March Taster Extract: Addison in Germany

The word "taster" is by no means out of place for Joseph Addison, who seems to have spent much of his time on a royal grant in Europe sampling a wide varieties of clarets, Bordeaux, ports, madeiras, and such like.

Following time in Switzerland and the Dresden, Addison spent March 1703 in Hamburg before returning thence to Britain. Perhaps his ardour in drinking to "her Majestie's" health had more than a little to do with the fact that, with the death of William III in 1702, he had lost his (sizeable) stipend from the crown; did he hope that Queen Anne might prove willing to fund his gout-inducing lifestyle...?

Hamburg, March 1703

My Lord,
I canno longer deny my-self the honour of troubling your Lordship with a Letter tho Hamburg has yet furnish me with very few materials for it. The great Business of the place is commerce and Drinking: as their chief commoditie, at least which I am best acquainted with, is Rhenish wine. The they have in such prodigious Quantities that there is yet no sensible dimunition of it tho Mr Perrot and my-self have bin among ‘em above a Weeek. The principal curisotie of the town and what is more visited than any other I have met with in my Travails is a great cellar filld with this kind of Liquor. It holds more Hogsheads than others can bottles and I believe is capable of receiving into it a whole Vintage of the Rhine. By this cellar stands the little English Chappel which your Lordship may well suppose is not all-together soe much frequented by our Countrymen as the other. I must however do ‘em Justice as they are all of ‘em Loyal Sons of th Chruch of England to assure your Lordship that her Majestie can have no Subjects in any part of her Dominions that pray more heartily for her Health or drink to it oftener. We are this Evening to take a Bottle with Mr Wyche and Strafford. To draw us in they tell us it shall be my Lord Winchelsea’s Health. Idare not let you know, My Lord, how often we have already made this an Excuse for a meeting least at the same time that I would show our Zeal for your lordship I should give you a very small opinion of our Sobrietie: But as all here are extremely disappointed in not having the honour of your company at Hambourg they think this the only way they have left of showing their high Esteem for your Lordship. I hoped my stay at Hambourg would have given me occasion to have written a much Longer Letter but as I can find no better a subject to entertain your Lordship with I am sensible I have already made it too long. I am my Lord with all possible respect
Your Lordship’s &c.

February Taster Extract: The Wordsworths in Germany

In the summer of 1798, the Dorothy and William Wordsworth hatched a plan to spend some time in Germany. With the language enjoying increasing artistic prestige at the time due to the popularity of German authors such as Goethe and Schiller, learning German seemed a smart move for young artists - especially since translations of German literature were selling rather well. Also, with the cost of living in Germany reputedly lower than in boombing early-colonial Britain, the country made an inviting prospect.

Justifying the scheme to a sceptical aunt, Dorothy Wordsworth explained it thus: "We can live for less money in Germany while we are stationary than we can in England, so that you see our regular income (independent of what we may gain by translation) will be sufficient to support us when we are there." After arriving in Hamburg and realising that this optimistic assessment did not necessarily apply to large towns with thriving mercantile economies, the poetic pair headed south to the more depressed country hinterland. Added to the financial bonus was, of course, the literary pedigree of the Hartz and the Brocken mountain, which was of interest to the addressee of the letter below, Samuel Taylor Coleridge, fellow artistic British refugee in Germany at the time.

Nordhausen, Wednesday evening
27^th February, 1799

My dear Coleridge,

(…)

The peasants in the plains adjoining to Goslar are extremely well clothed and decent in their appearance. We had often seen in Goslar women inhabitants of the hills, but we did not imagine them to be so rude and barbarous a race as we found them. They carry enormous burthens in square baskets hung over their shoulders, their petticoats reach very little below their knees, and their stockings are dangling about their ankles without garters. Swellings in the throat are very common amongst them which may perhaps be attributed to the straining of the neck in dragging those monstrous loads. They rarely travel without a bottle of German brandy, Schnapps as they call it; many of them go weekly from Clausthall to Brunswick, they perform this journey, a distance of thirty five miles in two days, carrying ass loads, parcels, &c, and letters clandestinely. These people are chiefly inhabitants of Clausthal, a large Hanoverian town cursed with the plague of a vicious population. We arrived there in the dusk of the evening, found an excellent inn, with beautiful bed-linen, good coffee, and a decent supper. The charge was about the same rate as in England, perhaps a little cheaper. This town lies in the centre of the Hartz forest. We left it on sunday, a mild morning, saw little that was remarkable till we came to the decaying posts of an old gibbet. We had scarcely passed it when we were saluted with the song of the lark, a pair of larks a sweet, liquid and heavenly melody heard from the first time, after so long and severe a winter. I ought to have said that before this we had a view of the Brocken, the Mont Blanc of the Hartz forest, and the glory of all this part of Germany. I cannot speak of its height compared with any of our British mountains, but from the point of view from which we saw it, it had nothing impressive in its appearance.

