DR. HANS FRIEDRICH BLUNCK
Honorary President of the
Reich Chamber of Literature, Member of the Reich Culture Senate and of the
Senate of the Academy of Literature
At first glance it may seem strange that a poet and
writer of fairy-tales has been chosen to write this article on German culture
policy, when so wide a choice from among leading politicians was available.
Perhaps, however, the selection was symbolic, because creative artists in
Germany to-day are concerning themselves, as never before, with the rising and
falling fortunes of their fellow-countrymen. Certainly that romantic age which
consigned the writer to an isolated garret existence has gone for ever. If only
in this respect, we, in Germany, have turned from the romantic period of Europe
to the classic, when some of the great creative thinkers were also leading
personalities in the State.
Another
motive made me particularly happy to accept the invitation to co-operate in the
writing of this book. I was born in Schleswig-Holstein, a country jealous of
its Anglo-Saxon heritage, where we are all intensely aware of our relationships
and where also, since the time of Storm and Kroger, we have been fully alive to
the dual nature of the creative artist’s work. This duality, so frequently
found in England, is probably a common inheritance.
Galsworthy,
who was my friend during the last year of his life, always seemed to me to be
the perfect example of a well-balanced individual, who possessed at the same
time the attributes of a strong leader. He was an Anglo. Saxon of the type that
we, in this Hanseatic land, appreciate and love – not only from personal
sympathy, but also for old sake’s sake.
Occasionally
I discussed with Galsworthy the part that writers could play in our restless
Europe, and I still remember the tolerant smile with which he said that we
writers would never be able to act and write as statesmen, because our ideals,
conceptions and convictions must always be bound by some inward necessity.
Perhaps, he said, our position may be, for this reason, particularly strong,
and perhaps it may not be a bad thing for the people of our respective
countries if, by using our imaginations, we can cover with some sort of
nobility even the coldness and self-seeking prevailing in European politics.
In
considering Germany’s present culture policy, a starting-point must not be made
at the complacent and satisfied Europe which was commonly shown to the British
and French reading publics before the German revolution. Instead, we must
examine those terrible times through which our country passed, when it seemed
impossible that it could ever rise again from defeat and hopelessness,
especially the latter. A military collapse can never produce such bad effects
as an injustice; the broken promise that lay between the Armistice and the
Peace Treaty was probably that which most deeply hurt the feelings of our
humanitarian population, and indeed still does. For long it seemed that all
attempts to build up a new Reich were condemned to failure, and as if a death
dance had begun which would end in the complete ruin of our thousand-year-old
State. Let it not be forgotten that the Communists were on the point of
securing the largest representation in the Reichstag and that all the
restraints of the old order were breaking down. The middle classes, supporting
a liberalism which they did not understand, and pervaded with the instinct of
self-seeking and self-preservation, were apparently no longer in a position to
offer any resistance. The currency, after one breakdown, was threatened with
yet another collapse. Thousands of peasants were driven from their homesteads,
which thus became the property of the mortgagees, and the workers – sick of
unfulfilled promises – were definitely hostile to the bourgeoisie. Hundreds of
pretentious developments in the sphere of the arts were hailed for a moment as
substitutes for religion, only to disappear a few weeks later. Words and
figures were bandied about, only to sink again into obscurity, like spooks which
had strayed for a moment from the land of shadows. A small gang of alien
immigrants from the east drew their profit from the sorrows of a whole nation,
spreading like a blight over the country. The cradles stood empty, and everyone
lived for the hour or the day because there seemed to be no future. Whatever
sensibility or pride remained was destroyed by humiliations suffered through
our foreign policy.
These
were the conditions out of which National Socialism arose, and beneath its wing
our “Wartburg Circle,” literature’s adventure against the forces of decay, was
formed. The “Academy” remained firmly a left-wing institution, while the powers
of progressive conservatism collected around Johst, Beumelburg, Münchhausen,
Kolbenheyer, Grimm, Schäfer, and Vesper (the author of this article is, of
course also a member of this group). The glowing poetry of certain younger men,
amongst thern Anacker, Schumann, Böhme, Möller, Nierentz, Eggers Meusel,
Brockmeier, Oppenberg and Helke formed an accompaniment to the political
development of the times. Amongst the dramatists, I would specially mention
Rehberg, Bethge, and Langenbeck.
