./■ THE UMIVERSITY o if \. \ \ / o viivaiiva viNVS o THE LIBRARY OF a THE ^ n\r X > 2 1 1 -4 o| r ;^ - > > ^ 'T- -3 Q > ^ " >i J '• ■J Ai;5cl3/Mrjn 3Hi o vif-j"OJ;i'yj do o o vavg»V9 yiNvg o .. I ./ o AllS!i3AlNn 3H1 o o OF CALIFORNIA o I I ( _\l/^'*> ° dO ^iivasn 3Hi o \ o THE UNIVER- o THE UNIVER51T ^ O VMVS Aswasn 3Hi =' )F CALIFORNIA o ^^ o Acivaan 3H1 ° Hi LIBRARY OF y o vavaavi t VINVS l^ ft vavasva vinvs o AllSUaAINfl 3Hi o o OF CALIFORNIA o Jo VD JO o o SAN' Aaviten ani \ X \ < STUDIES IN German Literature BAYARD TAYLOR WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY GEORGE H. BOKER NEW YORK G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS 183 Fifth Avenue 1879 COPTEIGHT 18? 9 Bt G. p. Putnam's Sons r I • 0TATE TCAC g^NTA EAPBA 7,^J-7 INTRODirCTION. It was the known intention of Bayard Taylor to pre- pare the material wliich composes the following work for jDublication. A j)artial arrangement for that pur- pose had been made between him and the j)resent pub- lishers. Had he lived to complete his plan, doubtless the form of the matter would have been changed, by adapting it to the reader rather than the hearer, and the scope of the whole work would have been enlarged and, here and there, elaborated, so as to complete a design which was necessarily restricted by the brief limits of time prescribed to a course of lectures. However much additional interest might have been given to the work, had Taylor lived to carry out his purpose, the editors felt themselves to be unauthorized to attemjjt changes so serious, which might have left upon the volume the impress of their literary style and opinions rather than those of the actual author. Noth- ing beyond the corrections of verbal errors and of over- iv INTRODUCTION, sights lias tlierefore been attempted. The original manuscrijats of the author have been closely followed, even to the preservation of the lecture form, which, now and then, may seem to be better adapted to oral delivery, and to the sympathetic appreciation of a crowded lecture-room, than to critical examination under the dry light of the study. The object at which Taylor aimed, in preparing his course of lectures for delivery before the students of Cornell University, in which institution he held an honorary professorship, was that the lectures should serve as an introduction to the literature of Germany. He claimed nothing more for them. Completely as he may have treated of some subjects — as in the lecture devoted to the dissection and the elucidation of the underlying moral purpose of "Faust," or in that one in which he makes clear and gives relative position to the strange and abnormal genius of Ptichter — in the main his object was rather to introduce, to interest and to invite the student to a further pursuit of the subject for himself, than to provide him with accurate and thor- ough knowledge of a field so wide as that of the litera- ture of the most cultivated nation of Europe. Not one course of lectures nor many courses, not one volume nor many volumes, could have accomplished a task so mTBODUCTIOm Y vast as a full critical history of German literature, from its remote Gothic sources to its gigantic product in Goethe and his famous contemporaries. The reader will therefore take these lectures for what they profess to be, at that value which the author himself set upon them, as a guide to intending students of German literature, and not as a profound commentary, ad- dressed to those who are already well versed in the subject. However modest may have been Taylor's aim in making his lectures elementary and popular, rather than profound and exclusive, such was the native power of his intellect and the depth of his knowledge of German literature, that, whenever he touches an author critically, he rises to a style of treatment that may win the admiration of the most scholarly, and furnish food for reflection to the most thoughtful. The lectures on Goethe and that greatest of modern poems, "Faust," and on that literary curiosity, half god and half moun- tebank, Jean Paul, are filled with the light of discov- ery, and abound with the most subtle and suggestive critical analysis. The marks of the same powerful hand may be discerned throughout the other lectures. Taylor touched nothing that he did not beautify; nothing came beneath his eye that did not glow with vi introduction: an infectious liglit ; fresli truth was born of every old truth which he disclosed ; and so great was his rever- ence for intellectual superiority, that the heroes of his theme rose into demi-gods through his mere compan- ionship. The difference between a lecture and a treatise is as great as that between an oration and an essay. The former addresses itself to the mind, through the fleet- ing perceptions of the ear, and gives no time to the understanding for the revising process of thought. The style of the lecture should be simple, direct and forci- ble. It should not be so elaborate and complex, in its manner of announcing truth, as to call upon the logical powers of the hearer, lest the thread of the discourse be lost from the moment the effort at reasoning begins. An argument is out of place in a lecture. It should give us the fruits of the intellect rather than the pro- cess by which they matured. It should treat its subject dogmatically. It should pour itself, in an entire and unbroken stream, into the ear of the hearer, with a cur- rent that should bear him along, without the chance or the wish for a pause of reflection, satisfied with the present idea and eager for the next, both will and reason enchained, passive and compliant under the spell of the speaker's voice, postponing to another INTRODUCTION. vii occasion all intellectual differences and all doubts of the seeming truths whicli are uttered. These qualities will be found, as they should be found, in the lectures before us. The style is so pure and simple that no one can mistake the meaning of a sentence of the text, while it often attains to passages of unconscious eloquence, that must indeed have been striking when heightened by the noble presence, the skilful elocution and the earnest mien of the author. Keeping in mind the wide difference of treatment that should be found in subjects addressed to the ear from those addressed to the eye, we know that we do Taylor scant justice in thus literally reproducing his lectures from the original manuscripts, rather than in the more elaborated form of the essay, into which he would have cast them for publication. We deprive them of his vitalizing presence, without instilling into them the new life which he might have given them with the after-touches of his fruitful pen, and we perpetuate in them qualities which, although both proper and admi- rable in oral delivery, may awaken cavil or antagonism when reproduced in hard jirint. This dilemma was, however, unavoidable. The editors feel themselves to be simply the intermediaries between the author and the public. However much these lectures might have viii INTRODUCTION. been improved by toning them down to the strict de- corum of matter intended for publication, by excluding from them the forms in which audiences are addressed or appealed to, as well as certain familiarities and play- fulnesses of phraseology — all quite fitting in a lecture, and enjoyable by the hearers ; — yet we felt a reluctance to touch the text of Taylor with irreverent hands, or to tear to pieces even that which we meant to reconstruct, or to assume a responsibility in the act which the pub- lic might not be disposed to tolerate. Taylor was too high a character, and he filled too large a place in our literature, to be subjected, in the helplessness of death, to the wrong of having his work tampered with, even by tender hands, devoted to fulfilling a purpose of his own. The master's hand is as stiff as the pencil which he held, his blood is as dry as the colors upon his palette : let the pupils stand before his unfinished work in the stillness of reverence ; but let no one impose a tone or a tint upon the canvas, lest the world of to-day and the world of to-morrow should say that the picture is not his. G. H. B. CONTENTS. PAGE Introduction iii I. E-VRLiEST German Literature 1 II. The Minnesingers 29 III. The Medieval Epic 61 IV. The Nibelungenlied 101 V. The Literature op the Reformation 135 VL The Literature op the Seventeenth Century 167 VII. Lessing 200 VIII. Klopstock, Wieland and Herder 234 IX. Schiller 260 X, Goethe 304 XI. Goethe's " Faust " 337 XU RiCHTEB 388 I. EARLIEST GERMAN LITERATURE. Every one knows Iiotv mucli is added to our under- standinec of an author's works when we become ac- quainted with his biography. We thus discover what qualities he has inherited, what others have been deve- loped through the vicissitudes of his life, and what have been attained by labor and asj)iration. This is equally true of the literature of a race. It has its pedigree, its birth and childhood, its uncertain youth, and its vary- ing fortunes through the ages, before it reaches a ma- ture and permanent character. Although it grows in grace and variety of expression, and charms us most when it gives large and lofty utterance to the thought and feeling of our own times, we none the less need to turn back and listen to the prattle of its infancy. I therefore propose to go back to the earliest known foundation from which German Literature grew, and to trace, in outlines which I shall try to make both simple and clear, the chief phenomena of its early life. The task is not easy ; for the development of tlie literature of a people must inevitably take hold of History with one hand, and of Philology with the other, — both sciences essential to the intimate knowledge of all important 1 1 2 GERMAN LITERATURE. literary works, yet forbidden to me witliin tlie limits wliicli I have cliosen. But, even after avoiding, as far as may be possible, liistorical and philological digres- sions, I find myself embarrassed by the abundance of the ]3urely literary material ; for the annals of Ger- many not only extend much further into the j)ast than those of England, but the research of her scholars has been longer and more laboriously employed in illumi- nating the dark corners of her history. The dullest chronicler, the most mechanical rhymester who ever turned the hand-organ of doggerel, if he has left but a paragraph or couplet behind him, is labelled and placed on his pedestal in the pantheon of early Teu- tonic letters ; but, fortunately, no disguise of language, no magic of distance or the romance of circumstances, can wholly bewilder us. When we begin honestly and earnestly to study the records which have been pre- served, we soon perceive the relative value of names and achievements, and it is not difficult to separate the few original, really creative minds from the croAvd of imitators and secondary intelligences. I shall, therefore, confine myself to those names and works which belong, by undoubted right, to the literary history of Germany, — the landmarks, sometimes wide apart, which indicate change and progress, — and shall simplify my task by the omission of many names Avliich would furnish, at best, only a dry catalogue, difficult to remember, and of little value Avhen remembered. EARLIEST GEBMAN LITERATURE. 3 The aborigines of Germany had their bards, their battle-songs, and their sacrificial hymns, when they first became known to the Romans. From the little which Tacitus tells us, we are justified in inferring a more ad- vanced stage of civilization among the Germans than is now implied in the term "barbarian." The Romans, like the Greeks, looked down upon all other races with a certain degree of contempt, and generally misrepre- sented both their condition and their capacities. When the emperor Julian the Apostate declares that the songs of the people on the Rhine sounded to him like tile cries of birds of prey, his oj^inion is worth no more to us than that of any man now-a-days who thinks the German language harsh and disagreeable because his ear is not accustomed to the sound of it. About the time of Julian's short reign, a work was written, which has escaped to refute the inference which might be drawn from his statement, — or, at least, to render it very improbable. This work has only a philological relation to German literature, but the interest which it possesses in this respect is so remarkable, — it stands so entirely alone, with nothing before it, and nothing for nearly four hundred years after it, — that one must here pause, having found the starting-point of our in- vestigations. "When the Goths commenced their migration west- ward from the plains north of the Black Sea, in the fourth century after Christ, they gradually became 4- GERMAN LITERATURE. Christianized on the way. One of the first converts, by name Ulfilas, born in the year 318, became a bishop of great sanctity, who was highly honored by the em- perors of the East. He died in 388, immediately after attending the oecumenical council of Constantinople, where he defended the Arian doctrine. The Goths, I may here remark, remained Arians for three hundred years longer, and their priests read the services in their own language until the ninth century. Ulfilas trans- lated the Bible, except the Books of Kings and Chro- nicles, into Gothic; and tradition says that he was obliged to invent an alphabet, as the Goths had no written language at that time. Copies of his transla- tion were known to be in existence about the year 900 ; then they disappeared, and the work was lost to the world for more than six hundred years. The fact that Ulfilas was an Arian undoubtedly caused his translation to be regarded as heretical, and led to its suppression. Toward the close of the sixteenth century, Mercator, who has given his name to his projection of the ^lobe, discovered the four Gospels of Ulfilas in the Abbey of Werder, in Northern Germany. Tlie ancient manu- script was carried to Prague, where, at the close of the Thirty Years' War, it fell into the hands of the Swedish Count Konigsmark, who presented it to the University of Upsala. It is called the " Codex Argen- teus," or silver codex, from its being illuminated in sil- ver letters on purple parchment. In the year 1818, the EARLIEST GEBMAN LITERATURE. 5 Epistles of St. Paul, in tlie translation of Ulfilas, Mere discovered in the monastery of Bobbio, in Lombardy. Thus we have recovered nearly the whole of the New Testament in Gothic, written within twenty or thirty years of the same time when the celebrated Greek manuscripts of Mount Sinai and the Vatican are be- lieved to have been "«Titten. The value of this work requires no explanation. The German scholars seem to be entirely agreed that the language of the Goths in the fourth century, thus risen to new life after centuries of death, is very superior to the German language, to which it gave birth, in harmony and purity of tone, in grammatical construc- tion, in richness and precision of expression, and espe- cially in dignity and power. Tliey find it familiar and foreign at the same time, hinting its old relationship of blood and feeling, yet breathing of mucli that has been lost in the mixing of the races and washed away by time. If the Gothic language be the legitimate mother of the Old German, it must also be, through the Saxon, the grandmother of English, and of the Swedish and Danish. A single passage from the Gospels of Ulfilas will make this evident, even to those who are not far advanced in German studies. I take the Lord's Prayer, which, phrase by phrase, can easily be compared witli either the English or German words : Atta imsar, tliu in liiminam, veilinai namo thein ; qvimai tliiudi- nassus tlieins ; vairtbai vilja theins, sve in liimina, jah ana airtbai ; 6 GERMAN LITERATURE. Llaif unsarana tliana sinteinan gif uns himma daga ; jah aflet uns tliatei skulanssijaima svasve jah veis afletam tliaini skulamunsaiaim ; jail ni briggais uus iu fraistubnjai, ak lausei uns af thamma ubilin ; unte theiua ist thiudangardi, jah mahts, jah vulthus iu aivins. Amen. Here we see one of the lost stages of travel, whereby many of the words of our daily usage were carried from their far home iu India, through Tartary, over the Cau- casus, around the Black Sea, and so westward until they reach history. It is a curious circumstance that the two sounds of ih, in English, are derived from the Gothic. The German race must once have used these sounds, and then have lost them. But they were carried by the Visigoths to Spain, and still belong to Icelandic, after having been dropped out of Swedish and Danish. We might almost say that the Gothic of Ulfilas is the point whence the elements which have become separated in English and German began to diverge ; but there are one or two later fragments wherein they are still blended. A language so finely developed as the Gothic must have had its literature. We may assume this as cer- tain, even without evidence. Nevertheless, as in those buildings of the Middle Ages which are constructed out of the ruins of Roman and Grecian cities, we still see the ancient chisel-marks and fragments of carvings and inscriptions, so in the literature of the German lan- guage, after it took its distinct form, we constantly de- tect the earlier Gothic material. But we are unable to reconstruct the fragments. We only know that the EARLIEST GERMAN LITERATURE. 7 sixtli and seventh, centuries must have been rich iu songs and warlike ballads, which kept alive the deeds of Theodoric and Odoaker, kings of Italy, and Attila, the Hun, and the heroes of Burgundy and Flanders who still survive in the ''JSfibdungenlied." As Christianity extended its dominion, the influence of the priests was exerted to substitute sacred for secular literature. The Greek and Eoman authors, moreover, constituted an aristocracy, beside which any j)i"oductions of a language counted barbaric, must sink to the lowest j)leT^eian level. What learning there was in those days, we may easily imagine, turned up its nose at the strains of the native minstrels. The man who converted the pagan Saxons by the sword, who laid the first broad foundations of German nationality and German civilization, was the first to value these half-suppressed elements of a new literature. He is called Karl the Great in the history of his own race, but we know him better as Charlemagne. While in the interest of Christianity, he put down the old Teutonic religion with one hand and j)nshed back the Saracens with the other, he was far wiser than the Christian spirit of his day. He did not attempt to transfer the already crumbled culture of pagan Rome to the banks of the Ehine, but used it as a guide to a new, an independent German culture. His one mistake was that he confided the execution of his plans exclu- sively to the clergy, as the only educated class, instead 8 GERMAN LITERATURE. of creating a class of learned men outside the pale of the Church. Charlemagne loved the German language, and was acquainted with its songs and ballads. He caused a complete collection of the latter to be made, and had them sung or recited at his court, rightly seeing in them the basis of a new literature. We are perhaps indebted to this circumstance for the reappearance of the ancient themes in the later epics ; but the original collection is irrevocably lost. Ludwig the Pious undid, as far as it was possible, the great national work of his father. In his bigoted old age, he refused to hear the German songs which he was accustomed to recite in his youth, — and we can understand how immediately the clergy would take advantage of his j)rejudices, to suppress the growing national taste, and keep literature as well as religion in their own -hands. The long strife between Germany and Eome, which has broken out afresh in our time, secretly existed then. Although some of the early German emperors virtually selected the popes, the Church was patient, and probably then anticipated the day when, at Canossa, two hundred and fifty j^ears later, Gregory VII. would set his foot on a German emperor's neck. The treaty of Verdun, in 843, between the grandsons of Charlemagne, was a fortunate event for Germany, if it could have been perpetual, for it dissolved the politi- cal connection with Italy. But death and life were tied EARLIEST GERMAN LITERATURE. 9 together by Otto I., a liiindred years later, and tlie evil tliat followed lias not been worked out of the race to this day. We have no record of any particular edict concerning the suj^pression of the collection of ballads made by order of Charlemagne ; but the multi- plication of copies must have ceased during the reign of his son, and those already in existence could hardly survive theological j)rejudice for three hundred years, until the Hohenstaufen emperors protected a new era of literature. From the few fragments of the language which have been preserved, I shall quote a j^art of the oath of Charles the Bald, the grandson of Charlemagne, in 842, very nearly five hundred years later than the Gothic of Ulfi- las. You will notice that both the German and Scan- dinavian elements have become more marked, while the English, or rather Anglo-Saxon character, has been diminished by separation : In godes minna ind in thes claristianes folches ind unser bedherS gelialtnissi, fon thesemo dage f rammordes, so f ram so mir got gewiczi indi malid furgibit, so baldib tesan miuan bruodber soso man mit rebtu sinan bruodber seal, in tbiu tbaz er mig so sama duo, indi mit Ludberen in nobbeiniu tbing ne gegangu tbe minan willon, imo se scaden werdben. At this time there were several distinctly marked dialects, the chief of which, in Germany, were the High- German, which was again divided into Frankish and Suabian, and the Low-German, or Saxon, from Avhich 1^- 10 GERMAN LITERATURE. the Flattdeutscli of to-day is descended. The separation of both the Anglo-Saxon and the Scandinavian branches liad commenced befo]-e the time of Charlemagne, and the remains of their early literature are not generally included in that of Germany. The fragment of the poem of Beowulf, for instance, is given to our race by the German scholars, partly for j)hilological reasons, and partly because it belongs to a different Sagenkreis^ or legendary cycle. Had the heroic ballads of the sixth and seventh centuries been preserved, we might perhaps have been able to mark the exact point from which each of the two great modern languages moved in different directions ; but we can only say that the earliest literary remains, which are specially and distinctly German, date from after the separation. The earliest of these is known as the "Hildebrcmds- liecV — the Song, or Lay of Hildebrand. Only a small part of it survives, and we owe its existence to a for- tunate chance. It aj)j)ears that two monks of the monastery of Fulda, who had jDerhaps originally been soldiers, filled uj) two or three blank pages of a theo- logical manuscript by writing upon them what they remembered of a popular heroic poem. The manu- script is as old as the middle of the ninth century, and the poem was probably composed between 750 and 800, or nearly at the same time as the oldest Scandinavian Edda. The fragment is still preserved in the library at Cassel. It is written in the Low-German dialect, but EARLIEST GEnMA2{ LFFERATURE. \\ witii Higli-Germau forms of construction, and is, tliere- fore, mncli more difficult to read tlian tlie Oatli of Charles tlic Bald. Tlie story lias a remarkable resemblance to tliat of Solirab and Hustum, told by the Persian poet Firtlusi in his ^' SlioJi Kameh," and retold in admirable English verse by Matthew Arnold. Hildebrand, one of the warriors of Theodoric the Goth, has been thirty years absent with his master, among the Huns, and now returns with him to his own kingdom. Hildebrand had there left behind him a wife and a young son. This son, by name Hadubrand, now a strong warrior, comes forth with his men to meet the strangers, and chal- lenges his father to combat. Hildebrand recognizes his son, tells him his story, and offers him his golden bracelets. But Hadubrand answers that his father is dead, that sear-faring men brought the news of his death, that he believes Hildebrand to be a crafty Hun, and he will only accept the bracelets with the lance, sword against sword. Hildebrand finds it imjDossible to decline the defiance ; lances are cast, swords are drawn, and the shields of both are hacked in j^ieces. Here the fragment breaks off; but the Song of Hilde- brand, although not written, seems to have lived orally among the j)eople, and seven hundred years later it was sung again by Kaspar von der Koen. The end is that Hadubrand is overcome, but not slain, by his fa- ther, and both return together to the wife and mother. The " HildehrandsUed" is written in a rude alliterative 12 GERMAN LITERATURE. saga-measure, — that original form of verse from which our rhymed poetry is derived. This, iu its turn, is un- doubtedly the later modification of some much older form. The fact that classic poetry was read according to quantity, and the saga-measure according to accent, shows the complete independence of the early Gothic and German poetry of the influence of the Greek and the Eoman. It is imj)ossible to guess when either al- literation or rhyme originated ; both are probably as old as well-developed human language ; for children and savages always discover them and play with them. But the fact that alliteration aj^pears equally in the oldest German, Anglo-Saxon and Scandinavian, indicates that it must have been inherited by each equally from the Gothic ; and thus it is perhaps as old a form of poetry as the Homeric hexameter. The ancient rule required that the accent not only fell on the important words, but two words in the first line, and one in the second, must commence with the same letter. The effect is that of a half-rhyme at the commencement and middle of a line, instead of a whole rhyme at the end. In fact, the early Norsemen and Germans called this measure the Stahreim, and the three alliterative words LiedstlWe (song-sticlis), or bars, upon which the lines rested, very much as a melody is sur)ported by bars, in music. This is the derivation of our word stave, which we still use to designate the verse of a song. To make the ex- planation clearer, I will quote two stanzas in the saga- EARLIEST GERMAN LITERATURE. 13 measure, from Lowell's poem of " The Yojage to Yin- land " : " Weak was tlie Old World, Wearily war-fenced ; Out of its ashes, Strong as the morning', Springeth the new. Beauty of promise. Promise of Beauty, Safe in the silence Sleep thou, till comelh Light to thy lids ! " As we find tlie first written basis of the language in the Gothic Gospels of Ulfilas, so we find the first sur- viving relic of a native, autochthonous German litera- ture in the Song of Hildebrand. Let us now examine what is left of it. I will first select the passage where Hadubrand, the son, speaks to Hildebrand, the father : Hadubraht gimahalta Ililtibrantes sunu : Dat sagetun mi usere liuti : alte anti f rote, dea er hina warun, dat Hiltibrant hretti min fater ih hcittu Hadubrant. Forn her oftar giweit, floh her Otachres nid, hina miti Theotrihhe cnti sinero degano filu. Her furlaet in lante luttila sitten prut in bure, barn unwahsan, arbeolaosa. " So spake Hadubrand, Son of Hildebrand : Said unto me Some of our people, Shrewd and old. Gone hence already. That Hildebrand was my fathel called, — I am called Hadubrand. Erewhile he eastward went. Escaping from Odoaker, Thither with Theodoric And his many men of battle. Here he left in the land. Lorn and lonely. Bride in bower. Bairn ungrown, Havin": no heritage." 14 GERMAN LITERATURE. I think we cannot help feeling both the simplicity, and the natural dignity, of these lines. The language is the plainest possible ; there is not here, nor anywhere in the poem, an approach to metaphor ; the situation is so thoroughly epic, that it requires no poetical adorn- ment. After Hildebrand throws down his golden brace- lets, and Hadubrand charges him with being a tricky old Hun, the latter says : Dat sagetun mi seolidante westar ubar wentilsaeo, dat man wic fiirnam : Tot ist Hiltibrant, Heribrantes suno ! " ' This said unto me Sea-faring men, From over Midland-sea, That battle took him : Dead is Hildebrand, Son of Heribrand ! " Notice, now, how the poem continues : Hiltibraht gimahalta, Heribrantes suno : Wei a gisihu ih in dinem hrustim dat du habes heme herron goten, dat du noh bi desemo riche reccheo ni wurti." Spake then Hildebrand, Son of Heribrand : " Surely see I From thine armor, Hast at home here King that is kindly, Wast not yet in his ranks Ranged as a war-man." Then he continues, in a strain all the more tragic from its bareness : " Welaga nu, waltant got ! wewurt skihit ! ih wallota sumaro enti wintr6 sehstic, dar man mih co scerita Well - a - day now, governing God ! Woe-worth shall happen ! Summers full sixty, And winters, I wander. Ever called with the crowd EARLIEST GERMAN LITERATURE. 15 in folc sceotantero, Of shooters of spears ; so man mir at bure jenigeru Nor in mine own stronghold banun ni gifasta. Delayed, as the dead. Nu seal mih suasat Now shall the child of me chind suertu hauwan. Smite me with sword, breton mit sinu billju. Bite me with broad steel, eddo ih imo ti baniu werdan." Or I be his slayer." There is nothing more nobly simple and natural in Homer than this last passage. Without the least effort, by the commonest means, the poem here rises to the highest epic and tragic grandeur. The last lines of the fragment, where the fight commences, are not less fine: Do Isettun se cerist askini scritan, scarpen scurim, dat in dem sciltim stont. (Then let they first the ash stride forth, with a sharp storming, so that it stood in the shields.) The passages I have given amount to about one- third of what remains of the original poem. Some scholars consider that the song of Hildebrand formed part of the collection made by order of Charle- magne. This is merely conjecture ; but it is very possi- ble that the lines I have quoted may have been recited at the court of that emperor. The next work which has been preserved dates from near the middle of the ninth century. It is sometimes called the " Old- Saxon Gospel Harmony" and sometimes the "Heliand,'' an ancient form of the modern German IG GERMAN LITERATURE. word Heilancl, tlie Saviour. There seem to be some grounds for the tradition that it was written by a Saxon peasant, who was looked upon by the people as specially inspired for the purpose, during the reign of Ludwig the Pious, the son of Charlemagne. The object of the writer was undoubtedly to make the life and works of Christ, as related in the Gosj)els, known to the common people through the medium of their own language, and the alliterative poetic measure in which they had chanted to their own not yet forgotten deities. The priests, therefore, must have taken pains to substitute this Christian poem for the songs and ballads of the heroes, as a means of securing the faith of those tribes who, like the Saxons, had been converted by force. The poem is a remodelling of the Gospel narrative, rather than a translation ; in style, manner and language it has an original character, and the figures of Christ and His disciples receive a new and warm and impressive life in its lines. Yilmar even goes so far as to say: "It is by far the most excellent, complete and lofty work which the Christian poetry of all races and all times has produced. Apart from its religious sub- stance, it is one of the noblest poems ever created by the imaginative human mind, and in some passages and descriptions may be placed beside the strains of Homer. It is the only really Christian epic." Without accept- ing such an extravagant estimate, I am at least quite ready to admit that it contains a purer and more at- EARLIEST GERMAN LITERATURE. I7 tractive poetic element tlian the " Messiah " of Klop- stock, or the religious poetry of the English language. It is often noticed, by readers as well as critics, that what is called religious poetry rarely possesses any striking literary value ; and the same may be said of political poetry. There is here, I think, simply a con- fusion of terms. If we substitute the adjectives doc- trinal and partisan for "religious" and "political," the cause of the failure is evident. Literature lives and flourishes in the freest atmosphere of spiritual and political aspiration, but it begins to perish when the attempt is made to narrowly define and limit and cir- cumscribe those passions of the human soul. The old Saxon " Heliancr' only tells the story of Christ's life. Its writer knew the people he was addressing, and he chose the simplest way to reach their imagination and emotions. The Hebrew air which seems to blow from the Old Testament over the New, is not felt in his poem: the characters and situations, no less than the speech, are Saxon. We might almost fancy that Christ is the beautiful god of the Scandinavians, the white Balder, in a more perfect form. I shall quote a passage where the disciples questioned him concerning the last day, the end of the world : you will notice that it is a paraphrase of the 24th chapter of Matthew : Tho gengun imo is iungaron to, Then went His disciples Him unto, fragodon iua so stillo : And questioned Him secretly : 18 GERMAN LITERATURE. 'Hus lango seal stauden noli," quandun sie, ' tliius wtrold an wunninn, er than that giwand kume, that the lasto dag liohtes skine thurh wolkanskion ? eftho livan is eft thin wan ku- man an thenne middilgard, mankunni te adomienne dodun eudi quikun? Fro min, the godo, lis is thes firwit mikil waldandeo Krist, hvan that giwerden sculi ! " Tho im andwordl alowaldo Krist godlic fargaf, them gumun selbo. 'That habad so bidernid," quad he, ' himilrikies fader, waldand thesaro weroldes, so that witen ni mag enig maunisc barn, hvan thill marie tid giwirdid an thesaru weroldi. Ne il ok te waran ni kunnun godes engilos, thie for imo geginwarde simlun sindun. Sie it ok giseggian ni mugun te waran mid iro wordun, hvan that giwerden sculi, that he willie an thesan middil- gard, mahtig drohtin, "How long shall stand yet," quoth they, " This world so winsome. Ere then the end come. And the last day's light Shine through the closing Clouds of the firmament ? When meanest thou to come To this middle mansion, Unto mankind, To judge and doom The quick and dead? Lord mine, the loving. Deep our desire is, All-governing Christ, To know when it cometh ! " Answered them thereupon All-governing Christ, Godlike gave to them. Even themselves, the men. " So hath He hidden it," quoth he, ■'Heaven's high Father, Ruling the earth-realm, So that know it may none Of the children of men When that wonderful day Dawns on the world. Nor also verily know it God's very angels. Who present before Him Perpetually wait. Neither dare they declare it. With truth of willing word- speech. When it shall come. That He, in this middle man- sion. Living Lord, EARLIEST GERMAN LITERATURE. 19 firino fandon. Fader wet it eno, lielag fan himOe ; elcur is il bibolen allun, qixikun endi dodun, hvan il kumi werdad. Ik mag in thoh gitellien, livilic er tecan bivoran giwerdad wunderlic, er he an these werold kume an themu mareon daga. That wirdid er an the no manon skin, jac an theru sunnun so same : gisverkad siu bethiu, mit finistre werdad bifangan ; fallad Kterron, hvit hebentungal, endi hrisid erde, bivod thins brede werold. Wirdid sulikaro bokno filu : grimmid the groto seo, wirkid thie gebenes strom egison mit is udhiun erdbuandiun. than thorrot thiu thiod thurh that gethving mikil, folc thurh tliea forhta : than nis f ridu hvergin ; ac wirdid wig so maneg obar these werold alia hetili afhaben ; endi heri ledid kunni obar odar." Sin shall sentence, Knoweth it the Father only. Holy One from heaven ; Else is it darkened from all, Both the quick and the dead. Yet will I truly tell you, Signs to be seen beforehand, Wondrous to witness, Or ever He weighs the world On the famous day of doom. The moon shall make it mani- fest. Yea, and the sun the same : Clearness of them shall be clouded Deeply, and drenched in dark- ness : Fall shall the star-fires. White tongues of heaven. Earth wof ully tremble. The wide world shiver. Many shall be such marvels.: Grimly shall the great sea Koar with his waves in wrath, And the deep become a dx-ead To the Earth-dwellers. Pine then shall the people. Torn by the tribulation, Multitudes fall in their fear ; For peace shall perish, And wars so murderous. Many and mighty. Waste the world." I would especially call attention, in this passage, to the greater brevity and strength of expression, the sim- 20 GERMAN LITERATURE. pier construction of the language, as compared with modern German. Gervinus, however, very correctly re- marks that the external form of a language is no sure indication of the genius of the people who speak it : we must measure the importance of the thoughts expressed. The greatest richness, power and flexibility avail but little, if the race is intellectually impoverished, or if its intellectual growth is forcibly suppressed. While we admire this wonderful work of a Saxon j^easant — the literary brother of Csedmon, our earliest Anglo-Saxon singer, after Beowulf — we must remember that his sub- ject, alone, has saved his poem. Had he written of Theo- doric or Siegfried, he would have been frowned upon, if not silenced, by the emperor and the clergy. Indeed, the success of the " Heliand " led to the production of a rival poem, by Otfried, a Benedictine monk, who possessed the learning of the monasteries of Fulda and St. Gall, and made the classic authors his models, although he wrote in German. In the dearth of literary remains from that age, his work is interesting and valuable. It shows the accomplished scholar, as the " Heliand " shows the unlettered, but genuine poet. Otfried's poem is written in High-German, and in regular, rhymed stan- zas, so that it marks the transition from the ancient to the modern form of poetry. Bhyme already existed, and it is also nearly certain that the songs of the people were occasionally divided into verses of equal length, so that Otfried is entitled to no merit for the mere form EARLIEST GERMAN LITERATURE. 21 of his work. He manifests both skill and scholarship, but he is cold, mechanical and studied. I find that his lines, although nearer German, are more difficult to read than those of the " Heliand." I will quote the cor- responding passage, where the disciples question Christ concerning the end of the world, to show the difference between the two. Otfried's poem was finished in the year 868, about thirty years after the other. Er saz sid themo gauge in themo oliberge ; fragetun sie nan suntar — sie was es filu wuntar : " Sage uns, meistar, tlianne wio tliixi zit gigange, zeichan wio tliu queman scalt, ioli wio thiu worolt ouh zigat 1 " "Goumet," quad er, "tliero dato, ioh weset glawe, thrato, thaz iu ni daron in fara tliie managon luginara. " Yrwehsit iamarlichaz thing ubar thesan worolt ring, in hungere int in suhti in wenegeru fluhti ! " After this walk. He set Himself on Olivet ; Him closely did they question, Great marvel then possessed them. " Declare us, Master, now, When comes the time, and how. What signs shalt thou, ere coming, send. And how the world shall find its end?" "These things consider," said He; " Be prudent, wise, and ready And 'gainst the danger 'ware ye Of liars that would ensnare ye. " Great misery shall be hurled Over all the ring of the world, In plague and hunger breaking. In flying and forsaking ! " Here I omit several stanzas, where the versions do not agree, and give three more which nearly correspond in language with the " Heliand " : " Duit mano ioh thiu sunna mit finstere unwunna. ' ' The sun and moon shall frown In woe of darkness down, 22 GERMAN LITERATURE. ioh fiillent oiili thie sterron in erda filu ferron. " SihjWeinotthanne thuruh thia quist al thaz Mar in erdu ist, tliuruli thio selbum grunui al tliiz worolt kunui. " So selient se mit githuinge queman thara zi thinge fon wolkonon lierasun then selbon mennisgen sun ! " And fall sliall every star On earth, both near and far. ' ' Behold this trouble deep Shall make all earth to weep ; For these same troubles sent, All sons of men lament. " They with amaze unending. To judgment then descending Shall see, through the cloudy span. The self -same Son of Man ! " This will suffice to show the cIi£Ference in dialect and character between the two poems. It is a curious cir- cumstance that both the Saxon peasant and the monk Otfried, in their rival Gospel Harmonies, studiously avoid every reference to Jewish history or customs : they even omit the name of Jerusalem. We have no means of ascertaining the relative popularity of the two poems ; but this must have partly depended on the dia- lect in which they were written. Toward the end of the ninth century, short hymns and religious poems of a narrative character became frequent. Only four or five, which are rather doggrel than poetry, have come down to us. One more relic of the earliest German literature, and only one, remains to be mentioned. This is the ^^Lud- ivigsUed," which celebrates the victory of Ludwig III. over the Normans, at Saulcourt, in the year 881. It was written by Hucbald, a learned monk, soon after the battle, and the original manuscript, in Hucbald's own EARLIEST GERMAN LITERATURE. 23 hand, is still in existence. It was discovered at Va- lenciennes in France. There are two peculiarities about this song : it is the first secular work in German, by a clerical author ; and, secondly, it is not a Lied, or song wherein the chief interest belongs to the words, the musical accompaniment being of secondary import- ance, but a Leich, or song written especially for music, wherein the melody partly determines beforehand what words shall be used. Thus it resembles the text of an opera melody, as contrasted with the Lieder, or with the songs of Burns. In such airs as casta diva, or suoni la tromha, the words are simply a carpet thrown down, over which the music walks triumphant ; but when the true Volkslied, or song of the people, appears, the melody comes to it, and lives with it as a loving and faithful handmaid. The language of the "Hildebrandslied'' and the "Lud- wigsUed " shows the contrast between the natural poetic speech, and that which springs only from culture. The former is as simple as the speech of a child ; the char- acters are placed before us without explanation, we hear them speak and see them act, and the story is told ; but the monk Hucbald's song of victory begins Avith a description of Ludwig as a servant of God, and especially recommended to His favor. Trial and proba- tion are sent to him ; malice, falsehood, and treachery surround him. Then, when the trouble of his people from the invasion of the Normans becomes great, God 24 GERMAN LITERATURE. speaks to liim in person, commissioning him to promise help and comfort, and assuring him of victory in ad- vance. The honest okl monk does not see that Ludwig ceases to be heroic in proportion as he becomes sancti- fied : any general will lead his troops into battle when he foreknows his own success. I will quote only the description of the battle, of which we have but twenty lines, part of the manuscript being lost. This is the most spirited and picturesque portion of the poem : Tlio nam lier skild indi sper, ellianlicho reit her, wold er war erraliclion sina widarsahclion. Tho ni was iz buro lang, fand her thia Northman ; Gode lob sageda ; her sihit, thes her gereda. Ther kuning reit kuono, sang lioth frono, joh alle saman sungun : Kyrrie leison ! " Sang was gisungan, wig was bigunnan ; bliiot skein in wangon, spilodun ther Vrankon. Thar vaht thegeno gelih, nichein so so Hludgwig ; snel indi kuoni, thaz was imo gekunni. Suman thuruh skluog her, suman thuruh stah her : Then took he spear and shield. Mightily rode to xhe field ; Ready he was, and merry, To test his adversary. Little time went round Ere he the Normans found : "God be praised ! " he panted : He saw what he wanted. The king rode knightly : He sang a song lightly. And all sang together : " Kyrie eleison! " Ceased the song's delighting. Begun was the fighting : Blood in cheeks shone clearly. Fought the Franks so cheerly, Ludwig, hero-like, Struck as none could strike, With speed, and force, and spirit : Such did he inherit. One he battered dead. Another stabbed and sped. EARLIEST GERMAN LITERATURE. 25 Here the description breaks off suddenly, and tlie re- mainder of the manuscript is a thanksgiving of Ludwig and his Franks after the battle. This earliest period of German literature, commencing with the first traces of the written language, covers a space of about eight hundred years. The scholars are agreed in fixing, as the period of its termination, the accession of the Hohenstaufens to the German imperial throne, in 1138. But from the production of the "Liid- wigslied'' to this latter date, two centuries and a half intervene. It is surprising that all the records which remain to us from that long period possess scarcely any literary importance. An ap23arent desert separates the old from the mediaeval realm. Yet the whole country, during this time — especially under the reign of the Ottos — was growing in industry, in civil order, in wealth, security and intelligence. We shall find, in- deed, if we carefully study history, that there was a literature, but of an imitative, artificial character, writ- ten in Latin, and not in German. Otto I., who began to reign in 936, added Italy again to the Empire, after a separation of nearly a hundred years, and the power of the Church began to increase. He studied the classics, his son. Otto 11, , married a Grecian princess, with whom Byzantine art and architecture came to Germany, and Otto III. spoke Greek almost as well as German. Besides, Arianism had been suppressed, the last ves- tiges of the old Teutonic faith had disappeared, and the 26 OEUMAN LITERATURE. priests, released from the labor of conversion, could devote much of their time to other than theological studies. Europe was covered with stately and Avealthy monasteries, and some of them — as St. Gaul, Fulda, Corvey, and Hildesheim — became famous seats of learning. In addition to the legends of saints, and the chronicles of the Church, which were now written in great numbers, the picturesque episodes of early Ger- man history were taken up, and made the subject of Latin epics, some of which still exist, either complete or in fragments. I do not consider, however, that these works properly belong to German literature ; their in- terest is simply historical. It is reasonable to suppose, nevertheless, that the taste of the people for those earlier stores of poetry from which the " Niehelungenlied " and '^Reynard the Fox " were afterwards created, was not suppressed, although their continued production was discouraged in every way. But, during these two hundred and fifty years, the peo- ple were passing through that change of habits and relations to one another which followed their change of faith. It was a period of ferment and transition, but of a material rather than an intellectual character, until the close of the eleventh century when the Crusades commenced. The native German element of poetry lay dormant, but it was not dead. Vilmar very justly says : " Even as the strength and activity of the soul is not extinguished in sleep, so we dare not affirm this of the EARLIEST GERMAN LITERATURE. 27 German people during tlie, almost dumb and barren tenth, eleventh, and first half of the twelfth, centuries. As in dreams were preserved, as in the faltering, half- conscious speech of dreams were sung, the old heroic ballads of Siegfried and Theodoric, of Chrimhild and Hagen, of Walther and Attila." I have given no specimens of the prose literature of Germany during the eight centuries which I have briefly reviewed, for the simple reason that there is none. Nearly all chronicles or documents were written in Latin, and the German author, of course, preferred to use a language which his fellow-authors throughout Europe could read without translation. Besides, in the civilization of the races, poetry is the first form of literature, as sculpture is the first form of art. Men demand in the beginning, not ideas nor illusive copies of realities, but a shaj^e, palpable to the eye or the ear, and thus the most perfect art is the earliest born. Indeed, we might say, that the primitive poetry of Germany, wdth its rude, short, strong lines, falling like the blows of a hammer, and dinting the memory with their allite- rative words, helped to make the popular mind ductile, and softer for the reception of ideas. The literature of Greece, France, Scandinavia and England was equally built on a basis of poetry. As I said in the commencement, it is difincult to de- scribe the intellectual growth of a race during those remote ages, without the illustration of its history. 28 GERMAN LITERATURE. Yet we have the relationship of blood and character to assist us, and I rely somewhat on those intellectual instincts which have come down to us from the Goths and Saxons, to fill up some of my own omissions. To me, the lines of the "Heliand " and "Hildebrandslied " — even the Gothic words of Ulfilas — have something familiar and home-like about them. Without making any spe- cial study of the language, the meaning gradually comes of itself, like something which has been once learned and then forgotten. In the age of the Minnesingers and the courtly epics, to which we now turn, we shall find fancy and feeling and elegant versification, but nothing more artlessly simple, more vigorous or noble, than the songs of the earliest days. n. THE MINNESINGERS. In spite of Buckle and the other writers of his school, all the phenomena of human civilization cannot yet be so arranged and classified that we are able to find their inevitable causes. Wealth may follow commerce, in- dustry and order may follow peace and just government ; but the literature and the art of a people arise through a combination of influences, which we cannot always trace to their sources. But we may at least discover the cir- cumstances and conditions which encourage or depress their growth. When a period of creative activity has commenced, we can then partly account for its character. In other words, no one can explain how that mysterious quality which we call genius is planted in the spirit of man; but, after it has been so planted, and begins to select the material for its work, its operation is modi- fied according to general intellectual laws, the effect of which upon it may be studied. There are three circumstances in the history of Ger- many, which did not produce the famous company of authors in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, but which greatly favored their productiveness, and wonder- 29 30 GERMAN LITERATURE. fully helped the literary development of the entire Ger- man people. These circumstances are in chronological order — first, the Crusades ; second, the accession of the Hohenstaufens to the imperial throne ; and third, the rise of Provencal literature, the first native groAvth from any of the Romanic languages. These were contempo- rary events ; for, although the first crusaders captured Jerusalem in 1099, the Emperor Conrad III., the first Hohenstaufen, was crowned in 1138, and took part in the second crusade in 1147. After the recapture of Jerusalem by Saladin in 1187, Barbarossa led the third crusade in 1189 — the same in which Philip Augustus of France and Richard the Lion-heart were commanders. Finally, Frederick 11. , the Hohenstaufen, and the great- est German emperor since Charlemagne, undertook the fifth crusade in 1228. The Hohenstaufen line ceased with the death of Conrad II. in 1254. Now, if we turn to Provencal history, we shall find that the poetry of the Troubadours was developed from the rude popular song and ballad into that ele- gance and melodious form which made it the courtly minstrelsy of France and Italy, between the years 1090 and 1140, and that its period of achievement lasted until the year 1250, so that the golden era of Provencal literature exactly corresponded with the reign of the Hohenstaufen line. Rudel, whose romantic love for the Princess of Tripoli has inspired so many later ballads, was a contemporary of Diethmar von Aist, one of the THE MINNESINGERS. 31 first Minnesingers ; and Bertrand de Born, in wliose lines we hear the blast of the trumpet and the clash of swords, was a contemporary of Walther von der Vo- gelweide, who sang of birds and the blossoms of May. Some of the German scholars deny that the trouba- dours contributed toward the revival of poetry by the Minnesingers, for the reason that the former sang of battles and heroic deeds, while the latter sang of love and sorrow and the influence of Nature. This distinc- tion is correctly drawn : the Minnesingers were not imitators, but nevertheless they did owe their immediate popularity in Germany, and the encouragement accorded to them by the ruling princes, to the fashion which was first set by the Courts of Aix, Toulouse and Arragon. In fact, William, Count of Poitiers, was one of the earli- est troubadours, and three kings of Arragon are named in the list of minstrels. Then, as in Schiller's poem, "The Might of Song," the poet sat beside the monarch, if he did not happen to be a monarch himself. Turning to the history of the house of Hohenstaufen, we find that although six emperors of that house reigned from 1138 to 1254, a period of one hundred and sixteen years, the character and importance of the Hohenstaufen rule is due to two men, Frederick Bar- barossa, who reigned thirty-eight years, and his grand- son, Frederick IL, who reigned thirty-six years. Both of them were men of culture and refined literary taste, and Frederick IL himself wrote poems in the Arabic 32 GERMAN LITERATURE. and Provencal languages. Ev&n the boy Conraclin, tlie last of the line, who was executed bj Charles of Anjou in 1268, left two German poems behind him. Both Barbarossa and Frederick II. distinguished themselves by a bold and determined resistance to the growing power of the Popes. They were both called " heretics" by the clergy ; Frederick II. was excommunicated, his sudden death was attributed to poison, and it was the influence of Pome which exterminated his race within twenty years after his death ; yet, during the century of the Hohenstaufens, Germany was comparatively free from the nightmare of priestly rule. Barbarossa be- came the symbol of national sentiment and national unity among the j)eople : Frederick II. laid the founda- tion for that middle class, between the nobles and the peasants, which is the present strength of every nation of" Europe ; and he began unconsciously to prepare the way for Luther, three hundred years before the Reformer's birth. They were great political architects, who builded broader and stronger than they knew. From the Rhone to Mount Tabor and the Sea of Gali- lee, from the Baltic to the gardens of Sicily, their lives were battles and marches ; they sat on portable thrones, and their palaces were tents. Although Europe paid five million lives for a ninety years' occupation of Jerusalem, and a two hundred years' possession of the coast of Palestine, her real gain was worth the sacrifice. The nations drew new THE MINNESINGERS. 33 virtues and new graces of character from the Crusades. Their people came out of seclusion into a grand con- tinental society ; all minor interests were lost in the two great inspirations — war and religion ; narrow preju- dices were swept away, ignorance corrected, knowl- edge exchanged, and Christian courtesy began to take the place of barbaric manners. When, in some Phry- gian forest, or some valley of Taurus or Lebanon, the Provencal sat beside the Saxon, the Norman beside the Suabian, and the lively strains of the jongleur alter- nated with some grave old Teutonic ballad in the saga- measure, there was already that stimulus of emulation which is the first condition of literary growth. The three influences which I have mentioned were blended together in their operation on . the German people — the education of the Crusades, the courtly fashion of song, with the elegant Provencal models, and finally the intelligence and taste of the rulers, combined with their defiance of the authority of Kome. In regard to this latter point, I must add a word of explanation. I should not venture to say that the intellectual development of an individual or a race is very seriously affected by the character of his or its religious faith. Barbarossa, Frederick II., Walther von der Vogelweide, Wolfram von Eschenbach, were Catholics, as were Dante and Tasso. But I do assert, with the positiveness of profoundest belief, that no other agency in the history of man has so injuriously 2- 34 GERMAN LITERATURE. interfered with liis growtli in knowledge as tlie ec- clesiastical power of any faitli wliicli seeks to bring under its exclusive control and government all forms of intellectual growth. In this country, where we have never had, and never can have, a union of Church and State, it is difficult for us to understand the spiritual tyranny which any form of religious belief will always assume when it has the power. The Church of Eome, in the Middle Ages, was despotic, because all civilized Christendom belonged to it; but any earlier or later variety of faith would, under the same circumstances, have assumed the same character. Tolerance is always an acquired, not a natural virtue. In the development of German Literature, the religious element every now and then asserts itself, and must be mentioned. I wish, therefore, to treat it" simply as an inevitable fact, without prejudice or partisan views. For two hundred and fifty years, as we have seen, the creative spirit of literature in Germany had been sunk in a sleep like death ; but it now began to re- vive. It meets us, at the start, in a new character, and is the expression of a new spirit. The stages of transition between the " Hildehrcmdslied," the "Heliand," the rhymed couplets of Otfried and Hucbald and the smooth, elaborate stanzas of the Minnesingers, have been lost. The new race of minstrels began by bor- rowing form and melody from the troubadours ; but this was all they borrowed. They belonged to an im- THE MmNESINGERS. 35 pressible, emotional race, in wliom tlie elements of song always existed, and in wliom the joy of expressing and communicating fancy and feeling to others was always strong. Their language liad so changed in the mean- time that it is now called the Mediaeval High-German by scholars, to distinguish it from the Old High-Ger- man of Charlemagne's time. The first attempts at Ij-rical poetry, in the twelfth century, show the stiff joints of a speech which is not accustomed to trip in musical measures ; but it very soon became flexible and warm, and learned to follow the moods of its masters. The age that now commences was especially one of epic poetry, and quite as remarkable in this respect as was the age of Elizabeth for English dramatic poetry. The Minnesingers did not precede the epic poets, but were contemporaneous with them, and both of the titles may be applied with equal justice to several famous authors. I take the lighter strains first, because they spring more directly from the character of the age, and are a part of that minstrelsy which you will meet in English history, in the persons of Taillefer and Blondel and Richard of the Lion-Heart. In fact, the song of love or sorrow was as common throughout Europe as the red-cross on the left shoulder of the Crusader. These songs were remembered and sung by thousands who were unable to hear or recite the epic poems, and thus the people were taught to enjoy brief lyrics of action or feeling. The lyrical poetry of every modern language 36 GERMAN LITERATURE. grew from tliis basis, and our cliief wonder, in contrast- ing the lays of tlie troubadours Avitli those of this day, must be that the imj)roYement, so far as concerns the graces of rhythmical form, has been so slight between that time and this. We have the names and many of tlie poems of a large number of the Minnesingers — quite as many, indeed, as is necessary ; but our knowledge of the authors is gene- rally defective, and an exact chronological arrangement of them cannot be made. One of the earliest is Dietli- mar von Aist, and I quote his little song of the " Falcon," because its subject is simple and unaffected, while the language shows that rhyme is still an unaccustomed restraint. Ez stuont ein vrouwe aleine unt warte uber lieide, unt warte ilir liebes, s6 gesacli sie valken vliegen. So wol dir, valke, daz du List ! Du vliugest, swar dir lieb ist ; du erkiusest dir in dem walde einen bourn, der dir gevalle. Also lian oucli ill getan : ih erkos mir selben einen man den erwehlten miniu ougen ; daz nideut sclione vrouwen. we, wan lant si mir rain liep ? jo engerte icb ir dekeines trutes niet !" So wol dir, sumerwunne ! Daz gevogel sane ist gesunde, alse ist der linden ir loup. There stood alone a lady And waited on tlie moorland, And waited for her lover. And saw the falcon flying. " Ah, happy falcon that thou art 1 Thou fliest where thou pleasest; Thou choosest from the forest The tree which best thou lovest. And tlius have I done also : I chose a man to be mine own. In mine eyes the one elected, And envied am by fairest dames. Alas, why will they not leave my love? For none of theirs I ever han- kered." Fair art thou, joy of summer ! The song of birds is wholesome As are its leaves unto the linden. THE MI^fJ^ESINGEBS. 37 I must ]3ass over many names — Frieclricli von Hauseu, tlie brave knight wlio fell in Asia Minor, Heinrich von Veldeck, Hartmann von Aue, and other noble minstrels ■ — only pausing to quote this one verse of Heinrich von Morungen : Ez ist site der nalitegal, 'Tis the way of tlie uiglitiu- gale, swan si ir liet volendet, so ge- That when her song is finished swiget sie ; she slugs no more ; Dur daz volge ah ich der swal, But the swallow as mate I haU, diu duich liebe, nocli durch leide Who neither for love nor woe, ir singen uie verlie. ceases her strain to pour. Reimar the Old. is another who tempts me with the increasing sweetness of his lines ; but I must also pass him by to reach the fairest and most attractive name among the Minnesingers — Walther von der Vogelweide. Where or when he was born, we do not know : his youth was spent in Austria, at the court of Duke Frederick. At the close of the twelfth century we find him with Philip of Hohenstaufen, then with Otto of Wittelsbach, defying Pope Innocent III. in bold verses, when the Pope excommunicated the Emperor ; and, finally, fol- lowing Frederick II. to Palestine, scourging priests and monks with his satire, openly scoffing at the claims of the Papal power, and, as a writer of his time charges, "turning thousands from their duty to Fiome." He was ennobled by Frederick II. and presented with an estate near Wiirzburg. He was buried in the cathedral of that city, leaving a sum of money to the monastery to buy corn 38 GERMAN LITERATURE. for the birds wliicli "wore fed out of four liollow spaces cut in tlie top-slal3 of his tombstone. His will was car- ried out for several hundred years, and the tombstone, with the hollows for the Vogeliveide, still exists. In his youth, Walther von der Vogelweide was poor. He began life as a jongleur, a traveling minstrel, riding from castle to castle, and singing his songs to lords and ladies, to the accomj)animent of his violin. Even after he reached the life of courts and became the minstrel of emperors, his circumstances do not seem to have im- j^roved. Some touching verses still exist, wherein he begs Frederick II. to grant him a home which he may call his own. "Have pity," he says, "that I am left so poor, with all my rich art. If I could once warm my- self at my own hearth, how would I then sing of the birds and of flowers and of love ! " He adds that he is tired of the title of " guest" — if he can only be "host," instead of "guest," he will ask no more. It is pleasant to know that Frederick was moved by this appeal, and gave the weary old poet a home. In "Walther's songs, Ave find the nature of the born poet enforcing its own expression. The imperfect Ger- man of his day becomes fluent and musical in his verses; but the truer test of his quality is that we soon cease to think of the language, quaint and strange as it appears, and are brought face to face, and heart to heart, with the minstrel himself. More than any other poet of the Middle Ages, he seems to us modern in feeling and in THE MINNE8INGER8. 39 style. He was oue of the very first, not merely to de- scribe Nature and rural life, but to express a sweet and artless delight in her manifold aspects. After him, Chaucer, then Shakesj^eare, with a long interval between, Cowper and Wordsworth, and, among us, Longfellow, Bryant and Whittier, have chanted the beauty of the external world ; but, with all their higher graces of art, none of them can so immediately set us in the midst of May-time, blossoms and bird-songs, by a simple, child- like line, as Walther von der Yogelweide. Here is a little song of his, called "dlaiemconne^' (the Bliss of May) : Muget ir scliouwen, waz dem meien wunders ist beschert ? Selit an, pfaffen, selit an, leien, wie daz allez vert ! Groz ist sin gewalt ; ine weiz, ob er zoiiber kiinne : swar er vert mit siuer wiinne, dan is niemen alt. Would you see liow May to May-men Bringeth marvels new ; Priests, behold ! — behold it lay- men. What his might can do ! He is uncontrolled : I know not if magic is it ; When his joys the world re- visit. Then is no one old. Wol dir, meie, wie du scheidest allez ane haz ! Wie wol du die bourne kleidest uud die heide baz ! Diu hat varwe me. " Du bistkurzer, ich bin langer I" also striteuts uf dem anger bluomen uude klu. Happy May, thy spell divideth All, but not in hate ! Every tree in leafage hideth, Nor the moorlands wait. Colors fall in showers : ' I am long and thou art short," Thus in fields they strive and sport. Clover, grass and flowers. 40 GERMAN LITERATURE. Roter mund, wie clu dicli swa- cliest ! La diu lacheu sin ! Sham dicb., daz du micli an la- cliest nach. dem scliaden min, 1st daz wol getan ? Owe so verlorner stunde ! So] von minneclichem munde solcli unminne ergan 1 Rosy mouth, why thus degrade thee. Let thy laughter be ! Shame of scorn shall not evade thee, After wounding me. Doest thou kindly so ? Ah, lost hours that we are prov- ing, When from lips that seem so loving Such unlove should flow ! Altliougli this song lias tlie character of a Leich, in suggesting music, the language is nowhere bent to adapt itself to the rhythm. Form and substance melo- diously embrace each other : the stanza shows that the author has carefully studied rhythmical effect, yet his feeling fills it so evenly that the measure seems as un- studied as the song of a bird. The alliteration of the saga is also retained, but so skillfully, so delicately sub- ordinate to the expression of joy in the May-time, that we do not immediately perceive it. Here is another minne-song, remarkable for being written in the dactylic measure : W61 mich der stunde, daz Ich Happy the moment when first sie erkande, diu mir den lip und den muot hat hetwungen, sit deich die sinne so gar an sie wande, der si mich hat mit ir gllete verdrungen ! I beheld her. Conquering body and soul with her beauty ; Since when my service the more hath compelled her Still with her kindness to fet- ter my duty. THE MINNESINGERS. 41 daz icli gesclieiden von ir nilit enkan, daz hat ir sclioene uud ir gilette gemaclaet und ir roter mund, der so liep- liclieu lacliet. So that from her I can never more part. This from her goodness and grace, and thereafter Her roseate mouth, with the charm of its laughter. Ich han den muot und die sinne geweudet an die vil reinen, die lieben, die guoten : daz miiez' uns beiden wol wer- den volendet swes ich getar an ir hulde ge- muoten. swaz ich ie freuden zer werlde gewan, daz hat ir schoene und ir giiete gemachet und ir roter muut, der so liep- lichen lachet. Spirit and senses and thought I have given Unto the best and the purest and dearest ; Now must the bliss be complete, as in heaven, Since I have dared to desire to be nearest. If the world's blisses were dear to my heart, 'Twas from her goodness and grace, and thereafter Her roseate mouth, with the charm of its lauo:hter. I find in these little madrigals of Waltlier von der Vogelweide, tlie same grace and sweetness and willful play of fancy, as in those of Herrick and Carew. His sentiment for women is of the most refined and knightly character ; and it is remarkable how the fine enthusi- asm of his nature breaks out as fresh and ardent as ever, whenever he mentions love or the s^Dring-time. Before turning to his didactic and satirical strains, I must quote three more stanzas, in illustration of this delightful quality. The first is from his poem of " The Glorious Dame " — " Die IlerrUcJie Fran" 42 GERMAN LITERATUUE. Got hate ir wengel boh en fliz : er streicli so tiure varwe dar, so rciue rot, s6 reine wiz, hie roeseloht, cTort liljeuvar. Ob icb'z vor silnden tar gesa- gen, so saehe ich s'iemer gerner an dan birael oder himelwagen. Owe waz lobe ich tumber man ? mach' ich sie niir ze her, vil lihte wirt mins niundes lop mins herzen ser. God was socarpfnl of her cheeks; He spread such precious colors there, That pure and perfect, eithef speaks. Here rosy-red, there lily-fair. Not meaning sin, will I declare That I more fain on her would gaze Than on the sky or Starry Bear. Ah, foolish me, what is't I praise ? If I, too fond, exalt her so, How soon the lip's delight be- comes the bosom's woe. Now take the opening stanzas of his song — " Spring and Women," which I quote on account of its brigjit, sunny character : When the blossoms from the grass are springing, As they laughed to meet the sparkling sun. Early on some lovely morn of May, And all the small birds on the boughs are singing Best of music, finished and again begun. What other equal rapture can we pray ? It is already half of heaven. But should we guess what other might be given, So I declare, that, which in my sight, in minen ougen hat getan und Still better seems, and still would taete ouch noch, gesaehe ich seem, had I the same de- daz. light. So die bluonien uz dem grase dringent, same si lachen gegen der spile- den sunnen, in eiuem meien an dem morgen fruo, und die kleinen vogellhi wol singent in ir besten wise die sie kunnen, waz wiinne mac sich da geuozeu zuo? ez ist wol halb ein himelriche. Suln wir sprechen, waz sich deme geliche, so sage ich, waz mir dicke baz TUE MIXNE8INGEBS. 43 Swa ein edellu sclioeue f rouwe When a noble dame of purest peine beauty wol gekleidet unde avoI gebun- Well attired, with even gar- den nisbed tresses, durcb kurzewile zuo A'il liuten Unto all, in social babit, goes, gat, bovelicben bocbgemuot, uibt Finely gracious, yet subdued to eine, duty, umbe sebende ein ■wenic under Wbose impartial glance ber stunden : state expresses, alsam der sunne gegen den ster- As on stars tbe sun bis radiance nen stat : tbrows ! der meie bringe uns al sin Tbeu let May bis bliss renew wunder, us : waz ist dii so Aviinneclicbes un- 'Wbat is tbere so blissful to us der als ir vil minneclicber lip ? As ber lips of love to see ? \g\v lazen alle bluomen stan und We gaze upon tbe noble dame, kapfen an daz werde wip. and let tbe blossoms be. We possess nearly two liundred of tlie poems and songs of Waltlier von der Vogelweide. Some of tliem are brief single verses, -u-liicli clirouicle some eA-ent of liis life, or his individual relation to tlie times in wliicli lie lived ; yet, sliglit as tliey are, tliey are characterized by a roundness, a completeness, an elegance, Avhich show the master's hand. I should like to quote some stanzas of his poem " In the Promised Land," apparently Avritten in Palestine ; but my space is so brief that I prefer selecting, as more characteristic of the Hohen- staufen period, his defiance of Pope Innocent III., writ- ten after the latter had excommunicated the Emperor Otto. He commenced by comparing him to Pope Syl- 44: GERMAN LITERATURE. vester II., whose former name was Gerbert, who had the common reputation of being a magician, and was believed by the peoj)le to have been carried off by the Deyih Walther says : Der stuol ze Rome ist allererst berihtet rehte als liie vor bi eiuem zouberaere Gerbrrehte. Der gap ze valle niwet wan siJi eines leben : so wil sicli dirre unci al die kristenheit ze valle geben. Wan riiefent alle zungen bin ze bimele wafen und fragent got, wie lauge er welle slafen ? Sie ■Rdderwlirkent siniu were und velscbent siniu wort : sin kameraere stilt im sineu bimelbort, sin siiener roubet Me und niordet dort, sin birte ist z'einem wolve im worden under sinen scliafen. The cliair at Rome is now properly filled, as it was formerly by tbe magician Gerbert. He plunged into ruin only his own one soul : the present one will ruin himself and all Christendom. Why do not all tongues cry to heaven, and ask God how long He will quietly look on ? They oppose His works, and counterfeit His words : the Pope's treasurers steal from God's heavenly hoard : his judges rob here, and miirder there, and God's shepherd has become a wolf among His sheep. Here is another, even stronger, provoked by the simony, which was then prevalent in the Church, and the sale of absolutions which, three hundred years later, gave Luther such a weapon against Eome : Ir bischov' unde ir edelen pfaffen, ir sit verleitet. Seht wie inch der babest mit des tievels stricken seitet ! Saget ir uns, daz er sant Peters sliizzel liabe, s6 saget, war umbe er sine lere von den buochen schabe ? Daz man gotes gabe iht koufe oder verkoufe, daz wart uns verboten bi der toufe. THE MINNESmGERS. 45 Nil lere et'z in sin swarzez buoch, daz ime der liellemCr liat gegeben, und uz im lese et siniii ror, Ir kardenaele, ir decket iuwern kor : unser alter fruue der stet undr eiuer iibelen troufe. Ye bishops and ye noble priests, yon are misled. See liow the Pope entangles you in the Devil's net ! If yon say to me that he has the keys of St. Peter, then tell me why he banishes St. Peter's teach- ing from the Bible ? By our baptism it is forbidden to us that God's sacraments should be bought or sold ! But now let him read that in his black book, which the DevU gave him, and take his tune from Hell's pipe ! Ye cardinals, ye roof your choirs well ; but our old holy altar stands exposed to evil weather. This is strong language for the 3'ear 1200. In other poems Walther speaks of the inefficiency of a pro- fession of faith, without good works, very much as any ^^ractical Christian of our day might speak. His boklnesLS was equal to his honesty : he gives us a very distinct impression of his fine, manly, independent character, of a life unstained by the prevalent vices of his day, and of a simple, loving nature which his many years of court-life do not seem to have vitiated. When he asks Frederick II. to give him a home, it is because he feels that his services deserve re- ward ; and, indeed, the property he finally received was barely suflicient to support him in his age. The dis- tinguished Minnesingers were nearly all of noble blood ; for the nobles of Provence and Arragon had set the fashion, and it was not so easy for a plebeian minstrel to crowd his way into the company of the knightly singers. Walther von der Vooelweide did this — for he 46 GERMAN LITERATURE. was ennobled late in life — and he also, by tbe force of his native genius, made his supremacy acknowledged. Al- though we know less of him than of many of his con- tem^Doraries, we cannot study the literature of the day without finding that his character immediately detaches itself from the company around him, and shines out alone in its clearness and sweetness and strength. The number of Minnesingers is quite large, but many of them have but a slight literary importance, and I will not burden your memories with a complete cata- logue. Passing over Ulric von Singenberg, who wrote a lament for Walther von der Vogelweide, I shall pause a moment at the name of Nithart, who is interesting from the circumstance that, although he was a wealthy noble, the material of his songs was mostly drawn from pea- sant life, and have almost a coarsely realistic character, while Walther, the born peasant, is always noble and dignified in his verses. Nithart was also a crusader ; his poetic life belongs to the middle of the thirteenth century. His pictures of common life, dances, festivals, love-making, tricks and quarrels, are lively and some- times amusing, but prosaic in tone. He was a ready rhymer rather than a poet. One of Walther von der Vogelweide's imitators, who during his life acquired nearly an equal fame, is called the Marner, an old German w^ord corresponding exactly with our Mariner. His real name is unknown, although he was said to have been a nobleman. His verses have THE MmiTESmGEBS. 