Anglo-German Linguistic Relations 9783039116270, 2008030186, 9783039116560

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Jahrbuch für Internationale Germanistik

Reihe A • Kongressberichte Band 98

PETER LANG Bern • Berlin • Bruxelles • Frankfurt am Main • New York • Oxford • Wien

Anglo-German Linguistic Relations Edited by Falco Pfalzgraf and Felicity Rash

PETER LANG Bern • Berlin • Bruxelles • Frankfurt am Main • New York • Oxford • Wien

Bibliograsche Information Der Deutschen Bibliothek Die Deutsche Bibliothek verzeichnet diese Publikation in der Deutschen Nationalbibliograe; detaillierte bibliograsche Daten sind im Internet über ‹http://dnb.ddb.de› abrufbar. British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data Transcultural German studies : building bridges = Deutsch als Fremdsprache : Brucken bauen. - (Jahrbuch fur internationale Germanistik. Reihe A, Kongressberichte ; bd. 94) 1. Culture and globalization – Europe, German-speaking – Congresses 2. Cross-cultural studies – Congresses 3. Germany – Civilization – Congresses I. Martinson, Steven D., 1949- II. Schulz, Renate A. 943 ISBN-13: 9783039116270

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Transcultural German studies : building bridges = Deutsch als Fremdsprache : Brücken bauen / herausgegeben von Steven D. Martinson und Renate A. Schulz. p. cm. -- (Jahrbuch für internationale Germanistik. Reihe A, Kongressberichte ; v. 94) Papers presented at an international conference on transcultural German studies held Mar. 29-31, 2007, at the University of Arizona (Tucson). Includes bibliographical references. ISBN 978-3-03911-627-0 (alk. paper) 1. German philology--Study and teaching. 2. Cross-cultural studies--United States. 3. Cross-cultural studies--Germany. 4. Intercultural communication--United States. 5. Intercultural communication--Germany. I. Martinson, Steven D., 1949- II. Schulz, Renate A. III. Title: Deutsch als Fremdsprache. PF3068.U6T73 2008 430--dc22 2008030186

ISSN 0171-8320 ISBN 978-3-03911-656-0 © Peter Lang AG, International Academic Publishers, Bern 2009 Hochfeldstrasse 32, Postfach 746, CH-3000 Bern 9, Switzerland [email protected], www.peterlang.com, www.peterlang.net All rights reserved. All parts of this publication are protected by copyright. Any utilisation outside the strict limits of the copyright law, without the permission of the publisher, is forbidden and liable to prosecution. This applies in particular to reproductions, translations, microlming, and storage and processing in electronic retrieval systems. Printed in Germany

Acknowledgements The conference “Anglo-German Linguistic Relations”, which took place in November 2007 at Queen Mary, University of London, was supported by generous donations from the British Academy and the School of Languages, Linguistics and Film (QMUL). Professor Trevor Dadson, Vice-Principal for Humanities and Social Sciences, approved payment for the printed materials. A selection of papers read at the conference is published in the present volume and the organizers wish to extend their thanks to all delegates who participated in the conference, including those whose papers do not appear in this volume. Thanks are due to the publishers of this series for accepting the book for publication, to the series editors for their assistance with the publication process, and to Dr Peter Orton for assistance with proof-reading. We would also like to thank our student helpers, Daniela Schmitt (Mannheim) and Petra Seipp (Marburg), for ensuring that the conference ran smoothly, as well as the catering staff for providing punctual meals and snacks. A particular debt of gratitude is owed to Professor Rüdiger Görner, for his support of the conference and his tireless work as Director of the Centre for Anglo-German Relations. Falco Pfalzgraf Felicity Rash

Table of Contents

Introduction ...............................................................................................

9

German Dictionaries of Anglicisms and their Treatment of Borrowings from English Ulrich Busse ....................................................................................... 13 Are Shared Metaphors the Same? English and German Body Imagery in Comparison and Contrast Andreas Musolff ................................................................................. 33 English and German in the Grand Duchy of Luxembourg: Language, Culture, Business Markus Oliver Spitz............................................................................ 53 Constructing Germany: The German Nation in Anglo-German Grammars of the 18th Century Fredericka van der Lubbe ................................................................... 63 „Im Unterhause abscheulich groß Getöse“: Representations of Eighteenth Century British Parliamentary Democracy in Early Modern German Newspaper Discourse and their Treatment of Borrowings from English Astrid Ensslin ..................................................................................... 73 Non-Standard Language from the Lower Classes during the Nineteenth Century in Germany and Britain Wim Vandenbussche .......................................................................... 97 Female and Fascist: Gender, Identity and Power in the Discourse of Women Fascists in Britain and Germany Geraldine Horan.................................................................................. 109 Kraft durch Furcht: An Example of British Counter-Propaganda Published in German Felicity Rash ....................................................................................... 127

Table of Contents

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„Jene zwei Gestalten, die sich Don Quixote und Sancho Pansa nennen, sich beständig parodieren und doch so wunderbar ergänzen […]“ Images of England and Germany in the Works of Matthew Arnold and Heinrich Heine Hanne Boenisch .................................................................................. 139 In Other Words: Jakov Lind’s Translingual Autobiography Tamar Steinitz..................................................................................... 161

Introduction Falco Pfalzgraf & Felicity Rash, Queen Mary University of London

A two-day international conference on “Anglo-German Linguistic Relations” was held in November 2007 at Queen Mary, University of London, under the auspices of the Centre for Anglo-German Relations. The papers read covered a wide variety of topics of relevance to the relationship between the English and German languages or associated with cultural and literary contacts between English-speaking and German-speaking regions. The first three contributions published in this volume examine aspects of recent Anglo-German linguistic interplay and affinities, the next five papers deal with codification, translation and discourse production from the 17th century to the Second World War; and the final two papers examine authorial positioning and perspective in a selection of autobiographical and literary works. Ulrich Busse’s keynote address examines German dictionaries of Anglicisms and their treatment of borrowings from English. It was during the second half of the 20th century, and in particular since the 1960s, that the impact of English on German and other European languages became particularly strong. Busse’s paper puts the existing German dictionaries of Anglicisms into perspective and compares their objectives, scope, sources and presentation of data, and their target groups. In the second keynote address, Andreas Musolff asks whether bodybased metaphors in English and German are similar in nature. Using samples of metaphorical texts drawn from contemporary and historical corpora of English and German, the paper investigates the question of whether apparently similar metaphors in both languages can best be described and explained as different forms of one and the same basic metaphor or whether their differences are substantial enough to warrant a specific level of analysis that allows for their differentiation. Markus Oliver Spitz’s contribution examines the role of English and German in the Grand-Duchy of Luxemburg in business and culture, and asks whether the languages create linguistic synergies or whether they compete with one another. In the first of the papers to examine Anglo-German linguistic relations in historical perspective, Fredericka van der Lubbe looks at the way in which foreign language grammarians “construct” an image of Germany for the th English in the 18 century. During this period, some twenty-two teaching

10

Introduction

texts created the identity of Germany for learners, with the diverse nature of German-speaking Europe being deliberately emphasized at the end of the 18th century. Astrid Ensslin’s paper on representations of 18th-century British parliamentary democracy in early German newspaper discourse implements techniques of multimethodical “discourse-historical analysis” with a view to establishing and evaluating the stylistic characteristics of this first “mass medium”, which, since the late 17th century, represented the most widely read text genre across the German Empire. Moving into the 19th century, Wim Vandenbussche examines non-standard language used by the lower classes during the 19th century in Germany and Britain with particular emphasis on what German scholars refer to as “Arbeitersprache”. His paper looks at “language history from below”, adopting an approach to social language history that moves away from the traditional focus on elite groups and focuses instead on the majority of the population that lived at the bottom of the social ladder. Geraldine Horan’s analysis of gender, identity and power in the discourse of female fascists in Britain and Germany looks at articles from the women’s pages of two fascist newspapers in Britain and Germany: The Blackshirt (later the British Union News) and the Völkischer Beobachter. In her examination of issues from 1934, Horan compares and contrasts the linguistic strategies employed by women to communicate fascist ideology to other women during the period leading up to the outbreak of the Second World War. Felicity Rash’s contribution is an analysis of a text of British propaganda written in German during the Second World War. She presents a critical analysis of an essay, “Kraft durch Furcht”, written for the purposes of Allied aerial propaganda against Germany towards the end of the war. The final two papers in this volume deal with literary figures of the 19th and 20th centuries. Hanne Boenisch looks at some of Heinrich Heine’s comments on England, his literature, politics and sense of cultural identity, and at Matthew Arnold’s reading of Heine and the reverberations of this in his own writings about the role of the author. Tamar Steinitz’s paper explores the relationship between the German and English languages in the autobiographical works of the translingual writer Jakov Lind. Using psychoanalytical and linguistic theories, she examines Lind’s description of his own acquisition of both languages, the contamination of German by Nazism that he detected, the author’s search for a viable language for self-expression, and his decision to write in a foreign language. The editors believe that these ten papers present a rich and unique view of Anglo-German linguistic, cultural and literary contacts from the 17th cen-

Introduction

11

tury to the present day. We are delighted that the contributors to this volume, like the conference delegates, range in experience from doctoral students to senior professors. We believe that all ten essays contribute admirably to research in this wide field of study and that they will inspire future investigation into the multi-faceted relationship between the English and German languages, their users, literatures and discourses.

German Dictionaries of Anglicisms and their Treatment of Borrowings from English Ulrich Busse, Martin-Luther-Universität Halle-Wittenberg (Germany)

1. Introduction Even though German has been in contact with English for centuries, it was only during the second half of the twentieth century, and in particular since the 1960s, that the impact of English on German and other European languages became stronger. As a result, the scholarly literature devoted to this topic has grown considerably over the last decades.1 Furthermore, this special languages-in-contact situation has given rise to a new type of dictionary: the national or even multi-national dictionary of Anglicisms. The paper at hand will put the existing German dictionaries of Anglicisms into perspective, and, above all, compare them critically against each other in respect of their objectives, sources, scope and presentation of data, and their envisaged target groups. The following dictionaries will be dealt with: x x x x x

Anglizismen-Wörterbuch. Der Einfluß des Englischen auf den deutschen Wortschatz nach 1945 [= AWb] (1993–1996) Dictionary of European Anglicisms [= DEA] (2001) Dtv-Wörterbuch englischer und amerikanischer Ausdrücke in der nd deutschen Sprache [= Neske] (1970, 2 ed. 1972) Englisch im deutschen Wortschatz [= Sörensen] (1995) Wörterbuch überflüssiger Anglizismen [= WüA] (7th ed. 2007)

However, before we take a detailed look at these dictionaries, it seems important to provide some background information on the numerical development of English loanwords in present-day German.

1

As far as German is concerned, the growing lexical influence of English from the Second World War onwards has been described and analysed quite intensively in articles and monographs as the bibliography in the AnglizismenWörterbuch [AWb] (1993: 131*–193*) and the annotated bibliography compiled by Görlach/Busse (2002: 96–129) amply document.

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2. How strong is the lexical impact of English on present-day German? As it is not possible to give a tally of the number of words in any natural living language, it is also difficult to specify the quantity of English words in German. Thus, we will have to make do with information from secondary sources, in particular from dictionaries. However, we should bear in mind that the registration of a word in a dictionary should not be regarded as a token that all language users necessarily either actively use a term or passively know an item. In order to determine changes in the number of Anglicisms in German over the past hundred years, I used the Duden spelling dictionary as a database, finding that the number of Anglicisms documented there rose from 1·36% in 1880 (385 tokens in 28,300 headwords) to a moderate 3·46% in the 19th (West German) edition from 1986 (3,746 Anglicisms in 108,100 entries). It needs to be mentioned though that only items marked as “from Engl.” or with similar etymological labels were incorporated; that is to say, only overt Anglicisms, hybrid compounds (with one component of English origin) and derivatives were taken into consideration. If compounds and derivatives — putatively not borrowed but rather coined in German on a foreign basis — are left out of the calculation the ratio then drops to 2% of the entries (see Busse 1993: 69–71). A study of the CD-ROM version of Das große Wörterbuch der deutschen Sprache has shown that by following a similar line and activating the search path “field > etymology > Engl.” 4,395 words of English origin can be retrieved (see Busse 2005). Another important source for the lexicographical study of Anglicisms are dictionaries of neologisms. Lexical innovations of the 1990s are Registered in the dictionary Neuer Wortschatz: Neologismen der 90er Jahre im Deutschen (Herberg et al. 2004) compiled by a group of researchers at the Institut für deutsche Sprache in Mannheim. This example of corpus-based short-term lexicography covers the time span from 1991 to the turn of the millennium. It lists and documents by means of citations about 1,000 neologisms, which go beyond nonce formations, occasionalisms, regionalisms and purely technical words used only by specialists.2 According to Stickel (2004: 19), Anglicisms amount to ca. 40% of the ca. 1,000 entries, another 20% are hybrids, and the remaining 40% are new words or new formations without any elements stemming from English. So if Anglicisms proper (borrowings) and loan word formations (with English elements) are taken together the percentage rises to 60% of neologisms registered in this dictionary.

2

For a recent account on the project see Steffens (2007).

German Dictionaries of Anglicisms

15

Even though Busse and Görlach (2002: 31f.) warn about the dangers implied in forecasting the future development of the impact of English on German, on the basis of the material above the following prognosis seems to be quite safe: the number of English loanwords considered dictionaryworthy will pass the mark of 5,000 in the early 21st century, provided of course that neither linguistic purism, including legislation, nor a sociopolitical re-orientation away from the transatlantic alliance takes place. From the figures presented here we can draw the following preliminary conclusions: 1) In terms of sheer numbers, Anglicisms do not constitute a large proportion of the German vocabulary when compared with an estimated total of the German word stock of 300,000 to 500,000 words.3 2) However, from a diachronic perspective, especially since the 1990s, borrowings from English have become more numerous, and nowadays they perform an important function in the formation of new words. If we now change our perspective from facts and figures to a qualitative view, then the picture looks quite different and it becomes understandable why the topic of Anglicisms in German has received so much attention and is hotly debated in certain circles. The ubiquitous presence of Anglicisms in present-day German and other languages of the world can be felt by every language user in many different walks of life. For instance, Gnutzmann (1998: 130) finds that “it is most conspicuous in the business world, the pop industry, communications technology, in scientific communication and advertising.” According to Muhr (2004: 9f.), Anglicisms in German feature strongly in domains which have contributed technical innovations to the daily lives of consumers, in particular information technology (Computer), telecommunication (Handy), the service sector (Autoleasing), the leisure industry (Trendsportarten), and youth culture (pop music). Other areas with many borrowings from English are: economics, cosmetics, clothing, science, politics and military policy. In a footnote he makes the interesting remark that the main subject areas of the 3

Kettemann (2004: 61) gives a similar figure: The general vocabulary of German comprises more than half a million words, and according to the Duden Fremdwörterbuch (1982: 13) about 100,000 are foreign or loan words. According to his estimate 10% of the entries, i.e. 5,000 words are Anglicisms. Thus, about 1% of the general vocabulary of present-day German are Anglicisms if we accept a figure ranging between 3,500 and 5,000 items.

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lexical intake from English do not seem to have changed from the times when Galinsky published his research in 1977. Nowadays, sections of the media and some social groups quite deliberately rely quite heavily on Anglicisms or even on code-mixing and codeswitching to achieve a certain communicative effect and Anglicisms thus become keywords of modern society. The result is that many language users who are confronted with Anglicisms in the media have difficulty in understanding them and feel excluded from discourse in certain domains, or they may object as a matter of principle to cultural and linguistic “Americanization”. The different attitudes towards this topic also have a clear bearing on the way in which Anglicisms are treated in dictionaries.

3. German dictionaries of Anglicisms Any serious lexicographical project — be it commercial or academic — has to consider questions of objective, scope and presentation of data and, first and foremost, the potential users for whom the dictionary is devised. The only difference between commercial lexicography and academic projects is that the socio-economic conditions and the status of the dictionary as a commodity are quite different. In order to show that the same topic — the lexicographical presentation, description and documentation of Anglicisms — can be dealt with in rather different ways I shall now focus on the five dictionaries of Anglicisms in present-day German in greater detail. In terms of typology, dictionaries of Anglicisms constitute a special type of foreign word dictionary in that they cover foreign word stock in present-day German that stems exclusively from English. The emergence of these dictionaries as a new type of dictionary and the sudden rise in their compilation in Germany and other European countries from the 1970s onwards reflect the growing impact of English on German and other languages. These dictionaries prove that their compilers felt that such documentation was still wanting at this moment in time. However, broadly speaking, this is about all that the dictionaries under investigation have in common. For a dictionary of Anglicisms in present-day German two basic options are possible: either to design a dictionary for the user interested in specific information about, for example, spelling, pronunciation or uncertainties of meaning and usage, or to devise a dictionary written for linguists and other scholars working in related fields and seeking comprehensive information on the complex problems concerning the integration of an item, its socio-

German Dictionaries of Anglicisms

17

historical context, etc. If we see the two main target groups as made up of laymen and experts, then the first two dictionaries under discussion Neske (1972) and Sörensen (1995) clearly fall into the category of addressing lay persons. In contrast, according to Munske (2004), the AWb is a detailed “Sprachkontaktwörterbuch”, i.e. a languages-in-contact dictionary. The DEA is best described by its subtitle, A Usage Dictionary of Anglicisms in Sixteen European Languages, and the WüA can be seen as belonging to the German tradition of Verdeutschungswörterbücher, which translate foreignisms into German with the objective of avoiding them or even making them superfluous.

3.1 Neske (1972) nd The dictionary compiled by Neske (1970, 2 ed. 1972) may be credited to have been the first German dictionary of Anglicisms, but it has a number of drawbacks as it does not provide documentation of its sources and its principles for the selection of its lemmata, and, in addition, the lexis of specialized fields, in particular that of economics, is overrepresented. In the introduction, its compilers make the following comments on lemma selection, subject areas to be covered, and data sources:

Das vorliegende Wörterbuch verzeichnet ca. 3000 englische und amerikanische Ausdrücke, die im gegenwärtigen hoch- und fachsprachlichen Deutsch gebraucht werden. Besonders das hier zusammengestellte Wortgut aus den Fachsprachen ist sehr umfangreich und vermittelt so auch dem Nichtfachmann zumindest ein ungefähres Bild, wie hoch der Anteil englischer Wörter gerade auf Gebieten ist, auf denen England oder Amerika führend waren oder sind. […]. Die Quellen für das Wortmaterial des vorliegenden Wörterbuchs sind: allgemeine deutsche Wörterbücher und Lexika, Fremd- und Herkunftswörterbücher, Fachwörterbücher, Wortsammlungen in wissenschaftlichen Arbeiten, Zeitungen und Zeitschriften. (Neske 1972: 5; 18)

A specimen entry looks like this: Kid [dt.]; Übers.: Kitz, Zicklein. Kürschnerei: 1. Bezeichnung für feines Ziegen-, Schaf-, Kalb- oder Hundeleder. 2. Der Plural Kids [kidz] bedeutet Handschuhe aus feinem Ziegen- oder Hundeleder. Seit Anfang des 20. Jh. im Deutschen.4

4

Busse (2004) deals with the treatment of the Anglicism Kid(s) in German lexicography in greater detail.

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3.2 Sörensen (1995) The work, which is unfortunately out of print, consists of a short introduction on the forms and functions of English loans in present-day German and a dictionary listing some 2,500 Anglicisms ranging from old and fully accepted loans to modern ones current only in specialized domains and jargons. However, the dictionary does not offer documentation in the form of citations, dates, and socio-pragmatic information. The purpose for compiling this dictionary is described by its author as follows: Der Einfluß des Englischen auf die deutsche Sprache war nie größer als heute. […] Aus dieser Erkenntnis entstand die Idee zu einem handlichen, für jedermann verständlichen Nachschlagewerk. Dabei galt es, den allgemeinsprachlichen Bereich in den Mittelpunkt zu stellen, Modewörter weitgehend zu vermeiden, bei der Erfassung von Fremdwörtern zurückhaltend zu sein und Eigennamen nur dann aufzunehmen, wenn ein besonders interessanter landeskundlicher Aspekt oder eine Doppelbedeutung gegeben ist. Daß diese Vorgabe nur bedingt eingehalten werden konnte, liegt an der Aktualität des Englischen, in der Natur fließender Grenzen und an einer leider nicht ganz auszuklammernden Subjektivität. (Sörensen 1995: 7)

The specimen entry for kids contains the following information: Kid, das Plur. …s Feines Ziegen- oder Kalbsleder, das bes. für Handschuhe verwendet wird; ugs. Kind, Jugendlicher < kid: Zickel, Kitz

3.3 The Anglizismen-Wörterbuch (1993–1996) Although not explicitly stated in the introduction to the AWb, the dictionary entries with their detailed structure clearly reveal that this dictionary — unlike the two discussed in the previous sections — is aimed at specialists as its primary target group, though efforts have been made to keep the entries clearly organized and largely free from linguistic jargon, so that the interested layman, with rather more practical questions, can also work with the dictionary. The AWb perceives its special role as follows: Das AWb nimmt eine Sonderstellung innerhalb der Lexikographie ein: Es ist kein einsprachiges Wörterbuch, da es sich intensiv auch mit einer zweiten Sprache beschäftigt. Es ist aber auch kein zweisprachiges Wörterbuch, obwohl es auch semantische Äquivalenzen englischer Lexeme im Deutschen anführt. Das AWb ist ein auf die deutsche Gegenwartssprache hin zentriertes in deutscher

German Dictionaries of Anglicisms

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Sprache verfaßtes Wörterbuch, das aber seinen Ausgangspunkt in einer zweiten Sprache, dem Englischen, hat. (AWb 1993: 25*)

The AWb is based on a corpus of 100,000 citations from German news– papers, periodicals, catalogues, advertisements, booklets, pamphlets and from high as well as trivial literature, as well as a few samples of spoken German, especially from television and radio. The dictionary deals with the 3,500 commonest and most current Anglicisms in present-day German. The term Anglicism is used as a generic term for Briticism, Americanism, Canadianism, etc. The main focus of the dictionary is on those Anglicisms which have entered German after 1945. Older loans are included only in cases of semantic shift or substitution.5 The AWb takes the formal properties of a linguistic sign as its starting point and distinguishes whether the form and content of an English word were borrowed or not. In most cases, the words are directly borrowed from English, ranging from simple words such as Job and Trend, via compounds, e.g. Babysitter and Paperback, to loan phrases like Big Brother is watching you, or last (but) not least. Below word level, we find affixes such as miniand super-. The second major group is made up of those items whose form does not show any overt signs of English origin. The content of these words has been translated more or less freely or rendered in German. This is true in particular for compounds such as Erste Dame (Engl. first lady), Flutlicht (Engl. floodlight), Wolkenkratzer (Engl. skyscraper), Stehende Ovationen (Engl. standing ovations), and phrases like in einem Boot sitzen (Engl. to be in the same boat). This category also includes suffixes such as –sicher (as in kugelsicher after Engl. bullet-proof), and new meanings of indigenous German words which can be attributed to the influence of English, as e.g. feuern ‘to sack’ (Engl. to fire) or realisieren ‘to grasp’ (Engl. to realize). The group of partial substitutions comprises compounds and affixations with one English and one German component, such as Campingplatz (Engl. camping site or –ground), Heimcomputer (Engl. home computer), LiveSendung (Engl. live broadcast), and verbs with prefixes such as ab-, aus-, durch- and ein- (e.g. einchecken). In addition to this, a distinction should be made as to whether the combination was borrowed wholesale as in Computerspiel (Engl. computer game) or whether, as is more likely, it is an example of a new compound having been formed using the resources of German word-formation, as in Managerkrankheit (Engl. stress disease), which does not exist in English. 5

For a more detailed outline of the AWb, including its history, content and objecttives, potential users, etc. see Busse (1994, 1996) and Carstensen (1983).

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Ulrich Busse

This brings us to the last category, that of pseudo-Anglicisms, which are not borrowings, but where German manufactures English lexical material in an un-English way, as with Dressman. While both parts of this word exist as English words, their combination does not; the corresponding English term being male model. Two more recent examples, which are not included in the AWb, are German Handy, called a mobile phone in British English and a cell(-ular) phone in American English, and German Beamer which corresponds to powerpoint-, digital- or LCD projector in English. The AWb covers all of the subtypes above, but concentrates its documentation on the period from 1945 to the early 1990s. For the AWb the answer to the interesting question: “To what extent have these categories individually contributed to the overall sum of 3,500 headwords?” can now, at least partially, be answered. On the basis of the first volume of the AWb (A–E), Kirkness and Woolford (2002) have investigated the ratio of borrowings in comparison to German word-formations of the type of Deo, ErosCenter, Einkaufszentrum, etc. For this purpose, they modified the original classification used in the dictionary. After their re-classification they arrived at the following results: out of the 1,044 entries, 825 (79%) are direct borrowings from English and 203 (ca. 19·5%) are German formations with English lexical material; only sixteen entries did not fit into one of these categories. This proves two things, namely that one fifth of the entries were not borrowed but were formed in German by means of word-formation processes such as compounding and derivation. Furthermore, this gives ample testimony to the strong impact of English on present-day German, and, depending upon one’s point of view, also impressively emphasizes the capacity of German to absorb the foreign material in the spirit of Goethe’s famous dictum: “Die Gewalt einer Sprache ist nicht, dass sie das Fremde abweist, sondern dass sie es verschlingt.” (Goethe 1998: 127) In the AWb the entry for Kids (1994: 767f.) reads as follows: Kids ‘Kinder, Jugendliche’ • 1973||1990 DF o aus engl. kids [kidz] • In der Bed. „Ziegenleder, Mz.: Handschuhe daraus“ ist Kid, das im Korpus nicht belegt ist, schon bei Tesch (1915) gebucht. | ~ ersetzt in neuerer Zeit ältere Anglizismen wie nTeen, nTeenager, nTeener, nTeenie, nTeenybopper. | Das Komp. Computer~ ist bes. häufig.

The meaning is glossed with the two “synonyms” ‘Kinder, Jugendliche’. This is the only sense given and it is documented with twelve citations ranging from 1973 to 1990. As the dictionary focuses on the lexical impact of English after the Second World War, the older senses ‘goat skin’ and ‘gloves made of goat skin’, both borrowed at the beginning of the 20th

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century, are not attested. According to the AWb, these older borrowings were first recorded by Tesch. (1915) The AWb does not make extensive use of usage labels for the reason that stylistic and other evaluations cannot immediately be drawn from the written corpus material but have to be attributed to the linguistic competence of the compilers (see Vol. 1, 1993: 91*). Nonetheless, a commentary regarding the usage of Kids is given, which says that the term is replacing older Anglicisms such as Teen(ager), Teener, Teeny and Teenybopper. Interestingly, the citations reveal that the term has been in use in German from the early 1970s onwards. However it took almost twenty years 6 for the word to be attested in a German dictionary [DF 1990]. The first two citations come from journals about pop music, showing that the term was originally associated with pop culture:7 Wir wollen die Kids nicht betrügen. (Pop 17/1973: 20) Wenn die Kids lachen, flippen und herumspringen […] (Musik Express 5/1974: 48)

Most of the other quotations, however, stem from the periodical Der Spiegel, which must be considered as a special case regarding its stylistic conventions in general and the use of Anglicisms in particular.8 The AWb proves that the word quite often occurs in compounds. The most frequent combination listed is Computer-Kids. The compound section of the dictionary entry raises the issue of where linguistic borrowing ends and native word-formation with borrowed items begins. That is to say, compounds such as City-Kids, Disco-Kids, Kidnapper-Kids, Muskel-Kids, Slum-Kids, Stadt-Kids and Straßen-Kids (again, mostly from Der Spiegel) are, in all likelihood, German nonce-formations coined by journalists to serve a specific stylistic function in a given context. Whizz-Kids, on the other hand, is more likely to have been borrowed wholesale. The OED documents whiz(z)-kid in the sense of ‘an exceptionally successful or brilliant young person, esp. in politics or business’ from 1960 onwards.

6

7

8

According to my research for this article, the Wahrig. Deutsches Wörterbuch (1986) seems to have been the first German dictionary to record this new sense, thus antedating the information given in the AWb (Duden Fremdwörterbuch 1990) by four years. In England the term kids was used in a similar way, for instance in 1979 the rock band The Who released a successful documentary film and a soundtrack with the title “The kids are alright”. For a recent and comprehensive study of Der Spiegel and its treatment of Anglicisms see Onysko (2007)

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3.4 The DEA (2001) — Anglicisms and their usage Despite the fact that several national dictionaries exist, the DEA tries to cover the lexical impact of English on 16 European languages, because [...] the aims and methods of the compilers of these dictionaries diverge a great deal, and the projects date from different decades; as a consequence, no proper comparison of the data of the individual languages is possible on the basis of these published books. (Görlach 1998: 209f.)

The reviews of the DEA unanimously state that the dictionary, edited by Manfred Görlach in 2001, and indeed the whole project with its two accompanying volumes (see Görlach 2002 a, b), is a pioneering work, as it records for the first time on a comparative scale the usage of Anglicisms in sixteen European languages from different language families, namely: 1) 2) 3) 4)

Germanic (Icelandic, Norwegian, Dutch and German) Romance (French, Spanish, Italian, and Romanian) Slavic (Russian, Polish, Croatian, and Bulgarian) four other languages (Finnish, Hungarian, Albanian and Greek)

A formal classification of Anglicisms as given in the AWb leaves out questions of usage as it does not account for the place of an Anglicism within the German word stock nor its use by the language users. This is the point of departure for the DEA. While Görlach admits that large-scale sociolinguistic studies on the use of Anglicisms are still wanting, and that questions of frequency, acceptance and social and dialectal variation have always posed a serious stumbling block for both prescriptive and descriptive lexicographers, he turns information on usage into the central purpose of his dictionary. Görlach (2003: 110) acknowledges both the special importance and the inherent difficulty of this issue by saying that […i]n a dictionary which has ‘usage’ as the first word of its subtitle, readers will rightly expect this type of information to be central […but] the difficulties of describing the usage of specific items in an individual language multiply when sixteen sets of data are compared.

Furthermore, the compilation of the dictionary was complicated by the fact that in the early 1990s no multi-national corpora of Anglicisms were available. Therefore, questions of whether a word should be included in the dictionary and if so which usage value should be assigned to it had to rest on a comparison of entries in existing national dictionaries and on the editors’ Sprachgefühl (‘feeling for the language’).

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The Dictionary of European Anglicisms is intended as a documentation of the lexical input of English into European languages up to the early 1990s (with a cut-off date of 1995); earlier loans are included, but we have concentrated on the modern lexis imported after World War II. (DEA 2001: xvi)

Unlike the AWb, the DEA omits all types of calques or other substitutions as entries. Loan translations etc. are mentioned only if there is an entry for the English word. In cases such as German Airbag,9 a right-facing angle bracket (>) signals that Airbag is more frequent than the rendition Prallsack. Whereas the AWb categorizes its entries according to formal criteria, the DEA classifies them according to acceptability and currency as well as their degree of morphological, phonological, and graphemic integration. The Anglicisms are arranged into different groups ranging from 0 to 5, indicating “a cline of increasing integration (and often also of frequency and acceptability).” (DEA 2001: xxiv) Where necessary, this information is accompanied by usage restrictions indicating the field, medium, region, register, style, status, and currency of an entry. (DEA 2001: xxxiv f.) The words not really forming part of the language in question are subcategorized in three groups: — : The word is not known; i.e. there is no entry for the individual language, but a calque or other native equivalent may be provided. However, this category is important for comparisons between languages. Thus, for example Gully borrowed into German in the late th 19 century is absent from all the other languages: “This word is interesting for its unique occurrence in German (where it is the accepted term).” (DEA 2001: 140) 0 : The word is known mainly to bilinguals, but is felt to be English, like Weekend in German. Ø : The word is known but used only with reference to British or American situations, i.e. it is a “foreignism”, e.g.: Acre, Barrister, College, County, Earl, Lord, etc. If a word is accepted by native speakers, it can be regarded as part of the linguistic system. However, acceptance can vary in degree depending upon a number of socio-linguistic variables. In many cases, use which is restricted

9

Capitalization in this and the following examples indicates Anglicisms in German. For a comparison of the DEA to the AWb with respect to coverage and methodology see Busse (2001).

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to particular registers accompanies incomplete morphological and phono– logical integration. This is mirrored by the arrangement of the next five categories: 1) The word is restricted in use: the nature of the restriction (age, style, technical, regional distribution, etc.) is indicated by diachronic, diastratic, diatechnical, diatopic or other markers, e.g.: Ballyhoo (journalese), Event (youth language, journalese), Scoop (journalese, rare) are all examples of journalese language in German. 2) The word is fully accepted and found in many styles, but still marked as English in its spelling, pronunciation or morphology, e.g.: Jeans or Thriller. 3) The word is not recognized as English, i.e. its spelling, pronunciation and morphology or at least one of these categories no longer reveal its English origin, which can only be established etymologically, e.g.: German Frack (Engl. frock coat), Humor, Keks (Engl. cakes), Pudding, Rum and Sport. 4) The word is identical with an indigenous item in the receiving language, so that the contact has resulted only in a semantic loan, e.g.: Maus (Engl. mouse) in connection with computers. 5) The word comes from a source other than English. This category covers items of neo-classical provenance (in particular Latin or Greek) whose English origin is often impossible to determine from a morphological or phonological point of view. For this reason, words such as German Fotografie and Grammophon are excluded from the DEA. However, if the same etymon proves to be an Anglicism in a particular language it is included. Thus, for example, Aktion in German as an older loan from Latin does not feature in the dictionary, but Action as a more recent one from English is 10 included. In short, the dictionary shows that Anglicisms are distributed unevenly throughout the German vocabulary. The vast majority of them belong to the periphery of the lexicon and are concentrated especially in certain domains and jargons. They are prone to fluctuation and often used in special registers, either technical or informal. Thus, following Busse and Görlach (2002: 28), two major groups can be discerned. The first consists of Anglicisms labelled as technical. They are “restricted to the terminologies of sciences, technologies, and other jargons” (ibid.: 28), that is to say they are either used as proper technical terms and hence form part of terminologies, or they belong 10 For the above categories see DEA (2001: xxiv) and Görlach (1998).

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to the jargon of this domain. In any case, these technical Anglicisms tend to be infrequent. They are incompletely integrated and feature more prominently in written than in spoken language. In terms of attitudinal connotations they are fairly neutral. The second group consists of Anglicisms labelled as colloquial or slang. They occur more often in the special informal registers of youth language, journalism and especially in advertising, and are more typical of spoken language. For many speakers with only limited knowledge of English, their meaning is often only vague, but these words seem to convey an air of fashionable prestige. Due to this, their degree of integration is difficult to establish (see also Görlach 2003: 109–116). For the entry kid, two senses are given in the DEA and the following information is provided regarding its usage: kid n. 2 “leather from a young goat”, 3 “a child or young person” The colloquial word kids (mainly in the pl.) is replacing the older loan nteenager in German. The currency of kid(s) in Europe makes it impossible to say whether this is a general trend (supported by the short and less complicated form). Ge [kit] N [U] beg 20 C, 2(1 tech[nology/technical); kids pl. 1970s, 3 (2 sla[ng], mod[ish]) […]. (DEA 2001)

The numbers for the sense divisions (beginning with 2) correspond to those given in the Concise Oxford Dictionary [COD] (1995) in order to make a comparison easier and to discover which senses were borrowed and which developed independently in any of the recipient languages (see Busse/ Görlach 2002: 26–28). The older technical sense borrowed at the beginning of the 20th century and corresponding to sense 2 in the COD is rated as 1 (= restricted in use), and the more recent borrowing in the sense of ‘children’ as 2 (= fully accepted and found in many styles and registers but still recognized as English). Apart from German the word is only attested in three other European languages, namely in Dutch and French, in the newer sense of ‘a child or young person’. The usage label characterizes the item as colloquial (Dutch) or youth language (French). The older sense which, apart from German is only found in Dutch, Norwegian and French, is uniformly labelled as technology/technical. In all cases the usage rating is (level) 1.

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3.5 The Wörterbuch überflüssiger Anglizismen (2007) This dictionary, now already in its seventh edition, was compiled under the auspices of the Verein Deutsche Sprache [VDS].11 The quick succession of editions from 1999 onwards shows that there is a demand for such a dictionary. Typologically, it can be regarded as a modern representative of Verdeutschungswörterbücher. The dictionary does not contain information on the number of entries it includes.12 In the scanty preface, the editors say that the objective of the dictionary is twofold in that it wants to document Anglicisms and act as a reference book for those people who care for good German and want to produce texts with German words. The words are said to have been chosen from all domains with which ordinary people are likely to come into contact. Specialized vocabulary and trendy neologisms have been incorporated more sparingly. A glance at the lemmata, however, illustrates that the product cannot live up to these standards, because in terms of frequency, synchronic and diachronic degree of foreignness, their function and place within the vocabulary of German, etc. the Anglicisms are extremely heterogeneous. The following examples show that well-established Anglicisms, such as Happy End, online and Party, occur next to very specific terms and also to foreignisms, such as Farmer and Rancher: anti-dim glass, bias(s)ed, bid-ask spread, bombast, carriage return, dopen, ear, farm, farmer, fetish, groggy, happy end, hoax, kickback, leg-pulling, midcap, online, party, pharmacy, railcard, Rallye, ranch, small cap, sweatshirt, weather, wrap industry, X-ray, yacht, zero-based budgeting.

The specimen entry for kids in the WüA looks like this: kids: Kinder, Jugendliche, nicht im Singular benutzt, zweite Bedeutung Denglisch, siehe auch kiddies, auch in kids’ corner: Kinderecke, Spielecke (z.B. in Restaurants, Geschäften, usw) siehe auch children’s corner kid’s health: Kindergesundheit 11 However, the inside front cover says that the dictionary is not directly connected to the VDS: “Der ‘Anglizismen-INDEX’ ist als offizielle Veröffentlichung des größten deutschen Sprachvereins (VDS) um ein Höchstmaß an Objektivität bemüht. […] Dagegen ist das ‘Wörterbuch’ unbekümmerter und kämpferischer angelegt. […] Es ist weder einem Verein noch der Wissenschaft verpflichtet.” 12 On average, a page of the WüA contains about 30 entries (including main entries and subentries [= compounds and derivatives]) which results in a total number of more than 7,000 Anglicisms [= 30 Anglicisms per page x 237 pages].

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This entry clearly illustrates that the label Wörterbuch is rather a misnomer for this work. This so-called dictionary should rather be labelled a glossary, because it lacks all features of modern lexicographical microstructure such as German spelling (the lemmata are spelled according to the American Heritage Dictionary), pronunciation, grammatical information, pragmatic markers and, above all, documentation. Any illustration that would prove the superfluous character of the Anglicisms is missing.13 In my opinion, these flaws invalidate the whole undertaking because a division of loans into those which are deemed necessary to fill lexical gaps in the recipient language and those which are not has never been a valid one. For example, Feier, Fete and Party are not synonymous, because they cannot be used under the same conditions; they belong to different registers and convey different connotations. For the same reason, Baby and Säugling or Kleinkind cannot be freely interchanged. To exchange Cowboy with Rinderor Viehhüter would mean a loss of the local colour conveyed by the Anglicism, and to supplant Festival by Festspiele means to ignore the different social settings of the Salzburger- or Wagner Festspiele in Bayreuth or the Filmfestspiele in Cannes or Venice and those of modern pop music festivals. Galinsky (1975) and Pfitzner (1978) have provided valuable stylistic criteria for Anglicisms in German. More recently, Leisi and Mair (1999: 220) have drawn attention to the fact that Anglicisms and other loans can be necessary for sociolinguistic as well as structural reasons, so that in a given social group they act as a means of identification and demarcation to the outside, much in the same way as slang terms always have. In my opinion, Niehr (2002) is right when he argues that the replacement of such Anglicisms is a rather futile undertaking, which is doomed to failure. So if this word list has so many shortcomings why consider it in the first place? To my mind, it is nonetheless worthy of consideration, because the strong demand for this dictionary shows that many people are indeed afraid that the huge influx of Anglicisms could in the long run endanger the continuity of a fully-fledged German language. Furthermore, the questions of whether the incorporation of Anglicisms into the German language is to be viewed as potentially dangerous, because it creates communicative barth riers, reminds me of the discussion of the so-called inkhorn terms of the 16 century in England and the ensuing controversy over “hard words” which led to calls for a new type of dictionary.

13 For more details see my review of the WüA. (Busse 2006)

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4. Summary and conclusion This paper has shown that the five dictionaries of Anglicisms cannot readily be compared. This is because they differ in their scope and depth of presentation, and in their objectives. This rather unexciting result is similar to that of Henrik Gottlieb’s (2002) comparison of four Germanic Dictionaries of Anglicisms, namely the AWb for German, Knud Sørensen’s A Dictionary of Anglicisms in Danish (1997), the Norwegian Anglisismeordboka of Anne-Line Graedler and Stig Johannson (1997), and Bo Seltén’s Swedish Ny svengelsk ordbok (meaning ‘New Swenglish dictionary’) of 1993. Gottlieb’s final conclusion sounds rather disconcerting: We must realize that although a lot can be gained from consulting the four works together, one should be careful not to conclude from to [sic!] lexicographical evidence (the entries in the four works) to lexicological realities (usage in the four speech communities). In other words, the differences between the dictionaries — and the discrepancies found within the individual works — mean that one should be cautious when trying to produce exact comparative statements concerning English influence on other Germanic languages. (Gottlieb 2002: 142)

However, to my mind the different approaches to the lexicographical description of lexical borrowing from English into present-day German have permitted a number of important sociolinguistic insights. Gabriele Stein, for example, has shown in detail that: the beginnings of dictionary-making for most of the European languages […] lie in language contact situations. This means that for these languages monolingual lexicography was preceded by bilingual and multilingual lexicography. (1988: 29)

The description of dictionaries of Anglicisms as languages-in-contactdictionaries perfectly fits this frame. In an earlier study I made a detailed comparison between German dictionaries of Anglicisms and English hard word dictionaries of the 17th century (see Busse 2002). When viewed in this diachronic cross-cultural perspective, a few common features become apparent, despite the differences that exist between early English lexicography and modern German dictionaryies of Anglicisms. In the 16th and 17th centuries, the English language was developing from a vernacular to a standard language. In many areas of learning Latin was still the role model of the day. Some four hundred years later, English with its global spread has long supplanted Latin as a modern lingua franca, and the national languages of Europe have taken in large numbers of borrowings from English as they did earlier on from Latin.

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However, the analogy only works up to a point, because the incorporation of neo-classical vocabulary into the English language of the Renaissance had the effect of replacing Latin by the native — though heavily Latinized tongue. The present large-scale transfer of Anglicisms into German (and other languages) results in borrowings which in some technical domains, such as communication and information technology, hinder the further development of native specialized vocabulary. Nevertheless, the analogy seems to suggest a socio-historical connection between early English hard word dictionaries and present-day dictionaries of Anglicisms in that both could be interpreted as typical signs of their times. Both have their origin in intense linguistic and cultural influence of one dominating language upon another. Furthermore, the dictionaries discussed in this paper may be seen as reactions to public demand on the one hand, and as expressions of lexicographical credos on the other, as the different conceptions and treatment of the subject matter indicate their underlying attitude towards the linguistic matters at stake. In this respect, they document the repercussions of both sociological and sociolinguistic issues: Dictionaries, in both their content and their technique of making, mirror the society whose language they record. Ultimately the history of dictionaries is important […] for what dictionaries tell about the people who make and use them. And the dictionaries we use tell quite a lot about us. (Algeo 1990: 2006)

Bibliography Dictionaries (corpus) AWb

= Anglizismen-Wörterbuch: Der Einfluß des Englischen auf den deutschen Wortschatz nach 1945. Begründet von Broder Carstensen, fortgeführt von Ulrich Busse unter Mitarbeit von Regina Schmude (1993–1996). 3 vols. Berlin/ New York: De Gruyter. DEA = Görlach, Manfred (ed.) (2001). A Dictionary of European Anglicisms: A Usage Dictionary of European Anglicisms in Sixteen European Languages. Oxford: O.U.P. Neske = Neske, Fritz & Ingeborg Neske (1970, 2nd ed. 1972). dtvWörterbuch englischer und amerikanischer Ausdrücke in der deutschen Sprache. München: Deutscher Taschenbuch Verlag. Sörensen = Sörensen, Ilse (1995). Englisch im deutschen Wortschatz: Lehn- und Fremdwörter in der Umgangssprache. Berlin: Volk und Wissen.

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= Bartzsch, Rudolf & Reiner Pogarell & Markus Schröder (eds) (2007). Wörterbuch überflüssiger Anglizismen. 7th ed. Paderborn: IBF Verlag.

Secondary sources Algeo, John (1990). ‘American Lexicography’. In: Franz Josef Hausmann, Oskar Reichmann & Herbert Ernst Wiegand (eds). Wörterbücher: Ein internationales Handbuch zur Lexikographie. 2 vols. Berlin/New York: de Gruyter, 1987–2009. Busse, Ulrich (1993). Anglizismen im Duden: Eine Untersuchung zur Darstellung englischen Wortguts in den Ausgaben des Rechtschreibdudens von 1880–1986. (= Reihe Germanistische Linguistik 139). Tübingen: Niemeyer. Busse, Ulrich (1994). ‘Das Anglizismen-Wörterbuch und seine Benutzer’. In: Fremdsprachen Lehren und Lernen 23, 175–191. Busse, Ulrich (1996). ‘A Dictionary of Anglicisms: An Outline of its History, Content and Objectives’. In: Suvremana Lingvistika. Festschrift for Rudolf Filipovi, 41/42, 1–10. Busse, Ulrich (2001). ‘Typen von Anglizismen: von der heilago geist bis Extremsparing — aufgezeigt anhand ausgewählter lexikographischer Kategorisierungen.’ In: Gerhard Stickel (ed.). Neues und Fremdes im deutschen Wortschatz: Aktueller lexikalischer Wandel. Jahrbuch des Instituts für Deutsche Sprache 2000. Berlin/New York: de Gruyter, 131– 155. Busse, Ulrich (2002). ‘Lexicography as a Sign of the Times: A Study in Socio-lexicography.’ In: Henrik Gottlieb, Jens Erik Mogensen and Arne Zettersten (eds). Symposium on Lexicography X. Proceedings of the Tenth International Symposium on Lexicography May 4–6, 2000 at the University of Copenhagen. (= Lexicographica. Series Maior 109). Tübingen: Niemeyer, 49–61. Busse, Ulrich (2004). ‘Kids and German Lexicography’. In: Cay Dollerup (ed.). Worlds of Words: A Tribute to Arne Zettersten. Nordic Journal of English Studies Special Issue, 3 (1), 191–206. Busse, Ulrich (2005). ‘Anglizismen im GWDS [Großen Wörterbuch der deutschen Sprache].’ In: Herbert Ernst Wiegand (ed.). Untersuchungen zur kommerziellen Lexikographie der deutschen Gegenwartssprache II. “Duden. Das große Wörterbuch der deutschen Sprache in zehn Bänden”. Print- und CD-ROM-Version. (= Lexicographica. Series Maior 121). Tübingen: Niemeyer, vol. 2, 153–170. Busse, Ulrich (2006). Review of Bartzsch, Pogarell & Schröder. Wörterbuch überflüssiger Anglizismen. Lexicographica. International Annual of Lexicography 21/2005, 382–386. Busse, Ulrich and Manfred Görlach (2002). ‘German’. In: Manfred Görlach (ed.). English in Europe, Oxford: O.U.P., 13–36.

