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On Tuesday, I talked rather a lot about our presentation at the Deutsches Historisches Museum, which was very cool and I had a tremendous time, but I think the spiritual core of the trip had to be the excursion to Sans Souci. I think that most of my experiences in love are eminently capture-able through the medium of words, but in describing how I felt approaching Sans Souci, I have to acknowledge that there are swaths of that emotional experience that I’ll never be able to entirely explain to myself, even less to those who don’t happen to have their brain lodged inside my skull on a regular basis.
By way of preface, I’d like to say that ever since I was old enough to have fervent life goals, there have been two experiences that have topped the list – seeing a Wagner opera at Bayreuth, and going to Sans Souci. We approached through the gardens by Schopenhauerstrasse, and at the first sight of those yellow walls through the trees, my heart simply stopped in my chest. That it was Real, and not only Real, but Right There, struck me at the moment as the most impossible thing in the world, but my legs kept pushing me on, faster and faster, until finally we rounded the corner and there it was, the green dome rising above the fountain and terraces, everything exactly as in the old engravings and descriptions. It was difficult not to just RUN up the steps, abandoning our small party to its fate, but I’m glad that I let myself acclimate a while before actually entering. It takes no amount of imagination to picture Frederick walking these grounds – nowhere in Berlin is that really possible, but here, in this bit of ground, Fritz is there, walking through you on his rounds, only a mere matter of time separating you from him and the little bit of pleasure he managed to wring from life after the wars.
The setup for seeing the inside of Sans Souci is not one that I like. I suppose it is necessary, but it basically consists of an audio guide companion through 8 rooms while ushers stand impatiently behind you to Push You Through if you linger more than five minutes in a room. But that hardly mattered – everything, everything was dashed to the winds as soon as I walked inside and saw his beloved Rococo golden vines curling up the walls, his personal library where his volumes still live, just waiting for his hand to whisk them up for a morning’s read. The room redecorated in way unhip neoclassical style by his entirely unremarkable successor, but that contains the chair which he died in and the clock that supposedly stopped after his death – such simple things for the man who more or less single handedly made the entire massive city we had been roaming in for the past week spring forth from the harsh ground, and a nation with it. It was a humbling and profound moment, which lead to another as we saw the music hall, that same in the picture of him performing with Quantz leaning up against the wall, a flute of CPE Bach’s casually lying on the harpsichord – again, Frederick is THERE, playing while his guests are seated in the chairs arranged against the wall. The Marble Room where you can see him rushing up to greet the arrival at long last of Voltaire. It is a potent combination, each room offering something new to you of a man unlike any other.
At that point, they should really just take you directly to the guest room he designed for Voltaire, but you wander through a couple of the redecorated rooms from the time of Frederick William IV first, and they are quite all right, but it’s hard to find one’s grasp on Frederick there. Luckily you end in Voltaire’s room, where you get one last chance to take the air, looking into the eyes of the carved squirrels and monkeys, knowing that Voltaire paced these floorboards as he was putting together his history of Louis XIV. Upon exiting, you can wend your way around the edge of the building to the simple grave where Frederick, after much toing and froing, eventually came to rest, next to the graves of his beloved greyhounds. It is a beautiful thing, a simple stone under the open air next to the animals and plants he loved. The grave is covered in potatoes from visitors, which is as it should be. Brought in a spirit of warmth as a thank you to the King who cared enough about personally overseeing his lands that he traversed them, introducing people to this strange new crop which, in combination with his sensible state granary policies, kept the specter of starvation far from Prussia’s door.
Also, the gift store is very nice.
– Count Dolby von Luckner
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I am now happily re-ensconced in California after my two week Most Excellent German Adventure. Friedrichshafen was the most charming place imaginable – it takes little to no effort of imagination to picture to one’s self the Graf Zeppelin or LZ04 dirigibles making their way over the still surface of Lake Constance as you sit on its shore. I have something of a plan for myself that, should I ever take it into my head to die, it will be there.
The kiddos showing off their Frederick pictures at the DHM
Berlin was another matter altogether. I don’t think Berliners themselves know just how beautiful and immaculate their city is, not perhaps having had regular exposure to the human-feces-bedecked sidewalks of San Francisco. It is all a matter of course that, no matter how drunk you are, you still recycle your bottles and place your trash in the nearest wastebin, and that you fund the care of the mentally ill enough so that Kicking Them Out on the Streets to Roam Aimlessly is not the standard. I mean, I love you, San Francisco, and I intend to live out my days in your semi-proximity, but we have to do some things about some things, you and I.
I had a tremendous time at the Deutsches Historisches Museum, though the morning of the event I was basically re-enacting The King’s Speech as The Countess coached me through the speech that I had written, gone through in my head several times, but never bothered to actually attempt Speaking Out Loud. When I finally did, I found to my quasi-horror that my tongue just wouldn’t wrap around anything. A panicked hour ensued in which, by dint of rhythm and sound-tricks, she coached me down and I ended up delivering that part of the speech in this misty haze that my memory still can’t penetrate – so I have absolutely nothing to report of that part of the presentation. Here, though, is the speech itself:
Hallo Kinder!
Ich danke euch, dass ihr eure Eltern mitgebracht habt. Ich weiss, wie eigensinnig Erwachsene sein koennen.
