Definitely! . . . but not them! not them . . . oh, dear them! . . . "look at the books he's written!" you can't imagine the agonies of terror that I relieved with
Bagatelles!
just the right thing, just what was wanted of me! . . . the scapegoat book . . . on my throat the knife! . . . I'd be dismembered! not them! . . . no, not them! them so frail and sensitive! no, never! . . . all 1,142 of them . . . not a single anti-Jew left!. . . . not one! . . . no more than Morand, Montherlant, Maurois, Latzareff, Laval, or Brinon! . . . the only one left was me . . . the providential goat! . . . I'd saved everybody with
Bagatelles!
the 1,142 warrantees! . . . same as on the other side I saved Morand, Achille, Maurois, Montherlant, and Tartre . . . I was the providential hero sucker! . . . I . . . I . . .
not
just France . . . the whole world . . . enemies, allies . . . everybody . . . out for my blood! . . . plenty of blood! . . . they've dreamed up a new myth! . . . disembowel the goat . . . do we? . . . don't we? . . . the priests are ready!
Griping again . . . leaving you high and dry . . . Finally I was able to go out . . . "good-bye, Lili!" I take Bébert, his bag . . . you know, kind of a game bag with breathing holes . . . we're down at the bottom of the stairs . . . naturally the people in the restaurant see me . . . the S
tam
eaters, the whole beer hall, and the
shuppo
outside, guarding the door . . . I tell him I'm going to the Castle . . . oh oh! here comes somebody . . . they throw themselves on my neck! . . . Monsieur and Madame Delaunys! . . . effusions! I didn't recognize them . . . ah, Doctor! . . . Doctor! . . . so thin! . . . they'd just come out of the
Stam
. . . I'd had them both as patients . . . where had they been? . . . really all skin and bone! . . . "Where have you been?" "In Cissen, Doctor! . . . in the Camp . . . we were in the firewood brigade!" oh, I understood . . . gathering brushwood . . . "winter through joy!" . . . I could see it hadn't been a vacation! firewood brigade! . . . oh, plenty of good will! . . . but short rations . . . two mess kits a day . . . kohlrabi and carrots! . . . sleeping on straw in a tent . . . one tent for twelve to fifteen families . . . they hadn't put on weight, I could see that! . . . even Frucht's restaurant was better . . . oh, it was the same old
Stam
. . . but at Frucht's there were no blackjacks . . . while at Cissen, Christ! . . . to a pulp! . . . the brushwood squad leaders kept warm by beating them! . . . and no love pats! . . . the real
schlag!
. . . bruises, bumps, blisters! they'd really been warmed over . . . nothing was left of their clothes . . . covered with rags . . . knotted together, tied with string . . . shaped into boots, a jacket, a dress . . . odds and ends they'd picked up . . . swiped all over . . . from other families . . . other brushwood teams . . . it wasn't their profession . . . any of them . . . and they weren't the right age either . . . people from before the other war . . . they looked bad, even him with his wig and "Nubian" moustache . . . made you think of an oldtime barber's window . . . She'd given singing lessons on the rue Tiquetonne . . . he was a violinist . . . really a settled harmonious couple . . . no variety honeymoon! married thirty-five years! . . . all the good will in the world . . . devoted to their pupils! . . . devoted to the New Europe! . . . same sincerity! no calculation! they'd come out for Europe right away! no thought of gain! . . . not at all . . . he'd played the violin (second fiddle) in the big orchestra at the Grand Palais . . . New Europe Exposition, Common Market, etc. . . . she'd sung for Madame Abetz at the Embassy . . . what soirees! what guests! to give you an idea whether they were in deep! . . . and whether they had received those death "notices" and little coffins! . . . and a good stiff load of Article 75 . . . that Morand never got . . . or Montherlant! or Maurois! . . . these people were honest, serious! . . . skin of their teeth! . . . their place had been sacked, completely wrecked! all their belongings taken, moved! clearance! . . . like me on the rue Norvins . . . that made us neighbors . . . well, practically . . . I didn't take it lightly, though . . . but they . . . well, almost . . . no bitterness, no grudge . . . just grieved! . . . especially at being beaten for not collecting enough wood . . . they didn't deserve to be beaten . . . and called lazy old bastards . . . it was the "lazy old" that didn't go down! . . . "We lazy, Doctor? a whole life of conscientious hard work . . . not a moment's idleness! You know us, Doctor!"
