My dear friend, the professor said, should I remind you that without strong nations there can be no satisfactory international law? And I, my dear Professor, said Hans, must insist that I cannot help feeling much more like a citizen of Kant's Europe than of Fichte's Germany. Your feelings are your own affair, said the professor, the fact is that federal republicanism did not bring peace to Europe, only power struggles. Quite the contrary, Hans retorted, we have had wars when federalism failed. Kant envisaged a society of free states, which is incompatible with imperialism. The problem is each European treaty is a signature on the next war. Europe, my dear young man, said Professor Mietter, is founded on a common religion; that is the only basis for lasting unity. Do you not see that denying that is counter-productive? It surprises me (Ãlvaro declared, trying to tear his eyes away from Elsa's ankle) to hear a Lutheran speak in this way. I am a Lutheran, Professor Mietter bridled, but first and foremost I am a Christian, a Christian and a German. Gentlemen, ahem, Herr Levin ventured, if you will allow me, it is trade, not morality, that guarantees unity, that is, if Europe traded more it could not allow itself to go to war, you see, no, not so much cake, please, that's enough, thank you. Agreed, said Hans, but such changes cannot take place independently of a common political policy, for if we over-emphasise the identity of every nation, there will continue to be wars to decide who controls the markets. It is also possible to educate the economy, wouldn't you agree? Yes, replied Herr Levin, not forgetting that
education depends on the economy. Economic wisdom, Professor Mietter insisted, forms part of nation building, and there Fichte hit the nail right on the head. Kant hit the nail on the head, Hans replied, when he wrote
Lasting Peace.
That's a good one! (said the professor, devouring a canapé, without clarifying whether he meant the canapé or Kant.) For your information, young man, the utopia of peace was invented over five hundred years ago by a man named Dante. But Dante thought peace depended on a political elite, Hans objected, almost exactly like what we have today! Kant thought law should be the guarantor of peace, a law established by a union of equal states. Entrusting peace to a handful of leaders is to legitimise despotism. Ahem, my belief (Herr Levin asserted, evading the caress his wife tried to give him by way of a warning) is that we occasionally get caught up in abstraction, that is, with all due respect, don't you think peace is related to wealth? But that, Hans nodded, also takes us onto moral ground, for unless wealth is shared there will never be peaceâpoverty is a potential cause of conflict. Hear, hear! said Ãlvaro. Gentlemen, please, Professor Mietter sighed, let us not be ingenuous. Peace and war seek to achieve the same aim, which is to decide who rules, only the former does so by different means we like to think of as peaceful. That's all there is to it. Ahem, perhaps, Herr Levin demurred, there is another reality to war, which is that the cost often outweighs its benefits, even for the victor, so that an impartial evaluation of the cost of war should be enough for us to renounce it.
Gentlemen, said Herr Gottlieb rising from his seat, please feel free to continue. I have a few matters to attend to in my study. This has been a most stimulating evening, as always.
Hans had the impression that as he said the word
stimulating
Herr Gottlieb had looked at him. Herr Gottlieb wound up the clock, which said ten o'clock sharp. He gestured to Bertold to light the candles, kissed his daughter on the forehead, bowed
in a way that sent his whiskers flying, and vanished down the corridor. Finding herself alone with her guests, Sophie took a deep breathânow she could speak her mind without having to worry so much. Just when she was getting ready to join in the debate, Frau Pietzine intercepted her to take her leave as well, grasping her by the hands and whispering a few words no one else could hear. Sophie nodded, glancing sideways at the group made up of Professor Mietter, Hans, Ãlvaro and the Levins. No sooner had Elsa fetched Frau Pietzine's blue scarf and ribboned bonnet than Sophie hastened to sit down again. To her dismay, the others were no longer discussing politics but had moved on to Schopenhauer.