There
is no doubt that these groups were the first to awaken a response in the minds
of the common people throughout the country. Post-war artistic achievement had
no wide appeal, based, as it was, either on eroticism, or concerned with
expressionism or cubism, and directed only towards a small public. The
right-wing opposition, however, succeeded in winning the appreciation of the
youth. Readers, turning away in disgust from the eternal psycho-analytical
studies, found a young art flourishing in their midst, that reminded them of
their national history, that made their country-side bloom again and whose
subject matter was not limited to descriptions of city life. Here were poems,
tales and essays for which the man in the street, almost unknown to himself,
had had a secret longing. In short, the rift between writers and people, that
had yawned wider and wider during the post-war years, started to close again.
Here was a literature which – though not ignoring the old forms – was rooted in
the countryside, was closely in touch with the feelings of the people but was
also vitally connected with the political happenings which were then heralding
a new era.
The
culture policy of the State has shown clearly enough that the debt of gratitude
to creative artists has not been forgotten.
Perhaps
it should first be made clear what is meant by this expression “culture
policy,” for misunderstandings arise only too easily in the babel of modern
Europe.
It
is the duty of the State to cultivate harmony between the political and private
life of the people – neither more nor less. Therefore, without limiting, or
acting against, the achievements of the individual, it seeks to promote the
broad conception of “People’s Culture,” to encourage their inherent taste for
decoration, for picturesque celebration and for their own ancient customs, and
to direct these so that they conform to those “Christian ethics” which are
valid throughout Europe. The German State also accepts it as a duty to discover
those who are capable of speaking for the people, and who, every now and then,
have tried to gain the light of day, only to be overshadowed by the acceptance,
formerly so readily accorded, of foreign values. Those who wish to know
something of this subject should read the book, The Tyranny of Greece over Germany, published
by the Cambridge University Press. German history can reveal over and over
again how the so-called educated classes kept their distance from the mass of
the people, and attempted to form their own autocracy. The present Government,
on the other hand, seeks to emphasise the connection between the old literature
and the new, and the relationship of both to the people. This is not achieved
by laying a compulsion of any sort upon the creative worker. The Government
does reserve to itself, however, certain rights of choice and the right to
issue recommendations. What other more fortunate nations accept as a matter of
course, namely the possession of an art inherently national had still to grow
up in Germany and to be assiduously cultivated.
This
problem was solved in 1933 with comparative ease, largely thanks to the
opposition of the “intellectuals” to the former regime, an opposition that had
sprung up before the revolution.
Thanks
are also due to the energetic preparation of the ground and to the intellectual
values which the modern conceptions “Nationalism” and “Socialism” had been
given in Germany since the pre-classic, the Sturm
und Drang period, and since the time of Herder and the youthful
Goethe.
Nothing,
surely, could make a stronger appeal to the artist’s sense of justice than
Herder’s conception of “Nationalism” – that is to say, the ordering of Europe in
accordance with the self-governing rights of the nations, and the refusal to
recognise any interference on the part of neighbouring States. I am well aware
that the word “Nationalism” has a different meaning in every European country,
and it is one of the Continent’s greatest misfortunes that this apparently
universal expression creates nothing but misunderstanding and that we all mean
something different when we use it. Nationalism in England means more or less
the same as “Imperialism”; in France it means “Chauvinism”, while in Germany it
means exactly the opposite, namely, the right of all nations, in the sense of Volkstümer, to develop
along their own lines, within their borders. In Germany, in fact, it means
nothing but an aspect of the old longing for freedom, the dream of a Europe in
which the free nations live peacefully as neighbours.
Again,
the religious sensibilities of the artist cannot be more profoundly stirred
than by the conception of true Socialism, as the fittest expression of national
solidarity. The rationalist, or Marxist, foundation of Socialism was overthrown
because it was based on class warfare, but it was a Socialism grounded in
religion that attained power in Germany with the arrival of National Socialism.