47 a more didactic character than those of his master, but in rhythmical form they show an ahnost equal skill. Walther was really the first who gave fluency and music to the High-German dialect, and his followers, whatever might be their amount of talent, were quick to copy the external graces of his style. Of the many poems of the Marner, I will quote one in which he mentions the themes he is accustomed to sine at court : Icli snnge ein bispel oder ein spel, ein warlaeit oder ein llige, icli snnge wol, wie Titurel die Templeise bi dem grale zllge, wie slieze ist Sirene"h don und arc des cocatrillen zorn. Icli suuge ouch draclien viurin kel, unt wie der grife vliige, wie sicli des salamander vel in heizem viure stralite und smiige unt wie sicli teilt sliimaeren lip ant wie diu vii^per wi rt ge- born. Icli sunge oucli wol, wie siniu eiger briieten kan der struz ; icli sunge oucli wol, Avie sicb der f eiiis junget uz ; ich suuge oucli wie der lit, der manigen in der wunderburc verslrtuden bat dur sinen git. I would sing a fable or a tale, A truth or lie, for good example ; How forth to seek the Holy Grail Titurel led the knights of the Temple ; How fierce the rage of crocodile, how sweet the Siren's tone. I would sing of the fiery dragon's throat, And how the griffin flietli ; And how the salamander's coat Unto the flame replyeth ; How the Chimsera's body parts, and how the snake is grown. I would also sing how on its eggs the ostrich broods ; And how the phoenix is renewed, burned up with spicy woods; And also where the hero lies asleep, Who'slew so many in the magic keep. 48 GERMAN LITERATURE. Ein Tvunder wont dem hove bi 'Mid wondrous customs, tlius, mit wunderliclien siten : the wondrous beast at court mit pfawen scliriten, Struts like a peacock, for their sport, unt mit menschen triten With human feet and height, kan ez lagen, losen, biten ; Must lie and beg and bite, ez hat mit siner zungen wafen And many a lord must wound, maneges barren muot ver- with tongue that knows to sniteu : smite : dem kan ich gesingen niht, nun For such I cannot sing — 'twould rede ist an ime gar ver- be a mock delight ! lorn. The scornful air of tlie closing words suggests to us tliat tlie poem is satirical, tlie subjects being those demanded by the taste of the courts, not those which the poet would prefer to sing. The Marner was an- other bold, indej)endent character who scourged the vices and follies of his day ; but he lived beyond the protection of the Hohenstaufens, and, after an old age of jDoverty and persecution, was basely murdered. Among the other minstrels of note were Burkhardt von Hohenfels and Ulric von Winterstetten, whose songs are noted for illustrations drawn from the knightly pastime of the chase ; the two Eeinmars, Eeinmar the Old and Eeinmar von Zweter, agreeable singers, but without original character ; Master Johannes Hadlaub, who has left behind him some very sweet pastoral and harvest songs ; the monk Wernher ; Conrad of "Wiirz- burg, and Heinrich von Meissen, who became famous under the name of Frcmenhh. In addition to these, there were many who were known by epithets, either THE MINNESINGERS. 49 assumed or bestowed upon them by the people — such as the Chancellor, the Undaunted and the School- master of Esslingen. In sifting their productions, we do not often find more than a few grains of genuine, vital poetry in a bushel of wordy chaff; but they all have a real value, from their constant references to the man- ners, morals and customs of the age. I will quote a few lines from Conrad of Wiirzburg, written about forty years after TValther von der Vogelweide, to show what progress had been made in developing the rhythmical capacity of the language : Jar lane wil diu linde Year-long will tlie linden vom winde The wind in sich velwen, Go waving, Din sicli vor dem walde While a tempest sorest ze balde The forest kan selwen ; Is braving ; Triiren uf der heide To wail the moorland through, mit leide One's sorrow man Uebet ; Is doubled ; sus hat niir diu minne Sweetly love's jjretenses die sinne My senses betriiebet. Have troubled. It is not often that Goethe, or Eiickert, or Uhland emj^loys a difficult metre with such apparent lightness and ease. But in Conrad's lines the sound is more than the sense. Toward the close of the thirteenth century, a great elaboration and refinement of form takes the place of fancy and sentiment, and from this sign we anticipate the coming decay of literature. 50 GERMAN LITERATURE. Even Ulric von Winterstetten, to Avliom we must grant some amount of native talent, took tlie pains to write verses in lines of a single syllable, such, as tliis : Wol uf, ir kint, sint vro, so muoz buoz sorgen sin ! Triiren, var hin I Sin, muot tuot geil, lieil werden scliin. It is impossible to translate this ; but an imitation will answer just as well : At night, " Boys?" In fright, " No, — Says the wife : Guess ! " " My life, " Oh, Hear, Tes ! Near, That's Noise ! " Cats ! " One more quotation from Conrad of Wiirzburg will be enough to make clear the degeneracy into which the old German minstrelsy fell. This is a stanza from his "Winter-Song": Schoene doene klungen. juugen liuten, triuten inne nilnne merte; sunder wunder baere THE MINNESINGERS. 51 swaere wilden bilden lieide, weide rerte, do vio sazen die der ger lazen spil wil hie. Instead of a translation, I shall quote a few lines from Thomas Hood's comical proposition to write blank verse in rhyme, which is very much like it: " Evening lias come, and from tlie dark park, liark, The signal of the setting sun — one gun ! And sis is sounding from the chime, prime time To go and see the Drury-Lane Dane slain — Or hear Othello's jealous doubt spout out, Or Macbeth raving at that shade-made blade. Denying to his frantic clutch much touch ! " I give these grotesque specimens, because there is a poetical moral to be drawn from them. I hardly need to point it out. A poem may have perfect form, as a woman may have perfect physical beauty; but the per- fect poem requires feeling and thought, as the perfect woman must have goodness and intelligence. Forna, alone, gives us a waxen doll, heartless and brainless. This characteristic is not peculiar to the age of the Minnesingers : there are volumes of poetry, published every year, in which we find it very clearly manifested. The minstrelsy of that age, like all popular forms of literature, presents two different aspects. "We may say, indeed, that every era of literature has three classes of writers — first, the Masters, who originate new forms of expression, and, by the power of their genius, force the race to accept them ; second, the honest secondary in- 52 GERMAN LITERATURE. telligences, who imitate and illustrate and popularize, clear-sighted to follow though incapable of leading ; and lastly, that class of vain and shallow minds who, as Tennyson says, turn the new flower into a weed, — who unconsciously parody the very spirit which they aspire to possess. Yet their grotesque affectation may deceive a portion of the public, and they may die in the full conviction of literary immortality. Among the Minne- singers, I should only admit Walther von der Vogel- weide to the rank of a master. In the second class I should place the Marner, Beinmar von Zweter, Master Hadlaub and Burkhardt von Hohenfels ; while no bet- ter representative of the extravagant burlesque of imi- tation would be desired than Ulric von Lichtenstein. He was an Austrian, of the same race from which the present Princes of Lichtenstein are descended, and ap- pears to have begun his career as a knight and minstrel about the year 1223. If Cervantes had known anything of the German Minnesingers, we might charge him with borrowing parts of his Don Quixote from Ulric von Lichtenstein's history. The latter deliberately chose his Dulcinea, and for years devoted himself to singing her praises, although she only returned him scorn and ridicule. He relates that she would not at first look at him on account of his having three lips. He thereupon went to Gratz and employed a surgeon to cut off one of them. It was probably a hare-lip, the upper one count- ing for two. Then, at a tourney in Brixen, one of his TUE MINNESINGERS. 53 fingers was wounded, and lie sent her word tliat lie liad lost it for lier sake. The lady discovered soon after- ward that the wound was healed, and she so ridiculed him that he had the finger actually cut off and sent to her in a box lined with green velvet. Afterward, he dressed himself as a woman, braided his hair with pearls, called himself "Dame Yenus," and traveled through Germany and Italy, challenging the knights to fight with him (or her), in honor of the scornful lady. He traveled in state, with banners, marshals, heralds, musicians, and a retinue of men and women, and it is gravely related that, during the years of this singular and most expensive pilgrimage, he fought no less than five hundred and seventy-eight times. Yet, when it was over, and he called upon the lady for whose sake he had dared so much, she had him thrown out of the window of her castle ! She assured him repeatedly that she not only did not love but actually hated him, and it is not probable that there was the least love on his side. She was a married lady, and he had his own wife and chil- dren ill his castle of Lichtenstein ; yet for thirty-three years he kept up the absurd farce, writing poems, sing- ing and fighting, followed by crowds of silly knights who admired his constancy and bravery, and enjoying an immense amount of popularity. The colossal affec- tation of his career seems to us little short of idiocy ; but every age has the same phenomena, and it would not be difficult to find names now, both in Europe and 54 GERMAN LITERATURE. America, wliicli have become notorious from as absurd reasons as that of Ulric von Lichtenstein in his daj. I will quote nothing from his long-winded work, called "Frauendiensf,'' "Woman's Service, because I find it a prosaic, tiresome performance, of little more value in German literature, except as a curious picture of the times, than are the novels of Sylvanus Cobb in ours. Heinrich von Meissen, or Fraiienloh, has also a more conspicuous place than he deserves. It was his good luck that he lived at the close of the period when min- strels had become scarce, and the glor}^ of the better singers threw a reflected light on his own performances. He is said to have established the first school of min- strelsy in Mainz, in the early part of the fourteenth century. When he died, women bore his body, with weeping and lamentations, to his tomb in the cathedral, and, as an old chronicler says, " poured so much wine upon the tombstone, that the whole church was flooded with it." In the schools afterward established, w^here versification was taught as we teach grammar or arith- metic, he is credited as the inventor of thirty-five meas- ures. About five hundred of his strophes have survived, — quite enough to enable us to judge of his quality as an author. He has given us his own opinion of his merits in one of his poems. Speaking of Eeinmar, Wol- fram von Eschenbach and Walther von der Vogelweide, he says : " They sang of the froth and neglected the substance, but I di]:) from the very bottom of the ves- THE MINNESINGERS. 55 sel, and the slirine of mj song should be splendidly crowned. I am the master of all those who have sung heretofore, or who sing now. I wear the yoke of pro- foundest thought, and my words and harmonies never wander from the track of the true sense." In spite of these lofty claims, the most of his poems are so obscure, artificial and involved, that they cannot now be read with any satisfaction. Yet, when he chooses to be simple and natural, singing some theme which appeals to the com- mon sentiment of man, he has still the power to give us pleasure. One of his poems, entitled " Honor Women ! " commences : O reiniu wip, uflialtunge aller woman, pure, all worlds in welde thee preserving gen Gote unt gen der muoter sin, For God and for His Mother divine, als hie mit sange ich melde. My song proclaims, from thee unsweiving, si sint der liOhsten saelden schriu : Of highest souls art thou the shrine : kein meister mac ir hohez lop vol- No master can exhaust thy lofty denken. praises. The phrase itfhaltunge aUer welde suggests to us at once the exclamation of Faust, " Tiibegriff von alien Himmcln.'' Frauenlob stands at the close, as Diethmar von Aist at the beginning of this bright period of one hundred and fifty years, during Avhich the seeds of all modern lyric poetry were planted in Provence and Germany. The most famous event in the literary history of the Middle Ages — the Stingerkrieg, or "War of the Minstrels, 5G GERMAN LITERATURE. ill tlie Wartburg Castle, near Eisenacli, — is sucli a sin- gular mixture of possible fact and evident fiction, that we shall probably never ascertain the true story. German scholars seem to be agreed that there was a meeting of Minnesingers, a tournament of song, at the Wartburg, between the years 1204 and 1208 ; but they cannot satis- factorily explain in w^hat manner the romantic legend grew, so many features of which were long accepted as undoubted history. The old chroniclers relate that the combat took place at the court of Hermann, Landgraf or Count of Thuriugia, and his wife, the Countess Sophia. There were present Wolfram von Eschenbach, Walther von der Vogelweide, Heinrich von Ofterdingen, Keinmar von Zweter, Biterolf and the Yirtuous Scribe. The penalty of failure was death by the executioner's hand, and this fate fell upon Henry of Ofterdingen, who implored the mediation of the Countess Sophia, claim- ing that he was unfairly judged, and asking time to bring his master, the minstrel Klingsor, from Hungary, to aid him. The prayer was granted : Henry went to Hun- gary, reappeared with Klingsor in a year and a day, and the latter succeeded, with the devil's assistance, in rivaling, though not overcoming. Wolfram von Eschen- bach. The result was, however, that Henry of Ofter- dingen's life was saved. The few facts are, that the Landgraf Hermann of Thu- ringia was a patron of literature ; that both Wolfram von Eschenbach and Walther von der Vosrelweide were his THE MINNESINGERS. 57 guests in the Wartburg, and that the courtly minstrels who chanted their own songs sometimes met in rivalry. But Reinmar von Zweter belongs to a later generation, the Hungarian Klingsor is certainly a fictitious charac- ter, and there is no satisfactory evidence of a Heinrich von Ofterdingen, if the Minnesinger who is simply named Heinrich be not the same. The poetic frag- ment, purporting to be the strife between Klingsor and Wolfram von Eschenbach, betrays the speech of tlie end of the thirteenth century, and some conjecture that it was written by Frauenlob. Not many years ago, the restoration of the Wartburg, which afterward became the scene of the most memora- ble year of Luther's life, was undertaken by the Grand- Duke of Saxe-Weimar, and it was found that many win- dows and arched galleries in the most beautiful Byzan- tine style, frescoes and other forms of ornament, dating from the time of the Landgraf Hermann, had been filled up, plastered over and hidden by later masonry. The ancient halls have now resumed their original char- acter, and the walls within which the minstrels sang, the raised dais for the ruling prince and his wife, and the deep mullioned windows through which they looked on the wooded mountain ranges around, stand at pres- ent as they then stood. While there, knowing that at least two renowned Minnesingers had certainly sung within that liall, I found it easy to believe the pic- turesque legend. 3* 53 GERMAN LITERATURE. Tlie story of Tannhauser belongs to tlie same neigli- borliood, and some traditions connect liim with tlie war of the minstrels, although he was contemporary with Hermann's son, Ludwig, and with the latter's wife, St. Elizabeth of Hungary. The Horselberg, a barren ridge which rises over an intervening valley, northeast of the Wartburg, is believed to be the mountain of Venus, in the interior of which Tannhiiuser found the heathen goddess and her court. In order to appreciate the legend of Tannhauser, it must be remembered that the ancient gods were not immediately forgotten after the triumph of Christianity. The common people gradually came to look upon them as evil demons, who still existed, and the one to be mosL dreaded was Dame Venus. She was supposed to live somewhere, with her Nymphs and Graces, in a wonderful siibterranean garden. The knight Tann- hiiuser, in the legend, finds the entrance to this garden, descends and lives there a year in the midst of pagan delights. He grows weary at last, comes back to the world, recognizes his sin, and wanders as a penitent pilgrim to Eome. There he confesses everything to the Pope, and begs for pardon : but the Pope, holding a staff in his hand, answers : " Sooner shall this dry stick burst into blossoms, than pardon come to a sin like thine ! " Tannhauser wanders back to Germany in de- spair ; but three days after his departure the Pope's staff bursts into blossom. A messenger is instantly THE MINNESINGEES. 59 clispatclied witli the news of the miracle and the i3ar- don. It is too late : Tannhiiuser has already gone down again to the garden of Dame Venus, and never returns. Thus the name of the real Tannhauser is surrounded by a romantic interest, at once tragic and tender, which is justified by nothing in his life or his rather common- place poems. He was an Austrian, a crusader, and died about the year 1270. "With all the magic which later poets, and last of all a modern composer, have thrown backward upon his name, I find it impossible to feel any interest in his poetry. The concluding lines of his "Minstrel's Lament" will give a sufficient idea of his style : Miu lius, daz stat gar ane dacli.Bwie icli dar zuo gebare, min stube steht gar ane tiir, daz ist mir 'wordeu swaere, Min kelre ist in gevallen, min kiiclie ist mir verbrunnen, min stadel stat gar ane bant, des bous ist mir zerrunnen ; mir ist gebacben, nocb gemaln, gebruwen ist mir selteu ; mir ist diu wat ze diinnegar, des mag ich wol entgelten : mich darf durcb geraete nieman niden, nocb bescbolten. My bouse, it stands witbout a roof, bowever I repair it ; My cbamber stands witbout a door, 'tis bard for me to bear it ; My cellar-vaults bave tumbled in, my kitcben bas been burned iip, My barn it stands witbout a lock, no bay could tbere be turned up : Tbey never grind nor bake for me, tbey brew for me but rarely. My coat is worn so very tbin I am treating it iinfairly ; None bas a rigbt to envy me, still less to scold me squarely. There is not much of the transcendental worshiper GO GERMAN LITERATURE, of tlie antique goddess in these lines ; but, fortunately, when we come to substitute History for Romance, if we find many sliadowy beauties shrink away to a basis of rather coarse fact, we are compensated by the discovery of unsuspected grace and nobility and gentle manhood. It is a bright, animated, eventful age which we find re- flected in the literature of the Minnesingers ; not trivial, for the stern premonition of coming struggle is felt ; frank, artless, and natural, but almost never coarse; original, because reaped on fresh fields, by fresh hands ; and with a direct impress of Nature, which we find for the first time in any literature. We can only express it properly by its German word Geniuth, which, in our language, includes both feeling and sentiment. A hun- dred years later, the kindred blood sent the same warmth to the heart and brain of Chaucer, and an inde- pendent English literature began to grow, not by the same stages, but by related laws of development. No one can study the two periods, without feeling liow near the natures of the races still were to each other. in. THE MEDIEVAL EPICS. I HAVE already said tliat tlie age of tlie Minnesingers was especially an age of epic poetry, and tliat many of its authors were renowned in botli qualities. It is pos- sible that the brief lyrics and songs of love and of the charms of nature, performed as important a service in popularizing literature and furthering the higher educa- tion of the whole people, as the somewhat ponderous epics of the time ; but the broad and massive character of epic poetry, the deeper elements with which it deals, give it an intrinsic dignity and authority which cannot belong to the short flights of lyric song. The latter may furnish the ornament of the temple, but the former contributes the blocks and the pillars which give it space and permanence. In examining the German epics of the Middle Ages, and tracing the sources of their material, as Avell as the tastes or fashions of thought which have had an influ- ence in determining their character, we soon discover the presence of two very clearly separated elements. One has a racy flavor of the native soil, the other be- trays the presence of foreign ingredients. One seems to have grown through the richer development of that 61 G2 GERMAN LITERATUBE. iiutochtlionous poetic genius wliich produced the "Hilde- hrandslicd," itself a descendant of older and wholly lost lays of the ancient Teutonic gods and heroes ; the other, starting from the Latin epic, " Walther of Aquitaine," in the tenth century, and revived by the German "Eneid,'' of Heinrich von Yeldeck, in the twelfth, assimilated the romantic material of Wales, Cornwall and Brittany, became quickened with a different soul and embodied itself in different forms. In short, as the simplest dis- tinction between the two, I should call the first the epic poetry of the People, and the second the epic j^oe- try of the Courts. One is represented by the "Nibdun- genlied,''^ with its continuations, and "Gvdrnn; " the other by the epics of "Tristan" "Farzivai;' "Erei;' "Iivein;' " Titii/}^er' and the shorter heroic ballads. I am obliged to omit a numerous class of works which appeared during the eleventh, tAvelfth and thirteenth centuries, many of which have been preserved, for the reason that they are only embodiments of the legends of the Church, the lives of the saints, or the exploits of Greek and Eoman heroes, in a poetical form — rhymed narratives of little literary value, although they were no doubt important agents in the education of the race. In days when there were neither newspapers, political meetings, elections, societies of Beform or cheap litera- ture, men might very well sit down to the perusal of an epic of seventy-five or one hundred thousand lines ; but when I select the five or six, which really deserve notice THE MEDIEVAL EPICS. 63 as illustrations of the narrative genius of that age, and find that they will average nearly twenty thousand lines apiece, I find my task sufficient, and must not go be- yond it. The ^^ Nibelungenlied''^ and "Gndrmi^^ must be treated separately. They floated along, under the favoring cur- rent which bore the courtly epics, almost unnoticed, and working upon the race by very slow and subtle agen- cies. Their influence on the German authors of our day has been much greater than it ajDpears to have been upon the minstrels of the Middle Ages. But the epics of Gottfried von Strasburg, "Wolfram von Eschen- bach, Hartmann von Aue and the Priest Conrad, had an immediate effect upon the language and literary tastes of the educated classes throughout Germany. They have a monumental character in the literary history of the race ; they are part of the expression of a great and wonderful period, not dark, as it has been foolishly called, but full of scattered lights, uncertain as morn- ing, restless as early spring, and, like both, bringing life unto men. Like the Elizabethan dramatists, all the famous epic poets and Minnesingers were contemporaries ; the life of Wolfram von Eschenbach, the greatest of the former, from about 1150 to about 1230, covers the epic and the best of the lyric period. The Latin narrative poetry of the tenth and eleventh centuries, and the versified religious legends, undoubtedly prepared the G4 GERMAN LITERATURE. way for tlie greater works whicli followed ; but the first fresh impulse toward the creation of genuine heroic epics was given, between 1170 and 1180, by the nearly simultaneous production of three narrative poems of great length, — the "HolandsUed" of Priest Conrad, the ''Alexanderslied " of Priest Lamprecht, and the "Eneid" of Heinrich von Yeldeck. The first of these is a transla- tion of the earlier French '' Chanson de Boland;" the sec- ond is a rhymed history of Alexander the Great, with romantic amj^lifications ; and the third is a very free translation, in the romantic manner, from Virgil. The popularity of these works may have been one cause which led the greater poets to exercise their genius in the same field, since they too commenced their literary career as Minnesingers. The subject of the ^'EolandsUed" belongs to the litera- ture of France. I need only say that Geoffrey of Mon- mouth, whose chronicles of Arthur and his Knights of the Eound Table were professedly translations of the Welsh legends, preceded the German epics by fifty or sixty years, so that their material was certainly drawn from him and from the French versions of the same legends. History gives us little knowledge of either Roland or of Arthur : we cannot be sure of much more than the simple fact that there were such per- sons ; but the marvelous legendary growths which col- lect around certain names, have an astonishing vitality : like the air-plants of Brazil, their gorgeous blossoms THE MEDIAEVAL EPICS. 65 and exquisite fragrance seem to spring from nothing. The " Clianson de RolancV is no longer read, except by scholars, but the famous paladin still lives and wields his sword Durindarte, and blows his tremendous horn at Konceval, in Ariosto's ''Orlando'''' and in the exquisite ballads of Uhland. During the Middle Ages, the different sagenkreise, or legendary circles, sometimes became curi- ously mixed, not only with each other, but with certain striking episodes of classic history. Thus the feat of Xerxes at the Hellespont was transferred to Charle- magne, who, as early as the tenth century, was believed by the people to have built a bridge across the sea in order to visit Palestine. Then Charlemagne's pilgrim- age was transferred to Arthur, who was said to have made a journey to Jerusalem at the invitation of the Sultan, — although he lived long before there were any sultans ! As the legend passed from age to age, each version took the entire stamjj and character of the day — precisely as Tennyson's Arthur and Geraint and Elaine and Guinevere are not Celts of the sixth century, but ideal English men and women of the nineteenth. I doubt, indeed, whether any literary work would be generally acceptable to the people if this were not so — that is, if the speech, customs and character of former ages were reproduced with historical accuracy. But the mirage, which the Romancers impose between far-off, insignificant circumstances and our eyes, turns the for- mer into grand, illusive forms. Arthur, for example, 66 GERMAN LITERATURE. seems to liave been the owner or feudal lord of tlic island of Avalon, on tlie coast of Brittany — tlie name Avalon signifying apple-trees. After liis death, it was said in Cornwall that he had gone to Avalon, and the word gradually came to signify some Armoric Elysium, whence he would return in time and drive the Saxons from Britain. In Tennyson's verse, the mysterious trans- formation becomes complete, and we read of Arthur carried away to " The island-valley of Avilion Where falls not hail, or rain, or any snow, Nor ever wind blows loudly ; but it lies Deep-meadowed, happy, fair with orchard lawns And bowery hollows crowned with summer sea." So the Arthurian legends become larger, broader, and transformed in many important features, in passing into German epic song. Their personages are advanced from the sixth century to the twelfth, and their love, sorrow, jealousy and revenge express themselves ac- cording to the fashion of the later time. But, as in the old Flemish paintings, we can study the costume of the artist's time and home as well in a Holy Family as in a tavern scene, so here the foreign theme is only an il- lustration of the tastes, opinions and habits of the age. The wonderful age of epic jDoetry in Germany, un- der the Hohenstaufen Emperors, lasted about as long as the age of English drama, under Elizabeth and James I.— about fifty years. It is difficult to describe several epics satisfactorily, in a single lecture ; but I THE MEDIAEVAL EPICS. 67 may perhaps be able to enlist your interest by showing how the same material which we find in them has taken possession of modern Literature and Art. They were all inspired by the half-historic, half-romantic legends wdiich already existed. The chief of these were the following : — first — the oldest Scandinayian Eddas, with the story of Sigurd and Brynhilda : second — a lost group of Gothic and Burgundian legends, one of which we find in the Lay of Hildebrand : third — the Celtic group of King Arthur and the Knights of the Eound Table : fourth — the search for the Holy Grail ; and lastly, a great number of subordinate legends, partly growing out of these, partly borrowed from the Orient during the Crusades, and partly original. Now, it is very singular to notice how all this material has been worked over, with little change except that of detail, in the literature of our day. I need only recall to your memory Bulwer's epic of " King Arthur ; " Longfellow's "Golden Legend;" Tennyson's "Idylls of the King;" Matthew Arnold's "Tristram and Iseult ;" Swinburne's poem of "Tristram and Iseult;" Morris's "Lovers of Gudrun," and "Sigurd the Volsung;" the German, Jordan's " Nihelungenlied,'' and finally, Wagner's operas of "Lohengrin'" and the "Nibelungen Trilogy,'' j)erformed at Bayreuth. It will certainly help us to estimate the true value of these works, by knowing the sources from which they sprang. Moreover, by taking par- allel passages from the poems of the German and the 68 GERMAN LITEBATURE. modem authors, we have the best possible illustratiou of the changes in modes of poetic expression which have taken place in the lapse of six hundred and fifty years. I shall adhere to the plan, which I stated in begin- ning these lectures, of noticing only those works which give a distinct, characteristic stamp to each literary pe- riod. Therefore, in treating of the German epics of the twelfth century, I shall select the three greatest repre- sentatives, and say nothing of the crowd of inferior singers who imitated them. It is remarkable that we know so little of the lives of these three principal epic poets. We can only conjec- ture, from some collateral evidence, the probable time when they were born and died. Gottfried von Stras- burg seems to have first died, and Wolfram von Eschen- bacli to have outlived Hartmann von Aue. I shall com- mence with the last, as certainly the least endowed. It is unknown wdiether he was of Swiss or of Suabian birth; it is only known that he was noble. He was one of the crusaders under Barbarossa, devoted himself to poetry after his return, and died somewhere between 1210 and 1220. He seems to have enjoyed a great deal of popularity, and Gottfried of Strasburg, in his "Tristan," ranks him high above Wolfi'am von Eschenbach, jDroba- bly because the latter was a more dangerous rival. Hartmann von Aue wrote four epics — "Erek," " Gre- goriiis vom Steine'" (Gregory of the Rock), "Der arme Heinrich " (Poor Henry), and "Iwehu'' Three of these THE MEDIAEVAL EPICS. 69 were based on foreign originals, from wliicli tliey differ only in a few details and in manner of treatment. One, the " Poor Henry," apjDears to have been derived from a tradition in the poet's own family, or, at least, in his native province. For the subject of his "Erek," I refer you to Tennyson's poem of "Enid," in his " Idylls of the King." In Hartmann's epic Enid is also the wife, but the husband is named Erek instead of Geraint. The story is almost exactly the same, except that Tennyson reconciles Geraint with his wife imme- diately after the slaughter of Earl Doorm in his castle, while Hartmann first adds another adventure. He brings Erek to the castle of Brandigan (Burgundy?), whose lord has overcome eighty knights in combat, and holds their eighty ladies imprisoned. Erek slays the lord of Brandigan, liberates the ladies, and then goes with Enid to Arthur's Court. It may interest you to compare corresponding passages from the German cru- sader and the modern English poet : Nu kam ez also nacli ir site, Now happened it as was their wout, daz er iimb eincn mitten tac That he, about tlie warm noon- tide an ir arme gelac. Was sleeping by her side. Nu gezam des wol der sunnen The siin therein so fairly beamed schin, daz er dienest muoste sin, That he their servant seemed, wand er den gelieben zwein When he th(> wedded pair durch ein vensterglas schein So through the window there unt het die kemenaten Did light, that in the room, liehtes wol beraten, There nothing was of gloom. 70 GERMAN LITERATURE. daz si sich molitcn undersehen. Daz ir von fluochen was gesclie- hen, dii beguncle se denkeu an : vil galies rulite si hin dan ; si wande, daz er sliefe. Einen siuften nam si tiefe unde sacTi in vaste an ; si spracli : "We dir, vil armer man, unt mir ellendem wibe, daz icli bi minem libe so mauegen fiuoch veruemen sol ! " Do vernam Erec die rede vrol. Als si der rede bet gedaget, Erec spracb : " Frowe Enite, saget, waz sint iwer sorgen, die ir da klaget verborgen ? " Nu wolde sis gelougent ban ; Erec spracb : " Lat die rede stan ; des nemet in ein zil, daz icb die rede wizzen wil. Ir mliezet mir benamen sagen, waz icb iucb da borte klagen, daz ir vor mir sus babt verswi- gen." Si vorbte, daz si wurde gezigen von ini ander dinge unt seite imz mit gedinge ; daz er ir daz gebieze, dqz erz ane zorn lieze. And tbey eacb otbcr well could see. Tben fell to tbinking sbe, Tbat be, tbrougb ber, was exe- crate ; Tbence was ber trouble swift and great ; Sbe tbougbt be was asleep ; Now sigbetb sbe full deep. And looketb on bim steadily. Sbe said : "Poor man, alas for tbee And me, tby miserable wife, Tbat ever in my life So many curses sbould receive ! " All tbis did Erek well perceive : Wben sbe tbat speecb bad fin- isbed. Tell me, Dame Enid," Erek said, Wbat tben may be your pain, Tbat you so secretly complain ? " Now wben deny would sbe, Said Erek : " Let your talking be; And be your duty so. As I your words desire to know. Verily you must say again Wbat now I beard you sore com- plain, Wbat you from me bave tbus concealed." Sbe feared lest tbere migbt be revealed To bim, quite otber tbing. And spoke, be promising To bear witbouten wi'atb, Wbat now sbe spoken batb. THE MEDIAEVAL EPICS. 71 Als er vernam die maere, "waz dill rede waere, er spracli : " Der rede ist gnuoc getan ! " Zeliaut liiez er si uf stan, daz si sich "wol kleite unte au leite daz beste gewalte, daz si lender haete. Sinen knaben er seite, daz man im sin ros bereite und ir pliiirt der frowen Eniten ; er spracli, er wolde riteu uz kurzwilen : des begunden si do ilen. "V\Tieu lie the story beard Wbat was her spoken word, Enough of sjieech !" then said he. He bade her rise, get ready, And dress herself with care In garments fair. Donning the best array That in her presses lay. The page he bade with speed Prepare his own strong steed, Dame Enid's palfrey there be- side ; He said that he would ride For pastime far away : So forward hastened they. Tennyson's " Enid " : " At last it chanced that on a summer mora (They sleeping each by other) the new sun Beat thro' the blindless casement of the room, And heated the strong warrior in his dreams : Who, moving, cast the coverlet aside. And bared the knotted column of his threat. The massive square of his heroic breast. And arms on which the standing muscle sloped. As slopes a wild brook o'er a little stone. Running too vehemently to break upon it. And Enid woke and sat beside the couch. Admiring him, and thought within herself, Was ever man so grandly made as he ? Then, like a shadow, past the people's talk And accusation of uxoriousness Across her mind, and bowing over him. Low to her own heart, piteously she said : " '0 noble breast, and all-puissant arms. Am I the cause, I the poor cause that men Reproach you, saying all your force is gone? 72 GERMAN LITERATURE. I am the cause, because I dare not speak And tell him what I think and what they say. And yet I hate that he should linger here ; I cannot love my ord and not his name. Far liever had I gird his harness on him, And ride with him to battle and stand by. And watch his mightful hand striking great blows At caitiffs and at wrongers of the world. Far better were I laid in the dark earth. Not hearing any more his noble voice, Not to be folded more in these dear arms, And darkened from the high light in his eyes. Than that my lord thro' me should suffer shame. Am I so bold, and could I so stand by, • And see my dear lord wounded in the strife. Or may be pierced to death before mine eyes. And yet not dare to tell him what I think, And how men slur him, saying all his force Is melted into mere effeminacy ? me, I fear that I am no true wife. ' "Half inwardly, half audibly she spoke. And the strong passion in her made her weep True tears upon his broad and naked breast. And these awoke him, and by great mischance He heard but fragments of her later words. And that she feared she was not a true wife. And then he thought, ' In spite of all my care. For all my pains, poor man, for all my pains. She is not faithful to me, and I see her Weeping for some gay knight in Arthur's hall.' Then tho' he loved and reverenced her too much To dream she could be guilty of foul act. Right thro' his manful breast darted the pang That makes a man, in the sweet face of her , Whom he loves most, lonely and miserable. At this he liurl'd his huge limbs out of bed, And shook his drowsy squire awake and cried, ' My charger and her palfrey,' then to her, ' I will ride forth into the wilderness ; THE MEDn^VAL EPICS. 73 For tho' it seems my si^urs are yet to win, I have not fall'n so low as some would wish. And you, put on your worst and meanest dress And ride with me.' And Enid ask'd, amaz'd, ' If Enid errs, let Enid learn her fault.' But he, ' I charge you, ask not, but obey,' " Tliese passages illustrate not only tlie common source from wliicli both poets derived their material, but also the different manner of treatment between a poet of the twelfth century and one of the nineteenth. Tennyson has endeavored to imitate the old epic simplicity — • rather the Greek, it is true, than the German or Anglo- Saxon — but he cannot escape the atmosphere of our day. As compared with Hartmann von Aiie, he has less of simj)le, direct, natural narration, and much more both of description and of subjective st jdy of character. I will pass over " Gregory of the Piock," founded on an obscure legend concerning Pope Gregory YII., which will not well bear repeating, and come to the ^^ Anne Heinrich.'^ Here, again, the material has been used by a living poet, and you all are — or ought to be — familiar with it. The author is Longfellow, and the poem is the "Golden Legend." Listead of Heinrich von Aue, Long- fellow calls the hero Prince Henry of Hoheneck, and gives him "Walther von der Vogelweide as a friend. He takes only the thread of the story from Hartmann — the incurable disease, the self-sacrifice of the maiden, the journey to Salerno, and the happy termination of the story in her marriage with the prince, and has so en- 4 74 GEUMAK LITERATURE. riched and adorned it with the fairest suggestions of his own genius that it becomes a new creation. Certainly no more exquisitely finished and harmonious poetical work has been written in this country than the " Golden Legend." Hartmann's last epic, "Jit'em," is taken from the tradi- tions of King Arthur and the Kovind Table. The name Iwe'in is the Welsh Evan, the Eussian Ivan, the English John. The poem, except toward its close, is a repeti- tion of the adventures of the Knight Iwein, as related in the Welsh Mabinogion. This, no less than his other epics, bears the stamp of elegant mediocrit}-. His verse is carefully constructed, the separate episodes are often well narrated, but the characters are not consistent nor properly sustained, and the poem becomes wearisome to one accustomed to better models. Nevertheless, among the German critics there are very different verdicts pronounced upon Hartmann von Aue. Some consider him an undoubted master, com- bining sentiment, power and purity of style : others condemn him for a total lack of high poetic instinct. Grimm, curiously enough, has expressed himself on both sides of the question in different works. If we avoid either extreme, yet place him decidedly below both Gottfried and Wolfram, I think we shall come nearer fixing his true place. But his importance in his age cannot be fairly estimated by our modern literary stand- ards. The very smoothness and polish, which become THE MEDIEVAL EPICS. 75 SO wearisome to us wlien they are not penetrated with the presence of a strong informing spirit, may have been an agency of culture, as well as a charm, to his contem- poraries. Of Gottfried von Strasburg, we only know that he was probably a native of the city for which he is named ; that he was not of noble family, but well edu- cated, and apparently in good circumstances, and that he must have died, still comparatively young, before 1210. One of the old manuscripts has a portrait which represents him as a young man with long, curling locks, but its authenticity cannot be relied upon. He was perhaps a personal friend of Hartmann von Aue : it is not known that he ever met Wolfram von Eschenbach. Gottfried also drew the subject of his one epic, *' Tris- tan,'' from English and French sources. It had even been used before him by a German poet, Eilhart von Oberg, who, some thirty years before him, wrote a poem called "Tristan'' in the Low-German language. Like the "Erek" and "Arme Heinrich" of Hartmann, you will find the substance of the story in poems by two living authors — in Tennyson's Llyll of " The Last Tournament," and in the " Tristram and Iseult " of Matthew Arnold. The plot, in its general outline, has a resemblance to the story of Lancelot and Guinevere, but it is more tragic, because the element of magic is introduced, and the final sorrow is thus not the consequence of voluntary sin. It is, in fact, one of the most touching and beautiful of all those 76 GERMAN LITERATURE. purely romantic legends whicli were so popular over all Europe during the Middle Ages. None of tlie charac- ters are historical : it seems to have had no original connection with the Arthurian stories, although it was afterward attached to them, and its invention is ascribed to some Celtic minstrel of Brittany. The outline of the story is so simple that it may be told in a few words. Mark, the king of Cornwall, who resided at the castle of Tintagil, so famous as the resi- dence of Uther, the father of Arthur, had a nephew, Tristan or Tristram, who was the most gallant and ac- complished knight of his court. The king of Ireland, having promised the hand of his daughter Iseult, Is(")t, or Isolde, as the name is differently written, to King Mark, Tristan was sent to bring the bride to Cornwall. On leaving Ireland, Iseult's mother gave her daughter's attendant lady, Brangaene by name, a love-potion to be secretly administered to her and her royal bridegroom on the day of their nuptials, in order to secure their wedded bliss. But the magic elixir was administered, by mistake, to Tristan and Iseult, during the voyage from Ireland to Cornwall. This fixed the destiny of both during the remainder of their lives. The spell compelled them to love each other, though separated by holy vows. The truth was soon discovered at the Court of Cornwall, and Tristan, to avoid his uncle's wrath, went to Brittany, where he met another Iseult — she is sometimes called Iseult of Brittany and some- THE MEDIAEVAL EPICS. 77 times Iseult of the White Hands — whom he married, more out of gratitude than love. But the infection oi the magic potion was still in his blood : he wandered forth, tormented by his passion, and became the hero of many daring exploits which made his name famous in Britain. At last, sick, worn, and wounded nigh unto death he returned to Iseult of the White Hands, who is represented as a sweet, forbearing and forgiving woman. Her nursing was of no avail ; and a messenger was sent to bring Queen Iseult of Cornwall, who alone could heal him. She fled from King Mark's Court, crossed to Brit- tany in a wild storm, and reached Tristan's castle just in time to see him die. Her heart broke, and she sank dead beside his corj^se. Another version, which I pre- fer not to believe — in fact, refuse to believe — states that the vessel which was to bring Iseult of Cornwall was to hoist Avhite sails on returning, if she was on board ; but black sails, if it came without her. Iseult of Brittany bribed the captain to hoist black sails, in either case. When the ship was seen afar, and the color of the sails was reported to Tristan, he died in disappointment and despair : Iseult of Cornwall found only his dead body. King Mark, who had learned the story of the magic potion, had them buried side by side. He planted over Iseult a rose, and over Tristan a grape-vine, which twined themselves around each other as they grew, and could not be separated. It is curious how this last particular has lived to this day in the Ballad of Lord 78 OEBMAN LITERATURE. Lovel, wliicli is still sung T)y the country people of Eng- land : " And out of licr breast there grew a red rose, And out of his breast a brier." This is, of course, only the slightest framework of the story. Gottfried is a more daring and original poet than Hartmami ; in the scenes and ej^isodes, from first to last, he allows his invention full play, and so enriches and extends the material that, although his poem con- tains thirty books and twenty thousand lines, it was ter- minated by his death when only two-thirds had been written. Both the choice of the subject and the man- ner of treatment give evidence of true literary feeling and skill, but not of that grand, independent disregard of former models or prevalent fashions which marks the pathfinder. He took the forms which he found, with all their monotony, their interminable difiuseness and tolerance of digressions. They became purer and stronger in his hands ; the great mass constantly moves with life, but it still lacks that harmony and mu- tual dependence of parts, that organic unity, which every great literary work must possess. There are many passages which may be read with delight, but the perusal of the whole work becomes a rather serious task. " Tristan''^ commences with an Eingang, or Introduction, in which the author explains his reasons for writing the poem, and the service which he thereby hopes to ren- THE MEDIEVAL EPICS. 79 der to tlie noble and loving among men. In the very first stanza we recognize liis characteristic style : Gedaelite man ir ze guote nilit. If we the good should never heed, von den der werlde gnot ge- That haps on earth, as is de- schiht, creed, so waere ez allez alse niht, Then were it nothing worth, in- deed, swaz guotes in der werlt ge- That any good should be de- schiht. creed. Another stanza, quite as terse and sound, is : Tiur' unde wert ist mir der man. Dear and worthy is the man derguot and iibel betrahten kan. Who good and evil study can : der mich uud iegelichen man Who me and every other man nach sinem werde erkennen At his true value measure can. kan. The first book describes the loves of Prince Reivalin, the father of Tristan, and Blanchefloeur, his mother, the sister of King Mark. Their meeting in the spring- time reminds us of the similar scene in the story of Lancelot and Guinevere. There is such a charming brightness and freshness in the lines, that I must quote the passage : diu senfte slieze sumerzit The soft and tender summer air diu haete ir siieze numllezekeit Disturbed the summer idlesse there, mit sliezem flize an si geleit. And woke sweet industry, and fair, diu kleinen waltvogclin. The little wood-birds singing clear, diu des oren frijude solen sin. It should be such a joy to hear. 80 GERMAN LITERATURE. bluomen, gras, loup iindc bluot unci swaz dein ougen sanfte tuot und edele lierze erfrtiuwen sol, des was dlu sumerouwe vol : mau vant da, swaz man wolte, daz der miie bringen solte : den scliate bi der sunnen, die linden bi dem brunnen, die senflen linden winde, die Markes ingesinde sin wesen engegene maclieten. die liebten bluomen lacheten uz dem betouwt'tem grase. des meien friunt, der grliene wase, der liaete uz bluomen ane geleit so wunneclicliin sumerkleit, daz si den lieben gesten in ir ougen widerglesten. dill siieze boumbluot sacli den man so rehte suoze lacbende an, daz sicli daz lierze und al der miiot wider an die lacbende bluot mit spilnden ougen machete und ir allez wider lachete. daz senfte vogelgedoene, das siieze, daz sehoone, daz oren unde muote vil dicke kumet ze guote. Blossoms, grass, and leaves on trees. And what tlie eye may gently please. And joy to noble hearts may yield. Of that was the summer-mea- dow filled. All one wished was gathered then Of what the May-time brings to men : Shade, when the sun would sting ; Lindens beside the spring ; And soft, sweet winds that sent Where Mark's retainers went, A fresh delight to meet them : And the bright buds laughed to greet them, In the dewy grass that day ; And the green turf, the friend of May, ^yove from its own loveliness So delightful a summer dress That in the guests' glad eyes 'Twas mirrored in fairer wise. The bloom of trees looked down on men So openly, sweetly smiling then, That heart and mind and senses lent The dancing blood their light content, And forever made reply In the light of the merry eye. All notes the birds repeat, — So beautiful, so sweet, — That unto heart and ear So goodly 'tis to hear. THE MEBI^m^AL EPICS. 81 daz fulte da berc unde tal. Rang there from hill and dale, dill si'ielige nahtegal, And the blissful nightingale — daz liebe slieze vogelin. The dear, sweet birdliug she daz iemer slieze niiieze sin, That ever sweet shall be, daz kallete uz der bliiete From out the blossoms trolled mit solher iibermiiete, So clear and over-bold, daz da mane edele herze van That many a noble heart that heard, f rciud' unde hohen muot gewan. Took joy and hops from the happy bird. I have not space to describe the wealth of pictur- esque incidents with which Gottfried has amplified the story. Tristan is brought up as the son of Rual in Brittany, is carried ofi" by the Norwegians, shipwrecked on the coast of Cornwall, and becomes, as a boy, hunter and minstrel at the Court of King Mark. Eual wanders over the world to find him, comes finally to Tintngil and discloses his relationship to the king, after which there are many adventures before Iseult enters upon the scene. The last book describes Tristan's wooing of Iseult with the "White Hands in Brittany. He sings at the Court of the old Duke Jovelin, her father, a pas- sionate song with the refrain, in the French of that day : A \ " Isot, ma drue, Isot m'amie, en vus ma mort, en vus ma vie ! " thinking in his heart only of Iseult of Ireland, while the ladies and knights imagine that he is celebrating her of the White Hands. Among other quaint and curious episodes, the twenty- fifth book is taken up with the account of a little dog 4* 82 GERMAN LITERATURE. named Petitcriu, which a fairy in Avalon had presented to Gilan, the Duke of Wales. The hair of the dog shimmered in all bright colors, and around its neck there was a bell, the sound of which banished all sor- row from the heart of him who heard it. Tristan wins Petitcriu from Duke Gilan, and sends him to Iseult, whose sorrow for her absent lover is instantly soothed when she hears the bell ; but, remembering that Tristan is wandering alone and unconsoled, she takes the bell from the dog's neck and throws it into the sea. I find no better specimen of Gottfried's narrative style than the passage where Tristan and Iseult accidentally drink the love-potion : Nu man gelante in eine habe : nu gie daz vole almeiste abe durch banekie iiz an daz lant ; nu gienc oucb Tristant ze liant begriiezen unde bescbouwen die liehten sine vrouwen. Und als er zuozir nider gesaz, unt redeten diz unde daz von ir beider dingen, er bat ini trinken bringen. Nune was da niemen inne an die kiineginne, wan kleiniu juncfrciuwelin ; der einez spracb : ' ' Sebt, bie stat win Now tbey a barbor came unto, Wbere nearly all tbe vessel's crew Went fortb to land, on pastime bent ; And Tristan, also, straigbtway went To greet, with bliss o'erladen, Tbe brightness of tbe maiden. And as he thus beside her sat, And they had si^oken of this and that, Of things concerning both. Said he : " To drink I were not loath." Now was there no one there. Beside the Princess fair, But one small waiting-maid : " The wine is here," she said. THE MEDIAEVAL EPICS. 83 in disem vilzzeline." Nein ! ezii was niht mit wine, doch ez im geliche waere, ez was diu waernde swaere, dill endelose herzenot, von der si beide lagen tot. Nu was ab ir daz unrekant : si stuout uf unt gie liin zo liant, da daz tranc und daz glas verborgen unt belialten was. Tristande, ir meister, bot si daz ; A er bot Isote vurbaz : si tranc ungerne xiud ilberlanc, unt gap do Tristand, unde er tranc, unt wiinten beide, ez waere wun. le mitten gienc oucli Brangaen in, unde erkande daz glas, unt sach wol, waz der rede was. Si ersclirac so sere unde erkam, daz ez ir alle ir kraft benam, unt wart relit als ein tote var. Mit totem lierzen gie si dar : si nam daz leide veige vaz, si truog ez dannen unt warf daz in den tobenden wilden se. Owe mir arm en," sprach se, ' "owe ! " AVitliin this flagon fine." All, no ! It was not wine : Though wine's hue it might bor- row, 'Twas filled with coming sorrow. With endless heart-pain brim- ming high, Whence both at last must die. But she thereof was ignorant : She rose, and straightway thith- er Avent, Innocent and unchidden, Where glass and drink were hid- den ; Brouglit to Tristiin, her master brave. Who first to Iseult gave. She first refused, then drank and laughed, And gave to Tristan, and he quaffed : They both imagined, it was wine. Then came Braugaeue, saw the shine Of that bright flagon, knew it well. And did forbodc the coming spell. So great her terror was, that she Lost force and senses utterly. And she became as are the dead. With deathly heart then forth she sped. That fatal flagon of all the world Took with her, threw, and down- ward hurh'd Into the wild and raging sea. ' Ah, woe !" she cried, " O, mis- erable me ! 84 GERMAN LITERATURE. daz icli zer wcrldo ie wart goborn ! Ich arme, wie lian ich verloru mill ere uiit mine triuwe ! Daz ez Got iemer riuwe, daz ich an dise reise ie kam, daz mich der tot do nilit enuam, d6 icli an dise veige vart Mit Isote ie bescheiden wart ! Owe Tristan unde Isot ! diz iranc ist iuwer beider tot !" Nu daz dill maget iind der man, Isot unde Tristan, den tranc getrunken beide, sa was oucb der werlde unmuoze da, Minne, aller herzcn lagerin, unt sleicli zir beider lierzen in. E sis ie wurden gewar, do stiez se ir sigevanen dar, unt zocb si beide in ir gewalt : si wurden eiu und einvalt, die zwei unt zwivalt waren e : si zwei enwaren do nilit me widerwertic under in : Isote haz, der was do bin. Dill suonerinne Minne, dill haete ir beider sinne von hazze also gereinet, mit liebe also vereinet, That ever to the world was bom ! 0, wretched me, how am I shorn Of honor and fidelity ! Now God's great pity granted be. That ever I this journey made, — That death had not the purpose stayed. Or ever on this voyage of woe With Iseult I should go ! Iseult and Tristan — fatal draught ! 'Tis wee and death to both that quaffed ! " Now that the maiden and the man. Fair Iseult and Tristan, Both drank the drink, upon them pressed What gives the world such sore unrest, — Love, skilled in sly and prowling arts. And swiftly crept in both their hearts : So, ere of him they were aware. Stood his victorious banners there. He drew them both into his power : One and single were they that hour That two and twofold were be- fore. They twain were verily no more Opposed thence, under his sway ; For Iseult's hate had flown away. The troubled senses of the two Sweet Love, the Expiator, knew. Made clean of hate that blighted. Gave love that so united. THE MEDIAEVAL EPICS. 85 daz ietweder dem anderu was durliluter als ein spigelglas. Si haeten beide ein lierze ; ir swaere was sin smerze, sin smerze was ir swaere ; si waren beide ein baere an liebe unde an leide, unt bdlen sicb doch beide, unt tete daz zwivel unde scliam si scbamte sich, er tete alsam ; zi zwivelte an im, er an ir. That either to the other was More crystal-clear than mirror- glass. Both had one heart between them, Her pain became his sorrow, His sorrow was her pain ; And both were fondly fain Suffering to share, and bliss ; Yet hid the sense of this And felt both doubt and shame : She was abashed, and he the same ; He doubted her, she doubted him. The clearness and purity of tlie language will make themselves felt, even by one who is only slightly fa- miliar with the German of the Middle Ages. Of all the Minnesingers and courtly epic poets, I find that Gott- fried and Walther von der Vogelweide offer the least difl&culty to the modern reader, — for the same reason that Goldsmith's " Vicar of Wakefield " is the English book most easily read by a German: they combine elegance of style and the nicest choice of epithets with the greatest simplicity and fluency. To one already ac- quainted with German, the poets of the Middle Ages are more raj)idly understood through the ear than through the eye, because the rules of spelling have been varied much more, during the last five or six hundred years, than those of pronunciation. The latter, in fact, still exists as a vulgar dialect, in the mountain regions of Central Germany. I have quoted, 86 0ER3IAN LITERATURE. purj)osely, tlie original text instead of the transla- tions into Modern German, because I tliink a little attention will enable you to understand it nearly as well, and sometliing of its peculiar racy flavor will always be felt, even when not entirely understood. If you are familiar with Tennyson's poem of " The Last Tournament," in his " Idylls of the King," I beg you to notice the violence he has done to the original legend. He quite omits the episode of the magic love- potion, and presents Tristan and Iseult to us as a pair of common sinners. It is this very magic spell — the equivalent of the Fate of the Greek tragedies — which moves our deepest sympathies, and ennobles the two characters. Tristan cannot escape his devotion, in the legend ; he is made faithful by a fatal spell ; but Tenny- son makes him sing : " Free love ; free field ; we love but while we may ! " Gottfried von Strasburg certainly possesses, in a very high degree, the talent of poetic narrative. We may tire of his interminable details, when reading several books of ''Tristan" connectedly; but we may open the work anywhere, and we strike at once upon life, move- ment, brightness. The uniformity of the short iambic measure, which allows little variety of cadence, is not favorable to a long epic poem ; but the authors of that age seem to have known only this measure and a rather rough alexandrine. The iambic pentameter apjiears in their lyrics, and moves with both sweetness and dig- THE MEDIEVAL EPICS 87 nity ; yet it never occurred to them to use it iu narra- tive poetry. I shall last notice him whom I consider the greatest of the courtly minstrels — "Wolfram von Eschenbach. Although he was a noble, we know less of his personal history than of that of the peasant Walther. The date of his birth is unknown ; even the place is uncertain, al- though the village of Eschenbach, in Eranconia — some fifty miles west of Nuremberg — has been fixed upon by most scholars. He was wholly uneducated — could not even read or write ; — the materials of his epics were read to him by others, and his own verses were dictated to scribes. He lived for many years at the court of the Landgraf Hermann of Thuringia, in the Wartburg, and after the latter's death is supposed to have been driven away by the severe piety of his son Ludwig and St. Elizabeth of Hungary. He died somewhere about the year 1230. When, in reading Gottfried von Strasburg's "Tristan," I came upon the passage in the eighth book, where he speaks of Hartmann von Aue, how he "through and through colors and adorns a story, how clear and pure is the crystal current of his words," — followed by a reference to W^olfram von Eschenbach, as " the inventor of all strange things, hunter of wild stories," — I could not reconcile the unfriendly words with the place and fame of the two authors. There is no probability that they ever met, or some personal enmity of Gottfried 88 GERMAN LITERATURE. miglit explain the passage. But, after more carefully examining Wolfram von Eschenbach's epics, I am satis- fied that the radical difference between the poetic C(m- stitutions of the two men, together with the despotism of conventional tastes in their day, furnish a sufficient explanation. If you take the two men — one blond, blue-eyed, joyous, graceful, sympathetic, and one dark, brooding, with deep-set, inscrutable eyes, irregular in his movements, abstracted and proud — and put them into garments of the same stuff and the same cut, you will have an illustration of the difference between Gott- fried's ^^ Tristan" and Wolfram's "Parzival." The change of spirit and atmosphere is so marked, that one need not be a critical scholar to feel it. I have quoted the open- ing lines of the former epic : now take the opening of "Parzival " : 1st zwivel lierzen nahgebur, daz muoz cler sele werden sur ? gesmaeliet unde gezieret ist, swa sicli parrieret unverzaget mannes muot, als ag-elestern varwe tuot. der mac dennocli wesen geil, wand' an ime sint beidin teil des liimeles und der belle, der iiustaete geselle bat die swarzen varwe gar, und wirt ocb nab der vinster var so babet sicb an die blanken der mit staOten gedanken. Is doubt a neigbbor to tbe beart, Tbat to tbe soul must be a smart? Disgrace and bonor bide As equals, side by side. In tbe strong man and bold. Like magpie's bue twofold. Yet may be joyful be, Wben unto botb sides free, To beaven and to bell. But wben be's false and fell, Tben black's bis bue in verity. And near to darkness standetb be: So be wbo steadfast is, and rigbt. Holds only to tbe color wbite. THE MEDLEVAL EPICS. 89 diz fliegende bispel This flying parable, I wis ist tumben liuten gar ze snel, Too fast for silly people is ; sine mugen's niht erdenken ; They cannot come the meaning nigh, wand' ez kan vor in wenken Since it before their minds will fly. rehte alsam ein schelles hase. Even as flies a frightened hare. Here we feel, in tlie very first words, tlie presence of a metaphysical or rather psychological element : the sense is compact, and the lines move as if with a different step, although the measure is the same as in '^Tristan.'" There are none of those sparkling epithets which entice us on fi'om point to point ; but, on the other hand, we feel the touch of a grave and lofty intelligence, to whom the thought is more than its external form. In Wolfram the poetic nature seems to move forward centuries, at a single stride ; but the poetic art fails to keep pace with it. Even the language no longer seems the same : the construction is unnecessarily forced, uneven, and im- presses us like a different dialect, until we perceive that it is only the dialect of an individual mind, our insight into which will furnish us the key. The name is our English Percival, and the hero is that knight of Arthur's Eound Table, who alone saw the Holy Grail, after the transfiguration of Sir Gala- had which Tennyson describes in the second of his last volume of Idylls. A Provencal poem by Guiot, and the French legend of ^' Chretien de Troyes" seem to have been Wolfram's chief authorities for the stor^^ ; but he has 90 GEHMAN LITERATURE. amplified and enriched it, not like Gottfried in ^^ Tristan,''' for the delight of picturesque narrative, but with refer- ence to the spiritual symbolism which pervades it. The search for the Holy Grail — the San Graal — the cup from which Christ drank at the last supper with his dis- ciples, is one of the most mysteriously beautiful legends of the Middle Ages. Galahad, whom Tennyson has celebrated, is not mentioned by Wolfram. The story, as he tells it in "Parzival," is so rich in details, that I cannot take time to repeat them : the rudest outline must suffice. The poem commences with the adventures of Gamuret of Anjou, the father of Parzival, who, after becoming King of "Wales and Norway and marrying Queen Herze- leide, dies in Bagdad. The sorrowing Queen retires into the desert of Soltane, and brings up Parzival as a peasant-boy. When he grows up and sees the gay knights riding by, he begs leave to go out and seek adventures, and his mother finally consents, but puts on him a fool's cap and bells. After overcoming various knights, he reaches Arthur's court, but is not yet ad- mitted to the Eound Table. An old knight, named Gurnemanz, teaches him knightly manners, and sends him forth with the caution not to ask many questions. He rescues the Queen Condwiramur from King Cla- mide of Brandigan, marries her and becomes King of Brobarz. On his way to visit his mother, after these events, he comes to a castle beside a lake. The King, THE MEDI^iJVAL EPICS. 91 witli four hundred kuiglits, sits at a table in a splendid hall, and all are fed by the miraculous j^ower of the Holy Grail, which the Queen places upon the table. The King bleeds from a wound, and the knights are overcome with sorrow, but Parzival, who is most hos- pitably treated, asks no question. On leaving, he learns, too late, that he has been in Monsalvalsche, the castle of the Grail, and should have asked the King the cause of his wound. Soon after this, Arthur, who has heard of Parzival's wonderful exploits, leaves his capital of Car- duel to seek him. After fighting, incognito, with several, he is recognized by Gawain, and becomes a member of the Eound Table. Several books are devoted to the adventures of both Parzival and Gawaiu, in their search for the Grail. Neither finds it, but both perform wonders of bravery, strength and self-denial. Toward the close, without any apparent reason for the preference given, or the sudden change of destiny, a sorceress announces to Par- zival, at Arthur's table, that he has been chosen King of the GraiL He thereupon goes to the lost castle, heals the former King, by asking him the cause of his wound, and declares his son Lohengrin, — who after- ward, as the Knight of the Swan, becomes the hero of a romantic legend, — King of Wales, Norway, Anjou and several other countries. This is a very insufficient sketch of the story, but the episodes are so attached to each other, by the associated 92 GERMAN LITERATURE. fates of the different characters, that they cannot easily be separated. The author's peculiar genius is mani- fested in every part, and thus the work has a spiritual coherence which distinguishes it from all other ej^ics of the age. Parzival is not a mere form of action — a doer of deeds, like Hartmann's Erek ; or a heroic lover, like Gottfried's Tristan: he is a jDure, noble, aspiring soul, and the Grail is to him the symbol of a loftier life. Many scholars, indeed, consider that he represents the life of the spirit, and Gawain the life of the world, and they have found a more pervading and elaborate alle- gorical character in the work than, I think, was ever intended by its author. But in regard to the tendency of his genius, we cannot be mistaken. I must confess that the more I study the poem, the more I find a spiritual meaning shining through its lines. The perfect innocence and purity of Parzival, as a boy, are wonderfully drawn : the doubts of his age of manhood, the wasted years, the trouble and gloom which brood over him, suggest a large background of earnest thought ; and, although the symbolism of the Holy Grail may not be entirely clear, it means at least this much — that peace of soul comes only through Faith and Obedience. Like Tennyson's Galahad, Wolfi'am seems to say, in Parzival: " I muse on joy tliat -will not cease, Pure spaces clothed in living beams, Pure lilies of eternal peace, Whose odors hauut my dreams." THE MEDIEVAL EPICS. 93 To Wolfram Ton Esclienbacli, the external shows of life were but disguises through which he sought to trace the action of the moral and spiritual forces which develop the human race. His psychological instincts were too profound for a sim23le tale of knightly adven- ture ; he was not enough of a literary artist to arrange his conceptions of man's nature into a symmetrical form, and then to represent them completely through his characters; and thus we find, in "Farzival," a struggle between the two elements — between thought and lan- guage, between idea and action. This ^peculiarity is at first a disturbance to the reader, but it does not prevent him from feeling the latent, underlying unity of the work. The parting of Queen Herzeleide from her son Parzi- val is one of the simpler passages, yet even here we find some of Wolfram's characteristic expressions : Der knappe tump unde wert iesch von der muoter dicke ein pfert. daz begunde se iu ir lieizeu klagen. sie dtilite " i'n wil im niht ver- sagen : I'z muoz jiber vil boese sin." do gf'dahte mer diu klinegin, der liute vil bi spotte siiit. turen kleider sol miu kint ob sime lieliten libe tragen. wirt er geroufet uut geslagcu, TLe boy, silly yet brave in- deed, Oft from his mother begged a steed. That in her heart did she la- ment : She thought: "him must I make content, Yet must the thing an evil be." Thereafter further pondered she: " The folk are prone to ridicule. My child the garments of a fool Shall on his shining body wear. If he be scoffed and beaten there. 94 GERMAN LITERATURE. so kumet er mir her wider wol." owe der jaemerliclien dol I diu f rouwe nam ein sactuocli : sie sneit im liemede unde bruocli, daz doch an eime stiicke er- scliein, unz enmitten an sin blankez bein. daz wart f iir toren kleit erkaut. sin gugel man obene drufe vant. al frisch rucb kelberin von einer but zwei riballin nach sinen beinen wart gesniten, dawartgroz jamernibtvermiten. din kiinegin wis also bedabt, sie bat beliben in die nabt. dune solt niht binnen keren, ich wil dicb list e leren. an ungebanten strazen, soltu tunkel f iirte lazen : die silite unde luter sin, da solte al balde riten in. du solt dicb site nieten, der werelde grliezen bieten. op dicb ein gra wise man zubt wil lern als er wol kan, dem soltu gerne volgen, und wis im nibt erbolgen. sun, la dir bevolben sin, swa du guotes wibes vingerlin miigest erwerben unt ir gruoz, daz nim : ez tuot dir kumbers buoz. Perchance he'll come to me again," Ah, me, how wretched was her pain ! The dame a piece of sackcloth seeks, And cuts therefrom a shirt and breeks, That both in one they seem to be. And reach below to the white knee. For a fool's dress known was that, And up above a pointed hat. Then from a fresh, rough heifer's hide Stuff for two shoes did she di- vide, And cut them so to fit his feet ; And still her dole was great. The Queen considered all aright. And bade him tarry over night. " Hence not sooner shalt thou go, Ere I to thee shall wisdom show. Shun untraveled road : Leave dark ways untrode ; If they are sure and fair. Enter and journey there. Strive to be courteous then, Offer thy greeting to men. If thee a gray wise man Duty will teach, as well he can. Willingly follow his rede. And anger him not with deed. Son, be advised this thing : If thou a good dame's ring And her greeting may'st win to thee. Take : and thy troubles shall lighter be. 2HE MEDIEVAL EPICS. 95 du solt z'ir kusse galien Hasten to kiss lier face, und ir lip vast' umbevahen : And to clasp her in finn em- brace ; daz git gelilcke und holien muot, For, when she is good and pure, op sie kiusche ist unde guot." 'Twill good luck and courage in- sure." As a specimen of his descriptive style, I will quote some lines from the fifth book, where, in the magic cas- tle of Monsalviilsche, the Queen, Repanse de Schoie, brings the Holy Grail to the King's table : Sie nigen. ir zwuo do truogen They bowed. Then twain of dar them did bear uf die tavelen wol gevar The silver to the tables fair daz silber, unde leiten'z nider. Full carefully, and there did place : do giengen sie mit ziihten wider And they returned with modest grace zuo den ersten zwelven san. To the first twelve within the hall, ob i 'z gepriievet rehte lian. If I have rightly coimted all, hie sulen ahzehen frouwen sten. Must there now eighteen ladies be. avoy nu siht man sehse gen Behold ! six others next we see, in waete die man tiure gait : All clad in cloth men precious hold: daz was halbez plialt, The stuff was half of silk and gold, daz ander pfell' von Ninnive. Muslin of Xineveh the rest, dise unt die ersten sehse e These, and the first six, thus were drest truogen zwelf rocke geteilet, Alike in mantles two - fold wrought, gein tiwerr kost geveilet. And for a heavy treasure bought. 96 GERMAN LITERATURE. niicli dcnkom din kiinegin. Now after tliem advanced the Queen, ir antlitze gap den scliin, Witli countenance of so bright a sheen, sie wanden alle ez wolde tagen. They all imagined day would dawn, man sach die maget an ir tragen One saw, the maiden was clothed on pfellel von Arabi. With muslin stuffs of Araby. uf einem grlienen achmardi On a green silken cushion she truve sie den wunsch von par- The pearl of Paradise did bear, dis, bede wurzeln unde ris. Complete, — root, branch, begin- ning, end, — daz was ein dine, daz hiez der The Grail it was, all glorious, Gral, fair, erden wunsches i'lberwal. Beyond perfection Earth can lend. Eepanse de schoye sie hiez, Eej)anse de Scheie, so runs the tale, die sich der gral tragen liez. Was name of her that bore the Grail ; der gral was von solher art : And so its nature did endure, wol muose ir kiusche sin be- That she who bore it must be wart, pure, diu sin ze rehte soldo pflegen : Of just and perfect heart, and strong diu muose valsches sich bewe- To frighten falsehood, sin and gen. wrong. Voreme grale komen lieht : Before the Grail there came a light, diu warn von armer koste niht ; The worth whereof was nothing slight : sehs glas lane liiter wol getan, Sis cups of dazzling crystal held dar inne balsam der wol bran. A burning oil that balm dis- pelled, do sie komen von der tiir Now when, in proper order, all, ze rehter maze alsus her f iir, Entering, had traversed the high hall. THE MEDIAEVAL EPICS. 