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154 posts categorized "Germany"

28 November 2014

‘All Horrid’ – but not all German

One of the display cases in our current Gothic Exhibition shows a collection of books whose fame today rests largely on their being mentioned in a novel by Jane Austen (much like Kotzebue’s Lovers’ Vows, discussed in an earlier post).  These are the ‘Horrid Novels’ which Isabella Thorpe recommends to her new friend Catherine Morland in Northanger Abbey as the two girls embark on a spree of gothic fiction reading.

The titles Isabella lists are:  ‘Castle of Wolfenbach, Clermont, Mysterious Warnings, Necromancer of the Black Forest, Midnight Bell, Orphan of the Rhine, and Horrid Mysteries.’ Unlike Ann Radcliffe’s The Mysteries of Udolpho and The Italian, which the girls also read, these titles had pretty much sunk into obscurity by the time Northanger Abbey was posthumously published, and early literary critics believed that they were inventions of Austen’s, parodying typical titles of the genre. Later researchers, however, established that, although Austen (or Isabella) made some minor errors in transcribing the titles, all seven books were genuine products of the time.

However, one thing less than genuine about some of them is a claim to be of German origin. Of the seven, only Clermont offers no hint of German-ness on its title page. The Orphan of the Rhine clearly indicates a German setting, but goes no further, while the other five are all billed as ‘a German story/tale’ or ‘From the German.’ However, this is only strictly true of two: The Necromancer is an adaptation of Karl Friedrich Kahlert’s Der Geisterbanner, and The Horrid Mysteries is a translation of Carl Grosse’s Der Genius. The Castle of Wolfenbach, The Mysterious Warning and The Midnight Bell are only ‘German stories’ insofar as their action is at least partially set in Germany – and this was probably not all that the authors meant to imply

Title page of 'The Castle of Wolfenbach'
Title-page of The Castle of Wolfenbach, [not] a German story. (London, 1794) British Library C.192.a.187

Claiming a false (and often foreign) origin for a work of gothic fiction was not uncommon. The first gothic novel, The Castle of Otranto, purported to be translated from an Italian manuscript (and the device of an invented source goes back further still). Indeed, the original German editions of both Der Geisterbanner and Der Genius claim to be based on other sources: Danish accounts collected by ‘Lorenz Flammenberg’ and the ‘papers of the Marquis C* von G**’ respectively.

Title page of 'Der Genius'
The German title-page of Carl von Grosse, Der Genius (Halle, 1791) 12547.b.22.

But why such a German flavour in a list of English gothic novels? After all, the gothic novel began with Walpole’s supposedly Italian tale, and Ann Radcliffe’s novels also tend towards Italian settings. Italy, France and other southern, Catholic countries of Europe were popular backdrops for British gothic writers since sinister, conspiratorial monks, nuns and priests could be introduced as villains, pandering to the prejudices of a Protestant audience. Yet a German source was clearly a sign of gothic credibility for readers like Catherine and Isabella.

One reason is that there was a definite German influence on English gothic fiction. This came partly via the works of the Sturm und Drang movement and partly from the translations of the more popular and less literary ‘Schauerromane’ (literally ‘shudder novels’), themselves often influenced by British gothic models. (The false translation traffic could go both ways, too: a number of German gothic novels were ascribed to Ann Radcliffe in the first years of the 19th century.)  This German influence was not always welcomed. In 1807 the writer Charles Maturin wrote of literary ‘horrors’ reaching British shores on a ‘plague-ship of German letters’. Two years earlier The Critical Review had rather sarcastically described Matthew Lewis’s The Bravo of Venice as a ‘Germanico-terrific Romance’. The Bravo was an adaptation of a real German work, Heinrich Zschokke’s Abällino, although the reviewer, ‘not acquainted with the original’, and obviously on his guard against false claims of translation from the German, casts doubt on this. Nonetheless he still has some harsh words for the ‘writers of the German school’ and their constant desire to shock.

Frontispiece of 'The Mysterious Warning', showing a jug pouring water while suspended in mid-air, to the amazement of onlookers
Gothic goings-on in the frontispiece of The Mysterious Warning (London, 1796) 1153.f.32.

Apart from actual literary influences, the fact that ‘Gothic’ was still a synonym for ‘Germanic’ or Teutonic’ was no doubt another factor in the identification of Germany with things gothic, as was the Germans’ continued use of ‘gothic’ type. Interestingly, the Minerva Press, which published six of Austen’s ‘Horrid Novels’ and many other gothic works, printed its name in gothic type on its title pages – an early example of this kind of typeface being used as a kind of branding for the demonic and supernatural.

But perhaps another, although less easily demonstrable, explanation is that Germany simply lent itself more readily to gothic imagery in the popular imagination, with all the necessary forests, mountains and mediaeval buildings to furnish the scenery. Italy, despite its suspect Catholicism and its fair share of mountains and bandits, also carried connotations of fine art, classical civilisation and the Renaissance, all the antithesis of gothic. Perhaps even the idea of lowering North European skies as opposed to the sunshine of southern climes played a part: it’s harder to be gothic under a blue and sunny sky.

The continuing identification of German and gothic probably explains why Mary Shelley’s Victor Frankenstein, despite coming from rational, Protestant, French-speaking Geneva, has a German surname, and conducts his anatomical experiments while studying in Germany.  And it survives to this day, not least in the use of gothic lettering (and oddly superfluous umlauts) in the marketing of heavy metal and gothic rock bands.

Susan Reed, Lead Curator Germanic Studies

References/Further reading:

The seven ‘Horrid Novels’ as displayed in the current British Library exhibition are:

Eliza Parsons, The Castle of Wolfenbach, a German Story (London,  1794) C.192.a.187

Regina Maria Roche, Clermont, a Tale (London, 1798) 1152.h.1.

Eliza Parsons, The Mysterious Warning, a German Tale (London, 1796) 1153.f.32.

