Origins of Originality: Richard Wagner and the German Tradition
Presented to the Wagner Society of Washington DC, February 14, 2002
by Donald H. Crosby
Wagner has been called "The most original genius of the 19th century," and having spent much of my professional life in the 19th century I have always been fascinated by that description, so much so, in fact, that I have used it myself here and there in lectures on Wagner. Only recently, however, it occurred to me that mindless repetition of a phrase breeds bad thinking habits, and so I have subjected this description to critical evaluation, and tonight I would like to share some thoughts on the subject with you. One has to begin, I think, with Clintonian parsing of the phrase "most original genius of the 19th century." What constitutes 'the 19th century," and what do we mean by "original?" Beethoven and Goethe both lived well into the 19th century, and since the originality of each is beyond question, are they in the running for the title of "most original genius?" Or do we dismiss Beethoven and Goethe because each was born and fledged as an artist in the 18th century? What about the one-time Wagner protégé Friedrich Nietzsche, surely one of the most original thinkers of his day? Does Nietzsche compete, or does the fact that he was "only" a philosopher--actually he had other talents-disqualify him?
And then there is that word original. . . . If by original we mean one of a kind, nobody remotely like him, a law to himself, in short: unique. . .then that description fits Richard Wagner to a "t"--or rather to a "w." But if original suggests that someone came out of the blue, like Superman from the planet Krypton, with no antecedents, no linkage or obligations to anything or anyone who preceded him, then this description, when applied to Richard Wagner, requires some modification. . .
There is, for example, the matter of Wagner's choice of themes for his music dramas: with the exception of Der fliegende Hölländer--Wagner's plots derive either in part or in their entirety from medieval themes. Lohengrin, Tannhäuser, Tristan und Isolde, Parsifal, and Der Ring des Nibelungen all have their roots in the twelfth century, and even Die Meistersinger, set in a later historical time, looks back to Germany's medieval past. Had Wagner created these themes in his febrile imagination, that would indeed be a mark of originality, but the fact is that these themes were all to be found in a treasure trove of German medieval literature that was ripe for the taking!
Among the fruits of the "Golden Age" of German medieval literature were three works that have become part of the canon of world literature: Wolfram von Eschenbach's Parzifal, Gottfried von Strasburg's Tristan und Isolde, and the Nibelungenlied. Complementing these works was a very large body of courtly love poetry now grouped under the title of Minnesang, and two of the best-known Minnesänger are well known-at least by name-to all Wagnerites. They are: Wolfram von Eschenbach, who of course turns up in Tannhäuser, and Walter von der Vogelweide, who is the model for his namesake in Die Meistersinger, Walter von Stolzing.
As a rear-guard Romantic--and a Romantic he certainly was!--Wagner was obviously very much in debt to the poets and scholars who had rescued the German medieval past from obscurity . Equally obvious, however, is the fact that by giving visibilty and permanence to the legends of Lohengrin, Tannhäuser, Tristan and Isolde, and Parsifal, Richard Wagner--notorious as a deadbeat-- repaid that debt a hundredfold-and with interest! These tales, after all, were often only a starting point for Richard Wagner, his own rich imagination and rich life-experiences were at least as important for the development of his music dramas as the ancient texts. The passion that drives Tristan und Isolde, for example, owes at least as much to Wagner's own infatuation with Mathilde Wesendonk as it does to Gottfried von Strasburg's text. The names "Lohengrin" and "Tannhäuser" would be gathering dust in university seminar rooms were it not for the music dramas of Richard Wagner. As for "Parsifal": ask the most highbrow German intellectual to give an instant association with that title, he would surely be more likely to blurt out "Richard Wagner" than "Wolfram von Eschenbach!"
I haven't included Die Meistersinger in my discussion so far because it really doesn''t belong to the medieval period, although some scholars extend the "Middle Ages" to include the 16th century. The 16th century, however, differed markedly from the Medival period. The 16th century is a transitional century, a pivitol century, and there is something dark and mysterious about it. It is the century of Paracelsus and Dr. Faustus, of Götz von Berlichingen, of Ulrich von Hutten, of Erasmus and Martin Luther. It is full of contradictions: cheek by jowl we find chemistry and alchemy, astronomy and astrology. the spirit of inquiry and the horror of the Inquisition.
