Waltenberg

by Hedi Kaddour

  It will be simply scientific, it’s a crisis of culture, nothing will be achieved without a return to God, if we are to end the current crisis we must invest in public works, the idea of God is the sign of a lazy mind, oppression comes from the state, if the state withers away so will oppression, and meanwhile what are you doing? As certain men talk they eye some young girl who they believe would be ready for anything because she’s wearing long eyelashes, fascism is the absolute form of democracy, others look at the hands of young men, a clash of concepts, never pure concepts, concepts connected with power, money, jobs, red dawns, vested interests, profits, even dedication yields a dividend, it’s when passions are roused that terror enters the fray, a great deal of blood needs to be shed before men return to their habitual indifference, that’s an expression of Édouard’s, a little further off you hear ‘is Spinoza relevant in today’s world?’

  Sometimes a quieter group, after dinner, with Maynes again, one of the stars of the Waldhaus, always surrounded by people, a famous book on the economic consequences of the 1919 treaties, catastrophic consequences, he is rich, he defends capitalism, a wily defence, young Lilstein puts this to him ‘communism means the Soviets plus electricity’, to which he replies by quoting Edison’s ‘I’ll make electricity so cheap that only the rich will be able to afford candles’, he told Lilstein this is a game where you’ll always lose.

  None of which prevents Maynes from hating gold, the gold standard, received ideas, received values, he is in friendly disagreement with those he calls the neighbourhood bakers of laissez-faire economics, it’s true, they don’t like public expenditure, the creative deficit, they want a market of the pristine kind, the fox to be free in a free chicken-run.

  ‘Why bakers?’

  ‘Bakers,’ says Maynes with an amused glance at Lilstein, ‘because they make bread, liberals are always talking about bread, it’s not labour that creates value, you’re hungry you’re willing to pay a hefty price for your first loaf, wonderful golden crust outside, soft inside, warm, but the fuller you get the less you are prepared to pay, so you reach the margin, the marginal usefulness of the loaf,’ continues Maynes, ‘is what defines its value, a relative value, the value which clashes with the usefulness of another commodity, your newspaper for example which until now you have refused to buy because you were thinking of your stomach, now that is what for the bakers constitutes the value of a commodity, it’s a trifle strong but it allows them to express value in equations.’

  It’s at this point that Lilstein loses his temper, swindlers’ equations, true value is the work of the producer, that is, of the worker, and one of Van Ryssel’s aides calls him a Bolshevik, equality in slavery. Young Lilstein is clumsy and rude but the ladies love him, a cherub standing one metre ninety in his socks. Do you really think so? Cherub? He’s not so bad, darling, but he’s an overgrown colt, a tall bony colt. Lilstein is very sharp-tongued, categorical, your relative value is a mask for exploitation.

  Eventually Maynes takes Lilstein to one side and says:

  ‘I share a good many of your ideas on the exploitation of workers, but if there is a real intra-social war as happened in Russia, that war will find me on the side of the cultured middle class.’

  He pictures himself baring his chest to receive young Lilstein’s bullets or alternatively imagines himself taking aim, this image makes him fall even more deeply in love with the adolescent and he becomes aware that another man is also watching Lilstein, it’s Édouard, he was there, Cadio is watching Edouard.

  Édouard is also watching young Tellheim, who is there at the personal invitation of Madame de Valréas, a discreet individual, quiet voice, unhurried gestures, middling height, fleshy, a disciple of Einstein.

  Madame de Valréas welcomed him saying my dear Tellheim it’s time my guests learned all about relativity, I loved your articles in The Globe, when you explain it, it all seems so simple, your armoured train, for example, with the guns mounted in the same turret, one facing forward and the other facing the rear, which fire simultaneously at targets the same distance away, have I got that right? And men with stop-watches under each target, Madame de Valréas slows her rate of speech, you see I’ve remembered it all, she puts one finger to the right, the shell fired forwards will take less time to hit the target, the other finger to the left, than the shell fired backwards, it’s amazing, you must also tell us about the lifts, but not this evening, not just before bedtime, it scares me.