Karl Friedrich Kahlert, The Necromancer: or The Tale of the Black Forest: founded on facts, translated from the German of Lawrence Flammenberg by Peter Teuthold. (London, 1794)  C.175.i.8.

Francis Lathom The midnight bell, a German story, founded on incidents in real life… (London, 1798) C.117.ff.31.

Eleanor Sleath, The Orphan of the Rhine, a Romance (Dublin, 1802) Loan from University College Cork Library

Carl von Grosse Horrid Mysteries, a story from the German of the Marquis von Grosse, translated by P. Will (London, 1796) Loan from the Taylor Institution Library, Oxford

 

Michael Sadleir, Things Past (London, 1944) 12359.f.26.

Patrick Bridgwater, The German Gothic Novel in Anglo-German Perspective (Amsterdam, 2013) ZA.9.a.5563(165)

 

14 November 2014

Silesia: a borderland in Central Europe

Silesia is a region now located mainly in Poland with small strips in the Czech Republic and Germany. Historically the province has been divided into the north-western Lower Silesia and the south-eastern Upper Silesia with the two biggest cities Wrocław (Breslau) on the Oder and Katowice respectively.  In the early Middle Ages Silesia was populated by various Slav tribes and was part of Great Moravia and Bohemia.  

At the end of the 10th century it was incorporated into the Polish state by Mieszko I. Over the course of the next few centuries Silesia was ruled by the Silesian Piasts. In the 13th century the Piasts brought in a large number of German settlers and since then Silesia was under the influence of German culture and language.  Eventually it became part of Bohemia in 1335, and two centuries later fell under Habsburg rule. Its rich natural resources, especially coal and iron-ore deposits, and its important strategic position for Prussia were the cause of  wars with Austria for the possession of Silesia in the mid-18th century. Consequently, Frederick the Great of Prussia conquered most of Silesia and only a small part of the south-eastern corner was retained by Austria.

A man and woman wearing traditional Upper Silesian costumes in blue, white and redTraditonal Upper Silesian costumes, from Eduard Duller, Das Deutsche Volk in seinen Mundarten, Sitten, Gebräuchen, Festen und Trachten (Leipzig, 1847) 10256.d.20.

Prussian Silesia was then subjected to Germanisation, particularly strong during the implementation of the ‘Kulturkampf’ policy in the second half of the 19th century.  Lower Silesia was predominantly inhabited by Germans and was Protestant, while Upper Silesia had a mixed population of Germans, Poles and Silesians with Catholicism as the prevailing religion. The latter are regarded as an ethnic group of Slav origin speaking in Silesian. There is now an ongoing debate whether Silesian is a distinctive language, a Polish dialect or a regional language. Upper Silesians spoke Silesian at home and either German or Polish in public and clearly emphasized that they were neither Germans nor Poles.  Although Silesians had never created their own state, they built a society with a distinctive culture and language. In the 19th century there were unsuccessful attempts to codify Silesian, and only in 2003 was the first publishing house founded to publish books in Silesian.  

Upper Silesia was an arena of political clashes between Polish and German nationalist movements at the turn of the 20th century. Each aimed to win the support of the local population regarding  its ownership. Ironically, the Kulturkampf served to strengthen Polish nationalism in the region, which eventually led to the inclusion of the eastern part of Upper Silesia into the newly-reborn Poland in 1922. This followed three Silesian uprisings in 1919-1921 and a 1921 plebiscite organised by the League of Nations. The aim of the uprisings was to win autonomy for Upper Silesia either within the Polish or German state. The uprisings were, however, considered by some Silesians as a civil war. The plebiscite was to decide its national status.  Both Germany and Poland wanted this territory due to its heavy industrialisation and strong economic development.

Map showing the results by region of the 1921 Silesia plebisciteThe results of the plebiscite held in 1921 in Upper Silesia from Stefan Dziewulski, Wyniki Plebiscytu na Górnym śląsku. (Warsaw, 1921)  X.700/15938. The red areas voted to be part of Poland, the blue ones to be part of Germany

The solution was thus to divide it between the two countries. Subsequently, the Prussian Province of Silesia within Germany retained Lower Silesia and the western part of the disputed territory of Upper Silesia. Austrian Silesia was mostly awarded to the newly-created Czechoslovakia, with a small area included in Poland. The region granted to Poland formed the Silesian Voivodeship and received significant autonomy from the Polish government, with its own legislative body and treasury. Polish Upper Silesia (the eastern part) was economically most important as it comprised three-quarters of Silesia’s coal production. The demographic structure of the divided territory, with the Poles and Germans living on both sides, was, however, politically disadvantageous.

At the beginning of the Second World War Upper Silesia was immediately annexed by the Nazis to the Third Reich and the extermination of the Polish population took place. After the war the German inhabitants were expelled, with Poland shifting westwards in 1945. Nowadays, in a free Poland, there are political movements seeking autonomy, separation or even  full independence for Silesia.

Magda Szkuta, Curator East European (Polish) Studies

References/further reading

Tomasz Kamusella, Silesia and Central European Nationalisms: The Emergence of National and Ethnic Groups in Prussian Silesia and Austrian Silesia, 1848-1918 (West Lafayette, 2007) m07/12120

The Problem of Upper Silesia (London, 1921) 08072.c.6

Stefan Dziewulski, Wyniki Plebiscytu na Górnym Śląsku (Warszawa, 1921) X.700/15938.

03 November 2014

Concert to celebrate the Silver Jubilee of the Friends of the British Library - Brahms’ Requiem

The Friends of the British Library celebrate 25 years of support for the Library this year. To mark this special occasion, the British Library and British Museum Singers are holding a concert dedicated to the Friends of the British Library. The concert, on Thursday 13 November, will include excerpts from Brahms’ German Requiem in the composer’s own arrangement for piano duet, together with a selection of his Zigeunerlieder (‘Gypsy Songs’). This free lunchtime concert will take place in St Pancras Parish Church (opposite Euston Station) from 1.15 p.m. It will be conducted by Peter Hellyer and accompanied by Giles Ridley and Christopher Scobie.

