German Crime Fiction and Literary Adaptation: Liberalism and Social Pity in Die Geheimnisse von Berlin: Aus den Papieren eines Berliner Kriminalbeamten (1844)
In a September 1844 contribution to Albert Schwegler’s Jahrbücher der Gegenwart, Karl Hagen offers a review of Auerbach’s Schwarzwälder Dorfgeschichten, providing familiar praise and placing the village tales within the context of contemporary literature. In particular, he notes a March 1844 discussion in the same yearbook by Wilhelm Zimmermann, who had used
Schwegler’s highbrow, academic periodical to analyze Eugène Sue’s LesMystères de Paris. Zimmermann had lauded Sue’s novel for the way it drew attention to the lower classes through sentiments, and Hagen identifies the same process at work in Auerbach’s fiction, reading the village tales as a “deutsches Gegenstück” to Sue’s French fiction. It is at the level of shared affect where these two works converge: “Die Aehnlichkeit dieser Schriftsteller finde ich […] in dem Bestreben, das Volk und zwar die untersten Stände desselben uns wieder näher zu bringen, unser Mitgefühl für sie zu erregen.”1 Incidentally, this might be the only element Auerbach and Sue have in common, because as Hagen notes, “in allen andern Stücken sind sie weit von einander verschieden, so weit, als sich nur immer zwei Romane von ähnlicher Tendenz von einander unterscheiden können.”2 Sue represents the evils of a “demokratisierte Grossstadt,”
1Karl Hagen, “Berthold Auerbachs Schwarzwälder Dorfgeschichten,” in Jahrbücher der Gegenwart, ed. Albert Schwegler (Tübingen: Friedrich Fues, 1844), 810. Zimmermann’s review of Sue’s novel appears in the same volume on pages 199-219.
2
Ibid., 810. In light of my discussion of genre in the previous chapter, it is worth noting Hagen refers the village tales as “Romane.”
with all its crime, ugliness, pauperdom, and “Unsittlichkeit.” Auerbach, in contrast, reveals “den guten Kern” coursing through the “Volk.” The misery of Sue’s lower-class urban masses finds an antidote in the moral purity of Auerbach’s rural rustics. Given Hagen’s reading juxtaposing Auerbach and Sue, one wonders to what extent the alleged idyllic nature of the village tales was not in fact a product of this very juxtaposition and a response to Sue’s popular representations of an urban metropolis.3
Regardless of Auerbach’s foreign and domestic successes, the kind of popular response
LesMystères de Paris received placed Eugène Sue in a class of his own. Serialized by the conservative and state-subsidized Journal de Débats from June 1842 to October 1843, Les Mystères de Paris had an impact on both French and European literary culture that is difficult to overstate. It’s been estimated that the French book version of the novel had a print run of over 60,000 copies between 1842 and 1844, entering its seventh edition only two years after first appearing en feuilleton. Sue’s publisher, Charles Gosselin, even tried to compete concurrently with the newspaper by printing a version of the work in installments (livraisons). Outside of France Sue’s novel could not be translated, printed, and marketed quickly enough. In Germany, the work was most famously translated by August Diezmann, appearing in book form between 1842 and 1844 with both Otto Wigand (Leipzig) and Meyer und Hofmann (Berlin). The 1844
3
Hagen, Zimmermann, and Schwegler, three names that have largely escaped scholarly radars today, were highly prominent within 1840s literary and political culture, and not least because they brought Auerbach and Sue into such close proximity. Zimmermann was a close friend of Eduard Mörike – perhaps the era’s most distinguished poet – and author of dozens of historical studies. He was also a member of the 1848 National Assembly in Frankfurt. Hagen, a fellow historian and member of the assembly, wrote for Arnold Ruge’s Deutsche Jahrbücher as well as Karl Marx’s Rheinische Zeitung. Both were Young Hegelians, as was Schwegler, who edited the Jahrbücher from 1843 to 1848. The periodical was a principal platform for authors and scholars like F. T. Vischer, Ludwig
Feuerbach, and J. G. Droysen, carrying a high degree of academic clout. Also remarkable is how Hagen,
Zimmermann, Schwegler, Vischer and Feuerbach, all trained to become “Pfarrer” before pursuing different careers, making less surprising the superlative praise “Ivo” receives from Hagen (“am Glänzendsten”) and the attention it received from critics more broadly. The 1844 yearbook even includes eight diverse contributions from Adolph Stahr, one of the most influential critics of the 1840s and husband of Fanny Lewald. Stahr also studied theology in his youth at the request of his parents, before becoming a writer.
