Part 2

These wild times of warfare and wandering could not, of course, favorably affect morals and character. They did much to root out of the minds and lives of the people their ancient heathen faith and practices. Their old gods were associated with places, scenes, features of the country and the climate; and, with these out of sight, the gods themselves were easily forgotten. Moreover, the local deities of other places and nations were brought into notice. The people’s religious habits were broken up, their minds confused, and thus they were better prepared than before to embrace the new and universal doctrines of Christianity. But the wanderings had a bad effect on morality in all forms. The upright German was still distinguished by his self-respect from the false, faithless, and cowardly “Welshman,” whose nature had become deformed through years of servitude. But Germans, too, were now often guilty of faithlessness and cruelty; and some tribes grew effeminate and corrupt, especially the Vandals in luxurious Africa. They imitated the style of the conquered in dress, arms, and manner of life; and some adopted their language also. For instance, even Theodoric the Great corresponded in Latin with foreign monarchs; and as early as the sixth and seventh centuries, the Germans recorded their own laws in Latin, the West Goths and Burgundians introducing the practice, which was followed by the Franks, Alemanni, Bavarians, and Langobards. These laws, and the prohibitions they contain, are the best sources of information upon the manners of the time, and especially upon the condition of the lower orders, the peasants, and the slaves. The most frequent cases provided are of bodily injuries, murder, wounds, and mutilations, showing that the warlike disposition had degenerated into cruelty and coarseness. For all these injuries, the weregeld, or ransom, was still a satisfaction. The life of a nobleman, that of a freeman, of a slave, and the members of the body—the eye, ear, nose, and hand—were assessed each at a fixed money valuation, to be paid by the aggressor, if he would not expose himself to the vengeance of the wronged man or his family. But crimes committed by peasants and slaves were punished by death, sometimes at the stake, where freemen might escape by paying a fine. The oaths of parties and witnesses were heard; and they were sustained by the oaths of others, their friends, relations, or partisans, who swore that they were to be believed. If an accused party swore that he was innocent, it was only necessary for him to obtain a sufficient number of compurgators, or jurors, of his own rank to swear that they believed him, in order to secure acquittal. But the number required was much larger for men of low rank than for the nobles; and the freedmen and slaves had no rights of the kind, but were tortured at will to compel them to confess or testify. The slaves were often tried by an ordeal, and were held guilty of any accusation if they could not put their hands into boiling water without harm. For freemen, if no other evidence were accessible, a trial by battle was adopted, as an appeal to God’s judgment. The heathen tribes in Germany proper—the Frisi, Saxons, Thuringians, and Alemanni—lived on in their old ways; yet they too failed to maintain the spotless character assigned them by Tacitus. It was a time of general ferment. The new elements of civilization had brought with them new vices, and the simplicity of earlier days could not survive.[G]

[To be continued.]

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RIGHT well I know that improvement is a duty, and as we see man strives ever after a higher point, at least he seeks some novelty. But beware! for with these feelings Nature has given us also a desire to continue in the old ways, and to take pleasure in that to which we have been accustomed. Every condition of man is good which is natural and in accordance with reason. Man’s desires are boundless, but his wants are few. For his days are short, and his fate bounded by a narrow span. I find no fault with the man who, ever active and restless, crosses every sea and braves the rude extremes of every clime, daring and diligent in pursuit of gain, rejoicing his heart and house by wealth.—_Goethe._

FOOTNOTES:

[A] Bayard Taylor.

[B] Tacitus.

[C] Bayard Taylor.

[D] Sime.

[E] Lewis.

[F] Sime.

[G] Lewis.

GERMAN LITERATURE.

Among the Germans, as among all other nations, the earliest literature is poetical. Little is preserved of their ancient poetry, but Tacitus tells us that the Germans of his time had ancient songs relating to Tuisco and Mannus, and to the hero Arminius. It is the opinion of many critics that the stories of “Reynard, the Fox,” and “Isengrim, the Wolf,” may be traced back to these remote times. The legends of the “Nibelungenlied” have many marks of antiquity which would place them in this pre-historic age. The first definite period, however, is:

I. THE EARLY MIDDLE AGE.—When the German tribes accepted Christianity, the clergy strove to replace the native poetry by the stories of the gospel. In the fourth century Bishop Ulfilas prepared a clear, faithful and simple translation of the Scriptures, which has since been of value in the study of the Teutonic languages. Charles the Great overpowered the effort the priests had made to check poetry by issuing orders to collect the old German ballads. But few of these treasures of Old High and Low German literature have come down to us. Later the Church still further counteracted the influences of pagan literature by a religious poetry in which the life of Christ was sung in verse. Scholastic learning was also zealously cultivated in the monasteries and schools.

