The Collected Writing of Thomas De Quincey, Vol. IIDe Quincey, Thomas
History
The Collected Writing of Thomas De Quincey, Vol. II
De Quincey, Thomas
De Quincey, Thomas, 1785-1859; English literature -- 19th century
These, or words like these, in which Wordsworth conveys the sudden
apocalypse, as by an apparition, to an ardent and sympathising
spirit, of the stupendous world of America, rising, at once, like an
exhalation, with all its shadowy forests, its endless savannas, and
its pomp of solitary waters--well and truly might I have applied to my
first launching upon that vast billowy ocean of the German literature.
As a past literature, as a literature of inheritance and tradition, the
German was nothing. Ancestral titles it had none; or none comparable to
those of England, Spain, or even Italy; and there, also, it resembled
America, as contrasted with the ancient world of Asia, Europe, and
North Africa.[17] But, if its inheritance were nothing, its prospects,
and the scale of its present development, were in the amplest style of
American grandeur. _Ten thousand_ new books, we are assured by Menzel,
an author of high reputation--a _literal myriad_--is considerably below
the number annually poured from all quarters of Germany into the vast
reservoir of Leipsic: spawn infinite, no doubt, of crazy dotage, of
dreaming imbecility, of wickedness, of frenzy, through every phasis of
Babylonian confusion; yet, also, teeming and heaving with life and the
instincts of truth--of truth hunting and chasing in the broad daylight,
or of truth groping in the chambers of darkness; sometimes seen as it
displays its cornucopia of tropical fruitage; sometimes heard dimly,
and in promise, working its way through diamond mines. Not the tropics,
not the ocean, not life itself, is such a type of variety, of infinite
forms, or of creative power, as the German literature in its recent
motions (say for the last twenty years), gathering, like the Danube, a
fresh volume of power at every stage of its advance. A banner it was,
indeed, to me of miraculous promise, and suddenly unfurled. It seemed,
in those days, an El Dorado as true and undeceiving as it was evidently
inexhaustible. And the central object in this interminable wilderness
of what then seemed imperishable bloom and verdure--the very tree of
knowledge in the midst of this Eden--was the new or transcendental
philosophy of Immanuel Kant.
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