No, it hasn't enjoyed much success, Herr Levin was saying, although I found the book interesting, or at least different. This fellow Schopenhauer can't be all bad, Ãlvaro jested, if he has translated Gracián he must speak Spanish, which is quite good coming from a German. Bah! said Professor Mietter dismissively, mere plagiaries of Eastern religions, these people cannot replace God, so they go searching for answers in Buddhism. I like Schopenhauer, said Hans, because he loathes Hegel. But don't you find all that despair rather tragic? retorted Herr Levin. Perhaps, Hans replied, but he also lends himself to an optimistic reading. We can admit the idea of free will, while refusing to accept that it must always lead to suffering. That would mean we are condemned to try to be happy, would it not? And yet, gentlemen, the professor objected â¦
And so the gentlemen of the salon went on spouting their opinions endlessly, their lips quivering in the candlelight, as though the glow of the flames breathed life into their arguments. Sophie listened with a mixture of concentration and exasperationâshe appreciated the things they said and detested what they left out. She glanced at the silent Frau Levin, clutching her husband's shoulder, knowing he enjoyed the fact that she was
listening to him. Sophie imagined them going home, strolling in search of a cab, she leaning on her husband's arm, he bending slightly towards her, and saying: Are you all right, my dear? Are you warm enough? Or declaring: Ahem, what an interesting discussion about Schopenhauer! Waiting for her to say, Yes it had been most interesting and how brilliant his observations had been, even though she did not know much about it, at which Herr Levin would straighten up, grip her arm more tightly, and explain to her who Schopenhauer was, where he taught, what works he had published, It's really quite simple, you know, my dear, and he would proceed to tell her everything he had not had the opportunity to say in the salon, once more listened to and listening to the sound of his own voice.
Sophie wrung her hands like someone screwing up a piece of paper.
What about you, my dear? she asked Frau Levin all of a sudden. Have you nothing to say? Frau Levin looked bewildered. My wife, Herr Levin spoke for her, ahem, my wife agrees with me. What a happy coincidence! Sophie exclaimed. He's right, Frau Levin said in a faint voice, I agree with him. Sophie bit her lip.
What about you Mademoiselle? Hans said provocatively, staring intently at her lip.
Me? replied Sophie crooking her wrist level with her chest. Why, learned gentlemen, I feel honoured simply to be listening to you, for nothing delights us women more than to witness such a show of wisdom, isn't that so, my dears? Why, we could spend days on end admiring this virile exchange of opinions. Yet, lo and behold, in full flow, you question a novice like me about Schopenhauer! and I must admit to feeling embarrassed, as the mere question bestows on me a value of which I am unworthy. And so,
meine Herren
, I beg your indulgence as well as your pardon for my poor knowledge of the subject, but you know what scant attention we women give to the great thinkers. Having said all
of which, I shall venture upon this difficult topic in order to state that, as far as I can see, which undoubtedly is not very far, Herr Schopenhauer is decidedly one of the most wretched authors I have ever had the opportunity of misinterpreting. I must admit it is only recently I have had the temerity to read his book, but he seemed rather muddled on the subject of women, insisting we devote ourselves to housework or gardening, but never to improving our minds by reading literature, much less thinking about politics. And therein, gentlemen, lies a paradox, because in order for his ideas to thrive, that is, in order for his doctrine to be heeded, Schopenhauer would do better to recommend all of us women to make a thorough study of philosophical works, in particular his own. Despite my limitations as a theorist, it seems to me the greatest philosophers of our day are bedevilled by a contradictionâthey all seek to establish new systems of thought, yet they all think the same way about women. Do you not find that terribly amusing, gentlemen? I am sure there are more palm hearts if anyone is hungry.
Â
They had arranged to meet at midday in the Central Tavern. Ãlvaro was waiting for him, elbows resting on the bar, one foot on the rail, in the pose of a good horseman. Hans staggered into the tavern half-an-hour late. Good afternoon, welcome back to the world, Ãlvaro said, more entertained than annoyed when he saw the dark circles under Hans's eyes. I'm sorry, said Hans, I went to the cave last night, then back to the inn where I stayed up reading. What time is it? What! said Ãlvaro, astonished. Do you mean to tell me you don't wear a watch? The fact is, I don't see any point in watches, said Hans, they never give me the time I want. Well, Ãlvaro smiled, this is what is known as a cultural exchangeâI resemble a German and you a Spaniard.
