AMANN (Paul). - Lot 9

AMANN (Paul). Born in Prague. 1884–1958. Austrian writer and translator. Typewritten letter. Signed “Paul Amann” to “My dear friend” [the writer Pierre Abraham]. No place, July 19, 1931. 5 pages, in-4. An interesting reflection inspired by his study of Goethe: “…‘Gegen fremde Vorzüge gibt es nur rein Rettungamittel die Liebe,’ says our ‘eternal friend.’” Once it surpasses a certain degree, the devotion of a friend like you no longer confuses us, for within us it immediately transforms into the only solid, golden value in this life: love... He asks himself …How can one reconcile the need to speak to an audience that is, in practical terms, ignorant of Goethe’s life with an explanation that is even somewhat profound and substantial of that life […]. There is only one new element, I believe, in my account: having highlighted Goethe’s reactions to the politics of 1789–1815 or even 1821 […]. I wanted to convey the tragic nature and the terrible tension of his existence, avoiding the clichés of the “Götterjüngling” and the “Olympian”… Commenting on his partner’s book about Balzac …Along the way, you shed light (and for someone like me who knows far too little about Balzac, this is very helpful) on your author’s enormous artistic power; by examining these microscopic cross-sections, one can better appreciate the strength of his “athletic physique.” Perhaps you show a little too much indulgent understanding for the so-called “popular novel”… As he began his research on German storytellers, he encountered…a very strange difficulty: namely, that German literature, beginning with Lessing’s *Laokoon*, starts with a powerful theory—one that has become highly influential—which advocates direct physical description […]. Goethe refrains from direct description. In his prose works, *Wilhelm Meister* and *Werther*, he adheres to this rule.... Although busy reading Romain Rolland’s war chronicles, he undertook the translation… of a new novel by Martin Meurice (which will take us back to 1932)… He ends his letter with a political diatribe… Yesterday in Paris, the fate of Europe was decided to some extent; I haven’t seen the newspapers yet. The end of July has remained a very critical time ever since 1870; everyone, like us, doesn’t give a damn about politics—just like they don’t care about their first shirt—and the other one is slipping up…