Main Currents in Nineteenth Century Literature - 6. Young Germany — Story, Setting & Ideas

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Brandes, Georg, 1842-1927, Morison, Mary [Translator], White, Diana (Translator), 1868-1950 [Translator] Project Gutenberg 2015 Not confirmed
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Brandes traces the literary revolt of Young Germany against post-Napoleonic reaction, analyzing Börne, Heine, and others through political, philosophical, and stylistic lenses, with close attention to their oppositional voice and the tension between art and party.
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risoned or driven into exile. In short, the Liberal middle-class youth of the Germany of those days was as unprotected by the law and as much persecuted as are, in our days, the Socialistic youth of the fourth estate of the same country, or the Liberal youth of Russia.

Political and religious reaction went, as usual, hand in hand. In the year 1821, the Prussian Government concluded a concordat with the Pope, which gave the Roman Catholic Church an influence in Prussia such as would have been unimaginable under Frederick the Great. In the following year a new liturgy, more nearly resembling the Roman, was introduced into the Protestant Church. And it is exceedingly significant that the word Protestantism now fell into disrepute. By a Ministerial decree of the year 1821, the terms Protestant and Protestantism were forbidden in Prussia; the censors received orders not to pass these words, but to substitute the word Evangelical.

The sadness that takes possession of all progressively inclined minds during long and apparently hopeless periods of reaction now weighed upon the spiritual _élite_ of Germany. But the great majority fell a quick prey to carelessness and political indifference. With the reaction, at first forced on them from without, they soon familiarised themselves. Many began to be of opinion that a representative constitution, such as had been promised to Prussia, was a thing of no value. Others felt it deeply that Prussia, which had made such sacrifices in the war with Napoleon, had not succeeded in obtaining a constitution, while the South German States, which had to the last made common cause with the enemy, had long enjoyed popular government and the privilege of Parliamentary debate; but they concealed their shame under a mask of contempt for these skirmishers, a contempt that had a strong family resemblance to envy and anger. It was malevolently pointed out that the Bundestag, in which Austria and Prussia predominated, took good care that the trees of the South German Parliamentary system were well pruned down. The various Governments had, moreover, succeeded in bringing such opposition as arose in the South German States into disrepute. Ministers often succeeded in preventing an election that was objectionable to them; they also won over opponents by direct bribery or fear of dismissal; and they had always the final resource, to which they frequently resorted, of completely disregarding the oppositionist resolutions of the Chambers. As the power was in the hands of the Governments, it lay in the nature of things that the proceedings of the Parliaments, up to 1830, were of no serious interest.

The German press had never occupied a high position. All discussion of State matters being now prohibited, it had to confine itself, as regarded politics, to the simple chronicling of facts, and to fill its columns with court news, accounts of storms and floods, the birth of marvellous monsters in the animal, and the appearance of new stars in the theatrical, world.

The cultivated classes sought a kind of compensation for their exclusion from politics in a frantically exaggerated interest in the theatre. Never had the adoration of a prima donna or a ballet-dancer been carried to such an extreme. In the Berlin of the Twenties every other interest was swallowed up in the question of the superiority of German or Italian music. People thought of nothing but the rivalry between Spontini and Weber. When Börne came to Berlin in 1828, the public mind was so engrossed with the famous singer, Henriette Sontag, that no one remembered anything about Börne, except that he had written an article on her. In his _Letters from Paris_ (in "Härings-Salat") he gives a witty and yet veracious account of how he was met and saluted everywhere with the cry: "This is the man who wrote about Sontag!" Even in 1832, everything--the agitation in France, the Polish defeat, sympathy with the exiled Poles--everything was forgotten in the enthusiasm for the feet of the great _danseuse_ Taglioni, which were then setting out on their triumphal progress through Europe. The chief representative of the reactionary spirit in Prussia, the Hofmarschall and future diplomatist, General Theodor Heinrich von Rochow, writes in May 1832 to von Nagler, the Postmaster-General: "She is to dance, consequently there is great rejoicing, and occupation in abundance.... Taglioni's mimetic grace has dispelled the threatening signs of the times."[6] The word occupation here is significant. The performance did not merely please, it occupied.[7]

As regards literature, the generation of that day luxuriated in an idolisation of the octogenarian Goethe, which accepted everything that the aged master wrote or said as wisdom, and beauty, and inspired poetry. All his life long he had had to struggle against hatred and misunderstanding; now the reverence for him verged on the ridiculous; in Berlin it verged on idiocy.[8] In Zelter's _Letters to Goethe_ he writes, on the subject of the latter's _Elpenor_: "Posterity will not believe that the sun of our days beheld the forthcoming of such a work."[9] All those who had obstructed Goethe's path so long as his name still belonged to combatant literature, became his votaries from the moment that that name conveyed undisputed authority, and could be employed as a sort of Conservative and national emblem. Otherwise literature languished. The day of romantic poetical fancy was at an end--Raupach and Müllner ruled the stage, Clauren fiction. Light literature sank deeper and deeper into the slough of vulgarity and pruriency.

