Back to black

Our forthcoming title, Three Prose Works by Else Lasker-Schüler (20 June 2022), is the last in the current format of Rixdorf Editions, so we wanted to take a final look at the series design. First up: if you haven’t already, check out this blog post which covers the original design concept for our books as conceived by Cara Schwartz (and here you can also read up on the extraordinarily prophetic caricature that adorns our translation of Hermann Bahr’s Antisemitism).

Like all of our books, the cover of Three Prose Works uses a black background and recontextualises imagery from around the time of publication, the early 20th century. And like all of the titles since 2019, it is designed by Svenja Prigge (you can see more of her work here). But perhaps before we look at our interpretation, we should see how Lasker-Schüler’s books appeared in her own time. The three works which make up our edition – The Peter Hille Book, The Nights of Tino of Baghdad and The Prince of Thebes – were all published prior to the First World War.

Das Peter Hille-Buch (The Peter Hille Book) was originally issued in German in 1906. Its cover bore a portrait of Hille himself as the one-eyed Norse god Odin by artist Franz Stassen, an image which had once adorned the wall of the cabaret in Berlin where Hille (and Lasker-Schüler) performed.

The cover of Die Nächte Tino von Bagdads (The Nights of Tino of Baghdad), which followed in 1907, simply bore the title in gold against a pink background. The frontispiece by Max Fröhlich, however, seems to illustrate the opening passage of the book (‘You must visit me three days after the rainy season, for the Nile has receded then, and great flowers shine in my gardens, and I too rise from the earth and breathe. A mummy am I, as old as stars, and I dance in the time of the leas. Solemn is my eye and prophetic rises my arm …’).

Else Lasker-Schüler was not just a writer, she was an artist as well, but what might seem a natural step – getting her to supply the cover images herself – didn’t occur until her epistolary novel Mein Herz (My Heart) in 1912. In 1914 the third of our three prose works, The Prince of Thebes, carried Lasker-Schüler’s own illustration, a Semitic vision of a warrior with a Star of David nestled in a crescent moon on his cheek and his helmet, flanked by a Black comrade. This edition featured a number of other line drawings by Else Lasker-Schüler along with three colour illustrations by her friend, the Expressionist painter Franz Marc.

After the First World War, these three titles along with seven others were issued in a complete edition of Lasker-Schüler’s work to that point by art dealer and publisher Paul Cassirer with cover images by the author; she re-used the illustration from The Prince of Thebes, but for the other two we can finally see how Lasker-Schüler herself visualised her works.

When we issued our translation of The Nights of Tino of Baghdad as a PDF-only release to our mailing list in 2019, Svenja Prigge’s design picked up on the motif of dance from the Cassirer edition, using an image from one of the thousands of collector cards produced in the early 20th century. A little larger than a standard business card, they were often richly coloured and issued in thematic sets as promotional extras with products like cigarettes and the ubiquitous ‘Leibig meat extract’. The marketing advantage presumably consisted in children collecting the cards and then asking their parents to keep buying the same brand so they could complete their sets. These collectibles are sold to this day; I found the well-preserved examples here at flea markets in Berlin.

 
 

Here the image comes from a card issued with ‘Zuntz’ brand coffee and tea, part of a set of scenes from One Thousand and One Nights, the great Arab narrative cycle which shares numerous motifs with Lasker-Schüler’s prose writing. The image was supplied by the Dresdner Kunstanstalt who were responsible for numerous collector cards, postcards and other ephemera from the era. This scene finds the character of Morgiana dancing for the chieftain of the notorious 40 thieves. The sensuality of this vignette is deceptive; Morgiana is about to stab the thief to death, echoing the violence which seems to inexorably follow each erotic encounter in The Nights of Tino of Baghdad.

This Orientalist aesthetic was typical of the time. As the Afterword to Three Prose Works describes, visual signifiers of an imagined Middle East were incredibly popular throughout high and low culture in early 20th-century Germany. Lasker-Schüler reported her delight at a Berlin circus which made use of these ‘Eastern’ motifs, so it was imagery with which she was certainly familiar. But she was also familiar with antisemitism, including the term ‘Oriental’ – a slur that bigots used to describe Jews. Lasker-Schüler’s response appears to have been to defiantly embrace this insult and transform it into a positive, constructing an ‘Oriental’ world in her writing and even in her day-to-day life.

When we returned to Lasker-Schüler for Three Prose Works, we returned to the Zuntz One Thousand and One Nights set, with Morgiana now joined by the flagellant sorceress who is keeping the King of the Black Isles captive, and Maruf the cobbler at the spring. In place of the whip we gave the sorceress a pansy (taken from a botanical print); the character of Tino – who recurs in different guises throughout the Three Prose Works – is a fierce adversary but also susceptible to beauty.

The swirling figures pick up on the motif of dance which recurs throughout the three works, their weightlessness evokes the intoxicating disorientation of Lasker-Schüler’s prose, while their different forms represent the Orlando-like transformation that Tino undergoes. The cyclical momentum parallels the circular if fractured narrative that emerges throughout the three books. The pansy is the kind of flower to be found in the Nietzschean, Germanic forest settings of The Peter Hille Book, but the leaf on its stem resembles a palm tree, and points to the Orientalist journey ahead. By the time we end up in Jerusalem at the end of The Prince of Thebes, there are elements which seem to take us back to the source – quotes from Nietzsche and European flowers … and so it goes, round and round.

However it took a while to arrive at this arrangement; to prove that we really don’t rush into our designs, here are just some of the original alternatives.

As I mentioned in our original design round-up, the guiding concept for the Rixdorf Editions books was to have imagery from the time reconfigured on a black background, to suggest elements emerging from obscurity just as the works themselves were being rediscovered. And this is all true, but as this is the last cover in this format, it’s time I let you in on the original original inspiration:

Fuzzy-Felt.

 
 

If you’ve never encountered this low-tech children’s toy of yesteryear, Fuzzy-Felt came as a box full of coloured pieces of felt in different shapes which you could arrange into pictures in a lurid pop-folk style on a black felt background. I have a dim (yet clearly persistent) memory of playing with a care-worn Fuzzy-Felt set, which presumably belonged to one of my cousins, when I visited my aunt and uncle’s farm in rural South Australia. There was something about the suspension of carnivalesque elements against an unfathomable void which captured my young imagination. So there you go – it was Fuzzy-Felt all along.

