Waltenberg

by Hedi Kaddour

  Regel back-pedals, keeps his guard low, rapid movements of his upper body, ducks, regains control of his legs, philosophy will never solve the crisis of Europe, the concept of crisis is consubstantial with philosophy, Regel very elegant, keeps pegging away with his left to make Merken keep his distance, Europe, said Hegel, is the absolute end of History, Merken is off-balance, Regel does not hit him very hard, he boxes the way you keep up a conversation, the crowd jeers Regel, it’s women’s stuff, as elegant as Al Brown, philosophy and Europe are locked in a permanent symmetry, Regel’s blind spot! Merken the Boar from the Black Forest tries to get under his opponent’s guard, the disarray of Europe stems from the neglect of Being, at the back of the scrum Maynes releases his three-quarters, a high kick over the curtain of the back line to chase, Kappler and Wolkenhove, a gap such as you dream about, the only proper expression is that which is concertedly European, they’re in their opponents’ twenty-two but Bainville relieves the pressure on his side, finds touch on the left of the field, around the halfway line, it’s taken quickly, Van Ryssel catches for the Pan-Europeans, the United States of Europe, the move is closed down by the opponents of federalism, Jacques Seydoux, deputy director of the Quai d’Orsay, this Pan-European union reeks of the Hun, ball recovered by Regel who passes it to Kappler.

  A superb cross pass from Kappler to Briand, the bell clangs, still twenty laps to go, a cash prize will be given by the Van Ryssel Company to the fastest time on the next lap, Merken feeds his backs, if you don’t want Europe to be annihilated you will have to deploy new spiritual forces, Kappler has taken over the lead, ups the pace, a ripple runs through the stands, spectators drained by fatigue and lack of sleep roar but do not applaud, Kappler isn’t French.

  New counter-attack by Merken from his twenty-two, eight-hundred kilos, the combined weight of the eight forwards, a heavy pack, gives no quarter, we’re on our way to Being without knowing where we’re at with Beingness, a long kick into touch, it’s up to our people, heart of the West, to resist the darkness that is descending on the world, on the ground the League of Nations is using a very promising tactic, WM formation, Stresemann, has the ball at his feet, attacking half-back, behind the centre circle, steadies the play, I’ve visited the factories of the Cash Register Co. at Dayton, the huge canteen with the firm’s motto: ‘The World is my Country’, Stresemann dribbles, long reverse pass out to the left wing, the Europeans are going to have to unite very quickly otherwise they’ll end up being nothing more than an outpost of American companies, players in WM, a football revolution, three defenders, two defensive backs and two offensive, three attackers, Europe is a threat to the universal character of the League of Nations, Briand watches Stresemann, never trusted the man, Regel providing support for his Chancellor, the ball is back in the centre circle again, the spirit of Weimar is the spirit of Kant, a terrific long one-two between Regel and Stresemann who passes down the right wing to Wolkenhove who centres, Kappler chests it down, a quick flick over the opposing back, a half deflection, a volley, the future of Europe must be guided by some ideal, fine save by the Nationals’ keeper who boots the ball straight back into the centre circle.

  The ball is trapped by Henderson, the League of Nations left winger who is also the British Empire’s representative at the Waldhaus, he backs Europe, Henderson leaving the ball behind him makes a run down the touch line, we’ve just banned Dawn, a dangerous English film which tells the story of the alleged fate of Miss Cavell and in so doing has threatened Anglo-German relations, Henderson followed by Kuhn who is marking him very closely and falls into the trap, then realises his mistake and turns just as the number 7 passes the ball back to Henderson, Henderson also wants a European Social Charter, rise of the opponents of a Social Charter, free market! free movement! regrouping of the Nationals and supporters of laissez-faire, rejection of the Social Charter, they stay on the high shoulder of the track, the Pan-Europeans run of out steam, a tight pack of sprinters, the spectators in the velodrome sing ‘Ramona’, litres of alcohol to overcome the searing heat of the sausage, the amazing machine continues spinning on its wooden ring, for the young Drieu Europe is an abstract civilisation, mechanical and surrealist, given to sport and drugs, onanistic, Malthusian and mystical, not artistic, in the Quai d’Orsay some voices are demanding that Russia should not be forgotten, but first Bolshevism will need to be brought to heel, the latest form of Asiatic pride!