[1] Biedermann: _Dreissig Jahre deutscher Geschichte_. Prutz: _Zehn Jahre_, i. and ii.

Soul and body lose their strength Covering idle by the stove Free beneath the open sky Must the hardy gymnast rove.

[3] _Wintermährchen_, Kap. xi.; _Lobgesänge auf König Ludwig_; preface to _Romancero_.

[4] Treitschke: _Deutsche Geschichte,_ ii. 383-443.

"Du hast es lang genug getrieben, Niederträchtig vom Hohen geschrieben. Dass du dein eignes Volk gescholten, Die Jugend hat es dir vergolten."

Thou hast long enough had thy way, long enough reviled what is great; youth now requites thee for the insults offered to thine own nation.

[6] "Sie wird tanzen und somit ist grosse Freude und Beschäftigung vollauf ... die Mimik der Grazien der Taglioni haben die drohenden Zeichen der Zeit verdrängt."

[7] "Preussen und Frankreich zur Zeit der Julirevolution. Vertraute Briefe des Generals von Rochow, herausgegeben von E. Kelchner und K. Mendelssohn-Bartholdy."

[8] A certain Geheimrath Schulz, of the Berlin "Wednesday Society," addressed the following birthday poem to Goethe: "Ich wollt, ich war ein Fisch--so wohlig und frisch--und ganz ohne Gräten--So war ich für Goethen--gebraten am Tisch--ein köstlicher Fisch" _Translation:_ I would I were a fish--lively and fresh--and without any bones--Then I should be for Goethe--fried for his table--a delicious fish.

[9] Die Nachwelt wird es nicht glauben, dass die Sonne unsrer Tage ein solches Werk hervorgehen sah.

PHILOSOPHY AND REACTION

German philosophy, all the branches of which shot out vigorously after the flood of Romanticism had fertilised the ground with its deposit, at the same time changed colour. Through the unpropitiousness of circumstances, it became farther removed from reality than heretofore, though more closely bound up with existing conditions.

Hegel is the great example. In March 1819, Karl Sand murdered Kotzebue; on the 22nd of October of the preceding year, Hegel entered on his professorial duties at the University of Berlin. From the programme which he gave his audience in his opening address, it could be clearly deduced that Hegel's philosophy and the Prussian State in its existing form were closely connected; for the said philosophy was based on the omnipotence of the Idea, the State on the power of intelligence and culture. Of the fact that Prussia, allowing herself to be led by Austria, was at this very time proving false to her character and traditions by entering on a policy of spiritual and political reaction, no account was taken. Yet the Resolutions of Carlsbad were already drafted, and it was Prussia that took the initiative in issuing all the petty tyrannical regulations which soon placed the whole of Germany under police surveillance. But the sentimental politics of the students were as obnoxious to Hegel as sentimental philosophy; the Wartburg rendezvous was to him a piece of romantic foolery, and Sand's poniard-thrust an abomination. In the preface to the _Philosophy of Right_, the first and most important work he produced in Berlin, he not only condescended to defend the persecution of the demagogues, but demeaned himself by playing police agent, and denouncing his former colleague, Fries, to the Governments: "It is to be hoped that neither office nor title will serve as a talisman for principles destructive both of morality and public order." From this time onward Hegel became the philosophic dictator of Germany. He ruled from Berlin over the whole domain of German thought.

Yet in this same philosophy, even in a work with such a pronounced Conservative tendency as the _Philosophy of Right_ there existed a portentous ambiguity. As early as in the above-mentioned notorious preface we find the proposition which was to become the classic motto of the age, which was first appropriated eagerly by the Conservatism of the Restoration period, and then used as a battering-ram by Hegel's younger disciples. It is in larger print than the rest, in two lines:

"What is rational is real, What is real is rational."

