance was wasted, the dynamics were lost, more so as the comedy was mistakenly understood by the Viennese to be a Moravian ethnic farce.

Some 23 years later _The Arbour_ was once again performed on stage in an open-air theatre in Berlin. Ungar's works, however, appeared on the theatre boards some years before this. In 1966 the Prague actor and former friend of Ungar, Ernst Deutsch, read from the 'once very daring satire entitled _Tulip_ ' 23 as part of his programme in Berlin and Duesseldorf called _My Prague Friends_ which included text from Anton Kuh, Willy Haas, Max Brod, Jaroslav Hasek, Egon Erwin Kisch or Kafka.

* * *

The real post-war awareness of Ungar began in 1963 when Heinz Schöffler in his afterword to the anthology _Ego and Eros_ ranked the Moravian equal to Alfred Lemm, Robert Müller and Bohuslav Kokoschka as one of the 'most forgotten of the forgotten' and stated his fear that the inclusion in this collection of expressionism _Master Tales_ could be condemned as a 'whim of the publisher', 24 Karl Otten: a not unrealistic fear. The 'expert' Richard Brinkmann declared himself 'not really familiar' with their names in 1980 and he contemplated their obscurity:

Whether it was really only a coincidence and whether it would have been regarded as a catastrophe if no-one had ever read their stories again? With all due respect? And all duties to historic preservation? One dares to cast _doubt_.25

After worthy and innovative collections such as _Premonitions and Awakening_ , _Scream and Confession_ , _The Empty House_ or _Expressionism Grotesque_ , Karl Otten's last anthology of forgotten Expressionistic or Jewish literature _Ego and Eros_ was finally put together and completed but without the publisher's comments. After decades of silence, Ungar's prose finally made a re-appearance in the form of the novel _Colbert_ ' _s Journey_ written in 1922 (the source text of _The Arbour_ ) as well as in the surrealistic sketch entitled _The Explanation_ written in 1929. 26 The classification of these as expressionist prose seems somewhat arbitrary but based perhaps on thematic grounds, the definition as expressionist 'masterly tale' certainly appears inappropriate - Schöffler describes the relative terms of defining and classifying, speaks of the contradiction between 'masterly' and the 'evolving, explosive, eruptive' of expressionist programmatic, 27 and classifies Ungar, in whom he also discovers 'threads of Storm and Stress', somewhere between neo-romantic/symbolism and expressionism. Despite such misnomers, the two texts from Ungar were successfully slotted into the content, which included prose from other Prague literary figures: (Oskar Baum: _The Beloved_ ; Franz Kafka: _In the Penal Colony_ ; Paul Adler: _Elohim_ ; Ernst Weiß: _Nahar_ ) - complying thoroughly with Otten's real categories as per the title.

The publisher did not consider 'masterly tales' when he put together this collection, even though plenty of prose literature penned by masters is evident in the collection. It was meant to become a 'brilliant book', 'up to the elbows in blood and up to the thighs in women', a new orientation of our youth revolution' (as Otten wrote to Edschmid), 'in which the introspective-revolutionary thinking and the extrovert erotic principals are given equal weighting in world order under Freud's influence', or, as Otten wrote to Pinthus 'egocentricity and erotic altruism'. 29

_Ego and Eros_ , the influence of psychoanalysis and a thematic extremism are truly ingredients not only of _Colbert's Journey_ and _The Explanation_ , but also of the majority of Ungar's other works (perhaps most obvious in _The Maimed_ ). But by the inclusion in his anthology, Otten (who made the acquaintance of Ungar during the mid-20s in Berlin30) had drawn up the first guidelines of literary-scientific awareness. In his afterword Schöffler focussed solely on _Colbert's Journey_ and underlined, as had Thomas Mann in 1930 as a foreword to his posthumous volume of the same name – and which Ellen Otten picked up in her 'bio-bibliographic notes',31 particularly the figure of the social revolutionary Modlizki with his sarcastic social criticisms.

Sarcasm, this underhand guileless tone, in which social criticism is presented, has created the unforgettable figure of the servant Modlizki - a creation which should find its place in the awareness of modern prose literature. 32

* * *

An anthology of an altogether different type was undertaken in 1965 by the Austrian theatre and art critic Ruediger Engerth. _Entitled In the Shadow of Hradschin. Kafka and his Circle_ , he put together a collection of lyrics and prose (in part as excerpts) from those authors he regarded as having a biographic connection to the 'central figure' of Kafka:

All writers here met him or, through their connection with one or another of his closer friends, impacted to a greater or lesser degree on his life. 33

In chronological order according to year of birth, the chain of writers from the Prague Cafe Arco Generation 34 extends from Victor Hadwiger and Camill Hoffmann (both 1878) to Karl Brand (1895) and Johannes Urzidil (1896), each being introduced with a short biographical sketch. The famous names were not only of prime importance to Engerth (Brod and Werfel are also included), the rehabilitation of the forgotten writers was the uppermost objective:

Names such as Viktor Hadwiger, Paul Adler and Hermann Ungar have gradually sunk into oblivion today. The whole objective of the selection is to lift these interesting authors from unfair obscurity, to place them into an ethnic-related grouping, which many of them actually attempted to escape. 35

The cause for 'their not always being accorded a fitting position in German literary history' is perceived by Engerth to be found in their impact 'within the various centres of German cultural areas', where they were often 'regarded as particles and foreign bodies blown in by the wind' 36 \- a thought, which is not globally correct (many authors fled for precisely this reason into a metropolis such as Berlin or Vienna – with a more dense cultural scene - where they felt that literary success would be more easily obtained than in provincial German Prague). In the case of Ungar this was fairly true, as after 1918 he lived as a convinced Czech national and thus during his Berlin period managed to avoid the literary circles which called themselves German-Nationals.

Engerth used the final pages of the early novel _Story of a Murder_ from Ungar's first book _Boys and Murderers_ (1920) as a sample text, 37 with the omission of one sexually 'offensive' passage, which would not bear negatively on the reader, as no-one would understand the meaning of this excerpt outside the context of the story. Engerth's intention appears to have been to keep the readers' interest by including the most extreme, forceful passages. The selection was perhaps motivated by Thomas Mann's review of _Boys and Murderers_ (easily accessible in the Collective Works – we have to admit at this stage that Mann's Ungar Essays belong to the most influential texts as many today will only recognise Ungar's name from these). But he particularly praised the end of the story, he spoke of 'true daemonic genius' and of a 'vision which left an abiding impression on me'.38

In his biographic sketch of Ungar, Engerth expressly refers to Guido K. Brand, with frequent quotes (including The Introduction) from the literary stories of 1933, 39 unfortunately also rather carelessly, for he not only compounds Brand's own errors by stating Ungar was 'born in Prague' (and sending him straight to the Prague Humanistic Grammar School), but also by making an incorrect reference to a Brand quotation on _A Man and a Maid_ ('it is a typical puberty story...') as being from _Story of a Murder_. 40 So is it a great surprise then that the publication dates are incorrect? Or that in The Introduction Engerth gives the age of the writer as 36 at death, but then in the brief biography states that he died at the age of 37? But there was no malice meant here. Engerth's errors reflect in part the general lack of information at the beginning of the 60s, which could only be rectified by a laborious and tedious path to the far-flung sources. The achievement of having presented Ungar's prose a second time after Otten, remains undiminished, despite the unfortunate choice of text – the insertion into the Prague context was and remains both necessary and meaningful.

* * *

The area of impact of the two anthologies from 1963 and 1965 was not great enough to give rise to a scientific review of the life and work of Ungar. The simple fact that such attempts were actually made at the beginning of the 60s should be seen in isolation and is mainly due to the Fribourg germanistics-scholar Ernst Alker and the Czech researcher Eva Pätkoväs, who rediscovered Hermann Ungar totally independently.

Whilst working on his literary history _Profiles and Figures_ , which appeared posthumously in 1977, 41 Alker came across Hermann Ungar under the concept of Neo-realism and New Objectivity, later incorporating him during the winter semester 1962/63 into a lecture on History of German Literature in the Post-Expressionism Period (prose epic of New Objectivity, Preconditions and Developments). Finally in January 1964 he convinced one of his students, an Austrian called Nanette Klemenz, to write a dissertation on this subject – a dissertation which will frequently be referred to here, as it remains unfortunately the sole university monograph on the subject of Ungar.

The Fribourg dissertation actually only became possible due to the painstaking biographic research carried out by Eva Pätkoväs, who presented the results of her work in a number of essays during the years 1964-68. Within the framework of the Czech efforts led by Eduard Goldstücker to create a German literary heritage, with the high point in the Liblice conferences on the subject of Kafka (1963) and the Global Friends (1965), but which came to an abrupt end in August 1968 with the completion of the Prague Spring, they formed the basis for further analytical work.42 Above all her _Sketches of a Biography: Hermann Ungar_ _(1893-1929),_ (1966) which appeared in _Germanistica Pragensia_ – it was available to Nanette Klemenz in typescript - 'remains today unsurpassed and is the mandatory basis for any Ungar-related activities'. 43 Pätkoväs did not only accumulate information from libraries and archives (she gained access to the files on Ungar in the Czech Foreign Ministry in Prague), but like Klemenz, she was also able to question numerous friends and acquaintances of Ungar and thus put together a relatively faithful biographic portrait from hundreds of mosaic pieces which today is of incalculable value, as the majority of the contemporary witnesses are now deceased.

An initial, shorter essay from Eva Pätkoväs appeared in November 1964 in _Vestnik Z N 0_ , the Prague newspaper for the Jewish community in Czechoslovakia to commemorate the 35th anniversary of the death of Ungar. She roughly outlined his biography, highlighting his 'extraordinary attempts to be the cultural ambassador of his country' [the CSR – DS], and referred to him as 'one of the most important representatives of German-language authors of the literature generation of the 20s'. His very first work _Boys and Murderers_ had, she stated, not found acclaim with the wider general public, but with the literary critics and authors such as Thomas Mann and had clearly illustrated the main characteristics of his creativity:

Hermann Ungar is a master on the field of psychological analysis of the human soul, his works are examples of an exact, precise dissections of the hidden, often dark depths of the human mind. A second basic characteristic of his creativity is the painfully exact attention paid to the form of his works. A feature of his books is linguistic and compositional subtlety.

She perceives Ungar's novel _The Class_ as an 'excellent psychological study'; the drama _The Red General_ as a text in which the question of the relationship between personal and collective merit is discussed; the comedy _The Arbour_ as a 'witty and caustic satire about the double standards of the lower middle class'. This author, 'who possessed the best pre-requisites to become a true leading figure in German-language literature' in Czechoslovakia, died 'in the full flush of his creativity, exactly at the moment when he decided to give up his job as the Czechoslovakian Diplomat' and to devote all his energy to literature alone. 44

In October 1966, on the 37th anniversary of Ungar's death, Eva Pätkoväs published a similar review, but as a more detailed assay, in the _Düsseldorf Allgemeinen Jüdischen Wochenzeitung_ (General Jewish Weekly). She went deeper into Ungar's Jewishness. Although he remained 'indifferent to religion', he never denied being a Jew and always showed 'a lively interest in the national problem'. Ungar's attempt to introduce democratic reforms within Jewish-national student circles after the war, seemed to her to be typical 'for the attitude of some Jewish intellectuals in Bohemia, who spoke out on behalf of a defined internationalism.' She also discovered this attitude in his work:

Only the people as single individuals with their psychological problems were of interest to him as part of his artistic creativity, but these individual problems were generally the same for all, no matter what race, religion or nationality. He plumbed the depths of human psyche, in its active form, often 'extreme, grotesque, incomprehensible for the outside world'.

This time she also looked more closely at _The Maimed_ ('written in the spirit of Freudian psycho-analysis, which is evident however in all of Ungar's creations in the same way that the world of the mentally and physically tortured heroes of Dostojwski emerge'), but evaluates the novel in the same way as Klemenz – not as highly as _Boys and Murderers_ nor even as highly as the novel _The Class_ 'in which Ungar describes in a masterly way the torturous life of a poverty-stricken schoolmaster suffering from an inferiority complex.' The reasons that Pätkova gave for the general growth in interest in German literature from Prague towards the middle of the 60s illustrate her own motives for wishing to enliven the muted memories of Ungar:

It is ... an undisputed fact that one of the most important catalysts for researching the phenomena [German literature of Prague - DS] is the figure and the work of Franz Kafka, to find new perspectives and clues to discovering Kafka. It is, however, also obvious that incomplete understanding of the writers of this time is one of the unavoidable and disastrous consequences of Nazism, which strove to erase systematically any trace of Jewish mental and intellectual activities (with which the work of German writers in Prague is inseparably connected). The current focus of literary research is therefore not solely placed on expanding knowledge of Kafka, much rather it is an attempt to rediscover and bring to light the complete spectrum of literary creativity in that period. For soon it would become obvious that a whole series of important authors had without justification disappeared into obscurity. 45

There is no need to delve more deeply into Pätkoväs's _Sketch of a Biography_ , 46 an excellent piece of work given the conditions at the time, it is completely biographically positive and will serve frequently as a reference within the framework of Ungar's curriculum vitae.

One last essay written on Ungar by Pätkoväs, _Prazskä nemeckä literatura a Hermann Ungar_ (Prague's German-language literature and Hermann Ungar), appeared in 1968, shortly before the end of the Prague Spring, in the Prague philological newspaper _Casopis pro Moderni Filologii_. This essay was another review of the important results of her research work to date, highlighting the relationship of the Jews to their Czech background and ranking Ungar – in relation to Otto Pick, Vojtech Jirät, Pavel Eisner and Max Brod – amongst the Moravian-Jewish branch of the German-language _Prague Literature_ to which Ludwig Winder and Ernst Weiß also belonged. Common features of these authors were the dark and dismal atmosphere of their work, the psycho-analytic aspects of the characters and the interest in erotic problematic – although Ungar retained a specific, unique and characteristic accent.47

The Swiss dissertation by Nanette Klemenz, written in the same year as Pätkoväs's biographic study (1966), which however only appeared in print in 1970, 48 is of a problematic and contradictory nature, with some irritating lines of thought but still not without merit. In the course of my investigations it will often be necessary to correct Klemenz's factual misalignments and occasionally to contradict her theses. At this point it will suffice if we just look at basic principles.

The main flaws in her work can be explained by the fact that we are dealing with an author who has been encouraged to write on a subject with which she is spiritually and psychologically not well acquainted. There is, of course, no mandatory requirement for a student to discover and select the subject of the dissertation himself/herself – in fact, the alternative is probably the most normal route - and certainly too close a relationship can also cloud objectivity resulting in a subjective image. But it is troublesome when a personal individual world perspective, in Klemenz's case her Catholicism, becomes the benchmark for all things and is used to assess the writer. As Ungar's perspectives have quite a different background and are rooted in Judaism, not even marginal harmony can be expected. It is quite simply farcical to attempt to read a writer such as Ungar the riot act from a Christian-moralistic point of view and to compare him to a pseudo-ideal such as Gertrud von Le Fort.49 Sentences such as the following are representative of this misjudgement:

He died before discovering an empowering and positive way of life. 50

Ungar never succeeded in achieving a thoroughly Christian image. 51

As Ungar's work hardly complies with Klemenz's expectations of Christian empowering literature and she measures literary ranking by the yardstick of success, she viewed Ungar on the whole as a 'second or third class writer'. She sees the motivation in her work – expressed in a typical pathetic tone – primarily within the concept 'that it is frequently the unknown and lesser writers who are able to provide a true and revealing impression of their epoch, lifestyle and awareness and that therefore we need their work to capture the fullness and richness of human life in all its different guises.' Simultaneously she promises to 'delve deeply into the problematic world of Hermann Ungar' thus creating a 'simple, easily negotiable path to the works of the much greater contemporaries' naming Kafka, Weiß und Werfel.52

It would have been impossible for Klemenz to obtain direct access to Ungar's thought processes or to the phenomenology of this work using such premises, especially as she totally ignored the central themes such as Ungar's Jewish background or the sociological structure of Prague and Moravia in her quest for knowledge. Also of questionable value was her attempt to treat the _Complete Works_ in three separate capital chapters (A. Narratives B. Playwriting C. Essays and Journalistic Articles) as she applied no genre or subject-related divisions. If Klemenz failed to get close to her subject because of her groundless assumptions, her monographic procedures also meant that any precise and detailed analysis of the individual works was lacking and singularly failed to go further than just general statements. Reinhard Urbach's criticism of her dissertation is therefore quite apt 'She achieves nothing more than drawing attention to his name and encouraging engagement with the writer', 53 with, however, one notable exception. The introductory biographical study ( _The Life of Hermann Ungar_ , pp 9-46) is extremely valuable, despite all the errors and Pätkoväs references, and together with the _Sketches_ , is thus perceived as indispensible for anyone wishing to occupy himself more intensively with Ungar, as both ladies used statements from his contemporaries and peers, many of whom are meanwhile deceased. Thus it is all the more surprising that she failed to assess and incorporate these generally correct biographical findings into the course of the dissertation.

The bibliographic compilation, seen as an initial review, is valuable for information on the primary and secondary literature (Bibliography, Pages 261-272). Ungar's journalistic articles have barely been documented, translations are only mentioned for self-published pieces, whilst the bibliography for the secondary literature seems to be really coincidental and fails to impart a valid impression of the history of acceptance of the writings.

In a revised summary entitled _Worldwide Image of Hermann Ungar_ (pages 237-257), Klemenz documents the results of her analyses. According to this summary there are 'three large areas of debate... which impact on Hermann Ungar's life... the social, sexual and religious world problems', and she continues:

We must view the human image of Hermann Ungar as the struggle to achieve a fair social order. Hidden behind the image of the women we meet in his writing, are the sexual deprivations of his youth, his time and his environment. The writer's ideological image forms a collective lens though which all unsolved religious problems encountered by the writer are viewed.

'The central person or key figure' in his works is mostly the 'disenfranchised human being, this despised, hated and downtrodden person', who, in his existentialist desperation 'which can extend to despair', is directed towards 'the one thing one can never lose: one's own soul, survival of the spirit and internal freedom'.

Once the base point of the fall and descent has been reached, a counter-reaction takes place and, with it, a new ascent. This is the core of Hermann Ungar's message. In the wake of collapse and destruction he foresees salvation: an inner transformation. In this spiritualisation lies the path out of misery.54

If here Klemenz draws an unutterable comparison of Ungar's works to Christian-heathen stories and holy legends, in other places she writes longingly that the Jewish writer and Zionist has been striving to achieve a 'religious and even Christian portrayal of the world'.55 This unbalanced view does as little justice to the literary criteria, than to the supposed Christian content and the advances into inner transformation of the protagonists in the relevant evaluation categories. She views the petit-bourgeois satire _The Arbour_ as trivial with its sexual promiscuity ('The climate of the piece is sexually contaminated'), because it provides 'no positive guiding images'. ('This comedy denigrates, renders risible, destroys.'). 56 The novel _The Class_ she sees as masterly, as she supposedly identifies in the novel an 'awareness of the meaning of life', an 'illumination of God's mercy' which finally verges on an affirmation of Catholic belief .57 Klemenz's concluding _Qualification of the Works of Hermann Ungar_ has to be seen against this background of reasoning with the related dubiousness:

In the two stories A Man and a Maid and Story of a Murder, Ungar presented skilful examples of his stylist capabilities and, at the same time, introduced the main subjects of his works: social, sexual and religious issues. The first, extremely psychologically-orientated novel - The Maimed – is not as good in content or structure as his second novel, The Class. In fact The Class seems to me to be the zenith of Ungar's creativity in every respect. The transition from epic writer to dramatic production was not quite successful. Although the youth drama War had worthy content, the appropriate form was missing. The Red General possessed a more polished and accomplished dramatic structure, plus a positive area of issues. The Arbour proved that Ungar had achieved the language and structure needed for a stage production, but the content was of an unacceptably low level. The novel The Wine Traveller and the story Colbert's Journey stand out amongst a whole range of minor epic compositions. Essays and journalistic articles did not flourish beyond the first attempts. 58

The ambivalence of the Klemenz dissertation did necessarily continue the trend regarding the awareness and resonance to Ungar's literary works. On the one side it boosted awareness of this hitherto ignored author in the specialist circle involved with German studies, mainly focussed on Kafka and the German-language literature of Prague, and was almost certainly a contributing factor in the reprinting of Ungar's works in the following years. However on the other side Klemenz projected a flawed, albeit seemingly all-encompassing character image of Ungar, and thus prevented other literature researchers who encountered Ungar from carrying out their own analyses. The result was that up to the present day the Swiss monograph remains the sole university book on Ungar and his literary legacy.

The critic's reaction to Klemenz's work was as contradictory as the dissertation itself and its impact – given the minimal awareness. Although Bruno Scherer apparently only became aware of the Moravian writer via Klemenz, he reviewed the content and wrote about the content without any criticism, similarly without any criticism accepted the thesis on Ungar's 'uprooted out of the world of Jewish forefathers' and described the book as a 'valuable monograph', 59 Meinhard Urbach went even further than Klemenz's structure. He ranked the work similar to Pätkoväs's biographic _Sketches_ and in the _Works of the Academy of Science and Literature_ in Mainz (to be discussed later), compares Ungar's novel _The Class_ , which he perceives as his 'most mature work' and 'a piece of satire, which makes as deserving and worthwhile reading as the concise, short stories of Hermann Ungar, with Friedrich Torberg's _The Pupil Gerber has taken his Final Exam_ , the non-fictional _The Murder of Captain Hanika_ with Truman Capote's _In Cold Blood_ ('even with typical expressionist-accompanying characteristics such as the lamenting O-Wei-Pathos') and in conclusion delivers the opinion that Ungar is 'worth remembering', although Klemenz's work served no further than to 'draw attention to the name and to encourage engagement with the author'.60

The most sophisticated criticism of the Ungar monograph came from Wilma Abeles Iggers. She wrote about Ungar fading into obscurity ('To most readers of German literature today, Hermann Ungar is at most a name...A generation ago, however, Ungar was highly praised by writers and critics') _,_ about his bourgeois orderly and (seemingly) contented life which was at strange odds with this writings ('His work, however, did not reflect this almost un-interrupted sequence of strokes of good luck of which his life consisted, and his personality did so only in part.'), and regards all his texts as being of the same mould, with the exception of the historic _Red General_.

The settings range from middle class to Lumpenproletariat (bourgeois trash); the protagonists are people who were mistreated, unwanted children, or adults the sources of whose twisted, maladjusted personalities are not always explained...In Ungar's world men make each others' lives miserable, and Ungar gives few indications that a change of 'system' could alleviate these evils.

In the belief 'that the essence of humanity is found more frequently in extreme characteristics, in the eccentric, than, as is often thought, in the good', Ungar displayed conformity with the Expressionists. Iggers's instincts allow her to identify the defects in the dissertation, an 'otherwise thorough and competently written study': 'namely, that she [Klemenz – DS] doesn't know the Bohemian and Moravian Jewish environment', but she misses the importance position that Jewishness/Judaism actually held in Ungar's life when she writes: 'with the exception of Kafka, Ungar has more in common with such authors as Wedekind, Thomas Mann and Dostoevsky than with any of the Jewish writers', and she fails to recognise that the error lies less in the distorted perception of Jewish sociology ('she visualized the Jewish Community of the period between the two world wars as living apart from the non-Jewish population') than in the exclusion of such thematic because of the blinkered Christian limitations. Her criticism of Klemenz's 'religious, Victorian and ... almost folksy pre-conceptions' is very similar to our deliberations.

She sees Ungar as a lost soul who appeared to be groping towards Christianity of which there was little indication in his writings - and concluded 'Unfortunately he died prematurely, too early to experience the value of the protective communities, of one's own family, of the church, the state, homeland and nation. (p 243)

Iggers concludes

Yet, most of the book is not an interpretation of Ungar's world, but a relatively factual account of Ungar's life and work. And here Miss Klemenz has made a much needed and careful contribution to the rediscovery of a writer who deserves to be better known. 61

* * *

The literary-scientific work of Pätkoväs and Klemenz only reached a limited group of people interested in the German-language literature of Prague. The Otten and Engerth anthologies were only read by a small circle of initiates for whom expressionist or German-language literature of Prague was more than just a stolid definition. Despite this there might have been an impression towards the end of the 60s that a wide-spread renaissance of the obscure author was about to begin. The department within Sender Freies Berlin responsible for television plays discovered Ungar and commissioned a televised, dramatised version of the novel _The Class_ in 1968 (book: George A. Schaafs) and in 1969 the comedy _The Arbour_ (book: Walter Berson, Wolfgang Staudte) by the famous director Wolfgang Staudte. Ungar's original texts were deemed inadequate for both productions for different reasons and faded into everyday routine of the television-viewing nation, but remain an important point in the history of awareness of Ungar: as signals marking re-emerging interest and as hitherto sole attempts to reach the mass public through the use of film-media for Ungar's writing. The reasons for selecting _The Class_ and _The Arbour_ are obvious, given the background of events at the time: the student movement, the civil crisis and the related sensitisation for social-psychological phenomena. The two texts are connected loosely by the figure of the servant and the social revolutionary Modlizki, each story deals besides other issues, with the cryptic diabolic retribution for social class distinctions, with the unmasking of the ruling classes who simply do not recognise that their days are over - these are aspects of special interest to a producer such as Wolfgang Staudte, who made his name with social committed films such as _Rotation_ (1949) or the filming of Heinrich Mann's book _Man of Straw_ (alternatively _The Kaiser's Lackey, The Patrioteer, The Loyal Subject_ ,1951). Wolfgang Staudte went so far as to work as co-scriptwriter for the television production of _The Arbour_ , however, the film of _The Class_ based on the booked written by George A. Schaafs achieved far greater success.

Filmographic Details: The Class (1968)

Director: Wolfgang Staudte;

Assistant Director: Walter Baumgartner

Book: George A. Schaafs adapted from Hermann Ungar's work

Camera: Willi Kuhle;

Stage Management: Johannes Ott

Music: Werner Eisbrenner

Actors (Roles): Heinz Meier (Schoolmaster Blau), Lotte Ledl (Selma), Ida Ehre (Mother), Herbert Fux (Modlitzki), Stanislav Ledinek (Bobek), Harald Dietl _(Schoolmaster Leopold), Jürgen Lentzsch (Karpel), Hans-Georg Panczak (Laub),Lutz Kramer (Bohrer) Lou Seitz (Mrs Nowack), Josef Wilhelmi (Hainisch),Erich Poremski (Pollatschek)_

Production Management: Kurt Kramer; Production: Sender Freies Berlin

First broadcast: 24.9.1968 SFB I; repeat: 26.9.1969 MAZ/black-white

Whereas Staudte fell into unnecessary and distorting attempts to update the material using film-technical methods, Schaafs kept to the most feasible faithful adaptation of the central plot and development lines of the equally difficult dramatisation of _The Class_ whilst also dispensing with any modern film effects for the visual production. Despite a little over-portrayal, the result was a television play reflecting in a semi-realistic and television-orientated manner a psychological _Portrait of a Non-Person_ (Ludwig Metzger), of the protagonist Josef Blau. The fact that in the end the production of _The Class_ was not a huge success lies in equal measures in the constraints imposed by the televison play media and in the particularly formal structure of Ungar's novel which precludes visualisation. Ungar's The Class relies decisively on the spoken word and, despite the use of the third person and reported speech, focusses and is written totally from the narrow perspective of the protagonist – this is the only way that the novel can permit the reader to identify with Blau and thus share his existential concern. Schaafs and Staudte were only able to indicate this by using a speaker in 'off', who in appropriate places introduced quotations from Ungar or scraps of Blau's monologues, and also by incorporating slow motion sequences to bring Blau's deepest fears into play – but this was unable to bridge the distance to the unusual figure of this schoolmaster, to erase the impression of a psychopathic freak, a sick misfit. Moreover Staudte, as in the Josef Roth filming of The _Rebellion_ (NDR 1962), stuck too closely to the limits of the television play genre and - with a few impressive exceptions – dispensed with outside scenes, with the imagination of living reality, without discovering his own alternative image language to equal the dialogues, so that at times the film gave the impression of being a chamber play, a stage performance. 62 Egon Netenjacob reminisces in an essay on Wolfgang Staudte's television work:

The sole notes I made are clichés like 'notable, calm attention paid to the figures'. And the only passage which stands out from my somewhat faded memories is Schoolmaster Blau's youth-orientated class trip. The scenes filmed outside are lively, free and unrestrained, in comparison with the Ampex recordings, Staudte is simply not a stage director. He only achieves impact with those passages where he can express himself in images, where the dialogue remains secondary to the movement and the content of the images.63

The critic Ludwig Metzger provides a general impression of the course of the film:

At the beginning of the play the author of the script, Schaafs, uses a narrator (off) to explain the scene of Josef Blau marking pupil's workbooks: 'He knew that every weakness he displayed could lead to his downfall. He had to face 18 boys in this year group. He fought with everything at his disposal to maintain discipline...' The conflict has been declared, the audience is burning to learn about the cause.

Does Blau explain himself? The actor Heinz Meier plays the role using a dry and cold manner, with very few gestures, using language which fears to disclose any information. (Blau says to his wife Selma: 'One should not speak. One should not say anything, nothing that can cause trouble... One should not speak. One does not know, what fate one tempts...'). Blau is taciturn, suspicious and distrustful, solely reacting to the actions of the others – for this is how without exception Blau perceives fellow mankind – drawing, stroke for stroke, the contours on the expressionless exterior of the 'nonentity' Blau.

The camera pans slowly over the interior of the middle class home of the grammar school teacher in a small Moravian town in the year 1910. The greater picture renders Blau's bland mediocracy frighteningly visible within the bourgeois space of the home, even his close personal space remains strange to him. 'Obscene' is the label he gives the unashamed 'love play' (flirting?), between his ageing widowed mother-in-law (Ida Ehre) and the Falstaff-like vital figure of Onkel Bobek (Stanislav Ledinek). Incomprehensible for him is the natural animalistic bearing with which his statuesque wife Selma (Lotte Ledl) carries her pregnancy. Is it really his child? Torturous jealousy threatens to explode his narrow mind. Visions appear, underlined by Staudte's somewhat unimaginative use of slow motion, in which Blau sees his wife in white billowing robes wandering through meadows hand-in-hand with his muscular, vigorous colleague Leopold (Harald Dietl). During a recent school trip Blau had watched the half-naked Leopold practising gymnastics with shirtless pupils.

What Leopold achieves effortlessly – engaging positively and successfully with the pupils – is a problem facing Blau on a daily basis. With his white cuffed hands placed carefully side by side on his lectern, he watches with an authoritarian expression belied by pleading, fearful eyes over his class of pupils who are far above him in their social status. They visit the prostitutes in the Barracks Alley, whom their schoolmaster fears because of his sexual inhibitions and position-related lack of freedom. For although Blau as a grammar school teacher is part of the 'middle classes', he is not really a citizen and feels he belongs to a lower social caste.

Modlitzki (outstandingly played by Herbert Fux), the master's servant (valet?) with whom Blau grew up and regarded mistakenly as his friend: this ice-cold enemy of humanity whose continuous hatred of the higher classes forces Blau into the position of victim in his private class struggle. The servant seduces the pupil Karpel (Jürgen Lentzsch) into homosexuality and then uses him as a compliant tool for underhand machinations to discredit citizen Blau. The latter believes initially that he is to blame for the suicide of a pupil, whom - when following the advice of Modlitzki – he spied upon during a visit to the 'Barracks Alley'. Blau then senses the trap, confronts Modlitzki, but is unable to compete with his slimy dialectics. Blau seeks out Karpel, who in desperation intends to take his own life. For the very first time Blau's human contact with a pupil is successful: he is able to prevent Karpel from committing suicide.

The criticisms from Metzger – who probably had never read the novel himself (likewise valid for the majority of the reviewers) - read like _The Class_ table of contents and confirm how accurately Schaafs followed the sequence of actions within the book. .

In his evaluation Metzger stresses the 'timeless topical relevance of the material':

The director Staudte draws an accurate picture of a human-being, laden with complexes and distorted ability to communicate. The timeless topical relevance of the material justifies its dramatisation and production. The result of brutal class differences in 1910 is repeated in today's social rankings primarily benchmarked according to prestige: the insecurity of the individual regarding his/her own social concept. 64

Other critics also emphasised the timelessness of the subject, the question of relevance was a continuous thread in all reviews and became a tool to measure the value of novel and film:

Timeless material. Expected and anticipated, if one wishes it so. Young people regarding the older generation with animosity, distrust, rejection and blaming them for past events. Tragic: the inner turmoil of an inept person played by Heinz Meier to excess. 65

Social differences in society, insight into psychic chasms and influences of the environment on the decisions of an individual – these are facts which motivate people, not just yesterday, but today as well. 66

...If there were to be a complete entity, a game of desertion and desolation, of self-perpetuated animosity, timeless yet time-orientated and time-relevant, which rises above everyday events through episodic accuracy. The world, as utter self-destruction, would become convincingly visible. 67

Similar circumstances and consequences are possible....even today... in situations where a gap in humane qualities is replaced by inhumane behaviour. 68

Enthusiastic assessments are not rare:

The path leading over a narrow footbridge, the escape through the wood, the conversation with a supposed friend on the stairway, the tortuous neighbourhood with the muscleman Bobek – those were rare scenes in German television films. Staudte forced lively action out of the ponderous television cameras. In addition he himself worked behind the camera. The excellent images in combination with the exemplary allocation of the roles led to a truly impressive result. A great film artist at work. 69

Under the perfect direction of Wolfgang Staudte, carried by outstanding actors, The Class became an ingenious piece of work. A socially-critical image of the time and people with fascinating effect.' 70... creating a television film similar to an evening well-spent in the theatre. 71

Particularly noteworthy, however, are the critiques which extend over and beyond the evening broadcast:

Celebrating or anticipating the rediscovery of the author Hermann Ungar:

During the search for material suitable for filming, they finally came upon a German author who deserves to be hauled out of obscurity. Great credit is due to Sender Freies Berlin for making the novel The Class by Hermann Unger [sic] accessible to the public...in dramatised form. If the material concerning a schoolmaster tragedy has been awarded a new topical relevance due to today's situation with the students' revolt against the existing social order, then also the true literary value of the work of Hermann Ungar has become greater and more resilient. He, who wrote the novels [sic] Boys and Murderers and the novella The Maimed besides the dramatised version of work for television - all writings which some years ago would have been branded as 'unworthy German scribbling' and fallen victim to the bonfire activities of one Dr.Goebbels – belongs to the driving forces of German Expressionism. Wolfgang Staudte's production did a wonderful job of setting the accusation within a Strindberg-like melancholic world. The casting was excellent, and Werner Eisbrenner's music played its part in turning this television film into an extraordinary experience. 72

A forgotten author from the 20s ... achieves acclaim again; the time has come to rectify the situation caused by his untimely death (and the later political times): to recognise his work. Ungar belongs to the generation and to the ranks of Kafka, Brod, Werfel, Kisch and Urzidil; his novel The Class (originally published by Rowohlt) takes place in a small town in Moravia around 1910; there is a hint of an autobiography here. 73 George A. Schaaffs [sic] then based a television play on this novel... The entire thing is not a resurrection of literature from the dim and distant past, but a successful, forceful salvation of honour. Can we now expect the same happening to Ungar's scorned The Arbour (deemed unsuitable for young people)? 74

The 'notorious bibliomanic' Karl Heinz Kramberg 'delighted in the play as a tempestuous display of a forgotten book', 'which really deserved to be preserved', although 'schoolmaster Blau's tragedy was in his opinion 'too subtle and obscure for the television screen'.

That became much clearer because Staudte's expressive black/white production was not miserly in the use of garish effects and in the desire to project an excessive caricature-like portrayal became as 'false' as Staudte's excellent film The Loyal Subject. No, this way not the way to achieve a good television play. 75

It was, however, not so much the televised film as Ungar's unread novel which cause a real split on the clergy/pedagogy side which accused of being antiquated and boring. With all the prevalent misunderstandings here, this division is interesting because it indirectly clarifies Staudte's over-portrayal of characters.

Ungar's story is that of a schoolmaster, who today would be described as neurotic, even psychopathic: one sees an inhibited, mis-educated man, whose perception of the natural body is terribly distorted and disturbed. Consequentially he is regarded as hysteric and, in his sternness towards the adolescent pupils, he displays cowardliness and weakness: the image of a man who has forged a moral suit of armour around his failures.

The boys, themselves inhibited and thus aggressive, tear at this armour cladding, whilst the ridiculous, muscular puffed-up gym teacher and a Dionysian relative also hammer away at it, the shy spouse nestles against it and a perfidious friend drills into it. In the end one pupil hangs himself, the schoolmaster feels responsible and announces his departure, although the danger has already disappeared due to a bill of exchange (?) having fallen into the wrong hands – the marriage of the Dionysian relative with the schoolmaster's lusty mother-in-law, the revelations of the perfidious friend concerning his revolutionary agenda which turns out to be nothing more than the outward symptoms of a chronic neurosis, and a second pupil does not carry out his planned suicide (the perfidious friend/cad seduced him!) but instead plays Chopin.

In all, this was a story concluded long ago and the sole remaining questions is to why SFB's-Television Play Department and the Programme Production thought they were well-advised to select this antiquated psycho-drama and to put it in the hands of a prominent director (Wolfgang Staudte) and outstanding actors. Huge talents were wasted on material, which, as proven in a private test, far from eliciting derisive laughter from today's teachers and pupils, only resulted in yawns of boredom. 76

A host of other television critics also judged the film as being antiquated and boring, with common criticism of the narrow view of the subject of school, the inability of recognising a general, timeless problematic behind the concrete accusations.

... a play, whose necessity is not obvious. Unless, of course, the Director Wolfgang Staudte wished to belatedly honour the playwright Hermann Ungar, who died in 1929. Ungar's novel, The Class was turned into a teacher-pupil-tragedy with figures on either side already covered with a thick layer of dust. The character of the authoritarian, nasty, but basically weak schoolmaster must be relegated to antiquity in this date and age of academic reform.77

A subject concerning such contemporary issues would have awoken just as much interest or empathy as did the similar psyche-related Traumulus by Arno Holz. But nowadays one is just unintentionally amused by such stale controversies.

Scene by scene the question becomes louder and more insistent: Why was this....out-moded novel considered by SFB to be worthy of being turned into a television play? 78

Production: good, Acting: good, but despite this, it was impossible to prevent yawning when watching it. The focus of the piece is really not of interest today, out-moded and out-dated. What a waste of effort. 79

A 'Wilhelminian' [sic] nightmare becoming reality, a nuance of subservient spirit is detected, rumbles of class conflicts – therein lies Staudte's motivation. Seen by daylight, this torturous, oppressive school story, hopelessly old-fashioned and archaic, exhumed and brought back to life by an excellent production. 80

The issues are ... time-related, strange and disturbing for today's viewers. Wolfgang Staudte has made no real attempt to dust off the play. Yet he did manage to work out a justification for a performance now: A creature tortured by a merciless society – whether real or imagined. 81

Dense dust clouds gathered over numerous years wafted out of the televisions. At the end of the play it was clear why Mr Ungar's novels were never reprinted. Who wants to read such pompous writings...Young people will hardly have an understanding of the issues raised as they do not exist today. Disinterested viewers gazed at the boring, unexciting passage of problems. It is incredible that a producer like Wolfgang Staudte was willing to accept this material. 82

Encouraged by the mainly positive echo, Staudte began to work on Ungar's _The Arbour_ for television in 1969, one of his last critical and experimental productions before dedicating himself solely to expertly executed, politically indifferent and artistically non-ambitious light entertainment films.

Cinematic details: The Arbour (1969)

Director : Wolfgang Staudte; Assistant: Walter Baumgartner

Book: Walter Berson, Wolfgang Staudte based on Hermann Ungar

Scenery: Roman Weyl; Music: Alfred Goodman

Actors (roles): Walter Taub (Josef Colbert), Erna Schickel (Melanie Colbert), Lieselotte Plauensteiner (Amfelle), Hanns Ernst Jäger (Kuderbnak) , Vadim Glowna (Ferdinand), Bruno Dallansky (Modlitzki), Ingrid van Bergen (Josephine), Valerie Antelmann (Marie)

Production Management: Kurt Kramer; Production: Sender Freies Berlin

First Broadcast: 24.3.1970 SFB I; Repeat: 14.1.1972

Length: 80 min, 32 sec

MAZ/black/white

Filmed at: SFB-Studios 83

The script (12 images) was put together by Staudte in collaboration with Walter Berson; they kept to the stipulated stage sequences and also strictly adhered to the dialogue, although - perhaps because of several criticisms of _The Class_ – they were not so sure about the topical or contemporary issues in the play and decided to 'freshen these up' using present and modern relevant additions.

Wolfgang Staudte as the director must have thought it would be comical to blow the dust from The Arbour and to supplement the Jugendstil with touches of pop and comic strips, a 'whiter-than-white' advertising spot and a dose of The Beatles. The dress was decidedly K&K monarchy period, but the lusty maiden was definitely futuristic with her mini-skirt and yoyo. Then, when the paper moon shone, American sounds emanated from invisible space capsules. Staudte almost certainly wanted to impart something with this production – unfortunately he omitted to tell us what. 84

Contrary to Helmut M. Braem's opinion, Staudte was himself very satisfied with his work '... I stand by my work, which, as seldom before, gave me great pleasure', and he was very willing to explain his concept. In an interview with Eckard Presler in which he acknowledged having seen the original premiere in Berlin and admitted to having wrestled with the subject matter of the play for a long time until he decided to reproduce it for television, he revealed:

Hermann Ungar's intention with this comedy was to provide the bourgeoisie with a mirror in which they saw their own reflections. My particular interest in this play is the transposition of the issues into modern times. A virtually classic example of how history repeats itself. The sex, exploding the taboos, the wave of sexual education, the protests of 'angry young men'. One could say: topical criticism dressed in timeless robes. 85

Significant for Staudte's process is a 'collage', which acts as the introduction to the play, in the opening credits, which was supposed to propel the viewers 'quickly from the present back to the beginning of our centuryt via the prompts TODAY - YESTERDAY – YESTERYEAR':

TODAY equals - taboos - protest - establishment – sex education - sex in - pop art - and a host of naked people to the beat.

YESTERDAY equals - the golden era – eroticism instead of sex – instead of Kolle [translator's note: he was a sex educationalist] - Magnus Hirschfeld or van de Velde, instead of Konkret there was Simplizissimus [translator's note: two different magazines] – the parvenu instead of establishment - protest with lots of naked Charleston dancers – initial premiere of The Arbour.

YESTERYEAR equals: the years prior to World War One. Very similar images: sex education, protest, Biedemeier instead of pop. Noblesse oblige instead of Style of Life, and in place of 'love in' see seduction in The Arbour... to a polka, gallop or cotillon. 86

In a similar way the closing credits bring the viewers back into the present. Typical for the production is also the way in which the characters are introduced: a narrator recites almost word or word Ungar's preface notes on the comedy, whilst a figure such as Amelie 'with quiet, anachronistic beat-swing' appears and undresses behind a sheet to the music of the Beatles ('All you need is love'), a drum solo, accompanying pop art lettering with 'SEX-Taboo! Eroticism - LOVE - PROTEST - EXPLANATION! Toujours l'amour!! MAKE LOVE, MAKE LOVE!!!' blending in to a bawd drama from the days of the silent film. 87

Most other critics shared Helmut M. Braem's view of Staudte's mannerism-related Modernism, i.e. less as an interesting 'transfusion /transformation' but more as a startling error of judgement, which caused _The Arbour_ – according to Peter F. Gallasch – to fail in a 'alarmingly depressing way':

He had protagonists which he could hardly have wished more from in both Walter Taub (as previously in The Class with Heinz Meier) and in Bruno Dallansky, 88 and the other actors fitted perfectly into the image of the K&K bourgeoisie society of Moravian provenance. But still Staudte seems to have felt the need to prevent being regarded as a producer of 'Grandad Cinema' -type films at any price. Blending in modern beat numbers and optical collages were intended to provide an image of film modernity, an alibi for a producer who really does not need such an alibi, but who should have avoided such gimmicks like the plague, as his real strengths lie in the continuity of his very personal, committed, aggressive style: a language of images focussing only on the main theme. His optical and musical antics distract the viewers from the malicious attacks, which Ungar has sugar-coated with theatrical macabre humour. The pin-prick gibes contained within the bitter dialogue of the original text and carefully aimed to get under one's skin, get swamped in the flood of music, the vortex of swirling images, are intended to underline the efficient, contemporary allusions, which remain the subject of debate.

Not even the laboured Bohemian accents or the historic costumes of the actors can save the original atmosphere of this comedy. Instead of modern, stylised stage decoration, it would have been more fitting to use contemporary settings. The last desperate spasms of the crumbling bourgeoisie, clinging to world brotherhood dreams and thus losing all sight of reality, would have been just as evident as the unceasing surge forward and upward of the underprivileged classes. Only once did the word 'Bolshevik' occur in the dialogue and then in inferred 'apostrophes'. Staudte's production ignored the word and the force behind it which coloured our world over the last century. 89

The Mainz Allgemeinen Zeitung review spoke simply of 'modern paraphernalia' and stated fairly legitimately:

Staudte's product bypassed all the possibilities offered by Hermann Ungar. 90

Valentin Polcuch went as far as to ask:

What is wrong with Staudte? Did he really think it was a great idea to add pop elements to Hermann Ungar's comedy, perhaps as a reminder or a tip-off? The comedy is not from Yesteryear, it remains today as fresh and flavourful as it was yesterday (and Wolfgang Staudte, too); so why did he find it necessary to get us up from our seats with the noise of demonstrations and the gentle Beatles songs.91

Besides the modern and updated elements, Karl Heinz Kramberg also criticised the spartan stage setting (buildings were sparsely used, graphic solutions dominated with art deco elements and Pop Art) and long-distance camera shots which gave the television play an impression of photographed theatre.

The actors huddled together as for a group photo in the centre of a flat ornamental stage setting, resulting in a strange stilted symmetry and a sense of involuntary absurdity, which however then had to forfeit the last remnants of theatrical innocence due to the banal blend of modern pop elements and minor updated allusions. The dialogue was presented in tortured dreadful Czech accents, for the producers made no use of the possibility of visual activity, by introducing verbal puns from unadorned faces in close-up. 92

Not all critics joined in the choir of negative voices denigrating Staudte's production, some welcomed this 'method of intentional estrangement' achieved by the 'timelessness of the statements', 93 praised the 'cheeky jumps in time between Art Deco and Pop', 94 which serves to stress Ungar's 'social criticisms' 'in timeless ways', 95 or perceived the element of 'non-stop amusement', a performance in which 'uneducated viewers in No-Town can enjoy themselves... and even experience a few contemplative minutes as an aftertaste'.96

The _Frankfurter Allgemeinen Zeitung's_ critic perceived _The Arbour_ , however, which was 'at the beginning of the 30s a scandalous play with manifold erotic liberties' as being 'quite tame in this respect today', although 'remaining important for its social criticisms':

This will also be the reason why it was entrusted to the appropriate specialist, to the director Wolfgang Staudte, who brought it to the screen for Sender Freies Berlin. We are avoiding the word 'staged'' for although Staudte kept closely to the sequences of events on the stage, he did not simply create 'photographed theatre' from the play: he interrupted the dialogue (at points which he felt were appropriate) by blending in scenes to illustrate the thought process of both protagonists and viewers. This was his initial opportunities to introduce social criticism, the second opportunity was offered by the play itself.

Writing about the 'main character in the piece', the servant Modlizki, it continued:

He was the main focus of interest for the playwright. Perhaps you remember the eerie role of Modlitzki in the televised version of Ungar's novel The Class. This servant knew nothing about socialism, but still dabbled in revolution with his insistence on strict class divisions.

This means that Ungar had no patent solution. It was sufficient for him to create a character who personifies the situation: a person, not a comrade. This circumstance rendered Staudte's work decidedly more difficult. It was impossible for Staudte to fabricate universal banner slogans to validate social criticism from one individual. He was only able to expand on Ungar's trends rather than propagate them. 97

Even the most negative critics praised the figure and the interpretation of Modlizki. Kramberg stated:

Solely Bruno Dallanski in the role of the servant Modlitzki was occasionally able to give a glimpse of how a touch of artistic skill might have added to the script. 98

Braem said:

Admittedly the servant Modlitzki is an interesting character. ... If life went according to Modlitzki's rules, it would be ' fuss' or everything 'to do with etiquette' rather than 'property' which would be done away with. Admittedly the servant Modlitzki is an interesting character. But unfortunately he is only one of eight. The others are more suited to Ludwig Thomas's work Moral, even if they also are part of the play The Arbour, with which Hermann Ungar hoped to pep up the depressed image of Eros a few decades. 99

Polcuch commented:

The central figure was the servant Modlitzki (Bruno Dallansky): What a tremendous example of a class-conscious proletariat, who only carries out defloration in the meaning of expropriation of the expropriated! In the vile brilliance of his role, Dallansky overshadowed the setting, the theatre, the directing – a real comedian and the director gave him his head. Thanks be to Staudte.100

And from Gallasch:

Similarly to The Class the key figure was the 'base-born' servant Modlitzki, a class conscious proletariat, who professes nothing in common with the ruling class by whom he feels exploited and to whom both partners (the inhibited schoolmaster Blau in The Class and the just as inhibited but socially more ambitious property-owning citizen Colbert in The Arbour) constantly reaffirm their ties with Modlitzki. Modlitzki, played optimally by both Herbert Fux in The Class and by Bruno Dallansky in The Arbour would have been irresistible for Staudte, the instinctive critic of a decayed bourgeoisie. He would have been able to use Modlitzki and his approach to the politically insecure middle class to demonstrate his incisive attacks on inferiors. Staudte succeeded with The Class where he had failed in a terribly depressing way with The Arbour. 101

It should be noted that Staudte, due to his singular fixation on the 'interesting character' Modlizki - who, like Ungar, he had formed into the vehicle for his own protests - deprived the other players of both importance and space. In doing this he also distorted Ungar's satire by erasing the tragedy of the nostalgic petit bourgeoisie Colbert.

Every person has his own fixed idea... this person lives for his idea. This idea seems to him to be something monstrous, something hugely important: but something laughable for a bystander, who of course nurtures his own fixed idea. 102

This basic theme of the comedy almost disappeared from view because of the attempt to stress the socially-critical aspect and apply to it to the present. Staudte's production was able to demonstrate that Ungar's satirical text was still applicable and to the point in all its social-critical implications today. But one could only guess that Ungar's criticisms were aimed at fundamentals and, through the use of exemplary characters tried to uncover the 'life lies' which every person weaves around himself to be able to withstand reality. If the dramatisation of _The Class_ meant that the interest of one of two viewers in Ungar was raised, then the biased and modern adaptation of _The Arbour_ would have achieved the exact opposite, and Ungar would have experienced a short-lived comeback, forgotten more quickly than yesterday's news. Staudte's efforts to give his production the appearance of modernity just made it seem even more antiquated.

* * *

The hitherto most important steps in the rediscovery of Ungar were carried out at the beginning of the 70s, in a period of newly awakened interest in the Prague German-language literature or in any literature of the pre-war days, by the literature classes at the Mainz Academy of Sciences and Literature under the leadership of Hans Erich Nossack, when they composed their anthology _Lost and Forgotten_ ( _Hermann Ungar: An introduction to his work with a selection by Manfred Linke_. Wiesbaden: Franz Steiner Verlag, 1971) and the Mainz Assortment submitted as volume 36, a re-publication of the novel _The Class_ (Hermann Ungar: _The Class_. Novel. Published with a postscript by Manfred Linke. Bibliography of the publications of Hermann Ungar's by Eva Pätkoväs. Mainz: v. Hase & Koehler Verlag, 1973). Both volumes are still available in book shops today without having required a reprint.

Although they did not result in a wide renaissance – more to do with the modern structure of the book industry, to literature critiques and to the attitude of the general public – they did attract attention from the literary circles to the name of Ungar and offered a new opportunity to boost acquaintanceship with more wide-ranging, representative parts of his whole works. The Mainz Academy, co-founded in 1949 by Alfred Döblin, an occasional Berlin companion of Ungar's, was able to set a marker, sufficiently visible to impact on some later histories of literature and summaries which we will touch on in due course. The commitment showed by the Academy to Ungar can be explained by its tradition – the series _Lost and Forgotten_ , which since the 50s had included the most diverse authors such as Peter Hille, Paul Scheerbart, Max Herrmann-Neiße, Alfred Wolfenstein, Gustav Sack or Carl Einstein, belongs to the oldest post-war initiatives to introduce long-lost authors to the wider public – and through the services of individual people such as Wilhelm Emrich and Manfred Linke, can be explained as a reaction to the previously mentioned works about Ungar which underlined the lack of independent publications, but also as a reflection the increase in interest in Prague Literature since the Liblice Conference (1965) and to rectify the vacuum left by Czech Germanistic since 1968.

The compendia _Lost and Forgotten_ provides a characteristic pregnant and representative overview of Ungar's writings from the early tale _Story of a Murder_ from his first book _Boys and Murderers_ (1920) right up to the tales of _The Wine Traveller_ , _The Secret War_ and _The Brothers_ from the posthumous volume _Colbert_ ' _s Journey_ (1930), besides significant excerpts from the novel _The Maimed_ , from the documentary report _The Murder of Captain Hanika_ and scenes from the comedy _The Arbour_ ; in view of the planned republication of the novel _The Class_ they dispensed with excerpts from this work. .

The copious and wide-ranging introduction from Manfred Linke 103 is of special value, an excellent study, which despite its relative brevity provides a much more accurate impression of the biographic and literary development of Ungar than the dissertation from Nanette Klemenz, and which offers a much more penetrating insight and analysis than the predominantly biographic-orientated work of Eva Pätkoväs, to whom Linke is greatly indebted for the description of Ungar's life.

Linke sees the main reason for Ungar's disappearance into obscurity in that 'the breadth of the influence of his work was too narrow and the duration of his creativity was too short to sustain awareness of his works for a long time after his death, particularly given the excessive outpourings of literature during this period and the fact that his creations did not focus on spectacular or fashionable events. The era of the national socialist regime, with the book bonfires he would have suffered had he lived longer, just accelerated the process of forgetting which went into literary history.' The fact that 'the literature sector in the Federal Republic took a large detour around Hermann Ungar' is considered a 'strange phenomena' by Linke, which he unlike Klemenz sees 'in no way' explained by 'qualitative reasons'.

From his very first publications Ungar proved himself as an author of free-thinking talent and his last creations bear witness to an early mastery which in turn led to justified great expectations for the future. His death destroyed one of the greatest hopes in the generation of young post-WW1 German-language writers.

However Linke shares with Klemenz the surprise about the (apparent) discrepancies between Ungar's thematic radical writings and his biography, which 'with rare, unveering single-mindedness goes directly to its abrupt, incomprehensible end':

A person, gifted with the best possible talents, who spent a happy childhood in a safe, protected environment, who escaped unscathed from the horrors and atrocities of war, on whom was bestowed success in both private and professional life – who was only missing a single thing: self-confidence, self-confidence in his power, his strongest asset, his creative ability. It was here that he suffered self-inflicted torture. 104

Linke continues inspecting the biography and does not discover anywhere clues to the solution of this discrepancy and, in the face of these disparities, can neither achieve a clear psychological portrait of the author nor describe fully the determining characteristics of his work. Like Klemenz, Linke sticks far too closely to the middle-class, orderly foreground of the station in life and does not pay sufficient heed to the main factors for the psychical and literary development of Ungar: the implications of the childhood and youth spent in the Jewish-Moravian ghetto: his Jewish disposition: his experiences of war, revolution and the Prague national conflicts: or the constraints of a 'bread and butter' profession. No-one can really blame him. The frame of introduction offers very little space for development or proof of consequential theses and for a comparative explanation of life and work. Linke's real objective was to provide a positive image to enable readers to acquaint themselves with the writer Hermann Ungar, which illustrated his life and career and described the individual characteristics of his works, all aspects which made his writings exemplary. He developed Ungar's biography further in a precise and definitive way, using quotations from Ungar's autobiographical texts and from important obituaries written by friends such as Gustav Krojanker, Erich Cohn and Paul Kornfeld.

With an unswerving sense for essentials, he characterised in very few sentences Ungar's writings, provided proof of conclusions using longer text examples, and then examined their individual contemporary impacts, quoted fulsomely from Thomas Mann's reviews of _Boys and Murderers_. In all this, he left the reader sufficient space to formulate his own opinions and assessments, did not refuse the reader individual access to the selected texts. Although Linke occasionally committed some spectacular mistakes – he claimed that not only _The Maimed_ belonged to the Prague-based novels, but also _The Class_ which was actually set in Brünn, in another place he stated that Ungar's writings were always focussed on Moravia, 105 as far as the essential features are concerned, his observations were mostly accurate. He emphasised the linguistic merits, Ungar's 'concise and clear diction' and, above all, the 'cool factual objectivity of the introductory narrative', which 'draws the reader imperceptibly into the maelstrom of the story', whereby this whirlpool was also created by the 'decisive purposefulness of the writing'. 'There is nothing episodic, nothing is described in detail that does not serve the advancement of events, the reader can search in vain for illustrates of nature – he is solely interested in the person'. Linke finds the preference for the first person singular, the 'I' form somewhat formal, which contrary to laconic speech - not necessarily excluding empathy – enables Ungar to achieve a 'concentration on events' and a 'narrowing of the distance between the reader and the story'.106 Linke discovered fundamental themes of Ungar's works in the 'inability to overcome barriers to others', in 'being trapped In one position', in 'defining experiences in childhood', in the 'interactions of Dream and life'. 107 From the society perspective Ungar always showed 'the causes leading to the fate of his ''heroes'' ':

The majority have experienced a joyless childhood as part or full orphans, they are often disadvantaged by their natural appearance, they have often grown up in certain difficult circumstances, they have experienced things which have negatively impacted on the development of their personalities, on their relationship to the world around them and their challenges, which they face aggressively, or in a defensive-depressive way, above all the loss of their integration into the world around them manifests itself again and again in their distorted attitude to sexuality. 108

This 'insight into the defining power of social relationships' will never cast shadows on the 'singularity of the individual'. Solely the personal disposition will decide the further development, whether or not the 'I' will become caught in self-imposed compulsions and obligations, as so often the case with Ungar:

Again and again Ungar described the idea of being caught in self-fabricated nets and shows how distortions in the relationship to other people runs parallel to a clouded vision of reality. The two together seem to attract disaster which they are actually hoping to avoid.' 109

Such characteristics combined with the 'sombre brutality', the 'daemonic logicality' of the events and the 'piercing intensiveness of the description, which does not avoid extreme situations but rather discloses the innermost feelings of the figures' draw comparisons between Ungar and Dostoyevsky:

It would be misplaced, however, to use the example of the Russian to form or indeed to shape a dependency, since these are really only traits resulting from Ungar's Slavonic-Jewish roots, bestowed on him personally by nature. The same common roots gave rise to the relationship with Franz Kafka and Ernst Weiß, which should, however, not be overrated and which will not be examined here in detail, just as much as his lineage to realistic literature which' reaches to Georg Büchner .110

Given all the thematic extremism, Ungar never transgresses over 'the borders of artistic truth', to 'apparent extremes, sick and the wicked', does not 'interpret them as a preference or even a perversion', for Ungar these were 'part and parcel of life', 'which he did not simply erase':

Ungar never closed his eyes to anything and he did not permit his readers to either. The atmosphere opening around him was small-minded and stuffy, Ungar's vision of Prague at the start of the 20th century was more gloomy and ghostly than that of Gustav Meyrink, although the events were anything but supernatural. 111

Manfred Linke's study overall was positive and robust, offering moreover a whole series of important and fundamental possibilities for further, more in-depth interpretations. The excusable shortcomings lay more in the lack of a comparative observation of live and works, which would have cast light on both, as well as in the narrow, sometimes very superficial perceptions, only capable of processing a fraction of the phenomena which determined Ungar's writings and set the tracks for his own personal transformation.

The critics reacted in an inappropriate restrained way to Linke's anthology, _those who took any notice were, however, united in their opinion:_

The ... anthology demonstrates clearly that his [Ungar's: DS] work was never 'worthless' [Ungar-Quote: DS] but to the contrary, too little attention has been paid to it in the past', stated Deborah Engländer, and continues to speak of a 'valuable re-discovery of an unjustly forgotten author'. 112

Barbara Glauert in the New York publication Aufbau took the same stance and welcomed the inclusion of Ungar in the series _Lost and Forgotten_ , particularly praising Linke's Critical Study, which provided a 'careful, through image of Ungar, the epic writer and dramatist, conveyed by his contemporaries'.113 Necessary praise: for Glauert's extensive report is nothing much more than a brief summary of Linke's introduction, in which she copies whole passages word-for-word without the slightest embarrassment.

Reinhard Urbach stressed in his critique that the reason for the re-discovery of Ungar was not based alone on literary-historical exhumation ambitions:

Ungar's observations of the petite bourgeoisie after the First World War, his social-psychological analyses, his milieu theory based on the knowledge of Freund and Adler corresponds with the renaissance experienced today with both Joseph Roth and Horvath. 114

The critics hardly differed in their opinion of the anthology, in measuring of Linke's achievements against the realms of possibility, or in their own observations of Ungar's writings: And Ungar seemed to be a completely new name for most of the reviewers, putting them in an embarrassing situation - from which they removed themselves by Colportering his biography and by unconditional acceptance of Linke's opinions. The same was also valid for the – similarly minimal – response to the re-issue of the novel _The Class_ initiated and facilitated by Linke in 1973.115

Linke's decision in favour of _The Class_ and against Ungar's first novel _The Maimed_ , was an unspoken prejudgement. Similarly to Nanette Klemenz, Linke thought that Ungar's second novel, which lacked the extremism of its predecessor, was a 'more mature' work and thus of higher value.116

The text complied with that of the initial 1927 publication, solely correcting 'a few obvious printing mistakes and providing punctuation', as Manfred Linke wrote in the postscript. 117

Signposting his introduction to the anthology, Linke limited himself in his postscript to 'short notes on the biography and to the relationship with the novel', 118 a concentration, which according to his statements, added to the assessment, to the clarity:

Hermann Ungar is to be counted to the most important German-language authors of the post-WW1 period. Ungar was born on April 20, 1893 in Boskovice, to a wealthy Jewish family. He belongs to the group of writers, such as Franz Kafka, Ernst Weiß and Franz Werfel, from Czechoslovakia, who made major contributions to the German-language literature of our century.

Linke also described the determining factors in Ungar's works much more clearly than in his introduction, without however expounding on them individually:

... it is more or less the same creative tension between tradition and experience, which characterises his work. His keen observation talents combined with sensitive empathic capabilities, he experienced early on the breakup of a seemingly perfect world. Born and raised in the Slavonic region of the Austrian multinational state, characterised by the Judaism, brought up according to middle-class and patriotic standards, introduced to the cultural heritage of humanism, he saw the social and national problems with his own eyes, he experienced latent anti-Semitism in his own school colleagues and finally experienced the destruction of humane society in World War I, having signed up as a volunteer. 119

And for a second time Linke indentified 'clarity and stringency of language and structure' 120 and emphasised the fundamental theme, 'distancing the person from himself and from others': 'He uncovered the reasons and causes and he shaped the consequences with extreme constancy'. 121 Once again he stressed Ungar's ambivalent viewpoint, which placed responsibility for the fate of his characters on both 'the negative social conditions' and 'personal flaws'. 'Events are always determined by the tension between characters and the surrounding world'. Linke placed more weight than previously on Ungar's 'social commitment', on his fundamental belief 'that the achievement of human existence was possible hardly by, mostly against, at best despite the social order in which we live'. 122 Linke's comments on Ungar's extremism should also be taken relative to this:

The victims, abused and the denigrated do not deserve damnation but rather sympathy. Ungar's fundamental attitude to his figures is determined by empathy, even if this appears to be contradicted by the extremism and brutality of the situations in which he has placed them to allow their innermost feelings to be displayed more predominantly. These are existential situations, which the author has created using suggestive images and whose extraordinary plasticity almost tips over into surrealism. 123

The inner necessity which drove Ungar to search out such extreme situations, particularly as described in the novel _The Maimed_ , was never understood or accepted by the majority of his contemporaries or by a writer such as Nanette Klemenz. The reasons for this are perceived by Linke to lie in the defective 'benchmarks' set by critics:

All the negative comments were orientated against one 'benchmark', which were fundamentally based on aesthetical and ethical ideals of the German Classics. It is equally as unjust to measure Ungar against these as it was for Nanette Klemenz to measure him against her Christian-moral attitudes. Against the background of Ungar's healing purgatories, of the artistic truth, such benchmarks are simply inappropriate and insufficient. 124

Linke judged _The Maimed_ as 'an important document in the literature of our century', which he hoped 'will be made accessible to readers', but actually only regarded it as a prologue to _The Class_ :

It was imperative for Ungar to plumb the depth of hopelessness, before being able to illustrate a possibility of salvation, of exceeding the limits and thus setting the defence against the threats. 125

Assuming that the observation is correct that 'events in _The Class'_ , compared to the first novel were 'both more extrovert and also introvert' 126, he then develops a few interpretational guidelines which will be a mandatory part of our later analysis.

Besides Manfred Linke's postscript, the new issue of _The Class_ contains a bibliography of the principle literature compiled by Eva Pätkoväs, supplemented by Nanette Klemenz, and containing a series of mainly journalistic-literary and other short prose works, as well as some new translation notes. Linke's assertion that Pätkoväs's _Bibliography of Ungar's Publications_ contained all works, even those newspaper and journal essays which can only be accessed with the greatest of difficulties' , 127 was now proven to be precipitate, this can, however, not diminish the value of the bibliography. Without Pätkoväs's preliminary work, it would hardly have been possible for us to submit the present, most all-encompassing bibliography.

* * *

Spurred on by Manfred Linke' s committed comments on _The Forgotten_ , by the Mainz anthology and the re-publication of _The Class_ , a production of the highly effective stage comedy _The Arbour_ finally took place in August 1977. Karl Spanner directed the play for the Kleinen Ensemble Berlin 'meaningfully set between ivy and maple saplings' on the Spandau Open Air Theatre at the Tower of Julius. 128

The Arbour: A Comedy in three acts written by Hermann Ungarr

Kleines Ensemble Berlin, Open Air Theatre at the Tower of Julius. August 1977

Production: Karl Spanner

Colbert (Wolf Rüdiger Reutermann), Melanie (Ursula AIexa), Amelie (Rena Bauer), Modlizki (Karl Heinz Bauer), Kudernak (Karl Spanner) Ferdinand (Dieter Franke), Josefine (Imke Barnstedt)

The performance suffered under the single-facet characterisation of the 'Shifty and Deceitful Creature' and the recourse to old theatre clichés, but even more under the curious choice of setting with requirements and limitations quite unsuitable for a comedy. And thus the performance remained quite ineffectual, a quickly forgotten local event which was hardly registered by Berlin's _Daily Press_. Ungar's reputation and his play were damaged rather than helped. One critic said in conclusion:

Perhaps the author intended with this rubbish play to underline the contradictions between the 'polite' francophile middle-class culture and the rough-Moravian way of life... however, the industrious, painstaking actors did not find it easy to cover up the sound of the jets from Tempel Airport and the slimy comic elements of the script. The sole amusement was provided by the narrow-mindedness of the justifiably forgotten playwright. 129

* * *

The paths, signposted by Pätkoväs, Klemenz and Linke in their own individual ways, to scientific debates on Hermann Ungar and his works were trod unwillingly by the experts... expressed euphemistically. It any never come to serious discussions of the subject matter, and a suspicion of throwing a blind eye by the Germanistic fraternity might exist, if some literary historic and summarised publications had not been effective in achieving some recognition. Notable as well are the occasional reviews in scientific monographs which encouraged readers to learn more about Ungar.

With very few exceptions, such as the 4-volume German Literature Lexicon by Wihelm Kosch, 130 Hermann Ungar was simply ignored by authors of literary scientific reference books in the years from 1945 to 1970. He was rarely mentioned even in the context of German-Jewish or German-Bohemian literature summaries, and then only with superficial biographic details, with a list of work or a note on the support given by Thomas Mann and Stefan Zweig. Symptomatic for this are the brief Ungar passages contained in the otherwise important and fundamental works of Hans Tramer ( _The Three-Nation City of Prague_ , 1961) 131 and Harry Zohn ( _Participation in German Literature, in: The Jews of Czechoslovakia_ , 1968), 132 whilst Arthur Iloesser, who had already made critical observations on Ungar's writing during his lifetime, intentionally incorporated into his report on German-Jewish literature for Siegmund Kaznelson's compendia 'Jews in the German Culture' (1959) some profound statements about Ungar's 'bitter, chronic pessimism', about the 'peculiar abruptness and conciseness' of his language with its 'occasional' 'strange charm', about the 'inevitability', with which his 'characters and occurrences' 'follow their paths' ('as if they were controlled and drawn by a magnet') and about the 'highly promoted relaxation and illumination of its character and impact' of the play _The Arbour_.133

In no way can one speak of a fundamental change in Ungar's re-discovery as a result of the above: of course individual writers became interested and inserted their findings into literary historical writings: Irena Zivsa, for example, who in 1970 dallied with the idea of publishing Ungar's _Collective Works_ in collaboration with Herbert Wiesner, with an introduction and bio-bibliographic outline. Her Ungar article 134 which appeared initially in 1970 in Hermann Kunisch's _Handbook of German Contemporary Literature_ was then reproduced in a slightly modified form for the subsequent 1981 publication of the _Lexicon of German-Language Contemporary Literature_ compiled by Herbert Wiesner; 135 another version, reduced to just biographic details (without author credits) can be found in Manfred Brauneck's _Author Lexicon of German-Language Literature of the 20_ th _Century_ published in 1984.136 Irena Zivsa also published an meaningful short essay on the novel _The Maimed_ in Kindler's _Literature Lexicon_. 137

Zivsa's article in 1970 was based in the first - biographic – section on Pätkoväs's research and listed all known works in the second section dealing with literary output. So this article offered the most comprehensive summary of Ungar's work available at that time, but was never regarded as being independent. As most critics, Zivsa perceived the 'thematic accents', which 'define all Ungar's works', as being implicit in the title of the very first prose volume and therefore denying any tangible literary development:

The experiences made in childhood and youth are the keys for all later events, concentrating on unavoidable fate, on the question as to 'whether the deeds of a person are done according to an upper authority' [Ungar quote: DS]. A typical narrator is for example an inhibited, shackled person, who becomes the tool of his fears which drive him to commit his destructive deed and who, himself, is the real victim. This fear is rooted in social circumstances, which are to blame for the failure of a person who, as an outsider falls into the psychosis of self-delusion and which ultimately destroys him.

Ungar's stories and novels – she apparently sees the documentary reports and the dramas as being of lesser value – are seen by Zivsa as being 'diagnoses of a disturbed individuation process':

The humiliating awareness of poverty, ugliness and inadequacy as well as the first sexual shock experiences invoke a revulsion to oneself equal to self-hatred which discharges in the form of sadistic aggression. The subject of destruction of a human-being through hatred and fear is the carried out in the novel The Maimed (1923) right up to the final consequence of total dehumanisation.

Zivsa perceives a common feature in the novels in the characters of the protagonists, which seem to her to the 'models of an ''I'' disintegration', 'not determined by external forces but by an inner compulsion, by an inability to actively formulate an existence based in an unadorned illusion.'

The interaction of social and psychical determination, which had been particularly stressed by Manfred Linke, is not regarded as important to the subject by Zivsa. Her comments on the novel _The Class_ – which she considers to be 'weaker in impact' than the previous works, 'as the crass brutality and the novelistic peaking in the final catastrophe are missing' – but she reasons that _The Maimed_ is really a psychological novel, whilst 'social-critical positioning' dominates more in _The Class_ , whose advocate is the figure of the servant Modlizki:

The figure of this shadowy, timeless, ever threatening omnipresent servant... shows clearly that the problem of the distorted relationship to the people and surroundings is already set in the class-orientated structure of society quite independently from the individual psychological forms.

In 'brief, pointed character sketches of the posthumously published story volume _Colbert_ ' _s Journey_ ' she views, however, as being 'particularly memorable' Ungar's ability 'to analyse mental situations.'

Zivsa avoids classifying the work according to literary traditions or prevailing trends, she only refers to the proximity of Ungar to new objectivity when she writes:

Ungar defines the fate of his figures in detail. In his prose he combines sensitivity with passionless exactitude, which permits a distance to even the most revolting events. The macabre aspects of his stories are parried by iron.138

Only in1984, in Manfred Brauneck's _Author Lexicon_ , did she find in Ungar's 'typical narrator figure', 'this inhibited person, who is eventually destroyed by his own fears or by the psychosis of self-delusion', 'a close parallel to Kafka'.139

The comparison with Franz Kafka occurs frequently in Ungar literature and not without reason. Amongst other similarities is the fact that both authors made it extremely difficult for literary historians to pigeonhole them. Whilst Kafka thus gained fame as a unique phenomena, this difficulty in classification caused Ungar to disappear into obscurity.

He seemingly disappeared from the categories of his time and his writing was seldom included in style overviews. Occasional attempts to place Ungar within one certain literary movement, reflect the germanistic helplessness in face of contradictions. The works of Ernst Alker and Wolfgang Rothe are symptomatic here, as they struggled to place Ungar in more than one style classification.

As far as Alker was concerned, Ungar was representative of new objectivity, which, in comparison to Oskar Jellinek, with whom he shared the 'Jewish-Moravian prerequisites', but whose 'other side' brought recollections of 'the diction of open form, which gave the reader every possibility to spin the further storyline. Despite the clarity of each sparingly-used detail, a grey veil was drawn over the mysterious grotesque events, sometimes bordering on criminal, other times on emphasised everyday activities.' Hermann Ungar, 'the master of psychological intimacy and sympathiser of all wayward things', produced 'art without tension, with simplification of the complex, which just avoided being banal without actually becoming banal.' In this indefinite and vague manner Alker connects Ungar with Kafka:

He [Ungar: DS], whose perception of life did not contain any concept of a ghetto, reminds us a little of Franz Kafka, (the surrealist and mannerist with latent ghetto psyche) despite quite different diction.

Alkers assessment of the stories in comparison to the novels is quite surprising, an assessment which is unique in its treatment of Ungar's literature:

Only in small epic format was there something of duration, two stories combined into one volume Boys and Murderers (1920) ...furthermore the story The Wine Traveller (1930) as well as contributions to the posthumously published collective volume Colbert's Journey (1930). The author will make his literary reputation weaker as an artistic creator, but Ungar's unique abilities are exceeded by the considerable in-depth dimensions of his eerie illuminating novels focussing on the sexual, social-critical and religious problem world, The Maimed (1922) and The Class (1927).140

Contrary to Alker, Wolfgang Rothe clearly defined Ungar as belonging to the expressionism movement, 141 in his investigations into the theological, sociological and anthropological aspects of Expressionism (1977), following Karl Otten's anthology _Ego and Eros_ , went as far as to include Ungar in the 'rebels of expressionist movements', who 'never tired of preaching to the people, to self-important gentlemen and self-appointed tyrants about the virtues of obedience.' 142 Decisive factors for Rothe in this classification according to the trend of his work, are not formal linguistic but content-based categories, such as the impetus of explanatory, anti-bourgeois quotations, which appear, amongst others, in Ungar's description of the 'destructive influence of internalised 'order' on people, who out of fear of an open life, cut back their existence to a minimum of 'movement' thereby maiming themselves horribly'. According to Rothe, Ungar in _The Maimed_ rendered the most impressive description of this impact out of all expressionist writers above all other expressionist writers. 143 With this novel and with his main character Franz Polzer, Ungar created 'a paradigm' to demonstrate 'that every radical exclusion of innovation, every rejection of the unusual, unknown, unexpected, results in ''apperception refusal'' (Broch) and inevitably to psychic illness. The withdrawal into a closed life system and into imagination, in short: total order, will naturally end in self-destruction of the ''I''.'144 Rothe saw as typical expressionist the 'Case of virtual satanic craving for power', as described by Ungar in the story _A Man and a Maid_ and the late transformation of the protagonist seemed to him to be the 'expressionistic change':

The icy, forbidding manner of the brutal tyrant dissolved in the usual expressionist way (56): 'Kindness and humility are so overwhelming that the nasty murderer's heart melts in the warmth of happiness' [Ungar-quote: DS] 145

The observations of Alker and Rothe are, however, not mutually exclusive, - just like their assertions bear a certain measure of validity and place Ungar besides Kafka or Weiß, in the group of German realists in the time since Büchner and Grabbe or in Slavonic traditions. In some ways Ungar's works are examples of post-expressionist literature, of which the greatest proponents (Döblin, Musil, Jahnn, Broch, Kafka) no longer keep to one single style, instead the most different, even the most contradictory manage to merge into one very individual movement.

Beatrice Sandberg added the writer Hermann Ungar to the great names mentioned above in her expansive essay on novels between 1910 and 1930, published in 1983 in Helmut Koopmann's _Handbook of German Novels_. 146 Amongst the main characteristics of the new style novel she includes the 'change which started in last half of the century, the change from the auctorial to the more personal method of telling a story', in which 'the altered awareness of the writers, the scepticism of recognition of the world and its fictional presentation methods' are reflected. Not only do we see a huge increase in the number of 'I-novels with their deliberate reduction of narrator's points of view', but increasing in novels 'which not chosen the I-perspective, the view narrows down to a very personal aspect which in its extreme form may become a strictly enforced ''egoistic'' or mono-perspective, thus gaining in depth dimensions what it loses in perspective width (Broch, Kafka, Ungar etc).' 147

As far as Sandberg is concerned 'circumstances of life and individual characteristics in the works of Ungar display astounding affinity' when 'compared with Kafka':

The commonalities with their roots in the Bohemian-Moravian Region, in Judaism and into the charismatic area surrounding Dostoyevsky, reach as far as Ludwig Winder, Oskar Baum, Paul Leppin and Ernst Weiss. They are mainly to be found in the atmosphere, in the themes, but they also encompass details of literary techniques and linguistics/language. All these differences are valid and exist, but guarantee an individual character for each of their works.

A common background of 'gloomy Prague and Viennese Old Town Quarters' in the novels evoke a 'morbid-decadent atmosphere of distorted human communication' and bring 'mentally crippled characters to light'. The 'erotic-laden air' drives 'fears and sexual inhibitions into wild orgies of depraved sensuousness or into pathological feelings of guilt'; the 'borders between reality and unreality' are 'blurred': 'reality, non-form and Dreams melt into one.'

In Ungar's case, here above all in the novel _The Maimed_ , Sandberg perceives this theme 'at its most impression' as condensed into 'an atmosphere of impending disasters', and it is because of 'the distance to a terrifying contact which reminds them of Kafka', the use of language ('factual and indifferent', 'sometimes extremely laconic, paratactic') and the storytelling form ('the principle of an precise chronological account of the sequence of actions'). For them Ungar's works are superior because of the above mentioned, which he uses to an extreme and which become a special, exemplary benchmark for understanding Prague literature dating from the first decades of this century. Then last but not least they contradict the themes of Kafka's isolated writing:

Ungar's works are important documents of a literary connection of greater atmospheric, thematic and subject-related unity – a feature of the old Hapsburg fringe at the time. Ungar is given a bridging function between the less well-known authors of Prague's 'boheme' and its most important exponent Kafka, as he provides a clear anchor point in contemporary tradition (subject, language, theme).148

Sandberg's comments on Ungar's novella are less innovative and too orientated to those of Linke – however the undisputed merits of the author lie in other areas: in an unusual attempt to display the coordinates of Ungar's work, not to observe it as a singular phenomena but in relation to modern literature changes, new awareness forms and set in special Prague situations – in very few words she provides suggestions and tips to follow, should one wish to track the importance of Ungar's work in the context of literary history of our century.

Much more insignificant than the reviewed cursory texts so far, but symptomatic for the way in which Ungar's works were received after 1945, is the description from Josef Mühlberger in a _History of German Literature_ _in Bohemia 1900 – 1939_. Without paying any attention to more recent research, Mühlberger simply paraphrases the content of the story _A Man and a Maid_ and of the novel _The Class_ , and then refers to the assessments of Stefan Zweig, Thomas Mann, Max Brod and Oskar Loerke. He only makes his own evaluation of the stories contained in the posthumous volume _Colbert_ ' _s Journey_ , which he sees as 'a treasure trove of mature small prose one after another' – a surprising assessment, given the fragmentary structure of some of these texts.149

Is it perhaps possible that Muhlberger's knowledge of the work was somewhat scanty? If this is the case, then Albrecht Weber's knowledge must have been even more paltry, when he dedicated two sentences to Ungar in his literary-historical overview of 1979:

The Jewish lawyer (Dr.jur. Prague) and diplomat (in Berlin) Hermann Ungar (1893-1929) from Moravia (Boskowitz) darkened the world of fear and loathing virtually to the point of dehumanisation in his novels (Boys and Murderers, 1920; The Maimed (!), 1923) played out with the backdrop of Prague.

And as far as _The Maimed_ was concerned:

Karl Fanta, was crippled by gangrene, becomes aggressive and sadistic towards his wife due to his self-loathing and passionate craving for life, his friend Franz Polzer suffering from ordinariness, succumbs to the nightmare woman, a fading widow, whose murder remains unsolved. 150

Two things are interesting in Weber's terse notes: the higher assessment of the novel _The Maimed_ which agrees with Zivsa, and the positioning of the passage in his literary-history: for he places Ungar in the same category as Carl Einstein, Albert Ehrenstein and Kafka, i.e. to the 'surrealists' for whom reality becomes unreal, whose existential points of view focus on 'fear of the inexplicable, demonic, strange world'. 151 Weber, however, fails to expound on these thoughts, which actually reappear in a wider perspective in Beatrice Sandberg's writing, and goes no further than these empty platitudes.

The accusation of superficiality, even though factually accurate, cannot be made about the scientific research work of Gunter Reus ( _October Revolution and Soviet Russia in the German Theatre: For use as a historical theme in German Drama from 1918 until the present day_ : Bonn 1978) and Klaus Petersen ( _The Group 1925: history and sociology of a Writers' Association_ : Heidelberg 1981). Due to the objective of the work, Hermann Ungar could only ever play a marginal role in this subject and then only under the concrete aspect of the authors' positioning. These restrictions once again underline the value of the work relative to the way that Ungar was received, for these two depict the playwright in a new, unusual light and place him in relationships which were seldom seen in the monographic treatises. The image portrayed of Ungar is especially weighty, as the works are mainly aimed at literary scientists/researchers whose knowledge and acquaintanceship with the Moravian writer was only achieved in this way. A listing was as easily accepted as an accurate outline, but these cannot be corrected by an awareness gained from other research activities.

In Gunter Reus's dissertation about the subject of the October Revolution within German drama, he was primarily attempting to make a sympathetic reappraisal of social and revolutionary drama; only one excursus touched upon 'the distorted image of the Russian revolution in national socialistic periods' and includes Ungar's drama _The Red General_ (1928) here together with stories like Ehm Welk's _Taking Up the Cross_ (1929) or Hermann Kesten's _Babel or the Path to Power_ (1928).

As indicated in the title of the excursus, Reus, from his socialistic perspective, vehemently opposed concepts set out in bourgeois drama on the subject. It seems that the bourgeois literature turned, in a neo-realistic way, into 'society phenomena' in the 20s. In reality the 'lack of understanding of opposing and antagonistic, embattled class forces of the era, the lack of understanding of the fundamental economical and political legislation' was still prevalent and even the 'loss of a dimension of basic variability in social conditions' remained strikingly obvious. The 'political-economic structure of society' was not questioned, as ever it was all about middle-class drama (or actually about middle-class literature)about 'subjectivisation, psychologisation, and finally about substitution of social contradictions via the assertion of 'inner 'inner', 'eternal human driving forces'. 'Exactly those things, with which this drama – perhaps only sporadically and in a theatre-historic meaningless way – deals, with the subject of the social revolution', and this becomes 'even more obvious as the programmatic method using ideological trends.152

As an example of 'how quickly ... the reduction in revolutionary processes gives rise to subjectivised and psychologised features grotesquely and dangerously distorted', Reus picks out Ungar's _Red General_ , the story of a German-Czech Jew who 'in his youth was committed to zionism, and who achieved limited fame as an essayist and novelist'. 153 The foundation on which Reus built his argument is however totally rocky. As he never had insight into the stage manuscript of the drama (it was never published), he was only able to judge the content from a random collection of articles produced by press critics; only Manfred Linke's Introduction ( _Lost and Forgotten_ ) was at his disposal, but he apparently made no use of this in his assessment. Reus's comments reflect the dearth and limitations of his source materials. No analysis was made of the text, which is much more complex than the united political trend-orientated press echoes would suggest; the content of the play which was filtered out of the secondary texts was briefly introduced, the contemporary critiques were measured against his own understanding of the play and his own assessment was developed from that. Ungar as a person, the subjects which motivated him, which moved him to his subjectivised and psychologised illustrations, do not appear at all in the greater picture based in these one-sided and unbalanced texts. The dramatic structure is reduced down to the level of 'rivalry and racial conflict'154 between the Jewish intellectual Podkamjenski, the top officer in the Red Army, and the heavily-built plebian Brutzkin, the opposing contender.

Although Ungar stated the opposite in the programme booklet, Reus conformed to the opinions of the contemporary critics by identifying Podkamjenski and Brutzkin with Trotzki and Stalin – thus creating for himself the legitimate right to measure Ungar's play against historical reality and thereby with a clear conscience losing sight of the writer's real intentions. Although Reus admits that Ungar 'wished to have his work understood subjectively as not anti-communist', the 'reconstruction of the content and the reaction of the press' showed, however, that this could only 'be taken as a way to discredit the claims of the October revolution'.155 By means of the 'enforced association with the fate of Trotzki' Ungar fell into 'an area of fantastic and ultimately historic libellous concepts'. Trotzki's politics really were not, as suggested in the writings, contested by Stalin 'for reasons of revenge, envy, hatred, resentment or racism', it was a 'politically based' and not a 'personal, psychologically motivated action'. 'If Ungar ... represented Podkamjenski as being the human victim of his race (or of racism shown by others) and of his clear, politically superior intellect (invoking envy in others) and simultaneously by means of milieu and parallelisation (Trotzki was a Jew and intellectual, Stalin came from a countrified proletariat background), which provoked an association of internal political controversy in Russia in1927/28', then he '- whether consciously or not – put dangerous ideas of distorting and discrediting the ideological struggles in Soviet Russian in the 20s into the heads of his public'. But even worse, Ungar depicted 'his ''Trotzki''-figure as an individual caught in a tragic, insolvable conflict between the people the ''vengeful rabble'' and the lust for revenge shown by the ''tsarist reactionaries'' in order to demonstrate the lack of ability of the people to change, the mass'.

The tragedy in personal intercourse, the contempt and destructive ability of individuals by 'people of other persuasions', keeps to trends, will always and everywhere remain the same and will never be erased even measured again the highest objectives of social revolution.

The actual 'class conflict' shrinks to the level of 'a subjectivised and moralistic conflict of feelings and interest.'156

This is not the place to give way to the temptation of contradicting Reus's negative criticism by means of an analysis of _The Red General_. The problems in his Ungar-criticisms are obvious: they have nothing to do with a description of the writings, but only with the reactions from representatives of the left-liberal contemporary – they don't measure Ungar's drama against the intentions of the author but more against the personal, ideologically-based ideas of a socialist agitating drama in Brecht-style, and thus against aspirations which Ungar would neither have been able – nor wanted - to do justice to. Ungar became a Zionistic socialist during WW1 and unconditionally welcomed the October Revolution: his allegiance lay completely on the side of the revolution even in _The Red General_. It was this allegiance which made him follow the power struggles in Soviet Russia after Lenin's death with such anxiety, and he initially expressed his worries as a warning by choosing Russia and the Revolution as the subject for a contemporary play. Internal Soviet politics could never have been the real theme for him; existentialist anxieties and fears which beset him personally had to be expressed and these take precedence over the politics during the course of the play so that in the end, the Soviet environment only provides the kindling flame and the setting for the confrontations regarding his own position, the situation of an intellectual German-speaking Jew, living alone, who, since earliest childhood was faced with the anti-Semitism of the common people and who was never accepted by the Czechs or the Germans as their equal – this, although he attempted to serve the Czechoslovakian people as a Czechoslovakian diplomat, and the German people as a German-language playwright and author. It was quite natural to draw similarities between himself and Disraeli, Rathenau or Trotzki, even though he saw himself really as leading 'an average Jewish existence'. In Ungar's brief introduction to a scene in the play, which was published in the celebration script _Fifty Semesters of Barissia_ (1928), the real subject of this play becomes obvious:

The problem of a racial outsider, who through extraordinary circumstances becomes responsible for the fate of a nation, although this self-same nation regards him fundamentally as a foreign being: the fate of such a person who sought this responsibility and shouldered it with the best of intentions, like the Jews Disraeli and Rathenau, fates which have parallels even in the most average Jewish existence, which see themselves duplicated and copied in the three forms above, these have induced the author to create a drama on the conflict of a Jewish revolutionary , who accepts a leading position in the rebellion.157

When Ungar wrote in the programme booklet for _The Red General_ that 'the depicted conflict is feasible at any time and in any country, where a similar-minded mass of people confront an individual who is different from them, either in blood or soul', 158 he was not just creating a 'soft cover masterpiece' as some of his peers claimed and Gunter Reus re-iterated,159 but giving voice to the deepest convictions of someone involved. The fact that his contemporaries only thought of the current Soviet-Russian events is quite understandable and also that they did not comprehend the existential content of the play – but Gunter Reus should have been aware of it instantaneously (even if only via the 'Introduction' by Manfred Linkes) and understood Ungar's subjectivised and psychologised portrayal, perhaps without accepting the artistic intention but certainly the psychological allusion.

However correct Reus's accusation of the anti-historical setting is for historians, he totally misses the point of the concept of _The Red General_. The result is an ideologically distorted image, which – similar to the work done by Nanette Klemenz - makes less of a statement about the author as about the thought process of the person writing the treatise. The danger here lies in the fact that this distortion, which attempts to brand Ungar as a naive anti-communist, takes form and becomes the subject of later research.

Klaus Petersen's manuscript on the history and sociology of the Berlin Group 1925 is of more documentary value than Gunter Reus's dissertation. An initial attempt to draw attention to Group 1925 was made by Klaus-Peter Hinze; 160 but Petersen was able to avail himself of some unpublished posthumous material – particularly of the copious and fertile unpublished items from Adrien Turel - and thus define in a comprehensive and well-founded work the positions and rankings within this authors' association, to which Ungar also belonged, and which set the framework of the Weimar literary activities. 161

Ungar only played a marginal role in this manuscript, something who had to be inevitably included, whose name one came upon in lists of the group members, of participants in group meetings and as a signatory to public declarations, furthermore his name appeared on the article on 'socialistic preconditions for group cohesion'. Similar to the majority of the members, Ungar was a Jew from haute bourgeoisie circles, not born in Berlin, completed his law studies with a doctorate – contrary to the others he had a bread-winning occupation, came to Berlin relatively early for the first time (to study) and was a member of the PEN Club.

In his treatise on the internal sociology of the group, Peterson points out the friendship between Ungar and Kisch, the enmity between Ungar and Haas, the early acquaintanceship with Bernard Guillemin, and to the support which Ungar and other members of the group obtained from the association's editor Rudolf Leonhard as well as the kind reviews from Manfred Georg and Kurt Kersten.

The Appendix contains a time chart and a 'diagram of the participation of the writers belonging to the group', which illustrates Ungar's participation in group activities, plus the public declarations to which Ungar was often a co-signatory.

Ungar's perhaps disappointing low profile was justifiable. On the one side although he was a fairly regular participant at meetings and many activities, he rarely emphasised his own initiatives within the group, and on the other side the huge number of group members and the fragmented source of Petersen's material led to the group being primarily analysed as an entity. If questions regarding the inner sociology arise, generally the focus is placed on the main protagonists, namely the leading rivals Rudolf Leonhard and Alfred Döblin.

Despite the meagre information and data at his disposal, Petersen's work was very important for research into Ungar: it discloses how Ungar, the Czechoslovakian diplomat, entered into the literary organisation during his time in Berlin, and insight into his political persuasions. He might even have a positive influence on acceptance of Ungar: the ties which bound him into the Berlin literary milieu, his rapport (dealings) with authors such as Becher, Blaß, Brecht, Dublin, Ehrenstein, Leonhard Frank, Leonhard or Toller – hitherto only mentioned in literature 162 – is for the first time shown as documentary evidence: the image of a 'loner' has now become questionable, a new point of access has appeared.

* * *

The most pleasing result of the studies of Pätkoväs, Klemenz and Linke was the increased publication of Ungar texts, initiated mainly by Linke's anthology and the new version of _The Class_.

Viktor Zmegac then published in 1979 Ungar's story _Colbert's Journey_ (previously included by Karl Otten in his anthology _Ego and Eros_ in 1963) as part of his acclaimed anthology _The Great German Story Book_ and thus underlined its high importance.163 The following year this master novel appeared as the first Ungar text ever in Dutch translation in the volume _Voor het einde_ published by the Amsterdam publishing house Allert de Lange. _De_ _reis_ _van Colbert,_ translated by Willem van Toorn, is presented to the Dutch public as one of 33 representative German stories from the period 1900 to 1933. _Colbert's Journey_ , Ungar's most published, most successful work then became the most translated too. 164 One year later the novel appeared as the first Ungar text in the GDR, within the 3-volume anthology published by Wulf Kirsten and Konrad Paul _German-Language Stories 1900-1945_ by the publishing house Aufbau-Verlag. 165 Noteworthy here is the fact that the office story collection _People in the Office_ was published in 1984 containing 'Polzer', i.e. the first chapter of the novel _The Maimed_ which Linke had already included in his anthology. 166 This excerpt from the novel together with a few other Office Stories from Tucholsky or Fallada in1985 for the WDR radio series _Wir lesen vor_ (Reading Aloud).167

The above mentioned texts achieved a fairly large circle of readers because of their publication areas and the appropriate advertising by publishing houses. By far the most important, however, was the first re-issue of _The Maimed_ , which appeared in 1981 from the small Köln-Lövenicher Hohenheim publisher, edition Maschke, with a postscript from the author Harald Kaas. 168

Originally this novel should have appeared as a revised edition from Manfred Linke, in the Mainz Series classification of literature (Academy of Sciences and Literature) – the contract was signed in January 1980. But then Gunther Maschke surprised everyone by obtaining the rights and the Mainz people were soon persuaded to hand over the project (probably upon consideration of the low sales achieved with the new edition of _The Class_. The relative success of _The Maimed_ which showed itself in reviews and popular essays on Ungar, in the inclusion of the novel in Schwenger's anthology and in a radio essay, vindicated this decision.

Maschke's more productive promotional activities plus the more eye-catching exterior design of the book (a complete contrast to the plain-conservative cover of _The Class_ ) with an erotic drawing by George Grosz (whose verism was sometimes compared with Ungar's by contemporaries) were probably not the sole and most likely not the most important reasons for this limited success. A bigger role was played by the controversial thematic radicalism, highlighted in the reviews, by the non-taboo illustrations of sickness and death, of torture and sexuality, which seemed to add a new trend, a tendency to feelings of disillusionment in many readers. The novel _The Maimed_ , this 'dance of death' as it was called on the cover text, 'whose frightfulness lies in the flood of realism surrounding the events', this novel, which 'offers no metaphysical dimension, and which eventually provides consolation through it interpretation capabilities', in which the characters are pulled into the catastrophe, into the deadly spiral without escape by their own existence, could once again become the expression of an undefined final mood, a mirror of one's own fears, of one's own weakness of character, of one's own lack of escape or hopelessness in the face of apparently unstoppable social developments, which threaten to de-humanise mankind. It is no coincidence that one finds similarities with Ungar's work in the literature of the late 70s and early 80s, with authors such as Bodo Kirchoff, Gerhard Roth ( _Winter Journey_ ) or Wolfgang Komm ( _The House Idiot_ ), not perchance did Fritz J. Raddatz describe contemporary literature as Fear Literature in the same year as _The Maimed_ was re-published, with signs of 'dysfunctional relationships to dysfunctional people'.169 With this new edition of _The Maimed_ Ungar was shockingly regarded as a modern author.

One other favourable factor existed for a positive public acceptance of the novel. Its appearance fell into the period post-1965 in which the gradual development of interest in Prague German-language literature, besides Kafka, began to consolidate.

A changing trend, a previously non-existent interest in the particularly gloomy content of Prague literature also played a role, besides the discovery that Kafka could also be perceived within contemporary issues – and last, but not least, a certain amount of Kafta 'fatigue'. Significant for this awakening and flourishing interest was primarily the complete edition of the novels, stories and essays of Ernst Weiß (Frankfurt am Main 1982). However the first publication of Paul Leppin's novel _Blaugast_ (Munich 1984), the new issues of Ludwig Winder's novels _The Jewish Organ_ (Ölten und Freiburg 1.Br. 1983) and _The Crown Prince_ (Berlin, GDR, 1984), the prose of Victor Hadwiger ( _II Pantegan_ / Abraham Abt, Munich 1984) or Hermann Grab's _The Town Park and other Stories_ (Frankfurt am Main1985) all demonstrate the reversal in awareness, not to mention the diverse Meyrink and Perutz editions – a list which could be easily extended and in which the rediscovered _The Maimed_ claimed a prime position.

The Cologne new issue could thus have led to a breakthrough in Ungar's success. The reason it failed, was that the publishing house got into trouble and therefore the book was only on the market for short while before the remaining stock was banished to modern antiquarian book stores.

The text in the Cologne new issue adhered closely to the first edition: the unique character of the language, grammar and punctuation were retained. As with Ungar's first edition, Maschke dispensed with the print of the explanatory final chapter, which in 1924 appeared under the title _Fragment_ in the Rowohlt manuscript _Verse and Prose_ , 170 thereby remaining quite in keeping with Ungar's concept of the effectiveness of an open end.

The postscript from Harald Kaas, _Notes on Hermann Ungar_ , 171 was kept in the journalistic style, contained various errors and misinformation, but made skilled use of the available literature and within a very small space provides an overall informative summary of biography and work. The novel _The Maimed_ for which this postscript was written, was not particularly highlighted, never mind interpreted – a flaw is quite forgivable given the objective of providing general information.

But it is strange that Kaas made no reference to the previous works of Pätkoväs and Klemenz to which he owed a great deal, although he mentions the issues of Manfred Linke by name. He also stresses exclusively Ungar's 'virtual total obscurity' when he starts to delve into the awareness of the 'Moravian Jew', 'novelist and story-teller', 'dramatist and diplomat':

At grammar school he was the best in the class: in German literature, where he could have been top of the class, he was soon forgotten. Today he is lost in obscurity, as are Hadwiger, Leppin and Lemm , all marginal figures in the Prague German-language literature, but for none of them is this obscurity as strange, as inexplicable as it is for Ungar. There were, of course, the twelve brown years, but all the others who were submerged in the brown flood, have emerged again recently. Hermann Ungar remained in obscurity. The subject of a little gossip, a little whisper or two, not exactly popular with his Prague peers - Max Brod castigated him, in the 60s; Willy Haas did not remember Ungar with much pleasure. Ungar was really a kindly man, perhaps torn by his metaphysical doubts, at school he had always played the clown, somewhat of a melancholy prankster, whose charm made him popular with the girls: in fact, the opposite of the macabre heroes of his books.172

Even later Kaas was unable to find an explanation for the 'virtually total obscurity of the author'; 173 and he was equally unable to throw any light on the forceful contradictions between his orderly life and chaotic writings – and it is here he formulates an interesting, innovative theory as a key to understanding Ungar's work, but perhaps in another sense as was intended.

Assuming his 'characteristic hypochondria' to which witnesses bear attest, his self-doubts as a writer, his 'distrust' of the 'honour and love shown to him', ('there was only one person persecuting him – he, himself), 174 assuming these psychological 'mutilations', the cause of which was not obvious to Kaas – and, as he claimed – also not obvious to Ungar, he defines the writer as a psychopath, compares him to Otto Weininger, with whom he shares 'panic sexual fear' and 'fear of crime', and sees the work as a 'pseudo-biography', as a 'defence mechanism' against 'his own neurotic fears'. He sees the key to all this in two sentences within the story _A Man and a Maid_ :

'I was a new beginning. I grew up without tradition.' A new beginning, without any traditional, so to say a clean sweep and, as such, the complete opposite from Ungar's own youth! Ungar's capability of embodying own neurotic fears in the heroes in his stories functioned like a defence mechanism. The explanation is there for every sexual failure: workhouse, beatings, a drunken father.... It is absolutely clear, once one accepts that Ungar was writing a pseudo-biography: It did not actually happen, but it would fit in with my person!

This 'defensive behaviour pattern' increased 'until it reached paranoid heights in _The Maimed_ , Ungar's piece de resistance'. Ungar's endings always included 'compulsive or paranoid behaviour' of the protagonists, 'resulting from traumatic childhood experiences', which the playwright himself 175 never had. Whilst the 'amusing precision of Kafka, his unceasing neutrality' give shape to the parables, whilst it 'is completely false' to claim that 'Kafka's novels and prose should be read as case histories' ('too much psychoanalytical thinking has already been wasted on him'), it is 'not only legitimate, but quite unavoidable to see the psychopathological character of numerous texts written by Ungar':

Many of his figures are exemplary for certain forms of illness. Polzer's story in The Maimed is a case history of the most meticulous precision, admittedly limited to phenomenological aspects, with total renunciation of symbols and interpretation. 176

Like Ungar, Kafka had 'pushed the boundaries of the horrors of everyday life too far'. Kafka, however, 'tipped it over into a parable, whereas Ungar turned it into the psychopathic grotesque, into demonology of a neurotic chamber of mirrors'. 177

Kaas's claims, his thesis on Ungar's ability to find determinants which 'do not play a role in his own life', 178 are doubtless notable – they quite correctly indicate the costumed, masked and role play which were the core of Ungar's works. His claims regarding psychopathography, how ever much they may be rooted in the grotesque forging forward into extremism, however logically they may explain Ungar's meagre success with the public, are considered hasty and questionable. Apart from the fact that a certain level of neuroticism is always in the personality of a hero in modern novels – and for good reason (Kafka himself is an excellent witness of this fact) Kaas never answered the question of biographical-psychological causes of Ungar's pathology and draws his conclusions solely from the book. In doing so, he only gives credence to those phenomena which fit into his psychiatric concept, ignores the changes in Ungar's writing and totally overlooks the fact that his works should not only be read from the psychological point of view. In another place he stresses the social-critical content of the documentary report _The Murder of Captain Hanika_. 179

It is this claimed pathology which is responsible for Ungar's special position within the Prague Circle according to Kaas, ('He had nothing to do with the early expressionism of Hadwiger and Leppin; nor with Kafka, Brod or Oskar Baum.') 180 as stated in contemporary literature ('similarly pared to the bone prose, in which - like Dostoyevsky – nature, everything blossoming, flourishing, with all the green removed rigorously, Ungar provided a form of awareness, a method of seeing, feeling, sensing, unlike anything else achieved by his contemporaries.'): 'Is it not easy to find writers similar in personality to Ungar?' 181

Nevertheless he admits that (Jewish) 'law' in Ungar's works plays a similar role to the one it plays in Kafka's writings, 182 and that Ungar, 'as so many German writers of Austrian origin – including Robert Musil, Ernst Weiß, Franz Kafka, Rilke or Werfel in his early days - provides an image which represents the world: boarding schools, classrooms, offices, prison cells', 183 also that the cool distanced language reminds one of Camus's _Strangers_ , 184 and that 'the working ethos displays a secret affiliation between Ungar and Thomas Mann' (whom Ungar respected greatly) 185 , and that 'suddenly a ray of light from Kafka's world seemed to fall upon Ungar's work', and finally that Ungar's heroes 'always celebrated literary history – for example in one of the greatest novels of our century, in Elias Canetti's _Deception_ : Peter Kien, the unfortunate Hero of this novel, is in Ungar mode.' 186

These clearly observed similarities should have prevented Kaas from rashly classifying Ungar as an isolated, unequalled pathological case. Ungar's extremism is quite understandable, given the background shown in his biography and of the period. The factors which determine Ungar's works were similar to those major influences on the work of other contemporary authors with a similar background, such as Ernst Weiß and Ludwig Winder.

Of all the reviewers of _The Maimed_ only Helmut Heißenbüttel reacted critically to Kaas's postscript and to the thesis regarding Ungar's psychopathology. 187 He also drew comparisons in his 'recommendations' ('This is not an analysis, but only a recommendation to read that, which has been forgotten'), comparisons between Ungar and Kafka ('both German-language authors from Prague, both Jews, both living in similar employment relationships, Kafka (1883-1924) ten years older than Ungar (1893-1929), the latter died five years later, one was 41, the other only 36 years old'), less objective and than subjective in thoughts of similar reading experiences:

I was drawn down both times into the story, simultaneously fascinated and horrified, in unconditional agreement, as if I had been caught in something hidden, both secretive and eerie.

The fact that 'one of them became unquestionably famous, the other totally unknown' is seen by Heißenbüttel as 'a gap in the public opinion', but he also ascribes this to 'the cautious praise from Thomas Mann and the verdict from Stefan Zweig', who 'sensed in Ungar a terrible preference for....a bad smell, for miasma of the soul, for stale, sweaty, impure situations'.

Contrary to Zweig and in decisive contradiction to Harald Kaas, Heißenbüttel perceives the novel _The Maimed_ not so much as a 'case history' of sickness, but as a parable in Kafka's meaning, 'not cheerful (how when is Kafka cheerful?) but of terrifying precision':

Pathology would only be possible, if one could read the story psychologically. But even Thomas Mann's The Black Swan, in a distant comparison, could not be regarded as being psychological, only as a parable. This book has nothing to do with 'stale, sweaty, impure situations', but everything to do with fundamentals. Polzer's story is the story of the horrors of libido.

The configuration of the novel becomes an 'excruciating limited model of libidinous relationships' in which the parable takes place.

There is no doubt that Heißenbüttel's thesis is interesting and worth being considered in an analysis of _The Maimed_ , but in its exclusiveness – which on the other side determines its innovative value – it is just as problematic as Kaas's opposing thesis. Not only does blinkered Heißenbüttel reject the psychological content of _The Maimed_ , he also rejects the concept of the novel as a social study ('like Döblins slightly later story of the _Two Friends and their Poison_ , which drills down into the innermost areas of libidinous energy'). Truth, as so often, is not so easy to reach and has to be found between extremes.

The secondary texts of Harald Kaas and Helmut Heißenbüttel, both with 'a thin scientific base and suffering from uncertain knowledge of the works', nonetheless provide outstanding evidence of the uncertain understanding of Ungar's writings, especially of _The Maimed_ and also of the apparently uninterrupted high esteem in which Ungar was held by other literary figures.

The review by Günter Blöcker: with its shrill headline 'Sex, Fear and Revulsion' 188 articulated the ruination of the normal reader.

As members of a generation of readers conditioned by habitual contact to abominableness, we can well understand that the initial reactions to the book's appearance mainly were those of disgust.

Although Blöcker does not dispute the literary ranking of Ungar (with the usual comparisons to Thomas Mann), particularly with regard to the main work _The Maimed_ ('a bourgeois bestiary with which the author is far in advance [not only in time] of later grand masters of distastefulness, from Malaparte to Günter Graß'), he states that, 'the limits of such extensive praise/vows' have to be set and willingly endorses the thesis of Harald Kaas:

Hermann Ungar ... abandoned himself to the unusual and oddities with an exclusivity, which gives his stories some obsessive, constrictive, monomanic features.

Ungar's psychopathology also impacted negatively on his illustrative ability:

Ungar is not a descriptive writer, he is a writer who makes statements. The wild, grotesque macabre does not let loose his aesthetic forces, his style is rather one of extreme dryness and barrenness, a bald, non-sensuous prose, which is unable or unwilling to offer any emotional commitment, which loses nothing in extreme objectivity through either existential horrors or black humour, which neither (like Kafka) sublimates him to a parable (as in Celine) nor driven him upwards in hallucinatory super-reality.

Sobriety and anti-rhetoric can be very effective style elements, provided they are supported by strong internal tension, provided they are perceived as controlled abundance, as a controlled fire. But with Ungar they only provide an impression of lacking form, a deficiency of literary vitamins, more pathography than genuine novelistic art. One has the uncomfortable feeling that the author is out of his depth. The material content with all its offensiveness is left to its own devices, slips back on itself and soon results in boredom and fatigue.

Behind Blöcker's subjective judgement is the classic ideal of a 'genuine novelistic art' in the sense of Thomas Mann, which deals with its theme in exaggerated artificial language and tectonics and whilst not totally avoiding the 'eccentric, even grotesque' (Thomas Mann) includes the 'totality of humans' in a comforting measured way. Hermann Ungar could not and would not subscribe to this ideal, long-since perceived as increasingly dubious, of objectivised, mostly auctorial depiction, the peaceful world awareness and self-assurance of an admired and envied Thomas Mann, the inner distance to the suffering experienced by the characters in his novels were just as foreign to him as the artificial and elaborate rhetoric. Ungar's qualities lie in radicalisation, with which he literarised his understanding of himself and the world until it became grotesque, as well as in the effective contrast between extreme content and dry language. As with many contemporary comments on _The Maimed_ including those of Nanette Klemenz with incorrect benchmark orientation, Blöcker's criticisms ignored the qualities or refuses to acknowledge them.

In Matthias Spindler's review, he refers mainly to the content of the novel, which, like Kaas, he perceives as a 'case study in psychic deformations' and in closing summarises:

Hermann Ungar, who recorded this case study of psychic deformations with masterly linguistic coolness and precision, is one of the wrongfully forgotten writers of German-language literature. During his lifetime...his work achieved very little success ...Really hardly credible, if one takes this novel as a basis of his work, which has nothing to fear from Franz Kafka. Hermann Ungar is a worthwhile discovery. 189

Symptomatic for the attention and impact of the new edition of _The Maimed_ is a radio manuscript written by Rita Mielke in the year 1984, _On the rediscovery of the Prague German-language literature_. 190 Besides the huge edition of Ernst Weiß's work, the new publication of Ludwig Winder's _Jewish Organ_ and Rahel Sanzara's first work on _The Lost Child_ she uses Ungar's rediscovered novel as a sign that gradually eyes are being opened up to 'numerous other writers' besides Kafka, 'who also made a contribution to the creation and characteristic development of the Prague German literature.'

Mielke answered all the general questions about definition and positioning of the Prague German-language with the usual theories, back to Paul Eisner's reviews of Eduard Goldstücker, according to whom this literature bears witness to a 'mental upheaval and awakening process' (Mielke); one single 'glance into the texts' shows, 'that the focus is always on the same questions', questions, which – and here Mielke fails to produce evidence of a quote supposedly derived from an essay from Margarita Pazis 191 – 'circles around the positioning of the I (ego), around the influence of the surrounds on the I (ego) and – parallel to this – the relationship to fellow human-beings, around the ethical duty to the deed imposed on the person and the task he must fulfil within the world plan. Whether their main characters are God-seekers, justice fanatics, intrepid and persistent explorers searching for truth or purity, they are all doing it with a single minded objectiveness, which transcends the personal, goes far beyond ''self redemption''. This mental image characterises the non-assessable communalities and inherent laws of the circle of writers; it is the origin and the background of their literary substance, the force behind their creativity.'

The works of Weih, Winder, Ungar and Sanzara demonstrate, in Mielke's opinion 'diverse possibilities of processing these common subjects and queries in a literary way' _:_

In an exemplary way they allow something of the colourfulness of the Prague German literature to peep though, which, despite this idea of communality, derives its multifaceted complexity from the individual methods of forming, shaping and setting accents used by the different authors in their texts.

In her analysis of the individual authors, Mielke does not go beyond the initial references, in the section on Hermann Ungar she mentions some biographical cornerstone dates, illustrates the ambivalent contemporary reaction to _The Maimed_ using the oft quoted critique of Stefan Zweig 'it is magnificent and monstrous...', and hints that she, like Helmut Heißenbüttel, perceives the novel to be a parable on sexuality and power:

_In_ The Maimed _Ungar raises the questions about human sexuality and about the power which sexuality has over human beings in situations where it faces them, separated from all other needs and incentives, as a threat, as a hostile principle._

Similarly to Harald Kaas, however, she sees something monomanic, something reduced in this. Only after having written _The Maimed_ (she states), did Ungar develop 'a considerably more complex, encompassing spectrum of ideas and themes'. His thoughts moved 'into set pattern lines, whose focus was placed particularly on social and religious issues', whose foundations were humanistic:

He never saw true salvation for humans as coming from the various faiths and beliefs, nor from new political ideologies. In his eyes this salvation would have to start far beyond these concepts, with unlimited contact from person to person, within a free belief in an Almighty and unhampered by institutionalisation.

He, however, died, 'without having been able to formulate his ideas and without having in any way implemented his wide-ranging, literary plans.'

Late reactions to the re-issue of _The Maimed_ and, at the same time, symbols for re-awakening interest in Prague German-language literature, are perceived in the 1984 journalistic-literary essays by Hans Heinz Hahnl 192and Hans J. Schütz .193 Both works are pleasantly based on subjective commitment, but are irritating in their interdependency and – valid perhaps mainly for Hahnl – in their occasional inaccuracies or misrepresentations.

Ah, if only the efforts of Pätkoväs, Kiemenz and Linke had never existed, says Hahnl in his collection of essays on 'forgotten literary figures' of Austria, celebrated by Irena Zivsa as the 'sole literature scientist to remind us about. Hermann Ungar', and thus orientates himself correctly on her articles in his studies, partly concentrating on the selection of the words, partly on the formulation, but constantly depicting Ungar's writings as 'forgotten' as if there had never been any re-issues of _The Class_ , _The Maimed_ ('Ungar's main work') and as if Linke's anthology had never existed. Hahnl writes 'a single (personal?) word on the biography', but quotes Kerr, Thomas Mann, Guido K. Brand, Max Brod, Hans Demetz and of course Zivsa, whose deliberations on _Boys and Murderers_ and _The Maimed_ he faithfully paraphrases. The latter is only partially valid for his comments on _The Arbour_ – all the other works are if at all mentioned then only by name ( _The Class_ , _Colbert_ ' _s Journey_ , _The Red General_ ). But as a result of his knowledge of the current Viennese literature and theatre culture, he is able to find his own voice and give vent to his own opinions, _The Arbour_ – 'a bourgeois satire, which does not content itself with making fun of the Moravian crowd, but also mocks all aspiring 'middle class proletariat' – he sees as a play, 'which will be the easiest to rediscover'; and states that initial attempts have been made:

A few years ago, on the recommendation of a producer, a Viennese theatre director announced a new production. Nothing became of it. During the programme conference, the theatre director declared: 'You will not know the author, his name is Hermann Ungar'.

Actually no one had heard of him. How would they? 194

In the same year as Hahnl's essay appeared, Michael Kehlmann would finally able to implement his idea of producing _The Arbour_ under the direction of Ernst Haeusserman at the Theatre in der Josefstadt.

More powerful and controversial than Hahnl's essay was the attempt of Hans J. Schütz to explain 'why it is so easy to dislike the Prague playwright Hermann Ungar'. Within the framework of his _Börsenblatt_ series on forgotten German writers, in which he also published essays on other rediscovered Prague writers such as Hermann Grab or Victor Hadwiger, he included Ungar in the group of 'talented dramatists and brilliant novelists', but as a 'forgotten member of the Prague literary set, despite the re-publications, and queries whether 'it is yet decided' if 'their contribution to the German literature of the 20th century can be simply ignored'. He stresses his hope 'that the chapter on Ungar has not yet been concluded' and points to the available Ungar works published by the Mainz Academy and the 'new edition' of _The Maimed_ which has 'already disappeared from the market', without forgetting to draw attention to Staudte's productions, to the articles from Irena Zivsa, to Nanette Klemenz's dissertation and the portrait by Heinz Hahnl.

He broadly follows 'Harald Kaas's empathetic epilogue', particularly in sharing the thesis that Ungar's texts are 'medical case histories and not parables like Kafta's'. Contrary to Blöcker, who also shared Kaas's views, Schütz did not consider that the 'constancy with which Ungar depicted the dark side of human psyche', 195 could in any way detract from the presentation.

Ungar writes in a cool and factual way, he never deviates nor embroiders, his prose is brief and concise, he dispenses with ornamentation. Despite this, the content of psychic penetration is extraordinary and the whole atmosphere is pervaded with suggestive force. 196

Schütz does not make the literary quality responsible for the low level of success of Ungar, but rather his solitariness ('He kept to the edge of the Prague set and circle, he remained a solitary figure dealing with specific subject material') and also the radicalism of his works, which necessarily would have been regarded as 'repelling' by the 'wider public':

Within Ungar's works, the readers would have come across compulsive neurotics, psychopaths, cranks and sexual deviants, also confronted with people tortured by fears, obsessions, sexual fantasies and traumas, then guided into chambers of horrors whose gloominess was seldom lit by absurd Kafkaesque comedy. 197

Schütz delivers the resume halfway through his essay:

A complex author, certainly, who stood on the threshold of his career, belonging neither to the category of Expressionism nor to New Objectivity, and without being a Kafka imitator. He was not seen as a multi-talent like Max Brod, but was a prose writer, whose inexorable self-criticisms often ran counter to his creative productivity. 198

Schütz neither introduced his game of opinions into his assessment nor into his brief, non-autonomous paper on Ungar's life, on the content of his work and the contemporary reception of various innovative aspects; but his portrayal of Ungar belongs to the most important texts of the latest acknowledgements. In many of the often read publications this essay gave a skilful, appealing overview, subjective and empathetic, complete with flaws and errors (the worst one being the fact that the attached photo did not, as claimed, depict 'the solitary author' Hermann Ungar, but the young, happy and beaming Jura Soyfer) and which definitely created growing interest in Ungar from a new crowd of readers.

* * *

To create this growth in interest and attract new readers for this 'very interesting inter-wartime author', 199 above all, to reinstate him in people's minds as a dramatist, was also the intention of Michael Kehlmann, when he decided to produce Ungar's comedy _The Arbour_ as the last play during the season 1983/84 at the Viennese Theater in der Josefstadt.

The Arbour – Play in three acts written by Hermann Ungar

Theater in der JosefStadt, Vienna. Season 1983/84

Direction: Ernst Haeusserman

Production: Michael Kehlmann

Stage Management: Pavel Bilek

Costumes : Eva Sturminger

Music: Rolf Wilhelm

Colbert (Kurt Heintel), Melanie (Grete Zimmer), Amelie (Flora Csulak), Mod1izki (Heinz Marecek), Kudernak (Georg Hartman), Ferdinand (Siegfried Walther), Josefine (Dolores Schmidinger), Marie (Barbara Schmidt)

As Kehlmann wrote in the programme, he had intended to 'produce this comedy long ago, several years ago to be precise, since a relative of my mother's, a man called Egon Schall who initially belonged to the Prague set, later to the Berlin Circle around Hermann Ungar, made me aware of this author and his works.' 200

A fixed 'concept' as suggested by the press, was actually never in Kehlmann's mind:

This fabulous man Ungar, with his humour, his apocalyptic depth of vision, his ability to bring these nasty characters to life, and to introduce them to a world which hardly recognised him – that was my concept. And his occasional similarity to Horväth, my favourite author. Ungar is one of the biggest talents of this period and is virtually unknown...that interested me. 201

The project was delayed, for all the usual internal theatre reasons, and the fact that Hahnl was able to write in his essay 202 that the premiere 203 took place on June 14, 1984, despite having been forgotten again in Vienna in the meantime, was probably not only due to the relative success of _The Maimed_ and the re-awakened interest in Prague German-language literature. It also gave Kehlmann, the director the theatre Ernst Haeusserman and the dramatist Gustav Kropatschek the necessary incentive and courage to select this relatively known play by a relatively unknown playwright as an 'entertaining summer piece', as the final premiere of the season 204 – worthy of particular note, since the Theater in der Josefstadt was perceived as being a playhouse in the tradition of Max Reinhardts, which rarely recognised another king besides the audience.

Kehlmann's production necessarily reflected this concept of the theatre, which not even the producer could get rid of totally. He dispensed with the foreground of avant-gardism, adhered closely to Ungar's text, but allowed the actors, particularly Heinz Marecek as Modlizki, Kurt Heintel as Colbert and Flora Csulak as the daughter Amelie, to appear on a revolving stage, as used in the initial performance in the Berlin Theater am Schiffbauerdamm, to perform freely on the cheerful stage set by Pavel Bilek and to overplay their roles in the usual caricaturised comedy manner. The result was 'a real treat, not just a culinary treat which the connoisseur could permit to melt in his mouth' – as Kehlmann himself wrote in the programme,205 but which unfortunately also meant that part, if not all, of Ungar's satirical aggressiveness was lost, as Alfred Pfoser complained:

Michael Kehlmann and the ensemble took fright at the radicalism of The Arbour and turned it slowly and inescapably into the Elysian Fields of unproblematic boring stuffiness and zany pranks, thus delivering well-mannered entertainment. 206

The Austrian press paid a great deal of attention to Kehlmann's production, but not because of the play itself. Ernst Haeusserman died on June 11 shortly before the premiere. Hailed widely as 'one of the most important, multifaceted and high profiled personalities on the Austrian cultural scene', as per the obituary from the Josefstadt Theater. _The Arbour_ , the rehearsals of which he was still able to attend, thus became the first play to premiere after his death. It also attracted a great deal of attention because both the producer Kehlmann and the main actor Heinz Marecek were potential successors (albeit the least promising candidates).

The playwright Hermann Ungar, widely regarded as an Austrian 207, was known to very few of the critics, and even fewer knew about his gradual reintroduction. Gunther Martin asked:

Who was Hermann Ungar? One of those forgotten authors (Austrian literary history of this century contains numerous such figures), whose names only appear briefly in lexicon notes. Some disappeared into a maelstrom in 1938, others in 1945, and they never reemerged. 208

Christoph Hirschmann imparted his knowledge:

The unjustifiably virtually forgotten son of Czechoslovakian-Jewish parents was a playwright without friends or acclaim. Scarcely anyone took any notice of his literary ambitions and he spent scarcely any time in a literary clique. Ungar was a loner. 209

Kehlmann's 'expert and orderly, if perhaps rather unexciting' production 210 in view of its background of the scandalous success of the original Berlin performances, just had to provoke questions about the contemporary setting of _The Arbour_ , questions which received a generally negative response. Many critics hastily cited the comedy aspect of the production as having pleased the public and who did not want it ruined by Ungar's 'nasty wrath' 211 as well as the dusty atmosphere of _The Arbour_ – thus displaying an obvious lack of knowledge of both the play and the author.

In her critique, Irmgard Steiner extended her opinion of Ungar's 'bourgeois satire' to cover all his other works and explained the fact that the 'Moravian playwright and diplomat' 'during his short life' and later 'attracted little comment', and based this on her experiences of the premiere, which to her 'seemed in its entirety to become an evening totally lacking in enjoyment':

Something that in the year 1929 might have seemed fairly modern and daring in its permissiveness, is now boring. The verbose openly displayed social criticism is as yellow and shrivelled as the 'garden foliage' and the events taking place within the stage arbour concerning sex and jokes about underwear and knickers fell truly flat.... the satire lacks bite and does not have the deeper meaning it pretends to. 212

Gunther Martin thought _The Arbour_ was a 'dust-ridden play' as well. In the opinion stressed by the programme pamphlet 213, that Ungar intended to display an ironic view of _The Arbour_ -style of writing 214, he stated, 'there is hardly any discernible difference' between 'the original and the irony', Ungar's 'thorny hedge camouflaged with blossoms' has 'itself become an arbour, crumbling, aged and weathered by the snows of many past years'.

How, one asks oneself today, how can years after Schnitzler's Dances and Zuckmajayer's Contented Vineyard this pseudo Feydeau comic erotic play be seen as a Berlin theatre scandal, for which Alfred Kerr demanded an apology brandishing a fencing foil? 215

Hans Haider was similarly pettifogging:

Not green, red, black or golden – but a streaky mess, withered and bent, this is Hermann Ungar's Arbour. 216

And even Reinhard Hampel, who otherwise thought it a 'worthwhile play', thought that _The Arbour_ had been 'dredged up' again, and noted that 'a certain patina' rendered the play 'somewhat antiquated despite some modern aspects.' 217

Other voices, such as that of Alfred Pfoser – who objected to the production as they felt 'the nasty radicalism' of _The Arbour_ had been played down, were in the minority:

The cold light of satire, in which Hermann Ungar placed his characters, pardoned nothing. The Arbour touches the roots of hypocritical middle-class intellectualism. Even those served are suffering from the continuously repeated humiliations of distorted delusion. Not per coincidence was a famous novel by this author called The Maimed. When the book came out in Berlin at the end of 1929 this equivalent of Brecht's Threepenny Opera guaranteed a scandal in respect to an anti - 'middle class way of life'. The Josefstadt Theatre now diffused the ferocity of the attack: Kurt Heintel rendered the pensioner ineffectual, turned him into a muttering, weird and strange person. Grete Zimmer, as his wife, added a little Viennese timbre. Georg Hartmann emulated Prussian severity. In this way everyone attempted at his own discretion to develop a picturesque caricature. Uniformity disappeared. Siegfried Walther experienced great moments as a Parisian painter, Dolores Schmidinger's appearance was cut to a brief, commercial conversation and – in tune with her availability, she uses her operetta-like frilly dress to seduce. That is typical: The terrible wrath of Hermann is exaggerated. 218

'Ungar carries his characters too far, comic decisiveness makes an appearance, his figures are enroute from Sternheim; moving towards Horväth', said Kurt Kahl, and: 'the products seems less sophisticated than the former scandalous play really was.' 219

Paul Kruntorad made a similar assessment:

The language still has the ability to shock today, that is, it would shock, if the producer had not toned it down considerably; Kehlmann's production plays down any radicalism that exists, even if it is a confused approach to moral criticisms, thus bringing it down to the type of gentle comedy that is usual in the Josefstadt Theatre. The audience doesn't feel provoked, in fact they react in a confused way. In some ways that is an educational introduction to feasible risk-taking in the Josefstadt - rather than a termination of conventional comedy. 220

But it was not only the concessions which Kehlmann and his actors made to the entertainment-loving Josefstadt audience which caused problems. Ungar's instructions were disregarded: 'this should not be played in deadly seriousness'; 221 and Kehlmann ignored other intentions of Ungar: instead of life lies, turning the 'fixed ideas' of each character into the real theme of the play ('one man's Froatbeullen is another man's Louvre'), 222 he repeated, if less severely, Wolfgang Staudte's mistakes and worked in a biased way on the class conflict between Modlizki - the 'philosopher with the very complex world image', and Colbert, 'the secretly lecherous representative of middle class intellectualism'. 223 In fact – according to Eleonore Thun - Ungar fired 'his poisoned darts... in every direction, aiming for disclosure in all levels. This was not suitable for class conflict':

Kehlmann was unable to withstand the temptation to approach the rebellious actions of the servant with one eye on the bourgeois world. Regardless of the fact that from a psychological point of view nothing could then possibly be right. The use of exaggeration changes the bourgeoisie into figures of ridicule, painfully risible. Kehlmann covered everything up to such a degree that Ungar's disclosures went into personalities. Although Kehlmann's concept was offered on high artistic levels...nothing changes the fact that it was wrong. This play with its curious text excerpts is of far greater importance than indicated with this performance. 224

The mainly negative criticisms of the press obscured the fact that Kehlmann's production of _The Arbour_ was still imbued with sufficient strength to dismay the audience: but the play with nasty characters, all far removed from the desire of the audience to identify with them, could never achieve its intended success.