The Friends are justly proud of their support for the British Library, and particularly for their contributions in the field of the Library’s music acquisitions. The acquisition in 2002 0f the archive of the Royal Philharmonic Society was significant, as the archive has been described as the single most important source for the history of music in England in the 19th century. The entire archive was digitised as part of the Nineteenth Century Collections Online database and can be viewed in the Library’s Reading Rooms.

Johannes Brahms as a young manJohannes Brahms, ca. 1853, from Alfred Orel, Johannes Brahms (Leipzig, 1937)  010709.de.52.

The choice of Brahms’ German Requiem as the centrepiece for the concert is particularly apt since it was first performed in Great Britain by the Philharmonic Society in 1873. It is a large-scale work for chorus, orchestra, and soloists, composed between 1865 and 1868. This sacred but non liturgical work has seven movements of which the Singers will perform the first five. Partial performances of the work also occurred during the course of its composition: the first three movements were performed in 1867 and six movements were performed in Bremen in 1868. Brahms added the fifth movement in May 1868 and the first performance of the complete work took place in Leipzig in 1869.

An alternative version of the work was also prepared by Brahms to be performed as a piano duet, four hands on one piano. This version also incorporates the vocal parts, suggesting that it was intended as a self-contained version probably for at-home use, but the vocal parts can also be omitted, making the duet version an acceptable substitute accompaniment for choir and soloists in circumstances where a full orchestra is unavailable. The first complete performance of the Requiem in London, in July 1871 at the home of Sir Henry Thompson  and his wife, the pianist Kate Loder, utilized this piano-duet accompaniment.

The Zigeunerlieder with words translated into German from Hungarian folk-songs by Hugo Conrat were originally composed in 1887 set for a vocal quartet (or choir) and piano. In the summer of 1888 Brahms produced an abbreviated version for solo voice as well. The Singers will perform a selection combining the two types of arrangement. A manuscript score of the arrangement for four voices and piano is held by the British Library in the Zweig collection . It is written in black ink with additional annotations by the composer in pencil and blue crayon mostly intended for the copyist. The Zweig collection was a gift to the British Library from the Heirs of Stefan Zweig, its presentation being accompanied by a series of concerts supported by the Friends.   

Peter Hellyer, Curator Russian Studies and Ed King, Former Head of British Library Newspaper Collections

  First page of Brahms's 'Zigeunerlieder' manuscriptThe first page of the Zigeunerlieder manuscript, British Library Zweig MS.20

29 October 2014

Language and the making of nations

On 14 November the British Library will be hosting a study day  ‘Language and the Making of Nations’, organised by the Library's European Studies Department and examining the relationship between majority and minority languages in the countries of Europe and the creation of national literary languages

The creation of a unified language has been significant in the formation of the nations of Europe. Part of the process has been the compilation of standard grammars and dictionaries, an initiative often followed by linguistic minorities, determined to reinforce their own identity. This seminar will look at the relationship between majority and minority languages in the countries of Europe, the role of language in national histories, and the creation of national literary languages. Specialists in the history of the languages of Europe will explore these issues in relation to Czech, Georgian, Italian, Serbian and Ukrainian, as well as Catalan, Dutch, Frisian, Silesian and the Norman French of Jersey.

A ninetheenth-century map showing the languages of Europe

Programme:

10:30  Registration; coffee

10:50  Welcome

11:00-12:00   Donald Rayfield (Emeritus Professor of Russian and Georgian, Queen Mary, University of London), ‘The tongue in which God will examine all other tongues — how Georgians have viewed their language.’

Marta Jenkala (Senior Teaching Fellow in Ukrainian, UCL School of Slavonic and East European Studies), ‘Ukrainian language and nation: a cultural perspective’.

Break

12:10-13:10   Mari Jones (Reader in French Linguistics, Cambridge University), ‘Identity planning and Jersey Norman French.’

Peter Bush (Literary translator), ‘Josep Pla and the making of contemporary literary Catalan.’

Lunch

14:10-15:40 Giulio Lepschy (Hon. Professor, UCL, London, School of European Languages, Culture and Society), ‘The invention of standard Italian.’

Prvoslav Radić (Professor, Faculty of Philology, University of Belgrade), ‘The language reform of Vuk St. Karadžić and the national question among the Serbs.’

Rajendra Chitnis (Senior Lecturer, School of Modern Languages, Bristol University), 'We are what we speak. Characterizations of the Czech language during the Czech National Revival.’

Break

16:00-17:30 Roland Willemyns (Emeritus Professor of Dutch, Free University, Brussels), ‘The Dutch Congress of 1849 and the Woordenboek der Nederlandsche Taal.’

Tomasz Kamusella (School of History, University of St Andrews), ‘Silesian: a language or a dialect?’

Alastair Walker (Emeritus Research Associate, Department of Frisian Studies, University of Kiel), ‘North and West Frisian: Two beautiful sisters, so much alike, but yet so different.’

The event has received most generous support from NISE (National Movements and Intermediary Structures in Europe), the Polish Cultural Institute, and the international publishing house Brill

Attendance is £25.00 Full Price;  £15.00 for under 18s. To book please email [email protected] or call +44 (0)1937 546546

There is an additional free event, following the study day, from 18:15-20:00.  Maclehose Press and the Institut Ramon Llull will be launching Joan Sales’ novel of the Spanish Civil War, Uncertain Glory, translated from the Catalan by Peter Bush.  Professor Paul Preston (Historian, Director of the Catalan Observatory at the LSE) will be in conversation with Peter Bush.  A wine reception will follow courtesy of Freixenet.

As places are limited, please RSVP to [email protected]  if you would like to attend the evening event.

