Castle to Castle, page 18
In Meudon, I could see, Bessy missed Denmark . . . nothing to hunt in Meudon . . . no deer . . . maybe a rabbit? . . . maybe . . . I took her to the Bois de Saint-Cloud . . . for a bit of a run . . . she sniffed . . . zigzagged . . . and came back in no time . . . two minutes . . . nothing to track in the Bois de Saint-Cloud . . . she walked along with us . . . but she was sad . . . she was a robust animal . . . she'd had a bad time of it up there . . . the cold . . . ten below . . . and no kennel . . . and not just for days! . . . for months . . . years . . . the Baltic frozen over . . .
All of a sudden up there with us . . . never mind, we forgave her everything . . . she'd take a powder . . . she'd come back . . . never a word of reproach . . . she ate out of our plates, so to speak . . . the worse the world treated us, the more we spoiled her . . . she's dead . . . but she had a bad time dying . . . I didn't want to give her an injection . . . not even a little morphine . . . the syringe would have frightened her . . . I'd never frightened her . . . she was very low for a good two weeks . . . oh, she didn't complain, but I could tell . . . strength all gone . . . she slept beside my bed . . . one morning she wanted to go out . . . I wanted to lay her down in the straw . . . right after daybreak . . . she didn't like the place I put her . . . she wanted a different place . . . on the cold side of the house, on the pebbles . . . she lay down very prettily . . . she began to rattle . . . that was the end . . . they'd told me, I didn't believe it . . . but it was true . . . she was pointed in the direction of her memory . . . the place she had come from, the North, Denmark, her muzzle turned toward the north. . . a faithful dog in a way, faithful to the woods of her escapades, Körsor up there . . . faithful too to the awful life . . . she didn't care for the woods of Meudon . . . she died with two, three little rattles . . . oh, very discreet . . . practically no complaining . . . and in a beautiful position, as though in mid-leap . . . but on her side, felled, finished . . . her nose toward the forests of the chase, up there where she came from, where she'd suffered . . . God knows! . . .
Oh, I've seen plenty of death agonies . . . here . . . there . . . everywhere . . . but none by far so beautiful, so discreet . . . so faithful . . . the trouble with men's death agonies is the song and dance . . . a man is always on the stage . . . even the simplest of them . . .
I don't have to tell you that I absolutely wanted to get better . . . to get up . . . for this to be only a slight attack . . . hell! . . . a week! . . . a whole month! . . . and what a summer, what weather! . . . it seems that never in the last hundred years . . . it almost snowed! . . . fever doesn't prevent you from working as long as you're careful not to catch cold again . . . consequently no riverfront! . . . and what about Madame Niçois? . . . she could wait a week . . . ten days . . . if I couldn't make it, Tailhefer would go . . . he could go in his car . . . I'd give him a ring . . . he wouldn't refuse me . . . I thought of everything, as best I could! . . . Tailhefer was a Prince of Science . . . he wouldn't have any trouble finding the former Quai Faidherbe . . . he couldn't say no . . . he'd get a look at La Publique . . . we'd known each other a long time, Tailhefer and me . . . he'd gone up . . . a Master . . . as far as I'd gone down . . . to give you an idea! . . . My only hope of paying the coal bill was my books . . . that didn't sell! . . . shit creek! . . . the hope that this one would sell? . . . rash! . . . that it might interest certain people . . . don't make me laugh! I often take my temperature . . . silly distraction! a briefcase to lean on . . . that's it . . . and I scribble . . . I get ahead . . . rich people have doubts . . . they can afford it . . . but poor bastards . . . no youth . . . no health . . . barge right ahead . . . I'm boycotted? . . . what of it? . . . "He hasn't committed suicide yet? . . ." That's what amazes them . . . "Out of date, decrepit!" . . . Well, here's what I think of them . . . rotten, stinking corpses! rejects from the wax works! . . . scrapings of the dump! . . . each man to his idea! . . . need rewriting . . . to the core! to the bone! to the atom! . . . worse, worse than 1900! . . . ragouts of vanity! phrases, false bosoms! . . . Madame Emery on the rue Royale . . . Paris . . . and Trouville in the summer . . . could make you dresses a damn sight better than their novels . . . the painstaking care! the flounces and embroidery! . . . really fine workmanship! . . . I don't see it anymore . . . everybody's entitled to his own idea . . . I, who have seen Empires ground to hash, if I live long enough (coal and carrots), I'll witness the hash of our "up-to-date" writers . . . thickheaded yokels . . . fakers . . . that's it! . . . coal! . . . carrots . . . tailor-made, that's the main thing . . . and hand-sewn . . . a little appliqué of memories! one here . . . one there . . . a historical incident . . . hand-sewn . . . another . . . I owe you a "revolt of the hungry . . ." Oh, a harmless little revolt . . . it may amuse you . . .