Despite all justified criticisms, Kehlmann's production (which was far more important than the Viennese performance in 1954 or the Berlin Open Air spectacle in 1977, and far closer to original than Staudte's television adaptation in 1969) belongs to the most important attempts to recall the writer Hermann Ungar to general modern memory. It reached an audience, which otherwise would have had great difficulty in finding a path to Ungar, and almost certainly gained a number of new readers of Ungar's prose.

* * *

The production of _The Arbour_ in the Josefstadt Theatre awoke hopes and also fears. Hopes that more theatre performances would disclose the comedy aspects, and fears that in future it would only be regarded as pure entertainment theatre. Both expectations were confirmed by a performance of the Linz Cellar Theatre on July 2, 1986 within the programme of the 5th 'Summer Plays', with the premiere staged in the idyllic arcade courtyard of the Linz Landhaus. Special attention was paid to this event, as the Austrian authoress who became famous overnight in 1977 with her very first novel How Does the Salt get into the Sea, was producing a play written by another author for the first time. She was supposed to have taken over as assistant director for Kehlmann's Viennese production, but she left rehearsals when she noticed 'that Michael Kehlmann did not appear to sense the subtleties and fragrance of this high level prank'. When Helmut Ortner, the manager of the Linz Amateurbühne, was looking for a 'summer play' she suggested _The Arbour_ with the request that she took on the production'. 225

The Arbour: a Comedy by Hermann Ungar

Linz Kellertheater (Cellar Theatre) Summer Season 1986

Direction: Helmut Ortner

Production: Brigitte Schwaiger

Technical Management: Walter Fröller

Stage Management: Walter Fröller, Martin Scheiber

Costumes: Hans Hamberger

Colbert (Helmut Ortner), Melanie (Sielinde Ziegler), Amalie (Ingrid Schiller), Modlizki (Wolfgang Ortner) Kudernak (Theo Helm), Ferdinand (Jürgen A. Zweythurm), Josefine (Sabrina Wenzel), Marie (Margit Holzhaider)

Brigitte Schwaiger had long-term connections to the little Cellar Theatre in Linz. She trained with Hubert Mann at the Bruckner Conservatory, spent some time there as an 'up and coming' actress then in 1972/73 accepted a role in Macchiavelli's Mandragola, before staging her first theatre play Nestwärme ( _Warmth of Family Life_ ) here in 1976. Even though the venue was so close at hand, the press justifiably queried 'why is she making her debut here, and why with that play?' 226 We can assume that Brigitte Schwaiger was motivated by the attack on bourgeoisie within Ungar's comedy, by the potential unmasking of the small-town idyll, for the same theme (uncovering provincial bourgeoisie) runs through her own, extremely autobiographic works, whether it is her bestseller _How Does the Salt get into the Sea_ , in the essays _My Spanish Village_ (1978) or in confessional book _Long Absences_ (1980). She would have been able to identify with the middle class milieu of Ungar's Moravian provincial setting, so similar to that of her hometown of Freistadt in Upper Austria and she claimed to have made similar experiences to those in the book herself – although this was doubted by many critics. The Linz progamme booklet clearly described Schwaiger's intentions:

One should really feel very sorry for them – the characters. But they would be totally confused to hear that they exact sympathy. Apart from that fact, they are exactly the same as most people nowadays – and Ungar's play is timeless. It takes place in the former Austro-Hungarian Empire, around 1907. But is could equally be set in the Linz area or in some green and leafy suburb of Vienna. Hermann Ungar uses a family to depict how lonely middle-class people can be, how selfish but at the same time unhappy, resigned and eccentric, trapped in illusions or simply obstinate and embittered...

...Today, in the 80s, the social circumstances may be different, but the Colberts, the Melanies and Amelies are still living among us. 227

Brigitte Schwaiger wrote in a letter:

It may be that Hermann Ungar is inwardly very near to me, his descriptions of the small town, provincial milieu, in the reflection of his period. I think that he differs positively from Schnitzler and Horväth, in that he doesn't attempt to imitate the one or the other writer, yet manages to depict the same subject: human beings in their loneliness and their attempts to escape from this bourgeois solitude. 228

Although it was Brigitte Schwaiger's intention to produce a psychological study to 'depict the mental state of each of the characters', 'the result was actually a drama of class distinctions'. 229 She also made the mistake of polarising the people according to specific classes (a clichéd attitude which spoilt her dialogue play Love Tests from 1979), to turn the proletariat servant (and the 'unconventional lady' Josefine) into Colbert's counterweight:

The things missing in Mr Colbert's and Melanie's marriage just cannot be bought with money. And the young Amelie never seems to think about her parents. It is better if all the problems are ignored.

The young Modlizki and his close friend and sometime lover, Josefine, are quite different. They belong to a totally different class, from any early age both experienced injustices caused by bourgeois arrogance. 230

The radical pessimism of the play, its satirical severity, had to get lost in the ideological structure.

The scales tipped when Brigitte Schwaiger bowed to the boulevard concept requirements of the Cellar Theatre and the Summer Season. Her 'conventional but not unimaginative direction' 231 detracted from the entertainment elements of the comedy, underlining the traditional image of comedy characters through the use of purely illustrative clichés. Walter Fröllers stage image fits in well, 'a small pictorial broadsheet combining naive painting with intentional provincial-folkloristic elements'. 232

The critics, the majority of whom once again knew very little about the man called Hermann Ungar ('... his novels and plays focus on the middle class society at the turn of the century', transfer the sentiments of _The Arbour_ to his complete works 233), transpose the impression of the performance (and of the Summer Season mood) often onto the author, misinterpreting him as an entertainment dramatist and even concluding that:

The playwright Hermann Ungar (1883 [sic] - 1929), old-guard Austrian from Moravia, one of the many, I assume, who has never internally accepted the overthrow of the monarchy in favour of a small republican state, and who has quite rightly fallen into obscurity. 234

Critics referred to a 'rediscovery', praised 'entertainment on a welcome level' and wondered ' how on earth a dramatic ''finger pointing'' like this had once really upset the self-satisfied, hypocritical, lily-livered middle classes'. 235

Against a background of nebulous misunderstandings the negative criticisms were generally in the minority. Manfred Stepany wrote in the _Oberösterreichischen Tagblatt_ (Linz):

It would be really difficult to explain to someone, why he should really go and watch this play. The dramaturgical paths are too convoluted, the dialogue is too long-winded, the whole thing seems inadequately worked out. All that is left is incidental amusement and a feeling of bafflement.

He thinks that Ungar 'has justifiably sunk into obscurity', although _The Arbour_ had 'some interesting aspects':

A few passages contained in The Arbour sound excitingly 'modern': occasionally astounding social criticisms are served up and the comedy teeters on the edge of becoming farce. But somehow it all fell apart along the way. The story line... became an instruction booklet. Even the commitment of Brigitte Schwaiger and the expertise and skill of the Cellar Theatre crew could not bring about a change.

Stepany's comment on performance and resonance was a typical 'conclusion: light summer repast in the beautiful surroundings of the arcade court. But no more than that.' 236

The critique from the _Linz Oberösterreichisehen Nachrichten_ (Uppper Austrian News) included: 'It is lukewarm in _The Arbour_ ' and: 'despite the daughter's lost virginity, this was an evening without climax.' 237

Karin Kraml allowed an overflow of the moral indignation which had made the play's first performance in Berlin a scandalous success in her article for the _Linz Neuen Volksblatt_ :

The Arbour ... was apparently intended as a frontal attack on smug bourgois families, but the methods used by the author are not really fit for the purpose. He lacks the linguistic finesse to be really funny, letting a young lady repeat 'Dishonour me! ' so often, is simply not amusing.

And the announcement 'I am not wearing knickers', to seduce a potential rapist, shows a painful lack of insight into comedy dealing with saucy issues: double-meanings. Crudeness is just flat and boring.

Just occasionally the ambitious cast's efforts allowed one to forget 'that Beaumarchais' domestic squabbles were better.'238

Typical for the positive reaction was Peter Kraft's critique in the Salzburg newspaper _Salzburger Nachrichten_ :

The performance of the Linz Cellar Theatre offered a delightful level of entertainment, from the subject matter right through to the quality of the stage content ...

Perceived originally as an affront to the audience, this play turned into an amusing social satire under Brigitte Schwaiger's direction. The well-known Cellar Theatre Ensemble under Mrs Schwaiger's leadership gave a pleasing and refreshing performance ...

...This youthful ensemble deserves tumultuous applause, the production was pure regeneration of the Linz Summer Season tradition. 239

An extended version of this discussion appeared in the autumn in _Linz Aktiv_ the 'cultural quarterly newsletter issued by the City of Linz'; power to (the elbows of) the few, who knew more about Ungar than was printed in the programme pamphlet (which kept to the – faulty – summary from the Philo-Lexicon from the year 1936):

Hermann Ungar, the Berlin diplomat with German-Jewish background, born in Moravia, illustrates in a witty and – for that period – cheeky but always well-mannered way the petit bourgeiouse characteristics of his provincial childhood home. 240

According to the _Neuen Kronenzeitung_ the main characters knew exactly how to 'generate enthusiasm', there is also an indication of some squabbling before the premiere:

Seduction in the Linz Arcade Courtyard! Hermann Ungar's play The Arbour gave rise to confusion during the Fifth Summer Season presented by the Linz Cellar Theatre Ensemble. The calming influence of the director, the best-seller authoress Brigitte Schwaiger, finally prevailed and the bourgeoisie was dealt its punishment... 241

_The Oberösterreichische Kulturbericht_ (Upper Austrian Culture Report) spoke about an 'interesting new discovery' and a 'summery theatre pleasantry', it continued in the subject of the production:

Brigitte Schwaiger's production was not intended to instil excitement and suspense, the intention was to produce an accurate portrayal of the characters and achieve a comic effect. 242

Even if Brigitte Schwaiger's Linz production failed to honour Ungar's actual intentions by rendering the play somewhat harmless, it was indeed a worthy attempt to attract attention to both the playwright and his play.

One might even put his fundamental reservations about the style of the performance aside and take the perspective that it would be sensible, given today's unsatisfactory level of awareness of the writer and his work, to stress the impact it had on the audience and thus smooth the path of this comedy towards its place in the repertoire. The danger, however, is that such performances could mark the introduction of a new style.

_The Arbour_ was performed in Linz until August 8, 1986.

The hope is now that this comedy will be placed on the programmes of other, culturally ambitious but less provincial theatres – and not solely in Austria. One might – and should – remember _The Red General_. Ungar's dramas, generally less radical than his prose, offer the easiest introduction to his writings. Not without reason did the author gain his greatest acclaim during his lifetime from his plays. But the German-language theatre is not imbued with sufficient critical-satirical comedies to afford a by-passing of Ungar's _The Arbour_.

* * *

If the signs don't deceive us, the Czech German expert groups are attempting a rehabilitation of Ungar, possibly in association with German literary experts from the GDR. A German-language research group covering the field of non-Slavonic literature within the Institute of Czechoslovakian and World Literature at the CSAV (Czechoslovakian Academy of Sciences), represented by the leader, Jiri Vesely, and by Viera Glosikovä, Milan Tvrdik and Gabriela Veselä, has been working on a state commissioned research contract for some time now, investigating the problematic of German-language literature, written and created within the territory of today's Czechoslovakia. In collaboration with the editorial department for German language and literature at the Cultural and Information Centre (KIZ) of the GDR in Prague, which also publishes a German Literary Annual GDR-CSSR called Bridges, the Institute held the inaugural bi-national German Literary Conference at Liblice Palace from 9th to 12th February 1982 on the theme of German-Language Literature as the Formative and Intermediating Body for Czech and Slovakian Social Reality. Not only did this conference deal with the response to classic German literature in Czechoslovakia, German socialistic literature in Czechoslovakia after 1948 and Czechoslovakia as a theme in today's German literature, but also with the subject of German literature in today's CSSR in the second half of the 19th century and at the turn of the century. 243 A second conference followed from 12th to the 15th November 1985, to celebrate the 100th anniversary of the birthday, the impact and works of Egon Erwin Kisch; two further thematic key areas were dedicated to German-Czech-Slovakian relationships in 19th century literature and at the turn of the century as well as to the problem situations on heritage and acceptance of largely middle class literature in the 20th century. Some monothematic lectures on 'semi-obscure or forgotten personalities in German-language literature from our country' were held, including, amongst others, lectures on Hermann Grab, Hans Natonek, Karl Brand and Emil Hadina. 244 Ungar was not accorded any special treatment. In Jiri Vesely's lecture 'on the national and social problem areas in German-language Moravian literature' he was included amongst those 'German-language writers from our area' who took on the mantle of 'intermediaries' and thus 'contributed to national understanding'. 245 Some time previously Gabriela Veselä had, in her essay on E.E. Kisch and the Prague German-language erotic novels which was printed in Philologica Pragensia, mentioned Ungar's novel _The Maimed_ as being on the same level as Paul Leppin's _Blaugast_ and similar Prague novels.246

External stimulus to heighten the debate on the German 'heritage' was apparently delivered by the fact that 'German-language authors from our country... have attracted unusual attention from the rest of the world' (Trvdik), 247 and also from the most diverse ideological positions. This situation meant, of course, that the Czech socialistic German literary experts then took the task upon themselves – as Hana Hrzalovä, the Director of the Institute of Czechoslovakian and World Literature at the CSAV, stated in Liblice \- 'to offer a specific contribution towards the creation of a Marxist image of this area of literature, which was interpreted in the past in so many different ways'. 248 In how far this strict ideologically structured research, which goes even further than the times of Eduard Goldstücker, can demonstrate any effective results is still to be seen. Currently it is far behind its objectives and has not even reached the end of the 60s, which had already been covered once before. If their declared intention of reviewing the 'heritage' is really serious, then the Czech German literary experts will also have to include Ungar. A new lexicon on German-language writers has already paid him the attention he deserves. 249

Apart from the university research, the Boskowitz teacher and local history researcher, Jaroslav Bränsky, is attempting to win over a Czech audience for Ungar. As he has relatively easy access to the Moravian sources and archives, we can expect him to achieve really interesting research results, particularly with regard to the genealogy of the writer and his earlier biography in Boskowitz and Brno.

In his regular programme _Hlas Jihomoravskeho kraje_ (Voice of the South Moravian Circle) broadcast by Brno Radio (Ceskoslovensky rozhlas Brno) Bränsky read an essay in March 1987 on the life and works of Ungar. 250 Early 1988 he published an introductory essay in the _Praguer Revue Svötovä literatur (33, Ni.l),_ as well as a number of annotated translations. These included the first chapter of _The Class_ , a small excerpt from _The Maimed_ , as well as the short stories _Dramatists_ about themselves, _The Caliph, The Secret War_ and _The Brothers_ (see bibliography). We await next moves.

* * *

Amongst the latest efforts to promote the rediscovery of Hermann Ungar are two editions which were assembled by the author of this thesis, Dieter Sudhoff.

The first of these is a slim anthology of short stories, which appeared in 1986 under the title _The Caliph and other short stories_ in the series _Forgotten Authors of Modern Times_ by the University Technical College Siegen 251. This series, put together by Franz-Josef Weber and Karl Riha, was started in 1983 with the aim of rendering forgotten texts accessible again, texts from such diverse authors as John Höxter, Heinrich Schaefer, Hans Leybold, Michael Gorlin, Georg Kulka, Alfred Richard Meyer or Werner Schreib.

The objectives of the anthology, set out mainly on a chronological basis, was to illustrate clearly the literary development of Ungar, by limiting the selection to short texts and by using autobiographical passages, particularly those taken from his diary (inasmuch as these were still available) and to depict his wrestle with origins. The anthology contained works which, in the main, had not been available since original publication, starting with some of Ungar's earliest prose with its neo-romantic nuances _Sanatorium_ (1919) and _Letter to a Woman_ (1919), continuing with the aggressive-satiric sketch _Tulip_ (1925), the literary journalistic piece _Do Horses Really Scream?_ and the surrealistic _Confessions_ (1929), which reflects the ghostly breath of _The Maimed_ , right up to the bitter comedy of _Bobek Marries_ or the literary journalistic piece _Death Advertises_ (1929), finishing with some of his later, inner-analytical prose _Mellon, the 'Actor'_ (1929) and _Alexander_ (1929). The collection includes various autobiographic texts such as _From a Diary_ (1922), a letter to his friend Ludwig Pinner (19.4.1922), _Wallenstein from me_ (1928), _Tomy helps to write_ (1929), _Diary notes from 1928_ and a brief self-caricature written in the year 1929. Pride of place was given to the monologue prose sketch _The Caliph_ (1928), a clear reiteration of Ungar's main themes, i.e. suffering from reality and opposition to middle-class order. The anthology included text evidence as an attachment, an epilogue as well as a brief bibliography of the most important secondary literature.

Although the critics paid little attention to the anthology, it was sold out by 1987.

Whilst the Siegen anthology _The Caliph and other short stories_ made some of Ungar's more obscure pieces accessible to interested readers and researchers, my own second edition was aimed at the wider public. As the 1981 issue of _The Maimed_ had quickly disappeared off the shelves in bookshops, it seemed imperative, appropriate and sensible to print this exceptional novel once again, this time if possible, however, via a large, reputable literary publishing house. In 1987 I was able to arrange for Ungar's novel _The Maimed_ to be published by the Frankfurt Suhrkamp Verlag, as part 952 of the commendable series Suhrkamp Library. 252

The text accurately follows the first version edition of 1922 and, in doing so, goes much further than the 1981 edition (in which, for no obvious reasons, the chapters were numbered) and only glaringly obvious grammatical errors were corrected. For the very first time the Fragment which concluded the 1924 publication of Verse and Prose was reproduced, but included separately in the appendix. The literary-historical duty of care took priority over any reservations regarding Ungar's wishes. A particularly thorough epilogue described the life, work and influence of the playwright, with one section devoted to _The Maimed_ without attempting to steer the reader into a definitive interpretation. The frontispiece of the volume was a hitherto unpublished photograph of the author taken in 1924. The promotional ribbon around the book was printed with the Stefan Zweig quotation 'This book must be loved with horror'.

The impact of this new edition are still awaited, although initial reactions are all positive. 253

It was the intention of both publisher and publishing house to use this publication of _The Maimed_ as an introduction to an _Ungar Complete Edition_. The plan was to publish a new edition of the novel _The Class_ in 1988 as part of the Suhrkamp Library, followed by a further volume containing a collection of short stories with a bibliography from me ( _Boys and Murderers_ ), the concept for which was already in preparation. The project, which was to have included the dramas, the documentary report _The Murder of Caption Hanika_ , literary-journalistic essays, autobiographical texts and a selection of letters, failed because of legal rights (copyright?). In the meantime, a two-volume, rather incomplete anthology is about to be published by Jürgen Serke at the Viennese Zsolnay Verlag. [Note: this was published in June1989]

* * *

Shortly after the appearance of the new edition of _The Maimed_ in the Federal Republic of Germany, the first Ungar volume appeared in the GDR, where hitherto only the novel _Colbert's Journey_ had appeared in 1981 (contained in the three-volume anthology _German-Language Stories 1900-1945_ ). This first Ungar volume was created by Joachim Schreck with motivation from the Thomas Mann researcher Harry Matter. With the startling, somewhat confusing title _Story of a Murder_ (the jacket is also misleading with its illustration of a human-stylised cat's head), this edition from the Berlin publishers includes the stories _A Man and a Maid_ , _Story of a Murder_ ( _Boys and Murderers_ ), _Colbert_ ' _s Journey, The Wine Traveller_ , _The Confession_ , _Tulip_ , _Alexander_ , _Mellon, the 'Actor'_ , _Bobek Marries_ , _The Secret War_ , _The Brothers_ ( _Colbert_ ' _s Journey_ ), the text variation _The Bank Official_ taken from the first chapter of _The Maimed_ and the documentary report _The Murder of Captain Hanika_ , which was thus made available in a complete version for the first time since 1925. 254 Without exception all the texts had previously been published in book form (the book versions also served as the basis for publication); therefore the claim in the advertising blurb that 'Ungar had only written a handful of stories which, for the very first time are appearing in a complete form within this edition' is not correct. The 'editorial notes' on the principles of the edition state:

Obvious printing errors in the originals have been corrected, but the author's linguistic characteristics remain untouched, the punctuation has been amended. 255

Thomas Mann's famous foreword (1930) for the posthumous volume _Colbert's Journey_ has been put to optimal PR and advertising use, with a more copious epilogue from Joachim Schreck covering the life, works and literary surrounds of the author. Joachim Schreck (d.i. Joachim Bechtle-Bechtinger), whose interest in further Prague German-language literature had already resulted in the publication of texts from Rilke, Meyrink, Kisch or Serner, did not – in his own words - 'possess the ambition to make a detailed research contribution into Hermann Ungar's works'; it was however his declared intention 'to attract new admirers to the work of this humanistic author, to highlight his name and his literary prowess and to gain a new, larger readership.' 256 He dispensed with his own research on the biography, relying mainly on Eva Pätkoväs's and Nanette Klemenz's work for his epilogue. The Colportering of false information and imbalanced statements was thus unavoidable and consequently led to misinterpretations. Schreck needs contradicting, however, when he states that Ungar never perceived the 'status of a civil servant' as being 'a straitjacket': 'he suffered little from being a state official'. 257 Small deficiencies and errors of judgement make very little difference, they do not spoil the impression of a clever and empathetic approach to Ungar's writings. Schreck sees the main cause of the author's obscurity as the circumstances, the 'fascistic events running amok'; 258 Thomas Mann's preface to _Colbert's Journey_ was 'one of the last reflex reactions to the works of Hermann Ungar before the 'brown barbarians' took over.

The 'literary public during the post-war years' then occupied themselves, 'with the exception of some commendable scientific works', 'much more with the main figures of the Prague German-language literature than with those quiet, withdrawn writers, toiling away within the circle' – but still the interest was 'reawakened in the last few years'. 259 After concluding the biography, Schreck placed Ungar in the setting of Prague and Moravian literature ('No matter how hard the pull of the Prague maelstrom... he stood more on the side of the German-language literary traditions of Moravia') 260 and positioned his political beliefs accordingly after the war and the October Regulation. 'His initial closeness to Zionism gave way to the search for new democratic ways for human-beings to cohabit peacefully, a sensitisation of his social views, of his clear rejection of stuffy petite bourgeoisie and also his decisive separation from Jewish nationalism'; in 'one of the cardinal issues – the German-Czech relationship', Ungar's attitude 'was without doubt far less complicated than that of so many other Prague writers'. 261 If a few of these observations have been over-accentuated, they are still in keeping with the right direction. 'Decisive factors' for Ungar's 'artistic development' were his years in Berlin, 262 where his first book _Boys and Murderers_ also found its resonance'.

The social and psychological dynamics of Hermann Ungar's early prose, the sensitivity of his observations with which the psyche of tormented, long-suffering, yearning and socially-underprivileged people are trapped, enthral the readers. 263

'The search for truth and human love' is identified by Schreck as being 'two poles in the literary creations of Hermann Ungar', which right from the start and 'despite many changes in his life and writing remained dominant'. The relative differences in 'later literary works' were 'being fully at the mercy of others', as is shown in _Story of a Murder_ :

The milieu of social outsiders, the fate of those who failed, of desperate, estranged people – Ungar remained loyal to this circle of unfortunates. 264

The novel _The Maimed_ , an 'epic of no escape... with its crass illustration of mental and physical devastation', 265 is seen by Schreck as being of less value than _The Class_ , in which Ungar survives the 'phase of section literature', overcomes the ritual accumulation of mental and physical suffering':

With this prose, using high linguistic and psychologically penetrating concepts, Ungar achieved exemplary realism, depicting the fate of the sensitive, weak but also courageous schoolmaster Blau who was fighting for his life under the most difficult conditions imaginable. 266

Statements like this lead to the assumption, that the relatively denigrating assessment of _The Maimed_ has more to do with premises of world perspectives. The hopeless pessimism illustrated here would render acceptance of the novel so improbable in the GDR that a new edition would be totally out of the question. Schreck's opinion of the stories contained in the volume _Colbert_ ' _s Journey_ was that the descriptive term 'posthumous' did not, in fact, leave them with a taste of 'unfinished or weak'267 and his overall assessment was:

Hermann Ungar, a man of great persistency and with a deep love of his homeland, tacked the issues as to whether the reason for his 'heroes' ' failures lay on the loss of their defined basis of life. 268

Both observations are actually only true for some of the texts and are therefore not really valid for the heterogenic posthumous volume. Ungar himself described the first issue of _Alexander_ as a fragmen _t_ , therefore works such as _Tulip_ or _Bobek Marries_ cannot possibly be regarded as evidence of a 'melancholic personality'. 269 Schreck goes even further with _The Murder of Captain Hanika_ , the most important element of the volume from the literary-historic point of view. He correctly concedes that 'there were strong tangential areas in literary creation':

Above all the author has been successful with the characterisation of the key figures and the victim himself as appropriate miniatures taken from the social life of the petite bourgeoisie in the early 20s, providing a principal statement, precise and accurate on both atmosphere and local colour. 270

Ungar, who had already 'brought to life the features of monologue-delivering figures depicted against their precisely painted social circumstances' in his story _Boys and Murderers_ , was able to revisit 'the real social causes' and was unafraid to state the moral destruction within the middle-class societyby openly naming it.' 271 In summarising his observations, which omitted mention of his dramas, Joachim Schreck wrote:

Hermann Ungar's works, whose undoubtedly meaningful approach was clearly apparent right from the early stages and which has been confirmed in his epic works until the last year's of his life, may be seen as valid contribution to living literature from the second decade of our century. 272

Although it is pleasing to see that the Berlin volume is initiating the rediscovery of Ungar in the GDR, it is saddening that the opportunity to include various stories or even essays, which so far have only appeared in newspapers or magazines, was totally wasted.

In the summer of 1988 Joachim Schreck published the novel _The Class_ via the Verlag der Nation, also including an epilogue – but we are unable to discuss this edition here. The decision in favour of _The Class_ whilst rejecting _The Maimed_ underlines Schreck's conviction that this piece of writing signified the climax of Ungar's literary career, but also his opinion that this novel (and the stories) would provide the ideal tool 'towards an understanding of Hermann Ungar' at least in the GDR. 273

At this early stage no feedback is available on the two volumes published in the GDR. 274

* * *

Even though there is no plan at the moment to publish a German edition, preparations are already been made in France. The small publishing house founded in 1985 by Christian Thorel and Jean-Paul Archie in Toulouse, Ombres, only produces four new books per year (hitherto including work from Jens Peter Jacobsen and Henry James). In 1987 they published simultaneous the two new editions of Ungar's works translated by Guy Fritsch-Estrangin of _Enfants et meurtriers_ ( _Boys and Murderers_ ) and _Les mutiles_ (originally called: _Les sous-hommes_ – _The Maimed_ ), which initially appeared in 1926 and 1928 respectively published by Gallimard. Both volumes have the same, brief, unsigned and flaw-laden preface. _Enfants et meurtriers_ also contains some excerpts from Thomas Mann's critique of the first edition (translated by Bernard Kreiss) and from Jean Grenier (first French-language edition). The covers bear appropriately evocative photo from August Sander, depicting Sander's son on one jacket, and the painter Anton Räderscheidt on the other. 275 Publication of _La Classe_ has been announced for 1988, whilst plans exist for _Le voyage de Colbert_ and _Theatre_ to follow at a later date. As these will be first-time translations in the main, it remains to be seen whether these plans will come to fruition. It will also depend to a great deal on the public and press reaction to the initial two volumes, which so far has been fairly muted and which is hardly surprising given the low awareness of both author and publishing house and also given the meagre print quantities.276 Whether or not the hopes of the publishing house to be able to exploit in France the relative success Ungar achieved during his lifetime are fulfilled: it still is commendable that almost sixty years later French translations of this author's works are being published again. The numerous print errors are annoying (the name of the translator is given on the cover as 'G. Fristch-Estrangin'), as are the many inaccuracies in the accompanying texts and the stealthy incursions into Fritsch-Estrangin's translation. One can only wish for greater editorial thoroughness for any further volumes.

* * *

Currently one of the latest links in the chain of activities to support the rediscovery of Hermann Ungar is a multifaceted, richly illustrated portrait in the opulent volume _Bohemian Villages: Exploring a forgotten literary landscape_ , published by the former _Stern_ journalist Jürgen Serke at the end of 1987 via the Viennese publishing house Paul Zsolnay. 277 The astonishing sensation caused by the book _The incinerated author_ (?) ten years previously and which was intended to be the fore-runner of a whole series of important new publications leads to expectations that success is on the horizon, at least as far as the popular media is concerned, and that the eagerly anticipated renaissance of Prague German-language literature will make great advances in the next few years.

The external presentation of the illustrated volume 'with in excess of 500 largely unpublished photos', the skilful journalistic text preparation (simple to dramatic language, numerous quotations without named sources, captions with repeated texts, etc), a mixture of private, literary and political issues orientated towards sensationalism, a simplistic friend-foe thought process, and last but by no means least an expensive PR and advertising campaign which positions the book as the 'plea for the last, undiscovered great European literature of this century' will doubtless guarantee its popularity with the laymen readership and professional critics. Reactions so far confirm this. 278 Serke intends to take care of the re-publications of _The Forgotten_ himself: in Autumn 1987, synchronised with the appearance of the illustrated volume, he arranged for the publication by Zsolnay of the first three volumes of a series called _Books on Bohemian Villages_ : Hans Natonek's _Children of a Town_ , Ernst Sommer's _Message from Granada_ and Ludwig Winder's _The Delayed Happiness_. Further volumes by Oskar Baum, Friedrich Bruegel, Hugo Sonnenschein, Hans Natonek and Ludwig Winder followed in 1988, almost always without the accompanying informative texts. The Ungar text will also have its place in this series in 1989, euphemistically entitled _The Complete Works_ (although the bulk of the short prose will be missing as well as the early drama War).

Fundamentally there are no objections to a popular scientific presentation of the German-language literature of Bohemia. The prospect that it might reach a public which otherwise devotes itself to Patrick Süskind or Isabel Allende is really appealing and positive. The minor irritation is that the title _Böhmischen Dörfer_ (with its double meaning: Bohemian Villages or 'Double Dutch' (Serke sees it as a synonym for 'obscurity and fantasy') might possibly be used against the author. Even the basic claims that Prague German-language literature is the sole pure European literature of this century and which, furthermore, provides directional motivation for the 21st century, is almost grotesque and no even excusable in its legitimate form of positive assessment. That can be said for the presumptuous claim that the 47 authors concerned are to be placed on the same level as the famous trio Rilke, Kafka, Werfel. In fact, this nonsense deserves no further discussion. Such imbalanced comments and marketing over-exaggerations hinder any form of factual debate about the Prague heritage. Serke's arrogance and incompetence does not only appear in the basic principles, but is illuminated in the detail. His essay on Hermann Ungar is frightfully symptomatic.

Jürgen Serke's _Portrait-Panorama_ collapses into three parts: a politically-orientated, fairly confused overview (Europe died in Prague), a larger portrait in which Ungar is included, plus an extended series of short portrait outlines (Exploring a forgotten literary landscape).

The attachment contains a wide-ranging but incomplete and somewhat flawed literature register, in which all titles available in 1987 are shown in bold font. It is commendable that Serke also dedicates a full portrait to Camill Hoffmann although his works are sparsely mentioned (and it is strange that Hoffmann's partner, Lela Dangl, is not even named); 279 besides Hoffmann and Ungar the main body of the work contains essays on Hans Natonek, Oskar Baum, Ludwig Winder, Melchior Vischer, Johannes Urzidil, Ernst Sommer, Rudolf Fuchs, Leo Perutz, Paul Kornfeld, Franz B. Steiner, Josef Hahn, H.G. Adler and Hugo Sonnenschein. The compilation proves that the ranking of the authors was not of prime importance, just as great a role is played by their fame and the theme of their material. Not only lesser-known authors such as the detective-story writer Louis Weinert-Wilton, but also sufficiently publicly acknowledged greats such as Max Brod and Ernst Weiß, or more obscure writers such as Franz Janowitz and Walter Seidl, whereby information (and particularly photos) of the latter would be extremely difficult to find, were included in the 'obscure literary landscape'. Some, such as Karl Brand, Otto Roeldt or Max Zweig, will be sought in vain. Hermann Ungar is the subject of 16 pages, 280 which, relative to Hans Natonek (44 pages) or Hugo Sonnenschein (32 pages) is fairly stingy. The accompanying photos except those which depict Ungar's sons and his wife, are all familiar and well-known. Serke's lack of diligent research – as with Hans J. Schütz before him – is underlined by his mistaking a portrait photo of Jura Soyfer for a picture of Ungar. 281 Serke's main personal source of information was Ungar's oldest son, Tom Unwin, whom he visited in Milverton, Somerset, England. Thus Serke was able to provide extensive background material on the life of Tom Unwin (in crass contrast to the fate of Tom's brother, Alexander, who was finished off in one sentence), and who then appeared more often in photos than his father did. The passages relating to Tom Unwin are actually the original in the whole essay, but even these are not totally reliable although it would have been possible to verify the information quite easily. Tom Unwin was neither 'a development/aid worker in Africa' nor the 'Nyerere's most important adviser', just to name two examples. 282

And the quotations which Serke attributes to him, are sometimes doubtful.

But much worse are Serke's statements on Hermann Ungar himself. Thorough observations are rendered unnecessary by the fact that Serke includes nothing new, no parts of this life which have not been described before in older research papers – sometimes erroneously. The claim, repeated numerous times in Bohemian Villages of independent and innovative research supposedly characterising this book (in contrast to the Joachim Schreck's epilogue to the GDR anthology) is immediately disproven when Serke blindly follows old tracks, not even shrinking from copying the text word for word. At other times he used expansive quotations – expressly and justifiably but not always adhering to the text – thus reducing his efforts down to the core of compilation and connecting interim texts, with a preference for interchangeable word 'pods' and journalistic emphases. As far as _Boys and Murderers_ is concerned, he wrote:

Life suffers under treachery and persecution. It suffers more from these than from the actual consequences of such crimes. The suppression of life takes place within a person, rather than on the outside. The love a person has for life is extremely strong, but not strong enough to have a decisive influence on his personality structure. A person does not openly show hatred, but wallows in it secretly. And a person is intent on keeping the things he hates. 283

His opinion on _The Maimed_ was:

Devotion, which leads to letting down defences and enabling love to grow, is virtually impossible, because life is armour-plated. The hunger for love then turns into malignant malice. Sex turns into a monstrosity. The fucking organism is in a hurry. He masturbates. The human-being commits slander, defamation, deception, theft, soils everything pure, causes wars, murder, drags every good thought through the dirt, maims himself and others. 284

It will be impossible to deal with the numerous factual errors in detail here, some random examples will have to suffice: The Jewish settlement in Boskowitz did not go back up to the 11th century, Hermann did not retire in Brno in 1903, there was a (Czech) grammar school in Boskowitz, there was no private tutor instead of the primary school, the schoolfriend was not called Alois Löbl (his correct name was Alexander Loebl), Ungar did not study one whole year in Berlin, was not demobbed due being wounded during the war, etc etc. Detail errors cannot always be avoided, but to have such a large number of them collected in such a way makes Serke's essay on Ungar appear a portrait for a phantom. Anyone with a serious interest in the author would have to be warned off.

Despite all the errors, the essay contains a number of notable observations, such as when, for example, Serke writes that what Ungar saw 'went far beyond the murderous experiences of war', and was more 'the murderous way of life of a culture which was equipping itself for the next mass destruction'. 'Ungar's writings illustrate in all apparent privacy the story of a psychic disaster which finally ended in Auschwitz.' 285 When Serke sets up relevant events to definite dates, he can often be convincing. But that still fails to compensate for the huge differences between claims and facts in his writing. As Serke writes when quoting Ludwig Winder:

A journalist is a person, who is not capable of doing anything, but is supposed to be capable of doing everything. A journalist is therefore a person, who must always give the appearance of being capable of anything. 286

And when quoting Hans Natonek:

Journalism corrupts, in the end the journalist does not see, he just guesses and formulates. 287

* * *

When we track the gradual growth in acceptance of Hermann Ungar from 1945 until today, we can easily be led astray. The unremittingly huge silence that surrounds this author, the immeasurable ignorance about him shared by the public, the sciences and arts, is sometimes impenetrable. It is still possible to come across this Moravian author in scientific literature as Ernst Ungar 288 or even Rudolf Ungar 289. A symposium on Prague German-language literature at the time of Kafka (June 1 to 3, 1987 in Klosterneuburg) can still take place without treating Ungar as more than a marginal figure, and certainly without holding a lecture on him. There should be no talk about a real rediscovery of Ungar at the moment, although there are some positive developments – some gradual recollections, which hold promises for the future to remind interested readers and literary scientists of the writer, to increase awareness of his writing and to finally position him and his works in the right place and at the right time between the two World Wars. This development was initiated by a general change in interest trends, particularly since the World Friendship Conference in 1965 resulted in phases of growing interest and attention for the German-language literature of Prague – but even more effective were the efforts of individual scientists, publishers or directors of film or theatre productions...

Ungar's comedy _The Arbour_ was produced for television and four times for the theatre. The novel _The Class_ was also adapted as a television drama. The novel _The Maimed_ , most of the stories, some further short prose, the documentary report _The Murder of Captain Hanika_ , and excerpts from _The Arbour_ , in all the majority of his complete works, are now available in new editions. A French edition of his work has been started, a German edition is being contemplated, scientific essays are producing initial results and effects, all hiding the fact that the phenomena known as Hermann Ungar has still not been explained, that more questions exist than answers, and that there is still a great danger of perpetuating a false image of Ungar.

A fundamental, lasting change of acceptance can only be expected when not only Ungar's complete works are available, but also when Ungar himself is freed from his anonymity, when he become fully visible with all aspects of his former existence. This also includes his biography, to which nothing more has been contributed since the research carried out by Pätkoväs and Klemenz, but also information on his contemporary impact of which only individual facts are known whilst the rest remains in darkness. Detailed work analyses are necessary particularly on the three prose books which Ungar himself wanted to publish. This thesis will accept these tasks and thus form the basis for further debate. The acknowledgement and acclaim due to Hermann Ungar is on the horizon.

#  2 Stages: Life – Work - Influence

I Background, Family, Childhood: Boskowitz (1898 – 1903)

That was my father: grey-haired, kindly and clumsy. That is he. And this is her, my mother, who clasped me in a tearful parting embrace. And this was just me, the son of these parents, and this ruddy-cheeked son of a thankful father, who was born in this house with its iron balcony and in no other, it is here that I grew up and became the person I see in the mirror: pale cheeks, lean, brown hair streaked with grey, pursed upper lip, spectacles balanced on a long, thin nose.1

The world of the cramped Moravian-Jewish ghetto, in which Hermann Ungar was born on April 20th 1893 as the first son of the brandy-distiller, Emil Ungar (approx. 1852 – 1942) and his wife Jeanette (nee Kohn, 1967 – approx. 1942) has long since disappeared. Only the well-maintained cemetery is still there outside the town on the slopes of the 'Srak'2. The Jews Gate at the entrance of the Placzekgasse, the big temple, various sites of cultural interest and the confined maze of houses in the former, narrow, cobbled 'Jew Lanes' bear witness to the venerable, albeit oppressive, dark and hostile Jewish past in the Czechoslovakian small town Boskowitz. The town lies in the district of Southern Moravia, 40 km north of Brno, in the raw climate of Drahany highlands, in fruitful, archaic farming countryside. Today's topography of the town hints at the border which once existed between the southern Jewish quarters (at the foot of the mountain) and the northern Christian community – a division which was not only spatial and religious, but based on politics, social issues, language and culture. The former prestigious bourgeois Kaiser House (Emperor's House) still stands today on the edge of the dividing line, in a narrow alley which was once the major thoroughfare connecting the Jewish and Christian parts of the town and which ends in the centre of the Market Square. The Emperor's House on Zborovska ulice 11 (previously Judengasse 68) was named in gratitude for imperial permission granted to the Ungar family for the purpose of setting up a distillery, which for generations ensured a degree of prosperity. Although Hermann Ungar's birthplace has changed very little since its early days, the facade hides numerous little tenanted apartments on the upper floor, plus a metal-working business and a type-writer repair shop, on the ground floor.3

The Boskowitz Jewish quarter was already declining during Ungar's childhood, but once the political Jewish community was dispersed in 1919 the area fell into decay and today it is extremely difficult to picture the milieu and atmosphere which once existed here and which, in addition to the family background, shaped Ungar's early socialisation and his mental determination. Unbiased autobiographical memoires of those days are rare. Those that do exist semiconsciously suppress details of existential deprivation and hardship, instead they paint nostalgic images of blissfully happy times in a cosy, safe childhood environment.

This illusionary idyll which Ungar himself in discussions with friends and acquaintances wistfully peddled to such an extent that his particularly close friend Gustav Krojanker portrayed Ungar's early years as being 'a tenderly safeguarded and untrammelled blossoming youth'.4 The research carried out so far has never questioned this blissful picture resulting perhaps from psychological suppression and thus leads to the incomprehensible discrepancies visible from the start between the author's biography and his works which reflect nothing like childhood paradise. They might also refer to series of Ungar's personal comments, in which he visibly affirms his love for his hometown,5 to appropriate areas of text in his work,6 particularly to his wistful but resigned sketch _The Brothers_ from 1924 and, last but by no means least, to the authoritative testimony from Thoman Mann:

Ungar possessed a highly-defined sense of family and heritage. Native love, as it is generally called, was a basic conviction for him: which encompassed the whole sphere of his origin relevant and beneficial to the people around him, and to exchange his homeland for another would, in his eyes, be sinful and a life error. Never, he once said during a conversation, should people leave their native soil, the earth which succoured them, if they wish to live in happiness and safety. 7

Neither Ungar's idyllic and rose-tinted childhood memories 8 nor his frequent references to rural-romantic and sentimental homesickness can cover up the fact that they are largely retrospective wishful dreams concealing his real childhood experiences (as depicted in the early autobiographic sketch _Dream_ written in 1921). These pipedreams are only possible because Ungar left his native background which in turn lost its Jewish identity in 1919. It is no coincidence that most of the sources of Ungar's claim to a happy childhood stem from his later years, when his own identity was even more in question than before, and the trauma of his childhood had lost a little of its urgency due to the psychological release of writing. Given time and spatial distance the isolation of the ghetto turned into cosy security, the awareness of belonging to an outsider group turned into homely intimacy – the oppressive background of his childhood metamorphosed into happiness.

Ungar's real childhood experiences can only be determined indirectly and hypothetically using his works, which sometimes distort his personal situation to the point of being unrecognisable, or from outside sources which occasionally provide illuminating insights into the circumstances of his earlier years.9 The most important evidence of his younger years, the manuscript of a novel which he wrote earlier, towards the end of World War I, has unfortunately disappeared – it remained unpublished not only because Ungar considered it to be unworthy or immature literary work, but also because of the genuine biographic details it contains. Gustav Krojanker's memories contain the sole references to this manuscript and the summary of the content provides the certainty that, in a similar way to Ludwig Winder with his _Jewish Organ_ of 1922, Ungar intended to cleanse him, a cathartic attempt to free himself of the traumatic constraints of his ghetto childhood – consciously successfully.

The success is obvious when one recognises that afterwards Ungar no longer focuses on the thematic issue (the Jewish issue) so rigorously except in the drama, _The Red General_ :

This manuscript... was a novel about a young Jew, who was brought up as an orthodox Jew, which by the way Ungar himself was never subjected to, and who was dedicated to this faith not only by its meaning, but also by his blood. The entire burden of this story lies on this hero, who arrived in the city seeking in vain for inner freedom. All the outside humiliations of our heritage and past lives were expressed in some form within this young man, as well as the strict laws which prohibit the existence of all unnatural, brutal and sensual impulses. It was the cry of an internally and externally enslaved and oppressed being, whose freedom was of no use to him because the generations inside him are much stronger than the conditions of his individual existence. It will be the ruination of him as he drags these inherited chains around with him without any rest. If one wishes, the manuscript can be seen as a piece of hitherto unwritten history of emancipation: virtually the battle between new ways of life and old traditions, taken out of the sphere of mental observations and transposed into the blood, nerves, gender and unconscious parts of an individual. 10

* * *

The Jewish traditions of Boskowitz, which later became a nightmarish burden on Ungar, can be traced back to the 13th century to the time when the first Jews settled there soon after the town had been founded. In combination with a variety of biblical names (Salomon, Issac, Baroch, Sarah), the Czech Christian names of Beran, Hannak, Hatschek or Tichy were still used, 11 leading to the assumption that the Jews made attempts, as far as permitted, to assimilate, to adapt culturally to their Czech neighbours and to adopt everyday use of the Czech language rather than the 'Judendeutsch' (Western Yiddish).12 Confirmation of this attempt to assimilate is seen in the fact that the Boskowitz Jews at no time from the early days through centuries attempted to set up their own political administration, but were always willing to accept the leadership of the mayor of the Czech-Christian community.

As in other places this attempt at assimilation did not prevent accusations of well poisoning, ritual murders, desecration of relics and altars, ending particularly in the aftermath of the plague in mid 14th century with acts of violence, plundering and killing. This resulted in many Jews seeking refuge in the neighbouring Hungarian territory of Slovakia.

In the reign of Emperor Charles IV (1346-1378), whose 'rational economic calculation' of an 'extremely restrictive religious Jewish policy' (as per the Prague synod of 1349) kept the balance 13 and mostly permitted a pro-Jewish atmosphere, Boskowitz developed into one of the largest Jewish communities in Moravia. In the 15th century, when Ladislaus Posthumus, under the influence of the fanatic Franciscan monk, Johann von Capistrano, and under pressure from the anti-Jewish part of the population, expelled the Jews from Brno, Olmitz, Znaim and Moravian Neustadt, in 1454, many of the exiles from Brno settled with their Jewish brethren in Boskowitz, expanding the community under the protection of the current masters (elders?) of Boskowitz.14 Due to the settlement of German-orientated Jews and the Czech enmity, the Jewish town gradually changed its appearance becoming an island of Yiddish-speakers with connection to German race strictly separated from the living areas of the Czech-Christian community by two gates and at least three wire fences ('Eruv') which existed up to the beginning of our century.

The Jews were not permitted to purchase anything outside the ghetto limits, were not permitted to leave the ghetto on Sundays or holidays as otherwise they were in danger of being abused by their Christian neighbours. Only in the 16th century did one occasionally meet Jews in the Christian part of the town. Contrary to the Czech Jews, who were almost without exception farmers and tradesmen, Jewish occupations were limited to small shopkeepers and money-lending with interest, plus autonomous self-employment as bakers, carpenters or tailors. Very few, except the money-lenders, could ever afford to buy property. When in 1565 it was strictly forbidden 'to sell goods in the villages and to ply trades' 15 at certain times, many Jews sank to the level of junk-dealers, pawnbrokers and peddlers. Their rights were considerably restricted by discriminatory clothing and curfew regulations, by lack of liberty, by mandatory taxation (personal tolls), strict marriage regulations (familial laws). The constant rekindling of hatred against the Jews, connected to economic crises and the church doctrines on Jewish oppression led to centuries of belief that they were only tolerated – without any real entitlement to regarding this as their home country.

After years of persecution, emigration, followed finally by the Thirty Years' War, the number of Jewish homes in the whole of Moravia sank to 773, 16 and the Jewish community in Boskowitz dwindled in size, but then, by dint of clever leadership of the rabbinate, grew in importance to a total of 26 houses in 1677, with 5 further conscripted dwellings in 1657 ('deserted Christian places'), 17 according to the registry office. From 1567 onwards the community possessed its own Jewish judge who supervised the rabbinical court – a function otherwise only undertaken by a Christian and, from the end of the 16th century, also a Jewish school which was allocated its own schoolhouse in 1698. 18 Under the protection of the authorities, whom the Jews learnt to appreciate as a 'rich source of income', the community within the ghetto developed relatively autonomously, led by their elected representatives – all on a spiritual-religious foundation. The children and young people were introduced to Hebraic objects at the Jewish school: 'from the early morning until late in the evening they dedicated themselves to their studies'. 19 It was only their belief that enabled Jews through the centuries to withstand 'the pariah status forced upon them by the might of the church, the terrible cruelty, greed and avarice of the nobility, the many diseases and sicknesses, humiliations, abuse and persecution which the inflamed, mindless crowds rained upon them.

The sole consolation was their inbred belief, to which they held fast despite so much suffering on the one side and numerous enticements on the other. They drew hope for themselves or for their offspring from the strength of their belief. 20

Boskowitz became a highly regarded and prestigious seat of Jewish knowledge and Jewish Orthodoxy attracting Jews from all over Bohemia and Moravia, even from Slovakia. The small synagogue (no longer standing today) which had sufficed for the needs of the community in the past, was now mainly used for Talmudic teaching (it was later renamed 'Machazit Haschekel' after the scholar of the same name) and in 1698 the great temple was built under the Lord of the Manor Leopold von Dietrichsten.

Personalities such as the founder of German Chassidism, the Cabbalist Rabbi Nathan ben Simeon Adler (1741-1800) or his Talmud disciple, the orthodox fanatic Moses Sopher (scribe) (1762-1839) and particularly through the influence of Rabbi Samuel Kolins, also known as Machazit Haschekel (1724-1806), who was really called Samuel ha-Levi and became famous in the Jewish world through his statements relating to 'Magen Abraham' ('Machazit ha-Schekel', half a Schekel from 1807) ensured Boskowitz's development into the hub of Talmud Studies towards the end of the 18th century.

The dazzling reputation which Rabbi Samuel gained for his learning, for his affable personality, soon transcended the borders of the town and the country, and attracted huge numbers of eager scholars to Boskowitz. Hundreds of young men from all compass points came to still their thirst at the never-ending font of Rabbi Samuel's knowledge.21

When the 'mighty flood of powerful change called 'Enlightenment'... threatened to wash away holy Jewish rites and traditions' Boskowitz became 'an eternal, steadfast, impenetrable dam'. Moses Sopher is supposed to have said, 'With the exception of Boskowitz the whole of Moravia is in a flawed religious condition'. 22

There can be no question about the entire community having to adopt strictest orthodoxy from precise observation of the ritual laws on holidays through to the kosher stipulations: until mid 19th century their lives were defined by the yoke of religious constraints which they could not throw off without losing the protection and security of their community. Gradually, however, Boskowitz accepted the reforms introduced by Josef II (sole Regent from 1780-1790) to restructure the state organisation and thereby abolish special entitlements for individual groups, effectively making the Jews equal to all other members of the populace. The Tolerance Edict of 1782, in which the liberty and freedom of rights for all citizens was enshrined and which permitted the Jews to visit state schools, met with more scepticism and resistance in Boskowitz than in any other Jewish community.

The teachers and rabbis in this Talmudic-Rabbinical stronghold feared, not unreasonably, the loss of their traditional authority coupled with a potential decrease in the numbers of faithful believers 23 if this 'enlightenment' and secular schooling took hold in the community. Whilst some of the stipulations such as those repealing the regulations governing clothing and curfews or providing a wider choice of occupations (haulage, wholesale or farming) were wholeheartedly welcomed as the abolition of materially damaging and socially humiliating rules as well as the basis of emancipation, others provoked heated debate which threatened to divide the community: issues such as revoking the right to a separate Jewish court or the ban on the use of Hebrew for public negotiations. Particularly the idea of turning the Jewish school into a German 'comprehensive' met with a great deal of reluctance and resistance, as initially none of the specific Jewish subjects were to be taught, but rather the focus was to be placed on the 'enlightenment' movement by the Christian teachers. The result was that numerous small unauthorised schools were set up, the Cheder (small elementary schools teaching Jewish traditions and language) flourished, many of the orthodox fathers started teaching their children themselves, a Jewish children's 'home' was established, in which the youngest 'besides participating in all the normal activities and games, would be taught to pray from the age of 5 onwards', This 'home' concept has continued well into the 20th century as a 'Kindergarten' and the special orthodox authorities said of the Boskowitz community:

It was rare of course in those days that any special provision was made for the youngest children and that these children, already well-versed in Jewish traditions and knowledge, were able to pass seamlessly into state schools. We can easily imagine what a relief it must have been for the poor parents, fighting to retain their existences, to know that their children were under the care of such a good teacher (Modche 'Markus' Hollaender) who recognised the heartfelt need of the parents for an early, thorough Jewish schooling of their children. And this early 'home', colloquially referred to as the 'elementary' school', ultimately developed into today's 'Kindergarten'.24

The school issue became less contentious with the employment of some Jewish teachers and the introduction of Jewish content into the curriculum, however the fundamental conflict between old and new, between the rigid traditional values of the ghetto and secular schooling, continued and eventually became a problem for everyone.

One of the most important consequences of the Josef Reforms that from a combination of gratitude and mediation in the school issues grew something meaningful , something which was referred to as 'Habsburg patriotism in German clothing', which meant that scorned Jewish-German gave way to pure German and, above all, that 'German-orientated literature' found its way into the ghetto. 25

German classical literature spread to the smallest ghetto villages of Bohemia, even though the peddlers spoke Czech with their customers during the week, German remained the leisure time language, the medium through which the higher thoughts and aspirations of humanity were expressed. 26

Hidden away from the Christian communities in Czechoslovakia, the Jews in Boskowitz now experienced elevated German-identification, a certain superiority over the Czechs, and the possibility of advancement, both socially and intellectually. Few recognised that assimilation into the German lifestyle would necessarily be at the cost of their Jewish heritage and that it would only create a fictitious pseudo-identity which might gain validity in the narrow streets of the ghetto, but would soon be denied by the non-Jewish outside world, whether German or Czech.

However the special status of Jews in Bohemia and Moravia remained distinctive due to the unrelenting constraints on liberty, the continuation of the familial laws (so-called 'Jewish System Patent') even after the introduction of Josef's tolerance laws. The 'royal towns' of Brno, Olmitz, Inglau, Znaim and Hungarian-Hradic still closed their doors to Jews, the maximum number of 'systemised' families in Moravia, determined in 1725 as 5106, with a small increase up to 5400 in 1787 (sum of Moravian and Silesian families) remained constant up until 1848, although the total number of Jewish Moravians rose during this period from 20,000 to 35,000. In 1798 the settlement conditions in Moravia which had always given rise to tension and disputes with the Christian population were systematically regulated by the creation of 52 Jewish communities, which the Jews with a few tolerated exceptions were dependent on until emancipation.

It was these towns (like Boskowitz) in which Jews had lived for centuries and had retained their own religious institutions, such as the temples, schools and cemeteries, far more than other small communities in South Moravia, which attracted Jews... to settle after emigrating from Austria.27

Due to this enforced concentration, Boskowitz grew to be the third largest Jewish community in Moravia after Nikolsburg (620 families) and Prossnitz (328 families): in the period 1829 –1831 there were 329 families with a total of 1595 people. 28

Even if the restraints of the orthodoxy prevented the community from achieving general economic success, up until 1848 many of the Boskowitz Jews recognised the signs of the times and skilfully exploited all possibilities granted to them through the liberalisation of employment (wholesale business ownership, founders of various industries, in short the early form of general capitalism). In comparison to their Christian contemporaries with whom they had increasing contact, they not only had the advantage of being bilingual:

As the guilds had been closed to them for many years, the Jews were now able to circumvent their restrictive attitudes to the development of capitalism – and the special taxation forced them into modern profitability concepts. 29

but also the advantage of their national bonding:

Their preference lies in trading and whilst they are spread throughout the whole country their national ties bring them together as a natural social group, which is a great benefit to their trading activities...their mutual support system boosts the growth of their power until they are able to deal with the largest enterprises.30

As the Czech population of Boskowitz, albeit far more numerous, had very little share in this early capitalist development, they were only able to watch the rise of their Jewish neighbours with understandable agitation and envy. These feelings started with the dislike of the industrial system, but soon turned into undisguised anti-Semitism, intensified by the exaggerated German-orientation and intellectual arrogance shown by many Jews. Calming factors were the material dependence on the Jews into which many of the Christians had fallen, the conciliatory approach taken by the Czech town administration as well as the open-mindedness of the rabbis. Even the catastrophic fire on May 1, 1823, caused 'by the carelessness of a Jewish woman and which turned the whole Jewish town and 20 of the Christian houses to ashes' 31 would have offered some appeasement but would by no means have hindered the economic development.

During the 1848 revolution Boskowitz, like the whole country, suffered unrest. For the Jews, this was an affirmation of their German orientation, their connections to the state and to the Emperor. The 1849 version of the imposition law with its consequential regulations gave them virtually complete legal emancipation, with freedom and permission to marry, as well as revoking the collective special taxation law.

The Moravian Jews made full use of the entitlements: they took up residence hitherto inaccessible 'royal' towns, moved to areas with flourishing trade and industries, but also to areas hitherto exclusively reserved for Christians and to the countryside.

This movement of the Jewish population from their communities also lead to an increase in the number of Christian residents moving into the Jewish quarters and so to a mixture of different confessions living in the 52 communities which had once been exclusively Jewish.

And when the law of 1862 created independent town communities, it also encompassed those former Jewish communities which had their own enclosed territory and the financial means to set up their own independent administration. And so 27 political communities were formed from the existing 52 Jewish communities, in 10 others towns they remained districts of the town and were subject to the appropriate Christian communities, whilst in the remaining 15 towns they lost their independence completely.32

Boskowitz belonged to the 27 Jewish communities which were raised to political communities with their own mayor and administration: the semi-successful economical situation of the town and its attraction as a Talmudic-Rabbinical centre initially prevented large scale population movement to the surrounding areas or to the big cities. Rabbinate encouraged the German and Jewish orientation of the town and thus only a very small number of Czech Christians settled there, for despite the apparent emancipation the Jewish community actually kept to an enclosed ghetto-style way of life. The political autonomy of the community distanced itself from the Czechs even more and on the whole they only communicated for the sake of business relationships and other inter-dependent activities. The autonomous situation of the community after 1862 was underlined not only by having their own mayor, but also their own police, fire brigade, Jewish Savings and Loan bank, hospital, bathhouse with ritual immersion bath as well as a 'tabernacle house donated to the cultural community by Nathan Loew-Beer in remembrance of his parents'. 33 Due to 'the size of the community and the numerous children' the elementary school was turned into a secondary school in 1855, comprising a 4-class school for boys and a 2-class school for girls. 34

Despite a considerable fluctuation in the number of Jews in Moravia and despite the 'restricted settlement circumstances related to both space and hygiene' (which up until the 20th century turned the ghetto 'the scene of many large horrendous fires or epidemics'), 35 Boskowitz remained one of the largest Jewish communities in the crown territories. A census carried out in 1869 showed that the town had 1591 citizens, at that time only Prossnitz (1839) and naturally the newly liberated state capital itself, Brno (4505), had larger populations. During the next few decades Boskowitz also started to experience 'a constant absolute and relatively (small) fall in number of the Jewish population'. 36 A main factor for this long-term stability, unlined by the continued orthodox character of the community, despite all assimilation attempts, as well as its importance as a Talmudic/Rabbinic centre, was the transfer of the Moravian state rabbinate from Nikolsburg to Boskowitz in 1851 where it remained until 1884. 37 The main official of this prestigious institution which existed in Nikolsburg from the 16th century onwards was Rabbi Abraham Placzek (1799 – 1884) who had been the rabbi in Boskowitz since 1840. 38 In accepting this position, he followed in the footsteps of such worthy Talmut teachers as Liwa ben Bezalel (known as 'high Rabbi Loew'), Mordechai Benet (Markus Benedikt also known as 'Reb Reb Modche'). Placek's personality allowed him to gather numerous followers, to mediate and solve disputes within the community and still retain strict orthodoxy.

His distinguishing traits - admirable perception and astuteness, profound and extensive Talmudic knowledge together with an excellent general education - enabled Placek to gather numerous young men around him, who revered his words and teachings. In the year 1872 he spoke out against the liturgical reforms introduced by the Viennese Cultural Community representing the strict believers...with his clever mind and humble personality, his emotive piousness (he led the daily prayers with tears running down his face), he was able to solve disputes, keep the peace in his community and lead Old and New in harmony. 39

It would have been mainly due to Placek's influence as the State Rabbi that the Boskowitz Jewish community in 1857 reached the highest level in its history with a population of 2018 and was able to retain them for the next few years, up until a cholera epidemic during the Prussian War (1866) which took the lives of many Jews. It was, of course, impossible – even in Boskowitz – to prevent the ever-increasing migration to the large cities, particularly to Brno and Vienna, to try their luck in the industrial and economical centres of the country as merchants, managers or entrepreneurs in growth industry sectors. Many people were forced into the decision to move because of the increase in retail and trade competition from the Czechs, who had gained in national pride and economic potency since the revolution and the rise of the Young Czech movement.

Boycott campaigns and plundering in other areas of Czechoslovakia contributed to the migration, anti-semitism and national conflicts in Boskowitz had grown to threatening dimensions with the Jews being regarded as Germans for obvious reasons. Increasing numbers of new generation Jews also recognised the contradictions between the orthodox Jewish and the liberal German way of life and wanted to escape the provincial claustrophobic ghettos. At the end of the century there were only 598 Jewish residents left in Boskowitz. 40 As a result of the migration the state rabbinate, which Dr Beruch Placek had taken over from his father in 1884, was moved to what was now the most important Jewish settlement, Brno. As a result of the low number of pupils the girls' and the boys' schools were amalgamated in 1886 into one single secondary school with 5-mixed gender classes. 41 (Ungar himself went to school here.) The houses vacated by Jews were then inhabited by Christians so that, externally at least, the ghetto character of the Jewish quarter became blurred. Of the 1204 inhabitants of the Jewish town, a total of 116 houses, 426 were Christians by 1900 (and 422 of these were Catholics). As far as nationality was concerned: 603 claimed to be German and 406 were Czechs.42

The situation regarding the Moravian communities had now become extremely confusing: they had lost many of their tax-paying members and had gone into decline. In order to maintain legal control, but also to prevent formation of other communities, finally on 21.3.1890 after 'long and difficult negotiations a new law was passed which governed the external legal conditions of the Israelite religious groups':

This law specified that in Moravia there would be 50 Israelite devotional communities... the law specified the autonomy of these religious communities. A board, elected by the community members would have sovereignty in all issues relevant to culture, schooling and charity but also taxation. The lay regime conquered the ecclesiastical... An extremely important point in this law is that it underlined the basic principle that only one community would be tolerated within a certain local area... The allocation and borders of the administrative districts for the Israelite religious communities came into force on January 1, 1892... Twelve of the old communities were dissolved and incorporated into neighbouring religious communities. 43

The state Rabbinate in Brno then became the sole surviving institution of this type in Austria. In forming these new religious communities, inasmuch as the number of Jewish residents permitted it, they kept to the members of the former Jewish community. In Boskowitz, therefore, they formed a religious community with its own administration district – without affecting its status as a political community. The accelerated demise of the former community could only be postponed, but not prevented by these legislative measures. The rush towards a big city, increasingly Vienna, could not be stemmed.

In 1919 the political community was dissolved, the census in 1921 showed that only 454 Jews still lived in the town. 44

From the 458 Jews deported to Theresienstadt in 1942 – including Ungar's mother and his brother Felix with wife and children – only 14 survived.

* * *

Everything that I hate is inside me, I am enclosed in my ghetto skin. And when I rip this skin from my body, nothing is gained, for under the skin beats the heart of my forefathers, and my brain is my forefathers' brain.

Ludwig Winder, _The Jewish Organ_ 45

Very little is known about Hermann Ungar's forefathers on the paternal side. No one knows when they settled in Boskowitz and there is no information on the exact genealogy. This is made more difficult by the fact that until 1780 the Jews in Bohemia and Moravia only used first names, qualified then by the father's name. When Josef II introduced the Name Law, his first step towards emancipation, all Jews were forced to use Germanic first names and family names. By 1782 this 'naming' had been completed. The first person to bear the name of 'Ungar' in Boskowitz and therefore presumably the first named forefather of Hermann Ungar on the paternal side, was Rabbi Mose ben Hirsch ha-Levi Ungar. Born in the middle of the 18th century in Boskowitz, he left his home community early on in life and went to the Hungarian part of Slovakia in order to evade the 'Familial Law' which only permitted the eldest son to enter into a legal marriage. The many years that Mose ben Hirsch ha-Levi spent in Slovakia remains veiled in darkness, but presumably he found strength and stability within an Hungarian Jewish community, had a large family and started on his rabbinical career. Homesickness and nostalgic longings for his home countryside never left him throughout all the years, and soon after Josef's reforms, just before the turn of the century, he returned to Boskowitz, also perhaps attracted by the Talmudic Rabbinic development of his home community under Samuel Kolin. He took the name of origin 'Ungar'and worked there as senior rabbi from 1811 until his death in 1814. Information that he was a rabbi previously in Gewitsch, another very old Jewish community, 20 km north east of Boskowitz has never been confirmed. Besides his official post as rabbi, Mose Ungar was also the head of the school house in Boskowitz, in Beth ha-Midrach and a member of the Chevrah-Kadischa (funeral brotherhood). Despite the lack of detail, there is no doubt that Mose Ungar was an advocate of strict religious observance in the community, in the tradition of Samuel Kolin and Simon ben David Oppenheim to whom he was registered in 1812, and that he handed on this obligation to his descendants. 46

Only one of Moses Ungar's sons was ever mentioned by name by Hugo Gold, in the History of Jews in Boskowitz and that was Mordechai (presumably Mordechai Hirsch ben-Levi Ungar), once as being the rabbinate assessor in the year 1818 and then again in an excerpt from the alphabetic register of Chevrah-Kadischa members in the year 1844.47 This son may be identical to the Markus (=Mordechai) Ungar, who in another place was mentioned as the local school supervisor for the years 'about 1820 and later'. 48 If this is true, then the two different forms of names would be symptomatic for the special situation in which the generations after Mose Ungar found themselves. On the one side bound by strong Jewish traditions, paternal upbringing and the enforced strict Jewish orthodoxy through the rabbinical ghetto laws into which many others tied themselves institutionally (rabbinate assessor Mordechai) – on the other side a divergence from their Jewish-orientation with the threat of loss of their Jewish identification, due to scholastic upbringing in the elementary school, the post-reform social changes and the increased assimilation to Germanic ways of life. This loss of Jewish identification could only have been averted by a clear decision on the positioning - a possibility which did not appear to have been feasible for the Jews in Boskowitz, in Bohemia or in Moravia, as any decision, whether in favour of the Jewish-orientation or the German-orientation would have inevitably resulted in repression either by the state government or by the rabbinate. Hermann Ungar would have been involved in this dilemma at birth.

A decisive as yet unsatisfactorily resolved question is whether Mose Ungar's son Mordechai (Markus?) was actually the Markus Ungar registered as the co-owner of house number 56 on Kleinen Brunnenplatz (Small Fountain Square today U vazne studny) in the poll of the Jewish community carried out during the first half of the 19th century (prior to 1832).49 The same register shows a Markus Ungar also co-owning the houses identified as numbers 46, 68 and 86 (the latter known as Emperor's House). It is uncertain whether these are all one and the same person, but given the circumstances within the ghetto, it is feasible. At that time in history almost every single Jewish house had more than one owner. It is, however, relatively certain that this Markus Ungar, Hermann Ungar's great-grandfather on the paternal side, established a small spirit manufacturing business in 1811 in house number 56, directly adjacent to the Hotel of the German Jew.50 The main products were various types of schnapps and liqueurs – 'Rosoglio' and 'Korn' being the most famous. Although the business was small at the beginning, it expanded to form the bases for a relatively affluent middle-class family existence in later years. There are virtually no definite biographical details on Markus Ungar, neither on his wife Jetty. Born during the last third of the 18th century, he died on June 29, 1848 – it is assumed that Jetty died in the year 1858. Available documents lead to the conclusion that Markus had been married once before.51 He and his wife Jetty had four children: Israel, Samuel, Rebekka and Herrmann.

Herrmann, the youngest son and the grandfather of the writer, took over the family business when his father, Markus Ungar, died. In 1851 he is described in a document as being the co-owner of the house number 56.52 Under his management the small manufacturing business founded by his father was to expand as part of the post-revolution Jewish economic miracle. He was born in 1812, is supposed to have married in 1849 after the general emancipation when all remaining marriage restrictions were lifted. The ageing bachelor married Jetty Biach who was born in 1823 to an old traditional Nikolsburg family who migrated to Boskowitz. Like the Ungar family, the Biach were very orthodox and both family trees show a number of rabbis and dayanims.53 It was part of their tradition that Herrmann married a woman from the same community, but in his special case it also proved his close links to his native soil and and his lack of mobility. His life focussed on the distillery and on the Jewish community – he would never even have given a thought to exploit the liberty given to him, to move elsewhere and set up his own business. Various certificates from the district archives in Boskowitz show that Herrmann Ungar applied to the authorities for a beer sales permit in the year 1850, which was initially refused by the main district authority. He resubmitted his application in 1854 and in 1855 his application was approved. In 1852 the 'local house owner and distilled brandy publican' purchased 'the area belonging to the community adjacent to his property, i.e. the lower part of house number 56', thus expanding the business further.54 As he did not have a permit in his own name, he manufactured all products at this period first in his father's name and then in his mother's name. When Jetty Ungar died, he applied for his own concession at the end of 1858, which was then granted. A letter still exists from the Jewish Community Council to the 'Laudable KK District Office' dated November 1858 in support of Herrmann Ungar's application. 'During the lifetime of his father Markus Ungar', then 'after his father's demise on behalf of his now also deceased mother Jetty Ungar' he carried out all the duties 'relating to the liqueur and Rosoglio products very successfully for many years' and also gained the necessary 'thorough expertise himself'. Furthermore the document states:

This man is also the sole owner of the part of the house number 56, in which the liqueur and Rosoglio products have hitherto been produced and sold: he also owns all the equipment and devices for carrying out the business activities. Herrmann Ungar also has all the assets needed to run a business within this commercial sector. He has a good reputation within the community in regard to his moral and political lifestyle, he contributes a great deal to the communal requirements of this community and participates meaningfully in all charity enterprises within the community. Therefore the most humble community leadership members support the application of Herrmann Ungar for the issue of a permit to manufacture liqueur and Rosoglio at his house number 56 in the local Israelite community. 55

In fact Herrmann Ungar affirmed his increasingly wealthy, not quite 'rich' middle-class position by his intensive social life and sophisticated German-orientations. On the one side, the Jewish-orthodox side, he took the office of a religious head and was an 'extremely religious man, well education in Judaism'.56 As the house on Brunnenplatz soon became too small, he bought house number 86 in the Judengasse on May 23, 1859, built an upper storey and a connection to the neighbouring house then moved in with the business on January 23, 1860. Here, at the so-called Emperor's House, 33 years later his grandson was born and named after him - Hermann Ungar, the writer.57 Besides the distillery and the bar in the Emperor's House, Hermann Ungar also owned various taverns in neighbouring villages (including Blansko, Perna and Korenec), also a distillery with a tobacco shop in Swittawka for which an as yet unidentified 'Israel L. Ungar' was granted an alcohol sales licence on December 30, 1864. It seems that relations by the name of Rotter lived in Swittawka, 58 for according to a death certificate Hermann Ungar was the guardian of the under-age children of the deceased married couple Bernhard and Fanni Rotter from Swittawka. This is particularly interesting, since a young lady by the name of Eva Rotter lived at the Emperor's House a few decades later although nothing more is known about her. Herrmann also owned a subsidiary business in Brno, in the Haberlegasse 49 (today Smetanova ulice), just a few hundred metres away from the main square. Besides the Emperor's House which was rebuild or renovated majorly in 1894, there was also a subsidiary bar later in the Christenstadt (Christian Town) in Boskowitz and the family also appeared to run a little farm.

Herrmann Ungar died on January 10, 1890, and never met his firstborn grandson Hermann Ungar. Jetty, nee Biach, survived her husband by exactly twenty four years and followed him to the grave on January 10, 1914. She lived in the Emperor's House until her death with the family of her second-eldest son, Emil. Her grandson Hermann was very attached to her, much later in the surrealistic sketch _Dream_ he wrote:

Grandmother baked an apple for me and just as I was about to eat it, I remembered that my grandmother was dead and that when she died my father and Uncle Max had cried. I hadn't believed it and hadn't wanted to believe it. Grandmother startled me but I laughed at the same time, because she had probably only appeared because I had hiccups... which would stop if someone startled me....59

Jetty and Herrmann Ungar had four children: Markus Max (named for the grandfather: born 5.8.1850), Emil (Hermann's father: approx. 1852-1942), Rosa and Fanny (2.12.1856-25.8.1926). A son Michl died at an early age (26.6.185-9.7.1857).

Max Ungar, Hermann Ungar's uncle, became a lecturer in mathematics and physics at the University of Vienna, but was never – probably because of his Jewish descent – awarded a professorship. This caused him to move from Vienna to Brno where he lived as a person of private means. The two girls left Boskowitz after their marriages: Rosa lived in Prague, Fanny in Budapest. The sisters were soon widowed and both moved, one returning to Boskowitz, the other to Brno.60

Whilst sadly no clear details are available on the genealogy of Emil Ungar, we are well informed on the origins of Jeanette Kohn, his later wife, as she came from a Jamnitz family who were well known far beyond the borders of the homeland, respected and famous. The family had lived in Jamnitz (Jemnice) a traditional Czechoslovakian-orientated small town in the most southerly part of Moravia. Although the family was also very religious, it was much less orthodox and above all more interested in achieving a balance between Jew and Christian, later between German and Czech lifestyles. The circumstances at the time were beneficial to their approach, for the sheer proximity of Vienna gave both the mutual feeling of a common fate, and the ghetto-structure had never gone as far as in Boskowitz. Suffice it to say that the Kohns achieved some great wealth early on, as the largest land leaseholders of the Pallavinicis.

The reputation of the family Kohn in Jamnitz, even prior to their freedom from the Dominican sovereignty, is underlined by a letter of recommendation from the Deacon and vicar Jakob Boehm, dated 6.2.1834, after which the family was granted the great privilege of being permitted to employ 'female servants', i.e. Czech maids:

The undersigned herewith bears witness to the fact that in the local Israelite community the branches of the Kohn family... are exemplary in religious-moral matters as the undersigned has observed during his twenty two years here in the community. The undersigned has frequently seen that they are strict adherents of their religion of Moses and maintain order and good behaviour within their family. They are well-disposed to everyone, are peaceful, quiet and keep to themselves, are good to the poor and in-need no matter of which confession, their peace-loving approach means that there no mention of involvement in disputes or intentional complaints. 61

Real religiousness, without any smear of dogma cults, was combined early in the Kohn family with German idealism and wholehearted humanism. To them there was no contradiction in the combination of religious Talmud knowledge and secular education, including Mendelssohn and the classics – in fact, they perceived it more as different ways to achieve the same objective: human conciliation and empowerment (upward development). Simon Kohn, Hermann Ungar's great-great-uncle (1769-1848) was a representative of such a line of thought:

According to the handed-down stories of the time, he possessed a personality which had been shaped by the path of extraordinary knowledge and mental agility gained via self-study and self-upbringing, thus he excelled above all others of his faith within the community. 62

He came to riches and influence as a large leaseholder of land. His early German assimilation, his positive relationship to the authorities enabled him to ensure that the Jamnitz Jews obtained their rights on the markets on Brno and Nikolsburg. He paid for the reconstruction of the temple destroyed during a huge catastrophic fire in 1832 and at the same time a 'trust for the newly constructed house number 28... by which every owner was obliged to pay 300 Fl. for retaining trained cantors at the temple.' 63 From 1840 until his death in 1848 he was the head of the cultural community, an honorary position which was passed on to members of the Kohn family until 1885.

Herz Kohn (1781-1859), a brother of Simon Kohn, accepted the position in 1848 and remained the head until 1853. There is very little known about him, the great-great-grandfather of Hermann Ungar on the maternal side, but one can assume that he was very similar in personality and in intellect to his brother, Simon.64 It would be exceedingly difficult indeed to imagine him in the role of an orthodox rabbi, such as Mose ben Hirsch ha-Levi Ungar had been in Boskowitz.

It was perhaps Herz Kohn, but most definitely his successor as head of the cultural community, Lazar Kohn (head from 1853 to 1850) who is recorded in the school annals as being the 'Mayor', supported by the Community Councillors – something fairly unusual as neither at this time nor later (as in the case of Boskowitz) was the Jewish community in Jamnitz elevated to the level of a political community. 65 Ths title does not just bear evidence of the Kohn's assimilation – and with them most of the Jewish citizens of Jamnitz – to a German way of life, it also bears witness to the special autonomy which the family brought to the Jewish community despite the Christian town authorities.

Further evidence of the influence the Kohn family had on the events within the entire town is shown with the example of Ezechiel Kohn (24.7.1804-23.5.1879), the great-grandfather of Hermann Ungar. He was the eldest son of Herz Kohn and a brother of Leopold Kohn (3.11.1808-12.4.1886), who was apparently very popular in the Jewish community as can be seen from the long duration of his position as head of the cultural community – namely from 1859 to 1885.66 Ezechiel Kohn was extremely intelligent and talented and his parents did all they could to promote this. His 'maternal grandfather, the Talmud scholar Samuel Landau who died in Prague on October 30, 1834' gave his 'scientific ambitions' a 'definite direction' with 'special preference for mathematics and astronomy'. He dedicated his life 'totally to education and progress' and he was awarded 'eternal honours from the town of Jamnitz'.

Due to his scholastic ability which far exceeded the average education and his kindly heart he did not only win the admiration of his fellow-believers, but of all the residents of the town which then elected him as their first community councillor to the town representatives after the 1848 revolution. In this office he stood side by side with Heidler, the mayor at that time, to celebrate the foundation of the most prestigious financial institute in south west Moravia, the Sparkasse der Stadt Jamnitz. After Dr Joachim Oppenheimer's departure from Jamnitz in 1861, he took on the rabbinic agenda in Jamnitz for many years, without actually officially acting as administrator to the rabbinate.67

Secular education without betrayal of religious traditions, a kindly heart and a conciliatory approach in the interests of the entire town were also the defining characteristics of Samuel Kohn (30.10.1835 -13.12.1911), the son of Ezechial Kohn and the father of Jeanette Kohn, whom Hermann Ungar was still able to meet. From 1891 until his death he also clad the office of the head of the cultural community and it later honoured the memory of this 'excellent and truly noble man' by setting up a 'Samuel Kohn Talmud Torah Trust', 'a painting of him was hung in the meeting room of the Israelite Cultural Community'. 68 Rudolf Hruschka wrote further about Hermann Ungar's grandfather, Samuel Kohn, in his _History of the Jews in Jamnitz_ :

As was the case with his forefathers, he was revered and admired by his fellow citizens, no matter which race or creed, far beyond the borders of his town, because of the sharpness and clarity of his judgement and especially because of the friendship and empathy he extended to all people, plus his peaceable and kindly attitude.

This fact combined with his personal traits and his innermost beliefs make it quite understandable that the wider public would not want to do without the cooperation of such a personality in the interests of progress. And so his name appears throughout his life on lists of authorities, bodies and associations, on which he was selflessly and untiringly active without any thought of personal gain: on the town council, on the board of the district school from the time it was created via the governmental School Law until his death, on street committees, in the choir association – as the founder member, long-term choir master and then honorary choir master – on farming and commercial associations, on the associations for the savings bank and funding provision, etc.

In 1898 he, himself, paid for the full renovation of the Jamnitz synagogue. 69

Samuel Kohn and his wife Katharina had five children. The eldest son, Emil Konrad, studied and graduated in Vienna, where he became an editor. Ludwig, who was particularly close to Hermann Ungar, owned an estate and was a leaseholder for the aristocrats in Jamnitz and Pullitz, in 1913 he became the deputy to the head of the Cultural Community, Ludwig Mayer. The two daughters Ernestine and Emma both married into the Sonnenschein family and lived in Oilmetz; Jeanette (1.3.1867) found her way to Boskowitz and to Emil Ungar. 70

* * *

The ambivalent approach taken by the older Herrmann Ungar, constantly fluctuating between Jewish traditions and secular ways of life, was evident in his opinions which he passed on to his two sons, Max and Emil. Both boys attended the grammar school in Brno, but after this their paths would separate according to their father's wishes. Whilst the older son Max was supposed to ultimately take over the family business and thus first build up his own business as a retailer of mixed goods (however who then made his own choice and studied in Vienna), Emil had to absolve a 'thorough Jewish training in a Talmud-Torah school' with the objective of joining the rabbinate and even studied Sanskrit for some time.71 That he, personally, chose this rabbinical Talmudic future following in the footsteps of Mose Ungar is doubtful, even if his interest in bible research and Jewish history continued throughout his life. He was much more interested in the secular, humanistic areas of knowledge, which he studied after leaving grammar school privately and well into old age. Hermann Ungar saw his father 'constantly carrying scientific books around with him', reading the bible in French (!) 72 and allowing himself 'two hours of relaxation' daily, 'when he read Homer in the original text and Shakespeare' - both said to be his 'favourite reading material'. 'And once he had finished reading both books, he would simply start all over again'.73 The game of chess was his other lifelong passion. If Emil Ungar's interest in Jewish knowledge stemmed from his desire to understand his roots and the influence on the ghetto on their lives, his virtually manic tendency towards humanistic and western cultures – caricatured later in such a delicious way but with tragic undertones in the petit-bourgeois Colbert ( _Colbert's Journey_ ) – can only be explained as (ultimately futile because it was purely imaginary) escape from the ghetto restrictions, as an attempt to find his own identity outside the enforced national or confessional bonds. He could escape mentally from the ghetto for periods of time, but outside in the real world he was chained to it for a lifetime, unable to fulfil his own ambitions. When Max Ungar, highly talented and highly qualified, chose a university career in Vienna (a decision accepted by his father with some pride), there was no real choice for Emil Ungar as the sole alternatives were to take over the family business or to become a rabbi. Upon the death of his father he was forced to take over the role of the manufacturer and bar owner, despite his lack of business acumen and practical knowledge, 74 and to remain in provincial Boskowitz for the rest of his life. Amongst all the contradictions that made up his life, is the fact that thanks to his education and his reputation, but also as a result of his economic and middle-class security, he was selected as mayor of the Jewish community from 1903 to 1905. Prior to this he was an elected member of the Community Council in 1897 and 1900 (but resigned a short while later each time). The contradiction here lay in his having to represent Jewish traditions in the communal political role of mayor, but that on the other side 'he had already personally transferred to a European secular culture'. 75 He therefore unwittingly found himself in the same predicament as the head of the cultural committee in Ludwig Winter's novel _The Jewish Organ_ , who has to admit to his protagonist Albert Wolf that he is 'not pious' and that he had only been elected 'because I am rich and not because I am pious': 'Just between us, I am just as much a free spirit as you are, but it has to be kept from the others'.76 In later years Emil Ungar was committed in different ways to the Jewish community: in 1906 for example he was commissioned to set up the local school council and he was chosen as their speaker (1908 he resigned again), in 1910 he became a member of the community board, 1911 he was the community accountant. But he preferred to withdraw into his dream world. As had been the case with his father, the manufacturing business and the bars were run by other people and thus he had enough time for himself. His son Hermann saw him as a 'pensioner' with the same cranky attitudes as Colbert. In fact the portrait painted by Ungar of Colbert in the 'notes from the author' on _The Arbour_ could well apply to Emil Ungar:

He dressed with discerning elegance, with French nuances although also lightly provincial. His hair is oiled and combed carefully over pink-shimmering bald pate. A little, well trimmed pointed beard, a moustache just below his nostrils winging outwards and forming twisted peaks. Red cheeks. A beautiful silk handkerchief peeping out of his jacket pocket and white spats. All these give Colbert's appearance something special, which one can only describe as 'soignee'... His love of all things French, a widely-accepted idea of his fellow-countrymen... he did not perceive as being 'fine and noble', but rather the honourable ties to the culture and traditions of the Western world. 77

Like Colbert, Ungar loved to travel – 'with pleasure and as often as possible' but only within his own country. 78 This was the sole way in which the dutiful heir allowed himself to physically escape from the ghetto for a short while.

Sadly the available information on Jeanette Kohn is extremely lacking, so that one can only make assumptions based on her obvious and eminent influence on Hermann Ungar's early development and formative years. She grew up in a liberal German atmosphere, schooled in German-idealistic traditions and in the classics she belonged to the type of Jewish woman who was an almost blind adherent of German literature, first and foremost cleaving to Goethe and Schiller. She attempted to pass this admiration on to her children without seeing any contradiction to the Jewish way of life. Jeanette's interest in Western culture and her educated religiousness will have been those factors, which so attracted Emil Ungar, the former Talmud-Torah scholar, who longed to be free of his traditional chains. The traits which were slowly developing in him, and in most of the ghetto residents, a seemingly free, liberated way of thinking, the upright posture of the German-assimilated Jew, was in Jeanette's eyes a foregone conclusion of the heritage of numerous generations. It might have been possible for the wife to release Emil Ungar from the strict ties of the ghetto, but the opposite appears to have happened. She came from a secular, highly educated milieu, she was totally immersed in German ways of life and would have regarded the thin German-orientated facade of these Boskowitz provincials secretly with derision, separating Ungar gradually from the community social life so that one could actually see the structure of their joint life as a self-imposed ghetto system.

In literature based on the memories of later witnesses to the time, Emil Ungar appears as an 'extremely well educated man, somewhat estranged from the world', 'a crank, but in the nicest possible way, in a way in which scholars sometimes are', as a person who 'does not often mix with adults' but 'spends his time with young people with whom he communicates easily and well' 79 and as being 'reserved and distant throughout his life.' 80 Euphemistically and from a forced positive angle, the image here is of a social failure, someone who escapes from reality, with a base tone of tragedy, for Emil Ungar enchained in tradition and obligations, without the courage to achieve his own potential, would never be able to fulfil his own expectations.

Another factor which contributed greatly to the isolation of the members of the Ungar family – who, by the way, were highly respected and admired for their generosity and charitable acts (typical mechanisms of superiority) – was an eye disease which had troubled Jeanette Ungar, besides diabetes, since her childhood but which became worse after her marriage in Boskowitz and which later, despite numerous operations, resulted in total blindness.81 This threatening prospect threw a shadow over Ungar's childhood years.

* * *

Jeanette and Emil Ungar married some time around 1891/1892. Their first son was born on April 20, 1893 and, as dictated by tradition, they gave him the name of the grandfather and called him Hermann. A second son, Felix, followed on June 19, 1894 and then on August 15, 1895 their daughter, Gertrud (Gerta) was born. German names were quite usual by then in Boskowitz and had been accepted in most Jewish enclaves for more than two generations. Only the most orthodox families still chose biblical Hebraic names.

Hermann Ungar had an excellent relationship with his younger brother, Felix, especially during his childhood and grammar school years, but it was really limited to play, to boyhood pranks and to irritating the adults. Felix, who was less astute than Hermann, did not share his brother's interest in literature and theatre, preferring – as Ungar related in his childhood reminiscences _Wallenstein by me_ – gymnastics and PT to amateur dramatics. 82 After education and training Felix started work in the father's business, eventually taking over the management. At the beginning of the 1930s he married Marianne Knoepfelmacher (born 8.1.1903 into an old Boskowitz family), the daughter of another distilliery owner and a friend of Emil Ungar's. After the marriage, Felix was mainly occupied with the management of his father-in-law's business, whilst Emil Ungar, now far too old to carry on alone with the management of the business in the Emperor's House, handed over the responsibility to a younger relation, Eva Rotter, who then moved in to the Ungar's home.

Marianne and Felix lived in the Knoepfelmacher family home on the opposite side of the large market square in the north eastern part of the Christian town, on Palacky ulice (later Koblizna) known today as Kpt. Jarose. The Knoepfelmacher enterprise was founded in the second half of the 19th century. The house, which still stands today, had a large garden (something that was missing at the Emperor's House) greatly enjoyed by family and friends. Felix spent the whole of his life in Boskowitz. Nanette Klemenz's statement that he 'never really achieved any status in life' is not quite justified. 83 Unlike Hermann, Felix prospered in business life and had quite a few successes. He experienced difficulties during the economic crisis later on and travelled to Berlin after Herman's death for 'business dealings'. 'Friends of the Ungar family contributed money for this purpose, but all his entrepreneurial ventures failed'.84 In the autumn of 1938, as a result of the Sudeten crisis, Felix sold the distillery in Koblizna to Rostislav Stelcl and in January 1939 he and his family moved in to his parent's home, the Emperor's House where the family business continued until 1941. During this period he considered following the example of his sister, Gerta, in starting a new life in Palestine. With emigration in mind, he apprenticed himself to a Boskowitz carpenter, Rudolf Vodacek, thinking that he could carve out a new livelihood for himself and his family in the land of Israel. (One assumes that he followed the lead of his brother Hermann and became a Zionist during his schooldays). He had already received his travel permit. The plan was delayed until Felix had collected all debts and finalised all the financial matters. He was also troubled by the thought of leaving his elderly parents – the long, arduous journey to Palestine would have simply been too much for them, let alone the difficult circumstances which awaited them in Palestine.

So he remained in his home town during the national socialist occupation of the Czechoslovakian Republic and during the war. When he was offered the chance of escape to the West in 1942 (probably to England) he hesitated again – and this cost him his life. Like most other Boskowitz Jews he fell victim to the German leviathan. On March 19, 1942, he was rounded up together with his wife Marianne, their two sons Hans Georg (born 18.1.1933) and Otto (born 4.10.1934), as well as his blind and infirm 75 year old mother Jeanette and taken on a Jewish transport to Theresienstadt (Terezin) concentration camp, the main collection point for Bohemian and Moravian Jews. From there they were deported on April 25, 1942, to Warsaw and all traces of them disappeared in Auschwitz. There is absolutely no doubt that they were murdered in the same year by the beasts of German fascism.85 Emil Ungar escaped this fate – he died in 1942 at a very old age just before deportation.86 His daughter Gerta had emigrated to Palestine previously in 1926.

Gerta, the youngest of the Ungar's children had always suffered from 'a delicate constitution'. 87 In appearance she was very similar to her brother, Hermann, whom she loved dearly – presumably she admired his apparent carefree and lively personality and his intellect. Felix Loria, a school friend of Hermann's at the Brno grammar school and a frequent guest of the Ungar's, remembers Gerta as being a 'pretty girl, extremely clever, reserved with tendencies towards idealism'. 88 The differences in age and gender prevented a closer relationship on an equal footing between the siblings. Hermann played more of a role model than a friend for Gerta and like him, she joined the Zionist movement when she was still at grammar school. With the end objective of living in the promised land of Israel, Gerta studied medicine in Vienna (she had been a nurse during the WW1) and after her finals in 1926 she went straight to Palestine where she lived for the first few years in the kibbutz Ejn Charod.

She worked as a paediatrician at a nearby hospital under extremely difficult circumstances. Despite her youth she was regarded as an excellent doctor. 'She was a pioneer through and through, as well as possessing a high degree of intelligence', said Hedwig Neumann, one of Gerta's acquaintances. Some years later, around 1933, Gerta Ungar moved to Tel-Aviv, where she continued working as a paediatrician for the health service. In her new position, she once again gained many friends and an excellent reputation.89

Gerta was married to Rudolf Kleiner-Zair, but they were childless. Amongst their friends in Palestine was the couple Albert (Abraham) Ticho, an eye specialist and a boyhood friend of Ungar's, with his wife Anna Ticho, an artist.

Gerta died unexpectedly in Tel-Aviv in 1946 shortly after the war 'broken-hearted by the fate of her family' as Nanette Klemenz carefully worded the information gleaned from Hedwig Neumann. 'The news of the murder of her mother and her brother Felix by the Nazis would have accelerated her death.' 90 According to alternative sources ([Aunt] Blanka Haasova-Totisova) Gerta was unable to bear life in a world in which such atrocities took place and so she took her own life. However she also feared the blindness that had affected her mother.

Hermann Ungar had seldom seen his sister after his childhood and youth, probably never again after 1926, but the ties were never completely severed. Gerta's letters from Ejn Charod kept him regularly informed in the last remaining years of his life on the progress of constructing Jewish Palestine, on the 'revolutionary colonisation' (Martin Buber), also on the conflicts with their Arab neighbours, and rekindled his enthusiasm, which had become so weary, for the Zionistic objectives – he even thought of travelling to Palestine. No-one could foresee that Hermann would be the first of his family to leave this earth for another form of Jerusalem.

* * *

At first glance Boskowitz ghetto in the 1890s had the facade of a typical provincial German small town, although it seemed more small-town-like, more provincial and populated by really blinkered people. The facade was nothing but a thin, borrowed veneer.

Hermann Ungar tried to depict this small-town claustrophobia which so burdened his childhood concentrating satirically on unmasking typical characters from the German-Moravian milieu, particularly in his later comedy _The Arbour_.91 Even the motto of this satire, which Ungar had borrowed from Anatole France's _Island of Penguins_ could be applied to Boskowitz and ever other similar town:

.... to praise the virtues which support society: servility versus wealth, piousness versus renunciation of poverty – herein lies the basis of an orderly life. 92

This is true in certain ways of the German-Jewish society in Czechoslovakia before the dissolution of the ghettos – and Ungar drew a veil over this fact, as is obvious in _The Arbour_ by the Christian ambiance of his characters. In Boskowitz, where virtually no real Germans lived at all, many of the Jews at the turn of the century had already lost their real beliefs, but they still acted out a semblance of pure piousness. Despite the extreme social-hierarchical chasm opening up at their feet, no serious social conflicts ever arose between the scores of peddlers and scroungers right up to the affluent factory owners such as Emil Ungar, the social orderliness was never endangered. Jewish class conflict was unknown in the ghettos.

Of course a divide existed between rich and poor, but these opposites never went deep socially.... There was always a certain similarity in thought and feeling, this stemmed above all from the fact that the residents of the ghetto all shared the same profession – that of the merchant – and the similar thought processes of the Jews meant that any differences in status were never obvious. Even the youngest Jew possessed intuitive economic insight, recognising that the difference between small and large properties had occurred naturally... he would never dream of attacking or even envying the rich people... he just strives to become a minor millionaire himself and if he is not successful, well he just hopes to experience the success of his son or grandson.93

Social conflicts, inseparably mixed with national and racist resentment, only existed for the German Jews with the petit-bourgeois attitudes where their Czech neighbours were concerned, with whom they now frequently lived door-to-door and with whom they really did not want any contact. Despite the fact that due to the unstoppable growth of the Czech national identity many Czechoslovakians had also become factory owners, wholesalers, even industrialists, the majority remained poverty-stricken. Many of these poor Czechs now lived in the Jewish area, earning a living as servants, as maids, labourers, workers or as lackeys to the richer Jewish citizens.

Emil Ungar employed mainly unskilled Czechs to carry out tasks in the distillery, warehouses and distribution areas as well as in the bars. As far as the Jews were concerned this unbalanced social community imbued them with feelings of pride, haughtiness, perhaps even an imagined German middle class status, but in the Czechs on the other hand it provoked feelings of hatred, of having been cheated, the national and racial implications were camouflaged rather than felt. Hermann Ungar also illustrated this indirectly in _The Arbour_ (previously also in _Colbert's Journey_ and in _The Class_ ), as in the figure of the servant Modlizki who is less interested in expropriation than in getting rid of the (German) middle classes, that is, the mechanism which the Czechs themselves would see as debasing their self-worth once they themselves had 'arrived' at that social level. Modlizki, the Czech servant, said:

I do not think it is just a matter of seizing their (the middle classes') assets. Perhaps one might prevent them from trimming their fingernails, from having a manicure, from changing underwear, from playing the piano, from kissing their ladies' hands, for example. If I were to lead a revolution, that would be my kind of revolution, I think. Perhaps it is useless to take away their assets and their property, if they still insist on all the trappings of courtesy and good manners, the cultured behaviour, the old paintings, and so on. It is these things that make them different and enable them to dominate people of my social status.94

Even kindly, helpful and reserved Emil Ungar gave rise to unintentional resentment, like Colbert, by way of his 'fussing in the name of courtesy', especially as he fitted exactly into the clichéd image of the enemy of the Czech chauvinists as a manufacturer and a bar owner. They painted the Jews as ogres, who exploited the poor Czech peasants whilst forcing them into alcohol dependency.

The reason why it did not come to any serious excesses in Boskowitz, as it did later in Holleschau, is mainly thanks to the mediation of the learned bible and Talmud researcher, Salomon Funk (1867 – 1928), who, in the year of Hermann Ungar's birth, 'as a 27 year old from Moravian Kromau was nominated as the successor of the famous state rabbi Abraham Placzek 95 and later as the state rabbi deputy representative 96 into the ancient venerable community split by party wrangling.' 97 When Funk went to Vienna in 1913 to take over the rabbinate there, the town of Boskowitz made him an honorary citizen of the town and the district elders submitted an 'extremely flattering testimonial letter' stating that he 'was a friend of the poor and the unfortunate no matter which nationality' and that he 'contributed hugely to the peaceful coexistence of those belonging to both creeds and confessions'. The crass differences between the young and the old within the Jewish community were diminished if not resolved by his 'inspiring words on the cautious contemporary explanations of the rigid literal understanding of the prophets' ethics combined with his fiery love of Judaism and his strictly religious way of life'.98

The environment of Hermann Ungar's adolescence portrayed here possessed two important features: the arrogance of middle-class German lifestyle which provoked animosity: and the fractured religiousness which was more posturing than reality, or more mask than inner conviction. Both of these features were decisive for Ungar's future existence. Although he was well aware of the bigoted narrow-mindedness (and at times in conversations with friends 'described in side-splittingly comic ways the ''Boskowitz fire brigade''.... which proved to be a font of jokes together with Jewish mothers and Moravian petit-bourgeois small town life' 99), he never perceived himself as being a German despite the German middle-class cultural way of life of his parental home and the ghetto. Although he acknowledged the hypocrisy, he himself never claimed to be religious or pious, but most of his works are imbued with the image of old Jewish theology, 'in which heaven and hell, damnation and mercy are realities'. 100 This transcendental way of thinking, however, is 'mixed with the remnants of ancient superstitions, 101 particularly wide-spread amongst country folk' injected into him by the simple Czech Christians, the vulgar Catholic rituals, the processions, the cult of the saints or the Virgin Mary, were more strange, more incredible than the traditions of his own religion, and fascinated the young boy – and later this Catholic drapery embellishes the protagonists – and not just traces of repression. 102

When standing on the balcony of the Emperor's House, Hermann was not just able to see the Big Temple in the alley opposite, but if he looked to the right over the tops of the old Jewish shops he could see the Market Square with the Catholic Church of St. Jacob and the Town Hall, which separated the Christian and Jewish parts of the town. He could see two worlds from one viewpoint. He would have walked practically every day through the ancient Jew Alley with its shops, through the Jewish Gate (no longer standing) and over to the Market Square to run errands for his father103 or to visit [Tante] Rosa Teveles, his aunt. She returned to Boskowitz after the death of her husband and lived in the Christian part of the town running a little bar and inn 'Parliament', not far from the church (thus securing Christian customers). This inn was actually another subsidiary of Emil's business – but aimed at the lowest classes. (Hermann was able to gain unforeseen insight into human depravity here and in later years, when he came back to spend holidays with his family, they lived in his aunt's house. It is odd that he preferred to accommodate his wife here rather than in the Emperor's House. The house in the Palacky Alley is still standing.) The animosity between Christians and Jews was not as obvious as depicted in Ludwig Winder's _The Jewish Organ_ but even so, Hermann during his walks (especially on Sundays) must have made similar experiences to those of Rabbi Wolf Wolf:

The Jew Alley stank of leather, schnapps, meat, every smell permeated a man standing in front of his shop and crying 'mazzeltov'... the people in the Jew Alley watched astonished as Wolf strode through the Gate to the Christian community, wide, monstrous... and the taunts of the Christian children, 'Jew, Jew'. The Market Square was full of incense, the clanging of bells, a procession of white and gold-clad priests, red flags, peasant women in short full skirts and high boots circling round the church.104

If Hermann was afraid of the claustrophobia of the Jewish town, he was also intimidated by the unfamiliarity of the Christian town and suffered from the inbred fear of the Christians (indeed more than justified in the wake of the Hilsner affair). True sanctuary could only be found in his family home, the sole safe shelter in his childhood. He described the exact opposite later in _A Man and a Maid_ with the suffering endured by his protagonist who grew up in the sanatorium:

I realise that I have never experienced any happiness in this house. I think that no-one ever laughed in this house. I was light-hearted and loud sometimes, but then with other children when playing in the hidden corners of the old alley or on the dusty square in front of the school. The moment I entered the house my heart constricted, a pressure bore down on me which even today, when I think about the sanatorium, overcomes me again.105

There was a lot of laughter in the Ungar home, perhaps less from the family than from the many guests – from which Hermann borrowed a lot for his fabled story-telling – but above all, the home was a haven of external peace and security.

* * *

The Emperor's House has hardly changed at all in the meantime, despite numerous renovations (the last being in 1986). If one walks from the Market Square _('I would like to stand once again on our cobbled Market Square'_ [Alexander] _)_ 106 down the former alley with the Jewish shops, the house is only a few feet away on the left side of the path, opposite another alley which leads to the Temple. To the right of the detached house is the entrance to the Placzekgasse, to the left a small alley with back-to-back houses which once formed the dividing line between the former Jewish and Christian parts of the town. The two-storey house still looks imposing. A central door served as the family entrance to the house, whereas the entrance on the left was used by the employees and led to the factory, where the schnapps and liqueur were stored in barrels ready for use. If the alcohol was not for direct sales, it was transported by carriage to the innkeepers in the area. On the right was the customer entrance to the distillery bar, a cool, dark and vaulted room with a flagstone floor furnished with a few tables and chairs, with a long counter at the back behind which was the till. The atmosphere in the room (the same atmosphere as in the 'Parliament', the 'low class inn' 107 run by Hermann's aunt) was in Ungar's mind when he described Widow Glenen's inn The Bell in _A Man and a Maid_ :

The long, dark guest room was no a picture of polite society. The men kept their hats on their heads, stank the place out with their pipes, spat on the floor, card players screeching, a music player attempting to drown the other noises. The Widow Glenen was enthroned behind the little counter, surrounded by bottles, glasses and polished pipes. 108

The bar room and the warehouse would have exerted the same fascination and attraction on Hermann as they did later on his son Thomas Michael, who often stayed with his grandparents during the holidays and who today can still recall images:

An old man visited the bar room on a daily basis to drink his koralk (schnapps) – he called himself 'the Knight of the Mountain' and looked a bit like a dissolute version of my grandfather. I think I must have been slightly afraid of him, for he was mysterious – that is what I thought. I often went into the 'business' and served the customers – liked taking the money and when I went into the liqueur store I always ran my finger along the taps on the little liqueur barrels and then licked the liquid off my finger.109

The office with the bottle store was behind the bar room, as was the warehouse, a ' _large dark room with a flagstone floor and three narrow skylights which cast the light into the room_ ',110 plus the shed which was quite usual within the Jewish community as the place to keep the force-fed geese and other ritual poultry. All these rooms together formed the 'back house'.

A wide entrance gate on the left-hand side at the front opened onto an inner courtyard (atrium?) with the water pump which was activated daily to fill the water tank on the upper floor. 111

From the hallway of the family entrance a spiral staircase led up into the family apartments on the upper floor. _'It was one of the oddities of this house that one was unable to get from one part of the house to another, sometimes from one room to another, without having to use stairs'_ .112 The parents' rooms led on to another room which was later occupied by Eva Rotter and were above the bedroom. The other rooms on the front of the house consisted of the kitchen, children's bedrooms and the middle parlour with a balcony complete with iron railings. The six windows and the balcony door functioned as light source for the rooms.

There was no real garden attached to the house, just a little rooftop garden above the warehouse with a strange sort of 'arbour', an unadorned construction of bricks, tiles and wood, which was the family's pride and joy and which, ultimately, was Ungar's inspiration for the comedy _The Arbour_. In this garden the family grew flowers and vegetables, the children played and the adults relaxed. Ungar's son Thomas remembers:

Emil only had a rooftop garden, which was located above the warehouse – the store – behind the house. All sorts of plants grew there and in the arbour – which we always referred to as the veranda – I used to watch the spiders. I remember my grandparents as very old people and grandmother was, of course, blind, had diabetes and spent her time listening to the radio using headphones. Sometimes she sat and prepared beans on the stairs which led from the house to the arbour. 113

The interior of the house would have been of German middle-class style, similar to the description given by Ungar of the home of Mayer, the orphanage father in _A Man and a Maid_ :

There were tablecloths, family photos, a sofa and upholstered chairs. To me these rooms were the height of earthly luxury. 114

Decades later he remembers a picture of his grandmother, an _'enlarged photo painted over in oil paint, framed and hung in the living room'._ 115 Later a similarly finished photo of Hermann and his brother during their time in grammar school joined it _. 'A large green board on which the names, heights and dates of birth of various members of the family were listed'_ also hung in the living room. 116

During the latter part of their childhood, Felix and Hermann shared a room at the front of the house with a view over the Temple, the church and the Jewish houses _. 'From the window of our room we could look down into the narrow alley and onto the uneven gables of the old neighbouring houses.'_ 117

* * *

The relationship between the young Hermann, his siblings and their parents seemed on the whole to be happy and unsullied:

Hermann had a very good relationship to his mother and father: he revered his father as is evident in the reminiscences of his university friend and room mate in Brno, Dr A. Loebl: 'Hermann's relationship to his parents was excellent. He loved and respected both father and mother, I never once heard a word of criticism from him about them'. 118

The bonds between the individual members of the family were very strong and loving. The children revered and loved their parents very much and had very close ties to each other, too. They felt a very deep affection for their mother, without this in any way detracting from the authority of their father. The mother... was a focus of the boy's life...In the Ungar household there was no lack of family warmth... It is however possible that 'the parents were far too soft-hearted and indulgent which was detrimental to their fitness for life'. 119 [He means they were spoilt rotten – in his eyes! – translator]

As the cited comments are derived from the memories of outsiders, also as we know that Ungar rarely imparted private information even to his best friends, these opinions should not be over-valued. But we cannot totally disregard them in view of the fact that no opposing evidence is available. If no other proof to change this perception exists, we have to accept the fact that Hermann Ungar was extremely attached to his parents and that he had an excellent relationship to his younger siblings.

In the autobiographical writings still in existence Hermann Ungar hardly ever mentions his parents. His affection for his mother is, however, obvious from an entry into his diary during a trip to Italy in April 1922, in which he wishes she were there with him, so that he could reveal the beauty of Fiesole to his blind mother:

I wish it were possible for my mother to see this, I wish she could be here with me. I would tell her, as she would not be able to perceive it with her own eyes, my words would be passionate and lively, she would be able to feel the warmth of the sun, this kind sun which spreads its tranquil warmth.120

This rare reference to his mother is noteworthy, not only as an expression of a son's love for his mother, but also because of the absolute recognition of his mother and her physical infirmities – the blindness which her son finds difficult to come to terms with.

And herein lies the key to the missing motherly characters in his writings, something that is judged as a symptom of personal experience of loss. Whilst fatherly figures appear often enough and either positive or negative leading characters from whom the fate of the protagonist depends, the mothers (with exceptions like _The War_ ) really never play a role. The mother of the hero in _A Man and a Maid_ left her son penniless in the house with a servant girl. In _Story of a Murder_ , after a long-term illness the mother died just after the birth of the narrator. Even Franz Polzer's mother in _The Maimed_ died just after his birth and the same happened to the mother of the schoolmaster Josef Blau in _The Class_ – she died of a haemorrhage. There are other examples. In silence they all provide evidence of the utter turmoil in a child's life when his mother is threatened by total blindness shortly after birth and is unable to devote herself to the material and physical needs of her first-born, who then feels even more displaced by the births of the younger siblings. This feeling is intensified when Emil Ungar, in his usual helpful and generous way, takes into his house Margit, Ilona and Blanka [Hermann's first love], the daughters of his deceased sister Fanny Totis , who after the death of her husband the lawyer Wilhelm Totis moved from Budapest to Brno. Emil offers the three girls a home for a while to support them financially and look after their upbringing, but, in doing so, he pushes Hermann increasingly aside.

The reasons why Hermann has to dispense with motherly attention and why he is cared for by ever-changing Czech wet nurses and nannies (who appear as Milkas and Miladas in his later works) were never explained to him. It could only be explained, in his eyes, as a withdrawal of affection, as a punishment which he has incurred for some unknown reason ultimately perhaps because of his existence. As his father initially also paid little attention to his first-born, partially because of the business but predominantly because he was devoting his time to spiritual and academic interests, it is clear that the relationship conflicts of early childhood were unavoidable.

Despite the lack of evidence it is obvious that the disruption of primary relationship persons resulted in a distorted self-esteem and ego-awareness, as all the symptoms for this appear without exception in all Ungar's later statements on life. He was indecisive, allowed his professional career to be determined and controlled by others without any protest; as far as his real ambition and desires were concerned (literature), he exhibited no self-confidence and even distrusted the most positive assessments. He had a distorted view of his own body resulting in a difficult puberty, later experiencing frequent bouts of nervous strain and the characteristic hypochondria.

From early childhood he took to escaping in role plays, for a while he contemplated a career as an actor, then wanted to become the diplomat in society and impress others with (presumably puberty-based) self-productions. He was driven by his thirst for recognition and human proximity, was afraid of isolation and sought numerous contacts which motivated him to join male associations such as the student fraternity Barissia or the Prague Freemasons. On the other side his ego-weakness, his fear of loss of close relationships, prevented him from being totally open to even his closest friends and forced him to keep a semi-distance in everything he did – not for nothing was he a constant visitor to coffee houses.

Most of these symptoms are also central constituents of Ungar's literary characters, particularly of the protagonists, although the physical and social determinates have been adapted and camouflaged to avoid exposure or identification. Ultimately these too are role plays and with his cathartic creations Ungar was able to rid himself for a while of his ego-fears without denigrating his origins. His sociological and psychoanalytical knowledge would have helped him here.

A typical example of the disguised ego-illustration is the little sketch _Mellon, the 'Actor'_ (1929) which on first sight is based on the fate of a school friend from Brno, but in reality casts light on Ungar's own psyche. Ungar's distorted perception of the body is reflected in the description of the main character, clearly very similar to the author:

Malnourished, pale blond hair, a long prominent nose on which was balanced a pince-nez on a black cord, The face was furrowed and lined, like that of an old man, his chest was thin and concave. His arms, long and scrawny, moved without rhythm.122

Mellon shared the author's love of role plays and his desire to become an actor. Ungar, as an eight year old, produced a youthful version of Wallenstein and played the main role, 123 throughout his years at grammar school he held private drama performances in his parents' roof garden – in the same way Mellon found his ideal future in a performance of a fairy story, in which he played 'a dwarf or an old man'.

Due to the performance, a newspaper wrote a few lines about him. He carried the carefully protected cutting around in his pocket from the 1st to the 8th class. 124

These few newspaper lines provided Mellon with his first – and perhaps last – recognition. His mother, a _'_ poor widow with numerous offspring, who managed to support herself and her children from her earnings from a small shop', 125 was just as unable to pay her son the attention he craved, as the virtually blind Jeanette had been. Both the boys, Mellon and Ungar, sought compensation for the lack of motherly care and attention and their ego-weaknesses in heroic role plays: Hermann as Wallenstein, Mellon as 'Egmont, Max, the magicians's apprentice, the courageous man, Agamemnon, Achilles' 126 and to achieve recognition through pretended identities. It was the same motivation which brought Ungar to write historic dramas later. Both share the same inability to force their chosen ego-ideals to conquer the resistance of the world around them. When they attempted to force Mellon onto the 'quickest path to a commercial profession', he perceives this as God's Judgement and elects instead to die of voluntary starvation. 127 It must have been a similar, less dramatic decision for Ungar to concede to his father's wishes and to join the civil service as a lawyer.

Hermann's attitude to his father was ambivalent. Initially prevented from intervening in his son's upbringing by the rigours of business and his private studies, Emil Ungar eventually took an interest but at a point when Hermann had already developed his own psychological mechanisms for compensating for the lack of maternal attention. Far from being swept away by his father's intervention, these mechanisms were intensified, for Hermann then recognised the same compensation issues of the ego-weaknesses in his father, such as the flight into fantasies, into his self-orientated studies, and incorporated these together with his father's ostentatious generosity and German way of life into his idealised father-image. This retrospectively defined his ego-ideal, for Emil Ungar naturally attempted to foster his own ideals and thoughts in his son. On the other hand fate had shown Emil that there was nothing more important in life than a secure academic existence, independent from economic crises and far from the clichés of small-minded Jewish shopkeepers and with this realistic thought-process he fought against allowing his sons, especially Hermann who was so similar to him, to pursue a one-sided cerebral academic career. So although he encouraged Hermann's musical talents and allowed him to study piano according to their social status (with the Czech specialist teacher Karel Slovak in the Bruennergasse) or attended the childish theatre performances offering advice in a good-natured way, he could only accept these as leisure activities rather than a career path. For Hermann these contradictory messages must have been very confusing: they prevented a real clear paternal identification from emerging and could have easily turned it into a type of love-hate relationship. A clear ego-position could not be achieved, the consequences had to be increased insecurity and indecisiveness. Hermann must have perceived his father's attitude to religion as another contradiction, for whilst Emil internally and within the family framework took an enlightened and secular stance, externally and in public life he kept strictly to the religious traditions and demanded the same from his children.

The two sides of his father, the ambivalence of psychic closeness and authoritarian distance experienced by his son, is clearly reflected in the paternal figures within Ungar's works, mostly only one-sided (the ego-weakness of the fatherly protagonist escaping into absurd world happiness ideas in the sketch _The Caliph_ , the uninhibited authoritarian tyrannical father in _The Maimed_ ), occasionally also in psychologically correct contradictions as in the _Story of a Murder_. After the death of his mother – which we can compare to the loss of maternal affection after the threatening blindness of Jeanette – the nameless protagonist grew up under the sole guardianship of his father in a town easily recognised as Boskowitz:

I grew up in a narrow, single-storey house where I lived with my father, which lay next to the church at the furthest end of the slightly inclined Market Square. 128

Even the differences, such as the father's poverty-stricken circumstances, his past as a military doctor or his enforced retirement, cannot mask the fact that Ungar based the exaggerated form of the General on his own father, Emil Ungar _._ 'I loved this old man ', he writes and then 'But it seems as if he was afraid of me, afraid that I, and I alone, was capable of seeing through him. _'_ 129

The focal point of this story is the life lie of this ego-weak father, who was a failure in military life but gave himself military airs and the aura of officer status in public. This was similar to Emil Ungar, for whom his academic career was also an illusion and who pretended to be an intellectual to the outside world. It is possible that the skilled publican was mocked by his fellow citizens and that the son suffered because of this. The hero in _Story of a Murder_ wants to become a soldier, an officer himself – not just to turn his father's lies into future reality. The same motivation, pain and sympathy, together with his indecisiveness made Hermann Ungar follow his father's wishes and take the academic career path, putting his own ambitions with regard to theatre or literature behind him. Hermann's willingness to comply could, however, not prevent him from perceiving this as a form of paternal compulsion, a constraint or judgement put upon him by his father: a death penalty such as that given by the General to his son at the end of the story – reflecting his experience of paternal power. (It is simultaneously also an expression of the son's yearning for a show of strength from his father to bring an end to this shame.)The isolation of the 'little soldier' in the _Story of a Murder_ is also autobiographically significant when he says:

From very early on in life I avoided any intimate friendships. After school I neither visited the homes of my school friends nor did I play with them.130

Hermann Ungar's apparent situation was only partially comparable – within the family he lived and played with his siblings and cousins, he also had a small circle of friends – but he still had inner constraints, he was still afraid of becoming too close to other people. The maternal lack of affection, the inadequate father-identification only permitted a very weak formation of the ego-structure and this in turn made the boy feel very insecure in his contacts to others. Hermann camouflaged this insecurity in a typical psychological manner, his later books point to it - the exuberance and boisterousness - and neither Klemenz nor Patkova put the correct interpretation on this:

Hermann was not an inhibited or timid child, but lively and bright, full of exuberance and boisterousness. 131

Hermann was a funny, exuberant child, who loved playing tricks and making mischief supported by his brother Felix. The most frequent targets were their cousins (the three daughters of the widowed Fanny), but their own sister Gerta suffered too. For example during the dancing classes in Brno it was traditional that the male dancers (and secret admirers) sent flowers to their 'beloved' partners'. Hermann took great pleasure in ringing the doorbells and then hiding away to watch the girls expectantly rushing to answer the door to see who had received flowers and from whom.132

The step from such comparatively harmless tricks to the 'little soldier's' torture of animals in the _Story of a Murder_ may appear large. But the main communality lies in the reactions of inner distance and the desire to compensate for the ego-weaknesses by showing superiority to weaker beings. Typical for Hermann's real low self-esteem is the fact that he always needed the companionship of his brother Felix for these tricks and mischief-making – even during their time at grammar school – as otherwise they had very little in common. But his brother's support gave Hermann courage, and brotherly recognition was the easiest to obtain.

Distorted relationships to primary objects are usually only partially compensated when the child comes into contact with other larger groups of children, such as in a Kindergarten or at school, where he learns to evaluate and position himself, to get a feeling for his own relative value within positive social communities. During this early, post-oedipal stage the personality and character is not completely defined and any narcissistic tendencies may still be cancelled out by the appearance of new objects. Hermann Ungar initially had no such healing experiences, his insecure reduced self-esteem caused by maternal failures and inadequate father-identification cemented itself in him. For a very long time the parental home remained the sole major circle of experience, for his father aspiring to a prestigious education for his children, excused his son from attending the Jewish kindergarten (the 'elementary school') and then later sent him for just three years into the Jewish secondary school with its five classes. Instead of early communal schooling, Emil Ungar taught Hermann and his siblings reading, writing and arithmetic.

No matter how good this private tutoring was for Hermann's mental development, it must have had drastic impact on his psychological development and social skills, not least because Emil Ungar was also attempting to restrict his children's choice of friends. Excluded for a long time from the school community, far beyond the others of his age in his scholastic capabilities, Hermann found it extremely difficult to make contact with his peers, above all from those in the less affluent groups. The poorer children regarded Hermann as an outsider and the isolation he experienced was only slightly diminished by his parents who were 'nice to children' and 'allowed the play friends of their sons and daughters to come to the house' 133 but this only extended to play friends who were accepted by Emil, who belonged to the more affluent and educated families. The father wanted to keep his children away from the 'alley children': later, in the prose piece _A Dream_ , Ungar wrote:

Felix was standing on the balcony and pointing down onto the street, the group of boys were whistling the signal for us to come down as the doors were locked, bolted from inside or chained. The bells were ringing so loudly, we could not...134

Hermann was not permitted to play with the Czech children, unless it was necessary for their father's commercial reasons – so Hermann grew up in a ghetto within the Jewish ghetto itself, and it was only bearable because it was camouflaged as the secure home and the literature there allowed him to escape into the outside world. In his later writings, Ungar often depicted this isolation via a miserable milieu from which the protagonist came, he adapted it, viewed it from an alternative perspective, the latter such as in _Alexander_ , where the Christian narrator grew up in poverty-stricken surroundings and only remembers with hatred the sole Jewish pupil in his class, the 'son of a town merchant' who took piano lessons in the afternoons with the schoolmaster, as Hermann had once done.

If I think about our Jewish boy, I can only remember him wearing little black boots and a blue suit, hurrying along to the schoolmaster with his notebook under his arm, although I must have seen him daily in other situations. I tell myself it is risible to hate someone for such a simple reason. But my blood still boils today and I clench my fists in my pockets in rage when this memory comes to mind. 135

Such strong feels as these make us realise that Hermann Ungar reacted to his isolated situation with feelings of self-hatred, which in turn just strengthened his neurotic ego-weaknesses.

Hermann started late at the Boskowitz five-class secondary school on November 15, 1900. They put the latecomer into the second class once he had successfully taken the required private examination. 136The head teacher was Josef Mayer, who Ungar portrayed in his story _A Man and a Maid_ as the orphanage father. (Mayer also supported Hermann later in his attempts to join the theatre.) 137 The same story appears to contain impressions from the Jewish school, despite a typical reversal of the actual conditions one can still feel the isolation which surrounded the seemingly privileged boys here:

I was not a particularly good pupil. I was a poor child and adding to my misfortune was that fact that I lived in the sanatorium. That says a lot in a small town, where the teacher tends to socialise with the most affluent parents of the pupils, tutors them privately and shares bonds of both material and social nature with them. When I knew something, when my homework was particularly good, there was never any special praise or fuss as there was with others. If, however, as was often the case, I behaved badly I was scolded, sometimes even beaten – yes, but the teacher only dared to do it to the poorer children. On top of all this I had a slight reputation for being morally immature and inferior and even my class colleagues made fun of me... someone composed some disrespectful verses about me, passed them around the school, and that hung around my neck until the end of my schooldays there.138

One of the female pupils in the mixed class was called Margarete Blau and was the daughter of the teacher Leopold Blau. We cannot be sure whether Blau actually taught Hermann's class, but this was certainly the source of the teachers' names Leopold and Josef Blau in the novel _The Class_.

Another of Hermann's colleagues in the II and III class (1900/1901 and 1901/1902) was Stephan Svetly, born in 1891 in Predavec in Slovenia, the son of a poor itinerant labourer, who was probably the model for the orphan from the sanatorium. Svetly, who was actually a Catholic, attended the Jewish school from 1897 to 1906, was apparently a weak scholar, who had to repeat classes a number of times... He died on July 11, 1908 and according to the register of births and deaths, he committed suicide – strangulation 139 was the cause of death. Hermann, who at the time attended the Brno grammar school was actually at home in Boskowitz for the summer holidays at the time of Svetly's death, so Hermann was probably writing from personal experience in _A Dream_ :

I went further and entered the woods, the sapling copse. This sapling copse started just behind the bastion and there I found Svetly, the lad from class III, hanging from a little tree, his face all blue and swollen. I can remember it quite clearly. I remember that I seemed to have known I would find him, I told everyone about it. I was frightened and wanted to run away from the wood.140

The extraordinary impression made by such an experience would have been incredible. The death of the pupil Laub in _The Class_ refers to death by hanging.

Contrary to Stephan Svetly and the fictive orphan from the sanatorium, Hermann did not only come from a semi-affluent family but he was also a good scholar. Attendance of the 5th class, which was no longer mandatory, was dispensed with in 1903, and he went straight from the 4th class after only 3 years at school, to attending the Brno grammar school as a private pupil.

* * *

A considerable and inestimable role in Hermann's self-hatred was played by the anti-Jewish aggressive activities of the Czechs following the Badeni crisis (1897) and particularly the Hilsner affair (1899), which belonged to Hermann's first experiences.

Although Boskowitz was not the scene of such acts of violence as were experienced by the Jews in Prague in the December storming (1897) or the Jews in Holleschau (1899), the daily contact was poisoned by dislike and distrust during this period.

The Ungar family felt this change in atmosphere deeply, for as a manufacturer and merchant of distilled drinks, the Czechs were often his suppliers and customers and furthermore 'in the emotional after effects of the Polna affair and since the start of the national conflict, the long-threatened boycott of Jewish merchants became a serious threat.' 141 The family business ran into serious trouble and it was only the lack of physical mobility of Emil Ungar, his fear of drastic change and the hope of protection by the authorities that he decided not to follow the example of many of his Jewish neighbours in avoiding the boycott by escaping to Prague, Vienna or moving to German-Bohemian territory. Matters only went back to normal after the Moravian Settlement of 1905, which laid down the basic principles for personal autonomy in elections and within corporate bodies. Emil Ungar could then view the future with equanimity.