13 October 2014

A German lesson for Europe: Siegfried Lenz (1926-2014)

Those searching on the map of Germany for the birthplace of Siegfried Lenz, who died last week at the age of 88, will seek in vain. Lyck in East Prussia, where he came into the world on 17 March 1926 as the son of a customs official, no longer exists; under its new name of Ełk, it is firmly on the other side of the Polish border. This symbol of displacement and dislocation is characteristic of the Europe, and more specifically the Germany, which he chronicled in his novels, plays and essays.

Lenz is probably best known for his novel Deutschstunde (1968), Cover of Siegfried's Lenz's 'Deutschstunde'translated into English as The German Lesson in the year of its publication. The story of a young boy and his friendship with Nansen, an artist whose paintings were condemned as ‘degenerate art’ and shares many features with the painter Emil Nolde, it unfolds as a series of reflections as the narrator tackles an essay entitled ‘Duty as Joy’ which he has to write as a punishment. Its apparent simplicity covers a wide range of moral and ethical issues explored elsewhere in Lenz’s work as he endeavoured to ‘take preventative actions against any danger of a recurrence’ of the Hitler era, as he declared in his acceptance in 2000 of the Goethe Prize, awarded to him on the 250th anniversary of Goethe’s birth.

Material released in 2007 suggested that Lenz, together with other German writers, might have joined the National Socialist Party on 20 April 1944, although he later claimed that he had been unwittingly signed up as part of a collective ‘joining’. Whatever the truth of this, his writings repeatedly address the theme of the responsibility to acknowledge the past and protect one’s historical and cultural heritage without attempting to deny its darker side. This is strikingly expressed in another of his most notable works, the novel Heimatmuseum (1978) in which a museum curator’s duties and moral dilemmas stand for those of an entire nation.

Photograph of Siegfried Lenz holding a pipeSiegfried Lenz at a poetry reading in 1969. Photograph by Lothar Schaak from the German Federal Archives, (Bundesarchiv, B 145 Bild-F030757-0015 / Schaack, Lothar / CC-BY-SA) taken from Wikimedia Commons

Lenz himself had fled to Denmark and spent a short time as a prisoner of war just before the end of the Second World War, and acted as a translator and interpreter for the British army before studying in Hamburg and joining the editorial staff of Die Welt (1950-51). His interest in current affairs led him to spend the royalties from his first novel Es waren Habichte in der Luft (‘There were Hawks in the Air’; 1951) on a visit to Kenya, documented in a novella, Lukas, sanftmutiger Knecht (‘Luke, gentle servant’).

Lenz was an outspoken critic of the German orthographic reforms of 1996, and was equally forthright in his support for Willy Brandt’s Ostpolitik after his involvement with the Social Democratic Party. His frank expression of his sometimes controversial views did not prevent him receiving numerous honours, including the honorary citizenship of his birthplace in 2011 and of Hamburg (2001), as well as the Peace Prize of the German Book Trade, awarded at the 1988 Frankfurt Book Fair. Yet in his evocation of the landscapes of remote corners of Masuria and Schleswig-Holstein and his playful and humorous writings for children, he reveals himself to be not only the guardian of his country’s conscience but of its half-forgotten past and its hopes for the future.

Susan Halstead, Curator Czech & Slovak

References:

Siegfried Lenz, Deutschstunde (Hamburg, 1968). X.909/17297. (English translation, The German Lesson, translated by Ernst Kaiser and Eithne Wilkins (London, 1971) X.989/13226.)

Siegfried Lenz, Heimatmuseum (Hamburg, 1978). X.989/79411. (English translation The Heritage, translated by Krishna Wilson (New York, 1981). X.950/19347.)

Siegfried Lenz, Es waren Habichte in der Luft (Hamburg, 1951). X.989/30264.

Siegfried Lenz, Ansprachen aus Anlass der Verleihung des Friedenspreises des Deutschen Buchhandels (Frankfurt am Main, 1988). YA.1989.a.9017.

04 October 2014

Ploughing, scattering and translating, or, You know more German hymns than you think.

Around this time of year churches in Britain are celebrating Harvest Festival, and many congregations will no doubt sing the favourite seasonal hymn ‘We plough the fields and scatter’. But  not many of the singers may be aware that this seemingly integral part of a British – or at least an Anglican – Harvest Festival service is in fact a translation of a German hymn, ‘Wir pflügen und wir streuen’, with words taken from a poem by the 18th-century German poet Matthias Claudius.

The English translation first appeared in 1861 in a collection entitled A Garland of Songs: or an English Liederkranz compiled by Charles S. Bere, a Devon clergyman. Bere was apparently something of a Germanophile: in a preface he speaks admiringly of the role played by vocal music in German homes and communities and expresses the hope that his English collection of secular and religious songs will encourage a similar culture among his compatriots. The translator, modestly described as “a lady … who wishes to be nameless”,  was Jane Montgomery Campbell (1817-1878). Among her other contributions to the collection is a version of ‘Stille Nacht’ beginning ‘Holy Night, peaceful night’ (the more familiar – and frankly better – translation ‘Silent Night’ was made two years earlier by an American Episcopal priest, John Freeman Young).

Music and words of J.M. Campbell's translation of 'Silent Night'Jane Montgomery Campbell’s translation of ‘Stille Nacht’ from A Garland of Songs.

German hymns had been making their way into English for a long time before Bere and Campbell collaborated on their Garland. The Latin-German macaronic carol ‘In dulci jubilo’ and Luther’s ‘Ein’ feste Burg’ appeared in English versions as early as the 16th century, and John Wesley made some translations from German in the 18th century. But the 19th century was the golden age of German-English hymn translation. For example, most of us know  ‘Ein’ feste Burg’ best in Thomas Carlye’s translation as ‘A safe stronghold’ (or in another 19th-century American translation as ‘A mighty fortress’), and most of the German hymn translations in the Church of England’s standard hymnal, Hymns Ancient and Modern, date from this period.

