German literature since 1700 is not simply the continuation of former literature with the addition of radical innovations, as is the case with the literature of the same period in England, but was systematically constructed on new theories—­if it may be said that nature and history systematically “construct.”  A destruction, a suspension of tradition, had taken place, such as no other civilized nation has ever experienced in a like degree—­in which connection the lately much-disputed question as to whether the complete decay dates from the time of the Thirty Years’ War or the latter merely marks the climax of a long period of decadence may be left to take care of itself.  In any event, about the year 1700 the literature of Germany stood lower than that of any other nation, once in possession of a great civilization and literature, has ever stood in recent times.  Everything, literally everything, had to be created de novo; and it is natural that a nation which had to struggle for its very existence, for which life itself had become a daily questioning of fate, could at first think of renovation only through its conservative forces.  Any violent commotion in the religious or political, in the economic or social, sphere, as well as in the esthetic, might prove fatal, or at least appear to be so.

The strongest conservative factor of a literature is the language.  Upon its relative immutability depends, in general, the possibility of literary compositions becoming the common possession of many generations—­depends absolutely all transmission.  Especially is poetic language wont to bear the stamp of constancy; convenient formulas, obvious rhymes, established epithets, favorite metaphors, do not, in periods of exhaustion, afford much choice in the matter of phraseology.  On the other hand, however, a new tenor of thought, often enough a new tenor of feeling, is continually pressing forward to demand a medium of expression.  This battle between the established linguistic form and the new content gives rise to charming, but at the same time alarming, conflicts.  In the seventeenth century it was felt strongly how much the store of linguistic expression had diminished, partly on account of a violent and careless “working of the mine,” which made prodigal use of the existing medium, as was the case in the prose of Luther and, above all, of Johann Fischart and his contemporaries; partly on account of a narrow confinement to a small number of ideas and words, as in the church hymns.

This impoverishment of the language the century of the great war tried to remedy in two opposite ways.  For the majority the easiest solution was to borrow from their richer neighbors, and thus originated that affectation of all things foreign, which, in speaking, led to the most variegated use and misuse of foreign words.  Patriotically-minded men, on the contrary, endeavored to cultivate the purity of their mother tongue the while they enriched it; this, above all,