97 mit zuliten neic diu klinegin The Queen bowed down -u-ith modest grace, und al diu juucfrouweliu And the six maidens bowed the face, die da truogcn balsemvaz. Who bore the cups of burning balm, diu klinegin valschiite laz Tlie bkimeless Queen, proud, pure and calm, sazte fur den wirt den gral. Before the host i^ut down the Grail ; diz maere giht daz Parzival And Perciral, so runs the tale, dicke an sie sach unt dahte. To gaze upon her did not fail, diu den gral da brahte. Who thither bore the Holy Grail. I have chosen those passages which illustrate Wol- fram's manner as a poet, especially as compared with Gottfried's. We have no means of estimating the influ- ence of either upon his day and generation. Gottfried's allusion indicates that there were rival audiences as well as authors, and, since we find the critics divided now, we may well believe that there was greater di- versity of opinion then. Wolfram's adherents would be among the thinkers, who were then rapidly increasing in number ; Gottfried's among the men of refinement and education. The latter may be called the literary ancestor of Wieland ; but Wolfram's lineal descendant, with a long line of generations between, was Goethe. Neither of the other two epics of Wolfram — " Wille- hihn'' and "TUurcV' — was completed: the latter was barely begun, at the time of his death. The " Wille- Jialm " celebrates the adventures of Wilhelm von Orange, 5 98 GERMAN LITERATURE. of Provence, the son of tlie Count of Narbonne, in liis wars with the heathens. He undoubtedly followed a Provencal original in this, as in "Parzival,'' and was per- haps led to the theme by his admiration of Wilhelm's character. ^'■TitureV^ is an outgrowth from ^^Parzival" : the same characters appear. It is written in a different metre, and sIioavs, in the fragment which remains, a greater force and fluency of expression. Although the length of the last line interferes with the movement of the verses, it is easy to see how much more freely the author's thought carries itself, without losing any- thing of its subtlety and suggestiveness. I quote a few stanzas from the conversation of the two lovers, Schionatulander and Sigune : Sigune says : " Icli weiz wol, du bist lands unt " I know full well that thou of liute groziu frouwe ; lands and people art the Queen ; des enger ich alles niht, wan daz I seek not that, so through thine din herze dur din ouge eyes thy heart be seen, schouwe, als6 daz ez den kumber niin be- So that it doth perceive my denke : weight of sorrow ; nu hilf mir schiere, e daz din Then help me now, ere heart minn min herze und die and love a deeper trouble frciude verkrenke." borrow ! The Queen answers : " Swersd mlnnehat, dazsinminne "If one hath such a love that ist gevaere danger therein be, deheime als lieben friunde, als The unfitting word, to friend so du mir bist, daz wort unge- dear as thou to me, baere THE MEDIAEVAL EPICS. 99 wirt von mir nim^r benennet I ne'er will name witli name of minne : love or lover : Got weiz wol, daz icb nie bekan- For, knowetb God, love's loss or de minnen flust, uocb ir ge- gain I never did discover, winne. 'Minne, ist daz ein Er? malit du " For love, is it a He? Canst give minn mir diuten ? solution just ? Ist daz ein Sie ? Kumet mir minn. Is it a She ? So come it, bow wie sol icb minne getriuten ? shall I dare trust ? Muoz icb sie bebalten bi den Must love witb dolls be left, and tocken? cbildisli rapture? Od fliuget minne ungerneuf bant Or fiietb it out of band in tbe durb die wilde ? icb kan woods ? I surely can recap- miun wol locken." ture." Here jou will notice, not only the expression of the feeling, but also the tendency to speculate upon its nature, which is a peculiarity of Wolfram i^on Esclien- bach. It is not too much to say that he was the only profound thinker among the German authors of the Middle Ages. Wolfram takes the same delight in many-sjdlabled geographic names, as Milton ; and there are many of his lines which rinoj w4tli the same half-barbaric music as the latter's " Aspramont and Montalban." He is an un- lettered minstrel, with great qualities in the rough ; a man of high aims and noble aspirations, struggling with insurmountable limitations, and missing real greatness on account of them. In Gottfried's case, we have every- thing but the original quality of intellect ; but Wolfram, having that, misses the clear and harmonious form which must be added, chiefly through the want of the 100 GERMAN LITERATURE. culture wliicli Gottfried possessed. Could tlie two have been united in one individual, Germany would have had her great mediaeval jDoet, the equal of Dante. But the epithet great must be denied to this courtly literature. The influence of the church and of classic learning, though greatly weakened, was still too pow- erful to permit a positive departure from previous paths of thought. The new wine was poured into old bottles, but it was not quite strong enough to burst them. So, these epics remain as priceless illustra- tions of the growth of the German mind during the Middle Ages, of the long fermentation which clarified into purity and flavor centuries afterward, not immortal in their own solitary right, but fi"om the circumstances out of which they grew. Add to them the lyric poetry of the Minnesingers, and we are astonished at the pro- ductiveness of the age. From this point we must date the commencement of a national culture ; for much of the great work of Charlemagne had been undone in the three centuries between him and the Hohenstaufens. If the literature of the latter period failed of its immediate and full effect, through the re-intervention of political and ecclesiastical causes, it was none the less a basis of achievement upon which the race thenceforth stood ; and if we could read the secrets of History, we should perhaps find that the harp preserved for Germany a better possession than was lost to her by the sword. IV. THE NIBELUNGENLIED. TVe now come to that other literary element of the Middle Ages, which is of earlier origin than the courtly epics, but which only assumed its present form about the time when they were produced. I have called it the epic poetry of the People, because, more than any- thing else in the literature of the human race — not even excepting the "Iliad" and the "Odyssey" — it has the character of a growth rather than a composition. We may guess when its growth began ; we can very nearly determine the time when that growth ended ; but there our knowledge stops. By whom, or under what cir- cumstances, the first legends came into being, — how they were kept alive, increased, transformed with each generation — who took the rude, shapeless, separated parts, and united them in one grand, coherent form, — are questions which cannot be positively answered. The more carefully we study the "Nibehnigenlied" and its history, the more we are impressed with its exceptional character. Unnoticed in the records of the ages; ignored, perhaps contemptuously disparaged by the minstrelsy of the courts ; kept alive only through the inherited fondness of the masses for their old tra- 101 ■ V sInta bas^- 102 GERMAN LITERATURE. ditions, it lias been almost miraculously preserved to us, to be now appreciated as the only strong, original crea- tion of the youtli of the German race. The fact that we find in the " Nihelungenlied " traces of the ancient mythology, with various incidents which are given in the earliest prose Edda of the Scandina- vians, together with characters taken from the most stirring history of the Volker wander ung, or Migration of the Races, proves the antiquity of the material. But the anachronism of making Theodoric the Great, the Gothic King of Italy, and Attila, King of the Huns, contem23oraries, also gives us a clue to the probable time when the two elements began to be fused together. Attila died in 453, and Theodoric in 526. The unedu- cated mass of people would soon forget dates, and con- fuse the events of former generations ; but some little time must be allowed to elapse before this could take place. The " oldest inhabitants " must first die, before the united legends could be publicly recited without their accuracy being disputed by some grey-haired lis- tener. We can hardly assume that the first blending of the different elements took place before the year 600, or much later than a century afterward. It is most prob- able that the collection made by Charlemagne included all that was in existence in his da}^ ; but, that collection being lost, we are left without any record of the growth or changing character of the legend, until the tenth cen- tury. TEE NIBELUNGENLIED. 103 First of all, I must recall to your memory the features of the migration of the tribes. The commeucemeut of this remarkable historical episode is usually fixed about the year 375, in which year the Huns, coming from Cen- tral Asia, and first overcoming the Alans, between the Volga and the Don, broke up the ancient kingdom of the Goths, and started them on their wanderings west- ward. The Ostrogoths had uj) to that time possessed the country between the Don and the Dniester, in South- ern Russia; and the Visigoths, all the region north of the Danube, as far westward as the river Theiss, in Hungary. Gradually pressing westward, and driving the other tribes, including the original Germanic races, before them, the Huns, then under Attila, were finally arrested by the great battle near Chalons-sur-Marne, where they were defeated by the Romans under Aetius and the Visigoths under Theodoric I. This was in the year 451, and two years later Attila died. The Visigoths, under Alaric, had already invaded Italy in 402, but ten years later they passed through Southern Gaul into Spain. The Ostrogoths, on the contrary, did not reacli Italy until 488, under Theodoric the Great, who made Ve- rona his capital, and is therefore called, in the German legends Dietrich von Bern. After Theodoric's death, the kingdom existed for a few years, but finally ceased about 554, and the Gothic blood mixed itself witli that of the Lombards, the Helvetians and the Germans, losing all distinctive national character. 104 GERMAN LITERATURE. Tlie Burgundians, who were a Germanic race, inlia- biting the region between the Vistula and the Oder, in Prussia, were also driven to west and south in the gen- eral movement, and first settled, eighty thousand men strong, in Gaul, between Geneva and Lyons. Here they became Arian Christians in the space of eight days, seven days being allowed for conversion and one for bajitism. Sidonius Apollinarius describes them as men from six to seven feet high, clothed in the skins of beasts, and valuing their freedom as the highest possession. "When Attila entered Gaul in 451, the Burgundian King Gundicar (supposed to be the Gunther of the "A^ihe- lungenlied'") opposed his march with ten thousand war- riors, but all were slain after a long and heroic defense. The tribe finally moved northward, and occupied the country from the Bhine westward, including the present French province of Burgundy. This is all of the great migratory movement which we require to know, in reading the " Nihelungenlied ; ^' the other elements embodied in it are either taken from the same source as the older Scandinavian Edda, or were added as the story was transmitted from mouth to mouth for centuries. Lachmann, who devoted a great deal of labor to the examination of the existing manu- scripts and their chronological character, as derived from the language, has fixed upon twenty lays, or sep- arate chapters of the poem, as being of an ancient origin ; the remaining nineteen he considers as addi- THE NIBELUNGENLIEB. 105 tions made about the close of the twelfth century, for the purpose of uniting the whole into one consistent story. He states that there were two, if not more, at- tempts to perform this difficult task, without counting the previous changes which he thinks the original lays must have undergone in the course of several centuries. About one hundred and eighty ^^ears after the close of this mediaeval period of German literature, printing was invented, and one of the earliest native works which was transferred from manuscript to type was Wolfram von Eschenbach's ''Parzival." The "Nibeliingenlied" seems to have been already forgotten by the people ; and not until the year 1751 w^as a part of it j)ublished by Bodmer, in Zurich, under the title of " Chriemhild's Revenge." The first complete republication of the entire epic was made by Miiller in 1782. Afterward, Lachmann and the Brothers Grimm made careful com- parisons of the three complete manuscripts, and it now apj)ears to be settled that the oldest is that of Munich, the next that of St. Gall — although there are but a few years' difference between them, either way — and the latest, that belonging to Baron von Lassberg. This last is the most complete, but appears to be the least authentic. The Munich manuscript is generally attri- buted to the great unknown, who conceived the idea of creating an epic unity out of the scattered ma- terial, — an idea which he carried out with wonder- ful power and skill, and so nearly achieved the highest 5* 106 GERMAN LITERATURE. success that we wonder how he shouhl have falVm short of it. Since Laclimann, however, other scholars have taken up the study of the poem with the fresher and keener knowledge of our day. Zarncke, Bartsch, and last of all, Hermann Fischer, have applied to it the tests of jjhilological and metrical criticism ; and the chief result is that the belief which was so long entertained — which suggested to the Greek scholar Wolff his celebrated Homeric theory — that it was the production of many authors, combined and thrown into a symmetrical form by some poetic editor, has been generally given up. It is now admitted that the greater portion of the poem was the work of one author, who took the chief incidents of the story from a version of the popular legend, writ- ten by order of Bishop Piligrim of Passau, somewhere about the year 980. The time when the " Nihclungenlied,''^ in its present form, was written, has also been approxi- mately fixed. It could not have been earlier than 1130, nor later than 1180 : thus it jjrecedes the romantic epics by a few -years. One of the early Minnesingers, who was called " the Kiirenberger," has left behind him fifteen detached stanzas, written in the measure of the ''Nihelungenlied." It is conjectured that he was either Magnus or Konrad von Kiirenberg, who were natives of Upper Austria, and the German critics incline more and more to the belief that we must accept him as the great poet of the Middle THE NIBELUyGENLIED. 107 Ages, liitlierto unknown. Fischer asserts tliat the "Nibelungenliecr' Vi'SiS either originally written, or care- fully revised and polished, about the year 1170, and that it was intended to be recited at courts, and heard by noble auditors. It is quite certain that between the years 1190 and 1200, the poera was reproduced in two different co23ies, one of which, called the " Vulgata" ad- dressed itself to the common people. The aristocratic version had but a short life, if indeed any life : the taste of courts preferred the epics based on the Arthurian legends. But the people gratefully accepted and cher- ished their version, and for one hundred and fifty years the few fi-agments of their poetry Avliich survive, betray its influence. If you remember the bareness and bluntness of the "Hildebrandslied'' — the simple means by which strong effects are produced — you will understand the original character of the " Nibelimgenlied" which is still pre- served through all the changes of language. But Avith this simplicity of diction, it is richer in incident than the "Iliad." The stage is crowded with characters ; for the union of three legendary cycles in one work, which shall combine the best features of all, has resulted in a condensation which excludes the prolific description and sentiment of the courtly epics. There are not quite 10,000 lines, instead of the 20,000 of Gottfried or Hart- mann. Certain forms of expression are repeated, as in their poems, but the action varies with each Aventiure, 108 OERMAN LITERATURE. or adventure, of the thirty-nine, and the poem closes as abruptly as it begins. Carlyle says, with entire truth: "The unknown singer of the 'Nibelungen/ though no Shakespeare, must have had a deep poetic soul. . . . His poem, unlike so many old and new ]3retenders to that name, has a basis and an organic structure, a begin- ning, middle and end; there is one great principle and idea set forth in it, round which all its multifarious parts combine in living union. Remarkable it is, moreover, how along with this essence and primary condition of all j)oetic virtue, the minor external virtues of what we call taste, and so forth, are, as it were, presupposed : and the living soul of Poetry being there, its body of incidents, its garment of language, come of their own accord." Now let us take up the '^Nibelungenlied," in the form it wore, at the end of the twelfth century. It may be so easily read, that I have never been able to see the neces- sity of the translations into modern German. This is the opening stanza: Uns ist in alten maeren | wun- We find in ancient story [ won- ders vil geseit ders many told, von lieleden lobebaeren, | von Of heroes of great glory, | of grozer arebeit, spirit strong and bold ; von frouden, liocligeziten, | von Of joyances and high-tides, | of weinen und von klagen ; weeping and of woe, von kliener reckon striten | mu- Of strife of gallant fighters, | get ir nu wunder hoereii mote ye now many wonders sagen. know. You will notice that the measure is peculiar. Each THE NIBELUNGENLIEB. 109 line is divided by a c?esiiral j^ause so marked that tliere is a space left between the words to indicate it. The first half of the line has three iambic feet, with a redun- dant syllable ; the latter half three feet, excej^t in the closing line of the stanza, where it occasionally has four. The measure varies in effect, sometimes bold and strong, with a fine irregularity of movement, sometimes sweet and musical, but frequently rough and halting, and it requires some familiarity before it adjusts itself to the ear. Yet how near it came to a noble rhythmical form may be seen from those bsdlads of Uhlaud, wherein he has taken the same metrical principle, and simply given it regularity. Take the opening of his historical Sua- bian ballads, for instance : "1st denn im Scliwabenlande verschollen aller Sang," etc. Are then the Suabian valleys, by sounds of song unstirred, Where once so clear on Staufen the knightly harp was heard, And why, if Song yet liveth, proclaim not now its cliords The deeds of hero-fathers, the clash of ancient swords? Or take tlie opening of Macaulay's " Horatius," throw two lines into one, and you have the same measure : " Lars Porsena of Clusium, by the nine gods he swore That the great house of Tarquin should suffer wrong no more." The second stanza of the ^' Nihclungcn " is : Ez wuohs in Burgonden | ein vil There once was in Burgundy | a edel magedin, maid of high degree, daz in alien landen | niht schoe- That in all lands and countries | ners mohte sin, no fairer might there be ; 110 GERMAN LITERATURE. Kriemhilt geheizen : I si wart ein A lovely woman was she, | scoene wip. Chriemhild. was she hight, dar umbe muosen degene | vil For lier sake many swordsmen | verliestn den lip. must lose tteir lives in fight. Thus simply tlie theme opens. Chriemhild the fair and Brunhild the dark are the heroines ; Siegfried the Strong, Gunther and Hagen, Attila and Theodoric the heroes. The sagas of the Niblungs and the gods Odin and Loki, the marches of the Huns and Goths, magic and human passion, love and hate, are now mixed to- gether in a wild, fierce and fateful story, which yet does not soar so high as to lose its hold on the gene- ral sympathies of men. At the same time with the fair Burgundian maiden, lived in the Netherlands Siegfried, the sou of King Siegemund and Queen Siegelinde. He is synonymous with the Sigurd of Scandinavian saga, the fair, strong young knight who overcomes men, giants and dragons. When he has reached the pro23er age, Siegfried is knighted ; then, refusing to accept his father's sceptre, he goes to Worms, where Chriemhild lives under the care of her three brothers, Gunther, Gemot and Gei- selher. He does not see the famous beauty until after he has conquered the Saxons and Danes, and brought the Danish King Lindegast captive to Worms : then he is presented to her, she thanks him, and he is permitted to give her a kiss. He asks Gunther for her hand, which is promised to him on condition that he will accompany THE NIBELUNOENLIED. m the latter to Iceland and assist him in his wooing of Queen Brunhild. Gunther's uncle, Hagen, who after- ward becomes the evil genius of the story, and the knight Dankwart accompany them. The enterprise would have failed had not Siegfried possessed a tarn- hapije, or cap which rendered the wearer invisible, and the sword Balmung of marvelous power. Besides, he had bathed in the fat of a dragon which he had slain, and was invulnerable except in a small spot, between the shoulders, where a linden-leaf had fallen upon him as he bathed. The amazon Brunhild fights with Gunther, but is really vanquished by the invisible Siegfried. The lat- ter then steers to the land of the Niblungs, takes pos- session of a great treasure, or hoard, which he had previously won in a fight wdth giants, and returns to Iceland with a thousand of the Nibelungen warriors, as Gunther's escort when he carries Brunhild to Worms. When the two are married, Siegfried also receives the hand of Chriemhild. He assists Gunther again in over- coming the magical strength of Brunhild, and gives the amazon's girdle and ring to his wife, together witli the "Nibehingenhort." To this treasure a curse is at- tached, and an evil fate follows its possessor. Siegfried and Chriemhild rule for ten years as King and Queen of the Netherlands ; then, with a large retinue of Nibelungen warriors, they pay a visit to Worms, at the invitation of King Gunther. After the first splen- 112 GERMAN LITERATURE. did festivities, a strife for j^recedence arises between Ctriemliild and Brunhild : the two queens meet at the door of the cathedral, and each insists on entering first. Brunhild claims that Siegfried is Gunther's vassal ; Chriemhild retorts by asserting that Siegfried, not Gun- ther, overcame her rival in Iceland, and produces the ring and the girdle in proof. The two kings, who are sum- moned by their wives, endeavor to compose the quarrel ; but the uncle Hagen goes secretly to Brunhild, and promises to revenge her. Externally there is peace again, but the elements of ruin are at work. Hagen now goes to Chriemhild, professes to be a friend, and offers to watch over Siegfried, in case Brunhild should attempt any secret revenge. Chriemhild is deceived by the old traitor : she tells him of the vulnerable spot on Siegfried's back, where the linden-leaf lay, and even braids an ornament over the spot on his mantle, so that Hagen may know where to ward off a blow. The catastrophe instantly follows. Siegfried is taken out to hunt by Gunther and Hagen, and in a moment of the gayest peace and confidence is treacherously slain. But Chriemhild's woes are not yet at an end : Sieg- fried's father returns in haste to his own land : Gunther persuades his sister to bring the "NibehmgenJiort'' to Worms, which is no sooner done than he seizes it by force, and its attending curse is thus transferred to his own house. It is not long before the three brothers, Gunther, Gemot and Geiselher, begin to quarrel about THE NIBELUNGENLIEB. 113 the treasure, and finally Hagen sinks it in tlie Eliine, making each take an oatli that he will not reveal the spot while either of the others is alive. In the meantime the count Rudiger comes to Worms to solicit Chriemhild's hand for Attila. She hesitates, until Eiidiger hints that she may in this way obtain her revenge for Siegfried's death ; then, taking her brothers Gemot and Geiselher, she sets out for the Danube, reaches the land of the Huns, and is married to Attila. The account of the wedding in Yienna, of their life in Attila's castle, and Chriemhild's wise government are minutely described in the jDoem. She has a son who is named Ortlieb, she possesses the entire love and confi- dence of Attila, she is renowned among the Huns and in foreign lands, but the dream of vengeance never fades from her mind. Night and day she j^lans how to get possession of her uncle Hagen, her brother Gunther, and the Nibelungen treasure. Finally, in the thirteenth •year of her marriage, she persuades Attila to send two minstrels to Burgundy, and invite the whole court to a grand high-tide, or festival, in the land of the Huns. Hagen foresees danger, and counsels against accepting the invitation, but he is overruled. I must here explain that the Burgundians, after obtaining the treasure and its Nihlimg guardians, are thenceforth called "Nihe- limgen," and the poem, from this point to the end, was called the " Nibdiingennoth " — need, extremity, or fate. The journey to the Danube, the crossing of that river 114 GERMAN LITERATURE. and tlie arrival of tlie Nibelungen at Attila's Court, are described in detail, with great spirit and pictn- resqueness. It is evident that the last author is on fa- miliar ground : he mentions places which retain nearly the same names at the present day. As the march advances, the omens increase ; even Theodoric appears and warns the Nibelungen of their coming danger. Hagen, whose part in these final lays is compared by some of the German critics to that of Cassandra in the "Iliad," now becomes grand in spite of his treachery. His fidelity to his friend Yolker, the minstrel, his courage, his desperate bravery, his unshaken attitude of hero- ism, lift him beside Chriemhild into a splendid tragical prominence, beside which the other characters — Gun- tlier, Attila, Theodoric and Hildebrand — sink into com- parative indistinctness. Riidiger, only, rises into promi- nence toward the close, as a man of singular honor and nobility of nature. But Hagen towers above all, grim- mer and grander than Macbeth, in his defiance of the coming doom. Attila, who knows nothing of Chriemhild's plans of vengeance, receives the Nibelungen kindly, and sleeps innocently during the night when her armed Huns are waiting the opportunity for murder, of which they are deprived by Hagen's watchfulness. In the morn ing, when the guests are dressing for mass in the cathedral, Hagen tells them : " Ye must take other garments, ye swordsmen, hauberks instead of silk shirts, THE NIBELUNGENLIED. 115 shields instead of mantles ; and now, my masters dear, squires and men likewise, ye shall most earnestly go to church, and lay before the high God your sorrow and your dire extremity ; for verily death is nigh unto us." At the royal feast in Attila's hall, the strife, instigated by Chriemhild, commences, and Hagen first strikes off the head of her son, Ortlieb. Then swords are drawn and murder is loose. Theodoric, with a mighty voice, at- tempts to stop the fray, but in vain ; then he, Attila and Chriemhild withdraw. From this point to the end all is movement and passion ; every incident is illu- minated as by a fierce crimson light. No mere outline can do it the least justice. The Huns j)ress into the hall, and all night there is naught but carnage, fire and the terrible noise of fighting. At last all are slain but Hagen and Gunther, both sorely wounded. They are bound by Theodoric, whose warriors, except Hildebrand, have shared the common fate, and are then brought before Chriemhild, who demands to know where they have sunk the "NibclungenJiorf." Hagen answers that he cannot tell while Gunther lives. The latter is instantly slain, and then the fierce old uncle says : " Now none knoweth of the hoard but God and I, and from thee, she- devil, shall it be forever hidden ! " Thereupon Chriem- hild seizes his own sword — the famous sword Balmung, which had once belonged to Siegfried — and strikes off his head. Attila laments his fate, but Hildebrand — the hero of the "Illldehrandslied" — slays the avenging 116 GERMAN LITERATURE. Cliriemliiltl, and the poem closes, after this terrible night of slaughter, with these stanzas : Hildebrant niit zorne | zuo Kriemliilde spranc, er sluoc der Kiineg-inne | einen swaeren swertes swanc. ja tet ir diu sorge | von Hilde- brande we, waz molite si gelielfen | daz si s6 grilzliclien sere 1 Do was gelegen aller | da der reigen lip. ze stiicken was geliouwen | do daz edele wip. Dietrich und Etzel | weinen do began : si klageteu inneclicbe | beidin mage unde man. Diu vil michel ere | was da gele- gen tot. die liute lieten alle | jamer unde not. mit leide was verendet | des Kii- uiges bohgezit, als je diu liebe leide | z'aller jungiste git. I'ne kan iu nilit bescbeiden, | waz sider da gescliacb: wan ritter unde vrouweu | wei- nen man da sack, dar zuo die edelen knelite, | ir lieben friunde tot. hie hat daz maere ein cnde: | daz ist der Nibeluuge not. Then Hildebrand in fury | to Chriemhild did go. And struck the queen with fal- chion I a sore and heavy blow ; Of Hildebrand her terror | was more than she could hide. But nothing did it help her | that there so miserably she cried. Now slain were all that should be, I they lay withouten life. And she was hewn to pieces, | and dead, that roj'al wife ; Theodoric and Attila | a weeping then began ; Sore was the lamentation | of maiden and of man. Ah, how much was the splen- dor I which there lay dead and cold ! And fell on all the people | dis- tress and woe untold ; In sorrow thus was ended | the high -tide of the King, As after joy comes always | some sad and cruel thing. I cannot tell you further | what happened of the tale, Except that knights and ladies | were seen to weep and wail. And eke the gallant swords- man, I whose dearest friends lay low. And here the story endeth : | this is the Nibelungen woe. THE NIBELUNGENLIED. 117 Even from the very brief sketches of the courtly epics which I have given, you will be able to recognize how strongly the ^' Nibelmujcnlied" contrasts with them in plan, character and expression. The strong, large fea- tures of the old legends, both Gothic and Scandinavian, still look upon us from its lines ; something of the rude- ness, but also the power, of the early Bardic songs is felt in its measures ; the Christian faith has been added, it is true, but without changing in any way the pagan virtues and vices of the original characters. Siegfried and Hagen are made of other flesh and blood than the love-stricken Tristan or the pure-souled Parzival. There are no fair descriptions of nature, no expressions of sentiment or emotion beyond the most necessary utter- ances. When Siegfried is treacherously slain, he only says : " I lament nothing upon the earth except Frau Chriemhild, my wife." " In poetry," says a critic, " the rude man requires only to see something going on ; the man of a more refined nature wishes to feel ; while the man of the highest culture asks that he shall be made to reflect." The "Nibelungenlied" fulfills the first of tliese conditions to the utmost : there is action, much of it of the most tremendous character, from beginning to end ; and the stage, vast as it is, is always croAvded with per- sons. But the second condition is not entirely neglected in the poem, as we now have it. The genius who moulded all its alien elements into such a grand unity may very well have added those slight, almost uucon- 118 GERMAN LITERATURE. scious touclies wliicli constantly appeal to our sympathy. Indeed the latter effect is most frequently produced where it is not planned beforehand, as we have seen in Hildebrand's words to his son Hadubrand, before they ii'j'ht. O The action of the thirty-nine Aventiures is so continu- ous and so rich in details, that it is somewhat difficult to find brief illustrative passages. We must be satisfied with three specimens, not better than many others in the poem, but more easily detached from the context : the first is the meeting of Chriemhild and Sieg- fried, after the latter has defeated the Saxons and Danes : Do Mez der kiinec riclie | mit siner swester gan, die ir dienen solden, | wol liun- dert siner man, ir und siner mage : | die truogen swert enliant. daz was daz hovegesinde | von der Burgonden lant. Tlien ordered for liis sister | the King so ricli and proud, A hundred men of battle [ unto lier service vowed. For lier and for her mother, | a sword in every hand : Such were tlie royal servants | in the Burgundian land. Nu gie diu minnecliche | also der morgeni'ot tuot uz den triieben wolken. | da sciet von maneger not der se da truog in herzen | und lange het getan : er sach die minneclichen | uu vil herlichen stan. There came the fair and lova- ble I as comes the morning- glow From clouds that would obscure it. I And gone was many a woe From him who in his bosom | had yearned for her so long : He saw her stand before him | in beauty bright and strong. THE NIBELUNGENLIED. 110 Ja luhte ir von Ir waete | vil manec edel stein : ir roseniotiu varwe | vil niin- necliclien scein. ob iemen w unseen solde, | der kunde nilit gejelien daz er ze dirre werelde | liete iht scoeners geselien. Upon lier garment sparkled | full many a jewel -stone ; Her rosiness of color | like purest love-liglit shone. Whatever one might hope for, I yet now he must confess That here on Earth could noth- ing I surpass her loveliness. Sam der liehte mane | vor den sternen stat, des scin so luterliche | ab den wolken gat, dem stuont si nu geliche | vor maneger frouwen guot. des wart da wol gehoehet | den zieren heleden der muot. Even as the shining full-moon I comes out before the stars, So pure in powerful lustre | it melts the cloudy bars. So verily she in beauty | before all ladies there : And all the gay young heroes ] were proud to see her fair. Die richen kameraere | sah man vor in gan. die hohgemuoten degene | die 'n wolden daz niht Ian, sine drungen da sie sahen | die minneclichen meit. Sivride dem herren | wart beide lieb unde leit. Court- servants made a passage, I in glittering array. The strong, courageous swords- men I followed upon her way ; And ever pressed and crowded I to see the maiden go. Now this was unto Siegfried | a joy and yet a woe. Erdahte insinemmuote : | "wie kunde daz ergan daz ich dich mi nnen solde ? | daz ist ein tumber wan. sol aber ich dich vremeden, | so waere ich sanfter tot." er wart von den gedanken | vil dicke bleich unde rot. Within his thought he ponder- ed: I " How thought I, I was fain With love of man to woo thee "? I It is a fancy vain : And yet, should I avoid thee, | so were I earlier dead." He grew, while thus a-thinking, I oft pale, and then how often red ! 120 GERMAN LITERATURE. D6 stuont so miiinccliclie | daz Sigemundes kint, sain er entworfen waere | an ein pertnint von guotes meisters listen, | als man ime jach, daz man belt deheineu | nie so scoenen gesacli. Tlic-y saw llio son cf Sifglind, | lover-like standing there, As if he had been painted, | on parchment clear and fair. By hand of some good master : I 'twas pleasant him to see, For none so grand a hero | be- held before as he. Do sprach von Burgonden | der herre Gemot : der iu sinen dienest | so guet- lichen bot, Gunther, vil lieber bruoder, | dem suit ir tuon alsam vor alien dis en recken : | des rats ich nimmer mich gescam. Then swiftly spake Lord Ger- not, I of the Burgundian laud: " To him who did us service | with such a mighty hand, To him, dear brother Gunther, I now offer fitting pay In presence of the warriors : | no man will scorn my say. " Ir heizet Sivreden | zuo miner swester kumen, daz in diu maget grueze : | des habe wir immer f rumen. diu nie gegruozte recken, | diu sol in griiezen piiegen : da mite wir haben gewunnen | den vil zierlichen degen." " Summon straightway Siegfried I unto our sister pure. That so the maiden greet him : I 'twill bring us luck, be sure 1 She who never greeted heroes | shall grace to him award, And thereby we shall win us | the service of his sword." Do giengen 's wirtes mage | da man den helt vant. si sprachen zuo dem recken | iizer Niderlant : iu hat der kiinec erloubet, | ir suit ze hove gan, sin swester sol inch griiezen : | daz ist zen eren iu getan." The King's friends, then ad- vancing I where the hero still did stand. Spake to the mighty warrior | from out the Netherland : " The King's will hath permitted I that you to court repair ; His sister there shall greet you : I this honor shall be your share." THE NIBELUNGENLIED. 121 Der lierre in sinem muote | was des vil gemeit. do truog er ime lierzen | lieb ane leit, daz er selien solte | der scoenen Uoten kint. mit minneclichen tugenden | si gruozte Sivriden sint. The hero, gentle-hearted, | re- joiced to hear the word ; Love, free of doubt or torment, I in all his senses stirred, With hope that Ute's daughter, I the fair one, he should see : And she with gentle glances | received Siegfried full cour- teously. Do si den hohgeniuoten | vor ir stende sach, do erzunde sich sin varwe. | diu scoene magt sprach : sit willekomen, her Sivrit, | ein edel ritter guot." do wart im von dem gruoze | vil wol gehoehet der muot. But when before her standing | she saw him bold and proud. Like flame her color kindled : I the Fair One spake aloud : " Be welcome here, Sir Siegfried, I a noble knight and true ! " And he from such a greeting ] a higher courage drew. Er neig ir flizecliche ; | bi der hende si in vie. wie rehteminnecliche | erbider f rouwen gie [ mit lieben ougen blicken | ein ander sahen an der herre und ouch diu f rouwe : I daz wart vil tougenlich getan. He bowed to her full gently, | to thank her for her rede. Then drew them towards each other I love's yearning and its need ; With eyes that shone more fondly I each then the other spied , The hero and the maiden : | that glance they strove to hide. Wart iht da friwentliche | get- wungen wiziu hant, von herzen lieber minne, | daz ist mir uiht bekant. If then some softer pressure | on her white hand might be. Love's first and heart-sweet token — I it is unknown to me. 122 GERMAN LITERATURE. docla enkan ich niht gelouben | daz ez wurde Ian : si liet im liolden willen | kunt vil sciere getan. But yet believe I cannot | that they did not do so ; For hearts of love desirous | were wrong to let it go. Bi der sumerzite | und gein des meijen tagen dorft 'er in sime herzen | nim- mer mer getragen so vil der hohen vreude | denn' er da gewan, do im diu gie enhende | die er ze trute wolde hau. In the days of summer | and in the time of May, He never in his bosom | again might bear away So much of highest rapture | as in that hour he knew. Seeing her walk beside him, | whom he so wished to woo. Do gedahte manecrecke: | "hey waer' mir sam gescehen, daz ich ir gienge enhende, | sam ich in han gesehen, oder bi ze ligene ! | claz liez' ich ane haz." ez gediente noch nie recke | nach einer kiiueginne baz. Then thought many a swords- man : — I " Ha ! if I were but thou And 1 could walk beside her | as I see thee now, Or, perhaps, embrace her — | I were ready, sure ! " Xever served a swordsman | queen so good and pure. Von swelher kijnege lande | die geste komen dar, die namen al geliche | niwan ir zweier war. ir wart erloubet klissen | den waetlichen man : im wart in dirre werlde | nie so Hebe getan. And from whatever country j a guest was present there. In the high hall was nothing | « he looked on but this pair. To her it was permitted | the gallant man to kiss : In all his life he never | knew aught so dear as this. Der Kiinec von Tenemarke der sprach sa zestunt : diss vil hohen gruozes eger ungesunt, lit man- Began the King of Denmark, | and these the words he si^ake : Sure, such a noble greeting [ here many a wound doth make ; THE NIBELUNGENLIED. 123 des icli vil wol eupfinde, | von Sivrides bant, got enlaze in nimmer mere | komen in miniu kiinge.s lant." As I around me notice, | and all from Siegfried's hand : God grant he never travel | into my Danish land." Tlie whole chapter entitled "How Siegfried was slain," is an admirable piece of narrative, gay, bright, full of joyous action, until the hero is treacherously struck, when it becomes as simple as if told by a child. These are the concluding verses : " Ir miiget inch lihte riiemen," | sprach do Sifrit. " het ich an in erkennet | den mortlichen sit, ich hete wol behalten vor iu | nimen lip. mich riuwet niht so sere | st vrou Kriemhilt min yv\^. " You may lightly boast," said Siegfried | of the Nether- land, " But had I known your purpose, I against your murderous hand Had I full well protected | my body and my life : On earth I grieve for nothing | but Dame Chriemhild, my wife. Nu mlleze got erbarmen | deich ie gewan den sun dem man daz itewizen ] sol nah den ziten tuon daz sine mage iemen | mortliche ban erslagen, miiht' ich," so sprach Sifrit, ] " daz sold' ich pilliche klagen." Do sprach vil jaemerliche | der verchwunde man : welt ir, kiinic edele, | tiiuwen iht began May also God take pity | on the boy I leave behind. Who in all time henceforward | must hear the taunt unkind, That his own friends his father I have murderously slain. If I had time, with justice | I might of that com])lain." Then mournfully &])ake fur- ther I the hero nigh to death : O noble King, if ever | ye drew a faithful breath, 124 GERMAN LITERATURE. in dcr weilt an iemen, | lat iu bevolhen sin uf iu^ver genade | die lieben triutinne miu. If ever kept ye pledges, | I do entreat ye here To liold in grace and jiity | my sweetheart fair and dear. " Und hit si des geniezen | daz si iuwer swester si. durch aller fiirsten tugende | wont ir mit triuwen bi. mir miiezen warten lange | min vater und mine man. ez enwart nie vrouwen leider | an liebem vriunde getan." " Let it to her be profit | that she's your sister still : For every princely virtue | com- mands your faithful will. For me my land and father | will long and vainly wait : Never met any woman | from a dear spouse such bitter fate." Die bluomen allenthalben | von bluote waren naz. d6 rang er mit dem tode : | un- lange tet er daz, want des todes waf en | ie ze sere sneit. do mohte reden niht mere | der recke kiieu' unt gemeit. The blossoms all around him | wet with his blood became : With death he fiercely strug- gled, I not long he did the same ; The sword of death was on him | and cut him very sore ; And soon the noble warrior | could speak a word no more. Do die herren sahen helt was tot. daz der si leiten in uf einen schilt, | der was von golde rot, und wurden des ze rate, | wie daz solde ergan daz man ez verhaele | daz ez het Hagene getan. Now when the lords beheld there | the hero pale and cold, Upon a shield they laid him, | the which was red with gold. Then they began to counsel | how further to proceed. That none would learn the se- cret I that Hagen did the deed. Do sprachen ir genuoge : | " uns ist ilbele geschehen. ir suit ez heln alle | unt suit gel- iche jehen, After this wise spake many : | "An evil thing is done. We'll hide it with a story, | and all shall say, as one, THE JVIBEL UNGEXLIED. 125 da er rite jagen eine, | der Kriemhilde man, in sliiegen scachaere, | da er fiiere durch den tan." D6 spracli von Tronege Ha- gene : | " ich briuge'n in daz lant. mir ist vil unniaere, | und wirt ez ir bekant', diu so hat betriibet | den Priin- liilde muot. ez ahtet micli vil ringe, | swaz si wcinens ffctuot." As lie alone rode hunting, | this sou of Siegmuud's line, The ruffian robbers slew him | among the woods of pine. " Then spake von Troneg Hagen : | "Him home myself will bear, And if she learn who did it, | for that I shall not care. Yea, she that vexed Brunhiide | before the people's eyes. It will concern me little | if now she weeps and cries. " For the third specimen, I will take a jDassage which Mr. Carlyle has translated. When the Nibelungen come to the Danube, on their way to the Court of Attila and Chriemhild, they are at a loss how to cross the river. Hagen learns from the mermaids where to find the fer- ryman, and is ordered by them to call himself Amelrich, or he will not be allowed to enter the boat. When this has taken place, however, and the ferryman sees that it is not Amelrich whom he has taken on board, he wratli- fully orders Hagen to leap on shore again : " Nune tuot dcs niht," sprach Ha- gene : | "trurecistminmviot. nemet von mir ze niinue | ditze golt \\\ guot. unt filert uns iiber tusent ross | unt also manigen man." do sprach der grimme verge : | "daz wirdet nimmer getan." Now say not that," spake Hagen ; I " Right hard am I bested. Take from me, for good friend- ship, I this clasp of gold so red ; And row our thousand heroes | and steeds across this river." Then spake the wrathful boat- man, I "That will I surely never." 126 GERMAN LITERATURE. Er liuop ein starkes ruodcr, | michel unde breit, er sluoc ez uf Hagenen, | (des wart er ungemeit), daz er in dem schiffe | struclite uf siniu knie. s6 relite grimmer verge | kom dem Tronegaere nie. Then one of his oars he lifted, | right broad it was and long, He struck it down on Hagon, | did the hero mickle wrong, That in the boat he staggered, j and alighted on his knee ; Other such wrathful boatman | did never the Troneger see. Do wolde er baz erziirnen | den iibermlieten gast : er sluoc eine schalten, | daz diu gar zerbrast, Hagenen iiber daz houbet : | er was ein starker man. da von der Elsen verge | grozen schaden da gewan. His proud unbidden guest | he would now provoke still more ; He struck his head so stoutly | that it broke in twniu the oar, With strokes on head of Ha- gen ; | he was a sturdy- wight : Nathless had Gelfrat's boat- man I small profit of that fight. Mit grimmegem muote ] greif Hagene zehant vil balde z'einer scheiden, | da er ein wafen vant. er sluoc im ab daz houbet | und warf ez an den grunt. diu maere wurden schiere | den stolzen Burgonden kunt. With fiercely-raging spirit | the Troneger turned him round, Clutch'd quick enough his scab- bard, I and a weapon there he found ; He smote his head from off him, I and cast it on the sand: Thus had that wrathful boat- man I his death from Ha- gen's hand. Tliese passages, I am aware, will not avail to give an adequate representation of the whole tone and atmo- sphere of the poem. The attractive quaintness and artlessness of the old dialect, with its many curious THE NIBELUNOENLIEB. 127 idiomatic phrases, cannot be preserved in our modern English, any more than the same fresh and racy flavor which we find in the okler English of Chaucer and Spen- ser. Neither can the mere skeleton of the story, as I have been forced by want of space to give it, do justice to the many touches which constantly soften its gather- ing chronicles of slaughter. When Riidiger, who obeys Attila's command with a heavy heart, and goes with his warriors to attack the Nibelungen in the fatal banquet- hall, gives his own shield to Hagen, to replace that which has been hacked to pieces, we are told that "many cheeks were red with weeping." Gemot and Geiselher beg Queen Chriemhild to spare their lives, for they were all nursed by one mother ; but when she promises to do so if only Hagen, the murderer of Sieg- fried, be given up, the gallant Kings answer : " That can never be." There is the phantom of an implacable Fate behind all those dreadfuhdeeds : the kings and warriors clearly see the coming doom, and they meet it like heroes. At the close, we have forgotten the perfidy of Hagen, the fury of Chriemhild, the meanness of Gun- ther, the weakness of Attila, and are ready to join in that general lamentation which indiscriminately mourns all the slain. If the historical tradition of the Burgundian King Gundicar and his ten thousand warriors falling before Attila's march into France, be the exaggerated form of an actual occurrence, this maybe one of the bases of the 128 GERMAN LITERATURE. ^'Nihelungenlied.^^ Tlie other and earlier basis is Scan- dinavian saga, not liistorj, — or history in mythological disguise. The only other facts are that Attila's first wife, named Herka, is certainly the Halke of the epic; while an ancient Hungarian chronicle, of somewhat doubtful character, speaks of his second wife as Kriemheilch. Theodoric and Hildebrand are anachronisms, not to be exj)lained by the supposition that the former is intended for the Visigoth, Theodoric I. This is the slender root of fact to which hangs the wonderful growth of so many centuries. If I have not been able to prove it to you, in this brief space, I trust that I have at least indicated why the ^^ Nihelungenlied'" may be one of the most remarkable poems ever written. It is one of the oldest epics of our race. But when the enthusiastic German scholar calls it a Gothic Iliad, he uses an epithet which only confuses our ideas. It has neither the, unity nor the nobility of style wliich we find in Homer. There is the same dif- ference as between a Druid circle of huge granite boul- ders, although overgrown with ivy and wdld blossoms and encircled by a forest of Northern pine, and a sym- metrical marble temple on a sunny headland beside the blue sea. The world has fallen into a bad habit of nam- ing everything after something else. Let us call the Greek epic the ''Iliad,'" and the old German epic of the people nothing else but the '' NUxdungenlied.'''' In regard to that unknown man, whose genius, in the THE NIBELUNGENLIED. 129 tliirteentli century, sealed and transmitted to us the precious inheritance, I cannot do better than repeat Carlyle's words : "His great strength is an unconscious, instinctive strength ; wherein truly lies his highest merit. The whole spirit of Chivalry, of Love and heroic Yalor must have lived in him and inspired him. Everywhere he shows a noble sensibility ; the sad accents of parting friends, the lamentings of women, the high daring of men, all that is worthy and lovely prolongs itself in melodious echoes through his heart. A true old Singer, and taught of Nature herself ! Neither let iis call him an inglorious Milton, since now he is no longer a mute one. What good were it that the four or five letters composing his name could be printed, and pronounced with absolute certainty? All that is mortal in him is gone utterly : of his life, and its environment, as of the bodily tabernacle he dwelt in, the very ashes remain not : like a fair, heavenly Apparition, which indeed he was, he has melted into air, and only the Yoice he uttered, in virtue of its inspired gift, yet lives and will live." It is difficult to ascertain, at this distance of time, whether any stimulus was given to the popular forms of poetry in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries by the poetry of the courts ; but the latter certainly gave license - — which, in literature, is life, — to the former. The same phenomena, of course, would be found in both circles. Even as the renown of AYalther, Wolfram, Gottfried and 6* 130 GERMAN LITERATURE. Hartmanu would call into life a liost of inferior min- strels, so the popularity of the '^ Nihelungenlied" would inspire imitations, rival epics, based, like itself, on older lays, and even fanciful continuations of the same story. Many of these still remain, but I can only mention a single one of them — " The Lament," which some consider to be of earlier origin than the latest form of the "Nihe- lungen." It commences where the latter terminates — in the castle of Attila, among the corpses left by the great slaughter. It is written in the short couplet, which we have already met in ^'■Tristan''' and "Farzival," and the inferiority of which to the Nibelungen verse we feel more clearly than ever, if we take it up immediately after the latter. It is a weaker hand, which endeavors to ex- press that woe which the master only dared to indicate ; but there is one really touching passage, where Theo- doric calls upon the people to cease from weeping, through God's help ; and the author says : " as much as they promised it to him, yet did they not do it." When the dead have all been lamented, the minstrel Schwem- mel is sent as a messenger, to bear the news to "Worms. Frau Ute, the mother of the three Kings and Chriem- hild, dies of sorrow : the amazon Brunhild falls sense- less; and the young Siegfried, her son and Gunther's, is proclaimed King of the Nibelungen. Of the other epics or epical fragments which have been saved, I will only mention "Gudrun,'' as the most complete in form, and the next in literary character, THE NIBELUNGENLIED. 131 after the " Nibelunjenlied.'" The subject, however, be- longs to a diflferent sagenJcreis, or legendary circle : the scene is laid alternately in Ireland, Wales and on the Saxon shores of the North Sea. The same subject has very recently been used by a living poet, Mr. William Morris, in " The Lovers of Gudrun," — one of the narra- tives in his " Earthly Paradise." This circumstance, at least, may increase your curiosity to explore a field of literature so long forgotten to Germany, and even now almost unknown to the very race whose civilization flowed from the same original fountain. If we, as Americans, in the national sense, have an equal share in Shakespeare, Spenser and Chaucer, with our English brethren, so the Gothic and Saxon blood in our veins claims the inheritance of the " Hildebrandslied " and the early Nibelungen legends as fully as the German peoj)le. I have not now time to repeat the story of Gudrun and her lovers, of her brother Ortwin, and her betrothed, Herwig, of her captivity, and her hard service as a washerwoman by the sea-shore, of the fierce battle which released her, the joy of her mother Hilde, and the mar- riage of all the principal characters, which happily closes the thirty-two Avcntiures of the poem. Its char- acter seems almost idyllic when contrasted with the- tragedy of the " Nihelungenlicd.'''' Perhaps this distinc- tion may be felt, in the single quotation which I shall give, where Horant, the " storm-eagle " of Denmark, 132 GERMAN LITERATURE. appears as a minstrel at tlie Court of Hagen, Gudrun's father : Do sich dill naht verendet | und ez begunde tagen, H6rant begunde singen, | daz da bi in den hagen geswigen alle vogele ( von si- nem siiezen sange. die liute, die da sliefen, | die enlagen do nisvet lange. Sin liet erklang im shone, | ie hoher and ie baz. Hageneezselbe horte; | bi sineni wibe er saz. uz der kemenaten | muosten s'in die zinne. der gast wart wol beraten. | ez horte ez diu junge kiini- giune. Now when the night was end- ed I and it was near to dawn, Horiint began his singing, | and all the birds were drawn To silence in the hedges, | be- cause of his sweet song ; And the folk who still were sleeping, | when they heard him slept not long. Sweetly to them it sounded, j so loud and then so low ; And also Hagen heard it, | with his ^\ife of rose and snow. Forth they came from the cham- ber, 1 tothe hangingbalcony; As the minstrel wished, it hap- pened; I for the young Queen heard the melody. Des wilden Hagenen tohter | und ouch ir magedin, die sazen unde loseten, | daz diu vogellin vergazin ir doene | uf dem hove frone, wol horten ouch die helde, [ daz der von Tenemarke sane s6 schone. The daughter of wild Hagen, | and her maidens highest and least. They sat and silently listened, | while the songs of the small birds ceased. About the court of the castle, | and the heroes also heard. How the minstrel of Denmark chanted, | so sweetly the souls of all were stirred. Do wart im gedauket | von wiben und von man. d6 sprach von Tenen Fruote: | " min neve mohte s'lan. He was thanked by every woman, I and after by all the men. And out of the guests of Denmark, I spake bold Fruote then : THE NIB EL UXOENLIED. 133 sin ungef iiege doenc, I die ich in "My nephew sllo^^ld leave liis hoere singen, wem mag er ze dienste | als un- gef iiege tagewise bringen ? " singing : | 'tis too unskilful- ly played : To whom may he be bringing | this awkward morning sere- nade?" Do sprachen Hagenen helde : | " herre, lat vernemen: niemen lebet so siecher, | im mohte wol gezemen hoeren sine stimme, | diu get uz sin em munde." daz wolde got von himele," | sprach der kiinic, "daz ich sie selbe kunde." Answered Hagen, the hero : ] " My lord, let me know your mind ! Xo one unsmote by sickness [* could pleasure fail to find In the beautiful voice that Com- eth I out of his mouth so true : " Said the King : ' ' Would to God in heaven | that I myself the same could do ! " D(5 er due doene | sunder vol gesanc, alle die ez horten, | duhte ez niht so lane, sie heten'z niht geahtet | einer hande wile, obe er solde singen, | daz einer mcihte riten tusent mile. When he had sung three mea- sures, I even to the end each song, Every one thought who heard them, I the time was not so long. They had not thought it longer | than the turning of a hand, Though he sang while one were riding | a thousand miles across the land. Here tliere is altogetlier a softer, more lyrical spirit tlian in the " Nihelungeny Something of the sentiment of the Minnesingers has been incorporated into the older legend, and it takes not only the form but also the feeling of the later age. Gervinus says — and in this sense we may admit the comparison — that "Gudrmi" bears the 134 GERMAN LITERATURE. same relation to the ^' Nihelimgenlied^' as the "Oclyssoj" to the "Iliad : " "it has many qualities," he adds, "which we would willingly see added to the greater epic. It avoids the dry, colorless manner of narration, without adopting the hollow love of ornament of the courtly poets. Both jjoems may claim an immortal honor for the nation. They reach equally far into time with their deeds, cus- toms and views of life, — and into those times, whereof the prejudiced Roman enemies reported the bravery and barbarism, but also the fidelity and honesty, the honor and chastity of our venerable ancestors." So far I may quote and accept the views of the great historian of German literature ; but when he compares these epics with the "inflated and disgusting British romances," referring to the legends of Arthur and the Holy Grail, he shows rather the egotism of his blood than the impartial vision of his calling. But, in reality, we need no critical guide for this period, when we have once mastered the language. There was no elaborate art, even for the most accom- plished of the courtly minstrels : each expressed what he knew, without those disguises or affectations of deej^er wisdom which are common in a more highly developed age. The popular epics are as frank and transparent as the unlettered human nature of the race, and it is not the least of their many excellent qualities that they inspire us with a better respect for that nature, since it produced them. V. THE LITERATUEE OF THE REFORMATION. The fourteentli and tlie fifteentli centuries seem, at first sight, to present nearly a blank in the history of Ger- man literature, and it would greatly simplify my task if I could omit all notice of them, and pass at once to the new spirit which was born with the Reforma- tion, and partly because of it. Such an omission, how- ever, would leave unexplained the manner of a change which distinguishes the German literature of the Mid- dle Ages from that which succeeded it after so long an interval. The two intervening centuries were in some respects the darkest in mediseval history ; they were certainly the most confused ; and whether we take the political, the religious or the literary element, we shall have equal difficulty in finding an easy path through the chaos. With the fall of the Hohenstaufen dynasty the power of the German Emperors in Italy was broken, to be soon entirely lost. The same result which attended the partial religious enfranchisement of Germany fol- lowed the political enfranchisement of Italy : the stars of Dante and Petrarch rose, as those of Walther and 135 136 GERMAN LITERATURE. Wolfi'am set. Art and Literature revived tliere, under the new republics, but in Germany the successors of the Hohenstaufens were men of a very different stamp. Hudolf of Hapsburg first set the example of a narrov/ attention to the affairs of his race, but he was no lover of the minstrels— and perhaps with good reason. The mediaeval passion for song began at the top and worked downward, from reigning princes and poetic knights, through the subordinate classes of society. By the end of the thirteenth century the aristocratic power of production was exhausted, while the popular element — in spite of the "Nibclungenlied" and "Gudrim" — had not yet worked its way upward to influence the tastes or instincts of the higher classes. There was no prose literature as yet, and nearly a hundred years more elapsed before the official documents and records of the country were written in the German language. We can hardly wonder that courtly j)atronage was withheld, when the minstrels had come to be bores, both in their numbers and in the quality of their songs. The largesse bestowed on a few lucky ones tempted great numbers of poor, ambitious, half-educated nobles to adopt the profession, and Germany began to resound with the strains of hungry, pretentious and not even elegant mediocrity. Then began the rivalry of the im- perial candidates, the fierce discussion between emperor and nobles, the petty feuds of several hundred reigning princes, counts and prelates, — the appearance of a grow- THE LITERATURE OF THE REFORMATION. 137 iug middle class, — all these causes resulting iu constant war or menace of war. Pestilence, in new and fearful forms, followed by famine, swept over Europe ; Huss came, and was burned, leaving a sword behind him which was not sheathed until nearly two hundred and fifty years had passed ; and the forerunners of the modern time appeared, as the mariner's compass, gun- jDowder, watches and the art of printing. Yet, during this season of agitation and conflict and violence, the basis of a new literature was laid, partly through the revival of the ancient instincts of the people, and partly from the stimulus of coming religious and political struggles. The two literary forces which were so marked in the Hohenstaufen period continue to be distinguished for some time afterward. Both the courtly and the poj)u- lar minstrels followed for a while the same retrograde jjath. Even as they had evolved the epic from ballad material, they now began to take epic subjects and, from deficiency of j)ower, to treat them as ballads; and, as is always the case, their vanity and arrogance increased in projiortion as their performance became contemptible. We have but to read a few pages of Hugo von Montfort, Oswald von Wolkenstein, or Al- brecht's ''TitureJ," to see the decadence of the courtly poetry ; or of Kaspar von der Koen and Ulric Fiiterer, to see how the popular poetry kept pace with it down- ward. The one man who, iu imitation of Petrarch, was 138 GERM A J^ LITERATURE. crowned by tlie Emperor, Frederic III., in tlie fifteenth century, was Conrad Celtes, whom we do not know as a poet. A single fact may be mentioned, to show the utter absence of the most ordinary literary instinct in that period. A Baron von Eapoltstein, who perceived that Wolfram von Eschenbach had omitted from his '^FarzivaV many episodes of the original legend, which would not harmonize with his poem, employed a Jew to translate, and a scribe to write for him, all these ejDi- sodes, which, turned into the worst doggrel by himself, he then published as a continuation of Wolfram's great work! Even the " Theiieirlank " of the Emperor Maxi- milian, although it must have been immensely admired by the courtiers, is too stupid to be read by any healthy person now-a-days. The scholar Vilmar, with all his apparent reverence for Maximilian, cannot help say- ing : " the ' Theueixlanh ' now rests in the dust of the libraries, even as the noble Maximilian in the mould of his imperial vault. Let us leave them in peace, the great Emperor and his little book ! " About the only conclusion we can draw from the examination— I will not say the study — of those inferior works, is this : that Wolfram von Eschenbach was the one master wdiom the degenerate poets imitated in epic narrative, and Walther von der Yogelweide was their model in Minne-song. They must, therefore, have en- joyed a popularity in their own day, and have made an impression strong enough to be inherited by the com- TUE LITERATURE OF TUE REFOR3IATfON. 139 iug generations, — ^just as now no one dares to dispute Milton's or Dryden's place, tliougli so few read tliem. In the popular poems, a didactic element gradually be- came apparent, possibly encouraged by the continued reproduction of tlie much older poem of "Bcinec'ke Fos," which appeared, in the latest and best version, in Liibeck, in the year 1498. This is another of those works which come down to us, like the "JSfihclungen- Ued," out of an impenetrable mist. We cannot say when or where it originated : we only know that it also grew by the accretion of scattered fragments or independent fables, that it was twice written in Latin, under the name of "Heinardus," in Flanders, in the twelfth century, that it soon after (or, possibly, even earlier) entered French and German literature, was retold by an unknown German author in the thirteenth century, and about the same time by William de Matoc, in Dutch, — some of these versions containing from fifty to one hundred thousand lines. I cannot undertake more than the mere mention of this remarkable work, not because it does not deserve it, but simply because it seems to have exercised no very important influence upon German literature, in compari- son with the heroic epics. It contains, in fact, so much shrewd knowledge of human nature, so much wit and vivacity, and, as a story, is constructed with such un- doubted skill, that when Goethe undertook to reproduce it in his own finished hexameters, he did not dare to change the original in any essential particular. But, 140 OERMAN LITERATURE. "Iie{n£c7:e FticJis" is a compouucl fable, born of those times wlieu the fox, the lion, the wolf, the bear, the ass and the liare were made the object of that satire which the author was not at liberty to fling openly nj^on their human representatives. Fable is the refuge of the poet when his people are barbarous and his ruler despotic. As soon as he may venture to satirize and scourge the vices of classes, and then of individual characters, its office is at an end. For men are always more legiti- mately his theme than beasts, and Fable is only gene- rally popiilar among restricted and undeveloped races, or with children in passing through the corresponding stage of growth. Not even Goethe's genius, and Kaul- bach's after him, can make men read "JReinecke FiicJis" at this day. It impresses us as a performance of masked figures, and we prefer to see the full range of undis- guised human expression on the stage. I find very lit- tle evidence that the older poem contributed toward the development of even the humorous element in Ger- man literature. It is an illustration, and a valuable one ; but in dealing with the direct and powerful influences, the effects of which we can trace from century to cen- tury, it must be set aside, to be considered afterward from an independent point of view. There are records, nevertheless, left by the fourteenth and the fifteenth centuries, which possess a genuine inter- est for us. Unnoticed at the time, much of the material must have died, as naturally as it originated, ignorant TUE LITERATURE OF TUE REF0RMATI02T. 141 of its own value ; but here and tliere a little song or ballad, like the English Reliques gathered by Percy and Ellis, has survived the storms of the ages. The popular songs — by which I mean, not those written for the peo- ple, in imitation or continuation of the earlier heroic ballads or epics, but those written by the people them- selves, — nay, not written, only sung, verse sprouting from verse as simply as leaf from leaf on a plant— these songs show that we have found a new spirit. They are an evidence that the impulse from above, under the Ho- henstaufens, has at last touched bottom, and quick- ened the latent poetic instinct of the people, which begins to speak with the childish stammer of a new lan- guage. Take, for example, this little " Trooper's Song," from the fifteenth century, hinting of plunder, but very bold and spirited : Woluf, ir lieben gsellen, die uns gebruodert sein, und raten zuo ! wir wcillen dort prassen iibei- Rein ; es kuiiit ein f risclier summer, daruf icli mein sacli setz, als ie lenger, ie dixmmer : bin hin ! wetz, eber, wetz ! wack, liuetlein, in dem gfretz ! Up and away, good comrades, Ye gallant brothers mine, Eide fast ! it is our purpose To dash beyond the Rhino. There comes a fine fresh summer And i)romises good store : The longer 'tis, the better ; Up, whet your tusks, old boar ! The pasture waits once more. Dor sumor sol uns bringeu ein frischen frcien muot, leicht tuot uns irn gelingen, so kum wir hinder guot ; The summer, it shall bring us Good luck and courage pure : Success for us is easy, And gay return is sure. 142 GERMAN LITERATURE. sie sein vil e erritten, Many rode out before us dan graben, dise schetz, And treasure found in store ; wir ban uus lang gelitten : We're starved too long already; bin bin ! wetz, eber, wetz ! Up, wbet your tusks, old boar ! wack, biietlein, in dem gfretz ! Tbe pasture waits once more. Drumb last ucb nit crscbreck- Tben be not slow or timid, en, ir friscben krieger stolz ! Ye troopers, fresb and good ! wir ziebeu durcb die becken We'll break tbrougb bedge and tbicket, und rumpeln in das bolz ; And crasb across tbe wood ! man wird nocb unser geren Ours sball be name and bonor und nit acbten so letz, As good as any wore : all ding ein weil tuon weren : Wbat otbers do, we'll do it : bin bin ! wetz, eber, wetz ! Up, wbet your tusks, old boar ! wack, biietlein, in dem gfretz ! Tbe pasture waits once more. I tliiuk it requires but a slight familiarity with the German language, to feel the complete variation in tone and spirit between these verses and those of the Minnesingers. The movement, the character, almost the language, is that of modern song : so might Theodor Korner have written, had he lived in those days. This popular poetry grew up simultaneously with another variety of lyric art which I must mention here, since it can be traced back to the middle of the four- teenth century, although its period of bloom was much later. It is the most remarkable phenomenon in the intellectual history of any people. One who is unac- quainted with the development of German literature might well be pardoned for doubting it. The fact that thousands upon thousands of j^ersons organized for the THE LITERATURE OF THE REFORMATION 143 purpose of vrriting poetry, and kept up tlieir organiza- tion for centuries, seems incredible. Wliat is called tlie Meistergesang in Germany (master-poetry, though a bet- ter translation is trade -poetry) was the successor of the Minnegesang, and there is some reason for conjecturing that Frauenlob, the last, and, to my thinking, the poor- est of the Minnesingers, was one of the first Masters of the trade. When the organized societies had existed for some time throughout Germany, and traditions of former generations of professional singers began to gather about them, an attempt was made to give a Ma- sonic mystery and antiquity to the craft; but it is not officially mentioned in documents before the close of the fourteenth century, and there is no evidence what- ever that any of the guilds were in existence before the year 1300. The mechanics, singularly enough, were among the first to enroll themselves, and it is probable that the conservatism of their class was the chief means of sustaining these guilds of song for five hundred years; for, although the famous school of Nuremberg was closed in 1770, the last songs were sung by the twelve masters of Ulm, in the year 1330. A rapid sketch of the nature and regulations of one of these master-schools must not be omitted. Eacli cit}' had its own laws and customs, but the constitution of all was similar. The general method, according to which all songs must be written — called the Tabulatur — was first adopted. Then the members of the guild 144 GERMAN LITERATURE. were divided according to tlieir knowledge and still. Those still ignorant of the rhythmical laws were called "Pupils;" those acquainted with those laws, "School- friends;" those who knew several "tones" (forms of verse), were "Singers;" those who were able to compose new words to the old tones, were "Poets;" and, finally, those capable of inventing a new tone, were " Masters." Frauenlob, for instance, was the inventor of thirty-five • such new tones. The names given to them were very curious and ludicrous. In his " Hyperion," Longfellow mentions the " flowery-paradise-measure, the frog-mea- sure, and the looking-glass-measure," — and he might also have added " the much-too-short-sunset-measure, the striped-saffron-flower-measure, the English-tin-mea- sure, the blood-gleaming-wire-measure, the fat-badger- measure, the yellow-lion' s-hide-measure, and the de- ceased-glutton-measure ! " When the guild assembled, three ofiicials, called the 3Ierkcr, took their seats upon a raised platform ; their business was to listen sharply, detect faults in the singers, and either punish or reward them according to their deserts. The rules, in this respect, were very strict : among the crimes were not only unusual words, slight rhythmical changes or variations in the melody, but even what were called " false opinions." Whoever succeeded in fulfilling all the laws of the Tahiihtur, and was therefore perfect in the trade, received a silver chain to which a medal, containing the head of King THE LITEIIATURE OF HIE REFORMATIOX. 