II. THE AGE OF CHIVALRY.—Under the Hohenstaufen dynasty during the period of Middle High German the country passed through one of the greatest epochs of its literature. The most characteristic outcome of this active era is a series of poetical romances produced in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries. In these romances the subject of whatever epoch it might be, was treated wholly in the spirit of chivalry, the supreme aim was to furnish an idealized picture of the virtues of knighthood. Wolfram von Eschenbach was one of the most brilliant of these writers; “Parzival,” his chief poem, is purely imaginative. The hero is made to pass from a life of dreams to one of adventure, finally to become lord of the palace of the Holy Grail. Its object is to show the restless spirit of the Middle Ages, which, continually discontent with life, sought a nobler place.

Gottfried, of Strasburg, was a complete contrast to Wolfram and his greatest contemporary. Tristam and Iseult is his theme. Mediæval romance bore its richest fruit in these two poets, and most of their successors imitated either one or the other. To this age belongs the famous epic, the “Nibelungenlied,” in which many ancient ballads have been collected and arranged. “Gudrun” is another epic in which a poet of this period has given form to several old legends. But lyrics as well as romances and epics mark the age of chivalry. The poets of this class were known as _minnesänger_ because their favorite theme was _minne_ or love. Of all the _minnesänger_ the first place belongs to Walther von der Vogelweide. He wrote poems of patriotism as well as on the usual subjects of lyric verse.

To this epoch belong the beginnings of prose in German literature. Latin was the speech of scholars, and prose works were almost uniformly in that language. The “Sachenspiegel” and “Schwabenspiegel,” two collections of local laws, aroused interest among Germans in their language. The preachers, however, were the chief founders of prose style. Dissatisfied with the abuses and mere forms under which genuine spiritual life was crushed, they strove to awaken new and truer ideas of religion. A Franciscan monk, Berthold, and Eckhart are the two to whom most is due.

III. THE LATER MIDDLE AGE.—After the fall of the Hohenstaufen dynasty, chivalry died out in Germany, and with it the incentive to poetry. During the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, attempts were made to produce poetry by rule. As every trade has its guild, so there was formed a guild of poetry, in which the members made their verses by the “_tabulatur_,” and were obliged to pass through successive stages up to the “_meistersänger_.” More important were the efforts at dramatic composition. They were crude representations of scriptural subjects, with which the clergy sought to replace the pagan festivals. Out of these representations grew the “mysteries,” or “miracle plays,” in which there was an endeavor to dramatize sacred subjects. “Shrove Tuesday plays” were dialogues, setting forth some scene of noisy fun, and were the first attempts at comedy.

During the latter part of the fifteenth century there was in Germany, as in other European countries, a great revival of intellectual life. It was due to two things—the re-discovery of Greek literature and the invention of printing. In the universities a broader culture took the place of scholastic studies. Many books found their way to the people, but these were mainly on social questions. The tyranny of princes and abuses of the clergy were the topics for the times, and multitudes of books were written ridiculing princes, priests, nobles, and even the Pope. The greatest of these satires was “Reineke Vos,” by Barkhusen, a printer of Rostock. During this stirring period Maximilian I. was emperor, and attempted to revive the mediæval romance. His success was not great, and in no sense affected popular taste.

IV. THE CENTURY OF THE REFORMATION.—While the Renaissance brought about a great literary movement in England and France, and an artistic movement in Italy, in Germany the Reformation agitated the nation. Luther was the commanding spirit of the age in literature, as in religion. His greatest achievement was his translation of the Bible. For the first time a literary language was given to the nation. Luther gave to the men of all the countries of Germany a common speech, so that it is to him that the Germans owe the most essential of all the conditions of a national life and literature. Next to Luther stands Ulrich Von Hutten, an accomplished defender of the new culture and of the Reformation. Hans Sachs, the meistersänger of Nuremburg, is now acknowledged to be the chief German poet of the sixteenth century. He wrote more than six thousand poems. His hymn, “Warum betrübst du dich, mein Herz,” was soon translated into eight languages. The religious lyrics of this age were of superior worth. Indeed, next to the translation of the Bible, nothing did so much to unite the Protestants. During this century the drama made considerable progress.

V. THE PERIOD OF DECAY.—This period is in many respects the most dismal in German history. During the seventeenth century little poetry of worth was produced. No progress was made in the formation of the drama, and few prose works were written that are now tolerated. The one brilliant thinker of the age was Leibnitz.

VI. THE PERIOD OF REVIVAL.—With the accession of Frederick the Great, a stronger national life sprung up in Germany, and literature shared the growth. Several causes contributed to the advance of literature; the revival of classical learning, and a knowledge of English literature were chief. Several literary schools grew up. Important as were many of the writers in them, they exercised slight influence on the national mind compared with founders of the German classical literature—Klopstock, Wieland, and Lessing. Klopstock’s fame mainly rests on the “Messiah,” a work now little read, and if defective, yet full of striking and beautiful images. Klopstock’s odes are superior to his dramas, the latter showing knowledge neither of the stage nor of life. His influence upon intellectual life in Germany was very marked.