Friedrich der Grosse ist, ohne Zweifel, mein Lieblingskoenig. Seit 1992, als ich ein Teenager war, habe ich angefangen, ueber Friedrich zu lesen, und ich bin froh anzukuendigen, dass ich ihn noch gar nicht kenne. Jedes mal, wenn ich denke, “Jaaaa Friedrich, ich verstehe dich, ich hab’ dich!” dann entdecke ich etwas ganz neues und unerklaerliches.
Als ich jung war, war er der praechtige General des Hohenfriedburgs, Leuthens, und Rossbachs!
Spaeter, als ich an der Uni studierte, war er fuer mich der Koenig der Aufklaerung, der Voltaire, d’Alembert, Euler, la Mettrie, und Maupertuis gekannt hat.
Und, als ich mein Comic angefangen habe, dachte ich von dem Rheinsbergen Friedrich – der reizbare Dichter, der das Antimachiavelli schrieb und der das Leben mit seinem geliebten Freunden genoss.
Diese Darstellung ist auch falsch – er ist noch komplizierter. Unter den lustigen Mahlzeiten mit Freunden gab es eine tiefe Melancholie. Unter der Melancholie war aber ein hoffnungsvolles Gefuehl von dem allgemeinen Vernunft der Welt. Und… unter… diesem… Gefuehl … wohnte der dunkle Zyniker, den wir in seiner Dichtung und in senen Privatschreiben erkennen.
Innerhalb nur fuenf Jahre, aenderte er ZWEIMAL seine Verbuendeten. Oesterreich, sein gehasster Gegner – Oesterreich, sein geliebeter Freund, und dann, nocmal wieder, OESTERREICH, sein GEHASSTER Gegner!
Er hat Leonhard Euler entlassen, weil der beruehmte Mathimatiker staendig ueber ermuedende religiose Themen sprach. Aber Voltaire, der ein SPION fuer Louis XV war, behandelte Friedrich wie ein Koenig. Midestens bis Voltaire angefangen hat, gegen Maupertuis zu kaempfen…
In dem Zeitalter der Pompadour, Graefin Auersperg, und des Graf Fernsens, hat Friedrich keine Geliebte erhalten, und er hat seine Frau, Elizabeth Christina, nur selten besucht.
Waehrend Louis XVI und Antoinette Haufen und Berge von Geld fuer ihre Kleidung verschwendeten, trug Friedrich immer die selbe Tabak-geflekte Uniform und Stiefeln.
Als DIchter und Komponist, folgte er das Gleichgewicht und die Elegance der Klassischen Tradition. Carl Philip Emmanuel Bach, mit seiner Rococo Anmut, gefiel ihm besser als die tiefen Wendungen Johann Sebastiens. Er interessierte sich fuer die Kompositionen von Quantz, aber er hat Haydn, Gluck, und Mozart kaum bemerckt.
Ebenfalls, in seiner Dichtung, benutzte er den sterbenden klassischen Stil von Voltaire und informierte sich ueber die neuesten Entwicklungen der franzoesischen Litteratur.
Deutsche Dichtung verstand er nicht – er meinte, dass diese Form vielleicht nach ein hundert Jahren sich entwickeln koennte, aber sich nicht waehrend seiner Zeit. Fuer ihn hatten Schiller und Goethe nichts anzubieten.
Koennen wir ueberhaupt hoffen, diesen komplizierten Mensch zu verstehen?
Friedrich aufzustellen, brauchten ich und mein Partner Geoff Schaeffer das Mittel des Comics.
(Holding up Superman comic) Wer kennt diesen Mensch? Genau, Superman! Er ist ooookay – mit den dicken Muskeln und der Laseraugen und der Geheimnisidentitaet. Wenn Leute von Comics denken, denken sie oft an ihn – einen einfaeltigen Mensch mit roten Unterkleidung. Aber er wurde vor achtzig Jahren erschafft.
Lass uns etwas moderner ansehen. Wer kennt DIESEN Mensch? IRON MAN!! Ein AVENGER! Klug, aber egotistisch. Bezaubernd aber unzuverlaessig. Manchmal ein furchtlosser Held und manchmal ein egozentrischer Feigling. Er ist ein gewaltsamer Mensch, der die Friede liebt. Aufklaerend UND pessimistisch – klingt… wie… Friedrich der Grosse?
Das ist warum ich Comics liebe – diese echte menschliche Tiefe, die kommt wenn man die Geschichte eines Charakters ueber Jahre oder Jahrzente erzaehlt. Und das ist warum wir Friedrich, mein Lieblingskoenig, als Hauptfigur fuer unser Leiblingskunstmittel, Comics, gewaehlt haben.
Jetzt, zeichnen wir! Ich brauche viele Freiwillige, die mit mir zeichnen wollen, und ich habe fuer euch auch ein Paar Preise!
From there, the kids (and some parents) and I got to do some drawing of Frederick William I, Frederick the Great, and Maria Theresa, and had generally a grand old time! Some more pictures!
Hanging out with renowned author and generally lovely person Juliane Haubold-Stolle!
At Der Alte Fritz with some folks following the show!
An awesome 1848 Frederick monument we stumbled across in the middle of a park in East Berlin.
The beautiful statue of Frederick in the gardens of Sans Souci
At Frederick’s grave.
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