Italy zerwühlt: Hannah Höch ’ s Dadaist Italienreise. MELISSA JOHNSON I LLINOIS S TATE U NIVERSITY On February 8, 1921 Hannah Höch, Salomo Friedlaender (aka Mynona), and Raoul Hausmann gathered in the rooms of the Berliner Secession for a reading of Dadaist literary grotesques. Höch read her Italienreise. 1 A reviewer in the 8-Uhr Abendblatt wrote that of all the readings that evening, «am besten gefiel mir Frl. Höchs ‹ Italienreise. › Sie hat den Witz Heinrich Heines und die Vielgewandheit eines Pückler-Muskau in gut gespielter Preziosität verbunden» (LC II 1: 29). This was high praise. Placing Höch ’ s travel report in the context of Heine and Prince Hermann von Pückler- Muskau situated Höch in a tradition that fit with Berlin Dada ’ s outrageous antics and aims of overturning traditional bourgeois conceptions of art and life. Höch ’ s travel report was published later that spring in the first and only issue of the Novembergruppe ’ s journal NG. 2 Höch wrote her Dadaist travel report in response to a six-week trip she had made to Italy from early October to mid-November 1920. Her three-page account offers a bitingly sarcastic parody of the political, social, and cultural post-World War I relations between Germany and Italy. . Höch portrays Germans as isolationist: clinging strongly to their own traditions, not wanting to participate in those of other cultures, and, in the case of those in the northern Tyrolean region, certainly not willing to assimilate to a culture they were forced to adopt as the result of a lost war. Given the critical ways in which the German Dadaists spoke of their own culture, one might expect Höch to view Italians with higher regard than Germans, but this is not articulated in her report. While she praises Italian food and architecture over that of German, for example, the Italians she describes are subject to criticisms similar to those she levies at the Germans. Interestingly the reviewer of the Groteskenlesen does not mention Goethe ’ s Italienische Reise, but Höch certainly wrote her Italienreise with Goethe in mind. In addition to Goethe ’ s travel account, Höch also references contemporary genres of travel writing, specifically the popular Baedeker guides. However, unlike many travel writers, Höch does not try to bring order to a world she characterizes as «zerwühlt» (LCII 2: 60). Instead Höch used Dadaist writing and collage and the genre of the literary grotesque as a subversive framework to structure her travel report. She juxtaposed nonsensical phrases against seemingly objective and factual observations in order to demonstrate the effects of World War I on the landscape and people of both Italy and Germany. As I will show, it is not simply a matter of what Höch wrote about, but how she wrote: her tone of nonsensical Dadaist belligerence and critique, as well as abrupt and bewildering changes of subject, all function to disorient and destabilize any sense of linear narrative or perspectival coherence on the part of the listener and reader. This sensation of destabilization or of being zerwühlt is inherent to modernity in general and the post-World War I, Dadaist world in which Höch lived in particular. The Dadaists, by way of their performances, journals, photo-collages, manifestos and other writings, responded to a world in constant flux. Their creations, most of which were comprised of appropriated text, imagery, found objects, and ideas from popular and high culture, could not «simply coexist with commonsense bourgeois reality and accepted public codes» (Sheppard 42). The Dadaists rejected traditional forms of art, especially if it was contemporaneous; they also rejected traditional ways of responding to historical art. This did not necessarily diminish the significance of art, but it was their belief that art could, or should, no longer provide the kind of experience it had previously. Höch and her Dada colleagues were not interested in the reproduction of life frozen on canvas or captured in sculptural form. Their interest was in the collision of art and life, not the separation of art from life. What is more, their movement was a reaction against World War I: its «Materialschlacht» and the events, ideas, and culture dating back to the Enlightenment that brought about the war (Dickerman 3). One way to explain Dada is to say that the Dadaists created nonsense in order to combat the nonsense of the world. Another is to say that the Dadaists revealed «the symptoms of modernity» (Dickerman 9) by using the tactics of the «traumatic mime,» who «assumes the dire conditions of his time [. . .] and inflates them through hyperbole» (Foster 169). Leah Dickerman, drawing upon Foster ’ s notion of the mime, observes how Dada, as it made visible the symptoms of modernity, did so «often a decade or so before [these symptoms] became common topics within written cultural commentary» (Dickerman 9). Walter Benjamin ’ s observations are apt here. The Dadaists actively worked against the idea of art as a vehicle for contemplation; instead Dadaist works were comprised of «word-salad» - verbal and visual refuse that «jolted the viewer» and destroyed any sense of aura traditional to a work of art. Dadaist work was «branded as a reproduction through the very means of its reproduction» and, Benjamin noted, the only requirement of Dada was to «outrage the public» (Benjamin 39). Outrage and, along with it, subversion 304 Melissa Johnson were enacted by «breaking down language, working against various modern economies, willfully transgressing boundaries, mixing idioms, [and] celebrating the grotesque body as that which resists discipline and control» (Dickerman 11). With this in mind, I suggest that Höch ’ s travel report reflects the Dadaist belief in the impossibility of life continuing as it previously had after World War I. Thus, Goethe and his writings could no longer have the same meaning, and likewise, travel to Italy could no longer signify the same, nor be experienced in the same way. For Goethe, travel to Italy was a way to restore in himself a sense of perceptual and intellectual balance, and he articulates this desire again and again in his Italienische Reise. In her Italienreise, Höch demonstrates what it meant to be a German Dadaist traveling in Italy after World War I: one ’ s experience of the world was now grotesque; it was Dada. Höch «wrote back» (Hilger 2009) to and rewrote Goethe, and at the same time, was also rewriting the Baedeker guidebook that she carried with her. Most importantly, whereas Goethe stressed a feeling of continuity between himself and the classical past, Höch, by insistently referencing the war, emphasized a sense of discontinuity, thus reflecting the chaos of the world back upon itself. Everything she wrote was seemingly interrupted by a Dadaist voice. Höch clearly intended the listener and reader of her travel report to make the connection with Goethe ’ s account. The title Höch gave her report - Italienreise - almost, but not quite, duplicates Goethe ’ s - Italienische Reise - and in her second paragraph Höch references the