After all that has been written about the Schleswig-Holstein question, how
little is known about those whom that question chiefly concerns,—the
Schleswig-Holsteiners! There may be a vague recollection that, during the
general turmoil of 1848, the German inhabitants of the Duchies rose
against the Danes; that they fought bravely, and at last succumbed, not to
the valor, but to the diplomacy of Denmark. But, after the treaty of
London in 1852 had disposed of them as the treaty of Vienna had disposed
of other brave people, they sank below the horizon of European interests,
never to rise again, it was fondly hoped, till the present generation had
passed away.
Yet these Schleswig-Holsteiners have an interest of their own, quite apart
from the political clouds that have lately gathered round their country.
Ever since we know anything of the history of Northern Europe, we find
Saxon races established as the inhabitants of that northern peninsula
which was then called the _Cimbric Chersonese_. The first writer who ever
mentions the name of Saxons is Ptolemy,(18) and he speaks of them as
settled in what is now called Schleswig-Holstein.(19) At the time of
Charlemagne the Saxon race is described to us as consisting of three
tribes: the _Ostfalai_, _Westfalai_, and _Angrarii_. The _Westphalians_
were settled near the Rhine, the _Eastphalians_ near the Elbe, and the
intermediate country, washed by the Weser, was held by the _Angrarii_.(20)
The name of Westphalia is still in existence; that of Eastphalia has
disappeared, but its memory survives in the English _sterling_.
Eastphalian traders, the ancestors of the merchant princes of Hamburg,
were known in England by the name of _Easterlings_; and their money being
of the purest quality, _easterling_, in Latin esterlingus, shortened to
_sterling_, became the general name of pure or sterling money. The name of
the third tribe, the _Angrarii_, continued through the Middle Ages as the
name of a people; and to the present day, my own sovereign, the Duke of
Anhalt, calls himself Duke of “_Sachsen_, _Engern_, und _Westphalen_.” But
the name of the Angrarii was meant to fulfill another and more glorious
destiny. The name _Angrarii_ or _Angarii_(21) is a corruption of the older
name, _Angrivarii_, the famous German race mentioned by Tacitus as the
neighbors of the _Cherusci_. These _Angrivarii_ are in later documents
called _Anglevarii_. The termination _varii_(22) represents the same word
which exists in A.-S. as _ware_; for instance, in _Cant-ware_, inhabitants
of Kent, or _Cant-ware-burh_, Canterbury; _burh-ware_, inhabitants of a
town, burghers. It is derived from _werian_, to defend, to hold, and may
be connected with _wer_, a man. The same termination is found in
_Ansivarii_ or _Ampsivarii_; probably also in _Teutonoarii_ instead of
_Teutoni_, _Chattuari_ instead of _Chatti_.
The principal seats of these _Angrarii_ were, as we saw, between the Rhine
and Elbe, but Tacitus(23) knows of _Anglii_, _i.e._ _Angrii_, east of the
Elbe; and an offshoot of the same Saxon tribe is found very early in
possession of that famous peninsula between the Schlei and the Bay of
Flensburg on the eastern coast of Schleswig,(24) which by Latin writers
was called _Anglia_, _i.e._ _Angria_. To derive the name of _Anglia_ from
the Latin _angulus_,(25) corner, is about as good an etymology as the
kind-hearted remark of St. Gregory, who interpreted the name of _Angli_ by
_angeli_. From that Anglia, the _Angli_, together with the _Saxons_ and
_Juts_, migrated to the British Isles in the fifth century, and the name
of the _Angli_, as that of the most numerous tribe, became in time the
name of _Englaland_.(26) In the Latin laws ascribed to King Edward the
Confessor, a curious supplement is found, which states “that the _Juts_
(_Guti_) came formerly from the noble blood of the _Angli_, namely, from
the state of _Engra_, and that the English came from the same blood. The
Juts, therefore like the Angli of Germany, should always be received in
England as brothers, and as citizens of the realm, because the Angli of
England and Germany had always intermarried, and had fought together
against the Danes.”(27)
Like the Angli of Anglia, the principal tribes clustering round the base
of the Cimbric peninsula, and known by the general name of _Northalbingi_
or _Transalbiani_, also _Nordleudi_, were all offshoots of the Saxon stem.
