SALVE

Good Evening Herr Goethe!

                If it were possible I would suspend all sleep for the duration of my stay in Germany. How can I close my eyes when Channel 1 shows an interview  in the series “Menschen bei Maischberger” with Helmut Schmidt at 22:45 (10:45pm)?. The old chancellor left office almost 25 years ago; his wife of over 65 years died in October; he is in pain, sits in a wheelchair, smoked seven cigarettes while I was watching, is ranked number one as favorite politician by 83 percent of Germans, and has one of the sharpest minds I have ever encountered. Oh yes – he is 91.

                I was going to joke about German television, its soap operas, reality shows, corny songs, and re-runs of Two and a Half Men, but when I heard Helmut Schmidt articulate his opinions so precisely and with a dignity that did not allow journalistic trespasses, I sat up straight in bed and held my breath for over an hour. This, Herr Goethe, after an afternoon at your house, filling my mind with your words, your ideas, the awe-inspiring presence of your spirit.  And not to forget, the visit I paid to Anno 1900, the gourmet bistro that dazzled me with a magnificent chocolate mousse on caramelized plums in elderberry sauce, and a strong cup of coffee. In 1912 Franz Kafka spent his birthday watching a performance of Carmen in the Anno 1900 garden; today snow covered the tables.

     It is well past midnight and in spite of my desire to stay awake, my eyes burn and beg for rest. But before my thoughts fade into the cushion of sleep I must comment on your residence  of over 50 years.

Goethe Haus in Weimar

G. in front of Goethe Haus in Weimar

                                                                                                           

  I knew I would find you at the house on the Frauenplan. I had hoped the encounter would move me. It did. Easy to use audio guidance equipment, a brochure with a floor plan, your excellent taste and unbridled curiosity, combined with the SALVE (welcome) sign at the entrance to the yellow room  immediately drew me into your circle of friends. I lingered in the garden room with you, imagining a poem forming in your mind.  In your wife’s rooms I admired family portraits and Christiane’s personal belongings. Even your rooms were open to me. I got a glimpse into some of your many interests and tried to list them:

                You collected rocks for over 50 years -  18,000 pieces in 470 drawers of 18 closets -  

                You learned to draw and paint and did quite well from what I saw.

                You gathered art to learn from it.  25,000 pieces I am told, mostly reproductions.

                You owned 10,000 paintings and drawings, many given to you by friends

                Your library holds more than 5000 books

                You traveled extensively

                You formed a theory of color (though some of it has been disproven)

                And here is what I like most – you never stopped asking questions.

I am told that your house only houses two percent of your collected objects and I thank those who are responsible for the upkeep that they left your surroundings as they were during your life time – nothing is numbered or labeled - the house looks like a home, not a museum.

                By the time I reached your personal rooms I no longer needed to ignore other visitors; I felt alone in the vestibule and I stood, for a very long time, at the entrance to your study. I saw the cabinet into which you had sealed Faust 2, to be seen only after your death. And here was the writing table at which you dictated to your closest and most admiring friend, coworker, servant, who put aside his own ambitions to serve you - Johann Peter Eckermann. A Spartan room. No pictures. No curtains. And yet, so personal, so revealing. Time has stood still. And time seems to have frozen into place the books in your library to which there is no public access.

                From the secretary’s room I looked at the place in which you spent your last hours, the pale green walls, the tone chart, the biology table, the cushioned armchair next to your bed. March 22, 1832.

Ueber allen Gipfeln ist Ruh,

In allen Wipfeln spuerest du

Kaum einen Hauch;

Die Voegelein schweigen im Walde,

Warte nur, balde

Ruhest du auch.

(Translation)

On all hilltops

There is peace,

In all treetops

You will hear

Hardly a breath,

Birds in the woods are silent.

Just wait, soon

You too will rest.

Thank you Herr Goethe.

G.