many «lyrischen Hampelmännern» and «literarischen Farbklexer» who, throughout history, have traveled to Italy. She also invokes Tischbein ’ s portrait of Goethe in the Campania (1787): «Aber sie meinen das Bild ‹ Goethe in der Campania › sei doch sehr ergreifend; gewiss, wie er so das Dichterbein hineinstreckt - parallel der Via Appia - es ist um das Fieber zu kriegen ergreifend» (LCII 2: 59). It is not Goethe the man, but Goethe as representation that Höch invokes, and so she firmly establishes a link between her report and Goethe ’ s Italienische Reise. She makes this connection even stronger with her use of the word Fieber, which must be a reference to the idea of «Reisefieber»: one need only look at Tischbein ’ s portrait of Goethe, Höch insists, and the fever for travel sets in. These are the only instances in which Höch refers directly to Goethe; but she wrote about many of the same subjects that Goethe did, and like many travel writers Höch consistently compared what she knew (Germany) with what she saw in Italy. Subjects in common include: the ruins of classical antiquity, landscape, tourist sites, architecture, public monuments, food, handicrafts, people (their clothing, hairstyles, and char- 305 Italy zerwühlt: Hannah Höch ’ s Dadaist Italienreise acteristics), and national identity. But Höch set her travel account apart from Goethe ’ s in two important respects: her references to the war and her refusal to talk about art. While Höch recorded visits to museums in her travel diary, art is absent from her published travel account. She explained why in a postscript written to be appended to her essay in NG: Aber, wo bleibt die Kunst, fragen Sie, novembergrupplerisch angehauchter Leser, die hat doch in Italien die Hauptrolle zu spielen. Das hat doch der Deutsche mit dem Engländer gemein, dass er soviele Bilder Gallerien ‹ geniesst › bis er etwas angedummt zurückkommt. Ja, die Kunst ist noch immer vorhanden - und auch mir liefen die Michel-Angelos, die Botticellis die Signorellis die Tizians und viele, viele andere über den Weg, aber, das Leben meine Herrschaften, das Leben ist die Hauptsache so wichtig. Ein Maler hat doch der Filter zu sein, durch den seine eigene Zeit läuft und sein Werk wird das Stück Leben zeigen, dass er filterte. Interessant ist eine Reproduction des Lebens zu sehen - wichtiger aber ist mir das Stück Leben Geschehen selbst - durch dass ich tappe. Es lebe [die Novembergruppe]. H. H. (LCII 2: 63) 3 While Höch ’ s postscript was not published in the Novembergruppe ’ s journal, it articulates her desire to represent her experience of Italy not through its art - specifically painting and sculpture - which only acts as a filter, but rather through firsthand experiences. While Goethe wrote extensively about art in his travel account, Höch makes clear that she did not want to; she wanted to experience life. The difference between Goethe and Höch may be explained thus: Goethe, who had seen reproductions of art in the form of prints and read about art in books, did not seem to think twice about duplicating the reproduction of experience in his own writing. He discusses the art he sees in museums and chapels at great length, and throughout his travels compares the art he is seeing for the first time with what he has seen in reproductions and read about in books (Italienische Reise 25). He notes the location of the art and freely offers his opinion. However, while Goethe wished to find order in the world through contemplation of art and the Italian landscape, for example, the Berlin Dadaists wished to reflect the chaos of the world back onto itself. As noted, they viewed art as bourgeois, and they dismissed it as a mode of expression almost entirely because it represented the tastes of the bourgeoisie. Höch never entirely gave up her interest in aesthetics, but the anti-aesthetic of Dada comes through clearly in her postscript and her travel report. In what follows I examine Höch ’ s travel report for how she directly addressed World War I and its effects, specifically as the subject of war intersects with the topics of 306 Melissa Johnson landscape, architecture and public monuments, food, and national identity. Comparing how Höch wrote about these topics with Goethe ’ s ideas demonstrates how zerwühlt the world had become. First, however, I offer a brief account of the actual travels Höch and Goethe undertook, their reasons for traveling, and an overview of the genre of travel writing in order to better situate Höch ’ s account. Höch began to plan her trip to Italy in late 1919 when her sister Grete wrote to invite Hannah and the Swiss poet Regina Ullmann to accompany her (LC I, 1: 609). The trip was a much-needed break for Höch from her difficult relationship with Hausmann, as well as a break from the Dada group in general. Dada was certainly very important to Höch, but her relationship with her Dadaist colleagues was not easy. Despite participating in the Groteskenlesen and having the support of both Hausmann and Friedländer, several of the male Berlin Dadaists marginalized Höch ’ s membership in the group, referring to the 30-year old woman as the «good girl» of Dada (Lanchner 129). This understandably frustrated Höch. Thus, like Goethe, Höch ’ s travels offered a time for escape and personal reflection. While Höch traveled for only one month - a short time compared to Goethe ’ s two years - and went to fewer places than Goethe, all of the sites she visited overlapped with Goethe ’ s itinerary, and like Goethe her final destination was Rome. Höch set out from Berlin on October 7, traveling to Munich and then Mariabrunn, a town north of Munich where Grete lived. The two sisters met up with Ullmann, who lived in Munich, and spent ten days in southern Germany visiting friends. On October 17, 1920, armed with, among other things, a Baedeker and a Meyer Sprachführer, Höch and the two women took a train to Innsbruck, Austria, and then to Brennero, from where they traveled south into Italy. 4 They hiked to Trento, took a steamship down Lake Garda to Maderno, and then walked east to Peschiera where they took a train to Verona. From Verona the three traveled to Venice, remained there a few days, and then continued on to Bologna. Once in Bologna, Grete returned to Germany, and Ullmann and Höch continued on, each by herself. Höch went to Florence for three days, and finally spent nine days in Rome. Höch ’ s trip to Italy was the first of many travels she made during the Weimar era as she mentions in her Lebensüberblick of 1956 (Lavin 213). Höch ’ s trip helped her begin to establish a sense of artistic and personal independence. She sought out a number of artists and intellectuals while in Italy, thus establishing herself firmly in the European avant-garde community. Goethe had long wished to travel to Rome. His father had traveled to Italy in 1740, and the son had grown up with his father ’ s souvenirs and stories. 