THE DICTAPHONE IN 1894. BETTER THAN EDISON’S MACHINE!

A notice appeared in the Wiener Tagblatt of July 10, 1894:

Albert Kötzlow has invented and built a new phonograph. It surpasses Edison’s instrument in that it is very simple and cheap and can be worked by any non-specialist. It does everything with respect to speech, song or music that Edison’s phonograph does. The sound waves are transcribed to a cylinder by means of a membrane to which a stylus is attached, or through a so-called writing knife shaped like a pin. ..The rolls are made of hard soap and if used gently will yield several thousand reproductions. For practical purposes -- the reproduction of speech in lieu of stenography -- it is sufficient to turn the phonograph by hand. For the reproduction of music or song one needs a very regularly running motor… The costs are low, hardly more than the cost of paper, since a roll can take 1000 words and be played back about 250 times…the cost of acquiring the apparatus is also low, and repairs hardly ever required. Thus Kötzlow’s apparatus is clearly useful for practical business purposes, which can hardly be said of Edison’s phonograph.

Költzow opened the first phonograph factory in Berlin, 1890. He worked together with the locksmith Paul Pfeiffer and the mechanic Carl Lindström, whose company, Lindström Inc., became a global player in the recording industry in the 20^th century.

 (Source: Wiener Zeitung, 10 July 1894; my translation) 

KAFKA AND HIS FATHER'S JUDAISM. Small mementos of a bygone time.

Kafka continues his letter to his father:

            Later, however, I came to look at Judaism differently and understood why you might believe I had maliciously betrayed you in that respect. You really brought a certain amount of Judaism from your small ghetto-like village community. It wasn’t much and lost a little more in the city and during your military service, but the youthful impressions and memories were enough for a kind of Jewish life style, especially since you didn’t need a great deal of help in that respect. You were made of solid stuff and could not be shaken by religious considerations if they weren’t mixed with social considerations. On the whole the faith that guided your life consisted in a belief in the absolute correctness of the opinions of a certain Jewish social class, and actually also in a belief in yourself, since those opinions were part of your own nature. There was enough Judaism in your nature, but too little to be handed on to a child. It seeped away and dried up as you handed it on. In a way those youthful impressions couldn’t be handed on. Either that, or your terrifying personality prevented it. It was impossible to impress on a child full of anxiety and therefore too closely observant that those few empty rites you practiced in the name of Judaism had any higher meaning, when you practiced them with an apathy corresponding to their emptiness. They were meaningful to you as small mementos of a bygone time and for that reason you wanted to hand them on to me, but you could not do it without urging and threatening me, since they had no intrinsic value for you. On one hand it was an undertaking that could not succeed, on the other hand you did not recognize your weak position in this matter and therefore were very angry with me on account of my apparent obstinacy… If your Judaism had been stronger, your example would have been more cogent.
(Source: Letter to my Father, text on www.kafka.org; my translation)

KAFKA’S JUDAISM. Dear father, Judaism could not save me from you.

A passage from Franz Kafka's Letter to His Father:

One would think it might have been helpful, or rather, that we two could have found each other in Judaism or even that it would have been a common starting point for us. But what kind of Judaism did you offer me! Over the years I developed three stances. As a child, and in agreement with you, I reproached myself because I did not go to the synagogue often enough, didn’t fast, etc. I thought I injured you rather than myself thereby, and I was seized by bad conscience, which was always at the ready. 

Later, as a young man, I could not understand how you with your non-existent Judaism could reproach me, because I did not out of respect for my parent, as you put it, made no effort to practice an equally meaningless Judaism. As far as I could see it really was non-existent, a nothing, a joke, not even a joke. Four times a year you went to the synagogue, closer in spirit to those who didn’t care than to those who were serious. You patiently went through the prayers, perfunctorily, surprising me sometimes by pointing out a passage in the prayer book which was being recited at the time. As for the rest, I was allowed to bum around wherever I wanted as long as I was in the synagogue (that was the main thing). So I yawned and fooled around for many hours (the only time I was as bored was later when I took dancing lessons) and tried to enjoy the few distractions offered there, such as when the ark of the covenant was opened, which always reminded me of shooting galleries, where a door opened if you hit the target, with the difference that there something interesting popped up, and here it was always the same old headless dolls. Even so, by the way, I was full of anxieties, feeling not only the obvious fear of being among many people and in close contact with them, but also that I might be called to [recite a blessing over] the torah, as you casually mentioned. For years I trembled at the thought of it. 