Adam of Bremen (2, 15) divides them into _Tedmarsgoi_, _Holcetae_, and
_Sturmarii_. In these it is easy to recognize the modern names of
_Dithmarschen_, _Holtseten_ or _Holsten_, and _Stormarn_. It would require
more space than we can afford, were we to enter into the arguments by
which Grimm has endeavored to identify the _Dithmarschen_ with the
_Teutoni_, the _Stormarn_ with the _Cimbri_, and the _Holsten_ with the
_Harudes_. His arguments, if not convincing, are at least highly
ingenious, and may be examined by those interested in these matters, in
his “History of the German Language,” pp. 633-640.
For many centuries the Saxon inhabitants of those regions have had to bear
the brunt of the battle between the Scandinavian and the German races.
From the days when the German Emperor Otho I. (died 973) hurled his swift
spear from the northernmost promontory of Jutland into the German Ocean to
mark the true frontier of his empire, to the day when Christian IX. put
his unwilling pen to that Danish constitution which was to incorporate all
the country north of the Eider with Denmark, they have had to share in all
the triumphs and all the humiliations of the German race, to which they
are linked by the strong ties of a common blood and a common language.
Such constant trials and vicissitudes have told on the character of these
German borderers, and have made them what they are, a hardy and
determined, yet careful and cautious race. Their constant watchings and
struggles against the slow encroachments or sudden inroads of an enemy
more inveterate even than the Danes,—namely, the sea,—had imparted to them
from the earliest times somewhat of that wariness and perseverance which
we perceive in the national character of the Dutch and the Venetians. But
the fresh breezes of the German Ocean and the Baltic kept their nerves
well braced and their hearts buoyant; and for muscular development the
arms of these sturdy ploughers of the sea and the land can vie with those
of any of their neighbors on the isles or on the Continent.
_Holsten-treue_, _i.e._ Holstein-truth, is proverbial throughout Germany,
and it has stood the test of long and fearful trials.
There is but one way of gaining an insight into the real character of a
people, unless we can actually live among them for years; and that is to
examine their language and literature. Now it is true that the language
spoken in Schleswig-Holstein is not German,—at least not in the ordinary
sense of the word,—and one may well understand how travellers and
correspondents of newspapers, who have picked up their German phrases from
Ollendorf, and who, on the strength of this, try to enter into a
conversation with Holstein peasants, should arrive at the conclusion that
these peasants speak Danish, or, at all events, that they do not speak
German.
The Germans of Schleswig-Holstein are Saxons, and all true Saxons speak
Low-German, and Low-German is more different from High-German than English
is from Lowland Scotch. Low-German, however, is not to be mistaken for
vulgar German. It is the German which from time immemorial was spoken in
the low countries and along the northern sea-coast of Germany, as opposed
to the German of the high country, of Swabia, Thuringia, Bavaria, and
Austria. These two dialects differ from each other like Doric and Ionic;
neither can be considered as a corruption of the other; and however far
back we trace these two branches of living speech, we never arrive at a
point when they diverge from one common source. The Gothic of the fourth
century, preserved in the translation of the Bible by Ulfilas, is not, as
has been so often said, the mother both of High and Low German. It is to
all intents and purposes Low-German, only Low-German in its most primitive
form, and more primitive therefore in its grammatical framework than the
earliest specimens of High-German also, which date only from the seventh
or eighth century. This Gothic, which was spoken in the east of Germany,
has become extinct. The Saxon, spoken in the north of Germany, continues
its manifold existence to the present day in the Low-German dialects, in
Frisian, in Dutch, and in English. The rest of Germany was and is occupied
by High-German. In the West the ancient High-German dialect of the Franks
has been absorbed in French, while the German spoken from the earliest
times in the centre and south of Germany has supplied the basis of what is
now called the literary and classical language of Germany.
