On a main street of the Ruhr Valley city of Gelsenkirchen one morning last week, a schoolgirl marched up to a young man and popped an odd sort of question. "Herr Huett," said she, "what about Goethe's Prometheus?" Without a moment's hesitation, the young man threw back his head and began to recite:
Curtain thy heavens, thou Jove, with clouds and mist,
And, like a boy that mows down thistle-tops,
Unloose thy spleen on oaks and mountain-peaks . . .
When the young man with the excellent memory had finished, the schoolgirl slipped him two pfennigs, and with her morning's lesson safely in mind, skipped...