For Germany, the 16th century marked a return to greatness, or near greatness, in many areas. First of all there was the Reformation, a monumental change that energized all strata of German life. As a spin-off of the Reformation there was the brilliant Bible translation of Martin Luther, a translation that created the foundation of modern German; the 16th century ushered in a rare period of great German painting, with Albrecht Dürer, the Holbeins, and the Cranachs; the 16th century marked the rekindling of German literature, with Hans Sachs and the Meistersinger. The 16th century also saw the transformation of cities such as Nürnberg into societal entities resembling modern cities, with hospitals, orphanages, and workers associations resembling trade unions. In greater or lesser degree, Wagner's Meistersinger pays tribute to each of these manifestations of German greatness.
Few people, one suspects, come away from Die Meistersinger aware that Wagner has paid tribute to Albrecht Dürer and, by extension, the other great German painters of the era. But there he is, at the beginning of the First Act.
When Eva tells Magdalena that Walter von Stolzing reminds her of " the David in the portrait" Magdalena thinks that Eva is referring to the emblem of the Masters Guild. "Oh no," Eva replies, I mean the David with the slingshot, "as Meister Dürer painted him." Years ago I attended a performance of Die Meistersinger that had been staged with colors and costumes associated with Dürer's paintings, complete with Dürer's painting of Adam and Eve adorning Has Sachs' living room!
As for Nürnberg, the claim may be made that Die Meistersinger is nothing less than one long love song dedicated to the city of Gutenberg, Hans Sachs, and Albrecht Dürer-Richard Wagner's serenade to a city that, in the time of Hans Sachs, was one of the three most important cities in Germany-the others being Augsburg and Cologne-and which towered above the others as a Kunststadt.
But of course it is Hans Sachs, the shoemaker-poet who lived and worked in Nürnberg in the first half of the 16th century, who is the central figure of Die Meistersinger, and since Wagner often had a self-identification with his characters-Wotan is Wagner, Tristan is Wagner-one has to begin by asking what Hans Sachs and Wagner had in common.
Well. . . they were both graphomaniacs, for one thing: the historical Sachs wrote 4,250 Meisterlieder, plus 1700 other poems, plus 125 tragedies and comedies, plus some 80 so-called festival or carnival plays. Considering the time Sachs must have invested in his writing, one wonders how long his customers-like Beckmesser in the opera-had to wait to get their shoes made!
As for Wagner, he never met a blank page he didn't like and left behind not only sixteen(!) volumes of assorted prose, but 10,000 letters--this in addition to putting hundreds of thousands of black dots on score paper! I would remind you that neither of these authors had electricity or even decent pens to write with-think what they would have done with a word-processor!
On a more serious plane, Wagner could not help but admire Hans Sachs as a man of courage, who in his day put himself at risk by standing up to the authorities and abiding by his principles, since those attributes were shared by Wagner himself. In the year 1523, only six years after Martin Luther nailed his 95 theses to the door of the Schloßkirche in Wittenberg, and only one year after Luther began conducting church services in the New Faith, Sachs wrote a poem entitled "Die Wittenberg'sche Nachtigall" in which he praised Martin Luther and greeted the birth of the faith that was to be called Protestantism. Sachs' allegorical poem rode the rising groundswell of enthusiasm for the new Faith, and helped spread the poet's name well beyond Nürnberg. There was one complication, however: Nürnberg was still officially Catholic! When the town council of Nürnberg got wind of Sachs' poem, the cobbler was called on the carpet and told, in effect: "Shoemaker, stick to your last!" But the cobbler-poet had the last laugh: in less than two years, the town council, with bag and baggage, itself converted to the new Faith! Sachs' defiance of the authorities would have resonated clearly with Wagner, whose revolutionary activities in the year 1848 had brought a similar reprimand from the Saxon government!
Was the historical Sachs as noble as wise as the character we meet in Die Meistersinger? Probably not, for Wagner's Sachs is too good to be true, but the historical Sachs is given credit for having cleaned up the so-called festival plays, the Fastnachtsspiele--which in his day were often obscene. Sachs' Fastnachtspiele have some coarse humor in them, but by and large they avoid the extreme vulgarities of some of the contemporary plays.
