Old joke from my university days: German folklore owes most of its existence to the Romantic Age. (And the ones immediately before and after, but English-speaking folk lump all those writers and professors together under the label "Romantic", so for the purposes of this entry, let's stick with that, otherwise the post will be over by the time I've explained about Sturm und Drang, Klassik, Vormärz und Biedermeier in addition to Romantik.) This is because in the last few decades of the 18th century, when our literature started to explode on the European scene, so to speak, one of the ways German-speaking writers got over the the long time inferiority complex which could be titled "The French Are Better At Everything" was to discover folk songs as "natural poetry". (Another was chucking out Corneille and Racine out of the window as literary models in favour of Shakespeare, but let's not get distracted.) Not only was it suddenly en vogue to collect Lieder, but to write them (and make them sound as if they were folk songs). This was also part of an attempt to establish a national identity, because there wasn't one in geographical terms. There was no Germany, there were a lot of German principalities. There was also first the French Revolution, and then Napoleon, who came, saw, and put the nominally still existing Holy Roman Empire out of its misery, reordering the various German states and establishing the Code Napoleon as law while he was at it. (This last one, btw, was not a bad thing, because it was a far more modern and equal civil code than anything our various principalities had to offer at that point.) So all that sudden interest in folk songs as a form of artistic expression, in medieval epics such as the Nibelungenlied and medieval poetry per se, and then, a generation later, also in folklore, with the Brothers Grimm the foremost (though neither the first nor the last) champions of collecting and publishing same came with a heavy dose of national identity searching (including wondering whether there was such a thing, and whether shared folklore and songs could contribute to define it).

However, as opposed to modern day anthropologists, all those German writers didn't exactly "collect", as in, hunt down songs and stories and transcribe them. It would be more accurately to say that a great many of them tried their hands and, well, writing their own. This is what happened with a famous three volume supposed collection of folk songs and folklore by Clemens Brentano and Achim von Armin, Des Knaben Wunderhorn, which was hugely influential, but even critics at the time could tell most of the stories and songs weren't centuries old but had sprung from the imagination of the two authors and were how they imagined folk songs and folk lore should sound like. Now, Brentano and Armin were a poet and a writer respectively. The Brothers Grimm, on the other hand, were scholars. They had gotten a taste of folklore collecting when Brentano & Arnim asked them to help out with the third volume of Des Knaben Wunderhorn. But as it turned out, Brentano especially was so productive with his own stuff that what the Grimms had collected wasn't needed. They'd caught the bug, though, and decided to publish their own collection. That one, thought they, would follow the scholarly ideal of tracing down folklore in various villages across the countryside and transcribing it,thus securing German oral tradition for posterity.

Fat chance. For starters, these were two librarians (and future university professors) we're talking about. They hardly knew any "simple villagers". And while Wilhelm was more socially inclined than the sharp-tongued Jacob, they had, in pratical terms, not much of an idea of how to communicate with the idealized German peasant they'd imagined. (There were some very awkward and fruitless encounters indeed.) Which meant that most of the fairy tales that ended up in the famous collection didn't hail from old, wise villagers in Hesse or other German principalities, they came from mostly young women out of the Grimms' social circle (meaning they were well-read middle class and in two cases even nobility), several of whom came from French emigré families (Protestants who had fled France when Louis XIV had revoked the edict of Nantes, several generations earlier). The sources closest to the "wise old peasant" ideal were a) a middle aged female pub owner, Dorothea Viehmann, who accordingly was the only fairy tale source named by the Grimms in the foreword to the first edition, and b) two old soldiers. (If you're wondering why several of the fairy tales feature soldiers coming home from the wars and out of a job...) But, like I said: the majority of fairy tales were contributed by well-read young women who were, of course, very much influenced by their education. And then Wilhelm Grimm took editing up to a new level so those fairy tales at least sounded like they had a shared tone. It's Wiilhelm who invented that tone, who came up with "Es war einmal..."/"Once upon a time" at the beginning and "und wenn sie nicht gestorben sind, dann leben sie noch heute" at the end (wich doesn't mean "and they lived happily ever after, btw; the German ending, literally translated, means "and if they didn't die, they're still alive today". If you compare, say, the fairy tale "The Princess and the Frog" (or, as it is known in German, "The Frog King") in the first edition to the second and then to the last edition published during Wilhelm's life time, the single opening paragraph evolves into one and a half pages in the last version (which is the one most often reprinted today), and incidentally, it's a showcase for Wilhelm's poetic gifts and some of his best choices of phrase. "In einer Zeit, in der das Wünschen noch geholfen hat...'" "At a time when wishing still helped..." Not a centuries old oral tradition, though. Pure 19th century Wilhelm Grimm.

