Category Archives: Freinsheim and Palatinate history

Castle, Catechism, Cabbage

Matthias took us to Heidelberg, about an hour’s drive from Freinsheim. Our first stop was the famous Castle.

As we strolled the grounds, I kept quizzing Matthias about linden trees, loudly enough that a gentleman stopped to explain that the linden tree in England is called a lime. He noted that his father was a carpenter, and knew wood. The lime tree was an especially fine wood for carpenters. He also noted that he might have gone into carpentry himself, it had been a family business for generations, so he had asked his father should he also become a carpenter. But this was the 1970’s and his father said “no, it is too hard, no one wants carpentry anymore.” So he didn’t. But now, everyone wants a carpenter again.

After we’d parted with the English gentleman, Matthias and I discussed (perhaps overloudly) how in my research I had come across the lime tree in relation to the linden. I said in my mind, a “lime tree” produced those little green citrus fruits, which didn’t seem right. Matthias said perhaps I should go to wikipedia. I said wikipedia was the original source of my confusion. Another tourist stopped and wondered if he might be of some help. He explained how the lime tree in England is not at all the same as the one that bears citrus fruit in Florida. It is of the Malvaceae family.

After lunch (where we sampled cooked red cabbage – I thought it was good, Dave didn’t care for it) we toured the museum at Heidelberg University, especially an exhibit about Heidelberg Catechism, since Dave had been forced to memorize parts of it as a child. A feature of the museum is the three-story student prison (where perhaps some students were sent because they didn’t properly memorize their Catechism).

In Heidelberg’s Altstadt (old town), I kept getting sidetracked by the ironwork, a wow factor for any blacksmith.

A little Marx-Engels goes a long way

At first as I envisioned this thesis topic, I had trouble imagining the mindset of a person living in the 1800’s, so I started skimming the writings of some of the great philosophers of the day: Locke, Hegel, Kant, Darwin …

Around that time, two classmates dropped by my house for a visit. One of them left the room and returned grinning like she’d found the key to my school locker.

“Guess what Claire has in her bathroom?” She held up a dog-earred paperback. “Friedrich Nietzche!”

Oh yeah?! So guess what I sleuthed out on her bookshelf? The Marx-Engels Reader! Ha!

Oddly, the Marx-Engels Reader has been one of my favorite nineteenth century heavyweights. Karl Marx goes into painstaking detail on human history. He strikes me as ridden with angst, desperate to determine how on earth human beings landed in such a commercial industrial fix. In Marx’s early years, the pre-industrial way of life, where people devoted their lives to the betterment of their families and their village, was in rapid decline. More and more people were moving to town for factory jobs and a monetary income.

Marx saw this trend toward focus on the individual as the loss of human interdependence and cooperation. I hear an echo in our “global community” parlance of today in these words of Karl Marx, written in 1845-46 in The German Ideology:

Only in community with others has each individual the means of cultivating his gifts in all directions; only in community, therefore, is personal freedom possible.

Wandering nach Deutschland

One branch of my family, the Handrichs, first emigrated from the Rheinpfalz to Cleveland, Ohio in 1840. They’d come with the idea of buying farmland, but remained in Cleveland as barrelmakers and blacksmiths. In 1857, the Handrich’s grandson, Michael Harm, came to Cleveland and made a life for himself there as a carriage maker.

Watercolor by Clyde PattersonMichael Harm returned to his hometown of Freinsheim several times in the latter half of the 19th century. After he passed away in 1910, his descendants continued to write letters, but did not see each other in person. My grandmother corresponded with Anna and Helena, women she had never met in person.

My father, Clyde Patterson, painted this watercolor of Freinsheim when he first visited in 1949. He went back several times. Now I am preparing for a visit to Freinsheim to see family there. I am going for the Kulinarische Weinwanderung and to research my thesis. I can hardly wait.

What’s in a word?

What’s in a word? Always more than I expect. Today as I was writing I got hung up on the word “wanderer.”

Should I use the German version? I wondered. When I looked into it, I realized the German word and the English words are exactly the same.

So I initiated a search for alternate German words for wanderer: roamer, vagabond, which elicited Wandervogel.

Okay, Wandervogel. Promising. Via my studies of the German language, I’m pretty sure the literal translation would be “wandering bird.” Simple enough. But the next place I look, at the on-line translation.babylon.com/german, it gets more involved: Wandervogel: “n. bird of passage, wandering bird, rolling stone, vagabond, one who does not settle in one place, temporary tenant, temporary resident.”