Although the literature of Germany is chiefly High-German, there are a few
literary compositions, both ancient and modern, in the different spoken
dialects of the country, sufficient to enable scholars to distinguish at
least nine distinct grammatical settlements; in the Low-German branch,
_Gothic_, _Saxon_, _Anglo-Saxon_, _Frisian_, and _Dutch_; in the
High-German branch, _Thuringian_, _Frankish_, _Bavarian_, and
_Alemannish_. Professor Weinhold is engaged at present in publishing
separate grammars of six of these dialects, namely, of _Alemannish_,
_Bavarian_, _Frankish_, _Thuringian_, _Saxon_, and _Frisian_: and in his
great German Grammar Jacob Grimm has been able to treat these, together
with the Scandinavian tongues, as so many varieties of one common,
primitive type of Teutonic speech.
But although, in the early days of German life, the Low and High German
dialects were on terms of perfect equality, Low-German has fallen back in
the race, while High-German has pressed forward with double speed.
High-German has become the language of literature and good society. It is
taught in schools, preached in church, pleaded at the bar; and, even in
places where ordinary conversation is still carried on in Low-German,
High-German is clearly intended to be the language of the future. At the
time of Charlemagne this was not so; and one of the earliest literary
monuments of the German language, the “Heliand,” _i.e._ the Saviour, is
written in Saxon or Low-German. The Saxon Emperors, however, did little
for German literature, while the Swabian Emperors were proud of being the
patrons of art and poetry. The language spoken at their court being
High-German, the ascendency of that dialect may be said to date from their
days, though it was not secured till the time of the Reformation, when the
translation of the Bible by Luther put a firm and lasting stamp on what
has since become the literary speech of Germany.
But language, even though deprived of literary cultivation, does not
easily die. Though at present people write the same language all over
Germany, the towns and villages teem everywhere with dialects, both High
and Low. In Hanover, Brunswick, Mecklenburg, Oldenburg, the Free Towns,
and in Schleswig-Holstein, the lower orders speak their own German,
generally called _Platt-Deutsch_, and in many parts of Mecklenburg,
Oldenburg, Ostfriesland, and Holstein, the higher ranks too cling in their
every-day conversation to this more homely dialect.(28) Children
frequently speak two languages: High-German at school, Low-German at their
games. The clergyman speaks High-German when he stands in the pulpit; but
when he visits the poor, he must address them in their own peculiar
_Platt_. The lawyer pleads in the language of Schiller and Goethe; but
when he examines his witnesses he has frequently to condescend to the
vulgar tongue. That vulgar tongue is constantly receding from the towns;
it is frightened away by railways, it is ashamed to show itself in
parliament. But it is loved all the more by the people; it appeals to
their hearts, and it comes back naturally to all who have ever talked it
together in their youth. It is the same with the local patois of
High-German. Even where at school the correct High-German is taught and
spoken, as in Bavaria and Austria, each town still keeps its own patois,
and the people fall back on it as soon as they are among themselves. When
Maria Theresa went to the Burgtheater to announce to the people of Vienna
the birth of a son and heir, she did not address them in high-flown
literary German. She bent forward from her box, and called out: “_Hörts!
der Leopold hot án Buebá_”: “Hear! Leopold has a boy.” In German comedies,
characters from Berlin, Leipzig, and Vienna are constantly introduced
speaking their own local dialects. In Bavaria, Styria, and the Tyrol, much
of the poetry of the people is written in their patois; and in some parts
of Germany sermons even, and other religious tracts, continue to be
published in the local vernaculars.
There are here and there a few enthusiastic champions of dialects,
particularly of Low-German, who still cherish a hope that High-German may
be thrown back, and Low-German restored to its rights and former dominion.
Yet, whatever may be thought of the relative excellences of High and Low
German,—and in several points, no doubt, Low-German has the advantage of
High-German,—yet, practically, the battle between the two is decided, and
cannot now be renewed. The national language of Germany, whether in the
South or the North, will always be the German of Luther, Lessing,
Schiller, and Goethe. This, however, is no reason why the dialects,
whether of Low or High German, should be despised or banished. Dialects
are everywhere the natural feeders of literary languages; and an attempt
to destroy them, if it could succeed, would be like shutting up the
tributaries of great rivers.
After these remarks it will be clear that, if people say that the
inhabitants of Schleswig-Holstein do not speak German, there is some truth
in such a statement, at least just enough of truth to conceal the truth.
