It had little that was new to offer. _Schloss Wetterstein_ is an engrossing, if extravagant, sex-tragedy in three semi-independent acts, reminiscent of the _Lulu_ plays but laid in an aristocratic environment. The Jack the Ripper of its grewsome end is an American millionaire--an artist in sadism. Had Wedekind been reading of Harry Thaw? _Franziska_ is a parody of _Faust_, a sort of feminine Faust, a phantasmagoria in which there every now and then outcrops a striking, profound, or even beautiful moment. Franziska finishes not in Faust’s heaven, but in domesticity, and one cannot clearly discover whether this is mockery or a real change of view. _Samson_, or _Shame and Jealousy_, and _Herakles_, are blank-verse plays of Hebrew or Hellenic legends, written with lessening power and intensity,--plays dramatic, poetic, passionate enough to rank with Hauptmann’s work of the same period but not “so fair, so wild, so brightly flecked” as Wedekind once had been. In the first year of the War, finally, appeared a curiously objective historical character-study in eight scenes, _Bismarck_, plainly forerunning Drinkwater’s _Lincoln_ and its successors, and utterly un-Wedekindian in style--not a word of sex, of satire, or of himself. The full tale of his work includes, besides the above, four very light satiric farces--one of them, _The World of Youth_, dated 1889, a most interesting prelude to nearly all his later ideas; two esoteric verse-dialogues, two pantomime scenarios constructed in the ’90’s, the time of his greatest power, and anticipating modern movie and ballet technique; a large number of poems, mostly erotic ballads that he sang to his own accompaniment (I was reminded of them, and him, when I first heard Bobby Edwards of Greenwich Village), and some prose tales, shorter than _Minne-haha_.