14.j David, was atfcacliecl : the second prize was a wreatli of artificial llowers made of silk. When we consider that, from first to last, this institu- tion of the Master-Song existed five hundred years, and that every considerable town in Germany had its guild, we may guess what a colossal quantity of mechanical poetry was produced. On the other hand, we shall not wonder that so little of it has survived. The Eeforma- tion only strengthened it by giving it a religious char- acter, and the Thirty Years' War probably only made the blood-gleaming-wire-measure more common, for it hardly shook a single society out of existence. Of the thousands of Masters who lived and died, only one — the greatest — has been much heard of outside of Ger- many, and that is Hans Sachs, of Nuremberg, the writer of more than six thousand poems and dramatic pieces. Even he, though the later poets and the modern critics of Germany have recognized his merit and deserved prominence in a dreary literary age — even he cannot escape the hard mechanical touch of his laws of master- song. In Kaulbach's picture of the Pieformation, ho is drawn in his leather apron, seated, and counting off the feet of his verse with his thumb and forefinger. This is a nice characteristic ; for I need hardly tell you that the Poet who is born, and not made, never counts his feet in that way. Nevertheless, there is little of Hans Sachs's poetry which does not suggest to me that thumb and forefin<]rer. 146 GERMAN LITERATURE. Since the members were almost exclusively mecha- nics, we might expect that so long a metrical discipline must have affected the tastes and instincts of the people. It must, at least, have partly laid the basis of that general sesthetic development which occurred seventy or eighty years ago. At the present day there are few educated Germans, men or women, who cannot write rhythmically correct verse. But when we come to speak of poetry as the expression of intellectual growth, the result would probably be the very opposite. The good mechanics confounded the letter and the spirit, like many men in much higher stations. I confess there is something picturesque and even beautiful in this long devotion to the external form, with all its unnatural and ludicrous features ; and I am ready to agree with Longfellow, when he, a Master-singer, thus sings of those old Master- singers : " From remote and sunless suburbs came tliey to the friendly guild. Building nests in Fame's great temple, as in spouts the swallows build. As the weaver plied his shuttle, wove he too the mystic rhyme ; And the smith his iron measures hammered to the anvil's chime ; Thanking God, whose boundless wisdom makes the flowers of poesy bloom In the forge's dust and cinders, in the tissues of the loom." Here, then, are the chief features of German litera- ture between the years 1300 and 1500 — weak echoes of the epic and the minue-song, gradually dying of their own imbecility : the institution of poetry as a trade or TUE LITERATURE OF THE REFORMATION. 147 handicraft (more correctly, worcUcraff) ; the modest growth of a new spirit of song among the common peo- ple ; the increasing prominence of the didactic element, and the slow and painful effort of the neglected Ger- man 23rose to raise itself into notice. The invention of printing, at the start, gave currency to many more indif- ferent works than to those which needed to be saved ; but the fermentation w^hich preceded the great religious movement had already commenced, and it was destined to stamp its character upon nearly all the literature of the next century. Before we turn to the coming change, let me mention two or three works which lift themselves a little above the level of the intermediate period. In the first place many knightly legends and old traditions were trans- lated and read throughout Germany — among others "Die siehen iveisen Meister" (The Seven Wise Masters) and the "Gesta Bomanortim ;" various historical chroni- cles were written ; and the theological writings of Tauler, the mystic, and Gailer von Kaysersberg, are worthy of notice. Sebastian Brandt, toward the close of the fif- teenth century, published his "Narre7wchiff'" (Ship of Fools) and his "Narrenspiegel" (Mirror of Fools), didactic poems of a Hudibrastic character, full of shrewd and pithy phrases, in a coarse Alsatian German, and with frequent gleams of a genuine humor. They were very popular for some years, until the religious division of Germany drew nearer, when Brandt, like his successor, lis GERMAir LITERATURE. Thomas Mumer, became a bitter opj)onent of tlie Refor- mation. Murner followed with his ''Narrenhesckivi/rung " (Conjuration of Fools) ; but his chief merit was his ver- sion of the pranks of Till Eulenspiegel (Till Owlglass) — a famous book ever since that day. A translation of it was published in this country only four or five years ago. I might also mention the names of Eosenbliit and Muscatbliit, and of that hand-organ grinder, Caspar von der Roen, but only because they sometimes occur in German literature. They wrote nothing of sufficient interest to review here. The Reformation was partly heralded by pamphlets and poems, as well as by sermons. All the principal Reformers rose at once, as authors, far above their immediate literary predecessors. That daring and inde- pendent spirit which grew from their strongest spiritual convictions extended itself to everything which they spoke or wrote. In forgetting the conventionalities of literature, and giving their whole soul and strength to the clearest utterance of their views, they unconsciously acquired a higher literary style. In singing what they felt to be God's truth, they did not take the Minne- singers as models, or consider the artificial rules of the Masters; and so there came into their songs a new, veritable sweetness and strength, drawn directly from the heart. It was no time for purely aesthetic develop- ment ; fancy or imagination could not soar in that stern, disturbed atmosj)here. But the basis was then laid, on THE LITEEATURE OF THE REFORMATION. 149 wliicli tlie immortal literature of the last century is founded. Zwingli -was born in November, 1483, Luther two months afterward, and Ulric von Hutten in 1488. They worked simultaneously, but in dijfferent ways and with very different degrees of literary merit. Zwingli was polemical, Hutten satirical, and Luther creative. Hutten's Dialogues, in point, satire and rapid ease of movement, surpass any German prose before him ; but they, like all German prose up to that time, are marked by the local dialect of the author. The language was gradually developing its qualities, but in an irregular and not very coherent fashion. Philologically, there were almost as many different varieties of prose as there were autliors, while poetry (except the unnoticed songs of the people) had hardened into the rigid moulds made for it more than two hundred years before. The man who re-created the German language — I hardly think the expression too strong — was Martin Luther. It was his fortune and that of the world that he was so equally great in many directions — as a per- sonal character, as a man of action, as a teacher and preacher, and, finally, as an author. No one before him, and no one for nearly two hundred years after him, saw that the German tongue must be sought for in the mouths of the people — that the exhausted expression of the earlier ages could not be revived, but that the newer, fuller and richer speech, then in its childhood. 150 GERMAN LITERATURE. must at once be acknowledged and adopted. He made it tlie vehicle of Avliat was divinest in human lan- guage ; and those who are not informed of his manner of translating the Bible, cannot appreciate the origi- nality of his work, or the marvelous truth of the in- stinct which led him to it. Y/itli all his scholarship, Luther dropped the theo- logical style, and sought among the people for phrases as artless and simple as those of the Hebrew writers. He frequented the market-place, the merry-making, the house of birth, marriage or death among the common people, in order to catch the fullest expression of their feelings in the simplest words. He enlisted his friends in the same service, begging them to note down for him any peculiar, sententious phrase ; " for," said he, " I can- not use the words heard in castles and at courts." Not a sentence of the Bible was translated, until he had sought for the briefest, clearest and strongest German equivalent to it. He writes, in 1530 : " I have exerted myself, in translating, to give pure and clear German. And it has verily happened, that we have sought and questioned a fortnight, three, four weeks, for a single word, and yet it was not always found. In Job we so labored, Philip Melanchthon, Aurogallus and I, that in four days we sometimes barely finished three lines. . . . It is well enough to plow, when the field is cleared ; but to root out stock and stone, and prepare the ground, is what no one will." THE LITERATURE OF THE REFORMATION. 151 He illustrates his own plan of translation by an ex- ample wliicli is so interesting that I must quote it : "We must not ask the letters in the Latin language how we should sjjeak German, as the asses do, but we must ask the mother in the house, the children in the lanes, the common man in the market-place, and read in their mouths how they speak, and translate accord- ing thereto : then they understand, for they see we are speaking German to them. As when Christ says : Ex dbundantia cordis os loquitur. Now if I were to follow the asses, they would dissect for me the letters and thus translate : ' Out of the superabundance of the heart, speaks the mouth.' Now tell me, is that spoken German ? What German understands that ? What is superabundance of the heart, to a German? No Ger- man would say that, unless he meant that he had too much of a heart, or too big a heart, although even that is not correct ; for superabundance of heart is no Ger- man, any more than — superabundance of house, super- abundance of cooking-stove, sujjerabundance of bench ; but thus speaketh the mother in the house and the common man : Whose heart is full, his mouth overflows. That is Germanly spoken, such as I have endeavored to do, but, alas ! not always succeeded." Luther translated the Bible eighty years before our English version was produced. I do not know whether the English translators made any use of his labors, although they inclined toward the same plan, without 152 GERMAN LITERATURE. following it so conscientiously. In regard to accuracy of rendering, there is less difference. Bunsen, in liis "BibelwerJc," states thattliere are more than five hundred errors in either version. But, in regard to the fullness, the strength, the tenderness, the vital power of language, I think Luther's Bible decidedly superior to our own. The instinct of one great man, is, in such matters, if not a safer, at least a more satisfactory guide than the ave- rage judgment of forty-seven men. Luther was a poet as well as a theologian, and, as a poet, he was able to feel, as no theologian could, the intrinsic difference of spirit and character in the different books of the Old Testament, — not only to feel, but, through the sympa- thetic q^^ality of the poetic nature, to reproduce them. These ten years, from 1522 to 1532, which he devoted to the work, were not only years of unremitting, prayer- ful, conscientious labor, but also of warm, bright, joyous .intellectual creation. We can only appreciate his won- derful achievement by comparing it with any German prose before his time. Let me quote his version of the 139th Psalm, as an example of the simplicity, the strength and the nobility of his style : Herr, du erforschest micTi, und kennest micli. 2. — Icli sitze Oder stelie auf, so weisst du es ; du verstehest meine Qedanken von feme. 3. — Ich gehe oder liege, so bist du um micli, und siehest alle me'ne Wege. 4. — Denn siehe, es ist kein Wort auf meiner Zunge, das du, Herr, nicht AUes wissest. THE LITERATURE OF THE REFORMATION. I53 5. — Du scliaffest es, was icli vor oder liernacli thiie, unci liiiltst doine Hand iiber mir. 6. — Solclies Erkeuutniss ist mir zu Aviinderlicli und zu liocli ; icli liann es niclit begreifen. 7. — Wo soil ich hingelien vor deinem Geist? Und wo soil icli hln- fliehen vor deinem Angesiclit ? 8. — Fiilire icli gen Hinimel, so bist du da. Bettete ich mir in die Holle, sielie, so bist du audi da. 9. — Nalime ich Fliigel der Morgenriithe, und bliebe am ausscrsten Meer, 10. — So wiirde mich doch deine Hand daselbst fiihren, und deine Eechte mich halten. 11. — Spriiche ich: Finsterniss mcige mich decken ; so muss die Naclit audi Licht um mich seyn. 12. — Denn auch Finsterniss nicht fluster ist bei dir, und die Nacht leuchtet wie der Tag ; Finsterniss ist wie das Licht. Now let us take a few verses from tlie well-known cliapter of Paul — the tliirteentli of the first Epistle to the Corinthians, and feel how Luther was equally capable of expressing the warmth, the tenderness and the beauty of the originah You will note that the word "charity" of our version is more correctly rendered " love " : Wenn ich mit Menschen- und mit Engelzungen redete, und hiitte der Liebe nicht ; so ware ich ein tiinend Erz, oder eine kliugende Schelle. 2. — Und wenn iclt weissagen konnte, und wiisste alle Geheimnisse, und alle Erkenntniss, und hiitte alien Glauben, also, dass ich Berge versetzte, und hiitte der Liebe nicht ; so wiire ich nichts. 3. — Und wenn ich alle meine Habc den Armen giibe, und liesse mei- nen Leib brennen, und hiitte der Liebe nicht ; so wiire mir's nichts niitze. 4. — Die Liebe is langmiithig und freundlich, die Liebe eifert nicht, die Liebe treibt nicht Muthwillen, sie bliihet sich nicht, 5.— Sie stellet sich nicht ungeberdig, sie sucliet nicht das Ihre, sie lasst sich nicht erbittern, sie trachtet nicht nach Schaden, ■7* loi GERMAN LITERATURE. 6. — Sie freuet sich niclit der Ungerechtigkeit, sie freuet sicli aber der Walirlieit, 7. — Sie vertrilgt Alles, sie glaubet Alles, sie lioffet Alles, sie duldet Alles. 8. — Die Liebe horet nimmer auf, so docli die Weissagungen aufli6ren werden, und die Spracben aufhoren werden, und das Erkenntniss aufbOren wird. I have not the time to compare, as I should wish, certain passages, verse by verse, nor, indeed, to dwell longer on a work which, although a translation, pos- sesses for the German race the literary importance of an original creation. Let us take two very different examples of Luther's abilities as an author — the first, that celebrated hymn, "■Eine feste Burg ist unser Gott,''' which should be properly chanted to his own music, as it still is in Germany, in order to be fully appreciated. The theme is taken from the forty-sixth Psalm; the translation is Carlyle's : EIn feste burg ist vnser Gott, ein gute webr vud wafEen : Er bilfft vus f rey aus aller not die vns itzt hat betrofEen. Der alt bose feind niit ernst ers itzt meint, gros macht vnd viel list sein grausam rustung ist, auff crd ist uicbts seins gleicben. Mit vnser macbt ist nichts ge- than, wir sind gar bald verloren : Es streit f iir vns der recbte man, den Gott bat seibs erkoreu. A safe stronghold our God is still, A trusty shield and weapon ; He'll help us clear from all the ill That hath us now o'ertaken. The ancient Prince of Hell Has risen with purpose fell ; Strong mail of Craft and Power He weareth in this hour. On Earth is not his fellow. With force of arms we nothing can. Full soon were we down-ridden ; But for us fights the proper Man, Whom God himself hath bidden. THE LITERATURE OF TEE REFORMATION. 155 Fragstu, wer der ist ? er heisst Jhesus Christ, der HERR Zebaoth, vnd ist l^eiu auder Gott, das felt mus er belialten. Vnd weun die welt vol Teuffel wer, vnd wolt vns gar verschlingen, so f iircliten wir vns nicht so selir, es sol vns doch gelingen. Der Fiirst dieser welt, wie sawr er sich stelt, tlmt er vns docli niclit, das maclit, er ist gericht, ein wortlin kan jn fellen. Das wort sie solleu lassen stan vnd kcin danck dazu haben, Er ist bej vns wol au£E deui plan mit seinem geist vnd gaben. Nemen sie den leib, gut, ehr, kind vnd weib : las faliren dabin, sie liabcus kein gewin, Das Reich mus vns doch bleiben. Ask yc. Who is this same? Christ Jesus is his name. The Lord Zebaoth's Son, He and no other one Shall conquer in the battle. And were this world all Devils o'er, And watching to devour us. We lay it not to heart so sore. Not they can overpower us. And let the Prince of 111 Look grim as e'er he will. He harms us not a whit : For why? His doom is writ, A word shall quickly slay him. God's Word, for all their craft and force. One moment will not linger. But spite of Hell shall have its course, 'Tis written by his finger. And though they take our life, Goods, honour, children, wife. Yet is their profit small ; These things shall vanish all. The Citv of God remaineth. We seem to hear the steps of a giant, to whom every- thing must give way, in the strong, short march of the original lines. I meant to quote, as a contrast to this, the letter which Luther wrote to his little son, as delightfully artless and childlike a piece of writ- ing as anything which Hans Christian Andersen has ever produced. But it is so well known that I have decided to translate, instead, a Christmas poem for 15G GERMAN LITERATURE. cliildren, wliicli I believe has never been rendered into English : VOm Himel hocli da kom ich From Heaven I come, a herald lier, true, icli bring eucli gute newe mehr. To bring glad tidings down to you. Der guten mehr bring icli so viel So mucli good news I hither bring dauon ich singen vnd sagen wil. That I thereof must speak and sing. Euch ist ein kindlein heut ge- There's born, to-day, a little born, child, von einer Jungfraw, auserkorn. And from a Virgin, pure and mild ; Ein kiudelein, so zart und fein, A babe so fine and fair to see, das sol ewr freud vnd wonne It must your bliss and fortune sein. be. Es ist der HERR Christ vnser 'Tis Christ, the Lord, our God Gott, indeed, der wil euch f arn aus aller not. Who out of trouble us shall lead ; Er wil ewr Heiland selber sein, He shall your Saviour be, and make von alien sunden machen rein. Te pure of sin for his sweet sake. Er bringt euch alle seligkeit, All joy to you his hand shall bear, die Gott der Vater hat bereit. Which God the Father did pre- pare. Das jr mit vns im himelreich That so with us ye children be solt leben nu vnd ewigleicli. In his own heaven eternally. So mercket nu das zeichen recht, Isow mark ye well what tokens these : die krippen, windelein so schlecht. The manger and the cloth of frieze. THE LITERATURE OF THE REFORMATION. 157 Da fiodet jr das kind gelegt, Tlie little baby there ye'll find, das alle welt erhelt und tregt. Who shall the world sustain and bind. Des lasst vns alle frulich sein Let lis with gladness and with prayer vnd mit den hirteu gehen hinein, Now enter with the shepherds there, Zu sehen, was Gott vns hat be- To see what God for us hath schert, done mit seineni lieben Son verehrt. In giving us his darling Son. Merck auff, mein hertz, vnd sich Look up, my dears ! turn there dort bin : your eyes : was ligt doch in dcm krippelin, WTiat is it in the manger lies ? Was ist das schone kindelin ? Who is the babe, the lamb, the dove? es ist das liebc Jhesulin. 'Tis little Jesus whom we love. Bis willekomen, du edler gast, Be welcome, guest so nobly prized, den Sunder nicht verschmehet Who hast the sinner not de- hast, spised, Vnd ktimpst ins elend her zu And should'st thou come thro' mir ; woe to me, wie sol ich immer dancken dir ? How shall I render thanks to thee ? Ach, HERE, du schtipffer aller Ah, Lord ! who did'st all things ding, create, wie bistu worden so gering. How art thou fallen to low estate ! Dass du da ligst auff diirrem Upon dry grass thou liest here : gras, dauon ein rind vnd esel ass. Beside thee feed the ass and steer. Vnd wer die welt vielmal so Were the whole world full as't weit, could hold von edel stein vnd gold bereit. Of precious jewels und of gold, 158 GERMAN LITERATURE. So wer sie docli dirviel zuklein, For tliee 'twere far too small : 'twould be zu sein ein enges wigelein. A narrow cradle unto thee ! Der sammet vnd die seiden dein, Tliy velvet and thy silks, to-day, das ist grob hew und windelein, Are coarsest cloth and roughest hay, Darauff du, Kcinig so gross vnd Whereon thou, mighty King, reich, dost lie her prangst, als wers dein Hi- As grandly as in Heaven high. melreich, Ach, niein hertzliebes Jhesulin, Ah, Jesus, darling of my breast, mach dir ein rein sanfft bettelin, Make thee a pure, soft bed of rest, Zu rugen in meins hertzen Within my heart as in a shrine, schrein, das ich nimer vergesse dein. That so I keep thy love divine. Dauon ich allzeit f rohlich sey. Thence happy shall I always be, zu springen, singen imer frey And leap and sing, rejoicing free, Das rechte Sussanine schon, As one who feels the perfect tone mit hertzen lust den siissen thon. Of sweet heart-music is his own. Lob, ehr sey Gott im hochsten Glory to God in the Highest thron, spend, der vns schenckt seinen einigen Who us His only Son did send, Son, Des frewen sich der engel schar. While angels now sing hymns of cheer, vnd singen vns solchs newes To give the world a glad New- jar. year. I make no apology for quoting tliis simple strain ; for when we Lave the expression of a man's power and energy on the one side, and of his delicacy of mind and playful tenderness of heart on the other, we have THE LITERATURE OF THE REFORMATION. I59 the broadest measure of his character. The influence of Luther on German literature cannot be explained until we have seen how sound and vigorous and many- sided was the new spirit which he infused into the language. For it is not simply the grand and stately elements which must be developed ; not the subtlety which befits speculation, or the keenness and point which are required for satire ; but chiefly the power of expressing homely human sentiment and painting the common phases of life. The hymns — or rather, devotional poems, — written by Luther's contemporaries, have a greater or less resemblance to his, in form and style. The one lied of Ulric von Hutten, commencing "Ich liaVs geioagt,^^ has the keenness of a sword-thrust : those of Paul Eber, Hermann, Nicolai and others vary according to the tem- perament or talent of the writer, but have a family re- semblance. Some are rough in measure and almost rude in diction ; others have some fluency and melody, with no special literary merit. To read them after Luther, is like reading Dr. Watts after Milton's " Hymn on the Nativity." I do not consider it necessary to give any specimens of their hymns, except a single verse from that written by the Duke John Frederick, the Magnanimous, of Saxony : As 't pleases God, so let it pass ; The birds may take my sorrow ; If fortune shun my house to-day, I'll wait until to-morrow. 160 aSRMAN LITERATURE. The goods I have I still shall save, Or, if some part forsake me, Thank God, who's just : What must be, must ; Good luck may still o'ertake me I The secular poets of the first half of the sixteenth century may be easily reviewed. I find no author of note, except Hans Sachs, although some of the shorter lyrics of Weckrlin and Andrsea are more than mechani- cal verse. One of the most prolific of this class of poets was Helmbold, whose productions were almost as plentiful, and not much more valuable, in a literary sense, than the rhymed advertisements of the news- papers now-a-days. Hans Sachs, who was born in 1494 and lived until 1576, must not be confounded with the host of Master- singers. He was a man of genuine native ability, of great experience and unusual learning. Educated at a good school as a boy, he then became a shoemaker, traveled as a wandering journeyman all over Germany, from the Baltic to the Tyrolese Alps, was a hunter in Maximilian's service, made the personal acquaintance of Luther, and returned to Nuremberg, at the age of twenty- two, to marry and devote himself to poetry. He was in easy circumstances, and did not need to depend on his trade. He knew all German and the best of classic literature, and even the works of Petrarch and Boccaccio. His glowing Protestantism gave much of his poetry a THE LITERATURE OF THE REFORMATION. 161 religious and didactic cliaracter, and the soulless me- chanism of the Master-craft is too frequently apparent ; but we also meet with lyrics and short dramatic pieces which are full of nature and grace, and which charm us by their happy felicity of language. If we apj)rove only five per cent, of his productions, we shall still have three hundred good works out of six thousand. His narra- tive tone is sometimes admirable, especially when he describes the scenes and circumstances of the life around him, not inventing, but representing poetically — to use Grimm's distinction between erdiclden and dichfen. He seems to be happiest when both subject and sentiment are what is called hiirgerUch, that is, belonging to tlie solid, thrifty middle class : there is nothing of the fine frenzy in him. Among English authors, I might com- pare him to Crabbe in the qualities of careful, nice ob- servation and sturdy good sense, but Crabbe was much his inferior in grace and variety of expression. Lessing and Goethe were among the first to rescue the fame of Hans Sachs from the disrespect into which it had fallen, under the dominion of French taste in Germany. Now, the honest Master is lifted again upon his proper pedes- tal, and sits (to quote Longfellow again) : " as in Adam Puscliman's song, As the old man, gray and dove-like, with his great beard white and long." I have had some difficulty in selecting a single short poem of Hans Sachs, which may illustrate the lighter 1G2 GERMAN LITERATURE. and more graceful features of his Muse. Every poem is accompanied by a statement of its measure, whether copied from an okler master or original. The latter, of course, is the more characteristic. As scarcely any- thing of Hans Sachs has ever been translated, I must furnish at least one specimen ; and I have taken a short poem, which he says was written in 1517, in his own " silver measure." DICHTER UND SINGER, THE POET AND THE SINGER. Icli lob ein brilnlein kiile mit ursprunges aufwiile fiir ein gross wasserhiile, die keinen ursprung hat. Sicli allein muss besechen mit zufliessenden bechen der briinnlein, mag icli sprechen ; die hill nit lang bestat. Wan von der sunen grosser hitz im sumerlangen tak die hill wirt faul und gar unniitz, gewint bosen geschniak; sie tnicknet ein, wirt griin und gelb; so frischet sich das briinnlein selb mit seinem uresprunge, beleibet unbezwunge von der sune scheiiiunge, es wirt nit faul noch mat. n Das briinlein ich geleiche einem dichtcr kunstrciche. I like a fountain, flowing Beside a cavern, showing No token, in its going. Of whence its waters came. Itself must fill forever. And by its own endeavor. The urn of its light river : The cave is not the same. \^nieu from the sun's increasing heat. In days of summertime, The cave is neither fresh nor sweet, But smells of mould and slime. And dries, and groweth rank and green ; Then doth the fount itself keep clean From out its hidden sources, — Conquers the sun's hot forces In all its crystal courses, And grows not foul nor dull. That fountain I compare to The poet, who doth swear to TRE LITERATURE OF TEE BEFORMATIOK. 103 der gesang anfenkleiclie dichtct aus klinsten grant ; Bas lob icli den mit rechte f ilr einen singer scTileclite, der sein gesang enpfeclite aus eines fremden munt. Wan so entspringet neue kunst, nocli slierfer, dan die alt, des singers gesang ist umsunst, er wirt gescliweiget bait ; er kan nit gen neue gespor sie sei ini den gebanet vor durch den dicbter on sherzen, der aiis knnstreicliem berzen kan dicbten ane scberzen neu gesang alle stunt. Won alle kiinst auf erden teglicb gescberfet werden von grobbeit und geferden, die man vor darin fant. Von gesang icb euch sage, das er von tag zu tage nocb scberfer werden mage durcb den dicliter, verstant. Darum gib icb dem dicbter ganz ein kron von roteni golt und dem singer ein griinen kranz. darbei ir merken solt : kem der singer auf todes bar, sein kunst mit im al stirbet gar ; wirt der dicbter begraben, sein kunst wirt erst erbaben miintlicb und in bucbstaben gar weit in mengem lant. Tbe poetry be's beir to ; And bonors art tbe more. But be — I say witb sorrow — Is a wretcbed singer thorougb, Wbo all bis songs must borrow From wbat was sung before. For wben new art is borii again, Better tban ancient tune, Tbe singer's song is all in vain : He sball be silenced soon : No effort of bis own avails To follow on tbose fresber trails, 'Gainst bim wbose fancies bear us, — Wliose beart and art declare us, Tbat ligbtly be can spare us A new song every hour. III. Our art, of trutb tbe mirror, Sbould daily be tbe clearer Of coarseness and of error, Tbat erewbile clouded it. And song — tbere's notbing surer ! — Sbould day by day be purer, And nobler, and securer. Made by tbe poet's wit. Tberefore a crown of red-gold sbeen Tbe poet sbould receive ; Tbe singer but a garland green. Tbat ye tbis trutb believe : Lieth tbe singer cold and dead. His art with bim batb perisbcd ; But wben tbe poet dietb His art tbat end denieth. And liv(>tb still, and tiietb To many a distant land. 1G4 GERMAN LITERATURE. The songs of the people continued to increase and to be sung, during the period of the Reformation. It is only in them, in fact, that we find the music and the melody of verse, of which the devotional and didactic poetry is so bare. The character of these songs remains the same as in the previous century, but the language shows a great improvement. Take this lovely little " Hunter's Song," by some unknown peasant-author : Es jagt ein jeger wolgemut A hunter liiintcd merrily, er jagt auss frischem freiem mut Under the leafy linden-tree ; wol unter eine griine linden, His free, strong heart upbore him ; er jagt derselben tierlein vil Many a beast he hunted down, niit seinen schnellen winden. With his greyhounds fast before him. Er jagt uber berg und tiefo tal under den stauden iiberal, sein hornlein tat er blasen ; sein lieb under einer stauden sass, tet auf den jeger losen. He sped through vale, o'er mountain cold. The thicket and the bushy wold. And blew his horn so clearly ; But under the boughs his sweet- heart sat. And looked on him so dearly. Er schweift sein mantel in das gras, er bat sie, dass sie zu im sass, mit weissen armen umbfangen : So gehab dich wol, mein trosterin ! nach dir stet mein verlangen. Upon the ground his cloak he threw, Sat there, and her beside him drew. And said, her white hand press- ing : "Well may'st thou fare, con- soler mine. My one desire and blessing ! THE LITERATURE OF THE REFORMATION, 165 " Hat uns der reif, liat uns der " If hoar-frost come, or snow be scline, seen, liat uns erf rcirt den grunen kle, To kill for us the clover green die bllimlein auf der heiden : And the blossoms on the heather, wo zwei herzlieb bei einander Nor frost nor snow can part the sind, twain die zwei sol niemant scheiden." Who love, and sit together ! " Or this little song of the "Nettle-Wreath" : " baurnkneclit, lass die roslein "0 peasant-lad, let the roses be ! Stan ! sie sein nit dein ! Not for thee they blow ! du tregst noch wol von nessel- Thou wearest still of the nettle- kraut weed ein krenzelein." Thy wreath of woe." Das nesselkraut ist bitter und The nettle-weed is bitter and saur, sour, und brennet mich: And burneth me ; verloren hab ich m.ein schones But that I lose my fairest love lieb das reuwet mich. Is my misery. Es reut mich sehr, und tut mir This I lament, and thence my heart in meinem herzen we : Is sad and sore : gesegn dich gott, mein holder God keep thee now, lost, lovely bul, girl ! ich sehe dich nimmer me ! I shall never see thee more. At first it may seem remarkable that, with such elements as Luther's prose and the birth of a true poetry among the people, there was not an immediate revival of literature in Germany. The new faith, how- ever, did not bring peace, but a sword. If arms silence laws, they silence letters all the more speedily. The IGG GERMAN LITERATURE. oppressions of the feudal system, which brought on the Peasants' War in Luther's time, were strengthened by the bloody failure of that war : rulers and nobles trod out every spark of a claim for better rights among the people. Thus, toward the close of the sixteenth cen- tury, when Spain and Italy and England were rejoicing in their classic age of literature, the finer mind of Ger- many seemed to be dead. But for Luther's achieve- ments, the Age of the Reformation would seem to be one of baffled promise, separated by dreary centuries from the literature of the Middle Ages, on the one hand, and that of the modern period on the other. Yet, as the strong foundations of an edifice must sometimes wait long for the building of the superstructure, so here the basis of the later development was complete, and the development itself predicted, in spite of all delays. YL THE LITERATURE OF THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY. In our journey downward, from the earliest period of German literature, w^e liave traversed very diiferent regions. We found ourselves, at tlie start, as in a rough land of mountains and dark fir forests, inhabited by a strong and simple race. There are meadows and fresh clearings in the valleys, but from the deeper gorges we hear the chant of Druids and the harps of the last Bardic singers. Then we issue upon a long, barren waste, beyond which lies the bright, busy, crowded land of the Middle Ages, with its castles and cathedrals, its marches and tournaments, its mingled costumes of the East and the West, its echoes of Palestine and Provence, of Brittany and Cornwall. Then again comes a w^aste, through which we walk wearily for a long time, before we reach a ncAv region — a land of earnest workers and builders, where the first resting-place we find is the block of a new edifice, not yet lifted to its place — a land of change and preparation, overhung by a doubtful sky, but OA^erblown by a keen, bracing air, in which the race again grows strong. We have now one more long, half- settled stretch of monotonous plain to traverse, before 167 168 GERMAN LITERATURE. finding tlie work of the builders completed, and the substructures of thought risen into temples which stand fair and firm under a sky of eternal sunshine. It is impossible for me, now, to give even a flying explanation of the many depressing influences which operated directly upon the literary activity of the Ger- man people during the latter half of the sixteenth and the whole of the seventeenth century. I can only name the chief of them : first, the change in the spirit and character of the Reformation, after the Peasants' War, and again after Luther's death, coupled with the in- fluence of the nobles and the ruling princes, who were at once despotic and indifferent to letters; then the terrible Thirty Years' "War, — the crudest infliction to which any people were ever exposed ; and, finally, the subjection of Germany to the tastes and the fashions of France and of French thought. Although Luther had created the modern High-Ger- man on the basis of the common speech of the j)eo- ple, and forced the Low-German into the position of a dialect, the dry theological tendency of his successors interfered directly with his work. The true beginning of a new literature having been found, it could only be developed in the same direction. But when the demo- cratic element in the Reformation was suppressed, the popular mine of speech which Luther discovered was no longer worked. Indeed the religious principle, which was inherited by the next generation, became a different LITERATURE OF THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY. 1G9 agency from tliat whicli Lad been attained tlirougli struggle and sacrifice.. It liad no longer the same vital, informing power ; and it settled rapidly into a dogma- tism only less rigid than tliat of tlie Cliurcli of Rome. Not only tlie literary interests suffered under this state of things, but the very language became corrupted by neglect and the style of ignorant and pretentious writers. In the beginning of the seventeenth century. Dr. Fabri- cius writes : " Our German tongue is not to that extent poor and decayed, as many persons would now have us believe, so patching and larding it with French and Italian, that they cannot even send a little letter with- out furbishing it with other languages, so that one, in order to understand it, ought to know all the tongues of Christendom, to the great disgrace and injury of our German language." It was probably the same circum- stance which led Fischart to write, a little earlier : " Our language is also a language, and can call a sack a sacli, as well as the Latins can call it a saccus." Directly following this haughty indifference of the higher class, this spiritual degeneracy of the middle class, and the suppression of the claims of the common people, came the Thirty Years' "War, — that terrible period from which Germany, in a material and political sense, has been nearly two hundred years in recovering. Whole regions were so devastated that the wolf and the bear resumed their original ownership ; the slow edu- cation of centuries was swept away ; a second barba- 170 GERMAN LITERATURE. rism, worse tlian the first, in some instances took its place ; and the Westphalian Peace left a land broken and despoiled of nearly everything, except the power of the rulers over their subjects. I have seen more than one district of Germany which, in 1850, had just re- covered the same amount of population, of cattle and of agricultural productions which it possessed before the year 1618. It is only by such statements that we can measure the results of that struggle. The Germany of to-day is not the work of its petty jjrinces, not the work of the sham emperors, whose " holy Roman" sceptre was the symbol of imaginary power, but the work of the people, liberated, educated, conscious of their strength and grand in exercising it. When we have studied the history of Germany suffi- ciently to comprehend the constant, almost indescrib- able trials and sufferings of the people during this period, we no longer wonder at their retarded intellec- tual development. But for an infinite patience and courage, they must have lost their national identity, like the Goths and Burgundians. But, as we have seen, much good seed had been planted, and such seed will always germinate, though held in the hand of an Egyp- tian mummy for three thousand years. It was only a delayed, not a prevented growth. Two men then arose who belong to the greatest minds of the world — two men whose peculiar labors abstracted them from the miserable circumstances into which they were born, LITERATURE OF THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY. IJl and rendered tliem comparatively independent of their time. They were Kepler and Leibnitz. One belongs to science, and the other to philosophy. But Kepler is hardly to be called an author, and Leibnitz wrote chiefly in Latin, and therefore hardly connects himself with German literature. The one author who especially represents the latter half of the sixteenth century is Johannes Fischart. We know very little about his life — not even the proba- ble date of his birth ; but only that he was a jurist and theologian, that he lived in Strasburg, Speyer and For- bach, that he traveled much, having visited England, and was acquainted with many languages. He was partly a contemporary of Shakespeare, to whose portrait his own has some resemblance, and whom he resembled also in the wonderful breadth and variety of his accom- plishments. Although his works were quite popular during his life, they seem to have been wholly forgotten at the close of the Thirty Years' War, and his name was almost unknown when revived by the late recognition of Bodmer and Lessing. There was really, in the long interval between his death and the birth of these men, no author of sufficient scope to appreciate his Avorks, unless it was Frederick v. Logau, who probably never heard of him. The first thing which strikes us in Fischart is his style, which reminds us of Rabelais, and sometimes of Eichter. His vocabulary is inexhaustible, and his sati- 172 GERMAN LITERATURE. rical liumor never wearies. He is quite equal to Rabe- lais in the invention of comical words, and it is tlierefore almost impossible to translate many of his best pas- sages. He even transforms, or Germanizes with great humor, words of foreign origin, constituting, in fact, a very curious form of punning, — as melanclioliscli, which he turns into maul-hdng-cliolisch, podagra into pfoten-gram, and Jesidter into Jesu-wider. Such specimens will give you an idea of his peculiar manner. In a sort of gro- tesque absurdity, he was the forerunner of a class of American authors who are now attempting to make everything in the world comical for us, from the raising of potatoes to the massacre of St. Bartholomew; but, unlike those American authors, his fun rests on a broad foundation of learning, and is constantly softened and lightened by a noble humanity. When his humor is apparently most lawless and chaotic, he never loses sight of its chosen object. Even his '^Aller Pradih Grossmutter," which seems to be a collection of absurdi- ties, was meant to cure the people of their dependence- ou soothsayers and prognosticating almanacs. I regret that I have not had time to attempt the translation of a few passages, in which Fischart's remarkable humor and style might be preserved ; but in order to give any- thing like a fair representation of his comic genius in English, we should have to find a man like Urquhart, the translator of Eabelais, and such translators aj)pear as rarely as the original authors. LITERATURE OF THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY. I73 I can give only a little specimen of his serious prose, from his "Book of Conjugal Virtue," wherein he com- pares matrimony to a shij) : On the sea the wind is the governing power ; in the household it is God. In this house-ship, trust in God fills the sails favorably : the mast, to which the sails are fastened, is the Divine institution of mar- riage : the anchor is a believing, enduring hope. The ship's tackle is the house-furniture ; the freight is all household service ; the crew are those who perform it : the sea is the world, the great sea-waves are the many troubles and anxieties which come to the house-folks, in trying to support themselves in honor. The tacking of the ship is the going out and in : the lading and unlading are the expenses and the incomes. Shipwreck is the ruin that comes upon a house, either from dying away of the v.n.nA of God, or from the slack, evil sails of mistrust, or from dissipated courses. The shrouds on the mast are a good conscience ; the pennon at the mast-head is faith in God, the compass is the commandments of God. The rudder is Obedience, the figure-head at the prow is the fear and honor of God. The deck is decent life and fidelity of them that serve. Pirates are the devils that disturb married life, and the envious who attack the house-ship. And finally, even as the islands of the sea, — yea, half the world^were not inhabited save for navigation, so lands and places would be desolate, but for the households of marriage. And as unto him who goes to sea the sailing prospers, so he prospers in his household who applies an honest art and skill thereto. Not unjustly do we comjiare a household to a vessel, since the first house and the first house-keeping, during and after the Deluge, were a ship and in a ship. Fischart was a man of strong religious and patriotic feelings. In his " Serious Warning to the beloved Ger- mans," he gives a picture of what Germany then was and what she should he, which will apply to the history of the first half of this century. " What honor is it to you," he asks, "that you praise the old Germans because 1 74 GERMAN LITER A TURE. tliey fouglit for tlieir freeclom, because they suffered no bad neighbors to molest them? And you disregard your own freedom, you can hardly be secure in your own land, you allow your neighbor to tie his horse, head and tail, to your hedge." Fischart was a native of Elsass, and the neighbor, of course, was France. In another poem, he exclaims : " The flower of freedom is the loveliest blossom ! May God let this excellent flower expand in Germany everywhere : then come peace, joy, rest and renown ! " Fischart first introduced the Italian sonnet into Ger- man literature. His poetical versions of some of the Psalms more nearly approach Luther's in rugged gran- deur than those of any other writer of the time ; but his verse lacks the ease and the animation of his prose. As a prose writer, he gives exactly that element to the lan- guage which the Reformers could not furnish in their graver works — an element of playful and grotesque humor which does not again appear until we find it in Eichter. But Fischart, coming after Luther and profit- ing by his labors, cannot be called a founder. Had he fallen upon other times — for instance on an age of dra- matic literature, like Shakespeare — his great natural powers might have been more broadly and happily de- veloped. As in the case of Wolfram von Eschenbach, we feel that the man must have been greater than his works. I have mentioned the corruption which came upon the LITERATURE OF THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY. I75 language about tlie close of the sixteeutli ceutuiy, and have given jou two instances to show that it was griev- ously felt by men of intelligence. In spite of the con- tinual religious and political agitation, the class of cul- tivated persons slowly increased : the need of a literary reformation was recognized, and finally, in 1617, a year before the breaking out of tlie Thirty Years' War, a society was formed, on the model of those Italian litera- ry associations, some of which exist to this day. It was called the " Fruit-bringing Society," or the " Order of the Palm" : its chief object was to restore and preserve the purity of the German tongue. It seems like an omen of the future that this society — the first sign of a distinct literary aspiration since the Crusades — should have been founded in the Duchy of Weimar. It was followed by the " Sincere Society of the Pine," in Stras- burg, in 1633 ; the " German-thinking Brotherhood," in Hamburg, in 1643, and various later associations, the objects of which were identical or related. Now, al- though literature cannot be created by societies, lite- rary influence can be ; and it was a member of the Order of the Palm whose example and success made the High- German the exclusive language of poetry, as Luther, a hundred years before, had made it the language of prose. I allude to Martin Opitz, the founder of what is called the Silesian school. He was born in 1597, some years after Fischart's death, and died in 1639. His short life 176 GERMAN LITERATURE. was one of sucli successful labor, when we consider the unfortunate time, that his deserts, on account of what he did for the language, overbalance the harm which he injSicted upon the popular taste by a false system. His prose work, upon the principles of German poetry, written in 1624, declared, in advance, the character of nearly all the poetic literature of the century. His doctrine is, briefly, that the author should use only the pure High-German; that he should draw his themes from Nature, but not describe things as they are, so much as represent them as they might be, or ought to be ; and, finally, that his only models should be the classic authors. Opitz seems to have followed the French work of Scaliger, and his views therefore har- monize with that of the French classical school of the time. He was both crowned as a poet and ennobled by the Emperor Ferdinand ; he received official stations and honors, and his influence thus became much more extended and enduring than the character of his works would now lead us to suppose. We can scarcely say, in fact, that he was taken down from his lofty pedestal until about the middle of the last century. But the establishment of the literary societies and the example of Opitz certainly saved verse, in those days, from the disgraceful condition into which prose had fallen ; for, while the prose writers of the seventeenth century utterly lack the strength and dignity and tenderness and idiomatic picturesqueness of those of the Eefor- LITERATURE OF THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY. I77 mation, either expressing tliemselves awkwardly and laboriously, or showing the taint of a vulgar dialect, the poets, with all their pedantry and affectation, are always admirably pure in language and careful in diction. Opitz was a man of the world, with more ambition than principle. A Protestant, he could become the secretary of Count Dohna, who used torture to force Catholicism upon his Silesian vassals; a German, he died in the service of the King of Poland. Wo could not expect to find the fiery sincerity of a true poet ex- pressed in such a life ; and we do not find it in his works. In form and language he is almost perfect : within the limits which he fixed for himself, he displays an exquisite taste, and we cannot come upon his works, directly from those which immediately preceded them, without a sudden surprise and pleasure. Take the two opening stanzas of his poem " To the Germans," which seems to have been inspired by some event of the Thirty Years' War : Auff, aiaff, wer Teutsche Froy- Up, now! who German Freedom heit liebet, loveth, Wer Lust, fiir Gott zu fechtcn And who for God is proud to hat ! bleed ! Der Schein, den mancher von Mere show of faith, that many sich giebet moveth, Verbringet keinc Eitter-that. Was never nurse of knightly deed ! Wann fug vnd Vrsach ist zu When need and cause command brecheu, decision, 178 GERMAN LITERATURE. Wan Feind nicht Frctind melir WTien former friends as foes we bleiben kan, ban, Da muss man nur vom Selien Then speecb must follow clearer spreclien, vision, Da zeigt das Hertze seinen Mann. And by liis heart we know the man. Lass die von jhren Krafften sagen. Die schwach vnd bloss von Tu- gend sind : Mit trotzen wird man Bienen jagen, Ein Sinn von Ehren, der gewinnt. Wie gross vnd starck der Feind sich mache, Wie hoch er schwinge Muth vnd Schwerd, So glaube doch, die giite Sache 1st hundert tausend Kopffe wsrth. They on their strength may prate reliance Whose virtue 's weak, and bare, and cold : 'Tis chasing bees to talk de- fiance, But Honor wins because 'tis bold ! Though mightily the foe may face us. And wave a sword that terror spreads. The cause each true man now embraces Is worth a hundred thousand heads I This is almost the German of to-day. The quaint, archaic character of Fischart's verses and Eber's hymns has suddenly disappeared ; we hear only familiar words and melodies. From this time forward the language of German poetry is modern, and the authors must be valued according to our present standards. I will quote one other brief lyric of Opitz, as an example of his oc- casional grace and sweetness : EILE DER LIEBE. Ach liebste, lass vns eilen, Wir haben zeit : Es schadet das verweilen Vns beyderseit. THE HASTE OF LOVE. Ah, sweetheart, let us hurry I We still have time. Delaying thus we bury Our mutual prune. LITERATURE OF TUE SEVEIfTEENTH CENTURY. I79 Der edlen sclionheit Gabeu Fliehn fuss fur fuss, Dass alles, was wir Laben, Verschwinden muss. Der Wangen Ziehr verbleicliet, Das Haar wird greiss, Der Augen Fewer weicliet, Die Brunst wird Eiss. Das Miindlein von Corallen Wird vngestalt, Die Haud als Sclinee verf alien, Vnd du wirst alt. Drumb lass vns jetzt geniessen Der Jugend Fruclit, Eh' als wir folgen miissen Der Jahre Flucht. Wo du dicli selber liebest. So liebe mich ! Gieb mir das, waun du giebest Verlier aucb icli. Eeauty's bright gift shall perish As leaves grow sere : All that we have and cherish Shall disappear. The cheek of roses fadeth. Gray grows the head ; And fire the eyes evadeth. And passion 's dead. The mouth, love's honeyed win- ner, Is formless, cold ; The hand, like snow, gets thin- ner. And thou art old ! So let us taste the pleasure That youth endears. Ere we are called, to measure The flying years ! Give, as thou lov'st and livest. Thy love to me. Even though, in what thou givest. My loss should be ! TliG tendency of tlie literary societies, like tliat of tlie guilds of tlie Master-singers, was to increase the quantity of aspirants for poetic honors, while unfavor- ably affecting the quality of their productions. It is probable- that the despotism of the French, or pseudo- classical ideas, was as sovore, in its way, as the metrical rules of the Masters ; but it was a despotism of princi- ples, not of mechanical forms. The number of writers during the century was greater than that of the six- 180 GEEMAN LITERATURE. teeutli, and, if we set aside Luther and Fiscliart from the latter, their average performance was of a higher quality. It appears to be a level which we are crossing, but there is a gradual ascending slope perceptible, if we look a little closer. There is, fortunately, such a radical difference of spirit between the German and the French languages that the power of imitation is limited : the French models could not be reproduced without losing much of their original character. Moreover, the religious element, to some extent, operated against the foreign influence in literature ; for, about the middle of the century, the dry theological life which succeeded the Eeformation was quickened by a change. Paul Gerhardt, and after him especially Sj)ener, inaugurated a mild, gentle, half ecstatic form of devotion, which in- fected large classes throughout Germany, and continued to exist and operate in the following century. It was rather a sentiment than an active force ; and coming im- mediately after the misery of the desolating war, it had something of the character of those prayer-meetings which business men hold in Wall Street during a finan- cial crisis, and at no other time ; yet it was genuine, and it was wholly German — therefore a good and ne- cessar}^ agency, which operated indirectly upon litera- ture. The seventeenth century is therefore interesting to lis as a field of conflicting influences, and it is curious to see how they sometimes unconsciously existed side LITERATURE OF THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY. 181 by side. Tlie Order of tlie Palm, for instance, contained nine noble members to one commoner, — that is, nine who habitually used the French, as a court-language, yet were associated in order to preserve the purity of Ger- man! Many of the poets of the Silesian school were nobles; and by the middle of the century the reigning Saxon princes began to imitate the course of their pre- decessors, four or five hundred years before, in patron- izing Literature. The field of letters, which had pre- viously been Suabia, Franconia and the Upper Khine, was now suddenly transferred to Saxony and Silesia, and all the noted authors of the century were produced there. Fully as many writers appeared as during the age of the Minnesingers, and the proportion of inferior talent is about the same. I must necessarily adopt the same j)lan in treating of them — select the few who lift themselves above the general level of mediocrity, and let the rest go, for the present. The standard of lan- guage and the general character of diction, which Opitz established, were followed by all his successors, and for this reason our study of the age and its irregular growth is greatly lightened. The next poet, in the order of birth, was Paul Flem- ming, whose short life, from 1609 to 1640, interests us as much, by its consistent manliness and truth, as we are repelled by the worldliness and want of princijDle of Martin Opitz. Longfellow, you will remember, gives Paul Flemming's name to the hero of his " Hyperion." 182 GERMAF LITERATURE. He was a Saxon, tlie son of a wealthy clergyman. As a young man lie was attached to an embassy sent by the Duke of Schleswig-Holstein to Moscow, and imme- diately after his return, joined the famous embassy to Persia which was described by Olearius. The priva- tions of this journey, which occuj^ied four years, so undermined his health that he died in a year after his return to Germany. He had just taken the degree of Doctor of Medicine at Leyden, had settled in Hamburg, and was preparing for his marriage, when he was called away, leaving a beautiful legacy in his poems. He sur- passes Opitz, who was his model, in warmth and ten- derness and sincerity of tone. There is less of a cold, hard, exquisite polish manifest in his lines, but they are more simply melodious and fluent. If Opitz, in his manner only, reminds us somewhat of Pope, Plemming has a slight resemblance to Collins. He possesses one quality w^hich was developed by his many years of travel, which distinguishes him from all other writers of his time, and which, had he lived, might have given him a much greater eminence : he had a clear, objective power of looking at the world and the life of men. After the age of twenty-four, but two years of his life were spent in Germany ; and he was denied that rest and quiet development which might have emancipated him from the literary fashions in which he was educated. That he would have so emancipated himself I think is certain ; for he shows so clear and healthy a vision, so LITERATURE OF THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY. 183 broad aud warm a liumanity. His power of descrip- tion, moreoYer, was remarkably vigorous and pictu- resque. The opening of his poem on a cavalry soldier reminds us at once of old George Chapman and of Schiller : Ein frischer Heldenmulit ist iiber alle Schatze, \ si iiber alien Neid : er selbst ist sein Gesetze, Sein Mahl, sein Sold, sein Preiss. Er reisset durch die Zeit, Vergniiget sicli durch sich, liisst bey sich Ruh' und Streit, Inn gleicher Waage stebu. In all that Paul Flemming wrote — in his warlike alexandrines, in his hymns, his sonnets, and in his lyrics and madrigals — I find an equal excellence. For sweet- ness and a delicate play of fancy, some of his sonnets approach those of Petrarch, and there is more genuine passion in the address to his soul, entitled " Why de- layest thou ? " than in all Opitz ever wrote. Flem- ming's poems were first collected and published, two years after his death, by the father of his betrothed bride. The sonnet which he wrote on his death-bed is a good illustration both of his genius and his fine manhood : Ich war an Kunst und Gut, an In art, wealth, standing, was I Stande gross und reicb, strong and free ; Dess Qliickes lieber Sohu, von Of honored parents, fortune's Eltern guter Ehren, chosen son, Frey, Meine ; kunte mich aus Free, and mine own, and mine meinen Mitteln nehren ; own substance won ; Mein shall tloh iiberweit : kcin I woke far echoes, — no one sang Landsmannsangmirglcich , like me ; 184 GERMAN LITERATURE. Von reisen hochgepreist ; f lir keiner Miihe bleich ; Jung, wachsam, unbesorgt. Man wird mich nennen horen, Biss dass die lezte Glut diss al- les wird verstoren. Diss, Deutsclie Klarien, diss gantze danck icli Eucli ! Verzeiht mirs, bin iclis wertli, GottjVater, Llebste, Freunde? Ich. sag Euch gute Naclit und trete willig ab : Sonst alles ist gethan biss an das schwartze Grab. Was frey dem Tode stelit, das thu er seineni Feinde ! Was bin icb viel besorgt, den Otliem auffzugeben? An mir ist minder nicbts, das lebet, als mein Leben! Praised for my travels, toiling cheerfully, Young, watchful, eager, — named for what I've done. Till the last sands of earthy time be run. This, German Muses, was your legacy ! God, Father, Dearest, Friends, is my worth so 1 I say good night, and now must disappear : The black grave waits, all else is finished here : What Death may do, that do he to his foe ! To yield my breath shall bring me little strife : There's naught of life in me that less lives than my life! I give one more example, for tlie sake of its brief strengtli and grace : Lass dich nur nichts nicht tauren My soul, no dark depression mit trauren ! Sey stille ! Wie Gott es f iigt. So sey vergniigt, Mein Wille ! borrow From sorrow I Be still ! As God disposeth now. Be cheerful thou. My will ! Was wilst du heute sorgen auflf morgen? der eine steht allem filr ; Der giebt auch dir das deine ! To-day, why wilt thou trouble borrow, For to-morrow? One alone Careth for all that be : He'll give to thee Thine own 1 LITEEATURE OF THE SEVENTEEN^TH CENTURY. 185 Sey nur in alien Handel Stand, then, whatever 's under- taken, olin Wandel, Unsliaken ! Steh' feste ! Lift up thy breast ! Was Gott beschleust, Whatso thy God ordains, das ist und heisst Is and remains das beste. The best ! Paul riemming is anotlier instance, like Schiller and Burns and Charles Lamb, where the quality of the author's character becomes a part of his fame. One who knows nothing of his personal history will feel his nature in his works. I should like to linger longer in his company, but the mild eyes of Simon Dach, the huge wig of Gryphius, and the modest dignity of Fried- rich von Logan's attitude warn me that we are not yet halfway through the century. Of Simon Dach there is little to be said. He was born on the eastern verge of Germany, at Memel, in the beginning of the century, passed the greater part of his life as Professor of Poetry at the University of Konigs- berg, and died in 1659. He was a follower of the Sile- sian school, and a writer of many hymns which combine correctness of form with sincere devotional feeling. His natural tendency seems to have been to imitate the J'olkslieder, or common songs of the people, and how narrowly he missed an original place in literature may be seen from the popularity of his song "Anl'e von Tliaraiv,'' which every German knows and sings at this day. It is written in the Low-German of Eastern 186 GERMAN LITEBATUBE. Prussia. The tradition says that Annie of Tharaw was betrothed to him and then left him for another, where- upon he wrote the tender ballad as a piece of bitter irony ; but the same story is told of the authorship of our familiar Scotch ballad, " Annie Lawrie," and is per- haps untrue in both cases. The feeling, in both the Scotch and the Low-German ballad, is very similar, as you will notice, and the melodies attached to both are as tender as the words. I will give you the original, and Longfellow's admirable translation : Anke von Tharaw oss, de my gefollt, Se OSS iniliu Lewen, niilin Goet on milin Gtilt. Annie of Tharaw, my true love of old, She is my life, and my goods, and my gold. Anke von Tharaw hefft wedder eer Hart Op my geruchtet on Low 'on cin Schmart. Annie of Tharaw, her heart once again To me has surrendered in joy and in pain. Anke von Tharaw mihn Eikh- dom, mihn Goet, Du mihne Seele, mihn Fleesch on mihn Bloet ! Annie of TharaAv, my riches, my good, Thou, my soul, my flesh, and my blood ! Qudm allet Wedder glihk on ons tho schlahn, Wy syn gesonnt, by een anger tho stahn. Then come the wild weather, come sleet or come snow, We will stand by each other however it blow. Kranckheit, Berfiilguug, Bedrtif- Oppression, and sickness, and ncis on Pihn, sorrow, and pain Sal vnsrer Love, Vernottinge Shall be to our true love as syn. links to the chain. LITERATURE OF TUE 8EVE2TTEENTH CENTURY. 187 RecM as een Palmen-Bolim ilver As tlie jjalm-treo standeth so sock stocht, straight and tall, Je melir en Hagel on Regen an- The more the hall beats, and focht ; the more the rains fall, — So wardt de Low' cin ons miichtich So love in our hearts shall grow on groht, mighty and strong, Dorch Kryhtz, diirch Lyden, Through crosses, through sor. dorch alleriey Noht. rows, through manifold wrong. Weirdest du glihk een mal von Shouldst thou be torn from me my getrennt, to wander alone, Leewdest dar, wor om dee In a desolate land where the sun Sonne kuhm kennt ; is scarce known, — Eck Weill dy f illgen diirch Wriler, Through forests I'll follow, and dtirch Miir, where the sea flows, Dorch Yhss, diirch Ihsen, dorch Through ice, and through iron, fihndlocket Hiihr. through armies of foes. Anke von Tharaw, mihn Licht, Annie of Tharaw, my light and mihne Scinn, my sun, Mihn Leven schlucht cick tin The threads of our two lives are dihnet hentinn. woven in one. Wat cick gebiide, wart van dy Whate'er I have bidden thee gedahn, thou hast obeyed, Wat ock verbcide, dat liitstu my Whatever forbidden thou hast stahn. not gainsaid. Wat heft de Lcive diich ver een How in the turmoil of life can Bestand, love stand, Wor nich een Hart oss, een Where there is not one heart, Mund, eene Hand ? and one mouth, and one hand? Wor cim scick hartaget, kabbelt Some seek for dissension, and on schleyht, trouble, and strife ; On glihk den Ilungen on Katten Like a dog and a cat live such begeyht. man and wife. 188 GERMAN LITERATURE. Anke von Tliaraw, dat war wy Aunie of Tliaraw, sucli is not nicli clolin, our love ; Du biist myn Dylifken, myn Tliou art my lambkin, my chick, Schahpken, mihn Holin. and my dove. Wat ock begehre, begehrest du Whate'er my desire is, in thine ohk, may be seen ; Eck laht den Eock dy, du hiitst I am king of the household, and my de Brohk. thou art its queen. Dit OSS dat, Anke, du soteste It is this, my Annie, my Ruh, heart's sweetest rest, Een Lihf on Seele wart uht tick That makes of us twain but one on Du. soul in one breast. Dit mahckt dat Lewen tom This turns to a heaven the hut Hammlischen Rihk, where we dwell ; Dorch Zanken wart et der Hel- While wrangling soon changes len gelihk. a home to a hell. We cannot wonder tliat the peasant-poets were silent during this century. The people had suffered too sorely to sing much else than those devotional poems, in which they were directed to find consolation. This was the greatest misfortune bequeathed by the Thirty Years' War — that the nobles, as a class, soon repaired their losses and enjoyed their former state, while the people were so bruised and crippled, so weak and des- titute of the means of recovering their strength, that their material condition was probably worse, and their opportunities for development less, than under the Ho- henstaufen Emperors. The war lasted so long that it finally educated its own soldiery, from whose brutal character no decent song of battle could be expected. A later generation, at the end of the century, gave us LITERATURE OF THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY, 189 one song, or ratlier ballad of war, wliicli lias outlived all the otliers of the time — the well-known " Prinz Eugeniits, der edle Bitter,^' which celebrates the bravery of Prince Eugene of Savoy at the battle of Belgrade. The fifteenth and the sixteenth centuries were much more prolific in folk-songs, and they were of a better literary character than those of the seventeenth century. Returning to the Silesian school, we find that the first important successor of Opitz was Andreas Gryphius, also a Silesian, born in 1616. He was well educated, a remarkable philologist for his time, familiar with the classical and Oriental languages and all the living tongues of Europe ; he traveled for two years, visiting Italy and England, became Syndic of Glogau, his native place, and died in 1664. Gryphius must be placed be- low Opitz as a lyric poet, although in form and finish he is an equal ; but he did not create a school, like the latter. He only obeyed the laws which had been already adopted. His poetry has a melancholy, almost a dreary character : his favorite themes were church- yards, death, and rest after troubles. But he deserves to l)e specially mentioned as a dramatic author. He was the first to elevate the dramatic literature of Ger- many, which, up to this time, seems to have been chiefly modeled on the puppet plays and miracle plays. As a good English scholar, Gryphius had the highest models, and one of his comedies, "Peter S(p!e7}?.e" gives tolera- bly clear evidence that he was acquainted with Shake- 190 GERMAN LITERATURE. speare. It is true tliat Peter Quince of tlie " Midsum- mer Night's Dream " was already known in Germany, as a character, through the English traveling actors ; but Gryphius imitates the device of a play within a play, from the "Pyramus and Thisbe" of Shakespeare. His tragedies of "Leo Armenius,'" ''Pcqjiman' and "Karl Stuart " are declamatory and grandiloquent, somewhat like those of Dryden's famous rival, Elkanah Settle ; but they at least inaugurated in Germany a much better character of dramatic art. In this respect, we must give Gryphius a similar credit to that which we have given to Opitz : he advanced the literary standard of his day. After the models which they furnished, — the one in purity of language and the external structure of verse, the other in the dramatic treatment of a proper subject, — no author dared to return to the imperfect standard of previous times. There was thus a general advance of skill and taste, in spite of the adherence to a false system. We see something similar in the phe- nomena of our American literature at the present day. But the " sensational " element, as it is called, which has crept into English and American literature, is even worse in its effect on the mental habits of the people than was the affected classicism of the seventeenth cen- tury ; for it goes beyond " the modesty of nature," in- stead of falling below it. "With Andreas Gryphius the first Silesian school came to an end. Vilmar, in his history of the period, gives LITEBATURE OF THE SEVEyTEENTE CENTURY. 191 some curious examples of its affectations, and. some of tliem remind us of similar features in the English litera- ture of the last century. Where the earliest German poets used simple substantives, as night, the forest, the sea, the mediaeval authors added the most obvious ad- jectives, as dark night, the greenicood, the blue sea. The Silesians made a deliberate chase after elegant and original words, and the discovery of a new adjective was a cause of rejoicing to the brotherhoods of the Palm and the Pine. Thus, black evening was first adopted ; but presently some fortunate poet hit upon broivn, and all evenings were bro^^ii, to the end of the century. You will find the same word, applied to evening and shade, by Gray and Collins ; and morning, you will notice, was nearly always j^^'^T^c in the last centiuy. In the sen- sational school, now-a-days, all things are opal, topaz, emerald or ruby ; and it is doubtful whether we can get any farther. Opitz established the fashion : he made all tears salt, all water (jlctssy, all north-stars cold, for his followers. The earth, according to his mood, was either a great round, a beautiful round or a desolcde round. Addison calls it a *' terrestrial ball," and Tennyson styles the moon " an argent round." Now, you can readily imagine that after Opitz and Gryphius had been accepted as models, their later fol- lowers, being utterly deficient in original genius, knew nothing else to do but to copy and exaggerate their most obvious characteristics. This is, in fact, the distinction 192 GERMAN LITERATURE. of Avliat is called the second Silesian scliool. It rose into existence, toward the end of the century, under the leadershijD of two noblemen, Hoffmanswaldau and Lo- heustein. Let me give you a single specimen from the first of these, and I think you will require no further illustration of the character of the school : " Your coun- tenance gives strength and light to the stars. The year has four seasons, you but one, for the spring always blossoms on your lips. Winter does not approach you, and the sun is hardly permitted to shine beside the beam of your eyes. You carry virtue in a splendid purple dish, ornamented, as it seems, with white ivory : your mouth is the retreat of a thousand nightingales, and the tongues of angels beg to be admitted therein as servants." Add to such stuff as this the mechanical jingle of Siegmund von Birken— whom Southey seems to have imitated in his " Falls of Lodore," — the tiresome melodies of Christian Gryphius, the literary son of his father Andreas, and the blood-and-thunder tragedies of Lohenstein, and we cannot help feeling that the only use of this second Silesian school was to create such a disgust with the system, that a reaction must inevitably follow. So, in England, the bombast and nonsense of the aristocratic waiters, of exactly the same period, was followed by the revival of Queen Anne's time. This is the translation of a passage from Siegmund von Birken, which may have suggested the tinkling music in the " Falls of Lodore " : LITERATURE OF THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY. 193 WELCOME TO SPEING. They're glancing, entrancing and dancing. The blossoming meadows ; While gleametli, and beameth, and streameth The dew in the shadows. They're spreading, and wedding, and shedding, The freshly-leaved branches ; And rustle, and hustle with bustle The wind as it launches. They spring out, and sing out, and ring out. The pipes in their blowing ; In daytime the playtime of May-time The shepherds are showing. But there was one man, also a Silesian, yet standing as much alone as Milton, and Drjden after him, whose works are as the shadow of a rock in a weary land. This is Friedrich von Logau, another of the neglected minds who first received recognition and critical justice from Lessiug. He was born in 1604, educated at Brieg, in Silesia, where he was a page in the house of the reigning Duke, and afterward, having studied jurispru- dence, an official in the chancery of the Duchy. He was poor, dependent on a small salary, and his life was one of toil and trouble. A complete collection of his aphorisms, epigrams and lyric poems was published under the name of Salomon von Golaw, in 1654, and in the following year he died. Five or six years before his death, he was elected a member of the Order of the Palm ; but he seems to have had very little intercourse with the other Silesian members, and his works show only slight traces of the influence of the school. 