Duly unburdened of that burning secret, it remains only for me to thank Cara Schwartz and Svenja Prigge for their expertise, taste and patience in producing these cover images over the last five years.


Three Prose Works by Else Lasker-Schüler (translated by James J. Conway) will be published on 20 June 2022

Announcing: Three Prose Works

June 2022: three fiction pieces by the great German-Jewish writer appear in English for the first time

Three Prose Works
by Else Lasker-Schüler

ELS.jpg

Rixdorf Editions is very proud to announce a major forthcoming anthology by one of the greatest German writers of the 20th century. Appearing in June 2022, Three Prose Works unites an interconnected trio of fiction publications by Else Lasker-Schüler originally issued before the First World War and presented here in English for the first time. The translator is James J. Conway who also provides an insightful afterword. Three Prose Works shows a vital facet of the German-Jewish writer’s creative output developing in parallel with her better-known verse, as she mythologises her own ceaseless quest for freedom and meaning in captivatingly original prose. Each of the three works is self-contained although they contain numerous thematic links with each other:

  • The Peter Hille Book (1906), is a collection of gem-like, Nietzschean tales in which her alter-ego ‘Tino’ shares the odyssey and the wisdom of ‘Petrus’, a stand-in for her beloved mentor Peter Hille.

  • The Nights of Tino of Baghdad* (1907) is an episodic fantasia which explores a notional ‘Orient’ of the author’s devising, blending Muslim and Jewish traditions to explore the commonalities of Semitic identity.

  • The Prince of Thebes (1914), issued on the eve of the First World War, offers a sequence of dark fables seething with violence and eroticism, culminating in a great clash of civilisations.

 
Cover artwork for Three Prose Works designed by Svenja Prigge

Cover artwork for Three Prose Works designed by Svenja Prigge

 

Else Lasker-Schüler (1869-1945) was a major voice of Expressionism and a bohemian fixture of early 20th century Berlin. She received Germany’s most prestigious literary prize shortly before she was forced into exile with the rise of the Nazis in 1933. While her verse works such as the late collection My Blue Piano continue to gain new devotees in English translation, her compelling, heavily autobiographical prose works largely remain to be discovered.

Described by the TLS as an ‘exciting new list’, Berlin-based Rixdorf Editions is introducing forgotten German classics to a contemporary English-language readership, focusing on the Wilhelmine period (1890-1918), when daringly innovative writers defied a reactionary mainstream. In bringing vital German texts from around the beginning of the 20th century to new readers, Rixdorf Editions has been particularly focussed on women’s writing; Three Prose Works is the eighth print publication by the press, half of which are by women. The Rixdorf list of original translations includes titles by Anna Croissant-Rust, August Endell, Franziska zu Reventlow, Hermann Bahr and Ilse Frapan, plus its latest work, Papa Hamlet, by Arno Holz & Johannes Schlaf (October 2021), and its best-selling title, Berlin’s Third Sex by Magnus Hirschfeld (2017). Three Prose Works is the last in this current series of rediscovered German literary treasures from Rixdorf Editions, which will return with a new format in late 2022.


* subscribers to the Rixdorf Editions mailing list had a preview of The Nights of Tino of Baghdad, which was issued in electronic form in 2019 and since deleted.


Else Lasker-Schüler Three Prose Works
translated by James J. Conway
Cover: Svenja Prigge
20 June 2022 | ISBN: 978-3-947325-12-2
218 pages, trade paperback | 115 x 178 mm, French flaps
EUR 12 | GBP 9.99 | USD 20
US distribution: SPD | UK/Ireland distribution: Central

Postcard from Sophienstrasse

Sophienstraße 21

A while back we visited Niederschönhausen, the town (then) outside of Berlin where authors Arno Holz and Johannes Schlaf formed a bohemian community of two and fomented a literary revolution in the form of Papa Hamlet. Although set in Norway, that book was very much informed by their familiarity with Berlin’s less desirable residential areas. An even more acute study of this world comes to us in another of the duo’s texts included in our edition of Papa Hamlet, the 1890 short story ‘Die papierne Passion’ (‘The Paper Passion’). It offers not just a compelling social study, but a unique record of a building that, remarkably, is still around.

The original publication of ‘Die papierne Passion’ by Arno Holz and Johannes Schlaf

The story was inspired by Johannes Schlaf’s time as a student when he lodged in the Scheunenviertel (‘Barn Quarter’), immediately north of Berlin’s historic heart, before departing to share Holz’s sylvan seclusion in Niederschönhausen. At the time (the late 1880s) the Scheunenviertel was already beset by overcrowding, with constant new arrivals, particularly Jews fleeing persecution in eastern Europe (more from Slow Travel Berlin). Like so much of Berlin, this neighbourhood was dominated by buildings arranged around courtyards, with a typical configuration offering a front block facing the street, a rear block behind it separated by a courtyard, which was often also framed by side blocks. Depending on the depth of the plot there might be up to four successive courtyards leading away from the street – often gloomy spaces which retained more noise than light.

A view of the Scheunenviertel

Each complex was a social microcosm; the apartments on the lower floors of the front block were generally reserved for the better off, with conditions deteriorating the higher and further back you went. Once you arrived at the top of one of the rear blocks you might well find apartments housing multiple families or a revolving cast of lodgers. In the most extreme cases the same bed would be occupied by different people working different shifts throughout the day. Well into the 20th century, these overcrowded spaces were notorious for appalling health and social conditions. And often the buildings weren’t solely reserved for residents. The Berliner Mischung (Berlin mix), sometimes known as the Kreuzberger Mischung, named for another working-class district on the other side of the River Spree, was a mode of urban development at the time which crammed residential, commercial, artisanal and even industrial usage into the same space with predictably poor outcomes for the people who called them home.