My ancestors, Ãlvaro said, munching, came from Vizcaya. I was born in Guipúzcoa, but I'm Andalusian by adoption. I
was brought up in Granada, do you know it? Yes, it's beautiful, that's where I spent my childhood, my father found a job at the Hospital Real and we stayed there. I think everyone should see two things before they dieâthe Generalife in springtime and Plaza Bib-Rambla in the morning. You should see the señoras of the city dressed up to the nines to go to the fishmonger, and their husbands out strolling with that bad-tempered yet in the end likeable air. Sometimes when I open my eyes in the morning I still think I'm in Granada. I don't suppose you know where you are when you wake up, I imagine, well, perhaps you will one day. I've never made any friends like the ones I had in Granada. It's a melancholy city, too, and in that way it resembles Wandernburgâthe people are proud of their melancholy. Apart from the first few years here, with Ulrike, I tell you I've never felt as happy as I did back then. Maybe it was because I was younger, but everything seemed on the verge of happening. In fact the whole of Spain's fate was about to be decidedâwe would either be invaded by foreign troops, or a traitorous king would be restored to the throne, or we would proclaim a republic. The days of the Cádiz Cortes were exhilarating, I take it you've heard of that? I'm sorry, but you Germans don't give a ⦠about Spanish politics! and well, things in my country came so close to being so different! As it was, I decided to go into exile when King Ferdinand swept back into power and tore up our constitution, reinstated the Inquisition and began executing people. Was I forced to leave? Yes and no. Admittedly, people were being spied on, driven from their jobs and arrested left, right and centre. But the main reason I left was that I was disillusioned, do you understand? They had taken over the country we'd been fighting for, we had won only to lose. So that even before we left many of us felt we were no longer living in our own country.
Yes, please, another two over here, your health! When
Napoleon's lot arrived, I confess I felt peculiar. Yes, they had invaded our country, and yet they brought with them a culture we admired and laws we wanted. Did it make sense to fight for a rotten, medieval state? Hadn't we always been independent without being free? Finally, I enrolled and spent a few months fighting in Andalusia and Extremadura. Then I was billeted at the garrisons in Madrid and Guadalajara, together with militiamen from all over Spain. And I swear, Hans, it was listening to the discussions, seeing my compatriots' points of view that made me consider deserting more than once. But,
coño
, this was my country, after all! My idea was to receive the enemy, to learn as much from him as I could before driving him out and carrying on the revolution without him. I joined the guerrillas with one eye on the revolutionary juntas and the constitutional assembly, which were what most interested me. And I couldn't help wondering where the hell the fatherland was, what exactly were we fighting for? Did I find out? Ah, that's a good point. It may sound strange, but from talking to the other militiamen I realised it was our childhood memories we were fighting for.
During the occupation, the thing that most, another? Steady on, all right, but only if you're paying, I'm joking, what most upset me was seeing the way the priests supported us, the scoundrels were terrified Spain would end up like France! I can still remember the loathsome lessons they preached around the parishes. “What are you my child? A Spaniard by the grace of God. What are the French? Once Christians, now heretics. Of what is Napoleon born? Of sin. Is it a sin to kill a Frenchman? No, Father, heaven is our reward for killing one of those heretic dogs.” They weren't patriots, they had an instinct for survival (patriotism is precisely that, said Hans), don't be a cynic. I was unable to sleep at night and was assailed by doubts. What if we were fighting the wrong enemy? What if by fighting for Spain we were actually fighting against Spain, like the supporters of
the French we so despised? Who was betraying the country more? I don't want to bore you. The fact is, after the restoration I finally fled Spain. I roamed half of Europe until I arrived in Somers Town. On my first stroll around London I emptied out my pockets and realised all I had was one duro, do you know how much a duro is worth? Not enough to change into pounds, or should I say shillings. And so I walked as far as the Thames, gazed into its depths and tossed my coin into the water. (You threw it away? Hans asked, surprised. Why?) My dear friend, a gentleman like me could hardly come to a great city with that little money! I preferred to start from scratch than to manage on a paltry sum. I made contact with the Spanish community, for a while I lived off loans, and I took on a few of those jobs that are wretched to do and interesting to talk about. I was a nightwatchman, a waiter, a fish gutter, a groom at a racing stable, a framer's assistant and a replacement teacher at a fencing school. (Are you that good a swordsman?) No, which explains why I was only the replacement! Finally, almost by chance, I entered the textile business. I had a stroke of luck, I invested my savings and they doubled. A friend and I made some more favourable investments, and that's when I decided to take the risk and begin working exclusively in that industry. And I picked the right moment. Various relatives of mine joined the business, and a few years ago we set up a wholesale company trading between Germany and England. We operate in London, Liverpool, Bremen, Hamburg, and in Saxony and the surrounding area, which I am in charge of. I can't say I enjoy what I do, but it gives me a good income and well, you know, you reach an age, a rather pitiful age if you like, when income becomes more important than enjoyment. And then of course there was Ulrike.