9 194 GERMAN LITERATURE. Friedricli von Logau is a noble cliaracter, in wliatever aspect we consider liim. He was an earnest thinker in a tliouglitless time ; lie was a strong, believing, aspiring soul, a man of steadfast integrity and virtue, in an age of lawlessness and vice. His possessions were wasted by tlie terrible war; Wallenstein's troo23S overran tlie Ducliy, and left a trail of barbarism behind them ; but nothing could shake his inherent goodness and bravery for the sake of good. The thousand brief aphorisms which he has left were written as they came to him during a period of twenty-five years of labor : they are simply the necessary recreation of his mind. The gov- erning principle of his life was to do his nearest duty, and he only gave to letters the time which he could spare from his office and the care of his family. The follow- ing couplet of Logau, which is almost proverbial to-day, will be readily recognized in Longfellow's translation : Gottes Miililen malilen langsam, Tliougli tlie mills of God grind malilen aber trefflich klein ; slowly, yet tliey grind ex- ceeding small ; Ob aus Langmut er sicb saumet, Tliougli with, patience lie stands bringt mit Scliarf er alles ein. waiting, with exactness grinds he all. This image of a mill seems to have been a favorite with him. I find the following satirical allusion to some one of his acquaintance: Fungus' mouth is like a mill, and as fast as ever ran ; For each handful wit it grinds, there's a bushel wordy bran. LITER Al URE OF THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY. 195 Here is another: A mill-stone and the human heart are whirled forever round : Where either nothing has to grind, it must itself be ground. Tliis is tlie general character of Logan's aphorisms — brief, pithy, witty, but with an underlying tone, either of wisdom, or satire, or faith, or tenderness. Many of his couplets or verses have strayed away from him, and are used at this day by thousands who never guess whence they came. I remember that when I first tra- veled on foot through Germany, I often saw these lines in the StamiiibUcher, or albums, of the traveling journey- men whom I met on the highways : Hoffnung ist ein fester Stab, Und Geduld ein Reisekleid, Da man mit durch Welt und Grab Wandelt in die Ewigkeit. These lines I afterward found in Logau's aphorisms. Like all genuine, thinking brains, his pages are full of suggestions of the expressions of later and more fortu- nate authors. Goethe says : " Es irrt der Menscli, so lang er strebt," but Logau had said before him — " Dass ich irre, bleibt gewiss, alldieweil ein Mensch ich bin." Logau wrote : " Frlihling ist des Jahres Rose ; Rosen sind des Friihlings Zier ; Und der Rosen Rosenfiirstin seyd und heissct billig Ihr' ;" and two hundred years after him Tennyson wrote : "Queen rose of the rosebud garden of girls, Queen lily and rose in one." 196 GERMAN LITERATURE. The modern German poet Riickert says : " Eepetition is compensation for the transitory bliss" — and we find in Logan " The best nourishment of pleasure is repeated pleasure." I might extend this list of correspondences, and thus prove, backward, the genuine quality of Lo- gan's genius. There could be no greater contrast than between the members of the second Silesian school, with their thin and weak pretense of ideas, their in- flated diction and deluge of interminable works, and this hard-working, lonely, modest man, crowding his honest thought and sound reflection into a few brief lines, and giving them to the world under an assumed name. He might have furnished not only all of them, but also the devotional poets, Gerhard and Franck, with a better material than they found. There are several sermons and hymns compressed into these four lines of Logau : Mensclilicli ist es, Siinde treiben ; Teuflisch ist 's, in Slinden bleiben ; Christlich ist es, Siinde bassen ; Gottlieb ist es, Silnd' erlassen. During the whole of the seventeenth century, there is no prose which at all approaches that of Luther in simplicity and strength. We find, it is true, that the provincialism of the writers, — the marks of their par- ticular dialects, — begin to disappear, and the pure High- German, under the influence of the literary societies, is gradually gaining ground ; but the popular sources from which Luther drew so much are neglected. Both LITERATURE OF THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY. 197 Silesian schools, but especially the second, operated unfavorably upon the prose style of the day. Opitz and Gryphius taught a hard, cold, formal manner, whereby the language loses much of its native life and warmth, and the second school was such a mixture of affectation and bombast, that many of its productions now seem to us to be intentional parodies of their authors. Lohen- stein's romance of "Arminius and Thusnelda," covering nearly 3,000 quarto pages, printed in double columns, is simply monstrous : we marvel that an individual should commit, or a public endure, such an overwhelming of- fense. But we remember how our own ancestors were fascinated with Clarissa Harlow, and how the German public of to-day reads the nine volumes and 4,000 pages of Gutzkow's " Zauherer von Rom" The best prose work of the time is certainly Grim- melhausen's " Simjjlicissimus" which bears nearly the same relation to the pompous romances of the Silesian authors as Fielding to Richardson. It is a story of common life, told in bare, clear, racy language, and with the same fresh realism which we find in " Tom Jones " and " Joseph Andrews." Next in value I should rank the homilies and didactic writings of the monk Abraham a Santa Clara, which are also simple in tone, and really effective because they betray no straining after effect. Zinkgref 's historical sketches, the travels of Olearius, and the orations of Baron Canitz, have, at least, the merit of being tolerable where nearly all is j^ositively 198 GERMAN LITERATURE. bad. We can only say that tlie average performance of tlie prose writers is liiglier at the close than it -nas at the beginning of the century. The language by this time was sufficiently developed, and the excellences and faults of its literature so abundantly manifested, that it was ready for the use of better intellects. These came, soon afterward, in Haller and Hagedorn and Gellert — then followed the first master-mind of the great modern j)eriod, Lessing. In studying this long and interrupted intellectual his- tory of the German race, we must beware of confining our interest to individual authors, or even to particular eras. This seventeenth century, which we have been considering, becomes a tedious field of research if we separate it from the centuries before and after it. Each author must be judged, first, in relation to his own time, and the temporary influences which gave char- acter to his works ; then, by the absolute standard of achievement, by his contribution to the permanent ele- ments of growth in his country and in the world. Unless we acquire this latter and broader habit of vision, we may fail to see the true meaning of many lives, the true importance of many historical periods ; and we shall surely derive from the general survey one lesson which might escape us if we looked only to particulars — one lesson of the greatest value to every young American whose tastes or talents lead him toward literature : — that nothing is more delusive than the fashion of the LITERATURE OF THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY. 199 day : that tlie immediate popularity of a work is no test whatever of its excellence : that the writer who consults the general moods or likings of the public is never likely to achieve genuine and permanent success : — while he who considers only the truth of his thought, the simplicity and clearness of its expression, and its proba- ble value to all humanity, may seem to be disparaged or neglected for a time, but shall surely be acknowl- edged by that everlasting, lofty intelligence of men which is above all fleeting fashions of literature. Yn. LESSING. We now reach a period where tlie language is wholly modern. We find no difi'erence, except in style and habit of thought, between the authors of Queen Anne's time and those of our own day : so our German brother finds no greater difference between the present and the authors who were born one hundred and fifty years ago. From this period, we are able to contrast and compare the two languages, as they are now spoken, and thus to appreciate intelligently the two literatures. Instead of giving a general historical survey of modern German Literature, I shall take up, in the order of their lives, the six most prominent authors, and, by describing them and their works separately, give you, through them, a picture of the times in which they lived. They are — Lessing, Klopstock, Wieland, Herder, Schiller and Goethe. The great era of German Literature, which they created, corresponds to the Augustan in Kome and the Elizabethan in England — an era which commenced about the middle of the last century, and terminated, with the death of Goethe, in the year 1832. Within the pre- scribed limits, it will not be possible to give a complete 200 LE8SING. 201 history of tlie period ; because, more tliau the literature of any other language, that of Germany, on account of the larger culture of its creative minds, is connected with the contemporary literature of the rest of Europe. We cannot dissociate it, as we can that of England and of France, from the influence of foreign thought and the literary fashions prevalent in other countries. But the life of every author, who has shared in shaping the development of his generation, always reflects, in an individual form, the influences which affect the class to which he speaks, since he must admit them and take them into account, although he himself may remain comparatively independent. I hope, therefore, that an account of the men who have created the modern litera- ture of Germany will, at the same time, enable us to estimate the character of that literature, and its im- portance as an element of human develojDment. One who is familiar with the German language will have little difficulty in selecting the characteristics which distinguish the literature of Germany from that of other nations. You are aware that the German language is subtle, rich and involved in its structure; while the English, with an even greater flexibility, generally re- mains realistic, simple and direct. These prominent characteristics repeat themselves in the two literatures, for speech and thought have a reciprocal influence. A great genius partly forces the language he uses to adapt itself to his own intellectual quality, and he is partly 9* 202 GERMAN LITEBATUBE. forced by tlie language to submit liis intellect to its laws. Apart from this circumstance, Lowever, the natural tendency of a German author is to exj^ress himself in accordance with an intellectual system, which he has discovered or imagined, and adopted as his own ; while the English author, if he be honest, is more concerned for the thing he expresses, and its effect, than for its fit- ness as a part of any such system. In the private cor- respondence of the German authors, we find their works reciprocally analyzed, according to the literary prin- cij)les of each ; their conceptions are tested by abstract laws; and felicities of expression, which an English critic usually notices first, are with them a secondary interest. Now, where such theories, or systems, harmonize with the eternal canons of Literary Art — and of all Art, the key to which may be given in three words, Elevation, Proportion, Bepose — they help, not hinder, the author's best development. Goethe, Lessing and Schiller are illustrious examples of this. But where the system reflects some special taste, some strong personal ten- dency, as in the cases of Klopstock, Wieland and Rich- ter, it carries its own limitations along with it. The author who allows himself to be thus circumscribed, may become ruler over some fair province of literature, but he cannot belong to the reigning line of the king- dom. This tendency, perhaps, explains the fact that German literature seems to reflect a greater range of intellectual LESsmo. 203 and spiritual experience than ours. It is more frank, intimate and confidential — sometimes to a degree which is almost repellant to Anglo-Saxon reserve ; for tho author is less careful to conceal the operations of his mind ; — it touches the nature of man on many sides, and endeavors to illuminate all the aspects of life. Tho theoretic tendencies of its authors do little harm, for they counteract each other — na}^, they often do good by substituting a fashion of thought for the narrower form of a fashion in expression. During the whole of the seventeenth century and the beginning of the eighteenth, as I have already said, the literary history of Germany may almost be compared to a desert. The annals of scarcely any other modern nation show such a long period of barrenness. But early in the last century, Gleim and Gellert were born — two authors who seem to have been destined to stand between tlie waste that went before and the harvest which followed. They are thus important or insignifi- cant, according to the side from which we look at them. But, even before they had reached their productive activity, greater minds were in the world. In the year 1724, Klopstock was born ; in 1729, Lessing ; in 1733, Wieland ; in 1744, Herder ; in 1749, Goethe ; in 1759, Schiller, and in 1762, Kichter. Every six years a new name, destined to be an independent, victorious, per- manent power. Great men never come upon an age entirely unpre- 204 OERMAN LITERATURE. pared to receive them. The secret influences which culminated in a fierce social and political crisis, toward the end of the centxiry, were already at work, and there must have been a large class of receptive minds capable of sustaining those which were born to create. For these latter, however, a season of struggle was certain. There is a vast difference between the silent and the spoken protest. The courts, the universities and the clergy, at that time, held a despotic sway over opinion and taste. The young author made haste to secure his titled patron, and paid by flattery for the little freedom of expression which he was allowed to exercise. We can best measure the stagnation of the period, and its general subservience to authority, by the angry excite- ment which followed every attempt at literary indepen- dence. The richest gifts were repelled; the ways to larger liberty were closed as fast as they were opened ; and the present glory of the German race was for a long time resisted as if it were a shame. The man who first broke a clear, broad path out of this wilderness was Gotthold Ephraim Lessing. I choose him first because he was the true pioneer of German thought — because his life was " a battle and a march " — a long and bitter fight for truth, tolerance and freedom. If his greatest merits seem to have been over- shadowed for a time by the achievements of others, they come all the more clearly to light in that distance of time which gives us the true perspective of men. We LE8SING. 205 seo liim now as lie was, an unsliaken liero of literature, always leading a forlorn hope, always armed to the teeth, always confident of the final victory. I know of no finer instance of justified self-reliance than is fur- nished by his life. He was born in Camenz, a small Saxon town, where his father was a clergyman of scanty means and of a severe and stubborn nature. Being the eldest son, it was meant that he should follow his father's calling. At the age of twelve he was sent to school at Meissen, and three years afterward to the University of LeijDzig. But even as a boy he asserted his independence, entirely neglecting theological studies, and devoting himself to languages, literature and the drama. The dictator in literary matters in Leipzig, at that time, was Gottsclied, — a man of some ability, but pedantic, conventional and arrogant to the last degree. The boy Lessing was one of the first to dispute his authority. He became a con- tributor to literary journals, writing anacreontic lyrics or stinging criticisms, according to his mood, and in his eighteenth year completed a comedy, "Der junge Gc- lehrte " (The Young Savant), which was performed soon afterward. Even at that age, he recognized clearly the characteristics of French and of English literature, and became a partisan for the latter, in order to resist the French influence which was then so powerful in Ger- many. In a short time, he stood almost alone : there were few hands (or, at least, pens) that were not raised 206 GERMAN LITERATURE. against liim. So j)oor that lie was barely able to live, he was called immoral and profligate ; his contempt of the reigning pedantry was ascribed to a barbaric want of taste ; and his refusal to devote himself to theology was set down as atheism. The slanders prevalent in Leipzig reached his home, and were followed by angry or reproachful letters from his father. The patience and the good sense with which he endured these troubles are remarkable in one so young. In one of his letters, he quotes from Plautus the words of a father who is discontented with his son ; in another, referring to his re- fusal to become a clergyman, he says boldly : " Keligion is not a thing which a man should accept in simple faith and obedience from his parents," — meaning that it must be developed through the aspiration of the indi\ddual soul. In his twenty-first year, Lessing went to Berlin, where he succeeded in supporting himself by literary labor. He made the acquaintance of Moses Mendels- sohn, Eamler and the poets Gleim and Yon Kleist, and his mind began to develop rapidly and vigorously in a fresher and freer intellectual atmosphere. Notwith- standing his scanty earnings, he managed to collect a valuable library, and to contribute small sums from time to time for the education of his younger brothers. In the year 1755 his play of "Miss Sara Sampson " was completed. It was modeled on the English drama, and, as the German stage up to that time had been governed entirely by French ideas, it was a sudden and violent LE88ING. 207 innovation, tlie success of wliicli was not assured until ten years later, wlien Lessing produced "Minna von Barnhelmy The Engiisli authors of Queen Anne's time — especially Swift, Steele, Addison and Pope — had an equal share with the Greek and Latin classics in determining the character of his labors. He was also a careful student of Shakespeare and of Milton, and seems to have caught from them something of the compact strength of his style. After ten years, passed partly in Wittenberg, but mostly in Berlin, Lessing became the secretary of Gene- ral Tauenzien, and in 1760 followed the latter to Bres- lau, where he remained five years. During this time he wrote "3Tinna von Barnhelm " and "Laocoon " (or the Limits of Poetry and Painting), which was published in 1766. The great era of German literature commenced with these works. The "Laocoon " in its style, in its equal subtlety and clearness, in its breadth of intel- lectual vision, was a work the like of which had not been seen before. It was above popularity, because it ap- pealed only to the finest minds ; but its lessons sank deeply into one mind — that of the young Goethe, then a student at Leipzig — and set it in the true path. The remainder of Lessing's histor}^ is soon told. He spent two more years in Berlin, living from hand to mouth, and then accepted the proposition to go to Ham- burg, and assist in establishing a new theatre. The ex- periment failed, and he thereupon made another. He 208 GERMAN LITERATURE. took a jiartner, and commenced the printing and pub- lishing business upon an entirely new plan ; but as neither he nor his partner had any practical knowledge of printing, they failed wretchedly in a year or two. In 1770, Lessing, aged forty-one, found himself penniless, deeply in debt, his library of six thousand volumes scattered to the winds, his father writing to him for money, and his sister reproaching him with being a heartless and undutiful son. But during those three years in Hamburg he had written his "Dramaturgie,'" a work second in importance only to his "Laocoon" The Duke of Brunswick offered him the post of libra- rian at "Wolfenbiittel, with a salary of six hundred thalers (about four hundred and fifty dollars !) a year, and thenceforth his wandering life ceased. He visited Mannheim and Vienna, and accompanied the hereditary Duke of Brunswick on a journey to Italy; but travel seems to have left little impression upon his mind. In the two or three letters from Italy, written to his be- trothed wife, there is nothing about either the country or the antique sculpture, concerning which he had pre- viously written so much. He married in 1776, lost his wife and child in a little more than a year, and then lived as before entirely for literature. The two short letters which he wrote to his friend Eschenburg, after the death of his child and wife, are w^onderful ex- pressions of the strength and tenderness of the man. I know not where to find, in all the literature of the LESSIWa. 209 world, such tragic patlios expressing itself in tlie com- monest words. He does not say wliat lie feels, but we feel it all the more. On the 3d of January, 1778, he writes : I seize tlae moment when my wife lies utterly unconscions, to thank you for your sympathy. My hajipiness was only too short. And it was so hard to lose him, this son of mine ! For he had so much understanding — so much understanding ! Do not think that the few hours of my fatherhood have made me a very ape of a father ! I know what I am saying. Was it not understanding that he came so unwillingly to the world ? — that he so soon saw its unreason ? Was it not understanding that he grasped the first chance of leaving it again ? To be sure, the little fidget-head takes his mother with him, and from me ! — for there is little hope that I may keep her. I thought I might be even as fortunate as other men ; but it has turned out ill for me. Just one week afterward he wrote to Eschenburg : " My wife is dead ; now I have also had this experi- ence. I am glad that no other experience of the kind remains for me to endure — and am quite easy." His "Nathan cler Weise " — the only one of his works which has been translated and published in this country — appeared in 1779, and in 1781 he died, at the age of fifty-two. The closing years of his life were embittered by a violent theological controversy, and the enmity which it excited against him was no doulit a cause of the slight success which his last great work, "Nathan the Wise," attained. He had not even the consolation of knoAv- ing that the seed he had sown Avas vital, and had 210 GERMAN LITERATURE. already germinated. It was a sad ending of a singu- larly cheerful and courageous life. In tlie biographies of authors, we do not always find that genius rests on a strong basis of character. There are many instances where we approve the mind, and condemn the man. But Lessing's chief intellectual quality was a passion for truth, so earnest and un- swerving, that we cannot help expecting to find it mani- fested in the events of his life; and we shall not be disappointed. Whatever faults may have been his, he was always candid, honest, honorable and unselfish. He lived at a time when a very little tact and pliancy of nature might have greatly advanced his fortunes — when a little prudent reticence, now and then, would have saved him from many an angry denunciation. But he seems never to hai^e concerned himself with anything beyond his immediate needs. " All that a man wants, is health," he once w^'ote : " why should I trouble myself about the future ? What would be j)ri- vation to many is a sufficiency to me." In one of his earlier poems, he says : " Fame never sought me, and would not, in any case, have found me. I have never craved riches, for why, during this short journey, where so little is needed, should one hoard it up for thieves rather than himself ? In a little while I shall be tram- pled under the feet of those who come after. Why need they know upon whom they tread ? I alone know who I am." This self-reliant spirit, without vanity. LE88ING. 211 only asserting itself wlien its independence must be maintained, is very rare among men. Lessing under- stood tlie character and extent of his own power so well, even as a young man, that all his utterances have a stamp of certainty, which is as far as possible from egotism. We must bear in mind the fact that, when he began to write, literature was not much else than a collection of lifeless forms ; that government still clung to the ideas of the Middle Ages, and that religion had, for tlie most part, degenerated into rigid doctrine. Lessing's position was that of a rebel, at the start. It was impos- sible for him to breathe the same atmosphere with the dogmatists of his day, and live. His first volume of poems, chiefly imitations of the amorous lyrics of the ancients, gave the opportunity for an attack upon his moral character. In replying to his father, who seems to have joined in the denunciation, he says : " The cause of their existence is really nothing more tlian my inclination to attempt all forms of poetry." He then adds : " Am I so very wrong in selecting for my youth- ful labor something whereon very few of my country- men have tried their skill? And would it not be foolish in me to discontinue, until I have produced a master-piece ? " Lessing's critical articles, which he began to write during his first residence in Berlin, and especially liis " Letters on Literature," soon made him respected and 212 GERMAN LITERATURE. feared, although they gained him few friends beyond the circle of his personal associates. Industry, combined with a keen intellectual insight, had made him an admi- rable practical scholar, and few men ever better knew how to manage their resources. His style, as I have said, was somewhat colored by his study of the English language. It is clear, keen and bright, never uncertain or obscure. Like the sword of Saladin it cuts its way through the finest web of speculation. He had neither reverence for names, nor mercy for pretensions, and no mind of looser texture than his own could stand before him. I know of no critical papers in any literature, at once so brilliant and so destructive. They would have had a more immediate and a wider effect, but for the fact that his antagonists represented the general senti- ment of the time, which could not be entirely suppressed in them. Yet his principles of criticism were broader than mere defense and counter-attack. To Pastor Lange, who complains of his " tone " toward him, he answers : " If I were commissioned as a Judge in Art, this would be my scale of tone : gentle and encouraging for the beginners ; admiring with doubt, or doubting with admiration, for the masters ; positive and repellant for the botchers ; scornful for the swaggerers ; and as bitter as possible for the intriguers. The Judge in Art, who has but one tone for all, had better have none." Unfortunately, he had few opportunities of expressing LESSING. 213 eitlier admiration or encouragement. He never failed to recognize the merits of Moses Mendelssohn, Klop- stock, Wieland and Herder ; but they were authors who stood in little need of his aid. They did not set them- selves in immediate antagonism to the fashion of the age. Their growth out of it, and into an independent literary activity, was more gradual ; consequently, each of them acquired, almost at the start, a circle of ad- mirers and followers. But Lessing marched straight forward, looking neither to the right nor to the left, in- different what prejudices he shocked, or upon whom he set his feet. Having, as he conceived, the great minds of Greece, Eome and England as his allies in the Past, he was content to stand alone in the Present. His criticism was positive as well as negative : he not only pointed out the prevalent deficiencies in taste and know- ledge, but he laid down the law which he felt to have been violated, and substituted the true for the false interpretation. I do not think that Lessing's biographers have fully recognized the extent of his indebtedness to English authors. It has been remarked that his epigramma- tic poems read like stiff translations from the classics : to me they suggest the similar performances of Swift and Herrick. The three plays by which he revolution- ized the German stage — "3Iiss Sara Sampson," "Minna von Barnhelm" and "Emilia Galotti," — were constructed upon English models. With them the drama of ordinary 214 GERMAN LITERATURE. life was introduced into Germany. They liave kept tlieir place to this day, and are, even now, more fre- quently performed than the plays of Goethe. Although they possess little poetic merit, they are so admirably constructed, with so much regard to the movement of the plot and its cumulative development, that they have scarcely been surpassed by any later dramatic author. Even Goethe declares that it is impossible to estimate their influence on dramatic literature. The '' Laocoon" although a piece of positive criticism, seems to have been negatively inspired by an English book which has long been forgotten. Joseph Spense, whose " Anecdotes " of Pope and others still survives, published in 1747 a work entitled, " Polymetis," — a comparison of the poetry and the art of the ancients, in which he took the ground that they illustrate each other — in other words, that they represent the same events. Lessing, whose interest in classic art had been greatly stimulated by the labors of Winckelmann, was led to examine the subject — to contrast ancient art with an- cient literature, and ascertain whether indeed they were only diflerent modes of presenting the same subject, as Spense asserted, or whether each had its own separate and peculiar sphere of existence. The description of the fate of Laocoon and his sous, in A^irgil, and the famous group of sculpture, mentioned by Pliny (now in the museum of the Vatican, at Eome), furnished him with a text, and gave the title to his work ; but from LESSING. 215 this starting-point lie rises to tlie investigation of the nature of Poetry and Art, as methods of expression, and the laws which govern them. Where Gottsched and his school furnished patterns of versification, by which men should be able to write mechanical poetry, Lessing re- vealed the intellectual law, without which all verse is but a lifeless jingle, dreary to the ears of men, and pro- hibited by the gods. The opening sentences of the "Laocoon " will give you some idea of the clearness and precision of the author's mind. He begins thus : The first person who compared Poetry and Painting with each other, was a man of sensitive perception, who felt that both arts af- fected him in a similar manner. Both, he perceived, represent absent objects as present, substitute the appearance for the reality ; both are illusive, yet their illusions give pleasure. A second man endeavored to penetrate to the source and secret of this pleasure, and discovered that in both cases it flows from the same fountain. Beauty, the conception of which we first derive from material objects, has its universal laws, which apply to many things — to action and thought, as well as to form. A third man, reflecting upon the value and the application of these eternal laws, perceived that certain of them are predominant in painting, certain others in poetry ; and that, therefore, through the latter. Poetry may come to the illustration of Painting ; through the former Painting may illustrate Poetry, by means of elucidation and example. The first of these men was the lover ; the second, the philoso- pher ; the third, the critic. Lessing then proceeds to show that a mere copy of a natural object, no matter how admirably made, does not constitute painting, and that mere description does 216 GEE3IAN LITERATURE. not constitute poetry. In botli cases tlie higher ele- ment of beauty is necessary, and this element can only exist under certain conditions. For instance, Poetry may express continuous action, but Art can only exj)ress suspended action. Poetry may represent the successive phases of passion, Art only a single phase at a time. The agents of form and color assist the representation, in one case ; the agency of sound in the other. I can best give Lessing's definition of the two arts — which is at the same time a distinction between them — in his own words. He says : Objects, wticli either in themselves or their parts, exist in com- bination, are called bodies. Therefore bodies, with their visible char- acteristics, are the proper subjects of painting. Objects, which succeed each other, or the parts of which succeed each other, are called actions. Therefore actions are the legitimate subject of poetry. All bodies, however, do not exist simply in space, but also in time. They have a continuance, and each moment of their duration they may appear differently and in different combinations. Each of these momentary appearances and combinations, is the effect of a pre- ceding and may be the cause of a succeeding one, and thus the central point of an action. Painting may therefore imitate actions, but only by suggesting them through bodies. On the other hand, actions cannot exist of themselves, but are obliged to depend upon certain existences. In so far as these exist- ences are bodies, or must be so considered, poetry may represent bodies, but only by sixggesting them through actions. I must admit that this careful and delicate dissection of the principles of Art and Literature, has a greater charm for the German than for the English mind. But without considering Lessing's critical genius, we can- LE8SING. 217 not properly appreciate liis j^ower and value. He was forced into this field of activity, and his capacities were sharpened by constant exercise, yet it was his true work after all. The critical and the creative faculties never entirely harmonize in the same brain. The critic detects, by observation and analysis, what the creative genius possesses by a special, splendid instinct. It is therefore possible for an author, commencing an im- portant work, to know beforehand too locll how it should be done. His intellectual insight may be so clear, so sure and so finely exercised, that nothing is left for the imagination. Instead of following his feeling, knowing that many a bright surprise, many an unexpected illu- mination of thought will come to help him on the way, he is chilled by the critical faculty, which constantly looks over his shoulder and meddles with his freedom. The evidence of this is nowhere more apparent than in Lessing's poems and plays. With all their excellent qualities, they are almost wanting in that warm, imagi- native element which welds thought and passion and speech into one inseparable body. It is remarkable that his style, which is so sustained, so dignified and flexible in his critical papers, should seem slightly hard and mechanical in his verse. His most ambitious work, "Nathan the Wise," has passages where the blank verse is strong and rhythmical, but it has also passages the effect of which is not different from that of prose. The one thing, which we can all feel better than de- 10 218 GERMAN LITERATURE. scribe, was wanting, to make liim a truly great creative author ; but bad be possessed it, be woukl probably liave done less service to the world. Just tbe man tbat be was, was demanded by tbe age in wbicb be lived. It appears from bis correspondence and tbe testimony of bis friends, tbat be wrote a drama entitled "Faust" tbe manuscript of wbicb was lost by tbe publisher to wbom it was sent. He never attempted to rewrite it. From tbe small fragment wbicb remains, and some ac- count of tbe design of tbe wbole wbicb bas been pre- served, tbis work was undoubtedly more poetic and imaginative tban any of bis otber dramatic poems. It coincided witb Goetbe's great work only in one par- ticular — tbat tbe soul of Faust is not lost, and Mepbis- topbeles loses bis wager. His mind was not only fruit- ful, but very rapid in its operation, and only tbe smallest portion of bis literary plans was carried into effect. One of tbe severest experiences wbicb Lessing was compelled to undergo bad but an indirect connection witb literature. He was severely attacked by Pastor Goeze, of Hamburg, for various assertions of opinion, wbicb tbe latter declared to be uncbristian, and tbe quarrel wbicb followed lasted during tbe wbole of tbe year 1778. It was carried on by printed pamphlets, of which Lessing wrote fifteen or sixteen. The ground wbicb Lessing assumed would hardly excite any particu- LES8IN0. 219 lar comment in tliese days. He declared, for instance, that tlie spirit is more than the letter ; that the truth of the Gospels is inherent in them, and not to be demon- strated by external proof ; and that the religion of Christ would have been saved to the world, even if the Gospels had not been written. It is difficult for us to com- prehend, now, the violence and bitterness with which Lessing was assailed. Efforts were made to deprive him of his situation as librarian ; the Government Censor interfered with his replies, and his life, already so lonely and cheerless, was made almost a burden. He never flinched, never uttered a comj)laint, never, in any way, compromised his dignity or his manly indepen- dence; but he seems to have lost something of the hope and confidence of his early days. He must have grown somewhat weary and discouraged. No man stepped forward to stand by his side, and help him fight the battle, and the thousands of eager intelligences, for whom he really spoke and suffered, were silently wait- ing the result. In fact, the end of the conflict came when Lessing, after having forced Pastor Goeze to ad- mit that the authorities of the Fathers of the Church, during the first four centuries of Christianity, would be sufficient, substantiated everything he had asserted by quoting the opinions of the Fathers. In scho- larship, no theologian of his day came near him. His influence, as a religious reformer, has been immense, but is hardly yet recognized by the world. In this 220 GERMAN LITERATURE. sense, lie was no less a martyr tlian Arnold of Brescia and Savonarola. When his " Nathan the Wise " was completed, he issued a prospectus, announcing that it would be pub- lished by subscription. His object probably was to secure a little more from the publication than he could expect from a bookseller. His father had died in debt, and the calls for assistance from his elder sister were both sharp and frequent. It is rather melancholy to read his appeal to his friends, informing them that the price of the work will be one groschen (two and a half cents) for each printed sheet, and that they may deduct a commission of fifteen per cent, for their services in pro- curing subscriptions! As the edition did not exceed two thousand copies, the author's profits must have been very moderate. In his correspondence, Lessing speaks of the work having been finished three years previously, and then laid aside. He declares his weariness of the theological controversy, and speaks of the play as " an attack in flank," as its leading idea is religious toler- ance. The three principal characters — ^Nathan, Saladin and the Knight Templar — represent Judaism, Islam and Christianity ; and the lesson to be deduced from the plot, is simply that the test of the true religion lies in deeds and works, and not in the mere profession. The finest passage in the work is the story of the rings, which is that of the Jew Melchisedech, as told by Boccaccio, in the third tale of the Decameron. As a LESSmG. 221 specimen of Lessing's best poetical style, and a j)arable through which he expressed his own tolerance, I will quote it : Nath. — Vor grauen Jaliren lebt' ein Mann in Osten, Der einen Ring von unschiltzba- rem Werth Aus lieber Hand besass. Der Stein war ein Opal, der hundert schone Farben spielte, Und hatte die geheime Kraft, vor Gott Und Menschen angenebm zu maclien, wer In dieser Zuversicbt ibn trug. Was VVunder Dass ibn der Mann in Osten da- rum nie Vom P'tnger liess ; und die Ver- fijgung traf, Auf ewig ibn bey seinem Hause zu Erbalten. Nebmlicb so. Er licss den Ring Von seinen Sobnen dem Gelieb- testen ; Und setzte fest, dass diesser -vvie- derum Den Ring von seinen Sobnen dem vermacbe, Der ibm der liebste sey ; und stets der Liebste, Obn' Anschn der Gcburt, in Kraft allein Des Rings, das Haupt, der Fiirst des Ilauses werde. — Verstcb'micb, Sultan. Sal. — Icb versteb dicb. Welter ! Natlian. — In gray antiquity tbere lived a man In Eastern lands, wbo bad re- ceived a ring Of priceless wortb from a be- loved band. Its stone, an opal, flasbed a buu- dred colors, And had tbe secret power of giving favor In sight of God and man, to iiim wbo wore it With a believing heart. \\'hat wonder then This Eastern man would never put the ring From off bis finger, and should so provide That to his house it be preserved for ever. Such was the case. Unto the best-beloved Among his sons he left the ring, enjoining That he in turn bequeath it to tbe son Who should be dearest ; and tlie dearest ever, In virtue of the ring, without regard To birth, be of the house the prince and head. You understand me. Sultan ? ^Sa^.-Yes; go on ! 222 OEIUIAN LITER AIURE. JVatJi.So kam nun dicserRing, von Sohn zu Sohn, Auf eineu Vater endlicli von drey Solinen ; Die alle drey ihm glcicli gehor- sam waren, Die alle drey er folglicli glcicli zu lieben Sich niclit entbreclien konnte. Nur von Zeit Zu Zeit scliien ilim bald der, bald dieser, bald Der Dritte, — so wie jeder sicli mit ihm Allein befand, und sein ergie- ssend Herz Die andern zwey niclit tbeilten, — wllrdiger Des Einges, den er denn aucli einem jeden Die fromme Scbwacblieit liatte, zu versprechen. Das ging nun so, so lang es ging. — Allein Es kam zum Sterben, und der gute Vater Kommt in Verlegenlieit. Es sclimerzt ihn, zwey Von seinen Solinen, die sich auf sein Wort Verlassen, so zu krJinkeu, — Was zu thun ? — Er sendet in geheim zu einem Kiinstler, Bey dem er, nach dem Muster seines Einges, Zwey andere bestellt, und weder Kosten, Noch Miihe sparen heisst, sie jenem gleich. Nathan. — From son to son the ring descending, came To one, the sire of three ; of whom all three Were equally obedient ; whom all three He therefore must with equal love regard. And yet from time to time now this, now that. And now the third, — as each alone was by. The others not dividing his fond heart, — Appeared to him the worthiest of the ring ; Which then, with loving weak- ness, he would promise To each in turn. Thus it con- tinued long. But he must die ; and then the loving father Was sore perplexed. It grieved him thus to wound Two faithful sons who trusted in his word ; But what to do ? In secrecy he calls An artist to him, and commands of him Two other rings, the pattern of his own ; And bids him neither cost nor pains to spare LESSIWG. 223 Vollkommen gleicb zu maclien. Das gelingt Dem Kiiustler. Da er ihm die Ringe bringt, Kann selbst der Vater seiuen Musterring Nicht uutersclieiden. Froli und freudig ruft Er seine Sohne, jedeninsbesou- dre ; Giebt jedem ins besondre seinen Seegen, — Und seineD Ring, — und stirbt. — Du liorst doch. Sultan ? Sal. — Ich hor', icli licire ! Komm mit deinem Mahrchen Nun bald zu Ends. — Wird's ? Nath. — Icli bin zuEnde. Denn was noch folgt, versteht sicli ja von selbst. — Kaum war der Vater todt, so kommt ein jeder Mit seinem Ring. — Und jeder will der Fiii'St Des Hauses seyn. Man unter- suclit, man zaukt, Man klagt. Umsonst, der reclite Ring war nicht Erweislich ; — \nach einer Pause, in welcher er des Sultans AntKort enmrttt] fast so uncrweislich, als Uns jtzt— der reclite Glaube. Sal. — Wie? das soil Die Autwort seyn auf meine Frage? Wath.— Soil Micli bios entschuldigen, wenn ich die Ringe Mir nicht getrau zu unterschei- den, die To make them like, precisely like to that. The artist's skill succeeds. He brings the rings. And e'en the father cannot tell his own. Relieved and joyful, summons he his sons, Each by himself ; to each one by himself He gives his blessing, and his ring — and dies. — You listen. Sultan ? Sal.— Yes ; I hear, I hear. But bring your story to an end. Ifath.—'Tis ended. For what remains would tell it- self. The father Was scarcely dead when each brings forth his ring, And claims the headship. Questioning ensues. Strife, and appeal to law ; but all in vain. The genuine ring was not to be distinguished ; — [After a pause, in icMch he atcaits the Sultan's a7istcer.'\ As undistinguishable as with us The true religion. Sal. — That your answer to me ? JVath. — But my apology for not presuming Between the rings to judge, which with design 224 GERMAN LITERATURE. Der Vater in der Absiclit ma- chen liess, Damit sie niclit zu unterscliei- den wiireri. Sal. — Die Ringe ! — Spiele nicht mit mir !— Ich dachte, Dass die Religionen, die ich dir Geuannt, docli wol zu unter- scheiden waren. Bis auf die Kleidung ; bis auf Speis und Trank ! Nath. — Und nur von Seiten ilarer Griinde niclit, — Denn griinden alle sich niclit auf Gescliichte ? Geschrieben oder iiberliefert ! — Und Gescbichte muss docb wolil al- lein auf Treu Und Glauben angenoninien wer- den?— Nicht? Nun, wessen Treu und Glauben zieht man denn Am wenigsten in Zweifel ? Doch der Seinen ? Doch deren Blut wir siud ? doch deren, die Von Kindheit an uns Proben ilirer Liebe Gegeben ? die uns nie getauscht, als wo Getauscht zu werden uns heil- samer war ? — Wie kann ich meinen Viitern weniger, Als du den deinen glauben ? Oder umgekehrt. — Kann ich von dir veiiangen, dass du deine The father ordered undistin- guishable. Sal.—Uhe rings ? — You trifle with me. Tlie religions I named to you are plain to be distinguished — E'en in the dress, e'en in the food and drink. Nath. — In all except the grounds on which they rest. Are they not founded all on history. Traditional or written ? History Can be accepted only upon trust. Whom now are we the least in- clined to doubt ? Not our own people — our own blood ; not those Who from our childhood up have proved their love ; Ne'er disappointed, save when disappointment Was wholesome to us ? Shall my ancestors Receive less faith from me, than yours from you ? Reverse it : Can I ask you to belie LESSING. 225 Vorfahren Liigen strafst, um meinen niclit Zu widersprechen ? Oder um- gekelirt. Das nelimliclie gilt von den Christen. Nicht ?— Sal. — (Bey dem Lebendigen! Der Mann tat Recht. Ich muss verstummen. ) Kath. — Lass auf unsre Ring' Uns wieder kommen. Wie ge- sagt : die Soline Verklagten sicli ; und jeder schwur dem Rictter, Unmittelbar aus seines Vaters Hand Den Ring zu liaben. — Wie aucb wahr ! — Naclidem Er von ibm lange das Verspre- clien sclion Gehabt, des Riuges Vorrecht ein- mal zu Geniessen. — Wie nicht minder wahr ! — Der Vater, Betheur'te jeder, kcinne gegen ihn Nicht falsch gewesen seyn ; und eh' er dieses Von ihm, von einem solchen lie- ben Vater, Argwohnen lass' : eh' mliss' er seine Briider, So gern er sonst von ihnen nur das Beste Bereit zii glauben sey, des fal- schen Spiels Bezeihen ; und er wolle die Ver- riither Schon auszufinden wissen ; sich schon riiclieu. 10* Tour fathers, and transfer your faith to mine ? Or yet, again, holds not the same with Christians ? Sal. — (By heaven, the man is right ! I've naught to an- swer.) Natli. — Return we to our rings. As I have said. The sons appealed to law, and each took oath Before the judge that from his father's hand He had the ring, — as was indeed the truth ; And had received his promise long before, One day the ring, with all its privileges. Should be his own, — as was not less the truth. The father could not have been false to him, Each one maintained ; and ra- ther than allow Upon the memory of so dear a father Such stain to rest, he must against his brothers, Though gladly he would nothing but the best Believe of them, bring charge of treachery ; Means would he find the traitors to expose, And be revenged on them. Sal. — And now the judge? 226 GERMAN LITERATURE. Sal. — Und nun, der Riclitcr? — Mich verlangt zu liciren, Was du den Ricliter sagen liis- sest. Sprich ! Nath. — Der Ricliter sprach: wenn ihr mir nun den Vater Nicht bald zur Stelle schafft, so weis' icli eucli Von meinem Stuhle. Denkt ihr, dass ich Riithsel Zu losen da bin ? Oder harret ihr. Bis dass der rechte Ring den Mund erciffne 1 — Doch halt ! Ich hore ja, dor rechte Ring Besitzt die Wunderkraft, be- liebt zu machen ; Vor Qott und Menschen ange- nehm. Das muss Entscheiden ! Denn die falschen Ringe werden Doch das nicht kdnnen ! — Nun, wen lieben zwey Von euch am moisten ? — Macht, sagt an ! Ihr schweigt ? Die Ringe wirken nur zurlick ? und nicht Nach aussen? Jeder liebt sich selber nur Am meisten ? — so seyd ihr alle drey Betrogene Betriiger! Eure Ringe. Sind alle drey nicht echt. Der echte Ring Vermuthlich ging verloren. Den Verlust Zu bergen, zu ersetzen, liees der Vater Die drey fiir einen machen. I long to hear what words you give the judge. Go on ! Nath. — Thus spoke the judge : Produce your father At once before me, else from my tribunal Do I dismiss you. Think you I am here To guess your riddles ? Either would you wait Until the genuine ring shall speak ?— But hold ! A magic power in the true ring resides, As I am told, to make its wearer loved, — Pleasing to God and man. Let that decide. For in the false can no such vir- tue lie. Which one among you, then, do two love best ? Speak I Are you silent ? Work the rings but backward. Not outward ? Loves each one himself the best ? Then cheated cheats are all of you ! The rings All three are false. The genu- ine ring was lost ; And to conceal, supply the loss, the father Made three in place of one. LE88ING. 227 Sal. — Herrlicli, lierrlicli ! NatJi. — Und also, f iilir der Ricli- ter fort, wenn ihr Nicht meinen Ratli, statt meines Spruches woUt : Geht nur ! — Mein Ratli ist aber der : ihr nehmt Die Sache vollig wie sie liegt. Hat von Eucli jeder seinen Ring von sei- uem Vater So glaube jeder siclier seinen Ring Den ecliten. — Mciglich, dass der Vater nun Die Tyranney des Einen Rings nicht 1 anger In seinem Hause dulden wollen! — Und gewiss ; Dass er euch alle drey geliebt, und gleich Geliebt : indem er zwey nicht driicken mcigen, Um einen zu begiinstigen. — Wohlan !* Es eifre jeder seiner unbestocli- nen, Von Vorurtbeilcn freyen Liebe nacb ! Es strebe von eucb jeder um die Wette, Die Kraft des Steins in seinem Ring 'an Tag Zu legen ! komme dicscr Kraft mit Sanftmuth, Mit lierzliclier Vertriiglicbkeit, mit Wohlthun, Mit innigstcr Ergebenlieit in Gott, Sal. — Oh, excellent! Nath. — Go, therefore, said the judge, unless my counsel You'd have in place of sentence. It were this : Accept the case exactly as it standy. Had each his ring directly from his father, Let each believe his own is gen- uine. 'Tis possible, your father would no longer His house to one ring's tyranny subject ; And certain that all three of you he loved, Loved equally, since two he would not humble. That one might be exalted. Let each one To his unbought, impartial love aspire ; Each with the others vie to bring to light The virtue of the stone within his ring ; Let gentleness, a hearty love of peace. Beneficence, and perfect trust in God, 228 GERMAN LITERATURE. Zu Hiilf 1 Und wenn sicli dann Come to liis help. Then if the der Steine Kriifte jewel's power Bey euero Kindes - Kindeskin- Among your children's children dern aiissern : be revealed, So lad' ich iiber tausend tausend I bid you in a thousand, thousand Jahre, years, Sie wiederum vor diesen Stuhl. Again before this bar. A wiser Da wird man Ein weisrer Mann auf diesem Than I shall occupy this seat, Stuhle sitzen, and speak, Als ich ; undsprechen. Geht ! — Go !— Thus the modest judge So sagte der dismissed them! Bescheidne Richter. Ellen Frothingham. " Nathan tlie Wise " was not immediately popular : too many hostile elements were combined against its author. The sectarian spirit of Germany was deter- mined, in advance, not to accej)t it ; and the crowd of pretentious scholars and second-rate authors, who had felt the sting of Lessing's criticism, took every oppor- tunity of revenge. He was accused of glorifying Juda- ism, in the person of Nathan, at the expense of Chris- tianity, and the slander was everywhere circulated and believed, that the Jews of Amsterdam had sent him a gift of a thousand ducats. He outlived the violence of the assault, but with failing health came a weariness of the struggle ; and his last work, " The Education of the Human Eace," shows traces of a desire to avoid any fur- ther controversy. "What general popularity he enjoyed during his life came from his three earlier dramas ; but the recognition of the best minds — the only fame which a poet values — was due to his " Laocoon." His life LESsmo. 229 was not without its compensations. The hot water in which he lived was much preferable to the stagnant water in which his literary predecessors had slowly de- cayed. There was day-break in the sky before he died, and he, who anticipated so many of the currents of thought of the present day, certainly had clearness of vision to see the coming change. He was like the leader of a forlorn hope, who falls at the moment when victory is secured. The strongest quality of Lessing's mind was his pas- sion for positive truth. The j)assage in which he sub- limely expresses this aspiration has been often quoted, but I must give it again : " Not the truth of which any one is, or supjioses himself to be, possessed, but the upright endeavor he has made to arrive at truth, makes the worth of the man. For not by the possession, but by the investigation of truth are his powers expanded, and therein alone consists his ever-growing perfection. If God held all truth shut in his right hand, and in his left hand nothing but the ever-restless instinct for truth, though with the condition of forever and ever erring, and should say to me, * Choose ! ' I should humbly bow to his left hand, and say : * Fatlier, give ! Pure truth is for thee alone ! ' " The period between 1729 and 1781, which Lessing's life covers, was that of transition — and a transition all the more difficult and convulsive because, for a hundred years previous, the intellectual life of Germany lay in 230 GERMAN LITERATURE. a trance resembling deatli. Altliough. tlie influence of Bousseau and Yoltaire, felt in Germany only less j^ow- erfully than in France, helped to break up the old order of things, there was not the least connection between their action and that of Lessing. He made Voltaire's acquaintance only to become involved in a personal quarrel with him, and his works show no trace of Rous- seau's ideas concerning education and society. He moved forward on a line parallel with other prominent minds in other countries, but always retained a com- plete independence of them. When he died, the period of struggle was really over, although the fact was not yet manifest. Goethe had published "Gotz von Ber- licJmigen" and " Werther" and Schiller had just writ- ten "Die Railber." Herder had given to the world his " Poetry of the People," and was employed upon his " Spirit of Hebrew Poetry ; " and Bichter, a student of nineteen, had just awakened to a knowledge of his own genius. One by one, the pedants and the mechan- ical organ-grinders of literature were passing off the stage. French taste died two years later, in the person of its last representative, Frederic the Great, and the close air of Germany was at last vitalized by the fresh oxygen of original thought. Lessing's career, indeed, might be compared to a pure, keen blast of mountain wind, let loose upon a company of enervated persons, dozing in an atmosphere of exhausted ingredients and stale perfumes. It was a breath of life, but it made LEssmo. 231 tliem shriek and sliudcler. When they tried to close the window upon him, he smashed the panes ; and then, with the irreverence of all free, natural forces, he began to blow the powder from their wigs and the wigs from their heads. There is something comically pitiful in the impotent wrath with which they attempted to sup- press him. We can imagine Gottsched, amazed and incredulous that any one should dare to dispute his pompous authority, and even the good and gentle Gel- lert, grieving over the pranks of this uncontrollable young poet. We may be sure that none of his faults of character were left undiscovered, and there are few men of equal power whose character shows so fairly after such a scrutiny. He was accused of being a gambler ; but the facts of his life are the best answer to the charge. As a poorly-paid writer for the press in Ber- lin, and a general's secretary in Breslau, he supported himself, contributed toward the education of his bro- thers, and collected a choice library of six thousand volumes. It is not easy to see what would be left for gambling purposes, after accomplishing all this. His letters to his father exhibit a tender filial respect, a patience under blame and misrepresentation, and a gentle yet firm resistance, based on a manly trust in himself, the like of which I know not where to find. In him, genius and personal character are not to be separated. In one of his conversations with Ecker- mann, Goethe exclaimed : " We have great need of a 232 GERMAN LITERATURE. man like Lessing ; for wherein is he so great as in his character, in his firm hold of things ? There may be as shrewd and intelligent men, but where is such a char- acter?" At another time Goethe said: " Lessing dis- claimed any right to the lofty title of a genius ; but his permanent influence testifies against himself." Goethe always considered it his special good fortune that Les- sing existed as a guide for his youth. He compares the appearance of ^^ Minna von Barnhelm " to that of a shining meteor, bursting suddenly on the darkness of the age. "It opened our eyes to the fact," he says, " that there was something higher, something of which that weak literary epoch had no comprehen- sion." I hope that the distinction which I have already indi- cated is now tolerably clear — that as a creative intellect, the highest rank cannot be awarded to Lessing ; while, as a revolutionary power, as a shaping and organizing force, he has scarcely his equal in history. He was a Reformer, in the truest sense of the word, and bore himself through life with the same independence, the same dignity, the same simple reliance on truth, as Luther at Worms. Notwithstanding the ephemeral nature of many of his controversies, the greater part of them may still be read with profit ; for the truth that is in them belongs to no time or country. While some of his contemporaries — Klopstock and Wieland, for ex- ample — are gradually losing their prominence in Ger- LES8ING. 233 man literature, the place wliicli Lessing fills is becom- ing larger and more important. In one of liis early letters to his father, he says : " If I could become the German Moliere, I should gain an immortal name." He did more than this : he became the German Lessing ! vni. KLOPSTOCK, WIELAND AND HERDER. I AM obliged, by my limits, to group together in one lecture, the three distinguished contemporaries of Les- sing — Klo^^stock, Wieland and Herder — who also as- sisted, though by very different methods, in the literary regeneration of Germany. There was no immediate connection between his and their labors, except that all tended in the same direction ; and the most I can at- tempt will be to give a brief outline of their lives, and the special influence which the mind of each exercised upon the period in which they lived. As all three survived the close of the century, they were more fortunate than Lessing, in beholding the transition accomplished — in seeing the age of formality and pedantry buried without funeral honors, and the age of free, vigorous and vital thought triumphantly inaugurated. Although Klopstock, who was born in 1724, was five years older than Lessing, the two were students together at the University of Leipzig, in 1744, and Lessing's cUhut as a dramatic author was coeval with the publication of the first three cantos of Klopstock's " 3Iessias." This is the only coincident circumstance in their lives ; in all other 234 ELOPSTOCK, WIELANB AIsD HERDER. 235 respects there is the greatest uulikeness. Klopstock, a native of Quedlinburg, in Northern Germany, was the son of an official, in easy circumstances. His education, completed at Jena and Leipzig, was thorough ; no dis- couragements met his early aspirations, and his very first literary venture gave him fame and popularity. As a boy, his ambition was to produce a great German epic, and he first selected the Emperor, Henry the Fowler, as his hero. The study of theology^ in Jena, and proba- bly Milton's example, led him to change the plan, and adopt, instead, the character of Christ. His classic tastes suggested the form : a German counterpart of the "Hiad," he imagined, must also be written in hexameters. The first three cantos of the "Messias " were published in 1748, Avhen he was twenty-four years old, and created the profoundest impression all over Germany. They were read with a reverence, a pious fervor, scarcely less than that claimed for the Sacred Writings. Gottsched and his school, it is true, attempted to depreciate the work ; but it was not felt by the people to be a violent or dangerous innovation, and its popularity Avas not af- fected by the attack. On the other hand, Klopstock was welcomed by the Swiss school, and invited by Bod- mer, its head, to visit Zurich. I must here explain that Zurich was then an important literary centre. The English influence was there predominent, as the French was at Leipzig, and the two schools were therefore an- tagonistic. In intellectual force and temper there was 236 GERMAN LITERATURE. not miicli difference between the two, but they achieved some good by partly neutralizing each other's power. Klopstock went to Zurich in 1750, but did not remain there long. Baron Bernstorff, one of the King of Den- mark's ministers, invited him to Copenhagen, offering four hundred thalers a year for his support, in order that he might be free to finish his " Messiah." The proposal was accepted, the salary became a pension for life, and for twenty years Klopstock divided his time between Copenhagen and Hamburg. He had no material cares ; his popularity as a poet was so great, that it now seems almost disproportionate to his desarts, and the only shadow upon his fortune was the death of his wife, Meta MoUer, whom he lost in 1758, four years after their marriage. In 1771 he left Denmark, and took up his permanent residence in Hamburg, where, about the year 1800, he was visited by "Wordsworth and Cole- ridge. His death took place in 1803, at the age of seventy-nine. The importance of his life, however, must not be measured by its uneventful character. With the ex- ception of his one great sorrow, his years rolled away tranquilly and happily. He was a frank, honest and loving nature, attracting to himself the best friendship of men, and the enthusiastic admiration of women. The Danish pension, which he received at the beginning of his career, secured him against want, and, with all the breadth and humanity of his views, he was fortunate KL0P8T0CK, WIELAND AND HERDER. 237 enough to escape any serious persecution. Yet, altliougli his life was so serene and successful, the influences which flowed from his works were none the less potent. He was also a reformer, although not militant, like Lessing. We do not see the flash of his sword, and mark the heads that fall at every swing of his arm ; but if we look closely, we shall find that the strength of tlie enemy is slowly sapped, and his power of resistance paralyzed. In examining Klopstock's place as an author, we must avoid the injustice of applying the standard of a modern and more intelligent taste to his works. The very fact that he attained a swift and widely-extended popularity, proves two things — that there Avas an ami- able, sympathetic quality in his mind, which appealed to the sentiment of his readers, and that he did not rise so far above their intellectual plane that they were unable to follow him. He might, indeed, have diverged more Avidely from the taste of his time, and still retained his popularity ; for he possessed one of the radical quali- ties of the German nature, which was almost wanting in Lessing — sentiment. He had the power of drawing easy tears, even from those who were unable to ap- preciate his genius. He was more or less a spoiled child, through his whole life. Portions of his history read very strangely to us now. On leaving the Univer- sity, he fell in love with a cousin, whom he addressed as " Fanny " in a number of despairing Odes, because 4 238 GERMAN LITERATURE. liis affection was not returned. He read these Odes in private circles, weeping as he read, and moving his hearers to floods of tears. " Fanny " was soon overwhelmed with letters from all parts of Germany, even from Bodmer in Switzerland, either reproaching her for her cruelty, or imjDloring her to yield. I am glad to say that she had character enough to refuse, and to marry a man whom she loved. Klopstock, afterward, floating on the Lake of Zurich, with large companies of men and maidens, continued to repeat his melancholy verses, until he and all the others wept, finally kissed all around, and cried out : " This is Ely- Slum ! What is called the Sturm und Drang period of Ger- man literature (Carlyle translates the phrase by " Storm and Stress "), was partly a natural and inevitable phase of development ; but in so far as it was brought about by the influence of living authors, Klopstock must be looked upon as one of the chief agencies. When we hear of the boy Goethe and his sister Cornelia declaim- ing passages from the " Messiah," with such energy that the frightened barber dropped his basin, and came near gashing the throat of Goethe the father, we may guess the power of the impression which Klopstock made. It is not sufiicient, therefore, that we read the " Messiah " as if it had been written yesterday. We may smile at its over-laden passion and its difiiisive sentiment, but when we come to it from the literature EL0P8T0CK, WIELAND AND HERDER. 239 which preceded it, we feel, by contrast, that a pure and refreshing stream of poetry has at last burst forth from the barren soil. The number of those who in Germany, at present, read the whole of the "Messiah," is larger than the number of those who in England now read the whole of Sj)enser's "Faery Queene ; " but it is yet very small. In fact, life is too short for a poem of twenty can- tos and twenty thousand lines of hexameter, unless it be a truly great poem. Klopstock began the publication of the " Messiah " in 1748 and finished it in 1773 — a period of twenty-five years. It would take more time than I can now spare, to give even an outline of the poem. It commences with the withdrawal of Christ apart from his disciples, to commune with God upon Mount Olivet, includes the Last Supper, the Trial, Crucifixion and Resurrection, and closes in Heaven, when Christ takes his seat, as the Son, on the right hand of the Father. The action, however, is complicated by the introduction of a great number of angels and devils, and the souls of all the chief personages of the Old Testament, begin- ning with Adam and Eve. Even the daughter of Jairus and the son of the widow of Nain are among the char- acters. The opening lines remind us both of Homer and of Milton : Sing', unsterbliclie Seele, dcr siin- Sing, Immortal Spirit, of sinful digen Mensclicn Erlosung, man's redemption, Die der Messias auf Erden in sei- Which on earth in his human ner Menschheit vollendet, form fulfilled the Messiah, 240 GERMAN LITERATURE. Und durch die er Adams Ge- schleclite die Liebe der Gott- lieit, Mit dem Blute des heiligen Bun- des von Neuem geschenkt hat. Also geschali des Ewigen Wille. Vergebens erhub sich Satan wider den gottlicben Sobn ; umsonst stand Juda Wider ilin auf ; er that's iind voll- brachte die grosse Versoh- nung. Suffering, slain and transfigured, whence the children of Adam Once again he hath lifted up to the love of the Godhead. Thus was done the Eternal Will: and vainlv did Satan Trouble the Son Divine ; and Juda vainly opposed him : As it was willed, he did, and completed the mighty Atone- ment. The " Messiah " is only indirectly didactic and doc- trinal. On account of the multitude of characters, there is a great deal of action, and the narrative continually breaks into dialogue. It is pervaded throughout by the tender humanity of the Christian religion, and has many passages of genuine sublimity. But it is pitched altogether upon too lofty and ambitious a key, and the mind of the reader, at last, becomes very weary of hanging suspended between heaven and earth. I will translate another passage, to show how Klopstock de- scribes the Indescribable : Gott sprach so und stand auf vom ewigen Throne. Der Thron klang Unter ihm hin, da er aufstand. Des Allerheiligsten Berge Zitterten und mit ihnen der Altar des gottlichen Mittlers. God so spake, and arose from his Throne Eternal, resound- ing Under Him, as He arose : the hills of the Holy of Holies Trembled, and with them the altar of the Divine Medi- ator. KL0P8T0CK, WIELANB AND HERDER. 241 Mit (les Versolmenclen Altar die Wolken des lieiligen Dun- kels Dreimal flielin sie zurlick. Zum viertenmal bebt des Gericlit- stulils Letzte Hcili', es beben an ibm die furcbtbaren Stufen Sicbtbar bcrvor, imd der Ewigo steigt von dem bimmliscben Throne. So, wenn ein festlicber Tag durcb die Himmel alle ge- feiert wird, Und mit allgegenwiirtigeni Wink der Ewige wiuket, Stehen dann auf Einmal, aiif alien Sonnen und Erden, Glanzend von ibren goldenen Stublen, tausend bei taus- end, Alle Serapbim auf ; dann klin- gen die goldenen Stiible Und der Harfen Gebet und die niedergeworfenen Kronen. Also ertonte der bimmlische Tbron, da Gott von ibm auf- stand. Yea, with tbe altar the clouds of the holy, mysterious dark- ness Thrice they withdrew : tbe fourth, tbe Seat of the Judge to its summit Shook, and the awful steps that lead to the summit were shaken Visibly : down from his Throne descended then the Eternal. As, when a festival day is kept through the infinite heavens, When the beckon of God is om- nipresently witnessed, Then, at once, on all the suns and all of the planets Shiningly from their golden scats, by thousands of thousands Rise the Seraphim : then from their golden seats the ac- cordance Joins the sound of tbe harps and tbe clang of the crowns in their falling : — So, when God stood up, the Heavenly Throne resound- ed. If we cannot now find such passages as this almost superhuman in their sublimity, we can, at least, with a little effort of the imagination, understand that a large portion of the German reading public should have so considered them, at the time when they appeared. Klopstock's friends claim that he was the first to intro- 11 242 GERMAN LITERATURE. duce tlie classic liexameter into tlie language. He was certainly the first wlio did so successfully ; but Lessing shows that both the hexameter and the elegiac mea- sure were used by Fischart, in the seventeenth century. Klopstock's hexameters, moreover, are by no means above criticism ; many of his lines try both the ear and the tongue, while now and then we find one which is melody itself. Take, for instance, this line in the origi- nal : Todesworte nocli stets und des Weltgerichts Flucli aussprach. Here the ear bumps along over a corduroy road of hard syllables. Now compare this line : Deines scliwebenden tonenden Ganges melodisclies Raiisclien. It has a linked sweetness which would have delighted Milton. Klopstock did not perceive the truth, which Goethe afterward discovered, that the hexameter, to be agreeable, must put off its Greek or Latin habits, and adapt itself to the spirit and manner of the German lan- guage ; but his labor was both honest and fruitful. The " Messiah " was the result of a deliberate purpose to produce an epic ; the subject, we might almost say, was mechanically chosen, and we can only wonder that a work produced under such conditions had so much positive success in its day. His " Odes," which also attained a great popularity, were formed upon classical models. He endeavored, KL0P8T0GK, WIELAND AND HERDER. 243 in tliem, to make eloquence and sentiment supply the place of rhyme. To me they seem like a series of gymnastic exercises, whereby the muscles of the lan- guage became stronger and its joints more flexible, although the finer essence of poetry disappears in the process. Klopstock hoped, and his admirers believed, that he was creating a classic German literature, by adopting the forms which had become classic in other languages. All we can now admit is that he substi- tuted the influence of Greek literature for that of the French ; and this, at the time, was no slight service. His Odes were the earliest inspiration of Schiller, and he had also a crowd of imitators who have left no names behind them. None of his dramatic poems can be called successful. His " Herman's Fight " was written, like his "Messiah," for a deliberate purpose — to counteract the French in- fluence which was still upheld in Germany, not only by Gottsched and his school, but also by the Court of Frederick the Great. It was dedicated to Joseph II. of Austria, who was looked upon as the representative of the German spirit. But Klopstock, faithful to his idea of transplanting classic forms, revived the old Teutonic gods, and endeavored to construct a new Ger- man Olympus. The result is very much like a mas- querade. "We see the faces and beards of the old Teutonic tribes, their shields and war-clubs, but we hear would-be Grecian voices when they speak. His 244 OERMAN LITERATURE. attempts in tliis direction, however, led liim to a deeper study of the growth and development of the German language, and determined, for many years, the char- acter of his literary activity. In 1780 he published his " Fragments relating to Language and Poetry," and in 1793 his " Grammatical Conversations " — both sound and valuable works. Yet in them, as in his dramatic poems, the effect was greater than its cause. Probably no author of the last century did so much toward cre- ating a national sentiment, toward checking the im- pressibility of the race to foreign influences, arousing native pride and stimulating native ambition. This was his greatest service, especially since the German peo- ple saw in him the evidence of what he taught. "Where Lessing cut his way by destructive criticism, Klopstock worked more slowly by example. In force and scope and originality of intellect there can be no comparison between the two men: Klopstock must always be ranked among minds of the second class : but when we esti- mate what they achieved during their lives, there is less difference. After Gottsched's death there was no one to assail Klopstock's fame, for all the greater minds that followed him appreciated his work and honored him for it. His prominence as an author did not dimin- ish materially during his life, and the true proportions, into which his fame has since then slowly settled, are still large enough to make him a conspicuous figure in the literary history of the age. Although not more KLOPSTOCK, WIELAND AND HERDER. 245 than ten of his two hundred odes live in the pop;ih>r memory, his sweet and fervent hymns are sung in all the Protestant churches, and many lines and phrases from his poems have become household words. In Christopher Martin "Wieland, we have a personal history almost as placid as Klopstock's, yet an intellect of very different texture, to consider. Through him we shall first make acquaintance with that company of men who have made the name of Weimar almost as renowned as that of Athens. I shall have more difficulty in indi- cating the exact place which he occupies in the lite- rary development of Germany, for the reason that his intellectual characteristics are of a lighter and airier quality, and are not so readily transferred to another language. Wieland was born near Biberach, in Wiirtemberg, in 1733. Like Lessing, he was the son of a clergyman, and as a boy was noted for his lively, precocious intel- lect. He had studied Latin, Greek and Hebrew, and attempted poetry, at the age of twelve. Three or four years later he acquired the French and English lan- guages, and then entered the University at Tiibingen for the purpose of studying law, to which he devoted no more attention than Lessing did to theology. His na- ture was flexible and easily impressed, and the appear- ance of the first three cantos of the " Messiah " impelled him to attempt a similar work. He projected a great German epic, to be called "Arminius" very little of 246 GERMAN LITERATURE. wliicli Avas written. One of the first works which he published was entitled " Ten Moral Letters." These early essays attracted the notice of Bodmer and the Zurich school, and he was invited thither in 1752, as Klopstock had been two years before. He was then a youth of nineteen, and for several years thenceforth he seems to have been entirely under the influence of Bodmer, Gessner and the other chiefs of the Swiss literary clan. He was unfortunate in all his ventures during this period. He commenced an epic, of which Cyrus was the hero, but the first five books were received so coldly by the public, that the design was given up. A tragedy called "Lady Jane Gray " met with no better fate, un- less Lessing's merciless re^dew of it can be considered a distinction. He thereupon attempted a lighter and gayer style, choosing as his subject the episode of "Araspes and Panthea " from Xenophon, but this work also attracted very little attention. He remained in Switzerland until 1760, when he returned to his native place, and accepted a clerkship in the Chancery. The duties of the ofl&ce were distasteful to so mercurial a nature, and he sought relief from them in undertaking a translation of Shakespeare, which employed him for four or five years. This, I believe, was the first com- plete publication of Shakespeare in German, and it ap- peared most opportunely for the development which had then commenced. Although it has since been super- KLOPSTOGK, WIELAND AND HERDEB. 