Nevertheless: at several points in the opera--the Wahn-monologue is one example--Sachs clearly functions as a spokesman for Wagner. This is never clearer than at the very end of the opera, when Sachs gives Walter a mild bawling-out for having rejected membership in the Mastersinger Guild. Before subtitles, supertitles, and Met Titles were invented, audiences probably didn't pay too much to what Sachs is actually saying here. In fact I'm not sure we give much thought to his words even when we can read them on the back of the seat in front of us. After all, by that time we are all on a Meistersinger-high, emotionally wrung-out, intoxicated after 4 hours of incomparable music, and furthermore, as Meistersinger-fans we all know that the opera is plot is going to turn out well, so we tend to relax a bit. If we are listening to anything, it is the beautiful recapitulation of the main "Meistersinger"-theme that underpins Sachs' mini-sermon to Walter.
What Sachs is saying is important to the cultural historian, and it certainly was important to Richard Wagner, so the text follows below:
Verachtet mir die Meister nicht
Und ehrt mir ihre Kunst!
Was ihnen hoch zum Lobe spricht,
Fiel reichlich Euch zur Gunst.
Nicht Euren Ahnen, noch so wert,
Nicht Eurem Wappen, Speer, noch Schwert,
Daß Ihr ein Dichter seid,
Ein Meister Euch gefreit,
Dem dankt ihr heut Eu'r höchstes Glück.
Drum, denkt mit Dank Ihr dran zurück,
Wie kann die Kunst wohl unwert sein,
Die solche Preise schließet ein?
Daß unsre Meister sie gepflegt,
Grad recht nach ihrer Art,
Nach ihrem Sinne treu gehegt,
Das hat sie echt bewahrt;
Blieb sie nicht adlig wie zur Zeit,
Wo Höf und Fürsten sie geweiht,
Im Drang der schlimmen Jahr'
Blieb sie doch deutsch und wahr;
Und wär' sie anders nicht geglückt,
Als wie, wo alles drängt und drückt,
Ihr seht, wie hoch sie blieb in Ehr'!
Was wollt Ihr von den Meistern mehr?
A paraphrase of Sach's remarks might go like this: "Look, Sir Walter, don't get too big for your breeches, and don't let me hear you saying unkind things about our Meister! You may have inherited your title and your coat of arms, but the distinction you have been given today: the recognition that you are a poet and worthy of being a Meister-that you did not inherit-that was given to you as a gift, and for that you should thank your lucky stars! How can you run down a tradition that can bestow such gifts-including the girl you have won? Instead, give credit to the Meister for having kept the spark of German art alive, even after the breakdown of the feudal order and the centuries of chaos that followed. Had it not been for the Meister, there would have been no tradition of German art. What more could you ask of the Meister?" Speaking through the persona of Hans Sachs, Wagner reminds Walter--and the audience, if they are paying attention--that poets such as the Meistersinger--even if they weren't great poets like Wolfram, Gottfried, or Walter von der Vogelweide--at least were doing their best to keep alive the spirit of German art--die heilige deutsche Kunst!
[Musical example: "Verachtet mir die Meister nicht!"]
Up to this point the historical Hans Sachs could be speaking these lines, since they deal chiefly with the barren years between 1225 and 1525, a span of 300 years. The next segment, beginning with the words "Hab' Acht!" is a different matter.
This segment of Sach's sermon has, always been controversial, but especially after Germany's humiliating defeat in WW I. In the years following the defeat--or so we are told--audiences inspired by this passage sometimes rose to their feet at the conclusion of the opera and sang "Deutschland über alles." After the advent of the Third Reich, the Horst Wessel Lied was sometimes added to, or substituted for, the National anthem, until Adolf Hitler, of all people, forbade this demonstration in Bayreuth. After WW II, the "Habt Acht" section was cut in performance because of the presumed association with Hitler's aggression, with one critic claiming that the "Habt Acht" lines made him think of "Panzers rolling onto Poland!"
Close reading of the text, however, reveals that no such radical inferences are justified. As Thomas Mann, a great Wagner interpreter and certainly no Nazi, has pointed out, this segment of Sachs' mini-sermon is not a call to arms but an exhortation to preserve "die heilige deutsche Kunst," sacred German art. My own objection to this passage is aesthetic, not political. The music actually turns ugly, with whiplash chords that have no place in Die Meistersinger, and several lines that force Sachs to change his voice and sound like a stage villain. [musical example # 2: "Habt Acht!"]