  Young Tellheim is brilliant and pleasant, a rare mixture, Lilstein is fascinated by Tellheim who is only a few years older than he is yet people treat him as if he had already won a Nobel Prize, and Tellheim likes Lilstein a lot, his passion for willing the future lives of others.

  He finds Lilstein’s ideas simple but attractive, he promises himself he will read Marx more carefully, just now he doesn’t have all that much time, I’m busy with the structure of the atom, I correspond with Monsieur Nils Bohr, but as soon as he has a moment Tellheim will read the book Lilstein has lent him on the State and the Revolution, he told Lilstein for me communist society is like a large laboratory full of free people.

  Lilstein and Tellheim promise to meet up again this summer in Berlin, at the swimming baths, a young Christian philosopher, Moncel, hogs the conversation, science is like a clearing in the dark forest of mystery, man is continually widening the circle which borders the clearing, but at the same time, and by virtue of his efforts, he finds himself in contact with the shadow of the Unknown on a growing number of points.

  ‘Max,’ asks Madame de Valréas without a glance at Moncel, ‘which do you prefer? The loaves of bread or the guns of the armoured train?’ She doesn’t wait for an answer:

  ‘Max, be good, why don’t you too tell us a story about relativity?’ Max can no longer bear such drawing-room small talk, right now he’d much rather be at the Six Days, with his friends from the professional cycle track, Grassin, Boucheron, Wambat, the smell of embrocation, ether, dirty bunks, greasy food and ladies’ perfume, last year Wambat had told him: ‘the Six Days slims down me arse.’

  Max will also miss the France v. England game, he remains polite, smiling and diffident.

  ‘Tellheim tells it so much better than I, Baroness.’

  ‘No! It’s your turn, you annoying man, otherwise I shall wave my wand and turn you into a toad.’

  ‘Once there was a flock of sheep which…’

  ‘Max! I know all about this flock of sheep and the artillery fire during the war, you told me all about it last year and it has nothing to do with relativity.’

  Madame de Valréas thrusts her palm out in Max’s direction, long fingers spread like a spider’s legs.

  ‘But Baroness, there was indeed a flock of sheep, but not during the war, no guns, a flock, a hyena, and as much relativity as you could wish for, the hyena prowls round the flock, gruesome creature, the sheep poke fun at the hyena, it comes closer, coat stiff as a long-handled scrubbing brush, it growls, shows its teeth, stinking breath, the rams lower their horns, it backs away, the sheep sing in time “oh the lying beast he’s in love”, the hyena goes looking elsewhere, finds the corpse of an old wolf, enough there to eat for several days, and it gives the hyena an idea, it puts the wolf’s skin on its back and runs back to settle the score with the sheep, panic in the flock, look out! a wolf!’

  Hearing shouts people gather round, it’s Max, the French newspaper man, he’s so funny, he’s telling a story about a hyena disguised as a wolf.

  Max turns his back to the fireplace, not the one in the library but the one in the bar, an avant-garde fireplace, it is situated in the middle of the room, a concrete bowl three metres across under a circular hood made of brushed steel, a metal used for the manufacture of aeroplanes, with a fire-guard in the form of a fine steel-mesh curtain which hangs down from the hood and encircles the bowl, more a large brazier than a fireplace, it looks very fine but you cannot lean on it like Chateaubriand and hold forth, you are no longer in the centre of the picture, th
ere are little centres everywhere at three hundred and sixty degrees around the brazier, adjacent circles, and people move from one to the next, the circles grow smaller or get bigger according to the relative interest generated.