I must go further: I must maintain that it did not only attain power, but it
gave Europe the most perfect example of living Socialism extant, so far, of
course, as this could be achieved by a people which disposed of no raw
materials. It is hardly a matter for surprise that the artist, who ever
inclines towards the essentials of faith and pity, eagerly embraced the
theories of the new State, that he accepted Nationalism as self-government of
the people, Socialism on religious grounds, and that at the same time he
rejoiced exceedingly over the new and intimate relationship with all his
countrymen, without the barrier of class prejudice that was the gift to him of
the new State. I will not conceal that it was the younger writers of the new
movement who passionately accepted the change, which was a difficult matter for
those who had fought hard and long in the ranks of the opposition, and upon
whose individualistic ideas the demands of the time placed hardships, which
forced them for a space into loneliness. It may seem paradoxical, but I am
quite sure that the new leaders of Germany are fully aware of the essential
loneliness of the creative artist. All the same, however, German writers to-day
know what happiness it means to stand before a crowded, youthful audience on a
winter evening and to read to them ballads, stories or essays that meet with
true appreciation. The writer who stands up and reads his works to a crowd of
factory workers, and who sees the meaning of his words truly understood by
them, realises enough to want to hold firmly to the relationship between writer
and people, which seemed at one time to have been utterly lost.
Perhaps
I have dwelt too long on the consideration of that background against which the
astonishing change in Germany took place. I thought it necessary because so
many of my English friends interest themselves in various details of the
organisation of the Third Reich, but know little of the intellectual “behind
the scenes” of the change; I might jestingly say that we, the third – or
continental – Anglo-Saxon group, feel that we have a certain responsibility
towards the Reich on behalf of our next of kin in the United Kingdom, and that
we would so gladly restore the bridge that existed for five centuries between
England and Germany, so perhaps my discursiveness may be pardoned. In
compensation, I will answer more pointedly the questions – What were the practical
measures taken in connection with culture policy in new Germany? and How was
the close relationship between the State, the people and the artists – desired
by National Socialism – achieved? For (and of this there can be no doubt) the
relationship exists, even though the voice of complaint is now and again
raised, and even though there are aspects of the achievement that could be
improved. These things are unavoidable when sweeping changes take place. On the
other hand, there is no organised opposition group, a fact that has led our
neighbours (who cannot believe that it is really lacking) to suppose that it
does indeed exist, but has been artificially suppressed. My friends, anyone who
knows anything about the soul of a writer and about the courage of the creative
worker, must surely also know that a real opposition cannot be suppressed, and
must realise that the wonder of the German unity is that it is actually based
upon true community of heart.
This
miracle of which I speak is the more remarkable in that the economic situation
of the artist was anything but rosy – as is probably always the case in times
of revolution and change – during the first few months of the new regime.
Adherence to it was, therefore, a sacrifice rather than an exploitation. It must
be admitted at once that the State very soon took steps to ameliorate the
initial difficulties, but such emergency assistance is not to the taste of the
artist, who wishes to live by his work. Nevertheless, financial assistance
given to artists during the first two years of National Socialism amounted to
more than had been available for two decades before – a sign of how seriously
the situation was taken. It was not long before the new theatre replaced the
old organisation destroyed by the revolution, and before Kulturgemeinden (Culture
Communities) were created which, even in the smallest German towns, invited
writers to deliver lectures and readings, and made them the principal speakers
at country gatherings. At the earliest possible moment attempts were made,
through the organisation Kraft
durch Freude (Strength through Joy), to bring to the ordinary
workers their past and present heritage in literature, music and art. From the
moment that National Socialism achieved power, it strove to make of the “proletarian”
the “fellow-countryman,” equal heir with all to Germany’s intellectual kingdom.
In 1936, no fewer than two million workers visited exhibitions and attended
plays, and often lectures, organised in the factory buildings. Two literary
“agencies” were set up, and helped in their own way: endless patience was
expended in the reading of manuscripts, and it was recently announced that all
the writings “hidden away in Germany’s old chests and cupboards” had now been
examined as to their literary merit. Everything of value was handed to one or
another of the great publishers, but in future it will be the task of the
latter alone to make their selections.
