The German Classics of The Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries, Vol. VIII by Various

V >> Various >> The German Classics of The Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries, Vol. VIII

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When they, after a little while, descended a gentle slope they caught
sight of the Sideralp chalet. They approached. In the hut a fire was
burning, the mother of the children was there, and with a terrible cry
she sank in the snow as she saw her children coming with the hunter.

Then she ran up, looked them all over, wanted to give them something to
eat, wanted to warm them, and bed them in the hay that was there; but
soon she convinced herself that the children were more stimulated by
their rescue than she had thought and only required some warm food and a
little rest, both of which they now obtained.

When, after some time of rest, another group of men descended the
snow-slope while the little bell continued tolling, the children
themselves ran out to see who they were. It was the shoemaker, the
former mountaineer, with Alpen-stock and climbing-irons, accompanied by
friends and comrades.

"Sebastian, here they are!" cried the woman.

He, however, remained speechless, shaking with emotion, and then ran up
to her. Then his lips moved as if he wanted to say something, but he
said nothing, caught the children in his embrace and held them long.
Thereupon he turned to his wife, embraced her and cried "Sanna, Sanna!"

After awhile he picked up his hat which had fallen on the snow and
stepped among the men as if to speak. But he only said: "Neighbors and
friends, I thank you!"

After waiting awhile, until the children had recovered from their
excitement, he said: "If we are all together we may start, in God's
name."

"We are not all together yet, I believe," said the shepherd Philip, "but
those who are still missing will know from the smoke that we have found
the children and will go home when they find the chalet empty."

All got ready to depart.

The Sideralp chalet is not so very far from Gschaid, from whose windows
one can, in summer time, very well see the green pasture on which stands
the gray hut with its small belfry; but below it there is a
perpendicular wall with a descent of many fathoms which one could climb
in summer, with the help of climbing-irons, but which was not to be
scaled in winter. They were, therefore, compelled to go by way of the
"neck" in order to get down to Gschaid. On their way, they came to the
Sider meadow which is still nearer to Gschaid so that from it one could
see the windows in the village.

As they were crossing these meadows, the bell of the Gschaid church
sounded up to them bright and clear, announcing the Holy
Transubstantiation.

[Illustration: THE BARBER SHOP BENJAMIN VAUTIER]

On account of the general commotion that obtained in Gschaid that
morning, the celebration of the High-mass had been deferred, as the
priest thought the children would soon be found. Finally, however, as
still no news came, the holy mass had to be celebrated.

When they heard the bell announcing the Holy Transsubstantiation, all
those crossing the Sider meadow sank upon their knees in the snow and
prayed. When the tolling had ceased they arose and marched on.

The shoemaker was carrying his little girl for the most part and made
her tell him all.

When they were descending toward the forest of the "neck" they saw
tracks which, he declared, came not from shoes of his make.

The explanation came soon. Attracted probably by the many voices they
heard, another body of men joined them. It was the dyer--ash-gray in the
face from fright--descending at the head of his workmen, apprentices,
and several men of Millsdorf.

"They climbed over the glacier and the crevasses without knowing it,"
the shoemaker shouted to his father-in-law.

"There they are--there they are--praised be the Lord," answered the
dyer, "I knew already that they had been on the mountain when your
messenger came to us in the night, and we had searched through the whole
forest with lanterns and had not found anything--and then, when it
dawned, I observed that on the road which leads on the left up toward
the snow-mountain, on the spot where the post stands--that there some
twigs and stalks were broken off, as children like to do on their
way--and then I knew it, and then they could not get away, because they
walked in the hollow, and then between the rocks on to the ridge which
is so steep on either side that they could not get down. They just had
to ascend. After making this observation I sent a message to Gschaid,
but the wood-cutter Michael who carried it told us at his return, when
he joined us up there near the ice, that you had found them already,
and so we came down again."

"Yes," said Michael, "I told you so because the red flag is hung out on
the Krebsstein, and this was the sign agreed upon in Gschaid. And I told
you that they all would come down this way, as one cannot climb down the
precipice."