247 seded by the more tliorougli translation of Sclilegel and Tieck, it was a careful and conscientious work, for wliicli Wieland deserves the gratitude of his country- men. Wieland married in 1765, and four years later ac- cepted the appointment of Professor of Philosophy at the University of Erfurt. After the publication of his Shakespeare, he turned again to authorship, and his- persistence at last brought success. With the same susceptibility to external influences, his new attempts were inspired, partly by the French authors of the time, Eousseau among them, and partly by his lyric taste. His "Agathon,'" published in 1767, first made him generally and favorably known. Its leading idea is to show in what degree the external world contributes to human development, and how far wisdom and virtue are sustained by the forces of nature. Three or four works, in which love is the sole theme, followed in quick succession ; and, although they were denounced in many quarters, as being free to the verge of immo- rality, they were none the less read. After his accept- ance of the professorship at Erfurt he probably found it expedient to guard himself against a recurrence of the charge, for the character of his works changed, and Ave find in them an element of satire which up to this time was not exhibited. He next published ^'Der goldene Spiegel " (The Golden Mirror), wliicli was inspired by the liberal policy of Joseph II. Wieland's intellectual 248 GERMAN LITERATURE. nature, thus far, may best be described by our liomely word " flighty." Tliere is little evidence of any serious literary principle, any coherent purpose, in his works, and he seems, in this respect, as un-German as possi- ble. But there is a sportive ease and grace in every- thing he undertakes, which is new to the language. If Lessing gave it precision and Klopstock freedom, Wie- land certainly gave it lightness. The first half of Wieland's life and literary activity was passed, as we have seen, in a restless series of changes ; his place of residence, his occupation and the character of his works changing every few years. His wanderings were now to end, and a long season of rest and stability, the effect of which is manifest in his later writings, was granted to his life. In 1772, the Duchess Amalia, of Saxe-Weimar, offered him the |)ost of tutor to the young princes, her sons, with a salary of one thou- sand thalers a year, which afterward Avas continued as a pension for life. The eldest of these princes was Karl August, the immortal patron of literature, who was then fifteen years old. The Duchess Amalia had already assembled around her in Weimar a supe- rior literary circle, including Knebel, Musseus and Ein- siedel. Three years later, when Karl August assumed the ducal government, Goethe, then in his twenty-sixth year, was called to Weimar. In the meantime, how- ever, Wieland had published a lyrical drama, "Alces- iis,'" which was well received by everybody except ELOP STOCK, WIELAND AND HERDER. 249 Goetlie, wlio satirized it in a dialogue entitled : " Gods, Heroes and Wieland." One of Wieland's admirers retorted by publishing a farce, called "Men, Beasts and Goethe." Wieland seems to have been neither vain nor sensitive to attack. He treated the matter good-humoredly, afterward acknowledged the justice of Goethe's satire, and became at once his personal friend. Wieland's intellect became broader and clearer through his intercourse with the Weimar circle. His works, thenceforth, exhibit greater finish and consist- ence ; yet he never entirely emancipated himself from the influence of the French school, never adopted the lofty standard of excellence which Schiller and Goethe, and even Herder, set for themselves. The deficiency was inherent in his nature : his temperament was too gay and cheerful, too dependent on moods and sensa- tions, for the earnest work of his fellow authors. Ho did good service, however, by establishing, soon after his arrival in Weimar, a monthly literary periodical, called " Der deutsclie Mercur," which he thenceforth edited for more than thirty years, and which was the vehicle through which the most prominent authors be- came known to a wider circle of readers. In 1780 he published his romantic epic of " Oheron,'' the most permanently popular of all his works. It is an admi- rable specimen of what Goethe calls the naive in litera- ture — the free, graceful play of the imagination. In- 11* 250 GERMAN LITEBATUBE. deed, as a specimen of poetic story-telling, it lias not often been excelled in any language. We have, at pres- ent, such a story-teller in England — Mr. William Mor- ris — the graces of whose metrical narratives are now delighting us ; but their tone, even when he chooses a bright Greek subject, is grave almost to sadness. They are chanted in the minor key, and a sky of gray cloud, or, when brightest, veiled by a hazy mist, hangs over all the landscapes of his verse. Change this tone and atmosphere : let them be clear, fresh and joyous : add sunshine, and pleasant airs, and the multitudinous dance of the waves, and you have the character of Wieland's poetry. His " Oheron" is as charming now as when it was first written. It has all the grace and the melody and the easy movement of Ariosto. The severe critic may say tliat the poem teaches nothing ; that many of the incidents are simply grotesque ; that the plot is awk- wardly constructed ; that the hero exhibits no real he- roism, and the fairy king and queen are borrowed from Shakespeare : the reader will always answer — " All this may be true, but the jDoem is delightful." The secret of " Oberon " seems to me, that Wieland has combined the joyousness and the freedom of the Greek nature, with the form and the manner of the romantic school in literature. I have re-read it carefully (for the third or fourth time) for the purpose of selecting some passages which might best illustrate its character ; but I find it difficult to make any choice, where the key-note of the poem is so KLOP STOCK, WIELA^'D ANB HERDER. 251 evenly sustained tlirougliout. I will tlierefore translate a few of the opening stanzas, wliich will serve my pur- pose as well as any otliers. Ton will notice tliat while these stanzas are each of eight lines, the length and the metrical character of the lines, and the order of rhyme, are varied according to the author's will : Noct einmal sattelt mir den Hippogryplien, ihr Musen, Zum Ritt ins alte romantisclie Land ! Wie lieblicli um meinen ent- fesselten Busen Der holde Wahnsinn spielt ! Wer sclilang das magisclie Band Um meine Stirne ? Wer treibt von meinen Angen den Ne- bel, Der auf der Vorwelt Wundern liegt ? Ich sell', in buntem Gewiilil, bald siegend, bald besiegt, Des Ritters gutes Schwert, der Heiden bliukende Slibel, Ye Muses, come saddle me the Hyppogryff again, For a ride in the old, the ro- mantic land ! How sweetly now, around my breast and brain, The fair illusion plays ! Who bound that magic baud About my brow 1 Who from mine eyelids blew the haze, Hiding the wonders of old days ? I see, now conquered, now o'er- come, in endless labor. The faithful sword of the knight, the Payuim's shin- ing sabre ! Vergebens knirscht des alten Sultans Zorn, Yergebens draut ein Wald von starren Lanzen ; Es ttint im lieblichen Ton das elfenbeinerne Horn, Und, wie ein Wirbel, egreift sie alle die Wuth zu tan- zen. In vain the ancient Sultan's wrath and scorn. Threatens in vain a grove of leveled lances ; The exquisite notes are heard of the ivory horn. And the crowd is seized and whirled in tumultuous dances ! 252 GERMAN LITERATURE. Sie drelin im Kreise sich um, They turn and circle till breath bis Sinn und Athem ent- and sense are lost. geht. Triumph, Herr Ritter, Triumph 1 Triumph, Sir Knight, is thine! Gewonnen ist die Schone. Thou hast won the beauty : Was siiumt ihr ? Fort ! der Why delay ? Thy flag in the Wimpel weht : breeze is tossed ; Nach Eom, dass euern Bund Away to Rome, where the Holy der heil'ge Vater krone I Father claims thy duty ! This light and rapid movement characterizes the whole poem, which seems to have been written only in holi- days of the mind. The reading of it, therefore, is not a task, but a pure recreation. Wieland, in this respect, was an unconscious and unintentional reformer. Goethe, I have already stated, was led by Lessing to seek for the true principles of literary art ; but it is equally cer- tain that he learned of Wieland to relieve and lighten the gravity of his style — to add grace to proportion, and give a playful character to earnest thought. Wieland must be considered as one of the chief founders of the romantic school. The " Storm and Stress " period, which was simply a fermentation of the conflicting elements — a struggle by means of which the new era of literature grew into existence — com- menced about the year 1770, and continued for twenty years. During its existence the Romantic School was developed, separating itself from the classic school, by its freedom of form, its unrestrained sentiment, and its seeking after startling effects. It was a natural retalia- tion, that France, forty years later, should have bor- KLOPSTOGE, WIELA^'-D AND HERDER. 253 rowed this scliool from Germany. Wieland was not a partisan in tlie struggle ; neither was lie drawn into it, and forced to work his way out again, as were Goethe and Schiller. He belonged to the Komantic school by his nature, and to the classic school by his culture, but the former gave the distinguishing character to his works. After the completion of " Oheron,'' he undertook the translation of Horace and Lucian, which was followed by the publication of the "AttiscJie Museum " — a collec- tion of the principal Greek classics, translated by differ- ent hands. Until Schiller started his magazine, called "Die Horen " (The Hours), Wieland's " Deutscher Mercur " was the first literary periodical in Germany. His later original works are few and unimportant, and had little influence on the thought of the time. He lived to see the battle of Jena, to be presented by Napoleon with the Cross of the Legion of Honor, in 1808, and died, eighty years old, in the year of German Liberation, 1813. In this brief sketch of Wieland, I have scarcely men- tioned more than half of his works, because it is not necessary for the purpose of indicating his place as an author. Perhaps ten per cent, of the thirty-six volumes which he left behind him, are now read. The winnowing-mill of Time makes sad havoc with works considered immortal in their day. A great deal of Wieland's productiveness has been blown away as chaff, 254 GBRMAW LITERATURE. but enoiigli sound grain remains to account for his in- fluence, and to justify our honorable recognition of his genius. If he did not follow trvith with the unselfish devotion of Lessing— if he was not animated by a lofty patriotic purpose, like Klopstock — we nevertheless do not feel inclined to judge him too rigidly. His grace, his humor, his delicate irony and refined though rather shallow appreciation of the element of beauty, disarm us in advance. We cannot escape a hearty friendly feeling for the man who was always so cheerful and amiable, and whose works, light as they may seem in comparison, form a counterpoise for so many of the " heavy weights " in German Literature. Falk relates that on the day after Wieland's burial, Goethe spoke of him in these terms : " He possessed an incomparable nature : in him all was fluency, spirit and taste ! It is a cheerful plain, where theie is nothing to stumble over, threaded by the stream of a comical wit, which winds capriciously in all directions, and sometimes even turns against its author. There is not the slight- est trace in him of that deliberate, laborious technical quality, which sometimes spoils for us the best ideas and feelings, by making their expression seem artificial. This natural ease and freedom is the reason why I always prefer to read Shakespeare in "Wieland's transla- tion. He handled rhyme as a master. I believe, if one had poured upon his desk a composing-case full of words, he would have arranged them, in a little while. ELOPSTOCK, WIELAWD AND HERDEB. 255 into a charming poem." Altliougli this is the tribute of a friend who had been for forty years intimate with Wielaud, and was given during the tender sorrow which his loss called forth, it is not exaggerated praise. Just such an intellectual temperament as Wieland possessed was needed in his time. The language as well as the literature was in the process of develop- ment : there were enough of thoughtful and earnest minds engaged in the work, and they would have fallen too exclusively into the serious, brooding habit of the race, had they not been interrupted by Wieland's play- ful fancy and his delicate satire. Our English lan- guage found all these qualities combined in the one man, Shakespeare, but other countries have not been so fortunate. It required three men — Lessing, Wieland and Goethe — to perform a similar service for the Ger- man language. In this respect, the sportive element in Wieland's mind was as valuable as genius. It is cer- tainly rarer. Much of our modern literature lacks the same quality. It betrays the grave labored purpose of the author, as if expression were a stern duty, instead of seeming, as it should seem, free, inevitable and joy- ous. Goethe says that Wieland was the only member of the Weimar circle who could publish his works in the monthly " Mercury " by instalments, as they were written, without being at all affected by the miscon- ception of the public or the hostile criticism of his rivals. It is pleasant to contemplate the activity of so 256 OEBMAN LITERATURE. ' serene and cheerful a mind. He never had a following of enthusiastic admirers, like Klopstock or Schiller, but the public regarded him always with a kindly good-will. It was for a time fashionable, in Germany, to depreciate his literary achievements. He has been accused of being governed by French influences, be- cause of his light and volatile nature ; but the influ- ence, so far as it existed, soon wore off, and left only the natural resemblance, which was no fault. On the contrary, it was his good fortune and that of his con- temporaries. I do not mention Herder last because I consider him the least important of the three, but simply because he came last in the order of birth. Although a good part of the fight had been fought, by the time he was old enough to engage in it, he belongs also to the pioneers and builders. It is remarkable that, in this review of the great German authors of the last century, each retains, from first to last, his own clearly-marked indi- viduality. Each preserves his own independent activity, while following a similar aim, even after years of the closest personal intercourse. There was a wide field and much work before them, and Nature seems so to have ordered their minds, that each found his fitting department of labor, and all, together, carried forward a broad front of development. Johann Gottfried Herder was born in 1744, in a village in Eastern Prussia, where his father was teacher and KLOPSTOCE, WIELAND AND HERDER. 257 Cantor in the cliurcli. Allowed to read nothing but the Bible and the hymn-book at home, his craving for knowl- edge attracted the attention of a neighboring clergyman, whoigave him instruction in Latin and Greek. At the age of eighteen, a Kussian physician, who took a great interest in the eager, intelligent, friendless boy, proposed to have him educated as a surgeon, in Konigsberg and St. Petersburg. He fainted on beholding the first dis- section, and the plan was given up ; but he remained in Konigsberg, subsisting literally on charity, and study- ing at the University. The philosopher Kant allowed him to attend his lectures without paying the usual fee. The study of theology specially attracted him, but no branch of knowledge was neglected. After struggling along, under the most discouraging circumstances, for two years, he accepted a situation as teacher in Riga, and began to preach as soon as he had been properl}' ordained to the office. His popularity became so gi-eat, both as a teacher and as an eloquent, earnest preacher, that in the course of four or five years his friends in Eiga determined to build a large church, and have him in- stalled as pastor. At the same time he was invited to become the Director of the German school in St. Peters- burg. He declined both these oflPers, and left Riga in 1769, intending to make a journey through Europe. At Strassburg, an affection of the eyes obliged him to give up the plan, and to remain in that city for surgical treat- ment. Here he became acquainted with a youth of 258 GERMAN LITERATURE. twenty, named Goethe, and for some months the two were inseparable companions. Herder, then twenty-five years old, had already published two works — "Frag- ments concerning Eecent German Literature," and "For- ests of Criticism," wherein he had planted himself on the side of Winckelmann and Lessing, taking a strong position of antagonism to the pedantry and superficial taste which those authors assailed. Goethe, who, dur- ing his residence in Strassburg, wrote his play of "Die 3Iitsc]iuldigen " (The Accomplices) and was brooding over the plan of " GiJiz von BerUcliingen" profited greatly by his intercourse with Herder, and his friendship became one of the influences which determined Herder's later life. While at Strassburg, Herder received an invitation to become Court-Preacher at Biickeburg, a town in North- ern Germany, the capital of the little principality of Schaumburg-Lij)pe. He accepted the call, and remained at Biickeburg, in that capacity, for five years, during which time his reputation as a theologian became so generally established, that he was offered the Professor- ship of Theology at Gottingen. He hesitated to accept the position, because, by order of the King of Hanover, it was burdened with certain conditions which were not agreeable. After the negotiations had continued for some months, a day was fixed for Herder's decision, and on that very day he received an offer of the place of Court-Preacher and member of the Clerical Consistory EL0P8T0CK, WIELAND AND HERDER. 259 at Weimar. He delayed no longer, but followed the in- stinct wliicli led so many tempest-tost brains into that quiet and secure harbor of the German Muses. By the end of the year 1776, Wieland, Herder and Goethe were citizens of Weimar. Here the incidents of Herder's life, like those of Wieland's, cease to interest us, and we are occupied only with his literary development. In 1778 he published his " VolksUeder' : the English title, which would best express the character of the work, is "Poetry of the Kaces." It is a careful selection from the popular songs and ballads of nearly all the languages of Europe, including the Lithuanian, Livonian, Servian, Danish, English and Modern Greek. He makes good use of Percy's " Reliques " and the lyrics of the Eliza- bethan dramatists, and even translates passages of Ossian into rhyme. These translations, although not always very literal, are thoroughly poetic, and may be read with satisfaction. His object seems to have been, to direct the attention of the German public to the natural poetic elements which exist in the early civiliza- tion of all races, and thereby to counteract the tendency toward schools or fashions in poetry. He sought to impress the catholicity of his own taste upon the popu- lar mind, and was certainly successful in diverting much of the thought of his day out of the narrow channels in which it had been accustomed to move. In 1782 he published his "Spirit of Hebrew Poetry," a work which has been translated and extensively read in English. 260 GERMAN LITERATURE. It is an exposition of his views in regard to the primitive poetry of the race, in its connection with religion- Its indirect tendency, as well as that of his strictly theo- logical writings, was to inculcate a broader, a more in- telligent — one might almost say, a more human — reli- gious sentiment. He took the same ground as Lessing, concerning the superiority of the spirit to the letter, but, as a clergyman, he was spared the bitter hostility which the layman had provoked. Perhaps, also, the warmth, the eloquence and the enthusiasm which per- vaded all his writings gave his ideas an easier accept- ance than they would have found, if presented with the intellectual bareness and keenness of Lessing's style. Passing over Herder's essays and critical papers, I will only mention two other of his more important works — the metrical romance of "J9e>' CiV/," the materials of which he collected from the old Spanish legends and ballads, and his " Ideas toward a Philosophy of Human History," which is generally considered to be his greatest work. " The Cid " is written in unrhymed Trochaics — a measure which was first employed in English by Long- fellow in his " Hiawatha." Although it is considered a classic poem in German, and is still printed in luxurious editions, it is only enjoyed by the more cultivated class of readers. It has something of the mechanical char- acter of many of his Odes. He was less a poet, in fact, than a man of sensitive poetic taste. He had a large, warm, receptive nature, and his inspiration came from KL0P8T0CK, WIELAND AND HERDER. 261 the feelings rather than from the imagination. His "Ideas of the Philosophy of History " are the fragments of a larger design. They anticipate many views which have only been taken up and practically developed in the literature of our day. He considers man as an entity, whose di£ferent modes of development in the earlier races must be referred to the operation of the same universal laws. He traces the upward tendency, the preparation for a higher spiritual life, through all the varied forms of civilization, and infers the existence of a sublime progressive destiny, of which all our past history is a part. During the later years of his life, Herder became sensitive and irritable, although he still retained his wonderful magnetic power over other men. His per- formance of his official duties was beneficently felt throughout the Duchy. His authority in the Church, his supervision of the schools, his control of the govern- ment-charities, were all characterized by a wise, liberal and thoroughly humane spirit. In 1801 he was ap- pointed President of the Consistory, the highest office belonging to his profession, and was ennobled by the Elector of Bavaria. He lived but two years longer to enjoy these honors, dying in 1803, in his sixtieth year. The Duke, Karl August, ordered the words to be en- graved upon his tomb — " Light, Love, Life." The great influence which Herder exercised during his life cannot be doubted ; yet, in looking over his 262 GERMAN LITERATURE. works at the present day, it is easy to miss tlie secret of tliat influence. I confess tliat, notwithstanding the evi- dence of an earnest, brooding mind, which I find every- where — notwithstanding the variety and beauty of the scattered thoughts — Herder's works impress me like a collection of great, irregular fragments. He has less of positive style than any of his contemporaries. His views seem to lack an ordered connection, and this gives an air of uncertainty to the operations of his mind. Everything he does resembles a figure which the sculp- tor has not wholly hewn from the marble. Here and there an outline may be clearly cut, the form and ex- pression may be everywhere indicated, but we are never- theless tantalized by the unchiseled stone hiding as much as it reveals. His design is evidently greater than his power of execution — like the face of the Dawn, which bafiled Michael Angelo. But this very circumstance, if I rightly interpret it, gives a hint of his true power — and it is an agency which we have not yet considered. I mean the power of sug~ gestiveness. There is something stimulating and pro- vocative in ideas which fall short of their full and clear expression. The breadth of Herder's views, aided as they were by his remarkable eloquence, made them attractive at a time when the mind of Germany was throbbing with its highest vitality, and they must have opened innumerable side-paths to others. The place which he attempted to fill was so large, that there was EL0P8T0CK, WIELAND A:N'D HERDER. 263 necessarily more variety than thorougliness in his work. But all that he did helped to widen the intellectual horizon : his spirit was never otherwise than liberal, tolerant and pervaded with the noblest sympathies. Neither his philological learning, nor his philosophy, would now be considered remarkable, but, as one of his critics truly says, they were exactly adequate to his needs and the needs of his time. I think, therefore, that we shall be correct in desig- nating Herder as a procreative, rather than a creative power in German literature — that is, that his suggestive, awakening and stimulating influence on other minds was his chief merit. The value of his writings is thus not affected by their want of artistic completeness, — nor is it merely a temporary value. His ideas still re- tain their fructifying character, because the aspiration which underlies them is always lofty and sincere. Goethe, speaking to Eckermann, in the year 1824, thus expressed himself concerning Klopstock and Her- der : " Had it not been for these powerful forerunners, our literature could not have become what it now is. When they came, they were far in advance of their time, and they equally drew it after them ; but now the age has distanced them, and notwithstanding they were once so necessary and important, they have ceased to be vital forces. A young man who should now-a-days draw his culture from Klopstock and Herder, would fall to the rear." 264 GERMAN LITERATURE. Goethe ascribed the unusual culture of the middle classes, which had been developed througout Germany during the previous fifty years, more to Wieland and Herder, than to Lessing. " Lessiug," he said, " was the highest intelligence, and only an equal intelligence could thoroughly be taught by him. He was dangerous to half-capacities. To Wieland," he added, " all the higher cultivation of Germany owes its st^de. This class learned a great deal from him, not the least of which was the faculty of appropriate expression." In these remarks, Goathe refers principally to Les- sing's critical works, and he also ignores both his own and Schiller's influence on the national culture. Never- theless, the distinction which he draws is at bottom correct. Taking Lessing, Klopstock, Wieland and Her- der, as the representative forerunners and reformers, who first created the splendid age of literature w^hich they then adorned, we may thus apportion their sep- arate shares in the work. Lessing, unquestionably first, both in intellect and character, was a strong inde- pendent power, operating chiefly on the best thinkers and writers of his day. Klopstock, by his use of the religious element, won the people to his side, employed his influence to implant among them a lofty national sentiment, and gave eloquence, form and expression to the language. Wieland, the literary Epicurean, giving himself up to the shifting play of his moods and sensa- tions, imparted lightness, grace and elegance to the KL0P8T0CK, WIELAND AND HERDEB. 265 language, adding sparkle to strength and melody to correctness of form. Herder, finally, broke down the narrower limits of thought, led the aspirations of men back to their primitive sources, placed before them the universal and permanent in literature, rather than the national and temporary, and deejoened and widened in every way the general culture, through the fruitful suggestiveness of his ideas. The more we contemplate the lives and the labors of these four authors, the more clearly we feel the necessity of each. The development of the German language had been long delayed, but these men, working simultaneously, raised it rapidly to an equal power and dignity among the other modern tongues of Europe. We now turn from the period of struggle to that of creative repose. The battle has been fought : the ground has been won: we sliall henceforth breathe a serener air, and feel the presence of a purer and grander inspiration. 12 IX. SCHILLER. Taking tlie German authors in the order of tlieir pro- gressive develoj^ment, we are next led to Schiller, who, although he was born ten years later than Goethe, died twenty-seven years earlier. His life is thus included within that of Goethe, but only as the orbit of Yenus is included within that of the Earth : the courses may be nearly parallel, but are never identical. In Schiller's case, I have the advantage of dealing with material, much of which is tolerably familiar to English readers. The biography and essays of Carlyle, and the translations of Coleridge, Bulwer, Bowring and others, have gradually created an impression, in England and America, of Schiller's character and genius — an impression which is just in outline, if somewhat vague in certain respects. The more delicate lights and shades, which are necessary to complete the picture, can be given only by the intimate and sympathetic study which the poet inspires in those who have made his acquaintance. Like Burns and Byron, he creates a per- sonal interest in the reader, in the light of which his works are almost inevitably viewed. An indefinable 266 SCHILLER. 267 magnetism clings to his name, and accompanies it all over the world. In vain Richter speaks of " the stony Schiller, from whom strangers spring back, as from a precipice " — in vain Mr. Crabb Robinson describes him as unsocial, and with a wdld expression of face — few poets have ever excited more enthusiasm, sympathy, and love in the human race, than Friedrich Schiller. Even when we know his life, and have analyzed his w'orks, the problem is not entirely solved. Mankind seems sometimes to give way, like an individual, to an impulse of unreasoning affection, and the fortunate poet upon whom it falls is sure of a beautiful immortality. Schiller was born on the 10th of November, 1759, in the little town of Marbach, in Wiirtemberg. His father w^as a military surgeon, who had distinguished himself in campaigns in the Netherlands and Bohemia, where he also served as an officer, and attained the rank of Cap- tain. He was an instance, very rare in those days, of a man who tried, in middle age, to make up for the defi- ciencies of his early education, and whatever capacity Schiller may have received by inheritance came from him, and not from the mother. Noted, as a child, for his spiritual and imaginative nature, Schiller's early ambition was to become a clergyman; but the Duke Karl of Wiirtemberg insisted, against the wish of the boy's parents, on having him educated in a new school which he had just founded in Stuttgart. At the ase of fourteen Schiller entered this school, 268 GERMAN LITERATURE. ■wliich was conducted according to the strictest military ideas. Tlie pupils were considered as so many machines, to be mechanically developed : not the slightest regard was paid to natural differences of capacity : their studies, their performances, and even their recreation, were regu- lated by an inflexible system. Unable to escape his fate, Schiller at first selected jurisprudence, but soon changed it for medicine, in which branch he was gradu- ated, in his twenty-first year. There is no doubt that the severe and soulless discipline to which he was sub- jected for seven years was one cause of the fierce, reck- less, rebellious spirit which pervades his earliest works. The religious aspiration having been checked, all the strength and passion of his nature turned to poetry. "The Messiah" and the Odes of Klopstock, and Goethe's drama of " G'Otz von Berlichingen" made the most pow- erful impression upon his mind, and the circumstance that all such reading was prohibited, only spurred him the more to enjoy it by stealth. Among the authors with whom he became acquainted was Shakespeare, whose power he felt without clearly comprehending it. His own ambition was stimulated by his intense enjoy- ment of poetry, and he attempted both an epic and a tragedy before his eighteenth year. These boyish works he threw into the fire, and then commenced his play of "Z>ie Bduher" (The Bobbers), which was completed about the time of his graduation as a military surgeon. After being appointed to a regiment in Stuttgart, and feeling SCHILLER. 269 tliat the subordinate period of his life was ended, he published " The Robbers" in 1781, at his own expense, no publisher daring to run the risk. The impression which it produced was as immediate and powerful as that of Byron's " Childe Harold "^ — he woke up one morning and found himself famous. Its wild and passionate arraignment of Society, its daring blending of magnanim- ity, courage and crime in the same character, and the stormy, imj^etuous action wdiicli sweeps through it from beginning to end, startled not only Germany but all Europe. The popular doctrines which preceded the French Revolution, now only nine years off, prejoared the way for it : the " Storm and Stress " period of Ger- man literature, exultant over the overthrow of the old dynasties in letters, hailed it with cries of welcome, and in the chaotic excitement and ferment of the time its flagrant violations of truth and taste were overlooked. Only its defiant power and freedom were felt and cele- brated. Even in reading " The Robbers " now, we are forced to acknowledge these qualities, although we are both amused and shocked at its extravagance. Mucli of the play cannot be better characterized than by our slang American word — " highfalutin," No one saw this more clearly, or condemned it more emphaticall}' than Schiller himself, in later years. " My great mistake," he once said, " was in attempting to rej)resent men two years before I really knew a single man." The hostility which "The Robbers" provoked was 270 GERMAN LITERATURE. fully as intense as tlie praise. The Conservative senti- ment of Germany rose in arms against it. The Duke sent for Schiller and endeavored to exact a pledge from him that he would publish nothing further without first submitting it to him, the Duke. To a man of Schiller's temperament, this was impossible. Moreover, he had seen the unfortunate poet Schubart, in the fortress of Hohenasperg, where he was confined ten years for hav- ing offended his Kuler by the liberal tone of his poetry, and could easily guess how much freedom the Duke's censorship would allow him. At the same time Baron Dalberg, Director of the theatre at Mannheim, requested him to adapt " The Kobbers " for representation on the stage. When the first performance was to take place, Schiller, unable to obtain leave of absence, went to Mann- heim without it, and on his return was arrested and im- prisoned. His insubordination gave great offence to the Duke, and it seems probable that severer measures were threatened. But one alternative was left to Schiller, and he adopted it. In 1782, he left Stuttgart in dis- guise, and under an assumed name, went first to Mann- heim, and then to the estate of a friend near Meiningen, where he remained in complete seclusion for almost a year. During this time he completed his plays of ^'Fiesco " and " Kahale unci Liebe " (Intrigue and Love), which were both successful on the stage. It is easy to detect their faults of construction and their over- charged sentiment, but in both the vital warmth and SCHILLER. 271 the fire of the author's nature make themselves felt. The general public, who are never critical, found a new sense of enjoyment in Schiller's plays, and accepted him in spite of the critics. Towards the close of 1783, he was summoned to Mannheim, where Baron Dalberg offered him the post of Dramatic Poet, connected with the theatrical management. He re- mained there eighteen months, and during this time started the " Ehenish Thalia " — a literary periodical which treated especially of the drama. Various causes, which need not now be explained, combined to make his position disagreeable, and in March, 1785, he took up his residence in Leipzig. The principal cause of this change was a circumstance which many persons would brand as " sentimental," but which seems to me, in the noblest sense, human. Some months j)revious, he had received a letter from Leipzig, signed by four unknown persons, and accompanied by their miniature portraits. These persons were Huber and Korner, both of whom became afterwards distinguished in letters, and Minna and Doris Stock, their betrothed brides. The letter which they wrote exhibited so much refined and genial appreciation of Schiller's genius — so much affectionate interest in his fortunes — that, to Schiller's eager and impulsive nature, it offered him an escape from tlie annoyances which attended his position at Mannheim. Korner and Huber received him like brothers. All they had — money, time, counsel, help, — he was free to 272 GERMAN LITERATURE. claim : the " sentiments " of tlieir letter to tlie unknown poet were justified by tlie jn-actical results. Schiller's critics and biographers seem to have united in dividing his literary life into three distinct periods, the first of which closes with his emigration from Mann- heim to Leipzig. We might call this the period of Assertion, and designate the others which followed as the periods of Development and Achievement. Up to this time, in fact, we find the evidence of powers, neither harmonious nor intelligent as yet, forcing their way to the light : we find the spirit of other poets stimulating him to warmer and more passionate expression than they would have dared : all is vivid, luxuriant, teeming with life, and permeated with the kindred forces of hope and desire. It was this intense vitality, this out- pouring of a nature which pressed upward and onward with all its energies, which accounts for Schiller's im- mediate jDopularity. Something similar in English lit- erature was the reception given to Bailey's " Festus " and Alexander Smith's " Life Drama " — but they were really the end of their achievement, whereas this was the beginning of Schiller's. His early plays and poems re- flect the roused and restless spirit of the times, — the uni- versal yearning for light and liberty. The beginning of his literary activity corresponds exactly with the date of Lessing's death. The field was therefore cleared for him, and we should not marvel if something of the wild- ness and crudity of a first settler stamps his performance. SCHILLER. 273 In tlie lyrics belonging to the First Period, tlie glow and warmth which, in his later poems, fuse the subject and sentiment together, are already apparent, although the fusion is less perfect. They are mostly irregular in form and incomj)lete in thought. The poems addressed to "Laura" correspond to Tennyson's youthful lyrics to "Eleanore," "Adeline" and other girlish names, with the difference that the sentiment is German and not English. As an example I will quote two brief lyrics, "Tartarus'' and " Elysium" (of the latter only the first half) : GKUPPE AUS DEM TARTAEUS. A GEOTJP rN TAETARU8. Horcli — wie Munneln des em- porten Meeres, Wie durcli liohler Felsen Becken weint ein Bacli, Stohnt dort dumpfigtief ein schweres, leeres, Qualerpresstes Ach ! Hark ! as noises of the hoarse, aroused sea, As through hollow-throated rocks a streamlet's moan, Sounds helow there, wearily and endlessly, A torture-burdened groan ! Schmerz verzerret Ihr Gesicht ; Verzweiflung sperret Thren Eachen fluchend auf. Hohl sind ihre Augen, ilire Blicke Spahen bang nach des Cocytus Briicke, Folgen thriihnend seinem Trau- erlauf. Faces wearing Pain alone, in wild despairing. Curse through jaws that open wide ; And with haggard eyes forever Gaze upon the bridge of Hell's black river. Weeping, gaze upon its sullen tide. Fragen sich einander iingstlich Ask each other, then, in fearful leise, whispers, Ob noch niclit Vollendung sei? If not soon the end shall be? 12'<- 274 GERMAN LITERATURE. Ewigkeit schwingt iiber ilincn The End? — the scythe of Time Kreise, is broken ; Bricht die Sense des Saturns Over them revolves Eternity ! entzwei. Now let US turn to tlie brightness and music of his picture of elysium:. Voriiber die stohnende Klage I Elysiums Freudengelage Ersaufen jegliches Ach — Elysiums Leben Ewige Wonne, ewiges Schwe- ben, Durch lachende Fluren ein flo- tender Bach. Gone is the wail and the tor- ture 1 Elysium's banquets of rapture Chase every shadow of woe I Elysium, seeing, Endless the bliss and end- less the being, As musical brooks through the meadows that flow ! Jugendlich milde Beschwebt die Gefilde Ewiger Mai ; Die Stunden entfliehen in golde- nen Traumen, Die Seele schwillt aus in uneud- lichen Riiumen, Wahrheit reisst hier den Schleier entzwei. May is eternal, Over the vernal Landscapes of youth : The Hours bring golden dreams in their races, The soul is expanded through infinite spaces, The veil is torn from the vis- age of Truth ! Unendliche Freude Durchwallet das Herz, Hier mangelt der Name dem trauernden Leide ; Sanfter Entziicken nur heisset hier Schmerz. Here never a morrow The heart's full rapture can blight ; Even a name is wanting to Sor- row, And Pain is only a gentler de- light. SCHILLEB. 275 A comparison of these early poems of Scliiller with those of Klopstock, at his best period, will show how much the language has already gained in fire and free- dom of movement. A new soul has entered into and taken possession of it, and we shall find that the promise of loftier development was not left unfulfilled. Korner married soon after Schiller's arrival in Leip- zig, and then settled in Dresden, whither Schiller fol- lowed him. For nearly two years Korner's house was his home. The play of " Don Carhs," which he had begun to write in Mannheim, was there re-written and completed. It was a great advance upon his former works, although far below what he afterwards achieved. Few dramatic poems are more attractive to young men, and, as Goethe says, it will always be read, because there will always be young men. In the character of Don Carlos we detect a great deal of Schiller's own aspiration and impatience of obstacles, while the Mar- quis Posa is at the same time a noble ideal and an impossible man. The great attraction of the play is its sustained and impassioned eloquence. Before its publication, Schiller's circumstances obliged him to cast about for some literary labor which might support him. He finally decided to write an historical work, selecting the Revolt of the Netherlands for his theme. His preliminary studies were not very thorough, nor was the history ever completed, but its lively and picturesque narrative style gave it a temporary success. 276 GERMAN LITERATURE. He formed various other plans of labor, few of which were carried out— probably because he found it diffi- cult to endure much drudgery of the kind ; and for several years his life was burdened with pecuniary em- barrassments. In 1787 he went to Weimar for the first time, and made the acquaintance of Wieland and Her- der. Goethe was then absent in Italy. The most important result of this visit, however, was his meeting in Rudolstadt with his future wife, Charlotte von Lenge- feld. It was the cause of his returning to Eudolstadt the following summer, and there, in the garden of the Lengefeld family, he first met Goethe. The interview has a special interest, from the fact that these two poets, destined to be friends and co-laborers, mu- tually repelled each other. Schiller wrote of Goethe to Komer : " His whole being is, from its origin, con- structed differently from mine ; his world is not my world ; our modes of conceiving things are essentially different, and with such a combination there can be no substantial intimacy between us." Nevertheless, it was through Goethe's influence that Schiller, early in 1789, was offered the place of Professor of History at the University of Jena. Schiller at first hesitated about accepting the offer, on account of his want both of preparation and of natural fitness, but he was tired of his homeless life, he craved some fixed means of sup- port, and he saw in the appointment the first step towards marriage. In 1858, when the three-hundredth SCHILLER. 277 anniversary of the University of Jena was celebrated, I met there with a graduate, ninety years old, who had heard Schiller's first historical lecture, in 1789. The account he gave of the rush of the younger students to hear him, and the immediate popularity of the new professor, explained the modest hints of his success which we find in Schiller's letters to Korner. He was so new to the subject that he was frequently obliged to learn one day what he taught the next, but this very circumstance added to the spirit and freshness of his lectures. His productive activity re-commenced with this change in his fortunes. In February, 1790, he married, and the unrest of his life ceased ; but for sev- eral years thereafter he undertook no important work except the " History of the Thirty Years' War," which was completed in 1793. Carlyle speaks of this work as the best piece of historical writing which, up to that time, had appeared in Germany. The causes of this apparent inactivity — that is, inac- tivity, only as contrasted with his usual productive industry — were two-fold. In the year 1791 he was attacked with an inflammation of the lungs which brought him to the verge of the grave, and left lasting consequences behind it. Meyer, the artist, who first met Schiller in that year, states that his appearance was that of a man stricken with death. Goethe was with Meyer, and said, after Schiller had j^assed : " there are not more than fourteen days of life in him." But 278 GEBMAN LITERATURE. there proved to be fourteen years, and fourteen years of such earnest, absorbing, unremitting labor, such great and progressive achievement, as can be found in the life of no other poet who ever lived. Although Schiller did not attain the highest, he pressed towards the highest with an energy so intense that it seems almost tragic. His illness was a cloud which was speedily silvered with the light of the noblest sym- pathy. The news of his death had gone forth, and a company of his unknown friends in Copenhagen insti- tuted a solemn service in honor of his name. Among them were the Prince of Augustenburg, Count Schim- melmann, and the Danish poet Baggesen. They met on the shore of the Baltic, pronounced an oration and chanted a dirge, when the news of Schiller's recovery reached them while they were still assembled. A joy- ous song succeeded the mourning services, and the two noblemen pledged themselves to offer the poet one thousand thalers annually for three years, that he might rest and recover his strength. Thus, as his early exile brought him Korner's friendship and help, the illness, which disabled him for a time, gave him a new experience of human generosity. No man can attract such sympathy unless he possesses qualities of charac- ter whix3h justify it. We are reminded of Lowell's lines : " Be noble, and the nobleness that lies In other men, sleeping but never dead. Will rise in majesty to meet thine own." SCHILLER. 279 However, it was not alone this illness which inter- fered with Schiller's literary activity. I have called his Second Period that of Development, but it was not, there- fore, a period of sound and harmonious growth. Before accepting the Professorship at Jena, his wandering, irregular life had given him little opportunity for quiet study ; the strongly subjective habit of mind, which caused him to throw something of his own nature into all the characters of his dramas, had also interfered with his true education, and the necessity which forced him to take up collateral studies was a piece of good fortune in the end, although he could not feel it so at the time. He was nearly thirty years old before he could aj)preciate the objective character of Shakespeare's genius. When, at last, his eyes were opened, he looked upon himself and recognized his own deficiencies. After Shakespeare he studied Homer and the Greek drama- tists, and was then led, through his association with the learned society of Jena, into the misty fields of philo- sophical speculation. The latter, no doubt, misled him as positively as the study of the great poets had guided him towards the right path. He became a zealous dis- ciple of Kant, and the few poems which he wrote dur- ing this period show to what an extent his mind was given to theorizing. His poem of " Die KilnsUer " (The Artists), which he considered at the time his best production, is chiefly valual)le to us now as an example of poetry crushed by philosophy. His 280 OEBMAN LITERATUEE. '* Esthetic Letters " and liis " Essay on Naive and Sentimental Poetry," written during those years, con- tain many admirable passages, but we cannot lielp feeling that they interfered with his creative power. It was a period of transition which unsettled the ope- rations of his mind, and sometimes prevented him from seeing clearly. " The Artist," he wrote, in a pas- sage which has been much admired, "the Artist, it is true, is the son of his time ; but woe to him if he is its pupil, or even its favorite ! Let some beneficent divinity snatch him, when a suckling, from the breast of his mother, and nurse him with the milk of a better time ; that he may ripen to his full stature beneath a distant Grecian sky. And having grown to manhood, let him return, a foreign shape, into his century ; not, however, to delight it by his presence, but dreadful, like the son of Agamemnon, to purify it ! " In this passage Schiller expresses his own temporary ambition, but not his true place in literature. The ideal he represents is noble, but it is partly false. The Artist cannot grow to his full stature under a Grecian sky : he must not be " a foreign shape " in his century : he must place his " better time " not in the Past, but in the Future, and make himself its forerunner. Schiller seems to have had an instinct of his unsettled state. Although he conceived the plan of " JVallenstein" while writing his " History of the Thirty Years' War," he hesitated for a long time before beginning to write, and, in his letters to Korner, expresses doubts of his final success. SCHILLER. 281 The one poem whicli permanently marks this phase of Schiller's life, is "Die GOtter GriecJienlands" (The Gods of Greece) — one of the iinest lyrics in the lan- guage. The fact that we can detect the secret of its inspiration does not diminish the charm which seduces us to read and re-read it, until its impassioned, resonant stanzas are fixed in the memory. Although it is merely a lament for the lost age of gods and god-like men — a disparagement of the Present, exalting a Past so dis- tant that it becomes ideal — the poem appeals to a universal sentiment, and expresses a feeling common to all educated men, at one period of their lives. Most poets have dropped "melodious tears" upon the crown- ing civilization of Greece, but none with such mingled fire and sweetness as Schiller. At the time when this poem appeared, the Counts Stolberg, who represented a rigidly sectarian clique in German literature, had assumed a position of hostility to the Weimar authors, and they bitterly assailed the " Gods of Greece " on the plea that it was an attack upon Christianity ! This is the usual subterfuge of narrow natures : it is so much easier to awaken religious prejudices against an author, than to meet him with fair and intelligent criticism. The Stolbergs made a little noise for a time, but their malignity was as futile as that of the publisher, Nicolai, in Berlin, who coolly declared that he would soon sup- press Goethe ! I quote a few stanzas of the "Gods of Greece :" 282 GERMAN LITEBATURE. Da ihr nocli die schune Welt While ye governed yet the clieer- regieret, ful nations, — An der Freude leichtem Gangel- While the leading-strings in band Joy's light hand Selige Geschlechter noch gef iih- Led the fair, the happy genera- ret, tions, — Schone Wesen aus dem Fabel- Beings beautiful, from Fable- land ! land ! Ach, da euer Wonnedienst noch While they came, your blissful gliinzte, rites to render, Wie ganz anders, anders war es Ah, how different was then da ! the day. Da man deine Tempel noch be- \Mien thy fanes with garlands krlinzte, shone in splendor, Venus Amathusia ! Venus Amathusia ! Da der Dichtuug zauberische Then of Poesy the veil en- Hiille chanted Sich noch lieblich um die Wahr- Sweetly o'er the form of Truth heit wand — was thrown : Durch die Schopfung floss da To Creation fullest life was Lebeusfiille granted, Und was nie empfinden wird. And from soulless things the empfand. spirit shone. An der Liebe Busen sie zu Nature, then, ennobled, elevated, driicken. Gab man hohern Adel der Natur, To the heart of human love was prest ; Alles wies den eingeweihten All things, to the vision con- Blicken, secrated, Alles eines Gottes Spur. All things, then, a God con- fessed I Wo jetzt nur, wie nnsre Weisen Where, as now our sages have sagen, decided, Seelenlos ein Feuerball sich Soulless whirls a ball of fire dreht, on high, Lenkte damals seinen goldnen Helios, then, his golden chariot Wagen guided Helios in stiller Majestiit. Through the silent spaces of the sky. 8CEILLEB. 283 Diese HCheu f iillten Oreaden, Misty Oreads dwelt on yonder mountains ; Eine Dryas lebt' in jenem Baum, In this tree the Dryad made her home ; Aus den Urnen lieblicher Na- Where the Naiads held the urns jaden of fountains Sprang der Strome Silber- Sprang the stream in silver schaum. foam. Jener Lorbeer wand sich einst Yonder laurel once was Daphne um Hiilfe, flying ; Tantal's Tochter schweigt in die- Yonder stone did Niobe re- sem Stein, strain : Syrinx Klage tout' aus jenem From these rushes Syrinx once Schilfe, was crying, Philomela's Schmerz aus diesem From this forest Philomela's Hain. pain. Jener Bach empfing Demeter's For her daughter Proserpine, Ziihre, the mighty Die sie um Persephonen ge- Ceres wept beside the river's weint, fall ; Und von diesem Hiigel rief Cy- Here, upon these hills, did there — Aphrodite Ach, umsonst ! dem schonen Vainly on Adonis call. Freund. Eure Tempel lachten gleich Pa- Then like palaces your fanes liisten, were builded : Euch verherrlichte das Helden- You the sports of heroes glori- spiel fied. An des Isthmus kronenreichen At the Isthmian games, with Festen, garlands gilded, Und die Wagen donnerten zum When the charioteers in thun- Ziel. der ride. Schon geschlungne, soelenvolle Breathing grace, the linked and Tilnze woven dances Kreisteu um don prangenden Circled round your altars, high Altar ; and fair ; Eure Schliife schmiickten Sie- On your brows the wreath of geskrjinze, victory glances, — Kronen euer duftend Ilaar. Crowns on your ambrosial hair. 284 GERMAN LITERATURE. Das Evoe muntrer Thyrsus- Shouts of Bachanal and joyous schwinger , singer, Und der Panther prachtiges Ge- And the splendid panthers of spaun his car, Meldeten den grossen Freude- Then announced the mighty bringer ; Rapture-bringer, Faun und Satyr taumeln ihm With his Fauns and Satyrs, voran ! from afar ! Um ihn springen rasende Ma- Dancing Maenads round his naden, march delight us, Dire Tiinze loben seinen Wein, While their dances celebrate his wines, Und des Wirthes braune Wan- And the brown cheeks of the gen laden host invite us Lustig zu dem Becher ein. Where the purple goblet shines. We now come to tlie third and most important period of Scliiller's life. Tliere was, as I have said, a natural repulsion between him and Goethe, when they first met ; but it extended no deeper than the surface of their natures. Goethe was ten years older, and the license of the " Storm and Stress " school, from which Schiller was just emerging, lay far behind him : the lives of the two men had been wholly different : their temperaments had nothing in common : yet both cher- ished the same secret ambition, both were struggling towards an equally lofty ideal of literary achievement. After Schiller settled in Jena they occasionally met, without being drawn nearer ; but in the course of three or four years, various circumstances compelled them to approach. Both stood almost alone, independent of the clans of smaller authors who assailed them ; both SCHILLER. 285 felt tlie need of a generous and intelligent sympathy. Schiller, in 1794, projected a new literary periodical, ''Die Horen" and Goethe's co-operation was too im- portant to be overlooked. He replied to Schiller's letter in a very friendly spirit, and the two scon afterwards met in Jena. They became engaged in a conversation upon natural science, which was con- tinued through the streets to the door of Schiller's house. Goethe entered, sat down at a table, took a pen and paper, and drew what he called a typical plant, to illustrate some conclusions at which he had arrived in his botanical studies. Schiller examined the drawing carefully, and then said : " This is not an obser- vation, it is an idea." Goethe, as he related long after- wards, was very much annoyed by the remark, because it betrayed a habit of thought so foreign to his own ; but he concealed his feeling and quietly answered : " Well, I am glad to find that I can have ideas, without being aware of it." The conversation presently took another turn, and the two poets found various points wherein they harmonized. They parted with the mutual impression that a further and closer intercourse would render them a mutual service ; and there is no literary friendship in all history comparable to that whicli thenceforth united them. Their unlikeness was both the charm and the blessing of their intercourse. Each afi'ected the other, not in regard to manner, or super- ficial characteristics of style, but by the shock and 286 GERMAN LITERATURE. encounter of tliouglit, by approaching literature from opposite sides and contrasting their views, by stimu- lating the better development of each and giving a new spur to his productiveness. The deep and earnest bases of their natures kept them together, in spite of all dissimilarity. Goethe possessed already the element of repose, which was wanting to Schiller. He had a feeling for the proportion of parts, in a literary work, which Schiller was painfully endeavoring to acquire. His imagination worked from above downward, in order to base itself upon real, palpable forms, while the natural tendency of Schiller's was to get as far away as possible from the reality of things. The difference in their tem- peraments was also peculiar. Schiller's habit was to discuss his poetic themes in advance of writing — to change and substitute, to add here and cut off there, and so exhaust the modes of treatment of his subject before he began to treat it ; while Goethe never dared to communicate any part of his plan in advance. When he did so, he lost all interest in writing it. His judg- ment was opposed to Schiller's choice of " WaUenstein'" for dramatic treatment ; but he confessed his mistake when the work was finished. Schiller, on the other hand, insisted that Goethe would write a poem in ottava rima — rhymed stanzas of eight lines — and was thunderstruck when Goethe sent him the entire manu- script of " Hermann unci Dorothea,'' written in hexame- SCHILLER. 287 ters. Tlie tliorougli independence of tlie two men is a rare and remarkable feature of their intercourse. The ricli correspondence left to us from those years enables us to restore all the details of Schiller's life and literary labor. The income which he derived from edit- ing and superintending his periodical, "The Hours," was not more than five hundred dollars a year. At the end of seven or eight years it was discontinued for lack of support. Another of the forms of drudgery whereby Schiller earned his bread, was the publication of the " Musenalmanach " or "Calendar of the Muses " — an an- nual volume of poetry. He was obliged to procure contributions from all the principal German poets, to arrange them in proj^er order, contract for the printing, read the proofs, superintend the binding, pay the au- thors and send specimen copies to them. The pub- lisher, whose only labor was to sell the books thus furnished to his hands, paid Schiller twenty dollars for every printed sheet of sixteen pages, out of which sum Schiller paid the authors sixteen dollars, reserving four dollars as his own remuneration. His whole profit on the volume was a little less than five hundred dollars, after months of correspondence, of annoyance with tardy printers, and all the interruption which the task caused to his studies. The completion of " WaUensfein " was fortunately delayed by these labors and by the new poetic activity which sprang up through his intercourse with Goethe. 288 GERMAN LITERATURE. The contact of two sucli electric intellects struck out constant flaslies of light from both. Schiller's poetry, from this time, exhibits a finish, a proportion, a sus- tained and various music, which shows that his powers were at last reduced to order, and working both joy- ously and intelligently. Those noble poems, " Der Spatziergang " (The Walk) and Das Lied von der GlocJce " (The Song of the Bell) were soon followed by his famous ballads — some of which are masterpieces of rhythmical narrative. " Der Taucher " (The Diver), " Der Gang nacli dem Eisenhammer " (The Message to the Forge) and ''Der Ring des PoJyJcrates" (The Ring of Polycrates) are as familiar to all German school-boys as "Lochiel's Warning" or "Young Lochinvar " to ours, and no translation can wholly rob them of their beauty. In them we find no trace of the crudity and extravagance of the poems of the First Period, nor the somewhat artificial, metaphysical character of most of those Qjf the Second Period. The first foaming of the must and the slow second fermentation are over, and we have at last the clear, golden, perfect wine "cellared for eternal time." These ballads might properly be called epical lyrics. Their subjects have an inherent dignity ; their style is simj^le, sus- tained and noble ; their rhetoric has never been sur- passed in the German language, and their resounding music can only be compared to that of such English poems as Byron's "Destruction of Sennacherib/' SCHILLER. 289 Macaulay's "Horatius," and Campbell's "Mariners of England." The connection witli Goetlie gave rise to another joint literary undertaking, of a very different character, provoked by the continual attacks of Count Stolberg, Novalis, Schlegel and their followers. Up to the year 1796, neither poet had taken any notice of the abuse and misrepresentation heaped upon them ; but in the summer of that year, Goethe, who had been reading the Latin Xenia of Martial, wrote a few German Xenia, directed against his literary enemies. Schiller caught the idea at once ; they met and worked together until they had produced several hundred stinging epigrams of two or four lines each, and then they published the collection. It was like disturbing a wasj)s' nest. The air of Germany was filled with sounds of pain, rage and malicious laughter. As Lewes says : " The sensation produced by Pope's ' Dunciad ' and Byron's ' English Bards and Scotch Reviewers ' was mild compared with the sensation produced by the 'Xenien,' although the wit and the sarcasm of the ' Xenien ' is like milk and water compared with the vitriol of the * Dunciad ' and the 'English Bards.' " Lewes, however, did not appre- ciate the peculiar sting of the " Xenien,'' which did not satirize the individual authors or their peculiarities of expression, so much as their intellectual stand- point and their manner of thought. The hostility cre- ated by this defence and counter-assault of Goethe 13 290 GERMAN LITERATURE. and Scliiller lived as long as tlie persons who suffered from it. In the year 1799, the dramatic trilogy of " JVaUen- stcirt " was completed. Instead of the one tragedy which Schiller had planned, seven years before, he had pro- duced three plays — " Wallensteins Lager " (Wallenstein's Camp), an introductory act, in eleven scenes, the object of which is to give a picture of soldier-life, towards the close of the Thirty Years' War : " Die Piccolomini" wdiich discloses the conspiracy against Wallenstein, and prepares for the tragic sequel of the plot in the third part — "Wallensteins TocV (Wallenstein's Death). I have said that the work was fortunately delayed, because Schiller had not attained his higher development when he began it. The feeling of uncertainty which made him lay it aside from time to time was a true instinct : he waited until he felt that his powers were equal to the task. How much he had learned, may be seen by com- paring " Wallc7istein'" and "Don Carlos." It is the dif- ference between passion and eloquence and impetuous movement, and the stately, secure march of a mind which has mastered its material. In " I)o7i Carlos," we feel that Schiller has exj)ressed himself affirmatively in the hero and the Marquis Posa, and negatively in Philip 11. and the Princess Eboli : whereas, in " Wallenstein" each character has its own objective life, and the poet seems calmly to chronicle the unfoldings of a plot which is evolved by and from those characters. " Wallenstein " SCHILLER. 291 belongs in tlie first rank of dramatic poems, after tliose of Shakespeare. Coleridge's Translation gives a fair representation of it in English, although he has some- times mistaken Schiller's meaning, and sometimes changed the text. The famous passage, referring to the forms of old mythology, which he has added, is very beautiful in itself, but it is dramatically out of place. It may be interesting to you to know just what Schiller wrote, and in what manner Coleridge has amplified the lines. This is the original passage : Die Fabel ist der Liebe Heimath- land ; Gern wolint sie unter Feen, Ta- lismanen, Glaubt gei'n an Gutter, well sie gottlich ist. Die alten Fabelwesen sind niclit mebr, Das reizende GescUecbt ist aus- gewandert ; Doch eine Sprache braucbt das Herz, es bringt Der alte Trieb die alten Namen wieder, Und an dem Sternenhimmel gelm sie jetzt, Die sonst im Leben frcundlicb mit gewandelt ; Dort winkcn sie dem Liebenden herab, Und jedes Qrosse bringt uns Jupiter Noch diesen Tag, und Venus jedes Schone. For Fable is the native home of love ; 'Mid fays and talismans be loves to dwell. Believes in Gods, being himself divine. The ancient forms of fable are no more. The enchanting race has gone, migrating forth ; Yet needs the heart its language, yet return The olden names when moves the old desire, And still in yonder starry heav- ens they live Who once, benignant, shared the life of earth ; There, beckoning to the lover, they look down, And even now 'tis Jupiter that brings Whate'cr is great, and Venus all that's fair I 292 GERMAN LITERATURE. I will now give the mixture of Schiller and Coleridge : For Fable is Love's world, his home, his birth-place : Delightedly dwells he 'mong fays and talismans And spirits ; and delightedly believes Divinities, being himself divine. The intelligible forms of ancient poets. The fair humanities of old religion, The power, the beauty, and the majesty. That had their haunts in dale, or piny mountain, Or forest by slow stream, or pebbly spring. Or chasms and watery depths ; all these have vanished ; They live no longer in the faith cf reason ! But still the heart doth need a language, still Doth the old instinct bring back the old names, And to yon starry world they now are gone. Spirits or gods, that used to share this earth With man, as with their friend ; and to the lover Yonder they move, from yonder visible sky Shoot influence down : and even at this day 'Tis Jupiter brings whate'er is great. And Venus who brings everything that's fair ! There is no doubt that Coleridge has here touched to adorn: there is nothing in Schiller's lines so fine as " the fair humanities of old religion " — but his digres- sion is a violation of the dramatic law by which Schiller was governed. We pardon it for its beauty, yet we should be wrong in allowing such a liberty to trans- lators. In 1799, Schiller removed to Weimar. The Duke, Karl August, influenced by Goethe, offered him a pen- sion of one thousand thalers a year, with the condition that it should be doubled, in case of illness. Schiller, however, refused to accept this condition, saying : " I SCHILLER. 293 liave some talent, and tliat must do the rest." The suc- cess of " Wallenstein " stimulated him to new labor. During the year 1800, he wrote ^^ Marie Stuart;" in 1801, " Die Junqfrait von Orleans " (The Maid of Orleans);" and in 1802, Die Braut von Blessina'" (The Bride of Messina). The first and second of these plays were more popular than " Wallenstein" perhaps for the reason that they are inferior as dramatic works. The interest is more obvious, the action is less involved, and there are passages in each full of that power and elo- quence which tells so immediately upon an audience. In "The Bride of Messina " ScJiiller made a very daring experiment. He wrote the play in rhyme, and intro- duced a chorus, in imitation of the classical drama. All his rhythmical genius, all the splendor of his rhetoric were employed ; but the result was, and is to this day, uncertain. The "Bride of Messina " is still occasionally presented on the German stage; but it is listened to more as a brilliant phenomenon than as a confirmed favorite of the public. The innovation has not been naturalized in Germany, and probably never will be. In the year 1802, at the request of the Duke, the Emperor of Austria conferred a patent of nobility upon Schiller. The cause of this honor was not his genius as a poet, but the circumstance that his wife, losing the von out of her name in marrying him, had forfeited her right to appear in Court society — a right which she possessed before her marriage. Of course the rules of 294 GERMAN LITERATURE. tlie Court could not be broken, or the Earth might have been shaken from its orbit ; so the only way in which the Frau Schiller could recover her lost aristocracy was to make her husband Friedrich von Schiller. It was only for her sake that he accepted the title : it enabled him to repay her for the conventional sacrifice which she had made in marrying him. It is true, neverthe- less, that he was far from being democratic in his polit- ical views. The Democracy of Germany celebrates him as its special poet, and condemns Goethe for his aristo- cratic predilections. This impression is so fixed that it is now almost impossible to change it ; yet, if there was any difference between the two poets, Goethe was certainly the more democratic. It seems to me that Schiller's intellectual revolt against authority in his youth, combined with the intense yearning for spiritual growth and spiritual freedom which throbs like an im- mortal pulse of life through all his later works, must be accepted as the explanation. Such expressions as " Free- dom exists only in the realm of dreams," and " The Poet should walk with Kings, for both dwell upon the heights of humanity" — certainly do not indicate a political feel- ing at all republican in its character. In 1814, Goethe said to Eckermann : " People seem not to be willing to see me as I am, and turn away their eyes from every- thing which might set me in a true light. On the other hand, Schiller, who was much more of an aristo- crat than I, but who was also much more considerate SCHILLER. 295 in regard to wliat lie said, liad tlie remarkable fortune of being always looked upon as a friend of tlie people. I do not grudge liim his good luck : I console myself with the knowledge that others before me have had the same experience." As Schiller's life drew towards a close, the outward evidences of his success came to cheer and encourage him. In Leipzig, in 1803, and in Berlin, in 1804, he was received with every mark of honor. The King of Prussia offered him a salary of three thousand thalers, to take charge of the Eoyal theatre, but he refused to give up Weimar, and the intercourse with Goethe, which had now become an intellectual necessity. His last great work, by some critics pronounced to be his great- est dramatic success, was the play of " JFilhelm Tell," the subject of which, and part of the material, he owed to Goethe. It is a pleasant illustration of the manner in which the two poets assisted each other. When Goethe visited Switzerland in 1797, he formed the idea of writing an epic poem, Avith Tell as the hero. He made studies of the scenery, collected historical data, and for two or three years carried the plan about with him, letting it slowly mature in his mind, as was his habit of composition. He finally decided to give it up, but, feeling that the subject was better adapted to dra- matic representation than epic narrative, he gave his material to Schiller, reserving only a description of sunrise among the A\j)s, which is now to be found in 29G GEIiMAJSr LITERATURE. tlie first scene of tlie Second Part of " Fausf." The in- tense, glowing quality of Scliiller's imagination soon assimilated this foreign material, and in none of his works is there such a fusion of subject, scenery and sentiment. From the first page to the last, the reader — or the hearer — is set among the valleys of the Alps, and surrounded by a brave and oppressed people. His- torians may attempt to show that there never was either a William Tell or a Gessler — that the whole story is a myth, borrowed from Denmark, but Schiller has made Tell a real person for all time. As he says, in one of his lyrics : Was sicli nie und nirgends hat begeben. Das allein veraltet nie. There are serious dramatic faults in the work, but they never can affect its popularity. It has that exqui- site beauty and vitality which defy criticism. The dic- tion has all the dignity of that of " Wallemtein," with an ease and grace of movement, which cannot be called new in Schiller, and which exhibits the perfection of his best qualities. If any one supposes that the German language is harsh and unmusical, let him listen to the song of the fisher-boy, rocking in his boat on the lake, with which the drama opens : FiSCHEKKNABE. FiSHER-BOY. Es lachelt der See, er ladet zum Inviting the bather, the bright Bade, lake is leaping ; Der Knabe schlief ein am grii- The fisher-boy lies on its margin nen Gestade, a-sleeping : SCHILLER. 