307 Italy zerwühlt: Hannah Höch ’ s Dadaist Italienreise Goethe finally realized his desire in 1786 when, wearied by his courtly duties, in a crisis over his relationship with Charlotte von Stein, and experiencing a sense of creative frustration (Cusack 29), he slipped out of Weimar in the middle of the night, traveling on his own by post carriage. Rome was his destination and he traveled purposefully to reach the city. Upon his arrival Goethe noted how he had «flown over the Tyrolean mountains» and, while he came to know some places well - Verona, Vicenza, Padua and Venice, for example - he spent very little time elsewhere; only three hours in Florence (Italienische Reise 125 — 26). Once in Rome Goethe felt calm, ready to absorb all that he could. By making this journey Goethe hoped to bring his senses of perception and intellect into balance through a gathering of anthropological knowledge obtained by moving through the world, what Andrew Cusack describes as a «Menschenkentniss» (28). Goethe ’ s journey may be described as a Bildungsreise: an education gained through travel for the emerging middle class. This new form of travel involved a way of learning that stood in direct contrast to the kind of knowledge gained by aristocrats traveling on the Grand Tour: namely, the study of collections of objects gathered from around the world and brought to one place (20). Rome felt familiar to Goethe, but only as «parts» gained through secondhand knowledge. Now he was seeing the whole in situ, rather than mediated by textual and visual reproductions of the landscape, classical antiquity, and works of art (Italienische Reise 126). This sense of wholeness was important for Goethe, and Cusack remarks that Goethe wished for his sense of a whole self «either to be developed or restored» (30). Goethe would codify this new way of learning in his Wilhelm Meisters Lehrjahre (1795 — 96). Goethe ’ s Wilhelm, observes Cusack, would learn from Werner how to view the world in terms of «dynamic» rather than «static» processes, and in his search for «useful empirical data» Wilhelm himself was «set in motion» (20). This knowledge could be obtained only through the kind of meandering journey that Goethe ’ s fictional character makes and which Goethe conceived in Italy and then articulated in his Italienische Reise as «einen Erziehungsroman über sich» (30). The genre of travel writing exists in many forms: narrative travel accounts, correspondences, diaries, poems, and novels, as well as travel guidebooks and journalistic travel writing. While some writings reflect upon actual travels and may function as a guide for future travelers or as a source of information for those who stay at home, the actual trip and the written narrative, though perhaps close, never match. The written text is always a construction based upon the writer ’ s perception of the culture he or she experiences, the historical context of the travel, as well as the experiences of the reader (Brenner qtd. in Hochmeister 5). Nevertheless, travel writing, in a traditional 308 Melissa Johnson sense, does several things: it helps the writer make sense of her travel experience; it provides, through the techniques of writing, a «credibility» and «rhetorical authenticity» (Schulz-Forberg 25); and «it orders a multifarious experience into a manageable document» (Roberson 61). Travel accounts are texts that aim «at the construction of knowledge» through a gathering of empirical information (Mondada 65). They place the reader/ observer «in a certain position at a certain point,» notes Mondada, by relying upon techniques of vision and visual inscriptions made from that vision (64). Maps are one example, but other visual illustrations, such as drawings or prints, may be included with a published text, while paintings, often in the form of watercolors, might be included in a diary or sketchbook. All of these kinds of travel writing rely upon the assumption that the travel account is trustworthy (or at least pretends to be), and will be of practical use for a later traveler (67). Susan Roberson invokes Goethe when she remarks upon a «kinship between travel and writing» that is «most evident in the Romantic era, notably in Germany and France» (69). However, Goethe was neither the first German to travel to Italy and to write about it, nor was he the last. Italy has had a privileged position in the German imagination, and Goethe and his Italienische Reise have been especially important for Germans, travel, and travel writing. Gretchen Hochmeister argues that in no other place has the «literary representation» of a country been «so bound to one individual ’ s experience as is the German ’ s to Goethe» (2). Eichendorff, Platen, and Heine responded to Goethe in their own writings within a relatively short period of time (1825 — 1831), and numerous other Germans continued «to visit, flee to, and write about Italy,» thus «participa[ting] in and engag[ing] with a long tradition of writers before them» (Hochmeister 3). 5 Goethe ’ s account is also significant in that it marks the beginning of the Bildungsreise, or educational travel, for the bourgeoisie (Cusack 20, Koshar 22). While the bourgeoisie could and did look to Goethe ’ s account for instruction on how to understand Italy, by the mid-nineteenth century new technologies like the train made it possible for the middle class to travel, and popular guidebooks like Baedeker ’ s offered a new primer that told people what to see and how to see it. While the Baedeker guides had the effect of standardizing travel (it was possible to structure a journey entirely according to what the Baedeker guide directed one to see and do), they also may be understood as a kind of «complex ‹ intertext › marked by traces of the travelogue, atlas, geographical survey, art-history guide, restaurant and hotel guide, tourist brochure, address book, and civic primer» (Koshar 16). And so, despite the possibility for standardized travel, Koshar argues for the 309 Italy zerwühlt: Hannah Höch ’ s Dadaist Italienreise Baedeker guidebook to be seen as «a space for significant individual practice» on the part of the tourist (2). Rudy Koshar describes this tourist as gendered, as «the citizen of a national political community» with whom he or she has «experiences in common with travelers from other nations,» and, calling upon Michel de Certeau, as «a reader - and a potentially very autonomous cultural ‹ producer › » (9). Thus, not only was the Baedeker guidebook a hybrid text, but the travel taken by its readers/ consumers also had the capacity to be marked as hybrid, especially when the sensation of displacement - an inherent aspect of travel, but also modernity - is taken into account (9). Koshar, of course, is responding to the long-standing discussion regarding the tourist versus the traveler. With the emergence of the Bildungsreise, this distinction between traveler and tourist - one made by Goethe himself - became pronounced, and by the Weimar era was firmly established. German cultural critic Siegfried Kracauer, in fact, made a clear distinction between Goethe (a «real» traveler who «traveled with his soul») and the «modern traveler» (who traveled not to reach a destination but only