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Carstensen, Broder (1983). ‘English Elements in the German Language: Their Treatment and Compilation in a Dictionary of Anglicisms.’ In: Karl Hyldgaard-Jensen and Arne Zettersten (eds). Symposium zur Lexikographie / Symposium on Lexicography September 1–2, 1982 at the University of Copenhagen (= Reihe Germanistische Linguistik 5) 6/82, 13–34. Galinsky, Hans (1975). ‘Stylistic Aspects of Linguistic Borrowing: A Stylistic View of American Elements in Modern German’. In: Broder Carstensen & Hans Galinsky (eds). Amerikanismen der deutschen Gegenwartssprache: Entlehnungsvorgänge und ihre stilistischen Aspekte. Heidelberg: Winter, 3rd ed. Galinsky, Hans (1977). ‘Amerikanisch-englische und gesamtenglische Interferenzen mit dem Deutschen und anderen Sprachen der Gegenwart: Ein kritischer Forschungsbericht (1945–1976)’. In: Herbert Kolb & Hartmut Lauffer (eds). Sprachliche Interferenz: Festschrift für Werner Betz zum 65. Geburtstag. Tübingen: Niemeyer, 463–517. Glück, Helmut (2004). ‘Wieviel Englisch verträgt das Deutsche? Über die Anglizismen im heutigen Deutsch’. In: Horst Haider Munske (ed.). Deutsch im Kontakt mit germanischen Sprachen. (= Reihe Germanistische Linguistik 248). Tübingen: Niemeyer, 141–153. Gnutzmann, Claus (1998). ‘English as a Global Language: What does it mean?’ In: Neusprachliche Mitteilungen aus Wissenschaft und Praxis 51 (3), 130–137. Görlach, Manfred (1994). ‘A Usage Dictionary of Anglicisms in Selected European Languages’. In: International Journal of Lexicography 7 (3), 223–246. Görlach, Manfred (1997). ‘Usage in the Usage Dictionary of Anglicisms in Selected European Languages’. In: Studia Anglica Posnaniensia 31, 67– 77. Görlach, Manfred (1998). ‘The Usage Dictionary of Anglicisms in Selected European Languages: A Report on Progress, Problems and Prospects’. In: Links & Letters 5, 209–221. Görlach, Manfred (ed.) (2002a). English in Europe. Oxford; O.U.P.. Görlach, Manfred (ed.) (2002b). An Annotated Bibliography of European Anglicisms. Oxford: O.U.P. Görlach, Manfred (2003). English Words Abroad. Amsterdam/Philadelphia: Benjamins. Görlach, Manfred and Ulrich Busse (2002). ‘German’. In: An Annotated Bibliography of European Anglicisms. Oxford: O.U.P., 96–129. Gottlieb, Henrik (2002). ‘Four Germanic Dictionaries of Anglicisms: When Definitions Speak Louder than Words’. In: Henrik Gottlieb, Jens Erik Mogensen and Arne Zettersten (eds). Symposium on Lexicography X: Proceedings of the Tenth International Symposium on Lexicography May 4–6, 2000 at the University of Copenhagen (= Lexicographica. Series Maior 109). Tübingen: Niemeyer, 125–143. Herberg et al. (2004) = Herberg, Dieter, Michael Kinne & Doris Steffens (2004). Neuer Wortschatz: Neologismen der 90er Jahre im Deutschen

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(= Schriften des Instituts für Deutsche Sprache 11). Berlin/New York: de Gruyter. Kettemann, Bernhard (2004). ‘Anglizismen allgemein und konkret: Zahlen und Fakten’. In: Rudolf Muhr and Bernhard Kettemann (eds). Eurospeak: Der Einfluss des Englischen auf europäische Sprachen zur Jahrtausendwende. (= Österreichisches Deutsch — Sprache der Gegenwart 1) Frankfurt am Main: Lang, 55–86. Kirkness, Alan and Melanie Woolford (2002). ‘Zur Herkunft der Anglizismen im Deutschen: Beobachtungen und Vorschläge anhand des Anglizismen-Wörterbuchs’. In: Rudolf Hoberg (ed.). Deutsch — Englisch — Europäisch: Impulse für eine neue Sprachpolitik (= Thema Deutsch 3). Mannheim: Dudenverlag. Leisi, Ernst and Christian Mair (1999). Das heutige Englisch: Wesenszüge und Probleme. 8th ed. Heidelberg: Winter. Muhr, Rudolf (2004). ‘Anglizismen als Problem der Linguistik und Sprachpflege in Österreich und Deutschland zu Beginn des 21. Jahrhunderts’. In: Rudolf Muhr and Bernhard Kettemann (eds). Eurospeak: Der Einfluss des Englischen auf europäische Sprachen zur Jahrtausendwende. (= Österreichisches Deutsch — Sprache der Gegenwart 1) Frankfurt am Main: Lang, 9–54. Munske, Horst Haider (2004). ‘Englisches im Deutschen: Analysen zum Anglizismenwörterbuch’. In: Horst Haider Munske (ed.). Deutsch im Kontakt mit germanischen Sprachen. (= Reihe Germanistische Linguistik 248). Tübingen: Niemeyer, 155–174. OED = Oxford English Dictionary. Third edition online (accessed November 2007). John Simpson, Chief Editor. Oxford: O.U.P. Onysko, Alexander (2007). Anglicisms in German: Borrowing, Lexical Productivity and Written Codeswitching (Linguistik — Impulse & Tendenzen 23). Berlin/New York: de Gruyter. Nier, Thomas (2002). ‘Linguistische Anmerkungen zu einer populären Anglizismen-Kritik. Oder: Von der notwendig erfolglos bleibenden Suche nach dem treffenderen deutschen Ausdruck’. In: Sprachreport 4, 4–10. Pfitzner, Jürgen (1978). Der Anglizismus im Deutschen: Ein Beitrag zur Bestimmung seiner stilistischen Funktion in der heutigen Presse (= Amerikastudien, Schriftenreihe, 51). Stuttgart: Metzler. Steffens, Doris (2007). ‘Von „Aquajogging“ bis „Zickenalarm“: Neuer Wortschatz im Deutschen seit den 90er Jahren im Spiegel des ersten größeren Neologismenwörterbuches’. In: Der Sprachdienst 51(4), 146–159. Stein, Gabriele (1988). ‘The emerging Role of English in the Dictionaries of Renaissance Europe’. In: Folia Linguistica Historica 9 (1), 29–138. Stickel, Gerhard (2004). ‘Das heutige Deutsch: Tendenzen und Wertungen’. In: Sandro M. Moraldo and Marcello Soffritti (eds). Deutsch aktuell: Einführung in die Tendenzen der deutschen Gegenwartssprache. Rom: Carocci, 11–32. Tesch, Albert (1915). Fremdwort und Verdeutschung: Ein Wörterbuch für den täglichen Gebrauch. Leipzig: Bibliographisches Institut.

Are Shared Metaphors the Same? English and German Body Imagery in Comparison and Contrast Andreas Musolff, University of Durham (UK)

Introduction One thing that makes language learners’ lives easier are metaphoric idioms in their target language that match those in their first language, such as the following English and German expressions, which use concepts of body limbs and organs as sources for abstract meanings: 1) 2) 3) 4) 5) 6) 7) 8) 9) 10) 11) 12)

Den Kopf verlieren — to lose one’s head Zu Kopf gestiegen — gone to one’s head Jemandes Augapfel sein — to be someone’s apple of their eye Jemanden an der Nase herumführen — to lead someone by the nose Von der Hand in den Mund leben — to have but from hand to mouth Mit leeren Händen — empty-handed Einen grünen Daumen haben — to have a green thumb Ein Herz von Stein haben — to have a heart of stone Sein Herz verlieren — to lose one’s heart. Auf die Füße fallen — to fall on one’s feet Böses Blut machen — to breed ill blood Kalte Füße bekommen — to get cold feet.

In view of the history of German and English, such matching idioms — as well as many other shared parts of the lexicon — result from a common inheritance within the Indo-European and, more specifically, Germanic language families, and also from prolonged mutual lexical borrowing, as documented in the tradition of popular, contrastively cross-referenced idiom/ proverb dictionaries, such as Brewer’s Dictionary of Phrase and Fable (1999), Büchmann. (Büchmann 1864, Büchmann and Hoffmann 2007) and Röhrich (2001) More wide-ranging collections and comparative studies of idioms and proverbs have shown, however, that body-based idioms are in fact common to diverse cultural contexts and provide a fascinating field for the study of semantic universals as well as of culture-specific differences. (Mieder 1986; Sabban and Wirrer 1991; Cordry 1997; Dobrovol’skij 1999; Kövecses 2002: 207–211)

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Within the context of cognitive linguistics, especially in conceptual metaphor theory, this universal dimension of metaphoric idioms has become a popular object of an approach known as embodiment theory, which views bodily perception and experience as the basis of all forms of conceptualization including metaphoric concepts. (Johnson 1987, Lakoff and Johnson 1980, 1999, Pauwels and Simon-Vandenbergen 1995; Niemeier 2000; Kövecses 2006: 207–225; Gibbs 2006) As all humans share basic bodily experiences, they can plausibly be assumed to access these experiences as a common source for conceptualizations, including metaphoric ones, irrespective of the lexical and phraseological heritage of any specific national language. This assumption can be interpreted in two ways: in a strong, deterministic version that claims to be able to draw predictive conclusions from physiological data (cf. Lakoff and Johnson 1999: 45–59), or in a weaker version that assumes the body to be a “necessary but not sufficient” basis for motivating abstract concepts, including metaphors. In the strong version of the embodiment-theoretical argument, concepts are “universal” precisely because they are grounded in “the commonalities that exist in the way our minds are embodied” (Lakoff and Johnson 1999: 4), and furthermore, metaphors are “centrally a matter of thought, not just words.” (ibid.: 123) Seen from this perspective, we need not cite language- or discoursehistorical evidence at all to explain the bodily basis of concepts. In the weaker version, by contrast, the role of diachronic development, i.e. conceptual and linguistic history, is left open, and has to be decided on empirical evidence rather than on an a priori basis. The following discussion aims to investigate the possibilities for such empirical investigation by comparing the development of idiomatic metaphoric expressions in English and German that are based on the concept of the (NATION) STATE AS A BODY, which in English has been lexicalized into the phrase body politic.1 As we shall see shortly, German has no directly comparable well-known lexical item. However, in the spirit of the weaker version of the claim of universal bodily grounding of conceptual metaphors and in view of the evidence of shared set of BODY-based metaphoric idioms cited above, it would seem unlikely and counter-intuitive to assume that the German language does not have the STATE-BODY metaphor. Still, we can find a statement, albeit one dating from more than 50 years ago, that seems to support such a conclusion: in his 1957 book on the English loan influences on the German lexicon, the late Peter F. Ganz stated under the lemma “politischer Körper” that whilst “in English, uses of the term body 1

Following the convention of cognitive linguistics literature, conceptual units (single concepts as well as conceptual metaphors) are indicated by SMALL CAPITAL format. Linguistic (i.e. expression) metaphors are indicated by italics.

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politic meaning ‘the state’ can be documented first at around 1532”, only isolated occurrences of its German equivalent could be found, e.g. in a 1768 translation of Shaftesbury’s Characteristicks, and that in general “the loan translation did not catch on and is not attested elsewhere.” (Ganz 1957: 175; translation from German: AM) We thus seem to have found a metaphor that is characteristic of the English language community but is absent in current German discourse. Is this, then, a case of a language/culture-specific metaphor?

Bodies natural and politic It would be unfair to challenge Ganz’s finding simply on the grounds that even his stupendous erudition is no match even for a cursory internet search; on the other hand, it would be pointless to deny the occurrence of formulations such as the following examples drawn from contemporary media language (italics here and in other quotations by AM): 13) Um 450 nach Christus hatten sich in dem weiten Imperium germanische Machtzentren abgekapselt. Letztlich waren es Geschwüre im Staatskörper von Rom. (Der Spiegel, 11/2007) 14) Wer die Homogenität eines „deutschen Volkskörpers“ ins Feld führt, der gießt Öl ins Feuer der Ghettos. (Die Zeit, 18 June 1998) 15) Denn um souverän zu sein, muss das Volk als Einheit, als „Eines“ vorgestellt werden. In Wirklichkeit setzt sich das empirische Volk natürlich aus den „Vielen“ zusammen, die dann als ein politischer Körper und als eine organische Realität vorgestellt werden. Was zu kurz kommt, ist das Volk aus Fleisch und Blut mit seinen Individuen. (Die Zeit, 20 January 2005) 16) [Die Juroren einer] Kritikerjury […] sprechen vom „Bühnenkörper“ und vom „nationalen Körper“ — Gesellschaft ist der große Leib, über den sich das Theater beugt. (Die Zeit, 19 May 2005) A preliminary conclusion to be drawn from these examples is that no one lexical or phraseological item can be said to represent “the” metaphor of the body politic in German. Rather, there are numerous lexical realizations such as the ‘people’s’ or ‘national body’ (Volkskörper, Nationalkörper), the ‘state body’ (Staatskörper) and the ‘political body’ (politischer Körper). This is a manifestation of the well-known fact that different national languages vary

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in the degree and form of lexicalizations of semantic field structures. (Lyons 1977, vol. 1: 250–269, 301–305; Pullum 1991; Wierzbicka 1997: 5–10) Another crucial aspect to be taken into consideration when studying metaphor is the fact that metaphorical expressions are not random, isolated units of meaning but are systematically inter-related within “conceptual domains” (in earlier terminology, within “semantic fields”). In current English, we find for instance, uses such as these: 17) I am a mere toenail in the body politic. (Boris Johnson, Conservative MP and Lord Mayor of London since 2008, quoted in The Independent on Sunday, 20 November 2005) 18) The American body politic laid low. […] Washington (DC) leads the way in crises and scandals. (The Observer, 13 November 2005) 19) Disembowelling the body politic. [Headline from a review of Noam Chomsky’s political writings] (The Times Higher Education Supplement, 22 November 1996) 20) The moment is arriving when Europe could cease to be the cyanide in the British body politic. The pressure of the neuralgic question can be lifted from the root canals. (The Guardian, 18 January 1996) It is evident from these examples that to speak of “political body” metaphors only in cases where the fixed phrase body politic appears would be misleading even for English: such an approach would make sense only in a narrow lexicographical study of a particular lexical unit. To capture the connections between the meanings of the term body politic and other bodyrelated expressions in these quotations, we have to posit the existence of a conceptual domain that is organized around the core notion of the HUMAN BODY (in popular understanding) and that comprises all of the “typical” parts, processes and conditions that non-expert adult speakers can reasonably be assumed to know. Example 20 shows that this knowledge includes concepts such as (POISONOUS) CYANIDE, NEURALGIC (POINTS), ROOT CANALS. We must also assume a degree of semantic flexibility on the parts of both the author of the article and its readers if they are to understand these metaphorical meanings. They must be able to combine the divergent source inputs (CYANIDE, BODY, NEURALGIC, ROOT CANALS and arrive at a coherent understanding of the intended, targeted meaning (i.e. here, that European Union-related policy might one day no longer be a divisive issue in British politics). This wide semantic range and flexibility of political BODY-based metaphors is by no means a specific characteristic of modern media discourse; if we go back to earlier uses of the metaphor we can observe a possibly even more creative and imaginative exploitation of this source domain:

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21) We be informed by our judges that we at no time stand so highly in our estate royal as in the time of Parliament, wherein we as head and you as members are conjoined and knit together in one body politic. (Henry VIII: 1542, quoted after Hale 1971: 48) 22) […] the King has in him two Bodies, viz., a Body natural, and a Body politic. His Body natural […] is a Body mortal, subject to all Infirmities that come by Nature or Accident, to the Imbecility of Infancy or Old Age […] But his Body politic is a Body that cannot be seen or handled, consisting of Policy and Government, and constituted for the Direction of the People, and the Management of the public weal, and this Body is utterly void of Infancy, and old Age, and other natural Defects and Imbecilities. (Edmund Plowden, Commentaries or Reports [1562], quoted after Kantorowicz [1957] 1997: 7) 23) Menenius: There was a time when all the body’s members Rebell’d against the belly […] The senators of Rome are this good belly, And you the mutinous members; […] What do you think, You, the great toe of this assembly? First Citizen: I the great toe? Why the great toe? Menenius: For that, being one o’ the lowest, basest, poorest, Of this most wise rebellion, thou go’st foremost. (Shakespeare, Coriolanus, Act I, Scene 1) As these examples show, the conceptual metaphor THE NATION IS A BODY could be interpreted in three different ways in the 16th century: first as an analogical argument based on a natural body hierarchy, specifically in the sense of the head’s supremacy over other members that is applied to the relationship between King and Parliament (example 21), second, as a legal fiction emphasizing the contrast between the natural and political spheres of royalty (example 22), and lastly, as a basis for a political polemic reinforcing social hierarchy by way of citing the so-called “fable of the belly” (example 23). This fable can be traced back to Aesopian traditions and was popular with Roman historians since Livy’s History of Rome as a moral lesson taught to “plebeian” rebels by the patrician senator Menenius.2 Livy’s already rhetorically elaborate account served as the source for Shakespeare’s usage, which in turn may have been the model for Boris Johnson’s toenail example (17, above). As regards the hierarchical element of the analogical argument in the fable, it is the BELLY rather than the HEAD that plays the role of the most important and most powerful BODY PART/ORGAN.

2

For the ancient tradition of the fable cf. Hale 1971: 25–27; Peil 1985; Guldin 2000: 101–103.

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Thus, even during the early days of English, body politic rhetoric in the Tudor Renaissance, there were competing or, at least, varying notions of what constitutes a “political body”, what are its constituent members and functions, and what are their equivalents at the target level of political thought and discourse. This finding can hardly come as a surprise if we take into account that by the 1500s, the concept of THE NATION STATE AS A (HUMAN) BODY already had a pre-history of about two millennia, with preSocratic thinkers and the Aesopian tradition usually quoted as the earliest sources, followed by Socrates, Plato and Aristotle, crucially the NeoPlatonists, Biblical traditions (especially interpretations of St. Paul’s Epistles to the Romans and Corinthians), St. Augustine’s City of God and other texts by the “Church Fathers” up to the Middle Ages. From then on, we find the STATE-BODY metaphor in practically all politically-relevant writings of the so-called “medieval humanists” of the 12th century (e.g. William of Conches and John of Salisbury), in scholastic thought and in the literature of the Papal schism and in writings by defenders of emergent territorial monarchies (e.g. Marsilius of Padua, William of Ockham, Sir John Fortescue, Nicolas of Cusa), which provide a continuous ‘chain’ of usage up to the turn of the 15th–16th centuries.3 Building on this tradition, the concept of the non-natural, “political” body was firmly established by 1500 in Latin, with phrases such as corpus mysticum or corpus politicum designating the Church and/or the contemporary States as spiritual-cum-secular units. The English term body politic was a loan-coinage of these terms, and so were the parallel translations and applications of the metaphor in other European languages, e.g. in French (used by Christine de Pizan), in Italian (used by Machiavelli) and in German, by Martin Luther. The latter, in his “address” to the “Christian Nobility” of 1520, employed the Paulinic concept of Christendom as one body (with Christ as the head) in his anti-papal polemic to justify worldly, i.e. political, power taking precedence over the Church: 24) […] weltlich hirrschafft ist ein mitglid worden des christlichen corpers, unnd wie wol sie ein leyplich werck hat, doch geystlichs stands ist; darumb yhr werck sol frey unvorhindert gehen in alle glidmaß des gantzen corpers, straffen und treyben, wo es die schuld vordienet odder not foddert, unangesehen Bapst, Bischoff, priester, 3

For overviews in the History of Ideas/Begriffsgeschichte traditions cf. Kantorowicz [1957] 1997; Hale 1971; Dhorn van Rossum and Böckenförde 1978; Skinner 1978; for recent studies focusing on the medieval and Renaissance traditions cf. Nederman 1992; Nederman and Forhan 1993; Harris 1998; Guldin 2000; Koschorke et al. 2007.

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sie drewen odder bannen, wie sie wollen. (Luther [1520] (1917): 155) The first occurrence of political body metaphors in European vernacular languages at around 1500 is a consequence of these languages recently having become the means to express the desire for religious and political reform as well as national consciousness rather than being a unique feature of one national language from which others borrowed. The translation of the metaphor from Latin into various national languages during the Renaissance was part of a shared cultural tradition that has also transported whole narratives such as the fable of the belly over the best part of 2000 years. While we can assume to have thus established a “respectable” pedigree for the STATE-BODY metaphor and perhaps also to have laid to rest the notion that German for some strange reason “lacked” that metaphor, the question is still open as to whether these data could be used to support anything more than the general claim that body-based metaphoric mappings or blendings are universal (and hence also account for political BODY metaphors). In order to demonstrate a specific socio-cultural and historical “situatedness” (Frank 2008) of the metaphor, we have to investigate its use in a given discourse community for characteristic developments and compare them with those in other communities. In the following section, we shall attempt to sketch some of the semantic shifts that are specific to German traditions of the STATE BODY metaphor.

German political bodies Luther’s use of the STATE-BODY metaphor, the uses by Henry VIII, Shakespeare and Machiavelli, connects the common European cultural heritage of the Middle Ages with the conceptual innovations in the era of reformation and the ensuing religious wars. Two key texts indicate the major changes that the core meaning and extensions of the metaphor underwent in political theory concerning the “Holy Roman Empire of German Nation” during the latter part of that era. Four years before the outbreak of the socalled “Thirty Years War” (1618–1648), Christian Werner Friedtlieb published a didactic treatise on politics, Prudentia Politica Christiana, which introduces the metaphor in the form of simile: 25) Gleich wie der Vortreffliche Hoch: und Weitberümbte alte Philosophus Aristoteles, den Menschen der Welt vergleichet/ […] Also kann auch gar füglich und wol/eine Christliche/nützliche und gute

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Policey/dem Menschliche Cörper und desselben vornembsten Gliedmassen verglichen / und auff keine andere art und weise besser beschrieben/ sonderlich aber dem gemeinen Mann und den Leyen/ als durch solche verglichen/ und eingebildet werden. Dem Häupt wird billich verglichen der Herr un Regent eines jeden Landes. Dann gleich wie ein jeder Mensch nur ein Häupt hat/in welchem ist das Gehirn/darin der Verstandt […] ist/die Augen/welche alles […] sehen: Also muss nothwendig eine christliche/nützliche und gute Policey einen Herrn und Regenten haben […]. (Prudentia Politica Christiana, Das ist: Beschreibung einer Christlichen/ Nützlichen und guten Policey/wie dieselbe beschaffen sein solle/auch mit Gottes hülffe in gutem Zustande erhalten werden könne. Durch Vergleichung deren mit dem Menschlichen Körper und dessen vornembsten Gliedmassen und Eigenschafften, Goslar 1614; quoted after Frühsorge 1974: 63) As in Luther’s treatise, the state (“policey”) is conceived by Friedtlieb as a Christian polity. However, whereas Luther established worldly rule as being duty-bound to pervade the body politic because it is a specifically Christian community, Friedtlieb’s argument is phrased as a functional analogy: the necessity of a sole regent controlling the state is justified through the metaphor of the “monarchy” as one head, comprising the brain, the mind and all-seeing eyes, “ruling” over the rest of the body and ensuring its unity of purpose and action. By 1667, half a century later, the ideal of a unified Christian commonwealth in the “Holy Roman Empire” had given way to a devastating diagnosis of its post-war impotence and chaos. In his treatise, On the State of the German Empire, first published in Latin under the pseudonym of Severinus de Monzambano, Samuel von Pufendorf (1632–1694) gave his verdict that the Empire was beset by several deadly diseases:4 26) Nihil ergo aliud restat, quam ut dicamus Germaniam esse irregulare aliquod corpus et monstro simile, siquidem ad regulas scientiae civilis exigatur […]. (Es bleibt uns also nichts anderes übrig, als das deutsche Reich, wenn man es nach den Regeln der Wissenschaft von der Politik klassifizieren will, einen irregulären und einem

4

In his Leviathan of 1651, Thomas Hobbes had provided a full list of political illnesses and diseases, which combines humoral, organic and mechanical body imagery; cf. Hobbes 1996: 221–230; critically: Hale 1971: 128–130; Mintz 1989; Bertmann 1991; Harris 1998: 141–143; Guldin 2000: 89–91.

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Monstrum ähnlichen Körper zu nennen [...].) (Pufendorf 1994: 199; compare Pufendorf 2007: 176) Pufendorf’s scathing criticism scandalized the contemporary public political debate as well as academic political thought (Schilling 1994: 94–95; Seidler 2007: xii–xx), and continues to exercise and excite historians to this day. (cf. Schilling 1994: 95–96; Berschin 2002; Stolleis 2004, Wilson 2006) However, the “Holy Roman Empire” — regardless of whether its “monstrosity” was seen in the sense of an ill-shaped or a doomed political body or as a fabulous creature — continued to exist and was referred to as a body throughout the 17th and 18th centuries. Even during the many PrussianAustrian wars, i.e. wars between member states of the Empire, the fiction of a unitary body and head of the Empire was not only officially upheld but prominently invoked to gain a propagandistic advantage. Frederick II of Prussia, for example, eager to justify his military offensive against Austria in the “Second Silesian War”, presented his own actions as serving only to defend the then head of the Empire, the Bavarian Emperor Charles VII, after the latter’s defeat by an Austrian army: 27) […] weder ich noch ein anderer Fürst des Reichs [würde] jemals dulden, daß man das Haupt [des teutschen Staatskörpers] dergestalt angriffe. (Friedrich II. von Preußen, 1744; quoted in Jessen 1965: 192–193) When the German “Holy Roman” Empire finally collapsed in 1806 in the wake of repeated military triumphs of Napoleon’s French Empire, the last Emperor, Francis II, accused the West German states that had changed sides and formed the so-called “Confederation of the Rhine” (Rheinbund) under the French Emperor’s protection of having broken the bonds that united the Imperial political body; as a consequence he regarded the role of Head of the Empire, which he had previously filled, as defunct, and himself as absolved from carrying out its duties: 28) Wir erklären […], dass Wir das Band, welches uns bis jetzt an den Staatskörper des deutschen Reichs gebunden hat, als gelöst [und] das reichsoberhauptliche Amt und Würde […] als erloschen […] betrachten. (Kaiser Franz II, Abdankungs-Erklärung, quoted in Hofmann 1976: 395) In their own declaration of secession from the Empire, the “Rheinbund” confederates also stated that the bonds that were supposed to keep together the different members of the Empire as one body, were now dissolved.

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However, unsurprisingly they did not accept responsibility for this, but explained that the wars chiefly fought between Austria and France (all of which had been won by Napoleon) had demonstrated this “truth” so abundantly that there was no point in prolonging the agony: 29) Die Begebenheiten der letzten drei Kriege […] haben die […] Wahrheit in das hellste Licht gesetzt, dass das Band, welches bisher die verschiedenen Glieder des deutschen Staatskörpers miteinander vereinigen sollte […] in der That schon aufgelöst sei. […] vergeblich suchte man Deutschland mitten im deutschen Reichskörper. (Erklärung der rheinischen Bundesstaaten über ihren Austritt aus dem Reich, 1806; quoted in Hofmann 1976: 392–393) The body imagery here is used to declare the dissolution of a specific body politic, i.e. the Holy Roman Empire, that had existed since the Middle Ages, in terms of human corporeal death. The Empire as a Staats- or Reichskörper is a corpse, a body devoid of life, soul, and any true identity that would be worth fighting for. The term “Reichskörper” in particular seems to highlight this sense of emptiness: it exists only as a shell, as the remains of a oncealive imperial body that is no more. The term “Staatskörper” has a less specific, wider reference. The term could denote any form of state in German political philosophy at the turn of th th the 18 /19 centuries. Immanuel Kant (1724–1804) and Christoph Martin Wieland (1733–1813), for instance, employed it in their designs for worldpeace and a cosmopolitan world-culture, published just a few years before the outbreak of the French Revolution: 30) Endlich wird selbst der Krieg allmählig […] ein so bedenkliches Unternehmen, dabei der Einfluß, den jede Staatserschütterung in unserem durch seine Gewerbe so sehr verketteten Welttheil auf alle anderen Staaten thut, so merklich : daß sich diese, durch ihre eigene Gefahr gedrungen, […] zu einem künftigen großen Staatskörper anschicken […]. Obgleich dieser Staatskörper für jetzt nur noch sehr im rohen Entwurfe dasteht, so fängt sich dennoch gleichsam schon ein Gefühl in allen Gliedern, deren jedem an der Erhaltung des Ganzen gelegen ist, an zu regen […]. (Kant [1784], Idee zu einer allgemeinen Geschichte in weltbürgerlicher Absicht; in Kant 1983, vol. 9: 47)5

5

Kant also uses the NATION STATE target concept of Staatskörper, in addition to his utopian vision of the world state. (cf. ibid.: 42, 48)

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31) […] dem menschlichen Geschlecht überhaupt und jedem Volke, jedem einzelnen Staatskörper und jedem einzelnen Menschen insbesondre [ist] daran gelegen, daß solcher Beyträge [zur Erd- und Völkerkunde, oder, mit Einem Worte, zur Menschenkenntniß] recht viele in dem allgemeinen Magazine der menschlichen Kenntnisse niedergelegt werden. (Wieland [1785] 2000, see: ) Kant and Wieland both highlighted the “personal” interests and responsibilities of states as political bodies; the concrete bodily source aspect of the metaphor plays little if any role in their abstract conceptualization. However, at about the same time as their formulation of a utopia of a cosmopolitan enlightenment and global/eternal peace, a new interpretation of the STATEBODY metaphor was introduced into German thought that would prove to be historically more influential, and fateful: the idea (and ideal) of the nation state as an ethnic, i.e. “natural” entity. In his German Museum and Ideas for a Philosophy of the History of Humanity, Johann Gottfried Herder (1744– 1803) put forward the idea of a national physiology: 32) Unsere ganze mittlere Geschichte ist Pathologie, meistens Pathologie des Kopfes, d. i. des Kaisers und einiger Reichsstände. Physiologie des ganzen Nationalkörpers — was für ein ander Ding! (Johann Gottfried Herder [1777]. Deutsches Museum. Von Ähnlichkeit der mittleren englischen und deutschen Dichtkunst, nebst Verschiednem, das daraus folget; quoted in Schmitz-Berning 2000: 667) Herder here expresses a radically innovative interest in every nation and language as organic wholes and, consequently, in their physiological explanation. However, it was also he who first employed the physiological perspective to describe “the Jews” as a parasitical plant or growth on other nations: 33) Das Volk Gottes, dem einst der Himmel selbst sein Vaterland schenkte, ist Jahrtausende her, ja fast seit seiner Entstehung eine parasitische Pflanze auf den Stämmen anderer Nationen […]. (Herder [1787], Ideen zur Philosophie der Geschichte der Menschheit, 3. Theil, Buch 12, Kap. 3; quoted in Schmitz-Berning 2000: 460) 34) Die Juden betrachten wir hier nur als eine parasitische Pflanze, die sich beinahe allen europäischen Nationen angehängt und mehr oder minder von ihrem Saft an sich gezogen hat. (Herder [1791], Ideen

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zur Philosophie der Geschichte der Menschheit, 4. Theil, Buch 16, Kap.; quoted in Schmitz-Berning 2000: 460–461) When comparing such formulations with later 19th and 20th century antiSemitic voices, it is important to bear in mind that to Herder did not (yet) connect the concept of the PARASITE with the idea of a HUMAN BODY: the HOST of the Jewish parasite in his view was supposed to be a plant, e.g. a TREE. The source domain for NATION-BODY metaphor was the science of botany, not human physiology. Though the two domains are closely related it would be misleading, as Isaiah Berlin has pointed out, to equate them and lump Herder’s use with later racist versions of the NATION-BODY concept: in Herder’s perspective, there was “no Favoritenvolk”; “his use of ‘organic’ and ‘organism’ [was] still wholly metaphorical.” (Berlin 1976: 198) Soon, however, the combination of body and parasite imagery in the context of “naturalized” concepts of society and history became a potent mixture that prepared the German public for racially based anti-Semitism. Once the PARASITE concept was mapped onto a HUMAN BODY frame, the focus shifted to its alleged, incontrovertibly destructive, poisonous effect on the HOST, as in the following passages from late 19th century anti-Semitic texts by Adolf Stoecker (1835–1909), preacher at the Imperial Court in Berlin, and Eugen Karl Dühring (1833–1921): 35) Das moderne Judentum ist ein fremder Blutstropfen in unserem Volkskörper; es ist eine verderbliche, nur verderbliche Macht. (Stöcker, Rede am 04.02.1880; quoted in Schmitz-Berning 2000: 667–668) 36) Der Jude ist demnach an seinem eigensten Platz, wo er der Parasit einer […] Korruption zu werden vermag. Wo er sich im Fleische der Völker nach seiner Art am behaglichsten fühlt, da sehe man wohl zu, ob es noch gesund ist. (Dühring, Die Judenfrage als Racen-, Sitten- und Culturfrage 1881; quoted in Schmitz-Berning 2000: 461) From these statements it was not a long way to the explicitly genocidal conclusions drawn in Hitler’s Mein Kampf: if “the Jew” is a parasite, and if parasites are bent on destroying their host at all cost, then the host body has to eliminate all parasite bodies to the last, if it wants to survive at all: 37) Er ist und bleibt der typische Parasit, ein Schmarotzer […]. Die Wirkung seines Daseins aber gleicht ebenfalls dem von Schmarotzern: wo er auftritt stirbt das Wirtsvolk nach kürzerer oder längerer Zeit ab. (Hitler, Mein Kampf 1933: 334)

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Once the National Socialists were in power, the metaphor scenario of Germany as a national body suffering from disease, “the Jew” as the parasite that had caused the disease, and the extermination of parasites/Jews as the cure, served as the chief vehicle in their propaganda to justify the destruction of Jewish communities in Germany and, during World War II, in Europe. (Schmitz-Berning 2000; Hawkins 2001; Chilton 2005; Rash 2005, 2006; Musolff 2007) Studies of contemporary racist and far-right wing discourse also show evidence of this kind of racialist “parasitology”. (Jäger 1989, Pörksen 2000, Koenigsberg 2005) Do we not, therefore, have to conclude that the STATE-BODY metaphor, at least since it was applied to nations as ethno-cultural entities, did — and does — have a quasi-immanent tendency to turn into a nationalist/ xenophobic conceptual complex that only needs to be supplemented by the parasite concept to become virulently genocidal? Are we perhaps dealing with a metaphoric “virus of the mind” (Dawkins 2004) that derives its special power from its universal experiential basis? It may seem almost too easy to draw such a conclusion and thus confirm the strong version of bodybased metaphors in political thought and discourse, i.e. that it is largely independent of social and discursive history, albeit at the cost of denouncing the metaphor (and possibly its users) as a genocide-facilitating concept. However, before we jump to that conclusion, two caveats are called for. Firstly: if the “socio-hygienic” (= effectively genocidal) implications of the STATE-BODY metaphor were as universal and automatic as such an interpretation would have them be, why did they only manifest themselves so prominently in Nazi discourse and politics and not many times more frequently during the metaphor’s long conceptual career? Secondly: a wealth of evidence from the history of culture and science (cf. Sontag 1978, Weindling 1989, Weikart 2004) can be cited to show that the development of medical knowledge has had a major impact on the metaphor’s infamous uses in the 20th century, insofar as its application to justify “eliminatory” race policies seems to depend on recent developments in human parasitology and invasive surgical and immunological therapies. The generic, experiencebased STATE-BODY metaphor as it has been universally available (and documented over two millennia) cannot be the sole conceptual source for these specific uses. We must therefore acknowledge that specific sociohistorical factors have to be taken into consideration for the motivation of the argumentative and practical conclusions drawn from the metaphor in a given period. Furthermore, in the case of Nazi usage, there is also evidence that in a national discourse community and even in international political discourse there is a memory of particular famous or in this case, infamous, discourse traditions. As example 14 above demonstrates, in today’s Germany, a

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politician talking about the “national body” as an ethnically/culturally homogeneous entity is vulnerable to the accusation of using xenophobic language in the tradition of nationalist, if not racist discourse.6 In an international context, the quotation from a speech by Iran’s President Ahmadinejad that appeared to advocate removing the tumour of Israel provoked world-wide outrage and comparisons with Nazi anti-Semitic discourse.7 Less explosive than the Nazi-tradition stigma but still useful in political polemic is another BODY/ILLNESS-related phrase of international political debates, namely the characterization of a nation state as “the sick man of Europe.” This expression (in its various translations) dates back the Russian Tsar Nicolas I’s depiction of the Ottoman Empire in the 19th century and is used to this day, for instance in the British and German press to highlight an alleged economic and political impotence of one’s own country or other EU member states, often with explicit reminders by journalists to their readers of the metaphor’s history. Historical indexicality of metaphors is thus not just a construct of conceptual or linguistic historians but a feature of political discourse. The “discourse memory” invoked by the press may be relatively imprecise, biased, or even wrong (like the comparable phenomena of “folk etymologies” or “false friends”), but it can clearly be demonstrated in empirical discourse data.

Conclusions The few above snapshots from almost 500 years of use of the STATE-BODY metaphor in German political discourse do not add up to a coherent semantic or pragmatic trajectory of this conceptual complex. This finding does not, however, mean that such a history cannot be written in principle but rather that the data are too limited to draw many specific conclusions. However, some findings seem to be evident. At the very least, the historical uses sketched above provide evidence, pace Peter F. Ganz, that the metaphor that has been expressed in English for the last 500 years by the phrase body politic, can be documented in German political discourse, in various lexical and phraseological variations (Staats-, Reichs-, Volks-, Nationalkörper), and that it extends over the whole semantic domain of biological, medical and 6

7

Ironically, the virus/alien body image is today sometimes applied to right wing extremists that infiltrate parts of German society; cf. Die Zeit, 24 February 2005: “[… es] ist den Rechtsextremen gelungen, […] in bestimmten Gegenden [Sachsens] tief in die Kapillaren der Gesellschaft einzudringen.” The Times, 9 December 2005.

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physiological concepts. Furthermore, given cognitive insights into the ubiquity and fundamental status of bodily experience for human conceptualization in general, the finding that it also plays a great role in political discourse across many languages comes as no surprise: it would be much stranger if the metaphor were missing from some national languages or discourse communities. From the historical perspective, we can state that around the turn of the 15th to the 16th centuries the concept of the STATE AS A (HUMAN) BODY began to be expressed in the vernacular languages of the emergent national cultures after having been coined in medieval Latin terminology long before (corpus mysticum, corpus politicum). In terms of the issue of “universality vs. cultural specificity”, we can hypothesize that this common European heritage may present a culture-specific background for later uses across most western (and western-orientated) discourse communities. In order to test this hypothesis, extensive comparative and contrastive studies are needed that would identify and explain possible cross-cultural parallels and differences in the lexical and pragmatic careers of this concept. After around 1500, national discourse communities — and their political histories — leave their mark on the concept. For German, we have found evidence of the systematic variation of conceptualizations of the Holy Roman Empire over the course of the th th th 16 , 17 and 18 centuries (with the demise of the terminology of the Reichskörper in 1806 as the result of the demise of the institution it referred to), as well as of the influence of Enlightenment and Romantic thought, the rise of “race-hygienic” applications culminating in some of the most unsavoury aspects of Nazi ideology, and recent evidence of a reflective discoursememory in German political debate. All these uses are grounded in the basic primary conceptual metaphors that allow us to think of abstract categories in terms of bodily experiences, and also in a historically identifiable European tradition of conceptualizing political, especially national, entities as human bodies. Cognitive and cultural perspectives thus do not exclude but rather complement one another. English and German can be said to share the STATE-BODY metaphor both on cognitive and historical grounds. On the other hand, they have developed characteristic traditions, which in the English case have led to the retention of a morphologically archaic phrase body politic (and to a semantic history not sketched here), whilst in German lexical differentiation and the development of reflective uses commemorating prominent and infamous uses in history reflect specific socio-cultural experiences of the German-speaking discourse community. This process does not, of course, constitute an exclusive “German” meaning of the metaphor, but it shows a range of expressive possibilities that, like any other “nationally” characteristic semantic and pragmatic phenomenon, only makes sense in its wider cultural context and

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therefore can be investigated meaningfully only in a combined, cognitive, historical and comparative approach.

Bibliography Berlin, Isaiah (1976). ‘Herder and the Enlightenment’. In: Isaiha Berlin. Vico and Herder. London: The Hogarth Press, 143–216. Berschin, Walter (2002). ‘Neulateinische Utopien im Alten Reich (1555– 1741)’. . Bertman, Martin A. (1991). Body and Cause in Hobbes: Natural and Political. Wakefield, New Hampshire: Longwood Academic. Brewer’s Dictionary of Phrase and Fable (1999). Ed. Adrian Room. London: Cassell. Büchmann, Georg (1864). Geflügelte Worte. Der Citatenschatz des deutschen Volkes. Berlin: Haude & Spener’sche Buchhandlung. Büchmann, Georg, Wilfried Hoffmann (2007). Der Neue Büchmann — st Geflügelte Worte: Der klassische Zitatenschatz. Berlin: Ullstein (1 ed. 1864). Chilton, Paul (2005). ‘Manipulation, Memes and Metaphors: The Case of Mein Kampf’. In: Louis de Saussure and Peter Schulz (eds). Manipulation and Ideologies in the Twentieth Century. Amsterdam: Benjamins, 15–43. Cordry, Harold V. (1997). The Multilingual Dictionary of Proverbs. Jefferson, North Carolina: McFarland. Dawkins, Richard (2004). ‘Viruses of the mind’. In Richard Dawkins. A Devil’s Chaplain. Selected Essays. Ed. Latha Menon. London: Phoenix, 151–172. Dhorn-van-Rossum, Gerhard and Ernst-Wolfgang Böckenförde (1978). ‘Organ, Organismus, Organisation, politischer Körper’. In: Otto Brunner, Werner Conze and Reinhart Koselleck (eds). Geschichtliche Grundbegriffe. Vol. 4. Stuttgart: Klett-Cotta, 519–622. Dobrovol’skij, Dmiitrij (1999). ‘On the cross-linguistic equivalence of idioms’. In: Chris Beedham (ed.). Langue and Parole in Synchronic and Diachronic Perspective. Oxford: Elesevier Pergamon, 203–219. Frank, Roslyn M. (2008). ‘Introduction: Socialcultural situatedness’. In: Roslyn M. Frank, René Dirven, Tom Ziemke, Enrique Bernárdez (eds). Body, Language and Mind. Vol. 2: Sociocultural Situatedness. Berlin/ New York: Mouton de Gruyter, 1–18.

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Frühsorge, Gotthardt (1974). Der politische Körper. Zum Begriff des Politischen im 17. Jahrhundert und in den Romanen Christian Weises. Stuttgart: Metzler. Ganz, Peter F. (1957). Der Einfluss des Englischen auf den Deutschen Wortschatz. Berlin: Erich Schmidt. Gibbs, Raymond W. (2006). Embodiment and Cognition. Cambridge: C.U.P. Guldin, Rainer (2000). Körpermetaphern: Zum Verhältnis von Politik und Medizin. Würzburg: Königshausen & Neumann. Hale, David (1971). The Body Politic. A Political Metaphor in Renaissance English Literature. The Hague/Paris: Mouton. Harris, Jonathan Gil (1998). Foreign Bodies and the Body Politic. Discourses of Social Pathology in Early Modern England. Cambridge: C.U.P. Hawkins, Bruce (2001). ‘Ideology, Metaphor and Iconographic Reference’. In: René Dirven, Roslyn Frank and Cornelia Ilie (eds). Language and Ideology. Volume II: Descriptive Cognitive Approaches. Amsterdam: Benjamins, 27–50. rd Hitler, Adolf (1933). Mein Kampf. 23 ed. München: Franz Eher Nachfolger. Hobbes, Thomas (1996). Leviathan. Ed. Richard Tuck. Revised ed. Cambridge: C.U.P. Hofmann, Hanns Hubert (ed.) (1976). Quellen zum Verfassungsorganismus des Heiligen Römischen Reiches Deutscher Nation, 1495–1815. Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft. Jäger, Siegfried (1989). ‘Rechtsextreme Propaganda heute’. In: Konrad Ehlich (ed.). Sprache im Faschismus. Frankfurt am Main: Suhrkamp, 289–322. Jessen Hans (ed.) (1965). Friedrich der Große und Maria Theresia in Augenzeugenberichten. Berlin/Darmstadt/Wien: Deutsche Buchgemeinschaft. Johnson, Mark (1987). The Body in the Mind. The Bodily Basis of Meaning, Imagination, and Reason. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Kant, Immanuel (1983). Werke in zehn Bänden. Ed. Wilhelm Weischedel. Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft. Kantorowicz, Ernst H. [1957] (1997). The King’s Two Bodies: A Study in Mediaeval Political Theology. Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press. Koenigsberg, Richard (2005). ‘Genocide as Immunology: The Psychosomatic Source of Culture’. . Kövecses, Zoltán (2002). Metaphor. A Practical Introduction. Oxford/New York: O.U.P.