"And kneel down and thank God on your knees, my son-in-law," continued
the dyer, "that there was no wind. A hundred years will pass before
there will be another such fall of snow that will come down straight
like wet cords hanging from a pole. If there had been any wind the
children would have perished."

"Yes, let us thank God, let us thank God," said the shoemaker.

The dyer who since the marriage of his daughter had never been in
Gschaid decided to accompany the men to the village.

When they approached the red post where the side-road began they saw the
sleigh waiting for them which the shoemaker had ordered there, whatever
the outcome. They let mother and children get into it, covered them well
up in the rugs and furs provided for them and let them ride ahead to
Gschaid.

The others followed and arrived in Gschaid by afternoon. Those who still
were on the mountain and had only learned through the smoke that the
signal for returning had been given, gradually also found their way into
the valley. The last to appear in the evening was the son of the
shepherd Philip who had carried the red flag to the Krebsstein and
planted it there.

In Gschaid there was also grandmother waiting for them who had driven
across the "neck."

"Never, never," she cried, "will I permit the children to cross the
'neck' in winter!"

The children were confused by all this commotion. They received
something more to eat and were put to bed then. Late in the evening,
when they had recovered somewhat, and some neighbors and friends had
assembled in the living-room and were talking about the event, their
mother came into the sleeping-room. As she sat by Sanna's bed and
caressed her, the little girl said: "Mother, last night, when we sat on
the mountain, I saw the holy Christ-child."

"Oh, my dear, darling child," answered her mother, "he sent you some
presents, too, and you shall get them right soon."

The paste-board boxes had been unpacked and the candles lit, and now the
door into the living-room was opened, and from their bed the children
could behold their belated, brightly gleaming, friendly Christmas tree.
Notwithstanding their utter fatigue they wanted to be dressed partly, so
that they could go into the room. They received their presents, admired
them, and finally fell asleep over them.

In the inn at Gschaid it was more lively than ever, this evening. All
who had not been to church were there, and the others too. Each related
what he had seen and heard, what he had done or advised, and the
experiences and dangers he had gone through. Especial stress was laid on
how everything could have been done differently and better.

This occurrence made an epoch in the history of Gschaid. It furnished
material for conversation for a long time; and for many years to come
people will speak about it on bright days when the mountain is seen with
especial clearness, or when they tell strangers of the memorable events
connected with it.

Only from this day on the children were really felt to belong to the
village and were not any longer regarded as strangers in it but as
natives whom the people had fetched down to them from the mountain.

Their mother Sanna also now was a native of Gschaid.

The children, however, will not forget the mountain and will look up to
it more attentively, when they are in the garden; when, as in the past,
the sun is shining beautifully and the linden-tree is sending forth its
fragrance, when the bees are humming and the mountain looks down upon
them beautifully blue, like the soft sky.

WILHELM HEINRICH RIEHL

By OTTO HELLER, PH.D.

Professor of the German Language and Literature, Washington University

Wilhelm Heinrich Riehl was born May 6, 1823, in Bieberich on the Rhine,
of parents so poor that after his father's early death his mother had to
deprive herself of every comfort in order to enable the lad to go to the
university. At Bonn he swerved from his theological bent--chiefly
through the influence of two of his professors, Ernst Moritz Arndt and
Ch. F. Dahlmann--and made up his mind to devote his studies henceforth
to the scientific as well as patriotic purpose of comprehending the
character and history of his own people. Even in the many articles
concerning popular ways and manners which he had already contributed to
periodicals he revealed a thorough firsthand acquaintance with the land
and the people, in particular the peasantry, as he had observed them in
the course of numerous holiday tramps.

Soon after leaving the university he drifted into professional
journalism. He held a number of responsible editorial positions, nor did
he wholly withdraw from such work when in 1859 he was called to the
newly created chair of the History of Civilization and of Statistics at
Munich. Both in his professional and publicistic capacity he wrote
prolifically to the very end of his life, November 16, 1897. His works
are classifiable, roughly, under three headings: History of Culture,
Sociology, and Fiction. Of the large number, the following,
chronologically enumerated, are considered the most important.