for the novelty of being in a foreign place) in his 1925 essay «Travel and Dance» (65). This «modern traveler» is understood as the tourist. By offering Goethe as model for his «real» traveler, Kracauer seemed to imply the impossibility for an individual living in the 1920s to travel as a «real» person, for, as he believed, the modern individual had lost his or her soul. Yet this proves not to be the case. Later in his essay, Kracauer describes the «real» person in more detail. This «real» person exists in space but, unlike the modern traveler, does not define himor herself according to an activity of specific duration - a vacation or a dance, for example. Instead, Kracauer explains, the «real» person «is committed to eternity,» leading «a ‹ double existence › in the Here and the Beyond» (69). Travel may have meaning in the modern era, he suggests, but if a «real» person were to travel in 1925 he or she would not undertake travel as a substitution for reality (70), traveling only for the sake of speed and travel itself (66). The «real» person would travel and reflect on what he or she saw with reference to something other than him or herself. This traveler would see where he or she was, understand what was seen, and articulate ideas about travel in some meaningful form: through travel accounts, written diaries and correspondence, and in visual works of art. Höch ’ s Italienreise clearly does not offer an equivalent experience of Kracauer ’ s «real» traveler, but instead seems to suggest, avant la lettre, that the kind of travel Kracauer desired was not possible in the years just after World War I. What was possible was a traveler able to reflect critically upon the travel she undertook. Both Höch and Goethe carried guidebooks with them. Goethe had his Volkmann and he referenced it often in his travel account: he referred to it as 310 Melissa Johnson an authoritative source of historical facts, he used it in Bologna as a checklist of things to see (Italienische Reise 103), but he also utilized it as a source to question and debunk. Höch had her Baedeker, but referred to it only once when writing about Lake Garda. Like Goethe and the Baedeker, she remarks on the lemon trees growing upon the shore, and after some commentary on the usefulness of lemons for the treatment of colds and sore throats, she offers a description of the lake that resonates closely with that of Baedeker ’ s: «Dass der Lago di Garda mit den deutschen Seen nur die Nässe gemein hat möchte ich noch erwähnen, im übrigen steht im Baedecker - azurblau» (LC II, 2: 60). Most likely Höch carried the 1908 edition of Baedekers Italien von den Alpen bis Neapal; it was the last published before World War I. This edition directs the traveler, as she rides in the train, to «L. Blick auf den tiefblauen Gardasee» (Baedeker 53). On the next page Baedeker describes the lake in more detail and proclaims: «Das Wasser erscheint meist azurblau» (54). In her account, Höch spoofs the Baedeker. Instead of remarking, as Baedeker does, on the wind that disturbs the surface of the water, she comments on the great difference between German and Italian lakes: they only have wetness in common. Goethe also describes Lake Garda, but it is the picturesque view from his room that he presents, and then referring to his Volkmann, he notes the lake ’ s former name - Benacus - and cites Virgil ’ s mention of it, noting that this is the first ancient text that has become real to him (Italienische Reise 29). In doing so Goethe stresses the sense of continuity between the landscape he sees with that of ancient Rome. Höch also describes the landscape that she sees along the shores of Lake Garda. However, in contrast to Goethe, Höch remarks on the changes wrought in the landscape by battles fought during the war, and thus stresses a sense of radical discontinuity with history, rather than the continuity stressed by Goethe. Aber dann kommt Trient und das Kriegsgebiet, bis zum Gardasee. Ja, ja die Kultur ist eine schöne Sache und wenn man die Granateinschläge mitten hinein in die Dolomiten sieht, so denkt man an diese Filigranstadt Venedig und dass die Menschheit doch sehr zivilisiert ist, da sie zufällig nicht hineingefunkt hat - und also der Markusplatz bis auf weiteres von Scharen von Hochzeitsreisenden aller fünf Erdteile heimgesucht werden kann. Dagegen legt Riva am Gardasee beredtes Zeugnis von der Kulturarbeit dieser herrlichsten Erfindung ‹ Mörser › ab. (LC II, 2: 60) The area of the Dolomite Mountains, which includes Lake Garda, was the arena where the Italians successfully fought the Austrians and Germans during World War I, and Höch stresses the transformation of this landscape. While she refers to the same location that Goethe describes and refers to 311 Italy zerwühlt: Hannah Höch ’ s Dadaist Italienreise similar aspects (the lemon trees, the beauty of the lake and the mountains), her discussion becomes Dadaist because of the rupture brought about by the war. She mimics Goethe in order to reveal the effects of the war. The mortar holes that now riddle the mountains remind her of Venice, with its lacy filigree of architectural ornamentation, or, taking Höch ’ s expertise in needlework and handicraft into consideration, perhaps she is making a reference to Venetian lace. It could be either. Regardless, Höch ’ s spoof of both Goethe and Baedeker transgresses the boundaries of traditional travel writing. Höch ’ s Italienreise could not have functioned as a guidebook for someone traveling through Italy in 1920 or 1921 for it would not have been of any practical use. Yet Höch seems to be rewriting the Baedeker and «writing back» to Goethe as Stephanie Hilger (2009) asserts when Höch makes allusions to both accounts, and utilizes the places mentioned and the accompanying landscape, people, food, architecture, and cultural landmarks to construct a Dadaist literary grotesque that, while it responds to Goethe also attacks the cultural position many Germans assigned to the author in the early twentieth century. As one of the most important figures for German cultural history, Goethe had an enormous impact on many German modernist and avant-garde artists and writers of the late nineteenthand early twentieth-centuries, including the Dadaists, many of whom were members of, or were born into, the middle classes. As such, they were educated in the classical canon of German cultural heritage, the «custodians» of which included «the holy trinity of Goethe, Schiller and Lessing,» as well as Kant and Herder (qtd. in Sheppard 19). Dada, Richard Sheppard notes, «trod a very fine line between subverting and reinscribing what it attacked» and could not completely escape «at least some of the attitudes and values that they had inherited either from the project of modernity before it went dramatically wrong or from even older sources» (26). Thus, in their writings and other Dadaist creations, Höch, Hugo Ball, Richard Huelsenbeck, Hausmann, and Kurt Schwitters all invoked Goethe and his contemporaries as a way to respond both with and against modernity. 