So, Volz gives the complete (afaict) letter from Hille to Grumbkow, and immediately after the whole "idiot Wilkes" passage, Hille continues:
Bis zur Erschlaffung sage ich ihm die Verse aus Molieres „Misanthrope“ über Oronte her. Er sagt sie seien wundervoll, und läßt sich nicht abbringen. Der Teufel hole seinen verwünschten Lehrer, der weiter nichts verstand, als ihm dergleichen seichtes Zeug in den Kopf zu setzen.
I [Hille] recited him the verses on Oronte from Molière's "Misanthrope" until I was exhausted. He said they were wonderful, and nothing could convince him otherwise. The devil take his cursed tutor [Duhan], who didn't know any better than to put this kind of shallow stuff into his head. [Translation mine; German speakers feel free to correct.]
The last sentence I'd seen quoted, but not the first two. And first I was surprised that Hille was trying to talk Fritz out of poetry by reading him Molière.
So I went and researched this play a bit, and wooooow, this is so much better than I realized.
Our protagonist [Alceste] is a guy who believes all of humanity is just full of empty flattery, he's not impressed with Baroque declarations of undying friendship to mere acquaintances, and he spends the first scene of Act I saying you shouldn't pretend feelings you don't have, you shouldn't tell white lies, and you definitely shouldn't flatter. Whether it's someone's personality, appearance, or painting, if you don't like it, you should tell them to their face. The guy he's talking to takes the stance that some politeness is called for in life.
Scene II: in comes a third party, Oronte. He's just written a poem and wants criticism on it.
Me at this point: Okay, I see why this was the first thing to come to mind for Hille.
But it gets better!
Our protagonist Alceste says he's way too blunt to give feedback, and Oronte is like, "No, no, that's exactly what I want! Bring on the honesty."
So Alceste agrees to hear the poem and give his honest opinion.
Oronte reads a bad poem, which he says he dashed off in 15 minutes. And Alceste gives a speech about how some people just aren't meant to be poets. And if you read this exchange with the mindset that Hille read it aloud to Fritz, and knowing what the rest of Fritz's life is going to be like...I died laughing.
Here goes.
First, the poem:
Hope, it is true, may bring relief And rock to sleep awhile our pain; But, Phyllis, what small gain and brief, If nothing follow in its train!
You showed me some benevolence, But should have shown me less, or none, Nor put yourself to such expense To give me hope, and hope alone.
I can dig up the French, but since none of us are fluent in French, the English will do just as well for now.
Now, Alceste gives his feedback.
ALCESTE This is a ticklish subject always, sir; We’re fond of being flattered for our wit. But I was saying, just the other day, To some one—I won't mention any names— On hearing certain verses he had written, That any gentleman should always keep In stern control this writing itch we’re seized with; That he must hold in check the great impatience We feel to give the world these idle pastimes; For, through this eagerness to show our works, 'Tis likely we shall cut a foolish figure.
ORONTE And do you mean to intimate by this, That I am wrong to wish . . . ?
ALCESTE I don't say that. But I was telling him, a frigid piece Of writing, bores to death; and this one weakness Is quite enough to damn a man, no matter What sterling qualities he have withal; For men are judged most often by their foibles.
ORONTE Then do you think my sonnet bad?
ALCESTE I don't say that. But still, as reason for not writing, I tried to make him see how, right among us, This lust for ink has spoiled most worthy men.
ORONTE Do I write badly then? D' ye mean I'm like 'em?
ALCESTE I don't say that. But still (said I to him) What is your urgent need of making verses? And who the deuce should drive you into print? Only poor creatures writing for a living Can ever be excused for publishing A wretched book. Come, come, resist temptation, Conceal this sort of business from the public, And don't, for anything, go and abandon Your reputation as a gentleman To get in place on't, from a greedy printer, That of ridiculous and wretched scribe. That's what I tried to make him understand.
...
ORONTE And I maintain my lines are excellent.
ALCESTE You have your reasons, sir, for thinking so; But you must grant me reasons of my own, And not expect that mine shall bow to yours.
ORONTE I’m satisfied to find that others prize them.
ALCESTE They have the art of feigning. I have not.
ORONTE D' ye think you are endowed with all the brains?
ALCESTE Did I but praise your rhymes, you'd grant me more.
ORONTE I'll get along quite well without your praise.