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Kövecses, Zoltán (2006). Language, Mind and Culture. A Practical Introduction. Oxford/New York: O.U.P. Koschorke, Albrecht, Susanne Lüdemann, Thomas Frank, Ethel Matala de Mazza (2007). Der fiktive Staat. Konstruktionen des politischen Körpers in der Geschichte Europas. Frankfurt am Main: Fischer. Lakoff, George and Mark Johnson (1980). Metaphors we live by. Chicago/ London: Chicago University Press. Lakoff, George and Mark Johnson (1999). Philosophy in the Flesh. The embodied Mind and its Challenge to Western Thought. New York: Basic Books. Luther, Martin [1520] (1917). ‘An den christlichen Adel deutscher Nation von des christlichen Standes Besserung’. In: Arnold E. Berger (ed.). Luthers Werke. 3 vols. Leipzig/Wien: Bibliographisches Institut, 147– 236. Lyons, John (1977). Semantics. 2 vols. Cambridge: C.U.P. Machiavelli, Niccolò (2003). The Discourses. Edited with an Introduction by Bernard Crick using the translation of Leslie J. Walker, S.J. with revisions by Brian Richardson. London: Penguin. Mieder, Wolfgang (1986). Encyclopedia of World Proverbs. Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice-Hall. Mintz, Samuel I. (1989). ‘Leviathan as Metaphor’. In: Hobbes Studies 2: 3–9. Musolff, Andreas (2004). Metaphor and Political Discourse. Analogical Reasoning in Debates about Europe. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan. Musolff, Andreas (2007). ‘Which role do metaphors play in racial prejudice? — The function of anti-Semitic imagery in Hitler’s Mein Kampf’. In: Patterns of Prejudice 41 (1), 21–44. Nedermann, Cary J. (ed.) (1992). Medieval political thought — A Reader: The quest for the body politic. London/New York: Routledge. Nederman, Cary J. and Kate Langdon Forhan (eds) (1993). Readings in Medieval Political Theory 1100–1400. Indianapolis/Cambridge: Hackett Publishing. Niemeier, Susanne (2000). ‘Straight from the heart — metonymic and metaphorical explorations’. In: Antonio Barcelona (ed.). Metaphor and Metonymy at the Crossroads. A Cognitive Perspective. Berlin: Mouton de Gruyter, 195–213. Pauwels, Paul and Anne-Marie Simon-Vandenbergen (1995). ‘Body parts in linguistic action: Underlying schemata and value judgements’. In: Louis Goossens, Paul Pauwels, Brygida Rudzka-Ostyn, Anne-Marie SimonVandenbergen and Johan Vanparys (eds) By Word of Mouth: Metaphor, Metonymy and Linguistic Action in Cognitive Perspective. Amsterdam: Benjamins, 35–69.

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Peil, Dietmar (1985). Der Streit der Glieder mit dem Magen. Studien zur Überlieferung und Deutungsgeschichte der Fabel des Menenius Agrippa von der Antike bis ins 20. Jahrhundert. Frankfurt am Main etc.: Lang. Pizan, Christine de (1994). The Book of the Body Politic. Edited and translated by Kate Langdon Forhan. Cambridge: C.U.P. Pörksen, Bernhard (2000). Die Konstruktion von Feindbildern. Zum Sprachgebrauch in neonazistischen Medien. Wiesbaden: Westdeutscher Verlag. Pufendorf, Samuel von (1994). Die Verfassung des deutschen Reiches. Translated by Horst Denzer. Frankfurt am Main: Insel Verlag. Pufendorf, Samuel von (2007). The Present State of Germany. Transl. Edmund Bohun, ed. Michael J. Seidler. Indianapolis: Liberty Fund. Pullum, Geoffrey K. (1991). The Great Eskimo Vocabulary Hoax and other Irreverent Essays on the Study of Language. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press. Rash, Felicity (2005). ‘Metaphor in Hitler’s Mein Kampf’. In: metaphorik.de 9, 74–111. Rash, Felicity (2006). The Language of Violence. Adolf Hitler’s Mein Kampf. New York/Bern/Frankfurt a. M.: Lang. Röhrich, Lutz (2001). Das grosse Lexikon der sprichwörtlichen Redensarten. Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft. Sabban, Annette and Jan Wirrer (eds) (1991). Sprichwörter und Redensarten im interkulturellen Vergleich. Opladen: Westdeutscher Verlag. Schilling, Heinz (1994). Höfe und Allianzen. Deutschland 1648–1763. Berlin: Siedler. Schmitz-Berning, Cornelia (2000). Vokabular des Nationalsozialismus. Berlin/New York: W. de Gruyter. Seidler, Michael J. (2007). ‘Introduction’. In: Samuel von Pufendorf. The Present State of Germany. Indianapolis: Liberty Fund, ix–xxvii. Shakespeare, William (1983). Coriolanus. In: W.J. Craig (ed.) The Complete Works of William Shakespeare. London: Pordes, 758–797. Skinner, Quentin (1978). The Foundations of Modern Political Thought. Cambridge: C.U.P. Sontag, Susan (1978). Illness as Metaphor. New York: Vintage Books. th Stolleis, Michael (2004). The “Respublica mixta” in the 17 Century: on the Reception of the Ideal of a Mixed Constitution in Germany. . Wierzbicka, Anna (1997). Understanding Cultures through their Key Words. Oxford: O.U.P. Weikart, Richard (2004) From Darwin to Hitler. Evolutionary Ethics, Eugenics, and Racism in Germany. Basingstoke: Palgrave-Macmillan. Weindling, Paul (1989). Health, Race and German Politics Between National Unification and Nazism, 1870–1945. Cambridge: C.U.P.

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Wieland, Christoph Martin [1785] (2000). Über die Rechte und Pflichten der Schriftsteller, in Absicht ihrer Nachrichten und Urtheile über Nazionen, Regierungen, und andere öffentliche Gegenstände. . Wilson, Peter H. (2006). ‘Still a Monstrosity? Some Reflections on Early Modern German Statehood’. In: The Historical Journal 49/2, 565–576.

English and German in the Grand Duchy of Luxembourg: Language, Culture, Business Markus Oliver Spitz, English World Institute (Luxembourg)

Introduction Luxembourg is a country in which some forty per cent of the population is non-native, with migrants coming from France, Belgium, Germany and Portugal. To preserve and strengthen their sense of (national) identity in the face of such linguistic diversity, Luxembourgers have made considerable efforts to maintain and expand the significance of Lëtzebuergesch, which was declared the national language (with German and French as official languages) in 1984. This raises the issue whether Luxembourg’s trilingualism could be seen as part of a model for the future linguistic development in a larger European Union. This paper aims to focus on English and German. In this context we will examine the role that both play in the culture of the Grand Duchy, notably in the media, in the educational system, and at work. In order to back up findings, a questionnaire was sent to fifty companies.

Outline of the socio-linguistic Situation Luxembourg’s current social structure shows that of 476,000 inhabitants (in 2007), 198,300 are foreigners and that the 73,000 Portuguese migrants form the largest minority. (STATEC 2007: 9)1 In addition to those that settled in the Grand Duchy there are the frontaliers, who commute to Luxembourg daily from France, Belgium and Germany and count about 130.000. Finally, it is not to be forgotten that Luxembourg is a tourist destination popular with Europeans and overseas visitors alike thanks to its location, history, and impact on the European scale. Statistics show that 970,000 tourists came to visit in 2006. (STATEC 2007: 24)

1

Substantial Portuguese immigration began in the 1960s. I can only allude here to the role of the Catholic Church when channelling recruitment in favour of immigrants of Catholic faith.

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These facts continue to have an impact on the marché linguistique. Historically speaking, the dominant language in Luxembourg since 1839 has been German, with French mainly used in the administrative and legal domains. Still, for many Luxembourgers today, German is a “langue mal aimée ou aimée à contrecœur.” (Berg and Weis 2005: 10f) As a result, the impact of German has diminished but it remains the language of alphabetization and has kept a certain position in written language usage. The French language, too, was regarded with some suspicion after the Second World War and cultural dominance of “French French” over French acquired as a foreign language was feared. Since the 1960s, however, French as langue d’intégration or “vernacular language” became increasingly important. (Berg and Weis 2005: 48)2 English is definitely acknowledged as the most important international language as a recent newspaper poll has revealed, in which almost two thirds of the participants gave English priority in this respect. English is also firmly rooted in the curriculum but it is not anchored in everyday communication as are French and German.

Modern Languages in the Educational System In general, primary schooling is trilingual, with eight hours of German in the first year but only one hour of Lëtzebuergesch, and French only being introduced during year two. Towards the end of primary education, there is a slight domination of French (with seven hours) over German (five hours). Still, High German remains the language of instruction throughout, since practically all the school books are printed in that language. Exempt from that rule are only those instances when teachers turn to Lëtzebuergesch as a “short-cut” in class and, obviously, French lessons. Secondary education exists either in the form of enseignement technique or classique. In technique, English is introduced in the second year with a total of six hours per week. (Berg and Weis: 76) The strand called classique allows seven pathways of specialization: Social Sciences, Music, Art, Business and Mathematics, Natural Sciences and Mathematics, IT and Mathematics, and, finally, Modern Languages. During the whole of the school career around half of all the teaching is dedicated to languages. 2

According to a recent survey, French is also the favourite medium among foreigners when communicating with other foreigners, with English far behind Lëtzebuergesch, German, and Italian. (Anon 2007, ‘L’usage et l’enseignement des langues’, Diagram 2: 51; see also diagram 11: 54)

English and German in the Grand Duchy of Luxembourg

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(Boisseau 2003: 4) In comparison with recent trends in England, it is also worth mentioning that French, German, and English are obligatory modules. There are also number of private schools, for example the European School, where (in most subjects) students are taught in their respective mother tongue before they have to choose between French, English or German), and the Lycée Vauban, which focuses on the French curriculum but also uses German in the classroom. (Francis 2007) As far as tertiary education is concerned, Luxembourg University has increased in size since 2003 and currently has about 4,000 students.3 It is divided into the faculties of Law, Economics and Finance; Language and Literature, Humanities, Arts and Education; Science, Technology and Communication. These intend to counterbalance the (traditional) tendency among the young to study abroad. (Berg and Weis, 62) With the help of comparatively low student fees of one hundred Euro per term and an international line-up of academic staff, the university is trying to attract Luxembourgish and international students alike. It also exploits its links with local businessses. As a rule, courses are held in two languages (English and German; French and German; French and English). It is here that the role of English as the language of international business relations clearly manifests itself.

English in the Media With a multitude of languages in use in Luxembourg, it is no surprise that the media landscape reflects this diversity. The only exclusively English print medium is a weekly called 352. Naturally, one also has access to international papers and news providers such as Bloomberg Television. In an environment where trans-national companies compete with each other as well as for government subsidies, and where industry has been declining at the expense of the service sector, one would expect English to be rather more at the fore-front of the (business and media) languages used. At the same time, any assumption of a significant “filtering down” of genuinely English terms into Lëtzebuergesch cannot be maintained. According to recent findings by Gerald Newton, there are “extremely few English words that had not first entered German or French before being passed on through the media to Luxembourgish.”4 English is thus is less of a position to create linguistic synergies with Lëtzebuergesch than the two official and historic3 4

There is also the Miami University with about 130 students. Professor Newton in exchange with the author. For details, see Newton’s forthcoming article.

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ally anchored languages French and German, since, diachronically speaking, there is no common ground between the two and, synchronically, English is far from being the top choice in communication, be it between Luxembourgers and foreigners or even among the foreigners themselves. This, in turn, seems to diminish the number of English nationals that judge themselves capable of mastering such linguistic diversity.

Multilingualism at Work A study by Bamberg, Unsen, and Vallado (2005), which analysed competence in writing in a workforce with a Luxembourgish school background, found that employees judged their command of German (the language of alphabetization) best, followed by French, Lëtzebuergesch, and English. The lack of confidence in written Lëtzebuergesch could be interpreted in the light of variations in the orthographic system. Since this is not relevant for speech, Lëtzebuergesch comes top in that domain, followed by French, German, and English. (Bamberg et al., 42) When summing up both written and oral usage, competence in English was judged low, which is probably due to the fact that in the Grand Duchy’s educational system teaching of English is intensive but at the same time “à courte durée”. (Berg and Weis, 76) Bamberg et al subsequently examined language competence according to profession (Influence du secteur d’activité). (Bamberg et al., 43) Results showed that teachers and other staff employed in education thought highly of their competence in all four languages mentioned above; in finance, employees also judged their competence in English to be above average. From the fact that knowledge of both oral and written English is relatively poor amongst agricultural workers but relatively high amongst les cadres, one can attribute a distinctive feature to English. (Berg and Weis, 26) This represents an excellent example of the conversion of cultural into economic and social capital in the sense of Pierre Bourdieu. Such findings encourage comparison with up-to-date empirical research which is why a questionnaire was developed which is given as appendix in this paper. This questionnaire was sent to Human Resources departments in a number of companies which use French, English or German according to the language officially used in the respective company. What the questionnaire does not provide is the differentiation in between language usage “in-house” and for external purposes. Besides, it neither differentiates the workforce according to their school career nor to their position in the hierarchy (cadres, employés intermédiaires et administratifs,

English and German in the Grand Duchy of Luxembourg

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ouvriers et employés non qualifiés).5 It claims to hold valid information, though, on the composition of the workforce and officially used language(s); it hints at the importance of language(s) when it comes to recruitment; and it points towards the importance which Human Resources departments attribute to language training. The fifty companies contacted were selected from among the five hundred largest national and international firms based in the Grand Duchy.6 This list comprises 36% active in industry, 62% in the service sector and 2% in other segments. Evidently, the issue of competence in English and German is of less significance for businesses that are small-scale and mainly serve a Luxembourgish clientele. Government institutions with their implicit tendency to make Lëtzebuergesch a pre-requisite for recruitment were excluded entirely. After these preliminary remarks, we need to see who responded. With a return rate of 28% (14 replies), 28·6% (four) from industry and 71·4% (ten) from the services, the data base is limited but not so much as to prevent it exemplifying a number of linguistic trends in both sectors. This holds true particularly since the average number of employees per firm was 617, thus clearly pointing towards an international perspective, which becomes even more apparent when one looks at the composition of the workforce according to nationality.7

5 6

7

For this, see Bamberg et al., Appendix II, pp. 51ff. Adecco, Aral/BP Luxembourg, ArcelorMittal, Arendt & Medernach, Axa, BCEE, BCL, Benoy, BHW Bank, Bofferding, Broadcasting Centre Europe, Cargolux, CGFP, Citibank, Crédit Agricole, Crédit Suisse, Danske Bank, Deloitte, Deutsche Bank, Dresdner Bank, Dexia, EFA, Ernst & Young, Fama, Fiat Finance and Trade, Hanff, HSBC, IEE, ING, Ireco, KPMG, Kredietbank Luxembourg, Kuylenstierna & Skog, Laubach, Leo Energy, Luxair, MercedesBenz, Mobilux, PriceWaterhouseCoopers, Rotarex, RTL, SEB, Shell Luxembourg, Schindler, Siemens, Societé Electrique de l’Our, Sudgaz, Villeroy und Boch, P. Wagner, P. Wurth. On average, there were 1441 employees in industry and 287 in services.

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O th er

n Po rtu gu es e

Ita lia

an G er m

ch Fr en

gi an Be l

Lu xe m

bo ur gi sh

1000 900 800 700 600 500 400 300 200 100 0

Diagram 1: Workforce according to nationality (average of all replies in absolute numbers, n=3069)8

Whilst in industry, the Luxembourgers and the Germans form a large majority, in the service sector it is French that is by far the most popular language. The Germans are under-represented (14%) but not as much as the English. In the case of both latter nationalities, the decision whether to work in Luxembourg or not seems to be influenced, amongst other factors, by the level of French language competence. This becomes more apparent when one takes a closer look at the languages that were officially used.

th er O

Lu xe m bo ur gi sh

G er m an

h En gl is

Fr en ch

100 80 60 40 20 0

Diagram 2: Officially used languages, multiple answers permitted (in %)

8

The Human Resources of ArcelorMittal could not provide such information.

English and German in the Grand Duchy of Luxembourg

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Even though the English language features prominently in this graph, it is not surprising that in most of the companies in question more than one language was officially acknowledged. Findings revealed that only a relatively small number of companies used only one language (35·7%), with 21·4% using at least two languages and the majority (42·85%) using three. This trend was proven to be stronger in industry (where 75% of the companies in question used three or more languages) than in the services (where the figure was only 30%). However, in both industry and services, French was the dominant language followed by English. German was used as frequently as French and English as an official language in industry, but fell behind in the service sector. One reason why we apparently find so few native English employees in both industry and the services, despite the strong role that the English language plays in the working environment, might be the issue of general foreign language competence, which, according to the questionnaire, was judged essential when recruiting (and, implicitly, to perform duties effectively once employed) by more than 90% of the companies in question. According to Human Resources departments, in this respect English was the most significant language by far (90%) in the service sector; both French and German followed with 60% each. In industry, the picture looked different, with German coming top (with 100%), followed by French and Lëtzebuergesch (75% each), and English scoring only 50%. If it remains true that, particularly in the service sector, knowledge of English is essential, it is not sufficient for Luxembourgers to know only English. This is because outside the service sector companies usually use more than one official language, and business is far from being carried out exclusively (or even predominantly) in English. The answers to Question 7 clearly revealed that, without exception, the Human Resources departments responded positively to the fact that foreign languages “play the part in business relations” that they do. Almost two thirds (64·3%) even stated that, for them, this was a “key issue”. It seems only natural that, against this background, more than 90% of the companies in question offer language training to their employees. Once again, it is useful to differentiate in between the two economic sectors to see which languages were given preference. The following diagram illustrates language training in the service sector:

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h is ed Sw

D

ut

ch

n Ita lia

Lu xe m bo ur gi sh

Sp an is h

Fr en ch

G er m an

En

gl

is h

100 90 80 70 60 50 40 30 20 10 0

Diagram 3: Foreign language training offered in the services sector (in %); multiple answers permitted

Here, the range of languages made available reflects the international orientation in the services. Still, if there is a clear trend towards English this reveals only that what is offered in terms of training is what Human Resources departments believe to be necessary. In industry, with its homogeneous triad of Luxembourgers, Germans and French, who between them accounted for almost 90% of all employees in that sector, the need for and the variety of language training was considerably smaller. As a rule, German tuition will be offered to the French and the Belgians; French to the German workforce; English to the French and, to a lesser degree, the Germans. Luxembourgers, if anything, are given English language training.

Summary For both Luxembourgers and the foreign workforce, the role of English as dominant international business language is well established. Since, however, English features more in the services than in industry, and much more at work than in private, the role of English is largely restricted to being a tool in business relations, however prestigious its possession might be for the user. But even in professional life, and here mainly in industry, it is German that remains a similarly powerful instrument. If it is true that “le multilinguisme est la langue maternelle cachée de beaucoup de luxembourgeois” (Berg and Weis, 33), this in no way means

English and German in the Grand Duchy of Luxembourg

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that Luxembourgers consider English a language they would necessarily use in everyday communication. It is adequate to uphold the view that they feel most comfortable when using Lëtzebuergesch in the circle of family and friends and otherwise French, even though it is German that remains their language of alphabetization. What could prove a model in a European context is the Luxembourgish curriculum with its strong focus on modern foreign languages, even though this is rooted in the country’s particular geographic and historical situation. The fact that, in this respect, competence in foreign languages is no more than average among Luxembourgish graduates is evidently related to the impact of migration as well as certain limitations in the training of teachers. This acknowledged, a multilingual curriculum in an EU founding state remains a politically significant signal when it comes to the necessity to be operational in at least two languages in addition to one’s mother tongue.

Bibliography Anon (2007). ‘L’usage et l’enseignement des langues’. In: Le Jeudi. 17 April (= Cinquième cahier), 49–54. Bamberg, M., Unsen, M. & Vallado, D. (2005). Enquête sur l’emploi des langues au travail. Analyse et Résultats, Ministère de l’Éducation et de la Formation professionnelle, Service de Coordination de la Recherche et de l’Innovation pédagogiques et technologiques. Luxembourg. Berg, Charles & Weis, Christiane (2005). Sociologie de l’enseignement des langues dans un environnement multilingue. Rapport national en vue de l’élaboration du profil des politiques éducatives linguistiques luxembourgeoises. Ministère de l’Éducation et de la Formation professionnelle et Centre d’études sur la situation des jeunes en Europe. Luxembourg. Boisseau, Marie (2003). A propos…des langues. Service information et presse du gouvernement du Grand-Duché de Luxembourg. Luxembourg. Francis, Cassandra (2007). ‘Seize the future — Luxembourg’s international schools’. In: 352. 13 September, 20–23. Newton, Gerald (forthcoming). ‘The English influence on Luxembourgish’. In: Falco Pfalzgraf (ed.). Englischer Sprachkontakt in den Varietäten des Deutschen / English Contact with Varieties of German. Vienna/ Frankfurt a. M.: Lang. STATEC (ed.) (2007). Le Luxembourg en chiffres. .

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Appendix: Questionnaire 0.

Company name:

1.

Economic sector:

2.

Number of employees:

3.

Composition of workforce (nationalities in %):

4.

Officially used language(s):

5.

Is competence in (foreign) languages a criterion for you when hiring employees? Yes

6.

If yes, competence in which language(s) is of particular interest to you: English

7.

French German

Luxembourgish

No

If yes, how important do you judge that part to be? It is one Qualification among others

9.

Portuguese others

In your opinion, does competence in foreign languages play a part in the business relations that you have? Yes

8.

No

It is a key issue

At the moment, are you offering professional language training to employees? Yes

No

10. If yes, for what target language? 11. If not, do you intend to offer such training in the foreseeable future? Yes

No

Constructing Germany: The German Nation in Anglo-German Grammars of the 18th Century Fredericka van der Lubbe, University of Sydney (Australia)

According to Panayi (1999: 29), “[b]y 1800, a series of institutions had developed amongst the Germans in Britain, so that a German ethnicity formed, which expanded further in the following one hundred years.” This identity was possibly a self-perception, but would have also been an ethnicity observable by others. While this was a naturally emerging image of German identity forming in the diaspora during the period leading up to 1800, we can see in a corpus of 21 German grammars for the English dating from 1680– 1800 that associations with Germany and a Germanness were also deliberately constructed through various strategies by successive grammarians in England in order to make German a more desirable language to learn. Here I build on ideas developed in an earlier paper published in the journal AUMLA in which I looked at the factor of prestige across 17 English-language German grammars. (van der Lubbe 2007) For the present paper, as stated above, I use a similar corpus to the AUMLA paper, with 21 grammars. The way in which an image of German language and Germany was shaped during this period in particularly interesting as it predates the Gerth man identity-building exercises led by intellectuals of the late 18 and early th 19 century such as Herder and Fichte. This process is treated in greater detail by Liah Greenfeld. (1992: 275–395) Yet foreign-language grammarians assumed a similar task of raising the status of German language and culture, distilling and defining what German nature was, identifying certain cultural manifestations as peculiarly German while working within certain defined political parameters. In short, expatriate grammarians were defining what German was, long before it became a thorny issue for German intellecttuals at home, albeit for a different readership. It is important perhaps at this stage to point out that learners of German obviously never benefited from the cumulative effect of all the textbooks at the same time. I argue, however, that the influence of these books did not remain discrete but was, to some small extent, cumulative. Learners would encounter probably only one textbook at a time — but textbook writers, who were usually also teachers, were usually aware of the textbooks which preceded their own and sometimes stated so explicitly — Offelen (1686: sig. O1), for example, was aware of Aedler’s work; Beiler (1731: sig. A3) was aware of Offelen’s work; Berg (1798: IV) was aware of Albrecht’s work

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(1786), and both Wendeborn (1774: ix) and Noehden (1800: Advertisement: 9) speak of their predecessors without naming them explicitly. We can therefore speak of a tradition — a body of strategies and suitable materials resident in the teacher — so that teachers on one hand were responsible for transmitting or withholding a restricted set of strategies which I identify in the series of grammars; on the other hand, the grammar which a learner used also had a direct influence in constructing elements of a German identity. And at different times over the 18th century, the German language and Germany were styled differently in response to influences on the continent and in England. German was styled as standardized; the pronunciation was modelled for part of the 17th and most of the 18th century on Saxon; Germany was styled as powerful, enduring and imperial, and to an extent, unified, and the German language was both royal and, much later, literary.

Standardization The grammarians present a surprisingly unified picture of the prestige variety of German. One of the main problems confronting all grammarians is the selection of norms. In the 17th century this question was particularly acute, because the language was not completely standardized. There were many grammarians competing with their own version of a correct German grammar. In particular there was a dispute between followers of the Saxon dialect as the most prestigious, and the North German courts, who wished to take part in the process of standardization and who were speakers of Luther’s German, but, as had a different dialectal substrate, they did not want to be excluded on the basis of their own regionally-coloured German.1 In support of the North German courts, the grammarian and lawyer Justus Georg Schottelius composed a grammar which conceptualized German as an ideal, standing above the dialects, to which the North German courts could readily contribute. Schottelius’s grammar, although it was the most influential and compendious of the 17th century grammars, did not manage to diminish the loyalty of speakers to Saxon as a model for pronunciation. However, the standard shifted. When we turn to the Anglo-German grammarians, we find that very consistently, 10 of the 13 over the course of the 18th century adhere to Saxon as a prestige model. The first of these, Aedler, makes it explicit that his grammar is based on what he calls the neatest dialect of the German mother-language (1680: title page), and that this is 1

The story of a standardized pronunciation is documented in Kohn (1951) and by Herbert Blume, reported in Drösser (2000).

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based on the language of what he calls the very Athens of Germany, Halle, where the head of the Fruchtbringende Gesellschaft resides. (Aedler ibid.: 35) This is not particularly remote in time from Schottelius’s grammar and Aedler was in fact heavily influenced by Schottelius’s work. But the crucial difference in Aedler’s approach is that German is not conceptualized as above the dialects but as a part of them, albeit a sociolect spoken by the better classes in Saxony. All the grammarians who treat pronunciation up to the time of Render recommend the pronunciation of a as aw — a pronunciation approximating that in Saxon. Four of these same grammarians (Aedler, Offelen, Beiler and in the second half of the century, Albrecht) explicitly refer to Saxony as having the prestige dialect. One grammar, the anonymous True Guide of 1758, recommends pronunciation after the written model of good writers, and criticizes pronunciation after the provincial customs. (Anon 1758: 27– 28) It is not until 1799 that Render first recommends the pronunciation of a as the exclamation ah!, and disagrees with the pronunciation of a as aw. (Render 1799: 2) In 1800 Noehden does the same. He recommends the pronunciation of a as ah as in father (Noehden 1800: 26), but recommends both Saxon and the language of the North German towns Hamburg, Brunswick, Hannover and Göttingen as models. (Noehden ibid.: 13–14) But obviously the selection of a model was such a critical question at this time that Noehden begins his grammar with a long discourse on the two principal varieties of German, Oberdeutsch and Niederdeutsch, pointing out the main dialectal faults of the Upper Saxon and Lower Saxon dialects, as distinct from the “high” language (Noehden ibid.: 18–21), and he assembles a history of the German language, so that “a proper notion will be obtained of the different Dialects of Germany, and of that, in particular, which finally has been adopted as the general language throughout the whole country.” (Noehden ibid.: 1) Thus this type of knowledge was considered useful in the diaspora as a means of shaping English perceptions of what constituted good German. Finally, Crabb, also in 1800, follows Noehden with a as in ah, Abel or th aber. (Crabb 1800a: 1) So the turn of the 19 century is definitively also the start of the turn to the North German pronunciation as a model. Other, competing regional usages also entered the earlier picture of German; nearly all the grammarians reflect the fact to some minor extent that German was and still is a strongly regionalized language by mentioning the use of different genders for nouns and some regional variations in vocabulary. In particular, Bachmair’s choice of vocabulary (die Pomeranze, der Erdapfel, die Kukumer and the alternatives Sonnabend/Samstag and Januarius/Jenner) (Bachmair 1771: 159–160) is more southern in nature than the other grammars, without detracting from the Saxon message.

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It is interesting to compare the publication of grammars for learners of German in England with the way in which the knowledge of the history of the language was publicly transmitted in Germany. It was not until 1805 that Georg Friedrich Benecke had the first Professorship in German Philology in Göttingen, followed by Friedrich Heinrich von der Hagen in Berlin in 1807. German philology was useful knowledge in the diaspora before it was officially recognized in Germany and was an asset in selecting good models for pronunciation, as well as establishing a more well-read approach to teaching German. There was also the complicating factor of other non-standardized manifestations in the grammar, particularly certain types of spellings not associated with regional forms. Aedler, who used a non-standard type of orthography in any case — particularly the avoidance of the letter C, which was thought to be non-German — is the most extreme case in point, but even he criticized the widespread alternating use of zz for tz, as in the word sezzen (setzen). (Aedler 1680: 10) We can still see the extent to which this type of spelling variation caused problems for the learner at the end of the period in question. And regarding this, Render makes the following statement: These, and many more inaccuracies, are of little consequence to German readers, but cause very serious difficulty and disgust to the foreign learner, especially where words occur in the book which he is reading, that are spelt differently from what they are in the dictionary, or, as I have sometimes found, differing in two places in the same dictionary. I have known several of my own English scholars so much discouraged with this awkward circumstance, as actually to give up learning the language. (Render 1799: 9–10)

So up to the 19th century, German was presented to the English predominantly as the educated variety of the speakers of the Saxon dialect. Overall this unified approach only minimized the unstable, regionally influenced reality of High German during this century, which appears to have been an ongoing problem for the conscientious teacher.

Politico-legal dimension Another aspect of the construction of a Germany for foreigners is the politicolegal dimension. We see this in two authors, Offelen, writing in 1686 to 1687, and Noehden, writing in 1800. Given the distance in time between the two writers’ publications and the changes in political circumstances, with declline of the Holy Roman Empire and the ascent of the Hanoverians to the English throne, it is not surprising that they presented this aspect differently.

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German is explicitly styled by Offelen as connected with the Holy Roman Empire: a powerful and enduring political language. Of all the textbooks published during the 17th century, only Offelen’s composes dialogue material that has a strong politico-legal dimension, suggesting that Offelen is preparing the learner for a more comprehensive German cultural experience, and not merely language learning. Offelen, who was a Doctor of Laws himself, prioritizes his own professional interests in selecting this material. He treats the Holy Roman Empire, its legal and religious make-up and the wars fought against it, particularly by the Turks. The other grammarian for whom a German politico-legal profile is relevant, Noehden, provides the reader with an extract from Schiller’s History of the Thirty Years’ War. (1800: 424–427) There is the strong sense, however, that this is given as an example of literature more than as a portrayal of German political history, as it appears with other literary passages. But to return to Offelen: It is suggested by Van der Will (1998: 156) that we should see Germany prior to Bismarck as neither unified in law nor unified as a people. Van der Will also suggests that German culture was relegated to a secondary status under the Latin culture of the Holy Roman Empire. (Van der Will ibid.) This is a modern, nationalist viewpoint. Offelen’s view of the Holy Roman Empire was not that German identity was subjugated to “foreign” legal institutions, the Latin being in van der Will’s view, a foreign culture, but that these institutions defined and gave shape to a Germany, with imperial laws (that is, the Codex Justinianus) overlaid like an umbrella, each country having its own laws below them: “Was für Rechten braucht man in Teutschland? Keysers Justiniani Rechten; und dabey had [sic] jedes Land seine Landbræuche.” (Offelen 1686/87: 239) For Offelen, there does not seem to be an incongruity between identity as part of the Empire and identity as a denizen of the individual German-speaking countries, much in the same way that people in Europe nowadays have an identity as Europeans, and simultaneously a national identity. Offelen refers both to the individual countries and to Germany or Teutschland, and with this, he means the Empire. The Germany which Offelen constructs for the English is not fragmented but united. Although he refers to individual countries and electors and the Circles of the Empire, including the Imperial Chambers at Speyer and Vienna, the underlying assumption is that they are part of a whole, and not to be considered separately. The plurality of centres is not an impairment but merely the organizational form at the time when Offelen was writing. The importance of the Empire in Offelen’s shaping of perceptions of Germany is further underlined by his assertion that Germans have been in possession of the Imperial Crown for some 919 years and his naming of the holders of the Imperial Crown in the House of Austria (that is, some 249

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years under Habsburg rule). (1686/7: 250f)2 But the overall impact of this passage on the possession of the Imperial Crown is to stress the enduring nature of the Empire and its longevity. For Offelen, this image of Germany is of sufficient significance to the student to justify the devotion of some 12 pages to the Empire and its laws and composition. (ibid.: 234ff) But Offelen also treats other German institutions which had a defining character abroad, namely the Hanseatic League and the Teutonic Order. Offelen’s description of the 800-strong Hanseatic League as “mæchtig”, or in English, as “potent [...] and strong” (Offelen 1686/7: 246) and continually fighting wars, particularly with Denmark, builds on the image of a powerful, united entity, which, although distinct from modern Germany, nevertheless intended to be strongly associated with the language and ethnic identity.

Royalty Later grammarians use the same strategy as Offelen to raise the profile of the German identity; while for Offelen Germany is potent and imperial, for some later grammarians learning German is connected more explicitly with the power of the Hanoverian Royal Family in England. Grammarians attach prestige to German through the association with royalty. Dedications to nobility were an extremely common thing in the earlier part of this period, and were made in order to attract financial benefit. It is not insignificant that Aedler, Offelen and Beiler dedicate their grammars to German-born nobility — in Aedler’s case Prince Rupert of the Palatine, in Offelen’s, Prince George of Denmark, and in Beiler’s case, Frederick Prince of Wales (1731) and Prince Charles Spencer (1736). However, Beiler, who was writing at the start of the Hanoverian era, suggests that learners were drawn to learn German because of the significance of royalty. In his words, this, the ascendancy of the House of Hannover, “has necessitated some, and induc’d others, of all Ranks and Degrees, reciprocally to study the British and German languages.” (1731: preface) With this, Beiler means both to draw the attention of the potential learner to the prestige and usefulness of German and simultaneously to imbue German with this prestigious connection. It is uncertain how successful Beiler’s dedication was in attracting royal endorsement, but by 1774, royal support for the learning of German was forthcoming: the first edition of Wendeborn’s grammar was “[d]edicated, by PERMISSION, to” His Royal Highness, George, Prince of Wales (who was later King George IV), tending to suggest a stronger degree of approval with 2

He omits Frederick III (1415–1493), the second of the Habsburgs.

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Royal sanction forthcoming. Thus these two grammarians managed to give German and the learning of German a royal face. We know also that George III had his own copy of Bachmair’s 1752 grammar, pristine and unread. Today it is kept in the British Library, embossed with his crest, and furnished with his bookplate.

Literary Language The final section of this paper examines how German gradually became styled by grammarians as a literary language with the same status as French. While from the 1730s onwards Beiler recommends the use of literature and particularly modern comedies as a learning strategy (1731: 286), and Bachmair uses moral passages and unattributed poetry as reading or translation practice from 1752 (1752: 302ff), the first to specifically name and recommend to the learner modern German literature and works on religion and morality, medicine, philosophy, history and digests of the latest German works is Wendeborn in 1774, who in his preface makes a concerted effort to portray German literature as equal in significance to French literature: The French, who in general are thought to be rather partial to their own productions, have lately begun to study the German language, and to think favourably of German literature; against which they formerly entertained great prejudices. Among the English the German has been hitherto very little known; but there is reason to expect, that within a few years, even in this country, so famous for the improvement and patronage of the arts and sciences, the language and the literature of the Germans will no more be looked upon with indifference. (Wendeborn 1774: viii)

His 1790 grammar also has extracts of a play by Lessing and poetry by Gellert and Hagedorn. (Wendeborn 1790:188–196; 202–208) In his revised grammar of 1797 he adds passages of contemporary poetry by Gellert and Hagedorn as reading passages. (Wendeborn 1797: 193ff) In his first grammar Wendeborn had also provided long lists of suitable authors and works for private use. (Wendeborn 1774: 153ff) He expands this list substantially in his book of Exercises in 1797. (Wendeborn 1797: 197ff) Albrecht follows suit in 1786 by providing reading and translation passages with extracts from Farquhar’s The Beaux Stratagem and Goethe’s Stella (Albrecht 1786: 216ff; 240ff), while in 1798 Berg includes extracts from the authors J.C. Nachtigal, J.F. Schink, Jonathan Swift, M. de Florian, and some examples of letters. (Berg 1798: 219–232) Render continues the practice of including literature within his grammar, particularly extracts from Kotzebue and Schiller

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(Render 1799: 196), and also produces annotated readers of contemporary literature for the English learner, thereby separating the function of reading from that of the grammar book. Like Wendeborn, Render also makes specific and copious recommendations of authors in different fields, which he annexes to his grammar. (Render ibid.: sig. P) In 1800, Noehden uses examples by the contemporary writers Wieland, Herder, Goethe3, and Schiller. (Noehden ibid.: 419–427) Crabb, on the other hand, does not use attributed literature but includes reading and translation passages for practice. (Crabb 1800b: passim) Of the later grammarians, only Uttiv stands out as not offering any literature to the learner. So particularly in the second half of the 18th century, we can see that the learning of German gradually and deliberately became associated with the availiability of good literature. From the 1770s onwards, grammarians strive to have learners read good authors and playwrights not only as a teaching strategy but also as a means of legitimation, much in the same way that German is originally associated with the prestige variety, Saxon, and then later with the North German towns; associated first with Empire and with longevity, and then with the British royalty. Throughout the 18th century the Anglo-German grammarians consistent– ly created an image of Germany for the English in which a prestigious tongue was spoken and certain cities and authors were accorded particular prestige. German is at first associated with the power and longevity of the Holy Roman Empire and later with the nobility of the Hanoverians. Certain grammarians, such as Offelen and Noehden, provide information to the reader beyond typical grammatical information in order to prepare them for life in Germany, navigating the political and legal system and the multiplicity of regional manifestations, and the profile and status of German as a literary language is raised to that of French, so that the learner is brought to look upon Germany as a refined and cultivated nation.

Bibliography [Aedler, Martin] (1680). The High Dutch Minerva a-la-mode. London: The Author. [Aedler, Martin] (1685). Minerva. The High Dutch Grammer. [sic]. London: W. Cooper. [Anon] (1658). The true guide to the German language. In three parts. Together with a description of the city of London. London. 3

Goethe and Noehden were correspondents; see for example: Richter, Elke et al.

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Albrecht, Henry Christopher (1786). A Short Grammar of the German Tongue. B.G. Hamburgh: Hoffmann. Bachmair, John James (1752). A Complete German Grammar. 2nd ed. London: Andr. Linde. British Library shelf mark 70.a.9. Bachmair, John James (1771). A Complete German Grammar. The third edition, greatly altered and improved. London: G. Keith, etc. Beiler, Benedictus (1731). A New German Grammar ... To which are added several useful and familiar dialogues. London: The Author. Beiler, Benedictus (1736). A New German Grammar ... The second edition, with large additions and emendations. London: J Brotherton. Berg, Franz Christoph August (1798). A Concise Grammar of the German Language. Hamburgh: B.G. Hoffmann. Drösser, Christoph (2000). ‘Künstliche Sprache’. In: Die Zeit 24/2000, . Crabb, George (1800a). A complete introduction to the knowledge of the German language; or, a translation from Adelung: arranged and adapted to the English learner. ... To which is affixed, a dictionary. London: Printed for the author by C. Whittingham. Crabb, George (1800b). An easy and entertaining selection of German prose and poetry. With a small dictionary, and other aids for translating. London and York: printed for the author by C. Whittingham and sold by J. Johnson; T. Boosey; C. Geisweiler; De Boffe, and Esher; and Wilson and Spence. Crabb, George (1800c). Elements of German conversation; upon the plan of Perrin’s Elements. London: Printed by C. Whittingham, for T. Boosey. Gonzaga, Luigi (1693). The eloquent master of languages. Hamburg: Gedruckt und verlegt durch Thomas von Wiering und bey Zacharias Herteln zu bekommen. Greenfeld, Liah (1992). ‘The final solution of infinite longing: Germany’. In: Nationalism. Five Roads to Modernity. Cambridge, Mass/London: Harvard University Press, 275–395. Kohn, Gerhard (1951). ‘The German pronunciation and its unification’. In: The German Quarterly 24/3, 158–169. Noehden, George Henry (1800). German Grammar adapted to the Use of Englishmen. London: C. Whittingham and J. Mawman. Offelen, Henry (1686/7). A Double GRAMMAR for GERMANS to learn ENGLISH; AND FOR ENGLISH-MEN to learn the GERMAN-Tongue [...]. London: The Author. Panayi, Panikos (1999). ‘Germans in Eighteenth-Century Britain’. In: Panikos Panayi. Germans in Britain since 1500. London / Rio Grande: The Hambledon Press, 29–48.

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Render, Wilhelm (1799). A Concise Practical Grammar of the German Tongue. London: C. Whittingham. Richter, Elke et al. (eds). Stiftung Weimarer Klassik. Goethe- und Schiller Archiv, Johann Wolfgang Goethe. Repertorium sämtlicher Briefe 1764– 1832. n.d. . Schiller, Friedrich (1864). Geschichte des dreißigjährigen Kriegs. Stuttgart: Cotta. Schiller, Friedrich (1799). The history of the Thirty Years War in Germany / Translated from the original German of Frederic Schiller by Captain [William] Blaquiere. London: W. Miller. Uttiv, John (1796). A Complete Practical German Grammar. Göttingen: Vandenhoek and Ruprecht. Van der Lubbe, Fredericka (2007). ‘One hundred years of German teaching’. In: AUMLA Online publication . Van der Will, Wilfried (1998). ‘The functions of “Volkskultur”, mass culture and alternative culture’. In: Eva Kolinsky and Wilfried van der Will (eds). Modern German Culture. Cambridge: C.U.P., 153–160. Wendeborn, Gebhardt Friedrich August (1774). The Elements of German Grammar. London: Robinson. Wendeborn, Gebhardt Friedrich August (1790). An Introduction to German st Grammar. [1 ed.] London: G.G.J. and J. Robinson. Wendeborn, Gebhardt Friedrich August (1797). An Introduction to German Grammar... The third edition with additions and improvements. London: The Author. Wendeborn, Gebhardt Friedrich August (1797). Exercises to Dr. Wendeborn’s Introduction to German Grammar, written by himself. London: Robinson.

„Im Unterhause abscheulich groß Getöse“: Representations of Eighteenth Century British Parliamentary Democracy in Early Modern German Newspaper Discourse

Astrid Ensslin, Bangor University (UK)

This paper focuses on representations of 18th century British parliamentary democracy in contemporaneous early modern German newspaper discourse. In Britain, the period is marked by a continuous growth in parliamentary power, which culminated in William Pitt the Younger’s Prime Ministerships 1783–1801 and 1804–1806. Bearing in mind that the Holy Roman Empire of the German Nation was characterized by particularism and thus political and cultural disunity, the progressiveness of a centralized constitutional monarchy with an increasingly powerful Lower House considerably informed the image of Britain across the Reich. It is my aim in this paper to demonstrate how this somewhat ambiguous fascination with political “otherness” is communicated by authors of an emerging text genre that was gradually transforming from a maximally concise, overly objective stylistic approach in the th th 17 and early 18 century to a significantly more detailed, personalized, engaging, even sensationalist one towards the late 18th century. Carefully selected textual material will be used to exemplify how newly “secularized” (Weber 2005) political ideologies were transferred to an increasingly literate, politically involved audience. Although explicit editorial and journalistic programmes are virtually impossible to retrieve or reconstruct from existing language data, historical newspaper discourse clearly has to be read as a form of socio-political practice. With this in mind, I seek to implement aspects of “discourse-historical analysis” (Wodak 2001, Reisigl and Wodak 2001) with a view to evaluating the journalistic, political and stylistic characteristics of this first “mass medium”, which, since the 17th century, represented the most widely read text genre across the German Empire. I shall begin by outlining the research background and methodology of this study, which will be followed by an overview of major infrastructural and generic factors contributing to the growth of the newspaper as a popular “new” medium in the 17th and 18th centuries. Of particular importance here is the role of correspondents, whose writing was, on the one hand, informed by Enlightenment thinking and the increasing need for public debate among readers, but who were also, simultaneously, careful not to exercise overt

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criticism vis-à-vis their respective “Landesväter” in order to avoid censorship or even fiercer penalties. I shall further discuss significant political events and circumstances in Britain and Germany in a contrastive manner, outlining the major geopolitical and domestic differences between the two countries at the time. The theoretical part will close with a historian’s view of how the Germans conceived of “England” throughout the 18th century. (Maurer 2001) The remainder of this paper will be dedicated to testing this theoretical background by using textual material from 13 German newspapers, published between 1700 and 1798 in all major regions. My analytical method will be a modified version of Ruth Wodak’s (2001) discourse- historical analysis — “modified” because we are dealing with a rather peculiar type of texts, the details of whose composition, editing and production are largely unknown. Not even the names of the authors are identifiable in most cases, nor, indeed, are the exact social and geographic circumstances of their writing. I would argue that Wodak’s approach, which she uses for significantly more recent political discourse, is therefore not unconditionally transferable to the texts under investigation. That said, some of her more general points can and indeed have to be followed in order to gain a sufficiently comprehensive understanding of newspaper-specific textual practices at the time. I shall discuss the essential components of Wodak’s approach in more detail below. In my analysis, I shall move from salient orthographic features — the tentative and highly inconsistent transcription of English nomenclature — to the discourse level. Of prime importance will be an investigation of entextualized ideologies towards the insular “other”, which will include an analysis of macrotextual issues such as length and themes; mesotextual concerns such as paragraphing, the strategic embedding of quotes and turn taking in dialogic sections; and finally microtextual features such as the use of specific vocabulary and other indicators of the otherwise anonymous, often, entirely hidden, voice of the journalist in the text.

Research Background and Methodology The majority of research for this paper was conducted in the context of GerManC, an ESRC-funded project designed to compile a 100,000-word historical corpus of early modern German newspapers for the years 1650– 1800 (see Durrell et al. 2007, Bennett et al. 2008). Texts were collected from all five German-speaking regions: North German, West Central German, East Central German, West Upper German, and East Upper German. As the

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aims of GerManC were primarily on the technical rather than discourse analytical side (the development of corpus analytical software for prestandard varieties of German featured most prominently), the major focus at the corpus design stage was on selecting equal-sized text samples from each newspaper for every region. To reach an even spread, text samples of ca. 2,000 words were taken from each of the 45 newspapers regardless of what particular rubrics or text genres they comprised. As a rule, newspapers were transcribed starting with the first article on the cover page and finishing once the word limit had been reached — at the end of the respective paragraph. The digitally transcribed and lemmatized articles were subsequently tagged in terms of TEI metadata and morpho-syntactically annotated using the TreeTagger.1 The complete corpus, in both raw and annotated form, is stored in the Oxford Text Archive and freely accessible to the research community.2 Additional analytical tools that were developed specifically for GerManC are available from the project website.3 The present research deviates from the primary aims of the GerManC project in being thematic and discourse analytical in nature. It focuses on representations of British parliamentary democracy in newspapers across the German Empire during the 18th century. The selection of newspaper reports to be examined was therefore made in terms of their provenance (England and, from 1707, Great Britain) and, more narrowly, the extent to which the correspondent-journalist in question deals with parliamentary rather than foreign or other current affairs. In a century dominated by British and European warmongering (the Great Northern War, 1700–1721; the War of Spanish Succession 1702–1713; the War of Austrian Succession, 1740–1748; the Seven Years War, 1757–1763) and revolutionary upheaval (the American Revolution, 1775–1783; the French Revolution, 1789–1799), it comes as no surprise that news coverage particularly during climactic war times centred around reports on battles, victories and losses, fleet numbers, army and navy personnel as well as arms expenditure. In most cases, such reports tended to be purely enumerative, without any indication of journalistic involvement or evaluation. Nor indeed can any attempt be seen to create an entertaining rather than purely informative type of discourse, which would point towards emerging editorial policies of popularization and mass coverage. That said, certain developments and changes in both journalistic style and thematic

1 2 3

(05.06.2008). (05.06.2008). (27.05.2008). At this point I wish to thank Prof. Martin Durrell and Dr Paul Bennett at the University of Manchester for their advice and support on this project.