6 That Goethe had significance for Höch beyond her travel report is demonstrated clearly in her 1922 collage Meine Haussprüche. 7 In this piece Höch drew upon the Wilhelmine feminine tradition of embroidering towels with house-sayings that instructed one how to live a good life (Reagin 73). Nancy Reagin has noted that some of these towels had lines from treatises by Schiller, Goethe, and Campe urging «order, cleanliness and thrift» as virtues of the housewife (73). Rather than copy the traditional sayings, Höch populated her collage with quotes by her Dadaist colleagues as well as a quote from Goethe and Friedrich Nietzsche each. Höch transcribed some lines 312 Melissa Johnson from a letter Goethe wrote to his wife Christiane in May, 1810. The lines from Höch ’ s collage read: «Wer sich nährt [sic], den stosst nicht zurück [sic], und wer sich entfernt [sic], den haltet nicht zurück, und wer wieder kommt, den nehmt auf, als aber nicht weg-gewesen wäre.» 8 The «proverbs» are written across the surface of colored papers and images that Höch pasted down: a crucifix, a ball-bearing, a clock, an astronomical map, a landscape, a reference to the Malik Verlag run by brothers Wieland Herzfelde and John Heartfield, beetles, lace and embroidery patterns, what appear to be children ’ s drawings, a photograph of a baby, and illustrations of a needlework stitch. Höch placed her photographic self-portrait between the quotes by Goethe and Nietzsche perhaps indicating the importance of their ideas for her and her Dadaist colleagues. Here again, Höch draws upon the Dadaist tactic of mimicry discussed earlier, a tactic that is related to general ideas about modernism. Sheppard, paraphrasing Frederic Jameson ’ s observations that modernism must be approached dialectically, writes that «modernist works are not just reflexes, transcriptions, or symptoms of a profound cultural upheaval, but, simultaneously, responses through which the authors of those works try to pictorialize, conceptualize, and make sense of that upheaval»(Sheppard 23). Höch works through the upheaval of World War I by referring to the texts, attitudes, and values of modernity, here represented by the various housesayings «embroidered» upon the surface of the Dadaist collage. The reference to embroidery is solidified by the illustration of the stitching, which has been identified as the «Zopfstitch,» a variation on the cross-stitch that Höch used as a metaphor for Dada (Schaschke 122). For Höch and her Dadaist colleagues, the tactic of mimicry is an important part of their strategic response and, I want to suggest, a connection between mimicry and the literary grotesque. Höch ’ s choice to write in the genre of the literary grotesque is not surprising. Her photo collages depended on elements of the grotesque for their formal and conceptual structure. The literary grotesque was pervasive in the early twentieth century; Paul Scheerbart, Else Lasker-Schüler, Franz Kafka, Klabund (Alfred Henschke), Christian Morgenstern, and Salomo Friedländer, who organized the Grotesklesen in Berlin, all wrote in the genre, and Höch owned many of their books as Hans Bolliger (1980) shows. Höch ’ s familiarity with this literary form would continue through the 1920s: Hausmann, Thomas Ring, Kurt Schwitters, and Til Brugman all authored grotesques, and Höch illustrated some of Brugman ’ s. Höch ’ s Italienreise is similar to her friends ’ grotesques, which were «[g]enerally three to ten pages in length,» and made «use of the bizarre, the ridiculous, and the excessive in their allusions to contemporary events» (Makela, «Grotesque» 206). The 313 Italy zerwühlt: Hannah Höch ’ s Dadaist Italienreise literary grotesque is associated with strange, bizarre, and fantastic forms; humor, suddenness and surprise are three of its essential elements. The strangeness of the grotesque has to do with our world - or our perceptions of the world - ceasing to be both reliable and a place in which we can live. Wolfgang Kayser notes that «the various forms of the grotesque are the most obvious and pronounced contradictions of any kind of rationalism and any systematic use of thought» (Kayser 185). The grotesque is, explains Philip Thomson, an «unresolved clash of incompatibles in work and response,» and he notes further that the grotesque «tends to be prevalent in societies and eras marked by strife, radical changes or disorientation» (Thomson 27, 11). Thomas O. Haakenson, in his essay on Salomo Friedländer ’ s grotesques, writes that the genre «should be understood in dialectical opposition to prevailing aesthetic standards» (145) and that humor was especially important for how it provoked «an embodied, individual response [. . .] that speaks directly to and against sensory standardization» (141). Furthermore, within that response lies the possibility of a «moment of critical reflection» (144) that would encourage an individual «to question judgments not only of aesthetics but also logic and reason» (Haakenson 145). In other words, the grotesque can be seen to function as a Dadaist tactic in that, through strategies of juxtaposition, parody and satire, it seeks to shift the habits of sense perception that had become acculturated in society to reflect a world become absurd and bizarre. Thus, because the grotesque has the capacity to provoke critical reflection, I suggest that the grotesque literary form, intertwined with these Dadaist tactics, allowed Höch ’ s travel report to reflect the experiences of Kracauer ’ s «real» traveler, albeit five years before Kracauer ’ s essay was published. It would be impossible for anyone to live in the chaotic world Höch constructs in her Italienreise. Höch had just lived through World War I and had served with the Red Cross. The war ’ s effects were evident in and on the landscape and its inhabitants in both Germany and Italy, and Höch brought the war into her travel report again and again unlike Goethe, who traveled during a time of peace. As noted, Goethe ’ s focus was on the idealized landscape of antiquity. He had no interest in the Italy of his time, except for what it could show him of continued traditions. The war is so central to Höch ’ s account that she brings it into her very first sentence: Mit wem es irgend ein Gott gut meint, den lässt er auf die Höhe der sogenannten Alpen gelangen - auch bei den ungünstigsten deutschen Valutaverhältnissen - un [sic] dann, von der heutigen Station Brennero, bis vor sehr kurzem noch österreichisch [sic] Brenner, diese schneezipfliche, sich mordsüberheblich benehmende Völkerscheide Alpen, von der sich auch so überheblich benehmenden 314 Melissa Johnson Kreatur Mensch genannt, abwärts laufen, direkt in dieses gottgesagnete [sic] Land Italia hinein. (LC II, 2: 59) By opening her travel report this way Höch references the actual route that she and countless other travelers used to reach Italy from Germany. She transports her listeners over the Brenner Pass into territory that, before the war, had been Austrian but was now Italian. This shift in national identity established a new language border, and Höch