[Illustration: WILHELM HEINRICH RIEHL]

_The Natural History of the People, being the Elements of German Social
Politics_ (1851-1869), in four volumes; _Musical Character-Portraits
(1853); Culture-historical Stories (1856); The Palatine People (1857);
Studies in the History of Culture, from Three Centuries (1859); German
Work (1861); Tales of the Olden Time (1863); New Story-Book (1868); From
my Nook (1874); At Eventide (1880); Riddles of Life (1888); Religious
Studies of a Worldling (1892-1893); A Whole Man (1897)._

Riehl's position in the literature of Germany cannot be defined solely,
nor even mainly, on the basis of his imaginative writings. As a romancer
he falls far short of Gustav Freytag, whose _Pictures of the German
Past_ served Riehl obviously for a model, and of Jeremias Gotthelf, in
whose manner, though perhaps unconsciously, he likewise strove to write.
It is characteristic of his tales that they invariably play against a
native background, which, however, stretches across more than full ten
centuries, and that, while failing to prove any high poetic vocation for
their author, they demonstrate his singularly acute perception of
cultural tendencies and values. Equally keen is the appreciation shown
in these stories of the dominant national traits, whether commendable or
otherwise: German contentiousness, stubbornness, envy, jealousy and
_Schadenfreude_, i.e., the malicious joy over calamities that befall
others, are impartially balanced against German self-reliance,
sturdiness, love of truth, sense of duty, sincerity, unselfishness,
loyalty, and depth of feeling.

On the whole, the inclusion of Riehl among the most eminent German
writers of the nineteenth century is due far less to his works of
fiction than to a just recognition of his primacy among historians of
culture, on account of the extraordinary reach of his influence. This
influence he certainly owed as much to his rare art of popular
presentation as to his profound scholarship. Nevertheless the intrinsic
scientific worth of these more or less popular writings is vouched for
by the consensus of leading historians and other specially competent
judges who, regarding Riehl's work as epoch-making and in some essential
aspects fundamental, recognize him as one of the organizers of modern
historical science and in particular as the foremost pioneer in the
exploration of the widest area within the territory of human knowledge;
in fine, as the most efficient representative of the History of
Civilization.

_Kulturgeschichte_, as Riehl used the term, connoted a rather ideal
conception, namely, that of an interpretative record of the sum total of
human civilization. It required a high challenge like that to energize
and unify the requisite laborious research in so many different
directions art, letters, science, economics, politics, social life, and
what not. The History of Civilization, as understood by Riehl, embraces
the results gained in all the special branches of historical study,
political history included.

By a formulation so comprehensive and exacting, Riehl himself stood
committed to the investigation of the national life not only in the
breadth and variety of its general aspect, but also in its minuter
processes that had so far been left unheeded. But under his care even
the study of seemingly trite details quickened the approach to that
fixed ideal of a History of Civilization that should have for its
ultimate object nothing less than the revelation of the spirit of
history itself. The goal might never be attained, yet the quest for it
would at all events disclose "the laws under which racial civilizations
germinate, mature, bloom, and perish."

Personally Riehl applied the bulk of his labors to the two contiguous
fields of Folklore and Art History. Folklore (_Volkskunde_) is here
taken in his own definition, namely, as the science which uncovers the
recondite causal relations between all perceptible manifestations of a
nation's life and its physical and historical environment. Riehl never
lost sight, in any of his distinctions, of that inalienable affinity
between land and people; the solidarity of a nation, its very right of
existing as a political entity, he derived from homogeneity as to
origin, language, custom, habitat. The validity of this view is now
generally accepted in theory, while its practical application to
science must necessarily depend upon the growth of special knowledge. In
_The Palatine People_ Riehl presented a standard treatise upon one of
the ethnic types of the German race, an illustration as it were of his
own theorems.

Among Riehl's contributions to the History of Art, the larger number
concern the art of music. He was qualified for this work by a sure and
sound critical appreciation rooted in thorough technical knowledge. Here
again, following his keen scent for the distinguishing racial qualities,
he gave his attention mainly to the popular forms of composition; at the
same time his penetrating historic insight enabled him to account for
the distinctive artistic character of the great composers by a due
weighing of their individual attributes against the controlling
influences of their time. It is hardly necessary to add that in his
reflections music was never detached from its generic connection with
the fine arts, inclusive of industrial, decorative, and domestic art.