However, all those songs and fairy tales then most definitely became folklore. To the point where I'm willing to bet not many people when first hearing or singing it are aware that Sah ein Knab ein Röslein stehn was written by the young Goethe. And there is the probably most famous and infamous example of all: Ich weiß nicht, was soll es bedeuten aka the Loreley song, originally written as an untitled poem by Heinrich Heine for his second poetry collection, Das Buch der Lieder. A composer named Friedrich Silcher then came up with an earworm of a melody for it, and it got enthusiastically sung as a folk song by Germans thereafter to this very day. Chances are that if you've ever heard a German folk song, it will be this one. (Well, okay, this one and "Muß I denn", but the later is Elvis' fault.)

The reason why I said its progression from poem by the sublimely ironic Heinrich Heine to folk song of folk songs is both famous and infamous is this: come 1933, the Nazis set out to eliminate, as you all know, artists from German cultural canon who were Jewish. Heine was. What's more, he also was famous for his biting satire about the German politics and habits of his day, and ended up in French (!) exile. (Being best buddies with Karl Marx. Though he also hung out with the Rothschilds, Parisian branch. Only Heine.) Otoh there was no way you could eliminate the Loreley song from the collective consciousness at that point. So what Goebbels & Co. did was to decree that the song would only be reprinted with the signature "old folk song, writer unknown"). If you think this was immediately revised after 1945, think again. It took a shameful time till "Text: Heinrich Heine" was restored in all reprints. (YouTube still calls it "old folk song", btw, though Heine's name duly given. )

If you're wondering: was Heine using, in his original poem, which is about a fisherman entranced by a mermaid and thus crashing on the Loreley cliff in the river Rhine, a popular fairy tale of his own day? Wellllll. Not really. The first guy who came up with the idea of using the name of the Loreley cliff as the name of a nymph whose beauty lures any man seeing it to his doom was, wait for it, Clemens Brentano (remember him?). Heine read Brentano's version and thereafter created his own.

In conclusion: German folklore: we have it! Straight from the late 18th and 19th century.

The Other Days

Inspired by my recent rewatch, I checked out the Stand By Me fanfiction over at FFN. (AO3 has only one story, which is lovely, but still, singular.) Going by the summaries, there is: Female Original Character/ the boys, either singular or together (expected), Gordie/Chris (expected), Ace/ OC and Ace redemption (I guess the main villain factor, plus the Kiefer Sutherland factor)... and Eyeball/OC. Colour me stunned. Eyeball? Not even the villain, but the villain's gormless sidekick whose one distinguishable scene features him smirking while his friend tortures his younger brother? Is there something about the actor I missed that could explain this? Fandom: still surprising just when one buys into predictability.

****

In other news, our very own Heinrich Heine finally got a bust in the Valhalla, which happens to be a building full of various German luminaries of the past he ridiculed in satiric verse when he was alive, so I think he’d mostly be amused (and perhaps secretly a bit gratified) at this. Being a Rhinelander, he wasn’t that keen on Bavaria anyway, and he loved poking fun at Ludwig I. who built the Valhalla and also was an amateur poet, emphasis on amateur. Non-Germans, don't confuse this Ludwig with his grandson Ludwig II (aka the one into Wagner and fairy tale castles). The first Ludwig's most famous act was abdicating in favour of his son after a major crisis involving his mistress, Lola Montez. Which tells you something about the changing climate in the 19th century; this would not have been a problem in earlier times. Anyway, Heine. If he were a fandom, there would be: a) Heine/Mathilde versus Heine/Mouche shipping wars, which would be b) dwarfed by the Heine/Karl Marx slash, though that would have its own shipping wars, because the Marx/Engels 'shippers insist Harry was just a fling to Karl, never more. There'd also be Heine/Börne enemies slash. As for the inevitable incest corner of fandom, it would hone on Uncle Salomon, because he has the advantage of getting called by biographers the emotionally most intense relationship in Heine's life, other than Mathilde. The most popular feud would be with the August von Platen crowd, on the theme of "Platen's antisemitism versus Heine's homophobia - whose printed insults make you cringe more on their behalf?" Meanwhile, a fannish minority would go for the "best publisher of all" accolade and declare clearly Campe was the true love of Heine's life. Am I right or am I right?

When you see this, post a poem on your journal.

rozk's fabulous Heine translations recently have reminded me again how much I like him. Checking, I found there is even an English translation of the brilliant satiric epic Deutschland. Ein Wintermärchen online, but before I get to that one, and to explaining why you all should read Heinrich Heine, here's one of my favourite poem's of his, Gedächtnisfeier. I couldn't find an English version for this one - rozk?!???? - but here it is for the German speaking readers in the original version. He wrote it during those long last years in Paris when he was dying by inches, and it's all the more impressive for being utterly unsentimental, affectionate and witty (fitting the poet whose last words were "God will forgive me; it is his job"):

Gedächtnisfeier

Keine Messe wird man singen,
Keinen Kadosch wird man sagen,
Nichts gesagt und nichts gesungen
Wird an meinen Sterbetagen.