refers clearly to this change when she notes that the present-day station of Brennero used to be called the Brenner. She seems to make the Alps responsible for this: they are «so-called» and «population-splitting.» In the next sentences Höch refers to Tischbein ’ s portrait and the German poets and painters, but then, she censors herself; she seems to consider what she has written so far as dangerous and turns to the topic of food instead, writing: «Ich aber will sehr harmlose Dinge erzählen - von der Rosteria in der es in Oel gesottenen Blumenkohl für sehr geringes Geld gibt [. . .]» (LC II, 2: 59). Food, however, is not as «harmless» as Höch had hoped and her discussion veers back to the political context of the war: «und so - während doch ein deutscher Magen hauptsächlich voll Kartoffeln gestopft wird - und dabei soll dann mein armes Vater- und Mutterland nicht schwermütig und -blutig werden und - Kriege verlieren» (LC II, 2: 59). The grammar and syntax of this sentence does not make sense; it is as if Höch loses track of what she is saying and stutters her way through to the end of the sentence. She picks up her thread on the consequences of the war in her next paragraph: Aber zunächst da kommt man nach Bozen und erlebte in all den vormalig südtiroler Tälern die grössten Konflikte mit, die dieses biedre [sic] Tirolervolk jetzt zerwühlt, weil der Geldbeutel nach Italien schreit, das Herz aber tendiert nach Norden - und mit vierzig Jahren soll man noch italienisch lernen - das is zu viel - und doch - die deutsche Valuta — italieno, wenn sich der Weltmarkt wieder etwas ausgeglichen hat, dann schlägt das Herz unter dem buntgestickten Hosenträger wieder deutsch, die da oben vergessen dann gar bald die Annehmlichkeiten deines diplomatischen Bestechungsverfahrens - aber was gehts mich an. (LC II, 2: 60) Again Höch references the shift in national borders that effects «worthy Tyrolean folk» who, before the war were Austrian but now are Italian and find themselves having to learn a new language and trade in a new currency. Their lives are «zerwühlt,» turned upside down by the war. As with the shift from Brenner to Brennero, Höch writes about Bolzano, but instead of calling the town by its new Italian name, she elects to use its former German name: Bozen. She notes sarcastically, however, that when the economy balances out the world will revert to its former state. 315 Italy zerwühlt: Hannah Höch ’ s Dadaist Italienreise While Höch refuses to write about art in her account she does refer to architecture and public monuments throughout her report, perhaps because they both are situated in the space of the everyday rather than the autonomous realm of art. In her section on Venice she makes clear connections to the recently ended war. Und die Adria spielt hier eine Rolle, und mit mehr Berechtigung als Bethmann- Hollweg einst eine spielte - denn Venedig wäre nicht Venedig, wenn die Adria nicht wäre. Diese Lagunenstadt mit dem Kanal Grande in der kein einziger Wagen rollt, die so tot ist wie es der Militarismus in Deutschland leider nicht ist, und schön, dass der neue Campanile immer zart errötet steht, er kann aber nichts dazu, denn alles ist alt, - er aber ist sooo neu. Drüben aber, Sancta Maria Salute hat so keusche Linien wie - nun sagen wir mal - Rosa Valetti; San Marco aber, innen, Kaiser Wilhelm hätte all die goldenen Mosaiksteinchen für bare Münze ausgegeben und noch drei Jahre Krieg damit gespielt. Auch die vier römischen Pferde wären unter seinen Händen wie die deutschen Kirchenglocken zerflossen: Kugeln sind wichtiger als antike Kunst - ausserdem macht man neues. Zu was leben sonst diese Schinkels; Und für die Colleoni steht Friedrich der Grosse auf dem Pferde und macht sich ebenso schön. (LC II, 2: 61) After discussing the integral relationship Venice has with the Adriatic Sea and making a nonsensical connection to the former Chancellor of the German Empire, Theobald Bethmann-Holweg and the ongoing militarism in Germany, Höch writes about the new Campanile that «blushes» at the beauty of the city and she ironically describes the Baroque church of Sancta Maria Salute as being as «chaste» as Rosa Valetti (1869 — 1937). Höch ’ s statement is tongue-in-cheek for Valetti, a cabaret singer and actress, was known for numbers featuring social criticism and political satire: the songs she performed at the Café Grössenwahn in Berlin were about issues of class, sex, and politics (Jelavich 136). Höch also compares St. Mark ’ s Square with Berlin ’ s Unter den Linden in order to criticize Kaiser Wilhelm for having melted down German church bells during the war to make cannon balls, charging that if he had been in Venice he would have melted down the four horses of San Marco for the same purpose. Sarcastically, she notes that new buildings and sculptures can be built to replace those destroyed. Berlin, in fact, already has its new neoclassical buildings by Karl Friedrich Schinkel, including the Neue Wache along Unter den Linden, situated not far from the equestrian statue of Frederick the Great, which Höch compares to that of Colleoni in Venice. Germany, and Berlin in particular, can try to make itself as great or as interesting as Italy, but it falls short in its architecture and monuments, and in the attitudes of Germans towards the preservation of both. Goethe had high praise for the buildings of classical antiquity and disparaged any newer architecture, especially that found in northern Europe. 316 Melissa Johnson In his entry of October 27 he remarks on the grandeur of the Roman aqueduct at Spoleto that had stood for centuries (Goethe, Italienische Reise 121). The grandeur of the ancient architecture Goethe sees in Italy prompts him to exclaim how correct he had been to despise all «Willkürlichkeiten,» and he constrasts the acqueduct to the Winterkasten on the Wilhelmshöhe near Kassel which he describes as «ein Nichts um Nichts, ein ungeheurer Konfektaufsatz» (122). Goethe ’ s characterization echoes Höch ’ s comment on the new kitschy monument to Vittorio Emanuele in Rome, «welches hier gar arg stört - aber Berlin komplett machen würde; weshalb ich es für eine Aufgabe der Dadaisten halte, es nach dort zu überführen» (LC II, 2: 62). Goethe and Höch both had high praise for the amphitheater in Verona. It is the first important monument of classical antiquity that Goethe sees. He knows that he is seeing something great, but feels that he is seeing nothing; it should have been full of people and Goethe imagines what that would have been like (Goethe, Italienische Reise 40). Höch praises the arena for its «organisch geschichteten Steinmassen» which, in contrast, make her think of the «armselige Gebausel fabriziert» in Berlin and the entire world, except for the skyscrapers in New York, «wie stolz man auf sie ist» (LC II, 2: 60). The Dadaist nature of Höch ’ s report is especially clear in those places where her writing takes on the characteristics of what Walter Benjamin described as «word salad,» «tactile,» and «missile»-like (Benjamin 39). Much like the manifestos of her Dadaist colleagues, Höch ’ s language throughout her report works to destabilize any sense of coherence on the part of both the reader/ listener. Scholars, like Mondada, examining the genre of travel writing for what it is supposed to do, note that the goal is to provide knowledge and certainty (Mondada 65). This coherent self, falsely reinforced by the tradition of Renaissance perspective, could no longer hold true for the Dadaists and Höch made this very clear when she described the experience of being in the Italian landscape, specifically in Bozen. Und Bozen hat die Virglbahn und da schaut man hinunter - und Berlin hat nichts, von wo man hinunterschauen kann, es sei denn die Untergrundbahn; und ein Rosengarten ist auch hier, aber nicht König Laurin seiner, sondern Kaiserin Augusta Viktoria herrscht da und hat ein Korsett an. (LC II, 2: 60) In this passage we find the one instance in her report where Höch refers directly to her actual travels. Höch noted in her travel diary that she, Grete, and Ullmann rode up the Bozener Virglbahn, a funicular railway built in 1907 to provide access to a view of the Dolomite mountain range, specifically of King Laurin ’ s Garden - the chain of mountains that glow red at sunset (LC I, 2: 700). Legend has it that the dwarf King Laurin, in order to hide from his enemies, put a spell on the rose garden that covered his mountains, thus 317 Italy zerwühlt: Hannah Höch ’ s Dadaist Italienreise turning the garden to rock. In one sentence Höch incorporates the Virglbahn into her Italienreise in order to compare Italy to Germany, or more specifically here, Bolzano to Berlin, and the result feels like a ping-pong match between the two cities. Travel writers often make comparisons between their homeland and the places visited as a way to make sense of what they saw and, in the process, make the strange familiar. However, Höch ’ s account defamiliarizes both Italy and Germany when she moves from one location to the other and her writing style shifts from a relatively straightforward voice - «Und Bozen hat die Virglbahn und da schaut man hinunter [. . .]» - to a destabilizing Dadaist voice - «und Berlin hat nichts, von wo man hinunterschauen kann, es sei denn die Untergrundbahn.» The remainder of the sentence is entirely Dadaist: there is a rose garden in Berlin, but it isn ’ t King Laurin ’ s. Instead of King Laurin, the Empress Augusta Viktoria reigns in Berlin, and she wears a corset. What to make of these statements? What does Höch mean? While there may have been many rose gardens in Berlin, perhaps Höch refers to the Arbor of Roses growing in the Berlin Botanical Gardens? Augusta Viktoria was the last German Empress and Queen of Prussia, partner to Kaiser Wilhelm, but why does Höch say that she reigns, and not the Kaiser? Neither was in Berlin in 1921; they had moved to the Netherlands and the only Viktoria in Berlin was the Siegesäule in the Tiergarten. Berliners refer to it as the Viktoria, and the angel on the column wears a corset. The Dadaist collage-like structure of Höch ’ s writing is especially strong in this sentence as Höch veers from one subject to another using the landscape and a sense of place as denotation, but destroying any sense of a possible journey. She begins this section in her paragraph on Bozen with the phrase «die da oben» to reference those in power who, once things return to normal, will revert back to their former ways. When she shifts from the topic of politics to the Bozener Virglbahn, she radically shifts direction, turning north to Berlin. In this up and down movement, from Italy to Germany, and back again, Höch confusingly shifts from «hier» to «da.» At one instant we are at the top of the Virglbahn, and then down in the Berlin subway; «hier» in a Berlin rose garden, and «da» at the Siegessäule. Höch ’ s language, like the «biedre [sic] Tirolervolk» is zerwühlt; she seemingly can ’ t tell «hier» from «da.» But of course Höch ’ s churning up of language is a conscious manipulation of language to express her own experiences of travel and of the post-war world by manipulating and subverting the experience of her listeners and readers so that they recognize how their own sense of the world has been destabilized, and as a result, they become Dada. This destabilized Dadaist self contrasts greatly with the coherent self created through Goethe ’ s description of the Italian landscape. Goethe, well- 318 Melissa Johnson versed in the genre of landscape painting and drawing, understood the meaning of landscape as «the subordination of topographic and cultural features to a single, coherent, dominating gaze» (Beebee 330). Goethe utilized his descriptions of the landscape, on the one hand, to understand how Italians viewed their country, and on the other, to compare the Italian and German landscapes. Again, it is Goethe ’ s intention to find continuity with the world of classical antiquity and to bring his senses into balance. Höch works against any sense of balance and order, even disallowing the use of maps as a means of orienting people through the landscape. For example, in her section on Verona she remarks: «In Verona hat man sich Hinaufschauen abgewöhnt, weil es auf dem Perthes ’ chen Atlas in der Lombardischen Tiefbene liegt» (LC II, 2: 60). In post-war Italy it seems that even the logic of map-reading has been affected by the war. Verona also offers Höch the opportunity to praise the food she discovers in Italy, especially on the Piazza Erbe where one can buy stewed pears, chestnuts, persimmons, puff pastry, fish cooked in oil, baked goods, and, Höch exclaims with delight, «grosse, süsse, o freue dich deutsches Gemüt, Kartoffeln, aber süsse, und nur mal so, zum Pläsier - nicht von wegen - einziges Volksnahrungsmittel» (LC II, 2: 60 - 1). Furthermore, she observes it is possible to shop at midnight on Sundays, «preussische Polizeiordnung hat hier nicht zu gebieten. Jeder kocht und brät für wen und wann es ihm Spas macht - man sagt im Völkerbund sei ’ s ebenso» (LC II, 2: 61). Höch takes aim here at the blandness of German food, implying that Germans eat only for nutrition. The German police aren ’ t there to enforce shop hours and the League of Nations, formed at the end of World War I, has decreed freedom for all where cooking and eating is concerned. Germany, however, will not join the League of Nations until 1926, and, of course, leaves the organization in 1933 when Hitler comes to power. Food, then, is presented as important to national identity, as is eating the right kinds of food. Höch addresses food, politics, and national identity again in the last five sentences of her Italienreise. Höch ’ s paragraph on Rome is the last of her Italienreise, and her final sentences demonstrate just how zerwühlt the experience of travel was for a German Dadaist in postwar Italy. Rome was Höch ’ s final destination and, after she describes aspects of the city and comments on Italian women and men ’ s fashions, she compares the laziness of the Italian man to the Soviet government. This absurd juxtaposition marks the beginning of a final Dadaist