What does this mean? Hegel goes on to explain that when reflection, feeling, or whatever other form the subjective consciousness may assume, regards the present as vanity, it is itself false, finds itself in emptiness. But, on the other hand, the doctrine that the idea is a mere idea or figment, philosophy meets with the assertion that nothing is real except the idea. What is all-important is to recognise that which is eternal in the present, temporal, transient; in other words, in this case, not to construct a state, but to understand the state as it exists.

Hegel's biographer, Haym, rightly says that not even the doctrine of divine right is so dangerous as this, which declares everything existing to be sacred. But, on the other hand, it may with equal right be maintained that not even the destructive ardour of the youthful revolutionaries went so far as this doctrine, which grants reality only to what is rational, and to all else nothing but a mock reality, which can and should be defied, disregarded, overturned, exploded. Hence Robert Prutz could say of this same proposition that by it all doubt was removed, the old God of darkness hurled into the abyss, and a new, eternally reigning Zeus, the idea that comprehends itself, man as a thinking being, raised to the throne.[1]

The interpretations of Hegel's philosophy that soon appeared were many and widely different, but the kinship between his doctrines and Goethe's poetry was felt by all the initiated. Hegel became the strongest ally of the little circle of Goethe votaries in Berlin, and the two men, known as the absolute poet and the absolute philosopher, were the objects of a common veneration. The orthodox Hegelian even saw a significant coincidence in the circumstance that Hegel was born on the 27th of August and Goethe on the 28th. In the Twenties, the faithful gathered round the festive board on the evening of the 27th of August, drank the toast of the master in the kingdom of thought, and called to mind the saying in the preface to the _Philosophy of Right_ about the owl of Minerva, which begins its flight only when the shades of night are gathering. "But as soon as the midnight hour had struck, an orator rose to proclaim the glad tidings that Apollo, the God of day and of song, was now in his sun-chariot, ushering in the 28th, the glorious day."[2]

The patriotism which in 1813 had driven the enemy out of the country, contained two radically different elements, a historical, retrospective tendency, which soon developed into Romanticism, and a liberal-minded, progressive tendency, which developed into the new Liberalism. When the reaction came, it sought support in many of the theories of Romanticism, and finally took the whole movement into its pay. Men like Görres, Friedrich Schlegel, and others, passed from the camp of Romanticism into that of reaction.

The freedom-loving group had, of course, during the wars with Napoleon, shared the Romanticists' hatred of France. But when their sympathies came to take the shape of wishes and demands (for liberty of the press, constitutional government, the franchise, &c), the hatred of France inevitably evaporated. And the stronger the reaction became, the more keenly were all eyes turned to that neighbouring country which possessed Parliamentary government. The heroes of French Liberalism were soon men of great consequence in the estimation of the German Liberals; indeed at a distance they seemed of more consequence than they did at home. In Germany, after the victory over Napoleon, as after the great defeat, quietness was the first duty of the citizen.[3] All was obedience and silence. And the result was what it usually is when a highly gifted but unenergetic people are incapable of throwing off a yoke; its pressure generated self-contempt, and the self-contempt a kind of desperate wit, of chronic "gallows-humour"; the better sort developed a real passion for solacing themselves with derision of their own impotence. The observation of existing conditions gave constantly recurring occasion for irony directed against themselves--against visionary Romanticism, the spirit of patience and submission in the domain of politics, orthodoxy and pietism in the domain of religion. Caricature-like developments of political life, religion, and poetry incited to sarcasm, that sometimes ruthlessly wounded patriotic feeling, sometimes assumed a frivolous tone which, taken in connection with the French leanings of Liberalism, was, or inevitably seemed to be, more French than German.

[1] Haym: _Hegel und seine Zeit_, p. 365; R. Prutz: _Vorlesungen über die deutsche Litteratur der Gegenwart,_ p. 259.

[2] Treitschke: _Deutsche Geschichte_, iii. 686.

[3] "_Die erste Bürgerpflicht ist Ruhe,_" These words occur in an official notice posted in the streets of Berlin after the defeat of Jena.