Cool word, I’m thinking. Lots of subtleties here–maybe a good word to use for an immigrant who keeps returning to his homeland, migrating back and forth, driven by a natural urge.

Just as I’m about to topple off the fence on the side of a hearty “Yes!” Wandervogel is just the word I’m looking for!”, I make a last Google search, which pulls up, naturally enough, Wikipedia, an entry about German nationalist youth groups. A heap of twentieth century baggage I’m not willing to unload off the truck.

Thirty minutes later, I’m back where I started. For now, I’ll stick with wanderer.

Funny stories

Today I sat in the Western Reserve Historical Society looking through ancient newspapers in German and realized I have oh so little time. The resources here are beyond compare.

I delved into a little of this, and a little of that. I get the feeling that the onset of advertising was an early and prevalent part of American life. One report said people heading west put signs on their wagons that said: “Pike’s Peak or Bust.” So people coming back from the west, their schemes and funds depleted, put signs on their wagons that said: “Busted.”

In the German newspaper Wachter am Erie, I read in an 1852 rag that German immigrants relished the slogan: “Europa ist ruhig, stören wir es nicht.” (Europe is quiet, we’re no longer there to disturb it.) I presume this slogan reflects the sentiment of the numerous political refugees who had to flee Germany because they called for a democratically elected government. (The Prussian monarch suppressed the rebellion in 1848-49.)

A Cleveland newspaper reported on May 17, 1844 that a visitor to see an elephant put a wad of tobacco in the elephant’s mouth. The elephant used his trunk to strike the man dead with a single blow.

And with permission, here’s an 1853 cookstove, about the only illustration in the whole German newspaper:

Volksschule

I’ve spent the better part of this week trying to wrap my mind around the German Volksschule. What was school like in 1850’s Germany?

Fun facts to know and tell:

According to Thom Hartmann, of Mythical Research, Inc., at this article on Good German Schools, state-run schools were established in Prussia in 1756. They were not born of a desire to bestow culture on the masses, but to keep child labor from competing with adult labor, and to indoctrinate kids at a young age to learn duty and loyalty to the king and/or fatherland.

Prussian state-run schools taught the 3R’s, plus a 4th: Religion. Schoolwas compulsory for children ages 7-15, and was held 5-6 days / week until noon (a practice still continued to this day in Germany (see NY Times article by Katrin Bennhold).

German schools were generally considered far superior to American ones (although Goethe is known for stating: “America, you have it better than our continent, the old thing”). America’s public education system began in 1852 in Massachusetts, where it was modeled after the Prussian state-run schools.

Such an inauspicious beginning to our public education system (where children were forced into school as a means of controlling the unruly populace, and parents thrown in jail if they didn’t cooperate — see Hartmann link above), makes me all the more glad scholars like Rudolf Steiner came along.

Goethe

I found the Oxford Companion to German Literature at UW Bookstore for $4.99. It’s like discovering buried treasure. The information in it is assisting my knowledge of so many German greats — I am currently smitten by Goethe. (I know what you’re thinking: what took you so long.) Here is an early poem I especially like:

SONG OF THE SPIRITS
OVER THE WATERS
by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

Man’s soul
Equals the water:
From Heaven it comes,
To Heaven it rises,
And downward again
It must descend to the earth,
Forever changing.

When there streams from the high,
Steep wall of the rock
The pure jet of water,
Then it foams in lovely sprays
In waves of clouds
To the smooth rock,
And gracefully received,
It floats, enveiling,
Murmuring softly
Down to the deep.

Where cliffs arise
In the face of the downpour,
It foams, out of temper,
Step upon step,
Down to the abyss.

In the shallow bed
It creeps down the meadowy valley
And in the smooth lake
Their countenance feast
All heavenly bodies.

The wind is the wave’s
Beautiful wooer;
The wind stirs up from the bottom
Foaming waves.

Soul of Man,
How you resemble the water!
Fate of Man
how you resemble the wind!