Hermann was naturally not unaware of his parents' worries. He personally experienced some effects, such as the more patriotic type of upbringing – the emperor became the guarantor for the safety of the Jews – and the ban on Jewish children playing with Czech children. If he had been able to view the conflict as one of political and national issues, he probably would not have suffered any special consequences in his mental development and would have simply seen it as an 'adult problem'. Now, however, the Czech resentment appeared on other, more trivial levels – in areas which had a greater impact on him. The deep-rooted superstitions of simple country folk, which otherwise emerged as belief in miracles or saints, was channelled by the Hilsner affair into abstruse accusations of blood-ridden activities, in mad ideas that Jews were 'religious murderers' and sought 'innocent children, adolescents and virgins to be the victims of their nefarious fanaticism'.142 Hermann perhaps heard this from his father's employees, but also on the streets, where the Jewish children were taunted with 'You Hilsner' accompanied by a 'throat-cutting' gesture, a copy of the 'characteristic cut which played a major role in the court case'. Hate-filled chants were sung: 'Do not buy from the Jews / coffee, sugar or furniture / The Jews, they beat to death / a very young maiden,' 143 A hidden reference to these hate-inducing songs is to be found in _Alexander_ , adapted as usual:

In our town it was the case that verses were composed about one person or another who was mocked or scorned and these verses were then circulated. Generally the source was unknown. These verses rang out behind the victim's back, they were written on the walls of houses, on gates, doors and fences. They were simple, rough verses, children's rhymes and perhaps even composed by children. They were sung in a certain monotonous way and stuck in one's mind. I can remember quite a few of these verses. I first heard the one about me from a young girl.... The verse impacted on me like a whip. I just looked at this girl and then I attacked her.144

The six or seven year-old boy, whose Jewish background had never posed a problem for him up until that moment, was understandably unable to see through the madness of these accusations of ritual murder and thus also unable to reject them inwardly even though his father attempted to help him. And these mad ideas spread further, peddled by the clerics and the young Czech mass media, on leaflets, 'uninhibited trivial literature on ritual murders, a wave of picture postcards with Polna and Hilsner illustrations', via diorama or kaleidoscope. 145 Secret doubts, the heinous suspicions, not all these things could be complete falsehoods, became established despite all rational explanations – and didn't the ritual slaughter (which in the Ungar household took place in the atrium yard just before religious holidays) belong to the most impressionable experiences of childhood 146 and wasn't it a similar throat incision which killed the young Christian girl in the Brezina wood near Polna? 147

Hermann Ungar's problematic and contradictory relationship to his own Jewish belief (on the one side affirmation of Zionism, on the other side Christian affiliations in his works) originate here, even if his childish feelings of guilt were soon overlaid with private and school-based religion lessons, again overlapping with the knowledge and interaction with the religion of his forefathers. But the inner accusations continued to undermine everything else and in combination with the acknowledged familial conditions, prevented a self-conscious liberated development of the ego-structure. The guilt of many of the protagonists in his work will always reflect this early identification with the apparent collective guilt. The most obvious echo of this is to be found in _The Maimed_ , when Ungar permits the Christian carer and former butcher Sonntag, who himself holds secret meetings in which an abattoir knife is the most important utensil to recite (according to Franz Polzer) 'prejudices in the countryside':

They claim that Jews murdered Christian children and virgins...They claim that the Jews carry out these murders around Easter, at the same time as they slew Christianity. It seems to me as if they are forced into it, forced into committing this deed time and time again. 148

Sonntag dramatically and drastically illustrated this throat-cutting technique, which plays such a great role in slaughtering animals and played a great role in Polna:

If I had murdered someone with my knife...a woman, as I presume in this case, I would be driven to describe how, whilst she was sleeping, with my left hand I pinched her nose for a few seconds – so that she raised her chin and thus exposed the skin on her throat. This skin has to be exposed and taut, so that the throat is cut with one movement. She is fat which means that there are folds of skin under her chin. The incision is made quickly using the right hand. It must be quick, for the chin is raised for only a few seconds. The knife must be held firmly against the throat, so that it doesn't slip. With one incision one can severe the head from the body. 149

In this way the skilled abattoir butcher killed a nun in Moravian Prossnitz, a town with an old Jewish community. At the end of the novel Polzer, himself lost in fantasies of beheadings, 150 finds the severed head of Widow Porges who has been ritualistically beheaded by Sonntag. It seems that Polzer, the Christian protagonist to whom Ungar delegated parts of his ego as he did with the Jew Karl Fanta, experienced the same reluctance in childhood and adolescence against Judaism as Hermann did in Boskowitz. The adapted perspective can be seen as an attempt to overcome the childhood trauma of Polna by an identifying reconstruction of the former negative thought process with its indirect labelling as a sign of weakness:

He and Karl Fanta shared an intimate friendship. But initially Polzer was extremely reluctant to enter the house. He knew that the Jews had murdered the Lord and that they served their god in heinous and horrible rites. He thought that it was not only a terrible sin for a Roman Catholic to go in and out of a Jewish house, but also a great danger. Milka had worked for a Jewish family before...she ran away before Easter. She had been afraid. Polzer overcame his timidity bit by bit and only because of his friendship to Karl Fanta. 151

We presume that as a child Hermann Ungar reacted to the Czech accusations, to which he could not just apply rationale, with anti-Czech resentment, with fear and rage. The fact that later in life he felt drawn to the Czech way of life, that he spent much time in Czech circles and above all that he was actively employed by the Czech state and civil service, had, besides other reasons (such as the experience of German anti-Semitism) more to do with the imposing approach of the philosopher and sociologist Tomas Masaryk, later the founder of the State, but who became famous as a result of the terrible Hilsner affair.152 A childhood memory of Masaryk ('Our Mr Fuechsel', 1914) who grew up in Moravian small towns, and also valid for Ungar's childhood in Boskowitz, illustrated the isolating hatred experienced by Ungar, but from the Czech point of view:

In the 50s in the district of Goedinger (Masaryk was born in 1890 in Goeding, in the most southern point of Moravia) every young Slovakian was brought up as an anti-Semitist by the family, the school, the church and the entire society. Our mother forbade us to go anywhere near the Lechners. (The Lechners owned a guesthouse in Tscheikowitz, which I also knew.) It seemed that the Jews required Christian blood, children's blood, for their Eastertide rites. I always made a wide detour around the Lechner house as did all my school colleagues and the boys of Tscheikowitz. During the Sunday sermon the priest railed against the Jews for some time, the same thing happened at school...The superstitions about Christian blood went so deep in me that always, when I perchance came close to a Jew – I never met one on purpose – my first glance went to his fingers to see whether he had blood on them. I kept this stupid habit up for a long time...The Jewish children had their own school or their own teachers, so we grew up separately, separate strangers. They had their Jewish ghetto, we had our Christian one. 153

The internal reactivation of the ghetto after the Hilsner affair, which actually was being dissolved due to the cultural mix of residents, served to reinforce Hermann's awareness of his Jewish existence, without enabling him to see it as a social distinction as with most German-Jews who grew up in Prague. Being a Jew soon turned into an unrelenting and unsolvable identity issue for Hermann, as it had for his father, when he waivered between Judaism and the German way of life. In religious studies at school he got to know and understand the Jewish way of thinking, but this then conflicted with many of the German idealistic and illuminating intellectual content and literature – so Hermann did not only suffer from the Czech accusations, but also from the rudiments of the former orthodoxy, mostly empty traditions, which for him however were still ego-embracing. Some pious wives still wore the 'Scheitel' 154 (headscarf), the body and sexual issues were still virtually taboo subjects, and still 'the traditional was feared', the 'holy respect accorded to age, officialdom, dignity and truth, which were already outdated in great-grandfather's time' as Ungar wrote in 1918 in an essay on the restructuring of the Zionistic student association Barissia. He continued in the same essay:

We were all under enough pressure in our lives and we inherited from our fathers a large part of our souls which led to depression, to lack of courage in ourselves. 155

Judaism, with which he could still not fully identify, became a burden to him, through the blood accusations, presumably also through experiences with orthodox phenomena, sometimes traumatic. It made no difference that the family Ungar only practised a very moderate type of Judaism, for the external pressures exerted on Jews (and the fear of anti-Semitic aggression) positioned him within the ranks of his forefathers.

One's destiny was shaped by supra-individual experiences. In one, as a person of real substance, the memories of the whole series were buried. It was an integral part of a person, as if he had lived through centuries of the Jewish history himself. This seemingly light-hearted, playful, worldly person was, in fact, actually an old Jew, who feels excluded from the good things of this world and whose place is on the side of the deprived and the burdened.156

The roots of this awareness set by Gustav Krojanker in the story, lies in the boy's ghetto experiences. His early escape from the ghetto was not his salvation. His feelings were like those of Ludwig Winder, who lets his Albert Wolf state whilst sitting 'in the prestigious city cafe': 'Brought up in the darkest ghetto, he raged: no one can make amends for that!' 157 Right up until the end, Ungar remained an 'escaped Jewish bookworm', 158 the 'infernal chaotic world' of his work shows how deeply ingrained the ghetto constraints were (most evident in the distorted relationship to figures of sexuality):

His non-liberated people, who do nothing, who are missing something from their lives, who twist and turn under the laws of guilt and atonement, their humanity persecutes them and God, the Lord, who is a jealous God and who forgives their misdeeds to the thousandth unit.159

* * *

It would be wrong, totally inapt to paint a picture of Hermann Ungar's childhood only in such dismal hues. No matter how he suffered from the maternal failings, from the ambivalent relationship to his father and from his ghetto isolation, how little he was able to develop his unprotected ego, the young, talented, imaginative young man was easily able to create happy escape routes using his reading, his role plays and his theatrical events – all supported by his understanding father. As Ungar remembered later, these were virtually the only escape routes available to him:

There was no theatre in the town where I grew up. Rarely did a travelling theatre come to the down, or even an amateur dramatic group. Even if one did come, the children were not allowed to watch the performances. 160

I only knew about the theatre from the adults' stories and had attended only one afternoon matinee of the ballet The Fairy Doll when staying with relatives in a neighbouring town. 161

And he stresses:

Until the 15th year of my life I had never seen a painting or heard a concert (unless you count the bagpipe player in front of the house or the photo of my grandmother, an enlarged photograph coloured in with oil paints, which was framed and hung in the parlour. 162

Hermann 'literally stuffed himself with books' 163 – initially with fairy stories, children's or adolescent books especially when they celebrated heroes (like the as yet unidentified _Boys Book, The Story of the Duke of Friedland_ which motivated him to write the Wallenstein piece), with adventure books and travel documentaries ( _Sealsfield_!), which satisfied his longings, but advancing at an early age as per the Jewish educational ideals of the time to read classics from German authors, which were always available in Jewish homes. The eight year old, who was told after the performance of his own _Wallenstein_ 'about the existence of Schiller's Wallenstein' and who, deeply distressed, read Schiller's dramas:

In the following days I read Schiller's dramas in the sequence given in the edition and even if I only understood parts of it properly, I was no less distressed by my first encounter with the creations of this dramatic genius than if I had spent years learning about them. 164

Schiller's dramas, followed by Goethe, Shakespeare, Grillparzer, Hebbel, then Buechner and Grabbe, must have fascinated Hermann at a time when he was really unable to take in the entire content, for they corresponded in the happiest of ways with his desire and ambitions in elevating his weak ego, a type of theatrical depiction.

It is hardly surprising that in his grammar school days he begins his writing career with some historic-heroic dramas, attempts later to depict his experiences during the war in a drama from Napoleonic times, goes to the theatre in Eger, and still attempts towards the end of his life particularly energetically to conquer the stage. Ultimately these are all directed towards achieving acclaim and recognition, similar to the praise he obtained in his childhood for his imagination and playful masquerades, as compensation. These attempts will never be as successful as in his childhood, with _Wallenstein_ – 'a very considerable material success, which immediately after the end of the performance was converted into iced coffee and similar earthly pleasures.' 165

The step from passive reading to an active drama performance is a typical prepubescent phenomenon, for the eight-year-old Hermann it was a normal thought process:

Otherwise we played everything in dramatic ways: we played hunter and dog in such a true natural way that my friend Ernst (not identified), who was the dog, bit my brother (who was the deer) in the arm. 166 We played robbers and police, we played captain and crew, we played the Duke of Friedland. 167

It is typical that Hermann, in his desire to compensate for his ego weakness, identified with the hero roles (huntsman, Wallenstein...) and that it was the Duke of Friedland which made him 'a writer or script writer'. In the 'fate of this person, who at the summit of his life is felled by murderers', in the 'contradictions within this man, where ambition and duty play out their passionate battle', 168 the boy saw his own contradictory situation, the conflict between want and should, which would only release him at the end of his life.

The process of his first theatre performance, the start of a long-term tradition, is described by Ungar in a humorous way in his childhood reminiscences _Wallenstein - By Me_ , which he wrote on the occasion of the first real premiere, the performance of _The Red General_ on September 15, 1928 in the Berlin Theatre in the Koeniggraetzer Strasse. As it is the sole remaining text in which Ungar writes about his childhood in an intentionally unembellished way, this is a longer quotation:

I was eight years old when I experienced my first premiere...I was not only the author, but also the producer and took the main role of the play, so that all the usual conflicts between author, producers and key actor were played out within my own heart (what a horrible thought!)The largest room in my parent's home was the stage. The anteroom was where the audience sat, the door between both rooms was the curtain. The stage was connected with another room on the other side by means of three ascending steps. This little stairway seemed to me to be particularly attractive as an entrance/exit for the actors. It also played a major role in our other entertainments.

And there was a real audience at the performance, a paying audience, and, if I remember correctly, there was also a great number of our school colleagues, plus parents and siblings of the cast... The performance was not the sole event on the festive afternoon programme, in fact there was a gymnastics show, which my brothers' friends had insisted on. My brother and his friends were more talented gymnasts than actors and they wanted to demonstrate their superiority over me and my friends in their particular interest area on the same afternoon.

I wrote the play during rehearsals. It was an historical drama...The Duke of Friedland had three scenes. In the first scene the Duke sat alone in his room and spoke about his intention to leave the emperor and take up the Swedish offer and make himself King of Bohemia. It was a monologue and didn't require any rehearsals, as I was going to play it myself and I depended on my knowledge of the material, the atmosphere of the moment to put the right words into my mouth. The scene closed with the statement from the Duke that he was now going to visit his astronomer, Seni, in the tower to ask him to forecast his future by the stars. In the second scene the afore-mentioned Ernst as Seni is sitting at my childhood desk, looking out at the window towards the sky now and again, holding a rule and a triangle in front of his eye. This had the appearance of the instrument which was shown on the front cover of my Wallenstein book. Wallenstein entered the room and a dialogue developed. Unfortunately I cannot remember whether Seni advised against or encouraged Wallenstein – probably he stuck to the author's text. In any case the dialogue was full of dark forebodings and death.

The last scene was played out in the Duke's bedroom. The Duke once again held a monologue, gazed out of the window towards the star-studded heavens, named the stars by their romantic names: Cassiopia, Jupiter, Saturn then his glance fell upon the night Eger (?), I seem to recall that there was some talk about the church towers – Saint Nicolas or Saint Thomas – the mention of which seemed appropriately poetic to me. And then I had to find the link to the murder and conclusion. Every theatre person knows how important the last moments are for the fate of a play and which difficulties are frequently faced by the author, producer and actors. With all three functions combined within me, I plumped for what seemed the most normal ending. Wallenstein's servant, my brother, who had been secured for the cast by means of decisive parental words, entered the room and gave voice to the unforgettable words: 'Wallenstein, it is time to go to bed. It has just struck eight.' Obediently I lay down on my bed (two chairs pushed together) after having pulled my nightgown over my head. Just as my deep, regular breaths assured the audience that I was asleep, when Buttler rushed in with the murderers, stabbed the servant who was standing in the way and then the Duke whilst shouting 'Die, you traitor, die!' The curtain fell. The gymnastics show followed.'169

Hermann's ambition to become an actor, which wrestled for a long time with his desire to write, may well have started on this memorable happy afternoon, which gave him not only the pleasure of imaginary escape – quite different from the normal childish role plays – but also the visible acknowledgement of his parents. In 1925, in a letter to Thomas Mann, he envies the good fortune of an actor, who, in comparison to a playwright, experiences visible and immediate impact, success and acclaim:

Certainly, you will also often have thought how the words of a playwright, even those of a great author, remain without effect, without visible success and without impact on the events of the state or on an individual. The actor feels the acknowledgement of his art immediately, he sees its effects even as he takes his bow in front of his audience. Whereas the playwright might even think sometimes that he has failed. 170

Amongst the indubitable happy experiences of Ungar's childhood were the occasional trips to Brno and (more seldom) to Jamnitz which allowed the child some freedom for a few days and took him out of the claustrophobic ghetto. The family also undertook day trips into the surrounding areas, often to the impressive ruined castle of the former aristocracy of Boskowitz, and the father knew how to make these trips educational and full of fantasies:

The family occasionally went on a long walk to the neighbouring Boskowitz town castle, which was not too far from the town, on the western slopes of the Drahanska hills. A long time ago it was the residence of the lords of Boskowitz, one of the most important aristocratic families in Moravia. Emil turned these hills into 'mountains' and he often invited the family for a walk with the words 'Now let's go into the mountains!' 171

Another frequent destination for the family was Rovna, a plateau close to the village of Mladkov, which remains a popular venue for an outing today. A tunnel-like path, where these trips often ended, seemed to the children to be an escape route bathed in mystical light, a way out of their enclosed, depressing home town which led into a secretive, mysterious world. In the sketch _The Brothers_ , the sad story of an attempted return home, Ungar recalls:

They knew that the tunnel would start soon. It led upwards, to the hills behind their birthplace. Hitherto the walk with their father had been sufficient – and on the way home he would point out the stars to those who asked, and give their mysterious names.

But what mysterious world lay behind the tunnel? In other places the sky was not so full of darkness and fear, nowhere else did they look up shaking at the stars of Cassiopia and Libra. Would tonight capture them as at other times?... Behind the tunnel, he thought, began the world. In front of the tunnel was home. Oh, why did we leave home? 172

In 1903 Emil registered his ten year old son as a private pupil at the II German State grammar school in Brno. From 1905 onwards Hermann attended classes regularly and until matriculation he lived in a private boarding house in Brno. He only came home to his parents, siblings and cousins for occasional weekends and during the holidays. A year afterwards his brother Felix followed. The small story text, _The Brothers_ described the situation, the disillusions of the older brother, the lively homesickness of the younger, the slow division of the brother's paths:

The older brother remembered that they had once driven through the tunnel, in another direction to the one taken today. At that time the younger brother was still living at home. The older brother felt how the sadness of parting very nearly choked him. With the tunnel behind them, the younger brother said:

Now you are going into the world!

A hostile feeling arose out of these words. He understood that the younger boy would not stay either. Should he tell him that he had found nothing behind the tunnel – nothing but confusion of the heart and homesickness? And that he now sought nothing more than the way home? But there is no way back, my brother, he should have said then instead of staying silent. But the younger boy just laughed. He is my enemy, he should have realised that. 173

II Grammar School in Brno (1903 –1911)

I was born in Brno.

I have always loved this town. In the last few years I returned only to see the old houses, to stand amongst them and feel like a child, like a young boy again, for it was here I went to school. I wandered through the woods around Blansko from early in the morning until late at night, experiencing happiness and joy of life, with a heavy, tangy taste of youth on my lips. Nowadays, I think – in 1927 – the woods are long since gone and the glorious feeling of solitude has disappeared. It wasn't just the woods I loved, but also the fields along the northern tracks, the little villages in Ruebenland, the coalmining district around Rossitz and a whole series of little factory villages, which today belong to Gross Brno. I know all these areas well, but they lie behind me, like a silent, fading and exhausted life. 1

These lyrical, sentimental reminiscences with which Ernst Weiss introduces his autobiographical sketch for the Czech edition of the story _Daniel_ in 1927, could be equally relevant for Hermann Ungar's first years and initial feelings when his ambitious and purposeful father, wishing to smooth his son's path into the upper levels of the civil service, sent him to the same humanistic K&K II German State Grammar School in Brno that he himself had attended. Ernst Weiss also went to this school from 1894-1902, interspersed with short periods at Leitmeritz and Arnau schools.

Hermann Ungar's grammar school time started late, when he was admitted to Class 3 in September 1905.2 Emil Ungar had insisted that Hermann, like Felix and Gerta after him, spend his first two years in education (1903/4 and 1904/5) in the care of private tutors in Boskowitz. Officially Hermann had been registered with the II German State Grammar School since September 1903 as a private pupil, after having taken and passed the mandatory entrance examination.3 Alexander Loebl recalls that these home tutors preparing Hermann and his two siblings for the entrance examination were actually the sons of the Triesch rabbi Dr ML Stern, a friend of Emil's and a famous bible researcher and philosopher ('he attempted to establish a connection between the biblical images and natural philosophic evolutionism, writing books on Haeckel etc.').

All three of Stern's sons were acknowledged socialists and could have encouraged Hermann early on to a social critical approach. Immanuel Stern later became a lawyer in Brno and the co-founder of the CSR Communist Party. Victor Stern, a mathematician and philosopher, became a Communist Senator in the CSSR. The third son, Ludwig Stern, fell during World War I.4 The syllabus followed during this home tutoring would not have widely differed from that of the Brno school, the main advantage would have lain in the opportunity to handle the subjects in a much more individual and intensive way. However, it would have perpetuated the situation caused by the father's tutelage: the disadvantages of continued isolation. Hermann would have been delighted when, after two years of private tutoring, he was finally allowed to go to Brno to the state school.

Hermann, like Ernst Weiss, delighted in Brno, which, despite its ambitious industrial aspirations (shared wholeheartedly by the Jews of the town) was also a pastoral and provincial 'Viennese suburb'. He loved the woods, the meadows, the fields and small villages of the surrounding areas, which were only slightly different from the productive and fruitful countryside around Boskowitz. He had already become familiar with Brno, without actually feeling fully at home, in his childhood through his father's business trips and the frequent visits to Aunt Fanny and Uncle Max. So even if Brno was not exactly an unknown quantity, it was different, enough of a metropolis to be perceived as 'the world beyond the tunnel' and initially as a symbol of his freedom from childhood constraints, before puberty with its crises and his experiences of German anti-Semitism. The majority of successful Jews there had assimilated into the German way of life, they skilfully suppressed their Moravian Khilles roots and exaggerated their worldliness, copying the Viennese lifestyle and sometimes even the French culture. The constraints of the ghetto or orthodoxy were totally remote and unknown to them – and they were also disconnected from the new generation, many of whom ascribed to National Judaism, partially to demonstrate opposition to their parents. The German-Jews in Brno were less aware of the national conflict with the Czechs than the inhabitants of the small ghetto communities or those people living in the Fin de Siecle atmosphere of Prague. There was still a German majority in Brno at the end of the war and during the establishment of the new state (around 1900 there were approximately 70,000 Germans and well over 8,000 German-speaking Jews in the town compared to 40,000 Czechoslovakians), and they formed a barrier to Czech national socialism, regarding the flourishing Czech industry and culture with a self-serving tolerance. (The only real German-Czech conflicts there arose amongst the students at the Technical High School.) It was this safe and secure German way of life from which, as Emil Ungar well knew, the monarchy preferred to recruit their civil servants and therefore the reason that Emil, as a father, made the Brno Grammar School his first choice for his son. But the second reason was of course the close proximity which permitted not only frequent home-visits at weekends but also a certain amount of supervision by relatives. These were also the main reasons why Felix, his second son, was later also sent to Brno.5 Emil would never have entertained any thoughts of sending his children to the Czech Grammar School in Boskowitz: the idea would have been absurd, the most minor of his objections would have been difficulties with the language.

If the Boskowitz years are seen as formative for Hermann's psychological development, his schooling in Brno was decisive for his spiritual genesis. These crisis-laden years of puberty cemented his neurotic tendencies, led him mentally to consciously acknowledge his own Judaism and recognise the pleasure he gained from writing, the cathartic effects holding physical deformations at bay.

Hermann and Felix did not live with relatives during their time in Brno as one would expect, instead they lived in private pupil boarding houses. In his first year as a Brno pupil (1905/6) Hermann lived by himself with Mrs Helene Fein at 12 Rennergasse (in this year Hermann was still regarded as a private pupil). Then from 1906 until 1908 both brothers lived with Ernestine Ippen at 1 Stredoniusgasse and after 1908 with the widow Henriette Mayer at 1/III Adlergasse which was within walking distance of the II German Grammar School, (today an elementary school for 6 to 14 year old children)), near the main station. Two decisive factors in the decision to place the boys in private accommodation may have been that, firstly, Emil Ungar did not want to place undue burdens and responsibility on his own siblings and secondly, that he placed great value on the boys learning to cope with independence. According to Alexander Loebl, who attended the II German Grammar School until 1910 and was also a boarder with Mrs Mayer, who had a son and daughter herself, it was _'excellent accommodation'. 'Mrs Mayer was like a mother to her boarders, she looked after them like a mother and we regarded her two children as our siblings.'_ 6 Alexander Loebl lived in the next room to Hermann, one room was occupied by the two Ungar brothers, the other by Loebl and Paul Mayer, the landlady's son. Hermann and Alexander got on very well and helped each other with their studies, however, the age difference prevented a closer and longer-lasting friendship. (After the Matura [A Levels], Loebl and Ungar only met twice by chance, in 1912 and 1917.) Alexander Loebl's reminiscences when describing his former room mate confirm this indirectly:

How do I remember Hermann? A distinctly handsome young man of average height, with red cheeks, beautiful blue eyes, always good humoured, laughing, bubbling up with humour, always ready to play tricks on the older ones (I was three years older). He reminded me of a happy, good-natured leprechaun. I really liked him and I called him 'the leprechaun'. Even today I remember well how Hermann sprinkled sneezing powder in my room. It made me sneeze so hard and so long that my stiff, hard, upright collar popped open! These collars were called 'chokers' - patricide. Hermann watched and nearly split his sides laughing! ...As far as I was concerned, Hermann was a happy person with a sunny disposition and how I envied him his carefree attitude. 7

Other school friends also remember Hermann's 'lively humour, always ready to play tricks', which quickly gained him friends.8 He played tricks together with his class mates, but often also with his younger brother, and his preferred victims were the teaching staff. However the perceived humour was actually a typical ghetto comedy, even cynical sarcasm, with which he seeking to compensate for his own feelings of weakness and inferiority at the cost of others.

Hermann, himself a weak person, 'had excellent instinct and intuition as regards the weaknesses of his teachers and was always able to find an appropriate trick', which in turn brought him desired respect and 'peer recognition'.9 But initially it brought him no real friendships, which he was wary of anyway. The role of the prankster suited his theatrical ambitions anyway and was perhaps the sole possible way for Hermann to avoid being the dreaded total outsider, predestined perhaps because of his psychological disposition, Jewish background, ghetto origin, private tuition and his position as most intelligent boy in the class. But the teaching staff of the II German Grammar School really invited the mockery of their pupils. They corresponded in so many ways to the infamous image of the fossilized grammar school teachers in Austrian institutes at the turn of the century (even if one doesn't go quite as far as Willy Haas, who regarded 'all grammar school teachers' with one exception 'as scurvy idiots, mentally instable or pathological sadists').10

According to Alexander Loebl the most rewarding victims of Hermann's pranks were the teachers of Czech origin:

Amongst the teaching staff of German secondary schools were a number of older gentlemen of Czech origin. At that time there were as yet not enough Czech higher education establishments and so some of the Czech student teachers studied at German universities and went on to find teaching places at German secondary schools. Some of these teachers had harsh accents, used Czech terms in their lectures and made major grammar errors. All this was grist to the mill of the pupils' mockery and ridicule, but is was a youthful reaction and not malicious nationalism.11

Despite Loebl's opinion, Hermann's ridicule was not exactly free of aggression and this may have been the case with others. He would have felt animosity towards the Czech tutors, even if they had not been so pedantic and hard-hearted, because his anti-Czech resentment from the ghetto days was still very virulent. Typical for his aggressive behaviour towards them was the nasty play on words which Hermann created about the natural sciences teacher Vinzenz Zatloukal: 'Cheise [should be: Ich heisse] Vinzenz Zatloukal, lecture in physics and mineralogy, I am a old stupid animal!' Another of Hermann's teachers was the old philologist Johann Polach. Polach, later a German Social Democrat senator, a self-declared Socialist at the time, 'was extremely knowledgeable and greatly feared because of his strictness'.

He seemed to regard his pupils as the sons of petite bourgeoisie who deserved no kind treatment. He possessed characteristics which Hermann saw as a clear challenge despite recognising the intellectual qualities of the tutor. Professor Polach had a habit of picking his nose during lectures and then raising the finger (which had just excavated his noise) to his pupils with the words 'This is the result of many years of hard work', meaning the lack of knowledge displayed by his students. Hermann often repeated this story amid a great deal of laughter and amusement.12

There is no doubt that this conflict situation was exacerbated by the fact that most of the thirty pupils in Hermann's class were the sons of industrialists, manufacturers, wholesalers, state civil servants or academics and therefore belonged to a much higher social class than the teachers (especially when they were Czech teachers) and stressed the class distinctions with arrogance and pride or condescending opinions, whereas some of the teachers displayed their lack of self-esteem, their shame and their humiliation in their clothing. (Hermann Ungar, as a schoolboy 'was always extremely well and elegantly dressed... his suits were made by a top quality tailor'.)13 In _The Class_ , the Brno school novel looking back at Ungar's own time at school, but written from the perspective of a teacher, Ungar places the reasons for the neurotic inferiority complex of the son of the court usher, the secondary school teacher Josef Blau, the reason for his authoritarian, pedantic impatience, the fanatic quest for orderliness, well and truly on this social chasm.

The boys had all the arrogance of the well-fed, the self-assurance of the well-dressed, their laughter – had they been able to seize the weaknesses they sensed – would have destroyed him.14

Whether assumed or provoked in reality, many teachers (like Josef Blau) hid behind their official authority, ('the professional relationship followed traditional paths, kept to accepted standards'), but they avoided any personal contact to their pupils ('He had to be unrelenting if one of the boys attempted to engage him in a private conversation, to catch him like a fish in a net'15) and exacted extreme discipline: 'The main thing was to concentrate on the objective in every lesson and never to lose control.'16 Hermann, who experienced a very personal, inspirational teaching method in Boskowitz, really suffered from the constraints in Brno and reacted in an aggressive way, egged on by his fellow pupils. The maths teacher Romuald Rinesch, who occasionally taught Ungar physics and was the choir conductor, became the arch-enemy of a special type for Hermann and this grew into a psychologically stressful burden, a 'secret war' during Hermann's initial puberty years. Rinesch became the model for the pedagogical existence of Josef Blau, whilst Hermann's situation was vaguely reflected in the pupil Karpel. According to Alexander Loebl – who never actually met Rinesch – Hermann described the teacher as someone 'who, on top of all his other misfortunes... was blessed with numerous children and other dependents, who caused him huge financial difficulties', 17 as 'a poor devil' and a 'total neurotic suffering from a terrible inferiority complex and was secretly afraid of his pupils who showed him no respect at all'.

He often lectured with a display of pathos which was comic and caused great amusement to the pupils. According to Hermann, he once demonstrated the effect of electricity and then said: 'You see the poor sparrow sat on the electricity wire and died (deceased) immediately'. 18

The neurotic behaviour patterns exhibited by Josef Blau would have been copied from Rinesch, who however – unlike Blau – never succeeded with his pedantic system 'to maintain discipline' _._ 19

It has proved impossible to obtain any relevant information on Rinesch or any of Ungar's other teachers. The only teachers who taught him from the first to the last class worked at the II German Grammar School from 1900 onwards: Dr Heinrich Redisch 20 (Religious Studies) and Leo Salzmann (PE) who was very possibly the model for the dynamic teacher Leopold in _The Class_. Any concrete pedagogic influence exerted by the above mentioned and other teachers cannot be proven, particularly as there were frequent changes in the teaching staff. In Hermann's final year all the teachers changed, with the exceptions of Redisch, Salzmann and the maths teacher Dr Georg Burggraf. This is unfortunate, especially with regard to Karl Mendl (1906/7), Johann Mayer (1907/8), Josef Dostal (1908/9) and Anton Derbeck (1909/10, 1910/11) who taught Hermann German during his initial playwright and essay writing attempts.

Another interesting fact is that Hermann's derision was not solely aimed at Rinesch and his other teachers, but also at one class colleague – Karl Blum, a Jewish pupil from a poor family. If evidence was still required to prove that Hermann's peddled humour reported in the research literature was actually more of an attempt to relieve his inferiority complex or of an expression of self-hatred, it would have been given in the cynical joke that he played on Blum, a young boy who was actually almost a reflection of himself and who therefore could never be his friend. Ungar includes Blum in _The Class_ 21 as the pupil of Blau. Like Ungar, Blum was a Jew from the ghetto, he was also an excellent student and had the same ambition to become an actor and thus achieve happiness. According to Alexander Loebl's comments, Blum was 'a stressed young man, who would have liked to become an actor but who irritated all the pupils by his constant utterings'.22 Blum's ambitions (apparently without the backing of real ability or vocation) attracted nothing but ridicule from his fellow pupils, but still Hermann saw a connection to himself, to his own ambitions, his own ability. To avoid becoming a victim himself, Hermann joined the aggressors and even become the ring-leader, all the while hiding his own aims and ambitions – the theatre, acting and literature. These are the roots of Ungar's lifelong scepticism with regard to his own abilities and also his wariness of declaring himself to be an author. Ungar erects a memorial to his former colleague Blum in his later story, _Mellon, the 'Actor'_ , depicting 'the fate and the life of poor BK (Blum, Karl) as 'the most extraordinary person in the class' and thus also describing his own characteristics. We cannot determine now whether or not the pupil Blum, as in the story, actually chose a voluntary death by starvation - 'threw his life away when it demanded decisive concessions from him'. 23

Although Hermann and his brother Felix caused their teachers real disciplinary problems, appearing often as 'rebels against the sanctity of school regulations', 24 it seldom came to reprisals (except that Hermann's reports went from the initial 'praiseworthy', 'well-mannered' soon sank to a level of 'satisfactory' or 'acceptable'). In Hermann's last years at school this would have been mainly due to the influence of the new headmaster, Karl August Schwertassek, who replaced Adolf Sponner during the school year 1907/8. Schwertassek was once the schoolfriend of Emil Ungar's and felt obliged to handle the two boys with astounding empathy, also exerting a calming, mollifying influence on the teachers. (Later, however, he is said to have told Emil 'without beating about the bush' 'that he was so glad that Emil's offspring had finished their education and finally left his school'.) 25 The most important fact would have been that Hermann was an excellent scholar right from the start, not just the top pupil of each class he attended, but one of the best pupils overall in the history of the school. The foundations for this were laid in the first few years of private tutoring, his rapid comprehension and understanding, his talents above all for the intellectual subjects – German, languages (virtually half of the lessons were spent learning Greek and Latin), geography and history, as well as Judaism – ensured he coped with even the driest of scholastic material. The only subject in which he was just 'satisfactory' was drawing and in the fourth year he was excused from these lessons. Even though he was never regarded as a swot, even though he was constantly in conflict with his teachers, his academic performance (no matter how effortless it seemed) confirms his unusual ambitiousness (also valid for his literary creations), his striving for recognition by the authorities, even though it brought the risk of discrediting him in the eyes of his fellow pupils (a balance achieved through his personality). His fellow boarder Alexander Loebl and his fellow pupil Felix Loria recalled Hermann's scholastic performance later in the same way:

Learning was exceptionally easy for him. School never posed any difficulties for him, he was effortlessly top of the class. 26

Hermann was the most talented boy in the whole school. He completed all the school work and homework without any particular effort. He was far superior to any of us and had an enviable comprehension of all subjects, which still astounds me today. He was always the best in the class and his German essays were so good that the teacher always read them out aloud to us.... Hermann completed his work rapidly, not just the German essays, but in Latin, Greek, history and even mathematics (he was perhaps not quite so good in the latter subject as in the others). 27

The main records of the II German Grammar School and the annual reports from the school confirm these rather subjective statements. Throughout all the school years, from class 1 to class 8, Hermann Ungar is shown as the top pupil in the class.28 No other pupil in these classes, which started with 50 pupils and ultimately had 23, advanced at such speed.

The next best students after Hermann – Karl Srnec, Guenther Habermann and Karl Blum – only managed to appear three or four times at the most in the report column 'General Class Position' with the note: 'first in the class with preference' (later this note changed to 'eminently suitable to be moved up one grade'. Hermann was the only one to pass the Matura (A Levels) 'with distinction'.29

Overall Hermann found school to be a burden against which he rebelled, but he also wanted to make life as easy as possible and be free to achieve his ultimate goals – and Ungar's feelings are reflected by KB in _Mellon, the 'Actor'_ (otherwise his former school colleague):

He sat in the first row, attentive and well-prepared. What was all this now? His first thought was to ensure that no difficulties could ever arise, the second was to overcome this challenge as quickly as possible. Every task that was given to him was given on behalf of his well-wishers, so he completed it , and this included schooling... but he still 'had to' complete other tasks for the sake of his 'future, the events awaiting him' in other areas besides his chosen path – and he had to succeed. 30

This 'future, the events awaiting him', as seen by Hermann from his very first experience as an author and his childhood drama games and throughout the years at school, always connected to literature and the theatre. During pubescent years he thought about attending the University for Oriental Studies after Advanced Levels and the motivation for this came from his new nationalistic (by no means religious!) awareness of Judaism, which he gained during his Brno years. Already slightly disturbed by the Czech anti-Semitism during his childhood, Ungar then gained further insight into the German variation of hatred of the Jews, within the confined social field of his school class in Brno. This insight simultaneously deprived the adolescent of the illusion of belonging to the German way of life, an illusion which had been nurtured by and inherited from many generations of his forefathers.

Whereas in Prague the old liberal leaders of German haute bourgeoisie had 'constantly suppressed the slightest hint of animosity towards the Jews...since the very first stirrings of national anti-Semitism',31 the Viennese and also Brno liberalism had long since given way to the racist anti-Semitism of the demagogues Schoenerer, Wolf and Lueger, and the petit-bourgeois racial hatred had a firm foot in the door in German everyday life and in the schools. Initially Hermann would have noticed very little except for individual cases. The large number of Jewish pupils would have prevented major conflicts (in the first three years the number of Jews exceeded the number of Christian pupils: Class 1: 27 Jews, 20 Catholics: Class II: 21 to 19, Class III 22 to 20). But in the following school years the number changed in favour of the Christian pupils in such a dramatic way that one might think that the Jews were put at a disadvantage by a few anti-Semitic teachers. (Class IV 15 to 17, Class V 11to 17, Class VI 11 to 17, Class VII 9 to 13, Class VIII 8 to 14 plus one Evangelical pupil.) 32 The transfer from the lower to the upper part of the grammar school increased the social conflicts between the Jewish and Christian pupils and gave rise to the formation of strict lines of affiliation – which no one could avoid without risk of isolation.33 The reasons for this animosity were less to do with personal antipathy or convictions, but linked more to the social pressures exerted on German grammar school pupils by the German establishment and particularly the German national student associations in Brno ('Bruno-Sudetia') and Vienna. Each year these associations held summer drinking evenings and they invited those German pupils who were due to transfer up to the upper part of the school – the 'Quinta' – the purpose being an initiation as 'foxes in waiting' (potential university students). Hermann's German class mates would, virtually without exception, join this group, accepting the colours and their regulations, which included avoiding any contact, any conversation, with Jews.34 An absolute boycott was out of the question, due to the large numbers of Jews at the school, but it put any at end to any normal interaction, any closer friendship. With the exception of Viktor Klettenhofer all Hermann's few friends at school were Jews. The Jewish pupils reacted in different ways to the anti-Semitism of the older German pupils, although most of them had up to that point felt they were more German than Jewish in their way of life. A few attempted to 'cling even closer' than before to their German ties,35 others took refuge in the traditional liberal positions of their families who regarded themselves as 'Austrians', whereas others, such as Hermann Ungar, rejected their parents' assimilation approach and declared themselves to national Judaism in the form of the student association Veritas in Brno. Due to his special position with his class, his intelligence and his influence on his small circle of friends, Hermann was able to prevent splinter groups forming in his class and to draw most of his Jewish colleagues into Zionist way of thinking. According to his former Jewish class mates Hermann became their spiritual leader during the last four years at grammar school.

Contrary to Vienna, where the use of a single language blurred the Jewish perception of their dubious assimilation, but earlier than Prague where traditional liberalism projected a semblance of a happy symbiosis between the German way of life and Judaism, the small towns in Moravia saw political Zionism develop into an important movement for young Jewish students. Regarded with animosity by Czechs and Germans alike, the young Moravian Jews were forced to confront their Jewish identities and, to maintain their honour and self-esteem, to follow the Jewish national path. (This commitment by no means included the acceptance of the Zionist concept of a new home in the 'Land of their Fathers', but was more of an indication of religious indifference.) If they had previously regarded their Judaism in the same light as their fathers did – as a not very fervent religious fellowship – it now became their national identity and they attempted to convince their assimilated parents, mostly in vain. In fact this identity issue caused a major rift between the different generations. The natural opposition of the youth to their parents, the impulse to sever the apron strings and the desire to form peer alliances – extremely decisive factors, particularly for Hermann, propelled this development forwards.

Besides the Veritas association, a Jewish academic reading and debating group represented the new spirit at the Technical University, and there were also the two Jewish national associations Theodor Herzl and Maccabi as well as the local group of the Zionistic Organisation started in 1897. In 1902 Max Hickl, who was one of the first to join the Zionist leader Herzl, founded the _Juedische Volksstimme_ ( _Jewish People's Voice_ ).

Not only did Hickl promote the Zionist programme in his newspaper, he was also a dynamic activist. He visited all the Moravian towns and, as a skilled and passionate orator, to plant the roots of the Zionistic concept in the minds of the people. 36

The schoolboy Hermann Ungar, who was seeking spiritual orientation outside the unacceptable assimilation of his father, watched these developments with great interest, indeed with enthusiasm. National Judaism seemed the ideal solution for the identity issues he had been struggling with since childhood and positioned him, the subconsciously isolated person, in a target-orientated group in which he could achieve the recognition he longed for. Hermann was recruited by Veritas students, he joined the branch for the intermediate school pupils and was able to convince most of his Jewish school colleagues to follow suit. The members met in a public house on the Krona, which served Veritas as a clubhouse.

Lectures on various Jewish issues were held during these meetings – on the Jewish history, the colonisation of Palestine and similar subjects, also articles from Jewish newspapers and magazines were read aloud. 37

During his leisure hours Hermann was an enthusiastic reader of the novels and writings of Theodor Herzl and other Zionists, he also dedicated himself to intensive studies of the Old Testament and scientific bible literature. The manual written by the Leipzig vicar and private lecturer Alfred Jeremias entitled _The Old Testament in the Light of the History of the Old Orient_ (1904) 38 made a huge impression on him when he read it together with Alexander Loebl, in fact, it gave him the idea of reading Oriental Studies later.

During the vacation period he set up a similar group to the one in Brno for intermediate school pupils affiliated to the Boskowitz Laetitia holiday association for Jewish students. Alfred Ticho recalled:

Hermann wanted to establish a Zionistic intermediate school association in Boskowitz and brought some pamphlets with him. I remember the brochure Zionism by Dr Max Nordau, Jewish State and Old New Country by Dr Herzl. Hermann was enthusiastic andt worked systematically to recruit like-minded members. 39

We assume that Ungar was the President of the Boskowitz intermediate school student association.

Hermann's ambivalent relationship with his father was put under even greater strain by these activities, for even if Emil understood about the bible studies which he himself had instigated, he – as a member of the 'German Jewish religion' - just had to reject his son's national Jewish leaning as otherwise he would be questioning his own assimilation. But this generation conflict never caused a rift. The two, father and son, still had their common cultural interests, their ambitions, and they were united in their taste for German literature. In a similar way to Max Brod, who later created the dialectic term 'distant love', Hermann Ungar saw no contradictions in combining the Zionist ways of thinking and the German cultural way of life. Max Brod wrote about this in his autobiography:

My approach to the German way of life could be defined as a cultural bond for I was brought up intimately and decisively within a German culture. This however does not mean that I could ever call myself part of the German nation. 40

As is obvious, one of the most important motivations for Hermann's Judaism was the wish to belong to a community and this desire was fulfilled. In fact he continued to seek it in other Zionistic associations much later in life even to the point when as 'an old gentleman' belonging to the Prague Barissia he states 'the most important benefit of this association is the feeling of belonging together, a true bond between us.' 41 And for the first time he had a friend in his colleague Felix Loria (born 15.12.1892) with whom he could communicate on an intellectually equal level. From 1905 until the war they were 'close friends', later they went separate ways but still met occasionally.42

The Jewish national concept formed the basis for his long-term friendship with Felix Loria and initially the two men shared the same opinions, although in later years this changed. As a student Felix Loria was already interested in social issues (after reading law at university Dr Felix Loria became a solicitor in Brno, joined the Communist Party and was one of the five international lawyers who participated in the Reichstag Fire case). Hermann, however, was mainly interested during the same period in national issues. The two remained friends and Dr Felix Loria (already an active lawyer) gave Hermann material from the court case on The Hanika Murder which Hermann then used as a basis for his novel The Murder of Captain Hanika (1925).'43

In all probability it was also Felix Loria who introduced Hermann Ungar to the concept of Zionistic socialism, thus laying the foundation for Ungar's later attempts to reform the Prague Barissia, also these early discussions may well have planted the seeds of the social criticisms contained in Ungar's works. Hermann also appears to have told Felix Loria about his difficulties during puberty, although given his fear of rejection and negative reactions, any discussions would have been on theoretical and well-known issues.

Less than the long-term relationship between Hermann and Loria, but more intense and important for Hermann's developing writing career, was his relationship to his German school colleague Viktor Klettenhofer (born 1891), the son of the director of the Brno Workers Accident Insurance Organisation. Klettenhofer joined the class in the school year 1905/6 and it was common interest in Oriental Studies and the 'secret teachings' formed their bond. Alexander Loebl remembers:

Besides his Jewish national ideas Hermann's best friend at Grammar School was a German boy, Viktor Klettenhofer, the son of the director of the Workers Accident Insurance. Klettenhofer was different to the other German pupils. He was a serious, almost melancholic boy who had lost his mother, with wide-ranging interests (such as hypnotism). Hermann claimed that Klettenhofer was a skilled hypnotist – but I only remember that his sole attempt to hypnotise me ended in failure. I do not know whether he hypnotised Hermann. They were inseparable friends, were together every day for hours on end. 44

This close friendship, with its erotic tinges, between Hermann and Viktor is vaguely reflected in the novel _The Maimed_ , in the boyhood attraction between Franz Polzer and the Jew Karl Fanta. In the description of Polzer, apparently based on his memories of afternoons and evenings spent in the haute bourgeoisie Klettenhofer home, Hermann writes:

He often spent the whole day in the house of a rich man by the name of Fanta, whose son attended the Grammar School with him. A deep friendship existed between the two boys... Karl Fanta saw that Polzer was unhappy, and often the two boys hugged and kissed each other in tears. 45

But Hermann was unable to voice his innermost problems, not even to Viktor: 'Polzer did not dare to open his heart to Karl Fanta.' 46 Viktor's inner strength on which he could lean was the great attraction for Hermann, besides all their common interests and the erotic attraction:

The relationship between Polzer and Karl was as intimate as it could be between two boys of the same age. Polzer was content to live at the side of this handsome lad, whose self-assurance and undisputed self-confidence he admired no less than the perfect shape of his limbs. 47

If one believes that the relationship between Polzer and Fanta was autobiographical, then Hermann would have suffered in later years from the knowledge that his erotic desires for proximity and intimacy were not reciprocated:

Despite the close friendship, Polzer often thought that Karl, deep down, was distancing himself innerly. Polzer wanted a little tenderness, repeats of their boyhood kisses. But his longings were never fulfilled. 48

Hermann Ungar's feelings for the same sex are obvious later, particularly in his Barissia days, but contrary to his heterosexual relationships he never experienced any feelings of guilt or fear as it had nothing to do with sexual urges, but with the experience of inner, all-encompassing togetherness between two humans. Viktor Klettenhofer was the very first person to whom Hermann admitted his literary ambitions.

Hermann's interest in literature had gone from strength to strength since his childhood and his first private productions at his parent's home, however, for a long time passive lectures and amateur dramatics had sufficed. Hermann's interest in the theatre grew with his regular attendances at the Brno Town Theatre, where Karl von Maixdorfer was director from 1905 onwards, followed by Julius Herzka from 1910. It was here, for example, that Hermann saw the complete _Faustus_ , _Egmont, Elga_ by Hauptmann, _Tantris the Fool_ by Hardt and also the operas _William Tell_ , _Salome_ or _Die Fledermaus_. The theatre enthusiast would scarcely have missed the guest performances of such star actors as Bassermann, Maran, Jarno or Kainz and they would have motivated him even further. Hermann would hardly have had the possibility of watching modern plays in Brno (his first playwriting attempts would certainly have been influenced by these). Whilst Maixdorf regarded himself as a classicist and thus would have plumped for mass effect and magnificent staging, his successor Herzka, opera director and formerly Angelo Neumann's right-hand-man, preferred the opera – especially Wagner and Richard Strauss.

The monotony and conventionality of the early Brno theatre shows were underlined by the school performances which Hermann attended between 1907 and 1911. Whilst we are not sure which of the above mentioned plays and which of the guest performances he actually saw, he would certainly have participated in all the theatre trips organised by the school with very few exceptions. But it was these performances that defined his ideas of the theatre and so intensely that in 1928, when Alfred Kerr wrote his critique of _The Red General,_ he referred to Friedrich Schiller. For it was Schiller above all others, the national writer whose bust graced the Grammar School halls since 1905, since the celebration of the 100th anniversary of the writer's death, and who was perceived by the teaching body as being the exemplary writing hero. Ungar (presumably) will have seen various plays written by Schiller at the Town Theatre: _William Tell_ (academic year 1907/8), _The Thieves,_ _Piccolomini, Wallenstein_ ' _s Death_ (1908/9) and _Joan of Arc_ (1909/10). Additional school performances would have been _The Woman from Rabenstein_ by Ernst Wildenbruch, Shakespeare's _Othello_ and Lorzing's _Armourer_ (1907/8), _Emperor_ ' _s Happy Day/Am Woerthersee_ , Final Act of the _Meistersinger_ (1908/9 on the occasion of the celebratory 60th anniversary of Franz Joseph I coronation on 1.12.1908). Also Shakespeare's _Macbeth_ , Ferdinant Raimund's _The Wastrel,_ Mozart's _The Marriage of Figaro_ (1909/10), Grillparzer's _Woe betide him, who lies!_ , Kleist's _Kathy from Heilbronn_ and Wagner's _Flying Dutchman._ 49

Alfred Ticho reported that from 1907 onwards the old tradition of private theatre performances was revived again in the Ungar household. Classical pieces during the summer holidays, later some comedies on the eminently suitable roof garden and (initially) under the semi-professional direction of the Boskowitz head teacher Josef Mayer:

We were about 14 years old and we played scenes from Faustus, Maria Stuart, under the direction of the Boskowitz head teacher Josef Mayer, on the roof garden of the Ungar home. The audience was made up of the parents of the actors – and particularly the Ungar family members. Emil Ungar often attended rehearsals and made his opinions known. One year later we performed short comedies directed by Hermann with the help of his father.50

It is feasible that these comedies were in fact written by Hermann and this thesis is supported by the fact that he also attempted some historic dramas at around the same time. In any case Hermann's ambitions regarding acting were now strengthened through the guidance of Josef Mayer and went further then pure interest in playing certain roles. He was formulating his first concept of his ambitions for his future and one can imagine that the grammar school boy Hermann Ungar feels much the same as the 'actor' Mellon:

In the school report for the final year for our class there was a space behind the name for the intended profession, and written in this space was the profession to which he would be loyal for many years to come, without one hour of doubt: the profession of actor.51

It would not have contradicted his other ambition, to be an author. Since the powerful experience of his own Wallenstein performance Hermann appeared to be fixated on both professions encouraged by the fact that his father approved of both equally as a professional ambition. The concept of becoming an actor may have taken precedence for some years as the early home successes made it seem an easy objective (whereas he regarded his talents as an author with some scepticism). His literary beginnings influenced his choice.

No measure can be taken of the readership recognition at that time, as little is known of Hermann's writings, except for his interests in Herzl and other Jewish national authors or with bible literature. In 1926, in a letter to Samuel Fischer on the occasion of the 40th anniversary of the publishing house, Ungar wrote that 'in my boyhood, the most exciting event of each month was the appearance of a _Neue Rundschau_ with those, whom I regarded as my mentors/tutors and to whom I was thus greatly indebted' – Fontane, Hermann Bang, Thomas Mann. His 'greatest wish in all those happy years' was to 'appear in the Fischer catalogue with my own books'. Fischer's work as a publisher was 'motivation to create'.52 A speech on the subject of 'Hermann Bahr and young Austria', 53 a later letter to Hermann Bahr and the fact that one of the A Level subjects was contemporary Austrian literature, permits one to assume that Hermann was not just constantly studying the classics, but also getting acquainted with the Viennese Modern literature. He knew and appreciated such authors as Hofmannsthal, Schnitzler, Salten, Beer-Hofmann and also Karl Kraus, as did many other young German-speaking Jews in Brno, since Eduard Michael Kafka established 'Modern Writing' together with Julius Kulka there in 1890, which gave rise to 'Young Vienna'. The neo-romantic style of Ungar's earliest works, which were (mainly) written before the war (and which have unfortunately mostly disappeared) show signs of this influence and the sole query is to how far they were active during his Brno period. The poet Felix Langer, who came from Brno and whose younger brother, Oswald, was a friend of Ungar's at the time, recalled:

I was unaware at the time that Ungar had literary ambitions, however, I do remember that he attended one or two events where authors recited from their own works, and to which I had been invited as the guest of the academic association. 54

During German lessons at school Ungar only learnt about the normal literary giants.55

Hermann's interest in the Viennese Modern literature would have been encouraged by his Uncle Max [Emil's brother], who lived in Brno and taught as a private mathematics lecturer at the Technical University, but who had lived in Vienna as a student and teacher. 'Hermann visited his uncle quite frequently and was always making admiring comments on his knowledge and wide-ranging interests.'

But even more than the 'profound humanistic expertise' of his uncle and his 'all-encompassing knowledge of the field of philosophy', 56 Ungar appreciated his understanding and empathy for his nephew's ambitions. But Hermann did not even show the first examples of his writings to his Uncle Max – not so much for fear of criticism, but more because of his unrelenting embarrassment and shame: shame above all for his secret reasons for writing and also for the radical content of his work.

We know about Hermann Ungar's literary beginnings from his own words, from his memoires _Wallenstein – by me_.

Prior to The Red General, which is now premiering in the Theatre on the Koeniggraetzer Street, I wrote many other plays mainly between the age of fifteen and seventeen. These plays contained much passionate love and many horrifically murdered bodies. Otto III, The Black Riders, The Plague in Italy and so on. They can be recognised by their titles. One sole person, my childhood friend and school colleague Viktor (Klettenhofer) knew all about the creations of my horrible boyhood fantasies. On Sunday afternoons I would read him the results of my previous week's endeavours, just one or two dramas per week, written in clear handwriting in blue school notebooks. It was this friend who first enabled me to taste the pleasures of success and recognition.57

This apparently succinct passage which had been slipped in with a different context, which in turn discloses an unconscious desire to impart the information without danger of censure by the super-ego, provides important insights into Ungar's literary beginnings in many ways. The fact that Hermann wrote during puberty and adolescence is not unusual and conforms fully to the general psychological development laws. These state that 'only heightened introspection combined with an increased effort to distance oneself from outside objects...permits uninterrupted access to the world of sensations, fantasy and concentrated creative processes, which also manifests itself during this phase in the average person but wanes again after adolescence.' 58 His preference for historic material at an early age was not unusual, particularly not in the Jewish environment where the children were introduced early to the cultural heritage of the classics (which was continued during German lessons at school). In those days 'creative' writing was mostly full of sentimental affectation, and there really was 'no worse time to start'.59 The virtually incredible intensity of the productions was striking ('one or two dramas per week'), the insistent radical themes (passion and cruelty, sexuality and brutality), whilst the almost total lack of autobiographical figures (which would normally be expected at this age). In addition there was a noticeable ambivalent attitude towards his writing, in that although Hermann carefully wrote all his text into a school notebook and enjoyed the 'success and recognition' of his friend Viktor to the full, on the other side he kept it a secret and did not rehearse it – as with his occasional comedies – on his family's roof garden. The conclusions drawn from this, although speculative, as none of these dramas exist now (Ungar himself appears to have destroyed them), are convincing as they correspond with experiences in later life and seem to be valid for all Ungar's writings. Hermann was simultaneously fulfilling two opposing objectives with his historic dramas as well: on the one side they were to bring him recognition, and on the other to free him from his internal strain and turmoil, particularly from the ravages of puberty. He wanted to compensate for his ego-weakness with his writing, deploying identification roles to live out the pubertal wishful fantasies of sexuality, power and brutality, but also of outside recognition as an author and a playwright. However his ego-weaknesses prevented him from disclosing himself completely in autobiographical texts and did not permit him to show them, semi-conscious of their virtually biographic content, to anyone else but his closest friend.

The ego-problems were obviously not solvable in either direction (unburdening or recognition) and thus this particular dilemma, of which he himself would not have been aware, provides the dynamics and motivational force for him to continue writing. For the rest of his life he would be unable to describe anything else but existential experiences in his work, and he would attempt to hide this. For the rest of his life he would hope to earn literary fame, but hide his work from the majority of his friends.

In his last years at grammar school and after the phase of historical dramas, Hermann wrote poems – this is also seen as typical of his age-group, especially as far as the Prague authors were concerned as many of these – even Kisch – made their debut with lyrics. Hermann read his poetry to his friends Viktor Klettenhofer and Felix Loria and in 1910 he sent a selection written on hand-made paper to Hermann Bahr, the 'patron and mentor of all young Austrian authors'.

'In his response Bahr encouraged him to continue writing and Hermann felt honoured and proud to receive this letter.' 60 None of these poems appears to have survived. In all probability they would have been unpretentious, reflecting his own personal experiences, lyrics about nature and love written in the neo-romantic style of 'Young Vienna', as per Hofmannsthal, Felix Doermann, Leopold, Andrian or his later Berlin friend, Camill Hoffmann. The impression that Bahr's good natured, encouraging letter made on Hermann would have been similar to the happy and proud reaction of the 'actor' Mellon, when he read the newspaper column and enjoyed 'the vanities of fame for one day' and 'continued to carry this reminder around in his pocket ten years later.' Ungar was still writing poems during the war (and this time sending them to Max Brod).

In the same sketch, _Mellon - the 'Actor'_ Ungar depicted the atmosphere of the Sunday afternoon readings of his week's output of dramas and the acting roles in front of his friend Viktor, hiding the 'I' in the 'He':

He never doubted his ability. His performances in front of me, a sixteen year old, in my room, wearing my pelerine as a type of prayer shawl, swaying to and fro, using arm gestures to portray Shylock, his red rimmed eyes shining, his pale cheeks rosy with excitement. 61

After the initial drama and lyric phases, but still during his time in Brno – so in 1910/11 – the grammar school boy turned to writing prose and this suited his urge to impart information far better than the more regimented styles. However nothing has survived from these epic attempts. Even if they were just as unfinished, unoriginal and pubertal as the dramas and poetry were (and Gustav Krojanker's memories of Ungar's work before the war confirm this), the loss of this work is especially disappointing, for the formal liberty of the prose would have elicited a high degree of autobiographical images from which it would have been possible to follow the course of a doubtless crisis-laden puberty and adolescence. This, in turn, would have permitted a more accurate idea of the catalysts causing his virtually manic urges to write. As with his childhood, we are almost entirely dependent on the reminiscences of friends or acquaintances and on the reaction to his later works – or witness accounts which are each in their own way unreliable. But even these diluted and distorted accounts – including one which states that the grammar school boy was being treated by a neurologist - illustrate that Hermann Ungar, without a doubt, did not experience the normal 'difficulties and ecstasies usual for a boy of his age'. 62

Outwardly the scene was set: the schoolboy worked intensively on the Zionist association activities and on his studies, but he also made the most of his social life with his friends, 'attending dancing classes, took fencing lessons, was always tastefully and elegantly attired', was 'generally admired and popular, welcome at every event' 63 thanks to his 'intelligence and sense of humour' _._ Despite his fragile health, Ungar spent his holidays in Boskowitz on the football field and gymnastics hall of the TSV Maccabi, attending concerts and theatre performances, as well as exhibitions in Brno and occasionally also in Vienna. Hitherto these activities, which continued in appropriately modified terms throughout his life, have been interpreted as certain evidence of a worldly, open, lively and humorous personality (and compared with a degree of perplexity with his totally different writings). In fact the social life of the adolescent illustrates that appearances are deceptive: the truth is that these are typical reactions of a person who has outwardly escaped from the ghetto but remains inwardly bound to it: a person who wants to prove to himself and others that he is as free as a bird – but can only prove it within the confines of a different sort of cage.

When Hermann Ungar left Boskowitz, he believed he would conquer the world and, following his urges and impulses, he threw himself passionately into all the activities he regarded as manifestations of another world, the world 'outside'. Dancing, fencing, football, gymnastics, concerts, theatre, exhibitions and city clothing were for him the symbols of freedom. They were going to liberate him, this physically fragile and psychologically ego-weak person, from his oldest inhibitions. In the same way as the initially anticipated integration into the non-Jewish world failed – in Brno, the German town, the only doors to social life open to him were those of the Jewish circle – his physical and psychological feats of strength went against his nature and were thus only an illusion. Ungar never admitted this during his lifetime, but his writing tells the tale. Because he was never taught to recognise his physical form, because he remained weak and very nervous, he just acted out sportsman-like activities.

Because he was wary of most people, he threw himself into exhilarating social life; because he rarely felt like laughing, he became the clown: because he felt he might be inferior, he attempted to be the victor, the first at everything he undertook. He achieved success in that very few of his closest friends, apart from perhaps Viktor Klettenhofer, saw through this masquerade. His inability to inwardly overcome the ghetto despite all his attempts to the contrary, the extent to which he was still psychologically and emotionally a prisoner of the secret and mysterious ghetto standards, despite his rational and Zionistic-orientated insight, is clearly and paradoxically obvious in his relationship to sexuality. _The experiences of his own sexuality during his school years (and later), which was even stronger than the issue of his own identity to which the answer appeared to lie in Zionism for a long time (before he was so shaken by the events of the war), remained the core problem – the catalyst for his writing_.[italics – VU]

A major factor was that Hermann experienced sexual maturity much earlier than the majority of his school colleagues, according to Felix Loria, at around the age of thirteen. 'Developed far earlier than normal, also more mature in comparison to the boys of his own age' so that sexual issues 'turned into serious problems' 64 which he faced alone. The thirteen year old boy 'suffered from ejaculations caused by his nervous disposition and which weakened him' and had to be treated by Dr Haberfeld, a neurologist, who was able 'to prevent the flow of semen'.65 During the course of puberty, Hermann returned for treatment of his neurasthenic symptoms. His classroom situation was very similar to that of the pupil Karpel in the novel _The Class_ :

Karpel's face was no longer smooth and feminine like the faces of the other boys. It was thin and pale with a protruding nose, there were blue shadows around his eyes. His cheeks seemed blemished with a growth of curly, black hairs... This boy was already experienced. He had sampled forbidden lust. Perhaps he had already had carnal knowledge of a woman. 66

Karpel's leadership role in the classroom was explained primarily by his advanced maturity: Hermann's dominance in his classroom was also a result of his similar situation (as well as his intellectual maturity) and he did all he could to confirm his class colleagues' opinions, including the pleasures of the 'venus vulgivaga'. Felix Loria recalls that very soon after the neurology treatment Hermann 'initiated a direct purely sexual affair with a school girl of his own age' (or boasted about it):

As far as Hermann was concerned, the relationship was purely based on sex, the girl was completely submissive to him and he often made fun of her in front of me, in my opinion he intentionally humiliated her. At various times I accused him of cruelty and his response during such discussions was cynical and sarcastic. I thought his behaviour during this young affair was extremely sadistic and our conversations often turned into arguments, during which he would laugh at my petite bourgeoisie attitudes. At the time I had extreme socialist beliefs and he always underlined this contradiction between my views on materialist issues and my – in his opinion- reactionary bourgeois view of sex. I coined the phrase: 'My views on literature are progressive and materialistic, your views on literature are reactionary. My views on sex are bourgeois, yours are socialistic, hyper-progressive'. Hermann often spoke with me about this and other relationships in a cynical, sarcastic way and mockingly denied any deeper feeling for this or any of the other girls. 67

There are obvious parallels to his writing, particularly in _Boys and Murderers_ , one only needs to think about the cruelty of the 'little soldier' in the _Story of a Murder_ or the cynicism with which the protagonist in the novel _A Man and a Maid_ forces the maid Stasinka into prostitution. It is typical that in both of the above cases, as in many others, the cause is the inferiority complex, not just sexual frustration.

Dance classes and parties were perceived by Hermann as the main way to obtain sexual contacts about which he could then boast. His apparent good looks and witty personality made him very popular with the girls, they were 'very susceptible to his very distinct masculine charms'.68 How far Hermann's actual sexual experiences went cannot really been determined, despite Loria's comments. It is, however, fairly probable, given his psychological make-up, that the gap between his boastfulness and actual activities was very wide. Here once again he wore a mask to allow him to assimilate into the pubertal scene of his peers.69

Hermann's real feelings about sexuality can be judged by his writing, and the clearest of these is perhaps the nondescript story _The Secret War_ (1929), which, when it was first published in the _Prague Tagblatt_ (Prague Daily), was described in the editorial notes as an 'autobiographical tale'. The same editorial notes a parallel to the story was made using a statement from a psychiatric assessor involved in the controversial Friedlaender Case, whereby 'the young Friedlaender turned himself into a fantasy image of his brother, which constantly prevented him and...this pretended burden formed a continuous obstacle to every activity, making the development of his masculine self-esteem extremely difficult.' 70 If one accepts that this little story is autobiographical of Ungar – the characteristic use of language and the realistic issues, also the personality of R, for if 'R' is badly disguised as Professor Romuald Rinesch, then this gentleman becomes the ' _oppressive burden of his youth_ , 71 then it would appear that the normal development of his masculine identity was hindered by Rinesch having caught him practising forbidden sexual activities. In this case it would not be important whether _The Secret War_ between the pupil and his neurotic teacher actually ended with the same scene as depicted by the playwright years later or whether Ungar, in his usual way, simply used literary licence to adapt the basic situation.

On summer evenings the girls stood at the well. They rolled up their sleeves, giggled and swayed as they carried the overflowing buckets and jugs, splashing water everywhere. The soldiers waited, chatting and laughing with the girls. We were just fifteen years old. The girls were embarrassed to show they knew us in front of the soldiers and each other. Once they were alone with us, after curfew in the small dark alleys, they were not embarrassed at all.

...Red Anna was the prettiest at the fountain, tall and wide-hipped.

We sat down in a park on a bench at the edge of the river. It was forbidden at night. But the next policeman was a long way off in the street, it was like being alone in the middle of a forest. I gave Anna a bar of chocolate, a necklace that I had won at a fair at the shooting booth, plus five Kroners which she refused to accept at first. She was very friendly to me. Her hands were rough from working, but I was permitted to feel her skin around her neck and breasts, it was so warm and soft. Anna had nothing on under her blouse, no laced bodice, just a loose blouse with a low neckline.

Suddenly we heard quiet footsteps and a storm lantern shone in the darkness. I was unable to see anything, but I heard a gruff voice. Then Anna began to scream. They grabbed her. The two were policemen. They dragged her away. Someone else was holding me back by my jacket...

When this unknown person loosened his hold on me, I escaped and ran away embarrassed. For a long time afterwards Anna's screaming and crying haunted me. When I ran out of the park, R. was standing in front of me under the first street lamp. He seemed to be grinning. 72

The core of truth in this scene, unaffected by some literary changes, is underlined by factual experiences, by the number of similarities in the rest of the work. With only a few exceptions – mostly it is a 'motherly' central figure (Mother Ballou in the earlier drama _The War_ , Dora Fanta in _The Maimed_ or Selma Blau in _The Class_ – Ungar depicts a stereotyped woman, a sensuous 'red' woman ('red Anna'), whose sexuality is seen as a threat for the weak-ego, inhibited and insecure protagonist. Although he longs for her, he also fears her, her passion throws him into desperation and shame, ties him up in unrelenting feelings of guilt.

In his investigations into the German playwright and the Czech woman _Milenky_ (1930), Paul Eisner correctly classified Ungar's female characters as 'initiators' and he wrote about the 'initiator role of the Czech maid which it was impossible to overestimate'. 73 With understandable reticence the Czech comparator criticised this female cliché and talks (in another place) about 'the strongest negated point on a long line on the second end of which is Werfel's sublimation of a Czech wet nurse'. 74 Other German-Jewish Prague authors also project this image of womanhood (as Brod does in his novel, _A Czech Servant Girl_ (1908), or Kisch in the novel, _The Young Herdswoman_ (1914), frequently in the guise of 'unbroken, intuitive, Slavic women' who appear as 'serving women, maids, waitresses... as a counterweight in the lives of men with contradictory, dual personalities'.75 This image, however, has a tangible background both in socialisation and in Ungar's puberty. The sons of affluent German-Jewish citizens, i.e. Werfel, Brod, Grab or, in this case, the Ungar family would have experienced their first close motherly contacts with women through their Czech wet nurses and Czech nannies and would have probably been treated with more tenderness and humble loving care than they received from their own mothers. They would have had their first sexual experiences with the simple Czech servant girls, with a 'red Anna', or a Stasinka ( _A Man and a Maid_ ), Milada ( _Story of a Murder_ ), or a Milka ( _The Maimed_ ). Ungar, in his travel notes on Italy, characterised the Slavic women as an identifiable type:

A wide face, eyes very close together, their expression is one of devotion, humility – even in the most victorious.76

It was not just the natural strength of the Slavic Eros which attracted the sons of the affluent, other means of sexual contact – to girls of the same age in the dance classes for example – were exceedingly complicated, if not impossible, due to strict social conventions, particularly for the sons of Jewish families in which, despite all attempts at assimilation, bodily matters and sexuality were strictly taboo. This was particularly pertinent to Hermann, who grew up in a ghetto and not in a liberal city like Prague (where some fathers like Hermann Kafka went as far encouraging their sons to visit brothels 'for reasons of hygiene'). Right from the start these sexual experiences, for him the result of extreme, inescapable urges, were something that nothing and no-one had prepared him for and which led him inexorably to a neurologist, which burdened him with the most severe psychological ambivalences. On the one side sex was not just physical satisfaction but also a liberating rebellion against his origin and his father's organisation, on the other side it was the cause of oppressive feelings of guilt and fear. (Ludwig Winder describes similar circumstances in _The Jewish Organ_.)

Despite all the above Hermann might later have discovered a more casual attitude to his body and sexuality were it not for a traumatic experience as described in _The Secret War_. The fantasy situation of being overheard by the hated and disrespected teacher Rinesch, the representative of his father's standards just cemented the latent neurotic feelings of shame, fear and guilt in his mind. Not only was the fate of an outsider – perhaps in his imagination – sealed by his inappropriate actions and guilt ('red Anna' was arrested and punished by the policemen), but also he worried for years about potential 'consequences in _school' ('exclusion from all Austrian institutions. An artisan's job in a business or a place as an apprentice, if anyone could be found to take me...If I were to be excluded, I would prefer to die...' )_ 77 and above all, Rinesch might tell his father. (The protagonist faints when he discovers that R. had been to visit his father.) 'I knew that my fate lay completely in his hands. Only when I finally left the school did the burden fall from my shoulders and I could sleep peacefully once more, enjoy my life to the full again.' 78

It is possible that Hermann's visits to the neurologist and his frequent absence during the last years of his schooling were connected to _'_ the burden'. (Matters would have been simplified in the last three academic years, when Rinesch was no longer a class tutor of Hermann's.)

In Ungar's writing these 'terrible years' 79 have a long-lasting effect, significant in the repetition of the same 'original scene', indirectly in the almost manic descriptions of pathological sex lives. Obvious parallels can be found in Ungar's prose:

A Man and a Maid

The 'initial impression of awakening senses' 80 overcomes the narrator at the beginning of puberty in a situation which is reminiscent of the start of _The Secret War_. Stasinka, the maid, described in an aside as 'an exhausted large animal', 81 with 'heavy large breasts', 82 fetches water from the well 'a bucket in each hand'. 'Guilt and destruction' run their course the life of the ego is 'torn out of its path', 'fear' and 'longing' control the boy.

Inspite of Stasinka's presence, her sheer image struck terror deep in my soul and my limbs shook in fear of an unknown threat, my dreams were still filled with desire to see her...I sat at the well and waited for her to fetch water. 83

But sexual fulfilment was just as non-existent as it was in _The Secret War_. When the ego succeeded in pushing the struggling maid down onto the floor, his triumph was ruined by a 'Peeping Tom', the lustful old man Rebinger:

When I attempted to grab her breasts, she freed herself with a sudden jerk...

She lifted her hand, pointing upwards. Her eyes stared upwards as if she had seen something terrifying.

I turned round. And saw – pressed against the window, distorted faun-like features – Rebinger's face. 84

The narrator does not feel any guilt for the fate of the maid, like the protagonist in _The Secret War_ , instead he quite intentionally humiliates her, sells her once he has the chance to a Galician Jew in New York, who passes her on to a brothel. He turns her into a prostitute ('Kalle' in Yiddish) thus turning a word from Rebinger (and also from the teacher Rinesch?) into reality.

Story of a Murder

Milada, the niece of the Czech hairdresser Haschek, was kept as a maid at her uncle's house and had to suffer his unwelcome sexual advances. She sought help from the seventeen year old protagonist and is rebuffed:

She... held her arms out to me plaintively, weeping, hugged me and pressed herself to me. I freed myself, pushed Milada away so brusquely that she almost fell, and then I ran away.85

This rebuffal made the narrator guilty for the fate of the 'humiliated and frightened servant girl', 86 who then had to accept her fate at the hands of her hunchbacked uncle who ultimately became a 'prostitute' and was pregnant with an unwanted child. In the stirring concluding scene the humiliated Milada in turn humiliates the boy shamelessly and becomes so excited that she gives birth in front of him. When a 'stranger' enters the situation, the ideal counterpart of the present but semi-conscious drunk real father, and sees the humiliation of 'the little soldier' (the narrator) the latter shoots him for having witnessed his ignominy.

Although totally distorted – the narrator claims he has 'never stood in any relationship to a woman other than that of cool rejection' 87 – this is a repeat of the coinciding sexuality and school story, of eavesdropping and shame.

The Maimed

The same coinciding issues permeate through the entire novel, so that here just a few examples will suffice.

The fourteen year old Franz Polzer, with his 'easily aroused boyhood fantasies' 88, hears one night how his father 'in night dress' enters the bedroom of his aunt (who, after the death of the boy's mother manages the household, so to say, as the 'maid'). The boy starts to fantasise wildly:

Despite having only seen the shadow of his aunt, he firmly believed that his aunt had been completely naked at the time. From then onwards his mind played continuous scenes of nightly activities between his father and his father's sister. 89

Polzer's attitude to sexuality is pathologically fixated, now it turns into a trauma which determines the rest of his life. The Czech maid, Milka, is responsible for Polzer's own sexual 'initiation', although he despises and fears her physical features, which simultaneously excite and attract him:

He avoided Milka because the constant thought of her rounded moving breasts beneath the fluttering loose blouse always attracted his attention. 90

In the Widow Porges, his landlady who attends to his every need like a maid, the adult Polzer sees the reincarnation of his aunt and Milka. When he surrenders unwillingly to her overblown fleshiness it destroys his hitherto fearfully protected way of life and leads the way for the catastrophes. These end with the death of the widow, in which he shares the guilt because of his weakness. Klara Porges gave herself to innumerable men for sexual and financial greed, including the sixteen year old Franz Fanta, the beloved son of his friend: Polzer surprises the two of them in the bedroom:

Polzer heard a cry. He recognised the voice of the widow. She was standing naked in the room. She bent over, picked up her blouse from the floor and held it in front of her body.

...Franz Fanta stood next to the wall between the two windows. His head was slightly tilted backwards, his eyes were half closed, as if he were waiting.

... Oh, now the naked boy raised his arms in front of himself, as if he were frightened. Oh, so he also felt shame and concern!

...Franz Fanta hid his head in his arms. His back was moving. He was crying. 91

The Class

Klemenz already indicated the similarly of the content with the story sketch _The Secret War_. 92

The teacher Josef Blau was following the pupil Karpel, by whom he felt threatened, with the intention of gaining control of him and was thus waiting for him close to the brothel. When Karpel leaves the brothel, Blau intends to do nothing further than to make his presence known.

Everything could come to an end... in a few minutes. Karpel had seen him. There was no need for words. Now Josef Blau had something he could hold over the pupil...93

But it was not Karpel, but the pupil Laub who was taken by surprise by Blau. The frightening meeting with his teacher threw Laub into the same desperation as the boy experienced in _The Secret War_. The servant Modlizki reports to Blau:

The young man was very upset. We led him through the empty streets. The young man cried constantly and nothing we said could calm him down. The young man has been kept in confinement. 94

Laub hung himself and thereby carried out the deed which remained nothing but a thought in _The Secret War_.

If I were to be excluded, I would want to die. Tomorrow at lunchtime the decision will be made. But there was no doubt as to which decision would be reached. At daybreak I wrote a farewell letter to my parents. 95

Perhaps the conflict between sexual drive and fears also drove Hermann Ungar to feel there was no way out, no escape, in fact, if he had not possessed his intellectual interests, particularly his national Jewish commitments, he might have succeeded in partially displacing these urges and then would not have found the release in writing, in experiencing these pubertal fantasies in a socially legitimate way (following in the footsteps of other authors). The concept of his work, his writing, made him feel superior to the teacher Rinsch, this old-fashioned mathematician, and this in turn diluted the conflict.

***

Despite all psychological distortions at the end of his school years Hermann Ungar displayed the image of a contented, even happy young person, enthusiastic about Zionism, theatre and literature. 'To Mellon', the future, lay in front of him and he had discovered ways to conquer it as a national Jew, as a German-speaking author. The wounds would heal, the burden would be relieved.

In the summer of 1911 Hermann Ungar completed his Matura (A Level) studies in Brno at the II German Grammar School (in the meantime the State Secondary School with German-language lessons) and passed with the expected distinction.

The written examinations took place on June 19, 20 and 21 and according to the annals for the academic year 1910/11, the tasks were as follows:

1. from the German language:  
Some tricks of the weather were needed  
To split the tops of the tress  
However constantly your luscious magnificence unfolds  
You will always remain tall and large.  
(Hermann Ling, Hymn to Austria)

Never had literature solved such great tasks as German literature  
did from 1750 until Goethe's death. (Gustav Freytag)

There is only one happiness: Duty  
There is only one consolation: Work  
There is only one enjoyment: Beauty  
(Carmen Sylva)

12 candidates selected the first subject, 7 selected the second, 2 selected the third. (It was impossible to discover which question was selected by Hermann Ungar: his essay does not appear to exist any longer.)

2. From the Latin:  
Tibull 1 10, 1-38

3. From the Greek:  
Demosthenes, debate against Timokraes c.139-143. 96

Ungar's essay was marked as 'very good', his translations from Latin and Green as 'good'.

On July 7, 8 and 9 the aural examinations took place under the chairmanship of the Director of the State Grammar School in Znaim, Government Councillor Julius Wisnar. Hermann was examined on the afternoon of July 10 in German. (The questions related to Goethe's elegy _Hermann and Dorothea_ as an example of German elegy writing, Johann Heirnich Voos and the German idyll, translations of foreign language literary works, Wieland and the Romantics, source and construction of the epic _Hermann and Dorothea_ , Schoenherr's _Belief and Home Country_ and the most famous present Austrian writers). In Latin (Horace, poems and songs), knowledge of the fatherland (questions on the reforms introduced by Joseph II, on the revolution in 1848 in Austria and the Hungarian Uprising, on the Delegations and on the most important shipping lines in the Adriatic, on the Danube and Elbe), plus mathematics. Hermann fulfilled his own and his father's expectations and received, as the only candidate, a certificate showing he had passed 'with distinction'. His friend, Viktor Klettenhofer, was deferred and after a retake on September 29 he also passed. 97

III University Studies Berlin-Munich-Prague: (1911-1914)

Before my eyes is the image of him, as I first saw him. It would have been towards the end of 1911. One day he appeared in my room – his appearance was comic. A blond, rosy-cheeked lad with soft features, dressed in celebratory dark robes with a top hat in his hand. He came from a good home in Boskowitz and had attended school in nearby Brno. From there he had come to Berlin as a student and was making his introductory visits with all the attributes of a respectable home...In those days...he seemed half comical, half festive. And this first visit was no normal meeting, for hardly had he taken a corner seat on the sofa, when he pulled out a huge manuscript and confided to me his twenty-year Dream, nothing less than his wish to become an author. 1

The recollections of Gustav Krojanker, who was at the time the spokesman for the Zionistic Berlin Student Association Hasmonaea provides insight into the initial enthusiasm with which Hermann Ungar undertook a huge step in Autumn 1911, after a happy and liberated summer holiday in Boskowitz, of moving from his home country of Moravia into the German capital city, from his secure middle class provincial town into the strange metropolis of Berlin. This academic path was not unusual before the world war (people might only have wondered why he chose Berlin rather than neighbouring Vienna like the majority of the Moravian students) but his motives would have been no different from those of so many other German-Bohemian authors.2 The young intellectuals soon recognised the provincial constraints of their home country and they knew that their literary careers could be promoted more easily in the German cultural metropolis with its large publishing houses and newspapers, famous theatres and innovative circles of writers. Many of them were drawn to Berlin not only by the 'desire to experience new things, new environments, new people – in short, new lifestyles', 3 but also by the more concrete aim of throwing off old familiar shackles and to lead their own independent lives. This was particularly applicable to Hermann Ungar, for his father had not been able to accept his son's wish to become a writer nor his Zionistic ambitions. His father, _'the protector of widows and orphans'_ , 4 did understand that Hermann was as unsuited to the factory and publican life as he was himself, but desired for his first-born son much the same as any other German-Jewish father of his generation who had lived through the boycott and the Great Depression: he wanted Hermann to chose a more 'secure' career as a lawyer, to study Law and State Sciences which would provide him with possible employment 'in law courts, banks, the postal authority, in industry or government administration offices'. 5 The only sensible alternative would have been medical school. 6 Like other fathers (such as Hermann Kafka) Emil Ungar did not recognise that such academic professions no longer offered the same career chances to an Austrian Jew and that these studies would lead nowhere, due to the established anti-Semitic trends and the hard German-Czech competitiveness. The impossibility of correlating Hermann's own ambitions for his future with his father's wishes is obvious from a drastic comment made by Hermann in 1924 in response to a survey: _'Nice intellectual lawyers – I have nothing against lawyers as long as they are well-behaved.... But nice intellectual lawyers make me vomit!'_ 7 Hermann never wanted to become a _'nice intellectual lawy_ er' (but he did become a literary diplomat), a _'well-behaved'_ one even less. We can imagine the fiery debates on the future career between father and son: it was a huge victory, if a short-lived one, when Hermann made his decision against all resistance and went to Berlin to form his literary contacts and to prepare himself at the Friedrich-Wilhelms-University for his future life in Erez Israel by reading Oriental Languages. But it was only a pseudo-victory. With his inbred traditional standards, equipped with the boastful provincial attributes of his father, he faced the city boy Gustav Krojanker, this aristocratic Prussian, and was a picture of comedy and celebration. Real liberty was never feasible because Hermann remained financially dependent on his father and thus his attempt at forming his own independent way of life failed after the first semester. 8

There is little known about Ungar's studies in Berlin during the winter semester 1911/12, which commenced on October 9, 1911. His rooms were in Charlottenburg, Marburger Strasse 7. He was registered with the Philosophic Faculty for Oriental Studies, where he read Hebraic Grammar with Professor Gressmann, Egyptian Grammar with Professor Erman and also took an Arabic Course with Dr Mittwoch. His interest in all things oriental was a decisive factor and it seemed imperative for his future life in 'The Land of His Forefathers' to master these languages. He also attended philosophical events and attended lectures on the Philosophy of the Present Day given by the neo-Kant Alois Riehl (1844–1924). (The assumption is that new developments in psychology were debated there).9 Gustav Krojanker wrote that Ungar proved himself to be the 'very opposite of an intellectual' in these courses and 'an author for whom a subject is illuminated when it comes from his innermost being, an author who does not think about things, but from whom such things emanate.'

I remember having worked with him for a short while on philosophical studies under the leadership of an expert. Complete passages went by without comment, and then suddenly he would make a comment or a query which showed such thorough understanding of the subject that the tutor was completely astounded. It was as if a ray of brilliant light had suddenly illuminated a darkened room.10

It is probable that Ungar followed his father's urging and attended national economic lectures in Berlin besides philosophy and oriental languages. The files of the Czechoslovakian Foreign Ministry show that he studied under the theoretical socialists Adolph Wagner (1835–1917) and Gustav Schmoller (1838–1917). (Ungar might have accompanied his friend Krojanker to a number of events featuring Wagner and Schmoller in the winter semester 1911/12.)

The failing consequences of the Berlin studies had numerous causes: indecisiveness and the fear of setting his path in stone too early on in life: his inability to sever the ties to his parental home and the ambitions of his father: his dominating time-intensive literary works: and last but by no means least his commitment to the national Jewish student association Hasmonaea. Hermann met two lifelong friends at Hasmonaea, the previously mentioned Gustav Krojanker and Ludwig Pinner. This may have been the most important experience during the Berlin semester.

The Hasmonaea association, which was founded in 1902 by Egon Rosenberg in Berlin11 according to the example of the Zionistic Corporations of Austria, was really based on the German colour concept to compete with the German national and liberal youth associations. It required that each member commit himself to unconditional acceptance of the Basel Progamme of 1897, whereby the Zionist objective of 'the creation of a public-legal safe home country in Palestine' 12 besides the imperative willingness to provide satisfaction. In the course of the years further affiliated associations were founded at other German universities, such as the Munich Jordania and the Freiburg Ivriaand. In 1906 Hasmonaea formed the Cartell of Zionistic Associations (KZV) together with these – going on to amalgamate with the older Federation of Jewish Corporations (BJC) founded in 1902 to form the Cartell of Jewish Associations in 1914 – with Gustav Krojanker acting as presiding member soon after the fusion, who was also the publisher of the association publication, _The Jewish Intention,_ together with Erich Cohn from 1918 until 1920.

Ungar must have already heard about the activities of Hasmonaea when he was in Brno – as its founder Egon Rosenberg was a member of the same Brno intermediate school association during his schooldays and had been a member for one and a half semesters of Veritas on which the Berlin association was modelled. We presume that that was also partly why Hermann decided to study in Berlin. The concept of the colour associations, which was later regarded with scepticism and rejection, must have been very appealing to Hermann at this point in time with its promise of a close communal lifestyle and its militant Jewish-orientation caused by the anti-Semitism of his home town. One of his first visits in Berlin was to Gustav Krojanker, his intention was to join Hasmonaea.

Gustav Krojanker was born on June 1, 1891 in Berlin as the son of a rich shoe manufacturer Wilhelm Krojanker (Conrad Tack & Cie, Burg near Magdeburg and Berlin) and his wife Jenny (nee Stern). He was one of the most committed Berlin Zionists. After passing the Abitur (A Levels) at the Berlin Kgl. Wilhelms-Grammar School in the summer of 1909 he ceded to the wishes of his father and studied one semester in Berlin and Freiburg reading law, then two semesters in Munich studying economy. He continued with the latter in Berlin in the winter semester 1911/12.13 Krojanker lived in Wilmersdorf, Kurfurstendamm 48, not far from Ungar. The two young students did not just share a common interest in their national Jewish thought processes, but they also liked each other very much right from the initial meeting. In hitherto unaccustomed 'young openness' – understandable because of the enthusiasm with which he grasped his Berlin liberty and the relative self-confidence gained from the reception of his first prose writings in the last year at Brno and the summer in Boskowitz, Ungar told the older boy about his dreams of becoming an author in the very first hour of their friendship:

At that time I did not take him very seriously. But the moment has remained in my memory – not just because of his declaration, but because I knew immediately that I had found someone, who was a real person. Of course one makes friends quickly when one is as young as we were at the time: at that age one has not built up such reservations and barriers, one hasn't experienced disappointments, one is much more open. But this was much more than young openness. I sensed at once, with initial astonishment, a hint of that which made this boy, later this man so very different and the close friendship which he was offering. This friendship contained an unusual level of softness, tenderness, warmth and devotion. In the rough atmosphere of our environment, given the necessity to drill down deeply before one found a source of friendship and common interests, this fount of human warmth which lay there awaiting acceptance, was an extremely surprising discovery. To have someone as a friend, to appreciate the all-encompassing friendship offered by a person whose heart was always open, who was always there to help and to alleviate all pressures with his soothing warmth – this all became more obvious to me once I became older and more needy.

I have forgotten which manuscript he gave me on this occasion (1929). 14

In 1928 Ungar wrote to Krojanker:

...I think, Gustav, that I am very attached to you and that I bless that day in October when I entered your little room on Kurfurstendamm 48/49 bearing my manuscript. I wish for nothing more than that everything remains the same between you and me until the end of our earthly journey.15

Ungar met the confirmed Zionist Ludwig Pinner through Krojanker and Hasmonaea and a close friendship bound all three and they appeared in Berlin as an inseparable trio.

Pinner, born on February 2, 1890 in Berlin where his parents owned a large banking and cereal business, attended the Berlin Friedrich-Werdersche Grammar School and passed his Abitur (A Levels) at Easter 1908. He had joined the Zionist movement at the age of sixteen, against the will of his father, who wanted his son to enter the family business, he decided to read agricultural sciences as a preparation for life in Palestine. First of all, however, he went to Wegendorf in the Mark for a year where he undertook practical training on the Wesendahl estate of the District Councillor Schmidt-Loehne. In the autumn of 1909 he then began studying at the Royal Agricultural College in Berlin.

After one semester he transferred to the university in Munich and finally went from Munich for two semesters to the Combined Friedrichs-University in Halle-Wittenberg, graduating from there in 1915. During his studies in Halle but in autumn 1911, Pinner must have attended the Agricultural College in Berlin, as evidence shows that he is registered as a normal student for the summer semester 1912. (At this time he lived at Kurfurstendamm 171/172). In Berlin he met Gustav Krojanker again, whom he perhaps already knew from his first semester in Berlin or from his time in Munich.16 The depth of Ungar's ties to his older friend, although Pinner was less interested in the intellectual/literary side and more in the political-economic scene, is obvious from a letter written to Pinner from Rome in 1922:

If you can help me, help me and write to me. I am confused. And write much, much, much, much more about yourself. You know how much more than all the others I love you with all my heart! 17

At the time this letter was written, Pinner was already living in Palestine and the friends saw each other rarely.

Despite his friendships with his Federal brothers Krojanker and Pinner it seems possible that Ungar did not really feel at home in the Berlin Hasmonaea and that he remained as much an outsider as he did in the Munich Jordania. Inspite of all the common Zionistic objectives, he was different because of his ghetto background, because of his artificial German-orientated childhood based on foreign soil and his early anti-Semitic experiences which had dealt the final blow to his German assimilation. And he differed in a great many other ways from the German Jews in the Kingdom, who on the whole regarded themselves more as Germans even if they declared themselves committed to Zionism. It would have been difficult for him, just to name a few examples, to join the other Hasmonaea colleagues in singing Zionistic lyrics to the music of German songs during their beer-drinking meetings.18 A vague definition of Zionism written by Pinner which related to their common Hasmonaea times, unintentionally underlines the differences between the Berlin Zionists:

It was the time in which the German-Jewish culture symbiosis formed their most glorious blossoms and we were intensive participants. Our Zionism was a conscious, intellectual declaration of intent. It was described as 'post-assimilation Zionism', very different from the more emotional Zionism of the eastern Jewish masses, who possessed an uninterrupted tradition. 19

But Hermann Ungar did not possess a 'uninterrupted Jewish tradition', and particularly not in the manner of the eastern Jewish orthodoxy, although he was well-versed in the history and tradition of Judaism from a critical aspect and had experienced the separation of the Jews in Brno, therefore living his Zionism more emotionally than those sons of German citizens who had generally been brought up in the non-religious natural assimilation of city families often not just immersed in German culture but also in the German national spirit.

And so they arrived in quite different ways at national Judaism, less through the issues of identification and anti-Semitic outbursts than through a certain youthful political enthusiasm, which could just as easily found its cause in socialism or alternative movements. One can see that Ungar would have been popular amongst the brotherhood, not despite but probably more as a result of his emotional way of seeing things, especially as he happily submitted to all the brotherhood rituals in his search for contacts, he was an adroit fencer and a pleasant companion in public houses and in society – even at 'ladies coffee circles' because of his good-natured and happy personality. But Ungar was unable to take a leading position in these associations.

Whether or not Ungar was able to access other avant-garde early expressionist circles in Berlin besides the Zionist associations, perhaps the student environment where they often ended as in Kurt Hille's 'New Club', remains an unanswered question due to the scarcity of information sources. No articles could be found in the neo-expressionist publications of the period and there is no evidence of personal contacts to the new Berlin literary circles. Also as there are no remaining literary works from this period we cannot even speculate on possible influences, unless we link the expressionist drama _War_ written during the war as a later reflex resulting from Berlin stimulation.

Even so the young writers made such loud protests and fuss that Ungar could not have failed to hear about them and if he did not react to their appeals via the university for offers of cooperation – perhaps because he thought that he, as a Bohemian Jew, should not identify with their anti-Wilhelmism as these concepts might have then clashed with those of Hasmonaea – we can assume that he followed their public activities with interest, that he read expressionist newspapers and books and that he occasionally was a member of the audience at avant-garde events, such as those held in the 'neo-pathetic cabaret'. And there would have been some awareness of this in Ungar's lyrics at the time. The prose, which he meanwhile regarded as an appropriate media (for which the early Berlin expressionists could hardly have provided paradigms) remained unaffected, and if one accepts the recollections of Gustav Krojanker, his prose seems to be more in the style of the neo-romantics whom Ungar met in Berlin:

The novels and stories written in the years leading up to the war always left me with the same impression: namely that the author certainly possessed talent, but that his method of expression was far too gentle, too blurred and lacking in shape. He possessed the art of the author in seeing things, but then without moulding them, without giving them a focus. Even if I cannot remember the content of his writing today, I am quite certain that none of the works of that time contained any mention of the dark, inscrutable and chaotic world which became a feature of his future work. It could only have been present in the form of a seed of an idea, with the external impression hiding whatever was happening inside. 20

Ungar's two earliest published works recognised today, the small prose sketches _Sanatorium_ and _Letter to a Woman_ both appeared in 1919 in the _Prag Tageblatt_ (Prague Daily) and seem to be an echo of these impressionist beginnings. The painful melancholy, the description of own experiences, is stylistically unoriginal and replicates the atmospheric prose of Peter Altenberg, Stefan Zweig or an early Thomas Mann – all authors which left a great impression on him in Brno as exponents of present-day literature and not to be confused with the new sounds of Berlin. Ungar wrote later to Thomas Mann that he _'admired his writings from adolescence onwards and in a suitably humble way had also loved it '._ 21 The pre-war writings mentioned by Krojanker would probably have been influenced a great deal more by those things which were typical for so many writers of this period, more so, if the young writers like Ungar came from the influential area of Vienna. To orientate oneself on the successful examples of impressionism seemed the most promising way of attracting readership and the general public, the best way forward to becoming a recognised author, and this path was strictly followed, even if actual ability and existential situations were way off the mark.

Contrary to his initial childish, youthful attempts at drama and lyrics which were mainly for the purpose of releasing his feelings and were therefore self-initiated, Ungar treated his prose work in the Berlin and post-Berlin periods with the excessive scruples and even if the 'all-encompassing' manuscript which he had brought with him to Berlin - to offer it to a publishing house? – _'there was so much preparatory work written... before the first piece was published'_ , the artistic compilation of every single creation was a huge exhausting struggle: 22

Ungar handled his literary activities extremely earnestly and responsibly. There was no trace of his normal casual approach, the sunny disposition which made him popular socially. Quite the opposite was true. Ungar showed himself to be a very sensitive and nervous person, who was sometimes tortured by his creative problems. 23

Krojanker and Pinner were perhaps the only people who knew about his problems. Pinner later recalled an indicative experience:

Late one evening Ungar asked me to come immediately. He was very morose, restless and taciturn. I just could not raise him out of his preoccupied state of mind. When I asked what was worrying him, he said that he was looking for a name for one of his characters in a novel. When I asked whether it was a key figure, he said no. When I cast doubt on the importance of this problem, he said ' You do not understand me. I am unable to find a name. The name is there, somewhere. I only have to discover it.' 24

Even later in life Ungar would 'still continue to wrestle with the real work of his chosen occupation, with tortured dedication, with the omnipresent fear of losing his creative powers, of his writings becoming tradesman-like'.25 The deep-seated reasons for this lay once again in his childhood which prevented normal development of self-esteem.

During the phase between his school years and the war he also felt impelled to model his work upon that of successful authors, but these were outsiders, strangers to him and thus inaccessible. The main catalysts of his pubertal writings, i.e. identity issues and sexual problems, had also been replaced by new positive experiences made in ever-changing communities (particularly in the post-1912 period when he discovered someone in the person of his cousin Blanka Totis with whom he felt he could happily be united). This inner urgency had disappeared. The purgatory of a new lost love or the horror and destruction of war would reawaken this 'dark, inscrutable and chaotic world', which meanwhile was inactive, camouflaged by illusions of happiness.

Ungar's self-doubts were probably compounded by the fact that the high aspirations he took with him to Berlin remained unfulfilled. His hopes of a speedy literary career were dashed. We can only speculate on the reasons. It is possible that he himself thought his work was insufficiently mature to be offered for publication. Alternatively his initial enthusiasm could have been destroyed by continuous rejections from editors and publishers. None of the many stories or sketches, particularly the novels, ever appeared in print. This misery continued for a great many years and was perhaps not perceived as a total existential defeat and greeted with resignation because a balance was struck by other happy experiences of the period – his Zionistic work, the friendships with Krojanker and Pinner and ultimately his love for Blanka Totis.

But Ungar certainly never gave up on his literary career plans – just as he never gave up on the idea of moving to 'The Land of his Forefathers' at some time in the future. His lack of success made it easier for him to give in to his father's continuous demands and who was now threatening to withdraw the financial support for his son's useless escapades. Therefore once he received the final certificate from the Berlin university on April 25, 1912, he transferred to the Ludwig-Maximilian University in Munich and started the summer semester reading a new, 'serious' subject. This step was not too arduous and painful for him, as Krojanker and Pinner both left Berlin a little later. Pinner concentrated on his graduation work in Halle, where he was carrying out experiments for his dissertation at the Agricultural College of the university. Krojanker followed Ungar to Munich in the winter semester 1912/13 where he was to graduate as an Economist under Lujo Brentano. Ungar registered for Law and State Sciences courses.

During the period of his Munich studies, in the summer vacation of 1912 which he spent in Vienna and Brno, an event took place about which scarcely anything is known but which must have been of huge importance to Ungar's world of emotions and feelings – the relationship and love between him and his cousin Blanka Totis, the daughter of Aunt Fanny:

In this case it was a true and profound relationship. Ungar had found someone, in Blanka Totis, who completely understood him and his problems. As a nineteen year old boy he had dedicated love poems to her, in later years he seriously considered marriage to her. He had frequent long discussions with Felix Loria about a person's responsibilities to his future children if this person married a close relative. Finally he and Blanka decided to part (in 1917). This decision was in part expedited by Blanka's opinion that by nature they did not suit each other. Felix Loria was of the opinion that Hermann's painful renunciation brought about a great change in his emotional life. 26

It seems surprising that Ungar, whose affect on girls and women was evident, was to fall in love with his own cousin with whom he had been close friends since his childhood, virtually a brother-and-sister relationship. This is, however, an accepted consequence if one remembers his sexual experiences during his schooldays, which would have continued in Berlin and Munich – in cities where a young provincial student from a Jewish ghetto might easily have become confused by the sexual enticements and abominations, even if he had not have been able to rid himself of his traumatic burdens. His cousin, as erotically attractive as she may have appeared in his eyes, was far to close to him as a person to allow the relationship to be reduced solely to a sexual level as was normal with him. She could never become a 'red woman', a demon. The ambivalence of sexual urges and fears could not be awoken by her presence, would always be missing. He was able to contemplate for the first time the concept of a deep, true, all-encompassing love – an image of happiness and ego-security which he had never experienced before. He later wrote to Thomas Mann 27 recollecting _'the hours of joy, which I, as a youth, experienced without inhibition'_ , many of which would have been shared with his beloved cousin whether in reality or in his imagination.

If the first years of the relationship up until the war were painful, the long periods of separation during the semesters at university which were so unsatisfactorily bridged by letters, it was the distance that actually kept the illusion of happiness alive. If they had spent their days together, the relationship would have foundered very quickly given the unsuitable separate 'natures' – a world which actually underlines Blanka's disinterest in literary matters – but more so since reality would have destroyed the ideal image which the love-struck neo-Romantic had constructed for himself in distant Munich or just as distant Prague. Not only the love poems which Ungar wrote for Blanka after the first summer of love in 1912, but also the prose texts of this period 28 would have been motivated by imaginary happiness with this cousin – using all the impressionist clichés. The fact that none of these poems or prose pieces exist today is probably a result of the destruction of the illusion, for perhaps Ungar himself out of shame or bitterness over the loss of Blanka destroyed them himself. The loss of this relationship, whatever or whoever caused it to end, was predetermined by the chasm between reality and illusion. The particular problem of being closely related and the potential highly damaging inheritance consequences for the children would have prevented the marriage. This problem appears to hide deeper conflicts to do with relatives, which Ungar was less inclined to discuss with his friend Felix Loria. The initial idea of getting married after graduation and career training was understandable and complied with Hermann's desire to be together with his beloved, but as the date came closer Hermann would have experienced painful thoughts driven to an extreme by the parallels of guilt and sexuality. He acknowledged during the war, when the relationship and the consequences of the situation were reviewed, that marriage to his cousin would have made the sexual trivialisation of love unavoidable and that he had more to fear from a relationship with Blanka than before. Firstly because, contrary to all previous fleeting, sexually-dominated relationships whose main purpose was satisfaction and the heightening of his self-esteem, this huge feeling of love was in danger of sinking into banality like the others, or particularly because the childhood days of their sibling-type relationship would remain in their thoughts thus raising the spectre of incest taboos, an unforgiveable sin which could not be erased by social objective acceptance and family tolerance. For despite his intellectual awareness, the old laws were still lurking malevolently within him no matter how hard he rebelled against their constraints. This was especially true with regard to the law against incestuous relationships and in addition we must assume that he had been unable to overcome the oedipal phase.

This theory of incest-fear remains speculative, as do many other issues in his life, but his writing seems to serve as confirmation. The sexual pathology of Franz Polzer in the novel _The Maimed_ which was written only a few years after his separation from Blanka, provides evidence of a good, up to date knowledge of modern psychology but would not have been such a feature of the work if it had not also contained personal neurotic material. Polzer's sexual fears are attributed to an oedipal experience – overhearing his father's sexual activities with the latter's widowed sister, Polzer's aunt, tainted his own attitude to sexual matters. One cannot help but think about the widowed Aunt Fanny, Blanka's mother, who often stayed in Boskowitz with her daughters and might have replaced the sickly mother in the young lad's oedipal fantasies...

Polzer had blurred images of his father's sister forcing the dead mother to leave the house... 29

The oedipal hatred of the father was not just because of the latter's intimacy with the mother, but also due to the boy's jealousy regarding the aunt. The guilt and fear this caused could never have been greater than by the concept of sleeping with the sister-like cousin, the daughter of this very aunt. The fear fantasy which overcomes Polzer when he slept with the Widow Porges, the reincarnation of his aunt, would have become reality in a marriage with 'sister' Blanka.

During the night Franz Polzer was seized by a huge, incredible and horrifying thought.

It happened suddenly. The white skin in the parting of her hair shimmered. Her body felt soft and dark. He felt for this body. Then suddenly he remembered that this was his sister's body.

He realised that this thought was implausible. He had never had a sister. The thought was still present – was too big for him to erase.

.... It seemed to him as if he had been intimate with his sister. He remembered the nights at home when he listened to the heavy footsteps of his father on the rotten flooring and he, frozen with horror, lay in bed and listened. 30

No evidence will ever be found that this was this 'sinful, blasphemous thought' 31 which made Hermann withdraw from the marriage with Blanka despite being passionately in love with her. Even if letters from him to his cousin are found, they would not help solve this issue, for Hermann would never have mentioned such a taboo subject to Blanka.32

At this stage in our chronology it is necessary to move forwards to 1917, to the point where the relationship between Blanka and Hermann ended, a breakdown which, together with his wartime experiences, turned him into the author we all know. When Ungar was studying in Munich (and later in Prague) he did not yet perceive love as a burden. He enthusiastically wrote letters with enclosed love hymns to Blanka, he undertook new literary work for the unloved but practical course of studies (then he would have been unable to ask his aunt for Blanka's hand in marriage without having respectable professional prospects) and continued with the old fervour – together with his friend Krojanker who joined him in Munich in 1912 – his activities with the Zionistic association, but this time in Jordania, which like Hasmonaea was a cooperation in the Cartell of Zionistic Associations (KZV)

After April 16, 1912 Ungar lived in Munich in rooms in Schellingstrasse 55/2 (SS) respectively 55/1 r. (WS) with either Mrs or family Friedl, quite close to the university. In the winter semester 1912/13 Krojanker lived in the Giselastrasse 18, on the edge of the English Gardens (summer semester 1913: Giselastrasse 27).33 There was only a short distance between the two.

For a short while Hermann met up with his schoolfriend Felix Loria in Munich. As with so many other A Level students, Loria studied first in Vienna, reading Law and State Sciences, but then came down from the Vienna University in 1912 or 1913 'because he boxed the ears of a German national student for making an anti-Semitic remark, thus violating the autonomous authority'. Ungar wrote to his friend advising him to continue his studies in Munich and Loria took this advice. However after a few weeks the Munich university authorities told Loria he was not able to register because of the trouble in Vienna and so Loria continued his studies in Prague. 34

Ungar placed the focus of his studies in Munich on National Economy, on Roman and German Law.

In the 1912 summer semester he attended lectures on the Workers Issues and the Social Movement (2 hour/week) given by Professor Edgar Jaffe, who played a leading role in the post-war revolution and subsequently became Finance Minister in Eisner's cabinet. He read Economic History (5 hour/week) with the very famous national economist Professor Lujo Brentano (1844– 1931) and the History of Roman Law (10 hour/week) with Professor Grueber.

In the 1912/13 winter semester he read the History of German Law and the Basic Principles of German Private Law (7 hour/week) with Professor Karl von Amira, Ecclesiastical Law for Catholics and Protestants (5 hour/week) with Professor Karl Rothenbuecher, attended a legal seminar on Controversies in the Roman Empire (1 hour/week) given by Professor Gareis and took part in a debate on the subject of overall Roman Law (2 hour/week) lead by Professor Wenger.

But it was Lujo Brentano who made the greatest impression on Ungar and was also greatly respected by Krojanker (not least because he was also the nephew of Clemens Brentano). Lujo Brentano's idealist social liberalism permanently influenced Ungar's social political way of thinking and introduced him to the idea of middleclass humanitarian socialism. 35 Brentano's lifework was rooted 'in the belief of the perfection of mankind in the sense of humanitarian ideals in the time of enlightenment', with the purpose of 'material and intellectual improvement and welfare of the workers'. This was a problem which Ungar had also been interested since his schooldays when he observed the intellectual and material poverty of the working classes (and frequently had long discussions with Felix Loria concerning solutions). Economy was for Lujo Brentano 'not a purpose in itself, but the way to acquire the means and the goods to help the continuous development of the people, which were necessary to draw out their power and their capabilities.' The material interests of the workers were to be set in 'legal controls of the coalition and uniform agreed laws' as well as the 'union fight for increases in wages and reduction of working hours' and to 'boost their intellect' he set up adult education courses in Munich 'for the purpose of supporting their future political advancement and in the knowledge that they would have to "train our future leaders", which did not seem to attract the anticipated type of participants.' However Brentano was extremely popular with the students, not only because of his progressive type of socialist politics, but also because he had the knack of making the difficult abstract material of his lectures and seminars both interesting and understandable. Besides this scientific work, Brentano will be long-remembered for his 'extensive, successful teaching and tutoring'.

He understood how to make economic and social facts, their economic and causal associations, political requirements under consideration of related historical and theoretical foundations interesting, memorable, and inspirational, all the while keeping strictest methodical discipline, with classical transparency and local clarity – the social political conscience of many students was awakened by him. 36

Hermann Ungar, as a student, did not only gain the main prerequisite knowledge for his later career from Lujo Brentano, he also learnt to understand mankind as 'a product of upbringing, environment and descent'.37 Armed with these skills he would thereafter never tire of describing psychological factors and social misery as the determinants for human decline. This is not only the case in the decidedly socially critical documentary report on _The Murder of Captain Hanika_ (1925), but also – albeit with different weightings – in all his other major works from the story _A Man and a Maid_ (1920), where a childhood spent in a sanatorium is responsible for the moral downfall of the protagonist, through to the novel _The Wine Traveller_ (1929), where material bankruptcy drives the narrator to murder. Knowledge about the relativity of morals, which features in all these texts, was instilled in Ungar by Brentano. It has nothing at all to do with Jewish ethics. The continuous question as to whether Ungar's literary work during this Munich period was influenced by Brentano's social ethics just cannot be answered. In all probability it was not, for its transparent neo-romantic character would have negated any socially critical intentions.

Very little can be said to respond to the other insistent question, as to whether Ungar attempted to penetrate the literary circles in Munich, whether he knew Karl Wolfskehl or whether he spent his days in Bohemian Schwabing, in the Cafe Stephanie etc. In the critiques on _The Arbour_ Ungar is occasionally compared to Wedekind. Alfred Kerr once referred to Ungar as a 'Wedekind protégé' 38 – and the similarities in types of characters and illustrative styles seem to back this up. Ungar would have been able to meet Wedekind in Munich, but such speculations are pointless. As in Berlin, Ungar seemed unable to get any of his work published in Munich – but perhaps he also never really tried. The real reason why Ungar only spent two semesters in Munich and transferred to Prague in summer 1913 had nothing to do with his lack of success as a writer, nor were problems with his studies a reason (he managed university as easily as he had managed school) – but it was a flight (a real fleeing). In Munich and in Jordania he experienced a repeat of the irritating 'outsider' feeling which he had experienced before in Berlin. Felix Loria remembers: 'He was very popular with all his follow students and was the focus of the Jewish student life at the Munich university'. 39 His popularity is quite credible but it does not alter the fact that Ungar, with his quite different background and mentality, was unable to adapt to the Bavarian style of life and felt at odds even within the Jordania brotherhood. The Barissia Hugo Brauner, who, during the last year of Ungar's life, when the diplomat was transferred from Berlin to Prague 'spent many wonderful and unforgettable hours in his home and in long walks' when the two 'spoke and fantasised about the past, the present and the future' remember how Ungar had confided in him that he 'was unable to bear the German way of life for longer periods and that even Jewish friends from Germany' began 'to get on his nerves with their blinkered, bigoted seriousness'. And Ungar's 'Jewish jokes about mothers' for which really his German colleagues 'had no sense of humour', 40 is a very clear expression of the diverging interests which were his reason for leaving Munich and Germany. Even Gustav Krojanker was unable to keep him there, mainly because Krojanker was coming to the end of his own studies and had to dedicate himself more to preparations for the finals. Thus the friends were seldom able to spend carefree hours together. On February 5, 1913, Ungar deregistered and retuned to Brno; on March 1, 1913 he received his final report from the Friedrich-Maximilian University in Munich.

At the start of the summer semester 1913 (he actually only registered in October 1913, for the fourth semester) Hermann Ungar started at the K&K German Karl-Ferdinand University in Prague to continue his Law and State Science degree. The time spent here would be 'rich in experiences and occurrences'.41.

Prague University was founded in 1348 and then split in 1882 to form the German University and the parallel Czech institution. In the meantime the Germany university had more than 2000 students (winter semester 1913/14: 2295, summer semester 1914: 2067) and therefore had a student body much larger that the whole Prague University before the split. This trend continued and was further boosted when the new State was formed. 42 Around 25% of the student body was Jewish, a far higher percentage that that of the Jewish population of Bohemia at that time (2%). This misrepresentative situation provides good insight into the Bohemian Jews' ambitions. During the pre-war years particularly, i.e. at the time when Ungar was just starting his studies in Prague, there were continuous anti-Semitic aggressive activities initiated by the German Bohemian students from suburban areas. These students belonged to the local anti-Semitic umbrella association of Germania, an 1892 off-shoot of the German liberal 'Writing and Reading Halls for German Students'. In response to this, the Jewish students founded the initially assimilated student association Maccabaea in 1893, which then 'under the influence of Theodor Herzl, who held a speech to the students in Prague in 1893' turned into 'national Jewish Bar-Kochba (association of the Jewish university students) in 1899'. 43 It its first few years, however, Bar Kochbar made so little impact that it was unable to make headway against the various liberal associations and brotherhood groups in Prague which had high percentage of Jewish members. This fact led to the founding of a more militant group Barissia in the winter semester 1903, which declared its mission statement, besides 'general Zionistic obligations' as being 'a battle force against German-Bohemian liberalism'.44 Despite his disappointments in Berlin and Munich Hermann Ungar still remained totally enthralled by the fraternity groups, and he joined Barissia soon after registering with the university, later becoming an intellectual leader.

Ungar had plenty of time for his Zionistic movement activities during the university semesters, he made light work of his studies, despite being committed and successful. And the Prague law faculty did not attempt to divert his attention from Barissia and his literary ambitions – the law historian Guido Kisch's recollections appear symptomatic for the quality of the faculty at the time:

In retrospect it seems a miracle that the sad, almost scandalous state of the law seminars and teaching...only drove me from the lecture rooms and not from the entire concept of Legal Sciences, to which I had no real inner bond 45

The student catalogue of the Law and State Science Faculty provides information on the lectures which Ungar would have attended during his three semesters in Prague before the war. According to the registers, in the summer semester 1913 (3rd semester of his studies) he attended Jurisprudence I by Professor Paul Koschaker and Jurisprudence II by his later mentor, Professor Robert von Mayr-Harting. Roman Law, which was supposedly a suitable introduction to the legal thought processes, was the flagship of the Prague faculty, since the days when Ludwig Mitteis initiated the renaissance of this 'study course deemed for decline' through his book _State Law and Civil Law in the Eastern Provinces of the Roman Empire_ (1891).46 Koschaker, who transferred from Innsbruck to Prague in 1909, was a 'young scholar, extremely enthusiastic about his subject, a scientist interest in both his students and his teaching' 47. Mayr-Harting also had a good grasp of how to engage the interest of the students in his particular subject area, Roman Law.

The History of Austrian Law was taught by Professor Adolf Zycha (1871-1948), German Heritage Law by the young Professor Otto Peterka. Zycha, born in Vienna and a 'real Austrian character' transferred from the Catholic University in Freiburg Switzerland to Prague and was a reputable scholar (amongst other subjects he taught local history studies in Prague), his lectures were inspiring but he lacked pedagogical skills and human warmth. He was less interested in the academia than in his own research work. ' _His lectures were monotonous and left us all cold.....lecturing was a necessary evil in his eyes which had to be carried out as quickly as possible_. _He devoted all his energy to his research work._ ' 48

Professor Anton Rintelen (1876 –1946) lectured Ungar on German legal case studies within the subject of German Civil Law. Rintelen 'held brilliant lectures, as he chose to demonstrate the most difficult parts to his audience using enthralling dialectics and carefully selected images'. 49 It is revealing that Ungar attended Rhetorical Case Studies both on theoretical and artistic lectures, in addition to the mandatory seminars, given by Dr Karl Thumser – who had been the youth character actor at the German StateTheatre since 1912 50 – a sign that Ungar has still not given up on his original ambitions to follow a thespian career.

The focus of the winter semester 1913/14 (4th semester of the course) was placed on Austrian Law, where Ungar necessarily needed to catch up. The later Austrian Minister of Justice, Professor von Mayr-Harting held these lectures and Ungar forced an excellent relationship with him (although Mayr-Harting's lectures on civil rights were less gripping than his Roman Law lectures 51). The Court Councillor Professor Emil Pfersche (1854–1916), a less important scientist and tutor but a figurehead in the German Progress Party also lectured in these subjects:

This man gave his lectures sitting down, in apparent paralytic boredom and total personal disinterest. He was constantly occupied with cleaning his glasses and his frequent yawns demonstrated the lack of inner commitment. He did not even bother to fulfil his obligation of setting the minor tests, called 'colloquial exams' at the end of each semester, preferring to sign with annotation 'good' those report forms handed in by the willing candidates instead of the exam. 52

Professor Ludwig Spiegel was more important and in later years in the newly founded Czech State, he led the German Democratic Freedom Party together with Bruno Kafka and supported by the Prague liberal news sheets.

This organisation was the main representative party of the Prague Germans and the German-assimilated Jews. Spiegel lectured on General and Austria State Law, 'very complicated material...of which Spiegel had an impressive command'. 53 Ungar attended a lecture given by the criminalist Professor Wenzel Duke Gleispach (1876–1944) on Austrian Criminal Law. Gleispach, who belonged to an old traditional family of the Austrian aristocracy (his father had been the Austrian Justice Minister), was perceived as 'an excellent scholar', held 'lively and inspirational lectures' in the same way as Rintelen – unfortunately he shared Rintelen's admiration of National Socialism. 54 Ungar read National Economy under Professor Robert Zuckerkandl (1856–1926) who was a distant relative of Clemenceau, whom Kafka had both admired and feared:

I always held the Court Councillor in the greatest of respect, not particularly because I – as far as I can remember – because I did badly in his subjects, but because he, unlike the others who stood at the lectern with both feet firmly planted in their long-windedness, was able to illustrate clearly with five clean strokes of a brush – his main intentions were perhaps hidden but still very apparent and one bowed to them .55

Ungar, who had experienced Lujo Brentano, was perhaps not quite as intellectually overwhelmed by Zuckerkandl's seminars as Kafka was – in fact, it was Zuckerkandl's scientific orientation (the Viennese School) which worried him more, and, of course, his very theoretical talents:

Zuckerkandl belonged to school of thought established and managed by Carl von Menger, where value and price studies are the focus of the discipline. Zuckerkandl's phlegmatic nature, the painful accuracy with which he followed every single thought in every possible direction, his pronounced theoretical talent and the fact that he attempted to always keep his lectures at 'state of the art' level, meant that...Only the 'most advanced members of his audience' fully understood the content. 56

And finally during the winter semester Ungar attended a lecture on Extraction Law given by the trade lawyer Professor Otto Frankl (1855–1923) who 'always looked sickly, a basic scholar' who 'always tried his best' to make the least attractive subjects 'slightly more interesting'.57

During the summer semester 1914 (5th semester of his studies) Ungar made the acquaintance of a new tutor, the private tutor Dr Tesar who taught History of Legal Philosophy. The focus of his studies remained Austrian Law: Austrian Civil Law was taught by Court Councillor Pfersche, Austrian Family Law by Professor Mayr-Harting, Austrian Penal Court Law by Professor Gleispach, whose lectures on Austrian Prison Services Ungar also attended. Professor Zuckerkandl taught Financial Sciences during this semester.

Ungar was never registered with the Philosophy faculty. It is, however, probable that he occasionally attended their lectures, too – it was not mandatory for him, as he had already concluded Philosophy in Berlin.

Ungar was no longer officially registered for the following semesters as he was serving in the wartime forces.58 Although, like Guido Kirsch, Ungar never really felt any inner ties to the Legal Sciences, he took the Historic Legal State Examination on October 16, 1913 immediately after his first semester in Prague and passed with a distinction in German Law. ( _The Maimed_ : 'At the university Polzer's diligence and understanding was praised. He passed the initial advance examination with great success.' 59) It seems possible that this examination, which normally took place in the middle of the studies during the third semester or the first four weeks of the fourth semester, was set much earlier and he was credited with prior learning from his Munich university studies and therefore he had a good foundation in Roman Law, German Law and Ecclesiastical Law.

According to the regulations valid at the time (determined in legislation dated 20.4.1893, Imperial Law pages 68 and the Ministerial Ordnance dated 24.12.1893, No. 204, Imperial Law pages), a future lawyer wanting to enter the Austrian State Service had to pass three aural examinations covering four areas of knowledge in each: the historic-legal State Examination (Roman Law, Ecclesiastic Law, German Law, Austrian History of Law), the Judicial State Examination (Austrian Civil Law, Austrian Trade and Exchange Law, Austrian Civil Law Processes, Austrian Penal and Penal Process Laws), and the imperial scientific State Examination (general and Austrian State Law, Administration Studies and Austrian Administration Law, Economics and Economic Politics, Financial Sciences with special consideration of the Austrian Financial Laws). The sequence of judicial and state science examinations was flexible, but it was only possible to take both once the Absolutorium was over, i.e. that the graduate had completed eight semesters of law studies. (One of the two examinations could be taken during the last four weeks of the eight semesters). If a graduate wished to continue his studies and strive to become a Doctor of Law, which was actually only mandatory for those who wished to practice as lawyers, he would have to take a further three aural examinations after passing the state examination. These three extra aural exams were called Rigorosa I-III, the material they covered was virtually identical to that of the state examinations, with the exception of the supplementary National Law studies. There were no written dissertations in the Law Faculty at this time.

These Rigorosa, as the name implies, were much harder – the requirements much more stringent than in the state examinations. Only those professors holding a chair in the faculty were permitted to act as examiners, whilst for the state examinations an examination committee was appointed by the government. Although this committee was also generally made up of professors particularly for the historic-legal part of the examination, sometimes practitioners were asked to serve on the committee for the other two parts of the examination: lawyers, barristers, judges, state attorneys and administration civil servants. 60

Hermann Ungar's university time complied on the whole with the model described here.

In November 1917 he passed the Judicial State Examination and the historic-legal Rigorosum, in March 1918 he passed the state science State Examinations and the state-science Rigorosum, in April he passed the judicial Rigorosum and he graduated on April 29, 1918. Even though he spent a short time on a practical in Prague legal chambers, one cannot assume that Ungar's objective was to become a lawyer, for most of the law students attempted to achieve the doctorate if they wished to work for the state rather than as a lawyer. The most famous of these is Franz Kafka.

The law seminars were held in the prestigious Karolinum on the Fruit Market (now divided into different usage areas), whose auditorium entrance for German law students was in the Eisengasse number 11.61 The ballroom of the Karolinum was also the venue for the Graduation Ceremony, when Ungar received his certificate affirming his 'doctor utriusque juris' status. Not far from the Karolinum and the German State Theatre which faced it, were the legal science seminar rooms of the Prague German University on Fruit Market number 5. The state science institute was slightly further away in the Glem Gallas Palais, Husgasse number 20. An important study venue was the former Klementinum of the Jesuits of the Karlsbruecke (Karl's Bridge), the location of the library (used by the universities each on alternate days) and also the philosophical faculty, where Prague law students had to take at least two lectures, one in the field of philosophy. It is possible that Ungar also attended German language seminars here.

Ungar's first rented accommodation in Prague, in the summer semester 1913, was in the Elisabethstrasse II/III according to the _Nationale_. For the winter semester 1913/14 he moved to the Royal Vineyard quarter, into the house Manesgasse number 9. But he only remained here for one semester. In the summer of 1914 his address was Gerstengasse 12 in the New Town, close to the Karlsplatz. The base for the Barissia fraternity association was also in this same street, and as Ungar became the president of the association around this time, this was probably the reason for his move.

Despite his lack of enthusiasm for law, this pre-war period in Prague was perhaps the happiest time of his life. This was partially due to his as yet unblemished love for Blanka 62 but also due to his literary successes, to the special romantic atmosphere of former Prague and above all to the 'feeling of togetherness' which he experienced in Barissia. There, within a group of mainly Bohemian and Moravian provincial Jews, he finally found the comforting close-knit community he had searched for in vain in the German fraternity groups, the Hasmonaea and Jordania. He had found the youthful synchrony of hearts which would remain in his memory throughout his life. In 1923, when the Barissia fraternity in Teplitz celebrated their 40th semester anniversary, Ungar, who was unable to attend due to professional commitments and who was based in Berlin at the time, wrote to the fraternity members:

I think our older members will understand me when I say, without wishing to appear derogative, that we Barissia members are here to serve each other. The older ones amongst us will understand that the most valuable benefit we gain from the association is the feeling of belonging or of unity. Our relationship is not built on logical considerations – for it is more important that we each belong to our own local group than to Barissia as a whole – it is the sentiment that unifies us. A sentiment which might not withstand too close examination into its reasons! A Philistine might laugh about the triviality, the childish romanticism – but this sentiment lies deep within us all, intangible, inaccessible, nothing more than recollections of our most wonderful years. They were good, these special years – not always the happiest of years for everyone, for perhaps some of us in our bourgeois ways are happier now than in those days – but they were good years when our hearts beat more rapidly than now, when we cried without reason, laughed without reason and embraced each other uninhibitedly. Although we are colder and older now, our friends from those days have not changed in our eyes. They remain for us as they were in former times, we hear the emotional fiery thumping of their hearts although our own beat more slowly. We sit opposite each other on long tables and see the reflections of our own youth. 63

It was not just the romantic _'sentiment'_ which made Ungar feel that his active period in Barissia were his happiest days, but more the recognition he discovered within the group from his very first days. He was elected as the third officer within the board (the president was Hermann Hoenig; second in charge and 'keeper of the fencing foils' was Ernst Kohn 64) and became president in the summer semester 1914 (second in charge was Zlatko Schwarz, third office was Oskar Ziffer 65). Hugo Brauner recalls:

His personality must have made the greatest impression on all the members right from the start, otherwise his election to the board in the first semester would be inexplicable, with promotion to the president by the summer semester 1914. Not from Ungar himself, but from his co-officers and from the archives, I know that it is no exaggeration to say that Ungar rejuvenated, reorganised and turned the organisation into one of the most important factors within Bohemian Zionism purely by the force and power of his own personality. 66

When Ungar joined Barissia in the winter semester 1913/14, the association had been experiencing a serious crisis for some time. The most difficult years for preparation and consolidation of 1907/10 were followed by 'semesters of rapid increase in numbers and high activity levels' during which Barissia 'slowly but constantly succeeded in equalling Bar Kochba in importance':

Even though Bar Kochba maintained the lead on the ideology field, our fraternity association with its clear views of necessary measures was able to capture the initiative for so many Zionistic activities and thus became the leader of the Prague Jewish fraternity groups. 67

The influence of the more liberal fraternity organisations could thus be weakened whilst the numbers of active Barissia members increased to such a level that it necessitated the establishment of a second parallel group in 1910, the Jordania.