January taster extract: Tony Benn in Germany

In early 1957, Tony Benn took off for a short stay in Germany on the invitation of the Deutsch-Britische Gesellschaft (an honourable institution which exists to this day, and to whom I also spoke in 2012). He flew to Berlin and, while shocked by the devastation, also perceived just how quickly Germany had recovered. On his way back, he stopped in Hanover and Bonn, where he met Willy Brandt, still Mayor of Berlin at the time, before flying back from Düsseldorf.

The entries about Germany can be found in Benn's diaries (available here) and are well worth reading. In the upcoming anthology, you'll find a longer extract than the one reproduced here.

Monday 14 January 1957

An hour’s work on my speech after breakfast and some progress but still depressed at the prospect and suspecting more and more that it would be a terrible flop before a bourgeois English-speaking Union type of audience.

Mr Trevor Davies and Mr Dees of the British Educational Commission collected me by car and we drove through the Tiergarten, under the Brandenburg Gate and along the Stalin Allee to the Soviet Cemetery. As Dees said, the Soviet sector is like Salford during a strike; compared with the lights and shops and buildings of the Western sector, the East was unbelievably dreary.

The rubble from the bombing still remained and the people looked tired and cold and ill-fed and ill-dressed.

The Soviet cemetery is a gigantic place, set in woods and marked at one end by a huge mound atop of which is a small circular chamber. The absence of individual headstones in the mass grave is a startling reminder of the victory of the monolithic state over the men and women who serve it.

Not even the symbolic sarcophagi which are lined up to flank the burial area and have bas relief stonework and extracts from Stalin’s speeches can erase the dehumanisation.

At 8 to the Centre for the lecture. I was paralysed with fear and had taken a whole Benzedrine to induce confidence.

There were 300-350 people of all ages and various nationalities present. I was at a rostrum on a platform. I talked slowly and deliberately, and they were very attentive and could apparently understand what I said. I tried a joke or two and they worked so that proved the intelligibility to the audience. In fact it was a great success, and there was a lot of applause, a pause and a second round.

December taster extract: Herman Melville in Germany

In 1849, Herman Melville - not yet of Moby Dick fame and having some difficulty finding publishers for his work - headed to London to try his luck there. While in London, he decided to take a cruise down the Rhine, which was all the rage in the 1830s, 40s and 50s. Other writers of the day who took to the waters of Germany's western river were William Makepeace Thackeray, Thomas Hood, George Eliot, and Elisabeth Gaskell.

Melville kept a journal both of his transatlantic and his Rhenish voyage, published on the centenary of his travels in 1949 (Journey of Visit to London and the Continent). Here, we join him in Cologne having "unknowable German currency" conned out of him and enjoying the works of some Dutch masters.