297 Da liort er ein Klingen, Wie Ploten so siiss, Wie Stimmeu der Engel Im Paradies. Und, wie er erwachet in seliger Lust, Da splilen die Wasser ilim um die Brust. Und es ruft aus den Tie- fen : Lieb Knabe bist mein ! Icli locke den Scliliifer, Icb zieli ihn herein. Tlien bears he a music Like flutes in its tone, Like voices of angels In Eden alone. And as he awakens, enraptured and blest. The waters are whirling around his breast ; And a voice from the waters Says: "mine thou must be! I wait for the sleeper, I lure him to me ! " HlHT. Ihr Matten, lebt wohl I Ihr sonnigen Weiden ! Der Senne muss scheiden, Der Somnier ist liin. Wir fahren zu Berg, wir kom- men wieder, Wenn der Kukuk ruft, wenn erwachen die Lieder, Wenn mit Blumen die Erde sich kleidet neu, Wenn die Brlinnlein fliessen im lieblichen Mai. Ihr Matten, lebt wohl ! Ihr sonnigen Weiden ! Der Senne muss scheiden, Der Sommer ist hin. Alpenjager. Es donnern die Ilohen, es zit- tert der Steg, Nicht grauet dem Schiitzen auf schwindlichtcm Weg ; 13* Herdsman. Te meadows, farewell ! Ye sunniest pastures. The herdsman must leave you. The summer is gone. We go from the hills, we come ere long When the cuckoo calls, and the sound of song ; When the earth with blossoms again is gay, When the fountains gush in the lovely May. Ye meadows, farewell ! Ye sunniest pastures. The herdsman must leave you. The summer is gone. Alpine Hunter. The avalanche thunders, the bridges are frail, The hunter is fearless, though dizzy the trail ; 293 GERMAN LITERATURE. Er shreitet verwegen He strides in liis daring Auf Feldern von Eis ; O'er deserts of snows, Da pranget kein Friihling, Where Spring never blos- soms Da grilnet kein Eeis ; And grass never grows, Und, unter den Fiissen ein ne- And the mists like an ocean be- blichtes Meer, neath him are tost, Erkennt er die Stiidte der Men- Till the cities of men to his vi- schen nicht mehr ; sion are lost. Durch den Riss nur der Through the rifts of the Wolken cloud-land Erblickt er die Welt, The far world gleams, Tief unter den Wassern And the green fields un- der Das griinende Peld. The Alpine streams. Sucli is the musical overture of Alpine life witli whicli Scliiller opens the drama. He never recovered from the inflammation of the lungs, which attacked him in 1791. During the last ten or twelve years of his life he was rarely free from pain, but his mind seems to have been always clear and vigor- ous, and his astonishing industry was really a necessity to his nature. He lived in his art, and was happy in recognizing his own progress towards a lofty and far-off ideal. In order to avoid interruption, he contracted the habit of writing wholly at night, and of keeping off drowsiness by setting his feet in a tub of cold water. He was physician enough to know that he was shorten- ing his life by such an unnatural habit of labor, but his literary conscience was inexorable. For him there was no rest, no relaxation. No sooner was " William Tell " given to the stage, and triumphantly greeted by the SCniLLEB. 299 public, tlian lie began a new dramatic poem, taking for liis hero the false Demetrius, who imposed himself on the Russian boyards as the true heir to the throne, and reigned for some months in Moscow. In the spring of 1805, when midway in his work, he was seized with a chill at the theatre, and went home, never to leave his door again as a living man. A few hours before his death, he seemed to realize his condition, and uttered the words : " Death cannot be an evil, for it is uni- versal." He died on the 9tli of May, aged forty-five years and six months. His remains now rest in a granite sarcophagus, by the side of Goethe, in the vault of the Ducal family at Weimar. In carefully studying Schiller's life and works, and contrasting his position in German literature with that of his contemporaries, we are struck with a certain dis- crepancy between his fame and his achievement. With all his rare and admirable qualities, Ave cannot place him higher than in the second rank of poets — in the list which includes Yirgil, Tasso, Corneille, Spenser and Byron. Yet his place in popular estimation, not only in Germany, but throughout the educated world, is cer- tainly among the first. His fame is of that kind which depends partly upon the sympathetic attraction that sometimes surrounds an individual life, — in other words, the interest of character is added to the intellectual recognition of the poet. We may say that a character so positive as Schiller's breathes through his literary 300 OEBMAN LITERATURE. records, and cannot be disconnected from his intellect ; but we sliall only state tbe same fact in a different form. To other poets — to Tasso, Burns and Byron — the same personal interest is attached, yet in no one does it spring from that lofty, unceasing devotion to a noble literary Ideal, which gave its consecration to Schiller's life. Like Lessing, he sought Truth, but not in the realm of fact. To him she was not a severe, naked form, beauti- ful as a statue, but as hard and cold ; she was rather a shape of air and light, poised above the confusion of life, in a region of aspiration and hope. The sense of her beauty came to Schiller through sentiment and sensation, as well as through the intellect ; and herein he touches the universal yearning of Man. His power over the harmonies of language was never so grandly manifested as in some passages of Homer, Milton and Goethe ; but it is more uniformly fine than in almost any other poet. From the tones of a flute or a wind-harjD he rises to the strength and resonance of an organ, and in many of his lyrics the rich volume of sound rolls unbroken to the end. His language some- times reflects the struggle of his thought to shape itself clearly ; but it is always pure and elevated, and his lines and stanzas cling to the memory with wonderful tenacity. These qualities, which address themselves primarily to the ear, support his sentiment and thought, and bear them, as if unconsciously, into a higher atmosphere of poetry. There is an upward tendency — a lifting of the SCHILLER. 301 intellectual vision, a stirring as of unfolding wings — in almost everytliing he lias written. He is an example of a genius, not naturally of tlie highest order, carried by the force of an aspiring, enthusiastic, believing tempera- ment almost to a level with the highest. "Where so many others lose faith and cease exertion, he began. That is the difference between the Schiller of " The Bobbers" and the Schiller of " Wallenstein " and the Ballads. Carlyle says of him : " Schiller has no trace of van- ity ; scarcely of pride, even in its best sense, for the modest self-consciousness which characterizes genius is with him rather implied than openly expressed. He has no hatred; no anger, save against Falsehood and Baseness, where it may be called a holy anger. Pre- sumptuous triviality stood bared in his keen glance : but his look is the noble scowl that curls the lip of an Apollo, when, pierced with sun-arrows, the serpent ex- pires before him. In a word, we can say of Schiller what can only be said of a few in any country or time : He was a high ministering servant at Truth's altar, and bore him worthily of the office he held His intel- lectual character has an acc.virate conformity with his moral one. Here, too, he is simple in his excellence ; lofty rather than expansive or varied ; pure, divinely ardent rather than great." I have allowed myself no space to examine Schiller's works in detail, because it is better first to define the 302 QEBMAN LITERATURE. place wliicli his life occupies in the literary history of Germany, and his individual characteristics as a poet. Though disparaged by the Stolbergs, Eiemer and others, and exalted by Borne and a class of later writers above Goethe, he has fixed his own true place at the side of the latter, lower through the opportunities of life, lower in breadth of intellect and the development of all the faculties, but equal in aspiration and equal in his own field of achievement. His life is an open book for whoever chooses to read it. All his early im- patience and extravagance, all the struggles through which he rose, the steps whereby he climbed to a knowledge of himself and his art, are revealed to our gaze ; but when the history closes, we leave him in the ripeness, the harmony, the joyous activity of his powers, and this final impression is the standard by which we measure his fame. No German poet since Schiller has equalled his mag- nificent rhythm and rhetoric. The language has been made sweeter, clearer, more flexible : it has caught new varieties of movement and melody : it has been forced to reflect the manner of many new minds, yet in the qualities I have mentioned Schiller is still the climax of performance. I can find no more fitting words to close this review of a life measured by heart-throbs and brain-throbs, rather than by years, than the stanzas which Goethe dedicated to his memory, as an epilogue to the "Song schilleb: 303 of the Bell," wlien it was represented in Weimar, in tlie year 1815 : " Denn er war unser ! Mag das stolze Wort Den lauten Sclimerz gewaltig libertonen I Er moclite sich bei uns, im sicliern Port Nach wildem Sturm zum Dauernden gewhonen. Indessen scliritt seiu Geist gewaltig fort Ins Ewige des Wahren, Guten, Sclifinen, Und hinter ihm, in wesenlosem Sclieine, Lag, was uus AUe bandig-t, das Gemeine. Nun gliihte seine Wange rotli und rcither Von jener Jugend, die uns nie entfliegt. Von jenem Mutli, der friiher oder spilter. Den Wiederstand der stumpfen Welt besiegt, Von jenem Glaubeu, der sich stets erhohter Bald kiibn liervordrangt, bald geduldig schmiegt, Damit das Gute wirke, waclise, f romme, Damit der Tag dem Edlen endlich komme I " For lie was ours I Be tbis proud consciousness A spell that shall subdue our lamentation I He sought Avith us a harbor from the stress Of storms, a more enduring inspiration. While with strong step his mind did forward press To Good, Truth, Beauty, in its pure creation. And far behind him lay, a formless vision, The vulgar power that fetters our ambition. And thus his cheek grew red, and redder ever, From that fair youth whose wings are never furled^ That courage, crowned at last, wliose proud endeavor Tames the resistance of the stubborn world, — That faith, that onward, upward, mounts forever. Now patient waiting, now in conflict hurled. That so the Good shall work, increase and sway, And for the noble man shall dawn a nobler day 1 GOETHE. In considering tlie central figure of tlie great age of German literature — tlie god, lie might be called, who sits alone on the summit of the German Parnassus — ^I feel how impossible it is to give more than the merest outline of a life which was both broad and long, of an activity unbroken for more than sixty years, and cover- ing in its range nearly every department of Literature, Art and Science. If a cabinet-picture will suJBfice for Klopstock and Wieland, a life-size sketch for Lessing and Schiller, I feel the need of a canvas of heroic pro- portions when I come to portray Goethe. If I were not afraid of falling into the fault which I have attributed to the German mind — of constructing a theory wherever the operation is possible — I might trace a gradual order of development in the authors who pre- ceded Goethe, and show how his intellect, possessing the supreme quality which was lacking in them, both individually and collectively, became the crowning ele- ment in German literature. But it will be enough to say that he was born " in the fullness of time " — when Klopstock, Lessing, Wieland and Herder ^^re already 304 GOETEE. 305 upon the stage ; and tliat tlie experience prepared for liim by tlieir labors was precisely that wliicli his devel- opment required. In the case of Klopstock, we have a useful and fortunate, though not a great life ; in Lessing and Schiller, a life of struggle, nobly endured ; in Wie- land and Herder, lives of change, of action and ambi- tion, fruitful in influence ; but in Goethe we find a long, rich, and wholly fortunate life, almost unparalleled in its results. In him there is no unfulfilled promise, no fragmentary destiny : he stands as complete and sym- metrical and satisfactory as the Parthenon. I can best represent his achievements by connecting them with the events of his life ; and must therefore give an outline of his biography. If many of you are already familiar with the principal facts, you will par- don me for repeating them, since I can thus best de- scribe the man. Johann Wolfgang Goethe was born in Frankfort on the Main, on the 28th of August, 1749. His father, the Councillor Goethe, was a man of wealth, education and high social position ; his mother was the daughter of the Imperial Councillor Textor. These ofiicials of the free city of Frankfort considered them- selves on a par with the nobility of other German lands, and were equally proud and dignified in their bearing. Goethe was not only a marvelous child, but he enjoyed marvelous advantages, from his very birth. His mother invented fairy stories for his early childhood ; he learned French from an officer quartered in his father's house ; 30G GERMAN LITERATURE. tlie best teacliers were provided for him, and vvLen only eight years old, he was able to write — not very cor- rectly, of course — in the German, French, Italian, Greek and Latin languages. His beauty, his precocious talent, his bright, sparkling, loveable nature, procured him an indulgent freedom rarely granted to children, and gave him at the start that independence and self-reliance which he preserved through life. He began to compose even before he began to write : expression, in his case, was co-existent with feeling and thought. Before he was twelve years old, he planned and partly wrote a romance which illustrates his wonderful acquirements. The characters are seven brothers and sisters, scattered in different parts of Europe. One of them writes in German, one in French, one in English, one in Italian, one in Latin and Greek, and another in the Jewish-Ger- man dialect. The study of the latter led him to Hebrew, which he kept up long enough to read a portion of the Bible. At an age when most boys are struggling unwill- ingly with the rudiments of knowledge, he had laid a broad basis for all future studies, and grasped with pas- sionate eagerness every opportunity of anticipating them. There have been similar instances of precocity, but the informing and mastering genius was lacking. The boy Goethe assimilated and turned to immediate use all that he learned. His creative power was devel- oped many years in advance of the usual period. He soon became a hero in the youthful society of Frankfort OOETHB. 307 — a poet, an improvisatore and a wit, astonisliing liis associates by liis brilliancy and daring, and at the same time offending liis stern, respectable father. In 1765, at the age of sixteen, he was sent to the Uni- versity of Leipzig, to study jurisprudence ; but he soon wearied of that study, as well as of logic and rhetoric, as they were then taught. Except botany and mineral- ogy, he neglected all graver studies, gave up much of his time to society, and imagined himself in love with a maiden two or three years older than himself. His life at Leipzig, it must be confessed, was very wild and irregular. The scornful independence of others, which he asserted, began to show itself in excesses, and at the end of three years he went home with hemorrhage of the lungs and a tumor on his neck. More than a year was needed for his entire recovery, and during this period the better forces of his nature began to assert themselves. He regained his lost balance : his literary aspirations revived, and gradually grew into earnestness and coherence. In his twenty-first year he was sent to Strassburg, to continue his legal studies, but already carrying with him the plan of his first famous work — the tragedy of " Gotz von Berlichingcn.'" During the seclusion of his illness, he had occupied himself chiefly with alchemy and mystic speculation. The seed of the future " Faust " was even then sown, and it was not long before it began to germinate. But the greatest fortune of his residence 308 GERMAN LITERATURE. in Strassburg was liis acquaintance witli Herder, wlio was five years older than Goetlie, and at that time of a graver and profounder temperament. The two men were very much unlike, and they never became intimate friends ; but there is no doubt that Herder's comj)anionship and counsel, during the six months they spent together, was of great value in weaning Goethe from the lawless, im- pulsive mood into which he had fallen. He was sud- denly seized with a desire to overcome everything which seemed like a weakness in his nature. He cured his tendency to giddiness, on looking down from heights, by climbing the spire of Strassburg Cathedral every day. He had a constitutional dread of the super- natural, without believing in it ; so he went into grave- yai'ds at midnight ; he disliked loud voices, and there- fore went as near as possible to the drums of the mili- tary band. He was easily affected by a sense of disgust, and for that reason attended the dissections of the medi- cal class. He also studied electricity, wrote a pamphlet on Gothic architecture, and withal, qualified himself for the degree of Doctor Juris, Avhich he received in a little more than a year. Returning to Frankfort, he first re-wrote the tragedy of " Gotz von Berlicldngen," and was then sent by his father to practice in the Imperial Chancery at "Wetzlar, a small town near Giessen. But he remained there only a few months, occupying him- self much more with literature than Avith law. His tragedy was again revised, and was then published in GOETHE. 309 tlie spring of 1773. Its popularity was immediate and universal. Compared witli Schiller's " Robbers," pro- duced at very nearly the same age, every reader will feel the great superiority of " Gotz." Here there is nothing crude, and little that is purely subjective. The piece is full of life and movement, and the touch of a master is seen in the delineation of every character. In regard to form, Goethe undoubtedly owed something both to Shakespeare and Lessing, but his management of the historic material is entirely his own. His lite- rary fame was secured at one blow. It is worthy of re- mark that the translation of " Gotz von Berlichingen" was Walter Scott's first essay in literature. The attention of such men as Zimmermann, Lavater, and Klopstock was attracted towards Goethe by this work. His name began to be known throughout Ger- many : he was astonished at his sudden popularity, and considered it, at first, a lucky accident. Soon after the publication of " GiJiz,'' the young prince Karl August of Weimar passed through Frankfurt, and sent for Goethe. This was the beginning of a friendship which lasted for fifty-five years, and determined the external circumstances of Goethe's life. Law was now entirely given up, and Goethe, again an inmate of his father's house for two or three years, gave all his time to litera- ture. He planned a tragedy to be called " Mohammed" a fragment of which survives, wrote several admirable lyrics, and produced his satire, called "Gotfer, Ilcldcn 310 GERMAN LITERATURE. unci Wieland^'' (Gods, Heroes, and Wieland). In 1774, two years after the events upon wliicli the book is founded had occurred, he published "Die Leiden des juncjen Wertliers " (The Sorrows of Werther). The history of this work, the prodigious sensation which it pro- duced, and the character of its influence contrasted with the author's design, make it a phenomenon in the annals of literature. The "Storm and Stress" period, to which I have referred, was then approaching its cli- max. Although " Gotz von BerlicJiingen " is remarkably free from its spirit, Goethe could no more escape the infection than a child can escape the mumps or the measles. His powerful nature experienced every symp- tom of the disease in an aggravated form, and then healed itself. Although no poet ever made freer use of his own sensations and experiences — his joy, suffering, passion and aspiration — ^yet his habit was to wait until the ex- perience had passed, then holding it firmly apart from him — as a man might hold an amputated limb, wherein every nerve is dead — to make it an intellectual study. He revives the tempest, and lets it rage around him ; but in the centre there is a vortex of calm, where he sits and controls it. " Werther " is a psychological study of this character. Goethe combined his own experience with the tragical fate of a man whom he knew, and produced what is generally called a sentimental story, but which is really a remarkable dissection of a typical character. But it was not so received and understood. All Euroj)e GOETHE. 311 dissolved in a gusli of emotion over its pages. It was hailed as the triumph and justification of the senti- mental school, and a whole literature of imitations, parodies and criticisms followed it. Although we cannot divide the literary life of Goethe into periods, like that of Schiller, because his growth was not only steady and symmetrical, but also because some of his faculties were nearly perfect at the start, yet there are occasional pauses in his activity and variations in its character. The one important change in his external life now occurred. In September, 1775, the Duke Karl August invited Goethe to visit him at Weimar. This visit, which lasted two months, was followed by an invi- tation to accept a permanent situation at the Court, with the title of Privy Councillor, and a salary of twelve hundred thalers a year. In spite of his father's opposi- tion, Goethe accepted the offer, and thenceforth "Weimar was his home. The appointment of an untitled poet to a place which tradition required to be filled only by a noble, was a great scandal throughout Germany ; but the wild and rather grotesque life led by the Duke and Goethe gave much greater offence. Their chief object seemed to be, to violate all the sacred conventionalities of German courts. They appeared in society in top- boots, cracked whips together in the public market- place, plunged into the river Ilm at midnight, and con- ducted themselves altogether more like boys playing truant than a pair of dignified personages. For some 312 GERMAN LITERATURE. years Goethe's productiveness slackened, because tliere was now no external incitement, and the internal im- pulse gave way, for a time, to his hearty delight in active j)hysical life. It was his habit to carry a poetical conception for a long time in his brain, allowing it to develop by its own force, until the proper mood and leisure for its delivery arrived: then it was put into words with a rapidity and artistic completion which astonished his friends, who did not guess how much of the labor had been silently performed in advance. So, now, while he seemed indolent, the dramatic poems of " Iphigenie auf Tauris," " Tasso," and "Egmont" were in progress, and portions of the first two were even written in prose. After three years of free, unrestrained life with the Duke, he began to weary of balls, hunts and picnics, and withdrew more and more from the society of the Court. He was eight years older than the Duke, and " the intoxication of youth " (to use his own words) was over with him that much earlier. The inseparable companionship was broken off, although the Duke was steadfast in his friendship. In 1782, Goethe was made President of the Chamber, and en- nobled. The death of his father, in the same year, having made him comparatively wealthy, he deter- mined to carry out his long-cherished plan of a jour- ney to Italy ; but four years still intervened before he succeeded in leaving Weimar. During this time he began to write his philosophical romance of " Wilhdm GOETHE. 313 Meister" wliicli was not published until long after- wards. At last, in 1786, secretly and under an assumed name, lie set out for Italy, where he remained for nearly two years, residing alternately in Venice, Florence, Rome, Naples and Sicily. It ajDjoears to have been a period of pure and perfect enjoyment. After ten years of dis- tractions, his time was wholly his own. He practised painting, for which he always had a passion, studied classic art, correcting and elevating thereby his poetic ideal, and worked faithfully upon the plans he had car- ried with him. The " Ipliigenie auf Tauris " and " Eg- mont " were completed, and " Tasso " commenced, before he visited Sicily. I have seen an original manuscript letter, which he wrote from Naples to his servant in Weimar, giving as minute and enthusiastic an account of his literary labors, as if it had been written to a brother author. His little song of " Kennst du das Land'' expresses the strength of the longing which drew him to Italy, and he was not deceived in the real experience. When, in 1788, he left Italy to return to Weimar, it was with a feeling of regret so strong that he was positively unhappy for months afterwards. The " Ipliigenie auf Tauris," which now appeared, is one of the noblest dramatic poems in any language. As Schiller truly said, it is not Greek, but neither can it be called German. It moves in a higher region than 314 GERMAN LITERATURE. tliat wliere the signs of time and race may still be read. From the opening lines : " Hinaus in eu're Schatten, rege Wipfel Des alten, lieil'geD, dicht-belaubten Haines," to the closing farewell of Thoas, the reader breathes the purest ether of poetry. Its grandeur is inherent in the lines, and its finest passages seem to exist of them- selves, rather than to have been elaborated by the thought of years. It is a poem in dramatic form, not a drama ; and the same distinction will apply to " Tasso." Neither is adapted to the stage. " IpMgenie'' was act- ed by the Court at Weimar, Goethe taking the part of Orestes, and the Duke that of Pylades ; but at Weimar Sophocles was performed, — the high cultivation which prevailed there rendering even that possible. " Tasso " may also be called a psycliological study. It is almost without action, and is monotonous in tone, but it abounds in fine passages. It is a poem, however, which will never be generally appreciated, except by poets. In " Egmont " Goethe achieved a theatrical success. This tragedy is still more frequently performed than any of his other dramas. Three such works as these should have placed Goethe at once at the head of German literature ; but they seem to have made an impression upon a comparatively small number, at the time of their appearance. The author's genius was felt everywhere, but it disturbed to a greater GOETHE. 315 extent tlian it gave deliglit. He stood almost alone : Klopstock was unfriendly, Herder was jealous and sen- sitive, Schiller was still shy and doubtful, and Wieland, who never was else than a large-hearted friend, could give him no satisfactory support. Although, fifteen years before, the nerves of all Europe had been shat- tered by his " Werther," and his name was as well known as that of Rousseau or Voltaire, yet, when the collected edition of his works was published in Leipzig, in 1790, — an edition containing " Goiz" "IpMgenie'' « Tasso," " Egmont;' much of the First Part of " Faust;' and his exquisite songs and lyrics — the publisher com- plained that the sale was not sufficient to pay his ex- penses ! Those whom he had offended, or who were jealous of his genius or his fortune, now formed quite a large class, including many authors in the flush of a transient popularity. He never betrayed his feelings in such matters, but it is evident that his exclusive devotion to science for some years was partly the con- sequence of a discouragement in regard to his literary work. It is hardly within my province, at present, to speak of Goethe as a man of science, but I may at least mention that his studies in osteology had already re- sulted in his discovery of the inter-maxillary bone ; that his studies in botany led him to the composition of a really important work on the " Metamorphoses of Plants," and that his " Science of Colors " was for a while accepted (though not generally by opticians) as 316 GERMAN LITERATURE. having superseded Newton's. He was an eager if not a very tliorough observer ; but, being a poet, lie was sometimes inclined to depend ratlier on liis scientific intuitions tlian on the laborious observation of Nature. In tliis respect lie differed from Humboldt, while he resembled him in his insatiable thirst for knowledge and his untiring industry. We cannot say that the time he devoted to natural science was lost, even if it had been less fruitful in results, for at the same time he made himself acquainted with the metaphysical sys- tems of Kant, Fichte and Hegel, and all those bones and stones kept him close to solid fact while his mind was occupied with pure intellectual speculations. He was never German enough to lose his way in those misty realms, yet it was certainly an advantage to have a basis of reality under his feet. In 1794 nearly six years after Goethe's first interview with Schiller, the two came together again — this time, only to be separated by death. It was not long before the effect of this close intercourse with another spirit, as restlessly creative as his own, began to show itself in Goethe's return to poetry. He was then about pub- lishing the first part of " WilJiehn Meister " — the " Lehr- jalire'" or "Apprenticeship," — and Schiller's friendly intelligent criticism of the work in manuscript was an encouragement which he had not felt for years. This work, which has been admirably translated by Carlyle, might be called a philosophical romance. It is a sin- GOETHE. 317 gular compound of pictures of life, so plain and realistic that they sometimes become actually coarse, with theo- ries of society, labor and education so refined that they frequently lose all practical character. The faults of the work are as positive as its beauties ; but it had no antetype in literature. Parts of it, such as the episode of Mignon, the criticism on Hamlet, and the detached aphorisms scattered through it, are generally known and admired, but the work, as a whole, is only relished by those readers who are able to think for themselves while they follow the thoughts of another. By a large class it is considered immoral, because some of the characters introduced are not always better than they should be. The best answer to this charge is given by one of Goethe's most intelligent critics. "In ' Wilhelm 3Ieister,' ''' he says, "there is a comj^lete absence of all moral verdict on the part of the author. Charac- ters tread the stage, events j)ass before our eyes, things are done, and thoughts are expressed ; but no word comes from the author respecting the moral bearing of those things. Life forgets in activity all moral verdict. The good is beneficent, but no one praises it ; the bad works evil, but no one anathematizes it." This descrip- tion is entirely correct, and it would apply equally to much of Shakespeare. Our American taste of the pres- ent day would hardly be satisfied with a fiction, wherein the good and the bad characters are simply presented, as we see them in ordinary life. An author's principles 318 GERMAN LITERATURE. are suspected unless lie denounces tlie one and praises tlie other, — or, at least, heightens the colors so that we shall detect the undercurrent of his own preferences. No man, however, will ever read " Wilhelm Meister " as he reads a certain class of modern romances, for the sake of gratifying an immoral taste : to all except per- sons of genuine intellect and culture, it is a sealed book. Another result of Goethe's intercourse with Schiller was the re-awakening of his lyrical genius. He himself compares the effect upon his poetic faculty to that of a second spring, wherein a thousand germs of thought, long lying dormant, suddenly sprouted and blossomed. A conception which once entered his brain never was forgotten. Even the idea of a simple little ballad would linger with him for years. So when Schiller and he agreed to write a number of brief narrative poems, he had only to free his mind of the material which had already accumulated there. Some of his finest and most celebrated poems — such as " Die Brant von Cor- inth''' (The Bride of Corinth), " Der Gott und die Bajadere'' (The God and the Bayadere), ''Der Fisclier" (The Fisher), and " Der ErlUnig " (The Erl-King) were written at this time. He also arranged for Schiller's periodical, "The Hours," two collections of short ejDi- grammatic poems, written in the classic distich, and called ^'Die RomiscJien Elegien" (The Koman Elegies) and ''Die Vier Jahreszeiten" (The Four Seasons). These are masterpieces of poetic art. They, and Schiller's GOETHE. 319 noLle poem of " Der Spaziergang " have naturalized the ancient elegiac measure in the German language. The only successful English example I know of, is in the short introductory passages of Clough's "Amours de Voyage." I cannot resist the temptation of quoting a few couplets from the " Jahreszeiten " : ' " Auf, itr Disticlien, friscli ! Ihr mantern lebendigen Knaben 1 Reich ist Garten und Feld ! Blumen zum Kranze lierbei I Reicli ist an Blumen die Flur ; docli einige sind nur dem Auge, Andre dcm Herzen nur schon ; wJlhle dir, Leser, nun selbst I Eosenknospe, du bist dem bliibenden Madclien gewidmet. Die als die Herrlicbste sich, als die Bescheidenste zeigt. Viele der Veilcben zusammen gekniipft, das Strllusscben erscbeint Erst als Blume ; du bist, biiuslicbes Mildchen, gemeint. Eine kannt' icb, sie war wie die Lilie scblank, und ibr Stolz war Unschuld ; berrlicber hat Salomo Keine gesehn. Scbon erbebt sich der Agley und senkt das Kcipfchcn bcrunter. Ist es Qef iibl ? oder ist's Muthwill ? Ibr rathet es nicht." I regret that I cannot find a translation of "The God and the Bayadere " which at all reproduces its compact power of expression and its majestic rhythm ; indeed, these minor poems of Goethe almost defy translation. 320 GERM Air LITERATURE. In many of tliem tlie sentiment is as airy and delicate, tlie charm as easy to feel and as difficult to define, as in the songs of Shakespeare. His mastery over all the powers and possibilities of the language was so marvel- ous, that an almost equal mastery of the resources of the English language is required in one who attempts to reproduce them. A few years ago, among the correspondence of the publisher Vieweg, of Brunswick, a letter of Goethe's was found, consisting of these two sentences: "If you are willing to publish the contents of the accompanying sealed package, send me two hundred ducats (about eight hundred dollars). If you decline, return the pack- age with the seals unbroken." This was a hard condi- tion for the publisher : he deliberated a day or two, then sent the two hundred ducats, and opened the package. It contained the pastoral epic of " Hermann vnd DorotJietf," one of Goethe's most perfect works. We haj)pen to know, through his correspondence with Schiller and others, the manner in which it was written. Goethe had finished the " AcMUeis," which we can only call an imitation of Homer, and was encouraged b}- Schiller to write a poem on the subject of Nausikiia. But the work dragged ; by a sudden revulsion of feel- ing, Goethe turned to the life of his own day, took up a subject which had been waiting six or seven years in his brain, planned and arranged it during his official journeys through the Duchy, and then wrote it in the GOETHE. 321 course of a few weeks of summer leisure. We liave his own word for the statement that more than half of it was written in nine consecutive days. It was one of his most fortunate inspirations. The perplexed pub- lisher was lucky in his venture, for the poem not only revived Goethe's popularity, but stamped upon the literary circles of Germany the impression of his true power. " Hermann and Dorothea " is the simplest pos- sible idyl of common life. The characters of the par- ents, the young man and the maiden, the clergyman and the apothecary are drawn with exquisite truth and reality ; the measure is fluent as prose, yet flatters the ear like rhyme ; the language is the simplest possible, poetic in its essence, not from ornament, and the events of the story, occupying not more than two days, are so naturally and artlessly evolved, that the reader follows them with pure and perfect enjoyment, from beginning to end. I care not what may be said against the use of hexameter in modern literature : in " Hermann and Dorothea" it is a thorough success. Goethe under- stood, as many poets do not, the importance of form as a vehicle of thought. With all his acquired self- control, his intellectual nature was as sensitive as a wind-harp to the lightest breeze of imagination; but he had the power of retaining every passing strain, every fugitive tone, until they grew to a connected melody. Then he sought for the one form which might most fitly express it, very much as the sculptor seeks 14* 322 GERMAN LITERATURE. for a living model, to assist in bringing out tlie ideal figure in liis brain. He never lost siglit of the real truth of Nature, but tlie commonest scenes and events, in passing tlirougli bis mind are saturated witli a subtle element of poetry. This is nowhere so wonderfully illustrated as in " Hermann and Dorothea," and w^e can readily understand that it was that one of his works to which he turned with the most satisfaction in his old age. After Schiller's death, in 1805, Goethe lost for a time his interest in literature. "Within a year and a half the battle of Jena occurred, and Weimar was sacked by the French army. It was perhaps the insecurity of his life at the time which led him to marry the mother of his son, with whom he had been living for seventeen years ■ — or, rather, the sense of insecurity led her to consent to the marriage, which she had refused up to that time. Nothing in Goethe's life has been so misunderstood and misrepresented as his relation to Christiane Yul- pius. When I was last in Weimar, I discovered a great many facts which throw an entirely new light on this subject. Christiane was an uneducated woman, from a much lower rank in society ; but she understood Goethe's nature as no one else did. Goethe's first important work, after the death of Schiller, was his novel of the " Walilverivandtschxiften,'^ which has been translated " The Elective Affinities." It is much more compact, and, as a story, more co- herent than " Wilhelm 3Ieistei\" His scientific pursuits GOETHE. 323 absorbed a great deal of Lis time during the early years of this century, but he found time to write an autobi- ography under the title of " WaJirheit unci DicJitung " (Truth and Fiction), and in his sixty-fifth year com- menced the study of the Persian and the Arabic lan- guages. At a time when the world supposed that the period of his poetic activity was over, his " Wesf- OstlicJier Divan,'' suddenly appeared. It is a collec- tion of short poems, two or three hundred in num- ber, German in spirit and Oriental in character. In them the fire of a second youth glows and throbs through the wisdom of age. Some of the most beauti- ful brief lyrics he ever wrote are contained in this col- lection. This was the source whence Count Platen and Eiickert drew their Oriental inspiration. The impression it produced was so strong that it almost created a new fashion in literature. By this time Goethe had outlived the jealousy and the enmity which had so long assailed him. Kotzebue was powerless ; Novalis and Nicolai were dead ; Schlegel was silent ; the Stolbergs were for- gotten ; and a new generation had grown up, to whom the poet was an acknowledged power. The race was not yet sufficiently developed to appreciate his best work, but they could reverence without reaching that point. He had also withdrawn from official duties. His time was his own ; society came to him at his own conveni- ence, and his life thenceforth was quiet, serene, yet still unweariedly active. 324 GERMAN LITERATURE. He conducted a periodical called " Kunst und Alter- thum," (Art and Antiquity), and wrote a number of scientific essays, but undertook no larger work until after his seventieth year, when he completed " WilJielm 3Ieister" From his seventy-fifth to his eighty-first year, he wrote the Second Part of " Fau§t" dictated his " Annals," and revised the complete edition of his works, in forty volumes. It is a remarkable fact, show- ing the little protection accorded to literature in Ger- many during the lives of her greatest authors, that this complete edition could only be secured against reprints by other publishers, through a sj)ecial act of the Ger- man Diet, which was granted in 1826. It is doubtful whether Goethe received more than twenty or thirty thousand dollars from his works during the whole of his life ; but his grand-children received fortunes from them. The end came slowly on, like the sinking of the sun, in a cloudless sky. In 1828 the Duke, Karl August, died ; soon after, his widow, the Duchess Luise ; then, Goethe's only son, and he was left alone, still grand and erect in body, and with every sign of intellectual vigor. He was one of the handsomest men that ever lived : the bust taken in Rome is finer than the head of the Apollo. Even eighty years could not bend his figure or dim the splendor of his dark-brown eyes : the Apollo had only grown into the Olympian Jove. Eiickert, in a noble poem, wished for him the fate of the Persian GOETHE. 325 poets, Saadi and Djami, who counted a hundred jears, but some hidden part of the machinery had worn out, and a very slight cause brought it to a full stop. He died on the 22d of March, 1832, in his eighty-third year. Karl August directed in his will, that his body should be placed between those of Goethe and Schiller. This was more than the rigid laws of German Courts could endure : the will was disregarded. The two poets rest side by side, in the Ducal vault, but at a proper dis- tance from the reigning family. Yet their sarcophagi, and that of their one princely friend, are those which draw reverent strangers to the vault, and which are always freshly crowned with garlands. In comparing Goethe with Homer and Shakespeare, I mean to assert his equal and independent supremacy, without claiming for him precisely the qualities which made them great. In intellectual character, he is as far removed from either as each is from the other. Homer is specially epic, Shakespeare specially dramatic, and in Goethe we find the highest equal development of all the powers of the human mind. The word " many- sided," which the Germans apply to him, is not an ade- quate description. The general rule among men seems to be that achievement is the result of concentrated effort in one direction. Goethe reversed this rule ; the broader his field of action became, the more splendid was his achievement. One cause of this phenomenon 32G GERMAN LITERATURE. will be found in a quality which formed the very basis of his nature. He was never satisfied until he had as- certained the positive reality of the subject of his thought, and its possible relations to other realities. His fancy and imagination were so healthy and so proportioned to his perceptive faculties, that their ac- tivity was only exercised ujDon a basis of real form or fact. Those vague yet splendid moods of the mind, in which some poets indulge, were never known to him — or, if he knew them, he never gave them exj)ression. With the Swedish Tegner, he believed that " The obscurely uttered is the obscurely thought. " We find the same realistic element in other poets, but never in such perfect combination with the highest qualities of the imagination. Edgar Poe thus ad- dresses Science — " true daughter of old Time thou art. Who changest all things with thy peering eyes I Why prey'st thou thus upon the Poet's heart. Vulture, whose wings are dull realities ? " and this is a sort of conventional sentiment with all minor poets. Even Schiller, at one period of his life, lamented — in exquisite verse, it is true — the dethrone- ment of the Ideal by the Actual, in life. Goethe, how- ever, would have smiled, and answered in terms like these : " Science is truth and Poetry is truth : both are infinite and inexhaustible : both are kindred fields GOETHE. 327 tlirougli wliicli tlie human approaclies the Divine Mind, and they can never be antagonistic in a healthy nature. Poetry is not an exotic plant, brought down to our life from some warmer region, and to be kept alive with arti- ficial heat ; it springs from and clothes all human life with color and sweetness, as grass and daisies cover the whole earth." Goethe could have analyzed the earth in which the rose is planted, and prepared a mathematical table of its ingredients ; he could then have dissected the rose as a botanist, showing the met- amorphoses by which the stem becomes the leaf and the leaf the blossom ; and finally, letting Science rest, while Fancy arose, fresh for the task, he could embalm the beauty and sentiment of the rose in immortal verse. I think this might be called one of the undeveloped qualities of Shakespeare. The point wherein the two poets touch is their power of assimilating all their acquired knowledge, and using it in the service of poetry. Neither is afraid of descending to the com- monest and coarsest realism, yet either can soar as lightly as a lark into the highest and purest spiritual atmosphere. Both minds claimed the largest liberty, and used it as of right. They walked over the earth, as if bare-headed and bare-handed, taking the brand of the sun, the dust of the highway and the beating of the storm upon their brows — in the strongest contrast to those minds which always seem to go abroad in white 328 GERMAN LITERATURE. kid gloves and patent-leatlier boots, with an umbrella for the sun and a theoretical Mackintosh for the rain. There is another sense which Shakespeare possessed by nature, and could only develop by such helps as were possible in his life ; while Goethe, possessing it equally, was able, through his greater fortune, to bring it to the highest and noblest activity. I mean that ele- ment of proportion which was first discovered by the Greek mind ; that adjustment of parts to the whole, of form to spirit, which we call the artistic sense. While Shakespeare was poaching, Goethe was reading Win- ckelmann and Lessing ; while Shakespeare was specu- lating in wool, Goethe was studying the antique mar- bles in the halls of the Vatican : while Shakespeare was desiring " this man's art and that man's scope," Goethe could look abroad and say : " It is because none reach my art and my scope, that so few fully comprehend me." With such a vast variety of interests as he main- tained throughout his whole life, many of his lighter works are faulty in construction, but nothing which matured properly in his mind is without its underlying law. Indeed, most of the fragments which he left have the roundness and the polish of pebbles of thought, smoothed by attrition in the strong current of his mind. This is not mere finish ; it also includes fullness, as the veins in a pebble may suggest the strata in a quarry. Many of his detached utterances thus hint of a broad back-ground of thought. Take a single one as a speci- GOETHE. 329 men, tliougli I must cripple its force by turning it into prose : " Timid wavering of nerveless thought, effemi- nate irresolution, anxious lamentation, turn away no misfortune from thee, cannot liberate thee. To hold one's self erect, defying all forces, never swaying, show- ing original strength, brings down the arms of the Gods in aid ! " Here is another : "Impatience is of no service : still less remorse. The latter increases the offense — the former creates new ones." I have purposely compared Goethe with Shakespeare in these two particulars, because in the dramatic pre- sentation of character he is inferior to that greatest of all masters. Shakespeare is universal in his apprehen- sion of human nature : Goethe is universal in his ran^e of intellectual capacities and in his culture. One is greater, the other is riper. Goethe lacks two elements of suc- cess as a dramatist — inventive genius and rapidity of movement. After " Egmont," which was an effort to overcome his natural deficiencies, but which cannot be called a comj)lete success, he gave more attention to dramatic poems than to acting plays. He was an ad- mirable critic, and his counsels helped to make Schil- ler's " JFcIIensfein" what it is ; yet it is doubtful whe- ther the material of " JVallensicin," in his own hands, would have been as satisfactorily modelled as by Schil- ler. I do not mean to undervalue the genius which he manifested in both " Gofz von Bcrlickinrjcn " and 330 GERMAN LITERATURE. " EgmontJ" They are very important works ; but tliey lack the equal power and completeness of such poems as " fyhigenie auf Tauris " or " Hermann und Dorothea" He had dramatic genius; he had the power of illus- trating by the force of contrast, and the power of pre- senting characters in their proper objective independ- ence ; yet it seems that there were differences of action in the combination of his many gifts. In other words, certain forms of activity were more free and natural to him than others. It would have been a miracle if this had not been so. I have already alluded to Goethe's habit of usifig every form of his own personal experience of life, but only after the feeling which accompanied it had become a memory. He prefaces his lyrics with the couplet : Spjit erklingt, was f riih erklang. Early sounds that echo long : Gluckund Ungliick wirdGesang. Joy and sorrow turn to song. and in his " Trilogie der Leidenschaft " (Trilogy of Pas- sion), the most youthfully fervid poem ever written by a man more than seventy years old, are the lines : Und wenn der Mensch in seiner While men their torment suffer, Qual verstummt and are dumb. Gab mir ein Gott zu sagen, was A God gave me to utter mine in ich leide. song. One consequence of this power is that all passion in his verse obeys the supreme law of proportion. The keenest emotions are expressed, but the author himself GOETHE. 331 is serene. Calm and self-poised, lie paints every ecstasy or every pang : lie does not attempt to revive the feel- ing, only to remember it. You cannot imagine Lis eye "rolling in a fine frenzy," as he writes — but rather the impartial eye of a spirit, surveying the past life of earth. Goethe has been called cold, unsympathetic, selfish, on account of this quality ; and I must admit that, even up to the present day, a large class of per- sons are unable to consider it in any other light. There are a great many who hide their own tears, but expect the author to weep in public. Now, the objec- tive treatment of one's own revelations of life, or of what is observed in the lives of others, is the highest achievement of literary art. Whatever of truth is thus presented, has a general, not an individual significance ; and the truth that dwells in passion cannot be clearly seen while the air of poetry is thick with the very cloud and storm of passion itself. All strong emotion sus- pends the impartial activity of the intellect ; and this is the reason why eloquence is so rarely impartial. Although Goethe possessed this intellectual serenity, as we may call it, his finer faculties were no more under control than in the case of less gifted authors. He could not say to the Ariel of his imagination " Come ! " and he came ; but was obliged to wait the pleasure of the beautiful sprite. As his habit was to arrange the plan of a poem, in all its parts, before putting it into words, he was thus able to work upon any part of it, 332 GERMAIN LITERATURE. according to his mood. After a certain amount of prog- ress was made, the manuscript sheets were stitched together, the parts not yet written being filled out with blank paper of a difierent color ; and as often as one of these sheets was removed and the manuscript inserted in its place, Goethe felt himself freshly encour- aged to go on with the work. He was accustomed to say at such times : " I not only know, in my own mind, how much I have added, but it is now palpable to my exter- nal senses." There could not be a better illustration of his equal use of the Real and the Ideal. It is not incumbent upon me, now, to enter into an ex- amination of Goethe's occasional shortcomings. Every- body knows that Homer sometimes nods, and that Shakespeare sometimes rants ; and the admission that Goethe has occasionally mistaken coarseness for satire, or gravity for wisdom, cannot effect his supreme place in literature. Had he not possessed a remarkable power of self-restraint, he would doubtless have sinned more frequentl}'. His position at Weimar, for the first ten years, was more difficult than we can now guess : when it had been stubbornly acknowledged, he stood almost alone as an author until Schiller came to his side : during the excitement which followed the over- throw of Napoleon, he was denounced as an enemy of Germany ; and, finally, the most absolute homage came to him from all quarters, giving to his old age a character of literary royalty which he enjoyed without dispute. GOEIBE. 333 A lesser genius would have been affected by this per- versity of circumstances ; but he, " standing erect, defy- ing all forces, never swaying, showing original strength, called down the arms of the gods to his aid." In him, character and intellect were not so closely united as in Lessing ; his vital power overran into wayward im- pulses in his early years, and sometimes broke away from his control in later life : but we must judge a man, after all, as much by what he restrains himself from doing, as by w^hat he does, and Goethe has as much right to the plea of multiim dilexit as a less exalted intel- ligence. As a mental power, he was splendidly stead- fast. He was as apt at detecting shams as Carlyle, but he pierced them without making any noise about it. So far as he assumes to teach directly, it is in exact consonance with the suggestions of all his highest works ; he preaches independence, self-reliance, toler- ance, mutual help, cheerful acceptance of every fortune, growth as a necessity of being, and knowledge as a ne- cessity of growth. In the poetic appreciation of Nature, Goethe has scarcely an equal among modern authors. The trans- fer to natural objects of the poet's sentiment — the reflec- tion in them of his varying moods — the creation of a sentient spirit beneath the forms of the visible world — all this belongs to modern literature. In English lite- rature it virtually originated with Cowper, was con- tinued by Wordsworth, made popular by Byron and 334 GERMAN LITERATURE. Shelley, until now it lias become tlie inevitable field wliicli all young authors endeavor to tread. But Goethe was before Cowper and "Wordsworth, far more subtle and intimate than the former, and wholly without the air of purpose which we cannot help feeling in many of "Wordsworth's descriptive passages. Goethe presents Nature to us, not in a mere catalogue of forms, but with all the more elusive influences which come to us through light and odor, and atmosphere and perspec- tive. If my space allowed me, I could give many in- stances of the delicate instinct which enables him to suggest a landscape in a single line, to give us the very soul of natural objects by phrases so simple that they startle while they charm. I have not before referred to " Faust, ^' because it was only finished with Goethe's life ; the Second Part was first published after his death. Without studying both parts, no one can understand the author's plan. The First Part, alone, is a sublime dramatic fragment — the whole is a complete and wonderful poem. There is nothing in the literature of any country with which we can fairly compare it. There is no other poem, which, like this, was the work of a whole life, and which so deals with the profoundest 23roblems of all life. It is so universally comprehensive that every reader finds in it reflections of his faith and philosophy. I have the essay of a French critic, who proves it to be a gospel of Pantheism : I have the work of a Catholic GOETHE. 335 professor, wlio is equally sure tliat it sliows Goethe's reverence for the Church of Eome : I have the work of a Lutheran clergyman, who illustrates its Protestant orthodoxy by parallel tests from the Bible. These criticisms only show how completely it stands above all barriers of sect, all schools of thought, in that atmos- phere of pure humanity where there is no dogma to darken God to the eyes of men. The passions and in- dulgences of youth only bring Faust remorse : place and power at the EmjDeror's Court fail to satisfy him : the perception of Beauty — which, after all, is only a re- cognition of the Divine harmony — first elevates and purifies his nature, and his happy moment comes at the end, as the result of an unwearied and beneficent activity for the sake of the human race, aided by the Divine love which is freely bestowed upon all men. The poem embodies all the finest qualities of Goethe's mind, — his rich, ever-changing rhythm, his mastery over the elements of passion, his simple realism, his keen irony, his serene wisdom and his most sacred aspira- tion. The more it is studied, the wider and further it spreads its intellectual horizon, until it grows to be so far and dim that the physical and the spiritual spheres are blended together. Whoever studies " Faust," in connection with the works of the other German authors, cannot but admit that the critic is not wholly mistaken, who asserts that the single elements which, separately, made his compeers great, have combined to make one 336 GERMAN LITERATURE. man greatest ; — that Klopstock's enricliment of tlio lan- guage, Lessing's boldness and clearness of vision, Wie- land's grace, Herder's universality, and Scliiller's glory of rliytlim and rhetoric, are all united in the immortal M^ork of Goethe ! You will allow me to close this incomplete sketch with some lines of my own : Dear is the Minstrel, yet tlie Man is more ; But should I turn the pages of his brain, The lighter muscle of my verse would strain And break beneath his lore. How charge with music powers so vast and free, Save one be great as he ? Behold him, as ye jostle with the throng Through narrow ways, that do your beings wrong, — Self-chosen lanes, wherein ye press In louder Storm and Stress, Passing the lesser bounty by Because the greater seems too high, And that sublimest joy forego. To seek, aspire, and know ! Behold in him, since our strong line began, The first full-statured man ! Dear is the Minstrel, even to hearts of prose ; But he who sets all aspiration free. Is dearer to humanity. Still through our age the shadowy Leader goes ; Still whispers cheer, or waves his warning sign, — The man who, most of men. Heeded the parable from lips divine, And made one talent ten ! CALL NUMBER A UBRARY USE ONLY; Cm^ ke «tsj5t> SIGN NAME: I AGREE TO COMPLY WITH LIBRARY REGULATIONS PRINT NAME; MAILING ADDRESS (DEPT IF FAC. OR STAFf) CHECK STATUS UNDERGRAD GRAO UNIV. OF CAL SANTA BARBARA FACULTY STAFF OTHER \ZZ\ CZI STACK F G-l J-L MO PR S-U V-X YZ 1ST 2ND 3RD ) ) ) ) ) XI. GOETHE-S "FAUST." There are a few poetic works which possess an im- mortal vitality — which so represent the actions and the characters of men, the problem of human nature, or the mysteries of human life, that their interest never grows old, their value never diminishes. The " Iliad " of Homer, Dante's "Divina Commedia" Shakespeare's " Hamlet " and " Othello," and Goethe's ''Faust " be- long to this class. Works like these were never pro- duced simply through the voluntary action of the mind : they grew by an inevitable law, attracting to them the best creative intelligence of the poet, and, when com- pleted, were greater than he himself could know ; for he stood too near them to measure their proportions. The truth that is in them being of no time and no coun- try, only touches the highest intelligences at first, and is then slowly transmitted to still wider and wider circles. Goethe's long and vigorous life enabled him to watch the impression which the First Part of ''Faust " gradu- ally produced upon the world ; but the Second Part, only a small portion of which was published before his death, is not yet fully understood and valued as it should be, even by the most cultivated thinkers. Stu- dents of the German language are at this day dissuaded 15 337 338 GERMAN LITERATURE. from reading it on the ground tliat it is incomprehensi- ble ; and the completion of his sublime plan is charged against the author as the weak mistake of his old age ! As Goethe is the dominant figure in modern German literature, so "Faust " is the dominant work among his many creations. It is the one conception which began to fill and inspire him at the age of twentj-one, and remained with him until he sealed up the last pages of the manuscrijDt, on his eighty-second birthday. Cher- ished thus for sixty-one years, his whole life forms the basis upon which it rests. Xavier Marmier, the distin- guished French critic, says : "It was the chosen work of Goethe, the well-beloved child for which he delighted to gather the riches of science and the precious fruits of inspiration. It was the bright idea, the mistress of his youth, the companion of his mature age, who was accustomed to keep watch with him, to visit him in his dreams, to live beside him in solitude and society. He bore it tenderly, mysteriously in the depth of his heart, as a lover bears the secret of his first love. He did not reveal its growth, neither displayed its beauties nor caprices ; happy in having created his Galatea, he took pleasure in seeing her move before his mind, in warming her upon his bosom, and each day giving her a new life by his artistic word, but he kept her for himself alone, and if other eyes peered too closely, he drew the curtain before his masterpiece. Sometimes he was sombre and thoughtful in the midst of society, for he was GOETHE' 8 "FAUST." 339 thinking of Faust : sometimes a king came to see liim, and he left royalty with pleasure, to return to Faust." When we have learned Goethe's plan, we also per- ceive the great difficulties connected with its execution. "We may regret that portions of the work were so long delayed, but we are very grateful that it was not allowed to remain a fragment. The Second Part is only obscure in some of its details : one clear and easily-traced design runs through it, and the close is a solution of that which is unsolved in the First Part. I shall there- fore consider both as one connected work, which was Goethe's intention, although neither the publishers, the critics nor the translators pay much regard to it. I prefer to give a briefer review of the whole work rather than confine myself to the part which is most familiar, and thus only imperfectly explain its meaning. The Legend of Dr. Faustus first took a form in the sixteenth century, while the belief in witchcraft and diabolical agencies was still prevalent among the j3eo- ple. The earliest edition of the story, upon Avliich all later variations were based, appeared in 1587, and an English translation of it, publislied in 1590, furnished Marlow with the material for his tragedy, wliicli was first acted in London, I believe, in 1593. Tliere was an actual Dr. Faust, born in 1490, who studied at the Uni- versity of Wittenberg, and is said to have been ac- quainted with Melanchthon. What special reasons there were for making him the hero of a story, cannot be 340 GERMAN LITERATURE. ascertained with any certainty ; but the charge of a compact with evil spirits was frequently made against any man of more than usual knowledge. Even Luther believed in the constant activity of a personal and visi- ble devil, whom he imagined he sometimes beheld. The story varies in different versions, but it is sub- stantially this : Dr. Faust having acquired all possible human knowledge, and being still unsatisfied, invoked Satan to grant him the further power he desired. The fiend appeared, and promised to serve him in all things for four and twenty years, on condition of receiving his soul at the end of that time. The compact was made, and signed by Faust with his blood. Then commenced for him a life of indulgence. In an hour or two he was transported to Italy, Egypt or Constantinople : gold, jewels and splendid banquets came at his call : gardens blossomed and trees bore fruit for him in winter, and no man had power to injure him. The Emperor Maxi- milian summoned him to Insbruck, and his magic arts were exhibited before the Court. He brought back Helen of Troy from the Grecian Hades, but was himself taken captive by her beauty, and forced Satan to reani- mate her, in order that she might become his wife. After exhausting all forms of enjoyment, and exercising all powers which he desired, the term came to an end. Helen and her child vanished ; a storm, with terrific thunder and lightning, came at midnight, and in the morning only a few fragments of Faust's body, torn and GOETHE'S "FAUST." 341 mangled by infernal claws, were found in liis chamber. He had a Famulus — a word used to signify servant and amanuensis — by name Christopher "Wagner, who followed his example, made a compact with Satan, was served by an evil spirit in the shape of a monkey, and finally met the fate of his master. The belief in witchcraft survived among the people long after law and theology had discarded it, and a dramatized version of Faust was one of the favorite plays given in puppet-theatres, at fairs, or other popular fes- tivals. Goethe probably saw it thus acted, as a child, and when, after his return from Leipzig, he took up the study of alchemy, himself disgusted with the man- ner in which knowledge was then imparted, we can easily understand how the legend must have returned to his mind. The various texts of tlie old puppet- plays, which I have read, are by no means mere dog- gerel : they show a good deal of dramatic power, and siiggest, to a lively imagination, much more than they express. Goethe was not the only one to whom the idea occurred, of making a graver use of the material, Lessing and Miiller (called " the Painter Miiller "), each w^rote a tragedy of Faust, without being aware of Goethe's design ; and one of Lessing's friends, writing about the lost manuscript after his death, says that Lessing's Faust was written at a time when in every quarter of Germany a " Faust " was either published or announced. In fact, during the sixty-one years when 342 GERMAN LITERATURE. Goethe was occupied with his work, upwards of twenty- nine dramas or poems on the subject of Faust, by other authors, were published in Germany. There must have been something in the intellectual atmosphere of the day — some general craving for power, some dissatisfac- tion with the conditions of life, which made the legend attractive. Goethe took it up, like so many others ; but he alone saw the typical, universal element hidden in it — he, alone, was able to engraft his own life and the governing forces of all human life upon this wild shoot of a darker age. He began to write in 1773, after the subject had been maturing for two or three years in his brain, and by 1775 had written nearly one half of the First Part. It was composed very slowly, every line and couplet being carefully finished in his mind before being put upon paper. With his removal to Weimar, the work ceased, and the manuscript was yel- low with age when he took it with him to Italy. Two scenes were added in Rome, and in the edition of his works, published in 1790, first appears : ^^ Faust, ein Fragment" containing not quite two-thirds of the First Part. Stimulated and encouraged by Schiller, he re- sumed the work in 1797, and completed the whole of the First Part, and a considerable portion of the Sec- ond, which belonged to his plan from the start. In 1808, the First Part, as we now possess it, was pub- lished ; but the Second Part, delayed by his scientific and Oriental studies, was suffered to wait until 1824, GOETHE'S "FAUST." 343 by whicli time Goethe was seventy-five years old. The third Act, generally called ^'Die Hellena,'" was pub- lished as a fragment in 1827, and the interest and the curiosity which it excited encouraged Goethe, in spite of his age, to work out the whole of his grand design. In August, 1831, the Second Part was finished, but it was not given to the world until after his death. There is no doubt that the loss of Schiller, the battle of Jena, and the political convulsions which disturbed Germany for ten years thereafter, prevented him from undertaking the Second Part while its plan was fresh and his faculties were in their prime of vigor. We can- not but feel that a great deal was lost by the delay ; yet, on the other hand, we must admit that no other test could have so sjDlendidly proved the youth and the vitality of his genius. Three predominant elements are united in the work, and, while they are generally blended together in harmony, we are sometimes obliged to consider them separately. First, there is that broad, all-comprehensive presentation of the life of man which, at some point or other, touches the experiences of all men — including, moreover, the problem of Good and Evil, simply stated and sublimely solved. Secondly, there is a reflection throughout, of Goethe's own life, — of the phases of passion and thought, through which he passed, of his own faith and doubt, his position in and towards the world. Lastly, there is, especially in the Second Part, matter introduced which has no direct con- 344 GERMAN LITERATURE. nection witli the plan of tlie work, and interferes with its natural evolution. We can easily, in reading, set this last feature aside, and separate it from the main design wherever we detect it; but we must endeavor not to lose sight of the constant and intimate presence of the two former elements — of Goethe-nature and human nature. Notwithstanding the breadth, ripeness and im- partial quality of Goethe's mind, we catch a fleeting glimpse, here and there, of his individual presence ; or, it may be, that because all his life is so clearly known to us, we see the experience lying far behind the poetry, as we cannot do in Shakespeare. Instead of giving you the " argument " of "Faust" in advance, let me rather commence at once with an ex- amination of the poem, and unfold it as we proceed. The Dedication, written when Goethe was nearly fifty years old, breathes a subdued and tender spirit. In resum- ing his work, so long after its first inception, he recalls his friends and literary associates — Merck, Lenz, La- vater, his sister Cornelia — nearly all of whom had passed from the earth. It is a sweet and solemn pre- lude that he sings : Sie horen nicht die folgenden They hear no longer these suc- Gesiinge, ceeding measures, Die Seelen, denen ich die ersten The souls, to whom my earliest sang ; songs I sang : Zerstoben ist das freundliche Dispersed the friendly troop, Qedrange, with all its pleasures, Verklungen, ach ! der erste Wie- And still, alas ! the echoes first derklang. that rang ! GOETHE'S "FAUST." 345 Mein Lied ertOnt der unbe- kannten Menge, Ihr Beifall selbst maclit meiiiem Herzen bang ; Und was sicb sonst an meinem Lied erf reuet, Wenn es noch lebt, irrt in der Welt zerstreuet. I bring the unknown multitude my treasures ; Their very plaudits give my heart a pang, And those beside, whose joy my Song so flattered, If still they live, wide through the world are scattered. Und mich ergreift ein lilngst entwohntes Sehnen Nach jenem stillea, ernsten Geisterreich ; Es schwebet nun in unbe- stimmten Tonen Mein lispelnd Lied, der Jiols- harfe gleich ; Ein Schauer fasst mich, Thrane folgt den Thriinen, Das strenge Herz, es f iihlt sich mild und weich ; Was ich besitze, seh' ich wie im Weiten, Und was vorschwand, wird mir zu Wirklichkeiten. And grasps me now a long-un- wonted yearning For that serene and solemn Spirit-Land ; My song, to faint iEolian mur- murs turning, Sways like a harp-string by the breezes fanned. I thrUl and tremble ; tear on tear is burning, And the stern heart is tenderly unmanned : Wliat I possess, I see far distant And what I lost, grows real and undying. After tliis Dedication follows a " Prelude on the Stage " — a conversation between the Manager, the Poet and the Merry-Andrew, or Humorous person of the com- pany. The Manager demands something that will please the public, who have read so much that they have be- come fastidious in their tastes ; his preference would be a sort of literary hash, containing so many elements that each hearer will be certain to pick out something ap- propriate to himself, and all will go home pleased. The Merry -Andrew insists that there must be plenty of fun 346 GERMAN LITERATURE. and follj in tlie piece ; wliile the Poet vainly protests against sucli a debasement of liis art, and finally ex- claims to the Manager : " Go, find yourself a more obedient slave ! " The Merry- Andrew answers him with ridicule, and gives his idea of what the world should be, in the following words : In bimten Bildern wenig Klar In motley pictures little ligtt, heit, Viel Irrthum imd ein Fiinkclien Much error, and of truth a glim- Walirheit, mering mite. So wird der baste Tranli gebraut, Thus the best beverage is sup- plied, Der alle Welt erquickt und Whence all the world is cheered auferbaut. and edified. The Manager then puts an end to the discussion by commanding that the work shall be commenced at once. He shows his sordid business nature, his utter ignorance of the poetic character, by saying : Was hi] ft es, viel von Stimmung What need to talk of Inspira- reden ? tion ? Dem Zaudernden erscheint sie 'Tis no companion of Delay. nie. Gebt ihr euch einmal f iir Poeten, If Poetry be your vocation, So kommandirt die Poesie. Let Poetry your will obey ! He offers all the properties of his theatre — beasts, birds, sun, stars, fire and water, and closes the scene by declaring that if they are properly used. So schreitet in dem engen Bretter- Thus, in our booth's contracted haus sphere. Den ganzen Kreis der Schopf ung The circle of creation wUl ap- aus pear, GOETHE'S "FAUST." 347 Und wandelt, mit bedJiclifger And move, as we deliberately Sclmelle, impel, Vom Himmel durch die Welt zur From Heaven, across the World, Holle ! to Hell ! To this introduction succeeds a "Prologue in Heaven," imitated from the commencement of the Book of Job. The Prologue begins with a chant of the Archangels, which is so grand that I must quote it entire : EArHAEL.. Die Sonne tont nach alter Weise The sun-orb sings, in emulation, In Bruderspharen Wettgesang, 'Mid brother-spheres, his ancient round : Und ihre vorgeschriebne Reise His path predestined through Creation Vollendet sie mit Donnergang. He ends with step of thunder- sound. Ihr Anblick giebt den Engeln The angels from his visage Starke, splendid Wenn Keiner sie ergriinden Draw power, whose measure mag ; none can say ; Die unbegreiflich hohen Werke The lofty works, uncompre- hended, Sind herrlich, wie am ersten Are bright as on the earliest Tag. day. Gabeiel. Und schnell und unbegreiflich And swift, and swift beyond schuelle conceiving, Dreht sich umher der Erde The splendor of the world goes Pracht ; round, Es wcchselt Paradieses-Helle Day's Eden-brightness still re- lieving Mit tiefer, schauervoller Nacht ; The awful night's intense pro- found : 348 GERMAN LITERATURE. Es schliumt das Meer in breiten The ocean-tides in foam are Fliissen breaking. Am tief en Grund der Felsen auf , Against the rocks' deep bases hurled, Und Fels und Meer wird fortge- And both, the spheric race par- rissen taking. In ewig schnellem Sphiirenlauf. Eternal, swift, are onward whirled ! Michael. Und Stiirme brausen um die And rival storms abroad are Wette, surging Vom Meer aufs Land, vom Land From sea to land, from land to aufs Meer, sea, Und bilden wiithend eine Kette A chain of deepest action forg- ing Der tief sten Wirkung rings um- Round all, in wrathful energy. her. Da flammt ein blitzendes Ver- There flames a desolation, blaz- heeren ing Dem Pfade vor des Donner- Before the Thunder's crashing schlags ; way : Doch deine Boten, Herr, ver- Yet, Lord, Thy messengers are ehren praising Das sanfte Wandeln deines The gentle movement of Thy Tags. Day. The Three. Der Anblick giebt den Engeln Though still by them uncom- Starke, prehended. Da Keiner dich ergriinden mag. From these the angels draw their power, Und alle deine hohen Werke And all Thy works, sublime and splendid, Sind herrlich, wie am ersten Are bright as in Creation's Tag. hour. Mephistoplieles tlieu steps forward, and in a brutal, OOETHE'S "FAUST." 