The German Classics of The Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries, Volume I | Page 4

the English, is the
great predominance of the conservative elements. Thus not only is the
literature of the constitutional mother-country democratic, but also the
literature of France, otherwise so decidedly aristocratic: a majority
dictates its laws to the distinguished individual and is inclined to
ostracize him, if too headstrong, and exile him from the "Republic of
Letters." This, for instance, is what happened to Lord Byron among the
British. On the other hand, German literature, like Germanic literatures
in general, is disposed to concede, at least at times, a dictatorial
leadership to the individual, even at the cost of tradition--as, for
example, to a Klopstock, a Goethe, or a Richard Wagner. But, in
exchange, the leader is often forced to uphold his power, no matter how
much it may have been due to his achievements, by coercive
measures--as, again for example, by means of a prætorian guard of
partisans, such as Klopstock first created for himself in the Göttinger
"Hain," but which was most effectively organized by Wagner, and such
as Victor Hugo, imitating the German model, possessed in the Young
Guard which applauded Hernani. Another method of enforcing his
mastery is the organization of a systematic reign of terror, consisting of
bitter satires, such as Schiller and Goethe (after the model of Pope)
founded in the Xenien, and the Romanticists established in many
different forms--satires much more personal and much better aimed
than was the general sort of mockery which the Romance or
Romanized imitators of Horace flung at Bavius and Mævius. In saying
all this, however, we have at the same time made it clear that the power
and influence of the individual of genius receives much more positive
expression in German literature than in those which produced men like
Corneille, Calderon, yes, even Dante and Shakespeare. German literary
history is, more than any other, occupied with the Individual.

If we now try rapidly to comprehend to what extent each one of the
already enumerated literary forces has participated in the development
of modern German literature, we must, first of all, emphasize the fact
that here the question is, intrinsically, one of construction--of a really
new creation.
German literature since 1700 is not simply the continuation of former
literature with the addition of radical innovations, as is the case with
the literature of the same period in England, but was systematically
constructed on new theories--if it may be said that nature and history
systematically "construct." A destruction, a suspension of tradition, had
taken place, such as no other civilized nation has ever experienced in a
like degree--in which connection the lately much-disputed question as
to whether the complete decay dates from the time of the Thirty Years'
War or the latter merely marks the climax of a long period of
decadence may be left to take care of itself. In any event, about the year
1700 the literature of Germany stood lower than that of any other
nation, once in possession of a great civilization and literature, has ever
stood in recent times. Everything, literally everything, had to be created
_de novo_; and it is natural that a nation which had to struggle for its
very existence, for which life itself had become a daily questioning of
fate, could at first think of renovation only through its conservative
forces. Any violent commotion in the religious or political, in the
economic or social, sphere, as well as in the esthetic, might prove fatal,
or at least appear to be so.
The strongest conservative factor of a literature is the language. Upon
its relative immutability depends, in general, the possibility of literary
compositions becoming the common possession of many
generations--depends absolutely all transmission. Especially is poetic
language wont to bear the stamp of constancy; convenient formulas,
obvious rhymes, established epithets, favorite metaphors, do not, in
periods of exhaustion, afford much choice in the matter of phraseology.
On the other hand, however, a new tenor of thought, often enough a
new tenor of feeling, is continually pressing forward to demand a
medium of expression. This battle between the established linguistic
form and the new content gives rise to charming, but at the same time
alarming, conflicts. In the seventeenth century it was felt strongly how
much the store of linguistic expression had diminished, partly on

account of a violent and careless "working of the mine," which made
prodigal use of the existing medium, as was the case in the prose of
Luther and, above all, of Johann Fischart and his contemporaries; partly
on account of a narrow confinement to a small number of ideas and
words, as in the church hymns.
This impoverishment of the language the century of the great war tried
to remedy in two opposite ways. For the majority the easiest solution
was to borrow from their richer neighbors, and