Habt Acht!
Uns dräuen üble Streich.'
Zerfällt erst deutsches Volk und Reich,
In falscher wälscher Majestät
kein Fürst bald mehr sein Volk versteht,
und wälschen Dunst mit wälschem Tand
sie pflanzen uns in deutsches Land.
Was deutsch und echt, wüßt' Keiner mehr,
lebt's nicht in deutscher Meister Ehr'
Drum sage ich euch, ehrt eure deutschen Meister!
Dann bannt ihr gute Geister.
und gebt ihr ihrem Wirken Gunst,
Zerging' in Dunst
das heil'ge röm'sche Reich.
uns bliebe gleich
die heilige deutsche Kunst.
(Beware! Ill times now threatens all. If we Germans should ever fall in thrall to any foreign land, no prince his folk will understand, and foreign mists will blend our eyes, and o'er our German land will rise. The art we own would then be gone, preserved in Master-song alone. Then hear me now: Honor your German masters, and thus avert disasters! And if you hold them to your heart, then may depart the pomp of holy Rome: no change will come to sacred German art!)
Sachs/Wagner is in fact reminding the audience that terrible things happened to Germany, and to Nürnberg, in the wake of the Reformation, which led to the ghastly 30 Years War in the next century. The war ravaged the German countryside, destroyed some of the blossoming cities in the bud. Beginning as a civil war sparked by between the rivalry between the old and the new religious faiths, the war quickly attracted foreign interests, and soon mercenaries bent on rape and pillage were crossing the border from every quarter. Over a period of three decades death and disease is thought to have claimed one third of the German population, and the lack of German male survivors was such that the idea of polygamy was seriously debated. This is what Sachs/Wagner means when he warns about "Welchen Dunst mit welchem Tand," and he is right when he says that is the memory of German art hadn't existed, one would have been hard pressed to find, in the war-torn wasteland that we now call "Germany" that remained "deutsch und echt." So now we see that 'Die Meistersinger' isn't just about Hans Sachs, it is also about die heilige deutsche Kunst and about Nürnberg, a citadel of "sacred German art."
But that is all fairly obvious and has been amply noted in the reams of commentary on "Die Meistersinger." Less obvious--and this seems to have escaped most commentators--is the fact that, from start to finish, 'Die Meistersinger' breathes the spirit of the new religion created by Martin Luther's Reformation. Wagner, after all, was perfectly aware of the fact that the central event of the 16th century in Germany was not the emergence of Hans Sachs or the Meistersinger, not the greatness of Albrecht Dürer and his "school," not the development of Nürnberg as a Kulturstadt, but rather the Protestant Reformation. That Wagner was aware of his spiritual kinship to Luther is beyond dispute. Perhaps on some level he felt himself a claimant for yet another sweeping encomium, one that has been applied to Luther: that of "The most influential German who ever lived." The prominence of the Wartburg in Tannhäuser already gives hints that Wagner frequently had Luther in mind. That singing contests such as the one depicted in Tannhäuser were held there is true, but that is an obscure factoid known only to Tannhäuser devotees and medieval specialists. For every educated German, the Wartburg is associated with Martin Luther, since that is where the Reformer, in hiding, translated the New Testament and, while so doing, allegedly threw his inkwell at the Devil!
In 1868, Wagner began work on a play that was to be entitled "Luthers Hochzeit," an unfinished project that was to occupy Wagner for years. The play was to deal with the ex-monk's marriage to a former nun. Perhaps by coincidence, perhaps not, Wagner began work on the play at a time when he was living in sin with Cosima and trying to persuade her to abandon her Catholic faith.
There is nothing speculative or coincidental about elements of Lutheranism in Die Meistersinger, however: from start to finish, the opera is animated by the spirit of Martin Luther and his Reformation. The proof is readily at hand: this is the way Die Meistersinger begins, that is to say after the Prelude flows directly into the opera proper and the curtain rises:
[musical example #3, "Da zu dir der Heiland kam"]
What are we hearing here? A hymn, or more accurately a chorale based on a Lutheran text that sounds so much like a Bach chorale that countless Meistersinger admirers, over the decades, have simply assumed that Wagner "borrowed" a chorale from Bach. Well, that is a good guess, but it is off the mark. In reality, the chorale is a counterfeit, a brilliant fake, like Prokofiev's "Classical Symphony," and in fact it has Wagner's harmonic fingerprints all over it!