She had tears in her eyes . . . the ultimate insult! They lazy! . . . "First prize at the conservatory! both of us!" . . . sobs . . . "you know, I've told you, we met at the Concerts Touche . . . laziness at the Concerts Touche?! . . . you knew Monsieur Touche, Doctor, didn't you? you know the kind of man, the artist he was! . . . and the hard work! . . . a new program every week! . . . and no oompa-oompa! no café music! You did know Monsieur Touche?" . . . "Oh yes, of course, Madame Delaunys!" . . . The way they'd been beaten . . . and not with daisies . . . I could see the marks . . . thrashed for being lazy! . . . she really couldn't understand . . . it was too much! . . . them! . . . and her husband on the head! . . . "Look!" It was true . . . two places . . . big patches of scalp gone . . . torn off! . . . hit really hard! . . . oh, but not discouraged! far from it! you couldn't get him down! . . . oh no, the future! he was a man of the future! his sufferings in Cissen had brought it out! overcome his fears! "Yes, Doctor!" a project! . . . and come to think of it, maybe I could help him with his project . . . if I was willing? . . . my influence with Brinon? . . . "Concert master!" . . . a word from Brinon would do it! . . . "concert master" where? I didn't get it . . . if I were willing? . . . yes . . . yes . . . undoubtedly the time in Cissen had been unpleasant, the blows, the insults, but here was an opportunity to make up for it! . . . concert master! . . . all his life, with Touche and elsewhere, he had been on the verge of promotion to concert master . . . never come through . . . for one reason or another . . . he wasn't vain or forward, but he had the qualifications! . . . "What do you think of it, Doctor? Here, now, in Siegmaringen! . . ." he pointed out somebody in the restaurant, over there . . .
"Do you see Monsieur Langouvé?"
I saw him . . . he was there . . .
"He's all for it!"
Monsieur Langouvé was there at a little table . . . at the
Stam
. . . Monsieur Langouvé . . . the conductor of the Siegmaringen orchestra . . .
"Monsieur Langouvé has noticed my performance as second fiddle . . . We owe you the position of concert master . . . his opinion! . . . imagine, Doctor . . . I'm only mentioning it to you! . . . I don't go in for intrigue! . . . you know that! . . . I'm not a climber . . . a careerist! perish the thought! . . . but here, under the circumstances, I need the approval of the Castle, and a word from you . . . you could . . . couldn't you, Doctor? . . . or if you can't, I'll never mention it again . . . but you've always been so good to us, so kind! so encouraging! But I'm really being bold! I'm taking liberties!"
I could see Monsieur Langouvé the orchestra conductor, at his little table in the
Stem
. The soul of courtesy! worse than Delaunys! . . . delicate, precious, he expressed himself like a violin . . . in caressing waves! like Debussy's
Nuages
. . .
Of course I wanted to help them . . . Delaunys and his wife . . . but how was I going to introduce them to Brinon? . . .
"They're putting on a celebration soon . . ."
"Where, Monsieur Delaunys?"
"Why, certainly . . . so I've heard . . . at the Castle! . . . Monsieur Langouvé is already rehearsing the chorus! . . . they're celebrating the retaking of the Ardennes!"
Hmm . . . you don't say so . . ."
"Yes . . . yes! . . . all the ambassadors! . . a big celebration! . . ."
"Ah! . . . Ah?"
"Monsieur Langouvé . . ."
He's deep in a kind of revery . . . he's dreaming . . . he sees . . . his wife doesn't see . . .
"Hector . . . really?"
She speaks up . . . she hadn't heard . . . I watch him closely . . . yes, there is a glazed look in his eyes . . . could they have knocked him a little silly in the brushwood brigade? . . . hit him a little too hard? . . . could be . . . I wondered . . . I asked his wife . . .
"Oh, they hit us so terribly, Doctor! . . . and the things they called us!"
It was the "lazy" that stuck in her craw . . . that kept her in tears . . . but him? I couldn't help wondering . . .
"Hard on the head?"
"Very hard!"
She started sobbing again . . . the one thing in his mind was the Celebration . . . the Celebration for his benefit! . . . and "Concert master" . . . the "Retaking of the Ardennes!"