An image by Heinrich Zille depicting living conditions in Berlin around the end of the 19th century

Sophienstraße 21 is a prime example of this. Right behind the Sophienkirche, Berlin’s only remaining Baroque church, it presents a genteel front to the street which once concealed a teeming world of apartments, workshops and a tavern, as well as a sewing machine factory. Here Johannes Schlaf lived as a lodger in a household watched over by the loud, vulgar Mother Abendroth who ceaselessly bellowed her grievances in broad Berlin dialect. She appears unencrypted in ‘The Paper Passion’, while the student Haase, sensitive and ill-at-ease, is likely a stand-in for Schlaf himself.

An 1882 map showing Sophienstrasse 21 and the Sophienkirche

An 1882 map showing Sophienstrasse 21 and the Sophienkirche

Considering Berlin’s history it is truly fortunate that we have such a rich, closely observed literary account of a location that we can still visit today. Now known as the Sophie-Gips-Höfe, this is the very exemplar of post-reunification gentrification, with some avant-garde landscaping, walls adorned with text (but no graffiti), expensive apartments, media companies, an architectural practice, a high-end gallery, a French bookshop and a bakery (many Berliners will remember this as the former home of Barcomi’s Deli). With a bit of guesswork, here are some extracts from the text in the settings that inspired them (these photos were taken in late summer so as well as the grime, crowds and industrial activity you’ll have to imagine the snow for yourself).


‘A small Berlin kitchen, up four flights of stairs, around Christmas time …’

‘Meanwhile there is an occasional low rattling of window panes amid the muffled clatter of the factory in a rear block beyond the courtyard …’

‘From four storeys below in the cellar tavern comes the thin sound of an accordion …’

‘Another heavy, iron-laden wagon has just rattled through the gateway to the courtyard …’

‘The thin, monotonous peal from the Sophienkirche steeple can now be heard from the street …’

‘It’s the evening service. In between, from the bel étage below, a piano …‘

‘Beyond the low, snow-covered side block across the way the factory sends dark smoke into the winter sky, aswarm with fine powdery snow. Its numerous windows gaze yellowy-red through the flurry. The large black steel rails, belts and wheels in the bright squares move back and forth continuously. There is a snuffing and groaning in regular bursts …’

‘Heavy, dull blows from the courtyard. Between each, a shrill woman’s voice …’

‘Outside windows warped with frost are being thrown open, a few women are calling down into the courtyard, there is already a confused frenzy of buzzing and shouting down below …’

‘The women scream, a thick knot of people has gathered in front of a ground floor apartment. The whole courtyard is in uproar …’

‘A black knot of people comes through the front door. In their midst is a man, staggering; they are dragging him out …’

‘The factory chimney looming tall and black into the dirty grey snowy sky casts a red flame fluttering high into the whirling white-grey flakes …’


 
 

‘The Paper Passion’ by Arno Holz & Johannes Schlaf was originally published in German as ‘Die papierne Passion’ in the anthology Neue Gleise. Gemeinsames von Arno Holz & Johannes Schlaf by F. Fontane in Berlin, 1892. This translation © 2021 James J. Conway, included in Papa Hamlet.

A Farewell

Today is publication day for our seventh print title, and an English-language debut for its two authors: Papa Hamlet, by Arno Holz and Johannes Schlaf. As well as the title novella, the book contains other works by the pair who formed a writing partnership between 1888 and 1892. They include a short story about a young man dying after a duel (that’s not a spoiler by the way – the title is ‘A Death’). As he succumbs to his wounds in shabby student lodgings, his fragmentary, confused babbling is meticulously rendered, and it reads like post-war experimental poetry.

Our edition also contains the short story ‘The Paper Passion’, which recounts the fractious social mix of characters in lodgings in a poor part of Berlin, based on Johannes Schlaf’s own experience of living in the Scheunenviertel. Here Arno Holz’s belief in the importance of dialogue is expressed in the very typesetting, where the spoken passages are rendered in a larger font.

Arno Holz and Johannes Schlaf

Arno Holz and Johannes Schlaf

Like Papa Hamlet itself, both of these shorter works show Holz and Schlaf’s fearlessly experimental side. But there was another side; just as socially critical but more subtle, even sentimental, as seen in their ‘Emmi’ cycle, the last part of which is translated below; consider it a DVD extra. These tales illustrate not just the authors’ skill in communicating a sense of place and the sentiments of those who dwell within, but also their particular alertness to the experience of women. First published in 1892 in the anthology Neue Gleise (New Tracks), the three stories are bound by the character of Emmi, a young woman. In the first of the three, ‘Krumme Windgasse 20’, we find Emmi working as a maid in student lodgings, where she meets Heinz. Despite the acutely observed differences in their social profiles, her flirtation with the student blossoms into a relationship. The next part, ‘Die kleine Emmi’ (Little Emmi), finds Emmi fighting off an attempted sexual assault from her uncle. This was actually the first piece that Holz and Schlaf wrote together; it was originally to be published with Papa Hamlet, but the publisher judged it too contentious a choice.

In the last piece, ‘Ein Abschied’ (A Farewell), Emmi and Heinz are reunited, only to part. Summoned by his father, Heinz will pursue the opportunities of a young man of his class while Emmi is fated to stay behind. A consistent feature of Holz and Schlaf’s work is an awareness of sound – the idiosyncrasies of human speech patterns but also the incidental sonic backdrop that accompanies their characters’ lives. In ‘A Farewell’ they include snatches of folk and popular songs throughout the narrative, functioning almost like a Greek chorus, dramatically highlighting the diverging destinies of the two characters. The song that Emmi requests from Heinz – ‘Wo ein klein’s Hüttle steht’ (Where a Little Cottage Stands) suggests domesticity and settled family life. The other songs, by contrast, are associated with young men going out in the world, including ‘Frei ist der Bursch’ (Free is the Lad) and ‘Am Brunnen vor dem Tore’ (At the Well before the Gate), also known as ‘Der Lindenbaum’ (The Linden Tree), which Schubert incorporated into Die Winterreise. And one song in particular may be familiar – the folk song ‘Muss i denn’ (‘So must I …’), in which a young man takes leave of his beloved. It was recorded by Marlene Dietrich but also became the basis for Elvis Presley’s ‘Wooden Heart’ which incorporated some of the original lyrics in Swabian dialect. Links to recordings are included if you want to multi-mediatise your reading experience.