But that is beside the point: what Wagner is reminding us is that the singing of a chorale was part of the Lutheran church service of Bach's time. In fact, each of the almost 300 cantatas that Bach, a devout Lutheran, composed as part of his duties as an employee of St. Thomas' church in Leipzig ended with a chorale that the congregation was supposed to recognize and sing from memory. In most productions of Die Meistersinger, the congregation is seen singing from a hymnal, and although that is anachronistic, the spirit of the occasion is quite genuine. Luther himself, after all, composed the so-called "Reformation Hymn" -"Ein' feste Burg ist unser Gott" -and the participation of the congregation was entirely consonant with one of the tenets of the new faith he introduced: that not only the priest, but all members of the congregation should have direct access to the Word of God. Hence the Lutheran Church was the first branch of Protestantism to compile and number(!) hymns to be sung, in full-throated unison, by the congregation.
If you will allow a momentary digression: I am old enough to remember Vatican II, which relaxed the ancient form of the Roman Catholic Mass and allowed the Mass to be offered in English, even to the point of encouraging the congregation to raise their voice in song. Not every Catholic welcomed the change. I recall one column in particular written by William F. Buckley, the conservative commentator, and a prominent lay Catholic. In this column, Buckley half-joking complained that. . . "First they took away our Latin Mass, and now the Vatican is trying to change us Catholics into hymn-singing Methodists!" Having myself been reared in the Methodist church, I can attest that there was indeed a good deal of hymn-singing in our little church, but Buckley would have been more accurate if he had written "hymn-singing Lutherans," since, as we have heard, it was Martin Luther who instigated this ritual.
But it is to Act III--that incomparable Third Act of Die Meistersinger--to which we must look in order to appreciate the scope and the depth of Wagner's tribute to Martin Luther. All Wagnerites present will recall the scene, set on the Festwiese, or festival meadow, on the outskirts of Nürnberg. All the guilds have arrived, sung their songs, and had their fun; the girls of Fürth have kicked up their heels, and the Meistersinger have filed into their places of honor. . . And then Hans Sachs appears. . . In some productions he comes from offstage and then stands in the middle of the stage and, with his back to the audience, faces the assembled Bürger of Nürnberg. . .and then. . . . . . ???
Dear Friends: when the Day of Judgement arrives, our hero, Richard Wagner, will have a difficult time. The prosecuting attorney will surely try to deny Wagner's admission into Paradise on the grounds that he was: a deadbeat, a liar, a cheat, a false friend, and a serial adulterer--and these are only Wagner's minor sins! And yet, I predict that a teary-eyed and smiling St. Peter will bow Richard Wagner, despite his human failings, into paradise. Why? Because of this:
[musical example #4, ''Wach Auf" -)
Yes Friends, because of this chord!
Paradoxically, it is the most un-Wagnerian chord imaginable: a brief introductory cadence, and then a perfectly run-of-the-mill G-major chord--diatonic, with no tortured chromaticism and no harmonic ambiguity (such as the famous 'Tristan-chord,') But when this "Wach auf" is flung across the footlights by the massed chorus assembled on the Wiese, supported by the huge Wagnerian orchestra playing unisono and fortissimo, the effect is electrifying. The most restive, ill-mannered, and flu-ridden audience is cowed into awed silence; at Bayreuth the audience stops breathing! So this chord will get Wagner into Paradise-you have my personal guarantee for that! For what we have just heard is not only the most sublime moment of Die Meistersinger--it is one of the most exalted moments in all of music.
What follows, however, really gives the game away, and when I sit in an opera house, crying towel in hand, I often wonder how many of my 3000 fellow Wagnerites really know that the text that follows was not composed by Wagner but rather by the real-life, historical Hans Sachs. The lines, as you will have guessed, are from that revolutionary poem that brought Hans Sachs both fame and danger, the so-called "Poem of the Reformation," Die Wittenberg'sche Nachtigall!
"Wach auf, es nahet gen den Tag,
ich hör' singen im grünen Hag
ein' wonnigliche Nachtigall,
Ihr Stimm' durchdringet Berg und Tal;
Die Nacht neigt sich zum Okzident,
Der Tag geht auf von Orient,
Die rotbrünstige Morgenröt'
Her durch die trüben Wolken geht."