Perhaps the most active 19th-century translator and promoter of German hymns in  Britain was Catherine Winkworth (1827-1878). Winkworth really deserves a blog post to herself: she was not only a translator but also a social reformer and a pioneering advocate of women’s higher education, but here we must restrict ourselves to her collection of hymn translations, Lyra Germanica, which first appeared in  1855. Winkworth moved in intellectual Christian circles where contemporary German theology was much admired. The hymns in Lyra Germanica – over a hundred in all – were translated from a collection compiled by the ambassador and scholar Karl Josias von Bunsen (Winkworth’s sister Susanna also translated one of Bunsen’s prose works on theology). Winkworth followed up the success of her first series of translations with a second series and a study of German devotional lyrics, Christian Singers of Germany.

Decorative binding of 'Lyra Germanica' in red and green leather with gold tooling including the image of a lyre Binding from an 1868 luxury edition of Lyra Germanica (3434.f.19.), designed by John Leighton who was also one of the illustrators.

Although only a small percentage of the many hymns Winkworth translated are in general use today, those that are remain some of the most familiar and recognisable German hymns in Britain. The latest edition of Hymns Ancient and Modern (now simply called Ancient and Modern) includes six of her translations, perhaps the best known being no. 739 ‘Now thank we all our God’ (‘Nun danket alle Gott’) and no. 765, ‘Praise to the Lord’ (‘Lobe den Herrn’). Other German hymns in the collection include no. 9 ‘When morning gilds the skies’ (‘Beim frühen Morgenlicht’) translated by Edward Carswell and no. 181 ‘O sacred head surrounded’, Henry Williams Baker’s translation of Paul Gerhardt’s ‘O Haupt voll Blut und Wunden’. It is also worth noting that many of the tunes  in the book – for both German and other texts – are of German origin.

German hymns, then, are still sung in churches up and down the country, but it seems that they are waning somewhat in popularity. ‘Silent Night’ still holds its own in polls of favourite carols (although it has lost the top spot in recent years to a French rival, ‘O holy night’), but the only German entry in a recent BBC vote for ‘The UK’s top 100 hymns’ was ‘Now thank we all our God’, languishing at no. 65 in the chart. However, there is a German element within a wider European story behind the hymn which topped that poll, ‘How great thou art’. This is based on a Swedish original, and the most familiar English translation is by Stuart K. Hine, who discovered it when working as a Methodist missionary in the Carpathian Mountains in the 1930s. He translated it from a Russian version which was based in turn on an earlier German translation.

So whether at harvest time, Christmas or in the church year generally, an ‘English’ hymn may have an international story to tell. And if you are a churchgoer, you probably know more German hymns than you think.

Susan Reed, Lead Curator Germanic Studies

References/further reading:

A Garland of Songs: or an English Liederkranz, edited by the Rev. C. S. Bere. (London, 1861). A.745

Lyra Germanica: Hymns for the Sundays and Chief Festivals of the Christian Year, translated from the German by Catherine Winkworth. (London, 1855). 3436.f.27.

Catherine Winkworth, Christian Singers of Germany (London, 1869). 3605.bb.6.

Ancient and Modern: Hymns and Songs for Refreshing Worship. (London, 2013). D.845.t

Robert Maude Moorson, A Historical Companion to Hymns Ancient and Modern (London, 1885). 3436.g.55.

An Annotated Anthology of Hymns, edited with a commentary by J.R. Watson. (Oxford, 2002). YC.2002.a.10594.

Susan Drain, ‘Winkworth, Catherine (1827–1878)’, Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, Oxford University Press, 2004 [http://www.oxforddnb.com/view/article/29744]

 

02 October 2014

The Warsaw Uprising of 1944: Epilogue

In August this year we published a post to mark the 70th anniversary of the start of the Warsaw Uprising. Today, on the anniversary of its ending our guest blogger Andrzej Dietrich  looks back again at the events of 1944. (You can read the original Polish text of this post here)

The decision to start the uprising was made in a difficult political situation without taking into consideration the fighting power of the Home Army (known as AK). There was no consensus at AK Headquarters as to the launch of the uprising, its sense, chance of success and its possible date. Similarly, the Polish Government-in-Exile in London was divided in opinion over this matter. The AK  was poorly equipped. It had enough arms and anti-tank weapons for only three to five days. The Germans had 15,000 soldiers, including 3,000 Russians and Cossacks in the unit called RONA (Russkaia Osvoboditel’naia Narodnaia Armiia).  The German side also had at their disposal large amounts of weapons and ammunition, tanks and planes.

A number of turbulent meetings were held at AK Headquarters in the last week of July 1944. Colonel Janusz Bokszczanin, an opponent of the uprising, was in favour of waiting for events to unfold. The legendary ‘Courier from Warsaw’, Jan Nowak-Jeziorański, who recently arrived from London, conveyed Commander-in-Chief of the Polish Army Kazimierz Sosnkowski’s negative attitude towards a potential uprising as well the allies’ lack of ability to provide aid.  General Leopold Okulicki was sent from London to Poland in March 1944 with instructions from General Sosnkowski to block the launch of an uprising in Warsaw. However, he ignored the order and, instead, became the principal advocate of the uprising.  At some point, General Tadeusz Bór- Komorowski, the Chief Commander of the Home Army ( driven to despair, arranged for a vote [sic!]. This reflected his state of mind and lack of control over the situation:  you can vote in a parliament, but in an army you must carry out orders!

Tadeusz_Bor_KomorowskiGeneral Tadeusz Bór-Komorowski (image from photo below from Wikimedia Commons)

Finally, Komorowski gave in to pressure and on 31  July  made a decision for the uprising to start on 1 August , at 5pm, also called “W-hour”. 30,000 soldiers of the Home Army who were mobilised and placed in specific locations of the city were unarmed. They were supposed to be given arms before “W- hour”, but in reality only a small proportion of weapons reached the meeting points. As a result, at the crucial hour only 1,500 soldiers were fully armed. In the first days of struggle (i.e., up to 5  August ) the insurgents were successful to some extent owing to the Germans being taken by surprise. Later the Germans received reinforcements and a massacre started. The city was bombarded both by heavy artillery and planes. The Dirlewanger Brigade, made up largely of criminals, were known for their exceptional atrocities. They murdered 40,000 civilians in the Wola District of Warsaw, sparing not a single soul and burning the corpses.