crescendo: Denn wenn auch der Italiener ein sehr beweglicher Mann ist, so bringt er doch meistens vor lauter Beweglichkeit nichts zustande es geht ihm ähnlich, wie der 319 Italy zerwühlt: Hannah Höch ’ s Dadaist Italienreise russischen Sowjetregierung, die, wenn sie auch bestrebt ist, das Beste wollend zu probieren, um der Menschheit helfend, mit humanistischem Wollen verbessernd unter die Arme zu greifen bestrebend sich bemüht, doch noch nicht imstande war, die Zigarettenstummel aus den Katakomben zu entfernen, die mich so sehr an das deutsche Vaterland erinnern, weil sie ebenso abgebrannt sind wie dieses. Zur Porta Pia aber kommen herein blaurote Karren, mit köstlichen Aepfeln aber ein echter Alldeutscher isst ja alle Südfrüchte nicht, weil es unpatriotisch ist, und wenn man für Rassereinheit eintritt, so gibt es auch kein Fremdwort und da Italien aus lauter Fremdworten besteht, so ist es im Prinzip abzulehenen. Ich aber sage: Die Welt ist rund. Und so lange nicht die Eskimos in Toskana hausen wird es Chianti geben - weshalb ich meinen Bericht unvermutet schliesse (LC II, 2: 62) What does Höch mean by this comparison between the lazy Italian man and the Soviet government? Are or were there catacombs in the newly-formed Soviet Union, or were Soviets in Rome? And why do cigarette butts, in particular, cause Höch to think of the burnt-out landscape of post-war Germany. Clearly Höch is pitting nonsense against nonsense. Absurdity escalates further when she abruptly turns back to Rome, and remarks upon the «köstlichen» apples to be found in the Porta Pia, but warns «real» Germans against eating them because it would be unpatriotic. She makes clear how ridiculous this is by linking her warning to issues of racial purity and foreignness, and somehow, according to this logic, rejects Italy because Italian is a language foreign to Germans. As should be clear by now, looking for absolute logic or reason in these last sentences would be a mistake. Höch demonstrated throughout her account that logic could no longer guide an individual in understanding his or her place in the world, and so, she leaves her reader/ listener with a description of a world become absurd. At the same time, however, her description is accurately aimed. The «real» German Höch speaks of here is a member of the Alldeutscher Verband, an anti-Semitic, nationalist right-wing group founded in 1891 that was concerned with issues of racial purity, and Italian was being experienced as a foreign language by the «biedre [sic] Tirolervolk» who yearned to be German again. Looking back from our vantage point, Höch ’ s comments are seemingly prescient. Yet there is no way that she could have known how events would unfold over the next few decades. In 1921 Höch was responding to the recent past - the catastrophe of World War I - and she did so by penning a Dadaist grotesque travel account that took as its source Goethe ’ s Italienische Reise. Höch is one of many writers and artists who looked back to Goethe, to the idea of Goethe, his trip, and his account, and then wrote an account of her own travel. Firmly situated in the context of post-World War I Germany and Italy, the Dadaist avant-garde, and contemporary travel writing such as the Baedeker travel guides, Höch wrote an essay that, while indebted to 320 Melissa Johnson Goethe ’ s, was written against its grain. Goethe ’ s Italienische Reise demonstrates how travel and travel writing can establish for both writer and reader a sense of continuity with the past. It can also be used as a means to restore order and harmony to one ’ s sense of the world. Knowledge - perceived as empirical, objective, and unmediated - is obtained through travel such as Goethe ’ s, and conveyed via written travel accounts. Travel writing in its traditional form helps put the world in perspective by providing a logical framework. Höch, by utilizing the tactics of Dada and the genre of the literary grotesque, juxtaposed nonsensical phrases against seemingly objective observations, and wrote an Italienreise that transgresses and subverts the genre of travel writing at a very particular moment in time. In this she was absolutely prescient: World War I marked a moment of rupture; travel could no longer be experienced in the same way. And so Goethe and the genre of travel writing could no longer have the same meaning. For Höch, the world had become zerwühlt. Notes 1 Höch ’ s manuscript is housed in her archival collection at the Berlinische Galerie. A transcript of Hannah Höch ’ s Italienreise is included in Lebenscollage, volume 2, part 2: 59 - 62. The travel report is 1685 words in length, or approximately 3-pages singlespaced. Lebenscollage will be abbreviated as LC, the volumes as I or II, and the parts as 1 or 2. 2 Höch also designed the cover for this issue of NG. For an illustration see LC II, 1: 74. 3 The strikethroughs are original to Höch ’ s text. The last phrase, «die Novembergruppe,» has been erased but is still visible; the archivists at the Berlinische Galerie noted after this phrase «ausradiert. H. H.» 4 Höch, Reisetagebuch 1920 Italien - München. 7. Oktober bis 20. November. Höch Nachlaß, 13.51: 4 - 5. Höch noted her purchase of the Baedeker and Mayer Sprachführer on pages 4 and 5 respectively. This information is not transcribed in the published edition of Höch ’ s Nachlaß. 5 Joseph von Eichendorff, Aus dem Leben eines Taugenichts (1826), August von Platen, Sonette aus Venedig (1825), and Heinrich Heine, Reisebilder (1829,1830, 1831). 6 For these references see the following: Hugo Ball, «Dada Manifesto,» (1916), in Flight Out of Time: A Dada Diary by Hugo Ball, 221; Richard Huelsenbeck, En avant Dada: a history of Dadaism (1920) in Robert Motherwell, The Dada Painters and Poets, an Anthology, 23, 28, and 43; Raoul Hausmann, «Vom neuen, freien Deutschen Reich» (LCI, 13.74, pp. 731 - 34, p. 732), and «Puffke propagiert Proletkult (Die Kunst ist heiter, mein Sohn)» (LC, 13.73, 7. 8. 1920/ 3. 1. 1921, pp. 726 - 31, 8 pp. ms, p.727). Kurt Schwitters, «I and my goals,» (description of Schwitters Merzbau and the «Goethe Grotto») translated in John Elderfield, Kurt Schwitters. London, 1985, 161. 7 For an image and interpretations of Meine Haussprüche see: Nentwig (2007), Schaske (2007), and Schulz (1989). 321 Italy zerwühlt: Hannah Höch ’ s Dadaist Italienreise 8 The lines that Goethe wrote to Christiane are slightly different, and read: «Wer sich nährt, den stosst nicht zurück, und wer sich entfernt, den haltet nicht fest, und wer wiederkommt, den nehmt auf, als wenn er nicht weg gewesen wäre.» (Goethe, Briefwechsel 123) Works Cited Baedeker, Karl. Italien von den Alpen bis Neapel. Kurzes Reisehandbuch von Karl Baedeker. 6 th ed. Leipzig: Verlag, 1908. Ball, Hugo. «Dada Manifesto, Zurich, July 14, 1916.» Flight Out of Time. Ed. John Elderfield. Berkeley: U of California P, 1996. Beebee, Thomas O. «Ways of Seeing Italy: Landscapes of Nation in Goethe ’ s ‹ Italienische Reise › and Its Counter-Narratives.» Monatshefte 94.3 (Fall 2002): 322 - 45. 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