It might be said, with equal correctness, that the people of Lancashire do
not speak English. But, if from this a conclusion is to be drawn that the
Schleswig-Holsteiners, speaking this dialect, which is neither German nor
Danish, might as well be taught in Danish as in German, this is not quite
correct, and would deceive few if it were adduced as an argument for
introducing French instead of English in the national schools of
Lancashire.
The Schleswig-Holsteiners have their own dialect, and cling to it as they
cling to many things which, in other parts of Germany, have been discarded
as old-fashioned and useless. “_Oll Knust hölt Hus_,”—“Stale bread lasts
longest,”—is one of their proverbs. But they read their Bible in
High-German; they write their newspapers in High-German, and it is in
High-German that their children are taught, and their sermons preached in
every town and in every village. It is but lately that Low-German has been
taken up again by Schleswig-Holstein poets; and some of their poems,
though intended originally for their own people only, have been read with
delight, even by those who had to spell them out with the help of a
dictionary and a grammar. This kind of homespun poetry is a sign of
healthy national life. Like the songs of Burns in Scotland, the poems of
Klaus Groth and others reveal to us, more than anything else, the real
thoughts and feelings, the every-day cares and occupations, of the people
whom they represent, and to whose approval alone they appeal. But as
Scotland, proud though she well may be of her Burns, has produced some of
the best writers of English, Schleswig-Holstein, too, small as it is in
comparison with Scotland, counts among its sons some illustrious names in
German literature. Niebuhr, the great traveller, and Niebuhr, the great
historian, were both Schleswig-Holsteiners, though during their lifetime
that name had not yet assumed the political meaning in which it is now
used. Karsten Niebuhr, the traveller, was a Hanoverian by birth; but,
having early entered the Danish service, he was attached to a scientific
mission sent by King Frederick V. to Egypt, Arabia, and Palestine, in
1760. All the other members of that mission having died, it was left to
Niebuhr, after his return in 1767, to publish the results of his own
observations and of those of his companions. His “Description of Arabia,”
and his “Travels in Arabia and the Adjoining Countries,” though published
nearly a hundred years ago, are still quoted with respect, and their
accuracy has hardly ever been challenged. Niebuhr spent the rest of his
life as a kind of collector and magistrate at Meldorf, a small town of
between two and three thousand inhabitants, in Dithmarschen. He is
described as a square and powerful man, who lived to a good old age, and
who, even when he had lost his eyesight, used to delight his family and a
large circle of friends by telling them of the adventures in his Oriental
travels, of the starry nights of the desert, and of the bright moonlight
of Egypt, where, riding on his camel, he could, from his saddle, recognize
every plant that was growing on the ground. Nor were the listeners that
gathered round him unworthy of the old traveller. Like many a small German
town, Meldorf, the home of Niebuhr, had a society consisting of a few
government officials, clergymen, and masters at the public school; most of
them men of cultivated mind, and quite capable of appreciating a man of
Niebuhr’s powers. Even the peasants there were not the mere clods of other
parts of Germany. They were a well-to-do race, and by no means illiterate.
Their sons received at the Gymnasium of Meldorf a classical education, and
they were able to mix with ease and freedom in the society of their
betters. The most hospitable house at Meldorf was that of Boie, the High
Sheriff of Dithmarschen. He had formerly, at Göttingen, been the life and
soul of a circle of friends who have become famous in the history of
German literature, under the name of “Hainbund.” That “Hainbund,” or
Grove-club, included Bürger, the author of “Lenore;” Voss, the translator
of Homer; the Counts Stolberg, Hölty, and others. With Goethe, too, Boie
had been on terms of intimacy, and when, in after life, he settled down at
Meldorf, many of his old friends, his brother-in-law Voss, Count Stolberg,
Claudius, and others, came to see him and his illustrious townsman,
Niebuhr. Many a seed was sown there, many small germs began to ripen in
that remote town of Meldorf, which are yielding fruit at the present day,
not in Germany only, but here in England. The sons of Boie, fired by the
descriptions of the old, blind traveller, followed his example, and became
distinguished as explorers and discoverers in natural history. Niebuhr’s
son, young Barthold, soon attracted the attention of all who came to see
his father, particularly of Voss; and he was enabled by their help and
advice, to lay, in early youth, that foundation of solid learning which
fitted him, in the intervals of his checkered life, to become the founder
of a new era in the study of Ancient History. And how curious the threads
which bind together the destinies of men! how marvelous the rays of light
which, emanating from the most distant centres, cross each other in their
onward course, and give their own peculiar coloring to characters
apparently original and independent! We have read, of late, in the
Confessions of a modern St. Augustine, how the last stroke that severed
his connection with the Church of England was the establishment of the
Jerusalem bishopric. But for that event, Dr. Newman might now be a bishop,
and his friends a strong party in the Church of England. Well, that
Jerusalem bishopric owes something to Meldorf. The young schoolboy of
Meldorf was afterwards the private tutor and personal friend of the
Crown-Prince of Prussia, and he thus exercised an influence both on the
political and the religious views of King Frederick William IV. He was
likewise Prussian Ambassador at Rome, when Bunsen was there as a young
scholar, full of schemes, and planning his own journey to the East.