Like many another student and lover of the past Riehl was a man of
conservative habits of mind, without, however, deserving to be classed
as a confirmed reactionary. His anti-democratic tendency of thought
sprang plausibly enough from convictions and beliefs which owed their
existence, in some part at least, to strained and whimsical analogies.
His defense of a static order of society rested at bottom upon a sturdy
hatred of Socialism, then in the earliest stage of its rise. This
ingrained aversion to the new, suggested to him a rather curious sort of
rational or providential sanction for the old. He discerned, by an odd
whim of the fancy, in the physical as well as the spiritual constitution
of Germany a preeestablished principle of "trialism.". According to this
queer notion, Germany is in every respect divided _in partes tres_. The
territorial conformation itself, with its clean subdivision into
lowland, intermediate, and highland, demonstrates the natural
tri-partition to which a like "threeness" of climate, nationality, and
even of religion corresponds. Hence the tripartition of the population
into peasantry, bourgeoisie, and nobility should be upheld as an
inviolable, foreordained institution, and to this end the separate
traditions of the classes be piously conserved. Educational agencies
ought to subserve the specific needs of the different ranks of society
and be diversified accordingly. Riehl would even hark back to wholly
out-dated and discarded customs, provided they seemed to him clearly the
outflow of a vital class-consciousness. For instance, he would have
restored the trade corporations to their medieval status; inhibited the
free disposal of farming land, and governed the German aristocracy under
the English law of primogeniture.

Altogether, Riehl's propensity for spanning a fragile analogy between
concrete and abstract phenomena of life is apt to weaken the structural
strength of his argumentation. Yet even his boldest comparisons do not
lack in illuminative suggestiveness. Take, for example, the following
passage from _Field and Forest:_ "In the contrast between the forest and
the field is manifest the most simple and natural preparatory stage of
the multiformity and variety of German social life, that richness of
peculiar national characteristics in which lies concealed the tenacious
rejuvenating power of our nation." (See p. 418 of this volume.)

The predisposition to draw large inferences coupled with that pronounced
conservatism detract in a measure from the authenticity of Riehl's work
in the department of Social Science, which to him is fundamentally "the
doctrine of the natural inequality of mankind." (See p. 417 of this
volume.)

That Riehl, despite his conservative bias, is not a reactionary out and
out has already been stated. He stands for evolutionary, not
revolutionary, social reform; in his opinion the social-economic order
can be bettered by means of the gradual self-improvement of society, and
in no other way. Unless, moreover, the improvement be effected without
the sacrifice of that basic subdivision of society, the needful social
stability is bound to be upset by the "proletariat"--namely, the entire
"fourth estate" reinforced by the ever increasing number of deserters,
renegades, and outcasts who have drifted away from their appointed
social level.

Notwithstanding this rather dogmatic attitude of which, among other
things, a sweeping rejection of "Woman Emancipation," was one corollary,
Riehl's organic theory of society as explicitly stated in his _Civic
Society_ has a great and permanent usefulness for our time because of
its thoroughgoing method and its clear-cut statement of problems and
issues. The leader of the most advanced school of modern historians,
Professor Karl Lamprecht, goes so far as to declare that the social
studies of W.H. Riehl constitute the very corner stone of scientific
Sociology. In this achievement, to which all of his scholarly endeavors
were tributary, Riehl's significance as a historian of culture may be
said to culminate.

WILHELM HEINRICH RIEHL

FIELD AND FOREST[11]

TRANSLATED BY FRANCES H. KING

The intimate connection between a country and its people may well start
with a superficial survey of the external aspects of a country. He sees
before him mountain and valley, field and forest--such familiar
contrasts that one scarcely notices them any longer; and yet they are
the explanation of many subtle and intimate traits in the life of the
people. A clever schoolmaster could string a whole system of folklore on
the thread of mountain and valley, field and forest. I will be content
to invite further meditation by some thoughts on field and forest, the
_tame_ and the _wild_ cultivation of our soil.