"Then you will, Doctor? Concert master? You will? I only hope that Monsieur de Brinon . . ."
"Why, of course, Monsieur Delaunys . . . Consider yourself concert master . . ."
I gesture to his wife that it was all settled . . . she should stop wailing! . . . he certainly seemed strange . . . ragged, disheveled, that glazed look, yet in spite of everything a certain dignity . . . in his tied-up, molded rags . . . the bad part was his discolored moustache, faded from "Nubian" to tallow . . . and his torn wig . . . it wasn't only his scalp that had suffered! . . . they'd dusted the whole man! . . .
"Oh, strictly a chamber orchestra . . . you get the idea, Doctor? . . . but what splendid works! . . . you'll hear Mozart!. . . Debussy! . . . Fauré! . . . oh, I knew Fauré well! . . . we weren't the first to play his music . . . . but almost! . . . almost! . . . am I right, sweetheart?"
"Oh yes! . . . oh yes!"
"And Florent Schmidt too! . . . without boasting, I can say that we played all the young composers on the Boulevard de Strasbourg! . . . Did you know Monsieur Hass, Doctor? our pianist? . . . another First Prize!"
"Of course, Monsieur Delaunys!"
"Monsieur Touche was the soul of kindness! you know that, Doctor! . . . he wanted me to be concert master! . . . in 1900! . . . even then! . . . of course I declined! . . . I declined! . . . I was too young . . . I refused Monsieur Touche but with Monsieur Langouvé yes, I accept! . . . I've made up my mind . . . I can't wait any longer! . . . the opportunity presents itself? I'll take it! not that I haven't always wanted it! . . . yes, I admit it! . . . but would you have expected me to rush? never! calculation? certainly not! . . . but the question of maturity, Doctor? . . . I wasn't mature, but now I am! you'll hear me! ah, Doctor, Madame Céline will be on the program too! she'll dance! she will, won't she? . . . we've taken the liberty! . . . an old dance . . . a chaconne . . . and two other dances . . . romantic . . . we'll accompany her! . . . you'll let her?"
His wife looked at me, to see what I was thinking . . . I motioned her not to say anything . . . that it was his head . . . his head . . . he really did seem to have a glazed look, but his words weren't those of a lunatic . . . only maybe a little surprising . . . this Celebration at the Castle! . . .
But one thing was sure . . . I could see that if he went up to Raumnitz and started talking about the Ardennes and the Celebration and the concert, Aisha would escort him out . . . he'd join the others . . . it couldn't fail! . . . he wasn't a bad sort . . . maybe the best way, as long as I was going, would be to take them to the Castle and try to find them a place to sleep . . . see if Brinon would take them in . . . anyway, I could try . . . maybe Madame Mitre could do something . . . Maybe they could use musicians in the Castle . . . because here at the
Löwen
they'd end up in Room 36 . . . without a doubt! . . . upstairs and down in two seconds flat! . . .
Madame Mitre would understand . . . a good deal better than Brinon . . .
Retaking of the Ardennes . . . Celebration of Rundstedt's Triumph? . . . where had he got that? . . . from Monsieur Langouvé? . . . the conductor? . . . Langouvé was a little touched, but not that bad . . . or in pissen? . . . the brushwood commando? . . . they hadn't just clouted his noodle,
they'd started a jamboree in it!
. . . celebrations! . . . apotheosis!
I motion his wife to come along, they should follow me . . . I motion to Lili, too . . . "You'll start rehearsing," I tell her . . .
The main thing, when people have a screw loose, is not to thwart them . . . act as if everything were perfectly natural . . . no opposition! . . . same with animals! . . . no surprises! . . . everything is just fine . . . perfectly natural . . . same with incisions, injections, scalpels . . . "perfectly natural" . . . oh, but watch your step! . . . a quarter of a milligram too much or too little . . . and all hell breaks loose! . . . the Devil and his cauldron! . . . the emotions boil over! the patient jumps off the operating table with his belly wide open, dragging his guts . . . carrying everything away . . . scalpels, mask, balloon flask, compresses! . . . wide open! . . . and all your fault! . . . same in your love life: how often you see your lovesick little sweetheart turn into a homicidal maniac! "Sex-fiend, rapist, monster!" You can't get over it! so docile, and now this arrogant rage! . . . a touch too heavy somewhere! . . . nevermind . . .