Leipziger Ostermessekatalog, however, lists 10 different translations of Sue’s novel.4 Given the state of the publishing industry in the 1840s – with its still developing modes of production, distribution and dissemination – this kind of popularity was remarkable. And unlike Auerbach’s village tales, Sue’s novel was deemed important enough by the editors of the Jahrbücher der Gegenwart to receive a “Nachtrag” in the same volume as critics began responding to the criticism the novel produced.5
The chief formal attribute of LesMystères de Paris, its underlying structure of multiple, interwoven narratives, renders the work incredibly difficult to summarize. Most scholars, however, identify Monsieur Rodolphe – the grand duke of Gerolstein – and the search for his daughter Fleur-de-Marie as the primary plot. They encounter each other in the first episode of the novel, where he is living out his self-given mission to punish the wicked and reward the good and she is working as a prostitute in Paris, but their kinship remains concealed from characters and readers until much later. They eventually reunite, but Fleur-de-Marie (or Princess Amalie) is unable to live with the shameful memories of her past. She enters a cloister and dies of an
unknown illness. The melodramatic milieu of this lost-child plot device borrowed from the aristocratic tradition of the family romance, overarching though it may be, could have been considered secondary to the dozens of other plots and subplots populating the novel. Indeed, the chief basis for identifying a primary narrative at all is retrospective and selective, reading the conclusion back into the unfolding of the narrative. Such an interpretive strategy stands partially at odds with the serialized form of the novel, which progressed along with readers’ lives and did not always foreground the story involving the loss and recovery of a child. Partially, I say, because Rodolphe’s exploits permit and authorize the other subplots. His movements serve as a
4 This report from the Leipziger Ostermessekatalog appears in Der Humorist (No. 109, May 6, 1844), 436. 5
catalyst for the representations of social types and urban poverty informing the content of his moral crusade, such as the attention accorded to the starving artisan family (the Morels), whose breadwinner maintains his dignity despite impoverishment, or the avatar-like grisette (Rigolette) whom Fleur-de-Marie meets in prison. Not unlike the third-person narrative presence in the village tales, which duplicitously merges with characters and the author, Sue’s narrator merges with Rodolphe, offering frequent political apostrophes on contemporary social concerns (prison reform, poverty relief, charity) which Rodolphe unflinchingly brings to life. Readers have little choice but to conflate sympathetic character portraits in Sue’s novel with the author’s own ideological endeavors.
This chapter, of course, is only tangentially interested in Sue’s novel and his literary recipe for alleged social intervention, its focus instead being on the broader literary culture of adaptation (Nachahmung) Sue’s work inspired in Germany. Regardless of what one has to say about Sue or his novel, a frenzy of imitators across Europe took up Sue’s template and began publishing adaptations of his Parisian mysteries, many of which began appearing even before the final installments of Sue’s own.6 It was not long before every major metropolis could boast its own adapted version of Sue’s tale in the local vernacular. Germany was no exception. In
particular, German (and German-American) literary culture supplied one of the largest responses to Sue’s work, one overlooked in the most recent study on the mysteries novels.7 By the mid- 1850s, German-language “Geheimnisse” tales existed for at least 20 different cities around the world: Berlin (1844); Domau (1844); London (1844); Moabit (1844); Oldenburg (1844); St.
6A review by Wolfgang Menzel, for instance, appeared while Sue was still publishing installments, forcing Menzel to withhold a final judgment on the text. Wolfgang Menzel, review of Les Mystères de Paris, by Eugène Sue, in Literaturblatt (No. 71, July 14, 1843), 281-282.
7
See Stephen Knight, The Mysteries of the Cities: Urban Crime Fiction in the Nineteenth-Century (London: MacFarland), 2012.
Petersburg (1844); Altenburg (1845); Düsseldorf (1845); Hamburg (1845); Magdeburg (1845); Rome (1846); Philadelphia (1850); St. Louis (1851); Stockholm (1852); Vienna (1852); Leipzig (1852); Pest (1853); Cincinnati (1854); and New Orleans (1854).8 An entry in the Zeitung für die Elegante Welt perhaps said it best: “Kaum kommt die Mystères de Paris von Eugène Sue zum ersten Mal erschienen, da kommt schon Nachdruck auf Nachdruck […] Da kommen die
zärtlichen Mütter und die sentimentalen Fräulein, die Ladenjungfern und die Kindermädchen, die Gymnasiasten und die Kaufmannsdiener und alle wollen die schrecklichen ‘Geheimnisse’
lesen.”9 In terms of an impact on print culture, the reach of Sue’s novel even extended to non- fictional works. It seems unlikely that self-help guides such as Die Geheimnisse der
Kunstgärtnerei in allen Zweigen (1843)and Die Geheimnisse der Porzellanmalerei (1847) were oblivious to Sue’s inventive title.