This split proved to be a mistake over the next couple of years. The years from 1910 until 1913 were years of sinking membership and turned into a crisis. Matters continued until in Spring 1913 it was decided to amalgamate the two parallel associations Barissia and Jordania, as it was neither expedient nor practical to run two separate associations, nor could active members be found to take the officer posts. 68

The relationship to Bar Kochba which had always been rather tense broke down completely during these crisis years, Barissia also left the Jewish Academic Reading and Discussion Halls group in which they had been founder members in 1908, the hitherto successful work carried out by Barissia in the provinces began to flounder and personal conflicts started to arise between activists paralysing the fraternity life. Barissia thus lost its influence, was sidelined and totally missed the connection to the intellectual development of Zionism. When Ungar joined the fraternity group – he joined at the same time as Rudolf Spitz from Eger, and his colleagues Wildmann, Ernst Faltischek, Emil Heller and Viktor Bauer from Teplitz 69 – the situation had improved somewhat due to the fusion with Jordania and the awareness-boost achieved by the 20th semester anniversary celebration in Prague, the number of activists had risen to 24, the work in the provinces had been enlivened – but it was Ungar who brought the organisation 'into full flower again':

It was Ungar who put new winds under their sails. This is the case for a whole raft of concrete ideas, like the new Jewish Youth Movement (the Blue-White) which obtained its inner and outer impulses from the German Youth Movement and which hitherto had been completely ignored by the fraternity association. Furthermore they incorporated numerous intellectual leaders of Zionism into their activities, such as Martin Buber, etc. who had been so far neglected as he belonged more to the circles of the Zionist Higher Education Association, the Bar Kochba. Ungar understood that the resentment between the two groups no longer fitted into the current times. Ungar was always open to trends and events and would also have been one of the first to recognise that Barissia needed to exist as Zionist Socialism, as it manifested itself in its initial phase, e.g. through the Oppenheimer Experiment with the first settlement communities first Palestinian settlements (Kwuzoth) 70, also by utilising the East Jewish Youth movement, with whom there had hitherto been no contact whatsoever. 71

Ungar's proposal to Barissia and the Cartel of Prague Jewish Associations (KPJV) to strengthen the Zionist position by joining the German Cartel of Zionist Associations) (KZV) was rejected as the groups feared the loss of their autonomy.

As the fraternity movements became stronger and orientated themselves to the example of the Viennese Libanonia with its precisely controlled cadet training, boys' examinations, comment educational sessions, house regulations, Ungar began to participate actively but with growing feelings of doubt. The association was once again returning to its former status:

Twice per month they held systematic courses, twice per month the Zionistic seminars, a weekly convent meeting, 6 times per week fencing, once per week the official 'night out', at least 3 times per week the mandatory walkabout in uniform, once every fortnight a drinking evening. Then in addition they held all the general Zionistic events, representative meetings, parties (duels?), excursions to the provinces, etc. 72

The association had a new local venue for their tutorials and for use as a cafe in the Gerstenstrasse as of the winter semester 1912/13, which remained at their disposal until January 1915, when it was turned into one of Alfred Engel's Jewish refugee schools. The mandatory walkabout in uniform (colours) took place regularly on a Saturday afternoon on the Graben, the German birdcage walk with the black-white-violet Boy Band (or the black-white-black Cadet Band). The Star of Israel (Zion) was sewn on to their uniforms, they wore lilac-violet caps, those in charge wore badges. Thus adorned, the Barissia members walked up and down the street in an orderly, controlled and dignified way. On Sundays the Barissia members were forbidden to wear uniform. (Wearing of uniform colours had been forbidden at the university since 1904.) Although the Barissia endeavoured to keep out of the German-Czech struggles and the fact that their walkabout took place on a Saturday afternoon whilst wearing the Zion Star in an attempt to differentiate themselves from the German liberal or national and the Jewish Czech associations, the walkabout of the Jewish association was seen as a provocation by Czech Prague and they reacted with anti-German activities:

Uniformed students were attacked and abused, whether on fundamental or unfounded grounds, as were innocent German-speaking passers-by. This happened particularly during the winter months. Wearing colour caps and sashes on the streets, speaking the German language publicly, was regarded as an exceptional provocation of the Czech population and usually the police had to be called (mounted police as well) and sometimes even the military forces – preferably cavalry – to restore law and order by drawing their sabres and pressing their horses up against the mass of provoked people. 73

These riots were feared by the Barissia members because they were ranged against their will on the side of the Germans. Normally they intentionally sought conflict with German liberal or German national fraternity groups. During Ungar's time all sorts of controversies and requests for satisfaction took place with the German Nationals which grew tremendously in numbers prior to the war, whilst the influence of the German Liberals, regarded for many years as the real opponents, was dissipating rapidly. During the winter semester 1913/14 the Barissia organisation was involved in 13 duels, they won 7 and lost 2. Ungar participated in at least one of these sabre duels and, apparently, won – considering that he had taken fencing lessons from an early age in Brno. Alfred Ticho, with whom Ungar often spent time during holidays in Boskowitz, recalled: 'He was a good swordsman. He did not only have his sabre and duelling equipment at student flat, but kept them at home, too.' 74 Ungar's expertise in fencing gained him respect and recognition within Barissia. Despite this and the fact that he loved the sport-aspect of fencing, 'Schani' or 'Shani' as his friends and fraternity colleagues called him 75, already questioned the sense of duelling. These doubts are underlined by the criticisms which he published in the Barissia newsletter in 1918, after his wartime experiences, which he put to debate as 'the re-valuation of all values':

If we all wish to stand there with sharpened sabres and bleed for our honour according to formulas intoned in ritual celebration, should we take them from Bolgar, from this book, which should always be kept in every Barissia household, like the Bible? Should we make this 'declaration' in the form of satisfaction for any perceived slight a prerequisite for acceptance into our organisation? When I had to stand up for a duel, I always thought – and I discussed this with my fraternity brothers too – that more courage was required to refuse satisfaction than to accept and fight. I admit that my natural cowardice conquered my automatic reaction of flight. My cowardice made me stand upright and fight even under Bubi's fierce glare (Ernst Kohn). But war – war is the re-valuation of all values: after the war it will require more courage to fight again, courage to make oneself the butt of all laughter.

Ungar's candid admission of 'cowardice', his fear of shame and loss of recognition explains why he voluntarily continued as an activist submitting to all fraternity rituals whilst experiencing individual qualms. A further reason was his fondness for being obedient, which in his case was not entirely free from neurotic masochism:

In those days during the war we voluntarily obeyed. We proudly obeyed, and freely there would have been a certain sexual satisfaction for us, as young boys between the ages of eighteen to twenty two (as there were indeed many unhealthy sexual moments hidden behind the 'boys' association', but it would be going too far to speak about these now and I am also not expert enough in such matters. Perhaps someone else will investigate these issues from this perspective at another time.) 76

The primary source of this fondness was, seen psycho-analytically, the weak-ego of his father, which the son saw as shameful, all the more because he also suffered from the same weakness. His yearning for paternal strength, which simultaneously encompassed the desire for his own potency, the two converge and become 'the great longing to obey'. In his later work Ungar makes his protagonists experience this same longing time and time again; however the clearest autobiographical example is to be found in _The Story of a Murder_ where the narrator is in the cadet school, in an 'atmosphere of obedience' and experiences the sole happy period of his youth. We cannot ignore the fact that this masochism is particularly symptomatic for Ungar and his development, but that it is not a singular experience in pre-war Judaism and has a lot to do with the characteristic Jewish self-hatred. If we required particular proof of this, we only have to think of the Jewish desire of the 'soldier's life', which is nothing more that a masked need to be obedient. Even Kafka was no exception to this (a fact which is ignored today), and Hermann Ungar, who grew up in a less liberal atmosphere, was absolutely no exception.

We can well imagine the secret satisfaction enjoyed by Ungar when he was elected to the board after the probation period during the summer semester and the sheer unlimited 'perfect power of the leader'.77 His participation in the Prague Zionist activities from the winter semester onwards - under the continuous encouragement of Professor Alfred Engel, who was Barissia's long-term leader of Zionistic seminars, 78 and of Rabbi Julius Reach, who had been active at the Prague Maisel synagogue since 1913 79 – was awakened and increased hugely as president, and his work with secondary school activists in Prague and the German-Bohemian towns intensified particularly in the Northwest regions of Bohemia.80

The association was involved in establishing the Jewish sports club Hagibor and also set up a secondary school pupil association. Ungar himself held a number of speeches in the provinces, the most important were held on cartel days in Teplitz-Schoenau (Teplice) and Bruex (Most):

In order to strengthen the Barissia provincial groups which had been neglected in the past few years, the organisation held cartel days in Teplice and Most with some evening events which were highly successful and gave the organisation moral support. In both towns they held a Zionist manifestation meeting as well as a Palestine academy with Dr Stern, Dr Engel, Dr Birnbaum, Ungar and Ekstein as speakers. The institution of cartel days as annual meetings for all fraternity brothers has been maintained since then. 81

Ungar's commitment proves his unlimited support of Barissia's Zionist objectives, as these activities diverted a lot of time and energy from both studies and writing. His actual bonds to Barissia, which continued after his wartime experiences, changed in both their form and their objectives, and was however the previously mentioned 'sentiment' and not the actual ideology. In 1918, in the previously quoted criticisms, he wrote:

Unfortunately I am a sentimental person with emotional romantic leanings. As we all are! For initially it was this feeling which motivated us to join the association and then held us there. One might say that this sentimental way of observing our goals, our ideals, encompasses the resplendence and richness of our entire youth! Yes, I feel rich and resplendent... because I love my group so much. I could cry with longing and sadness when I think about the nightly meetings in the atmosphere of Prague castle, the camaraderie, the political discussions and our Palestinian dreams. After a night in the bar, bidding farewell to a member of the fraternity who is going out into the world, who will seldom get in touch again, but who will think about us with wistful nostalgia , think about walking home together late at night through the streets of Prague with our hearts full of Storm and Stress. You will understand me – Pirus (Herbert Birnbaum), Kastor (Walther Kohner), Sergius (Heinrich Wittmann), Medo (Hermann Hoenig), Lik (Robert Neubauer), Mungo (Gustav Munk), Alef and all the others from our romantic days. 82

He compares pre-war Barissia to a 'dear, lovely, old little house' with 'semi-darkened rooms – the ideal place for dreaming and pondering', sees it as 'a little ivy-clad home with a gamine, sporty and casual air of ''this doesn't have to be a fairytale'' poetic feeling, with two slim columns supporting the protective roof of the house' _._ 83 And in fact this image is partially true: in Hermann Ungar's eyes the association was a new home, a better place with its 'strange heady mix of inspiration and comradeship which generally only occurs in men's clubs', 84 not quite free of 'unhealthy sexual dynamics' as Ungar himself notes, but also not without the 'holy modesty found in all-male groups' as he would write to the fraternity members on the 40th semester anniversary:

I know that when morning breaks your women will get up and leave. You men will all be together, semester after semester: you will sit quietly looking at each other, perhaps speaking about your life, anxieties, successes and failures. Perhaps you think it is not the reason for being here together. There is another motivation for us coming together, something intangible, inexpressible, incomprehensible. The holy modesty found in all-male groups makes it impossible to describe it, impossible to give voice to it. The fact that this exists, that it hovers over our discussions that virtually every one of us feels it, that is the blessing over us and our group – the guarantee that we will never lose each other.

No, we never want to lose each other and when you are together, remember that I also belong to you and when the opportunity is given during conversations, then say my name so that you really feel I am amongst you – for my love and, I know, your love will ensure we always remain together. 85

Ungar was actually never forgotten by the fraternity members, not even after his death, for even the youngest amongst them who never met him in person, always remembered him lovingly, like the youg cub 'Gigo' (Hans Gruenbaum) who wrote in 1929 after the Berlin premiere of _The Arbour_ in the Barissia newsletter:

...I laughed until I cried, the tears were also tears of grief for A.H. Shanie. I saw him for the first time, when he was no longer alive! And I grieved for him? I respect him, simply because you respect him - and I love him, because you love him - and because he was one of us... 86

Besides the critique from 'Gigo', a number of articles were published in the Barissia newsletters, founded in 1917 by Walther Kohner, including Thomas Mann's introduction to the posthumous edition of the _Colbert_ ' _s Journey_ (which should not be missing in any of the Barissia members' libraries) and excerpts from the 1922 _Italian Travel Diary_ , plus in 1928 the editor Franz Tauber had debated the novel _The Class_. This was all an affirmation of the inner community feeling which Ungar experienced in Barissia. The Berlin Zionist Erich Cohn underlined further by the high esteem in which Ungar was held in his obituary, when he stated 'that his real close circle constituted the Zionist companions of his youth':

He was their most faithful and dependable friend.

His personality will always remain with them as long as they live. Although his face has now disappeared, the face of a child with the experience of a man, his kindly compassionate face will smile down on us from a better world.

Despite all the human warmth that Ungar experienced within Barissia, Hermann appears to have kept his occupation as a blossoming playwright and auther a secret from the fraternity members, perhaps out of fear of losing their closeness and empathy. Perhaps also out of the uncertainty as to whether his literary endeavours would be regarded as a hobby rather than a true profession. He was unable to be particularly productive during this period anyway. On the one side both studies and fraternity life absorbed much of his time and energy; on the other side he had lost a great deal of the urge for existentialistic writing since finding happiness, loving friends and a beloved girlfriend. His ambition of becoming an author disappeared into the background, but he never actually gave it up. His love of the Prague coffee house life, which provided the 'distanced' closeness he craved, brought him into the Prague literary circles. In his scarce free time he attempted, rather unsuccessfully, to forge contacts to the youngest representatives of the German-language literature in Prague who since 1908 frequented the Cafe Arco in the Old Town, on the corner of Pflaster/Hybernergasse. They also met at the Cafe Continental on the Graben (abbreviated to 'Conti'), where the more successful authors were to be found and Ungar sometimes played billiards here, or chess – his father's favourite game. As a passionate coffee house visitor, Ungar occasionally went to other cafes without calling attention to himself as an author, he always remained in the background, a quiet observer who wished for – but also feared – intimacy.

Cafe Arco's famous years were 1910 to 1912, when Werfel's _World Friend_ (1911) appeared and Willy Haas published the _Herder Pages_ (1911/12), which highlighted the new Prague literature. Werfel escaped from Prague at the end of 1912, Willy Haas followed him to Leipzig one year later, Kisch – who never actually belonged – left Bohemia in 1913 and moved to Berlin, others, such as Brod and Kafka (who Ungar in all probability never met) had become reclusive. 88 Some acquaintanceships which continued through the post-war years were initiated during this period (such as those with Paul Kornfeld, Otto Pick, Oskar Baum, Ernst Deutsch or Johannes Urzidil. No evidence remains, as in the reminiscences of the 'Arconauts' as they were jokingly named by Karl Kraus, there is no mention whatsoever of Hermann Ungar. Any possible meetings are therefore only speculative, such as with Ernst Polak, the 'literary figure without works' who became the focal point of the Arco circle upon Werfel's departure from Prague, or with authors such as Rudolf Fuchs, Karl Brand, Franz Janowitz plus occasional guests such as Albert Ehrenstein, Alfred Kubin or Theodor Daeubler. The influence of the young literature of Prague is however obvious: during the war Ungar sent poems to Max Brod, the mentor of these authors (and the only one with whom Ungar shared bonds of Zionism), lyrics which he published under the pseudonym of 'Sum' – a programmatic name taken from Victor Hadwiger's poetry volume _I Am_ of 1903 and Franz Werfel's _We are_ of 1913.

The poems have vanished but it is feasible that they will all be modelled on the art nouveau style of Hadwiger or Werfel's lifestyle poem which was created as an intentional antithesis to the 'Spring' generation. Ungar would have been fascinated by Werfel and his expressionist hymns, for the 'magical transformation of every day life to extreme romance' corresponded to the 'sentiments' of the young student and the formal carefree way with which Werfel sidestepped the 'decisive influence of Hofmannsthal, Rilke and Stephan George'. By giving the poem the 'axis of living connections to the world and to general human problems' 89 Werfel must have commanded Ungar's esteem and respect as the latter stood very much in the shadow of such distinguished experts and often struggled to find the right words. In addition to Werfel, Max Brod also made a great impact on Ungar. Their friendship was only fleeting, but still deep enough for Ungar to write to Brod from the battlefields asking for contacts, also to dedicate 'in grateful respect' his first book to him _Boys and Murderers_ citing Brod as his 'sponsor, mentor and like-minded colleague'.90 Brod's influence was most obvious in the sketch _Sanatorium_ , Ungar's first literary publication, which borrowed the theme of sickness until death from Brod's novel _Indifferentism_ (from the 1906 collection of novels entitled _Death to the Dead!_ ) and made changes to the positive: even the name 'Lo', given by Brod to the terminally sick little hero, was borrowed although not for the protagonist, but for the young girl close to him dying in front of his eyes. Nonetheless, Ungar viewed Brod less as an author but more as a literary mentor and Zionistic ethic. Whilst Brod protested against 'screaming expressionism' and distanced himself from his protégée Werfel, Ungar found in the _World Friend_ and _We Are_ expressionist hymns and thus became acquainted with the Berlin Expressionism of the Arco Circles, where the latest literary magazines were always made available (including _The White Papers, Saturn, The Action_ or _The Storm_.)91

At a period when in Vienna aestheticism was popular, in Prague many of the young authors were playing rivals with the new authors of the German empire, propagating the idea of the 'New Man'. Outsiders may have received the impression that Prague was the stronghold of Expressionism, only comparable with Berlin or (later) Leipzig. The background reason for this is the former master/slave situation of German-Jewish Prague, which gave form to the expressionist ideal of human brotherhood, to make Werfel's desire 'Oh to be related to this person, to you!' the recognised objective of a whole generation of authors. Even if they were totally disparate in their thoughts and writing, they all shared the experience of the polemically divided city. For some of them there was also the desire to escape 'the paralysing ghetto 'the lacklustre world from which little or no activities emanated' 92 either by moving to a German city or to overcome their isolation by building conciliatory bridges to their Czech surroundings (which mainly failed due to the realities of the Czech culture assimilation). These young authors of Prague, contrary to their predecessors almost all the sons of middleclass families, attempted to get closer to the Czech lifestyle totally 'against the official traditions of their class in German-speaking Austria' 93 The expressionist symbols of their conflicts with their forefathers became their existential experience. But for a Zionist such as Ungar, the guiding symbols of expressionism, the human brotherhood and the storm against traditional values had dual validity. According to his concept Zionism was not a new form of nationalism, but a method of forming an exemplary society which transcended all national boundaries. Naturally this concept was the complete opposite of the beliefs of his forefather's generation and to their understanding of themselves as Germans. In Ungar's drama _War_ the influence of the Prague expressionists is obvious, as is the difference to Berlin expressionists perceived correctly by Friedrich Markus Huebner as approaching 'moral emotional elements':

When a group in Berlin, led by the lyricist Georg Heym and represented via the weekly newsletters The Storm and The Action, decided to place themselves in the service of the new form of expression, they was initially perceived by the whole of Berlin as intellectual, and only received their first affirmation with the participation of certain authors from Bohemia, who, like Franz Werfel or Max Brod, derived from the linguistic school of the great German-language lyricist from Prague Rainer Maria Rilke, who combined poetic expressionism with moral emotional ements.' 94

Hermann Ungar would also have belonged to this group of authors who combined expressionism with ethical robustness both before and during the war and it remains a bitter point that not one of his works from this period besides _War_ was preserved. For his writing after the war, this 're-valuation of all values', which disclosed the expressionist ideals of human brotherhood as a complete illusion, illustrates little of this combination. The Prague job, whether real or imaginary, ended in war and produced a new, distinctive author, tortured by wounds both old and new.

IV WAR (1914 – 1918)

My cousin Fritz [Sonnenschein] fell in the war. Am I Hermann Ungar because I did not fall in the war like Fritz? Or did I not fall in the war so that I could become Hermann Ungar?'1

'If you did not live prior to 1914, you will never have experienced the sweetness of life.' Max Brod's adaptation of a Talleyrand quotation accurately reflects the situation in which Hermann Ungar found himself in summer 1914 at the outbreak of war, unexpected by Ungar and many others. With the Austro-Hungarian declaration of war on Serbia on July 28 his life took a totally different and momentous turn.

Everything is much gloomier, perhaps now and then the darkness lifts slightly, but we will never again achieve the previous level of illumination and clarity. 2

War interrupted this otherwise so successful university period, it prevented Ungar from remaining the intellectual leader of Barissia and expanding his position beyond the association itself to become a leading figure of Prague's Zionists, it delayed his appearance on the literary arena and most of all, it brought the 'romantic period', the 'uninhibited hours of pleasure '3 to an abrupt end, thus becoming the catharsis of his thought process and writing.

Right from the beginning Ungar was no glorifier of war, no heroic patriot who felt a compulsion to fight a 'righteous war'. At the most he perceived it as a sad necessity, imperative to avoid the feared victory by Tsarist Russia, 'where the pogroms serve as a tool of domestic politics' and Jewish life is determined by exemption laws and ghetto isolation. The Russophile euphoria of the Czechoslovakian people, who hoped to be 'immediately liberated from the yoke of their larger Slovakian brother'4 brought fear into the hearts of many Zionistic Jews with the forecast of such a future, stirred up the 'psychosis against Russia, against Kischenew's murderers', but 'this self-deception' soon drowned 'in a sea of blood'.

Only too soon one felt the desperation of this situation which turned the Jews, our brothers, into the enemies on the side of the opposition. 5

The real motivation which caused Ungar to report voluntarily for service to the flag was, however, quite different. It stemmed from his latent inferiority complex which could be masked by love, friendship and the Barissia life but never conquered, as all these associations, with very few exceptions, even the literary connections were tied to Judaism. As for many other Jews and Zionists of his generation, Ungar saw the war 'over and above the political considerations' as an 'existential opportunity to overcome Jewish fear, as a personal trial of his own worth and courage'. 6 In the first phase of service at the front he proved himself to be a zealous, ambitious and courageous soldier. As with the hero of the _Story of a Murder_ , he had high hopes of becoming 'big, healthy and strong' as a soldier, 'like all other soldiers' - thus confounding all the criticisms of Jewish inferiority, which, in his opinion, stemmed from their forefathers' suppressed Judaism.

...It seemed to me as if only the most reckless actions, relentless exertions, sufferance of wounds and injuries, unquestioned and immediate obedience to orders, would liberate me from the shame and taint which my father had brought upon me and others. 7

In this mood, mixed with an inexplicable lust for adventure, Ungar enlisted on August 25 as a one-year volunteer in the K&K Field Artillery Regiment No. 5 in Brno (Peace Station).8 It was either here or at the K&K Field Artillery Regiment No. 25 in Josephstadt (near Koeniggraetz) to which he had been assigned since March 1915 where he completed his military basic training and additional training as an artillery scout. Around the beginning of 1915 he was posted from Brno or Josephstadt to Lobositz (Lovosice) into the area of Northwest Bohemia which he knew quite well from his activist rally days with Barissia. All the one-year volunteers from different regiments collected in Lobositz close to the responsible military command post Leitmeritz for the final training sessions (Reserve Officers School) and the examination. Ungar had already been assigned to the K&K Field Artillery Regiment No.25 was promoted here at the end of March 1915 to 'cadet-in-waiting'. His reminiscences of the training months are reflected in the _Story of a Murder_ :

I carried out my duties with passionate dedication and in no way was I more drawn to the theoretical subjects than to the physical activities. Quite the opposite: I set my targets on carrying out the exercises and gymnastics to compete with the biggest and strongest of my comrades and would rather than fainted or collapsed than to admit I was exhausted and tired. It did not require much to exhaust me. But I clenched my teeth, suffered in silence and just kept on going. I was delighted when an officer gave me a direct order. 9

The neurotic examples of his fraternity life, his continuous struggle for recognition and his masochistic lust for proving himself obedient repeat themselves in his military training and possibly even culminate in this national heterogenic atmosphere, with potential existential continuity and a glorious career as an officer. It was clear to him from the beginning that he would have to be an officer even though this meant he would have to delay the desired service on the front lines for several months. The stultifying background service made it difficult to wait. The first advance into Serbia took place without Ungar. After his training in Lobositz, Ungar was probably transferred to Josephstadt, the peacetime base of the Field Artillery Regiment No. 25. It is possible that he was posted to other types of garrison prior to his time on the front lines, it was difficult to trace due to the lack of source information and the confusing uniforms of the K&K Army, the K&K Defence Units and the K&Honved [Hungarian Army].10

After a transit period Artillery Scout Ungar was finally sent into battle with his regiment on August 4, 1915 11 and joined the last phases of the German and Austrian offensive against Russia in Eastern Galicia and Volhynia. On the front lines on August 20 he was finally promoted to Cadet of the Reserve and commanded an Artillery Reconnaissance troop.

Impressions of service at the front are reflected in the _Story of a Murder_ , in the General's stories:

... storming the cemetery cost twenty five dead and thirty seven wounded.... some of the injuries were terrible with feet simply blown off, completely severed....

We sheltered in a hollow. The village lay in front, sporadic firing came from the left and right flanks. I sent a powerful patrol to reconnoitre the situation at the edge of the village. One always had to be very careful... I warned them about not being observant enough, particularly when they were exhausted.... Caution is the most important virtue of any leader...coming close behind cold-bloodedness and courageous, of course. Receive a report from the patrol: the fringe of the village is not occupied by enemy forces. I then order the patrol to spread out and move forward into the centre of the village, holding position there until dawn. Immediate report of any events was requested, the troop would follow at daybreak. 12

When Ungar reached the front lines the third phase of the joint campaign advance of the Germans and Austrians, which had commenced on July 7, had already 'breached the lines'.

Every day demanded more blood. Dysentery and Fleck typhus were making their way through the ranks. Thousands of horse cadavers were scattered over the Polish roads, innumerable vehicles lay in ruins, the reconstruction of railway tracks, streets and bridges took time and effort... the lines of troops on the front became more and more sparse, each advance cost us dearly. The soldiers themselves were exhausted and overstretched, underfed and overburdened by the heat of the sun, the sudden rainfalls and choking sandstorms.13

After the fall of Brest-Litowsk and the Russian retreat from the Bug and Njemen lines, the troops were forced further with the offensive and the fourth phase began on August 27. After the successes in the north, the allied forces intended 'to attack to the south of the Poljesje and to push the Russians from the upper Bug line towards the east into the fortified triangle of Volhynia, to overpower them and fight forwards freeing the route to Kiev.'14 After much 'parrying and thrusting', which resulted in 'slight breaches achieved in desperate battles by surrounded Austrian and German companies', the advance continued 'for control of an enclosed graveyard, a churned up hilltop, a razed wood, the rubble of a ruined village, a high-walled church defended until death, until the early hours of the morning when the artillery attacked and brought reinforcements for the small group.' The armies moved forward until at the end of August, 'the complete Russian south-west front was under attack with battles raging from the Podolian Steppes to Sereth, shaking the ground around the sources of the rivers and the rocky escarpments of Podcamia and Zaloscze and breaking through the fortified Volhynian triangle overnight.'15 However after achieving initial successes – including taking both Luzk and Dubno – during September the allies were on the defensive, the battles ended in confusing hand-to-hand fights. At the beginning of October the Russians counter-attacked, retaking the whole Galician and Volhynian fronts and only with the greatest of difficulty did the allies prevent a full retreat to Bug and Zlota-Lipa. The route to Rowno, the third side of the fortified triangle, could not be breached. 'It proved impossible to penetrate the Volhynian wooded belt, Kiev could not be reached'. The Russians were standing ready for battle at Sarny, Rowno, Tarnopol, Chotin and Czernowitz on the south flanks of the allies, were well entrenched on the Rumanian border and were still in possession of the Rochade line.'16 The conditions meant that the imperial armies were deploying their defence lines for rear protection and to mount a new offensive in Serbia. The 'curse of positional warfare' which 'called for increased armaments and horrific methods of attack' to 'bury the advancing forces under the tempestuous firing of innumerable artillerymen'. 17

It is difficult to determine the battles in which the Cadet and Artillery Scout Hermann Ungar and his regiment took part before the next development in November, due to the confusing sequences of the campaign:

The fighting lines for divisions, corps and whole armies changed constantly, they moved back and forth in the heat of battle like jetons on the gaming tables, as if no hindrances, no distances and no obstacles existed. 18.

What is certain is that the unimaginable stress and hardships, the long exhausting marches in the heat and in the rain, through sand and mud, soon brought physically weak Ungar into hospital. According to the details on the admittance form Ungar was admitted into the K&K Mob.Res.Hospital 5/3 located at the time in Zaloscze, around 15 km from Podcamia. The medical doctor's diagnosis was given as 'muscular rheumatism', the medical history was reported on October 19 as follows:

14 days of fever with temperatures up to 39º, pains in the joints of the right knee and hip, continuing up into the left shoulder and radiating out to the neck. Breathing difficulties, pains in the side when deep breaths are taken. The examination showed wheezing in the right side of the chest, otherwise no abnormalities. Normal temperature recorded (37º). No swellings in the joint areas...Temperature in the afternoon was 37.6ºC.

After 16 days in hospital Ungar was 'discharged with a clean bill of health' on November 3.'19

The original diagnosis is not interesting – it just underlines the fact that Ungar had a weak physical constitution – unlike the location of the hospital. The focus of the Russian south-west army 20 prior to August 27 had been in hilly landscape of Zloczow, Podcamia and Zaloscze, between Brody and Tarnopol, but on August 31 the allied troops had managed to cross the Sereth line and to storm the castle mound of Podcamia. The town fell on September 6. 21 Zaloscze was surrounded in the course of the fighting. Ungar's stay in hospital shows that he must have participated in the battles for this area and must have been acquainted with Podcamia, to the south east of Brody, which, in 1927 he used as the birthplace of his _Red General_ Moische Frischmann, also known as Podcamjenski.

In the Galician and Volhynian villages mainly inhabited by poor Jews, Ungar met for the first time Eastern Jewish long-term traditions and Hasidism. This experience made a huge impact on the 'post assimilated' Zionist Hermann Ungar and served to increase his positive attitude of Eastern Judaism (unusual for a Western Jew), initiated by Martin Buber and then becoming increasingly overt during his attempts at reforms in Barissia. Ungar understood that the origin of his Judaism lay here, he admired the stoicism with which these uncomplicated but poverty-stricken people lived in deprivation and wretchedness, but yet as a united and strong community. He was also fascinated by their particular intellectual world, by the kabbalah, by the Hasidic tales and legends, by their daily ways of life, even by their superstitions. The uniformity of their way of life, the feeling of belonging which gave these people security and self-confidence, all these were traits which he felt he was lacking – and not only he, but also all the Western Jews – and which, in his opinion, made Eastern Judaism – despite all his apprehensiveness in regard to their religious orthodoxy, formed the ideal example for future Zionistic Socialism in Palestine. Some of the Eastern Jewish and particularly Hasidic thinking, such as the meaning of evil, certainly influenced his later writings.

Ungar felt a particular empathy towards the Eastern Jews because they suffered terribly during the war and he, as a soldier of the Austro-Hungarian Army, felt a certain amount of guilt. He attempted to assuage this guilt in later, in _The Red General_ , where several scenes took place on the Volhynian arena of war and he obviously included some of his own experiences in the story. This possibility also includes some pogrom-type events, caused equally by the allied troops and the Tsarist armies – both cases were typical of the disrespect and inconsideration shown to the people by both armies, which seldom spared most Jewish villages and houses leaving them as burnt-out ruins when advancing or retreating. Using the excuse of strategic imperativeness they played out their anti-Semitic aggressions – there is no question of this – the tone in which a Russian soldier (who could equally be a German or Austrian soldier) speaks to a young Volhynian Jew in Ungar's play is frighteningly authentic:

May the pest feed on you, you stinking pig. One more word and I will shoot your dainty little face into a sodden mess that your Jewish mother will never recognise. You son of a whore and a rutting dog...you lousy caftan ...22

Ungar learnt, if not with his own eyes, then through the reports from surviving Eastern Jews, about the 'horror of murders' which were masked as retribution, as revenge for supposed treachery, but which in reality were nothing more than perverse manifestations of hatred of the Jews:

At six o'clock in the evening the inhabitants were forced out of their homes where they had been hiding, driven into the Market Square and... some were beaten to the floor with the butts of rifles, some were bayoneted – those still breathing were then shot. On this particular day in Podcamia ninety eight men and old people died, fifty six women, twenty nine youngsters below the age of sixteen, one could say virtually still children....The people were starving, persecuted, harried, beaten and desperate. 23

The misery experienced by the civilian population was naturally only one aspect of the daily horrific reality of existence and probably not the most terrible. Ungar's experiences in the trenches were a horrible monstrous time, which neither he, nor we, can describe fully. Egon Erwin Kisch, later a good friend of Ungar's, attempted a description in his diary of war, frequently not knowing where to start when he 'wants to speak about the unique horrors':

Bones splintered and fractured by gunshot projecting from flesh, flayed skin hanging from faces: shirt, coat, bandages all impregnated and coloured with the same substance: with blood. The dance of death became quicker, denser, more impelling. A bandaged head here, there someone more carried than supported by comrades, another holding his head back so that he won't bleed to death despite the bandage – but the blood pours down his back.

... the dead lie all around, huddled up in pain before death released them from their misery. Another lies on the stretcher, his head hanging to the left, his hands rigidly grasping the photo of his young wife and two children. 24

Outwardly Ungar reacted in his own way to the extreme situation, with cynical jokes and gallows humour, attempting to cheer his comrades up with theatrical scenes. They regarded him 'as a person totally disinterested in intellectual issues':

His colleagues in the regiment saw him as a good chap, always keeping the others amused, without particular insistence on his honour or pride. 25

Similar to the duelling issues in Barissia he attempted to overcome his fears and prove himself as a courageous soldier. In his innermost feelings, however, he shrank from the daily horrors, the destruction of all things humane, and he became an 'anti-militarist' and a 'revolutionary' as he wrote to Thomas Mann in 1921:

I was a soldier and at that time – on the frontlines – sighed more heavily over the fate of the many others than over my own sufferings. At that time I became an anti-militarist, a revolutionary. 26

In the same letter he wrote that he wanted nothing more to do with politics and – as far as his writing was concerned – they would only play a lesser role in future. There are, however, sufficient signs that his contempt for all things to do with political militarism and his socialistic attitudes would not change later in life. The most visible example is the drama _The Red General_ , but the monologue sketch _The Caliph_ (1928) also depicts his feelings, when the narrator talks sympathetically and incredulously 'how he hears and reads about the things other statesmen did to drown the world in war and hunger'. 27 Even in the most unrelated pieces of work, such as an article on the _Stabilisation of the German Currency_ (1923) or a Berlin Theatre review on the German premiere of Shaw's _Back to Methuselah_ '(1925) one finds references to Ungar's constant political-moral rigorousness. He fears that the 'privileged classes... will escape and grow rich from the mud bath of inflation just as easily as they did from the steel bath of war' _._ 28 As far as Shaw is concerned, Ungar saw in Cain 'the first soldier brought into the world by mass murderers' and hoped that the world would never again allow themselves to be led by 'such immature children' as those bellicose statesmen were, 'to rule and be sent to war'.29 During the last year of his life Ungar referred to his wartime experiences in the feuilleton _Do Horses Really Scream?_ which was written in answer to Erich Maria Remarque's anti-war novel _All Quiet on the Western Front_ published just a few months previously. Ungar's text is so important because 'the unwavering witness' who stated uncompromisingly that wounded horses 'remain silent, releasing at the most a gentle moan before dying' and for whom the image 'of the wounded horses screaming on the battlefield' is nothing but literary fiction, was propagated by Remarque 'and accepted by the public without any protest'. Ungar himself states that war 'became a false artistic experience':

... the crass unreal vision of a writer expunged the haunting image of the dumb dying creature... the suggestion goes so far as to contradict that person who dares to state reality. The unwavering witness – unwavering because as a boy the dumb suffering of dying horses was portrayed to him as an artistic experience – will never convince the wartime soldiers, who still today can all remember the wild screams of the horses.

When Ungar explains in his feuilleton 'why this figment of imagination has a suggestive affect', he also intimates what upset him so much with the experience of silent suffering, namely the awareness that the humans with their war and brutality have placed themselves on the other side of nature:

Why should this figment of imagination have such a suggestive influence? Because it humanises the horse which was our companion in suffering, it brings the horse so much closer to us. Because the inhumane dumbness of the suffering creature was so strange for us, such a distant concept and so incredible, because the horse, although dumb, suffered beside us and with us, it was drawn into the human complexities of 'war' and had to participate physically – but still remained distant and silent – we all demanded unconsciously that it screamed. It might have been a genial idea to permit the horse's agony a scream. From our point of view. 30

It is quite clear from the above, that the 'inhumane' death of the horses was for Ungar only a symbol of human isolation and of the isolation of lost humanity, to which his eyes had now been opened – eternally as his later writings prove: the psychological and physical destruction of Karl Fanta in _The Maimed_ would never have been written were it not for Ungar's real experiences of human maiming on the front lines. And even a character like the maid Stasinka in _A Man and a Maid_ would have been given a different face if it hadn't been for the war, would never have become the incarnation of 'dumb suffering'. The war did not only result in 'an accelerated maturity and a deeper sense of earnest ' 31, but it also really turned Ungar into an author.32 'In the never-ending confrontation with the destruction of humans he became fully aware of the problems of existence', 33 and his literary mission to counter this destruction, this growing knowledge which reinforced his will to live and his 'need for creative shaping' 34 drove him on – but his doubts as to whether he would be strong enough for this responsibility also grew:

As my thoughts emerge, I am tortured by my fears which are worse for me than the fear of death. This is the fear that my creative forces will dissipate, that my craft becomes a handicraft and thus becomes worthless. This fear is much greater than the fear of death, I think, and I am not saying this unintentionally. During the war the danger of death was constantly in the forefront of my mind, but when I prayed, I prayed that God would permit me to live if I were to become an author. And I am alive. 35

_'I am alive, I live_....' Ungar makes his Christophe Ballou cry emphatically – his main character in the drama _War_. 36 The drama takes place in Napoleonic France and the ego-ideal Christophe reflects clearly Ungar's own growing knowledge on the frontlines: Christophe says to his friend Francois:

Where do I start?... Do I start with the marching, for days on end, weeks on end... or was it perhaps years... until we became as broken as old, tired nags. The only thing I remember is that the road before us and behind us became an eternal endless wave, up and down. Houses, rivers, people just passed by.... Then we came upon battles and fights. I don't know any names. It was in a foreign country. No-one really knew where we were. We fired our rifles, we ran forwards, we sang with hoarse voices and bayoneted those people who shot at us. We didn't know why. But we didn't ask why either. – And many, many people died. .. I didn't cry. I didn't laugh. And everyone felt the way I did. Who was surprised if someone suddenly fell to their knees and died? – We felt so tired, such outsiders. – We walked across a wide, huge snow-clad field. There were corpses everywhere. I marched behind the others, step by step, step by step. I kept my eyes closed. But I sensed how the field was illuminated by these corpses. The thunder of canons far away: that is death, for everyone around me died... - We went into battle. And the bullets whistled past me, making holes all around me... holes in him, in him and in him. I feel a new light from my soul burning brightly in me, tortured, beaten and tired. A scream which I don't recognise – the scream bursting out of me... Why? Why? – I seem to be free. As if all the tiredness in me has died. As if something new has appeared in me. I look around me. I see their faces as I have never seen them before: torn with grief, cheeks pale with the fear of death, lips stammering out prayers, eyes focussing on the source of death, our death. Brothers, brothers, I think, what drives you into the madness of this slaughter? Why, why don't you just turn away? You're sleeping, you're sleeping. And your bodies, bound to an insane machine, sowing and reaping ruination. I sink to the earth and I cry. Is that a will, so strong, so big that it demands you drive yourself into your own death? Is that a will, so strong, so big that it forces you to murder your brothers? They say that those people there are your enemies. Aren't they also trembling for fear of death? Don't they also have mothers? Don't they also stammer out their prayers! – Should not Thy Will be a thousand times stronger than this one! – He sleeps now, according to Thy Will. He sleeps within the love of Thy Heart. – Francois, awareness swells in me with unexpected force. I feel as if I have been sent on a mission. Sent on a mission to destroy this wild hatred. And I get up. The bullets are flying around me in a wild dance. But I am not afraid. I believe that a hand is protecting me, saving me for another fate. I turn around and go. I open up my arm in an embrace. I feel as if I should sink to the ground and kiss the earth. As if a spark is glowing inside me, growing and growing in billowing waves from an earthly breast to never-ending eternity. 37

Directly after the experiences of war and in the throes of his initial enthusiasm for the task, Ungar wrote poems (no longer in existence) which he sent from the front to Max Brod requesting that they be given to Siegmund Kaznelson, the editor of the Prague Zionist _Selbstwehr_ (Self –Defence) for publication under the pseudonym 'Sum'. 38They may well have been linked to the brotherhood lyrics of Werfel, strengthened by the 'artificial experiences' of war, perhaps even revolutionary hymns for peace and Socialism. Brod, who was declared unfit for military service due to a spinal distortion, was working at the time for the pension department of the Prague postal management. Kaznelson recalls:

One day, as I recall, in the office Brod showed me a bundle of poems and asked me if I wanted to publish them in the Selbstwehr(which was actually not possible as they contained a distinct lack of any links to Judaism). A member of the Prague Zionist association Barissia who was serving at the front had forwarded them to him with the request for publication under the pseudonym 'Sum'. They came from the Prague author Hermann Ungar, who later became famous in his own name and tragically died at an early age. 39

It is quite doubtful whether the distinct 'lack of any links to Judaism' prevented the publication of the poems: quality reasons or even Max Brod's personal objections may have played a role, but it is most probable that Ungar's poems with their pacifist and socialist content would have clashed with Kaznelson's cautious tactics which in those days concentrated on highlighting 'heroic national Judaism working alongside heroic German nationalism'. In April 1916 the readers of _Selbstwehr_ were asked to 'make a generous sign of support to the Austrian war loan fund', whereby 'unlimited dedication to the huge objectives of the war' was underlined 'in which we Jews have so much to gain or lose'.40 Kaznelson conveniently forgets this phase when writing his _Memories of Shared Years of Battle_ with Max Brod.

Towards the end of 1915 Artillery Scout Hermann Ungar, temporarily assigned to the 3rd Battery of the newly formed K&K Field Canon Regiment No. 51, was based in Bukowina and took part in the initially successful defence battles over the New Year in front of the town gates of Czernowitz. 41 In the artillery dugouts near Rarancze, north east of Czernowitz close to the Bessarabian border, he suffered a broken leg on December 24 – an injury which was inadequately treated and would handicap him for the rest of his life. His Battery Commander in Rarancze recommended on January 4 1916 that Ungar be awarded the Silver Medal for Bravery First Class - and more is learnt about the the action from his recommendation document:

On December 24 1915 the Russians attacked our advance field reconnaissance post near Rarancze. Reserve Cadet Ungar Hermann directed the battery's firing into dense lines during the battle as the Artillery Scout holding their post despite powerful artillery and infantry fire. When the telephone connections were severed by the firing, Ungar's leg was broken. His bravery enabled his battery to continue their defence effectively. Reserve Cadet Ungar is an industrious, conscientious soldier, and a well-loved comrade. 42

According to later supra-arbitration records Ungar broke his right shinbone during a fall caused by a grenade exploding in the artillery dugout. On January 13 he was awarded the Silver Medal for Bravery, however only 2nd Class.43 Mid 1916 he was promoted retrospectively to January 1 to the rank of Lieutenant of the Reserve.

Ungar's initial military service, lasting almost five months, was in Volhynia, Galicia and Bukowina and was ended finally by a serious injury near Rarancze. Two days later, on December 26 1915, he was taken by to Moravia via medical transportation.

In Brno, in the K&K Reserve Hospital No. 1, a heavily overworked field hospital, where his sister Gerta worked together with Blanka Totis as nursing sisters at the time, Ungar's inadequate medical treatment prepared him for a return to front line service. He was released from hospital and sent to his replacement post on June 3, 1916. 44 Nothing further is known about Ungar's six months stay in the Brno hospital. One can, however, imagine that Ungar's gradual separation from his cousin Blanka was initiated during this period. There is no evidence – the final break took place one year later.

A more important question, but again one which can only be answered hypothetically, is whether Ungar was able to create other literary works besides the poetry in Brno – he would have had sufficient time for that. An anti-war drama could have been written in Brno which survived in the form of a transcription from Ludwig Pinner and which Nanette Klemenz entitled _War: Drama in Napoleonic Times_ (the title page and the first page of text are missing from the transcript). The only certainty is that this drama was written prior to 1919, in all probability during the war. It could just as well have been entitled _Revolt_ , which leads to the assumption that it was written only after the October Revolution in 1917. Whenever it was written, _War_ certainly reflects Ungar's frontline experiences and therefore it is most practical to deal now with this hitherto unpublished and unperformed drama.

The fact that Ungar turned for a short while to writing dramas again, after a long period of attempts at lyrics and epics, has its explanation in his didactic intention to shake up people into revolting for love and peace. The theatre, Schiller's 'moral institution' seemed to him the most appropriate medium. It also certainly has something to do with his later declared opinion that drama rather than the novel formed the most appropriate platform for contemporary-critical discussions and debate without having the task of 'placing some conflicts in individual lives on centre stage'. 45 Outwardly the fact played a role that penning dramas was easier for him since his schooldays, especially historical dramas for which he had a preference since his childhood _Wallenstein_ success, and he wrote the historical drama _The Red General_ in 1927.

The historical background, i.e. France during the Napoleonic Wars, is merely a cover. In fact the background is an unmistakeably revolutionary-pacifist protest arising from immediate experiences of the World War, comparable to Leonhard Frank's 1917 novel compilation _Man is Good_.

The drama is formally divided into three acts, each separated by intervals with an extended prologue. Particularly during the prologue, which the 'ghost of mankind' speaks in verse, the tone is expressionist-pathetic (but in further parts which are recited in prose – with one exception- especially the longer text parts spoken by the hero, the tone is artificial stylised):

The style medium used in Expressionism can be effortlessly typified: repeated words, word accumulations, phrases used as stand-alones rather than as part of sentences, monologues which rise and fall, violent and then placating. The author shouts and screams, protests and accuses and loses himself in an ecstatic exhilaration...In the play itself the expressionist language is maintained throughout and spoken in prose. 46

The prologue articulates programmatically the pacifist and socialist attitudes which Ungar gained in the horrors of the Eastern Front. With the thunder of canons in the background and columns of soldiers passing through on their way to death, the 'spirit of mankind' acts as narrator:

/...../ And so they advanced. A soldier plodded by, perhaps still a boy,  
sparse beard around his mouth, but with shining eyes,  
unwittingly forced forwards to his death.  
Here he lies, here beneath this other soldier./..../  
Why was this madness unleashed,  
Why does this carnality encompass the whole world?  
Did it spring with girded loins from your mind,  
O Lord? – They believed in you,  
With the last light of their eyes  
They prayed to you trembling: not yet, not yet! –  
Then died...../..../  
The men are dead, the boys are vanquished. –  
We have to get up: accusations are needed! /.../  
Get up, get up from out of the chasms of horror, voices of oppressed! –  
What is an image? – It was witnessed. Starving mothers held  
Their starving children up in front of firing soldiers, Keep still,  
You, use your voices to scream! /....../  
A demon is racing through the world, breathing blood on a foaming beast!  
And killing......./....../  
And again they advanced...../...../  
Do you hear, do you hear the battle ranging in the distance?.  
You hesitate and yet.... You move forward you move forward.  
Who is it, who is strong enough to take away from you  
Everything: your life, your life?  
Storming forwards, madness in your eyes, around your mouth,  
Singing tumultuous songs, drowning out the horrors  
Like this, and so you die, your brothers, you die like this!'

In vain the 'spirit of mankind' calls for someone to speak out against the madness, to awake those who are marching sightlessly to their death.

Is no-one there to awaken others from this terrible dream?  
Come forward to assuage the loving hearts  
Which are so full of pain,  
To flood so that in others it will swell  
Their own overflowing souls  
Holding out their arms again for love  
Come forward and say: you brothers!  
Is there no-one... nobody.. not a single person...

And then the 'spirit of mankind' selects one of the many as a tool, as a mouthpiece:

Earth! I wish to be awoken as one with it, to speak from it.  
I want to bear the word throughout all the countries,  
To be as one with it, to speak out from it.  
I want to embody the shape of conciliation,  
To allow mankind to bear his fate  
Weighty and all-encompassing. And from this monstrous hatred  
From martyrdom, the torments of the cross and death,  
Love will grow again bathed in the pink tones of breaking dawn..  
And from those days, destroyed by burdens related to God,  
New days will arise, radiating shining light. /..../  
And from never-ending eternity I can already hear  
Choirs of brothers all round the world.  
And from never-ending eternity I can already hear  
Joyfulness in God-given sensuality,  
The song of love. 47

And thus the hero of the play is introduced, Christophe Ballou, son of the innkeeper. His character and fate comply with the tradition of Christian myths of salvation, but the comparison of Christophe = Christ goes no further than similarities. Christophe is a very earthly person, not a potential representative of God but more of mankind, not a prophet from the heavenly side, but a prophet of earthly salvation, a disciple of socialism that encompasses all mankind. This is the only way in which Ungar could identify with him.

Christophe makes his entrance in the second half of the first act. The stage depicts his parents' small inn in Paris, an ambience and scene with which the author is well-acquainted. New troops are brought in and Ungar illustrates different reactions within the inn, as examples of attitudes towards war. The indifference of old Ballou, who is merely irritated because the soldiers' commander is not a Bourbon: the youthful joy of anticipated victory shown by the naive houseboy: the blustering enthusiasm for war shown by the injured veteran Thirbaut (whose stiff leg ironically symbolises Ungar's own war wounds): the fear shown by the daughter Julienne, which, however, only concerns the safety of her lover Raoul , whose baby she is expecting – a fact that she has kept secret: finally, but most importantly the opinions of the most important characters besides Christophe: Christophe's younger friend, the theologian Francois Cabaliere, and Mother Ballou – who is perceived as the archetypal of an earth mother. Francois, the 'servant of peace' sees the 'sorrows of war, not its joys', the mother weeps for her son Christophe on the battlefield and for the sons 'of thousands of other mothers' _._ 48 In a conversation about religion with Francois, Mother Ballou admits that she is no longer able to pray and that she feels her guilt:

Francois, I gave birth to a son. And now, now? He has been torn away from me. They just led him away! They dressed him up like a sacrifice. Trumpets sounded and drums pounded, so loudly, so loudly. No heartbeat could be heard, not my heart. That was the reason. And now he is marching through foreign lands to his death. Right now, right now, perhaps he is dying right now, Francois, he is dying, hit by a bullet, my child. – Why did I give him away? I should never have given him. No mothers should have given their sons, they should all have shielded their children with their own bodies. Oh God, Oh God! Why didn't we do that? – Perhaps because we still believed that this was Thy Will. That God was in control. But now, Francois, now I believe that evil is more powerful than God. 49

Francois is not in a position to console the mother because he too now questions his beliefs. This criticism of God is by now means relieved by a later comparison, a parallel of Christophe with Christ. Quite to the contrary, because the early social messiah makes it clear that only mankind can set itself free.

Under cover of night the deserter, Christophe, creeps into the house. In a theatrical scene Julienne learns about Raoul's death, tells the truth about her pregnancy and – like Ophelia – goes mad. Julienne appears for the last time in the second act: dancing, humming a song, she crosses the stage like a symbol of holy suffering. Christophe tells Francois in a long speech about the idea for peace which came to him on the battlefield. 'I am the awakener, I am filled with tears and with joy. It only needs one person to give voice to it – then this monstrous, monstrous suffering will be over.' Ungar repeats his own 'awakening' at the front, only in his case, as previously with the fencing, the courage failed him to bear the consequences of desertion, and he was even honoured for his courage as a soldier, which in turn meant he was guilty of promoting death ('my hand, not knowing what it was doing, committed murder' _)_ 50 and covering the guilt of cowardice – which Christophe Ballou would bear in his place. Ungar wanted to be the person who, with words, brought an end to the suffering. The fact that he didn't, was part of the resigned posturing in his post-war works. In Christophe, Ungar was putting himself on the side of the poverty-stricken and the powerless. He wanted to gain attention for the 'voices of the suppressed' _:_

The voice should be heard loud and clear. This voice should swell up out of my throat and become a hurricane which rages through all the countries, Francois, crossing every border, encompassing all nations. The voice should be raised in protest throughout the whole world. The people should respond and brutality and hatred should be replaced by justice and love. 51

The second act takes place again in the Ballou Inn, and depicts Christophe supported by Francois, as the revolutionary of love, as the spokesman for the suppressed and the dead:

I will bring rebellion into the world! The machines will come to a standstill, the men will emerge from the mines, bent over with sorrow. The mothers will come out of the homes left by the sons. 'Rebel' I will call through the towns, through the villages. 'Rebel' I will call through the hearts. No more suffering in silence! I will call through the darkness of night, from the farms and the chambers, from people's souls into the streets – I will speak, I will call out the suffering! - Oh Lord, we don't want to fall and to become lords like you! We just want to be human. – We want to sink into each others's arms throughout all countries of the world and in every single language we want to say 'See – we are brothers!' 52

Christophe's crowd of supporters grows: a patrol that has come to arrest him is driven away. Solders were ordered to line up against the revolutionaries who have erected a barricade and collected guns. Francois accepts a brutal counter-action will be the only solution:

There will be a beacon in the night sky. The red flames will shine out in every direction. And everywhere, where men groan under heavy pressure, are exhausted and overburdened, where wives worry about their husbands, where people grieve for their dead, where mothers live in fear of losing their sons, this light will shine into their hearts. – Look, the poor people will say, new times are coming!

But the question of force and brutality places Christophe into difficult conflict of conscience:

Guns, Francois, guns! And we, Francois, we are also supposed to use these guns! The guns will speak, act as judges and call for death. Our new kingdom will start with murder! Is this word not strong enough to conquer hatred and brutality? Guns, guns, Francois! ...We are murderers, they are murderers! It seems to be as if all mankind has been damned since creation! 53

The question as to whether something that is morally right could legitimise the use of brutality and force is the central tragic conflict of the whole drama. Ungar is not willing to give a simple, single answer – as every answer will lead to guilt. When it comes to the fight, Christophe wants to 'stop any murder', 54 but when he sees that he will lose the battle if he doesn't fight, he places himself and his gun at the head of the revolutionaries. In the final scene of the act, however, Christophe lurches back to the inn and throws his gun on the floor, 'I cannot do it.... I cannot do it!'55 The rebellion is quelled because there is no aggressive, unscrupulous leader. And Christophe's consolation remains the last words of his friend, Francois, who dies in a hail of bullets: the words of John (21:4)

And God will wipe away all the tears from your eyes and death will be no more, no more sorrow, no more pain, no more sorrow: for the first will be the last. 56

The location for the third and last act is a prison in Paris. Christophe, sentenced to death for desertion and rebellion, is awaiting his execution. He knows that he is guilty, his conscience tells him so – and thus he accepts the sentence. He tells his three co-prisoners, each with a sentence of life imprisonment for robbery and murder, about his dream the previous night, a vision 'from the past to the future'57 which forecasts the misery of modern industrial workers and the next world war, finally ending in the Utopia of a golden era – Ungar's own dream:

I travelled through the ages and I wept. I entered future times and I saw: smoking chimneys, glowing steel, hammers and sparks, iron being wrought, palaces of glass, houses reaching up into the skies. And people gathered around the glowing ovens, naked, covered in sweat. And I saw them thronging out of the factory gates, exhausted, doubled-over, with tired, weary eyes. They disappeared into huts, into dark disease-ridden housings. And the hunger of thousands was the magnificence of a few. Where did I see justice, where was love? On wide fields I saw boys and men laid out in death, in woods, on mountains, near rivers, in valleys – all dead! Brothers, I said, deprivation is the world and death is the time. – It seemed to me as if the image faded and then the light intensified like the sun but coming from the centre of the earth. It seemed as if mankind smiled and as if animosity, hatred and hunger for power all disappeared. Men stood at the anvils and were forging their own happiness. The tears burst out from my eyes like wells, I sank to the ground and I spoke: see, I said. It is for this, for this I died. 58

Christophe bids his parents farewell, he rejects the support of the priest. As in all his later works, Ungar perceives distorted moral development to be a result of flawed social bonds: he introduces one of these when he gets Christophe to say the following about his co-prisoners:

They are people, just like you or I. They have murdered. But they were excluded from happiness and love. They were poor, they were hungry, they had no justice. 59

Case by case he explains their evil fates and expunges all their guilt, finally in an emphatic speech, the actual high point of the play, he points a finger at the real guilty persons: the rich and the powerful:

I protest about the co-existence of hunger and gluttony, the satiated are deaf to the cries of the poor and blind to the sight of their pleading hands. I protest about the co-existence of many people dying in forced labour and the few who rule them: I protest about power existing without justice and about laws made to protect the power. I protest about our hunger, I protest about our poverty which builds riches for others. I protest that we have to die in battle so that a few wealthy people can wear gold adornments, can control our lives and suppress us by force. I protest that we are nothing but goods and chattels with offers and payments made for the use of our hands, our feet and our eyes when required. I protest that there is still deprivation in the world, deprivation and abundance. I protest that there are mothers who give birth in wretchedness and distress, boys who beg from door to door for a piece of bread, men who are hunched over by hard work, burdens and hunger, women who sell themselves for food, men who murder for bread and that there is still war, in which they die. I protest about war, war to protect others, war which causes suffering. I protest, I protest: we will all die! 60

Christophe calls upon his co-prisoners to act as judges between him and people: they declare him innocent and set him free. There is no question that Christophe is being used as the spokesman of the author (which actually discredits him as a literary figure): but how far this self-identification goes can be seen from the vibrant final speech when Christophe is being fetched for execution. One can almost hear the ambitious author himself, doubting himself and his play, in desperation:

What is there left to say, how can I fit it all in, everything, everything! Give me time, give me time! There is still so much that my passionate heart! Once more I feel a force within me, a force which spreads my being throughout the world, and my dying, dying heart wants to release its pain once more, beating its very last, wants to say once more to the people, just once more with words that cannot be heard, with sounds that can never come from throats, in images never painted with brushes, in choral singing never blown away by storms... too late, too late! 61

Then finally Christophe goes to his death in hope, the author trusts in the power of the spirit, with irrational belief in the power of his own plea: 'Not everyone is dead who is buried, for they will never kill the spirit'. 62

From the literary point of view, Ungar's pseudo-historical drama _War_ is too imitative to be rated too highly. The structure is too close to that of Schiller's classical dramas, the storyline is too similar to the story of Christ, the language follows the expressionist pathos of Werfel, without actually achieving the same heights of expression. Also the characters, with few exceptions (Thirbaut) do not appear as living persons, the protagonist remains a pale, insignificant figure. But _War_ is extremely important from the aspect of Ungar's intellectual development: it shows how he changes from uncommitted to dedicated authorship. It differs from later work by its uninterrupted belief in hope and an illusion, that literature can enforce the utopia of human brotherhood. The experiences of the continuing war and the disappointment of the post-war period make him resigned to fate and increasingly to the image of unchanging evil.

Christophe's vision of peace corresponded to the perspective with which Lieutenant Hermann Ungar and mankind viewed the world, when he was discharged from the Brno reserve hospital on June 3, 1916. He, together with the majority, believed that the war would end soon. The Austro-Hungarian artillery had greatly increased in size and power since the beginning of the war and in the course of 1916 was totally reorganised for the first time. The Field Canon Regiments were now assigned the same numbers as the Artillery Divisions to which they were allocated. The Field Canon Regiment No. 25 thus became the K&K Field Canon Regiment (from 1918 onwards the Field Artillery Regiment) No. 10 which was supplemented by men from the division of the Military Command at Leitmeritz. The Reserve Battery was stationed in Koeniggraetz. 63 Ungar continued his service in Koeniggraetz until February 1917, then he was posted to the 4th Army Command as the head of an ammunition registry office (quartermaster post, later called the Supreme Command Base), then transferring as an officer back to the battlefield with the Armoury Company of the Field Canon Regiment No. 10 on February 26. In accordance with his tasks, he was not directly deployed on the Russian front, but spent the following six months mainly in a base camp just behind the front lines, in the area of Lublin, where the military general government of Poland was positioned. He spent some time in Volhynia again, in the town of Kowel, an important railway intersection point. Alexander Loebl, his former neighbour in Brno, was a clerk for the field court of the 9th Cavalry Troop Division located in the area of Kowel during 1917, remembers meeting Ungar there for the last time:

During a visit to Kowel I went to a Viennese cafe which had been set up there and met my good friend, Hermann. He was a lieutenant in the artillery, assigned base duties in Kowel after recuperating from a wound or sickness. He was in a scintillating mood, in merry company – just as I knew him in earlier times. An undisturbed conversation about issues of interest just to us, was simply not possible. It was to be our last meeting. 64

It rapidly became obvious that Ungar was by no means unconditionally fit for service at the front, but the authorities hesitated in sending him to the rear. On April 28 the head of the medical team of the K&K Army Supreme Command sent orders to the Quartermaster Department of the 4th Army Command with instructions that 'Reserve Lieutenant Hermann Ungar... is to report mid-May to a hospital for examination by a specialist – and, if he is found to be unfit for service at the front – to arrange for a renewed super arbitration with the M.G.G. Poland.' 65 On May 14th was admitted to a Lublin branch of the German hospital for the honourable wounded No. 3 for the purpose 'of providing an assessment'. On May 20th he returned to the 'actual body of the troop' in Kowel. The records of the examination still exist:

X-rays taken of the right lower leg (distal half), of the joint in the foot and of the middle section of the foot, from back and front, as well as from the sides 'medio dental'.

The diagnosis is interesting, because it gives an indication of the inadequate treatment in Brno:

Old tibia fracture on the right with the pointed club foot resulting from incorrect positioning of the fragments as well as inadequate after-treatment. 66

Ungar had to be declared 'unfit for front duties at present', but was initially left in his position as head of the ammunition registry office:

In the sense of K.M.Erl.Abt.1 No. 15979 dated. 15.5.1917, Lt.i.d. Res. Hermann Ungar has been found unfit for service on the front lines at present on the basis of the specialists' examinations. The officer will be allowed to continue with his present post and will be super-arbitrated again in three months time. 67

After this repeat super-arbitration in August, Ungar was freed initially on a temporary basis, but finally totally from field service. On August 26th 1917, after 6 months at base camp, his second field service time ended.

Ungar was posted to the reserve battery of the Field Canon Reigment No. 10 in Koeniggraetz and spent the summer 1917 on judicial administration duties there. A super-arbitration report on October 23, 1917 stated: 'A fall after a grenade explosion resulted in a broken right shinbone, muscular atrophy. 3 months judicial administration duties.' On December 5, confirming the decision of November 17, the War Ministry notified the Military Command in Leitmeritz that Ungar was classified as 'currently unfit for service in the field, but suitable for administration duties', and added:

He is to be super-arbitrated again at the beginning of February 1918 to certify whether he is unfit for wartime service and an assessment is to be submitted from the garrison hospital. It is imperative that this officer is given correct, continued orthopaedic treatment.

Assignment: to the reserves of his own regiment. 68

During his time is Koeniggraetz, Ungar was able to continue his course of studies and frequently obtained study leave, something that was quite normal for officers on rear line duty and also indicative of the goodwill of his superiors and his uncomplicated availability. 69

As the professors and the examiners of the Prague Law Faculty were very accommodating due to the unusual situation and showed a great deal of understanding – they had already issued his Absolutorium on January 16th, 1917 – he was able to take and pass with good overall marks the Judicial State Examination on November 26, just three months after his field service ended. And on November 28th, only two days later, he took and passed the legal-historic Rigorosum I (Roman, canonistic and German Law) with 'adequate'. 70

But more incisive than these personal successes was the fact that Ungar experienced the Russian October Revolution during this period: Trotsky and Lenin became his 'apostles of a new religion', prophets of a new brotherhood world brokered in peace, in which all suppressed people would shake hands across all borders.71 The February Revolution had already given him hope for a dawning peace throughout the world before the installation of the Kerenski Government. But with Lenin and Trotsky, to whom he felt he had special bonds as a Jew, the idealist felt the utopia of 'world friendship' lay within his grasp, the peace treaty of Brest-Litowsk (March 3rd 1918) gave him hope for a quick end to the war and a future to which he could work and on which he could cooperate. As we shall see, this future was at odds for a long time with his Zionistic ideas and thus also with the objectives of Barissia, for whom any thoughts of a socialist world revolution were totally unacceptable.

As per the instructions a new super-arbitration took place on January 26th 1918 and the assessment from the garrison hospital was submitted. They found the 'status of the consequences of a simple break of the right shinbone: 4 months administration duties'. The report was submitted to the Military Command Leitmeritz on February 22nd, and Ungar was declared 'currently unfit for field service, suitable for administration duties'. He remained assigned to the reserve battalion, a renewed super-arbitration was set for the end of May in the current year. 72

During the time until the new super-arbitration, Ungar was able to finish his studies in Law and State Sciences in Prague and after industriously 'swotting' – which according to Kafka meant 'that in the few months before the examinations he fed his mind on sawdust which thousands of mouths had already chewed before him 73 and getting on everyone's nerves' so that he could finally take the last examinations and the Rigorosa. Surprisingly, however, he didn't prepare himself for his examinations in Prague, but spent his time in Vienna. He was registered from February 20th until April 26th at the Widerhofergasse 5/11 close to the Strudlhofstiege 74 made so famous by Doderer.

On March 21st he passed his State Science State Examination, then on March 23rd the State Science Rigorosum II with 'satisfactory' (General and Austrian State Law, Civil Law and Political Economics), followed on April 27th by the Judicial Rigorosum III (Civil, Commercial and Exchange Laws) also with 'satisfactory'. 75

On April 29th 1918 the festive Graduation Ceremony took place in the Karolinum ballroom at which Ungar, introduced by his mentor Professor Robert von Mayr-Harting to August Naegle (Professor of Ecclesiastical History and Patrology, also chancellor of the university from 1918 until 1920) was then elevated to Doctor of Dual Laws (J.U.Dr). 76

Effective May 1, and probably in line with his Doctor title, Ungar was promoted to First Lieutenant in the Reserves, he was given leave and spent the whole of May with his parents in Boskowitz. In accordance with instructions, another super-arbitration took place on May 27th and the results remained unchanged:

status of the consequences of a break of the right shinbone: unfit for troop service, suitable for administration duties.

The normal report went through to the Military Command in Leitmeritz on June 28th, a new super-arbitration was set for the end of November of the same year. (It never took place.)77 The super-arbitration act of the K&K Military Command in Leitmeritz noted on May 30th that 'Oblt.i.d.R. Dr Hermann Ungar of FAR No. 10, domicile: presently Koeniggraetz, otherwise Brno', was carrying out duties with the Reserve Battalion FAR No. 10 in Koeniggraetz.' 78

It was really only in Koeniggraetz (and after his doctorate) that Ungar could have written the Jewish novel described by us at the start of our description of his life, the last main manuscript before his first publication , which demonstrates 'something quite specific which his friend Krojanker had found lacking in his previous writings'. 79 Just like in the above drama _War_ , Ungar places himself in this unpublished and obscure novel ('the novel was never published as it was not really mature and ready for publication – the shape and form was missing') which deals with the 'conflict between new ways of life and old traditions' in an intentional expressionist manner, on the side of the 'dispossessed and oppressed'.80 His real subject, however, was his own deeply shocked ego – caused by the his personal experiences in war and then by the separation from his cousin Blanka (towards the end of 1917) – described justifiably by Felix Loria as 'the turning point in his emotional life'. 81 His existence hitherto perceived as completely secure, supported long-term by his Zionistic views of the world, the camaraderie of the activists in the Barissia and his love for Blanka, was now laid waste by the loss of all these bonds, by the traumatic experiences of war and by the post-war reactivation of a new, overt anti-Semitism.

All his old fears rose to the surface. His hopes for future 'World Friendship', reawakened by the October Revolution and shown post-war to be sheer illusion, could compensate only little and were able to provide solely ideological rather than psychological support. Although the awareness of his own mission/objectives gained at the Russian Front had never abated, it took on an increasingly resigned form and was unable to quell his growing self-doubts which questioned the conditions of his very existence and took him back to his childhood, back to the ghetto. These gave rise to his document of a crisis in life, the _Cry of a man bound into servility, inwardly and outwardly_ 82 – emotions which he could only express through his writings and which appear continuously throughout all his work, although latterly no longer as the central focus.

The extent of this crisis of existence is virtually hidden in darkness, but there is a suspicion that it put a premature end to his military service in Koeniggraetz. On July 22, seemingly right in the middle of writing a novel, First Lieutenant Hermann Ungar of the Reserves was admitted to the K&K Reserve Hospital No. 2 in Pardubitz, south of Koeniggraetz, where a 'nervous complaint' was diagnosed. 83 We can only guess at the length of his stay in hospital. Evidence confirms, however, that he was released from military service in Koeniggraetz after his discharge from hospital and initially returned to Brno (perhaps even to Boskowitz), probably at the end of August. Nervous problems were nothing unusual for those who participated in the wars: neurasthenic war invalids could be seen on the streets daily during and after the war. The 'nervously trembling and shaking man in the street of any town was just a harmless ambassador of the immense number of soldiers' suffering from a 'war of nerves'. 84 And now Ungar belonged to this group of war victims, if indirectly. He had suffered during his schooldays from neurasthenic fits and these continued throughout his life. They were the outer signs of inner turmoil and weaknesses and generally only appeared when he was placed in situations he could not control – when he felt like an outsider, a failure with no future. It is no coincidence that Ungar was treated by a neurologist during a puberty crisis. During his time at university before the war, according to the information available to us, he was very happy and thus no nervous conditions arose. Again at the end of the war, when his relationship finished and the self-doubts caused by the war grew, this 'nervous illness' came to the fore again and forced him into hospital for treatment. (Even the loss of Blanka was primarily a result of the demands of the war for existentialist decisions to be made). The war was the external catalyst – the illness was the symptom of a new crisis of identity.

Ungar attempted to gain stability by attempting to reform Barissia, the association, in which he was now regarded as an 'old boy' – a reform according to his ideals, in the spirit of Zionist socialism. Ungar's programmatic essay _Our Future_ appeared in the August edition of _Barissia Leaflet_ in the section called _The Convent_ and gave rise to a heated but vainglorious debate within the Barissia membership. 85 'Schani' was by no means alone with his opinions, even though the majority of traditionalists were able to hold sway – for after the influence of the war and the beginning of the world revolution, but also as a result of the Balfour Declaration of November 1917, a large number of the Barissia members 'protested against the old colour traditions'. 87 Viktor Bauer, a friend of Ungar's who joined the assocation in 1914 wote:

The two of us belonged to a minority group within our Zionist student fraternity who recognised the collapse of our bourgeois world in 1918. We attempted to bring about reforms within the circle of these Jewish-national students, reforms which we thought were necessary to secure echoes and answers in this new world, a democratic world. We wanted to do away with the coloured caps and coloured sashes, Ungar more so than I because he had forged connections to the Czech communities during this period. 87

Ungar was the first person to 'develop radical concepts for a complete reformation of the association' and went out from the point of view that 'the colours had done nothing as such for Judaism and – in its present form – would be unable to achieve anything in the future – also that the fraternity had outlived its purpose.'88. And he went further into the development of a socialist concept, into an almost religious adoration of the leaders Trotsky and Lenin (the 'apostles of a new belief'), even of the assassin Friedrich Adler (the 'martyr' 'from the rubble of a dying world' _),_ and in the hope of 'young people hungry for reform...with no respect for their elders'. The fact that his proposed radical reforms were not accepted (some of which, in the light of the historic situation at the time were also unfeasible) and that the young people had failed him, made him distance himself even more from National Judaism (but not from the fraternity, to whom he owed far too much as a person to reject it), allowing 'doubts about the moral foundations of Zionism' to take hold, as 'perhaps a new intolerant and aggressive nationalism had been brought into existence' by it. Only at the end of his life did he experience a 'strange and passionate rekindling of national emotions'. 89 As Ungar's article on the 'future' of Barissia is the sole essay he wrote on Zionism (also, as far as we know, his very first publication) it is an important document of his socialist attitudes towards the end of the war – but it has also virtually disappeared into obscurity although some excerpts from the programmatic parts are quoted below:

Full of absolute confidence in the strong, dynamic forces which forge the bonds within our fraternity and which, I hope, will bring it to fruition and shape our new life without the need for decisions, declarations and plans, I am now turning to our 'wide public' to comment on the issues which affect us all: the issues about our association. I have noted that out of our circle, the circle which was the 'soul of our fraternity' before the outbreak of war – with the exception of Dr Eckstein (Franz Ekstein) – not one person from this council of elders has stood up and given his thoughts on these matters. And I believe for continuity's sake that this would be of particular interest.

Although I believe that such arguments, debates, decisions and resolutions have no other value than to create clarity on our development, I believe they have little value in influencing our future. For our association will not be shaped by our decisions, but its future will conform to the way our younger members wish it to be. That is a historical necessity. And for that reason our debate now is primarily only academic. The young people will remodel it, will turn those things to dust or drag from the pedestals which we consider to be holy and mighty! Oh, if only we had young people hungry for reform... with no respect for their elders!'

... the young people will ask (clearly and concisely): What do **we** want? And what is the best way to achieve this? And we will answer: We want to educate our young people for life (and here I would almost prefer the military jargon: for service) in Palestine, at the very least for service on behalf of our nation in the Diaspora. And how do we do this?- By nurturing our young people with so much Judaism, endowing them with the courage for Judaism, to encourage pride in their Judaism – to make fulfilling the potential of their existence equal to fulfilling their potential for Judaism. And how are we going to achieve this – by which means? We shall answer: by training in our purpose-orientated organisation, i.e. by an association whose outer form is merely a cover. For the purpose is everything – the form is nothing. (Isn't it true, cross your heart and hope to die, that the name 'the colours' was often just for self-glorification?) So shouldn't this form, which has outlived its purpose, move aside completely to make way for a new spirit? Although it tears a piece out of my heart and my past I say: yes! Certainly!

There is absolutely no doubt between us that the association as it exists today in our sense, the Barissia of 'pre-March' must be razed to the ground if it does not fulfil its purpose – just to rise again in its new form like a phoenix from the ashes.

And now we come to the main question. Does the present form of the association comply with the requirements of our young Jews, are our young Jews able to unfold within it, which support does it offer along the way? Does it provide enough to withstand the most severe storms? (I am still worried about the K. Urbach case.) 90

Meanwhile I don't wish to speak about the past, it is only of historical interest, whereas the present and the future are the burning issues for us. I believe that A.H. Kohner, in his first article which unfortunately I don't have in front of me at the moment, spoke about the war being the re-valuer of all values. These words are being used so frequently now that they have become superficial, no-one thinks about their meaning when saying them. But I can tell you, my people, each and every one of you, that my hopes, my feelings, my perhaps sole hope is that this war really will be the re-evaluator of all values. Let us look over the borders of our issues on Judaism to the issues facing mankind! Look at the apostles of a new belief, at Trotsky and Lenin! A martyr, like Friedrich Adler, will arise from the rubble of a dying world! (One can hold one's own opinions on the issues at hand.) 91

Throughout all the countries of the world the voices of the people will ring out, the oppressed, those classes that have been suppressed for centuries will hold out their hands, transcending all borders, history, language, creed etc and shake hands with others! And we? We want to continue stepping onwards in our colourful caps walking at a dignified pace over the graves – x at the front next to xx, followed by aB.aB, i.a.B, i.a.B, and then the young cubs with serious expressions as if attending rituals, but as the risible bearers of a fossilised, dead custom? Do we still want to wear the costume of Germans (and it is not German at all, but is actually just that German boys invented this uniform) when we meet on particular celebration days? (Oh how proud I was, believe me, to wear these colours!) Do we really want to continue brandishing our sharp sabres and bleed for our honour?...

... and in our innermost thoughts? How we do feel about our precious discipline? Are the perfect powers held by the top people, the relative positions of the boys and the little cubs not actually completely nonsensical? We experienced enough of this blind obedience, the injustices suffered by 'inferior beings' and all its strange excesses in the military, as I thought! Do you really believe there are still people willing to accept these onerous stupidities on a voluntary basis? Aren't the solutions of the new era to be found in Freedom and Equality?... No, these positions to which the members of our association were bound fits into this new era as well as the Prussian Election Rights, the cap, the sash, unconditional satisfaction or the Prussian court traditional ceremonies. And why are we here? Not to recreate philistines who cling fearfully to old rites, to the new holy respect for their elders, officialdom, dignity and the truths which already in our grandfathers' times were regarded as outlived. Are we not here to nurture our young men and encourage them to freely choose their way of life according to their knowledge and their consciences, who have the courage to leave the old, well-trodden but burnt-out paths and become pioneers on virgin soil? We all suffered enough oppression in our lives and we all inherited a large piece of our souls, this willingness to suffer oppression as we didn't have the courage to defend ourselves. We need free spirits without respect! Without being scared to insist on their will, which is our will - and even against the blinkered will of the world! Should we encourage our young people to timidly obey a comrade, just because he happens to have been declared 'mature' by the school thus leaving six months before the others? The part played by the fraternity members should be the same, everyone should enjoy the same rights and entitlements! The new mankind should be free of all vanity – it must be, if needs against the wishes of the old ones. Prejudices will disappear, as well the caps and the sashes, with or without our approval! For a new era is dawning, illuminating the sky from the East – an era of freedom, of equality – of democracy! The German association is nothing but a social club for sons of the German bourgeoisie. The Associations of Young Jews should be - and as a microcosm will be - a nation of proletariats rediscovering its hopes, the good and the pure, saved from centuries of suffering. The spirit of forward-thinking unfettered by rigid rules will reign. Our young people shall not be brought up to defend – but to conquer! And only one thing can enable this – freedom, freedom and freedom again!

I think I have not only spoken about form and shape, but also about content. Despite this, I will add the following. I don't think we need to set up a programme for our 'inner colonisation' I am counting on the inner spirit which exists in our successors, which will indicate the path for them. Mankind will be the evangelism of our young people and our association will become the seedbed for the 'Spirit of Judaism'. (Become, for unfortunately it never achieved its full extent.) Their bodies will be trained by hiking, gymnastics and rowing: that is the spirit of absolute reality. Everyone will get to know Palestine with their own eyes – not just via lectures and maps. For everyone will sacrifice a period, perhaps a year of his life, to work there – whether as a farm labourer or a medical auxiliary. This – and I will propose this concept at the next appropriate opportunity – will be the one year voluntary service for our country. Every year our country will have a flow of young workers and our young people will have made lifelong ties to their country – not just a beautiful dream, but through training for an industrious and oh so happy year.

New doors will open for cooperation with all types of similar associations, particularly with student groups, which will result in continuous close friendships. The various student groups must organise themselves. Cooperation with Ukrainians, Finnish, Latvian, Polish groups etc will also regenerate the nations in the East.

The time for big decisions is drawing near. We must be ready and waiting. Apart from this, something which is perhaps less important: our position in the West will be attacked by severe critics. Therefore we must do away with the minor disputes between the individual associations! A Cartel of Austrian Student Associations must be created. A common leadership, a common newsletter – these are things we need. The Cartel PjV is appealing for reconciliation. I see nothing which separates us from the others. Let us call up 'Bar Kochba' and show the Jewish world what we have learnt from this war. Once the Austrian association has been established, we will fuse with the German KJV and become an even greater organisation. I am not going to go into details on this subject. It will suffice that we put this forward today for discussion.

And now, dear brothers far and wide, I have spoken enough for today. Perhaps I will have the opportunity for another word during the discussion. Believe me, my heart like yours, is unable to comprehend what my common sense is telling me. My heart, too, is full of dreams about the old traditional, colour-bearing association. I feel like a man, who, with tears in his eyes, is pulling down his home with his own bare hands, his home, this dear old cottage in which his forefathers lived, in which he was born and grew up – so that he can build a new house with large wide windows to let the sun's rays and light into the home, with high ceilings and airy spaces instead of dark, cramped rooms which encouraged dreaming and contemplation. It is my great hope that there will be light, sun and fresh air in the new house and space for 'wings of free souls'. And you and I will tell the young people who live in this new home all about our association with its covert romanticism. And I truly believe they will not understand but will laugh at us. I will sit down there and write a letter to Mungo or Medo or Mikron or Baby and praise the good old carefree times. Provided I have become less unwilling to write by then...92

The complex issues which Ungar and other members of Barissia raised were discussed not only in the Barissia newsletters but also at various meetings in Prague and Komotau. It was decided that the final decision on the form the association should take, should be left to the young members. A convent held in Prague on October 13th, on which Ungar had set all his hopes, ended in disappointment for him (the youngest new members failed to attend, most of the activists had become 'old fogies' in the meantime and were uninterested in innovation, some had fallen during the war). Moreover this meeting showed clearly that it would take years to move Barissia forwards and then only by following the old tracks. In fact Barissia was only able to survive the following crisis-laden years by dint of its conservatism which proved attractive for many in this new 'democratic' world – a development which Ungar had not foreseen and which disappointed him terribly. 93

Ungar's attempts at radical reform were doomed to fail because although he was convinced that the old world had come to an end, he had not foreseen the what would happen in the immediate future given its particular conditions – the birth of the new Czechoslovakian State in August 1918 – he seems to take the idea of establishing a Cartel of Austrian Student Associations after the war for granted.

His ideas were therefore overtaken by political developments. The new state of the Czechoslovakian Republic was created on October 28, 1918 in Prague with great celebrations and on December 21 the new State President, Thomas Masaryk entered the city. Ungar found a new home in Prague and soon after also a new mission which suited his ideals and filled the vacuum left by Zionism. This socialist utopia, however, gave way to resignation, a compromise with real feasibility. His radical outlook only came to the fore in his literature.

The following short postscript should be added to Ungar's military service:

As described, in 1918 he was released from military service in Koeniggraetz after being discharged from the hospital in Pardubitz and he then went home. Afterwards he went to Vienna for a short time at the beginning of September. He was registered as living in the Widerhofergasse 5 again from September 2 to 18. 94 There are various reports about the official end of his war service in the Prague archives of the Czechoslovakian Foreign Ministry: November 1st is noted (this is presumably a 'doctored' date) and the more likely alternative is given as December 22nd. He is shown as being allocated to a battery of the newly formed Czech Artillery Regiment No. 11 in Kaschau, Slovakia, on December 1 (after the creation of the new republic) – at the most, however, he would have participated in weapon practice. Ungar was relieved in 1920 with the rank of First Lieutenant of the Reserves, his classification was 'Not in Service'.

V Transitional Times – Prague – Eger – Prague (1918 – 1920)

Am I the only one to have existed in these times, is this fate meant only for me? Do I have a number of names and a number of fates? People split off from me, divide off – do they only exist in my imagination? But they all say!'...1

Confusion and uncertainty were rife in the last days of war and the first days of the post-war period. F.C. Weiskopf wrote an excellent description in _Slovanian Song_ (1931), the 'novel about the final days of Austria and the first years of Czechoslovakia'. This confusion and uncertainty determined Ungar's future when he returned to normal everyday life.

Although the downfall of the monarchy was totally unexpected by Ungar, it was not so difficult for this 'outsider' to bid farewell to Austria. Even if his high-flying socialistic ideals for a new state, the revolutions in Central Europe and the imminent peace talks were soon to be doomed to disappointment, some devastatingly so, he quickly adjusted to circumstances and declared solidarity with the democratic policies of the much admired and pro-Jewish T.G. Masaryk. Confident in the belief that the new Czech Republic would enable the peaceful co-existence of people of different nations and creeds, an example for the rest of the world, Ungar became a loyal citizen of the state and even stayed so when the reality of the new, unexpected and strong chauvinistic and anti-Jewish activities of the Prague based Czech 'patent-leather shoed mob' made him flee, distraught, to Germany. The Barissia had already become involved in the pre-war Austrian elections and supported the candidates of the Realist Party of Masaryk. Ungar himself had found, like many of the literary figures of his generation, access to the newer Czech litature and within the Arco-circle had also made the acquaintanceship of a number of similar-thinking Czechs. During the war he had stood and fought side by side with Czech soldiers and within this enforced relationship had also made friends and learnt that differences are not defined by nationality, but by the class to which the person belongs. These collective experiences left him gazing hopefully into a society of the future, whilst rendering him blind to all the signs and omens which had hung over the country since 1916, since the death of the emperor, signs that 'the Jews would have to serve as the lightning conductor for all social anger and rage due to hunger, the ravages of war, the war profiteering and black marketers.' 2 The multiple changes of residence in the following years, each with its new life perspective, illustrate clearly how ill at ease he was with the new reality and his reactions to the prevailing circumstances in Prague. In addition, more important perhaps, they are also the expression of the fluctuation of his ego-awareness, the conflict between the innermost bourgeois standards of his father's generation, which demanded a secure professional life as a lawyer or civil servant, and his anarchist ideals of an existence as an artist, an author or at least an actor or dramatist. Finally he reaches an unhappy compromise – a life as an author and a diplomat, a representative of the Czechoslovakian State within an estranged German State.

According to the documents in the Prague archives of the Czechoslovakian Foreign Ministry, Ungar started with Dr Arthur Froeschl's Solicitors on September 1, 1918 and on December 1 was nominated as a candidate for the Bar. However after very few months he broke off his training in April 1919 and dedicated himself to his 'literary studies'. It is also questionable whether Ugar had been working since September, i.e. before the end of the war and the removal of the monarchy, as an intern at Dr Froeschl's chambers – reputable legal chambers in Ferdinandstrasse 1 (conscription number 416/I) quite close to the famous Cafe Louvre. From September 2nd to18th he was living in Vienna, Widerhofergasse 5 and gave an address in Brno, not Prague, for deregistering purposes. He presumably went to Prague in November, after the creation of the republic, where he rented a room in the Hotel Palace. This address is given in a document dated November 11th, 3 in which he reported the loss of his diploma and finals certificates. He requested a copy of his PhD certificate on November 12th, it was issued on November 19th, and authenticated on December 2nd. 4 Although the law doctorate was not a prerequisite for employment and application to be a candidate at the Bar, it did of course lend weight at any employment interview. However the submission of this document was mandatory when applying to take the lawyer's examinations, which – at the earliest – was feasible within the 5th year of a 7 year legal practice time.5 Proof is available of Ungar's permanent residence in Prague from November 24 onwards. He lived at Hopfenstockgasse 5 (conscription number 1979/II = 'The Inn of the Golden Dromedary') in Neustadt, and his landlady was Mrs Emilie Nefl. H remained here until his relocation to Berlin.6

When Ungar decided to take up the profession as a lawyer he was complying with the wishes of his father but also with the prevailing circumstances, which no longer permitted a civil service alternative. At the time of the Monarchy it was only possible for Jews to become civil servants if they had protection from high-ranking mentors – but in the early years of the Czechoslovakian Republic it was impossible for a German-speaking Jew to attain such a position. His secret Utopian desire to spend his life as an author seemed more distant than ever, the need to earn his living in the last year of the war and first post-war phase was much more pressing. Thus he was initially delighted to find a position in the chambers of the German solicitor Froeschl.

His daily labour in the chambers, mornings and afternoons, would soon have become very onerous, the stressful working hours in a stilted, dry office atmosphere would have 'left no more time for continuing literary work, walks, lectures, theatre visits, etc.'7 He deliberately told his colleagues in the chambers nothing about his literary aspirations, perhaps his old shyness came to the fore. His colleagues at the chambers and later those at the Escompte Bank, only knew that he was 'an average coffee house frequenter'8 and they never would have understood his exceptional interests and opinions. He also made no friends here. Later he would fittingly mock the pedantic and servile characteristics he experienced in these offices (even though they were traits not exactly unknown to him) in his cutting satire _Tulip_.

Although work left him very little leisure time, Ungar attempted some little prose and offered his work to German newspapers and the new literary journals in Prague. The two prose pieces _Sanatorium_ and _Letter to a Woman_ which appeared in the supplements to the _Praguer Tagblatt_ respectively in July and November 1919, would have been written around this time. He also spent time searching for contacts on the Prague literary scene, forging new friendships and renewing old ones. The post-war years brought the literary circles into a state of constant fluctuation with an initial impression that the pre-war wave of immigration was reversing. Numerous authors, such as Rudolf Fuchs, Willy Haas, Hans Janowitz, Egon Erwin Kisch, Otto Pick or Ernst Weiss settled in Prague or returned to Prague after the demobilisation of the armed forces. Younger authors such as Johannes Urzidil, Melchoir Vischer or F.C. Weiskopf launched their first books via the Prague scene. Yet more, such as Kafka, Brod, Oskar Baum, Ludwig Winder or Hans Demetz, had remained in Prague throughout and returned to Prague during the war. Despite all efforts – including Willy Haas's attempts to rejuvenate the 'Herder Association' – they never achieved a new inclusive Prague literary set. Many of the literary figures left the city again, particularly after the November riots of 1920. Those remaining were mostly too disparate in their approach to life and their opinions to form an effective community of activists. There was no initial forewarning of these negative developments, the literary scene seemed at first to be lively and dynamic, people collected in the cafes, in the Arco, the Continental or the Louvre and Ungar also participated, albeit in the periphery, holding 'long literary conversations' with Hans Demetz in the cafe of the traditional prestigious Graben-Hotel 'The Blue Star' (without however mentioning his literary aspirations) 9 and meeting up with the young Johannes Urizdil who lived with his parents not far from Ungar's apartment. (Gertrude Thieberger, who later married Urzidil, knew Ungar as well).

Ernst Weiss also lived near to the Hopfenstockgasse, in Schulgasse, and he probably got to know Ungar at about this time.10 But Ungar appears to have been closest to Urzidil. Both stood on the threshold of their creative phase and, even though they held different opinions on various matters, they had similar interests, held discussions for hours on end about literary problems and their idols such as Grabbe and Dostoyevsky (both Ungar's favourite authors whose influence on his next work _Boys and Murderers_ cannot be ignored). Urzidil was one of the first of Ungar's colleagues to be permitted to know about the manuscript in 1919 – Ungar himself read parts of it to him, to gain both recognition and criticisms, thus repeating his previous habit of reading aloud to his school friend Viktor Klettenhofer. However, Urzidil was unable to 'relate' to Ungar's stories and revealed much later:

Dr juris Hermann Ungar was a very kind and friendly person. He was by nature very happy and humerous, not a hermit at all. He had mastered the art of entertaining a group of people with all sorts of jokes. He was a passionate fan of the author Grabbe.11

Hermann Ungar read me his first stories in Prague. It would have been in the year 1919, as I was as yet unmarried and still lived under my father's roof. May I state that I did not like these stories at all, however, I was only 23 years old and certainly my attitudes and approaches with regard to thoughts and imagination were quite different from Ungar's.12

The concepts for the two tales _A Man and a Maid_ and _Story of a Murder_ (an attempt to overcome the experiences of childhood and puberty) were probably created during Ungar's time in the legal chambers, but Ungar was only able to complete the work when he decided to cease working for the first-class Froeschl legal chambers (a daring decision given his circumstances), to give up on a legal career which 'was not to his taste'13 and to follow his vocational calling and start on 'literary studies' as of May 1, 1919.

Nothing is known about where Ungar lived or what he did from May 1919 until March 1920. According to documentation from the Prague central archives, which included a passport, he went first to Munich for a few weeks or months. The official reason given for the journey to Munich was that he had to attend an interview for a new job, but the real reason would have been to forge new literary links and contacts as well as to work on his novels. 14 He completed these in Prague during the summer of 1919. 15

In late Autumn 1919 Ungar left Prague it seems, because he thought he had found an occupation in Eger (Cheb), which 'did not clash with his literary work' 16 and which, in addition, fulfilled an earlier dream: the theatre-fan and amateur committed himself for the 1919/20 season as an actor and dramatist to the Town Theatre in Eger, possibly with the help of his influential friend Hans Demetz.

The _Egerer News_ , the most important source of information at this point, mentions Ungar twice on August 20 and September 5, 1919:

Top performers have been recruited for the coming season: Plays and Comedies:

Dr Hermann Ungar – Small Character Parts and Dramatist.

Advance Notice for the Season 1919/1920: Dramatist and Secretary of the Director: Dr Hermann Ungar (also character roles). 17

Letters prove, however, that Ungar was still in Prague during the month of November. According to the research carried out by Eva Zidkovas, which cannot as yet be verified, Ungar's name was not mentioned any more in the culture columns of the _Egerer News_ ('Theatre, music and art').

As this column carried reports on all the most important actors and their roles in the individual plays, we can assume that Hermann Ungar did not play key roles but worked mainly as the dramatist. The repertoire of the theatre contained a great many premieres but these were mainly operettas. Besides minor plays from local authors and the classic dramas (Goethe, Schiller and Shakespeare) the repertoire for the season 1919/20 included dramas from Strindberg (Intoxication, Father), Sudermann (Bonfires, The Honour) and Ibsen (The Master Builder). 18

Thomas Mann only mentions that Ungar 'held the position of the dramatist in Eger'.19 Not only the fact that Ungar is missing from the column in the _Egerer News_ , but also the change of emphasis in the duties and activities in the two articles (in the first he is primarily mentioned as a small character role actor, whilst in the second his position as dramatist and secretary to the director is emphasised), hint that Ungar's thespian dreams and aspirations were not fulfilled. We assume he spent his days in Eger working in the office, with perhaps a few small stage roles occasionally. Although there is little doubt that Ungar did possess acting talents and liked to prove this frequently in private or at semi-private occasions ('He possessed God-given talent of observing and imitating gestures and facial expressions of others using great creativity and accuracy.') 20 he had no training apart from early instructions from the schoolteacher Mayer and his attendance at rhetorical courses at the university. It would have been astounding if the director of the Egerer Town Theatre – one of the few leading German-Bohemian theatres after Prague, Aussig, Reichenberg, Gablonz, Pilsen and Teplitz-Schoenau) – had cast him in character roles in his very first season. He was predestined to become a dramatist and secretary by his expertise and knowledge of literature and office experience during the war and in Dr Froeschl's legal chambers. He would have enjoyed his duties, they complied with his interests and left him sufficient time for his own writing.

According to recollections of Moritz Spitzer, a younger acquaintance from Boskowitz, who later became relatively famous in the new state of Israel as a typographer and Hebraic publisher, Ungar soon bid farewell to the idea of becoming an actor in Eger as he lost faith in his miming ability and feared losing face in front of a larger audience.

(The same sort of fear which prevented Polzer in _The Maimed_ from playing billiards in front of an audience: 'Polzer shrank from allowing the audience to observe his movements.') 21 But Spitzer's claim that Ungar didn't actually take up any acting roles because of this fear is contradicted by other statements and thus is probably just a lapse of memory:

During the time he was living in Prague, he accepted a position as a dramatist in a Sudeten German provincial theatre (Eger?) but never took up the situation after he saw his photos on display during a visit. 22

Despite all rational understanding, Ungar would have viewed the dereliction of his childhood dreams as a personal defeat, which, once again, would have shaken his self-assurance. No outsider would have noticed his disappointment, he acted out a role in front of his friends, playing down his disappointment as Krojanker recalled:

For a short while, moreover, he was an actor is some little town which was part of Austria at the time, 23 although he never took this job seriously. It was probably only an escape for him, as he was unable to give free rein to his literary creativity. [DS.In fact Ungar had already written Boys and Murderers before going to Eger, which according to Krojanker, was regarded as a 'little masterpiece'.] This acting job allowed him to be creative in another form and he seemed to be quite talented.

Although Krojanker's memory appears to be slightly shaky regarding dates, activities and assessments, he was correct in the perception of Ungar's desire to act as an escape, the escape from his own ego, his personal tortures. He saw these urges which gave rise to the frequently noted 'sense of humour', his 'jocularity in society' or rather cynical wit, that both were protective mechanisms of a deep weakness of the ego which could not be identified with his own person.

It is correct that his jocularity in society clearly only covered two issues: that he had to control the situation or remain totally detached from it. It was nothing more than a form of production, resulting from the same urge which had turned him into an actor for a short while. When he was alone with close friends, his image was totally different – that of a desperate, tortured being. 24

We can only speculate on the reasons why Ungar left Eger and the theatre, why he gave up a job, which, with all its limitations, would have matched his aspirations and personality far more than his legal career (he boasted to Alfred Ticho about his 'success with actresses'25) instead accepting the yoke of a bank employee in Prague. The most reasonable explanation would be that idea of his unsuitability as an actor was so distressing that it ruined his belief in himself as a dramatist. We must also not forget the father, Emil Ungar, who had not financed all those years of study in Berlin, Munich and Prague, only to have his son give up a legal career after just a few months to start with the theatre, to join a company of 'itinerant entertainers'.

Emil Ungar would not have needed to exert any personal pressure, this would only have been counter-productive anyway, to bring Hermann back onto the 'rightful path', the bourgeois path. Paternal standards were much too deeply ingrained into the sub-conscience of the son, no matter how much he rebelled against them, the feeling that he owed his father and his family the fulfilment of their expectations would not be quelled in Hermann's mind. Gustav Krojanker identified this conflict between external contempt and internal ties to bourgeoisie with all its values in the person of Modlizki, Ungar's 'deep character'. Krojanker perceived the basic conflict between Ungar as a person and as an author, this

...strange mixture of absolute formlessness, a rebellious rejection of convention combined with a despised acceptance of domination, an enforced existence equal to the security of good behaviour. He possessed a deep social instinct and was unable to handle the self-satisfied traditions of the middleclass. These were the proletariat instincts of the son of a middleclass family, which had become part of him via the middleclass culture of his forefathers .26

Ungar would have been able to stay with the theatre in these conditions if he had achieved a quick, huge success and recognition from his father. But other reasons may also have played a part in his decision to turn his back on his dramatist career: insufficient income, personal conflicts with the director or actors, maybe the anti-Czech chauvinism of the overwhelmingly German population which must have been unpleasant for Ungar. (Anti-Czech activities in Eger in 1920 were then used as an excuse for the November unrest in Prague.) But these would have driven Ungar out of Eger rather than from the stage.

So Ungar was back in Prague in March 1920 at the latest, living once more in Hopfenstockgasse 5/11 with Mrs Nefl.

According to the files at the Czech Foreign Office, Ungar worked from April 1st until September 30th 1920 (an alternative source stated until July 1st) for the German Escompte Company for Industry and Trade, based in the Heuwagsgasse (conscription number 1254/II) which branches off from the Hybnergasse, not far from the Powder Tower and the House of Representatives. The Cafe Arco was only a few steps away. In breaks and after work Ungar would often have been found at the cafe, even though increasingly fewer numbers of the literary circle met there. The building which housed the Escompte bank, at that time one of the most beautiful and prestigious buildings in Prague was used as the seat of the Central Offices of the Communist Party of the CSSR after the Second World War and still stands today, although in a rather dilapidated condition.

The Heuwagsgasse leads into Heuwagsplatz and one can see the tower of the Church of St Henry from the bank.

In Ungar's first novel to be published, _The Maimed_ , which he started to write in the first person singular towards the end of 1920 just after he ceased to work for the bank, he included many of his impressions and experiences from his time as employee of the 'respectable financial institution', 27 the Escompte Bank, so that the lost archived documents are less of an issue than for the period he worked for Dr Froeschl or in Eger. The first chapter of the novel, in particular, which was published by Otto Pick in 1922 and revised in the first person form under the title _The Banker_ in the anthology 'German Authors from Czechoslovakia', throws light on the autobiographical content. Some similarities are obvious: Like Franz Polzer (who was not actually given a name in _The Banker_ ) Ungar lived in a side street, the Hopfenstockgasse 28, and passed a clock tower on leaving the street on his way to work (the clock tower was on the Neustadt town hall) and Ungar's walk to work continued past the Wassergasse, Wenzelsplatz and Heinrichsgasse to Heuwagsplatz which was also mentioned in the novel.29 Like Polzer, Ungar also lived with a 'landlady' Mrs Emilie Nefl – who had the same function as the widow Klara Porges – and similarly to Polzer he moved into the apartment once he had finished his studies and started his career. Such similarities make it very probable that Ungar's description of daily life in _The Banker_ are autobiographically realistic – and portray a similar resigned attitude with which Polzer accepts his unwanted fate:

From the age of twenty onwards I worked for a bank. Every day at quarter to eight I walked to my office. I left home at the same time day after day, never a minute earlier or a minute later. When I walked out of the side street in which my home was located, the clock in the tower struck three times.

During the whole period of my employment, I changed neither my job nor my home and I still live in the same house today. I moved in when I graduated and started work. My landlady was a widow, similar in age to me. When I moved into her house, she was still undergoing the year of mourning for her spouse.

In all the years in which I was employed, I never spent a morning on the street – except for on Sundays. I never experienced weekday mornings when the shops were open with the hustle and bustle of the crowds. I never missed a day's work in the bank.

The streets I walked on during the early mornings always looked the same. The shutters were being drawn up on the shop windows. The commis stood around in front of doors awaiting the arrival of their bosses. Every day I met the same people – schoolboys and schoolgirls, ageing and jaded clerks, ill-tempered men hurrying to their offices. I walked amongst them, the people of that time of day, hurrying along, detached and ignored, just one of many.

And the whole time I never gave a thought to the fact that I had never actually fulfilled the hopes and aspirations which connected me to my career.

I had told myself that with effort, application and hard work I would achieve a high management position in my profession. But this ambition is now forgotten. I forgot it with all the little, unimportant activities which had taken over my days from the very start.

I got up in the mornings, washed, dressed, scanned the papers whilst eating my breakfast, then walked to the bank. I sat down at my desk on which reams of paperwork were piled, and reconciled the figures with the entries in the books on the shelves all around me. I had to initial every sheet of paper I read and then place it in a file. In my room and in other rooms around me men and women sat at desks like mine. The smell of these men and women, the sounds of their boring activities and conversations droned through the whole building. I was eminently capable of carrying out my work. It offered no opportunities of showing ability or excellence and therefore no chance of attracting the attention and recognition of my superiors.

At lunchtime I ate at a small inn close to the bank. My afternoons were spent in the same way as my mornings. At six in the evening I tidied the documents and pencils on my desk, locked the drawer and went home. My widowed landlady brought a simple supper up to my room. I took off my shoes, jacket and collar. After eating my supper I read the newspaper from front page to back page. Then I went to bed. I seldom had dreams. But when I dreamt, I dreamt that I had forgotten my initials, which I had to write hundreds of times every day, that my hand was paralysed or that my pencil would not write. I remember the latter most of all, as it was probably my most frequent dream.

The next morning I got up as I had got up every other previous morning and began my day again, a day which was spent like every other day. Sometimes I was morose and bad-tempered, but I never realised that there was an alternative to sitting at my place at the bank every day – that perhaps I might get up a little later, go for a walk through the streets, breakfast on two eggs in a glass in a cafe and take lunch in a good restaurant.' 30

**(Note from translator:** 'two eggs in a glass' is a lovely Bavarian/Austrian tradition: two boiled eggs, peeled, then put into a normal glass tumbler on a small tray with salt/pepper cellars, a teaspoon and some crunchy rolls. You mash up the eggs with the teaspoon, adding salt/pepper or even some mayonnaise – and either spread it on your rolls or spoon it straight into your mouth! The trick is: - you can read the newspapers at the same time! The spines of the newspapers are attached to long sticks with a hook on the top, hung up in the restaurant – the long sticks keep the paper open and flat/unfloppy and you can eat with one hand/hold the paper with the other!!! Great stuff!)

The observation cited as being obvious from the very first pages of _The Maimed_ is also quite appropriate here: the similarities between the first person narrative in _The Banker_ , which without any interruption or irritation are obviously an autobiographical report, verify the assumption that Ungar was inspired to write the novel by his own experiences as a banker. From the exposition, with its realistic description of everyday life and the personality of Franz Polzer reflects Ungar's own situation during his months at the Escompte Company. But then the novel expands into both the fantastic and traumatic and moves away from the outward – but not inward – realities of the author's life. And even later there are reminiscences of the concrete reality of this era, with Ungar's regular Sunday walks from the Hopfenstockgasse via Karlsplatz to the Moldau quays and then further to a cafe in the Old Town (mostly the Conti) where he played billiards:

Franz Polzer had the habit of taking a certain walk on Sunday afternoons. He left the house at four o'clock, crossed the Karlsplatz, walked to the quays and then continued along the river bank. At certain spots he stopped and stared at the river. Then he turned away into the centre of the town.

At five o'clock he entered a small cafe and sat at a table in the billiard room. He watched the players. Watching the game put him into a better mood. He watched the smooth ball roll over the green baize and listened to the light clunk on impact. He also observed the movements of the players, as they stretched over the edges of the table and prepared to hit the ball. He attentively counted the points achieved by each player. He hoped that one of them would be able to achieve an endless series of pockets, he held his breath with every hit and was both disappointed and upset when they

failed. 31

Polzer was unable to take his usual Sunday afternoon walk along the embankment that summer. How he loved that walk. The river was always full of people bathing and swimming, rowing boats or enjoying the trip on the steamers. From the island would come the sounds of the concert given by the military band. Polzer would stroll along between family groups and individuals walking along to quays. He seldom saw a face he did not recognise – sometimes he met neighbours from the street, perhaps someone from the bank or from the cafe. He walked slowly, watching his polished shoes shining in the sunlight... right up to the theatre (Czech National Theatre). Then he would turn towards the town and go into the cafe.32

There would certainly have been a realistic background to the story of Polzer's excursions to Kuschelbad and Troja, or his later walks upriver along the banks of the Moldau – but the description of the oppressive office atmosphere is most telling:

The air in the little room was heavy, my hands were damp with sweat and work, my fingers left marks on the documents. It was forbidden to open the window because the door was partially open and it might have caused a draught which blew the papers around on the desks. The big house, full of little offices and big rooms, hummed with the noise of conversations, constant footsteps down corridors or on the stairs, the monotonous tapping of the machines producing blue-inked typed lettering on white paper. 33

Ungar's bank colleagues were reflected in the characters in his works, such as Wodak, Fogl or the company secretary, so it is feasible that other characters, such as the student or Doctor Heinrich Ehrmann (who bears a marked resemblance to Ernst Weiss) were also taken from real acquaintances from Ungar's last stay in Prague – but this is pure speculation.

Ungar found little time to write during his six months at the Escompte Conmpany bank. It is part of the tragedy of the writer's life that due to the eternal conflict between profession and vocation (or the conflict between adapting and rebelling) his literary work could only be created during transitional periods or during vacations. The fact that his output remained small might perhaps result in part from the great many scruples and burdens he harboured, with the feeling of literary responsibility which grew with his success. But it had far more to do with his inability to synchronise profession and vocation, as well as his powerlessness in the face of the middle-class aspirations and demands of his father. He was incapable of freeing himself to start life as a free author.

But still Ungar continued to forge his literary contacts in his time as a bank employee (it was around now that the first met Ludwig Winder) and he also made preparations for publishing his first book. At the end of 1920 he brought out two stories _A Man and a Maid_ and the _Story of a Murder_ under the joint title _Boys and Murderers_ , which were published by E.P. Tal & Co in Vienna, the publishing house for young Austrian authors. The multi-faceted Carl Seelig, editor and relatively autonomous 'dormant shareholder' of Ernst Peter Tal (who was formerly the editor at S. Fischer and who established the new publishing house which bore his name in April 1919), who we assume paved the way for the publication of Ungar's first book.34.

As to be expected with a new author, there had been many unsuccessful attempts to secure a publisher for this novel. In August 1919 Ungar approached the Viennese Expressionist Fritz Lampl to offer him the novel _A Man and a Maid,_ which at that time had the working title of _Pathway and Awakening of Evil_ for the Cooperative Publishing House (Vienna and Leipzig). This publishing house had been recommended to Ungar by Ernst Weiss, whose drama _Tanja_ had just appeared in the second annual edition of _New Daimon_ (1919) published by Lampl. (In 1920 the Cooperative Publishing House published an additional journal for the newspaper _The Campanions_ , Year 3, Journal No. 9, which contained the short novel _Stars of the Demons_ , the novel _Franta Zlin_ and the poem _The Colourful Demon_ ). 35

Ungar travelled to Vienna in the late summer of 1920 on business related to the forthcoming publication of _Boys and Murderers_ by the Tal Verlag, where, according to information from Margarete Ungar, the widow of the author, he met by pure coincidence with Dr F Havlicek, a friend of Jan Masaryk and acquaintances from Prague. 36 Havlicek, who hitherto had been 1st Secretary of the Czech Minister President under Vlastimil Tusar, was supposed to move to Czech Embassy in Berlin in the New Year, to take up a position as Embassy Councillor. Vlastimil Tusar had been appointed the 1st Extraordinary Ambassador and Minister of the Czech Republic in Berlin. Evidence of Havlicek's and Tusar's personalities can be taken from the letter of introduction written by the German Ambassador in Prague in December 1920 to the Berlin Foreign Office, announcing Havlicek's and Tusar's arrival:

Mr Havlicek completed philosophical studies at the University of Vienna some years ago. He speaks perfect German and regards German science, German philosophy and German music as his intellectual background. As far as possible for a man of Czech origin, Mr Havlicek is not chauvinistic and, like his former and future superior, perceives Germany as the decisive country for the rebirth of Europe. 37

Havlicek, who was both interested in literature and well-read, took an active part in the literary plans for the banker Ungar in Vienna and attempted to motivate him to give up his position in the Escompte Bank in Vienna, which fulfilled neither his ambitions nor a literary existence, and to move with him to the embassy in Berlin.

The situation took a fairy-tale turn: Dr Havlicek must have seemed like a saviour to the failed lawyer and dramatist, someone who was freeing him from the curse of his daily life to which he had already partially succumbed. And naturally this event was incorporated into the novel started just a while later. With a slight literary adaptation, it appears when Polzer meets the 'dark-haired doctor' Ehrmann. The doctor is the sole character in _The Maimed_ who comprehends Polzer's weaknesses, still respects him and attempts to intervene positively in his life (even though his efforts actually achieve the opposite) – not out of pity, he stresses, but to realise Polzer's potential image as he sees it:

I want to make my vision come true. I know nothing of you. But I think you come from a good middleclass, provincial home. Your father would have been a respected merchant in your home town... I assume that your family became poor and that you, perhaps too feminine in your upbringing, did not possess the strength to find employment which would guarantee an income appropriate to your standard of living and background. 38

The doctor wants to help Polzer, but helps him in the wrong way – as becomes obvious during the story's development - by providing him with new clothing. Polzer loses his job with the bank and, with it, all security (by September 30th at the latest Ungar had left the Escompte-Bank). Although Ungar found a more prestigious job in Berlin, 'a well-fashioned new suit'39, he still failed to find the solution to his conflict between his 'bread and butter' job and his writing which he had initially hoped for (and enthusiastically anticipated as his first book was about to appear in print). His life in Berlin would comply with the aspirations of his father,40 but not with Ungar's wishes.

After handing in his notice at the bank, Ungar remained in Prague up to the end of the year, dedicating himself completely to his new novel. His decision to take Havlicek's advice and move to Berlin would have been made during this period and preparations were apparent. His expectations of a more prestigious but less time-consuming position in Berlin was one enticement, the other lay in filling the vacuum left by the political Zionism with personal commitment for Masaryk's democratic policies and also in contributing to the understanding between the Germans and the Czechs. Despite all the disappointments he had experienced in Berlin as a student, in Ungar's eyes Berlin still remained the focus of German-language literature, offering the greatest opportunities for a young author who had just published his first book. Material reasons strengthened his decision to flee from Prague, as life had become difficult 'for a German author, whose works were published in Germany [or Austria: DS] and who was paid in Marks [or Austrian crowns: DS] in 'a country with a higher value currency.'41 If Ungar was not prepared to give up his dream of living as a freelance author, he would have to leave Prague. And, last but by no means least, awaiting him in Berlin were his friends Gustav Krojanker and Ludwig Pinner (the latter however, emigrated to Palestine in 1921).

And, if all these reasons were collectively insufficient to sweep away any doubts, his decision to move to Berlin would have been finalised by the November riots in Prague. Of course Ungar could not have failed to notice that the post-war 'national jubilation' only slightly held back the 'increasing anti-Semitic tide', which even Masaryk's programmatic clarifications of the Jewish issues was unable to prevent and which was taking on increasingly threatening forms. 42 His own contacts to Czech artists hid the actual level of the escalation, which included 'numerous anti-Jewish activities'. (In addition, since 1914 stories about denunciations were making the rounds, caused by the miserable conditions of social deprivation, and focussing on Jews who made fortunes capitalising on the war, black-marketeering, fanned by the flames of Czech chauvinism which demanded that the city be 'cleansed' of German Jews. 43) The severe anti-Semitic demonstrations which shook Prague from November 16th to 19th 1920 were a blow, for which he was completely unprepared. The appropriation of the German State Theatre, which was occupied on November 16th by a group of Czech actors was particularly devastating for him, an unlawful action which was not revoked later. It must have been a similar blow for all theatre enthusiasts 'a shock to their inner souls, a decisive blow to their lives', as it was for Ernst Weiss, who had admired his girlfriend Rahel Sanzara here in her Wedekind roles:

It was the only stage which I really loved, it was something irreplaceable.

Mozart operas performed under the direction of Zemlinsky, the impressions left by Rahel Sanzara's performances in Wedekind's dramas are unforgettable. And not just for me. I would not have been the only person who walked past the old theatre with bitter feelings in my heart. Normally I am not afflicted with sentimentalism. But I felt unable to live any longer in city where such things could take place. One needs to be able to breathe. One cannot breathe in an atmosphere without law and without freedom. 44

F.C. Weiskopf gave an accurate description of the November riots in his novel _The Slovakian Song_ :

For three whole days the city centre of Prague echoed with the protest declarations of the 'patent-leather shoed crowd', who had raised the blue-white-red flag over the Deutsches Haus, destroyed the offices of the German newspapers, ravaging the German schools and clubs in their search for hidden pictures of the emperor and beaten up German-speaking passers-by. The German State Theatre was occupied by demonstrators and then handed over to the Czech Actors' Club as retaliation and 'retribution for past injustices and brutality'. No document remained untouched in the archives of the Jewish Town Hall in the former Jewish town. Small bonfires fed with Hebraic parchments burnt the whole day in front of the 'old new Jewish school'. Like the earlier demonstrations, this 'declaration of national awareness' (as the elders of the city described these events) 45 was both anti-German and anti-Semitic. 46

These November events did not rekindle Ungar's resentment against the Czech nationalists, like Weiskopf he recognised the deeper reasons for the riots which also gave rise to the December strike: the class divisions and social injustices which Masaryk had promised to erase. But they reinforced his desires to contribute actively to the establishment of the new state. This cognitive approach, however, could not change the fact that Ungar found it impossible to breathe in Prague. So he was happy to serve his country from Berlin. But he was unable to escape the developing self-hatred, tortured questions about his ego-value which also beset Kafka in those days in November:

I spend every afternoon in the streets, bathing in the hatred of Jews. 'Mangy race of dogs!' I heard them say of Jews. Isn't it understandable that one leaves a place, where one is so hated? (Zionism or national feeling is really not necessary as a reason)? The heroism which makes one stay is comparable to that of cockroaches hiding under the bath. 47

Ungar's internal feelings were somewhat different from the extreme reactions exhibited by Weiskopf and Kafka around New Year 1920/21: he didn't turn to communist party ideologies or return to the concept of non-integration or loss of the homeland. Instead Ungar left Prague and Czechoslovakia, but stayed loyal to his changing mother country. He left without the bitterness which lay in the hearts of so many other Prague writers but with hopes of finding happiness at last in Berlin.

Prior to November his first book _Boys and Murderers_ appeared in Vienna and he read the first critiques in Prague. His journey into the outside world and public recognition was about to commence.

Excursus 1 _Boys and Murderers -_ Reception

Seldom is the first book from a young, unknown author received with such outright enthusiastic praise as that accorded to Ungar's slim volume _Boys and Murderers_ which was published at the end of 1920 by E.P. Tal & Co. (Leipzig, Vienna and Zurich). It is even rarer that this literary success with the critics rests on one sole bench-marking review: Thomas Mann's critique in the May 29th 1921 edition of the Berlin _Vossische Zeitung_ paved the way for the book and its author into the favour of the literary circles – thus reinvigorating the interest of the general reading public to such a degree that this initial volume also become Ungar's best selling book. _Boys and Murderers_ was also the only book of Ungar's to be republished during his lifetime as a second edition. The first edition of 2000 copies was sold so quickly after Mann's review that the publisher arranged for another 2000 to be produced in 1922. (A great many copies of this second edition remained unsold and the Rowohlt Verlag, who became Ungar's publisher in 1922, were given the remaining stock.) _Boys and Murderers_ was the only book to be translated into both Czech and French: in 1926 the Prague Verlag A. Kral published it as _Hosi a vrahove_ (translated by Jan Grmela) and in 1927 Gallimard in Paris published _Enfants et Meurtriers_ (copyright 1926, translated by Guy Frisch-Estrangin).

With great pride in his new discovery, Thomas Mann began his review with the comment that he had until now 'seen no acknowledgement, no recognition of this initial work'. 1 However Ungar's _Two Stories_ had already been reviewed, albeit in Prague, where all three of the largest German-language newspapers had published critiques: in the _Deutsche Zeitung Bohemia_ and the _Prager Tagblatt_ on December 12, 1920 immediately after the volume was published: as well as on April 1, 1921, in the _Prager Presse_ (the government newspaper established in March 1921). All three reviews would not have appeared without influential support. Apart from the goodwill which a German-speaking author in Prague could expect from German-speaking critics in Prague, Ungar was already on good terms with Ludwig Winder ( _Bohemia_ ) and Otto Pick ( _Prager Presse_ ). Furthermore E.P. Tal had published a book by Walter Tschuppik ( _Prager Tagblatt_ ) at about the same time called _The Czechoslovakian Revolution_ and the young author would have personally asked all three editors to review his volume. But this fact will have little bearing on the first positive reactions to _Boys and Murderers_.

Ludwig Winder, who came from a similar background to Ungar and shared his intellectual attitude, followed all further developments in Ungar's literary path with great interest and reviewed many of his new works in _Bohemia_. Winder also penned an obituary to Ungar in the same publication. 2 His first critique was brief and formed part of a collective review, which also included Ernst Sommer's _Rebellion_ (Sommer's talent seemed to Winder to be 'less capable of development than... Ungar's highly interesting talent') :

Hermann Ungar, a new author, debuts with a volume called Boys and Murderers..... encompassing two stories of similar intensity and powerful illustrative performance. They are both discernible, mature and calm, without being too smooth, and provide insight into the author's unusual imagination. The author shows a strong Dostoyevsky influence – evident from the technical approach and the subject. But the diction is that of the author. The whole image is unique and the literary impact is so obvious that one is extremely hopeful for the future of the author. The books is – come what may – a rare, exciting show of talent. 3

Walter Tschuppik reviewed _Boys and Murderers_ together with Josef Weinhuber's anthology of poems _The Lonely Person._ His critique was more concrete than Winder's and he stressed the 'simple, clear, often dry language with liberal use of commas to heighten the suspense and secondary paragraphs to clarify any doubts' which rendered feasible 'the most terrifying and romantic situations'. These were, in fact, exactly the divergences of language and content which typified Ungar's style and which were later perceived by so many other critics to be the main features of his prose. Tschuppik classified Ungar as one of the new 'young generation' which _,_ 'bored of aesthetic affectedness strove to form a common, clear, transparent and concise language, similar to that used by the great French novelists since Flaubert's time.' Each of the two stories was for Tschuppik 'a small masterpiece, which can be examined from all sides without discovering a flaw'. And indeed this flawlessness, which bears witness to the author's skilled, tenacious and stubborn work, was in and paradoxically (in Tschuppik's eyes) a flaw.

One might even hope to find a small error in each of the two stories, a pea-sized hole in the stocking, a little blemish, just so that one could say: that is reality! One recalls the gentleman with the monocle screwing his eyes up tight to hold the monocle in place. If only it had fallen out just once! Then one could have said, he wears it in a casual and easy-going way! 4

Otto Pick introduced _Boys and Murderers_ in a collective review as evidence of the 'richness of prestigious German cultural creativity.... which, despite everything is rooted in the colourful mixture of national states', together with new works by Winder ( _Kasai_ ), Leutelt ( _About the Isar Mountains_ ), Kisch ( _Adventure in Paris_ ) and Tschuppik ( _The Czechoslovakian Revolution_ ). One year later Pick would also incorporate the same authors (with the exception of Tschuppik) in his anthology _German-Language Writers from Czechoslovakia_. Ungar was represented with the first chapter of _The Maimed_ ( _The Bank Teller_ ), Pick perceived a totally gripping feature in Ungar's stories as 'the clear determination to achieve unconditional factualness' _,_ he saw them as 'mature art', 'unsentimental, strangely detached, avoiding sensationalism although the material yearned for it'. His critique emphasised the two 'I-narratives' (first person singular):

A Man and a Maid was the title of the first story, which deals with revenge for humiliations suffered in the past – much the same as the second story, Story of a Murder. In both cases all the miseries suffered by an underprivileged person, disadvantaged by fate, are pummelled into a shape which is then hurled against mankind. But the wretchedness of the child living in a sanatorium surrounded by senile, mumbling old people, and the deprivation of the hunchbacked young apprentice result in direct hatred of mankind, of certain human beings who are not actually hated by the underprivileged, but rather subjected to envy, defiance, even yearning for their inviolate lives. In both stories the narrator commits the crime... but everything happens in unconscious way, as if orchestrated by merciless fate. ...Ungar sheds light into the depths of lonely souls, his reports of the criminal cases are unembellished, are not case reports as such, more excerpts from the comedy of life. The author comprehends the grotesque meanderings of misanthropes, the tricks that life plays on people with a miserable existence, but he also understands the moments of liberty achieved by revolting against the power of such fate.' 5

Despite individual reviews, 5 _Boys and Murderers_ only achieved fame outside Prague through Stefan Zweig and Thomas Mann. Zweig's joint review of Ungar's novel together with Emil Lucka and Raoul Auernheimer appeared in the Viennese _Neue Freie Presse_ , and gave unlimited praise:

Emil Lucka and Raoul Auernheimer - both names that are well-known to the public. Now comes a third name, that of Hermann Ungar, which should only be seen in combination with an exclamation mark, punctuation to arouse attention! For this apparently young man has provided proof of masterful qualities with his two novels Boys and Murderers. With a creativity that sends shivers down one's spine, the author relates the fate of two people in a clear, cold, yes almost brutal language and with an intensity that only truly great author achieve. With steeliness, no soft indulgences, he wields the horrific tool of psychology and plunges it into the core of their being. The reader hesitates, catches his breath, shivers as he reads – and still the author's cruel hand pushes further into the feverish victim. The reader is engulfed in the story and cannot put the book down until he has read the last page. In my opinion this is one of the best books produced in Austria or Germany over the last few years. Perhaps it is a little premature to mix delight with prophesies, but I still think that this new name heralds a great deal of hope and anticipation. 7

Although Zweig wrote his review before his first, chance meeting with the 'charming Hermann Ungar', 8 he was not entirely unbiased, since the novels had been brought to his attention by a childhood friend, Camill Hoffmann, who had worked together with Hermann Ungar in Berlin. As the date of the review is uncertain, we cannot state whether or not it predated Thomas Mann's review. Zweig's influence, although great, could never have the same impact as Mann's critique, as Zweig's activities concentrated on Austria. In 1928 the Rowohlt Verlag used another quotation from Zweig in their promotions:

The exclamation mark behind his name! Here we see a demonic knowledge of the inner workings of the soul combined with an unrelenting, clear, brutal and incisive art of illustration. Unceasing sympathy with the creature contrasts brilliantly with the almost primitive merciless build-up of the novel. Very few young authors nowadays have the ability to create such daring novels. There is no-one as important to literature as this young author, to whom I feel obliged to express thanks and appreciation. 9

In 1923 Zweig went on to introduce the novel _The Maimed_ in the _Neue Rundschau_.

Ungar himself contrived his discovery in Germany. In March 1921 – he had been living in Berlin since the beginning of the year – he approached the very influential Thomas Mann by means of a long letter expressing his long-term admiration of the author and requesting a meeting.10 In April 1921 he repeated his request, as is shown in the entry in Thomas Mann's diary dated April 22:

Continued work on the 'Walpurgis Night' chapter. Spoke with Klawdia. Received a letter from Dr Ungar, who – of course – wishes me to review his two stories. I shall do so...This evening I read Ungar's Boys and Murderers.11

On the very next day, on April 23rd, Mann wrote to Ungar and confirmed that he would like to review the book. On May 29th an essay appeared in the _Vossische Zeitung_ which immediately ensured Ungar's fame. Thomas Mann, who often indiscriminately praised others without hesitation, took this review so seriously, however, that he included it in his _Collective Works,_ in the volume _Efforts: New Series of Collective Writings and Small Essays._ 12 This in itself underlines the integrity of the praise and his real desire to encourage the young, unknown author whose stories 'made such an impact on him':

If one considers the difficulties facing new talent today – much greater difficulties than perhaps twenty years ago – one feels compelled to help where one can, where perhaps disheartenment might prevent good and better things being created. Is this not the most wonderful entitlement for those to strive to achieve the best – to praise where praise is due?