Among
the great organisations in modern Germany, there is scarcely one that has not
concerned itself, either more or less, with the arts: they all possess literary
departments. Successes have not everywhere been equal, but this was hardly to
be expected during a period of four years of drastic change. However, good will
has nowhere been lost, and we must realise that when we see excellent cheap
reproductions of the classics and the best of the moderns being eagerly read in
peasants’ houses, in the labour camps and in the barracks; our public buildings
decorated by the work of living sculptors, and finally, the love of music being
cultivated in villages as well as in city concert halls, then we must also see
that work of much value is being done, which outbalances the occasional
failures. This revolution, that outwardly forced political aims and social necessity
so much into the foreground, and that found so many bitter words to utter
against the “anti-social influence” of the arts, has, in spite of everything,
greatly profited from the teachings of history. It is fully aware that artistic
achievements alone are able to justify to posterity a change in the form of
government. This new Government, composed as it is of members half of whom are
men who originally intended to devote themselves to some creative work, knows,
because of its inward religious convictions, the importance of artists as
mediators. This government, rooted in opposition against rationalism, is well
aware of the nameless longings of the people it governs, of their dreams that
sway between heaven and earth, which can be explained and expressed only by the
artist.
Perhaps
more important than anything else that has been mentioned so far is the
legislative attitude of the State towards the sphere of the arts. The position
of the arts in the State was defined by the Chamber of Culture Law of October
1933, which represents something entirely new in Europe.
Probably
the clearest description that I can give of this law is that it has given
practical shape to the establishment of an artist’s guild or corporation.
The
principle of the Corporate State, which has been applied to some of the changes
made in Germany, has, for many decades past, been expressed in political
writings. Other countries than Germany have concerned themselves with this
idea: Literary Congresses in various countries have constantly urged that the
relationship between the arts and the State should be defined, British and
French delegates having been particularly insistent on this. No better solution
has, however, as yet been found than to demand an unlimited “liberalism”-
whilst the corporate suggestion was consistently rejected.
The
newer governments have sought another way out by reviving the idea of autonomic
“Companies of Artists” such as existed in medieval times. The Chamber of
Culture raises the groups of artists from the ranks of the people, and makes
them self-governing. The duty of self-observation is also laid upon them. For
the present the State has withdrawn various privileges, a withdrawal which
certain individuals regard as limiting, and which they describe as “bureaucracy.”
These privileges have been replaced by a Corporate Constitution, providing for
several sub-Chambers, each of which is entrusted with the task of ordering the
professional relations between its members and of assuming responsibility for
their professional affairs. Each is invested with full legislative power. It
should be mentioned that the activities of the Chamber are limited to German
nationals, and that artists of foreign extraction are directed to set up their
own organisations.
Altogether
there are seven such sub-Chambers, those of Music, the Plastic Arts,
Literature, Wireless, Press, Theatre and Cinematograph. They are united under
the control of a central authority, whose decisions are binding upon all. A
Reich minister stands at the head of the Chamber, and the individual
sub-Chambers are mostly under the presidency of creative workers. For instance,
the architect, Herr Hönig, was at the head of the Chamber of Plastic Arts and
Richard Strauss was the former president of the Chamber of Music, which is now
under the leadership of Peter Raabe. For two years I was privileged to be
President of the Chamber of Literature, and I was succeeded by Hanns Johst, the
famous dramatist and lyricist. Another writer, Rainer Schlösser, is at the head
of the Theatre Chamber, but the Radio and Press are managed by experts in each
subject, rather than by artists.
The
decrees made by the Press Chamber have received more attention than those
received by any other. There has been approval as well as disapproval. The
latter is doubtless caused by certain hardships that are bound to be the result
of any revolution: nevertheless we have through these prevented our revolution
from assuming the proportions of the one in Spain, and I am convinced, however
much the duress may irk the individual artist, that, even in this, we have
pursued the right path. The great change in the press that has so served to
stimulate and refresh us, is what I might call the” publicity” of subscribers
and editors, which has completely swept away the influence formerly exerted by
anonymous contributors of money, by certain economic circles and by interested
denominational groups. The reconstruction is proceeding apace, and is based on
the principle of the personal responsibility of the newspaper proprietor and
his editors. Anyone acquainted with our press as it was towards the end of the
parliamentary democracy must be well aware to what a degrading dependence upon
industrial concerns it had sunk, and how many cliques – preserving touch with
our foreign enemies – attempted to influence home policy in order to serve
their private ends. All who lived through those times realise to-day how sane
an effect the application of the principle of personal responsibility for word and deed has
had.