Farewell.jpg

Arno Holz & Johannes Schlaf

A Farewell

translated by James J. Conway

‘Well aren’t you dull today!’
Little Emmi bent her fine, round head low over her coarse, grey wool stockings once more. The slender steel needles in her hands jingled softly, the moonlight reflected in them gleamed.
Her small, red lower lip was protruding slightly. She was pouting!
Heinz had not even answered. He was still standing at the other window, looking down at the laneway.
He had bent the flower pots slightly to one side.
Their black, grotesque shadows stood out behind him on the scrubbed floorboards. Next to them, to the right and left, the two curtains wove their lacy garlands.
How fine the little nest was! How fine!
His forehead was now pressed firmly against the panes.
In the distance, on a small, octagonal oriel, he could clearly distinguish a large, coal-black weathercock. It looked as though it had just this moment crowed. A small hole had been punched into its round, iron head as an eye, and its strangely ornate tail feathers jagged sharply into the moonlight.
Behind it a cat was climbing up a drainpipe. Now it disappeared behind a chimney. Below it was a withered tuft of grass waving like a tongue from a tin dragon head …
Heinz now let the myrtle stem snap back again without thinking.
A small black bat had just touched the pane with its wing.
The old, shrivelled nest had never seemed so strange to him.
Downstairs, outside, there were still plenty of people. Women gossiping about their dear neighbours, philistines smoking their long pipes, children who had already fallen asleep on their mothers’ laps.
The small, round master baker Klüsener had made himself comfortable on a garden chair. His broad, red apple face was clearly visible diagonally across the laneway. His coat was white, snow white. Just like his apron.
Before him stood fat Ramschüssel, chatting with him. The silver-plated tip of his helmet gleamed every time he turned.

‘Well you could at least play me something on the piano!’
Heinz winced a little, instinctively.
She looked over at him in astonishment.
What was wrong with him today? She couldn’t make sense of him at all!
He was now seated on the small, round swivel armchair which was covered in black patent leather. The moonlight reflected in the black sheen of the instrument. It dripped like gold from the fantastical arabesques of the two rotating brass candle holders. It lay like plated silver in the small disc in between. From its centre hunched Beethoven’s angular medallion, black as a black man’s head. Little Emmi instinctively dropped down deep into her aunt’s large, rattan armchair. Her round, white hands lay casually on her lap. She looked over at him with her eyes wide open, as though she were dreaming.
Heinz now bent down. The lid was folded back. The slight vibration that ran through the metal strings reverberated throughout the whole room.
For a moment all was still. The regulator ticked. The quaking grasses nodded in the two vases above.
Then his fingers slid over the keys. The melody was soft, muted.
‘At the Well before the Gate!’ Little Emmi sat there, motionless. How pale he was today!
He looked out the window as he played, the moonlight was now falling full on his face.
Little Emmi instinctively bent forward again.
His hands now slid off the keys.
The last note faded away.
The regulator ticked again and the quaking grasses nodded.

‘“At the Well before the Gate!” But that is so sad! You really are horrid today!’
Little Emmi said this in a very low voice.
‘Why don’t you play …’
She put the knitting needle thoughtfully to her little red mouth.
‘Wait! … Why don’t you play … something really jolly! … Well? For instance … “Where a Little Cottage Stands” or something like that!’
Heinz played. Once more he had not replied.
The moonlight now filled the whole room …
Suddenly little Emmi shuddered. A shrill, ragged sound rang out through the room, and the back of the small, leather swivel armchair hit the floorboards. Heinz leapt up.
‘Damned music!’
He was now standing again, his hands in his pockets, by the window.
Little Emmi was trembling all over.
The poor, poor boy!
She felt herself turning pale.
Now she lay her hand lightly on his shoulder.
‘Tell me!’
She could not continue.
‘There!’
Heinz had torn the damned letter from his pocket.
‘There!’
He held it out to her, facing away.
Then he pressed his head against the window frame again and looked down at the quiet, moonlit laneway …