If they are read carefully, it becomes clear why Mann found Ungar's stories so pleasing, also why he felt the urge to review them thoroughly, providing an opportunity to reflect on militarism as a mental/behavioural symbol with the use of 'humane' to denote humanitarian. Mann was convinced, with the evidence of Ungar's devoted letters, that he had gained a pupil, a disciple, who possessed the same 'creativity derived from the East', which perceived this 'mental extreme, eccentric, even grotesque in the core of mankind', treated this 'human behaviour in an accurate, balanced, responsible way' as the 'spirit of conscientiousness'. He scarcely hid his pride in his new mentor/mentee relationship:

The first books from this young author do not deny their Russian influence – it is evident in their enthusiasm for life, their soft but brutal approach to human behaviour. The power Dostoyevsky yields over the European youth of 1920 is at work here. One also recognises the dependency on the highly talented German creative figureheads – allowing freedom for the mentees to live their own lives, whilst the mentor supports them fully without hesitation or nervousness. The fruits of their labour, through which they hope to become famous, are frightening. They mostly turn out to be 'minor fruits'. But here are consequences which honour their sources – inasmuch as they can be regarded as consequences. And these are the ones that allowed us to sense with shock the unforeseeable greatness, beauty and power of their literary impact, a life-defining influence. 13

It reflects the same affinity which Stefan Zweig also felt towards Ungar. Eduard Schroeder noted the coincidences in his _Means of uncovering a terrible, stylistically similar militantly-taut psychology_ , but set Ungar higher than those who paved his way:

The fact has to be stressed that the results of this mental rollercoaster to hell described by this young author is much deeper, much more serious and shocking than the efforts of the two mentors who helped him to fame. 'More shocking' because the more violent parts of Death in Venice and The Magic Mountain were tamed by calming words, 'more decisive and spiritual' than the sensation-orientated novels of Stefan Zweig.' 14

The synergies between Mann and Ungar lay in their 'spirit of conscientiousness', in their 'elevated feeling of responsibility for the fixed word'. 15 Mann suspected that Ungar matched his definition: 'An author is a person to whom writing presents greater difficulties than other people'. 16

Thomas Mann thought the first of the two stories, _A Man and a Maid_ was 'less mature than the other', the 'colourless and clichéd love lesson at the end' irritated him, as according to his opinion 'the intellectual pacifism of the young in 1918 deployed a very different language', but he recapitulated the content very carefully. 'Relegated to the shadows', as he put it, 'by the story of the murder':

This story, carved out of more solid wood than the first, is funnier, deeper, more liberal – in short a little, budding masterpiece, rich in spiritual connections, in symbolism, in experiences of suffering, comedy and pain, in polite daring statements and shaping mysterious creations. One senses: this stems from fulsomeness, a collection of talents as a prelude to deeds –this will not be the last we hear about it.

Mann did not write further about the 'retelling of a internally entwined.. story', he just pointed to 'Dostoyevsky-type traits', born openly by the 'General' (although it is quite true that the talent of imitation is seen by the youth as a talent in itself – thus giving rise to something called 'original imitation'). Instead he assessed the 'moralising hero and key figure within the story, this weakling with a passion for obedience, his unfortunate love of the soldier's life, despite severe psychological difficulties' as a 'very direct, experienced and moving figure'. Mann's derogative comments on the 'intellectual motives of a military life, which somehow managed to take over the novel' are far from pertinent, he used Ungar's text solely as an excuse for making 'his own observations as an a-political person'. Even his thoughts on the meaning of the word 'human' ('nothing living stems from ''goodness'' ') culminated in a Nietzsche quotation and were only indirectly connected with the _Story of a Murder._ One received the impression that Mann favoured the second story mainly because it provided him with an opportunity to air his views on the various issues he was dealing with at the time. However he still formulated 'the two words in praise of our story':

It is a real demonic conclusion. The scene which immediately precedes the murder of the 'stranger' and which prepares one mentally for it, this drunken spree where the pregnant woman pours wine over the sex of the young man tied up in ropes in front of the general and his executioner, the hunchbacked barber, then throws herself onto the floor in the agony of labour. Is this a singularly courageous and inspirational work of art, a vision which has made a long-lasting impression on me?' 17

Thomas Mann's lengthy article, with the all-encompassing admiration of _Boys and Murderers_ during the lifetime of the author, his virtually unconditional praise, so delighted the unknown writer that he sent an immediate letter of gratitude to Munich on the following day, May 30th 1921. On June 1st Mann noted in his diary: 'Received a long moving letter of gratitude from Ungar, as my article has already been printed in the _Vossische Z_. It gave me great pleasure, as did the delight of the young author.' 18 This letter survived and is reproduced below in its entirety, not only because it displays the delight of the young author, but also gives insight into the strict conditions Ungar set himself when writing, into his self-doubts, his feeling of responsibility for the words he used and his constant striving for recognition:

Highly esteemed Mr Mann!

How can I find the words to express my gratitude to you on the publication of your review of my book in the Vossische Zeitung yesterday. Gratitude, delight, pride in the fact that you, whose praise and recognition means so much to me, have seen fit to grace my first book with such a long article, particularly that it provided you with an opportunity to voice some valid comments. I am so proud and delighted that you gleaned inspiration from my small book. I have, myself, gained much inspiration and enlightenment from you, therefore I would like to emphasise that you, your encouragement, your words of support, have not been wasted on a thankless being. Only one cloud has appeared in an otherwise flawless heaven of delight so enjoyed by my young uninhibited soul – the doubts about my future creativity. Will all the hopes and aspirations be fulfilled? Will it match your expectations? Will my talent suffice once it is no longer fed by childhood experiences? When I write as an adult man? Master, I would give so much to be able to sit in front of you for just one hour and listen to you. I believe, I would be able to judge myself against your strength. I have no knowledge, am foundering in the dark with my doubts, often in desperation.

Never, I believe, will I be as happy in my future creative career as I was yesterday. It was the very first time, believe me, that I was acknowledged by a person whose works and person I have revered since my earliest childhood and whom I humbly admire and love. The very first time! I behaved like a young boy yesterday, not at all like a famous author and, if it hadn't been so late in the month, I might have splashed out on a bottle of good wine. Please don't be annoyed about my unserious attitude and behaviour - nor about the fact that I am not in the least ashamed about it.

I confirm everything you stated in your article. How right you are in your comments about the conclusion of the first story and how mild (and wise!) your statement about my mentee status and dependencies. Your remarks about the 'responsibility way' and 'the spirit of conscientiousness' made an impact on me. It is a problem which I am attempting to address at the moment. Of course I doubt whether I can currently deploy the third person singular the 'He-form' and you yourself prefer to use the first person singular 'the I-form'. It always seems to me as if the things, which you correctly state are so important to me, would become obsolete if they were divorced from me with the use of the 'He-form'. That is why the novel which I started with a narrative in the 'I-form' remains unfinished: I started to rewrite it in the 'He-form' this however requires quite a different approach. It seems as if much in the novel would be lost, a certain sadness which lay over the whole story – and then you also have the careful statements, the last uncertainties. (All this is naturally due to my lack of technical knowledge.) I would dearly love to travel to Munich and discuss all this with you. Unfortunately this is totally impossible at the moment, due to my professional commitments given to me by God.

One more thing before I close: your comments about 'militarism' being human symbolism were really illuminating. Isn't the urge to obey equal to the urge for unconditional freedom? I was a soldier and at the time – on the front lines – was more anxious about the fate and wellbeing of my colleagues than about my own. At the time I was anti-military, a revolutionary, politics are passé for me, but a soldier's life (not militarism*) is something I relate to and I feel I must write about this in the future.

Revered Master, I am so happy, so delighted that my name can now be mentioned in the same breath as your own. I am incredibly proud of this fact. I have only one other wish – that you remain close to me in future. Anything I can do to further this, I will do.

With the greatest gratitude and respect, always your

Hermann Ungar

*That is definitely a political expression!' 19

Thomas Mann did, indeed, remain close to his admirer in the following years and they got to know each other well. 20 Due to his disgust about 'that revolting book' _The Maimed_ , however, Mann never ever wrote another review during Ungar's lifetime, apart from a literary letter for American readers in 1923, in which he mentioned the _Boys and Murderers_ review and labelled the new novel a 'monomanic confusion of internal pure creativity'. 21 But in 1930 he wrote the introduction to the posthumous volume _Colbert_ ' _s Journey_ and in 1932 he wrote a letter to B. Fucik stating that 'this certain Prague charisma of modern prose... had always attracted him':

I only need to mention the names of Werfel, Franz Kafka, Max Brod, Hermann Ungar and Ludwig Winder to prove the importance of these names in modern prose. 22

Hermann Ungar thanked his mentor in 1925 with a lengthy psychological- graphological study in the _Literary World_ entitled _The Secrets Disclosed by the Manuscripts of the Author_. _A glance into Thomas Mann's_ study.

The affect of Thomas Mann's review can – as already shown – hardly be overestimated. Within the field of possibility for Ungar's laborious and severe prose, it paved the way for the young author's literary breakthrough. Right up until the present day, one never reads anything about Ungar without hearing about Mann's review and the young author's fame soon spread to other countries. In Holland, Nico Rost introduced to hitherto 'onbekenden schrijver' as 'een auteur von grooter, bijna angstwekkend-geniales aanlag', as a 'waarachtiger kunstnaar'.23 The German press, which had up to then totally disregarded Ungar, now praised his novels calling upon the authority of Thomas Mann. The praise was so loud that the reviewer for the _Berlin_ _Tage-Buch_ felt the urgent need to pray that 'Ungar is preserved from fame and posterity'.

The _Tage-Buch_ critic celebrated the 'robust novel which penetrates deep into the dark areas of the soul', the 'shocking disclosures of the ultimate human urges' as 'proclaiming and predictive':

A Man and a Maid and Story of a Murder are the names of the two stories, of which the first is the richer in interaction, in content and in locality, whereas the second is profounder, more essential and enigmatic. They make up the first book written by a young Austrian author who has the ability to analyse the process of manhood, of masterfulness, of the awakening of base cruel instincts, of scourging compulsive desires, but who also has the power of moulding these destructive urges into powerful, glowing syntheses. He knows how to combine the leaden and the unwieldy, the light sway and the high propulsion into a rhythmic, distressing tragedy, without hiding the ugliness, the coarseness or tumultuous. Chronicling the mental scope and preparation of all the events (using a narrator, I-form) from start to finish, turning an individual case story into a generalist statement on mankind, is both proclaiming and predictive. One cannot forecast the course of the novels. But they are rooted far back in our childhood. And who wants to start this discussion?' 24

In the Viennese _Renaissance_ Josef Kalmer welcomes Ungar as 'the new storyteller', in his brief review he underlines the sparse 'new style' of writing:

Unstoppable primeval urges emerge from the two stories in Ungar's Boys and Murderers. The naked animal (uncovered and exposed as in simple people)is the subject of the observant author. They are stories, because the characters tell the tale themselves without the use of refined style or literary embellishments, thus creating an astonishingly unusual new style. Or perhaps more precisely: recreating – because this style has existed once before in the 90s, when constant naturalism held sway over art, stopped copying life and concentrated on illustrating it. The effect was the paradigmatic essence of fate.

And Hermann Ungar has achieved success, he might be, or probably is, the new storyteller. 25

The 'young author's' particular strength in creating 'epic depictions' was also stressed in the critique written by Heinz Michaelis for the _Berliner Boersen-Courier_ :

Ungar has delivered a factual report using the briefest profile of expression. This factual report is, however, stylised. Therein lies the secret of Ungar's linguistic art. He relates the essential points, dispensing with coincidental issues, thereby ending up with truth, rather than realism. The strengths of his personality are anonymous. It would be pointless to search for clues of the creator within the creations themselves. The fact that he has chosen an autobiographical style for both stories is an act of intellectual necessity. The form chosen is an expression of total transfiguration of the creator into the creation. The objectivising of the I-form, of the narrator, which today's authors seldom achieve, has successfully been done by Ungar. 26

The response to Ungar's first book was not only positive in those publications which regarded themselves as the voice of avant-gardism, but even in _Kunstwart_ , a journal aimed at German-nationals and the middleclass conservatives praised _Boys and Murderers_ , albeit with some provisos:

Hermann Ungar's two stories have been praised for their youthfulness. That contrasts with first impressions, for they have been penned with a tranquillity which only the most talented, older writers possess. Not purely with tranquillity, but detachment, virtual equanimity. Many of the long passages sound like a monotonous report of a long-since disinterested police commissioner, who is describing not only outward appearances but the inner soul. He leaves any anger or emotion to the reader... He leaves the reader to battle with the horrors of the injustices, the envy and suspicion, the brutality, the bestiality, the insignificance, the soullessness, coarseness, lust for revenge and animalisation. He is just reporting...

No, it is not true! It seems as if this writer is totally uninvolved. But a writer that is so talented in uncovering the darkest depths of humanity, who so delicately describes their fate and their personae whilst using cold, objective language, could never been uninvolved – even though he hides his empathy and his judgement. Perhaps he forced himself to describe these terrible events whilst suppressing his emotions and personal opinions, for otherwise he might not have been able to write at all through his tears and anger...... and even if the book is youthful, it bears a facade of maturity. It was necessary to provide the mask of superiority, just to prevent our young hearts from bleeding to death. If the stories were in truth not youthful, they would appear artificial and somewhat sentimental. But I believe it is true that Ungar's 'style' is necessity and that his emotions are pure. Once the mask has fallen, one will know. Until then it is not polite to dig too deep, one should trust one's feelings. 27

Berthold Viertel greeted Ungar's first book with great enthusiasm, although he later wrote in a review of _The Maimed_ that _Boys and Murderers_ had 'exerted pressure on the hearts of contemporaries and caused many to emit a painful scream of acknowledgement'. His article in the _Weltbuehne_ was almost hymnal, but was also far from an objective report. It ranks, however, together with the reviews from Thomas Mann and Stefan Zweig, amongst the most important reactions to the book, as his enthusiasm is tempered by his far-ranging sense for 'heart-breaking deprivation' as illustrated by the 'young man' in both stories. Viertel, with his sensitivity and perceptiveness, noted the existentialist background of these 'reports':

A young man, in the heart-breakingly blissful deprivation of youth – secretly writes about himself: his day-dreams, his nightmares, his fantasies of purity and evil, his fears and desires – powerful in youth! And this man has just been recreated – perhaps as an author (perhaps in the throes of the mental labyrinth of the fearful Dostoyevsky) - or as one of his friends, or as himself with a dizzying insight into his own soul. But when he looks into his own soul, he only finds chaos and the cover of darkness. And this is how this young man writes. No-one knows him. No-one watches him. And so heaven and earth are penned on paper. He writes feverishly, but also with a tranquillity of a seraphin.... he must have been envied when he wrote this first book, encased in the heart-breaking deprivation of his childhood. A monk in his cell, a murderer in his prison, the young author would have been both with the help of his literary talent: both saint and sinner!

How important it must have been for the unknown author to pen these words – and long may writing remain important to him! A bitter herb produces the best medicine for youth, he indicated this in black and white – in ink! He only wrote his confession, the content strove with terrible factualness to shrive the soul – as if he knew that he would achieve forgiveness. Perhaps it was obvious to him – (and I hope he will never forget it!) The world will be astounded, time and time again, by the extent of this young man's knowledge – of women, animals and children, as well as of the twists of fate facing these complex characters. The world will be astounded, time and time again, about the accusations he levels against himself and his omissions. He remains unbroken – but internally is fractured. He has suffered, experienced terrible things and committed horrific crimes - but he has neither inflicted nor received any wounds which changed his idealism! He remains, in his health depravity, a pure person!

In these heady days of the glittering success of his first book, it has become very difficult to assess its true value when surrounded by the confusion of praise. Talented people surface quickly and disappear again equally suddenly, in virtually the same moment. There are many corpses illuminated by the spotlight of literary success: seemingly dead from the outside, inside they are full of life, like our young man. Far too many played with the spectre of lightweight talents. Should one base one's assessment of a new book on belief and liveliness? How can one be so sure that this new author won't leap into the idealist nonentity which is the public soul? We have to make sure that self-consciousness and uninhibitedness are in the right place at the right time. Perhaps it will suffice if writing becomes more difficult for him from day to day!

I can only benchmark this book against itself. One of the two stories causes pain, whilst the other strains the heart. Hermann Ungar's heroes are boys trying to escape the constraints of childhood, who sense a hunger for goodness but commit a murder. .. They cannot bypass the temptations of modern days. They tremble, caught in a painful quandary between good and evil. This is how I perceive the inner torment of the humiliated and offended. There is nothing left but the two sides: character and fate. And the only landscape is that of heaven and hell. It is because of this severity, this softness, that I fully believe – for the first time in many years – in this new author and his book. 29

Viertel's comments that the 'terrible factualness strove to shrive the soul', brings us back to the various aspects of the terms used by most critics when describing the outstanding features of _Boys and Murderers_ , besides the repeated references to the infuence of Dostoyevsky and the frequent assessment of the book being an early 'mature masterpiece'. The approval which greeted Ungar's first book (with the exception of external issues such as Thomas Mann's authoritative review) had a lot to do with the increasing boredom felt at the start of the 20s with expressionism and the increasing interest in neo-realism. Ungar's use of simple, clear, factual and cold language, dispensing with any effects, converged with the new trends in literature. Also his urge to create a biographical story, to illuminate his 'darkest internal soul', married happily with the new general interest in psychoanalysis. (It is interesting that Ungar, according to his own words, did not know Freud when he wrote _Boys and Murderers_ and only came across his name in a review of his book.) 30 Both these factors, i.e. the sparing use of detached language and the deep-searching psychology, come together in _Boys and Murderers_ in horrific fantasies, with a thematic radicalism and intensity as only hitherto experienced in expressionism. It was a stark contrast to the objectivising style, without the mitigating expressionistic abstractions or symbolic images and impacted on contemporaries in both an exciting and distressing way, more so than the radicalism had impacted on the expressionistic generation, who, in the meantime, had turned into the modern-orientated middleclass. When Ungar continued along his chosen path with _The Maimed,_ thereby ignoring all taboos, he lost a great many followers - even his 'mentors' Stefan Zweig and Thomas Mann reacted with irritation.
VI Diplomat and Author, Berlin (1921 – 1928)

Then I turn into the Kurfuerstendamm. It's shaped like a monster with the tail extending onto the Halenseer Bridge and the head against the Gedaechtniskirche. I saunter along to the left of the night clubs, dance bars and wine cellars. In this little section of the city the lust for entertainment reaches its climax every night. Elegance, scruffiness, the affluent and the poseurs - everyone is basking in the lime lights. Here you also find the intellectual key to these people...the bookshops...1

And was it perhaps just this 'lust for entertainment' 2 which prompted the desire to live in this part of town, where the 'glitter and effervescence' of the city reaches its peak, just a comfortable walk from his office and from his friend, Krojanker 3 \- or was it just coincidence and opportunity which made Hermann Ungar choose this apartment on the Boulevard of Lustfulness during his search for a home in Berlin at the end of 1920? He had been living in a rented apartment on Kurfuerstendamm, at the rear of the house in number 233 since January 1921. Today the site is occupied by the department store Kaufhaus Wertheim. Two years later he would move into a new, larger apartment in Wilmersdorf, not too far from the apartment on Kurfuerstendamm.

In the years before his return to Prague, Ungar worked at the Czechoslovakian Embassy Headquarters in the Rauchstrasse 27, on the corner of Friedrich-Wilhelm-Strasse (today called Klingelhoefer Allee), on the southern edge of the Tiergarten, where, at the end of the First World War the new ambassadors were concentrated into a new Diplomatic Quarter. This 'ghetto for posh foreigners' was destroyed in the course of World War II, like the entire Tiergarten district, it was turned into a 'moon landscape' 4 and by 1945 the Czech embassy was nothing but rubble, soon to be cleared away. Ungar worked in the Czech embassy from January 1st until December 31st 1921, initially as the draft contract officer in the Foreign Trade department, a position which corresponded to his education but which would never have been accessible to him without protection. In the New Year the Foreign Trade department became part of the Foreign Ministry and thus Ungar became a formal contracts officer in the Beness Ministry and worked in the Commercial Department of the Czech embassy, where, according to Kisch 'the people.... belonged on the whole to high society... or at least were supposed to':

Solicitors, who turn up to carry out various transactions, diplomats from foreign countries who are brought in to intervene in some disputed issues or interests, entrepreneurs wanting export licences 5

Ungar's tasks included customs and excise matters in particular. Ungar, with his appearance and bearing, his appropriately fitting social political attitudes, his conscientious and industrious attitude to work, plus his literary successes, was a firm favourite of the Czech ambassador, Vlastimil Tusar (1880 – 1924) who himself came from Brno and who had headed Masaryk's socialist government and was subsequently appointed ambassador to Berlin from December 1920 until March 1924 Despite Ungar's lack of formal qualifications (he later took the diplomatic examination), he soon made an excellent start as a career diplomat and on September 14, 1922 was promoted to Consulate Attache. He continued to work in the Commercial Department which was headed by the Commercial Attache Counsellor Vincenc Ibl. In 1928 he was again promoted and became 2nd Secretary Counsellor. Tusar, a very capable but terminally ill politician, became a close friend of Ungar's, he frequently went for early morning rides on horseback in the Tiergarten with the ambassador's 'very lively' wife.6 Tusar's death would have devastated Ungar. In March 1924 F. Havlicek took over the embassy as Interim Deputy Ambassador until March 1925. Tusar's successor in March 1925 was Kamil Krofta, an historian, previously Professor of History at the Prague Czechoslovakian University, the Czechoslovakian Ambassador to the Vatican and in Vienna, and in 1936 he became Beness's successor as Foreign Minister. Ungar would have worked very well with Krofta, even though they were not friends. When Krofta was recalled to Prague to become Foreign Minister, Counsellor Josef Blanoz became the Interim Deputy Ambassador (January to March 1927) until Frantisek Chvalkovsky was appointed as Ambassador of the Czech Republic to Berlin in March 1927. Chvalkowsky, who had worked on the constitution of the Czech State, had previously been the Ambassador in both Tokyo and Washington and then Representative of the relatively right Agrarian Party in Prague. Whilst in Tokyo he became friends with the French Ambassador, the writer Paul Claudel. It is however questionable, given his political leanings, whether he and Ungar got on well together. Chvalkowsky, who remained Ambassador in Berlin until 1932, played an infamous role later during the German occupation.

Ungar's relationship to his co-workers at the embassy ranged from that of casual colleagues to closer friends. Apart from the Counsellor F. Havlicek who was in Berlin until 1925, other colleagues were Jan (Hans) Gerke (1895 – 1968), 'Prague Muse Son' a schoolmate of Johannes Urzidil and Attache in the Political Department from 1921 to 1925. 7 Gerke, who then lost contact with Ungar, described himself as an 'intimate friend' of Ungar, 8 and this is highly plausible, since they shared similar literary interests, as well as the traits of cynicism and erotomania.

Ungar and I were close friends and for some months we shared the same office room. I would say that Ungar really enjoyed his diplomatic work, especially after his previous experiences as a dramatist in a... provincial theatre and as a bank employee in Prague. He had an excellent sense of humour – we were both relatively young at the time and had a lot of fun with the bureaucratic Czech diplomats. Ungar only spoke about his literary activities with Camill Hoffmann and with me. 9

According to Gerke's own recollections, he spoke for and supported the publication of _The Maimed_ when Ungar experienced censoring difficulties with the German authorities.

The Czech literary critic Antonin J. Kucera worked throughout his years as embassy press secretary closely with Camill Hoffmann. Kucera was not an 'intellectual' and 'more in tune with Russian culture than with the German (he was in Russia during World War I) and was certainly not one of Ungar's close friends. 10 But the relationship between the two could not have been bad, since Kucera later wrote the epilogue to the Czech translation of the novel _The Class_ and also wrote an obituary on Ungar.

We can only guess at the strength of Ungar's relationship to his direct superior, Commercial Attache Ibl. If, however, it had not been good, Ungar would hardly have stayed so long in the Commercial Department. On the other side, it seemed to have been a typical dependency relationship at the beginning, as Ungar at one point even 'had to bring his superior a newspaper' _._ But this was before he was promoted to Attache.11

Close colleagues in the first years of Ungar's employment in Berlin were: the Counsellor Secretary Karel Strup, the Agricultural Attache Frantisek Trzicky, the Attache Ladislav Radimsky, the Military Attache Frantisek Marvan, the Attache Viktor Jansa. In later years he was close friends with the Counsellor Josef Blahoz, the 2nd Secretary Otokar Kabelac and the Attache Jan Simak. A close friend towards the end was the 1st Secretary (later Counsellor) Jan Jina, a factual and dry, but extremely intelligent man. It was Jina's sad duty to speak at the grave of the writer in 1929 on behalf of the Foreign Ministry.

But in Ungar's eyes the most important of his colleagues was the long-serving Press and Cultural Attache at the Embassy, the writer Camill Hoffmann, who took his place besides Krojanker and Pinner as one of Ungar's best friends. Klemenz stated that this 'close friendship' was unusual and 'difficult to explain' 12 – not only because of the age difference, but also because of the different nature of the two men. But the reasons are obvious: the official language used in the embassy was Czech and although all the employees had to speak German reasonably well, Ungar and Hoffmann would have been virtually the only two who spoke fluent German and made habitual use of the language both at work and in private. These two would have been the only Jews working at the embassy at the time and even if National Judaism was an unknown concept for the 'Bohemian National' Hoffmann, this would have brought them closer to each other. But above all, they shared literary interests and both were writers – even if one was on the threshold of his literary career and the other had already peaked as a writer. In Hoffmann Ungar had found someone who was very experienced in literary life, had a huge range of friends and contacts who were authors and playwrights and was a helpful, almost paternal mentor. On the other hand, in his professional life, Hoffmann's excellent connections to T.J. Masaryk and the high reputation he enjoyed within the Diplomatic Corps would have been very useful for the young official.

So who was this virtually forgotten writer Camill Hoffmann?

Born on October 31st 1878 in a little Bohemian town on the Elbe called Kolin, as the youngest son of a Jewish innkeeper, Hoffmann later attended the Altstadt German Grammar School and then the Commercial Academy in Prague. At home the numerous children (nine brothers who all became merchants plus two sisters) spoke both German and Czech. As a small child he loved the Czech folk songs and the poetry, but he also identified with German poets and writers, particularly with Rilke, who was three years older than Hoffmann and who became his idol during the school years. He also admired Hofmannsthal, whom he met when he moved to Vienna in 1900 and became the editor of the supplement to the left liberal Zeit for a few years. In 1904 he married Irma Oplata, who bore him a son (Hans) and a daughter (Edith). In 1902 he cooperated with his friend Stefan Zweig on translations of Baudelaire's works, publishing them under the title Poetry in Verse and Prose (Leipzig 1902). In the same year the first collection of his own poetry appeared in print, an anthology entitled Adagio of Tranquil Evenings (Berlin, Leipzig 1902) which contained 'verses full of ambience and flair, evidence of the serious talent of a romantic young man at the end of the century'. 13 As editor of the anti-chauvinistic Zeit, a competitor of the Neue Freie Presse, Hoffmann was influential and knew only too well how to combine this influence with true helpfulness. On February 23rd 1908 he published in the Sunday supplement on request of Max Brod a poem from the child marvel Franz Werfel The City Gardens, the first publication of this seventeen-year-old grammar school boy. Felix Braun, who got to know Hoffmann in the Zeit offices, provides a characteristic portrait of his personality:

Camill Hoffmann... despite his big dark brown moustache and the penetrating eyes was unable to mask his soft-hearted, kindly nature. He was a mixture of gentleness and decisiveness, sense of exotic and irony – he loved anything which was romantic from French lyrics to Goya's paintings. He translated Baudelaire together with Stefan Zweig. His own melodic poetry, often unfairly overlooked, was like artwork from Late Impressionists, whose colours sparkled and then dimmed. They are not shaped by personal experiences... but by delicate, ephemeral sensuousness, by tensions and emotions, by dreams and echoes... resulting in a vague, precious beauty. I compared Debussy's music to Camill Hoffmann's lyrics, which contain a Slavic theme of melancholy. 14

_After the anthology_ Adagio of Tranquil Evenings _a collection of poems called_ The Vase: New Poems _was published in 1910 (Berlin-Charlottenburg 1910) which was composed of similar neo-romantic, melancholic fixed-form verse but courageous in its use of erotic and social themes. This second, private publication was also his last. The reasons for this are given by Felix Braun and sound convincing:_

His profession as a newspaper editor and literary critic, which he carried out in a tactful and concise way, detracted from his deep-seated lyrical inclinations. When, after the war, he obtained a position in the Press Service of the new Czechoslovakian Republic and dedicated all his efforts to supporting the embassy in Berlin, he sacrificed his art totally. Perhaps he realised that his creativity was dwindling – but he belongs to that group of souls who remain silent.15

Hoffmann still occasionally wrote poems after 1910 (some of which were included in various important anthologies, now and again he tried lyrical prose – but his serious work went into his professional life as editor and critic. In 1911 he transferred to the Dresdner Neueste Nachrichten and lived in Hellerau until 1918. From then onwards he concentrated on translations from Czech and French and published anthologies such as the prestigious anthology German Lyrics from Austria from Grillparzer onwards (Berlin 1912) which he had started in Vienna and the collection entitled Letters on Love: Documents from the heart shaped by two hundred years of European Culture (Berlin, Leipzig, Vienna, Stuttgart 1913). During the war Hoffmann facilitated the premiere of Max Brod's one-act play The Height of Feeling at the Dresden State Theatre. Hoffmann was freed from military service during the war, as his head editor had declared him to be indispensible. After the proclamation of the Czechoslovakian Republic Hoffmann moved to Prague, where Masaryk (who knew him from his days at the Viennese Zeit) appointed him as the anonymous director of the projected government newsletter Prague Press which Hoffmann drafted. From 1920 onwards (under the interim ambassador Milos Kobr) the social democrat became Press and Cultural Attache at the Czechoslovakian embassy in Berlin, a position which enabled him to act as an interface between the German and Czech cultures. These same intentions led him to translate into German T.G. Masaryk's World Revolution. Recollections and Observations 1914 to 1918' (Berlin 1925), Eduard Beness's The Rebellion of Nations: The World War and the Czechoslovakian Revolution (Berlin 1928), Franz Kafka's History of Czechoslovakia and finally Karel Capek's Conversations with Masaryk (Berlin 1935). Stefan Zweig, Erwin Piscator, George Grocz, Berthold Viertel, Ernst Toller and occasionally also Brecht frequented Hoffmann's Berlin home. Hoffmann initially underestimated the spread of the threat of National Socialism, both in Germany and in Czechoslovakia. But after 1933 he did everything possible to help threatened writers – he assisted some like Franz Pfemfert to seek refuge in the CSR, saved Walter Mehring's library by freighting it to Vienna and attempted, albeit in vain, to present the share of Kafka's legacy to Dora Diamant from being confiscated. In January 1939 after the Munich Agreement and Beness's resignation, Hoffmann was recalled to serve the new Prague Government under Emil Hacha and returned to Czechoslovakia. On his retirement he began to write the history of his country, but only managed preparatory work. In spring 1942 he was deported to Theresienstadt, where his last poems were written in secret. On October 28th 1944 he was on the last transportation to Auschwitz, where he and his wife Irma died in the gas chambers. Today the name of Camill Hoffmann only exists in memories, in some anthologies and some historical works on the Czechoslovakian Republic or on the time after the fascists seized power. Excepts from a diary which Hoffmann kept in Berlin from the beginning of 1932 appeared in the Quarterly Journals on Modern History in January 1988. The re-discovery of this poet is long overdue.16

Camill Hoffmann and his family lived in the building, Rauchstrasse 27, in which the offices of the embassy were located. This means that Hoffmann and Ungar were able to meet frequently and informally. In the first few years, when Ungar was still a bachelor, the older Hoffmann often invited the younger writer back for dinner. Edith Yapou-Hoffmann, a schoolgirl at the time, remembers Ungar well. ('He was a young, slender, very elegant man, and it was obvious from his pale face that he was not in the best of health. He still suffered from a leg wound resulting from his time as an officer in the war.' ) But she only vaguely remembers the conversations he held with her father 'they frequently discussed literary issues and Ungar's writing'.17 'Aunt Hoffmann' as the younger man somewhat disrespectfully referred to his older friend – was always willing to listen to the ideas and problems of the young author. Although the literary paths of the two friends were very different, Ungar's works show the influence of Hoffmann, beginning with the novel _The Maimed_ which Ungar had started in Prague and then continued in Berlin, however now in the third person narrative.

Hoffmann guided his colleague, who a short time previously was nothing but a mediocre bank employee, through the maze of diplomatic and social etiquette until he had attained his own reputation and image – an interesting mixture of cynical comedian and 'enfant terrible'.

His position as a diplomat in Berlin necessitated a range of social obligations. Ungar played a lively part in the social life and his love of excesses and outrageous dancing made him famous in a very short time. In society, during important embassy receptions for example, where all the guests were refined and exceedingly polite, he took the role of the 'enfant terrible' and behaved badly. During these receptions he would greet the lady of the house with a kiss on the hand, whilst enquiring 'And does your spouse satisfy you?' 18

This capricious behaviour, these pubertal jokes were mostly at others' expense but served the purpose of attracting attention to Ungar himself and alleviating his latent inferiority complex. During the Berlin era in particular they were supposed to be a provocational gesture of his anti-middleclass attitudes, not dissimilar to Modlizki's nasty provocation at the end of the novel _Colbert's Journey_. Such jokes were even made at the expense of his closest friends. A typical example is an anecdote about Lela Dangl, a very good friend. After dining with Ungar in a top restaurant, Lela asked the waiter to put the leftover meat into a bag so that she could take it home for her cat. Ungar then said loudly so that everyone in the restaurant could hear: 'But Lela, you don't have a cat!' 19

Lela (Gisela Eugenie) Dangl, born on September 4th, 1894 in Graz (Styria), was an extremely intelligent, unconventional woman with a multitude of interests – quite different from his cousin Blanka, his other sweethearts and his later wife Margarete. Lela and Ungar got on well together immediately and she showed 'great empathy and understanding for his creative work'.20 They met through Camill Hoffmann, who was far more than just a friend and whom she later accompanied to Prague. Lela never got over Hoffmann's death, but she rarely spoke about him, not even to her closest friends, who included Ernst and Anna Deutsch, Josef Gielen and Felix Steinboeck. After the war she lived in Vienna and planned to publish a collection of Camill Hoffmann's poems. She never fulfilled this intention and died, unmarried, on March 18th 1969 in her hotel room in Vienna.

Camill Hoffmann also acquainted Ungar with the literary circles in Berlin, introduced him to Ernst Blass, Ernst Toller, Berthold Viertel, Arnold Zweig, Josef Roth, Leonhard Frank, Kurt Pinthus and Alfred Doeblin. Ungar often met Leopold Schwarzschild, although he met his attractive wife far more frequently. He got to know Stefan Zweig when he visited his friend Camill in the Rauchstrasse on November 18th 1921. 21 Ungar spent a lot of time with artists from Prague, who, like him, had left the Czech capital to work in Berlin. Some, like Emil Faktor, Willy Haas or Paul Kornfeld, he met in Berlin for the first time. Others, such as Ernst Deutsch, Ernst Weiss or Egon Erwin Kisch – whose long-term partner Gisl Lyner is said to have written the final copy of his first publications 22 – he probably already knew in Prague.

Emil Faktor, Editor-in-Chief of the _Berlin Boersen-Courier_ was totally convinced of the talent possessed by his young compatriot and wanted to become his benefactor. In 1926 in a card celebrating Faktor's 50th birthday, Ungar praised 'his youthful heart and understanding for all those with ambitions'. 23 The _Boersen-Courier_ was also the vehicle for the first of Ungar's Berlin publications. In 1921 at Christmas the supplement contained the small prose study _Dream_ , a surrealistic autobiographic nightmare sequence, taken apparently out of context, which seemed just as experimental as the piece _The Declaration_ , published posthumously years later. Childhood impressions, recollections of fears, placed side by side with the illogical disassociation of dreams, written in an apparent state of intoxication, fused into a powerful vision of horror, understandable only to those with deep psychological insight.24. However the most important publication in the _Boersen-Courier_ was the preprint of the novel _The Class_ in 1927.

Ungar's circle of friends and acquaintances inceased particularly after Thomas Mann's criticisms. Another contributing factor was that Ungar, although 'the very opposite of a coffeehouse literary figure, or even just a literary figure... loved to sit for hours in cafes.'25 In his first months in Berlin he frequently visited the Cafe of the West, on the corner of Kurfuerstendamm/Joachimsthaler Strasse. But after this cafe, mockingly referred to as the 'Cafe Meglomania' by the petit-bourgeoisie, was renovated it became an average entertainment venue and so Ungar frequented the Romanische Cafe, the new artists' meeting place on the corner Tauentziehnstrasse/BudapesterStrasse. 26 The Dutchman Nico Rost, who called himself Ungar's 'vriend' and who, after Mann, brought fame to _Boys and Murderers_ in the Netherlands, remembered often sitting in this cafe at the 'Prague table' together with Ungar, Ernst Weiss, Paul Adler and Berthold Viertel and spending many long evenings discussing Kafka.27 Carl Einstein introduced him to Ungar.28 In an epitaph to the Cafe of the West which appeared in the _Prague Press_ on May 8th 1921 and which listed the customers from Prague since the start of the century ('Whether Hugo Salus actually visited the 'Cafe of the Long Haired' is uncertain. A rumour claims that he stood on the threshold, then took flight, as he thought he was about to enter the Hall of Mirrors.'). Ungar also appears on the list, together with the occasional guest Camill Hoffmann, as one of the last Prague intellectuals to take a seat at the table:

And nowadays Hermann Ungar, the author of Boys and Murderers represents the young Prague literature in the C.o.t.W. A dainty young girl from Prague, however, sits in the corner waiting to be discovered as a film star. 29

The Prague actress Olga Vojan (daughter of the famous Czech character actor Eduard Vojan) also spent many evenings in the Cafe of the West and Ungar got to know her at the beginning of 1921. Olga Vojan, who was type-cast in prostitute roles, had just celebrated the success in Wedekind's scandalous _Franziska_ (she appeared almost naked) and introduced her compatriot to Otto Flake who visited her in Berlin at the beginning of the year after a separation lasting more than three years. Her studio on Prague Square was described by Flake as being an 'indescribable mess':

It was the storeroom of an antique dealer, turned into an actress' s dressing room with innumerable makeup pots: plastic bath, booties, oven, clothes – all spread around like a still-life. 30

It is impossible to say how intensive the relationship between the 'talented, German-language storyteller' and the excellent and licentious Bohemian actress was, as we only have Flake's recollections of it. As Olga Vojan was in danger of destroying herself with her unusual lifestyle, both Ungar and Flake tried to encourage her to take up 'a bourgeois orderly way of life'.31 Olga and Hermann were still spending a great deal of time together in 1922. Flake recalled a later visit to Berlin, when he went with the couple and the wife of his friend Hans Pinkus to the theatre.32 But in November 1922 'Olga emptied her hoard of Veronal and morphine into a glass and drank the mixture.'33 She had hoped that Flake would be 'her partner on the return to the land of citizenship' 34 and had already told her mother in Prague of the engagement, inviting her to come to Berlin to celebrate. Olga was deeply shocked when Flake turned his back on her and renewed his relationship with his ex-wife. It appears that Ungar was only marginally involved in his tragedy and had never come into question as a suitable suitor for Olga's hand in marriage. But he still blamed himself for her death, for not having foreseen and prevented her suicide. He put aside his feelings of guilt, organised the funeral reception together with Camill Hoffmann and made the arrangements for the body to be transported to Prague. Above all, he attempted to protect the memory of the actress from the indiscretions of the press and to leave Olga's mother with the illusion of a forthcoming engagement. Otto Flake avoided the curiosity and gossip by withdrawing with his wife and daughter to Berchtesgaden. He later said:

Whilst I was packing Ungar arrived with another gentleman from the Czechoslovakian Embassy [Camill Hoffmann: DS]. They had sent Olga's mother a telegram to prevent her planned journey to Berlin. But the telegram was too late – she was already in the train and would arrive that evening. What were they to say to her? The gentlemen made the suggestion that I should go with them to the station and play the role of Olga's fiancé, who was just as stunned by the suicide as the mother would be.

I responded that they were asking too much of me, in order to spare the feelings of Olga's mother. If I played this role, it would be impossible for me just to disappear afterwards. I would have to attend the funeral service in the embassy, bid adieu to the body before its return to Prague, accept the condolences. I was not Olga's fiancé, not for her mother's sake nor for national reasons, the report of her death in the newspapers and the notification of her funeral would then also state that the young lady was about to get married to a famous writer. 35

The affair of Olga Vojan caused a rift between Flake and Ungar, which was reinforced by Flake's negative criticism of _The Maimed_.

Olga Vojan died because she was unable to return to the everyday life of a normal citizen. Hermann Ungar was unable to liberate himself from middleclass conventions and to live his life completely as a writer. The outward biography of the Contracts Officer, his numerous acquaintances and few close friendships, the turbulent social life, the professional career and the success of his first work _Boys and Murderers_ helped to camouflage the fact that his initial euphoria of life in Berlin was giving way to growing self-doubts and general pessimism. The success of his first book merely intensified his fears of not fulfilling expectations with his second, his advances in career and society were distancing him even more from his true aspirations in life, highlighting his inability to escape his civil servant's existence, the impossibility of bridging the chasm between profession and vocation.

He had begun writing _The Maimed_ , the grand literary attack on middleclass life, during the last happy months in Prague, now, in Berlin, far from the novel milieu, surrounded by the hurley-burley of the city, oppressed by everyday obligations, he torturously worked on the continuation. His difficulties were, to a large extent, caused by the change from the first person narrative to the third person (a method of avoiding any undesired self-identification). In a letter to Thomas Mann dated May 20th 1921 he described the difficulties this caused. Ludwig Winder remembered that Ungar was already wrestling with these issues whilst still in Prague:

Once, shortly before the book Boys and Murderers was published, Ungar visited me in a mood of desperation and complained that he was unable to get rid of the 'I' narrative. He was working on a novel, which was to take the form of an objective report to which the author was unconnected. He was attempting to write, but he couldn't get anything down on paper unless he wrote in the 'I' form. The book started off with an 'I' form narrative and flowed really well, but then he wanted to move into the third person and it was proving impossible. I consoled Ungar by pointing out all the successful works worldwide written in the 'I' form – I advised him to stay with the 'I' form if this style was taking natural precedence. 'That is impossible', he objected. 'I cannot run the danger that people think I am always talking about myself. This thought paralyses me, I just cannot continue to write'. 36

At the start of September 1921 Ungar sought recuperation and stimulation in Garmisch-Partenkirchen, which he knew from his time at the university in Munich. Here he sought, in a typical way, refuge in illness – a hypochondriac's reaction which always offered consolation. On September 14th he asked the Berlin embassy for a fortnight's extension of leave for health reasons until October 1st, which was then approved. Attached to his letter was a note from his doctor, the neuro-specialist R. Meyer, bearing the same date:

Due to a stressed nervous condition Dr Ungar needs treatment in a sanatorium to be able to return to work. At present it is necessary that he interrupts his professional activities for a few weeks. 37

While he was in Garmisch-Partenkirchen, Ungar visited Flake, who had been living here in the 'Villa of Contentment' with his wife and newborn daughter, practising his paternal skills. Ungar's visit was not unwelcome, in fact he was 'more welcome than Wedderkop, whom he offended by requesting advance notice of any intended visit'. 38 During their conversation about Ungar's issues with his new work they appear to have discussed extremely personal issues. If this had not been the case, Flake would have not been able to state with such certainty in his critique that 'the erotic coarseness' of the book stemmed from the 'urges and imaginations of the author himself'. 39

It is probable that Ungar also followed his innermost desire and travelled to Munich during his stay in Garmisch-Partenkirchen to discuss _The Maimed_ with Thomas Mann.

In Partenkirchen Ungar met up with Ella Kahn, nee Asch (born 5.8.1894 in Pleschen, died 1976 in London), who later became the first wife of Gustav Krojanker. Krojanker had just met her a few weeks previously in Berlin and had written to his friend to convey greetings to her and to give her 'the most favourable' impression of him. At this time Ella was still married to Walter I.L. Kahn from Frankfurt am Main. She often went on holiday to Garmisch-Partenkirchen. But as Ungar feared to lose his friend to a woman (in a letter written in 1922 he described his female rival as an 'intellectual of a mannered fashion'40), he carried out this commission in an extraordinary way, as Ellen (as she called herself after her emigration to England) told Krojanker:

Fairly late at night in my room in a small respectable hotel where everyone was asleep, I heard my name being called repeatedly from the quiet street outside and then the hotel doorbell rang shrilly and persistently. The rather offended housekeeper appeared in my room and said that a young man, a certain 'Dr Ungar' had called and wanted to give me important urgent information. She had sent him away because of the lateness and hoped I would agree with her. It must have been a big joke for him, annoying the petit bourgeois people – a habit I observed often in later years. However he appeared at the hotel again the following day, took me for a walk, then we sat down in a cafe... he had this light, casual manner...was quite un-literary, I didn't really know him then, just knew that he 'scribbled as a hobby' besides his diplomatic career. Ungar, whose was called 'Schani' by his later wife and by us, was very detached and withdrawn, even when he was speaking with his closest friends.

The strange thing during this long first conversation with me in Partenkirchen was that, without any malicious thoughts at all, he talked about intellectuals such as his friend Kr and told me exactly those things which a young woman would normally find totally unfavourable. For example, he said that intellectuals, when they loved a woman, were not better or more pleasant in the bedroom than other men as they only concentrated on themselves. All this in his easy-going, half-joking way. A few days later we met again and he laughingly read me a letter from Krojanker which said that he could only hope, in the interests of all the countries ever involved, that he fulfilled his commissions in a more diplomatic manner – he was of no use at all in Krojanker's matter. We laughed, Ungar was beaming. But later, when I mulled over our conversation, I wondered whether he really wanted to tell me something much more serious. 41

Ungar's jealousy (to which he had no right, as he had married in 1922) could naturally not hinder his friend's eventual marriage. On August 30th 1924, one year after Ella's divorce in Partenkirchen (28.7.1923), Gustav and Ella were wed in Charlottenburg. On September 28th 1925 their daughter, Jenny-Irene, was born. 42

Ungar kept a certain distance between Ella and himself during all his years in Berlin, but his original fear of losing his friend proved unfounded. They did, however, meet less often, particularly once Krojanker became a director of his father's shoe factory and moved to Burg, near Magdeburg (before 1924), rarely alone and only occasionally as a threesome with Pinner. To recuperate from the hectic city life, Ungar spent many a weekend and a few short holidays in Burg, in the tranquil, quiet house of his friend. A photo dated June 1, 1924, taken in their friend Zweig's garden in Burg, shows Ungar together with Krojanker, Ella, Pinner and members of the Zweig family. When the two friends met in Ungar's apartment, Ella was always with them. They went to the theatre together and to parties. Despite the distance between them, some of the most characteristic observations on Ungar's personality stem from Ella Krojanker, particularly in relation to his friends Krojanker and Pinner, which are included below:

On such evenings [when the friends gathered at his house: DS] Ungar was merry, seemed more relaxed, less complicated than the other two – something that I noted particularly as I was the newcomer. I knew that the other two men were bachelors and led very pleasant, carefree lives, they didn't have permanent jobs, like Ungar. I also knew that Ungar worked extremely hard in his professional job and needed to earn the money, and that he also put much effort into his secondary job. However it seemed as if his life was less problematic that those of the others.

.. In their conversations he did not seem to be the intellectual one – he could be very serious but I never experienced him speaking in the same heated way as the others did. He seemed to be more interested in the human side of things than the others, he observed far more than the others did and he was able to recite the most banal conversations held by a fine society lady at the dinner table in such a comic way that we all laughed. But none of the others would have noticed, none of the others would have remembered the banal remarks.

I remember that a very rich man invited us to dinner. We sat there, the rich man's family, his married daughter, his wife, all very elegantly dressed. Ungar had been invited without his wife. The conversation was about a bank which had crashed and which was a big issue in Berlin at that time. The millionaire said 'Nothing disturbs me more than pecuniary losses'... Ungar just soaked up these traits in people, which although normally well-hidden suddenly emerge.

When he thought himself unobserved, he seemed quite different. The expression in his eyes was almost tragic – dreamy and tragic – but when he was with the others, he was always happy, amusing other people.

He was very sensitive in some areas, he would be uncomfortable if he felt that someone disliked him. Sometimes he asked me, half jokingly, whether I liked Pinner more than I liked him. That was really strange, because I was nice and polite to Pinner as one of my husband's best friends. At the same time I knew that P. was jealous of me, as I was closer to his other friend than a wife - although I was the only non-Zionist in the circle. I had to balance my relationship very carefully and when one is young, this situation is not very comfortable. I could behave in a more casual manner with Ungar, have more direct contact – the empathy is either there or not. But when I laughed and told Ungar that he and P. were both the closest friends of my husband and that I held them both equally dear and that he, Ungar, should know that, he repeated... oh, it seemed to him that.... etc etc etc. As another example, we were walking past the porter for his house when Ungar said that the man did not like him, and asked whether I knew the feeling of seeing someone daily in the house, or perhaps in a shop which I frequented, where someone did not like me. He observed things, even though he did not show it, he sensed it'. 43

These reminiscences of Ellen Krojanker, even though they contain inaccuracies and occasional self-stylisations, allow insight into typical traits of Ungar, which confirm statements made by others: this contradiction between apparent cheerfulness, casualness and inner torture, being torn apart – the ambivalent attitude to the middleclass (on one side he accepts their invitations with alacrity, on the other side he pokes fun at the host), his talent for accurate observation and searching out the true traits of the person, his low self-esteem which could present itself in jealousy of women. Ella recognised all these feelings over the course of time, but in Partenkirchen, at their first meeting, she only perceived the jester in him.

After his return from Garmisch-Partenkirchen, at New Year 1921/22 at the latest, 44 Ungar was able to finish his novel _The Maimed_. But the work had exhausted him to such a degree that he became critically ill. Mid-December 1921 he caught influenza, in January 1922 he suffered a series of relapses and in February he put in a request for a few weeks recuperation leave. According to the certificate from the embassy doctor his symptoms included 'headaches, lack of appetite and sleeplessness, nervous excitability, sweating and heart problems'. The diagnosis was 'general physical and nervous exhaustion which had affected the heart'.45 His request for leave was granted and Ungar, who had been promoted to Contracts Officer of the Foreign Ministry on January 1st, travelled to Dresden at Camill Hoffmann's suggestion, to recuperate at Dr Lahmann's sanatorium on the 'White Stag' which, at the time, was the most famous high-society natural health resort. A stay at such a sanatorium, especially when physical-dietetic therapy was required, had become more or less compulsory. 'Modern life... makes machines out of city folk'. If it proved impossible for a person to play out his 'individualism', he would 'become individually ill', an 'illness such as his' was unknown to others, no doctor understands or knows how to treat this illness. He seeks the help of this sanatorium. The stay has become compulsory for modern times. He wants to be treated as an individual.'46 There is no doubt that these general reasons had popularised sojourns in such health institutes since the end of the last century, they also played a role in Ungar's decision for treatment here. The profession he so disliked so much was making it torturously difficult to ensure his literary individualism and his life in hectic Berlin was also sufficiently hated, even though 'he liked it for practical reasons'.47

The doctors on the 'White Stag'decided that his illness was no longer critical, so they recommended that he travel to Southern Europe to enjoy a recuperative holiday.

The decision to travel to Italy was difficult for Ungar, although meanwhile he was affluent enough to afford the holiday. 'He saw something exciting, something dangerous in every journey – challenging fate, a mystic fear which was probably reflected in the concept of _Colbert_ ' _s Journey_.' 48

Despite his anxiety, which can be explained by the small radius of his childhood ghetto life, he travelled south at the beginning of April 1922, first to Florence and Fiesole, then on to Rome and Naples. He began to keep a diary in Florence, mainly to capture the new impressions overwhelming him and also to clarify his own personal situation. According to Ludwig Pinner's recollections, he intended to publish it later under the title of _A Diary of Travels in Italy_ , but these intentions soon disappeared in the face of reality, not least because he did not wish to be regarded as a classic 'Italian Tourist' in the tracks of Goethe. 49 Only two longer entries still exist, dated April 2nd and April 11th, which were published in the Freemason Journal _TheThree Rings_ in November 1932. 50 Only one of the many letters which Ungar wrote to his friends from Italy still survives in content, a letter written to Ludwig Pinner from Rome on April 19th. 51

It is difficult not to include the whole letter and comments, for they illustrate the state of Ungar's well-being at the time, his state of mind in general, his state of mind after setting up his middleclass establishment, also his state of mind after finishing _The Maimed_. The diary entries generally comply with Hoelderlin's classical letter style and confirm his intentions regarding publication. Despite the stylised approach ('You all – my dear friends and companions!') they clearly depict the 'confusion' 52 with which Ungar regarded the strange beauty of the Italian landscape, the architecture in Florence, the paintings in the Uffizi, Fiesole and Rome.

The first entry, made on April 2nd whilst sitting at a cafe on the Piazza Vittorio Emanuelle, describes a rainy morning 'the like of which I have never experienced before', comments on the fascination of Italian women 'the women. Yes, always the women, above all the women. .. everywhere.... Dainty, delicate, boyish women, dark-haired, with rhythmic movements – rhythm that is the key to female seductiveness – slender feet and wearing European clothing on the boulevards of cities with the all the majesty of past times.' He continues with impressions of the cathedral and the Battisterio: 'It is impossible to describe. You have all seen it. I cannot find the words. My pen is not practiced enough for such matters.' The narrow Signoria came next: 'Wasn't it here that they burnt Savonarola? The people cram into a small square which seems far too small for them, all the statues and the palaces?', followed by the Vecchio Palace and the Loggia dei Lanzi with 'the most wonderful experience here in Florence, gazing out from the Alchemists' Bridge, Porto Vecchio, onto the Arno and the town.'

He described the 'giddiness' which engulfed him in the Uffizi, 'Where shall I go first? Colours, bodies, heads, movement – on all the walls, oh, all these creations made for the aristocracy and hoarded by them! The most austere painters first: Duerer, Cranach, the Germans. Their effort is laborious, it seems to me. Work, consolation , refuge. There is no playfulness, no joy, no laughter. Stay close by me, my God, unfortunately stay close! Room for room: Raffael's Madonna series, holy, tranquil, undemanding, eternity: Michelangelo's Holy Family: the plump, earthly mother, holding her infant child – a mother, wife, quite different from Raffael's Madonna, earthly happiness, feminine. Correggio's Rest in Egypt – I stand in front of this picture the longest.' Florence and Italy seemed to him to be a better world, he wrote again and again that he would love to stay here:

I would like to sit down and write to tell you all that I wish to remain here, never come back. Set up home here, up there, be rich and carefree – and invite you all to come and stay with me.

When contemplating 'the happiness in the world' he wished to leave behind his own, tortured existence, wished he had never written his two books _Boys and Murderers_ and _The Maimed_ :

I wrote a book before I saw all this, two books, and now I realise how terrible they are. Now I almost wish I had never written these two books, that I had written different books or had created paintings. Sometimes I just want to stand still. I suppress emotions. Not because of the painting before me (Correggio's Rest in Egypt). But for general reasons. Because of the colours, because of the joy in the world, the happiness.

The second entry, written on April 11th at six in the evening, on the terrace of the cafe of the Pension Aurora in Fiesole, Ungar expresses his pleasure in the beauty of Italy and dreams of a new life – but he knows only too well that 'all this will disappear in a few days' _._ His enthusiasm is dimmed by resignation and the desperate knowledge that all this beauty bears no relationship to his ego and his life:

I, Hermann Ungar, author, civil servant, went up the steep street. I, Hermann Ungar, was – or rather am spending my time wandering around in Fiesole. In a few days it will all be over.

I, Hermann Ungar, author, civil servant, accustomed to fetching newspapers for my superior, weary of the persecutions of the city, with more hatred than love, lived the first fifteen years of my life without seeing a painting, without hearing a concert... now I am here in Fiesole... on the other side in an old Roman theatre on dew-soaked grass,

I, Hermann Ungar, civil servant – yes, it is I, how much longer, when will you be back, running through the streets, clocks could be set by my habits – am I really here now? I almost think everything has been set out for me to see! I would like to take everything with me. I never want to leave this place...

I feel ashamed that I was able to make this journey, to prepare for this journey in front of you all, that I had enough money to make this journey – I felt embarrassed in front of you all when I was planning this trip, but I didn't want to say so. I thought everyone who knew about it would envy me, that their envy would accompany me and court misfortune. One shouldn't travel, I know that, one shouldn't see the beauty in the world. Such experiences cannot relate to our lives. I know that, one should stay in one's place and not take holidays or be carefree. It is against the law of our lives. Once we reach home again, we will be even more entrenched in hatred. The more we enthuse about our holiday, the worse it will be. I don't want to be a poet, don't want to travel to Italy. 'We are the dead on holiday', yes, that is true. And the holiday does not exist.' 53

After Florence and Fiesole Ungar continued on to Rome in mid-April, where he behaved as a normal tourist and visited all the usual artistic and cultural attractions. In a letter to Ludwig Pinner written on April 19th, Ungar reflects on his confusing experiences, his acute 'ego crisis', which 'prevents him from saying anything', at the same time he indicates which tasks art and literature demand from him – i.e. not just to create pretty illusions, but to illustrate the world as it really is, at least from his perspective: ugly, sick, tormented, low, monotonous, 'haemorrhoidal' and 'cancerous'. No matter how fascinated he is by the paintings of Raffael or Michelangelo, 'the creations of our colleagues throughout various centuries', 'this continuous joyful excitement' is also 'constantly painful' it seems to him to be too far from reality, its 'incommensurability' resulting in a humiliation of mankind.

I have an odd feeling. Just the fact that there have been people who, despite being plagued with haemorrhoids, crippled by corns, despite having cold food put in front of them, have managed to create works of art in another sphere of peace and tranquillity. These works of art are pure, modest, bathed in eternal peace – but far from our haemorrhoidal world to which they bear no similarity. They humiliate mankind, in that he recognises their incommensurability. I, for example, have seen Raffael and Michelangelo. Do you believe, however, that bed bugs bite in the Holy City? I stood in front of Christ with the Cross (Michelangelo) in the Dominican Church Sta Maria sopra Minerva, which also houses a painting of our old friend Torquemada, and next to me stood a man who offered to be my guide. This man had an ulcerous growth on his right cheek – about the size of a fist, covered in blood, like the flesh wound of an animal, covered in flies, shreds of tissue hanging from his cheek. I will eternally think of Christ (by Michelangelo). Exactly that – those are my thoughts, this world – ce notre monde – ours! It is those things, to which you close your eyes and your minds – my brothers with their ideals of classical Goethe-type Privy Councillors – those ugly, malformed objects which and stand in front of Michelangelo!' 54

Hermann Ungar, as can be clearly seen from this letter, was finding it impossible to find 'his sphere of peace and tranquillity' for writing and to see himself and the God-forsaken world (as he perceived it) – as he had done in some of his earlier works before his wartime experiences with all its inhumanity. There was something of himself in every character in his stories, in almost every piece his gaze is fixed mercilessly on the misery of human existence. Only towards the end of life, once he had made his decision to dedicate himself totally to literature, did he gain an open perspective. Contrary to his novel _Colbert's Journey_ , he did not shrink from including the servant Modlizki (who was actually closest to Ungar himself) in the general mockery in his comedy _The Arbour_ , or from denouncing the servant's anti-middleclass attitudes as 'fixed ideas', no less bigoted than the arrogant academic Colbert: 'one man's chilblains are another man's Louvre' _._ 55

The man with the growth was a more major experience for him in Rome than Michelangelo's Christ, 'the chilblains' meant more to him than the 'Louvre'. 'Fundamentally it is totally unimportant where there is socialism, Zionism or those people who sacrifice themselves to these realities.' 56 But he suffered from his inability to escape from the 'laws of his life' and to embrace the beautiful parts of the world, he wished himself escape from the torture of his life and his writing. It would be four years before he wrote the next novel, and this novel would be very different from _The Maimed_.

Ungar's illusionary wish to overcome the world of his first two books, his own 'ego' and to write 'other books', or even to liberate himself through painting, was strengthened in Rome by meeting the Czech painter and graphic artist Othon Coubine (Otokar Kubin) (1883-1969), whom he probably already knew from Boskowitz or Prague.57

Coubine, born in Boskowitz on October 22, 1883, as the son of the book merchant Jan Kubin, is the most famous Czech artist from this town and one of the most important Czech painters of this century. Against the wishes of his parents, who wanted him to follow in the footsteps of his grandfather and become a schoolmaster, Coubine studied at the School of Sculpture in Horice from 1898 to 1900, continuing at the Academy of Fine Arts in Prague from 1900 to 1905. In 1905 he moved via Antwerp to Paris where he studied at the Ecole des Beaux Arts.

In 1906 I travelled to Italy, where I familiarised myself with Brindisi and Naples and made fleeting trips to Rome, Florence and other cities. When I returned home to rest, I built myself a 30-metre square atelier on my father's land. 58

The first important exhibition of his paintings took place in Prague in Spring 1907. The exhibition featured the works of the group 'Osma' ('The Eight'), composed of his Czech painter friends Bohumil Kibista, Antonin Prochaska, Emil Filla, as well as the German painters Willy Nowak, Friedrich Feigl and Max Horb (Georg Kars also belonged to the group). Max Brod dedicated a long report to the exhibition, which attracted both praise and criticism, and welcomed the collaboration between the German and Czech artists in what was, perhaps, too hasty euphoria over the budding 'Spring in Prague'.59 In 1908 Coubine went to Paris again, but one year later he took up a position as the assistant on the draughtsman course at the K&K Higher Trade School in Prague. He was both interested and talented in mathematics, in this position he designed interiors and furniture.

Here and at the academy I was so industrious and creative that my work turned into a real passion. However in 1912 I bid the director adieu and return to Paris with the intention of establishing myself as an artist. In Spring 1914 I had my first special exhibition in Berlin, in the 'Storm'...

During the war he worked in the Paris National Library and occasionally visited the academy to paint nudes. In 1912, whilst he was still in Prague, he married Blazena Katzova. In 1919 when his wife was seriously ill, he decided to move to the South, to Apt. (Blazena Katzova died in 1920 and one year later Coubine married Berthe Chaix.)

In 1919... I felt an intense urge to move to the South, to Vaucluse, a recommendation for which I was heartily grateful to...my friend. So far I have only interrupted my stay in France once, to travel to Italy. 60

And during this study trip Coubine also visited Florence and Fiesole, meeting Hermann Ungar quite by coincidence in Rome – and one may presume that they became closer friends, not just because of their common home town, little Boskowitz, but also because of their common preoccupation with art and their interesting experiences in old Italian art forms. During short interludes in which the Francophile Coubine was completely under the influence of the French Impressionists, the paintings of Fauve and the Cubists, he became totally immersed in Italy in the Masters of Sienna, Fiesole, of early and prime Renaissance and he strove to achieve a new Classicism, the aesthetics of an 'almost religious tenderness for the sensuous images', 61 which however, still encompassed the excitement of modern art and his own mathematical training. Far from the turbulence and noise of a city, hidden away in his provincial isolation (his 'arcadia' in Vaucluse), he painted in harmony with the world and their nations: painted images of bucolic peace, harmonious landscapes, portraits of the uncomplicated locals, nudes, still-life themes, flowers and compositions displaying 'the benefits of symmetry, simplicity and elegance'.

Having attained maturity, both in age and in talent, Coubine works far away from any diversions, dedicated only to his art. His works are created without haste. Coubine has the air of a peace-loving poet, which is sorely needed by our modern times. The holy hosts of muses will rediscover their light and joy through him. 62

The impression made by the anacreontic and idyllic painter Coubine on Ungar must have been powerful – some traits of the Francophile Czech Coubine are reflected in the painter Ferdinant in _The Arbour_ – for here was someone who was capable of creating great works, dedicating himself purely 'to his art' like Michelangelo and Raffael (declared idols of Coubine), far from the 'haemorrhoidal world'. To see the world with Coubine's eyes – what happiness! And which pain – to understand it as a city civil servant and to bear the weight! Just 'a dead man on holiday'!

Before his reluctant return to Berlin, Ungar again travelled further into the South, to Naples. The only evidence currently available about his stay there is a jocular poem written on April 23rd and sent to his friend Krojanker. In this poem, Ungar pays homage to the 'blue (also means 'drunk') sailors' in Naples, less out of real liking, more for the fun of non-middleclass self-imaging:

Naples

No-one would credit  
How the sailors walk up and down here.  
I know I am giving sermons to the birds  
And yet everyone can see it for themselves.  
Their trousers are tightly laced  
Over their hips at buttocks  
They are prettier than German sailors  
And I would have loved to seduce at least one.  
The only reason that I did not do so,  
Was because I know our laws.  
They would have been quick to catch me  
Not sleeping with a girl.  
One has to connect with the cities  
With women in Prague, here with 'boys' bits  
But Naples can only really be experienced  
With a blue (drunken?) sailor.  
It is all just a big fat lie  
Posilippo, the lights of the city –  
One has been cheated out of everything  
If one hasn't found a sailor here. 63

Ungar made an entry into his diary in Fiesole _:_

On the way up I suddenly had an idea for a story. I have written the first lines in this book. It could turn into a short story about travels. 64

Once back in noisy Berlin this idea for a short travel story became the story of a journey which was prevented. It became Ungar's most widely circulated text _Colbert's Journey_. Rudolf Kayser included the novel in the August edition of _New Panorama_ , the most reputable German literary journal, 65 a short while later, in October, it appeared in Prague's liberal _Tribuna_ , the mouthpiece of the Jewish-Czech assimilated, reproduced by Jarmila Haasovas, who became acquainted with Ungar via Egon Erwin Kisch. 66 Both publications provide evidence of the respect gained by the young author with his first book.

The novel _Colbert's Journey_ did not reflect Ungar's stay in Italy intentionally and also avoids any primary biographical observations, but it still obviously attempts to portray his 'confusion' in Italy, an act of pure defence, resulting from the same feelings which prevented publication of an _Italian Diary of Travel_ and allowed Ungar to declare to friends and acquaintances that, 'contrary to the flaunted happiness of a travel lyricist', he was not captivated by 'the blue skies of the South or the famous art venues'. 67 He reacts to the pain of being incapable of appreciating the beauty of the world (as before in his letter to Pinner) with a targeted denunciation of every symmetric world perception, by creating the servant Modlizki as his mouthpiece, 'this monster' which symbolises 'the protest of naked humanity against concealing veils', which have 'covered up the originals with layers of order and formality'.68 It is quite clear that Ungar was making fun of his own love of Italy, using the character of the art-loving petit-bourgeois Colbert, who is in the Louvre, longing for Raffael's Madonna and the Venus de Milo. Ungar was distancing himself for his own bucolic longings (and from his petit-bourgeois origins which he blames – for Ungar is the role model for Colbert). Because Ungar personifies his own ambivalence, this division between bourgeois assimilation and rebellious conflict, rather than setting a dual perception of world perception, his characters are not in danger of becoming templates: sympathy and antipathy of the author are to be found in both of them – even if finally he comes down on the side of Modlizki.

The tragic human failure of Colbert will remain unforgettable for the reader – as well as the comic side of the servant's rebelliousness. The result is then a tragic-comic satire, which was rightfully assessed by Thomas Mann as being a 'little masterpiece' particularly because of its fragmentation, something which would 'take a place of honour classic life's works.69

The spurts of humour from Ungar are surprising: no matter how terrible and melancholic his work usually was – he now demonstrates a real effort to write 'other types of books' _._

Ungar's pleasure at seeing his work in print in the _New Panorama_ , the 'most exciting experience of the month in his boyhood' _,_ 70 was slightly dimmed as Rudolf Kayser did not permit the readers to see the crass ending, but just removed it without consulting first with Ungar. Some content irregularities were the result.71 Anton Kuh, who only met Ungar in person later when he was attempting to produce the premiere of _The Arbour_ (which led him to the delicate question as to whether it was actually possible to dramatise the twist or the punch line), remembered the story when the posthumous anthology with the uncensored novel appeared – the story was probably told to him by Ungar:

The novel is much more genial than the play. More concise, more effective, more exemplary. The tragic breakdown at the end was not caused in the novel by the wife boxing the hero's ears, but precipitated by a noise which the revolutionary servant Modlitzky emits from his trousers in the presence of his master against all rules of etiquette.

'That is the sound of the social system toppling,' groans Mr Colbert and falls into a faint.

Ungar had little joy with this final lapidary echo ending. The New Panorama which had accepted his novel for publishing, was much too prudish to frighten off their noble readers to use it – so it was simply removed.

The novel finished without a sound.

It was a bitter blow for the author. For days on end he was unable to talk about anything else but of his work being deprived of the final bang.

A friend attempted to console him: 'My dear Ungar! You can clearly see that you hit the bull's eye with this. The common sound of toppling made S. Fischer faint, too!' 72

It gave rise to serious altercations with the Fischer Verlag. According to Willy Haas, Ungar was even contemplating legal steps:

In the novel, in its published form, the main – somewhat offensive – main twist of the story was missing. The editor had simply erased it. Ungar wanted to sue the publishing house, but I don't know whether he actually carried out his intention. 73

Ungar did not sue and his excellent relationship with Rudolf Kayser and S. Fischer was not damaged in any long-term way. 74 But this issue was one of the reasons why Ungar never entered into a formal contract with Fischer Verlag, although once upon a time it had been an ambition of Ungar's 'to be represented in the Fischer catalogue with a number of my own books', to be bound to the same publishing house as his former role models: Fontane, Herman Bang and – last but not least – Thomas Mann. 75 Noteworthy is the importance which Ungar placed on his 'noise effect', his basic dislike of any sort of censoring. (He found his own revised conclusion for _The Arbour_ ). But in 1922 he was not averse to attacking middleclass as readers, too. It leads one to contemplate whether other radical parts of his works were expressly written to shock the hated bourgeoisie.

Ungar's sarcasm in _Colbert's Journey_ was also aimed at middleclass marriages, at this social convention which forces two people to spend their lives together even if they have nothing more in common, if they have outlived their embattled relationship. For Mrs Colbert the dreamy ideals of her spouse were nothing more than childish risible crones. Her contempt changes into slight understanding after his death, still she cries crocodile tears for the deceased. But Ungar's criticism of marriage also has autobiographical origins, the author is wielding it over himself, for as he was writing his novel, he was deliberating the question of marriage. We can only guess at his reasons for thinking about marriage, for he was always very sceptical about this institution. What is certain, is that his usual ambivalent attitude to a middleclass way of life would come to the fore, his 'reluctance to being dominated' by bourgeois conventions, the safety 76 which a marriage would give him would triumph. And even more certain is the fact that he was ashamed of this cowardly willingness to assimilate and that he was afraid of marriage. The most important fact, however, would be that as a high-ranking civil servant (on September 14th he became the consulate attaché) he could not allow himself ostentatious sexual libertine habits and that, for representative reasons, he was encouraged to get married. Finally, it might even have been the case that it was the sole method of ensuring his beloved remained at his side or that marriage appeared to be his urgent moral duty.

Ungar met his future bride, Margarete Weiss, nee Stransky (13.7.1895 – 21.2.1978) in Prague. At the time she was the wife of a rich silk wholesaler, Rudolf Weiss (known in Prague as 'Silk Weiss'), who owned the Lyon Silk House. Margarete and Rudolf had a son, Hans (Honza). Margarete's father was Heinrich Stransky and her mother was Paula (Pauline), nee Gehorsam. Her father was an affluent coal merchant, who lived with his family in the Smichov quarter of the city. Her parental home in the Premyslova 14 was both the family residence and the factory, it is still standing today. Heinrich Stransky was a religious Jew, albeit not orthodox. According to Ludwig Pinner's recollections, he spent his leisure time making devotional items:

One room of the house was used for handicraft - this was where he fabricated his devotional items. When the Rabbi came by one day and looked into the room with its images of holy men and the mother of God, he declared himself astounded by the 'idol factory'.77

But Heinrich Stransky would have had little difficulty selling his 'idols', for although Smichov was a 'laughing meadow' at the time when Mozart was composing the overture to Don Giovanni in the 'Bertramka', it had since become an industrial area mainly occupied by Czech Christians.

The conditions under which the marriage between Ungar and Margarete Weiss took place are somewhat vague. Margarete Ungar herself recalled:

Before I met Ungar, I was married to an industrialist from Prague. He brought Ungar to the house, said he was the most amusing and charming person – I thought that too, divorced my husband and married Ungar. 78

According to other sources, the divorce was actually initiated by Rudolf Weiss, when he discovered that his wife and Ungar were conducting an affair. One source even mentions an 'abduction'. Their first meeting probably took place in 1920, before Ungar moved to Berlin.

It must have been an enticing challenge for Ungar to seduce the wife of another man, especially a man who was rich and famous. Ungar would have felt his manly attractiveness and competitiveness confirmed by the seduction. It is impossible to say how deep his feelings for Margarete really were. The attraction for him did not lie in intellectual compatibility, but in her beauty, in her attractiveness for others, her instinctive natural eroticism, which was similar to that of Slavic women without instilling fear in him. According to reminiscences of friends and acquaintances, Margarete – in contrast to Hermann – was 'a healthy, happy, powerful and earthy person', 'statuesque, somewhat taller than Ungar, very attractive appearance', 'a very beautiful woman, richly endowed with female charms', 'a force of nature'.79 Edith Yapou-Hoffmann recalled that Ungar, upon his engagement, reported back to his friend Camill Hoffmann proudly, that his 'future bride was a beauty' ('She was tall, had a milk and rose complexion, also magnificent red-brown hair.') 80 According to Margarete Ungar he once wrote:

That which you lack in intellect, is compensated by your well-grounded instinct. 81

Margarete did not share initially or later the intellectual interests or the literary concerns of her husband. When Krojanker or Pinner came to visit in the evenings, she generally went to bed, as 'she was bored by their conversations and had, as a female, no common points of contact to these men'. 82 She admitted herself:

I had too little time for reading and Ungar said: 'My wife has one virtue – she never reads, for reading ruins the character!' 83

After her divorce from Counsellor Weiss, Margarete Weiss nee Stransky and Hermann Ungar were married on November 30th 1922 at the District Police Office (which was the Registry Office at the time) in Prague-Smichov. Their witness was their friend Camill Hoffmann. 'Ungar has requested permission to marry from the Prague Ministry and he was also granted 14 days leave'.84

On October 25th 1923 their first son, Thomas Michael, was born. Outwardly marriage brought no changes at all for Ungar, if one discounts the fact that he had to find a larger apartment. He lived in the Brandenburgische Strasse 38, on one side of the Kurfuerstendamm from the beginning of 1923. As inflation was rife in Germany and made family life in Berlin extremely difficult, Margarete initially remained in Prague and lived with her parents in Smichov. Finally Ungar was able to fetch his wife and his baby son to Berlin in September 1924. We can assume that this situation was welcome for Ungar, as a sceptic of marriage, and that he contributed very little towards ensuring they lived together as soon as possible.

Outsiders report that their married life, which really only started in 1924, was happy 'apart from the few minor crises which arise in every marriage'. However Ungar himself 'did not say much on this subject'.85 As long as no sources say anything to the contrary, we have no reason to doubt that the marriage was happy. If one considers the personality of Ungar, his almost manic urge for sexual confirmation, one might assume that it would have been a conflict-ridden marriage and that Ungar would have been the cause of the problems. The glue in the marriage was however their son Thomas _'named after the respected master'_ ('My pride and joy is my son Thomas'). 86 Ungar idolised his son. One major issue between Grete (as Ungar and their friends called her) and Hermann would have been his ambivalent attitude towards middleclass standards, of which the marriage was part. Whilst Ungar theoretically promoted sexual freedom and also made use of it as his right, he proved to be a jealous spouse in classic comedy style in reality, very similar to the bizarre state of the schoolteacher Josef Blau in _The Class_. An illustration of this is shown in an episode described by Felix Loria who visited Margarete and Ungar in Berlin in the late 20s together with his own wife:

Hermann was making fun of people who expected their future spouses to be virgins, pointing out to me during the conversation that he himself was far beyond such laughable prejudices, that fidelity as such did not exist for him in his sex life, etc.. We went to a cabaret with our wives. Mrs Ungar was extraordinary, a beauty, possessed huge amounts of sex appeal and Hermann became visibly annoyed when the men around us attempted to flirt with her. He made a scene, she answered back and Hermann fell into a rage. Finally she asked me, mockingly, if I would change places with her so that Hermann could regain his balance. Hermann quietened down and became his normal sarcastic self. A man performing in the cabaret was shaping a story from sentences called out by the audience. Hermann called out to him 'Goodbye Marie – your money is on the windowsill'. The man had trouble incorporating that sentence into his story. 87

Whores had always been especially attractive for Ungar, right from his schooldays. He felt a connection to them, the shunned, cast out from society. A memory of Ellen Krojanker illustrates this clearly:

Once on the Kurfuerstendamm, when we were all going for a meal, he gave a banknote to a prostitute, heavily made-up, neither young nor pretty, who – as was obvious to us all whether male or female, had been crying. We had to wait for him, whilst he asked her what was wrong. He learnt that some man had stolen all her money, everything she had earned the previous day. He wasn't just putting on an act, he had simply noticed her, we didn't, he knew that if a woman like that cried she would have good reason. It wasn't as if the banknote was of little value to him, it probably took him more effort to earn it than she would. We didn't speak about it, we just walked on. He did it spontaneously, in passing, he recognised her problem, as far as he was concerned, it wasn't an act of charity. 88

Outwardly Ungar presented an image of a 'modern Don Juan'. A fictive letter published after his death by a friend of Ungar's (under the pseudonym 'Hannak') 'in his memory' in the _Berlin Diary_ is very revealing in citing some thoughts that the 'deceased writer' had expressed during a conversation:

I need to feel the flush, the intoxication of love, I need the madness of devotion, the sanctity of dissolving into a kiss. But I cannot forget the interval between intoxication and intoxication, I know the dangers of these folds and fissures, I make my way carefully, I insert the other not lesser half of my power into her, I embed this jewel into her. I need to be near to my beloved, even if it is not her white shoulders I am dreaming about but – the white shoulders of another woman.

If a man has not become languid during the pauses, he will be able to remain faithful to a woman, even in the act of being unfaithful: he will continue to love her, even when loving another woman. He will have the courage to tell a lie, which is not really a lie.

A modern Don Juan has to practice human economy. He must take possession of as many hearts as he can and wants, without destroying them. 89

The appearance of _Colbert's Journey_ in the prestigious _New Panorama_ and the second print of his first book _Boys and Murderers_ cemented Ungar's reputation as an important new writer. An official capability certificate issued by the Foreign Ministry in 1922 confirmed his particular ability for serving in Germany with a special note about his wide-ranging contact to German literary circles, also mentioning the fact that he had gained a sound reputation as a important German-language literary figure.90 Ungar's superiors in Berlin and Prague observed his literary activities and successes with a great deal of pleasure and granted him extensive special leave thereafter, under the correct assumption that having a literary diplomat could only be of benefit to German Czech relations and would service to strengthen the admiration of the Czechoslovakian Republic – the head of which was himself an author and philosopher.

#  Excursus 2: _The Maimed_ \- Reception

Ungar's first novel _The Maimed_ (copyright 1923) was published at the end of 1922 (probably in November) by the Ernst Rowohlt publishing house in Berlin, with around 5000 copies in the first issue. At almost the same time, end of December 1922, Otto Pick incorporated the introductory chapter in its original form, in the print-ready first person singular (I-form) ( _The Bank Employee_ ), into his _Collective Book_ called _German Novelists from Czechoslovakia_ (Heris-Verlag). 1 In 1924 the final chapter appeared in the first year's issue of the short-lived Rowohlt monthly newsletter _Verse and Prose_. This final chapter, reworked by Franx Hessel and given the working title _Fragment,_ had actually been edited out of the book by Ungar, as an open end was, in his opinion, more effective. 2

The sole possibile explanation for this extra publication of the concluding chapter _Fragment_ is that Ungar had no new book ready and available when Hessel invited him to collaborate – but that he dearly wanted to appear in the prestigious advertising tool, the effective publisher's review. Hessel, on the other hand, preferred fragment stories and he wrote to Wilhelm Lehmann that 'these particular types of fragments, in which the authors' distinctive literary characteristics are often very obvious, but which are too stunted to be printed in book form' are extremely desirable. 3 _Fragment_ would have been totally unsuitable as a stand-alone publication, as without the context of the novel, it would have been incomprehensible: Hessel also dispensed with any form of editorial explanations.

_The Bank Employee_ , an exposition of the novel containing a description of the daily life of the hero and retrospectively disclosing the source of his traumas, can easily stand alone – as proven by the numerous reprints in the Prague publication _Truth_ (1929), in Joachim Schreck's anthology _Story of a Murder_ (1987), also the reprints of the version of the novel in Manfred Linke's _Collection of Selected Works_ (1971) and in Hannes Schwenger's Office-Story-Anthology _People in the Office_ (1984). Ungar himself regarded the starting chapter of his novel as a personal 'achievement'. 4

It is, however, very obvious that _The Bank Employee_ was only printed because Ungar had no new text available when Pick asked him for a story in early 1922 and because Ungar desperately wanted to be included in the prestigious anthology alongside existing famous names. The media reaction to Pick's anthology was mainly positive, although Ungar's contribution gained no special praise.5 A damning review by the German national journalist, Paul Kisch – the brother of Egon Erwin Kirsch – was motivated by personal and political antipathy. Amongst other things, Kisch criticised the fact that Pick had included some authors 'who were not German and did not want to be German', their 'romanticism' turned 'into Jewish nationalism' for 'reasons more or less pure', their 'activities in the German language and their anti-German motives, so for example on behalf of the Czechoslovakian government' left a 'bad smell' and stated that 'they stem out of the stable of German literature, or rather jostle each other in an attempt to appear so'. Such comments appear to be aimed at Ungar. 6

In reality Pick had no such political motives in the selection of the authors, although he was employed in the service of the Czech government and was also a passionate propagator of German-Czech friendship. His selection of authors such as Gustav Leutelt, Karl Hans Strobl or Hans Watzlik was evidence of his objectivity and his intention to demonstrate the diversity of Bohemian literature - created in the atmosphere of tension of national, social and religious conflict. 7 It is also natural that he turned in particular to those authors whom he knew and respected. The planned second anthology never appeared.

Berthold Viertel wrote as an introduction to his critique of the novel _The Maimed_ :

This author's second book, the novel entitled The Maimed (which I first read in manuscript form and feel justified therefore in saying I know it better than any other reader of the book) was only printed after various challenges were overcome. The book attracted publishers like a magnet, only to frighten them off again with its swingeing sensitivity. Right from the start the unmitigated characteristics of this book attracted and revolted the reader in forbidden ways. Once a reader began the manuscript, he was caught and shackled, he found it impossible to put down again until a new variation in lascivious thought was introduced. A painful torturing process had to be shaken off and disappear in world and future. Then finally a publisher was found (Ernst Rohwohlt) who was prepared to dare. 8

The manuscript of _The Maimed_ does not appear to have survived. This is really unfortunate, as the conclusion was not the only difference from the original text.

If one gives credit to Kurt Pinthus's critique (and the obituary), Ungar was forced to delete some particularly radical scenes:

I read the book previously, in its manuscript form. It contained horrendously brutal scenes, the like of which had never appeared before in black and white in the German language. (Memories of the Marquis de Sade's Justine and Juliette spring to mind.) The painfully tranquil simplicity of the descriptions serves to intensify the effect to a far greater extent than exalted fantasies would achieve. We know that no publisher would dare to print this book: no country would permit the public sale of the book. Therefore the author mutilated his own work, The Maimed, the new Ernst Rohwohlt publishing house then found the courage to pour this fragmented text into these modern times, like corrosive acid into open wounds. 9

In the obituary he wrote _:_

The book The Maimed describes mental tortures, descriptions of which are permitted in print. The illustrations of physical tortures are so gross that - because of those physical tortures, descriptions of which were not permitted in print- the book had to be mutilated before it could be published, mutilated by the author himself. 10

Amongst the publishers attracted by the success of the stories in _Boys and Murderers_ but irritated or even repulsed by the radicalism of _The Maimed_ was Kurt Wolff, with whom Ungar would have dearly loved to place this book, as it would have been in good Prague company. His comments on the publication are contained in a letter to his friend Ludwig Pinner, written in July 1922 during the course of an annual holiday in Egern on Tegernsee:

As far as the novel is concerned, it will be published at the beginning of November by Rohwohlt. Originally I had placed it with Kurt Wolff. Wolff signalled his intentions, called me a genius, but on the one hand he was afraid of the censorship process, on the other he procrastinated. I set him free from the torture of indecision – by taking the book back myself. Mr Rohlwolhlt made me thousands of promises, including an advance payment of 20,000 Marks. 11

The same letter shows how far Ungar had distanced himself from this novel since his journey to Italy – although it was not quite to the degree quoted by Nanette Klemenz, who wrote that Ungar was scared and horrified by the through of the publication, once he had put the 'sinister and torturous world of problems' contained in _The Maimed_ behind him. 12

I await the publication of the book with mixed emotions. Perhaps, I think, it might cause a scandal? And at a time when I shall probably be elsewhere. This complete story is now, as far as I am concerned, over and done with. I will not be in a position to defend it. 13

There is no information on how Ungar's initial contact to Ernst Rohwohlt took place. 14 Rohwohlt had established his company in Berlin in 1919 and the chief editor had always been Paul Mayer (1889 – 1970), 'who was generally known for more than 20 years as 'Little Paulchen' or 'Little Mayer' because of his small stature. Paul Mayer worked for the Rohwohlt publishing house for more than two decades and was loyal, industrious and extremely patient'. 15 His character had been formed by his middleclass Jewish family background and by the humanistic grammar school upbringing in equal parts. He was exceptionally quick to grasp concepts and ideas, possessed an instinct for new talent and – last but by no means least – became an honest, empathetic and supportive friend for all authors to whom he developed a special bond.' 16

It was Mayer, above all others, who saw Ungar was a lasting author (the only work not to be published by Rohwohlt was the documentary report _The Murder of Captain Hanika_. In 1929 Mayer wrote a sensitive obituary for Ungar,17 and he would have borne the responsibility for the posthumous volume _Colbert's Journey_. Ungar would have also enjoyed a good relationship to the 'Dionysus' Ernst Rohlwohlt, since the two shared similar characteristics. In the second half of the 1920s Ungar frequently took part in Rohwohlt's legendary 'Gentlemen's Evenings' in the rooms of the publishing house at Potsdamer Strasse 123B. During these evenings Ungar would have met almost all the authors contracted to Rohwohlt, together with their friends and the friends of their friends. Paul Mayer recalled in his Rohwohlt monography:

Representatives of all literary streams and political affiliations were present. They bathed in the positive waves of good humour from the host, who sacrificed himself to the wellbeing of his guests. The chaos started at midnight and I only experienced the very beginning. The events of the men's evening were related to me the following morning. It appears that Hermann Ungar felt someone had questioned his integrity as a former member of the brotherhood and had then insisted on satisfaction, a duel using heavy sabres. Whenever disputes of this sort occurred, Rohwohlt acted as the impressive Angel of Peace, to whom the protagonists had to acquiesce. 18

Ernst Rohwohlt remained loyal to his author right to the end, even though the hopes he had placed in the novel _The Maimed_ met with disappointment. Exact sales numbers are unknown, however we know that – contrary to the _Boys and Murderers_ there was no reprint required. In a survey Public and Society carried out by the _Berliner Boersen Courier_ in 1924, Ungar himself wrote about the difficulties of reaching the wider public with his books – a problem which occupied him more than he admitted:

The fact cannot be denied that there is a 'public', i.e. a mass of people of both genders of any age and any temperament – a public which I – after many in-depth discussions with my publisher - can only define as an entirety of people whom it is difficult to 'reach'. It is difficult to engage them with books, very difficult, seemingly particularly difficult to stir them with my books. Despite this fact, there appears to be a few thousand people in German who have decided to become my public, my readers. I recognise the exceptional efforts and activities undertaken by my publisher, who, despite these particular difficulties, has managed to reach these people, to fuse them into a single group of readers. Public is a business matter for my publisher. I personally place no great value on the public. 19

Despite these fine words, Ungar placed sufficient value on his public success (the precondition for his longed-for freedom of life as an author) that in 1927 after a trip to Paris (on the occasion of the publication of _Enfants et Meurtriers_ ) he demanded in an open letter to Rohwohlt that the example of the promotional activities of the French publisher be followed. 20

In 1928 the sole known (complete) translation of _The Maimed_ was published by Gallimard in Paris. _Les Sous Hommes_ was translated by Guy Fritsch-Estrangin, as was _Enfants et Meurtriers_. The Czechoslovakian publishers were just as wary as the Germans. After Ungar's death Jan Grmela was only able to publish two excerpts _Sen_ (Dream) and _Podivin_ ( _A Strange Being_ ) in _Vecernik Prava Lidu_ (1929) and in the _Kalendar Cesko-Zidovsky 1932-33_ (1932). 21

The lack of public acclamation for the _The Maimed_ is understandable. The novel demanded from the reader, to quote Thomas Mann, such a level of 'goodwill and especially good nerves', 22 that only few people were willing to try. The positive promotions – the laurels of praise given to _Boys and Murderers_ , the publication by the famous and reputable Rohwohlt Verlag - was unable to change a thing, for the critics were also daunted by the content, forcing some, who had greeted Ungar's first book as the production of a genial talent, into silence. Berthold Viertel said:

The book appeared in print and immediately forced those with a 'wishy-washy'attitude of modern days into silence. The post-publishing acclaim, which automatically accompanies the arrival of new artistic being, failed to appear during the weeks and months after publication. The maimed are justifiably made responsible for both the silenced and the disgruntled. [Big play on words here: Verstimmten, Verstummten und Verstuemmelten.] A disgusting book! And it is not the fact that the horrors of body and soul described here have been obliterated from the minds of this generation – it is just that once all the adornments are removed, the painful picture painted here is of 'sober' and 'factual' suffering. 23

The most conspicuous silence is that of Thomas Mann. His sole comment on the book appeared in a literary newsletter aimed at American readers, written in September 1923, in which he mentions in passing the latest book of his 'protégé'. His description is brief: 'A horrible book, sexual hell, full of filth, crime and deepest melancholy - a monotonous aberration, if one wishes to view it as such. The aberration, however, of an inner pure and talented artist, who, it is to be hoped, will mature and achieve a less one-sided, more liberal perception and attitude to life and human nature.' 24 In the foreword to the posthumous volume _Colbert's Journey_ , Thomas Mann described _The Maimed_ as 'a novel of sorrowful strength'.25 Thomas Mann's silence is typical for the speechlessness with which the critics reacted to Ungar's most radical work, to the ruthlessness with which the author opened up his inner hell. This silence has to taken into consideration when evaluating the few real reactions, so that no false impression occurs. Amongst the reviewers will be some of Ungar's acquaintances whose objectivity can be questioned, and who would be more likely to offer a critique based on like rather than dislike.

Amongst the earliest reactions to _The Maimed_ were two articles written by Gerhart Pohl and Max Krell in the _Neuer Buecherschau_. Without prior knowledge of the time in which the book was written or of the personal circumstances of the author, In his investigative treatise _Where is the modern German literature?_ , Gerhart Pohl evaluated Ungar's novel as evidence of a hysterical era, whose 'source' he saw in the 'collapse of the economy':

The young generation is missing out on something which promised fulfilment for others: the world! For the gates of Germany are locked by foreign currency. So our young generation has to find another way to increase their enjoyment of life: by unlocking eroticism. The world is inaccessible, but females are available. Because our young generation lives in solitary confinement, without the cleansing flow of European community life, their energy and strength is paralysed, their contact to others detached or distorted. 26

Pohl's observations would only be relevant to Ungar if they were restricted to Prague's German enclave, whose isolation and detachment from other larger communities really did act as a force towards literary bridges to other countries. However Pohl regarded Ungar, together with Hans Henny Jahnn and Arnolt Bronnen whose works are defined by the same 'untrammelled eroticism', as people dominated by the chaotic German post-war reality:

After a glittering start, he has created a book both diffused and tortured in equal strengths, but leaking and porous in its soldered seams. This novel is like a sexual chamber of horrors. Despite that, the book provides certain, concentrated and genial evidence that Ungar is a high-ranking author, who may even become a master of modern times – as soon as these modern times manage to blossom unharmed amongst the decaying ruins.27

Max Krell's collective critique, in which he includes Brod's _Franzi, Weiss, Nahar, Atua_ and _The Withered_ , Winder's _Jewish Organ_ , Vischer's _Tea Masters_ and _Hare_ , also Bronnen's _September Novels,_ which are often compared with Ungar, took a similar view to Pohl's social premises. Krell's opinion that Ungar was following 'only his immediate gut reaction even with his most outrageous literary images' had the right stylised psychological perspective, but then he went astray completed by concluding that the author had distanced himself totally from his (seemingly) pathological figures and only regarded them through the unemotional eyes of a doctor:

No matter how excitedly and admiringly one regards his work, one could never completely abandon oneself to his characters, because one feels the author is missing. He cannot fulfil the ' Tat twan asi ' which transfers the irrational issues of art to the audience. Ungar writes about excesses, writes about the pathological critical cases – and one always has the feeling of seeing Ungar himself in the white coat of a doctor with the surgeon's scalpel, tampons, probes and tubes in his hand, standing next to his characters, watching attentively, factual and detached, unshaken und unfocussed, whilst describing the act of sickness in scientific, meticulous precision. 28

Against the background of his biography, which of course Krell knew nothing of, Ungar presented himself in his writing more as the patient than the doctor (and in this case Pohl was quite right when he saw Ungar as being more 'dominated' than 'domineering'). So there was no justification in speaking about pathology. The misunderstanding which separated Ungar from his characters, whether it stemmed from a lack of knowledge of the biography, or the inability to align Ungar's extreme writing with his middleclass life and the (apparent) cheerful psyche of the author, was a continuation – as described at the very start of this document – of tradition into the present. Rarely would the particularly artificial moment of differentiation between the factual form and the irrational content be used against him. They characterise Ungar's works, and the quality of his richly contrasting creations has never been questioned, not least through Kafka's laudations.

Critics from the three leading German-language newspapers in Prague also gave their reactions to Ungar's novel.

Paul Wiegler, who included Ungar in his _History of Literature in 1930_ (although he gave his birthplace as Prague, his age at death as 38 and his place of death as Davos), 29 stated in the _Prager Tageblatt_ that the 'Prague novel' was amongst the 'Ten Books of the Month' in November 1922 – alongside Kisch's wartime diary _Soldier in the Prague Corps_ and Flake's _Ruland_ – but only gives a superficial sketch of the content, an explanation of the title, a note about Thomas Mann's praise and a comparison to Winder's _Jewish Organ_. Wiegler finishes:

The descriptions of the setting for this psychoanalytical novel are scanty (Kuchelbad, Troy, the corner of the Pulverturm). With its unattractive desolation, nonetheless, it exerts a dark, menacing force. 30

In the _Prager Presse_ Robert Saudeck described the book as 'a strange book in many ways', thought that 'literature will never again see a book like this, which places all the ugliness of animalistic behaviour in the spotlight in such a torrid way'. Furthermore he saw it as borderline for pathological issues:

Sentiment disappears in the acidic watershed of this illustration reflecting the relationship of the sexes in their coarsest, most sensuous activities – whose form denies any love between the people involved, driven by vengeance and sadism, whose sensitivities lie on the borderline for pathological issues.

Noteworthy was Saudek's obvious instinct for the dual personality of the author: the inner conflict between the affirmative sign of life and the negating, and in which he strove to find freedom through his writing. (The fact that Ungar achieved this freedom was already obvious and was further confirmed by his later writing, his much less depraved work):

The impression given was that the author had a mental dual personality, with two totally contrasting elements sitting independently side-by-side. It is as if the inner supports had concentrated on this negative influence on life, fought it, and then, with huge effort and force expelled it from his body it in one last massive attempt.

This surprising accurate analysis leads one to suspect that Ungar and Saudek actually knew each other – in fact, it is highly probable, since Saudek came from Kolin and was a boyhood friend of Camill Hoffmann. Saudek concludes:

The fact that all these monstrous events are described to us in a credible form, that they appear in front of us and never fade in our memories, is evidence enough of the artistic ability to illustrate the issues encountered in saddest negation of life. 31

Ludwig Winder, who had in part experienced the initial concept of this novel at the end of 1920, discussed it in the _Deutsche Zeitung Bohemia_ together with other new publications like Arnold Ulitz's _The Female Bear_ and D.H. Lawrence's _The Rainbow_. Winder's acquaintanceship with Ungar may have reduced the objective value of his critique, but the value of its message as a combination of author and work, was greatly enhanced. Like Saudek and contrary to Krell, Winder saw the novel as an act to free the author from inner demons, an almost brutal attempt at salvation. Winder 'is entranced... by the intentional, definite way that Ungar takes a piece of the world, then crushes it nihilistically in the palm of his hand. Ungar shows no love, no sympathy, he shapes lasciviously the brutality which grips the artist who only aims at his own heart. This book contains a suicidal honesty, which can lead only to madness or the heights of perfection.' Like Wiegler, only in a more thorough way, the Prague journalist analyses the local background of the novel – like Krell, he compares the depiction of the characters to a surgical autopsy and dissection:

The novel is based in Prague. It is not the old Prague of the haunted by the Golem and neither is it modern-day Prague, although the characters are stressed, maimed people of our time. Ungar's Prague is filled with more spectres and ghosts than Meyrink's ghostly Prague. Ghostly in the sobriety of the murderous monotony of everyday life, which hides mysteries and crimes behind the noise of busy, passing city sounds. The people described by Ungar become embedded in your mind. They are more naked than the naked, their souls have been uncovered, surgically dissected to disclose innermost secrets. Thus a dismal, painful work is created, whose pessimism knows no horizon and no skies, not even the mournful grey sky which hangs over the landscape of the novel volume Boys and Murderers. 32

Kurt Pinthus gave an unconditionally positive assessment in the Berlin publication _8-Uhr-Abendblatt_ :

A fearfully horrific book...quite different from any others, from any other good, fearfully horrific novel. The story is told in a dry, sober way, at a calm, regular speed – almost as a report, a good newspaper report...and yet much more exciting and memorable than many other commercially-based fearful and horrible works of our time. These horrible and merciless, confused and inter-related events in the existence of poor creatures are written down with calm, delicate factualness – like ancient tales of the saints. As if these tortured and torturing people were the saints of modern day.

It is easy to say that the book should be classified as sadistic-masochistic literature. Ah – it is much more than that. Using the most simple, most penetrating methods it has become the finest psychological fundament of such deeds – written with a sympathetic heart but with an unemotional hand, created with the certainty of talent.

Ungar's painful book continues to torture us, even after we have finished reading it. For we feel that these terrible events are far more than just a single entertaining story – they are the symbol for the suffering people endure in our times. 33

Oskar Maurus Fontana debated the novel in the _Berliner Boersen Courier_. The image of Hermann Ungar remained unchanged by _The Maimed_ , but it became more transparent. As with _Boys and Murderers_ the author showed himself to be a 'born storyteller of creative intensity – with formatively, but not spatially':

But a person stands in a space, in a room. If one charges him for the room, horror descends on him – but not the horror from the bowels of the earth, but the horror of one's own volition, of the unique eccentric crossing (cross-breeding). Hermann Ungar possesses the singular talent of forming a character. To be able to soar above the sensations of horror, to retain the magic, his creativity requires animalistic forces on earth to be changed into star formations in the sky – spatial orientation. 34

No damning views were anticipated in Rohwohlt's Diary:

Ungar provides grossness, but through his use of unexpectedly simple, unadorned language he satisfied our breathless anticipation of it... The Russians taught Ungar how to feel, Freud taught him to see – but he never became dependent on them. The methods he used helped him to break into the crust of his surroundings. In his youth he discovered the bottomless foulness of our existence. If he keeps going, he will become an important reformer. 35

But it was surprising that the review of the conservative publication _Kunstwarts_ was also positive (with some reservations):

Ungar's illustrations. A 'realist'', who uses short, sharp language with no colour in his tone. No words of confession, of lessons learnt, of thoughtfulness, no rhythmic whispers, no 'charm' of any sort within this police report written by a judge of character...Those who aren't appalled by the naked scenes, the sexual and moral brutality contained in this book, will draw immense power as well as deep, indescribable experiences of humanity...However we hope that the author will free himself from the spell of such techniques and events. Perhaps he, who otherwise has such a sharp perception, may one day view the 'bigger picture', with an ability to see more than just something 'different' in a tortured soul, to see the cause of suffering behind the suffering, to see the eternal forces behind the cause of suffering. Breath, feeling and sight is given to him so that he can fly freely. It may have been his innermost mission – twice – to make us hear the dumb cries of earthly beings – but enough now! He is liberated. The way forward goes far beyond heaven and hell. 36

All the moralising expected from the _Kunstwarts_ critic was contained to a greater degree in the comments from Stefan Zweig and Otto Flake. The latter two were also typical of the reviews on Ungar's novel (so weighty that they corrected the false impressions of positive receptions given by others).

Sensitive Stefan Zweig, who had welcomed Ungar's first book with great enthusiasm, wrote a review which appeared in the _Neuen Rundschau_. It fluctuated 'between utter repugnance and reluctant admiration',37 thus once again reflecting the split between revulsion and fascination with which both public and critics reacted to _The Maimed_.

Hermann Ungar brutally forced his way into the literary world with a surprising, horrifying, alluring and repulsive, truly youthful demonic book. Now this Hermann Ungar has penned a novel, a book which was eagerly awaited by many of those who read his first creation – but was also feared by many. And it has turned out just as one suspected: magnificent and monstrous, alluring and abhorrent, unforgettable although one would like to forget it and escape its abusive oppression. Its sheer unpleasantness comes first. This Hermann Ungar has a terrible preference for – what is the most simple way to say this – for bad taste, for the miasma of the soul, for stale, sweaty, dirty situations and his lack of sympathy for those with weak or sensitive nerves borders on the perverse... But this lack of compassion is also an art, and this iron grip which holds us in this Memphitic sphere, this stranglehold on our throats and our hearts – a cold, demonic force which leaves one trembling with fear, almost fainting whilst one's nerves are jangling. It is revenge on one's own or another's sentimentality which is working its way out as art, as a force, as a creation – one senses this, despite the horror, with breathless and reluctant admiration. This seemingly soulless, dare I say it, almost anti-soul depiction is nothing more than the expression of a tortured soul, escaping from its own visions, thereby penetrating our most secret, most lamentable hiding places. This book is loved with horror, read with repulsion and digested with abhorrence, all the while with the wish, that the book was the cleansing fire, the purgatory for its author and that from now onwards his powerful and creative hand will never again lead us down into the depths of darkness, where one's senses freeze and the soul struggles for air, for a breath of humanity. 38

Although Otto Flake's critique depicts similar defensive tendencies to those of Zweig, the real reasons for his negative comments stem from other, 'objective' criteria. Flake reviews Ungar's novel together with a facsimile edition of Hebel's _Pranks of a Rhineland Housemate_ , a picture book for three-year olds and a new Brentano book. This grotesque combination might well have been coincidental, but it is significant that only Ungar's _The Maimed_ received a derogatory review: here we have an aristocratic author, a 'refined academic' (Berthold Viertel), who radiates 'aura' and 'refinement' on romantics and praise 'depth and quantity of humanitarian ideas', 39 holding forth about a book which diametrically opposes his own idealistic perceptions of the world and which he would automatically view as a provocation, rejecting it briskly. A defender of the freedom of will faces an author, for whom the recognition of human determination has become his firmest belief – because he himself acts as confirmation. Flake's acute perception of opposing views to his own render him blind to the novel's qualities. These include the causality of the events which forms the frame of the novel, a formal quality which should have been recognised, even if one didn't wish to accept the restricted nature of mankind:

Ungar describes people from a provincial town who experienced a depressing and oppressed childhood. Logically they will be forced off the straight and narrow path later in life. Logically here unmerciful consistency will result. Link for link a chain is forged and Ungar is a fanatic of causality. He believes he is leading – he should be careful that he is not led.

He declares war on middleclass concealment: he targets idealism: an unnamed but clearly identifiable opponent. Every author is creative vis-a-vis his chosen opponent.

No belief in freedom of will, in independence, or the formation of one's own fate. Nothing rolls out the inevitability of events, right up to the bitter end where the author stands with his immobile face in secret \- and perhaps he will permit me to say it – juvenile triumph.

Flake recognises that 'the speciality of Ungar, this eagle-eyed, merciless, pessimistic analysis of oppressed souls', points to 'originality and courage'. He doesn't deny the similarities to Dostoyevsky, but only wishes to accompany this 'fanatic of causality' to 'about halfway through the stories', up to the point, where – according to Flake – 'one must break off, round off, allow that super-temporal, absolute and inner image of the world to take over' and where Ungar, who 'holds sentimentality, happiness and idealism in contempt', as the 'apotheosis' permits the creation of the 'utopia of communality', paints images of catastrophes which are incredible for idealists and self-confident, un-endangered intellectuals:

So many traits of obsession, apathy, impotence, lack of willpower converging – incomprehensible.

I don't demand restraint to protect the nerves of the readers, but to ensure that the readers follow the author's thoughts willingly. If one feels that the author is changing his detachment from his characters, if he is losing his grip on them and thus the cold dominance which an author needs over his characters, then his credibility will vanish, the characters will brutalise the creator and it will become clear that he experienced their beginnings in reality, but not their end.

The youthful Ungar chose an arena in which he could only dominate after a long and bitter lifetime. With this book he runs the danger to be categorised, rather than to be seen as a literary experience.

Then finally ('if one is to criticise, then it should be thoroughly done') Flake goes on to attack the title ('The title is warm, the characteristic style however is cold – an unanimity) and the occasional pragmatisms ('the use of the Czech conjunctive after the word 'dass' is impossible , it sounds like an inept translation') in his negative assessment and denounces the author, in a not particularly aristocratic-refined way, as a sexual pathologist (whereby he admits obliquely that the novel got on his nerves and made him feel nauseous):

...and I say this unwillingly: the novel contains coarse erotic passages which are not taken from life, but which stem from the author's own obsessive imagination. Hatred against all things sensuous, almost to the point of obscenity, betrays dependence rather than independence. One has to be big and free before one can become a cynic. 40

Flake proves himself to be the advocate of middleclass understanding of literature, of an idealistic world perspective, which turns its eyes from crude reality. A later critique from Kurt Reinhold shows the degree of Flake's influence:

It is understandable that Otto Flake rejected the novel out of some intellectual concept of purity, for this book reeks of pus, just like the cynical torso of Karl Fanta, whose body is being consumed – limb by limb – by boils and ulcers: it seeps from the body of the faded widow Klara Porges as an odour of congealed fat, who forces the obsequious bank official Polzer out of his path in a most brutal way, virtually rapes him erotically. It spreads atmosphere of the herculean carer Sonntag, the former slaughterer, who now distributes little religious tracts, advising repentance and frequently displaying an old apron bearing fearful washed-out blood stains from his last victims.

A shamelessness is in the air, too intense to be frivolous or sensuous, and which carries aloft the single cry of tortured confusion emanating from all these 'fettered creatures'. The individual sentences stand alone, naked... Despite everything, it is the intensive burden of literary experiences and the terrible outline of the human figures dangling helplessly in space which allows us to regard this book as a work of art. 41

Flake's criticisms probably hit Ungar harder than any of the others, particularly as Flake appears to have been very close to the author for a period of time, close enough to have shared secret deprivations and worries. He found a supporter in Berthold Viertel, Camill Hoffmann's friend, who had been very enthusiastic about _Boys and Murderers_. Viertel's final plea on behalf of the writer Hermann Ungar and the reality content of his book provided a response to Flake which also appeared in the _Weltbuehne_ :

The ugliness of the world is shown here more objectively than in the envied abstracts of expressionism. The issues don't have to be carefully 'tuned' like instruments being prepared for an orchestral concert. These issues have ingested the atmosphere, so that it cannot protect them from each other. Shapes which are not vegetation, which dispense with the manure-smell of the earth, because they grow out of nihilism with no bloom.... don't even throw shadows...even the most abstract shadow in metaphysical processes calms any fears of ghosts of spectres felt by mature children in this harrowing frozen objectiveness which has to be named: Loneliness without hope. The psychological and physiological become active here, the tangible reality and the metaphysical concept come together in a dry report written in a language so sober, it is unclear whether the author was suffering from fever or hypothermia. And that is why the book may appear to certain people to be tasteless and outdated in the naturalistic sense, to other perhaps unnatural and unrealistic. The book brings out its own type of nakedness, which is much less acceptable than the natural nakedness of creations covered in skin: it is related to the nakedness illuminated by phosphorous under the clothing by George Grosz in his new folder 'Ecce homo' – visible indecencies of the soul, highlighting the legs and genitals. In a similar way the apocalyptic satire written by George Grosz reveals the genitalia of time to be the fantastic-real face of mankind! In the face of such radical facts one might let out a scream of fear of the conscience. To each man his own deformation! After all the active and sentimental escapism experienced in these days, reaction continues in the usual horrible, succinct way when an artist wishes to make himself understood in a general common or opposing way. In a similar way two years ago in Dresden appendages were fixed to the monstrous image called 'The Barricade' by the painter Dix and shocked not only the audience, but also the surrounding structure of expressionists, whose outlines were suddenly overflowing with brutal monumental palpable forms. It was no painting – it was a catastrophe. And Hermann Ungar writes catastrophes.

I was therefore unsurprised when Otto Flake, the first serious critic of this book... attempted to apply the golden section to The Maimed, which – and this is the particular standard of Ungar's lack of restraint – could only result in further mutilation. Every sentence remaining – to the right or to the left – would just add to the cripple Fanta's burden of poison and pus... more limbs would be severed from his torso: is the victim of our repression, the saintly Polzer, who seems to desire the joy of the knife which finished him off, and to court our guilt, wishing to be brutalised by it: or the Samaritan who is simultaneously the slaughterer. Each and all symbols of a time which survived the war and now appears to be damned to seek the untraceable connection between Christ and his executioners. Even a 'Mrs Porges', a blowsy carnivorous plant, licentious and proliferate organism, becomes absurd when she gains an inbred cool intellect. The book cannot thrive in a stifling parlour where refined scholars of literature aspire to be Europeans. This 'utopia of communality' as Otto Flake correctly judges The Maimed from his noble-minded point of view, possesses a credibility (incredible in his eyes) to which one has to commit in an equally unpretentious way to that shown to George Grosz. The person who throws the first stone, by declaring whatever lies beneath modern clothing as improbable, would have to aim very high to avoid hitting himself. Flake does this with his words: ' the novel contains coarse erotic passages which are not taken from life, but which stem from the author's own obsessive imagination'. Flake says this 'unwillingly' and I repeat his word just as reluctantly. His criticisms are evidence of unusually high level of intellectual uprightness, but Hermann Ungar's book is just a godforsaken Ecce homo. If nothing more appeared in the book than the really magnificent scene in which a sex addict dedicates a monster of a female creature to Christianity and forces her to confess her sins, then the people's empathy would open their hearts but bar their minds to such a pitiful glory. 42

Berthold Viertel's involved critique was equally unable to pave the way to public acceptance as were the other positive critics mentioned in the introduction. The circle of people who opened their 'hearts' to the 'pitiful glory' of the 'saintly Polzer' remained small and will necessarily remain so in view of the 'unacceptable' veristic 'nakedness'.

#  Diplomat and Author - continued (1924 -1927)

To overcome one's inhibitions, one must acknowledge one's dependency on them'. 1

In his critique of _The Maimed_ Otto Flake noted that Ungar always used 'extreme caution' in his stories, moving forwards 'step by step'.2 Others have also underlined time and time again his scrupulous and meticulous approach, the feeling of responsibility with which he undertook his writing. And we know the underlying reason – his neurotic sense of inferiority, whose origins stretched way back to the Jewish ghetto of Boskowitz. These negative feelings went so deep that even his professional, private or literary successes were unable to effectively compensate, the more so since any achievements were counter-productive and just increased his fear of failure. Here lies also one reason for his diminishing creativity after completion of _The Maimed_. A further reason can be found in the fact that after his Italian holiday he searched for a new literary orientation – but then had to admit that he would never be able to escape from himself.

Although it became clear that the feared scandal was non-existent, all the contradictory responses to the novel just served to strengthen Ungar's futile longings for 'free flight'3 and led to a creative block. Contributory factors might have been his personal circumstances: the long-distance marriage with Margarete, the forthcoming birth of the baby necessitating commitment to his income-related professional career: possibly also his delicate state of health. Then finally there is also the question of monetary inflation: as a Czech state employee, Ungar would perhaps have been personally less affected than others by inflation, but it reduced the opportunities to publish his work and burdened him as a civil servant with an extraordinary amount of extra work.

Ungar's sole article published in the year 1923 appeared in the _Prager Tagesblatt_ on December 22 in the form of the regular report from the Berlin correspondent and, significantly, dealt with the introduction of the 'Security Mark' in November as well as the consequences of the relative stabilisation and its impact on _'the lowest level of the social classes_ and on the Czech economy.4

In addition to this article, only one other document written during this year has been traced, an open letter to the old and new Barissia fraternities published in the _Barissia Newsletter_. This open letter hints at the desperate situation in which Ungar was living at the time. The 40th semester anniversary of the association was being celebrated at the end of May in Teplitz-Schoenau and Ungar would have dearly loved to attend - despite his estrangement from Jewish Nationalism – just to shake hands again with the _'Old Boys'_ and get to know the _'New Ones'_. Instead he was forced to write to Prague on May 18th, and to confess that he had to resign himself _'with a heavy heart'_ to being unable _'to be with you on these days'_ for _'the most valid reasons'._ 5

However Ungar did travel during 1923, the year of severe inflation - he went on a second trip to Italy. He was in Florence again from June 12 to July 12 during his summer vacation. This time he was based in the Hotel de Rome and undertook short day excursions to the surrounding areas, rekindled acquaintanceships and made new friends. Unfortunately very little is known about this second journey to the city on the Arno, which would probably have given rise to as much 'confusion' as the first – but might also have brought some clarity regarding his future path. The fact that Ungar travelled to Florence again was a surprise in itself, as he mocked this type of educational trip in his novel _Colbert's Journey_ and had to mute his enthusiasm during his first visit to Italy by declaring that anything beautiful is solely an illusion bearing no relationship to the real lives of humans, especially not to his own.

Against this background his decision to repeat this Italian experience was surprising, but it makes more sense if one takes Ungar's ambivalent 'ego-structure' into consideration. The holiday was just more evidence that Ungar was unable to accept his situation and was attempting to escape the restrictions on his life.

In September 1923 Ungar was granted three days of compassionate leave to visit his sick mother in Brno (presumably Jeanette Ungar was undergoing another eye operation). Not much later, on October 25th, he obtained further compassionate leave to celebrate the birth of his son, Thomas Michael. This event was important for his mental development as it had a positive influence on his approach to life. His new family situation also enabled him to obtain special leave at the start of 1924, from January 25th to 27th, to spend a few days with his wife and child at his parents-in-law's home in Prague-Smichov.6

Besides these individual periods of leave, which have been taken from the official registers, Ungar spent short periods in Prague during the almost two years he lived separately from his wife. These trips were necessary from a professional duty point of view, but Ungar also sought every opportunity to spend time there after the birth of Thomas, whom they called 'Tommy'. His paternal pride was obvious to everyone. Egon Erwin Kisch wrote to his mother on June 5th, 1924:

I have nothing to report on the events in Berlin which could be of interest to you... Dr Ungar (Arnold's friend) is delighted with his 8 months old son, who is presently living in Prague. Miss Gisl Liner is occupied with transcribing all sorts of manuscripts – and otherwise I know of nothing that might particularly interest you. 7

The economic situation in Germany had calmed down in summer 1924 as a result of the monetary reform and the 'Dawes Plan', so Ungar moved his wife and son (plus the servant girl Emma Dietrich) to Berlin in September. They lived at Brandenburgische Strasse 38. He used the remaining days of his summer holiday to prepare for this move from August 17th onwards.

He had spent most of his summer vacation earlier, from June 13th to July 7th 1924, in the worldly spa town of Marienbad, staying at the Villa Valerie guesthouse. According to Nanette Klemenz he used this time to work on the concept of his third book, the documentary report called _The Murder of Captain Hanika_ , which then appeared at the end of 1925 as part of the series _Social Outcasts: Crimes of the Present Day_ printed by the Berlin publishing house _Die Schmiede_. 8 He would only have had sufficient time in Marienbad to review and collate the background material he had collected. The report would have been written during the first half of 1925.

The book was planned a long time beforehand, way back at the time of the case of _The Hanika Murder_ itself at the change of the year 1923/24. In the advance notification of the series published in the _Prager Press_ in February 1924, Ungar was named as a 'colleague working on the first series', together with a long list of authors which was finally cut down to just Alfred Doeblin, Iwan Goll, Arther Holitscher and Ernst Weiss. The advance notification stated:

A series of stories on the most interesting and infamous crimes of modern days, similar to the Pitval collection will soon be printed by the Berlin publishing house Die Schmiede. Each case will be recorded by one of our best living writers in a single volume printed by Die Schmiede. The editor of the collection is Rudolf Leonhard. 9

Only a few of the cases contained in the advance notification actually appeared in print and, in fact, the Hanika case was not amongst those initially mentioned. It is not possible to say why Ungar decided to write about this particular case, which took place in the Boskowitz area and which was heard in the Brno court. The story was commissioned and Ungar himself would hardly have chosen to write about a criminal court case, but he did select the subject of the story himself – unlike the other writers – as the Hanika case had not only attracted a lot of attention in Czechoslovakia, but had a number of personal connotations. As far as the content was concerned, various issues of mental and social determination came into play, which were of particular interest to Ungar, such as sex addiction and the impact of a petit-bourgeois background. The main factors in his decision, however, were that he was very well acquainted with the setting and that his school friend, Felix Loria, was one of the defence attorneys and could therefore supply him with insider information on the case.

Rudolf Leonard had joined Franz Pfemfert's activist group prior to the war, but had now turned to socialism and belonged to the certain circle of Berlin writers who 'made decisive statements about committed literature'. 10 In spring 1923 Leonard, together with Walter Landauer, formed the editorial management team for the publisher Die Schmiede founded in 1921 by Fritz Wurm, Julius B. Salter and Heinz Wendriner, and which became a joint stock company in 1924. Leonhard ensured that 'many of his contemporaries found their editorial home with this new and promising publisher',11 thereby also endowing Die Schmiede early on with the reputation of being the left-wing middleclass face of literature and one of the most famous Berlin publishing houses, gaining highest accolades from the most bourgeois press. Besides a focus on French authors, Die Schmiede concentrated mainly on modern German literature, including such writers as Ernst Weiss, Iwan Goll, Franz Kafka, Joseph Roth, Johannes R. Becher, Walter Hasenclever, Walter Mehring and Alfred Wolfenstein.

Important series were The Unknown Balzac (Vol. 1-5, 1923/24), Classics of Erotic Literature (Vol. 1-4, 1926), Reports on Reality (Vol. 1-6, 1927) and Novels from the XXth Century (Vol. 1-18, 1924/27). In 1927 Leonhard left Die Schmiede and went to Paris, just before Wurm and Salter, two profit-seekers without any literary background, brought the company to its knees through their amateurism and fraudulent wheeling and dealing resulting in a public sensation in 1929.' 12

In retrospect Leonhard's greatest achievement whilst working at Die Schmiede must have been the documentary series Social Outcasts which really laid the foundations for this innovative type of literature in Germany. The objective of the series was to allow 'famous writers to relate the stories of contemporary sensational criminal cases and to disclose the social background of the crimes'.13 The purpose was to create a 'universal image of modern times' 14 using the new method of social criticism and literary agitation. One could claim that the objectives were achieved in part, as for example in 'public opinion influencing the verdict, or more correctly public prejudices and modern mischief-making journalism', 15 even though the different writers carried out their tasks in their own individual ways and some produced nothing more than 'individual files'. 16 The 'impact on German intellectuals' was by no means negligible, which meant that other publishers tried their hands at literary court reports now that the 'new factual foundations' had been laid. But the series failed to 'reach a wider range of social classes' mainly due to its 'extremely literary appearance' and its relatively high price.17 This was probably the reason why, against Leonhard's wishes, the series came to an abrupt end at the close of 1925. The series started in 1924 with four published volumes and finished at volume 14, with Ungar's Tragedy of a Marriage, The Murder of Captain Hanika. Once the company became a joint stock company, non-literary criteria were increasingly used to determine which works were to be published. Initially there was no restriction on the series as far as the lists of cases and authors were concerned.18 The plan included a further volume by Ungar, which, as far as we know, never got past the concept stage, The Angerstein Case. 19

When Rudolf Leonhard first suggested Ungar's participation in this project, it is probable that he didn't even know the young writer personally – although he would have read the two novels _Boys and Murderers_ and _The Maimed_. These two works, which might perhaps be perceived as 'crime case studies', predestined their writer for the new series. Apart from their extreme psychological individualised illustrations, these two novels came very close to the concept for the new series – both in their detached, 'new factual' reporting style and in their treatment of 'outsiders'' fate and their 'crimes' determined by society. Another point in Ungar's favour was his legal training. Ungar himself was delighted to receive Leonhard's invitation. He viewed it as recognition of his literary achievements – and it liberated him from his long-term literary lethargy, mainly because it released him from his indecision regarding a new orientation for his writing and also because it offered him a wonderful opportunity to write about reality (apparent) without concentrating on his own problem areas. The self-doubts, which had so often plagued his creativity were less obvious, as no 'work of art' was expected, but more a 'grande reportage' on the basis of factual information.

Even though there was a lengthy interval from the time of the idea to the time of publication, this was caused more by Ungar's conscientious research into the case. In his 'introduction notes' to _Captain Hanika_ , Ungar wrote:

This story does not make the claim of being a work of art. It only relates those facts contained in the case documentation. The reporter is unwilling to invent material to fill gaps, to add imagined character traits or details, to use artistic licence and create a novel from the court transcripts, to adapt a criminal case presented to the court less than two years ago and where the persons involved are still alive.20 The objective of this story is to collate and chronicle the material without any ambitions.

His gratitude 'for the kind support of this work' was expressed to the Brno solicitors Dr Goller, Dr (Felix) Loria, Dr (Karl) Fein, and Dr Ecer, 21 the defence attorneys in the Hanika case, who allowed him access to the case files. Felix Loria recalled that that Ungar wrote him 'some interesting letters regarding his book on the Hanika murder, as I had collected and forwarded to him various documents from the crime files I thought these would be useful and important'. 22 Amongst these various documents were letters from those involved in the case, the diary of the murdered Czech captain, and also newspaper reports which had played an infamous role in the case. Loria did not appear to have been actively involved in the Brno court proceedings.

Ungar adhered to the basic principles as set in the 'introductory notes' and produced a concise, brief source-orientated report. His chosen subtitle, _Tragedy of a Marriage_ , indicates however that this was no report in the narrowest meaning, but that the writer had subconsciously taken sides in the story. A literary depiction without any ambitions did not mean 'that he dispensed with an analysis of the material, nor that his point of view was unbiased within this analysis – an in-depth view of the social and psychological associations to the prehistory and to the deed itself, as well as to the conditions of the court proceedings and its interaction with the public. As with his novels and stories, Ungar's empathy is visible despite the factualism in this artistic form of report.'23

Ungar's documentary report sheds much more light on his social-critical attitude and his commitment to social changes than his fictional work did. For many of his bourgeois critics – who generally discussed his volume relative to other volumes in the series – this fact alone was highly suspect. For example Hans Nordeck, who claimed that most of the writers only saw the series 'through more or less left-radical party glasses' leaving the 'fundamental principles, the eternal, divine commandments' to one side, and who saw in Ungar 'a blunt supporter of the Law of Relativity' for whom morals, truth and justice were only relative terms (which, seen objectively, is quite correct). 24 Richard Euringer claimed that Ungar and the others were 'playing a frivolous game with values'.25 Other critics complained that Ungar's version of the story 'failed to cover all the psychological possibilities in this case which was typical in many aspects' ,26 or criticised – again not completely unjustifiably - his flawed use of language.27

The response to Ungar's meagre criminal case study was minimal and the German public would only have viewed it as being one title amongst many others - and if they had not previously heard of the Hanika case, it would have been one of the least interesting volumes. However, in Czechoslovakia, particularly in Brno and Moravia, the situation would have been understandably quite different. The anticipated local interest led to a translation which, only a few months after _Die Schmiede's_ publication, appeared in daily instalments from February 25th until March 13th 1926 in the Brno _Lidove noviny_.28

Otto Pick introduced the latest titles in the _Outcasts_ series in the _Prager Presse_ and was the sole critic to mention the new book of this 'excellent German-Moravian writer'. Despite Ungar's own protests, he described the 'powerful, factual, unbiased account of the case' as a literary 'work of art' prejudiced by his personal friendship with the author and his local interests:

Intentionally dispensing with any form of literary adornment and psychological insets, Ungar only relayed clearly and precisely 'the information available in the original material' was the unassuming introduction. But it is the method in which this is depicted which awakens in attentive readers a similar feeling to that experienced in reading Stendhal's Italian novels: the juristic factual style begins to shine, glowing from the inside outwards, the dry sequence of facts suddenly seems exciting, mental and emotional gaps become apparent, it seems much easier to explain puzzling issues. And so the reader finally disputes the author's claim that his book is not to be seen as a 'work of art'. 29

Although almost three years lay between the publication of the novel _The Maimed_ and the documentary report _The Murder of Captain Hanika_ , Ungar's fame and reputation increased during this period. An official certificate of capability was issued in 1924 which stated:

He is acknowledged as one of the leading literary figures of the young generation of German-language authors. The Viennese Neue Freie Presse described him as the most important writer of German literature of the last century. His work is highly praised in other areas. 30

The respect that Ungar enjoyed in cultural circles was confirmed by an invitation issued by the _Berlin Boersen Courier_ to participate in a survey on the subject of _Readership and Society_ : Ungar's comments appeared on December 25th 1924, together with responses from Heinrich Mann, Thomas Mann, Hermann Bahr, Georg Kaiser, Paul Kornfeld, Oskar Loerke, Ernst Rohwohlt and others.31

After some introductory sentences, Ungar answered the query 'exclusively from the aspect of an author – one-sided, subjective' and he attacked both the readership and society - seeing not a large social group, but rather a 'select readership', a literary 'salon'. Once again the contradictions within the writer became apparent: we know of his hunger for success and his preference for a gay social life offering opportunities for him to shine, Ungar's answer is pure camouflage. His response shows up his dual personality and is therefore a half-truth:

Readership is a business matter which my publisher handles. I personally lay no value on readership. I meet my public incognito, with quite bourgeois characteristics. The fact that I am often recognised has nothing to do with my actions. Once, for example, I was accosted by a slender young man in the artists' room of a lecture hall, where I was visiting one of the lecturers. This young man then said 'Are you Hermann Ungar? I thought you were a young Bohemian!' (That is what was stated in the discussion papers.) I could do nothing other than offer a blushing, helpless gesture of apology. Perhaps I was neither young enough, nor Bohemian enough! He had suffered a bitter disappointment. Anyway I discovered that my wish to avoid being recognised is quite justified. I always destroy the illusions and readership and public have built around me and my works and have never fulfilled their expectations. The majority of the readership nurse the illusion that I live in terrible deprivation, lead a dog's life of starvation and poverty. I can well understand their disappointment when they find I earn my daily bread as a civil servant – and that they find it unforgivable.