I
have nothing to hide or to extenuate, and I am perfectly aware that, at the
inception of the revolution and for a short period afterwards, it was
impossible to express a free opinion. This has rapidly changed. So long as
attacks are not made on the State itself, and so long as nothing is published
that could lead to a disturbance of the public peace, there is no ban placed
upon the free expression of opinion. Do not let us always return to times that
lie behind us, but when did the makers of any revolution permit any opposition
propaganda to be published? Let us rather compare soberly the question of
dependence and independence as it works out in Europe to-day, and, if we do so,
we must admit that in the majority of countries around Germany (I forbear to
mention names) where the press is still in the pay of economic groups and
political parties, the freedom and security of an editor are far more severely
restricted than in Germany. I think that in this respect (as in many others)
the fact is not sufficiently appreciated abroad that a strong opposition is
lacking not because it is suppressed in Germany, but because the conviction of
opposition is also lacking.
The
number of newspapers sold, which decreased between 1933 and 1934, has once more
gone up, so that in many cases the original sale of the papers has been greatly
increased. The attitude of the general reading public is most clearly indicated
by their demand for those publications known to be free from any suspicion of
outside influence, i.e., periodicals, magazines, etc. In 1935, their sales
figures increased by 9 per cent. as compared with 1934, and a further increase
of 15 per cent. is estimated to have taken place in 1936. These figures apply
in connection with about 1,500 important magazines and periodicals. The Press
Chamber, like the Chamber of Literature, dispenses a considerable relief fund,
which expended over two million marks in 1934, and the same sum in 1936. An Act
that came into force in April 1938 provides pension schemes for all editors of
newspapers.
The
Chamber of Music, apart from giving great support to the cultivation of music
throughout the country, has issued regulations governing the fees paid to
musicians. The International Congress for the Protection of Authors’ Rights,
which recently met at Berlin, confirmed the fact that Germany had found the
surest and quickest way of dealing with this distracting task. If we should now
approach our neighbours with a legislative suggestion to make authors’ rights
more secure internationally, we should do this not so as to snatch at a leading
position for ourselves, but simply because, so far, we have in this respect
gone further than any other country. What is probably the greatest proof of
this statement is that unemployment amongst our German musicians, which
amounted in 1934 to 50 per cent., is to-day insignificant. Every British
visitor to Berlin, Munich or Hamburg knows that the repertoire of operas has
been enlarged and that our opera houses are often “sold out” long before the
dates of the performances, whilst – in 1932 – our actors and actresses
frequently played before empty or half-empty houses.
The
most difficult position in those earlier days was doubtless that occupied by
the Chamber of Plastic Arts. The bourgeoisie that, perhaps without much taste,
took pleasure in supporting the efforts of sculptors and painters, withdrew the
greater part of its custom in this respect after the economic crisis of 1929,
which led not only to the unemployment of the artisan, but also to that of the
artist. The new Government felt itself compelled to set an example, and very
soon no public building was planned without an artist having a share in its design.
The
State has erected many buildings in the past few years, but the position is
still very difficult. The new stratum which is to give private orders and
commissions to the artist is forming very slowly. During the year 1935, the
Chamber of Plastic Arts, apart from large sums expended on travelling, provided
800 old and young artists with holidays varying between fourteen days and four
weeks in length. Further sums, reaching a very high total, were also spent in
giving relief to artists who had fallen into poverty, and the Chamber
instituted, or provided the stimulus for, between three and four hundred
competitions offering valuable chances and prizes. The chief work in this
connection is the provision of new facilities for exhibition and the training of
a new class of would-be purchasers, a task which has met with very considerable
success during the past couple of years. Europe’s finest exhibition building,
the Haus der Deutschen Kunst,
at Munich, was inaugurated by the Führer himself in 1937.