  Frédérique tells Max that his sporting number wasn’t in the best taste, he replied that it was as well it was just a number because the whole thing could end in tears.

  *

  The great Waldhaus Seminar ended with two motions and a summary of conclusions. In the end, Hans turned down the Presidency of the Association for the United States of Europe.

  People found the way Madame Hellström had sung during her recital at the closing ceremony rather odd, fortunately Stirnweiss had also been there, her voice rather husky, but it all went off very nicely, well sung, expressive, lively.

  The first of the motions put off plans for the political union of Europe until the Greek calends, the other invited the League of Nations to take responsibility for setting up a committee on European affairs.

  The philosophers went their separate ways smiling. By the morning they all left, Professor Regel was fully himself again, a telegram had arrived from Berlin.

  ‘He’s turned it down, turned the job down, ah! what a man! Merken has refused the Berlin chair, he says it’s mine, such generosity!’

  In the vast lobby, Regel has paid a vigorous tribute to Merken, Merken said:

  ‘I shall go back to the country, philosophy thrives under a sun which sets on slopes green with vine and forest, the soil alone can shape the true power of will, it’s there that the body of the people and the body of ideas are made whole again.’

  In Hans’s view, Merken’s refusal did him honour. Merken replied that he refused to think of himself as a democrat, there had been an unfortunate concatenation of circumstances but it was not the business of philosophy to take advantage of circumstances. Regel was very moved:

  ‘Erna, Professor and Madame Merken have offered you an outstanding position, I shall be sorry to lose you.’

  To Merken and the others, he also added:

  ‘Unlike you, I am not a man of the soil, I take the view that it is the air of great cities which makes us free, I shall sell my estate in Pomerania, I shall move to Berlin, you know my passion for the industry of men, for their ventures, I shall buy shares to support our factories, the economy, the Stock Exchange, the market, all growing healthily, tomorrow we shall live in an age of magnificent cities!’

  The previous evening, things had got somewhat out of hand, dances and chases along corridors smelling pleasantly of beeswax, night cream, larch wood, Virginia tobacco, the great perfumes, the tyranny of beautiful women, rat-a-tat-tat on a door, you either got an answer or you didn’t, people went looking for each other, others were sent to look in the lounge, the library, smoking room, terrace, the paths and drives in the grounds, the billiard room, music room, eagerly they went, a man looking for a woman who was looking for a man just as in farce, then a culminating movement, the pairing-off of lovers, they make haste but proceed tastefully, in evening dress, words had been exchanged as they danced, I’d like to ask you two little questions, very little ones, ask away, feel free:

  ‘Where and when?’

  ‘If I gave you a quick answer you’d be the first to pull a face.’

  ‘Me? Not at all.’

  ‘In that case, straight away, darling, and in your room, for instance. Any objections? Somebody might come and knock on the door? Fixed something up with someone else? For later? You’re surely not going to suggest we use the garage? I think you’re cute but not cute enough for me to want to agree to a session of gymnastics on the bonnet of a car, oh, I’m no prude, I did it once, but never again, so, since it’s chilly outside, it’s your room or nothing, you can sort it out with your wife, you’re best place
d to know if she’ll come looking for you before eight in the morning, and I shan’t make a sound, I can control myself, if you hesitate for one more second it’ll be because you’ve made another arrangement, and if you have then so have I.’

  A smart alec walking along a corridor which wasn’t his, a sports jacket in his hand.

  ‘Have you seen the hotel’s housekeeper? I’ve got a little sewing job for her.’

  ‘If you’re looking for the housekeeper, you won’t find her before tomorrow morning, on the other hand I know someone else who was asking after you on the third floor, she wants to return a book of yours, no, not that way, to go back down to the third floor you have to go via the small stairs, otherwise the main staircase will take you directly to the third floor in the left wing, but the person who’s looking for you is in the right wing, and when you go down the small stairs turn left.’