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interests during the course of the 18th century can be discerned, to which I shall turn below. Given the focus of the present study, we shall need to consider whole texts rather than the extracts which constitute the GerManC corpus. Evidently, at the core of this investigation is the way in which journalists discussed issues surrounding domestic politics and parliamentary democracy in theory and practice, and how these reports were embedded in the surrounding context. For articles dating from the first half of the 18th century, this meant in most cases that for the composition of this paper a lot if not the majority of the coverage of England and Great Britain had to be disregarded, because correspondents tended to concentrate on either war reports or indeed purely royal and/or aristocratic matters, such as the King’s personal affairs (birthdays, illnesses, births and deaths), royal visits to and by European courts and ambassadors, and political debates and actions performed by the aristocracy. Especially towards the end of the century, however, considerably stronger emphasis is put on the extensive coverage of political debates and controversies amongst parliamentarians and the general public, which again is barely surprising considering the looming liberal if not revolutionary spirit of the time. As mentioned above, for my analysis I shall apply a modified version of the discourse-historical approach adopted by Wodak (2001), which she summarizes as follows: 1) Social, political, historical, psychological etc. information about the co- and context of the text needs to be given; 2) genre and discourse to which the text belongs need to be complemented by ethnographic information, interdiscursivity and intertextuality. The latter two refer to “texts on similar topics, texts with similar arguments, macro-topics, fields of action, genres”; 3) the subject of investigation should form the basis of precise research questions and the exploration of related areas in order to derive explanatory theories; 4) the research questions need to be transformed into linguistic categories; 5) one by one, these categories need to be applied to the text using theoretical approaches for interpretation; 6) context diagrams need to be drawn up for the texts in question and the fields of action; 7) this will lead to a comprehensive interpretation in line with the specific research questions. Wodak further emphasizes that this procedure needs to be applied more than once, “always coming and going between text, ethnography, theories and analysis.” (Wodak 2001, 93)

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Clearly, for this study, lack of metatextual information makes a fully-fledged analysis in accordance with Wodak’s approach impossible. Whereas, as I shall demonstrate, step 1 can be carried out to a satisfactory degree by providing contextual information about the production of newspapers in the 18th century, the challenges begin with step 2. As we shall see below, generic features were still developing at the time as significant changes towards popularization of the medium were underway. This makes it impossible to establish specific genre expectations or conventions. Whilst one can provide some ethnographic information about the reception of 18th century German newspapers, as well as aspects of interdiscursivity and intertextuality (by studying historiographic texts alongside documents created around the same time about similar topics), such investigations will not be as detailed in this study as in examinations of considerably more recent “historical” documents (in Wodak’s case, from the 1980s and 90s). Similarly, an analysis of “topoi”, or “loci”, as used by Wodak with reference to argumentation theory (e.g. Kienpointner 1992, 1996; Kienpointner and Kindt 1997, Kopperschmidt 1989), is constrained by the extent at which such topoi (i.e. the topoi of usefulness, danger, humanitarianism, justice, responsibility, burdening, finances, reality, numbers, law or justice, history, culture and abuse) were in fact part of the discourse surrounding contemporaneous systems of legislation and moral values.4 That said, what is clearly possible in relation to Wodak’s step 2 is the identification of recurring macro-topics, which dominated journalistic discourse at particular points in time. As outlined in step 3, these can subsequently be compared and contrasted with existing theories, and new theories can be inferred from discourse elements. I will demonstrate this below by discussing, amongst other seminal works on historical newspapers, Michael Maurer’s essay, ‘Germany’s Image of Eighteenth-century England’ (2001), vis-à-vis textual evidence from selected historical newspapers. Step 4 implies the transformation of topoi and topics into linguistic categories, such as actor and transitivity analysis (cf. Halliday 1973, Halliday and Matthiessen 2004), as well as stylistic, microtextual features (e.g. figures of speech, lexical and grammatical choice, and imagery). I shall apply 4

The topos of humanitarianism, for instance, operates on the basis of the conditional that “if a political action or decision does or does not conform with human rights or humanitarian convictions and values, one should or should not perform or take it.” (Wodak 2001: 75) Although the inspiration for the modern idea of human rights in Western culture goes as far back as the Magna Charta of 1215, systematic legislation was not introduced until 1689 in England with the Bill of Rights. Humanitarianism was therefore by no means taken for granted, and even less so in the German Empire, where human rights were not introduced into official (Prussian) legislation until the Prussian “Allgemeines Landrecht” of 1794.

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certain aspects of this to the theories under discussion (cf. step 5) in order to arrive at a conclusion about the ways in which 18th century British parliamentary democracy was represented in German newspapers that had to inform readers in an absolutist system about the political “other” in such a way as to avoid censorship whilst, at the same time, being unable to conceal their fascination with the subject at hand. As I shall be looking at a number of newspaper texts from across the 18th century, I shall omit Wodak’s step 6, a full-blown context diagram, as this would be better applied to one specific discourse at one specific point in time. Instead, I shall concentrate on step 7 and attempt an interpretation of the available textual material. This will take into account contextual, metageneric, semantic, pragmatic, and intertextual information in so far as it is possible to retrieve this from historiographic documents. By the same token, textual material will be used to both support and revise the theories under discussion.

Early Modern German Newspapers The year 1609 had seen the birth of the European newspaper, the Wolfenbüttel Aviso, and this soon-to-be popular medium was to spread rapidly. Due to a well developed postal infrastructure, the “Stafettenpost” (cf. Behringer 2003), correspondents could operate across Europe with relative ease. Regular issues — weekly and, since 1660, daily — began to be distributed throughout the Alemannic area (Strasbourg and Basle), Franconia (Nuremberg), the Rhine-Main region (Frankfurt/Main), Bavaria and Berlin. The Thirty Years’ War contributed significantly to the flourishing of this new medium, so that by the end of the first half of the century the whole of the German-speaking region was covered. (Mackensen 1961: 235) Later on, the number of German-speaking newspapers increased from about 48 in 1648 to over 200 in 1789. As cities were still rather small geographically and demographically, th news coverage well into the 18 century tended to be national and international rather than regional or local in nature. As Mackensen (1961: 236) notes, externally based correspondents dominated both form and content of early modern newspapers. They wrote in standard German yet, at the same time, added local idiosyncrasies, thus helping to bridge the gaps between dialectal and cultural regions. Newspapers were, therefore, as they still are, the “gesamtdeutsch[e]” medium par excellence (Mackensen 1961: 242), uniting a particularist society long before a written standard was formalized.

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Little is known about the correspondents except for the fact that the majority of them were diplomats, lawyers, civil servants and military officers who spent most of their working hours in court circles and would report in their own familiar political jargon without taking into consideration the needs of a lay readership. This initial linguistic obstacle was further aggravated by the fact that reports were printed as they reached the publisher, and no intermediary editorial level existed that would regulate matters of coherence, consistency and transparency. Speed of delivery was clearly prioritized over commercial concerns (Weber 2005), which — at least until th the mid-18 century — resulted in a mostly factual, stylistically bland manner of representation. In the course of the 17th century, the number of European correspondents increased rapidly, from about 15 in 1609 to over 80 in 1666 and beyond. They wrote from and about such exotic places as Smyrna, Cadiz, Riga, Algiers and Bergen. News from and about England and Great Britain were composed in and delivered directly from London, Dublin and Edinburgh and, as textual material will show below, the required speed of production and dissemination often necessitated quick translations or transcriptions of English terms that did not yet have a German equivalent at the time. Reception mostly happened in a communal context, as newspapers were read aloud to friends and family at home, to students in the classroom, or to tradespeople and members of the urban middle classes in taverns, coffee houses, theatres, galleries, market squares and local libraries. News reports would be put on display boards and passed between readers, thus forming an essential communicative platform of the early modern urban landscape. (Mackensen 1961, von Polenz 1994) Dedicated reading groups formed in some places, whose members would jointly receive and discuss newspapers in regular meetings. (Welke 1981) Due to this open system of dissemination, even the lower social classes, e.g. manual workers, became aware of newspapers and benefited from public readings. Arguably, though, the new medium was targeted at an affluent, educated urban readership that was informed about and interested in general political, religious and social affairs at home and abroad. (Weber 2005) Stylistically, this is reflected in frequent Latinisms — for wit and erudition — and in what strikes the modern reader as distinctively elliptic references to secular and clerical personalities, whose identities are generally marked by location rather than personal name (e.g. “Königl. Maj. in Preussen”, “der Russische Gesandte im Haag” [Erfurt 1744], “Sr. Königl. Majestät von Groß-Brittannien” [Frankfurt/Main 1750]). th As Johannes Weber (2005) argues, by the second half of the 17 century newspapers formed the most popular secular reading matter, thus contributing significantly to political education and enlightenment — although not as

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radically as one might expect. Martin Welke (1976) assumes that each copy reached as many as ten reader-listeners, which amounted to up to 250,000 — almost 2% of the overall population. In the second half of the 17th century, the average cost per copy was three guldens, or two “Reichsthaler”, the equivalent of an apprentice carpenter’s weekly wage. Newspapers were therefore not downright unaffordable yet clearly overstretched the budget of an average menial worker. (Weber 2005) The fact that newspapers were still a relatively new medium in the 18th century, they could not yet be described in terms of shared generic features. Although, admittedly, a peculiarly over-objective style of reporting clearly had formed by the beginning of the century, this style was yet to transform again into what in some late 18th century newspapers appears almost novelistic, epistolary, in most cases, however, distinctly subjective and critically involved. Mackensen (1961) describes this evolution in terms of a shift from the “Referatszeitung” to the “Raisonnierzeitung”, from objective, minimalist reportage to reflective, comprehensive commentary. This move was, until well into the 19th century, accompanied by a fierce theoretical debate about whether or not newspapers should take sides (cf. Löbl 1903), and indeed some newspaper publishers even in the late 18th century were still following the “old” pattern of maximally unbiased information delivery. The emergence of the intellectually powerful “gelehrte Artikel” in the second half of the century, however, was as timely as it was necessary as a platform for political debate particularly following the onset of the French Revolution. (Mackensen 1961: 246) As Mackensen argues, […] die politische Diskussion war seit der Französischen Revolution so groß und so heftig, daß die Zeitungen sich selbst hätten aufgeben müssen, wären sie weiter sperrig geblieben. […] Aber wieder schwelte da eine Zündschnur: wer seine Ansicht sagt, möchte überzeugen, und wer den Gegner nicht achtet, wird ihn leicht überschreien, wird ihn zum Schweigen bringen wollen. So wurde die Raisonnierzeitung zur Gesinnungszeitung, zuerst mit Hilfe von Geld, dann durch den Einsatz der staatlichen Macht. Die Entwicklung überschlug sich; da galt schließlich nicht Referat, nicht Raisonnement mehr; mit ihren Grundkräften hatte die Zeitung ihre Gattungsmerkmale aufgegeben. (Mackensen 1961: 246)

As we shall see from the texts at hand, however, abandoning old values and security measures — i.e. factual reportage for the circumvention of censorship — for the sake of socio-political engagement had to be orchestrated in a subtle manner, and was mostly done by placing carefully selected and discursively arranged quotations where the modern reader would expect journalistic commentary.

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Germany’s View of Britain in the Eighteenth Century The 18th century saw Britain’s ascendancy to one of Europe’s most powerful nations both politically and economically. The development of colonial supremacy and a “systematic interventionist foreign policy” were reinforced by “the sheer success of British arms” (Langford 1984: 356) in the War of the Spanish Succession and beyond as well as a series of victories under Marlborough, Rooke and Stanhope that strengthened Britain’s position in continental and mediterranean politics. Domestically, England was using a political system that was unique and in its essence dangerously progressive to absolutist monarchs across Europe. Initiated by the Glorious Revolution of 1688, England was leading European political thinking in terms of liberalism and democracy. The fact that “the substantive acceptance of parliamentary monarchy was achieved” (Langford 1984: 353) provided a platform for political representation and, to some degree, democratic participation, although it has to be said that “passive obedience and non-resistance continued to be influential concepts” alongside “Anglican orthodoxy” and the strongly felt “duty of every citizen to co-operate with any form of authority rather than submit to anarchy.” (ibid.) This strong sense of authoritarianism was mainly responsible for the fact that, despite aggressive rises in taxation (due to war expenditure), revolutionary thoughts were not simmering in people’s minds as much as they were in contemporary France.5 With the Declaration of Rights (1689), Parliament had obtained legislative power, which included taxation, the supervision of public spending, ministerial responsibility, the right to vote and Freedom of Speech. The Crown, on the other hand, was Head of State and held full executive powers. By the beginning of the century, regular parliamentary sessions were established, thus confirming the indispensability of democratic participation in the English political landscape. Power within and over parliament during the Georgian era hence did not reside in defeating it as an institution per se but rather in manipulating major players and managing opinion-making during sessions and debates by discursive means. The lapsing of the Licensing Act in 1695 further contributed to the growth of political debate, and the establishment of Grub Street along with the rise of the periodical press contributed to the emergence of an engaged political audience.

5

Further to this, the Toleration Act of 1689 granted freedom of worship to religious dissenters (e.g. Presbyterians) under certain conditions of conformance vis-à-vis the Anglican Church, another element of reform and individual security that eased looming tensions in the people.

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The Triennial Act of 1694 had introduced a mechanism following which the Crown had to summon Parliament on a regular basis as well as to ensure frequent elections. Having said that, 18th century British parliamentary democracy, which was largely characterized by a two-party system (anti-royalist Whigs and royalist Tories), was in no way comparable to modern democracy. Franchise was linked to landed property and high income, and seats in the Lords were hereditary. Ultimately, British politics was conducted by 70 affluent families. The newly strengthened Parliament was crying out for strong ministerial leadership. Starting with Robert Walpole, the first Prime Minister in the modern sense (1721–1742), Britain saw as many as 15 leaders in this capacity during the 18th century, the most dominant figures amongst them being Walpole himself, Henry Pelham (1743–1754), Frederick North (1770– 1782) and William Pitt the Younger (1783–1801 and 1804–1806). Similarly, the power of Parliament and the Prime Minister grew during the course of the century, culminating in the Younger Pitt’s controversial yet enduring leadership.6 Despite frequent parliamentary sessions right from the onset of the century, party politics in the modern sense — marked by fierce debates and coalescing tendencies — did not develop until the last quarter. Similarly, the second half of the century saw a turn to a “politics of protest”. (Langford 1984: 398–407) Newspapers, prints and pamphlets served as a prolific platform for vivid public debate; parliamentary sessions were increasingly dominated by heated cross-talk, and people in the streets responded ever more fiercely to unpopular policy-making. Economically, Britain developed a highly competitive stance especially towards France over the century, particularly in European trade (e.g. clothmaking), which was driven by the burgeoning Industrial Revolution. The institution of the Bank of England, founded in 1694, helped, crucially through the land tax, to turn private wealth into public expenditure, a process that was particularly useful during times of war. As Langford explains, “the ‘budget’ was nominally an achievement of the mid-century, when the term was first used during Henry Pelham’s time as First Lord of the Treasury (1743–1754)” (358), and it significantly contributed to securing parliamen– tary power in constitutional development. Let us now, by comparison, take a look at the Germans. Along with most other European countries (except for Poland, the Swiss cantons and the 6

The youngest ever Prime Minister, Pitt came to power at 24 years of age. Amongst his major political achievements was the extension of franchise and the imposition of new taxes to eliminate towering national debt, the public response to which is documented in some of the coverage discussed in this paper.

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Netherlands) and exemplified by Louis XIV, the Holy Roman Empire of the German Nation of the 18th century was ruled by an absolutist monarch, the “Kaiser”, who, in chronological order, came from the Houses of Habsburg (1452–1740), Wittelsbach (1742–1745) and Habsburg-Lorraine (1745–1806). Unlike most other nations, Germany was a “patchwork quilt”, and each duchy and bishopric was in turn controlled by an absolutist ruler. In terms of power, Prussia came to the forefront during the 18th century, thus having to compete with Austria until the latter’s final defeat in 1866. The struggle for supremacy in Germany dominated much of 18th and 19th century domestic and foreign politics, and a successful attempt at uniting at least part of Germany (Prussia and the smaller states) did not occur until 1871. In this fissured State, with its culturally and linguistically diverse nations, a centrally governed, democratically regulated political system was practically inconceivable. Furthermore, whereas, in other western European countries, highly stratified societies were forming and the economic and political power of the middle classes was increasing, the German “Bildungsbürgertum” remained largely subject to a highly particularistic, despotic system of power, the “Fürstenstaat”, during the 18th century. Political influence could therefore only be exerted through court offices and academic privileges, which were reserved to a very small minority. (von Polenz 1994: 369) As a result of this “politische Heimatlosigkeit” (Haferkorn 1974: 114), nonaristocratic German individuals tended to restrict their intellectual engagement to the “private sphere” (Habermas 1981), thus seeking compensation in personal erudition. (von Polenz 1994: 369) Their “resignative[r] Weg in eine wie immer geartete Innerlichkeit” (Haferkorn 1974: 182) prevented them from becoming politically emancipated, and, as we shall see below, this fundamentally obedient attitude is reflected in the newspaper discourse of the time. Not until the second half of the century did a Habermasian, critical bourgeois public begin to develop amongst the German intellectual middle th class, and it was only in the 19 century that it came to develop fully. (von Polenz 1994: 369) Public upheaval in the British capital as reported by one German newspaper (see below) was therefore bound be viewed with suspicion, and the reportage of such anti-governmental behaviour had to be framed with great care. If the newspaper circulation figures suggested by Welke (1976) for the second half of the 17th century are correct, it is indeed true to say, with Maurer (2001), that “[a]t the beginning of the eighteenth century, not many people in Germany would have had any idea of that island in the North Sea, commonly and conveniently called ‘England’ (instead of ‘Great Britain’)” (15), and that those people who had at least some knowledge of it would be either “merchants and sailors in German seaports who had seen England as a

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neighbouring country” (16), “government officials at the court of Hanover, who kept a watchful eye on the health of English royal personnel and an ear open to men active in the English political arena” (17), or indeed members of the Protestant clergy “as far to the south as Tübingen.” (17)7 In what follows, I shall summarize further aspects of Maurer’s theory (2001), which will, in the next section, be evaluated against textual evidence.8 In his paper (2001), Maurer argues that by the end of the 18th century “England was quite well known to at least some of [the Germans], and anybody aspiring to learning and letters had gathered a solid stock of information and prejudice from journals, novels and other books.” (Maurer 2001: 15)9 Maurer’s main objective is to document and account for this transformation, and his approach to this is particularly revealing considering the fact that he takes into account contemporary authors’ opinions. Interestingly, Maurer states that, at the beginning of the century, clerical matters were most important for readers (18), and that the most popular print genres at the time were travelogues and journals (19) (not newspapers, as argued by Weber 2001). Maurer adds that, in the early 1700s, knowledge of English was not common on the Continent, and English was not normally taught in schools. (19) By the mid-18th century, however, the English teaching profession was fully established in major German cities (Hamburg, Brunswick, Göttingen and Leipzig), and by 1800, “English had become the most important living foreign language in Germany, second only to French.” (20) This was partly due to the fact that the emerging hegemony of Britain was immediately visible to the German public politically (English troops were stationed in Germany during the Seven Years’ War) and economically (English manufactured goods sold for higher prices than national produce, and developments in English industrial technology were followed eagerly by means of industrial espionage). (21)10 As Maurer argues, anglophilic tendencies in relation to political and especially domestic matters were produced mostly discursively, through a 7

Maurer’s comment about reference to “England” rather than “Great Britain” seems inaccurate in view of the fact that, curiously enough, newspapers as early as 1687 regularly referred to the country as “Groß-Britannien” (Continuatio XXVI. Der Zehen-Jährigen Historischen Relation, Leipzig). 8 For more details about Maurer’s work on the German image of Britain in the Age of Enlightenment, see Maurer (1987, 1991, 1992). 9 Maurer does not mention newspapers as a prime source of information. Journals already formed a distinct genre, which was clearly distinguishable from newspapers in terms of issues per year as well as thematically and stylistically. 10 Furthermore, the significance of the fact that the Kings of England were also kings of Hanover and played an important part in German politics cannot be underestimated.

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publication strategy that created a rather myopic, overly optimistic image of British politics amongst German readers. In Germany, there was little reason to envy the English freedom of the press, as rival publishers and princes left freedom enough for every opinion possible; […] a manuscript not licensed by the conservative ministry of Hamburg could easily be published in adjacent (Danish) Altona, only to be smuggled into the city of Hamburg. Concerning religious toleration, not many Germans in the 18th century could complain; on the contrary, their princes competed in smoothing the way for everyone willing to become their subject and taxpayer. So it was mainly the political point of constitutional liberty; this point had to be touched with caution — German journalists remembered well the fate of the bold Schubart, who had been detained and imprisoned by the despot of Württemberg. Writing about England in the eighteenth century meant discussing fundamental problems of power and dominance of men over men and tuning up the song of liberty. (Maurer 2001: 25, my italics)

Be that as it may, the Germans’ prevailing sense of authoritarianism implied a mostly pro-royalist readership, and in fact “by working for the commonweal [sic!] bourgeois and noble civil servants alike could hope to influence princely politics.” (26) As textual material will bear out, this prevented most British correspondents, especially in the first three quarters of the century, from adopting any discernible sense of rebelliousness. Indeed, those journalists that deliberately chose to comment either favourably or cynically on British parliamentary affairs did so against the backdrop of a home country that was under the impact of a division between state and national politics, the “anomalous existence of bishops as princes” (26), the dissociative existence of Free Imperial Cities and, of course, the ever-impeding rivalry between Austria and Prussia. Maurer (2001) concentrates, for his theory of the German image of “England”, on semi-fictional travellers’ reports. His textual material leads him to argue that London and Westminster lay at the centre of the political interests of those “visitors” (26), whereas “local politics elsewhere in the country remained mostly unnoticed.”11 The fact that most German newspapers had correspondents in London suggests that the same was true for news coverage. In fact, as Maurer argues that: [...] it was exactly this vagueness and lack of distinguishing, that led to the startling picture of the unity of the British and the common interest of all subjects under the crown which became a central message received by a German 11 Maurer adds that, despite the German fascination with Macpherson’s Ossian (as, for instance, documented in Goethe’s Werther), Scotland was not generally regarded as separate from England (33).

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Similarly, as Maurer documents, typical observations by famous German travellers included, for instance, Karl Philipp Moritz’s comment on his first visit to Parliament, Even if I had seen nothing in England but this, I should feel rewarded enough for my journey. […] Here everybody, down to the meanest, expresses himself in terms of patriotism, as do only poets with us [in Germany]. […] in short, everyone showing his feeling that he is a human being and an Englishman, too, no degree less than a king or a minister — that provides you with quite different self-esteem, compared to watching soldiers parading at home in Berlin. (quoted from Maurer 2001: 27–28)

The term “public spirit”, which surfaces here as much as it does in other contemporaneous travelogues, was considered a particularly English characteristic and, hence, untranslatable. It was felt to be related to the comparably large number of journals, newspapers and other regularly printed matter of common interest, and the “habit of communicating in public places of all kinds, including coffee houses, theatres, and Parliament.” (29) Along with the perceived sense of public spirit came the impression that this country had a markedly more egalitarian approach to society as a whole than the Reich, as well as an overall sense of greater affluence and cleanliness. (30) Enlightenment values such as reason, common sense and nature were felt to be embodied by this nation. Furthermore, London was seen as the centre of a new, highly appealing philosophy, Empiricism, which caused British science to progress far more rapidly than elsewhere in Europe. (32) Maurer concludes that Germany’s somewhat ambiguous fascination th with 18 -century England was due to a dialectic of difference and sameness. (35–36) On the one hand, England appeared as a politically progressive country whose parliamentary democracy radiated an uncannily outrageousness yet, at the same time, amazingly consistent public spirit that the disunited Germany could only dream of. On the other hand, the fact that common Germanic roots could potentially put the Germans and the English on the same libertarian footing, was bound to stir previously unseen nationalist feelings in Germany, which were soon to grow exponentially.

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Text Analysis As previously mentioned, German newspaper reportage of the 18th century was an emerging text “genre” that was gradually transforming from a maximally concise, overly objective stylistic approach in the 17th century to a significantly more personalized, engaging, even sensationalist one in and beyond the 18th century. This did not mean, however, that newspapers had an insignificant cultural role to play in their early years of existence. On the contrary: the fact that, for the first time, national and international politics was reported as a tough, day-to-day business contributed to a raising awareness of “self” versus “other” and the secularization of political ideology. By the same token, political, cultural and religious differences were put on the same level of news-worthiness, thus demystifying their prior image of otherworldliness and making criticism an appropriate, feasible way of personal engagement. (Weber 2005) As a matter of fact, even in this early instance of media history one can argue, with Susan DiGiacomo (1999), that 18th-century newspapers already served as “loci of ideology production” as they were the key sites for authoritative entextualization amongst various ideological brokers. (DiGiacomo, 1999: 105) Viewed diachronically, the change in the audience’s mentality towards political secularization was accompanied, between the early years of the 18th century and the years following the American and French Revolutions, by a trend towards subjectivization, emotionalization and the mixing of familiar styles of writing and speaking, such as biblical and rhetorical styles alongside, in some rare cases, sensationalist narrative. Clearly, once newspapers had become established as an opinion-forming force in public discourse, competition began for the best representation of truth, the “right” interpretation of political events, and the most subtle middle-way between information and manipulation. (Weber 2005) Early modern newspaper discourse on the whole is marked by an elliptical style, for instance the omission of transitional phrases and discourse markers, which more often than not results in sudden changes in subject matter or focalization. Long sections of reported speech render a diversity of oftentimes unabridged parliamentary speeches. Notably, the careful selection of such lengthy quotations is generally used as a way of providing political opinion and commentary, which can barely be found in the narrative of the correspondents themselves. Explicit reference to the voice of the author or the community to which he belongs (ich, wir) and other indicators of authorial subjectivity may therefore be considered an element of foregrounding and need to be looked at in detail.

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A rare but telling example of evasive commentary is the following section, taken from the Erfurt Der allerneuesten Europäischen Welt- und Staats-Geschichte. Theil II (20 January 1744): Es verlautet, daß der durch die Königl. Disgrace aus einem Ritter Walpole gewordene Graf von Orford, annoch in gröster Königl. Gnade stehe; welches daher gemuthmasset wird, weil er 5. Viertel Stunden gantz allein bey dem König zu seyn die Ehre gehabt. Viele haben sich darüber aufgehalten und gesagt: Dieser würde wohl machen, daß man noch immer Scheu trüge, Franckreich zu nahe zu treten. Besonders mag sich Lord Harrington öffentlich heraus gelassen haben: Er wäre zur Gnüge unterrichtet, daß der Graf von Orford noch beständig ein geheimes Verständnis mit dem Frantzösischen Hof habe. Wir können nichts darzu sagen, als daß possibilia nicht allemahl probabilia sind.

The final sentence of this section is hedged both pronominally — by using the collective, de-individualizing first person plural — and lexically — by inserting Latinisms for stylistic effect and editorial distance. This adds to the deliberate stylistic choice of impersonal reporting permeating the whole paragraph, e.g. the dummy construction “es verlautet”, indirect speech, and passive structures (“gemuthmasset wird”). Similarly, there is hardly any indication of editorial intervention — explicit or implicit. The only exception in the texts under investigation was found in Beylage zu No. 15 der Stettinischen Zeitung (2 February 1796), where the English word “improved” was inserted into the German typescript. Again, however, it is unclear who was responsible for this comment, and why English rather than German was used. One thing which is particularly striking about Early Modern German typography is no doubt the lack of an orthographic standard. (von Polenz 1994: 242–251, cf. Durrell et al. 2007, Bennett et al., forthcoming) Especially in the first half of the 18th century, when consistency even within one and the same text was still uncommon, a wide range of variants were being used in the area of nomenclature. Unsurprisingly, due to their non-phonetic spelling, English place names caused particular difficulties when it came to transferring them into a German report. Two trends can be identified here: on the one hand, attempts were made to approximate to the source language by transliterating (partially) the phonemic, sometimes dialectal, qualities of individual words such as “Londen”, “Pleymuth” and “Leverpol” (all in Hanau 1730). Far more frequent, however, are appropriations to German cognates, e.g. “Westmünster”, “Neuport”, “Hammerschmitt”, “Thembse” (all in Munich 1700), and “Engelland” (Leipzig 1722). Most revealing with respect to the representation of parliamentary affairs is the convention of using loan translations and renditions where there is still a culturally conditioned lexical gap in German political discourse.

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Members of Parliament were referred to as “Parlaments-Glieder” (Hanau 1730) or “Glied im Parlament” (Leipzig 1722), and the House of Commons was translated as “Haus der Gemeinen” (Erfurt 1744), “Unter-hauß”, or “Unter-Parlement” (both Leipzig 1722). Of further significance in the area of nomenclature is the fact that, in contrast to the assertion by Maurer (2001), references to Great Britain rather than England and London were common even in the first half of the century. “Groß-Brit(t)anien” rather than England features, for instance, in the Hanaubased Extraordinari Europæische Zeitung of 1701, the Berlinische Privilegirte Zeitung of 1735, the Berlinische Nachrichten von Staats/ und gelehrten Sachen of 1740. Der allerneuesten Europäischen Welt- und Staats-Geschichte II. Theil (Erfurt 1744) uses both “Groß-Brittannien” and “England” interchangeably, and cities other than “Londen” regularly appear as early as 1700 (“Dublin” and “Edenburg” for instance in the Munich Mercurii Relation) and 1701 (“Dublin” in the Frankfurt Jovrnal). As indicated above, dominant macro-topics within “England” and th “Groß-Brittannien” articles across the 18 century include warfare, royal and aristocratic affairs, matters of trade and economy (prices and taxation), colonial policy, matters of common interest (e.g. natural disasters and, of course, the weather), home affairs and, more narrowly, parliamentary debates as well as — in some cases — public responses to parliamentary policy-making. In the first half of the century, parliamentary affairs tended to be discursively deleted, i.e. they remained largely unmentioned. The emphasis clearly lay on the monarch, the aristocracy and, of course, warfare. The relative under-representation of clerical matters suggests that both popular and journalistic interest was far less strong in this area than suggested by Maurer (2001: 18). If Parliament was mentioned, it was usually depicted as dependent on the King’s all-embracing “Weißheit”. Issue number 12 (8 March) of the 1701 Frankfurt Jovrnal, for instance, reports the election of a new Speaker of the House of Commons. Rather than going into any further detail about the successful candidate, however, the report moves straight on to King William III’s ensuing speech about the recent death of the Earl of Gloucester and issues surrounding the royal succession: Gestern kame das Parlament wieder zusammen/ da dann gleich Anfangs der Esq. Harley durch die mehrere Stimmen zum Sprecher erwehlet wurde/ worauf der König die Ansprach die beyde Parlaments-Häuser folgender Gestalt thäte: Mylords und Edelleute. Das grosse Unglück/ so uns durch den Tod des Hertzogs von Glocester betroffen/ verursacht die höchste Nothwendigkeit/ daß man wegen der Succession dieser Cron in der Protestirenden Linie nach Mir und der Princessin Vorsehung thue.

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As previously mentioned, there is no striking change in style towards the end of the century. Not only do articles tend to be longer and more detailed with regard to showing different viewpoints (including that of common citizens), they also use more emotive, biased language. In a 1798 issue of the Danziger Zeitung (8 January), rebellious behaviour on the part of the collective “Pöbel” is discursively degraded: Der Minister Pitt, welcher der Prozession in einer Art von Militairuniform beiwohnte, wurde in verschiedenen Gegenden vom Pöbel ausgezischt. Nach Endigung der Zeremonie wurde sein Kutscher vom Pöbel gemißhandelt und der Minister mußte in einem andern Wagen, unter Militaireskorte nach Hause fahren. Uebelgesinnte hatten die Nacht vorher allerlei Jnstrumente in die Strassen geworfen, um die Pferde dadurch zu verwunden, erreichten aber ihren Endzweck nicht. Auf Fletmarket stürzte ein Gerüst ein, wodurch ein Frauenzimmer getödtet und mehrere Menschen verwundet wurden. Jn der Gegend des Strandes haben, wie ein heutiges Oppositionsblatt meldet, einige Leibgarden mit den Pallaschen Plaz machen müssen. Einem Mann soll dabei beinahe die Hand abgehauen, andere verwundet, andere von den Pferden getreten worden seyn.

This section does not exactly suggest admiration for the way British parliamentary democracy enables the public to interact politically. On the contrary, the use of negative connotations (“Uebelgesinnte”, “ausgezischt”) denigrates public opposition and depicts parliamentary democracy as lacking control. A similar, distinctly cynical voice characterizes ministerial inadequacy in the following section (Freyburgerzeitung, 28 January 1784): Die Veränderungen des neuen Ministeriums machen im Unterhause abscheulich groß Getöse. Dieß Ministerium hat wirklich schon die herrlichsten Namen aufgeheftet gekriegt: einige schelten selbes die kleine Pasteten-gebäckadministrazion, andere, die Bildsäule Nabukadnezars. Pitt, der nun an der Stelle des Fox ist, ist ein Gegenstand des öffentlichen Spottes scheelsüchtiger Satyriker.

This lexically creative critical tone turns into a satirical, biblical style a few days later (Freyburgerzeitung, 31 January 1784): Londner Briefe enthalten eine schnackichte Stelle über das alte und neue Ministerium. Es war ein Mensch, der machte ein groß Abendmahl, und lud dazu viele Gäste. Und er sagte zu seinem Diener: geh, zu sagen den Gästen, daß sie kommen sollten, denn es ist alles bereit. Und sieh, die Gäste fiengen alle an, nacheinander sich zu entschuldigen. Und Shelburne sprach: eben bin ich fertig mit einer Luftkugel, und ist mir Noth, daß ich hingehe, und sie versuche: ich bitte dich, entschuldige mich.

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Und Graf Temple sprach: ich hab' aufgesetzt 5 Punkte über gute Handlungen, die ich gethan habe in Irrland, Zeit meines Vizekönigthums: ich gehe nun hin, und lasse sie setzen in die Zeitungen: ich bitte dich, entschuldige mich. Und Grafton und Cambden sagten: sie beförchten, es möchte irgend eine Schlang liegen unter der Decke, und sie fallen in die Fuchs (Renard) Grube. Da gieng der Diener zum Herrn, und sagte was da vorgegangen. Und sieh, der Hausvater ward zornig, und sprach zu seinem Knecht: gehe bald auf die Strassen, und Gassen der Stadt; und führe herein die Armen und Kranken, und Blinden und Lahmen. Und der Knecht gieng, und führte hinein den Gower und Thurlow, und Sidney und Carmarthen und Rutland, und Richmond.

Passages like this suggest a sense of superficiality and insignificance in relation to parliamentary debates. However, a prevailing sense of admiration cannot be hidden entirely by ridicule. In the Beylage zu No. 3. der Stettinischen Zeitung of 22 December 1796, one reads that: Jn einigen Trinkhäusern in England ist das Verbot angeschlagen, daß künftig nicht mehr über Politik gesprochen werden soll. Dieses ist für den Engländer eine eben so schwere Aufgabe, als daß er künftig statt weißen, schwarzes Brod essen soll.

By the same token, the following final example from the Neueste Weltkunde Tübingen (4 January 1798) rather woefully and in a characteristically pompous, emotional tone documents a period of temporary economic and political decline, thus communicating an underlying feeling of inferiority: Dieses Land, welches einen Newton gebahr, unter allen grösern Staaten Europens sich zuerst politische Freiheit erkämpfte, eben daher lange der Neid der übrigen Völker war, und noch izt ihre Bewunderung auf sich heftet, durch die unermeßlichen HilfsQuellen, des es in diesem Kriege entfaltet, durch Eroberungen, die es, ohne irgend einigen eignen Verlust an Lande, gegen alle seine Feinde gemacht hat, und durch eine SchuldenLast, wie es allein sie aufhäufen konnte — befindet sich izt im Jnnern und von aussen in einer Krise, die nicht blos sein bisheriges Spiel einer der ersten Rollen in den WeltAngelegenheiten, sondern selbst auch die bisherige Form seiner politischen Existenz bedroht.

The next issue (5 January 1798) continues the lament as follows: Diese ungeheure Kühnheit ist vorzüglich das Werk von William Pitt. Dieser Mann, dessen stolze, aber gefährliche Rolle, lange schon mehr das Erstaunen als die Bewundrung der Welt ist, eines populären Vaters (des durch seine Talente und durch seinen Patriotism gleich unsterblichen Chatham) despotischer Sohn, hat durch den neuen FinanzPlan für das Jahr 1798, den er in der Sizung des

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Astrid Ensslin UnterHauses vom 24 Nov. des vorigen Jahres vorlegte, das allgemeine Misvergnügen der brittischen Nation erregt.

Admiration for Pitt’s unprecedented position of prime-ministerial power is here mixed with tragic sympathy vis-à-vis his heroic hubris — an undisclosed warning to the German readership about quasi-democratic leaders that hide within themselves despotic qualities and are therefore not to be trusted.

Conclusion The fact that early modern German newspapers contributed significantly to an admiring yet simultaneously suspicious attitude among German readers towards British parliamentary democracy can be demonstrated by both early and late 18th century coverage. Whereas, in early examples, deletion and strategic quotation are amongst the most common discourse features expressing ideological bias, coverage from the second half of the century exhibits a distinctly subjective, stylistically creative and sometimes even sensationalist style. It can be assumed that newspapers were more widely read (and listened to) by the German public than any other printed matter — which somewhat contradicts Maurer’s (2001) assumption that travelogues and other fictional material were received more commonly. Therefore it can be assumed that awareness of British parliamentary democracy was developing rapidly over the century, especially in educated, affluent urban circles; and as, in terms of thematic choice, newspapers contained significantly more political than religious material (unlike other popular contemporaneous reading matter), this can be attributed to a trend towards political secularization that was characteristic of and carried forward by the new medium. Newspaper discourse was thus a significant source of critical opinion th and satirical representation during the 18 century. Its influence on German democratic and nationalist thinking cannot be underestimated, especially with respect to the fact that late 18th century journalists went to great lengths to find creative ways of discursively constructing a curiously attractive image of an otherworldly Britain. Newspaper material therefore has to be read closely and in comparison with other historical and historiographic writings in order to arrive at a comprehensive image of textual meaning in its socio-political, generic and stylistic dimensions. This paper has attempted to show how this can be achieved by using a modified, streamlined version of Wodak’s discourse-historical approach.

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This can and indeed needs to be further improved and refined by conducting more in-depth studies into the personalities and socio-political roles of early modern journalists — provided information about this new profession can be obtained from archived letters and diaries. Furthermore, given that historical corpus-analytical methods that aim to facilitate the quantitative analysis of pre-standard spelling and syntax are under development, future studies will be able to give a more detailed statistical idea of discursive trends in early modern German newspapers.12

References Newspapers in chronological order x x x x x x x x x x x x x

Mercurii Relation, Oder Wochentliche Reichs Ordinari Zeitungen/ von vnderschidlichen Orthen. Munich 1700. Jovrnal. Frankfurt 1701. Extraordinari Europæische Zeitung. Hanau 1701. Extract Derer in der L Woche des 1722 Jahres eingelauffenen Nouvellen. Leipzig 1722. Europæische Zeitung. Hanau 1730. Berlinische Privilegirte Zeitung. Berlin 1735. Berlinische Nachrichten von Staats/ und gelehrten Sachen. Berlin 1740. Der allerneuesten Europäischen Welt- und Staats-Geschichte. Theil II. Erfurt 1744. Freytägige Ordentliche wochentliche Kayserl. Reichs-Ober-PostAmts-Zeitung. Frankfurt/M. 1750. Freyburgerzeitung. Freiburg i.B. 1784. Beylage zuNo.3 der Stettinischen Zeitung. Stettin 1796. Danziger Zeitung. Danzig 1798. Neueste Weltkunde. Tübingen 1798.

12 To this end, an ESRC-funded, extensive follow-on project to GerManC (GerManC Plus), led by Martin Durrell and Paul Bennett, is underway at the University of Manchester at the time of writing.

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Secondary Sources Behringer, Wolfgang (2003). Im Zeichen des Merkur: Reichspost und Kommunikationsrevolution in der Frühen Neuzeit. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht. Bennett, Paul, Martin Durrell and Astrid Ensslin (forthcoming, 2008), ‘Zeitungen und Sprachausgleich im 17. und 18. Jahrhundert’. In: Zeitschrift für deutsche Philologie 127. DiGiacomo, Susan M. (1999). ‘Language ideological debates in an Olympic city: Barcelona 1992–1996’. In: Jan Blommaert (ed.), Language Ideological Debates. New York: Mouton de Gruyter, 105–142. Durrell, Martin, Astrid Ensslin and Paul Bennett (2007). ‘GerManC: A historical corpus of German 1650–1800’. In: Sprache und Datenverarbeitung 31, 71–80. Habermas, Jürgen (1981). Strukturwandel der Öffentlichkeit. Untersuchungen zu einer Kategorie der bürgerlichen Gesellschaft. 12th ed. Darmstadt: Luchterhand. Haferkorn, Hans J. (1974). ‘Zur Entstehung der bürgerlich-literarischen Intelligenz und des Schriftstellers in Deutschland zwischen 1750 und 1800’. In: Bernd Lutz (ed.). Deutsches Bürgertum und literarische Intelligenz 1750–1800. Stuttgart: J.B. Metzler, 113–275. Halliday, Michael A.K. (1973). Explorations in the Functions of Language. London: Edward Arnold. Halliday, Michael A.K. and Christian M.I.M. Matthiessen (2004). An Introduction to Functional Grammar. 3rd ed. London: Arnold. Kienpointner, Manfred (1992). Alltagslogik. Struktur und Funktion von Argumentationsmustern. Stuttgart/Bad Cannstatt: frommann-holzboog. Kienpointner, Manfred (1996). Vernünftig argumentieren. Regeln und Techniken der Diskussion. Hamburg: Rowohlt. Kienpointner, Manfred and Walther Kindt (1997). ‘On the problem of bias in political argumentation: An investigation into discussions about political asylum in Germany and Austria’. In: Journal of Pragmatics 27, 555–585. Kopperschmidt, Josef (1989). Methodik der Argumentationsanalyse. Stuttgart/ Bad Cannstatt: frommann-holzboog. Langford, Paul (1984). ‘The eighteenth century (1688–1789)’. In Kenneth O. Morgan (ed.). The Oxford Illustrated History of Britain. Oxford: O.U.P., 352–418. Löbl, Emil (1903). Kultur und Presse. Leipzig: Duncker & Humblot. Mackensen, Lutz (1961). ‘Über die sprachliche Funktion der Zeitung: Ein Vortrag aus der Arbeit der „Deutschen Presseforschung“ zu Bremen’. In: Gustav Erdmann and Alfons Eichstaedt (eds). Worte und Werte:

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Bruno Markwardt zum 60. Geburtstag. Berlin: Walter de Gruyter & Co, 232–247. Maurer, Michael (1987). Aufklärung und Anglophilie in Deutschland, Publications of the German Historical Institute London, vol. 19. Göttingen: Vandenhoek und Ruprecht. Maurer, Michael (1991). ‘Europäische Kulturbeziehungen im Zeitalter der Aufklärung. Französische und englische Wirkungen auf Deutschland’. In: Das Achtzehnte Jahrhundert 15, 33–61. Maurer, Michael (1992). „O Britannien, von deiner Freiheit einen Hut voll“. Deutsche Reiseberichte des 18. Jahrhunderts. München: Beck. Maurer, Michael (2001). ‘Germany’s image of eighteenth-century England’. In: Joseph Canning and Hermann Wellenreuther (eds). Britain and Germany Compared: Nationality, Society and Nobility in the Eighteenth Century. Göttingen: Wallstein, 13–36. Polenz, Peter von (1994). Deutsche Sprachgeschichte vom Spätmittelalter bis zur Gegenwart. Band II: 17. und 18. Jahrhundert. Berlin: Walter de Gruyter. Reisigl, Martin and Ruth Wodak (2001). Discourse and Discrimination. London: Routledge. Weber, Johannes (2005). ‘Straßburg 1605: Die Geburt der Zeitung’. In: Holger Böning, Arnulf Kutsch and Rudolf Stöber (eds). Jahrbuch für Kommunikationsgeschichte, vol.7. Stuttgart: Franz Steiner, 3–26. Welke, Martin (1976). ‘Russland in der deutschen Publizistik des 17. Jahrhunderts (1613–1689)’. In: Forschungen zur osteuropäischen Geschichte, vol. 23. Berlin, 105–276. Welke, Martin (1981). ‘Gemeinsame Lektüre und frühe Formen von Gruppenbildungen im 17. und 18. Jahrhundert: Zeitungslesen in Deutschland’. In: Otto Dann (ed.). Lesegesellschaften und bürgerliche Emanzipation. Ein europäischer Vergleich. München: Beck, 29–53. Wodak, Ruth (2001). ‘The discourse-historical approach’. In: Ruth Wodak and Michael Meyer (eds). Methods of Critical Discourse Analysis. London: Sage, 63–94.

Non-Standard Language from the Lower Classes during the Nineteenth Century in Germany and Britain Wim Vandenbussche, Vrije Universiteit Brussel (Belgium) Distinguished Visiting Fellow 2007, Queen Mary University of London

Introduction The author of the present article is a scholar of Dutch linguistics and of the social history of that language, in particular. One could rightfully question what relevant contribution to a better understanding of “Anglo-German linguistic relations” can be expected from this background. In order to justify my presence in this collection of articles, I will therefore first try to clarify how my research on Dutch lower-class texts from the 19th century heavily depended on contributions of German scholars working on similar (German) archive material. Given that many of these important studies still do not enjoy the attention they deserve (largely due to the fact that they are written in German), I have chosen to discuss them in some detail. Next, I will highlight a number of recent studies on 19th-century English from the lower classes. Although there has been less than minimal contact between the German and English scholars involved in the cited research, a comparison of their research data should illustrate the major methodological and theoretical gains to be expected from systematic scholarly collaboration across language borders. As such, this article should be read as a plea for increased “AngloGerman” research contacts in one of the more salient domains of European historical sociolinguistics, i.e. social language variation during the so-called “long nineteenth century”. While scholars within the fields of Germanistik and Anglistik have both led the way in this domain for quite some time now “in mutual splendid isolation”, joint comparative research on the topic could result in a sound methodological and theoretical basis for similar research on lower-class texts from other language communities. Although the information discussed below is presented from a comparative “Anglo-German” angle for the first time here, much of the data has been collected from two previous overview studies. (Vandenbussche 2006; Vandenbussche & Elspaß eds 2007) Given that the present article is necessarily brief, the reader can turn to those publications for further analysis and discussion.