The
Chamber for Wireless reports that the number of listeners increased from about
4,000,000 to 7,500,000 within the space of four years. I do not know whether
this increase corresponds to those recorded in other countries. But I do know,
from what I heard when I paid visits abroad, that the German programmes are
popular outside the borders of the Reich, especially those broadcast by the
Deutschlandsender and the short-wave transmitter, which are designed to keep
our countrymen abroad in touch with the mother country.
There
is little to say regarding the activities of the Cinematograph Chamber, under
the first-rate managership of Professor Lehnich: the international prizes
awarded to German films are sufficient witness of their effectiveness. The
number of people who go to the cinemas has increased by 10 per cent. per annum
since 1935.
The
Chamber of Culture Law has probably been most effective in the domain of the
Theatre and in that of literature. The theatres, which after 1928 grew emptier
and ernptier, and which could attract a public only by producing the most
sensational plays, were not in 1933 instantly able to win back their audiences.
The continuous appeals of the new Government to the theatre-going public to
encourage the arts, and the influence exerted by the theatre-goers’
organisations (which, for the first time, included the workers) little by
little produced a change. The visitor to Berlin to-day is frequently surprised
to find that all 40 theatres of the capital are playing to full houses, and
that the theatre is actually in the midst of a great boom. The number of State
or municipally owned theatres mounted from 155 to 178 between 1933 and 1936,
and the number of people employed in theatres increased from 20,000 to 26,000.
State subsidies to the theatre amounted to 12,000,000 marks a year, and were
principally placed at the disposal of theatres with ancient traditions, which
had fallen on evil days, but which nevertheless remained fully conscious of
their local or classical importance. I have not space here to relate anything
about the new plays that have been performed, or about the open-air theatre or
the people’s theatre, which can accommodate up to about 5,000 persons. It would
be better to hear an expert in these subjects, and still better if English
people would make a trip through Germany and see for themselves what is being
done.
Under
the Chamber of Literature are organised not only writers, but also booksellers
and libraries and everything that has to do with the production and
distribution of books. When the Chamber of Culture Law was passed, the book
trade had an ancient organisation of its own, and there was also an Authors’
Society of little importance, which concerned itself solely with financial
matters, and which was becoming more and more an institution of the great
cities alone. It is putting the situation in a nutshell when it is said that
the movement of 1933 was nothing more nor less than a rising of the regional
instinct against the exaggerated centralisation in the capital. It is certainly
true that literature very plainly revealed that its support was for the healthy
movement, rooted and grounded in the people and the country, against the
circles of eastern emigrants and undesirable groups in the capital. In spite of
the unrest of the times, a strong impetus has been given again to regional
forces in literature.
Economic
protection remains, of course, an important part of the Chamber’s work. The
advisory bureau on legal matters has been re-established, and disputes between
publishers and authors mostly yield to arbitration, both parties being members
of the same Chamber.. Subsidies from the State, and privately offered
contributions, make it possible to give assistance in cases of real distress,
through the instrumentality of the Chamber.
All
these, however, are means that were employed before, and they do not suffice
for the work of the present Chamber. Soon after it came into existence and was
provided with full power under the Chamber of Culture Law, it started to fight
for the new rights of the arts. It has opened its own book trade school, at
which hundreds of young people not only learn to know the literature of the
Middle Ages, the Classical period and the Romantic movement, but learn also to
form their own opinions regarding our present-day literature by discussing it
with their fellows. Not only this, it has caused the 10,000 lending libraries
of Germany, some of which catered for a very inferior taste, to increase their
stock by about 33 per cent., in which they had to include the classics and some
at least of the best modern writings selected from the literatures of all
nations. The Chamber of Literature was also able in 1935 to offer a number of
prizes, which were the result of private subscriptions and which represented a
value of about 2,000,000 marks.
One
of its best ideas has proved to be that Book Week, organised each autumn, in
which everyone is asked to examine his books and to buy whatever he can afford
to improve his library. Book-buying, which had markedly suffered, has, since
1934, increased each year by about 15 per cent. This is a large increase when
it is considered that political books, which were heavily bought during the
pre-revolutionary years, monthly lose in popularity, and that book-buyers are
found more and more amongst the youth of the country, who are eager purchasers
of the omnibus collections published by the Insel-Verlag, the Diederichs-Verlag
and the Müller-Verlag.