  Lilstein is sixteen, he looks two years older, he is standing outside Lena’s door, he must be mad to be doing this, if she asks you in what’ll you do? Jump on her? Or will you say please I beg you? And what if she’s with someone? If she’s alone invite her to have a last drink downstairs, and she’ll say no thanks, good night, see you in the morning, no, not downstairs, she might say come in, or slam the door in your face, you’re about to ruin everything with a knock on a door, my boy, what on earth are you thinking of? You should be in bed, are you really that keen to be called ‘my boy’? How beautiful she is! Be clear with yourself, is there the smallest objective reason why she should ask you in? It’s not a question of objective reason, the whole time you were walking together she kept reaching for your arm, to make you walk slower, to speak to you, to point out an ibex, each time a slight pressure on your arm, calling you my boy, but it was to cover up the pressure on your arm, what is a woman who squeezes a man’s arm trying to say? The real question is to find out if in her eyes you are a man, her, now or never!

  She’ll never forgive you for turning up at her door, Lilstein has just knocked on Lena’s door, two little taps, light, casual, friendly, ah, Lena, I was beginning to think we’d never find time to spend five minutes together, that’s the tack, light, friendly, chirpy, but there’s no reply, Lilstein now knocks loudly enough for her to hear, and more loudly again so that she’ll hear even if she’s with someone, don’t care if it does disturb them, no reply, she isn’t in, hasn’t come up to bed yet, or else she’s already with somebody, he goes back down the main staircase, glances round as he reaches each floor, returns to the lounge, does not see her, I saw her just this minute someone tells him, she seemed to be heading for the garage, or out on to the terrace.

  Lilstein finds no one on the terrace. He goes into the library which is lit only by a large desk lamp and the fire in the hearth. He doesn’t see anyone, at last spots Madame Merken in a corner, she is looking up at the topmost shelves. Lilstein doesn’t like the woman, he has no wish to be asked to reach down a book for her, he leaves, closing the door quietly behind him. Madame Merken is thinking in the library at the Waldhaus, it’s the right time for it, semi-darkness. Madame Merken has a nickname, they call her the tank, there are many reasons why, a tank with big green eyes, they stare, slow and oily, thick eyebrows, she has sensed that someone had come in and then gone out again closing the door behind them, good, she prefers being alone, she has no wish to know where her husband’s got to, she doesn’t care what other people are doing this evening, she is meditating upon greatness, the poetry of greatness, epic deeds, the heroes of legend, the heroines of legend, the future, her thoughts are interrupted by another intruder, makes more noise, a Frenchman, it’s young Moncel, all scowls, he’s short, thin as a rake, flat hair, steel-rimmed glasses, always wears dark grey, voice reedy but forceful, he has come to the library to be alone, he likes thinking out loud, by himself, surrounded by all these books.

  When he’s alone the miracle happens, everyone starts listening to him, he becomes the epicentre of the whole Seminar, his eloquence carries all before it, it can last for a whole hour of blessed solitude, but this fat German woman is already here in the library. She doesn’t like Moncel, he’s silent, detestable, a megalomaniac, good evening young Moncel, not much is seen of this young French philosopher outside the philosophical sessions of the Seminar, he grunts a reply, he twangs a small elastic band, Madame Merken does not care for grunts, elastic bands or little peacocks, is this what they call French urbanity, young man? he pulls himself together, good evening Madame, it seems young Moncel doesn’t like women, not very much Madame, rather convenient, Madame Merken doesn’t either, especially this evening, Moncel says women are all deceivers, and moreover they’re always trying to belittle us, hmph! I most certainly did not come here to listen to this weedy little Frenchman trot out a string of cliches.

  ‘And what, young man, about Germans, do you like them? I imagine no more than you like women?’

  ‘My uncle was killed at Verdun, Madame.’

  ‘No doubt, like many Germans.’

  ‘But they weren’t invited, Madame.’