SPIRIT OF THE OPPOSITION

The most notable of the freedom-loving poets and prose authors of the period are embodiments of some of the shades of opinion which have been alluded to. Adalbert von Chamisso, who, by virtue of his famous prose tale, _Peter Schlemihl_, and certain of his qualities, belongs to the German Romantic School, while in other respects he approaches more nearly to the French ideal of thought and writing, is, in some of his most characteristic poems, and even in his epigrams, a mouthpiece of the grief of the better sort over the steadily growing political and social reaction. As early as 1822, in his poem, _Die goldene Zeit_ ("The Golden Age"), he ridicules an age in which that man is a Jacobin who has openly expressed his belief that 2 and 2 make 4; in the _Nachtwächterlied_ ("Watchman's Song") he scoffs at the power of the Jesuits; in _Joshua_ and _Das Dampfross_ ("The Steam Horse"), at those who have robbed time of its secret, and learned how to force it backwards day by day; in _Das Gebet der Wittwe_ ("The Widow's Prayer") he gives a darkly pessimistic picture of the heartless rule of the powers that be, with its complete indifference to the fate of the common people; finally he sums up his view of the times in this bitterly humorous quatrain, which greets us sadly in the form of a four-part catch:

KANON. "Das ist die Noth der schweren Zeit! Das ist die schwere Zeit der Noth! Das ist die schwere Noth der Zeit! Das ist die Zeit der schweren Noth!"[1]

Count August von Platen-Hallermünde, whose youthful efforts were Romantic, both in their choice of subject and in their imitation of the forms of the Spanish drama, afterwards waged systematic war with Romanticism. Its latest developments in Germany he holds up to ridicule, without possessing enough of critical tact to discriminate between the authors who did and those who did not belong to the Romanticist group. He quits the literary drama to cultivate the political lyric muse, as he gradually arrives at the conviction that the pitiable condition of public affairs is also at the bottom of the German people's lack of appreciation of power and style and form in poetry. He finds life in Germany impossible to endure, and seeks, under the sunny skies of Sicily, amidst its reminiscences of antiquity, to forget the heavy atmosphere and the political abuses of his Northern home. But he cannot completely distract his thoughts from the ignominy there. He writes his Berlin national song, which begins with the chorus:

"Diesen Kuss den Moscoviten, Deren Nasen sind so schmuck; Rom mit seinen Jesuiten Nehme diesen Händedruck!"[2]

We find also the following bitter outburst of national self-contempt, written in wrath over the maltreatment of his poems by the censor:

"Doch gieb, o Dichter, dich zufrieden, Es büsst die Welt nur wenig ein; Du weisst es längst, man kann hienieden Nichts Schlechtres als ein Deutscher sein."[3]

Romantically as Platen's adversary, Heinrich Heine, starts, the modern spirit soon makes itself perceptible in his prose. Even before he touches on the subject of politics proper, he amuses himself, in his _Reisebilder_, by making taunting allusions to German conditions and to the way in which German stolidity accommodates itself to them.

And the love of liberty, abstract, political liberty, was all along the true passion of Ludwig Börne, who long appeared to occupy himself with purely æsthetic matters, being known for whole decades only as a dramatic critic and writer of short stories.

That these authors found readers and admirers bears witness to the fact that the thinking part of the German people at the end of the Twenties was laying aside its faith in authority in the domain of politics as well as in general intellectual matters. At this time the persecution of the students' unions (Burschenschaften) was being carried on with the utmost ardour. They were broken up everywhere. But they formed again at once, and in one German State, Bavaria, after the accession of King Ludwig, they were actually sanctioned by the police. The divisions that occurred among them show the directions of the various currents of public opinion at that time. In Erlangen, after 1827, there were three unions, at feud with each other--Teutonia, Arminia, and Germania.

Teutonia was the organ of pure Romanticism, of religious mysticism, and declared that politics in no way concerned it. Arminia's principles were strict morality and the pursuit of science; it aimed at the reformation of the conditions of public life, and also at the unity and liberty of Germany. Germania answered to the Radical tendencies of the day. It dropped the older _Tugendbund's_ requirement of strict morality, emancipated itself from the rule of authority, including authority in the matter of religion, and declared the belief that its aim--which in the case of this union also was the unity and liberty of Germany--could only be attained by revolution. Though it was essentially a political organisation, it would be ridiculous to call it an important and dangerous one.

These three main movements were soon represented at all the German universities, and significantly enough, it was, as a rule, the one represented by Germania, which had the greatest influence.

This is the need of these hard times! These are the hard times of need! This is the hard need of these times! These are the times of hard need!

[2] This kiss is for the Moscovites, with their handsome noses; this hand-clasp for Rome with her Jesuits.

[3] Console thyself, O poet! 'tis but little the world loses; thou hast long known that on this earth a man can be nothing worse than a German.

INFLUENCE OF THE REVOLUTION OF JULY

In 1830, while things were in this state of stagnation, oppression, and ferment, the news of the Paris Revolution of July arrived, and acted upon public feeling in Germany like an electric shock. All eyes were turned towards Paris, and among thinking people real enthusiasm was felt.