I won't get up . . . I don't feel like getting up . . . Tailhefer will go . . . I'll give him a ring . . .
Revolt . . . not in Lower Meudon! No, in Siegmaringen . . . I'm wandering, taking you for a ride . . . never mind! . . . I'm collecting my historical memories . . . I don't want to go wrong . . . here we are . . . Siegmaringen . . . the morale . . . not so good . . . despite the appeals to the "combative spirit" of "United Europe" . . . flabby! . . . as flabby as right now despite the appeals of Dulles, Coty, Lazare, Youssef, the Pope . . . soft, soft, the morale was soft . . . the "certainty of victory" . . . just around the corner, and so on . . . didn't cheer anybody up! . . . They didn't say anything, but they thought what they thought . . . though God knows they had a stake in victory . . . this elite of collaborators, 1,142 of them all condemned to death, with Article 75 on their ass . . . they began, the nerve of them! . . . to complain that the food was no good, that the "Stamgericht" and even the "Hausgericht" was absolutely for the birds . . . starvation! That's what they grumbled and pretty soon they were shouting . . . and that the guests at the Castle, the pontiffs, ministers and so on, "active" and "on ice," and their wives and mistresses, bodyguards, nursemaids and babies, were doing fine . . . and the generals, admirals, and ambassadors from God knows where . . . that all those people were superstuffed, fat and full of blood, with eight, sixteen food cards each . . . and it was time for them to cough up!
Naturally all this was passed on: the mentality of those people . . . born cops . . . a stool-pigeon or two in every garret . . . the Castle had its ears open! . . . you'll understand the whole Middle Ages if you've lived a while in Siegmaringen . . . the envy, the hatred of the villeins all around you, dying of rot and starvation, cold and fever . . . and the lords of the Castle had their special ways of keeping the rabble down . . . first the rumors! . . . spreading glad news . . . the rumor they circulated was that they were going to eat with the villeins . . . in person . . . without ceremony . . . by the drawbridge . . . with the 1,142 . . . the muttering rabble . . . the mob from the attics . . . first, bread would be distributed! . . . plenty of bread . . . to all the refugees . . . Thursday at twelve noon . . . on the dot of twelve! . . . we only had to be present! all of us!
You can imagine that rumors like that don't fall on deaf ears . . . that there was some crowd at the drawbridge . . . a mob . . . on the day set . . . they came at daybreak . . . you think the stomach hasn't got ears? . . . the collabos were all there by the drawbridge . . . all except the sick and dying of the Fidelis, who really couldn't get up, and the ones who had escaped into the Black Forest . . . Anyway, it's safe to say, out of the 1,142 at least 1000 were there, waiting to get something . . . and the talk, the discussions! . . . the reflections of the gastric juices! . . . black bread? . . . whole-meal bread? . . . rolls? . . . and all remarkably well informed . . . or lousy stool-pigeons? . . . Morale up-lifters? . . . who knew exactly what there was going to be! . . . for the children: croissants! brioches! . . . oh, not a doubt! . . . but I, knowing what it was like in Cissen, I said to myself: this is going to be a raid, a roundup of the hungry . . . this assembly is a hoax! . . .