  Max always wants to have the biggest circle, he cries, watch out! a wolf! the sheep flee in a panic, a young ram cries chief it’s not a wolf, chief, listen to me, that’s no wolf, that’s a hyena laughing, it’s only a hyena disguised as a wolf, chief, no need to run away, it’ll make the ewes’ milk curdle, just a hyena, you deal with this with a quick flick of the horns, he starts to slow down, the chief bawls him out, Max also takes the part of the chief, he pumps his arms like a runner, run, imbecile, but chief, run I tell you, everyone knows it’s a hyena but they don’t mind in the least, because in the meantime the wolves will leave us alone, but chief the wolves also know it’s only a hyena, exactly, lad, they hate hyenas, the hyena is pretending, we’re pretending, everyone’s happy, and at the same time we are practising running away for such time as we are confronted by a real wolf, but chief I could settle this hyena’s hash for him, a solid thrust with my horns, I’ll teach him what we sheep have got under our coats, all right go ahead, the hyena will also teach you something, Max turns towards the logs burning in the hearth:

  ‘I’ve yet to find the right range, my nostalgic voice, do you think it’s better with a traditional fireplace with fire-dogs, mantel, shelf and embossed back-plate? But it’s amusing, being able to look through this steel curtain, I can see the ladies on the other side, through the flames.’

  ‘You can also see the gentlemen, Max.’

  ‘True, but I’m more interested in the ladies, with the old style of fireplace, you looked at the flames in the company of a lady.’

  ‘Now, Max, finish the story!’

  ‘To hear is to obey, Baroness: Go to it, says the chief ram to the young ram, the hyena will teach you that there are a lot worse things than hyenas disguised as wolves, idiot! And worst of all is the sheep who thinks he’s only disguised as a sheep!’

  An embarrassed silence falls upon the listeners, all eyes turn to Madame de Valréas, her ruffled feathers.

  ‘Max, I fail to see how that story has anything whatsoever to do with relativity.’

  A Pole moves to the front, shoulders sideways on:

  ‘It is very clear to me, the story is a symptom.’

  ‘Well if it’s a symptom, that obviously changes everything,’ says Madame de Valréas.

  She scrutinises the Pole very closely, then moves away from the fireplace.

  ‘No, wait a moment, Baroness.’

  The Pole is afraid he has offended Madame de Valréas, his voice is a mixture of entreaty aimed at her and resentment intended for Max:

  ‘It is truly a symptom, a symptom of moral relativism, the rationalist cowardice in which Europe has been mired since the eighteenth century, the generalised relativisation of values against which Max does not flinch under the Pole’s scrutiny and interrupts using his grandest manner:

  ‘I am not at all surprised that you do not care for the boastful sheep, since your country is entirely governed by…’

  ‘Please, gentlemen, this is a friendly gathering,’ sighs Madame de Valréas.

  She takes them both by the hand.

  The Pole smiles, kisses the hand of the Baroness, this man Max is exactly what I was told he would be like, he’s been ordered to undermine the reputation of our newly regenerated Poland, he loses his temper the moment anyone denounces moral relativism, he is a Franco-Bolshevik agent, a godless spy, who scoffs at all values, Max smiles at Madame de Valréas, the Baroness places Max’s hand in the hand of the Pole, she is happy, people tell her amusing stories, there is a clash of ideas but people shake hands, this is the greatest week of her life, she is surrounded by French, Germans, Italians, English, Luxembourgers, Poles, two Scots in kilts, socialists, almost every nationality in Europe, pacifists, a general, agrarians, free-marketeers, federalists and nationalists, a Buddhist, suffragettes, Christians, Marxists, colonialists and conservatives, adolescents and emancipators, dignified matrons, Luddites, a physicist, economists and steel-men, there are no communists in the strict sense but some intellectuals here agree with what is happening in Moscow, and Madame de Valréas herself invited them, must get them to speak, must know what’s going on in Moscow, otherwise their revolution will come here and put the wind up our body politic.

  There aren’t any Nazis either, because as a party they are discredited, marginalised, with just twelve per cent of the vote they are less and less of a force in the political life of a Weimar Republic which now, early in 1929, is back on the road to recovery, Madame de Valréas goes out of her way to give star treatment to certain participants, Neuville, of course, but not forgetting Wolkenhove, Kurt Wolkenhove, born in Japan, brought up in Bohemia and Vienna, he heads a movement which he has simply called Europa, it’s the biggest idea of the century, to build Europe, Aristide Briand chairs the French committee of Europa.