I do not believe that the readership is a productive factor in creativity. Readership is a result of many forces - particularly of long-term, unceasing and consistent effort. The term used in the creative world for this is 'the (happy) medium'. The created object is always the work of an individual person. The mass of items created is an object, too. Picture this: the wind passes over a field of corn, the individual ears of corn are balanced, trembling, on long stalks. The wind is the readership, the artist is movement, the mass is immobile. There is no democracy in art, the soul (intellect) has absolute power and is not controlled by any parliament. Creativity increases proportionately as restraints are removed.

Is society, from the artist's point of view, any different from his audience/readership? It is certainly a selected part of the wider public. But not necessarily that part of the wider public, an inner circle of people that the artist sometimes makes use of to discuss burning issues – like a lover discusses his worries and doubts during the different affairs of his love life? Will he search for a society, a 'salon', to help him clarify matters, to boost his self-confidence, search for affirmation or instruction? He will seek out similarly-minded people, i.e. in order to be able to escape the image of his emotions, the artist will look for a social group – but not for 'society' itself. His 'social group' will be formed from those people who don't want to hold intellectual conversations, but to discuss life's problems. When I think of society, I think of 'salons'. It is not my intention to exclude the famous 'salons' of past years or decades when I state that 'salons' are nothing more that a pompous, pretentious and slimy form of snobbism – are and were, even in the times of Rahel Varnhagen, in the times of Dido, who, despite everything, appears to have loved these forms of coffee circles. A group of fine intellectual solicitors, highly education daughters of high-society families, and literary figures congregate on the first Tuesday of every month at the home of an intellectual housewife, who – today – read Freud, drank tea and practiced highly education conversation. Fine intellectual solicitors – I have nothing against solicitors as long as they are well-mannered – but fine intellectual solicitors make me sick! If this is on offer again - or is supposed to be on offer – then I will be happy to leave the fine intellectual solicitors to themselves!' 32

Besides the recognisable self-stylisation, a number of issues are of particular interest in these comments. The rigorous division between professional and literary existence: the confrontation between absolute intellect and the hated mediocre masses (without whom an artist cannot function): the unequivocal insistence on creativity without considering the public expectations: the resentment directed at fine intellectual circles, against any 'empowering' unreal literary activities. The person who made these comments felt hatred and his hatred was extreme because he knew he was dependent on all these things: on his job, the readership and public, the so-called 'society': and he saw no way of escaping them and following his chosen path and his own free will. One year later he joined a literary association, the Group 1925.

On July 13th 1924 the first book review written by Ungar appeared in the _Prager Tageblatt_. The subject was the very unusual, now completely forgotten book ' _Lux in tenebris lucet_ ''(Berlin: Mosaik 1924) written by the Prague author Johannes Haase, a fleeting acquaintance of Ungar. Ungar's sympathetic and enthusiastic review was unsurprising for this slim book covering 'not quite one hundred pages' and describing 'a suffering, tortured person searching for God':

One would like to get up from the reading-table and shake Johannes Haase's hand – this Johannes Haase with his lean face and burning eyes, unforgettable once one has seen him, once one has read the nuances of his text. Someone is conquering the world here, someone who considers it worthwhile to conquer the world.

The _'timeless mysticism of Catholicism',_ which Haase, _'the scion of a Prague-based German family'_ and also _'a suffering colleague of all times'_ turned into an existential experience in his novel fluctuating between madness and reality, just had to fascinate Ungar, the superstitious Jew, even more so because it had so much in common with his own pessimistic perception of the world, with his own writing – a great deal of the critique could be seen as self-perception:

Reality, which sets the constraints for the spirit, provides the contemporary setting for the timeless spirit – this reality is madness, it is sick. Reality cannot bind the spirit. The spirit is strong, so strong in its creativity that it perceives its own advances, records its own movements... The bloody brutalities, which the loyal servant of ecclesia militans carries out in triumph in its honour [the parallels to the medic Sonntag in The Maimed are remarkable] are given boldly in the language used for Catholic oaths over the centuries. The reports from Gryphius Gueldenstubbe [doctor at the lunatic asylum and counterpart of Claus von Deckenpfronn, of the 'loyal servant' and 'torturer of the Holy Inquisition'], were given in our language, that is, the language of our best people. The reports were made in a uniform composed and calm way, uniform also in the strength of the experiences made – contained in each line of the book. Despite the detached art of the raconteur one feels the suffering of the victim, experiences the desire to help. 33

Might not the same words be contained in the critique of _The Maimed_? Ungar perceived a brother in Johannes Haase.

He only one wrote one other book critique. In 1927 he reviewed the first German translations of _Kyra Kyralina_ and _Uncle_ y Panait Istratis. Ungar had neither the ambition nor the personality to be a literary critic. He had to be really enthusiastic about a book and feel the need to support the writer, to review a book. And even then his dissatisfaction with himself, his belief that he was by no means a literary authority, prevented him from writing critiques.

The second half of 1924 and the first half of 1925 were dedicated to writing the documentary report _The Murder of Captain Hanika_ , but before this he wrote the short story _The Brothers_. Ungar handed it over to Jan Grmela to translate into Czech 34, but only after it had appeared in the _Berliner Boersen-Courier_ on August 17th, 1924. 35

Jan Grmela (1895 – 1957), was a civil servant in the Statistics Office and also the Director of the Library in Prague. An author himself, he wrote numerous poems, stories, novels and dramas, besides being one of the most important Czechoslovakian mediums for German-language literature. He met Ungar in 1924 during a study trip to Berlin, a thorough report of which appeared in the journal Pramen. Like with other authors (including Ernst Weiss, Ludwig Winder, Hugo Salus, Oskar Baum) he became the most important translator of Ungar's works. 36In an obituary text written in 1954 on the Prague Germans and the German Jews Grmela reminisced about Ungar, to whom he was introduced by Camill Hoffmann. He had, at the time, already read the books Boys and Murderers and The Maimed and he was delighted to meet the author personally, as he intended to translate one of the books into the Czech language.

'I was drawn to his prose. Ungar stemmed from the Kafka stable. Complicated literature – obviously influenced by Dostoyevsky – but injected with Jewish analytic subversion forces. He knew how to plumb the depths of the human soul, especially where scarred, perverse and depraved people were concerned. Many of his works could be construed as showpiece articles of horror, but also as examples of an art working with a ingenious simplicity of style and expression.'

With Ungar's approval, he was given the translation rights for Boys and Murderers plus some other short stories. He was grateful to have met this subtle, nervous and extremely sensitive writer and spent many happy hours in the Roman Cafe with him and his spouse. And Ungar was equally delighted with the Czech translations. Grmela quoted from a letter Ungar wrote to him in the Czech language on April 15th, 1925, referring to a translation of Boys and Murderers which presumably had been finished at the start of 1925.

'A Czech translation means much more to me than it could to any non-Czechoslovakian author, for, when I write, I always have the feeling that I want – and ought to – be writing in the Czech language.'

And Grmela states that his friendship with Ungar lasted for many, many years.37

When the family moved to Berlin in September 1924, Ungar's life had changed completely. He had less time for writing than ever before. Linguistic, grammar and composition errors in his documentary report are evidence of the pressure under which he was working. Once the report was concluded, Ungar was drawn, as in the previous years, to his homeland. His summer vacation, from June 15th to July 8th, was spent in Brno, living at Masarykstrasse 32. The embassy recalled him prematurely for urgent reasons – so he spent the remaining leave period there in September. Despite the family life in Berlin, Ungar still did not feel at home and spent his leave in the following two years in his homeland, in Jamnitz and in Boskowitz.

After finishing his criminal case study, Ungar found time for other works – not for large-scale epics, but for sketches and journalistic articles. A short prose text appeared in the _Berliner Tageblatt_ on September 11th 1925, called _Tulip_ , described in Ungar's own words as a 'short, merry sketch', 'which described the strange death of a civil servant and the grief of his widow'. 38 It was, in truth, neither a 'merry' nor, as Klemenz described it, an 'undiscerning story' 39, but rather a pitiless and cynical satire on bourgeois attitudes. In an almost terrifying ice-cold way, Ungar discloses the bourgeois pretentious values of orderliness and discipline, of hierarchy, of respect for authority, of honouring class and status, of piousness and sentimentality, all with a hatred that is only understandable because it is aimed at his own situation and background. Here is evidence that Ungar's often praised 'humour' is actually only a cynical reaction to the limitations of his own lifestyle – any laughter should stick in the throat of the reader. 40

Surprisingly less typical than the satire _Tulip_ was a sequence of short newspaper articles which started to appear only one day later in Prague. Max Brod had been the theatre and music critic for the _Prager Tagblatt_ since 1921, but in his book about the Prague Circle he could not/would not remember anything about Ungar, apart from 'He appeared in the _Prager Tagblatt_ , but made such little impression on me that I forgot all about him.'41 However in autumn 1925 his impression of the 'poet and supporter' was so great that he engineered a editorial commission for the inexperienced diplomat: to write about new theatre and revue productions in Berlin. This was a commission that Ungar just could not refuse, as it was a chance to combine both vocation and profession. Ungar was a passionate theatre-goer anyway and his scruples, which made book reviews so difficult for him, just did not apply as he no longer considered himself to be a dramatist. He possessed experience as both actor and dramatist. Ungar soon realised that, contrary to his expectations, the genre just did not suit him. He found it difficult to create an article in a day 42 and he also made unnecessary enemies with these reviews. He got to know the culture sector from its worst side, which only confirmed his initial suspicions, and quickly extricated himself from this new role. However in the two weeks, September 12th to 26th, 4 reviews penned by him appeared in the _Prager Tagblatt_ which are extremely interesting, despite their meagre content, because they provide an insight into the personality of Hermann Ungar, particularly regarding his views on the practicalities and objectives of the theatre. He was unable to select his subjects himself, so they give no feedback on his preferences.

On Saturday September 12th, he wrote a review on Erik Charell's new revue _For You_ , which premiered in the Grand Theatre, with stage setting from the magnificent Prague comedian Walter Trier. The colourful chaos and the dancers' legs provided inspiration:

Lights, colours, naked and half-naked women, music, dancing, constant laughter and the thundering applause of the thousands of people who filled the theatre. How am I going to describe what I saw? Moroccan belly-dancers, dancers from Russia, Spain, America (particularly the memory of the blonde, slim Betty Delance remained in my mind).

The comic basic theme of the revue, which dissolved into the dancing, was taken from Pirandello according to Ungar, ( _Six characters looking for an author_ ), he acknowledged Charell's artistic direction and felt his previous comment had been reaffirmed: 'The most simple media will always achieve true comedy' (and he practices what he preaches in his later work _The Arbour_ ). Charell's revue would have had no existentialist impact on Ungar, but the latter, who always regarded himself as a 'connoisseur', enjoyed himself vastly and foresaw, albeit in a playful way, a total revolution of the theatre which only became established in our modern times with Peter Zadek and other similar authors.

Rumour has it that the revue will never take the place of the operetta. The revue is today's theatre. It brings all manner of things, like a Swedish smorgasbord. The audience in the theatre during the period 1925 to 1950 does not want to watch long drawn-out plays. They want to see short, rhythmic scenes with jokes about physical rather than psychic issues. The audience is tired of problems and action. The audience wants to watch, but not to hear or digest. At the most the audience would want light, undemanding music – as background sound. Even if the revues so far have been less than spectacular, at the most just the same images in red, then green, then perhaps with a Chinese flair, after that perhaps slightly Dutch-tinged with appropriate posters, it might be true that modern audiences no longer want longer, intellectual plays. But a drama could be a revue if it were to be more colourful – not as far as the costumes are concerned, but perhaps with constant, rapid changes of scenery. There are signs that such a trend is emerging (from the American, O'Neill and the German, Brecht). And the biggest production success last year was the Martinsche Revue (Wedekind's Franziska). It is true that theatre today is boring, boring for everyone except the actors, the critics and the author of the play. But let us wait and see whether we shall still remain in our seats until 11.30 pm after the tenth revue. First we admire the legs, then we have seen enough of them and finally we don't want to see them anymore. The happiest of love affairs ended thus. 43

The short-lived 'love affair' with revues which culminated with Brecht's _Three Penny Opera_ is underlined by the fact that Ungar's next two projects remained uninfluenced by revues but rather appear to be attempts at rehabilitation of typical dramas.

Three days after the Charell article, on Tuesday, September 15th, a review appeared in the _Prager Tagblatt_ of an Oscar-Straus-Operetta, _The Teresina_ , which was performed on the Saltenburgbuehnen with Fritzi Massary in the leading role. Ungar's less than kind critique had repercussions which led to the main reason for the termination of his job as theatre critic.

Ungar did not really discuss Straus's music, other than calling it 'good, light, rhythmic music' – although he himself was somewhat of a music lover, played the piano really well and attended a great many concerts (he was particularly fond of Gustav Mahler) he was not enough of an expert to attempt to write music critiques. His copious criticisms were directed at the text written by the librettists Rudolf Schanzer and Ernst Walisch and against the public which seemed incapable of putting aside their reactionary instincts and accepting the issues of the new modern times.

I accepted the Prague commission with great pleasure. But perhaps my pleasure was a little premature? Now I have to swallow this pulverised Billy goat manure which Messrs Schanzer and Welisch have raked together from all corners of literature. And then there is La Massary! Am I such a stubborn recluse – do I fail to understand the times or the modern world? Is this why I cannot stomach the Teresina as it is played out before me and I find myself wishing 'Oh no! If only it would end – if only I were at home!' whilst the rest of the audience are having such a good time? It is so good that all the seats are taken – the stalls, the boxes, the circle – the theatre is absolutely full, no seat remains empty. All the advertising and advance information was put in place to ensure that the house was sold out weeks ago. When I looked around, I saw that all the most important figures of Berlin high society were present. The boxes were occupied by gentlemen, so-called patrons of the arts, with their bulging wallets and their semi-naked ladies, sometimes accompanied by some 'Johnny come lately' from the art world, who they all court when he no longer has any need for them. A mixture of dinner jackets and naked shoulders is visible in the stalls, with ermine or mink stoles discretely slipping off. And all these people sit clapping with enthusiastic calls of 'Oh!' and 'Ahh!'. Even the professional critics utter cries of joy and delight, adding their tempered expressions of ecstasy. Have they been infected by the atmosphere around them? Or have they been rendered deaf and blind by the audience, who supposedly have a natural feel for good and bad, for boring and amusing? Has their ability to judge a play been corrupted by hundreds of positive advance comments? I fail to understand what is going on....

This was not written by a diplomat who loved to spend his time in high society, nor by the cultural attaché, who allowed himself to be invited to dine by millionaires – this is written by the social revolutionary Modlizki, who despised the 'fuss' of the bourgeoisie and nouveau riche, who hated the 'gentlemen with their bulging wallets and their semi-naked ladies', by the misunderstood artist, who was bombarded by would-be patrons once he had already achieved success. The person that wrote this felt no respect for an audience defined by mediocrity, unable to advance into modern times, preferring the old ways, who understood neither his books nor the demands of modern days. Even sidelines like writing _Teresina_ critiques provided further evidence of Ungar's inner clashes of personality, the discrepancies between apparent affirmation and hidden rebellion.

Amongst all the issues which led Ungar to use the terms 'pulverised Billy goat manure' or 'someone who had taken a disparate path' in his ideological and artistic criticisms of the play – this lover of women was only sorry about the fact that Fritzi Massary had lent her 'great talent' to this 'rubbish' – he was most annoyed about the class arrogance which was peddled in _Teresina_ . His critique, totally in the spirit of Modlizki, gains a political dimension when it is directed against the non-acceptance of the former saddler Friedrich Ebert and thus also against the whole Weimar Republic misery:

And something else that should never be kept quiet: this flirting with the idea of being so lucky to be born into an aristocratic family, speculating with the sweet instinct of the audience – it exists to be eradicated, not to be used commercially, dear playwrights. Making a mockery of the family Bonaparte, because they lack the fine manners that all the Emperors possessed – although they lacked everything else... Here in Germany the wonderful idea that a saddler could become a Head of State is virtually incomprehensible. It does not even enter people's minds, become speculation. One cannot make use of this. In no way. 44

During his years in Berlin Ungar seldom commented on German politics, as his position as a Czechoslovakian diplomat forbade any display of such personal opinions. Also Ungar himself felt it would not be acceptable for him, as a Moravian Jew whose sole connection with the German way of life was via literature, to get involved with internal issues of the Weimar Republic. But articles such as the above and his membership of the Group 25 demonstrate quite clearly his growing awareness and ever-increasing wariness of the political-social trends of the second German Reich and that he foresaw its collapse, especially after Rathenau's murder (1922). His status as a diplomat permitted an indepth knowledge of the chasms within the republic. His perceptive and foresighted friend, Gustav Krojanker, fed his pessimism, as did the leftist circle of new and old acquaintances around Rudolf Leonhard, _Die_ _Schmiede_ and also the Group 25.

Although Ungar considered the influence of literature to be minor on the general public, he thought the theatre had a major influence. In his eyes the theatre was a 'moralistic institution' and therefore he reacted severely to the commercialism he saw in _Teresina_.

And the writer Otto Zarek, dramatist at the Saltenburgbuehnen, reacted just as strongly when he read Ungar's critique. In the course of a face-to-face discussion he attempted to bring Ungar to account, going so far as to threaten to sue him for damages. On October 16th Ungar wrote an article on this in the second edition of _The Literary World_ (a journal founded by Ernst Rohwohlt and Willy Haase with Ungar's participation) which served as an excellent platform for him, as a Rohwohlt author:

In a review which appeared in the Prager Tagblatt I described the script for Teresina as 'pulverised Billy goat manure' for both artistic and worldly reasons. I will continue to describe it as such, mainly because this script speculates with anti-progressive and anti-contemporary perceptions which, even if they cannot be opposed, should never been used for commercial purposes – an obligation in my opinion of an operetta script author. Mr Otto Zarek, the dramatist at the Saltenburgbuehnen, did me the honour of lecturing me on this subject, an honour which I had to reject, since he was lecturing me as a playwright and went over the top when he accused me of not taking the theatre's business interests into consideration and then – to cap it all - telling me that I could not longer expect to obtain free tickets for his theatre (I have always personally paid for my tickets for the Saltenburgbuehnen). I then wrote to the management of the Saltenburgbuehnen and requested clarification regarding this statement from Mr. Zarek...

He wrote on September 24th and received a response from the management of the German Artists Theatre on September 25th, which was important enough to be published in _The Literary World_ denouncing his opponent and the capitalistic cultural sector:

Dear Sir!

In response to your letter of September 24th, I should like to advise you as follows:

I have discussed the matter with Mr Zarek and Mr Zarek explained that he held the conversation with you in his private capacity as an author. He would never have made accusations like this in his position as a representative of the Saltenburgerbuehnen to a critic writing a review. I find Mr Zarek's explanation acceptable and it has my approval.

As long as there are journals which accept the excremental style (Billy goat manure) used in your review of Teresina, it will prove difficult to prevent you from continuing to damage theatres with your critiques, even if your literary creations, as in this case, fly in the faces of the entire specialist press (critics for musical performances) and the Berlin audiences.

Yours respectfully

Heinz Saltenburg m.p.

Ungar's comments were cynical-ironic as expected:

It is difficult to argue with someone whose character is so diverse and so adaptable as that of Mr Zarek and I am not interested in dragging this 'Jekyll and Hyde' personality into the limelight. I want much more. It is interesting that a theatre director, whose ego is swollen by power (branches in all areas of the city), who is spoilt by knowing all the dramatists, now feels capable of demanding that an independent author is considerate of his commercial interests (which he insists on calling a theatre). Mr Zarek, however, is forced to consider these commercial interests himself having accepted this position as dramatist and author. I do not feel insulted and I demand no apology. It will suffice that I have drawn attention to the way the most important Berlin theatre director responds to critiques and to record the shameful fact that an author, who has been given this position by Mr Saltenburg and whose suitability for this position I reaffirm herewith, would support his boss in responding to a review with bullying tactics. It will suffice that I have been able to bring these issues to light and to disclose a mentality which sets boundaries on art limited to money and business and whose letters provide insight into his own character. 45

The editor of _The Literary World_ announced that Otto Zarek would respond to Ungar's comments – the response never materialised and no further theatre reviews by Ungar were published. It seemed as if Saltenburg and Zarek were victorious and Ungar resigned.

Two further reviews from Ungar were published before the _Teresina_ affair. On Tuesday, September 22nd he wrote a dual review on the German premiere of _Back to Methuselah_ by George Bernhard Shaw performed at Barnowsky (Theatre in the Koeniggraetzer Strasse) and the comedy _Lady Fanny and the Question of the Servants_ by Jerome K. Jerome at Saltenburg's Theater am Schiffbauerdamm. Ungar used this opportunity to write about the hopeless future prospects for those theatres which were unable to compete with modern technical leisure attractions – film and radio sectors – with the growing enthusiasm for sports activities, with the cheap 'taste of the masses'.

What will happen? Well, the prognosis is not good. For the majority of the general public a trip to the theatre is an unaffordable pleasure if the full entry price has to be paid – and the theatres need to charge this full entry price to remain in business. Watching a film, listening to the radio, yes, even going to a boxing match is cheap in comparison and, probably, also more to the taste of the general public. Problems are uninteresting, even when cloaked in comedy – speed is interesting, technical tricks, power, elasticity of the body, technology, techniques – techniques in every bodily or mechanised function, overcoming obstacles, nothing to do with the soul as in the theatre, but in matters of the elements, as experienced in radio and film. I am not underestimating the importance of a Zeppelin flight to America or around the world. Even the Greeks worshipped Daedalus and Ikarus, the first to fly. The Greeks celebrated the champions of the Olympic Games. But their Eckener and Breitenstraeter were also pupils of the Wise. The athlete Alcibiades paid homage to Socrates and was his dutiful pupil. I have no idea as to whether Pericles played golf. And if he did, then he would never have allowed himself to be photographed on the course, like Lloyd George did. Sport for the Greeks was nothing more than an aid to digestion. In modern times we take sport too seriously. Nowadays we take technology too seriously. General interest in what theatre has to offer is, I think, finally dwindling away.

Only in the first two pieces of Shaw's five-part drama cycle, _The Start_ and _The Evangelium ,_ Shaw expounds on his evolutionary philosophy of life and debates the issues of death within these plays:

It is the old Shaw, the one who ponders death, against his will, who like all great men refused to believe that soon this intellectual, sparkling, full-of-life being, Bernard Shaw by name, will no longer exist. This sadness, as one would expect, is clothed in irony and satire. But one feels that he is serious about 'creative evolution', the upward development of mankind, the longevity, becoming a long-living person, as this person is called in the next plays which were never performed. One feels that Bernard Shaw is actually facing the idea of his own mortality and so one becomes sad that soon there will be one less, one large character with a huge personality less on the scales of intellectualism versus the scales of the boxer, athlete, speed record winners, and all the others that run, drive and jump quickly, but think so slowly..

In the same year, the 70-year old Shaw was awarded the literary 'World Champion' title, the Nobel Prize 1925 (which was presented in 1926). Initially Shaw refused the prize for a reason, which Ungar would have understood: 'The prize is a life-saving anchor thrown out to a swimmer who has already reached the other side.' 46 Shaw died in 1950. Ungar's interest in Shaw and his works is understandable. The didactic use of irony and satire reflected Ungar's thoughts on the moral responsibilities of the theatre, and the subject was close to the heart of our hypochondriac who was constantly worrying about his health and his life. Ungar hardly mentions the production itself, but focuses on the actor, Curt Goetz. 'It is one of life's greatest pleasures to watch and hear this humorous, innovative and cultivated actor.'

Not much can be said about Ungar's review of the harmless comedy _Lady Fanny_. The review was very brief, Ungar's comments on the humorist Jerome, who became internationally famous with his _Three Men in a Boat_ (1889) were completely contrary to his comments on Shaw. Ungar called Jerome 'an Englishman of average calibre' and praised the ability of the main actress Tilla Durieux:

Young, captivating, funny, an astounding woman in this role, which we actually doubted she would be able to master. In the second act she dances and sings an English chanson. And she does it better than all other chanteuses. She does it with one hand behind her back – not as peak of her performance, just as a sideline to her great performance. This is the difference, the distinguishing factor, the excellence. She had to make a number of encores. Perhaps that will also become de rigour in the spoken theatre sector. Perhaps after William Tell has spoken his monologue the audience will demand a De Capo? Be prepared for everything! 47

Ungar's fourth and last theatre review appeared on Saturday, Septmber 26th and was on the German premiere of the comedy _The Glass Slipper_ by Franz Molnar, performed at the Theatre on the Kurfuerstendamm with Max Pallenberg, Kaethe Dorsch and Adele Sandrock in the main roles. This review was not much less conventional than the subject itself, and, contrary to the previous reviews, dispensed with comments, generalities or biographic relevant reflections. Ungar briefly introduced the characters as 'simple people with straightforward instincts', outlined the plot and then summarised:

In this play Molnar attempted to recreate the affects he achieved in Liliom. But it is obvious that the naive, folkloric atmosphere is a routine delivery from an expert hand. There has to be a penalty for writing so many box hits. The audience only feels caught up in the play through the skills of the actors, who are paid for their services.

He did not stint with his praise of Max Pallenberg, one of the ' _few great character actors of the German stage_ ' _:_

He managed to portray a breathing, sculptured person, despite Molnar's script: a helpless creature, despite all the screaming and shouting: a gripping image of helplessness.... it is regrettable that the opportunities are so rare for him to test his creativity in worthy plays.

He found some words of appreciation for both _'the Dorsch'_ and _'the great Adele Sandrock'_ and concluded:

The audience showed their gratitude to the actors with loud applause. After the second act there were some calls for the author. The author appeared and took a bow. I suppose he was the source of the success. 48

Ungar's short phase as a Berlin theatre critic had then reached its end. His four reviews for the _Prager Tagblatt_ were no literary gems, they were typical beginners' work, lacking the touch of the experienced reviewer but not always – such as in certain emotional or subjective passages – to their detriment. They emphasise the fact that Ungar followed Berlin's cultural life with critical interest and was not hiding away in his own ego.

After his theatre reviews, Ungar wrote a long psychological/graphological essay on Thomas Mann's method of working, which also provided insight into his own creative processes. This essay appeared on October 30th in the fourth edition of _The Literary World_ with the title: _The revelations in the playwright's manuscripts. A glance into Thomas Mann's workshop_. This became Ungar's most important essay, so important that it was mentioned in Guido K. Brand's _Literary History_. 49

A previous exchange of correspondence between Mann and Ungar reveals that it was Ungar's initial wish to write a review on _Magic Mountain_. But no journal was willing to print it, so he decided to show his gratitude in another way – to give free flow to his admiration in a great essay.

Those letters written by Ungar to Thomas Mann which still exist are interesting for many different reasons, and it is worthwhile recording them here before we go on to the later essay on Mann.

In autumn 1924 the two-volume novel _Magic Mountain_ was published by S. Fischer. Thomas Mann had laboured over this novel since 1922, with some interruptions, and Ungar, who had followed the progress of this masterly work with enthusiasm, was amongst the very first readers (he probably received a copy with a dedication from the author himself). Ungar was so thrilled that he wrote immediately to the Thomas Mann on December 7th 1924 after reading the first third of the novel:

7. XII. 24.

Respected Master!

I have just begun to read Magic Mountain, am about a third of the way through, but still I feel the urgent need to tell you how much happiness this book gives me. It delights with its irony, its excusing smile, its supreme tranquillity, in the detached way in which it is written, so lively, so three-dimensional, every word is reality, nothing is illusionary, I feel so paltry in comparison, I have the feeling that the person who wrote this novel is free and creative, whilst I, myself, am dragged down by my dirt-covered boots and feet of clay. I have only one consolation: that I am your contemporary and that you will provide me with maturity and – with the risk of being regarded by you as presumptuous – I feel very close to you, despite everything that they say about me, I feel that we are swimming along the same stretch of water and, whereas I am fighting with the bindweed and the algae, you are swimming calmly and peacefully in the middle where the water is endlessly deep but so clear that you can decipher every grain of sand on the bottom.

The Magic Mountain entrances and enraptures me. No other words can describe the impact. I read it: my cares and worries disappear: it is not quite clear to me how I can read about such terrible things without experiencing horror – perhaps because you have the ability to depict everything with dual illuminated faces. The question about the main points or the purpose behind everything appears – and at the same time laughter about this question. You forgive everything, even the miserable landscape, the monotonous corridors, the tuberculosis, the suffering – even God, the Heavenly Father with his gentle smile – just like a clever son would forgive his beer-guzzling father.

Please excuse my intrusion, I wrote without first formulating the ideas in my mind. I solely wished to tell you how delighted I am.

Always respectfully

Hermann Ungar 50

Thomas Mann's response came on a card, which has unfortunately been lost in the meantime, but his response apparently focused on protests about a literary critic who accused the _Magic Mountain_ of lacking 'heart and soul'. Ungar replied on December 30th with a long letter, which is of particular interest as it illustrated Ungar's growing distance to Expressionism and to Ernst Weiss. It also expanded on Ungar's literary ideals intimated in the first letter and the detached depiction of moving figures and events, as well as the illumination of 'two facets' – with an example:

30. XII. 24

Dear respected Doctor!

Your kind card arrived yesterday. Of course I finished reading Magic Mountain some time ago – I was unable to put the novel down until it was finished. I wrote to you after having read the first third – not for respite or because I needed a pause – but simply because I needed to express my gratitude to you. I would have loved to write my thoughts in a newspaper article and to have expressed all my feelings, but BT, Voss, Boersen-Courier etc had already commissioned all their articles. I would have written all this, despite still being indebted to you, and even if others might have misconstrued my intentions. I do not fear this. For one may be indebted to a Master, one can declare oneself on his side, even under these special circumstances, for small matters are of no importance at this level, the noises 'that those down below make' will not rise up and disturb us.

I have just one favour to ask of you, dear Master, do not take these things too personally – the things which are said to you or written about you. This novel is perfect, it takes its place besides Pickwick or Bovary. It has a worldly feeling, like Gogol and Dostoyevsky. It is not unrestrained Sturzbach, it is of the highest restrained level – it confuses the critics who are under Dostoyevsky's influence. I would say it is as great a masterpiece as War and Peace and, in my opinion, this novel belongs to the best of international literature. But there are things lacking in Tolstoy's works, the Gogol smile, that can be found in Magic Mountain. A book for eternity.

It has no heart – that is what they write, these are the objections. Oh, this confusion caused by Expressionism! It is not artistic – as far as I am concerned – not artistic at all if the heart of the author is under pressure as well. If I read something from Ernst Weiss, who they claim is a genius amongst the young authors and who has 'heart', I get the embarrassing feeling that the author excited, that I am participating in a private moment of emotion, although I have no right to participate. It is almost as if I were to meet a friend coming in tears from his wife's funeral – I feel sympathy but am unsure whether I should stay with him or leave quickly. Please excuse the fact that I have mentioned Ernst Weiss in this context, but I named him, because he is typical of an author with 'heart and soul'. But as far as you are concerned, one only sees your peace and the detachment from your creations. But your creations have 'heart and soul' and I admit to having tears rolling down my cheeks \- although I am a hardened man – when I read about brave Joachim's heart ceasing to beat. You do not cry too, thank God, you watch over everything with your gentle smile – just as important as pain to the heart.

The conversations in the second volume! How lifelike, how serious and how humorous – the novel flows with comedy in each area. And how exciting the battle for Hans Castorp, who is lead shamefacedly to concepts like democracy, art, literature, politics, etc. How deep the thoughts. Just to mention one example – it would be better if I mentioned none, for each line is an example – but Settembrini's comments about music, Nafta's comments on illness. And Nafta's mad suicide. There is always something behind these actions – the second facet – and it is this that forms the criteria for the decision as to whether a book is eternal or temporary.

Hans Castrop, Clawdia Chauchat, Settembrini – I would love to read the next volume which tells about their fate. Others would also like to know how Hans Castrop survives the war or whether he dies. This is also magnificent, the end – which could also be a new beginning, placing the focus on uncertainty – outside the book, if you understand what I mean, so that one finishes reading but still wants to know more. There is a certain curiosity in one's heart – just like bidding farewell to a beloved friend. One wants to hear from his friend, to meet again, nothing is 'finished', nothing is erased.

I could continue for hours writing in this vein about Magic Mountain. But I do not want to bore you. I am simply delighted that you have a free heart and free soul for Felix Krull. I am delighted that you are young, have a richness of heart despite your so-called 'heartlessness' – a full heart, full enough to pump blood and vitality into various characters.

I have heard that your son, Klaus, also lives here. I have read some small examples of his writing in various daily newspapers here. I would dearly like to make his acquaintance. Perhaps he could phone me one day – my number is in the telephone directory. I would like the opportunity to invite him to spend an evening in my family circle.

With the best wishes for the New Year to you and your lady wife, as well as to all your family and friends –

As always, dear Master, your indebted and respectful

Hermann Ungar 51

One further letter still exists, dated June 2nd 1925 in which Ungar congratulates Mann on the occasion of his 50th birthday:

2.6.25

Respected Master!

I can imagine that you are receiving letters of congratulation in unprecedented quantities at the moment, but I wanted to wish you, above all, that these exciting days are days of celebration and festivity for you, whom we all love and honour both as person and as an author. Despite all the inconvenience, a day like today is something wonderful – the sensation of being loved by so many people, the fact that you have enriched the lives of so many people. You will certainly have often wondered whether the words of an author, even of a great author, have any impact, are successful at all and are able to influence matters of state in any way. The actor feels the impact of his art immediately, he sees the results when he bows in front of his audience. But the author might well think his work is a failure. On a day like today, a day of celebration, will confirm your influence and impact and I assume that the thousands of expressions of gratitude from readers, friends and pupils will compensate fully for all the hours of disappointment, for occasional loss of courage. I think that many people, whose names you do not know, will send birthday greetings to you on this day and I can imagine that this is the best of all – the thanks from the man on the street. The recognition, the admiration of literary figures of all shades, even the best of words will not be as pleasing as the naive words of instinctive, intuitive people, who, after a hard day's work as merchant, farmer, engineer, or whatever, after looking forward to this moment during his long working day, sits down and starts to read The Buddenbrooks or The Magic Mountain. One feels that the book, which has been forced out of your God like the Jacob forced his blessing from the angel, has not just found a place in critiques, essays or articles by clever academics, but in the hearts of thousands of people. It has not been left to age in the archives of intellectualism, filed away in alphabetic order according to the surname of the author, registered and numbered. Instead it speaks like a person to thousands of other people, it laughs and cries with them, it changes when it becomes their property, and, without the owners realising, it also changes those who own it – for the better.

My sermon is becoming too lengthy. I do not want to exhaust you. You know, respected Master, how much I respect you – and, if you would permit and forgive my use of this word on this one day – how much I love you. I know how much I owe you, how much gratitude I owe you. I have been fortunate enough in my life to have got to know not only the artist Thomas Mann, but also to know the person Thomas Mann – he blessed the start of my career and I sincerely hope he will never regret it. The only words I can use to describe my wishes for you are colourless and weak. I wish Thomas Mann, the artist, that he achieves all the objectives he has set for himself and I hope that he enjoys the pleasures of creativity for many years to come. I wish Thomas Mann, the person, good health, the love of his children, the love of his friends, may the blessings falls upon his life's works, and upon his children, may good fortune come upon him and his wife. I feel ashamed that I dare to speak to you this way, but this occasion is great enough to overcome my natural timidity. Forgive me, respected Master, that I have crossed the barriers of formal congratulations. Remain in no doubt that I am one of the most thankful of all those who owe you thanks.

I remain, yours respectfully,

Hermann Ungar 52

Ungar's essay on the _Manuscript of a Playwright_ includes many of the thoughts contained in his letters. We cannot say when the idea for an essay was conceived and whether the suggestion came from Mann himself. But it only became possible once Willy Haas and _The Literary World_ had provided the forum which permitted publication of such articles and the reproduction of test articles. Ungar's friendship with Haas was in good form at this time, if we pay credence to Haas's reminiscences:

When I met him, he was not an unknown literary figure. I think he had published at least one or maybe two books and was a highly esteemed member of the young literary generation. He came from Prague, like me. He was an attaché at the Czechoslovakian Embassy in Berlin and so it was quite natural that we made friends and also quite natural that I invited him to collaborate on my weekly newspaper, The Literary World. He accepted immediately and – as far as I recall – he provided occasional contributions which were good and which I published without hesitation. We met socially from time to time – if I am not mistaken, we met fairly frequently. We conversed. We were not close friends, but close colleagues. He praised some of my work, criticised other pieces and I did the same with him. He accepted my comments with good humour and understanding, in fact there were no visible signs of discordance in our relationship. 53

The concept of introducing and analysing Thomas Mann's manuscripts must have met with Haas's particular approval, as it would have boosted awareness of _The Literary World,_ which at that point was only a few weeks old. Ungar's essay formed the headlines and covered the first two pages.

Thomas Mann gave his 'admirer' the handwritten manuscripts of _Buddenbrooks_ (1901), _Death in Venice_ (1013) and _Magic Mountain_ (1923) which allowed a comparison with the final printed copy – thus the opportunity to register the developments and changes. Ungar was very proud of the confidence shown in him by Mann and within the circle of his friends, e.g. with Camill Hoffmann, he boasted. But Edith, Hoffmann's daughter, also remembered his being worried about not being capable of the task, being disappointed initially:

He said that Mann's handwritten first version was already so perfect with hardly any corrections - so perfect that it gave no hints on Mann's writing and creative processes. 54

But then, with the use of general observations, (meticulous use of spaces, chessboard-like arrangement of words and punctuation, use of space-saving present tense, etc) and correlation of details (replacement of abstracts by concrete shapes, naming definite locations, etc) Ungar was able to provide an 'in-depth insight into Thomas Mann's workplace'. The essay was divided into a general introduction, an exact comparative analysis of the three manuscripts (complete with numerous examples of handwriting and one illustrative drawing), plus a legitimising conclusion. Ungar went on to 'demystify' Mann, but with almost holy demureness:

Stacks of manuscripts, pages covered with meticulously tidy handwriting, are piled on the table in front of me... These are not just any old manuscripts, from any old author. It takes my breath away for a moment just holding these pages in my hand, just glancing at the well-known words, despite all the other images they offer. I hesitate still. I recall some of the sentences from this author, yes, from this book, and here I am holding the initial manuscript, leafing through the pages with the shameful excitement of discovery. 'It is certainly good that the world has only seen the beauty of the finished book, without knowing the secrets of its origin and conditions of creation. For the knowledge of the sources, the motivation and the muses which spurred the author on, might just confuse the reader, discourage him and so detract from the greatness of the impact.' [Death in Venice] – These words come to mind – could it be a warning? When we track the creation of this book by looking at the initial manuscripts, might we be disclosing sources able to 'confuse and discourage the reader, or detract from the impact?' But then this question quickly disappears into the background, becomes rhetorical with no need for response. The plan is too seductive, the timidity of our hearts too overwhelming and powerless in the face of the seductiveness. And the attraction of this all? To get closer to the author via the manuscripts, albeit within the limitations of this essay.

This yearning to get closer and better acquainted with the respected and admired author finally overcame the fear of disclosing _'sources'_ which could have the same confusing and disconcerting roots as those of Ungar's own creativity. The most obvious features of Mann's manuscripts were his _'economy and symmetry of words'_ , _his 'punctiliousness and unclutteredness'_. Ungar deduced that prior to actually putting the words down on paper, the author went through an extended incubation phase during which he has put together a homogenous combination of characters and fate. The author himself spoke about a _'vision'_ which should be placed in the setting _of 'the spiritual, sober service of everyday life'_ ( _Death in Venice_ ).

In each individual stroke of the pen, in the combination of all the words, this manuscript in its entirety provides evidence of the spiritual soberness in which the author fulfilled his obligations. He did not sit down at his desk in a fever of creativity, scribbling down the lines, filling the pages with words...There is absolutely no doubt that the process of invention, this form of creation which became so difficult for the author according to Eloesser's Mann Biography, no longer poses problems once he puts pen to paper. The battle between the characters and their fate is over in the author's brain. It is almost as if the book is finished, the vision is clear – and now the sober task commences.

This process does not mean that the writing itself is less arduous compared with a method where the incubation process runs into the writing phase (as Ungar discovered was Dostoyevsky's method). It is the transfer from vision to words which is difficult, a constant battle for the right expression. Even if no original Ungar manuscripts are available for verification purposes, it is fairly certain that Ungar's own creative process was very similar to Mann's model. Ungar's diary entries from 1928 reflect his torturous search for comedy material. 55

When comparing the three types of handwriting, Ungar sees _'characteristic traits in the writing',_ which become _'more clear, more certain and more defined' 'from year to year'._ In _Buddenbrooks_ the punctuation is set _'with great care, with calligraphic precision'_ and it is almost 'incredible' that writing appears on both sides of the manuscript pages. It seems almost as if _'when Thomas Mann was writing this book, he had no "literary friends", as if he was at a great distance from any generally literary body, even though he constantly observed events in the literary world. The technical flaws in the manuscript are fundamentally not an outside appearance. They purely verify the young author's independence from all those offering kind advice at a time when they might actually have been dangerous.'_ Would Ungar have placed emphasis on this, had he not experienced a parallel situation himself, when he was in Prague, as yet unaffected by the hazards of the literary circus in Berlin, writing his novels _Boys and Murderers_?

'The manuscript of Death in Venice divulges more than the handwritten manuscript of Buddenbrooks' as the significant 'erasing and amendments' increased in numbers.

Ungar, who in his own works and with few exceptions, used material taken from his own life (and failed if he did not do so) thought that Mann's worries increased as when _'he used a subject close to his heart, and when his creativity flowed naturally from the story of his own life, such as the story of the destruction of a family and the tale of Hans Castorp'._ We cannot delve deeper into Ungar's observations on the handwriting in _Death in Venice_ here, although these relate in some ways to Ungar's own creative process. They confirm the concept of a 'vision' and give rise to a certain 'discovery', i.e. a drawing of the handsome young boy Tadzio on the back of one page. Ungar takes this sketch as proof _'of how sensuous, how worldly the author Thomas Mann is, and that he is not an_ _"inventor"_ _as such, but one of the great literary figures who sees first the face, then the battle surrounding this face, changing the sensuous image when the story is in full flow. His work does not stem from a word, but from a vision.'_ It serves as _'verification of the statement that is was a struggle for precedence between the sensual vision (the true literary side) and the words, a struggle that was so formidable that the author had to embed his vision in a drawing, in black and white, then retreat to a position of objective peace and tranquillity from which he could reflect and assess his description.'_

Examples taken from _Magic Mountain_ strengthen Ungar's thesis, with _'the abundance of material'._ In this enthusiasm for the current masterpiece and his annoyance of the criticisms, he wrote an advance article _'unwilling to suppress his praise'._ He had previously already acclaimed _Magic Mountain_ as Mann's _'greatest and most brilliant work'_ , rating it as a _'German_ Oblomow _'_ :

We called this book the German Oblomow, and by this we want to express that it combines all the German virtues of thoroughness, orderliness, compulsive search for knowledge, the urge to resolve all spiritual issues by applying the sweet cognitive powers of purposelessness and indifference to all actions, developments and happenings – in the same way that Oblomov represents the Russian way of life, although not based on Christianity. It is the marriage of Hans Castorp to Clawdia Chauchat, a fusion of orderliness – of German nihilism in a certain sense – after a long odyssey through spiritual life. As in all previous books by Mann, ironic pessimism features in both style and plot to a level never previously achieved, thus making this book The Book of Modern Times, but also as a timeless book given its combination of vision and form.

_'Ironic pessimism'_ , as we are well aware, is also a major ingredient in Ungar's works. Using certain corrections as examples, Ungar defines the true literary vision as being _'distinctive and sensuous', 'alive ...in the smallest details'_ :

The benchmark of the author, the way he assesses his method of expression, lies in his vision. If this vision is not an abstract thought, it is distinctive and sensuous and only then, emotes the author, will creativity's forgiving nature apply blandness to an expression, which otherwise might have impacted on the abstract concept of the author and the reader... the author creates his vision using small details known to him, seen by him – even if he does not describe them individually...

As in his letter of December 30th 1924, Ungar attempts to defuse the accusation of 'heartlessness', a criticism once also directed at him:

The different approaches to the end of the book, to conclude on a high note, illustrate how difficult it was for the author to separate himself from Hans Castorp, how difficult the author found it to enforce the conclusion. Magic Mountain trial/rehearsal refutes the accusation against Thomas Mann as being a detached, cold observer, whose pleasure only exists in finding the right word, who does not empathise with the suffering of his characters.

The 'trial/rehearsal' is a short passage in the final paragraphs of the novel and was an unfortunate choice by Ungar, the result of a deletion, a change in the plot. Initially Hans Castorp was supposed to have been dragged into an 'abominable nonsense' as war came closer, instead it was amended to an 'wild orgy of dance'. Ungar is attempting to prove that Mann (who during the 20s did in fact subscribe to reactionary beliefs and had at the time written about a 'huge, honourable even celebratory civil war), 56 _'passionately sympathised and participated in the poverty and hardships experienced in those days'._

He was neither cold nor detached, nor was this author immersed in his artistic creativity to the exclusion of all else, when war erupted around him. He did take sides, and it is with pleasure I confirm this, he was involved in the excitement of the time, this author, who passionately sympathised and participated in the poverty and hardships experienced in those days. Certainly his initial passionate and damning outcry 'abominable nonsense' gave way to the ironic, objective image of 'wild orgy of dance'. Thomas Mann's initial active version was then held in check by the author, whose self-set main artistic goal was to maintain casualness, keep the story-telling at a detached, unaffected level. But these words 'abominable nonsense', whether or not they were mitigated by the application of literary licence, were there for eternity, taking sides, decisive and prevocational both for the author, Thomas Mann, and for mankind.

As a social revolutionary and a pacifist, Hermann Ungar should have been irritated by many of Thomas Mann's political beliefs, but he was blinded by his total and deep admiration of the author. Even the smallest indication of a change of opinion gave rise to a rehabilitation of Mann, who had written _Observations of a Non-Political Person_. In a final justification the synergies of Mann and Ungar regarding 'literary ideas and concepts' became obvious, when the words 'torture' and 'lust' were used. The image used in the congratulatory letter dated June 2 reappeared: _'has been forced out of your God like the Jacob forced his blessing from the angel'_ :

Perhaps one or two people will disapprove of this positive assessment. One might claim that it is inappropriate to demystify the book. Such analysis may indeed lead to demystification of the writer. But I am not afraid of such objections. I am all for demystification. I am all for replacing any ideas of romantic images of the author with the true picture of the difficult and gruelling efforts his writing entails. No reasons can be given, no explanations can be found for the creation of literary works, only those who have experienced the torture and the lust of the process can understand. But it is possible to track and follow the battle fought by all great literary figures in transcribing their thoughts into words, whether it is Goethe, Dostoyevsky, Flaubert or Tolstoy, and to achieve the reward of greater knowledge of the authors and their works. The scars of these battles are to be found on all great authors, generally more scars than found on Thomas Mann. For no-one goes into battle with the Angel of the Lord without wounds to show for it. 57

Ungar's letters and his essay show with painful clarify that he regarded himself as Thomas Mann's pupil and the respected author was proud of his pupil. The comparative analysis was also extremely thorough and rewarding. Although Manfred Linke was quite correct when he stated that Ungar was a 'great admirer of Thomas Mann's art', he thought it was quite wrong that Ungar was 'his pupil' instead he pointed out the main similarities in the 'characteristic production processes'58. They had in common the idea of a 'vision' as well as a great responsibility for the words they used. But their 'faces' and their 'language' were worlds apart.

In 1926 an official appraisal written by the Czechoslovakian Embassy on Ungar stated:

_He is praised by everyone and carries out both social and representational functions. An excellent German stylist with an illustrious literary name, he is a master of light, intellectual conversation and has wide-ranging social_ contacts. _59_

* * *

On January 27th 1927 Ungar handed in his application for the appointment as Legation Secretary which was then approved on April 22nd. As the position had first to be vacated, Ungar was actually only promoted in 1928. In the interim period he remained Legation attaché, but took over the position of Commercial attaché when Legation counsellor Vincenc Ibl left. In 1926 Ungar spent his annual leave from May 3rd until June 2nd in Jamnitz, on the country estate of his uncle, Ludwig Kohn, whose son was a great friend.

* * *

At the end of January 1926, Ungar had received an invitation from Rudolf Leonhard to join a newly established activist group the Working Group of Authors 1925. Ungar accepted and joined without hesitation, as he could identify with the objectives of the group and as he hoped to find a community spirit here similar to that of the Barissia fraternity. (One of his obituaries stated: 'He used his art to escape from loneliness and belong to a community.'60) According to the existing records, he did not feature greatly as an individual in the Group 1925 (as they called themselves). But he collaborated on a regular basis – contrary to the presumption that this 'contact to literary circles' were 'few and far between' 61 – and confirms his commitment to literary understanding,

Just a few years ago – until the publication of two major studies 62 – the Group 1925 was virtually unknown in literary circles, although the members of the group 'belong to the most important writers of this period and are recognised as the innovators of modern German literature.' The group also played an important role in literary and social history as it was 'the last time that representatives of bourgeois and proletariat German writers held meetings and discussions – as once the association was dissolved they all went their separate ways.' 63 An autobiographical text from Hermann Kasack, a fellow member, explains:

'Around fifty authors, the majority of whom lived in Berlin, formed a friendly association, Group 1925. The two criteria for membership were a feeling of modern comradeship and fresh spiritual radicalism. There were no statutes. Under the organisational leadership of Rudolf Leonhard we discussed freely any literary issues. But after a few years no-one mentioned the group. The content of the inspirational discussions came to nothing – but the ideas contributed to the substance of the intellectual world.' 64.

The formation of the group was motivated by the increasing political repression of the Weimar legal and police bodies, particularly directed at proletariat-revolutionary writers and criticised by bourgeois intellectuals as severe infringements of the right of free speech. An article by Heinrich Eduard Jacob in the Berlin Tageblatt on August 9th 1925, 65 sounded warning bells for the literary public and led to a general protest movement against the government persecution of writers and the confiscation of their works. The Protective Association of German Authors (SDS), with Rudolf Leonhard also a board member, delivered a declaration of protest on August 24th to the Minister of Justice and the State Attorney 66 A day later Theodor Heuss, the Chairman of the SDS Board, published an article in the Frankfurter Zeitung on Literature and the Law, 67 which brought the repressive actions of the courts to public attention for the first time. In the autumn the various writers' associations held a number of public demonstrations and on October 11th they held a huge protest meeting called In Support of the Freedom of Art at the Theatre on Nollendorfplatz. Various associations of creative arts participated. A separate protest meeting was held by the Association of left-wing publishers against Terror Actions by the Law against Art' on November 22nd at the Teachers' Association building. They protested against interventions by the authorities, calling them 'the general offensive of the German legal bodies against all left-wing people'.68 The resolutions made by the bourgeois protest meetings spoke about 'unacceptable interventions' in the personal freedom of thought by the authorities and legal bodies, they also warned of 'dangers to the German culture'. 69

Although Rudolf Leonhard supported the protests of the various associations and took part in the negotiations between the SDS and the authorities, he did not really believe that such actions could be successful and thus developed his own plan, 'which encouraged criminal proceedings, even apparently supporting them, until the absurdity of the situation doomed them to failure.' Assuming that 'the general public would only tolerate this new legal practice as long as it was restricted to the persecution of left-radical works, and that any attempt to enforce it on middleclass literature would result in a general storm of protest', he suggested that the SDS and the targeted communist Alliance of International Publishers (VIVA) should 'reciprocally denounce a large number of authors' for tactical reasons. When the SDS questioned the legality of such action and the VIVA failed to respond, Leonhard informed some of his acquaintance of his unusual idea in a circulated letter dated September 24th. Amongst the recipients were Leo Matthias, Alfred Wolfenstein, Walther von Hollander, Klabund, Gustav von Wangenheim, Max Herrmann-Neisse, Willy Haas, Eduard Trautner, Walter Hasenclever, Kurt Tocholsky and Adrien Turel. There is no mention of establishing an association in this letter, but purely the act of collaboration on an activist plan would necessitate formation of an organisation. As a result of this letter, 18 authors met at the end of November to discuss Leonhard's plan. At the meeting they decided they decided 'not just to come together to carry out this individual action, but to work together much more closely.' 70 Founding members of the Working Group of Authors 1925 were Berthold Brecht, Johannes R. Becher, Friedrich Burschell, Alfred Doeblin, Albert Ehrenstein, Manfred Georg, Bernard Guillemin, Willy Haas, Walter Hasenclever, Walther von Hollander, Rudolf Leonhard, Leo Matthias, Walter Mehring, Eugen Ortner, Eduard Trautner, Kurt Tucholsky, Adrien Turel and Alfred Wolfenstein. It was decided to urge other authors to join who had 'the right level of expertise, who were left-wing, active and had solidarity feelings, without making an industry out of literature'. 71 This included Hermann Ungar, whom Leonhard, as the publisher of the crime study case The Murder of Captain Hanika, now knew well. Leonhard issued a circular on January 27, 1926, reporting on the meeting of the group, on the programme and organisation, and urging authors to join. Amongst the recipients of this missive were Gottfried Benn, Ernst Blass, Ernst Bloch, George Grosz, Hermann Kasack, Kurt Kersten, Egon Erwin Kisch, Ferdinand Lion, Oskar Loerke, Ludwig Marcuse, Robert Musil, Joseph Roth, Rene Schickele, Hans Siemsen, Sling (i.e. Paul Schlesinger), Ernst Toller, Hermann Ungar and Paul Westheim – only Benn, Loerke and Schickele declined to join or failed to react.72.

Even the others were never really activists, some did not live in Berlin, others lived in other countries and so were rarely in a position to attend group meetings and could only maintain contact via Leonhard's circulars. There was a huge fluctuation in members throughout the months. They gained members, such as Max Brod, Oskar Maurus Fontana, Alfons Paquet or Erwin Pascator, whilst losing others such as Leo Matthias, who resigned, or Adrian Turel and Bernard Guillemin, who moved away from Berlin. The core, who regularly attended meetings and were active, consisted of Becher, Blass, Brecht, Burschell. Doeblin, Ehrenstein, Frank, Georg, Guillemin (until May 1926), von Hollander, Kasack, Kersten, Leonhard, Piscator, Trautner, Turel (until April 1926), Tucholsky, Ungar, Westheim and Wolfenstein. 73

In his thorough investigatory work on Group 1925, Klaus Petersen also examined the 'social preconditions for a group's cohesion' and discovered an 'image of distinct social similarities'. The majority of the members came from the upper middleclass, most had graduated from university (many of them studied law), and despite their anti-bourgeois leanings they graduated with success, many with merit. Ungar belonged to the few, who had not managed to combine their literary aims with their professional life. The majority were working as freelance or autonomous artists, publicists or authors, some as journalists or in the publishing sector. There was a high proportion of Jewish members, but this was normal, relative to the overall situation amongst left-orientated writers during the Weimar republic phase. Religion or beliefs played no role in the approaches to the authors and playwrights. There was no sort of philo Semitism tendencies and the degree of religious fervour within the Jewish members was also totally disparate:

'Besides declared Zionists, such as Brod, Ungar and Manfred Georg, there were also people like Alfred Ehrenstein, who disagreed totally with the concept of Zionism. Besides Doeblin, who constantly reminded the Jews to keep to their interests and traditions as a nation, the group also had numerous assimilated Jews, such as Ludwig Marcuse who feared this public commitment, as it could rekindle anti-Semitism.'

But the fact that the Jewish members did have a 'fraternal' or community feel is undisputed. Many of them shared the characteristic 'lack of connections and outsider feelings' – social-psychological features which Ungar also possessed and which were expressed 'on the one side by his extreme individualism and on the other by his yearning to belong to a real community'. 74 It also serves to explain why young Jewish intellectuals tended to lean to the left. 'The outside role played by the Jews left them hoping for a classless society, in which the inner conflicts of Jewish existence would disappear.' 75 But to maintain their individualism, these intellectuals often avoided orthodox Marxism and any party organisations. Instead they preferred to join non-party affiliated left-wing organisations such as Group 1925.

But Petersen did not only observe this 'lack of connections and outsider feelings'amongst the Jewish members, but in practically all the members – 'not only in their position as authors and their left-wing leanings – but also because of their constant desire to wander, to move'. Few of the members were actually born in Berlin, most of the members moved to Berlin at the beginning of the 20s. 'Most of the group were attracted to Berlin by the cultural aspects of the city, by the possibilities and opportunities open to them in the press, book, art and theatre metropolis, a unique concentration of literary life.' 76.

A major factor in the group composition was the high number of friendships and acquaintanceships which existed prior to the formation of the group. 'Seen from the aspect of relationships between the members, the group was formed by a number of authors who were known to each other and were friends, who then collectively gave themselves a certain name.' 77 Ungar's previous circle of friends included Leonhard, Kisch, Haas, Brod and Toller, but also Bernard Guillemin - who afterwards described the group as a 'short-lived, generally unimportant and fruitless matter' – but who made an interesting, personal statement on the traits of Ungar, as he 'often sat with him in the Roman Cafe':

'As a person, Ungar was totally unliterary. He was full of problems, about which he seldom spoke and when he did, then in a reserved and detached way. He was highly intelligent, not given to abstractions, and not particularly interested in ideas. He contemplated his own situation and problems in silence. In conversation he was not at all egoistic, he showed a lot of compassion and empathy – often asked questions – and was interested in his partner's problems. He was very honest, was not prejudiced, showed integrity (honest to himself, sometimes even with a hint of brutality), had good manners, was always prepared to help, he recognised human failings including his own – and was very possibly a melancholic, but definitely a pessimist.' 78

The collective community spirit within the Group 1925 is evident in a range of reciprocal plaudits. In 1928 Ungar published a congratulatory text in the Prager Tagblatt on the occasion of Doeblin's 50th birthday and was himself the subject of a well-meaning, almost unreserved praise from Oskar Maurus Fontana, Manfred Georg, Bernard Guillemin and Kurt Kersten.

Ungar was unable to attend one of the first regular meetings of the Group 1925 on February 1st at the Cafe Alschaefsky, Ansbacher Strasse 41 (which served as the venue for their meetings until autumn 1926). At this meeting a draft programme drawn up by Doeblin, as well as the new name for the group: Group 1925 – A Writer's Associaton was approved. Unfortunately we have been unable to find Doeblin's guidelines. In Leonhard's circular of January 27 the overall objective of the group was given as 'implementing the main elements of the common feelings on life', with the group constitution being 'the communal interests of all members' and a declaration that 'existing professional organisations fail to effectively represent these interests'. Leonhard had listed the following rough guidelines:

'The group was not only to act in matters relating to persecution of literary works, but also 'to act in any necessary matter against the authorities'. Secondly the group was to deal with certain issues regarding professional difficulties, such as 'misuse of critique' and 'usurping the representation of writers' interests by certain, unrelated organisations'.

A third point was the discussion about 'publishing possibilities'. From mid February until March the same declaration on the group's constitution appeared in the Berlin daily press and in various literary journals, including The Literary World. Ungar's signature was also on this declaration. In the announcement of the foundation the Group 1925 was described as a 'private interest group', which simultaneously claimed to 'represent an ideological and 'intellectual revolutionary' movement' 79.

'The undersigned writers have merged as a group bearing the name Group 1925 – A Writers' Association. The Group is composed of leading writers connected to the intellectual revolutionary movement of our times – and they will declare and affirm his in their attitude to State and society and will record their work in the artistic, essayist, critical, general scientific sectors.

The group intends to raise the authors out of their isolation, to promote and strengthen them via this comradely association. The group intends to form an outward representation of a modern, intellectually radical movement. The group will remain active with regular meetings and in providing statements and reactions to all things they deem important to their existence.

Signed:

Johannes R. Becher, Ernst Blass, Friedrich Burschell, Alfred Doeblin, Albert Ehrenstein, Manfred Georg, Bernard Guillemin, Willy Haas, Walter Hasenclever, Walther von Hollander, Hermann Kasack, Kurt Kersten, Klabund, Rudolf Leonhard, Ludwig Marcuse, Eugen Ortner, Joseph Roth, Hans Siemsen, Ernst Toller, Eduard Trautner, Adrien Turel, Hermann Ungar, Paul Westheim, Alfred Wolfenstein.' 80

Apart from the original constituting meeting at the end of November 1925, evidence is available of 14 regular formal meetings of the group, the majority of which fell into the period between February 1st and May 26th 1926. During this period the members met fortnightly at the Cafe Alschaefsky, initially on every first and third Monday of each month at 10.00 pm, after March 30th on appropriate Tuesdays to avoid clashing with the meetings of Club 1926, to which some of the authors also belonged. The organisation and management initially lay completely in the hands of the initiator, Rudolf Leonhard, without his having a spiritual leadership role within the group. But when Leonhard left Berlin for four weeks at the end of April and seriously considered moving away from the city, the organisation and management was transferred to Friedrich Burschell and Alfred Wolfenstein at a meeting on April 27th. But it made no real difference. After a lengthy summer pause (no commencing date was given), the group met again in the autumn of 1926, again in the Cafe Alschaefsky, on October 22nd. Leonhard was no longer accepted as the organiser. The records show that two further meetings took place on November 8th and 22nd, plus two formal meetings in the Winter 1926/27 although a definite date was only given for one, January 3rd 1927. A circular letter from Doeblin shows that a few 'club social evenings' also took place. However after the summer pause the meetings lost their regularity, after November meetings were held at a new venue: a back room of the Hotel Kaiserhof in Motzstrasse. But the appearance of the group had already changed. During the summer holiday Leonhard, Becher, Burschell, Doeblin and Wolfenstein got together and discuss the future of the group, developing some proposals for the 'continuation of their tasks'. They presented these proposals as a 'committee' to the members at the meeting on October 22nd and a decision was made.

'Proposals were introduced which resulted in clear changes to the programme, to the organisation and therefore to the character of the meetings. The group would now fulfil three separate functions. First it would be a club for all member authors to meet and converse freely. Secondly it would be a service ready to carry out public actions. Thirdly it was now to be 'a form of free academy' which would offer the members the opportunity to discuss literary issues. In all future meetings, the programme would be much less fixed and formal. But at the time same it was agreed that a much stricter form of discussion was to be introduced. The 'committee' were given the right of 'authority to prepare the talks, to manage the debates and all technical matters'. A further innovation in the organisation was that guests were to be invited to certain meetings which, up to that point, had been limited to members only.'

The committee stood down at a meeting on January 3rd 1927. Elections followed and Becher, Burschell, Doeblin, Leonhard Frank, Brecht, Blass and Wolfenstein (who declined the nomination) were elected as the new committee. Rudolf Leonhard, who was disappointed by the group's lack of political activities felt that he had been pushed to one side and resigned on January 23rd. His friend, Walter Hasenclever, invited him to Paris for a holiday and thus Hasenclever escaped this difficult personal crisis. The Group 1925 was unable to exist without Leonhard's organisational talents which had been responsible maintaining the communication between the members, and was thus dissolved in Spring1927. 81

During the first phase of Group 1925's existence, until the summer of 1926, Ungar was an active member and a regular participant at the meetings. His name appears on the register for the meetings on February 15th, March 1st and April 13th 1926. 82 Whether or not he attended the meetings in autumn and winter is unknown, as no complete delegate lists exist. On the other side, however, there is no evidence that he withdrew after the summer. He never belonged to the organising committee. Leadership roles were only played by Leonhard, Doeblin, Becher, Wolfenstein, Burschell, Brecht, Ehrenstein and Kasack.

On February 15th 1926, the second regular group meeting at the Cafe Alschaefsky the following were present: Becher, Blass, Burschell, Doeblin, Ehrenstein, Frank, Georg, Guillemin, Kersten, Leonhard, Matthias, Toller, Trautner, Turel, Westheim and Wolfenstein. The subjects for discussion were the same as those for the previous meeting on February 1st: the law governing the prince's remuneration, the group's programme, public lectures and the group's own publication, furthermore questions of staffing and the organisation, the economic situation of authors, and an action on the confiscation of Johannes R. Becher's novel _Levisite._ 83 The discussion would continue during the next meeting on many of these items, particularly those relating to the programme and organisation of the group:

When concrete decisions had to be made on actions, the non-committal formulation of their objectives, as they had originally been set, throughout the history of the group led to lively disputes about the basic aims of the group. In a similar way, the lack of a true constitution meant that each time a discussion evolved, necessitating the resolution of organisational problems. 84

The following were present on March 1st: Becher, Brecht, Doeblin, von Hollander, Kersten, Leonhard, Turel, Ungar, Wolfenstein and Ehrenstein. The subjects of discussion included the planned lecture evenings and the group's own publication, also the relationship to the SDS.

On April 13th the meeting took place at the Cafe Alschaefsky with the following present: Becher, Blass, Brecht, Burschell, Doeblin, Ehrenstein, Kasack, Leonhard, Erwin Piscator, Trautner and Ungar. Besides the group's own newspaper, other items of discussion were the continuing dispute between Doeblin and Georg (Georg had accused Doeblin in public of a lack of convictions), the question of mutual criticism, the plan for a book community, a group library as well as a potential affiliation with the actors' group The Block.85

Apart from these three meetings, where Ungar's presence is definite, and the meeting on February 1st, records exist for the meetings on the following dates: March 15th, March 30th, April 27th, May 11th, May 26th, October 22nd, November 8th, November 22nd 1926, January 3rd 1927. 86 In addition, a Rilke memorial celebration took place on January 1927 at the Hotel Kaiserhof, with Robert Musil giving the commemorative speech in front of numerous guests. It is the last recorded event held by the Group 1925. Ungar might well have attended the commemorative celebration as well as the autumn meetings. At least one additional meeting would have taken place in the autumn of 1926. Ungar might not have attended the first three of these events and he would certainly not have been present at the two meetings in May, because he was on his annual leave at Jamnitz at the time.

An important item at the meeting on February 15th 1926 was the question of how to defend oneself against legal persecution. The initial plan, i.e. denouncing each other, which had brought the group together in the first place, was dropped as even Leonhard was no longer convinced of the potential success. Toller suggested 'that the group expresses their opposition to the confiscating of literary works by holding a lecture evening where the speakers only read incriminating passages from confiscated books'. His suggestion was applauded, but a change in circumstances (the protests against 'the trash law') meant that the proposal was forgotten. 87. The main occasion for discussing protest actions came on February 4th, when Becher's novel was confiscated ( _CHCL = CH3) As (Levisite)_ _or_ _The sole righteous war_ (Berlin 1925). The State Attorney had discovered 'literary groundwork for civil war and an intended incitement to revolutionary rebellion'.88 Although very few of the members shared Becher's left-radical views and there was very little expectancy of any effective results stemming from the resolution, Toller and Trauntner were allocated the task of compiling an official declaration of protest which then appeared in the _Berlin Daily Press_ between March 22nd and March 24th:

The authorities have confiscated Johannes R. Becher's novel Levisite or The Sole Righteous War. Mostly in such cases the excuse is given that some passages might offend the sensitivities of normal readers. However in this case the sole reason could be found in the expression of political beliefs.

Without identifying with Becher's theories and – unfortunately – without the slightest hope of justice, we protest against the vice squad's control of serious literary works, against their attempt to hold in check any discussions on present party politics.

We demand that everyone in Germany has the right, not only to die for his beliefs, but also to live for them!

Group 1925 – A Writers' Association

pp. Rudolf Leonhard. 89

The fact that the protest declaration bore only the name of Rudolf Leonhard gives rise to the suspicion that this resolution was actually the result of a compromise between Becher's left-wing radical supporters and the majority (left-bourgeois authors) represented by Doeblin. It is difficult to judge Ungar's position in this matter, but he would certainly have gravitated towards Doeblin's way of thinking, whose 'ars militans' would have been more his style than the agitator-proletariat definition of Becher.

The group also held heated discussions on the subject of the Law to Protect the Young from Trashy and Dirty Literature which was being prepared in parliament. Walter Hasenclever had initially drawn the group's attention to this piece of legislation at the meeting on March 30th, but, although a protest resolution was agreed, there was never any solidarity action carried out by all members. In fact it soon appeared far more effective if the group collaborated on existing protest activities organised by the larger professional associations and to support the newly established coalitions against this law, in particular the Association to Fight for Freedom of Thought. But they could not hinder the passage of the law through parliament and it was approved by the Reichstag on December 3rd 1926. However the feared re-introduction of general censorship did not materialise afterwards. Whether and in which ways Ungar participated personally in the campaigns against this law which culminated in September is unknown.

Ungar was only indirectly involved in the 'sole public protest' held 'by the Group 1925 which promoted itself at the time as an autonomous association' and that was the declaration published in _The Literary World_ on the occasion of the Fourth International Conference of the PEN-Club held from May 16th to 19th 1926 in Berlin. 90 A Berlin lunchtime publication commented on the announcement of the Conference by adding the provocative statement 'that the foremost German and International authors belong to the PEN-Club'. Leonhard informed the group about this statement on April 27th and it was decided to issue a protest declaration, which subsequently appeared on May 14th as part of an article from Willy Haas printed in _The Literary World_ together with a survey _What is the expected outcome of the Berlin Conference of the PEN-Club_?:

It might be the case that the leading international authors belong to the international branches of the PEN-Club. It is, however, incorrect to say that the leading German authors belong to the German branch. The German branch has been intentionally peopled by a certain clique of authors – whose works are judged at differing levels of merit and value. With one sole exception – and the final word on this has not yet been spoken – none of the famous and noteworthy young German authors belong to this organisation. One author, whose membership was urgently sought by a certain person in the organisation, was not accepted after he declared himself unable to afford the annual subscription, although this person is highly esteemed by all levels of the general public [Alfred Doeblin – DS] We young authors, who have formed the Group 1925, are therefore also protesting against the fact that the PEN-Club intentionally selects a certain type of author in a biased way and has allowed foreigners to usurp the position of German authors. 91

The names of the founder members are listed above this declaration and Ungar's name is among them. He was, however, absent from the meeting on April 27th , during which the PEN-Club issue was discussed, and he was also not present at the meeting on May 11th, just before the PEN Club Conference. As the individual members of the group met informally outside of official group meetings, we can assume that Ungar was informed about the protest action (in addition he also received the circular from Leonhard on April 28th). He would have unquestionably participated in the action, as he disliked the irritating and vengeful 'clique' clustered around Ludwig Fulda, which formed the nationalistic and decadent majority if the German branch of the PEN-Club. Of course Ungar also belonged to the 'radical literary youth' classification.92 The fact that Ungar also belonged to the PEN-Club, or at least he became a member in the same year, had no bearing on his feelings of solidarity. (Fellow PEN-Club members were Friedrich Burschell, Leonhard Frank and Walter von Hollander). 93 In fact, it is typical of his contrasting character: on the one side he condemned the revanchist policies, the nationalism and racism of the 'Fulda Clique' which attempted to hide their 'incapability to foster international understanding' 94 with 'banquets, toasts and dinner jackets', 95 on the other hand he was extremely proud to have been accepted as a member of the PEN-Club. He found nothing odd about travelling to Paris in February 1927 and being the guest of honour at a celebration banquet of the PEN-Club (even though it was a celebration held by the French branch).

During the group discussions from the start until summer 1926, emphasis was placed on the issues of publication possibilities and this would have been of particular interest to Ungar.

Alfred Wolfenstein conceived the idea of a group journal. At the meeting on March 1st, 1926, he talked about various meetings he had held with a printer and a Berlin bookshop about the production and distribution of a journal. The group exchanged views on form and content of the publication. It was decided that the journal would have 32 pages, would appear monthly, and only contain contributions from members. One part should be dedicated to literary works, a second part to polemic essays and glossaries. There were unable to agree on a name.

The publishers would be two members of the group, who would change at regular intervals. Potential teams were put together: Brecht and Wolfenstein, Doeblin and Leonhard. The outer appearance of the journal would be the responsibility of Wolfenstein, Ehrenstein, Brecht, Piscator and Georg Grosz. To simplify the start-up phase, only minimal honoraria were to be set initially.

The circumstances and market conditions for this individual journal were very positive, primarily because of the huge potential circle of authors and also because Leonhard, as editor of _Die Schmiede_ , had been able to convince the publisher to cooperate. This concept of the authors' journal was connected to another idea of Leonhard's, which he had discussed with the publisher before establishing Group 1925. This was the plan for a Book Association of Young Authors:

He had been contemplating a type of cooperation with the publishing house since the group was initially founded. And now that the idea of a separate journal for the group had been proposed, he recommended that the two projects were amalgamated. Leonhard wrote a very thorough and compelling proposal for the cooperation on March 15, 1926 and about the meeting, which was then circulated to all members. He proposed that the book association should be commissioned by the group and then published by Die Schmiede. The journal would then serve as communication organ for the book association – and the book association would then be able to provide a fixed subscribing readership for the journal. Effectively one part of the journal would be made available for members only, whilst another part would be available for notices, advertising, news items from the Book Association of Young Authors which was also managed by the group.

A working group composed of Ehrenstein, Kasack, Wolfenstein und Leonhard was tasked with continuing the negotiations, whilst Burschell, Doeblin and Wolfenstein formed an initial editorial team to layout a precursor (example) of the journal. In a circular dated March 23rd, Wolfenstein in the name of the editorial team for contributions, but achieved minimal response.

Turel sent two essays and Doebling promised one, entitled Customs Borders of Modern Times. Joseph Roth was thinking about contributing a text about the latest Polish literature. On April 14th 1926 Leonhard wrote to Turel and said that everyone was working hard to get the journal ready. However the editorial team, as is obvious from their report to the group on the previous day, was lacking contributions. The editorial team complained again at the meeting on April 27th. Finally when Leonhard left Berlin the rug was pulled under the project.

After the summer break the plan never came into discussion again. We have not found any article from Ungar which may have been his contribution towards the journal. During this period he was writing his next novel _The Class_. The idea of a book association also failed, mainly due to lack of effort and enthusiasm – the members had been tasked with selling subscriptions. As illustrated during a discussion on April 13, major differences of opinion arose regarding 'the most important questions on the project's content - the format of the books and the selection of the authors.'96

Once the ambitious project of a combination of journal and book association had failed, the group became non-political in autumn 1926.

Under the dominant influence of Doeblin, it became a 'free academy' and catapulted 'literary issues into the foreground of debate' in the form of 'critical courts of law'. 97 Doeblin's role within the group had been so important during the initial phases that he automatically took on debate management in most cases. In Kurt Kersten's memoires he credits Doeblin with being the founder of the group. 98 Right from the start Doeblin strove to create a forum for literary issues. On May 26th 1926 he held a speech on _Epic Poem and Novel_ which gave rise to their first literary debate. After the summer break he was the decisive figure in the restructuring of the group and took over the organisational management from Leonhard (the two had been rivals for some time). These 'critical courts of law' were based on a proposal by Brecht:

The plan is that in an initially closed meeting (potentially later a public meeting) a book would be charged or accused and then defended. The process of accusation, defence, assessment and judgement would permit a thorough examination and evaluation of the book in question. The first of these court cases took place on November 8, 1926, under Bertolt Brecht's supervision. Becher's novel Levisite was the accused book. Two further courts took place in the winter 1926/27 in which charges were brought against books by Rudolf Leonhard and Leonhard Frank. 99

When Ungar wrote his congratulatory article in 1928, he would not have been referring to these finely structured debates, but to the 'club-like' meetings in winter 1926/27:

Alfred Doeblin, writer and philosopher, is celebrating his 50th birthday. This man, bubbling with youthful enthusiasm, who laughs like a child and can be equally mischievous, is the liveliest of us – although we on the whole are ten to twenty years younger than he. Sometimes, when we gather around him on long winter evenings, we ask ourselves 'Is he really the eldest?' He is the oldest of our generation, who, relative to his age, should really belong to the generation before us?

It is the comment here, about 'on long winter evenings', which is the sole reference to the fact that Ungar belonged to the Group 1925 after the summer break and that he still attended their meetings. It is, of course, not really strong evidence of the fact. But the text shows that Ungar revered the older writer and acknowledged his authority. So Ungar would have had no reason to leave the group just because Leonhard had gone and Doeblin had taken over his position.

They always refer to our generation as the 'young ones' in German literature. Are they forgetting that Doeblin belongs to this generation, too? They forget that he is fifty years old. We forget it when we look at him – his expressive face open like a book, his emotional epic writing so all-encompassing and innovative. Unforgettable Chinese Wang-Lun, unforgettable Wallenstein in new surroundings, unforgettable Manas, unforgettable epics of element forces – mountains, oceans, giants – which have enriched the literature and our world. He is a path-clearer of former days, newly famous, newly minted one of our best, although we are not lacking the good. He belongs with us, with the thirty to forty year olds - to modern days and not former times. The point he should be at, according to his years, but hasn't yet reached mentally, is a huge dividing line. It divides the creative world into two: the old and the new. We are proud and delighted that Doeblin belongs to our side of the line. Today, as on most other days, the 'national health' patients are crammed into his apartment in East Berlin and wait patiently to be seen. They are unaware of the fact that their GP is also a great author. But they sense that he is a good person, a larger-than-life, generous, jovial and hearty person and they accept gratefully his words and his smile. And that too belongs to Alfred Doeblin's collective works. 100

Although Ungar owed a debt of gratitude to the _Schmiede_ editor to helping to get _Captain Hanika_ published, he appears to have taken sides with Doeblin in the confrontation between the activists and the autonomous aesthetics, providing of course he remained a Group 1925 member until the bitter end. But Ungar also represented the committed literature, he was also left-orientated, however he was much more interested in an intellectual association than in compiling non-effective resolutions. He was searching for existential stimulation and impulses for his own creative works. 'The long winter evenings' spent with Doeblin or the 'court cases' with the potential to focus on _The Maimed_ or _Captain Hanika_ would have been much more important to him than protests against the payments to the prince or against PEN-Club banquets. The issues which led him to become an active member during the initial phase of the group's existence were, besides the feeling of belonging to a community, the concepts of a journal and a book association – he had feelings of solidarity for the political protest activities, but they were never close to his heart. In all, one has to accuse Ungar of contributing to the failure of these projects by lacking initiative and dynamics.

But the real responsibility for the failure of Group 1925 lies with Alfred Doeblin, who drove away Rudolf Leonhard from the group although he himself was unable or unwilling to carry out the necessary 'services as secretary'. Therefore the communication between the members collapsed, and with it, the real foundations of the association. Doeblin's real mistake, however, was the attempt to force all members to attend every meeting. 'It was contrary to the character of the group, as an informal, private circle of friends – any outside members were then immediately excluded.' 101

Doeblin later managed a discussion group, from May 1931 until February 1933 when he finally emigrated. This group held casual meetings at his new apartment in Charlottenburg and debated socialism issues against the background of the emerging National Socialism. Camill Hoffmann belonged to this discussion group.

* * *

Ungar's frail constitution deteriorated even further during 1926. Whereas in previous years he had suffered from nervous stress disorders, minor stomach ulcers and a grumbling appendix, he now experienced three attacks of appendicitis. One medical report shows one attack lasting from June 6th to June 21st, on July 24th there was a second reported case (although this could not have been as severe as the first one, since we know that Ungar went for lunch in the 'Krokodil' on July 19th together with Oskar Loerke, Konrad Maril and Hermann Kasack.102)

The doctors did not think that surgery was imperative at this point and appeared not to take Ungar's illnesses seriously anyway, in fact they acknowledged that he was a hypochondriac, 'who spent his time running to the doctor' – and Thomas Mann had already foretold that 'this would be the cause of Ungar's untimely end'.103

The scepticism of the doctors, their underestimation of what turned out to be a fatal illness, is understandable, for Ungar's hypochondria took such bizarre turns and was so remarkable that it belongs to the most typical reminiscences of his contemporaries. Ungar's son, Tom Unwin, stated:

I had always heard that my father was such a hypochondriac that the doctors never believed him when he said he was ill – and that probably cost him his life... My mother once told me a story about being in a Berlin nightclub with him. Hermann Ungar had been eating whipped cream and it stuck in his throat – he almost choked to death. There was complete silence – Ungar lay in the middle of the dance floor and appeared to be in the throes of death. But he survived. 104

This anecdote is typical of Ungar's need to attract attention and care by pretending to be ill, although his suffering was in fact psychological. The doctors did not seem to recognise the mental origins of his hypochondria, and were perhaps blinded by the external happiness and positive situation of their patient.

The actual cause of Ungar's illness may be found in the difficulties he was experiencing with writing his novel _The Class_. He started this novel at the end of 1925/beginning of 1926. His duties as the Commercial Attache (he played a major role in the German/Czech Trade Negotiations in 1926) and as a father left him very little time for continuous work on his novel. Although the contacts within Group 1925 were really inspirational, these basic debates on the general objectives of literature or on 'the novel as a modern form of art and the position of a novelist in and at these times'105 were not really useful in getting rid of irritations and self-doubts. His greatest inhibition at this point was the thematic of the novel itself – the spiritual return to the period of puberty crises, the former deprivations brought to life again and the present necessities and needs, the lack of self-esteem and the excessive feeling of responsibility – all mirrored in the person of the hated and feared schoolmaster Rinesch. The crisis was unavoidable, even though Ungar attempted be achieve a greater detachment than with _The Maimed_. He tried to refrain from describing extreme events and to provide his protagonists – and himself – with a positive ending. The fact that so many years after _The Maimed_ , without producing a more extensive literary work in the interim period, he decided to write a novel about a school could be seen as astounding. The possible explanation, i.e. that the experiences he made during puberty were still having an influence on him which he could not overcome, is just not sufficient. It would probably have been more due to his new role as a father, which, on the one side brought him great joy, but on the other side brought new, unaccustomed responsibilities and fears that his son, Thomas Michael, would follow in his footsteps. Amongst the most moving of the scenes in the novel is the one where the weak-ego schoolmaster Josef Blau is reflecting on his new born son Josef Albert.

His thoughts mirror this existentialist experience which gave rise to the novel _The Class_. 106 Whether consciously or subconsciously, Ungar felt that his father and the whole Jewish-paternal tradition sequence was to blame for his own failed existence. Now that he had become a father himself, he himself was threatening to continue this pattern, to be the cause of his son's downfall. The novel _The Class_ follows this difficult process right up to the making the decision not to passively avoid the responsibility, but to accept it with confidence and competence.

This particular subject of father-son relationships as illustrated in _The Class_ reappears in other, shorter texts during later periods, such as in _The Caliph_ , or in the novel _The Wine Traveller_ or in the article _Tomy helps write poetry_. It does not focus on the conflict, as in previous works, but on the connection between father and son, 'the bonds' of a common circle of life.

The work on this new novel which lasted until well into 1927 took such a toll on Ungar that he did not even have the time or the concentration to compose smaller prose texts or articles. Only one single publication appeared during the period from the end of 1925 until the start of 1927 – the duration of Group 1925, whose declared mission statement was to improve publication possibilities. This exception was a letter addressed to Samuel Fischer written on October 20th, 1926, on the occasion of the publishing house's 40th anniversary and which was included in the private collection _S. Fischer and his Publishing House_.107

But this was, for Ungar, an enormously successful period, for his name was becoming famous in Germany, throughout Czechoslovakia and in France. At the beginning of 1926 Jan Grmela published his Czech translation of _Boys and Murderers_ in the Antonin Kral publishing house based in Prague-Smichov, at the bookshop Brana, which was praised and lauded by the Czech press. 108 In February 1927 (Copright 1926) a French version by Guy Fritsch-Estrangin ( _Enfants et Meurtriers_ with 3000 copies printed) appeared in Paris at Gallimard, the publishing house for the _Nouvelle Revue Francaise_ , which since the Treaty of Locarno represented European trends under the influence of Jean Paulhan. The French book was greeted with even greater acclaim than the Czech translation. 109 The Czech enthusiasm for the Czechoslovakian state official was self-explanatory and was supported by the commitment of Jan Grmela. We assume that Gallimard and Paulhan were directed towards Ungar by Thomas Mann. Whether or not Ungar met the French translator Fritsch-Estrangin (1901-82) before _Enfants and Meurtriers_ went to press is unknown, although they were in contact by post. It would explain how Fritsch-Estrangin was able to claim with such self-assurance in his prologue that Ungar neither met nor read any works of Sigmund Freud before writing _Boys and Murderers_ , thus silencing the German critics immediately. 110 Thomas Mann tried to explain the French interest in Ungar in his prologue to the posthumous volume _Colbert's Journey_ :

I am not surprised that Boys and Murderers was immediately translated in France and highly acclaimed. French spirit comprises far more irony aimed at those capable of leading an upright lifestyle, with more sympathy aimed at those who fail, than the German, in which Goethe's legacy of a hardy aristocratic style of life is embedded. Not everything to do with death is noble, not everything to do with life is base. But we acknowledge the level of the mockery of our consciences ourselves when we kneel before the nobleness of death. 111

Despite Ungar's affinity for the French spirit, despite Thomas Mann's probable influence, it is astounding that Ungar was 'one of the very first German authors who was invited to come to Paris to read his own works aloud in public'. 112 Those who went before him were Carl Sternheim, Heinrich Mann, Walter Hasenclever, Rainer Maria Rilke and Thomas Mann. Ungar received the invitation to attend a festive banquet held by the French PEN-Club at the end of 1926, at the instigation on Gallimard to celebrate the publication of _Enfants et Meurtriers_. He accepted without hesitation, despite his mockery of the philistine Paris-lover Colbert, and despite having signed the Group 1925 protest declaration about the Berlin PEN-banquet. On December 29th 1926 he requested the Foreign Ministry for a special grant of 5000 Fl. giving the reason:

I think it would be proper and correct to accept this invitation, not just for personal considerations, but also because it offers an excellent opportunity to propagate and represent Czechoslovakian literature internationally. 113

Hermann Ungar spent a whole week, from February 2nd to 10th 1927 in the city of Colbert's nostalgic dreams. The _Praguer Tagblatt_ reported on February 8th:

Hermann Ungar, whose Boys and Murderers has been published in Paris in the French language, is currently spending a few days in Paris. He held a lecture and made a public appearance where he signed a great number of photos and copies of Enfants et Meurtriers. Critics have been praising and honouring him widely. 114

The French hospitality, the personal attention of his publisher Gallimard, the special promotional activities, the untrammelled communication between author, critics, publisher, book sellers and the general public, the respect enjoyed by authors in Paris and, last but not least, the comradeship without envy shown by other authors impressed Ungar so much that upon his return to Berlin he penned an open letter to his publisher Rohwohlt. In this letter he made no secret of his discontent with the German situation, where an author feels 'terribly superfluous', and he compared it unfavourably with the French 'ideal' model. The personal resentment in this letter is conspicuous – it is directed particularly at Rohwohlt, who is accused by Ungar of not having done sufficient to promote the success of _The Maimed_ , but also at the critics, the bookstores and finally also at the general public, who has a much greater regard for film stars, sports and for the Charleston than for literature. If Ungar was so successful in Paris as a foreign author, why couldn't he achieve similar success in Berlin? Ungar wanted to make an impact with his books, wanted to reach as many readers as possible, become a successful, professionally independent author. Ungar's open letter to Rohwohlt, which appeared in _The Literary World_ on February 25th under the title Why French Authors Do Better, is of particular importance because it gives us further personal insight into the course of his stay in Paris and his meetings with French writers. The 'letter' is illustrated with one photo depicting Ungar in a typical situation: surrounded by friends and acquaintances, signing copies of _Enfants et Meurtriers_ in the bookshop Flammarion. As he noted, not without a certain element of pride, the signing went on from 'eight o'clock until twelve' on his second evening in Paris, on February 4th. 115 This evening at Flammarion on the Boulevard de Capucines was organised by the French publisher, Gallimard, who was also responsible for most of the other events, on which we have scanty or no further details. Apart from Gallimard, his brother and the director of the publishing house, Ungar met quite a number of important French authors on this particular evening, mainly politically left-orientated, generally pro-European. Ungar himself mentioned the names of Maurice Dekobra, Francis Carco, Jean Paulhan, Pierre Benoit, and Leon-Paul Fargue, but Jules Romains and Georges Iman were also present. 116 Ungar appears to have spent a number of hours signing books and photographs at various locations. In the 'open letter' he talks about 'an afternoon spent in the prestigious bookshop on the Champs Elysees', when a 'charming lady' took over the 'organisation' – something that would have greatly impressed our ladies' man.

The real reason for the trip, the PEN-Club banquet, took place on Saturday, February 5th, at 20.00 hours in the rue de Chevreuse 4, the PEN-Club headquarters and, as expected, was a very festive evening. Benjamin Cremieux, the secretary of the French PEN-Club and the organiser of the evening, welcomed Ungar as one of the guests of honour – the others were the American authors Sherwood Anderson, Richard le Gallienne and Anna Wickane and the Italian novelist Luciano Zuccoli. 117 In his brief keynote speech to members (approximately 70 present), Cremieux forecasted a well-earned success for Ungar, a hitherto unknown author in France. 118

Complying with Gallimard's suggestion, Ungar paid a visit the following afternoon to apartment of the influential critic Edmond Jaloux , where, accompanied by Fritsch-Estrangin, Ungar also met Maurice Martin du Gard, the publisher of _Nouvelles Litteraires_. If one gives credence to Fritsch-Estrangin's article _H. Ungar en France_ which was published in _Nouvelles Litteraires_ , Ungar was a 'loyal reader' of this publication, which was comparable to the _Literarische Welt_ and therefore already well acquainted with the names of Jaloux and du Gard. Ungar talked to Jaloux about the feasibility of international cooperation and about the necessity to intensify the literary exchanges with France. 119 Jaloux later expressed his gratitude to Ungar for the visit with a lengthy and positive review of _Enfants et Meurtriers_ in _Nouvelles Litteraires_.120

In the Cafe Chez Fast, a mix of bookshop and tea room, Ungar, accompanied by a 'beautiful lady', held a reading from _Enfants et Meurtriers_ – the same happened in other venues. According to Frisch-Estrangin, Ungar left Paris with the declared intention of returning as soon as possible.

Hermann Ungar declared himself well-satisfied with the outcome of his stay which had allowed him to appreciate the charm of the French way of life, the intellectual finesse of his Parisian contemporaries. He will seize the first opportunity to return to Paris to strengthen the friendship ties to local authors. 121

The Open Letter from Ungar to his publisher is recorded below, not only because all past studies have failed to include this, but also because it is the sole known self-witness account of Ungar's first visit to Paris and provides decisive evidence on his thoughts about French cultural life:

Dear Ernst Rohwohlt!

You will say... In Paris! And your colleagues, the publishers and book sellers in Berlin, Munich, Vienna and Prague will say the same. The things they do in Paris could never be done here. I ask you... in Paris!!

Dear Rohlwohlt, don't you think that we are all partly to blame if everything related to literature is so unpopular here in Germany? A doorman in Germany, the first time he meets new residents of the block, has a trace of a welcoming smile on his face which quickly turns to a contemptuous grimace of disappointed tip expectations when he realises it is another author – whereas the morning after my arrival the concierge in the Champs Elysees block, just as a sign of welcome and without any ulterior motives, addressed me with a friendly smile: You are a writer, Sir?

You know – and I have to say this, as it proves my right to comment on this subject – you know that the French translation of one of my books was published by the Nouvelle Revue Francaise a few days ago. I arrived in Paris to attend a banquet as the guest of the PEN-Club, immediately following the appearance of my book. I was a new, totally unknown foreign-language author, but my book was everywhere: on bookshelves set up on the pavements in front of the shops, display items (not for sale) were available for passers-by to leaf through, to encourage them to buy. (In France almost all books are paperbacks). My photo and excerpts from the book appeared in many of the publishers' brochures, mainly in high visibility red, together with a brief biography and bibliography, displayed in the bookstore windows! On the second evening of my stay, they held a soiree in the Flammarion bookstore on the Boulevard de Capucines from 8 pm onwards. I thought it would be food and a lecture – nothing of the sort! From eight until twelve I wrote hundreds of dedications in the books from the author to the purchaser... suffering from writers-cramp in all fingers. Signature after signature. Initially I was really moved and proud, then amused and finally delighted that so many people wanted to see me, to speak with me, people who had already read my book, had heard of my book, who were perhaps driven by curiosity... Does it really matter? These people forged a contact to me, they might read my book tomorrow if they haven't already done so. They will tell other people about it, perhaps even recommend it: publicity! High-ranking civil servants, the top brass from the army, students, housewives, journalists – yes, even a number of writers came to 'shake hands' with me, to have a dedication written on the flyleaf of their copy. A gesture of kindly comradeship, which I will never forget. Dekobra, Carco, Paulhan, Pierre Benoit, Leon Paul Fargue, then came Gallimard, my French publisher, with his director and his brother, Samuel, the owner of the bookshop, also known as the Napoleon of Booksellers, helps me to survive the initial rush. He seats a pretty woman next to me. 'That is hard work', says Dekobra, 'but is has to be done!' It has to be done so that people get to know you, speak about you – don't be vain, don't be proud – writer, author, acknowledge your book. Publicity, publicity, we cannot lose any time, people have to know about you, then fame and wealth will come your way, just like with the film stars! There is another way, but it is slow work. If you do your duty with a smile on your face, the time will pass quickly. I spent an afternoon signing books in a prestigious book shop on the Champs Elysees. Only a small number of people came, which made it easier to get to know them. A charming lady was managing the event. And ladies appeared dressed in the latest fashions, ladies who were probably only interested in the Charleston. Literature has a place in society in Paris! Invitation upon invitation came in (unfortunately I was leaving and could not accept). I was sceptical: courtesies for the short-lived guest, I thought. I know that tradition means everything nowadays, no-one is more conservative than a Frenchman. So I turn to the author George Iman: 'As a writer', he said, 'all the doors in Paris are open to you. It is a tradition and we keep to it!' And he laughed. I feel ready to face such conservatism all over Europe.

Dinner in the PEN-Club. I don't have political leanings, I don't represent anyone – no country, no group. And despite that: I am the guest of honour. Probably due to clever Gallimard (I say to myself, quite sober: publicity!) This banquet becomes even more precious to me. No short-lived hospitality. The man I need here, does his duty by me. (And now it is your turn, dear Mr Rohwohlt). Have you, or any of your colleagues, ever done anything similar for one of your authors? For someone who was young, a beginner, but in whom you had confidence? I know you you didn't fail to do this out of carelessness – but because it is not usual in this country. Perhaps when an author reaches his 60th birthday...... During the banquet, the author Benjamin Cremieux stood up and greeted the guests of honour: Sherwood Anderson, Luciano Zuccoli and me. He congratulated me on not needing to be 60 years old to become famous in Paris as a foreign-language author, on achieving success and satisfaction at the young age of 30. But there were very few 60 year-olds present at the banquet, most of the authors were young, youthful and young.

The publisher did not remain distant and detached. He chatted with his authors, with the booksellers, the politicians, the scientists. He is a factor in the world of literature, just like the authors. His first duty is to ensure that the book critics are given as much space in the French newspapers as possible. He sees to it that his authors names are on everyone's lips, he seizes every opportunity to honour his authors without vulgar excesses. He knows the booksellers, who like him, are the interface between readers and authors. The booksellers, the readers and the authors all know him. Something else that is different here in Paris: there is nothing negative about visiting a critic or a publisher – a visit just for the sake of the visit, to tactfully remind them of one's presence. In Germany it would be seen as unacceptable 'captatio benevolentiae' – whereas in France it is seen as a matter of courtesy. Why should there be distrust of a critique, when an author visits the critic to influence his assessment of the book? Gallimard encouraged me to pay a visit to the critic Edmond Jaloux, together with my translator, Guy Fritsch-Estrangin. I had hoped to make his acquaintance, and wasn't able to do so on the night of the banquet, due to his illness. The hour spent in his flat belongs to the most wonderful memories of my stay in Paris. There were no barriers between the author, the critic, the publisher, the booksellers and the public! (In whichever sequence you wish.)

No barriers between publisher and booksellers, no walls between author and booksellers. Authors with a 100 000 print run, like me, go to the book stores, sign their books, talk to their readers. And the bookseller? He runs the risk that a book might get wet in a sudden shower, or be stolen – he displays his books on racks in the street – no walls, no barriers. The passers-by stop, leaf through the books and buy a copy. Do the police forbid it here in Germany? And is there really no simple and practical way for booksellers here to motivate passers-by to stop and peruse a little, rather than attempting to entice reluctant and unwilling customers into the shop? The public here can come into a book shop in the evening and read the book, cover to cover, no one is offended. The reader is interested in the book. He will talk about it. Although he hasn't bought the book himself, others will buy it. The word of mouth is the best form of promotion – advertisements in the newspaper play a supporting role. And that is why the book shops also function as tea parlours, just like the charming Cafe chez Fast. This cafe or this book shop is generally managed by a beautiful lady, and hosts a circle of literary figures: mentors, authors, students, members of the academy, politicians (!) – a circle which dines together now and again, which holds readings of new books, lectures with only a limited audience. The objective is not to undertake a vainglorious campaign aimed at a mass of readers, but to engage booklovers, to secure their interest, their judgement and their referrals.

I could, dear Ernst Rohwohlt, continue to with pages of examples – but I will close now. May I finish by saying that I tasted acclaim in Paris, which we in Germany are only accorded when it is too late, when we are dead. It was delightful to experience lively feedback from the readers, to feel that one has achieved a position in this world rather than just being the most unimportant cog in the machinery, to be asked questions and have one's answers acknowledged with thanks. It was an experience which gave me encouragement – something we all need if we are to work well: author, publisher and booksellers. We, here in Germany, are beginning to feel totally superfluous.

I hope that the weather in Tyrol is good and remain with heartfelt greetings -

Your - Hermann Ungar. 122

We will never know what impression this letter made on Rohwohlt, who, generally speaking was one of the publishers who looked after his authors as well as possible. But the novel _The Class_ appeared in advance print and was the subject of a much more intensive advertising campaign than _The Maimed_. The advertisements also stressed the fact that this was a novel by Ungar, 'who was internationally celebrated as the representative of young German writers, transcending the borders of the German-speaking countries'.123

Ungar also spoke with Gallimard and Fritsch-Estrangin about his second novel in Paris. The first pages of the novel appeared on May 1 1927, prior to the first print, as a translated preview by Fritsch-Estrangin in the _Nouvelle Revue Francaise_. But a complete translation of the book was never arranged.124 The assumption is that Gallimard wished to move forward chronologically, first with a translation of the novel _The Maimed_ , which was published in 1928 under the title _Les sous-hommes_. The death of Ungar prevented the translation and/or the publication of _The Class_.

Ungar's trip to Paris also threw more light on a book critique, which appeared in July in _Literary World_. The critique was aimed at two books by the Romanian author Panait Istrati, who wrote in French, and the first print of his two books in German. _Kyra Kryalina_ and _Uncle Angiel_ were the first two books from _The Stories of of Andrian Zograffi_ , which O.R. Sylvester had transcribed into 'good German' (Frankfurt am Main: Ruetten & Loening, 1926, 1927). Israti was, like Ungar, an interface between various cultures, amd had – with the support of Romain Rolland – become one of the most popular stars in the Paris literary heavens. The initial issue of _Kyra Kyralina_ appeared in June 1924 with a total of 2000 copies published by Rieder Verlag. It was greeted enthusiastically, so much so, that the 30th issue took place the same year. The fascination of this 'Gorki from the Balkans' as he was christened by Rolland, was seen by the French and by Ungar to lie in the strange and refreshing mixture of colourful, oriental fairy stories and hard realistic anti-bourgeois social criticisms. Ungar could identify with the outsider situation of Istratis and his heroes, also with the idealism and socialism, but above all, he would have been interested in something entirely new to him, the naive, unliterary gestures, dispensing with psychological explanations, the _'unending fullness of characters and adventures'_ which gave rise to _'apparently casual, unplanned stories, like those told by old women sitting around the fires on long, cold winter evenings, spinning yarns about their past experiences and intertwining fact and mythical sagas':_

They were the first nights of a thousand and one. Tales of mythically strong, hard-drinking smugglers, of mysterious and beautiful women, of princes and lords, of white-slave traders, pashas and boys, slaves and robbers, between Budapest and Baghdad, between Constantinople and Alexandria.

'The will to live', 'love for others' and 'the awareness of the beauty of our earth' was the focus Ungar saw in the stories of Andrian Zograffi, an approach and perception which was unattainable for Ungar himself.

It is very difficult to reproduce the content of these stories, which can be compared to a colourful Smyrna carpet with clear, defined patterns – the most valuable pieces of the whole woven carpet. The will to live, the love for others, and above all, time and time again, the awareness of the beauty of our earth, the urge to wander, free and unchained, through the world. That is the basic theme – the focus of all the love and hatred, the songs, the corruptness, abductions, couplings, battles, robbing, horserides, drinking, eating, fighting, laughter and death. 125

There is no indication as to whether Ungar knew of Istrati before he went to Paris, or whether he had already read one of his books, perhaps in the original French version. So we cannot exclude the suspicion that Istrati's Uncle Angiel, who drank himself to death, was in fact related to Ungar's similar Uncle Bobek from _The Class_. In any case, Ungar used the inspiration of his trip to Paris to write about Istrati.

Ungar's reputation increased within intellectual circles once his book _Enfants et Meurtrires_ appeared and grew even more with his French success. There were a few critical or scornful comments, such as those from Klaus Herrmann, who wrote in his critique of _The Class_ that the content of the novel was 'uninteresting for those who don't spend their days in Paris salons' ('in which adventure stories are regarded as boring, but Hermann Ungar enjoys the greatest of respect').126

A radio broadcast dedicated to both Ungar and Friedrich Koffka by the Funk Studio AG in Berlin was a great honour and tribute to his success. On Sunday, March 27th, between 13.10 and 14.30 hours Hermann Kasack introduced both writers in the series _The Hour of the Living_. Koffka read excerpts from his as yet published book _The Eye_ and Ungar read passages from his new novel. 127 Ungar was well acquainted with Kasack (also with Loerke and perhaps Wilhelm Lehmann) and this was obvious during the broadcast. Some of the main comments from Kasack's original typescript are reproduced below:

In one of the shorter novels – which, like Torsi seem to belong to a larger, epic complicated entirety – there is a passage at the beginning: 'I have no other confidante but my paper.' [The Caliph – DS] Similar statements, bearing witness to the isolation of the human subject, are found everywhere in Ungar's works.

Spiritual isolation of the ego – that is the precondition for all the key characters in his works. It is not just the feeling of loneliness, the feeling of forlornness in the world, no, these people are isolated in modern times, isolated from the people surrounding them, from the social environment, isolated from everything around them: from women, from a mother's love. They know and feel – all this is out there, but not for us. They suffer from their isolation. And this makes their fate even worse. It is not the usual fate, the fate of a thousand other people, which the writer has chosen from perspectives of logic or compulsion – no, even better, he has shaped this fate himself. Shaped this fate out of a passionate urge for clarity – clarity whatever the price! To illuminate the subject which is the ego surrounded on all sides by the demons of everyday life. The people in Ungar's books...they are real figures, not just personal inventions of the author. Spiritual sketches of a direct process of life. Depicted with the unmerciful constancy. Figures plucked from a surprising daring and meticulous psychology. Formed by spiritual and material expertise. By the knowledge of vitality, reality and the deepest secrets of the creatures.

Ungar's people, often also the secondary figures, stand alone as individuals, facing each other or fighting each other. No single figure dare penetrate the other's defences, to disclose their characters. In truth, only the fate of men is described here, a depiction of the world. These are the people singled out and set apart. The scapegoats of fate. Chained to the earth. Tied to their social class. The titles of the books say it all: Boys and Murderers, The Maimed. The mentally and physically maimed.

These are all descriptions of normal bourgeois beings, who life has been thrown off-track by an experience during their childhood, mostly during puberty. Ungar's books are non-bourgeois through-and-though, and doubtless a part of their important characterisation!

From the perspective of a normal person, Ungar's characters may seem exaltedly and pathologically exaggerated – but, thank God, art has nothing to do with normal people. For the artistic precondition for Ungar is the mental experiences of his ego, and the continuous strengthening of it – which finally, as a form and expression of life, lead to conflict and a catastrophic ending. Don't look for exaltation – but for a feeling of life which in its last consequences turns into fantasy: quite non-pathetic. Ungar is an emphatically unreflective author. The events speak for themselves – the author does not speak about them. Everything is visual. His style is brevity – with colour.

He takes the approach of a chronicler, who has to write about the course of a certain life. He allows himself no distractions. There is no secondary story – (no icing on the cake). His focus is always on the centrepiece, the subjects of the controversy, on the 'ego' of the creature.

There will be no redemption for these people, for they are 'de-activated' beings. Their development – and as already stated, Ungar describes the entire course of life in mental processes from childhood to a certain inner final point – their development is constantly further entwined in their social class, their reactions, in the stepmother-type nature of their lives. Their time runs out, they don't fall into oblivion, they destroy themselves. They become nothing - death or madness engulfs them. They move from unrecognised imprisonment to a greater, but recognised, imprisonment. They cannot save themselves through nature – for they themselves are fractured parts of a stolid, brutal nature Instead they attempt to save themselves by reverting to their childhood and from that vantage point they observe the past as if it had never happened.

In the second part of his radio essays, Kasack reviewed _The Class_ and Ungar read a passage from the book:

Activity – would be a form of salvation. And the new novel touches on this point, the novel about the Schoolmaster Josef Blau. In this novel, which of course deals with the fate of the key character, I see a particularly positive, a new innovative benefit: the scene is set, much more obviously than in previous novels, in the environment, the class status, in a bourgeois family for example – in its own objective and pure reality... 128

Kasack's radio contribution appears to have had such a positive awareness boosting result that the publisher, Rohwohlt Verlag, later carried a quotation from it on the dust jacket of the book: 'The human beings in Ungar's books are real persons, not figments of the author's imagination'.

Ungar was drawn to his home country of Moravia for the summer vacation in 1927. In the two previous years he had spent the summers in Brno and Jamnitz, but this time he spent his holiday from June 27th to August 1st with his parents in Boskowitz.

For some time he had been wrestling with the idea of a drama and he was searching for a suitable plot, which would finally bring him the recognition and fame which he had failed to achieve with his prose. The advantages of a drama compared to a novel were obvious to him. A play would be much less demanding, would require less time and less hard work. He could start with one basic idea, allow a fundamental conflict to development, concentrate more on the action and thus create a distance between himself and his own problems.129 Above all, however, a performance would generate a totally new group of fans. People, who knew nothing about him, or just that he was a Commercial Attache, and it would be reviewed and debated thoroughly by all the Berlin papers and the newspapers produced in other German cities.

It proved very difficult to find the plot and the material. Ungar considered a wide variety of subjects and tried a number of times to begin writing. For some time he favoured the idea of a play about _Jealousy,_ a subject very near to him, for despite his outward protestations about tolerance, he watched Margarete's every step jealously. This was perhaps the reason why he finally rejected this subject, also it would have been 'excessively psychological', but the idea was stored away and later retrieved at the end of 1928, when he hoped to make a film about it, 130 possibly together with his dear Emil Jannings.

The brief story which was written for the stage, _Dialogue between a married couple_ , appeared on October 7th 1927 under the title _Little Lies_ in the _Prager Tagblatt_ and was possibly the result of his contemplations about _Jealousy._ 131 It was necessary for him to print these 'finger exercises' as his last drama _(War)_ was already ten years old. This little piece did not achieve particular recognition, it could have been a story from any mediocre popular newspaper (and was obviously inspired by the marital and jealousy comedies of the French and Berlin Boulevard theatres). Nanette Klemenz was completely off-track when she spoke of the 'criticisms of society, of the overindulged city society of the period between the First World War and World War II' and appears to hear in the dialogue – the easily discernible and therefore funny lies told by an unfaithful wife – 'the cry of a person disappointed with the union of people, even the most intimate and inner union (marriage).' 132 If one wished to credit this little story, which was just about acceptable as an article, for the boulevard theatre or for a film, with some sort of value besides pure amusement, it would be of biographical nature: it provides a somewhat intimate insight into the difficulties of the Ungar's marriage. If one followed _Dialogue between a married couple,_ then Ungar's marriage to Margarete suffered from two issues (justified on the one side, unjustified on the other). One was Ungar's jealousy of his attractive wife, Margarete, the other was the disinterestedness of his wife in spiritual issues – her favourite pastimes were all to do with fashion. This is not at all unusual, no 'travesty of a marriage' or a sign of a 'wrecked married life', even if Ungar sometimes suffered from Margarete's escapades and her chosen way of life. No 'mask was being removed from the face of the marriage', no denunciation of the 'coexistence of two emancipated persons' 133 – it was just an amusing, convincing, true-to-life play with some personal experiences but without serious discussions of problems.

_Little Lies_ was also translated into the Czech language and appeared in 1928 under the title _Drobne Lzi_ in _Modni Revue_. 134

'A wonderful blessed hour' in the summer of 1927 finally provided Ungar with the concept for his play _Podkamjenski_ (at times also called _The Commander_ , but just before the premiere in 1928 it was given its final title _The Red General_ ). Ungar stated that 'the material was very close to his heart'. 135 Ungar penned the play in the shortest possible time, probably during his summer holiday in Boskowitz. The summer holidays provided the wind under his sails. But _Podkamjenski_ was subjected to various amendments by the time of the premiere: on request of the leading actor, Fritz Kortner, Ungar even wrote a new ending.

The idea of writing a drama about the revolution had been in Ungar's mind for some time. It became crystallised by the imminent ten year anniversary of the October Revolution, which probably reminded him of the hopes this event awoke in him. But the real 'motivation' – as indicated by Ungar himself in the progamme for the play – was the fate of Leo Trotsky, who was stripped of his title of War Commissar in 1925 and then excluded from the Politburo in 1926. A play on this explosive and highly contentious subject was expected to give rise to huge public interest, a theatre sensation, but this was only motivation and not the actual important issue. Ungar had been observing the events in Soviet Russia since the death of Lenin with interest and growing concern. He followed the struggle for power between Trotsky and Stalin. His sympathy for the October Revolution and the Soviet system forced him to view every – to him – negative development with apprehension. Whether Ungar identified with Trotsky's policies which opposed the socialist setup in the country is questionable – one would expect the economist Ungar to recognise the social hazards of an internationalist concept – but he did identify with the difficulties experienced by the Jewish intellectual and viewed the overthrow of Trotsky (which in December 1928 led to his expulsion from the KPdSU and in 1928 to his banishment to Alma-Ata) as an anti-intellectual and anti-Semitic act which flew in the face of his idealistic image of Socialism. His play should have been perceived as a warning, addressed mainly at the German leftists who themselves were not free of such tendencies. It is no coincidence that the individual character traits of _Podkamjenski_ are similar to those of Walther Rathenau as is the end of the drama, which finishes with his murder. Ungar had been shocked by the assassination, as not only the government, but also all leftists, had reacted helplessly. Ungar was thinking of Trotsky here primarily, but about the fundamental 'problem of racial differences, which plays an important part in the fate of a nation as it views such people as complete strangers', 'duplicated and strengthened' in the persons of Disraeli, Rathenau and Trotsky, but also in the 'average Jewish life', in the existence perhaps of a German-language author and a Czech diplomat.136

* * *

It is, however, typical of Ungar that - despite being convinced of the fact that 'various conflicts experienced in an individual lifetime' do not belong on the stage but in a novel 137 – he was unable to write an 'objective' period article as Brecht would have done, but had to produce his drama as a subjective, psychologising and a-historic piece. It was totally correct that Ungar wrote in the programme brochure:

The depicted conflict could take place at any time and in any country where a crowd of people of the same persuasion stand in opposition to an individual person who is different from them, either by race or mentality. I chose Russia as the scene of the play, as it is the country which in contemporary times has seen a huge change – much as France was seen in the past as the classical revolutionary country. The backdrop is imaginary. The illustration of Podkamjenski's tragic fate is not supposed to be a comment on the Russian Revolution. 138

Seen under this aspect, _The Red General_ had as little to do with Trotsky as it had with Jud Suess. It is, however, quite correct that sheltering behind the intellectual revolutionist Jew Moische Frischmann, also known as Podkamjenski, was no one other than the playwright Ungar himself.

_Podkamjenski_ was temporarily closed in July 1927. Evidence is provided by a letter to Gustav Krojanker dated August 5th, in which Ungar talks about 'an evening spent together two days ago' during which an unidentified person called 'W' (possibly Ernst Weiss) gave a denigrating assessment of the play. (It is highly probably that Ungar read the play to some friends and acquaintances upon his return from Boskowitz.) Ungar was unable to accept such criticism as he had high hopes for the drama. He was expecting Krojanker to provide recognition and praise:

I was extremely depressed by W's assessment, although I tried not to show it. But I really cannot imagine that his comments are justified. I can refute some comments: Thespian liberty. I can see passages of pure literary beauty and depth. For example after Podk's scene when he says 'Comrade! Drink your schnapps!' That is something with true depth. Or when Brutzkin says 'Don't drink. Don't get drunk', etc. W claimed that such issues need to be dealt with over five acts, when he said this, I was relieved by his naivety and lack of artistic knowledge... You have known me for a long time now, Gustav. No-one else knows me as well as you do. You know that I accept criticism, in fact I am grateful for any advice and tips given, as then I can address the weaknesses quickly. So – how do you feel about this case? I am doing my best to listen to W's criticisms, but my conscience does not allow me to accept them!!!' 139

More than a year would pass before the premiere of _The Red General_ took place.

#  Excursus 3: _The Class_ – Reception

Hermann Ungar's second novel, _The Class_ , was given wide-ranging coverage by means of an advance publication in a newspaper. On May 27th 1927, Emil Factor's _Berliner Boersen-Courier_ , announced that it would appear as instalments:

After a crisis-laden development period the talented author has produced a novel about a teacher, The Class, which will become one of his greatest works and a very intimate composition. Apparent 'everyday' issues are illuminated in-depth and brought into artistic and exiting action.

...This novel by Hermann Ungar is an optimistic work, which covers the path from darkness into the clarity of inner redemption.

...We are convinced that our readers will follow the development process with great enthusiasm and tension. Pathological traits and individual events, which at first glance appear to be awkward and delicate, are mitigated by the literary force of the depiction. 1

It appears that the editor found it necessary to calm the nerves and fears of those readers who were shocked by _The Maimed_ – and this was probably also the basis of the comment regarding 'crisis-laden development period'. _The Class_ appeared from May 24th to June 17th 1927 in a total of 46 instalments each in the morning issue of the _Berliner Boersen-Courier_.2 It contained numerous changes to the book version, but in the main these were only deletions of the more 'awkward and delicate events'.3 The most distinctive difference was in the final paragraph, which, in the original version as published in the _Berliner Boersen-Courier_ brought back 'fat Bobek' and thus led to a happy end. This passage was removed in the book version and replaced by a few laconic sentences – it was a good move by Ungar.4 Even if the variations don't make that much difference and were partially only made for editorial reasons, they should still be regarded as part of Ungar's complete works.

_The Class_ appeared in book form at the beginning of November 1927, published by the Rowohlt Verlag in Berlin (4000 copies were printed). In the same year the remaining copies of _Boys and Murderers_ were handed over to the Rowohlt Verlag by the Viennese publishing house E.P. Tal. In this manner Rowohlt Verlag became the recognised official publisher. The dustcover for _The Class_ carries a portrait photo, a brief synopsis of the content ('No psychology, just spiritual reality!') plus quotations from Hermann Kasack and Edmond Jaloux.

The translations _Enfants et Meurtriers_ and _Hosi a vrahove_ had meanwhile ensured Ungar's fame in both France and Czechoslovakia. This new book therefore caused quite a stir amongst the critics in both countries.5 Whilst _The Class_ was never reproduced in French, the Antonin Sveceny's Prague publishing house printed a Czech translation by Marie Fialova at the start of 1929 ( _Trida_ ).6

With the support of Rowohlt's advertising campaign _The Class_ met with great acclaim from the critics. Another success was achieved in autumn 1928 with the premiere of the play _The Red General_ , which then transformed Ungar in the eyes of the general public into a dramatist, relegating his prose into the background. But on the negative side, the play also made him a great many enemies – people who from then onwards regarded him as a political opponent.

The novel was, with a few exceptions, greeted positively – although with less enthusiasm than his first book and without the controversial heated debates which surrounded _The Maimed_ even within the groups of supporters. However the critics were not entirely sure whether this new book demonstrated positive advances or whether Ungar was lost in a creative dead end. Gustav Krojanker, in Ungar's obituary, stated that _Boys and Murderers_ , _The Maimed_ and _The Class_ as a 'unity' whose worlds were identical,7 whereas Ungar himself saw _The Class_ more as a form of liberation, less 'unique, uncompromising, the last instance, more radical' than his earlier books, 8 but also less oppressive and torturous. In reality the world depicted in _The Class_ is similarly inhibited to the worlds of the other books, with the difference that all challenges are positively overcome in the last pages of the novel. The darkness and gloom is also alleviated by the positive characters and with judicious use of burlesque humour.

As usual, Ungar sent a few copies of the new book to his friends and acquaintances, including Oskar Loerke, whom he had met by 1926. Loerke reacted by writing one of the very first reviews, which appeared in the _Berliner Boersen-Courier_ on December 4th 1927. Loerke's entry in his diary on Thursday, December 1st, read, 'On Monday: Hermann Ungar. _The Class_. With main impressions. An article on Tuesday.'9 Loerke does not appear to have read the preview in the _Berliner Boersen-Courier_. He introduced his review with the sentence which was frequently quoted afterwards by Rowohlt: 'This significant novel will, in my opinion, remain a document of our time'. Loerke's reasoning for this was that 'the book does not set out to justify the present situation of the world by describing it'.

The author remains unaffected by the outside approval, uncertainty or desperation and is thus not forced into a casual, superficial depiction of the supposed modern view of the world which is so often offered up in the name of modern literature in its various forms.

According to Loerke, Ungar's characters are by no means 'fictitious modern people', they do not make use of the 'modern speedy transport methods and all the latest technical conveniences', do not behave in an 'exaggerated boastful' way, or 'play radical progressive games' in 'snobbish casual forms', they don't mix 'primitivism with American exotics', are not 'eaten up by huge professional and social complexities within their individualism', do not 'inhale or exhale a suppressed, excited atmosphere, a parody of mismatched, rough, slovenly grammar or offer a protest using a contrast of polite, highbrow but cheeky phrases', without seeking 'cynical or even immoral' leanings. According to Loerke, Ungar managed to avoid the mistaken perception of a subjective, modern way of life where only quick developments and progress is regarded as important – forgetting all the while that mankind is a 'creature who cannot escape from the nature, earth, sun, humanity or animalism (however we wish to express it)':

There is much within us, as human beings, which can only undergo slow and hardly discernible change, and much, which depends on rapid, constant adapting. If we strive to force one or the other forward to allow compatibility with our modern world, we will never succeed. Literary illustrations based on thwarting nature may well be interesting, but can never be valid.

Although Ungar's novel only 'casts a light on a small section far away from the focus of today's life, it provides evidence of how the whole system is a combination of many, varied points'.

The schoolmaster Josef Blau is a persistent, forceful person with inhibitions – with characteristics as old as mankind, but who, when described by Ungar, could only exist in our contemporary times. Blau recognises his own failings, he wants to become more normal, more robust, more pleasant – but instead he becomes the tyrant of his family and his pupils. Every move he makes, every action he undertakes, every encouragement and every act of cowardliness pulls him deeper into the tragic and insane chasms of life.

He is the exact opposite of the 'modern person' he sees as an enemy and fears:

With his weak intellect he attempts in a subtle way to understand his enclosed and subjective world, with all its animosity and fearful spookiness. Existence is just a long single battle for him. His personal inferno is his bond between his person, his spirit and the world. And indeed, the force of stolid, proletariat suffering contained in the person of his opponent Modlizki, the beauty and unfettered healthiness of the woman who loves him, the energy and the youthfulness of the pupils and his colleague Leopold – all these, before they motivate him, are actually arch-enemies of the underprivileged nature of Josef Blau. When Ungar analyses and identifies, he is really doing nothing more than pointing out realities and constellations. The expressions he uses will never nullify the impressions. 10

Loerke's critique is not particularly representative for the way the novel was received. Instead the book became his opportunity to write a very subjective tirade displaying his cosmic understanding of modern, innovative, material literature. He therefore approaches the novel 'ex negativo' and only begins to refer to the book more closely towards the end of his review. His observations are nonetheless valid, only he overlooks the fact that Ungar's description of 'the inhibited personality' of Josef Blau is actually a result of the Judaism of the author, even though it masquerades as Catholicism.

Naturally all the Jewish critics took the opportunity of underlining the Jewish aspects of the novel in their Jewish or Zionistic reviews. The most important of these is perhaps Oskar Baum's review, which appeared in the Berlin _Juedische Rundschau_ on March 9th 1928. Baum perceived the 'true core of Jewish existences' as the 'assets of the Jewish mentality', or 'the creative ecstasy of the search for God', further as the ability 'to analyse all spiritual things right down to their religious basics and to assess and treat the world from that basic position'.

Where the prophets once stood, we now have the writers to provide the fundamentals with a surprisingly brand new face using the contemporary emotions of modern days – this new face will regenerate and reinvigorate the influence of our religion.

Hermann Ungar is an unique and interesting representative of this new generation of writers fulfilling this basic Jewish mission, although his writing contains no single reference to Judaism. The combination of heathen and Jewish traditions bears fruit in Ungar's works. Sensual gratification, the struggle for supremacy, the victorious clenched fist are all laid in the balance against the suffering, the battles fought by the underprivileged and the handicapped to achieve a state of mercy, to gain some ground in the fight for mental peace. His heroes are the innocent-guilty, The Maimed, Boys and the Murderers, with all of humankind forming The Class and striving or cheating their way through past the unforgiving schoolmasters – examination by examination.

The innocent-guilty and their torturers appear in a particularly pure, bitter-sweet clarity of contradictions. The unforgiving logical of this clarity seems somewhat like the individual steps in fate, of the coldness of space. But within this clarity and bitter-sweetness can be found an iron-plated heart, a heart which inside is sensitive and delicate, which, if it did have its iron-plating would not be able to withstand the pain, the empathy, the torture of the innocent. In the depths of his love, Ungar seeks out the most helpless of these sufferers, and uses them, especially their limitations and their simplicity to form a tragedy, an exciting, turbulent and moving tragedy.

The gripping clarity of every detail of the actions grows until it turns into a horrible fairytale, incredible fantastic stories of unbelievable forms of nature. Night spectres escape from the subconscious and are illuminated by living, daily reality.

Baum sees Ungar's novel as a 'problem complex typical for Jewish artists from Czechoslovakia', with common psychological roots. He perceives a 'similarity in the milieu and the awful revenge for the influence on his childhood' and communalities with Ludwig Winder's _Gymnastic teacher Pravda_ as did Otto Pick 11 before him. But above all, he stressed the parallels to Kafka's works and delves further into the comparisons between the two, as many others had touched upon in the past.

There have been various discussions on the influence of Franz Kafka on this method of shaping a novel. The parallels are striking. The delicate descriptions go into fine detail: these include precise illustrations of the positioning of the body, floating between reality and magic, also the gripping depictions of the most complicated issues concerning deity and mankind – the two writers share the ability of painting detached images without pompous phraseology. But it is unnecessary to remind people of this, since all great masters of creativity and art (like Mozart and Gluck, Beethoven and Mozart, Buchner and Shakespeare) do the same. Therefore these two writers are no more and no less honest and individual, indeed they are probably more powerful for everything depends on the strength of one's own ability and however much an artist might attempt to assimilate to his surroundings, he must retain his own individuality and colour. The sound of Ungar's short sentences is completely different, with its naked substantives, which reflect the rushed rhythm of his protagonists' lives. In contrast to this you have the artistic, highly instrumented, vibrating, powerful extended sentences that Kafka uses! Ungar's precise and disciplined regularity versus Kafka's casual fantasies with his never-ending episodes and debates. Kafka's works come to life in fragments, using the unrestricted momentum and dynamics of each situations and the puzzling lack of objectives.

In the second part of his review, Baum looked more closely at Ungar's new novel, praising it as 'a vision valid into eternity' and a 'fantastic, surreal monument to a harried, unbearable tragedy of the petit bourgeois' which illustrates the fact that 'the concrete contrasts between school tyrant and school slaves is no gaping chasm, but rather a tightly knit consequence of earlier events'. ('Every tyrant was once a slave and he only became a tyrant because he never managed to achieve freedom'). He pinpoints Modlizki, this 'horrifying new type of devil, closely related to the carer in _The Maimed_ and the abductor in the charismatic novels _Boys and Murderers_ , as well as Josef Blau's 'magnificently' illustrated 'opponent', 'rough types whose heathen fleshiness and physiological traits exult in petit-bourgeois miserable eroticism and gluttony. Uncle Bobek and the mother-in-law, the midwife Novak, the nuptials in the Czech village, the wedding feast and drunken orgy, are described in masterly strokes.' Whereas at the end of the novel Nanette Klemenz envisages Josef Blau (together with Ungar) standing 'at the gate to the secrets of the cross',12 Baum is more concerned – justifiably – by the 'Catholic credo' in this 'convincingly Jewish psychological situation'.

