The German Classics of The Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries, Volume I | Page 9

which in its peculiar style is still largely
unappreciated because it has always been measured by its real or
supposed models, is, together with the free-rhythm lyric, the greatest
gift bestowed upon the treasure of forms of the world-literature by the
literature of Germany which has so often played the part of recipient.
On the other hand, when speaking of the development of narrative
prose, we should remember what we have already accomplished in that
line. The "Novelle" alone has attained a fixed form, as a not too
voluminous account of a remarkable occurrence. It is formally
regulated in advance by the absolute domination of a decisive
incident--as, for example, the outbreak of a concealed love in Heyse, or
the moment of farewell in Theodor Storm. All previous incidents are
required to assist in working up to this climax; all later ones are
introduced merely to allow its echo to die away. In this austerity of
concentration the German "Novelle," the one rigidly artistic form of
German prose, is related to the "Short Story" which has been so eagerly
heralded in recent times, especially by America. The "Novelle" differs,
however, from this form of literary composition, which Maupassant
cultivated with the most masterly and unrivaled success, by its
subordination to a climax; whereas the Short Story, in reality, is usually
a condensed novel, that is to say, the history of a development
concentrated in a few incidents. Our literature also possesses such short
"sketches," but the love of psychological detail in the development of
the plot nearly always results in the greater diffuseness of the novel.
The real "Novelle" is, however, at least as typical of the Germans as the
Short Story is of the Americans, and in no other form of literary
composition has Germany produced so many masters as in this--and in
the lyric. For the latter is closely related to the German "Novelle"
because it loves to invest the way to and from the culminating point
with the charm produced by a certain mood, as the half-German Bret
Harte loves to do in similar artistic studies, but the Russian Tschechow
never indulges himself in, and the Frenchman Maupassant but seldom.
On this account our best writers of "Novellen" have also been, almost
without exception, eminent lyric poets; such were Goethe, Tieck,
Eichendorff, Mörike, Keller, Heyse, Theodor Storm and C.F. Meyer;

whereas, in the case of Marie von Ebner-Eschenbach, who otherwise
would form an exception, even what appears to be a "Novelle" is in
reality a "small novel."
The novel, on the contrary, still enjoys in Germany the dangerous
privilege of formlessness. In its language it varies from the vague lyric
of romantic composition to the bureaucratic sobriety of
mechanically-compiled studies of real life. In its outline, in the rhythm
of its construction, in the division of its parts and the way in which they
are brought into relief, it has, in spite of masterly individual
performances, never attained a specific literary form, such as has long
been possessed by the English and the French novels. Likewise the
inclination, sanctioned by Goethe and the Romantic school, to
interpolate specimens of the least formed half-literary
_genres_--namely, letters and diaries--worked against the adoption of a
fixed form, notwithstanding that this expedient augmented the
great--often indeed too great--inner richness of the German novel. Thus
the German novel, as well as the so justly favorite form of letters and
diaries, is of infinitely more importance as a human or contemporary
"document" than as a direct work of art. We have, however, already
drawn attention to the fact that the never-failing efforts to clothe the
novel in a more esthetically pure form have, in our own day, happily
increased.
The traditional material of literary compositions is, however, also a
conservative power, just as are language and form. The stock of
dominating motives naturally undergoes just as many transformations
as language or metrics; but, in both cases, what already exists has a
determining influence on everything new, often going so far as to
suppress the latter entirely. Customary themes preferably claim the
interest of the reader; as, for example, in the age of religious pictures it
would have been exceedingly hard to procure an order for a purely
worldly painting. The artists themselves unconsciously glide into the
usual path, and what was intended to be a world-poem flows off into
the convenient worn channel of the love-story. But the vivifying and
deepening power of the Germanic spirit has here, more than in any
other domain, destroyed the opposing force of inertia.
The oldest poetry is confined to such subjects as are of universal
interest--one could also say of universal importance. War and the

harvest, the festivals of the gods and the destinies of the tribe, are the
subjects of song. These things retain their traditional interest