Doch vielleicht an solchem Tage,
Wenn das Wetter schön und milde,
Geht spazieren auf Montmartre
Mit Paulinen Frau Mathilde.

Mit dem Kranz von Immortellen
Kommt sie, mir das Grab zu schmücken,
Und sie seufzet: »Pauvre homme!«
Feuchte Wehmut in den Blicken.

Leider wohn ich viel zu hoch,
Und ich habe meiner Süßen
Keinen Stuhl hier anzubieten;
Ach! sie schwankt mit müden Füßen.

Süßes, dickes Kind, du darfst
Nicht zu Fuß nach Hause gehen;
An dem Barrieregitter
Siehst du die Fiaker stehen.


There is a French version by Joseph Massad, for shezan and others:

( Fête commemorative )


Now, about the one text by Heine everyon really should read, Deutschland. Ein Wintermärchen, or Germany. A Winter's Tale (translated by the redoubtable Joseph Massaad as well). Which has its own wikipedia entry and, like Byron's Vision of Judgment, is one of those few political satires that remain relevant outside their immediate contemporary context and are still funny (with the laughter occasionally stuck in your throat because you know what came later) today. Current day actors love to recite from it, because you'll get your audience response even if the audience in question has never read any Heine before (except for the ever present Loreley). The English translation doesn't quite have the same linguistic elegance as the German orginal, but it captures the irony pretty wel. This particular epic owes its existence to Heine, after thirteen years in French exile, visiting Germany again for some weeks to catch up with friends, publisher and relations. Germany: A Winter's Tale has him visit the same places he actually did in reverse order, and uses the opportunity to satirize fervent 19th century nationalism, Germans, French, glorification of the past, all kinds of ideologies and also his own occasional wishywashiness (Heine was one of the few people who managed to be chummy with Karl Marx and the Rothschilds at the same time).

His own political credo comes right at the start:

( English version )

( German Original )

One of the big issues of Heine's day was how and whether to achieve unification of the various German principalities. Basically, he was for it, but not, as it began to look like more and more, under a Prussian supremacy. So this is Heine poking fun at earnest unification efforts:

( English Version )

( German Original )

The first town described after crossing the French/German order is Aachen, aka Aix-La-Chapelle. My paternal grandmother and her sister hailed from there, and never ever forgave Heine for the following comment about their hometown:

The Aachen’s street-dogs are so bored,
That, with servility, they’re imploring:
Give us a kick, stranger and perhaps,
Life will not be so boring.

(Zu Aachen langweilen sich auf der Straß'
Die Hunde, sie flehn untertänig:
»Gib uns einen Fußtritt, o Fremdling, das wird
Vielleicht uns zerstreuen ein wenig.«)

As a Franconian, I, err, cannot possibly comment on the veracity of this characterisation. :) Anyway. Our poet goes on to have a chat with the Rhine. Being born in Düsseldorf, Heine actually was a Rhinelander, and, very unfashionable in the later 19th century, a Bonapartist to boot. (Partly because he directly benefited from the introduction of the Code Napoleon in Düsseldorf as a boy; it meant that as a Jew, he could get the same education as the Christians did, which hadn't been possible before. Post-Napoleon, a lot of the old restrictions came back.) Now, in the years before Heine wrote his satiric verse epic, a lot of nationalistic poetry on both sides of the Rhine had claimed the Rhine as both the most French and the most German of rivers. He couldn't let such an opportunity go, and aimed for Germans and French both:

( The French have grown bourgois, you say? )

( Sie werden Philister ganz wie wir? )

Okay, that's all very well, you say, so he could dish out in all directions, but how was he at taking criticism? Generally speaking, not that stellar. (Not many writers are.) One of Heine's more famous literary feuds, with Platen, offered the sad spectacle of two members of minorities beating each other up (in writing) by making tasteless jokes - Platen basically yelled "Jew!" at Heine, Heine yelled back "Faggot!" at Platen. HOWEVER, in Germany: A Winter's Tale, he's taking potshots at himself, too, specifically at the fact that for being the most famous German poet in political exile, he was pretty comfortable hanging out with the rich and influential. So the epic includes a scene where he's stopped by wolves in the Teutoburg Forest, and has to make a speech justifying himself:

( So is he howling with the wolves? )

( Ja zählt auf mich und helft euch selbst... )

In conclusion: read Heine. And if, like me, you visit Paris, stop by his grave at Montmartre.