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Lower class writing from nineteenth-century Germany From 1993 onwards, the Centre for Linguistics at the Vrije Universiteit Brussel was involved in a research project on the history of Dutch in 19th-century Flanders. This was the first major historical-sociolinguistic research project in Dutch language area ever, comprizing systematic research into the social language stratification at the time, on the basis of original archive material. In the context of my PhD thesis (Vandenbussche 1999), I covered the analysis of lower-class language use for the project and analyzed the written output of 19th-century “unschooled” letter-writers from the Flemish town of Bruges. The sources used for this study consisted of handwritten minutes of meetings from the earliest social security funds for manual labourers and craft apprentices in Bruges. This research was partially triggered by the neglect of social language variation in the traditional historiography of 19th-century Dutch — the mainstream view of Flemish Dutch at the time was usually determined by references to the literary production of novelists and poets, genres that were completely out of touch with the actual everyday written language of the majority of the population. The main impetus for our venture into lower-class writing came from the strong tradition of German research into so-called “Arbeitersprache”. Ever since the series of pioneering studies on the topic (Bielefeld/Lundt 1977, Akademie 1980, Schildt 1981) written in the former DDR during the late 1970s and early 1980s, the analysis of the “niedere Umgangssprache” of the lower classes during the industrial revolution has remained a constant leitmotif in German historical dialectology. A detailed discussion of the many revealing and inspiring conclusions of these cutting-edge (albeit ideologically biased) studies can be found in Vandenbussche 2006; a state-ofthe-art analysis is further presented in three edited volumes on ‘Sprache und das 19. Jahrhundert’ published during the last decade of the past century. (Cherubim/Mattheier 1989; Wimmer 1991; Cherubim/Grosse/ Mattheier 1998) The main conclusion to be remembered for the purpose of this article is the various authors’ firm conviction that Arbeitersprache should be considered as a variety of its own governed by specific linguistic norms, opposed to both the “Literatursprache” and the “gehobene Umgangssprache” of the upper classes. It was further claimed that this variety had a considerable though often neglected influence on the development of the German language from 1800 onwards. Integrating the theoretical insights from the rapidly expanding discipline of sociolinguistics, Kettmann (1980, 1981) confirmed the clear opposition between the written literary language of the rich and the spoken everyday

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language of the poor, but also refined the views mentioned above, stating that the Umgangssprache of the workers was not to be understood as a single isolated variety, but rather as a spectrum of varieties with ample internal (social and regional) variation. Part of this variability was attributed to the growing importance of schooling — and of language education in particular — as a status symbol in the age of industrialization and the making of the middle class. At a time when the historical linguistics of German was still dominated by structuralist views, the aforementioned authors drew a number of crucial thsociolinguistic factors to the fore when it came to assessing 19 century linguistic reality in Germany. These comprised, amongst others: x x x x x x

the relationship between “Umgangssprache”, “Literatursprache” and dialect; the make-up of the Arbeiter’s language continuum; the distinct functions of specific language varieties for various social classes in the speech community; the importance of 19th-century “language purification” strategies for the norm; the sharp contrast between grammatical and orthographical norms and everyday written language use; the importance of reading and writing instruction at the time.

Mattheier (1985a, 1985b, 1986, 1989, 1990) refined these analyses during the latter part of the 1980s in a succession of seminal studies on the linguistic and orthographic properties of everyday writing from the Ruhr area during the 19th century. He confirmed the particular character of Arbeitersprache as an “eigenständige Varietät” in the field of tension between oral and written language, but also warned against an oversimplified classification of its extreme variability as non-standard or erroneous. “Arbeitersprache”, Mattheier claims, should not be considered as one single variety but rather as a “Sprachstil”, i.e. a spectrum of varieties. Orthographic variation was a core characteristic of this Sprachstil, setting it apart from Standard German, which was first and foremost a spoken variety around 1800. The complex relationship between lower-class letter-writers and the written mode was further enhanced by the fact that the mass spread of literacy only originated in Germany at the beginning of the 19th century. A correct (present day) interpretation of the aforementioned historical orthographic variability further depends on the scholar’s understanding and appreciation of the social norms governing “linguistic correctness” at the time:

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While it is true that the upper classes slowly started to consider consistent spelling behaviour as a token of class identity (or “educated” identity), these orthographic norms may have been of little or no importance to the lowerclass writer. Hence the often extreme spelling variation within one and the same lower-class text. The heavy interference of local dialects in the written “Arbeitersprache” (as opposed to the alleged upper-class “Standard”) may be interpreted as a further token of indifference towards upper-class linguistic norms. The main characteristic of Arbeitersprache, however, was the co-occurrence of spelling chaos with so-called “Stilzusammenbrüche”: Es handelt sich dabei um sprachliche Fehlleistungen, die sich daraus ergeben, daß eine bestimmte syntaktische Konstruktion vom Schreiber begonnen wird, es ihm dann jedoch nicht gelingt, sie regelrecht zum Abschluß zu bringen. (Mattheier 1990: 292)

In other words: lower-class writers were not only innocent of upper-class norms but they could not master specific text type properties either. This combination set their writing behaviour apart from that of the higher social strata. A number of young scholars continued this line of research during the 1990s. Schikorsky’s (1990) dissertation on the ‘Geschichte des alltäglichen Sprachverhaltens “kleiner Leute”’ confirms the singular character of lowerclass writing, but also highlights a clear improvement in writing quality as the 19th century progressed. Due to the changing nature of their work (from manual labour to writing-oriented tasks), the letter-writers’ language increaseingly inclined towards upper-class language norms. Klenk (1997) — a pupil of Mattheier’s — firmly supports the thesis of an “Arbeiterschriftsprache” as a variety in its own right (this time based on evidence from mineworkers from 19th-century Prussia), but contains one very important observation that reflects a looming paradigm shift in this branch of historical sociolinguistics: In anderen Berufsgruppen werden ähnliche Sprachstrukturen nur unter ähnlichen Bedingungen, wie sie für die Bergarbeiter galten, auftreten. Ist die Ähnlichkeit gegeben, können können die Ergebnisse über eine an der Berufsgruppe der Bergarbeiter, ja sogar über eine an der Arbeiterschaft all-gemein orientierte Konzeption hinausweisen. (Klenk 1997: 329)

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Twenty years of in-depth research on German lower-class texts had elicited regular criticism of some of the methodological and theoretical issues mentioned above, but had also led to serious debates on the validity of “Arbeitersprache” as a sociolinguistic category. Grosse et al. (1989, 1990a, 1990b) were the first to fully deny the treasured concept of an “Arbeitersprache” as a class-specific and distinct variety. The term is an “untauglicher Kollektivterminus”, he claims, that does not stand the test of comparative archive research on lower- and upperclass texts: “Briefe von Angehörigen des Adels stehen in der individuellen, unsicheren Orthographie den Arbeiterbriefen nicht fern.” (Grosse 1990a: 207) Mihm (1998) reinforces this criticism and firmly calls for a serious theoretical reconsideration of the Arbeitersprache concept. According to Mihm, there is no reason to question the sociolinguistic and languagehistorical relevance of the orthographic and stylistic text properties discussed above: it is an incontestable fact that many of the lower-class letter-writers in 19th-century Germany ignored official spelling rules, wrote in a purely idiosyncratic, creative and highly variably way, and frequently struggled with text type conventions, resulting in ubiquitous “Stilzusammenbrüche”. The question remains whether the presence of these features should be attributed to class membership in the strictest sense. It is simply impossible to define a set of relevant linguistic features that are shared by all Arbeiter and by no other group, Mihm claims, whichever definition one uses for the working class. In the same line of thought “[kann man] auch nicht in einem linguistischen oder soziolinguistischen Sinn von einer ‘Sprache des Bürgers’ sprechen.” (Mihm 1998: 294) In other words: the observed language patters were real enough, but it is highly doubtful whether they really “defined” a variety as such. This “bomb” under the theoretical foundations of the larger part of the above-mentioned studies would eventually inspire Elspaß’s (2005) plea for a “language history from below” (“Sprachgeschichte von Unten”). As far as focus is concerned, Elspaß follows all the authors in the “tradition” sketched above, advocating a language history which does not limit itself to the written production of a numerically small elite, but which also includes the actual real-life language written by the very large segment of the lower ranks of society. The refreshing element in Elspaß’s linguistic treatment of the historical lower-class sources is to be found in his interpretation of the data and in his search for factors that can explain the remarkable linguistic communalities and oddities in workers’ texts across Germany. By moving away from a fixation on clear cut class oppositions (“the” lower class vs. “the” elite) in favour of a focus on the various phenomena that can define and construct a specific element of multifaceted social identities (quality and nature of writing education, work-related requirements and skills, the

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importance of writing skills for one’s social status, etc.). Elspaß’s study of lower-class writing finally broke free of the ideological paradigm in which it originated in the 1970s.

Lower-class writing from nineteenth century England The “German tradition” outlined above proved invaluable for my personal research on Flemish lower-class texts during the latter part of the 1990s (cf. Vandenbussche 2007 for an overview of the main findings). Shortly after the completion of my Ph.D., an article by Tony Fairman (2000) was brought to my attention, dealing with ‘English Pauper Letters 1830–34, and the English Language’. Fairman analyzed “lower order letters” of unschooled or partiallyschooled letter-writers found in various English Record Office archives. These letters often concerned relief applications (requests for money or food), reflecting the social misery among paupers in Britain at the time. A number of striking parallels could be drawn between the German research on Arbeitersprache (and also my research on Flemish lower-class writing) and the English data, both with regard to the type of texts used and the linguistic properties of these documents. No German scholars had made any reference to similar research in England — as it was, there was no reference whatsoever to any similar research outside the German language area. Likewise, the English scholar was unfamiliar with the impressive amount of information from Germany. In both cases this was attributed to the “language border”: all articles quoted above were written in German only and none of the information was ever published in another language. th Thomas Sokoll’s (2001) edition of Essex pauper letters from the late 18 th and early 19 centuries confirmed the ample opportunities for comparative research between German and English lower-class documents from 1800 onwards. Sokoll is a social historian, not a linguist, however. As such, his prime interest was not in stylistic features or orthographic variation, and the aforementioned studies went by equally unnoticed (ironically, he is German and would not have experienced any linguistic difficulties). The “linguistic turn” in British social history had already rendered an impressive body of work on historical sociolinguists from the historians’ point of view (cf. the seminal studies by Burke & Porter 1987, 1991, 1995), but Sokoll was among the first to foreground lower-class letters. Despite the overt intention among British scholars to bridge gaps between historical sociolinguistics and social history (as confirmed by the sterling work of Burke and Porter), Fairman’s work had not been brought to Sokoll’s attention, either.

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The reader is referred to Fairman (2000, 2002 and 2007) for the detailed linguistic analyses of these English pauper texts. The text below (from Fairman 2007) gives an impression, however, of the type of language mastery encountered in these documents. i have sent to you mister holdon that i have no wark to doe and you mst [must send me sum muney i have Bean hout of wark a 11 weaks [have not arnt But 1 pound i was at wark wen vou sent me that muny [at muster pues it was But afue days i have arnt But 2 shilens [for 5 three weaks i have pond all my things and i have got my [furest and if you doe not send me sume muney i shall came [home ass possiBle my wife expcts to Be put to Beed every day [and thear is a procts for me in a few weaks [But when i git in to warke praps i may never truBle [you no more But if you wil not help me thrw one [kurtor you 10 must surport my wife and famely all ther [lifestme when tu theare is a nesety i nevery will try [to make my self a setelmenet aney more [you sent ward that my wife arnt a greate deal [of muney sureny she youst to arn a goudeal But [she have arnt nothing latly not and she is not likeley [to arn aney more for sumtime you sed i might have [Bean at 15 mister Clopper tl this time But your [perther node not nothing a But my busens [you may tel mester rouse to cole at mester pues [then e wil tl you all aBut my busens [ples to send me sum muney Buy rouse on fridy [sm to pay sum of my deats of if not i shall [cume over next munday and git ahuse in my houn [parshes. (written by Benjamin Brooker, 2 December 1825)

The reader will note that this letter-writer ignores official spelling rules and introduces a large amount of spelling variation, very much like his German (and Flemish) counterparts at the time. As far as punctuation and capitalization are concerned, this letter is equally reminiscent of what can be read in the German lower-order letters. Instances of “Stilzusammenbrüche” can be found throughout the text and the overall text structure is as “shaky” as in many of the examples quoted by Mattheier, Schikorsky, Klenk and Elspaß. Fairman (2007: 172) adds that there are orthographic units whose orthography and grammar readers cannot predict according to the “Standard”. Very much like the German researchers above, he concludes that it is unfair to judge or evaluate this letter-writer’s writing abilities according to the standard norms at the time: “If writers show that they couldn’t write ‘Standard’ grammar,” he says, “there is no reason to assume they knew ‘Standard’ spelling.” (ibid.) In short: both as far as the stylistic and orthographic features of the text are concerned, as well as regarding the meta-linguistic issue of determining which “variety” or “language stage” the text represents, German and English th linguists involved with lower-class texts from the 19 century face the very

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same questions, problems and dilemmas. The observation may seem naive or even trivial, but this mutual research interest and shared experience (regarding both the content and form of the data at hand) simply cries out for an intensive exchange of knowledge and expertise, and for strong international collaboration between German and English historical socio-linguists across language borders. This “Anglo-German cultural relation” in the field of social language history would, moreover, constitute an inspiring and powerful example for research on non-standard texts from the lower classes in other language communities.

From Anglo-German to international and cross-disciplinary collaboration on lower-class writing The remarkably similar linguistic properties of the German and English lower-class texts might be interpreted as an argument against the claim that there was no such thing as an Arbeitersprache as a variety in its own right. If writing features similar to those in German workers’ texts appear in other countries in texts pertaining to the same social class, it may be tempting to give in to the illusion that Arbeitersprache contains “universal” features. At first sight recent results from historical-sociolinguistic research in other language communities even appear to support this view. Over the past five years, studies on lower-class writing have seen the light in, among other places, Denmark, Finland and Québec. (cf. the contributions by Sandersen, Nordlund and Martineau in Vandenbussche & Elspaß eds 2007) The most recent addition to the field is a study on Russian peasant letters. (Yokoyama 2008) All scholars list the same spelling and style “problems” as those mentioned above as typical elements of the language found in their archive data. However (and not surprisingly), the Flemish data from Bruges proved the assumption of universal lower-class features to be wrong. Whereas lower-class letter-writers combined variable spelling patterns with “Stilzusammenbrüche” throughout the whole “long nineteenth century” in the text corpus, the same combination was found in parallel corpora with middleand upper-class texts. While the middle-class letter-writers switched to “standard” writing around in 1850, the upper classes adopted the standard even earlier, in around 1800. The time of the transition from variable to consistent spelling co-occurs with the spread of literacy through society in th Bruges: information on literacy in 19 -century Belgium from social historians teaches us that the upper and middle class in Bruges became fully

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literate just before 1800 and around 1840 respectively. The lower classes only reached the same level well into the 20th century. All of these recent studies on non-Anglo-German lower-class writing from the 19th century join in a series of crucial questions. How was literacy instruction organized in a specific society, and what was the relation between language teaching and writing quality? What is known about the history of pauper education in the community under scrutiny? How did the nature of a letter-writer’s work environment influence the development of personal skills; in other words, how relevant was the opposition between professions that were handarbeit- or schriftarbeitorientiert for one’s level of writing skill? How important was literacy for the construction of one’s social identity? Given the impressive state of experience and expertise in the analysis of th 19 -century lower-class texts in both the German and English scholarly community, a systematic collaboration (including disclosure of the research results to a large international audience) between the research groups from these communities (both linguists and historians) would present a major methodological and theoretical support for anyone who wants to undertake similar research, both on the history of German and English, or on any other language.

References Akademie (1980). Studien der deutschen Sprachgeschichte des 19. Jahrhunderts. Berlin: Akademie der Wissenschaften der DDR. Zentralinstitut für Sprachwissenschaft. Bielefeld, Hans Ulrich & Lundt, André (1977). ‘Zur Untersuchung von “Arbeitersprache”’. In: Hans-Ulrich Bielefeld et al. (eds). Soziolinguistik und Empirie. Beitrage zu Problemen der Corpusgewinnung und -auswertung. Wiesbaden: Athenaion, 97–140. Burke, Peter & Porter, Roy (eds) (1987). The Social History of Language. Cambridge: C.U.P. Burke, Peter & Porter, Roy (eds) (1991). Language, Self and Society. Cambridge: Polity Press. Burke, Peter & Porter, Roy (eds) (1995). Languages and Jargons: Contributions to a Social History of Language. Cambridge: Polity Press. Cherubim, Dieter & Mattheier, Klaus J. (eds) (1989). Voraussetzungen und Grundfragen der Gegenwartsprache. Sprach- und sozialgeschichtliche Untersuchungen zum 19. Jahrhundert. Berlin/New York: de Gruyter.

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Cherubim, Dieter, Mattheier, Klaus J. & Grosse, Siegfried (eds) (1998). Sprache und Bürgerliche Nation. Berlin/New York: de Gruyter. Elspaß, Stephan (2005). Sprachgeschichte von unten. Untersuchungen zum geschriebenen Alltagsdeutsch im 19. Jahrhundert. Tübingen: Niemeyer. Fairman, Tony (2000). ‘English Pauper Letters 1830–34, and the English Language’. In: David Barton & Nigel Hall (eds). Letter Writing as a social practice. Amsterdam: Benjamins, 63–82. Fairman, Tony (2002). ‘riting these fu lines: English overseers’ correspondence, 1800–1835’. Verslagen en Medelingen van de Koninklijke Academie voor Nederlandse Taal- en Letterkunde 112, 557–573. Fairman, Tony (2007). ‘Writing and “the Standard”: England, 1795’. In: Multilingua 2/3, 167–201. Grosse, Siegfried, Grimberg Martin, Hölscher Thomas, Karweick Jörg (eds) (1989). “Denn das Schreiben gehört nicht zu meiner täglichen Beschäftigung.” Der Alltag kleiner Leute in Bittschriften, Briefen und Berichten aus dem 19. Jahrhundert. Ein Lesebuch. Bonn: Dietz. Grosse, Siegfried (1990a). ‘Arbeitersprache im Ruhrgebiet’. In: Rainer Wimmer (ed.) (1990). Das 19. Jahrhundert. Sprachgeschichtliche Wurzeln des heutigen Deutsch. Berlin/New York: de Gruyter, 202–222. Grosse, Siegfried (1990b): ‘Zu Syntax und Stil in der deutschen Sprache des 19. Jahrhunderts’. In: Anne Betten (ed.). Neuere Forschungen zur historische Syntax des Deutschen. Tübingen: Niemeyer, 300–309. Kettmann, Gerhard (1980). ‘Sprachverwendung und industrielle Revolution. Studien zu den Bedingungen umgangssprachlicher Entwicklung und zur Rolle der Umgangssprache in der zweiten Hälfte des 19. Jahrhunderts’. In: Akademie. Studien der deutschen Sprachgeschichte des 19. Jahrhunderts. Berlin: Akademie der Wissenschaften der DDR. Zentralinstitut für Sprachwissenschaft, 1–120. Kettmann, Gerhard (1981). ‘Die Existenzformen der deutschen Sprache im 19. Jahrhundert. Ihre Entwicklung und ihr Verhältnis zueinander unter den Bedingungen der industriellen Revolution’. In: Joachim Schildt (ed.). Auswirkungen der industriellen Revolution auf die deutsche Sprachentwicklung im 19. Jahrhundert. Berlin: Akademie-Verlag, 34–97. Klenk, Marion (1997). Sprache im Kontext sozialer Lebenswelt. Eine Untersuchung zur Arbeiterschriftsprache im 19. Jahrhundert. Tübingen: Niemeyer. Mattheier, Klaus, J. (1985a). ‘Sprache im Industriebetrieb des 19. Jahrhunderts. Überlegungen am Beispiel der Sprache des Industriepioniers Franz Haniel’. In: Ahrend Mihm (ed.). Sprache an Rhein und Ruhr. Wiesbaden: Steiner, 83–98. Mattheier, Klaus, J. (1985b). ‘Textsorten im Industriebetrieb des 19. Jahrhunderts’. In: Sprache der Gegenwart (Schriften des Instituts für

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deutsche Sprache. Band LXVII). Düsseldorf: Pädagogischer Verlag Schwann, 193–226. Mattheier, Klaus, J. (1986). ‘“Lauter Borke um den Kopp”. Überlegungen zur Sprache der Arbeiter im 19. Jahrhundert’. In: Rheinische Vierteljahrsblätter 50, 222–252. Mattheier, Klaus, J. (1989). ‘Die soziokommunikative Situation der Arbeiter im 19. Jahrhundert’. In: Cherubim, Dieter & Mattheier, Klaus J. (eds). Voraussetzungen und Grundfragen der Gegenwartsprache. Sprach- und sozialgeschichtliche Untersuchungen zum 19. Jahrhundert. Berlin/New York: de Gruyter, 93–108. Mattheier, Klaus, J. (1990). ‘Formale und funktionale Aspekte der Syntax von Arbeiterschriftsprache im 19. Jahrhundert’. In: Anne Betten (ed.). Neuere Forschungen zur historische Syntax des Deutschen. Tübingen: Niemeyer, 286–299. Mihm, Ahrend (1998). ‘Arbeitersprache und gesprochene Sprache im 19. Jahrhundert’. In: Cherubim, Dieter, Mattheier, Klaus J. & Grosse, Siegfried (eds). Sprache und Bürgerliche Nation. Berlin/New York: de Gruyter, 282–316. Schikorsky, Isa (1990). Private Schriftlichkeit im 19. Jahrhundert. Untersuchungen zur Geschichte des alltäglichen Sprachverhaltens ‘kleiner Leute’. Tübingen: Niemeyer. Schildt, Joachim (ed.) (1981). Auswirkungen der industriellen Revolution auf die deutsche Sprachentwicklung im 19. Jahrhundert. Berlin: AkademieVerlag Sokoll, Thomas (2001). Essex Pauper Letters 1731–1837. Oxford. O.U.P. Vandenbussche, Wim (1999). Een bijdrage tot de studie van het taalgebruik van de lagere klassen in 19de-eeuws Brugge. Vrije Universiteit Brussel. Ph.D. dissertation. Vandenbussche, Wim (2006). ‘A Rough Guide to German Research on “Arbeitersprache” during the 19th Century’. In: Germanistik genießen. Gedenkschrift für Doc. Dr. phil. Hildegard Bokova. Wien: Praesens Verlag, 439–458. Vandenbussche, Wim (2007). ‘“Lower class language” in 19th Century Flanders’. In: Multilingua 26, 2/3, 279–290. Vandenbussche, Wim & Stephan Elspaß (eds) (2007). Lower Class Language Use in the 19th Century. Berlin/New York: de Gruyter. (Special issue of Multilingua 26, 2/3.) Wimmer, Rainer (ed.) (1990). Das 19. Jahrhundert. Sprachgeschichtliche Wurzeln des heutigen Deutsch. Berlin/New York: de Gruyter. Yokoyama, Olga T. (2008). Russian Peasant Letters. Texts and Contexts. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz Verlag.

Female and Fascist: Gender, Identity and Power in the Discourse of Women Fascists in Britain and Germany Geraldine Horan, University College London (UK)

Introduction In her analysis of “feminine fascism”, the historian Julie Gottlieb claims that British fascist women “prioritized their national, regional and political identities above their sense of being members of a women’s community.” (2000: 274) Gottlieb’s statement highlights a perceived conflict at the centre of women’s identity in fascism, between gender and fascist ideology. The assumption is that given the male-dominated and misogynistic structure and ideology of fascist organizations, a fascist identity automatically entails the denial or demotion of female identity. (Koonz 1987: 5–6; Mühlberger 2004: 307)1 The potential mutual exclusion of these two elements in identityformation is accepted not only by the fascist women themselves but also subsequently by many historians and linguists seeking to analyse the women’s activities and discourse. The fascist women constituted a minority in their organizations, and were defined and organized according to their gender. The women were aware that their identity as women and fascists breached conflicting elements: loyalty to the perceived community of women and loyalty to fascism — these elements are established and accepted as “given” from the start and are thematized in their texts. In my analysis of women’s articles from issues of the fascist newspapers, The Blackshirt and the Völkischer Beobachter of 1934, I will argue that both British and German fascist women attempt to combine these elements, in creating a “feminized” fascist identity, which was palatable both to the wider female community 1

Mühlberger (2004: 307) comments on the discriminatory attitudes and policies of the NSDAP concerning women’s participation up to 1933: “Unlike other Weimar parties, the Nazi Party never even paid any obligatory lip-service to the idea of the equality of the sexes [...]. Nazi ideas on the position of women in society in the post-war era were in tune with the völkisch catalogue of antifeminism. For the Nazi hierarchy even the relatively limited emancipation achieved by women, especially after their political enfranchisement after the war, was viewed as an unmitigated disaster, the consequence of ‘Jewish’ ideas, and in urgent need of reversal.” These attitudes were recreated by the ideological, political discourses that fascist women were confronted with and were forced to either justify or reject. See also Jill Stephenson (2001: 16–20).

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and to fascist men. In my analysis, I will draw on the discourse-historical analytical framework employed by Wodak et al. (1999), which identifies four categories of discursive strategy employed in texts: constructive strategies, strategies of perpetuation and justification/ legitimation, strategies of transformation, and destructive strategies. These strategies will be outlined in more detail in the section on analytical framework.

1. Historical background A brief overview of women’s involvement in fascist organizations in Britain and Germany shows that although women did not participate in great numbers or occupy top positions of power, their presence and influence is evident from the outset. In the case of Germany, fascist women’s discourse did not suddenly appear in 1933, but developed throughout the inter-war years, drawing on dominant conservative, reactionary discourses, as well as discourses from the women’s movements of the 19th and early 20th centuries. (Horan 2003: 66–68, Wittrock 1983)

1.1 Fascist women’s organizations in Britain and Germany in the inter-war years. The first fascist movement in Britain, the British Fascisti, was founded by a woman, Rotha Lintorn Orman in 1923, but gradually lost its importance and influence to a rival organization, the British Union of Fascists, founded in 1932, with Oswald Mosley as its leader. (Gottlieb 2000: 11–12) Female membership constituted between one fifth and one third of BUF membership, which was more than the NSDAP in Germany could boast. (Durham 1998: 49)2 The Women’s Section of the BUF was founded in March 1933 by Maud Lady Mosley (Oswald Mosley’s mother), and in articles in The Blackshirt she becomes the matriarchal icon of the women’s section. (Gottlieb 2000: 45–53) Women’s activities included propaganda work: public speaking at women’s meetings, distributing materials about fascism, carrying out administrative work, and organizing social events, but unlike their German counterparts, combat training was also an important part of women’s involvement — British women fascists learnt ju-jitsu in order to defend 2

Durham (1998: 49) mentions Mosley’s claim in 1940 that “the British Union had a higher percentage of women candidates than any other party” and that the movement had “been largely built up by the fanaticism of the women.”

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themselves against physical attacks at political meetings, rallies and marches. (Gottlieb 2000: 25–30) BUF members included a number of well-known suffragettes: Mary Richardson, Norah Elam and Mary Allen, who promoted fascism as carrying forward true feminist ideas. The “conversion” of feminists to fascism was always well-advertised and was seen as proof that fascist policies were palatable and not anti-women. (see Gottlieb 2000: 147–176; the chapter entitled ‘The Legacy of the Suffragettes for British Fascism’) In Germany, although women were active supporters of National Socialism from the early 1920s, it was clear from the outset that they would not be able to wield any significant power within the party. Figures on women’s membership vary between 5% and 20% in the 1920s and 30s — although statistics reveal little about the actual level of participation, as women were often involved unofficially or considered themselves to be National Socialists without necessarily obtaining membership (Horan 2003: 37). Until the early 1930s there were a number of women’s organizations which supported National Socialism, each with their own female leader; in 1932, however, a single umbrella organization, the NS-Frauenschaft /Deutscher Frauenorden was created within the NSDAP, with one leader, the Reichsfrauenführerin, Gertrud Scholtz-Klink. Mühlberger (2004: 316–317) remarks on how the creation and growing status of the NSF/DFO was accompanied by a surge of women wishing to join NS women’s organizations, with 56,386 women beth st coming party members between 14 September 1930 and 31 January 1933, th contrasted with 7,625 between February 1925 and 14 September 1930.

1.2 Fascist women’s publications. The BUF women briefly published a women’s newspaper, The Woman Fascist, in 1934, but it lasted no longer than a few months. (Durham 1998: 65) There were, however, women’s pages in The Blackshirt and Fascist Week. With the disappearance of a dedicated fascist women’s publication in 1934, BUF women declared that they did not wish to have their own newspaper, but were glad to be provided with space in the main BUF’s newspaper, not least to stress solidarity with their male counterparts: “I prefer a ‘woman’s corner’ in our paper to any publication that might suggest a separate existence.” (‘A Message to the Women Blackshirts’, BS, 7/9/34) German women had several publications in which to appeal to fellow women: the official NS newspaper, the Völkischer Beobachter, having initially ignored the Frauenfrage and women as readers, published a supplement entitled ‘Die deutsche Frauenbewegung’, beginning in January 1926. (Mühlberger 2004: 310) From March 1933 until the end of 1939 a women’s supplement, ‘Die deutsche Frau’, appeared weekly; after 1939 it appeared at

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irregular intervals and ceased to appear from 1942 onwards. (Kessler 1981: 34) In her analysis of ‘Die deutsche Frau’, Hannelore Kessler describes the aims of the editor Florentine Hamm to make the supplement “Propaganda für Deutschland”: Die Aufgabe der Beilage sei es, sowohl Frauen und Müttern als auch der heranwachsenden Generation den Geist unserer Zeit, in dem Deutschland erwacht ist, möglichst nahe zu bringen. (Kessler 1981: 35)

In addition, there were NS women’s publications, including the NSFrauenwarte, the NS-Frauenkorrespondenz, Die deutsche Frauenfront, and the so-called NS “feminist” journal Die Deutsche Kämpferin. (see Horan 2003: 37, 40) Despite differences in the format for their articles, both the English and the German publications shared a common aim: to create a recognizable female sphere in fascism, in which fascist thought and ideology was adapted in way considered best to appeal to women and to encourage their support and participation. Fascism was thus “filtered” through a range of recurring topics and themes, which ranged from the abstract, philosophical and political to the everyday, domestic and social, often combining several of these, such as women’s political activities in fascism and household management alongside social themes relating to women in general, for example women’s employment or maternal mortality rates.

2. Methodological considerations The terms “gender”, “identity” and “power” referred to in the title of this essay are used frequently, but do require further definition for the purposes of this analysis. The discursive strategies employed in this analysis will also be outlined.

2.1 Gender, identity and power: some definitions Defining gender has long proved problematic for researchers from all disciplines for several reasons: not only is gender not a stable, well-defined variable, it is also questionable whether the binary distinction between female and male is valid or useful. In analyses of these binary constructs, it is often regarded as necessary to differentiate sex, which refers to biological differences, from gender, which distinguishes between men and women on

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the basis of socially-determined behaviour and roles. (Tannen 1996: 9–14) For the purposes of this analysis, gender will be defined as a social category, one which arises out of social practice and in some cases prejudice. However, the significance of sex as an essentialist category will also be acknowledged, as this undoubtedly lay at the heart of fascist ideology. It is these socially-determined ideas of so-called “natural” sex differences that became part of the dominant discourses in the interwar years in Britain and Germany — discourses which fascist women themselves drew upon and which formed notions of “common sense”, underpinning dominant ideologies and public discourses at the time.3 Identifying women as a gendered group need not be a reductive step towards an oversimplification of gender characteristics: as the fascist women’s texts show, gender is not a constant, fixed determining factor, but rather is created, recreated and explored through each communicative act. (Coates 1996: 232–233) The naturalization of ideologies determining gender roles and the subordinate status of women in society were expressed in dominant discourses, and this set the communicative environment in which the women created their female, fascist identity. (Fairclough 2001: 76–77) In their texts, the women draw upon dominant discourses, which typically portray women as secondary in political activeities, with stereotypical‚ “female” characteristics, such as motherliness, nurtureing, self-sacrificing, for example. Dominant ideologies concerning gender roles are problematized and thematized; women construct and portray aspects of their femininity in order to create a female group identity with the organizations and beyond, whilst also ensuring that they signal their adherence to fascist ideology. The concept of identity, like gender, although widely used in a variety of scholarly and everyday contexts, also requires further explanation. Identity is a socially-constituted phenomenon, influenced by the individual’s perception of her- or himself as belonging to a particular group or organization, as well as by the evaluation of the individual and her/his membership of a group by others. Wodak et al. (1999: 8) state that: Through discourses, social actors constitute objects of knowledge, situations and social roles, as well as identities and interpersonal relations between different social groups and those who interact with them.

Identity is not a singular concept: an individual does not possess one allencompassing identity, but rather has multiple identities, which may interact, overlap or even clash with each other, and the combination of which may 3

See Fairclough (2001: 64–90) for an analysis of the relationship between discourse, ideology and common sense.

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determine the individual’s access to power and influence. Wodak et al. describe how a member of a group possesses many “we-identities” which can be varied and at times conflicting: Even in the identity of any given individual several of these social identities or their components — identity fragments, so to speak — are intertwined. A member of a wide variety of society groups and networks has at her or his disposal a wide spectrum of sources of identification from which he or she selects more or less voluntarily, depending on the context and situation, and thus ‘composes’ her or his multiple identity. (Wodak et al. 1999: 16)

In the case of fascist women, their multiple identities, incorporating fascism and gender, are regarded by many inside and outside of fascist organizations as irreconcilable, and it is through their texts in fascist publications that the women address the apparent conflicts in their gender and ideological membership. Power is a socially-determined phenomenon that is exercised through discourse, whilst also controlling and in some cases restricting access to it. (Fairclough 2001: 61) Power in discourse means having the status or position to create and shape discourses that are valued, bring esteem and have influence on social groups and events. Thus, having access to the production of discourses and the ability to disseminate ideas through dominant or influential discourses are important factors in having “power” in a society or organization, as is having the kind of status to enable the discourses produced to be received favourably and engaged with by others. From the women’s fascist texts, it is apparent that, for the women authors, power resides in their gender-specific roles, which they regard as “unique” and worthy. They do not seek equality of organizational power with their male counterparts; rather they deny this repeatedly, and instead draw on models of motherhood and domesticity as their spheres and sources of power.

2.2 Analytical framework The analysis of the texts draws upon the concepts of topoi and discursive strategies employed by Wodak et al. (1999) in their analysis of national identity. They characterize topoi as “highly conventionalized parts of argumentation which belong to the obligatory elements of argumentation and take the form either of explicit or inferable premises.” (Wodak et al. 1999: 34–35) Common topoi in the fascist women’s texts include time (past, present and future, with the recent past being evaluated negatively and the future positively, but the more distant past regarded as a model, for example,

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Elizabethan England, Germanic culture), difference/comparison, nature, age (youth = good, age = bad), usefulness and sacrifice. These topoi recur in a variety of contexts and serve multiple functions, and as such form part of the constructive strategies, strategies of perpetuation, justification/legitimation, transformation, and destruction/dismantling. Constructive strategies as defined by Wodak et al. (1999: 93): include linguistic acts which serve to “build”/establish particular groups [...]. These are primarily linguistic utterances which constitute a “we” group and a “they” group through particular acts of reference.

The function of constructive strategies is therefore to forge a positive group identity with which others can identify. For fascist women, this means employing strategies that will define their beliefs, behaviour and activities, and will portray them as desirable in contrast to those of non-fascist women to attract more women to the in-group. A further function of constructive strategies in the texts is to establish women’s identity as distinct, to communicate to fascist men that they are not a threat to the male-dominated order. Strategies of perpetuation, justification/legitimation “contribute to the restoration, legitimation or relativization of a social status quo.” (Wodak et al. 1999: 8) In the fascist women’s texts, the BUF women argue for a dismantling rather than a perpetuation of the social status quo, in order to bring about a fascist state. However, they claim that they are continuing the tradition of a past “glorious” nation. Legitimation and justification for them takes the form of attempts to communicate their identity as female fascists and their wish to improve the lives of their fellow women and the British public in general. German fascist women writing in the VB, as members of a National Socialist state, are preoccupied with justifying the policies of the NSDAP, and ensuring their support and continuation. Strategies of transformation “attempt to transform a relatively wellestablished situation into another, of which the speaker or writer may already have formed an image.” (Van Leeuwen/Wodak 1999: 93) Women fascists challenge prevailing (negative) perceptions of fascism in general and women’s role in fascism in particular, and seek to emphasize their identity in a positive light. Destructive/dismantling strategies attempt to destroy or negate existing ideas or constructs, without necessarily wishing to or being able to establish a new, alternative model. (Wodak et al. 1999: 33) Whilst fascist women in both publication do identify enemies and criticize past or present ideologies, policies and developments in society, they also contrast what they wish to

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dismantle with positive alternatives, drawing on the topos of (future) time and the speech act of the promise.

3. Analysis of articles from the Völkischer Beobachter and The Blackshirt The women’s articles in the two publications employ a variety of styles and address many different themes regarded as relevant and suitable for women, including craft activities, education, careers for women, book reviews, as well as reports of political activity on the part of women. Common to the Völkischer Beobachter and The Blackshirt (hereafter VB and BS) is the hybridity of style between articles and even within articles, which sees the use of overtly political and ideological terminology, as well as sentimental, everyday language. A recognizable “Plauderton” is often employed in order to appeal to the imagined community of women and to persuade them that fascism is not a threatening or alien choice for women. (Kessler 1981: 79– 80) The choice of familiar topics, such as household, children and employment, reassure to the readers, and it is through this topical and discoursal “familiarity” that fascist ideology is channelled. Considerable emphasis is placed on strategies of personalization: in the VB, stories of the achievements of individual women in the service of fascism or activities condoned by fascism; in BS, articles include the personal testimonies of women, often well-known figures, such as suffragettes, who have been “converted” to the fascist cause. The VB was more inclined to combine political and ideological texts with everyday, superficial, “non-political” articles, including, for example, poems, short stories and articles about folk customs and traditions. For the German fascist women, fascism was an all-encompassing way of life, whereas for their British counterparts, the case still had to be made for a fascist state, and articles indicate that they regarded their German and Italian fascist sisters with some degree of envy.4 BUF women also attempted to stress that involvement in fascism was not only political but a social activity as well, with references to dances and “at home” gatherings: The Leader attended a very successful “At Home” in the W.H.Q. club rooms, at which Lady Mosley was hostess. Over one hundred members attended with their friends. It was a great event for all present and the Leader’s visit will remain an inspiration and an impetus for many a month to come. (‘Lady Mosley’s “At Home”’, BS, 21/9/34) 4

See, for example, Rosalind Raby, ‘A Woman in Nazi Germany. Triumph of the New Spirit. Success of Hitler’s Methods’, BS, 9/11/34, and Maria Currey, ‘Women and the Corporate State. Equality of the Sexes in Italy’, BS, 2/6/34.

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In spite of a threatened anti-Fascist demonstration there were over 200 dancers present, a proof of the Southampton public’s refusal to be intimidated. This highlights how the political and the social were closely intertwined, with attending a BUF dance encountering determined opposition. The images in both publications also reveal differences in approach and theme: BS favoured photographs of leading fascist women, whereas the women’s supplement in the VB featured drawings of particular scenes, for example agricultural workers toiling in the fields or photographs of children playing, of women engaged in collective activities or of spring flowers or “cute” animals. The advertisements also show significant differences, with gender-specific advertisements prominent in the VB, while the BS did not specifically link its articles by women with advertisements targeted at women. This suggests a greater degree of separate, gendered identity in the German texts than their British equivalents.

3.1 Constructive strategies The texts create a network of in-groups and out-groups, linked to gender and political identity, including fascist/non-fascist women, and fascist men (part of in- and out-group). In the texts, anthroponyms are employed, including mention of leading fascists: Hitler, Oswald Mosley, and, in particular, fascist women: Reichsfrauenführerin Gertrud Scholtz-Klink, Maud Lady Moseley, and the names of fascist organizations: Frauenarbeitsdienst, Hilfswerk Mutter und Kind, Women’s Branch, Women’s Headquarters. Toponyms include Britain, England and Deutschland, and forge women’s identities according to national groupings or boundaries. These also become personified and stand as representatives of the individual. In BS, regional toponyms are frequent and emphasize the widespread network of fascist women, for example, ‘Streatham Women Enthusiastic’, ‘First Woman Speaker in Yorkshire’. (BS, 28/9/34) The lexemes Fascism and National-sozialismus are also personified as concepts which can both act and be the recipient of actions themselves, for example “Das ist der Wille der nationalsozialistischen Weltanschauung” (‘Der Reichsmütterdienst’, VB, 13/9/34) and “When Fascism comes to England, you shall have your true place — a place coequal with your man, in the fashioning of the nation’s domestic affairs.” (“Martha”, ‘“The Hand that Rocks the Cradle ...” The Poet Said — It Ruled the World’, BS, 26/10/34) Temporal references play a role in defining group membership. In the VB, references to the present (positive) are contrasted with the past (negateve). By contrast, the present is cast as both negative (non-fascist) and positive (fascist activities to change the status quo), and references to the

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future, through the use of modal verbs, or, more hypothetically, through the subjunctive, point to a more positive outcome. The past is also referred to both negatively (corrupt, decadent government, and regrettable changes in society) and positively, in harking back to the Germanic tribes (see, for example, ‘Über Liebe und Ehe der Germanen’, VB, 20/9/34) or the ideals of Elizabethan England. (E. Gill, ‘Why I joined the Blackshirts’, 14/9/34) Pronouns also signal in-group membership, whilst also indicating a hierarchy of in-groups women belong to or can belong to. Thus, the use of the pronouns we/wir, us/uns, our/unser functions to establish the notion of a unified community of women sharing common concerns, yet it can refer to different constellations of membership and identity: not only “we, the community of women”, but also “we women fascists” and “we fascists” (non-gender-specific). As part of the constructive strategy, the authors of the texts construct typologies of women and in doing so display a dual strategy in the discourse: they refer to women as a cohesive community, thereby attempting to establish solidarity and shared understanding, but in their creation of a female fascist identity they also objectify women, defining them as types and creating stereotypical models to be admired and vilified. These types/groups include both in- and out-groups, for example: In-groups: Fascist/Blackshirt women, women in Fascism/National Socialism, housewives, mothers, women farmers or farmers’ wives (“Bauernfrau”, “Landfrau”), working women (those fulfilling “women’s jobs” or women, ‘forced’ by economic circumstances to go out to work. The texts also provide a glimpse of a politicized women’s world in fascism or National Socialism, with the mention of women occupying organizational roles, for example, “Gaufrauenschaftsleiterin”, “Volks-pflegerin”, “Sach-beraterin für Mütterschulung”, “Olive Hawks, of Women’s Headquarters”, “Speakers’ Classes”. Out-groups: Working women (i.e. those not belonging to the above-mentioned category), women wearing make-up and smoking, women lacking in physical fitness‚ over-educated woman, mannish woman, bluestockings. The identity of a fascist woman is also determined by her health and physical appearance, drawing upon the topoi of age and beauty, which themselves underpin the notion that outward beauty and health reflect inner character as well as the notion of the healthy individual contributing to a healthy state (topos of the body politic). Thus, membership of the in-group of women

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fascists or women in a fascist state is dependent on women “taking care” of their appearance and fitness. However, women are exhorted to adhere to “appropriate” models of appearance and avoid membership of a decadent out-group of fashion victims: Women are taking a conscious pride in being in dress more representative of their nation and less the dolls of international fashion dictators. (Rosalind Raby, ‘A Woman in Nazi Germany. Triumph of the New Spirit. Success of Hitler’s Methods’, BS, 9/11/34) Leibesübungen zu treiben liegt im Zug der Zeit. Der nationalsozialistische Staat legt größten Wert auf die körperliche Ertüchtigung beider Geschlechter. Die Frauen haben längst die in früheren Zeiten üblichen Hemmungen gegen die Betätigungen ihres Körpers beiseite geschoben und sind fast überall anzutreffen, wo es sich um Pflege und Kultur der körperlichen Kräfte handelt. (Dr. med. Johanna Haarer, ‘Die Gymnastik der berufstätigen Frau’, VB, 13/9/34)5

In creating a recognizable in-group identity, based on gender and ideological affiliation, the women also make use of differentiation strategies and thematize the supposed “differences” between women and men on an abstract level, with the use of expressions such as Frauenart, or womanhood and manhood, for example: Wir unterscheiden sehr wohl zwischen Männer- und Frauenart und empfinden sehr genau die unnatürlichen und krampfhaften Bestrebungen, diese Unterschiede verwischen zu wollen. (Trude Mohr, ‘Die Losung des B.D.M. Wir fordern die heldische Haltung!’VB, 6/9/34) Britons arise! Savour to the full the glorious possibilities of your manhood and womanhood expressing itself in its most perfect form in a land where fascism prevails. (I. Sharman-Crawford. ‘Where is the “land fit for heroes”?’ BS, 14/9/34)

The topos of sacrifice is employed in this type of constructive strategy. The thematization of stereotypical gender differences allows a portrayal of women whose individual and collective identities cohere around the notion of women’s selflessness and self-sacrifice.

5

See also the article by Inge Mantler, entitled ‘Die natürliche Bewegung. Vom Sinn der neuzeitlichen Leibeserziehung für die Frau’, VB 28/2/34.