The
passing of the Chamber of Culture Law was followed up by the formation of a Reich
Senate authorised to deal with Germany’s cultural problems. It is composed of
the presidents of the various sub-Chambers and a number of the foremost young
writers and artists. From amongst these, experts are chosen to see that the new
law is properly applied, and from them the State seeks to forge the instrument
by which the intellectual leadership of the people may be made to march side by
side with the political.
This
is the position after four years of ceaseless, breathless action. We know, of
course, that changes which give specific rights to the company of artists, the
effect of which can hardly be appreciated as yet, need a decade or two in which
to develop. We are pleased that, during these vital years, we have laid the
foundations for the new order. We know that we have made a great many mistakes,
but it is surely better to achieve something, even if mistakes happen, than to
sit with folded hands awaiting the fate that seems to threaten the whole
Continent.
Germany’s
revolution is not yet over: the smoothing of the paths, the rounding off, is
just beginning. We know that every revolution produces a number of restless
spirits who have to sow, as it were, their wild oats before they can adjust
themselves to the new order of things. Our task is not over: it has only just
begun. But we are pursuing a road that daily becomes clearer. We are in the
midst of a time which is characterised by a will, surely everywhere
perceptible, to create juster principles of religious brotherhood and freedom
amongst the nations, a Weltanschauung
by which the arts are no longer regarded as belonging exclusively to the
intellectuals, but as instruments in the hands of an all-pervading Power that
guides our human destinies.
I
have often spoken about these things with my friends abroad, many of whom still
seem to think that the writer should be lying in the sun when he is not
puzzling his brains at his desk. How in the world, they say, can you, for
instance, who have just read us your poems and fairy- tales, possibly occupy
yourself with matters of State? What have they to do with you?
I
have already told of Galsworthy, who felt differently about this, and who
devoted a great part of his life and his writings to the service of his people.
I believe that we, the peoples inhabiting countries whose shores are washed by
the North Sea, hold similar views on these matters, and that we also understand
the dual task which has been laid upon our shoulders. And if people go further,
and ask me whether I approve the restraint that is used and the “Prussianising”
of the arts, then I, poor innocent, merely shake my head over the wisdom to be
found in this world. Does anyone really believe that we, with our solid peasant
stock and honest bourgeoisie, would permit restraints to be placed upon us that
we did not voluntarily accept as a means to bridge over the difficulties of the
moment? Does anyone believe that we – who, after many a hard struggle, have
just regained our national unity – would be content with the policy pursued by
the new Reich if, in our hearts, we disapproved of it? Does anyone think that
we artists are so unemotional and passionless that we would calmly tolerate
circumstances we were unable to support with all our belief-belief in a better
world and a new fulfilment of our God-ordained task?
We
will not utter reproaches, though it is often a bitter thing to be
misunderstood. We want nothing but to build up our own State without external
interference, and in the way we think best both for our people and for the
young art that is flourishing with us now. May people learn to leave us alone,
if they cannot understand us, because we have no designs on them and only
desire to complete in peace the great work we have undertaken. But where we find
sincere friendship we return it with friendship, and we only ask our friends to
be patient for a little while, if they cannot comprehend everything that
happens in the Reich. Our people, since 1918, have been compelled to bear
almost unendurable burdens – is it then surprising that they are longing for a
newer and juster world? We have won through to inward and are now awaiting
outward peace and justice. We artists are probably the most strongly desirous
of peace, because we are building the new homes of the four arts, and believe
we are building them well.
Does
this sound arrogant? I do not think so. We should learn to be more tolerant not
only of the old, but also of the young. It should be realised that the spirit
permeating our continent is one that has many aspects, and that it is variously
expressed in every nation. Let us also always remember that the nations are not
really so far apart from each other as jealousy and unrest would have them
believe, and let us hope that the feeling of European solidarity, which our
thousand-year-old history has taught us to appreciate and in the development of
which we Germans would like to take our share, may once more be awakened. We
artists of the Reich are teaching this creed to the children of our people. But
we still miss the outside response.