Paraphrased, the historical Sachs' verses praise the voice of the "nightingale"--that is Martin Luther--whose voice safely guides his flock away from the ravenous lion--that is the Pope--and the wolves representing the Catholic clergy. The coming of the night signifies the decline of the Catholic Church, while the new day of the Lutheran faith dawns from the East. The powerful rays of the emergent new Faith shine through the gloomy mists of the departed Catholic religion
Dear Friends: there are three great musical tributes to the Reformation that I know of: one is Bach's Cantata # 80-"Ein' feste Burg ist unser Gott"-based of course on Luther's own hymn--;secondly there is Mendelssohn's "Reformation " Symphony; and thirdly, Wagner's setting of Hans Sachs' verses in honor of Luther. Despite the quality of the competition, to my prejudiced ear Wagner's tribute is the most moving the most beautiful, and the most memorable of all. Shall we listen to it together now with deepened understanding? [Musical example #4, complete 'Wach auf,' ???minutes]
Ingeniously--and who can expect less from the genius at whose shrine we all worship?--this is a tribute on three levels. First of all Wagner is paying a well-deserved tribute to the fictional Hans Sachs of his opera, whose wisdom and integrity has earned the respects of all the citizens of his beloved Nürnberg. Secondly, he is paying a tribute to the historical Hans Sachs, who in real life perhaps fell short of the idealized character we meet and love in the opera, but who nevertheless actually composed the lyrics that are sung; and thirdly, and perhaps most important: it is a tribute from the backslidden Lutheran Richard Wagner to one of the great movers of German history--Martin Luther-- with whom Wagner, undeniably also a great German, will be ranked for all time. Those of us who love this opera have always known there is a lot of Richard Wagner in Die Meistersinger; the point I have tried to make is that there is a lot of Meistersinger in Richard Wagner. . . .
In summary, in Die Meistersinger we recognize the same pattern we discussed briefly in the context of Wagner's earlier operas. Wagner could hardly have been less original in his selection of plot material; virtually every line of Die Meistersinger can be traced to the sources Wagner researched so carefully. What is original is the way Wagner transformed this material, thereby once again rescuing forgotten names and forgotten customs from oblivion.
Wagner's loving portrayal of Nürnberg captured the city in a "Camelot" moment, at a time when Nürnberg was full of the ferment of new idea, when it harbored such artists as Albrecht Dürer and Hans Sachs, and when its future seemed unlimited. Under Wagner's hands, the Nürnberg of Hans Sachs' day is like some precious relic preserved for all times in amber. Wagner does not invite us to look beyond the final curtain of Die Meistersinger. Only the "Habt Acht" warning contains the hint that in 50 years Meistergesang will have disappeared forever; that Martin Luther died a disillusioned man, bitter over the sectarianism that he felt threatened the new Faith; that the optimistic spirit of the Reformation had been dissipated; that the newly-minted German language would be debased by the linguistic excesses of the 17th century; and that a dreadful war was looming that would truncate the growth of Nürnberg for the next 150 years.
To return to the question of "originality:" Wagner was never an original composer in the sense that, say, Beethoven was original. Beethoven created 32 piano sonatas, 16 string quartets, nine symphonies, and scores of other works out of the void, out of the Nichts, out of the deep recesses and fevered nerve ends of his own creative imagination. But to fault Richard Wagner for lacking this kind of originality is like criticizing Van Gogh or Picasso for not having painted like Michaelangelo or Rembrandt.
Beethoven's music, at least in his final phase, is otherworldly: a conversation with the Weltgeist, as it were, to which we are privileged eavesdroppers. Wagner's music is very much of this world. He needed human situations in order to expound his profound insights into the complexities of the human heart and the human psyche.
Yet when the great Wagner orchestra detaches itself from the plot and goes its own way; when it becomes one of the dramatis personae; when it probes new states of consciousness; when it alternately plunges us into the abyss, or transports us to unimaginable heights; when it forces us to confront our inner self: then Richard Wagner is as original as Beethoven, Bach, or any other "abstract" composer.
Hence: was Richard Wagner in fact the "most original genius" of the 19th century? I wouldn't presume to force an answer on such a knowledgeable audience. I have tried to put forth the facts in an even-handed manner-now it is up to you to form a judgement!
last update: 26 May 2002
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