Niebuhr became the friend and patron of Bunsen, and Bunsen became his
successor in the Prussian embassy at Rome. It is well known that the
Jerusalem bishopric was a long-cherished plan of the King of Prussia,
Niebuhr’s pupil, and that the bill for the establishment of a Protestant
bishopric at Jerusalem was carried chiefly through the personal influence
of Bunsen, the friend of Niebuhr. Thus we see how all things are working
together for good or for evil, though we little know of the grains of dust
that are carried along from all quarters of the globe, to tell like
infinitesimal weights in the scales that decide hereafter the judgment of
individuals and the fate of nations.
If Holstein, and more particularly Dithmarschen, of which Meldorf had in
former days been the capital, may claim some share in Niebuhr the
historian,—if he himself, as the readers of his history are well aware, is
fond of explaining the social and political institutions of Rome by
references to what he had seen or heard of the little republic of
Dithmarschen,—it is certainly a curious coincidence that the only worthy
successor of Niebuhr, in the field of Roman history, Theodore Mommsen, is
likewise a native of Schleswig. His History of Rome, though it did not
produce so complete a revolution as the work of Niebuhr, stands higher as
a work of art. It contains the results of Niebuhr’s critical researches,
sifted and carried on by a most careful and thoughtful disciple. It is, in
many respects, a most remarkable work, particularly in Germany. The fact
that it is readable, and has become a popular book, has excited the wrath
of many critics, who evidently consider it beneath the dignity of a
learned professor that he should digest his knowledge, and give to the
world, not all and everything he has accumulated in his note-books, but
only what he considers really important and worth knowing. The fact,
again, that he does not load his pages with references and learned notes
has been treated like a _crimen lœsæ majestatis;_ and yet, with all the
clamor and clatter that has been raised, few authors have had so little to
alter or rectify in their later editions as Mommsen. To have produced two
such scholars, historians, and statesmen as Niebuhr and Mommsen, would be
an honor to any kingdom in Germany: how much more to the small duchy of
Schleswig-Holstein, in which we have been told so often that nothing is
spoken but Danish and some vulgar dialects of Low-German!
Well, even those vulgar dialects of Low-German, and the poems and novels
that have been written in them by true Schleswig-Holsteiners, are well
worth a moment’s consideration. In looking at their language, an
Englishman at once discovers a number of old acquaintances: words which we
would look for in vain in Schiller or Goethe. We shall mention a few.
_Black_ means black; in High-German it would be _schwarz_. _De black_ is
the black horse; _black up wit_ is black on white; _gif mek kil un blak_,
give me quill and ink. _Blid_ is _blithe_, instead of the High-German
_mild_. _Bottervogel_, or _botterhahn_, or _botterhex, is __butterfly__,
instead of __schmetterling__. It is a common superstition in_ the North of
Germany, that one ought to mark the first butterfly one sees in spring. A
white one betokens mourning, a yellow one a christening, a variegated one
a wedding. _Bregen_ or _brehm_ is used instead of the High-German
_gehirn_; it is the English _brain_. People say of a very foolish person,
that his brain is frozen, _de brehm is em verfrorn_. The peculiar English
but, which has given so much trouble to grammarians and etymologists,
exists in the Holstein _buten_, literally outside, the Dutch _buiten_, the
Old-Saxon _bi-ûtan_. _Buten_ in German is a regular contraction, just as
_binnen_, which means inside, within, during. _Heben_ is the English
heaven, while the common German name is _Himmel_. _Hückup_ is a sigh, and
no doubt the English _hiccough_. _Düsig_ is dizzy; _talkig_ is talkative.
