“Impinging, at its south-western frontier, upon the Latin world, at its south-eastern frontier, upon the Slavonian world, and at its northern frontier, upon Scandinavia, Germany,” says Dr. Clavel, “does not admit of any very distinct definition. Throughout the whole periphery of this country there exists no identity either of customs, language, or religion. Its provinces on the frontiers of Denmark are half Scandinavian; those bordering on Russia or Turkey are half Slavonic; those which are neighbours of Italy or France are half Latin: the provinces which together represent the frontiers of Germany, form a zone more mixed and various than is possessed by the frontiers of any other nationality.
“It is only toward the centre of the country that we find in all its purity the blond Germanic type, the feudal organization and the numerous principalities which are its consequences. It is here that we find the conditions of climate which appear to produce this race with blue eyes, red and white complexion, tall figures, and full, powerful frames.
“Whilst the Latin, glorying in the light of heaven, enlarges his windows, builds open terraces, and clears his forests that he may plant vineyards in their stead; the German loves above all things shade and mystic retreats. He hides his house in the midst of trees, limits his windows in size, and lines his streets with leafy elms; he reveres, nay, almost worships his old oak trees, endows them with soul and language, and makes of them the abode of a Divinity.
“In order thoroughly to enter into the German genius, we must wander among the paths of their old forests, observe and analyze carefully the effects of light and shade, springing up in ubiquitous confusion, intersecting confined and narrow perspectives, lending isolated objects a brightness vividly contrasting with the neighbouring obscurity, changing even the appearance of the face in their alternations, and forming dark backgrounds, illuminated by prismatic tints and glowing sunbeams. Pausing beneath the venerable trees, we must listen to sounds, re-echoed a thousand times, then dying away among the thickets, to give place to the rustling of aspen leaves, to the sighing of the firs, or to the harmonious murmurs of rivulets which force their way amid the flags and water-lilies. We must inhale the air scented with the pungent odour of fallen leaves, or the exhilarating scent of the wild cherry blossom. It is only then that we come to appreciate the love of nature and the druidical tone which pervade German literature; we understand Goethe’s passion for natural history; the poem of Faust becomes full of meaning; a feeling of melancholy creeps over the mind and leads us to the contemplation of things that are soft, sad, mysterious, fantastic, irregular, and original.
11, 12.—SUABIANS (STUTTGARD).
“Being brought thus in contact with nature, the German is natural and primitive; he sympathizes with the world’s infancy. He easily goes back to the past and the consideration of olden times; but it is not in him to anticipate the future, and he regards progress with distaste. If he advances towards equality and unity, it is the ideal of the Latins which impels him. There is in him a resistance which forms part of his patient and cold nature. His movements are sluggish. His language is hardly formed. His literature, overflowing with imagination, is wanting in elegance and purity, it is not ripe enough for prose and unfit to form a book.
“The plastic arts of Germany also possess the simplicity and variety which are produced by imagination; but they are wanting in proportion, in purity of style and elegance; they are capable of arranging neither lines nor colours; their productions often verge on the grotesque, or are marked by heaviness or pedantry, and they clearly are not the work of children of the sun.