While waiting for the brioches they exchanged fleas, lice, crabs, and itches . . . convulsive . . . you never saw anything like it . . . a little crowd of epileptics . . . that's what hunger does! hunger worse than anything else . . . Were they going to put it away! my, oh, my! . . . shifting from foot to foot . . . scratching, plowing furrows in their scabs . . . all in a kind of semicircle around the drawbridge . . . rolling their eyes . . . fascinated . . . watching for the feed that was going to come out . . . not just bread . . . ham, too . . . sandwiches . . . with lard . . . but I'm not romantic about food . . . I was quietly on the watch, looking out toward a hole in the catacombs to the right of the bridge . . . a rockpile . . . a land of crater . . . I was expecting a kidney punch . . . a raid of shuppos . . . something . . . a commando from the cellars . . . a frameup . . . S.S.? S.A.? . . . Sicherheit? I could see that the Krauts were fed up . . . seeing us there shifting from foot to foot, from doormat to doormat, scratching, coughing, evil-minded, waiting for what?. . . the child Jesus? . . . a revolution in Valhalla? . . . the Knights of Siegfried and the Grail? . . . with rolls thrown in? and the idea of our wanting more to eat! Not satisfied with our turnip "Stams". . . our delicious margarine soups! . . . They had reason to be fed up . . . especially as their affairs weren't prospering . . . disaster in sight . . . their armies all in a heap . . . we with our skeptical ways . . . and our spying . . . we were fouling up their morale! . . . they'd already lost their sky . . . you had only to look . . . behind every cloud twenty . . . thirty planes . . . R.A.F. . . . a merry-go-round . . . and the Americans! . . . three, four squadrons of Fortresses . . . permanent . . . day and night . . . London . . . Munich . . . Vienna . . . not a Kraut in the sky against them . . . to give you an idea that we weren't very popular . . . we and our cynical remarks . . . especially when you remember that they themselves . . . Kraut to Kraut . . . were out to get each other . . . Anyway, there around the drawbridge . . . we kept debating . . . would it be plain K-bread?° . . . or army loaves? . . . or brioche? . . . the handout was supposed to be at twelve . . . at one we were still waiting . . . scratching to pass the time, that's right . . . I knew . . . this was going to end badly . . . quarter past one . . . the whole bell-tower explodes . . . all at once . . . a volley of bells! Magnificent bell-tower . . . you'll hear it if you go there . . . I kept looking at my hole . . .. the crater . . . like I was sure that something . . . And sure enough . . . I see somebody coming out . . . looks like two big rats . . . two people, all muffled up! . . . women . . . two women . . . I see them, they're coming closer . . . I'd never seen them before . . . they come up from the bottom of the crater . . . they must live in the catacombs . . . nobody had ever gone down to the bottom of the catacombs . . . they went under the Danube . . . as far as Basel! . . . and on the other side as far as the Brenner . . . so it seems! . . . nobody had ever looked . . . Maybe these women had? . . . Anyway, these two . . . I knew the Castle well and I'd never seen them . . . nor Lili either . . . I ask her . . . one looked pretty young . . . oh, not the other . . . an ancient hag . . . twisted . . . both of them had parasols! . . . oh yes! . . . pink parasols . . . I could see the old bag close up . . . her nose . . . all covered with warts . . . she kept blinking . . . the other too . . . the light! . . . they must have lived in the dark . . . they were used to the darkness . . . but why? . . . and why the parasols? they didn't talk to each other . . . oh, yes . . . now they're talking . . . the old bag asks what's going on . . . they're talking Boche . . . that old woman is a rough customer!
"What's that? What's that?"
"Franzosen!"
"What do they want?"
"Brot!"
"Then go ahead. Go ahead!"
She sees me there looking, too . . . me and Lili and Bébert the cat! the younger one comes over and speaks to me in French: "I beg your pardon, Monsieur, are you waiting for bread too?" "Yes, I have the honor! it won't be long now . . . haven't you heard the bells? . . ." "Oui, oui, Monsieur! . . ." Our beggars were howling now . . . and kicking the drawbridge . . . sick of waiting . . . "Bastards! profiteers! traitors! There's bread in there! . . ." Bzing. Boom! "Hang Laval! stinker! bread! . . . shit! . . . Brinon! . . . cocksucker! bread!. . . " The anger was rising . . . There were at least three hundred of them howling for bread! . , . climbing, crossing the moat . . . Bzing zoom against the drawbridge! . . . you can imagine, that drawbridge was massive, there could have been three thousand of them . . . quite a chunk of furniture . . . a whole army could have passed over it, artillery and all! the itching villains could bat their brains out! the more they hammered the less it moved! in my opinion this whole bread routine was a sweet little trap laid by Raumnitz to nab the malcontents . . . load all those troublemakers in a box car bound for some camp . . . "this way, my petulant friends!" The Krauts are slippery, slimy . . . you can expect anything! take the music halls, all the prestidigitators are Boche! . . . that proves it . . . and Göbbels is the champion! . . . you can't trust them around the corner! . . . "Little soldier boy! Gare de l'Est! . . . nothing to fear! pile right in!" . . . two million dead!
I could see it was a trap . . . a provocation . . . I kept my eye on that crevasse . . . at the bottom of the rockpile . . . where the two women had come from . . . sneaky-looking . . . and why the two pink parasols? . . . and those green and gray peplums covered with spiderwebs? . . . what cellar had they come out of? . . . search me . . . Better ask the one who speaks French . . . "You live there? . . . in the basement? Madame?" She had spoken to me, there was no impertinence in asking her where she'd come from . . .
"Yes, Monsieur . . . yes . . . and you? are you from Paris?"
"But to whom have I the honor, Madame?"
"Companion to the Princess."
The Princess wasn't very outgoing . . . she doesn't like us . . . she looks the other way . . . her nose tells me . . . I try to get a better look . . . three, four warts . . .
"Princess who?" I ask.
"Hermilie of Hohenzollern . . ."