Warsaw suffered shortages of food, water, medicine and first aid supplies. Hunger and disease were ubiquitous. One should honour the heroism of the soldiers and civilian population of the city, which systematically day by day was falling into ruin.

 

Ruined buildings and rubble in WarsawRuins in central Warsaw after the Uprising, from André Lenoir, Varsovie 1944. (Geneva, 1944) YA.1989.b.5500

The tragic balance of the uprising:

18,000 soldiers and 200,000 civilians were killed. Material losses included 70% of the city’s buildings being destroyed, burnt archives, libraries, works of art and culture created by generations of Poles throughout the centuries. In addition, Poland lost a generation of intelligentsia with significant consequences for the country in the following decades. In contrast, the Germans lost 6,000 soldiers including many common criminals sent to suppress the uprising. General Władysław Anders, in a letter to General Marian Kukiel,  wrote:

 …a fighting Warsaw brought me to my knees, but I consider the uprising in Warsaw a crime. Thousands killed, the capital utterly destroyed, the enormous suffering of the whole civilian population, the fruit of hard work throughout the centuries annihilated…

In his diary Winston Churchill gently noted: “There are few virtues that the Poles do not possess and there are few errors they have ever avoided.”

After 63 days of futile and hopeless struggle General Bór-Komorowski signed an act of capitulation in the early hours of 3 October  1944.

Statue of a dhild dressed in a soldier's uniform and carrying a gunThe Monument of the Little Insurgent in Warsaw (picture by Cezary p from Wikimedia Commons CC BY-SA 4.0)

On 1 October, 1983 the Monument of the Little Insurgent was erected to let future generations know that children were also involved in the struggle. To commemorate the city’s fight, the Monument of the Warsaw Uprising was unveiled on August 1  1989 (picture below by DavidConFran from Wikimedia Commons CC BY-SA 3.0)

Monument with a sculpture of soldiers running into action from a damaged building

Both these monuments are, alas, memorials of shame to those whose tragic decisions led to the destruction of Warsaw.

Andrzej Dietrich

Translated by Magda Szkuta

Further reading

J.K. Zawodny, Nothing but honour: the story of the Warsaw Uprising (London, 1978) X.809/43121

Władysław Bartoszewski, Abandoned heroes of the Warsaw Uprising (Kraków, 2008) LD.31.b.1915


 

29 September 2014

A Glider Pilot amongst the Mosquitoes

This year sees not only the 100th anniversary of the outbreak of World War One (in case you missed it), it is also the 60th anniversary of the International Federation of Translators, the organisation that gave us International Translation Day which we celebrate on 30 September.

The IFT’s charter states that:

Translation has established itself as a permanent, universal and necessary activity in the world of today that by making intellectual and material exchanges possible among nations it enriches their life and contributes to a better understanding amongst men.

Curators in European Studies at the British Library know all about the importance of translations. We select original literary works in European languages,  and of course we receive English translations published in the UK under legal deposit law. We also sometimes buy foreign translations of works originally published in English. Cover of 'Arnhem Lift'

An example of this is Arnhem Lift, (London, 1945; British Library 9100.a.80). It is an eyewitness account from the battle of Arnhem by a glider pilot. (There’s another anniversary for you: this month saw the 70th anniversary of Operation Market Garden and the Battle of Arnhem). Initially published anonymously in 1945 it saw three print runs in its first year. The British Library holds three copies from 1945; the copy mentioned above and copies at shelfmarks, X11/5678 [pictured right], and W5/3276.

Cover of 'Ik vocht in Arnhem'Then in 1946 Jules Timmermans translated the book into under the title Ik vocht om Arnhem (Nijmegen. 1946; X.808/41632 [pictured left]). Just before this translation went to press the author’s name was made public.

Sergeant Louis Hagen came from a well-to-do Jewish family in Germany. They moved in high circles and so Hagen met Prince Bernhard, husband of Crown Princess Juliana of the Netherlands. (Hagen was mistaken for the Prince when in Arnhem in 1944.) In 1934 Hagen was arrested for writing a joke about Hitler’s Sturmabteilung on a postcard. He was sent to a concentration camp, but was freed after six weeks, thanks to the intervention of an old schoolfriend. This episode prompted the family to leave Germany. Mr and Mrs Hagen made it to the USA, but Louis ended up in England. Eventually he joined the Glider Pilot Regiment in 1943. Arnhem was his first battle, supporting the Mosquitoes and other planes of the RAF. The Pegasus Archive website gives a detailed account of his experiences during the week the battle raged.

Photograph of Louis HagenLouis Hagen. Image from the Pegasus archive

An illustrated second edition of Arnhem Lift appeared in 1953 (copies at 9102.b.39 and W53/9325). It includes a foreword by Sir Frederick A.M. Browning, one of the commanders of Operation Market Garden. A reprint followed in 1977 (X.809/42364).

Sketch-map showing landing areas near ArnhemMap of landing area from Arnhem Lift. 2nd ed., 1953, page 14. (W53/9325)

In 1993 an edition entitled Arnhem lift : and the German Version  (London, 1993; YK.1996.b.4977) appeared. It gives the German version of the story by a German Arnhem veteran, whom Hagen met at a dinner party in the early 90s. The latest edition is from 2012: Arnhem lift : a German Jew in the Glider Pilot Regiment. (Stroud, 2012  YK.2013.a.1146 [below]).

Cover of 'Arnhem Lift' 1993, with a photograph of the author and an image of planes flying over a windmill

What started off as a typed-up account of a soldier, solely to be distributed among his friends, became a very popular work indeed, or it would not have seen three editions with several reprints, nor would it have been translated into Dutch, German, French and Italian. Hagen not only continued to write four more books, but he also translated four German books about the Second World War into English.

As a translator he would not have received as much attention as an author. Translators are often the glider pilots among the Mosquitoes/authors of the literary world. So, on this International Translation Day let’s hear it for the glider pilots/translators!

Marja Kingma, Curator Dutch and Flemish Collections

References and further reading:

C. Bauer, The battle of Arnhem: the betrayal myth refuted, translated by D.R.Welsh. (S.l., 1966 ) X11/7954

G. Freeman, Escape from Arnhem: a glider pilot's story. (Barnsley, 2010) YC.2011.a.3997

R. Gibson, Nine days  (17th to 25th September 1944): the authentic description of a glider pilot's experience at Arnhem, from take-off to his escape …. (Peterborough, 2012) YK.2013.a.4152

C.B. Mackenzie, It was like this!  = Zó was het! A short factual account of the battle of Arnhem and Oosterbeek … Translation: W. van der Heide … 2nd amplified edition.  (Oosterbeek, 1956) 9102.fff.61

R.J. Kershaw, It never snows in September (Marlborough, 1990) YK.1991.b.2242 

M. Middlebrook, Arnhem 1944 : the airborne battle, 17-26 September (London, 1995) YK.1996.a.6739 and  98/25541

J. Piekalkiewicz, Arnheim 1944: Deutschlands letzter Sieg (Oldenburg, 1976). F10/1896; English translation by H.A. and A.J. Baker, Arnhem, 1944. (London, 1977). X.802/10563

T. Plieviern, Berlin [translated from the German by Louis Hagen]. (London. 1969) H.69/634.

C. Ryan,  A bridge too far (Ware, 1999)  YC.2002.a.5467

W. Schellenberg, Memoirs , edited and translated by Louis Hagen. (S.l., 1956)  W54/3792

R. E. Urquhart, Arnhem. (London, 1958) 9103.d.26.

H. Walburgh Schmidt, Het Dertiende Peloton: levensverhalen rond zweefvliegtuig Horsa 166, Slag bij Arnhem 1944 (Soesterberg, 2004). YF.2005.a.23627 (

15 September 2014

A Teuton take on tartan: Sco(t)tland and the Germans

Although I have used the title ‘Anglo-German Centuries’ to describe this series of blog posts, the intention was always to look at cultural ties between Germany and the whole of Britain. With the Scottish independence referendum imminent, this seems like a good moment to reflect specifically on Scotland in this context.

The early Hanoverian monarchs showed little personal interest in Scotland; since they had replaced the Stuart dynasty (which had ruled Scotland since the late 14th century) and had faced various Jacobite attempts to regain the crown, a certain wariness is hardly surprising. It was not until George IV’s visit to Scotland in 1822 that the increasingly anglicised Hanoverians also began to embrace their inner Scot and remember their Stuart ancestry. From here we can perhaps date the British royal family’s particular affection for Scotland, which continues to this day.

The man primarily responsible for this was Sir Walter Scott, who persuaded George IV to make his visit and the Scottish nobility to welcome him (and all concerned to don tartan kilts). But Scott was not just instrumental in introducing Britain’s ‘German’ monarchs to his country; he was also an important mediator of German culture in Britain. In his early twenties Scott had become fascinated with German literature – ‘German-mad’ as he later described it, His first published work was a translation of two ballads by Gottfried August Bürger in 1796 and the following year produced the first English translation of Goethe’s Götz von Berlichingen

Portrait of Sir Walter ScottSir Walter Scott. Frontispiece from vol. 1 of  The Prose Works of Sir Walter Scott  (Paris, 1840) British Library 12273.g.2

Scott maintained an interest in German culture and literature throughout his life, and was influenced by the activities of the German writers and scholars who were rediscovering and recording national folklore and mediaeval literature (he corresponded for example with Jacob Grimm). He also encouraged Robert Pearse Gillies, another Scottish enthusiast for German literature, to found the Foreign Quarterly Review (London, 1827-1846; 268.h.15.), a journal devoted to continental literature. Through its pages Gillies introduced Heinrich Kleist, among others, to British audiences.

Scott was among the 15 British admirers who presented Goethe with a golden seal on his 82nd birthday and was thanked in a poem addressed to ‘Fünfzehn englischen Freunden’. Chief among these ‘English’ friends was another Scot, Thomas Carlyle, who had begun a correspondence with Goethe after translating Wilhelm Meisters Lehrjahre. Carlyle was another great 19th-century champion of German literature and thought in Britain; indeed, in the words of the critic R.D. Ashton, he ‘became convinced that he alone knew anything about German literature … and that it was his duty to teach it’, and he continued in this mission for all his writing life.

Germans were also taken with Scotland and its culture. James Macpherson’s ‘Ossian’ poems were influential to the writers of the ‘Sturm und Drang’ and Romantic movements (and of course play a climactic role in Goethe’s Werther).  A combination of Macpherson’s work and actual Hebridean scenery inspired Felix Mendelssohn’s overture known both as ‘The Hebrides’ and ‘Fingal’s Cave’, and the same tour of Scotland inspired his ‘Scottish Symphony’.

Both Scott’s and Carlyle’s own works were well-received in Germany. Richard Andree, a German traveller to Scotland in the 1860s, described Scott as ‘the man who has brought Scotland’s history closest to us Germans’. On arrival in Edinburgh he hastened to pay his respects at the Scott memorial, but when he visited Scott’s former home at Abbotsford he was somewhat disappointed by the stout guide who ‘smelt alarmingly of whisky’ and took quantities of snuff as she showed him round: ‘an unpleasant addition to the rooms where The Lady of the Lake was written’. 