Otherwise I was not bothered a great deal by the boredom, except perhaps during bar mitzvah, which required only meaningless memorizing, that is, led to a meaningless test performance. Also there were a few small, insignificant events involving you, such as when you were called to the torah and weathered that occasion (a purely social event according to my sentiments), or when you remained in the synagogue during the commemoration of the soul and I was sent out, which for a long time gave me the vague impression that it was something indecent because I was sent away and because I had no further involvement. 
  
(Source: Letter to my Father, text on www.kafka.org; my translation)

A CAIRO WEDDING, 1870. The bridegroom utters a cry of joy -- or not.

Luise Mühlbach’s report continues:

On the day of the wedding all invited friends and relatives accompany the couple from the house of the bride’s father to the house of the bridegroom.

The men remain in the lower part and sing songs and chant prayers in praise of the prophet. The women ascend with the bride to the harem and adorn her, meaning, they take off her red wrapper and almost all her clothes, cover her with a thin veil. Then they call for the bridegroom and withdraw.

He acts embarrassed  and makes his friends drag him a few steps, then he jumps up and runs upstairs in great haste. The bride and bridegroom face each other for the first time – she, veiled and modestly lowering her gaze. He approaches and attempts to lift her veil. She keeps it tight. Then, as if to bribe her, he hands her a gift of gold (its value depends on his wealth). This gift is called “the price for revealing the face”.  At last he slowly lifts the veil and says in a loud voice: In the name of god, the all-merciful who takes pity on me! May the night and the day be blessed!

            Then he whispers: Allah bless you.

            Now he has lifted the veil and looks at his bride. If she pleases him and matches the descriptions he was given, he utters a joyful cry. If he remains silent, it is a sign that she has not found approval with him.

            Then he kisses his bride for the first time and leaves her to call the women to dress her in one of the dresses she was given as her dowry, and present her to him again. Again he utters a cry of you – or not, depending on whether he likes the bride and her dress.

Downstairs the friends and relatives wait for this shout of joy, called Zagahrit. When it isn’t heard, the faces of the waiting crowd darken, and the curious onlookers disperse.  It means that the bridegroom has immediately dismissed his bride. But that hardly ever happens. The bridegroom usually has the courtesy to keep the unwanted bride for eight days before handing her back to his relatives, or if he is wealthy enough, he keeps her and takes a second wife, who becomes his favourite, whereas the other one must look after the household.

(Source: Reisebriefe aus Aegypten. My translation)

A CAIRO BRIDE, 1870. An red packet adorned with a golden crown.

The German novelist Luise Mühlbach observes a wedding procession through the streets of Cairo:

The women accompanying the bride are dressed in long black silk cloth covering their heads. It is ringed with a golden band just above the nose, from which is suspended a veil that covers the lower half of their face below the eyes.

The bride, or rather an oblong packet adorned with a golden crown, walks under a red baldachin. This packet which has no resemblance to a human figure (the arms are wrapped up as well) moves ponderously. The only thing that is visible of her are two points where the eyes are. The bride was certainly not an adult. The red packet was rather small and delicate. It was only a preliminary wedding – we would call it an engagement. Bride and bridegroom stand on either side of a curtain. The parents receive the bridegroom’s proposal and agree to it. Then they ask about the dowry. They argue about it back and forth, and then everything is put in writing by the court officials present. The bridegroom signs, and the bride’s father signs on her behalf.

Some years later, the actual wedding takes place. At this point the bridegroom sees her for the first time, after she is his forever. Well, not forever. Every man has the right to dismiss his wife if she does not please him and send her back home or marry her to one of his relatives.

Weddings are a frequent sight – of course, when every man has the right to take four lawful wives. Of course poor men rarely make use of this right because it would be too expensive.

            
Mühlbach asks an Egyptian friend about this law. He shrugs.

The Europeans look for all assets of the female sex in their one wife. They want beauty, youth, wealth, goodness, intelligence – everything united in one wife. We Arabs know that that is impossible and are reasonable enough to look in four women what the European cannot possibly find in one.

To be continued.

(Source: Reisebriefe aus Aegypten. My translation)