Nothing in the way of sentimental mellowness, not even in the liberating love scene at the end, when the current way of life of the schoolmaster has run its course and he has achieved freedom, he then perceives a chance for a different life. It is this ability to survive one existence and to start another which conquers the evil, which redeems the fallen, the victims. The sudden introduction of the Catholic creed and form of prayer makes this convincingly Jewish psychological situation totally unreal.

Baum concludes:

The lesson contained in this book is a powerful and effective healing process for everyone. Does not everyone have their little inferiority complexes – even if they are buried deep in some corner of their minds and memories? And this will be the reason why each of us feels emotionally involved, right from the first words, why we experience the tension of the struggles which never release us.13

The complete version of Baum's accurate and illuminating review appeared after Ungar's death, albeit in a slightly revised form, in the Prague _Selbstwehr_ 14 publication. Surprisingly it was accorded the distinction of being part of the Jewish intellectualism. The passage pertaining to Kafka's influence remained unchanged, although Baum actually had cause to adjust or amend it since Ungar had written and told him that he knew nothing from Kafka apart from the _Starving Artist_. Ungar's letter written on March 18th 1928 is a combination of appreciation of Baum's review, reaction to the review and also an expression of gratitude for Baum's 'dedication book' _Three Women and I_ (Stuttgart, 1928):

Dear Mr Baum!

Although I have already expressed my gratitude per telegram, I would like to reiterate my appreciation in these few additional lines. May I thank you particularly for the gift of your excellent book, which has given me so much pleasure that I read it 'in one sitting'. It made compulsive reading, a composition of rare purity, inner truth and openness. The subject matter was close to my heart, as both my mother and my grandmother became blind later in life. I do not know how to thank you for this gift.

And then also your thorough review. It is one of the few reviews from which the author can truly benefit. In my opinion, this is the greatest compliment an author can pay a critic. The comparison drawn with Kafka and Winder is appreciated. It might, however, interest you to know that I know nothing about Kafka's writing apart from having read The Starving Artist. Each time I started to read one of his works, I gave up after a few lines. I was simply incapable of reading further. Unfortunately I have never read Winder's novel either. But despite this: why should the claims in this respect not be justified? It would be hardly surprising, since we all share the same atmosphere, we have common childhood experiences, we come from the same backgrounds. And besides, similar comments have been made before. When my book Boys and Murderers was published, someone called me 'Freud's pupil' – perhaps it was supposed to be praise. It was the first time I had ever heard of Freud. Perhaps it is the case that a genius such as Freud, such as Kafka, spreads his wisdom without needing a direct contact – like radioactivity?

I am really looking forward to discussing all this with you in person soon. From June 1st onwards I will be back in Prague. Once again, many thanks...with the utmost respect I remain, your

Hermann Ungar 15

Very little is known about the friendship between Baum and Ungar, just that they met occasionally in Prague and exchanged novels with written personal dedications. The existing letter indicates that their relationship was somewhat detached, but still friendly and based on their common feeling of being outsiders (Baum's isolation, based on his blindness, was much more intense). Both respected their Jewish background, although they were unable to protect themselves against the eternal 'Jewish inferiority complex' due to their principled 'constant backdrop of memories and tradition'.

Oskar Baum was never a Zionist, even though he identified closely with 'Zionistic aspirations and above all with their support organisations and educational activities'. 16 Ungar's novel was reviewed from a decidedly Zionistic point of view by Manfred Rosenberg in the youth supplement of the _Juedische Rundschau,_ the _Jungzionistische Blaetter_ , as well as by Fritz Tauber in the _Barissia Newsletters_. Even though the two critics had very little influence on the general public, their reviews were of great interest, as they demonstrate the enormous importance Ungar's novel, with its Christian nuances, was accorded by the Zionists – even though at this time Ungar himself had long since ceased being a committed Zionist. Similar emotions, however, enabled the Jewish critics to peep behind the Catholic facade created by Ungar to allow him to hide various issues and create more general characters. Both critics also avoided the mistake of limiting the novel to its Jewish implications.

Manfred Rosenberg's review focussed on Ungar's treatment of the general problems of that period, the intellectual vacuum of modern times (which was also paralysing the Zionist movement in the 20s) and the potential solution contained in the final pages of the novel:

We are not just reviewing this novel in our newsletter because it was written by a young Zionist, who marches alongside of us in his own way, but because he sheds light on something lacking in clarity and practicality in our times - a missing orientation point for all our thoughts and our actions – and because with this book he gives us – and this is decisive – the chance to fill life, our lives, with supra-ideological, all-encompassing general but personal aspirations and objectives.

This is only an attempt at a solution. An outline of a plan. More a commitment to a belief than a thorough description. Only ten of the approximate 261 pages of the novel are dedicated to setting the desperate Schoolmaster Blau on the path to find his balanced world. We feel, perhaps more keenly than ten years ago, that the book destined to bring us liberty, to give us our deserved place in the world, to explain the connection between our past and our present, has not yet been written.

Rosenberg continued by delving more deeply into the novel, characterising the protagonists as the 'detritus of broken human abilities', as the victims of capitalistic levels of society, as the 'outsider element in outsider circles', as people without roots who regard the world as an enemy:

His jealous animosity gives him a role, despite his enforced isolation, into the fate of others. He is only capable of interacting with them in one way: by defending himself, securing the rubble of his existence. And when he observes the fate of others around him being ruined, partly due to his input and his influence, he sees the world as a terrible web of disasters, spun by each and every one of us. It is just too much for him – being guilty of creating other peoples' misfortune, without really being to blame, without the ability to bring others to justice for the crimes they have committed. This senseless jumble of blame, this confused debacle of human fate, where one person only exists to destroy another. He sees the world in rage and wants to leave it, forever.

It is Josef Blau's 'last walk', this 'first step into the awareness of the world' which makes Ungar's book 'the most important, indeed, ground-breaking literature of modern days' as far as Rosenberg is concerned. It is this 'insight into the objectives of each of us', which will put today's modern people on the path out of the desert.

Before Schoolmaster Blau's eyes the plan for the world unfolded, with one glance he takes in the complete mosaic of our existence, our future and our progress and he realises: no single person can exist in the world without another. We all have to survive the stages of deprivation, pain, fear and doubt in order to live, or to achieve the highest form of our existence.

What Rosenberg actually perceived here was a 'religious contemplation of humanity', combined with a rationale, 'which in certain ways would form the bridge to understanding the universe created by God and the perfect world composed of mankind.' At the end of his essay, Rosenberg closes his circle of thought:

These are only indications as to the direction the paths must take which lead us out of the vacuum. And the main point is that we have an author here, who does not hesitate to take appearances as pure appearances. Everyone has felt the burning injustice of deprivation. The sole difference is the way each of us attempts to escape this deprivation. Explanations help, material does not just remain material – it becomes intellect, soul and finally embodies a person. Attempts are made to capture the soul, because capturing the soul takes less effort – and enables connections to be forced and questions to be asked. But it proves impossible. We refuse to be calm. Someone attempts to take another direction: to provide a soul for the body, for the world. We do not expect a solution from anyone. Each and everyone of us must search for his own solution. But we gain courage and hope from knowing that others are following the same path. 17

Whilst Rosenberg avoided any direct reference to the situation of modern Judaism in his essay and made no mention of where the path out of the vacuum would lead, Fritz Tauber identified the Schoolmaster Josef Blau as being a typical 'Jewish exile':

Hermann Ungar's characters are spirits from his soul. It is hardly surprising that these characters also become Jews, even though they have been originally identified as Christians, probably to allow for generalisation. Schoolmaster Blau, however, embodies the heritage and fate of the exiled Jewish nation. Indeed, more than that, this person has all the traits of the exiled person, presumptuous and pushy. Many unknown factors of our national existence seem to be explained by Schoolmaster Blau's actions, the way he leads, manages and enforces. The constant watchful state, wittering potential dangers, the possibility of accepting friendly advances of foes and repulsing those of friends – this is the depiction of morbid 'galuth' or exile mentality, an example of self-psycho-analysis.

Tauber sees the basic issue as the 'eternal' Jewish problem, 'of a nation whose ancestors are a condition of their existence and who themselves will become a condition of future generations. This is very core of awareness which caused Hermann Ungar, as both son and father, to write this novel. Unlike Rosenberg, Tauber did not focus on the philosophy of contemporary times, but evaluated _The Class_ as a literary work, raised it to 'one of the most beautiful and deep-thinking books of recent times and most certainly Hermann Ungar's most mature and thorough creation to date'. The 'style' in his opinion was 'perfect', a few 'magnificent passages' could be 'compared with those of the greatest masters of German-language literature'. 18 Fritz Tauber continued to praise his fraternity colleague even after Ungar's death.

As with Ungar's other works, Ludwig Winder reviewed the novel in the Prague _Bohemia_. He stated that Ungar had continued along his 'intended and self-proscribed' path:

Once again Ungar is introducing us to a dismal blinkered world, in which the fear of life is the dynamic force which then manages to overcome the inevitable destruction... Ungar has completely mastered his subject and material and has created a novel which far outweighs his past successes. 19

Otto Pick mentioned Ungar's new novel in two different articles in the _Praguer Presse_ , once in a review and once in an essay on the Moravian writer. In the review he writes about the book from this 'strict, self-critical writer who makes no concessions':

which at first glance is a novel about a school, about the struggle of the schoolmaster against the perceived hatred of the pupils in his class. In reality, however, this is a shocking episode from a guerrilla war fought by slaves of fate, the intentionally shackled people, against all others, against the demons incumbent in humanity. This battlefield report is factual, given in brief, abrupt sentences, which, like Schoolmaster Blau's susceptible feet, tiptoe through the minefields of the battle zone. But then, as disaster looms, restless yet commanding, when the final hour of introversion arrives, the weathered campaigner voices a powerful, stirring, redeeming monologue. He sees the dismal veil of his future disappearing, giving way to love, to the experience of love, recognition of love and a love for God. Hermann Ungar has been able to create a factual and illumination novel rising out of the depths of a confused, narrow-minded person's fate – which shows he excels when recording social environments and creating drama from explosive, everyday life stories.20

Pick's essay _on German-language Authors in Brno and Moravia_ is significant because he emphasises the communalities of Moravian writers. Besides the 'melancholic undertones of their creations' they share 'a predisposition to meticulousness, to factualness, to pregnant objectivity, not overshadowed by their unique retrospectives of childhood experiences of suffering, almost without exception. From Robert Musil's novel _Confusions of the Child Toerless_ , he went to Ludwig Winder's novel _Gymnastic Teacher Prawda_ and on to Hermann Ungar's new novel _The Class_. Pick includes Ernst Weiss in this group (to which the authors J.J. David, Ferdinand von Saar and Marie von Ebner-Eschenbach also belong). But Pick has nothing new to say of Ungar and only mentions his new novel very briefly:

Ungar's pedigree prose justifies the high level of interest shown by the author, Thomas Mann. Like Robert Musil, Ungar was placed on the literary pedestal the moment his first book appeared and his next two novels, The Maimed and The Class..... confirmed the belief that a talent with immense powers of concentration and auto-critical capabilities was at work here. Ungar entered the literary world as a clever, circumspect observer and illustrator of the strange destinies of human beings, as an apparently passionless creator of passionate fulfilment of fate. Closely related to the spirit of the Slavs, trained by the great Russians, Ungar strives to adopt the narrative style of Flaubert. 21

A few brief critiques are typical for the reception accorded Ungar's new novel in Germany. Erik-Ernst Schwabach called it 'a novel of inferiority complex emotions _kat exochen'_ , 22 Erich Duerr followed with a 'cool and certain approach...into the mental analysis of isolated souls of modern times', with which Ungar had 'burst open a window of the concrete cell housing the spirit and allowing fresh air to flow in'. 23.Oskar Maurus Fontana recognised progress in Ungar's 'strange story-telling talents': 'Nothing is easy for this talented person and he doesn't want easy challenges, instead he is threatened by all the different 'complexes'. But Ungar is totally capable of solving psychopathic issues and 'humanising' them...'. 24 As far as K.H. Ruppel is concerned, 'far from being disappointed, we have again had our high expectations fulfilled, even exceeded beyond our hopes':

After Hermann Ungar's novel The Maimed one might expect that his brilliant author would again bring forth a truly fruitful concept for a subject which sees social relationships as fate and seeks to shape a responsible solution. But now what we discover is that we cannot extricate ourselves from the typical psychological novel – although we have had the feeling for many years now that science should be able to illuminate psychological secrets and bring an end to the constant analyses of each individual case. We discover we find the 'character' of a person much more interesting than the machinations of his life, his 'traits' much more fascinating than his connections and bonds. Whilst political and social trends have long since converged into collectives, the simple novel still deals with an almost naive delight in the 'disclosure and liberation' of an individual person. Hermann Ungar walks his own path. 25

In the _Berliner Tageblatt_ the review was written by Melchior Vischer, the author of _Seconds through the Mind_ , who was probably personally acquainted with Ungar, perhaps dating back to the years spent in Prague. Vischer took all of Ungar's work into consideration, confronting it with the 'modern innovative factualism' which, in itself, makes it worthy of being included in this document:

In recent time a new slogan has appeared in the world of literature and art: 'factualism' or 'innovative factualism'. Because a German cannot function without a register of terms, he gets nervous if he cannot separate objects, animals and humans and allocate them into set categories. This typical register-loving German will find Ungar rather nerve-wracking. How can one classify him? Ungar wrote and edited his books at a time of rampant Expressionism. Even in those days, he wrote in a clear, almost detached style, in which he described the mysterious events happening to the most 'un-mysterious' average people. This waffle about 'innovative factualism' ought to have started then, with the appearance of Ungar's first book. For this author is not given to exaggeration, whether in his style or in the plot, in fact, he takes pains to avoid the cheap effects of many of today's popular 'writers'. Although snobs may sniff and say 'Quite ordinary' – they do not realise that this is actually praise, albeit given with a turned-up nose.

For Ungar's novels are about quite ordinary people. The difference lies in his style, his descriptions and the way he brings his characters to life. It is his personal touch which is of unique importance. Sometimes, in the sidelines to the plot only recognisable by those in the know, a trace of the logic and diction of the great Franz Kafka may appear.

Ungar's new novel is about a class at school. Not the fate of an individual, but the fate of a collective. The hero is not the schoolmaster, nor an individual pupil. The schoolmaster and the pupils are brought together in a struggle against each other, a generation struggle, and become a unit, taking the blame and guilt, accepting fate.

Ungar's books have a fortunate association – both literature and as exciting as detective stories 26

There were very few negative critiques from German literary figures. Franz Herwig wrote a combined review in the catholic publication _Highland_ and unsurprisingly denounced Werfel's _Matriculation Day_ as an 'architectural construction' and a 'mental exercise on the parade ground', celebrated Hans Friedrich Blunck's _Female Mill_ as a 'realistic, healthy and chaste book', whilst rejecting Ungar's novel completely.

Ungar is much younger than Werfel, and for that reason, although they share a similar intellectual structure, Ungar is more 'modern', i.e. 'more factual' with an increased and more often ethical approach. Every author strives to be ethical, few achieve this aspiration, which is viewed as a necessity and to a greater extend as normal literary reality. We have the typical cries of a ruined person, someone who can no longer master the given facts and situation, but cleaves to his image of reality and facts – brought to paper by the author. A drama created from the misery of human life! But the result of these cries, the novel itself, is by no means as gripping. The schoolmaster Blau is nothing more than a figment of imagination, not a human being with a convincing existence. Ungar's style fluctuates between natural brutality and ghostly distortions, he creates a world of delirious nightmares. This world should not be taken seriously – not even when Schoolmaster Blau reverts to the catholic creed. The author is not fully convincing.... 27

Richard Grande reaches a negative conclusion, but starts out from a different aspect. His review appeared in the Leipzig publication _Schoene Literature_ and although he acknowledged Ungar's 'undoubted literary might' and the novel's 'no mean artistic achievement', he perceived it as 'falling into a vacuum' as it deals with a 'completely unimportant subject':

The subject of inferiority complexes of contemporaries has been exploited so much by authors recently, that it really is not worth while scraping the bottom of the barrel. In the story, the illustrations are pushed to the absolute limits...so far, that they became surreal. The descriptions of the delinquent are so long, spread so thin, that they disappear in front of the readers' eyes. 28

The most remarkable point as far as the recognition of _The Class_ is concerned, is that the thematic quality of the novel did not only meet with the approval of the critics – who by the nature of their jobs were obliged to read the book - but also with the approbation of the wider general public. The comments from the Zionist sides have already been discussed, further reactions were received from the psychological and pedagogic experts.

Ruppel's observations that with _The Class_ Ungar was turning away from the typical psychological novel can actually only be related to the final pages. Schwabach's comment is much more justified, i.e. that the book is 'a novel of inferiority complex emotions kat exochen' or a psychology case study, perhaps more precisely a literary illustration of the individual psychology as per Alfred Adler. It is uncertain whether Ungar knew of Adler's theory, above all about the concept of inferiority complexes and over-compensation. The surprisingly close affinity with the novel cannot be seen as evidence of any direct influence – but also are hardly coincidental. The background of the autobiographical characters, however, certainly supports the theory. Heinz Sternberg considered this individual psychology aspect when reviewing the novel for the Viennese publication _International Journal of Individual Psychology_ – the article cannot really be regarded as a critique, for Sternberg was satisfied with just reproducing the core story of the novel as evidence for his theory. He stated that 'individual psychological investigation of the psyche is used here in a rare pure way' and commented only on the final scene of redemption:

One is caught in a net, one small step results in immediate guilt without knowing why. One is linked to everything, whether one wishes it or not – everything/everyone is an enemy. What can one do? Escape from society, from marriage, from one's job? Escape from one's allotted tasks – like Schoolmaster Blau.

But the situation never comes to a climax. At the last moment society steps in and saves him. How that actually happens, which salutation is actually found, is never fully explained, but left nebulous and unsaid. But the individual psychological core is visible. And it is this core which brings him back from the brink and into the community again. He finally recognises the fictitious world, which he has constructed for himself, for what it is – a false reality.29

Sternberg's psychological approach was supported by many other literary critics. Hardly any of the literary critics touched upon the pedagogical content of the novel. This was left to the professional pedagogues and to those authors, whose special scientific interest areas lay within the literary academic sphere. Ungar's novel was a recurring example for more than a decade of the use of schools as a subject in essays on _Teachers and pupils in former times and today_ , _The school as a subject for modern literature_ or _The figure of the teacher in a modern school-based novel_.

In almost all cases _The Class_ was compared with the reality of school life, and, from such a perspective was rarely judged as a literary work of art but more of an intentional distortion of reality. Hans Dahmen, however, acknowledged that the 'tragic inadequacies' of Schoolmaster Blau were not quite unrealistic and that Ungar's depictions bore some similarity with facts, but facts which belonged in situations long-since consigned to the past, times in which the 'material and social position' of a teacher was at rock-bottom and thus 'the social standing of the teacher was often unworthy and below that of his pupils'. 30

When making these comparisons, Dahmen actually supported A. Schroeder, who carried out the most in-depth and knowledgeable review of Ungar's novel from a pedagogical point of view. As far as Schroeder was concerned, _The Class_ belonged in the same category as Werfel's _Matriculation Day_ (1928) and Carossa's _Changes in Youth_ (1928) and should have been 'regarded as the most important publications in recent years'. He perceived them as a 'literary unit'. However Schroeder also made a critical literary assessment:

Hermann Ungar's novel, The Class, provides some penetrating impressions and deserves recognition. His inadequacies have nothing to do with his lack of vocational experiences, his non-objectivity or even the degradation of the profession – they are more to do with the scope and objectives, with his total literary performance and occasional lack of clarity. Even if Ungar's performance as witnessed by this book are not quite up to the standard promised by Thomas Mann's prognosis for this young man, his descriptions of the unfolding twists of fate show a really high level of ability to form memorable characters.

The 'wretched image of an enfeebled and tortured schoolmaster' seems to Schroeder to be an 'exaggerated borderline case' but then he does not deny that 'some of the debilitating deprivations of life are suffered by teachers in general, put particularly by those who feel haunted or who persecute others'.

Ungar's book has, moreover, allowed a symptomatic evaluation and insight into potential confusion, disputes and feverish suffering arising from the counter-effects of the teacher-pupil relationships. The despair and the weaknesses, the persecution complex and the inflexibility during the lessons, as shown by Ungar's hypochondriac, are exceptional in the present time. In our own schooldays, however, we may have experienced similar examples, which disclosed a terrible destructive split between teachers and pupils.

Schroeder goes on to examine the structure of Blau's character and the sources of his problems. 'Ungar's thorough description of the urges and emotions experienced by this teacher' seems to him occasionally to 'have sunk into impenetrability, long-winded repetition, unreality and fatigue' using 'space which might better have been taken up by the necessary coverage, albeit in too detached form, of the actual events and the persons involved in the inner thoughts of schoolmaster Blau.' But the real advantage of the novel which contributed to its modernistic approach, as far as Schroeder was concerned, was Ungar's ability to allow the reader to view the world from the monomanic perspective of a neurotic person and to render this otherwise incredible existence both credible and comprehendible. But Schroeder also sees this as flawed, as it leaves 'the objective reality in the dark'. 31 Schroeder's essay does not lack in pedantry but less so that other reviews.

Emmy Beckmann perceives in Ungar's book a 'similar special and individual case' to that described in Torberg's _The pupil Gerber has matriculated_ (1930), although 'in this case seen from the other side, from the teacher's perspective':

A psychopath of the worst sort, a man composed of inferiority complexes and troubled sexual fantasies, restrained solely by the moral turpitude of petite bourgeoisie. A psychological case study of certain interest – even if it is totally exaggerated and distorted....But what on earth does all this have to do with schools? The image painted of school life here is not at all typical, does not represent the picture of teacher-pupil interaction, even if the teacher's natural involvement with his class is complicated by his revolutionary and exceptional character. 32

And Walter Hohmann followed a similar path:

This novel is not dealing with pedagogical problems, but with the fate of an individual person suffering from a massive inferiority complex. Why this period has to be a senior teacher, is a mystery. The sick or, more precisely mad schoolmaster Blau, whose very being is made up of fear, distrust and hatred, is losing the battle with his class. This book is unreal and incomprehensible – it can perhaps only be explained by the fate and the personality of the author. 33

R. Lembert failed to see an illustration of the 'problems which fill every teacher's life and function':

This is the fate of an individual, particular – one might say pathological – person. This man happens to be a teacher. His morbidly sick disposition would destroy his aspirations in every type profession entailing contact to other people. Thus the tragedy of his life is not a professional tragedy, his fate is no exemplary fate of teachers.... This book, no matter how fine, is no indication of our lives.34

Johannes Guertler also found that the book was 'not a debate with practical outcomes for the teaching profession or for a school, for which clear and transparent facts were to be presented', but did not judge Ungar's book on non-literary principles and understood Ungar's decision to use a teacher as the 'lonely person suffering from brooding melancholy':

This Josef Blau is possessed by destructive fears of existentialist ties and becomes a lonely person suffering from brooding melancholy, This, in itself, is the tragedy of an isolated person living in a community. What happens when such a person is supposed to function within this community, or even to become the servant of such a community? And this is why Ungar placed Blau in the position of schoolmaster. The schoolmaster is an adult in a children's world, a link to the community but at the same time an isolated person facing the mass.

And here Guertler has hit the nail right on the head as far as Ungar's situation is concerned, for Ungar, as an 'isolated person' sought a 'life' in the 'community' and via his post as a diplomat became a 'servant' of the 'community'. He suffered from the tragedy of these existentialist contrasts. Guertler's literary critiques were equally astute and to the point:

This novel from Ungar is much more than a novel with pedagogic objectives. It contains transparent, profound symbolism. It depicts literary economy – only a few characters are involved to allow clear contrasts within the tragic story of the schoolmaster. The facts of scholastic life are only described if they align with these objectives. The school and the home form the stage on which the plot unfurls. The backdrop is the turbulent state of society. No unimportant diversions. No fine brushstrokes paint the detail of school of family life. Thick brushstrokes cover the canvas, flow over the outlines in luxuriant colours. Here we have literature, the reality of painting, producing magic images behind cold and frigid bodies. 35

_The Class_ was reviewed for the last time in pedagogical context in 1938 by Hans Keller in a Swiss pedagogic journal and at a time when Ungar had been long since damned as an 'author of burnt books' in the German Reich. Keller's words are nothing more that a reproduction of the content with a brief introduction of the characters:

Hermann Ungar wrote a case study about pathological melancholy (The Class). The novel contains an exaggeration of psychological dissection and destruction – but all human traits of suffering are clearly visible in the image of the schoolmaster. 36

The author Frank Thiess would have been particularly interested in _The Class_ because of the core theme of a school. Thiess's chosen special subject had always been childhood and youth, in 1926 he published his most important youth novel, the story of grammar school boys entitled _Gateway to the World_ , which brought him fame far beyond the borders of Germany. Thiess would have recognised a like-minded colleague in Ungar, who dealt with similar issues and problems within _The Class_ , albeit from a different perspective. They also knew each other fleetingly.

Thiess was the first author to dedicate a monographic text to Ungar (if one discounts Kasack's radio presentation in 1927). This text appeared on August 17th 1928 as the first in a series of called _Portraits of Young Authors_ in the _Literary World._ A scene from _The Red General_ also appeared in the same issue, but under the old title _Podamjenski_. This first all-encompassing essay was also the last to hail Ungar as a pure storyteller. The text is seen as a sum total of all acknowledgements to date.

Thiess called Ungar a 'pupil of Thomas Mann', in the sense of a huge feeling of responsibility for each written word:

The three books he wrote over an extended period of time disclose more to the reader about the author than about the plot. It is not as if the novels contain too little excitement and suspense, but they also underline the need to overcome the real issues, the 'how'...and the attentive reader will feel stirrings: a combination of industriousness and talent, huge amounts of effort and great ability.

Most talent initially flows strongly, then abates, causing the waste of copious amounts of ink and paper. But the fairly small novel from this author is so important, as it documents his reverent and serious achievements, manipulating the words in front of our eyes. Presumably it was exactly this recognition of the author's talents that caused Thomas Mann to praise enthusiastically Boys and Murderers... this slim book, consisting of two novels. All our youngest authors, with few years behind them and a lifetime of great fantasies, are given a passport to their literary vocation within the lessons of these novels. They learn that restraint allows one to blossom. They learn that editing shapes contours.

Contrary to Thomas Mann, Thiess judges the first of to two novels _A Man and a Maid_ to be the most important:

The only indication that this volume of novels is the first work of this author lies in the fact that it deals with the injustice of the madness of youth, obstacles caused by unknown, torturous pressures of blood rushing through veins, all the normal signs of a literary debut. The second story (Story of a Murder), praised so highly by Thomas Mann, demonstrates clearly the genius of the writer: all the various situations were pitilessly disclosed, the roles were painted in primitive, brash colours, the architectural structure right up to the uppermost peak was cleverly assembled that no dead areas and no ancillary supports were required. In his first novel (A Man and a Maid) any shade of hysteria is expunged and replaced by polite, lively and no-nonsense action. I have no hesitation whatsoever in declaring that this novel belongs with the masterpieces of modern literary art.

A differentiation in assessment, for which Thiess later provides fundamental reasons based on surgical and biological, between active and contemplative story-telling, can only be regarded as substantiated if he takes _The Maimed_ together with the _Story of a Murder_ and applies his 'mystical mucous congestion of sperm and blood' to both and then relegates them to second place behind Ungar's latest book, which evinces a 'more biological method of story-telling':

Ungar's painstaking methods, his experimental passions... as demonstrated in his second novel [sic. The Maimed]... are a strange and terrifying fusion of of his literary ability and desire to conquer all potential resistance. The resulting book provides evidence of the talent of its author in every line, but in the sum of all lines shows the lack of power to overcome these outside challenges. The abhorrent events, which Ungar all too happily creates with his chemistry test tubes, never become art, are never raised from the pits of stinking, rotting sexual deviations. There is no doubt at all that this book contains some brilliant passages, but all the descriptions founder in the base specialities, never become the intellectual property of the reader – but often feels he himself is under attack.

Thiess believed that Ungar had reached 'the furthest extent of his creativity as far as it related to overcoming the absurd difficult problems in _The Maimed_ ' and that therefore he switched 'his technique in the following and final books from the surgical, or the active experimental, to the contemplative, or the observational perception':

...the character of the schoolmaster Blau, consumed totally by his inferiority complexes...should have undergone a sperm analysis: a symphony of dissonant torture would have been the result despite all the instrumental ability of the author. But Ungar utilised the most simple illustrations, with a certain hand and full of suspense, with almost unintentional ties to uncomplicated situations – slowly drawing increasingly large circles which allowed his wretched, moaning figures to appear, bathed in light, so that we, as readers, could react in no other way but to accompany them through all their stations of purgatory (a version of hell for mental misfits).

As far as Thiess was concerned, the special value of this book was to be found in the 'sublime art of forming the secondary characters' who gave the 'key figure this astoundingly effective profile and allowed him to pull all the colourful threads of the novel together right until the end', despite the monotony of the examples. Thiess summarised:

I believe that few of the younger generation of authors deserve the admiration of an understanding society as much as Hermann Ungar does. His sense of style and form, his artistic taste, his irony-coated humour could never justify his depictions of painful scenes, unless the author himself was not a person of clear and convincing, merciful character whose intention was not to seek our pain but to heal it. 37

Thiess's essay is again a testament to the high position of respect accorded to Ungar by his literary colleagues. Their literary censorship, honed by the effort of their own writing, enabled them to not only perceive the torturous content of his books, but also the increasing 'personal mastering of challenges', whether these were formal or structural, linguistic or compositional issues. Ungar's novel _The Class_ would have reached a much greater readership than just the circle of an 'understanding society' – and it is very feasible that his next book might have elevated him to one of the greatest character writers of all times. But his ambition propelled him towards the theatre and his second book became, with his sudden and unexpected death, the ultimate book and the last work published during his lifetime.

#  Diplomat and Author – continued (1927-1928)

In his obituary for Hermann Ungar, Ludwig Winder wrote:

He was not a happy person. His pessimistic view of the world was founded on ingrained knowledge of the spiritual and mental resistance a pure person faces in his struggle with life. Fear and trembling were characteristics of his creations. His 'heroes' were actually unlucky devils, who time and time again were confronted by unexpected and absurd incidents. He himself was also an unlucky person. Two years ago he was knocked down by a bus in Berlin. The accident left him bedridden, wracked in pain for many months. Hardly recovered, he then died after an appendectomy – an operation which others take easily in their stride.1

Thomas Mann wrote in his introduction to the posthumous volume _Colbert's Journey_ :

One heard about a traffic accident, which caused him nervous stress and weakened him, making him susceptible to illness, a year later came a tardy diagnosis resulting in an overdue appendectomy causing his death. 2

Hermann Ungar was run over by a bus on the evening of October 13th 1927 and badly injured. The exact cause of the accident is unknown. He was taken immediately to the Red Cross hospital Paulinenhaus. Medical examinations showed that he had suffered a broken femur, a fracture of the hip bone, cuts from glass splinters. A report dated October 15th estimated that stationary treatment in hospital would last five to six weeks. 3 It seemed like a contemporary satire – for immediately following the report of the accidents, rumours of an attempted murder started circulating which caused unease at the Stock Exchange, with waves of unrest reaching as far as Prague. 4

The physical pain, the shock to his nervous system combined with his general state of exhaustion meant that Ungar was not even in a position to send out copies of _The Class_ with his own dedications and accompanying letters as per his normal habit. A card written to Thomas Mann on November 4th survives, with a few typewritten lines and a very shaky signature:

Dear Mr Mann!

A broken femur has bound me, helpless, to my bed for weeks and thus I have sadly been forced into the position of sending you a copy of my latest book The Class via my publisher. It would have been my greatest pleasure to send you the book myself, together with a few personal words. The unfortunate circumstances now only permit me to sign this typewritten note.

Your respectful servant

Hermann Ungar 5

On December 1 1927 Ungar was discharged and sent home to recuperate. A medical report written on the same day noted that the fracture was not healing very well and that the accident had been very detrimental to the patient's nervous system. 6 The obituary written by Kurt Pinthus claimed that thereafter Ungar described himself as a 'cripple'. 7

The Berlin Embassy wrote about Ungar's state of health at this time:

Dr Ungar has been weakened by a lengthy bedridden state and his nerves have suffered terribly from the aftermath of the accident. It will be some time before his convalescence and recovery is complete. 8

Although Ungar was declared fit for work again in May 1928, he was never to return to full health again after his accident. One leg would remain shorter than the other and he walked with a pronounced limp for the rest of his life. His highly precarious nervous system and his general weaknesses gave rise to increasing reoccurrences of painful stomach ulcers and a grumbling appendix. A doctor recommended an operation, but Ungar's superstitious fears led him to refuse. Ellen Krojanker remembered:

...Ungar once had his palm read by one of these ladies who appear at social events and entertain the guests by telling the fortunes of any interested persons. She had taken his hand, a very nice hand by the way, and told him that he might possibly die after an operation or that an operation could prove highly dangerous... although writers always claim to be superstition-free, it is quite common that they give heed to such warnings and hesitate, just like Ungar did, when he said that he would not have the recommended operation right now (at a time when it would have been harmless). 9

The fears of the hypochondriac were seemingly justified: Ungar was haunted by omens of death. He told friends that he was going to die prematurely and that he was afraid of not leaving any long-lasting legacy of work, of being forgotten by the world.

He told his friends constantly that they must always talk about and remember the deceased and that the dead listen to what the living say about them.10

His fear of death was at odds with his very strong will to live and the urge to retire from his hated career as a civil servant. He wanted to dedicate the rest of his life, without restrictions, to his writing, to completing a great masterpiece which would ensure his long-term fame. But a condition of this would have been a successful drama within his lifetime. When this success failed to materialise with _The Red General_ , or at least not in the way he hoped, he postponed his decision to retire until it was just too late.

The Foreign Ministry, however, had plans of its own. During his illness, Ungar was promoted officially to the position of Second Secretary on January 28, 1928. He was supposed to take up the office on February 1st at the Prague Foreign Ministry, where Hradschin was working as Beness's ministerial commissar. This promotion was a great honour and brought responsibilities, which, however, did not comply with Ungar's new career plans. The transfer to Prague was supposed to take place in January 1928, but had to be postponed until June 1st 1928 due to Ungar's miserable state of health.

During this period a new translation by Guy Fritsch-Estrangin was published in Paris, it was, coincidentally, the novel _Colbert_ ' _s Journey_ with its Francophile hero. _Le voyage de Colbert_ was published in the April edition of the _Revue d_ ' _Allemagne_ with a long introduction by Fritsch-Estrangin.11

#  VII The End: Prague (1928 – 1929)

In May 1928 Hermann Ungar's health had improved sufficiently to allow him to move, ' _albeit with a heavy heart',_ 1 from Berlin back to Prague with his wife and son. From May 14th onwards he was registered as living in Smichov, in the Fibichova 5 (today Matousova, Conscription No. 1286), quite close to the Smichov market halls and St Wenzel Basilica. An advantage of this house was the proximity to Margarete's family home in Pemyslova, whereas a disadvantage was the long distance to the Kleinseite and to Hradschin, Ungar's new workplace.

On June 1st Ungar officially took up his new position as Ministerial Commissar at the Foreign Ministry, which was based in a building in the 3rd Court of the Castle, in the shadow of St Veits Cathedral. He was still convalescing, however, therefore immediately took his annual leave and travelled to Switzerland. Even though he formally remained a civil servant until he finally, and belatedly, decided to hand in his commission effective October 1929, in reality he only worked at the Castle for the first two months after returning from Switzerland.

On June 5th Ungar was already in Zurich with his wife and child. From there he journeyed on to Weggis on the Vierwaldstaetter Lake, where he lived at the Hotel Alpenblick until June 11th. His luggage contained his _'wonderful Remington typewriter (marvellous for writers, as it is not just portable, but potentially produces the greatest literature. One only has to hit the write keys. I will do my utmost.)'._ Whilst still in Berlin he was able to sort the problem of the _Podkamjenski_ performances – Barnowosky agreed to put on the play at his Theatre in the Koeniggraetzer Street, with Erich Engel as producer and Fritz Kortner taking the main role. Ungar wanted to _'oversee the play'_ from Weggis.2

But Ungar did not really feel at ease in the _'tranquillity of the Swiss mountains'_ , he suffered from the oppressive heat and from the visits of Lothar Loewe, who also lived at the Alpenblick with his wife. Ungar finally made an abrupt decision on June 12th to travel further into the mountains.

It was an urgent need to recuperate that brought me here, but I do not feel comfortable. The heavy oppressive atmosphere, as if one is imprisoned in a boiler with no breath of fresh air. I have therefore decided to move on tomorrow, to travel further into the mountains, higher up towards St Moritz, probably to Celerina as according to the brochures it is cheaper there.

Quite apart from everything else, the famous Lothar Loewe is currently a resident at the Alpenblick in Weggis together with his hag of a wife. The two of them are always at my side and really get on my nerves. He is capable of talking for a whole hour without a pause and I am unable to get a word in edgewise. He talks such utter rubbish, just as Tucholsky described him in the last Berlin Journal. 3

Nothing is known about Ungar's stay in Celerina. He probably only remained a few days.

Ungar returned to Prague just in time to celebrate the 50th semester anniversary of Barissia in Teplitz-Schoenau, an event which was celebrated in high style. He took the opportunity to not only meet up again with old friends, but to forge new friendships such as with the new fraternity head Hugo Brauner. From then onwards Ungar met Brauner often at his home, they held profound discussions 'about the past, present and future' or went for walks. Although Brauner and Ungar had met during the Berlin diplomat's previous visits to Prague, they had never before had sufficient time to form a closer relationship.

From our brief conversations during earlier times I knew that Ungar found no personal satisfaction whatsoever in his public service position. He would have much preferred to be a free and liberated author, if only his writing could have guaranteed some sort of appropriate standard of living. Unfortunately this was not the case. 4

To celebrate the occasion of the anniversary, Barissia published a festive newsletter entitled _Fifty Semesters of Barissia_ , which, besides a keynote from Fritz Tauber, contained numerous salutations (from Chaim Weizmann, Nahum Sokolow, Hugo Bergmann, Kurt Blumenfeld, Max Brod, Hugo Herrmann, Theodor Lessing, Emil Margulies, Ludwig Singer, Felix and Robert Weltsch, Alfred Engel and many others). Articles were contributed by Walther Kohner, Julius Loewy, Ernst Guetig, Herbert Birnbaum, Emil Popper and Oskar Neumann – with a thorough fraternity history written by Hugo Brauner - and also the second scene from Ungar's play _Podkamjenksi._ The introduction was a motto from Andre Maurois _Disraeli_ ('Certain le traitent d'etranger. ''Qu'est l'Angleterre pour lui ou lui pour l'Angleterre?'' ') and a few phrases from Ungar explaining the inspiration and objective of the play. The scene itself, 'as an expose and an introduction to the hero' is not significantly different to the later play script to allow any assumptions as to whether it was an earlier version or whether Ungar made amendments or adjustments to suit the celebratory newsletter status. 5

One further scene from _Podkamjenski_ was published before the premiere of _The Red General_ and this did contain major modifications. On August 17th Willy Haas published in the _Literary World_ the seventh scene of the play, which took place in the 'consultation rooms of the People's Commissary' and which was actually 'the focus of the whole plot'. The editorial foreword announced that the premiere was to take place in the Theatre on Koeniggraetzer Street. Once again it is not clear which version of the text was used. Haas may well have obtained it from Ungar in person, as the latter spent a few days in Berlin at the end of June (or beginning of July) to discuss details of the premiere.6

After his summer holiday, Ungar began his few weeks of work at the Castle. He found his job terribly boring and the daily routine proved to be even worse than in Berlin. Even the beautiful atmosphere of Prague could not mitigate his misery. During his 'first days in the new situation' he also suffered from the absence of Margarete, who was spending some time in Boskowitz with Thomas.

Ungar wrote to Krojanker on July 18th:

...The disruption to daily life caused by my spouse's absence, with the loss of all the family pleasures and diversions, plus the tropical heat and the oppressive air in this abysmal house which smells of anti-moth treatment, have totally robbed me of all incentive to deal with my correspondence. I write to you today from my office in the ministry, where I sit from 9 am to 2 pm in complete boredom. In fact, life is so tedious that I was hardly able to make the decision to start this letter...

...Tomorrow Grete and Tomy will return from Boskowitz. I am so looking forward to having some order in my life again. The bed and breakfast life is really unpleasant in high summer. 7

Ungar's letters to Krojanker give a good indication of the new, unsatisfying situation and the resulting negative effect on Ungar's creative spirit. In a letter written on July 28th, Ungar says:

For 5 hours every day I sit up here in the Prague Castle, an office which could hardly be more attractive and beautiful. Every day, when I walk up the hill and stare down at Prague veiled in the morning mist, I say to myself: it must, must, must be a pleasure to work here. And then I take my seat in the room together with three other slaves - and even the thought that perhaps the pages of the powerful friends of Rabbi Loew, Kepler, Tycho and Emperor Matthias spread out their sleeping mats here has lost its attraction. The work is tedious, as you will know. But that is not the main problem, there is something far worse – there is absolutely nothing to do! Yesteday, despite all my efforts, I only wrote 3 lines in 5 hours in the office. Sometimes, when things are really going well, I manage three pages. There are various reasons why I cannot take something into the office to read, or continue with my own personal writing – but these reasons are just too boring to discuss. At three o'clock in the afternoon I walk home, a broken man. Add to this my other personal torture – the fact that I have had no ideas, no creative ideas for weeks on end. I really need some new ideas, some inspiration. I feel empty, beaten. Everything is just too much for me, I feel so terribly miserable. 8

This desire to escape from his job and profession became all powerful, but was restrained by his worries about the family's financial future. A letter dated August 4th, sheds more light on this. (Enclosed to this letter was a tiny sketch of Ungar's view from the office window of the Archbishop's Palace.)

I would so like to write a new play, but no ideas have come to mind – perhaps a novel? Maybe some inspiration will come... I have already put some lines on paper. Wait and see! If only I could escape from this office! Tell me, it is really worth selling your soul for 250 M and ruining your life? Half of the time – and in a certain sense this also means one hundred percent of the time – is spent in this soul-destroying and mind-numbing environment: whereby there are much better things to do, things have been started and perhaps there is very little time left. It is a question, which is perhaps better answered by the person in question, who has to find the courage to make the first step, to forget all the other issues and constraints. One has to find the courage to acknowledge one's desperation, the courage to place all one's trust in one's talent – otherwise one is truly unworthy of the gift of such talent. Who will offer advice? If Pinner knew that I was contemplating such a change he would certainly come straight back from Palestine, to knock it out of my head. And you? You will probably say that I still have plenty of time for my writing and, unless matters are really urgent, that the situation should remain as it is. Especially as I have a wife and child to support. And what would happen if I became ill, you might ask? And when inspiration fails me or success evades me? These are all very sensible questions you put to me. And I have no other answer other than the one given by Tomy after he was lectured for hours upon end using commonsense and threats: 'But I WANT cucumber salad!' And I feel that I, too, now want my cucumber salad, despite all the medical warnings and exhortations. 9

Ungar wrestled with his dilemma, dithering between his needs and reality, for more than a year.

Ungar's contacts to the Prague literary circles had become very sparse since he led a monotonous, retiring life. He wrote to a friend in the castle, who had asked him about meetings with Brod, Baum and Werfel, with the following words in the previously quoted letter:

...I very infrequently meet people from the Prague literary scene, as I hardly go out at all now. I did hear that Werfel's book (The Matriculation Day) is extremely good – I feel no envy, just anxiety. I could not bear it, if he turned out to be the greater writer.

If he visited the cafe, then it was only on Sundays:

Tomorrow is Sunday. I have never looked forward so much to a Sunday. In the morning I will wander through the streets for a while then go to the cafe, read a few newspapers. Otherwise I have totally given up on any visits to the coffee houses here, I hardly leave the house apart from going into work. I view the whole world with such despondency.10

Despite this, he still communicated with the _Prager Tagblatt_. On August 14th a brief homage 'For Alfred Doeblin' was published, written by Ungar on the occasion of the ' _great author's_ ' 50th birthday on August 10th. 11

At the end of the year, the Hamburg _Freihafen_ (newsletter of the Hamburg chamber theatre where the second premiere of _The Red General_ was being held) published the monologue sketch _The Caliph_ , which Ungar then incorporated into his larger story _The Wine Traveller_. This short text is autobiographical, was written in Berlin, and is extremely informative. It gives the key to the problems in Ungar's life. In the bizarre figure of the pseudo trading agent, who sees himself as a great statesman, and only allows his son to ' _share his secret_ ', Ungar gives shape and form to his own contradictory existence. For Ungar, as an upright and seemingly conventional civil servant was also really a 'caliph', who had his 'secret', his writing, which he carried with him through the streets of the towns. 12

The amusing article _Wallenstein by me_ is quite openly autobiographical. In this piece Ungar remembers his ' _first play_ ', which he held at the age of eight in the parental home – but also the blood-thirsty dramas he conceived as a grammar school boy and read to his friend Viktor. He wrote these childhood memories on the occasion of the first premiere of _The Red General_ and they were then appropriately published in the _Vossische Newspaper_ on the day of the premiere, on September 15th 1928. 13 After Ungar's death they appeared again, this time in the _Prager Tagblatt_ as a complement to the obituary written by Max Brod.

It seems that Ungar wrote this article for the _Vossische Newspaper_ just prior to the premiere in the Koeniggraetzer Theatre, whilst he was in Berlin. So that he could attend the rehearsals for _The Red General_ and attend the premiere himself, he had requested four weeks of special leave on August 4th from the Foreign Ministry, which was then granted. 14 From August 25th onwards he then spent a month in Berlin. Perhaps he sensed that this holiday would bring about the end of his work at the _Burg_ , after little less than two months. After this holiday and until his death, he would only spend single days in his office in Hradschin.

#  Excursus 4: _The Red General_ – Reception

Ungar's play about the revolution _The Red General_ celebrated its premiere at the start of the new season 1928/9 on September 15th 1928 at the Theatre in the Koeniggraetzer Strasse, with Erich Engel as the producer and stage design/management by Casper Neher. The script was based on the stage manuscript published by Felix Bloch Erben (Berlin).1 It appears that Ungar never wished for this play to be published in the normal way, due to the very controversial press reception. His wish has been respected until the present day. The performance did not actually correspond with the original manuscript. In agreement with the author, who attended not only the premiere, but also various rehearsals, the manuscript was reworked by Engel with the support of the main actor, Fritz Kortner. 2

A complete list of all the actors who took part at the premiere could not be found, so that only those in the roles of the main characters are given below – these are taken from the critiques written at the time of the premiere. Quite a number of cast changes had taken place by October, as was shown in notes contained in Fritz Kortner's estate. 3 The new names – in some cases these may have been the original actors, or replacements – are shown in brackets:

Dimitri Pawlowitch Pantschew - Gustav von Wangenheim (Gerd Fricke)  
Troedler (Rag-and-Bone Man?) - Franz Klebusch  
Mendel Frischmann, - Emil Lind  
father  
Andrejew - Carl Balhaus  
Ilja Iljitsch Brutzkin - Ferdinand Hart (Ludwig Koerner)  
Podkamjenski - Fritz Kortner  
Serafima Iwanowna - Eleonora von Mendelssohn  
Kaplan (Chaplain?) - Egon Friedell (Jul. E. Herrmann)  
Tatarinow - Ludwig Stoessel  
Zwiebel (Onion?) - Felix Bressart (Paul Hartmuth)  
A Jew - Felix Kuehne  
Ratmanow - (Ernst Nessler)  
A Soldier - (Rudolf Platte)  
Brutzkin's secretary - (Harry Hertzsch)  
The Chairman of the People's - (Franz Klebusch)  
Commissar  
Nowosilzew - Ernst Stahl-Nachbaur  
Peasants, soldiers, Jews, people's commissars (Berger, Dietrich, Klein-Loerk,  
Kiemelmann, Naumann, Nessler, Notbar)  
Furthermore: Franz Schafheitlin (role undefined).

Erich Engel's production - simultaneously with Brecht's _Three Penny Opera_ at the Theatre on Schiffbauerdamm - was celebrated as the play of the decade by both critics and the general public, focussed on the charisma and ability of Kortner and the thespian qualities of the other members of the cast. This was an excellent idea, as confirmed by all the critiques. Almost all the reviews, no matter from which corner, described the premiere as a success. Even the most nationalistic critics, such as Franz Servaes, who perceived _The Red General_ to be one of 'the most serious errors of judgement ever made in the theatre', had to admit 'that the production on the Barnowski stage was absolutely magnificent and that Kortner, in the role of Podkamjenksi, gave a brilliant performance of the highest modern thespian creativity'.4 The _Voelkische Beobachter_ , when reproducing Servaes's review, made a malicious addition: 'Kortner-Kohn is eminently suitable for such trend-setting characters, much better than any of his other race. He handles this honest business with almost diabolic fanatisicm.' 5 On the other side (perhaps even on the side of the victims), Carl von Ossietzky stated:

Atlhough there are some excellent theatrical performances in Berlin, this production by Erich Engel provided the right fanfare to open the season. Kortner has not played a role like that of The Red General so magnificently for a long time. 6

The audience at the premiere, described by Walter Mehring with a touch of irony as 'the chosen few of Berlin's Judaism and Christianity, in other words: The Elite' and sarcastically as 'Jews' and 'Jewish-infected Goyim',7 accorded the performance lasting applause and standing ovatione. Curtain calls had to be taken not only by Engel, Kortner and the other actors – Ungar himself was called onto the stage. _The Red General_ was ranked beside _Three Penny Opera_ as the greatest theatre hits of the season. A banner was put across the cover of the Bloch press newsletter _Charivari_ which proclaimed: 'A new dramatist is victorious!' 8

The overall laudations combined with the fact that each performance of the series was played before a full house, still could not mask the highly contentious reactions to the content and background of the play. This was obvious from the reviews, but there were indications of such sentiments from the audience at the premiere, as per the comment below:

A claque composed of Reds applauded during the scenes containing references to revolution and some shrill whistling indicated other inclinations amongst the audience. 9

And Max Herrmann-Neisse noted:

...in those places where Soviet sentiments were expressed, the audience in the gallery applauded meaninglessly, during the scenes about humanity the unfeeling audience in the stalls remained silent. 10

The nationalists rejected the play and their speakers, who failed to comprehend what Ungar was attempting to say and portray, claimed the piece was just a vehicle for Jewish and Bolshevist propaganda. This is hardly surprising, but amongst 'the opponents', those who reacted with 'shrill whistles', were also figures from the Left, such as Bertolt Brecht, who wrote the following to Erwin Piscator from Augsburg:

A young Marxist called Sternberg claims he was sitting in Brecht's box at the theatre and that whistling also came from this box (of which everyone denied all knowledge). The thirty-year olds have liquidated the revolution – perhaps the forty-year olds will pick up the banner again? But causes espoused emotionally by intellectuals, tend to end with yowls of depression! 11

In general, however, this negative reaction was insignificant whether it came from the Left or the Right. Kortner's thespian capabilities, his performance coupled with excellent scenes, impressed the majority of the audience much more than any political or intellectual inferences. It was only when the press published their reviews on the following days when the acclamation became relative and the performance began political.

_The Red General_ became the most accepted of all Ungar's works, more widely acclaimed than _The Arbour_ with its posthumous premiere. But this is not the place to reflect on the reviews from the press and to comment on the reception, no matter how attractive this might seem. The fact remains there were very few plays at the end of the 20s which gave rise to such reactions on the political intellectual shape of the Weimar Republic – apart from this first play by dramatist and novelist Hermann Ungar. If all the press reviews and comments were collated, this document would provide the basis for an all-encompassing description of the main trends which led to the end of the republic, to the rise of a national socialist tyrannical State, to the blind adherence of German intellectuals to Stalinism with the mute and indifferent hangers-on. Because Ungar seated himself firmly in the middle with his play, he provoked much greater strenuous and indicative reactions than many of the other less one-sided contemporary plays, as these – of course – polarised the more critical audiences.

The premiere was discussed thoroughly by all Berlin's daily papers, by many of Germany's national press which followed the theatre events in Berlin closely, by quite a number of the literary and theatre-orientated journals and, obviously, in Prague, where the Berlin premiere was reviewed by all – even the Czech press. 12

Max Brod reviewed the premiere for the _Prager Tagblatt_. Later he was to say that this 'Trotsky drama' which he once saw in Berlin, had virtually slipped from his memory without trace.'13 In reality the production of _The Red General_ had made such an impression on him, that he wrote a subsequent essay two days later to complement the original review of September 16th, about the innovative, 'non aggressive and refined' productions in Berlin, of which Ungar's premiere was a leading example.14 Furthermore in his obituary, he exhorted Prague's German Theatre to perform the play as a 'worthy celebration of Ungar's life' (unfortunately in vain).15

Brod noted in his review, as did all the other critics, that Trotsky served as the 'inspiration' for Ungar, unlike the others; however, Brod did not limit this just to the fact that the author had 'ignored the fine web of ideological disputes between Trotsky and the peasant Stalin in an apparent attempt to increase the drama', but also inferred that the drama itself was hardly 'a revolutionary play':

Although it takes place during the revolution and we experience the sound of the Red Army's marching advance into Poland plus a meeting of the Bolshevist leaders – this is just pure framework. Inside is dark Jewish fate.16

This view was not shared by most of Berlin's middle-class liberal critics. The majority acknowledged somewhat sarcastically Ungar's assurances that Trotsky may have served as an inspiration, but not as the model for Podkamjenski, and they benchmarked the play against reality. Herbert Ihering's review was typical, with an assessment summarised as follows:

The Trotsky conflict with a background of racial prejudices. Viewed from the perspective of reality: a miserable play. Viewed from the perspective of the theatre: many very effective scenes. Viewed from the perspective of the actors: some gratifying roles.17

In his own review he wrote:

Note for the press: The Red Guard fires on exiled Trotsky's home on the edge of Mongolia. Trotsky, in the throes of starvation, shoots back.

These few lines, whether true or not, give a more accurate picture of the whole of Trotsky's tragedy than Ungar's play does. Even if these lines are untrue, they are a consequence of the events as described in rumours about Trotsky's fate. The downfall of a genius of destruction, of an eternal rebel and a merciless despot, of an arrogant, restless, bellicose revolutionary, who was made of steel, refused to submit even when he had nowhere left to hide – and the fate of an intellectual, bearing a coat of armour and weapons, with an impregnable brain. Ungar did not hesitate to shape the fate of this man into a flimsy, melancholic racial tragedy.

But Ungar assured us in the programme that Trotsky had been his inspiration, not his model and that the background was imaginary... If someone uses the effects, the charisma, the attraction and the actual nuance of an historical figure – and then writes continuously: But my Jewish general Podkamjenski is not supposed to be Leo Trotsky... then it is just a sleight of hand, pure trickery with which one would never have credited this excellent literary figure of Hermann Ungar.... Ungar wishes to be recognised as an author, using a backdrop of historical events of which we understand very little today. The aspects which Ungar sees as literary acumen, creativity, we regard as a flight from reality, refuge in sentimentality, emotional theatre. It is true that the 'historical event' was not actual creativity or art – but it never pretended to be art. It was modest. It was an introduction. Ungar's Red General is by no means modest. He thinks he can put aside the reality of a horrible, historical decade which changed the face of the world – and replace it with a cheap, incongruous, sentimental play. ..

In the last couple of years we have been striving for the eradication of such theatrical offerings, such distortions of history, such nebulous details, in favour of reality. Have all these efforts been forgotten? Are we going to go back to these sleights of hand, this trickery? A social revolution combined with a travesty of a love story? A tragedy which changed the world combined with a sentimental racial confrontation? Had Ungar elected to write a drama unconnected to real life history, perhaps a story with a similar background, then it could be viewed in an objective way, as a literary work, played by skilful actors. People would be delighted that the theatre was becoming increasingly productive, that talented dramatists still existed to stage and allow actors to fulfil their potential and elicit success. But now reality has raised its head and taken its revenge. Reality does not permit any cheating, no half-truths. Instead it demands strict adherence. Only those who keep to the honest reality will benefit from it. 18

It would be a cheap for someone born just after these times to claim they understood the reality of those days, to play out the supposed reality to Ihering and other judges of the time, to point out to them that their so-called banal 'sentimental racial prejudice' became part of the 'tragedy which altered the history of the world' in this century, that Podkamjenski's bloody end presaged Trotsky's murder and that the Stalinist horrors finally exceeded all the disgusting deeds ascribed by Ungar to the protagonist Brutzkin. The fact that _The Red General_ could claim to be much closer to history than the critics supposed is nothing to do with the author, who was actually only considering his own situation when he damned Podkamjenski to failure. It has far more to do with the fact that Ungar, who recognised his own position as an intellectual and a Jew and was thus accustomed to being on the receiving end of events: anti-Semitism, spiritual animosity, opportunism – whereas most of the middle-class liberal critics had no such experiences and thus did not see them as a serious threat, who believed that they would never pose an existentialist threat to them.

Although Hans W. Fischer sensed the 'core of truth' in the scenes of the play, he also felt 'that the formula with which Ungar brought about Trotsky's end was far too proscriptive':

The momentous events leading up to the Russian revolution are condensed into one melancholic thesis, to an update of the subject: 'The Jew is burnt to death'. The contrast between the effort expended and the end result ruins the whole play. The drama has no depth, there is no buzz in the background. 19

Paul Fechter took the same stance as Ihering in his review on the play and he called it 'a complicated case'. However it is noteworthy that Fechter did not just recognise the surface subject ('the evolution of the Russian revolution'), but also the core problematic ('the discussion of complex issues: the Judaism, the Russian-orientation, or more precisely 'nationalism' in all its guises'). Fechter did not only perceive a portrayal of Russian issues, but also of German issues, and he feared that the masked trends of the play ('the demonstration of contrasts: here the Jew with his mentality and character traits: here the Russian, or, more correctly, here the non-Jew lacking the mentality and character traits') would provoke opinions which were better avoided.

This comedy [sic]... provides no clarity, just further confusion and something much worse: it provokes defence reactions of the damaging kind, rather than defence reactions which are positive and productive for both sides...

Fechter's critique was very cautious and the criticisms were directed mainly against the masked trends ('No-one will wish to prevent an emotional author who has suffered racial prejudice from putting such existing problems into the limelight. But a precondition for this would be truth and transparency: An open and recognised trend – not one which hides behind apparent parity and fabricated social surroundings'). But anti-Jewish resentments are clear when reading between the lines in Fechter's review and he refutes totally the apologetic depiction of the 'superior Jewish type of person'.

The Red General... is, as it turns out, the long-suffering and superior representative of the Jewish race and concept, which the author apparently deploys as to gain control whilst simultaneously claiming it is purely an intellectual idea... This superior Jewish type of person, states the author, cannot and will not accept the bare nationalist world. 20

It is then hardly surprising that Elisabeth Frenzel, in her nationalistic book about _Jewish personalities in German theatres_ in which she accused Ungar of 'anti-German intentions' used Fechter's review and opinions quoting him as a German critic raised to be 'objective' and who made 'more sense to her than this Jewish literary figure who was constantly pushing himself into the foreground.' 21

Monty Jacobs was also extremely critical of _The Red General_ :

To attempt to retell the plot of this play would mean underlining all its weaknesses. It was written solely to reproduce the chaos of our modern times as a banal drama. Such an interesting figure, this Trotsky, whose downfall was caused by his own ambition, who was perceived by his own comrades as an uncomfortable rival to be destroyed! Such a tragedy formed by these experiences.... And from Trotsky's personal experiences arose Podkamjenski's very public sad experiences!

Jacob did not only aim his criticisms at the banal treatment of world-changing events and at the racial conflicts, but also justifiably at the formal weaknesses of the play:

...the excellent author Hermann Ungar is not – at least not yet – a dramatist. As a novelist he could create and breathe life into a Moravian maid or a hunchbacked barber, so that the audience really believes these are living beings. But as a dramatist he puts people into the limelight of the stage, and under these spotlights they are quickly unmasked as characters in a novel.

They suffer above all from the most dangerous stage sickness – from constancy. This Jewish commander is first and foremost a Jew, this Brutzkin, his antipodes, is a peasant from start to finish, this White guardsman is a constant party fanatic, The Red General's girlfriend is a modest loving girl throughout all her life. So there are huge contrasts, which are cheap and therefore soon boring, there is a certain dryness of wit, which gradually forces every character to repeat his own words time and time again....

Ungar drives every prophet ad absurdum, who so pedantically perceive a saving grace in the context and material. For the author has touched the most controversial problem of our times – the development of a new world in Soviet Russia. But the drama created here could have equally been written in Gustav Freytag's days. Ungar lets the storm clouds of revolution blow over his characters. But then a middle-class, correct hand staves off the weather. The audience's interest is quickened by the most honourable means, only to be starved of further action. 22

The criticism of the formal shape of the play hurt Ungar much more than the accusations of not complying with historical facts. He himself acknowledged that 'he had not worked sufficiently hard at this play'. 23 The other positive reviews were no consolation. For naturally many of the critics, motivated by the 'great success of the play', perceived a 'non-historical story about the initial years of the Soviet Republic's battle' in the 'well built, precisely balanced play which reached a zenith' – as, for example, did Norbert Falk:

Theatre nerves, stage instinct, leading with a firm grasp, not the usual challenges facing a good novelist.

We have too little talented writers for our theatres to be able to disregard his abilities and skills. Furthermore Ungar displayed his talent for profiling his character, for shaping them ready for the theatre: Even if they are still raw, like posters.24

Hermann Bachman complained, like many others, that the key theme had been watered down by the hero's personal story. However he also saw the 'firm hand for the theatre' at least in the first part, where the 'events were skilfully layered without any spatial waste'. To him Ungar's play seemed like 'evidence that the theatre can handle contemporary events, penetrating to the heart of humanity, even the most current problems rising out of political mists could be smelted and solved in the cauldron of art.' As one of the very few he understood the author's intention to target the exemplary-humanistic issues without placing them under the spotlight:

The claque and the whistling was an attempt to replicate the Party atmosphere, which the author had avoided. It only caused hilarity in the stalls. Although Ungar borrowed his material from contemporary events, it became all-encompassing, seeping into all areas.

He was delighted by the fact that the audience identified more with the fate of the protagonists – as was evidence by the applause – than with the excessively revolutionary left-wing tones. For the truth lay far deeper than the actual course of the plot and one can only create cheap propaganda, not art, with so-called 'factual theatre'. 25

Felix Hollaender noted that _The Red General_ made a 'profound impact on the Barnowsky audience resulting in genuine applause' and acknowledged that the play 'in the way the plot was formed, in the inferences to contemporary persons, in the management of the dialogue' was a success, deserving of 'acceptance as an honest, thrilling drama'. But he also saw a weakness in that the author actually avoided the true conflict by 'allowing his hero to die under fire from a White guard, instead of fulfilling his tragic end side by side with his comrades in battle':

And therein lies the hub of the problem – the inner weakness is that the play is suddenly divided into two contrasting parts. 26

'A drama of stupid estrangement between two people born of dust' is how Alfred Kerr described the play. 'The reality' is to be found 'in this estrangement between people who share the same objectives, people who are equally patient, equally courageous – but remain divided by a remnant of bloodline, of traditional apathy...and this responsible for Podkamjenski's mental destruction'. But he also recognised the generalities behind the particularities, with limitations on the formal structure:

Hermann Ungar (who will not only remain famous as a novelist) – Ungar still plays the oldest tricks.... He leans heavily (hold me tight) on...F. Schiller... and Egel Erich needs to hush this up. 27

Perhaps we should now look at a few critiques from the journals. Max Hermann-Neisse makes similar points to those made by Kerr.

The content of the play is very interesting, as it deals seriously with a current conflict. Besides a few very powerful and convincing humanistic and literary passages, there are a few banal incidents and obsolete theatrical exaggerations. But the basic lines of the plot impact on us all: the individual with all its intellectual and spiritual capabilities to bring about the revolution compared with the rowdies who represent the lowest possible level of mankind, complete with flawed instincts and desperate comradeship – allowing party politics to flourish. The sole political faction against these revolutionary parties, each with its own approach to freedom, but demanding absolute obedience to slogans and rejection of humanity and purity of conscience – against which I recoil. Naturally this conscientious drama did not only have to suffer a devastating attack from the right-wing press, but also the snooty indignation of the left-wing orthodox literary circles. Those who should identify with the characters and the context reject the tragedy of the lost opportunities. 28

Ernst Heilborn saved his main criticism for the 'architectonic issues in the drama':

Two plots running parallel to each other remain unconnected. Quite like in ancient epics. Hermann Ungar's play has decisive advantages: clever and convincing dialogue, dramatic throbbing supporting orgasmic scenes, blank canvas characterisations. But most noteworthy of all is that... a modern author wrote this play, which should really be classified as an epic drama. A very contemporary issue has been written in a way which would have been normal and praiseworthy half a century ago. 29

As far as Hans Knudsen is concerned, _The Red General_ was 'a not very powerful attempt by an excellent novelist to write a drama which turned into an 'individualist tragedy in which the clattering machinery was constantly audible to the audience'. 30 And Lutz Weltmann continued in this vein:

A talented novelist wrote a powerful play – with brilliant roles, concise scenes, compelling literary situations, intellectual problem debates. The whole thing was based on contemporary history against a sentimental-romantic backdrop. Less out of lack of artistic sense than of insufficient dramatic talent: Hermann Ungar used theatrical interfaces to connect the Jewish drama with the Bolshevik drama. 31

Hans Kafka declared it unfortunate that the play had not been placed in Piscator's hands, who would have created a 'cinematic reportage drama' from this 'historic colourful painting', and expressed the hope that 'this basically powerful play would be produced again, in another, more appropriate and meaningful form than in Barnowsky's bourgeois theatre.' 32

Arthur Kuerschner's review was more accurate and he included a summary of the reception accorded the play in Berlin:

The Red General caused a certain amount of confusion within the ranks of the Berlin press. The right-wing sensed 'Soviet propaganda in the Koeniggraetzer Strasse'. On the left, however, it was stated that 'world history is not a theatrical concept for family and personal dramas.'...

In truth, the play being performed at Barnowsky's theatre is not about the fate of a Russian, nor about the fate of a Jew, but about the fate of a human being with far-reaching impact.

The eternal tragedy being played out behind the facade of Russian-Jewish events is that of a racial outsider pioneer and the apathetic mob at the time of the revolution. It is a carefully chosen and sensational facade, which coincidentally covers the story of the Soviet top brass coldly dumping their Jewish general. It does not have to be a Jewish victim at all times and in all places, to warm the hearts of the majority. In restless Asia – but equally in the restless parts of Europe – a 'real Russian' could perform the same 'service'. Lenin, leading the Polish communists against the Polish bourgeoisie on the battlefields of Poland, might well have suffered the same fate as Podkamjenski-Frischmann in Ungar's play, or like Borodin in China. 33

One of the most important and balanced reviews was written by Carl von Ossietzsky and appeared in the _Weltbuehne_ (World Stage). He succeeded in combining the contrasting opinions (those benchmarking the play against the reality of the Soviet Russian issues and those who only perceived the general Jewish or overall humanity problems) and thereby came closest to the truth. He perceived the tragedy of Podkamjenski to be real, but not a Soviet Russian issue:

It is a play which takes place during the Russian revolution, a tragedy about a Jewish revolutionary who leads the Soviet army to victory, but who is defrauded of his laurel crown and of his life. For Judaism, rooted in the metaphysical, seems suspicious to the Red revolutionaries... It is the tragedy of Ahasvers, of eternal isolation. Hermann Ungar created a moving, colourful, often coarse play, containing a controversial accusation without innovative methodology, a drama from a romance-writer, who successfully unravels the psyches of his characters and emerges with an analysis of madness and sickness and then places the whole concept onto the solid fundament of the theatre. He adds the plot, the emotions, the pathos. Despite the author's denials, the name of Trotsky comes to everyone's lips. If Trotsky's shadow were to disappear, only a red corona would remain to be trampled by the mob. Even the gratifying dramatic conflicts are tied to an era and a county. But the Russian revolution still belongs to our time, we see their laws all too clearly and that is the reason that we are reluctant to see this conflict taking place there, without a chance to develop. The conflict is real, but to place it in a selected area just to capture the effective, dramatic background is to denigrate its naturalness. Perhaps – even probably – anti-Semitism is still rife in Russia today. But the issue which really divided the leaders was not the Jewish issue, but the economy. .. I believe that a dramatic fable can only be developed in its own surroundings. Podkamjenski's tragedy is real, certainly, but it is not Soviet Russian. .. Despite all this, Ungar's drama is not dependent on an artificial concept, it has to do with our times – and behind the usual old intrigues one senses the heated, impassioned heart. 34

Such balanced reviews were exceptions on the left side of the spectrum of opinions. Most of the criticisms stated that Ungar was suffering from 'defeatism', assessed _The Red General_ against 'the much more meaningful world history' 35 and played the advocate of Soviet Russian reality. Contrary to the bourgeois audiences, with their differing opinions, the left-wing and the right-wing both rejected the play in a show of unusual unanimity.

The article _Soviet pograms_ by 'Morus' (aka Richard Lewinsohn) was fairly typical. It appeared during the week after Ossietzsky's review in the _Weltbuehne_ and concluded with the following sentence: 'The author of _The Red General_ would be better advised to set his next timeless and general-themed play within the field of Czech diplomacy – a subject in which he is better versed.' Although anti-Semitism still existed in Soviet Russia, it was no longer an 'autonomous force' as it was under the Tsars. Like all the other minority groups, the Jews had integrated into the community and if they felt that their lives were 'miserable', it was not due to their racial issues, but to the class to which they belonged. Nobody in the Soviet state was allowed to harm a hair on the heads of the 'recognised proletariat', 'self-employed artisans' (micro employers) were 'ignored by the state and abused by the workers', the Jewish merchants were regarded as 'parasites of no use to the economy' were 'treated accordingly: hounded, beaten and harassed'. Decisive was, however, the fact that most of the Jews were city-dwellers and therefore regarded by the Soviet Russian peasants as 'layabouts' and 'social parasites'. 'That was the root cause of anti-Semitism in Soviet Russia'. The funds did not exist to ensure necessary assimilation of the Jews and thus to eradicate 'the roots of anti-Semitism in Russia'. 'Morus' overlooked the fact that Ungar had turned the heart of the dispute between Podkamjenski and Brutzkin into the conflict between 'city – country' and, above all, that the roots of anti-Semitism actually lay in social resentment, which one could only partially accept as an excuse.

He also disregarded the fact that Ungar had used Russia in 1917/18 as the background instead of Russia of the present time, despite all the Trotsky parallels. So his protests do not ring true that the Jews, although 'they were not the most comfortable of comrades', enjoyed more rights in Russia than in any other country in the world' ('Yiddish schools', 'Yiddish legislation', 'Yiddish community Soviets') with the exception of being permitted to 'nurture Hebraism' and Zionism. 36

In his review, Walter Mehring argued in favour of the 'Diary' from a similar perspective of historical factualism and he also refused to accept Ungar's explanation that 'the conflict can be transferred into almost any other situation imaginable':

An author may invent situations – neither emperor nor Stalin is exempt – Fridericus Rex suddenly surfaces in the Black-Red-morass republic: may invent – a pogrom took place in Russia, the cradle of the 'Internationale'. But the author writes about the pogrom as if it were a fact. And what happens then? The Central Committee, the executive board of the USSR, forbids the investigation? The comrades, the liberators of the persecuted and deprived, fail in the case of the Eastern Jews? After the radical abolishment of all prejudices, Kischinev's bloodthirsty traditions were to continue? May one invent: one of the pogrom's survivors is not only permitted to remain a member of the KPSU, but also becomes the commander-in-chief of the Red Army? May one invent: The document signed by Lenin, Decree No. 158, 1918, 'The Council of the People's Representatives orders all councils of the workers' deputations to eradicate the anti-Semitic movement using any means at their disposal. Any persons responsible for organising or promoting pogroms will be placed outside the law.' This decree was not adhered to by the Council of People's Representatives themselves?

According to latest statistics (1928) the KPSU is composed of 3.9% Jews, the Central Control Commission (which excluded Trotsky) of almost 10%, and the Jews form more than 10% of the members of the Supreme Central Committee. And we are being asked to believe that this is just to 'prove a point' – as this strange person Podkamjenski – to prevent a Jew-murderer from being punished?

Mehring was, of course, unable to deny the existence of 'blood revenge and racial hatred' – 'in America it is aimed at negroes and the Chinese, in Horthy-Hungary and Rumania at Jews' – but he saw it as a 'symptom of the process of economic decline' and expected it to disappear once the financial situation corrected itself. 'Anti-Semitism is a leftover prejudice from the times of the economic emancipation of the ghettos.' When Mehring began to examine the situation in Germany, he displayed a tragic lack of understanding, typical for the blind trust which left-wing Jewish intellectuals placed in the cure-for-all social changes. It is exactly this concept which Ungar used with Podkamjenski and Rathenau, not perceiving Rathenau's murder as an anti-Semitic act, but purely as a political issue:

...the Jew Rathenau (who demanded that all Jewish conscientious objectors were reported during the war) was murdered, but so were Erzberger, Paasche, the sailors in the French street and numerous others, who did not fit into the concept of the powers-that-be, whether Jews or Christians. And was the Jewish middleclass horrified and up in arms, when the Jewess Luxemburg became infamous? Is it not the fact that the assimilated look down upon the immigrant Eastern Jews?' 37

The history of the Jews in Germany and their ultimate fate would prove Mehring's belief in the end of racism was false – in the most horrific way possible.

Mehring also cast aspersions on the national reception and critique of Ungar's _The Red General_ , which were not only anti-Soviet and anti-communist, but also clearly racist.

Friedrich Duesel seemed satisfied with his view that a Jew 'could never assimilate with the those he served, as he didn't share the same blood feelings, the same heart beat, the same emotional senses', he added that this was 'a drama of world justice with the background history of a foreign nation', and that 'a Jew from Eastern Europe would never be able to perform this difficult, impossible task'. 38 But the _Voelkische Beobachter_ openly described the play as 'one of the most scurrilous, mocking and shoddy anti-German farces ever performed' – apparently in total ignorance of the 'latest creation of Hermann Ungar', since they named Leipzig as the venue for the per-formance. 39

This error was a result of the _Voelkische Beobachter_ basing its review on a critique which appeared in the _Leipziger Neueste Nachrichten_ , written by Franz Servaes, a most definite nationalistic critic who waged war against _The Red General_ in a number of reviews and leaflets.

One of the worst miscalculations the theatre has ever made. Despite the tumultuous applause and outward signs of success, this shameful slip will never be corrected. One cannot expect Germans to attend a theatre performance which incites anti-Aryan racism.

Hermann Ungar is entitled to depict a Jewish military commander of the Russian Soviet forces (a parallel to Trotsky, therefore) as an angel of greatest integrity and morality or as a genius of the highest intellect. As this is rather tasteless and childish, we don't need to spend much time on this point. The fact that we cannot, however, ignore, is that in order to place this exemplary Hebrew on an even higher pedestal, all those of other races and beliefs are depicted as fools, oafs, devious and cruel – an absolute distortion of reality. Any person fascinated by this pseudo Trotsky, a secretary who has denied his own heritage, may have been perceived by the author as a sympathetic figure. But they aren't – and any boy, wet behind the ears, who applauded, will remain an immature boy. But to compare this Trotsky-Podkamjenski in the continuous Bengal-light arena with the man of stature, this other general who was held so dear by his nation, but was nothing but a bastard, is unacceptable and disgusting. 40

Servaes had already written one review entitled 'An Inflammatory Drama' for the Berlin _Lokal Anzeiger_ :

Let's not waste words. Despite the frenzied applause and calls for the author, producer and all members of the cast to appear on the stage, the play was nothing but a coarse trend drama, whose literary value stood in no relation to its incitement to agitation and prejudice. Hermann Ungar, highly esteemed as a novelist, is a theatre technician using unscrupulous brutality. In political blindness he has allowed himself to build upon a theme which has absolutely no place on the stage. And if it is used in a play, this theme should be treated with the utmost delicacy and objectivity: The Jewish problem in today's national life.

Ungar uses a Trotsky-like figure called Podkamjenski, whom he gives not only the character traits but also the tragic final fate of Rathenau. His figure is a high-ranking statesman belonging to the Russian military, who falls victim to assassins. The limelight is placed squarely on Podkamjenski, he is brave, honest, noble, uncomplicated, has fine feelings and is extremely important. The author is entitled to depict such a character, even if it there is a hint of adoration and worship. But what about the opposition? How are the opponents depicted?

There is a rival general: not just a habitual drunk and a brute, but also a cowardly beast, who insidiously arranged for Podkamjenski's father to be murdered during the pogrom. He is 'held so dear by the nation' and brings home the victor's laurel crown which should by rights have been worn by his Jewish opponent. So he stole the victory from the Jewish general. It is to be hoped that the actor who, in some passages wore a mask for this role with a similarity to Hindenburg, wore it only as a joke.

But then we have the assassin, a stranded officer of the White Army. Naturally a total down-and-out. He makes advances to Podkamjenski's lover, whose favours he previously enjoyed. His motives are far from good, but he clothes them in patriotism. He is a coward, only prepared to carry out the deed when his rival is on the ground, unconscious and unarmed. This character is again warped, inhumane, disfigured. Constantly giving voice to anti-Semitic slogans. The depiction of such a crass opponent is not just evidence of lacking literary ability, but also an outrageous challenge.

Was Director Barnowsky blind to all this and unaware of his responsibilities when he agreed to this drama being performed, which to the majority of our nation will be seen as a public insult? And then this praise of the Soviet revolution? The German public shows the patience of a lamb by not causing a terrible uproar. This is a play which should be removed immediately! 41

These nationalistic views were in the minority, but had to be recorded to show the extreme political impact made by Ungar's drama, even if it was naively accepted as a play about modern times. Only a little while later, the economic crisis of 1929 led to the decline of the theatres, dealt the final blow to all political dramas and opened up the floodgates of reaction. It would have been impossible to continue the performances of Ungar's play.

Given the situation, it is understandable that Ungar's _Red General_ was accepted by various theatres after its premiere in Berlin but was only performed once more in Hamburg.

The hitherto unknown Hamburg premiere took place at the beginning of November 1928 in the Kammerspielen in the Lustspielhaus (Director: Erich Ziegel), barely two months after its initial premiere in Berlin. The producer was Hanns Lotz, who adapted the play as a cinematic piece into 'A play in 10 images'. Reinhold Schaefer reduced the stage scenery to a minimum. A poster gave an indication of the cast: 42

Dimitri Pawlewitsch Pantschow - Ernst Fritz Fuerbringer  
Troedler (Rag-and-Bone Man?) - Max Sonnenreich  
A Peasant - Max Zawislak  
Mendel Frischmann, Podkamjenski's father - Egon Clauder  
Andrejew, a young student - Hans Schalla  
Brutzkin, Divisional Commander - Eugen Klimm  
Podkamjenski, Commander-in-Chief - Gad Shelaso  
Serafima Iwanowna - Mechthild Dornseiff-von Canstein  
Kaplan (Chaplain?) - Hans Stiebner  
Tatarinow - Hermann Braeuer  
Zwiebel (Onion?) - Walter Gussmann  
Ratmanow - Hans Stiebner  
Leader - Max Zawislak  
The Chairman - Hans Schmitz  
A Commissar - Oskar Schaettiger  
Nowosilzew - Walter Gussmann  
A Soldier - Max Zawislak

The few remaining Hamburg reviews do not permit an accurate assessment of the production. But similarly to the Berlin reviews, the critics saw it as a key drama about Leo Trotsky and complained about the 'incredible mistake made in changing what could have been a momentous drama about the revolution into a sentimental, soft racial tragedy'. As the critic for the _Hamburg Fremdenblatt_ summarised: 'A very sculptured performance, which, at the end, was greeted with great applause'. 43

So there was praise for the production, but a scolding for the author too, in another Hamburg newspaper:

A play in sketched-format... a whole series of new starts which quickly peter out to nothing. Although there are some powerfully dramatic scenes, these are matched by poor, weak parts. If the author wished to illustrate the tragic path of life of a Jew who held the highest rank in the Red Army, his self-inflicted downfall, it has to be said that the literary ability of the author was insufficient to depict this very interesting problem.

The play contains some very lively passages. But these do not suffice. It is also incorrect to claim that these 10 images give rise to greater thought processes. They are just images. Literature is something different. And if the author had not had Hanns Lotz at his side, a producer who knew that cinematic speedy changes could help the play to success, there would have been little applause. 44

Whether or not Ungar had any influence on the Hamburg production is unknown. But the performance is in no way comparable in importance to that of the Berlin premiere.

As far as we know, _The Red General_ was only performed once more after Berlin and Hamburg. The last performance took place in autumn 1933 or 1934 by the 'Young Jewish Stage' in Brno, a Jewish national amateur dramatic group. 45

Notable here is that the story about the returning soldiers _General Babka_ written by Hans Reimann and August Neidhardt, which had its premiere on January 3rd 1928 [this date must be wrong as its before _The Red General_ premiere – VU] in at the Berlin Theatre in the City with the comedian Szoek Szakall in the main role, was claimed by the _Berliner Tagblatt_ to be a parody of _The Red General_. 46

No matter how contrasting and controversial the reviews of _The Red General_ had been – on the one side perceived as factual theatre, on the other as an example of a tragedy of doom – praised on the one side for its creative production, criticised on the other for epic tectonics – on the left was defeatism, on the right Soviet propaganda and anti-Aryan racism – in the end it just served to publicise the play and to make the name of Ungar widely famous. And to think that Ungar achieved this fame, not as expected through his main works, his essays and novels, but through this play, which – according to the critics – 'contained nothing of the uniqueness of the author' 47, was only 'an incidental theatrical piece' 48 with 'no inner importance'. (Krojanker: 'Certainly he wrestled in this play with the issues closest to his heart, but the real problems engulfed him, they weren't close to him but were part of the man himself.') 49 However the success he achieved with the audience and the public was not sufficient to console him for the negative reviews of the critics. Ungar remained in Berlin until September 20th to gauge personally the reception by the press. He knew that to be a successful author he needed both: the approval of the general public and the approval of the critics. A new attempt was to be made.

#  The End – Continued (1928-1929)

On September 28, 1928 Hermann Ungar made the first entry in his new diary:

I feel that I have reached a critical point in my life. And I hope to survive this crisis by standing up to it. Survive. I have no doubt that I will survive it one way or another...survive, live through it. And therein lies the danger – that I will survive it easily and painlessly, and that my survival will be at the cost of my better 'ego'.

Since I have been deliberating these issues, I have been tortured by my own fear, a fear that is greater than my fear of death. That is the fear of losing my creative energy, my work thus becoming a trade, a worthless labour. I always had the strange premonition that sinful opportunities occur every hour and that if one seizes one of these opportunities to sin, one would lose forever one's creative character...

All my doubts have been resurrected and have become more desperate than ever because of the premiere of my play (The Red General). I, myself, recognise that I did not put enough work and effort into this piece. I would have to do better on the next. But I have discovered material which is totally appropriate for me, a subject which has given me many blessed hours of enjoyment, some of which were wasted. I suffered from a careless under-estimation of the demands of theatre. I did not comprehend that a drama for the theatre requires just as much effort and work as a novel...

Ungar felt that the premiere and reviews of his drama had been his baptism by fire, and that he had failed to overcome it. The disappointment propelled him into a deep crisis and paralysed his creative intuition. At the same time, however, he felt that this defeat could only be balanced by a new play. He intended to make his future dependent on the success of this new play. The first step was to apply to the Foreign Ministry for 6 months unpaid holiday, from September 24th 1928 to March 24th 1929.

Ungar's diary entries for the autumn 1928 form a shocking record of his self-doubts, his battle with his new play. To gain inspiration he read on September 29th four dramas written by Hauptmann ( _Rose Bernd, Festival of Peace, Michael Kramer, Lonely People_ ). Only the _Drama of the Hunchbacked_ impressed him. On the same day he wrote in his diary:

...the feeling that I must and can write something. Forget everything beforehand, just start something quite new. But it is an undeterminable complex, difficult to understand. Not sure how to shape it.

A play for the theatre, strange how things start.I always think that if the first sentences are down on paper, the rest will flow. But how do I find the first sentences? A novel would be much easier. But I want to write a play, a piece for the theatre. Justification!...

If it only came to me, came to me, came to me! If only that spark of inspiration could be ignited. The wick is in position, the spark is awaited, soon to be ignited. Nothing can be forced.

... The play has to be something ground-breaking, exciting, but with a general theme. Every single person must be able to identify personally and directly with the subject. I am asking a lot. But I don't want less. Not today...

He contemplated making another journey to the country that Colbert longed for:

Those are the trying periods – the times between finishing and starting pieces. I should go away. But the three initial problems are – money, money and money. The fourth problem is that I am in a critical mood, mentally on the cusp of collapse, and I just do not feel capable of weathering the discomfort and inconvenience of travelling. And just think: if I sat there, somewhere in or around Marseilles – no valid excuses – and still no inspiration! Inconceivable.

This desperation became worse day by day, he toyed with the idea of suicide, but then the possibility of escaping this mind-numbing situation in Prague by taking a holiday took root. The diary entry for September 30th reads:

I will no longer ruminate over the past. Nor read anything which reminds me of past events! I will suppress all such thoughts. As soon as I am able to write again everything will seem better.

I have six months leave. No-one will hear from me during this time. At the end of the six months I will have either created something worthwhile or I will end everything. Perhaps not end my life, but certainly brought an end to my art. But life is nothing for me without my writing. That is the danger...

On October 3rd he wrote:

I was in a terrible condition yesterday. I didn't leave the house. I have decided to go away as soon as I can, tomorrow if possible! It doesn't matter where I go. But I will make it to Vienna on the first day! Should I write a little based on the material for Colbert's Journey?' 1

This urge to travel brought to Ungar's mind memories of his first holiday in Italy in 1922 and of the novel which had relieved him of his depression and lethargy at that time. But he was hesitant about taking the easy way out and basing a new play on the material from _Colbert's Journey_. But these considerations served to strengthen the decision on a destination. He suddenly decided to go to Paris again, a place that Colbert never visited. An important part of this decision was that Ungar hoped to be accorded the same reception and recognition as during the previous year. Guy Fritsch-Estrangin had meanwhile translated _The Maimed_. The intention was that Gallimard would publish _Les sous-hommes_ in October, albeit only in a limited edition of 856 copies. The book only received luke-warm reviews from the French critics. 2

Ungar travelled to Paris on October 6th and remained there for a fortnight. Very little is known about this time there, the people he met, the experiences he made. The sole source of information is Ungar's diary, in which the next entry is on October 26th after his return to Prague.

Almost four weeks' interruption in the entries in my new diary. I travelled to Paris on Saturday, October 6th, stayed there for fourteen days and I made notes for the play, which I have not yet decided to write, in my travel log...

I spent some lovely days in Paris. The city bathed in light, mornings on the banks of the Seine, an interesting day spent in Chartres, a church service in the company of Messieurs and Madame Bovary, wonderful evenings, two in the theatre (with Fritsch-Estrangin at Napoleon IV), then the farce Vient de Paraitre, a satire about publishers and authors from which the extent of the personal interest that French publishers have in their authors, how they work on their behalf, how they strive to protect the class opportunities (even if they are mocked for it).

The negroes and the Negro Ball. Spent evenings with PM until the early hours of the mornings at Monte Parnasse (Dome, Coupole, Select). On the last day the book came out, Les sous-hommes, it appeared in all the bookstores and sales were seemingly going very well. I also found The Class in one shop window.

The banner on the cover of The Maimed in Paris was (from memory): 'Donnez moi, mon Seigneur que je puisse comtempler mon coeur et mon corps sans degout (Baudelaire).' I found this both apt and nice... 3

But the Paris trip was only a quick fix. It helped to stop Ungar's self-doubts for a short while, but it did not bring the hoped-for solution, the inspiration he needed. Back in Prague, in autumnal dull Smichov, the torture began again and affected his body. Unconsciously he identified himself with the cripple Karl Fanta in a diary entry dated October 26th. _'I am gasping for air, I need movement, my body is degenerating. I feel really unwell.'_ His thoughts were no longer focussing on just a drama, he was contemplating a new novel, too, perhaps a film script for Emil Jannings:

I would like to write two books – one gripping novel and one strong pulsating play. I feel, hope, pray that my aspirations will be fulfilled. But who can know? It is a hard lot – always having to make a fresh start. The lot of an author, musician, painter. Not the lot of an actor, however. Or perhaps partially the fate of an actor... (26.10.28).

I have to make a final decision about the work. Time is rushing on. The material is in my head, I can feel it – but I cannot capture it. There will be no novel until I have a concept for the play. Only two subjects remain: Jealousy which seems very appropriate for a film but perhaps too heavily psychological for a drama. And then a farce: Colbert's Journey... (30.10.28)

Then, on the same day, on October 30th, Ungar made the decision to attempt the dramatisation of the novel: his diary tells us that he had supplemented the basic concept with details on characters and plot – the idea of incorporating a young Francophile painter had come to him during his stay in Paris:

To write a humorous play, using my delight in Colbert's Journey – that would be fun. The tragic figure of the noble Colbert. The tragedy of that evil Modlitzski. The comic aspects of the wife, the daughter, of Kudernak. The painter, so young and naive, tragic-comic, with his 'ideals'. He is to seduce Maltscha once Modlitzski has paved the way for the meeting. 'Love is a simple, primitive process. It is a battle – hate and brutality are necessary components! Love with the consent of both sides is both boring and irritating.' (Anatole France's Comedy Story).

It must be possible to imbue Colbert and the other characters with some sort of human characteristics.

The last surviving entry in the diary was from December 28th 1928:

Since 2.11.1928, that is for almost two months, I have not written a single entry in the diary. But my thoughts have been recorded in other ways. I have written the comedy version of Colbert's Journey which now bears the working title The Arbour. I finished writing the comedy on December 5th. 4

Ungar had been working on this drama for a good month, evidence of his astounding productivity and performance proving he had found exciting material and had sufficient time at his disposal. It is, however, also surprising when one thinks about the self-accusations surrounding _The Red General_ , i.e. spending ' _insufficient time and effort_ ' on the work. The main explanation is that he already had his own 'sketch' as a concept, ' _which outlined the main traits of the key characters (Colbert and Modlitzski) and also set the direction of the plot_ '. 5 After December 5th he must have spent his time refining, deleting or adding dialogue. There are no records of the individual scenes and the stage script from Felix Bloch Erben Verlag (Berlin1 1929) differs only slightly from the edition published later by Rowohlt Verlag (Berlin 1930).

We must assume that Hermann Ungar's diary, various excerpts of which appeared in published form after his death, has been lost. It is probably that he continued to make entries right up until his sudden death. Margarete Ungar gave the diary to Lela Dangl in 1938 shortly before escaping from the country. Lela Dangl was living in Prague at the time, but destroyed the diary one year later in fear of the advancing National Socialists. According to Lela Dangl the pages were ' _full of countless comments on the people surrounding Ungar. The comments were very open and written in a very libertine language in intimate ways_ ' 6 Thomas Mann confirmed this when he wrote: ' _The diary he left behind contained entries made in the last years of his life was totally unsuitable for publication in its entirety, for personal reason_ '. And then we have the comments from Willy Haas who was appraised by Camill Hoffmann, to his intense and lasting annoyance, that Ungar had noted in his diary 'a few times' that ' _he had come across a repulsive literary figure a number of times....a man called Willy Haas_ '. 8 Max Brod would also have known of the existence of this diary and heard some unflattering comments about his own person – this is also a possible reason for the otherwise inexplicable crass contrast between his earlier statements about Ungar and his later obvious antipathy as demonstrated in his memoires _The Prague Circle_.

Ludwig Winder noted in his obituary:

Ungar left a number of diaries which he did not wish to publish. These, without the shadow of a doubt, would have contained many informative items of interest. If no contrary conditions are contained in his will, the literary world would await in suspense for the publication of the whole of his literary works. 9

Any comments on the publication of the diary are inappropriate and invalid. If the diary were to re-emerge today, even if only as a copy, it would have to be made accessible for science. The excerpts available show that the diary could not be regarded as a great work of art, but it would certainly be classified as a 'document humaine' and be regarded as an invaluable tool to understanding the person and the author, quite apart from the fact that it would fill the gaps in the last years of life in Ungar's biography. Much remains unknown of the events in this period, when he lived in partial seclusion but created a prolific amount of literary works.

At the change of the year 1928/29 Ungar was in Berlin for a few days, possibly to find a theatre interested in the production of _The Arbour_. Shortly before he returned to Prague, he met a French author by coincidence in the bar of the Hotel Bristol. He already knew this author from the time of his visit to Paris. A brief interview resulted from this meeting and appeared in the _Nouvelles Litteraires_ on January 12th. It has anecdotal interest, as Ungar talked about his experiences during the war, about France and about his previous and future work:

I met him in the bar of the Hotel Bristol in Berlin. He was looking at his watch, fearing to miss his train.

You are leaving?

Going to Prague, this evening, to rejoin my office.

\- But stay a while, please. I have more than an hour left.

I only had ten minutes – more than was needed to interview Ungar.

\- I was an officer in the Austrian army. That was sufficient to put me off war totally. I had been taken, like many others, with romantic illusions, false impressions of this...

\- Bourrage de crane?

\- Yes, just as you say. And it was necessary that I experienced the truth, that I disclosed the facts and showed them to my contemporaries, no matter how hideous.

\- Above all, hideous!

\- War is not pretty, responded Ungar. And it is for that reason that they accuse me of being a pessimist. All that I have written about has really existed. But today all that is far behind me. That picture I wished to paint in The Maimed – those images still haunt me. The portrait of a man opposed to the wishes of the mass, an individual faced with a collective. All my characters are totally isolated and collectively they belong to two areas: the absolute and the relative. There you have it. He added:

\- You have a good chance of becoming a French writer. In France all is understood, discussed, attacked and defended. When I was in France, I had a wonderful reception from the PEN Club. It is you to whom I owe gratitude, for you are a Parisian. My plans? I have just finished a little comedy, taken from a novel published in the German Revue: Colbert's Journey... nothing else but to report back to the ministry. And then I shall be preparing a new book. My last play The Red General was accorded a good reception here, at the Theatre on Koeniggraetzer Strasse.

It is thus that one meets again, by chance, in Europe, and in strange setting. In the bar of a grand hotel. Ungar was making his way to Prague, and I was travelling to Hamburg. We shook hands.

Au revoir!

Goodness!

But neither of us was particularly worried about this problematic meeting. 10

In February 1929 Ungar went to Berchtesgaden for a few days, to recuperate as the guest of a non-specified 'Michel'. He may well have been an affluent Berlin entrepreneur, a benefactor of Ungar's.

* * *

When his leave came to an end, Ungar submitted a written application on March 15th, 1929 to Foreign Minister Benes asking for an extension of unpaid leave or for permission to retire from the Diplomatic Service:

After long consideration, I have come to the conclusion that continuing my official employment - which is so unimportant for the general wellbeing of the people – is no real reason for neglecting my literary work. After completing a number of epic works and dramas, which have been translated into French, English (!) and Czech, I am now working on a great epic piece which is mainly based in my own Moravian homeland. I consider this work to be in the interests of the public and sufficiently important for me to invest all my time and effort into completing it. I struggled with my conscience before arriving at this decision and can assure you, that I would have happily continued to serve the republic as a Foreign Ministry civil servant, had I believed that my activities may in any way have potentially contributed to the success of my home land.

Minister, I have no idea of how the ministry values the fact that there are people in their service who are respected and esteemed in the European intellectual world and how they might handle such people. I would therefore request, that this application be treated either as a resignation letter or as a plea for extension of unpaid leave. 12

As Benes held his ministerial commissar in very high esteem and did not wish to lose him, he rejected the idea of a resignation and decided to extend Ungar's unpaid leave by a further six months, i.e. until September 24th. The application to the office of the Ministerial Counsellor dated March 23rd was written by Karel Strup (previously a colleague of Ungar's in Berlin) and signed by Benes.

Dr Ungar has achieved worldwide fame as a literary figure and is generally regarded as the most important representative of the younger generation of German-language authors. His hitherto published novels, Boys and Murderers, The Maimed and The Class have been translated into French, English, Russian and Czech, and his drama The Red General has met with equal acclaim. Ungar has now started work on an epic creation tracking the fate of a group of Moravian-Slovakian agricultural workers, set mainly in Ungar's Moravian home land. Taking Ungar's literary successes to date into consideration, there is absolutely no doubt that the story on which he is presently working will be translated into various foreign languages and thus contribute to a better understanding of the Czechoslovakian nation and their environment. 13

The Ministerial Counsellor shared this hope and added:

It is feasible that Dr Ungar may wish to leave the civil service sooner or later, to dedicate himself completely to his literary work which will bring him considerable financial benefits. 14

Ungar's letter dated March 15th makes it quite clear that he had already made a conscious decision to resign, but that he still lacked the courage to burn all the bridges of bourgeois security behind him. This is quite understandable, as Margarete gave birth to their second son on the same day. The joyful father wrote to Krojanker (letter stamped March 18th):

On the 16th of this month my second son was born, weighing 7lbs. I cannot tell you his name because I have not yet decided on the title for my latest creation. That is always my weak point. 15

And a few days later (March 27th):

It is not a Jewish tradition to pass on to newborn babies the names of close relatives who are still alive. So Thomas Michael is out of the question. Therefore I have decided on Alexander Matthias, and we shall call him 'Sascha '. 16

Ungar reflected on this ' _birth of a child_ '' in a letter to Emil Faktor dated April 10th, but also mentioned a ' _long-term and debilitating illess suffered by a family member_ '. This would have been a reference to his mother, Jeanette, who was bedridden in Prague. He also mentioned ' _similar things_ '. 17

In his request to Benes Ungar stated that he was working on a 'great epic' – this is probably the 'exciting novel' he mentioned in his diary entries. If Ungar had really commenced this novel based in Moravia during the spring of 1929, he would have certainly completed the main part – if not the whole novel – in the interim period. According to the information available to us, this novel was not part of his estate, so it is more probable that he delayed starting on this work in order to produce a few prose sketches: studies for the novel, into which he hoped to integrate them later. The fragment _Alexander_ which he wrote during this period and then made available to Friedrich Thieberger and Felix Weltsch for the _Jewish Almanac for the Year 5691 (1930/31)_ would probably also have been part of his preliminary work on the novel. The separate novel _The Wine Traveller_ which initially appeared in February 1930 in the _Neue Rundschau_ was also based in a similar setting.

Amongst the undisclosed events of Ungar's last year of life was his membership of a Prague Freemason's Lodge. According to information from Ludwig Pinner, Ungar never even told his wife about this. The first indication was the appearance of a deputation of Freemasons at his graveside. 18

Hugo Brauner had the greatest of difficulties in explaining why his former fraternity colleague might have joined the Freemasons:

I have a distant recollection of discussing this once in our fraternity group, although some of my colleagues dispute this. I, myself, never discussed this matter directly with him. His membership of the Freemasons would in no way have conflicted with his membership of Barissia and of a Zionistic organisation – numerous other people did the same thing. However this was actually frowned upon in our fraternity – if someone really wanted to join and the fraternity gave their approval, the preferred lodges to join were those of Bnej Brith. I just cannot imagine Ungar belonging to the Freemasons. If you look at the various articles written by Ungar for the Barissa newsletters in August 1918, it is obvious that he considered the traditional fraternity forms to be old-fashioned and outdated. I know, without a doubt, that he maintained this stance throughout the later years of his life. I find it really difficult to see how he would accept this more formal structure of the Freemasons, with its centralised approach and codes of conduct, given his opinions on such associations.19

This contradictory issue was really astounding – and remains surprising given that the fraternity and the Freemasons are hardly comparable and that he was repelled by the aggressive element within the fraternity itself. An explanation for his change of attitude may be found in Ungar's ambivalent personality structure, which frequently was 'a strange mixture of absolute lack of formality' with the 'subconscious wish to be dominated' by convention (Krojanker). It may also have been Ungar's urge for solidarity with the international humanitarian aims of the Freemasons - plus the desire to bring an end to his months of isolation by forging new association experiences – which could have overcome any misgivings about the form and structure of the Freemasons (as the form and structure may have been the best means to the end). Membership of the Freemasons may have held out the promise of a socially-relevant existence and thus also compensate for the vacuum left by his (unofficial) retirement from the civil service and his increasing detachment from Zionism.

Ungar was by no means the only one who had such hopes. A surprisingly large number of Prague writers, including Hugo Salus, Oskar Baum and Ludwig Winder, belonged to the Freemasons. Johannes Urzidil was himself the editor of the _Three Rings_ from 1935 to 1939, giving these 'monthly newsletters for Freemasons and associates' a literary face. 20 Ungar's motives for wishing to join the Masons may have been very similar to those of Urzidil, who wrote in his memoires:

One or two years after my marriage I joined the German Freemasons Lodge 'Harmony' in Prague, which fell under the jurisdiction of the Grand Lodge 'Lessing with the Three Rings'. The basic principles of the Freemasons are, when closely examined, in harmony with true religiousness. It struck me that this was an effective, positive foundation for spreading respect for the dignity of mankind – particularly as the Freemasons are active over and beyond the boundaries of religious and national issues. 21

The impact of the Freemasons on the political and social way of life in Czechoslovakia cannot be overlooked. Herbert Cysarz went as far as claiming that without this 'network of contacts and pace-setters' Eduard Benes's policies (until 1938 at least) would have been impossible to implement. 22

Hermann Ungar presumably joined the Prague 'Spotlight on Harmony' Lodge officially in spring 1929, although his first contact with them took place in 1928.

The 'Spotlight on Harmony' Lodge had been ceremoniously founded in 1912 in Prague and lay under the jurisdiction of the German Grand Lodge 'Freemasons Association of the Rising Sun'. At that time the Freemason organisation was forbidden in Austria, which is why the lodge was registered with the police as a literary association called 'Goethe' .

The activities of the new lodge mainly took the form of conferences because of the difficulties in setting up a temple. Various forms of symbolism existed within the German Grand Lodge, which were strange and unaccustomed for others, and which made it very difficult to carry out regular, ritual activities. Despite this, the members met every week – initially on Tuesdays, then on Wednesdays and, finally, on Friday evenings in the Adelresource, in the Zeltnergasse in Prague. They dined together, then listened to lectures on the Freemasons, perhaps on scientific, literary or social matters finishing with debates. The meetings rarely finished before midnight.

It became impossible to carry out the ritual activities during the war and the conferences could only take place once a fortnight. So the lodge 'extended its charity work to include the welfare of the soldiers, veterans, refugees and the care of the sick and invalids'. In 1919, after 6 years, a new committee was elected in a highly ritualised process. The meetings then took place more frequently and regularly. After the coup it seemed less wise and practical to remain under the jurisdiction of a German Grand Lodge and so the 'Spotlight' Lodge, together with the two other Czech lodges of the 'Freemasons Association of the Rising Sun' ( 'The Source of Healing' in Teplitz and 'The Illuminating Vantage Point' in Reichenberg) formed the Czech Grand Lodge. In 1920 a huge celebration marked the establishment of a Grand Lodge in Teplitz called 'Bohemia of the Freemasons Association of the Rising Sun', the first Grand Lodge in the Czech Republic, which encompassed a brotherhood with uniform training methods. The newly established Grand Lodge was, understandably criticised by the German-Bohemian press. Attempts were made in the same year to join all the German-language Freemasons in Czechoslovakia in the same way. As a consequence the Grand Lodge Bohemia was dissolved and the 'Spotlight' lodge was incorporated into the Grand Lodge 'Lessing of the Three Rings'. 23 This meant that the lodge which had previously been run under another system now became a member of the International Freemasons, a difficult transfer, which really only succeeded due to the efforts of the first Master of the Chair, Julius Boschan (1877-1930) – a merchant with linguistic, literary and natural science interests and an extensive background with Tusar in social issues. He was, without a doubt acquainted with Ungar, perhaps even a friend. Boschan remained Master of the Chair until 1923 and, upon his retirement, became Honorary Master of the Spotlight Lodge, in honour of his work with the local industry. 24 His successor was Emil Pollatschek (+1934), who continued to run the organisation as Master of the Chair until 1928. His obituary stated:

'He was a brother, who often stretched his Freemasons activities to the very limit, was always willing to help and support others, and always prepared to offer advice and practical aid in a selfless way. Never did he turn away a brother or a friend who came to him with problems, no matter now great or small. There was no "wasted day'"for him, for he spread goodwill and kindliness all around.' 25.

Of course, you could see this in terms of 'never think ill of the deceased'. But the fact remains that the lodge did indeed experience a boom thanks to Pollatschek's efforts, 'supported by the favourable conditions at the time' and that he succeeded in 'encouraging and motivating all members of the brotherhood to cooperate in the activities'. Not only were the ties strengthened, but Pollatschek was also able to attract 'a series of men who were high achievers in the world of art and science ' to the Spotlight Lodge, men such as Paul Nettl, Viktor Ullmann, W. Wiechowsky, as well as the authors Ernst Weiss and Hermann Ungar. One may assume that it was Ernst Weiss who kindled Ungar's interest in Prague lodge. It was Pollatschek, Master of the Chair, who 'considerably increased the prestige and intellectual niveau of the lodge'. 'The high level of interest awakened in all lodge members meant that the lodge itself became a flagship for all the other lodges within the association'. In 1926 the first joint meeting with Czech Freemasons took place, which in turn intensified the interest in the Freemasons' objectives in later years. In 1928 Eduard Kleinschnitz was elected as the new Master of the Chair, who continued to nurture the traditions of the lodge along conventional lines. He 'maintained the internal connections of the brothers with his winning ways and his excellent tactfulness'. Thanks to his 'wonderful personal characteristics' he optimised the 'links that had been forged to the Czech lodges'. At the end of his term in 1932 he was succeeded by Ernst Engel. 26

As the Master of the Chair of the Lodge 'Spotlight' Kleinschnitz was responsible for writing the obituary in the Three Rings on the death Dr Hermann Ungar.

'Brother Ungar enjoyed fame in a literary world which held him in high esteem – evidence enough can be found in all the obituaries dedicated to him appearing in the national and international daily papers and specialist journals. But Brother Ungar meant far more to us, as Freemasons. We, who knew him better, knew that within this quiet, reserved man a heart beat which empathised with all the deprivation and suffering of mankind – as is obvious from his writings – but that our Brother Ungar was to be found everywhere, where poverty and misery could be reduced by his actions. And this urge, to help wherever he could, was probably the reason he came to us. He only joined a few months ago. Despite his reticence Brother Ungar was, in our eyes, of great benefit to our network and association.' 27

An activity report for the lodge's year 1928/29, encompassing the period from the Rose Festival 1928 until the end of the Freemasons' year, gave insight into the type of activities in which Ungar may have participated. In October 1928 the Master of the Chair for the Czech lodge. 'Rigen' 28 held an event called 'Fight Criminality' which 'attracted great interest and gave rise to lively debate'.

It was the motivation for our lodge to cooperate with the association 'Novy Zivot', an association for the care of ex-prisoners, and we succeeded in rejuvenating interest in this group, which for many years had been moribund.

Books were collected for the prison libraries, ex-prisoners received clothing, underwear and similar gifts. Work was found for many of them. There is no doubt whatsoever that the care of these ex-prisoners, which was a focus of the work of the lodge at the time, was also very close to the heart of Ungar, as a lawyer, who, also as the author of such books as _Boys and Murderers_ had attributed social deprivation as a main cause for later criminal activities. The lodge carried out many similar activities for 'both humanitarian projects and charity work':

We helped to alleviate the hardship and suffering resulting from the construction accident in Poric with financial contributions, we provided a large sum from our membership subscriptions to the ex-prisoners care home, we gave the Bakule Institute a total of 1000 K, a further 2500 K to an initiative for clothing and feeding poor children in the Riesengebirge area, as well as making larger contributions to the seaside respite home in Grado and to the free meals project. Various collections were made during our meetings and the Brothers were then able to donate considerable sums of money to various charities. In addition, the civil servant counsellors were able to support various activities.

It is evident from this activity report that the lodge consisted of 76 full members and 7 associate members at the end of the Freemasons' financial year, i.e. June 1929. New members were approved only twice per year, on January 7th and April 29th – presumably Ungar became a member in January. 28

As the _Three Rings_ served as the communication channel for the Czech lodges and included all the monthly work programmes, it provides information on all the meetings held in the period relevant to us. We have to take into consideration that short-term changes might have been made. Generally the brotherhood met once per week at 7.30 in the evening in their lodge. Work started punctually at 8 pm. In their own lodges, the brotherhood would appear for ritual tasks dressed in dark robes. Provided Ungar did not have other more pressing commitments, he would have taken part at most of the following meetings:

Programme: 'Spotlight on Harmony'– January 1929

Ceremonial Tasks Level 1: Admission of 3 entrants (ceremonial clothing)

Tasks Level 1: Fundament from Br. Dr Ernst Weiss (Berlin): 'Peace, Upbringing and Politics'. Balloting in II and III.

Tasks Level 1: Fundament from Br. Hoelzlin: 'The artistic experiences in Freemasonry': Balloting in II and III

Progamme: 'Spotlight on Harmony' – February 1929

Tasks Level 1: Fundament from Br. Bloch: On Youth Care'

Tasks Level II: Promotions

Conference: Report on the Federal Council Meeting, Report on the Fundament Issues, Administrative Matters, Free Debate

Tasks Level 1: Fundament from Br. Dr. Ehm: 'Teachers and Freemasons'

Programme:'Spotlight on Harmony' – March 1929

Tasks Level 1: Fundament from Br. Dr. Otto Bondy: 'Voltaire's Ethical Output'

Conference

Tasks Level III: Elevation (Initiation?) (Ceremonial robes)

Evening 7 pm – Instruction in II. 8 pm Fundament from Br. Rothenstein: 'From Master Eckhart's Mystic Writings'

Programme: 'Spotlight on Harmony' – April 1929

Administration Tasks Level 1: Election of the Care Representative and the Honorary Council, Election of the Delegates to the Federal AGM, Administrative Matters

Tasks Level 1: Outline from Br. Dr. Adolf Deutsch (Vienna): 'Ignaz von Born, a famour Freemason of the 18th Century'; Balotting

Tasks Level 1: Outline from Br. Liebl 'About Mystical Games', Election of the Voting Committee; Balloting

Ceremonial Work Level 1: Reception for Schoolchildren (Ceremonial Robes)

Programme: 'Spotlight on Harmony' – May 1929

Tasks Level 1: Fundament from Br. Dr. Friedrich Bill: 'Guilt and Atonement'

Memorial Work for the deceased (to the eternal East?) Brothers Hans Schnabel and Prof. Dr. W. Wiechowski. (Ceremonial Robes)

Election Work Level 1:

Programme: 'Spotlight on Harmony' – June 1929

Tasks Level 1: Outline from Br. Friedlaender: 'Freemasons: Evidence of Work'

Tasks Level 1: Installing the Master of the Chair and the Civil Council.

The 'Spotlight on Harmony' Lodge recommenced activities after the summer break with the new lodge year 1929/30 on September 30th 1929 with Administration Tasks Level 1.

On October 14th, during Tasks Level III, Oskar Posner (Carlsbad) made an outline entitled 'The formal development and intellectual setup of the Johannisgrad Rituals'. Finally on October 21st, one week prior to Ungar's death, Otto Bondy held a fundament lecture on 'Leonardo da Vinci, the Seeker of Truth'. 30 The latter is probably the only meeting at which Ungar's presence is registered and is also the last time he was present at a social gathering. 31

We will see that the 'Spotlight on Harmony' Lodge did not forget their colleague Hermann Ungar, even after his death – and celebrated his remembrance not only at the graveside but at a memorial ceremony at the Grand Lodge 'Lessing of the Three Rings' in 1930.

Erich Maria Remarque's novel _All Quiet on the Western Front_ was a decisive reading experience for Hermann Ungar in the spring of 1929, as it reflected many of his own feelings in wartime. On May 8th Ungar published his essay _Do Horses Really Scream?_ in the _Berlin Tageblatt,_ in which he disputes Remarque's image of ' _the wounded horses screaming on the battlefields_ ' _,_ calling it ' _a totally unrealistic vision_ ', making himself the advocate of the ' _suffering dumb creature_ ' (relating to Alfred Brehm and his own experiences. 33 He was then, against his will, drawn into the heated 'debate about Remarque' and the abstruse proximity to Rudolf G. Binding. Binding saw himself as an expert on horses, due to his service as a cavalry officer and the author of _Riding Regulations_ and had already disputed Remarque's description (as an example of the overall 'untruthfulness' of the whole novel) in an article published in the Berlin journal _Literature_. Ungar, on the other hand, did not attack Remarque, but rather the general mixture of modern feelings, of love for animals and contempt for mankind. Later Oskar Fischer also wrote a summary on these issues in the _Prague Press_ , adding to Ungar's comments. 34 It is probable that Ungar paid a short visit to Berlin at the end of April/beginning of May 1929 (to make arrangements for _The Arbour_ ).

Ungar's relationship to the the _Prager Tagblatt_ and therefore probably also to Max Brod intensified during the last year of Ungar's life. On May 28th they published _Mellon, the 'Actor'_ , followed on July 4th by _The Secret War_ \- both short, autobiographically-tinged prose sketches from Ungar's Brno school environment, which should be viewed as afterthoughts on the novel _The Class_. 35

Ungar also wrote two articles specifically for the supplement of the _Prager Tagblatt_ , one entitled _Tomy helps to write_. About the 'kid, who fell in the ocean' (German is childish spelling) and _Death Advertises,_ which appeared respectively on July 12th and September 1st. These are probably the two last published works during his lifetime. Despite their minor literary importance they are noteworthy because they allow intimate insight into Ungar's everyday private life and demonstrate the writer's continued sense of humour.

_Tomy helps to write_ described - in a casual chatty way – the joys and suffering of Hermann Ungar in his paternal role. He was particularly proud of the fact that his son, Thomas, ' _nicknamed Tomy, five years old_ '' wanted to help him and follow in his footsteps by writing ' _a story for the newspaper_ ' on his father's typewriter.

I made use of the opportunity and chatted away freely about Tomy, anything that came to mind. Tomy is certainly not different in any way from all the other children of his age, providing they are healthy and have developed normally. I talked about Tomy purely because I know nothing about other children. Tomy is the only person I know in this age group.

So, Tomy is as stubborn as a mule and any attempt to instil some good breeding into him is hopeless. I have simply given up attempting to guide and teach him. I am leaving Tomy's future to fate. I quite openly admit that I envy Tomy's inflexible character. He will not be distracted from his objectives, refuses to make compromises, will not accept any subjugation, nothing can prevent him from carrying out his intentions. Once, just a short time ago, I heard a terrific noise coming from his room. It wasn't the usual kerfluffle – and it was immediately clear that something special was happening, particularly when I heard the sounds of breaking glass. I rushed to his aid. No explanation was needed – the situation was perfectly clear. In his anger about being scolded by an adult, my hopeful son had smashed one of the glass panes in the door with a toy building block. Without a word I bent him over the table. I was as angry as an adult can be, and smacked his bottom so hard – only pausing in the punishment to draw breath and to ask my son: 'Now will you ever dare to do that again?'' Whereupon my child, implacable as ever, responded: 'Yes, I will!' His eyes were filled with tears, but he took his punishment without a whimper. And because he just could not take me seriously as an authoritative adult and parent - justifiably I'm afraid - he immediately forgave my stupidity the moment I finished punishing him.

Of course there is no point in using an adult's logic on Tomy, it would achieve nothing. It would be completely useless to attempt to prove to him that something he regards as fun (such as riding his tricycle through all the rooms) could cause damage (to the carpets), and is also impractical and senseless. How can anything that is so much fun be damaging, impractical and senseless? And Tomy will only realise that carpets are much more important than having fun when he has reached our sad stage of adulthood. Our high regard for propriety and sensibility have ruined any pleasure we have in doing 'fun' things. Tomy will only realise that one cannot give a beggar every penny one has in one's pockets once he has become as hard-hearted as we adults are. And we, the parents, have to teach him these lessons. If Tomy sticks to his ways, he might become a saint and give away his coat and the shirt off his back – and we have to prevent this. The business of being a saint seems to us a very bad sort of business. We just don't believe that, in his day and age, a saint could afford to feed his wife and children.

Tomy loves women, Brehm's zoological books, steam engines, merry-go-rounds, shooting galleries, Grandad's dachshund Waldi (an old fat sausage dog who submits to all Tomy's cuddles and games), and – most of all - his father's typewriter. As I am no good at practising parental authority, I just let him play unsupervised with the typewriter. He is very proud of the fact that his father trusts him totally with the typewriter and so he handles it like a mother handles her newborn child. Of course he understands completely the mechanics of opening and closing the case of the portable Remington and he recognises all the keys. He learnt to write with the typewriter and uses it daily to create letters to his grandparents, friends and acquaintances. His orthography is purely phonetic. I fear he will never learn to write using a pen. He refuses even to try: 'But we have a typewriter!'' And who can argue with that?

Paternal love streams out of this anecdotal article, which, at first glance, just does not fit into the image of Ungar's other, pessimistic works. The assumption is that the little boy helped his father achieve a different perspective in the last months of his life. Had Ungar lived longer, it might have brought about a change in future novels and plays. Perhaps the 'reliable accessory' in the sketch _The Caliph_ was modelled on Tomy. Another passage in _Tomy helps to write_ emphasises this:

Then the idea hit Tomy that he might be of help to his father. He has no idea of how much he is already helping his father. His request that I write a play for his puppet theatre, gave me inspiration. 'What sort of play, Tomy?' – 'Oh, you know, some tears and some laughter, then more tears and laughter – that is what I like best!' Is that not the quintessence of dramatist's wisdom?

But this apparently harmless article also contains some bitterness. Reading between the lines it is clear that the father is attempting to compensate for some deficits, perhaps for his lacking strength of character, missing aspirations and objectives, the problems with his self-esteem. And he envies Thomas's self-assurance, for whom the world and the words are at one:

Words have so far not lost their secret, larger meaning for him. He sees words as living things and uses them to express his wishes and needs, to explain his colourful and dark imagination and thoughts. 35

It is a huge coincidence and act of fate that Ungar's article for the supplement was entitled _Death Advertises_ and described how insurance companies did business and made profit through death. One might even suppose that the author sensed his pending end. His hypochondria led him to constantly flirt with thoughts of death, his health had not improved at all over the last months and his grumbling appendix plagued him again. But he wrote the article with touches of bitter humour, with irony, which seemed tragic afterwards. It showed that he was unwilling to take death seriously, perhaps he thought he could banish his fears with mockery:

The fact that I will most certainly die at some point is used as a sales tool by these companies. I cannot really complain about this, as I would worry about what happens to my wife and children after my death anyway. But it is insufficient for these advertisers of death just to use a detached, impersonal form of propaganda. They send letters to your home when you celebrate the birth of a child, pointing out that a new life leads irrevocably to a new death. Then they visit you in person – and thus I came to meet my new friend Sommer.

A certain amount of irony lies in Ungar penning his own posthumous reception, in full knowledge of the illusions created:

Sommer turned up time and time again and was always turned away. I told myself that I was leaving my immortal works to my children, Boys and Murderers, The Maimed and The Class (please regard this as a prestigious type of advertising!) Hundreds and thousands of copies of these will be published after my death, allowing me to remain uninsured. But Sommer conquered my heart.

The article's realistic impression was somewhat dampened by the note about the ' _small, amusing sketch Tulip_ ' which had already appeared in Berlin in 1925 and which a Prague insurance agent would hardly have known about in 1929:

I published a small, amusing sketch Tulip which described the peculiar circumstances surrounding the death a civil servant and his wife's sorrow and mourning. After that I received a letter from Sommer. Tulip's death, he wrote, would hardly have been the cause of his wife's sorrow – or not of her real sorrow – if the deceased man had been insured by the company which Sommer represented. He stressed that this company was not just the largest of its kind, but also the most generous. He, Sommer, was now giving me one last chance. He would attempt to talk to me just once more. So he came – and he conquered. Now I am paying – month by month. But when I die, my widow will be paid in cash and not have to mourn like Mrs Tulip and my sons would bless the hour of my death. And should I lose my life in a train or car accident, or if a roofing tile were to fall on my head and kill me, my nearest and dearest would receive double the insurance amount. But, as Sommer said, that 'would be a matter of luck!'

If you are shocked to read this, then contemplate the fact that Ungar died less than 2 months after this was _published_ – and made the following notes on the type and form of the funeral:

What would happen if there was no money available at the time of my death? The terminal illness would have caused great expenditure and any insurance payouts would certainly take a few days. Would it not be a relief to know that when my eyes closed for the last time that Sommer had all the arrangements for my burial in hand? 'Select your burial!' I could choose between five different options. Actually I would prefer the cheapest, but Sommer advised against it. A coffin of pine would suffice for me, 75 cms high, with metal decorations, handles, a sheet, one of my good shirts, a cover and a cushion. I would have to be laid out properly, a hearse of third class would suffice, then you have to add the cemetery fees, including the pallbearers, flowers for the cemetery chapel, costs for the organist. But Sommer looked at me sadly. 'Think about your good lady wife, about the children who will be there, too! It is not a proper or fitting way to go.' So I try for the second cheapest option. The coffin is 100 cms high, with eight handles, the sheet, the shroud and cushion fashioned out of satin, laying out, the first class hearse, decoration of the cemetery chapel, double quartet, organ player.

You have to have a proper burial, said Sommer. For the sake of your children. So I will be buried in this manner. I will leave all the arrangements to Sommer, he will choose the music for my burial according to his good taste and his expert knowledge of the affect this has on the mourners and the congregation... the double quartet and the organist. I don't doubt that Sommer's programme will satisfy my guests completely.37

At the beginning of the year Ungar had written a brief self-portrait which appeared after his death in the Erfurt City Theatre publication _Contact_. This article bore witness to his love for his son Thomas and his sorrow about the theatre – and ended with the same mockery of death:

I am 35 years old. My pride and joy is my son, Thomas, who is just learning to read. My sorrow is the theatre. I consider a critic, when he writes good things about me, to be a genius – but an idiot if he writes a negative critique. Stated simply: I am no different from other authors. I am a diplomat by profession. My critics constantly stress my excellent qualifications as a diplomat when they review my plays. My professional qualifications have nothing to do with my plays, but the critics enjoy noting them.

After suffering epic purgatory, I transferred my attention to the theatre. At the moment I am working on a comedy.

The time and place of my burial will be advised in due course by my widow in the name of all my impoverished children.38

The similarities with _Death Advertises_ shows that Ungar was very shaken still by his accident in Berlin and was constantly contemplating death. He could not have known how imminent it was. Just a few days prior to his demise, he decided to turn over a new page and forge new plans.

Amongst the ultimate items published during Ungar's life was the Czech translation of the novel _The Class_ , arranged by Maria Fialova. _Trida_ appeared in February 1929, with a prologue from Antonin Kuceras, and was published by Antonin Sveceny's social democratic Prague company _Ustred ni delnicke knihkupectvl a nakladatelstvl._

Ungar repeated his February visit to Berchtesgarden in August 1929 ('everyone was wearing knee-length leg protectors'). He stayed with the Michels and wrote a poem to his friend Krojanker from there on August 26th:

If you have no money, you have to suffer / And you have no other choice. / It is terrible being a guest in someone else's house / strange bread and strange wine / are not to my taste. But the gentle hand of my friend / makes them acceptable to me. / Yesterday I came back / and brought with me, fortunately / the concepts for three new plays. / So let your heart rejoice. / Say nothing... less is more / my concepts are making me so happy! / If only I weren't such a lazy dog / I would be a great poet. 40

Ungar's estate did indeed include three almost finished dramas, but they were subsequently lost.

The main cause of worry for Ungar during the last months of his short life was the comedy _The Arbour_. Although he successfully got his foot in the door of German theatres in _The Red General_ , there were some unforeseen but 'understandable difficulties' in finding the right theatres for this new play. 41

Anton Kuh, who helped the playwright to find a Berlin theatre for the play and who became a friend, wrote the following after his death but before the premiere of _The Arbour_ :

...for his friends and helpers, the death of the young Prague author, Hermann Ungar, has a hint of the fate of a bad-luck story. It has the bitter expression of a child, whose favourite toy has been taken away from him. The last six months of Ungar's life were unendless days of waiting, full of worry, suspense, weary hope. And everything was geared to his new play.

This play [The Arbour] had a strange background. The publisher read it, immediately sensed the innovative approach, the attraction, the forcefulness – but at the same time he sensed the potential controversial side. It is well-known that directors appreciate the laurels accorded to courageous explorers, but tend to take cover when any controversial issues are at stake. If the play had been 'new' in the banal modern sense, i.e. boringly grey, sabre-rattling, detached reporting: in short, full of the matinee filling new-dilettantism – then neither the directors nor the author would have worried about its success! This sort of innovation is the type that holds out its hands flatteringly to the audience – no one feels any frisson of fear. But there is a different type of innovation: the antipodes, as it were, the opposite of any type of patented principled beliefs. And this type has one individual characteristic – the ability to get on everyone's nerves, to insult the reader whilst lacking the ability to change this insult through the use of clever, appealing phraseology into a compliment.

The latter was the case with Ungar's comedy. The key figures were human beings and caricatures, were more at home in Sternheim's world, which would have been beneficial. All sorts of events took place in The Arbour where otherwise only floral, luxuriant foliage is found. But – where was this taking us? This servant, the hero of the play who accepted all the moodiness of his masters, keeping to the detached position of those in service, even keeping to the stance of the servant when sampling the first love fruits of the young daughter of the house and continuously moaning about the state of his chilblains (like the gifts from the Gods) – but do we still have to regard him as a communist, or as a parody of communism?