Little Emmi stood there with the letter for a moment, perplexed. Then she returned to her window and held it right up to the pane. The moonlight now fell full on the solid black lines.
‘Dear boy!’ …
The paper in her hand trembled slightly.
… ‘Dear boy! When you come for your long holiday, pack all your things with you this time.’
She felt her heart pound!
‘I believe I am only doing you a favour, by … by taking you … out of that nest.’ …
Her arm had sunk down limply on the window sill. She had to support herself. She pressed the letter against her chest.
‘I believe I am only doing you a favour by taking you out of that nest!’
Now she looked over at Heinz. He was still leaning against the window frame. She thought she saw him shrugging his shoulders slightly.
‘For a few semesters I plan… to you send to Berlin’ …
To Berlin!
Mechanically she read on.
‘You will have the best experts for your disciplines there. And beyond that, it would not hurt you to stick your nose into the wider world a little.’ …
Oh yes! Into the wider world! The wider world!
Outside there was a slow rumbling over the bumpy old cobbles up the steep laneway.
So must I, so must I, leave the village with a sigh?
The postilion blew his horn into the quiet evening. Far, far above the pointed bay windows and roofs a few white stars were shining.
‘The purpose of your stay in the nest – to give you a few jolly semesters – has, I feel, been sufficiently accomplished.’ …
‘I cannot imagine, apart from your studies, what other major advantages for your further education might derive from your continuing to stay there. Your mother and your siblings send their greetings.
                               Your father.’
The page slid out of her hands and rustled on the floorboards. It lay there like a garish white spot in the middle of the image of the window that the moon had painted on the floor.
It was deathly quiet in the room. Only the dark brown regulator ticked; evermore, evermore! The round, shiny brass disc of the pendulum moved evenly back and forth. The lacquer sticks on the windowsill exuded a numbing fragrance. The frame and the glass of the wide, round mirror above the mirror and the green tiles of the large stove shimmered indistinctly in the half light. Gentle reflections of the moonlight shone from the curved backs and the yellow wickerwork of the chairs.
Little Emmi sank back into the big armchair. She stared at the gold-plated, woven sewing basket next to her on the window sill between the flower stems.
Her hands lay limp on her lap.
Suddenly she came to again. Heinz had thrown himself down before her. His black curly hair lay on her knees …
‘Emmi!’
She could not respond. She closed her eyes tightly.
After a while, once more, quietly, timidly:
‘Emmi!’
She was trembling all over.
Heinz now quickly raised his head. There were warm drops on his hand …
‘Dear, dear Emmi!’
He now embraced her and kissed her full on her round, small mouth.
‘No! …’  No!’
She turned red all over. He wasn’t listening to her.
He now hugged her very tightly and kissed her. On the cheeks, on the mouth, on the forehead. Over and over! …
Suddenly little Emmi looked at the window, startled. Something had knocked softly on the window.
A night butterfly! …
A shiver ran through her. Gently she pushed Heinz back.
In the alleyway below several doors closed. Someone shouted distinctly across the street: ‘Good night!’ Now someone was coming round the corner, singing: ‘Free is the lad!
They were both listening.
‘Emmi! I will stay! I will stay!’
He took both her hands and squeezed them.
‘But if your father wills it?’
‘Oh, it is so fine here! So fine!’
The singing continued. From a distance. From far, far away …
She did not respond. Heinz was still clutching her hands. Now she looked sideways at the floorboards. Her eyes had just fallen on the letter. It was still lying motionless like a garish white spot on the floor, on the image of the window. The solid black signature stood out clearly from the white paper: ‘Your father!’
‘Do you see? It’s no use! It’s no use!’
Heinz looked at her, most frightened.
‘I will not forget you! Never!’
‘Forget! Forget! How you talk! How stupid we are anyway! How stupid! As though we were saying goodbye forever! Forever!’
Without meaning to he now followed her gaze. Now he too saw the letter.
‘Oh! That damn letter!’
He leapt back to his feet now.
He picked up the paper.
‘There! Well? There! There!’
He tore it into a thousand pieces. The small, white flakes swirled all over the dark room. Little Emmi watched him, very frightened.
He was now standing upright before her.
‘Not forever!’
He embraced her again.
‘Not forever, dear Emmi! We will write to each other every week! Several times! No?’
She just nodded.
‘Emmi! … Tell me!’
‘Yes! Yes!’
‘And for the last semesters I will come back here! And then … and then … you know! … Emmi! No? You see?’
‘Quiet! Quiet!’
She leaned over him now. She kissed his forehead.
Again she looked at him with her large eyes. So strange!
Outside the evening wind was now blowing through the quiet little moonlit laneway. The metal sign below creaked. At times it creaked against the window pane. Softly, softly. So softly …


‘A Farewell’ by Arno Holz & Johannes Schlaf was first published in German as ‘Ein Abschied’ in the anthology Neue Gleise. Gemeinsames von Arno Holz & Johannes Schlaf by F. Fontane in Berlin, 1892.

This translation © 2021 James J. Conway

The last judgement of Oskar Panizza

Oskar Panizza and his dog Puzzi

Oskar Panizza and his dog Puzzi

Today marks 100 years since the death of the German writer Oskar Panizza, although his literary production was stilled some time earlier, with the one-time psychiatrist spending the last 16 years of his life in a psychiatric institution.

The Wilhelmine era, as the entire Rixdorf list indicates, offered a wealth of progressive and even radical writing which emerged from a conservative if not reactionary culture. Many writers were subject to censorship on the grounds of obscenity, blasphemy, lèse-majesté, sedition and other categories by which imperial authorities sought to contain unruly elements. Books were sometimes confiscated, publishers fined, but this could also be turned to advantage in the form of publicity. Prison, on the other hand, was rare.

Oskar Panizza, however, paid the highest price of any writer in the Wilhelmine era. While many of his works were subject to censorship, he didn’t so much as step over a line as catapult across it with his play Das Liebeskonzil (The Council of Love). Subtitled ‘A Heavenly Tragedy’, it posited that syphilis had been introduced to the world by the daughter of Salome and Satan via the court of the Borgia Pope, Alexander VI. While this would have been confronting anywhere in 1894, in Catholic Munich where Panizza was living at the time it unleashed what present-day Germans endearingly call ein Shitstorm. And it earned Panizza a year in prison on no less than 93 counts of blasphemy.

But did Panizza (who, by the way, knew a thing or too about syphilis) deliberately provoke this outcome? In the book Banned in Berlin which addresses literary censorship throughout the German Empire, Gary D. Stark suggests that Panizza ‘not only wilfully exploited the notoriety his incarceration brought, but in fact actively courted a confrontation with the authorities as a way of achieving literary fame and success.’ If so, it was a remarkably durable strategy – German director Werner Schroeter’s film version of the play was banned in Austria almost a hundred years later.

Panizza had connections with two of the authors Rixdorf Editions has published. He was close to Franziska zu Reventlow, who wrote for his ‘exile’ journal Züricher Diskussionen, and was also the subject of a flattering profile which Panizza wrote for the same organ. Anna Croissant-Rust, meanwhile, who came into contact with Panizza in Michael Georg Conrad’s ‘Society for Modern Living’, was a sympathetic and supportive friend, visiting him in prison and later on in psychiatric institutions.

A modest selection of Panizza’s highly erratic bibliography has been translated into English. The most readily available are The Pig, translated by Erik Butler, and the The Love Council, in a volume by Peter D. G. Brown which also addresses the controversy around the play and the life of the writer.

There is much more to say about Oskar Panizza and the outer limits of Wilhelmine literary production, but for now perhaps it is better to let the man himself speak. The remarkable document below is one of the last things he ever wrote before his mental incapacitation, and it offers a clipped, clinical account of his life and work. Panizza wrote it in 1904 and submitted it to authorities who were seeking to gauge his state of mind. He refers to himself in the third person throughout and evaluates himself with striking clarity, as though Panizza the psychiatrist were assessing someone who just happened to share his name. Aside from suicidal ideation, the greatest manifestation of his illness is an auditory hallucination and associated paranoid persecution complex, which – analyst cum analysand that he is – he both posits as real and suggests is of pathological origin. By the way, those parenthetical exclamation marks and interjections of ‘(Wrong syntax!)’ are in the original. The German version also reflects Panizza’s idiosyncratic spelling, with words like Pazient, Studjum and Schenie (rather than Patient, Studium, Genie).


