Before dying of typhus at the age of 23, Büchner completed two plays and one short story, and bequeathed the unassembled shards of Woyzeck to posterity. His first play, Dantons Tod, is a grim and unflinching dive into the maelstrom of the Reign of Terror and follows the revolutionary Danton along the final days leading him to the guillotine.
Büchner presumes a substantial familiarity with the details of the French Revolution, which I gather his contemporaries would have all possessed, but which sent me to Wikipedia on a few occasions. Georges Danton, who once was instrumental in turning the people of Paris against Versailles, has grown weary of the ghastly flood of executions. In the eyes of the more radical Robespierre, Danton's calls for moderation are counterrevolutionary, and he moves to have Danton himself arrested and tried.
There is not much action, and the play is crowded with very long speeches and monologs, which makes me suspect it is probably better read than viewed in performance. The Büchner productions I've seen have tended to cut out much of his wordy ruminations, and one gets the feeling that the author was more of a philosopher-poet than a capable dramatist.
That said, this work is miraculous in its vision and its effect. It was written not all that long after Schiller wrote his political drama Wilhelm Tell, but a vast gulf lies between them; Schiller's drama unfolds completely within the field of its ideology, while Büchner sees everything and understands everything, and any attempt to reach for a political program in this play would be futile, except perhaps to conclude that the concentration of power is dreadful and is to be feared, or perhaps that actual peoples make mockery of ideals.
Ah, peoples. How contemporary this play reads today, how vast a gulf separates it from this sensibilities of his contemporaries. With a chill, one reads his caustic portrayal of a mob crying out "We are the people (Wir sind das Volk [!]), and our will is law, and our will is to kill!"
Büchner's deep antipathy for absolutism, whether by tyrants, mobs, or revolutionary committees, is no doubt stamped by his own experience as a pamphleteer; his political activities and convictions required him to flee across the border, while one of his comrades was arrested, tortured, and killed for challenging absolute monarchy. And the events in this play are highly specific, modeled on the actual historical events in France, but also have the kind of universality one finds in plays like Arthur Miller's The Crucible. One could imagine setting this play in Maoist China, or Russia in the 1920s, or Germany in any number of ears, 1849 perhaps, or the 1930s.
Such a gesture would be unnecessary and distracting, though, because the universality of the play's chilling message speaks for itself.
I do not know how Büchner developed his distinctive and powerful style, which to my knowledge has no antecedent. One clearly sees the stamp of his fever-dream nightmare poetry on Expressionist poets like Gottfried Benn and Georg Heym, and on later political dramatists like Bertolt Brecht and Heiner Müller. It seems to me to be a style that Büchner somehow created ex nihilo, which makes it only that much more miraculous. At the age of 23! How is this possible?
Leaving only a handful of works, Büchner is none the less assured a permanent position in the first rank of German literature, because the words he left us are so charged with poetical intensity and insight, so novel in their structure and style, and so enduring in their message.