Ungar took no pleasure in such debates and inferences. The furrowed, wrinkled and yet youthful face of the young author, who still seemed like a student waiting to take his examinations on the following day, became even more tortured in the face of such controversy. What difference did political terminology make to him? What was all this about conventional class separations? He wanted to illustrate victory of the plebeians over the proletariats – or, more precisely throw light on the true power possessed by those who serve. In other words: he wanted to write a comedy.

But the dramatists, the directors and producers are too deeply immersed in politics. This meant that Ungar had to leave his hometown four times to attend to his play. Everyone congratulated him on this play. No-one doubted the success. But no-one (with the exception of one single person – and he unfortunately didn't have a theatre at his disposal (Piscatori)) wanted to offer a venue for the performance. For no-one could suppress the final question at the end of his discussion with the author: 'And where exactly is this play going?'

But one day a well-known critic praised Ungar's comedy. The next day a theatre had been found. The day after this, a prominent actor agreed to be the producer. And on the following day all the actors in Berlin offered to play the main role.

In childish joy Ungar wrote a letter to his publisher and raised him to the nobility. The signee was accorded the title of 'friend'. I will bear this title with more pride, since this new friendship came to a precipitous, abrupt and sad end. 42

Anton Kuh's anecdotal obituary appeared in the _Berlin Tageblatt_ : the same publication in which Georg Kaiser's colportering review was published on September 17th, in which the 'well-known critic' – Alfred Kerr – had praised Ungar's comedy and brought the whole process of finding the theatre into movement, after many long months of hopeless searches – just in time for the play, but too late for the playwright. 43

Hans Reimann once set a play into action (Kommodantenstrasse), which calmly conveyed nothing but nonsense. Inexplicable. Totally nonsensical. The audience was in hysterics.

The young, talented Hermann Ungar with his as yet unpublished and un-performed work The Arbour is contemplating the same sort of depiction of nonsensical comedy – again most of the audience would be in hysterics.

I used to encourage plays like this in my younger years. However, both these authors are not my pupils – they have nothing to do with me – they belong to the Wedekind set!' 44

Hans Kafka also mentioned _The Arbour_ in the _Literary World_ on May 31st (Ungar had been in Berlin just before), under the assumption that the premiere would take place 'during the next year'. He confirmed that 'this excellent author' had succeeded in 'two metamorphoses': 'from the passive impressionist to the trend-setting dramatist' and from 'the concept of an exclusive novel to one of the most understated and thereby most grandiose bourgeois-erotic satires of recent times'. 45

It seems that Ungar was striving to convince not only his publisher Rowohlt, but also the dramatists, directors and producers of the quality of his play – as well as winning over various critics, such as Kuh, Kafka and Kerr. His efforts brought success. Whether the sceptical attitude taken by the publishers and theatres was really based on Ungar's lacking a clear way forward is dubious. The audience's reaction later forces one to assume that their reluctance was based more on the shockingly open way of handling a sexual subject.

According to Anton Kuh, _The Arbour_ contract was sealed just after September 17th. Confirmation of this is given in a letter written by Ungar on September 23rd to Krojanker, announcing that the play's premiere was to be on November 15th in the Theatre on the Schiffbauerdamm with the ' _probable cast consisting of Homolka, Ponto, Neher, Gerron, Sandrock. A producer had not yet been found_.' 46 An advance notice appeared in the _Prager Presse_ on October 2nd. 47

Ernst Josef Aufricht, the director of the Theatre on the Schiffbauerdamm, which at the time was suffering from a financial crisis, indicated in his autobiography that his wife drew his attention to the play. He called it a 'mixture of literature and filth' which promised to be a box office hit. Aufricht was always attracted by plays which repulsed other directors. 48 _The Arbour_ celebrated its premiere with a production by Erich Engel on December 12th, 1929. Of those actors named by Ungar in his letter to Krojanker, only Erich Ponto participated.

Of course Ungar made full use of his visit to Berlin to promote _The Arbour,_ to also visit friends and acquaintances, as well as to enjoy the social and nightlife which he so missed in Prague. He spent his time with Gustav Krojanker, Camill Hoffmann, Lela Dangl and many others. Both Paul Kornfeld and Erich Kohn reminisced about their last meetings in Berlin in their obituaries. Paul Kornfeld wrote:

When I received the news about his death, I went into total shock. The first reflex action was to pick up the sole photograph of him that I possessed. I wanted to see what it was that had actually died...But the face looking out at me was not just a face from life, it was life in an uncomplicated, intensified form. It was high spirited. The last time we met we squeezed into one of these automated photo booths and Ungar was so carefree that he pulled a different wicked and cheeky face in each of the eight photos. I still had one of these photos. Although I had never forgotten the circumstances in which the photo was taken, I still hoped to see him – as he is now laid out today. The longer I gazed at the photo, the less I felt able to credit the fact that he was now dead. And this is how he looked in my photo: tongue poking out from his lips, eyes squeezed shut with laughter lines, wrinkles and furrows all over his face. But in reality all the lines have now gone, his face is smooth in death. Everything has gone, he is just an empty shell, his life has been cut short. Now the terrible silence has set in, the horrifying earnestness and the solemn grandeur of death, which has come far too prematurely for this person. 49

The recollections written by Erich Cohn, a Zionist from Berlin, were biographically more important that the anecdotal memories of Kornfeld. According to Cohn, Ungar's last visit to Berlin took place at the beginning of October, shortly after the contract was signed for _The Arbour_ at the theatre – and just three weeks before his death. The purpose of the trip was to conclude preparations for the premiere. During his stay in October, Ungar also spoke with various Zionist friends about the worrying attacks by the Arabs on the Jewish settlements in Palestine. These had affected him so much that he had become much closer emotionally to Judaism. The progress of developments and construction in Palestine had disappointed him up to that point, preventing any involvement from his side. The hopes raised so high by the Balfour Declaration in 1917 proved to be unfounded for many years afterwards. Only in 1922 once the military government was replaced by a civilian High Commissioner was the Zionist organisation able to begin practical work. However at the same time Eastern Jordan was removed from the jurisdiction covered by the Balfour Declaration – a move which saddened almost every Zionist. But at the start of the construction work they discovered no money was available. Soon the initial enthusiasm waned in the light of laborious, organisation paperwork. Ungar, as an idealist, could not stomach this. Even the first land purchases and the construction of the initial settlements during the mid/end of the twenties could not rekindle his enthusiasm. According to Hugo Brauner's memoires, Ungar had told him confidentially that 'The figures and statistics being relayed to us are risible. If it continues like this, it will take more than 500 years to colonise the area'. He found some developments repugnant, such as the Polish Grabski immigration wave when for the first time 'businessmen, merchants, lifestyle existences, mainly middle-class people' flowed into the country (1924/25) and which heralded the start of today's 'Bourgeois Nationalism'. He explained the 'natural dialectic of petite bourgeoisie and chauvinism' to Brauner, referring to Max Weber. 50 But still Ungar remained interested, albeit from a distance, to the events in Palestine, for it was the home of his sister, Gerta, as well as of Ludwig Pinner and numerous other friends and acquaintances. These circumstances rekindled his commitment after the Arab attacks and forced him to sign a donation pledge aimed at 'The Jews in Prague!' 51 According to Gustav Krojanker, 'the events in Palestine shocked him deeply'.

Immediately after the first reports he sent a letter to me with a pathetic declaration of commitment to our initiative. In this strange way – totally unusual for him – he demonstrated his depth of feeling and commitment to the whole Zionist issue. 52

We assumed that Krojanker was referring to a letter sent to him by Ungar on February 26th, after his return from Berchtesgarden, when he read the first reports about the Arab attacks in the newspapers:

I have just written a witty letter in verse form to you, but I won't send it now. In view of the terrible events taking place in Palestine at the moment, this letter is totally inappropriate. I am really anxious about the safety of my sister, who lives together wholly unprotected with many others in a kibbutz in the flat lands. (Ajn Charod). I returned from Berchtesgarden yesterday where I had been staying with the Michels. I was only able to scan the newspapers there and am now aware of the terrible extent of the situation.

So we aren't going to get peace there? Perhaps that is the fate of our people to pay for peace, their country and their lives with rivers of blood? The blood spilt will chain the country to us. I have no idea which of our friends and relatives we will have to mourn – but I don't doubt that all our friends will be involved in the battles.

I am really worried, anxious about the whole situation, concerned about the people there, including my sister and many others near and dear to me. 53

Erich Cohn wrote in his article celebrating Ungar's life:

When we bid each other adieu here in Berlin just three weeks ago and talked about meeting again in November at the premiere of his comedy, neither of us had the slightest premonition that fate would have demanded the life of Hermann Ungar. Our conversations were mainly directed about events in Palestine and their consequences for Zionists. The attacks on Jischuw caused a peculiar, passionate regeneration of national feeling. Ungar, whilst often declaring doubts about the moral fundament of Zionism as it might have given rise to a new, more intolerant and aggressive type of nationalism, suddenly found himself deeply affected and committed. He sensed an urge to become an active Zionist. He wanted to know how and where his capabilities could be of most use to the movement. We discussed the possibility of a trip to Palestine, which would attract the attention of the press to his literary background and also awaken the sympathy and support for our work. We had hoped that this man, in whom the love of the cause was combined the ability to illustrate clearly and transparently all observed events, would be able to say things which otherwise would be forbidden. 54

So besides the plan for a Moravian novel and the idea of a film script for Emil Jannings – which at the time of Ungar's death was already supposed to exist in outline 55 – now he had also the prospect of a trip to Palestine. Ungar's will to live was so much stronger than his thoughts of death.

Now at last Ungar found the courage to hand in his notice to the Prague Foreign Ministry and to dedicate himself totally to his writing. The fact that Gustav Krojanker had already fought his inner battles, left the shoe factory in Burg and followed his convictions by dedicating himself wholly to his Jewish-political and cultural work in Berlin, would have influenced Ungar's decision. On September 23rd, one day before the end of his unpaid leave, Ungar wrote to his friend:

...just 2 minutes ago I submitted my... resignation papers to the ministry. That was one of the most decisive moments of my life. Hopefully God won't wreak revenge on my children.

... The last few days have been very exciting, with suspense and panic... On the margin of the paper he wrote: 'It was probably extremely reckless of me, but I couldn't bear it anymore, please don't blame me!') And in the same letter he asked 'Are you working at the moment? I am working on a new play, but fear it will be very bad.' 56

Two weeks later, on October 10th, Ungar officially left the diplomatic service. He intended to leave Prague, to return to Berlin and live life as a freelance writer. He had written to Krojanker in June 1928, only a few weeks after moving to Prague:

If fate will it, perhaps it will be possible at some time in the future to set up our homes close to each other. Either in or somewhere near Berlin, the latter of which I consider to be preferable. 57

Although Ungar really loved Prague, Berlin seemed the more appropriate home for a German-language author, especially now that the Theatre and Schiffbauerdamm had become the venue for his comedy – and it was no coincidence that he had never searched for an alternative theatre in Prague.

But all the best laid plans go astray. Just at the point when all his aspirations stood close to fulfilment, his health took a downturn. For too long Ungar had hesitated to undergo the horrors of the appendectomy – for too long the doctors, who saw him as a hypochondriac, had underestimated the severity of his illness.

On Monday, October 21st 1929 Ungar took part in an evening meeting of the 'Spotlight on Harmony' Lodge, listened to a fundament talk by Otto Bondy on 'Leonardo da Vinci, the Seeker of Truth', participated in both tasks and debate at WT. 55 During the afternoon of the following day he complained about extreme pains in his lower abdomen, but still went off to visit his mother, Jeanette, who had undergone an unsuccessful eye operation a few days before in the Weinberger Sanatorium. As his brother, Felix, told Krojanker later, Ungar left fairly soon 'because of the severe pains. He had been examined by a surgeon from the sanatorium who had found no reason for the pains.'

In the course of the afternoon, Ungar began to feel nauseous and the pains were continued, so a specialist in internal medicine and a surgeon were called. Both doctors were informed about his previous problems with his appendix. Despite this, no correct diagnosis was made. The poor man spent the night from Tuesday to Wednesday vomiting continuously and in agony. On Wednesday the doctors were still unable to clarify what was wrong with him, although his condition constantly deteriorated. Finally late on Wednesday they decided to admit him to the sanatorium and carry out an exploratory operation on his stomach. They found a perforated appendix which had led to peritonitis. The doctors were to blame, as, if Hermann had been operated on just two hours earlier, he would probably have survived. 59

The tragic irony of the 'strange circumstances' of this author's life included the fact that he was admitted to the same clinic in which his mother lay. Thomas Mann commented:

At the time when his illness became acute and they decided to carry out the operation, Ungar's mother was also in the same clinic suffering from eye trouble; they kept his operation a secret from her, but she dreamt about Hermann's death. Her son hung on to life tenaciously for a few days, although the doctors had given up on him. 60

Ungar's will to live was very strong after the operation, he believed he would survive after an initial sceptic phase, as Alfred Kerr knew:

'I won't be coming back,' he said, as they wheeled him away. And then the surgeon cut out his appendix, sadly too late.' 61

And Felix Ungar wrote:

The few days after the operation before Hermann died, he was in a relatively good mood and did not realise that his situation was hopeless. (But neither did we.) 62

There was no hope once the appendix had ruptured and become infected, leading to peritonitis. The appendectomy could not save him either. On the fourth day after the operation on Sunday October 27th, Ungar's heart began to fail. 63 According to Thomas Mann, he then had an omen (a change of carers) and lost all hope of surviving.

A nurse entered the room and he recognised a childhood friend from Boskowitz. He was horror-struck, as he saw this as an omen. This face from his home country meant that the earth was waiting for him. He was going to die.

His last incoherent thoughts centred on the premiere of his drama The Arbour. 64

Margarete Ungar confirmed that his last thoughts focussed on _The Arbour_ premiere in a letter:

And the poor man had so looked forward to this event! He fantasised about it even in his last moments. 65

On Sunday afternoon he fell into a coma. In the early morning hours (1.30 am) of Monday, October 28th 1929, on the day of the Czech State Celebration, the heart of the author Hermann Ungar ceased to beat. The cause of death given on the death certificate was 'appendicitis, perf. Oper. Peritonitis'. Hermann Ungar was just 36 years old.

* * *

I lie in this coffin, my son and his mother walk behind me together with the deputation from the office. I cannot see this anymore, as it is me that is no more. Someone else will now have the right to lie next to my wife in bed. She moves restlessly in her sleep. This other person will say: I am here!' 67

The funeral took place on Wednesday, October 30th at 14.30 at the Jewish cemetery in Smichov-Malvazinka. 68 In addition to the family members, numerous friends and acquaintances accompanied the author on his last path to the grave. Representatives from the literary world, from the Prague Barissia and the Freemasons read tributes. The delegation counsellor Jan Jina, Ungar's friend and colleague from his days in Berlin spoke on behalf of the Foreign Ministry and praised the national and democratic character of the deceased, emphasising his good nature and his social empathy, all character traits which contributed to his popularity. In Ungar the Czechoslovakian Republic had lost a conscientious and excellent civil servant, who belonged to the pioneers of international offices of the Czech Foreign Service - but also an author who deserved the esteem of the Czech population.

Ungar's grave still exists today (Department 2, Row 7, Grave Number 103) with a simple, flat stone bearing his name, year of birth and year of death.

* * *

Heart-rending letters from Margarete Ungar still exist, which she wrote after the death of her husband to friends. In a letter dated November 11th to Krojanker, in which her handwriting bore witness of her emotional state of mind, she wrote:

The only person for whom I would have willingly given up my life is now lost to me for ever. After Hermann Ungar, who else might I ever be interested in? The only legacy he left me is the children. The first person whose death I ever saw had to be my Schani. Isn't that terrible? And he could have lived, if those idiot doctors had not displayed their ignorance and murdered him in less than 30 hours. I have to tell you everything in person. The written word will not suffice. If only I could wake up after this nightmare. 69

And she wrote again on November 26th:

I am so lethargic, almost paralysed. I just cannot force myself to do anything. As far as I am concerned, everything has been destroyed and is at an end. How could I ever find anyone else after knowing Hermann Ungar? The boys are lovely, especially the little one. He is a terror and weighs 21 pounds at just 8 months. It is really a great consolation that you all loved him so much and are looking after me. 70

Margarete asked Camill Hoffmann to oversee the premiere of _The Arbour_ and to take care of all the important matters. She sent him the majority of the manuscripts, including Ungar's diary.

I have sent all the manuscripts to Hoffmann for the time being, and he is in contact with Rowohlt and the others. He needs some minor things for Rowohlt, who will be publishing a book, a novel. Once Hoffmann knew about the diary, he asked for it and I could not refuse to send it to him. There are still so many of Hermann's things here, things from his youth, perhaps some of them might be published. Berthold Viertel is coming to Berlin from Hollywood in February and I would like him to film The Red General. 71

But the manuscripts were lost and naturally no filming of _The Red General_ ever took place.

Margarete kept the family home at Fibichova 5 until April 16th, 1930, then she moved into Zizkova 10 (Conscription number 1119) also in Smichov with her two sons Thomas Michael and Alexander Matthias. At the time of their father's death, Tomy had just celebrated his sixth birthday and Sascha was six months old. But from June 1933 onwards they all lived with her parents in Premyslova 14. They lived off her husband's state pension plus the profit from her lingerie business: the garments, sewn and embroidered in the country, were sold to friends and acquaintances. At the end of 1936, upon the death of her father Heinrich Stransky, she finally moved into a house on the Rieger Quay (Gottwaldova nabrazi) opposite the Sofia Island on the banks of the Moldau.

Margarete, at the time of her second husband's death, only thirty-four years old, was still a beautiful and vivacious woman and so it was quite understandable that after the mourning period she experienced some erotic affairs with men. Her 'great love' was Senior Civil Servant Janisch, and she refused an offer of marriage from a Prague merchant called Pollak in favour of him.

Ungar's friends Gustav Krojanker and Ludwig Pinner did not approve of her affairs. Krojanker had moved to Palestine in 1932, but came back to Europe for a while in 1933 to learn the facts about the National Socialist seizure of power and the situation of the Jews in Germany. During his stay in Europe he also spent time in Marienbad and Prague, where he visited Margarete and went for walks with Thomas ('a charming, lively and lovable boy'). In a letter to Anna Ticho he mentioned having spoken to 'Flix' when at the Ungar home – this would have been Felix, Hermann's younger brother. Krojanker commented rather smugly:

Grete told me she now had a 'second' male friend, but according to Felix she should have said the 102nd. I personally feel that Felix's figures are more reliable, minus a small discount!

The same letter indicates that Margarete was considering sending Thomas to Palestine: 'Grete is not at all against handing the boy over to Palestine in one or two years' time. My impression was that it would suit her admirably. The boy is probably starting to cause her a little embarrassment now, given all her 'horizontal sport'. ' 72

Tom Unwin could vaguely remember that the idea was once mooted in Boskowitz that a leather coat should be made for him, ready for his trip to Palestine. However, nothing ever became of this plan, which in all probability was based on Ungar's wishes. In later years, Thomas (who is unable to recall any of this today) seemed to be interested in Zionism for a while, but he turned away from the idea once he met his Aunt Gerda, Hermann Ungar's sister. Gerda visited her sister-in-law in Prague towards the end of the 1930s. This information comes from an undated letter in Ellen Krojanker's possession, which her ex-husband Gustav (they divorced in 1936) wrote in about 1940 to Anna Ticho:

It was interesting to note that the Zionist Aunty was the reason for Tommy's change of heart and present dislike of Zionism. Tommy told me time and time again what a revolting impression she had made on him, with her advancing decrepitude, and that this impression had coloured his thoughts about everything and everyone over there. 73

And Tom Unwin recollected:

My memories of Aunt Gerda were those of a skinny, scruffy woman, who smoked continuously and sat on a bed with me somewhere, going through my stamp album. Spectacles and messy hair.

When Margarete's father died she inherited sufficient money to buy a house in the workers' quarter of Zizlov and she rented out the rooms. Even if the family was not exactly affluent, they were not poor in any way and could even afford holidays in Yugoslavia, where Margarete's cousin lived in Novi Sad.

It was fortunate that Thomas, in compliance with Ungar's wishes, attended the English Grammar School in Prague. In 1938, sensing the horrors to come and after the Munich Branding Contract, Margarete Ungar sent her son to finish his schooling in London, where her son from her first marriage to Rudolf Weiss (called Hans or Honza and now John) was living. When Czechoslovakia was occupied by force by the National Socialists, Margarete also fled to England on June 17th, 1939, taking her youngest son Alexander and the few possessions she could cram into two suitcases. The reunited family initially lived in the country, in the south-west county of Somerset, far from the dangers of the bombing.

Margarete lived with her children in the tiny town of Wells, on the edge of the Mendip Hills. As she lived in constant fear that England might also be occupied by the Nazis, she pretended to be a Christian. Whilst still in Prague she had acquired false christening certificates; once in England she had the family christened properly. England was only intended to be a transit station. The real plan was to move to Canada with Richard Kohn, Hermann Ungar's cousin who was a farmer in Jamnitz. With this ultimate goal in mind, Thomas studied agriculture at the Somerset Farm Institute. But then Richard was arrested and the lovely dream died. Thomas, too young for conscription, was working in a factory in Wells. Margarete worked in the canteen for this factory, cooking meals for the nightshift and Alexander went to school in Wells. Ellen Krojanker, who at that point had already been living in London for some time, wrote in the above mentioned letter:

Tommy Ungar is working and earning money, unfortunately he was not able to finish his A Levels – that will become a big hindrance if he wants to improve his lot in the world. He is supposed to be very interested in social and religious issues (the family have been christened) - so he is less average than one is made to believe and than his rosy-cheeked pretty face indicates. No idea what will happen to the little child – he learns well, is highly strung and a hypochondriac, he is sturdy but slightly pale. 74

Thomas left the factory in 1942. Thanks to his linguist skills he obtained a job with the BBC in Reading, as a 'monitor' for the British news service. He listened to German news, translated the DKW reports and carried out other such tasks. Alexander was given a bursary and attended the Bembridge School on the Isle of Wight, was evacuated to Coniston in the north of England for some time, and then attended Millfield School in Street, near Wells. Both schools were prestigious boarding schools.

In 1943 Thomas joined the Royal Navy, where he was mostly occupied in intelligence (listening for air attacks). He was at sea until 1945, spending some time with the Russian allied convoys. He was advised to change his name, to avoid any danger of being shot by the Germans as a traitor if he were captured. From then onwards he became 'Tom Unwin'. His mother and brother Alexander then also took this surname. After the war Thomas spent eighteen months in Germany, where he worked in the news and communication services. Amongst other posts, he was the liaison officer responsible for the transfer of the Kiel Walter-Factory to England, also the Harbour Captain for Travemuende and then accompanied, on board the German boat _Otto Wuensche_ and under the command of the Russians, a convoy of German war ships from Wilhelmshaven to the Latvian habour of Libau for handing over to the Soviets. Thomas was demobbed at the end of 1946 and married an English 'Blitz girl' whom he met in the navy.

Alexander, undecided on his future path of studies after the war, allowed himself to be guided by his older brother, who had always held the romantic dream of being a forester. As, however, there were few places at universities open for students who had not been in the military – but also because it fitted in better with the original plan – Margarete then decided to move to Canada with her youngest son, where Hans and his father were already living. In 1947 Thomas went to work in Africa, so there was no real reason for Margarete to stay in England. A return to Czechoslovakia was out of the question, given the communist powers in control. She finally settled in Vancouver, where Alexander commenced his forestry studies, only to change after a year to physics and mathematics. He graduated at the start of the 50s. He married a Canadian-Scottish girl he met at university and the couple had three children. He worked for many years for Boeing in Seattle as a physicist and lives in Bellevue, a suburb of Seattle. [He died in 2000]

Margarete Ungar (Margaret Unwin) died in Vancouver on February 21st 1978, having survived her second husband, Hermann Ungar, by forty nine years. Just after the war, when she was in financial difficulties in Canada, she contemplated remarrying her first husband, Rudolf Weiss, who was fairly rich – not only for economic reasons, but also because of Hans. But as Weiss had already found a different prospective bride the idea never went beyond the stage of an idea – also mainly because Margarete had never actually loved her first husband during the marriage, did not find it possible to love him although they got on well together. Rudolf Weiss died a long time ago, his son Hans now lives in Toronto, Canada, and goes by the name of John West. [John West died in 2008]

The direction of the life of Thomas Ungar (now Tom Unwin), although colourful, can only be reviewed here in brief. In 1946/47 he was the Secretary of the International Federation of Agricultural Producers based in London, then he began an international career in the service of agricultural foundation work, in the fields of development, refugee or starvation aid. In 1947 he went to Africa where he worked until 1951 as the plantation assistant, plantation manager and then as main assistant to the General Manager of the United Africa Company in Tanganyika (which later became the Overseas Food Corporation). He then became the District Officer, District Commissioner, and finally the State Secretary in the Foreign Ministry of the Government of Tanganyika until 1964. He was and remains a good friend of Julius Nyerere. As he was unwilling to become a citizen of Tanganyika, he had to resign from his responsible position.

From 1964 to 1981 he was the Head of the Aid Mission (until 1973), then the Head of the Mission for the United Nations Development Programme based in New York. He lived and worked in Malawi (one year), in Turkey (five years, where he became acquainted with Alexander Dubcek who after the Prague Spring was sent to Ankara as ambassador), in the Philippines (three years) and in Papua New Guinea (eight years). His first wife, Sheila, with whom he had a daughter (Vicky) in 1957, separated from him in 1965, but the marriage still existed on paper until 1970. Thomas then married a second time, an English woman called Diana whom he had met in Ankara. He and Diana had a son in 1972 who was named after his brother Alexander (Sasha). In 1981 Thomas was recalled from the Development Programme and appointed to the United Nations High Commission for Refugees based in Geneva. He worked as the Head of the Mission in Uganda, then during the last months of 1983 as the Director of the Geneva Head Office. When, at the end of 1983, he became 60, he retired from the United Nations, but was redeployed in 1984 as the Head of the Mission and Head Consultant for the World Food Programme (based in Geneva) but working in Phnom Penh, Cambodia. Then finally in 1986 he was again commissioned to work on the Development Programme for the United Nations in Sudan, in El Fasher, to advise the Regional Government on development issues. Today Hermann Ungar's eldest son lives in Milverton, close to Taunton in Somerset. 75 [he died in May 2012]

#  VIII The Final Act – Posthumous Reception until 1945

1 Obituaries

Hermann Ungar's unexpected and tragic death, coming at a time when his life and career were undergoing a momentous change and success, gave rise to countless obituaries, only a few of which are recorded below. The value of these acknowledgements is limited, as both shock of his death and piousness would have coloured objectivity – but the extent of the popularity and respect that Ungar enjoyed as an author is obvious, despite his relatively short period of literary creativity.

Obituaries appeared in all the leading newspapers in Prague and many of the Czech publications paid homage to the German-speaking writer and stated that his premature death was a great loss. The extraordinary Czech response cannot be explained by Ungar's position in the Czechoslovakian civil service, of which few were probably aware, by to his efforts to link the nations or his many and diverse connections to Czech artists, critics and translators. The obituaries themselves show that most of the Czech critics had clearly identified the Slavic elements in Ungar's work and relished his proximity to their own mentality. It is no coincidence that frequent reference is made to a 'German Dostoyevsky'.

Lengthy and significant obituaries appeared in _Lidove noviny_ (the most important newsletter of the first republic), in the social democratic _Pravo lidu_ and in _Narodni listy_ (Czech newspaper with the widest distribution). 1 Antonin Kucera and Jan Grmela did not, of course, take a back seat, given the fact that they had played a great role in smoothing Ungar's access to the Czech public. Kucera published an obituary in _Venkov_ , the journal for the agricultural sector. 2 Jan Grmela paid homage to Ungar in numerous ways. Grmela's obituaries appeared in the young avant garde journals _Cin_ and _Plan._ 3 Excerpts from his previously unpublished translation of _The Maimed_ appeared in _Vecernik Prava lidu_ and in the _Kalendar Cesko Zidovsky 1932-33_ as well as a transcript of the prose sketch _The Declaration_ called _Vztahy a spojitosti_ in _Cin._ 5 Grmela never forgot Ungar: In 1954 he wrote _Memoires of the Germans and the German-Jews in Prague_ which remains unpublished today, dedicating a personal portrait to Ungar. 6 He also mentioned Friedrich Adler, Werfel, Salus, Brod, Pick, Winder, Fuchs, Baum Urzidil, Grete Reiner, Hans Regina von Nack, Leppin and Weiss, as belonging to the writers who 'write in German but think like Czechs from Prague, and are linked via ancient volumes to the city in which they live, suffer and die'. He claimed that the positive reception accorded to their works by the Czechs was due to their affinity with Slavic Prague: 'We owe them our gratitude for all their writing has achieved for Prague and Czechoslovakian art.' 7

The fact that the German-speaking author Hermann Ungar was soon forgotten by Czechoslovakian Prague, despite all the acknowledgements and acclamation, is hardly surprising given the background of the conflict with National Socialism driven on during the 30s by the Sudeten Germans and their radical leader, Konrad Henlein. Ungar was included in the 1933 Conversation Lexicon _Masarykuv slovnik naucny_ 8 and his works were reviewed in the same year by Pavel Eisner for his literary-historical contribution entitled _Nemecka literatura na pode CSR_ for the standard book _Ceskoslovenska vlastiveda_. 9

The _Prager Presse_ published an obituary on the same day as Ungar's death, in which the 'premature death of the author and dramatist' was bemoaned as a 'great loss' for 'German-language literature in Czechoslovakia, for modern German literature and, indeed, for world literature'. 'Undeterred he turned away from the normal literary attitudes', instead he created 'brilliantly composed, psychological novels which threw light on the darkest depths of his characters'. His 'omnipresent love for creativity' focussed on 'dramatic works'. The obituary concludes with the announcement that 'intellectual Prague will hold a memorial celebration for Hermann Ungar at the Kleine Buehne', although it is doubtful whether this event actually took place.10 On the day of Ungar's funeral the _Prager Presse_ published an excerpt from _A Man and A Maid_ , called _Jelinek_ , plus some passages from the prologue of _The Arbour_ , which at the time had just been made available as a stage manuscript. Ungar's hope that this comedy would be performed in Prague remained unfulfilled. 11

Ludwig Winder wrote a personal obituary in _The German Newspaper Bohemia_ :

Hermann Ungar only lived for 36 years. Everyone who knew him will read of his passing with painful sadness. The death of a young man is senseless and shocking for all, although war has taught us to accept the brutality of such senselessness. Hermann Ungar was an author worthy of respect and high esteem – we all expected him to achieve greatness. It is difficult to come to terms with the fact that all these hopes and aspirations have been destroyed.

Winder concluded _:_

...the German theatre-circles in Prague should consider whether they are under an obligation to promote awareness of the existence of this author, who, until his death, was virtually unknown in his own home country. 12

But the most fulsome homage paid to Ungar in Prague was published in the _Prager Tagblatt_. It published two obituaries (one anonymous, one by Max Brod), plus a reprint of Ungar's childhood memories _Wallenstein by me_. Brod's article and _Wallenstein_ covered almost a whole page under the headline 'The Death of Hermann Ungar'. The anonymous obituary displays intimate knowledge of the man and writer:

It was not easy to get to know Ungar, but those who had the opportunity to get close to him quickly learnt to love and admire him. His initial gruffness with strangers quickly changed into a natural conviviality rooted in kindness. He was always willing to share a joke, even if he was the butt! Ungar, like most writers, was childlike. He helped his friends whenever possible. He envied no-one and no-one envied him. He was industrious and conscientious. He enjoyed an excellent reputation. His last years were spent adjusting to his increasing popularity. His creativity was, for him, a vehicle for escaping solitude and entering society. He stood at the brink of a brilliant future.13

The obituary written by Max Brod is more detached and focuses entirely on Ungar's writing. It is noteworthy, not only because it demonstrates how highly Brod respected Ungar contrary to later claims, but also because it contains important observations on his basic themes as well as on his relationship with the Prague Group and the Moravian writers:

In the very first novel published by Ungar, A Man and A Maid, all the crass dissonances appeared which permeate his work: the gender conflict, ugly images of childhood, a nebulous landscape which reminds one of the comet illumination in Duerer's Melancholy, base instincts, horror scenes, brutality and a timid ray of love and redemption at the end. No concessions are made to the readers. A fearful chasm is illuminated by the light of the author's cool, non-metaphoric prose.

The basic theme which Ungar uses time and time again, is the lack of love... No matter how horrific the events are which Ungar creates, he always finishes with total purification, a true, real catharsis.

The problematic deployed by Ungar in all his works is similar to that urge for redemption used by many of the Prague Group of writers, related particularly closely however to Winder and Ernst Weiss. These two also come from Moravia. It seems as if all Moravian writers prefer this miserable and melancholic background for their work, whilst confirming their brotherhood with Prague authors by the use of ethnic conclusions in their overall composition style. One might find a certain similarity in the dark tones in which Janacek's music differentiates from Smetana and Dvorak. The particular landscape and other specific features of Moravia shine through their works.

Brod recommended that a production of _The Red General_ at the Prague Deutsches Theatre might be a 'fitting memorial ceremony' to Ungar.14 It is interesting that he failed to mention the novels _Story of a Murder_ and _The Maimed_. The 'ethnic conclusions' which feature, according to Brod, in their literary style, are not contained in these two novels. The reasons for Brod's later rejection of Ungar are probably to be found in Ungar's casual diary entries – Ungar might well have written about Brod and his friend Willy Haas in much the same way. Brod would have learned about these entries at the end of December at the latest, for on December 12th the _Prager Tagblatt_ published some excerpts: the last time that any of Ungar's work appeared in this publication.15

One further obituary is worth mentioning. It appeared in the _Prager Abendzeitung_ and contained facts and concise information. It concluded _'Ungar also possessed specific qualities as a human being. He was steadfast, principled and had strength of character, he was witty with a young outlook and had a great many friends.'_ 16

The Prague publication _Wahrheit_ published a shortened version of _The Bank Official_ in commemoration.17

Despite all the mentioned obituaries and homages in the Prague media, one should never lose sight of the fact that despite all urging and attempts not one single performance of any of Ungar's dramas took place in Prague, the city which is always mentioned together with Ungar's name. In comparison to Berlin or Vienna, Prague in those days was still a little provincial town, with all the usual little provincial constraints. Seen retrospectively, Ungar's decision to leave Prague and move to Berlin was quite correct.

The Zionists in Prague, Berlin and elsewhere mourned the loss of a colleague and wrote positive obituaries in which they stressed his Judaism and his national Jewish beliefs. But these were aspects hardly recognised by others who knew the author.

The Prague publication _Selbstwehr_ , now edited by Felix Weltsch, set out a whole page in memory of Ungar, including an obituary and an amended reprint of the article written by Oskar Baum on _The Class_. Baum added two sentences to his review:

A powerful talent, full of future promise, a man of integrity, an upright and conscientious Jew died with Hermann Ungar. Although death brought an abrupt end to his creativity, his creations are powerful enough to live on. 18

_Selbstwehr_ , like Max Brod, included Ungar in the Prague Circle of Authors:

'Ungar's creativity' was both 'small and large', that is 'small in numbers' (he hated nothing as much as scribblings) but 'large in content'. Comments on the various novels and plays as followed by a commemorative passage from the Zionists:

As a student the deceased became a member of Munich fraternity 'Jordania' in the German K.J.V. and in Prague he belonged to the K.P.J.V. 'Barissia-Jordania' until the end of his life. He played an illustrious part in the events of the Prague fraternity and always kept in contact with the younger members. With the death of the highly talented Dr Ungar, Barissia has lost one of its most loyal and outstanding members and his premature death exacerbates the pain felt by his fraternity brothers. Everyone who met this highly esteemed person and Jew, not just the Barissia members, will always remember him.18

The _Juedische Volksstimme_ in Brno wrote:

Upon the death of Hermann Ungar Jewish literature has lost one of its most important and creative authors. The Prague circle of Jewish writers in particular has in particular now been unexpectedly deprived of an author in the full bloom of youth, whose creativity offered a promise of greater things to come.

This writing bore 'the mental and psychological mark of Jewish literature', frequently the 'shadows of the ghetto were visible... in which Ungar grew up.' 20

The Berlin publication _Juedische Rundschau_ edited by Robert Weltsch, initially printed the first notification of Ungar's death calling him 'one of the most talented authors of the younger generation' whose 'sudden death' 'caused great consternation in his circle of Zionist friends'. 21 This was quickly followed by a personal obituary written by Erich Cohn, who was closely acquainted with Ungar. This brief but biographical article has already been quoted a number of times. Cohn described his last meeting with Ungar in Berlin, mentioning Ungar's urge to 'take a more active part in the Zionist movement'. He classified Ungar as a man whose decisive trait was his 'realness' and admitted that Ungar also wore a 'mask'.

In a world in which everyone is suspected of hiding behind a mask this man stood, happy, free and uninhibited – a pure piece of nature. There were no false lines in his books or in him. He was as you saw him. He admitted just as freely to his vices and weaknesses as he did to his strengths and virtues, without considering what effects this freedom had on others.

Cohn pointed out, not without some pride, that Ungar did not really belong to either the _Literary World_ nor to the 'Berlin diplomatic clique', but that his 'real circle of intimates was made up of the Zionist friends of his youth', of whom he himself was 'the most loyal and reliable friend'. 32

But far more significant than Cohn's obituary and all other articles of homage was the frequently quoted reminiscent essay written by Gustav Krojanker, 'In Memory of Hermann Ungar', which appeared a few weeks later in the _Juedische Rundschau_. Deeply affected by the death of his friend, Krojanker penned this 'last greeting' just after he received the news of Ungar's demise. An editorial note gave the reason for the belated inclusion of the article as 'lack of space'. Indeed this article, which extends beyond a whole page, is the most expansive and thorough acknowledgement about Ungar ever to appear in a newspaper. Krojanker wrote 'equally' about Ungar as a friend and an author:

...I cannot separate it. Between each line he wrote, I see the image of a human being whose every characteristic trait – his laugh, his tortured expression, the way he walked, the furrows on his youthful face – is as well known to me as that of a beloved brother... And his existence... we know that he will remain within many of us until we draw our last breaths. 8

Memories from the very first meeting in the autumn of 1911 until the very last letter in autumn 1929 collectively forge a dual image, that of a person fluctuating between adapting and rejecting. Krojanker carefully sketched 'the path of personal and intellectual development' which 'Hermann Ungar had trodden in the thirty six years of his short life'.

It started in the period of Storm and Stress during which wild forces manifested themselves, into budding maturity which calmed and shaped these forces, allowing them to express themselves in purity and beauty. He was now mature enough to continue along this path to higher and greater things. But fate intervened allowing him only to set the first stone of his edifice.

This 'first stone' would have been _The Arbour_ , for in the eyes of Ungar's friends, this play was Ungar's breakthrough to a free, unfettered life of creativity, to 'conquering life via intellectualism'.

His novels did not yet have this freedom. Although the figures stood under the spotlight, they were still obscured by the veil of blood from which they came. But the successful breakthrough came with The Arbour. Fundamentally it is the same world of passion and compulsive urges – but viewed from above, with an understanding smile.

One might dispute this and other comments, but Krojanker quelled any objections himself in his concluding paragraph:

Other people might view his development and his path differently. There is no absolute truth. Everything is abstract, some things are deduced. One takes various aspects of a living person, then tries to put it all together – to replicate the person. If this person is a stranger, someone in whom one is interested, one knows slightly as a service provider – that might work. The only real issue of importance here is what one might gain from him. But if this living person is a beloved friend, whose warmth and brotherly presence one still senses, one tries to portray at least a little of all parts of him to those who perhaps never knew him, to guarantee his presence in the future. But to do that successfully, one has to be a writer. So I have to allow this to go out, in memory of him and as my last greeting. 23

Ludwig Pinner also did not keep silent on the death of his friend. His article, which appeared in a Hebraic literary review in Palestine, was less personal and not always objective. (Pinner was not as close to Ungar as Krojanker was and did not share his knowledge of literature):

On the death of the author Hermann Ungar... a light went out which had only just started to glow, but whose first glimmer should have drawn the world's attention...

In midst bloodless German post-war literature, so poorly fed with literary impulses that the best is made up of biographies, travel guides or psychological reflections, Ungar created a living world with its own laws. His stories permit the transformation of the fate of people, people whose existence is not dependent on a trend or a plot, but are born out of pure creativity.

But this world is an underworld, the 'heroes' of the Hungarian stories are labelled, The Maimed...

Ungar's storylines were followed with increasing apprehension, the characters and their compulsive urges developed with the inevitable clashes. Almost against his will, the reader is gripped by a reality which is the inner, symbolic reality of a dream.

Ungar never shrank from describing both the repulsive and the horrific in simple, basic terms. He described scenes of horrifying brutality with unrelentingly realism. The language used by Ungar dispensed with pathos and needed no embellishments...

In the more modern German literature there is only one author similar in his way to Ungar – the writer Franz Kafka: like Ungar a Bohemian Jew, who with his few posthumous works has shown himself to be the most powerful writer of German-language epic stories.

Ungar was a Zionist and, unlike to so many other intellectual Western Jews never 'became' one – Zionism belonged to his nature, part of his heritage like many other things. Anyone interested in such analysis will discover that the Jewishness in Ungar is evident in his subject matter and his attitudes. But those who know him well will know that no such conscious tendencies were allowed to colour his literary work....

A powerful personality who recognised the reality of this world, who struggled with the evidence of this reality, who however accepted the obligations placed upon him by the possession of this knowledge – that is what we have lost through his death. 24

The _New Free Press_ in Vienna only provided a brief report on Ungar's death 25 and most of the other Viennese publications seemed to totally ignore it. A very short report appeared in Switzerland, in the _Neue Zuercher Nachrichten_. 26

Strangely enough, it was exactly the same in Paris, where Ungar had achieved such recognition in 1927 – he seemed to have been forgotten equally speedily, perhaps because he was a foreign author. Solely one obituary could be found, written by his translator, Guy Frisch-Estrangin and published in the _Nouvelles Litteraires_ , this item was mainly informative and refered to the review written by Edmond Jaloux.

Une grande partie de la critique a loue ce jeune qui bousculait les conventions et ne respectait que la verite.

'Des les premieres lignes', disait ici meme Edmond Jaloux, 'on a l'impression d'un ecrivain de grand style '. Sans doute tous n'accepterent pas sans murmures cette exhibition sans voiles de notre pauvre humanite, mais tous reconnurent chez lui un element de nouveaute et de puissance.

The final sentence allows one a little insight into the common attitudes and friendship of Ungar and Fritsch-Estrangin.

Je n'ai parle ici que de l'ecrivain, et n'ai pas dit ce que son amitie comportait avants toutes choses d'irremplacable franchise .27

Ungar's death aroused great interest and attention in Berlin, of course, as he had worked and lived there for more than a decade.

The _Berliner Tagblatt_ published the first notice of his demise on the actual day of his death 28 followed up on the next day by Kuh's anecdotal obituary in which Ungar's 'friend' remembered the difficulties experienced by the author in finding a theatre willing to put on _The Arbour_. 29

The _Vossische Zeitung_ bemoaned the 'great loss caused by the premature death' and wrote:

Hermann Ungar provided evidence of his literary talents and an unusually intensive perception in just four individual works. He gained a lot of insight into the technical points of writing from Thomas Mann, his enthusiastic mentor. But his stories Boys and Murderers, The Maimed, The Murder of Captain Hanika and The Class do certainly not stem from Mann's carefully maintained stable. The most coarse characteristics, including sexual deprivation, murder, molestation and mutilation, inferiority complex fears shown by the teacher in front of his class – those were the issues which interested Ungar. Anything pleasant or positive was removed from this struggle, from this struggle to overcome both the dangerous and the dubious. 30

According to the _Berliner Boersen-Courier_ Ungar belonged to 'the most remarkable and talented literary figures within the young generation of Prague authors'.

Hermann Ungar's literary talents were unusual. The literary aspect of his chosen themes cannot be denied. Hermann Ungar chose the exceptional and the flamboyant...Hermann Ungar was less an author and more a literary figure. But unusually talented...Wit, keenness and clarity were the main elements of his work. 31

Kurt Pinthus described Ungar in the _8-Uhr-Abendblatt_ as the 'portrayer of tortures':

The best illustrator of brutal torture died a brutally tortured death. In the generation of so-called Expressionists, many of whom belonged to his circle of close friends, he was seen as the specialist illustrator of masochistic mental misery, which when called to defend itself, rose up with horrific brutality...

The title, The Maimed, could actually be the heading for everything that Ungar wrote. With a thousand carefully thought out lines of his pen, he drew images of the mentally mutilated and mercilessly abused, who only found respite from their own suffering by maiming and abusing others...

But Hermann Ungar told these modern martyr stories in uncomplicated, calm, fine, concise and brief sentences. His style was close to that of Franz Kafka, who, like Ungar, is not as well known as a prose artist as he should be. It is this uncomplicated and calm style of writing which makes Ungar's stories more penetrating than the actual horrors he is describing, more forceful than the wild, noisy cries of his Expressionist contemporaries.

...Ungar's early demise results in the destruction of great literary plans. 32

Interesting obituaries appeared in national German publications outside Berlin, for example in the famous _Frankfurter Zeitung_ , where the critic, like many of the Prague reviewers, placed Ungar firmly in the Prague Literary Circle, reflected on his Jewish background, as did the Zionists, and finally, like Krojanker, underlined his 'expansion into objectiveness'.

The classification Prague Literary Circle means very little, even though one perceives the shadow of Franz Kafka in this spectral cloud of indescribable existentialist fear and almost ghostly masochism. But Ungar always kept to factual experiences, never following Kafka into the realms of horrific demons. One should not simply call this complicated structure of resentment 'Prague', the Czechs have always protested against this. One has to take the background of the ancient Jewish Prague into consideration – this is the only way to understand an author like Ungar, with an atmosphere of ancient cabbalism and sophism, unceasing resentment and an absolute search for redemption.

Ungar manages to bring this mental constellation to a climax by adding the influence of earlier sexual experiences which turn latent fantasies into masochism. All this suffering and infliction of pain leads to revenge in clearly defined diabolic forms. In turn this leads to a terribly logical dialectic with the victims, who then gradually emerge from a confused atonement. The most horrific outlines, etched by knives in blood: the final passages of The Maimed seem to be the sensual culmination of a painful story. The Class is even more objectivised and The Red General focuses on the ancient Jewish issue: the racially discriminated as the intellectual leader of the nation that so hates him...The expansion into objectivity was an even greater success for Ungar. Excellent depictions and interesting descriptions serve to strength his success. But Hermann Ungar would not live long enough to enjoy this fame. 33

An obituary written by Bernard Guillemin appeared in the _Magdeburgische Zeitung_. Naturally Guillemin, himself a Frenchman who wrote in German, ranked Ungar amongst those authors 'who wrote in the language of a nation, to whom he did not really belong', and who, like Joseph Conrad, Panait Istrati or Julian Green, form an 'intellectual family' of their own:

Their common feature is that they accelerate the exchange of national values and, transcending all language borders, unify the human intellect in quite an extraordinary way.

Even if Guillemin is actually incorrect in thinking that Ungar was a Czech, he was actually quite right in thinking that it was Ungar's intention of promoting co-national thinking and identification, particularly with regard to the Czechs and Germans. But Guillemin totally ignored any personal memories. He referred to Ungar as having 'a highly personal and in some ways unique psychological talent', furthermore 'a psychologist specialising in brutality and pain', then 'a patho-psychologist specialising in depression and inferiority complexes', with similarities to a 'creative minute-taker of a Slavic-Jewish-German circle of intellectuals'. He perceived Ungar's most 'successful work' to be _The Class_ , to which he devoted quite a lot of space seeing it as 'a masterly analysis of a weak and tormented, distrustful and oppressed, deprived person regarded as inferior' – the story of his downfall and his suffering'. The final redemption, the liberating conclusion of the novel is perceived by Guillemin as a 'total change in Herman Ungar's creativity', a highly welcome illumination of of dark and merciless world of thought. Only the (as he saw it) tendency towards Catholicism irritated him:

Ungar should have overcome the intellectual temptation to Catholicism. But this just serves to exacerbate the loss we suffer through his death. Ungar's psychological creativity was just about to lose its pathological impact and to become fully spiritual. We have also lost someone, who in all probability would have become a great illustrator of spiritual problems. 34

Victor Goll wrote an article for the Bremen _Weser Zeitung_ on 'the death of Hermann Ungar' and had, it appears, slept through the publication of the two novels _The Class_ and _Boys and Murderers_. He based his ambivalent assessment of the author solely on _The Maimed_ , which according to him 'attained a certain peak position in depravity', and on _The Red General_ , with which Ungar had achieved great success. He compared the novel to Benn, to Kafka's _Court Case_ and Baudelaire, describing Ungar as 'a forceful yet confused literary talent, an occasional genial illuminator of mental abberation' and summarising:

Without any doubt Ungar, had he – as Hamlet puts it - achieved greater heights, would have had long-lasting fame and success. But this insidious appendicitis took him from our lives and now he will only remain a grotesque literary figure in his silent grave. 35

Some of the most impressive obituaries appeared in journals: G. Berg wrote in the _Neue Buecherschau_ :

He moved from the Prague atmosphere of Rilke, Kafka and Werfel to Berlin, where he could search for particular mental inspiration and absorb the acrid presence of society. But death claimed him before he could find the right balance – he was pained by the fact that his sideline theatrical work was seen as more important than the novels in which his true ambition lay. It is now impossible to say whether this young writer, Hermann Ungar, would have gone a separate way from Thomas Mann and Werfel, although their paths had already separated. 36

In the _Literarische Welt_ Hans Kafka compared _Boys and Murderers_ with Arnolt Bronnen's _September Novel_ , which was published in the same year – differentiating between 'psychologist' and 'author'.

The same forces are at work in both novels, where the 'subjective author' is attempting to distance the suffering from himself, whereas the 'objective author' attempts to distance himself from the suffering. The last process is more arduous and long-term.

Kafka assessed _The Red General_ as being 'one of the worst plays of recent times' ('an unsuccessful attempt at a report', whereas like many other critics he saw _The Arbour_ as being 'perhaps the best'. And, together with many others, he welcomed liberating objectivism.

Here was the author, pushing his way through his characters which initially were of major importance to him, finally reaching the broad landscape behind them and then moving out into the world. 37

In December's _Literary World_ , Willy Haas published the eccentric surrealistic sketch _The Declaration_ , the inspiration for which was in all probability a painting, and which Camill Hoffmann had given to him from the estate of the 'young, high-talented Hermann Ungar'. 38 At which point the text, which although brief, belongs to the most impressive of Ungar's works, but when it was actually written is uncertain. Its mention of a refurbishment 'in the Brunnenstrasse' says that the story is set in Berlin, but this does not necessarily mean that it was written during Ungar's time in Berlin. The text is experimental, a trial in which the borders between reality and imagination become blurred, thus it is feasible that it stems from the last months of Ungar's life, from the period when he was attempting to find new paths and new inspiration. It is also not clear whether Haas knew about Ungar's unfriendly diary entries at this point and whether he had put these to one side. His initial intention of celebrating Ungar's talents in an appropriate way by printing 'some very good pieces from the legacy of his documents' was thwarted thereafter as Haas felt insulted, so much so that in 1963 he described Ungar as an 'really bad person'. 39

Whereas Bernard Guillemin had poured scorn on Ungar for the cloak of Catholicism at the end of _The Class_ , Eduard Schroeder concluded his essay in the Leipzig publication _Orplid_ with:

The writer Hermann Ungar must have struggled with the forces of a Catholic environment during his childhood, otherwise he would not be so aware of the danger of nihilistic quietude which leaves marks on his most important story, before finally disappearing into obscurity.

Despite his factual error, Schroeder's lengthy essay is interesting, because it examines 'the internal reasons' which led to Thomas Mann and Stefan Zweig issuing 'unconditional praise' for Ungar's work. Like many others Schroeder saw the last novel as the peak of Ungar's creativity, without detracting from the success of his 'early period'.

The two pieces of his 'early period' seem to be permeated by one, very individual and quite unique psychology, which however bears the stamp of validity due to the transparency of their inner meaning. Yet here once again we sense the importance of the content, where differing brilliant individual opinions and perceptions compact and fuse: again determining the characteristics of the key figures in The Class and flowing into an urgent, compromising and sensual force of life. 40

Rudolf Kayser, who had already supported Ungar in 1922 by accepting the novel _Colbert's Journey_ for the _Neue Rundschau_ , followed this up with a brief, but moving obituary. 41 In February 1930 he also gave space to the novel _The Wine Traveller_ , which achieved similar literary success to _Colbert's Journey_ , and which was provided by Camill Hoffmann from Ungar's legacy of works.

A lengthly essay written by Kayser then appeared in _Literatur_. Kayser asked 'how this person came to produce such works':

Ungar was a pale, delicate, blond young man. He was calm and reserved. Occasionally, in happy hours, he was jolly, merry and capricious. But his books come from an entirely different world, an underworld of emotions and events, a strange, cumbersome world full of pain, torture, sadness and bitterness. As the world created by an author must in some way be contained within the world of the author himself, there must have been areas of darkness in the mentality of this quiet young man, of which we knew nothing.

Kayser did not examine the dramas in any depth, he considered quite rightly that the three prose books were Ungar's main works: _Boys and Murderers_ , _The Maimed_ and _The Class_. Kayser stated that 'Ungar's personality was evident' in his very first book:

The all-encompassing sympathetic love for the sufferers, for those misfortunate people with their depraved fates and the odd psychological development. But above all we see his huge ability to illustrate and depict situations and characters. The unusual impact of expression in the language he used, his quite individual personal methods form these characters and their world, their progress against the immeasurable force of suffering. There is sensuousness in their pain, an emotion which the reader senses all the more because it is not expressed lyrically or in plain words, just by attitude and human reality.

This is equally as correct as Kayser's comments about the 'strange attraction' which 'physical weakness' exerted on Ungar. Ungar saw the 'suffering of all creatures' as a 'symbol and perspective'. Kayser held the novel _The Class_ to be Ungar's 'most mature' work:

The author revealed himself as a psychologist in this book, more than in any of his previous works – as person who understood human hearts and souls. This book also possesses a sad and pain-filled atmosphere. This novel is also the story of a lonely sufferer. But in the course of the book, he is no longer completely alone and the focus of all his pain. Other people come into his life, particularly young people.

Kayser dedicated quite a lot of space to _The Class_. He judged the novel to be 'one of the most important literary works of recent times':

But fate befell the novel in the same way as it had frequently and repeatedly befallen others. Only a few people read it and so it never fulfilled the hopes of its author. I know how disappointed Ungar was. People said to him 'Yes, your world is far too grey. People don't want to read depressing books'. Such rejection can only depress the author more.

And Kayser concluded:

Hermann Ungar has now passed away, unknown and unacknowledged. The future must compensate for the disinterest and lack of understanding he was faced with during his lifetime. The few people, who did know his works, understood his value, his pure and deep creativity, his huge literary talents, which have been brought so abruptly to a conclusion. 43

On October 10th, 1929, from 19.40 to 20.00 hours, Rudolf Kayser talked about Hermann Ungar during a radio broadcast from Funk-Stunde AG Berlin and read some excerpts, probably from his essay in _Literatur_. 44

Paul Mayer published a long obituary in the _Weltbuehne_. In it he placed Ungar's literary world against the background of his origins:

Born thirty six years ago in a small town in Moravia, the author stemmed geographically and mentally from a landscape whose population never made a pact with the Satan of compromise. Instead they fought their conflicts to life or death and preferred to burn in hell rather than to visit the psychiatrist as good little products of a civilised secularity. Hermann Ungar's world is not built of paper and in a realistic-mythological world guilt and penance are not devalued words but real links, between which the blood of life courses past and seeps away.

Mayer examined Thomas Mann's praise and saw the similarities in character within the 'awareness of responsibility' as the defining word. He understoood the 'identifying bond between creator and created', the sufferings in the book, and therefore accepted the horrors as 'truth':

Ungar was not enamoured of atrocities and vices, he only described them because he knew he was not playing with them. This brave man was not thinking about the high numbers of printed copies he could sell, but rather about the truth. His concept of the world was the ancient concept of Jewish-Christian theology, in which heaven and hell, damnation and mercy are reality.

Mayer concluded his essay in a similar way to Kayser:

The huge success was not begrudged to the likeable and friendly author and came with his drama The Red General, which actually contained very little of the characteristics of the author himself. The three epic books remain as the memorial to this individualist, whose existence enriched our world, not just by a nuance, but by a whole palette of colour. The three novels written by Ungar...will never be swept away by a change of fashion as they belong to immemorial German prose. If one generation should forget them, the next will rediscover them. 85

Paul Kornfeld's obituary is full of melancholic familiar sadness and angry commitment. The obituary appeared in the _Tage-Buch_ and closed the loop. He 'articulated the pain and shock of all those... who knew and loved Ungar as a friend, who were moved by the depth and force of his writing and who recognised the loss of a promising future.' 46

The ink still flows, the machines still work, the pages of the printed books rustle, dilettantes, the incompetent, money chasers, followers of fashion – they write and write – and spread amongst them, like an island in the shade, are the very few, the individuals. They have no idea of the needs of today, they don't run around, take by surprise by the moment, by everything that crosses their paths, they don't swim in the current of the present, but they stand and face the future, based on their nature and their personalities. It is not their intention to write literary history, they have not weighed up their chances – but, when all is said and done – Ungar belongs to this group of the few. His books may be gloomy and oppressive, the people in his stories are tortured, broken and oppressed, everything is covered in pain and suffering, but everything is full of experiences and truth. Everything is symbolic and behind everything stands the world.

Ungar was also one of the few who used the German language in a masterly way. For most writers it is a poor medium, a receptacle into which they stuff everything which needs reporting on. The reader should then pick out everything he is interested in and throw away the rest. But as far as Ungar was concerned, the content and the expression were inseparable – language is a complete natural culture, full of dignity and maturity. One of his novels, the Story of a Murder is masterly.

Ungar published three prose books. Three to four thousand copies of these books were sold in total. No-one should presume to compare these figures with the number of print copies sold of any light-reading fiction books, although a comparison with mock literature, mock art, or seasonal art (coffee table books?) may be made. If you did make the comparison with a light-reading fiction book, it would be difficult to suppress the desperate feelings of fury. Three books sold with a total of three to four thousand copies! But Ungar also achieved success with a play, a secondary activity

His books were full of misery and misfortune, whereas he himself was full of fun and joviality. And now it all belongs to the past. Death arrived to claim one person out of the group of writers, it arrived so prematurely and claimed a thirty-six year-old, a charming author, it just had to be one of the few! 47

Just one and a half years after Ungar's death and this obituary, Kornfeld stated 'that some of the few people who knew him well and mourned his loss, have already forgotten him'. 'Death did not bring him the glory he deserved, it pushed him into the shadows of obscurity'. 48

Towards the end of 1929 the omens were still positive. Almost all the obituaries had been full of praise and boosted awareness of the author. The premiere of the _The Arbour_ was to take place amidst a huge amount of public interest.

2 The Arbour

The premiere of the comedy _The Arbour_ had been due to take place on November 15th 1929, however it was postponed by a month due to Ungar's death. On December 12th the premiere took place in Berlin at the Theatre am Schiffbauerdamm, under the direction of Ernst Josef Aufricht. The producer was Erich Engel, who had produced _The Red General_ the previous year at the Theatre in the Koeniggraetzer Strasse and Caspar Neher was again responsible for the stage design. The technical manager was Hanns Sachs. Instead of the playwright, his friends Camill Hoffmann and Lela Dangl attended rehearsals. Margarete Ungar travelled from Prague to be at the premiere.

The text was based on the manuscript published in the autumn by the Felix Block Erben publishing house. 49 It only deviated in a minor fashion from the original book which was published the following year by Rowohlt. These deviations were mainly in the stage directions: Caspar Neher deployed 'a rotating stage with open curtains and full stage illumination... which then permitted an all-round view of Colbert's villa and gardens and allowed the plot to unfold throughout all the different scenes in the acts without any interruption'. In the book version the rotation of the stage is noted – with a detailed schematic of the rotating stage.50 All the details are to be found in the production script by Erich Engels, together with various text changes which are also minor. 51

The theatre handout gives details on the cast:

Josef Colbert (man of independent means) - Erich Ponto  
Melanie Colbert (his wife) - Hedwig Wangel  
Amelie (daughter of Colbert – called Maltscha by her mother) - Hilde Koerber  
Kudernak (cousin of Mrs Colbert – man of independent means) - Szoeke Szakall  
Ferdinand (Colbert's nephew, a painter) - Theo Lingen  
Modlizki (grew up in the Colbert household) - Oskar Sima  
Josefine (a beautiful woman who sells her favours) - Dagny Servaes  
Anna (a maidservant in the Colbert household) - Gerda Kuffner

The programme newsletter for the Theatre am Schiffbauerdamm edited by Heinrich Fischer and called _The Keyword_ dedicated a special edition 'to the memory of Hermann Ungar' on the occasion of the premiere. It contained mainly the diary entries pertaining to the creation of _The Arbour_ , also excerpts from 'Notes by the author on this comedy' taken from the stage manuscript, as well as a self-portrait from the legacy of work ( _Fragment_ ) written in about 1928 and a reprint of the sketch _The Caliph_ which first appeared in _Freihafen_. 53 The diary entries were also printed in the _Berliner Boersen-Courier_ and the _Prager Tagblatt_ in different lengths and with separate introductions, whilst Fischer obtained brief passages from Camill Hoffmann for publishing in _Literatur_. 54

Very little more can be said about Engel's production, except that it adhered closely to Ungar's directions and that it again proved that Engel 'was one of the few Berlin producers able to do justice to the intellectual content'. 55 The production was 'a work of great intellect, as clever and pithy as Ungar's comedy itself'. 56 The critics then wrote about a 'model performance', about a well-thought-out and 'excellent performance', 58 which was ranked amongst 'the most enjoyable plays of the winter season'. 59 A great deal of the success was due to Caspar Neher's stage design, replicating 'a thoroughly charming minor capitalist residence' on the rotating stage, 60 also called an 'orgiastic symphony of the most bitter tastelessness'. 61 Despite all this, the performance lacked atmosphere, for of course Erich Engel, as a typical Northern German, didn't understand the Moravian milieu, perceived it as being 'a Slavic German mixture' 62 and it was only thanks to the actors Sima, Szakall and Servaes who introduced Bohemian touches. But those who rejected the performance were in the minority and their rejection was mainly on moral grounds. 'The performance under the hands of the coarse producer Erich Engels managed to make the double-entendres very clear', it was said in one instance 63 or 'instead of mitigating or softening, Engels managed to exacerbate and increase the excesses of the author with the greatest lust. Every coarse statement and double-entendre was underlined by the actors at least three times'. 64 And it was these same critics who refused to acknowledge the public success of the play. They stated 'that occasional incidental grunts of the audience at the premiere were to be heard', however that the 'majority' gave it a very 'cool' reception and that any applause was given only to 'honour the memory of the playwright'. 65 The 'depressing lack of tact, taste and intellectual spice which might have made this ragout of flesh enjoyable', left the majority of the audience 'unsatisfied'. 66 The 'applause at the end' was 'halting after a disappointed pause'. 67 'An aggressive claque' was mentioned 68 and Julius Bab wrote:

Three quarters of the seats in the stalls were occupied by literary figures and actors who attempted to raise the applause to the level of success. I really doubt whether they will succeed in convincing the living audience of this success. 69

Other critics noted 'that many representatives of the German literary world were present at the premiere' 70 and it may well be the case that their presence – and the knowledge of the tragic death of the playwright - had an influence on the success on December 12th. But it could not have been the sole reason, because all further performances were fully sold out, night after night, until spring 1930. Hans Gruenbaum, a young member of the Barissia fraternity, saw a much later performance of the play:

The audience laughed until it hurt, they laughed until they cried. They did not just applaud at the end of the scenes, but in the middle as well and only stopped in order not to miss what the actors were saying...Wit and spirit throughout, humour in every word, satire in every gesture. 'Applause to raise the roof!' My sole thought was: what a shame that AH Shanie could not witness it! How delighted he would have been! And how he would have rejoiced to see the enthusiastic faces and to hear the response from the doorman at the Theatre am Schiffbauerdamm when I asked about the audience numbers: 'Ooooch! Always, always full. Last Sunday they scrambled and fought to get places! The performances will have to continue until January or February!' 71

But whether Ungar's delight would have been unlimited is doubtful: the premiere evening was a commemorative celebration 'honouring the writer in his freshly dug grave', 72 the subsequent success of the series run – at least 200 performances can be accounted for – was more probably due to the attractive liberalism of the play and the audience's false expectations resulting from the critics' outcries of shock and shame. _The Arbour_ turned into the scandal success of the Berlin season 1929/30.

Whilst the audience applauded the play and performance with vigour, the reaction of the press varied – as it had the previous year with _The Red General_. The majority of the press bewailed the loss of Ungar as an important and talented writer of comedies, the minority bewailed the moral downfall of the theatre.

The reception accorded the play in Prague demonstrated this extreme polarisation more clearly. The _Prager Presse_ and the _Deutsche Zeitung Bohemia_ reviewed the premiere thoroughly and positively. The _Prager Tagblatt_ , on the other hand, only published a brief anonymous review, in which the play was described as a 'cheeky and rude satire based on bourgeois romantic rubbish', as well as a short media survey with a mainly negative outcome. 73

The _Prager Presse_ reviewed the play thoroughly and skilfully. The anonymous critic referred again to _The Red General_ when he described the dramaturgical approach as being a flight into unreality:

The 'key figure' in _The Arbour_ was the plebeian Modlizki, whom the critics saw as an 'unforgettable creation of Hermann Ungar, memorable for the extreme apathy of his existence, his patience, his endurance and finally for the powerful rebellion and potential downfall. It wears the mantle of comedy.' Most of the other critics made similar observations. The play was called a 'contemplative comedy'.

Even so The Arbour is a comedy full of blowsy, shocking, never-ending merriment. It is perfectly rounded off with three acts and changing images, exceeding Sternheim's comedies in satiric force and fanatic truth. Ungar does not stoop to caricatures, to parodies – he demands 'complete seriousness' from his actors, no comic acting, only genuineness, pure and simple genuineness. His characters make no pointed speeches, tell no jokes, and still the audience breaks into hysterical laughter. What each of these bourgeois figures says, each in his own particular way, is a result of sharp observation and precise communication, so that their words are humorous, unmasking and appropriate. The audience's initial reaction is always laughter. Their second reaction is contemplative – in-depth thoughts about the play. Modlitzki is left in the centre of the merriment as the embodiment of criticism.

The reviewer concluded:

The premiere of The Arbour was actually a memorial celebration of the life of the author, Hermann Ungar, and could not have been more appropriate. It turned his comedy into a brilliant living creation. A receptive audience, including many representatives of Germany's literary circles, filled the theatre and gave the playwright tremendous congratulatory applause. The complete cast and the director, Engel, took a great many curtain calls. 74

Manfred Georg's lengthy review in the _Deutsche Zeitung Bohemia_ had already appeared in the Berlin publication _Tempo_. 75 Georg's opinion was similar to that of the anonymous reviewer in the _Prager Presse_ :

Hell in The Arbour – and a comic sort of hell as far as those people passing by and looking over the fence at the goings-on are concerned. Everything that goes on is risible – all the worries, all the passions and nostalgia. The big words they use, the dramatic gesticulations, the sobbing and the pain as their hearts break. But for those behind the fence, everything is as serious and earnest as life itself.

Hermann Ungar, the playwright, who recognises all these experiences, faces them fearlessly in life and overcomes the terrible challenges by recreating these in his novels, knows the concept of the double-bottom. Everything exists twice. The supra-conscious and the subconscious, smooth skin with blood coursing through veins beneath it, life in reality and the ideal world.

The Modlizkis of our world, the 'underdogs of their class' were 'always Ungar's favoured people'. _The Arbour_ proves irresistible because of its 'truthfulness'.

When Thomas Mann weighed in to support Ungar's cause using the might of his importance and fame, it was this harmless truthfulness which so distressed him. It is just as obvious in the content of The Arbour. Ungar is merciless in the use of this honesty, even when pitted against the audience. He never sweetens his words, he will never bow to a romantic. But truth is never a facade value. Its true value lies in the consternation it causes. When the public laughs at the bourgeois attitude of his characters, they feel consternation at the same time. One senses a small of burning...the world is secretly on fire around them. And this fire cannot be doused by their laughter. Ungar, the author, really did die far too prematurely.76

It is strange that both the Prague reviews totally ignored the superficial offensiveness of the play.

The Berlin newspaper critics divided into two camps, with the positive opinions being in the majority. Alfred Kerr's review in the _Berlin Tageblatt_ became the most famous with its frequently quoted concluding words: 'Go yourself – and see what has been lost to us!' His critique also took the form of an obituary:

I believed in the author Hermann Ungar when he was alive. I equally believe in this play...No death was required for me to believe. Tangible evidence was always present in his collective works. Intangible ideas (but still evidence) were seen in the eyes behind the spectacles.

In his typical telegram-style, he outlined the attributes of _The Arbour_ , which he justifiably held to be in the fragmented scenes of comedy from the tragic to the distressed:

The comic areas are not just provided by the bourgeoisie. They are based on the bourgeoisie, about it, adjacent to it and from it comes this loud cry of pain. A sadness, a expression of supplication. A signal of distress...from creatures who are still at the development stage. Felt by a man, who didn't want to leave the world, just to leave their world.

...They play includes some deliciously funny parts but also some horror. One sees ambiguity.

Kerr's main comments were reserved for the main characters and their portrayals. 77

Max Osborne wrote in the _Berliner Morgenpost_ :

Initially one might think that the whole story focuses on smirking eroticism. A few terms and phrases uttered with overwhelming directness led to this belief. But then, during the excellent third act the actual reason and sense behind the whole wild events of the spring became apparent and social satire, with all its deep insights, rose up before us. 78

Norbert Falk's review in the _BZ am Mittag_ was equally positive:

Ecstatic applause: salvoes of honour over Ungar's freshly dug grave. If the author, who died so prematurely, had lived to experience this strangely successful evening with all its shocking innuendoes and spell-binding plot enhanced by the carefree satiric outlines, the forty-year old might well have changed directly slightly.

His ultimate work demonstrates clearly that we have lost a great talented writer of comedy. The play provides a view of refreshing traits in Ungar's otherwise so fragmented image. Even if some of the text is unspeakably coarse!

Falk thought that some of the coarseness 'could have been omitted without losing the main features' and believed that the the 'different effects of the written and spoken word' would have made Ungar 'delete some of the text during rehearsals', to avoid the play 'facing difficulties in promoting its message due to minor, correctable flaws'. 79

In the _Berliner Boersen-Courier_ , Emil Faktor was of similar mind:

Here, in The Arbour, Ungar comes into his own. His intellectually-based, his natural talent breaks through, unblurred by finesse. He dares and succeeds due to his spirited approach and to the constancy of his material and concept. He has now confirmed his reputation as a dramatist. Some phrases and terms should have been deleted here and there, it would have made no difference. It would not have devalued the basic intention of lifting the covers.

Faktor based his assessment, according to which the 'very disingenuous small town satire' was 'Ungar's most original creation', on his personal acquaintanceship with the author:

Anyone who spent time with the author got to know his caustic sense of humour and will be pleasantly surprised by the similarity between the play and the personality of the author. It was never the case in such an uninhibited way before. 80

Rolf Nuernberg concluded his enthusiastic review published in the _12-Uhr-Blatt_ with farsighted prophesies: 'Notes for the censors and the theatre police: this is not an erotic drama, but a story without compromises.' It is furthermore 'surprising' that a writer, having written an 'evil, exaggerated success' ( _The Red General_ ) found his way back 'to a constant, logical and mighty story':

The Arbour - was a tragic comedy about bourgeois trends, about bourgeois people, really a comedy about bourgeois activities. People, gathered together somehow and somewhere, are shown with their daydreams, their fixed ideas, their brutality and evilness.The elements of a world order resulting from this milieu comedy. Moravia becomes the world.

These are Strindberg figures of our times, steeped in spitefulness and irony, marked by the injustices of life, by the decadence of modern times. But against the background of this bourgeois world Ungar depicts the relationships, the formulations of intent of other people. He illustrates destruction and, after the downfall, the new life rising out of the ruins, he illustrates the daily unceasing brutality and then the hope for better, more pure, more liberal ways of life. The fates and events in which his characters are entwined seem natural and predetermined. The image of a greater world is shown in brief descriptions –clear, heroic...Huge applause and no voices of rejection. 81

Kurt Kersten reviewed the play for _Welt am Abend_ and, like Kerr, he seized the opportunity to include an obituary:

It was a commemorative performance for the man who died prematurely, for an intense writer more talented that many would have us believe. Ungar was unfortunate, the novels were excellent but never popular, the number of copies sold remained small. He was more famous and held in higher esteem in France than here. His unsuccessful, completely false political tragedy brought him limited fame, but the severe and justified rejection hurt him – the more so since he believed that he was at fault. This unpretentious, approachable and open man, this eternal boy, basically spent his time fretting, brooding, doubting himself, a restless cynic, a man who tried to make decisions but then withdrew, who had no roots, whose name fell between the rows of intellectuals – perhaps he just needed a success he felt he deserved, perhaps his death had something to do with these contrasts of personality. He was destined to die much too young, without having settled his affairs.

His last piece of work is also full of contrasts and confusion. Ungar always had a multitude of fixed ideas, think about his rough-hewn face and smooth forehead, his irregular features which barely masked his restlessness. Disparate traits and inhibitions about which he rarely spoke. He was not a happy man.

Kersten painted a true picture of the character of the man and author. Further observations he made were equally valid:

His bourgeois characters had their hobbyhorses, just like Sterne's did. Ungar was equally at home in different centuries, different schools, different cultures – he carried a lot of baggage around with him and flailed around in silent fury. He carried his own cross on his back.

But Kersten was casting in the wrong direction when he identified Ungar as being totally like Modlizki and said he did not have the will to carry out social changes:

In the last act Ungar gave voice to his own opinions. The orphan could not bear the situation any longer and told the bourgeois people the truth, they became confused and even more spiteful, then the whistle-blower left, leaving them behind. Ungar thought his task was over once the people lost their composure, but it had nothing to do with loss of self-possession. It was the belief of a nasty outsider, an unbelieving intellectual, someone who disclosed facts, made people uncomfortable, without offering a solution. He just got up and left. But it is more difficult to stand and fight – not only more difficult, but also necessary. If the orphans just disappeared into the bushes and fought, nothing would be gained. 82

Kersten was himself a convinced communist and a member of the KPD- this goes some way to explaining his disgruntlement. His, and similar, attempts to limit left-wing liberal intellectuals were a decisive factor in preventing the growth of an anti-fascist national front, instead paving the way for the National Socialists to seize power.

Kersten's ambivalent review took a fairly isolated place amongst the spectrum of opinions in Berlin reviews, but was relatively typical for the attitude of the proletariat extreme left.

Max Hochdorf's critique in the Social Democratic _Vorwaerts_ was also fairly isolated, as he saw Ungar as being a 'federal comrade of Expressionists'. He perceived this comedy as being a 'left over from the socialising national economists and occasional bohemians' known to an 'amicable circle of people', as being the 'product of a novelist who was standing at the end of an unsuccessful art trend, at the end of Expressionism'. 'In order to declare his adherence to Expressionism' – defined by Hochdorf as 'an attack on eternity and removal of a natural ability to conceive own ideas' – Ungar forced the play onwards to 'the peak of morality and immorality'.

His comedy explored so many excesses that perhaps...soon...the censors would have been snuffling around and protesting. For we have to admit: in comparison to the attraction of the Hungarian virgin, Strindberg's Miss Julie (who will serve as the best example for all times) is like a modest nun. Ungar always exaggerates greatly in his quest to provide the overall lasting blueprint. Special cases do not interest him – just generalisations. This blatant exaggeration is a feature of Expressionism, which, with its blunt and undisguised penetrating unambiguity, has run its course and its reputation. 83

The review in the _Lokal-Anzeiger_ was fairly typical for this type of publication. _The Arbour_ was seen as 'lacking in intellect and refinement', or 'hardly suitable for a gentlemen's evening':

No favours were made to the reputation of the deceased Hermann Ungar, by the production of this smutty play. 84

A whole series of bourgeois and left-wing critics blew the same trumpet of disgust and they were scarcely less discerning in their choice of perjorative vocabulary.

The 'product of fear of a rebellious helpless person', 'miserable', 'laboriously spliced together without a trace of truth' – is how Hans W. Fischer described the play in _Welt am Montag_ and stated that he couldn't understand 'how some of the audience could mistake this coarse, emaciated and cheeky offering as a full-blooded daring creation'. 85

Bruno E. Werner wrote in the _DAZ_ about 'desperate attempts at wit' and a 'cheap persiflage of yesterday's bourgeoisie, shaped into acceptable form to meet modern bourgeois tastes', but which was really insufficient to fill a cabaret sketch. 'When Modlizski occasionally let out a roar 'Sickening!' one could only agree with him!' 86

Felix Hollaender in the _8-Uhr-Abendblatt_ called it an 'indelicate play' and wrote:

Hermann Ungar found comical situations and grotesque characters – but the mixture he created was missing a light touch, the ability to create nuances. It is rough and coarse, so open that the light sexual jokes actually sink into swinish depravity. It is the misfortune of this comedy that nothing has been omitted – every form of nudity and fantasy has found a place. The poor playwright saw it as modern courage. 87

As far as Arthur Eloesser, the critic for the _Vossische Zeitung_ was concerned, the play was mainly an 'unappetising and improper demonstration of eroticism, softened only now and then with a touch of intellectualism':

If one knew nothing about Hermann Ungar, one would take him for a bad imitator of the worst imitators of the French. It is really strange that delicate and lyrical people who decide to turn their sights on the theatre, immediately lose all sense of probity.

It was also interesting that Eloesser stated Ungar suffered from 'fear of life' and that he was 'released from life at the right time':

It was a young lad, fleeing from his nightmares and fears. And although he was not one of the maimed, he was foreshortened and distorted. This type of person is predestined to write comedies. A prerequisite for this is a love of the world... 88

Hermann Bachmann ( _Deutsche Zeitung_ ) also reacted in an aggrieved way and commented that it exceeded 'all dared obscenities in a nauseous way',89 whereas Julius Bab ( _Berliner Volkszeitung_ ) saw the comedy with its 'stolid directness' as being so 'completely uninhibited' that 'all amusement and fun just died'.... 'Where lust is allowed to develop without any inhibitions, it loses all spiciness, all amusement, all life – it becomes boring.' 90

In their displeasure of the sexual overtness in the play, these critics totally failed to recognise the true value in satiric force and comedy.

The journal critics also presented a very confused overview. The comedy was rarely radically rejected because of its innovative approach, but almost always because of the carefree treatment of the sexual theme. _Westermanns Monatsheft,_ for example, contained the following:

The play, unappetising almost to the point of nausea, seems to believe it can justify its excessive obscenities by a blow from below aiming at the soul. A pointed illustration follows. Those who find the play obscene and offensive are in the minority – the others and Goethe stated that these are mainly rogues helping themselves, or the weak trying to assimilate themselves or the mass who just follow on without knowing what they really want...91

The review in _Velhagen and Klasings Monatsheften_ stated:

The recently deceased Hermann Ungar was a real playwright. In this comedy which strove to uncover the ruttings in small towns in the most disgusting way, his skill is not obvious.... Boredom and nastiness vied for the prize tonight. Nastiness was the victor. 92

Hans Knudsen wrote in the _Schoene Literatur_ :

Unappetising efforts of a sixteen year old to cure himself of one problem... Terrible miscalculation by an important playwright. 93

In a somewhat different tone, but still derogatory, were the comments from Ernst Heilborn in _Literatur_ :

In this last work by the prematurely deceased, eroticism was equated to 'naked'...This nakedness of eroticism meant that after the initial surprise, any erotic charm dissipated. For longing and desire need a veil. Another consequence was that the satiric attack on bourgeoisie lost its strength. For the existence of bourgeoisie is a lie. Nakedness, however, demonstrates unembellished truth. 94

Critics such as Hermann von Wedderkop, Walter Benjamin and Friedrich Raff took an entirely different perspective. Wedderkop wrote in the _Querschnitt_ :

At last we have theatre as it should be, with the play and the cast from a uniform mould. No 'ladies' lisping English phrases in terrible translations, no 'gentlemen', strong and uncomplicated in English suits (bottled up), no mention of war and no social complications.

This example showed once again that one can only rely on one's own taste. Some people rejected the play because they thought it was obscene, others disliked it because of the approach. In reality the play is absolutely correct and only depicts life as it is (at least in the first two acts), a life without trends... so much unconditional factualness... not seen on a German stage for many years now, so much factualness and real comedy – rather than the infamous, exaggerated 'comic plays' which pervert and corrupt the public and their taste.

Nothing more than a case study of life, a study of life as an everyday and banal experience – that is why it is so interesting. 95

Walter Benjamin ( _Die literarische Welt_ ) thought _The Arbour_ was 'well worth seeing'. Instead of a 'political' drama, Ungar had written a 'politicising' drama and thus 'used the tried and tested structure of a bourgeois comedy as a base, then adding quantities of moroseness, disparagements and brashness as he wished'. He then achieved a character which 'was a slightly disfigured version of the original pleasant image from the _Rape of the Sabine Women_ or from the _White Horse Inn_. It is fun to see something from an entirely different angle.' 96

Friedrich Raff published a 'Berlin Theatre Letter' in the Frankfurt _Deutsche Republik_ in which he reviewed _The Arbour_ thoroughly from different perspectives and concluded that it sat 'midway between political satire and the atmosphere of a gentlemen only entertainment':

It is a good thing that our successors will not have viewed Hermann Ungar only through the foliage of The Arbour, for otherwise his name would not have just been marked with the cross of death in the nation's literary history: but with the same sort of cross with which the moralist Wedekind was identified...

The playwright did not exactly make it easy for the audience to understand that only the ambiguous daily banal way of life was the focus of the play, masked perhaps by the robust and coarse language used.

Raff commented on Ungar's 'factual objectivity', which however 'outlined the intended message of his satire' far too clearly. Ungar had failed to 'clearly take the step of only using caricatures', but also erred in not using real people. His 'cabinet' was 'only made up of people with a fixed idea'. 'Despite this cardinal error', however, 'an innovative comedy playwright was behind this daring three-act play, a man who was deemed to have a promising future, had not fate and death prevented this enfant terrible most painfully from continuing to hone his skills.' 97

The double-edged press reviews did nothing to harm the public's perception of the play. Quite the opposite, any negatives views only boosted the interest. The accusation of being 'sexually disgusting', whether justified or not, had always been extremely good advertising. _The Arbour_ was the hit of the season and helped Ernst Josef Aufricht to refurbish his theatre. 'The play was an excellent box office success and I recovered my losses.' 98

The huge success in Berlin brought the attention of other theatre managers to Ungar's satirical comedy. Other productions were in preparation in Vienna and Prague as early as spring 1930 and other towns were vying for this profitable play. The fact that the only subsequent premieres took place in Vienna and Hamburg is witness of the narrow-minded censorship of the time.

On June 11th 1930 the Austrian premiere of _The Arbour_ took place during the festival weeks at the Viennese _Renaissancebuehne_ under the direction of Josef Jarno. Jarno might well have been waiting for a play like Ungar's comedy to appear. Not only was success fairly sure, but the play fitted in well with his special preference for Wedekind and Strindberg. The production of _The Arbour_ was indeed of the general Wedekind-Strindberg tone, but in a much more emphasised way. The posters carried the warning 'Forbidden for the Young!' The cast lineup was taken from the reviews:

Colbert - Paul Mahr  
Melanie - Emmy Schleinitz  
Amelie - Grete Maren  
Modlizki - Ludwig Husnik  
Kudernak - Wilhelm Schich  
Ferdinand - Hans Schoebinger  
Josefine - Maria Waldner  
Marie - Grete Helm

The reaction of the Viennese audience and the press was really no different to that in Berlin. The audience were so pleased with the comedy that the fiftieth performance was celebrated in August and the run only finished in January 1931. The critics were divided, although positive reviews were in the majority. Generally however the play was regarded as a frivolous piece, for very little of the tragic-comic or satiric undertones were apparent in Jarno's production.

The _Neue Wiener Journal_ , which according to the Barissia Newsletter was the 'central organ for reactionary issues', described the play as 'a gentlemen only evening with Jarno' ('whilst on the last page of the same publication thirty different massage salons for ladies and gentlemen were advertised – a much better venue perhaps for a 'gentlemen only' venue'). 99

It perhaps characterises the Berlin attitude to humour and the question of good taste that they perceive 'enjoyable humours features full of satirical intellectualism' (Alfred Kerr) in the jokes contained in Hermann Ungar's comedy, The Arbour, which otherwise might only find a parallel in the medical academic books on functions to do with physiology. If this is supposed to be the 'new factualness' of which the new metropolis Berlin is so proud, then it is better if Vienna remains a provincial town rather than a home for people who see coarse animalistic undercurrents in even the most holy events in human lives.

... as our daily newspapers are not permitted to bear the warning 'Forbidden for the Young!' we are unable to delve further into the content of the play.

... and thus we can only recommend those partial to very spicy pleasures to watch this barrage of disgusting scenes which exceed everything in derring-do and directness that Jarno offered in his Theatre in the Josefstadt.

... Most interesting of course was the reaction of the audience, which this time also had to accept criticism of itself. The audience certainly did not pass the test in our sense. The audience understood each point and laughed resoundingly, seemed disgusted in the intervals, before finally acknowledging that this play – to the sorrow of the critics – was a tremendous success. 100

The _Wiener Zeitung_ stated that 'it was incorrect to describe this play as a modern, psychological, satirical or even socially critical comedy', when it was 'nothing more than a farce and moreover a farce which – if one is not particularly sensitive and does not insist on good behaviour and well mannered text – is entertaining, excessively high spirited, but often weak.' The 'ideal' of 'spring awakening farces' was seen in Carl Zuckmayer's _Happy Vineyard_ , although the author had distanced himself a little from his creation. He had, he said 'included a sprinkling of class differences which was only effective whilst it remained within the general tone of the farce, but failed when it became more serious':

There is no point at all in thinking too deeply about a play like this, as it ruins the enjoyment. If one imagines the impact such a drama could have if the complete tragic circumstances of this comic mixture were correctly shaped by the author, one will recognise how frivolous the whole play is. It is just one of the numerous depravations shown in various theatres, a play which appears in different guises time and time again, with a few effective theatrical tricks and good jokes, performed well under the direction of Jarno.

The audience accorded the play a very friendly reception. 101

In the opinion of the _Neues Wiener Tagblatt_ , this 'unique daring small town satire' formed a path 'from the primitive realism of the theatre via Strindberg, Wedekind, Bernard Shaw and Karl Sternheim to its own position'. It would have been impossible to demonstrate the 'crass, unshakable truthfulness' in a novel.

'Forbidden for the Young!' was written on the posters, thus advertising the general approach of this rather unappealing performance at the Renaissancebuehne. If one had not already heard of Hermann Ungar's works as a novelist and author, one would never have recognised his talents in this rather ungracious aura of The Arbour.

The 'depravations' of the play are however cloaked 'with a humour which finally conquers all':

The audience enjoyed themselves. The audience laughed. This evening, on which Jarno wished to offer a literary tribute to the official festival weeks of the Theatre City of Vienna, turned into a victory, despite a few hushed hisses. Everyone realised what a loss we had suffered through Ungar's death. But the undefined aftertaste remained of a young playwright's comedy performed on the Renaissancebuehne with entry forbidden to the young... 102

In the _Neue Freie Presse_ Ungar was acclaimed as 'one of the most powerful young talents of the new generation, who died much too early', with 'a promising talent' evident in first works:

And The Arbour belonged in this category. A provincial satire - which focuses on a young girl with no inhibitions - and conveys an unambiguous direct message, even clearer than that of the Happy Vineyard. There are many satirical observations in this comedy, a sharp yet easy-going wit. We are sad that we have lost such a talent at such an early age. The minor flaws in this comedy, the contemporary production, so similar to Strindberg and Wedekind, the literary style – one might have expected Ungar to divest himself of these flaws quite promptly. 103

Jarno's production of _The Arbour_ was also reviewed in Prague. In the _Prager Presse_ Otto Pick compared the comedy to works by Sternheim, ranked the Prague theatre a level far above that of the Viennese production and defended the play against attacks by the 'moralists':

Ungar dispensed with Sternheim's language stylisation, replacing it with stronger, more in-depth text. The social problems...Ungar's satire reflected reality and was thus far more effective than Sternheim's (credible) reconstructions. If any supposes that sensuousness was the main focus of Ungar's comedy, he must locate it in this play. It was played out (as far as I am concerned by artists in closed circles) but it was performed far more correctly than in Vienna. I have nothing against the deeper meanings of comedy, nothing against a teenager as Amelie, nothing against using the address of a grass widower with inferences – but I see this as a tragic comedy, in the real sense of a shadow of the life of Moravian bourgeoisie. The effects will be shocking. The Arbour is certainly not lascivious. 104

In July 1930, when this review appeared, the attempts to produce _The Arbour_ in Prague had already failed. An announcement had already appeared in the Prague newspapers in March that the Studio for Actors in the German Theatre, founded by Max Liebl as a contemporary theatre, was preparing to produce Ungar's _The Arbour_ as an inaugural performance.105 The reactionary Prague censorship board parried with a ban issued at the end of June. The _Prager Tagblatt_ reported:

Hermann Ungar's The Arbour was recently produced by Jarno in Vienna and met with huge success, as it had previously in Berlin when it became the most popular play of the season. It was intended as the inaugural performance of the Studio der Schauspieler des Deutschen Theatres in Prague, but has now been banned by the censors. An appeal has been lodged. The reasons given for the ban by the censorship authority is that the play is 'obscene and unsuitable for public performances', but given the fame and rank of the author and the literary value of the play, this will hardly be upheld.106

In August the Barissia Newsletter commented on the process:

This ban is a total encroachment of rights by the authorities, who although they have the right but not the competence to check the literary qualities of plays in respect of their artistic and moral content. It is easily feasible that The Arbour might offend some old-fashioned and respectable, grey-haired clerk, but this should not be a decisive factor in the decision. We can but hope that the authority also has far-sighted and understanding reviewers, who are embarrassed not by the play, but by the ban. 107

The hopes expressed by Ungar's friends and the actors of the Neues Deutsches Theatre were not fulfilled. The appeal was unsuccessful and the public performance was banned.

Performances by the Brno Deutsches Theatre announced for the season 1930/31 by the director Hans Demetz at the end of June 1930 was also cancelled after a protest from the censorship board was received. It seems that the Prague decision was also binding in Brno. 108

It was thanks to the Masonic Lodge 'Spotlight on Harmony' and particularly due to the efforts of Friedrich Bill that (selected) Prague audiences finally got to see Ungar's comedy despite the censorship board.

After all the attempts to perform _The Arbour_ in the normal ways had failed, the Neues Deutsches Theatre decided in autumn 1931 to arrange a public reading by the actress Marguerite Renoir. However 'the police arrived in the middle and stopped the public performance on the grounds of 'obscenity'. 106 The Prague Freemasons then stepped in. On October 27th 1930, one year after Ungar's death, they held a mourning task activity wearing ceremonial robes 110 and then sent various appeals (especially from Friedrich Bill) to the police. When these failed, the lodge facilitated a 'recital of _The Arbour_ and announced a meeting of guests by invitation only'.

Thus Marguerite Renoir was able to perform the recital of _The Arbour_ on November 28th 1931 in the 'Mozarteum' to a selected audience. Amongst the audience of the memorial celebration were numerous members of the Barissia fraternity, who only just heard about the event 'by coincidence and with the help of Grinzz (Oskar Ekstein)'. Fritz Tauber, the new editor of the Barissia Newsletter had been able to ensure 'at the very last moment that the available Barissia members received personal invitations'. Tauber then reported in the January 1932 edition of the Barissia Newsletter on the event:

We have to emphasise how sad it is that our Metternichs did their best to prevent the Prague public from becoming acquainted with the personality of Hermann Ungar. The play itself has a very frivolous exterior, hiding a pure and delicate soul. The police are only worried about the spoken word, for the intellectual meaning is inaccessible to Pendrek and will remain so. The evening in the Mozarteum was enjoyable and a hilarious experience, the only shadow were our thoughts of Ungar's premature death. Marguerite Renoir mastered the difficult task of the interpretation. She avoided any temptations to exaggerate, a trap easily set by the text itself. 111

Tauber had previously published a similar review in the _Selbstwehr_ on December 4th 1931:

The difference in understanding the meaning of the world 'moral' between those in Vienna and Berlin on the one side, and Prague on the other is puzzling. The Arbour written by the deceased Hermann Ungar celebrated back-to-back posthumous premieres in both Berlin and Vienna and no-one, except those who have made it their profession, was offended. In Prague the plans to perform the play in the Deutsches Theatre were thwarted and a public recital was banned by the police, who, one has to admit, must have more urgent tasks and duties. It was a brilliant start by Marguerite Renoir to recite The Arbour in front of Hermann Ungar's friends at a private performance. All the places in the Mozarteum were occupied. The outside and attractive side of the plot, which takes place in and around the arbour is both daring and smooth. More important, however, than the problem of the desired and executed deflowering of the maiden – in which the authorities were mainly interested – was the issue and main theme of 'fixed ideas' which take root in every person, driving and motivating all actions. If one wishes to see it that way, this 'fixed idea' determines the personality and character of the individual person. Marguerite Renoir had no problem at all interpreting the black-and-white outlines outlines of the figures sketched by Ungar and making them plausible and credible, with human, very human attributes. Her performance has to be seen as art – she is an interpreter of impressive format. The play and the recital did not need the addition of a more tasteful background. The applause was thunderous – both for the artiste and the deceased author.112

Tauber received a letter from Marguerite Renoir as a result of this review, which he added to his report in the Barissia Newsletter:

Dear Dr Tauber – please accept my most grateful thanks for the kind and thorough acknowledgement of my recital from Hermann Ungar's works, as well as for the fitting comments on the censorship issues ruling in Prague. Perhaps all our efforts might contribute to correcting this infamous situation sooner or later. We might then be able to carry out the performance officially and formally. May I express my gratitude to you, Dr Tauber, for all your support in gathering together so many members of Barissia, thus giving this memorial celebration its due form. I remain with best wishes, your Marguerite Renoir.113

The fact that no premiere of _The Arbour_ ever took place in Prague was not only due to the censorship authorities, but more to the political circumstances which soon relegated the issue of the German-Jewish author into the background.

The Masonic Lodge 'Spotlight on Harmony' commemorated their brother in another different way. On the 20th anniversary of the foundation of their lodge in November 1932 they put together an edition of _Three Rings_ and, besides an article on the history of the lodge and various other pieces (including items from Ernst Weiss, Otto Bondy and Hugo Hecht), they published Ungar's diary entries in April 1922, made during his first trip to Italy.114 The Barissia followed suit again acting on suggestions by Oskar Ekstein. In October 1933 the Barissia Newsletter printed the diary entries on the Italian trip.115 Thirty years were to pass before more of Ungar's texts were published (in Karl Otten's anthology _Ego and Eros_ , 1963).

Nothing was known until recently of a production of _The Arbour_ in Hamburg. On September 27th 1930 the Hamburg Opera House introduced the Reeperbahn audience to the 'daring', 'Forbidden for Young Persons!' play with a new subtitle: 'A Family Idyll'. The director was Adolf Steinmann, the stage was designed 'according to motives by Marlitt' by Richard Specht. The list of cast members was compiled by referring to reviews:

Colbert - Nicol Albrecht  
Melanie - Elsa Valery  
Amelie - Kaete Behrens  
Modlizki - Albert Walter  
Kudernak - Ernst Gerlach  
Ferdinand - Hans Schwarze  
Josefine - Hedwig Herder

The tenor of the Hamburg critics was negative, the audience's reaction was mixed. The critic from the _Hamburger Fremdenblatt_ was harsh:

Words which make up a satiric novel with intellectual input over 50 pages might have a shocking effect, but, when put onto a stage and portrayed realistically - turn into pure pornography.

Steinmann did very little 'to cover up the weaknesses', quite the opposite, for 'using very cheap material' he brought them to an extreme. The servant Modlizki was an 'innovative concept' and the role itself was in the good hands of the Thalia actor, Albert Walter. But this central figure was then accessorised with 'spleened marionettes' who 'constantly chattered away'. 116

The _Altonauer Nachrichten_ accused _The Arbour_ of being 'coarse pornography':

Hermann Ungar may well have been a very talented novelist...but in his sexual comedy he was unable to make the exaggerated embarrassment of the plot acceptable by adding a pinch of intellectual superiority nor by introducing gripping and penetrating dialogues. During three long acts we watched a seventeen year old girl shamelessly attacking the servant and later a cousin, whereby words were spoken of the most intimate sort which require no explanation, and finally the sexual act itself took place, not directly in front of our eyes, but mimed with all the obvious surrounding sounds and movements – that exceeded the borders of decency. 117

The review written for the _Hamburg Echo_ saw 'stylised satire' in the sketch, 'the stormy mood' of Kubin, but the play had been dropped into 'completely clumsy and naive fingers'. Steinmann treated is as 'the usual erotic rubbish' and it was left to Albert Walter to 'rescue some of the storminess' from the 'mass of grotesque dilettantism'. 'Anything else would not have been acceptable.' 118

The _Hamburger Nachrichten_ treated the performance more kindly. They compared it to Strindberg and Zuckmayer and assessed its success by the applause stating 'that the audience obvious did not regret sacrificing two hours of sleep to watch it.' But the play did obviously not receive real recognition here:

The plot was lacking in dramatic suspense, the dialogue was occasionally in the worst possible taste, whilst striving here and there to achieve the momentum and the wit of a good comedy. 119

The unsuccessful Hamburg production only plays a marginal role in the story of _The Arbour_ reception.

The various censorship measures did very little to prevent _The Arbour_ from becoming a huge success, to a degree never anticipated by Ungar himself. If one considers not just the Berlin premiere (1929) and the two premieres in Vienna and Hamburg (1930), also the performances in Vienna from 1954 and 1984, the Berlin performance of 1977, the one in Linz in 1986 or even Wolfgang Staudte's television version of 1969, Ungar's comedy (although it was just a subsidiary work like _The General_ ) achieved the widest recognition of all his texts together. Evidence of this success is given by the fact that Ernst Rowohlt also published the play in book form in spring 1930. It is part of the tragedy of Ungar's life that this success came much too late.

3 Colbert's Journey

Immediately after Ungar's death, the idea of a posthumous volume was raised within the Rowohlt Verlag. Camill Hoffmann, as Ungar's executor, entreated them to publish it. Paul Mayer and Ernst Rowohlt saw it was an obligation to their deceased author – and the success of _The Arbour_ in Berlin gave them the necessary courage. When Thomas Mann agreed to provide the preface, nothing more stood in the way of the book.

Thus 3000 copies of a slender volume containing 9 stories and with the title _Colbert's Journey_ appeared in October 1930, published by Rowohlt Verlag. The early novel _Colbert's Journey_ was intentionally included in the volume, a calculated move by the publisher, and the volume was also given the same name. Quite apart from the fact that this story, and the later novel _The Wine Traveller_ , became the most important of the brief stories written by Ungar, the publisher hoped that by including these stories, which had provided so much material for the highly successful comedy, he would encourage acceptance by the general public. As we shall see, this approach did not pay off.

Apart from this, the book can only be described as a 'posthumous volume' in inverted commas. With the exception of _Bobek Marries_ (a skilful compilation of text passages taken from _The Class_ ), all the stories had already been published in one way or another and only belonged in part to Ungar's posthumous estate. _The Brothers_ and _Tulip_ dated from 1924 and 1925, _Mellon, the 'Actor'_ and _The Secret War_ had appeared in 1929 during Ungar's lifetime. Solely three texts (apart from _Bobek Marries_ really came from Ungar's estate but even these had already appeared in print: the important novel _The Wine Traveller_ , the surrealistic sketch _The Declaration_ and – conditionally, since Ungar himself had been handling arrangements to have it published – the fragment _Alexander_. 120 Camill Hoffmann and Paul Mayer must be given the credit for collecting these stories from various sources, collating and compiling them into one single volume for presenting to the public. As most of the texts were totally unknown by readers (and critics), the fiction of a 'posthumous volume' went uncontested. On the other side, of course, it was not a complete collection of all Ungar's short stories. Earlier texts were missing, such as _Sanatorium_ and _Letter to a Woman_ (1919), plus later pieces such as the concluding _Fragment_ from _The Maimed_ (1924) or _Little White Lies_ (1927). It was for this reason that the volume _Colbert's Journey_ seemed unfulfilled or ragged, especially when compiled from really diverse stories, from excerpts of complete novels to fragmentary sketches.

Although the diverse and ragged character of _Colbert's Journey_ was irritating, it was even more annoying that the compilers appear to have failed to search thoroughly through the selection of writing remaining in Ungar's estate for suitable items. There is absolutely no doubt that his estate would have contained numerous early pieces of work, perhaps even the _Jewish Novel_ from the last years of the war which was mentioned by Krojanker, plus some later works such as preparatory stories for the Moravian novel. According to Ludwig Pinner at least three plays for the theatre were at completion stage when Ungar died. 121 Certainly at least one of two of these might have been included in _Colbert's Journey_. Moreover, it would have been a moral obligation of the executors to keep all the literary work together. As, however, this was not done, almost every piece of work not in print went missing as from 1938.

Thomas Mann wrote his preface to _Colbert's Journey_ in August 1930, seated in his new summerhouse in Nidden on the Curian sandbar. 122 It is divided into two parts, the first being dedicated more to the works and Ungar, the second to the people around him and his life. Mann described it as a 'melancholic honour' and as a 'wonderful obligation', to write 'this introduction to the German public of the posthumous volume of Hermann Ungar's work'. His commitment can be sensed:

As I supported his initial novel, Boys and Murderers, it would be absolutely wrong for me to not to participate in the preparations for the publication of his last, posthumous volume. The spiritual beauty and artistic attraction of this volume appeal to me even more than the properties of the first novel. But at that time Ungar's world was full of hope, aspirations, happiness at the thought of his star rising, confidence and conviction... and today the earth covers his body, this life that was so full of talent and hope.

Would we have been wrong to follow our instincts and to hope? No, I am not ashamed of the fact that I recommended this author should cling to life. But death cannot be refused...

It is strangely moving when Mann writes that afterwards it seemed to him as though he always 'sensed in Hermann Ungar's art and existence a premonition of early death, and it was this 'instinct' that was the source of his empathy, the motive which led him to support with earliest manifestation of his literary and creative abilities':

It had something to do with his humour, his lack of laughter, his sexual melancholy, the bitter are often scarily measured way he made statements about life – there was a paleness, a fragility in his mental physiognomy and even in his physical appearance, something that marked him, some hopelessness, which needed no spooky prophetic premonition and which prevented me from seeing his death as a coincidence.

Even if there could be no mention of 'fulfilment of promise, the gift of maturity and completeness', he continued, 'this person has given more than is actually contained in the words':

Following on from the first anthology, we had a powerful novel, full of grief-stricken sadness, The Maimed': then we had The Class, perhaps a little less important but still providing evidence of the literary skill and vision of the author – this cultivated originality that we call art. Then we also were given theatre plays, whose success in both Berlin and Vienna do not fit into the usual comprehension of the word 'normal'.

Ungar's skill and creativity, although 'marked by death' was, like all art 'love' and 'life', an 'ode to life'. Because of his 'talent' the author (Ungar) had a 'closer and more holy relationship with nature':

And this can be seen more clearly in these last stories from his estate – they demonstrate perhaps more obviously than those that appeared during Ungar's lifetime which future developments have been stopped in their tracks by Ungar's death. The publication of this volume is our personal protest against fate.

Even Thomas Mann had the false impression that the volume was composed of unpublished items from Ungar's estate. He says very little about the texts, it seems he even thought _Colbert's Journey_ was a story as yet unpublished:

What a scarily important character in Colbert's Journey this Modlizki was! Its position within the volume is quite justified. It is a small masterpiece and would take its place within the classical works with honour. The other stories don't posses the same all-roundedness, they are more studious – fragmented indications of a unrealistic epic world. But one reads Bobek Marries and experiences the author's robust forceful grasp of life, the extent to which the author was capable of depicting the grotesque sacramental sensuous and its derivations!

In the second part of his preface Mann provides a sensitive, personal and above all astoundingly well-founded view of the facts of Ungar's short life, which allows us additional interesting and intimate insights. At the same time he characterised the author as a person, talked about his 'well-defined sense of family and origin', his fear of travel, his timidity in demonstrating his literary persuasions, his 'fanatic love of literary art' which corresponded to his 'worries about conveying the words correctly', his almost religious 'belief in authorship' and not last about his hypochondria which 'directly resulted in his early demise'. With astounding insight he then finally spoke about the 'strange circumstances' leading to Ungar's death. 123

It would have been a financial advantage to the publishing house to have found a famous German writer to compose the preface of the volume and boost its awareness in the public's eye. The press reacted as expected. Immediately in October 1930 and just one week prior to the publication of _Colbert's Journey_ the _Berliner Tagelatt_ gave almost a whole page to Mann's text.124 The preface than also appeared in the _Deutsche Zeitung Bohemia_ immediately afterwards125 followed by the second biographic part in the _Prager Presse_ .126 Then finally in January 1931 the Barissia Newsletter reproduced the whole preface. 127

Thomas Mann's preface certainly attracted more readers for the volume, but it still was unable to prevent _Colbert's Journey_ from being virtually ignored. A number of factors are deemed to have played a role in this. The success of _The Arbour_ was mainly due to the public interest in the sexual theme, which was not about to be stilled by the content of _Colbert's Journey_. The success of the comedy could not be transferred to the prose. Furthermore a novel would have had a better chance of success than a collective volume. It is a false generalisation that short stories, provided they don't appear in periodicals or are written by famous authors, will always find a few readers. In the case of _Colbert's Journey_ the texts were not even polished stories, but just 'fragments', 'hints of an unreal epic world', which could only really interest those readers who appreciated Ungar's style. Even during his lifetime Ungar only had very few faithful followers of his prose. The death of an author can only impact positively on the reception of his work if he was already famous. Once Ungar was dead, the most vociferous proponent of his work was gone and he did not share Franz Kafka's luck in having a friend like Max Brod, who unceasingly supported his work and fought his corner. Ungar needed such a mentor when the cold winds of reaction and critique blew. As we know, there was a sense of this in 1930: not a good time for a deceased Jewish author with Czechoslovakian nationality. And no-one took Ungar's works with them when they emigrated.

One further reason, a consequence of the above, was the lack of attention paid to _Colbert's Journey_ by the press critics. Constant friends such as Ludwig Winder, Anton Kuh, Paul Leppin or Paul Kornfeld dominated the few reviews. The sole review to be found in the Prague publications, was written by Ludwig Winder. He stated in the _Deutsche Zeitung Bohemia_ :

The slim volume of just 140 pages contained Hermann Ungar's remaining works. Two larger novels, some small outlines for novels. There is no new feature in the image of the author who died just one year ago. This intellectual author is, however, present in even the briefest sketch, this young author who was never actually young. His anxieties, inhibitions, darkest expressions fly by – the author exercises his wit on them. The frightful humour contained in the masterful novel Colbert's Journey will be viewed as humour by those readers who know nothing of Ungar. And this is the secret of the huge success of the dramatisation of the novel. Those able to laugh at The Arbour, laughed like Polonius did about Hamlet.

Winder recognised Modlizki as 'Ungar's favourite character', a figure of contrasting 'arrogance and modesty', but he also knew that Ungar himself existed in each of his characters and that every passage of his writing was existentialist:

A part of Ungar existed in all the characters he created – and here lay the great difference between Ungar and all the other writers of our time. The rest detach themselves from their work, whether factual or romantic, Ungar, however, lived life like a character created for his plays, like Modlizki or Colbert or the Schoolmaster Blau. It is unbelievably stressful and gnawing to live like that.

The 'tragedy of the man destined to die' as written by Thomas Mann in his 'beautiful, all-encompassing preface', was contested by Winder who described it as the 'non-tragedy of silly circumstances', which denied any consolation for his death:

Arrogance and modesty. Ungar's strengths and weaknesses stemmed from the same source. He never really valued his wealth of ability. If one reads the posthumous volume Colbert's Journey, one will see how much he still had to give – and if this stupid coincidence had never taken place he would never have stopped. Thomas Mann stated in his preface it was no coincidence that Hermann Ungar died so young, that the talent bore the mark of a premature death. The tragedy of a man destined to die is more comforting than the non-tragedy of silly circumstances. Yet it seems to me to be right to blame fate because it allowed this silly coincidence to take place. Only a huge strong will to live, as is often found in Ungar's works, will attempt to pair the most delicate with the most robust. If there is one consolation in this unfinished story, then it is thebelieve that he will continue to live. Perhaps the beauty of the bust is the most heart-rending result. 128

Paul Leppin, another author from Prague, wrote a review for the Berlin publication _Literatur_ , and he agreed with Mann's thesis. It seems that Leppin, whose manic extreme treatment of love and death was very close to that of Ungar's, differed in the linguist and formal creation of his works, yet knew Ungar quite well. Using his typical pathos he wrote:

Writing about a deceased man, who was very dear to us in life, whose tragic work will always impact upon us, is like devoting without promise, belief without conviction. Since the jaded prophesy of his novel The Maimed filled us with grief and embarrassment, we now see Ungar as an author who has branded the world image with innovative, arduously constructed thought processes.

Leppin praised his 'performance and abilities', which were 'prevented by fate from ascending to the heights of extraordinary'' and commented on the posthumous book:

Dazzling and maliciously flickering fire, the nihilism of devoutness, give the sparse but carefully selected stories in this posthumous book torturous sense and meaning. The Wine Traveller, The Declaration, both are filled with incomprehensible, strange, difficult to bear symbolism. The title story Colbert's Journey is a masterpiece of German prose. 129

Anton Kuh wrote an amusing comment in the _Neue Revue_ about S. Fischer's joking 'explosive affect' of the novel _Colbert's Journey_ 130 as well as a brief review in _Querschnitt_ :

The book version of the play The Arbour is to be found here, amongst other prose masterpieces by the prematurely deceased author. It is uncomfortable, brief, anecdotal but therefore also genial. A conclusion of symbolic coarseness... which to poor Ungar's consternation was deleted in a print preview by an august journal. The best story of all is The Wine Traveller. A murder story of such linguist spectre that one immediately shouts 'Kleist' (if only this name was not connected to so many rogues. 131

Franz Blei, Kuh's friend, published a brief critique in the _Neue Revue_ :

He was only thirty six when he died. A much too premature death for literature and that is evident from the couple of books he, as a precise and self-critical author, had published. And the amusing play The Arbour, the plot of which is shown here, in this volume, and whose title was used for this book too. The eight further stories are lively and interesting. 132

A brief critique also appeared in the Catholic _Grail_ : the reviewer, Oskar Lorenzoni found that the impression given by the stories was that they were 'not of the same standard':

In parts the all too clear racism and uninhibited sensuality is quite repulsive. The mocking tones are probably inherited from his Jewish forefathers. His literary talents are obvious in sections full of tranquil beauty. The best story of all is perhaps The Brothers – two brothers rediscover each other in the home country and then separate. 133

Josef Muehlberger introduced Ungar's 'posthumous stories' in his magazine _Witiko_ (Eger). In Ungar you find both 'the knowledge of colourfulness and the scent of earthiness', just like a 'hint of decadence and secrecy'.

And between them lies the slightly dark, torturous sweet nostalgia of the home country. Besides incessant vitality (Bobek Marries), there is an illustration of a miserable, boring, wretched death (Tulip). The Moravian essence is to be found in the dark and dismal colour of the themes, Judaism in the experience of homelessness. The world and its beauty is bathed in sadness here, shadowed by darkness and the angel of death. 134

It is fairly typical that very few of the reviews actually had a negative feel to them. One of the exceptions is the review written by Fritz Rostosky and published in the national _Neue Literatur_ :

If Th. Mann introduced this posthumous volume by saying it was 'full of intellectual beauty' and speaks about Ungar's melancholic talents, it may convince some – but not me! I consider that the prematurely deceased author has been paid no special service by the publication of this volume. 'Despite' – a word used far too frequently – is and remains an adverb and, with all the modern liberties, will never be a conjunction. This incorrect use of grammar is typical for the severity and the non-sensuous factuality with which Ungar cloaks his strangest accusations. Ice-cold cynicism is also present (Tulip). The overall impression is one of despairing, inorganic disorganisation. 135

Arthur Eloesser also made critical comments in the _Vossische Zeitung_ , but his judgement was much more differentiated and personal. His article is much less a review of the book and more of a late overall acknowledgement:

It was surprising to hear that the author had reached the age of forty-six [sic]. His works dealt more with the experiences of puberty, with the mental injuries of youth. They led one to believe that the author was more likely to be someone who was not used to his fragile organs, with a highly sensitive epidermis.

And what did Ungar do for us? He attempted to illustrate his fear of life or his unsuitability. He played with spectres which threaten us by day. If someone wishes to call up the ghosts, they have to use their names. Ungar described the things that move in the air. He fastened them down. His talent lay in his formulation, he expressed his moods and his depression in a crystalised reflecting form...

Hermann Ungar's art remains as unfinished as his life. He wrote like a hunted person, someone who did not have enough time and peace to allow his characters to grow slowly and in tranquillity.

His writing often appears constructed or punctuated. But his pen was pointed and was able to pick the main targets. His characters often appear to be more like marionettes. But a puppet only needs a receptive audience to become secretly exciting – whilst we feel the invisible strings from which we are suspended.

As far as Eloesser was concerned, the title of the volume might just as well have been _The Maimed_ :

Here and there between the unfinished figures a few over-done characters appear, such as the fat man who guzzles everything happily and with conviction (Bobek Marries) or a thin man, a worker paid by the hour with mechanical job security, a bureaucrat (Tulip). What is more bizarre and fantastic for an author other than a ghost? A human being, so completely real and smoothly covered by his skin, like a sheath. Now we have some inspiration for satire and comedy...This was perhaps an opening for him, as he could make an attention-grabbing entrance and didn't posses the energy for a wide epic production. 136

The best, most thorough and important critique on the posthumous volume came from Paul Kornfeld. It only appeared in June 1931 in the _Tage-Buch_ and was a reaction to the miserable reception accorded to _Colbert's Journey_. Death had almost placed Ungar 'in the shadow of obscurity':

Throughout his lifetime he was never able to celebrate any successes: neither one via headlines and a particular scintillating show of interest, nor one resulting from the recognition of his effective talents combined with intellectualism. He would only have achieved the fame of an author, to which he was still aspiring.

Kornfeld's critique was far more than just a review, it was more of an attempt – and the last attempt for a long time – to bring Ungar's writing to the attention of worthy readers:

Apart from two theatre pieces, which were both performed after his death, Ungar had published three prose books. These books emanated from dismal experiences of the world, the belief in a predestined fate and world order, and the desperation felt at having everything around him destroyed by the evilness of existence. These stories are images of baseness, the arena of chaotic orgies of nastiness, populated by people who have been attacked and bitten on all sides until very little of their spiritual substance remained – they then fall into an abyss driven by mad sexual urges. Even the most pure of souls is influenced by this manic whirlpool of decadence and succumbs. The background is always that of a bourgeois world, but one should not be misled by the scurrility of their features, by the realistic descriptions. It is only a bourgeois world in the social meaning, the characters belong to it purely because of their particular circumstances. Personality-wise they are huge and dangerous, they are tortured by decadence and submerged in the tragedies of fate, their ugliness and meanness is full of brutality, their evilness and hatred full of demonic power.

One could never claim that the world of these books are created by a visionary tortured brain, only to be distorted by secondary events and have nothing to do with our own world. When nature becomes extraordinary, moves into the realms of criminality, degenerates to the lowest levels, it shows its basic foundations. We learn about the character of normal people through studying the extreme. And those who understand what drives humans into sexual depravations cannot claim to understand more about life than those of have played with these demons.

In the second part of this essay, Kornfeld reviewed Ungar's 'last stories':

If The Maimed is seen as the most consequent and unforgiving of his work, then this, his last volume is perhaps the most endearing. Besides two masterly written novels it contains brief, almost 'flick of the wrist' outlines, virtual fragments of stories. But in them we discover new nuances. None of them really contain a plot or actions – just a profile...the author only selects one out of the labyrinth of a thousand different events, he examines and observes it carefully and then retells the story in a gentle charming manner of a phlegmatic man. Our nostalgia stems from our believe in predetermined life, the stringent eye of the pessimist stems from the mellow eye of the melancholic, the cries of the accused stem from the songs of accusation.

Ungar's ultimate book also demonstrated the 'secret of creation. Hardly having been created, his creations step out of his books and resume a life of their own, independent from their creator. And this is the secret of creation: that one does not sense the hand of the creator, the hand that wrote the words, the brain which thought them up. Everything has been completed quite naturally, without artifice – and every sentence seems to have developed by itself, by nature.' Kornfeld also knew all about Ungar's feelings of responsibility in his working methods:

Ungar worked industriously, carefully and laboriously. Of course some parts came easily, some parts required more effort, but he completed everything in such a way that no-one sensed the hard work behind his writing. If one didn't recognise his sense of responsibility in his works, it would have been obvious on sight of his diaries. He was always totally engrossed in his task, totally aware of his responsibilities – he was like someone in the grasp of the highest form of egotism, an instinct for mental and spiritual self-preservation.

Kornfeld viewed the premature death of Ungar as 'sad' and 'inexplicable':

It is so sad having to speak about the legacy and estate of a man of only thirty-six years of age, even more sad because he was a pure and literary man. But it is totally inexplicable why Ungar had to die so young, for one cannot imagine he had said everything he wished to say. It is inexplicable if one does not believe that fate cuts people down in their prime for no sensible reason, especially when the person has created special things in his life and is expected to create even more wonderful work. But if one only speaks of things that are certain, one may state that in the face of death one stares into a puzzle which has no solution. 137

In view of the shamefully minor reception accorded to _Colbert's Journey_ it is quite surprising that the Florence magazine _Solaria_ published a lengthy essay on the _Teatromania Berlinese o la transformazione de una novella_ written by Eckart Pieterich, who took the opportunity of the appearance of the posthumous volume to introduce Ungar to the Italian general public. He underlined and assessed the relationship between the novel _Colbert's Journey_ and the play _The Arbour_ , then discussed the negative impact of the theatre audiences in Berlin on the modern German playwrights. Ungar's talents lay in epics: the drama _The Arbour_ not only gave rise to the novel _Colbert's Journey_ , but also provided excellent material for a plump mouth-watering comedy for 'salon communists'. The Moravian author allowed himself to be seduced (as had so many other writers) by the astounding theatre techniques used in Berlin and sacrificed his works. If one possesses such a wonderful tool as Ungar's clear, sensitive and uncomplicated prose, one has no further need of perfect instruments – Ungar would have been better off by not exchanging his complete and unassailable Moravian world for Berlin. One should note that Peterichs's essay was directed at fascist Italy and that he underlines the (supposed) Marxist tendency contained in _The Arbour_. However he was justified in seeing higher values in the novel and his argument is correct, in that it watered down the existentialist problems within the novel, which remained unsolved. Drama needs no explanations and polarising type-casting. Pieterich did not go more deeply into Ungar's posthumous volume, he was more interested in the unfortunate metathesis itself, however he did comment that the other texts, as well as _Colbert's Reise_ were all good. 138

In addition to Pieterich's essay, an autobiography of the prematurely deceased Italian painter Giorgio Carmelich written by Eugenio Montale, who discovered Italo Svevos, mentions Ungar together with Kafka. According to this, Ungar must have been reasonably well known in Trieste, the former port of the Austro-Hungarian times, where Italian intellectuals had always nurtured a special relationship to German literature. Comments on Carmelich's paintings included:

They contained hints of a macabre realist obsession: the tang of horsemeat, which was so typical for Kafka, Ungar and other Prague authors who had such a good reader-following in Trieste at that time.139

We were unable to discover whether any of Ungar's writing had ever been translated into Italian. 140

It has to be said when discussing the reception given to _Colbert's Journey,_ that Bertolt Brecht used some of the passages from the burlesque story _Bobek Marries_ when he wrote his _Schweik in the Second World War_ in 1943. The memories of the greedy Balloun repeat word for word those used by Uncle Bobek when recalling the gluttony of his youth.141 Brecht's distant attitude to Ungar did not hinder his plagiarism.

4 Forgotten

As shown by the way in which _Colbert's Journey_ was received, a number of factors contributed to Ungar's fall into obscurity soon after his death. The main reason lay in his comparatively minor fame during his lifetime, but another was the lack of a committed mentor to boost awareness, then naturally came the general literary crisis against the background of rising National Socialism. In 1932/33 Ungar's books were amongst those offered by Rowohlt in a clearance sale. After 1933 the thin threads of Ungar's fame were torn apart: Ungar belonged then to the many political unacceptable and 'non-Aryan' authors which Rowohlt had to get rid of. _The Arbour_ , which might have kept Ungar's name alive in theatre circles, was banned. There is little left to report, apart from some marginal comments by national literary critics, from the appearance of his name in a handful of literary histories and from minor inclusions in Jewish lexica.

The Austrian aristocrat Otto Forst die Battaglia mentioned Ungar and the _Arbour_ in his book _Fighting the Dragons_ , in which he discussed 'the future of German literature' and the 'crisis of German intellectualism'. He placed Ungar together with Zuckmayer, Stefan Zweig and other 'happy clappy' producers of 'ballast' into one 'chamber pot'. 142

In 1933 Richard Elsner, in his book _German Dramas_ , classified Ungar as 'one of the most destructive forces in the political field' ( _The Red General_ ) and 'on the moral scene' ( _The Arbour_ ). 143

Elizabeth Frenzel accused the author of _The Red General_ of having 'anti-German intentions' in her book _Jewish Figures on the German Stages_ which appeared mid-1933. 144

This short list could be extended by further names, but overall it can be stated that Ungar had generally fallen into such obscurity in the 1930s that even the 'Guardians of German Nationalism' could safely ignore him. If they ever did mention him, then it was in the typical way shown above.

Ungar was then naturally enough totally ignored in national literary history. He had figured rarely before 1933 in German histories of literature – if his name was mentioned, then only briefly and accompanied by numerous errors of generalisations. Typical are the literary histories written by Karl Storck, Paul Wiegler and Arthur Eloesser. 145 Post-1937 Ungar was included in the huge _German-Austrian History of Literature_ written by Eduard Castle, in which Karl Kreisler called Ungar 'a man with exceptional epic talents in a Frank Kafka manner.' 146

The most thorough review of Ungar was compiled by Guido K. Brand in his literary history _Existence and Change_ (1933). It is typical for the decades of miserable acceptance of Ungar's works that Brand's book \- with all its flawed and erroneous entries – was used by Ruediger Engerth in 1965 as the main souce of information for his biographical sketch in the anthology _In the Shadows of Hradschin_. Brand wrote that 'in Ungar's very first book _Boys and Murderers_ , Ungar formally showed his 'brilliant maturity'. He wrote a thorough assessment of the content of the novel _A Man and A Maid_ :

This is a typical story of puberty, written by thousands of others. Through the oppressive atmosphere and stolidness, one glimpses great happiness gleaming from inside the formal constraints. It is an expression of maturity, a show of brilliant creativity with few scenery-based comments, incomparable to other first-time authors.

The 'second novel', _Story of a Murder_ , demonstrates the 'same formal superiority and, more than this, the inner willingness to accept horrific fates'. The novel, _The Maimed_ , was in contrast 'not quite so lacking in ballast, but an important development of his talent, visible in the maturity of his book: _The Class_. In this schoolroom novel Ungar provided an 'in-depth psychological image of a problem', 'which became reality on more than one occasion in life'. The dramas were seen to be minor by Brand. _The Red General_ , although 'interesting from the modern-day perspective' was really epigonal in concept. _The Arbour_ was a 'difficult trial of audience's tastes as to how sexually explicit matters were to be treated':

A seventeen year old would regard it as a puberty drama. But as it was written by a man in his mid-thirties, who had attained the height of his creativity with his novel The Class, it can only be regarded as a retrograde step, benefitting only from the stylistically magnificent formulations and stage orientation. It achieved a great amount of applause, but an equal amount of rejection.

Overall he saw Ungar's work as being 'scanty', although 'showing excellent and talented form, with a content bearing witness of a terrible suffering world of emotion'. 147 The passage on Ungar contained in Brand's literary history remained for many years the last tendency-free comments on Ungar by official literary critics in Germany.

In conclusion a number of entries existed in Jewish lexica:

A factual article can be found in the 4th volume of the _Jewish Lexicon_ in the _Encyclopaediac Manual of Jewish Knowledge_ founded by Georg Herlitz and Bruno Kirschner. The volume was published in 1930 and also mentions Ungar in a more lengthy article by Arthur Sakheim on _The Jews in World Literature_. 148

The most brief mention of Ungar occurs in the 3rd edition of the _Philo-Lexikon_ dated 1936. (149)

A relatively thorough article on Ungar is contained in the 6th volume of the _Great Jewish National Biography_ by Salomon Winiger, which was published at the beginning of the 30s in Czernowitz. It contains various interesting biographic details, comments on all the main works and states, like Paul Mayer:

The works of this prematurely deceased author has a distinctly Jewish profile. His image of the world conformed to that of ancient Jewish-Christian theology, whereby heaven and hell, damnation and mercy are realities. 150

The circle has now closed. The cloak of obscurity which was placed around Ungar during the 'brown years' of National Socialism was not lifted until long after 1945. In 1954 _The Arbour_ was performed again on stage (at the Kleines Theater im Konzerthaus, Vienna), then in 1963 various texts written by Ungar started to appear (Karl Otton, Ego and Eros), followed in the 60s by scientific-literary approaches (Patkova and Klemenz). Despite the above and all other efforts, a true re-discovery of Ungar has not yet taken place (except in very limited circles). But the day will come and the omens are positive that Hermann Ungar will soon be accorded the justice of recognition which has, for so long, been stubbornly denied to him.

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