Oskar Panizza

Autobiography

translated by James J. Conway

 

Oskar Panizza, writer, born 12 XI 1853 in Bad Kissingen, comes from a family with a history of mental illness. Uncle suffered from partial religious insanity and died after spending 15 years in the mental ward of the Würzburg Juliusspital. Another uncle committed suicide at a young age. One aunt died of a stroke, another aunt is still alive, psychologically peculiar, partly witty, partly insane. All of these degrees of kinship relate to the maternal side. Mother still alive, an angry, energetic, strong-willed person of almost male intelligence. Father died of typhus, was of Italian descent, a passionate, dissolute, angry and clever man of the world, a bad family man. Of the patient’s siblings the two younger ones, like the patient himself, were subject to incidents of melancholy in earlier years. Younger sister attempted suicide twice (perhaps complicated by hysteria). There is prevailing mental activity throughout the family with a tendency to discussion of religious questions. Mother and patient writers. Patient himself suffered from the usual teething troubles, measles, whooping cough, found it very difficult to read, showed no talent, was nicknamed ‘the fool’ by his siblings, progressed with difficulty through high school, with his fruitless, exuberant imagination and constant self-absorption preventing him from grasping the need for regulated, systematic preparation for a profession in life, turned temporarily to music and finally graduated from the classical grammar school at an advanced age, 24 years old. While ill with measles, he had a slight somnambulistic attack at the age of about 12; he left his bed unconscious during the day, ran around the sick room and was finally found kneeling at his bed praying, and rescued from his trance. After graduating from high school, he turned to medical studies with great love and zeal, became co-assistant to Ziemßen, worked under the same at the clinical institute, received his doctorate summa cum laude in 1880 and began his apprenticeship that same year. As a student he became infected with syphilis, which, although treated lege artis for years, is still manifest today in the form of a powerful bud on the right tibia which defies the most energetic treatment by iodide of potassium. After completing his military service as a junior physician in the military hospital and being appointed assistant physician 2nd class in the reserve, patient went to Paris, provided with numerous recommendations by Ziemßen, but visited only a few hospitals and instead decided to study French literature, especially drama, for which he was particularly suited thanks to the knowledge of the French language which had always been cultivated in the childhood home as a result of his mother’s Huguenot descent. Returning to Munich in 1882, he entered the Oberbairische Kreis-Mad Asylum under Gudden as 4th assistant physician and served there for two years, advancing to 4th (?) assistant physician. Impairment of his health as well as scientific and other differences with his superior led him to leave this position in 1884 and at this point, apart from some minor temporary medical services as a general practitioner, he devoted himself entirely to literature, which had been on his mind since Paris. Still feeling some after-effects of a depression of the temper which occurred in the insane asylum and lasted for almost a year, he wrote the lyrical book of verse Düstre Lieder [Gloomy Songs] (Leipzig 1885), which was influenced by Heine. Uplifted and refreshed by this literary relief, he visited England in the same year, which was preceded by an intensive study of the English language and literature under Mrs. Callway, and he spent a full year engaged in literary activities at the British Museum. Londoner Lieder [London Songs] (Leipzig 1887) was written as a result of this stay. In the autumn of 1886, after a temporary stay in Berlin, return to Munich, in 1888 poems published as Legendäres und Fabelhaftes, [Legendary and Fantastical], some of which were the fruit of his preoccupation with old English ballads. In the following years learning and study of the Italian language and literature under Sgra Luccioli in Munich, as intensive involvement with foreign languages ​​and literary productions turned out to be the best means of discharging all kinds of psychopathic impulses. Repeated trips to Italy. From 1890 onwards, as a result of acquaintance with M. G. Conrad, a series of essays, partly scientific, partly literary and artistic, appeared in the Gesellschaft, of which M. G. Conrad was the founder and director. In 1899 Dämmerungsstücke [Twilight Pieces], a collection of fantastical short stories, some of which were influenced by the American writer Edgar Poe, had already appeared. Through M. G. Conrad introduced to the Society for Modern Life in Munich; patient gave a number of lectures there, including ‘Schenie und Wahnsinn’ [Genius and Madness] (Munich, Pößl 1891), which attracted the attention of the authorities, the hostility of the ultra-montane press, resulting in ‘Sozialdemokraten im Frack’ [Social Democrats in Tails] and remonstrations of the Landwehr district command. Requested by the command to resign from the Society for Modern Life, patient refused and as a result was dismissed from a military relationship in which he had in the meantime advanced to assistant physician 1st class, with ‘a simple farewell’.

An essay by the patient ‘Das Verbrechen in Tavistock Square’ [‘The Crime in Tavistock Square’], recalling his time in England, appeared in the Sammelbuch der Münchner Moderne [Anthology of Modern Munich] (Munich, Plößl, 1891) and led to a judicial charge of ‘offences against morality’, which was nonetheless dismissed by the criminal chamber of the District Court of Munich I. In 1892 the tragic, humorous Aus dem Tagebuch eines Hundes [From a Dog’s Diary] was published, illustrated by Choberg in Leipzig. The following year Visjonen [Visions], a collection of short stories, again partly in the fantastical style and outlook of Edgar Poe. In 1893 Die unbefleckte Empfängnis der Päpste [The Immaculate Conception of the Popes] (Zurich, Schabelitz) appeared, a theological attempt to extend the proclamation of the dogma of the Immaculate Conception of the Virgin Mary by Pius IX in 1894 to the popes with all due embryological, anthropological and theological consequences, which was executed in an ostensibly most serious style and which according to the title page the patient had translated from Spanish. This writing was confiscated by court order as a result of a denunciation in Stuttgart and in so-called ‘objective proceedings’ banned throughout the German Empire. This was followed by harsh criticism from the Catholic and Protestant ecclesiastical press as well as public warnings against purchase. In 1894 Der teutsche Michel und der römische Papst [The German Michel and the Roman Pope] appeared with a foreword by M. G. Conrad, in which the gravamen of Germany against Rome were tendentiously summarised in the form of theses, but based on historical information and with extensive references to sources. This work was also confiscated in ‘objective proceedings’ in 1895, that is, after the expiry of the period in which charges and prosecution might be brought. In 1894 there was also Die Himmelstragödie das Liebeskonzil [The Tragedy of Heaven, the Love Council] (Zurich, Schabeliz), in which, in accordance with a quotation by Ulrich von Hutten, syphilis appeared in Italy at the end of the 15th century; based upon the depraved escapades at the papal court of Alexander VI it is executed in the form of a medieval mystery play under modern lighting. This book drama brought the patient to the (!) Munich Assizes in the spring of 1895, where he was sentenced to one year in prison under Par. 166 of the Reich Penal Code, a verdict that was upheld by the Imperial Court in Leipzig soon after. The patient served his sentence in the Amberg prison, where the defence counsel’s subsequent assertion of an objection on the basis of mental illness (without questioning the prisoner) was followed by a summary examination of same quoad psychen intactam – ‘Are you mentally ill?’ – ‘No.’ – which produced a negative result. After serving his sentence, patient farewelled Munich with the small brochure ‘Farewell to Munich’ (Zurich 1896), which resulted in confiscation and a warrant for prosecution of the author, who had in the meantime moved to Zurich. That same autumn the patient published the moral history Die bayrischen Haberfeldtreiben [The Bavarian Haberfeldtreiben; a form of informal moral court] (Berlin, G. Fischer), in which, at the request of the anxious publisher, some passages of the text as well as some verses of the ‘Haber Protocols’ originally appended to it, which the patient had published a few years earlier in an article for the Neue Rundschau (by the same publisher) without objection, were replaced by dots in the typeset which was already ready for printing.

Patient had meanwhile given up Bavarian indigence with the intention of acquiring Swiss citizenship after spending two years in Zurich. In the following year, with Schabeliz now also causing difficulties in Zurich, patient founded his own publishing house under the title of the journal established at the same time, Züricher Diskussionen, and published Dialoge im Geiste Huttens [Dialogues in the Spirit of Hutten], which was written in the prison in Amberg, which sought to discuss public conditions in the fresh and uninhibited style of early XVI century polemics. In the following spring of 1898 patient wrote the political satire Psichopatia criminalis (Zurich, Verlag Zür. Diskussionen) about his persecution at the hands of the German public prosecutors, satirised as suffering their own political insanity, one which had gripped the German public. (Wrong syntax!) It was followed by the drama Nero based on purely historical studies (Zurich 1898). In the same late autumn, patient was ostensibly charged with intercourse with a puella publica who had just reached the age of 15 – in Switzerland, sexual intercourse with girls under the age of 15 is a criminal offence, and by popular decree, the toleration of prostitution in the canton of Zurich was abolished – expelled by the police, branded as a ‘dirty individual’ in Swiss papers, and at the same time informed at the Zurich police headquarters that his expulsion from the canton of Zurich was extended to the whole of Switzerland. Patient responded to this act of violence in the next issue of the Züricher Diskussionen with open, unreserved disclosure of the facts, which exposed himself and the wrong he had committed, but at the same time pointed to the highest authority in Berlin, whose influence the patient believed to have discerned in the whole process. In Paris, where the patient had now settled, the Züricher Diskussionen, despite its now contradictory local title, continued in an intensified tone, especially in the political field, and around Christmas of the following year the fruit of a most withdrawn life and the freshest, finest and most immediate impressions of the French capital emerged, the collection of poems Parisjana, in which the personal adversary of the author, Wilhelm II, is portrayed as the public enemy of mankind and its culture, and where the line of thought and form of expression were exploited to the utmost aesthetic limit. As predicted, this writing was confiscated in Germany and a new warrant issued against the author, but at the same time what could not have been foreseen was that his assets, which had been pawned in Germany, were confiscated under the most twisted motivation – that he had fled. After a year of perseverance in the most distressing conditions, patient was forced to surrender to the court that issued the warrant, Munich – April 1901 – was imprisoned here, then after four months transferred by order of the Criminal Chamber to the Upper Bavarian Insane Asylum for six weeks with the aim of examining his mental state, and then released a few weeks after his return to prison with no notification of a court order. According to newspaper notes and a verbal statement to a private person by the first public prosecutor at the Munich I district court, Baron von Sartor, which could not be verified, the case of mental illness against the patient was suspended in response to the expert opinion of the Senior Physician of the Munich District Insane Asylum, Dr. Ungemach. After returning to Paris, patient published several more issues of Züricher Diskussionen (up to no. 32) and then, from November 1901, in the absence of a printer discontinued his journalistic activities, if not his writing activities. – In November 1903, the patient, who lived in the most absolute seclusion, was subject to a sequence of harassment which, given the extent of the operation (quere-la?), indicated the cooperation of a large number of detectives. And since the French government had exhibited, if not exactly benevolence, at least no form of hostility towards the patient, this was almost certainly the work of foreign detectives or a command issued in another country to disrupt the life of the patient through French private detectives recruited locally. Since, as already mentioned, he had not published anything for two years, there was always the possibility that another party, which was even less (!) disposed to the views of the patient, would be secretly monitoring his manuscripts, perhaps copying them and, if they corresponded to the views of this new party, ultimately publishing them, in the end even using the title, company, print and paper of the Züricher Diskussionen. This is the only way to explain the new hostilities against the patient, who at any rate was taken to be the author and responsible editor of the supposed publications. This was because the patient was even less inclined to believe that anyone in his proximity, Frenchman or foreigner, would have ever considered him to be anything other than entirely mentally sound, than the declaration of insanity made two years earlier in Munich would ever be taken seriously, such that any political party either favourable or hostile would have been disinclined to concern themselves with his manuscripts. The harassment, however, essentially consisted of minor things, such as extinguishing the hearth fire, clogging the fireplace, cutting off the water, damaging the apartment locks (!!), in sophisticated whistling intended to cause the most excruciating damage to the nervous system, molesting the auditory nerves with the most sensitive instruments, which sometimes came from a house opposite in the rue des Abbesses, sometimes on the street, and even here and there in the forest of Montmorency, where patient regularly went every Sunday. The simple fact that the whistling stopped the moment patient covered his ears, which would certainly not have been the case had it been of cerebral origin, indicated that these were no auditory delusions. Later in Munich, where the whistling that the patient regarded as directed against himself continued, it was confirmed by the unimpeachable witnesses Ludwig Scharf and the Comtesse zu Reventlow, with only its interpretation at times called into question. But in regard to the latter this was scarcely likely to be a case of misinterpretation after a ¾ year of sufferance and perseverance. – In addition to these attacks, which were carried out with the utmost precision, there seemed to be a smaller, less hazardous operation being carried out, this one in the immediate vicinity and in the subordinate hands of concierges or femmes de chambre (syntax!) – an operation that no ageing bachelor could elude – that of the marriage of the patient. As soon as he detected the operation, he quickly dealt with the local gossip and wrote to his mother, who lived in Munich, whose links to certain Parisian circles could not be dismissed out of hand, to say that given the current financial situation of her son, marriage was out of the question, that he had neither the inclination nor the time for marriage, and that he certainly would not – if the whistling and other harassment reported should ultimately be related to this project, which in fact struck himself as almost impossible – allow himself to be forced to choose a spouse by such ignoble means. The matrimonial intriguers fell away in response to this, while the other molestations continued. Since the former came to light again later in Munich, in the most grotesque and bizarre form, it must be mentioned that the patient had concealed the most serious reasons against entering into a marriage in his letter to his mother for reasons of consideration and propriety. The history of mental illness on his mother’s side, which was not to be dismissed, the syphilis which was still manifest in the form of a bud on his tibia dextra would today, when the statutes seek to prevent the mentally ill, the consumptive and the syphilitic from entering into matrimony, be considered a crime, a flippant means of producing decrepit offspring. In addition, the practice of his literary activity required the patient to spend the greater part of the day in absolute solitude and seclusion, in good weather on long lonely walks, habits that are certainly incompatible with marriage. And even if the products of this literary activity should be tarnished by the public or critics, for the patient they are not the expression of a whim or caprice, but an absolute necessity for relieving the brain. So he must take the safe route and maintain his psychic equilibrium, advance further along the old, tried and tested track, and not chase after fantasies which, although they appear highly expedient to those concerned, strike him as a danger to his health.

