The Shadow of Great Britain

Capítulo 1203: Chapter 136: Darwinian Conjecture

People have a peculiar habit of always trying to justify everything they do.

——Heinrich Heine

If Arthur hadn’t spent a long time in association with Heine and only knew about this famous German liberal poet through newspapers and magazines, he would likely be like the citizens and students of Gottingen City: those who liked Heine were madly in love with him, while those who disliked him firmly believed he was a traitor to the entire German nation.

Only by stripping away Heine’s literary image and actually spending time with him can one understand what an interesting person Heinrich Heine is. He yearned for the freedom of the French Great Revolution, yet his thoughts were still hindered by deeply rooted German concepts. He imagined countless heroic and fearless gallant charges but couldn’t give up the high-class meals at Waai’er Restaurant in Paris.

When he wasn’t short of money, he expressed his views radically.

When he was short of money, he restrained himself a bit.

His various awkward identities shaped his awkward personality.

Jewish, with a father from Hanover, raised in the wild Rheinland region, once a subject of the First French Empire’s vassal state, the Kingdom of Westphalia, and later a citizen under the rule of the Kingdom of Prussia. His education at Berlin University, Bonn University, and the University of Gottingen brought him different ideological trends.

Thus, in the end, he became a realistic version of a German petty bourgeois liberal.

Speaking of which, Arthur still remembers why Heine’s “On Romanticism” for the “Brits” was submitted a bit past the deadline: it was because he was busy compiling articles introducing the situation in France to German readers titled “The French Conditions.”

If all had gone smoothly, Heine originally planned to start serializing this article in the “Augsburg Communication Newspaper” in September of that year.

But things didn’t go as planned, and the Frankfurt Garrison Incident made the already limited publishing space in Germany even tighter. Heine’s “The French Conditions,” which was clearly not going to make money, was understandably rejected.

Arthur had just praised Heine in his mind, yet he wondered whether this fellow had some kind of mental telepathy device installed, or if his naturally cheeky tendency was at play again.

Soon enough, he started sharply criticizing his hometown Dusseldorf: “Arthur, seeking me to learn German was definitely a wise choice. Besides the story of the hunting dog Joli, what my father taught me was the pure Hanover dialect. You see, the German spoken in the city of Hanover and its southern neighboring areas is the purest in all of Germany.

This has been a great advantage for me, as early in my childhood, my ears grew accustomed to standard German pronunciation through my father’s instruction. But in Dusseldorf, where we lived, the city dwellers spoke that annoying, messy language of the Lower Rhine region.

These dialects are somewhat bearable in the city of Dusseldorf, but in nearby Cologne, they’re simply disgusting to hear. If I were to give an example in Italian, in the typical awkward pronunciation of German, Cologne would be like the Tuscan accent, even their puppet shows sound like they’re conversing in a different language.

How should I describe it to you? It sounds like the clash of two rotten eggs, crackling, and you can even smell the scent they emit. You can sense the language of Dusseldorf people transitioning toward the croak of frogs in the Dutch swamps.

Of course, I don’t mean to deny the unique beauty of the Dutch language; I simply acknowledge that my ears aren’t suited for appreciating them. As for the German spoken in Dusseldorf, maybe this language is indeed, as some patriotic Dutch linguists claim, just a mutated form of Dutch.”

Arthur couldn’t help but raise his eyebrows and replied, “Heinrich, I’d advise you to say such things quietly. There are also Dutch students on the Gottingen campus.”

“You don’t need to remind me of that.” Heine said, “I saw them already when I passed by the pond just now—a bunch of Dutch lying on the lily pads having a meeting.”

Arthur certainly knew he was mocking the Dutch sarcastically, but he couldn’t do much about it, since the British didn’t have a good impression of the Dutch either.

After all, in London, even a simple split bill is referred to as the ‘Dutch method.’

As for Dutch, that’s evidently worse; ‘double Dutch’ in English is used to describe gibberish.

Heine continued speaking while standing by the window to observe, “But like you said, it’s not like University of Gottingen is completely without its merits. There are many international students here, including those from Britain, France, and Russia…”

Arthur pointedly reminded, “And even from the United States.”

“Yes! Even from the United States.” Heine laughed heartily, “I thought you, as a British gentleman, would have chased them out of campus upon your appointment.”

“Oh! My dear Heinrich, I wouldn’t deprive others of the right to education. Even if he were an outsider.”

Heine smiled brightly at Arthur, “You just told me you’re not a narrow nationalist, yet now you’re discriminating against Americans?”

“Heinrich, that’s not quite right of you; I didn’t discriminate against Americans.”

Arthur poured himself a steaming cup of tea and held it in his hands, “Please believe me, a true British gentleman wouldn’t let you see his discrimination against others. If you do notice, then there are only two possibilities—either the British gentleman is a fake, or you’ve misunderstood.”