The effect was perhaps most plainly observable among the quite young men.

Two months before the Revolution, Karl Gutzkow, then nineteen, had, as he himself has told us, no understanding whatever of European politics. He neither knew who Polignac was, nor what it meant to violate _la Charte_ (the French constitution). He only knew that in spite of all the persecution of the German student unions (Burschenschaften), they were still alive, and that the object to be attained was the unification of Germany. If he thought at all of upheavals which might hasten the march of events, he looked for them rather from the direction of Erlangen or Jena than from Paris; at the utmost he conceived it possible that a troop of returning Philhellenes landing armed at Stralsund, might take forcible possession of the town and call the Pomeranian militia (Landwehr) to arms, and that the peasants, driven to it perhaps by famine, might join in the revolt.

Brandes opens Young Germany by situating the literary movement within the political reaction that followed the Congress of Vienna, singling out Metternich as the embodiment of a system that aimed to restore everything overturned by the Revolution and Napoleon. The contrast between Austrian and Prussian watchwords—'Justice and Order' versus 'The Nation' and 'Freedom and Honour'—is drawn sharply, and Brandes notes that both states had made concessions to the spirit of the times that their leading statesmen found distasteful. This framing immediately establishes that the literature to be discussed is inseparable from the struggle against censorship and repression.

The Political Background as Literary Context

Brandes devotes the first chapter to the political landscape, arguing that the Holy Alliance fostered a 'spirit of systematic reaction' across the German states. He emphasizes that the war of liberation had forced governments to appeal to popular sentiment, even promising 'the regeneration of Germany,' but once Napoleon was defeated, the priority became suppressing the very freedoms that had been invoked. This tension between official rhetoric and actual policy becomes the backdrop against which Young German writers defined themselves. Brandes does not simply list events; he shows how the political climate shaped the conditions under which literature was produced and received.

The Sword of Charlemagne: A Parable of Authority

In a later excerpt, Brandes recounts a story about a farmer called the 'Hofschulze' who treasures a sword he believes belonged to Charlemagne. The sword is actually a common weapon, possibly two hundred years old, and the farmer, tormented by doubts, tricks an antiquarian into certifying its authenticity. This anecdote serves as a compact illustration of how authority is constructed and maintained. The farmer's secret court of justice, his reliance on a forged document, and the eventual theft of the sword that breaks his spirit all mirror the larger themes of legitimacy, tradition, and the fragility of inherited power that run through the movement's critique.

The Farmer's Speech: A Voice of Resistance

The 'Hofschulze' delivers a last speech before his trial, in which he contrasts the uselessness of government officials—who 'write until they wrote themselves into a carriage and four'—with the practical self-reliance of peasants who settle their own affairs. He describes how the community quietly took the law into its own hands, refusing to communicate with evildoers. The speech is a direct, earthy critique of bureaucracy and distant authority, and it captures the populist strain that Brandes identifies in the oppositional literature of the period. The language is concrete, the grievances specific, and the tone defiant without being revolutionary in a programmatic sense.

Structure and Method: From Politics to Portraits

The table of contents reveals a methodical progression: after establishing the political and philosophical background, Brandes moves to individual studies of Börne (four chapters), Heine (seven chapters), and then to group portraits of Gutzkow, Laube, Mundt, and notable women such as Rahel and Bettina. The later chapters address 'Neutral Literature,' political poetry, and the revolution of 1848. This structure allows Brandes to move between broad historical forces and close analysis of particular writers, always keeping the political stakes in view. The excerpts show that his critical approach is both contextual and personal, blending historical narrative with literary judgment.

Readers approaching Young Germany for the first time will benefit from attending to the way Brandes uses anecdote and quotation to ground his arguments. The story of the farmer and his sword is not a digression but a microcosm of the movement's concerns: authenticity, authority, and the power of narrative. Brandes's own voice is that of a critic deeply engaged with the politics of literature, and his judgments are always tied to specific textual evidence. This is not a dry survey but a passionate intervention in the cultural debates of his own time.

There’s something bittersweet in how Brandes watches Young Germany fight for a freer voice, knowing how easily art gets bent to the cause. I often think of that tension when I revisit another old favorite, Moran of the Lady Letty — Key Ideas to Explore, where the sea seems to hold a similar quiet rebellion against every tidy shore-bound rule. Strange, the company old books keep.

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