349 sneering speech, gives his opinion of tlie human race. The Lord asks him if he knows his servant, Faust. Thereupon Mephistopheles offers to bet that he will win Faust's soul if permission be granted. The Lord answers that he is free to try : that man errs as long as he strives and aspires; but He tells Mephis- topheles, in advance, that in the end he will stand ashamed, to see that a good man, through all the ob- scurity of his natural impulses, still in his heart has an instinct of the one true way. Mephistopheles, how- ever, accepts without the least fear that he shall faih The words which Goethe puts into the mouth of the Lord intimate that Evil is a necessary part of the cre- ative plan. Des Menschen Thiitigkeit kann Man's active nature, flagging, allzuleicht ersclilaffen, seeks too soon the level ; Er liebt sicli bald die unbedingte Unqualified repose he learns to Ruh ; crave ; Drum geb' ich gem ihm den Ge- Whence, willingly, the comrade sellen zu, him I gave, Der reizt und wirkt und muss, Who works, excites, and must als Teufel, schaffen. create, as Devil. The " Prelude on the Stage " presents, in sharp satir- ical outlines, the relation of the poet to his own time. It shows that Goethe expected no popularity for his work — nay, no intelligent comprehension of its mean- ing. It must be read as a piece of defiant irony. The "Prologue in Heaven" indicates the grand ethical idea underlying the whole poem. Only the form is taken 350 GERMAN LITERATURE. from Job : tlie problem is stated in different terms, and worked out through an entirely new and original pres- entation of the life of man. But the manner in which Goethe has done this cannot possibly be understood without reading the Second Part. We now reach the first scene of the tragedy. It is night, and Faust, in an old Gothic chamber, begins his soliloquy. He has studied Philosophy, Jurisprudence, Medicine and Theology, and finds himself no whit the wiser than before. His dreary conclusion is, that noth- ing can be known. Then, too, he has lacked in obtain- ing worldly fortune : he has neither lands nor gold, honor nor consideration among men. As a last experi- ment he has turned to Magic, hoping that he may de- tect the secret forces of nature, the undiscovered germs of all power, and rummage no more among empty words. A sense of the free delight of physical life, which he has so long given up for the sake of study, comes over him ; he longs to leave his smoky den, his jars and skeletons, and live the life of the body in the open air. In this soliloquy we find not only the early experience of Goethe, but the early conflict between the physical and the intellectual natures of all men. Faust contemplates the cabalistic sign of the Earth- Spirit, and then invokes its appearance. The Spirit is revealed in a ruddy flame, but Faust turns away his head, unable to endure the vision. The Spirit says: GOETHE'S •■ FAUST." 351 In Lebensfluthen, im Tliaten- In the tides of Life, in Action's Sturm storm, Wall' ich auf und ab, A fluctuant wave, Webe bin und her ! A shuttle free, Geburt und Grab, Birth and the Grave, Ein ewiges Meer, An eternal sea, Ein wechselnd Weben A weaving, flowing Ein gluhend Leben, Life, all-glowing ; So schafE' ich am sausenden Thus at Time's humming loom Webstuhl der Zeit 'tis my hand prepares Und wirke der Gottheit leben- The garment of Life which diges Kleid. the Deity wears ! There is a profound meaning in the words with which the Spirit disappears : Du gleichst dem Geist, den du Thou 'rt like the Spirit which begreifst, thou comprehendest, Nicht mir ! Not me 1 Faust is now interrupted by the entrance of "Wagner, his Famulus, who represents the ordinary, mechanical man, without a spark of original thought, and whom all the education in the world only turns into a shallow pedant. The German critics consider him as the type of a PhiUster — a term which they apply to the large class of half-stupid, commonplace, conventional indi- viduals who enter largely into all society. "Wagner's remarks only increase Faust's disgust and impatience. After the former's departure, Faust resumes the solilo- quy, finds every view of life discouraging, every prospect of attaining satisfactory knowledge hopeless, and is gradually led from one morbid impulse to another, until GERMAN LITERATURE. lie settles on the tliouglit of suicide. The conclusion of the scene is so remarkable that I must give it entire : Nun komra lierab, krystallne reine Scliale ! Hevor aus deinem alten Futter- ale, An die icli viele Jalire niclit ge- dacht ! Du glanztest bei der Vater Freu- denfeste, Erheitertest die ernsten Gaste, kllnstlicli Wenn einer dich dem andern zugebraclit. Der vielen Bilder reiclie Pracht, Des Trinker's Pflicbt, sie reim- weis zu erklaren, Auf Einen Zug die Hohlung aus- zuleeren, Erinnert mich an manche Ju- gendnacht. Icli werde jetzt dicb keinem Nachbar reichen, Ich werde meinen Witz an dei- ner Kunst niclit zeigen ; Hier ist ein Saft, der eilig trunk- en macht. Mit brauner Flntb erfuUt er deine Hoble. Den icb bereitet, den icb wahle, Der letzte Trunk sei nun, mit ganzer Seele, Als festlicb hober Qruss, dem Morgen zugebracbt. And now come down, tbou cup of crystal clearest, Fresb from tbine ancient cover tbou appearest, So many years forgotten to my tbougbt ! Tbou sbon'st at old ancestral banquets cbeery, Tbe solemn guests tbou madest merry, Wben one tby wassail to tbe otber brougbt. Tbe ricb and skilful figures o'er tbee wrougbt, Tbe drinker's duty, rbyme-wise to explain tbem. Or in one breatb below tbe mark to drain tbem, From many a nigbt of youtb my memory caugbt. Now to a neigbbor sball I pass tbee never. Nor on tby curious art to test my wit endeavor : Here is a juice -vvbence sleep is swiftly born. It fills witb browner flood tby crystal bollow ; I cbose, prepared it : tbus I fol- low, — Witb all my soul tbe final drink I swallow, A solemn festal cup, a greeting to tbe morn ! [He sets the goblet to Jds mouth.'] {Chime of bells and choral song- ) GOETHE'S "FAUST." 353 Chorus of Ajjgels. Christ ist erstanden I Freude dem Sterblichen, Den die verderblichen, Sclileichenden, erbliclien Mangel umwanden. Christ is arisen ! Joy to the Mortal One, Whom the unmerited, Clinging, inherited Needs did imprison. Fatjst. Welch tiefes Summen, welch ein heller Ton Zieht mit Gewalt das Glas von meineni Munde ? Verkiindiget ihr dumpf en Glock- en schon Des Osterfestes erste Feier- stunde 1 Ihr Chore, singt ihr schon den trostlichen Gesang, Der einst um Grabes Nacht von Engelslippen klang, Gewissheit einem neuen Bunde ? WTaat hollow humming, what a sharp, clear stroke. Drives from my lip the goblet's, at their meeting ? Announce the booming bells al- ready woke The first glad hour of Easter's festal greeting 1 Ye choirs, have ye begun the sweet, consoling chant, \\Tiich, through the night of Death, the angels minis- trant Sang, God's new Covenant re- peating ? Choriis of Women. Mit Spezereien Hatten wir ihn gepflegt, Wir, seine Treuen, Hatten ihn hingelegt ; Tiicher und Binden Reinlich umwanden wir, Ach ! und wir finden Christ nicht mehr hier. With spices and precious Balm we arrayed him ; Faithful and gracious. We tenderly laid him : Linen to bind him Cleanlily wound we : Ah ! when we would find him, Christ no more found we ! Christ ist erstanden I Selig der Liebende, Der die betriibonde, Heilsam und iibende Prlifuug bestanden. Chorus of Angels. Christ is ascended ! Bliss hath invested him, — Woes that molested him, Trials that tested him. Gloriously ended I 354 GERMAN LITERATURE. ' Faust. Was suclit ihr, machtig und ge- lind, llir Himmelstone, mich am Staube ? Klingt dort umher, wo weiche Menschen sind. Die Botscliaft hiir' ich wohl, al- lein mir fehlt der Glaube ; Das Wunder ist des Glaubens liebstes Kind. Zu jenen Spliiiren wag' ich niclit zu streben, Woher die bolde Nachricht tont ; Und doch, an diesen Klang von Jugend auf gewohnt, Ruft er auch jetzt zuriick mich in das Leben. Sonst stiirzte sich der Himmels- liebe Kuss Auf mich herab in ernster Sab- bathstille ; Da klang so ahnungsvoll des Glockentones Fillle, Und ein Qebet war briinstiger Genuss ; Ein unbegreiflich hoi des Sehnen Trieb mich, durch Wald und Wiesen hinzugehen, Und unter tausend heissen Thra- nen Fuhlt' ich mir eine Welt ent- stehn. Diess Lied verkundete der Ju- gend muntre Spiele, Der Friihlingsfeier f reies Gliick ; Why, here in dust, entice me with your spell. Ye gentle, powerful sounds of Heaven ? Peal rather there, where tender natures dwell. Your messages I hear, but faith has not been given ; The dearest child of Faith is Miracle. I venture not to soar to yonder regions, Whence the glad tidings hither float ; And yet, from childhood up familiar with the note, To Life it now renews the old allegiance. Once Heavenly Love sent down a burning kiss Upon my brow, in Sabbath si- lence holy ; And, filled with mystic presage, chimed the church-bell slowly. And prayer dissolved me in a fervent bliss. A sweet, uncomprehended yearn- ing Drove forth my feet through woods and meadows free. And while a thousand tears were burning, I felt a world arise for me. These chants, to youth and all its sports appealing, Proclaimed the Spring's rejoic- ing holiday ; GOETHE'S "FAU8T: 355 Erinnerung halt micli nun, mit kindlicliem Gefiihle, Vom letzten, ernsten Schritt zuriick. O tonet fort, ilir siissen Himmels- lieder ! Die Tliriine quillt, die Erde liat mich wieder ! And Memory holds me now, with childish feeling, Back from the last, the solemn way. Sound on, ye hymns of Heaven, so sweet and mild ! My tears gush forth : the Earth takes back her child ! Chorus Hat der Begrabene Schon sich nach oben, Lebcnd Erhabene, Herrlich erhoben ; 1st er in Werdelust Schaflfender Freude nah : Ach ! an der Erde Brust, Sind wir zum Leide da. Liess er die Seinen Schmachtend uns hier zuriick, Ach, wir beweinen, Meister, dein Gliick ! OF Disciples. Has He, victoriously. Burst from the vaulted Grave, and ail-gloriously Now sits exalted ? Is He, in glow of birth. Rapture creative near? Ah ! to the woe of earth Still are we native here. We, his aspiring Followers, Him we miss ; Weeping, desiring. Master, Thy bliss ! Chorus of Angels. Christ ist erstanden Aus der Verwesung Schooss. Reisset von Banden Freudig euch los ! Tliiitig ihn preisenden, Liebe beweisenden, Brliderlich speisenden, Predigend reisenden, Wonne verheissenden Euch ist der Meister nah, Euch ist er da ! Christ is arisen, Out of Corruption's womb : Burst ye the prison, Break from your gloom ! Praising and pleading him. Lovingly needing him, Brothc'ily feeding him, Preaching and speeding htm, Blessing, succeeding Him, Thus is the Master near, — Thus is He here ! The second scene is before the city gate, on the Easter holiday. Citizens, students, servant girls, beg- gars and soldiers make their appearance. Each one 356 GERMAN LITERATURE. speaks in bis or her character, and the result is a mot- ley, animated picture of life. Faust passes through the crowd, feeling his desire renewed to be simply a man among men. Accompanied by Wagner, he walks onward to the crest of a neighboring hill, where the sight of sunset calls forth a passage so grand and impassioned, that it is hard for me to resist the temptation of quoting it. But I dare not pause too often by the way. As the dusk begins to gather, they notice a black dog, running around them in circles, gradually drawing nearer. Wagner thinks it is only a stray poodle who is hunting his master, but Faust imagines that a trail of fire follows the animal. He returns to his quarters, taking the dog with him. The Third and the Fourth scenes are in Faust's study. He begins to translate the first chapter of John, while the dog lies on a cushion behind the stove. But he growls and barks fearfully, at each repetition of the text. Faust suspects the presence of an evil spirit in the beast, and proceeds to exorcise it by the usual formula of magic. The spell at last is dis- solved, and Mephistopheles steps forth, in the costume of a traveling scholar. In answer to Faust's questions, he declares himself to be Part of that Power, not understood, WTiich always wills the Bad, and always works the Good ; and again, he says : I am the Spirit that Denies ! GOETHE'S ''FAUST." 357 explaining that his proper element is Evil, in all its forms. This is the part which he plays throughout the whole poem. He is not Satan, but an intellectual Devil who works by always presenting the opposite of Good. He argues rather than directly tempts, and assures his power over Faust by trains of reasoning which the lat- ter cannot answer, because they are the echoes of his own doubts. Mephistopheles is one of the most re-^ markable creations in literature. His cunning, his subtlety, his scorching ridicule and savage cynicism form a compound which is only a little more than human, and is not completely infernal. He is the echo of all the reckless and defiant unbelief of the whole human race : in him are concentrated their rebellious impulses, their indulgence, their negation of Virtue, Love and Faith, and herein lies the secret of his power. To look upon him as a conventional devil would lead you to misunderstand him entirely. Like the very qualities of human nature which he repre- sents, he " always ivills the Bad, and always icorlcs the Good," — that is, in spite of himself. Mephistopheles lulls Faust into slumber by the song of his attendant spirits — a wild, almost unearthly chant which hints at the delight of the senses, without ex- pressing any intelligible thought. He returns next day, and so plays upon Faust's impatient, despairing mood, that the latter curses everything in which he had formerly believed, and at last — satisfied tliat all 358 GERMAN LITERATURE. forms of liappiness have becomo impossible to him — exclaims : Werd' ich beruhigt je mich auf When on an idler's bed I stretch ein Faulbett legen, myself in quiet. So sei es gleich um mich gethau ! There let, at once, my record end ! Kannst du mich schmeichelnd Canst thou v?ith lying flattery je beliigen, rule me, Dass ich mir selbst gef alien mag. Until, self -pleased, myself I see, — Kannst du mich mit Genuss be- Canst thoa with rich enjoyment triigen : fool me. Das sei f ilr mich der letzte Tag ! Let that day be the last for me I Die Wette Met' ich 1 The bet I offer. Mephistopheles. Top I Done ! Faust. TJnd Schlag auf And heartily ! Schlag I Werd 'ich zum Augenblicke sa- When thus I hail the Moment gen : flying : Verweile doch ! du bist so "Ah, still delay — thou art so schon ! fair ! " Dann magst du mich in Fesseln Then bind me in thy bonds un- schlagen, dying, Dann will ich gern zu Grunde My final ruin then declare ! gehn ! Dann mag die Todtenglocke Then let the death-bell chime schallen, the token, Dann bist du deinea Dienstes f rei, Then art thou from thy service free ! Die Uhr mag stehn, dor Zeiger The clock may stop, the hand be fallen, broken , Es sei die Zeit f ilr mich vorbei ! Then Time be finished unto me ! This is the compact : and I beg you to remember GOETHE'S "FAUST." 359 the words whicli will give Mepliistopheles power over Faust. He must experience a sense of happiness so pure and complete that lie shall say to the passing mo- ment : " Ah, still delay — thou art so fair ! " Observe the nature of the problem : through perfect happiness he will lose his soul ; yet how shall Mepliistopheles evolve happiness from Evil ? Either way there seems to be a paradox — a moral contradiction — and the solu- tion of this riddle is the basis ujion Avhich both parts of the poem rests. Faust exclaims, after the compact is made : Stiirzen wir ims in das Raus- Plunge we in Time's tumultuous clien der Zeit, dance. Ins Rollen der Begebenheit I In the rusli and roll of Circum- stance ! Da mag denn Sclimerz und Ge- Tlien may delight and distress, nuss, Gelingen und Verdruss And worry and success, Mit einander wechseln, wie es AJternately follow, as best they kann ; can : Nur rastlos bethiitigt sich der Restless activity proves the man ! Mann. While Faust retires to prepare for his new life in the world, a student calls. Mephistopheles puts on Faust's cap and mantle, passes himself off for the learned Pro- fessor, and takes the ojiportunity to give his views upon logic, law, theology and medicine. His remarks are so shrewd and his satire so keen that the student is pro- foundly impressed, and at the close of the interview (like many another student nowadays) requests an 360 GERMAN LITERATURE. autograph in his album. This scene is a masterpiece of irony. Goethe called the scene in the witches' kitchen a piece of " dramatic nonsense." Faust, looking in the witches' mirror, perceives the form of Margaret, which at once takes possession of his fancy. The witch gives him a magic potion to drink, which repairs the waste of his body in studies, and restores his youthful vigor. Then follow those simple, exquisite scenes in which Margaret is the heroine. Faust first sees her returning from con- fession, when she repulses his proffered escort. By the aid of Mephistopheles and an old neighbor named Martha, he obtains an interview in the garden, and soon succeeds in inspiring a return of his love. Margaret's perfect innocence and her simple trust in him awaken his sense of remorse. The latent good in his nature drives him from her, lest he should become the instru- ment of her ruin ; but Mephistopheles, by painting her loneliness and yearning for the absent lover, brings him back again. Then follows the celebrated scene, wherein Faust gives his confession of faith, in answer to Mar- garet's doubts, and from this point the tragic portion of the story begins. Margaret's prayer to the Virgin is the passionate appeal of a loving and suffering heart. If ever tears were expressed in words, it is in those marvellous stanzas. It is remarkable that, although Margaret is a simple, ignorant girl, accustomed to hard work and no sentiment — although she is vain, and im- GOETHE 'S : 'FA U8T." 361 prudent, and yields to her fate from the first, without making the least resistance, no imaginary woman in all literature — not even Imogen, Cordelia or Ophelia — excites so tender a sympathy in the reader. The conception of her character is not only original but daring. She is, simply, a woman, as innocent in lier ignorance as Eve in Eden. Sin, crime and madness visit her, but we feel that she is their helpless victim, and that the original purity of her nature can take no permanent stain. The tragical events thicken. Margaret's mother never awakes from a sleeping potion, administered without evil intent: her brother, Valentin, attacks Faust in the street, and is slain by him. Faust and Mephistopheles fly from the city, and she is left alone. She goes to the Cathedral, to seek solace in the religious services, but the Evil Spirit pursues her there. Then follows the Carnival of the Witches, among the Hartz Mountains, on the Walpurgis-Night, which is the First of May. "With the opening lines we begin to breathe^a supernatural, almost a diabolical atmosphere. All is weird, strange and ghostly. Will-o'-the-wisps dance along the path ; a tempest rushes down the gorges, tearing up the trees by the roots ; showers of sparks fly through the air, and the red moon hangs low on the borders of the sky. The Avitch scenes in Macbeth are ghastly encugh, but they have not the lurid, unearthly atmosphere of the Walpurgis-Night. 16 3G2 OEBMAN LITERATURE. As we move along with tlie fitful dance or stormy sweep of the rhythm, we feel a creeping of the nerves, as if in the presence of powers brought from another and darker world. Mephistopheles here again reveals his true character, but he cannot persuade Faust to take part in the revels. Faust's thoughts are with Margaret, and he sees her at last, as a phantom, wherein her fate is revealed to him. It is difficult for me to refrain from quoting portions of the Walpurgis-Night ; but I am forced to do it. The Intermezzo (or interlude), called "Oberon and Titania's Golden Wedding," which follows, has really nothing to do with " Favst" Goethe wrote it as a series of *' Xenien," in another form, and sent it to Schiller for publication in " The Hours." Schiller, however, judged it best not to revive the excitement, which was beginning to subside, and returned it to Goethe, suggesting that he might use it in some other way : thus it came to be interpolated into " Faust." It is a collection of very short, sharp stanzas, which snap and sting like a whip-lash, describing Goethe's literary enemies under names which allow the real persons to be guessed. Returning to the tragedy, we next encounter Faust in a state bordering upon madness. He has learned that Margaret is imprisoned and condemned to death for infanticide. His remorse and passion are so fran- tically expressed, that Mephistopheles, Devil as he is, GOETHE'S "FAUST." 363 begins to be frightened. He consents to carry Faust to Margaret's dungeon, and give his assistance in car- rying her off. One more scene concludes the First Part — the inter- view between Margaret and Faust in the dungeon. It is heart-rending in its tragic power. Margaret, ren- dered insane by her misery— and we are given to un- derstand that the crime for which she is condemned was insanely committed — does not recognize her lover. She takes Faust to be the jailer, and pleads piteously for her life. At last she begins to remember, but dimly and incoherently : she takes no notice of Faust's agonizing efforts to persuade her to fly with him. I will quote the last half of the scene : Meine Mutter hab' icli umge- braclit, Mein Kind hab' icli ertrankt. War es niclit dir und mir ge- schenkt ? Dir audi — Du bist's ! icb glaub' es kaum. Gieb deine Hand ! Es ist kcin Traum ! Deine liebelland ! — Acb, abersie ist feucbt ! Wische sie ab ! Wie mich daucht, Ist Blut dran, Acb Qott ! Was bastdu getban ! Stecke den Degen ein, Icb bitte dicb drum ! Maeg^vret. My motber bave I put to death ; I've drowned tlie baby born to thee. Was it not given to thee and me? Thee, too ! — 'Tis thou ! It scarce- ly true doth seem — Give me thy band I 'Tis not a dream ! Thy dear, dear band ! — But, ah, 'tis wet ! Why, wipe it off ! Methinks that yet There's blood thcroon. Ah, God ! what hast thou done"? Nay, sheathe thy sword at last I Do not affray me ! 364: GERMAN LITEBATUBE. Faust. Lass das Vergangue vergangen 0, let the past be past I sein 1 Du bringst mich um. Thy words will slay me Maegabet. Nein, du musst iibrig bleiben I Ich will dir die Griiber be- scbreiben, Fiir die musst du sorgen Gleich morgen ; Der Mutter den besten Platz ge- ben, Meinen Bruder sogleicb darne- ben, Mich ein wenig bei Seit' ! Nur nicht gar zu weit ! Und das Kleine mir an die rechte Brust. Nieinand wird sonst bei mir liegen ! Mich an deine Seite zu schmie- gen, Das war ein susses, ein holdes Gliick! Aber es will mir nicht mehr ge- lingen ; Mir ist's als miisst' ich mich zu dir zwingen, Als stiessest du mich von dir zu- riick ; Und doch bist du's und blickst so gut, so f romm. No, no ! Thou must outlive us. Now I'll tell thee the graves to give us : Thou must begin to-morrow The work of sorrow ! The best place give to my mother, Then close at her side my brother, And me a little away. But not too very far, I pray ! And here, on my right breast, my baby lay. Nobody else will lie beside me ! — Ah, within thine anns to hide me. That was a sweet and a gracioua bliss. But no more, no more can I at- tain it. I would force myself on thee and constrain it. And it seems thou repel lest my kiss : And yet 'tis thou, so good, so kind to see 1 Faust. Fiihlst du, dass ich es bin, so If thou feel'st it is I, then come komm' I with me I GOETHE'S "FAUST," 365 Dahinaus ? Ins Freie. Mabgaket. Out yonder ? Faust. To freedom. Makgaeet. 1st das Grab drauss' ? If the grave is there, Lauert der Tod, so komm' ! Death lying in wait, then come I Von hier ins ewige Ruhebett' From here to eternal rest : Und weiter keinen Schritt ; — No further step — no, no ! Du gehst nun fort ? Heinrich, Thou goest away ! Henry, if konnt' ich mit I I could go ! Faust. Du kannst ! So wolle nur ! Die Thou canst ! Just will it ! Thiir steht ofifen. stands the door. Margaret. Open Ich darf nicht fort ; f iir mich ist nichts zu hoffen. Was hilf t es fiiehn ? Sie lauern doch mir auf. Es ist so elend, betteln zu miissen, Und noch dazu mit bosem Qe- wissen ! Es ist so elend in der Fremde schweifen, Und sie werden mich doch ergreifen I I dare not go : there's no hope any more. Why should I fly ? They'll still my steps waylay ! It is so wretched, forced to bog my living. And a bad conscience sharper misery giving ! It is so wretched, to be strange, forsaken, And I'd still be followed and taken I Ich bleibe bei dir. Geschwind 1 Geschwind ! Rettc dcin armcs Kind I Faust. I'll stay with thee. Margaret. Be quick ! Be quick 1 Save thy perishing child ! 366 GERMAN LITERATURE. Fort ! Immer den Weg Am Bach liinauf, Uber den Steg, In den Wald liinein Links, wo die Planke steht, Im Teicli. Fass' es nur gleicli I Es will sich lieben, Es zappelt nocli ! Eette I Rette I Away ! Follow the ridge Up by the brook, Over the bridge, Into the wood. To the left, where the plank is placed In the pool I Seize it in haste I 'Tis trying to rise, 'Tis struggling still I Save it ! Save it I Fatjst. Besinne dich doch ! Nur Einen Schritt, so hist du frei I Recall thy wandering will 1 One step, and thou art free at last ! Margaret. Waren wir nur den Berg vorbei I Da sitzt meine Mutter auf einem Stein, Es f asst mich kalt beim Schopf e ! Da sitzt meine Mutter auf einem Stein Und wackelt mit dem Kopfe ; Sie wiukt nicht, sie nickt nicht, der Kopf ist ihr schwer ; Sie schlief so lange, sie wacht nicht mehr. Sie schlief, damit wir uns freu- ten. Es waren gliickliche Zeiten ! If the mountain we had only passed ! There sits my mother upon a stone, — I feel an icy shiver ! There sits my mother upon a stone. And her head is wagging ever. She beckons, she nods not, her heavy head falls o'er ; She slept so long that she wakes no more. She slept, while we were caress- ing : Ah, those were the days of bless- ing ! Faust. Hilft hier kein Flehen, hilft kein Sagen ; So wag' ich's, dich hinweg zu tragen. Here words and prayers are nothing worth ; I'll venture, then, to bear thee forth. GOETHE'S "FAUST.-' 367 Makgaket. Lass micli ! Nein, ich leide No — let me go ! I'll suffer no keine Gewalt ! force I Fasse micli niclit so morderiscli Grasp me not so murderously ! an ! Sonst hab' ich dir ja Alles zu I've done, else, all tilings for tlie Lieb' gethan. love of thee. Faust. Der Tag grant ! Liebclien ! Lieb- Tbe day dawns ; Dearest ! Dear- chen I est I Margaret. Tag ! Ja, es -wird Tag ! der letzte Tag dringt herein ! Mein Hochzeittag sollt' es sein ! Sag' Niemand, dass du schon bei Gretchen warst. Weh meinem Krauze I Es ist eben geschehn ! Wir werden uns wiedersehn ; Aber nicht beim Tanze. DieMenge driingt sich, manhort sie nicht. Der Platz, die Gassen Konnen sie nicht fassen. Die Glocke ruft, das Stabchen bricht. Wie sie michbinden und packen ! Zum Blutstuhl bin ich schon entriickt. Schon zuckt nach jedem Nacken Die SchJirfe, die nach meinem ziickt, Stumm liegt die Welt wie das Grab ! Day ? Yes, the day comes, — the last day breaks for me ! My wedding-day it was to be ! Tell no one thou hast been with Margaret ! Woe for my garland 1 The chances Are over — 'tis all in vain I We shall meet once again, But not at the dances ! The crowd is thronging, no word is spoken : The square below And the streets overflow : The death-bell tolls, the wand is broken. I am seized, and bound, and de- livered — Shoved to the block — they give the sign ! Now over each neck has quiv- ered The blade that is quivering over mine. Dumb lies the world like the grave ! 3G8 GERMAN LITERATURE. Faust. O war' ich nie geboren ! had I ne'er been bom I Mephistopheles {appears outside). Auf ! oder ihr seid verloren. OfE ! or you're lost ere morn. Unniitzes Zagen ! Zaudern und Useless talking, delaying and Plaudern ! praying ! Meine Pferde scliaudern, My horses are neighing : Der Morgen damme rt auf. The morning twilight is near. Mahgaret. Was steigt aus dem Boden What rises up from the threshold herauf ? here ? Der ! der ! Schick' ihn fort ! He ! he ! sufEer him not ! Was will der an dem heiligen What does he want in this holy Ort ? spot ? Er will mich ! He seeks me ! Faust. Du sollst leben ! Thou shalt live. Margaret. Gericht Gottes ! Dir hab' ich Judgment of God ! myself to mich ilbergeben 1 thee I give. Mephistopheles {to Faust). Komm ! Komm ! Ich lasse dich Come ! or I'll leave her in the mit ihr im Stich. lurch, and thee ! Margabet. Dein bin ich, Vater I Eette Thine am I, Father I rescue me ! mich ! Ihr Engel, ihr heiligen Schaaren, Ye angels, holy cohorts, guard me, Lagert euch umher, mich zu be- Camp around, and from evil wahren ! ward me ! Heinrich ! Mir grant's vor dir. Henry ! I shudder to think of thee. GOETHE'S ''FAUST." 369 Mephistopheles. Sie ist gericlitet ! She is judged I Voice {from above). Ist gerettet ! She is saved \ Mephistopheles {to Faust). Her zu mir ! Hither to me ! {He disappears xcitli Faust.) Voice {from witMn, dying away). Heinrich ! Heinrich ! Henry ! Henry 1 This is all of ^^ Faust " that is known to most readers. But you will notice that the evolution of the great plan is only commenced : the riddle has not even approached its explanation. Of all the usual experiences of men, Faust has only been drawn to love, but love so inter- fused with conscience and remorse, that the happy moment has not yet blessed him. The compact with Mephistopheles still holds : he has not won his wager, although we may guess that he thinks so. After the compact was made, he says to Faust, " We will first see the little and then the great world." By the " little world," he means the individual expe- rience of the emotions and passions of human nature ; and this is the reason why Faust was made young again by the magic draught in the witches' kitchen. By the " great Avorld," he means the experience of a life mov- 16* 370 GERMAN LITERATURE. ing on a broad field of activity, among men, and in sta- tions where its influence will be felt by thousands, or millions, of the race. In this greater world, Mephis- topheles has every opportunity to display his evil talent, and to annihilate the germs of good which baffle him in Faust's nature. The Second Part is therefore wholly different in its character. It is crowded with char- acters, and its events are displayed on a grand stage — so grand, indeed, that Goethe was forced to introduce the element of allegory, and make single persons typify whole classes of society. It requires a ripe and rather philosophical mind to appreciate this part properly, because Faust loses something of his strong human individuality by coming under the control of ideas instead of passions. He leaves behind him the expe- riences through which he touches the lives of all men, and rises to those wherein he touches only the lives of the men who think and aspire. In the opening scene we find Faust sleeping, while Ariel, accompanied by ^olian harps, chants the pro- gressive watches of the night, the restorative influences of Nature. This chant embodies an important feature of Goethe's creed, which he has expressed more fully in other works. He believed most devoutly in pre- serving moral and spiritual health. If there is a moral wound, it must be healed, leaving perhaps a scar be- hind it ; but it must not be kept as an open sore. The chronic inflammation of remembrance and remorse must GOETHE'S "FAUST." 371 be avoided. Tlie true atonement for a wrong commit- ted does not lie in nursing the pain it leaves, but in restoration to cheerfulness and courage and hope, for the sake of others. Faust awakes to a scene of sunrise among the Alps, a piece of superb description. We learn that his nature is calmed and refreshed — that, forgetting his Past, he is ready to face Life again with fresh courage. In fact, he afterwards only once refers to anything in the First Part. The next scene introduces us to the Court of the Emperor, who appears on his throne, surrounded by his ministers and lords. Mephistopheles has taken the place of Court Fool. The various ministers make reports, each more discouraging than the other. Tlie treasury is empty ; the realm is lawless and disorgan- ized ; the knights and burghers are at war, and the allies and tributary states are unfaithful. Money, how- ever, is the great need, and Mephistopheles proj^oses to supply it by digging up all the treasure buried in the soil since the old Pioman times. The proposition meets with favor, but the subject is postponed until after the Carnival, which is near at hand. This Carnival is an allegorical masquerade, repre- senting Society. The young of both sexes appear as flower-girls and gardeners. Intriguing mothers, with marriageable daughters ; rude, offensive natures ; social mountebanks, parasites, roues; the Graces, typifying 372 GERMAN LITERATURE. refinement ; tlie Fates ; tlie Fni'ies, emblematic of slan- der and malice ; Victory, mounted on an elephant, which is guided by Prudence, while Fear and Hope walk on either side ; a chariot driven by a boy personi- fying Poetry, while Plutus sits within and Avarice hangs on behind — all these characters meet and mingle as they are found in the society of the world. The part of Plutus is taken by Faust, while Mephistopheles, true to his character of negation, wears the mask of Avarice. The Emperor himself appears as Pan, at- tended by Fauns, Satyrs, Nymphs and Gnomes. The form of the verse constantly varies in this scene ; it is full of the richest and rarest rhythmical effects. In the next scene the Emperor finds the aspect of affairs completely changed. The treasury is filled, the troops are paid, commerce flourishes, and the whole realm is prosperous. He learns that during the confu- sion of the Carnival, he has been persuaded to sign a document, which was really a decree for the issuing of paper money, redeemable in gold — after the buried Eoman treasures shall be discovered and dug up. Some of the features of this scene are taken from the Missis- sippi scheme of John Law. Goethe's first intention was to deal with politics instead of finance, and we must regi-et that he afterwards changed his plan. Meph- istopheles presents Faust to the Emperor as the orig- inator of the paper-money, and the latter appoints him, with the Chancellor, to direct the finances of the GOETHE'S "FAUST." 373 realm. In tliis scheme, we see tlie effort of Mepliis- topheles to initiate Faust into public life as the surest means to corrupt liim ; but we shall soon find that the evil nature has made a mistake. The Emperor is so impressed by Faust's marvellous power that he desires a special exhibition of his art: he commands him to summon the shades of Paris and Helen to appear before his Court. You will remember that this was a part of the original Faust-legend, and was retained in some of the puppet plays. Faust calls Mephistopheles to his aid, but the latter hesitates to assist him. The task is difiicult and dangerous : Faust must descend to the Mothers, holding in his liand a key which Mephistopheles gives him, and touch with it a tripod. The Mothers are vague existences, who dwell outside the bounds of Time and Space. The Court assembles, Faust rises with the tripod, Paris appears and then Helen. The members of the Court criticise their beauty in the true fashionable style, with impertinent praise or absurd censure. But we see that Faust is seized with a passionate adoration of the beauty of Helen, and avo now begin to suspect that she is something more than a mere form. She repre- sents, in fact, the abstract sense of Beauty, the in- forming spirit of all Art, the basis of the higliest human culture. The honors heaped upon him by the Emperor, the hollow splendors of Court life, have only touched the surface of Faust's nature. This GERMAN LITERATURE. vision of an Ideal of Beauty masters and draws him after it. In tlie Second Act we are introduced to Faust's old chamber, and to his Famulus, Wagner, who has taken his jjlace, and is trying, like the alchemists of the Mid- dle Ages, to elaborate a human being, a Homunculus, by mixing together the chemical substances of which the body is composed. Mephistopheles, by a trick, makes the experiment successful, and the Homunculus guides him and Faust to the Pharsalian Fields, on the banks of the Peneios, in Thessaly. Here we have a classical, or Grecian Walpurgis-Night, in contrast to the Gothic one of the First Part. Faust has but one thought — to find Helen, while Mephistopheles wanders about among the forms of the earliest mythology, feel- ing rather uncomfortable, and a little uncertain what course to pursue. The number of characters is very great. Griffins, Pygmies, Sphinxes, Syrens, Chiron the Centaur, Em- mets, Dactyls, Lamiae, the Phorkyads, Thales, Anaxa- goras, Nereus, Proteus, Nereids and Tritons, Telchines of Rhodes, and the sea-nymph Galatea, all take part in this wonderful moonlight spectacle. A great deal of the action has no connection with Faust. Thales and Anaxagoras are the representatives of the Neptunic and Plutonic theories in Geology, and Goethe, as a Neptunist, takes special pains to ridicule the opposite views. All this, however, must be set aside : then, by GOETHE'S "FAUST." 375 carefully examining what is left, we find that it repre- sents the gradual growth of the element of Beauty, in Art and Eeligion, from the first rude beginnings in Phoenicia and Egypt, until it culminates in the immor- tal symmetry of the Grecian mind. Since Goethe gives a moral, even a saving power to Beauty, his object is now not difficult to understand. Faust, meanwhile, has gone to Hades, to implore Per- sephone to release Helen ; but we are not informed how this is accomplished. As a specimen of the versi- fication of the classical Walpurgis-Night, I will give the chorus of the Telchines of Rhodes : Wir habeQ den Dreizack Nep- tunen gescliiniedet, Womit er die regesten Wellen begutet. Entfaltet der Donnrer die Wollien, die vollen, Entgegnet Neptunus dem grilu- liclien Rollen ; Und wie aucli von oben es zackig erblitzt, Wird Woge nacli Woge von unten gespritzt ; Und was audi dazwischen in Aengsten gerungen, Wird, lauge gesclileudert, vom Tiefsten verschlungen ; Wesshalb er uns heute den Scep- ter gereicht, — Nun scliweben wir festlich, be- rubigt und leicht. We've forged for old Neptune the trident that urges To smoothness and peace the re- fractory surges. When Jove tears the clouds of the tempest asunder, 'Tis Neptune encounters the roll of the thunder : The lightnings above may inces- santly glow. But wave upon wave dashes up from below, And all that, between them, the terrors o'erpowcr. Long tossed and tormented, the Deep shall devour ; And thence he has lent us his sceptre to-day. — Now float we contented, in festal array. The Third Act is generally called "The Helena. 376 GERMAN LITEBATUItE. Tlie scene opens in Sparta, whither Helen has just re- turned from Troy, in advance of Menelaus. In this act Mephistopheles appears as Phorkyas, a hideous old woman. Helen being Primitive Beauty, he, of course, is obliged to become Primitive Ugliness. I must com- press the incidents of the act into a very brief space. Helen, flying from the vengeance of Menelaus, finds herself suddenly in the court-yard of a Gothic castle, the lord of which is Faust. He makes her queen of his domain, their nuptials are celebrated, and they become the parents of a son, Euphorion. In all this there is a double allegory. Helen is not only the ideal of the Beautiful, which rescues Faust from the excesses of passion and worldly ambition, but she also stands for the classical element in Literature and Art. Faust is not only the type of man, working his way upward by the development of his finer faculties, but he also stands for the romantic element in Literature and Art. This secondary meaning is added to the primary idea upon which the whole work is based. Euphorion, there- fore, is the union of the classic and romantic spirits in one person. He is a perfect embodiment of Goethe's own poetry ; but as Byron's death, at the time when this act was written, powerfully affected Goethe, he determined to make Euphorion a distinct representative of Byron. The act closes with the death of Euphorion and the dis- appearance of Helen, whose garments, left behind her, turn into clouds and bear Faust away. As a specimen GOETHE'S ' 'FA UST." 377 of tlie noblest literary art, the " Helena " is matcliless : the more it is read and studied, the more its wonderful beauty grows upon the reader. The first half of it is written in pure Greek metres, the latter half in short rhymed stanzas that sound like the clash of cymbals. I will only quote from it the Dirge sung by the Chorus, on the death of Euphorion, because it is wholly descrip- tive of Byron : Nicht allein ! — wo du auch wei- lest, Denn wir glauben dich zu kennen ; Ach ! wenn du dem Tag entei- lest, Wird kein Herz von dir sicli trennen, Wiissten wir doch kaum zu klagen, Neidend singen wir dein Loos : Dir in klar und triiben Tagen Lied und Muth war schon und gross. Ach ! zum Erdenglixck geboren. Holier Abnen, grosser Kraft, Leider ! f riib dir selbst verloren, Jugendbliitbe weggerafft ; Scbarfer Blick, die Welt zu schauen, Mitsinn jedem Ilerzensdrang, Liebesglutb der besten Frauen Und ein eigenster Gcsang. Not alone ! wliere'er tliou bidest ; For we know tbee what tbou art. Ab ! if from the Day tbou bid- est, Still to tbee will cling each heart. Scarce we venture to lament tbee, Singing, envious of thy fate ; For in storm and sun were lent thee Song and courage, fair and great. Ah ! for earthly fortune fash- ioned. Strength was thine, and proud descent ; Early erring, o'er-impassioned. Youth, alas! from tbee was rent. For the world thine eye was rarest, All the heart to tbee was known ; Thine were loves of women fair- est, And a song thy very own. 378 GERMAN LITERATURE. Doch du ranntest unaufhaltsam Frei ins willenlose Netz ; Soentzweitest du gewaltsam Diet init Sitte, mit Gesetz ; Doch zuletzt das hOcliste Sinnen Gab dem reinen Mutli Gewiclit, Wolltest Herrliches gewinnen, Aber es gelang dir nicht. Yet thou rannest uncontrolledly In the net the fancies draw, Thus thyself divorcing boldly As from custom, so from law ; Till the highest thought ex- pended Set at last thy courage free : Thou wouldst win achievement splendid, But it was not given to thee. Wemgelingt es? — Triibe Frage, Der das Schicksal sich ver- mummt, Wenn am ungliickseligsten Tage Blutend alles Volk verstummt. Doch erfrischet neue Lieder, Steht nicht liinger tief ge- beugt ! Denn der Boden zeugt sie wieder, Wie von je er sie gezeugt. Unto whom, then? Question dreary. Destiny will never heed ; When in evil days and weary, Silently the people bleed. But new songs shall still elate them : Bow no longer and deplore ! For the soil shall generate them, As it hath done heretofore. The Fourtli Act was written in Goethe's eighty-sec- ond year, and is the least important of all. Faust cannot live and find the satisfaction of his life in the service of the Beautiful, but its garments bear him above the stony ways of the Earth, and it is thenceforth his com- fort and the consecration of his days. He now insists on a new field of activity : he means to compel Nature to the service of man. There is a part of the Emperor's realm which is uninhabitable, because at times inun- dated by the sea : this he will dike and drain, make fit GOETHE'S "FAUST." 379 for population, and people witli active colonists. Mephis- topheles is bound to obey his commands, and the greater part of the act is taken up with the description of a battle which is won for the Emperor by his assistance. In return, Faust is presented with a title to the vast sea- swept marshes he desires to possess. In the last act, the great work is accomplished. There is a fertile, populous province, intersected by navigable canals, in place of the sea. A harbor for commerce has been built, and near it, in the midst of gardens, stands the palace of Faust. Only two things remain to be done — to drain the last remnant of marsh, and to gain posses- sion of a little cottage and chapel, near at hand, belong- ing to an old couj)le who refuse to sell or leave it. Faust has not yet found his perfectly happy moment, though he is now nearly one hundred years old. Mephis- topheles, whom we may suppose to be very impatient by this time, endeavors to hasten matters by frightening the old couple to death and burning down the cottage and chapel. Faust curses the rash, inhuman deed, and Mephistopheles is once more baflfled. We now feel that the end approaches. The scene changes to midnight, before the palace of Faust. Four gray women enter: one is Want, another Guilt, the third Necessity and the fourth Care. The palace is barred against them — Want, Guilt and Necessity retire, but Care slips in through the key-hole. Faiist defies her, but she breathes on his eyes, and he becomes blind. 380 GERMAN LITERATURE. But, in exchange for tlie external darkness, his spirit is filled with light : at last he sees clearly. He urges on the work with haste and energy : " one mind," he says, " suffices for a thousand hands." He gropes along, feel- ing his way out of the joalace, and listens to the clatter- ing of the sj^ades, which, day and night, are employed in draining the last marsh. He feels that he has over- come the hostile forces of Nature, and created new homes for millions of the race. Filled with this grand consciousness, he exclaims : Ja ! diesem Sinne bin icli ganz ergeben, Das ist der Weislieit letzter Scliluss : Nur der verdient sicli Preibeit wie das Leben, Der tiiglicb sie eroberii muss. Und so verbringt, umrungen von Gefabr, Hier Kindbeit, Mann und Greis sein tiicbtig Jabr. Solcb' ein Gewimmel mocbt' icb sehn, Auf freiem Grand mit freiem Volke stebn, Zum Augenblicke diirft' icb sa- gen: Verweile docb, du bist so scbtin! Es kann die Spur von meinen Erdetagen Nicbt in Aeonen untergebn. — Yes ! to tbis tbougbt I bold witb firm persistence ; Tbe last result of wisdom stamps it true : He only earns bis freedom and existence, Wbo daily conquers tbem anew. Tbus bere, by dangers girt, sball glide away Of cbildbood, manbood, age, tbe vigorous day : And sucb a tbrong I fain would see, — Stand on free soil among a peo- ple free ! Tben dared I bail tbe Moment fleeing : " AJi, still delay — thou art so fair / " Tbe traces cannot, of mine eartbly being. In aeons perisb, — tbey are tbere ! — GOETHE'S "FAUST." 381 Im Vorgof iihl von solcliem ho- In proud fore-feeling of sucli hen Gliick lofty bliss, Geuiess' ich jetzt den hochsten I now enjoy the highest Mo- Augenblick. ment, — this ! He has said the words : the compact is at an end ; and he sinks to the ground, dead. Mephistopheles has won, to all appearance. Standing beside the body, he calls tip the hosts of Hell to surround him and take joint possession of the soul. But while he addresses them in a strain of blasphemous exultation, a glory of light falls from above. The angels appear, scattering celes- tial roses, and chanting : Rosen, ihr blendenden, Roses, ye glowing ones, Balsam versendenden 1 Balsam-bestowing ones! Flatternde, schwebende. Fluttering, quivering, Heimlich belebende. Sweetness delivering, Zweigleinbefiugelte, ' Branching unblightedly, Knospenentsiegelte, Budding delightedly, Eilet zu bliihn ! Bloom and be seen ! Friihling entspriesse. Springtime declare him, Purpur und Griin ! . In purple and green I Tragt Paradiese Paradise bear him, Dem Ruhenden hin. The Sleeper serene I The Devils are driven back by this shower of roses, which burn them worse than the infernal pitch and sulphur : the angels seize and bear aloft the immortal part of Faust, and Mephistopheles is left to gnash his teeth in impotent rage. The last scene is laid in some region of Heaven. After chants of ecstatic adoration by the souls of saints, the angels who bear the spirit 382 GERMAN LITERATURE. of Faust sing — and I beg you to mark the words care- fully: Gerettet ist das edle Glied DerQeisterwelt vom Btisen ; Wer immer strebend sich be- mulit, Den kcinnen wir erlosen ; Und hat an ilim die Liebe gar Von oben Theil genommen, Begegnet ihm die selige Schaar Mit lierzlichem Willkonunen. The noble Spirit now is free, And saved from evil scheming : Whoe'er aspires unweariedly Is not beyond redeeming. And if he feels the grace of Love That from On High is given. The Blessed Hosts, that wait above. Shall welcome him to Heaven 1 These are the elements of Faust's salvation, and they at once recall to our mind the words of the Lord to Mephistopheles, in the Prologue in Heaven : " Thou shalt stand ashamed to see that a good man, through all the obscurity of his natural impulses, still in his heart has an instinct of the one true way." After further chants by the angels, the Mater Gloriosa — the Virgin Mary, as the Protectress of Women — soars into space, and the soul of Margaret "approaches. She is not yet allowed access to the highest heavenly re- gions, but the hour of her pardon and purification has come. I will quote from this point to the end : ( The Mater Glokiosa soars into the space.) Chorus op Women PENrrENxs. Du schwebst zu Hohen Der ewigen Reiche, Vernimm das Flehen, Du Ohnegleiche ! Du Gnaderireiche I To heights thou'rt speeding Of endless Eden : Receive our pleading, Transcendent Maiden, With Mercy laden I GOETHE'S "FAUST." 383 Magna Peccatrix. {St. Luke, vii. 36.) Bei der Liebe, die den Fiissen By the love before him kneel- ing.— Deines gottverkliirten Sohnes Him, Thy Sou, a godlike vi- sion ; Thranen liess zum Balsam flies- By the tears like balsam steal - sen, ing, Trotz des Pharisaer-Hohnes ; Spite of Pharisees' derision ; Beim Gefiisse, das so reichlich By the box, whose ointment precious Tropfte Wohlgeruch hernieder ; Shed its spice and odors cheery ; Bei den Locken, die so weichlich By the locks, whose softest meshes Trockneten die heiligen Glie- Dried the holy feet and weary !^ der — MuLiEB Samabitana. {St. John, iv.) Be! dem Bronn, zu dem schon By that well, the ancient station weiland Abram liess die Heerde filhren ; Whither Abram's flocks were driven ; Bei dem Eimer, der dem Heiland By the jar, whose restoration Kiihl die Lippe durft' beruh- To the Saviour's lips was given ; ren ; Bei der reinen reichen Quelle, By the fountain, pure and vernal. Die nun dorther sich ergiesset. Thence its present bounty spending, — Ueberfliissig, ewig helle. Overflowing, bright, eternal, Eings durch alle Welten flies- Watering the worlds unend- set — ing ! — Maria ^gyptiaca. {Acta Sanctorum.) Bei dem hochgeweihten Orte, By the place, where the Im- mortal Wo den Herrn man niederliess ; Body of the Lord hath lain ; Bei dem Ai'm, der von der Pforte By the arm, which, from the portal, Warnend mich zuriicke stiess ; Warning, thrust me back again ; 384 GERMAN LITERATURE. Bei der vierzigjiilirigen Busse, Der icli treii in Wilsten blieb ; Bei dem seligen Sclieidegrusse, Den im Sand ich niederschrieb — By tlie forty years' repentance In the lonely desert-land ; By the blissful farewell sentence Which I wrote upon the sand ! — The Die du grossen Siinderinnen Deiue Nahe nicht verweigerst Und ein biissendes Qewinnen In die Ewigkeiten steigerst, Gonn' auch dieser guten Seele, Die sich einmal nur vergessen. Die nicht ahnte, dass sie fehle, Dein Verzeihen angemessen ! * Three. Thou Thy presence not deniest Unto sinful women ever, — Liftest them to win the highest Gain of i^enitent endeavor, — So, from this good soul with- draw not — ^^'ho but once forgot transgress- ing. Who her loving error saw not — Pardon adequate, and blessing ! Una Pcenitentium {formerly named Margaret, stealing closer). Neige, neige, Du Ohnegleiche, Du Strahlenreiche, Dein Antlitz gniidig meinem Glilck ! Der f riih Geliebte, Nicht mehr Getriibte, Er kommt zuriick. Incline, O Maiden, With Mercy laden. In light unfading, Thy gracious countenance upon my bliss ! My loved, my lover. His trials over In yonder world, returns to me in this ! Blessed Boys {approaching in hovering circles). Er ilberwachst uns schon An miichtigen Gliedern, Wird treuer Pflege Lohn Seichlich erwiedern. Wir wurden f riih entfernt Von Lebechoren ; Doch dieser hat gelernt, Er wird uns lehren. With mighty limbs he towers Already above us ; He, for this love of ours. Will richlier love us. Early were we removed, Ere Life could reach us ; Yet be hath learned and proved, And he will teach us. GOETHE'S "FAUST." 385 The Penitent {formerly named Margaret). Vom edlen Geisterctor umgeben, The spirit-choir around him see- ing, Wird sich der Neue kaum ge- New to himself, he scarce di- wahr, vines Er ahnet kaum das frische Le- His heritage of new-born Being, ben. So gleicht er schon der heiligen When like the Holy Host he Schaar. shines. Sieh, wie er jedem Erdenbande Behold, how he each band hath cloven, Der alten Hiille sich entrafft, The earthly life had round him thrown, Und aus aetherischem Gewande And through his garb, of ether woven, Hervortritt erste Jugendkraft ! The early force of youth is shown ! Vergonne mir, ihn zu belehren ! Vouchsafe to me that I instruct him ! Noch blendet ihn der neue Tag. Still dazzles him the Day's new glare. Mater Gloeiosa. Komm I hebe dich zu hohern Else, thou, to higher spheres I Spharen ! Conduct him, Wenn er dich ahnet, folgt er Who, feeling thee, shall follow nach. there ! Doctor Marianus (^prostrate, adoring). Blicket auf zum Retterblick, Penitents, look up, elate, Alle reuig Zarten, Where she beams salvation ; Euch zu seligem Geschick Gratefully to blessed fate Dankend umzuarten 1 Grow, in re-creation ! Werde jeder bessi'e Sinn Be our souls, as they have been, Dir zum Dienst erbotig ; Dedicate to Thee ! Jungfrau, Mutter, Konigin, Virgin Holy, Mother, Queen, Gottin, bleibe gniidig 1 Goddess, gracious be I 17 386 GERMAN LITERATUBE. Chorus Mtstictjs. Alles Vcrgiingliclie All things transitory 1st nur ein Gleichniss ; But as symbols are sent : Das Unzuliingliche, Earth's insufficiency Hier wird's Ereigniss ; Here grows to Event : Das Unbeschreibliche, The Indescribable, Hier ist es gethan ; Here it is done : Das Ewig-Weibliche The Woman-Soul leadeth us Zieht uns hinan. Upward and on ! To those who intend reading the whole work for themselves, I would add a few words in conclusion. In the characters of Faust and Mephistopheles are represented the continual strife between Good and Evil in Man. The first lesson is that man becomes morbid and miserable in seclusion, even though he de- votes himself to the acquisition of knowledge. He must also know the life of the body in the ojDen air, and the society of his fellow-men. He must feel in him- self the passions and the impulses of the race : in other words, he must first become a man among men. He must fight, through his life, with the powers of selfish- ness, doubt, denial of all good, truth and beauty. Then, the error and the wrong which he may have committed must not clog his future development. He must re- cover health from moral as from physical disease. The passion for the Beautiful must elevate and purify him, saving him from all the meanness and the littleness which we find in Society and in all forms of public life. The restless impulse, which drives him forward, will GOETHE'S "FAUST." 387 save liim — that is, lead Lim constantly from one sphere of being to another that is higher and clearer — in spite of error, in spite of temptation, in spite even of vice. Only in constant activity and struggle can he redeem himself — only in working for the benefit of his fellow- beings can he taste perfect happiness. This is the golden current of wisdom which flows through " Faust" from beginning to end. xn. RICHTER. Op all the representative authors of the great literary era of Germany, he who was known as " Jean Paul " during his life, but is now recovering his family name of Eichter, is the most difficult to describe, both in regard to his relative place and the peculiarities of his genius. In the lives and the works of the other authors we find a greater or less accordance with intellectual laws ; while he is phenomenal, almost to the point of being abnormal. They reflect the interests and the influences of their day, as in a clear mirror, — he as in one of those dark glass globes, which we sometimes see in garjiens, distorting the reflected forms out of all their natural proportions. During his life, his circle of ardent admirers gave him the name of '' Der Einzige'''' — the "only one," or "the unique," — which may very well serve as a measure of his literary character, if not of his elevation. The first impression which a reader gets from his works is that he stands entirely alone, both with regard to other authors and to his own age ; but a longer and more careful study shows that his relations to both have only been distorted by the unusual qualities of his mind. 388 BICHTEB. 389 There are intellectual genealogies in literature. Most authors may be shown to be, not the imitators, but the spiritual descendants of others, inheriting more or less of their natures. In this sense, the blood of Cowper shows itself in Wordsworth, of Gibbon in Macaulaj, of Keats in Tennyson, or of Chaucer, after five hundred years, in William Morris. Among Richter's prede- cessors, his nearest intellectual ancestor was Laurence Sterne, the author of " Tristram Shandy " and the " Sen- timental Journey," — works which made a much deeper impression upon the literature of Germany than upon that of England. Take the main characteristics of these works — their airy, capricious humor, their unex- pected touches of pathos, and their brief but marvellous glimpses of human nature : add all the sentiment of the Storm and Stress period, with the passionate fury and frenzy taken out of it ; add, also, a prodigious amount of desultory knowledge ; place this compound in the most willful and whimsical of human brains, and you will have a vague outline of Richter. The mixture is so unusual and heterogeneous that its elements cannot be separated by an ordinary critical analysis. Even the German critics, who are so fond of dissecting an author's mind, and showing you every hidden muscle and nerve which directs its motions, have found Richter an uncomfortable subject. He is a lively corpse, and will not hold still undei- their scalpels. I have endeavored to indicate to you the special fields 390 aSRMAN LITERATURE. of action of the great authors of whom I have already spoken, — to show how some strong interest or aspira- tion of the race found its expression in each ; but Eichter defies any such attempt to define his position. We can only collect all scattered interests, desires or sentiments which the others did not specially repre- sent, and we shall be tolerably sure to find them some- where in him. In a single quality he is pre-eminent. Not one of his illustrious compeers approaches him as a humorist. Lessing possessed a keen and brilliant power of irony, but he is never purely humorous. Klopstock and Herder had no comprehension of humor, and Schiller but a very slight trace of it. Wieland shows most of the quality, and his " Abderiten " might almost be con- sidered a humorous work, but it would be more correct to call it a lively and playful satire. Goethe's humor is always severe, and sometimes a little ponderous ; in his comedies there is generally an element of grotesque- ness and purposed absurdity. But in Kichter humor is an irrepressible native force, breaking out in the midst of his tenderest sentiment, darting helter-skelter over all his pages, sometimes threatening, sometimes strik- ing sharp and hard, provoking at one moment and de- lighting at another. Some modern English and American writers assert that a genius for humor does not belong to the German people, and that its highest forms are not manifested in BICHTEB. 391 their literature. I entirely disagree with this view. There are traces of a very genuine humor in Luther : Fischart overflows with it, and in the last century Lichtenberg will compare with any wit of Queen Anne's time. Although Professor of Mathematics and the Na- tural Sciences at Gottingen, Lichtenberg achieved for himself a distinct place in literature. My attention was first called to his works, some years ago, by Fritz Eeuter, the Platt-deutsche humorist of our day. I think even our extravagant American idea of humor will ap- preciate his remark that " a donkey is simply a horse translated into Dutch;" or the manner in which he describes one of his pompous and pretentious contem- poraries, by saying : " He sits down between his two little dogs, and calls himself Daniel in the lions' den." In fact, when he says that "a man who has stolen a hundred thousand dollars ought to be able to live honestly," we think we hear an American speak. He alone would prove the genuineness of German humor, if it were necessary to be done. Richter's life^was passed within narrow limits, and exhibits neither picturesque situations nor startling dramatic changes ; yet it is none the less a story of deep interest. His grandfather was a Franconian cler- gyman, of whom he says that " he was equally poor and pious ; " his father was even poorer, but with no in- crease of piety to compensate for it; and in 1763, at the little village of Wunsiedel, in the Franconian mountains, 392 OEBMAir LITERATURE. he liimself was born to a long inheritance of privation. The first twelve years of his life were spent in a village called Joditz, near the town of Hof, in northern Bavaria. The beauty of the scenery, with its contrasts of dark fir-clad hills, sloping fields and bright green meadows, awoke in him that susceptibility to all the forms and the phases of Nature, which is one of the charms of his works. His playmates were the children of the peas- ants, and through them he learned the life of the com- mon people. His father, with a beggarly salary as cler- gyman, had a large family of children, who were both healthy and hungry, and he Avas barely able to feed, clothe and instruct them. During the long winter even- ings the family burned pine-splints instead of candles. As a boy, Eichter attended school in Hof and in a neighboring town to which his father was transferred. He was an insatiable reader, borrowing books wherever he could discover any. It made little diflference what the contents were : so they were books, he was satisfied. He furnished himself with paper, jjen and ink, copied everything which made an impression on him as he read, and finally stitched the sheets together to form a book. He continued this habit for many years, and the result was a manuscript library, stuffed with the plun- der of thousands of volumes. Everything was there — theology and tin-ware, art and artichokes, science, cook- ery, ideas of heaven, making of horseshoes, aesthetics, edible mushrooms, mythology, millinery — in short, a BICHTER. 393 tolerably complete cyclopsedia, lacking only the alpha- betical arrangement. When he could find no printed volumes to borrow, he read these manuscript collections over again, and a good part of the knowledge contained in them stuck to his memory. During his seventeenth year his father died, and the family would probably have starved, except for a little help given now and then by the mother's relatives. In 1781, being eighteen years old, Richter went to the University of Leipzig, hoping to live by teaching while he studied theology. But the uncouth country-boy found no pupils. How he managed to live there for two years none of his biographers fully explain : the only thing certain is that he was forced to abscond to escape imprisonment for debt. Those two years, how- ever, decided his vocation for life : he gave up theology, consecrated himself to literature, and published the first part of a work entitled "■Die GrotildndiscJien Prozesse " (The Greenland Lawsuits). Eichter himself says, forty years later, that it was written in his eighteenth year, after daily association with Pope, Swift, Young and Erasmus ; but the reader who is familiar with those authors will look in vain for the least echo of their stjde and manner — from beginning to end Eichter's own grotesque individuality is as clearly marked as in any one of his later works. The title was well calcu- lated to excite curiosity ; hence the greater exasperation of the reader, when, instead of some strange Arctic story 17* 394 GERMAN LITERATURE. or fragment of forgotten history, ho found merely six Essays— "On Authors," "On Theologians," "On the vulgar Pride of Ancestry," " On Women and Dandies," and "On the Prohibition of Books." If, nevertheless, he attempted to read one of these Essays, he was confused, at the outset, by a style which at that time must have suggested insanity. The minds of some authors are like a lamp which illuminates the sub- ject, more or less brilliantly, from one side : others walk around the subject, and light it carefully on all sides ; but here was one which seemed to touch off a collection of fire-works, fizzing, snapping and popping in all directions, in the midst of which a part of the subject sometimes gleamed in blue fire, then another part in red fire, and then again a dozen rockets rushed off into the sky, leaving the subject in complete dark- ness. It is very evident to me that in addition to Pope, Swift and Erasmus, Richter had been attending lectures on physiology. The book is crammed with illustrations of the most extraordinary kind, drawn from that science. Two sentences from the first essay will suffice to give you an idea of its general character. In speaking of the literary pretenders and imitators of the time, he says : " In the dialogue of tragedy, the slang of the rabble is now wedded to the tone of the ode ; the jests of beer-bibbers and the songs of seraphs embrace upon the same tongue, as jugglers draw wine and water from the same barrel. The saliva of poetry BICHTEB. 395 makes tlie halting tongue of passion limber, and tlie poetic quill vaccinates the dumb woe with rhetorical pustules." Of course the success of such a work was simply im- possible. The reader, who expected either clear wis- dom or intelligible wit, found himself face to face with a man who seemed to be grinning through a horse-col- lar. But, under all the contortions of a manner which perplexed, amused and offended at the same time, there lurked the genius of the man. A few, a very few per- sonal friends began to believe in him. It must be said, in illustration of his integrity of character, that he never afterwards made the slightest attempt to render his style more acceptable to the public. It had to be ac- quired, almost like a new language, before he became popular. We have a similar instance in English Litera- ture. "When Carlyle's " Sartor Resartus " first appeared, as a serial in Frazer's Magazine, the publisher would have discontinued it, in despair, but for the letters of earnest appreciation received from two men, one of whom was Ralph Waldo Emerson. This was in 1835 ; and in 1870 the same work, in a cheap popular edition, reached a sale of 40,000 copies. When Tlichter left Leipzig, as an absconding debtor and an unsuccessful author, he seemed to have reached the lowest depth of misfortune, and there was appar- ently no way of rising out of it. In fact, he stuck there for years, living with his widowed mother in the town of 396 GERMAN LITERATURE. Hof, iu a state bordering on starvation. He was already a man, in tlie maturity and consistency of his cliaracter. Even liis personal appearance gave rise to the bitterest prejudice against him. He cut off the queue, which all men carried at the time, wore his brown locks loose, without powder, flung away the thick cravat, which then reached from the collar-bone to the ears, and walked the streets with bare throat, — often without a hat. This revolt against what was then not only respecta- bility, but decency, shut him out from occupation which he might otherwise have obtained. There is nothing which the world is so slow to forgive as an independ- ence in regard to personal appearance and habits. The greatest living English poet once assured me that there is not courage enough in all London to make a visit in a felt hat. Richter was one of the purest of men, yet for this independence he was branded as immoral ; one of the most religious of natures, he was called an athe- ist. A clergyman in Hof possessed a work which Eichter was very anxious to read, but the clergyman angrily refused to lend it, unless Richter would first wear a cravat and powder his hair ! After three years of painful struggle, a university friend finally procured Eichter a situation as private tutor in his father's family, and thus for three years longer the suffering man was at least fed and clothed. Then he established a school of his own in a little town near Hof, and labored as a gentle, if an unwilling, BICHTER. 397 pedagogue for four years. This brings us to tlie year 1794, the beginning of his literary success, the first hope of which led him to give up the school and re- turn to his mother, whom he tenderly cherished until her death in 1797. He then left Hof forever, and went to Leipzig and Berlin. This period of Richter's life embraces ten years of painful and discouraging struggles, and four years of partial success. A knowledge of it is of the greatest im- portance in estimating both his personal character and his intellectual development. The name of Hof sug- gests to me an illustration of the ignorance which a man may manifest, and yet be renowned as a scholar. Prosper Merimee is considered the first German scholar of his time in France, yet he never took the trouble to inform himself that Hof is a Bavarian town. He sup- poses it to mean the Court of some reigning prince, and, in spite of the absurdity and the contradictions which ensue, he continually says of Richter, while he and his mother were starving together : " Comme il etait d la Cour!'' Richter meant to continue his " Greenland Lawsuits," but no publisher would even look at them. He waited five years, and in 1788 published a work entitled " Auswalil aus des Teufels Papieren " (Selections from the Papers of the Devil), a collection of essays, full of keen and grotesque satire, but neither attractive nor very profitable reading. His long struggle with 398 GERMAN LITERATURE. poverty and witli tlie narrow, unjust prejudices of tlie community in wliicli lie lived, gave a sharp and bitter tone to his mind wliich delayed his literary suc- cess, and thus repeated his misfortune in a new form. But a change was now near at hand, and, singularly enough, it came through a moral rather than an intel- lectual development. He was one day so assailed and ridiculed by some of his narrow-minded neighbors, that the strongest feeling of resentment was aroused. "While he was trying to call up words severe enough to express it, his eye fell upon some boys who were playing near. He saw suddenly, as in a vision, the troubles and the sorrows which would leave their marks on those bright, happy faces ; he felt the pangs which the most fortunate life cannot escaj)e : all that men suffer crowded upon his mind, softened his heart, and he turned away in silence from his persecutors. The same day he wrote in his journal: "Henceforth I will assert my rights as firmly as ever, but always with gentleness." His next work, finished in 1791, marks this new departure. It is called : " Das Leben des vergniigten Schulmeisterleins Wuz'" (The Life of the Cheerful Little Schoolmaster Wuz). Here he forsakes the essay, and attempts what might be called a romance if it had either a plot or a consistent narrative. The characters, as in all his later works, are sometimes wonderfully minute and realistic studies from actual life, and some- times merely mouth-pieces for the expression of the RICHTE. 399 author's own liumor and fancy. Many of the scenes are evidently pictures of his own personal experience, very minutely sketched, but at the same time so deli- cately and sportively that they never weary the reader. Ptichter felt that he had at last discovered the true field for his willful genius. His few friends gave him hearty encouragement, and it only remained to Avin back the public which he had repelled. His next work, "jDi'e w?iSic7i^&are Zof/e" (The Invisible Lodge), was the turning-point in his fortunes. It was finished in the summer of 1792, and sent, with an anonymous letter, to an author named Moritz, in Berlin, begging him to read it and, if possible, to find a publisher for it. Moritz groaned when he saw the package, and left the letter unopened for several days. When he finally broke the seal and read the first sentences, he cried out : " This must be from Goethe ! " He then began to read the manuscript aloud to some friends, and very soon ex- claimed : " This is new and wonderful : this is more than Goethe ! " To Eichter he wrote : " Who are you? What are you ? The man who has written these works is immortal ! " A package of a hundred ducats accom- panied the letter ; and Kichter, reeling and staggering like a drunken man, from a joy so intense as to be incredible, hastened home to pour them in a golden stream into the lap of his mother. If the enthusiasm of Moritz did not communicate itself to a very large circle of readers, still an audience 400 GERMAN LITERATURE. was secured ; and Richter's next work : "Hesperus oder funfuiidvierzig Hundsposttacje " (Hesperus, or Forty-five Dog-Post Days), which appeared two years afterwards, brought him to the knowledge of all the authors and the critics of Germany. A place was made for him in literature, and a party was recruited for him out of the ranks of the reading public. Herder hailed him as a friend and an ally : the sentiment of the Storm and Stress period, so long deprived of the luxury of weep- ing, blessed him through the fresh tears which fell upon his pages ; and a short time sufiiced to transform the ridiculous, despised, unpowdered, bare-throated schoolmaster of Hof into a sort of pastoral and idyllic demi-god, whom princesses sought as a guest. Apart from the new and exceptional genius which he brought into literature, there were several reasons for Richter's sudden popularity. The increasing excellence of Goethe and Schiller, inform and proiDortion, was car- rying them beyond the sympathies of that large class who demand feeling and warmth and a certain abandon in their favorite authors : the new romantic school, headed by Tieck and the Schlegels, was not yet suffi- ciently developed to supply the public need ; and jeal- ousy of the Weimar circle, in other parts of German}', operated to the advantage of any new author who pro- mised to be a rival. Richter kept the place which he had made for himself. His later works all retain the character of his earlier ones. Except as they were en- RICHTEB. 401 riclied from liis experience or Lis acquired knowledge, they show few traces of development. In this respect there could be no stronger contrast than he presents to Schiller. The only literary endeavor which we can trace in his works is that of exaggerating or multiply- ing the eccentricities of his style. In 1796, Eicliter visited Jena and Weimar, and made the personal acquaintance of all the great authors. He first met Herder, walking in the park. Hushing up to him, he cried out : "Art thou lie?''' "I am," said Her- der, "and thou art he!" "Whereupon they fell into each other's arms. Richter was drawn into a circle which was very hostile to Goethe, and although the latter treated him with great kindness, he took no pains to secure Goethe's friendship. He seems also to have en- tirely misunderstood Schiller's nature : in fact, his head was a little turned by the praises showered upon him by persons more demonstrative than the two authors : he seems to have exj)ected kisses, embraces and tears, at the first meeting, and calls Goethe frozen and Schiller stony, because they only shook hands and invited him to dinner. In his letters to Herder and Knebel, he ex- . pressed these crude impressions, and tlie}^- were soon repeated in the gossip of Weimar. The result was Richter's complete estrangement from the two men who most might have helped him onward and up- ward, even as they helped each other. Their cor- respondence shows that they were both profoundly n