While Sue’s text has received a fair amount of academic attention, largely thanks to Karl Marx’s famous reading, the adaptions it inspired have been mostly ignored.10 The goal of this chapter, then, is to offer an analysis of one such adaptation published for German readers in Sue’s wake with the hope of offering a more general, representative argument about the role of literary adaptation and the formation of German literary liberalism. Die Geheimnisse von Berlin: Aus den Paperien eines Berliner Kriminal-Beamten (1844), published anonymously in six volumes by Hofmann und Meyer Verlag, was actually one of three different adaptations
8
A detailed search on Worldcat.org will no doubt reveal additional German-language mysteries novels. 9“Nachrichten: Literatur der Geheimnisse,” in Zeitung für die elegante Welt (No. 9, Feb. 24, 1844), 143. 10
Erich Edler offers strong summary of the Berlin adaptations, but he is less concerned with exploring the kind of impact these novels had on readers, than in reading them for evidence of a burgeoning social consciousness in Germany. See Erich Edler, Die Anfänge des Sozialen Romans und der Sozialen Novelle in Deutschland (Frankfurt: Vittorio Klostermann, 1977), 98-104.
marketed for the city of Berlin.11 The five-volume Die Mysterien von Berlin (1844) by August Braß and the twelve-volume Mysterien von Berlin (1844-46)by Levin Schubar (Rudolf Lubarsch), both of which draw more explicitly on Sue’s title, could have also served the argument in this chapter. The Königlich-Privilegierte Berlinische Zeitung von Staats- und Gelehrten Sachen, better known as the Vossische Zeitung,ran advertisements for all three.12 I have chosen to focus on the anonymously published text, however, because its formal qualities, content, and adaptive strategies offer a unique contribution to the terms of analysis at work in this dissertation. Furthermore, Die Geheimnisse von Berlin was the only Berlin-themed adaptation translated into English, which speaks to a larger transcultural relevance. It made its way to American and English readers from a German adaption of a French original,
demonstrating both the transnational impact of its content, but also its international success as an adaptation.
Like LesMystères de Paris, Die Geheimnisse von Berlin resists easy summarization, a circumstance owing to their shared formal features, which include similar plot devices and moral worlds, the same episodic form, and even replicated motifs. At closer glance, however, the differences between the two works are quite telling, and not only because Berlin has been
11Anonymous, Die Geheimnisse von Berlin: Aus den Paperien eines Berliner Kriminal-Beamten (Berlin: Verlag von Meyer u. Hofmann), 1844. Subsequent references to Die Geheimnisse von Berlin appear within the text and include both the volume and page number (e.g. GvB, 1.50).
12It appears Die Geheimnisse von Berlin was the first Berlin-themed adaptation, with an advertisement appearing already on Dec. 30, 1843 (Vossische Zeitung, Nr. 306). Advertisements for later installments of Schubar’s
adaptation, for instance, appear in the Vossische Zeitung on March 27 and December 2, 1844. And, interestingly, an advertisement for Carl Blum’s drama adaptation of Sue’s novel, Die Geheimnisse von Paris: Drama in 5 Akten, appears on March 28, 1844, further underscoring the need for a comparative framework. The biographies of Braß and Lubarsch also shed light on the broader literary culture at stake in the German adaptations. Braß (1818-1876) was a journalist and author of political writings, as well as an active participant in the 1848 Revolution. After returning from exile he purchased and edited the Norddeutsche Allgemeine Zeitung, one of the principle
mouthpieces for Bismarck’s politics. Lubarsch was also closely connected to literary circles, publishing widely on topics including Napoleon and the Revolution of 1848. He was also apparently well acquainted with both Theodor Mügge and Karl Immermann. See Manfred Laubert, Studien zur Geschichte der Provinz Preußen (Posen: Oskar Eulitz, 1908), 238-240.