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3.2 Strategies of justification/legitimation With fascist women, however, the focus is on the justification or legitimation of fascist ideology and policy, which for some represents the restoration of the status quo, but for others represents the establishment of a new, preferable and justifiable system. The strategies of justification employed in the texts are closely intertwined with strategies of transformation: in justifying women’s role in fascist society and the appeal of fascism for all women, they simultaneously have to battle common (negative) perceptions of women in general and fascism in particular. The main emphasis is placed, rather unsurprisingly perhaps, on women’s roles as mothers and housewives, and these become their dominant spheres of influence and power. Articles claim that women can fulfil their duty in the state through a combination of motherhood and domesticity, and that women themselves can only achieve fulfilment through specifically-defined “women’s” or “motherly” activities, both inside and outside the home: Wir Frauen stehen heute mitten in einer Fülle neuer Aufgaben, Aufgaben echt fraulichen Wirkens, die aber nur gelöst werden können, wenn jedes Mädchen zielklar und mutig mit anpackt [...]. Den Blick zu schärfen für den Auftrag der Frau, ihre Dienstbereitschaft und ihre fraulichen Kräfte für Familien und Volksgemeinschaft zu wecken und zu fördern, ist darum Sinn und Ziel vor allem der Ausbildungsstätten, die heute Mädchen für die hauswirtschaftlichen, sozialen und pädagogischen Berufe vorbereiten. (Ilse Körner, Ausbildungsstätten für Frauenberufe, VB, 7/3/34)

Constructing the notion of female fascism and legitimizing women’s participation in fascism involves the reinforcement of fascist ideologies regarding motherhood. Marked sentimental and emotive styles are used to persuade women of the validity of fascist ideological constructs, and include references to abstract, spiritual and mystical qualities of femininity and motherhood.6 Strategies of flattery are also evident: women are praised for their self-sacrifice, dedication, and contribution to society. The roles of motherhood or housewifery are praised using romantic, mystical language. For fascist women motherhood is not a biological, physical phenomenon but

6

Hannelore Kessler (1981: 78) comments that “Die deutsche Frau ist voll von einer aufgeblasenen Mutterschaftsglorifizierung, die in alle Artikel — egal welcher Thematik — eingeflochten wird. Pathos und Schwülstigkeit versuchen als äußere Merkmale der Sprache, die Hohlheit, Klischeehaft und das Banale auf inhaltlicher Ebene zu verbergen.” See also Florian Menz (1989: 237), in which he identifies ‘strategies of emotionalization’ in newspaper discourse.

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an entire mode of existence, lifestyle and behaviour; it is a source of women’s power and influence: It is natural that women should demand, too, a higher national conception of her position as mother. Her acceptance of Fascist principles of motherhood ensure the co-operation of mothers of the nation in putting into effect the high ideals of Fascism in its care of children. (‘Jenny Linton Tells What Fascist Women Want — “Slackness of Mind And Body Will Not Be Tolerated”’, BS, 26/10/34) Your intuition and mother-wit, your wisdom born of experience in home-making and child-rearing shall at last have their share in the nations’ [sic] government. (“Martha”, ‘“The Hand That Rocks the Cradle ...” The Poet Said. It Ruled The World’, The Blackshirt, 26 October 1934) Mutter sein — das größte Glück der Frau ist’s. Alles daransetzen, in Können, Wissen und freudigem Dienen des Glücks sich würdig zu erweisen — ist Pflicht und Vorrecht aller, die den Ehrentitel “Deutsche Mutter” tragen. (Jo von Wich, ‘Der Reichsmütterdienst’, VB, 13/9/34)

The topos of nature, i.e. women having particular “natural” skills and responsibilities, is also a means for women to promote in the texts their status in fascist organizations and the state, and to draw upon models of motherhood as a source of power. Central to fascist ideology is the notion of all activity as a battle or struggle, and this was feminized in the women’s articles through the use of military metaphors to militarize all aspects of women’s identity, ranging from political activity and campaigning to household activities, such as cooking or cleaning. The military metaphor provides a significant linguistic tool in defining female identity in fascism: through the image of the warrior it stresses the identification with fascist identity and ideology, but also affords women the opportunity to distinguish between the male battle (political campaigning, fighting a war, or even street combat) and the female battle (political propaganda aimed at female audiences, practical assistance to fascist men, budgeting, housekeeping and childcare): Women, in the mass, whose fundamental interest is in the home and their children, will no longer feel that they are unimportant units. Those who by circumstances or inclination work away from the home will be supported by their Corporations in the matters of hours and condition of work and pay. As Fascists, these are some of the things we are fighting for now, and every woman member has a part in this fight: the chief weapon with which to “fight this good fight” is a sound general knowledge of the policy, to enable us to express our conviction by word as well as by deed whenever the opportunity arises. (Olga

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3.3 Strategies of transformation: The strategies of transformation attempt to “set the record straight”, and are directed inwardly within the imagined communities of fascism and of women. They involve the use of strategies of positive self-presentation as well as strategies of denial and/or explanation. The texts draw upon the topos of common sense: “we are espousing a way of life that everyone knows is right”, and this is linked to the topos of “Entgleisung” (literally ‘derailment’, or put more generally, ‘losing one’s way’). Fascist women outline how fascism leads women and men back to the “right path”, the one from which they were in someway distracted or led astray. This is communicated through the use of the lexemes ‘true’, ‘echt’ or ‘wahr’ to refer to opportunities and activities for women. In seeking to recast public and, in particular, women’s attitudes to fascism and to signal that working women are members of the in-group, the authors refute commonly-expressed views of fascist ideology concerning women, women’s activities, and their place in society, and contrast them with the new “truth”. For example, certain articles dispute the apparent claim that fascism will prevent women from seeking paid employment outside the home, but emphasize that work should be deemed appropriate to women’s “nature” and not constitute a direct “threat” to working men. Fascism does not intend to shut the woman in her house, nor to restrict woman in her worthy endeavours in the professional or industrial fields if such endeavours are her desire. But it does intend to give the wife the chance of running her home in the right way. (‘A Woman’s View — On Making Ends Meet. The Consumer Pays The Piper: Let Her Call The Tune’, BS, 19/10/34) Die Metallographin: Unter diesen war wohl für die meisten Besucher und Besucherinnen die Berufsausbildung zur Metallographin (Materialprüferin) am 7

The women’s supplement of the VB also included articles describing everyday activities for women in military metaphors, for example ‘Die Hausfrauen im Kampf gegen die Rohstoffvergeudung’ (8/11/34).

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unbekanntesten und daher am auffallendsten. Von interessierten Besuchern hörte ich wiederholt die Frage aufwerfen, ob dies noch ein Frauenberuf im heutigen Sinne und mit den jetzigen Bestrebungen, die Frau wieder rein weiblichen Beschäftigungen zuzuführen, in Einklang zu bringen sei [...]. Das Arbeiten im Gebiete der kleinen und kleinsten Dimensionen erfordert eine manuelle Geschicklichkeit, wie sie den kleineren und beweglicheren Händen der Frau eigen ist. (‘Anmeldungen zum Frauenarbeitsdienst’, VB, 7/3/34)

The images of the fascist woman and the working woman are also challenged and redefined: The Fascist woman of the future will be neither narrow Victorian, nor sexless “arty” spinsters. They will be afraid neither of their brains nor of their womanhood, but will dedicate both to the clean wholesomeness of Fascist morality, and the service of the state which they are helping to bring into being. (‘Olive Hawks Sees a New Ideal of Womanhood’, BS, 3/10/34) Das beweist aufs neue, daß unsere werktätigen Frauen und Mädel, die im Augenblick im Büro sitzen, durchaus nicht Blaustrümpfe sind, sondern daß sie den Wunsch haben, dereinst eine gute und tüchtige Hausfrau zu werden. (‘Was wünschen sich die Frauen vom Rundfunk?’ VB, 6/9/34)

Both examples employ the topos of time, specifically future time. Fascist women seek only to serve the fascist state, and working girls and women are only waiting for the opportunity to fulfil their roles as housewives and women. Ironically, given the high degree of pathos and sentimentality employed in many articles describing women’s activities, denial strategies occur in some women’s texts from the VB, challenging precisely the sentimentalized, romantic image of motherhood prevalent in National Socialist Germany: Frau Scholtz-Klink nahm bei der Gelegenheit Stellung zu der in den letzten Monaten geradezu kultivierten Mütterlichkeitsromantik. Gewiß, unser Volk müsse wieder zurückgeführt werden zu der natürlichen Ordnung der Dinge, zur Selbstbesinnung, aber wir müßten uns vor ihrer Entweihung hüten und immer daran denken, daß allein die Tat und das Vorbild auf die Dauer überzeugen können. (‘Berliner Führerinnentagung. (Über die Aufgabe der NS-Frauenschaft)’, VB, 21/3/34)

3.4 Dismantling/destructive strategies: In creating and maintaining an identity that incorporates elements of female and fascist characteristics, dismantling strategies are employed to emphasize

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the validity of fascist ideology and discredit all opponents or previous ideas or ideologies. Categories of opponent are both internal (to the fascist movement) and external. In the Blackshirt, references are made to a “grandmotherly government”, with fascism a means of breaking “those woollen cords.” (E.Gill, ‘Why I joined the Blackshirts’, BS, 14/9/34) BUF women, in particular, target communists as their enemies, employing the crimonym red hooligan: “the red hooligan, manipulated by alien and financial forces.” (‘“We Must Not Pay the Price of Anarchy” Says Olive Hawks’, BS, 14/12/34) Attempts on the part of previous women’s move–ments to achieve equality are represented as “krampfhaft”, “unnatürlich” and misguided, leading to ego-centrism and intellectualism: Under the present system women have got to fight again the men, whether they really want to or not, but give us the chance to stop at home and we will stop. (G. S. ‘Earning her own living. Does a woman really like going to work?’, BS, 15/11/34) It is possible for us to rough hew our way out of this political jungle of intrigue and ineptitude in which we are trapped to-day [...]. We have been forced to stand aside and watch the ruin of our country and Empire by a decadent political system: our freedom and liberty gambled away by men whose duty it is to hold these in trust for us [...]. It will make war on those who batten on hard-working men and women our of race. It will crush the alien financial syndicates which cause sweated labour and poverty in the country. (Lilian Edwards, ‘There is a Destiny that Shapes Our Ends’, BS, 30/11/34)

A contributor to the VB comments on the past era of “auf Ichsucht gestellten Intellektualismus” which ignored the “Größe des Mutterberufs”. (‘Der Reichsmütterdienst’, VB, 13/9/34)

4. Conclusion In the articles from the British and German publications, fascist women construct their gendered and political identities and construct models of power and influence within fascism. Similar in ideological stance, with common discursive strategies and themes, British and German fascist women also approach their identity and sphere of power from different positions. For British fascist women, their ideas are for the most part anticipatory, campaigning for a fascist state that does not yet exist, whereas German women are interested in promoting and consolidating their position in a newly-established fascist state. The emphasis on aspects of their

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identities is also different. Julie Gottlieb claims that “Mosley’s women were fascists first and foremost” (2000: 274), whereas NS women focused on creating a female sphere within National Socialism. As Claudia Koonz remarks: Nazi women adapted the dream of a separate space and forswore claims to ‘masculine’ public power and in exchange expected greater influence over their own social realm. Health care, education, reproduction, folk traditions and handicrafts, social work, and religion all fell into the sphere women called their own social space. (1987: 13–14)

However, from their status as a marginalized group within fascism, the discourses contain similar characteristics: texts draw on dominant conservative and reactionary discourses which emphasize women’s subordinate position in society, yet stress their superiority as mothers or potential mothers, whilst also harnessing the discourses created by the women’s or suffragettes’ movements. For British and German women alike, women’s power lay in motherhood, and the texts promote a concept of femininity and female identity which is defined by the fulfilment of fascist-defined “motherly” activities. In employing the range of discursive strategies explored in this analysis, the fascist women in both countries create a discourse which attempts to feminize fascist ideology, shaping it to appeal to other women. Their discourse is one of mediation, selectivity, explanation and denial. In the texts analysed, the women adopt multiple discursive positions, reflecting and reinforcing their multiple identities; they communicate ideological solidarity, as well as separateness of activity and behaviour, based on “common sense” notions of gender differences.

Bibliography Coates, Jennifer (1996). Women Talk. Conversation between Women Friends. Oxford: Blackwell. Durham, Martin (1998). Woman and Fascism. London: Longman. nd Fairclough, Norman (2001). Language and Power. 2 ed. London: Longman. Horan, Geraldine (2003). Mothers, Warriors, Guardians of the Soul. Female Discourse in National Socialism 1924–34. Berlin/New York: de Gruyter. Kessler, Hannelore (1981). ‘Die deutsche Frau’: nationalsozialistische Frauenpropaganda im VÖLKISCHEN BEOBACHTER. Cologne: PahlRugenstein.

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Koonz, Claudia (1987). Mothers in the Fatherland. Women, the Family and Nazi Politics. London: Cape. Van Leeuwen, Theo and Ruth Wodak (1999). ‘Legitimizing immigration control: A discourse-historical analysis’. In: Discourse Studies 1/1, 77– 122. Menz, Florian (1989). ‘Manipulation strategies in newspapers: a program for critical linguistics’. In: Ruth Wodak (ed.). Language, Power and Ideology. Studies in Political Discourse. Amsterdam/Philadelphia: John Benjamins, 227–249. Mühlberger, Detlef (2004). Hitler’s Voice. The Völkischer Beobachter, 1920–1933. Vol. II: Nazi Ideology and Propaganda. Oxford/Bern/ Berlin: Peter Lang. Stephenson, Jill (2001). Women in Nazi Germany. London: Longman. Tannen, Deborah (2006). Gender and Discourse. Oxford/New York: O.U.P. Wittrock, Christine (1983). Weiblichkeitsmythen. Das Frauenbild im Faschismus und seine Vorläufer in der Frauenbewegung der 20er Jahre. Frankfurt am Main: Sender. Wodak, Ruth, Rudolf de Cilia, Martin Reisigl, Karin Liebhart (1999). The Discursive Construction of National Identity. Transl. by Angelika Hirsch and Richard Mitten. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press.

Kraft durch Furcht: An Example of British Counter-Propaganda Published in German Felicity Rash, Queen Mary University of London (UK)

The text to be analyzed, entitled Kraft durch Furcht, is an essay taken from a pamphlet, Die Andere Seite: Das Antlitz des Führers, published in England in 1943. The pamphlet also contains translations of speeches by Winston Churchill and Henry Wallace (Vice president of the USA), a story by Thomas Mann, an essay by the Archbishop of Canterbury, Dr William Temple, and various other items including 10 close-up photographs of Hitler taken by Leni Rieffenstahl. It was produced as “aerial propaganda” to be dropped over Germany during the period of so-called “Total War”, when the German leaders were at least rumoured to have been conducting a campaign of “Kraft durch Furcht”-propaganda aimed at their own people following the disastrous siege of Stalingrad. (Pätzold 2003) Aerial propaganda has several functions, one of which is to counter misinformation and neutralize enemy propaganda (on Allied aerial propaganda during the Second World War see Kirchner 1980). This is precisely what the essay under scrutiny does, giving details of German “Kraft durch Furcht” propaganda in order to refute it. The essay’s author, Charles Richardson, was a radio announcer and commentator during the war and presenter of a programme “What do you want to know?” His essay is of particular interest as an example of counter-propaganda because, unlike the speeches of Churchill and Wallace, it was obviously written with ordinary German people in mind. It also seems likely that Richardson himself knew German, and that he may have known Berlin and Berlin dialect. The linguistic analysis which follows will make use of a method devised by Martin Wengeler to examine German “Kriegsbotschaften” (justifications of war). (Wengeler 2005: 216f.) Wengeler looked for eight characteristic features (“Merkmale”, “Elemente”) when analysing the rhetorical figures and topoi used in speeches delivered between 1900 and 2001. His research is conducted in the spirit of Fritz Hermanns’ desire that linguistic analysis should contribute to other sciences and shed light on the causes, effects, functions and motives of human behaviour. He terms this type of analysis “linguistic hermeneutics” (“Sprachhermeneukik”). (Hermanns 2003: 136)

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Wengeler’s “Merkmale” 1) Die Narratio, in der der Redner erzählt, wie es zu der aktuellen Situation gekommen ist […]. 2) Die Selbstdarstellung bzw. Selbstinszenierung des Redners als verantwortungsvoller und friedliebender Mensch […]. 3) Die Rechtfertigung/Legitimation der begonnenen oder zu beginnenden Maßnahme durch die Darstellung der Handlungen des Gegners (Notwendigkeitstopos) und der Gefahren, die drohen, wenn nun nicht militärisch reagiert wird. Zu beiden gehört die Ausmalung eines Feindbildes. 4) Die Darstellung der Ziele, die nur durch einen Krieg/einen militärischen Einsatz oder eine Aufrüstungsmaßnahme zu erreichen sind; […] „Heile Welt“-Topos (Stichwort neue Weltordnung, dauerhafter Frieden) […]. 5) Die Berufung auf die Geschichte, die lehrt, dass die unpopuläre Maßnahme nötig sei/oder dass man Erfolg haben wird […] (GeschichtsTopos). 6) Die Berufung auf Instanzen wie grundlegende (zu verteidigende) Werte, kodifizierte Normen (Prinzipien-Topos), und/oder Verpflichtungen gegenüber Partnern, Verträgen etc. (Autoritäts-Topos). 7) Der Ausdruck der Siegesgewissheit […] z.T. auch verbunden mit Drohungen an den Gegner. 8) Der Solidaritätsappell nach innen, bei Hitler charakteristischerweise verbunden mit Drohungen an die, die sich verweigern […]. (Wengeler 2005: 216f.) The presence of several of these features in a “Kriegsbotschaft” indicates that it is typical of the genre. Wengeler makes it clear that he does not expect to find all features in all texts. Although the text analyzed below is not strictly a Kriegsbotschaft, as these address potential supporters, not the “enemy”, all of Wengeler’s “Merkmale” are represented. The text does, in fact, address potential supporters: people who are not yet followers of “Hitler & Co.” and who may be won over to the “right” side.

Textual Analysis The text, reproduced in full in the appendix to this article, attempts to speak to Germans in their own language in more ways than one, with reference to Berlin dialect in paragraph 4 (“dann kann man dazu nur auf gut berlinisch sagen: „Doof bleibt doof, da helfen keine Pillen“”) and to a German proverb in paragraph 8: “Man sieht unter keiner Hecke nach, unter der man nicht

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selber gelegen hat.” Richardson’s language is in places reminiscent of that in Hitler’s Mein Kampf and of his later speeches: our author may have read the former and is likely to have been familiar with the latter. The text denies that there is any truth behind reports of German “Kraft durch Furcht” propaganda, whilst issuing its own threats about what will happen to Germans when they lose the war. Thus both Wengeler’s criteria 7 (Siegesgewissheit) and 8 (Drohungen) are clearly represented. Richardson leaves no doubt that England1 is confident of a future victory and claims that Germany is heading for defeat. His text is framed with a summary of German propagandists’ claims about English plans for revenge after the war has ended: “nach unserem Siege” (paras. 1 and 12). This frame complies with Wengeler’s criteria 1, 2, 4, 7 and 8: the background to the particular text is narrated (1); England, the future victor, is portrayed as the lover of peace (2) who will maintain a “neue Weltordnung” after the war (4); there is a warning to Germans not to be misled by the Nazis which is developed into threats of dire consequences if they choose to support England’s enemies (7 and 8). There is an assumption that ordinary Germans are not Nazis. The intended audience is the “durchschnittliche(r) Deutsche” (para. 4) and the author’s adopted point of view is that the average German is a reasonable, thinking person. The “Naziverbrecher” or “Nazibonzen” (para. 6) are Hitler, Goebbels and their followers (“& Co”), not the addressees. The message of the text is delivered from a wir, the English, to a general audience of Germans using indefinite adjectives (keiner, jeder), about a sie (they, them), the “Naziverbrecher” The message is to every German reader: “Es geht jeden an!” (final line of para. 7). Germans are portrayed as “erwachsene Leute” who do not believe in fairy tales or fear “dem schwarzen Mann” (para. 1). They are praised as too intelligent to swallow Nazi “Blödsinn” (para. 4). There is only one direct form of address, “ihr”, at the beginning of paragraph 12 (“ob ihr die Juden umbringt oder nicht”), which will be further analyzed below. Otherwise the average German is referred to with an indefinite adjective or metonymized as “Deutschland” (“es”). Richardson directs promises, warnings and threats at his audience. Such promises and warnings, escalating to threats, are central to the methods of propaganda and match Wengeler’s Merkmal 7 with the difference that Richardson adopts a stance of warning Germans as potential enemies (Gegner) rather than as actual opponents — his threats are indirect, reserved for “true” Nazis. Richardson promises his readers that if they do the right thing they will be spared reprisals after the war (para. 12), but threatens them with terrible 1

This article will follow the author of the essay under scrutiny and employ the designations “England” and “English” rather than referring to “Britain” and “British”, as would be normal in the present day.

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consequences if they do not. In paragraph 10 he warns that England will differentiate between guilty and innocent Germans after the war and that a record of Nazi crimes is being kept (“Es wird Buch geführt”). He promises: “Deutschland wird leben“ (para. 12), warning that it is up to each individual to decide whether he will be punished or not (“Jeder einzelne muss jetzt für sich selbst darüber entscheiden, ob er das Schicksal der Naziverbrecher teilen will oder nicht”). Ultimately, however, Germany’s survival is in England’s gift. The Feindbild (Merkmal 3) painted in this text is primarily of “Hitler & Co.”. The Nazis are portrayed as criminals who have perpetrated “Schandtaten” and “Untaten” (paras. 5 and 8); indeed they are murderers (para. 10) of a particularly cold-blooded type (“Wer hungert kaltblütig ganze Völker aus […]?”, para. 8). They are liars, with their “Märchen” and “Greuelmärchen” (paras. 1, 4 and 6). Paragraph 4’s ironic inverted commas surrounding “‘Beweise’” and “‘Dokumente’” and, in particular, the ironic reference to “‘dokumentarische(n) Beweise’” of the English “‘Vernichtungswillen’”, (para. 4) support the image of the Nazis as liars. The verb “andichteten” is introduced to refer to Nazi discourse. Nazis are further accused of degeneracy and having a “verdorbene Phantasie” (para. 8). Paragraph 8 can be seen as satisfying Wengeler’s criteria 3 and 5 in that it looks to the past to justify England’s condemnation of the Nazis: Richardson lists Germany’s past crimes, ironizing the predictions of the Nazi “Kraft durch Furcht” propaganda, namely that after the war England will punish Germans with “Massenverschleppung, Trennung von Eltern und Kindern, Aushungerung, Versklavung, Geiselmord, Sterilisierung” (para. 8). The Nazis’ worst crimes are those against the Jews, “ungeheuerliche Blutschuld” (para. 9), “das furchtbarste Verbrechen der Weltgeschichte” (para. 11). The readers are told of the Nazis’ cowardly intention to spread the load of guilt beyond themselves so that the “Kreis der Schuldigen” (para. 9) will be so large that the victors will be unable to differentiate between guilty and innocent Germans (para. 6). In paragraph 8 the Nazis are denounced with a series of rhetorical questions, very much in the style of Mein Kampf and of Hitler’s war-time speeches, starting with wer and progressing to a climactic final sentence in which three clauses commence with wer. Here readers are presented with truths that they may have thought little about — Germans, or at least the Nazis among them, are already guilty of having committed the very atrocities that they predict the English will inflict on them after the war. This is emphasized using a German proverb: “Man sieht unter keiner Hecke nach, unter der man nicht selber gelegen hat.” The only evidence of ordinary Germans being directly addressed as enemies, or potential enemies, is in paragraph 12: “ob ihr die Juden umbringt oder nicht” (my italics).

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It is natural that a piece of counter-propaganda written in German for Germans should use a rhetoric with which readers would be familiar, a language which had already convinced many of the rightness of the Nazi regime and which would have been read and heard in the propaganda of Hitler and his followers since the 1920s. Hyperbole, repetition and some very potent vocabulary abound in the text under investigation and are reminiscent of Mein Kampf and later speeches by Hitler and other Nazis. English accusations against the Nazis are expressed in hyperbolic terms: they are guilty of “das furchtbarste Verbrechen der Weltgeschichte” (para. 11) and “ungeheuerliche Blutschuld”; the guilty are seen as an “ungeheure(n) Masse” (para. 10). Richardson warns that if ordinary Germans were to put their own safety before the honour of their nation they would be guilty of “das erbärmlichste Zeugnis […], das je über ein Volk abgelegt worden ist” (para. 11). Threats of English reprisals upon the Nazis are rendered in equally strong terms (“erbarmunglose Bestrafung”, para. 3), in one instance using both italics and exclamation marks: “Vorsicht! Hochspannung! Lebensgefahr!” (para. 7). A sense of urgency is added: it is the eleventh hour — “Darum rufen wir in letzter Minute: Hände weg” (para. 10). The Allied threat to Germany is exaggerated as “Millionenheere der Vereinten Nationen” who will turn millions of innocent young German into “Kanonenfutter” (para. 6). This is Richardson’s own type of “Kraft durch Furcht” propaganda. In particular he invokes a terrifying scene of the Nazi “criminals” awaiting execution: “Jeder Deutsche, der sie so reden hört, sollte dabei immer den Strick vor sich sehen, den sie unsichtbar um den Hals tragen” (para. 6). Although this warning refers directly to Hitler and Goebbels in Richardson’s text, it is clear that any guilty German might risk a similar fate, especially if the readers are sensitive to the one occasion upon which they are addressed directly (“ob ihr die Juden umbringt oder nicht”, para. 12). Some powerful metaphors accentuate Nazi desperation to render the entire German population culpable of war crimes and ensure that their own punishment is shared: their intention is “womöglich das ganze deutsche Volk Toresschluss wirklich in ihre Untaten zu verstricken und ihm wirklich den Rückweg in ein anständiges, normales Leben abzuschneiden” (para. 7). Thus a normal guilt-free existence is portrayed as a place which can have its door closed, indeed a place which is about to have its door closed leaving potentially innocent people outside; the cognitive metaphor, LIFE IS A JOURNEY, illustrates the barring of a route back to a normal life once this life has been left behind. The repetition and italicization of wirklich amplify the warning to supposedly still guilt-free Germans. The author uses technological metaphors (“(wirtschaftliche) Wiederankurbelung”, para. 4, and “Hochspannung”, para. 7) to describe English plans for Germany after the war: the former in a positive sense, the latter as a warning, and both typical of

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National Socialist language (see von Polenz 1999, 549, who bases his information on Berning 1960–1963 and Schmitz-Berning 1998). The author’s warnings and threats are further accentuated through repetitions of the terms “Schuldige” and “Mitschuldige” (paras. 7 and 10): there are warnings that Germans should not join the Nazis criminals as “Mitschuldige”; threats that any “Mitschuldige” would be in mortal danger; and threats that when England wins the war she will punish “nur die Schuldigen” but “alle Schuldigen” (para. 12). Perhaps even worse than physical danger is the potential danger to German honour: Schande and Ehre are portrayed as mutually exclusive opposites. Richardson seems to be appealing to traditional German ideals (Merkmal 6), just as Hitler and Goebbels did in their propaganda, claiming that German honour must involve putting the Volk as a whole before personal safety. In paragraph 11, two rhetorical questions are asked, the first asking if any German will call a halt to Nazi criminal activity and the second asking if there is no German who will place the honour of his people above his own safety: “Keiner, der die Ehre seines Volkes höher stellt als seine private Sicherheit?” (para. 11). In other words, Richardson is questioning the bravery of the average German, the person whom he is apparently addressing. The concrete threat in this text is that while Germans will live after the war, it is up to them to decide how they live: in honour or shame.

Conclusion Richardson’s text, Kraft durch Furcht, does not on the surface accuse Germans of any wrongdoing — only Nazis. His aim is apparently to contradict disturbing rumours, supposedly spread as part of a propaganda campaign mounted by Hitler and Goebbels, that the English have terrifying plans for Germany after the Second World War (“schauderhafte(n) Absichten”, para. 1; “scheussliche(n) Absichten”, para. 8), that they intend to destroy Germany (“Vernichtungswillen”, para. 4). He warns the German people as a whole, whom he claims to be free from Nazi guilt, of the consequences of continuing to support their leaders in trying to win the Second World War. By speaking to Germans as though they are largely innocent bystanders, Richardson is adopting a rhetorical stance which he probably did not believe in. He gives himself away in his one direct address to Germans as an ihr who may be prepared to murder Jews. He nevertheless addresses Germans as an honourable people who may merely require reminding that the Nazi ideology threatens to bring shame upon them and taint them (“Makel”, “besudeln”, para. 12). Richardson ends his text with two words that should, he seems to be claiming, bring more fear to the heart of an honourable German than

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physical pain or annihilation: those who commit Nazi crimes will end their days in “Schande und Verachtung”.

Bibliography Berning, Cornelia (1960–1963). ‘Die Sprache der Nationalsozialisten’. In: Zeitschrift für deutsche Wortforschung XVI:71–118, 178–188; XVII: 83–121, 171–182; XVIII: 108–118, 160–172; XIX: 92–112. Hermanns, Fritz (2003). ‘Linguistische Hermeneutik. Überlegungen zur überfälligen Einrichtung eines in der Linguistik bislang fehlenden Teilfaches’. In: Angelika Linke, Hanspeter Ortner and Paul R. PortmannTselikas (eds). Sprache und mehr. Ansichten einer Linguistik der sprachlichen Praxis. Tübingen: Niemeyer, 125–163. Hitler, Adolf (1942). Mein Kampf. 11th ed. München: Zentralverlag der NSDAP. Kirchner, Klaus (1980). Vortrag zur Eröffnung der Ausstellung Alliierte Flugblattpropaganda im 2. Weltkrieg in der Deutschen Bibliothek, 14. Mai 1980. Frankfurt am Main: Buchhändler-Vereinigung GmbH. Pätzold, Kurt (2003). ‘Befunde und Überlegungen zur deutschen politischen Krise nach Stalingrad und ihrer Überwindung’. Beitrag auf dem Kolloquium am 30. Januar in Potsdam zum 60. Jahrestag der Schlacht von Stalingrad. . Polenz, Peter von (1999). Deutsche Sprachgeschichte vom Spätmittelalter bis zur Gegenwart. Band III. 19. und 20. Jahrhundert. Berlin/New York: de Gruyter. Rash, Felicity (2005). The Language of Violence: Adolf Hitler’s Mein Kampf. New York: Peter Lang. Richardson, Charles (1943). ‘Kraft durch Furcht’. In: Die Andere Seite. Das Antlitz des Führers. The entire pamphlet can be viewed on . Schmitz-Berning, Cornelia (1998). Vokabular des Nationalsozialsmus. Berlin/New York: Walter de Gruyter. Wengeler, Martin (2005). ‘Von den kaiserlichen „Hunnen“ bis zu Schröders „uneingeschränkter Solidarität“. Argumentative und lexikalische Kontinuitäten und Veränderungen in deutschen „Kriegsbotschaften“ seit 1900’. In: Dietrich Busse, Thomas Niehr and Martin Wengeler (eds). Brisante Semantik. Neuere Konzepte und Forschungsergebnisse einer kulturwissenschaftlichen Linguistik. Tübingen: Niemeyer, 209–232.

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Appendix (1) Unser erstes Gefühl, als wir hier in England von den schauderhaften Absichten Kenntnis nahmen, die Hitler und Goebbels uns andichteten, war eine Art angeekelte Belustigung. Wenn wir in deutschen Zeitungen lasen, dass wir vorhätten, nach dem Kriege die deutschen Kinder ihren Eltern wegzunehmen, oder alle deutsche Männer zu sterilisieren, oder ganz einfach das deutsche Volk auszurotten, dann konnten wir das nicht ernstnehmen. Wir konnten nicht glauben, dass erwachsene Leute in Deutschland sich in so plumper Weise Angst vor dem schwarzen Mann einjagen lassen würden. (2) Schliesslich haben unsere Soldaten schon einmal in Deutschland gestanden — im Rheinland und in Oberschlesien — und die Rheinländer und Oberschlesier müssen sich noch daran erinnern. Wir brauchen diese Erinnerung nicht zu scheuen. Viele Leute im Rheinland und in Oberschlesien werden, wenn sie ehrlich sind, eingestehen, dass es sich unter den britischen Tommys besser lebte als unter der SS, und werden erleichtert aufatmen, wenn eines nicht mehr fernen Tages die SS verschwunden sein wird und die Tommys weider einrücken. (3) Hitlers und Goebbels’ Angstmacherei kam uns bis vor kurzem noch reichlich naiv vor. Schliesslich waren da die ganz klaren amtlichen und bindenden Erklärungen der britischen Regierung, die genau und wiederholt festgestellt haben, was wir mit Deutschland nach unserem Siege vorhaben: Vollständige Entwaffnung (und man kann sich darauf verlassen, diesmal werden wir an Ort und Stelle dafür sorgen, dass die Entwaffnung wirklich vollstandig ist), erbarmunglose Bestrafung der Naziverbrecher und auf der anderen Seite Ernährung der deutschen wie aller befreiten Bevölkerungen und wirtschaftliche Wiederankurbelung. Denn, wie Aussenminister Eden erklärt hat, wir haben gelernt, dass ein bankrottes Deutschland eine Gefahr für alle andern Völker ist. (4) Was konnten Hitler und Goebbels gegen diese klaren und amtlichen Erklärungen vorbringen? In den Mülleimern der politischen Hintertreppenliteratur stöberten sie „Dokumente und Beweise“ für ihre Greuelmärchen auf. Die Broschüre eines übergeschnappten, völlig unbekannten Herrn Kaufmann aus Amerika oder ein „Eingesandt“ an eine holländische Zeitung — das die Redaktion nur abdruckte, um es sofort lächerlich zu machen — das waren die „dokumentarischen Beweise“, mit denen Hitler und Goebbels den „Vernichtungswillen“ der britischen und amerikanischen Regierung belegen zu können glaubten! Es war einfach zu dumm. Wir haben es unter unserer Würde gefunden, derartigen Blödsinn ausdrücklich zu dementieren. Wir

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glauben, dass der durchschnittliche Deutsche auch heute noch zu intelligent ist, um darauf hereinzufallen. Wenn es wirklich in Deutschland Leute geben sollte, die so etwas schlucken, nun, dann kann man dazu nur auf gut berlinisch sagen: „Doof bleibt doof, da helfen keine Pillen“. Und keine Widerlegungen. (5) Es lag klar auf der Hand, warum Hitler und Goebbels diese „Kraft durch Furcht“-Propaganda machten. Sie setzte in dem Augenblick ein, als Churchill und Roosevelt erklärten, das die Naziverbrecher für ihre Schandtaten in den besetzten Ländern persönlich zur Rechenschaft gezogen werden würden. In diesem Augenblick bekamen es Hitler, Goebbels & Co, mit der Angst zu tun, und seither sind sie aufs äusserste daran interessiert, diese Angst möglichst zu verteilen. (6) „Der Verlust dieses Krieges würde ohnehin unser Ende bedeuten“, sagte Hitler am 26. April 1942 im Reichstag — und damit hatte er vollkommen recht, wenn er mit „unser“ Ende das Ende der Naziverbrecher meinte, die da im Reichstag versammelt sassen. Aber tausend Nazibonzen, wenn sie auch sehr laut singen und brüllen können, sind ein bisschen zu wenig, um die Millionenheere der Vereinten Nationen aufzuhalten. Dazu müssen Millionen unschuldiger junger Deutscher heran, für die der unausweichliche Verlust des Krieges keineswegs das Ende bedeutet. Und damit ihr Kanonenfutter willig weiter für die Naziverbrecher in den Tod geht, müssen sie ihm einreden, England wolle das deutsche Volk ausrotten. Es ist sonnenklar, warum Hitler und Goebbels diese Märchen verbreiten: weil sie selber längst auf der schwarzen Liste stehen. Jeder Deutsche, der sie so reden hört, sollte dabei immer den Strick vor sich sehen, den sie unsichtbar um den Hals tragen. (7) Hitler und Goebbels müssen das selbst allmählich gemerkt haben, und deswegen versuchen sie jetzt eine neue Tour. Jetzt ist ihre letzte verzweifelte Absicht, noch schnell so viel Mitschuldige wie möglich um sich zu versammeln, womöglich das ganze deutsche Volk noch schnell vor Toresschluss wirklich in ihre Untaten zu verstricken und ihm wirklich den Rückweg in ein anständiges, normales Leben abzuschneiden. Und damit wird die Sache allerdings sehr ernst. Jetzt müssen wir selber eine Warnungstafel anbringen: Vorsicht! Hochspannung! Lebensgefahr! Jeder sollte deswegen das Folgende sehr genau lesen. Es geht jeden an. (8) Uns ist schon immer bei der Hitler’schen „Kraft durch Furcht“-Propaganda das alte deutsche Sprichwort eingefallen, das da sagt: „Man sieht

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unter keiner Hecke nach, unter der man nicht selber gelegen hat“. Die scheusslichen Absichten, welche die Naziverbrecher uns andichteten — Massenverschleppung, Trennung von Eltern und Kindern, Aushungerung, Versklavung, Geiselmord, Sterilisierung — die entsprangen leider nicht nur einer verdorbenen Phantasie. Das waren ja genau die Untaten, die diese Verbrecher in den besetzten Ländern und sogar in Deutschland selbst Tag für Tag begingen. Wer verschleppt denn Millionen von Menschen aus ganz Europa in die Zwangsarbeit? Wer reisst polnische und slowenische Kinder von ihren Eltern weg? Wer hungert kaltblütig ganze Völker aus, Griechen, Belgier, Norweger (die Norweger offenbar zum Dank dafür, dass sie nach dem letzten Kriege hungernde deutsche Kinder auffütterten)? Wer schleppt Polen und Russen in die Sklaverei, wer stellt in Holland, Frankreich und Serbien unschuldige Geiseln and die Wand, wer hat die Greuel der Sterilisierungs- und Folterkammern eingeführt? Diese Verbrecher projizieren nur in deutsche Zukunft, was sie selber jeden Tag zu grausiger europäischer Gegenwart machen. Das schlechte Gewissen spricht aus ihnen — und woran sie appellieren, ist das heimliche schlechte Gewissen des deutschen Volkes. (9) Jetzt gehen sie noch einen Schritt weiter. Sie sind dabei, ein ganzes Volk umzubringen: die Juden. Und ihre Rechnung dabei ist, eine so ungeheuerliche Blutschuld auf den deutschen Namen zu laden und den Kreis der Schuldigen so auszudehnen, dass die Sieger keinen Unterschied mehr zwischen Schuldigen und Unschuldigen machen können. (10) Dazu erklären wir: Wir werden diesen Unterschied aufrechterhalten, auch jetzt. Aber mache sich keiner etwas vor! Glaube keiner, er könne in der ungeheuren Masse der Schuldigen untertauchen! Diesem Verbrechen wird nachgegangen, und jeder, der seine Finger darin hat, wird dafür zu büssen haben. Die Zahl seiner Mitschuldigen wird ihn nicht schützen. Wir haben bisher mit ein paar tausend Mördern gerechnet, die zur Rechenschaft gezogen werden müssen. Wenn es jetzt zehntausend, wenn es hunderttausend werden: es wird keinem von ihnen etwas helfen. Keiner, der mordet oder beim morden hilft, wird seiner Strafe entgehen. Darum rufen wir in letzter Minute: Hände weg! Jeder einzelne muss jetzt für sich selbst darüber entscheiden, ob er das Schicksal der Naziverbrecher teilen will oder nicht. Es wird Buch geführt. (11) Und noch etwas. Die Welt blickt augenblicklich so gespannt wie noch nie auf das deutsche Volk als Ganzes. Ist unter diesen 80 Millionen keiner, der aufsteht und Halt ruft, wenn im Namen seines Volkes das furchtbarste Verbrechen der Weltgeschichte begangen wird? Keiner, der die Ehre seines Volkes höher stellt als seine private Sicherheit? Wenn es so wäre, würde

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sich das deutsche Volk das erbärmlichste Zeugnis über sich selbst ausstellen, das je über ein Volk abgelegt worden ist. Und die Welt würde ihre Schlüsse daraus ziehen. (12) Das hat nichts mit dem Krieg zu tun. Den Krieg werden wir gewinnen, ob ihr die Juden umbringt oder nicht. Es hat auch nichts mit dem gerichtlichen Nachspiel zu tun, das dieser Untat folgen und die Schuldigen erbarmungslos treffen wird — nur die Schuldigen und alle Schuldigen. Aber es hat etwas mit der Rolle zu tun, die das künftige Deutschland in der Welt wird spielen dürfen. Wir werden Deutschland nicht versklaven und aushungern, wir werden keine deutschen Kinder verschleppen und keine deutschen Männer sterilisieren — auch jetzt nicht. Deutschland wird leben. Aber wenn es sich in ehrloser Stumpfheit und Gleichgültigkeit mit dem Makel abfindet, mit dem die Naziverbrecher es jetzt besudeln, dann fällt es selbt die Entscheidung darüber, wie es leben wird: in Schande und Verachtung.

„Jene zwei Gestalten, die sich Don Quixote und Sancho Pansa nennen, sich beständig parodieren und doch so wunderbar ergänzen […]“: Images of England and Germany in the Works of Matthew Arnold and Heinrich Heine Hanne Boenisch, University of Maryland (USA)

Matthew Arnold (1822–1888), one of the first inspectors of schools in England, well known for his contribution to the canon of English language poetry with such poems as “Dover Beach” and “The Scholar Gipsy”, was influential amongst his contemporaries in Victorian Britain with his critique of language, literature, society, politics and religion, often from a European perspective. This article visits the cultural landscape inhabited by Arnold with regard to his reception of German literature, with the focus in particular on Heine (1797–1856), but also on Lessing (1729–1781), Schiller (1759– 1805) and Hegel (1770–1831). Additionally, amongst Arnold’s polemical and satirical predecessors, Cervantes (1547–1616) and Voltaire (1694–1778) are being considered here. Arnold, polyglot and receptive in his reading, published prolifically in the periodical press. A striking example of this, his Friendship’s th Garland,1 now little known, sheds light on the way in which in 19 century England the European debate was present in the language of the periodicals. The work came into being as part of the “battle of the books” for the hearts and minds of the reading public over a new English identity. In Arnold’s works the approach taken, one of binary opposition to European vantage points, frequently found its expression in Anglo-German linguistic relations.

Dialogical Confrontation and Ironical Parallelism Heinrich Heine speaks of Cervantes’ method in Don Quixote in his 1837 introduction to a new translation of this great satire of the chivalrous novel. The structure of the novel with its two main protagonists, Don Quixote and 1

Friendship’s Garland is cited in the following as “FG” with page number from Volume V (1965) of Robert Super’s edition of The Complete Prose Works of Matthew Arnold, Ann Arbor, University of Michigan Press, 1960–1977. Quotations from other prose works by Arnold are cited from the same edition with letter “S”, followed by the number of volume and page.

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Sancho Panza, affords opportunity for what Heine calls ironical parallelism and dialogical confrontation through the “signature” (die geistige Signatur) of the Doppelgänger motif. Heine writes: Was nun jene zwei Gestalten betrifft, die sich Don Quixote und Sancho Pansa nennen, sich beständig parodieren und doch so wunderbar ergänzen, daß sie den eigentlichen Helden des Romans bilden, so zeugen sie im gleichen Maße von dem Kunstsinn, wie von der Geistestiefe des Dichters. Wenn andere Schriftsteller, in deren Roman der Held nur als einzelne Person durch die Welt zieht, zu Monologen, Briefen oder Tagebüchern ihre Zuflucht nehmen müssen, um die Gedanken und Empfindungen des Helden kund zu geben, so kann Cervantes überall einen natürlichen Dialog hervortreten lassen; und indem die eine Figur immer die Rede der andern parodiert, tritt die Intention des Dichters um so sichtbarer hervor. (‘Miguel Cervantes de Saavedra, Der sinnreiche Junker Don Quixote von La Mancha. Einleitung’ B4: 165)2

Whilst in Culture and Anarchy Arnold clothes his critique of England in the essay form and uses a polemical first person singular narrator, in the publication under discussion, Friendship’s Garland, he creates a dialogical confrontation between the two fictitious protagonists “Arminius” and “Matthew Arnold”, the latter, apparently unintentionally, voicing a Victorian version of solid middle England and its “Philistinism”, as a foil for the alterity3 of the persona of the Prussian “Arminius”. In the title of the book publication, Friendship’s Garland || being the Conversations, Letters and Opinions | of the Late | Arminius, Baron von Thunder-ten-Tronckh. | Collected and Edited, | with a dedicatory Letter to the Adolscens Leo, Esq., | of “The Daily Telegraph” | By Matthew Arnold | (FG: 1)

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“With reference to those two figures, Don Quixote and Sancho Panza, who perpetually parody each other, but also complement each other so wonderfully that they represent the actual hero of the novel, they bear witness in equal measure to the artistic nous and the depth of intellect of the poet. When other writers, whose heroes travel through the world only as a single person, have to resort to monologues, letters or diaries, in order to let us know of the hero’s thoughts and feelings, Cervantes is able to speak to us in natural dialogue; and because one figure always parodies the words of the other, the poet’s intention reveals itself all the more clearly.” Heine quotations are from Klaus Briegleb (ed.), Heinrich Heine Sämtliche Schriften, München: Hanser 1968–1976. This is cited as letter “B”, followed by number of volume and page in Arabic numerals. Emmanuel Lévinas (1906–1995) introduces the term “alterity” for “otherness” (from Latin alter) in Alterity and Transcendence (1999).