In Edinburgh Andree almost immediately encountered fellow-Germans working there: three Swabian waiters at his hotel and a group of Palatine musicians busking in the street. This comes as something of a surprise as Scotland generally attracted far fewer Germans to work or settle in the 19th century than London or some of the northern English cities. Nonetheless, by the end of the century Edinburgh and Glasgow each had sufficient German populations to support a German church, so Andree’s waiters were part of a trend, if only a small one. (The musicians may have been a more itinerant group – he later encountered them again in Inverness.) A salutary reminder that sometimes the term ‘Anglo-’ is not enough when looking at British- German relations between 1714 and 1914.

Susan Reed, Lead Curator Germanic Studies

References:

Max Batt, ‘Contributions to the History of English Opinion of German Literature I. Gillies and the Foreign Quarterly Review’, Modern Language Notes vol. 17, no. 3 (March 1902) pp. 83-85. P.P.4970.i.

R.D. Ashton, ‘Carlyle’s Apprenticeship: His Early German Criticism and His Relationship with Goethe (1822-1832)’. Modern Language Review, vol.71, no. 1 (January 1976) 1-18 (p.7). P.P.4970.ca.

Richard Andree, Vom Tweed zur Pentlandföhrde: Reisen in Schottland (Jena, 1866) 10370.bb.21. and available online [http://books.google.co.uk/books?id=_FxZAAAAcAAJ&source=gbs_navlinks_s] 

Panikos Panayi, German immigrants in Britain during the nineteenth century, 1815-1914 (Oxford, 1995) YC.1996.a.721

 

22 July 2014

Tauchnitz and Marinack: the famous and the unknown bringing English literature to the Germans

When I started thinking about topics for this series of Anglo-German blogs, publishing and bookselling were naturally on the list, not least the famous Tauchnitz Verlag in Leipzig which published  English literature in the 19th and early 20th centuries. I didn’t expect that an enquiry received in the course of my regular work would alert me to other English-language publishing ventures in 19th-century Germany and to one not at all famous Englishwoman hoping to bring the best of British poetry to the Germans.

To start with the better-known figure: Christian Bernhard Tauchnitz established his publishing house in 1837, and began issuing his ‘Collection of British Authors’ in 1841. At a time when international copyright law was in its infancy, Tauchnitz’s policy of offering fair payment in return for the right to publish and distribute the works of British (and later American) writers on the continent appealed to both authors and publishers in the Anglophone world, and he won many clients and friends among them.

Portrait of Tauchnitz wearing a fur coat and with a medal around his neckPortrait of Christian Bernhard Tauchnitz, from The Harvest; being the record of one hundred years of publishing, 1837-1937, offered in gratitutde to the friends of the firm by Bernard Tauchnitz (Leipzig, 1937)  2710.k.29.

In theory, Tauchnitz’s books were only for sale in continental Europe and bore warning messages against importing them to Britain. This sometimes led to speculation that the books were pirated, whereas in fact the reverse was true: Tauchnitz editions were fully authorised for distribution on the continent but not allowed to compete with the authors’ British publishers on home ground. But many British travellers who purchased Tauchnitz novels while abroad simply brought them back home without any thought for the niceties of publishing and copyright, making the brand familiar even to stay-at-home Britons. The British Library holds one of the world’s largest collections of surviving Tauchnitz editions, the Todd-Bowden collection.

In establishing his business Tauchnitz had an eye for the growing market among English-speaking travellers abroad, but his aim was also to make English literature in the original language available and better known to the German reading public. He was by far the most successful German publisher to venture into this field, but not the only one.  Others, hoping no doubt to rival Tauchnitz’s success, also established series of English literary works, and this is where our less famous figure comes in.

In 1861, one Mary Maria Marinack edited an anthology entitled Selections from the Works of the British Classical Poets... for the illustrious Brockhaus Verlag. The enquiry which  I mentioned came from someone who had a copy of this book and wanted to know more about both it and its compiler. To my surprise I quickly found a reference to Marinack in the standard German biographical dictionary, Allgemeine Deutsche Biographie (ADB) – not in her own name but as the wife of a German schoolmaster and educationalist, Karl Eduard Niese. The daughter of “a cultured English family”, born in 1829, Mary married Karl Eduard in 1861 and the couple established a highly successful preparatory school in Thuringia, which even received royal approval when two Princes of Saxe-Weimar were enrolled there.

Title-page of 'Selections from the British Poets'Selections from the works of the British Classical Poets from Shakespeare to Shelley. Systematically arranged with biographical and critical notices by Maria Mary Marinack. (Leipzig, 1851). 11602.f.8.

In the preface to her work Marinack says that an “increase of the general interest throughout Germany in English Literature, particularly Poetry” and her own “fervent admiration for my native Poets” inspired her to compile the collection. No doubt with her husband’s profession in mind, she adds that she has sought “to avoid all that is improper for the perusal of youth” so that “this volume may be safely recommended to the heads of the higher Schools and Institutions.”

At around the same time as Selections from the Works of the British Classical Poets, Brockhaus also published an eight-volume ‘Library of English Poetry’. Marinack’s anthology, although not in that series, was probably part of the same initiative to break into the English-language market.  However, the venture enjoyed little success and was not continued, which probably explains why Marinack’s proposed second and third volumes also came to nothing.

We may know little about the details of Marinack’s life, but she represents not only the personal ties between England and Germany through her marriage, but also the cultural exchange between the two countries in the 19th century. Furthermore, her role in Brockhaus’s brief English-language publishing venture tells a small part of a wider Anglo-German book trade story, one where the infinitely more famous Bernhard Tauchnitz is a major figure.

Susan Reed, Lead Curator Germanic Studies

References:

Tauchnitz-Edition: The British Library, London (London, 1992).  ZA.9.d.172(47).

Beiträge zur Rezeption der britischen und irischen Literatur des 19. Jahrhunderts im deutschsprachigen Raum, herausgegeben von Norbert Bachleitner. (Amsterdam, 2000). ZA.9.a.5563(45)

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