Wieland was one of the most prolific of writers. “Oberon” is the most pleasing of his poems to modern readers, and by far most famous. “Agathon” is his best prose romance. Although at first a strong pietist, Wieland eventually became a pronounced epicurean. Lessing, the third of these great poets, is the only writer before Goethe that Germans now read sympathetically. As an imaginative writer he was chiefly distinguished in the drama, and his most important dramatic work is “Minna Von Barnhelm.” Superior to his imaginative works were his labors as a thinker. His style ranks with the greatest European writers, and his criticisms are of great value.

VII. THE CLASSICAL PERIOD.—About 1770 there began in German literary life a curious movement called “_Sturm und Drang_” (storm and pressure). Almost all young writers were under its influence. Its most prominent quality was discontent with the existing world. The critical guide of the movement was Herder. To him is due the impulse which led to a collection of the songs and ballads of the people. His most important prose work was “Ideas Toward the Philosophy of the History of Humanity.” To Herder belongs the honor of stimulating the genius of Goethe, who holds in German literature the place of Shakspere in English. His extraordinary range of activity is his most wonderful characteristic. Goethe’s first published work placed him among the writers of the “_Sturm und Drang_” school, as was true of the earlier works of Schiller. The lyrics of Goethe have perhaps the most subtle charm of all his writings, but “Hermann und Dorothea,” “Wilhelm Meister,” “Faust,” etc., are his great productions. Schiller, Goethe’s great rival, divided with him the public attention and interest. Schiller’s literary career began when he was only twenty-two. “The Robbers” and “Don Carlos” are his principal early works. It was in 1794 that Goethe and Schiller began that acquaintance which ripened into one of the most beautiful friendships in the history of literature. They wrote in common on Schiller’s journal “Die Horen,” and many of Schiller’s works were influenced by the larger life of his friend. This is particularly true of his dramas, “Wallenstein,” “Die Jungfrau von Orleans,” “Maria Stuart,” and “Wilhelm Tell.”

In 1781 one of the most important works of German literature was published—Kant’s “Kritik der Reinen Vernunft.” The philosophical systems of Fichte, Schelling and Hegel followed, and excited even greater interest than the writings of the imaginative writers.

Each of the leading writers of the classical period had numerous followers, but the most important band was that which at first grew up around Goethe—the romantic school. The aim of the school was to revive mediævalism—to link daily life to poetry. The writer known as the prophet of the school was Frederick von Hardenburg, generally called Novalis. The critical leaders were Wilhelm and Friedrich von Schlegel. Tieck, Nackenroder, Fouquè, and Schleiermacher were the chief writers.

VIII. THE LATEST PERIOD.—In 1832, with the death of Goethe, a new era began in German literature. In philosophy the school of Hegel, who wrote during the lifetime of Goethe, has had many enthusiastic adherents; among these were Strauss, Ruge and Feuerbach. Schopenhauer, although he wrote his chief book during the time of Goethe at present stirs deeper interest than any other thinker.

In imaginative literature the greatest writer of the latest period is Heinrich Heine, whose lyrics have attracted general attention. The novel has acquired the same important place in Germany as in England. Among the chief novelists are Freytag, the Countess Ida Hahn-Hahn, Paul Heyse, Spielhagen and Reuter.

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EVERYTHING that regards statesmanship and the interest of the world is in all outward respects of the greatest importance; it creates and destroys in a moment the happiness, even the very existence, of thousands, but when the wave of the moment has rushed past, and the storm has abated, its influence is lost, and even frequently disappears without leaving a trace behind. Many other things that are noiselessly influencing the thoughts and feelings often make far deeper and more lasting impressions on us. Man can for the most part keep himself very independent of all that does not trench on his private life—a very wise arrangement of Providence, since it gives a much greater security to human happiness.—_William von Humboldt._

PHYSICAL SCIENCE.

II.—THE CIRCULATION OF WATER ON THE LAND.

Although air is continually evaporating water from the surface of the earth, and continually restoring it again by condensation, yet, on the whole and in the course of years, there seems to be no sensible gain or loss of water in our seas, lakes, and rivers; so that the two processes of evaporation and condensation balance each other.

It is evident, however, that the moisture precipitated at any moment from the air is not at once evaporated again. The disappearance of the water is due in part to evaporation, but only in part. A great deal of it goes out of sight in other ways.

The rain which falls upon the sea is the largest part of the whole rainfall of the globe, because the surface of the sea is about three times greater than that of the land. All this rain gradually mingles with the salt water, and can then be no longer recognized. It thus helps to make up for the loss which the sea is always suffering by evaporation. For the sea is the great evaporating surface whence most of the vapor of the atmosphere is derived.