ALCESTE You'll have to get along without it, please.
ORONTE I'd like to have you write, in your own style, Some verses on the subject, just to see.
ALCESTE I might, by bad luck, write as wretched ones; But I'd be mighty careful not to show 'em.
Wooooow. Can you imagine Hille reading this out loud to 18-yo Fritz? I love it extra because just as Alceste is telling Oronte indirectly that he was telling someone else to stop writing bad poetry--but not telling Oronte directly that his poetry was bad or that he should stop writing!--Hille is reading aloud from a renowned French dramatist a piece explaining why Fritz should stop writing poetry or at the very least stop showing it to people.
Voltaire, Catt, Mitchell, Lucchesini: *lolsob* Fredersdorf: Je ne parle pas français!
I also love that Fritz never, ever, ever backed down, even knowing that he wasn't a good poet (and that he never stopped wanting to become one).
Related, around the same time, I stumbled across this passage in his letters to Voltaire (1737, so shortly after they started corresponding). The first part we've seen in the big debate over whether it referred to Wreech, Orzelska, or someone else (Doris Ritter?), but the second paragraph was new to me, and it struck me in the context of those verses Hille read him:
A kind person inspired me in the flower of my young years two passions at the same time; you can well imagine that one was love, and the other poetry. This little miracle of nature, with all possible graces, had taste and delicacy. She wanted to communicate them to me. I succeed quite well in love, but badly in poetry. Since that time, I have been in love quite often, and always a poet.
If you know some secret to cure men of this mania, you will really do Christian work to communicate it to me; otherwise I condemn you to teach me the rules of this enchanting art that you have embellished, and which, in turn, does you so much honor.
I'm convinced this is the context in which Fritz says, "I could have made something of myself if Voltaire had stuck around in Prussia." I really think he's talking about poetry, his major unfulfilled goal in life.
Meanwhile, <3 Wilke for welcoming poor traumatized Fritz to the domain chamber with a poem. And major <333 for Duhan, the guy who got the identical "come quickly!" message that Algarotti got.
Re: Molière - Küstrin poetry
Royal Detective reporting for duty!
So, Volz gives the complete (afaict) letter from Hille to Grumbkow, and immediately after the whole "idiot Wilkes" passage, Hille continues:
Bis zur Erschlaffung sage ich ihm die Verse aus Molieres „Misanthrope“ über Oronte her. Er sagt sie seien wundervoll, und läßt sich nicht abbringen. Der Teufel hole seinen verwünschten Lehrer, der weiter nichts verstand, als ihm dergleichen seichtes Zeug in den Kopf zu setzen.
I [Hille] recited him the verses on Oronte from Molière's "Misanthrope" until I was exhausted. He said they were wonderful, and nothing could convince him otherwise. The devil take his cursed tutor [Duhan], who didn't know any better than to put this kind of shallow stuff into his head. [Translation mine; German speakers feel free to correct.]
The last sentence I'd seen quoted, but not the first two. And first I was surprised that Hille was trying to talk Fritz out of poetry by reading him Molière.
So I went and researched this play a bit, and wooooow, this is so much better than I realized.
Our protagonist [Alceste] is a guy who believes all of humanity is just full of empty flattery, he's not impressed with Baroque declarations of undying friendship to mere acquaintances, and he spends the first scene of Act I saying you shouldn't pretend feelings you don't have, you shouldn't tell white lies, and you definitely shouldn't flatter. Whether it's someone's personality, appearance, or painting, if you don't like it, you should tell them to their face. The guy he's talking to takes the stance that some politeness is called for in life.
Scene II: in comes a third party, Oronte. He's just written a poem and wants criticism on it.
Me at this point: Okay, I see why this was the first thing to come to mind for Hille.
But it gets better!
Our protagonist Alceste says he's way too blunt to give feedback, and Oronte is like, "No, no, that's exactly what I want! Bring on the honesty."
So Alceste agrees to hear the poem and give his honest opinion.
Oronte reads a bad poem, which he says he dashed off in 15 minutes. And Alceste gives a speech about how some people just aren't meant to be poets. And if you read this exchange with the mindset that Hille read it aloud to Fritz, and knowing what the rest of Fritz's life is going to be like...I died laughing.
Here goes.