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Arnold flags a further literary debt, that to Voltaire’s Candide (1759)4, through his use of the family name attributed to “Arminius”, “von Thunderten-Tronckh-Tronckh.”5 After this reference to satirical tradition in one of the early letters6 and the implication of Friendship’s Garland as a sequel to Candide’s peregrinations, Arnold justifies his “editorial” role and the contrasting of different points of view through dialogue in the following manner: ([…] Arminius came to England in 1866, and the correspondence now given in a collected form to the public commenced in the summer of that year, at the outbreak of the war between Prussia and Austria. Many will yet remember the thrill with which they originally received, through the unworthy ministry of the present Editor, the communication of the great doctrine of “Geist”. What, then, must it have been to hear that doctrine in its first newness from the lips of Arminius himself! Yet it will, I hope, be admitted, that even in this position of exceptional privilege, the present Editor succeeded in preserving his coolness, his independent judgment, and his proper feelings as a Briton.) (FG: 37)

The Title “Friendship’s Garland” With his choice of title for this collection of journal contributions, “Friendship’s Garland”, Arnold adds to its political and social satire by presenting it as family reading. In the context of Victorian publishing conventions titles like “Friendship’s Offering” and “The Recreation” suggest a genre for middle class leisure, reading for the elevation of the spirits, for the pious and thoughtful perusal in the drawing room, the locus amoenus of reading for ladies. These are typical titles for yearbooks, often in decorative binding, blending in well with the representation of status in sitting- and drawing rooms. To the connoisseur this implicit reference to contemporary reading culture and its “horizon of expectations” (Jauss: Erwartungshorizont) indicates Arnold’s intention to parody a genre produced for family reading, a genre 4

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Candide oder der Optimismus (original title: Candide, ou l'optimisme, written 1758), a satirical novel by the French philosopher Voltaire, published anonymously in 1759; first German translation published in 1776, entitled Candide oder die beste aller Welten. This satire juxtaposes the optimism of the worldview of Leibniz with the pessimism and scepticism of the time in the context of the Seven Years’ War in Europe (1756–1763) and the earthquake in Lisbon of 1755. In Voltaire’s satire the foundling Candide is expelled from a castle by that name which triggers his progress through unlikely adventures in pursuit of the “best of all possible worlds”, a Leibnitz parody. ‘Letter I. I Introduce Arminius and “Geist” to the British Public’. ( FG: 37)

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that implies the preservation of the status quo, of assured, received values. Additionally, this somewhat provocative reference to a relatively recently introduced genre may contribute to creating new interest, thus increasing sales figures and attracting a wider readership, with the further reaches of radical free thinkers and radical preaching in mind. Paul Goldmann characterizes the publishing conventions of the time in the following manner: The Annuals were volumes published as Christmas and New Year gift books. […] With titles such as Friendship’s Offering and The Recreation they were aimed especially at women, and they were generally tastefully bound, sometimes in luxurious materials, such as watered silk. […] They were not intended for serious reading but for intermittent perusal, yet because the receiver wished to be seen engaged in literary or pious pursuits, the covers were particularly important. (Goldmann 1994: 72)7

Considerations on the Source of the Persona “Arminius” Matthew Arnold’s collection Friendship’s Garland consists of a series of initially twelve letters. They first appeared in irregular intervals from 21st July 1870 to 29th November 1877, in the Pall Mall Gazette. (Scott 1950)8 The Pall Mall Gazette becomes the outlet of choice for Arnold’s fictitious letters, in which his critique of contemporary Victorian society is played out in polemical illustrations of his own views, in juxtaposition to that of his contemporaries. Similar to The Battle of the Books9 we see fierce verbal exchanges by characters who are personifications of a satire of the media landscape Arnold was targeting at the time, dealing with a variety of social, political and philosophical topics, with that essayistic multitude of subjects that emerges in Adorno as “Ressortlosigkeit”. (Adorno 1975: 11)10 7 8

See also Altick (1957) and Cruse(1935). The Pall Mall Gazette was founded by George Murray Smith on 7th February 1865, who owned it until 1880. Its name is taken from the name of an imaginary paper mentioned in Thackeray’s novel The Story of Pendennis, and it claims to be written “by gentlemen, for gentlemen”, as a conservative evening paper; and to make up for a perceived lack for the voice of gentlemen, whereas field preachers and radical free thinkers already had their print media. 9 The Battle of the Books, by Jonathan Swift (1667–1745), written in 1697, was published in 1704. 10 Ressortlosigkeit: Meaning without belonging to a well defined discipline or having a specific responsibility in terms of subject or department. Adorno formulates: “Der Essay läßt sich sein Ressort nicht vorschreiben.”

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Amongst the personifications we encounter the “grub street journalist, Matthew Arnold”, “a mere dabbler in these great matters” (FG: 4), as a representative of the middle classes and “Philistines”, in binary opposition to his Prussian alter ego “Arminius”, “this dogmatic young Prussian” (FG: 3), “a devotee of Anglo-Saxonism”. (FG: 30) The satirical persona “Arminius” (Barner et al. 1975)11 is likely to have been inspired by Heine’s reference to Lessing’s impact on the German theatre that opened up new approaches, superseding the previously influential French tradition. Heine writes: Lessing war der literarische Arminius, der unser Theater von jener Fremdherrschaft befreite. […] Alle Richtungen des Geistes und des Lebens verfolgte dieser Mann mit Enthusiasmus und Uneigennützigkeit. (Die Romantische Schule; B3: 370)12

Arnold may well also have obtained his concept of the impartiality or “disinterestedness” of the critic, as put forward in one of his most famous essays, ‘The Function of Criticism at the Present Time’ (1864), from Heine’s characterization of Lessing: Kunst, Theologie, Altertumswissenschaft, Dichtkunst, Theaterkritik, Geschichte, alles trieb er mit demselben Eifer und zu demselben Zwecke. In allen seinen Werken lebt dieselbe große soziale Idee, dieselbe fortschreitende Humanität, dieselbe Vernunftreligion, deren Johannes er war und deren Messias wir noch erwarten. […] Er war ein ganzer Mann, der, wenn er mit seiner Polemik das Alte zerstörend bekämpfte, auch zu gleicher Zeit selber etwas Neues und Besseres schuf. (Die Romantische Schule; B3: 371–372)13

11 Arnold’s choice of name also signals the victory of the Cheruscans over the Romans in Teutoburg Forest in 9CE, mythically linked to the antecedents of success in battle and 19th century aspirations for post-feudal nationhood, and thus a parody of this Germanic icon. Heine’s references to Arminius suggest an assumption of familiarity with this metaphor amongst his readers. (See also Footnote 22) 12 “Lessing was the literary Arminius who liberated our theatre from that foreign domination […]. All directions of the intellect and of life this man pursued with enthusiasm and disinterestedness.” 13 “Art, theology, the philology of ancient languages and literatures, poetry, the criticism of the theatre, and history — he pursued all of these with the same zeal and for the same end. In all his works lives the same great social idea, the same progressive humanity, the same religion of reason, whose St. John he was and whose Messiah we are still awaiting. […] He was a man of substance, who, when he was fighting the old in his fierce polemics, also, at the same time, created something new and better.”

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Interestingly, Arnold uses, albeit in a different register, an interdisciplinary approach similar to that of Heine in the collection of articles for the Cornhill Magazine14 (eventually published in 1869 under the title Culture and Anarchy), which overlaps with the publication of Friendship’s Garland by two years. The persona “Arminius” in Friendship’s Garland represents the fictitious German, or, more specifically, Prussian, visitor to England, employed by Arnold to voice his critique of England in a more unencumbered, satirical fashion than he is able to in Culture and Anarchy. Heine’s description of Lessing as a literary “Arminius” finds its echoes in Arnold’s adoptive role in British public life when he campaigns for social change through education in his years as Her Majesty’s Inspector of Education and in his wide ranging critical writing.

The Persona “Matthew Arnold” “Matthew Arnold”, one of the representations of the genus journalist, bearing some similarities to the Victorian author of that name, is introduced in Friendship’s Garland as an endearingly droll and incompetent character, surviving on a meagre income and residing in a small top floor room, “a grub street garret”, the signature habitation of the jobbing journalist.15 Lively 14 The Cornhill Magazine was a monthly Victorian periodical named after 65, Cornhill, the address of its office in London. The Cornhill was founded by George Smith in 1860 as a journal with high literary aspirations in competition with Dickens’ All the Year Round, giving a forum for the serialization of novels by his great rival amongst contemporary novelists, William Thackeray (initially Thackeray’s novel Lovel the Widower) and a range of diverse pieces by other influential authors, including Tennyson and Elizabeth Browning. (Spencer 1970) 15 The significance of the metaphor of an “underworld of literary penury” and hacks (“hired horses”) and its historical origins has been the topic of a great many attempts at definition and critical assessment. Pat Rogers, for instance, writes: “‘Grub Street’ entered the language in the 17th century, became almost a household phrase in Hanoverian England, and survives in modern parlance […]. Its metaphorical sense lives on, although the road itself was renamed Milton Street in 1830 and has now been swallowed virtually whole in the immense Barbican building scheme. […] Both Swift’s Tale and The Dunciad reflect in their narrative the buffeting, combative existence of the hacks; their imagery is filled with disease and disaster, as were the seamier parts of London familiar to the hack. This means that the scribbler’s environment is as much the satiric target as the writers themselves: Grub Street is the Dunces’ milieu […].” Further down Rogers quotes Arbuthnot from the Preface to John Bull about the

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responses received in a number of papers to Arnold’s dialogical polemics between his two protagonists lead to numerous retorts and an increase in dramatis personae in a satirical panopticum of contemporary political, social and cultural phenomena.16 The externalization of the critical positions proposed by Arnold by the means of dialogical juxtaposition of the comments of different characters, allow Arnold to distance himself from the views expressed here. While in the articles collected in the volume Culture and Anarchy (1867) Arnold has to declare the critical positions cited as his own, and, for all its rhetorical brilliance and the gravitas of the prophetic warnings of the intellectual with a social conscience, in Friendship’s Garland he can be effective by claiming that any criticism expressed is due to the “bad influence” of Arminius : ([…] How courteous was always my moderation when I was left to myself, and had not Arminius at my elbow to make me say what he chose. I should premise that “My Countrymen” had been received with such a storm of obloquy, that for several months after its appearance I was in hiding; — not, indeed, leaving Grub Street, but changing my lodgings there repeatedly.) — ED. (FG: 31)

The Editors Notes Notes in brackets are integral to the dialogical style in Friendship’s Garland. Arnold’s rhetorical play with “editorial” notes, footnotes and asides by the steadfast Briton “Matthew Arnold”, perpetually patronized and challenged by “Arminius”, led during the preparation of the epistolary pieces for the book edition to well-intentioned comments by the editor George Smith. Arnold was subsequently persuaded to reduce the dialogical element to some extent by cutting a number of the “editor’s” notes.17 Edward K. Brown sees the use of mockingly ponderous and reticent footnotes from the fictional “Editor” as a characteristic of Arnold’s style in the Arminius letters throughout: longstanding view of the lowly quality of literary production associated with “Grub Street”: “O Grub Street! Thou fruitful Nursery of tow’ring Genius’s! How do I lament thy downfall?” (Rogers 1980: 1–3 and 18). See also Cross (1985) and Clarke (2004). Further amusing definitions are to be found in Dr. Johnson’s Dictionary and the Oxford Companion to English Literature. 16 Including representations of different classes, professions and different versions of “the Other”, as in, for instance, “A Frenchman signing himself ‘Horace’ […]”. (FG SV: 31) 17 See FG: 372–373.

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“Persuasion” and “Charm” It is Arnold’s aim to influence the Victorian reading public with his articles and letters in papers and periodicals, often in the wake of his Oxford lecture series as Professor of Poetry19 with his textual strategies and “prodigies of persuasion and insinuation” (19.11.1863, L2: 245)20, as he intimates in private correspondence. He writes accordingly after the publication of one of his essays which had produced an avalanche of press reactions: It is very animating to think that one at last has a chance of getting at the English public — such a public as it is, and such a work as one wants to do with it: partly nature, partly time & study have also by this time taught me thoroughly the precious truth that everything turns upon one’s exercising the power of persuasion, of charm; that without this all fury, energy, reasoning power, acquirement, — are thrown away. (29.10.1863; L2: 238)

Getting his lectures into print became a significant part of Arnold’s war of words, although we may be forgiven for noticing the occasional textual evidence for a rhetorically happy turn of phrase overriding the merely factual when Arnold plays down the importance of his lectures as an early theatre upon which to stage his public voice:

18 See also footnotes 14 and 21 on the Cornhill. 19 The chair of Poetry at the University of Oxford is an academic appointment endowed in 1708 (a bequest by Henry Birkhead of Berkshire), now held for a term of five years, and chosen through an election open to all “members of Convocation” (loosely, all former students of Oxford University who received a degree other than an honorary degree). The Professor of Poetry is obliged to deliver three lectures each year, which, in Arnold’s case led to the first airing of the famous papers he later collected under the title Essays in Criticism. Also, every second year (alternating with the University Orator), the Professor of Poetry delivers the Creweian Oration, which offers formal thanks to benefactors of the University. During Arnold’s period of office this oration was delivered in Latin. (For information on Arnold’s lecture series see S I: 225–240 and S III). 20 I am using the most complete edition of the letters of Matthew Arnold so far, Lang (1995–2001), in the following abbreviated as “L” followed by the volume and page number and preceded by the date of the letter attributed by Lang.

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I am obliged always to think, in composing my lectures, of the public who will read me, not of the dead bones who will hear me, or my spirit would fail. (16.06.1863; L2: 213)

This assertion by Arnold somewhat obscures the fact that the initial presentation of many of his articles as lectures in fulfilment of his duties as Professor of Poetry for many years provided the much needed stimulus for their coming into being at all. Arnold also shows himself to be a very careful media and publicity strategist with his choice of outlet when he explains in a letter why he opts for The Cornhill Magazine for publication: I have had two applications for the lecture from magazines, but I shall print it, if I can, in the Cornhill, because it both pays best and has much the largest circle of readers. (16.06.1863, L2: 213)21

Such an intention to exert influence through publication in the print media, or “publizistische Wirkungsabsicht”, is seen by Wolfgang Preisendanz (1973) in his essay ‘Zum Funktionsübergang von Dichtung und Publizistik’ at the centre of a new poetological concept, in which the boundaries of literary and journalistic writing begin to blur.

“Arminius” as the Personification of Critique from a “Foreign” Perspective Matthew Arnold sets the tone in the first letter of Friendship’s Garland by addressing the British public in one of his “editor’s” asides in brackets by elaborating on the satirical ancestry of “Arminius” thus: (The acquaintance of the ever-to-be-lamented Arminius was made by the present Editor on the Continent in the year 1865. The early history of the noble family of Von Thunder-ten-Tronckh, to which Arminius belonged, their establishment in Westphalia, the sack of their castle in the middle of the last century by the Bulgarians, the fate of their principal dependents (among whom was the famous optimist philosopher, Dr. Pangloss), the adventures of Arminius’s grandfather and his deportation to the Jesuits at Rome, are recorded in a well-known treatise of Voltaire. Additional information is supplied in several of the following letters. […]) (FG: 37) 21 The Cornhill Magazine came to be held in high regard, and published Leaves from the Journal of our Life in the Highlands (1848–1861) by Queen Victoria in 1868. Similar to The Pall Mall Gazette, the Cornhill became an intriguing juggling ground for Arnold’s controversial views of his country and his countrymen, in rhetorical juxtaposition to Europe.

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By this narrative twist of a fictitious family tree the series of letters collected under the title Friendship’s Garland lays claim to following in the satirical tradition of Voltaire’s Candide, and, furthermore, to being a sequel to the story, by providing “additional information” to Candide. Additional to this explicit literary reference at the beginning of the series, however, Arnold also places himself in the tradition of Lessing and Heine. The fictional character “Arminius” seeks to “humanise” (S V: 113) knowledge, similar to Lessing and Heine, in Arnold’s explications of the role of the author as critic of time and country, in his very commitment to his times. In his polemic ‘Culture and its Enemies’ (July 1867, Cornhill Magazine), which was to become the beginning of the grand sweep of Culture and Anarchy, Arnold declares Lessing and Herder to be among the “great men of culture” who have made knowledge accessible and who are committed to influencing their society and their country: [Culture] seeks to do away with classes. […] This is the social idea; and the men of culture are the true apostles of equality. The great men of culture are those who have […] laboured to divest knowledge of all that was harsh, uncouth, difficult, abstract, professional, exclusive […]. Such were Lessing and Herder in Germany, at the end of the last century; and their services to Germany were in this way inestimably precious. Generations will pass, and literary monuments will accumulate, and works far more perfect than the works of Lessing and Herder will be produced in Germany; and yet the names of these two men will fill a German with a reverence and enthusiasm such as the names of the most gifted masters will hardly awaken. And why? Because they humanised knowledge. (S V: 113)

In the 1870s Lessing was referred to in German language literature as the “literarische Arminius”.22 That Lessing was known already much earlier as “Arminius” is suggested by Heine in Die Romantische Schule which Arnold had also read. Heine wrote: Lessing war der literarische Arminius, der unser Theater von jener Fremdherrschaft befreite […]. In allen seinen Werken lebt dieselbe große soziale 22 A good range of background materials on the metaphor of the “literary Arminius” is to be found in Barner et al. (1975: 359–360). Additionally, the volume by Wiegels und Woesler (eds: 1995) provides interesting glimpses of the contribution of the Arminius myth to German views of national identity in the 18th and 19th centuries, in the embattled transition from feudal rule in postMetternich Europe — the historical backdrop to the Lessing image formulated by Heine. See also the conceptual changes in the way in which Heine refers to “Arminius” in the article by Woesler, “‘Enkel Hermans und Thusneldens’ — Heines Kritik an der Funktionalisierung des Hermann-Mythos” in Barner et al. (1975: 359–360).

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Idee, dieselbe fortschreitende Humanität, dieselbe Vernunftreligion […].(B3: 23 371)

It is likely that when Arnold employs the term “social idea” in Culture and Anarchy he is aware of Heine’s use of the expression “soziale Idee” in the Romantische Schule (1835), as cited above, and in Lutetia (1854). Arnold had entered Die Romantische Schule in his reading list not only in 1863 but also in 1866 and marked it as read. (Note-Books 1952: 580) Heine juxtaposes the political vantage point of the French Revolution as “democratic reason” to feudal rule and the era of the aristocracy. He also creates a polemical contrast between the revelation of the “old” form of the Judeo-Christian religion with the new and “perpetual” revelation (“unaufhörliche Offenbarung”) of reason and the “teachings of freedom and equality.”24 This, so Heine argues, is how the privileges and the class system of the ailing ancien régime in Metternich’s Post-Napoleonic Europe (“die Privilegienherrschaft, das bevorrechtete Kastenwesen”, B 2: 598–9) can be tackled. The reversal of terminology familiar from the organised forms of the Jewish and the Christian religions is frequently of conceptual significance and polemical poignancy in Heine’s writing. An example for this is the way Heine “turns on its head” the concept of religion as based on an, apparently, unquestioned set of beliefs and divine truths, seen to be revealed in divine scriptures, rather than written by human hand and head. He does this by creating a new compound noun, Vernunftreligion (“Religion of Reason”, B3: 371). This is the kind of contradiction that is utterly intentional and signals his desire not only to startle us a little, but also to involve us in the intellectual act of reading as critique. While the traditional meaning of the term “religion” suggests to Heine the acceptance of spiritual dogma, reason signals the opposite, i.e. the exercise of critical faculties, the use of the head over the heart.25 If “reason” is to be pursued as unequivocally as religion had been so far, so Heine tells us, this becomes a trajectory for change of the political and social malaises of the day, flagged 23 See also footnote 12. 24 “Die Lehre der Freiheit und Gleichheit”, B2: 598–599. 25 Thus Heine uses the term “religion” in the context of the ideas of the Enlightenment, in his expression “Vernunftreligion” (“Religion of Reason”, B3: 371) in Romantische Schule (B3) and Englische Fragmente (Reisebilder, B2), synonymous for the ideas of the French Revolution as “Religion der Freiheit” (“religion of freedom”, B2: 601) and “Lehre der Freiheit und Gleichheit” (“the teachings of freedom and equality”), “aus jener allgemeinen Erkenntnisquelle, die wir die Vernunft nennen” (“from that general source of knowledge that we call reason”), i.e. “die Vernunft, die demokratischer Natur ist” (“the kind of reason that is democratic by nature”, B2: 598–599).

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by Heine as the infamous “egyptische Plagen” (B2, 594–5) — “plagues” shared by all three Adamic faiths. The ideas of the French Revolution are to him inconceivable without the Enlightenment. In this sense Heine sees Lessing as a Vordenker and Vorkämpfer of the French Revolution. Arnold, for his part, postulates “Arminius”, in Friendship’s Garland as a Prussian “republican”. (FG: 327) What Lessing, Heine, Arnold and the fictional Prussian have in common is the desire to contribute to change through a critique of culture and society. Similar to Arnold in the first chapter of Culture and Anarchy, Heine presents Lessing in the Romantische Schule as an author who deserves to be honoured by having the sword placed on his grave, rather than the laurel, on account of his having been a polemicist and a critic. Heine tells us that, for his own grave, he, similarly, prefers the emblem of the sword: Ich habe nie großen Wert gelegt auf Dichter-Ruhm, und ob man meine Lieder preiset oder tadelt, es kümmert mich wenig. Aber ein Schwert sollt Ihr mir auf den Sarg legen; denn ich war ein braver Soldat im Befreiungskriege der Menschheit. (‘Reise von München nach Genua’, B2: 382)

The metaphor of the writer as one who uses his “weapon”, the pen, as a “soldier in the liberation war of humanity”, as Arnold translates (S III: 108), connects with a number of metaphors in Heine’s works, including the image of the vanguard fighter in his poem ‘Enfant perdu’. The Dictionnaire de l’Académie Française cites the following definition of the term: Enfants perdus se dit des soldats détachés qui commencent l’attaque un jour de combat. […] Il se dit quelque fois, par extension, des personnes que l’on jette les premières en avant dans quelque entreprise hazardeuse, ou qui s’y aventurent d’elles-mêmes. (Dictionnaire de l’Académie Française 1878: 632)26

This struggle of the vanguard fighter on behalf of humanity is presented by Heine in the poem ‘Enfant perdu’ as a first person narrator who holds out in adversity. The motif of the lone soldier and his likely death also occurs when Heine speaks of Lessing and refers to the “new religion” as the metaphor for impending change on the basis of the philosophy of the Enlightenment, as “diese Religion (dieselbe große soziale Idee, […] dieselbe Vernunftreligion) predigte er immer, aber leider oft ganz allein und in der Wüste.” (B3: 371) Heine cites the position of the soldier in ‘Enfant perdu’, “(dem) verlorenen 26 “Enfants perdus is the term used for the soldiers who are in the forefront of armed combat. […] By extension this is also applied to people who are the first to be subjected to dangerous situations, or who are keen to take the risk of potentially fatal adventure of their own accord.”

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Posten in dem Freiheitskriege” whose life is sacrificed in the Hegelian cause of reason and the progress of world history in the consciousness of freedom27, but whose individual loss of life (“mein Herze”) will not signify defeat, nor will his weapons, his combative pen, perish. Heine writes: Ja, wachsam stand ich, das Gewehr im Arme, Und nahte irgendein verdächtger Gauch, So schoß ich gut und jagt ihm eine warme, Brühwarme Kugel in den schnöden Bauch. Mitunter freilich mocht es sich ereignen, Daß solch ein schlechter Gauch gleichfalls sehr gut Zu schießen wusste — ach, ich kanns nicht leugnen – Die Wunden klaffen — es verströmt mein Blut. Ein Posten ist vakant! — Die Wunden klaffen — Der eine fällt, die andern rücken nach — Doch fall ich unbesiegt, und meine Waffen Sind nicht gebrochen — Nur mein Herze brach. ‘Enfant perdu’, Stanzas iv – vi (B6/I:121)

Further allusions to Heine occur when “Arminius” is seen in Friendship’s Garland with a similar smile (“a sardonic smile […] came over my Berliner’s harsh countenance”, FG: 39), to the protagonist “Heine” in Arnold’s poem ‘Heine’s Grave’: But something prompts me: Not thus Take leave of Heine! Not thus Speak the last word at his grave! Not in pity, and not With half censure — with awe Hail, as it passes from earth Scattering lightnings, that soul! The Spirit of the world, Beholding the absurdity of men — Their vaunts, their feats — let a sardonic smile, For one short moment, wander o’er his lips. That smile was Heine! — for its earthly hour The strange guest sparkled; now ‘tis passed away. ‘Heine’s Grave’ (Allott (1965): 477 – 478) 27 “(Des) Fortschritts im Bewußtsein von der Freiheit”. (Hegel 1970: 76)

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Here Heine’s famous use of the smile as cipher28 refers to the Hegelian concept of the world spirit in Arnold’s “the Spirit of the world”. In this instance this is employed as the “signature” metaphor of the engagement of satire and irony, of critique, of conspiratorial aesthetics, “a jacobinical sort of a smile” in the face of the English aristocracy (FG: 50), which, at the end of Letter XII. of Friendship’s Garland raises the spectre of Arminius “on outpost duty”. (FG: 346) In this we hear the reverberations of the concept of the combative critic as “verlorner Posten” (B6/I:120) To recapitulate, Arnold’s choice of name, “Arminius”, in Friendship’s Garland refers to Heine’s characterization of Lessing as the literary Arminius of German literature. At the same time, Arnold satirically subverts the image of Arminius, “the liberator”, into a critic of England and her perceived insularity. Arnold chooses to attack such insularity in the English education system, on which he is well qualified to speak, and other cultural phenomena. In thus targeting Victorian society, “Arminius” becomes the mouthpiece of Arnold’s own critique of England. He is the maverick foreigner who will, rather impolitely and explicitly, voice Arnold’s misgivings by bringing Europe into view. Additionally, Arnold’s play on Heine’s enfant perdu-motif from the eponymous poem (FG: 346–347) creates an echo of the vanguard fighter from Heine’s poem in the Arminius figure in Arnold’s Friendship’s Garland. In the narrative of Friendship’s Garland, Arminius is standing guard, a Prussian soldier in 1871 near Versailles, “on outpost duty” (FG: 346) and, alone in a calm night, is killed by a stray bullet. “Leo”, one of the stock characters of the hack, reports from Versailles on the random demise of Arminius: I saw a knot of German soldiers, gathered evidently round a wounded man. I approached and frankly tendered my help, in the name of British humanity. […] Petrified with astonishment, I recognized in the wounded man our familiar acquaintance, Arminius von Thunder-ten-Tronckh. […]. He was shot through the chest, and evidently near his end. He had been on outpost duty; — the night had been quiet, but a few random shots had been fired. One of these had struck Arminius in the breast, and gone right through his body. By this stray bullet, without glory, without a battle, without even a foe in sight, had fallen the last of

28 Briegleb’s edition of Heine suggests the view of the writer’s citations of the “smile” as indications of buried meaning. Where we see evidence for this in the early poetry, including his tragedy, Almansor, this can imply a critique of religion, but also, and more frequently so, in Heine’s Buch der Lieder, the smile of the distant, unattainable beloved. We come across other enigmatic smiles in Heine when we encounter the smile of the poet Jehuda ben Halevy, signalling the depth of Sephardic tradition in enlightened Moorish Spain; or the smile of Atta Troll, another protagonist of alterity.

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the Von Thunder-ten-Tronckhs! He knew me, and with a nod, “Ah,” said he, “the rowdy Philistine!” You know his turn, outré in my opinion, for flinging nicknames right and left. (FG: 346–347)

In this, the last of twelve letters to The Pall Mall Gazette, Arnold brings together the strands of his journalistic strategy aimed at his English reading public by concluding the satirical juxtapositions between the “Philistinism” of the character “Matthew Arnold” and his enlightened opponent, “Arminius”. As in Heine’s poem the “verlorene Posten”, Arminius not only dies unrepentant, but his “weapons”, his ideas, survive. “Arminius” issues his last words to journalist Leo who accidentally was able to rush to his aid, and lists his messages to the dramatis personae, friend and foe alike, of his battles with English public opinion which we, the readers, encountered in the earlier letters of the series. Eventually the name “Matthew Arnold” comes up and his special legacy is mentioned: He had evidently but a few minutes to live. I sate down on the bank by him, and asked him if I could do anything to relieve him. He shook his head. Any message to his friends in England? He nodded. I ran over the most prominent names of the old set. […] Lastly, I mentioned Mr. Matthew Arnold. I hope I rate this poor soul’s feeble and rambling performances at their proper value; but I am bound to say that at the mention of his name Arminius showed signs of tenderness. “Poor fellow!” sighed he; “he had a soft head, but I valued his heart. Tell him, I leave him my ideas […].” (FG: 347)

Through the use of the enfant perdu-motif in Friendship’s Garland Arnold illuminates not only his concept of the role of the author in the alterity of the persona “Arminius” and this displacement and quasi externalization of his critique of his time in the personifications chosen, but also provides a new critical language. His dialogical strategy allows Arnold to speak to his middle class readers and address their language and their thinking, by attacking the self-styled, patriotic philistine citizen, “Matthew Arnold”. A similar stance to the individual’s sacrifice in the progress of world history in the Hegelian sense is expressed in Arnold’s poem ‘The Last Word’, where in the survival of the final message beyond the survival of the individual messenger and participant in the verbal battles of the day, there will ultimately be “victors” (V.14, Arnold 1965: 542): Creep into thy narrow bed, Creep, and let no more be said! Vain thy onset! All stands fast. Thou thyself must break at last.

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Hanne Boenisch […] They out-talked thee, hissed thee, tore thee? Better men fared thus before thee; Fired their ringing short and passed, Hotly charged — and sank at last. Charge once more, then, and be dumb! Let the victors, when they come, When the forts of folly fall, Find thy body by the wall! ‘The Last Word’, Stanzas i., iii and iv. (Allott 1965: 542)

While in the first verse of the first stanza the metaphor of “the narrow bed” suggests death, the protagonist addressed in the imperative appears in the third stanza as having reached at his grave the end of a lifelong enterprise of verbal battles, of contention (“Let the long contention cease!” Stanza ii.: Allott 1965: 542). This reminds the reader of the “life and death battle with Philistinism” (S III: 111) which Arnold had described as Heine’s role in an essay some years earlier: Taking that terrible modern weapon, the pen, in his hand, he passed the remainder of his life in one fierce battle. What was that battle? the reader will ask. It was a life and death battle with Philistinism. (S III:111)

The protagonist in ‘The Last Word’, addressed by the narrator with the archaic pronoun “thou”, is seen in the fourth stanza as having finally advanced to the walls of the stronghold of philistinism, the “forts of folly”. (V.15, Arnold 1965: 542) The certainty of having come close to this finishing line, i.e. close to the wall, which is the demarcation between the inside and the outside of the fortress, makes up for the sacrifice of the individual combatant in these “long contentions” (Verse 5) through his loss of life: “Let the victors, when they come, […] / Find thy body by the wall!” (V.14–16, Allott 1965: 542) In the satirical and polemical texts of Friendship’s Garland, Arnold writes as an auteur engagé with a critical commitment similar to Heine, as one of the “soldats détachés qui commencent l’attaque”, as the dictionary of the French Academy glosses the term enfant perdu, but ultimately, in this authorial role, he is “sacrificed” to his time and its progress in history, like the combatant in Heine’s poem: Arnold has to address his readers in their own language, the language of the Victorian middle classes, in order for his

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critique to reach their minds, in the specific context of Victorian journalistic genres. Arnold discusses his propagandist stratagems at great length in his correspondence. This, together with his references to the detail of Victorian politics, education and society makes Arnold’s the language of his time and for his time. This kind of closely knit web of contemporary allusion is less often observed in Heine’s journalistic prose. Heine speaks to us across boundaries of many kinds, including geographic, political, and socioeconomic, precisely because he was not bound to the same level of concrete and, ultimately, transient societal “reality” as Arnold. Arnold’s contemporary reference, together with his flair for coining memorable phrases and key words contribute to the qualities that make him so remarkable in the context of the shaping of Victorian public opinion. Reason has acquired a voice in Matthew Arnold’s journalistic writings and is heard by the policy makers of the day. In terms of Arnold’s understanding of Hegel, reason has come into existence, but he has incurred his losses on a personal level.29 Heine’s metaphor of periodicals as strongholds of the battle of ideas, Journale (als) Festungen30, is shown in a dialectical relationship with Arnold’s concept of the “forts of folly”. (Allott 1965: 542) It is here that Arnold’s new ideas come up against what he sees as the folly of contemporary published opinion. Although Heine, as well as Arnold, began by writing poetry and did not initially relish the sense of the power of the press and its inevitable subjectedness to the politics of the day, both authors developed great effectiveness in their writing careers by turning to journalism themselves and facing folly head-on.

The Play of Words as an Agency of Change Friendship’s Garland, is, above all, evidence for Arnold’s wish to influence the “philistine”, as he satirically characterizes himself and his middle class readers, and to open up Victorian minds for things European, not only by preaching (as he arguably does in Culture and Anarchy), but by reaching hearts and minds in playful verbal exchanges, or, as Schiller puts it, in play and pleasure: 29 “Vernunft has sich in Existenz gesetzt, (aber er hat dabei) eingebüßt und Schaden erlitten.” (Hegel 1970: 49) 30 “Es ist die Zeit des Ideenkampfes, und Journale sind unsere Festungen.” (B2: 828)

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Matthew Arnold, for his part, formulates a programme of addressing his readers with the charm of his words that betrays a surprising closeness to Schiller’s concerns in his Aesthetic Letters, when he writes of the power of persuasion. (29.10.1868, L2: 238) In Friendship’s Garland a number of characters appear as idealistic opponents of windmill giants, in juxtaposition to bumbling pragmatists, some objectionable blunderers, and the caricature of a proponent of Prussian philosophy and culture, “Arminius”. The two protagonists, “Arminius” and “Matthew Arnold” are placed in a similar binary opposition to each other as Don Quixote and Sancho Panza in Cervantes. Much comical effect is derived by Arnold creating a satire of the staunchly philistine member of the Victorian middle class and defender of English values and thinking, bearing the name “Matthew Arnold”, a name which was, by the time Friendship Garland went into print as a book in 1871, indelibly connected in the Victorian mind with expectations of seriousness, educational expertise, academic stature, and also the scathing criticism of his society voiced in Culture and Anarchy. The many contemporary responses to Friendship’s Garland attest to its effectiveness.32 Arnold becomes known for a critique of England from a European vantage point that is often informed by his reading of German and French authors, notably the elective Parisian (Wahlpariser) Heinrich Heine, Arnold’s intellectual appetite for controversy having become a hallmark in his opposition to his contemporaries’ ideas of Englishness, including those of his erstwhile rival, the Poet Laureate Tennyson.33 Beyond the fierce debates he stirred up with such relish in his own time, Arnold succeeds in Friendship’s Garland, through the technique of the dialogical confrontation of an array of characters engaged in quixotic skirmishes, in creating another layer to the palimpsest of influential satires and polemics, including the adventures of the ingenious Don Quixote, the

31 “The seriousness of your principles will deter them, but in play they will tolerate them. (…) In vain will you assail their thinking, in vain will you condemn their deeds, but in their leisure you may try your creative hand.” 32 See Dawson and Pfordresher (1979) and Mazzeno (1999). 33 The relationship with Tennyson reveals further aspects of Arnold’s unusual position amongst Victorian writers and poets in his view of a new concept of English identity. See Chapter 8 of the forthcoming study by Hanne Boenisch, ‘Matthew Arnold und Heinrich Heine’.

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youth Candide in search of “the best of all possible worlds”, and the splendid collection of faithful and revealing fools of Heinrich Heine.

Abbreviations Allott 1965 B FG

= The Poems of Matthew Arnold. Ed. Kenneth Allott. = Briegleb, Heine edition in seven volumes. = Friendship’s Garland, in: Volume V of Super’s edition of Matthew Arnold’s Prose Works. Hegel 12 = Theorieausgabe. L = The Letters of Matthew Arnold, ed. Cecil Y. Lang. Note-Books = The Note-Books of Matthew Arnold, eds Howard Foster Lowry, Karl Young, Waldo Hilary Dunn. S = The Complete Prose Works of Matthew Arnold, (in 11 volumes, ed. by R.H. Super) for citations from prose texts other than Friendship’s Garland. (See the entry for “FG” above.)

Bibliography Adorno, Theodor W. (1958–1974). Noten zur Literatur I–IV. Frankfurt: Suhrkamp. Altick, Richard (1957). The English Common Reader. A Social History of the Mass Reading Public. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Arnold, Matthew (1952). The Note-Books of Matthew Arnold. Ed. Howard Foster Lowry, Karl Young and Waldo Hilary Dunn. London: O.U.P. Arnold, Matthew (1960–1977). The Complete Prose Works of Matthew Arnold. 11 volumes. Ed. Robert H. Super. Ann Arbor: The University of Michigan Press. Arnold, Matthew (1965). The Poems of Matthew Arnold. Ed. Kenneth Allott. London: Longman. Arnold, Matthew (1997–2001). The Letters of Matthew Arnold (Letters 1829– 1888). Six volumes. Ed. Cecil Y. Lang. Charlottesville and London: University of Virginia Press. Barner, W., G. Grimm, H. Kiesel and M. Krauss (1975). ‘Der literarische Arminius. Schlagworte aus dem Kaiserreich’. In: Lessing Arbeitsbuch. Epoche, Werk, Wirkung. München: Beck.

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Brown, Edward K. (1935). Studies in the Text of Matthew Arnold's Prose Works. Paris: Impression Pierre André. Clarke, Bob (2004). From Grub Street to Fleet Street. Aldershot: Ashgate. Cross, Nigel (1985). The Common Writer. Life in Nineteenth-Century Grub Street. Cambridge: C.U.P. Cruse, Amy A. (1935). The Victorians and their Books. London: Allen & Unwin. Dawson, Carl, & Pfordresher, John (eds) (1979). Matthew Arnold’s Prose. The Critical Heritage. London: Routledge. th Dictionnaire de l’Académie Française (1878). 7 ed. 2 volumes. Paris : Librairie de Firmin-Didot. Imprimeurs de L’Institut de France. Goldmann, Paul (1994). Victorian Illustrated Books 1850–1870. London: British Museum Press. Harvey, Sir Paul (1967). The Oxford Companion to English Literature. Compiled and edited by Sir Paul Harvey. 4th ed., revised by Dorothy Eagle. Oxford: Clarendon. Hegel, Georg Wilhelm Friedrich (1961). Philosophie der Geschichte. Stuttgart: Reclam. Hegel, Georg Wilhelm Friedrich (1970). Theorie Werkausgabe. Vol. 12. Frankfurt: Suhrkamp. Heine, Heinrich (1968–1976). Heinrich Heine Sämtliche Schriften. Ed. Klaus Briegleb. München: Hanser. Johnson, Samuel (1768). Dictionary of the English Language. 3rd revised ed. Dublin: W. G. Jones for Thomas Ewing. Lévinas, Emmanuel (1999). Alterity and Transcendence. Transl. Michael B. Smith. London: Athlone Press. Lowry, Howard Foster, Karl Young and Waldo Hilary Dunn (eds) (1952). The Note-Books of Matthew Arnold. London: O.U.P. Mazzeno, Laurence W. (1999). Matthew Arnold and The Critical Legacy. Rochester: Camden House. Preisendanz, Wolfgang (1973). Heinrich Heine. Werkstrukturen und Epochenbezüge. München: Fink. Rogers, Pat (1980). Hacks and Dunces. Pope, Swift and Grub Street. London: Methuen. Schiller, Friedrich (2001). Schillers Werke. Nationalausgabe. Zwanzigster Band. Philosophische Schriften Erster Teil. Ed. Benno von Wiese with Helmut Koopmann. Weimar: Hermann Böhlaus Nachfolger. Scott, John (1950). The Story of the Pall Mall Gazette, of its first editor Frederick Greenwood and of its Founder George Murray Smith. London: O.U.P. Spencer, Eddy L. Jr. (1970). The Founding of “The Cornhill Magazine”. Ball State Monograph No. 19. Muncie/Indiana: Ball State University.

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Steegman, John (1970). Victorian Taste: A Study of the Arts and Architecture from 1830 to 1870. Cambridge (Mass.): Massachusetts Institute of Technology Press. Super, Robert H. (ed.) (1960–1977). The Complete Prose Works of Matthew Arnold. 11 vols. Ann Arbor: The University of Michigan Press. Swift, Jonathan (1958). A tale of a tub, to which is added The battle of the books and the mechanical operation of the spirit. Oxford: Clarendon. Tennyson, Alfred (1969). The Poems of Tennyson. Ed. Christopher Ricks. London: Longman. Voltaire, Jean François Marie Arouet de Voltaire (1972). Candide oder der Optimismus. Frankfurt am Main: Insel. Voltaire, Jean François Marie Arouet de Voltaire (1988). Candide. Ed. O.R. Taylor. Oxford: Blackwell. Voltaire, Jean François Marie Arouet de Voltaire (1990). Candide and other Stories. Transl. Roger Pearson. Oxford: O.U.P. Wiegels, Rainer and Winfried Woesler (eds) (2003). Arminius und die Varusschlacht. Geschichte, Mythos, Literatur. Paderborn/München/ Wien/Zürich: Schöningh.

In Other Words: Jakov Lind’s Translingual Autobiography Tamar Steinitz, Queen Mary University of London (UK)

When Jakov Lind’s American editor suggested in 1969 that he write an autobiography, Lind had reservations. He was, he explained to his editor, a writer of fiction, and “[what] a writer of fiction has to say about himself, his text makes clear.” (Lind 1991: 43) His collection of stories Eine Seele aus Holz (1962) and the novels Landschaft in Beton (1963) and Eine bessere Welt (1966) had created a certain stir in literary circles: while his works were, as he put it, “crushed […] with a thud” (Lind 1991: 165) by German and Austrian critics, their English translations were received with enthusiasm by English and American critics. (Hassler 2001: 137–157) Despite Lind’s initial reluctance, he recognized that an autobiography offered an opportuneity to reveal the man behind the image he had carefully cultivated: that of a “writer, foreigner, cosmopolitan, Casanova, coffee-house bohemian, antiintellectual intellectual.” (Lind 1991: 209) It would also be Lind’s first work in English: “[the] autobiography I loathed starting,” he reflects, “would, to keep the subject at a distance, have to be written in English.” (Lind 1991: 217) Autobiographical writing always entails a degree of alienation. Is the translingual autobiography — where the self is written in a foreign language — perhaps the ultimate medium for such writing, or is the alienation from the self so extreme that it undermines the purpose of the work? Language itself is a central concern of Lind’s autobiography: indeed, as Edward Timms (2001: 87) observes, the memoirs are “not designed to give a balanced picture of [Lind’s] personal development or his family life. The essential theme is the quest of a writer for a viable literary language.” The three volumes — Counting My Steps (1969), Numbers (1972) and Crossing (1991) — chronicle this quest and embody its outcome, as they signify the search in the language the author has chosen to adopt. The autobiography thus associates self with language both structurally and thematically. Autobiography is a form of ordering in which the author shapes, if not his life, then its representation in narrative form. In this sense, too, choosing to write in a foreign language can be seen as a radical form of control. In Lind’s case, the attempt to subjugate the past to his will can be read as a poignant reaction to the circumstances that produced the life he is recounting. Jakov Lind was born as Heinz Landwirth to a Jewish family in Vienna in 1927. In 1938 he fled Austria on a Kindertransport train to

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Holland. When the Nazis began rounding up the Jews in 1942, Lind assumed the identity of a Dutch labourer, Jan Gerrit Overbeek. Using forged papers, he became a deck-hand on a river barge and survived the war right in the lion’s mouth — in Germany. After the war, he again took on a new identity, illegally entering Palestine as Jakov Chalkan, a Palestinian-born Jew. Disenchanted with Zionism, Lind left Israel in 1950 and spent several years wandering in Europe, eventually settling in London, where he died in 2007. The war is a fundamental trauma and the force driving Lind to write — not only his autobiography, but also his fiction. Language is at the heart of the world Lind lost, and emerges as the key to Lind’s reconstruction of his own identity. In what follows, I will explore the way in which Lind represents his relationship with his mother tongue, German, and his adopted language, English, and outline the difficulty this account presents in terms of the authenticity of the autobiographical project. Counting My Steps begins with Lind’s school days in Vienna, as he learns to read and write. Writing is thus established, to quote Andrea Hammel (2001: 181), as “[one] of Lind’s meta-narratives,” and language, writing and personal history are linked from the outset. At this stage, writing is a difficult, sometimes frustrating task: an art that is quite distinct from the intuitive uses of language in speech. “[Words] looked to me like unimaginative drawings,” Lind recalls. “How can the pictures in front of one’s eyes be drawn with words?” (Lind 1970: 17–18) Lind considers the difficulty of spelling: the arbitrariness of the written linguistic sign and its relationship with its referent: A single word has sometimes one and sometimes two syllables. To know when to break up a word and when to rejoin it was magic. Why some words had one and others two of the same letter, no one could explain. Why not sistter if you felt like saying sistter? I could annoy my elder sister in particular by writing her with two t’s. (Lind 1970: 17)

Writing thus becomes alchemy, in which the skilled practitioner joins letters and syllables to form meaningful words. The writer has the power to write someone — not just represent, but create him or her in language — and affect that person in reality through his artistic choices. The young writer’s freedom is curtailed by the directives of his teacher, Mr. Hartl, whose strictness in matters of spelling and pedantry regarding the tidiness of the written page is linked to his political ideology: “The rule was made by Hartl and Hartl was always right. He was a dictator. In 1938, one of the first to wear a big swastika in his buttonhole, it didn’t surprise me.” (Lind 1970: 17) The battle-lines are drawn: the budding writer, with his

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imaginative disregard for rules and conventions, is pitted against the authoritarian figure of oppression, the teacher-Nazi. Lind’s first encounter with the English language is recounted in the foreword to Crossing, the last volume of the autobiography. At the primary school in Vienna, Lind is struck, once again, by the discrepancy between the spoken language and its written form. Yet the same phenomenon he noted when first learning to write German is interpreted in a radically different manner in relation to English. Recalling the song taught by a young man from the British Council — ‘John Brown had a little Indian’ — Lind reflects: Just to pronounce the John and the Brown, with a different sound for the same o, gave me the first inkling that across the sea […], in England and America, people speak words one way and write them quite differently. The question ‘why’ was dismissed by the English teacher. Illogical. Maybe that was the very essence of this new language; you write little with two ts but pronounce it like a d; the e at the end of little evaporates like candyfloss. Th was supposed to sound like s, but worst of all was the problem of o and e, i and u. The total disregard the teacher had for a consistent use of vowels impressed upon me that English was something even natives spoke inconsistently, and only according to their private whims. (Lind 1991: ix)

The apparent arbitrariness of English orthography is represented as whimsical, a source of freedom and equality: [because] of this discrepancy between spoken and written language, I had the impression that anyone could speak or write it; it was a free-for-all and not just made for Englishmen and Americans, Australians and Canadians. (Lind 1991: ix–x)

This generous, inclusive tendency of the language stands in stark contrast to the German language, which rejects Jews as it becomes a “Teutonic abyss of Achtungs and Wird erschossens, which followed the Judenraus and Judasverrecke language.” (Lind 1972: 75) Whereas the rules of German, seemingly designed by the hated teacher Hartl, are restrictive and oppressive, “English [seems] to know no rules” (Lind 1991: x), and the English teacher’s dismissal of questions regarding the inconsistency is “illogical”, but not malevolent. This “first taste from across the ocean,” Lind writes, cultivated “a secret love for a language that codified [his] childish ideas of freedom and equality.” (Lind 1991: x) This description of Lind’s early education in each of the languages that will become his means of literary expression seems to explain the later switch to English as a natural choice. It posits an early affiliation with this

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language of freedom and tolerance: a fondness for the language that has been nurtured since childhood. This representation, however, may be misleading: Lind’s reconstruction of his schooldays includes facts that he could only know in hindsight. Thus, the reference to Hartl as “this old Nazi” (Lind 1970: 17) anticipates the teacher’s future political affiliation, and is anachronistic with regard to the events described. The English teacher’s lessons, on the other hand, could not have taken place much later than Hartl’s lessons: both languages were taught at the primary school, which Lind attended until 1937, when he was ten years old. (Lind 1970: 42) It seems unlikely that what is essentially the same phenomenon, the perceived irrationality of a writing system, inspired two radically different reactions — frustration with one language and enchantment with the other — in the child. More probably, this portrayal of language acquisition illustrates, to quote Louis Renza (1977: 3), that “the writer’s references to his past are subordinate to […] a narrative essentially representing the writer’s present self-identity” and that “autobiography is the writer’s attempt to elucidate his present, not his past.” In other words, Lind’s actual recollection of his first encounter with English is coloured by his later attitude towards both German and English, and specifically by his feelings towards German, which changed after 1938. Although Lind opens his memoirs with the formal acquisition of the written German language, he also provides, as Timms (2001: 75) observes, another “very suggestive account of how that original language was acquired.” This involves both his mother and the Landwirths’ maid, Mitzi, who plays a significant role in the infant’s initiation into language: She had taught me to call things by their name, a Reindl, a Schweindl, a Heferl, a Tepp (a pot, a pig, a cup, a stupid ass — in Viennese jargon). Without her I didn’t know what to say. Proceeded to look for words, could never get enough of them, ran around looking for Mitzi’s breasts to feed and her lap to ride on. (Lind 1970: 178)

Mitzi is explicitly associated with a loving, nourishing form of language acquisition, and the language she gives the young Lind is colloquial Austrian German, a dialect Lind repeatedly refers to as his true language, as distinguished from High German. The relationship with Mitzi is a very physical one: apart from feeding on her breasts, Lind recalls how “she let [him] ride her knees, warmed her naked body with [him] in her iron bedstead in the kitchen, and taught [him] by the way a few simple words.” (Lind 1970: 178) Mitzi’s function in Lind’s early emotional life is clear: “Mitzi was love,” Lind states. “My mother had two other children to attend to as well.” (Lind

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1970: 178) This crucial bond is broken abruptly as Mitzi leaves the family when Lind is two years old. The effect of this abandonment is devastating and long-lasting: “I still choke easily with fear, emotion, overfatigue, and when in the arms of large women,” Lind reflects. (1970: 178) The loss of the maternal figure is associated with a sensation of choking: a life-threatening, even if momentary, loss of the ability to breathe, but also an obstruction or malfunction of the organs of speech. Lind’s mother complements the child’s linguistic growth by providing him “with a model of literary German” (Timms 2001: 75) through the poems she writes. This influence is mentioned only after — and in relation to — the strict teacher’s lessons. “My mother kept several notebooks of her poems […] under the sheets in the linen cupboard […] with lavender and mothballs,” Lind writes. (1970: 19) It is Hartl who gives the young boy the means to access “the milk of literature, from [his] Jewish, moral, respectable mother.” (Lind 1970: 179) Unlike the spontaneous, natural connection with Mitzi’s Austrian German, Lind’s relationship with his mother tongue is mediated through formal education: “Hartl, who forced me to read and write, taught me to read my mother’s poems and to copy them.” (Lind 1970: 19) “I needed them both,” Lind (1970: 179) observes, regarding the influences of Mitzi and his mother. Yet from this early stage, mother-tongue is associated not with the first instances of self-expression, but with a written language that is distanced, removed from real life, and somewhat contrived. The mother’s poems represent “the finer things of this world turning yellow under the mothballs.” (Lind 1970: 19) The tears and pains described in the poems are not authentic, but “[echo] what she had learnt from Goethe and Schiller and a few lesser lights of German fogginess.” (Lind 1970: 19) Indeed, it is this High German, the language of culture and literature, that Lind rejects later on. He considers it the “cultural infrastructure which erected the hell of our mid-twentieth-century tragedy.” (Lind 1991: 65) Language is at the heart of the world that was lost in 1938. The German language had been a “private oasis to hide from this world, the only safe place [Lind] could retreat to when the world around had gone insane.” But in 1938 this “well of […] privacy in the universe was destroyed forever” as the language became one used to yell and scream at people with venom and hatred, with threats and murderous slogans, […] a language of decrees and curfews, inhuman laws and black-framed announcements, a language of lies and falsehood, of murder and death. (Lind 1972: 75)

Nevertheless, Austrian remains in Lind’s mind distinct from German and provides a sense of belonging, if only a tenuous one. After his evacuation

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from Austria in 1938, Lind still feels some attachment to his homeland, and his love-hate relationship with the country will haunt him in later life. Lind’s account of the war years in Counting My Steps does not follow the conventional treatment of suffering and loss in autobiographies by former child-refugees.1 Personal pain is suppressed, and reflections about Lind’s family in the aftermath of his evacuation are conspicuously absent from the narrative. The moment of Lind’s departure on the Kindertransport, for instance, is marked by defiant Zionist sentiments which seem incongruous in the context of an eleven-year-old child’s separation from his parents: In December ’38 a train left for the Hook of Holland. There would be delays, unnecessary stops, certain difficulties, but “If I forget thee Jerusalem may my right hand wither.” Embroidered on a silken white and blue flag around the golden Star of David, these words I repeated every night instead of the evening prayer my mother had taught me. (Lind 1970: 57)

The tone seems matter-of-fact, and the difficulties are understated: there are no tearful farewells, no fears of the uncertain future. That Lind’s mother is mentioned only in relation to the ideology that apparently supplants her is even more startling when considering that the child would never see her again. During the war, Lind assumes a false identity: with the help of the Zionist Pioneers organization, he obtains the forged documents that transform him into a Dutch labourer. From the street where I had lived a few months previously as an Austrian emigrant and Jew, born in Vienna 10th February 1927, I left in the body of one Jan Gerrit Overbeek, born in Aalte […] on 7th January 1926. I was no longer an Aquarius, but now twice born. (Lind 1970: 101)

While the body is that of the Dutch man Overbeek, the Austrian Jew Landwirth is still alive within it. Lind embraces this split as a strategy for survival in a world where reality and sanity have lost their meaning. “Schizophrenia did not hurt for a change,” he describes this condition. “To be schizophrenic is to be normal; unreality is reality. I was both. Overbeek for the world and J.L. for this other world, who might or might not come back when the Germans have lost the war.” (Lind 1970: 104) Jan Overbeek becomes more than a mask from behind which Lind operates. This persona seems to take over the first self, supplanting and alienating it from the world. An increasing sense of loss of reality ensues, 1

For a discussion of autobiographies be former child refugees see Andrea Hammel (2004).