[translation from Introduction to Germany Poetry ed. by Gustave Mathieu & Guy Stern, New York: Dover Publications, Inc. 1987]

Not quite lost in translation

As I searched the passenger lists of ships arriving in New York’s harbor in 1857, here’s what I knew:
– that my great-great grandfather was “scarcely sixteen” (from his obituary), and that he was born in 1841.
– that he traveled on his own, without other family members
– that he was from the Rheinpfalz, then a part of Bavaria, based on how the letters were addressed:

H Johann Philipp Harm
Freinsheim
bei / close to Dürkheim
an dem Hartgebirg / at the Hart mountainchain
Königreich Bayern / Kingdom Bavaria
Rheinkreis / Rhine province
Europa

– that he probably left from Havre, France and arrived in New York, because his Uncle John Rapparlie recommended this route, in a letter dated September 8, 1850:

And if you should come so don’t take anything along except for what you have and don’t buy new pieces. Don’t take more than you need on the journey as you can buy everything here to a low price and then everything here is after a different fashion because the luggage fee costs more than it is worth. Don’t take more shoes and boots with you than you need for approximately 3 months the sea water spoils them here they are better, too. Don’t take more along than 1 to 2 boxes and turn everything into money and take checks /bills of exchange to Neujork. From there to Kleveland then none will be stolen from you and won’t get lost. And when you come so come only for yourself and don’t say my brother-in-law has lured me in. You have to come on your own risk and not accuse anybody and think I will now go to Amerika.
Another thing if you come don’t take a ship in any case from England, but from Havre, it is much more secure.

I’ve made a copy of the passenger list. The list begins with ship information:

June 30, 1857, the good Ship Helvetia

Michael’s name appears as number 262. At least I think it does. His name is spelled Michel Harm. Or maybe Michel Harne. He arrived in New York June 30, 34 days after his sixteenth birthday, May 26.

A page from the Ship Helvetia's passenger list, 6/30/1857

Politically incorrect

I’m in a class with Carmen Bernier-Grand, and as we are workshopping our novels-in-progress, she raised a valid question.

“Do you have to refer to the nineteenth-century Indians as ‘wild’ and ‘brown'”?

The terms bother me, too. But I’m basing my novel on real letters from the mid-nineteenth century, and this is the language Jakob Handrich used. Here is a quote from his letter, which accompanied a package that contained vests and moccasins, written in 1849:

“The shoes, that is the work which the wild people or the brown Indians make.”

It seems it was a common reference — I’ve also come across the term in the book Pfälzer in Amerika. ‘Brown’ and ‘wild people’ are politically incorrect terms, and for that matter, just plain inaccurate, yet they seem gentle when compared with language used by the Yanks. Here’s one example I found in a speech by Ohio’s Governor Arthur St. Clair to the Ohio State Legislature in 1812:

“The government of the United States has ever with an unceasing philanthropy, and great expense, labored to civilize the Savages on her borders–to diminish the ferociousness of their natures–to cultivate among them the arts of peace–to estrange them from the cruel rites of Molock–and to inspire them with a true knowledge of a beneficent Deity.”

Hmmm. He goes on to say that, thank goodness, the U.S. has passed laws to extinguish the territorial entitlements of these “heathen remnants.” Ye gads! A glimpse of the white, barbaric mindset of the nineteenth century. It’s like we Ohioans were savages or something.

Sad but true

In the book “Ohio: the History of a People” by Cayton, one paragraph sums up the decimation of the native tribes of Ohio.

“The population of Ohio exploded in the first half of the nineteenth century. From 45,365 in 1800, it rose to 230,760 in 1810, 581,434 in 1820, and 1,980,329 in 1850. Virtually barren of English-speaking residents in 1790, Ohio was the third largest state in the Union by 1850 … The U.S. had extinguished the claims of Indians through treaty cessions, most notably the Treaty of Greenville in 1795, an 1817 Treaty with the Wyandots, and St. Mary’s Treaty of 1818.”

By 1832 the Wyandots, Shawnee, and Senecas were confined to the Upper Sandusky. By 1842 they were moved west of the Mississippi.

According to Cayton, the mood of the Ohioans in the early nineteenth century was one of progress, of “the triumph of civilization over barbarism.”

In my research I’m discovering evidence that many German immigrants thought differently, their thinking influenced in part by romantic poets and ideas of the day. Key principles of the romanticism movement included a spiritualized view of nature, and the desire to lose oneself in it.

In 1849, Uncle Jakob sent two Indian vests and a pair of moccasins to his nephews and niece in Germany. I’d like to believe he saw the Indians as artisans, and as human beings.