First, the poem:
Hope, it is true, may bring relief
And rock to sleep awhile our pain;
But, Phyllis, what small gain and brief,
If nothing follow in its train!
You showed me some benevolence,
But should have shown me less, or none,
Nor put yourself to such expense
To give me hope, and hope alone.
I can dig up the French, but since none of us are fluent in French, the English will do just as well for now.
Now, Alceste gives his feedback.
ALCESTE
This is a ticklish subject always, sir;
We’re fond of being flattered for our wit.
But I was saying, just the other day,
To some one—I won't mention any names—
On hearing certain verses he had written,
That any gentleman should always keep
In stern control this writing itch we’re seized with;
That he must hold in check the great impatience
We feel to give the world these idle pastimes;
For, through this eagerness to show our works,
'Tis likely we shall cut a foolish figure.
ORONTE
And do you mean to intimate by this,
That I am wrong to wish . . . ?
ALCESTE
I don't say that.
But I was telling him, a frigid piece
Of writing, bores to death; and this one weakness
Is quite enough to damn a man, no matter
What sterling qualities he have withal;
For men are judged most often by their foibles.
ORONTE
Then do you think my sonnet bad?
ALCESTE
I don't say that.
But still, as reason for not writing,
I tried to make him see how, right among us,
This lust for ink has spoiled most worthy men.
ORONTE
Do I write badly then? D' ye mean I'm like 'em?
ALCESTE
I don't say that. But still (said I to him)
What is your urgent need of making verses?
And who the deuce should drive you into print?
Only poor creatures writing for a living
Can ever be excused for publishing
A wretched book. Come, come, resist temptation,
Conceal this sort of business from the public,
And don't, for anything, go and abandon
Your reputation as a gentleman
To get in place on't, from a greedy printer,
That of ridiculous and wretched scribe.
That's what I tried to make him understand.
...
ORONTE
And I maintain my lines are excellent.
ALCESTE
You have your reasons, sir, for thinking so;
But you must grant me reasons of my own,
And not expect that mine shall bow to yours.
ORONTE
I’m satisfied to find that others prize them.
ALCESTE
They have the art of feigning. I have not.
ORONTE
D' ye think you are endowed with all the brains?
ALCESTE
Did I but praise your rhymes, you'd grant me more.
ORONTE
I'll get along quite well without your praise.
ALCESTE
You'll have to get along without it, please.
ORONTE
I'd like to have you write, in your own style,
Some verses on the subject, just to see.
ALCESTE
I might, by bad luck, write as wretched ones;
But I'd be mighty careful not to show 'em.
Wooooow. Can you imagine Hille reading this out loud to 18-yo Fritz? I love it extra because just as Alceste is telling Oronte indirectly that he was telling someone else to stop writing bad poetry--but not telling Oronte directly that his poetry was bad or that he should stop writing!--Hille is reading aloud from a renowned French dramatist a piece explaining why Fritz should stop writing poetry or at the very least stop showing it to people.
Voltaire, Catt, Mitchell, Lucchesini: *lolsob*
Fredersdorf: Je ne parle pas français!
I also love that Fritz never, ever, ever backed down, even knowing that he wasn't a good poet (and that he never stopped wanting to become one).
Related, around the same time, I stumbled across this passage in his letters to Voltaire (1737, so shortly after they started corresponding). The first part we've seen in the big debate over whether it referred to Wreech, Orzelska, or someone else (Doris Ritter?), but the second paragraph was new to me, and it struck me in the context of those verses Hille read him:
A kind person inspired me in the flower of my young years two passions at the same time; you can well imagine that one was love, and the other
poetry. This little miracle of nature, with all possible graces, had taste and delicacy. She wanted to communicate them to me. I succeed quite well in love, but badly in poetry. Since that time, I have been in love quite often, and always a poet.
If you know some secret to cure men of this mania, you will really do Christian work to communicate it to me; otherwise I condemn you to teach me the rules of this enchanting art that you have embellished, and which, in turn, does you so much honor.
I'm convinced this is the context in which Fritz says, "I could have made something of myself if Voltaire had stuck around in Prussia." I really think he's talking about poetry, his major unfulfilled goal in life.
Meanwhile, <3 Wilke for welcoming poor traumatized Fritz to the domain chamber with a poem. And major <333 for Duhan, the guy who got the identical "come quickly!" message that Algarotti got.