Ludwig’s next drama, The Maccabaeans, was of a radically different mold.  From prose we pass to verse, from humble middle-class life to the traditional grandeur of classical tragedy, from the narrow circle of domestic happenings to a Shakespearean canvas of broad historical associations, from contemporary Germany to those heroic struggles in which, in the second century, B.C., the Jews under the leadership of Judas Maccabaeus defended their national and religious freedom against Syrian oppression.  In this drama also, certain faults of construction are evident.  There is a lack of central unity of interest, in part due, no doubt, to the long processes of development which the play underwent before completion.  But again, there is the same masterly technique in all matters of detail, a wonderful strength and beauty of language, subtle and convincing character-portrayal and a splendid realization of that ethnic atmosphere of Jewish life and character in which the drama moves and from which its conflicts spring.

Of the two stories of Ludwig, the Heiterethei is in every way the lighter; nevertheless, it is one of the best of those famous stories from peasant life in which German literature is so rich.  More artistic than Jeremias Gotthelf and in a deeper sense truer to life than Auerbach, Ludwig has here created a popular tale of great charm and power.  The “poetic realism” of his manner and the subdued ethical didacticism of his purpose have been skillfully united in forming an excellent example of truly popular art.  The story is that of the gradual mellowing and final happy marriage of two young people who, with the best of hearts, are veritable firebrands of self-willed defiance to everything suggesting outside interference.  The nickname of the girl, “Heiterethei,” given her on account of her bright and sunny disposition, explains the title of the story.  And it must not be left unsaid that, despite the underlying seriousness of the character-development portrayed, the story as a whole is characterized by a sovereign play of humor, at times a bit grotesque and boisterous, maybe, but none the less irresistible in its quaint charm and deeper meaning.

In Between Heaven and Earth, Ludwig finally achieved his masterpiece, creating a work in which vision and workmanship are both on the highest level and thoroughly worthy of each other.  No “hero” in the traditional sense, no glamor of what is commonly regarded as “poetic,” no broad social background, no philosophic outlook, but within a narrow, and if you will, commonplace range, the author here permits us to get same of the profoundest glimpses of human life and character.  It is a story of slaters working on steep roofs and tall church spires; and as does their scaffolding, so the poet tries to move along “between heaven and earth,” his feet and eyes firmly fastened to life’s realities, his heart and soul lifted into the realm of the ideal, the eternal.  Thus interpreted, the title of the