After more than six months of the molestation described above, which ultimately confined the patient to his apartment in the middle of summer and made him forego the necessary exercise in the fresh air, and after intensive occupation with scientific work failed to provide the necessary distraction, he made up his mind to depart without warning and on 23 June left Paris on the evening express train from the Lyon station and arrived in Lausanne (Switzerland) via Dijon the following noon. To his great astonishment, the whistling was also to be heard in Lausanne, if not at all to the same extent. The inevitable conclusion was that Paris was not the only source of hostility against the patient. The real reason for these manifestations remained concealed from him. He largely recovered on Lake Geneva and in the surrounding forests, where, unlike Paris, he was never bothered, but as the attempt to find a modest country apartment failed, after eight days he continued his travels to Munich via Bern, Zurich and Lindau. Since the molestations began here too, he presented himself to the Munich District Insane Asylum with a request for admission to furnish himself and others with evidence that he had not erred in his view that this was a matter of external, planned hostilities against himself; but he was rejected, allegedly because of overcrowding. He was persuaded by the director Vokke to enter the private insane asylum in Neu-Friedenheim. But the realisation that he was being harassed in unmistakable fashion led to a severe argument with the director, Dr Rehm, in the course of which the latter asked the patient to leave the institution. Patient then rented a modest room at Feilitzschstrasse 59/II (right), waiting to see what would come. During the ensuing ¼ year July to October patient completely avoided the city, assiduously walking in the Englischer Garten and surrounding areas, and with the onset of the adverse season visiting the State Library in the mornings, but in all other respects remaining entirely reserved and passive, recognising that a change in his external conditions could only be occasioned by his opponents rather than himself (?). His literary works in prose and bound form, which were created on his travels and in Munich and which are quite extensive, would not, unless the patient is most mistaken, be judged as pathological expectorations by any literary or psychiatric expert. Conditions were aggravated to the extent that now, in contrast to Lausanne and even Paris, severe harassment persisted at night through long-range pipes and flutes of a metallic character with the most intensive affront to the auditory organ. With suicidal tendencies having manifested once before in Paris, once in Lausanne and once in Neufriedenheim, (!) on 9 October, in a seizure of desperation and hopelessness (!), following the rapid writing of a will, there began the execution of an intention to commit suicide by hanging in a secluded spot of the Englischer Garten. But at the last moment faint-heartedness spoiled the decisive jump from the tree that he had climbed and the patient, who had not consumed nourishment in 24 hours, returned to his apartment in the deepest shame. On 19 October patient resorted to a last remedy which was related to the previous, ridiculously stupid attempt, yet perhaps effective in its consequences. After he had been unmistakably whistled at six times that day on his way to the State Library and then on his lonely walk through Oberföhring and the surrounding area, he went home, stripped down to his shirt and, taking advantage of the mild weather, ran down Sterneck-Maria-Josefa-Strasse to Leopoldstrasse at five o’clock in the afternoon with the intention of being caught and apprehended on suspicion of being mentally ill and taken to a public institution and there examined by experts, thus achieving what he had had sought in vain three months beforehand in the Upper Bavarian insane asylum. This ruse was successful. Seized and led to the nearest house, he gave the policeman who had been summoned a false name, Ludwig Fromman, stenographer from Würzburg. An ambulance carriage was requisitioned and the patient taken to the police, where, after a brief examination by the district physician, he was transferred to the psychiatric ward of the I/J city hospital.


‘Autobiography’ by Oskar Panizza was written in German in 1904 (dated 17 November) as ‘Selbstbiographie’ and first published posthumously in In memoriam Oskar Panizza, Friedrich Lippert and Horst Stubbe (eds.) in Munich in 1926.

This translation © 2021 James J. Conway