GENTRY BOOKS
for that especial present:
like Lady Montagu of Beaulieu's `To The Manor Born' (0.25) `for the woman nearest your heart, an exquisitely beautiful and useful book' (James Drawbell) 'delightful recipes, beautifully illustrated' (Naseem Kahn) 'a captivating insight into the running of English Households two centuries ago' (Western Gazette) 'Here is noble nourishment' (Southern Echo):
like `Sixty Miles of Pencil.
An intimate impression of the Brighton Run' (£3.00)
by Roy (great-great-great-nephew of Sir Joshua) Reynolds and Ken Clark: 'captures the spirit of the event in a refreshingly original way' (Courtney Edwards) 'an excellent Christmas present for veteran car enthusiasts' (Julian Mounter) `R. P. Reynolds' drawings are admirable (T.L.S.) And that elegant book,
'Gondola, Gondolier' (£2.80) of which the Evening Standard says `Timothy Holme's book about the watermen of Venice and their ancient craft is informative, gently witty, a pleasure to read'.
Germany had not yet developed a standard educated Hochsprache.
The German, having run wild for nearly two hundred years in an unhappy tumultuous state, went to school with the French to learn manners, and with the Romans in order to express his thoughts with propriety. But this was to be done in the mother-tongue, when the literal application of these idioms, and their halfGermanisation, made both the social and business style ridiculous. Besides this, they adopted without moderation the similes of the southern languages, and employed them most extravagantly.
In consequence, the poets had to turn to foreign poets for their models, Klopstock to the Classics, others, like Goethe, first to Racine and then to Shakespeare. Goethe learned to speak and read French fluently, but I doubt if his command of English was as good. Apropos of translations of Shakespeare, he makes a very wise comment.
I value both rhythm and rhyme, whereby poetry first becomes poetry; but that which is really, deeply, and fundamentally effective, that which is really permanent and furthering, is that ,which remains of the poet when he is translated into prose. Then remains the pure, perfect substance, of which, when absent, a dazzling exterior often contrives to make a false show, and which, when present, such an exterior contrives to conceal. I therefore consider prose translations more advantageous than poetical, for the beginning of youthful culture; for it may be remarked, that boys, to whom everything must serve as a jest, delight themselves with the sound of words and the fan of syllables, and, by a sort of parodistical wantonnes% destroy the deep contents of the noblest work.
In contrast to the formidable reserved Geheimrat of later years, the young Goethe seems to have been very outgoing, a charmer and born raconteur, whose conversation entranced older people as much as his contemporaries, and addicted to dressing up in disguise and to practical jokes. For instance, he was once on a drive with Basedow, who was a heavy smoker, a habit Goethe disliked, and a passionate opponent of the doctrine of the Trinity.
The weather was warm, and the tobacco-smoke had perhaps contributed to the dryness oj Basedow's palate; he was dying for a glass of beer; and, seeing a tavern at a distance on the road, he eagerly ordered the coachman to stop there. But, just as he was driving up to the door, I called out to him loudly and imperiously "Go on!" Basedow, taken by surprise, could hardly get the contrary command out of his husky voice. I urged the coachman more vehernemently, and he obeyed me. Basedow cursed me, and was ready to fat upon me with his fists; but I repied to him with the greatest composure, "Father, be quiet! You ought to thank me. Luckily, you didn't see the beer sign! It was two triangles put together across each other. Now, you commonly get mad about one triangle; and, if you had set eyes on two, we should have to get you a strait-jacket.
But however much Goethe may have changed during his lifetime, one trait was there from the beginning, an extraordinary wide range of interests, a passionate concern, not only for literature, but also for all natural phenomena. Even to the boy Science was as important as Art. By the time the autobiography ends, he has already become famous as the author of Werther. Today, it is difficult to understand how the young men of his generation, on reading such a devastating portrait of a revolting untalented little egoist who didn't care what harm he did to others provided he could get his own way, could have thought of him as a hero to be admired and imitated. It seems clear that, for Goethe, writing the book was a therapeutic act, a way of getting the Sturm-und-Drang nonsense out of his system, and he seems to have realised this himself.
" Werther " produced its great effect precisely because it stuck a chord everywhere, and openly and intelligently exhibited the internal nature of a morbid youthful delusion . . . by this composition, more than any other, I had freed myself from that stormy element, upon which, through my own fault and that of others, through a mode of life both accidentaland chosen, through design and thoughtless precipitation, through obstinacy and pliability, I had been driven about in the imost violent manner. I felt, as if after a general confession, once more happy and free, and justified in beginning a new life.
Happy? I'm not-so sure. Once, quite late in life, Goethe said that he had only been really happy for a few months in his life: this, no doubt, was an exaggeration, but the remark should not be ignored. Goethe's later Olympian Appolonian manner was, I felt sure, a defence mechanism by which he fought off emotional chaos and melancholia. It is significant, I think, that the motive the young student gave for studying anatomy and medicine, was to overcome his natural repugnance to sickness and sick people. All his life, I believe, Goethe found it dangerous to let his thoughts dwell on the unpleasant.
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