That set me straight . . . she must have been telling the truth . . . the nose was right . . . I'd seen enough Hohenzollern phizzes in the last few months, their portraits in all the corridors of the Castle . . . on all the walls . . . eagle beak with a bud on the end . . . all with one, two . . . three lavender warts! yes, even the very old portraits . . . from the tenth . . . or eleventh century . . . noses like hers, hooked, with lavender warts at the end . . . like this princess . . . Seemed funny we'd never met her in her own Castle . . . believe me, there were lots of people in the Castle . . . every floor . . . fourteen ministers, plus Brinon . . . fifteen generals . . . seven admirals . . . and a Chief of State . . . with their staffs and retinues! . . . but her, we'd never seen her . . . hidden away sulking . . . neither Lili nor myself . . . especially Lili who went all over . . . they must have been living at the bottom of a tunnel . . . and they'd come out just on time for bread . . . for the big banquet . . . when the rebels were out of control . . . Gzing! boom!. . . and the curses . . . Hermilie all dignity with her parasol paying no attention to the riffraff . . . speaking only to her companion . . . say, she wanted her bread bad . . . nun! nun! prodding her timid companion! . . . nun! nun! she should pound too! and not let these 1,142 howlers take her turn! bzing! bam! as if the bread was owing to them! pounding! pounding! the insolent horde! Just then the clarion ; . . yes, at that exact moment . . . on the other side of the rampart . . . sounds the general salute . . . the Castle guard . . . not Boche clarions, Boche clarions are like bugles . . . no . . . real ones . . . you'd have thought you were at Lunéville . . . or La Pépiniére barracks . . . the drawbridge jolts . . . the chains, the pulleys . . . it moves . . . downward . . . very slowly . . . it drops . . . Bam! . . . there it is . . . flat on the ground . . . This was it! We expected a troop of flunkeys loaded with baskets full of loaves, brioches, sausages and petit-fours. . . a beautiful handout . . .
Hell, no! . . . it's cops that come out . . . first three or four . . . then at least fifty shuppos in a big wood-burning truck . . . and then another crowd of cops . . . the French police . . . and after them . . . the Marshal! . . . yes, the Marshal! . . . to the left and behind him, Debeney . . . General Debeney, the one who was amputated . . . but no more bread than butter up your ass . . . the Marshal . . . out for an outing . . . that's what the 1,142 zebras had been waiting for! . . . you might have expected . . . not at all! . . . that they'd chew him out something terrible . . . that it was a shame! a disgrace! him and his sixteen food cards . . . not at all! . . . everybody knew! . . . and knew he ate them all up! that he didn't leave a crumb for anybody! that his appetite was remarkable . . . not to mention the total comfort . . . housed like a king! . . . him who was responsible for everything! Verdun! Vichy! and all the rest! and all our misery! all the fault of Pétain! Pétain up there, housed like a dream! . . . a whole floor to himself! . . . heated! . . . with four meals a day! . . . sixteen cards plus presents from the Fuhrer, coffee, cologne, silk shirts . . . a regiment of cops at his beck and call . . . a staff general . . . four cars . . .
You would have expected that crowd of roughnecks to do something . . . to jump him . . . to disembowel him . . . not at all . . . just a few sighs . . . they step aside . , . they watch him start on his outing . . . his cane out ahead . . . and off we go . . . and dignified . . . he answers their greetings . . . men and women . . . little girls: curtseys . . . the Marshal's walk . . . but no bread, no sausage . . . Hermilie of Hohenzollern doesn't greet him though . . . thornier, more forbidding than ever . . . Komm! Komm! . . . to her lady-in-waiting . . . they disappear . . . they don't even say goodby . . . into the hole they had come by . . . the slit in the rock-pile . . . she and her companion . . . no more Hermilie! no more lady-in-waiting . . . they were gone under the Castle . . . ah, they hadn't got any bread either! . . . hell! . . . neither had we . . . damn! . . . Lili and Bébert and I . . . we'd sort of come for that . . . we hadn't time to be sad . . . I see Marion! I catch sight of him. . . Marion, the only one who had any heart . . . who never forgot us . . . who always came to the Löwen, bringing whatever he could . . . not much . . . a few leftovers . . . mostly rolls . . . there were rolls in the Castle . . . not very many, but say three four to each minister . . . sometimes it's not so bad being a minister . . . Marion always thought of us . . . and Bébert. . . his big joke was when Bébert played Lucien . . . Lucien Descaves° . . . I put my muffler on Bébert . . . with his bristling moustaches he looked just like Lucien Descaves . . . that was our little joke . . . ah, it's far away . . . no more Lucien . . . no more Marion . . . no more Bébert! all gone!. . . with our memories! slowly, slowly . . .