On the other hand, the total amount of rain which falls upon the land of the globe must be enormous. It has been estimated, for example, that about sixty-eight cubic miles of water annually descend as rain even upon the surface of the British Isles, and there are many much more rainy regions. If you inquire about this rain which falls upon the land, you will find that it does not at once disappear, but begins another kind of circulation. Watch what happens during a shower of rain. If the shower is heavy, you will notice little runs of muddy water coursing down the streets or roads, or flowing out of the ridges of the fields. Follow one of the runs. It leads into some drain or brook, that into some larger stream, the stream into a river; and the river, if you follow it far enough, will bring you to the sea. Now think of all the brooks and rivers of the world, where this kind of transport of water is going on, and you will at once see how vast must be the part of the rain which flows off the land into the ocean.

But does the whole of the rain flow off at once into the sea in this way? A good deal of the rain which falls upon the land must sink underground and gather there. You may think that surely the water which disappears in that way must be finally withdrawn from the general circulation which we have been tracing. When it sinks below the surface, how can it ever get up to the surface again?

Yet, if you consider for a little, you will be convinced that whatever becomes of it underneath, it can not be lost. If all the rain which sinks into the ground be forever removed from the surface circulation, you will at once see that the quantity of water upon the earth’s surface must be constantly and visibly diminishing. But no such changes, so far as can be seen, are really taking place. In spite of the rain which disappears into the ground, the circulation of water between the air, the land, and the sea continues without perceptible diminution.

You are driven to conclude, therefore, that there must be some means whereby the water underground is brought back to the surface. This is done by springs, which gush out of the earth, and bring up water to feed the brooks and rivers, whereby it is borne into the sea. Here, then, are two distinct courses which the rainfall takes—one below ground, and one above. It will be most convenient to follow the underground portion first.

A little attention to the soils and rocks which form the surface of a country is enough to show that they differ greatly from each other in hardness, and in texture or grain. Some are quite loose and porous, others are tough and close-grained. They consequently differ much in the quantity of water they allow to pass through them. A bed of sand, for example, is pervious; that is, will let water sink through it freely, because the little grains of sand lie loosely together, touching each other only at some points, so as to leave empty spaces between. The water readily finds its way among these empty spaces. In fact, the sand-bed may become a kind of sponge, quite saturated with the water which has filtered down from the surface. A bed of clay, on the other hand, is impervious; it is made up of very small particles fitting closely to each other, and therefore offering resistance to the passage of water. Wherever such a bed occurs, it hinders the free passage of the water, which, unable to sink through it from above on the way down, or from below on the way up to the surface again, is kept in by the clay, and forced to find another line of escape.

Sandy soils are dry because the rain at once sinks through them; clay soils are wet because they retain the water, and prevent it from freely descending into the earth.

Now the rocks beneath us, besides being in many cases porous in their texture, such as sandstone, are all more or less traversed with cracks—sometimes mere lines, like those of a cracked window-pane, but sometimes wide and open clefts and tunnels. These numerous channels serve as passages for the underground water. Hence, although a rock may be so hard and close-grained that water does not soak through it at all, yet if that rock is plentifully supplied with these cracks, it may allow a large quantity of water to pass through. Limestone, for example, is a very hard rock, through the grains of which water can make but little way; yet it is so full of cracks or “joints,” as they are called, and these joints are often so wide, that they give passage to a great deal of water.

In hilly districts, where the surface of the ground has not been brought under the plow, you will notice that many places are marshy and wet, even when the weather has long been dry. The soil everywhere around has perhaps been baked quite hard by the sun; but these places remain still wet, in spite of the heat. Whence do they get their water? Plainly not directly from the air, for in that case the rest of the ground would also be damp. They get it not from above, but from below. It is oozing out of the ground; and it is this constant outcome of water from below which keeps the ground wet and marshy. In other places you will observe that the water does not merely soak through the ground, but gives rise to a little run of clear water. If you follow such a run up to its source, you will see that it comes gushing out of the ground as a spring.

Springs are the natural outlets for the underground water. But, you ask, why should this water have any outlets, and what makes it rise to the surface?

Let us suppose that a flat layer of some impervious rock, like clay, underlies another layer of a porous material, like sand. The rain which falls on the surface of the ground, and sinks through the upper bed, will be arrested by the lower one, and made either to gather there, or find its escape along the surface of that lower bed. If a hollow or valley should have its bottom below the level of the line along which the water flows, springs will gush out along the sides of the valley. The line of escape may be either the junction between two different kinds of rock, or some of the numerous joints already referred to. Whatever it be, the water can not help flowing onward and downward, as long as there is any passage along which it can find its way; and the rocks underneath are so full of cracks, that it has no difficulty in doing so.