  If we’re talking invitations, what on earth does any young Frenchman hope to find in German-speaking Waltenberg? he must surely have observed that there is a great deal of talk about reconciliation, you speak excellent German and you take notes as if your life depended on it every time my husband opens his mouth, this hotel is full of Germans, and women, and yet you come and shut yourself away in here, I think that is very peculiar in someone who doesn’t like us, is young Moncel that keen on suffering?

  ‘No, I’m here to size you Teutons up, get an idea of your strength, you have surrendered nothing and once more you are attempting to do us down.’

  ‘Do you down? your African soldiers litter our streets with their bastards, you proclaim your main frontier is the Rhine, and it’s we who are trying to do you down?’

  ‘And where do you suppose that frontier ought to be, Madame, if it’s not the Rhine?’

  La Merken has come closer, voice low, you must calm yourself, young man, here a gentleman does not shout in the presence of ladies, not even German ladies, there is now only one meaningful frontier, there, Madame Merken’s large chin points to the night outside the windows, a frontier lying much further east than is visible to your myopic eye, the frontier which faces the barbarian horses of the Steppes, the vital frontier which your country’s stupidity weakens with every passing day, not the Rhine, no, on the other side, in the East, other great rivers, the Vistula is a frontier, we never speak of it but it is in our thoughts, you should think of it so too, and the irony of History is that by establishing your presence on the Rhine and humiliating us with your Senegalese and Arabs, to contain us as you put it, you have opened the doors of the East to new invasions of hordes which pour into your own towns and cities by the trainful, such smells, the tribal food, the pullulation of squalid infants, got nothing to say for yourself, Moncel? Do you prefer your vermin in the style of Corneille and Goethe?

  ‘I have never thought that.’

  ‘Comes to the same thing, and you haven’t seen the worst, when people like that, who overrun you, who live fifteen to a room, who were intended to live fifteen to a room and go round saying that other people aren’t entitled to more, what could be worse than there being fifteen of them in a room, thousands of rooms occupied every day, and there they congregate in tribes and there they reproduce, and you know what is the worst thing of all, Monsieur Moncel, be honest enough to admit it!’

  ‘The worst thing of all, Madame, is when they go out.’

  ‘The philosopher speaks! Yes, they go out, they become dressmakers, journalists, restaurateurs, policemen, philosophers, lawyers, sometimes you don’t recognise them for what they are, the worst of them become gynaecologists, they strip us of our wealth, they’re in Berlin, Munich, Paris.’

  ‘And they buy up estates as far afield as Brittany, where I was born.’

  Good old Brittany, such larks, Arthur, the Round Table, the Grail, the only right to the ownership of land should
be birth, now the peacock is giving me his full attention, he has stopped fiddling with his wretched elastic band, it is now dawning on him that there are such things as real ideas, and powerful, he knew it; now we, Monsieur Moncel, we say that the strong must work together if they are to resist the domination of the weak, instead of imagining that the frontier should run along the banks of the Rhine, are you making a genuine effort to understand us Germans?

  ‘You don’t make it very easy, Madame.’

  Moncel will never understand the first thing about the Germans unless he can come to understand their attachment to the land, the marriage of river and crag, to emphatic deeds and gentle people, do you know Die Walküre, young man? ‘The Ride of the Valkyrie’, and the song of Brünnhilde? Moncel knows neither, at the seminary he attended opera was not allowed, one of his classmates had referred to Carmen one day to make the point that ‘toreador’ wasn’t an authentic Spanish word, he’d been sent for by the Superior, a month’s penitence, no need for this woman to know that, look up there, young man, those four large volumes, the end one, pass it down to me, the ride and the lyricism, I just ask for your attention for five minutes, no more, and I shall tell my husband to give you the interview you’ve been hoping for ever since you got here, but first I want to make you understand my country!

  Moncel has taken half a pace back. He doesn’t want to? You hate us that much? You hate us more than the scum?

  ‘I didn’t say that, Madame, but I can’t stand…’

  ‘So you are in favour of these invasions?’