Sunday, 9th December, 1849

Cologne

Sallied out before breakfast and found my way to the famous cathedral, where the everlasting “crane” stands on the Tower. While inside was accosted by a polite worthy who was very civil pointing out the “curios”. He proved a “valet de place.” He tormented me home to the Hotel & got a franc out of me. Upon going to the Steamer Office I learned that no boat would leave that morning. So I had to spend the day in Cologne. But it was not altogether unpleasant for me to do. In this antiquated gable-ended old town – full of Middle Age, Charlemagne associations – where Ruebens was born & Mary De Medici died – there is much to interest a pondering man like me. But now to tell how at last I found that I had not put up at the “Hôtel de Cologne,” but at the “Hôtel du Rhine” – where my bill for a bed, a tea & a breakfast amounted to some $2, in their unknowable German currency. Having learnt about the Steamer, I went to the veritable Hôtel de Cologne (on the river) & there engaged the services of a valet de place to show me the sights of the town for 2 francs. We went to the Cathedral, during service – saw the tomb of the Three Kings of Cologne – their skulls. The choir of the church is splendid. The structure itself is one of the most singular in the world. One transept is nearly complete – in new stone, and strangely contrasts with the ruinous condition of the vast unfinished tower on one side. From the Cathedral we went to the Jesuits’ Church, where service was being performed. Thence to the Museum & saw some odd old paintings; & one splendid one (a sinking ship, with the Captain at the mast-head – defying his foe) by Scheffer (?). Thence to St. Peter’s Church & saw the celebrated Descent from the Cross by Ruebens. Paid 2 francs to see the original picture turned round by the Sacristan. Thence home. Went into a book store & purchased some books (Views & Panoramas of the Rhine) & then to the Hotel. At one o’clock dinner was served (Table d’hôte), a regular German dinner & a good one, “I tell you”. Innumerable courses - & an apple pudding was served between the courses of meat & poultry. I drank some yellow Rhenish wine which was capital, looking out on the storied Rhine as I dined. After dinner sallied out & roamed about the town – going into churches, buying cigar of pretty cigar girls, & stopping people in the street to light my cigar. I drank in the very vital spirit & soul of old Charlemagne, as I turned the quaint old corners of this quaint old town. Crossed the bridge of boats, & visited the fortifications on the thither side. At dusk stopped at a beer shop - & took a glass of black ale in a comical flagon of glass. Then home. And here I am writing up my journal for the last two days. At nine o’ clock (3 hours from now) I start for Coblenz – 60 miles from hence. I feel homesick to be sure – being all alone with not a soul to talk to – but then the Rhine is before me, & I must on. The sky is overcast, but it harmonizes with the spirit of the place.

November taster extract: George Eliot in Germany

From now through until the publication of my anthology Germany: Beyond the Enchanted Forest in April, I'll be offering historical diary entries from writers featured in it, on or near the same date as they wrote their journal. This should have gone out on 12th November, since it was written 158 years ago on that day by George Eliot.

Widely considered one of the best writers in the English language, Eliot was a Germanophile and translated several literary and philosophical works out of German (her first published work was a translation of D. F. Strauss' Das Leben Jesu). In 1854-1855, she took an eight month sojourn to Germany, staying mainly at Weimar and Berlin. On the former, she published an essay, Three Months in Weimar, in which she gives a run-down of the prominent people who had marked the place over the last hundred years; in the latter, she began translating Spinoza's Ethics - the first to render it into English.

In this letter, we hear Eliot's view on Lessing, a very philosophical playwright from the German Enlightenment, which takes her into a wider dicussion of German society and the way in which it seems to function without the need the political freedom the British already considered essential to modern soceity.

George Eliot to Charles Bray, Berlin, 12th November, 1854

Dear Friend,
(…)
Last night we went to see “Nathan der Weise.” You know, or perhaps you do not know that this play is a sort of dramatic apologue the moral of which is religious tolerance. It thrilled me to think that Lessing dared nearly a hundred years ago to write the grand sentiments and profound thoughts which this play contains for the people’s theatre which he dreamed of, but which Germany has never had. In England the words which call down applause here would make the pit rise in horror.

It is amusing to see how very comfortable the Germans are without many of the things England considers the safeguards of society. The Germans eat their Bratwurst and Küchen form house to house in gladness of hear though they have no Episcopal establishment and though the have some things which are though very noxious with us. I think them immensely inferior to us in creative intellect and in the possession of the means of life, but they know better how to use the means they have for the end of enjoyment. One sees everywhere in Germany what is the rarest of all things in England – thorough bien-être, freedom from gnawing cares and ambitions, contentment in inexpensive pleasures with no suspicion that happiness is a vice which we must not only not indulge in ourselves but as far as possible restrain others from giving way to. There are disadvantages, of course. They don’t improve their locks and carriages as we do, and they consider a room furnished when it has a looking glass and an escritoire in it. They put their knives in their mouths, write un-sit-out-able comedies and unreadable books; but they are decidedly happy animals and in spite of Pascal, that is perhaps better than being extremely clever ones – miserable and knowing their misery.

Berlin is a cold place, but the cold is dry and bracing. This morning the roofs are covered with snow, and soon I suppose we shall have the first stratum of snow in the streets which will lie all winter. We work hard in the mornings till our heads are hot, then walk out, dine at three and, if we don’t go out, read diligently aloud in the evenings. I think it is impossible for two human beings to be more happy in each other. All I am anxious about is the certainty of work by which I may get money – and that just now does not present itself.

Best love to all. Forgive all my omissions and commissions and believe ever

Your sincere and affectionate
Marian Evans

Book news and a taster extract

You may take the lack of posts on this blog in recent months as a sign that my writing energies were engaged elsewhere: in the production of my anthology of writing about Germany. The result of these efforts is that the book is now listed on Amazon and, as I'm sure you're aware, that means that it is pre-orderable (yes, that was the sound of cartoon-style Euro-signs kerchinging in my eyes).

It also means that I can fulfil my long-held promise to offer you, my loyal Lost in Deutschland readers online, a few more foretastes of the writing I've included in what is now finally, definitely, and unalterably called Germany: Beyond the Enchanted Forest: A Literary Anthology.

I'm going to start off with Ingrid Anders, a plucky young American "novelist, poet, travelwriter, lyricist" as she describes herself, who went back to her mother's German roots by spending a college year abroad in Berlin and reworked her experiences in a pretty clever little semi-autobiographic novel called Earth to Kat Vespucci, published in 2009.

I say "semi-autobiographical", because it would be easy to equate Anders one-to-one with her alter-ego Vespucci. Yet the gentle irony Anders the author enjoys at the expense of Vespucci the narrator is proof that we have a skilled writer on our hands who uses and structures her material carefully. Nevertheless, as so often with this kind of work, the best scenes feel like they came straight out of real life and got little more than a dab-handed comic-book-style layover before going to print and making us laugh.

Like this one, for example, about the lack of barriers and consequent ease of fare-dodging on German public transport, that great mystery to all of us English-speakers from places where it feels like the idea of civic duty broke down some time ago. In this deeply whimsical extract, we see Vespucci finally getting to the bottom of the whole thing and answering those quesitons we've all asked ourselves again and again: no, not all Germans do pay their fare; yes, most Germans do; so it really is that easy to dodge a fare; yes, the cogs of German bureaucracy - and of some bureacrats - do turn astonishingly slowly.

Something tells me these passengers on the Berlin U-Bahn didn't buy a ticket either...

I have another good laugh the next morning when I check the mail. There is a letter for Carmelita Rodriguez from the Berlin Transportation Authority. It looks official and urgent, so I decide to open it. It is a forty euro fine for Schwarzfahren issued a week ago. That’s weird. I bring the bill inside and call the number on the back.
A scratchy, female voice answers, “Berlinerverkehrsgesllschaft, Guten Morgen, Frau Tintenpinkler hier.”
“Guten Morgen,” I reply, “I’m calling about a fine that was issued to Carmelita Rodriguez.”
“What was the fine for?”
“Scwarzfahren.”
There is a silence on the other end of the line. I can feel a steely, bureaucratic stare of hatred forming on the face of Frau Tintenpinkler.
“I suppose you’re calling to say that you’re sorry and you’ll never do it again.”
“No, actually.”
“Well, I didn’t expect you to be sorry, but at least you’re honest.”
“Actually, it wasn’t me.”
“Here we go. Schwarzfahrer are never who they say they are. Let me guess, it was your sister, or your friend, or maybe it was your roomate.”
“It was my roommate.”
“Of course it was.”
“Let me explain. The fine was issued to Carmelita Rodriguez, who is, or was, my roommate. But she doesn’t live here anymore.”
“Yes, she does.”
“What do you mean, yes, she does?”
“I mean, yes, she does.”
“With all due respect, Frau Tintenpinkler, Carmelita lives in San Diego.”
“Carmelita Rodriguez lives at 1 Coppistrasse, 7th Floor, Apartment B, Berlin, Germany 10365.”
“There is a mistake. She left as soon as she got here and we haven’t seen her since. That’s why it’s impossible that she could have been caught last week for Schwarzfahren.”
“It is documented here in the Official Berlin Resident Directory that Carmelita Rodriguez lives at 1 Coppistrasse, 7th Floor, Apartment B, Berlin, Germany 10365.”
“That explains it, Frau Tintenpinkler. She left without telling anyone, so the Official Berlin Resident Directory doesn’t reflect that change.”
Frau Tintenpinkler inhales sharply. There is silence for a moment and then an explosion.
“Frau Rodriguez, I beg your pardon!”
“It’s Frau Vespucci.”
“How dare you challenge the accuracy of the Official Berlin Resident Directory? Are you prepared to offer proof to support your accusation?”
“What do you mean proof?”
“I mean some kind of documentation?”
“What kind of documentation?”
“All Berlin residents must register with the Official Berlin Resident Office when moving in our out of a residence. It is clearly stated here that Frau Rodriguez moved into 1 Coppistrasse, 7th Floor, Apartment B, Berlin, Germany 10365 on the first of the month. There is no documentation stating a change of address since that date. Therefore, she still lives there.”
“But Carmelita never officially moved out. She just left.”
“Excuse me?”
“She just left. Without registering.”
“Left without registering?”
“Yes.”
“Impossible.”
“No, it’s true. All her stuff is still in her room, but she’s back in San Diego.”
“Frau Rodriguez!”
“It’s Frau Vespucci.”
“Are you trying to make a fool out of me?”
“No, Frau Tintenpinkler, I’m trying to tell you the truth.”
“Why is it that Scwarzfahrer always become so honest directly after they’ve been caught?”
“I’m trying to tell you that if you want Carmelita to pay the fine, it’s best you contact her at her new address in San Diego.”
“Thank you, Frau Rodriguez-“
“It’s Frau Vespucci.”
“-for telling me how to do my job. I’m sure you have many years of experience working at the Berlinerverkehrsgesellschaft. With all due respect to you and your expertise, I’m going to follow the official procedure that has worked most effectively for us over the past forty years, which states that in order to make a Schwarzfahrer  pay his or her fine, you contact him or her at his or her current address, which is to say, the one at which he or she currently lives. In the case of Carmelita Rodriguez, that address is 1 Coppistrasse, 7th Floor, Apartment B, Berlin, Germany 10365. It says it right here. Unlike you, I have documentation to prove it.”
“As you wish, Frau Tintenpinkler, but I assure you, she doesn’t live here.”
“I assure you, Frau Rodriguez-“
“It’s Frau Vespucci.”
“-she does.”
“Fritz,” I ask, puzzled, when I get off the phone with Frau Tintenpinkler at the Berlinerverkehrsgesellschaft. “Did you see this letter that arrived for Carmelita?”’
“No.”
“It’s a fine for Schwarzfahren.”
“Oh, yeah. I forgot.”
“You know about it?”
“Yes.”
“But Carmelita wasn’t even in Berlin when the fine was issued.”
“Of course not. Carmelita lives in San Diego.”
“Right. So how could she have gotten a fine for Schwarzfahren?”
“Maybe someone else got caught and gave her name to the Berlinerverkehrsgesellschaft instead of their own?”
“Who would do such a thing?”
“Someone who didn’t want to pay the fine, I guess.”
“But who?”
“Well… me, most likely.”

Beyond the Forests

After months of word lists, spider diagrams, association games and all sorts of other nonsense during my odd moments to spare, I have agreed with my publisher on a title for our collection of English-language writing about Germany. The book to look out for in early 2013 will be called Germany: Beyond the Forests - A travellers' anthology.

Excitingly, we also know roughly what the cover will look like. We settled on Neuschwannstein because it represents so much both about how foreigners see Germany and how Germany sees itself: at first glance, it's a typical piece of medieval gothic, a place of knights and legends, part of the mythical Germanic past that has been at times both attractive and repulsive, both to English speakers and to Germans themselves. A closer look reveals, however, that the whole thing is a gigantic fake built by a madman, harking back to a bygone era that never existed in that form.

That, I can say at this stage, is already the core of the anthology: by looking at a wide range of views of Germany over a five-hundred-year period, my book will show just how some of the classic ideas about Germany came about, catching myths in the moment of their creation.

There will be more news on the authors included, and the exact date of publication, soon. Also, in the coming weeks, I'll be giving you faithful Lost in Deutschland fans a few more tasters from some of the writers who will be featured.