In Germany this contrast still exists in all its sharpness, as we still
have a real forest. England, on the contrary, has practically no really
free forest left--no forest which has any social significance. This, of
necessity, occasions at the very outset a number of the clearest
distinctions between German and English nationality.

In every decisive popular movement in Germany the forest is the first to
suffer. A large part of the peasants live in continual secret feud with
the masters of the forest and their privileges; no sooner is a spark of
revolution lighted, then, before everything else, there flares up among
these people "the war about the forest." The insurgent rural proletariat
can raise no barricades, can tear down no royal palaces, but, instead,
lay waste the woodland of their masters; for in their eyes this forest
is the fortress of the great lord in comparison with the little
unprotected plot of ground of the small farmer. As soon as the power of
the State has conquered the rebellious masses, the first thing it
proceeds to do is to restore the forest to its former condition and
again to put in force the forest charters which had been torn up. This
spectacle, modified in accordance with the spirit of the age, repeats
itself in every century of our history, and it will no doubt be of
constant recurrence, always in new forms, for centuries to come.

The preservation, the protection of the forest, guaranteed anew by
charter, is at present (1853) once again a question of the day, and in
German legislative assemblies in recent years weighty words have been
uttered in favor of the forest from the point of view of the political
economist. Thus it is again becoming popular to defend the poor
much-abused forest. The forest, however, has not only an economic, but
also a social-political value. He who from liberal political principles
denies the distinction between city and country should also, after the
English model, seek to do away with the distinction between the field
and the forest. Wherever common possession of the forest continues to
exist side by side with private possession of the field, there will
never be any real social equality among the people. In the cultivation
of the soil the forest represents the aristocracy; the field represents
the middle class.

The concessions made by the different governments in the matter of
forest-clearing, of the preservation of game, the free use of the
forest, etc., form a pretty exact instrument with which to measure the
triumphant advance of the aristocratic or the democratic spirit. In the
year 1848 many a vast tract of forest was sacrificed in order to
purchase therewith a small fraction of popularity. Every revolution does
harm to the forest, but, provided it does not wish to strangle itself,
it leaves the field untouched.

After December 2, 1851, the gathering of fallen leaves in the forest was
countenanced in Alsace in order to make the Napoleonic _coup d' etat_
popular. It was cleverly thought out; for the never-resting war about
the forest can be for a government a mighty lever of influence on a
class of the people which is, in general, hard enough to swing round.
The concession permitting the gathering of leaves, and manhood suffrage,
are one and the same act of shrewd Bonapartist policy, only aimed at
different classes. Thus social politics lurks even behind the
forest-trees and beneath the rustling red leaves of last autumn--a
strange circle of cause and effect! The immoderate cultivation of
potatoes contributes not a little to saddle the modern State with the
proletariat, but this same cultivation of potatoes, which deprives the
small peasant of straw, drives him into the forest to seek for withered
leaves in place of straw for his cattle, and thus places again in the
hands of the State authorities a means--based upon the strange historic
ruin of our forest-franchises--of curbing a powerful part of the
proletariat.

Popular sentiment in Germany considers the forest to be the one large
piece of property which has not yet been completely portioned off. In
contrast to field, meadow, and garden, every one has a certain right to
the forest, even if it consists merely in being able to run about in it
at pleasure. In the right, or the permission, to gather wood and dry
leaves and to pasture cattle, in the distribution of the so-called
"loose-wood" from the parish forests, and such acts, lie the historic
foundation of an almost communist tradition. Where else has anything of
the kind been perpetuated except in the case of the forest? The latter
is the root of truly German social conditions. In very truth the forest,
with us, has not yet been completely portioned off; therefore every
political agitator who wishes to pay out in advance to the people a
little bit of "prosperity" as earnest-money of the promised universal
prosperity, immediately lays hands upon the forest. By means of the
forest, and by no other, you can substantially preach communism to the
German peasant. It is well known that the idea of the forest as private
property was introduced at a late date and gained ground gradually among
the German people.

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