Regrettably history is not among the core subjects now prescribed by the government’s umpteenth overhaul of the national curriculum. The omission is a foolish one, given the nation’s unquenchable enthusiasm for the past in whatever form, serious or ‘lite’. Does the official mind scent potential troublemakers among those inquisitive as to the fate of vanished civilisations or exuberantly misbehaving royal dynasties? Most people, as it happens, enjoy history not so much for its lessons, hints and warnings as for the how-different-from-us factor, the armchair schadenfreude enhanced by our comforting remoteness from the miseries and privations its pages evoke.
More precious still are the abundant opportunities given to us to be wise after the event, muttering piously that the poor darlings never stood a chance. Weimar Germany, indeed, might have been designed by a committee for such smug headshaking. How we love its air of fiddling while Rome burns, its manic modernism, its unending parade of trangressive circus acts, ‘this witches’ Sabbath in the Babel of the world’, as Stefan Zweig called it, where the Germans ‘brought to perversion all their vehemence and love of system’.
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