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and as he experiences his body — the ostensibly objective reality of his physical being — as divorced from his mind, Lind comes to question his very existence: “I thought I had fallen out of all spheres and beyond and underneath all levels. I was not part of humanity, I didn’t think so. […] I am speaking of nonexistence. I was and I was not.” (Lind 1970: 136) The end of the war does not mark, for Lind, a return to his former, true identity. Rather, the persona of Jan Overbeek becomes the first in a series of reinventions of the self: a process of splitting which brings about an erosion of identity. The psychic divisions and the consequent destabilization of the sense of reality are closely associated in the autobiography with the need to abandon the mother tongue. After the war, Lind finds himself with “nothing left but [his] bare skin. […] No love and no hatred and no language. Worst of all — no language.” (Lind 1970: 177) Significantly, the recollection of Mitzi, the Landwirths’ maid, and her seminal role in Lind’s life occurs, quite unexpectedly, at this point in the narrative, and not in the beginning of the memoir, when Lind writes about the acquisition of language. Indeed, the section that refers to Mitzi begins with the trauma of abandonment, and the fact of her disappearance is repeated three more times in the next two pages. The link between this loss and the loss of language is finally cemented: “In German my wish-dream rhymed. I made it rhyme with Mitzi’s departure.” (Lind 1970: 179) This association hints at another loss, one so devastating that Lind cannot bring himself to do more than mention it briefly: the death of his mother. Lind receives the bitter news when he is reunited with his father and sister in Palestine after the war: “They bring me sweets and cakes, fruit and underwear, and the message that my mother had died. Back in 1941. Of cancer. In a nursing home in Tel Aviv.” (Lind 1970: 193) The clipped sentence fragments contrast sharply with the understated, dispassionate tone in which the reunion is described, as though the author, even through the distance of time, finds it hard not only to utter the words, but even to breathe as he recalls this moment. The text thus enacts the choking sensation that, as Lind noted earlier, grips him in moments of emotion — a sensation associated with Mitzi’s departure. Lind’s multilingualism at the end of the war — which he describes as “an antiquated Austrian, a fluent bargeman’s Dutch, and a few sentences in every other European language” (Lind 1970: 180) — becomes another form of splitting in the narrative. It destabilizes reality in what may be described as a rupture in the linguistic sign. Emile Benveniste (1971: 45) maintains that the link between the two components of the sign is necessary: the concept cannot occur without its sound pattern or name, for thought does not occur before language. For Lind, however, the signifiers of the German language acquire a monstrous connotation and become divorced from their

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meaning, their signified: “German gave me the creeps and there was no use in arguing this. […] [It] had nothing to do with the people who wrote and write it — as it wasn’t what they said, but that they said it in German.” (Lind 1970: 75) As signifier and signified seem to have been separated in Lind’s mind, his solution is to tear them further apart, in order to detach himself from his native language and find a language he can write in. He is aware of the difficulty and danger that this endeavor entails. Madder than anything was to think I could ever unlearn sounds I knew by heart and kidneys and replace them with other and better sounds. To do that, I had to try to go back in time before I knew any language, back into a near autistic state of mind that communicates on a level of la-la. (Lind 1972: 75)

Returning to a pre-linguistic state is Lind’s attempt to wipe the slate clean and rebuild his internal world. This regression — and Lind is “conscious it [is] a regression” (1972: 75) — is necessary for a pure language to emerge. While Lind may seek purity in the sense of a language untainted by the trauma of war, his formulation— “I had to replace the private with the universal” (Lind 1972: 76) — seems to echo Walter Benjamin’s notion of a pure language. In every language as a whole, Benjamin (1996: 257) maintains, “one and the same thing is meant. Yet his one thing is achievable not by any single language but only by the totality of their intentions supplementing one another: the pure language.” Lind’s project, however, reveals itself as more ambitious even than accessing a pure, universal language. Perhaps not believing in the existence of such a language, Lind intends to create one: I had to learn to make my own private language, which I then could apply in any tongue. I had to discover my own references to things, people and ideas, which I would afterward be able to express in any language, even Chinese and Swahili. My Chinese and Swahili was English. (Lind 1972: 76)

It is perhaps not surprising that Lind as a multilingual speaker views selftranslation into any language a possibility. For him, one element of reality can be linked to different linguistic signs. The illusory feeling of naturalness of language is thus broken (Sapir 1921: 1). The reality of language, which, Benveniste (1971: 55) observes, “as a general rule, remains unconscious,” is brought to the fore in what Elizabeth Klosty Beaujour (1984: 62) terms a “conscious awareness of option,” and the choice between systems of representation underscores their relativity. One of the consequences of such a freedom of choice, according to Beaujour, is a “sensation that there is a space” between the different lan-

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guages mastered by the multilingual speaker and, more importantly, a “conviction that there is a physical distance between thought and expression.” (Beaujour 1984: 61) When he exists in this perceived gap, Beaujour argues, the multilingual writer is “distanced in both his use of language to communicate with the outside world, and, even more important, in his internal conversations with himself.” (Beaujour 1984: 62) Indeed, Lind himself describes that while searching for his private language, “in practice […he] existed in a permanent state of mess and disorder, in a primordial chaos, without the ordering soothing creative energy of words.” (Lind 1972: 76) After the war, Lind tried to fulfill his Zionist dream in the Promised Land, but in 1950 he leaves the newly established State of Israel disillusioned. Wandering through post-war Europe, he embarks on a psychic journey in search of self, and in 1954 he settles in London and resolves to forge a new identity for himself: that of a writer. The author’s powers of creation in language offer Lind the possibility of redemption: of gaining a measure of control over the traumatic perturbations of history that had shaped his life. German, Lind’s native tongue, seems at first the natural vehicle for his writing. He feels, however, that this language is imposed on him: “I knew I’d have no choice but to write my fiction, my first book of fiction and probably many more, in my mother tongue, which I’d say was Austrian with an East German inflection.” (Lind 1991: 124) As he prepares to write about the war, about “what it meant to [him] and what had happened” (Lind 1991: 119), using the same language as the Nazis appears as a “betrayal of all [he] had to say about [his] past.” (Lind 1991: 161) Writing in German smacks to Lind of “cultural rearmament”, of “cleaning and repairing the ultimate in all German ‘secret’ weapons.” (Lind 1991: 65) He decides to distance himself from the language even as he writes it, believing himself to write German with “an Anglo-Saxon and no longer German-Austrian mind.” (Lind 1991: 67) And so begins his “private battle with sentences, with style and syntax, spelling and grammar, meaning and expression” as he writes in German while passionately “collecting English words and using English syntax.” (Lind 1991: 49–50) English gradually emerges as the language of choice for the writer who no longer feels at home in his native language. Lind is driven to England by his rejection of continental Europe, and like England, the English language offers shelter, but never a home. Although Lind lives in London, he refuses to become an immigrant, and resolutely remains a willing exile. “To be the perennial foreigner and to remain what one cannot change was, I always believed, one of my better ideas,” he declares. (Lind 1991: 17) Switching languages is not an attempt to belong to a nation, but a move towards a

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universal, cosmopolitan ideal: for Lind, “[thinking…] in English was producing both liberal and radical thought through the most universal and at the same time the most accessible of all languages.” (Lind 1991: 67) As Lind establishes himself as a professional writer, the universality and tolerance of English are revealed as more than theoretical or imagined traits of the language. While the reception of Lind’s works of fiction in Austria and Germany was ambivalent and at times overtly hostile (Seeber 2001: 117), British and American critics praised Lind as “one of the most original authors of the 1960s.” (Hassler 2001: 137) The decision to write in English is, then, also partly a practical, commercial one, motivated by the need to reach a wide readership. “Maybe it was time I realized that many Germans could not accept what I had to say about Germany, coming from a writer who was using, and in their eyes misusing, their own language,” Lind (1991: 166) reflects on the animosity of the German critics. “I began to feel there must be something wrong with me if I could only find readers for my books in translation.” The solution he finds is to “translate [himself] into English by writing in English.” As Beaujour (1989: 42) has shown, translingual authors “may experience the pangs of infidelity and guilt, as well as a sense of self-mutilation.” Lind, however, does not share these concerns and does not mourn the loss of layers of meaning available in German but not in English. In his typescript ‘Über Deutsch gesprochen’ (‘Speaking about German’, 1975), Eva Eppler (2001: 170) shows, German and English are associated with “different ways of thinking and feeling.” Thus, on the difference between the German word boshaft, which has “undertones of malice,” and the English angry, Lind writes: It is a completely different attitude towards things. In German you are for example boshaft in a certain German way, in English you can be angry, but one is angry in a different way than one is boshaft in German. I’m not sure whether 2 it’s better or worse, it’s different anyway.

Of course, boshaft and angry are not semantic equivalents. Nevertheless, this juxtaposition is evocative: it reveals Lind’s own attitude towards the two languages as he represents English as lacking the malevolence that is apparently inherent in German. Moreover, in Lind’s description, the words in each language do not simply denote a different kind of emotion or attitude: language itself becomes performative, and the speaker changes with the language he employs, becoming angry in English and losing the malicious

2

Lind, ‘Über Deutsch Gesprochen’, trans. by Eva Eppler, quoted in Eppler. (2001: 171)

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undertones of his German boshaft self. Lind’s translingualism, then, is not a matter of self-translation: it amounts to the construction of a new self in a new language. This new self that emerges at the end of Crossing is, of course, the one writing the autobiography. In this circular move, Lind creates, to borrow Steven Kellman’s term, a “self-begetting” autobiography, a work that begets “both a self and itself.” (1976: 1251) The unified identity that Lind strives to create is that of himself as Jakov Lind the writer; it corresponds to what Paul de Man terms the “single subject whose identity is defined by the uncontested readability of his proper name.” (De Man 1979: 920) Lind seems to establish this identity as the only “essential existence” (Lind 1970: 171) that has remained intact since his childhood. Yet in equating writing with self, Lind suppresses the part of himself that precedes the acquisition of written language: the child who “defended [himself] against writing for a long time” (Lind 1970: 17) because writing seemed an arbitrary representation of the language he was familiar with orally and aurally — the language he was taught by Mitzi the maid. This child, whose life changed forever when the war broke out, is Heinz Landwirth, whose full name is never mentioned in the three volumes of the autobiography. Edward Timms suggests that in Lind’s autobiography, the “trauma of destruction is intimately associated with the motif of language deprivation, raising questions about experiences beyond the reach of linguistic expression.” (Timms 2001: 90) What remains beyond expression in Lind’s autobiography is not the historical, collective trauma of the war, but the private trauma of loss and abandonment, of grief and fear. “I couldn’t, by any stretch of my imagination,” he writes, “find the words to talk about the shame and horror I had personally suffered at having to hide behind an assumed identity to save my own life, without the slightest chance of extending a helping hand to a friend, not even to my own sister.” (Lind 1991: 160) The historical trauma and the personal one are in fact connected through language. The German language and its Austrian variety are associated with the maternal figures in Lind’s life: Mitzi who abandons him and the mother whom he never sees again after leaving Austria at the age of eleven. The mother tongue, in turn, abandons and betrays him, as it ceases to be a “private oasis” (Lind 1972: 75) and becomes the language of Nazi persecution. Lind’s wartime survival mechanism, the creation of a false self in a foreign language, becomes a coping strategy throughout his life, as he reinvents himself again and again — eventually as the cosmopolitan, English-language writer. Lind acknowledges at the end of his autobiography that “crossing any waters of language or culture is some sort of self-deception.” (Lind 1991:

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219) Translingualism, with the psychic distance it produces, could afford a means of constructive introspection. Yet because Lind is still “sailing under the flag of a false self” (Lind 1970: 117), detachment becomes alienation, and undermines the authenticity of the self he seeks to recreate. Ultimately, the autobiography provides only passing glimpses of the man behind the many names and tales of Jakov Lind.

Bibliography Beaujour, Elizabeth Klosty (1984). ‘Prolegomena to a Study of Russian Bilingual Writers’. The Slavic and East European Journal 28/1, 58–75. Beaujour, Elizabeth Klosty (1989). Alien Tongues: Bilingual Writers of the “First” Emigration. Ithaca: Cornell University Press. Benjamin, Walter (1996). ‘The Task of the Translator’. In: Marcus Bullock and Michael W. Jennings (eds). Walter Benjamin: Selected Writings. Volume 1: 1913–1926. Cambridge (Mass.): Harvard University Press, 253–263. Benveniste, Emile (1971). Problems in General Linguistics. Coral Gables: University of Miami Press. De Man, Paul (1979). ‘Autobiography as De-facement’. Modern Languages Notes 94/5, 919–930. Eppler, Eva (2001). ‘Code-switching in Exile Literature: Jakov Lind’s Cosmopolitan Style’. In: Andrea Hammel, Silke Hassler and Edward Timms (eds). Writing after Hitler: The Work of Jakov Lind. Cardiff: University of Wales Press, 158–176. Hammel, Andrea (2001). ‘Gender, Individualism and Dialogue: Jakov Lind’s Counting My Steps and Ruth Klüger’s weiter leben’. In: Andrea Hammel, Silke Hassler and Edward Timms (eds). Writing after Hitler: The Work of Jakov Lind. Cardiff: University of Wales Press, 177–192. Hammel, Andrea (2004). ‘Representations of Family in Autobiographical Texts of Child Refugees’. In: Shofar 23/1, 121–132. Hassler, Silke (2001) ‘The English-language Reception of Lind’s Fictional and Dramatic Work: From Soul of Wood to Ergo’. In: Andrea Hammel, Silke Hassler and Edward Timms (eds). Writing after Hitler: The Work of Jakov Lind. Cardiff: University of Wales Press, 137–157. Kellman, Steven G. (1976). ‘The Fiction of Self-Begetting’. In: Modern Languages Notes 91/6, 1243–1256. Lind, Jakov (1962). Eine Seele aus Holz. Neuwied: Luchterhand. Lind, Jakov (1963). Landschaft in Beton. Neuwied: Luchterhand. Lind, Jakov (1966). Eine bessere Welt. Berlin: Wagenbach.

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Lind, Jakov (1970). Counting My Steps: An Autobiography. London: Jonathan Cape. Lind, Jakov (1972). Numbers: A Further Autobiography. London: Jonathan Cape. Lind, Jakov (1991). Crossing: The Discovery of Two Islands. London: Methuen. Renza, Louis A. (1977). ‘The Veto of the Imagination: A Theory of Autobiography’. In: New Literary History 9/1, 1–26. Sapir, Edward (1921). Language: An Introduction to the Study of Speech. New York: Harcourt, Brace & Co. Seeber, Ursula (2001). ‘Writer without a Home: The Reception of Lind’s Work in Germany and Austria’. In: Andrea Hammel, Silke Hassler and Edward Timms (eds). Writing after Hitler: The Work of Jakov Lind. Cardiff: University of Wales Press, 114–136. Timms, Edward (2001). ‘At War with Language: From The Diaries of Hanan Malinek to Travels to the Enu’. In: Andrea Hammel, Silke Hassler and Edward Timms (eds). Writing after Hitler: The Work of Jakov Lind. Cardiff: University of Wales Press, 73–99.

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Victor Lange und Hans-Gert Roloff (Hg.): Akten des IV. Internationalen Germanisten-Kongresses 1970 in Princeton. Dichtung Sprache Gesellschaft. 1971. Leonard Forster und Hans-Gert Roloff (Hg.): Akten des V. Internationalen Germanisten-Kongresses, Cambridge 1975. Heft 1. 1976. Leonard Forster und Hans-Gert Roloff (Hg.): Akten des V. Internationalen Germanisten-Kongresses, Cambridge 1975. Heft 2. 1976. Leonard Forster und Hans-Gert Roloff (Hg.): Akten des V. Internationalen Germanisten-Kongresses, Cambridge 1975. Heft 3. 1976. Leonard Forster und Hans-Gert Roloff (Hg.): Akten des V. Internationalen Germanisten-Kongresses, Cambridge 1975. Heft 4. 1976. Wolfgang Elfe, James Hardin und Günther Holst (Hg.): Deutsches Exildrama und Exiltheater. Akten des Exilliteratur-Symposiums der University of South Carolina 1976. 1977. Louis Hay und Winfried Woesler: Die Nachlassedition / La publication de manuscrits inédits. Akten des vom Centre National de la Recherche Scientifique und der Deutschen Forschungsgemeinschaft veranstalteten französisch-deutschen Editorenkolloquiums, Paris 1977. 1979. Wolfgang Elfe, James Hardin und Günther Holst (Hg.): Deutsche Exilliteratur – Literatur im Dritten Reich. Akten des II. Exilliteratur-Symposiums der University of South Carolina. 1979. Richard Thieberger (Hg.): Hermann Broch und seine Zeit. Akten des Internationalen Broch-Symposiums, Nice 1979. 1980. Marie-Louise Roth, Renate Schröder-Werle und Hans Zeller (Hg.): Nachlassund Editionsprobleme bei modernen Schriftstellern. Beiträge zu den Internationalen Robert-Musil-Symposien; Brüssel 1976 und Saarbrücken 1977. 1981. Heinz Rupp und Hans-Gert Roloff (Hg.): Akten des Vl. Internationalen Germanisten-Kongresses, Basel 1980. Teil 1. 1981. Heinz Rupp und Hans-Gert Roloff (Hg.): Akten des Vl. Internationalen Germanisten-Kongresses, Basel 1980. Teil 2. 1980. Heinz Rupp und Hans-Gert Roloff (Hg.): Akten des Vl. Internationalen Germanisten-Kongresses, Basel 1980. Teil 3. 1980. Heinz Rupp und Hans-Gert Roloff (Hg.): Akten des Vl. Internationalen Germanisten-Kongresses, Basel 1980. Teil 4. 1980. Hans-Gert Roloff (Hg.): Werkstattgespräch «Berliner Ausgaben». 1981. Wolfgang Elfe, James Hardin und Günther Holst (Hg.): Deutsche Exilliteratur – Literatur der Nachkriegszeit. Akten des III. Exilliteratur-Symposiums der University of South Carolina. 1981. Louis Hay und Winfried Woesler (Hg.): Edition und Interpretation / Edition et Interprétation des Manuscrits Littéraires. Akten des mit Unterstützung der Deutschen Forschungsgemeinschaft und des Centre National de la Recherche Scientifique veranstalteten deutschfranzösischen Editorenkolloquiums, Berlin 1979. 1981. Joseph P. Strelka (Hg.): Internationales Georg Trakl-Symposium; Albany, N.Y. 1983. 1984.

Band 13 Giuseppe Farese (Hg.): Akten des Internationalen Symposiums «Arthur Schnitzler und seine Zeit». 1985. Band 14 Werner Stauffacher (Hg.): Internationale Alfred Döblin-Kolloquien 1980– 1983; Basel 1980, New York 1981, Freiburg i.Br. 1983. 1986. Band 15 Jean-Marie Valentin (Hg.): Volk – Volksstück – Volkstheater im deutschen Sprachraum des 18.–20. Jahrhunderts. Akten des mit Unterstützung des Centre National de la Recherche Scientifique veranstalteten Kolloquiums; Nancy, 12.–13. November 1982. 1986. Band 16 Jean-Marie Valentin (Hg.): Jacob Balse und seine Zeit. Akten des Ensisheimer Kolloquiums, 15.–16. Oktober 1982. 1986. Band 17 Luc Lamberechts und Jaak De Vos (Hg.): Jenseits der Gleichnisse – Kafka und sein Werk. Akten des Internationalen Kafka-Kolloquiums, Gent 1983. 1986. Band 18 Roger Bauer (Hg.): Der theatralische Neoklassizismus um 1800 – Ein europäisches Phänomen? 1986. Band 19 Michael Werner und Winfried Woesler (Hg.): Edition et Manuscrits / Probleme der Prosa-Edition. Akten des vom Centre National de la Recherche Scientifique und der Deutschen Forschungsgemeinschaft veranstalteten französisch-deutschen Editorenkolloquiums, Paris 1983. 1987. Band 20 Joseph P. Strelka (Hg.): Psalm und Hawdalah – Zum Werk Paul Celans. Akten des Internationalen Paul Celan-Kolloquiums, New York 1985. 1987. Band 21 Chaim Shoham und Bernd Witte (Hg.): Datum und Zitat bei Paul Celan. Akten des Internationalen Paul Celan-Kolloquiums, Haifa 1986. 1987. Band 22 Roger Bauer (Hg.): Das Shakespeare-Bild in Europa zwischen Aufklärung und Romantik. 1988. Band 23 Alfred Ebenbauer, Fritz Peter Knapp und Anton Schwob (Hg.): Die mittelalterliche Literatur in der Steiermark. Akten des Internationalen Symposions, Schloß Seggau bei Leibnitz 1984. 1988. Band 24 Werner Stauffacher (Hg.): Internationale Alfred Döblin-Kolloquien 1984– 1985; Marbach a.N. 1984, Berlin 1985. 1988. Band 25 David Midgley, Hans-Harald Müller und Geoffrey Davis (Hg.): Arnold Zweig – Poetik, Judentum und Politik. Akten des Internationalen Arnold Zweig-Symposiums aus Anlaß des 100. Geburtstags, Cambridge 1987. 1989. Band 26 Manfred Schmeling (Hg.): Funktion und Funktionswandel der Literatur im Geistes- und Gesellschaftsleben. Akten des Internationalen Symposiums, Saarbrücken 1987. 1989. Band 27 Roger Bauer (Hg.): Inevitabilis Vis Fatorum. Der Triumph des Schicksalsdramas auf der europäischen Bühne um 1800. 269 S. 1990. Band 28 Werner Stauffacher (Hg.): Internationales Alfred Döblin-Kolloquium, Lausanne 1987. 188 S. 1991 Band 29 Bjorn Ekmann, Hubert Hauser und Wolf Wucherpfennig (Hg.): Fremdheit Entfremdung Verfremdung. Akten des Internationalen Interdisziplinären Symposiums; Kopenhagen, März 1990. 187 S. 1992. Band 30 Horst Turk und Jean-Marie Valentin (Hg.): Konvention und Konventionsbruch. Wechselwirkung deutscher und französischer Dramatik, 17.–20. Jahrhundert. 246 S. 1992. Band 31 Peter Engel und Hans-Harald Müller (Hg.): Ernst Weiß – Seelenanalytiker und Erzähler von europäischem Rang. Beiträge zum Ersten Internationalen Ernst-Weiß-Symposium aus Anlass des 50. Todestages, Hamburg 1990. 312 S. 1992.

Band 32 David Midgley, Hans-Harald Müller und Luc Lamberechts (Hg.): Arnold Zweig – Psyche, Politik und Literatur. Akten des II. Internationalen ArnoldZweig-Symposiums, Gent 1991. 246 S. 1993. Band 33 Werner Stauffacher (Hg.): Internationale Alfred Döblin-Kolloquien; Münster 1989, Marbach a.N. 1991. 369 S. 1993. Band 34 Michel Grunewald (Hg.): Die deutsche Literaturkritik im europäischen Exil (1933–1940). VI + 238 S. 1993. Band 35 Werner Jung (Hg.): Diskursüberschneidungen – Georg Lukács und andere. Akten des Internationalen Georg-Lukács-Symposiums «Perspektiven der Forschung», Essen 1989. 165 S. 1993. Band 36 Jean-Marie Valentin (Hg.): Ludwig Hohl (1904–1980). Akten des Pariser Kolloquiums / Actes du Colloque de Paris, 14.–16. Januar 1993. 184 S. 1994. Band 37 Peter Behnke und Hans-Gert Roloff (Hg.): Christian Weise: Dichter – Gelehrter – Pädagoge. Beiträge zum ersten Christian-Weise-Symposium aus Anlass des 350. Geburtstages, Zittau 1992. 373 S. 1994. Band 38 Klaus Barckow und Walter Delabar (Hg.): Neue Informations- und Speichermedien in der Germanistik. Zu den Perspektiven der EDV als Informationsträger für die literaturwissenschaftliche Forschung. 180 S. 1994. Band 39 Arthur Tilo Alt, Julia Bernhard, Hans-Harald Müller und Deborah VietorEngländer (Hg.): Arnold Zweig: Berlin – Haifa – Berlin; Perspektiven des Gesamtwerks. Akten des III. Internationalen Arnold-Zweig-Symposiums, Berlin 1993. 235 S. 1995. Band 40 Horst Turk und Jean-Marie Valentin (Hg.): Aspekte des Politischen Theaters und Dramas von Calderón bis Georg Seidel. Deutsch-französische Perspektiven. 451 S. 1996. Band 41 Michel Grunewald (Hg.): Internationales Alfred-Döblin-Kolloquium, Paris 1993. VI + 250 S. 1995. Band 42 Jean-Daniel Krebs (Hg.): Die Affekte und ihre Repräsentation in der deutschen Literatur der Frühen Neuzeit. 284 S. 1996. Band 43 Gabriele Sander (Hg.): Internationales Alfred-Döblin-Kolloquium, Leiden 1995. 284 S. 1997. Band 44 Gerald Stieg und Jean-Marie Valentin (Hg.): «Ein Dichter braucht Ahnen» – Elias Canetti und die europäische Tradition. Akten des Pariser Symposiums / Actes du Colloque de Paris, 16.–18. November 1995. 314 S. 1997. Band 45 Christiane Caemmerer, Walter Delabar und Marion Schulz (Hg.): Die totale Erinnerung. Sicherung und Zerstörung kulturhistorischer Vergangenheit und Gegenwart in den modernen Industriegesellschaften. 169 S. 1997. Band 46 Ira Lorf und Gabriele Sander (Hg.): Internationales Alfred-Döblin-Kolloquium, Leipzig 1997. 230 S. 1999. Band 47 Gilbert Merlio und Nicole Pelletier (Hg.): Munich 1900 site de la modernité / München 1900 als Ort der Moderne. 289 S. 1998. Band 48 Anil Bhatti und Horst Turk (Hg.): Reisen, Entdecken, Utopien. Untersuchungen zum Alteritätsdiskurs im Kontext von Kolonialismus und Kulturkritik. 121 S. 1998. Band 49 Arthur Tilo Alt und Julia Bernhard (Hg.): Arnold Zweig – Sein Werk im Kontext der deutschsprachigen Exilliteratur. Akten des IV. Internationalen Arnold-Zweig-Symposiums; Durham, N.C. 1996. 261 S. 1999. Band 50 Knut Kiesant (Hg.): Die Ordnung der Gewitter. Positionen und Perspektiven in der internationalen Rezeption Peter Huchels. Akten der Peter-HuchelKonferenz, Potsdam 1996. 202 S. 1999.

Band 51 Torsten Hahn (Hg.): Internationales Alfred-Döblin-Kolloquium, Bergamo 1999, 314 S. 2002. Band 52 Anton Schwob, András Vizkelety (Hg.), unter Mitarbeit von Andrea Hofmeister-Winter: Entstehung und Typen mittelalterlicher Lyrikhandschriften. Akten des Grazer Symposiums, 13.–17. Oktober 1999. 328 S. 2001. Band 53 bis Band 64: Peter Wiesinger (Hg.), unter Mitarbeit von Hans Derkits: Akten des X. Internationalen Germanistenkongresses Wien 2000. «Zeitenwende – Die Germanistik auf dem Weg vom 20. ins 21. Jahrhundert». Band 53 Peter Wiesinger (Hg.): Akten des X. Internationalen Germanistenkongresses Wien 2000. «Zeitenwende – Die Germanistik auf dem Weg vom 20. ins 21. Jahrhundert». Band 1: Grußworte und Eröffnungsvorträge – Plenarvorträge – Diskussionsforen – Berichte. 180 S. 2002. Band 54 Peter Wiesinger (Hg.): Akten des X. Internationalen Germanistenkongresses Wien 2000. «Zeitenwende – Die Germanistik auf dem Weg vom 20. ins 21. Jahrhundert». Band 2: Entwicklungstendenzen der deutschen Gegenwartssprache – Lexikologie und Lexikographie. 399 S. 2002. Band 55 Peter Wiesinger (Hg.): Akten des X. Internationalen Germanistenkongresses Wien 2000. «Zeitenwende – Die Germanistik auf dem Weg vom 20. ins 21. Jahrhundert». Band 3: Aufgaben einer zukünftigen Sprachgeschichtsforschung – Gesprochene Sprache in regionaler und sozialer Differenzierung – Sprache in der Öffentlichkeit. 443 S. 2002. Band 56 Peter Wiesinger (Hg.): Akten des X. Internationalen Germanistenkongresses Wien 2000. «Zeitenwende – Die Germanistik auf dem Weg vom 20. ins 21. Jahrhundert». Band 4: Lehr- und Lernprozesse des Deutschen als Fremdsprache in kognitiver Perspektive – Sozial-kulturelle Aspekte des Deutsch-als-Fremdsprache-Unterrichts. 319 S. 2002. Band 57 Peter Wiesinger (Hg.): Akten des X. Internationalen Germanistenkongresses Wien 2000. «Zeitenwende – Die Germanistik auf dem Weg vom 20. ins 21. Jahrhundert». Band 5: Mediävistik und Kulturwissenschaften – Mediävistik und Neue Philologie. 361 S. 2002. Band 58 Peter Wiesinger (Hg.): Akten des X. Internationalen Germanistenkongresses Wien 2000. «Zeitenwende – Die Germanistik auf dem Weg vom 20. ins 21. Jahrhundert». Band 6: Epochenbegriffe: Grenzen und Möglichkeiten – Aufklärung / Klassik / Romantik – Die Wiener Moderne. 524 S. 2002. Band 59 Peter Wiesinger (Hg.): Akten des X. Internationalen Germanistenkongresses Wien 2000. «Zeitenwende – Die Germanistik auf dem Weg vom 20. ins 21. Jahrhundert». Band 7: Gegenwartsliteratur – Deutschsprachige Literatur in nichtdeutschsprachigen Kulturzusammenhängen. 384 S. 2002. Band 60 Peter Wiesinger (Hg.): Akten des X. Internationalen Germanistenkongresses Wien 2000. «Zeitenwende – Die Germanistik auf dem Weg vom 20. ins 21. Jahrhundert». Band 8: Kanon und Kanonisierung als Probleme der Literaturgeschichtsschreibung – Interpretation und Interpretationsmethoden. 361 S. 2003. Band 61 Peter Wiesinger (Hg.): Akten des X. Internationalen Germanistenkongresses Wien 2000. «Zeitenwende – Die Germanistik auf dem Weg vom 20. ins 21. Jahrhundert». Band 9: Literaturwissenschaft als Kulturwissenschaft – Interkulturalität und Alterität / Interdisziplinarität und Medialität / Konzeptionalisierung und Mythographie. 390 S. 2003.

Band 62 Peter Wiesinger (Hg.): Akten des X. Internationalen Germanistenkongresses Wien 2000. «Zeitenwende – Die Germanistik auf dem Weg vom 20. ins 21. Jahrhundert». Band 10: Geschlechterforschung und Literaturwissenschaft – Literatur und Psychologie – Medien und Literatur. 425 S. 2003. Band 63 Peter Wiesinger (Hg.): Akten des X. Internationalen Germanistenkongresses Wien 2000. «Zeitenwende – Die Germanistik auf dem Weg vom 20. ins 21. Jahrhundert». Band 11: Übersetzung und Literaturwissenschaft – Aktuelle und allgemeine Fragen der germanistischen Wissenschaftsgeschichte. 339 S. 2003. Band 64 Peter Wiesinger (Hg.): Akten des X. Internationalen Germanistenkongresses Wien 2000. «Zeitenwende – Die Germanistik auf dem Weg vom 20. ins 21. Jahrhundert». Band 12: Niederländische Sprach- und Literaturwissenschaft im europäischen Kontext – Der skandinavische Norden: Sprache, Literatur und Kultur. 213 S. 2002. Band 65 Julia Bernhard, Joachim Schlör (Hg.): Deutscher, Jude, Europäer im 20. Jahrhundert. Arnold Zweig und das Judentum. Akten des V. Internationalen Arnold-Zweig-Symposiums, Potsdam 1999. 267 S. 2004. Band 66 Michael Scheffel (Hg.): Erschriebene Natur. Internationale Perspektiven auf Texte des 18. Jahrhunderts. 333 S. 2001. Band 67 Franz Simmler (Hg.): Textsorten deutscher Prosa vom 12./13. bis 18. Jahrhundert und ihre Merkmale. Akten zum Internationalen Kongress in Berlin, 20. bis 22. September 1999. 662 S. 2002. Band 68 Peter Pabisch (Hg.): Mit Goethe Schule machen? Akten zum Internationalen Goethe-Symposium, Griechenland–Neumexiko–Deutschland 1999. 205 S. 2002. Band 69 Hartmut Eggert, Gabriele Prauß (Hg.): Internationales Alfred-Döblin-Kolloquium, Berlin 2001. 320 S. 2003. Band 70 Ferdinand van Ingen, Hans-Gert Roloff (Hg.): Johann Beer. Schriftsteller, Komponist und Hofbeamter, 1655–1700. Kongressakten des Internationalen Beer-Symposions in Weißenfels (3.–8. Oktober 2000). 642 S. 2003. Band 71 Anton Schwob, Karin Kranich-Hofbauer (Hg.): Zisterziensisches Schreiben im Mittelalter – Das Skriptorium der Reiner Mönche. Beiträge der Internationalen Tagung im Zisterzienserstift Rein, Mai 2003. 450 S. 2005. Band 72 Peter Pabisch (Hg.): Patentlösung oder Zankapfel? «German Studies» für den internationalen Bereich als Alternative zur Germanistik – Beispiele aus Amerika. 384 S. 2005. Band 73 Ralf Georg Czapla, Ulrike Rembold (Hg.): Gotteswort und Menschenrede. Die Bibel im Dialog mit Wissenschaften, Künsten und Medien. 417 S. 2006. Band 74 Claus Zittel, Marian Holona (Hg.): Positionen der Jelinek-Forschung. Beiträge zur Polnisch-Deutschen Elfriede Jelinek-Konferenz, Olsztyn 2005. 336 S. 2008. Band 75 Christine Maillart, Monique Mombert (Hg.): Internationales Alfred-DöblinKolloquium. Strasbourg 2003. 258 S. 2006. Band 76 Daniel Azuélos (Hg./Ed.): Lion Feuchtwanger und die deutschsprachigen Emigranten in Frankreich von 1933 bis 1941 / Lion Feuchtwanger et les exilés de lange allemande en France de 1933 à 1941. 537 S. 2006. Band 77 bis Band 88 Jean-Marie Valentin (Hg.): Akten des XI. Internationalen Germanistenkongresses Paris 2005. «Germanistik im Konflikt der Kulturen».

Band 77 Jean-Marie Valentin (Hg.) unter Mitarbeit von Jean-François Candoni: Akten des XI. Internationalen Germanistenkongresses Paris 2005. «Germanistik im Konflikt der Kulturen». Band 1: Ansprachen – Plenarvorträge – Podiumsdiskussionen – Berichte. 232 S. 2007. Band 78 Jean-Marie Valentin (Hg.) unter Mitarbeit von Konrad Harrer: Akten des XI. Internationalen Germanistenkongresses Paris 2005. «Germanistik im Konflikt der Kulturen». Band 2: Jiddische Sprache und Literatur in Geschichte und Gegenwart – Niederlandistik zwischen Wissenschaft und Praxisbezug – Alteritätsdiskurse in Sprache, Literatur und Kultur der skandinavischen Länder. 325 S. 2007. Band 79 Jean-Marie Valentin (Hg.) unter Mitarbeit von Marielle Silhouette: Akten des XI. Internationalen Germanistenkongresses Paris 2005. «Germanistik im Konflikt der Kulturen». Band 3: Deutsch lehren und lernen im nichtdeutschsprachigen Kontext – Übersetzen im Kulturkonflikt. 318 S. 2007. Band 80 Jean-Marie Valentin (Hg.) unter Mitarbeit von Hélène Vinckel: Akten des XI. Internationalen Germanistenkongresses Paris 2005. «Germanistik im Konflikt der Kulturen». Band 4: Empirische Grundlagen moderner Grammatikforschung – Integrative Zugriffe auf Phänomene des Sprachwandels – Lexik und Lexikologie: sprachpolitische Einstellungen und Konflikte – Sprache und Diskurs in den neuen Medien. 390 S. 2008. Band 81 Jean-Marie Valentin (Hg.) unter Mitarbeit von Laure Gauthier: Akten des XI. Internationalen Germanistenkongresses Paris 2005. «Germanistik im Konflikt der Kulturen». Band 5: Kulturwissenschaft vs. Philologie? – Wissenschaftskulturen: Kontraste, Konflikte, Synergien – Editionsphilologie: Projekte, Tendenzen und Konflikte. 409 S. 2008. Band 82 Jean-Marie Valentin (Hg.) unter Mitarbeit von Stéphane Pesnel: Akten des XI. Internationalen Germanistenkongresses Paris 2005. «Germanistik im Konflikt der Kulturen». Band 6: Migrations-, Emigrations- und Remigrationskulturen – Multikulturalität in der zeitgenössischen deutschsprachigen Literatur. 386 S. 2007. Band 83 Jean-Marie Valentin (Hg.) unter Mitarbeit von Ronald Perlwitz: Akten des XI. Internationalen Germanistenkongresses Paris 2005. «Germanistik im Konflikt der Kulturen». Band 7: Bild, Rede, Schrift – Kleriker, Adel, Stadt und außerchristliche Kulturen in der Vormoderne – Wissenschaften und Literatur seit der Renaissance. 452 S. 2008. Band 84 Jean-Marie Valentin (Hg.) unter Mitarbeit von Stéphane Pesnel: Akten des XI. Internationalen Germanistenkongresses Paris 2005. «Germanistik im Konflikt der Kulturen». Band 8: Universal-, Global- und Nationalkulturen – Nationalliteratur und Weltliteratur. 322 S. 2007. Band 85 Jean-Marie Valentin (Hg.) unter Mitarbeit von Elisabeth Rothmund: Akten des XI. Internationalen Germanistenkongresses Paris 2005. «Germanistik im Konflikt der Kulturen». Band 9: Divergente Kulturräume in der Literatur – Kulturkonflikte in der Reiseliteratur. 411 S. 2007. Band 86 Jean-Marie Valentin (Hg.) unter Mitarbeit von Brigitte Scherbacher-Posé: Akten des XI. Internationalen Germanistenkongresses Paris 2005. «Germanistik im Konflikt der Kulturen». Band 10: Geschlechterdifferenzen als Kulturkonflikte – Regiekunst und Development-Theatre – Streiten im Lichte der linguistischen und literaturwissenschaftlichen Dialogforschung – Deutsche Sprache und Literatur nach der Wende. 486 S. 2007.

Band 87 Jean-Marie Valentin (Hg.) unter Mitarbeit von Laure Gauthier: Akten des XI. Internationalen Germanistenkongresses Paris 2005. «Germanistik im Konflikt der Kulturen». Band 11: Klassiken, Klassizismen, Klassizität – Kulturmetropole Paris im Zeichen der Moderne – Der Streit um die literarische Moderne. 399 S. 2008. Band 88 Jean-Marie Valentin (Hg.) unter Mitarbeit von Jean-François Candoni: Akten des XI. Internationalen Germanistenkongresses Paris 2005. «Germanistik im Konflikt der Kulturen». Band 12: Europadiskurse in der deutschen Literatur und Literaturwissenschaft – Deutsch-jüdische Kulturdialoge/-konflikte. 384 S. 2007. Band 89 Rüdiger Görner (Hg.): Mozart – eine Herausforderung für Literatur und Denken / Mozart – A Challenge for Literature and Thought. 360 S. 2007. Band 90 Yvonne Wolf (Hg.): Internationales Alfred-Döblin-Kolloquium Mainz 2005. 338 S. 2007. Band 91 Magali Laure Nieradka (Hg.): Wendepunkte –Tournants. Beiträge zur KlausMann-Tagung aus Anlass seines 100. Geburtstages, Sanary-sur-Mer 2006. 165 S. 2008. Band 92 Ralf Georg Czapla, Anna Fattori (Hg.): Die verewigte Stadt. Rom in der deutschsprachigen Literatur nach 1945. 386 S. 2008. Band 93 Winfried Woesler, Srdan Bogosavljevic (Hg.): Die deutsche Ballade im 20. Jahrhundert. Ca. 227 S. In Vorbereitung. Band 94 Steven D. Martinson, Renate A. Schulz (Hg.): Transcultural German Studies / Deutsch als Fremdsprache. Building Bridges / Brücken bauen. 387 S. 2008. Band 95 Sabina Becker, Robert Krause (Hg.): Internationales Alfred-Döblin-Kolloquium Emmendingen 2007. ,Tatsachenphantasie‘. Alfred Döblins Poetik des Wissens im Kontext der Moderne. 330 S. 2008. Band 96 Jean Schillinger (Hg.): Der Narr in der deutschen Literatur im Mittelalter und in der Frühen Neuzeit. Kolloquium in Nancy (13–14 März 2008). In Vorbereitung Band 97 Anil Bhatti, Ulrike Kocher (Hg.): Indien im Blick. Kulturelle Spiegelungen im Zeitalter der Globalisierung. In Vorbereitung. Band 98 Falco Pfalzgraf, Felicity Rash (Hg.): Anglo-German Linguistic Relations. 173 S. 2009.