  Wolkenhove is a friend of Madame de Valréas, for some months now she has been trying to bring him closer to her industrialist friends, my dear Kurt, ideas are all very well but you must be able to base them on tangible ground, if you succeed in convincing people from the iron and steel cartel and their bankers, then the future of our European movement is guaranteed, Madame de Valréas is also very fond of Hans, he has one passion, to reconcile France and Germany, one day he declared ‘we were all born in France’, he has thanked Madame de Valréas publicly, with your invaluable help European thought is about to give a tangible form to the teachings of Kant, you’ll have to go careful with Hans, don’t talk to him about the iron and steel cartel, Hans thinks in terms of the destiny of peoples, he might not go along with us, even so he must be made to agree to serve as chairman of the Committee for the United States of Europe which is to be set up at the end of the Seminar, he’s so inconsistent, so difficult.

  Hans found Elisabeth Stirnweiss very likeable, he’d never seen her before, young, chubby, fair-haired, turned-up nose, she was in the middle of a rehearsal but she gave Hans and the Baroness the warmest of welcomes.

  ‘May I introduce Werner, my accompanist, he is also my husband, my producer, my manager and my teacher, we never agree about anything, we were about to have an argument, he always says I sing with too much feeling, he would like me to sing in public the way I do when we rehearse, but singing is life, it’s supposed to express something, even tears, but if I do tears he says he can hear rain in my voice, I think that’s hateful, yes, I’m more mezzo than soprano, it’s quite a recent thing, you never know what’s going on with a voice.’

  Hans congratulated Elisabeth Stirnweiss, her husband found Hans very intimidating, he used the Baroness’s departure as an excuse to stretch his legs, actually he’s going out to smoke a cigar, says Elisabeth Stirnweiss, I don’t let him smoke when we’re working, he can’t abide it, but I can’t abide his tobacco even more, so whoever can’t abide the most wins, I’m one of your admirers, says she, and I am fast becoming one of your admirers, says he, Hans isn’t thinking too clearly about what he’s saying, in his view not enough thought has been put into what Elisabeth Stirnweiss does, but nonetheless he tells the young woman that he is fast becoming one of her admirers, it’s relaxing to pay an artist compliments, and too bad if you end up believing that you mean them.

  ‘So everything is all right,’ says Elisabeth Stirnweiss, there are red blotches on her neck and shoulders, ‘let’s talk about cheerful things.’

  Thus Hans was able to listen in on a whole afternoon’s rehearsal in Elisabeth Stirnweiss’s suite, she sings without asking herself questions, Hans finds that relaxing, she has a body of full, soft curves, when she breathes, you might almost think she is offering herself.

  That evening they met again around the table of Madame de Valréas, along with Briand in the place of honour, Max, the Mayneses, Madame de Valréas’s daughter, her name is Frédérique, by means of some slick footwork she has manage
d to sit next to Hans, Madame de Valréas is on Briand’s left, Briand looks across at another table, the second from the end, just next to the large papyrus plant, Madame de Valréas says to him:

  ‘Keeping an eye on Professor Merken? I must invite you to tea with him, there’s a gulf between you, I want to bridge that gulf.’

  Hans is sitting on Madame de Valréas’s left, Max and Maynes are directly opposite, Briand having glanced across at Merken now launches into a eulogy of Great Britain, he revels in provoking his hostess, he speaks nostalgically of what might have been, Max knows Briand like the back of his hand, he waits for the cheese and the salad, for the wines to be changed, a 1911 Burgundy, Briand looks at the label, relaxes, selects a goat and a little of a camembert that is not too ripe, Max delivers a eulogy of Madame de Valréas, I’m sure that you’ll be able to bring the Chairman and the Professor together, women are invariably on the side of reconciliation and unity, Madame de Valréas summons a modest blush, Briand snaps: