case was all a frightful misunderstanding—he was not to be blamed, though he was even then on the eve of trial, so inscrutable were the mentalities of the Nazi command.
If Mann’s Faustus is a parable of Western man’s troubles, conceived in the spirit of Nietzsche and of attendant romantic ideas of a tragic end to our civilization, Kurt Marek’s Yestermorrow is a sequence of notes on that decline. Spengler is not read a great deal any more, and the essay on technology less than the Decline. The only thing to say here is that perhaps Spengler is more germinal for historians of scope than his etiolation by Toynbee, and that until Frobenius is translated and got into the curriculum, better raw Nietzsche than Spengler, better Spengler than Toynbee’s tepidity as an appetite whetter in comparative culture.
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