There are some curious words which, though they have a Low-German look,
are not to be found in English or Anglo-Saxon. Thus _plitsch_, which is
used in Holstein in the sense of clever, turns out to be a corruption of
_politisch_, _i.e._ political. _Krüdsch_ means particular or over nice; it
is a corruption of _kritisch_, critical. _Katolsch_ means angry, mad, and
is a corruption of _catholic_, _i.e._ Roman Catholic. _Kränsch_ means
plucky, and stands for _courageux_. _Fränksch_, _i.e._ Frankish, means
strange; _Flämsch_, _i.e._ Flemish, means sulky, and is used to form
superlatives; _Polsch_, _i.e._ Polish, means wild. _Forsch_ means strong
and strength, and comes from the French _force_. _Klür_ is a corruption of
_couleur_, and _Kunkelfusen_ stands for confusion or fibs.
Some idiomatic and proverbial expressions, too, deserve to be noted.
Instead of saying, “The sun has set,” the Holsteiners, fond as they are of
their beer, particularly in the evening after a hard day’s work, say, “_De
Sünn geiht to Beer_,” “The sun goes to beer.” If you ask in the country
how far it is to some town or village, a peasant will answer, “_’n
Hunnblaff_,” “A dog’s bark,” if it is quite close; or “_’n Pip Toback_,”
“A pipe of tobacco,” meaning about half an hour. Of a conceited fellow
they say, “_Hê hört de Flégn hosten_,” “He hears the flies coughing.” If a
man is full of great schemes, he is told, “_In Gedanken fört de Bur ôk
in’t Kutsch_.” “In thought the peasant, too, drives in a coach.” A man who
boasts is asked, “_Pracher! häst ôk Lüs, oder schuppst di man so?_”
“Braggart! have you really lice, or do you only scratch yourself as if you
had?”
“_Holstein singt nicht_,” “Holstein does not sing,” is a curious proverb;
and if it is meant to express the absence of popular poetry in that
country, it would be easy to convict it of falsehood by a list of poets
whose works, though unknown to fame beyond the limits of their own
country, are cherished, and deservedly cherished, by their own countrymen.
The best known among the Holstein poets is Klaus Groth, whose poems,
published under the title of “Quickborn,” _i.e._ quick bourn, or living
spring, show that there is a well of true poetical feeling in that
country, and that its strains are all the more delicious and refreshing if
they bubble up in the native accent of the country. Klaus Groth was born
in 1819. He was the son of a miller; and, though he was sent to school, he
had frequently to work in the field in summer, and make himself generally
useful. Like many Schleswig-Holsteiners, he showed a decided talent for
mathematics; but, before he was sixteen, he had to earn his bread, and
work as a clerk in the office of a local magistrate. His leisure hours
were devoted to various studies: German, Danish, music, psychology,
successively engaged his attention. In his nineteenth year he went to the
seminary at Tondern to prepare himself to become a schoolmaster. There he
studied Latin, French, Swedish; and, after three years, was appointed
teacher at a girls’ school. Though he had to give forty-three lessons a
week, he found time to continue his own reading, and he acquired a
knowledge of English, Dutch, Icelandic, and Italian. At last, however, his
health gave way, and in 1847 he was obliged to resign his place. During
his illness his poetical talent, which he himself had never trusted,
became a source of comfort to himself and to his friends, and the warm
reception which greeted the first edition of his “Quickborn” made him what
he was meant to be,—the poet of Schleswig-Holstein.
His political poems are few; and, though a true Schleswig-Holsteiner at
heart, he has always declined to fight with his pen when he could not
fight with his sword. In the beginning of this year, however, he published
“Five Songs for Singing and Praying,” which, though they fail to give an
adequate idea of his power as a poet, may be of interest as showing the
deep feelings of the people in their struggle for independence. The text
will be easily intelligible with the help of a literal English
translation.