substituted for Paris. In Die Geheimnissee von Berlin, the functions fulfilled by the
Rudolphe/Fleur-de-Marie nexus have been distributed among several different characters and storylines, and as a result, it is even more difficult to distill a single, main narrative thread permeating the work. The novel’s aristocratic-urban slum plot consists not of a father and daughter, but of Fürst Stephan’s search for his lost brother Iwan, who was kidnapped by a gang of criminals in his youth. Perhaps anticipated by anyone familiar with the missing-person plot devices, Iwan turns out to be a petty criminal named Schmerles, and the brothers are reunited by novel’s end. Tellingly, G.W.M. Reynold’s The Mysteries of London (1844) also utilizes the brothers’ motif as its chief narrative attribute. The two Fleur-de-Marie analogues in Die
Geheimnisse von Berlin are Marianne – a captive of the criminal gang, prison inmate, and forced prostitute – and Marie Berthold, a kind of bourgeois false heroine. While the latter meets a tragic death, the former reunites with her father and marries Iwan in a climactic ending in which all the major surviving characters emigrate to America. All of the figures in the novel are highly
derivative of Sue’s, especially Auguste – a grisette who very closely resembles Rigolette – and the “Weber” family – a near equivalent to the Morels. As I show at various points throughout this chapter, however, the myriad ways Die Geheimnisse von Berlin deviates from Sue’s original were not incidental changes, but part of a calculated critique intended to educate and inculcate German readers in a liberal German politics. The author of the German tale clearly presupposed a reader familiar with the intricacies of Sue’s text. His formal innovations and content changes attest to it, which suggests his adaptation is also a creative interpretation that links its political message to both process and product.
At this point it should be noted the various novels participating in the “mysteries” tradition did not constitute a stand-alone literary genre, at least not in 1844 and probably not ever. Like Auerbach’s village tales of the same period, these works lacked the systematized
mechanisms of production, storage, and dissemination necessary for long-term reproduction. Instead, the mysteries novels intervened within existing generic contexts and literary traditions. Their political and literary value for this project, and more broadly I would argue, lies in the transnational culture of adaptation and appropriation constituting their formal qualities and content. I am hesitant to view this fiction as an established genre or subgenre, because doing so leads attention away from the formative qualities so crucial to the rise of early German liberalism and its social implications in the 1840s. I see it more as a cultural, social, and political forum within the broader context of the novel (and to some extent even the drama) which emerged to negotiate French literary and political influence and a Classical and Romantic literary heritage in the 1840s. I adopt this view in partial opposition to the most recent study of “mysteries” fiction, which presupposes a genre label, because as I see it, thematic foci, popular success, and an audience’s expectations do not constitute a genre on their own, nor did nineteenth-century literary histories rush to place this fiction within a newly established genre. Urban economies, new modes of crime and crime detection, social critique, serial forms, interwoven narratives: these elements can be found throughout nineteenth-century fiction, even if Sue was the first to link all of these elements in a wildly popular form. Stephen Knight’s study not only neglects the German response to Sue’s fiction, but it relies almost exclusively on an analysis of form and content, overlooking the debates and literary culture that lead to the adaptation craze. The limits of this approach reveal themselves in Knight’s erroneous claim that Paul Thiel authored Die Geheimnisse von Berlin. Paul Thiel was the editor of a 1987 reprint; the actual author –
according to the preface of the 1848 English translation – was F. Thiele, a clerk for the Prussian criminal court who after “exposing the operations of Secret Tribunals” in Die Geheimnisse von Berlin was removed from his post, and then reinstated thanks to his savvy knowledge of the law. But even this claim from the 1845 English translation must be treated with suspicion, given that
A.F. Thiele was widely known in literary circles for publishing a highly popular, non-fictional ethnography of Berlin’s Jewish criminals.13 It is quite conceivable the translator of the English edition used Thiele’s name in an effort to bolster his own sales by legitimizing his translation with a probable source. These details concerning authorship and literary culture are easily overlooked by approaches limited to analyses of form and content.
Ultimately, this chapter argues that a culture of literary adaptation is not only implicated in the emergence of a liberal ethos of social pity in 1840s Germany, but that literature played a decisive role in shaping the discourse surrounding social questions of philanthropy, charity and attitudes towards the poor. Unlike in England where a parliament could debate pauperization, and unlike in France where a centralized government could more easily implement proposals, in Germany the national conversation surrounding the poor unfolded largely in the literary public sphere. And Sue’s popular success offered a key facet to this framework, allowing German authors to consider and adapt his ideas for their own projects. By adaptation I am referring to the creative modes and means by which politically minded Germans harvested Sue’s literary